


Song Remains the Same

by River_Winters



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AO3 1 Million, Abusive John Winchester, Alternate Ending, Angel Sex, Angel/Human Relationships, Brother Feels, Brother-Sister Relationships, Chuck Shurley is God, Emotionally Repressed, F/M, Fallen Angel Castiel (Supernatural), Family Issues, Fate & Destiny, First Time, Forbidden Love, Gen, Good Parent Chuck Shurley, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Long, M/M, Minor Dean Winchester/Original Female Character(s), Minor Sam Winchester/Original Female Character(s), Muteness, Nephilim, Older Man/Younger Woman, Original Character(s), Parental Bobby Singer, Plot Twists, Protective Dean Winchester, Rape/Non-con Elements, Soulmates, Twins, Virgin Castiel (Supernatural), Winchester Sister
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:07:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 151
Words: 2,083,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24596521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/River_Winters/pseuds/River_Winters
Summary: For Alex Winchester, normal has never been in the equation. Mute since the nursery fire, she grew up on the road chasing ghosts with her brothers and father. When her voice is inexplicably restored and the angel Castiel appears claiming to be her guardian, both of their lives change forever in ways that Heaven and Earth never expected. Castiel/OFC - sisfic - S4-9. ALTERNATE ENDING/AU.
Relationships: Castiel (Supernatural)/Original Female Character(s), Dean Winchester & Original Female Character(s), Kevin Tran/Original Male Character(s), Sam Winchester & Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 809
Kudos: 147





	1. Born to Run

**Author's Note:**

> **Song Remains the Same: Opening Notes**  
>  (Last Updated in February 2021)
> 
> Welcome and thanks for stopping by! I'm your author River! If you're like me you like to know what you're getting into at the beginning of a fanfic (especially one that is two million words plus), so here we go with some introductions: this story begins right at the end of season three and stays fairly close to canon (at first) while including my AU addition of Alex Winchester—Sam's younger twin—who has recently and inexplicably been cured from her lifelong condition of mutism.
> 
> The story is listed as a romance, and while that's true, the story is also a reworking of SPN as a whole. I feature a lot of brother/sister/family moments/development and arcs scattered in between the romantic elements. Many of my readers have reported that the feels in this story are lethal, so strap in if you love angst and pain because it's about to get intense up in here. The Cas/Alex ship is everything from painful to fluffy to sappy to angsty to dark depending on what part of the story you're in. If you love a slow burn and epic soul-shattering romance, you're in the right place! You can also expect more and more AU story lines and material as the story gets to Season 7+. **The ending is completely AU from the show.**
> 
> If you dislike Mary Sues, you're in good company and won't find one here (though at first you may wonder, because there are a lot of unanswered questions about Alex but please rest assured... I reveal the answers gradually as we progress and as more is explained about Alex's background).
> 
> A lot of new readers are curious about the pacing of the romance. The slow build starts as soon as Cas and Alex meet a few chapters in, and once you get to Chapter 20, you'll be a happy camper, let's just put it that way!
> 
> Readers, I hope you enjoy the story that follows. Please read and feel free to review/PM/email me; I love hearing from you (yes, I still check + respond to reviews and messages whenever possible!). This story has been an absolute labor of love to write and I've put my heart and soul into it. Thank you dearly for your support!
> 
> Now go check out winchesteralex dot tumblr dot com and you can see pictures of Alex as I envision her (as played by actress Astrid Berges-Frisbey), manips, videos, questions & answers, Calex shipping mania, as well as other stuff from the fic. The tumblr blog does contain major spoilers for the story and the show, so please be forewarned. Cheers & happy reading! #SPNSRS
> 
> **STORY DETAILS:**
> 
>  **Rating:** Rated M for violence, language, drug use, sexual scenes, and darker subject material in later chapters. Trigger warnings are on chapters with especially sensitive content.
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** Supernatural and all of the characters therein do not belong to me. This story is for fun only, no profits are being made... only tears.
> 
>  **Spoilers/Warnings:** Spoilers for seasons 1-10ish eventually. The story begins in 3x15 but does include flashbacks into previous seasons. What to expect: family drama - overprotective Dean - twins with grudges - Alex working to overcome a complicated and painful past - Castiel learning how to deal with emotions and feelings - epic romance between Cas and Alex with many ups and downs throughout the seasons - some dark subject matter here and there - very LONG chapters as the story progresses (to my ADD/dyslexic readers, you have my apologies).
> 
>  **Pairings:** Castiel/Alex Winchester, Dean/OFC, Sam/OFC, slight Kevin/OMC + a few other very small side ships.
> 
>  **A STATEMENT ABOUT TRIGGERS:** This story is not lightweight in some parts. Read at your own risk. As a reminder, I do include trigger-warnings on chapters with especially sensitive content matter, but please know that this story is intended for adults and if you're sensitive about any of the above tags, please be careful!

_"We face the path of time... and yet I fight."_  
\- Alice in Chains

* * *

**Late April 2008  
Just Outside of Erie, Pennsylvania**

Alex slowly woke to the familiar growl of the Impala's engine as Van Halen crackled on the radio. Her first groggy thought was to wonder what time it was. Her brain was scrambled because as usual, there had been the normal assortment of nightmares and nothing about the sleep had been restful. She almost felt more tired _now_ than she had before. Awkwardly crammed into the back seat with only her arm as a pillow, the youngest Winchester stiffly sat up with a grimace, a hand already on her shoulder as she attempted to knead some tightness out of the complaining muscle there. Between kicking ass, getting her ass kicked, sleeping on shitty motel mattresses or in the car, she couldn't remember ever _not_ feeling arthritic upon waking. She gave up on the shoulder and squinted into the bright light streaming in through the car's windshield. The sun was low on the horizon—sunrise? In the front seat with one hand on the wheel and dark shades on, her oldest brother Dean acknowledged her with a slight turn of the head.

"Mornin', sunshine." His familiar gravelly voice bordered on either sarcastic or good-natured teasing... Alex couldn't tell. She glanced over at her just-slightly-older twin brother Sam, who was at the moment snoring softly, his giant head lolling onto his shoulder in the front seat—the dude could sleep through a hurricane. _Lucky_.

The car slowed and pulled over, rolling to a stop at a dingy gas station. Dean punched his sleeping brother in the shoulder, who was startled from his sleep and said something like " _huh, wha_!?" to Dean's clear amusement.

"Enough with the shut eye, Sammy. Rise and shine!" Dean got out of the car and began fueling up, leaving his two sleepy siblings to themselves. 

Sam turned around, his slightly confused I-just-woke-up expression mirroring how his sister was feeling at the moment. "Hey," he mumbled, then saw it on her face and his expression grew a little more soft. "Nightmares again?" He saw through her like that sometimes—maybe it was part of being twins. Or maybe it was because he had nightmares, too.

She shrugged and almost forgot to reply, because being able to speak was still relatively new. When she realized she was expected to answer, she went with a very eloquent, "nah." Her voice sounded weird, and she cleared her throat self consciously. Sam obviously didn't buy it. And he was right. It was a lie. Daily nightmares were a guarantee for Alex, who tried to bring her focus to the present moment and away from the dreams of yellow eyes, crunching bones, and the dark world where she was stuck in chains as clawed hands dragged Dean away to his death...

She shivered, suddenly wide awake and somber, once again coming back to the reality they'd been running from for the past eleven months. 

Sam was watching her still. "You okay?" he asked, his eyes filled with studious concern.

Her face was giving her away, and she was too tired to do much else except shrug and manage a softly defeated, "no." She gritted her teeth and looked away, desperate for an answer to the question that harrowed her night and day. "What are we gonna do, Sam?" She didn't have to specify about what. He already knew.

Sam went blank at her words, then his jaw tensed and he was quiet for a couple heavy beats. "We… we still have some time," he muttered, distracted and upset. He turned away. "We'll figure something out. Right now I, uh, I need some coffee." And just like that, he exited the car, heading in his long stride toward the convenience store. Alex stared after him silently, not sure if she should be pissed or sad or what. After all, what could Sam have ever said to make it better? No words could change what was coming. He was just as scared about losing their big brother as she was.

Ever since Dean had made the crossroads deal to bring Sam back from the dead, the three of them had lived it up wild and free, Dean-style—basically doing whatever the hell he wanted to in between jobs. There had been a lot of dive bars, booze, women, and greasy fast food joints in between hunts. But the Winchesters had never really talked about the approaching day that they all knew was coming: the day Dean would have to make good on his soul deal. Dean refused to talk about finding a way out of it, claiming that if he so much as tried to get out of the deal, Sam would die again. However, Sam and Alex? Behind their brother's back, they'd been trying to figure out a way. However all of their research and inquiries had come up luckless. Sam was beginning to avoid the subject matter completely when Alex brought it up... like he couldn't face it at all. Which only scared her more. 

Dean had avoiding reality down to a science... he'd always been like that though. He'd _never_ been able to tolerate sitting around, instead he preferred to always be moving forward. Moving and _doing_ gave him something to focus on besides the crazy crap the three of them lived through and called their life. Right now was actually a good example of Dean's penchant for not wanting to give a single thought to his future—they were on the way to investigate a possible zombie outbreak. All while Dean was literally _days_ away from being brutally murdered by Hellhounds. To Alex, it was really beginning to feel _too late_ , and whenever she actually thought about it, she was overwhelmed with the worst fear and panic she'd ever known. So she tried _not_ to think about it. They always found a way out, right? Dean _always_ came through. He was super-human like that to her. So maybe this time would be the same. Maybe something would come to them in the eleventh hour. It _had_ to. 

She glanced out at Dean who was bobbing his head along to the music playing in the car as he gassed up the Impala. He was off in his own little world, and she wondered how he could be so relaxed and _fine_. Her heart wrenched painfully. She wanted so bad to just go out there and shake him and demand for him to _do something please! Tell me how we get through this! Don't you dare fucking leave me!  
_

Abruptly agitated, Alex slid out of the backseat and marched toward the store, needing to get out of the damn backseat for a few minutes. It was cold outside even though it was April. Her breath made little puffs of water vapor as it hit the air, her worn out combat boots crunched against frost on the cracked pavement. She crossed her arms against the chill, deep in thought. How would other families deal with what hers was having to face? How did normal people handle _knowing_ that they were losing someone? What did functioning families do when a loved one had a certain amount of time to live? Even as she wondered these things, she reminded herself that the Winchester family was anything but functional. They barely held it together as it was.

Figuring she'd better go while the going was good, Alex headed to the bathroom. It was predictable: a dank little tiled room with a cracked toilet, the smell of mold and piss, a foggy water-damaged mirror. Seeing herself in that mirror for what might have been the first time in days, Alex was taken aback. She looked so tired and harrowed, so _old_... beaten down. Her hair was bedraggled and her tank top had some kind of dark reddish stain on it near her hip—did that happen when they tortured that demon last night for information? Alex yanked a few fingers through her hair, trying to tame the long brown mess. It was a useless task. She studied her face again in the mirror, wondering about the the dark circles under her eyes—had they always been that dark and pronounced?

She pulled her army-green jacket around her closer to cover the stain on her shirt then shoved her hands into the pockets as she exited the restroom. Outside through the glass door of the gas station, she saw Dean and Sam leaning against the Impala. She faltered, feeling a stab of pain and fear for the day when instead of two brothers waiting, it would be one. 

Dean had always been there, _always_. Her mouthpiece, her defender, her biggest brother, her best fucking friend—often times her _only_ friend—he knew her best out of anyone in the world. How the hell was she supposed to live without him? The terror rising inside was too much and she slammed it down forcefully, refusing to go there. Dean was still here and they had work to do. They could save him somehow. They _had to_. There just wasn't another option. She walked out of the gas station stone-faced, trying to look like she was okay. Sam offered one of his tentative little half-smiles and held up a cup of coffee in her direction. Alex accepted it and cupped it in her hands for warmth, giving it a sniff through the little hole where you were supposed to sip. Gas station coffee was always so hit or miss. This particular brew had the aroma of burnt rubber. She grimaced briefly. She'd drink it anyway.

The Winchesters hit the road again, Dean doling out the plan for the day—get a motel room, suit up as feds. The brothers would go to the morgue to see what they could find out while Alex went to the hospital and interviewed the victim of the strange 'kidney-napping' as Dean put it.

"Make sure you remember to find the nurses or doctors who treated the guy and ask them all about what they saw, if there was anything weird or—" Dean instructed her, but she cut in.

"Dean, I've watched you do it a million times... I know what to do." She gave him a pointed look and her oldest brother conceded, if a little reluctantly and with a little attitude.

"Yeah, _yeah_ ," he muttered gruffly. "I know it's been a few months, but I can't get used to it. The whole you-having-a-voice-thing."

Alex's eyes snapped up to the rear-view mirror, where Dean was looking at her with watchful, narrowed eyes. Almost like he was suspicious. She looked away. "Me either," Alex murmured, her mind turning to the many worrisome questions she had about _that_. She could feel Dean still watching her, but she avoided looking back at him.

Dean and Sam shared a significant, loaded glance before Dean frowned and shook his head. Unsolved mystery number one: how Alex had suddenly and inexplicably gotten her voice back after being silent since she was six months old.

Dean remembered Alex had been a normal baby until _that_ night—the twins' six month birthday. Up until then, she'd cried, babbled, and screamed like all babies did. But after the fire, after Mom died... nothing. It was like her vocal chords had just quit working. Doctors couldn't make sense of it and after a few years, the Winchester family had just accepted the fact that little Alex would never speak.

Volume zero, freak, mute button. At every new school, she would earn cruel nickname after cruel nickname. Her inability to speak or make any sort of sound made her a target for bullying and estrangement by her peers. Sam agonized over it, Dad had been angry and closed off about finding solutions, Alex cried silent tears when she thought no one was looking—or alternated between destroying property and starting fights at school in fits of powerless rage. And Dean—well Dean had always taken it hard. Real hard.

As they currently sped toward their destination, Dean's mind wandered into an old memory. Sam and Alex must have been about twelve at the time. He remembered it like it had been just a few days ago...

_Dean came in alone into the motel room with canned chicken and some instant noodles—the fixings for what would be their dinner for the night. Dad was not there, as per usual. Sam sat on the bed with Alex, his arm around her, his face twisted in concern. Sniffing and breathing heavily, Alex was in angry tears._

" _What happened?!" Dean demanded, throwing down the groceries on the motel table and going over to where his siblings sat._

" _Kids at school being jackasses," Sam muttered, frustrated that his twin was hurting and he couldn't do anything._

_Dean sat on the bed on the other side of Alex and put an arm around her. "Hey, come on kiddo. They're stupid assholes, they don't know crap."_

_Alex bent and scrawled in her little worn out notebook—she took one with her everywhere and wrote in it countless times a day to communicate. None of them knew much sign language—just some basics thrown in with some stuff they'd made up themselves. Dad hadn't wanted Alex to learn it because he was going to 'fix her soon, just you wait and see.' Well, Dean was tired of waiting. And he knew Alex was too.  
_

**they said i'm weird & a freak**

_Dean felt a familiar righteous anger thump in his heart as he looked down at his kid sister. If he could get his hands on those fucking bullies... but he needed to focus on calming Alex down now. He squeezed her shoulder gently and spoke to her firmly._ " _Well, you're_ not _a freak or weird. You're awesome, okay? You could kick any of their asses from here to Tuesday and we all know it. Do any of those punks know how to gank a ghost? Or hunt a werewolf? Have any of them ever helped their dad research how to finish off a wraith? They're cushy little brats who would shit their pants if they had to live your life, why would you care what these idiots think anyway?"_

_Alex shrugged miserably, sniffing as another fat tear rolled down her cheek. It was her primal wound, and it was re-opened constantly by the vicious world existing outside of Dean's control.  
_

How many times had they had that same exact conversation? How many times had he seen that defeated, lonely, outcast look on both of his siblings' faces? Dean wearily thought of how many hard nights he had helped his brother and sister through when he was just a kid himself. Alex's mutism had caused her to become a vagabond and Sam was picked on too for varying reasons—often for being the brother of the mute girl. Neither of the twins made many friends, but especially not Alex. As such, the three of them had been a family to each other in ways many siblings weren't. Dean had often been more of a father than their actual one.

Alex and Sam had remained joined at the hip until maybe around middle school, which was when things had gotten a little less cozy in the family. Sam had tried harder to be quote unquote 'normal' and Alex hadn't been into that at all (or capable, really). And then when Sam decided to go off to college... she'd taken that really personally. Things had never been the same between any of them since. The whole college thing, in Dean's opinion, had royally screwed the Winchester family. He was still pissed about it, honestly.

He'd always felt very protective over both of his siblings, but especially over Alex because he saw her as being really vulnerable. Yeah, she was a good hunter and Dad had raised her just like him and Sam: to be capable and resourceful, strong and smart—but up until her unexplained, 'miraculous' healing about six or seven months ago, Dean hadn't ever wanted to let her out of his sight. Too much risk out there. He feared she would end up trapped or hurt—unable to even make a sound or call for help. Dean had always held out hope they would find some voodoo, some spell, some _something_ to get Alex her voice back. It killed him to see her struggle. She'd always been so unhappy, so lonely, so off to herself, so undeserving of the crap fate had dealt her. She didn't care too much about the 'regular' outside world because they didn't care about her either. And who could blame her?

Dean got it, he really did. She felt weird and freakish and was mad at the world. But more than mad, she was alone and lonely. Even if she were in a room full of people, she would be off to herself, resigned to watching. Quiet whether she wanted to be or not. Dean had always felt responsible for trying to make sure she felt accepted and included. That was his baby sister. He just wished she could see herself like he did. Not as a freak, but as one of the most special people in the world. Her and Sam both. His siblings were everything to him.

Dean's mind again wandered into his memories, this time a more recent one... imagine his surprise, shock, and disbelief when a few months ago, out of nowhere, forever-silent Alex had stubbed her toe on something and yelped out loud in pain. All three of them had been totally shocked at the sound, the first sound out of her mouth since she'd been a baby. At first they had all been beside themselves with disbelief and overwhelming confused happiness—but then they had all quickly gone to deep suspicion wondering how—why—and who? They _still_ didn't know of these answers.

The first few days, Alex hadn't been able to speak too well, stuttering a lot and getting overwhelmed and frustrated with her newfound ability. But these days, you'd never know she'd ever been mute. She spoke easily, argued a lot, joked, laughed, and snarked off as if she had always been able to—which was another mystery, something that bothered Dean deeply. She'd caught on fast. Too fast. It _had_ to be supernatural—but he didn't have a clue how to find out who or what was responsible. He thought maybe, _maybe_ Dad had done it somehow from beyond the grave, but he had no way of knowing that for sure. If nothing else, he had to be glad he'd lived to see this moment. Soon, the Hellhounds would come. Dean's expression darkened and he gripped the steering wheel tighter.

In the back seat and lost in her own thoughts, Alex was also thinking about her newfound voice as she absently bit at her nails. Being inexplicably healed of a life of silence, of the inability to make a single noise didn't sit well with her. The having a voice part was great, the not having a clue _why_ was what ate away at her. In her experience, good things didn't just randomly happen to her. Ever. There was some catch to it... she just knew it.

For her entire life, she'd been trapped inside her own internal world. She'd spent a lot of time imagining her responses to conversations she was never be a part of, giving grand monologues inside her head for hours at a time, wondering what would change if she could speak, respond, and participate like everyone else could. She had never learned sign language—instead communicating through her notepads she carried, or texting more recently. She knew a few basic signs and the alphabet but Dad had always insisted, sometimes really angrily, that she didn't need to learn 'that crap' and how he was going to find a way to fix her. Well, he never had. Throughout the years, some kindhearted teachers had insisted on sign language classes for her a few times but Alex had never put any effort into learning it. She'd known her brothers and especially her dad wouldn't have the time to learn it, and they were the only ones she really cared about communicating with. That and as soon as she'd be enrolled in the class, it'd be time to change schools again, anyway. They traveled—a _lot_ —and school had been a big, stupid blur. She hadn't been like Sam, good grades and Mr. Honor Roll. She'd been the F student who never tried at all. She was more familiar with detention than anything else.

It had always seemed like a cruel joke, that someone like Alex—in a family that lived to hunt down and killed the undead—would have an extra thing holding her back. She was already in the minority being a girl, being the smallest, and being the youngest. So being mute was the cherry on top of the crappy ice cream sundae. She had overcompensated, trying to prove to Dad and herself that she wasn't weaker and that she wasn't any less of a person. She'd obsessively worked on her marksmanship until she was the best shot of either of her brothers, she'd studied Latin on her own instead of doing homework, she'd taught herself to look at something for just a few seconds and remember details, she exhausted herself in dry fire drills, loading speed, physical challenges like pushups and pullups—she'd tried and tried and _tried_. But still, she'd felt overlooked by Dad. After awhile, she gave up on pleasing him.

The disappointment of Dad never being proud of her still remained. Her brothers were her saving grace in all those hard moments of sadness and being let down by Dad, but especially Dean. Dean who had always gone out of his way to look out for her, comfort her, stick up for her, protect her. Dean who had seen the ways she worked hard to please Dad and patted her on the shoulder, told her good job when Dad had said nothing. Dean who had stuck by her side, even when Sam left the family, even when Dad disappeared for weeks and months on end. Dean who had never let her down, not even once. Dean who _couldn't_ die, who _couldn't_ leave her here alone.

Alex felt desperation bubbling up inside her and helplessness soon followed. You couldn't just break a soul contract. No one ever had, or not that they knew of. She looked out the window, tears pricking her eyes.

_Don't cry. Don't let them see you cry._

She steeled herself, breathed in deep, then cracked her knuckles one by one as she forcibly made herself think about anything other than the soul deal, but not before reflecting miserably that maybe she was more like her brothers than she thought: avoiding the reality that was staring her down the barrel.


	2. The Walking Dead

_"It's not the grave dates on the tomb, it's the short and sweet dash between the two."_  
\- Pianos Become the Teeth

* * *

**Four and a Half Months Later  
Sioux Falls, South Dakota  
**

Canned baked beans. Again. Alex shoveled the room temperature globs into her mouth and chased them with tap water, trying to get breakfast over as fast as possible. Food didn't really taste like anything anymore and she didn't want to eat it, no matter what it was. But she made herself, because if she didn't, Bobby would. Across from the kitchen table where she sat, Bobby Singer was in his study, poring over some books with his Jack Daniels close by. It was nine in the morning. Alex eyed the whiskey bottle wistfully. Maybe later. She started on her third cup of coffee instead.

The weariness went down to her bones. When she did manage to fall asleep after laying awake for what felt like hours, there were nightmares. She never felt rested anymore. Grief, confusion, denial, and anger followed her like shadows, rendering her dissatisfied with everything, constantly vigilant, and incapable of relaxing. Every day without fail she broke down into tears. Usually multiple times. Sometimes tears of anger and bitterness, rage. Other times, tears of a broken heart that had been defeated entirely.

There were great periods of numbness too. Like right now. She took a sip of her terrible coffee, tasting very little. Her thoughts were increasingly morbid all the time. She didn't know how to go on living like this forever. There was this huge void inside that ached day and night, and nothing could ever fix it. Nothing.

Sitting there at the familiar old kitchen table in the somewhat dilapidated house, Alex couldn't help but remember so many things that had happened throughout her life in this home. Things that hurt. Dean parading around in one of Bobby's puffy vests and mimicking him hysterically for the twins when they were seven or so. The three of them sneaking to read some of their uncle's top shelf, forbidden-for-kids books secretly in the dead of the night and scaring themselves silly. Hide-and-seek with Sam in the junkyard on their tenth birthday while Dean worked on cars nearby, watching them fondly. Finding Dean with some 'borrowed' whiskey when he was sixteen... him letting her try some, her face puckering sourly at her very first taste of the dark liquid. Dean had laughed and called her a pansy, but the way he'd said it was loving. The memory brought a soft smile and then the all-too-familiar gutting pain... what were you supposed to do when you lost your absolute best friend?

Alex got up quickly like she could physically walk away from her suffering, holding her coffee cup tightly. She went into the study as old hardwood floor creaked under her feet. "Anything?" she asked Bobby, antsy and on edge.

He glanced up at her from underneath his ball cap. "Maybe," he replied, preoccupied, turning the page of his book. "Possible werewolf down in Virginia..."

Anything to get the fuck out of this house and out of her own thoughts. "Great, let's do it!"

He didn't seem to share her enthusiasm, flicking to another page in his book. "Rufus's already down that way, I'm gonna get him to handle it." He took a swig of his drink and grimaced as he set the bottle down on the table with a loud thud. "'Sides, we just got back from smokin' that nest of vamps—take a breather."

Alex's jaw tightened. A breather was the last thing she wanted to take. _Revenge_ was what she wanted. "Lilith is still out there."

Bobby looked at her fully this time, a note of caution to his eyes, then he deliberately sat back in his chair while holding her gaze. Alex already saw the lecture coming. "Yeah. She is. But running ourselves ragged ain't gonna magically get us where we can kill her, is it? These things take time—research—preparation. We need to know what we're up against. You know that." Yeah. Of course she did. Bobby softened a little. "I know it ain't easy waiting. But trust me. If it's the last thing we do, we'll get the bitch." He pushed the book back a little from himself, looking at her more closely. "You okay, kiddo?"

Alex let her feelings be plain on her face. She didn't want to say 'yes' and be lying, and she didn't want to talk about her actual feelings either. He looked at her sadly, because of course he knew she wasn't okay. Who the hell would be?

_Dean is dead.  
_

No matter how hard she tried to numb it, push it aside, deny it… her big brother, the anchor of her life, was gone forever. No amount of alcohol, weed, hunting, crying, anger, whatever—could change that. His screams as he'd been ripped apart floated back, tearing her apart inside with frightening intensity. She could still see that blank, lifeless stare in his eyes when it had all been over. And that haunting image alone triggered her all over again.

Alex felt tears coming on. She wordlessly turned and fled blindly out into the salvage yard as her knuckles turned white holding the forgotten coffee cup. She wept without any control over herself, the grief wracking her body with such intense grief that she felt like she would die. The loss, the desperation, the anger and bitterness crashed over her like a stormy ocean tide.

_Why didn't you save him? Why didn't you do something?!_

In a sudden burst of rage, Alex hurled the half-full mug of coffee blindly with a choked scream. It crashed and shattered against an old rusted Chevy—and Alex put her hands against her mouth to try and get herself to stop crying and breathe more normally, sinking down to her heels.

_This isn't right. This will never be right._

Her red, stinging eyes drifted, then abruptly found a spot she froze on. Dean had flown off the handle about Dad dying here in this salvage yard, trashing the Impala. She was looking at the exact place where that had happened and Alex was helpless but to recall it all in an instant. It had been really bright that day and she'd been sitting on the ground in the shade of a messed up semi rig. She'd been staring unseeingly at the laces of her faded Converse shoes, listening to Dean and Sam argue. Sam had wanted to know why Dean wasn't grieving Dad's death—Dean had given his brother some douchey, heartless response, Sam had gotten pissed and walked off. Alex remembered looking up at her oldest brother, who hadn't even remembered she was there. His shoulders had been tense, his breathing weird. He stared at his car a long moment, completely still, the crowbar in his hand hanging limply at his side. And then in a fit of absolute helpless rage, he had reeled back then smashed one of the windows in. That hadn't been enough for him—it seemed to set him off in fact—he'd started beating the trunk of the car, tearing apart what he'd rebuilt—and Alex, who had jumped up when he smashed the window, grabbed his shoulder, startling him—he'd looked absolutely wrecked with grief. She'd shaken her head _no!_ while grabbing his face in her hands firm, wishing so badly she could talk out loud, tell him it was going to be okay, that he shouldn't blame himself, that she couldn't let him do this… but he'd tried to push her away. She'd refused to be pushed, shaken her head 'no' again, sterner and almost warningly this time, daring her brother to keep up the stupid charade—she yanked the crowbar away from him and threw it aside—and then his front had dissolved, he'd broken down and hugged her tightly, pressing his face into the top of her shoulder. He'd shaken with sobs and clung to her hard. "It's my fault," he had choked out over and over again. " _It's my fault_."

And it hadn't been, but that was Dean. He blamed himself for everything, always.

Alex's grief was renewed a hundred times over. For her entire life, Dean was the _one thing_ that had never changed. Sam had been come and go, hit or miss. Dad had been mostly absent and distant even when he was there, more of a drill sergeant than a father... he'd said he was proud of her like once her whole life. _Once_. Her life had been a shaky off-the-rails roller coaster. Nothing had ever been permanent, nothing had ever been constant or unchanging. Nothing except her oldest brother, who had been her absolute hero, her world, her best friend.

She sniffed, wiping her cheeks off, growing stony and numb, feeling so hollow. As if she was cold, her arms circled around herself. For the past four and a half months she had been drowning in her grief alone. It was hard to face the facts, but her family was pretty much gone completely—only she and Sam had survived, and, hell, at the rate they were going, the two of them would probably be dead soon too. Sam might be dead already, she didn't know—they hadn't _spoken_ in four months. Her stomach turned bitterly, guiltily. She stood slowly, zombie-like, looking across the junk yard blankly. She should call him. She had this thought every single _fucking_ day, and every day she almost _did_ —then stopped herself. She already knew how it would go. Badly. And her pride was at stake, too. She didn't want to cave.

Their fight had happened three days after Dean's funeral. It had cut her deep and it still hurt bad. She was still too angry to want to even see his face, and still too ashamed of some of the things she'd said to attempt to make any kind of peace. Things had been rocky in their brother-sister relationship for a long time now, but especially since Sam had left for college when they had been eighteen. And after burying Dean, things went from bad to absolute worst...

_Late into the night and the two surviving Winchesters were awake with some whiskey in Bobby's study. Alex had the bottle and was staring at it miserably. "I still think we need to go back. We gotta salt and burn just to be safe."_

_Sam ran a hand through his shaggy hair tiredly. "We've been over this—we need his body for when I bring him back. Gimme that."_

_Alex glared a warning at him, holding the whiskey bottle to herself. "_ _If you say that one more time..."_

 _Sam looked at her with one of more stubborn, exasperated expressions. "He's our_ brother _, Alex. I'm finding a way." His tone was deadly serious and even acidic._

_"He told us not to," Alex reminded bitterly. "He made us both swear."_

_"Yeah well, I take it back," Sam said, his tone petty and clipped._

_Alex didn't bother to hide her disgust with the picking-and-choosing when to stick to his word._ _"Sounds about right."_

 _Darkening, Sam returned the verbal jab._ _"Look, I don't expect you to take the lead on this, we all know you're just a follower at the end of the day." He scoffed at her as his words hurt her deeply just like he knew they would._

_"...What's wrong with you?" Alex asked, trying to hide the hurt from her face._

_"What's wrong with_ you _?" Sam countered intensely. "This is your big brother, Alex. You can do something about his death, but you're sitting here taking commands from him still, even after he's dead and gone. That's rich."_ _Alex clenched her teeth and raised her chin in an attempt to defy the tears gathering in her eyes. "Where's your backbone?"_

 _Her anger made her cold. "Same place your idiot brain is,_ apparently _," she snapped._ _"There isn't a way to do it that won't make things worse—you know that—I know that—Dean knew that. Which is_ why _he made us promise. Were you lying to his face when you swore? I wasn't." She crossed her arms disdainfully. "So what's your big plan, Sam, huh? How're you gonna do it?"_

 _Sam stood up, throwing his arms wide in agitation._ _"Look, I don't know, but I'll figure it out."_

 _Alex stood up too, setting the whiskey bottle down with a loud clunk. Even though she was five foot eight inches, he still towered over her._ _"What, with dark magic? Witches? You gonna sell your soul? Work with a demon?" Alex's anger kept climbing. "Does_ any _of that sound like something Dean would want?!"_

_Sam's response was angry in a cold way. "Pretty sure it beats Hell, Alex." His expression was final, daring her to go against him. "I'm not leaving him there, period. And honestly, it's disgusting to me that you're fine with leaving him there."_

_The accusation made her see red._ _"I'm not fine with any of this, you know I'm not!" she said, voice approaching a shout._

_"Well you could've fooled me!" Sam yelled._

_"Don't you think I haven't wracked my brain on what options there are?!" she shouted._ _"THERE AREN'T ANY!" She was breathing so hard you would have thought she just sprinted up a hill twice. "We can't DO anything—!" That was where she choked on a sob as her anger gave way to total despair at the helplessness she felt_ _. Of course s_ _he didn't want to leave Dean in Hell—it killed her—but there was no way to bring her brother back that wasn't laced with dark, demonic consequences. That and they had promised Dean—just a day or two before it happened, he'd sat them down and made them swear.  
_

_A muscle jerked in Sam's cheek as he fixed her with narrowed eyes that seemed to suddenly despise her. "You really don't give two craps about him, do you? After all he did for you."_

_Alex's eyebrows shot up high at his audacity. "Excuse me?"_

_Sam gave a short, humorless laugh. "All I'm saying is if he could see you now, how you don't even wanna try to bring him back_ _—" Sam said. "When we both_ know _he would do anything for either of us!"  
_

 _"Yeah you're one to talk about loyalty," Alex snapped. "You know what,_ fuck you _. I never_ abandoned _my_ family _like you did! So don't lecture me when all you ever did for him or_ me _was walk away_! _" She narrowed her eyes coldly. "You know what? I think this is your guilt about abandoning us. Well it's too little too late, 'Sammy.'" She said his name falsely in a voice that dripped with insult.  
_

_He seemed to think that was funny, pausing and scoffing, then laughing a short, biting laugh. "...You're really that jealous of me having a normal life, huh?"_

_Exasperated, Alex threw her hands in the air. "That's not what this is about!"_

_Sam's mouth was in a thin line, he was unconvinced. "Yeah, like hell it isn't. I know you've always been pissed at me for, I dunno, going off to college, living my own life, leaving you with Dean and Dad." His face twisted in an ugly expression. "You know what, just because you were_ disabled _didn't mean I was obligated to waste the rest of my goddamn life_ babysitting _you like Dean did."_ _Alex's face fell in wounded shock, and Sam immediately seemed to regret his choice of words, fumbling. "I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean..."_

 _Crushed, Alex felt her eyes stinging with tears. She was angry. Hurt. And suddenly so enraged she couldn't see straight. She jumped across the space between them, grabbed him by the front of his shirt, and punched him for all she was worth in the face. It still sent them both falling over and crashing into furniture, where she socked him a few more times with angry shrieks as he flailed and put hands in front of his face. They both scrambled back up once he shoved her off, Sam holding his face where she'd hit him. Alex_ _shook her head, breathing hard from emotions and adrenaline. She had half a mind to keep hitting him, but she decided words would hurt more. "You don't even deserve what Dean did, you fucking asshole!" she spat scornfully, her eyes glittering with tears. She hit Sam where it hurt, both with words and a hard shove to his chest. "He should never have made that crossroads deal for you!" And then five words that came out of nowhere, screamed at the top of her lungs: "I wish YOU were dead!"_

 _The words hit the air and there was suddenly dead, deeply wounded silence. Alex immediately realized she had gone too far—beyond too far. Sam's face went cold and dark and he stared at her wordlessly for several seconds. Then he made a disgusted face and shook his head. "You know what? I don't need this crap from you," he said bitterly, and without another word, he turned and stalked toward the door. That was when the alarm bells began to ring in Alex's mind. For the briefest of seconds, Alex could have chased after him and begged him to forgive her outburst. But her pride and pain didn't let her._ _She dug even deeper instead.  
_

 _"Predictable," she accused, "Leaving like you always do, fucking_ coward _!" she screamed even as Sam slammed the door out hard enough to break something and send several items knocking to the ground. She almost went after him, suddenly panicking, taking two steps after him—and then she stopped. A couple seconds later, she could hear the Impala as it started up and tore out of the driveway.  
_

_Shock and disorientation settled in over her. Both brothers. Gone._

_She heard soft footsteps behind her. "Jesus, you two were about to bring the whole house down," Bobby commented uncomfortably. "What happened?"  
_

_Alex swallowed, mortified and hurting beyond what she knew was possible. "He'll... he'll come back," she said tersely, then brushed past Bobby, refusing to speak any more that night._

But he didn't come back. He didn't call. Nothing. She had stewed and licked her wounds for a week, waiting to hear from him, waiting for him to crawl back. And... nothing. But why would he after what she said?

Before she knew it, the week had turned into weeks, then months. Now, almost four months later, she was at the point where she felt there was no returning—that it was too late to try and make amends. And honestly, maybe she didn't _want_ to. She wasn't sure she could forgive him for what he'd said—and she sure as hell didn't want him to be in her life if he saw her as only a babysitting job.

And what about what she had said to _him_? That had been even worse, even more unforgivable than what he'd said to her. Dean would have been so sad to see them not speaking. What a mess. Sam's absence was just further confirmation that he didn't want to be part of the family. He'd walked out just like when he turned eighteen. Sure, Dean had dragged him back into the life a few years ago and Sam had stuck around, hunted with them again, acted like he belonged in the life. But Alex should have known that it was just a matter of time before he left again. Apparently Dean had been the only thing keeping the family together. Apparently she wasn't someone worth sticking around for.

Alex realized how self-centered her thoughts were and got mad at herself all over again. She kicked a discarded beer can aimlessly then heaved a sigh of disgust and sank down to sit against a rusted car shell. Living felt pointless. Empty. Foreign and unfamiliar. She had no one left but Bobby—a small mercy. But it just wasn't the same. Absently, she listened to the faint sound of his house phone ringing inside for the second or third time and hoped it was another hunter with a job for them. She wanted to be hunting something. _Anything_. Killing something, beating someone's face in. And more than that, she wanted to be hunting down Lilith. Maybe after a couple more months of getting her head right and hunting alongside Bobby, she'd go find Sam, try to apologize, and they could work together on taking down that evil bitch together. It would be the least they could do in memory of their brother. Either way, Alex didn't want to lose the only living relative she had left. _But maybe you already have_ , said a quiet, dark voice inside.

As she had done so many times since he died, Alex pulled her phone out. Guilty almost, she glanced around to make sure no one was watching. Then she dialed Dean's number. They prepaid their phones yearly, so the line still worked. The physical phone was somewhere unknown and dead, and the call went straight to voicemail like it always did. This was the only way she had left of hearing his voice. She closed her eyes, waiting to hear what she'd memorized at this point.

" _You got Dean's phone—you know what to do_."

Beep. Alex let silence hang for a few seconds before she spoke. "Hey. Me again." Her voice was hoarse and weak but she didn't even bother clearing her throat. Instead she let her head fall back against rusted metal. "God, who even does this...?" she whispered self-loathingly to herself. Her eyes opened to take in cheery blue sky above. And all she could do was fixate on how alone she felt, how fucking _sad_ she was to the depths of every part of herself. At her ear, silence demanded her to speak. But how could she say all the thoughts in her broken heart? "I just wish you were _here,_ " she managed softly, her throat halfway closed from emotion. "Nothing's right with you gone, it's like this isn't even real—like it's just some bad dream, some stupid joke. And every day I feel more..." it was hard to even put to words what she was getting at: every day she felt more alone, listless, angry, sad, lost, helpless, frantic, confused, depressed, anxious, done. "Like giving up I guess," she murmured, eyes aching with hot tears. "I don't even know what that means." Her composure began to really fail. "It just hurts so bad being here without you." Her face screwed up with uncensored pain and Alex spoke through sobs at this point. "There's s-so much I never got to say to you. And now with Sam gone... it's like my life's over too."

No reply came, just more silence. Frustrated at herself, Alex dashed away at her tears. "I wanna keep my promise but... Dean, I'm really starting to have doubts." Doubts about if she could truly let him 'rest in peace' and leave him to his fate. Doubts if she could manage living this way. "How am I supposed to be here without you forever?" she asked in a wretched whisper. A thousand memories of her big brother flooded her mind. He was too big a part of her to lose. He was too integral to everything. The world didn't make sense without him here. "I don't know how to live like this," she admitted, increasingly despairing as she spoke the words aloud. "Maybe Sam's right." About resurrecting Dean no matter the cost. Sick with grief, Alex felt beyond defeated. "I just need a sign. I just need to know what to do—I _miss_ my _brothers_." Her voice broke on the word brothers.

And then without warning, an automated and pleasant robotic voice cut in. " _The voice mail box is now full. Good-bye._ "

Without further notice, the call dropped along with Alex's heart. Stung, Alex let the phone drift away from her ear. It trembled in her hand. She stared at the screen that said 'Call Ended' and she took it personally, crumpling further. If she could have summoned rage, she would have thrown the phone and let it bust into a thousand pieces. But as it stood... all Alex could do was drown in sorrow.

She bowed her head and let the phone fall to the ground as she put her face in her hands and shuddered. This felt wrong. Wronger than wrong. It hurt _so fucking bad_. How could she continue forward like this? Opting out of life was appealing more and more. Because what good did she add to the world? What use was she to anyone? With her fractured remaining family and a dead brother who she wasn't supposed to save, she was alone. Lost completely. Not herself anymore.

"Help me _please_ ," she whispered out loud to nothing and no one, a desperate wish from a defeated soul with no clue how to go on. For a moment, she listened to crows calling in the distance as her body echoed with pain brought on by heartbreak. And then there was a sudden shift in sensation. A warmth, a presence, something that soothed her and made her inhale sharply and look around for the source of the sensation. But nothing had changed. The junk yard was the same. But it was like an invisible blanket of comfort had been wrapped around her. Like she wasn't alone.

She had felt this presence before, in the depths of her sadness—ever since Dean died. "... _Hello_?" she breathed, voice softer than a whisper. No reply came. Just a gentle breeze that stirred her hair and prickled her skin to goosebumps.

And then she heard footsteps crunching on gravel. Startled, she looked up.

Bobby approached. "Ya'all right?" His familiar sight distracted her and necessitated her to act like everything _wasn't_ falling completely apart inside her mind.

Alex stood stiffly, picking her phone up and pocketing it halfheartedly. "I guess."

He looked at her with a deepening frown. "Been out here for almost an hour."

Alex blinked in surprise. It didn't feel that long. "Guess I lost track of time," she said uncertainly. She'd done that a lot lately. Attempting to look less unsettled than she was, Alex cleared her throat. "Who uh, who called?"

"Some jackass," Bobby said, seeming a little distracted. "It wasn't anything."

Alex looked at him carefully now. She knew him well enough to hear when he was hedging. Which he was now. But instead of pushing, she dropped it. If it were important enough, he would tell her.

Bobby was about her height and built stockily, bearded and careworn. He was always wearing the same things: a flannel shirt with a puffy vest, a ballcap, and a disgruntled expression. To look at him without knowing him, you might judge him as being crotchety and country as hell. And he _was_ both those things. But he was also cunning, intellectual and brilliant, and a real softie deep down. His daily tasks for her and expectations for her participation kept her going.

Speaking of: "Look, those salt rounds ain't gonna pack themselves..." he said, jerking his thumb in the direction of the house.

Alex winced, realizing in her moping, she had totally neglected her responsibility. "Oh yeah," she said apologetically. "Forgot. I'll get on that."

Bobby gave her a crooked little smile and patted her a little awkwardly on the shoulder. "I'm makin' more coffee. Lemme know when those rounds are packed." He turned to go inside and Alex made to follow, but a flash of light in her peripheral vision caused her to stop, turn, and squint—she could have sworn, for a millisecond, that someone had been standing there. But there was nothing there. She frowned at herself, retreating into the house with a few mistrustful backward glances. She sometimes saw those flashes of light at the corners of her vision, but when she looked fully, there would be nothing there.

Alex followed Bobby into his house—it was a cluttered place that was tidy in an untidy way, if that made sense. The same stuff had been here since Alex could remember—same faded tartan couch, same rickety kitchen table, same solid oak study desk. She went downstairs into the ramshackle basement and began packing shotgun shells full of rock salt. After a few moments, she got lost in the task. There was a therapeutic and familiar quality to doing this. Maybe because this was a task she had been assigned to since she could remember.

Methodically she filled shell after shell. The salty scent would stay on her fingers and on her skin for awhile. It was a familiar, comforting smell and took her away from her deeper, more painful thoughts. She focused on her outward actions and stuffed down her feelings about everything else. She knew it wouldn't last all day, but she'd take the breaks where she could get them.

After awhile, she heard the shuffling of feet on the floor over her head—two pairs of feet. She hadn't known Bobby was expecting company and frowned thoughtfully. She kept on with the shells, mildly curious but not enough to break her workflow—hunters did tend to stop by here from time to time, so it wasn't odd exactly.

She had probably filled a hundred shells at this point and her neck was tired, her fingers cramping. Just a few more and... up above her, she heard sounds like something had been knocked over, and then the sound of shouting and a chair scraping across the floor. Recognizing the sounds of a scuffle, her heart rate leapt into high gear. She bolted up the stairs without a second thought, a shotgun already in hand. She shoved a spare round into it as she went, adrenaline surging, her only thought on Bobby.

Rounding the corner at the top of the steps at a run, she skidded to a stop with the shotgun pulled tight into her shoulder. Her expression had fallen from intense concentration to shock... and even fear.

Bobby stood and stared as _Dean_ , silver knife in hand stood stock still, blood dripping from his forearm. The two men looked from each other to her. And when Dean saw her, an indescribable expression—something like disbelief and joy—passed over his features, and the knife lowered. He made to move toward her, but Alex took a terrified step back, gripping the shotgun harder with a wild expression on her face. Dean—or whatever it was—froze. Her nervous system buzzing with alarm and confusion, Alex felt like she could puke or collapse. The shotgun shook in her grip.

"W-what is this Bobby?" she managed in a petrified whisper. " _Who is that_?!" What kind of sick joke was this?!

"Al, it's me," Dean implored. At the sound of the familiar gravelly voice, Alex lost some ability to hold her gun as well, and it drifted down a couple degrees as her throat choked and her breaths came short and fast. She looked at Bobby questioningly, who was gently reaching for her weapon.

"Gimme the gun, kiddo. I... I think it really is him," Bobby said, sounding a little dazed.

Alex jerked away from Bobby, refusing to give up her weapon, backing up even more. She held it with doubled aggression, staring at the guy who looked like her oldest brother. " _No_ ," she said through gritted teeth, even though every cell in her body begged for that to be the case. "Not possible."

Dean was slowly laying his knife down, and then keeping his hands out to show that he meant no harm. "It's really me, Al. You gotta believe me." He looked pleading and worried.

Alex shook her head, feeling sick with hope, but refusing to believe it. She fixed him with a hard expression even as her eyes filled with tears. "I watched you _die_. I saw you buried!" She began to despair. "How _could_ you be—" she couldn't catch her breath, "how could you be _here_ again?!"

Dean looked about as sure as she was. "I dunno how, but I'm here. And I'm _me_."

Alex's breathing remained labored as she searched the anxious face of her older brother. Every detail was the same as she remembered, and if this were a shifter or something... it was a _damn good_ imitation. Whoever it was in front of her looked _exactly_ like Dean Winchester: he was tall and broad-shouldered, built solidly, not overly muscular, just strong and brawny. His eyes were startlingly green and looking at her with a wounded and hopeful expression. He had the lightest smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose and the planes of his cheeks. He _looked_ like Dean, he _sounded_ like Dean. He even _stood_ like Dean. His legs were slightly bowed too, just like the real Dean, and Alex's heart twisted in her chest with love and pain alike. It really did look like him. And she _wanted_ it to be, oh god she wanted it to be but _how was this possible_?

She looked at him carefully, still holding the shotgun level at his chest as she struggled. The way she was pointing the weapon at him seemed to be inspiring sadness in his eyes—like he was hoping to be recognized right off the bat. _Is that really him? How the hell can it be?_ She looked down over him completely, searching for proof. Then she noticed how he nervously clenched and unclenched his fists at his sides. A subtle little motion, barely perceptible. Her grip on her weapon softened further and her mouth opened slightly in surprise. She stared as hope rose—he had always done that when he was uncomfortable or nervous. Clenched, unclenched, clenched, unclenched—driven her freaking _nuts_ with that damn habit over the years. And _that_ —the little nervous tic she had seen a thousand times during their shared lifetime—that was something a demon or shapeshifter would never be able to duplicate to perfection or think to implement. She looked him in the eye, her heart completely flooded with a surge of amazed, overjoyed disbelief.

"When's my birthday?" she asked in a whisper. A low ball, easy one.

"May second," came the immediate answer. Then added on after a one-second beat: "Nineteen eighty-three."

Her heart was picking up pace and the shotgun was lowering slowly. "What's my favorite cartoon?"

Dean's face softened with the beginnings of a smile. "Wile E. Coyote, duh."

Alex's eyes were brimming with tears, and she was beginning to smile too. "Pizza topping."

"Plain cheese, you freak." A constant accusation he always gave her throughout the years. At this point, he was smiling big, but through tears of his own too. "I could name your favorites all day, Al, but can I get a hug first? Just got back from being dead and stuff."

"Y-you're really you," she said in a stunned daze, feeling herself moving forward toward him.

He nodded, smiling tightly as his eyes shone with tears and his features wavered. "Yeah kiddo."

A happy sob sounded as Alex crashed into her big brother, arms around his neck, shotgun still in her hand. She began to cry out of happiness. "Oh my god, oh my god," was all she could manage. Alex shook from sobs, and Dean buried his face in her shoulder as he broke down too, embracing her so tightly in his strong arms that she could barely breathe. For a moment they crushed each other like that, then Alex pulled back to look at him again, just in time to see water splash across his face.

Deadpan, he blinked and spit, then made a face. "Not a demon either, Bobby." The Winchesters looked in unison in Bobby, who shrugged sheepishly.

"Sorry. Can't be too careful."

Floating, in a gaze, Alex got a towel out of one of the kitchen drawers and laid aside the shotgun as Bobby and Dean hugged tightly. Dean took the towel with a "thanks," and Alex stared, unable to believe this, afraid to. This was surreal, and that was putting it lightly. "H-how the hell are you back, Dean?" she asked as they followed Bobby into the study. She couldn't stop looking at him. _Am I dreaming?_

"Your guess is as good as mine," Dean replied. He sounded as dazed as she was.

Bobby crossed his arms and fixed Dean with a serious gaze. "Dean. Your chest was _ribbons_ , your insides were slop. And you've been buried for _four months_. Even if you could slip out of hell and back into your meat suit—"

"I know, I should look like a Thriller video reject." The humorous comment fell flat. They all knew something was very off about this entire situation. Alex hovered close to her brother, kind of afraid, however illogically, that if she walked away, he'd disappear.

"What do you remember about what happened?" Bobby asked.

Dean shook his head. "Not much. I remember I was a Hellhound's chew toy, and then... lights out. Then I come to six feet under, that was it." He switched subjects. "Sam's number's not working." He looked at Alex, suddenly seeming to have a horrible thought occur to him. "He's... he's not...?"

She looked away from Dean, ashamed and nervously, absently rubbing the back of her neck.

"Oh, he's alive," Bobby assured. "As far as we know."

"Good... wait, what do you mean, as far as you know?"

Bobby glanced at Alex uncomfortably and she took the cue to explain. "We, uh, haven't heard from Sam since a few days after you died."

In disbelief, Dean looked from Bobby to Alex. "You're kidding. You two just let him go off by _himself_?"

"He didn't really ask for _permission_ ," Alex said, her tone a little shorter than she had intended.

Dean was now frowning, his trademark big-brother lecture face and tone coming out. "You should've been looking after him."

"Yeah, maybe," Alex admitted, feeling bitter about the way things were with Sam even while questioning herself about her decisions. Her eyes scanned the floor in front of her, seeing the fight she'd had with her twin all over again. "Things fell apart pretty fast after you died."

Bobby was now sitting at his desk, drumming the surface thoughtfully with his fingers. "These last months haven't been exactly easy, y'know. For any of us. We had to _bury_ you. Your brother and sister, they just couldn't hold it together. We all took it pretty hard."

Dean seemed moderately chastened, and let it go. "Why'd you bury me, anyway?" He stood by Alex and put an arm around her, and she hugged his middle hard.

" _Well_." Bobby began delicately. "Alex and I wanted you salted and burned. Usual drill. But... Sam wouldn't have it."

Dean was mildly surprised, then seemed to realize it had worked out in his favor. "Well, I'm glad he won _that_ one," he said wryly. Another attempt at a joke that got nothing but grim looks, especially from Alex, who was feeling incredible amounts of guilt.

Bobby shrugged ruefully. "He said you'd need a body when he got you back home somehow."

Dean grew suspicious. "He said that?" He looked at his sister, frowning deeply.

And then, there was a sinking feeling. _Had_ Sam done this somehow? Alex pulled out of the hug and tried to explain it as best she could briefly, even as new worries grew. "He told me a bunch of times he'd find a way to bring you back. I tried to talk some sense into him, Dean—but he wouldn't listen. Turned into a huge fight. And then... he left." She drew a heavy breath, feeling guilty. "I, uh, I didn't try to follow or find him. And I still haven't."

Dean's expression was strange—disillusioned, hurt. Disappointed. And that was incredibly hard to look at for Alex, so she looked away.

Bobby let out a heavy breath through his nostrils. "Well, _I_ tried to find him, even though your sister wouldn't hear of helping me. Sam wouldn't return my calls, lost me pretty fast when I tried to track him down. He didn't want to be found."

"Dammit, Sammy." Dean shook his head and rubbed his face in his hands. "Whatever he did, it's some kind of bad mojo."

"Whaddayou mean?" Bobby asked.

"You shoulda seen the grave site," Dean said, sounding deeply apprehensive. "It was like a nuke went off. And then there was this... this force, this presence, I dunno, but it, it blew past me at a fill-up joint. And then _this._ " He stood up and yanked his jacket off, pulled up the sleeve of his shirt. There on his shoulder, in red scar tissue, a chillingly clear handprint.

Bobby and Alex both rose to their feet in unison, staring at it in shock and mild fear. What was _that_?

"It was like a demon just yanked me out," Dean said, then paused darkly. "Or _rode_ me out."

Alex reached out and gingerly tested her fingertips across the raised scar tissue, then met Dean's gaze, deeply troubled. "To hold up their end of the bargain," she surmised, filled with new worries and fears.

"Looks that way," Dean replied grimly, and pulled the sleeve of his shirt down again.

"Krishna and Zeus," Bobby breathed. "There's no telling what we're up against here."

Dean was putting his jacket back on, his expression dark. "I'll tell you one thing. We need to find Sam, and quick."


	3. Rule of Thirds

_"So plunge your pen-like words and cast cruel spells, string together poison words that quickly kill."  
\- _Armchair Cynics _  
_

* * *

Finding Sam was easy enough thanks to modern technology and Dean's quick detective work. Within an hour of Dean's arrival at Bobby's, the three hunters were already headed back Pontiac, Illinois—suspiciously enough, the place where Sam was staying was also close to where Dean had been buried. So it looked like Sam had succeeded in getting Dean back, but the question was _how_? And why was he still acting like he didn't want to be found? 

A couple hours into the drive, they pulled over at a gas station. Bobby fueled up the Chevelle as Dean dug into a fast food burger in the front seat.

"Oh my _god_ ," Dean was saying through a mouthful. "This is _amazing_." He made a very appreciative _mmm_ sound and grinned back at Alex, which was kind of disgusting with all the burger and mayonnaise in his teeth. But she loved it. 

" _You're_ gross," she said softly, the would-be-insult touched with a certain note of affection. He raised the burger her way in salute, chewing loudly. Alex grinned, feeling it in her soul itself, so deeply she could have cried. In this moment, it was like Dean had never left at all. She momentarily forgot the months of pain and confusion and wandering; the overwhelming loneliness and grief. She was in a car watching her dumbass brother pigging out on junk... and it was the best thing in the world. Well, almost. The only thing missing was Sam. Alex's smile faded as she thought about her other brother. She felt so many things toward him—anger, remorse, guilt, disappointment, heartbreak. She thought about the 'babysitting' comment and wondered for the millionth time if that's all she had ever been to Sam—a responsibility he hadn't wanted, a hindrance on his freedom. And maybe Sam wasn't the only one who thought that.

She glanced at her oldest brother, faltering before she went through with it. "Dean, can I ask you something?"

"Duh," Dean replied as he took another huge bite of his sandwich. 

She fidgeted a little, suddenly interested in her bitten-short fingernails and not sure how to put her question into words, second guessing herself. She was about to sound so stupid... but if she didn't ask, she wouldn't know, and she _had to know_. Still, this was going to suck to come right out and ask. It was embarrassing, but she knew Dean would let her know the facts. She pushed forward even though she felt a little physically sick with nervousness. She tried to sound nonchalant. "I, uh, I was just wondering... and just tell me the truth, okay?" She went quiet, hesitated. "How bad of a downer was I on, you know, the family, while we were growing up?"

Attention piqued, the hamburger was temporarily forgotten and Dean looked at her intently, frowning. "The hell you talking about?" His eyes were narrowing.

Alex got more uncomfortable. She didn't want to explain it. She struggled a little on how to word it. "I mean, it was hard on Dad to have these three kids tagging along after him all that time, and then one of them was you know— _special needs_." She said 'special needs' with a certain type of disdain that her brother clearly didn't like.

Dean's face became hard and almost a little angry. "Hey. I told you a million times—nothing about being mute made you any less of a person. You were never any kinda burden on us. _Period_."

Alex met his eyes hesitantly, feeling younger and smaller than she was. "Then why'd Sam leave us when he was eighteen? And why'd he leave again?"

Dean looked confused and hurt at the same time. "...You think that was _your_ fault?"

Alex looked down at her hands angrily. Yeah, kinda. Sam had always felt 'stuck' with her in high school years, she knew he had. Leaving the family meant being free of having to look after her and put up with her.

Dean softened, his eyes saddening. Even though she hadn't replied, she didn't need to. He knew her too well. "Al... no." He sighed, a weary sound. "Dammit, you really are too much like me." He sounded guilty, but quickly covered it up with a try at reassurance. "Listen, I'm sure it's not as bad as you think. Sam's just being a jackass. Wouldn't be the first time."

Across the parking lot, Bobby was coming out of the convenience store now and heading back toward the car.

Alex shook her head slowly. He didn't hear the fight they had. He didn't know how much they had hurt each other. Alex remained silent, but Dean saw through her easily. He could read his sister like no one else. He had years of experience figuring out her mood and thought process from a glance alone, and he saw right now how doubtful she was about a reconciliation. "Listen, whatever happened between you two... we'll stow it," he said. "We'll find Sam and put this damn family back together if it kills us." He paused, and then added as an afterthought, "Like it or not."

Alex still said nothing. That sounded terrible, honestly. If Sam didn't want to be in this, why force it?

" _Okay_?" Dean prompted, a little forcefully.

Alex nodded automatically and gave him a "yeah," even though she wasn't sure how committed, if at all, she was to doing what Dean had planned. She felt queasy thinking of seeing Sam again, which was sad. She had idolized Sam and depended on him during her childhood. They had drifted apart as teens, broken apart completely when he went to Stanford... gotten closer again a couple years ago. But she just really didn't know if it could be repaired again after that last fight. She'd said something unforgivable. Something she wouldn't blame Sam for hating her forever about.

* * *

"Hey, sleepyhead," Alex heard, and felt herself being shaken. "Wake up." She started awake, and found herself staring at Dean through bleary eyes.

"Where are we?" she asked in a croaking voice, looking around groggily and sitting up from where she'd been slumped into the car door. _When did I fall asleep?_

"Some motel," Dean said, and that's when Alex saw a familiar, dark car parked a few rows over. The Impala! Her stomach jumped. She was no longer sleepy at all. "Bobby went in to find out what room Sam's holed up in," Dean said, then got out of the car. Alex scrambled out after him, grabbing her jacket and yanking it on, suddenly filled with trepidation at the thought of seeing her twin again. Would he be happy to see them? Would he be happy to see _her_? What if he welcomed Dean back and told Alex to screw off? That last scenario seemed most likely to her.

The night air was chilly and the motel sign flickered a couple times. Dean was off in brooding thoughts of his own, his expression tense—a muscle jerked in his cheek and his brow darkened as his eyes slid over his car. He then drifted over and touched the car briefly, like one might pet a beloved companion animal. His expression softened, and the ghost of a smile appeared. 

Just then, Bobby appeared out of the check-in office and quickly made his way over to the Winchesters. "Wedge Antilles is in room two-oh-seven," he reported.

Another smile fleetingly passed over Dean's face at the Star Wars reference. He chuckled softly. "That's my boy," he said. "Let's go."

And with that the three of them set off to finding the room. The inside of the motel was dim and run down—much like almost every other place they had ever stayed, Alex thought. At the end of the hall, Room 207 was marked by a cheesy red heart plaque.

"Here goes nothin'," Dean muttered, and knocked on the door.

A couple seconds passed then the door swung open, and the three of them couldn't hide their surprise—instead of Sam, a pretty, dark-haired young woman stood there, dressed in only underwear and a tank top. She looked at them expectantly.

"...So, where is it?" the woman asked impatiently.

"Where's... what?" Dean asked, confused.

The girl copped an attitude. "The _pizza_... that takes three people to deliver?"

"Uh, think we got the wrong room," Dean said.

And then, a tall, hulking familiar figure stepped into their line of sight from somewhere back in the room. "Hey is—" Sam stopped dead when he saw Dean, swallowing, his face the picture of shock. His eyes flickered between Dean and Alex, and he seemed completely caught off guard—almost panicked.

"Heya, Sammy," Dean said, and Alex could hear all of the deep, unspoken emotions in Dean's quiet greeting. He stepped into the room, moving toward Sam. Sam's eyes went cold, his body tensed, and Alex saw the violence flare in his eyes before Dean did.

"Wait, Dean!" Alex warned, moving forward and trying to stop her brother from going any closer, but it was too late. Sam whipped out a knife and roared, lunging at Dean. He blocked the knife slash just barely even as Alex tackled Sam the only way she knew how, using her entire weight to slam her shoulder into his side, effectively knocking her twin to the side by a foot or two. The knife clattered to the floor even as the girl who had answered the door shrieked and jumped back. Bobby was just behind Alex and grabbed Sam, who was recovering from his sister's attack.

Alex stumbled back, a little jarred from the impact, her shoulder smarting from the collision. Bobby was barely managing to hang on to Sam, who struggled violently, shouting at Dean, " _Who are you_?!"

Dean was flabbergasted. "Like you didn't do this?!"

"Do _what_?!" Sam roared, struggling against Bobby's grip.

"It's him, Sam! It's him! We've been through this already, it's _really_ him!" Bobby managed through gritted teeth, fighting to hold Sam back.

Dean stared at Sam in floored disbelief at his crazy reaction. Sam was ceasing to fight as he stared at his older brother more closely. "What..." he stuttered, as the struggle left his body completely. He looked at Alex, searching for confirmation—and Alex was mystified at his behavior. Why was he acting so shocked? Sam was now looking at Dean in complete disbelief.

"I know." Dean smiled a little, chancing humor. "I look fantastic, huh?"

Bobby cautiously let go of Sam, who was now on the verge of tears. He had eyes only for Dean, and pulled his brother into a crushing hug that Dean returned. The two of them gripped each other tightly for a long moment with teary eyes, then pulled back to look at each other. Despite her misgivings, Alex's heart tugged in her chest to the point that her eyes filled with tears too. 

"So are you two like... together?" asked the girl, who everyone had forgotten was there until then. She was watching the scene with a strange expression.

"What?" Sam seemed to have forgotten about her. "No. _No,"_ he almost chuckled, wiping at his eyes briefly. "He's my brother."

"Uh... got it. I... I guess. Look, I should probably go," she said, already turning to pick up a shirt off the floor.

"Yeah. Yeah, that's probably a good idea," Sam said, distracted and a little awkward. "Sorry."

She grabbed her jeans too and shimmied into them right there in front of them all. Alex saw Bobby, ever the gentleman, looking down and tugging the brim of his cap lower. Dean however, watched openly, mildly approving. The girl grabbed her bag, and Sam walked her to the door. "So, call me," she said, looking up at Sam hopefully.

"Yeah, sure thing, Kathy."

She paused, disappointed. "Kristy."

"Uh, right," Sam said, and shut the door behind the girl. He came back into the room slowly, glancing around at everyone with a hooded expression.

Alex looked at Dean sidelong, questioning and dubious. He nodded almost imperceptibly. He also seemed to have noticed how un-Sam-like that entire scene was. Alex stayed her distance, leaning up against the wall and crossing her arms as Sam sat on the bed, grabbing a button up shirt and shrugging it over his t-shirt. Sam hadn't really acknowledged her and now he was just ignoring everyone—seemed like guilty behavior to her. Dean was leaned against the wall across from Sam, his arms folded. "So, what'd it cost?"

Sam had a little dark smile on his face as he buttoned the shirt. "The girl? I don't pay, Dean."

Dean was intense and serious. "That's not funny, Sam." He paused, hardening his voice. "To bring me back. What'd it cost? Was it just your soul, or was it something worse?"

Sam took an uncertain beat to question Dean with his eyes. "...You think I made a deal?" He asked. He sounded offended. 

"We _know_ you made a deal," Alex said coldly.

Her first words to Sam, who looked back at her with an unpleasant expression. "I _didn't_." His words were sharp.

"Don't lie to us," Dean said, his tone darkening.

"I'm not _lying_ ," Sam insisted as slow anger built in his voice and face.

Dean only got angrier. "So what now, I'm off the hook and you're on, is that it?" He asked, standing and approaching Sam cooly. "You're some demon's bitch-boy? I didn't wanna be saved like this!"

Sam seemed to reach the end of his patience and stood up in anger. "Look, Dean, I wish I _had_ done it, all right?!"

Dean escalated the situation, grabbing Sam hard by the front of his shirt. "There's no other way that this coulda gone down," he growled, then shouted: "Tell the truth!"

Sam broke his brother's grip wrathfully, his voice raising to a shout, too. "I _am_ telling the truth, Dean! It wasn't me, dammit!" 

Alex threw an angry hand out to her side. "Well who the hell else would it have been, Sam!?"

"I don't _know_!" Sam insisted, appearing to feel attacked and outnumbered, glancing from Dean to Alex to Bobby cagily as his face reddened. "You!" he accused, getting a very interesting expression from his sister. "O-or Bobby!" He was agitated and animated with balefulness. "Listen, yes, I tried _everything,_ that's the truth. I tried opening the Devil's Gate, hell, I _tried_ to bargain, Dean, but no demon would deal, all right? You were rotting in Hell for months. For _months_ , and I couldn't stop it. So I'm sorry it wasn't me, all right? Now would you all get off my back?"

The room went quiet as Bobby, Dean, and Alex processed what Sam had just told them. He really seemed to be telling the truth. So he _hadn't_ brought Dean back. In that case, who... or _what._.. had? Alex shook her head in faint horror at her brother's actions, realizing how close Sam had gone to the edge and thinking about how much he had risked. He could have gotten himself killed. Guilt wracked her again. _I should have been with him through that_. Even though that should have made her soften towards him, she only felt more angry at him for his reckless stupidity and for the way he chose to leave her out of it completely. Dean however seemed to relent, patting Sam on the shoulder. "It's okay, Sammy. You don't have to apologize, I believe you." He chuckled dryly. "After all, you _did_ try to kill me when you first saw me. Probably wouldn't have done that if you were expecting to see me."

Sam looked embarrassed. "Sorry about that," he said lamely. And the room fell into a brief silence. Next to each other, Sam and Dean's differences were very noticible. Sam was something like six-and-a-half feet tall and he towered over everyone in the room, including Dean. Sam was built lean and muscular, he had a massive upper body and broad, tank-like shoulders. He made Dean look almost stocky in comparison. Sam had more narrow, sharp features than Dean did—piercing eyes, a sculpted jawline, high cheekbones, a straight, aquiline nose. His hair was longer than it had been last Alex had seen him—it touched the collar of his shirt in the back. He glanced at Alex with an unreadable and gruff expression and she set her jaw like stone, looking away from him. 

"Well kids," Bobby said, "I'm happy as apple pie to witness this reunion, but this all raises a pretty sticky question." He looked at Dean meaningfully. "If Sam didn't pull you out... and if Alex and I didn't either..."

Dean nodded tensely and finished Bobby's thought for him. "Who—or _what_ —did?" He let out an annoyed huff of breath, clearly fed up with the entire exchange. "I need a friggin' beer," he muttered.

"There's some in the fridge," Sam said offhandedly, distracted by other things.

Bobby muttered "thank God," and went to get some as Alex retreated back to skulking beside the window moodily.

"So what were you doing around here if you weren't digging me out of my grave?" Dean asked Sam, sitting down across from Sam on the other twin bed.

Bobby handed out beers to the boys and offered one in Alex's direction, but she shook her head no, intently listening to Sam who held his beer without opening it. "Well, once I figured out I couldn't save you, I, uh, started hunting down Lilith, trying to get some payback." His eyes flickered over to Alex. She felt another stab of disappointment and anger at his confession—his actions were another clear and silent statement about how helpful he must believe her to be. He looked away.

"All by yourself!?" Bobby exclaimed, unhappy. "Who do you think you are, your old man?"

Dean got up, seeming to notice something on the floor a few feet away from him. "Uh, yeah, I'm sorry, Bobby. I should've called," Sam said. He glanced again at Alex, who was stone-faced. "I was pretty messed up."

Dean gave a short, humorless laugh as he bent and picked up a discarded pink, flowered bra from the floor. "Oh yeah. I _really_ feel your pain."

Alex looked at Sam hard, trying to figure out what was going on with him. Something felt wrong, but she wasn't sure what. He began telling them details about how he'd been hunting demons in the area and then she sort of spaced out, the voices of Dean, Bobby and Sam becoming like distant hazy sounds as she got lost in her grim thoughts—just a few hours ago she had thought Dean was dead. Just a few hours ago she thought maybe she never would see Sam again. Seeing him again, hearing that he had been hunting Lilith on his own—she felt wounded, deeply. Confused. And guilty as fuck. Did he really despise her that much to go on hunting without her? This was her fault. She shouldn't have just let Sam go. She should have manned up and tried to be the bigger person, forgive and forget, and apologized for the shit she said to him. 

His decision to hunt Lilith without her stung bad. But worse than that, she realized she truly didn't trust him anymore, not after this—plus, being here with him in the same room, she could sense that he was holding something back. It was in the veiled glances and guilty way his shoulders slumped. But she thought it could be just him not wanting her there. Funny thing was, she had been holding onto hope that maybe they would find Sam and things would be okay somehow. Hunky dory, even. _You're so fucking stupid, Alex._ What did she think would happen? They would both just see each other again and magically forget the separation and fight they'd had? She glanced over at her twin, who was looking at her out of the corner of his eye, his expression unreadable. His eyes quickly darted away from hers.

"I know a psychic," Bobby was saying. "Few hours from here. Something this big, maybe she's heard the other side talking. Maybe we find out whodunit."

"Hell yeah, it's worth a shot," Dean said.

Bobby took his phone out of his pocket and headed toward the door. "I'll be right back."

Dean stood up as if to leave, and Sam followed suit. "Hey, wait Dean. What was it like?" There was a moment in which all three of the Winchesters were silent, but especially Alex, who hadn't gathered the courage to ask Dean that question yet.

"What, Hell?" Dean paused, his expression grew thoughtful, then he shrugged and became apathetic. "I dunno, I, I must have blacked it out. I don't remember a damn thing."

That was surprising. "Well, thank God for that," Sam said after a moment, giving Dean a smile tinged with sadness.

"Yeah. Uh, bathroom." And with that, Dean left the room. Sam shoved his hands into his pockets and finally looked at Alex, who still slouched with crossed arms at the window, wordlessly saying she wasn't happy about anything. Total silence spanned the space between the twins for several seconds, and Alex said nothing, just looked at Sam, who had his mouth drawn into a thin line.

"Hi Alex," he said finally, the words a little abrupt and cynical sounding, accompanied by a wan smile—but it looked more like a grimace.

"Sam," she said flatly, not bothering to hide her bad attitude.

He crossed his arms, his eyebrows knitting together. "It's been four months. Don't you have anything else to say to me?" Alex didn't like his tone or choice of words and didn't try to mask the glower on her face. She shrugged, staring at him in silent defiance, then pointedly looking away. With an offended huff and a derisive, " _wow,_ " Sam laughed bitterly, immediately flaying Alex's last nerve with practiced perfection only a brother can pull off. 

She let out a disgusted breath and uncrossed her arms, stepping to him, ready to kick Sam's ass verbally so that she didn't cry instead. "You know what..." she began, but then thought better of it and clamped her mouth shut, turning to walk past him. "I'll be outside."

She let her shoulder knock into his arm as she brushed past and she thought she heard him mutter something like, "real fucking mature."

* * *

**About an Hour Later**

Alex sat in the front seat of Bobby's Chevelle as the car raced across the miles toward a physic who could hopefully show them who or what had taken Dean out of hell. Alex hadn't wanted to ride with her brothers. Bobby had said next to nothing to her for the drive, not until that moment.

He cleared his throat awkwardly. "So listen, I know it ain't none of my business—"

"So then don't go there," Alex said a little rudely, which she regretted immediately _._

Bobby was not deterred, he just matched her sass with some of his own. "I'm _goin'_ there, princess. You and Sam need to work out this little family drama hour if we're gonna have _any_ luck takin' down whatever baddie brought Dean back." He glanced at her sidelong. "Avoiding Sam's only gonna work for so long."

Alex chewed the inside of her mouth, a bad habit she had picked up in childhood. She knew Bobby was right. "Yeah, I know..." she muttered, reliving her resentments in her head. She just couldn't stand him right now. She was so angry at him for always abandoning ship, and angry at herself too of course. She stewed unhappily, sullen and staring out the window. "It's all kinds of screwed."

"You ain't kiddin'," he agreed. "But it can be fixed. You know that. You two've fought before."

She looked at the dashboard with a tense face. "Not like this." Her jaw clenched as she faintly shook her head. "Don't get me wrong. He's my brother." She breathed hard out of her nose, a sound that seemed reluctant. "I love him or whatever but... I also can't stand him." Bobby chuckled softly at her statement and Alex wished she could see some humor in the situation, too. For her, it was all misery. A long few beats of silence passed and Alex's very real pain under her anger grew stronger. She stared unseeingly in front of herself and said it so softly: "It was _so much easier_ when I couldn't talk." 

Bobby glanced at her in surprise. He took a couple beats before asking, "How d'ymean?"

Alex took a long moment to try and think the right words to say. "Just... I don't have a filter anymore. I keep fucking stuff up. I get so pissed I can just say shit. The _wrong_ stuff. It's weird. And hard." She heard herself screaming she wished Sam were dead in her mind, feeling more and more regretful every time she went through that terrible moment. Before, she used to have a chance to write her words down, which gave her time to consider what to say. Now, she could just fly off the handle without being held back at all. 

Bobby looked empathetic. "I'm know it's tough, sweetheart," he said, "but for what it's worth, you're doin' just fine. I'm proud of you." Words that were like water in the desert to her heart in that moment. They glanced at each other briefly and he gave her a kind, encouraging smile that was hard not to ruefully return. Bobby refocused on the road. "Now why don't you try and get some shut-eye? You look tired."

Another little defeated smile. "I'm always tired," Alex leaned up against the cold glass of the window. A moment of silence passed. "Bobby?"

"Yeah?"

She hesitated. "Do you think I should have tried to get Dean back? Was it wrong to not even try?"

Bobby's answer was immediate. "We did the right thing. He was gone, and there was no wholesome way to bring him back. You know that." 

She did know that. But it also worried her, because in the back of her mind, she now believed that whatever had pulled Dean out of hell might have sinister plans for him—and Alex _refused t_ o lose him again.

* * *

Cruising down the road to the familiar hum of the Impala engines with classic rock on the radio, Dean Winchester was glad to be alive, momentarily free from his normal barrage of troubled thoughts. Out of habit, he glanced into the rearview, where he could usually see half of Alex's face where she sat in the back seat. He was reminded that she wasn't there, and he glanced at Sam, who was silent and pensive. On the radio, _Highway to Hell_ began playing. A little disconcerted, Dean switched the radio off. Unlike the lie he had told to Sam and Alex in the motel, he did remember Hell. All of it. Forcibly, he pushed all of that out of his mind. 

He cleared his throat and glanced over at Sam, who hadn't said much for the whole drive. "So there's still one thing that's bothering me."

Sam acknowledged him with a flicking glance. "Yeah?"

"The night that I bit it. Or... got bit." Dean chuckled at his own joke, but Sam just gave him a _shut up_ look, clearly not amused. Dean composed himself. "Uh, sorry. How'd you make it out? I thought Lilith was gonna kill you and Al."

Sam shook his head. He seemed distracted. "Well, she tried. She couldn't."

"What do you mean she couldn't?"

Sam paused. "She fired this, like, burning light at me, and... didn't leave a scratch. Like I was immune or something."

"Immune," Dean repeated as if he hadn't heard right.

Sam shrugged, frowning slightly. "Yeah. I don't know who was more surprised, her or me. She left pretty fast after that. Seemed kinda spooked. Didn't even try to burn Alex. Just disappeared."

Dean's jaw was working oddly as he thought through the entire situation—his baby brother and sister left alone and undefended in this crappy, crazy world—but if that weren't bad enough, they hadn't even stuck together. He glanced at Sam irritably. "You know, I wanna know what the hell were you thinking leaving Alex alone all that time, Sammy. You were supposed to protect her."

Sam glanced over at Dean, looking like he'd been caught. "I didn't leave her alone—she was with Bobby." Sam sounded kind of quieter than he had before. Like he didn't believe his own words. "She was fine."

"You didn't know that for a fact," Dean retorted. "You _promised_ me you'd take care of her when I was gone," he said, reminding his brother of a conversation they'd had privately a few weeks before Dean's death day. Sam said nothing, but his silence was distinctly guilty. "So I die and the family falls apart?" Dean asked gruffly.

"I guess," Sam said apathetically, refusing to look Dean's way.

"Well what the hell happened to make you break that promise to me, man?" Dean demanded.

Sam looked disturbed. "Does it really _matter,_ Dean?" He shrugged, uncomfortable. "We... we fought and I—I just needed to leave, okay?" Dean looked at Sam oddly, who was staring unseeingly into the windshield. "And besides, it was pretty clear to me that she didn't want me around anymore."

"Come on, Sam. She just lost her oldest brother, don't you think she might say some crap she didn't mean?" Sam said nothing, just stewed. Dean shook his head, completely disappointed. "I thought you two were closer than all this. I mean, you've fought before and didn't end up hating each other's guts, right?"

"I mean, yeah, I guess," Sam muttered, reluctant. "You're right. We used to be close. But ever since I started hunting again after college, things've been different. And then with her whole voice thing..." he trailed off, and Dean couldn't know what he was thinking about, but Sam was reliving the things she said to him that night when she told him she wished _he'd_ died. Sad, hurt, and wondering if she really felt that way, Sam was lost. "I dunno. I thought I knew her, but ever since she could talk again, it's like... she's not who I thought." 

"Yeah, or maybe you liked her better when she couldn't call you on your bullshit," Dean accused. That comment seemed to trigger something in Sam, who exploded. 

"Dean, why am I getting all this _crap_ from you? She's a grown woman for crying out loud and didn't need me chaperoning her when you were gone. I _told_ you, she didn't want me there, okay? I don't appreciate you making this whole thing about me and my problems!"

"I'm not, I'm just saying—"

"Yes, you _are,_ " Sam insisted vehemently. "You're taking her side without even hearing about what went down!" Sam ran a hand through his shaggy hair, glaring at nothing in particular. Exasperated, Sam looked away.

A few moments of silence passed and Dean attempted a new conversation. "So you've been using your, uh, freaky ESP stuff?"

He got a barely-suppressed dirty look from Sam. "No."

"You sure about that? Well, I mean, now that you've got... immunity, whatever the hell that is... just wondering what other kind of weirdo crap you've got going on."

Sam gave Dean a fully aggravated look, losing patience. "Nothing, Dean. Look, you didn't want me to go down that road, so I didn't go down that road."

"Well thanks for honoring _that_ promise at least," Dean said sarcastically, and reached for the radio to turn the music back on.

Sam hunkered down in the seat silently, brooding.

* * *

They reached the psychic's home early the next morning. It was a normal looking house with potted flowers on the front porch. Dean and Sam got out of the Impala and approached the Chevelle where Alex stood watching them. Bobby had intuitively walked ahead of them and was waiting at the foot of the porch, leaving the Winchesters to themselves for a minute. 

Dean approached their sister with a reluctant Sam in tow. Alex waited silently, her arms crossed in a way that made her look very standoffish. Dean was always struck by how for twins, the two of them looked pretty much nothing alike, at least not at first glance, and especially when it came to their builds. Sam towered over his twin. He had about eight inches of height on her at his height of six-foot-four, and he probably weighed about a hundred pounds more than she did too—he was all muscle and brawn. Alex was tall too, probably five-foot-eight or so, but next to her freakishly tall twin, she looked short and small. She was built completely different—she had one of those willowy figures that was boyish, straight, petite. She reminded Dean of a beanpole or a fencepost, and he'd teased her as such in the past. But she wasn't a waif. A lot of people glanced at her and didn't notice how strong she was, how she was basically all lean muscle from years of running, fighting, and training. 

The twins had different shades of brown hair—Sam's shaggy and floppy, Alex's darker and wavy, messy, long—they did shared the same striking hazel eye color, and they both had sharp cheekbones. They made a lot of the same faces and expressions, but their faces weren't strikingly similar, especially considering that they were twins. Dean had decided awhile ago that Sam took more after their mom, and Alex took more after their dad. Sam had one of those faces that chicks dug—dimples, strong clefted chin, expressive, piercing eyes. Alex had a more youthful face than Sam—big doe eyes, square jaw, dark eyebrows. But, even if the twins weren't too similar physically, they were similar in personality. Stubborn, hard-nosed, headstrong, emotional, very sensitive. So that's why having to referee this fight they were having was a pain in Dean's ass.

He cleared his throat and looked between the twins, fixing them with his best I'm-upset-with-you glare. In moments like these, he felt more like their dad than their brother. "Okay, listen. You two are gonna stow your crap," he said with little fanfare, pointing at them in turn sternly. "Say you're sorry and agree to at least be civil to each other." Sam and Alex looked at each other grudgingly and Dean waited impatiently. " _Today_ , guys!"

Alex gave in first. "Sorry, Sam." She clearly didn't really mean it.

"Yeah. Me too," Sam said, sounding as genuine as Alex did.

Dean was less than impressed. "Geez, making me weep here," he said sarcastically. They looked at him in unison with identical, annoyed 'are you happy now?' bitchy expressions on their faces. Dean rolled his eyes at their refusal to really apologize. "How old are you guys, like _five_?!" He demanded, and with an exasperated huff he gave up and headed toward where Bobby was waiting near the house.


	4. Heaven Help Me

_"Down here in the atmosphere, garbage and city lights. You've gone to save your tired soul; you've gone to save their lives."  
_ \- Our Lady Peace

* * *

They were welcomed inside the house by Pamela—a strong looking woman with a ready smile. She had tanned skin, dark hair, and a low rasping voice. Her little house was decorated with a few pagan artifacts and mystical imagery here and there, but otherwise looked like a normal home. She wasted no time flirting with Dean and Sam both—usually Alex wouldn't have cared, but Pamela was a little over the top—her eyes ate the brothers alive shamelessly and Alex quickly began to feel a little uncomfortable at all the innuendos.

Pamela set up a seance in between flirting and then called them all to a small table where six lit candles waited. She had darkened the room and even though it was just a dinky old kitchen, the room felt eerie to Alex because of what they were about to do. 

"Right. Take each other's hands," Pamela instructed. Alex looked to her left where Sam sat. He held out his hand to her, a grudging peace offering. She took it reluctantly. Sitting across from them, Dean saw and smiled sort of smugly at the twins, who, not even meaning to, made the same exact face at their oldest brother—a half-eye rolling scoff.

"All right," Pamela purred. "I need to touch something our mystery monster touched." Her eyes darted to Dean coyly. He was sitting right beside her.

"Whoa. Well, he didn't touch me _there_ ," Dean said, jumping a little.

Pamela half-feigned ignorance with a chuckle. "My mistake."

Alex, Sam, and Bobby exchanged confused looks—had she just reach under the table and...? She probably had. Sam made a face and Alex raised an eyebrow at Dean who was a little flustered. He cleared his throat and pulled up his sleeve, revealing the angry red hand print branded onto his shoulder. The humor of the moment was forgotten as Sam stared in shock and looked from Alex to Bobby who were somber again, remembering the reason why they had come to this psychic. Alex couldn't look away from the handprint.

Pamela laid her hand on the scar. "Okay." She closed her eyes and everyone else followed suit. "I invoke, conjure, and command you, appear unto me before this circle," she said, then repeated it three more times. Her television flicked on, the sound of static filled the room. "I invoke, conjure, and command... Castiel? No. Sorry, Castiel, I don't scare easy."

"' _Castiel_ '?" Dean asked.

Alex peeked up, a strange curiosity tugging, a feeling of déjà vu washing over her. _What the hell is a Castiel?_ The word was beautiful, but somehow forbidding. 

"Its name," the psychic explained. "It's whispering to me, warning me to turn back," she said, then returned to chanting. "I conjure and command you, show me your face." She repeated this over and over, louder each time. The room began to shake and the static on the television grew louder.

Alex gripped Sam's hand tighter, opening her eyes just barely to watch as the table began to vibrate. A sense of dread was coming over her. This felt like it was gonna end badly. Bobby was also opening his eyes. "Maybe we should stop," he said loudly, raising his voice over the din.

"I almost got it," Pamela said, not about to back down. She was in the zone, eyes squeezed shut, expression fierce and intense. "I command you, show me your face!" She was shouting at that point. " _Show me your face NOW!_ " At that moment the candles flared up into flames several feet high—Pamela screamed as her eyes flew open, filled with horrifying white-hot flame. Before any of them could even react, the flames went out and she collapsed, moaning in pain. The house became silent—the rattling, white noise, and flames stopping. "My eyes... my eyes!" Pamela was sobbing. Alex could see between her fingers that clutched at her face that they were burned out completely and deep reverent fear set in, even as somewhere nearby she heard, _"Call 911! Call 911!"_

* * *

**A Few Hours Later**

Bobby watched as Alex spoke to the on-call doctor inside Pamela's room. That was something to be proud of, wasn't it—he'd really seen the kid grow a lot in confidence and ability the past few years. Not only as a hunter but as a person. His eyes went to Pamela and the good feelings evaporated to be quickly replaced by guilt and regret. The psychic was resting in a hospital bed, her eyes covered with a sleeping mask. Bobby felt another overwhelming surge of guilt—he really should have insisted she stop when things got shaky.

After a few moments Alex nodded her thanks to the doctor and both she and the MD came out of the room. Alex was looking at Bobby in a way he didn't like—all sad and sensitive, like she was feeling sorry for him or trying to think of a way to make him feel better. It reminded him of Sam, actually.

"So what's the scoop, Grasshopper?" Bobby asked her as the doctor retreated down the hallway and out of earshot.

"Well... the doctor says they're gonna keep her overnight for observation. Pamela's daughter is on the way."

"She be all right?" Bobby asked, looking into the room and feeling entirely powerless.

"Uh... she's blind, obviously—no eyeballs left—but other than that..." Alex seemed to realize she'd put it kind of bluntly—and made a mildly chagrinned face like she wished she had thought it over better. 

"This is my fault," Bobby muttered, guilty all over again.

"You're not the one who burned her eyes out, Bobby. It was that..." Alex tried to remember the exact name and couldn't, "Castle creature."

"I shouldn't've gotten her involved in this mess to begin with," Bobby grumbled, more to himself than anyone else.

Alex didn't disagree. "Well, she's alive though, right? That's something." Alive, but forever changed in such a negative way. She took Bobby's shoulder briefly in an attempt to comfort him. "Couldn't have known what was gonna happen."

"Yeah, I guess," Bobby muttered wearily.

Alex relented—she knew when to leave Bobby alone and now was one of those times. Just then her phone rang in her pocket and she pulled it out, squinting at the screen. She was pretty sure it was one of Sam's old numbers. "Hello?"

"It's me," Dean's voice said. "So some demons just tried to jump me and Sammy over here at this local mom 'n pop diner—"

Alarm shot through her veins. "What? You guys okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," he said, sounding more businesslike than anything else. "Come back to the motel pronto, okay? There's probably more demons in town and I don't want you on your own."

Her heart swelled. But she had to play it off. "That's sweet, Dean," she said, managing to sound sarcastic and good natured despite her inner joy to have him back. "I'm fine. Besides, I'm with Bobby."

Dean gave an aggravated, impatient huff. "Just get back to the motel, shortstop. It'll be dark soon and I don't want you out there at night. Oh, and bring pie." 

"Fine, _fine_. On my way." And she hung up, snapping her phone closed. Always with the pie. Her heart clenched. She had missed him _so_ much. Life felt right again, despite everything. 

"What's up?" Bobby asked, forehead wrinkled in concern.

"No clue," she answered honestly. Dean would fill her in later on the details. "Something demonic, as usual. I'm heading back—you coming?"

"Think I'll stay with Pam a little longer. Just call if ya need me."

"Copy," Alex said, already heading for the door.

"And Alex—" She paused. Bobby looked at her meaningfully. "You be careful."

She made an overly innocent face. "Always."

He gave her a look—they both knew that was total bullshit. Alex gave him a crooked grin, raised her eyebrows briefly, then left.

* * *

**Late That Night**

The TV was still on and Alex was half-asleep on the couch, the remote still in her hand as Spongebob Squarepants played. Dean had been reading all evening and she had been flipping through the channels while Sam had remained in the background, doing something on his laptop for awhile until he announced he was going to bed. Alex was in that place of half-awake and half-asleep where she wanted to get up and turn the light and TV off, but she was also convinced she would tune both out in a second and fall asleep.

A soft and sudden _click_ startled her into full wakefulness and her head shot up. What was that? She quickly glanced around to assess the room. Dean was half sitting on his bed against the pillows with a huge book open in his lap as he slept soundly, head lolling on his shoulder. Sam's bed was empty and she didn't see him anywhere else. Alert to something being up, Alex got out of bed, creeping toward the door and peeking out just in time to see Sam's unmistakable silhouette turn the corner down the hall. _What the hell?_ Alex was struck with a million sudden suspicions and a general bad feeling. She glanced back at Dean, who was sleeping peacefully—his face completely relaxed for once. She decided not to wake him up. Sam might just be going to get something from the car, after all. She questioned herself for assuming the worst about her twin. Maybe she should cut him a break. Still... she was going to follow and see what he was doing... just to be safe. Just to follow up on the weird gut instinct that was telling her something was off. She darted out of the room, following quickly and quietly down the hotel hallway. She peered around the corner Sam had just rounded. She could see out into the parking lot through the glass door. Sam was getting into the Impala, casting glances around—the picture of guilt. _Not good_. The car started and pulled out of the parking lot, leaving Alex with a sinking feeling. She didn't like this. She turned around and promptly gasped—Bobby was standing right behind her.

"Shit, Bobby!" She swore, holding a hand over her heart.

"Sorry kiddo. Didn't mean to startle you. Was in my room and heard a noise. Was that Sam?"

"Yeah. H-he snuck out and—wait, what's that?" They both turned at the sound of shattering glass and then took off at a run down the hall toward where they could now hear Dean screaming, and then a high-pitched shrieking sound that was so intense their vision began to waver. Alex was swept away in alarm at the sound of her brother in pain, maybe hurt or dying—Bobby broke down the door just barely as Alex stumbled behind, her hands over ears as her panicked heart lodged itself in her throat. Dean was on the floor in a pile of broken glass, his hands over his ears as he screamed against the deafening noise. It was the most intense sound that Alex had ever heard, it reverberated through her entire body, making it hard to see—almost like she could explode apart if the intensity increased at all. But she stumbled over to Dean with Bobby and they hauled him up and fled out of the room, down the hall, and out of the motel completely.

* * *

Bobby coaxed more speed out of the car as they sped down the road, not really heading anywhere, just driving fast. He glanced back a lot, looking to see if they'd been followed. Alex rubbed her ears with her palms. They still rang from that incredibly intense noise.

"Yeah, okay, catch you later," Dean said, snapping his cellphone closed and pocketing it, twisting around to look at Alex who was in the back seat. "Sam says he went to get a _burger_."

"Yeah, a burger," Alex muttered doubtfully. The way he had quietly snuck out—the way he'd been looking around like he was afraid he was being followed—she smelled bullshit. But they would have to figure that out later. "Why'd you lie to him about what we're doing?" she asked, because Dean hadn't told Sam about what they were about to do—he'd said they were just going to go to a different motel.

"Because he'd just try to stop us," Dean replied tersely.

"From what? What're we doing?" Bobby asked, glancing at them both in confusion as he drove.

Alex knew Dean well enough to already have guessed what her brother had in mind—it's what _she_ wanted to do, anyway—and she replied before Dean had a chance. "We're going to summon Casteel and kill it."

"You two want to go after Castle after what it did to Pamela?!" Bobby exclaimed in disbelief.

" _Castiel_ ," Dean corrected passively.

Alex gave him a drab look. "Whatever its name is, it's dead." 

"Yup," Dean confirmed. "We're gonna face this asshole head-on, Bobby."

There was a shocked pause. "You two can't be _serious_!" Bobby was dismayed.

"As a heart-attack," Dean confirmed.

"Bobby, think about it," Alex said, leaning forward in her seat. "This Castiel thing is hunting Dean. We take the offensive, we get out ahead."

"We've got the big-time magic knife, you've got an arsenal in the trunk..." Dean trailed off suggestively.

Bobby was shaking his head in extreme hesitation. "Now look, you two are assuming it's some kinda demon, but what if it's something else? We might be signing our own death certificates here. This is a _bad_ idea."

"Bobby, whatever this is, whatever it wants, it's after me," Dean reasoned intently. "That much we know, right? I've got no place to hide. I can either get caught with my pants down again or we can make our stand."

More silence. "Doing it with or without you, Bobby," Alex said.

"You damn idjits," Bobby sighed heavily. "Well, don't you think we should at least _tell_ Sam in case, you know, we don't come back?"

Dean was quiet for a minute. "No. We'll be back."

Bobby didn't look so sure.

* * *

Several hours later, Alex got up from where she had been crouched. She was finally done with the last of the warding symbols, and her hands were cramped, not to mention her back and knees. Bobby seemed to be finishing up, too. She looked around at their handiwork—the entire abandoned warehouse they had set up shop in was covered floor and ceiling in spray painted symbols and traps. Over at a makeshift table, Dean was chuckling at them. "That's a hell of an art project you've got going there.

"Call me Picasso," Alex returned, tossing an empty can of spray paint onto the table.

"Traps and talismans from every faith on the globe," Bobby said, and looked at Dean questioningly. "How you doin'?"

Dean looked over the contents of the table he'd set up. "Stakes, iron, silver, salt, knife. I mean, we're pretty much set to catch and kill anything I've ever heard of."

"What about what we _haven't_ heard of?" Bobby asked, and shook his head. "Uh _huh_ , this is _definitely_ still a bad idea."

"I heard you the first ten times," Dean said, not about to change his mind. "Whaddya say we ring the dinner bell?"

Bobby nodded reluctantly. He went over to the other table and took a pinch of some powder from a bowl, and sprinkled it into a larger bowl, which started to smoke. He began chanting in Latin.

Dean and Alex looked at each other simultaneously. Alex felt the first prick of fear now. Up until this moment she'd just been pissed and ready to kick the ass of whatever hell creature was trying to hurt her brother—this Castiel monster. But now, Bobby's warnings and reluctance replayed in her head. Her older brother winked at her. "Showtime," he said, his mouth lifting up into a crooked smile. And despite it all, Alex smiled back a little bit.

* * *

**Twenty Minutes Later**

The shotguns which had been gripped tightly and vigilantly when Bobby first did the conjuring now laid beside the three hunters who were beginning to become listless. Alex yawned widely. Beside her, Dean looked at Bobby impatiently. "You sure you did the ritual right?" Bobby gave him a bitchy look. Dean snorted. "Touchy touchy, huh?"

As if on cue, a loud rattling shook the roof of the warehouse, and the building, which had seemed solid a second ago, now felt like it might collapse on top of their heads. Immediately on their feet, Dean, Bobby and Alex backed in together, shotguns held tight as the building continued to tremble.

"Wishful thinking, but maybe it's just the wind?!" Dean shouted over the noise.

Alex didn't think that was the wind. No way. Maybe this _hadn't_ been such a good idea... her stomach was sinking with dread. She clutched her shotgun as she stared at the doors at the far end of the warehouse—they were quaking as if they were about to break in two underneath the weight of some invisible force even though they were bolted shut. The lights above began to flicker rapidly and then doors burst open with a whoosh, the bolt snapping like it was a mere twig. The room was overcome with some invisible but palpable sense of blazing power even as the bursting lights overhead began to shower sparks across the entire warehouse—and it would have been beautiful if it weren't so terrifying.

Through the chaos, Alex caught sight of the distinct silhouette of a man standing in the doorway—was that the Castiel? She couldn't make out features yet, but it looked human.

She fought the urge to wither as the figure began to approach them with slow and measured steps. For a moment, Alex forgot her shotgun—she forgot herself. She just stood staring and petrified, realizing all over again: This was no ordinary demon or monster. But what _was_ he? 

In between the flickering lights and raining sparks, she started to see him in flashes. Castiel looked like a man—a handsome, average-height man in his mid-thirties with dark and wild hair. He wore a business suit, a blue tie, and a slightly oversized tan trench coat. His expression was fierce and stony, and even though he looked very ordinary—not anything superhuman or monstrous—the entire room bore witness to the fact that he was something different and terrifying. He did not blink even once as lights snapped and exploded, yielding to him, attesting to his strength and power. Despite everything... a feeling of sheer awe came over Alex. 

Dean opened fire on him, and remembering themselves at the sound, Alex and Bobby followed suit, emptying their rounds—Dean had iron bullets, Bobby had salt rounds, and Alex had silver—the bullets all pummeled into Castiel like a sideways rain shower, but the creature didn't even stop to wince. He was completely unaffected by the assault, and none of the traps seemed to have any effect on him. He kept coming closer undaunted, his sights set on first Dean, and then Alex. His eyes were startlingly blue. 

"Blade!" Dean demanded with a shout. Alex shakily tossed him the demon knife, unsure of what else to do but pray for a miracle. Castiel halted a few steps away, his face now calm and serene. The wind was gone, the sparks had stopped falling, the building was solid and still once more. Alex stared apprehensively at the man who had done all of that—then found his piercing eyes on hers. Fear rippled throughout Alex's nervous system at the intensity there in the crystal depths. He appeared semi _curious_ as he took in the anxiety etched onto her features. The mildest confusion then showed on his face, as if he didn't understand her expression. 

"Who are you?" Dean demanded gruffly. Alex could hear from his voice that he was shaken up just like her. She glanced down at the knife in his hand at his side. _Please, please work._

"I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition," Castiel replied. His shockingly deep, husky voice was filled with an authority that caught Alex off guard even further.

Alex felt Dean pause then hesitate. "Yeah... thanks for that," he said, and then without any further he reared back and plunged the knife into the creature's chest. _And nothing happened_. Looking down at the knife, Castiel considered it briefly then pulled it out, unconcerned, seeming to be a touch _amused_. Dumbfounded, Dean and Alex gaped.

Bobby, who had slunk back to the side was sneaking up, an iron crowbar raised high—but without even looking, Castiel grabbed the weapon mid-air effortlessly just as Bobby swung, effectively and easily blocking the strike with what appeared to be superhuman strength. Turning, the man touched a very surprised Bobby on the forehead with two gentle fingertips. The Winchesters watched in shocked horror as Bobby's eyes rolled back into his head and he crumpled to the ground, lifeless. " _Bobby_!" Alex screamed, trying to rush forward. Dean swung an arm out to hold her back—he was terrified to let her near this powerful adversary.

Castiel looked at Alex with a slightly perplexed expression, eyes squinting up a bit, head tilting to the side just a little. As if he didn't understand her reaction. "He's fine," he said in a flat, non-emotional voice. Alex stared back, freaked and breathless. Bobby looked _dead_. The trench-coated stranger looked at her a little longer then turned his gaze to Dean again.

"We need to talk, Dean," the man said. His eyes went back to Alex meaningfully. "Alone." He made to move forward, his arm outstretched to touch her, and Dean all but shoved Alex behind himself as he stood at his full height and put himself between the man and his sister.

"Touch my sister and you _die_ , freak," Dean thundered, his expression deadly. "Now what the hell did you do to Bobby?"

"Dean, you can't kill me. You just tried," the man replied in a reasonable and calm tone. He paused then withdrew slightly and seemed to become interested in one of Bobby's open books on the nearby table. "You don't need to worry; your friend is alive and I won't harm any of you."

"Damn straight you won't. Who are you?" Dean demanded.

Alex was glued to her brother in terror as she stared at this strange and powerful being who was currently flipping through Bobby's book nonchalantly. He seemed almost disinterested in Dean's question. "Castiel." He spoke his name softly, firmly. Again, Alex thought of how beautiful the name was despite herself.

"Yeah, I figured that much, I mean _what_ are you?" Dean demanded.

Castiel turned his attention to Dean and approached once again. Alex had a hand on Dean's back, grabbing at his jacket, and she could feel him tense as Castiel came nearer. And then, he said several words the Winchesters would never forget: "I'm an angel of the Lord."

Thrown, Dean and Alex took a second, then at the same point, looked at each other with odd expressions. Alex wasn't sure if she heard right. She looked the guy up and down skeptically and did not come up with angel in any sense—where were the flowing robes and the harp music and the puffy white wings? All she saw was a guy in an un-tailored, slightly wrinkled trench coat. His blue tie was slightly askew, he had messy brown hair and a five o'clock shadow... it all made him look more like a tired fifth-grade teacher than anything else. "Angel?" she repeated. "You _serious_?" she asked, genuinely stumped.

"Yes, of course I'm serious," he replied, deadpan.

"You let me do the talking," Dean said under his breath at his sister and then quickly fixed Castiel with a dangerous glare. "You're not an _angel_. Get the hell outta here. There's no such thing," he spat.

Castiel observed Dean with little change in expression. "That is your problem, Dean," he said quietly. "You have no faith." Castiel drew in a deep breath and seemed to stand at his full height. And then lightning flashed _inside_ the warehouse, and huge shadow wings were cast onto the wall behind Castiel in the flashes of light. The wings spanned perhaps twenty feet and the effect was dazzling—intimidating—mystifying. Alex exhaled softly, yet again caught in a moment of wonder despite herself. The lightning ceased and the shadowy wings disappeared. Stunned into momentary silence, the Winchesters again looked at each other, lost. Yes it was impressive but...

"The hell does that prove?" Alex whispered to Dean.

Dean shook his head ever so slightly, whispering back, "Fuck if I know." They were both _completely_ weirded out. Dean especially was mistrustful and challenging. He turned his attention back to the so-called angel in front of them and crossed his arms, cleared his throat, raised his voice a little. "Nice trick. So riddle me this: what kind of _angel_ burns out a poor woman's eyes?"

"I warned her not to spy on my true form," Castiel said, giving away nothing about if he felt any kind of way on the matter or not. "It can be... overwhelming to most humans, and so can my real voice. But you already knew that."

Alex frowned, not understanding, but Dean seemed to have figured it out. "You mean the gas station and the motel. That was you _talking_?" Castiel nodded, to which Dean set his mouth in a hard line. "Buddy, next time, lower the volume."

"That was my mistake," Castiel said blandly. "Certain people, special people, can perceive my true visage. I thought you would be one of them. I was wrong."

"And what visage are you in now, huh?" Dean asked sarcastically, looked at the supposed angel with a flippant kind glance. "What, holy tax accountant?"

"This?" Castiel looked down at himself in seeming thoughtfulness, as if he hadn't even noticed what he looked like. "This is... a vessel."

"You're _possessing_ some poor bastard?" Dean asked in disbelief even as Alex was shocked all over again. It made sense, she had to admit... demons used people to walk the earth—so if angels were real, it made sense that they might do the same.

Castiel wasn't ruffled by Dean's aghast reaction. "He's a devout man," he said, referring to whoever it was who he was possessing currently. "He actually prayed for this." _That_ made Alex's eyebrows rise. 

"Well, I'm not buying what you're selling, so who are you really?" Dean demanded angrily.

"I told you," Castiel said simply.

"Right. And why would an _angel_ rescue me from Hell?"

"Good things _do_ happen, Dean," Castiel said, although his tone lacked conviction.

"Not in my experience," Dean said. Alex heard the weight of his statement and it resonated with her.

"What's the matter?" Castiel's expression changed, as if he had figured it out. Understanding crossed his features. "You don't think you deserve to be saved."

Dean seemed shocked by Castiel's statement, his face going blank, and Alex's protective instincts raised up. "Hey," she snapped, stepping out from behind Dean defensively, her temper getting the better of her. "We're not interested in a therapy session."

Castiel looked at her, unfazed. His eyes were so very, very blue. And it made her lose her edge a little bit. "I'm simply stating the truth, Alex."

Her face fell. He knew her _name._ And hearing his deep voice speak it aloud startled her. She felt scared all over again under his intense stare. Why did he look at her like he knew her? Why did he assume to know Dean, too? Dean was pushing Alex back again, stepping forward to put himself between the supposed angel and his sister. He didn't want to discuss whether or not he thought he deserved to be saved, instead he was getting to what everyone wanted to know. "Why'd you pull me out?" Castiel was quiet for a moment, his eyes not even acknowledging Dean. He still stared at Alex deeply like he could see nothing else in all of existence.

"Hey, asshat, look at me!" Dean stepped into Castiel's line of sight, demanding the so-called angel's gaze. "Answer the question," he said gruffly. "Why'd you pull me out?"

Castiel remained unruffled. "Because God commanded it. Because we have work for you."

Dean's eyebrows raised and his bully demeanor fell slightly. "Work. _God_ has work for _me_."

"Yes."

Dean barked out a short, biting laugh. "Oh interesting. How's the pay? Good benefits? I'm telling ya, the dental plan I have right now _sucks_."

Castiel frowned slightly. "This is no laughing matter, Dean. My Father has chosen you."

Dean couldn't seem to find any words, disgusted and dumbfounded by the entire exchange. "Chosen him for what?" Alex asked, her voice betraying the fear she was feeling.

Castiel looked at her briefly, frustrating her with his elusive answer. "It's complicated. It is not yet your time to know. It's God's will."

A nonanswer that only made Alex wrinkle her face slightly.

"This is freakin' rich," Dean muttered. "You really expect us to believe all this crap you're spewing?"

Castiel looked between the two of them, his face beginning to show what looked like annoyance. "Yes." He paused. "What reason do you have to doubt?"

Dean laughed in a hard brief bark, shook his head, stumped but at least amused by it. Alex wasn't sure whether to laugh or get pissed. "Are we being punked right now?" she asked, looking around. "Where's the cameras?" Castiel looked at her with a questioning gaze. No cameras came out, he didn't start to laugh and say "gotcha." He seemed totally serious, which was all the more disconcerting. Alex's humor faded. "Dude, you're a _whackjob_."

His eyes gazed into hers unflinchingly and Alex lost some of her bravado. "You've learned to use your voice well, haven't you Alex?" he asked knowingly. Thunderstruck again, Alex went slack-jawed. Castiel almost _smiled_ at her then, his dry lips curving upwards just slightly. Which only made Alex feel more alarmed and lost. 

"Come again?" Dean asked roughly, his protective hackles raising.

Castiel looked at Dean, coming stern once more as he refocused the conversation. "In time, I will be free to reveal more to you. For now, you have to have faith. Both of you." He seemed to hear a sound to his left, and with no grand fanfare, he announced, "I have to go." He looked at Dean, and then Alex, holding her gaze intensely. His voice seemed to get even deeper. "I'll see you again soon." And without any further delay he was gone completely, disappearing from in front of them with a sound like the wind rustling through fabric.

In silence, the siblings looked at each other with stunned expressions. "Dude. Did... did that really just happen?" Dean asked, his shocked exasperation mirroring how Alex felt.

She felt like the wind had been knocked out of her. She looked back at the spot where Castiel had been standing just a minute ago, her mind racing as she tried to put together the pieces. She was shaken up, mind and body both. " _Angels_." She muttered, frowning, considering the possibility that angels were actually real. "Angels...?!"

"Oh _come on_ ," Dean said insolently, daring her to be stupid enough to believe it.

Alex was feeling doubtful, not convinced that he was an angel, but not convinced that he wasn't. She was crouching down by Bobby now, checking his pulse and breathing. Both were normal. "Most people think _demons_ aren't real," she offered tentatively, not even sure how she could begin to consider this.

Dean didn't look amused. In fact, he rolled his eyes. "Oh geez. Yeah _right_. That wasn't an angel."

"I mean the guy had wings..." Alex said, then squinted, thought hard as she looked up and around again, at the burst lights on the ceiling, at the cracked bolt on the door. The whole encounter had left her dazed. "I _think_."

The pair didn't have a chance to discuss it any further. Bobby began to stir, groaning. Alex began to help him up, then Dean came and got his other arm, hauling him to his feet.

" _Unnhh_ ," Bobby groaned, dazed. "What happened?"

"Well Bobby, looks like you were just touched by an angel," Dean joked flatly, his face stretched into a sardonic, wry smile.

Bobby stared. "Come again?"


	5. Ghostbusters

_"All the wounds that are ever gonna scar me, for all the ghosts that are never gonna catch me."  
_\- My Chemical Romance _  
_

* * *

**Sioux Falls, South Dakota**

"So did he _look_ like an angel?" Sam asked, hanging onto every word. Dean was standing with arms crossed, pacing grumpily. Alex and Sam were sitting at Bobby's kitchen table on opposite sides.

Dean shook his head darkly. "No fluffy wings, no halo, no harp music. Definitely strong though. Super powered."

"He just looked like some average guy," Alex added. She was avoiding looking her twin in the eyes. Instead she was acting very interested in the coffee mug she cradled in both hands.

"I still can't believe you guys didn't tell me what you were doing last night," Sam said, a note of accusatory bitterness in his voice.

Alex gave him a look. That was rich. "Well _maybe_ if you hadn't snuck off in the middle of the night, we might've—"

"I didn't _sneak off,_ I was trying not to wake you guys. Why do you always assume I'm the bad guy?" He demanded, his voice rising in defensiveness.

" _Touchy_ ," Alex muttered, rolling her eyes. 

"Shut up you two morons," Dean said, rubbing his temples. "I'm trying to think. You're getting on my last damn nerve." He was on edge. "Maybe he's some kind of super demon or something."

Sam was skeptical. "A demon who's immune to salt rounds and devil's traps... _and_ Ruby's knife? Dean, _Lilith_ is scared of that thing." 

Getting even more agitated Dean huffed, picking up the speed of his angry pacing. "Well don't you think that if angels were real, that some hunter somewhere would have seen one... at some point... _ever_?"

"Yeah. _You just did_ , Dean," said Sam. 

"I mean, maybe angels haven't walked the earth since ancient Biblical times or maybe they erase memories of the people they encounter, or—" Alex started, only to be glared at by Dean.

"Really, you guys? _Really_? I'm not gonna believe that this thing is a freaking 'angel of the Lord' because it says so! It has to be something else, okay?"

"You chuckleheads wanna keep arguing religion, or do you wanna come take a look at this?" Bobby cut in, and the three of them were slightly chastened—Bobby had been so quiet in his study that they had forgotten he was there. "I got stacks of lore—Biblical, pre-Biblical. Some of it's in damn cuneiform. It all says an angel can snatch a soul from the pit," Bobby said, tapping a page of one of his books emphatically.

That piece of information caused a brief, loaded silence in the room. Then Dean crossed his arms, unwilling to be convinced. "Okay, but what else could've done it?"

"Airlift your ass outta the hot box? Far as I can tell, nothing."

Beside Dean, Sam looked encouraged. "Guys, this is good news. For once, this isn't just another round of demon crap. I mean, maybe Dean was saved by one of the good guys, you know?"

Alex looked at her twin brother sidelong. After meeting Castiel, she wasn't sure if angels _were_ the good guys. He had seemed dangerous. 

"Okay. Say it's true. Say there are angels. Then what? There's a _God_?" Dean scoffed.

Another can of worms right there for sure. "Geez Dean, can we just figure out angels first, _then_ God?" Alex asked. She was serious, but she said it cynically for humorous effect.

"Fine," Dean said grudgingly. "What do we know about angels?"

Bobby got a little smirk on his face. He picked up a tall pile of ancient books and set them down with a loud thunk on the desk in front of Dean. "Start readin'."

Dean looked at the pile with resentment, then turned to Sam and Alex, cranky. "One of you clowns is gonna get me some pie."

"I'll do it," Sam said, sighing and grabbing the car keys.

Dean took a book off the top of the pile and had cracked it open like he was angry with it. "Care to join, Alexander?" He asked peevishly. 

Alex wordlessly took a book, just glad to have him back. 

And with that, they began paging through the books Bobby had pulled off the shelves. Alex never minded the research part of things. She was good at taking in a lot of information and figuring out how to apply it. She'd always liked reading.

Maybe thirty minutes later, Bobby swore softly as he ended a call on his cell phone. "Damn, she _still_ won't answer."

"Who?" Dean asked, ready to be distracted from his reading.

"Olivia. She's a hunter friend of mine one state over. I've been trying to get her since angel-boy made his grand entry—she might have some leads on angels. But now I'm plain worried. It's just not like her not to call me back."

Alex was now interested too, peering at Bobby over the top of her book. "You think she might be in trouble?"

"Yeah," Bobby said, thought a long couple seconds, then stood up restlessly. "I should go check on her."

Dean was already snapping his book shut and standing up, seeming to be happy to find an excuse to get his nose out of the books. "We'll come with."

Alex looked at Dean with a frown. "But there's research to do." She pointed to the tall stack of books waiting to be combed through.

"We can do it later," Dean retorted. She looked at him for a second, then back at the books.

"Why don't you guys go and I'll stay and sort the stacks?" She suggested. Dean, as predicted, didn't like the idea.

"You think I'm gonna let you stay here all by yourself?" He crossed his arms, daring her to fight him on the issue.

Alex looked at him over the top of the book both amused and challenging. "Yes, that's exactly what you're gonna do. I'm gonna sit here and scour all these books for angel stuff and when you get back in a day or two, I'll be an expert."

"No, I don't want you alone," Dean said. "Sam could stay with you."

Alex raised her eyebrows, becoming extremely serious. "No."

"Oh come on, aren't you two over your little spat yet?" he asked flippantly. Alex felt a genuine pang of sadness, losing a little of her fire momentarily. She stared at the books pages unseeingly. It wasn't a little spat. It was... not speaking to each other for four months. Dean inhaled heavily, relenting slightly, not needing her to say anything because he saw his answer in her quietness. "Then _I'll_ stay with you."

At this point Alex softened—he was just trying to look out for her. "Dean—I'll be fine. You've left me alone tons of times before. You and Bobby and Sam go investigate and I'll do the boring stuff." She jerked her thumb toward the books. He looked at the books with slight distaste, mulling it over.

"She'll be fine here, Dean," Bobby added. "In fact, she might be safer here than with us. This place's basically Fort Knox."

Reluctantly, Dean agreed. "Yeah. All right."

* * *

**The Next Day**

_In the AD 400's the Greek philosopher Dionysius the Areopagite described a hierarchy of angels. Based on his writings, angels are traditionally ranked in nine orders. The highest order of angels is the seraphim, followed by the cherubim, thrones, dominions, virtues, powers, principalities, archangels, and angels._

_According to this system, the first circle of angels—the seraphim, cherubim, and thrones—devote their time to contemplating God. The second circle—the dominions, virtues, and powers—govern the universe. The third circle—principalities, archangels, and angels—carry out the orders of the superior angels._

Alex looked up from the book she had in front of her and blinked several times, tired and glazed over. She glanced at the clock and realized she had been doing this all day. Scrawled notes on scrap paper were strewn all over the desk, and several volumes were open. She rolled her shoulders, sore from hunching over and reading. Her head was now packed full of angel mythology and lore, but she couldn't be sure what parts were real or not. It was mostly speculation and hearsay, but if Alex had learned one thing being raised in the hunter life, it was that most myths and legends came from an element of truth; sometimes a large element of truth, sometimes small. She didn't feel like telling Dean, but she was beginning to believe that Castiel really was what he said. There didn't seem to be anything else he _could_ be. However, it was disappointing as she had pictured angels to be... different. As glowy, poetic, gentle and soothing beings with fluffy white wings. Not as... a somewhat robotic invincible guy who showed up and knocked out your friends then told you God had work for you.

She briefly remembered Castiel's promise: "I'll see you again soon." In his deep voice and under his piercing gaze, the words had seemed almost like a threat. 

She shook her head tiredly and decided it was time for more coffee. She got up and cranked up Bobby's ancient coffee maker in the kitchen, and that's when she thought of Dad's journal—maybe it had some kind of clue to angels. Maybe she could find something there. She left the coffee brewing and went into Bobby's guest room—her room for the past few months. The small room had a bed, a dresser, and an old mirrored bureau. Her oversized duffel bag was plunked onto the bureau. She had never been in the habit of unpacking clothes, ever, as almost every day they were leaving the place they had been the day before.

Alex dug through the beat up duffel in search of the journal. All of her worldly possessions were right here—old socks, torn jeans, and few faded t-shirts (some were Dean's old band shirts from middle school), the odd knick-knack or memento. The whistle on a silver chain that she used to wear around her neck (Dad insisted, so she could always whistle for help), an oversized manila envelope of some of her old notebooks she had used to talk to people with (her one-sided conversation collection, she called it). Her fingers bumped up against a small square of paper in the bottom of the duffel bag, and momentarily forgetting her journal hunt, she pulled it out, turning over the yellowing envelope in her hands. _Family Pictures_ was scrawled across the front in Dad's handwriting. There was only one photo inside.

It was a picture of Mom standing out in the yard, holding her baby twins, one in each arm on either hips. She was smiling broadly. The twin on the right was staring blankly into the camera, and the twin on the left was chewing on his or her hand—Alex wasn't sure which one was which. Little Dean was standing beside Mom, arms at his sides, squinting at the camera. Alex searched her mother's face in the photo, trying to remember her. But she didn't, not at all. She wondered who had taken the photo. It had probably been Dad, since he wasn't in the picture. Or, he might have been gone at the time... that would match up with the rest of her life.

Alex tucked the photo back into the envelope and pulled out the journal from where it was nestled in the bottom of her bag. The familiar shape and weight of it always brought bittersweet feelings. She had been writing down some of their latest travels and encounters for the past few years, ever since Dad disappeared and then died. Seeing the page where Dad's handwriting ended and hers began always brought a moment of somber reflection.

The sound of her phone ringing in the study shook her from her thoughts and she hurried to answer it, journal in hand.

"Hey Dean," she greeted.

"Alex," he said, and even from that single word, she knew something was wrong. "You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah, fine. What is it?" She set the journal down on the study desk, listening intently.

"Something freaky," he said. "Some kind of vengeful spirit on steroids. A bunch of hunters this way are dead—I mean _ripped apart_ dead. And Sammy just got attacked in the friggin' bathroom of this random gas station by the ghost of Henriksen."

" _What_?!" Alex's chest clenched in panic. "Oh my god—is he okay?"

"He's fine. No thanks to me. I should've called you sooner, but I had no idea these spirits were mobile."

Alex stopped, frowned, confused. "But... ghosts can't just show up where they want. How is that even possible for Henriksen's ghost to be at a random gas station?"

"That's what we're trying to figure out. Bobby should be back to you before we are, maybe a couple hours. We're a little further out. Get the salt, get the iron, blockade yourself in, you got it? I'm pretty sure all hunters are targets right now."

Alex pictured her brothers, far away from her and being hunted by vengeful ghosts, and her stomach turned in worry. "Damn. Okay, you guys be careful. I'll be fine."

She heard a heavy, gusty breath. "You better be." He sounded pissed at himself. "I knew I shouldn't have let you stay behind."

"Relax. I'm gonna go get the salt and iron now." Alex paused, thinking of Sam getting attacked. She swallowed, cleared her throat. "And, uh, tell Sam I, uh... love him."

Dean paused a little awkwardly. "Uh, yeah, okay. See you soon."

"And Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"I, uh, loveyoutoo." She hung up fast, not giving him a chance to reply. She wasn't super into expressing her feelings. It had felt necessary right then, but it still left her feeling highly awkward. She let out a breath and shook herself.

She began scrolling through her contacts to call Bobby and see how far away he was. Eyes glued to the phone, she turned around. But when she bumped up against a solid form, she gasped and jumped back, dropping the phone. 

Unblinkingly, Castiel looked back at her, appearing just the same as he had the other night—trench coat, business suit, wild hair, blank expression. "You're not safe here," he announced, and reached out for her.

"Whoa don't _touch_ me!" Alex warned, jumping back, her heart hammering from sudden adrenaline.

Her reaction caused him pause and he visibly tried to figure it out, squinting. "Do you assume... that I would hurt you?" Alex made a face—like, _um yeah I assume you would hurt me!_ He looked slightly irked at her reaction. "Alex, if I wanted to hurt you, you wouldn't be able to stop me," he said.

Cocky son of a bitch, wasn't he. She raised her eyebrows. "Well that sure as hell wouldn't stop me from _trying_ , angel wings."

His eyes narrowed just slightly, as if he didn't understand. "My name is Castiel, not 'angel wings.'"

She paused for a beat, thrown off. "Uh, yeah, I get that," she said tersely, "now go away."

He seemed mildly perplexed. "I don't have time for this. Take my hand." He held out his hand to her and she looked at it like it was diseased.

"Uh what?" Alex was growing more confused by the second. She edged away from him even more. "Shouldn't you be bugging Dean about becoming a servant of God? He's not even here."

Castiel ignored her attitude. "I know that. I've been ordered to protect you."

Alex could have done a double take at that admission. "... _What_? Why? Since when?"

"The reason why was not made known to me," he replied with no emotion. "Something about you makes you important to my Father."

Alex looked at him narrowly. Was he joking? This just didn't feel right. First Dean, and now her? This was getting ridiculous.

He held out his hand again, but she stood her ground, silently refusing. A muscle jerked in his cheek—was that impatience? "I won't force you to come with me," he said. "But I highly advise you to. You're in grave danger."

"I'm _always_ in grave danger," she countered sarcastically, to which his frown deepened slightly. "I told you. I don't want your help—get lost. I'm not gonna say it again." 

He stared at her for a couple seconds blankly, then clear annoyance showed. "Fine," he said, and in a blink of the eye, he was gone, leaving Alex in shocked silence. _What... the... hell. Weird._

Remembering Dean's phone call and her promise to arm herself, she turned to go downstairs where all the weapons were—and not only them, but the panic room she and Bobby had built two months ago—but before she could take a single step, the radio suddenly turned on, crackling on white noise. _Uh oh_. Alex slowly looked over at the radio, her blood beginning to pump through her veins quicker. The lights flickered on and off, once, then twice. And then, she felt it. The room had gone cold—ice cold. She exhaled, her breath a small cloud in front of her. " _Shit_ ," she whispered, cursing herself for not grabbing a weapon already. She could feel a strange presence behind her, and she swallowed nervously. The hairs on the back of her neck were standing straight up. Alex braced herself, turning around slowly, unsure of who would be standing there, just knowing she was in the presence of a ghost.

A small young woman with dark hair and delicate features gazed back at her. She was dressed modestly, her hair parted precisely and braided neatly to the side. A small silver cross hung around her neck. Recognition dawned on Alex. "N-Nancy?"

"Hello, Alex," said Nancy. She looked very pretty, even with the pale, cool cast that death had left on her ghost. Alex recalled with growing horror that Nancy had been one of Lilith's most recent victims—killed mercilessly after helping Alex and her brothers narrowly escape the clutch of death.

Alex swallowed. "You, uh... don't look so good," she said weakly.

"Yeah, well, death does strange things to a girl," Nancy replied, her voice too cheerful and too pleasant, resulting in a strange, sinister quality.

"I'm... sorry you died," Alex offered honestly, even as she was trying to think of what nearby would work as a weapon.

"Me too," Nancy said with dramatic sadness, and she sighed. "It was the worst pain I ever experienced." She became more somber, the air of theatre leaving her voice in favor of dark anger. "Lilith flayed my skin off me, bit by bit. It was agony—pure agony. Where were _you_? You should have saved me. I needed to be _saved_." Alex felt herself grimacing, knowing exactly where this was going. She was slowly, slowly edging sideways and backward, where she knew the iron fireplace tools rested. "I died a virgin, you know," Nancy said sadly. Her eyes seemed to darken, and a menacing little smile crept across her face, and her voice went soft and sing-song. "And so will you."

Alex froze. "How the hell do you know—" she stammered, and Nancy smirked, rolling her eyes. Alex was dumbfounded and mortified, set off balance by the knowledge that this random vengeful ghost knew her most humiliating secret.

"Oh, Alex, you're so _precious_. I know everything about you. How you feel so inadequate and long so _badly_ for a chance to prove yourself to your brothers, and for a chance to be noticed by the big, beautiful world out there..." Nancy grinned wickedly, clearly enjoying Alex's horrified expression. "Poor little Alexandra, she never did have friends like the other little kids, did she? I mean, who wanted to be seen with the silent _freak_? Every new school, same old story... how did it feel to be ignored and written off your whole childhood? And _forget_ the possibility of a boyfriend... what did _you_ have to offer?" She cocked her head to the side. "The same thing you have now. _Nothing_."

Alex's insides burned from anger and shame as Nancy continued on, throwing verbal barbs with obvious pleasure. "No one liked you then, because you were defective. And no one likes you now, either, because even though some power-that-be restored your voice, you're still the same. Broken. Reject. _Nobody._ " Out of the corner of Alex's eye, to her left just a bit more near the fireplace, was the fire poker and shovel. She wet her lips, wondering if she could make it. It was now or never. "You're a _total_ _freak_ ," Nancy continued, no signs of stopping. 

"Look who's talking, bitch," Alex spat. Nancy's expression turned to stone even as Alex grabbed the fire poker and wildly swung it like a baseball bat at the space that Nancy's apparition occupied. The ghost's image dissipated like smoke at the blow.

"Ouch," Nancy said, giggling, and Alex whirled to see Nancy standing behind her looking smug. "You know, the night I died at the police station, I really appreciated you speaking up and offering yourself instead of me, Alex. Oh wait... that's _right_! You _didn't_ ," her expression became deadly for a moment, before she resumed speaking in her perky, enthusiastic tone. She advanced on Alex slowly. "I mean, two virgins in one place... what are the _odds_ , right? You coward. You could have saved us _all_." The clock struck three in Bobby's study behind them and Nancy dipped her chin down, smiled broadly without showing teeth. "Well well well, look at the time. It's your turn to die."

Alex again swiped the poker wildly and Nancy's apparition melted into the air, but then reappeared behind Alex and slammed her across the room, smashing her face-first into the kitchen counter where she and a bunch of stuff from on the counter tumbled to the ground. Alex groaned, pain blossoming in her ribcage as she struggled to get up. Rolling to a stop near her foot was a large can of kosher salt. Alex snatched the can up despite the stabbing pain in her ribs. Nancy was approaching slowly, her expression enraged. Without even touching her, Nancy flipped Alex around wildly like a rag doll, and sent her slamming back to the floor, face down. There was a horrible cracking sound as her chin hit the floor, and Alex screamed in pain, only just managing to hold onto the can of salt.

Nancy began dragging Alex, who was opening the top of the salt in clumsy desperation, the blinding pain overwhelming her motor skills. She jerked the can hard over her shoulder, sending a huge spray of salt backwards at Nancy. Weakened, Nancy flickered out for a few seconds, giving Alex enough time to scramble to her feet and run staggeringly to the basement, down the stairs, and toward the iron panic room. All without sight or sound of Nancy—until Alex rounded the corner and saw Nancy standing in front of the door of the panic room, grinning maniacally. "Running from your problems is never a true solution, now is it?"

Again, she sent Alex flying backwards at full force. Alex crashed hard into the staircase sideways—more pain exploded in her side and Alex heard screams of agony—her own. She crumpled to the ground onto all fours, barely able to breathe from the shooting pain in her ribcage. She was still gripping the can of salt in one hand for dear life. She saw Nancy's feet in front of her, and then felt the ghost lifting her by two fistfuls of Alex's jacket. " _You. Should. Have. Saved. Me!_ " Nancy roared, all the former playfulness gone and replaced with sheer rage. Wheezing and gasping for air against the pain, Alex turned her hand and shook the entire remaining contents of the salt container onto Nancy's apparition, and she fell to the ground as the apparition dissolved, shrieking in anger. With a speed she hadn't know she possessed, Alex raced the final few steps, yanked the door of the panic room open, and slammed it behind her, shaking violently. Adrenaline fading, she collapsed into a sprawled sitting position on the floor, barely able to breathe—were her ribs broken? Were her lungs punctured? She could barely see from the pain. She wrapped her arms around herself, teeth gritted in torment. She could taste blood in her mouth and her chin and jaw felt broken, shooting pains were running through her entire face and neck.

"Oh _Al-eeex_ ," came Nancy's sing song voice on the other side of the wall. "Don't mind me. I'll just wait out here for you. I have _allllll_ day, Alex. And when your brothers get here to save you..." she trailed off and laughed, a soft, haunting sound full of foreboding.

Alex sobbed, gasping. It was like breathing through a straw. She wondered if she were dying—her chest felt strange and heavy, and the world was spinning oddly in front of her. She was going to pass out. She'd passed out enough times in her lifetime to recognize the horrible lead-up.

"I told you there was danger," came a deep voice, and Alex swore in surprise, flailing backwards up against the wall. She almost fell over as she looked up into the grim face of Castiel. He crouched down in front of her. "Hold still," he commanded, reaching for her. She shrank back fearfully, and he paused. 

He looked into her wide eyes and she went still, breathless and pained and unsure—unable to look away from him. His face had an actual expression on it. He seemed imploring, vaguely concerned. He held her gaze a moment longer, then his hand, warm and solid, came to rest over the area just above her stomach, and soothing white light came out of his hand, startling Alex. Underneath his hand and inside her muscles, bones, skin, she could feel a strange and fiery sensation. Not unpleasant, but so foreign that she didn't know how to process it. She looked at his hand there on her ribs, the light glowing beneath it, then back at him—he was looking at his hand in intense concentration. When the light died away, Alex realized all the pain in her ribs was gone. She could breathe fine.

Stunned, she looked at him in a new kind of awe, unable to hide her surprise. His hand came up to cup her chin, his thumb lightly resting on the center of it and she jumped slightly at the unexpected touch of his hand. Again, warm light, a fiery sensation, and his frowning stare was on her chin, not her eyes. She stared at his face as he healed her, because without his eyes studying her, it was safe to do such. He was handsome, more handsome than she remembered noticing before. He had a clefted chin and defined jaw; his nose was strong and pleasant, his brow fierce and broad. He had strange, wide lips that offset those brilliant blue eyes. Eyes that appeared to be both weary and curious all at once. Age lines scattered his face, but somehow he still seemed boyish and youthful. His eyes moved up and met hers right then, like he felt her gaze. Alex looked away quickly, realizing that her chin and jaw were normal, fine. Healed.

"T-thank you," she said softly, feeling very odd indeed... humbled by his help and a little stupid for not listening to him in the first place. She chanced a glance at him.

"You're welcome," he replied, his deep voice sending chills up her spine again. His hand then fell away, but his intense gaze did not. Alex suddenly felt that he was too close. Much, much too close. As if he read her mind, he stood up and offered her a hand. Usually she never would have accepted the help, but a little awed by and indebted to the man—no, angel—who had just saved her life, she took the hand and stood, feeling as though she were in the presence of a superhero or god, almost. However, she would immediately regret the trust she'd placed in him by giving him her hand.

Even before she had finished standing, she heard a strange, metallic clicking and felt something cold snap onto her wrist—handcuffs?! Castiel locked the other half onto the gun rack that was bolted into the wall with surprising speed. "Hey—what the hell?" Alex exclaimed in alarm. "What are you doing?! Take this off of me!"

"I just saved your life," he replied, as if commenting on the weather. "Twice." He held up a small silver key, showing it to her, and then placed it on the little desk at the other end of the room, far from her reach. "Do not leave this room. You'll be safe here." 

" _Hey_!" But he was gone again, leaving Alex frantically tugging at the handcuffs.

"Castiel! _CASTIEL_!" she shouted as she rattled the cuffs in desperation—but he didn't reappear, and no answer came to her screams. She had no phone, was surrounded by ghosts, and was locked in the basement where Bobby couldn't hear. She was unable to warn anyone in any way. She yanked at her restraints again, howling in frustration. "Son of a _bitch_!"


	6. Panic Room Blues

_"Please, I know it's hard to believe, and to see a perfect forest through so many splintered trees."  
_ \- Poe _  
_

* * *

After shouting herself hoarse and no sign of Castiel (or _anyone_ for that matter), Alex finally gave up and resorted to fuming about being handcuffed to the gun rack. She wanted to be thankful for being so miraculously healed—she was pretty sure she had been dying before Castiel had touched her—but knowing her brothers and Bobby would be walking into a death trap with no warning had left her in quite the state.

For awhile, she tried to get the handcuffs off, at first by grabbing a shotgun to maybe shoot the chain in half—but as her luck would have it, none of the guns in her reach were loaded and the ammo was on the other side of the room where she couldn't get to it. She tried awkwardly pounding at the chain of the cuffs with the butt of the gun, but that didn't work either. She pulled as hard as she could, trying to get the rack to separate from the wall where she could then drag herself over and get the key, which was maddeningly close but out of reach. Unfortunately no amount of tugging or twisting did anything to the chain or to the rack. She felt her head for bobby pins—she hadn't put one in for weeks, but she was desperate, thinking _maybe_ there was one there, and if there were, _maybe_ she could use it to pick the lock. No such luck. After awhile, she was forced to give up trying escape. Angry tears pricked her eyes as she realized she was completely helpless and stuck.

She wanted to scream—she had not imagined angels to be like this. Instead of screaming in frustration, she growled and muttered foul things aimed at Castiel, then became despondent and sullen. She resigned herself to the fact that she just had to wait and hope that Bobby and her brothers would be able to make it down to her before any more ghosts attacked. She focused on deep breathing and staying calm. Losing her shit wasn't going to help anyone.

After awhile she fiddled with the ring on her index finger out of habit—it was Dad's silver wedding band. Even though her mom had been dead for all but six months of Alex's life, she had never seen Dad without the ring. When he died, Sam and Dean gave it to her. After getting it resized, it had never left her hand. She wore it to remember him by, even though most of the memories were bitter and tainted and painful. He was still her father. And she had loved him very much in between the more complicated feelings.

Dad had been many things. Negligent as a parent was one of them. He had been gone for a lot of long periods, missed important things and moments, placed Dean in the unfair position of parent to Sam and Alex, had constantly disappointed his children day in and day out. He'd saved their lives countless times—but had also endangered their lives countless times. But one thing he'd never done was step out on them forever. Over the years, Alex had come to view that as loyalty, more or less. Still, Alex had often wondered if she'd missed out on something—she'd seen a lot of kids as they passed through town after town, kids who had parents who seemed so involved in their children's lives, so caring and present. She _had_ never and _would_ never know what that was like. She had a lot of pain associated with the memory of her dad, a lot of confusion and deep, raw wounds. She left them alone, because ignoring them was easiest. Sometimes she wasn't sure why she still wore the wedding band, but taking it off didn't seem to make sense, either. There was love there yes, but there were many confused, hurt feelings there too.

When Sam left for college, things had changed in the Winchester family. For the worse in some ways and the better in others—Dad seemed to have some kind of wake-up call, and for the next few years had finally included Alex in most of the jobs they did and _finally_ treated her somewhat like an adult. She sometimes wondered if he had replaced Sam with her, but she'd never gotten up the courage to write him and ask about it—she had just been so glad to finally be _doing_ something. Instead of being left behind in a motel or being the getaway driver or doing long-range surveillance, she was a full-fledged part of the family business and had finally seen her dad more than once every few weeks. She got to know Dad pretty well those last few years. They still hadn't been that close—it was hard to be close to a father who had hurt you and been absent for so much of your life—but they were making tiny little steps toward maybe, possibly undoing a lifetime of damage. Then, he had disappeared.

Alex wasn't sure how to describe the way she felt about Dad. She wished she had known him better. She hated many of the things he had done and not done. She desperately loved him and idolized him for other things. She wished he could have heard her speak. Just once. Never being able to actually speak with your father wasn't fair. But then again, none of her life had been. Losing him was one of the greatest pains in her life, and also one of her greatest reminders of why she chose to be a hunter. Because she refused to allow his life and legacy to be wasted. The world was in short supply of those willing to face and fight the undead.

She heard noise outside the door and tensed, ready for a fight, although it might not go so well. She swallowed, heart racing. If it were anyone besides her brothers or Bobby... but the door creaked open and Bobby was peering in, then upon seeing her, exclaiming, "The hell...?"

With Bobby were two familiar faces. "Oh my god—" Sam rushed to her, aghast. "What happened? Why are you—"

"Who did this?!" Dean thundered, looking for someone to rip the head off of.

"Are you guys okay?" Alex asked, yanking at her handcuffs and anxiously motioning to the table where the key was. "Get these _off_ of me!" 

"Alex, who did this?" Sam repeated Dean's question, clearly pissed as hell.

She shocked everyone when she told them, "Castiel." Dean fiddled with the lock and the tiny key as she tried to explain everything quickly to the very angry looking men. "He—I—he showed up and told me I was in danger, that God told him that he was supposed to protect me, I told him get lost, Nancy's total bitch of a ghost attacked me and almost killed me, I made it in here, Castiel magically healed me, and then he handcuffed me to the damn gun rack." The handcuffs fell off as Dean finally succeeded and Alex sighed in relief, rubbing her wrist thankfully. "Long story short, I'm annoyed but I'm fine. What about you guys?"

Sam had a gash above his eye, Bobby appeared shaken up, Dean looked more tense than usual. Dean ignored her question. "He told you he was assigned to _protect_ you?" he asked suspiciously.

"And he _healed_ you?" Sam repeated. Both of them sounded totally skeptical. Sam looked around as if noticing the room for the first time. "And Bobby... is this a _panic room_?!"

Bobby shrugged modestly and Dean glanced at him briefly. "Bobby. You're awesome." His gaze was back on Alex now, and he looked severe. He got very pissy when he felt uninformed. "But more to the point, you need to tell us exactly what happened here, Al. Now."

Alex explained in more detail as fast as she could everything that had happened—recounting Castiel's bizarre appearance and speech about protection, Nancy's attack (she left out the details of Nancy's exact words to her), Castiel's reappearance and how he had healed her with just two touches, and then the handcuffing. Needless to say, her brothers were not pleased about that last part. Dean was straight up pissed, while Sam tried to come up with some theories on the reasoning behind Castiel restraining Alex. Not wanting to dwell on it, Alex demanded _they_ fill _her_ in on their end of everything. Basically, after finding other hunters shredded by ghosts and then Sam's attack in the bathroom, the three men had realized something was after hunters in particular and hurried back. Bobby had made it first and been trapped by some angry little girl's spirits in the salvage yard until Sam had managed to get him free. Dean had been looking for Alex when he too was confronted by the spirit of Henriksen.

"When we first got here and couldn't find you anywhere... we thought maybe they got you," Sam said. His voice hitched slightly, and Alex finally met her twin's gaze for the first time in months without glaring or frowning. She was reminded of how much she really did love him and how guilty she felt about the crap status of their relationship lately. It didn't matter that they were at odds, fighting, and mad at each other. She would take a bullet for him, hands down, even now.

"I was just freaked that I couldn't get outta here to warn you," she replied. She thought about losing one or both of her brothers again and couldn't bear it. "Really glad you're okay." Sam nodded, and they shared a truce of a smile. 

"Well, we're all in one piece," Dean said. "But I think we're all lucky to still be breathing." It was what they were all thinking. 

Bobby, who had settled at his little desk with a book, looked up at her. "Kids, can we continue this conversation over some arts 'n crafts? We need to get some salt and iron rounds ready. Can't stay in this little room forever."

The Winchesters set to work prepping the rounds quietly. Alex shared some of the highlights of her angel mythos research—angels appeared in most major mythologies and religions. They always came with the assumption of a god in charge of them, they had powers of healing and were somewhere between corporeal and not. Dean listened with a sour expression on his face, and when she concluded, there was a long silence as everyone digested.

"So, if angels are real, then God is too. Right?" Dean muttered, seemingly to himself. Another long silence passed. "No. See, this is why I can't get behind God."

Sam gave his brother an odd look. "Huh?"

"If he doesn't exist, fine. Bad crap happens to good people. That's how it is. There's no rhyme or reason—just random, horrible, evil—I get it, okay. I can roll with that. But if he is out there, what's wrong with him?" Dean threw his arms wide. "Where the hell is he while all these decent people are getting torn to shreds? How's he live with himself? You know, why doesn't he _help_?"

Alex snorted. "That's what you and every philosopher _ever_ wants to know," she said with a cursory glance his way as she shoved more rock salt into the shell she was holding. Sam remained in silent discomfort, mulling over Dean's rant.

"Found it," Bobby said, breaking the silence.

"Found what?" Sam asked.

"The symbol you saw—the brand on the ghosts... it's the Mark of the Witness."

"What symbol?" Alex asked. Bobby held up the page and tapped a strange little symbol there.

"I saw it on Henriksen," Sam explained. "On his wrist. Did Nancy have one?"

Alex frowned. She hadn't seen it, but Nancy's skin had been covered up entirely except for her hands, part of her neck, and face. "She might've—I didn't notice it though."

"Well, it's the mark of the unnatural," Bobby explained. "None of them died what you'd call ordinary deaths. See, these ghosts—they were forced to rise. They woke up in agony. They were like rabid dogs. It ain't their fault. Someone rose them... on purpose."

An ominous assertion. "Who would do that?" Sam asked.

"Do I look like I know? But whoever it was used a spell so powerful it left a mark, a brand on their souls. Whoever did this had big plans. It's called 'the rising of the witnesses.' It figures into an ancient prophecy."

Intrigued, Alex stopped loading rounds.

"From where?" Dean asked, his tone decidedly suspicious.

"Well, the widely distributed version's just for tourists, you know. But long story short—the book of Revelations." The bible. Alex felt her face growing a little less enthused. "This is a sign, kids."

"A sign of what?" Sam and Dean chorused as their sister looked on in apprehension.

Bobby cleared his throat. "The apocalypse."

Silence. Everyone stared at Bobby, wondering if he were joking. Dean broke the silence. "Apocalypse? The _apocalypse_ , apocalypse? The four horsemen, pestilence, five-dollar-a-gallon-gas apocalypse?"

"No, the other one," Bobby said sarcastically. " _Yes_ , that one. The rise of the witnesses is a—I dunno, a mile marker."

Alex gaped. Dean was dubious.

"Okay... so what do we do?" Sam asked in a dazed voice.

"Road trip. Grand Canyon, Star Trek Experience. Bunny Ranch." Dean said, getting a dirty look from Sam and an eye roll from Alex.

"First things first," Bobby said. "How about we survive our friends out there? This here's a spell," he indicated the paper in front of him, "to send the witnesses back to rest. Should work."

" _Should._ Great." Sam commented wryly.

"If I translate it correctly. I think I got everything we need here at the house."

"Any chance you got everything we need here in this room?" Dean asked a little hopefully.

"You thought our luck was gonna start now all of a sudden?" Bobby said. "Spell's gotta be cast over an open fire."

"The fireplace in the study?" Alex asked reluctantly.

"Bingo." 

"That's just not as appealing as a, uh, ghost-proof panic room, you know?" Dean looked uncharacteristically nervous.

"Nope," Bobby said, and snapped the book shut and put it under his arm. "Everyone load up a shotgun."

* * *

They almost didn't succeed in casting the spell and sending the ghosts back. It was like the entire house had been possessed—angry spirits seemed to be around every corner—familiar faces of people who had died when the Winchesters had gotten involved in their lives. After fighting their way to the study and salt-circling themselves in, Bobby had sent Sam after a hex box upstairs and Dean into the kitchen for ingredients. Alex and Bobby could see Dean from where they were, but when the ghost attacks became more violent, Alex had raced up the stairs, afraid for Sam who was by himself.

She stopped short at the top of the stairs when she heard a female voice around the corner and down the hallway "...what you're doing with that demon, Ruby..." Alex's breath seemed to stop and she shrank back, confused. "How many innocent bodies has Ruby burned through for kicks?" the voice continued. A voice she recognized as the demon Meg. "How many girls just like me? And you don't send her back to Hell? _You're a monster!_ " There was a pause, and then Alex jumped when a rifle blast sounded. _Holy shit_ , was Sam fucking around with the demon Ruby? Alex turned and ran back down the stairs, shaken to the core. Downstairs, she found Henriksen's ghost attempting to rip Dean's heart out. She blasted through the ghost with her shotgun and dragged a rattled Dean back to the salt circle, where Sam had just returned. With all four of them together, the angry spirits were drawn like flies to honey.

They _barely_ survived the following attack and just _barely_ managed to cast the spell in time to save their own skin.

Now, the four hunters were exhausted, sore, and in shock after battling so many ghosts at once. Bobby had retired to his room to rest (one does tend to need a little time after a ghost attempts to rip out your internal organs) and Dean declared he was going to take a damn shower. This left the twins to themselves. Pretty much as soon as they were alone, Alex had demanded that Sam follow her outside.

She led him in stony silence to the junk yard, and turned on him, not bothering to hide her anger.

"What's up?" He asked in a guarded tone, looking at her cautiously. He was already on defensive, his hands shoved in his pockets.

" _What's up_?" She repeated incredulously. "Sam, why don't you tell me why _Meg_ seemed to think you're still palling around with Ruby?" The two names she dropped made Sam's face falter in clear, caught out surprise. "You told Dean that Ruby was _dead_." Alex accused. Still, she tried to do the right thing and give him some small benefit of the doubt. "Is Ruby still alive, Sam?"

Sam swallowed, wet his lips, and it looked like he was attempting to come up with an answer. "Well, uh, Meg's ghost lied. She was just making stuff up to try and get me mad."

Alex felt insulted—she was being lied to. Her voice took on a tight, growling quality as she tried her damndest to give him another chance to tell the truth. "Sam, Nancy knew everything about me. _Everything_. Why would Meg _lie_?"

Sam was getting irritated and his hands were out of his pockets so that he could talk with his hands by using abrupt, sharp gestures. "Well I don't know what to _tell_ you, what Meg said isn't _true_."

"Stop _lying_!" Alex exploded, completely losing her cool at this point and using her hands, too, spreading them wide in an _are you kidding me_ gesture. "How the hell can you lie to my face like that, huh? I _know_ what I heard! What is _with you_ , Sam?" She was so angry that she was shaking and she pointed an accusing finger at him, tried lowering her voice. "You've been acting all kinds of weird ever since Dean got back and sneaking off and I'm—"

Sam cut her off, short on patience. "Okay, Alex look, fine!" He let his hands go wide and slap against his sides as he admitted the truth. "Yeah, Ruby helped me out for awhile after I left you and Bobby." His face was twisting into an insolent look, like she was inconveniencing him at the moment. "What's the big freaking deal?"

" _Helped you out_?" Alex repeated.

"Yeah, like before. She helped me track stuff down and look for ways to bring Dean back. Uh, I lost touch with her like a month ago I guess." Sam sighed loudly, taking a minute and regulating. He was beginning to look genuinely sorry instead of just pissed. "Alex—just, just please try and understand... I was in a dark place. I lost my big brother. And I lost my little sister, too." That last one did make it harder to stay hardened. He was trying to give her one of those sad puppy faces he did. Alex crossed her arms and looked away. He couldn't undo the lies and hurt with a sad face aimed her way. "I did all kinds of crazy _crap_ ," Sam continued desperately, earnestly. "But Dean's back and I'm on the straight and narrow! Promise." 

Alex looked at him again, in the eye. He looked hopeful and vulnerable, like he really meant what he'd said. Looking at her twin—a person she was supposed to be close to, to be able to trust—she felt her heart sinking. She really didn't know him anymore and she shook her head, overwhelmed and unsure how they had come to this. "I can't tell when you're telling the truth anymore." She spoke the words softly, but when she said them, he looked like he'd been hit by a ton of bricks. 

He grew stoic, the hopefulness he'd had a moment before gone. When he spoke again, he avoided looking at her. "Look. Can you just not tell Dean about this? He's not too happy with me right now and this would just make it worse."

Alex chuckled sharply, bitterly. "No kidding."

Sam was beginning to beg now, his eyebrows drawing together intently. "Please, Alex. How many times have I covered for you in the past?" Alex darkened a little. She had to admit that was true. Sam's voice softened earnestly. "I'll tell him, soon. I promise."

Alex was disappointed, angry, heartbroken, and over the conversation. She grew gruff, refusing to show how sad she was. "Yeah, fine. You tell him. Cuz if you don't, I _will._ " She had to fight not to cry at this point. "I'll tell him all about how you left your _sister_ to work with some fucking _demon_ instead." She turned around and began to stalk away, her world yet again shattered. She didn't look back. If she had, she would have seen that her brother was just as torn up and heartbroken about it as she was. Maybe even more. 

* * *

Dean and Sam crashed in the living room late that night after going through Alex's notes on all the angelic crap she'd sifted through when they had been gone gone. Alex had shut herself in the guest room hours and hours ago, clearly not happy about something or another. Dean knew she'd come around. She always did.

He listened to the sound of Sam's deep, even breathing and smiled to himself despite everything. Down the hall, Alex was asleep in her room, safe and sound, and nearby, his goofy dork brother was snoring softly. Even though the twins were in rare form right now, having them close to him again was so much more comforting than he wanted to admit. When he had gotten out of the shower, he'd found Sam sulking in the study on his laptop, clearly wanting to be left alone... and Alex had been out in the junk yard nonchalantly smashing old car headlights with a hammer and drinking Jack. Funny how his siblings chose to deal with their latest near death experience. But, their prerogative.

Dean laid awake for a long time, trying to decide if he could believe in angels or not. He believed in demons, he _knew_ those suckers were real... but he wasn't so sure about angels. Dean's mind turned to his years in Hell. To his brother and sister, it had been a little under five months. It had been _so much longer_ there for him. He ground his teeth as he tried not to think of the pain, the torment, the utter hopelessness he had endured. The scorching heat, the screams, the never-ending pain and suffering. He suddenly woke, a little confused, not even realizing he had been asleep. Sam was still sleeping deeply on the couch, and silver slats of moonlight lined the floor. The house was silent.

Dean sat up, looking around, feeling like he was being watched. That's when he saw a familiar silhouette in the kitchen. Dean got up, on guard, and silently went into the kitchen, where Castiel leaned casually up again the kitchen counter. He looked exactly like he had before—stern, and maybe a little constipated, too. "Excellent job with the witnesses," Castiel said, not bothering with pleasantries.

"You knew about that?" Dean asked, a little taken aback. He shouldn't have been surprised, he guessed, and got gruff. "You know, a heads up would have been nice. Oh and thanks a _whole_ lot for handcuffing my sister to the damn wall. What was that all about?"

"I saved her life," Castiel said without batting an eye.

"By _trapping_ her in a _panic room_?" Dean was flabbergasted at the dude's nonchalance.

Castiel looked at him for several beats, his blue eyes narrowing just slightly. "If I hadn't made sure she stayed in that room, Nancy's spirit _would_ have killed her easily when Alex left the room to assist you. And Alex _would_ have left the panic room to do such. It was a certainty." Castiel's mouth twitched as if in impatience. "I didn't enjoy having to restrain your very stubborn sister. If she had just listened, it would have been much more pleasant." He looked at Dean almost contemptuously. "You're _welcome_."

Dean smirked slightly. That was Alex—stubborn as hell. And it was kind of funny to see the angel guy annoyed over it, too. But, Dean supposed he did have to give Castiel credit for one thing and his smirk fell. "Yeah, she, uh, told me about your magical healing powers. Guess I do owe you one." But, Dean wasn't going to let Castiel leave without finding out more about one very, very troublesome claim. "You wanna tell me exactly why you told her you were assigned to protect her?"

"Because it's the truth," was Castiel's plain, straightforward reply. "God commanded it."

Dean's big brother hackles were definitely raised. He didn't like the sound of this. "What could God possibly want _her_ for?"

Castiel shook his head slightly, disinterested. "I wasn't given a reason, nor do I need one. I do what is commanded of me."

That was rich, and Dean was indignant. "So where the hell were you when she was getting kicked around by Nancy in the first place?!" He demanded. "And, hey, I could've used a hand myself—I almost got my _heart_ ripped out of my chest!"

"But you didn't." Castiel's stoic attitude and expression were getting on Dean's last nerve and he was past the point of caring whether he offended the dude or not. 

"I thought angels were supposed to be, I dunno... fluffy wings, halos," he retorted. "You know, Michael Landon. Not _dicks_."

Castiel was resolute and unruffled. "Read the Bible. Angels are warriors of God. I'm a soldier."

Dean laughed, in a short, incredulous huff of air. "A _soldier_? Then why didn't you fight? And where the hell is God, anyway, if he even exists? I'm not convinced. 'Cause if there's a God, what the hell is he waiting for, huh? Genocide? Monsters roaming the earth? The freakin' _apocalypse?_ At what point does he lift a damn finger and help the poor bastards that're stuck down here?"

Castiel's gaze faltered and he looked away. Almost reluctantly, he said, "The Lord works..."

"If you say 'mysterious ways,' so help me, I will kick your ass." Dean growled. "So, Bobby was right... about the witnesses. This is some kind of a... sign of the apocalypse."

"That's why we're here," Castiel said. _We_. So there were more of these idiots. Just great. "The rising of the witnesses is one of the sixty-six seals."

"Okay. I'm guessing that's not a show at Sea World." The joke was lost on Castiel, who didn't seem to understand the reference. In fact, his expression had gone from mostly blank to introspective.

"Those seals are being broken by Lilith. And even though you sent the witnesses back, the seal was broken."

"And that did what?" Dean asked. 

Castiel's almost worried expression was disconcerting. "You think of the seals as locks on a door."

"Okay..." Dean prompted, not seeing where the dude was going with this. "Last one opens and..."

Castiel looked at him tensely. "Lucifer walks free."

Dean's eyebrows shot up. Okay, _not_ what he had expected. "Lucifer?" He repeated. "But I thought Lucifer was just a story they told at demon Sunday school. There's no such thing."

"Three days ago, you thought there was no such thing as me," Castiel pointed out. "Why do you think we're here walking among you now for the first time in two thousand years?"

Dean looked at Castiel in reluctance, seeing where this was going. "To stop Lucifer."

"That's why we've arrived."

A little uncomfortable with all of this new information, Dean resorted to his favorite defense mechanism: sarcastic insults. "Well... bang-up job so far. Stellar work with the witnesses. Nice job letting my little sister get kicked around by a ghost. Two thumbs, way, way up."

Castiel seemed to be losing patience. "We tried. And there are other battles, other seals. Some we'll win, some we'll lose. This one we lost. Our numbers are not unlimited. Six of my brothers died on the battlefield this week." He looked at Dean with resentment. "You think the armies of Heaven should just follow you around? There's a bigger picture here." He was stepping closer, his voice even lower. Almost menacing. "You should show me some respect. I dragged you out of Hell. I can throw you back in."

Without giving him a chance to reply, the angel was gone, leaving Dean standing alone in the kitchen. A moment later, Dean was blinking back sunlight and laying on the floor where he had fallen asleep. For a second, he was confused and disoriented. Then he realized what had happened. _I'll be damned._ The angel had come to him in a dream.

Now if _that_ wasn't Biblical…


	7. Alone With Everyone

_"A brand new start and a goodbye. We fall apart just to come alive_."  
\- Bebo Norman _  
_

* * *

She was all alone in a place where the darkness gnawed and devoured. Alex opened her mouth to call for help, but nothing came out—not a word, not a sound. Claws swiped at her, invisible and fiery. Somewhere far away, she heard her brothers calling for her, but she was drowning in the nothing and left without words. And then, she saw Dean—impossibly far away. He saw her somehow, and reached for her—then was violently dragged from her, screaming. She tried to reach out, but her limbs had turned into water. She tried to shout his name, she tried to shout for Sam, but Dean was gone. Overwhelming despair overcame her and she twisted, rolled, struggled against the dark creatures that tumbled around her. _Boom, boom, boom._ Sam was suddenly there within reach almost, but when he saw her, he just stared. _Boom, boom, boom._ Alex screamed out in silence, begging her brother to help her, save her. _Boom, boom, boom._

She heard herself gasp and her eyes flew open to see daylight and the familiar ceiling of Bobby's guest room. She had been dreaming. Her heart rate was skyrocketed and her breathing was hard too. She began to calm when she realized it wasn't real.

_Boom, boom, boom._

"Hey, I've been banging on this door for like five minutes!" Came a loud voice. "You asleep or what?!" Dean demanded from outside the room behind the door he was pounding on. Disoriented, Alex scrambled out of bed and pulled the door open, squinting at her oldest brother. "Yikes, ever heard of a hairbrush?" he quipped. His good humor faded when he took in her expression. "...You good?"

"Yeah. Fine. Bad dream." She mumbled, then rubbed her eye with the heel of her hand tiredly. That was the only problem with sleeping a whole night through. There were always nightmares.

Dean looked sympathetic and gave her arm a good, enthusiastic 'cheer up' whack. "Well, come on. Up and at 'em. We're hitting the road soon. Pack everything."

"Might take me awhile," Alex wisecracked, deadpan—yes, it was early, but never too early for sarcasm. She grabbed her duffel and slung it over her shoulder. She was already dressed except for shoes—she didn't own any pajamas. "Ready when you are."

"All girls should be like you," Dean said teasingly and hooked his arm around her neck, giving the top of her head a hard scrubbing with his knuckles. Alex protested the noogie with a halfhearted sound of protest. In the living room, Sam watched, separate and silent.

* * *

They were piled into the Impala, on the road again. After a few minutes, Alex realized she was missing one vital piece of information. "Where we going, anyway?"

"West," Dean said impassively. _Allllrighty then_ , Alex thought to herself. After another minute, he glanced back at her in the rearview. "So, uh, interesting thing, Al. _Castiel_ came to me in a dream last night."

Alex raised a teasting eyebrow. "TMI," she wisecracked, and in the front seat sullen Sam even had to smile momentarily.

"Ha _ha_ ," Dean retorted. "I'm serious."

"Yeah? So what did Mr. Handcuffs have to say?"

Dean made a face. "A whole lot of self-righteous crap about how he's God's warrior. Oh yeah, and the apocalypse is nigh."

He suddenly had her full attention with that one. "Huh?" she asked eloquently, mouth hanging open. She hadn't thought about the prophecy of the witnesses since yesterday—she'd been too busy fuming about Sam.

"He said that Lilith's game is to break these seal things," Dean said.

Alex frowned. "Wait. The seals from Revelations?"

"Hell if I know," Dean said. "Why?"

She hesitated. "It's just, I read the sparks notes on Revelations while doing the angel research..." Alex said, trying to remember exactly what she'd read. "There were these seals that were supposed to bring all this crazy hell on earth, Judgement Day crap if they got broken."

"Well, good ole Cas said there are sixty-six seals," Dean replied slowly. "Those ghosts yesterday were one of these seals. And my favorite part—if they all get broken, Lucifer is coming to town."

" _What_?" Alex sat forward in the backseat so that her head was between the front seats. "Lucifer? _Lucifer._ The devil. _Satan_."

"That's the one," Dean confirmed.

From their grim expressions, Alex got the feeling her brothers were both already on board with the theory. Alex was a little blindsided and disgruntled. It seemed a little out there. "And... you're just buying it?"

Dean's knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. "Yeah. Yeah, guess I am."

That was a lot to take in. "Sam?" Alex asked after a couple beats.

He barely looked at her. "I mean, yeah, I believe it. It's too crazy not to be true."

Alex sank back into her seat, feeling unsettled and suddenly very overwhelmed. This changed so much. "...Well what are _we_ supposed to do? Why'd Castiel tell you all that?"

Dean let out a heavy breath. "Cas has a bad habit of disappearing before I can get a straight answer from him." Shaking his head, Dean avoided her pointed gaze in the rearview mirror. "He seems to want me for something. Just dunno if I can trust the guy."

Alex kept watching the side of Dean's thoughtful, brooding face. She didn't know if they could trust him either.

* * *

It was late at night at the Willow Tree Motel and Dean had fallen asleep a few hours ago. He had driven all day long, and the siblings had remained mostly silent, each lost in their own thoughts. Sam had mostly stared out the window and complained about Dean's music choices, Alex had added a little to Dad's journal—angels required a lengthy if unfinished, entry. There was still a lot they didn't know and might never know. Alex mulled over Castiel's brief appearances and stilted mannerisms, the flashing light and his dark shadowed wings—and, of course, the whole handcuffing thing. His words to Dean about the apocalypse were troubling. If it were true, this was bigger than anything they had faced before... and they were facing it as a family that had fallen apart. It couldn't be real... that was the thought she kept coming back to. Because it made zero sense to her: God wanting Dean for some kind of heavenly mission… God supposedly ordering protection over _her_ of all people… and an impending apocalypse? Alex realized she was chewing the inside of her cheek and made herself stop. She watched the scenery outside fly by. She'd only gotten more and more troubled as the hours passed.

After arriving to the motel and settling in, Alex and Sam had exchanged short, necessary conversation here and there (stuff like "you wanna shower first?" and "which bed you want?"). Dean had halfheartedly told them to "quit being bitches" and then turned in, either fed up or exhausted. Maybe both. Sam had hunched over his laptop at the table and ignored his sister completely. After moments of excruciating silence in which Alex only became more and more pissed thinking about her twin and yesterday's fight, she grabbed her jacket and left for a walk. She needed to be away from the forced silence, and she was tired of holding still. The night air was chilly, numbing her nose and cheeks. She walked next to the main road, where traffic was still pretty heavy. For awhile, she stood on the sidewalk and just watched cars pass. These normal people with normal lives and worries she'd never had: Paying taxes... planning a Christmas party... deciding what new diet to try. While she was worried about the goddamn apocalypse. Worried that one of her brothers would be taken by God, and that the other one would remain apathetic and refuse to have a real relationship with her. He'd rather side with a demon than his own sister. It left Alex wondering if she were to blame somehow for that last part.

There was suddenly a strange feeling that she was being watched, and Alex looked around quickly, trying to locate a watcher. But there was no one nearby. Old paranoia, she reasoned, and brushed the feeling away.

After a while, she returned to find the motel room dark and Sam in bed, seemingly asleep. She crawled into her bed too, not taking off her jacket or shoes and not using a blanket. She rarely did. She laid still, wide awake. She listened to Dean's deep wheezy sleep-breathing, which could almost be called snoring—it was a sound she had missed these past four months and easily cherished to hear again. An hour or more passed and Alex cursed herself for not being able to fall asleep yet again.

She heard the springs squeak on Sam's bed next to her, like he had gotten up. Alex tensed, her pulse speeding up a little bit. She pretended to be asleep— _please, Sam, just be going to the bathroom_ —she waited with bated breath as his soft footsteps slowly went toward the door. With a sinking feeling in her stomach, she listened as the door opened softly and clicked shut. Opening one eye to confirm he really had left, Alex quietly got up and slipped over to the window to watch as he rounded the corner outside. Again, he kept throwing glances around like the last time he'd snuck out. _Goddammit, Sam._ Alex slipped out the door too, and keeping to the side of the building, she followed Sam at a concealable distance to the back corner of the motel. He walked past the Impala without a second glance, further mystifying Alex. _Where the hell was he going?_ She stayed behind the parked cars, crouched low to avoid being seen. Sam neared the end of the building, where a car was parked and idling.

Alex hid behind a Mustang and peered over the hood. Sam got into the car—as it pulled away, Alex could see the driver in one flash of light from the motel sign and recognized the girl from the motel the day that Dean had come back. Confused, she watched the car pull into the main road and speed away. _Who was that, and why was Sam sneaking out to go somewhere with her?_ And then, suddenly, in light of yesterday's confession from Sam, cold realization overcame Alex. _Ruby_. It had to be Ruby. Alex couldn't move for a few minutes, the reality of the betrayal and the lies sinking in. She was hurt, and deeply. What the hell was Sam _doing_? Had he been sneaking off to see her that other night, too? She shook herself off and hurried back to the room in a severely upset state of mind. She was going to wake Dean up and they would get to the bottom of this. _Tonight._ Alex burst back into the hotel room, expecting to find Dean still sleeping. But instead, she found something very different. Dean was up, and Castiel was there.

The sight of the angel in the trench coat startled her, putting her on guard immediately. The last time she'd seen him, he'd handcuffed her to a damn gun rack. She edged closer to her brother, eyes on the angel the whole time. Castiel watched, his expression almost wary. "Hello, Alex."

His husky voice was deeper than she remembered and she shrank to Dean's side even more. Alex studied the angel carefully, doubtfully, unsure what to make of his unexpected presence there—and when she looked at Dean, she could see that he was shaken up. From the two men's expressions and tense body language, Alex realized she had walked in on something important. "What's going on?" She asked in a hard voice that didn't give away how her nerves fluttered with dread.

"Oh, he just popped in for a quick trip back to the future," Dean said sourly.

Alex looked at Dean with a disgruntled sudden frown. What did _that_ mean?

"I'm here because of Sam," Castiel said to Alex grimly, and her stomach dropped in foreboding. Was she imagining it, or did Castiel look _almost_ conflicted or sympathetic? He turned his attention back to Dean, seeming to pick up where he'd left off before Alex had interrupted. "We know _what_ Azazel did to your brother..." Alex's blood went cold. "What we don't know is _why_ —what his endgame is. He went to great lengths to cover that up."

"Wait... what did Azazel do?" Alex asked, looking between Castiel and her brother urgently.

Dean looked at her and she could see how angry he was. "Demon blood. He dripped freakin' demon blood into Sam's mouth the night of the fire." Her face went slack. Horrified, Alex looked at Castiel speechlessly.

He met her gaze. "For unknown reasons, he did not do the same to you."

"No, he just took away her ability to _speak_ ," Dean said bitterly. Castiel's gaze faltered a little.

Alex's stomach jolted in sick surprise. That had always been the theory—but there had never been any reason or logic behind as to _why_ Azazel would have done it. Yellow Eyes had not confirmed or denied it when Dean had demanded to know. He'd only laughed. After Dean had killed the demon, nothing had changed and she'd still been mute. Not that his death would have broken the curse or spell or whatever it was... but it had been _months_ after he died that her voice had, out of nowhere, returned.

Dean was fired up and looking ready to kill someone. "Okay Cas, where's Sam?"

"He's headed to four-twenty-five Waterman," Castiel replied.

Alex swallowed, steeling herself for Dean's reaction, because she knew something Dean didn't. "And, uh, Dean—I'm pretty sure he's with Ruby."

Dean's expression was momentarily aghast and he looked at Alex like he didn't want to believe that. "But he said—"

"He _lied_ ," Alex said darkly, her resentment bitter on her tongue.

Dean muttered something and grabbed his keys, heading for the door. Alex was right behind him, his shadow.

Castiel remained stock still. "Your brother is headed down a dangerous road. Even we're not sure where it leads. So stop it." Castiel's eyes shifted to them, his gaze chilling, his threat made clear: "Or we will." And then he was gone. Alex stared at the spot he'd been standing in, and she felt absolute dread to the point of physical illness.

"Come on," Dean said to Alex. There was murder in his voice. Even the way he walked was angry.

They exited the room together, Alex on his heels. "Okay, what just happened back there while I was gone for all of _two minutes_?" she demanded, doubling her stride to keep up with her brother.

"Time travel," Dean said tersely as he unlocked his door.

Alex paused and looking at him across the top of the car like he was crazy. "Are... you _high_?"

Dean was rueful. "Man, I wish I were."

* * *

The Impala flew down the road in the darkness of night as a stunned Alex took in everything Dean had just told her—Castiel's appearance, time travel back to 1973, meeting Mom and Dad... all under Castiel's command to 'stop it'—and by 'it,' he'd meant the nursery fire—only at the end to find that Dean couldn't have changed any of it at all.

Alex shook her head blankly as she processed. "So he let you see all of that and try to stop it... and then said you couldn't have changed it anyway?"

"Yeah." Dean's mouth was in a thin, cynical line. "Effed up, right?"

"Majorly." Stumped, Alex wracked her brain even as she felt keen sympathy and frustration for what Dean had to endure. "Why make you do that if he knew it wouldn't work? I don't get angel logic."

"Yeah, me either, but that's beside the point. You need to tell me how the hell Sam can be with Ruby. She _died_." Dean punched the gas, running a red light haphazardly.

"Jesus, Dean!" Alex gripped her seat with both hands. She shook her head, flustered. "I dunno. Makes no sense. I overheard Meg's ghost yesterday talking to Sam about what he was 'doing with Ruby.' I confronted him later and he lied about everything. _Everything_. And then when I called him on his crap, he admitted that he'd been working with her until a month ago, trying to find a way to get you back." Her face twisted into a sour expression. "I should've known _that_ was a lie, too."

Dean let out a very heavy breath through his nose, his hand gripping the steering wheel like a vice. His patience was thin. "Wanna explain why you didn't tell me about this?"

This was usually when she'd get defensive. But Alex didn't have the ego in the moment to pull that off. She was overcome with huge, unbearable heartache thinking of Sam. Her voice was soft. Pained. "He... said he wanted to tell you. I know I should've told you... but I wanted to give him a chance first." She barely kept her voice from cracking as she looked at Dean, wishing he could give her an answer. "Dean... what the hell happened to him?"

His jaw clenched and unclenched, and his voice was uncharacteristically vulnerable. "I don't know if I wanna know." He cleared his throat, slowing down. "Think this is it."

An old processing plant was up ahead, by all appearances abandoned. Dean switched off the headlights coasted a bit closer, then pulled over and popped the trunk. He took out the demon blade and looked at it with great intensity as Alex stood back grimly. Dean silently slid the knife into his pocket and jerked his head toward the building, indicating that he was ready. Alex checked her pistol and racked the slide, then tucked the weapon into her waistband at the small of her back. She nodded back, expression drawn. Then they moved forward in silence.

425 Waterman was the kind of place they frequented—a decrepit old building in a rundown part of town. Under the cover of night, it was easy to slip up to the building undetected. Following the sound of voices—two unfamiliar and one familiar—Dean and Alex were able to make out three figures inside one of the rooms through a metal grate.

Sam towered over a man who was tied to a chair that was surrounded by a crude devil's trap painted on the floor. "Where's Lilith?" he demanded roughly.

"Kiss my ass," the man replied. His eyes went black.

Sam sounded almost amused. "I'd watch myself if I were you."

"Why? Huh? Because you're Sam Winchester, Mr. Big Hero? And yet here you are, sluttin' around with some _demon_." The man grinned at the woman, who was watching with her arms crossed, leaned against the wall, giving the impression of casualness. "Real hero," the demon cackled, looking back at Sam.

"Shut your mouth," Sam said, trying to sound confident. Instead, he just sounded like he was about to lose it. Next to Alex, Dean looked like he was seeing red. Wordlessly, her first nature, Alex put a staying hand on his chest, communicating that he needed to stay focused.

The demon smirked. "Tell me about those months without your brother or sister around to censor you or boss you around. Tell me about all the things you and this demon bitch do in the dark." He grinned wickedly, then his expression fell. Sam was raising his hand, slowly and steadily, his expression intense. The demon lost his bravado, beginning to cough, and suddenly thick black smoke began to pour out of his mouth. Sam's hand trembled and face worked hard with effort.

Alex gaped, horrified and awed at the same time as she understood what she was seeing. She looked at Dean, who looked back at her in alarm. Their worst fears were true. The demon screamed, and then collapsed as the last of the black smoke disappeared, leaving the man groaning.

"You follow my lead, Alex, hear me?" Dean hissed, and gave her no time to reply. He was already on his way in, murderous.

Sam froze as Dean barged into the scene. "The hell are you doing!" Dean demanded. Alex hung back behind Dean a few steps, tensed like she was about to fight.

"Okay guys, just hold on, okay? Just let me—" Sam began, but Dean cut him off.

"You gonna say, 'let me explain'? You're gonna _explain_ this?" Dean all but roared, gesturing broadly. "You're here with _Ruby_ , who you said was _dead_ —doing what you told me you had stopped doing." He looked like he could spit, and his voice was clipped for how enraged he was. "Yeah, explain that please, to the whole damn class."

Sam didn't seem to know how to respond, but Ruby, smiling evenly at the newcomers, stepped forward. She looked different than she had in her last body—she was now a brunette with dark wide eyes and a face that looked pleasant and pretty. "It's good to see you two again," she said, and Alex wanted to punch her in the fucking face.

It wasn't much but it was heartfelt: "Fuck _you_ ," Alex snapped, joining Dean at his side. It felt like things were keying up toward an altercation.

She felt Dean tensing next to her. "That's really Ruby?" he demanded of Sam, who didn't respond. Ruby's smile was fading at the murderous look in the oldest Winchester's eyes. Then Dean lunged forward, shoving Ruby up against the wall, even as he whipped out the demon blade.

Sam grabbed his brother's wrist, shouting, "Don't!" even as Alex attempted to intervene. The knife clattered to the floor and Dean used momentum to throw Sam up against a wall, letting Ruby go. Alex was already snapping up the knife off the floor, then attacking Ruby, who had made for the knife as well. A wild uncontrolled slash missed its mark and Ruby slammed into Alex hard, attempting to barrel her over. Both of the girls tumbled to the ground fighting viciously, Alex trying to bring the blade down on Ruby, Ruby just barely holding her off. Sam let go of Dean and lunged at Alex, pulling her off of Ruby and yanking her back. The knife again went clattering to the ground again.

"Let _go_ of me!" Alex shouted furiously, struggling valiantly against Sam's iron grip. Ruby had the demon blade and was eyeing Dean with a murderous expression.

"Drop the knife, Ruby," Sam said commandingly, still restraining his angry twin. Ruby looked back at him defiantly, making him wait. Then she did as he said and dropped the knife.

"Well, aren't _you_ an obedient little bitch?" Dean asked mockingly. The demon glared daggers at Dean, clearly ready to fight again. Dean gave Sam a dangerous glare. "Let her go. _Now_ , Sam!"

Sam did, and Alex angrily yanked away from him and stalked off, meeting Dean's gaze briefly. This hadn't turned out in their favor. Sam glanced at Alex apologetically, then turned his attention to Ruby, indicating the man who was possessed earlier. "Ruby, he's hurt. Go."

The demon gave Dean another look and helped the dazed man up, hauling one of his arms over her shoulders, ready to take him out. "Where the hell do you think you're going?" Dean demanded.

"The emergency room," Ruby retorted with vast attitude. "Unless you want to go another round first." With that, she left, and Dean proceeded to give Sam a severely dirty look. Alex watched in angry confusion. _What the actual hell is going on here?_

"You good?" Dean asked Alex, who was picking up the demon blade once more. He didn't take his eyes off of Sam for a second.

Alex looked at the knife flatly then at Sam mistrustfully. "Fucking great," she muttered in a way that was meant to make Sam feel bad. It clearly worked.

"Let's get outta here," Dean said, already turning away and ignoring Sam's anxious, questioning look.

"Dean," Sam implored. Dean didn't stop, didn't turn back. He just walked out the way he'd come in. Sam's voice got more desperate as Alex neared the doorway. "Alex!"

She whirled angrily, the knife still in her hand. " _What_?!"

"Look, if you'll just hear me out—" he started, coming a couple steps closer, imploring her.

Alex shook her head hard, trying not to let her more vulnerable state show. But she couldn't summon the shield of anger anymore. It was all heartbreak. She pointed at him using the knife. "I thought I could _trust_ you, Sam!" His face twisted in remorse and shame and his eyes fell away from hers. Alex felt a tear roll out onto her cheek. She had lost Sam completely and didn't understand him. He had clearly chosen where he wanted to be—and that was with a _demon_. Alex fell back on her most trusted self-preservation tactic: covering sadness with anger. She hardened her face and gritted her teeth. "I don't know you at _all_ anymore."

Sam said nothing, merely stood in place. Guilty eyes refused to fully look into hers.

And with nothing else left to say, Alex turned and followed her oldest brother out of the building before she said something she'd really regret.

* * *

After awhile of second guessing himself and trying to think of how to explain everything, Sam returned on foot to the motel room only to find it empty. He waited into the morning, at first upset to the point of feeling physically sick, then feeling angry and attacked, then guilt-riddled and confused. Finally, around nine o'clock, he heard the familiar grumble of the Impala. He swallowed nervously. Time for round two of Dean and Alex's wrath.

Dean swept in alone, ignoring Sam completely. He began to stuff his shirts into his duffel wordlessly. Sam's stomach twisted. "Dean, what are you doing?" Dean didn't answer. Sam tried again. "Where's Alex?"

"Right here," she said, and he turned to see her standing in the doorway, arms crossed as she leaned into the door frame. She looked like she hadn't slept and her expression was stony.

With rising dismay, Sam tried to figure out what was happening. "What, are you, are you _leaving_?"

Refusing to make eye contact, Dean finished shoving things into his bag. "You don't need us," he said coldly. "You and _Ruby_ go fight demons. Real fuckin' heroes." He churlishly grabbed the bag and started for the door, only to have Sam physically block his way.

"Hold on—Dean, come on, man!"

Without warning, Dean hauled off and socked Sam in the jaw, the force sending Sam whirling. Reeling temporarily from the blow, Sam turned back, wincing and wounded in a way beyond physical. "You satisfied?" In reply, Dean again punched him in the jaw, this time drawing blood. Sam panted, recovered, swallowed. "Guess not," Sam said, touching his split lip and looking at Alex, who was still at the door, but she no longer looked stony. Now she was pained and worried. "You gonna hit me, too?" He asked, and his only reply was her face working ever so quietly to contain her feelings.

Dean got in Sam's face, blocking his view of his sister. "Do you even know how far off the reservation you've gone? How far from normal? From _human_?"

Sam held his hands out defensively. "I'm just exorcising demons!"

" _With your mind!_ " Dean yelled. He took a pause, trying to calm himself. "What else can you do?"

"I can send them back to hell!" Sam said, trying to get his brother to see his side for once. "It only works with demons, and that's it."

Clearly not convinced and even more pissed off than before, Dean grabbed a hold of his brother and pushed him backwards violently. "What else can you do?!"

" _I told you_!" Sam protested emphatically. Dean looked like he might punch Sam again.

Alex had crossed into the room and was now gripping Dean's shoulder tightly, her expression fierce. "Hey—cool it," she said stiffly. Dean jerked back from her hand, but seemed to take her suggestion to heart and he retreated slightly.

Sam looked at his twin reluctantly. She was looking at him distrustfully, arms crossed again. He remembered when they had been so close as kids. He had told her everything. Now, she was looking at him like he was a stranger. Like she didn't know him. His gaze faltered. "Look, I should have said something," he said, feeling pathetic and low. She said nothing, merely regarded him with all the hurt she felt. That was somehow worse. "I'm sorry. I am," he said honestly, begging her: "But try to see the other side here."

Dean, who had been standing with his back to them, turned around. " _The other side_?" He repeated incredulously.

"I'm pulling demons out of _innocent people_ ," Sam said, not sure why Dean couldn't see the staggering positivity of that fact.

"Use the _knife!_ " Dean said, his voice yet again raised almost to a yell, exasperated.

"The knife kills the victim!" Sam protested, almost yelling now too. "What I do, most of them survive! Look, I've saved more people in the last five months than we save in a _year_ , Dean!"

"That what Ruby wants you to think?" Dean asked. "Huh? Kind of like the way she tricked you into using your powers?" He shook his head sadly. "This is a slippery slope, brother. Just wait and see. Because it's gonna get darker and darker, and God knows where it ends."

"I'm not gonna let it go too far," Sam insisted vehemently.

Dean chuckled humorlessly, and then without warning he flew into a fit of rage and hit the lamp on the nearby table, sending it crashing into the wall. The twins winced in unison as Dean took over the room like a raging storm. "It's already _gone too far_ , Sam!" His next statement hit them all like a ton of bricks. "If I didn't know you... I would wanna _hunt_ you!"

The room went dead silent when he said that. Sam's eyes shone with tears, and he nodded while looking down. Alex had shrank back slightly at Dean's outburst and had horrified tears in her eyes, too.

Sam shook his head, looking at his big brother pleadingly. "W-what was I supposed to do?" He implored. "You were _gone_. I was here."

There was a wounded silence. "I was here, too," Alex reminded him quietly, her voice wavering with emotion. "And you go and decide _this_ was what you wanted? That you'd rather work with a _demon_ than your own _sister_?"

Sam hadn't really thought of it like that, and the pain in his twin's eyes killed him. He searched for the right words. "It wasn't like that, I just—you weren't going to try to bring Dean back and… that's all I could live for anymore." His hazel eyes flickered with guilt. "I knew you wouldn't approve." His face was a mask of pain that he fought off, trying to appeal to his brother and sister again. "But what I'm doing... it _works_."

Alex shook her head mournfully, unable to agree.

Dean, whose face was scrunched in an unreadable expression, approached Sam again. "Yeah so if it's so damn terrific... then why'd you lie about it to me? To Alex? Why'd you hide it all this time?"

Sam looked down, guilty.

"Because you know it's wrong," Alex supplied when he said nothing.

"It's not, normal, no, but I mean, is it really wrong?" Sam asked.

Dean smiled tightly, more a grimace. "Well why else would an _angel_ tell me to stop you?"

Sam's face fell completely. "What?"

"Cas said if we didn't stop you... he would." Dean let that hang in the air, and Sam seemed to get the significance of it, and looked at his big brother helplessly. Dean was still on his soapbox. "See, I take that as meaning that _God_ doesn't want you doing this. So, are you just gonna stand there and tell me everything is _all good_?" He asked, and Sam, the picture of turmoil, looked between his brother and sister with a torn expression.

Alex was the one who tried to bridge the gap. "Sam, please. It's not too late. Is it? You can stop. Right?" She sounded lost.

Sam looked at her long, considering. And then suddenly his phone rang, jarring all of them. He scrambled to pull it out of his pocket, clearing his throat and answering, maybe glad for a distraction. "Hey, Travis. Yeah, hey." He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to collect himself. "It's good to hear your voice, too, yeah. Um, look, it's not a really good time right now. It's—" he paused. "Yeah, okay. Uh, well, just give me the details, and, uh…" Sam walked over the the bedside table and grabbed a notepad, scrawling on it. Alex looked at Dean, whose expression was so many things—angry, hurt, sad. He saw her gaze and he looked away, shaking his head.

"Yeah, okay, thanks Travis. Bye." Sam put his phone down and looked at Dean, then Alex. "Travis has a lead in Missouri." He looked down, his jaw working oddly. "Listen, I know you guys have no reason to trust me or to let me come along, but—"

Dean grabbed his duffel off the floor, his face a mask. "Just shut up and let's go."

* * *

They made good time to Carthage, Missouri—about eight hours of driving nonstop. Dean told Sam about Castiel taking him into the past, and for a few moments as Dean told them about how young and full of life their parents had been, there was peace. Of course, when Sam slipped up and mentioned Azazel dripping demon blood into his mouth without Dean or Alex mentioning it to him… yet another fight followed. Sam said he was sorry, and Dean had retorted that Sam had been saying that a lot lately, and more stony silence had settled over the car.

When they got to Carthage, they looked up Jack Montgomery, the lead Travis had told them about. The guy Jack had been eating raw ground beef out of his refrigerator when the Winchesters had checked in on him. After witnessing that, they met up with Travis, who was an old friend of Dad's. Alex remembered seeing him once or twice, but it had been a long time ago. Travis complimented the Winchesters, saying their dad would have been proud of them for sticking together, then he oohed and aahed over Alex's voice, and embarrassed her thoroughly with his amazement. He then sat the siblings down and told them that Jack Montgomery was a Rugaru—a monster that manifested in the subject's mid thirties and would wreak murderous havoc on everyone around him if and when he gave into the desire to eat humans. The Winchesters parted ways with Travis feeling less hungry than they had before.

* * *

"All right, so we're gonna go have a little chat with this guy, and see where he's at," Dean was saying as they drove down the road, heading back to Jack's home the next day. Dean looked at Sam pointedly. "But I just wanna make sure, if push comes, you're gonna shove."

"Meaning?"

"Well, odds are we're gonna have to burn this guy alive," Dean said, referring back to Travis's information. The only way to kill Rugaru was with fire.

"This guy has a name and a wife," Sam replied intensely, obviously disliking Dean's statement. Alex drew in a deep breath. She could already hear the fight coming on and didn't think she could take another one.

"Yeah, who we're probably gonna make a widow, okay? I mean, you heard Travis. He's gonna turn. They always turn."

"Well, maybe he won't. Maybe he can fight it off," Sam said. 

"And maybe he can't, that's all I'm saying."

Sam was on edge. "All right, we'll just have to see then, okay?" He retorted, then made a face. "And why aren't you asking Alex if _she's_ gonna shove?"

"Because I know what she'd do," Dean said bluntly with zero hesitation. He sent his brother a dark glance. "Come on, Sam. You're side-railing. You sure your emotions aren't getting in the way here?"

Sam was defensive. "What are you talking about?"

"You know, nice dude, but he's got something evil inside," Dean said. "Something in his blood. Maybe you can relate."

Even Alex had to look up at that comment. _Ouch_. Sam was silent, then with eerie calm he said, "Stop the car."

"What?" Dean asked.

"Stop the car or I will!" Sam repeated, forcefully this time. Dean scoffed and pulled over, but even before he had completely stopped, Sam was getting out, slamming his door with gusto. He took several steps away, clearly trying to calm down. Dean followed him after throwing the car into park, and Alex got out too but hung back near the car.

Sam whirled around to face Dean wrathfully. "You wanna know why I've been lying to you, Dean? Because of crap like _this!_ "

"Like what?" Dean demanded, clearly fired up and ready to fight.

"The way you talk to me, the way you both look at me like I'm a _freak_!"

"I do not," Dean replied lamely.

"You know, or even worse, like I'm an idiot!" Sam pointed an accusing finger at Alex, his voice raising more and more. "Like I don't know the difference between right and wrong!"

"Well _do_ you?" Alex asked, no longer leaning against the car. She was being drawn into the argument like a moth to a flame.

"You have no idea what I'm going through," Sam said darkly, looking at her bitterly. " _None._ "

That triggered an outburst. "How would I?! You've been _gone_ the past four months!" Alex didn't bother to regulate her anger anymore. "By _your own choice_! So don't lecture me about what you're going through, cuz you're not the only one going through shit right now!"

Sam got a self-righteous, joyless smile on his face. "Oh please, Alex, don't act like the victim here."

"Oh _I'm_ the victim?" Alex asked, getting more pissed off by the second. "When that's all you've done the past few days?! Acting like someone held a gun to your head and made you go screw around with psychic demon mind powers...!"

Sam shook his head and scoffed in disgust. "You don't even _try_ to understand my point of view!"

"The one where it's okay to lie to your family and mess around with evil for kicks?" Alex retorted. Dean was watched everything unfold with a sickened expression on his face. 

Sam huffed as his voice darkened dangerously. "You know what, Alex—"

"Sam don't," Dean interjected faintly.

Sam whipped his head to the side to look at Dean and bore down on him without warning, his temper getting the better of him. "Stop _telling_ me what to _do_ Dean!" He thundered, and by all appearances, it looked like Sam was about to hit his brother. Dean's expression darkened, and he got ready for a showdown.

And then Alex grabbed Sam by the sleeve of the jacket and yanked hard. " _Stop it_!" She wedged herself between her brothers, a palm hitting either of their chests to keep them apart. And they stopped when she did that—not because she was strong enough to literally hold them apart, but because of the look on her face and maybe the realization of what was happening. Still, they glared daggers at each other, breathing heavily, and Alex shoved both of them at once. "Just _stop!_ " Her face was haggard with furious disbelief and after a couple seconds, both brothers backed off and Alex threw her hands out in absolute frustration as she ground her teeth together. "Are you _kidding_ me?!" She looked like she was going to cry or scream or shoot someone, like she was about to flip out completely. "The three of us are the _most_ —" she was holding her hands on either side of her head, " _fucked_ up excuse for a family—I'm _sick_ of it!" She was at the point of shouting now and looking at both of them now, not just Sam. "All we do is _fight_ each other and lie to each other—I mean, we can't even stand to be _around_ each other! _Why are we even doing this?_ Huh?! Cuz _Dad_ would have wanted it?" She let silence span for a few beats, then looked at Sam and jabbed her pointer finger at him. "Sam if you don't want to be here, don't be here! It's that simple." 

"Come on, Alex. We're family. No one's leaving," Dean said, his tone commanding. Alex looked at him insolently. "I am _not_ letting this family fall apart," he said fiercely.

"We already _have_ , Dean," Sam said furiously. "And you know what, I'm tired of being the odd man out."

Dean looked like he had never heard anything more ridiculous. " _What_ are you _talking_ about?"

" _You_ ," Sam poked a finger at Dean, "have _always_ taken her side, every time! You two wanna act all high and mighty, like you've never messed up."

"Well I don't recall either of us ever, you know, using our freakin' _minds_ to exorcise demons!" Dean snapped.

Sam shook his head, at a loss, taking a moment. "Why am I even here right now? I can tell when I'm not wanted."

Dean's eyes narrowed. "So now you're trying to make this look like we're ganging up on you?"

"You _are_! You've both made up your minds that I'm the bad guy without even having all the facts!"

"Which are?" Dean asked, arms crossed.

"I've got _demon blood_ in me!" Sam shouted. "This disease is pumping through my veins, and I can't ever rip it out or scrub it clean! I'm a whole new level of _freak_! And I'm just trying to take this—this curse... and make something good out of it." He breathed deeply, taking a second to calm himself. "Because I have to."

His outburst hadn't fallen on deaf ears, and Alex could hear the fear he was holding onto. She appealed to him the only way she knew how, because she saw what he was saying, but she also saw a bigger problem. "Listen, Sam... yeah you've saved some people, but at what cost?" She studied him for a moment, filled with sudden worry. "We don't know what this is _doing_ to you." She paused, growing dour. "Only what it's doing to this sorry excuse for a family."

Sam bristled at that statement. "Last time I checked it took more than one person to make a family work."

Alex stared at him stormily, then shook her head in frustration, gave up and turned away.

Dean threw his hands in the air, dumbstruck. "Okay—before I died, you guys fought… but this is a whole new level of screwed. You two wanna tell me why you can't look at each other anymore? Why the kids who used to be inseparable are... _this_?" He indicated vaguely with his hands.

Alex looked at her twin sidelong and from underneath her lashes. There didn't seem to be any going back from the damage that had been done. She didn't know how to fix this. They were both wounded, and unlike Dean, they didn't seem able to just push those feelings aside. Sam shrugged grimly, speaking for them both. "Dunno what to tell you, Dean. Times change."

Dean looked less than pleased, his jaw clenching tightly. "Apparently." After a moment, he jerked his thumb at the Impala. "Look, let's just go talk to Jack."

Alex looked at Dean in semi-disbelief. Were they really going to just drop this whole thing? Sam seemed to be thinking the same thing, but after a moment of deliberation, gave a small, brusque nod. Alex wordlessly watched her brothers get in the car. Without a choice, she did too, but not happily.

* * *

They parked behind and beside the Montgomery residence, after the silent ten minute drive. "I'll do the talking," Dean said gruffly, looking back at Alex, who wasn't moving. "What, you're not coming?"

She shot him a sharp look. "No."

"Suit yourself," he muttered, and he and Sam got out of the car, slamming each door a little harder than necessary. Alex watched their retreating forms and sank down into the seats, glad to finally be by herself. The silence was better now. It wasn't so heavy and tense to the point of cracking her in half. She stewed for a few minutes, halfheartedly looking around at the neighborhood they were in. It was upper middle class... beautiful new homes with manicured lawns and pretty mailboxes and nice cars parked in the driveways. The definition of normal.

Across the street, a middle aged man was polishing his motorcycle in his garage, lovingly shining the chrome details. It was some kind of vintage Harley, with black trim. Alex gazed longingly at the bike. She could ride that thing forever, until the roads themselves ended. Away from the fighting, away from the apocalypse. Or at least away from the heavy anger that hung over this family. Maybe without her, Dean and Sam might get along. Maybe they wouldn't suffer from the third wheel vibe she brought to the mix. She leaned against the window, chin in her hand, staring at the motorcycle.

At that moment, a woman came to the garage door and beckoned the man inside. She was holding a pitcher of iced tea. The man wiped his forehead and went inside, leaving the bike unattended.

Alex's heart rate picked up just slightly, the opportunity of the situation striking her. She looked back toward where her brothers had just gone. No. She couldn't leave them—not right now. It was too selfish. But then she thought back to the last couple days. The angry words, the accusations, the oppressive environment. She looked back toward the garage where the motorcycle waited, beckoning to her, promising escape from it all. She swallowed, knowing she needed to decide, and now. She pressed her lips together, weighing her options. She was a textbook over-analyzer, but today, she decided she just needed to be impulsive. So without any further thought, she ripped a blank piece of paper out of one of the notebooks in her duffel.

About five minutes later, Dean and Sam returned to the empty Impala.

On the middle seat, there was a sheet of paper bearing Alex's neat, familiar handwriting.

**Need some time to myself. Don't come after me. I'm already far away. I'll find you in a couple of weeks.**


	8. Abandon Ship

_"Then I heard your heart beating, you were in the darkness too. So I stayed in the darkness with you."  
_ \- Florence and the Machine _  
_

* * *

Even as Alex sped down the road on the stolen bike, she almost turned around and went back, conflicted on the impulse decision. But she kept going, driven by many emotions and thoughts she couldn't quite put into words. Mostly anger leftover from the fight she had just had with her brothers. She was tired of being angry and feeling kicked around and ignored.

Alex could picture what it would be like when they found the note she left—they would argue, predictably, about going after her. Dean would immediately want to drop everything to track her down. He'd be pissed off and worried and ready to go find her, come hell or high water. Relieved secretly by her departure, Sam would use the cover of brotherly sensitivity to urge Dean to respect her wishes and, besides, he would point out, they were in the middle of a job, Alex could take care of herself, etcetera, etcetera. Sam would soothe Dean by saying they'd track her down when they took care of the job at hand. Dean wouldn't like it, but then would agree, swearing right after the job, they'd follow her. But Alex didn't want to be found. Not right now. The apocalypse, angels, demons, ghosts and even her stupid brothers could all go screw themselves. She was too stressed out for this. Cigarettes, weed, booze, and spacing the hell out alone was what she needed more than anything right now.

The miles continued to fly by as she headed North, coaxing more speed out of the stolen bike and not caring where she ended up, only wanting to be far away from everything her life was.

* * *

**Nine Days Later  
Kimball, Nebraska**

Alex laid on her back on the floor of the abandoned cabin she had been squatting in for the past few days. She had one arm behind her head as she stared at the ceiling. It was sometime near sunset, and it was getting dark inside the small house. Beside her half-consumed bottle of whiskey sat, temporarily forgotten. She was idly smoking a cigarette, watching the haze of smoke dissipate above her head. She wasn't a straight up chain smoker, but she liked to here and there, especially in times of high stress or boredom. It had started as a teenage act of rebellion. She'd wanted to do something that would get her in trouble, if not with Dad (who was not around enough to pick up on the secret habit), then with Dean or even with Sam. Only, no one had noticed it. She had snuck off multiple times, but neither of her brothers picked up on her secret. So she started trying harder to get caught.

Finally, Dean had smelled it after she had snuck a smoke in his car—and he had immediately accused _Sam_ of smoking and launched into a tirade about drugs, alcohol, and how Sam was a bad example and liar, headed for prison. It had been really harsh and somehow ironic coming from Dean, who had dropped out of school at seventeen and had experimented with recreational drugs and alcohol since age _twelve_. So, after Dean had finally finished the lecture, Sam had insisted he hadn't smoked anything, ever, and it must have been Alex. At that point, she'd felt too embarrassed to own up to it, and in cowardice hadn't done anything but shrug and shake her head no, lying. Dean hadn't even questioned it, and launched into another verbal beat down on Sam for lying. It was something Alex still regretted. When Sam had asked her about it later, she had written down: **Maybe it was Dad?** Sam had looked at her and shaken his head, rolled his eyes. He knew, and she knew that he knew. But he never said anything about it again _._

Alex blew another stream of smoke out, lazily watching it rise. Dean would kill her if he could see this. Well, he probably wanted to kill her _period_ right now. She had done some crazy stuff throughout the years, but had never run away or disappeared before—she estimated she would be facing all new levels of Dean's fury when she returned. She felt bad, too, running off on him especially. He would worry his head off over her, like he always did. But she was tired of all of it.

After so many years of avoiding the cops, the FBI, not to mention monsters, hiding from her brothers had been easy. She knew the tricks—SIM card out of the phone, cash only instead of credit cards, switching the plates on the stolen motorcycle… she'd done it all by second nature and knew that even if her brothers had tried to find her, there was no way. She'd left no trace after Kansas City, where she'd gotten enough cash out of an ATM to last a few weeks.

Even though it had been easy to disappear, it was hard for her to be totally alone like she was, and after a few days, her initial anger had faded into sadness and depression. She'd been away from her brothers and out of contact for a little more than a week now, and it was weird. She felt everything from guilty to lonely to empowered to still not even sure what she was doing or why she'd left—after all, Dean had just gotten back from the dead. And what had she done? Run off. That thought alone was enough to guilt-trip her into the next century. It was unbelievably strange to live this way—not hunting anything, not constantly in a fight with one or both of her brothers, not in mortal peril. Most people would have been positively thrilled to be away from those very situations, but Alex realized that she missed it.

Instead of the normal monster hunting and mortal danger, she'd been living off of peanut butter crackers, apples, beef jerky, and plenty of alcohol all while drifting around idly. She had taken to studying the book of Revelation the past couple days on the hunt for answers on angels or the apocalypse. And she'd been thinking—a lot. She'd thought things through until she was wide awake and exhausted mentally. As a result, she had some words for both of her brothers, and some apologies to make, too. She blinked heavily and put her cigarette out on the floor, halfway smoked. She felt sleepy and a little drunk. She sat up a little awkwardly and listened to the sound of silence.

She hadn't spoken out loud in days, since there was no one around... so she hummed lowly, the tune of _Crazy Train_ , just to make sure her voice was still there. She thought about how much she dreaded going back. Not the part about being back in the life she was used to, but the part where she'd have to face the wrath of Dean and the passive aggressive guilt-tripping of Sam. But, the longer she waited, the worse both would be.

Alex wandered outside aimlessly to the worn out porch, bible and whiskey in tow. The stars would be out soon.

* * *

Castiel watched in silence as Alex Winchester sat on the porch of the abandoned cabin she had been living in the past few days. He remained invisible to her and stood a few steps away. She was leaned against the splintered stair railing and staring up at the stars in the dark night sky. Open in her lap and currently forgotten was the bible, turned to the book of Revelation. He had seen her studying it for the past couple days, trying to decode some of the prophecies, he estimated. Her tenacity was admirable, if not in vain. Not even Castiel understood all of the things contained in Revelation. Alex had currently given up on the reading, her attention was turned to the sky, her expression was open and thoughtful, maybe a little conflicted. Her wide eyes and simple, open face made her look haunted somehow. Hers was one of the most familiar human faces to him, but every time he was near her, he studied it closely, looking for things he hadn't noticed, taking in the intricacy of her expressions and features. What a marvel the human face was. Especially hers. He'd always thought so, even since the first day he'd beheld her.

In Alex's hand, a pen went back and forth, tap, tap, tapping against the open book that was balanced on her knees. She wore the same shoes he had always seen her wear—a scuffed pair boots in faded black. Her hair tumbled around her shoulders and down her back in untamed waves. A faded green cargo jacket was over a t-shirt that had a skull and crossbones with wings and a huge red proclamation of _METALLICA_. Castiel wasn't sure what a metallica was supposed to be, but he assumed, judging from the shirt design, that it was a mythical beast humans had imagined by combining death and angelic fables. Interesting, but not accurate.

The shirt was not the greatest point of interest. Perhaps his favorite thing was the new silver chain she wore. Dangling from the end of it was a small, long, thin silver shape. It was a lock pick. Her outward response to his actions inspired a strange reaction in him—he wasn't sure, but it might have been amusement. He remembered the look of pure shock on her face when he had clicked the handcuffs down over her wrist—it wasn't that he had wanted to _restrain_ her using the handcuffs. But the vengeful spirit of Nancy had been so bent on destruction and Alex's life had been on the line. He hadn't been able to stay by her side that day, as the war waged in heavenly planes that day had required all angels available. Lilith's war was troublingly successful so far. So, the handcuffs had been a creative solution to keep the youngest Winchester safe. He had a feeling she was still angry about it, though he didn't understand why. Didn't she understand that he had saved her life?

Every day Castiel came close to Alex's physical presence, remaining invisible. Here he could assess her fate. Fates were tricky and always changing, but it was possible for a guardian angel to see into the future of their charge for a few linear days and into the events that surrounded a specific human. He was more in tune with her fate, as he had been given the task of watching over her. The orders to protect Alex Winchester had been in place since she had been born, but Castiel had only been assigned recently.

Before Castiel, up until about a year ago in earth time, the angel Nandriel had watched over Alex. But Nandriel had fallen away and been punished by Heaven for allowing herself to be corrupted by the world. Angels did not _require_ human vessels, but Nandriel had petitioned Heaven to allow it, saying that in order to best protect her human charge, she needed a physical manifestation. But when Alex was about to turn twenty-four, it was discovered that Nandriel had increasingly neglected her duties in favor of pursuing her own gains and free will. Her punishment had been most severe, and she was locked in the celestial prison for the rest of eternity.

Castiel had watched Alex from transcendental heights at first and now from his vessel, all in all for nearly a year now. He had looked upon her grief when Dean died. He had seen and felt her pain when Sam left. Even though he had only spoken to her a few times, he knew her more than she could ever guess. He watched her now, wondered what she was reflecting on internally. She seemed to be searching for something out in the stars, her eyes darting back and forth across the starry expanse. Castiel turned and looked, too, but he saw nothing. Just many, many stars. Castiel looked harder, trying to fathom why she stared endlessly into the sky. Whenever he watched humans he felt a keen sense of disconnection. He didn't intuitively understand them like they understood each other. But sometimes, he thought he'd like to.

He looked at Alex again, who remained blissfully unaware of his presence. It was much easier this way. She and her brother Dean both became very riled and angry when he appeared to them, for reasons Castiel did not understand. All he knew was if he were to make himself visible to her, she would immediately become guarded and mistrustful, and even a little afraid. He didn't like to inspire that sensation in her, and he didn't understand why she would feel that way. It was much simpler to remain unseen.

Castiel could hear his brethren beckoning to him, the host of Heaven proclaiming tidings, calling angels to order. Many things were happening. He turned his attention to the voices, listened longer, hearing a message meant for him specifically. He was to meet with Uriel, and immediately. He frowned slightly. If Uriel were involved, that could only mean something drastic. Castiel was troubled at his very strong reaction of reluctance at this summoning. He didn't think it was appropriate for him to feel aversion to a call from above, or hesitancy to seeing one of his brothers. Being an angel whose standard was obedience, he pushed the thoughts aside and took himself from where Alex was and to Uriel.

Alex Winchester remained where she was, never even knowing she hadn't actually been alone.

* * *

 _"And the Lord God of the holy prophets sent His angel to show His servants the things which must shortly take place."_ Alex highlighted, circled, and re-read Revelation 22:6.

To her, it sounded spookily like Castiel's appearance to her and Dean, and that made her uneasy. She wasn't sure whether she should be happy that she finally found something that made sense, or terrified. The rest of Revelation was filled with violence, destruction, and wrath as seals were broken—was that really what the future held? She didn't want to believe it. She blinked, sleepy from all the reading, and leaned against the railing tiredly, glancing at the stars once again. She remembered what Sam had said to her one time when they were young and spending a night alone in a motel room, wondering where Dean and Dad were. Her twin had put his arm around her and guided her to the window. "Mouse," he said, using his favorite nickname for her, "if you're ever scared and wondering where Dad or Dean is, just look up at the stars. We all see the same sky. And the stars are looking down on all of us, no matter where we are. So, we're together still, in a way, you know? Look. I bet they're looking, too." _Oh Sam._ Alex felt a ripple of sadness. She'd give anything to go back to the way they used to be. She shivered again, blinking her heavy eyes with less and less luck. So... tired...

Alex was suddenly aware that she was standing up, out in front of the cabin, in almost blindingly bright moonlight, and Castiel stood in front of her. "Alex." He said her name gruffly.

Disconcerted, Alex looked around, trying to figure out how she had been sitting on a dim staircase one minute, then standing out in front of the cabin in bright moonlight the next. Then, she noticed that the trees didn't move even though she felt breeze, and there were no sounds. Even though it looked real, it was lacking something. Even Castiel looked slightly wrong. His face was lit too well, like day, but it was night. He looked more handsome than she remembered, and it irked her.

"W-what are you doing here?" She asked, sounding dazed, backing up slightly. She then remembered Dean telling her about his Castiel dream and she frowned deeply. "Is this... a dream?"

"Yes, but this conversation is real," he said, coming closer.

"Okay..." Alex said, eyeing him suspiciously. She cracked a sloppy grin, trying to be disarming. "I'm not sure if I'm comfortable with you being... inside my head, Cas," she said, trying out his nickname for herself.

"Appearing to you in dreams is safer. Less eyes and ears," Castiel said, leaving Alex perplexed. He was now incredibly close and Alex almost had to lean back. He apparently didn't understand personal space, and she was surprised to find that she was a little intimidated—he was bigger than she remembered. He was oblivious to her discomfort, looking down at her unyieldingly. "Something is about to happen to your brothers in Salt Lake City," he save in grave seriousness. "You need to get there, and quickly."

Her heart flip-flopped unpleasantly. "Something—what something? Are they all right? And can you _back up_ a little? You're too _close_."

"Too close to what?" He asked, confused, those stern eyebrows gathering themselves closer together in a deep frown.

"To _me,_ " Alex told him, and his frown deepened even more. He seemed to understand she wanted him to step back, because he did, but he didn't look so sure of why the proximity had bothered her.

"My apologies," he said stiltedly. "Leave immediately and travel fast—Uriel _must not know_ of this conversation we just had."

"Who's Uriel?" Alex asked, getting more confounded by the second. But Castiel was already gone.

She woke up then, leaned awkwardly against the rough wooden railing of the porch stairs, her body stiff and her throat sore. The light was dim, and there was thick morning fog. The dampness of dawn's chill seemed to have permeated all of her, and she shivered. She'd fallen asleep on the porch. Classy. She stood up and groaned. Her head was pounding—another hangover—but she had no time to think about it. Castiel's appearance had awakened a sense of urgency in her. She was racing down the road not even sixty seconds later.

* * *

**Three Hours Later**

Alex swung into a gas station, her head officially _killing_ her. Her throat had gone from sore to total misery, and she was having trouble breathing out of her nose. She guessed a cold was what she got for falling asleep outside, but it didn't lessen the fact that it sucked. She glanced around as she swung off the motorcycle, always wary of police. She wasn't a criminal, not really. Yes, she stole things, committed identity theft and fraud… but the things she did do for society seemed to make up the balance between right and wrong. At least, that's what she told herself.

She grabbed some Tylenol from the shelf inside the convenience store and stood in line to pay for it, shuffling some cash out of her pocket. The line was a few people long, and the gas station employee didn't seem in a rush. The wall behind the employee was mirrored, and Alex caught a glimpse of herself in it, as well as the girl standing in line in front of her. The girl was a blonde in a pretty floral printed dress, with immaculate makeup and bright eyes. She reminded Alex of a cover of one of the glossy women's magazines that always lined gas station checkouts.

Alex, in contrast, had windblown, raggedy hair that had been thoughtlessly put in a ponytail... a rumpled outfit that hadn't been washed in two days, and a plain, tired looking face with eyes that looked hollow to her. She looked away from the mirror, downcast and feeling self-conscious as she rubbed the back of her neck and glanced around, wondering if anyone was looking at her and noticing how crappy she looked.

She guessed it was just another reminder that where she was headed was the right place. Here in the real world, she was a sad excuse for a person. She knew how to kill a ghost, but had never decorated a real Christmas tree. She had faced shape shifters and vampires, but had never lived in one place for more than a couple weeks. She knew how to send a demon back to hell, but had only one kiss to her name—and that was with a ten year old boy who had been dared to do it by friends.

She had woken up every day of her life not knowing where she would be twenty-four hours from then. She'd never owned a purse and hadn't graduated high school and wasn't entirely sure how to work an oven. She could pick just about any lock, hot wire a car, count cards, throw a knife with fatal accuracy—but she had no _real_ life skills to speak of, no lasting relationships besides Dean and Sam and Bobby. And Dad. But he was gone, like most other people Alex had ever loved.

"Hey, you gonna pay for that?"

Alex started, looking up and realizing the line in front of her was gone and the gas station employee was looking at her like impatiently.

"Uh, yeah. Keep the change." She slammed a five dollar bill onto the counter, avoiding looking into the mirror again.

* * *

**Five Hours Later  
** **Salt Lake City**

Feeling just as sick as before, Alex set to work tracking down her brothers. Thanks to the public library's free internet services, she logged onto the cell phone provider website that Dean used and then activated the GPS feature to see where Dean's phone had been in the past 24 hours. From there, she used Google maps, which showed her one of the locations had been the Moonlight Motel. Bingo.

She got to the motel and saw no Impala in the lot—they must be out right now. Popping the SIM card back into her phone, she called the front desk of the motel and complained that she was staying in room 200 and there was a horrible leak in the bathroom. She watched as the guy at the front desk hurried upstairs, and using the quick window of time, she quickly accessed the main computer, reading through the guest registry, looking for any classic rock star or obscure fandom names— _ah ha_ … Bret Michaels was staying in room 126. She smiled, shaking her head at how predictable her brother was.

She made for the room, taking a credit card out of her wallet and jimmying the door open, while glancing around, trying to do it fast without being noticed. Hopefully her brothers would be back soon from wherever they were. Sure, she could have called them, but she didn't like being cussed out over the phone. In person was much better. She shut the door behind her and looked up only to promptly gasp and freeze. The room was not empty like she had thought it was.

"Hello, Alex," said Castiel. He stood up from where he had been sitting on the bed.

She didn't even have to _act_ surprised—she was. She glanced at the other man, who stood casually off at the other end of the room, looking at her in a way she didn't like. He was an imposing bald man with dark skin and a certain hawkish look. "Ah, the littlest Winchester," said the man. He sounded decidedly unfriendly. Maybe this was the Uriel guy Castiel had mentioned.

"And... who are you?" she asked cautiously. She remained by the door.

"This is Uriel," Castiel said, confirming Alex's suspicions, and the look on his face intrigued her. Was he trying to give her a meaningful stare? Silently tell her, again, not to give away what he'd told her in the dream to Uriel? She thought so, and she was a little impressed.

Alex came into the room a bit further, looking hard at each of the angels. Keeping Uriel in the dark was no problem. She was good at hiding things. "Okay... and what are you two doing here in my brothers' room, exactly?"

"Waiting for them," Castiel said, earning a baleful, if slightly amused, from Alex.

 _Thank you, Captain Obvious_. She had guessed as much, but she was decidedly uneasy about the entire thing, and crossed her arms, coming to stand by one of the beds. "For what? What do you guys want with them?"

"It's none of your concern," Uriel replied in dismissal, coming closer and staring her down, his eyes unfriendly, almost hostile.

"...Oh, I think it is," Alex said, matching his icy tone and hostility easily. She looked at Castiel questioningly, whose face told her nothing. An awkward silence hung and Alex swore all that was needed was a cricket chirping. She pulled a wan face. "Okay… how about I come back later?" She arched a brow and made to leave. "I'll leave you two your... privacy." Neither of the angels seemed to get her entendre.

"You're not going anywhere," Uriel said, his deep voice foreboding. He had come closer still, probably attempting to make her back up or cower.

And even though Alex was kind of freaked, she stood her ground and didn't let it show. "Oh really," she replied evenly, staring him dead in the eyes, refusing to be intimidated. "And _you're_ gonna stop me?"

He came closer still, his eyes glacial. "Sit _down_ ," Uriel commanded.

Alex yelped, her legs going out from under her as she plopped down onto the bed, eyes wide. "Hey!"

Castiel stepped forward, his brows knitted together as his voice raised. "Uriel, you shouldn't force her to—"

"I will do what is necessary to keep this sad sack of cells in check," Uriel said, then pointed at Alex. "Learn some respect, child."

She glared back at him, unable to move her legs. "You first, asshole," she muttered. What the hell was this guy's problem? "And Dean said _you_ were a dick," she said bitterly to Castiel while looking at Uriel.

" _Release_ her, Uriel," Castiel said lowly, and Uriel did, but reluctantly. So, Castiel seemed to be in charge, at least right now. That was a plus. Maybe. Uriel went and stood by the window, hands clasped behind his back, proceeding to ignore Alex, who stood up cautiously. Castiel was looking at her, decidedly uncomfortable and apologetic. "Uriel is very particular. He can come across as rude."

"Wow, you don't say _._ " Alex retorted. That was a very mild way of putting it.

Castiel's head tilted to the side slightly. He looked like he was trying to figure something out. "Why does your voice sound strange?"

"I have a cold," she explained. He didn't seem to immediately know what she meant by that and Alex tilted her head to the side, too. Did he really not know what that was? "You know... like, a virus? I'm sick?" Oddly enough, she was a little amused suddenly by his squinty expression. "It happens when you fall asleep outside and then ride a motorcycle across the country in cold, wet weather."

"I see. I'll heal you," Castiel said, and moved forward, hand outstretching toward her.

" _No_. No more unnecessary healings, Castiel," Uriel said forcefully, without turning around.

Castiel halted as if caught. Alex glowered at Uriel, disliking his implications. "I was drowning in my own lungs last time—it wasn't _unnecessary_."

"I wasn't speaking of that time," Uriel said brusquely, turning and fixing Castiel with a sharp look, and Castiel looked away, as if ashamed.

Who did Uriel mean? Maybe Cas was an angel who went around healing humans all the time? Alex looked back at Castiel, whose eyes were downcast. "I'm fine, dude," Alex told him, thinking it was kind of nice that he wanted to make her feel better. "Don't worry about it." He didn't look too comforted, and Alex looked at Uriel again, whose back faced her. Her tone took on a sharper edge. "Why would healing someone, if they needed it, be bad? I thought—"

"No one is interested to hear your puny thoughts, mud monkey," Uriel said, his voice taking over the room. _Mud monkey?_ Alex made a face. "Orders for healings should be received by revelation, not simply decided by the soldiers. Compassion is weakness. Making decisions is not our place. God's will must always be observed. We are not to do as we please." It was as if he were lecturing Castiel, not answering Alex. Castiel looked chastised, his eyes downcast and jaw gritted tightly. _Damn._ Alex actually felt a bad for the guy. If Castiel had been the opposite of what she expected angels to be like, Uriel was even worse. Alex felt like her dreams of angels had officially been trampled with Uriel's comments and attitude.

Uriel had returned to staring out the window in silence, and Alex, feeling frustrated and sour, sat down on the bed, resigning herself to wait for her brothers. Her eyes darted to Castiel, who stood by the door. He was still looking at Uriel, almost like there were a bad taste in his mouth. After a few moments, Castiel surprised Alex by coming and sitting next to her rigidly.

She realized she could hear him breathing softly, evenly. Somehow, that surprised her. She snuck a glance at his profile. He turned his head slightly, meeting her questioning gaze, and then his eyes dropped to stare blatantly at her chest. Caught off guard, Alex's eyebrows shot up. "What are you—" she fumbled.

He looked at her in the eyes again, looking troubled. "I've been meaning to ask you something. What is a metallica?"

Alex looked down at her shirt, confused—then she realized she was still wearing one of Dean's old Metallica shirts from when he was younger and three sizes smaller. Alex's eyes came back to Castiel's, an incredulous expression on her face. He was awaiting her answer and incredibly serious. She laughed out loud briefly, struck by the hilarity of the situation and the question. Cas's expression softened into something like surprise. "It's a _band_ ," she explained through a grin. He blinked, frowned again, not understanding the word. Alex tried again. "A music group?"

He nodded, getting even more serious. "I see." But he was clearly still perplexed.

The momentary lightness faded as Alex refocused herself. She had things to ask this angel, her supposed protector. She cleared her throat, attempting to find her serious face again. "Okay, listen, I need to get this out of the way: if you ever handcuff me again, I'm gonna kill you."

He turned his head to look at her. "It is nearly impossible to kill an angel."

"Well, _dammit_ , I'll find a way," she said. He seemed almost amused by that, his eyes softening, his dry lips curving up almost imperceptibly... and then it was over just as soon as it had begun, his expression dropping as if he had thought better of his show of emotion. He looked away again, stern once more. Alex, perplexed but not discouraged, moved on to her next question. "You two are here about the seals, aren't you?"

Castiel sighed tiredly. "Yes. Another is about to be broken if we don't act quickly."

"And me and my brothers can stop it?" She asked, her best guess.

There was a long pause. "I don't know."

Alex was getting frustrated. Castiel didn't like to give much information out. She tried again, with one of the most pressing questions she had. "So look, how long exactly have you been, uh, watching over me?"

He didn't look at her, still stared straight ahead. "About a year. Before that, Nandriel was your protector."

"Nandriel?"

"She watched over you since birth."

Alex's eyebrows shot up. "Since _birth_? No _way_." Forget the fact that she supposedly had a guardian angel _right now_ —she'd _always_ had one?

At the slang 'no way' Cas seemed unsure of how to respond. "Uh—yes, way."

Alex pressed an amused smile away at his attempt to use slang then took a couple seconds to try and process that, then looked at Cas intently. "Okay. Well, why the sudden shift in management last year?"

"Nandriel failed. She wanted to become a human and was punished by Heaven."

Alex pulled a face. "Geez. You guys don't play around, huh?" She thought offhandedly of the chilling imagery in Revelation, of judgement and war. She shook her head, frowning. This disturbed her to the deepest parts. "I don't understand... why would God choose to protect me?" She paused, not sure if she believed it. "I'm no one. Just a random girl."

Cas's eyes squinted up just slightly as he stared into middle distance in front of himself. "The reason is unknown."

"That is extremely..." she searched for the right word, "creepy."

Castiel looked at her intensely, and underneath his gaze, she felt small. "Something about you is special to my Father. You are meant to complete some task, or have some impact simply by being alive. Your life is worth something." Alex scoffed at that. Her life was _worth something_? Yeah great, thanks Gandhi. What, she was supposed to do something that would alter fate? What a crock of shit. They must have had the wrong person. Castiel's almost seemed taken aback at her reaction. "Why don't you believe me?" he asked.

Alex looked at him sidelong. His question left her feeling disconcerted and bare. She avoided it altogether. "That's a really personal thing to ask."

He took a moment to analyze her words, then nodded once and looked away. "I apologize."

Uriel snorted and muttered something about an angel apologizing to a fool ape. Alex clenched her jaw, forcing herself to stay seated. "What's his problem? Why's he hate humans?"

A muscle jerked in Castiel's cheek and he looked down, brows moving together slightly. "He doesn't hate humans. He's sworn to protect and serve them."

Alex looked at Uriel from underneath her lashes. "Could've fooled me," she muttered.


	9. Happy Freakin' Halloween

_"You were told to run away, soak the place, and light the flame."  
_ \- Bullet for My Valentine _  
_

* * *

Alex and Castiel remained sitting on the bed in silence for all of three minutes, when Alex heard the familiar sound of the Impala, vaguely, outside. She suddenly felt a little sick, dreading what kind of state Dean would be in when he saw that she had crawled back. Beside her, Castiel watched her appraisingly as she stood and faced the door with her arms straight at her sides. She didn't have any more time to think about how she would react as the sound of the key sliding into the lock sounded. _Geez, you'd think a bloodthirsty werewolf was coming in... it's just your brothers._ She swallowed as the door opened to reveal the familiar hulking form of Sam, whose face registered shock as he saw her. "Alex! Oh my god!" Without hesitation, like nothing had happened, he came forward as if to embrace her, then noticed the other two men in the room and he reached for his gun in his waistband, assuming the worst. His voice turned from relieved to demanding, he moved toward his sister protectively. "Who are these guys?"

Castiel had risen and was now coming toward Sam. "No, it's okay, it's okay," Alex said and shook her head, and motioned for Sam to leave the gun out of it. Behind Sam, the door darkened as Dean came in. His expression went from surprised to pissed in one second fast. Alex decided ignoring Dean would be best for now, and didn't look at him, instead motioning toward the angel who Sam was staring at questioningly. "Sam, this is Castiel—the angel." Sam's mouth dropped open slightly, and he suddenly seemed very flustered.

"Hello Sam," Castiel greeted.

"Oh my god!" Sam exclaimed, then his eyes went wide in embarrassment. " _Er_ —uh—I didn't mean to—sorry. It's an honor, really, I—I've heard a lot about you." Sam held his hand out for a handshake, completely starstruck.

Castiel stared unmovingly at the outstretched hand in what Alex could only guess was confusion, and then he looked at Alex, as if for explanation. She stared back at him, bemused, before she spoke up. "Shake it. Shake his hand." She was trying really hard not to laugh at him at this point... it was sort of cute. "It's a greeting," she explained. Had he really never seen a handshake? _Surely_ he had.

As if to illustrate the point, Sam shook his hand up and down in the air. Castiel seemed to understand, and put his hand into Sam's. "It is an honor to meet you, Sam Winchester," Castiel said. "The boy with the demon blood." Sam's face fell slightly and Alex looked at Cas sideways— _awkward_. "Glad to see you've ceased your extracurricular activities," Cas told him, and Sam gave Alex a glancing weird look. She smiled ever so softly. So he _had_ stopped. A small relief.

"Let's keep it that way," Uriel commented passively, still facing out of the window with his back turned to them.

Dean, who still hung back a little with an unhappy expression on his face, regarded Uriel harshly, then looked at Castiel and Alex for an explanation. "And he is...?"

"Heaven's biggest douchebag," Alex answered before Castiel could.

Dean met her gaze, scowling. "Yeah okay, and by the way, wanna tell me where the hell you've been this past week?"

She shook her head then nodded slightly toward Castiel and Uriel. Not with them here. "Later."

"You bet your ass," he shot back peevishly.

Castiel was approaching Dean, oblivious to the siblings' conversation, seeming focused on something else. "The raising of Samhain, have you stopped it?"

 _Samhain. Why did that sound familiar?_ Dean looked from his sister to the angel testily. "Why?"

"Dean, have you located the witch?" Castiel asked, his patience clearly short.

" _Yes_ , we've located the witch," Dean said. Witches were bad news, and Alex's eyes widened a bit.

"And is the witch dead?"

"No, but—" Sam started.

"We know who it is," Dean interrupted.

Castiel nodded slightly and walked over to the bedside table where a small hex bag sat. "Apparently the witch knows who you are, too." _Crap_! Alex hadn't even noticed that! She withered a little, embarrassed and dodging Dean's brief glare at her. Castiel picked the bag up and held it high. "This was inside the wall of your room. If we hadn't found it, surely one or even all of you would be dead." The Winchesters all stared at the hex bag with distaste—being on a witch's bad side was one of the worst things, ever, period. "Do you know where the witch is now?" Castiel asked.

Sam and Dean exchanged a look which Alex recognized with a twisting stomach. They weren't quite there yet. Dean confirmed her suspicions with his next comment. "We're, uh, working on it."

Castiel's jaw tightened. "That's unfortunate."

"What's it to you, anyway?" Dean asked.

"The raising of Samhain is one of the sixty-six seals."

"So this is about your buddy Lucifer."

"Lucifer is no friend of ours," Uriel again commented from his place near the window.

Dean looked his direction irritably. "It's just an expression."

"Lucifer cannot rise, the breaking of the seal must be prevented at all costs," Castiel said, which they all knew.

"Why don't you kill the witch then? You're super-powered angels, right?" Alex asked, pointing out what everyone else was thinking. Something here just didn't feel right.

"We cannot kill this witch," Castiel said with no further explanation.

"Okay, great," Dean said with no enthusiasm, "then why don't you tell us _where_ the witch is, we'll gank her and everybody goes home."

"We're not omniscient," Castiel replied. "This witch is very powerful, she's cloaked even to our methods."

Alex felt a prick of interest there—there was a way to hide from angels? She was going to find out about _that_. Sam, ever the peacekeeper, spoke up. "Okay, well we already know who she is, so if we work together—"

Uriel cut him off. "Enough of this."

At this point, Dean lost patience and wheeled, staring Uriel down hostilely. "Okay, who are you and why should I care?"

Uriel simply turned and looked at Dean in silence, leaving Castiel to explain.

"This is Uriel, he's what you might call a… specialist."

Uriel finally approached them, his hands behind his back, the hints of a smug smile on his face.

"What kind of specialist?" Dean asked suspiciously. There was a long pause, and Dean's voice softened in suspicion. "What are you gonna do?"

Castiel's mouth was in a somber, thin line. "All three of you, you need to leave this town immediately."

Alex looked at him in surprise. "Why would we leave? Don't we need to stop this Samhain guy?" After all, the angel had just told her, early _that_ morning, to come to this town and quickly. She glanced at Uriel, then Castiel, remembering his mysterious warning not to tell Uriel about that.

Cas met her gaze dead on, and narrowed his eyes just slightly. "You have to leave because we're about to destroy this town," he said.

" _What_?" Sam exclaimed.

"You're gonna smite the whole friggin' town?" Dean asked, his disbelief palatable.

"Yes," was Castiel's emotionless answer.

" _What_?!" Alex stared at the angel, completely disillusioned, any short-lived fondness she'd had for him suddenly evaporating into thin air. "You _failed_ to mention that little _detail,_ Castiel! _"_ She exploded accusingly, to which he looked at her without any trace of uncertainty or remorse. Only grim certainty.

"We're simply out of time. This witch has to die. The seal must be saved."

"There are a thousand people here!" Sam protested.

"One thousand two hundred fourteen," Uriel corrected, blasé.

"And you're willing to kill them _all_?" Sam asked, voice awash in disbelief.

"This isn't the first time I've… purified a city." Uriel almost smiled at his own comment and selection of words. He seemed proud.

"Look, I understand this is regrettable," Castiel said, to all three of the Winchesters' dismay.

"Regrettable?" Dean repeated, totally disgusted.

"It's _detestable_!" Alex almost shouted. "What kind of game are you angels playing? You're out of your damn minds!"

"We have to hold the line; too many seals have broken already," Castiel said, and even _he_ sounded like he was getting riled.

"But come on, these are _people_! Aren't you supposed to protect people? _All_ people? Families? _Kids_?" Alex asked, growing more and more desperate to get even just a drop of empathy from either of the angels.

"You screw the pooch on some seals and this town—these people—have to pay the price?" Dean added angrily.

Castiel met Dean's gaze steadily. "It's the lives of one thousand against the lives of six billion, there's a bigger picture here." Castiel stepped closer, almost getting in Dean's face. "Lucifer cannot rise—he does and Hell rises with him. Is that something that you're willing to risk?"

"There _has_ to be another way," Alex insisted.

Sam was right behind her. "We'll stop this witch before she summons anyone," he said. "Your seal won't be broken and no one has to die. We just have to find her. Just give us that chance, please!"

"We're wasting time with these mud monkeys," Uriel muttered to Castiel, as if the Winchester three weren't in the room.

Alex glared at Cas and jabbed an angry pointing finger Uriel's direction. "Cas, I have about _had it_ with that dude."

"I'm sorry," Castiel said without feeling, turning away from the Winchesters, "but we have our orders."

"No, you can't do this, you're _angels_!" Sam protested, to which Uriel chuckled airily. Sam tried again. "I mean aren't you supposed to—you're supposed to show mercy!"

"Says who?" Uriel asked. He seemed amused. Sam looked like someone had killed his dog.

"We have no choice," Castiel repeated, to which Dean scoffed.

"Of course you have a choice, I mean, come on!" Dean glared at both of the angels in turn. "You've never questioned a crap order, huh? What are you both just a couple of _hammers_?"

Castiel sounded on edge when he replied. "Look, even if you can't understand it, _have faith_ , the plan is just."

"Are you kidding right now?" Alex asked. She was shaking. Castiel looked back at her sharply as she continued. "Does it _sound_ just? Killing a bunch of innocent clueless people because of the... the _sin_ of one? How is that okay to you in _any_ way?"

Castiel's facade faded into the beginning of reluctance. "It may not make sense to you, but it is what must happen. It comes from Heaven. That is how I know it is just."

"Oh, it must be nice to be so sure of yourselves," Dean said sarcastically.

Castiel looked at Dean seriously. "Tell me something Dean, when your father gave you an order, didn't you obey?"

Dean's expression chilled and he took a beat to find the ability to reply. "Don't go there with me," he said lowly, then pressed his lips into a thin line. "Know what? You two halos might wanna leave now. Plans have changed."

"You think you can stop us?" Uriel asked, darkly amused.

Dean began slowly walking toward Uriel, his face a mask. "Maybe not, but if you're gonna smite this whole town, then you're gonna have to smite us with it, because we're not leaving. See, you went to the trouble of busting me outta hell, I figure I'm worth something to the man upstairs. So you wanna waste me, go ahead, see how he digs that. Oh, and remember my baby sis over here? _God_ wants her protected. That means undead. So destroying a city with her in it, _not the best idea_!"

"I will drag you both out of here myself," Uriel said lowly, drawing himself up.

Alex couldn't help herself. "I'd like to see you try, asshole."

"With pleasure," he replied, and made to move toward her. Dean and Castiel stepped in at the same time, blocking Uriel's intended path.

"Do not touch the girl," Castiel warned. That got an immediately pleased smile from Alex, directed to Uriel's general direction.

Dean pushed past Castiel, getting in Uriel's face. "Over my dead body you'll lay one finger on her. And if you want to drag _me_ outta here, you'll have to kill me first." He turned and looked at Castiel. "We can do this, we'll find that witch and we'll stop the summoning. Just call off your attack dog."

Uriel apparently had reached the end of his patience. "Castiel! I will not let these peop—"

"Enough!" Castiel commanded surprisingly loudly, holding up a hand for silence. The room fell into quiet, and Castiel stared at Dean, then glanced at Alex, then Sam. Alex felt her heart hammering and her anxiety climbing. If Castiel said no, what next? She knew she couldn't stand by and let a whole town go up in smoke, but these were freaking angels... could she and her brothers really stand up to them if they were forced to? She wouldn't find out. It didn't come to that. Castiel relented, and with utmost grimness he looked at Dean. "I suggest you move quickly," he said. Relief surged.

"Yeah great. And I suggest you two get _lost_ ," Dean said bluntly. The angels looked at each other, and with the sound of wind against fabric, they disappeared from the room.

Sam appeared shellshocked, looking at Alex in disappointed confusion. She could see that angels had not made the best first impression on her twin. She was blindsided and horrified about the plans to destroy the town and the angels' apparent apathy toward human life. Dean, who had remained silently staring at the spot where Castiel had been, breathed in a deep, steadying breath then turned on his sister, his expression quite unpleasant. "Okay, that's out of the way. So. Explain yourself. Now."

 _Here we go._ "Relax, Dean. Listen—"

"No, _you_ listen. You think you can just up and run away in the middle of the freaking apocalypse? That you can just leave without a word to me? I never figured you for a _deserter,_ Alex!" He was pacing in front of her, talking with his hands angrily. "Did you even _think_ about how worried we'd be? What the hell were you thinking?" He was in her face now. "You could've gotten hurt! You might not have been able to find us again! You didn't even _think_ about what this would do to the family!"

"Dean—" Alex tried, looking away from him in discomfort. What he was saying was true, and it hurt.

"Oh, I'm _not_ done," Dean said, cutting her off. "Of all the _stupid_ crap you've pulled—"

Alex's voice rose as she cut her brother off. "Dean! Did you ever stop to think that maybe _this_ is why I left?" She was trying hard to stay calm, to keep this from turning into another fight. "You act like you run this family and the people in it!" He pursed his mouth, disliking the accusation. Alex wet her lips, trying to word herself carefully, to speak more evenly. All of the speeches she had rehearsed in her mind were gone, and she found herself stumbling over words. "I just needed some—some room to breathe. Some quiet to work through my thoughts."

"What _thoughts_?" Dean scoffed. "We have one little fight over Sam's demon crap and you abandon ship?"

"No!" Alex protested, beginning to feel like she was losing. "It's not even that, it's… I just, I didn't know if I could stay and do this anymore. Not with our family in the worst shape I can ever remember it being in, you know? Every time I turn around, one of us is fighting the other about something."

" _And_?" Dean demanded, not impressed.

"And I can't take it!" Alex shot back.

"Tough crap, Sally Sue. This is our life and it's not all roses and throw pillows."

Alex crossed her arms and her eyes flicked upward insolently. "Okay, now you're just being a dick cuz you're mad at me."

"You're damn right I'm fuckin' mad!" Dean barked.

At that point Sam, who had quietly watched, piped up. "Dean, come on, take it easy on her."

Dean whirled on his brother. "Shut up Sam! This conversation doesn't involve you."

"Like hell it doesn't," Sam countered, physically approaching his older brother. "Do you honestly think she'll stay if you talk to her like this?"

"I'll talk to either of you whatever way I like!" Dean retorted.

Sam was measured and reasonable. "Yeah, and look where that's gotten you." That drew some serious attitude from Dean in return.

"Look, it's not my problem that you two girls can't handle someone being real with you," Dean said resentfully.

Alex sighed in frustration. "This is the problem, Dean. This is supposed to be a family, not a dictatorship."

"Oh wow, so now it's my fault!" Dean said, crossing his arms defensively and grinning coldly before he glared once again. "Where the hell is this coming from? Both of you are free to leave, anytime! I'm not forcing you to stay and I sure as hell don't want you here if you're not committed."

"Dean, come on, man…" Sam was saying, trying to appeal to Dean. But it fell on deaf ears.

"No, she wants to be treated like an adult, Sammy! And adults have tough crap for life." Dean turned and left, slamming the door behind him.

Alex sank down onto the bed, putting her face in her hands and growling in frustration. Her head was killing her again, and her throat felt on fire. After a minute, she felt the bed sink a little lower as Sam sat beside her. His arm came around her and his hand squeezed her shoulder gently. "Hey," he said simply.

She looked up at him, and his sympathetic expression and offer of peace bridged the gap somewhere deep inside for her. "Hey," she replied softly, and they shared a small, hesitant smile. A truce. Sam pulled her a little closer to himself, and she put her head against his shoulder, squeezed him back—and just like that, all the months of being too angry to even speak to each other seemed to evaporate. 

"He'll cool off in a couple minutes," Sam counseled softly. "He's just been worried sick about you. We, uh, we both have."

Alex drew back, looking her twin in the eyes. She felt guilt clenching her stomach again, and she couldn't remember, momentarily, what had possessed her to leave. "I shouldn't have left. I feel really stupid."

"Nothing we can't get past," Sam said, his voice full of willingness and comforting empathy that she didn't feel she deserved _at all_. He then laughed softly. "I mean, I kind of understand wanting to leave." He became serious once again. "I've run away before, too, you know." He looked at her remorsefully, just as she squinted and wrinkled her nose—she sneezed loudly, then sniffled wetly. "You don't sound so good."

Alex grabbed a tissue off of the bedside table. "I'll be fine," she mumbled. She blew her nose with noisy gusto, receiving a slightly grossed out look from her twin. She tossed the tissue and stared at her knees. It was time to face what was eating at her. The witch and the mission could wait for a few minutes. One of the things she'd spent so much time thinking over on her own needed to be addressed. "I, uh, I owe you an apology, Sam."

He looked surprised, touched, then quickly shook his head. " _I'm_ the one who needs to apologize." He paused. "Ever since you left, I've been thinking about it. A lot, and I need to go first." He leaned forward a little, elbows on his knees. "I should've done _a lot_ of things differently. Not lied to you and Dean for starters." He glanced at her briefly, his expression pained. "And not left you alone after Dean died. I was so angry and messed up. And I had myself convinced that you didn't want me there."

Alex shook her head, her eyes softening with regretful, self-loathing tears. "I know." Telling your brother you wished they were dead tended to do that. And god, she was so ashamed... 

"It's okay," he said tensely, genuinely. "We both said things we didn't mean that night and I always knew that." He wet his lips, barreling on with more. "You know, I never got the guts to tell you but, ever since you got your voice back... I, I dunno, it was a big change for me. I was always your big brother who you needed, you know? I wasn't used to you being, I dunno, like so independent." He laughed softly, maybe a little embarrassed. "All I knew was for the first time in my life, you _yelled_ at me, you made me feel like you hated me. That's a normal sibling thing I think but... well, you ripped me a new one and... I guess it just really shook me. Mostly because I agreed with what you said about me. I did abandon the family." 

"I don't hate you, Sam," Alex managed, so full of regret her throat choked up. "And I don't think you abandoned us like that, I was just—I was just trying to hurt you I guess. I wish I could take it all back." How could she explain it? The new problem this year had given her? "It's been hard, being able to just say whatever I want to right away." She sniffled a little, and not from her cold. "There's... there's no time to think. I just... say things, before I even know what I'm doing." Sam had again put a reassuring arm around her shoulder. "Telling you that I wished you were dead instead of Dean was the most fucked up thing I could have ever said," she said, voice cracking. "I'm _so_ sorry. I didn't mean it, not for a second."

Sam's face showed compassion and relief. "I know that. And you need to know—I did _not_ leave the family when I was eighteen because of you, or Dean. I just wanted a normal life at that time. You know, college degree, white picket fence, wife and family... to get away from underneath Dad's thumb..." He trailed off and looked down. "But no matter what I've wanted, I always end up back here. Cuz it's where I belong, I guess." He sounded subdued, not entirely convinced. Alex looked at him sadly. She knew he was _always_ going to long for those things, deep down, and probably never be able to have them. That made her ache for him. Empathize with him. She knew he'd always felt different and broken. She knew that feeling too.

"I'm just really glad you're here, Sam," she told him honestly, relieved deeply that they'd found a way to bridge the gap.

He cracked a grin at her, his dimples cutting into his cheeks. "Me too," he said. Alex hugged her arms around him, finally feeling okay for the first time in a long time. Even if it were only for a couple seconds.

Dean burst back in just then, looking only a little calmer than when he had left. Seeing them sitting on the bed and embracing he gave them an annoyed look. "Ladies, this is so touching. My heart can't take it. But we have a witch to find and not much time to do it in." He waited expectantly, jerking his thumb toward where he'd come from.

"Yup," Sam said, standing up.

"Also, some jerkwad egged my friggin' car," Dean said, looking supremely aggravated. He looked at Alex and cleared his throat, his expression softening a little, but still remaining gruff. "Sorry about chewing your head off back there. You know how I get."

Alex stood, grabbing the hotel notepad and pen off the side table and coming to him. "Yeah, I do."

Dean sighed heavily and held out his hand. "Truce?"

She shook it with her free hand and nodded. "Truce." And that was how Dean apologized.

"Glad you're back, Al," Dean told her, but in no uncertain terms fixed her with a warning look. "But if you leave like that again, I'll friggin' kill you."

"Yeah, yeah," she said, already heading out the door, scribbling on the notepad as she walked. _This motorcycle was stolen and belongs to the man at the following address._ She wrote down the address of the house where she had stolen the bike from—she'd committed it to memory before whizzing away—and tucked the note into a tight space near the speedometer. She'd call the hotel front desk again in a bit and alert them to the note. She patted the bike sadly. "Nice knowing you," she said before turning to look at Dean, who was laughing at her on the sidewalk.

"Such a do-gooder," he said, but even though he was poking fun at her, she could hear the hint of pride in his voice.

The three Winchesters got into the Impala (which was splattered in eggs, just like Dean had said), and Alex sank into the familiar back seat, breathed in the scent of old leather and familiarity. Up front, Dean was looking at Sam, who had fallen silent since exiting the hotel. "What's wrong, Sammy?"

"Nothing," he said, then sighed, relenting. "I just thought they'd be different."

"Angels?" Alex guessed.

"I just… I mean, I thought they'd be righteous."

"Well, they are righteous, I mean, that's kinda the problem," Dean said, turning on the windshield wipers. "Of course there's nothing more dangerous than some a-hole who thinks he's on a holy mission."

"But, I mean, this is God? And Heaven? This is what I've been praying to?"

"Sucks, doesn't it?" Alex asked, but not rudely. She thought back to all of her strange interactions with Castiel, and now Uriel too.

"Yeah," Sam said.

"Look man, I know you're into the whole God thing, you know, Jesus on a tortilla and stuff like that," Dean said. "But just because there's a couple of bad apples doesn't mean the whole barrel's rotten. I mean, for all we know, God hates these jerks. Don't give up on this stuff is all I'm saying. Babe Ruth was a dick but baseball's still a beautiful game."

Sam still looked disappointed at Dean's analogy, but began going through the hex bag, picking out the contents. He pulled out a small, blackened shape that looked suspiciously like a bone. Dean chuckled as he cut off the windshield wipers. "Well, are you gonna figure out a way to find this witch, Sam, or are you just gonna sit there fingering your bone?"

"You think you're _so_ funny," Alex snickered.

" _You're_ laughing," he replied, looking pleased with himself. Alex rolled her eyes.

Sam missed the joke, intently staring at the bone. "You know how much heat it would take to char a bone like this guys?"

"A lot?" Alex asked glibly, getting an eye roll from Sam.

"No kidding, Sherlock," Sam replied. "But more than a regular fire or some kitchen oven."

"Okay Betty Crocker, what's that mean?" Dean asked.

"It means we make a stop," Sam said. "Back to the school."

Alex leaned forward in the seat as Dean started the car. "While we're on the way, can you guys please tell me what exactly the job is?"

"Not it," Dean said quickly.

Sam sighed. "Okay, so basically this witch is trying to raise Samhain, the demon who started the tradition of Halloween. Apparently, today is the day where the veil between the living and the dead is the thinnest."

"Oh. _Awesome_ ," Alex commented wryly.

"Yeah. If he rises, he can raise other things from Hell."

"But you guys know who the witch is?"

"Yup. It's this high schooler named Tracy. But we haven't been able to find her."

"Damn." Alex looked at the dashboard clock. It was getting close to six. "We don't have a whole lot of day left, guys."

"Which is why we gotta find her, and soon."

* * *

Castiel and Uriel were at the edge of a park, watching the humans who were playing, running, and enjoying the crisp fall weather.

"I don't like this," Uriel was saying. He sat on a park bench, his expression terse.

"The decision's been made," Castiel replied from where he stood a few steps off.

Uriel laughed humorlessly. "By a mud monkey."

He received a hooded sidelong glance from Castiel. "You shouldn't call them that."

Uriel chuckled. "Ah, it's what they are, savages, just plumbing on two legs."

Castiel's eyes were becoming sharp. "You're close to blasphemy."

Uriel just sighed at him, and Castiel tried to reason with his brother. "There's a reason we were sent to save him. He has potential, he may succeed here." Uriel said nothing, and Castiel sat down on the bench beside him. "And any rate, it's out of our hands."

"It doesn't have to be..." Uriel said ambiguously.

Castiel looked at his brother reprimandingly. "And what would you suggest?"

"That we drag Dean and Alex Winchester out of here and then we blow this insignificant pinprick off the map."

Castiel fixed his brother with a stern gaze. "You know our true orders. Are you prepared to disobey?"

Uriel smirked, looking out at the park. "Are _you_?" He looked back at Castiel, the smile almost mocking.

Castiel didn't understand. "What are you implying?"

There was a pious pause. "There is concern among our brethren that your judgement has become... impaired. I saw it myself. The way you spoke with those little flecks. Like they were your equals. As if you didn't have command or authority over them."

"Uriel, you know our duty to our father and his children," Castiel replied. "I'm only carrying out the tasks I've been given."

"No. We both know it has gone far past that. The way you treat them—especially the _girl_ —" Uriel shook his head in judgement, trailing off even as Castiel for reasons unknown, felt as if he had been caught in a sin. "Be careful, brother. Do not confuse humans for angels. And do not let this... _fascination_ be your undoing."

Uriel stood and walked a few feet away, leaving Castiel to himself. And although Castiel did not move or change his expression, he felt a strange sensation somewhere in his stomach. Uneasiness.

* * *

After stopping by the high school and visiting the art department, Sam found a drawer where more human bones were stored. That, paired with the brother's realization that the hex bag had showed up in their motel room after they had spoken with the art teacher, helped them make quick work of accessing the school's teacher files and getting the address for a Don Harding. He was the art teacher and apparently had led Sam and Dean on a wild goose chase, tricking them into believing that a student named Tracy was the witch.

It was dark when they got out of the school and drove to Don's house, which was quiet and empty from the outside. But in the basement, they found the art teacher in the middle of sacrificing a small, blonde girl—Tracy. Sam, thinking he was saving the day, shot the man on the spot. When they helped the girl out of the ropes that had tied her up, she revealed herself as the witch and with only a word, sent all three Winchesters crashing to the floor, paralyzed with pain. She set to work completing the spell as the siblings writhed on the floor, helpless. Her chanting grew louder and louder, and the room began to shake with dark power as Samhain's spirit fell upon the room. While Tracy wasn't looking, Sam smeared blood from Don's gun wound onto his face, then Dean's and Alex's, whispering "trust me!"

Then they laid still, pretending to be dead—possibly the stupidest and craziest thing they had ever done—as they listened to Samhain, who now inhabited Don's body, kill Tracy. He then left without even a second glance at the Winchesters, much to their relief. They were quick to get up and try to follow, but Samhain had already disappeared. Sam suggested he would go to the cemetery, where he could raise spirits most easily, and with that as their only lead, the Winchesters found the town graveyard and grabbed their weapons bag.

* * *

The Winchesters heard the screams of many voices coming from the crypt in the center of the headstones as soon as they arrived at the graveyard. The three of them raced down the stairs to see that a bunch of teenagers, all in costumes, were locked inside the mausoleum behind a metal gate. Behind them, gravestones were cracking and crumbling. Not good.

"Where's Samhain?" Dean asked, frantically looking around for the demon.

Sam looked down a side tunnel, and then pointed to Dean and Alex. "He must've gone that way. You guys help them!"

"Dude, you're not going off alone!" Dean said, but Sam was already taking off down the hall, the demon blade in hand.

"Just do it!" Sam shouted over his shoulder.

"Dammit," Alex cursed to herself, even as Dean yelled at the teens to stand back, and shot the lock in half. With team effort, he and his sister yanked the gate open. "Go on, come on, get out, move!"

Even as the screaming teens streamed out, a door of a grave in the mausoleum room crashed to the ground, shattering. A once-human, now-zombie crawled out of it and stood awkwardly even as another grave door crashed to the ground. Another mangled zombie began to crawl out.

"Stake, please," Alex said in a high-pitched, stressed out voice, holding an urgent open hand out to Dean.

He was already rummaging in his rucksack. He tossed her one then pulled out another, his sights set on zombie number one. "Bring it on, stinky!" He charged forward and plunged the stake into the zombie's chest even as Alex dropped the zombie that had only partially crawled out of the grave. Another door of another grave crashed down, then another and another.

"Dean, there's like twenty graves in here!" Alex shouted, lunging at the newest zombie to arrive. The knife sunk into the rotting flesh with a sickening squelch and she kicked the zombie back, off the blade, her face twisted. _Gross_. Alex turned, startled, to see a pale woman standing beside her. Alex attempted to attack her with the silver blade, but the woman flickered out and she disappeared, only to reappear behind her. Crap, a ghost too?! Both of the Winchesters went crashing against one of the stone walls.

"Ouch," Alex groaned.

"Zombie ghost orgy huh?" Dean said, and Alex grimaced and made a complaining noise as she pushed herself up to her feet.

She looked at her brother hopefully. "You thinking what I'm thinking?" she asked.

"Yup. We're torching this whole place."

A couple minutes later, Dean and Alex were running down the hall the way Sam had gone, leaving a blazing inferno behind in the mausoleum.

They rounded a corner and froze at what they saw. Sam was standing at the end of the hallway, Samhain facing him. Sam's hand was extended, his face was screwed up in concentration and pain. And he was doing _exactly_ what Dean had begged him not to. "Oh my god," Alex breathed in horror, transfixed. "What do we do?"

Dean was shocked. "I—I don't..." he managed, and then nothing else. Blood was running down from Sam's nose, and he was moaning in pain. They could see black smoke coming out of Samhain as the demon stumbled forward, trying to reach Sam. But the the man fell over as Sam's exorcism succeeded. Sam shuddered, looking like he might collapse. Breathing heavily, he looked up at his brother and sister, shamefaced. Alex couldn't just stand there—she darted forward and went to his side, trying to help him stand, asking if he was all right, wiping the blood from his face, shaking from adrenaline and shock and even a little fear. Sam was crying, maybe from shame, maybe from pain. It was hard to tell. Either way, he had saved them. But at what cost?

Dean was approaching slowly, his expression sad, and even a little afraid.

* * *

**The Next Day**

Sam and Alex were alone in the motel room, packing up. It had been kind of a quiet morning. Dean had been pensive and troubled, Sam apologetic and conflicted, Alex just ready for it all to be over. She could accept that Sam's abilities had saved them, and that they might not have succeeded without them at all, actually. Yeah, it was eating at her. She didn't know if she should be afraid of Sam. It wasn't exactly a human ability to be able to exorcise demons with the mind alone, but did that matter at the end of the day? She wanted to go back to a time before the abilities, before all of the confusion and gray areas. For now, she decided to try and treat Sam normally. He felt like a freak, and she didn't want him to feel like that. She'd been much too harsh on him before.

She stooped to pick something off the floor and looked across the bed at her twin. "Don't forget your dirty socks," she said, mischievously throwing them at his face. He caught them with fractions of an inch to spare and threw them back at her, chuckling. "Hey!" she laughed, then suddenly, her expression fell as she stared at the newcomer seated on the couch behind Sam.

"Tomorrow," said a deep voice.

Sam whirled around to see Uriel, who was continuing without missing a beat. "November the second, it's an anniversary for you," the angel continued.

"What are you doing here?" Sam demanded, and Alex's eyes darted around.

"Where's Castiel?" she asked mistrustfully.

Uriel stood. "It's the day Azazel killed your mother. The day your voice was taken away," he glanced at Alex briefly before looking back at Sam. "And twenty-two years later your girlfriend's life taken too, Sam. It must be difficult to bear, yet you so brazenly use the power he gave you, Sam. His profane blood pumping through your veins."

Sam's eyebrows raised faintly. "Excuse me?"

"You were told not to use your abilities," Uriel said flatly.

"And what was I supposed to do? That demon would have killed me, and my brother and sister, and everyone."

"You were told not to."

"If Samhain had gotten loose in this town–"

"You've been warned, _twice_ now," Uriel said, not breaking eye contact with Sam.

Alex came to stand beside her brother defensively. "Sam did what he had to. While you did _nothing_."

"You test my patience, Sam," Uriel said, and finally looked at Alex. "And so do you, little speck."

"Hey," Sam growled, his tone taking on a decisively aggressive tone. "Watch the way you speak to my sister." He shook his head, with a short humorless smile. "You know? My brother was right about you, you _are_ dicks."

Uriel ignored the insult. "The only reason you're still alive, Sam Winchester, is because you've been useful." His presence was threatening, and his gaze deadly. "But the moment that ceases to be true, the second you become more trouble than you're worth, one word. One, and I will turn you to dust."

Alex stepped into Uriel's space, her expression and voice deadly. "You need to back up. Right now." Uriel stared back at her unyieldingly. "Don't come in here and threaten my brother after he saves a whole goddamn town."

Uriel smiled softly, dark amusement playing on his voice. "I do as I like, child. Don't think just because Castiel guards your life that makes you safe." Alex stared, a bit thrown. Uriel finally stepped back a bit. "As for your brother Dean, tell him that maybe he should climb off that high horse of his."

"You know, I've had just about enough of your self-righteous advice," Sam said angrily.

"You should be grateful that I even grace you with my presence," Uriel hissed. He paused and looked at Alex, then Sam again. "Ask Dean what he remembers from Hell." Then, he was gone just as suddenly as he had come. Left behind were two shaken up siblings.

Alex's jaw was clenched and her temper stirred. "Angels, man. They think they can just pop in and out whenever!" She was troubled. "What'd he mean? About Dean?" She turned to her brother who looked similarly perplexed and troubled.

"I asked Dean about it, remember? And he said he didn't remember anything from Hell." They looked at each other a long moment uneasily. Because if Uriel was implying Dean remembered Hell... neither of them had picked up on it. Was Dean lying to them? Why would he do that?

"I mean, he's seems... okay, right? Maybe a little easier to piss off than normal?" Alex asked slowly. "We would know. Wouldn't we? If something were wrong. We would be able to tell, right?"

Sam looked oddly conflicted. "Maybe not." Alex got quiet. Sam, however, was running a hand through his hair, huffing in agitation. "And what the hell did Uriel mean about you not being safe?" He folded his arms decisively, his jaw set angrily. "I don't like this."

* * *

Alex jogged across the street to the park where Dean sat on a bench alone, his back to her. She was fired up and ready to tell him about Uriel and ask him about Hell, but when she got to where he was, she could see that something was wrong from the look on her face. She sat beside him and looked at him intently, forgetting her original objective. "Hey. You okay?"

"Yeah," he said, looking down at the ground between his feet. " _Cas_ just popped in for a quick chat."

Alex's frown deepened. So, he got a visit from an angel, too. "What'd he want?"

Dean laughed a short, huffing laugh. "Would you believe he told me that his _orders_ weren't to destroy the town? His orders were to go along with what _I_ said."

Alex couldn't hide her surprise. "Huh? After that big 'but we have no other choice' speech?" Dean spread his hands in a shrug. He wasn't angry. He seemed disturbed, which was worse. "But _why_?" Alex asked, confounded. "What kind of game is that?"

"He said it was a test."

Alex's eyebrows rose as she quickly realized the implication. "Like, from God?"

Dean shrugged, preoccupied. "I guess."

"Okay... so did you pass?"

A muscle jerked in Dean's cheek. "Cas didn't know." Dean's shook his head, seemingly at a loss. "I mean, look at this. These people, this town. It could all be gone if I wasn't the stubborn asshole that I am." He breathed out heavily, watching a mother push her toddler, laughing, on a swing. "I could've sentenced these people to death without even knowing it. Why is this all on me? I really don't get it. And these so-called angels. Especially Cas." He paused. "I dunno what to make of that guy." She didn't either. The quiet way he said the words, the anxious look on his face, the way he was absently wringing his hands together... Alex worried. She trusted Dean's judgement, but she felt the same about Castiel: she didn't know. And she was worried about what _God_ wanted with Dean. And for that matter, with her.

She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, matching her brother's stance. "I was beginning to think he was an okay guy until he started talking about wiping out a town of people. But I mean, maybe he can't help it," she supposed with a hollow shrug. "Angels don't have free will according to most mythology." Even though she wasn't sure if she bought that entirely after meeting a couple of them.

"Maybe not," Dean replied darkly. "I'm not convinced yet."

Alex looked at her brother hard. "What makes you say that?"

Dean wet his lips. "Just a feeling."

She thought momentarily about telling him that Castiel was the one who told her to hustle back to Dean and Sam... but then decided against it, for now. She wasn't sure _why_ Castiel had done it, and she wanted to know that first. Especially since it had been kept a secret from Uriel. "Can we trust this guy?" She asked quietly. Something in her wanted to, despite her best intentions to never trust basically anyone ever, even a little bit.

There was a long pause. "Not sure yet."

She nodded solemnly. "You know, especially after yesterday, I'm not even convinced that angels are the good guys."

"Yeah. I definitely get that," Dean said, and managed a thin smile. "Life was a lot simpler when it was just demons, huh?"

Alex chuckled weakly at _that_ comment. "Well, whether or not Cas is trustworthy or a good guy or whatever… he gave me back my brother who I thought was gone forever." She looked at Dean openly. "And for that… can't _hate_ the guy." Dean looked at her from the corner of his eye. Alex continued. "Uriel, however, can go screw himself."

At that, he finally chuckled. "I'm with you on that one."

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, until Alex decided to make a long overdue confession. "Dean, you remember that time Sammy smoked in the Impala?"

"Huh?" He asked. It had, after all, been years ago. "Oh... yeah, actually," he said, sounding distantly surprised. "I remember. Why?"

"Well, uh... that wasn't Sam who smoked in there." Alex looked at him with a wince. "It was me."

Dean looked at her incredulously, his eyebrows raising up high. "That was _you_?" A disbelieving smile came over his face and he shoved her shoulder playfully. "You little _twerp_." He thought a minute more then chuckled. "Whoa, guess I owe Sam a big time apology, huh."

"Yeah, me too. Shouldn't have let him take the fall."

"Ah, he'd do anything for you, you know that. You're too cute to say no to." Alex wrinkled her nose at him and he pinched her chin like he used to do when they were little, making protest with a groan as she batted him away. He chuckled and then he slapped both of his hands down on his knees. "All right. Enough of all this Doctor Phil stuff. I want a corn dog."

* * *

Castiel watched, hidden from human sight, as Alex and Dean made their way back to the motel together. They had the same kind of confident, loping stride and they walked closely, in sync without meaning to be. They had clearly made amends, and he heard the rare sound of Alex laughing out loud as the two got further away. He liked that sound.

The little smile on his face faded as his thoughts turned. He was troubled. Telling Alex to come to this city had been his own idea. After he had learned about the plan to present Dean and Sam with the destruction of the city, and after being made aware that Uriel would be the one who accompanied him, Castiel had felt an inexplicable urge to take matters into his own hands and ensure the right outcome. He had known that all of the Winchesters would be against the idea of a whole town being wiped out. They were a family who had fought to save strangers for their entire lives, after all.

But Castiel, knowing Uriel's persuasions, had reasoned that Alex's presence would give Uriel less room to act since she was under angelic protection. And it had worked. Dean had used Alex and himself to derail Uriel, who had very much wanted to destroy the town. Castiel, who was against it from the beginning, had feared Uriel would somehow succeed, somehow destroy this town of humble, helpless humanity. Castiel watched people pass. Families, children, students. All unaware of how close they had all brushed with death.

He now wondered if he had he gone too far. Had he manipulated the situation? Had he involved himself where he shouldn't have? How could he know if what he'd done was a violation of God's will or not? Just a few moments ago, he had confided in Dean something he had told no one else—ever. That he had doubts. That he didn't know wrong from right anymore. And he absolutely _didn't_.

The most unsettling part to Castiel was that no matter where he turned, he felt a disconnect. His angel brothers and sisters were scattered across Heaven. The humans that Castiel knew couldn't even begin to understand him, and they certainly didn't trust him. Who could he go to for a glimpse into truth? Where could he find the answers he so desperately needed? He feared that Uriel was right, and that his relationships and with Dean and Alex—his growing fondness and concern for them—had clouded his judgement. There were times when he watched over Alex, in particular, where he became distracted, wondering what she was thinking and watching the things she did with utter fascination. Losing track of time and space as he did so.

He stood there a long time, watching humanity pass by, deeply troubled.


	10. Tilt-A-Whirled

_"He is walking in dreams, not knowing reality's name."  
_ \- Wuthering Heights _  
_

* * *

Alex found herself standing in the middle of a place she didn't recognize at first. Once-colorful now-dingy rides and booths scattered a flat pavement lot on a foggy day. The Tilt-A-Whirl, merry-go-round, ferris wheel, and rows of cheesy, cheap prizes surrounded her, washing a wave of reminiscence over the hunter. _I've been here before._ This place was silent. No people. No movements of any kind. No smell of the animals at the petting zoo or grease from the funnel cake stand. The fog was thick and cool, and the gentle way that it obscured the near distance made the setting feel a little surreal. This was a dream. A good dream. She relaxed.

Drawing her in to the right was the bottle toss booth and Alex wandered over dutifully, remembering with a nostalgic sense how exciting it had been to play this kind of stuff as a kid. Rows of old Coke bottles crowded shelves and giant stuffed animal prizes lined the two walls on either side. She smiling slightly at the oversized green bear—that was the one she had wanted. At the front of the booth, bowls of beat up rings waited to be thrown onto the bottle necks. She reached for one, smiling, then stopped, suddenly aware of a change. The smile fell. She felt the distinct sensation of a presence behind her. She turned to see an increasingly familiar sight. Immediately, she was on guard.

"Hello Alex," the angel in the trench coat greeted evenly.

Why was _he_ here? "Cas..." she replied cautiously. The angel had just waltzed into a dream again without being invited—but this one was a personal memory. Maybe something was wrong again. She crossed her arms watchfully, a silent _why are you here?_

He was studying the scenery, perplexed by the assortment of carnival rides around. "Where is this?" he asked. His question and his deep gravelly voice made her clench her jaw.

For a minute she thought she wouldn't tell him. Then for whatever reason... she did. "It's a memory. From when I was little."

That familiar, stern frown stayed on his face while his eyes studied the scenery with even deeper confusion. He saw a sign that said 'amusement park' and grew more shrewd still. "This is a place for amusement?"

"What are you doing here, Cas?" Alex asked tightly, uncomfortable to be barged in on like this. He turned his gaze back to her and inclined his head just slightly, his eyes boring into hers intensely.

The startling crisp blue made her pinched expression falter. "I know you're wondering why I asked you to return to your brothers when I did."

He said nothing else and Alex found her voice and answered very slowly. "Well yeah..."

Castiel breathed in deeply as if hesitant and his eyes flickered away from hers. "Truthfully, I did it for selfish reasons." He seemed almost contrite.

Wait. Did Cas just want to... _talk_? Alex hesitated, trying to get his angle then failing. "Okay, uh... meaning what?" she asked, equal parts curious and unsettled.

He was still looking down, his expression grim. "I wanted to influence the outcome of the situation. I wanted to make sure that the city would not be destroyed." It almost seemed like he was confessing sins, but those were _good_ things he'd done. He looked Alex in the eye again.

"Yeah and you pulled it off," she said, mulling him over closely. Was he looking for confirmation that he did the right thing? It was interesting he'd accomplished his goal in such a shady way. It made her wonder. "Aren't you Uriel's _boss_?"

He hesitated. "Technically, yes."

"...Then what was the problem?" Alex looked at Castiel long and close, trying to figure him out. She felt her eyebrows raise slightly as realization hit her behind his passive-aggressive choice. "You don't trust him."

"I didn't say that," he said a little sharply. His reaction was all the proof she needed.

"You didn't have to," Alex countered, cool as breeze.

He seemed convicted by what she'd said, frowning deeply and looking down. "As I said. Uriel can be many things," Castiel said. "The greatest of which is unpredictable. And he has a problem with my methods."

Alex made a bit of a face. "He's not the only one," she muttered, thinking back to Pamela's eyes being burned out, Dean's deep cuts and scrapes from the shattered glass Castiel had rained down on him, the handcuffing, the dream-jacking, the time travel, the town-smiting. Straight up, she didn't think Castiel was trustworthy, let alone Uriel—but like she'd said to Dean... Castiel had brought her brother back from the grave. She couldn't exactly hate him. Still. Life had taught her that almost everyone was plotting to screw you over in the end. And she still didn't know why he was here right now trying to paint himself as an ally. It could be a trick. "Since when do you care about _mud monkeys_?" Alex asked, now deliberately attempting to draw out Castiel's true character.

He looked affronted at her question. "Those are Uriel's words, not mine," he said with deadly seriousness. "I would never call a human that."

"Uh _huh_." Alex commented doubtfully, then called him out. "You'd just level a whole _town_ full of them if two little humans didn't stand in your way."

He looked thrown off and in quick succession, confused. Perhaps he hadn't realized the hypocrisy before. He shook himself, attempting to cast it aside. "I carry out the commands of God, no matter what they are."

Alex was seriously unsure how he could be so blindly trusting. "But what if they're _wrong_?" she pressed. "Do you ever even stop to ask yourself that question?"

Castiel hesitated again, then his reply gave her the impression that it was from a script. "That's not possible. There is no fault in God. He is the definition of justice." He paused darkly. "And apart from that, it's not my place to decide right from wrong."

Frustrated, Alex looked away. This was tiring and probably pointless. Why bother. "Yeah, great."

"What's wrong?" Castiel asked.

She snorted at his clueless gall. "What _isn't_ wrong?" she retorted, then laughed derisively. "I mean, forget about the whole _God_ thing for a second and I still can't find one thing that's going right." She turned around and grabbed a handful of the rings and began tossing them with angry flair at the Coke bottles. "You don't know why you're protecting me—" _clunk_ "—you don't know what seals are going to be broken—" _clunk_ "—you don't know if Dean passed the test—" _clunk_ "—you show up and turn my whole friggin' life upside down with your—" _clunk_ "—apocalypse crap, your guardian angel crap—" _clunk_ "and to top it all off, you're acting spineless." She forgot the stupid bottle toss rings in favor of approaching Castiel in a confrontational manner. "I don't care who or _what_ you are, you don't get to sidestep morality," she said angrily. "You gotta think for yourself! Because look at you! You'd kill a whole town of people without missing a beat, without even _thinking_ , if you thought God said to do it. _Cas_ , buddy—that's _wrong_. And I shouldn't have to tell you that or explain it to you." She scoffed at his attempts to dodge personal responsibility. "Of _course_ it's your place to decide right from wrong—so the question is, do you _really_ believe it's not, or are you too scared to disobey?"

Castiel's expression had gone from shocked to cold. His jaw was set firmly, his voice was lower than before, and his gaze bored into hers unflinching. "I hold the power of Heaven in my right hand, and _Hell itself_ could not hold a soul in my grip," he growled, stepping closer and invading her space, staring down at her. "My knowledge is vast and unending. I am a soldier of the Lord, a warrior. I am your protector and guardian. I'm the one who brought your brother back from the gates of death itself. It is not your place to tell me what to do. You should _respect_ me."

 _Dramatic_. Alex met his gaze without backing down, matching his tone with some fire of her own. "Act respectable and I _will_." She took the last ring she had and flicked it against his chest just to be an ass. "Also, if I wasn't onto something, you wouldn't have gotten your little feathers in a ruffle like that." In other words, _gotcha_. His jaw tightened at her retort. Alex wasn't done. "And one more thing, if you have such unending knowledge, how about you tell me _why_ you're protecting me, or what work God has for Dean, or gee, I dunno, how to _stop the fucking apocalypse_!"

Castiel remained unblinkingly rigid in front of her. "Some things are not meant for you to know," was his even-toned reply.

"Says who?" Alex countered.

Castiel set his mouth and his eyes went down momentarily, as if he were gathering his thoughts or attempting patience. "Alex—have faith. God is in control."

That was rich. " _Is he_?"

He couldn't or wouldn't, look at her when he replied. "Yes."

She called his bluff. " _You_ don't even believe that."

His eyes came to her sharply and he was once again defensive. "You don't know what I believe or don't believe."

Alex postured. "So look me in the eye and say God's in control of all this crap." He didn't answer, instead withdrawing into tense silence. "I think we both know we're all on our own right now," she said, which was a disheartening reality, but reality all the same. And she became disappointed, looking over him halfheartedly. He was a sorry sap, but so was she. Believing in absent dads who only had patterns of letting you down. " _'Angel_ ,'" she commented in rueful insolence. "All I see is a guy with daddy issues in a dumb ass trench coat."

He looked down at himself, then back at her with slight wounded confusion. "I like this coat."

Taken aback, Alex felt the smallest surprised smile on her face at his sudden, innocent comment. She didn't know how to respond. One moment he was trying to intimidate her with his I'm-a-scary-angel show, the next he was affronted that she had insulted his outfit (which she didn't actually think was ugly, but hey—that was the nature of jabs. Insult whatever you had in front of you to work with). In that brief moment of being caught off guard, Alex studied him in a softer way. His face was at the moment free of his constant frown, and it made him look younger. More... attractive. She heard herself think that single, dangerous thought and mentally slapped herself. No. Just _no_. "You're really weird, anyone ever tell you that?" she asked, trying to cover her own ass.

His answer was yet again deadpan. "Yes, frequently." 

Again, Alex was taken aback. Not sure how to respond to him. And she didn't like the feeling oflosing control over the interaction. Also, she wondered who would have been telling him he was weird—other angels seemed the most likely. The increasing curiosity about him needed to be nipped in the bud. "Uh, so, we're good here, right?" she said, her voice a little flustered from her thoughts. "You can leave." She turned away and went back to the bottle toss booth, hoping he would take the cue.

She leaned against the surface of the tall tabletop there and stared at the bottles lining the wall across from her... then heard soft footsteps behind her. Alex huffed slowly in exasperation. 

The angel in the trench coat looked her way sidelong, his expression grim once again. "When you wake up, it will be November second," he said. Alex's stomach turned as she became completely triggered, a million negative feelings suddenly raining over her all at once as Castiel continued, "The day that—"

"I know what November second is, bro!" She cut him off angrily, standing at her full height. His innocently stung expression at her outburst made her madder. She just wanted to dream in fucking _peace_! "How would I forget that?" she asked incredulously. Was he that dumb? "The fire, my mom, Sam and the demon blood, my _voice_... I think I know what tomorrow fucking is!" She stopped and breathed, unclenching her teeth as she tried to regulate herself. He just stared at her, giving away nothing of what he thought. She pinched the bridge of her nose. "I mean come on, first Uriel comes and rubs it in my face, now you?"

Castiel's frown deepened. "What?"

 _That_ stopped her short. "...He didn't tell you?" His expression clearly said no. These angels really _were_ an unpredictable bunch. "Great," she muttered, wondering what he'd think about this: "Well, no big deal. He just popped over to threaten Sam's life and tell me I shouldn't feel safe just because I'm under your protection." Castiel's expression darkened, especially at the last part, but he made no comment.

Riled up and defensive, Alex shot him a hostile glance. "Why are you bringing this up, anyway?"

His answer was not what she expected. "I wanted to express my sympathies."

Not for the first time, his words rendered her still. Made her stop in her tracks, took the wind out of her sails. "... _Oh_." She hadn't expected that. And of course felt foolish for her reaction in quick succession. "Thanks," she muttered self-consciously, not even sure how she was supposed to respond. She contemplated him with uncertainty for how she felt, a feeling like embarrassment crawling up skin hotly. She turned back to lean her elbows on the booth's tabletop edge, her hands clasped as she let out a slow, heavy breath, trying to collect herself and gather her thoughts. November second. It wasn't something she talked about with non-family. Or really with _family_ -family either. The subject was too painful. Cas remained quiet beside her, a presence that reminded her that she wasn't alone. After a moment, she looked up, shaking her head at how deep the pang went. To her soul itself. "I never understood how God or whoever could let that happen to my mom," she admitted in a gaunt whisper to her guardian angel. "To all of us."

He was quiet for a moment. "Bad things happen so that good can come out of it." 

That would have been like a slap in the face if she thought he meant it. But she heard the doubt in his voice. He was just reciting heavenly propaganda. And honestly, that made her sad for him. "Is that the kind of stuff you tell yourself so that you can sleep at night?" she challenged softly.

He didn't know the saying. "Angels do not require sleep," he replied matter-of-factly.

That one got an eye roll and an exasperated sigh. "Yeah, okay, maybe _that's_ why you dudes love to crash human's dreams," Alex muttered. _It's just a goddamn saying, Cas._

At this point he mimicked her posture, leaning his elbows onto the bar. She looked at him strangely, quieted by the act. What was he doing that for? He looked reflective almost and she couldn't look away from him. She glimpsed something there that she hadn't expected to see and didn't know how to name. "I do sometimes wonder what it would be like to dream," he murmured, catching her off guard. There was an honest sadness in his quiet statement. He turned his head slightly to look at her—his expression surprisingly unguarded and open—and she got stuck there for a couple breaths until she was able to drag her flustered gaze away.

"You're uh, you're not missing much," she said and cleared her throat, attempting to regain control over the uncharacteristically nervous way he kept making her feel. Alex huffed and turned away, resting her back to the counter. Her dream was fully crashed and she might as well take advantage of it. "So, uh, listen," she said, clearing her throat again, trying to stay focused. His little reminder of tomorrow had her thinking about something she'd been thinking about awhile now. "While you're here. There's something I've been meaning to ask you."

Cas was intrigued, studying her for a drawn out beat before he prompted her. "Ask it."

She braced herself apprehensively, then took the plunge. "...Was I supposed to have demon blood too?"

Cas took the question in stride. He almost seemed empathetic as he thought his answer over and then delivered it. "More than likely yes. Nandriel's presence and your mother's interruption prevented that from occurring." Cas watched her face work for a moment. Hearing that was alarming and a relief all at once. But one thing still didn't make sense.

Alex wet her lips uncertainly as her brow knit even closer in. "So why my voice? Why did Azazel do that to me?"

Castiel's eyes narrowed introspectively and he looked at some distant point in front of them. "My best guess is that when your mother interrupted his actions to Sam, Azazel took your voice as for the sake of cruelty. A reminder to you and your family that he had taken more than just your mother." He met her questioning gaze grimly. "It was an attempt to isolate you from everyone."

So her entire life had been turned to a silent hell because that yellow-eyed demon felt vindictive and slighted. _Well_. 'Attempt' was a gracious word. The sting of bitter tears veiled her eyes and she blinked against them resentfully. "Well it worked," she managed in a wounded whisper. Azazel had taken her voice to alienate her from her family and the world around her. He'd sentenced her to a lifetime of being stuck in her own head. A lifetime of being unable to be part of the normal surrounding her.

Castiel's eyes were full of a solitary hopeful apprehension. "Are things different now?" he asked, his voice almost a whisper.

Alex's eyes immediately jumped to his. There was something in his tone she'd never heard there before, something very gentle indeed that made her feel bewildered. His eyes waited for her reply and her stomach fluttered. _Wait_. "Yes they are," she whispered, feeling entranced and vulnerable against the shadow of a very astonishing thought that ran across her mind. His expression was soft. He was _glad_ , and he didn't need to say so out loud. She could plainly see it. And if she didn't know better, she'd think he was on the verge of a _smile_. The thought in her mind grew. _No,_ she dismissed with growing emotion. _Impossible_. But something about the look on his face and the sentiment in his eyes made that thought grow to the point where she couldn't ignore it.

She had never realized before this moment, but she was now, like a thunderclap: she'd gotten her voice back not long after he began watching over her. Left breathless at the possibility, she tested her theory with utmost caution. "How long did you say you've been watching me again...?" she whispered, even though she knew exactly how long it was. She just wanted to see if he would react. And he did. Her astounded feelings tripled when he turned a shade guilty—he knew _exactly_ what she why she was asking that, the look on his face confirmed it. And now there was no air in her lungs, only a racing heartbeat resounding through her whole body as shocked emotion grew. There was only one reason she could fathom. "It was _you_?"

Cas faltered, startled in the face of her blunt question. He left her hanging for three seconds far too long. Then he shattered her world, leaving her dumb and dazed. "Yes."

She exhaled softly, that single word doing things to her she couldn't fathom. Normally, she would have never taken someone who she knew as little as she knew Cas at face value but... for whatever reason, she believed him immediately _._ He abruptly turned and walked a few paces off, keeping his back to her. "Wait!" Paranoid he was about to disappear, she followed by a step and a half, breathless, confounded. He did stop, but he didn't turn back. She couldn't see his face—if she could have, she would have seen an openly conflicted expression. Absolutely lost, Alex hovered and waited for him to say something. Anything. When he didn't, she asked a single, forlorn, " _Why_?" Cas turned back around, his face hard to read. She struggled to understand especially when he said nothing. "What, God commanded it or, or something?"

Castiel's expression showed a strange mixture of what looked like guilt and distress and possibly even shame. His jaw tightened and he looked down. "No. It was not commanded."

Jesus _Christ_...! Her mind flew a million miles an hour, trying to understand why he would do that. Why on _earth_ he would do that. She drifted just a little closer. "Then _why_?" His eyes darted back up to hers, but he remained silent. "Please, _Cas_ —tell me." She was practically begging, pride fully gone out the window.

His eyes fell away from hers once again and scanned the ground between their feet. For a minute, Alex thought he wouldn't answer. And then he did. "Ever since I began to watch you." His features worked strangely, as if not even he understood what he was saying. "I... _felt_ your pain. Your... loneliness." He looked to her as if he wanted help understanding what he was saying, and it floored Alex. A muscle jerked in his cheek and he seemed totally unsure of himself, as though what he was telling her was something wrong that he'd done. "I felt compassion for you. I... wanted... you to be able to speak. I wanted to heal you. And so I did. There's no grand reason."

The world was heavy, breathing was impossible, and she felt like she'd been slammed with a brick wall epiphany. Suddenly, Uriel's lecture about unnecessary healings made sense, and at the same time, Alex remembered every insult and disrespect she had thrown Castiel's way. Mortified, she struggled how to even put her thoughts into words. He'd given her a new chance at life—for no reason but the goodness of his own heart. Her eyes glazed over even as she fumbled to understand, to thank him, to try and make up for how she'd misjudged him. "I... you... I don't know what to... I... Castiel... thank you." Her mouth worked oddly as she tried to keep her composure. He watched her with a grave studiousness and his gaze passed over the tears shining in her eyes. His eyebrows grew a little closer together. " _Thank you,"_ Alex repeated tightly. "I, I can never repay you." She wet her lips, trying to understand even as she fought to keep her face from crumpling. She suddenly understood that she owed _everything_ to this angel. It made her scared, it made her profoundly dizzy, it puzzled her to no end. "Wh-why didn't you tell me this before?" She asked, waiting with baited breath.

Their eye contact lingered and he appeared to be a little intimidated by the entire thing. "The reasons aren't important," he sidestepped.

She disagreed softly. "Well they're important to me."

Her question made him reluctant and his body language was closed off, guarded. "I faced discipline for what I did."

Again, she was blindsided. He'd been _punished_ for helping her? She could read between the lines and heard what he said behind the carefully crafted words. He remained grim, his eyes dodging hers. And she wondered _why_ all over again. Why would he have risked so much for a human who had attempted to kill him the first time they met? Who had mistrusted and believed the worst of him? And why would Heaven punish an act of compassion? She didn't understand at _all_. "They... they hurt you for helping me?"

His eyes looked back into hers. The tone of her voice seemed to puzzle him, intrigue him. It was almost like he didn't even hear her question.

"You—you gave me back what was mine," Alex said when the silence got too much. " _Nothing_ about that's wrong."

His expression was unreadable, but open in a way that wasn't normal for him. Like he was truly listening to her. Considering believing her.

Alex was overcome as she thought about what he had done for her. "I... you gave me what I always needed, and wanted..." she trailed off, chickening out of saying all her feelings and gratefulness. It was too much. Too personal. Too intense. So she stopped. He held her gaze hesitantly, maybe uncomfortable with her attempts at thankfulness, maybe still unsure if he had done the right thing. Maybe something else entirely. "Look. I'm sorry. If I had _known_ —that it was you—" Alex impulsively touched him at the forearm to show her earnestness. He tensed at her touch and frowned, looking at her hand oddly. Alex faltered—he must not like to be touched. She let go, embarrassed. She wasn't even sure why she'd done that. She attempted to finish speaking, even though she felt hot all over from humiliation. "If I had known you were the one who did that for me..." she stopped, shaking her head and looking away for a moment before looking back. "Thank you. Just, thank you." She felt incredibly repetitive and awkward, humbled.

He studied her for a long moment. His deep cobalt eyes seemed soulful, there was a warmth there she had never seen before—she couldn't look away. "You're welcome," he said, and his voice sounded huskier than it had a moment ago. Entranced, Alex could say nothing—only stand in place and remain under the spell of his gaze. For an impossible few heartbeats, they studied each other's eyes deeply, each wondering and thinking. Something had shifted between them today. "I'm still curious about something," Cas ventured after a moment, waiting for her to prompt him with a silent expression of willing fascination. "About what this memory of yours is."

She blinked a couple times. "Oh." She hesitated, looking around. Remembering. Smiling bittersweetly to herself as she recalled the specifics in her mind. "It's... one of my good memories with my dad," she admitted, half sad and half happy. She didn't need to add on this part: "There's not a lot of those."

Again, his eyes studied hers deeply. And then without warning, Castiel changed the subject. His eyes left hers to look at the Tilt-A-Whirl, then the bumper kart corral. "People ride these things?"

Alex was too jolted to respond for a long second, confused about the sudden switch in topics. She followed his gaze, feeling inherently awkward. "Wh—uh, yeah," she managed uncertainly. "People ride these things." She looked at him curiously for a moment, mystified all over again. The more she found out about him, the more questions she had. "Haven't you been around since, um, the dawn of time?"

"And before then, too," he answered, still looking around at the scenery in what might be called stern fascination. His previous softer demeanor was gone, and he was the gruff angel she was more familiar with once more.

She felt herself smiling a little though, because if he'd been around that long, what had he been doing? Twiddling his thumbs as the world went on outside his window? "Then why don't you know about like, I dunno, handshakes and personal space and carnival rides?" Unlike her earlier questions to him, she wasn't being sarcastic or rude. She honestly wanted to know.

Cas smirked at that briefly, somehow finding humor in her question, and there were little smile lines crinkling the corners of his eyes. That was the first time she had seen him smile for real. It surprised her. And she liked it, found it intriguing. "I suppose you could say..." he thought for a moment, "that I've missed a few of the details." He looked at her again and both their expressions fell ever so slightly. "Until I obtained my vessel, I saw the world and humanity through a very thick veil."

She took that in thoughtfully. "And when you got your vessel...?"

His expression softened and his eyes drifted to see someplace far away as he reflected. "Every day has held uncountable wonders. It's so complex, the human mind. Creation. People. Life." He seemed genuine and truly reverent. It made her feel wistful.

For a moment, she envied Cas's take on things. "Sounds nice," she said, both honest and bleak at the same time. Being human sucked and hurt for the majority, at least in her experience.

Castiel contemplated her with an unreadable expression. "I suppose your less than positive impression is understandable," he said softly. "All your life, you've been fighting."

His insight was uncanny, which threw her off. Was the clueless angel an act, or what? "Yeah," she agreed, thinking of reality again like it or not. The end of the goddamn world—the end of the human race. It seemed too absurd to be real, but the more Alex sat with it, the more she feared the worst. "Do you think we actually have a shot?" she asked with surprising amounts of vulnerability. "Stopping the apocalypse?" 

Castiel studied her grimly for a beat, then took in a heavy breath and let it out. "Times are dark. The future is very uncertain. Much will be lost." Well _that_ was optimistic. Alex swallowed against the foreboding feeling in her stomach. In her mind's eye, she saw two young men who she clung to, loved, and needed in her life. Sudden fear avalanched over her, and it must have reflected on her face. Because the angel saw it and so softly asked, "What is it?"

Eyes that had drifted away from him snapped back. And she was startled by how much she was letting herself feel in his presence... then quickly afraid of the instinct to tell him the truth resting deep down in her gut. It took a long moment of consideration to speak aloud with such vulnerable truth, and with eyes stinging from gathering tears, she shook her head shallowly. "I just—I'm... scared." 

His seriousness was tempered by empathy, and his expression remained soft as he moved toward her more closely. "An understandable state to find yourself in."

Alex looked at him with dark, conflicted eyes that wondered. "Do you ever feel afraid?" Her whispered question hung between them and visibly startled him, no matter how well he hid it.

Then he held himself a little taller and reached out to her. She didn't shrink back. He didn't answer her question, but the look in his eyes would stay with her for a very long time to come indeed. "It's time for you to wake up, Alex."

The last thing she remembered was the look in his eyes as two fingertips came to softly touch the side of her forehead.

* * *

Alex was abruptly waking up laying awkwardly in the back of the Impala. But she could somehow feel the warm buzz under her skin where Castiel's fingers had grazed. The dream and his words, face, presence all disoriented her and remained with her as she laid there for a long moment, trying to process. She was filled with a deep sadness that seemed to transcend sleepiness or grogginess.

She realized that the car wasn't running. It was silent, and neither Sam or Dean were inside. She could see that the sky outside was still dim, like the sun hadn't come up yet. She sat up slowly, casting glances around until she saw the familiar figures of her brothers—Sam's tall, broad-shouldered one, Dean's shorter, more compact—they were standing about twenty feet off from the car at the edge of a huge, open field. Alex scooted out of the car and went to her brothers, shivering a little. It was cold and damp, a morning where fog laid low like a blanket, across the land. The sun would be up soon—the sky was a pale violet color. Frost crunched under her boots.

Her brothers acknowledged her arrival with a glance (Dean), and a tight smile (Sam). "November second," Sam said softly, eyes fixed on the horizon.

"November second," Alex echoed quietly.

There was a long, heavy silence, all three of the Winchesters lost in their own thoughts and grief. Alex wanted so badly to tell them about the dream... about Castiel... about the feeling she couldn't shake that something horrible was on the way. But she remained silent.

Sam finally spoke up softly. "You know, when I think about everything we've lost... all the complete crap we've been through... all because of _him_." They knew who Sam was talking about. Azazel.

"Wish I could've stopped it," Dean said softly. "I tried. I tried like hell. I could've prevented you from being pumped full of demon blood, Sam. I could've saved you from spending your life mute, Alex. Mom could've even lived, maybe. Dad would still be here..." his voice was full of a pain and guilt he didn't deserve to carry, and Alex looked at him. It was hard to see very well in the dark, but he was miserable.

"Hey." Alex said softly. "What Yellow Eyes did wasn't your fault. It never will be." She paused, staring down at the ground, her hands in her jacket pockets. "And this family, what's left of it... it's stronger than what he threw at us. He tried to silence me, he tried to use Sam. He tried to rip us apart." She looked up at the brightening horizon. "It didn't work."

"I'll drink to that," Dean said. He looked distracted but gave her a half-smile. Sam put his arm around Alex, squeezing her shoulder tightly. A silent promise that they would keep working toward unity.

For another long moment, silence spanned the group. In the distance, a raven called. Sam wet his lips and then spoke to the air in front of him. "Mom. Wherever you are... I just hope we make you proud."

With a somber heart, Alex stared out at the horizon, stone-faced. Castiel's words haunted her. _Times are dark. The future is very uncertain. Much will be lost._

They drove the rest of that day, mostly in silence and reflection. Alex went back and forth mentally, trying to figure out how to bring up Cas's visit in her dream. She wasn't sure how exactly to explain it... " _oh yeah, by the way, Cas came to me in another secret dream and told me he's the one who gave me my voice back!_ "—would that suffice? She let it go awhile and just spaced out, staring at the ceiling as she picked apart the dream piece by piece in her mind. Wondered about Mom. Hoped Castiel was wrong about the apocalypse. And in the deepest places of her mind, she repeated the moment she'd learned it was him who changed her life over and over again. It made her heart swell and emotions rise when she thought about it too much. He hadn't needed to and no one had made him. He'd just done it for her because he'd wanted to take away her pain. What was she supposed to do with that information? Or the way it made her _feel_?

Finally, Dean declared that it was time to stop and eat. He picked a local bar and grill—the outside was decorated with a ridiculous dancing pineapple mascot. They were seated inside, where Dean hungrily scanned the menu and Alex sat silently, feeling queasy. She exchanged a glance with Sam, who she knew still wanted to ask Dean about Hell. He hadn't found an opportunity yet, and neither had she.

A scrawny pale guy in a bright vest covered in shiny, multicolored pins arrived to their table, an order pad in hand. He had the most ridiculous smile on his face. Alex was immediately annoyed. "Alllllright folks, how we doing? Great!" the waiter said, without giving them a chance to reply. "Start you guys off with a chili dog dipper to share? A delicious MexiNacho fiesta?"

"No, we—" Sam started, but the waiter didn't hear him.

"Get you guys a nice cheddar roaster burger, huh? Or our jalapeño Frito pie—it's great on days like this!" Days where your mom died? Days where you are about to confront your brother on what Hell was like? Days where an angel basically implied you would lose both of your brothers in the coming days?

"I'll have the chef salad," Sam said, handing his menu over cautiously as if the waiter might be contagious.

Dean snapped his menu shut. "Burger. With bacon. And cheese. All the toppings, extra onions. Do _not_ burn it. Fries on the side, extra crispy. And bring me some three wise men shots." Dean's favorite... a blend of several kinds of whiskey.

"Sure thing! How many, man?"

"I dunno, let's start with six," Dean said nonchalantly, to which the waiter's eyes went a little wide for a minute. He peered at Dean over to top of his notepad, trying to figure out if Dean were serious. Even Sam and Alex looked at Dean a little oddly.

"Uh, okie doke!" the waiter said, resuming his inhumanly wide smile. He turned to Alex. "And what for the lovely lady?"

"Nothing, thanks," she said with dismissal apathy.

The waiter attempted a sale anyway. "How about our new smoky and sweet chicken-delishen sandwich? Super yummy!"

"No, I—"

"Or our in-house specialty, the firegrilled pineapple enchiladas? Yum-o!"

Alex gave him her best death glare. "I said _nothing._ "

His smile faltered, then was back with a vengeance. "Okay, well just let me know if you change your—"

"Just go _away_ man!" Alex said peevishly, not looking at him anymore.

"Uh yeah, right on," the waiter said, still managing to sound upbeat. He scurried away.

"Me- _ow_ ," Dean commented with a chuckle. He got a bitchy expression from his sister in response.

"You really should eat something, Alex," Sam said, his tone worried. "You've lost weight."

Alex ignored his comment and cut to the chase, fiddling with her silverware nervously. "Found out something pretty big guys. Cas is the one who gave me my voice back."

" _What_?!" both brothers chorused, staring in disbelief.

" _Yup_. He showed up again in a dream of mine last night and... it was him." She clanged her fork down onto the table and looked at both of them in turn. There was a shocked silence.

"Did he say why?" Sam asked, incredulously.

"Yeah," she said, shrugging, studying her fork closely. She didn't go into detail, because it felt sort of personal. "The goodness of his own heart, basically."

Both of her brothers immediately looked very suspicious. "It wasn't a, you know, God thing?" Dean asked pointedly.

"Apparently not. He said he got in trouble for it."

"So he did it... on his own?" Dean surmised, darkening. He didn't look like he liked that sound of that at _all_.

"The plot thickens," Sam muttered, and Dean's face kept working overtime, his expression confounded and then pissed and then doubtful.

For the next few minutes they theorized back and forth halfheartedly. Then Dean ended it with an exasperated "Freakin' angels. Who knows!"

The food arrived in a few minutes and Alex waited as long as humanly possible to bring up the next subject to her oldest brother. After maybe his fifth huge bite of his burger and a couple of his shots, she charged forward. "So, listen Dean. Uriel paid us a visit yesterday." Sam stopped mid-bite, glancing at Alex before looking at Dean intently.

"How nice," Dean said flatly, then downed his third shot.

Alex leaned forward over her folded arms, trying to get his attention. "Which part? The one where he threatened to turn Sam to dust when he uses his powers again, or the part where he told us to ask you what you remember from Hell?"

Dean almost choked and went into a brief coughing fit before he asked: "Come again?"

"What, you got a hearing problem?" Sam asked softly.

Dean looked between his siblings and then seemed to draw the conclusion that they were ambushing him. He shook his head and jabbed a finger in each of their directions. "Okay, first of all, I don't remember Hell, at all. And second, when were you gonna tell me a damn angel threatened your life, Sam?"

"Forget the threat, Dean. That's neither here nor there. Why would Uriel tell me you remembered Hell if you didn't?"

"Maybe because he's a _dick_ ," Dean retorted gruffly. "Might have something to do with it."

"What, he told us that just to screw with our heads?" Alex challenged—she knew Dean well enough to see he was bothered, and that meant there was something to it.

"Yeah, I dunno! I mean this _is_ the angel who was ready to level an entire town guys. Look, I don't know what—"

" _Radical_!" The cheerful waiter from hell was back and unaware of the argument he was interrupting. "What else can I get you guys?"

"Uh, I think we're fine," Sam said, trying to politely get rid of the waiter. It didn't work.

"Yeah? You guys don't wanna try a couple of fryer bombs? Or a chipotle chili changa? We've got fried cheesecake ice cream sundaes on deck too and oh _boy_ they're awesome!"

"We're good," Sam said in a forced civil tone while Alex gave the server an evil eye. This dude was too much, especially right now.

The waiter looked over at Alex, his smile faltering a little. "Okay, awesome!" He made his departure.

Dean glanced at Alex. By now he'd had a chance to school himself into a more composed, unreadable mood. "Look, honestly, I got no idea why Uriel told you what he did, okay?" He smiled a very sarcastic, acrimonious smile and attempted to down another shot. Alex's hand darted out and grabbed the shot glass right out of his hand just before he had it at his lips. "Hey!" Dean exclaimed. She had leaned back in her chair, holding the shot out of his reach.

"You're lying."

"I am not! Give me my damn shot," Dean said, and swiped angrily at the shot glass. She held it out of reach primly.

"Okay, fine," Sam said, attempting to reason with Dean. "If you're not lying, you can look me in the eye and tell me you don't remember a thing from your time down under."

Sam waited expectantly. Dean met Sam's gaze impatiently. "I don't remember a thing from my time down under," he insisted, getting more pissed by the second especially when Sam gave him a dubious look. "I don't _remember,_ Sam!" Dean was agitated, and a couple people at a nearby table looked over curiously at the outburst.

"Look, Dean, we just wanna help," Sam appealed, trying to play the compassion card.

Dean shot him down. "You know everything I do. Okay? That's all there is!"

"Outstanding!" Said the cheerful waiter, who seemed to reappear out of thin air. At the sight of him, Alex took the shot she'd kidnapped and downed it, much to Dean's dismay. "Dessert time? Huh? Am I right?"

" _Dude_ ," Dean said, losing patience with the waiter and with his siblings both.

"We don't _want_ any," Alex said, her tone decidedly menacing.

Still, the waiter's plastered smile didn't waver and he launched into another attempt at upselling. He leaned down over the table as if sharing some great secret with them. "You have _got_ to try our ice cream extreme. It's _extreme_."

Alex crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair. "Yeah, bring me some. I'll shove it right up your—"

"Whoa whoa whoa. Just the check, man," Sam said, attempting a lighthearted chuckle to cover up his siblings rudeness.

"All right! Awesome!" The waiter whipped their bill out from behind his pin-studded vest and slapped it on the table. Using it as a distraction, Alex snatched another one of Dean's shots.

"Hey!" he exclaimed as their waiter walked off. It was too late, Alex had already taken it and smacked the glass down onto the table as Dean glowered.

Sam just sighed, flustered and a little embarrassed. People were staring. Protecitvely guarding the last couple shots he had, Dean looked at his brother. "All right, so, where do we go from here?"

"I'm not sure," Sam said, "Uh, looks like it's been pretty quiet lately. No signs of demon activity, no omens or portents I can see."

"That's good news for once," Dean said.

Alex made a sound like _pssh_. "It's _too_ quiet," she muttered. "Remember the whole apocalypse thing?"

Dean's expression soured slightly as he got ready to take a sip of beer. "Trying not to."

Sam, who had pulled his laptop out, handed it over to Dean. "Here, check this out. Uh... up in Concrete, Washington, eyewitness reports of a ghost that's been haunting the showers of a women's health facility." Dean choked on his beer. "The victim claims that the ghost threw her down a flight of stairs." Dean threw his napkin onto his plate and crammed a couple last french fries into his mouth. Sam chuckled. "I can see you're very interested."

Dean was slapping down cash onto the table, suddenly in a huge hurry. "Women, showers. We have _got_ to save these people."

Even though she was pissed at him, Alex had to chuckle a little at typical Dean and he gave her a cheerful wink, already pushing the chair in and headed for the door. The twins got up and made to follow. " _Why_ 's he in charge, again?" Alex asked her twin. He was a little more serious and pulled her back for a second as Dean walked ahead.

"It'll come out, Alex" Sam told her quietly. "He'll tell us eventually. I know he will."

Her mood tanked again. "Yeah..." Alex replied, but she wasn't sure. Dean had enough issues to fill the grand canyon, but almost always refused to face them. He was constantly on emotional lockdown... even to his family. Did he really remember the horrors of Hell? Why wouldn't he tell either her or Sam? Deeply troubled, Alex trailed her brothers out of the restaurant.

"Have a nice day! Come back and see us!" The waiter yelled after her, waving and smiling like he was saying goodbye to an old friend. It took all she had not to turn around and salute him with her middle finger.


	11. Wicked Games

_"Don't get too close, it's dark inside. It's where my demons hide."  
_\- Imagine Dragons

* * *

**One Week Later  
Sioux Falls, South Dakota  
**

Alex paced the front porch of Bobby's house with increasing agitation, trying to reconcile everything that had happened the past few days. She currently couldn't find an end to the things that were _pissing her off_. The very fact that _Ruby_ was here, at Bobby's house, was enough to send Alex through the roof, but oh no, there was more... earlier that week Sam came clean about his questionable relationship with the demon—with all the shocking, R-rated details—and it left Alex completely disgusted. Demons were the enemy, and yet Sam had involved himself with Ruby _that_ way—it made Alex's skin crawl. The demon's smug smiles and superior attitude were the icing on the damn cake and Alex was all but ready to knife the bitch… too bad the demon blade had been stolen recently. Sam had been brainwashed, Alex was sure of it—and blamed Ruby entirely. She huffed loudly as she turned on her heel, pacing the length of the porch again in the bitter cold of night. The urge to punch something was strong, but Alex just clenched her fists and muttered obscenities aimed at life in general under her breath.

Ruby's presence wasn't the only thing upsetting Alex. There was also Anna, a girl who could hear angels. They'd picked her up a couple days ago (at Ruby's insistence), and her presence was causing major problems. Demons were after her, and so were angels... and they had already had confrontations with both sides. The demons had attacked them in a church, and the angels had found them at the hunting cabin. Wherever they went, angels appeared. Alex sighed tiredly, trying to remember a time in her life _before_ the trouble that angels brought. Anna herself was a fallen angel, as they had found out earlier the same day. She'd discarded her 'Grace'—the thing that made her an angel, in order to become human. It made little sense to Alex. But when Castiel and Uriel had showed up insisting Anna needed to die, things had really gotten bad. In short, these angels were really starting to fuck shit up.

Alex she didn't understand Castiel's role in it all. She had been starting to think he wasn't so bad. Her encounter with him in her dreams had turned her world upside down. But now, yet again, she wasn't sure _who_ Castiel was. Cas seemed to be two different angels: the intriguing, curious one she glimpsed in small, private moments when it was the two of them, and the one who was frightening and robotic.

" _Cas, please—" Sam had said, trying to appeal to Castiel's sensibility. He was standing between Castiel and the door to the bathroom, where Anna hid. But without hesitation, Castiel touched a finger to Sam's head, and Sam crumpled to the ground, unconscious. Alex darted over to stand between between Cas and the door. She felt very small under his fierce gaze. He looked murderous, like he meant business. Not like the Cas who had come to her in a dream and been so gentle and reflective.  
_

_"Get out of the way, Alex," Castiel had said lowly, stepping forward intimidatingly. But he made no move to touch her._

_Alex had stared at him confused, afraid, and defiant. Was he really gonna knock her out, too? "Or what?" she challenged, hedging her bets and taking her chances but petrified to do so. His expression showed something strange. But he never had a chance to reply. The angels had both disappeared in an abrupt and blinding flash of light and a sound like mighty winds. A few minutes later, they learned that Anna blew the angels away to the four corners of the earth—a warding trick that she'd remembered from her angel days._

The memory of that _bothered_ her. Alex had actually begun to like Castiel and even trust him a little ( _just_ a little) after he admitted what he'd done for her. The punishment he'd endured. It made no sense: why would he be so kind to her and then so merciless and careless towards others? Was he a mindless machine—a hammer, as Dean had put it, or otherwise? Alex wanted to believe otherwise. But maybe he wasn't. It was frustrating and disheartening and it was taking up way too much brainpower and time.

Alex gave up on pacing and went inside to check and see what Sam had found—their current plan was to get Anna's Grace back. Once they could _find_ it, she could have her powers back and be capable of protecting herself… and them.

In Bobby's study the light was dim and Sam was at the desk, hunched over a bunch of books and his laptop. Ruby was hanging back a little and eyed Alex with no enthusiasm as she entered. _Ugh._ Alex ignored her purposefully and leaned over the desk, peering down at the screen over her twin's massive shoulder. "Find anything?"

"Maybe…" Sam said, acknowledging her with a glance. "In March of eighty-five, a meteorite vanished in the night sky over northwestern Ohio. It was sighted nine months before Anna was born, and she was born in that part of Ohio."

"You're pretty buff for a _nerd_ ," Ruby commented, not hiding her flirty tone. Alex glanced her way testily and Ruby raised a single, insolent eyebrow.

Sam seemed to miss the exchange, pointing to another part of the map. "Look, I think it was Anna and here, same time—another meteor over Kentucky."

Alex looked away from Ruby, trying to focus on what Sam was saying. "So that could be her Grace...?" She guessed.

"Right, maybe," Sam confirmed.

"All right. That just narrows it down to an entire state." Ruby said sarcastically, earning another dark glance.

"Look, it's a start," Sam said.

Ruby sighed softly, suddenly seeming to be introspective. "Guys, I'm sorry."

Alex looked her way suspiciously. "For what?" Sam asked.

Ruby's face was apologetic, which Alex didn't buy for a second. "For bringing you this mess with Anna. If I had known, I would've kept my trap shut."

"Not all you should have kept shut," Alex muttered.

Ruby didn't miss the comment. Her eyes glittered darkly, and she folded her arms, gazing at Alex challengingly. "I fucked your brother and he _liked_ it," she purred, setting Alex off instantly. "What're you gonna do about it?"

Alex had already darted across the space separating them and shoved Ruby up against the wall with surprisingly violent force. "Shut your _fucking_ mouth, _bitch_!" she snarled, so full of hate she couldn't see.

"Hey, get off her!" Sam had jumped up, attempting to pry Alex away, but she elbowed him hard, giving him a death glare. He backed off, maybe stunned.

Alex clenched a fistful of Ruby's shirt in her hand as she pushed the demon against the wall harder. Ruby was just smiling, as if she were pleased with Alex's reaction. But the youngest Winchester wasn't gonna let that slide. "Do you remember who you're talking to, _Ruby_? Unlike my _brother_ here, I couldn't care less if you live or die—and you need to remember, just because you've been _useful_ , and just because the demon blade is _missing_ , doesn't mean I won't exorcise your ass right here and now." Ruby's smile faded. "So watch your damn mouth," Alex growled. She let Ruby go with a strong shove, stepping back and not taking her eyes off the demon for a second. Sam was gaping at Alex and even Ruby seemed momentarily stunned.

"Hey, come on," Sam said, gathering himself and trying to play peacemaker. "T-there's more important stuff going on right now besides our personal lives. We have a crisis to get through."

Ruby looked at Sam and narrowed her eyes. "This is not something we just _get through_. You _do not_ want to get between these two armies. Angels and demons, it's like Godzilla and Mothra. If one side doesn't get us, the other one will."

"What's the matter, sweetheart—scared of the halos?" Alex said sarcastically.

Ruby cut her eyes darkly at Alex. "Forget the angels. It's _Alastair_ I'm scared of."

"And who the hell is Alastair?" Alex demanded. She'd never heard the name before.

"You met him in the church?" Ruby prompted. "Practically the grand inquisitor downstairs. Picasso with a razor."

"And...?" Sam asked.

" _And_ if you know what's good for you, you'd throw him back in the pit." Ruby looked at Sam meaningfully, as if she were trying to tell him something, and Sam immediately reacted by looking away from her like he was guilty.

Alex looked between the pair suspiciously. "Am I missing something?"

"No." Ruby glanced at Alex darkly. "You just better pray that Anna gets her groove back, or we're all dead."

Alex folded her arms cooly at the choice of words. "We don't pray. We make things happen."

"Yeah, whatever," Ruby muttered with an eye roll, and walked out of the room with one backward glance at Sam. The outside door slammed behind her as she left the house.

Alex turned on her brother as soon as the demon was out of earshot. "Okay, remind me _why_ we're keeping her around? Fucking black-eyed _bitch_..."

Sam was mollified. "Yeah, you don't exactly try hard to hide your feelings about her, do you," he muttered.

"She's a _demon_ ," Alex said vehemently, and Sam almost rolled his eyes in protest.

"Who has _helped_ us countless times," he reminded her earnestly. "Saved our _lives_. She's different, Alex."

Alex stared at her twin in open disgust. How he could actually believe that was beyond her. "Sam, she's _not_. You're _kidding_ yourself. I don't know what her game is, but this whole thing's absolutely _screwed_." Sam opened his mouth to protest, but Alex held up a warning finger. His intended lecture or appeal would fall on deaf ears. "But you _would_ have a different opinion of her than me, Sam, wouldn't you." Sam's expression went all hurt and angry at the very clear implications in Alex's tone and glare. She wet her lips, wondering if she should give Sam a chance. But if a demon was involved here, added into all the lies and dishonoesty Sam was operating under now... she couldn't. "Look. End of story, I don't trust her. Never have, never will."

Sam huffed in frustration, and his mouth worked oddly. He searched her eyes, his expression becoming pained. "Then trust _me._ "

Alex looked at him silently for a long moment, wishing so hard that she could. Her eyes fell away. She let out a heavy breath. "Dunno know if I can do that."

* * *

**The Next Day  
Union, Kentucky**

Alex stalked over to where Dean was pacing the length of the abandoned barn they were currently squatting in. After finding where Anna's Grace had touched down a couple hours ago, they had quickly realized it was gone. Taken. With only the angel hex bags Ruby had made shielding them from Castiel and Uriel's eyes, it felt too exposed and dangerous. The long drive (twelve agonizing hours) to Union had been one of the worst Alex could remember. She'd been stuck in between Ruby and Anna in the backseat of the Impala, in uncomfortable silence or recipient of catty remarks back and forth. Not her favorite road trip.

"Okay, so what's the plan?" Alex demanded irritably of Dean, who stared back at her moodily. They were all short on sleep, but she and Dean most of all. She hadn't slept in about three days now, and god she needed to. Part of the reason she couldn't do it was an odd paranoia that Castiel would plague her dreams again. Maybe that was stupid, but she really didn't want to have to look at him right now… or talk to him… or think about him.

"We still got the hex bags. I say we head back to the panic room," Dean was saying, and Ruby rolled her eyes.

"What, _forever_?" she asked, as if he were the dumbest person alive.

"I'm just thinking out loud!" Dean retorted.

"Oh, you call that thinking?" Ruby asked sarcastically.

"Will you _shut up_ ," Alex said, glaring at the demon sidelong. All day and night long, Ruby had been making sarcastic little comments and jabs, and each one wore away a little bit more of Alex's already-thin patience. She was ready to kill someone—anyone—and Ruby kept tempting her to follow through on the urge.

" _You_ ," Dean said accusingly as he pointed at Alex, "need to can the freakin' attitude."

"My _attitude_? What the fu—" Alex started, offended.

"Hey! Hey, hey, hey. Stop it. All of you." Sam said as he came into the barn. He and Anna were the only ones who hadn't blown a fuse in the past twenty four hours, but he seemed to be coming close after the constant bickering.

Ruby turned on Sam, her voice a little higher than normal, as if in fear. "Anna's Grace is gone. _You understand_? She can't angel up, she can't protect us. We can't fight Heaven and Hell. One side maybe, but not both—"

"Um... guys?" Anna said, interrupting. She was staring into space oddly. "The angels are talking again." She immediately had everyone's attention.

"What are they saying?" Sam asked intently.

"It's weird... like a recording... a loop," Anna said, frowning. "It says, 'Dean Winchester gives us Anna by midnight, or…'" she trailed off, her expression gone still.

"Or what?" Dean asked. Alex didn't miss the note of fear in his voice.

Anna looked at him squarely in the eye. "...or we hurl him back to damnation." Dean's face was shocked, and he looked at Alex, then Sam speechlessly.

"Son of a bitch," Alex exclaimed softly. "They're bluffing. Right?" Anna was silent a long moment. "They're bluffing, _aren't they_?" Alex demanded louder, needing an answer _now_.

Anna looked at Alex grimly. "I doubt it." she said. Alex felt her blood go cold, and her head felt strange, light. She looked at Dean in rising panic, who was staring at the floor, clearly alarmed and thinking quickly. No. Dean could _not_ go back—not now, and not ever.

"Anna, do you know of any weapon that works on an angel?" Sam was asking Anna.

Surprised, Anna stared back at him. "To what? To kill them? Nothing we could get to... not right now."

Dean was shaking his head, trying to derail Sammy from the desperate idea. "Okay, wait, wait. I say we call Bobby. We get him back from hedonism."

"Dean he knows less than _we_ do about angels!" Alex protested in rising despair and fear. "What the hell is Bobby gonna do?"

"I don't know, but we gotta think of _something_!" Dean exclaimed, getting more riled.

"Yeah, like, _do what the angels say_ and hand her over," Alex said, thinking this one was pretty obvious.

Dean looked at her darkly. "No." He seemed mad at her. "Neither side is getting her, okay?"

It was the lack of sleep, the despair, and her inability to keep her mouth shut that inspired the next outburst: "Well then just _kill_ her and neither side gets her!" Alex snapped. Everyone in the room, even Ruby, looked at her in shock. Anna appeared crestfallen and hurt, maybe even embarrassed. Alex set her face defensively. 

"Whoa, _whoa_ , no—Alex, _hell_ no." Dean said, recovering from his momentary shock and becoming angry once again. "That is _not_ an option. Why would you even _suggest_ that?"

"Dean, I am _not_ watching you die again because of some... some demon-angel drama we have nothing to do with!" And Alex meant that too.

"You don't get to decide that," Dean said, speaking with a rough finality that Alex didn't like. He shook his head, suddenly aghast, as if he couldn't believe what she had said. He was approaching her now. "We are not going to _kill_ someone, Alex!"

"Fine, but why are we responsible?" Alex argued. " _She_ got herself into this mess. Ripped out her Grace, fell from Heaven. _Her_ choice! She had to know the angels would catch up to her eventually. So why are we on the hook to save her? We don't even _know_ her!" She felt heartless saying it, because saving people was what they did—but she also meant what she said. This was a super-powered being, and the Winchesters were only human.

"Guys—" Sam interjected.

Dean held a hand up in Sam's face, cutting him off as he stared his sister down, disappointed. "Really, Alex? Just let this girl face Heaven and Hell all by herself?"

Alex felt everyone's judging eyes on her, and she began to doubt her position. It reflected in her weakening voice. "Well what the hell else are we supposed to do?"

"I don't know!" Dean shouted angrily, clearly at a loss and unhappy about it. He was now in her face. "But not _hand her over_ , not _kill_ her!"

"Then you'll die! _Again_!" Alex practically shouted, waiting for him to rethink, to remember, to come to his senses.

But he stepped back and shrugged. "Hey, it's just a risk we have to take."

His nonchalance about living or dying was betrayal. Alex was incensed and hurt. "You _cannot_ be serious!" She was shaking now. He was really willing to die again over this? Go back to Hell? She hated him in this moment for doing this to her.

Dean just looked at her darkly, shaking his head in what looked like disgusted annoyance. "Alex, you're _really_ starting to piss me off," he muttered, turning his back on her.

Alex stared at him in disbelief and hurt, then glanced at Sam for support, but he looked away, silently saying that he wanted no part of it. Anna nearby was looking down with a hard to read expression on her face. Alex's jaw clenched, and she realized she was all alone in this fight. She looked at Dean's back, angry. So, her concern for his life was starting to piss him off? She sneered in his direction, trying to hurt him like he hurt her. "Feeling's mutual, asshole."

And she stormed out.

* * *

Alex stalked out into where the woods began, a good twenty yards away from the barn, and there she promptly sank down into an awkward crouch. She hugged her knees, burying her face there, gritting her teeth tightly. Even though she didn't want to, she cried powerlessly, so afraid to lose him again, so hurt that he didn't seem to care about what this would do to her all over again. When he died, she had died in some way too...

" _What are we supposed to do without you, Dean?" Sam had asked tearfully._

_Dean had grown quiet, his emotions buried deep, but surfacing in his soft shaky voice. "Fight. Take care of my wheels. Remember what Dad taught you. Remember what I taught you. You two take care of each other, no matter what. I..." the clock striking midnight had cut him short. They all knew what the striking of the hour meant. Dean was a dead man._

The tear tracks on her cheeks were cold in the night air and Alex stood up and shoved her hands into her jacket pockets savagely, staring and seeing nothing but memories of that horrible night. Her worst nightmare, her most terrifying memory. It replayed in staccato scenes and sounds over her mind's eye, and she squeezed her eyes shut, tried to think about something else. But she couldn't think of anything except the horrors of May the second.

She remembered it all so clearly...

_Dean's eyes, slowly traveling to his right as he heard the hound who had come to take him. Their frantic attempts to shut themselves into a dining room to hold off the Hellhound. Lilith revealing herself in Ruby's body and pinning Alex and Sam to the wall gleefully. The low throttling growl of the beast outside, waiting. Just waiting. Alex had been glued helplessly to the wall and she screamed as the doors flung open, and the invisible hound rushed in, like a gale of wind. Unable to do anything, Alex's ears were filled with her brother's screams of agony—the sound of his flesh being torn apart, the sight of his chest being ripped to shreds. The metallic scent of blood. His blood. Alex screamed so hard her throat felt like it was on fire.  
_

She tried not to remember, but it all replayed over and over. Hot tears ran down her cheeks anew. Lilith had tried to kill Sam as Dean lay dying, but somehow, it hadn't worked. Sam had almost killed the demon then and there, but she fled, a coward, just before he brought the blade down. Alex had dropped from where she had been pinned, free of the demon's grip. And then, the terrible silence.

 _Dean laid lifeless and bloody. Sam rushed to his brother immediately, the demon blade clattering uselessly to the floor, forgotten. But Alex was frozen, breathing oddly, something like gasps or sobs at the sight of Dean in a pool of his own blood—she almost fell backwards. Her muscles seemed to have lost all their strength, her blood felt like it was draining out of her, she was going to be sick. She heard herself begging_ no no no _as she fumbled forward and then collapsed to all fours, barely able to keep conscious against the dizzying grief and horror. The knees of her jeans were wet with Dean's still-warm blood as it pooled out onto the floor. Sam held Dean in his lap, as one might hold a child, tears running down his face as he cried high, terrified weeping sobs. Dean's eyes staring at nothing, his body was still, silent, lifeless. He was gone. Forever._

_Alex's vision went halfway out, her hearing didn't seem to work, her muscles were water, she was shaking so hard she couldn't even breathe. She dragged herself over and_ _huddled near Sam, clutching Dean's stiffening leg and sobbing out unintelligibly, her heartbeat choking her, the finality of it destroying her. She screamed again, unable to bear what she was feeling at all._ _  
_

She remembered digging Dean's grave alongside Sam and Bobby in an empty lot of land where there would be no marker to speak of. Just a shallow, nameless grave in the woods. They had done it without words, but all of them were in tears, burying the oldest Winchester under blazing, cruel sunlight. They had taken his amulet off before they put him in the ground, and the ring he wore (Mom's wedding band). Alex had held them in the palm of her hand with a heart that was cracked in two. Surely this wasn't all that was left of him to hold onto.

Bobby took his hat off, held it to his chest, and said things about Dean after that. Things like 'good man' and 'irreplaceable' but Alex hadn't been able to hear. All she could do was look through swimming vision at ground where in a pine box, buried six feet under, the best man she'd ever known laid. _Gone forever._ She wanted to kill herself and be there with him. A thought that made her turn to Sam, who readily held her close—and they cried together a long time. Bobby let them be for awhile.

...The sound of footsteps crunching the leaves on the ground behind her alerted Alex to a new presence, and she hurriedly dashed her hands across her cheeks, trying to wipe away the evidence of her tears. "Hey," Dean's gruff voice said beside her. "Wanna tell me what the hell is wrong with you?" He sounded pissed. Alex looked at him after a long moment, pained, her mind on memories of him, dead, shredded, six feet under. His hard expression softened and he sighed. He'd never been able to stand the sight of her crying. "What's wrong?" He asked. Gentler this time.

She shook her head, laughed softly, looking away, trying not to show him too much of her feelings. "Angels just threatened to send you back to… to Hell." She wiped her cheek one last time with her palm as Dean watched. "That's what's wrong."

"Hey, I get it," he said, trying to sound lighthearted. "You don't want me dead. It's nice, really."

Alex couldn't laugh at his attempt at playfulness. Her mind was in too dark a place. She shook her head vehemently and looked at him squarely. "I _can't_ lose you again, Dean."

"You're not gonna," Dean said, his voice full of assurance.

"You don't _know_ that," she protested. "We have no idea what the _angels_ are gonna do, let alone the friggin' demons!"

He seemed to consider what she said, but shook his head. "Well, we have a plan," he said. "And if you'd stayed instead of storming out here like a three year old, maybe you would've heard it."

Alex pressed her mouth into a thin line and ignored the comment about her acting childish. "We've had plans before."

"Yeah. Well." He put an arm around her, squeezing her arm reassuringly. A gesture of caring and concern. It was enough to set Alex in tears again. She looked down and away, taking a moment to control herself, hiding herself behind her hair.

"Dean… you didn't see me after you... after you were gone," she said in a moment, softly, not looking at him. "I tried to get by. I _tried_ to live life like everything was okay, I tried to do what you said, I did." Her expression wavered as the ghosts of the feelings came back. "But I just couldn't." She looked at him plainly, letting the agony show. His familiar green eyes were full of sadness and dismay. "I couldn't _deal_ with the pain, Dean—hunting was the only thing that kept me going. And the killing? I… I _liked_ it, in a way I never had before." She was somber, remembering how the violence had soothed her. How the killing had comforted her. "I don't know who that was. It was me but... I dunno."

Dean's expression was mournful and guilty, as if he hadn't truly thought of what kind of impact his absence would had made in her life. "I thought you were okay. Not like, super great or anything but... man, I thought you were dealing."

Alex was mystified and wounded. "How could you ever _think_ that? For a goddamn second?"

Silence passed between them and regret made him lower his eyes. "Guess I didn't want it to be the case."

She hesitated, then decided to say what she hadn't had the balls to tell him yet. He needed to know how fucking real it got. How dark it went. "I didn't wanna live most days." His eyes leapt to hers, and they were full of shock. Pain.

" _Al_..." he breathed, gutted.

She shook her head faintly, trying to figure him out. It was almost funny that he wouldn't think this one through. That he'd delude himself into thinking he could die and she'd just carry on. Alex didn't wanna dwell on her ideations, and instead begged him to understand where she was coming from: "I don't care about Anna, and if it's you or her..." her voice was a mere whisper. "You know who I'm picking."

Dean appeared vastly torn. "I... I get it, Al. I do. As much as I can for not having been in that position. But end of the day... we protect people. Right? That's our job."

Alex gave him a look. "Anna's not a regular person. She's an angel. And come on Dean, the person who needs protection right now is _you._ " He questioned her silently. "If I have to protect you from your own stupidity, Dean, I will."

He considered her for a minute. "Yeah, you're a real hardass, aren't you," he said, his tone somewhere between sarcastic and joking. The shadows of guilt and grief remained as he processed what she'd said about not wanting to live.

Alex was grim. Deadly serious. "I'll kill her if it means you stay alive," she vowed. "I don't want to. But I will. So find a damn solution. Or I'll do what I have to." The deadly, soft seriousness in her voice must have thrown him off.

His expression was unreadable. Almost like he had grown more respect for her, or was realizing he hadn't figured her as well as he thought he had. "Yeah," he said thoughtfully, then exhaled heavily and pulled her into a gentle hug that said he understood things a lot better now. Shutting her eyes as her features worked hard, Alex hugged back for all she was worth. They stayed there for a long moment, then when Dean pulled back he held the side of her head briefly and gave her an encouraging if conflicted nod. Telling her without words it would be okay somehow.

"Come back to the barn?" he asked, indicating it with a slight move of the head. Alex shook her head—she needed a little more time. Dean understood without her saying anything and patted her arm. "Whenever you're ready, kiddo."

Alex watched him leave, wondering if he were mad, proud, or disappointed in what she had vowed to do. Surely he'd feel the same if their roles were reversed? A few moments passed, and she searched the stars solemnly, immersed in the feeling of being cold, of being in silence.

A sudden voice to her left caused her to jump. "Hello, Alex." Standing there in calm and quiet composure was Anna, her red hair shining in the moonlight. Great.

"Anna," Alex greeted with no great enthusiasm. These damn angels and their penchants for sneaking up on people.

"Are you all right?" Anna asked, her tone sounding concerned. So, she wanted to try and earn a sympathy card from Alex. Well, that wasn't going to work.

Alex crossed her arms and frowned, confused at the question and not trusting it. She pointedly looked away, trying to send the message _leave me alone_.

Instead, Anna only came closer, and laid a soft, comforting hand on Alex's shoulder. "You're in so much pain."

Alex jerked away from the touch, glaring. "Don't come out here and try to make me like you," she warned. "It's not gonna happen."

Oddly enough, Anna smiled softly, as if what Alex said had pleased her. "This is why I love humanity. Such loyalty." She looked at Alex as if she could see through her every thought and motive. "Dean is lucky to have a sister who loves him so much." Anna's expression flickered as she looked away. "This is actually a prime example of why I wanted to become a human."

Alex's forehead crinkled up in confusion at the wistful tone in Anna's voice. _Why would she ever envy us? Why would she want to be a human?_ Humans were... a mess. No superhuman strength or telepathic powers. Just crap, pain, drama, and loss. And death. Always death. Alex looked away somberly. She thought of everything she had lived through and lost. "Being human sucks."

"Perhaps," Anna conceded, then looked at Alex directly. "But being an angel sucked more."

No lie... that _did_ intruigue. "How?" Alex asked, keeping her voice hard to mask her curiosity.

Anna looked sad, as if remembering the pain of an old wound. She thought for a long moment, and then spoke as if thinking out loud. "So many reasons, but maybe the biggest one was that I constantly longed, deep inside, secretly... for _more_. I knew something was missing."

Alex felt herself becoming interested, despite herself. She tried to sound disinterested though. "And you found it here?"

Anna looked at Alex again. "Yes. I think so." She smiled, and it reached her eyes. Her expression softened, and again she touched Alex's shoulder. This time, Alex did not jerk away. "Alex. I know why you feel you should kill me, if it comes to that. I want you to know I understand. You love Dean very much. Of course you'd choose him over me."

Alex's eyebrows rose—was Anna for real? She cleared her throat, looked away, let out a heavy, conceding breath and met Anna's gaze sidelong. " _Look_ ," she said unhappily, because she was basically admitting that she wasn't as hardass as she was trying to act. "I hope we can find a solution, Anna. Really. I do. Ideally everyone walks away from this alive and well, okay?" But the fact still remained that Alex was going to kill her if she had to, to protect the family—and Anna probably knew that. Still, the ex-angel smiled softly and said nothing more. Alex shook her head tiredly and jerked her thumb in the direction of the barn, overwhelmed with reality. "Listen, I'm gonna head in. Need some sleep."

Anna nodded, graciously, her parting comment making the youngest Winchester feel even shittier. "Rest well, Alex."

Alex left the tree line and headed for the dark shape of the barn, trying very hard not to like Anna or feel bad about what she might have to do. Alex thought it would make everything a whole helluva lot easier if Anna were as horrible as Ruby. Alex rubbed her forehead tiredly, thinking to herself that she needed to find Sam before she collapsed. He'd be able to fill her in on whatever hare-brained plan they'd cooked up. Hopefully, whatever it was, wasn't too ornate, because her ability to focus was currently very threadbare. Alex was at the point where she was so sleepy that holding her eyelids felt like one hundred pound weights—she needed sleep more than anything right now, but dreaded what her dreams might bring. Hex bags couldn't protect your dreams, and Castiel seemed to think he could breeze in and out of her subconscious as he liked.

* * *

Alex looked up, suddenly aware of herself, and saw that she was standing in a grove of pine trees in unnaturally bright moonlight.

She knew it was a dream immediately. And she felt his presence before she even turned to see him. He set her on edge immediately standing there under the beautiful moonlight in his increasingly familiar trench coat. But things were different. She felt it immediately. And as such, it put her on her guard immediately. "You know you _could_ text me," Alex complained, eyeing him mistrustfully. "Instead of barging in on my dreams like this." 

Castiel seemed tense and wooden, hollow. The total opposite of the last visit he'd made to her in dreams. "I've come to ask you to make your brother Anna to us."

Startled, Alex took a second to respond. " _Make him_?" she echoed, giving him an incredulous look. What was _with_ this guy and the whiplash? "You don't think I _tried_ that? He's made up his mind that he doesn't wanna be responsible for killing an innocent girl."

The angel approached her brusquely. "And you? What is your stance on all of this?" His mood was more businesslike than in her other dreams. It didn't feel quite right. In fact, it almost stung. 

"What's it to you?" she asked. 

He finally showed a small iota of emotion. "Alex, I do not want to kill Dean. In fact, I would very much dislike it. But if he will not relinquish Anna to us—" he looked at her with a mask of rigid earnestly, "—things will get ugly." He paused. "Do you take my meaning?" 

She did, and she couldn't _believe_ he would dare go there. "...Did you really come into my head to threaten my brother's life?" she asked in a dangerous low tone, then flew into a fit of rage, grabbing him with both of her hands by his coat lapels to shake him, earning an almost surprised frown from him. "Why would you bring him out of Hell just to send him back?! What the fuck is _wrong_ with you?!" She shouted, getting worked up because it made no sense that he could say he healed her out of kindness then be such a dick about everything else. She kept her hands clenched into his coat, seething. He was the most frustrating, confusing creature she could think of. "If you ever cared about me, you would care about him, too!"

He stared at her unblinkingly, his clear blue eyes boring into hers. "Let go of me, Alex."

She stared at him, jaw squared. His lack of reaction pissed her off. With a hearty shove, she did what he said. He barely flinched. She took a deep, unhappy breath in through her nostrils. She was so scared for her brother that she could cry at this point. And so frustrated that she was going to have to lay her pride aside for what she did next. "You know what, Castiel? I appreciate what you did for me. I really do." She couldn't believe she was about to plead with this guy for mercy. She couldn't even look him in the eye when she did it. "So if... if there is _any_ of the same compassion in you, that you felt for me once… _please_." She made herself look him in the eye for Dean's sake. Saying the words was like pulling teeth. "I am _begging_ you." Her inner sadness betrayed herself on her face. "Don't let anything happen to my brother." She hated it, but she forced herself to ask again: " _Please_." All of her inner turmoil was on display for him to see and for once, she didn't try to hide it. "I know you know what's right deep down," she said, going _way_ out onto a limb and hoping she wasn't wrong. "I _know_ you do."

Castiel stared at her as if he'd been stung and he took a step back from her. Was that... panic on his face? She couldn't tell, because he quickly hid it with near-anger. " _Compassion_ ," he spat, as if the word left a sour taste in his mouth, "is something I have no more of, for _any_ of you." He stared at her a second longer, his expression unreadable, and then he was gone, leaving Alex in completely shocked silence. What the _hell_?

When she woke up, she felt betrayed somehow.

* * *

It was early in the morning and Ruby was gone to carry out her part of the plan. Sam was pacing the length of the barn, Anna was nervously standing around, and Dean, of course, was drinking. They were about to run the riskiest move of their life, so of course Dean needed some liquor. It didn't actually sound like the worst idea, Alex thought offhandedly. Tricking angels and demons into coming here was a long shot, but it was the only chance they had, she guessed. But, just in case it didn't work, she had one of Bobby's hunting knives holstered and hidden in her jeans. They had destroyed the angel hex bags a few minutes ago, and were resigned to wait for the angels to arrive.

"Little early for that, isn't it?" Anna asked, watching Dean down the contents of his flask.

"It's never too early if your name is Dean Winchester," Alex said. Dean raised the flask to her, as if she had given him a great compliment. She contemplated asking for some too.

At that moment, the barn doors suddenly burst in with a mighty blast of wind. Everyone leapt to their feet as Uriel and Castiel marched in, their presences blistering and powerful. Sam and Dean stood protectively in front of Anna, and Alex stood beside Sam, ready to jump in front of Dean at a second's notice.

"Hello, Anna. It's good to see you," Castiel said. An odd greeting to give someone you were about to murder.

Sam was acting shocked. "How? How did you find us?" He paused and looked at his brother in shock. "Dean?"

"I'm sorry," Dean apologized, and sounded every bit the part. Alex was kind of impressed at the acting skills. She was trying to look confused, but wasn't sure if it was convincing or not.

"Why?" Sam asked, whisper soft.

"Because they gave him a choice," Anna said. "They either kill me... or kill you. I know how their minds work." Anna turned to Dean, and they kissed softly. ... _Huh?_ Alex didn't have to act surprised at that… was that a part of the plan they had left out telling her last night? She looked at Cas and Uriel—Uriel looked smug, but Cas actually seemed surprised too. Anna pulled back from Dean and spoke to him softly. "You did the best you could. I forgive you." She looked at the angels. "Okay. No more tricks. No more running. I'm ready."

Alex looked at Dean—where the hell was Ruby? Could they stall any longer?

"I'm sorry," Castiel said to Anna, his voice wooden. He didn't sound sorry.

"No. You're not. Not really. You don't know the feeling," Anna said. Alex glanced at her briefly, wishing Anna was wrong about that.

"Still, we have a history," Castiel said, as if he understood he was expected to care, but couldn't bring himself to. "It's just—"

"Orders are orders," Anna finished for him. "I know. Just make it quick."

Sam and Dean were looking at each other sidelong, and Alex could could tell they were getting ready to attack the angels. That probably wouldn't go too well. But it didn't get to that point.

"Don't you touch a hair on that poor girl's head!" Came a new voice behind them. They whirled to see Alastair, two demon henchmen, and with them, a bleeding, crippled Ruby. Alastair tossed her to the side and stared the angels down.

The Winchesters and Anna quickly moved aside as Uriel advanced on the demon. "How dare you come in this room... you pussing sore…"

"Name-calling," Alastair tutted. "That hurt my feelings... you sanctimonious, fanatical _prick_."

"Turn around and walk away now," Castiel commanded, skipping the insults, his strong, deep voice filled with warning.

"Sure. Just give us the girl," Alastair said, smiling slyly. "We'll make sure she gets punished good and _proper_."

"You know who we are and what we will do." Castiel stepped forward, deadly intent in his steps and expression. He was terrifying in that moment. "I won't say it again. Leave now... or we lay you to waste."

"Think I'll take my chances," Alastair lisped, but there was no missing the hostile tone he had taken on. Alex grabbed Sam's arm. They were about to fight, just as predicted. It had sounded so good in theory, but now, Alex's stomach felt tight, and she looked at Castiel without a second thought, suddenly worried. What if—

She didn't have a chance to finish the thought. Uriel leapt forward and attacked one of Alastair's henchmen and Castiel unleashed a series of unexpectedly quick and powerful uppercuts onto Alastair, stunning the demon momentarily. He placed his hand on Alastair's forehead, clearly about to exorcise him—but then, nothing happened. Confusion came across the angel's face even as Alastair grinned.

"Sorry, kiddo. Why don't you go run to _Daddy_?" And Alastair knocked Castiel onto his back. The angel seemed stunned, momentarily unmoving. Alastair grabbed Cas by the lapels, and began shouting Latin. " _Potestas inferna, me confirma_ ," Alastair proclaimed, choking Castiel ruthlessly. Oh my god—was he _exorcising_ an angel? Was that even possible?! For a second, Alex remained frozen—should she do something? She looked at Dean in horror. Castiel's face was contorted in pain. " _Potestas inferna, me confirma,_ " Alastair continued, and Dean grabbed a crowbar up off the floor. " _Potestas inferma, me confirma!_ "

Dean swung the crowbar at Alastair with power, knocking the demon off his feet momentarily. Castiel forgotten, Alastair set his sights on Dean and Sam. "Dean, Dean, Dean... I am so disappointed." He was now shouting through clenched teeth. "You had _such promise!_ " He stretched out a hand and the brothers both sank to the ground, writhing in pain.

In the scuffle, Alex had somehow been forgotten—she didn't have time to reflect on why, only had time to act. Without a second thought, she grabbed the dropped crowbar and swung it at Alastair with all of her strength, striking him across the face. The demon reeled, staggering back a step or two and holding a hand to his jaw and cheek. Standing feebly between the demon and her brothers and Castiel, all of whom were on the ground and useless, Alex felt like a kitten facing down a lion. She shook from both fear and anger alike as she stared into the face of evil. Alastair chuckled strangely and licked his lips, recovering. Hyping herself up, Alex gripped the crowbar like a baseball bat. "Alex, no!" Dean managed to shout through agony.

Alastair smiled at her, a creepy effect. "Ah yes, baby Winchester, can't forget about you!" He yanked the crowbar out of her hand telepathically, where it came to his hand. He tested the weight in his hand casually as Alex backed up slowly. The back of her foot hit something—Castiel's leg. She wavered, almost falling down from the unexpected run in. Alastair examined the crowbar with apparent great interest, swaggering toward her casually. "My, I would love to have you come visit me, stay awhile... get to know the fam... because if you're anything like your brother..." he grinned wickedly, "You would be a true joy to have around." He winked at her and gripped the crowbar tight. What did _that_ mean? Alex tried to dodge, but she couldn't. With relish he drew back and slammed the crowbar into her stomach with superhuman strength. Pain exploded and she felt bones breaking as a scream ripped out of her mouth.

Alex felt herself flying backwards where her shoulder ruthlessly smashed into one of the barn support beams—she heard the popping crunch of her shoulder dislocating through ears that had gone fuzzy. She was all but screaming through gritted teeth in pain, mostly oblivious to what was happening. Sam was trying to crawl over to her even as he writhed in pain. Somewhere nearby, Alastair was laughing. Alex heard Uriel shout " _No_!" followed by Anna's frantic rising voice. "Shut your eyes. Shut your eyes! _Shut your eyes_!"

 _Shut my eyes?_ Limp and dazed, Alex couldn't move at all, her body was in shock. She couldn't even take a full breath in. She was sprawled there on her back helplessly, propped on one elbow awkwardly. Then she felt someone beside her and a large, warm hand covered her squinted eyes firmly—and by instinct she squeezed her eyes shut as a light brighter than she could stand blazed. She felt herself being pulled close to someone solid. Dean? Sam? No... neither of them smelled like that—like rain, or maybe that was cotton. Even with her eyes closed, even with the hand there, she felt blinded by the light that blazed and maybe trying to hang onto the world and not blow away, she grabbed for something, anything, and got a fistful of what felt like some kind of crisp shirt as she curled into the person shielding her. There was a sound like an explosion and then wind gusted over them as if a tornado had torn through the place. Then all fell quiet, and things sank to darkness once more. The hand came away from Alex's eyes, the hold on her loosened, and she was momentarily dazed, blinking against sunspots. She squinted, trying to see who had covered her eyes, who she was holding onto. Her heart rocketed out of her when she saw. _Castiel._ He was breathing hard and laying awkwardly beside her—his face close to hers as he looked at her in trepidation. Shocked, Alex let go of his shirt immediately, heart hammering. That's when a sharp stab of pain reminded her of her injuries. She gasped, struggling to breathe through the razors in her ribcage. She heard Dean somewhere nearby bellowing. "Well, what are you guys waiting for? Go get Anna. Unless of course you're scared!"

Alex looked at Castiel in agony. The pain was so _so_ bad. His eyes met hers and she heard a broken groan of pain come from deep inside of her throat. Cas appeared alarmed at the sound. It was an expression that she had never seen on his face, and even in her pain, it moved her somehow, it made her feel strangely—it confused her. He glanced at Uriel in the briefest hesitation, then back at her, suddenly appearing gravely determined. The angel reached out, his hand coming to rest on her rib cage, his eyes locking onto hers once again. She took in a sharp gasp air in relief or surprise or maybe both as a rush of comfort, warmth, and relief came over her, spreading out from beneath where his hand was against her. Just like that, she was healed. But he didn't take his hand off her—he was as much stuck in her eyes as she was in his. Stunned and confused, Alex could only stare back into the eyes that searched hers. Even as her eyebrows worked in slightly together in an unspoken question— _what is this? What are you doing?_ —his expression changed, he took his hand away, and he moved quickly to stand and join Uriel with a single snatched glance back at her where she laid shocked on the floor.

"This isn't over," Uriel was saying, and Dean said something smart back. And then the angels and demons were all gone.

Sam rushed over to Alex and tried to help her up gently. "You're hurt—" he started, his expression concerned.

"No... no, I'm... I'm fine." She held a hand against the part of her stomach and side that had hurt so badly just a moment before, unable to believe what had just happened. "I'm... completely fine." She looked at her twin with a dumbfounded expression.

Sam swallowed, seeming to understand. "Cas?" he asked.

Alex nodded, dazed. "Yeah."

Dean shook his head tiredly, and looked at the spot where Anna had disappeared from. He seemed particularly affected by her disappearing act. But Alex was lost in her own thoughts.

Castiel's harsh words echoed in her mind. _Compassion is something I have no more of, for any of you._ She stared at where he'd been standing just a minute before. _Then why, Cas—why did that just happen?  
_

* * *

**One Hour Later**

The Kentucky landscape whizzed by outside, and once again everything was as it should be. Just the three of them—no demons, no angels. They'd left Ruby behind, thankfully. Alex couldn't say the same for Anna. What had happened to her? Maybe they would never know. Right now, Alex was just looking forward to finding a diner, a motel, and a shower. And more goddamn sleep. Without really thinking about it, she laid her hand over her ribs where the weight of Castiel's hand had rested earlier. She doubted she had seen the last of him. But the thought left her uneasy. She kept catching herself thinking about his hand on her. It had felt so gentle and kind, so... something else she didn't know how to name. She thought of his eyes and the expression of alarm on his face when he saw her in pain. How was she supposed to reconcile his kind actions with his more asshole ones? He was confusing. Or maybe he was _confused_. Well, _she_ sure was confused. That much was for sure.

In the driver's seat, Dean gave a huge, tired sigh, interrupting her thoughts. "Ah, screw this, I need a beer," he said, and pulled into a gas station. About ten minutes later they were parked on a back road, cracking open beers. Sam sat on the hood of the Impala with his bottle and Dean leaned up next to him. Alex handed Dean his beer and sat beside him, just above the wheel.

"To surviving yet another impossible situation," Sam said lightly while raising his bottle up.

"Can't believe we made it out of there," Dean replied with, a soft, disbelieving laugh.

"Story of our lives," Alex muttered, raising her beer bottle too. Sam and Dean clinked theirs against hers, and it was bottoms up. After taking a big swallow, Alex wiped her mouth with the sleeve of her jacket. "You think we'll see her again?" she asked.

"Who, Anna?" Dean asked, then shrugged. "Probably. I mean, can't seem to keep these damn angels away."

Alex chuckled sardonically. She agreed with him more than he knew. Sam looked at Alex sidelong. He had a sly little smile on his face. "So exactly _how_ many times has Cas saved your life now?" He grinned outright… he was teasing her.

Alex rolled her eyes and wrinkled her nose in quick succession. "I'm trying not to keep count." She was suddenly interested in peeling the label off her beer, hoping they didn't ask her anything else about him. She felt oddly put on the spot. Kind of vulnerable about the subject of Cas.

They were quiet a couple minutes, then Dean cleared his throat. "I know you heard him."

"Huh?" Sam asked.

"Alastair. What he said... about how I had promise," Dean said. Alex became very interested at this point, stopping mid-guzzle.

"Yeah..." Sam replied.

"You're not curious?" Dean asked.

"Dean, I'm _damn_ curious. But you're not talking about Hell, and I'm not pushing."

Alex, however, swallowed her beer quickly and butted in. "Well, _I'll_ bite. What'd he mean by that?" She peered up at Dean's profile, which was dark and thoughtful. "What happened to you down there?"

Dean swallowed, staring into the distance. He didn't speak for a long moment. "It wasn't four months, you know. It was four months and change up here, but down there... I don't know. Time's different. It was more like forty years."

Sam and Alex exchanged shocked glanced. "Forty _years_?" Alex breathed in disbelief. "How...?" she trailed off, speechless.

"My god..." Sam whispered.

Dean swallowed. "They, uh... they sliced and carved and tore at me in ways that you…" he took a deep breath. "Until there was nothing left. And then, suddenly... I would be whole again... like magic... just so they could start in all over. And Alastair... at the end of every day... every one... he would come and he would make me an offer. To take me off the rack... if I put souls on... if I started the torturing. And every day, I told him to stick it where the sun shines. For thirty years, I told him." Dean's voice wavered now. "But then I couldn't do it anymore, guys. I _couldn't_. And I got off that rack." His voice became even more unsteady, broken and limping with deep pain. "God help me, I got right off it, and I started ripping them apart. I lost count of how many souls." A tear rolled down his cheek. "The—the things that I did to them."

He went silent, and Alex put a hand on his shoulder gingerly. "Don't think about it," Alex said, unsure what else to say.

"It's _all_ I can think about," Dean said, choking.

"Dean... Dean, look, you held out for thirty _years_ ," Sam said gently. "That's longer than anyone would have."

Dean had a hand over his face, and his shoulders shook. "How I feel... this... inside me... I wish I couldn't feel anything. I wish I couldn't feel a damn thing." His voice broke in agony, and he didn't bother hiding his tears, his sobs.

Sam and Alex were speechless, truly speechless. Alex enveloped her big brother in a tight hug, and he crushed her in his arms, weeping openly, burying his face in her shoulder, for once letting himself be the one who got comforted. Sam hung back, his expression pained and afraid. Alex tried to make her voice sound stronger than she felt. "You're okay now. You're okay," she repeated over and over, softly, to keep from breaking down herself. When Dean cried, she wanted to also. "You're okay," she said again. But she knew he wasn't.

None of them were.


	12. After School Special

_"Years have gone, I'm broken; I've left the past unspoken. Those years oh, they haunt me still._ "  
\- Alter Bridge

* * *

**One Month and Two Weeks Later**

"Nothing but Christmas crap on," Dean grumbled, throwing down the remote to the motel TV.

Alex walked by where he sat, her arms overloaded with their duffel bags, backpacks, and a sleeping bag. She dumped the stuff in the corner of the room as Sam entered their room with a couple plastic bags and a twelve pack of beer. He plopped the goods down on one of the twin beds and began pulling things out of the bags, naming them as he laid them down. "Beef jerky, granola bars, pop tarts, canned chicken, some cracker things, M&Ms, hot dogs with no buns, and the very last box of…" he grimaced, "Uh, sorta squished cupcakes."

"Ooh, gimme!" Alex grabbed the box from him in excitement, examining the red-frosted, green-sprinkled cupcakes with a huge grin. Even though they had gotten a little smeared, they still looked perfect to her.

Dean, however, looked heartbroken. "No _pie_?" he asked.

"Sorry Dean, this is pretty much all the gas station had left," Sam apologized.

"I wanted _pie_ ," Dean muttered sulkily. He grabbed a beer instead with grumpy gusto, earning a sympathetic if amused smile from Sam.

"But why would you want soggy pastry filled with gooey fruit crap when you could have _these_?" Alex asked, holding out her prized possession. "It's mini cakes. With _frosting_. And _sprinkles_!"

"Ehh," Dean grumbled, eyeing the cupcakes with disinterest. "It's not Christmas without pie."

" _None_ of this stuff says Christmas, Dean," Sam replied, chuckling.

"Yeah well merry friggin' Christmas to us," Dean replied, sitting down on the bed with his beer and a foul expression. Sam and Alex exchanged a glance and simultaneous shrugs behind their brother's back. Alex set the cupcakes down, watching her oldest brother out of the corner of her eye.

Alex was pretty sure Dean was so grumpy for a few reasons… one, he was hungry. Two, he was tired. Three, he was Dean. But more than those reasons, she had a hunch that he was a little more sullen than usual because he had forgotten today was Christmas day—they all had forgotten, actually. The past month they had been hunting nonstop, too busy to even keep track of what day it was. So when they realized today was Christmas (they made the discovery while at a closed drive-thru), Dean had turned surly. Her oldest brother had never personally been too into stuff like holidays or birthdays but when it came to Alex and Sam, he had always tried to give them something normal, something dependable. He'd made a point to always at least remember their birthday, and he always tried to do something special for Christmas. Even Dad hadn't always managed that.

The sound of singing and shouting on TV caught Alex's attention, and she glanced at the black and white movie that was currently playing. _"Look, Daddy! Teacher says, every time a bell rings an angel gets his wings!"_ A little girl shouted, and her father, grinning ear to ear, replied _"That's right, that's right!"_ Alex frowned and picked up the remote from where Dean had tossed it and changed the channel. _"Coming up next on Lifetime—it's_ Christmas Angel _, the new Della Reese movie that's sure to—"_ she switched channels again, this time to a local news station, where a man was being interviewed standing in front of a bunch of Christmas trees. _"I'm so thankful for the Salvation Army, those people are angels! Just_ angels _! If they hadn't got my kids all these great gifts—"_ Alex switched off the TV entirely, a little perturbed at all the angel references. Dean and Sam had begun opening up the food and hadn't noticed. Alex glanced back at the TV soberly. Angels. She'd been trying _not_ to think about them. Her eyes darted toward her duffel bag, where one of the angel hex bags Ruby had given them remained. Alex had kept it without telling either of her brothers, and wasn't sure what they'd think of that if they found out. She was in the process of figuring out how to make more of them… however, some of the elements were still a mystery to her and she needed more time to research it.

The past month there had been no sign of angels. No dream appearances, nothing. No Castiel, no Uriel, no Anna. And while Alex thought this should make her feel better, the silence felt more eerie than anything else. Mostly because she had _expected_ to see Castiel in her dreams. Every time before shutting her eyes to sleep one of her last thoughts had been _will he show up tonight?_ But he hadn't. At first she'd told herself that was a relief, but now she was beginning to feel uneasy... _worried_. And unhappy that she was worried. She'd caught herself wondering if maybe he were injured after his fight with Alastair... or maybe he'd become angry that she was using hex bags to hide herself and her brothers from him... or maybe he didn't care either way and she was overthinking things. Maybe he got in trouble for healing her again. She hoped not. The amount of time she had spent wondering about him was embarrassing.

"Hey, space case," Dean's voice said, cutting through her thoughts. He seemed to have recovered from his sadness over pie and was popping M&Ms into his mouth like a chipmunk. "Wanna play poker? Loser has to sleep on the floor," he grinned through a mouthful of candy and motioned toward the sleeping bag. Alex looked at the two beds in the motel room… they looked about as comfortable as the floor was, but Dean was obviously excited to play cards.

She grabbed some cards from him and gave him a meaningful. "Hope you like sleeping on the ground, buddy." She pointed at him threateningly, in jest.

* * *

**One Week Later**

"Thanks Bobby," Sam said, then snapped his phone shut. Alex looked up from the Dad's journal in her lap. At the wheel of the Impala, Dean looked at Sam questioningly. "Either of you guys remember Truman High?" Sam asked, receiving blank stares from his siblings. "We went there for, I dunno, maybe a month?" His twin made a slight face. After being to at _least_ thirty different schools (none of which she had liked or cared about) over the course of her life, how would she remember that?

"Home of the Bombers?" Dean asked, squinting in impressive thought.

"That's the one," Sam confirmed.

"Ah," Dean said, and sounded a little put off. "I hated that place."

Alex chuckled. "You hated all of them."

Dean glanced at her in the rear view mirror. "What and _you_ loved them so much?" he prodded playfully. Touché.

Sam, in information-relay mode, sounded almost excited as he explained. "Bobby said some girl there murdered a classmate pretty brutally… but she's now saying that she had no control of herself when it happened. Like someone or something made her do it."

"So, vengeful spirit?" Dean asked. "Possession?"

"Only one way to be sure," Sam said.

Dean nodded in agreement. "We go interview the girl."

And just like that, they were on the way to a new job. Alex absently flipped to a new page in the journal, then hissed in pain. "Ouch!" she exclaimed, and stuck her finger in her mouth. "Paper cut," she mumbled at the questioning look she got from Sam.

"Better call Cas," Dean joked, and grinned at Sam, who was chuckling at the comment. Alex rolled her eyes, trying to play it off. Dean glanced at her in the rearview and upon seeing her sour expression he grinned even bigger.

"Me- _ow_ ," he said, his favorite comment to make when he was getting on her nerves. Alex reached up and slapped the back of his head. "Ow!"

* * *

**Sioux City, Indiana**

The three Winchesters had just gotten into town, checked into a motel, and now were about to head right back out again. "All right, I'm going to the mental ward to talk to the girl," Sam said, and Dean nodded agreement.

"Yup. You go to the crazy bin, Alex and me will go see what we can dig up at the school."

Alex cleared her throat, setting down her duffel gently on one of the beds. "I'm not going," she said, not looking at either of them.

That got her quite the inquisitive look from her oldest brother. "Not going?" he echoed. "Why not?"

Sam, gentler, frowned slightly in concern. "Come on, we could use you on this one."

"You've both got this," Alex said, trying to sound like she was just disinterested and casual. "You don't need me." She faltered and pressed her mouth into a thin line for a minute at their scrutinizing gazes. "I just… really, _really_ don't wanna go back there. To _any_ school we used to go to." She looked at them meaningfully. "So unless it's life or death... leave me outta this one, cool?"

The brothers exchanged a glance, and from the way they looked at each other, Alex knew that they knew exactly _why_ she was didn't want to, but Dean looked hesitant to agree.

Alex's tongue darted out to wet her lips. "I'll do laundry," she heard herself volunteer. The statement of a truly desperate woman. "For both of you. All of your dirty... _disgusting_ laundry." She felt herself grimacing just thinking about all of the sweat-stained, musty damp clothes, the smelly socks that would be crammed up into weird little balls she'd have to unknot, and then there would be the underwear. Oh god, the _underwear_. She shivered in grossed-out anticipation.

Dean's face had lit up at the prospect of skipping the laundromat, and he put his arm around her, clapping her on the shoulder. "You had me at laundry, kid."

* * *

**1997**

_Sam and Alex stood in a place they stood very often: In front of a new class in the middle of the school year and in the middle of the class period. They both wore jeans that didn't fit great, worn out jackets, and shirts that used to be Dean's. Sam stood half a head taller than Alex, who was still short for their age: fourteen._

_A sea of unfamiliar faces stared back at them as the teacher made the awkward, necessary introductions._

" _So! Is there anything you'd like to tell us about yourself?" the teacher, Mr. Wyatt, was asking pleasantly._

_Sam shrugged. He didn't like this part. "Not really."_

_The teacher turned to Alex. "What about you, Alex?"_

_Alex just looked down, her ears burning because yes, she had lots she'd like to say but she wasn't_ able _. How many times would she have to live this godawful moment? Sam stepped a little closer, protectively, and addressed the teacher and the class alike, his voice stronger when he spoke about his little sister. "She's mute," he explained, and Alex's ears burnt even hotter._ _"She can't talk. But she can hear fine and write good, and do everything else anyone else can." Alex knew when and if she looked up, she knew she'd see a mix of kids who were staring at her like she was a freakshow, or laughing at her, or unsure what how to respond at all except to avoid her completely.  
_

 _This_ always _happened, without fail. Dad was too busy to get any paperwork transferred over to let teachers or staff know about her condition. More than half the time when she started at a new school, Sam or Dean had to literally tell her teachers about her muteness. Sometimes teachers didn't believe them at first. And they were always so horrified that she didn't know sign language, too. Another embarrassment._

" _Oh," said the teacher, sounding thoroughly surprised at Sam's admission. Mr. Wyatt's tone took on a kinder, gentler quality that Alex despised. As if she were to be pitied or babied. "Do you sign, Alex?"_

_Ashamed again and angry too, Alex shook her head and crossed her arms, her defiant gaze on the floor. Sam would usually explain that she had never really learned it, that they'd always been too busy and moved too much—tons of excuses and stories that left Alex in a cloud of mortification and self-hatred. You'd think she'd get used to it, but it was horrible each time. "Well, there's nothing to worry about, Alex," the teacher said. "This is an environment for learning. And I can tell you're a smart girl. You'll do fine."_

Yeah, for the two weeks I'm here. If that, _she thought._ _She looked at the teacher without any real expression, just ready to find her seat, to be out from in front of everyone. "You kids go ahead and grab a seat," Mr. Wyatt said, and Sam led the way. Alex met a few gazes of the kids leering at her and made sure her expression was mean and hostile. Don't fuck with me.  
_

_Sam took a seat at one of the empty desks and Alex found one behind and to the side of him at a desk behind a kind of bigger kid. On either side of her, she could feel the gaping stares from the other students and she sent one of them a dark scowl. Her ears were burning again, and her cheeks felt hot too. She wished she never had to start at a new school ever again.  
_

_As the teacher began to talk, the kid in front of her began to flick the ear of the kid in front of him—a kind of small guy with dark hair and dorky glasses. Alex watched from underneath her eyelashes, feeling even more anger course through her veins. Bullies got to her faster than anything else. She_ hated _them. Sam was giving the bully the evil eye, sidelong, across the aisle. "Leave him alone," Sam whispered, and the bully smirked back at him._

" _Shh, I'm going for a record," the kid replied, flicking without stopping._

" _I_ said, _leave him alone." Sam's voice carried a certain dark quality that seemed to catch the guy's attention._

_The bully thrust his chin out, a dare. "You wanna take his place, midget?"_

_Sam was glaring bullets. "Yeah. Sure."_

_Alex watched Sam switch seats with the kid who was being picked on. In about thirty seconds flat, the bully started to flick Sam's ear. Alex couldn't hear the teacher or pay attention to anything else than that. Anger boiled in her veins, and she clenched at her desk until her knuckles went white, but she forced herself to remain still. Dad had been pretty clear... no fighting in this school, period. She wasn't sure if she could stick to that though. Dad didn't get what it was like._

_Still, when the bell rang and everyone got up, she had a small instance of vengeance that didn't require a sucker punch. She deftly snatched the bully's wallet out of his back pocket and smirked to herself, pocketing it and breezing out of the classroom, feeling superior for a small moment._

_When she and Sam walked down the hall to the cafeteria for lunch, he looked at her with a grouchy expression. "What're you so happy about?" He asked peevishly._ _She pulled the wallet out and wiggled her eyebrows at him, grinned. Sam's expression dropped and he snatched it from her. "Alex! Why do you always have to do that stuff?!" He asked, clearly disappointed with her._

_Hurt at his reaction, Alex threw her hands out._ What? _She thought he would have shared in her glee. All she did was get back at a jerk who'd been picking on her brother and another helpless kid—what was with the evil eye? Sam shoved the wallet back at her roughly, making it smack into her chest. He stalked off ahead, leaving her to follow with dejected footsteps. He was such a prude sometimes. She hated it when he made her feel bad for doing what she was good at._

 _In the cafeteria Sam made a point of separating himself from her and all alone, not in the mood to get told off again, Alex got her lunch and looked around for Dean, feeling her heart sinking when she didn't see him anywhere. Sam was sitting over with some kids from English and gave her a look that said_ don't sit with us _._

_Pissed, she rolled her eyes to cover up her hurt feelings and found an empty corner table and sat there, poking at the slice of pizza on her plate before she rolled the whole apple around her plate and watched it thump around unevenly. She didn't feel hungry._

" _Hey mute button!" Came a jeering voice. Alex looked up to see the bully from class earlier grinning at her. "Where's your big hero brother?" He taunted, then reached across the table, about to take her pizza off the plate. From behind Alex, a hand suddenly shot and caught the kid by the wrist._

" _You mean me?" Dean's familiar voice asked, and the bully looked up, wide-eyed, to see a big seventeen year old holding his wrist in place. "_ I'm _her big brother. You need something?"_

" _Uh… no. No. Sorry," the kid said, then yanked his wrist back and scurried off, throwing a backwards glance at them. Alex gave Dean a look._ I had that handled! _She said with her expression._

_Dean was looking after the kid with an annoyed look on his face. "Punk." He pulled a chair up, his unaffected attitude returning. "Your first day as crappy as mine?" He asked, cracking a grin at her. Alex gave him a look that said yeah—tell me about it. Dean chuckled cynically. "Where's Sammy?"_

_Alex nodded over toward where their brother was. Dean followed her gaze and got a thoughtful, if somewhat pensive look on his face. He glanced at his sister and brightened for her benefit. "Hey you know what? I found a side exit where we can go sit outside and eat on the bleachers away from all these losers. You wanna?"_

_She nodded yes, excited by the idea of adventure, of being away from all these people she didn't know. They went outside and ate pizza slices and apples together. After, Alex used her lighter to melt the bully's school ID card and his library card. According to those, his name was Dirk. She hated Dirk._

* * *

**Present Day**

At the West Palm motel Alex eyed the pile of dirty laundry heaped up on one of the beds. The pile was a lot bigger than she had thought it'd be. Either way, the laundromat could wait. First, she was going to try to figure out the rest of the hex bag contents. She wanted to be able to make more of them, if she needed to. She'd been trying to figure some of the more mysterious elements out for a couple weeks now, but it was hard when she had to sneak the bag around like she did. She heaved her duffel onto the bed, noticing the zipper was half open. Alex rifled through her duffel, looking for the hex bag... but couldn't seem to find it. Growing anxious, she dug through it again, and began tossing shirts aside. _Shit. Shit!_ "Where the hell are you?" she demanded out loud in a mutter.

* * *

Castiel had become aware that he could sense Alex's location again perhaps ten minutes ago, and relieved to be able to carry out his protection duties once again, he went to where she was. He kept himself invisible to her—after all, he was only there to check on her and lay eyes on her. He looked around, seeing that she was in another unremarkable, run down motel room. She was leaned over one of the twin beds and somewhat frantically rummaging through a bag, grabbing articles of clothing and tossing them out carelessly, then lifting the bag up and shaking it, as if waiting for something to fall out. "Dammit," she swore, and then looked around the room frantically. She knelt and looked under the beds, then knocked a pile of dirty clothes over, rummaging through it, then stepped back, turned in a circle. She seemed to be looking for something and not finding it. She let a huge woosh of air out from her mouth, rolled her eyes, put her hands on her hips, and closed her eyes. She shook her head and muttered something about "paranoid" and "stupid" and began picking the clothes back up, tossing them into a bigger pile on the other bed.

Castiel watched her closely, wondering why she'd been hidden from himself and the heavenly host for more than a whole month now. It prevented him from attending to his calling to protect her. He'd thought of using a dream again and asking her why she was hiding, as well as commanding her to end it—but doing so seemed risky. After the ordeal with Anna, Castiel had been called to answer to Raphael, who had reprimanded Castiel for his increasingly close relationship to both Alex and Dean Winchester. He had been told not to contact them on his own unless under divine direction. Uriel and Raphael had not known of his visits to the two Winchesters in dreams, but if he were to chance it and be caught… it would more than likely be considered disobedience. Even the thought of the word _disobedience_ set an uneasy feeling in the pit of the stomach of his vessel. To an angel, unquestioning, automatic obedience was of the highest value. Anything less was a sin.

Alex finished piling up the laundry with her back turned to Castiel. Without any warning whatsoever, she yanked her dark green tank top off and over her head, leaving herself completely naked from the waist up. Stunned into stillness, Castiel gaped at the sight of her bare back: the light olive skin, the strong shoulders and the dark tumbling hair scattered across them, the shallow dip of her spine running down the center, the distinctly womanly shape made by the gentle curve of her hips as they met the solid dark line of her jeans...

Alex threw the discarded shirt toward the pile of laundry, and turned to the side, reaching for a clean shirt. In a fumbling alarm he had never felt before, Castiel left before he could see more, the sense that he _should not be there_ making him react faster than he had in a long time. He gave no thought to where he was going, only _away_.

The feet of his vessel met a new ground... stone... but he was too busy listening to the blood thunder in his ears to pay attention to where he was. His vessel felt very strange—the mouth was dry, the heart rate was elevated, the breathing was faster than normal, and there was a completely alien sensation somewhere below the stomach. It wasn't unpleasant or painful, but not having felt it before left him slightly alarmed. He shook himself mentally. He had seen human nudity before, of course he had—he'd existed for thousands and thousands of years—but seeing it through the eyes of his vessel for the first time had left him feeling shaken up. It had only been a glance at a woman's back! Why was his vessel reacting so strangely? Perhaps the vessel was faulty. He was distracted by the nearby sound of a child shrieking with laughter.

He looked around, and saw he was standing in the middle of a tall stone path that was about twenty feet off the ground and bordered by stone walls. He looked to his left, and then his right, seeing that this wall continued into the distance both ways, past where he could even see. A group of people with strange little bags they wore around their waists passed by, one of the women chasing after a laughing toddler. The father, presumably, put a camera to his face and snapped a picture, then grinned at his family. "What do you think, kids?! Huh? The Great Wall of China! Pretty cool!"

Castiel stared in surprise. China? He felt acute embarrassment at the realization that he had lost complete control for a moment, not even knowing where he was going. That had never happened before. He hoped none of his angel brethren had witnessed his fumble.

* * *

**A Few Hours Later**

Alex slammed the door of the dryer shut, glad to have that over with, at least mostly. In her back pocket, her phone began to ring. Sam's number. "Hey," she answered, balancing the phone against her shoulder as she counted the quarters she had left in her hands.

"Hey," said Sam's voice. "So, we think we have this figured out. Do you happen to remember Barry?"

Alex frowned, stopping her quarter-counting momentarily. She did, actually. "The kid with the glasses? The one that guy Dirk was bothering constantly?"

"That's him," Sam confirmed. "We're on our way to go salt and burn him."

"Oh." Alex felt a wave of sadness hit. "Poor Barry," she murmured.

"Yeah," Sam said, sounding similarly saddened. She could hear him take a deep breath, trying to push past it. "So, we'll be back soon. Maybe a couple hours."

"Okay. See you then," Alex said. They hung up. She stared at her phone for a few seconds, the quarters in her right hand forgotten. Barry. Not only was the kid dead, but his ghost was killing people? It was easier to do this job when you didn't know the ghosts personally.

* * *

**1997  
A Couple Weeks Later**

" _Yo! Sammy! Alex!" Dean waved at his siblings, walking by with a blonde girl who was probably a cheerleader._

" _That's your brother with Amanda Heckerling?" Barry asked, sounding very impressed. "He's cool."_

" _Yeah._ He _thinks so," said Sam, and glanced at Alex. They knew better, and grinned at each other. They were getting along that day. The moment was cut short by the arrival of Dirk… the guy who had been making life miserable for all three of them the past couple of weeks. Alex's good mood dissolved immediately._

" _Hey, tough guy," he said to Sam, sneering. "I been looking for you and your freak sister. Still wanna take Barry's place? Or maybe your ugly sister would?" He snickered at Alex, whose blood was beginning to boil._ Any day of the week, you stupid prick. _  
_

" _Get outta here, Barry," Sam said in a low, threatening tone._

_Barry was growing anxious and seemed to anticipate that help was needed. "I'll go get a teacher," he said, and scurried off._

" _You wanna go?" Dirk asked, grinning sadistically at Sam. Alex was practically foaming at the mouth to 'go' as Dirk so eloquently put it._

" _I'm not gonna fight you, Dirk," Sam said, which only made Dirk laugh._

_"Why not? You chicken? Come on!"_

" _No." Sam said, and without a warning Dirk reeled back and punched Sam hard enough to knock him over.  
_

_The second she'd seen Dirk drawing his fist back, Alex had dropped her backpack and lunged forward, putting all of her strength into backhanding Dirk across the face. Stunned, he stumbled backwards and Alex followed through, slamming into him and tackling him to the ground. On top of him, she began pummeling his face with her fists, even as he screamed protests of "Get off, get off!" — but Alex was seeing red, remembering the cruel insults he had lobbed at her, the tripping in the hallways, the dropped school lunches, the way he had tried to make Sam look weak and stupid. She grabbed his hair and hit his head against the ground repeatedly, thinking of all the ways she would cuss him out if she could._

" _Stop that!" A teacher was suddenly yelling, and she was being pulled off Dirk even while kicking and punching the air. Another teacher was kneeling by Dirk, who was curled onto his side, moaning or crying, maybe both. Alex, panted wildly, her face flushed, looking around and expecting to see amazed faces. Instead, she saw shock, fear, and disdain. All the kids were looking at her as if_ she _were the freak. And then she saw Sam, who was still on the ground, looking at her as if he'd been betrayed._

_"He needs his little sister to fight for him?" She heard someone say. Her heart sank even as she was being steered away by the teacher._

" _Young lady, come with me. You're going to see the principle," Mr. Wyatt said, sounding very flustered. The kids stepped aside as he steered her along, and Alex heard whispers and mutters about "crazy," "like a serial killer," "probably on drugs." She had to chew the inside of her mouth to bite back the tears. She wouldn't let them see her cry. Not now, not ever. So instead she made threatening faces at them and lunged a couple times, throwing the middle finger out to anyone she made eye contact with._ If you don't like me, you can fear me. _It always seemed to go like this._

* * *

" _Young lady, this behavior is very worrisome. I'm going to call your parents right now," the principle was saying. Alex, slouched in the sticky pleather seat insolently._ Good luck with that, _she thought churlishly. It was almost amusing.  
_

_Dean burst into the principle's office without so much as knocking at that second. The principle stood, caught off guard by the sudden entrance. "And who, sir, are you?" he asked._

" _That's my little sister you got there," Dean said, in regular form—foul-tempered and fired up._

_The principle narrowed his eyes, taking in Dean warily. "I see. Well, she started a fight in the hall, and refuses to talk to me about why."_

_Dean's expression dropped momentarily, before becoming infuriated. "She's_ mute _—she can't speak! What is_ wrong _with you people?! How do you even—" he cut himself short, jaw clenched shut, eyes shut, maybe thinking better of what he was about to say._

" _I wasn't made aware of—" the principle began, trying to maintain a neutral tone and professional posture._

_"Well you're aware now!" Dean fired back, and gruffly grasped Alex's arm, pulling her to her feet. "Let's go, Al."_

" _You can't just leave!" The principle exclaimed, his voice raising an octave._

" _Watch me!" Dean retorted, not even looking back, already halfway out the door with Alex in front of him. He marched her down the hall wordlessly, and Alex was suddenly worried that Dean was angry with her. That would just be the finishing touch on this bullshit day. Dean stopped eventually in the empty hallway and took Alex by both of her shoulders, forcing her to look at him. She did so reluctantly._

" _Listen, Al. I heard what happened." At her baleful expression, he almost chuckled. "Word travels fast in high school—didn't I tell you? That's beside the point. Don't feel bad. I can tell you feel bad. Defending Sammy was the right thing to do, okay? Don't listen to these fucking dumbasses."_

_Alex grabbed the mini notepad and pen she always had jammed in her back pocket, and scribbled as Dean waited._ **Sam's mad me.**

_He looked at the words and then at her, frowning. "What the hell for? For sticking up for him?"_

_She shrugged, as if to say 'I guess.' The bell rang, and classes began to change. Kids flooded out all around them, and Dean sighed. "Well, you know what? We won't be at this hellhole for much longer."_

_Alex nodded and Dean let go, put his hands in his pockets, and held her gaze. He always did that when she was upset. Looked at her a long time, trying to gauge if she were better or not. Sometimes she liked it, and sometimes she hated it. Today, it just made her feel worse._

_A boy from her English class walked by, and laughed. "Freak!" he said as he walked by, and held up his fists, imitating her._

_Dean turned sharply, stepping toward the kid, physically blocking his path. "Did I hear you right, punk?"_

_The kid, who was quite a bit smaller than Dean, gaped, and he was suddenly Mr. There's-No-Problem-Here. "Whoa dude, chill. This isn't your problem."_

" _Like hell it isn't, you little asshole," Dean said, towering over the kid and staring down at him menacingly. The kid's face had quickly become twisted in fear, and he had backed up against a locker. Dean leaned in. "Mess with my little sister and I'm coming after you. No ifs, ands, or buts. Got it?"_

" _Uh yeah, yeah!" the kid said, his voice squeaking awkwardly. He backed up a few steps, glanced at Alex, and turned and hurried away._

" _Come on, I'm walking you to class," Dean said, and motioned for her to come with him. Alex looked back at the kid who had called her a freak, and catching him looking at her over his shoulder, she threw up her middle finger at him before continuing on her way. Yeah, she made more enemies than friends, but at least there was one thing she could count on. Falling into stride with Dean and looking up at him as the walked, Alex felt momentarily safer. She wished she could tell him, right now, how kickass he was, and how much she wanted to be like him when she grew up.  
_

* * *

**Present The Next Day**

Dean and Alex sat in the Impala, parked outside of the school. Sam was inside the school visiting an old teacher, and Alex was in Sam's usual seat. "I'm kind of glad it wasn't Barry," Alex was saying. "Sad that it was Dirk. Kind of makes sense though. Kid was an ass."

"Yeah," Dean said. "Sucks that we got it wrong at first, though."

Alex grimaced, hoping that somehow Barry's relatives wouldn't learn about the dug up grave, the burned bones… oops. She and Dean traded wan expressions, then Dean turned up the music a little— _Aerosmith_ , Train Kept A Rollin'.

"Can you pop the trunk?" Alex asked after a minute. She hadn't thought of it until now, but that's probably where the hex bag had fallen out of her duffel. She hopped out and pulled the trunk up after Dean popped it. It was packed pretty tightly back in there—weapons, supplies, ammo, duffels, backpacks, a couple extra pairs of shoes, a cooler, some dry goods… Alex pawed through it all slowly, trying not to mess up the carefully crammed contents.

"Looking for this?" Dean asked, and Alex started. He was standing beside her, holding up the hex bag with a grim expression on his face.

She looked from it to him, caught. "Uh... maybe," she said feebly.

"Found it in the trunk when we took care of Barry," Dean said.

"Oh." Alex said.

"Yeah. _Oh_." He didn't look too happy. "Wanna tell me why didn't you tell me we still had this?"

Alex squirmed a little. "Don't get pissed… I just... I dunno. I thought maybe you would take it apart." He raised his eyebrows as if to say ' _and_?' Alex tried to explain herself, fumbling a little. "I just wanna know more about angels before we let them come around all the time, you know? This hex bag is the only thing we know of to keep angels away from us."

Dean smiled briefly, an expression laced with irony. "And I thought _I_ was the paranoid one."

"Extra caution quite often saves our _asses_ ," Alex pointed out. "I don't like it, Dean. Maybe angels are okay dudes deep down, but whoever's giving orders… well, so far the orders have been a bunch of crap. Do we want to be running around in plain sight? We don't even know what we're up against."

"Maybe not, but that wasn't your call to make," Dean said tersely, then sighed heavily. "I'm not as ready to decide angels are the bag guys as you are. Not yet." He shook a few contents out of the hex bag, leaving some still inside. "Let's roll the dice and see where we land." He handed her the half-empty hex bag. "You keep this stuff, I'll keep the rest. If we need it, we'll use it. But not any sooner."

Alex wasn't exactly happy, but she accepted the bag. "I never said I thought angels were the bad guys," she said sullenly.

Dean just gave her a superior look.

* * *

Sam left Mr. Wyatt's classroom, glad he'd taken the time to visit his old teacher. The halls were deserted, and his footsteps echoed in the empty space. He rounded the corner, going back out the way he had come in. He looked up and did a double take, then stopped short. A tall, dark haired woman waited there, leaned up against the lockers just by the glass door he'd come in.

"Ruby! How the hell… what are you doing here?"

"Doesn't matter," she said, and folded her arms, coming to meet him. "Why are you avoiding me?"

Sam scoffed defensively. "I'm not _avoiding_ you."

Ruby stepped closer, her voice lowering. "Have you thought about what I told you?"

Sam's tongue darted out between his lips nervously and his voice lowered, too. "I'm not doing that any more."

Ruby's dark eyes held his and her lips curved upwards in a smile. "You keep telling yourself that, Sam." Her eyes went to his lips, and her expression took on a sultry quality. "I know you want to." She touched his arms gently, leaned in a little closer, her voice dropping to a whisper, her eyes capturing his. "It's all you think about, Sam. You can't wait to have another taste."

Sam pulled away, grimacing. His heart was hammering fast, from a mixture of fear, revulsion, and worst of all, _desire_. Ruby chuckled, as if his behavior were cute. "Stop fighting it Sam. It's not gonna go away." She again came close to him, pressing her body against his. He let her, even though he squeezed his eyes shut for a couple seconds. "When you're ready… you know where to find me."

She walked a few steps away, then paused, turning and looking back. She looked and sounded suddenly soft, sympathetic. "It must be so hard for you to be the odd one out."

Sam narrowed his eyes at her. "What are you talking about?"

Ruby came back a couple steps. "Your brother and sister… they see you as a freak. As an outsider. The one with the demon blood." She looked at him openly, with a soft smile. "I accept you, Sam. And soon you'll see that I really mean that."

Sam's jaw twitched. "My family is none of your business."

"Sure," Ruby said, her coy smile not faltering even for a second. "I'll be seeing you, Sammy."

And she turned and walked away. Sam watched her go, then looked through the glass door where he could make out the Impala, his siblings waiting for him inside of it. He listened to the sound of Ruby's footsteps fading out, realizing how true Ruby's words had rung for him. He didn't fully belong where he currently was, no matter how much he tried. He felt less and less able to be himself with Dean and Alex, and more and more desperate to do something about this _disease_ inside himself. Every day, all day, he thought about demon blood and the abilities it gave him, the rush of pleasure and confidence. The purpose. Dean and Alex didn't appreciate the way it enabled him to save people, and it made him feel like he should be ashamed of himself. So for now he was pretending he _wasn't_ wrestling day in and day out with the affliction he'd found himself with. The power. He was just trying to be business-as-usual even though it was anything but.

On the outside, he was Sam, but on the inside, he wasn't sure who he was anymore. He was stuck in the middle, unsure of where to turn.

But the call kept coming, coaxing him to follow this path wherever it would go. No matter how sinister, or unknown, or dangerous...

Sam clenched his jaw tighter, willing his thoughts to stop so that he could focus on the moment at hand.

And with a long stride and deep breath, he went back to his waiting brother and sister.


	13. King of Hell

_"Am I going insane? My blood is boiling inside of my veins.  
An evil feeling attacks; my body's shaking, there's no turning back._"  
\- Bullet for My Valentine

* * *

**A Week Later**

It was late at night and Alex was feeling particularly emotionally drained. She stared out of the window of the Impala at nothing with a hard, thoughtful face. No music played—the car was silent except for the hum of the engines. The mood was somber as it should be. They had just been to Pamela Barnes' funeral. The psychic had died a couple days ago helping them save a seal from being broken. The task of stopping these so-called seals was too big for them, and deep down, Alex was afraid they were failing before they even began. She tried not to think about the alarmingly fast rate that friends and fellow hunters were dying. These were dark, dark days.

Dean pulled into a motel, muttering something about needing some friggin' sleep and Sam silently went to go check them in. Dean and Alex said nothing as they waited, both lost in their own thoughts. Sam came back with their room key, and like usual, they all grabbed their stuff and went to find their room.

"Ah, home crappy home," Dean muttered, breaking the silence as they entered the dark room. Sam flipped on the lights, Alex close behind him. That was when they saw that they were not alone. The three of them stopped short at the sight of Castiel and Uriel in their motel room. _Oh no_ , is all Alex could think.

"Ah. We've been waiting for you," Uriel said, stepping forward toward them. Alex looked from him to Castiel, who hung back. He was staring blankly ahead, unseeingly. He didn't meet her gaze, and immediately she felt that something was off. It had been a couple months, hadn't it, since she'd laid eyes on either angel…? Any time they showed up, there was trouble. But last time she'd seen him, he'd saved her life and stared at her like—well, she didn't know _what_ like.

"Oh _come on_ , guys!" Dean was protesting, dismayed to find his plans of sleeping might not reach fruition.

"You are needed," Uriel said, ignoring Dean's comment.

Dean's temper was shorter than normal. "Needed? We just got _back_ from needed!"

One of Uriel's eyebrows twitched slightly. "Now you mind your _tone_ with me."

"No, _you_ mind your damn tone with _us_ ," Dean fired back hotly.

"We just got back from Pamela's funeral," Sam explained, as if that would change Uriel's approach. Uriel's face remained blank, and Castiel switched from staring into space to staring at the ground, unwilling to meet _anyone's_ gaze.

"You know, psychic Pamela?" Dean said acridly, attempting to jog the angels' memories. "Cas, you remember her, right? You burned her eyes out. Remember that? Good times." No response from Cas. "Yeah, then she died saving one of your precious seals," Dean continued angrily, his voice growing in timbre by the second. "So maybe you can stop pushing us around like chess pieces for _five freaking minutes!_ "

There was a short silence then Uriel stepped forward, his stance intended to be threatening. "We raised you out of hell for _our_ purposes," he said, as if that solved everything.

"Yeah, what were those again? What, _exactly,_ did you want from me?" Dean asked, his tone completely insolent. Alex looked at Cas again, who was still silent and stone-faced. He'd been looking at her from the corner of his eye, and when she caught him doing that, he quickly looked away.

Uriel stepped a little closer still, his voice lowering. Beside Alex, Sam tensed. Uriel spoke through his teeth. "Start with _gratitude_."

"Dean, we know this is difficult to understand," Cas said, breaking his silence and stepping forward, seemingly attempting to pacify the rising conflict between Dean and Uriel.

"And _we_ —" Uriel gave Castiel a pointed look, stopping the other angel in his tracks, "—don't _care_." Chastised, Castiel again fell silent, not acknowledging Alex's questioning stare. Uriel continued to address Dean. "Now, seven angels have been murdered, all of them from our garrison. The last one was killed tonight."

"Angels can be killed?" Alex asked in surprise, attention piqued. "By what, by demons?"

"How are they doing it?" Dean pressed, similarly caught off guard.

Uriel let out a slow breath through his nostrils. "We don't know."

The Winchesters exchanged looks. "I'm sorry, but what do you want us to do about it?" Sam asked, voicing what they were all thinking. "I mean, a demon with the juice to ice angels has to be out of our league, right?"

" _We_ can handle the demons, thank you very much," Uriel said icily, drawing back a bit.

"Once we find whoever it is," Castiel added.

"...So what the hell is it you guys need?" Alex asked, exasperated, tired, and sick of running around in circles.

"We have Alastair," Castiel said, yet again avoiding actually answering the question.

Dean smiled humorlessly. "How nice for you. He should be able to name your trigger man."

"He won't talk," Cas explained. "Alastair's will is very strong. We've arrived at an impasse." Alex still didn't see where the angels were going with this, and shook her head in fatigue.

"Yeah, well, he's like a black belt in torture," Dean said, shrugging. "I mean, you guys are out of your league."

"That's why we've come to his student," Uriel said. "You happen to be the most qualified interrogator we've got."

" _What_?!" Alex exclaimed, suddenly understanding and feeling as though they had been ambushed. Dean was slack jawed, unable to respond.

"Dean, you are our best hope," Castiel began.

Dean was shaking his head, his jaw clenched. "No. No way. You can't ask me to do this, Cas. Not this."

Uriel, who had retreated a few steps, was now walking toward Dean. "Who said anything about asking?" he asked. And without the slightest warning, Alex was suddenly standing in a dark and cold room. In alarm Alex looked to her right, where Dean thankfully stood, just as he had a second ago. But where was Sam? They both whirled to see Castiel and Uriel standing a few feet off.

"Son of a bitch," Dean growled, and Alex shot him a look.

"I _told_ you we should have kept that hex bag in once piece," she hissed, receiving an irritated glance from her brother.

He leveled Castiel with a glare. "Where are we?"

Alex looked up, noticing the numerous sharp hooks that hung from the ceiling. The room was cold and clammy—was it a meat locker? Castiel ignored Dean's question and walked to them, then past them, to a solid metal door that had a small, hazy glass window. Dean followed the angel and Alex slowly did too, her guard high. Through the little window in the door they could see a tall, wiry man chained to a hexacle that was erected in the middle of a devil's trap. His head lolled onto his chest, and he seemed to be panting due to pain. Alastair. He was in a different vessel than the one he'd been in last time. Next to Alex, Dean's body had gone rigid.

"This devil's trap is old Enochian," Castiel said. "He's bound completely."

Dean looked through the glass, his expression unreadable, and Alex stared at him in alarm. "You're not _actually_ thinking about doing this?" she asked in a tense whisper, which he only acknowledged with a glance.

"Fascinating, Cas," Dean commented to the angel who stood behind him. Dean grabbed Alex by the arm, steering her along with him toward the other end of the room. Castiel watched, frowning in lack of understanding.

"Where are you going?" Uriel, who had been silently observing stepped into the Winchester's path.

"You're out of your damn mind if you think we're staying here," Dean said. "Now get out of the way," Dean demanded, at which Uriel merely blinked.

"Angels are _dying_ , boy."

"And why, exactly, do we care?" Alex asked contemptuously.

Uriel's gaze came to rest on her. He made no attempt to disguise his sneer. "Because I say it is, imp."

"You watch the way you talk to her, chuckles," Dean said acidly, letting go of Alex and stepping a little more into Uriel's space. "And I don't _care_ if you're all-powerful. You can't make me do this. I'm not torturing anyone else. _Ever._ " He looked back at Castiel, who still stood by the door to Alastair's torture chamber. Dean looked as if he expected the angel to back him up or be on his side, but Cas's expression was dour.

"This is too much to ask, Dean, _I_ know." He came forward a little. "But we have to ask it."

Dean looked utterly confounded. "No— _no_! If you knew what it was like, you wouldn't ask me this. Any of you!"

The room went silent. Uriel was annoyed, Castiel was tense. Alex looked to him appealingly, trying to get him to listen to her. Maybe he would. "Can't you guys find someone else for this?" She asked. Castiel finally looked at her in the eye. "I mean, huge world out there, right? There has to be someone else who can do it."

Castiel was grim. "There is _no one else_ who can do this for us," he said, leaving her to stare at him, confounded.

"Why the hell did you bring Alex along, anyway?" Dean demanded, looking at Cas first, and then Uriel. "To make her watch this twisted little show of yours? You are some sick sons of bitches, you know that?"

Uriel smiled at Dean, as if he were amused. "She's here... as leverage."

Neither Winchester missed his meaning. "You said she was protected!" Dean exclaimed in dismay, looking at Castiel in confused agitation. Castiel looked almost guilty, but said nothing, only looked at Alex, then away.

"I received new revelation yesterday," Uriel said. "The guardianship of Alex Winchester has ended."

"How _convenient_ ," Alex commented acidly, glaring at him mistrustfully.

"It's most regrettable," Castiel said, drawing Alex's angry, resentful stare. He almost _did_ look sorry. Almost. She looked away, unable to hold his gaze.

Dean crossed his arms, staring at Uriel stonily. "I wanna talk to Cas. Alone."

"Fine," Uriel said, surprisingly compliant. "I'll go seek revelation. We might have some further orders."

"Well, get some donuts while you're out," Dean said, earning a chuckle from Uriel. It was a deep, rich sound.

"Ah, this one just won't quit, will he?" Uriel smirked. "I think I'm starting to see what Castiel likes about you, boy." And then he vanished, leaving Alex, Dean, and Castiel alone.

"You guys don't walk enough. You're gonna get flabby," Dean commented sarcastically to Cas, whose face only registered concentration. "You know, I'm starting to think junkless has a better sense of humor than you do," Dean said when he got no reaction.

Castiel's eyes narrowed. "Uriel's the funniest angel in the garrison. Ask anyone."

Dean and Alex exchanged a puzzled glance. Then Dean fixed Castiel with an intent gaze. "What's going on here, Cas? Since when does Uriel put a leash on you?"

"My superiors have begun to question my sympathies," he said vaguely.

Alex blinked a couple times, surprised. "What's _that_ supposed to mean?" She had tried to hide it, but a note of concern came through in her voice. Castiel's expression flickered.

"I was getting too close to the humans in my charge," the angel replied quietly. He looked at Dean hesitantly. "You." And then at Alex, sidelong, taking longer still to say his next words. "...and you." It made her feel a shiver. It made her think about the dream in the amusement park. The angel seemed reluctant. "They feel I've begun to express emotions. The doorways to doubt. This can impair my judgment."

"Or... un-brainwash you?" Alex suggested, then pressed in where she saw opportunity. "Forget that. Cas, just get us outta here."

A muscle in his jaw jerked and he looked at her sternly. "I'm sorry. I don't have the authority or permission to release you."

"Yeah, great." Dean scoffed. "So they knock you down the ladder and put _Uriel_ in charge?"

Cas's frown deepened slightly. "He is a proud and able instrument of God."

"The demotion… doesn't it get your loincloth in a twist?" Dean asked.

Cas looked away, as if in irritation. "It is what it is, to me." Alex looked at him intently—she thought, just for a moment, that she heard a touch of hurt in that deep voice of his.

Dean took in a deep breath, letting it out heavily as he slowly went back to the door that Alastair was behind. "Well tell Uriel, or whoever…" He stared into the room for a moment. "You do _not_ want me doing this, trust me."

"Want it, no. But I have been told we need it," Castiel said. "And if you refuse… Uriel has ordered me to… convince you."

Dean looked back at Cas with a murderous expression. "You mean… using _her_." Dean looked at Alex, who looked at Castiel in something in the neighborhood of shocked outrage. The angel was looking at her with an unreadable expression and Alex was appalled—surely he was just bluffing…? Dean narrowed his eyes at Cas. "You wouldn't."

A muscle jerked in Castiel's cheek. "Dean, I have no desire to do this," he said, avoiding looking at Alex. "Comply and I won't be forced to hurt her." His words were stunning blows. It staggered Alex completely to hear him say those things.

Dean shook his head, disgusted. "You _son of a bitch_." He turned back around, falling alarmingly quiet. There was a long, tense pause and Alex was speechless, not sure what to say or do.

"Please, Dean," Castiel said quietly, a touch of pleading to his usually apathetic voice. "Just... do as we ask." He glanced at Alex, his eyes hooded. She didn't know what to think. She wasn't sure about much, but Cas wouldn't hurt her, would he? It didn't seem possible after all the times he'd healed her and helped her, gone against orders to do so, even. But here he was, saying he would if he had to.

Dean's shoulders seemed slumped and heavy, and she could hear the pain in his voice when he spoke again. "Cas—if I open that door and walk through it, you will _not_ like what walks back out."

Cas said nothing, and sensing that time and options were running out, Alex tried one last plea, her emotions high strung out of alarm. "Please, Cas. Listen to my brother. Don't make him do this. You can _help_ us." She paused, trying a desperate, stupid appeal. "You _like_ helping us. I know that about you!" Her voice had risen in something close to panic.

But Cas wouldn't look at her. "Please," he said softly, his features twisted in something like dismay. "Stop, Alex." He visibly shored himself up, refusing to look at her. "You both _know_ what we're fighting for. What we're dying for. What Pamela died for. You know what will happen if we fail." There was a long silence. "For what it's worth, I would give anything not to have you do this."

Dean turned around, his features set like rock. "Yeah. Fine." He looked ill. "I'll do it."

"No! _Dean_ —" Alex protested.

Dean shook his head, coming to her. "I have to."

Alex shook her head in feeble protest, Dean's horrifying words about his time in Hell resounding in her mind. "No you _don't._ " She was consumed with fear for him, terrified that he'd come back out broken once and for all. "Don't go in there," she begged, her voice cracking from the onset of sudden, helpless emotion. She grabbed a hold of him. "Let them do whatever to me, I don't care!"

Dean's eyes were gentle and resigned—her protests were in vain. She could tell. "Well I _do_ care Al. And I've already made up my mind," he said softly, giving her his best attempt at a smile. He grasped her shoulder reassuringly then looked toward Castiel, his expression becoming intense once more. "Cas... you do _not_ let her see what I'm gonna do in there."

"Understood."

And wordlessly, Dean turned and went through the door. Alex gaped after her brother, completely aghast. The door shut with a resounding clang and silence settled over the room. Alex stared at the door, a little breathless. Her heart was racing. "S-shouldn't someone be in there with him?"

"No," Cas said behind her, and she heard him coming to the spot beside her. "He must do this alone." Alex sidled away from him pointedly, angry that he was trying to act like her friend or something. Hurt because she didn't understand him or the way he kept yanking her around emotionally. A moment of silence passed, then Castiel tried to speak to her again. "Your empathy and compassion for your brother is commendable."

She looked at him like he'd grown another head. "It's _natural_ ," she retorted sharply, yet again wondering how this angel could be any part of this. "Do you _know_ what Alastair put Dean through down there? And now you're doing the same thing. _Forcing_ him to torture again after all he's been through." She was hurt and bitter and angry at herself for her feelings. "An _angel_ doing pretty much what that demon did. Pretty fucking ironic."

Cas looked like he was considering what she'd said, his ever-present frown momentarily replaced by an oddly pensive expression. "I understand that you're angry with me. But this must be taken care of. And Dean was our last hope. We exhausted all other avenues. Please, understand that."

Alex set him with an odd expression. "You should know better than this," she told him in a voice that was softer, almost wounded. "I don't even _know_ you. But I know you should know _better than this,_ Castiel." The angel's eyes flickered between hers as his dark brows drew together faintly. Did he agree? Was she way off base? He seemed different than Uriel and even Anna, in a way she couldn't put her finger on. Maybe she was reaching. Maybe she was wrong in her gut feeling about him. Maybe whatever happened in her dream where he came to her at the Tilt-A-Whirl was a fluke. After a minute or two of him remaining silent, Alex decided to root around a little. "So what's this crap about God's little protective orders on me suddenly reversing? You buy that?"

"Yes," Castiel replied. "I'm no longer your protector." Did Alex imagine the faintest hint of reluctance in his voice?

She wasn't sure why, but she felt oddly let down by his response. "Just like that?"

He was looking into the space in front of him with furrowed eyebrows. "Yes. It's for the best, I think."

That stumped her. "The best? Why?"

Cas's expression was strange. "What I said before. My superiors saw that I was becoming too attached. Too emotional."

"You? Emotional?" Alex made a face. "That's rich..." she muttered, studying him darkly. It all made her so mad. "So if Dean had refused," she ventured stiffly. "Were you _really_ prepared to, you know, _torture_ me to get him to do what you wanted?"

"Dean _didn't_ refuse," Castiel said, sidestepping the question entirely.

There was a disappointed silence on Alex's part. "So basically yes," she supposed out loud. He said nothing, only let his eyes flicker over to hers for a moment guiltily. She felt a cruel sense of treachery, followed by discouragement that she had allowed herself to trust him, in however small a way. She looked away, confused at herself and her instincts that were proving wrong about him. "And here I was thinking you might be different. _"_

Castiel's jaw clenched and he looked up slightly. He didn't answer her. They heard a loud scream in the other room, and Alex's face fell into an apprehensive, wide-eyed stare as she looked at the shut door that her brother was behind. God she wished she and Dean were anywhere else but here. That he'd kept that damn hex bag intact. Another scream followed, and then another, and another. Alex looked at Cas, who finally met her gaze. She didn't bother to hide her hurt, betrayed, resentful expression. _Don't let this happen,_ she wanted to beg him. He stared back, looking strangely affected by the way she was looking at him. Then he got up and walked a few steps away, his back to her, where she could only see his stern profile. Alex considered him for a moment, then the screams coming from the room beyond. Without warning, she broke into a dash for the door, no plan at all in her mind, just a need to rescue her brother somehow.

Before she even reached the door, Castiel suddenly appeared right in front of her, a wind blowing over her from the speed at which he moved. It startled her and she almost ran right into him but came up short, stopping just in time to hit the toe of her shoe up against one of his. He was only perhaps five inches taller than her, but he seemed like a solid, towering wal blocking her way. His blue eyes were filled with soft, grudging warning. "Let me _past_ ," Alex said, and he said nothing and did nothing, only remained in her way. She made to brush past him and he seized her by both arms, holding her in place. "Let go of me!" Alex protested, trying to get out of his impossible grip.

"This _must_ happen, Alex," he told her somberly, and he almost seemed to be appealing to her, maybe she was imagining it, but he seemed a little urgent. "Please—don't make me restrain you. I know you don't like it."

His grip didn't hurt, but she pretended it did. "You're hurting me," she lied, putting a note of pain in her voice to sell it, even though she didn't think he'd care. But immediately, surprisingly, his face registered a reaction and he let go, stepped back, held a staying hand out, trying to keep her from continuing her efforts to get to Dean. Alex's surprise showed on her face as she stared at him. What the hell? He was threatening to torture her if Dean didn't comply but wouldn't even hold her tight by the arms when she complained of discomfort? He looked conflicted, and she was mystified. Another scream sounded and Alex's jaw tightened, her anxiety soared... but she couldn't do anything. She recognized that she wasn't going to get past Castiel. Alex retreated and sat leaningly against the empty metal table behind her. She folded her arms and slouched, uncomfortable and unsure, hating how she had to sit here and stand by while Dean was forced to do what haunted him. Cas's eyes remained on her, and she could feel them. She said nothing.

A few tense minutes passed, with Alastair's screams punctuating the silence, and sometimes Dean's shouts, indistinct, echoed in between. A sudden movement to her left caused Alex to look up. She was startled to see Anna there—young, slender, pale, red-headed Anna, who had last been seen in a blaze of Grace. Was she an angel again? She must have been—she'd appeared out of thin air.

"Anna," Castiel greeted dryly, coming closer—not toward Anna, but toward Alex, as if he were being protective.

"Hello, Castiel. Alex." Anna seemed different somehow—taller, fiercer.

"Anna..." Alex returned neutrally, looking at her apprehensively, suddenly suspicious that Anna had rejoined club angel and was backing Cas up on this. "You here to join the fun?"

Anna's expression was grim. "No. I'm here to _end_ it." Her comment surprised and perplexed Alex.

"You shouldn't be here," Cas said, approaching Anna further now. "We still have orders to kill you."

"Somehow, I don't think you'll try," Anna said, and Alex was interested. Why? Because Anna was a great warrior who would kick Cas's ass? Or something else? Anna looked at Castiel intensely. "Why are you letting Dean do this?"

"He's doing God's work," Cas replied stoically. Another one of Alastair's screams rang out.

Anna's expression was pained. "Torturing? That's God's work? Stop him, Castiel, please. Before you ruin the one real weapon you have." What weapon? Alex looked between the angels questioningly, but they weren't looking at her.

Cas shook his head. "Who are we to question the will of God?"

"Unless this _isn't_ his will," Anna said. Alex watched the exchange with growing intrigue—Cas seemed to be listening, or at least considering what Anna was suggesting.

"If not God, then where do the orders come from?" he asked.

"I don't know. One of our superiors, maybe, but not him."

Another scream broke the silence, and Anna grew earnest, pleading. "The Father you love. You think he wants this? You think he'd ask this of you? You think _this_ is righteous?" Castiel couldn't meet her questioning gaze. "What you're feeling right now? It's called doubt." She touched his hand, a subtle action Alex didn't miss. Cas looked at her hand in puzzlement. "These orders are wrong and you know it. But you can do the right thing. You're afraid, Cas. I was too. But _together_ , we can still—"

"Together?" Castiel repeated, and yanked his hand away, his thoughtful expression turning hard and deadly. "I am nothing like you. You _fell._ Go."

"Cas…" Anna said, but Castiel's voice shook with murder.

" _Go._ " He repeated himself darkly. Anna looked at him sadly, but then did as he said and disappeared. Cas looked shaken up and angry, which was interesting to see—genuine emotion, a real reaction? Anna's points seemed valid, too, and Alex wondered that was why Cas was upset. Because he thought so too, maybe. Or maybe that was Alex projecting, hoping.

"I thought you had orders to kill her," Alex said, testing him a little, wondering about him as usual. Castiel looked at her almost balefully, as if he didn't want to be reminded of the fact. Alex copped a disarming, easygoing air that would have made Dean proud. "Death sentence or not, you were kinda harsh there at the end, buddy."

Castiel looked at her sharply. "She suggested blasphemy."

Alex stood up and threw her arms wide in a shrug and let her hands hit the sides of her legs with a loud slap. "She suggested using your freaking _brain_."

"It's not that simple," Cas replied, his voice decidedly agitated.

"Um, _yes_ , it _is_ ," Alex said. "You need to _wake up_. Something's wrong here about this, can't you _feel_ it?" She paused. He seemed to have no clue about what was going on, or was too stuck on following orders and being a good little boy to care. Why was she appealing to him like he'd actually see it like she did? She didn't know. Wishful thinking. Alex decided to get snippy again, angry at herself for trying to get him to listen to reason when clearly, it wasn't going to happen. "You could take some lessons from Anna, you know that? She _questions_ things and decides herself what's wrong or right. She isn't a blind follower like you are."

She seemed to have touched a nerve—Cas snapped, whirling on her. "I am not _blind_!" he thundered.

Alex looked at him in mild surprise, shrank back a little, because she suddenly remembered how strong he was, how powerful. Maybe pissing him off was a bad idea. Still, she found it in her ability to made a snide remark. "And _that_ , my friend, is called denial," she said, even as she was wondering if maybe the angels were right. Maybe he _was_ beginning to become emotional.

Cas's jaw worked oddly and he looked at her contemptuously as if she'd insulted him somehow. "You speak as if you know everything. You know _nothing_." It was meant to be an insult and Alex took it as such, but she was honestly surprised at him for it. At that point he seemed to remember himself and swallowed, his expression falling away into an apologetic state. "It's—" he started, then frowning abruptly, looked toward the cell. "No."

"Cas?" Alex asked, looking around in confusion. He had disappeared. A sudden, terrifying thought came to her, and she dashed to the the door of the room where Alastair was, peering through the glass. What she saw sent horror reeling through her, and she yanked the door open, rushing in, only to be slammed against the wall, frozen in place.

"Stay back!" Castiel barked, and Alex had no choice but to comply.

On the floor at the edge of the devil's trap, Dean's body laid lifelessly, his face a mess of bruises and blood. Alex struggled desperately against the hold Castiel had put on her, but it held. Alastair, who had somehow been freed from the trap, was grinning wickedly, pulling Ruby's knife out of his chest, completely unharmed by Castiel's attack. He chortled eerily, and charged Castiel—Alex could only watch, ineffectively struggling, as the angel and the demon began trading devastating blows, destroying parts of the room as they threw each other around. It was only a matter of maybe ten seconds, but Alastair gained the upper hand, slammed Cas against one of the walls, holding him up by his neck. Blood ran down the side of the angel's face, and Alex felt the hold on her lessen as Alastair began exorcising Castiel, shouting Latin. Frozen in sudden terror, she watched as Cas's mouth and eyes began to glow in fierce blue light. She tumbled forward, free to move once again. Just there, a couple feet away, she saw a cinder block. Without a second thought, Alex grabbed it, heaved it up with both hands, and lifting it high, she crashed it down on Alastair's head, stunning the demon and freeing Castiel from the chokehold. Cas tumbled to the ground, momentarily dazed.

Alastair, recovered, strode toward Alex, who was backing up fast, but not fast enough. "Alex, Alex, Alex… I'm getting _reaaaal_ tired of your antics, little girl," Alastair said and reached out with incredible speed and strength, yanking her up by the front of her shirt, as if she weighed nothing. He sent her flying through the air toward the far wall with devastating power. She collided with the cement wall, shoulder and head first, a sudden, sick pain exploding there. Befuddled, she felt herself fall over onto her back. The world went sideways, and she heard Castiel shout something, but wasn't sure what. At that point, everything faded out.

* * *

"It's not us. We're not doing it!" Alex heard someone shouting, followed by bizarre sounds of someone screaming in pain.

She opened her eyes unevenly, and everything came rushing back as she blinked, her eyes refocusing awkwardly. She was staring at the ceiling, laying on her back, one of her legs tucked under her weirdly.

"I don't _believe_ you," came a familiar voice. _Sam?_ Alex struggled and rolled onto her side, supporting herself on an arm. Her head was pounding, and there was something wet on the side of her head. She touched her fingertips to it, seeing bright crimson come away. Woozily, she looked up at the spot where she remembered Cas being. He wasn't there, but she saw that a pair of shoes were right in front of her face.

"Lilith is not behind this," Alastair said, his strangely nasal, lisping voice full of an ominous happiness. "She wouldn't kill seven angels. Oh, she'd kill a hundred, a _thousand_ …"

Alex looked up foggily at the owner of the shoes in front of her face, to see Castiel reaching down for her. There was still blood running down the side of his face. He pulled her to her feet and Alex clutched onto his arm for support, a little off kilter. She stared at him, groggy and muddled as she reached her full height. He was so handsome, she thought idly, that it was sad he had to be such an asshole. She lurched as her vision swam and she hung onto him tighter so that she didn't fall down.

"Go ahead. Send me back, if you can," Alastair taunted Sam, who smiled faintly.

"I'm stronger than that now," Sam said darkly. "Now I can _kill."_ He held his hand out, and his expression became concentrated, aloof. Alastair's face fell and golden light flickered inside him, the outline of his skeleton pulsing through the skin. Adrenaline or fear seemed to overpower Alex's woozy state, and she stared in sudden breathless horror as Sam's outstretched hand slowly clenched into a fist. _How was he doing that?_ Beside her, still supporting her, Castiel watched, his expression matching hers. Almost in unison, they clutched each other tighter as the demon began to scream, the pulsing golden light intensifying, then exploding inside of him. The host collapsed, dead. Sam looked pleased, a strange smile on his face that Alex would never, ever forget.

A soft groan from over by the devil's trap drew everyone's attention, and Alex jerked herself out of Castiel's grip, staggering over to Dean's crumpled body. She fell onto all fours and put her head to his chest, listening for his breath. Sam, seemingly back to being himself, was right behind her. Alex drew away. She was startled to see that she'd left a blood stain on Dean's shirt where she'd pressed her ear. She knew she had just cut herself and been given a solid knock on the head... but Dean was barely breathing. "We need to get him to a hospital," she said in urgent alarm.

Castiel came to them, his expression dogged. "Hold on."

* * *

Alex and Sam stayed by Dean's bedside, hoping for a sign that Dean would regain consciousness. Castiel had taken them to the emergency room and then disappeared without even a word. It had been a couple hours, and Dean had been stabilized but still remained unconscious. The doctor had wanted to treat Alex who had refused. It was only a cut and possibly a mild concussion. Baby stuff as far as she was concerned. She'd stopped the bleeding—she was fine. She sat on the edge of Dean's bed, and gently ran her palm down the side of his still face. He looked free of worries, at least. A small mercy. But would he be okay? Sitting in a chair next to her, Sam suddenly shot up to his feet. Following his suddenly hostile gaze, Alex rose too. Castiel stood in the door way, silent. He looked normal again, free of blood, no rips in his coat. Wordlessly, the angel turned and walked away. Exchanging a glance, Sam and Alex took after him, Sam leading the way. Alex hadn't confronted him on what he'd done to Alastair. Not yet.

"Sam—" Castiel started as he caught up to the angel in the hospital hallway.

Sam jabbed a finger back toward Dean's room. "Get in there and heal him. Miracle. _Now_."

"I can't," Cas said, eliciting incredulous expressions from the twins.

"What do you mean, you can't?!" Alex demanded, incredulous and quickly getting pissed.

"I mean I _can't_ ," Castiel repeated firmly, but his expression wasn't the usual confident and stern frown. He looked upset. "I shouldn't even be here right now. I've been warned for the last time about healing."

Alex was beside herself. "But he _needs_ it!"

Sam was similarly aghast. "You and Uriel _put_ him in there—because you can't keep a simple devil's trap together!"

Cas looked between the two siblings who had pretty much cornered him. "I don't know what happened. That trap... it shouldn't have broken. I am sorry."

"Oh. You're _sorry_?" Alex asked scornfully.

"This whole thing was pointless. You understand that?" Sam demanded. "The demons aren't doing the hits. Something else is killing your soldiers, and that's the truth. Hope you're happy." Fed up, Sam whirled and stalked back to Dean's room, leaving Castiel and Alex alone in the dim hallway.

"Perhaps Alastair was lying," Cas attempted, only to be quickly cut off by another angry retort from Alex.

"Yeah and _perhaps_ the sky is _purple_! You're honestly going to stand here and not do anything—after Dean did everything you asked? You _forced_ him to do your dirty work, for what?!" She was infuriated to the point that she could have cried. "So that you can leave him to rot in there?!"

"I don't know how that devil's trap could have failed—" Castiel tried again.

"It was sabotaged!" Alex exploded, "Or rigged! Maybe by _you_ , Cas! Huh?" Clear incredulous shock rippled across his features as she looked at him while shaking her head in almost disgust. "I wouldn't put it past you at this point." She was blinded by betrayed anger and confusion.

"...How can you even say that?" he asked slowly. He sounded wounded. "I've done nothing but stand at your side and give you assistance and guidance from Heaven."

"Yeah, _thanks_ ," Alex retorted sarcastically. How could he not know how much he had risked by letting Dean torture Alastair? Or how twisted it was to force Dean to do what he did? Alex's rage was collecting inside of her blindingly, and she realized she needed to walk away before it made her do something she'd regret. She was losing her mind to her temper.

She turned to depart, but he grasped her arm lightly, stopping her. "I'm only here to help."

She saw red as she whirled. "Don't _touch_ me!" she snarled, shoving him hard with both hands—but he didn't even budge and the force of her strength did nothing to him whatsoever. Caught completely off guard, Alex gaped—then grew angrier. She hauled off in an attempt to slap his face. He caught her wrist without missing a beat and looked her dead in the eye almost defiantly. With a grunt of frustrated anger, she tried a left-hook as he let her wrist go. He stopped her fist with his hand easily, confounding her with his strength... and how much the impact hurt. It was like punching a wall. Immediately she regretted her choices, cradling her fist in pain.

Castiel regarded her ruefully. "Please, stop this," he said heavily. He had the gall to look almost apologetic. "You can't hurt me, Alex." She held her hurt hand to herself mistrustfully. Apparently not. He was silent for a beat, looking at her hand tensely. "Is your hand all right?"

"What do you care?!" Alex shot back, trying not to show how very agonized she was at the moment.

Cas looked grumpy. "You shouldn't exert yourself. You've sustained a head injury."

"This 'head injury' isn't half as bad as the pain you've been in my ass!" She fired back. "If you're not gonna help, just leave us alone."

"Alex... you have to have faith," the angel beseeched.

 _That_ set her off. "Oh spare me your pearly gates bullshit," Alex hissed, getting more pissed off by the second—she wanted to hit him so bad, so she did the next best thing: "Fuck you and stay away from me, I _hate_ you!" She meant it too in that moment—or maybe she meant that she hated the hope he gave her and the disappointment that followed when he refused to stand up and do the right thing. Her eyes glittered with defiant, conflicted tears. His face registered absolute confusion and hurt—her words had stung him. But instead of feeling better, Alex felt a very strong pang of regret. Pride held her fast and she lifted her chin and stared at him, refusing to let him see through her, trying to let him think that's actually how she really felt. If for no other reason than to protect herself at that point.

He seemed devastated by her words. "I… I don't understand," he said, and the innocent way he said it tugged at her chest. "I risked everything out of compassion for you. To give you back your voice. Despite everything—I know I've made some errors—but despite everything, I am your _friend._ " ...Friend? Alex felt like she'd been socked in the gut when he said that. Did he really think that? He seemed so pure of heart and vulnerable right then, so full of earnestness. He seemed like the Castiel she kept catching glimpses of and liking. His eyes showed hurt and he gazed at her in confusion. "Why would you say this to me?" His hurt question hung in the air, and Alex couldn't deny the guilt that washed over her as he had said that.

Grudgingly, she looked away. She shook her head, frustrated, feeling unstoppable emotion brimming as she finally looked him in the eyes again. "If you're my _friend_ , then you'll help us," she begged softly. "Please! Dean might _die_!"

Cas's face showed reluctance and as he spoke, there was an intensity there, as if he were trying to ask her to please understand. "Alex—I _cannot_ help you. It's out of my hands. I've been ordered not to—" he stopped mid sentence, seeing the pained look on Alex's face. Surprisingly, Cas addressed exactly what Alex was worried about. "Dean won't die. He'll survive this, I promise you."

Alex just looked at him in hurt confusion. "But you can help us. And you won't. _Why_?" Cas's gaze faltered as if her words shamed him and Alex gritted her teeth together, realizing she had made a huge mistake. Trusting him in a small way, enough to hope that he would help them. Her voice got cold and trembled. "What you did today, what you let happen was _wrong_." She retreated back from him a step. "Just stay the _hell_ away from my family, understand?" And without waiting for a reply, she turned and left him standing there.

She didn't look back to see if he stayed. She was too busy squeezing her eyes shut and trying to shove the shame and confusion away. She saw his wounded face in her mind's eye. Why wouldn't he _listen_? He could help and he wouldn't. And the worst part was how Alex found herself believing Castiel _should_ help, that it was within his character to help them. She scoffed at herself. She tried to push him out of her mind. She just wanted to be done with entire ordeal. In vain, she rubbed her fist in her other hand, wincing. Punching him had been like punching a tree trunk. And the worst part was that if he hadn't caught her first in his hand like that, if he'd let her hit his face, she probably would have broken her hand altogether. He was looking out for her in the only way he knew, maybe.

She grimaced against the shooting pains in her knuckles as she re-entered Dean's room. Sam was sitting again at Dean's bedside, leaned over his knees as he watched their brother intently. Sam glanced up at her. "I've never seen him this bad."

Alex took her seat opposite of Sam, not able to hide her anxiety. Dean looked horrible and sallow, and she'd seen him this bad only once or twice in her whole life. She gritted her teeth together, breathed out heavily, weary and hopeless and worried beyond comprehending. "Sam—what are we gonna do?"

Sam's jaw clenched, he thought for a minute. "We're gonna lay low. We're gonna get him better. And then we're going to figure out a way to get these damn angels off our backs for good."

Alex shook her head hollowly. It would all be easier said than done. For a minute, they watched Dean silently, the _beep, beep, beep_ of the heart rate monitor punctuating the silence.

A little nervously, Alex cleared her throat. She didn't want to have to ask what she was about to. "Listen, Sam. How were you able to kill Alastair like that?" She paused. "You were… full on telepathic." She was struggling not to sound repulsed or afraid. "Not even Ruby's knife did anything to him."

Sam was somber, his gaze stony. "Uh, yeah, I dunno. My abilities are just stronger."

Alex felt like she wasn't getting the full story, but was afraid to set Sam off. "I mean, do they get stronger every time you use them?" she asked, trying to pry something more out of him.

"Something like that," Sam said and sighed, looking away uncomfortably. "Sorry. I don't like to talk about it. I, you know, don't understand them myself."

Alex nodded and let it go, even if she would retain her suspicions about it all for some time to come. "It's okay Sam. It's fine." But it wasn't fine. She looked at him from underneath her lashes across the bed. Even though he was within arms reach, he could have been a hundred miles away. That's how close she felt to him right now. Troubled, she remembered how he had barely been able to exorcise Samhain, some punk street demon, a couple months ago. So how was it that he so easily kill one of the most powerful demons in existence… _with only his mind?_ Alex contemplated her twin with clouded feelings... wishing she didn't feel slightly afraid of him right now.

* * *

Castiel found Uriel sitting on a bench in the middle of a snowy glen. His brother had his eyes closed. "There you are," Uriel said, as if he'd been expecting him. He opened his eyes. His demeanor was agitated and distressed. "Castiel, I received revelation from our superiors. Our brothers and sisters are dying and they… they want us to stop hunting the demon responsible."

Castiel sat carefully beside Uriel, remaining silent, distracted. He couldn't stop remembering Alex's angry words and the way she'd attacked him like he was the enemy. Why didn't she understand he was here to protect and care for her? Why did she look at him so mistrustfully and like he was a stranger? Didn't she realize he was the one in the shadows and the still moments who made sure she would always be safe? Before this vessel, he hadn't dared to imagine that they would ever speak to each other, but if he had... he never would have imagined she could ever be so angry with him. Make him... _hurt_ so much. How was it possible for mere words to sting him inside? He felt dejected and defeated, wishing he could change this somehow.

Uriel sighed, ignorant to Castiel's inner struggles. "Something is _wrong_ up there. I mean, can you feel it?" He looked heavenward, greatly troubled.

Castiel glanced Uriel's way, torn out of his thoughts. He didn't want to address his growing doubt in the purity of Heaven's orders. "The murders," he said, distracted. "Maybe they aren't demonic. Sam Winchester said the demons had nothing to do with it."

"If not the demons, what could it be?" Uriel asked, sounding shocked at the idea.

"The will of Heaven," Castiel theorized. His shoulders were slumped at the reality. "We are _failing_ , Uriel," he said heavily, distressed at the thought of how dire these times truly were. "We are losing the war, perhaps the garrison is being _punished_."

The suggestion seemed to bother Uriel. "You think our Father would—"

"I think maybe our Father isn't giving the orders anymore," Castiel said, emboldened, letting himself take Anna's stance, take Alex's stance. He thought about how Alex had insisted, repeatedly, that something was wrong with the scenario. Off. And Castiel decided that he, too, felt that way. "Maybe there _is_ something wrong."

Uriel's brow furrowed. "Yes. I believe there is."

Castiel looked Uriel's way again, surprised. He prepared to broach an uncomfortable subject. "Uriel. I asked around. No one else in Heaven received revelation about the end of Alex Winchester's guardianship."

Uriel turned slowly to look at Castiel. "Well _I_ did," he said evenly.

"Did you?" Castiel challenged quietly.

Uriel's eyes narrowed. "What are you accusing me of?" he asked in a soft, dangerous tone.

Castiel returned Uriel's gaze unblinkingly, under the knowledge that there would be no going back from what he was about to say. As of late, Castiel had been under the influence of outsiders—namely Alex and Dean Winchester. In the privacy of his own mind, he wondered if _they_ were the reason he had begun to suspect Uriel of lies and deceit. But no matter who or what had caused him to think these things, he thought them all the same. Castiel gathered his courage to reply to his brother. "Of manipulating the situation to your advantage."

Uriel scoffed. "Our superiors are right. You _have_ begun to lose your mind." And without another word, Uriel disappeared, leaving Castiel uncertain and alone.

Castiel was lost. This was not supposed to be happening. He was not supposed to be obliged to mistrust and second-guess his brethren. And still, he did. The growing sense of unease, of _wrongness_ , was too strong to deny. Yet he wanted to deny it. Heaven had been stable once. He had known his place and has carried out his duties without question. Things were different now. Castiel was considering very terrible and blasphemous things in the depths of his mind. Things like disobedience and defiance.

Absently, he wondered about Dean. His injuries were bad, but he would survive. Still, seeing him beaten and bruised and unresponsive had sparked a strange feeling in Castiel's spirit. It didn't have to be that way, yet Heaven said he was to do nothing about it… he was to stand idly by and allow the man to suffer. _Why_? What Alex had wanted to know, Castiel wanted to know, too. He then thought of her again. He could still see her hazel eyes flashing and her cheeks flushed red as she had hit him. He had felt nothing, at least physically, upon the impact of her fist. But internally, he'd been shocked and affronted by the action—she'd been trying to hurt him. To attack him. Again he remembered hearing her shout _'I hate you_!' He didn't understand how such a simple declaration could have made him feel so bad or why it still bothered him so deeply. And above all, he knew that spending so much time thinking of her was not prudent or advisable. And still... he did.

Night came and Castiel finally stood. He needed help, and perhaps seized by madness for a moment, he asked for it from the strangest of places. He stood underneath a dim streetlight and called for her. "Anna!" A moment passed and she made no appearance. His voice softened as he searched the darkness for a sign. "Anna, please." The light above him flickered softly and Castiel looked up into it, then turned around.

"Decided to kill me after all?" She asked, then glanced around as if she thought other angels were hidden nearby.

"I'm alone," Castiel assured his sister angel plainly. His entire mind was consumed with worry and fear, conflict.

She seemed a little surprised. "What do you want from me, Castiel?"

Castiel looked at his sister and confessed his greatest sin. "I'm considering disobedience," he told her heavily, barely able to withhold how fearful it made him to admit such.

The smallest smile came over Anna's face and she smiled. "Good."

" _No,_ " he insisted, "it isn't." Was this what panic felt like? Confusion? He tried to explain it to her. "For the first time, I feel…" he didn't know what else to say. "I _feel_." He knew no way of standing up underneath the metaphorical weight of the things he felt. The longer he was around the Winchesters, the more feelings came over him. It was like a monsoon he couldn't control.

"That's _good_ , Castiel," Anna repeated, coming a little closer, giving him a hopeful and reassuring smile. "I know it's intense and frightening and new, but it _is_ good."

Castiel was perplexed. "How can it be good?" He questioned. "The things I'm feeling... they're corrupting my thoughts and actions." His voice softened because he felt ashamed of himself. His eyes flickered downward. "The things I feel… they _tempt me_."

"Tempt you how?" Anna asked, concern in her eyes.

He had to think about what he meant. "To choose my own actions," Cas finally said. "To disregard orders in favor of what _I_ deem appropriate."

"And why should that be wrong?" Anna asked, her concern melting away into a studious, earnest tone. "We were taught never to question anything, Castiel. Because they knew if we questioned, we would begin to _see_." She was deadly serious and quiet. "A war is coming. A different war than what we fight now. You can sense it, can't you? The future is dark and uncertain. Heaven's not what it used to be." Anna contemplated him with sadness in her eyes. "Do you even know who it is you serve anymore?"

Castiel's eyes went down slowly as he thought very hard and realized the answer was deeply horrifying. "No," he murmured. "I don't think that I do."

"You could be like me, Castiel," Anna appealed. "You could choose your own course of action. Use the power our Father gave to you to help the humans you choose. The humans you care about." She paused meaningfully. " _Her_." Castiel's eyes snapped to Anna's at the nameless mention of Alex. Anna's eyes were soft and knowing. "Tell me, Castiel. What things do you feel for her?"

Bristling, Castiel's face returned to a mask. "I am her Heaven-elect protector. Feelings are not part of the arrangement."

Anna shook her head ruefully, seeming to see straight through Castiel's attempts. "You and I both know that's not true. Why do you think you got in trouble for restoring her voice, Castiel? You _felt_ back then. She made you feel compassion. You were moved to action by what you felt." Castiel was looking down, ashamed at himself for being disobedient. Anna saw his expression. "Would you take it back, if you were able?" She asked him intently.

Castiel raised his eyes to hers. His answer was immediate and strong. "Never." He didn't understand himself. But the shame he felt for disobeying was nothing compared to the deep feeling that he had done the right thing. He remembered hearing Alex laugh out loud for the first time. He would never choose to not give her that. It had made him… _happy_. That sound and what it meant. That she had been happy, too.

"Then why are you fighting so hard?" Anna asked gently, peering at him in true confusion. "It's obvious to me that your time as a blind follower of Heaven is over."

The thought of the new and unknown—the thought of existing in a way where he was in charge of his every action—it was terrifying. Shouldn't he accept who he was? A 'hammer' as Dean had put it? Still—he had his doubts and questions. There was a war inside of him, and Castiel didn't know how to win. "I was created to _follow_ ," he said, trying to rationalize and use logic, attempting to remember himself. "I shouldn't presume myself the commander of my own destiny."

There was a soft, fond expression on her face. "Maybe you _should_. And maybe that's what God _wants_." Anna put her hand on Castiel's shoulder, trying to comfort him or sway him, he didn't know. He looked at her hand balefully and she dropped it away. Hurt crossed her face. "That's right. You're too good for my help. I'm just trash," she said in a sharpened voice, "a walking blasphemy." She turned to leave him.

"Anna, please—" Castiel said, voice rising a little bit in response to the turmoil he felt inside. "I don't know what to do. Please tell me what to _do_." He waited for her to say something, to continue telling him things that helped him feel as if perhaps his actions weren't wrong or sinful.

Anna turned halfway to look at him and there was a bittersweet smile on her face. "No, Castiel," she said softly. "I'm sorry. It's time to think for yourself."

* * *

Alex gave the corner vending machine a swift kick, cursing it under her breath. She grabbed it with both hands and shook, trying to get the freaking thing to dispense the pack of M&Ms. "Come— _on_ —you— _jackass_ —son of a bitch—motherfucking _jerkoff_ —" she grunted, rattling it with violent, exasperated force. Finally, the little packet tumbled loose and she was able to fish it out of the machine. She clenched the little bag of candy tightly… it had proven to be very coy. So much so that she felt mad at it. She set off down the quiet, dark hallway of the hospital back to Dean's room, where her brother was awake, on the mend, and anxiously awaiting the delivery of his snack.

"Well, thanks to your little midnight craving—" she started as she opened the door, but then fell silent at the sight of _him_. Castiel stood up as she entered the dark room. He'd been seated beside Dean, in _her_ seat. And then she saw Dean's face in the dim moonlight that came in through the window. He was stricken and distressed, his cheeks looked tear stained. "Dean! What's wrong?" She asked in alarm, looking at Castiel accusingly as she went to Dean's side protectively. "What did you do to him?!"

A slab of moonlight fell diagonally across the angel's face, and she could see him looking at her with a strange expression. Discomfort. "I answered his questions. I told him the truth which I uncovered."

"Which _is_?" Alex asked, stepping closer to him with dread rising.

Castiel's gaze faltered. "I discovered that Uriel was the one who was killing angels. He wanted to raise Lucifer. He said other angels do, too." He paused, looking into her eyes.

" _What?_ " Alex asked, her face going soft with surprise. "What happened after you found out?"

A muscle in Cas's jaw jumped and he looked away. "He's dead." From the way he said it, Alex thought Cas was saying _he_ killed him too. That stilled her. Changed things, maybe. Castiel looked resigned and burdened—different somehow—exhausted and overwhelmed. And like it or not, she felt empathy helplessly.

"There is a war in Heaven and I must fight for righteousness," Castiel said. "You and Dean and Anna were right." Alex was in stunned silence by the turn of fate. He _was_ trying. To do the right things, to think for himself. To be their friend. _Her_ friend. She looked away, but Cas didn't take his eyes off her. His gaze fell to her hand. "Is your hand all right?" He asked— _again_ —catching her off guard. She looked at him incredulously, hearing the concern in his voice. After how awful she'd been to him, he was still wondering about her hand?

She withered slightly underneath his questioning gaze. "Uh... y-yeah, it's fine." She swallowed, feeling mortified.

Castiel was as tense as ever and looked to Dean. His frown deepened. "I'll leave now." But before he did, he looked at Alex once more, his expression unreadable. "I'm sorry, Alex." And he was gone, before she could ask what for. Although Alex couldn't know what he meant he was sorry for, Castiel had meant he was sorry for several things: her hand. Making Dean torture Alastair. And letting her think that he would ever, for even a moment, willfully hurt her. Castiel had known, the entire time, that should the moment come, should Uriel have told him to hurt Alex to coerce Dean into action... that he wouldn't have been able to bring himself to that. And he was sorry that he'd had to let her think that he would.

But she didn't know what he meant and Alex was left to stare at the place Castiel disappeared from, confused. " _Dammit_ ," she muttered, unable to put her conflicting frustrations into coherent thoughts or words. Why did he always leave her in a jumble of confusion? She didn't roll like that. In this life, she made up her mind about things and stuck by her decisions. But with Cas, she kept going back and forth.

A soft sniff tore her out of her thoughts and she turned her attention to Dean, who was struggling to control his face. "What is it?" Alex asked in dismay, sitting down on the bed and gently brushing his wet cheeks with the backs of her fingers. She always got extremely upset herself when Dean was upset, but his _tears_ —those terrified her.

He caught her hands in his to stop her and held them firmly, his eyes squeezed closed. "Cas said that I was the one who started the apocalypse." His eyes opened, his face contorted in guilt and pain and he looked at her with a horrible, pained expression. "Me. In Hell, _I_ broke the first seal. I started it."

"... _What_?" Alex whispered.

"When I tortured souls, it started this _whole freakin' thing_ ," Dean whispered tearfully.

Alex grasped at straws for the right words to say to comfort her miserable brother and for a long moment she couldn't come up with something. Finally, she managed, "Well, you'll be the one to end it, right? You and me, a-and Sammy. We'll beat this. Dean... _hey_. Hey."

What little composure remained was fast crumbling, and Dean shook his head. His voice cracked with raw emotion—with a certain note of hopelessness. "I'm not _strong_ enough, Al. I've carried too much for too long, and I can't do it. I just can't. I don't have the strength anymore." He shook from a sob that wracked his entire body, and Alex didn't know what else to do.

She half crawled into the bed, embracing him tightly, even though she herself was beginning to feel as though she were falling apart, too. "You don't have to do it alone, Dean. I'm here."

He just wept and she clutched him in total terror, glad he couldn't see her face right now. When Dean, her rock, fell apart, she didn't know how to be okay.


	14. It's a Terrible Life

_"You took away my world._ "  
\- Fastball _  
_

* * *

"I see your giant snickers bar and raise you a cup of room temp hospital jello," Dean said, plunking the aforementioned item down on his bedside tray.

"Dangerous stakes, Winchester. You sure?" Alex asked, feigning deadly seriousness over her cards.

"Oh yeah," he replied in a low voice, matching her theatrics with a challenging eyebrow shrug. "I'm sure. Hit me."

She laid down her hand with a triumphant smirk and he grimaced as she announced, "Full house."

"Dammit," Dean sighed, throwing down his hand in disappointment. "Three of a kind. You win this round, Pipsqueak."

"Ah... victory..." Alex said with a note of comic uncertainty. She took the cup of Jello and squinted at the wiggly red substance—her hard earned prize—as Dean sighed restlessly and settled back against the pillows of his bed, half-sitting.

"I am so damn ready to get outta here," he said, sounding mostly exasperated but a little forlorn too.

Alex glanced at him sympathetically. It had been about a week and a half that he'd been here at the hospital. "Well, the doc said if all the tests came back normal today we can leave tomorrow," she reminded him. He rolled his eyes. "One more day. We got this," she said, chuckling a little as she picked up the playing cards and began to shuffle them. "Another round?"

Dean shook his head. "Nah, I'm poker-ed out."

Alex stopped shuffling for a second. "Okay, who are you and what'd you do with Dean?" She joked, receiving a glancing smile from her brother. Honestly, she was tired of poker too. There had been _lots_ of poker, blackjack, and bad daytime TV the past week or so. But there'd been sleep which was nice. She'd been here almost every day and night—bringing in food from fast food places, fussing over him, and just keeping him company. She would leave when visiting hours were over then sneak back in at night, sleeping in the chair beside him. After his breakdown the first night there, Alex knew he shouldn't be alone; that he needed her there, even if it was just her physical presence. That, and she didn't want to be alone, either. They'd always been close to each other like that their whole life, anyway. Sam too, once.

They hadn't brought up any of it again—not the apocalypse crap, not Alastair, not Castiel, not Dean's feelings. She knew, sooner or later, she'd have to tell him what really happened to Alastair. He wasn't going to like it. As if reading her mind, Dean cleared his throat. "So, heard from Sammy today?"

Alex pursed her lips to the side, her good mood fading. She stuck the shuffled cards back in their box roughly. "Called earlier and said he's on his way back." She felt sour recalling how their brother had left almost a week ago on a whim. Bobby had come to visit Dean, mentioned he was headed to Rapid City next to take care of a ghost and Sam had all but jumped at the opportunity. In Alex's eyes, leaving when Dean needed him most.

"Why didn't you go with him, again?" Dean asked. "Pretty sure they could've used your help. And at least you wouldn't be stuck in this dump."

"Those two didn't need help with one little vengeful spirit," Alex said, trying to sound lighter than she felt. She sounded false even to herself. "And I wasn't gonna leave you bored all by yourself."

Dean tilted his head to the side, scrutinizing her. "Okay, Al. What aren't you telling me?"

Dammit. He'd been off the pain killers for a couple days now and was really getting his clarity back. She huffed and looked down—she guessed it was time to come clean. She shrugged, reluctant. "Sam got mad at me because I wouldn't go with him. But, I wasn't gonna leave you, Dean. Not now. Not after…" she trailed off, thinking better of actually bringing it up. "And then he and I… we had another fight, he said I was playing favorites, he couldn't be around me… blah, blah, blah, same old _crap_."

Dean gave her a disappointed look. "Fighting? Again? Why didn't you tell me that like six days ago when it happened?"

Alex shrugged again, guiltily. "Didn't wanna upset you while you were still recovering."

"Oh come on, I'm _fine_ ," he said, glaring at the insinuation that he was too weak to handle some bad news.

"Internal bleeding and severe head trauma aren't fine," Alex retorted, receiving a dirty look. She glanced at him, realizing now was the time. She swallowed apprehensively. "But, since you _are_ mostly recovered… there _is_ something else I need to tell you." Dean got a suspicious look on his face at the tone of her voice, and Alex let out a big breath, wishing she could save Dean the oncoming confusion and pain. "So, Ruby's knife? It didn't work on Alastair. Didn't affect him at all."

Dean was puzzled and Alex could see the wheels of his mind turning. He knew Alastair was dead, but they hadn't exactly told him the details. "Then how…" he trailed off, and then his expression went cold in understanding. "No. Not Sam...?" he asked softly.

"Yeah," Alex confirmed, her voice full of the sadness and confusion she felt.

"But—but he could barely _exorcise_ Samhain a couple months ago," Dean protested, still confused.

"I know," Alex said, remembering the scene with distaste. "I don't know how he did it. All I know is I saw him do it. He did it so easily too, Dean. Like it was a walk in the freaking park. Like he's been… _practicing_ , or… I dunno."

"So, there's something he is not telling us," Dean surmised grimly.

"I get the feeling there's a _lot_ of things he's not telling us," Alex replied. There was a sad, heavy silence, and Dean, suddenly looking tired and haggard, rubbed his forehead.

"You shouldn't have let him go by himself up there with Bobby. Dammit, Alex. He could have finished with the job days ago for all we know, and be with Ruby, or... who knows?" His sadness was escalating into anger. "Why didn't you tell me _sooner_?"

She raised her eyebrows at him. "Look at the heart rate monitor. Your blood pressure just went up like ten points," she said, being totally reasonable, but still getting a look of annoyance from her brother. "I _did_ call Bobby, after Sam called today. To make sure Sam was telling the truth. To make sure he'd actually been with Bobby the whole time," Alex said, getting Dean's attention. "Bobby confirmed."

Dean looked mildly corrected then shook his head vaguely. "Sad that we're at a place where we have to do that crap," Dean commented emptily, then glanced around the room unhappily. "When we get out of here… I'm halfway tempted to go to Timbuktu. Where Ruby can't get to Sam, where the damn angels can't get us. Surround ourselves with hex bags, good beer, cheap burgers... watch the world go to shit and stop worrying about it being our fault." Alex said nothing, just watched her brother with complete understanding of what he was feeling.

"I'm tired of it," he said, growing quiet. "All of it. I just want..." he trailed off, his expression strange and lost. "I dunno what I want." He looked down into his lap, and Alex could see how burdened he felt. He shook his head. "Just not this."

* * *

**Three Weeks Later**

Alex Remington woke up to her cell phone alarm ringing as it usually did at six o'clock in the morning. She swung her feet over the edge of the bed and pushed off into another day of her life. She spent the first few minutes of her morning meditating and practicing yoga as she did every day. After showering and drying her hair, she paged through her closet, picking a pencil skirt, cherry red flats, and a gray cardigan over a pressed white blouse. She applied her makeup—foundation, mascara, eye liner, gloss—then combed serum into her hair and straight ironed it, sweeping it into a low pony tail, completing the look with a thin headband. She looked herself over in the mirror—she looked polished and professional as usual. Still, something looked off and she couldn't figure out what it was. She felt a faint sense of frustration and distaste, but couldn't figure out why. Chalking it up to fatigue, she went to the kitchenette of her apartment and made a cup of tea, whole grain toast, and paired those with an organic banana. While eating, she did a little research for her paper that was due on Thursday, and then it was time to leave for work.

The office was only a few blocks from her apartment so she walked, keeping a brisk pace in the early morning chill. She looked up at the towering structure of Sandover Bridge and Iron as she arrived. It was hard to believe she worked here now. She'd been hired three weeks ago, and before that had worked at a consulting firm, where work had been…. well, it was a blur now. She could barely remember what she did there, and she frowned. She made a mental note that she needed to start taking a multivitamin. A person her age shouldn't have so many problems with remembering things that happened three weeks ago, and it seemed like she was having problems remembering things a _lot_ lately.

She rode the elevator up with a bunch of other business people, including one guy who was a little taller than her. He was dressed nicely, with short brown hair and handsome features, bright green eyes. For some reason, she was not attracted to him. He smiled politely at her, and she returned it tightly, not interested. Men that good looking were always jerks in her experience. She hopped off on her floor—technical support, and entered the reception area. Her domain. She set her things down on her desk and took her seat, switching on her computer and getting her earpiece out of the drawer. Employees were filing in now, dressed in the pale yellow polo uniform shirts. She was glad she got to wear what she wanted—fashion was basically her life.

The computer chimed, finished turning on, and she smiled at the desktop picture of fluffy white kittens playing with each other. She loved cats. She looked at the picture a little longer, her smile fading, a weird sensation in the pit of her stomach. She loved cats... didn't she? Didn't she love cats?

"Good morning, Alex!" Came a familiar voice, and Alex looked up.

"Oh, hi Sam!" Alex greeted, smiling at the latest arrival. Sam Wesson, who had been hired at the same time as her. They'd hit it off in the two day training and had discovered they both loved the Red Hot Chili Peppers, hiking, and karaoke.

"How good was _24_ last night?" Sam asked, and Alex's eyes went wide.

" _So_ good, right?! Oh my god." Alex grinned at him. "Jack Bauer is the man."

Sam chuckled, and took one of the M&Ms she kept in a bowl, popped it into his mouth. "See you at lunch?" He asked.

Alex was putting on her earpiece and flashing him a smile. "I'll be there."

With another smile, Sam left, heading back to his cubicle. She watched him go and wondered again why she wasn't attracted to him. He was tall, built, handsome, and really nice. They got along famously, like they'd always known each other. But he just didn't do anything for her. It was more like a friend or a brother vibe. Weirdly enough, she was more interested in Miller Collins , the weird boss, than Sam. Speaking of him, in he walked, dressed in his normal business suit. Over it, he wore a tan trench coat. Come to think of it, she'd never seen him out of it.

"Good morning Mr. Collins!" She greeted him cheerily, and he acknowledged her with a glance. He was an odd guy, really. He always had a look on his face like he was slightly irked about something. He arrived to work in the mornings and shut himself in his office all day, only coming out to leave. And he always watched her hawkishly, intently. Sometimes she felt like a tiny mouse under his stare. But she kind of liked that for some reason.

"Good morning, Alex," he replied in his deep voice, looking at her in that peevish way of his, and without further ado, he went into his office. Alex watched until the door was shut, her chin in a hand. So weird. She had no clue why she found him so intriguing. Or so attractive. Maybe because he was so mysterious. He never said more than a few words at a time, and the five o'clock shadow, the scowl, the intense stares, the bright blue eyes, the strangely boyish old man handsomeness… something about him was so—

The phone rang, rattling her out of her daydreams, and she glanced at the time on her computer screen. Eight o'clock already. And so the day began. She picked up the phone and answered in a cheery voice. "Good morning, Sandover Bridge and Iron, how may I assist you today?"

* * *

6:00am. Wake up, yoga, shower, dress, breakfast, walk to work. Arrive, say hi to Sam, say hi to Mr. Collins. Answer phones, redirect calls. Print memos, order supplies, refill printer ink. Clean break room refrigerator. Answer more calls. And before Alex knew it, another day was drawing to a close.

It was time to go, but Alex planned on staying a little late. Mr. Collins came out of his office and stopped at her desk, looking at her through narrowed eyes. "You're still here."

She smiled up at him, hoping maybe he would smile back. "I just need to finish up a couple things... I won't be long."

His expression didn't waver in the slightest. "See you tomorrow."

He turned and left, leaving her slightly disappointed. Sighing, she opened up her purse and took out her jump drive where her paper draft would be. She was taking night classes at one of the local colleges, and this paper was due in a few hours. She didn't have the time to go home and then to campus, and would rather work here than in the creepy college library. She only had about two hours to get it done, so she set to work, hoping she wouldn't get in trouble for using company property for personal use. It was after hours, she figured, so it couldn't hurt. She noticed about twenty minutes later when the sun set, that behind her, there was faint blue light coming from one cubicle. She wasn't the only one staying late.

She worked for about an hour more, polishing up the paper and hoping she never had to read or analyze _Heart of Darkness_ ever again. She paused for a moment, wondering how she had let herself wait until her mid-twenties to go to college. Why hadn't she started at eighteen? She couldn't recall a specific reason.

A strange sound interrupted her thoughts. Behind her, somewhere in the cubicles or maybe the break room, she heard a very strange sound, popping, like a muffled explosion, and then a man's scream. She stood in alarm, her heart beginning to hammer. "Hello?" she called, and no one answered. She entered the quiet darkness of the cubicles, and saw that halfway down the room, the light in the break room was on. She cautiously approached the slab of light on the dark carpeted floor, frowning as she got closer, the smell of something like burned meat hitting her nostrils.

"Hello?" she called again, and peeked into the break room... only to see a man, clearly dead, hanging out of the microwave, head-first... blood and chunks of flesh spattered inside the microwave and on parts of the floor and ceiling. Alex tilted her head to the side, grimacing in disgust. " _Ugh_." Then she frowned at herself, not sure how she could react so casually to such a horrific sight. She needed to call the police—but as she stood there, she felt the temperature of the room drop, and as she breathed out, her breath made a little puff of vapor. And in the shiny glass of the coffeepot, she thought she saw a movement behind her, a hazy reflection of an old man. She whirled, but no one was there.

A little disconcerted, she hugged her arms to herself and looked around, beginning to feel legitimately spooked. "Okay, definitely time to call the cops."

* * *

Sam and Alex watched as the coroner team wheeled the body out. People from other floors were gathered in reception, watching in horrified curiosity. Beside Alex, Sam was shaking his head. "He _really_ stuck his head in a _microwave_?" He was appalled.

"Yes, just like I told you. It was sick," Alex said, then shook her head sadly. "He was two weeks from retiring. I was helping plan a little office party for him. He was excited about it... I don't get why he did this."

"Yeah it's all… very bizarre." Sam sounded as suspicious as she felt. Something about it wasn't normal, wasn't natural. Sam looked at her, concerned. "Sorry you had to see all of that, Alex."

"Ah. It wasn't so bad," Alex said, drawing a surprised look from her coworker.

" _Wasn't so bad_?" he repeated.

"Well I mean, it was horrible," she backpedaled, not wanting Sam to think she was a freak. "But I dunno, I'm fine. Not that shaken up." She frowned. "Maybe I should be worried that I feel fine." She thought about telling him about the chill in the room, the reflection she thought she saw, but wasn't sure if that would make her sound crazy or not.

"Hey!" Came a loud voice. It was the assistant floor manager, Dave. "Everyone needs to quit standing around and gawking and get to your cubicles. Yes, it's sad, but we have work to do, people."

The employees all dissipated and Alex gave Sam a wan smile. "See you at lunch?" He asked halfheartedly.

"I'll be there," she confirmed, then headed up towards reception. She ran into a rushed looking Ian—he was Sam's desk neighbor and today she almost didn't recognize him. He was actually in company dress policy, clean shaven, and hair neatly combed. Another bizarre thing to add to the growing list. "Morning, Ian," she greeted, looking at him curiously.

"I don't have time to _talk_ , I need to get to _work_ ," he said replied, brushing past her and making a beeline for his cubicle. Alex frowned, unable to shake the growing feeling that something was _off_.

* * *

"My pleasure ma'am. Thank you for calling Sandover. Goodbye." Alex disconnected the phone call and yawned restlessly. It was around lunch time and Ian had gone up to HR about an hour ago. When he didn't come back, Sam went to go see what happened. She was feeling the mid day lull coming on, and was already thinking about how much she couldn't wait to get home and watch the Oprah show that would be waiting on her DVR. Just then, Sam came back in. From his expression, Alex could tell something was wrong, and stood up. "What happened? Where's Ian?"

Sam's face was blank. "Ian stabbed himself in the neck with a pencil in the HR bathroom."

Alex blinked. " _What_?"

"Yeah."

"What the _hell_?" Alex asked, then covered her mouth with her hand in embarrassment. "Sorry. I don't usually swear."

"I don't know," Sam said, ignoring her apology. "He was acting all weird this morning, like all... anal-retentive and worried about work. That's not like him."

"Yeah, he seemed off this morning." Alex dropped her voice, leaned in. "Do you think... something is going on? I mean, two extremely weird suicides in two days?"

"I'm not sure," Sam said, but from his troubled, thoughtful expression, she thought that was _exactly_ what he was thinking.

* * *

Wake up, meditate, shower, dress, breakfast, walk to work. Arrive, say hi to Sam, say hi to Mr. Collins.

Alex found herself staring blankly at her computer for most of the day, taking calls and doing her tasks in a disconnected kind of way. She felt strange, and couldn't pinpoint why. Inside, she was beginning to fear that maybe she was going crazy, that she was seeing things or imagining things. Last night she had dreamed about a vintage black car, a man in a puffy vest and flannel calling her an 'idgit', and flickering neon motel signs. She wasn't sure why the dream had stuck with her, but it was eating away at her. In an attempt to distract herself, she smoothed her flowy blouse, readjusting the line where she had tucked it into the waist of her skirt. She stared down at her feet, which were shoved into black heels, and then looked at her manicured fingernails. Somehow, the sight of both seemed wrong.

"Alex!" Sam had appeared out of nowhere, and was intently leaning over her desk. "I just got a call from Dean Smith."

"Who?" Alex asked, frowning at his sudden arrival and urgent tone.

"A big time guy who works upstairs in HR. He wants to see us."

Surprised, Alex stood up. "Are we in trouble? Why both of us?" Alex asked, not understanding.

Sam lowered his voice, becoming furtive. "I think it has something to do with... with the deaths. He told me to 'bring the girl who saw the other guy's corpse.'"

At that, Alex felt a twinge of intrigue, and her sense of adventure sparking alive inside her. She felt herself smiling. "Okay. Well, what are we waiting for?"

In hushed excitement, the two of them ducked out of the office and onto the elevator up to the seventh floor, where they found Dean Smith's office. After Sam knocked and Dean called them in, Sam led the way into a spacious modern office. With a gray color palette and black and white photographs of famous cityscapes lining the wall, the office reeked of position and upper management. Standing behind the desk was the guy from the elevator—the yuppie douche bag guy. Alex felt a little disappointment.

"Come on in," he said, both hands on the back of his chair. "Shut the door." Dean paused a beat and looked at Sam through narrowed eyes after they'd done what he said. "So wanna tell me who the hell you are?"

Sam looked a little surprised by the direct question, and Alex answered with uncharacteristic boldness when he said nothing. "This is Sam Wesson. I'm Alex Remington. And... you called us here. Shouldn't you know who we are?" She fixed him with an expectant look.

"I've seen you in the elevator before," Dean said flippantly, looking at her for the first time. "So you're the one who saw... the body?"

"Yup. And you're the one who saw... Ian die."

"Yup," he confirmed uncomfortably, and then cleared his throat. "Among other things. I, uh... so you two started working here three weeks ago, huh?"

Sam and Alex both nodded, not sure where their superior was going with this. "Yeah, me too," he said, walking over to one of his shelves. He grabbed a water bottle full of a dirty-looking liquid and unscrewed the cap. "It's, uh, the Master Cleanse. You tried it? Phenomenal. Detoxes you like nobody's business."

He took a swig and Alex scoffed. "Looks disgusting."

"Oh, it is," he said, grinning.

Sam, however, wasn't interested in their trivialities. He had fixed this Dean guy with an intent gaze, and stepped a little closer. "When you were in that bathroom with Ian... did you see something?"

Dean looked caught, his expression chilling in fear, then softening as he tried to laugh it off. "I don't know. I don't know what I saw. I was tripping."

Sam's frown deepened. "What'd you see? You saw something... I can tell."

Dean looked uncomfortable and hesitant, and Alex's mouth hung open slightly. Somehow, she knew what he had seen. "You saw a _ghost_ didn't you?"

At her direct question, Dean's expression showed stunned confirmation. Alex was nodding, suddenly excited, looking between Sam and Dean both, glad she could finally tell someone about what she saw. "I think I saw one too. When I found Paul—" her excitement faded, as she remembered the sad reality of Paul's demise. "When I found Paul, may he, uh, rest in peace—the room got cold, like, freezing cold. And I saw this blurry reflection in the coffee pot..." she had both of the guys' rapt attention. "I turned around... and no one was there." She waited to see if they would think she was crazy. "It was a ghost, wasn't it?" she asked, looking at Sam, and then Dean, hoping.

"Was it... an old white guy? Gray hair, wrinkly face?" Dean asked slowly, sounding like he was both dreading and eagerly awaiting her answer.

" _Yeah_!" Alex breathed, in disbelief that she wasn't crazy, and someone else had seen the same image.

"Guys—what if these suicides aren't actually suicides?" Sam asked breathlessly, emphatically. "I mean, what if they're something... not natural?"

"Something... _paranormal_? Like... _ghost murders_?" Alex asked, her voice lowering to a whisper at the last two words.

Dean was scoffing, trying to be reasonable. "Come on guys... that sounds kind of crazy… I mean, first thing first: ghosts are real? And not only that, but they're responsible for all the dead bodies around here?"

He sat down at his desk, and Sam and Alex grabbed seats across from him. "I know it sounds crazy," Sam said earnestly. "But guys… that has to be it!"

"What makes you so sure?" Dean asked, obviously not as on board with the idea as Sam was.

Sam took a minute, looking for an answer. "Instinct," he finally replied, and Alex felt a chill run up her spine. That was exactly what she had been thinking, too. She looked at Sam in amazement, and he looked back at her. It was like they were thinking the same thought.

Dean had a look on his face like reluctant agreement. "Yeah. I've, uh, got the same instinct."

"You do too, don't you Alex?" Sam asked, even though he sounded like he already knew her answer was yes.

"Yeah, I mean, it's _crazy_... but I don't see what else it could be," Alex said, meaning every word.

There was a short, pensive silence. "Dean, you know those dreams I was telling you about?" Sam asked. "I was dreaming about ghosts."

"Wait, what dreams?" Alex asked, puzzled, thinking of her strange dream last night.

"I dreamed that I fought ghosts, like, that it was my entire life," Sam explained.

"And that I was helping him do it," Dean added, sounding a little unenthused.

Sam got a little quiet, hesitant. "You weren't the only one, Dean… Alex, you were in the dreams too," Alex and Dean exchanged glances as Sam continued. "And then it turns out that there's a real ghost, and the three of us here, now..." he trailed off. "Coincidence?"

"So, what, your dreams are visions?" Dean asked, a little sarcastically. "You some kind of psychic?"

"No!" Sam exclaimed quickly. "I mean, that would be nuts."

"Why would that be nuts?" Alex cut in, amused. "Did you guys forget the subject matter? _Ghost murders_?"

Dean chuckled a little, as Sam continued. "I'm just saying something weird is definitely going on around here, right? So I've been digging around a little." Sam pulled some papers out of his bag, and handed half of them over to Dean, half to Alex.

"I think I found a connection between the two guys."

"You broke into their email accounts?" Dean asked, frowning, but before Sam could backpedal, Alex grinned at him over the printouts.

"Sam... that is so against company protocol… but… oh my god... _so_ _cool_!" She was almost starstruck.

Sam looked at Dean nervously, but Dean was busy trying to hide an impressed smile. He shrugged. "It _is_ pretty badass, if I say so myself."

"Uh, thanks," Sam said meekly, and cleared his throat. "Yeah. Okay. So it turns out Ian and Paul both got this same email telling them to report to HR, room fourteen forty-four."

"But HR's here on seven," Alex said, and they all shared a significant glance. "This email has something to do with the murders," Alex surmised, getting more excited by the second. "Guys. We have _got_ to check this out."

"Like right now?" Sam asked hesitantly.

"No. No, it's getting late," Dean said, although he didn't sound convinced.

Alex looked between the two of them. " _Guys_."

"I'm _dying_ to check this out right now," Sam said, and Dean's expression showed that he was too.

"Right?" Dean asked, already getting to his feet.

The three of them hopped on the elevator up to the fourteenth floor, and searched down the room in question. "Fourteen thirty-eight, we're getting close," Sam said as they rounded a corner. And suddenly, they heard a man scream. Breaking into a run, they found the door to fourteen forty-four was locked. Sam wiggled the door handle, then without a word, drew back and kicked the door in, leaving Dean and Alex to stare in momentary awe, saying "whoa!" at the same time. Sam led the way and they ran into the dark room, which looked like a computer storage unit. All the screens were on, gray static playing. The room was ice cold.

"Look!" Alex said, pointing to a man laying on the floor with a heavy shelf on top of him. Dean and Sam rushed to him and began to lift the shelf off. And then, flickering into existence behind Dean, the ghost appeared—the old man from the reflection. "Dean! Look out!" Alex shouted, her eyes wide as she saw the old man fling Dean against a wall and shove Sam over. She felt herself fly backwards without even being touched, and she collided with a pile of old computers. She rolled over easily as if by instinct, crouched on the ground, and stared as the old man reached for the tech support employee, his hand sparking with blue lightning.

She sprang up, rushing across the distance that separated her from the man who was about to be zapped, and with a strength she didn't know she had, she lifted the heavy metal shelf off the man—but not fast enough. The ghost's finger was a fraction of an inch from the man, who was screaming in horror. And then, just in the nick of time, Dean swung a wrench at the old man, who dissipated like a cloud of smoke. All the screens switched off, and the room went silent. The three of them stared at each other, agape. "How the hell did you lift that?" Dean asked Alex, incredulous.

"I guess I'm stronger than I thought?" Alex said, not entirely sure herself. "But never mind that, how did you know how to do that wrench thing?"

Dean shook his head, as puzzled as they were. "I have no idea."

* * *

About twenty minutes later, the three of them, were settling into Dean's apartment, still reeling from their ghost encounter. "Holy crap, dude," Dean said, pacing back and forth and guzzling his Master Cleanse liquid.

"Yeah. I could use a beer," Sam said, letting out a heavy breath.

"Oh, sorry, man. I'm on the Cleanse," Dean said, heading for his refrigerator. "I got rid of all the carbs in the house."

"You suck," Alex said, wishing she could get her hands on a Killian's Red or a Newcastle.

"So, how the hell did you know that ghosts are scared of wrenches?" Sam asked as Dean grabbed water bottles out of his refrigerator.

"Crazy, right?" Dean asked, handing a water bottle to Alex, and then Sam. "And nice job kicking that door too. That was very Jet Li. What are you, like a black belt or something?" He looked at Alex, his eyebrows raised."And you, Hulk Hogan. That shelf had to weigh more than a hundred pounds."

"Yeah, I had no idea my own strength," Alex said honestly, and flexed her arm muscle curiously, poking the defined bicep with her pointer finger, in a shocked kind of awe. "Whoa. They _are_ kinda big. I've never noticed before. Do I work out? I don't _think_ I work out…" she trailed off, frowning. "Just some yoga sometimes..."

Sam was in deep thought. "It's like...we've done this before."

"What do you mean, before?" Dean questioned.

"Like in a previous life?" Alex asked skeptically. "I don't know how I feel about reincarnation..."

"No," Sam said, shaking his head. "I—I just can't shake this feeling like I—like I don't belong here. You know? Like I should do something more than sit in a cubicle."

Dean chuckled. "I think most people who work in a cubicle feel that same way."

Alex, however, looked at Sam. "I think I know what you mean. I wake up in the morning and just… something's off. But I'm not sure. I feel really foggy sometimes, like I don't even like what I think I like." It sounded insanely stupid when she said it out loud, and she shrugged. "Not sure how to explain it, really."

"I know, right?" Sam seemed to agree with her. "I mean, I don't like my job. I don't like this town. I don't like my clothes. I don't like my own last _name_." Alex was nodding, hanging onto every word, feeling like he was talking for her. "I don't know how else to explain it, except that... it feels like I should be doing something else. There's just something in my blood. Like I was destined for something different. What about you? You ever feel that way?"

"You're starting to sound kind of Star Wars, there, Yoda," Alex joked. He'd lost her at the destiny stuff.

"I don't believe in destiny," Dean said, earning a look of respect from Alex. "I do believe in dealing with what's right in front of us, though."

"All right, so, what do we do now?" Sam asked.

Dean grinned. "We do what I do best, Sammy. Research."

"Okay. ...wait." Sam looked at Dean oddly. "Did you just call me Sammy?"

"Uh, did I?" Dean asked.

"I think you did. Yeah. Don't."

"Sorry," Dean said.

Alex chuckled. "Get a room, guys."

"Shut up," the two men said in unison.

* * *

"Here's the beers, Sam," Alex said, plopping down a six pack of Newcastle on the table. Both Dean and Sam had a laptop in front of them.

Sam cracked open a beer. "You're the best, Alex. Thanks for getting these."

She sat down between them, grabbing herself a beer. "What've you guys found?"

Dean was eyeing the beer a little wistfully from the corner of his eye. "Sure you don't want one?" Alex asked as she opened hers.

"I'm on the Cleanse," he replied dutifully, tearing his eyes away from the bottle in her hand. "Anyway, I just found the best site ever. Real, actual ghost hunters."

Sam and Alex leaned their heads over, peering at Dean's screen. "These guys are genius," Dean said, a certain note of admiring in his voice. "Check it out."

An instructional video began playing, two guys who called themselves Ghostfacers. They watched the video, hovering close to the screen in rapt attention. When it was over, they sat back in unison, silently absorbing everything they had just heard. "Okay," Sam said slowly, "so we just need to research this ghost, figure out who he is, and then find his remains... or the haunted item."

"Sounds good," Dean said. Alex, however, was just sitting there, a huge grin on her face.

"Those guys were _so_ cool," she breathed, glancing at Sam, then Dean. "This makes me wish _I_ could be a ghost hunter. Wow."

"You seem easily impressed, kid," Dean said, giving her a superior smile like she were dumb.

She ignored the comment and just looked at him sidelong. "Have a beer already, will you?"

His jaw clenched. "The Cleanse," he said, this time sounding blatantly depressed.

She smiled to herself and took a long swig of hers so he could watch jealously.

* * *

Wake up, meditate, shower, dress, breakfast, walk to work... Alex arrived at work like normal, wearing a shorter floral dress (Friday, casual day), cardigan, and heels. Behind her, she heard the low hum of the office—people taking calls on the phone, the printers going. But she was remembering last night, when she, Dean, and Sam had _killed a ghost_. It had been the most thrilling and life-altering thing she had ever done—after researching the Sandover building and its history, they had recognized the face of their ghost and learned that there was an item of his still in the building—a single glove. Together, they had fought off the ghost, found and burned the glove. All with just fractions of seconds to spare. After they came within an inch of their lives, they had gone back to Dean's office, where Sam had proposed they quit their jobs and go hunt down ghosts. Alex had thought it was an exciting prospect, and even let herself dream about actually doing it for all of thirty seconds, until Dean had shot the idea down.

Alex was so lost in her thoughts there at her desk that she didn't even notice when Mr. Collins came in. If she had looked up, she might have seen his eyes traverse her bare legs, she might have seen him swallow strangely, she might have seen him go into his office faster than he usually did. But she was staring at her screen blankly, unsure. Just, unsure.

Sam had been disappointed after Dean had said no, and then he left without talking to Alex about it. She honestly would have dropped everything in that moment and left with him right then. Something about what happened last night felt _right_. But this morning, Sam had come in, with a face of stone and he didn't even say hello. Alex sighed restlessly, staring at the kitten wallpaper of her computer. She could hear some kind of commotion going on in the cubicles behind her, but was unable to care or look away from the kittens... their soft white fluffy fur, their wide blue eyes, their wispy whiskers... she felt a growing sense of hatred the longer she stared at it, and suddenly a burst of pure, undiluted rage. "I _hate cats_!" She shouted, and taking hold of the computer with both hands, she stood up and ripped it from its chords, and threw it across the room, where it smashed against the wall. She stared at it, blinking in surprise, then realized someone was standing just off to her side.

Sam stood there, staring at her, a fire poker in his hand. He seemed a little out of breath. "I... just killed my phone," he explained, which explained nothing, but she nodded, feeling like she understood him perfectly.

"I hate cats. Like, literally _despise_ them," she replied, and he, also, nodded, seeming to understand her somehow, too. She rounded her desk, coming to him and speaking in hushed, urgent tones. "Let's go. You and me. We'll go on the road, like you said. We can ask Dean again, but even if he doesn't want to... we can. We're supposed to. You know?"

"Yeah," Sam said, nodding and looking happier than she remembered him ever looking.

As if on cue, the door to the right of Alex's desk opened. Miller Collins peered out at then sullenly, then glanced at the smashed computer to his left. He then stepped aside, holding the door open further. "Come into my office. Both of you."

They shared a glance and obliged quietly, their momentary high fading into quiet dread.

"Look, sorry about the phone—" Sam started, but stopped talking when he saw Mr. Collins reaching out to touch him on the forehead. Alex watched, mystified, and then Mr. Collins touched her, too. And suddenly, she remembered everything—she was Alex Winchester, that was Sam, her brother, and... her jaw dropped and she looked down at herself then at Mr. Collins… a.k.a. Castiel. 

"...What the _hell_ , Cas?"

"Explain. Now," Sam added in angrily.

"Is this real?" Alex asked, looking around and down at herself again.

Cas was stoic, as usual. "Yes, this is real," he replied apathetically. "This was Zachariah's idea. It was to prove to the three of you that the life you live; hunting, is what you're meant to do. It's your destiny."

"I-is this some kind of sick joke?" Sam asked, aghast. "You take three weeks of our lives for your own angel comedy hour?"

"And who the hell is Zachariah?" Alex felt herself shaking in outrage. In the tiny dress with her legs bare, she felt naked. "You took all of our memories? You… turned me into… _this_?"

"It was not my idea," Castiel said simply, as if that would fix everything.

"You tricked us!" Sam protested. 

Cas held an impatient hand up. "I understand you're both unhappy. The point of all this is that you—the Winchester family—are supposed to hunt. It's in your very blood. But more than that, you're supposed to _stick together_." His eyebrows knit together as if in earnestness. "The past three weeks, the two of you have been closer than you have in the entire past year."

He had a point, but it wasn't one the twins were happy about. Sam and Alex glanced at each other. Unlike a few moments ago, when they had been Sam Wesson and Alex Remington, the glance was now tinged with bitterness. "Maybe that was because I couldn't remember anything about what he's done to screw up the _family_ ," Alex said.

Sam scoffed and chuckled humorlessly. "You sure do know how to hold a grudge, don't you Alex."

"It's not a grudge, it's me remembering the facts," she replied in a short tone of voice.

Sam was insolent. "Yeah, you're right, it's all me to blame, because you and Dean are so _perfect_." 

There was a loaded silence and Castiel looked down, seeming to be disappointed.

"Yeah. Well, Cas, you got us," Sam said brusquely. "Good job." Heated, he took a few steps back, running a hand through his hair, trying to calm down.

Alex stared at Castiel with a frown. "I don't get it. What gives you angels the right to think you can screw with our heads like this. It's not okay!"

"Alex—" Castiel started, only to be cut off.

"No. You violated us! You _tricked_ us!" She crossed her arms angrily, beyond incredulous at the entire thing. "You need to stop playing games, you're either on our side or you're not!"

" _Enough_!" Castiel thundered, and the room seemed to darken, his deep voice seemed to carry a power that it hadn't before. A little intimidated, Alex had taken a step back, in shock. Behind her, Sam was staring, slack jawed, at Cas. "I am doing what I must," he conveyed intensely. "I regret that you feel violated, but what would you have me do?"

Even if she was a thrown by him raising his voice, she still had an answer ready. "How many times do I have to say it? The _right thing_ , Cas!"

The angel approached her, pressing into her space with an angry expression of his own. The edge of his trench coat brushed against her bare knee. "You think you know my world so well," he accused gruffly. "Well you _don't_. I deserve some trust from you." His eyes bored into hers.

" _Trust_?" she echoed, her tone suggesting such a thing was far-fetched.

Cas had the gall to look mildly hurt. His voice was soft now. The entire tone of the room shifted. "After everything I've done for you, can't you extend that to me? Even just a little?" It seemed heartfelt, which made it even harder to know how to process. Alex was confused. Cas stepped back from her, his face showing true vulnerability for a few heartbeats. "Have you truly never wondered why, after a lifetime of being mute, how you could not only speak, but speak perfectly, as if you had been speaking for your entire life? I didn't simply give you the ability to make sound, I made you _whole_. It wasn't easy, Alex Winchester." His bright blue eyes seemed to hold some unspoken pain or secret. "It cost me more than you know." His next words, said so softly in a wounded tone, were utterly convicting. "Your hatred of me stings very deeply." 

Alex stared at him, stunned and speechless, feeling very, very small and yes... ashamed.

Without warning, she and Sam were no longer at Sandover, but in a very dim motel room. And Castiel was gone. 

The twins were silent for a short moment as their eyes adjusted to the darkness. "We... we were staying here right after Dean got out of the hospital," Sam said, and Alex realized he was right—she saw their bags piled in the corner, just as they'd left them.

Exhausted in a way that wasn't physical, Alex sat on a bed, burying her face in her hands. She felt overwhelmed, tricked, but mostly humiliated, almost to the point of tears. _Your hatred of me stings very deeply._ She heard Sam sit opposite of her, but she didn't look up. Just kept covering her burning face.

Suddenly, there was a sound to their right. "Whoa. Honey, I'm home." It was Dean, in a business suit, his hair slicked down. "Well would you look at us. It's like Halloween," he commented wryly, looking at his siblings who were still in their weird Sandover outfits.

"Dean!" Sam said in relief, standing. "So I'm guessing you met Zachariah."

Dean's brow furrowed slightly. "How'd you know?"

"Cas told us," Sam said, glancing at Alex, who still sat on the bed. She was off in her own thoughts. "He was... our _floor manager_."

"Of course he was," Dean said. "Well, I, for one, am starting to get real tired of these angels yanking our chains around." He looked at Alex, who still wore the dress and heels. "You look ridiculous, by the way." She made a face at him.

"Yeah well at least I didn't just do the Master Cleanse," she muttered, which Dean made a face at.

"Well what did Zachariah say to you?" Sam asked, not interested in small talk. "Hopefully more than Cas did, because he barely explained anything. He just chewed Alex out."

"Yeah?" Dean asked, looking mildly interested.

"Did you _really_ have to bring that up?" Alex asked Sam. He shrugged.

"Listen, before we get all heart to heart, I need food," Dean said. " _Real_ food. And a beer. Lots and lots of beer. Bring on the carbs."

"Yeah. Okay," Sam agreed. They went and grabbed dinner at a local diner, dressed the way they were. Alex listened as her brothers did most of the talking, her mind far away. She faded in and out of paying attention.

"I mean, I was drinking rice milk," Dean said. " _Rice milk_. I had a gym membership, and ate _salad_." He said salad like it was a dirty word.

"I went home every night and played XBOX. Like all night." Sam admitted sheepishly.

"The highlight of my day was Oprah," Alex said glumly.

"Wait, you don't really like Oprah?" Dean asked, grinning and plunking a fry into ketchup. "So, you ever gonna tell me what Cas had to say to you?" Dean asked as he chomped the fried potato.

Alex stared at her plate, her eyes seeing nothing, her mind going to a strange place. "Eh. Just bitching about random stuff, nothing major."

Dean clearly knew she was avoiding telling him everything but it didn't seem to matter as he munched on fries. Alex slunk down further into her seat, Cas's words still on the forefront of her mind. She felt like the world's biggest bitch. Castiel was still an unsolved puzzle for her, but she was really starting to get the feeling that she had him wrong. He clearly wasn't perfect but... he kept saying he chose to give her the ability to speak at a great cost to himself. She kept thinking on that for the rest of the day, wondering who he was. Who he _really_ was. This being she kept getting glimpses of beyond his duties and loyalties.

* * *

Alex sat outside the motel on the edge of the sidewalk underneath a clear midnight sky. It was cold and she was listlessly watching highway traffic pass by, thinking. She was once again looking like herself—in her favorite pair of jeans, her well-loved boots, a tank top, and a warm cargo jacket. She'd showered off the makeup and hair products and was no longer a caricature of herself.

She thought back to the past three weeks, where she had been free of all the pains of the past. Instead of torturing herself over her brothers, the apocalypse, the endless list of hardships in her life, she had been content to fix her hair every day, watch mindless TV every night, and her biggest concern had been what outfit she would wear for work the next day. So now, she could say she knew what a 'normal life' was like—and it was pretty fucking boring. And lonely.

She still didn't like the fact that the angels had duped them like that—stolen their memories, transplanted their lives—but she was admitting to herself that treating Cas the way she had probably hadn't been right. It hadn't been his idea, after all. He'd just been following orders. Ridiculous, _stupid_ orders, but still. She thought of her attraction to him when she thought he was a man named Miller Collins, and felt intense embarrassment. The angels must have implanted that into her mind along with the other things, as some kind of joke, or test. Right? Well. She _did_ think Cas was handsome, didn't she? _Ugh._

All Alex knew is that when he stood up to her like that, told her off about her behavior... at first she'd been humiliated and pissed. Now, she realized she had to respect him for having the courage to tell her what he felt and thought. She thought of his face when he said her hatred of him stung. Inside, her heart broke a little. She thought of how ungrateful and undeserving she was, how much she regretted her words and actions, how disappointed she was in her lack of self control. If Cas could have seen before he healed her how she would treat him, he probably never would have bothered at all.

She drew in a deep breath and let it out, getting a little nervous about what she was about to do. This felt absolutely ridiculous and even if he did show, he'd probably just bitch at her some more, which she deserved but... yeah. She had to do this. Gathering her courage, Alex screwed her eyes shut, and in a voice just above a whisper, she spoke. "Um. Castiel? Are you there?"

She opened her eyes and flinched slightly. "Hello, Alex," he said, standing just in front of her.

She stared up at him with a shocked expression, almost too caught off guard to speak. "Wow... just like that," she breathed out. "You come when I call?"

"Of course. I am your guardian angel," he replied, almost sounding like he was surprised she would ask that. He didn't look angry or disappointed as he had the last time she saw him.

Her brow furrowed in confusion. "You are?" she asked. Last time she'd heard, Uriel said those orders or whatever were no longer valid.

Cas looked down slightly. "Yes. I discovered that Uriel was lying about that."

"Oh." Alex nodded as she took that into her understanding. She'd suspected as much. She gave a tight smile and somewhat awkwardly patted the spot beside her, indicating that he should sit—no sense in standing there where she had to crane her head up to look at him. He didn't seem to understand for a couple seconds, then he joined her, sitting close enough that their elbows brushed against each other's. Since the curb was so low to the ground, his knees were level with his chest, but he didn't seem to have the poise Alex had (her arms were leaned onto her knees). He just sat there, arms at his sides, knees in his face, looking ridiculous. She couldn't hide the amused little smile that sprang to her face. She tried to fight it, tried to look serious, but it didn't work.

"I'm sorry, I can't... you need to put your arms on your knees... that just looks... wrong," she said through a mouth that was trying to smile. He frowned, not understanding. Uncertainly, he looked at her for reference but got it all wrong, placed a hand on each knee, his arms straight against his legs, increasing his awkward ridiculousness by about a hundred percent. Chuckling out loud now, Alex shook her head. "No, no, that's worse," she said, grinning, and grabbed his forearm, showed him what she meant, guiding him to a more casual, relaxed stance. He looked at her hand on his arm, then at her, his expression unreadable. Alex's smile faded, and she let go, remembering why she had called him. She wet her lips and mustered her courage, bracing herself.

"I, uh, needed to tell you something," she began, not entirely sure how she was going to work it all. She struggled for the words, her pride taking a hit as she forced herself to begin talking. Her skin burned a little from embarrassment. "I'm..." she forced the next word out, " _sorry_ , Cas." He looked back at her, his expression stern as usual. "I've been... a total bitch," she mumbled, then quickly added on, "I mean, sometimes you _did_ deserve it." She cleared her throat. "Uh, but… when I told you that I hated you or whatever—it wasn't really true." Her ears were burning. "I mean, I was pissed, and the words just... like, came out. I guess I was trying to hurt you. Because, um, well." She sighed long and hard. "You hurt me." _Ugh, Doctor Phil, eat your heart out._ But Castiel just listened. Didn't rub it in or make her feel worse. Alex found the ability to continue as he waited, listening. She swallowed, shutting her eyes. "After all you've done for me... you didn't deserve that. And I didn't mean it. I don't hate you." She opened her eyes again and forced herself to look him in the eye. Her skin was on fire with uncomfortable feelings. "I _do_ really freakin' hate apologies, Cas. And I'm not really used to making them out loud like this either. But I hope you know I mean it. I'm sorry, okay?" She sighed heavily and shrugged, looking down between her knees awkwardly. "Well—that's all I got." She threw her hands up a little, then let them go. Somehow, what she'd imagined as a grand and beautiful apology felt small and cringy and sappy.

Cas looked at her a moment longer, and his expression was surprisingly un-pinched. It made him look years younger and more open. "Yes. I do know that you are sincere," he said, making her stomach flip. "And I accept your apology." Just like that? Alex was floored by his ready forgiveness. Castiel looked out ahead of them, his expression growing softer. "I have thought about how difficult it would be to suddenly have memories back you didn't remember. You were disconcerted. And felt what was yours was taken away. In truth, it was. I've thought about many things you've told me I was wrong for doing. Very often, I believe you're right about me." He drew in a deep breath through his nose, expelled it the same. "I appreciate your perspective, even if I don't always understand it."

Again, her stomach flip-flopped and Alex glanced his way sidelong, surprised at him. Who _was_ this angel? This softer, thoughtful, curious creature she saw glimpses of one-on-one? He intrigued her more and more, and somewhere hope was growing inside of her. Hope for what, she wasn't sure. But she felt it all the same.

They sat in silence a moment longer, Alex trying to summon the courage to say what she did next. "You could've done nothing," she chanced, watching his expression, forever still wondering _why_ he'd done what he had. "I would've never even known the difference."

He almost smiled when she said that—his lips turned up and his eyes crinkled slightly at the edges as he watched the traffic passing by. It was bittersweet. He turned his head toward her, his eyes meeting hers with a soulful intensity. "I was not willing to do nothing."

The way he said it made her feel like she couldn't maintain eye contact and she shivered slightly, self-conscious, looking away somewhat pointedly. She could feel him looking at her still and she couldn't resist cautiously meeting his gaze again. His head had tilted slightly, his eyes were softer than she ever remembered seeing them and she floundered, feeling warm all over and uncomfortable as she watched how his eyes studied her face thoroughly, softly. "I, uh... it's late," she hedged nervously, intimidated by him. "I should probably get in there before they come looking."

"Of course," he replied and Alex stood up. He followed suit. His voice stopped her a couple steps toward the door. "Goodnight, Alex."

She turned to look at him over her shoulder.

He had put his hands into his pockets—and that caught her attention. Standing there in the parking lot with neon signs behind him and light illuminating the side of his face, Alex felt like she was seeing him for the first time. It was surreal, it made her feel something she didn't know how to handle. The way he looked at her... it could almost be described as tender. Stricken by her thoughts, she felt a certain, mostly unfamiliar shy feeling overcome her. She tucked her hair behind her ear and gave him a small, tight smile all the same. "'Night, Cas."

Alex Winchester turned and went into the motel as her guardian angel stayed and watched until she was safely inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inside joke: They all had the last name of gun brands. Smith & Wesson; Remington.


	15. Metafiction

_"Fate is knocking at the door, but I don't live there anymore._ "  
\- Sonic Syndicate

* * *

**Four Days Later**

Alex rolled over on the motel bed onto her stomach, thoroughly engrossed in the book she was reading—after all, reading about _your own life_ through someone else's eyes was fascinating, if not a little horrifying too. That morning the Winchesters had been blindsided by a strange discovery… a series of books, starring _them_.

On the other end of the room Dean and Sam were both on their laptops glued to their screens, the books in question littering the table around them. The books included in specific and perfect detail all the things they had done for the past three or so years. Although they were dead set on finding out who this author Carver Edlund was and how he or she knew everything about the Winchesters' private lives, they'd gotten temporarily distracted after Sam had stumbled onto the _Supernatural_ fandom online.

Dean was chuckling. "Whoa, check it out… these fans are _not_ playing around. There are ' _Sam_ girls' and ' _Dean_ girls.'"

Alex looked up from the pages of _Wendigo_. She let loose an unladylike snorting "Ha!"

Dean looked at her over his shoulder. "Why's that funny?" he demanded.

"'Cuz what those fans don't know is that both of you _suck_ ," she replied impishly, already looking back at the pages of her book. "I'm an Alex girl, personally," she quipped.

Dean rolled his eyes and turned back to his computer screen. "Hey, what's a 'slash fan'?" he asked.

Sam looked hesitant to answer, and Alex looked up in mild curiosity. "As in... Sam-slash-Dean," Sam said. "Together."

There was a short silence, where Dean and Alex were trying to figure out exactly what was being implied. "Like, _together_ together?" Dean asked, his voice full of the beginnings of incredulous disbelief.

"Yeah," Sam confirmed, drawing disgusted expressions from both of his siblings.

Alex had to force herself not to guffaw.

"They _do_ know we're brothers, right?" Dean asked, sounding hopeful that there had been some kind of misunderstanding.

However, Sam shrugged. "Doesn't seem to matter. And there's also some… um… of all three of us. _Together._ And, there's also, uh... 'Twincest'?" He looked at Alex and and pulled a face.

Now _that_ was not funny. Alex sat up, throwing the book down. "What is _wrong_ with these people?"

Sam's chuckled. "A lot from what I can tell. I mean, I'm finding all this anti-Alex stuff in the fandom. Just found a post called 'Alex: Love her or hate her?' on one of the fan sites. Some fan named _Axarell_ posted a reply: 'The series is perfect except for the awkward addition of Alex, who I think undermines the entire story. Instead of being about men and brothers in arms, it's about these two brothers and their third-wheel sister—she's too talkative once she gets her voice back in the last few books. She's always crying and bitching. Alex Winchester ruins the entire series for me.'"

Alex made a face. "Geez, sorry for existing?"

"No no, this one's better," Dean said, reading from his screen. He clearly thought the whole thing was funny. " _LisaMack_ wrote 'Alex Winchester is a totally unbelievable and flat character, and her mysterious, unexplained recovery from the lifelong condition of muteism is just too far fetched for me. Wish she wasn't in the books; I also don't like how she gets so much time with my boys.'" Dean paused. " _Her_ boys?" He scoffed. "What, we're personal property now?"

"I'm not _believable_?" Alex asked, frowning at the ridiculousness of it all. " _LisaMack_ isn't believable." Both of her brothers tried to hide their chuckles at her indignant comment. "It's not funny! I mean, don't these people have anything better to do with their time than complain about me?"

"Haters gonna hate," Dean said with a good natured shrug. "There's nice ones too about you but why would I read you those? Hey!" He ducked a spare sock she threw at him and chuckled when she missed. He returned to reading out loud from his screen. "'Hey guys, please read my brofic, in which Sam and Dean hunt on their own. No Alex in this alternate universe. Please don't hate, I know brofic isn't everyone's cup of tea.'"

Alex pssh'ed loudly. "Like you two's life without me would be interesting at all."

Dean closed his laptop with a face. "Dude, this crap is just weird. _Funny_... but weird."

"Yeah," Sam agreed, closing his laptop too and leaning his elbows onto the table. "It's amusing, if not a little… uh, creepy, to say the least, but we really need to find out who wrote the series."

"Okay, so where do we start?" Alex asked, sliding off the bed and crossing the room to her brothers. "The name Carver Edlund turned up nothing on the databases or address searches."

"We go to the publisher," Sam said. "Carver Edlund is probably a pen name."

Dean was already standing up. "Well, what are we waiting for? Daylight's wasting."

"Dean, we _just_ got here," Sam pointed out, sounding reluctant and weary. Alex couldn't say she was crazy about getting back into the Impala for another however-many hour drive either.

But Dean was grabbing his jacket. "And we're just leaving," he replied, his mind already made up.

The twins exchanged a mutually sympathetic glance. With no choice, they grudgingly got up and followed their brother. Yet again and as always, the Winchesters were on the move.

* * *

"Thanks for all your help!" Sam called as he sat back into the passenger side of the Impala. The publisher, Sera, waved from the front porch of her house, her expression a little starstruck.

"Did you guys really _have_ to show her your tattoos? I think you turned her brain to complete mush," Alex said, still laughing at how the publisher had basically lost her crap when Sam and Dean showed her their anti-possession tattoos and subsequently shown off their bare chests.

"Hey, it worked, didn't it?" Dean asked, but by the grin she could hear in his voice, she knew he thought it was funny too. "We got Carver Edlund's real name _and_ address. All thanks to these handsome faces, bulging muscles, and irresistible sex appeal."

Dean and Sam chuckled as Alex leaned forward between their seats, grinning. "And long, flowing locks," she said, waving the title book, _Supernatural_ at them—on which a shirtless Sam (who looked more like Fabio) had sandy hair to his shoulders blowing away from his face. The rest of the cover wasn't much better—Dean was in a sleeveless cutoff shirt and looked like a knock-off of a Street Fighter character—Alex was in the background, leaning seductively against the car, in a tiny strapless shirt that clung to her ridiculously disproportionate body (no one's waist was that tiny). And for some reason her hair was platinum blonde.

"Did the guy who illustrated this cover even _read_ the book?" Sam asked as Dean pulled the Impala out into the road. The ridiculousness of the book cover had them all giggling as they set off for Kripke's Hollow, the town where Chuck Shurley, a.k.a. Carver Edlund lived.

* * *

**The Next Day  
Kripke's Hollow, Iowa**

The Winchesters approached the ramshackle house with trepidation—the lawn was overgrown and unkept and an old motorcycle with a busted axel leaned against crooked, peeling porch railing. This was the place where the author lived. What would they find inside? Why were their lives someone's entertainment hour? And how did Chuck Shurley seem to know _everything_ about their life and times?

Dean led the way up the stairs and at the door, the three of them paused, trading apprehensive looks. Alex shifted the gun in her waistband so that it wasn't visible. Sam had the demon knife and nodded to Dean, who shrugged his eyebrows up. The sentiment was clear: Here goes _nothin'._ He pressed the doorbell and they waited.

The door creaked open to reveal a thirty-something man who squinted in the light of day—it wasn't early by any means, but he was still in slippers, boxers, a stained off-white tank top, and a ratty old robe. He looked disheveled and disgruntled, his wavy brown hair unstyled and poking up in weird places like he'd rolled out of bed that way.

"...You Chuck Shurley?" Dean asked doubtfully.

"The Chuck Shurley who wrote the _Supernatural_ books?" Sam quickly added.

" _Maybe_..." the man answered doubtfully, his eyes sliding across the three of them guardedly. "Why?"

Dean was quick and to the point. "I'm Dean. This is Sam. That's Alex." He paused for effect, even as Chuck quickly got weirded out. "The Dean, Sam and Alex you've been writing about."

Chuck made to close the door—but Alex reached out and smacked her palm into the front of it even as she kicked the toe of her shoe out, stopping him from shutting them out. He was startled by the action and she gave him a facetious little smile. " _Rude_."

"Look, uh... I appreciate your enthusiasm," he said with nervous darting eyes. "Really, I do. It's, uh, it's always nice to hear from the fans. But, uh, for your own good, I strongly suggest you get a life."

Again, he tried to shut the door, but Alex's foot was still in the way and Chuck looked mightily annoyed at it, too. "See, here's the thing," Dean said, drifting forward a little. "We _have_ a life. You've been using it to write your _books_." With a push on the door, Dean walked straight into the house, forcing Chuck to back up into the dim interior of the house.

"Now, wait a minute. Now, this isn't funny!" Chuck protested, getting freaked out as the Winchesters crowded him back into his disgustingly messy living room.

Dean had his most intimidating expression and tone out. "Damn straight it's not funny."

"Look, we just wanna know how you're doing it," Sam reasoned, more quiet and reasonable sounding than Dean even though he was on edge, too.

"I'm not doing anything!" Chuck protested.

"Are you a hunter?" Dean asked.

" _What_?" Chuck looked like he'd never heard anything more ridiculous. " _No_. I'm a writer."

"Then how do you know so much about demons?" Dean advanced on Chuck, whose face fell in fear—he backed up and fell down onto his couch as Dean continued demanding answers. "And Tulpas, and changelings?"

Cowering on the couch in just his underwear and a ratty tank top (his robe wasn't hanging around him as he laid there), the author looked pretty pathetic. "Is this some kind of 'Misery' thing?" He asked, paranoia coloring his features. "Ah, it is, isn't it? It's a 'Misery' thing! You're gonna make me rewrite everything then murder me!"

"Come on man, have some self-respect," Dean muttered at the sight of a grown man in his underwear close to blubbering. "Believe me, we're not fans!"

"Well, then, what do you want?!" Chuck demanded, refusing to move from his station on the couch.

Sam was getting pissy. "I'm Sam. And that's Dean. She's Alex."

Chuck only got more flabbergasted, looking at them like _they_ were the crazy ones. "I heard you the first time. Sam and Dean and Alex are fictional characters. I _made them up_! They're not real!"

The Winchesters looked at each other for a minute, frustrated. Alex shook her head and went over to Chuck, grabbing him and manhandling him up. "Get up, you look like an idiot."

Chuck looked at her in awe. "Whoa, you're pretty strong for a chick," he said, suddenly seeming to see her in new light and seeming fascinated. "You work out? Lift weights? Pilates?" Alex gave him a weird look.

"All right chuckles, enough," Dean said, grabbing Chuck by the arm. "Got something to show you."

Chuck protested vehemently, but Sam and Dean escorted him to the Impala, where Dean opened the trunk and began to show Chuck evidence of who they were.

Chuck stared down at the arsenal with wide eyes. "Are... those real guns?"

"Yup. This is real rock salt, these are real fake IDs." Dean showed him both things then let them fall back into the trunk and he crossed his arms as Alex picked up a couple things too and waved them at Chuck.

"Dad's journal," she said, then pulled out a dog-eared notebook that had been well-worn. "Some of my notebooks from when I couldn't talk."

Chuck was both impressed and flabbergasted. "Well, I, I gotta hand it to you guys. You really are my number one fans." He stared down at the guns again, his nervousness showing through. "That's, that's awesome, s-so..." he mumbled breathily, cleared his throat, and started backing up, jerking a thumb toward his house. "I-I think I've got some posters in the house, yeah, I… uh..." he began to scurry back up the way they'd come out.

"Chuck, _stop_!" Dean thundered, already following him.

Chuck turned and held his hands out in weak defense, panicking at the three Winchester's taller forms and imposing presences. "Please. _Wait._ Please, don't hurt me!"

Alex was exasperated. "We won't hurt you Chuck, so stop being such a little pansy." Clearly affronted by her words, Chuck went silent.

"How much do you know?" Sam asked intently. "Do you know about the angels? Or Lilith breaking the seals?"

The author's face showed confounded surprise. "Wait a minute. How do you know about that?" He asked.

"How do _you_?" Alex challenged.

Chuck paused, baffled. "B-because I wrote it?"

"You _kept_ writing?" Sam asked, his eyes narrowing.

The author's confusion was growing by leaps and bounds. "Yeah, even after the publisher went bankrupt, but those books _never came out_." Suddenly, Chuck grinned, laughed, crossed his arms and visibly relaxed. "Okay, wait a minute. This is some kind of joke, right? Did that—did Phil put you up to this?"

Dean, Sam, and Alex shared brief glances, then Dean cracked a cynical, tight smile. "Well, nice to meet you. I'm Dean Winchester, and this is my brother, Sam, our sister Alex."

Chuck's smile faded. "The last names were never in the books. I never told anybody about that. I never even wrote that down." He was overcome by shock. "You're real? The three of you are… are _real_?"

"In the flesh," Dean quipped humorlessly.

Chuck swallowed. "I… I need a drink."

* * *

Sam bracingly leaned down onto the kitchen chair back, staring at Chuck, who was gulping down a huge glass of whiskey, his back turned to the Winchesters. Dean was pacing slightly behind Sam, and Alex was further back in the room, frowning at the discovery of a shirt wadded up and shoved in between some books on a shelf. There was an old pizza crust near it that looked hard as a rock. The guy's house was packrat heaven.

Chuck turned around and groaned at the sight of the Winchesters in his living room kitchen area. "Ah! You're still there."

Dean nodded once. "Yup."

"You're not a hallucination."

Dean shook his head once. "Nope."

A silence stretched out as Chuck stared at them with a slackened jaw. "Well, there's only one explanation. Obviously... I'm a god."

Alex shot him a humored, thoughtful look. That was quite the leap.

Sam laughed softly. "You're not a god."

"How else do you explain it? I write things and then they come to life." He sighed gustily. "Yeah, no, I'm definitely a god," he said. His face twisted into confused self-loathing. "A cruel, _cruel,_ capricious god." He looked at them all in turn as if he were horrified at himself. "The things I put you through! The physical beatings alone..."

"Yeah, we're still in one piece," Dean muttered, obviously internally rolling his eyes at Chuck's dramatics.

"I made you mute, Alex!" He said, appealing to her with his gaze. "I put you through terrible things—loneliness, a crazy dad, a twin who abandoned you?! A brother-sister relationship with Dean that most readers thought was incestual?!"

Alex felt put on the spot as she and Dean exchanged a very odd look indeed. "Uh…"

Chuck was looking at Dean, then Sam. "I killed your father. I burned your mother alive. And then you had to go through the whole horrific deal again with Jessica..."

"Chuck…" Sam cut him off, but Chuck kept going.

"All for what? All for the sake of literary _symmetry_. I toyed with your lives, your emotions, for... _entertainment._ "

"You didn't toy with us, Chuck, okay?" Dean asked impatiently, moving forward a little bit. "You didn't _create_ us."

Alex was now beside Sam, and all three of the Winchesters watched as Chuck crossed his arms and stared at them in worried interest. "Did you really have to live through the bugs?" He asked.

"Don't remind me," Alex commented in a mutter.

"What about the _ghost ship_?"

"Yes, that too," Dean answered brusquely.

"I am... so sorry," Chuck apologized. "I mean, horror is one thing, but to be forced to live bad writing... if I would have known it was real, I would have done another pass, a few more drafts, maybe tried to—"

"Chuck, you're not a god!" Dean insisted a little loudly.

"We think you're probably just psychic," Sam explained, standing to his full height.

Chuck made a face. " _No_. If I were psychic, you think I'd be writing?" He made a pained face. "Writing is _hard_."

Sam and Dean exchanged a _yeah right_ glance.

"Well for whatever reason, your psychic mumbo jumbo is… focused on _our_ lives," Alex reasoned.

"Yeah, like laser-focused," Dean put in. "Are you working on anything right now?"

Realization came over Chuck's face. " _Ho-oooly crap_ ," he breathed.

"What?" Dean asked cautiously.

Chuck picked up a draft printout that was laying on the kitchen table next to his computer. "The, uh, latest book?" He paused, tried to be casual. "It's, uh, it's kind of weird."

"Weird how?" Sam asked.

Chuck stared at the page blankly and took too long to answer.

"Weird _how_ , Chuck," Alex asked in a louder, less patient voice than her twin had used.

Chuck winced. "It's very... Vonnegut?"

Dean studied Chuck intently. "'Slaughterhouse Five' Vonnegut or 'Cat's Cradle' Vonnegut?"

"What?" Sam asked in a startled, high-pitched voice—he was obviously shocked that Dean even know who Vonnegut was.

Dean looked at his brother defensively. " _What_?"

"It's, uh, 'Kilgore Trout' Vonnegut," Chuck said grimly. "I wrote myself into it. I wrote myself, at my house... confronted by my characters."

* * *

"Well, _that_ was interesting," Dean commented wryly as they sped away from Chuck's dilapidated house. Sam chuckled and said something back, but Alex wasn't paying attention. In the back seat with a hefty manuscript draft, she was busy skimming the text with increasing attentiveness. There was so much detail, and it described the past three days of their life perfectly… the way they had gotten zapped back to the motel, her apology to Cas, the burnt pancakes they had for breakfast, the long drive, the encounter in the comic book shop, the friendly spat Dean and Sam had gotten into over the music on the radio… how did Chuck know all of this?

Not even he knew how. Shaken up and unable to provide them with anymore solid answers, Chuck had sent them away with the newest manuscript he'd been working on, telling them that he had no idea how he knew everything he did about them. Only that he had 'visions' and wrote what he saw.

The Winchesters were headed to find a laundromat until they could come up with something, or figure out how exactly this Chuck guy was doing what he was doing. Alex flipped to a few pages further. This page took place earlier that morning, when they had been on the road to Chuck's house. Her eyes got big as she read further.

SUPERNATURAL, The Monster at the End of this Book (working title), Page 14.

_"Alex leaned tiredly against the window of the car, yet again letting her mind wander to a place she would never admit to anyone that it went. Castiel. Ever since she had apologized to him, she hadn't seen him. Not that she wanted to, she told herself. Even though she did. To Alex, Castiel was someone she was beginning to dare to trust. She wasn't sure if she would ever understand him very well, but after all he had done for her, she was beginning to think maybe he wasn't as bad as she'd originally thought. Maybe there was hope for him yet. And it didn't hurt that he was attractive, either... uncomfortable with the direction her thoughts were taking, Alex forced herself to sit up, trying to banish the thoughts from her mind."_

_What the hell?_ Alex glanced up from the draft, first at Dean, then at Sam, and stealthily took that page of the manuscript and cleared her throat, shoving the page into the pocket of her jacket. That was the last thing she needed—Dean and Sam knowing she found Castiel physically attractive.

Which, she _didn't_! Or at least, she didn't want to, and didn't think she _should_. He wasn't... a human. But human or not, she thought of the tousled wild hair, the eyes that could stare into her soul, the stern line of his mouth. The subtle ways his expressions shifted. The crinkles around his eyes when a smile crossed his face. The constant five o'clock shadow. The way her name sounded when he spoke it. The power and authority he wielded... _Oh my god_ , Alex thought miserably as she finally gave up on trying to convince herself out of it. _I'm the world's biggest idiot. Why couldn't I pick someone to like who I would actually have a chance with? I'm hopeless._

Dean pulled into the laundromat parking lot, the car bumping over the uneven pavement. A sudden, terrible thought came to Alex, and she hurriedly paged through the manuscript. The drive to Chuck's, the visit with Chuck—and there, staring back at her: " _Alex glanced up from the draft, first at Dean, then at Sam, and stealthily took that page of the manuscript and cleared her throat, shoving the page into the pocket of her jacket. That was the last thing she needed—Dean and Sam knowing she found Castiel physically attractive."_

Agape, Alex took that page too, shoving it into her pocket with the other page, mortified. How had Chuck done that?! The second Dean stopped the car, she hopped out anxiously, hugging the draft to herself. This was weird, weird, _weird_! And she didn't want anyone, especially not her brothers, to know about her love life. Or, her embarrassing _lack_ of one. Or her entirely unrealistic and irrational little crush. Alex thought in another moment she might have laughed at herself—a capable hunter who wasn't scared to face any kind of paranormal enemy, but turned into a dramatic thirteen-year-old girl when she thought her brothers might read her diary.

"The hell is wrong with you?" Dean asked as he got out of the car, giving her one of his suspicious, narrowed-eyed stares.

"Just, uh, really stoked to do laundry!" Alex said, realizing that she overdid it, not quite managing to sound normal.

"Yeah, whatever, lemme see that," he said, motioning for the manuscript. She handed him the manuscript right away, trying not to let her reluctance show through. "Weirdo," Dean muttered, and turned to go into the laundromat. Sam was grabbing all the bags out of the trunk, and Alex told herself to stop thinking, and just start helping with laundry.

Dean settled down onto one of the counters, intently paging through the manuscript. The twins began working on the laundry, dumping everything out and sorting it into piles. Alex glanced at Dean every few seconds nervously. She wasn't sure why she was so freaked out about it. Maybe because being teased about that would hurt too much. She wished, so badly, that she wasn't the way she was... that is, headed for spinster life. But past a certain age, she guessed it was hopeless. She was pretty much a freak, and needed to just accept it. Her lifestyle didn't exactly leave her much in the way of meeting men or having a relationship. Also, she wasn't a normal girl at all—what kind of man would go for the likes of _her_? No wonder she was getting so desperate as to be attracted to an angel. _No, stop thinking about him,_ she told herself, and glanced up at Dean again.

"I'm sitting in a laundromat, reading about myself sitting in a laundromat reading about myself. My head hurts," Dean complained.

"There's gotta be something this guy's not telling us, right?" Sam asked, gathering all of his darks into a huge pile.

"He's psychic," Alex said, throwing all the lights into one of the laundromat carts. "Has to be. Can you think of another explanation?"

"Well, no, but that doesn't mean there _isn't_ one," Sam said. He turned and tossed his darks into one of the machines.

Dean began to read from the manuscript. _"Sam tossed his gigantic darks into the machine. He was starting to have doubts about Chuck, about whether he was telling the whole truth. Alex glanced at Dean, scowling._ "

Alex's scowl dropped in surprise. " _Alex's scowl dropped in surprise_ ," Dean read, chuckling a little now.

"Stop it, Dean," Sam said.

" _'Stop it, Dean,' Sam said,_ " Dean read, thoroughly enjoying himself. "Guess what you do next, Sam." Sam turned around, his expression unpleasant.

"' _Sam turned his back on Dean, his face brooding and pensive.'_ I mean, I don't know how he's doing it, but this guy is doing it. I can't see your face, but those are definitely your 'brooding and pensive' shoulders."

Sam scoffed over his shoulder at Dean. "Ah, and now you just thought I'm being a dick," Dean said, reading from the manuscript again.

Sam turned around, reluctantly impressed. "The guy's good."

"Good? He's scary," Alex said. "He's inside our _heads_."

"' _He's inside our_ heads, _' Alex said with her trademark sarcastic flair."_ Dean all but giggled. "Trademark sarcastic flair, I like that, Al. _Sassy._ "

"Give me _that_ ," Alex said, grabbing the stack of paper from him and whacking him over the head. He threw up his hands in pitiful protest, still giggling.

* * *

**The Next Day  
Chuck's House**

"This was all so much easier before you were real," Chuck said, pacing in front of them. His house was still dark and messy, littered with papers and empty bottles, dirty laundry, old pizza boxes.

"We can take it; just spit it out," Dean said impatiently. "What does the new chapter you wrote say is gonna happen next?"

Chuck looked between all three of the Winchesters hesitantly. "It's Lilith. She's coming for Sam."

"What do you mean?" Dean demanded, stepping closer to Chuck, whose eyes widened slightly. He was clearly intimidated by Dean. "Coming to _kill_ him? When?"

"Tonight," Chuck said.

"Where?" Alex asked intently.

Chuck looked at her and nodded, muttered something, sat on his couch, and put on reading glasses. "Uh... let's see, uh… _'Lilith patted the bed seductively. Unable to deny his desire, Sam succumbed, and they sank into the throes of fiery demonic passion.'_ "

"Whoa," Alex said, and Dean's expression matched hers: total wide-eyed disbelief and disgust.

Sam, however, was laughing. "You're kidding me, right?"

"Why are you laughing?" Alex demanded, not seeing the humor in the situation.

"Why aren't _you_?" Sam asked, and then seeing Dean's disapproving glare, his smile faded a little. "I mean, come on. ' _Fiery demonic passion_?'"

"It's just a first draft," Chuck said defensively.

"Wait, wait, wait, wait," Dean said, suddenly thinking of something. "Lilith is a little girl."

 _Oh yeah._ All three Winchesters looked at Chuck, waiting for him to explain. "Oh, no, uh, this time she's a ' _comely dental hygienist from Bloomington, Indiana._ '"

"Well _that_ makes it all better," Alex said with her trademark sarcastic flair. "You need to give us some context, here, Chuck. What happens before the… _demonic passion_?"

"Well, I don't really… I only got the… fiery part… I mean, I can let you guys read it, but it's really random. Just, basically, what you guys do all day after you leave here."

"Great. Perfect," Dean said wryly. "So then what happens _after_ the fiery whatever?"

"I don't know, it hasn't come to me yet," Chuck said, shrugging shallowly.

"Geez, what good are you for?" Alex commented a little rudely.

But Chuck just looked at her, a little smile on his face, like he was fond of her. His eyes searched her face in an odd way. "You know, you're exactly how I imagined you. Even better, in fact."

Both of the brothers looked at Chuck strangely, and Dean grabbed Chuck by the shoulder, startling the writer. "Hey—keep the creepy flirty crap outta the equation. Got it?"

"Uh, yeah Dean," Chuck said, trying to act cool, but failing completely.

"Now, about this whole love scene between Sam and Lilith—" Dean started.

Sam didn't let him finish. "Dean, look, there's nothing to worry about. Lilith and me? In bed?"

Alex looked at him sidelong, saying what everyone else in the room was thinking. "What's so crazy about that?"

"The name _Ruby_ ring any bells, Sam?" Dean added, driving in the nail.

Sam's expression fell into something like chagrin or frustration and he looked down, saying nothing.

* * *

**A Few Hours Later**

"What color you want, honey?" the woman asked Alex, who looked up from her hands, which laid flat on the table.

"I don't know. Red. Whatever color people get," she said impatiently.

The woman tilted her head to the side, perplexed. "Lots of colors, honey. You pick one."

" _Red_ ," Alex repeated, quickly losing her patience. "Just paint my friggin' nails, lady!"

"Okay, okay," the lady said, looking offended, but quickly complying.

Alex didn't know how any woman could subject herself to this, but this is what Dean had ordered her to do. Sit in a nail shop. It seemed like one of the more ludicrous plans he'd ever had. After leaving Chuck's, Dean had immediately said they were leaving town. As luck would have it, the only way out of town, a bridge, was flooded. So, back to the drawing board, they had read the chapter Chuck had written, and Dean had the harebrained idea to do everything _opposite_ of what they usually did in an attempt to avoid what was supposed to happen with Lilith that night.

That was why he sent Alex off, alone, and told her to do everything she normally wouldn't have—"you know, girl stuff… go get your nails done, I don't know!" Because if she could have chosen what to do with her free time, she would have wanted to go to a gun range and target practice or read a book in bed or lift weights, maybe sharpen her knives, go hiking. She was pissed off that she was being subjected to this waste of time instead of doing something to prepare or stop Lilith's approach. Honestly, she thought she should have stayed with Sam. But Dean had insisted this was the only way to avoid the outcome they didn't want. To separate from each other.

"You want design on here?" the nail lady asked, and Alex opened her mouth to say no, then remembered what Dean had said. Do the opposite of what you normally would.

"Yeah," she said, and the lady handed her a menu of options. Alex looked at the options, searching for the one she hated the most.

* * *

Alex returned to the motel room at dusk and entered sullenly. Sam looked up as she entered, then his face scrunched up. "Whoa… you look… weird."

Alex just crossed her arms. "I got my _nails_ done. I got my _hair_ done. I went _window shopping_ at the mall, and then I let some old lady do a makeover on me. I'm exhausted, and I have literally done _nothing_."

"I mean, you look…"

"Ridiculous?" She asked, looking down at herself. She'd done her best to do everything opposite, outfit included. She was wearing a short jean skirt, knee-high black boots, a dark red top, and a pleather crop jacket over it. Her hair had been curled and glossed, her nails were shiny red with cherries on them. And the makeup—dark eyeshadow, dark liner. If this wasn't the opposite of what she'd normally do, nothing would be. She felt like a clown.

At that moment, Dean burst in, and headed straight for his bag. "Come on. We're getting outta here."

"What? Where?" Sam asked, standing in surprise.

"How? I thought the bridge—" Alex asked, and Dean suddenly noticed her appearance and did a double take.

"The hell are you wearing?" He asked, seeming to be totally startled by the very un-Alex outfit. "Never mind. We are leaving this motel, this town. I don't care if we gotta swim, we are getting out. I tried doing everything backwards, but it still happened, just like Chuck said." He looked around, confused. "Dude, where are all the hex bags?"

Alex followed his gaze, realizing she hadn't noticed their absence.

"I burned them," Sam said.

"You _what_?" Dean asked dangerously.

"Sam!" Alex exclaimed, stunned.

Her twin was attempting to explain, his expression earnest if not defensive. "Look, if Lilith is coming, which is a big 'if'—"

"No, no, no," Dean growled. "It's more than an 'if.' Chuck is not a psychic. He's a _prophet_."

"Wait, a what?" Alex asked, looking at Dean in complete confusion.

Dean let out a short, frustrated breath, impatient, shoving stuff into his bag. "Cas showed up, and apparently Chuck is writing the gospel of us."

At the mention of Castiel, Alex's stomach dropped a little. "Cas showed up?"

"Never mind that, let's get the hell out of here," Dean said, and headed back to his bags.

Sam shut his eyes and wet his lips. "No."

Getting agitated, Dean threw down his bag. "Sam, Lilith is gonna _slaughter_ you."

"Maybe she will, maybe she won't," Sam said evenly, trying to be calm and reasonable. "Only one way to find out, Dean, and I say bring her on."

"That does _not_ sound like a good idea, Sam…" Alex said, her voice full of caution.

"You both think I'll do it, don't you?" Sam asked dispiritedly. "You think I'll go dark side."

" _Yes_!" Dean barked out. "Okay? Yes. The way you've been acting lately? The _things_ you've been _doing_?"

Sam looked startled, and Dean nodded grimly. "Oh, I know. How you ripped Alastair apart like it was nothing. How you killed him without batting an eye." Sam looked at Alex, hurt and betrayed. She just stared back without remorse as Dean continued. She had nothing to be sorry about—she'd told Dean the truth. "I know that you've been using your psychic crap, and you've been getting stronger. We just don't know why, and we don't know how."

"It's not what you think," Sam said, fumbling for words.

"Then what is it, Sam? 'Cause I'm at a total loss. Come on Alex, _now_." Dean grabbed his bag roughly off the bed and headed for the door. He turned back to Sam and Alex. "Are you coming or not?"

Sam didn't move. "No."

Dean's jaw clenched, and he just stared at Sam unhappily for a couple beats, then threw his bag down and left, slamming the door behind him. The silence resounded for a couple seconds, and then Sam turned to look at Alex, his expression harsh. "Your favorite brother just left," Sam said. "Aren't you gonna follow him like you always do?"

Alex forced herself to ignore the jab. "Sam, just listen to reason," she said, receiving a soft, bitter laugh from him. Still, she forged ahead, trying to be gentle and reasonable. For his sake, not hers. "Confronting Lilith while knowing what Chuck said is going to happen—it's a bad idea. You _know_ that. Let's dodge this bullet. Let's go while we still can."

"I'm not running away, for once, Alex. I'm gonna face this. With or without you and Dean."

Alex wished she knew how to tell her brother how much she was worried, how scared she was for him. "It doesn't have to be you against the world, Sam," she said, coming closer to him, trying to get through to him. "Why can't we be on the same side?"

He shot her a dark look. "You're one to talk… I'm not the one who told Dean about Alastair."

Alex felt her expression sour. So, it was going to be like this. "No. You're not. And you _should_ have been. But I knew you weren't gonna tell him." She felt a bitter smile on her face. "In fact, you hoped I was too out of it to see what you did to Alastair. But I saw." She felt her smile fade. "I saw." Sam's expression was dark. Alex swallowed, suddenly feeling overwhelmed by sadness. She didn't have any ammo left and she had no idea how to get her brother to listen to reason or come with her. "Sam… can't we just back off this Lilith thing and figure out what's going on with you first? Please. I _want_ you to be _okay_."

"I _am_ okay," he replied acidly. His expression was unflinching. "And this time, I'm doing things my way. For once in my life, you and Dean can't do anything to stop me." His jaw was set. "The door's right there. Now _leave me alone_." He turned away, effectively ending the conversation.

Alex stared at his back, hurt, yeah, but mostly frustrated. She gave up, leaving the motel room and exiting into the chill of night. She looked to her left, where she could see Dean, his familiar silhouette lit by the blue glow of the soda machine… he was brushing past another figure angrily. Was that…?

Alex approached. It was. It was Castiel. "You must understand why I can't intercede," he was saying to Dean intently. "Prophets are very special. They're protected." Castiel looked at her in acknowledgement as she came to Dean's side. "Hello, Alex." He took in her appearance, and she could see that he was mildly perplexed by it.

She didn't give him time to comment. "What's going on?"

"Well our good buddy Cas here was just telling me why he can't interfere with the prophesy… or basically lift a damn finger to help us," Dean said angrily, staring down the angel wrathfully.

Alex shut her eyes for a couple seconds tiredly. Sounded familiar. "Okay. Well… what options does that leave us?"

"The hell if I know!" Dean exclaimed irately. "I'm about to go in there and knock Sam unconscious and tie him down if we don't come up with something." He huffed a heavy breath out, sounding tired. "Come on, halo over here is fresh outta helpfulness," Dean said, shooting Castiel a glare and grabbing Alex by the arm, about to turn her away with him.

But Castiel spoke before he could. "You should both know… if anything threatens a prophet... _anything at all_ … an archangel will appear to destroy that threat. Archangels are fierce. They're absolute." He lowered his chin, narrowed his eyes. "They're Heaven's most terrifying weapon."

Dean's head tilted slightly to the side. "And these archangels, they're tied to prophets?"

"Yes," Castiel confirmed.

"So if a prophet was in the same room as a demon..." Dean prompted.

There was an oddly sly, conspiratorial smile on Cas's face. "Then the most fearsome wrath of Heaven would rain down on that demon." The smile was still there. "Just so you understand... why I can't help." He looked at Dean and then Alex significantly. Alex felt a smile spreading over her face. Was Castiel being tricky and clever? He _was_ , and he knew it too.

Dean was nodding, also understanding. "Thanks, Cas."

"Good luck."

Castiel's gaze left Dean and met Alex's. If Dean had noticed, he might have been puzzled at the intense nature of it, the way they silently seemed to be saying something to each other. But he was already heading for the car. "Come on Alex." She turned to look at Dean, then back at Cas—but he was gone.

Disconcerted, she jogged to catch up with Dean. "But shouldn't I stay with Sam?"

"No. I don't want you alone with him," Dean said, and looked at her over the top of the car, sadly. "We'll be back in time to save him."

They swung into the car, and the engine roared to life. Dean tore out of the parking lot, and for a few minutes, the car was silent. Then, Alex turned slightly. "Dean, why did Cas help us like that?"

Dean didn't answer for a few seconds, and she could see that he was in deep thought. "Dunno. At first I thought he was… I dunno, a self-righteous asshole with wings." Dean chuckled, then grew pensive. "I owe the guy a whole hell of a lot. My life, your voice… this." Dean shifted his hand on the wheel, turned a shade more darkly thoughtful. "Maybe he wants something."

Alex glanced at him sidelong. In her experience, everyone had an ulterior motive. Still, she shook her head slowly. "I don't think so."

"Why not?" Dean asked, sending a cursory glance her way.

"He's a freakin' _angel,_ " Alex said. "What the hell could he want from us? Flannel shirts? Rock salt?" She gave a weak laugh. "I mean, what do we have that anyone in their right mind would want?"

Dean chuckled. "Good point."

Alex thought about how Anna had wanted to be a human to experience love. How Cas had said he was her friend, back at the hospital. She grew reflective, wondering about the motivations of angels. "Maybe he just wants friendship."

Dean made a face like he thought the idea was doubtful, but possible. "Interesting theory." He squealed to a halt on the sidewalk in front of Chuck's house. "We'll have to think about that later. Let's get this jackass and hightail it back to Sammy."

Dean hurried inside, Alex close behind. They found Chuck sprawled on his couch, wrapping up in a blanket and drinking. He sat up in surprise upon seeing them. "What are you doing here? I didn't write this. _Hey_!"

Dean was yanking him to his feet roughly. "Come on. I need you to come with us."

"What? Where?" Chuck protested.

"To the motel where Sam is," Alex said.

"But that's where Lilith is!" Chuck protested.

"Yeah, exactly," Dean said. "I need you to stop her."

"Are you _insane_?" Chuck demanded, yanking out of Dean's grip. "Lilith? I know what she's capable of, Dean! I wrote her!"

Impatiently, Dean seemed to realize he needed to stop and explain. "All right, listen to me. You have an archangel tethered to you, okay? All you got to do is show up and boom! Lilith gets smoked."

"But I-I haven't seen that yet. Th-the story—" Chuck fumbled.

Alex smacked him in the back of the head. " _Shut up_ , Chuck! Get yourself together!"

" _Ow._ " He cowered away, holding his head. "B-but... I'm just a writer, I… I can't do anything!"

Dean grabbed him again. "This isn't a _story_ anymore, man. This is real! And you're in it! Now, I need you to get off your ass and fight."

Chuck drew in a deep breath, and for a second looked like he was bracing himself to do just that. And then he shook his head. "No friggin' way."

Dean sighed, blinking a few times. "Okay, well, then, how about this—I've got a _gun_ in my pocket, and if you don't come with me, I'll blow your brains out."

Chuck looked at Dean, slack jawed. "I thought you said I was protected by an archangel," he said timidly.

"Well, interesting exercise," Dean said, his voice lower. He had stepped a little closer to Chuck, who shrank back. "Let's see who the quicker draw is."

"You guys wouldn't _shoot me_ …" Chuck said, trying to call a bluff.

At this point, Alex grabbed a fistful of his shirt and shoved him back a couple steps. "Chuck. Enough with the bullshit." He stared at her in a mix of awe and fear. "You _know_ how Dean and I feel about Sam. We may fight each other ninety percent of the time, but I don't care about cutting you up a little to get you to do what I want… which is for you to _help save my brother_." She showed him the knife she had pulled out of her belt loop and his eyes widened. "Now, _move_." She let him go with a shove, and put the knife back in its sheath.

"Okay, yeah, okay." He was smiling now, a breathy laugh escaping his mouth. "Wow, that was kinda hot."

"Shut _up_ ," Dean said, smacking him in the back of the head.

Chuck cowered slightly, grabbing his head with both hands. "Ow! Would you guys stop doing that?!"

The unlikely three got into the Impala and Dean raced them back toward Sammy. Just as they entered the tiny downtown area, the engine puttered and choked. "Dammit!" Dean shouted, hitting the steering wheel in frustration. "Out of gas. I knew I was forgetting something!" Luckily they were close to a gas station, and Dean coasted in, making it to the pump on gas fumes. He jumped out of the Impala and pointed a threatening finger at Chuck, who sat in the back seat with Alex. "Don't go _anywhere_."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Chuck said, smiling nervously then seeming to think better of it. He grimaced at himself and looked at his lap.

Alex looked at him out of the corner of her eye, then cleared her throat, spoke furtively. "So. _Chuck._ The way you were writing some of the last chapter was like… um, well, it made me think of a lead up to romance."

At that comment, the author smiled coyly, looked at her sidelong. "Read a lot of romance novels, huh?" He asked, laughing nervously, then becoming quiet. "That was a rhetorical question. I know you read them."

Alex gave him a surprised look which quickly became an evil eye. "Don't tell."

"Uh, well, it's mentioned in the books," Chuck said, flinching a little in anticipation of her reaction.

"Dammit Chuck..." Alex muttered, bringing her face into her palm. Her brothers knew, of course, but… she didn't want anyone _else_ to know about her sappier side.

"I'm sorry," Chuck apologized, leaning away a little, as if anticipating an attack. "Please don't cut me."

"Come on dude," Alex said, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms while letting out a huff. "I wouldn't cut you." She paused. _Well_. "Unless I absolutely had to."

"That's… that's comforting," Chuck said. He frowned in thought, growing pensive. "To, uh, answer your question, no, I haven't seen anything about you and Castiel. But, I do know that he likes you. More than anyone else, I think. That has to count for something, right?" That made her stomach jump and heart squeeze. Alex looked at him sidelong again. "And you… you like him, too, don't you," Chuck supposed knowingly. Alex withered underneath his gaze. "Only, you're trying to run from what you feel. Because you don't know where it would lead."

She looked at him sharply, getting defensive and loud because of how right he was. " _Nowhere_. It would lead _nowhere._ "

Chuck had a soft smile. His eyes twinkled. "I'm not so sure about that."

Alex fell silent, but her heart was beating fast. It was a fantasy, and she knew it. It was just because Castiel was one of the only men besides her father or brothers or Bobby who had said more than ten things to her. It was only because he had showed her a kindness by healing her voice. It was only because he was handsome and interesting and had eyes that carried the same heaviness that she recognized in herself. It was only because she was confused and sometimes he looked at her like he was interested in her but she was a clueless relationship virgin (and otherwise-virgin too) and any look from a man not related to her seemed to mean something it probably didn't.

Dean yanked the driver's door open and slid back into his seat, slamming the door behind him. He startled her out of her thoughts.

"Okay, let's go cut this fiery demonic passion short," he said, and they burned rubber out of there.

* * *

**Later That Night**

They rode away from the Red Motel under the cover of night, Sam in the back seat, Alex in the front, Dean driving. "So lemme get this straight, you didn't think _once_ about taking it?" Dean asked incredulously.

"You kidding me? Dude, you spent all day trying to talk me off the Lilith track," Sam said.

"I'm just saying… a deal to call off the whole thing… angels, seals, Lucifer rising, the whole nine?" Dean glanced at Sam in the rearview.

"Doesn't sound legit," Alex muttered. She heard Sam shift a little in the back seat.

"Yeah. And even if it were she would have found some way to weasel out of it. And all it would have cost us was our lives. Anyway, that's not the point."

"What's the point?" Dean asked.

"The point is, she's scared," Sam said. "I could see it. Lilith is running."

"What would hell's most terrifying bitch be running from?" Alex asked, completely disbelieving. "The archangel we brought over for a visit?"

"No. Something else. But she was telling the truth about one thing."

"Which was?" Alex prompted.

"She's not gonna survive the apocalypse. I'll make sure of that."

" _We'll_ make sure of it," Dean corrected. "Together."

"Yeah, that's what I meant," Sam said, and grew quiet.

Dean cleared his throat and cranked up the volume on the radio, covering over the silence. It was a familiar, upbeat classic rock song with a yowling guitar rift to die for.

" _I've got a tombstone hand and a graveyard mind, I'm just twenty-two and I don't mind dying. Who do you love? Who do you love. I said-a who do you lo-oooove?"_

Dean piped up, sang along suddenly, getting into it, trying to make the mood in the car light after everything they'd been through that day. "Who do you loooove?"

"Stop before you break the windows," Alex joked, making a face.

"You love when I sing," he teased.

"I love when you _stop_ singing."

In the back seat and unnoticed by his siblings, Sam sank down a little in his seat, shame rolling over him like the incoming tide. If they only knew the things he was doing in the dark these days… Dean wouldn't say that he wanted to do anything together. And Alex would never give him a second chance ever again.

Oblivious, in the front seat, Alex smiled a little in Dean's direction and grabbed her book from the floor of the car. She flipped open _Wendigo_ , starting where she'd left off, reading in the dim light of passing street lamps.

_Dean looked back over his shoulder, checking to see that his little sister was still there—in the back of his mind, he always feared he'd look and Alex would be gone without a sound. He could never forgive himself if that happened. But she was there, in her worn out jacket and with the predictable messy hair, her expression leveled in attentive focus. Unlike almost everyone else there, she was not freaking out, not getting crazy, not drowning in fear. She just looked ready and determined. He almost smiled to himself out of how proud he was of his kid sister. She had something that could potentially hold her back in life—but it hadn't. That's just who she was. Strong despite having what others would label a weakness. Resourceful, clever, and always doing her best, never complaining. She carried a lot of sadness with her, but faced every day just like he did: ready to kick ass._

Alex looked up from the pages, a little smile on her face. She glanced at Dean sidelong, smiling. He caught her glance. "What?"

"It's just a pretty good book," she said, smiling to herself. She glanced at Sam in the rearview. He looked distracted, off in another world, troubled. Her smile faded, and she remembered the harsh words traded earlier. She wondered how many more wounds their relationship could sustain before shattering completely. She wondered how someone who she had once been so close to could be so far away. Lately, the moments where they were _okay_ , where they weren't at odds were less and less. Once again troubled, Alex put the book down, lost in the dark places of her mind.


	16. The Becoming

_"But what of the wretched hollow? The endless in between?"  
_ \- Imogen Heap

* * *

**A Week Later**

Alex stared stonily into the flames where the body of her half-brother Adam burned.

She'd only learned of his existence a few days ago.

Just when she thought nothing else could ever surprise her ever again... life had been turned upside down once more. Alex thought she should probably be sad that she never got a chance to meet the _real_ Adam—sad that she hadn't known of his existence until a few days ago—sad that he died a slow and painful death at the hands of vengeful ghouls… but her dominant emotion was was a sense of pained confusion. And extremely disoriented wooziness. But that probably had something to do with the alcohol.

She turned away from her brothers and loped off into the woods, her flask clutched tightly. Her brothers watched her go and exchanged a glance then turned back to the fire, giving her space. It was a good thing too. Sam and Dean would have taken the flask from her right then and there if they knew what was inside. A few years ago they had banned her from drinking absinthe entirely... it made her turn a little psycho... but she still snuck some at times. And today, of all days, she needed it.

 _Adam… did Dad name you? Is his name similar to mine on purpose? Starts with A, four letters…_ Alex mourned for someone she didn't even know. Her breath made little puffs in the winter air as her boots crunched against the frosty ground. She was at the point where she was all out of anger and instead full of pained questions that she didn't want to have to ask. She thought she knew Dad. She thought she _knew_ him. How could he have another kid out there they had never known about? Why would he never tell them about Adam? Why'd they have to find out like _this_?

The thought of John Winchester soured Alex's mood and she bitterly swigged down more burning absinthe to numb the feelings. She stumbled a little, toe catching on a tree root. _Maybe I shouldn't be standing right now._ Plunking down unevenly to lean against a large tree trunk, she worked on nursing the booze. It burned like a bitch, but was doing the job of medicating her, numbing her, making everything seem funny and ridiculous instead of painful and raw. Soon she'd be totally plastered. She sighed really loudly and shut her eyes, turning the flask up. She was beginning to feel good and loopy, like nothing mattered. Also, the world was spinning.

Alex took another huge gulp and when she opened her eyes she almost choked—standing in front of her was Cas. Startled, she dropped the flask, the contents clumsily sloshing around. She grabbed it up and hugged it to herself, frowning up at Cas. He was difficult to see in the dim light but the mere sight of him made her feel odd, and she got mad about it. "What're _you_ doing here?"

He stepped a little closer, and she could see his face a little better in the light from the fire that was twenty feet off. He was looking down at her intently... was that concern on his features, or judgement? "I sensed your sorrow from Heaven," he said, his deep voice steady. "I thought I should see if you were…" he looked at the container she was clinging to—his expression wavered a little. "All right."

She giggled throatily—he was cute, wasn't he—she tilted the flask toward him, as if in salute. " _Good_ for you, _Cas_ ," she said, saying his name slowly and deeply. It sounded so hilarious to her, and she was giggling again before she got peevish again. "Now... unless you've got vodka or tequila with you, go _away_."

"I... have neither," he stated, his eyebrows furrowing slightly.

"Then get lost… I have _things_ to _do_ ," she said.

Cas crouched down in front of her, searching her face sternly and she was a little caught of guard by his closeness and how deep his eyes looked, how vast the brilliant blue spheres looked in the darkness. "Things to do?" He asked her. "Such as sitting here in the dark and consuming potentially lethal amounts of alcohol?"

She canted her head sideways, momentarily intrigued. "Was that you being _funny_?" She pointed a finger at him then shook it like she was chiding him. Her face was flushed with drunkenness. "I _like_ you, angel man," she slurred, then accidentally hit herself in the teeth with the metallic rim of the flask. "Ouch, _son of a bitch_ ," she mumbled, clapping a hand to her lower face with a grimace.

Cas tilted his head slightly, not understanding, but obviously trying to. "Why are you doing this, Alex?"

"Doing _what_?" She asked, her good humor slipping. Something about his tone didn't sit well with her. Feeling like she was being judged, Alex glared. "I can _do_ what I _want_ , " she said acidly, no longer in a good mood—at all. Getting angry that she wasn't blasted enough yet to be at the point of not caring, she crossed her arms over her chest and the contents of the flask sloshed. "You wouldn't _get_ what I'm going through. Why this hurts so frickin' bad." She snorted. "And I _doubt_ you'd wanna know, either…"

Cas contemplated her quietly. Then with the most gentle tone she'd ever heard him use, he shook his head no shallowly. "I _do_ want to know."

Whatever she'd expected from him... it hadn't been that. Struck in a way that left her blinking back surprised, touched tears, Alex shook her head shallowly a bunch of times, trying to hold back the floodgate of emotion. But it still came out in a pained whisper. "Why'd he do it, Cas? Why? Why'd he take Adam to baseball games, and teach him to _drive_ and visit for his birthday?" She stared off unseeingly into Castiel's right shoulder, breathing heavily through her nose, glazing over. "He forgot mine and Sam's birthday all the time and left me _behind_ on half the _hunts_ and made us do stupid training drills _aaaaallllll_ day..." she chuckled darkly, a sound that was blurred by the alcohol. "You wanna know my favorite part? He _refused_ to learn sign language, said _I_ didn't _need_ to, said he was gonna find a way to _fix_ me, oh, and that _he_ didn't have the _time_ , blah, blah, blah… ah, bastard. That son of a bitch." She was laughing now. "Makes sense now huh—he had a _normal_ son _Adan_ he rathered spend time with…" she made a face, hearing herself beginning to lose her grasp of the english language. "He didn't want the world to know about his _freak_ kid Alex who couldn't _talk_ or his son Dean who was never good enough, or Sam who hated the _family business_." She got quiet, stared a minute, then looked at Cas sullenly.

He shocked her when he put a tentative hand onto her arm, just above her wrist. The touch was hesitant and uncertain and for a minute, behind the haze of drunkenness, Alex felt shocked. _What is he doing?_ For a minute, she was scared and confused for reasons she didn't know. Then she yanked her hand away from his at to herself, looking at him mistrustfully, trying to figure out what his motive was. "You need to stop asking me all these _questions_ ," she said really loudly, trying to defend herself against how he was making her feel. Then she frowned to herself, not sure if she remembered him asking anything at all. Cas seemed chastened when she pulled her hand away, slightly rueful, like he had done the wrong thing and felt... embarrassed? Getting agitated again—with everything, herself, him, the warm feeling crawling all over her skin, Alex jerked back, standing up and almost falling sideways. Cas stood too, clearly ready to catch her if she fell over. "Well, _screw_ my dad, and _screw_ this, and _screw—_ uh, screw the… um, uh the…" she forgot what she was going to say and swore in aggravation, went to take another swig of the alcohol... but Castiel silently took the flask from her.

"Hey! Give me that!" she shouted, and tried grabbing it, only to pitch forward unsteadily. Dropping the flask unceremoniously, Cas caught her, bracing her with strong hands, and she stared into his eyes, startled. His serious, apprehensive face was only inches from hers. She looked at his lips and her stomach flopped, a strange sensation pitted in the bottom of it. She looked up at his eyes, thought she imagined it maybe, but saw his eyes flicker upward, like he'd been looking at her lips, too. His eyebrows were pressed together closely, turning upwards in a strange expression. She swallowed deeply, began to breathe heavily, getting really annoyed with Castiel, or maybe it was with herself. "Stop _doing that_ ," she growled and tried pushing him, but he wouldn't budge.

"Doing _what_?" he asked, sounding slightly frustrated with her.

"The…" she stared into his eyes dumbly, forgetting words—so, _so_ blue. Was that even possible for them to be so blue? He was waiting for her to reply and she got flustered. "Uh," she blinked a couple times. "I don't… know?" she answered honestly. She couldn't remember what she meant or what she was mad about, and the world was beginning to turn all kinds of strange angles and directions and her stomach was beginning to feel queasy. _I overdid it._ She couldn't quite manage to keep her head in one place, and felt like she might float apart into a bunch of pieces. She moaned in annoyance and flopped her head forward, knocking it against Cas's chest. With her wrists each gripped tightly by his hands, she was hopelessly stuck.

"Hey, what's going on?" Dean's gruff voice came, along with the sound of his boots against leaves. He stopped short, seeing Alex in Castiel's grip. "Cas? What're you doing?"

"Yes. Hello Dean. Sam." Castiel was distracted and seemed mildly exasperated as Sam came up behind Dean. He looked down at the back of Alex's head in something like chagrin. "Your sister is very intoxicated."

" _No_ inn _not_ ," Alex insisted matter-of-factly, her head shooting up. She swayed a little in Cas's grip.

"Geez," Sam commented, and the brothers looked at each other in a mixture of annoyance and exasperation. "Sorry Cas, she's a sloppy drunk," Sam said apologetically, grabbing the forgotten flask up from where it had fallen and sniffing it, then immediately grimacing. " _Uh_ —absinthe."

Dean threw his hands up. "What the hell, Alex?" he demanded. "You know how that crap makes you!" Dean was aghast and chagrined. "I turn my back on you for two seconds and… look at you—you're completely shitface _hammered_!"

"No- _ooo_ I'm no- _ooot_ —!" Alex shouted in a weird cadence defensively. The alcohol had fully hit, and she was raging drunk at this point.

" _Sure_ you're not," Dean said flatly, grabbing her from Cas by both arms.

She was further agitated by that and squirmed. "Lemme go!"

"Come on, Al, don't be like that," Dean tried, but she had pretty much lost any clarity she had.

"Make me, ugly!" she yelled, receiving an annoyed eye roll from Dean. Absinthe turned her into a raving lunatic.

"Ahh geez. It's been awhile since you've been this trashed," he commented wryly as her hand found its way into his face—she was trying to push him away ineffectively and Dean had to lean away before she poked his eye out or accidentally stuck a finger up his nose in her clumsy attempt. "Hey—uff—watch it!" he protested, struggling to subdue her.

"Get off me, because, I'm gonna kill you _all_ ," she declared, squirming without stopping. " _Kiiiiiiill you all!_ "

Castiel's expression went dark. "Alex, you know I can't allow you to do that."

"Oh my _god_ ," Sam was laughing now, maybe because that was all there was left to do. "Don't worry Cas," he said evenly, amusement playing on his features. "Anything she says right now… just don't take it seriously."

"I'll do it, I will!" Alex was losing it, and fast. "And you'll be sorry, sorry, srrrry…" she suddenly stopped and made a strange face. "I'm gonna be sick, _uuugh_..." Dean let her go and she stumbled a few steps and then fell forward, collapsing into a heap where she moaned in discomfort but did _not_ throw up as she'd said.

"Should we… help her somehow?" Cas asked as he looked down at her with a face screwed up in confusion and worry.

" _How_?" Dean asked, staring at his sister in almost embarrassment. "It's a waiting game at this point."

On the ground, Alex was trying to stand up, but rolled over onto her side, mumbling incoherently, then asking, " _where are we_?"

Dean covered half his face with a hand and shut his eyes, heaving a deep breath.

"This would be funny if it wasn't so pathetic," Sam said, looking at Dean for agreement. Dean just made a face.

Alex was groaning loudly, mumbling. "I wanna drive the empanda, no one ever lets me drive the implalana… ah…?"

Dean got an idea and turned to Castiel. "Cas buddy, I think I know how you can help."

That got the angel's attention. "How?" Cas asked, his frown deepening intently, like he was anxious to do so.

"Lay your hands on," Dean said. "Send her to la la land."

Cas didn't understand the reference. "Send her… _where_?"

"Cas, just lay her out!" Dean said, getting impatient. "Do your angel mumbo jumbo and put her to sleep so I don't have to put up with this crap! Cuz trust me, it'll go on all night."

"I'm not sure—" Cas started.

Dean was hauling Alex to her feet. "Lemme go lemme _go_ , I'm dot nrunk," Alex slurred, pitching wildly in Dean's arms. Again, she tried to put her hands in his face.

" _Mffbhhhh_!" Dean leaned his head back and manhandled his sister in his arms, trying to get her away from his face, turning her outward to face Cas. " _Anytime_ now, Cas! Just do it!" Castiel hesitated, then complied and touched two fingers to her forehead. She went slack in Dean's arms.

" _Thank_ you," Dean said, very relieved, to which Cas just gave him a grudging look.

"We'll hear about this in the morning," Sam said, sounding like he was already dreading it.

" _If_ she can remember a damn thing," Dean pointed out.

"... _True_ ," Sam said, seeming to be encouraged by the idea.

Heaving a huge sigh, Dean nodded toward the Impala, which was parked back near the fire that was now dying down. "Help me shove her in the back seat."

Dean hooked his arms under Alex's armpits and Sam got her feet. "Hey, Cas—" Dean turned to his left, where Castiel had been, but saw that the angel was gone. He looked around and saw him nowhere, frowned. "What the hell, man? Where'd he go?"

"Who knows," Sam said as they started toward the car.

" _Great_ ," Dean muttered sarcastically.

"You know, last time she got this wasted was when you died, Dean," Sam said, walking backwards and watching over his shoulder as they carried Alex's unconscious form.

"Yeah, well, I get why she's upset," Dean said. "But, I mean, really? _Absinthe_? I thought we all agreed she never needed to drink that crap again." He shook his head, aggravated. "That's just what I needed to end today with… Alex making this whole thing about herself."

They reached the car, Sam balancing Alex's feet awkwardly on his knee with one hand as he pried the car door open. He threw her legs onto the seat. "I don't think that's fair, Dean. I mean, we're all pretty upset about Adam, Dad… the whole nine."

Dean shoved the rest of her awkwardly into the back as Sam helped. "My point exactly. Why does _she_ get to freak out about it on such a spectacularly insane level?"

They stood back. "Because, I dunno. Like you said to me earlier… I'm a lot like Dad, which is why we butted heads so much. You wanted to be like Dad, and Alex… she went back and forth, but mostly set herself up for disappointment with Dad. And he knew it." Sam looked pensive. "He knew how he let her down, how much he broke her heart. And he just held her further away for it so he didn't have to try." Sam had Dean's attention. "So this, about Adam, Dad's secret life… I know it's eating at her. Maybe more than it is us."

Dean looked mildly chastened and quickly covered it up with an impatient nod. "Yeah, well. Me too, Sammy." Dean held out his hand and made a 'give it here' motion. "Now gimme that flask."

Sam looked at Dean with mild suspicion. "To dump it out, right?"

Dean gave him a wan, deadpan look. "Don't be an idiot," he said, then when Sam gave him a look, he threw his hands up in the air. " _Yes_ , to dump it out!"

Sam handed it over and Dean turned it upside down, the green liquid pouring out onto the cold ground. Sam turned around to look down at his twin sister, who looked kind of like a rag doll, the way she had been haphazardly shoved into the back seat. Her dark hair was strewn across her face, some of it stuck in her half-open mouth.

Sam leaned down a little and brushed Alex's crazy, tangled hair back from her face, smiling down at her with fondness. Despite everything that had happened the past year, that was his twin sister Alex and there was no one else in the world who could replace her. Nothing could change the fact that he loved her, would die for her. Hell, he felt the same about Dean.

The past few days with Adam had been particularly hard on his brother and sister. Unlike Dean and Alex, Sam had never idolized Dad like that. He'd never invested all his hopes and dreams in the man or even really respected him that much. Maybe that's why he wasn't shocked to discover that Dad had been less than a saint. He didn't feel as torn up inside as Alex and Dean obviously did, he didn't feel blindsided or betrayed like they did. He closed the door of the Impala firmly then shoved his hands into his pockets and walked around the car to the passenger side. He only wished he knew how to tell his brother and sister about the demon blood. Even if he knew _how_ to tell them, he was reminded that they would never understand or accept it. That was too much to hope for. And there were darker things too, inside. Things he would never tell anyone.

He checked his phone furtively before getting into the car. No missed calls, no texts. He was beginning to feel desperate. He _needed_ more demon blood and he knew it. Knew it, and _hated_ it. He was starting to feel sick and shaky, short-tempered and unfocused. Where _the hell_ was Ruby and why wouldn't she answer his calls?

* * *

Alex woke up and the instant her eyes cracked opened, she squeezed them shut again, groaning miserably. She was laid out on a bed in what she assumed was a motel room. Even though the room was dark and it was clearly still nighttime, the light coming from the bathroom was blinding. Her head was killing her. Her stomach was churning with nausea. Her mouth was dry, her vision was weird. She opened her eyes again slowly, sore all over and feeling intoxicated still. Dizzy. Gross. She looked down, peering at her feet. Her shoes were still on and everything. She tried to remember what happened last night—or was it tonight, still? Must still be tonight. She groggily swung her legs over the side of the bed and with some effort, got up and shuffled toward the light of the motel bathroom, her stomach pitching, threatening to empty itself any second. Sam stood there, clutching the sink rigidly with both hands, his head down like he was fighting sickness. She momentarily forgot herself and her illness ebbed away into concern.

"Sam? You okay?" Alex asked, and he shot up, turned around, his expression strange and startled. He looked sleep-deprived and wan, a little sallow. Was he ill?

Her twin attempted a smile to cover up his ill appearance and the slight scare she'd given him. "Yeah, yeah, just, uh, feeling kinda sick I guess. Headache. Stomach. No big deal." He looked at her with a studious frown. "What are you doing up, anyway? It's like three in the morning. I thought you'd be passed out for a couple weeks at least."

Alex tried to chuckle at Sam's little joke but grunted with a wince instead. "How much did I _drink_?"

Sam's face softened with a crooked smile as he chuckled. "I don't know if it was _how much_ or if it was _what_ you drank."

Alex folded her hands over her stomach, queasy. Absinthe… the thorn in her side. "Never again," she vowed flatly.

"Do you remember anything?" Sam asked. There was the slightest little smile on his face.

Alex's eyes went off to the side and she thought hard, squinting again her pounding headache. She came up with nothing and shook her head. "That would be a negative."

Sam was hiding amusement. "Not even Cas holding your drunk ass up?"

Alex's eyes went wide. " _What?"_

Sam chuckled and teased her, his amused expression making Alex feel like she'd done some really embarrassing stuff. "Oh yeah," he said, enjoying the good-natured ribbing. "It was pretty great. He didn't know what to make of you like that."

Alex groaned and shut her eyes in mortification, put her face in her hand. " _Sam_ —"

"Don't shoot the messenger," he told her with mild playfulness.

She gave him an unamused, sullen look. Hadn't she made an idiot of herself in front of Cas enough? She could only imagine what she'd done or said and was humiliated… even though she guessed if he'd watched over her as her guardian angel or whatever he'd seen her shitfaced before. But still.

Back in the dark motel room, bedsprings squeaked as Dean suddenly rolled over and sat up. "Hey, Thing One, Thing Two," he said, his voice scratchy from just waking up. "Cas just came for a visit. We gotta go." He flicked on the bedside table lamp and Alex squinted in response, held a hand up in front of her face.

"Wait, what? Cas came for a—what are you talking about?" Sam asked, watching as Dean grabbed up his keys from the bedside table.

"I dunno, man, all I know's he shows up in one of my dreams and said it was important and to hurry," Dean replied, shoving his feet into his shoes. "He wouldn't say what, just gave me an address. It's not far."

Alex was pitiful. "I'm still drunk and my head hurts."

Dean looked at her like he was ruefully thinking _told you so_. "Not my fault now is it, princess?" He asked, shrugging on his jacket and giving her a pointed look. "We'll get some aspirin into you and you'll be good as new. Now, come on." He paused, frowned. "I think Cas might be in trouble."

* * *

Underneath flickering lights in an old manufacturing plant, the Winchesters swept the darkness ahead with flashlights. The only sound was of buzzing, dying lights and the hunters' echoing footsteps. "You sure this is the place?" Sam asked, his voice a hushed whisper. Alex turned her head over her shoulder to briefly look behind them into the tunneling darkness.

Dean sounded terse. "Yeah. I'm sure."

"So where's Cas?" Sam asked, asking what they all wanted to know. Alex shined her flashlight to the side of the dim hallway they were following. A huge portion of the wall had crumbled away, like something big had hit it. Her stomach clenched with a strange feeling of dread. She vaguely remembered his face, lit softly by the glow of firelight as he crouched in front of her earlier that night. Hadn't he touched her arm? She thought he had.

"Here," Dean said, turning and leading them up a set of metal stairs, into more darkness. As they came to the a large, open area of the plant, all three of them were taken aback at what they found. "What the hell?" Dean muttered, throwing the beam of his flashlight across total wreckage—metal scaffolding had been torn asunder and was piled up like ribbons—torn electrical wires overhead and within snapped and popped, showering sparks down over the destruction at an uneven cadence.

"It looks like a _bomb_ went off," Sam commented softly as they stole into the foreboding space and continued to look around, flashlights held high.

Obviously there had been some kind of knock-down drag-out fight here between really powerful beings but it was silent now and ominously so. Alex's heart and blood pressure were both elevating. Where was Cas? Had he done this? Or had it been done _to_ him? Could angels be hurt or killed by each other? She was pretty sure the answer to that was yes. There was a small explosion as another wire burst and fizzled somewhere close to Alex. She jumped away with a hand against her ear, startled by the abruptly loud sound. She steadied herself and skirted the edge of the twisted metal pileup, trying to see anyone or anything in it or near it. Her head was still killing and she was nauseated as fuck.

Dean noticed something as he continued to sweep the darkness with his flashlight. "Check it out," he said, drifting toward a far concrete wall. On it, drawn in bright red blood that was still shining and wet: an angelic symbol like the one Anna had made to send Cas and Uriel away. "Look familiar?" he asked grimly.

Sam was behind him and came to his side, frowning deeply while Alex gave it a cursory glance from where she was. "So, what's that mean?" Sam asked. "Cas was fighting other _angels_?" He turned and looked around the wreckage again. "That doesn't make sense."

Alex's flashlight caught a glimpse of something that looked like beige clothing and her heart jumped in shocked recognition. "Guys!" She called her brothers, even as she stumbled over a twisted beam, ducked underneath another, then crouched down over Cas—he was laying on his back and a small metal pipe laid across his body. He looked unconscious, which was terrifying. Did angels even _go_ unconscious? Alex didn't know. She was yanking the metal pipe off of him and smacking him lightly on the side of the face a couple times. "Cas?" She asked. No response. She heard her brothers coming up behind her. "Cas!" She smacked a little harder—and then Castiel's eyes flew open in an expression of sheer panic and he bolted upright to shove her away as if he didn't know her—startled, Alex fell back into Sam's legs and her twin reacted fast, caught her underneath the arms to keep her from falling back completely.

Cas recoiled—he'd backpedaled away from Alex and was half-laying half-sitting, looking at the three of them in shock. He seemed disoriented. "What's, what's going on?" He asked in a breathless, high voice. Overhead, more wires suddenly sent a snap of sparks raining down and in a strangely alien way Cas cringed and jumped as if he were scared. Alex, standing as Sam hauled her up, stared through wide eyes. What was _wrong_ with him? He was sitting up and clutching at his chest, looking around in dismay and he didn't look anything like himself. "No, _no_ …" he moaned, eyes huge and terrified, darting around as if in paranoia. Dean offered him a hand and Cas refused, standing up clumsily and backing away from them.

"Cas, you okay?" Sam asked urgently, and all three of the Winchesters stared as the angel all but panted, obviously in severe distress.

"Castiel," he said, his voice high and hollow as he looked down at himself in sheer disbelief. "I'm not Castiel." He looked at them again, face slack. "It's me."

There was a stunned silence at his unexpected assertion. "Who's _'me_ '?" Sam asked in a loud voice.

"Jimmy," he answered tightly, and when he said that, he seemed to calm a little. He swallowed and then spoke in a more even voice, as if the name gave him confidence. "My name's Jimmy. Jimmy Novak. I'm… I'm from Illinois. I have a wife, a daughter. I'm not who you're looking for."

It was like being hit with a ton of bricks. _This was the man Castiel had been possessing._ Jimmy. Alex could find no words at all.

"Well w-where the hell's Castiel?" Dean asked suspiciously.

Jimmy shook his head. "He's gone."

"Gone _where_?" Alex asked.

Jimmy shut his mouth and looked at her with a grim expression. "I dunno. Just gone _._ "

"Okay… 'Jimmy.'" Dean paused. "Do you know who _we_ are?"

The man who looked like Castiel but otherwise was obviously nothing like him at all nodded, his face expressive and drawn. "Yeah. Dean, Sam, Alex. I know who all of you are and—" he suddenly swayed sideways, almost falling down—Sam reacted fast and helped him stand. Jimmy grimaced, a hand against his stomach—which suddenly gave one of the loudest growls Alex had ever heard. The man looked close to passing out suddenly and he gave a soft moan of pain. " _Uh_. I need food. Bad."

* * *

**Last Year**

James Novak (better known as Jimmy)—taxpayer, always on time, faithful church tither—kept a quiet, proper life. He married his high school sweetheart Amelia when they were both eighteen. He believed in traditional family values. He didn't use profanity or drink or gamble. He'd dedicated himself to a lifetime of faith in God. He lived humbly and devoutly. However, even though he had always followed the bible and done everything a good Christian should, there had always been a nagging feeling that there must be _more_ for him, that God was calling him to deeper things.

 _Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened._ Words from the book of Matthew that Jimmy clung to and kept in mind as he prayed for years that the Lord would use him for something truly meaningful. Maybe his prayers implied that Jimmy thought his life as a father and husband wasn't enough. But he loved his wife and daughter very much—more than anyone. Still, he was never able to shake the longing for greater things and always felt there should be more for him somehow—some grand calling. A purpose beyond the here and now.

After over fifteen years of marriage, Jimmy's life was predictable and had a feeling of routine to it. The greater things he longed for never came. Only more of the same… a slow downward spiral into monotony and habit and routine. He was in a marriage that felt stale, he worked a job that left him wanting. His daughter was the best thing in his life—his little girl who wasn't so little anymore. She was approaching womanhood and in a few short years would leave for college. Jimmy wondered what would become of himself and Amelia when that happened. They'd been unable to conceive more children and Claire was the thing that held them together. Jimmy didn't believe in divorce and loved his wife deeply, but the spark was gone. It wasn't like they were miserable—they were friends and companions and were content enough, accepting of the way their relationship was quiet, dying embers instead of roaring flame like it used to be.

On one night that was like all the others, Jimmy had fallen asleep in front of the television. His life changed forever when he was roused by a warm, whispering voice from Heaven. Castiel came to him the first time that evening, reaching across the divide of the corporeal and incorporeal, speaking to him in a voice that was so deafening and magnificent that Jimmy had been physically wounded. He didn't even remember the seizure, only Amelia's frantic face above his when he regained consciousness. But Jimmy hadn't been panicked at all. He had smiled at Amelia and said he was all right. He'd felt such a peace and sense of purpose.

The angel spoke to him in dreams and in whispers as the months went on. He told Jimmy of great plans concerning God's will. Castiel told Jimmy that he was a servant of Heaven, that he wanted Jimmy to give himself over to divinity and answer the call, to let himself be used as a vessel of righteousness when the time came. And Jimmy had been eager, willing. So unaware of what it would actually be like.

On an unremarkable weeknight evening, Jimmy was preparing dinner unassumingly when Castiel's whispers lit up the quiet. The angel asked him to prove his faith. Wonderstruck, Jimmy did as the angel asked unquestioningly. Amelia walked in and dropped the bag she'd been carrying. Jimmy had his hand stuck down into the pot of boiling water on the stove and was staring at it, entranced.

"What the hell are you doing?!" Amelia had gasped, rushing over.

Jimmy held a hand out, smiling and trying to calm her down. "It's okay. I'm okay—look!" He drew his hand out of the raging hot water. He was unharmed and fine in every way. Unburned, untouched by harm.

Amelia hadn't looked amazed. Instead, she'd looked absolutely terrified. "W-what's wrong with you?"

Jimmy was still smiling, overwhelmed with amazement. "Nothing's wrong. He asked me to do it."

" _Who_ asked you to do it?" Amelia asked, looking at the pot of boiling water with wild, scared eyes.

Euphoric, Jimmy stared at his hand, not noticing his wife's utter distress. "Castiel, to prove my faith. Look—I'm _fine_." He showed her his hand again, astounded at the smooth, unburned skin there.

"Who's Castiel?!" Amelia asked, growing more and more afraid by the second.

Jimmy smiled again, feeling lighter and more wonderful than he had in years. He had thought Amelia would share his wonder when he told her: "An angel."

"An _angel_?" She repeated. Her fear grew quieter and more deep.

Jimmy could barely notice. He was so amazed. Grinning, he swept her into his arms, elated and high on thoughts of restoration and repair within his life. He imagined everything as golden and bright and made of the things of Heaven. "It's a miracle, Amelia! A miracle!"

She stared back at him with eyes that were not overjoyed. Only petrified. And when Jimmy realized she was afraid of _him_ and what he was saying, his tight hug loosened and faltered. His wife pushed him away as she stepped back. She was looking at him like she didn't know him. "No, it's not a _miracle_ —" her voice trembled. She shook her head and swallowed, looking at the boiling water again. "I don't know how you did that b-but… this isn't _normal._ "

* * *

**Present Day**

"This isn't normal," Dean Winchester said, staring at Jimmy in something like disgusted awe. "How many burgers are you gonna _eat_?"

Jimmy shamelessly shoved another burger into his mouth, ravenous. "I dunno." He didn't bother waiting until he'd stopped chewing to talk.

After going through a twenty-four-hour drive-thru and getting Jimmy a bag full of burgers after he insisted he could eat them all, the Winchesters had brought him back to their motel. It was still dark out, the middle of the night, and Jimmy was on his third burger with no signs of stopping. The three Winchesters watched him with odd expressions. "When's the last time you _ate_?" Dean asked, flabbergasted by Jimmy's appetite.

Jimmy shook his head. "I don't know. Months." He took another huge bite and made appreciative sounds, then took a noisy sip out of the straw in his cup and returned to his burger.

"All right, so what the hell _happened_ back there?" Sam asked, interrupting Jimmy's concentration. "It looked like an angel battle royale."

Jimmy shook his head and shrugged. "All I remember is a flash of light and I, uh... I woke up and I was just, you know, like, me again."

"So, what?" Dean looked at him closely. "Cas just ditched outta your meat suit?"

"I really don't know," Jimmy replied through a full mouth.

Sitting across from him, arms crossed and feet propped straight out, Alex was intent. "Do you remember _anything_ about when he was possessing you?"

Jimmy looked at her with Castiel's eyes. He no longer wore the trench coat—just the suit and tie. "Yeah, bits and pieces," he answered cryptically. He watched her out of the corner of his eye for a minute as he chewed thoughtfully, and Alex fell silent, didn't ask anything else. She felt worried. Where had Cas gone? Why would he just abandon ship out of nowhere? Did he not need his vessel anymore? If not, _why_? So many questions. Her head was still pounding and she felt sluggish from her fading state of drunkenness.

"I mean, having an angel inside you's like being chained to a comet," Jimmy said conversationally, working his jaw in between sentences. He seemed a little uncomfortable at the memories. "I couldn't keep up."

Dean's eyebrows raised. "Sounds like fun."

Jimmy pulled a face, and even though he looked exactly like Cas, he managed to look like a completely different person in that moment. "Understatement." He took another huge bite.

"Cas said he wanted to tell us something," Sam said. "Please tell me you remember what it was."

Jimmy looked down, mild ruefulness playing on his face. He shook his head. "No, sorry."

"Well what _do_ you know?" Dean asked.

Jimmy stopped eating, given pause by Dean's question. "I know who I am. Jimmy Novak. I'm from Pontiac Illinois." His face softened with something like pain. "I have a family." He was suddenly stricken and sitting back from the table, seeming stunned. "I need to see my family."

Dean stood up, his expression hard and thoughtful. "Hold that thought. Finish eating, okay?" He looked at Sam meaningfully, then jerked his head toward the door, indicating he wanted a word alone. "Sam, I need to talk to you."

Alex watched her brothers go and didn't move to follow. Other times she might have gotten up and trotted after, but that day she was too physically exhausted and mentally messed up. Anyway, she got the silent implication… stay and watch Jimmy. He didn't look like he was gonna bolt though. He had bucked up and was attacking a burger again hungrily, glancing at her a couple times without saying a thing. Alex sighed heavily and rubbed her forehead with a grimace. _I hate alcohol._ She remembered details from earlier now, a little bit anyway. Enough to make her want to kick herself in the ass. Alex settled back into her chair, resigned, and grabbed a bottle of pain killers out of the bag that was hanging off her chair. She took several then fixed her eyes on Jimmy studiously. "So. You really don't remember _anything_?" She asked.

He looked at her over his burger, taking a long beat to answer—long enough that it seemed like he was maybe trying to hide something. "Not really. Like I said, bits and pieces, weird snippets and stuff."

Alex nodded slowly, not convinced. "Right." Jimmy's gaze flickered away. He didn't look at her like Cas did, but it was every bit as disconcerting. "Why do you think he did that?" She asked. "Left all the sudden?"

Jimmy's chewing slowed and he stared down at the top of his burger bun, frowning a little. "You know, I gotta say, from what I remember, the guy's mind was, like, a constant tug of war. Back and forth, back and forth." He hesitated, thinking hard, clearly taxing himself mentally. "I can't remember why he left. I don't remember anything from today."

"But you remember stuff from other days?" Alex pressed.

His eyes darted up to hers. He seemed guarded. "Yeah, I mean… it's all a blur, okay? I'm exhausted." He drew in a breath, expelled it, cracked a tired grin. "It's just good to be by myself in here again. I was about to go insane." He grinned at her more widely and reached for his cup without looking and misjudged, knocked it over. It spilled and soda flooded the table. They both jumped up from their seats, trying to avoid getting wet.

"Aw crap," Jimmy muttered, brushing himself off then yanking his tie off and jacket, too, already unbuttoning his soda-stained shirt. "Can I borrow one of your brother's shirts?" he asked, pulling off his shirt completely. Alex was staring and didn't answer right away. Underneath the frumpy suit and trench coat, Castiel—no, _Jimmy—_ was surprisingly toned—Alex was shocked, because the shapeless outfit he wore had hidden it well… the strong arms and shoulders, the smooth strong planes of his chest, the flat abs… the very alluring taper to his hip bones which disappeared beneath the belted slacks he wore. Alex swallowed. The room seemed extremely hot all of the sudden and she was uncomfortable.

He'd asked to borrow a shirt. She tore her eyes away from him, flustered. "Yeah, uh, there… bag's Dean. Uh, er, _Dean's bag_. Take whatever you want."

If he noticed her fumble, he didn't acknowledge it. Jimmy went to the bed where Dean's duffel sat and dug through. He was oblivious to her stare. Alex watched him out of the corner of her eye, unable to help herself. His back was strong, his shoulders broad. The dim light in the room created soft, dark shadows in all the dips and curves of his muscles. On his right shoulder blade, there was a large tattoo of a simple, stylized cross. She was surprised to see that there. She hadn't pictured him as the type for ink. As he turned around he caught her eye he seemed to know she'd been eyeing it. "Got it when I was nineteen," he explained with slight chagrin, pulling a new shirt on and buttoning it up. "Regretted getting it ever since. Craziest thing I ever did."

"A tattoo?" Alex asked, cracking a grin. No way was that true. "A tattoo was the craziest thing you ever did?"

Jimmy shrugged modestly. "Yeah. I'm a straight and narrow kinda guy, I guess." There was a twinge of something in his voice that made intrigue come over Alex.

"Nothing wrong with the pious life, if it's your thing," she said, examining him for a reaction. When she couldn't tell, she prompted him. "Is it?"

Jimmy finished buttoning his shirt and took a moment, thinking, then shook his head uncertainty. "I don't know anymore. All I know is… I've been gone from my family for almost a year." His regretful tone gave Alex somber pause.

She tried not to encourage an angsty environment and instead grabbed some napkins from out of the bag of burgers and started to sop up the soda from off the table as she watched Jimmy pick his tie back up and put it back on. She glanced at him as she cleaned. "Did your family know? About you and Cas's… living arrangement?"

Jimmy went still. "No. To them I'm sure I just disappeared one night." He looked conflicted and slightly afraid and said nothing more. There was a deep guilt to his words and posture, and fear. A lot of fear. He returned to slowly buttoning his shirt up, but his mind seemed a thousand miles away.

Alex understood why he was worried. What if he went back and then his family was gone or had moved on? She hadn't really thought about it much before, how the body Castiel had used was a real person with a real life, a man named Jimmy Novak. Maybe she hadn't _wanted_ to think about it either. But now she was being _forced_ to think about it and face it. Honestly she was a little ashamed of herself for forgetting. Castiel wasn't human like her. Jimmy was. And Jimmy wasn't Cas.

"Lemme help. I'm sorry. I'm clumsy." Jimmy had shrugged his jacket back on and started helping get the puddle of soda off the table without being asked. Alex watched Jimmy in a tense sadness. He crouched and dabbed at the spot on the floor where soda had drizzled, oblivious to her strange gaze. Alex wasn't sure what to think. He looked _just_ like Cas, but it wasn't him. His mannerisms, his voice, the way he stood, the way he walked… _everything_ was different. It forced Alex to confront reality: Cas had hijacked some guy's body and used it to walk the earth. Those blue eyes that had sent her stomach flip-flopping around when they'd looked at her with such intense curiosity? Jimmy's. The clothing she'd come to identify as Castiel? Jimmy's. The voice Castiel had used to speak to her with? Jimmy's. She understood all of that but she couldn't quite separate the angel from the man in her mind completely.

Even so, staring at Jimmy as he dabbed napkins at the soda-splattered carpet… she almost felt like she'd lost something. Some _one_. Alex got angry with herself pretty quickly. She had _no right_ to feel that way. She headed to the trash can beside the door with her dripping napkins and threw them in hard. Right after she did that, the door swung open and Dean and Sam came back in.

"All right Jimbo," Dean said, crossing his arms. "So jury's in. You can't go home."

Jimmy stood up, shock on his face. "What?" He quickly became indignant as he set the wet napkins down. He walked straight up to Dean. "The hell're you talking about, I can't go home?"

Dean shrugged as Sam took a seat at the kitchen table and watched quietly. "There's a good chance you have a bullseye on your back," Dean said. Alex looked at Sam for explanation and her twin just shrugged slightly. _Tell you later,_ he seemed to silently communicate to her.

" _What_?" Jimmy looked and sounded like he'd never heard anything crazier in his life. "From who?"

Dean's mouth hardened a little. "Demons."

"Come on, that's crazy," Jimmy said, almost rolling his eyes. "What do they want with me?"

Dean shook his head. "I dunno, information, maybe?"

Jimmy was obstinate and expressive. His voice rose in pitch. "I don't _know_ anything!"

Dean visibly forced himself not to lose his temper but raised his voice a little too. "I know, but—"

"Look, I'm _done_ , okay?" Jimmy was quickly getting agitated. "With demons, angels, Castiel's friggin' endless angst and confusion—all of it! I just wanna go _home_."

"We understand," Dean started, but was once again cut off.

"I don't think that you _do_ understand!" Jimmy's voice was quickening with impassioned certainty. "I've been shot and stabbed and healed; my body's been dragged all over the earth. He _used_ me and took me away from my _life_ , my family. I thought I wanted this but I _don't_. By some miracle I'm out… and I am _done_. I've given enough, okay?"

Sam stood up and kept his voice firm and commanding. "Look, all we're saying is that until we figure this out, the safest place is _with us_."

Jimmy's jaw worked tensely and he cast a glance beside himself as a muscle jerked in his cheek. He was considering it. "How long?" He asked brusquely, glaring at Sam.

Sam hesitated. "We'll cross that bridge when we get to it."

Before Sam had even finished speaking, Jimmy shook his head hard, obviously not going for that. He brushed past Dean, heading for the door with fast steps. Sam moved to stop him, blocking his path. "Where you think you're going?" Dean asked mildly, turning around casually, arms crossed.

Jimmy whirled indignantly. "To see my wife and daughter, okay?" He turned and tried to get past Sam, who held him by an arm, forcing him to stay.

"No, you're _not_." Sam wasn't rough by any means, but there was a warning nature to his stance and tone. "You're just going to put those people in danger."

Jimmy stared at Sam incredulously, then glanced briefly at Alex as if he couldn't believe this. "So, what, now I'm a prisoner?"

Sam was rueful but assertive. "Harsh way to put it."

"How about guest of honor?" Dean quipped from further back in the room where he stood with crossed arms. He cracked a wiseass little smile. "Just can't stand to see you go."

Jimmy looked at him balefully. "You have no right to keep me here."

Dean chuckled and sauntered forward. "When have _rights_ stopped me? You're staying."

Jimmy looked around, realizing he was outnumbered and outmuscled. As if in a desperate last attempt, he looked at Alex, who had been silently observing from beside the door. "Alex? You're gonna go along with this? It's _kidnapping_."

That earned a self-deprecating smile from her. "Jimmy… you know who you're talking to, right? We break like ten laws per hour on a _good_ day." Jimmy didn't appreciate her attempt at humor and Alex softened, sympathizing with him. "Call it what you will but they're right." She came to stand beside her twin. "I mean, think about it. You were a vessel for an angel. Is it really so crazy to think demons might wanna get their claws in you or your family?"

Jimmy was highly unhappy and let them all know with the dark look he gave them. "This is jacked up," he said with something close to a scowl as he crossed his arms and pressed his lips down into a hard line. Full of bad attitude, he looked at Dean contemptuously. "Can I at least get some air?"

Dean gave a single little _heh_ sound, obviously thinking it was funny that Jimmy thought they would go for that. "I don't think so," he said, further infuriating Jimmy. "Look, come morning, we'll figure something out. For now… no one leaves this room." Dean swept the room's occupants with a commanding gaze, daring any of them to go against what he said. Satisfied, Dean nodded. "Now. I'm gonna take a shower."

He grabbed his things and shut himself into the bathroom without any further delay.

Jimmy shook his head, surly and bad-tempered as he backed away from Sam who still blocked the way out. "I _need_ to see them," he said, pacing the room restlessly. "They probably think I'm dead." He talked using his hands, gesturing erratically and then jamming fingers through his dark hair.

"Not yet, Jimmy," Sam said. His tone wasn't exactly rude, but it wasn't the kindest voice he used, either. He sounded sort of inconvenienced. "Just don't think about it."

Jimmy looked like he'd been slapped in the face and he suddenly confronted Sam physically. "Don't _think_ about it?!"

"Hey you two." Alex, over by the table now, gave them both pointed looks. "Come on." Jimmy took a beat, then stepped away from Sam, looking mad enough to piss. Alex picked up the bag of burgers, trying to distract him maybe. "Want any more of these?"

"No." Jimmy shot her a dark look. "I lost my appetite."

Sam scoffed loudly and rolled his eyes insensitively. Alex gave him a weird look. His temper seemed short for some reason—maybe because he still felt sick?—either way, he really wasn't helping. At _all_. Jimmy sent Sam an evil eye and Alex attempted to diffuse the situation with humor. She cracked a disarming grin and pulled a face. "Hey, don't pay Samantha any attention. It's his time of the month."

Unexpectedly, Jimmy smiled just slightly at the dig aimed at Sam. He saw the way Alex's face changed when he smiled like that. His expression faded. "What?" He asked, frowning a little.

Alex shook her head, shrugged, hid her true feelings. "Nothing." What was she really thinking? That this man in front of her wasn't Castiel in any way. That she wanted to know where her guardian angel had gone. That she needed to know why she almost seemed to miss him. Was it over? Was Cas gone for good? It was weird, too, because even though this was the exact same body Cas had used, she couldn't imagine kissing this man. She'd pictured kissing Cas one night out of nowhere. And she couldn't picture kissing Jimmy.

"So which bed?" Jimmy asked.

"What?" Alex asked, confused as she came out of her far-away thoughts.

"Which bed should I sleep in?"

Oh. Alex looked at the beds—two doubles—and shrugged. "Uh… take your pick," she said, her mind on other things. "Doesn't matter to me."

Jimmy chose randomly, walking over to one of the beds and sitting on it. "I wish you people would just let me _go_ ," he said brokenly. "I need to see them." He looked so stricken and heartbroken that Alex had to look down, guilty for her part in it. She looked to Sam, who usually consoled the Sad People they ran into. But Sam just glanced back at her with a look like _what?_ on his face. He looked like he had a headache or something. Maybe he was just tired. It _was_ the middle of the night.

Either way, she was gonna have to do it. And by _it_ , she meant talking to a Sad Person. Alex cleared her throat and fixed Jimmy with a caring look she'd seen Sam give others. "You need to keep them _safe_." She paused. "That's what you're doing by staying away, all right?" She stuck her tongue out just a little to wet her lips. Saying the facts had been easy. Now what? How could she get him to lighten up? She decided, a little selfishly, to do a bit of fact-finding. Maybe he would feel better if he went down memory lane, anyway. "Why don't you tell us a little about them?" She asked, hoping it was the right thing to say to him in that moment. "What's your wife's name? Your daughter?"

Jimmy's face changed and he went somewhere very far away in his mind. "Amelia," he said softly. "Amelia's my wife. Claire's my daughter. She's… she'll be twelve now. I missed her birthday." There was a hollowness to his voice, like he didn't know what to think about himself. He looked down and clasped his hands together between his knees, deeply pensive. "I can't believe I left. I thought… I thought I was doing the right thing, you know?" He laughed softly, a sound without any lightness. "I was no one before this. I… sold ad time on A.M. radio. Married my high school sweetheart. Got a house, a mortgage. Went to church every Sunday. I've never been anything but painfully normal and it used to be okay with me. But the last few years…" he shook his head dejectedly. "Life felt stale, I dunno. I just was at my wit's end when Cas came to me." His eyes dodged looking at either Sam or Alex. "I guess maybe I wanted to be special like Cas said I could be. But man. It's… special's overrated. I think I ruined my life." He heaved a tired expulsion of breath and put a hand on his face. He looked like he hadn't slept in years.

Alex realized that maybe talking was only going to make things worse and tried a different tactic. "Hey, come on. You need some rest I think." She smiled slightly, feeling how exhausted and hungover she was. "I know _I_ do. Everything'll look better in the morning."

A bittersweet expression crossed Jimmy's face and it looked like he were almost trying to hold back tears. "My wife used to say that." With that, Jimmy crawled into the bed, shoes and all, pulled the covers up to his neck, rolled over, then went quiet.

Sam came up to stand beside Alex, who silently watched the Jimmy-shaped lump. Her twin looked over and down at her then motioned to the other bed. "Go ahead. Get some shut eye. Sleep off the green fairy." His crack about absinthe got an unamused look from her. He aimed a half-hearted little grin at her.

Alex peered up at her twin, really studying him. He looked paler than normal. His lips weren't their normal rosy hue. "You sure you're all right, Sam? You look sick."

He dodged her concerned gaze. "Fine." Sam said shortly, seeming faintly annoyed. He motioned at the bed again. "Go on. Crash. I've got this."

"I need something out of the car," Alex lied decisively, then grabbed her jacket, yanking it on then heading out into the night.

Out in the parking lot she looked around into the surrounding darkness then, with arms around herself to keep warm, she looked upwards to the stars. "Hey, Cas?" She kept her voice just above a whisper, and her breath made little white clouds in the cold, sharp air. Underneath the canopy of night, she was aware of how small she was and how vast the universe. "Where'd you go?" No reply came and Alex's eyes flickered back and forth over the pinpricks of distant galaxies and stars. She tried to think of what to say. Could Castiel even hear her wherever he'd gone? It would just be nice to know why he left and if he was okay. She thought out loud. "I... just don't know why you'd disappear like that. We're worried." She paused. _Were_ Sam and Dean worried? She corrected herself: " _I'm_ worried." Hearing how vulnerable she sounded, she toughened her tone and put on a harder face. "So if you could get your ass back here somehow... that'd be great." She waited a couple seconds, getting agitated with herself and with the silence. "Okay. Well. Bye." _Bye_? That wasn't the way to end a prayer. A little sullen she tried, "Amen." She didn't like that either and gave a huffing sigh at herself. "Over and out." She rolled her eyes at herself then slunk back toward the motel.

When she went back into the warmth of the room, Sam looked at her, observing how she had nothing with her—and his eyes narrowed slightly. "Find what you were looking for?"

Alex was on her way to the empty bed and not in the mood for any more conversation. "No. I didn't."

She fell into bed without removing her shoes or jacket and turned her face away from Sam. Even though her mind was spinning with confusion and too many thoughts to number, she quickly dropped off into an exhausted sleep. She didn't feel when Dean flopped down beside her. Didn't hear when he started to snore. Didn't wake when Sam slipped out of the room. Didn't hear when Jimmy snuck out and made his escape, either.

* * *

**Last Year**

"Take the pills." Amelia stood in front of Jimmy in their living room and extended the orange prescription bottle out to him. It was nearing ten at night.

In a shirt and pajama bottoms, Jimmy sat on the couch which had become his bed in more recent times. "I'm not sick."

Amelia thrust the bottle out, spoke a little more intensely. Tears rolled out of her eyes and she struggled to maintain composure. "Jimmy, _take the pills_."

"I don't _need_ them, Amelia." He paused and then spoke softly, certainly, holding her gaze the whole time. "I know that this is hard to understand, but he chose me. I'm not crazy."

Amelia hid her reaction, but not well enough that Jimmy missed it. He saw how she doubted. How she believed he was losing his mind. "Who, Castiel, the angel?" She asked softly. When Jimmy nodded shallowly, his wife's outward calm began to crumble. "Jimmy—he's not _real_. How many times do we have to go over this? Now just take the pills, _please_."

Jimmy looked at her sadly. "He's spoken to me now, Ames, a dozen times. Shown me miracles." Amelia struggled, looked upward and dashed her hand across her tear-stained cheek. Jimmy leaned forward a little. "Hey, you believe in God, don't you?"

"What kind of question is that?" She tried smiling through her upset. "Of course, but—"

"And angels?"

"Yes, Jimmy, but I—"

"So, why is it then so hard for you to believe that they're talking to me?" He asked, truly wishing she would have faith in this with him.

Amelia began to pace, using the pill bottle to gesture erratically. Jimmy could see how she was fighting not to lose her temper with him. "B-because… okay, maybe angels are real, but what would they want _you_ for?" The anger came out, as it always did. "Jimmy, you sell ad time for the radio! You can barely keep up with taking care of the house and helping me with Claire, what would _angels_ need you for?"

Her words stung him. "He said that I'm special. It's in my blood."

Wordless for a second, Amelia laughed in a huff of air, her face working oddly. "What does that mean, it's _in your blood_? Jimmy… do you hear what you're saying to me? Just admit you're having a mid-life crisis and take the damn _pills!_ "

He was getting shorter on patience and looked at the pill bottle with contempt. "I don't need _pills_ ," he said flatly, trying to make her understand. He looked at her appealingly. "Castiel said that God has chosen me for a higher purpose."

Amelia's voice was strained and her face twisted into an expression of near-disgust. "To do _what_?"

Jimmy smiled faintly, a slight instance of pride and excitement running over him. "God's will. Not really my place to question it." His wife's face was sad and empty. Jimmy sighed, scooting back to make a place for her to sit beside him. "Hey, come here," he urged gently. She did as he asked, sitting beside him and turning a little to face him. He took the pills out of her hands and set them aside so that he could hold her hands gently. "This is a _blessing_ ," he told her. "This is the most important thing that ever happened to me."

Amelia's face was unreadable and slack, like she had turned off her emotions. "I thought _we_ were the most important things to ever happen to you." Her soft words struck Jimmy hard and he was momentarily silent. Amelia shook her head and looked around their living room vapidly, her expression strange. "Jimmy, this marriage isn't working anymore," she said faintly, and again, he was hit hard by what he knew they both realized but had never acknowledged. Amelia looked at him with pained eyes. "We barely talk except in passing, we never spend time together anymore." She looked at him with veiled bitterness, her voice lowering into a whisper, in case Claire was in earshot. "And I mean, we haven't had sex in months. _Months_. I know things have been stale between us for awhile and I know we said we'd try but… is this angel stuff you trying to be the man I've been asking you to be? This isn't what I had in mind."

Her words hurt him deeply. Had she said them to him before Castiel, Jimmy would have been devastated completely. But he had hope because of the angel. " _Amelia_." He said her name sadly. "Have faith. I know things have been hard for us since you lost the baby last year, but… God works all things to the good of those who love him. I'm not depressed like I was. Castiel is giving me _faith."_ He grasped her hands with renewed fervor, trying to show her how eager he was to see God work in their life. He felt that their marriage, home and faith would be restored. "Our lives will _change_ because of him, Amelia! We can still make this work."

Amelia's hands were slack in his. Unenthusiastic. "I'm just… wondering if I even _want_ to make it work," she admitted quietly.

Jimmy's grip loosened in utter shock as he stared at her in completely caught of guard surprise. "Amelia—we don't believe in divorce," he protested, hurt by her implication and aghast because he would never have imagined she would even _imply_ that she would leave him. Their marriage vows had been _forever._

Amelia shook her head, ashamed tears glittering in her eyes. "I know, but… but Jimmy." Her voice dropped to a weak whisper. "You're _scaring_ me. You're scaring your _daughter_. You are _not_ the man I married."

"Maybe not." Jimmy kept himself gentle and tender with her, clinging to Castiel's promises. All was not lost. "Maybe I'm _better_ than the man you married, or about to be. Don't you see, Amelia? I've been _chosen_ to do God's work! And you're part of it!"

" _How_?" she asked. She was pulling away from him more and more.

Jimmy thought, and then summoned the first bible verse that he thought would convey himself best to Amelia. A verse that he felt said a wife should trust her husband. "Titus two verse five. ' _Wives should submit to their husbands, that the Lord may be honored._ '"

Amelia—who had led bible studies and stood by his side in church every Sunday, became cold. She looked at him with dire meaningfulness. "If you won't take your pills and if you won't get help…" she trailed off, swallowing with a dread-filled expression. "Then I'm going to take Claire to my mother's in the morning. Don't quote the bible at me, Jimmy. You're taking this too far. I can't be married to someone who's living in a fantasy world. Please. Just _take—the—pills_."

She abruptly got up and walked away from him, going upstairs and leaving Jimmy alone with his hurt confusion. Would she really leave him? Would she truly take his daughter away over this? Why wouldn't she _believe_? He would have to help her believe. Jimmy decided that night it was time to take action. He dressed slowly and methodically in what he always wore to work. Black slacks, a white dress shirt. He picked out a blue tie. The one Claire bought for him for Father's Day, the one she loved to see him wear. He shrugged on a black suit jacket, then over that, he swept on his beige trench coat. It would be cold outside. He gave himself a final look over in the mirror, not knowing how much his life was about to change. And then into the cold winter night he went.

He stood there in front of his house and looked up to the sky, called out to Castiel for help. His breath made vapor in the icy air, and for a moment, there was no reply. And then gentle, warm light shone down on him from up above and Jimmy looked up into it, hearing the rich, melodious voice of the angel Castiel. It was calming, this angel's presence.

Castiel told Jimmy many things. That God would be pleased with his servitude, that Jimmy would be revered among men. That the Novak family would be kept safe and be given rest in paradise when their long lives were finished. But Castiel also said that Jimmy would need to give much and for a time would be taken from his life. Jimmy didn't understand how long that would be—and he was so enraptured with the thought of serving God in such an important mission that he accepted. Said the word that promised his end. " _Yes_."

* * *

**Present Day**

Jimmy stared out of the bus window broodingly as the miles passed. He'd escaped from the Winchesters hours and hours ago and now he was getting close to home. _If_ Amelia even lived there anymore _._ What would he find? His stomach twisted itself into sickened knots over and over again. Would Amelia forgive him? How could he even begin to _explain_ it to her… or _Claire_ for that matter? How was it that his relentless faith had left his life a shattered wreck? He had always thought that God would reward him with good things for his faithfulness. Not… not _this._

Seated next to him a small, elderly woman was clasping a rosary and praying quietly. Jimmy looked at her sidelong, pitying her and fearing for her all at once. Which was worse…? An unanswered prayer or an answered one?

He returned his gaze to the window just in time to see a passing church sign that said _Seven Days Without Prayer Makes One Weak_. Disillusion settled over Jimmy with finality. After the past year, he didn't know who he was anymore. He believed in God and angels but wanted to be very far away from both right now. He had thought it would be different, being the vessel for an angel. He should have known better maybe… after all, he knew the bible and knew how brutal angels were in some passages. Still he'd believed, maybe because of modern myth and art, that angels were creatures of beatitude and kindness, gentleness. And while Jimmy knew from personal experience that Castiel had an inherently gentle and curious spirit, he also had a fierce and vengeful side—the angel was a magnificent blazing light made of ancient things beyond human comprehension. That's why Jimmy was running. It was too much, _too much_. Oddly enough, all he could think about was the mundane life he'd been so dissatisfied with before.

Jimmy reflected on the moment that Castiel had taken over his body, mind, and soul that winter night a year ago. It came over him like a downpour. The light had blinded Jimmy, and when it was gone, he wasn't himself anymore. His body had been filled with impossible wonder and glory, celestial power and divine purpose. Castiel had looked down and flexed his hand, gazed at it in wonder as he took in the feeling of being in a human body. Jimmy, slowly sinking down into a docile and quiet place somewhere deep inside, had heard a name—the first audible thought he heard from Castiel. _Alex_. Oh how familiar he would grow with this name and the face that went with it. Jimmy's mind conjured images of bright hazel eyes and the half-hidden smile. Castiel had been very curious about her. Was curious the right word?

Alex Winchester… a twenty-something woman with dark hair, youthful features, and eyes that carried a strikingly pensive weight to them. Memories and images of her were what stuck out in Jimmy's mind the most about his time hosting Castiel—perhaps because watching her was what Castiel had done with every moment not dedicated to battle or Heaven. That, and Castiel's guard hadn't been raised as high when he watched her—and this, therefore, allowed Jimmy to see it better.

Castiel had observed this girl in every sense of the word, but he'd done so with a notably childlike innocence and naivety as he endeavored to understand her and the things she did. Things like laundry, cleaning guns, sharpening knives, sitting around doing nothing, arguing with her brothers. Writing in her father's old journal. Absently rubbing the ends of her hair between her fingers. Picking the meatballs out of her spaghetti and the pepperoni off her pizza. Chewing on the inside of her mouth and wiggling her jaw back and forth without realizing it when she was in deep thought. She was very often in deep thought.

Jimmy was a little uncomfortable thinking about these things because they seemed intimate almost. Not the memories so much—they were nothing scandalous or remarkable—it was the way Castiel _felt_ about the memories and about her. The angel was endeared to the youngest Winchester in a way Jimmy didn't quite know how to explain. He'd never felt the way Castiel felt about Alex toward anyone in his life. It was strong, whatever it was.

Jimmy's eyes flickered upward to the blue mid-day sky. Castiel was out there, somewhere. Gone for reasons unknown. _Why_? Would he come back, asking Jimmy for more? If he did, the answer would be no.

Jimmy Novak had given enough.

The Winchesters were headed to Illinois, hopefully right on Jimmy's heels—after Sam had 'gone out for a Coke' in the middle of the night and given Jimmy a chance to run, they'd been left little choice but to try and follow him. It wasn't safe for him to go back to his family, which was exactly where he'd go.

In the back seat Alex was slumped against the window, her cheek pressed against the chilled glass as she stared unseeingly out the window. She was hungover as hell and the aspirin and coffee still wasn't helping. In the front, Dean was quiet and focused, Sam was silent and decidedly bitchy. He still looked sickish but refused medicine and insisted he was fine. Alex pulled the top off her coffee cup to blow on the hot liquid it a little.

Out of thin air, someone abruptly appeared right next to her. "Hey, guys."

At the same time, several things happened. Dean let out an explanation of " _Aah jeez_!" and swerved the car into the other lane. Sam jerked in the front seat and let out a little sound of surprise. Alex jumped away and coffee flew out all over Anna, who blinked and spit a little of the hot brown liquid out without missing a beat.

"Smooth, guys," she commented wryly, even as a car whizzed by and honked at them.

"You ever try calling ahead?" Dean asked gruffly, gripping the wheel tight and glaring slightly back at her in the rear view.

"I like the element of surprise," the red-headed angel wisecracked. The coffee that had spilled on her was magically gone.

" _Surprise_?" Alex asked, sticking the lid back on her coffee and thanking her lucky stars that none of it got onto the Impala's upholstery. "You almost gave me a heart attack!"

Anna seemed to have more pressing matters on her mind. "You let Jimmy get away?" She was looking at Dean.

"Talk to ginormo here," Dean said, nodding toward Sam.

Anna leaned forward a little and her expression shifted slightly. "Sam. You seem... different."

Alex's interest was heightened, especially when Sam acted a little _too_ unassuming. "Me? I dunno." He flashed an attempt at an _everything's fine_ smile. "A haircut?"

Anna's expression was unreadable. "That's not what I'm talking about." She let her gaze go to Dean. "So, what'd Jimmy tell you? He remember anything?"

"Why? What's going on?"

"It's Cas," Anna said. "He got sent back home. Well, more like dragged back."

"Dragged?" Alex asked, worried at that word choice of Anna's. "That doesn't sound good."

"It's _not_ ," Anna said, looking at Alex with a very tense, meaningful expression. "It's a very _bad_ thing. Painfully, awfully bad. He must have seriously pissed someone off."

"What?" Alex asked, eyes going a little wider. " _How_?"

Anna's mouth drew into a thin line. "I don't know. The last time I spoke with him, he was struggling badly."

The more Anna said, the lower and lower Alex's stomach sank. "Struggling with what?"

Anna's eyes locked onto Alex's. "Everything."

It was strange… Alex felt her head shaking _no_ hollowly without even realizing she was doing it. Empathy and concern had risen in her like rockets, shooting off silently. The last time she'd seen Cas he'd been trying to help her (she _thought_ —the details were still a little blurry because of the absinthe). The worst thought suddenly came to her: _what if I have something to do with him being in trouble?_

"Listen, Cas said he had something to tell me," Dean said in the front seat, drawing Anna's attention even as Alex stared at the back of Sam's seat, dumbstruck. "Something important. Jimmy said he didn't know what it was, and Cas never got the chance to tell me before he left."

"Well whatever it is, it's huge," Anna said, her voice commanding and authoritative. "You gotta find out for sure. You shouldn't have let Jimmy go in the first place." She set her face grimly. "He's probably dead already."

"What about Cas?" Alex asked, trying to curb the anxiety out of her voice. "Do you know if he's okay? Will he come back?"

Anna thought deeply for a beat, shaking her head a little, like she didn't know. "Hard to say." She looked up suddenly and without ceremony announced, "I gotta go." And just like she'd appeared, she was gone.

The car fell into silence again. Coffee forgotten, Alex's eyes shot to the back of her oldest brother's head. Her voice was low and soft but urgent. "Drive faster, Dean."

* * *

Amelia Novak's life had always been stable and comfortable, predictable. The daughter of a husband-wife dentist team, Amelia been raised as an only child in a traditional household that valued church, family, and helping others. She'd always been reserved and modest, a little on the shy side. Jimmy, the class clown and nice-guy had caught her eye in middle school. He'd been her first love. Her first _everything_. Her parents hadn't been thrilled when Amelia and Jimmy announced they were going to get married straight out of high school, but at the time the two of them had been in love and too eager for the future to listen to anyone who had anything negative to say.

People whispered that they wouldn't make it, but nearly fifteen years of marriage proved the naysayers wrong. Until what happened last year. Sure, Amelia had noticed their relationship growing less exciting than it had been. All marriages ended up like that, she'd thought. Jimmy loved her even if they weren't passionate and close anymore, and she'd been all right with that. He was a good father over all else, and Amelia valued that highly. But then when he'd started showing signs of depression and withdrawal, things changed. He'd started imagining things—that angels were talking to him, that God wanted him for some kind of work. Amelia had been so scared to see her normally predictable husband begin to get zany, believing the delusions he kept spouting. And then came the night when Jimmy disappeared. After searching for him for weeks and realizing he wasn't coming back, police closed the case and Amelia was forced to go back to work as an office manager. No longer a stay-at-home mom, Amelia had truly been tested by fire—juggling bills, motherhood, taking care of the house and trying to understand what had happened.

Claire had struggled, too. Began to do things that frightened Amelia. Claire claimed to have seen her father disappear into thin air, claimed she'd seen a bright light over him and how he'd said he wasn't her father. Sometimes Amelia found drawings Claire made of Jimmy, in a trench coat, glowing with yellow light. Counseling, therapy, medicine… Amelia had made sure Claire got all of it. It had been an impossible year. Night after night Amelia had cried herself to sleep, terrified of the bill coming due the next day, half-crazed from the despair of such a suddenly turbulent life. Her parents had been lifesavers… lending money and time, helping Amelia keep the house and her mind both.

Things were finally beginning to normalize. Amelia was getting a grip and Claire was finally getting good grades again. It was beginning to feel do-able. She accepted this new life as a single mother and widower. And then one day, out of nowhere, the doorbell rang. And the person who she opened the door to was a man who, for a moment, she thought was a ghost. On his face, wretched emotions and terrified hope. Amelia had almost passed out to see the husband she thought she'd never see again within arm's reach. The next few minutes… a total blur.

When Claire came downstairs and peeked around the staircase banister railing, curious to see who that was in the living room with her mother… Amelia regained some clarity. Before the twelve-year-old girl could see that the man her mother was speaking to was her father, Amelia dismissed her with a voice full of motherly command. "Claire. Room. _Now._ "

Jimmy turned his head to see just the back of his daughter's blonde head as she obeyed and went back up the stairs. "Can I see her?" Jimmy asked softly, heartbreak filling his voice. He implored Amelia with his eyes—eyes that shone with tears.

With a tear streaked face, Amelia shook her head. "No. No." She looked down, feeling out of answers. "I don't know yet." They sat in separate chairs. Jimmy was leaned down over his knees with slumped shoulders and tensely clasped hands. The silence was deafening. What was Amelia supposed to even _say_? "It's been a _year_ , Jimmy."

He nodded, staring at the ground. "I know, I know."

"Where'd you _go_?" Amelia asked softly, her voice betraying her confused and painful feelings. "I told her you were dead. She thinks you're _dead_ somewhere. She's just now getting back to herself again." There was anger in her voice. Anger that she reigned in. "Don't you think your daughter would have wanted to know you were okay?"

Jimmy looked at her with a strained expression. "I was… I was in a psych clinic. I just wanted to get myself straight before seeing you."

Bitterness played on Amelia's voice. "And no telephones, or—"

Her husband's face contorted. "No, I know. You're right. I'm—" he drew in a deep breath, let it out heavily, pain making his voice tight and quiet. "I'm so _sorry_." His apologies couldn't take away the sleepless nights or the things Claire had gone through or the pain and confusion Amelia had lived with the past year. Still, he tried to act like it was going to be all right. Like him being back was the answer. "But it's all—it's all over now. I mean, I'm—I'm really okay."

 _Really okay_? She wasn't sure if she believed him. Not after how he'd acted there near the end. The angel stuff, the sticking his hand in boiling water and open flame, the standing on the edge of their roof and saying he couldn't be hurt… and maybe he was okay now, but she wasn't, and neither was their daughter. "Well that must be nice for you," she said coldly, hating him for not even calling once to let her know he was alive. "You don't know how hard this past year's been. You should have told me where you went. How could you let me think you were _dead_ all this time?"

Jimmy stared back at her, seeming to realize in some small way the damage he'd done. Guilt and shame washed his haggard features. "I was—I was confused, Amelia. I was completely delusional." He seemed at the point of tears and his eyes refused to meet hers. "And I thought—I thought God was calling me to something and I thought that it was important, and I was wrong, I was such an _idiot_. Heaven, hell... none of that matters." Amelia felt her eyes spilling tears again. She wanted to believe him so badly. She wanted the life they'd had before—comfortable, safe, normal. "The only thing that's important to me is you and Claire. And I—I can't undo what I've done." His chin quivered and he looked down, breaking her heart all over again with his sadness. "But I just wanna come _home_ again."

Amelia shut her eyes against tears and struggled not to break down. She opened her eyes again and kept her voice calm even though she wanted to weep. "I don't know if I can do that," she said quietly. "Not yet. Jimmy, you walked out on us." Her face wavered. "You _abandoned_ us. Hurt isn't even _close_ to what you've done to Claire and I."

Jimmy's forehead was rigid with stressed lines. "I know. I know." He put his hand on his face in shame. "I'm so sorry. I can never tell you how sorry. All that matters to me is this family."

Cynical and grieved, Amelia shook her head. "I just… I kind of have a hard time believing that."

The words hurt him like she'd wanted. "Please," Jimmy said. "For Claire. I know you and I might never…" he trailed off and they exchanged a meaningful look, both understanding that their relationship was probably broken beyond repair. "But I'm her father," Jimmy said, his voice growing a little stronger. "She needs me. She needs both of us. And I wanna make it up to her." He tried to reach out to her then. Amelia moved away, not allowing it. Jimmy was wounded, but accepted it and sat there silently for a minute. "Things are gonna be different from now on," he told her faintly.

"I can't see you break her heart again," Amelia said. Against her better judgement, she was considering it—letting Jimmy back in, even after what he'd done. She believed in forgiveness and second chances, but it had been easier to believe in both before she'd had to be the one giving them.

Jimmy heard it in her voice and small hope showed in his eyes and posture. "I won't. I promise," he said, leaning forward intently, eager to prove himself and meet her demands, do whatever she asked. "We can start small. I mean, whatever you're comfortable with."

Amelia searched his eyes cautiously. "Like what?"

"I don't know." Jimmy chanced an attempt at a smile through the tears in his eyes. "Dinner?"

A considerable silence hung between them. Jimmy looked at Amelia with wretched hope and Amelia felt herself caving, hoping she wasn't making the wrong choice—she wasn't sure if she knew her husband anymore but needed to give him a chance. Mostly for their daughter's sake. "Okay. Dinner," she agreed, then quickly became deadly serious. "But Jimmy… nothing about where you really were. I have to think about what to tell her. How to explain."

Jimmy agreed readily and Amelia went upstairs alone to tell Claire the news. With every step she took, Amelia harrowed her mind for how to say it. How were you supposed to tell your daughter that the dad she thought was gone forever was downstairs waiting to see you again? What reason could she give for why he left? Could Amelia explain that he might not be staying with them forever if things didn't work out? That he might leave again if he wasn't better like he said? Amelia had to stop in the hallway and let herself cry for a moment. Claire was too young for this confusion and heartache… and Amelia had never wanted this for any of them.

* * *

**Thirty Minutes Later**

"There, _there_ ," Sam said urgently, tapping on the window of the Impala. Dean slowed the car down and parked in front of the house. They all peered up at the house as the engine cut off. "This is the place, unless the yellow pages are wrong," Sam said, exchanging a tense glance with his brother.

The three Winchesters got out, scoping out the dark, middle-class neighborhood sidewalks as they did. All was calm, quiet. The Novak house was a standard two-story family home. The windows were aglow from the lights inside—the place looked homey and warm.

"Bets on how happy Jim-boy's gonna be to see us?" Dean wisecracked, stuffing Ruby's knife into his jacket as they approached the house. Probably not very. As they ascended the front steps quietly, watchful for signs of anything off, they heard the dead giveaway. Inside the house, the sounds of a scuffle—something falling over, a man yelling, then glass shattering.

Sam and Dean looked at each other then wordlessly, Dean kicked the door in as Alex whipped out the florescent green gun she'd prepped during the car ride. The three of them burst into the Novak home and into a chaotic scene. On the floor of the living room, Jimmy was being brutally beaten by a female demon—he was fighting back weakly. Crumpled nearby and stunned was a small woman with strawberry blonde hair. Amelia. She was groaning and whimpering, staring in horror at the other demon—a large male with black eyes who was holding a blonde pre-teen girl at knifepoint. Claire.

The Winchesters skidded to a stop when they saw the hostage situation. " _Hey_!" Alex thundered, not really thinking it through, just acting. She was pointing her kiddie squirt gun at the demon holding Claire.

The demon turned, tightened his grip on the girl… then took in the sight of Alex and the harmless toy. He relaxed slightly, a wicked smile spreading over his face. On the floor, the demon beating Jimmy stopped, too, chortling at the sight. A slow, lazy laugh came out of the male demon's mouth. "Nice _gun_ , sweet cheeks."

Next to her, Dean was tensed and ready—he already knew the plan, because it went without saying. Alex smiled facetiously at the demon and then squirted the gun three times. Holy water sprayed out and sizzled on the demon's face on contact, catching him off guard. He let go of Claire, clawing at his own face and screaming as skin melted off. Dean rushed in and finished him with the knife, plunging the knife into the demon's chest. A shocked look was left on the the dead demon's face. Alex shrugged humbly, twirled the gun for effect. "I know."

Claire was wide-eyed and frozen in shock, staring in both awe and terror as Alex set her sights on the other demon—then was suddenly sent backwards to fly into a glass shelf that shattered on impact. _Ughhh_ —Alex blinked, pushing herself up even as Dean went flying sideways to crash into the television set. Ruby's knife clattered to the floor.

Sam held a hand out and the female demon lurched, stumbled underneath the power he was projecting onto her… then _nothing_. The demon was smiling slowly, unaffected for the most part. Sam's expression became vastly pained and he groaned loudly in agony, holding his other hand to his head like he was about to pass out. He re-doubled his efforts and the demon chuckled, beginning to advance.

Jimmy pushed himself up off the floor and rushed to his daughter, taking hold of her even as Alex was standing up shakily. " _Go_!" Sam shouted to her. "Get them outta here!"

Alex saw how Dean was reaching for the knife. So she did what Sam said and darted over to Jimmy and Claire, pushing them along. "Come on, _come on_!" She roughly maneuvered them out of the house and down into the bitter coldness of the night.

They stopped at the Impala, breathless. "My wife—" Jimmy protested as Claire clutched him tightly. He stared back at his house with wild eyes.

"Sam and Dean have it handled," Alex said, holding a hand out when he moved forward a little, like he was going to go back in.

"I should have listened to you," Jimmy bemoaned, looking at the house anxiously.

"Yeah, well." Alex spit out some blood, realizing that she'd bitten the inside of her mouth when she fell. Her hands were scraped up from broken glass, too.

"A-are you okay?" Claire asked, noticing even as Alex did. Her big girlish eyes stared at Alex with stark fear.

"Me?" Alex smiled broadly, acting like it was no big deal. "Oh, I'm good. It's just a couple cuts and scrapes." She set Claire with a kind look, trying to calm her down and keep her from a breakdown or panic attack. "Claire, right? I'm Alex. Those are my brothers Sam and Dean in the house. We're gonna keep you safe." Jimmy's arms tightened around his daughter, who nodded, sniffed, and whimpered. Alex opened the back door of the Impala, looking back at the house tensely. Any second she expected Sam and Dean to high-tail it out of there. "Let's get in the car, okay?" She asked, smiling tightly at Jimmy and Claire. Even as they did as she suggested, Amelia came running out of a side door of the house with coats clutched to her chest.

Sam and Dean burst out of the front door and Dean gestured urgently as they sprinted across the yard to the car. "Let's go, _let's go_!"

* * *

In an echoing parking deck that was mostly empty, Sam's harsh tone resounded strongly. "I'm gonna tell you once again, you're putting your family in danger," he said to Jimmy. "You _have_ to come with us."

Chastened, Jimmy looked back at the Impala. The backs of Amelia and Claire's heads were visible through the rear window, and mother was embracing sleeping daughter. Jimmy turned back to the Winchesters and he was conflicted. "How long? And don't give me that 'cross that bridge when we get to it' crap."

Sam's face twisted. "Don't you get it? _Forever_. The demons will _never stop_. You can't outrun them, you can't hide, not on your own. You can _never_ be with your family. So you either get as far away from them as possible or you put a _bullet_ in your _head."_ That brusque comment got two surprised looks from his siblings. "And that's how you keep your family safe. But there's no getting out and there's no going home."

"Well, don't sugarcoat it, Sam," Dean said wryly.

Sam shot him a dirty look and his voice stayed just as angry as it had been before. "I'm just telling him the _truth_ , Dean. Someone has to."

Alex gave her twin a lecturing glance. "Well can you at least dial down the douchebag a little bit, or…?"

Sam's expression turned bitchy and he shot his sister a look before setting his jaw grimly and looking at Jimmy intensely, commandingly. His anger was still palatable. "Go tell them Jimmy," he said forcefully. "Tell them goodbye."

Jimmy nodded meekly, seeming shellshocked. He headed for the Impala even as Sam got two very questioning looks from his brother and sister. Alex again tried to offer him help. "Sam, do you need some headache medicine or something—"

"For the last goddamn time, Alex, I'm _fine_!" He exploded. "Stop _asking_!" A shocked silence followed and Sam blinked oddly, like he was clearing his vision. "Sorry." He cleared his throat and wet his lips and dodged his brother's expression of confounded disapproval and his sister's wounded _what-did-I-do_ gaze. "Sorry. I'm gonna go find them a car." He brushed past them and headed off into the parking deck to jack a car.

Alex shook her head, watching him go. "Something is _wrong_ with him," she muttered.

A few feet away, Jimmy opened the back door of the Impala and crouched down—Claire was asleep, his trench coat wrapped around her. "Hey," Amelia whispered, trying a smile through her traumatized expression. "So I guess I pretty much owe you the biggest apology ever." She reached out and hesitantly took hold of his hand. He realized that she no longer wore her wedding band or engagement ring.

Jimmy's heart hurt. "No you don't."

Her hand tightened on his a little. "Yes, I do. I'm so sorry, Jimmy. And I will never, ever forgive myself for not believing you. For thinking you were…" her voice dropped to an ashamed whisper, "were crazy."

A sad little smile crossed Jimmy's face and he squeezed her hand. "You did what any rational person would have done. I mean, hell, _I_ thought I was crazy half the time."

Amelia smiled a little, wiping her cheeks with her free hand before she glanced sideways at Dean and Alex, who were speaking intensely nearby. "How do you know these people?"

"They knew me when I was him. Castiel."

Amelia was looking at Alex closely. "Her too?" She looked back at her husband. "She's pretty."

Jimmy's hand loosened, then let go of hers completely. " _Amelia_..." he said her name with a note of hurt and disappointment. He always hated it when she accused him of having a wandering eye. He never had. Ever.

Amelia seemed to feel guilty about her passive-aggressive statement and she dropped the subject, clasping her hands together. "How can all of this be real?" She asked, almost smiling at the lunacy of it. "Angels, demons… I thought I believed before but I don't think I did. Now I do and… and… I'm _scared_."

"I know." Jimmy contemplated his wife with a pained expression. She had survived without him for a year. She would have to survive without him some more. Maybe even forever.

"Can we...? Can we even go home, or...?" She looked to him for guidance. "What are we gonna do?"

Jimmy's face fell a little. This was the goodbye, and she wasn't going to like it. "They're gonna get you a car, don't ask me how, and you're gonna take Claire to Carl and Sally's as fast as you can."

Amelia faltered, realizing what he meant. "Wait. What about you?" She shook her head. "...No, I'm not going anywhere without you, Jimmy."

"Listen to me. Every moment that I'm with you, you and Claire are in danger."

"I don't care!" She kept her voice to a whisper to keep from waking Claire, but her voice was very forceful. "We are _not_ splitting up again."

Jimmy looked at his wife sadly. "We don't have a choice."

Amelia contemplated him in confusion and frustration and reluctance. "For how long?"

He shook his head, realizing the bitter irony of what he was about to say. "We'll cross that bridge when we get to it."

Amelia pressed her lips together to keep from crying, then looked at their daughter, who was innocent and asleep. She turned back to Jimmy and took in a shaking breath, her eyes filling with tears. "We're a _family_ ," she protested softly.

It was all he could do not to fall apart. "They will _kill you_ , Amelia, and they'll kill Claire. You just have to get as far away from me as you can. Keep our daughter safe." His voice cracked with emotion and he could barely say what he did next, because it felt so final. "I love you."

Amelia looked quietly terrified. "W-what are you saying to me, Jimmy?" She asked.

"Sometimes I think I might have opened a door I can never close, Amelia," Jimmy confessed brokenly. He'd promised her that things were going to be different and now he had to run to protect them. Wasn't a man's place with his family? And yet here he was, intending to get as far away from them as possible, stay with the Winchesters. With Alex and with all those thoughts of Castiel's that still filled his head, confusing him. Jimmy vowed to make it through this somehow, starting with this moment right here. He had to tell Amelia goodbye. Quite possibly forever. "I'm sorry," he whispered, begging her to believe him. "I'd do things differently if I could."

His wife's eyes were flooding with unshed tears. "Promise me this won't be the last time I see you, Jimmy," she whispered pleadingly. _"Promise me._ "

Jimmy just shook his head. "I… I don't want to promise you something I can't guarantee," he said, and he was surprised when a warm tear spilled onto his cheek. He was crying too. Amelia sobbed softly and leaned to him, embracing him tightly.

Alex and Dean both watched from nearby, somber, unsettled and sad. They both knew that once you were in this life, you were stuck. Jimmy Novak might as well have been cursed the day that he let Castiel have him.

" _He's a devout man. He actually prayed for this."_

Alex remembered those words Cas had uttered and she turned away, unable to watch Amelia weeping on her husband or Claire waking up and asking "What's wrong, Daddy?"

Castiel was wrong. No man would pray for _this_.

* * *

The car was silent and the mood was tense as Jimmy and the Winchesters drove away from Amelia and Claire.

Ten miles passed, then Dean pulled over to refuel. As he waited and leaned against the car, Sam got out and walked off about fifty feet to make a phone call. He was distinctly agitated and pissed. What was going _on_ with him? Alex hissed a little as she finished disinfecting the scrapes all over her hands from the broken glass. Glancing sidelong, she took in Jimmy's tense, drawn profile. "You okay over there?" she asked softly. They were in the back seat together and he hadn't said a word since they'd left the parking deck.

His eyes flickered downward, his jaw worked just a little. "Not really."

Of course not. He wouldn't be. Alex sympathized. She saw a crimson gash on his cheek. "Hey, you have a bad cut. Lemme see."

Grudgingly, Jimmy let her dab an alcohol pad against the cut on his cheek. He kept his eyes down as she did so. Alex turned and as she dug around in the first aid kit for some medical tape to protect the cut, he sighed gustily. "I never imagined my life would end up this way," he confessed quietly.

His voice gave her pause. "Maybe it won't. Maybe we can find some way to…" she trailed off, not even sure what she was going to say.

Jimmy smiled a little cynically, understanding that she, too, saw no way out for him. "I never thought an _angel_ would destroy my life, you know?" He shook his head ruefully even as Alex ripped off a little tape and patted it down onto his cheek carefully.

She made no comment, because she could think of nothing to say. Did Cas know or understand how he'd all but ruined this man's life? And not just his life, but his wife and daughter's too? Was it the same with the other angels who had vessels, too? Jimmy barely seemed to notice what she was doing. He was staring ahead of himself unseeingly. "I was dead the day I said yes to him."

Sam yanked his door open and sat heavily in his seat, cutting off any reply Alex could have made to Jimmy. He withdrew and leaned against the window and when Dean got back into the car and they hit the highway again, Jimmy appeared to be sleeping. When Sam's phone rang a few moments later and it was Amelia's voice on the other end, a very grim discovery was made: one of the demons that had attacked the Novaks in their home had possessed Amelia and was holding Claire hostage. The Impala made a sharp U-turn and gunned it back the way they'd come.

* * *

"They were supposed to be _safe_ because I _left them_!" Jimmy raged in the back seat.

Dean glanced at him in the rear view mirror as he slowed the car down. "Calm down, Jimbo—you're no use to anyone if you can't keep a handle on yourself."

Jimmy put his head in his hands and breathed in and out loudly. "That demon is gonna _kill_ my daughter."

"No one's killing no one," Dean retorted. "Just stay calm."

Exasperated, Jimmy straightened and looked out the window with an apprehensive expression as Dean parked the car. "This the place?" A decrepit old warehouse was slouched across an expanse of concrete that was littered with trash and rubble. The place was the picture of abandoned Americana—complete with broken windows, gaping holes in the sides of the tin walls, and rusted metal beams that sagged underneath the weight of what they held up.

Dean shrugged. "It's the address that demon bitch gave us, so… yeah." They all got out of the car and Dean tossed Sam Ruby's knife even as Alex dug in the trunk and realized they were all out of squirt guns—she'd dropped the last one back at the Novak house. She tucked a flask of holy water into her belt instead, just in case.

"Alright, they're expecting you to come alone," Dean was telling Jimmy, who shrugged on his trench coat. "That's exactly what you're gonna do."

" _What_?" Jimmy asked, his expression wide-eyed and fearful. "Go in there _alone_?"

"We'll work our way through the catwalks," Sam explained. "We'll be right behind you."

"All you gotta do is stay calm and stall," Dean added. "Let us do our job."

"How can you ask me to be calm?" Jimmy asked insolently. "This is my _family_ we're talking about!"

Dean pointed a finger at him. "Listen to me, this will work. You understand? Nobody's gonna get hurt."

Jimmy didn't seem convinced. "Yeah, whatever. Gimme a minute, okay?" He sullenly walked off to disappear around the far corner of the warehouse.

Sam, paler than ever and a little clammy—Alex was _convinced_ he had a fever—looked at Dean with an ill expression. "There's no way they're expecting him to come alone. You know this is probably a trap."

"So we do what we always do," Alex interjected.

"What, get our asses handed to us?" Sam asked with a weak little laugh.

Alex just smiled back at him a little and arched an eyebrow. "Spring the trap."

* * *

"Castiel, you son of a bitch!" Jimmy shouted at the sky. He'd walked a fair distance from the Winchesters and was letting loose on every angry, confused feeling he was holding inside. "You promised me my family would be okay! You _promised_ you were gonna take care of them! I gave you everything you asked me to give, I gave you _more_! This is the thanks I get? This is what you _do_? This is your heaven?!" He stopped to catch his breath and the indignant fire faded into despair. "Help me, please. You promised, Cas. Just help me." The night was silent and the stars above twinkled, mocking him. Again, Jimmy flew off the handle. "Where are you?!" He shouted with renewed fury. And when there was no response, he shook his head bitterly. "Typical," he muttered.

"Jimmy." He turned, startled. Alex Winchester stood there smiling wincingly with her arms crossed. "Maybe you shouldn't be _shouting_ when we're about to try and sneak in there?"

He swallowed, suddenly a little self-conscious. "You followed me."

"Just wanted to make sure you were okay," she told him, coming forward. It was strange, her looking at _him_ , not Cas. The bright hazel eyes that Castiel had been so fascinated by flickered over him with hooded concern.

"Yeah. I just… I was trying to get Cas," Jimmy explained weakly, out of options. "You wanna try calling him?"

Alex seemed surprised. "Me?"

"Maybe he'll listen to you," Jimmy suggested. "You _are_ his favorite."

Her surprise changed to stark confusion. "His favorite what?"

Did she really not know? Jimmy didn't have time to wonder. "Just try calling him, okay?"

"Uh. Okay. I already did but… all right." She cleared her throat and glanced at Jimmy self-consciously. She looked skyward and hesitated. "Uh… Cas? Hello? It's… me. Alex. Winchester. _Again_. Do you ten-four up there?" They both waited but nothing happened. Alex stuck her tongue out just a little to wet her lips, shook her head, then looked down, glancing at Jimmy again abashedly. "No one's listening."

"Oh he's listening. He's just not _answering_." Jimmy shook his head, at a loss. "I don't _get it._ " His voice softened with deep thought. "I thought for sure he'd come for you." He saw how questions filled her eyes at his statement. Amelia was right, he thought faintly. Alex _was_ pretty. She was youthful with old soul eyes, she was willowy and delicate looking but Jimmy knew firsthand that she wasn't someone to mess around with or make assumptions about. Still, there was a vulnerability to her. A quietness. A loneliness.

"What?" She asked at his long gaze.

He tore his gaze away. "Nothing. I just…" He frowned, in thought someplace far away, murmuring almost to himself. "I wonder… if something happened to him." Because it made no sense. He knew full well how obsessed Castiel was with Alex's safety. For a minute, Jimmy worried about Castiel. He didn't hate the guy. He just wished Castiel had picked someone _else_.

"Hey, let's go save your girls, all right?" Alex asked, nodding toward the doorway into the warehouse nearby.

Jimmy looked at the doorway and panic rose. His heart jumped into his throat and all he could think of was _I am going to get them killed_. "I can't," he said, voice rising in choked panic. "I _can't_. I'm not the kind of man who knows how to _do this._ "

Humiliating tears stung his eyes even as Alex looked at him with an intense, peering frown. "What do you mean?"

"I, I don't know how to fight, or, or, negotiate," he stuttered, getting more and more panicked by the second. "I sell ad time! I'm nothing, I'm _no one_ ; I'm not brave or strong—If I go in there and make a wrong move and they _die_ —"

Alex's hands gripped him firm just above his elbows and she made him look at her. " _Jimmy_. You're not nothing. You're not no one. Keep yourself together, all right? Cas picked you for a reason. Listen, being brave isn't a feeling. It's doing the thing even when you're scared shitless." Her words encouraged him, calmed him. "You are gonna get through this," she insisted without doubt. "You're not alone. I'll be right behind you, and Sam and Dean will be right there, too. Okay?" She seemed so sure and positive, so strong and dependable to him in that moment. Her words had him nodding, seeing hope.

"Okay," he said, nodding more and more, feeling deeply relieved. "Thank you." Impulsively, he reached for her and hugged her as he let out a tensely held breath. He could tell that his sudden move made her feel awkward. Her hand patted his back hesitantly and she was stiff against him. "Thank you," he repeated softer, shutting his eyes for a second and calming himself, pushing his fears away.

When he pulled away, Alex looked uncomfortable. "We should…" she gestured toward the warehouse.

Jimmy nodded, following her gaze. His resolve grew. He drew himself up a little bit. "Yeah." He was scared shitless. But he started walking, and Alex stayed in stride with him. When they reached the door, he reached out and took hold of the handle, then tightened his grip on it, but didn't pull.

"Right behind you," Alex reminded him gently, as if he were a child. Jimmy looked at her one more time then gathered his courage and pulled the door open, stepping into the darkness beyond.

It was difficult to see. His footsteps were loud on the metal floor and he followed a hallway down into a bigger, open area where overhead, metal catwalks cross-crossed. He saw no one. He continued inward. And then he saw Claire, sitting tied to a chair. He ran to his little girl, dropping to his knees in front of her, shaking her gently. "Claire? Sweetie? It's me, it's Daddy!"

Behind him came Amelia's voice, low and cruel. "Oh hi, honey. You're home." Jimmy shot up and whirled, standing in front of his daughter protectively. Amelia smiled wickedly. "And you brought your little whore friend, too." She held her hand up and made a yanking motion. Alex was suddenly pulled out of the darkness she'd been concealed in and flung sidelong into a tin wall hard. She fell down to the floor with a sickening thud and let out a horrible low groan of pain.

Jimmy held a hand out, panicking. "Wait—wait. Listen, I'm—I'm begging you here! You do whatever you want with me, but my wife and daughter and Alex, they're just—they're not a part of this."

"Not a part of this? _Sweetie_." She tutted scoldingly. "They're _all_ a part of it." Amelia suddenly laughed in the face of Jimmy's horror. "You know, it's funny. I never imagined how lucky I'd get today… not just an empty vessel but the _Winchester bunch_ too?"

On the ground, Alex was pushing herself up onto all fours—her mouth was bloody and her expression seemed to say she was _done_ with the bullshit. "Joke's on you, bitch," she spat, "I'm the only one here."

Amelia smiled, narrowed her eyes. "Mm. There it is. The default Winchester mode: lies." She cocked her head to the side, listening. "There are the other two right now."

Two demons dragged Sam and Dean in as if on cue. "Hiya, Mom," Dean greeted the demon possessing Amelia.

She ignored him, spoke to her henchmen. "Got the knife?" One of the demons, a blonde female, held up Ruby's knife.

Alex gave Amelia a churlish look. "It's not nice to steal."

"Listen, you got us, okay?" Sam asked loudly. "Let these people go."

"I have a better idea." Amelia pulled a gun out of her waistband and turned, shooting Jimmy in the stomach. Pain exploded and Jimmy cried out in shock and fell over. Even moreso when the demon made Amelia hold the gun to her own stomach and shot herself, too. She began to laugh, unaffected by the wound. It wouldn't kill the demon, but it would kill Amelia when she dispossessed her. "Goodbye, Novak family!" Amelia's voice trilled.

Then she turned and set her sights on Claire, sauntering toward her slowly, leisurely checking her gun, even as Sam and Dean struggled against the grips the demons held them in. Amelia suddenly went flying sideways as Alex tackled her. The gun went off loudly.

On the floor, Jimmy was writhing in pain, a hand pressed to the seeping bullet wound in his stomach. He could hear Alex and Amelia fighting, hear Sam and Dean shouting. But it was all a distant buzzing blur. He stared at the ceiling, at the beautiful, strange pattern of rusty catwalks above. He was dying. This was the end. He blinked a few times, struggling to breathe.

_Jimmy._

Castiel?

_Jimmy, you're dying. Your wife is dying. Your daughter is about to die. I can help you._

No… Castiel… I know what that means. I can't. Not again. Isn't there another way?

_I'm sorry Jimmy. There isn't, unless you'd have me to possess your daughter or your father._

What? No! Not them! If I say yes again, how long will you take me away this time?

_Forever, Jimmy._

Forever? So, either way I die. I say yes to you and I die because you take me over. I say no and I bleed out on the floor here.

_Agree to this and your wife and daughter will both survive. We can save them. The three of you can die today or the two of them can be healed and live long, good lives._

They need me, Cas. I can't just leave again, they won't understand.

_I leave the choice to you, Jimmy._

There were tears of pain and fear in Jimmy's eyes and he squeezed his eyes shut, gritting his teeth against horrible pain. A memory came to him out of nowhere. Eight years old and wearing a cape he'd made out of a pillowcase, he'd raced through a grassy field with his favorite toy airplane, making engine sounds. Lost in jubilation, he stopped to spin a circle, delighting in the plane's imagined flight. "I'm gonna fly when I grow up! Planes, helicopters, fighter jets! I'm gonna _flyyyyy_!"

Jimmy opened his eyes and a tear rolled out the edge of his eye down the side of his face and into his hair. He saw Amelia walking to him on their wedding day, he remembered carrying her across the threshold of their home when love had been bright and hopeful. He saw her in the kitchen, a hand on her growing pregnant belly. He saw Claire when she was a squalling newborn, he felt how his heart had burst inside of him to first hold such a precious gift in his arms. He remembered her first steps and first words. He remembered a good life. And Jimmy let go of it all to save them.

"Yes," he whispered into the echoing space.

A word no one but Castiel heard. A word Jimmy recognized as his last. He turned a little, craning his neck upwards, trying to see Claire one last time before the angel blinded and overpowered him. But his vision was burning white hot as Castiel took over, and he saw nothing and no one.

* * *

Alex barreled into the demon possessing Amelia and the gun went off loudly as it clattered onto the floor. _Wham!_ The demon's fist connected brutally with Alex's jaw, sending her stumbling back. Sam and Dean were shouting, and it sounded like they were doing the same thing she was. Kicking ass. Or getting their asses kicked. Hard to tell.

Amelia grabbed her by the shoulders and Alex hung on tight, using her weight to throw them both sideways where they fell and rolled around on the hard ground, blindly punching each other's faces and grappling roughly. Alex got a foot up between them and kicked Amelia hard in the stomach where the bullet wound gaped. Amelia rolled away from the force of the kick.

"Sam, no, stop! _What are you doing_?!" Dean's shout echoed across the warehouse.

Alex looked up, panting raggedly, on her stomach on the ground. What she saw seemed to stop her heart. Sam was crouched over the blonde demon and he withdrew his mouth from her neck. His lips, teeth, and lower face were covered in bright red. He didn't look recognizable, just ruthless and crazed. His eyes were wild and he stared at Dean silently. He seemed to remember himself—he turned around and stabbed Ruby's knife into the demon he'd just drank from. Blood dripped off his chin to the ground as he stood up. He looked like a _monster._

Alex suddenly felt herself get grabbed by the back of her hair and to be lifted up with super strength—the cold barrel of a gun was at the side of her neck. She heard the gun cock.

" _Hey_!" Sam roared. His hand reached his hand toward her and his expression was terrifyingly murderous. Alex flinched, then realized. He was exorcising Amelia's demon. The grip slackened then ended. Alex stumbled away from Amelia and stared as black smoke billowed out of her mouth, dissipating as she coughed. Sam looked strong, able, confident, his powers fully working as demon blood dripped out of his mouth and down his chin and neck. Dean and Alex looked at each other in horrified realization.

The last of the black smoke left Amelia, whose face suddenly showed agony and fear as she became herself again. She clutched at her stomach where blood soaked her shirt. "Oh God!" She gasped, falling to her knees then onto her side. " _Aaahh_ …" she hissed and moaned and whimpered. Jimmy suddenly stood up and went to her, crouched down beside her, touched her stomach.

"Jimmy?" Amelia asked weakly.

"No." His voice was deep and husky, rough. "I am not Jimmy."

Thunderstruck, Alex's mouth dropped open as _Castiel_ healed Amelia's wound. Amelia looked down at his hand on her stomach, eyes wide and afraid with realization. "C-Castiel?!" His eyes met hers. "Where's Jimmy? Where's my husband? What did you do with him?!"

Castiel stood slowly while looking down at Amelia, who was shocked and still half-laying on the floor. "I'm sorry Amelia Novak. Your husband is gone. He exchanged his life for yours and that of your daughter's."

Amelia's face registered alarmed confusion. " _What_?"

Everyone looked at Claire at that moment, and noticed what they hadn't. The stray bullet the gun had fired a minute ago had hit Claire in the chest. Ribbons of blood trailed down her chest and she was, by all appearances, dead. Amelia sprang up, screaming her daughter's name. Her hands fluttered in a panic, trying to untie her daughter from the chair she was restrained to even as Castiel came up beside her and touched the ropes—singed to ash, they fell away.

Amelia took her daughter into her arms, crying and wailing, on her knees, rocking Claire's limp form. Castiel crouched beside her. "Amelia." Castiel's voice was rich and low. "Have faith. Your daughter will live."

Castiel placed a hand onto Claire's back and Amelia stared, tears forgotten as Claire stirred, frowned, and looked around. "What happened Mommy?" Claire saw Castiel and smiled in relief. " _Daddy_!" She threw her arms around his neck. "I thought you left!"

Castiel was frowning sternly and Amelia looked sick. Claire seemed to realize something was wrong and drew back slowly, looking at Castiel closely. Her voice lowered to a whisper. "You're… you're not my daddy."

Castiel stood up. "No. I am not." Claire and Amelia clung to each other and watched with disbelief as the man who had been Jimmy Novak walked away from them.

Beside Dean, Alex stared at Cas, who was approaching them. He didn't look at either of them even once. "Cas, where are you going?" Alex asked as Castiel walked past Dean without a glance.

The angel rounded on them slowly, his expression more emotionless than she could ever remember seeing it. He didn't reply.

"And what were you gonna tell me?" Dean prompted, earning a glance from Cas.

"I learned my lesson while I was away, Dean," he said and the sound of his voice seemed to still the room itself. "I serve Heaven, I don't serve man, and I certainly don't serve you." His eyes darted to Alex and his jaw clenched. She saw how he took in her bloody face and injuries. His voice lowered even more as his expression flickered. "Any of you."

And he turned and walked away, leaving a shocked bunch of people behind. Claire's quiet sobs echoed in the large expanse of the warehouse. Nearby, Sam was wiping the blood off his face with the sleeve of his jacket and Alex looked at Dean questioningly, who shook his head just slightly, as if to tell her 'not now.' Sam went to Amelia and Claire, by all appearances he was his normal kind, caring self again.

"He'll never be back, will he?" Amelia asked Sam, her voice shaking. Her arm was around Claire, who was crying quietly.

"Didn't sound like it," Sam said honestly, sadly. "Let's just get outta here, huh?"

Sam ended up carrying Claire, who was so traumatized that walking was difficult for her. Amelia walked beside them, holding her daughter's hand, seeming too shocked to know what to do.

Dean and Alex followed, but slowed down letting Sam and the girls get out of earshot. Alex looked at her brother and waited—she could tell by instinct that he was far, far more shaken up than he was letting on. She had never seen his expression so deadly, so horrified. And truthfully, that's how she felt, too. "I'm stopping us at a gas station after we leave here," he said in hushed and hurried tones. "You go to the bathroom, _call Bobby_. Tell him to call us and tell us to come there, to make up some reason— _I don't care what_ —for us to hightail it over. And we'll put Sam in the panic room until we figure out what the hell is going on with him."

Alex nodded, feeling ill. "Okay."

"Do _not_ let Sam know anything is up. We can't let him get away. He has to suspect _nothing._ You got it?"

It was with a sadness her heart had never felt before that she nodded her understanding. She felt her eyes sting with tears, and Dean held up a commanding, angry finger. " _No,_ Alex, no. Later. Later, you and I will do that crap. Right now, everything's normal, you understand?"

Alex cleared her throat and forced herself to go blank. "Yeah. Got it."

* * *

They drove through a rainstorm in silence. In the back seat, Alex could feel the tension building, but refused to be the one to break the silence and to broach the subject. When she'd gone into the gas station bathroom to call Bobby, she had almost lost it completely. She wasn't sure if she could actually keep it together when the time came.

And there wasn't just Sam drinking the demon's blood. She again replayed the moment in her mind. Where Cas had turned and looked at them with such heartlessness. With such utter lack of anything. She didn't understand. What happened? And Amelia, Claire. Would they be all right? And what about Jimmy?

In the front seat, Sam drew in a deep breath and cleared his throat. "All right, let's hear it," Sam said, and Alex glanced up.

"Hear what?" Dean asked, sounding completely normal.

"Drop the bomb, man," Sam said. "You saw what I did. Come on, stop the car, take a swing."

"I'm not gonna take a swing," Dean replied evenly.

Alex could see Sam's expression scrunch in puzzled suspicion, then he turned and looked at her. "Alex? You don't wanna scream my head off? Rip me a new one?"

Under his questioning gaze, she wanted to squirm. But she shrugged. Dean said Sam couldn't suspect anything. So she played it cool. "What can I say, Sam." She flicked a fuzzball off her jacket sleeve as if in boredom. "It explains a hell of a lot."

Sam scoffed, looking at Dean again, then Alex, then Dean, totally aghast. "Come on! You guys aren't gonna give me hell about this?"

"I think we're both too tired, Sam," Alex said, which was true. "Too tired and too sad to be angry."

"Okay, well, at least let me explain myself," Sam said.

Dean shook his head. "Don't. I don't care."

" _You don't care_?" Sam echoed in disbelief.

"What you want me to say, that I'm disappointed? Yeah, I am. But, mostly, I'm just tired, man. I'm done. I am just _done_." Alex heard his voice waver just slightly.

In total disbelief, Sam just stared at Dean. Then his cell phone rang. Alex's eyes jumped up, her pulse picked up. "Hey, Bobby," Sam said.

Alex shut her eyes in emotional pain. And so, the trap would be set. She never thought, in a thousand years, that they would be luring her big brother like an animal. Like a monster.

* * *

**Later That Night  
Sioux Falls, South Dakota**

"Well, thanks for shaking a tail," Bobby said, leading the Winchesters toward the panic room.

"You got it," Dean said. He still sounded normal. Alex was saying as little as possible.

"Go on inside," Bobby said, motioning for them to go inside, letting Sam take the lead. "I wanna show you something."

Alex's blood thundered in her ears as Sam, without any hesitation or suspicion, stepped inside. Clueless. "So, what's the big demon problem?" he turned to them. His expression was too pleasant, too trusting.

Alex thought she felt her heart literally break as Bobby replied, " _You_ are."

Sam's expression wavered. "This is for your own good," Bobby said, and shut the door with a loud bang.

"Guys? Hey, hey. What's… what are you doing?" his voice was quickly becoming panicked. Bobby closed and latched the window. "This isn't funny. Guys! Hey! _GUYS!_ "

The second the door shut and latched closed, Alex's careful guise of calm indifference was gone and she leaned against the wall of the panic room, one hand on either side of her head, painful tears falling silently as her shoulders shook. Sam's shouts echoed loudly on the other side of the wall. She felt Dean pull her away and into his arms, tightly. "Come on kids," Bobby said gently. "It's best if we put some space between us and him for right now."

They went upstairs, Dean pulling Alex along by her forearm. She could barely walk. At the top of the stairs, Alex turned to Dean. " _How did this happen?"_ she asked through tears. "Who _is that_ in there? What _happened_ to Sam?"

Dean's expression was pained and guilty. He didn't know anything more than she did. "I… I don't know."

"How didn't we _see_ this, Dean?" Alex asked, desperate for him to set her at ease in any small way.

He was barely able to look at her. His voice was soft and confused. "What, that he was _sucking demon blood_? I mean, call me crazy but that's not the first conclusion you'd logically jump to." He looked down, putting his face in his hand. "Dammit. I didn't see this coming. _I didn't see this coming_."

Alex looked down the stairs into the darkness. Sam's panicked, confusion shouts were echoing loudly. "Dean. He'll never forgive us for this."

Dean looked at her, his expression unreadable. "I don't know if _I_ can ever forgive _him_."

* * *

 _Thunk. Thunk. Thunk._ Alex threw one last knife, using all the pent up anger and frustration she was holding inside. _Thunk_. It pummeled into the side of the car easily, and she went and yanked out all the knives she'd thrown, the sound of scraping hurting her ears.

Out of steam, she clunked the knives down on the roof of the car, closing her eyes tiredly. Sam was still shouting himself hoarse a couple hours after being locked in. Alex he couldn't be in the house. She didn't know what to do, what to think.

And then there was Cas. She remembered the other night, when she swore he was a different person altogether, listening to her drunken rants... touching her hand as if to comfort her. What had happened? Why was he suddenly a stranger again? How could he just take Jimmy's life like that? How did he just walk away from Amelia and Claire without any visible emotion whatsoever? She didn't believe that Cas was really like that. But maybe that was just denial. Maybe she had it all wrong.

She looked up into the night sky, breathing out and watching her breath dissipate in a little cloud. She waited a very long moment, not sure if she wanted to do this or not. In the end, she decided she did. "Cas? Are you there?"

There was a soft sound behind her and she turned. There he stood, looking at her with a rigid and blank expression. It was startling how fast he arrived. "What is it, Alex?" He looked to his left and right, assessing the location. "What do you need?"

"To talk to you," she said, coming closer to him and seeing Jimmy Novak all over again. And yet, not a trace of Jimmy remained. Identical face, totally different person.

Cas remained distant and stony. "If you're not in danger and need nothing substantial from me, I have no business being here."

He turned, as if to walk away. "Wait! _Cas_!" Alex darted forward and caught him by the shoulder. Even though he had the strength to rip her in half, he stayed and turned a little, meeting her gaze grudgingly after glancing at her hand almost contemptuously.

She let go, confused. "Where'd you go? Why'd you just leave? What happened?"

His jaw tightened with what appeared to be impatience. "It's none of your concern."

"None of my concern?" she repeated, first offended, and then pissed. "Fine. Don't tell me what happened. Why you got dragged back to Heaven." She set him with all the uncertainty she felt. "You _ruined_ a man's life," she accused out of the blue, trying to see some kind of empathy in him. "How are you all right with that?"

Castiel's face was terse. "Alex Winchester, I am not afforded the luxury of having an emotional reaction to that." Her face went slack in surprise at his words and attitude. "He agreed to this. He knew the stakes. And it was necessary." His answers were short, precise, and apathetic.

"Necessary my _ass_!" Alex retorted angrily.

Castiel's eyes held hers unflinchingly. He seemed so cold. "Child, you presume to know the workings of Heaven and righteousness but you are wholly ignorant."

"... _Child_?" she repeated incredulously. His words, demeanor, and stance—all of it—shocked her. "Wha—?" She narrowed her eyes in a concerned frown, not even offended. He didn't sound like himself, and she was beginning to suspect that something had happened to him. "What did they _do_ to you up there?" she asked intently.

His expression flickered, then became hard and dark again. "I already told you. None of that is any of your _concern_."

"It _is_ ," Alex insisted stubbornly, boldly.

"Why?" he challenged, and there was a short, startled silence.

"Because…" she trailed off, realizing why. "I thought we were… friends." He'd said as much and _shit_ , she'd believed him without even realizing it. He'd meant it—she knew he had. Her eyes stung with surprising emotion and her voice softened to accommodate it. "Why are you _being_ like this?"

He saw her shining eyes and Castiel's jaw clenched, his eyes went down, he spoke gruffly. "I have no need of friendship. Not yours, not Dean's, not anyone's."

"But you said…" Alex was unable to hide her wounded expression. She gave a cynical little laugh and abandoned her attempts. "A lot of bullshit, I guess."

"I spoke out of turn to you previously," Castiel said in a low voice. "Now if you need nothing further—"

She grabbed him by the arm, not even thinking—just refusing again to believe how he was acting. " _No_. Don't walk away from me."

Their eyes met and his expression was unreadable. "Let go of me, Alex."

Alex scowled at him, losing her temper and getting combative. "Or _what_? You gonna throw me across the yard? Knock me out? Handcuff me to a wall?" He stared at her unflinchingly for a long few seconds, and Alex just stared him down, unruffled, demanding of an explanation. "I may be 'wholly ignorant' to a lot of shit—but this isn't you, the way you're acting right now."

"You— _do not_ —know me," he growled. He brushed her aside easily, walking a few paces. He kept his back to her. "The relationship you and I had is over. I'm not your friend. I am your protector. That's all." He sounded so insistent and harsh.

Silence. Confused, hurt, unsure silence.

"But why?" Alex was lost. "I don't understand," she said softly. "I thought…" she trailed off, unable to finish her sentence.

If she could have seen his face, she would have seen him close his eyes with a severely pained expression on his face. He could barely conceal his inner feelings, the feelings that had contributed to the removal from his vessel and subsequent punishment. He couldn't let her hear how much he cared, and he couldn't allow Heaven to see, either. But the truth did not escape him: It was lying. He was a liar. Still, he knew what had to be done. He opened his eyes, steeling himself and wiping all emotion from his face and voice. "You thought wrong," he told her without any empathy. And then he was gone.

Alex stared at the spot where he had been, deeply wounded and sorry she had even called him there at all. Sorry that she had thought he would listen to her or share his situation with her. She was once again reminded why she didn't allow people in. She wanted to be angry and bitter about Castiel, but instead all she could feel was hurt. Deeply, painfully, hurt. She had trusted him and let him in. More than she should have. And this was what she had to show for it. Absolutely nothing. The same as poor, wretched Jimmy Novak.

Maybe it was because of the highly exhausting day she'd had or the emotional roller coaster. Maybe it was because of Sam, or Jimmy, because Amelia and Claire, because Castiel. But tears filled her eyes and one rolled down her cheeks. She squeezed her eyes shut. And she only saw one face there in her mind's eye: Castiel.

* * *

The angel stood on a boat loading dock somewhere in New Jersey, leaned over the railing, staring down into the water tensely. Castiel was trying not to reflect on the conversation he'd just had. He was trying to ignore the way his pulse had picked up, the upset feeling that had been left in his stomach at her sadness and pleading. There had been _tears_ gathering in her eyes. Were those tears because of him? He thought of her face, so beaten up by the demon—a split lip, a bruised cheek and jaw, a black eye, painful-looking cuts on her hands…

He was forbidden to heal her unless it was a fatal wound. It seemed so hypocritical. She was the only one he wasn't allowed to assist in that way. It was a test, and he knew it.

His brethren in Heaven—Raphael and Michael—had given him a final warning. His affections for and unnecessary involvement with the Winchesters had to end or he would be punished severely. They told him he was choosing sides. They told him he was failing. They told him he was becoming weak and faithless. They told him this was his final chance. And Castiel had no choice but to obey. He _wanted_ to be a faithful servant of the Lord… but he also wanted to heal Alex. He also wanted to be her friend.

Why did he have doubt after doubt? And why, when he saw the hurt in Alex's eyes—hurt caused by _him_ —why did he feel so sick inside? It had been difficult to look at her in the eye and be rough and callous to her. Still, he had done it, knowing he was protecting them both from Heavenly consequences. And she had looked right back at him and in the face of his purposeful insults had expressed _concern_ for him. How had she _known_ that something happened to him? It surprised and then unsettled him that she saw past his front.

He shouldn't think of her. Not the soft way she sighed, not the way her brow furrowed in thought, not the way her eyelashes fanned out darkly when she looked down. He shouldn't think of the fiery glares or the eye rolls or the crossed arms, the times she'd challenged him and been kind to him alike. He shouldn't dwell on the sound of her laugh, which he hadn't heard enough times. Nor the thought of her gaze meeting his…

Castiel shook himself. The right thing to do was to cut ties with her and her brothers. He could forsake his position as Alex's guardian and allow another angel to do the job. As soon as he thought that, he rejected the idea. _No_. He didn't want that.

 _Want._ The word was a bitter thing lodged in him. Inescapable. Castiel knew that he'd been walking a dangerous line for some time now and was letting his feelings and newfound emotions sway him. The word 'want' had never applied to him before. He had never used it or felt it before her.

He looked over the dark, shimmering water that laid before him lit by moonlight. He didn't know how to stop caring. And he wasn't sure if he truly wanted to. Her face came to mind again, so hurt by what he'd said to her tonight.

He bowed his head deeply, recognizing that what he was feeling in that moment was sadness.


	17. Two Roads Diverged

" _So light the fire, walk away. There's nothing left to say."  
_ \- Bullet for My Valentine

* * *

Sam stared up at the ceiling fan that was surrounded by the familiar design of a devil's trap. The blades swept a slow, heavy rhythm that lulled him to a docile place for now.

He had lost track of the hours and days. No one answered when he called.

He was settling into a disheartening routine by now: first he paced the room and banged on the walls. Then he gave up and sat in the corner and wept with shame then he'd grow angry and would hurl himself against the walls, trying to hurt himself. He'd then collapse down and get depressed, then start the process all over again with renewed fervor.

Sam knew he was in bad shape in the moments of clarity he had between his blackouts. He was beginning to see things and people. Alastair, his mom, himself when he was fourteen. He was so confused and tired, and all he could think about was getting some demon blood, quenching the maddening thirst that pervasively controlled his entire body and mind. He needed to free himself from this hell he'd built in himself, he needed his family to understand that he had only drank demon blood to get strong enough to kill Lilith.

He heard a soft sound beside him and sat up quickly from where he'd been laying on the cot. His twin sister stood there in the shadows at the edge of the room.

"Alex! How'd you get in here?!"

Her face was obscured by strange shadows. He could literally _feel_ the disdain emanating off of her. She ignored his question. "Unbelievable. _Look at you_ , Sam. So far from what you're supposed to be." She came closer, sneering at him in disgust. "Not even _human_ anymore, are you?"

"I'm… I'm still human…" he protested weakly, tiredly. "I'm still me. _Please_ , believe me. You've gotta help me."

She just smirked and started to circle him hawkishly. "You know, I think you're past help. You disgust me, the dark things that crawl around inside you... the things you keep secret..." Sam flinched away from her. "But, it's okay, Sammy. Me and Dean? We got this. We don't need you, especially not now." She stopped and leaned forward, gripping him by his shoulders with crushing force. Her fingernails were like spikes, digging in painfully and he flinched, whimpered. " _You're_ the family curse, Sam," she hissed. "It's been you all along, dragging us down, polluting the air we breathed..." her head tilted to the side and a strange, condescending smile grew on her lips. "You're just some unholy, blood sucking, demon screwing little bastard."

Sam felt like he had been struck. "No, Alex," he protested, tears in his eyes. "It wasn't like that, I just, I needed—" she slapped him across the face, her expression like stone. It stung so badly.

" _Shut up_. I'm tired of listening to your _shit!_ " She walked off, leaving him stunned.

He closed his eyes, miserably listening to the sound of her footsteps echoing. And when he opened his eyes back up, he saw that someone else was there now. A girl, around age twelve. She had a plain, open face, wide eyes, full lips. Two messy braids and an old jean jacket...

" _Alex_ …" he breathed, recognizing her. His twin sister when she was just a kid. She stared at him, her huge eyes full of hurt, betrayal, disappointment. The other Alex, the older one, came to the younger one, putting her arm around the girl protectively. "Don't. You hurt her. You _disappoint_ her. You let her down. She doesn't want you to talk to her." Alex's voice lowered a little bit. "She knows how dark you are inside. How dark you've always been."

Sam choked on his words, standing up, desperate for his twelve-year-old sister to stop looking at him like that. She only turned away, hiding her face from him. Older Alex just looked at Sam with a superior expression, as if to say, 'see?'

Sam was getting desperate, breathless, riled up. "Alex, please! _Help me_! Stop just looking at me like I'm a freak show and _do something_!" He was grasping at straws. "If you can just, just convince Dean… I just need some time, some _help_ … if you guys… can just _help me_! Why won't you _help me?!_ "

Alex smirked patronizingly. "You know what, _Sammy_? It's kinda cute. You think we actually still love you. Think we actually wanna _save_ you. Ah Sam. You sick, crawling little excuse for a man. You're not a _man_." Sam's sadness retreated like a wave on the beach as she kept laying on insult after insult. She came forward, her face inches from his. Her voice lowered into a harsh whisper. "You're a monster." The words were like another slap to the face and made his blood boil like acid. "A _monster_."

"No!" He shouted in rage, lunging for her. "I am _not_ _a MONSTER_!" With an unintelligible bellow he lunged for his sister, angry enough to kill.

Outside the panic room peeking in through the latch, the real Alex couldn't watch any more when Sam ran into the wall, his arms and hands swinging around wildly, as if he were fighting and grappling with someone. He had _totally_ lost it.

She shut the latch quietly and shuffled through the basement, too numb to know how she should react. She felt like she'd failed Sam somehow. It never should have gotten to this point. She should have seen this somehow, recognized that something was wrong, helped her brother. Now it might be too late.

Upstairs in the study, Dean was absently whittling a piece of wood, his expression rocky and absent. Bobby was nowhere to be seen. "Same?" Dean asked her tersely, not looking at her as she leaned against the door frame beside him with crossed arms.

"Worse." She admitted then let out a heavy breath, shutting her eyes for a second. When she opened her eyes again, Dean had stopped whittling and was staring ahead of himself unseeingly. "What are we gonna do, Dean?" Alex asked. Dean always knew what to do. When he said nothing, she shook her head ruefully, looking down at the floor in deep stress. "This is happening at the worst time possible."

A humorless smile turned her brother's mouth upward as he returned his attention to his knife and shaving more wood off the block in his hand. "Yeah. You said it."

Alex tried not to get angry at his nonchalance, but she was. She was _angry_ and she was _scared_. She came to stand in front of him, demanding his attention. "He might not live through this, Dean. You get that, right?"

He met her eyes with a little hostility. "Yeah. I _get_ that." He returned to the work of his hands, ignoring her.

Not exactly thrilled with his attitude, Alex took a second, wetting her lips briefly. Nervously. "Listen. I've been thinking." He wasn't gonna like this. "Maybe I should go get some demon blood."

Dean looked at her sharply, stilled. "What the hell for?"

"You _know_ what for," she said. "Cold turkey is making Sam nuts. I mean, with some drugs, if you stop using, you die from withdrawal, and… and what if that happens here?" Alex used her hands weakly, gesturing emptily. "I just think, maybe, we can just give him some, work him off of it slowly—"

Dean stood up, tossing the wood and knife aside. He was clearly enraged she would even think of what she was suggesting. "No. You hear me? _No_! Alex!"

"I want him to _live_!" Alex protested, almost in a shout, then let the silence hang in disbelief. "And so should you," she accused, her voice cracking with disbelief. "So why _the hell_ do you have a problem with that?"

"You want him to live? The way he is now?" Dean was beside himself. "Drinking _demon blood_ , palling around with _black eyed sons of bitches_ , exorcising all that's unholy with his freaky _mind powers_?"

The reminders quieted her. "Well, no, not like that, but…" she trailed off, realizing what Dean was saying, but she didn't want to believe it. Her head shook vapidly, a silent _no_. "You're really prepared to let him _die_?" She asked, hardly able to believe she even had to ask.

"Yeah, I am, okay?" Dean replied gruffly, his voice rising in defensive anger, in hopelessness. "At least he would die a human!"

Alex was shocked into momentary silence. Her voice betrayed her inner turmoil when she spoke in a soft, stunned tone. "I can't believe you. This is our brother. _Your_ brother. This is _Sam_."

A muscle jumped in her brother's jaw. He didn't yell, he didn't rage, he didn't melt down. He shut his eyes for a second, his expression twisted in pain. He couldn't look at her when he opened his eyes. "I can't let him live like that, Al. I just can't. Like a… like..."

"A monster?" she asked faintly. He just met her gaze, expression unreadable. Alex couldn't maintain the eye contact. She couldn't believe it had come to this. That Sam had done this to himself. That right now, Dean was prepared to let Sam die.

There was a tense silence, then Dean set his mouth in a thin line, looking grim. "There might be one other option."

"What?" she asked immediately, desperate for a way out of this mess. But the answer was not what she wanted to hear.

"The angels." Alex felt her expression drop and Dean let our a frustrated huff, getting physically agitated. "Well what else can I do?" He demanded, seeming to already know that she wouldn't agree with his idea. He paced a few steps in front of her. "I'm backed into a friggin' corner here! What the hell else is left?!"

"I don't know!" she replied, exasperated, matching his elevated volume and emotion. "But we can't trust the angels, you know that!" She thought of Castiel and was filled with bitterness. It showed on her face, too.

"I don't like it anymore than you do," Dean said bluntly, "but I'm kinda outta options, in case you hadn't noticed." He looked at her intently, his eyes narrowing as if he'd just seen something. "What aren't you telling me?" He'd noticed how she was thinking of Cas.

"Nothing." Alex looked at him guardedly. "Just, if you're thinking Cas will help… he won't. Not like he used to." She thought back to the other night, the way he had been so clearly _done_ with her. She felt a pang of despair and her gaze faltered downward. "He's changed."

"Everyone's changing around here, for the _worst_ ," Dean muttered. He rubbed the palm of his hand down across his mouth and chin, by all appearances scraping the bottom of his emotional and mental barrel. Nothing else was said.

They could hear Sam shouting again, a muffled, panicked sound down in the basement.

* * *

**That Night**

How was it that _this_ was the work of angels?

Castiel stood in the shadows of Bobby Singer's basement, his hand outstretched, freeing Sam Winchester step by step from the panic room. Just as he'd been commanded.

The angel ignored his instincts, reminding himself of what had been drilled into him: _obedience is what is valued. Not feelings, not emotions._ His job was not to contemplate outcomes or to give credence to the doubt he felt. It was to obey. So he obeyed, but not without the growing feeling of self-awareness, of self-loathing. Obeying used to give him assurance and certainty. But today, obeying these orders—it gave him nothing but a store of dread and the feeling that he was doing the _wrong thing_. But how could it be wrong if it were the Will of Heaven? A troubling dilemma that wouldn't leave his mind.

Castiel broke Sam's bonds, but his stomach clenched. He unlocked the door of the panic room, but he swallowed deeply with a feeling of anxiety. Giving Sam this freedom would allow the final seal to be broken and then Lucifer would walk free, just as Heaven and the archangels wanted. Castiel felt dizzying amounts of negative emotion and conviction flood him; spirit, mind, and body. Was this right? Sam would probably _die_ in this process, and not just Sam. Millions of people in the apocalypse that would follow with Lucifer's return to earth. And yet Castiel had been told this was necessary. Still, a single question kept thumping through his veins to the rhythm of his sickened heartbeat: Was it right? _Was it_?

Sam came out of the panic room just as predicted. He looked physically drained, sweaty, and sallow, jumpy. He stole up the stairs quietly, his expression showing that he barely believed what was happening, that he couldn't believe his luck. Invisible and silent, Castiel followed, watching Sam sneak through the dark house. It was his job to ensure that Sam Winchester escaped, as ludicrous as it seemed.

Sam passed through the study, pausing to look at Bobby, who was asleep with his head on the desk. Nearby, Dean and Alex were deeply asleep on the small couch there. Dean had fallen asleep sitting up—an ancient looking book was opened and forgotten on one of his upper legs. His head lolled down onto his shoulder, his arm stretched across the top of the couch lazily. Alex was opposite of her brother, a book under her head as a pillow. Her feet were tucked underneath her brother's leg. They had clearly fallen asleep trying to research something. Probably something to do with Sam, who continued out of the house after looking at his family with a somber gaze. The front door clicked closed softly as Sam made his escape without raising a single alert.

Castiel remained, having done his job. Now he was left to look at the two Winchesters who he had tried so hard in particular not to want to help, not to like. Dean let out a soft snore. Alex shifted a little and let out a soft sleeping sigh, her foot kicking toward Dean's torso. Bruises and cuts remained on her face, attesting to physical pain and violence endured. Bruises and cuts he was forbidden to touch a hand of healing to looked up at him. And an increasingly familiar feeling of guilt came over Castiel.

The angel felt as though he had betrayed them somehow. He thought that if Alex knew what he was doing, she would say what she had said to him several times now. _You know better than this. Something's wrong. This isn't you._

She was wrong. This _was_ him. He was nothing and no one, just another in a number of the Holy Host; a creation of God purposed to carry out His divine will and plans. Castiel wasn't who Alex Winchester imagined him to be, unfortunately. But one thing _was_ certain: walking the earth in the body of a man was slowly tempting Castiel away from everything he'd held fast to before. He thought of what Anna had said to him, about how he could choose free will. The thought terrified Castiel, who had made his own decisions a few times recently and had been punished because of them.

Still… could he stand by and allow this to happen?

He shouldn't even be _asking_ that question...

But the small and nagging voice in the back of his mind wouldn't leave him alone, wouldn't stop whispering to him. _This is wrong,_ it said _. This is wrong, and you know it._ An even stranger thought came to Castiel and struck him with quiet terror. Perhaps this _wasn't_ him—perhaps he _did_ know better. Perhaps this _was_ wrong. But if those things were true, he truly didn't know _who he was_ anymore—or what Heaven had become, either.

Full of denial on both counts, Castiel took leave of Bobby Singer's home. Even though his physical location changed, his questions and doubts followed him… threatening to remain with him to the ends of the earth itself.

* * *

**Almost Two Days Later**

The Impala pulled up to the Saint Regis hotel, a swanky looking high rise. Not the kind of place the Winchesters stayed… _ever._

"There it is," Dean said, nodding toward the white Escalade with huge rims parked nearby. "Yup. Just like I said. He's here. Little bitch thought he could throw me off his trail. Well, I know him better than he thinks." Dean was unbuckling. "I'm gonna go in there and talk some sense into him. I bet you a million bucks Ruby's in there too. And I'm ganking her once and for all."

Alex unbuckled too, reaching for the door handle.

"No."

Alex froze, looking at her brother with a hard frown. "No _what_?"

"You wait here," he said, leaving no room for disagreement. "If I'm not back in ten… _then_ you come in." She opened her mouth to argue but he held up a hand, seeming to be too done to even hear her out. "Just, shut it. Okay? This is something I have to do." He stared out the car windshield with a stony face. "Trust me. Stay _here_." He hefted the demon blade in his hand and grimly exited the car with just a brief glance at her.

Unhappy, Alex complied and slumped down into her seat. She kept a watchful if sullen eye on Dean as he entered the hotel through the grand entrance—a large glass revolving door. When Dean got all _my car my rules_ on her, she was never too thrilled. Why the hell would he go in _alone_ to confront Sam? What if he needed backup? A few minutes passed in which Alex became increasingly nerve-wracked, staring at the hotel. It had been almost ten minutes, hadn't it? She couldn't wait much longer. This was insane, him going in there by himself— _prick_.

A flash of movement at one of the smaller side doors caught her attention. Alex started, sitting up straight when she saw a familiar figure dart out. _Ruby_ ducked around the corner of the building after throwing a suspicious backward glance out over her shoulder. She walked beyond sight quickly, but Alex was already getting out of the car.

Sprinting toward the corner Ruby had disappeared behind, Alex edged up the building to peek around the corner cautiously. Ruby was walking fast toward the back of the hotel, as if she were making a quiet escape. No Dean or Sam followed after the demon, but Alex wasn't pausing to consider why. She was seeing red, and pure, enraged murder was coursing through her veins. That unholy bitch was the one who had done this to Sam and she was as good as dead.

Alex dashed across the maybe thirty feet between her and the unaware demon, her pulse pounding. As she closed in, Ruby heard her footfalls and turned halfway, but not in time. Alex was already there, ruthlessly grabbing Ruby by the hair and smashing her head with brutal force into the brick wall of the hotel, bruising and scraping her own knuckles in the assault. The demon was caught off guard, but not for long at all. Ruby grabbed onto Alex with a yell. Her grip was like a vice and she pushed, smashing Alex shoulder-first into the wall before backhanding Alex across the face. Too high on adrenaline to feel the pain yet Alex was already reeling her fist back, returning the favor and socking Ruby in the throat, hard. The demon stumbled back a little, dazed, and using the temporary lull Alex snatched up a loose, fist-sized piece of brick in her hand. She practically roared as she struck Ruby across the face with it, once, twice, three times.

Grabbing blindly, Ruby managed to get two fistfuls of Alex's shirt and then threw her down onto the pavement, but Alex hung on, dragging the demon down too. There was a loud thud as the girls hit the ground, rolling. Alex still had the brick, and smashed Ruby in the side of the head with it, using the momentum of the scuffle to dominate Ruby and gain the upper hand. Alex straddled her, staring down, out of breath, murder in her eyes. Ruby laughed, showing the blood in her teeth. One of her eyes was already swelling up. "You don't have the knife, _dumbass_ ," Ruby taunted. "What are you gonna do, beat my face in all day?"

"I don't need a knife, you _bitch_." Alex snarled, dropping the brick. " _Exorcizamus te omnis_ —" Ruby's eyes went wide, and her hands shot up, yanking Alex down by the back of her neck, clapping the other hand across her mouth, trying to silence her, yanking her along into another roll so that Alex was now the one on the ground with Ruby on top. Alex bit down on one of Ruby's fingers hard, drawing blood and Ruby yowled, letting go for a second. " _Immundus spiritus; omnis satanica—_ " Alex continued, and Ruby, eyes going even wider in genuine fear, clamped both of her hands down on Alex's throat with devastating, crushing force, making it impossible for Alex to speak, breathe, or make a sound. Struggling for air, Alex weakly grabbed her knife—a regular hunting knife—out of her belt loop, and with desperate, last-ditch effort she stabbed it into the side of Ruby's neck and yanked the blade forward, leaving a gaping wound in Ruby's throat.

Bleeding profusely out of the huge gash in her neck, Ruby stumbled up to her feet shakily, horrified with a hand on her neck. "You crazy _bitch_!" she shrieked. Alex opened her mouth to continue the incantation, but nothing came out. Her throat was killing her and her voice was only a whisper. Still, she stood up Ruby's blood dripping down her jaw and neck as she panted. With her clothes ripped, her face and hands scraped up and bruised, her dagger glare, her iron-like grip on her knife, she must have looked truly fearful—Ruby withered, stepping back a little. The demon was barely recognizable from the savage beating and no longer looked confident, in fact, she looked afraid. Alex took a single step toward her… and Ruby turned around and fled.

Alex thought about giving chase. But without the demon blade and without a voice to exorcise, it was a bad idea. _Dammit_. She stumbled into the hotel through a side service entrance, dodging curious eyes as she searched for the honeymoon suite where Dean had said Sam would be. She found the room quickly, a little lightheaded and feeling woozy, but pushing past it out of terror that Ruby had done something to Sam and Dean both.

The door of the honeymoon suite was half open and there was shattered glass on the floor, the room partition had been ripped in half, various other smashed and broken stuff littered the place. And there, on the floor by the bed, a sight that would never leave Alex's memories. Dean was on the ground, turning blue with Sam over him, his hands crushed down on Dean's neck. "Sam, _stop_!" Alex rasped in total horrified shock, and what would have been a shout was a sand-papery whisper.

She ran over and tried to get Sam off of Dean, grabbing his shoulder and pulling hard. He was too big and too heavy. When she grabbed at him, he shoved her away carelessly. She staggered backwards, but was already fumbling back forward, grabbing the first thing she could—a fancy blown glass lamp—and smashing it over her twin's head, one thing in mind: _save Dean's life_. The shattered glass went flying in all directions and Sam stood up, staring her down with absolute hatred. He seemed so much taller than she ever remembered him being, so powerful and dark and his eyes flashed at her menacingly. She almost didn't recognize him and she shrank away, abruptly stricken with fear. On the floor, Dean was groaning and wheezing, clutching his neck and gasping for air as he recovered.

"You shouldn't have _done that_ , Alex," Sam thundered, bearing down on her so fast and hard that it almost seemed like he was about to hit her. It happened so fast. He swept into her space and even as Alex thought _no, he wouldn't!_ —he did. He backhanded her ruthlessly across the face so hard that she fell down in a whirl—colliding chin-first on the floor with a hard cracking sound. Alex was stunned and breathless, tasting her own blood as her face stung from his assault. She stared up at Sam in shocked terror, disbelief, breathless pain—petrified to stillness. Sam was breathing hard as he looked down at her, hands limp at his sides. Horror was on his features, as if he hadn't known what he'd done, and he stumbled a single step back from her.

"Sam! Wh—what have you done?!" Dean asked, his voice broken and high with disbelief. He'd rolled over onto his side, supporting himself on an arm. He was staring at his brother with horrified wide eyes.

Sam looked back at Dean, and for a moment, his expression was pained, confused, lost. And then, it changed, growing cold and dark. "You don't know me. You never did. And you never _will_." Sam looked at Alex, his expression chilling over, his eyes dark, cruel, and cold again. She stared up at him in terror as he stood over her, and for a minute she wondered if he was going to try and kill her, too. And then wordlessly, he turned, heading for the door.

Dean's trembling voice stopped him. "You walk out that door, don't you _ever_ come back! You hear me?!"

Sam paused, his back to them. "Yeah," he said cynically. Without looking back at them he exited; the sound of his heavy footsteps against the carpeted hallway fading out.

Alex stared after her twin with blurry vision, the pain in her jaw and face making her dizzy. _Sam—how could you?_ She heard Dean crawling over to her . He was wincing and his face was scraped up bad, bleeding in places. But his only concern was her. "Lemme see, sweetheart," he said gently, and she almost lost it then, at the gentle way he touched her chin, her jawline. She couldn't look at him as he examined her face. "You okay?" he asked, and he sounded close to a breakdown.

She groaned against the pain and bitterly spat out a mouthful blood. Her heart was heavy. She was losing her composure fast. " _No_. No." she rasped out. Her oldest brother pulled her into a tight hug and she clutched him with every ounce of strength she had left as she lost her emotional strength. She began to weep like she'd lost a brother, because she was pretty sure she just had. Dean tried to comfort her, but he was every bit as ruined by grief in that moment, too.

Invisible to the stunned and wounded siblings, two angels watched. Zachariah still had an arm out in front of Castiel who had been about to intervene, about to stop Sam from hitting his sister. His hands were clenched at his sides and his face showed an expression of conflict and disapproval and clear upset.

"This has gone too far," Castiel said lowly, watching as brother and sister embraced in mutual misery—both of them cried. Her loud and hiccuping. Him all but silent.

Zachariah clapped his hand onto Cas's shoulder, not concerned at all. "Let it ride, Castiel," he said breezily, giving Castiel a playfully pointed look. "This thing just has to run its course."

Castiel only glanced balefully at his brother. He was truly beginning to disagree.

The more that happened, the closer Sam got to doing his part to raise Lucifer… the more Castiel despaired.

This wasn't right. _None_ of it.

* * *

**The Next Day**

Alex laid still in the bedroom, the one she'd stayed in last year when she'd lived here with Bobby. She could hear Bobby and Dean arguing. _Again_. Bobby was insisting that they needed to go after Sam, talk him down. But Bobby hadn't seen what Sam did, he hadn't _seen_. The look in Sam's eye, the merciless, monstrous way he'd attacked his own blood. Alex hadn't slept at all last night after all that. Instead she'd walked miles and miles down the road in pitch darkness, not even going anywhere, just needing to move to try and leave some pain behind. She'd smoked cigarette after cigarette as she tried to understand what had happened. When Dean had realized she was missing and called her phone in a panic, he'd torn down the road in his car to come get her. But once he'd found her ( _seven_ miles from Bobby's house), they'd sat on the hood together and said next to nothing. Just watched the sunrise on the side of the road somewhere, maybe trying to act like it was a normal day for them, like their brother wasn't a homicidal demon-blood addicted psychopath.

They were back at the Singer residence now and the reality remained. Sam was gone and she and Dean had no idea what to do.

Alex sat up, catching sight of herself in the mirror of the bureau. She was given somber pause. With a puffy eye, a scraped, violet-bruised chin and a split lip—she looked like a battered woman, like a punching bag. A dark bruise discolored her cheek—the place where Sam had struck her. The memory of it replayed and her throat closed up in sadness. Her chin was a scabbing mess from where he'd thrown her down and Alex ran fingers across the wound, wincing. It was still _killing_ her, and her entire jaw ached. Whatever. Pain was nothing new. It would all heal eventually. Her eyes lowered to traverse the dark bruises all along her neck and throat from where Ruby had tried to choke her to death. Alex's voice was still barely there, a sad whispery rasping sound. Maybe in a few days when her windpipe healed a little better she'd regain her voice's strength. For now, she sounded like she had laryngitis.

Overall, she found her appearance to be depressing. She looked hopeless and defeated. She bowed her head down and swung her legs over the side of the bed, not wanting to look at herself anymore. How could they ever come back from this? Honestly, she felt that this was the end. The end of her, Sam, and Dean. Maybe the end of _everything_. It was hard to see the light at the end of the tunnel on this one.

Alex studied her feet and sighed hollowly through her nose, feeling tired and sick to her bones. And then without warning her feet were no longer on the wood flooring of Bobby's house, but on a shining marble floor. She jumped up in shock and realized she'd just jumped out of a chair, not her bed. Looking around she quickly became totally confused and afraid. She was in a lavishly decorated room trimmed in gold. The walls were accented with austere paintings, marble statues, crown moulding, and ornate solid oak furniture.

Dean was suddenly there too, appearing in front of her without warning. His mouth dropped open in confusion. "Whoa!" he exclaimed in a nervous whisper. "What the—"

"Hello, Dean. Hello, Alex." In unison, the disoriented Winchesters whirled to see Castiel standing at the other end of the room. "It's almost time," he announced.

"...Time for _what_?" Dean asked, standing a little closer to his sister as if to guard her. But Castiel disappeared without another word. Dean let out a low growl of frustration and marched toward the door, tried to open it—but it wouldn't budge. They were locked in.

Alex looked around sharply, assessing the room. "What did he mean, 'it's time'? And where the _hell_ is this?" Her voice rasped weakly. Her veins were racing with adrenaline.

Dean stopped rattling the door and turned around. He lost his fire and seemed to suddenly understand what Alex still didn't. " _What_?" she asked urgently, feeling mildly panicked at the look on his face.

"I... gave myself to the angels, okay?" He looked at her with a hard, defensive expression as she stared at him speechlessly, eyes gone wide. "I thought…" he trailed off pitifully and pinched the bridge of his nose briefly. "I dunno what I thought."

Alex was utterly confounded. "You ga—Dean, what the hell!? This is serious shit you're in to!" More than angry, she was _freaked out._

"I know, I know," he muttered, dodging her incensed stare.

"What does that even mean, you 'gave yourself to the angels'?!" Her strained voice cracked. "What are they gonna _do_ with you?"

"I dunno. Apparently not _HELP US_!" He shouted the words 'help us' at the ceiling balefully, but no angels showed up.

Alex clenched her jaw tightly and looked up. She wasn't going to sit around and wait. "Castiel, get your little winged ass back in here _right now_ ," she all but growled. Not the most polite way of asking him to come back, but she didn't care about being polite to him anymore. Not after he'd been such an asshole after the Jimmy incident. Two could play at that game.

Castiel appeared behind them, alerting them to his presence with a question. "What is it?"

Alex turned around and marched right over to him. His face was stoic and rigid, set hard and seemingly apathetic. "Let us outta here," she demanded evenly, keeping her anger on the down low.

"I can't do that," he replied robotically.

Alex's eyebrows rose up challengingly. "Can't or won't?" He made no answer and Alex wet her lips, getting ready to hand his ass to him verbally. She raised a lecturing finger at him. "Listen here you—" he disappeared rudely and Alex stopped speaking mid-sentence and stared at the empty space in front of herself.

"Good job," Dean commented sarcastically. "You really told him how it is."

Alex shot her brother a dark look. "Bite me." She looked at the painting next to her—it was huge and depicted an angel in flowing robes, extending a benevolent hand out over a child. _What a crock of shit_. She picked up a fancy blown glass vase that was on the table next to her and she threw it at the painting, hitting the angel right in the face. Glass flew everywhere and the angel in the painting remained smiling, peaceful.

Dean was mildly amused at her useless action. " _That_ helped."

"Fuck off." Alex plopped down into a plush chair and put her head in her hands. This was a nightmare. A _nightmare_. She rubbed her forehead, trying to make the headache go away.

"Hello, Dean, you're looking fit!"

Alex shot back up to her feet at the new voice. A tall, balding man with an oddly perky smile was standing there. He was dressed in a suit. Behind him, Castiel stood with a blank face. Dean again moved quickly to stand near his sister—as if his physical presence could protect her against an angel.

The balding man looked from Dean to Alex. "And, Alexandra, is it? So nice to finally put a face with the name!" He chuckled, by all appearances friendly and pleasant. _Too_ friendly, _too_ pleasant. " _I_ , am Zachariah," he said, indicating himself with a flourish. "You might have heard of me?"

 _Yes_. She had, and she immediately felt apprehension. " _Pleasure,_ I'm sure," she rasped flatly. Next to her, Dean tensed. Something was going down, but what was it?

Suddenly without warning, Castiel was no longer at Zachariah's side—he was at Alex's, and he took her by the arm. "Hey! What—" she protested, even as Dean tried to shove Cas away.

But then she and Cas were suddenly in a different room, completely alone. This one was a soft mauve color, with black gilded furniture and amber accents. It was dimmer in this room. "What the hell, Cas?" Alex demanded in her strained voice, freaking out at the abrupt separation from her brother. "What's going on? Is Dean in danger?"

Cas had let go of her and was standing in front of her with his eyebrows knit together. "No. Of course not. Zachariah merely wants to discuss things with your brother. Private things."

Alex glared at him for a second, then looked around the room again. There were no doors and she didn't like it. "Where _are_ we?" She demanded. This was insane. "Why are Dean and I here?"

"For your safety," he said, and looked down purposefully, as if trying to hide something. "The final seal will be broken soon."

Alex's pulse rocketed upwards in alarm. "Then what the hell are we doing here?! We need to stop it!"

"No," Castiel said, shocking her. He sounded conflicted and looked down again. "We will not stop it."

"What?" Alex looked at him in incredulous confusion. " _Why_?"

She didn't miss the flicker of doubt there in his expression, the way his eyes took in her bruised and battered face, but his voice held steady. He delivered his statement blankly, forcefully. "It has been commanded," he replied. "Lucifer will rise."

For a minute she thought he was going to have a good explanation, but when he said _that_ , she felt like she'd been hit by a ton of bricks. "Son of bitch," she breathed, feeling herself go slack-jawed as she realized what was happening. She wasn't sure whether to be pissed off or terrified. "All this time you've been telling us how much we don't want Lucifer to come to town and now…?" She searched for words as she quickly got riled up. "Now you're making sure he _does_?!" Castiel said nothing. Alex looked at him like he was stark raving mad. "You're insane. _Insane_ , all of you, you _winged freaks!_ "

She turned away from him and took a couple stunned steps, lost in abject disbelief, mind racing to put the pieces together. It felt like the rug had been yanked out from underneath her feet. "I'm sorry that you're upset," Castiel's deep voice said from somewhere behind her.

She whirled, disgusted with his act. " _Right_. Cuz you care _so_ much don't you?" She snapped hoarsley, letting her righteous anger propel her forward to him. "You know, I dunno what your deal is, but I mean, _really_? Pretending to be my friend? Pretending to care? Getting me to trust you? You're such a fucking _liar_!" She tried to shove him, but he was immovable. She hated herself for believing him and thought all his talk of compassion was an act—had the angels assigned Cas to her and told him to earn her trust, get her to fall for him, believe he was a nice guy? Was him healing her voice a way to do that? She was crushed thinking these things. "Have you ever said anything true to me, _ever_?"

Castiel's expression changed at her question, showed stunned disbelief. "Yes, of course I have," he said, and was that offended hurt resting in his eyes? Was that soft vulnerability lilting in his voice?

Alex was thrown off at his display of emotion but toughened herself. "I'm having a hard time believing that."

Again his features were swept by disbelief and confusion, as if he couldn't believe that she would accuse him of lying to her. His eyes went down and moved back and forth quickly in distressed thought. And then what he said next floored her. "I… I was going to tell Dean about the angel's plans to bring forth Satan." He looked at her directly. "It's why I was torn out of Jimmy Novak."

" _What_?" She asked softly, eyebrows faintly risen.

"It seemed wrong to me, the plan to allow Lucifer to rise. At the time I was… I was confused." He was _still_ confused, and it showed. Confused and contrite. The way he was looking at her seemed pleading. "I never wanted to misguide you. I never wanted…" he trailed off and his face showed apprehensiveness and conflict. He glanced around the room, as if for eavesdroppers or onlookers. He set his jaw, seeming to revert to the harder exterior he preferred to display. "I shouldn't even be telling you this."

She could see it—just faintly—how Castiel _wanted_ to help, was willing in some deep part of himself, but couldn't quite get there. The smallest instance of hope took hold of Alex, who stepped forward to him and spoke in intense, hushed tones, urging him to action. "Cas, if you knew this was wrong back then—if you were gonna tell Dean about it—why don't you do something _now_?! It's _not_ right. We both know that!"

He shook his head no gravely, clinging onto whatever had been indoctrinated into him. "Try to understand," he said, but his voice lacked the conviction that had been there just a moment ago. "There's a bigger picture here."

"Is that what _they're_ telling you?" Alex asked, and grabbed him gently by the arms, trying to get him to really look at her. "Cas, the apocalypse—it'll kill _so many_ people. Aren't you supposed to _protect_ people?"

Her words made him hesitate. "I'm supposed to carry out God's will," he said. But it looked like he was questioning himself internally.

" _How_ can this be his will?" Alex pressed. "Have you stood in front of him and heard him say with his own voice that this is what he wants?" Cas said nothing, only met her waiting gaze with eyes that were intensely uncertain. Alex wanted to shake sense into him—why wouldn't he listen to reason? "You _know_ this is wrong, I _know_ you do!" She exclaimed, getting frustrated to the point of wanting to punch a wall. "I can see it when I look at your stupid _face_!" She let go of him, shoving again to no effect.

Castiel stood there in wretched silence, eyes low and glazed over in dejection. "What I feel is not important," he said hollowly.

Losing her fire, Alex's shoulders beginning to slump in fatigued defeat. "That's not true," she protested faintly. He looked into her eyes hesitantly. And Alex shook her head, sadly, wishing he could just believe that. "Just take me back to Dean," she whispered. Cas was too brainwashed and too afraid. He wasn't going to help them.

The angel was reluctant. "Not yet."

Alex narrowed her eyes. "What, are you holding me hostage or something?"

His ever-constant frown deepened. "No, of course not."

"Then _let me leave_." Her weak, sandpapery voice trembled with a fearful and demanding quality.

"I can't," he told her softly, and he had the audacity to look sad about it. She saw how his eyes traveled over her beat-up face again—the bruises, the swollen eye, the scraped up chin. "Are you in very much pain?" He asked quietly, startling her because of the tone in his voice.

Alex tried to look stony in response to his caring question. "Don't try and change the subject."

Castiel seemed to be vexed, puzzled, and empathetic all at once as he continued to study her beaten appearance. "Sam shouldn't have done this to you," he said in surprisingly softness, and his deeply husky voice was filled a sadness that Alex found offensive. "I am... truly sorry," he said, sounding as though he were admitting some big secret.

"Sorry for _what_?" She asked, pissed off at everything and not liking how he was looking at her or making her feel.

A muscle jerked in his cheek. "I could have stopped it."

His words paused her. "...So why didn't you?"

He thought about it for a moment as his face tilted down in somberness. He sounded ashamed of himself. "They told me not to."

What a damn pushover. Alex reacted by scoffing. "Aren't you supposed to be my guardian angel?" She asked rudely, giving him an ugly look. " _Great job_." Her words appeared to hit him hard, and chastened and ashamed of himself, Castiel looked down in contrition. It would have been better if he'd gotten angry at her—that's what she'd expected and wanted. His downcast eyes made her feel badly and she softened a great deal helplessly. "I didn't mean…" she trailed off, not sure what to say. How did he keep having this effect on her? She wanted to be furious with him for being so obstinate and stuck in his beliefs... but all she felt was the urge to help him and to see him act like an individual, use his mind, do the right thing. So she tried again.

"Look. Anna said you've been struggling." She abruptly gave a little laugh that was equal parts helpless and cynical. "And I think it's because _Heaven_ is full of _shit_ and you know it!" Castiel didn't join her in finding the statement amusing in the least and her tense little smile faded into a pleading expression. It was a hard hit to her pride, but she tried appealing to him yet again. "You could _help_ us Cas. It's not too late. Are you just gonna take orders even when you know they're wrong?" He said nothing, but he was thinking about what she was saying. She pressed. "Are you just gonna stand by when you could do something?"

His eyebrows were drawn closely together and he shook his head slowly, his face working hard as he struggled to answer her. "It's not my place t—"

"It _is_ your place," she cut him off vehemently. "You have a mind, so _use it_!"

His bright blue eyes met hers wretchedly and she saw how he was so resistant to what she was saying, how torn up he was inside. "I am an _angel_. I'm not allowed free will. I'm not like you."

He frustrated her to the core and she wanted to give up. " _God_ you're a coward," she muttered angrily, then threw a hand out and let her voice get loud again—it rasped pathetically. " _So what_ if it's not allowed?! If it's the right thing to do, you should _do_ it!"

Cas was quiet for a moment, considering her words with a physically ill expression. "You make it sound simple."

"It _is_ ," she retorted in vast frustration then promptly sat down onto the nearby velvet chaise in exhausted frustration. Clasping her hands between her knees and running her eyes over the scrapes there, she shook her head and swallowed thickly.

"Listen. Sam is my _brother_." Her cracked voice was just a whisper. She had lost her anger, and in its place was a sort of hopeless despair. "I _love_ him. No matter what. And I wanna save him—more than anything. You can't understand that. You can't. Because if you _did..._ you'd let Dean and I go save him from Lilith. You'd give us that chance. You'd _help_ us." Dejected, she balanced an elbow on her knee and bowed her face into her hand. The tender, bruised skin made her wince and then make the softest little sound of pained protest. _Son of a bitch_ her whole face was like a war zone. It hurt so bad. Honestly, she wanted to cry from hopeless frustration and the physical pain too. But she held it in, refusing to succumb.

Cas came and stood in front of her, shocking her when he knelt down in front of her, _right_ in front of her. Hand falling away from her face, senses suddenly in overdrive— _what is he doing?_ —she stared at him even as he looked up into her eyes with a soft, vulnerable expression. He was so close, definitely in her personal space, and she felt keenly, suddenly vulnerable in a way she couldn't describe. It shocked her further when his hand came to the side of her face, an entirely unexpected action that Alex briefly misinterpreted as affection. She flinched, confused—then realized he was healing her.

The familiar bright light reached from his hand to inside of her, leaving her warm, comforted. His eyes held hers the entire time and Alex felt her face twisting into a questioning, almost fearful expression. Why was he doing this? His physical closeness left her nerve-wracked. No one in the world had every looked at her as intensely as he did, like his gaze pierced into her soul itself. Her body was stiff as a board of wood all over and she realized she was holding her breath as she thought about how powerful he was. He seemed so lost and unsure of himself sometimes that she just _forgot_. But right then, at that moment, she _knew_ how magnificent and strong he was and she was awed by him all over again. His hand came away from her face—which no longer hurt, and in a daze she touched her cheek then her chin, finding smooth skin there.

Puzzled, Alex gazed at Cas. "I… I thought you weren't supposed to do that," she said softly. Her voice had returned to normal and was no longer rasping or broken.

Her words change his face. Cas stood up, his expression unreadable again. "I'm not." His jaw clenched barely perceptibly, he studied her tensely a second longer, and then said something that startled her completely. "You once asked me if I ever felt afraid." Eyes widening at the depth of emotion in his voice, Alex watched Cas show himself to her in a way that would haunt her mind for a long time to come. His voice softened into a tone that was near vulnerable. "That's how I feel right now." 

Even as Alex's face lost all expression at his confession, he was abruptly just _gone_ with a burst of wind, shocking her all over again.

She stood up, looking around with a slack jaw and hammering heart. "Cas?" She waited a second. "Cas!"

He didn't return.

* * *

An hour or so passed and Alex was alone for the entirety of the time. She paced the room restlessly for the most part—after trying breaking through a wall, which didn't work. She worried about Dean and Sam and chewed her nails, called Cas a few more times. No one came. Castiel was taking up major real estate in her mind the entire time. What _was_ he? Really? She thought of the first time she saw him. She'd been terrified of this new, powerful creature who looked like an average man. Then as time had crept onward, she'd learned that he was a soldier come to earth from Heaven. At first she'd thought he was emotionless and weird and more than a little annoying. He hadn't been someone to trust. But glimpses of an entirely different Castiel had peeked through. A Castiel who was gentler and curious, compassionate. A Castiel who wanted to do the right thing and wanted the best for humanity. A Castiel who had of all things wanted her _friendship_. A Castiel who felt afraid. Not for the first or last time, she craved to know who he wa—a maddening urge she couldn't quell. 

Could he really stand by and let Lucifer rise? Let the apocalypse happen? If he cared, shouldn't that move him to action? What, exactly, was he afraid of?

She thought about how he'd said he was about to tell Dean about the Lucifer situation and how he'd been ripped out of his vessel as consequence. That was a pretty big move, wasn't it? She remembered the ripped up manufacturing plant they'd found Jimmy in, the place from which Cas had been forcibly, violently dragged back to Heaven. The more she thought about it, it was a wonder they hadn't killed or imprisoned Castiel forever for planning to tell them everything—wasn't that treason? To go against Heaven and the angels or whatever like that? He'd come back from Heaven even more robotic than she ever remembered him being… he'd acted cold and brushed her off, by all appearances done being her friend and helper. And yet here she sat today, healed by his hand even though she'd heard Uriel tell him, point-blank, he wasn't allowed to.

 _He cared._ All of it pointed her to that thought over and over again.

Suddenly, as if knowing she were thinking of him, Castiel appeared to stand a few paces in front of her. Startled, she stood up, her guard coming up immediately. He was reaching out to her. "It's time to return to Dean," he said, not explaining why he'd been gone or what was happening. Only holding his hand out, indicating that she take it. She hesitated, then did as he said. The instant her hand slipped into his, she felt them moving. But she was looking at their hands. And holding tighter to his for no real reason at all.

When she looked up, they were standing in the beautiful room that Dean was in. With his back to them, Alex's brother was holding his phone in the air, as if he were trying to get a signal. The angel and the hunter let go of each other's hands at the same instant.

"You can't reach him, Dean," Castiel said, announcing their presence. "You're outside your coverage zone." Alex looked at the angel oddly, given pause. Was that... a joke?

Dean turned, and upon seeing Alex, relief washed over his features. Then, a perplexed frown. "You're… all better." His eyes went to Cas appraisingly, then back to Alex, who was coming to him. "You okay?" he asked intensely, grabbing her by both shoulders, forcing her to look at him as he inspected her.

"Yeah, fine," she replied in a short tone. Satisfied, Dean let her go and proceeded to stare down Castiel. He was mad, that much was clear. He started in on the angel, sauntering slowly, a dangerous glint in his eyes.

"Okay, first of all? Take her from me again and I'll kill you," Dean threatened casually. He gave a short little derisive chuckle. "You halos are _really_ starting to piss me off," he said. "Zachariah's been in here talking my ear off about your big plans for good old Lucifer… am I right to assume you knew about all that this whole time?"

Castiel said nothing, but Dean seemed to get confirmation from the expression on the angel's face. Alex frowned a little. Why didn't Cas tell Dean about how he'd been about to tell them? He remained silent. "Yeah, good, right," Dean said, scoffing. "That's just great. _Wonderful._ So, what are you gonna do to Sam?"

Meeting his gaze, Cas lifted his chin slightly, appearing almost sad about what he was about to say. "Nothing. He's going to do it to himself."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dean asked. Castiel just looked away, silent. "Oh, right, right," Dean said scornfully. "Got to toe the company line." He chuckled, a humorless sound, then let the smile fall away. He stared at the angel balefully, lowering his voice to a soft, baleful tone. "Why are you here Cas?"

Cas looked at Alex, then Dean, his expression drawn with a sense of finality. "We've been through much together, haven't we?" His words, said with a wistfulness that spoke of a goodbye, stilled both Dean and Alex. Castiel held Dean's gaze pensively. "I consider having known you as a privilege." He looked at Alex more hesitantly. "An honor. And before I leave, I just wanted to say that I'm sorry it ended like this."

So he was really going to go through with it. Screw them over then ditch out and leave them in the wind without help. Alex shook her head, silently and helplessly cursing him, this room, her entire _life._

Dean wasn't silent like she was. " _Sorry_?" he asked quietly as anger flashed in his eyes. Without warning, he drew back and punched Castiel in the face... who wasn't affected in the least.

Dean stifled a groan as he cradled his hand to himself. "You screwed us over, Cas," Dean thundered, stowing whatever physical pain he was in. "You need need a bigger word than _sorry_!"

Castiel's voice rose too and his features worked emphatically. "Try to understand—this is long foretold," he said, using his hands in emphasis like a human would. "This is your—"

" _Destiny_?" Dean interrupted. His anger wasn't his normal anger. It was desperate and scared and shaken. "Don't give me that 'holy' crap! Destiny, God's plan... it's all a bunch of _lies,_ you poor, stupid son of a bitch! It's just a way for your bosses to keep me and keep you in line!" Castiel's expression was unreadable, but Alex almost thought he looked offended. "You know what's real?" Dean was becoming almost emotional now. " _People._ Families—that's real. And you're gonna watch them all _burn_?" Dean swept his arm out, suddenly indicating Alex, who stood by the table in the middle of the room. "You're gonna let _her_ burn?" He jabbed a finger to his own chest. " _Me_ burn? After you saved us _both_?"

Dean had touched a nerve and Castiel looked rattled, unsure of how to respond. "I—I'm trying to tell you," he said, fumbling a little, like he was trying to call to mind what he was supposed to say—not what he _wanted_ to say. "Much must be lost so that there may be everlasting peace for us all."

"That what they drill into you at bible camp?" Dean retorted sharply. Castiel's gaze faltered tellingly. "Yeah, you can take your peace…" Dean growled, "and shove it up your lily-white ass!" Cas's eyes narrowed in confusion as he looked at Dean once again. "'Cause I'll take this miserable existence called life—with all its craziness and pain and guilt and drama; I'll even take _Sam_ as is! It's a lot better than being some Stepford bitch in paradise." Dean's voice raised to a gravelly shout. "This is simple, Cas!" At this point, Castiel turned away, fed up or maybe unable to take it. But Dean didn't stop, continued to berate the back of Cas's head. "No more crap about being a good soldier. There is a right and there is a wrong here, and _you know it_." From where Alex stood, she could see the side of Cas's face. He looked conflicted and at that moment he glanced at her, maybe thinking about how she'd told him pretty much the same. That he _knew_ better.

"Look at me!" Dean demanded as he grabbed the angel's shoulder roughly, turning Cas back to him. "You were gonna help me once, weren't you?" At that question, Cas looked away from Dean quickly. "You were gonna warn us about all this, before they dragged you back to bible land." Dean swallowed, his tone becoming pleading and desperate. "So… _help me_ —now. _Please_. Help _us_."

Castiel's shoulders were stiff and his face was pinched. He looked at Alex for a long beat, considering. And then he looked at Dean. "What would you have me do?"

"Take us to Sam!" Dean exclaimed urgently. "We can stop this before it's too late!"

The angel's voice grew more urgent, too. "I do that, we will _all_ be hunted—we'll _all_ be killed." He looked at Alex meaningfully, maybe in an attempt to appeal to Dean's protective nature. Alex was drifting closer, drawn in by the rising tensions and how clear it was that Cas was really, _really_ thinking about helping them.

Dean shook his head earnestly. "If there is anything worth dying for... this is it."

Slowly, Castiel began to shake his head no, hesitating. And hope was crushed for Alex and Dean in that moment as Cas lost his courage and looked down in denial. "I _can't_ ," he said gravelly.

Dean's face went cold in anger. "You… spineless… _soulless_ son of a bitch." He walked a few steps off toward Alex, then past her. She could tell he was at the point where he was seeing red. "What do you care about dying, anyway?" Dean muttered. "You're _already_ dead."

"Dean—" Cas appealed.

Dean just barked "I'm done!" and kept his back to the angel.

Castiel was now looking at Alex in a mixture of hopefulness and fear. As if he wanted forgiveness, as if he wanted one of them to pat him on the back. He approached her, his expression intense. "You must understand. I cannot assist you. I must obey."

She shrugged, over trying to convince him. "Yeah. Whatever. That's your decision to make," she replied cynically.

His head tilted slightly to the side, he frowned. "You're not going to try to convince me?"

" _Again_?" Alex looked at him for a few seconds. She was sad and didn't bother to hide it. "You shouldn't _need_ to be convinced, Cas. You should look at this situation and know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that you're playing on the wrong team. That you're not serving God, you're serving some power-tripped out angels who have their own sick agenda." He looked almost disillusioned, like he expected her to go crazy, shout, cuss him out. "Cas, I won't stand here and beg you." She gave him a pointed look and folded her arms defensively. "I know how that ends." She was bitter and let her face twist up into a mean expression. "So… have a nice day. It's been real. Thanks for fucking up our lives. Thanks for making me think you might be different." His mouth was open ever so softly, his eyebrows knit closely together. He had some nerve looking so hurt, trying to play the victim. And Alex didn't know why _she_ felt hurt too. She had to fight herself tooth and nail not to show how deep the wound went. "If you're not gonna _help_ us… just go _away_. Leave us alone."

Castiel looked at Dean, whose back was still turned to him, then at Alex, who wouldn't look at him. And without another choice, he left with the softest sound of wings against air. Alex's eyes shifted to the spot he'd been and her hard expression fell. She shut her eyes bitterly as her tightly-held shoulders slumped down. "He's gone," she told her brother softly.

Dean turned around, expression rigid. "There's no way out of here. I tried."

"Yeah, I know," she said, having tried in the other room she'd been stuck in. "This is bullshit." All but defeated, Alex sank down onto the love seat, leaning over her knees, exhausted from emotional duress. "What now?"

Dean was pacing in front of her. But unlike a minute ago, there wasn't angry fire in his steps. "The end of the world, I guess." He paused, his eyes downcast. He looked as done as she was with the whole thing. Just, tired, exhausted, over it. Like her.

Alex let out a heavy, bated sigh. "We tried, Dean."

He sat beside her. "Not hard enough," he said softly. In that moment, he looked so much older than he was.

Alex looked at him, attempting a small, pained smile. "At least we're together?" He looked at her, his attempt at a smile as pained as hers was. He put his arm around her, she leaned her head down onto his shoulder, and they stayed like that for a long time, mourning the loss of Sam in silence.

* * *

Dean paced the length of the room yet again, having become a nervous wreck of angry energy. Alex didn't miss the fact that he was eyeing the burgers on the table as he passed by it over and over again. He paused suddenly, reaching for one. Alex sat up straighter. "Hey. Don't eat that!"

He turned and looked back at her grumpily. "I'm starving," he protested. "We've been here for hours."

"Just _don't_ ," she said. He threw the burger down angrily.

Suddenly Castiel appeared behind Dean, grabbed him by the shoulder, and shoved him up against the wall, pressing a hand against his mouth. Alex jumped to her feet in alarm at the sudden appearance and action. "What are you doing?!"

Castiel looked at her, his expression deer-in-the-headlights but determined. "The right thing."

 _Oh my god_ —her heart burst in amazed hope as she realized he was going to help them. Stunned, Alex watched as he drew Ruby's knife out of his coat. He looked back at Dean, who nodded. Castiel let go of him and slashed his own arm open with the knife. Blood flowed out, and Castiel began smearing it onto the wall. Alex, now beside Dean, watched in a mixture of rising hope… and also fear. Castiel was working fast and he looked afraid. And when an all-powerful angel was afraid, it didn't seem right to not feel a little scared, too.

"Castiel!" Came a loud shout. It was Zachariah, and he barreled across the room at them, livid. "Would you mind explaining just what the hell you're doing?"

Castiel made a final stroke onto the sigil he had drawn and slammed his hand into the center of it. In a violent, blinding flash of white light, Zachariah vanished, leaving the Winchesters stunned. "He won't be gone long," Castiel said, his voice tinged with urgency. "We have to find Sam _now_."

"Where is he?" Dean asked.

"I don't know—but I know who does. We have to stop him, Dean, from killing Lilith."

At that, the Winchesters both glanced at each other in confusion. "But Lilith's gonna break the final seal," Dean protested, his tone accusing.

"Lilith _is_ the final seal!" Castiel exclaimed, blowing their minds. "She _dies_ , the end _begins_."

Dean and Alex stared at him in horror, trying to process the information as he grabbed each of them around the wrist. "Now, _hold on_."

* * *

Instead of the beautiful room, the three of them were now in the dim interior of an untidy house. Alex recognized the disorderly home as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, even before she saw Chuck, who was on the phone and oblivious to their arrival.

"Okay, well I'll take twenty girls for the whole night," the author said, pacing away from them. There was a pause and he chuckled. "Lady, sometimes you got to live like there's no tomorrow—" he turned around and saw that he wasn't alone. His cheeky grin fell into a shocked expression. "Whoa whoa!" He protested, looking at the three of them with wide eyes as the phone drifted down away from his ear. "Wait. T-t-this isn't supposed to happen!" He lifted the phone back to his ear, speaking in to it again. "No, lady, this is _definitely_ supposed to happen, but I…" he gulped, looking at the new arrivals awkwardly. "I just gotta call you back."

Chuck ended the call and smiled sheepishly at Alex, Dean, and Castiel. "I…" he started, even as Alex swooped in and snatched the phone from him, tossed it away.

"The world's ending and you're ordering _hookers_ , Chuck?" She asked.

Chuck shrank underneath her gaze. "I uh—look, t-that's not important," he said, chuckling self-consciously and dodging the question. "What are you guys doing here? You're not supposed—"

"Where is Sam right now, Chuck?" Dean asked, crowding the author.

Chuck was nervous at Dean's physical intimidation and began to back up toward the kitchen. "Well, he's uh, he's—"

" _Where_?!" Dean demanded impatiently, grabbing Chuck by the front of his bathrobe roughly, forcing him to stay put.

"Saint Mary's, Saint Mary's, Jesus _Christ_ Dean!" Chuck exclaimed, then looked at Cas with a worried expression. "N-no offense, Cas."

A sternly confused look was on the angel's face, who had followed Alex and Dean in backing Chuck up into his own kitchen. "None… taken."

"Saint Mary's? What is that, a convent?" Dean asked urgently. Every spare second could stand between them saving Sam and being too late altogether.

"Yeah, it's a convent, but you guys aren't supposed to be there," Chuck insisted. "You're not _in_ this story."

"Yeah, well…" Castiel stood a little taller, even though his expression showed trepidation. "We're writing a different ending."

Both Dean and Alex looked at him in surprise when he said that, but for Alex, she wasn't just looking at Castiel. She was seeing him in new light—really _seeing_ him and feeling a sense of pride and amazement. He felt her gaze and he turned his head to look at her as she stood beside him. _Who are you_? Alex wondered for the hundredth time, more intrigued than ever as she studied this angel who walked the earth in the body of a man… this angel who was jumping ship to risk everything with them. He'd said that he was her friend once. She believed him now. Wordlessly, she patted him twice on the back of the arm, approving of him, telling him silently that he was okay with her.

And that was when they heard a strange rumbling. Outside the dark window, a light suddenly beamed, bright as the sun, even as a ringing sound that could shatter glass began to pierce the air. Alex clapped hands over both of her ears in response to the deafening sound, making a sound of pained protest as the sound only got louder and louder. The ground began to tremble violently and the entire house began to vibrate like it was about to come down completely. The kitchen cabinets fell open and plates and mugs began to tumble out, shattering on a floor that was increasingly hard to stand on. Chuck was holding onto the kitchen counter, Dean took a huge stumble backward. Alex lurched sideways and felt Cas grab her by the arm, steadying her, keeping her from falling. "It's the archangel!" He roared.

Dean stumbled toward Cas, confusion and fear filling his face, and Alex grabbed for her brother, helping him stand even as Cas held her in place too. "I'll hold him off!" Castiel shouted over the crashing dinnerware. "I'll hold them _all_ off! Just stop Sam!" He abruptly clapped a hand on Dean's forehead and shoved, then Dean disappeared completely from in front of Alex's eyes.

Shocked, she looked up at Cas, who was the only anchor keeping her from falling over as the house shook. The light was growing even brighter and the sound was absolutely deafening—Chuck was freaking out somewhere behind Alex even as Cas let go of her arm. His eyes met hers for just a second, and it was like he already knew he was dead, the way he looked at her—and even as the word _wait_ tried to form in her mouth, he hit two fingers to her forehead, sending her away to join Dean.


	18. Speak of the Devil

" _It's almost like your heaven's trying everything to break me down."  
_ \- Five Finger Death Punch

* * *

**The Next Day**

Alex took another drag from her cigarette and blew, watching the smoke flutter off into the cold midday air. It was quiet and overcast which didn't seem fitting. Where was the smoke, the fire, the devil and his forked tongue, his horns and tail? Sitting there on top of the hotel roof, she watched the city below. None of those people had any idea about what a complete and utter shit storm was headed their way. Must be nice. Her feet dangled off the edge of the building—about an eight story drop. She took another drag on her cigarette. She was queasy from low blood sugar. She hadn't eaten since yesterday at least, if not longer. She honestly couldn't remember. It was hard to want to eat when you had failed to stop the devil from rising.

When she and Dean had arrived at the convent, they had been too late to stop Sam. It was almost laughable how they had walked into the whole thing, how Ruby had used and tricked Sam—and yes, he had realized, but it had been entirely too late _._ Alex remembered that final scuffle—she and Dean had bursting into the room to see Sam and Ruby struggling, Lilith dead—her blood running down onto the floor, spiraling in a circle in toward itself. Dean and Sam had killed Ruby as Alex had dived to the ground in a desperate last-ditch effort to stop the blood from touching in the centermost point with her bare hands. _But it was too late._ With no choice to run, they tried to escape, only to become trapped in the convent in the room where Lucifer's white hot, burning presence began to seep out of the hole opening up in the floor. The three Winchesters had clutched each other in terror, the brothers sandwiching their sister completely, maybe trying to shield her from what was about to happen. It was the end and they all knew it.

And then, suddenly, it wasn't. Without explanation they were safely in an airplane over the city, alive, well, and very confused. Add _that_ little miracle to the list of unexplained phenomenon that dominated her whole life.

But despite that miracle, not everything was right in the world. Castiel was gone. Alex stilled, her hand in midair, cigarette forgotten. When Chuck told them that the angel was dead… there had been this feeling, this sensation like being hit in the gut with a hammer. All Alex could think was _no_ with every part of who she was. _Not Cas. He was supposed to survive. He was supposed to be invincible. He wasn't supposed to die for them. For me._

A silent tear spilled onto her cheek and slid down her face and she wiped it away angrily with the palm of her hand. He died in vain and she would carry that with her for the rest of her life, add him to the forever-lengthening list of people who she'd cared about and lost. Caring about him had snuck up on her. She _still_ didn't entirely get it. She thought of Cas as she remembered him best—the wild hair and clear blue eyes, the odd expressiveness his face had taken on in some moments, giving her glimpses of his truest self. The dream at the Tilt-A-Whirl where she'd learned he was the one who had given her voice back tortured her. As did his confession yesterday that yes—he felt afraid. There was so much more to him that she had wanted to know. And she wished she could have protected him better somehow. He had proved himself brave and selfless—and the cost was his life.

For the millionth time she thought of his response to Chuck when the writer had protested "but you're not part of this story!"

For a minute there, when Castiel had told Chuck, "we're writing our own ending," Alex had looked at him and felt so _much_ something that she wanted to burst. In that moment, she'd seen a bravery and courage in him that left her speechless. An angel who was willing to defy Heaven, to disobey everything he knew... all to try and do, as he said, "the right thing." He'd made a choice. And now he was gone. Just _gone_. Alex flicked her cigarette off the roof and onto the street below and again wiped her cheeks. He would remain a mystery she would never solve, she guessed. A question mark. A curiosity. 

Add to the loss of their only ally in Heaven the sad state of the Winchester family… Sam wallowing in guilt, shame, and hopelessness, Dean too fed up to deal with any of it, Alex stuck in the middle and mourning her guardian angel. The pain, the fear, the unknown future all bore down relentlessly and Alex thought about what it would be like to be someone else. Just a regular Joe who had no idea about this supernatural Heaven and Hell crap. Every day the burden got heavier on the shoulders of the family, and their backs were threatening to break. Every time she thought she knew how bad it could be, it got worse.

She looked up at the heavy gray sky above and said a silent _I'm sorry_ to Castiel, who shouldn't have died like he did. Who shouldn't have died at all.

* * *

"Sad we need these, man," Dean said, eyeing the hex bag in his hand. "Angels, huh? They were supposed to be the good guys."

"Yeah," Sam agreed half-heartedly, putting the other hex bag at the opposite end of the motel room.

Dean watched his younger brother unenthusiastically then took the hex bag in his hand and stuck it on top of the TV. He paused to consider the irony of what he was doing. This was really a whole new brand of crazy. _Angels_ had allowed the apocalypse to take place just so that they could get their rocks off killing Lucifer themselves. They didn't _get_ how insane they were. Zachariah's words earlier bothered him—the douchebag actually had the nerve to tell Dean that he needed _their_ help to defeat Lucifer. No thanks. Angels weren't invincible and they could be killed. Dean already knew that much.

However, he wasn't sure how of how to go about it. How exactly do you hunt down a fallen angel; and more importantly than that, where could they get their hands on an angel blade? And would that even _work_ on Lucifer? Even if they figured all those little details out, Dean knew it wouldn't work if he and his siblings couldn't hold it together. His family was ripping at the seams. There was Sam, messed up on demon blood and acting like a simpering, guilty idiot. There was Alex, depressed and withdrawn as hell for reasons Dean wasn't sure of, but he had a few guesses—an apocalypse both your brothers started probably didn't exactly leave her jumping for joy.

Dean could feel Sam staring at the back of his head. Annoyed, he turned around and looked at Sam, gauging his brother carefully. Sam looked relatively normal, which was what didn't make sense. Unlike when he'd been locked up in the panic room, Sam was now completely lucid, alert, and sober. Dean had to tell himself to cool down. He was still mad as hell about everything that had happened—Ruby, the demon blood, Sam trying to choke him to death… and who could forget Sam hitting his sister so brutally? That's what bothered him the most. He remembered the tenderness and fierce devotion that the twins had for each other in childhood. The way they defended each other to no end, stuck up for each other even when the other was _definitely_ wrong, cried when the other one was upset. Fast forward about fifteen years and Sam had done the unthinkable, had done something he couldn't come back from. Dean told himself to calm down. He could feel himself getting pissed. Sam was still staring at him ruefully.

Dean cleared his throat, attempting a conversational tone. "So, uh, how you doing? You jonesing for another hit of bitch blood or what?"

Sam shook his head, his expression earnest and expressive. "I-It's weird. Uh, tell you the truth, I'm fine. No shakes, no fever. It's like whoever… put me on that plane cleaned me right up."

Dean wasn't sure what to make of that, but was careful to respond neutrally. "So, supernatural methadone."

"Yeah, I guess." Sam tried a smile, paused, growing slightly trepidatious. "Dean—"

"Sam." Dean cut him off, and fast, turning around and walking back to the motel table, avoiding looking at his brother. "It's okay, you don't have to say anything."

"Well, that's good," Sam said softly. "Because what can I even say? 'I'm sorry'? 'I screwed up'?" He laughed softly, awkwardly which only made Dean's blood boil further. "Doesn't really do it justice, you know?" Sam asked. "Look, there's nothing I can do or say that will ever make this right—"

Dean was unable to hold it in any longer. "So then why do you keep _bringing it up_?!" he snapped, his careful facade of indifference gone. He leveled Sam with a deadly gaze, breathing heavily, walking forward a few steps and pointing a threatening finger. "Look, all I got to say to you right now is if you ever— _ever_ hurt our sister like that again… you're done, man. You _touch_ her, you even _threaten_ her—we are gone, and you are dead to me." Sam looked stunned as Dean continued, his voice a low, angry rumble. "I'm serious, Sam. _You crossed a line._ After everything you've done… I don't know why I even let you come here with us!"

Sam's jaw clenched, he looked down, clearly emotional. "Yeah, no. I get that." When he looked back up again, he could barely met Dean's eyes. "Trust me. It won't ever happen again, Dean. It... it shouldn't have happened at all." Sam breathed in shakily, shutting his eyes for a second, as if in pain. "I... _hate_ myself for what I did." His eyes opened again, beseeching Dean. "To both of you, and with Ruby, and… everything. It _scares_ me, Dean..."

Dean turned around. "Yeah, well, me too."

"I didn't know what I was doing at the time," Sam said. He sounded like he was making a plea for his case.

Dean turned back around challengingly. "And that makes it _okay_?"

Fumbling, Sam wet his lips. "No, of course it doesn't, but—"

Dean held up a hand for silence, reaching the end of his anger. "Look, all I'm saying is, why do we have to put this under a microscope?" he asked. "Let's just move on. I said my peace, you said yours, now let it go. I can't talk about this anymore."

Sam took a beat and then nodded. Dean could tell that his little brother had a lot more to say… but he didn't care right now. He was too pissed, too tired, too messed up to even think about all this crap. He sat back down at the flimsy motel table and resumed cleaning his gun sullenly.

"So uh, where _is_ Alex, anyway?" Sam asked hesitantly.

"Said she needed some air." Dean paused and looked up at Sam. "I wouldn't get your hopes up, Sam."

"About what?" Sam asked, perplexed.

"What do you think?" Dean asked, meeting Sam's gaze evenly. "I doubt she'll ever be able to trust you after that. I'm sure as hell not sure if _I_ can." He looked away and back to the barrel of the gun, shoving the cloth down in there to get the residue out.

Sam shifted slightly at the edge of Dean's vision. Dean didn't even have to look. He could hear the heartbreak in Sam's tone. "Right."

"We have more important things to worry about right now anyway," Dean said, ignoring Sam's emotional distress. "Like hunting down the friggin' devil."

Sam took in a deep breath and nodded, clearly forcing himself to push aside his feelings. "Yeah. Okay." He came closer and sat down at the table. "So where do we start?"

Dean paused. "Yeah… uh… about that. I'm not entirely sure."

* * *

When it started drizzling, Alex finally left her spot on the roof and made her way back to the room, hugging her jacket around herself tightly against the dropping temperature. She reached the room and opened the door to a very unexpected sight. Her brothers were both standing in the middle of the room with a sort of small, mousy woman. She was touching Sam's chest, practically nestling there. Alex froze in the door frame, not sure what was happening. "What's... going on?"

Dean gave her a look, and Sam attempted a smile in the woman's direction—it looked more like a grimace. "Can you, uh, stop touching me Becky?" Sam asked, apparently too polite to physically step back.

"No..." the girl, apparently named Becky whimpered, and leaned closer, her hand rubbing over Sam's pectorals.

Alex looked at Dean in lost confusion. "Who the hell is this chick?" Then her expression changed to disbelief. " _Dean_! You promised no more hookers!"

At that, Alex finally had Becky's attention. The woman's jaw was practically on the floor. Sam took the opportunity to back up from her. "I'm not a _hooker_ —I'm... _Becky_. Mr. Edlund— _Chuck_ —sent me, to deliver a message. To Sam and Dean." At the mention of them, she forgot her offense and smiled breathlessly up at Sam, who looked highly uncomfortable.

Becky seemed to think of something and looked at Alex again. "Ohhh…" she nodded slowly, eyes narrowing in understanding. "So _you_ must be Alex. Huh." She looked Alex up and down appraisingly. She didn't seem to know what to think. She looked mildly disappointed or disapproving. It was hard to tell which. C ompletely puzzled, Alex looked to her brothers for an explanation.

"Becky, uh, read the books about us," Sam said, to which Becky turned and beamed up at him.

"Every single one," she all but gushed.

"Great. Good for you." Alex muttered. She glanced at Dean who rolled his eyes in exasperation. She looked back at Becky, who was now staring at Sam's chest, entranced. This was so bizarre it was beginning to get funny. Alex tilted her head to the side, mystified.

Sam looked like he was screaming internally for assistance, and glanced at Dean, then Alex, his eyes saying 'help me!' but when his two baffled siblings did nothing, he was forced to take matters into his own hands. "Uh, listen, Becky. Thanks for the message. But, we gotta, uh, get back to…" he went blank for a second. "Uh, hunter stuff."

"Oh _wow_!" Becky squealed, sounding completely starstruck… but she didn't take the hint, just continued to stand there and smile widely, breathing through her mouth, gazing at Sam like he were the most amazing thing she'd ever seen.

Alex cleared her throat and put a firm hand on Becky's shoulder, used her other hand to jerk a thumb at the door. "In other words, you gotta leave."

"Oh! Oh." Becky's face got kind of sad. "Okay, yeah. Sam… _so good_ to meet you." Becky walked sideways out of the door, her eyes never leaving Sam (who was clearly scared out of his mind behind his attempt at a polite smile). Alex shut the door on Becky without ceremony and turned around, then clasped her hands together and leveled Sam with dramatic goo goo eyes.

"Oh _Saaaam_ ," she mocked, earning a soft, embarrassed laugh from Sam.

Dean grinned. "You're _so_ _fiiiiirm_ ," he purred dramatically, his expression an hilarious mix of flirtatious suggestiveness and slightly sinister intent.

That did it. All three of them shared a chuckle, and for a minute, they forgot. They forgot the stigma and the tension, they forgot they were angry with each other, that the world was falling apart, that nothing was okay. Even before it began it was over. Sam's smile faded into a conflicted expression, and with the loss of his smile, Dean and Alex's faded too as they remembered everything they had briefly forgotten. There was a slight hesitation.

"So," Dean said, clearing his throat and looking at Alex. "Sam's number one fan had a message from Chuck. 'The Michael sword is on earth. The angels lost it.'"

"The _what_ sword?" Alex asked.

"No clue. That's why I'm calling Bobby. I'll be back." Dean stepped out, leaving the twins in the silent motel room.

Alex looked at Sam sidelong, considering trying to talk to him. But she wasn't sure how to. He was looking at her in the same way, like he wanted to say something but couldn't. He took a deep breath, hesitated, opened his mouth, shut it again, cleared his throat, then left in a rush, muttering something about "back later" before the door shut.

Alex watched him go, disappointed, the familiar sadness returning. The silence in the room was deafening.

* * *

Dean shook Alex awake when Bobby showed up, which must have been several hours later. She should have felt rested from the nap she didn't even mean to take, but she only felt more tired, and with a killer headache to boot. Bobby shared with them some findings on Michael's sword as Alex hung back, tuned out, sitting cross-legged on one of the beds. She picked at the chipped red nail polish that was still on her fingernails. She was really getting frustrated.

"Sam, stop it," Dean thundered, and Alex looked up, confused—what had she missed? Bobby was staring at Sam angrily.

"No, Dean. Bobby, it was _me_ who broke the final seal," Sam said, his voice unsteady and full of pained remorse. "I killed Lilith, and I set Lucifer free."

"You _what_?" Bobby asked in disbelief.

"You guys warned me about Ruby, the demon blood, but I didn't listen. I brought this on." Sam might as well have been in front of a firing squad.

Bobby stood up, his expression so full of fury that he was barely recognizable. "You're _damn right_ you didn't listen. You were reckless and selfish and arrogant!"

Sam shook his head hollowly. "I'm sorry."

"Oh, yeah? You're _sorry_ you started armageddon?" Bobby was practically snarling now. "This kind of thing don't get forgiven, boy. _If,_ by some miracle, we pull this off… I want you to lose my number. You understand me?"

Sam, heartbroken, nodded, even as Alex's mouth hung open. " _Bobby_!" She exclaimed, her tone decidedly admonishing—that wasn't like him to be so harsh. She received a wrathful glare from Bobby. Confused, Alex looked at Dean, who didn't say a damn thing in Sam's defense.

Sam swallowed, struggling, his eyes downcast. "There's… there's an old church nearby. Maybe I'll go read some of the lore books there."

"Yeah," Bobby retorted sharply. "You _do that_."

Sam was no longer able to maintain any eye contact at all, and still nodding, as if in shock or a daze, turned and left, shutting the door softly behind him. About two seconds of stunned silence on Alex's part passed and then she hopped off the bed, grabbing her jacket from where she had tossed it earlier. "Where the hell are you going?" Dean asked, frowning.

At the door, with her hand on the knob, Alex turned and looked at him unflinchingly. "With Sam."

Bobby's face scrunched in something like disgust. "With _Sam_? He jump started the end of the world, and you wanna hold his hand?"

Alex scoffed. "Bobby, what the hell has gotten into you?" She glanced at Dean. "Both of you." She turned and walked out, slamming the door behind her.

* * *

Sam walked down the sidewalk with his hands in his pockets, eyes on the ground in front of him. He had really, _really_ messed up this time. Everything they had said about him was true. Every dark suspicion he'd had about himself was true: he was a monster inside. He had been blinded and controlled by his addictions, his fears, his insecurities. He couldn't do anything right—that had been his worst fear growing up, and yesterday, that fear had been confirmed once and for all. The faces of the people he'd let down flooded his mind. Dean, superior, disappointed, unforgiving. Bobby, enraged and hateful. Alex, hurt and distant. Dad, always disappointed, always unsatisfied. Jess, who never had a chance. Not with him in her life. Maybe he was poison. Maybe everything and everyone he touched was doomed to be destroyed and messed up by him. He looked up, sniffed loudly, trying to ignore the pain. He blinked fast, because his eyes were threatening to flood.

A shout behind him startled him out of his thoughts. "Sam, wait up!" He turned to see that Alex was jogging to catch up to him. He stopped walking, his heart clenching in pain at the sight of her. Had he forgotten something, or was she about to chew him out, finally, too?

"What is it?" he asked cautiously, preparing himself to be attacked again.

She had reached him now, and looked up at him with an open expression. With a light shrug she stuck her hands into her jacket pockets. "I'm coming with."

"What, they sent you to babysit me?" he asked, defeated.

"Uh, _no_ ," she said, her tone him suggesting that was ridiculous but funny. She smiled at him despite some misgivings he saw in her eyes still. That simple act meant everything to Sam. She nodded her head in the direction of the church he was headed to. "Come on, this lore isn't gonna read itself."

* * *

"Got anything?" Sam asked.

Alex looked up at her twin from the huge book she'd been leafing through for the past hour. "Nothing about the Michael sword being an actual physical object, if that's what you mean."

"Me either." Sam let out a very tired, very frustrated sigh.

They were sitting across from each other in the church study. It was a pretty fancy room with a few religious paintings on the walls and many thick books lining the shelves. Above Sam's head and on the wall behind him, there was a huge watercolor of an angel holding a scroll. Every time Alex looked up, she stared at it. The angel was barefoot in flowing robes and had fluffy white wings paired with a dreamy expression. Every time Alex looked at it, she got a little more perturbed. Angels did _not_ look like that. They looked like handsome businessmen with confused, stern scowls forever etched onto their features...

She looked away from the painting and at Sam instead.

With his hands resting on either side of the book and his eyes not seeing the space in front of him he looked totally lost and alone. His jaw was working weirdly, the muscles flexing and clenching. Without any warning he looked up, his expression agonized and vulnerable. "I just want you to know I'm sorry. So, so sorry. If you never forgive me, I'll understand." A little surprised at his sudden confession, Alex opened her mouth to reply, but he was already talking again. "How can you even _look_ at me? After what—what I've done?" Emotion made his pain raw across his features. "God, I just... what happened? These things inside me Alex, I thought I could outrun them—but—but..." his face twisted up in pain, "I don't belong anywhere near you, near _anyone_ I love." His fist clenched tight where it rested on the table. "I was so stupid to think no one would get _hurt_ —I endangered you and Dean and it's because... because..." his voice choked up, "I'm _cursed_!"

" _Sam_." Alex reached out and put a hand over his hand that was still balled into a fist. He stilled, looking at her hand then her in surprise. She looked at him intently. "That's not true, everything you just said..." she looked at him hesitatingly, and even though it was hard—she wasn't the best at expressing herself, she needed to try. "Look, I love you, okay?" She didn't say those words much and it was hard to say them even though it was the truth through and through. He seemed stunned to hear them, too. "You're not cursed. You're—you're gonna be all right."

His expression showed stunned disbelief. "You... you don't wanna lose my number?"

Alex's heart hurt at that question. " _No_." She tightened her grip on his hand, so sad to see how torn up he was. "He didn't mean it, I know he didn't. It's not like him to say that kind of stuff."

Her brother looked like he was dying to believe her. His voice dropped in volume, he swallowed, his eyebrows seemed to wobble towards each other. "You—you don't think I deserved what he said?"

Alex shook her head earnestly. "No."

Sam's expression broke as his composure cracked. "I'm sorry," he confessed through a sudden onslaught of pained tears. "So, _so_ sorry."

Alex was already knocking her chair back and halfway around the table, wrapping her arms around Sam's massive shoulders, hugging him tight.

He tensed for a minute, not accepting the embrace at first—then his arms gingerly circled her as she rested her chin on the top of his head. He wept bitterly but quietly, his body shaking violently. Alex just stayed there with him, swallowing tears herself. She really couldn't stand to see him in so much pain, so much internal agony. She thought of how he had hit her, but told herself... that wasn't Sammy. That was the demon blood. She decided right then and there to forgive and forget it this one time. If it happened again, by God, there would be hell to pay. But today... she was putting it in the past.

After a minute Sam let out a few shaky breaths and drew back, pulling himself together. He looked up at her, kind of embarrassed and awkward. Alex's mouth quirked up on one side in a crooked smile and she tapped him affectionately under his chin with her index finger—something she'd done since she could remember; since they were pre-schoolers. At that familiar, fond gesture—one that hadn't been shown in what felt like forever—a small, real smile pulled Sam's lips upward. His face relaxed. The smile reached his eyes.

"Let's get outta here, Moose," Alex suggested, using one of Dean's favorite nicknames for their brother. She was already reaching for her jacket. "I don't think we're gonna find anything here."

Sam stood up, towering over her, looking more himself—clear-headed and calm, if a little red-faced from the tears. He ruffled her hair affectionately, earning a good-natured protest of " _heeeey_!" from Alex, who ducked away, laughing, _really_ laughing and surprised at herself. He hadn't done that in forever.

They were okay the whole walk back, talking about things that didn't matter: how gas station sandwiches were literally the worst things in the world, their conflicting opinions on which character on _21 Jumpstreet_ was the best, and how they would kill for another chance to taste Crystal Pepsi. Maybe it was a truce or just them trying really hard to gloss over what happened two days ago, but it felt good. It felt nice.

* * *

As with their life, the temporary happiness and the lull in tragedy was doomed to be short-lived. Sam and Alex got back to the motel and found Bobby stabbed and dying on the floor, Meg the demon trying to kill Dean. Naturally, they'd taken care of the demons pretty quickly, but Meg had escaped. Another demon bitch they'd have to kill another day.

As they raced a dying, bleeding Bobby to the emergency room, Dean told them Bobby had been possessed the whole time, the demon inside him trying to find the Michael sword before they did. He insisted that they had to go to some place in upstate New York called Castle Storage where the sword was packed away, and _now_. They had to leave Bobby behind to undergo emergency surgery while they made a frenzied five hour car drive in a desperate bid to beat the demons. The entire way was tense. They were all worried about Bobby, all wondering what this sword of Michael would do in the wrong hands. Alex wanted to stay with Bobby, but Dean insisted it was all hands on deck and they needed her along.

It was a few hours before sunrise when they pulled into the empty parking lot of Castle Storage. Dean jerked the car into a parking space and they got out, grabbing their weapons out of the trunk. "Looks like we beat 'em," Dean said, casting glances around—the place was quiet and still. Alex cocked her shotgun with a satisfying click- _click_.

"Stay close together just in case," Dean said and led the way to the storage unit. They entered, shotguns held to their shoulders… and then… stopped, mystified. Dead bodies littered the floor. Demons.

"What the…" Sam trailed off.

"I see you told the demons where the sword is," came a voice from behind them. The Winchesters whirled around to see Zachariah smiling patronizingly at them, two other angels with him.

"Oh, thank _god_ ," Dean said sarcastically, recovering from the surprise. "The angels are here."

"And to think… they could have grabbed the sword any time they wanted." Zachariah raised one of his hands and the metal door slammed closed, trapping them inside the small storage unit. Sam inched a little closer to Alex protectively. "It was right in front of them all along." Zachariah shook his head, chuckling.

"What do you mean?" Dean demanded dangerously.

"Well, we may have planted that particular piece of prophecy inside Chuck's skull, but it happened to be true. We _did_ lose the Michael sword. We truly couldn't find it. Until now. You've just hand-delivered it to us."

"We don't have anything," Dean said cooly.

Zachariah blinked a couple times, almost rolled his eyes. "It's _you_ , chucklehead. _You're_ the Michael sword."

There was a confused silence. "Come again?" Dean asked.

"Yup, interesting, huh?" Zachariah asked, his voice exceedingly bright and bubbly. "What, you thought you could actually kill Lucifer? You simpering wad of insecurity and self-loathing." At the insults, Alex made a face. It made sense now. That's where Uriel had gotten his people skills from, apparently. Zachariah came closer to them, a superior smile on his face. "You're just a human—Dean. And not much of one."

"Hey," Sam shot darkly, earning a cursory glance from Zachariah.

"What do you mean, I'm the sword?" Dean asked, ignoring the insult.

Zachariah smiled, as if in excitement. "You're Michael's vessel."

The shock that statement rendered the Winchesters silent and aghast. Dean shook his head, as if there had clearly been a mistake. "What? No…" but Zachariah was dead serious. Dean lost some strength to his voice. "Why—why me?"

"Because you're chosen! It's a great honor, Dean."

"Oh, yeah," Dean said, his tone full of sardonic enthusiasm. "Yeah, life as an angel condom. That's real fun. I think I'll _pass_ , thanks."

Zachariah shook his head, his expression disappointed and a little offended. "Joking. Always joking. Well… no more jokes." He raised his hand, his fingers like a gun, and pointed at Dean—then shifted and pointed at Sam. "Bang."

There was an audible crunch and Sam fell, a sound of agony ripping from his throat. Even before Sam had hit the ground, Zachariah pointed to Alex, and repeated, "Bang." Alex's knees both exploded in pain and she screamed, collapsing, the pain blinding.

"You son of a bitch!" Dean shouted. Zachariah leveled him with a grim stare.

"Keep mouthing off, I'll break more than their legs. I am completely and utterly through screwing around. The war has begun. We don't have our general. That's bad. Now, Michael is going to take his vessel and lead the final charge against the adversary. _You understand me_?"

On the ground behind Dean, Sam and Alex were both writhing in agony. He was shaking at this point. "Yeah? And how many humans die in the crossfire, huh? A million? Five million, ten?"

"Probably more," Zachariah said breezily. "If Lucifer goes unchecked, you know how many die? _All of them._ He'll roast the planet alive."

Dean paused, thinking fast. "There's a reason you're telling me this instead of just nabbing me. You need my consent. Michael needs my say-so to ride around in my skin."

"Unfortunately, yes," the angel said with a sigh. "There is no other way. There must be a battle. Michael must defeat the serpent. It is written."

"Yeah, maybe," Dean said, almost sounding like he was considering it. "But, on the other hand... _eat me_." Zachariah's face fell as Dean raised an eyebrow. "The answer's _no_."

"Okay. How about this? Your friend Bobby—we know he's gravely injured. Say yes, and we'll heal him. Say no... he'll never walk again."

Sam and Alex looked up at Dean, whose expression was resolute and unyielding. Then they looked at each other. There was no way he was going to say yes.

"No," Dean repeated through gritted teeth.

Zachariah nodded, then countered again. "Then how about we heal you from… hmm… stage four stomach cancer?"

Dean frowned then suddenly doubled over, coughing and gagging, falling over onto all fours. He spit blood into his palm, then looked up at Zachariah defiantly. " _No_."

"Boy. You sure drive a hard bargain!" Zachariah commented with false enthusiasm. "Let's get really creative. Uh, let's see how… Sam does without his lungs."

Sam suddenly went silent, his mouth open and closing as if he were gasping for air.

"Are we having fun yet?" He looked at Alex and made a face like he'd just noticed something. "Oh and look, Alex is suffering from stage four throat cancer. Tragic."

Alex, who was holding onto her dying twin tight, felt her entire body convulse and she coughed up blood in a sudden, violent fit, her breathing ragged and shallow. Dean looked between his siblings in alarm as Zachariah came to him, grabbing his chin, forcing him to look him in the eye. "You're going to say _yes_ , Dean," Zachariah said balefully.

"Just kill us," Dean fired back.

"Kill you?" Zachariah stood up and let go of Dean. "Oh, no. I'm just getting started."

Alex gagged again, choking on huge chunks of blood in her throat. She could barely concentrate, barely breathe, barely move from the pain that seized her body. Beside her, Sam was bucking, gasping for air. And just when Alex had lost hope... a bright light and fierce wind filled the room. Zachariah turned, Alex squinted and looked away, a hand attempting to shield her vision. Her eyes couldn't take the unyielding, blinding light. The light faded and she looked up again, groaning against the pain—and she almost fell over when she realized what she was seeing.

 _Castiel_ stabbed one of Zachariah's henchmen in the neck and threw the angel to the ground, his trench coat whirling around him as he turned and slammed his fist into the other angel's stomach, raising the knife high. The other angel struggled, holding Cas off for only a second. The angel blade flashed in the light, and the two of them smashed into a pile of boxes, sending everything flying.

Sam quaked and Alex clung onto him hard. "Hang on, just hang on Sam!" she begged, gagging on more blood, almost drowning inside of herself. Nearby, Dean was on the ground, groaning and coughing.

With brutal finality Cas slammed his opponent face-first up against a wall and stabbed him with the blade, then let the body fall lifeless to the ground. He drew back, at his full height, his face radiant with energy, with power, with confidence. He stared down at Zachariah, his face furious, intense, fiery.

Beneath Alex's hands, Sam had stopped moving. She stared down at him, alarmed and choking on her own blood. _Oh god, Sam!_

"How are you…?" Zachariah asked, clearly in shock.

"Alive?" Cas replied in his deep, familiar voice. "That's a good question. How did these three end up on that airplane?" He motioned at the Winchesters, his eyes briefly meeting Alex's before returning to Zachariah—he saw her physical anguish and his voice picked up speed and became harder, more assertive. "Another good question. Because the angels didn't do it. I think we both know the answer, don't we?"

"No," Zachariah said softly, hollowly. "That's not possible."

"It scares you as well it should." Castiel's voice darkened with a threatening, commanding quality. "Now, put these boys and their sister back together and _go_." His face was almost a snarl. _"I won't ask twice._ "

Zachariah disappeared and Alex jumped, startled, when Sam suddenly shot up, looking around in alarm and confusion, breathing heavily. Confused, Alex suddenly realized her knees were fine, her throat was fine. She wiped blood away from the edges of her mouth as Sam stood and pulled her to her feet, too. She was shaken up—had Sam just died? And Cas was standing there alive and well—had she hit her head? Was this real?

"You three need to be more careful," Castiel said, approaching them as his gaze skimmed over them, checking their conditions.

"Yeah, I'm starting to get that," Dean said as he stood back up and dusted his hands off on his upper legs. "Your frat brothers are bigger dicks than I thought."

"I don't mean the angels," Castiel said impatiently. "Lucifer is circling his vessel. And once he takes it, those hex bags won't be enough to protect you." He came even closer and raised both hands, roughly putting one on each of Sam and Dean's chests. Alex, who was standing behind them and between them, jumped a little as her brothers both jolted and gasped.

"What the hell was _that_?" Dean asked, a hand on his chest as he flinched back.

"An Enochian sigil," Castiel said. "It'll hide you from every angel in creation, including Lucifer."

"What, did you just _brand_ us with it?" Dean asked.

"No. I carved it into your ribs," Cas said, as if, naturally, they should have known that. He looked directly at Alex and lowered his chin slightly, made a 'come here' motion with his hand, indicating that it was her turn.

Dean and Sam stepped aside so that she could move forward, which she did, a little apprehensively, still not entirely sure she could believe he was actually alive. But, there was was, flesh and blood, right in front of her, his eyes locked onto hers. "Hi Cas," she said in a breathless and quiet voice. She was in a little bit of a dazed trance after everything that had just happened.

His rigid expression softened a shade at her greeting. "Hello, Alex." His hand, warm and a little rough came to rest against the bare skin of her chest, right below and to the side of the dip of her collarbone, the bottom of his palm brushing up against the edge of where the low scoop of her tank top started. The sensation of the touch startled her into stillness. She didn't have time to think about it any more, as suddenly there was a scraping, burning sensation all over the inside of her torso. It wasn't pleasant. Before she could fully process the strange feeling, it was gone altogether.

Castiel stepped back with a hooded glance at Alex then looked over the Winchesters again, apparently satisfied with his handiwork. "H-how are you alive, Cas?" Alex asked, asking what they all wanted to know.

He looked at her with a strange expression. "That remains to be seen," he said cryptically, then disappeared without a word, leaving three very confused hunters behind.

Dean gave a huge sigh. "Dammit. Same old Cas." He sounded kind of fond though and smiled lightly, clearly relieved that they were all in one piece and alive. He went to the door and yanked it up and open. "Well, _this_ has been a fun night."

" _Fun_?" Sam repeated as he pushed the door up far enough where he could walk under. "Yeah, being lungless is a _blast,_ Dean _._ "

"Hey, I'll try anything once," Dean quipped, in amazing spirits for having just been dying on the floor a minute ago. Sam rolled his eyes and mumbled something like _yeah right_.

Alex paused before she followed her brothers back to the car. She was frowning deeply, staring back at where Cas had been standing a minute ago. How was he just alive again? And why the quick exit? She breathed in deeply, then out again, mind spinning. She had a thousand questions but he was alive... and that, for now, would have to be enough.

* * *

**Three Days Later**

Alex sat across from Bobby who was in his wheelchair, staring out the window listlessly, just as he had been for the last few days. "Bobby." He didn't acknowledge her at all and she tried moving her face closer into his line of sight. "Bobby." No reply. "Three days of nothing from you… come on. Gimme something to work with here."

He only glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, then looked back out the window. He was upset, and understandably so. His knife wound hadn't killed him—however it _had_ paralyzed his legs. He wouldn't say a word to any of them. Not even her. But that didn't stop her from trying to get a reaction. Alex pulled one of her knees into her chest, the other leg dangling. "This reminds me of the time Dad was so mad at me that he gave me the silent treatment for a week." Bobby looked at her, his expression fuzzy, like he didn't know what she was talking about. She shrugged, an impish sort of smile on her face as she attempted to jog his memory. "When I dropped out of high school by forging his signature on all the paperwork? Don't tell me you forgot about _that_."

Bobby, remembering, smiled slightly, but quickly scoffed, covering it up with a frown and he looked away, still refusing to reply. Alex rolled her eyes and sighed fondly. He was pouting and silent, kind of like a mad five-year-old. He crossed his arms, only serving to make him look even more like a sassy, petulant child. Alex shook her head good naturedly and looked up, hearing Dean's voice.

"Since when do angels need a cell phone to reach out and touch someone?" He asked, coming into view. With him—Sam and Castiel. Alex stood in surprise at the unexpected appearance of the angel.

"You're hidden from angels now— _all_ angels," he said. "I won't be able to simply—"

Beside Alex, the sound of Bobby's gruff voice startled her. "Enough foreplay." The guys all looked their way. "Get over here and lay your damn hands on."

Castiel's lips thinned into a line. "I can't."

Bobby turned his chair on Cas, his expression deadly cold. "Say again?"

"I'm cut off from Heaven and much of Heaven's power," Castiel explained, walking into the room. Alex watched him in somewhat stunned silence. She should be used to him popping up with warning, but she wasn't. "Certain things I can do," Cas continued. He acknowledged Alex with a brief glance. "Certain things I can't."

"You're tellin' me you lost your mojo just in time to get me stuck in this trap the rest of my life?" Bobby asked, his voice rising, especially toward the end.

"I'm sorry," Castiel said.

In reply, Bobby glared and turned his chair back ground. "Shove it up your ass."

"At least he's talking now," Dean muttered.

"I heard that," Bobby grumbled.

Cas turned away, expression hard to read. "I don't have much time," he said, speaking in hushed tones, forcing the Winchesters to come closer to hear. "We need to talk. About your plan to kill Lucifer."

"Yeah?" Dean asked, looking mildly enthused. "You wanna to help?"

"No," Cas replied without missing a beat. "It's foolish. It can't be done."

Sam and Alex exchanged puzzled frowns. "Oh, well then thanks for the support," Dean said with a disingenuous smile.

"Why not?" Alex asked. "Isn't Lucifer just another angel with some, you know, special features and bonus material?"

Cas shook his head no shallowly. "No. He's more powerful than any angel or any demon. He cannot be killed." He looked at Dean, then Sam. "But I believe I have the solution. There is someone besides Michael strong enough to take on Lucifer. Strong enough to stop the apocalypse."

"Who's that?" Sam asked.

"The one who resurrected me and put you on that airplane," Castiel said, and from the way he was speaking—a little faster than usual, a little more emphatic—it was easy to tell he really believed in whatever plan he was brewing. "The one who began everything. _God_." There was a short, startled silence. The Winchesters exchanged a long, skeptical glance. Castiel was breathing in deeply, looking resolute. "I'm gonna find God."

At that, Dean turned and closed the door of the room and repeated " _God_?"

"Yes," Castiel replied simply.

Dean made a face. "God."

"Yes!" Cas replied, getting exasperated. "He isn't in Heaven. He has to be _somewhere_."

"Try New Mexico," Dean said, a little smirk playing on his lips. "I hear he's on a tortilla."

Castiel's expression showed zero understanding of the joke. He shook his head, befuddled, taking Dean literally. "No... he's not on any _flatbread._ "

Sam paced in the corner near Bobby and Alex had taken a seat on the bed. At the flatbread comment, she gave Cas a weird, amused look.

"Listen, Chuckles," Dean talked down to Cas, "even if there is a God, he's either _dead_ —and that's the generous theory—"

"He's out there, Dean," Castiel insisted, his tone taking a decidedly aggressive edge.

"Oh come on! Look around you, man," Dean ranted, throwing his hands in the air. "The world's in the toilet. We're literally at the end of days here and he's off somewhere drinking booze out of a coconut all right?"

"Enough," Castiel said, glaring. "This is not a theological issue. It's _strategic_." He came closer to Dean, his expression fierce. "With God's help, we can win."

"It's a pipe dream, Cas," Dean said in dismissal. That seemed to touch a nerve.

"I killed two angels this week," Castiel breathed, his expression twisted in genuine anger. "My _brothers_. I'm hunted. I rebelled. And I did it, all of it, _for you_ , and you failed. You, your sister, your brother destroyed the _world_ —" Sam looked down, Alex was indignant as Cas continued, "—and I lost everything, for _nothing_. So keep your opinions to yourself."

Dean made no reply, stunned into guilty silence. But Alex stood up. " _We_ destroyed the world?" she asked disbelievingly. "Do you have _amnesia_? You and the whole choir up there have been trying to set Lucifer free this whole _time_ —what the hell did we have to do with getting roped into all this?!" Cas looked startled. Like he hadn't thought it through like that, or he'd conveniently let himself skip out on remembering the facts. "Stop playing victim," Alex continued harshly, angry at him for multiple reasons. "My family is _not_ responsible for the apocalypse and you know it, so _cut the shit_ and sack _up_." The room went silent. 

Castiel blinked three times, apparently speechless.

" _Damn_." Dean commented, saying what everyone else in the room was thinking.

Unable to handle Castiel's stunned, hurt expression, Alex stormed out of the room, blood boiling and heart racing, briefly wondering how she could be mourning Cas one day and then wanting to bash his head in the next. He was fucking _maddening!_

All of the men watched her go—Dean, Sam, and Bobby, impressed—Castiel looking more like he had been run over by a train.

* * *

**That Night**

Alex stood on the roof of the hospital and tried to relieve some stress by smoking in secret. The air was chilly and the stars overhead were plenty, beautiful, calming. Standing at the edge of the building, she had an elbow on the stone half-wall there and alternated between watching traffic idly and stargazing as she smoked lazily.

Bobby was going to be discharged in the morning which was good news, but Alex was dwelling on Castiel thing and left unsettled. Was she too hard on him? She'd let her temper dictate her response to him. Maybe God _had_ brought him back—who else could have? Did she even _believe_ in God? She didn't know, but she hadn't believed in _angels_ until recently...

Behind her, she heard footsteps approaching, and she thought she recognized Dean's gait—which subsequently sent her into high alert. _Oh shit._ Busted. She threw her cigarette down and tried to crush and hide it underneath the heel of her shoe quickly, like a teenage kid afraid of the wrath of their father.

"Dean, look, before y—" she said as she turned around. She stopped mid-sentence, surprise overtaking her face. " _Oh_."

Castiel stood there, not Dean. "Hello Alex."

She swallowed, abruptly nervous from being so caught off guard. "Hi." What was he doing here? An uncomfortable smile came over her lips—her way of trying not to acknowledge how confrontational she'd been earlier. "Taking a break from finding God?" She asked conversationally, trying to look casual and unsurprised. "It's been, what…" she glanced at her watch briefly. "Six hours. Don't tell me you found him already."

"No," Cas said in a low, somber voice. "I haven't."

He said nothing else and it made for an extremely awkward silence. Alex waited, looking at him expectantly, then prompted him when he still said nothing else. "Okay. So- _ooo_ …" she looked at him with even more expectancy and he frowned, not seeming to get it. "Any specific reason you're up here, or…?"

There it was. Understanding came over his features. "What you said to me earlier," he explained, deeply thoughtful. "I haven't been able to stop thinking of it." Alex's stomach flip-flopped slightly. "I accept that we all have some fault in what happened. But I think you're correct. I… stood by idly and allowed your family to be manipulated. I see now how wrong it was of me to say what I said. To imply what happened was your family's fault. I think in my anger, I... shifted blame wrongly."

Eyebrows up high and mouth open slightly, Alex faltered. She was truly taken aback."Is this... an apology?"

"Yes," he answered plainly.

Alex's face relaxed into a soft, surprised little smile. Yet again, she was drawn into curiosity over him. Approval, even. She was hesitant to forgive and forget, but for the moment, she could let it go at least a little. "Well, for what it's worth... I think you did the right thing, even if it took you awhile."

Her words seemed to surprise him and humble him. "Thank you."

"I... should probably say sorry, too," Alex admitted, fidgeting a little as her eyes grew shy. "Kinda lost my temper on you back there." She cleared her throat and ran a hand through her hair self-consciously before crossing her arms and putting on an inscrutable expression. "Maybe a little harsher than I should have been."

Castiel seemed surprised and even a little touched by her words. "It's forgotten," he said, and his face was so soft that he might have been smiling, almost.

With a thoughtful and deliberating inhale, Alex stuck her hand out for a handshake. "Truce?"

His eyes lowered to her hand and he looked at her questioningly, then slowly put his hand into hers, obviously unsure if he were doing it right. Alex tightened her grip and gave him a firm handshake. She was about to let go, then her inner prankster suddenly had an idea. And without changing her face at all, she just kept shaking his hand, waiting to see if he'd realize the handshake was going on too long. Castiel's eyes narrowed to little squinting slits but he said nothing, just let her keep shaking and shaking—but he definitely looked suspicious. The lunacy of it was threatening to send Alex into a fit of laughter but she managed to keep a straight face for about three seconds more. And then she couldn't do it anymore. She snorted and then a huge peal of laughter burst out of her as she doubled over, laughing hard, hands braced against her thighs.

"Is… everything all right?" Cas asked, vastly confused, his head tilted to the side as he hunched over slightly, peering at her face.

Recovering, Alex straightened up, realizing how insane she probably looked to him. "Yeah," she said, face soft from laughter, a breathy grin still on her face. His worried expression struck her as so cute in that moment.

Cas however was apparently trying to solve another problem. "I don't understand what you found to be amusing just then," he said, clearly trying hard to figure it out. And that made Alex smile again.

"Nothing. It was dumb." She shrugged and shook her head, letting her gaze linger on him. "Hey. I'm... really glad you're okay, Cas," she said earnestly, thinking about everything he'd done for them. Was he perfect? No. Was he doing the best he could? Yes. She really did think so. She thumped him twice on the side of the shoulder. "You're a good friend for helping us."

His eyes slid to his shoulder questioningly. "Thank you." His gaze traveled back to her eyes and and a short silence spanned between them before the angel spoke again. "I... should return to my work," he said, sounding mildly reluctant. "I'll be in touch."

Alex nodded once, contemplating him softly as she thought of him doing this on his own. "Be careful out there."

Cas's eyes went down to the ground, looking directly at the cigarette she'd stomped on a few minutes ago. His eyes came to hers meaningfully. "You know… smoking cigarettes is a bad habit."

Alex's eyebrows raised as a surprised, challenging smile came over her face. "So is telling me what to do."

Oddly enough, her playful comment seemed to almost amuse him. "So I've gathered." He paused, then mimicked what she'd done a moment ago—thumped her on the shoulder twice—but awkwardly, and after he did it, he gave her a silent look that seemed to ask _did I do that correctly_?

Thoroughly amused at him, Alex shook her head, eyebrows pulled together even as she smiled, trying to figure him out. "You are something else, Castiel," she remarked quietly, head still shaking, smile still holding.

His eyes crimped suspiciously. "Something other than what?"

The question had her laughing again—and his confusion tripled. "It's, it's a saying," she said, a stupid grin on her face. It started to fade as she explained. "Means… you're... you're something special. Something different than everything else." Saying it like that shouldn't have felt so revealing, but it did. He was doing it again—looking at her so intensely that she felt cornered and suddenly vulnerable. She thrust her chin out once, nodding off to the side, trying to look unruffled. "Enough with the twenty questions. Go find God."

His eyes scrutinized her closely for a minute more, then he nodded, said he'd be in touch, and disappeared, leaving her alone under the stars once again.


	19. Daddy Issues

" _And I hate myself for being human.  
What good are hearts if you can't use them?"  
_\- God or Julie

* * *

**Two Weeks Later**

Two Winchesters entered the motel room and threw their stuff down, exhausted and covered in vampire blood. Alex plopped down onto one of the beds, yanking off her boots one by one as they stuck damply to her feet. Dean cast a dark glance around the space grimly.

A week ago, Sam left. Hitched a ride to wherever, just like that. It happened after the three of them had worked a job in Colorado—they'd caught up with a few old hunting buddies: Rufus, Jo, Ellen. The town had been a disaster. A newcomer on the scene, War (as mentioned in Revelation) had turned the entire town against one another. After they cut War's ring of influence from his hand, Sam had split, saying he needed a break and that he didn't trust himself.

Dean hadn't stopped their brother or even tried to talk to him about it. He'd been disturbingly okay with it, practically sending their brother off with a shove as he walked out the door. Alex had begged Sam to change his mind, to just give it some time, but he'd left anyway. Dean had been avoiding the subject ever since. The past few days he'd put everything into finding a job and had ignoring his sister down to a fine art. But now that that the job they'd found was taken care of, Alex wasn't going to stay quiet any longer. She looked up at her brother from where she was been sitting and decided now was as good a time as any. "We gotta talk."

He turned around with crossed arms, and from the look he gave her, she could tell he'd been expecting this. He had an unfriendly, sarcastic smile on his face. "Look, I already know you've just been _waiting_ to bitch me out about Sam," he said rudely, "so go ahead. I'm all ears."

Typical Dean. It pissed her off. "Why do you have to _be_ like that?" Alex questioned irritably. "You don't even know what I was gonna _say_."

He took a couple ambling steps toward her, giving off the air of superiority. "Lemme guess: you were gonna say that we shouldn't have split up, I should have made him stay, he shouldn't be alone right now, some kinda crap like that."

Alex's mouth went into a thin line, irritated that he got it right, and even more irritated that he didn't see the problem either. "Don't you think we should be helping him through this, not putting more _miles_ between us?" she demanded. "He's our _brother._ "

"Yeah, our brother who likes _demon juice_." Dean swaggered over, jabbing his finger at the ground. "This right here? The family business? We got no room for that bleeding heart, wishy washy crap. We don't have time for issues, we just gotta kill or be killed."

Alex pulled a face. "Right, because _you_ don't have any issues."

"Oh, and you're just Miss America, aren't you?" he retorted.

She felt so flustered by his attitude that she couldn't think of any of the things she'd thought of or rehearsed internally. She felt herself turning red. "Why can't you just admit you're _wrong_ about this?!"

"Because I'm _not wrong_ ," Dean said forcefully. He obviously believed his own delusion. "I didn't make Sam leave. He _wanted_ out—end of story, Alex!" His volume was nearing a shout now. "I don't have time for this today! I'm the oldest and it's _my_ car, _my_ house, _my_ rules, so if you don't like it, feel free to _shove off_ like you did before!" Ouch. Alex was stung. Dean paused, taking a deep breath and visibly cooling off a little as guilt flashed across his face. "I didn't mean that," he muttered, then his expression became pissy again. "But if you wanna be with Sammy so bad, the door's right there. I'm sure as hell not keeping you here."

"Stop putting me in the middle!" Alex protested, throwing her hands up in frustration. "I shouldn't have to choose a _side_! You're being an _asshole!_ "

Dean took in a tired, aggravated breath, looking at his angry sister for a long moment. "Come on, Al, we've done this before. Sam was gone for four friggin' years and you didn't care then, so what's different this time?"

That simple comment hurt the worst out of all of them. "I _did_ care, and you know it." She really hated Dean sometimes and his self-righteous, judgmental attitude. She turned away, yanking her hair out of the ponytail it'd been in. "Whatever Dean," she muttered sullenly. "I need to get this damn _blood_ off of me."

She disappeared with a hearty door slam into the bathroom, leaving Dean to roll his eyes and begin cleaning the blood off his jacket. This motel had a sink and mirror in the main room, while the shower and toilet were in a separate bathroom across the room. He heard the water start in the bathroom and grumbled to himself for a few minutes, then began to wash up in the sink out here. His headstrong, opinionated sister wasn't right, about _any_ of it. At least, that's what he told himself. It had been Sam's choice, and it had been the right thing for the family. Sam's demon blood issue was just _too much_. Too much. Dean glanced up in the mirror and jumped at what he saw in the reflection: Castiel was standing _right_ behind him, staring silently—and creepily. "Oh my _god_." Dean thumped the sink to channel the shock that had jolted through his heart. "Don't do that!"

"Hello, Dean," Cas greeted plainly.

Dean turned around, finding Castiel in his face, only inches away. He sighed and gave the angel a damning look. "Cas, we've talked about this. Personal space?"

Brief understanding flickered across Cas's face. "My apologies." Cas stepped back and Dean set him with a questioning, probing frown.

"How'd you find me? I thought I was flying below the angel radar."

"You are," Cas replied. "Bobby told me where you were." He looked around, eyes squinting further. "Where's Sam?"

Dean smiled thinly. "Me and Sam are taking separate vacations for a while."

There was a short pause and then Cas's unspeakably intense gaze came back to Dean. "And Alex?" the angel asked. His tone was a little different when he asked about her. But Dean was too annoyed to analyze it much.

"What's with the twenty questions? In the _shower,_ man," Dean replied impatiently. "You find God yet? More importantly, can I have my damn necklace back, please?"

Cas's expression was unhappy. "No, I haven't found him. That's why I'm here. I need your help."

" _My_ help? With what? The God hunt?" Dean chuckled cynically. "Not interested."

Castiel opened his mouth to reply, but a blood-curdling scream and loud crash cut him off. It was hard to tell who was moving first, Dean or Cas. Without even pausing to see if the door were locked or not, Dean broke the bathroom door down, barging in and ready to murder someone. "What is it?!" he demanded, the demon blade in his hand, his body tense, poised to attack, Cas right behind him, arms at his sides, an intense frown on his face. Alex was backed up against the far wall of the tiny bathroom, staring at the shower with huge eyes, clutching a motel towel to her dripping wet body. She looked terrified. "What, Alex? _Where_?!" Dean demanded, looking all around and not seeing anything. He was getting rattled, fast.

"A spider! A huge, _fucking_ , spider!" she screeched, looking at her brother with wide, crazed eyes.

Dean's alarm immediately lapsed into disbelieving annoyance, and the blade which had been raised high thumped to his side. "Oh my _god_ , Al, _really_? Of course." A disgruntled eye roll was followed by him scraping a hand down his face for the needless alarm he'd just been subjected to. "You're killin' me."

Puzzled, Castiel looked from Dean to Alex, trying to understand.

"It _crawled_ on me!" Alex protested emphatically, as if such horrors had never fallen anyone else in the world. She looked at Dean, frozen in fear, clearly waiting for him to make a move, begging him with her eyes.

Dean gave her a 'sorry, not sorry' kind of expression. "You know what? I'm done killing spiders and roaches for you. You can gank a vamp, a zombie, a demon… you can definitely handle a little spider. Man up, Al. Grow some balls and squish that little arachnid."

Alex looked to Cas, who of course she had noticed but hadn't really acknowledged yet—and frowned—Cas was… what was he staring at? His eyes jumped up from—what had he been looking at? Her legs? He met her gaze his face set like stone, his chin raised. He looked intense. "Where is this spider? I will destroy it."

"T-the shower," she replied feebly, and he stepped forward, his hand raised, his face deadly.

There was a sickening squelch sound somewhere inside the shower and Dean, grimacing, peeked his head over into the stall. " _Eugh_. You're a real hero, Cas," he commented even as he smirked at Alex. "Dude that thing _was_ big," he added in with an impressed face. She gave him a baleful look.

Cas, however, had straightened, turned, and was looking at her in honest confusion. "Why does an arachnid strike such fear into you?"

Dean gave a short little laugh at the angel's question. "Because she's the biggest damn baby on earth when it comes to spiders, man. No reason why. Drives me crazy." He suddenly, _finally_ seemed to realize the extent of Alex's undress and an awkward expression passed over his face. He grabbed Cas by his shoulders, pushing him out. "Move along, Cas, nothing to see here." He then chuckled, as if he'd said something extremely funny—apparently the joke was either that his sister was not appealing enough to warrant attention, or that Cas was asexual. Either way, Alex wasn't laughing, she was just scowling.

Cas, perplexed as usual, was looking at Alex over his shoulder as Dean pushed him out of the bathroom and past the door that was barely hanging onto the frame by its cracked hinge.

* * *

Dressed and decent, Alex joined Cas and Dean in the main room. Her hair was quickly air-drying into its normal state of unkempt, wavy disarray. Cas and Dean looked like they were ready to go somewhere, like they had been waiting around for her. "What's going on?" she asked, adjusting her tank top a little bit, not entirely sure where Cas had come from this time or what he wanted. His presence, as normal, set her on a bit of an edge she didn't really recognize.

Dean had a smug little smile on his face. "Cas here says Raphael can help us find _God_."

Uh... okay. Alex looked at the angel for explanation. "Who's Raphael? A ninja turtle?"

Castiel looked completely baffled. "A... what?" he glanced at Dean who was, of course, not going to help him out in the least. "No, he's not some kind of... warrior turtle. He's the archangel who killed me."

Alex's eyebrows shot up. "And you wanna go... _find_ him?" She made puzzled a face, worry pitting in her stomach. "Don't you, y'know..." she gave a nervous stupid little laugh, "like being alive?"

He didn't answer her question. "We need information, which Raphael possesses," he said intensely, not responding to her humorous tone. "We will trap and interrogate him, and he will tell us where God is."

That sounded crazy. Alex rubbed her forehead briefly. "Okay, aside from the fact that that's a long shot…" she turned and looked at her brother, "Dean, you're actually down for this suicide mission?"

"Yeah, why not," he said, grinning with that ever-present sarcastic attitude. "Sounds like a good time." At her bitchy expression, he grudgingly dropped the act. "Look, it can't hurt to see if this guy knows something—anything—about all this Michael's vessel God crap."

Point taken. But there was something else Alex didn't understand. "Why do you need _us_ for this, Cas?"

"To find Raphael…" he said slowly, grimly, as if preparing to reveal some dark truth, "I'll have to... talk. To people."

Alex's head tilted to the side, a hesitant little smile on her face as her eyebrows rose slowly. It was almost cute, the obvious dread and anxiety the angel was feeling. This was the guy who had shattered all the lights in a room when she saw him the first time. The one who could smite demons with a single touch, the one who dragged her brother out of the mouth of Hell, the one who had given her the ability to speak. Basically, one of the most powerful beings she could think of. And yet, there he stood, basically implying that talking to people was the most unthinkably difficult thing in the world. It made her feel a little more fond over him.

Dean was chuckling and opening the door to the motel. "Come on, kids. Let's blow this popsicle stand," he said, his keys jingling.

Alex paused, glancing at Cas. "What, aren't we gonna take the angel railway?" It'd be faster...

"Dean refuses. He cited chronic constipation," Castiel replied in monotone.

Alex blinked twice. "Wha…?" she asked, looking at her brother weirdly. What did that even _mean_?

"Last time he zapped me somewhere, I didn't poop for a week!" Dean grumbled. Alex had to work hard not to laugh out loud at his misfortune.

They walked out to the car together, Cas drifting after the Winchesters somewhat uncertainly. Dean tossed the keys at his sister without warning, and unprepared, she barely stopped them from hitting her in the face. "Listen, I'm tired as crap," he said. "Alex, you're driving."

"Huh?" She tried to remember the last time she had driven the Impala and looked at Dean in disbelief. "Serious?"

Annoyed by her, he yanked open the back door and sent her a brief little grumpy glare. "I need a friggin' nap, okay?"

"Uh, yeah. Okay." She paused at the driver's side. Cas stared at her with his usual, stern expression over the top of the car. Her heart caught and fluttered and she looked away fast, uncomfortable and really needing to fill the suddenly embarrassing silence. "Um, so, w... where are we going, anyway?" she asked, trying to look really certain and at ease.

His eyes were so blue—she was staring into them again. "Waterville, Maine," Castiel said, never looking out of her gaze. "Where a deputy officer laid eyes on the archangel."

* * *

The car ride was quiet in the beginning. Music played on the radio, Alex mostly kept her eyes on the road, driving with one hand... but she glanced at Castiel every minute or so. The windows were cracked slightly, ruffling her loose hair a little in the breeze. Dean snored lightly, sprawled awkwardly across the back seat with an arm over his eyes to keep out the sunlight.

Castiel found it difficult to believe this monotonous mode of transportation was how the Winchester family always traveled. It was taking far too long, and they had only been traveling for about an hour. But Dean had insisted. And Castiel had thought better of trying to talk the fiercely headstrong man out of it.

On the radio, a man was singing, or at least, that's what Castiel knew that was what the sound was _supposed_ to be. However, it was more like a shouting, grunting shriek combined with growling. _Finished with my woman 'cause she couldn't help me with my mind, people think I'm insane because I am frowning all the time!_ Castiel was perplexed, not able to follow the message of the words. The loud, repeating sound of a gritty, distorted instrument combined with the man's screeching voice was not pleasant. In fact, it was beginning to grate on his nerves. As if reading his mind, Alex reached for a knob on the dashboard and turned the music down almost all the way.

"You all right over there, space case?" she asked, her voice breaking the long silence. Castiel turned his head toward her slightly, appraisingly. He forgot to answer her question in favor of just looking at her. She grew uncertain. "Uh... you look kinda… glazed over," she said hesitantly. "You tired or something?"

Staring was considered rude in Western culture—that's right. Castiel peeled his gaze away, trying to be polite and acceptable. It was all so much to think about and remember. "I don't get tired," he told her factually. "I... found the sound of that music grating."

She smiled when he said that. "Come on Cas, don't knock _Black Sabbath_ ," she said in a tone he thought was supposed to be teasing. He didn't understand what she was saying to him—'knock black sabbath'? What was the meaning of that phrase? He repeated the words in his mind, trying to understand, but he found no comprehension. She and Dean had very strange ways of speaking. She was chuckling. "I bet you're a Beethoven kind of guy, huh."

At the mention of the famous composer, Castiel smiled very softly, surprising himself as he remembered a dark echoing hall and beautiful piano music that filled it, the man who'd been deaf and unable to hear music who had _felt_ it instead. "I watched him compose Moonlight Sonata."

A stunned, shocked silence followed. "...You _watched_ Beethoven compose _Moonlight Sonata_?" Alex appeared highly impressed. " _Wow_. That's… that's friggin' _awesome_!" She was grinning, suddenly very animated and eager. Cas was caught off guard by her enthusiastic reaction but intrigued. She seemed to like this information. So, he shared more.

"He had insomnia when he wrote it," Castiel recalled, and he could hear the piano movement in his mind, the somber and beautiful striking of the piano keys. Ludwig von Beethoven had been a gentle, simple man. A fascinating one.

Castiel's simple recollection seemed to completely entrance Alex—perhaps she hadn't realized how Cas had been in existence for so long watching humanity. But she knew now and was biting her lip in thought as she contemplated the road ahead. "Okay," she said in a voice that was bordering on excited, "so—I gotta know. In everything you've ever seen… what's your favorite moment? The first pyramid? Noah's ark?"

He hesitated abruptly at her question, looked away, a slight shiver of nervousness overtaking him. "It... would be difficult to pick," he said, dodging. His instincts told him that the truth was far too revealing of himself. The best thing he had ever seen? His favorite moment? The first time the one he was sitting next to right now had laughed out loud with the voice he'd given to her…

Unaware of his thoughts, Alex just looked at him sidelong, a quieting, contemplative look on her face. She recognized that he was hedging, he realized. But she didn't press him. She let it go and continued to drive, her expression becoming thoughtful and far away. He studied her profile for a moment, wondering what was to become of himself. So much had changed in recent times. He was now on a path with an unforeseeable destination. All he could do was hope that he was doing the right thing. But with these people at his side… Alex and Dean… he felt more optimistic than he had before. He was very glad they were assisting him right now.

Cas looked straight ahead of himself again, going deep into his own mind, thinking hard. He truly believed that Heaven was misled by the angels who had lost sight of the way. Castiel had to make everything right again and hope his actions would prove to be right in the end. He had resolved to find God, who could cleanse the heavens of the unfaithful angels who would seek their own gain. And then he would finally be rewarded for his long-suffering faith and devotion, for his loyalty despite the turmoil engulfing Heaven. He would see and be seen, he would stand in the presence of his divine Father's love that he longed so completely for. And then he would hear, from the mouth of God himself: _Well done, Good and Faithful servant._ Then, and only then, would he be free from the transgressions he had committed.

He'd lost sight of his role and purpose in recent times, and it left him feeling as if he were standing on shaking ground. Still, he realized that while all of Heaven was after him for treason, he wasn't completely alone or on his own. He had these people. The Winchesters. It was a small mercy. A quiet hope. His eyes slid to glance at Alex again from the corner of his eye. He wondered if she could relate to his feelings about his missing Father. Castiel had been so blind and lost for so long, so desperate to believe that God was truly in control. And that had been another lie on an ever-lengthening list...

These thoughts left him disconsolate and quiet in a way that transcended everything.

"Hey, Cas?" Alex asked, drawing Cas out of the thoughts he was so bogged down in. She was glancing between him and the road repeatedly. "You okay over there?"

Cas looked down at his knees, vexed at her concern. He didn't want to burden her with his thoughts or turmoils. "Fine, thank you."

Alex didn't look fully convinced but accepted his answer, letting another short silence hang before she chanced another question. "Listen… I've been wondering. Is he still… you know… still in there somewhere?" She paused, then clarified. "Jimmy, I mean."

A defensive feeling arose. Jimmy. Naming the man who Castiel had used to bridge the gap between Heaven and earth brought a strange sensation to him. The slightest instance of guilt. He knew full well that the body he inhabited wasn't truly his. Or it _hadn't_ been—after Cas died at the hands of Raphael, the human man inside this vessel was dead too—his soul was gone. This body, an echo of who Jimmy Novak had been, still did seem to have problems regardless, and Castiel was suddenly thinking of earlier that day when he'd noticed malfunctions and strange sensations. He remembered the sight of Alex, wrapped only in a small towel. It had made the vessel behave oddly to see her like that: dark hair dripping wet, beads of water flecked all over her bare arms, legs, neck. He remembered a few little rivulets of water running down the space between the hollow dip of her collarbone and the soft, shadowed space made where her breasts met and pressed softly together... Cas swallowed hard, suddenly aware that his body—his _vessel_ —was malfunctioning _again_. He looked down at his lap, slightly worried, not sure what was happening to him.

Alex had asked him if Jimmy was still in him somewhere and the long, questioning silence made him flustered. "Why is that a concern of yours?" he asked her a little louder than necessary, trying to act as though nothing strange was happening to him. He had an instinct he didn't understand that urged him not to let her see what was happening to him.

Alex glanced at him with a skeptical expression on her face. "You know why."

Yes, he supposed he did. Castiel's worries about the vessel faded. His mind turned to that night when Jimmy had given himself over to Castiel for what would be the final time. He remembered Alex calling him afterward. She'd been angry with him and he'd been cold and distant purposefully, trying to dissuade her from her attempts to connect with him, trying to protect both her and himself from the consequences. She'd accused him of ruining Jimmy Novak's life. And he supposed he truly had, hadn't he? After all, Jimmy was now gone forever. He had paid quite the price for his faith.

"He seemed like a pretty nice guy," Alex said after Cas made no reply. "He loved his wife and kid, just wanted to go back to his normal life…" she sounded pensive. Sad for Jimmy and his loss. "I liked him. It's... sad what happened."

Castiel did understand what she meant and knew that what she was saying was true. "I suppose it is regrettable," he admitted reluctantly, wearily. "But Jimmy's sacrifice will not be unrewarded."

Alex shrugged a shoulder up slightly, her thoughtful eyes out on the road ahead. "Maybe not, but there's a woman and a kid out there who lost a husband and dad," she said quietly, her eyes sliding to him sidelong. "And you're him. Kinda."

Castiel heard what she was saying. He had taken a man from his family. Cas shook his head slowly, not sure how to respond. "No. I'm not him. I only look like him."

"But what if you ever… leave again? Is he gonna come back? Is that possible?" He heard worry in her voice.

A silence spanned and Castiel thought, trying to give her a more definitive answer, trying to explain what had happened to the man in question. "No. James Novak will never return. He's gone—he died when the archangel killed us. But... there _is_ a small part of this vessel that retains what made Jimmy Novak, _Jimmy Novak_. Memories. Opinions. Experiences. I can see everything he was. I can remember the life he lived. But all of those things are overpowered and dwarfed by the sheer, uninhibited power of my magnificent celestial presence inside this vessel."

Alex made a slight face, like she was digesting and a little unsure what to think, exactly. "Okay. _Magnificent celestial presence_." She chuckled slightly, rueful.

Castiel didn't understand. "Why does that amuse you?"

She smiled thinly—could a smile be sad and happy at the same time? He didn't know, but that was the kind of smile on her face right then. She shrugged, and he watched the way her shoulders moved. "Just... the way you say things sometimes."

She found him to be less than satisfactory, he decided. "I often don't understand social contexts," Cas offered plainly, understanding that she was telling him that she found his confusion on the matter to be amusing.

" _Really_?" Alex asked, the tone of her voice different than it had been before.

"Yes, re—" he paused, then stopped. _Wait._ He shut his mouth then looked out at the road again, the smallest smile on his lips as he realized that he _understood_ what she had just done. "That was sarcasm," he surmised, looking at her to see if he was correct.

She looked sidelong at him, mildly impressed. "Not bad, Cas." She smiled a little as she watched the road ahead.

He was quiet for a moment. Again, he tried to make her understand what even he had a difficult time with. "Without Jimmy... I couldn't be here with you right now."

Her words seemed to surprise her, then quickly make her uncomfortable. She was left quiet for a long pause as she avoided looking at him. "I know," she said in a soft, low voice. The tone in her voice was indescribable and vulnerable sounding and made him feel... somehow protective. Fiercely so. Why? She shook her head and shrugged again—she seemed to do that when she was having a hard time knowing what to say or do. "Hey, can't always have your cake and eat it too, can you?" she asked in a louder, surer voice. She sounded both resigned and bittersweet at the same moment.

Cas, however, wasn't sure what baked goods had to do with anything. "...Cake?"

With that single word, he somehow managed to inspire Alex to give a sudden snort of laughter and a grin, a noisy sigh. "Oh _Cas_ ," she commented and he felt that fierce feeling again. He thought she said his name with fondness, and whatever funny thing he'd said, he was glad he'd said it and was interested in the effect it'd had on her. She looked at him sidelong with a little smile that rested both on her lips and in her eyes, a smile that seemed to say she found him agreeable.

He'd seen her smile, but never like that at _him_. It startled him, then quickly made him uncomfortable and nervous and he looked away, uncertain if he was overstepping bounds in pursuing a friendship with her. It wasn't wrong, he didn't think, even though Heaven had said it was. He didn't think the Winchesters had corrupted him. In fact, he thought perhaps they had moved him toward greatness. Or at least toward self-awareness. And even though it was a strange new place for him… he found himself liking it cautiously. He wanted to look at her again, but he did not allow himself to.

And then her soft, caring question demanded he do exactly that. "Did... did he go to Heaven, at least?"

Contemplating the woman beside him, he felt touched by her curiosities about Jimmy. "Yes."

"That's something." Alex digested, coming to terms mentally. "So... this is you now."

"Correct," Cas replied. He wondered her thoughts on that, but she didn't continue onward with that particular subject.

Another moment of silence passed before Alex spoke again. "So, anyway. If this Raphael guy we're looking for's an archangel, what kind are _you_?" she asked, then paused. "If that's not too personal."

Castiel glanced at her, her question startling him, her implication of curiosity about him somehow pleasing and stressful at the same time. She waited for an answer, and he frowned slightly, considering his answer. "Well... in the beginning, when I was first established, I was a Seraph. A Watcher. I was tasked with the honor of bearing witness to the events which unfolded in this universe." He remembered those years with an burst of pride, of fondness. He had known his role, and he had carried it out. It was simple; it was pure, he had never faltered or failed. The good feelings faded as he remembered how everything changed and fell apart. It had all started with her, too. That fateful day when he'd been tasked as guardian angel over one Alex Winchester. He looked down. "More recently…" he trailed off, realizing it was true, what he was about to say. "I don't know what I am."

"Huh," she commented softly, noticing how heavily he spoke, how conflicted he sounded. "Well _I_ don't think you're so bad, whatever you are."

Castiel looked at her profile for a few seconds, then shifted in his seat, looking away, processing her words, feeling a warmth in his chest at her encouraging comment and tone. His lips were upturning a little in a smile. "Thank you." It was humbling how she was slowly softening toward him, extending acts of friendship and good will toward him. For a time, he had considered that she would possibly always mistrust and suspect him. More silence passed, and after a minute, Castiel sighed through his nose, restless again. "Traveling this way is truly cumbersome."

Alex gave him an unsympathetic glance. "Try almost thirty years of it, _then_ complain to me about it." She glanced down at the car display in front of the steering wheel and muttered something about needing gas. The car pulled into a station called Gas-n-Sip. Alex got out and began filling the vehicle's tank, leaving Castiel to wait. Dean was still knocked out in the back, his wheezing snore a steadfast rhythm that was becoming irksome and unbearable. Cas reached for the knob he'd seen Alex use to control the volume of the radio and he carefully twisted it, trying to bring the music back to cover the sound of snoring. He heard no sounds and twisted more and more, then reached the end where the knob wouldn't go any further. Perhaps the music playback device was broken. He gave up and resigned himself to listening to Dean's grating snores.

Alex finished putting gas into the tank and loped across the pavement and into the convenience store, casually glancing left and right as she went, taking in her surroundings. Castiel watched out of the corner of his eye. She had this certain way about the way she walked that he found intriguing. He had noticed it before, and studied it yet again. It was a long stride, confident but unaware, like she knew where she was going and had a purpose or a goal but wasn't over thinking her movements. Other women didn't walk that way. Other women pranced, they ambled, they strutted, they flounced. Alex had her own way, and Castiel liked it.

A minute later she appeared again with some brightly colored packets in hand. She squinted against the noonday sun as she came out of the store and when she got back into the car, she offered him one of the packets she was carrying. It read _Hostess CupCakes_. "Want one? These are my favorite." She tossed a pack of them back at Dean without looking, where it hit her sleeping brother in the chin. He started, made a sound of protest, then settled back down.

Cas shook his head no. "I do not require sustenance."

"You don't even wanna _try_ it?" she asked, giving him a look as she ripped hers open.

"No." As an afterthought, he added, "thank you, though."

She was already chomping into her cupcake without ceremony as they sat there in the unmoving car. He intently watched the way she chewed, licked some icing off her finger, looking at each movement closely, with great interest. She looked at him oddly, opened her mouth to say something, and then accidentally dropped the cupcake where it splatted down onto the seat right beside her thigh.

"Oh _shit_ ," she hissed and grabbed the cupcake up. Quickly, she looked back at Dean, her expression fearful. When she saw that he was still sleeping, she tossed the smushed cupcake out the window and reached into the glove compartment, her arm brushing against Castiel's upper thigh as she dug for something. There again, his vessel reacted immediately, with the same dizzying, unexplained sensation it had felt earlier and the angel went tense, not sure what to do. Before he had time to panic, she had already grabbed a few napkins out of the compartment and was scrubbing at the seat, repeating the word " _shit_ " again, panicked. Castiel watched, intrigued, forgetting his momentary alarm. After a few more swipes of the napkin, Alexseemed to be satisfied and sighed, sounding relieved. "Dean would _kill_ me if he saw that," she muttered, seeing Cas's perplexed expression. "Do me a favor and don't tell him?"

Castiel tilted his head to the side, trying to make sure he understood right. "You want me to lie?"

Alex contemplated, then with a very serious look on her face she held out her pinky, eyebrows raised, her gaze seeming to be telling him to do something. "Just pinky promise. That you won't tell him."

He looked at her blankly. "What is a... pinky promise?"

She held out her pinky and wiggled it, nodding at him as if to say 'now you.' He held his out in similar fashion and she hooked hers through, pulling their fingers against each other's tightly. She spoke in a low, serious voice, and her expression became intense. "It's an unflinching bond agreement between two beings. Forever binding. You break a pinky promise, the wrath of the universe will reign down on your poor, lost soul." Castiel felt his mouth open slightly—why had he never heard of this all-powerful binding 'pinky promise'? Alex's grim expression suddenly dissolved into chuckles and a laugh, and Castiel narrowed his eyes, not sure what—and then, suddenly, he understood, and was surprised that he understood.

A pleased little expression came over his face. "You were joking just now," he surmised. "About the wrath of the universe."

She smiled again, and again, the corners of her eyes wrinkled. "Yup. But seriously... _don't_ tell Dean."

Castiel just smiled slightly, a little impressed with himself. Alex started the car and suddenly music blared so loudly that it seemed like the speakers were going to blow out—Alex shouted something like, " _Jesus, God_!" and very _very_ quickly reached for the knob and turned it way down, seeming a little out of breath from how startled it had left her. Once the ear-assault was over, she looked at Cas, flabbergasted. "Did you do that?!"

Cas was surprised, too. "I... didn't realize that would happen," he said, feeling embarrassed. To his surprise, she started laughing.

"What the crap are you two morons _doing_ up there?!" Dean complained, sitting up halfway and scowling at them with a grumpy, sleepy face.

Alex looked back at her brother, still laughing. "Just uh, making sure the volume knob still works!" Dean mumbled complaints even as he shifted and flopped facedown to return to his nap. Alex was still laughing softly while shaking her head and glancing at Cas again. He was unsure what to do—why was that funny? Either way, she seemed to have thought it was extremely funny. She grabbed the gear shift and put the car into motion, turned her attention to driving. After a minute, she gently fiddled with a knob on the console and found a station of classical music then looked at Cas with a knowing smile.

Surprised and touched at the gesture, Castiel felt himself smiling back.

* * *

**Late That Night**

Alex kicked over a broken chair in the abandoned house they were squatting in. Dean was downing beers and pacing around, bored like his sister.

They had visited the Waterville Police Department earlier and found out with some digging that Raphael's vessel was a man who was committed. As in, mental institution. Taking Cas along as a third FBI agent had been a disastrous idea—the guy had almost given them away like ten times. However, it made for some funny memories at least. Alex shook her head as she remembered Cas holding his FBI identification upside down. After finding out who Raphael's vessel was and where the man lived, they had gone to the psychiatric ward where he resided. They found the man, empty and glazed over with Raphael no longer possessing him. But Cas had insisted he knew how to conjure Raphael and had done some strange Enochian chant, then said tomorrow, the ritual would play out. After that, he disappeared without explanation and had been gone for hours now. Long enough that Alex was just a little worried.

Sighing, she stopped pacing, then picked up a beer and cracked it open on the side of the table. "I mean, couldn't we stay at a motel?" she asked out of nowhere. "This place is a freakshow."

Castiel suddenly appeared in the room, holding an ancient looking clay jar, surprising the siblings in tandem.

"Where've _you_ been?" Dean asked.

"Jerusalem," the angel replied simply.

Whoa. Impressive. "What's in that?" Alex asked as he set the jar on the rickety old table that remained in the house.

Cas seemed distracted. "It's oil. It's very special. Very rare."

Dean smirked. "Okay... so we trap Raphael with a nice vinaigrette?"

Alex snorted at her brother's comment then took a swig of beer even as Castiel sat down in a chair and gave him a short look. "No."

"Tell me something," Dean said, sauntering over with his beer in hand. "You keep saying we're gonna trap this guy. Isn't that kinda like trapping a hurricane with a butterfly net?"

"No." Cas paused and narrowed his eyes. "It's harder."

Alex almost choked on her beer. Dean looked a little put off. "Do we really have any chance of surviving this?"

Cas finally looked up fully, his expression neutral. "You two do. An archangel will not touch Michael's vessel, nor a child of God under divine protection."

"So... are you saying that _you're_ dead meat?" Alex asked darkly.

"In all likelihood, yes," he said apathetically, looking into middle distance in front of himself.

Alex didn't like this. "Cas… I don't know if I'm okay with that."

He was avoiding looking at either of them again. "There is nothing to be 'okay' about. It must be done. I have to do it. I have to take responsibility."

"But…" Alex trailed off and he finally looked up at her with a veiled expression. She couldn't find anything else to say and they just looked at each other with silent, tense eyes. He had just accepted his death? Relegated himself to dying tomorrow? No way—there _had_ to be another way.

"Well. Last night on earth!" Dean said, trying to break the tension by being a smartass. "What are your plans?"

There was another pause, as if Cas hadn't thought that far ahead. "I just thought I'd sit here quietly."

Something about that comment touched Alex, making her feel endeared to him. She was kind of a homebody, too. Even though she didn't really _have_ a home. She took a sip of beer, deep in distressing thought about what would happen tomorrow.

Dean apparently thought Castiel's answer was lame. "Come on—last night on earth!" he repeated more emphatically. "Anything? Booze?" He paused, his tone lowered, a shit-eating grin on his face and voice. " _Women_?" Alex almost choked on her beer again at _that_ question and her wide eyes went straight to Cas to see his response.

Castiel was suddenly very visibly uncomfortable and faltered, said nothing, looked at Alex, faltered even further, said nothing. Dean looked shocked. "You _have_ been with women before... right? Or an angel or something?" Cas, said nothing, only looked even more distressed. A silent _no_. Dean didn't stop. "You mean to tell me you've never been up there doing a little cloud-seeding?" he asked in amused disbelief and Alex sputtered at her brother's words and decided to stop trying to drink the beer altogether for fear of choking herself on it. Holy shit this was the most awkward moment ever.

Cas seemed almost riled by the line of questioning. "I've never had occasion, okay?" he asked defensively, and Alex thought she recognized that look on his face. Embarrassment, just wanting to disappear, not wanting anyone to bother him about it or imply that it was weird or freakish.

"Dean… leave him alone," Alex said, setting down her beer hard on the table. She felt sort of protective, if also very flustered.

Dean only shook his head, looking determined. "No way, Al. This is too good." He looked at Cas pointedly. "Lemme tell you something. There are two things I know for certain. One, Bert and Ernie are gay. Two, you are not gonna die a virgin. Not on my watch."

Cas looked positively scared and Alex looked at her brother like he'd sprouted horns. "Oh my god—you're gonna try and get an _angel_ laid!?"

Dean feigned great thoughtfulness. "Mmm…" he pretended to think really hard then grinned. " _Yeah_."

Uncomfortable and mad for reasons she didn't totally get, Alex gave her brother an evil eye. She felt so put on the spot and mad and also incredibly embarrassed, like everyone could see straight through her. Hot-blooded and shaking slightly, she thinned her mouth briefly. "You're an _idiot,_ " she declared, then stalked out of the house, needing a damn cigarette.

Cas stood as Alex left, his expression strange, almost afraid. "Dean, I don't think that—"

"I don't care _what_ you think, bud," Dean said, grabbing his jacket. "You need to get laid, and pronto."

"But why?" Castiel asked, confused.

"Because you're a _virgin_!" Dean exclaimed, as if being a virgin were a horrible disease. "You gotta take care of that, pronto."

Castiel's eyes narrowed as the wheels in his head turned. "Dean, I don't understand why you are so adamant about this. Why haven't you shown the same concern for Alex's virginity?"

Dean did a double take, sputtered. " _What_?!" He fumbled a minute. "A vi—how the hell do you know _that_ about her?!"

Castiel just raised his chin a little bit. "I know everything about her body. And yours. And any other body I encounter. You had your tonsils removed at age fifteen, and—"

"Okay, okay, I get it. Wow," Dean said, rolling his eyes, then reflected briefly, kind of stunned by this revelation. "Well, I was pretty sure she was, you know, a, a— _that_ —I mean she's never even had a _boyfriend_ and I've been with her like every freaking moment of every freaking day for the most part, but… I wasn't totally sure… huh."

Cas became more puzzled by the second. "And you're not anxious to… 'get her laid'?"

The hunter's face dropped. "Hey! Don't talk that way about my sister!" Dean snapped, approaching the angel with sudden anger.

Cas's eyes narrowed, his head tilted to the side, he frowned. "But if virginity is such a stigma, and both she and I are virgins, then surely the two of us cou—"

Dean's jaw almost hit the floor as his eyes went as wide as they could. "No. No, no, _NO_. Lemme stop you right there, 'cause I don't like where you're going with that line of logic… Cas! _No_! You hear me? No, don't even imply that. Oh my _god_!" He threw out a commanding finger at the angel. "Don't you ever even think that again, you hear me?"

"Yes, of course I hear you," Cas answered. "My ears function perfectly. But I don't understand…"

"Understand _this_ ," Dean growled. "Any perv who so much as thinks about touching my little sister is _dead_. Six feet under, dead." Perplexed by the outburst, Castiel carefully explored Dean's logic but couldn't understand it. The hunter was rubbing his forehead, changing from angry to sad. "She's never had luck with people, Cas, I wouldn't expect you to understand but—" he sighed, eyes on memories that pained him. "I don't trust anyone with her. _Anyone_. In any kinda way. _Period._ " He visibly changed the places his mind was going to and clapped a hand onto Cas's shoulder while looking at him pointedly, leaving the talk of Alex behind. "This doesn't matter, all right? We're not talking about her problems. We're talking about _yours_. Now, let's go find you a woman to make you into a real man."

Dean steered Castiel toward the door of the house and out into the night. They found Alex huffing on a cigarette and pacing the yard. Dean stalked up to her and snatched the cigarette out of her mouth without ceremony and threw it to the ground, stamping on it with his foot. "Hey!" she protested, even as he shoved his hand into her jacket pocket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. He wagged it at her angrily.

"I thought I told you to stop this crap two days ago!" He drew back his arm and flung it as far as he could into the dark night.

" _Hey_!" she protested again, more angry this time.

Dean was even more angry than she was and pointed a warning finger at her. "You stop this crap, okay? Dad would kill you if he saw you smoking! It's a friggin' horrible habit!"

"Thanks for the _morality_ lecture, Mr. Family _Values_ ," Alex muttered.

Her brother made no comment, just gave her a wan look and then turned toward the Impala. "We'll be back."

"What?" Her expression fell and she looked at Cas briefly for explanation. Her bravado was gone in favor of vast uncertainty. "W-where are you going?"

Dean looked at her with a half-smirk. "You know where."

Alex gaped at him, then quickly looked at the angel. "Cas?" she asked, sounding surprised at him. "You really wanna do this?"

Uncertain of what he wanted, Castiel answered indirectly. "I'm told it's necessary."

"Quit being a cockblock," Dean said in a dismissing tone to his sister.

If looks could kill, Dean would have been dead underneath the glower Alex was giving him. "Yeah fine," she retorted, "but you gotta be _crazy_ if you think I'm staying at this creepy ass house all by myself." She looked at Cas who was standing there looking petrified. Alex studied him with an odd expression then looked back at her brother again. "Plus, you know, uh... moral support?"

"Yeah, fine, whatever," Dean said, and got into the car with a slam of the door. Alex and Cas didn't move—they stood there just looked at each other for a short, strange moment in which Cas felt his heart rate picking up in distress. Cas almost asked her Alex somehow get him out of this insane idea, this plan of sexual intercourse. The idea of it seemed bizarre and disturbing, undignified—inappropriate. But then Dean hollered an impatient, "move your asses!" and when Alex got into the car, Cas said nothing and got into the car too.

* * *

Low, thumping music pulsed through the "strip club" that was clearly a lot more than that. Seated at a flimsy table near the stage where strippers swayed and sashayed, Dean leaned over the table and fixed Cas with a commanding stare. "Hey. Relax."

"This is a den of _iniquity_ ," Castiel said nervously, eyes darting around like a frightened animal. "I should not be here."

"Dude, you full on rebelled against Heaven," Dean said, brushing Cas's concerns aside. "Iniquity is one of the perks."

Nearby, one of the women had set her sights on them. With an enormous amount of grace and poise, Dean pointed at Cas animatedly and waved the woman over like he was hitching a ride on the highway. "Showtime," he said, grinning.

Cas seemed to shrink a little into his chair and he briefly caught Alex's gaze—they sat directly across from each other. _Help me_ , she imagined he was thinking. But that had to be wishful thinking, right? She pulled her huge mug of beer close in both hands, lips on the rim, trying to disappear. _Why_ had she come along for this?! Bad idea. _Stupid_ idea.

The scantily clad woman arrived at their table and Alex stared openly. The stripper was super close and smelled of strong, pungent perfume. She was wearing almost nothing—just a sheer, gauzy white lingerie thing. Her huge, fake breasts were pushed up high, squished together with a huge, garish bow in the center where the cleavage dipped low. She had unnaturally blonde hair and eyes lined heavily in black, her eyebrows looked painted on, her skin was an orange kind of color. She didn't look real at all or like she had much going on in the general area of her brain, but somehow, Alex was still intimidated.

" _Hi_ ," the woman said softly, flirtatiously, looking at Cas with suggestive eyes. "What's _your_ name?"

Castiel tried not to look at her. In fact, it almost looked like he was going to be sick, and Alex put her beer down, holding it with tight fingers. If Cas didn't want to do this, he shouldn't let Dean pressure him into it. "Cas," Dean put in for the silent angel. "His name is Cas." He leaned forward, a playful, coy smile on his face as he flirted with the stripper. "What's _your_ name?"

"Chastity," she purred.

Alex snorted at the irony. "That's friggin' rich." Castiel shakily lifted his mug of beer and gulped it down fast. The woman's boobs were close enough to Alex that she couldn't resist. She reached out and poked an index finger into one rudely. "How much did these things cost?" she asked as Chastity gaped and stepped back.

" _Excuse_ me!"

"Hey, hey, whoa whoa whoa, don't pay attention to her," Dean said, sending Alex a meaningful scowl and then grinning at Chastity, trying to appease her. He gestured at Cas and wiggled his eyebrows. "He likes you, you like him, so—" he spread his hands out and sat back, the picture of self-content. " _Dayenu_!"

"No, I don—" Cas started.

Chastity was already tugging Cas up by the hand. "Come on, baby."

Cas looked back at Alex, full of alarm, and as a result, she began to feel the same way. Alex thought her tight grip on her mug of beer might shatter the glass and she suddenly stood up, drawing a questioning gaze from Dean and Chastity. She was flaming hot from embarrassment but she just looked at Cas, trying to back him up and stand up for him somehow. "You… you don't have to, Cas, if you don't want to," she squeaked out.

Dean got up too, his chair scraping the floor loudly as he rolled his eyes. "He wants to." He smacked a bunch of bills into Cas's chest after giving Alex an impatient glance. "Hey, listen. Take this. If she asks for a credit card, say no. Now just stick to the basics, okay? Do not order off the menu. Go get her, tiger."

Cas took the money awkwardly, seeming very unsure about what was about to happen. Alex looked at him wordlessly, trying to let him know, silently, if he had said the word, she would have laid that skank out right then and there. But Dean stepped forward a little, blocking their view of each other. "Come on, Cas! Don't make me push you." Dean said, then did just that: physically pushed Cas backward a little bit. "I know you want to, now _go_! Make me proud!"

Chastity was pulling on Cas and without a word, Cas went along with it, allowing the blonde to lead him away by the hand toward the back of the club. Alex watched, slack-jawed and almost angry, especially when Chastity smiled back at Cas alluringly.

"Hey, what have I told you about being rude to strippers?" Dean asked, demanding her gaze.

Indignant, Alex whirled on him. "And what have _I_ told _you_ about _hookers_?!"

He was pleased with himself and it showed. "I forget. _Heh_." He took his seat again, glancing up at a nearby dancing girl.

" _Shithead,_ " Alex muttered, basically seething.

"Ah, come on," he said, verbally swatting her away, taking a sip of his beer. "Lighten up. Even angels need to get some."

She wanted to hit him, honestly. But instead she stared at the door where Cas and Chastity had disappeared through. She pictured herself striding through that door, ripping that bimbo off of Cas's half-naked body and throwing her across the room. _What the hell!_ _Get a grip, Alex._ No one _forced_ Cas to go in there. He went of his own free will. _Still..._ clenching her jaw, Alex she shook her head at herself and in frustration she knocked a chair over, grabbed her beer, and went to the opposite end of the club, ignoring Dean and sliding into a quiet, dark corner booth. There she proceeded to stew over her beer while trying to decide if she should go in after Castiel or not.

It was literally ten seconds after she'd sat down that a crusty redneck trucker-looking guy in his forties sidled up to her. "Hey sweetheart. You here to watch the show? That's kinda hot."

Alex gave him a harsh look, _not_ in the mood to deal with assholes. "Screw off."

Instead, he sat down there at the booth with her, grinning, looking her up and down appraisingly. "I mean, if you're looking for a good time, I uh, would love to get to know you."

Getting real agitated real quick, Alex stared away pointedly, trying to control herself. "Listen, asshole. I'm not interested. Not now, not ever, so _get lost_."

He scooted a little closer, trying to wrap his arm around her. "Come on baby, just lemme buy you a drink, that's all."

He smelled like alcohol—but drunk as fuck or not, she shot him a dangerous glare, shoving his arm away hard. _Do_ not _fuck with me._ The guy seemed to be amused by her agitation, like he found it cute. She raised a single eyebrow, gave him one last warning, her expression deadly. Below the table, her hand was sliding down to the back of her jeans, where her knife was tucked into its sheath. Her fingers wrapped around the handle. "I said, _leave—me—alone_ ," she growled.

"Don't be like that, sweetie—" the guy said, but never finished his sentence. In a blur of motion, Alex stabbed her hunting knife down into the table, right between his fingers with a sickening _thwack,_ missing cutting off his middle finger by millimeters.

The guy yelled out and yanked his hand away, flailing backwards, staring at her in total shock. She was still gripping the hilt of the knife as she leaned forward a little bit into his face. Her voice dripped with sarcasm. "Unless you wanna lose a limb, _baby_ … back… _off_." She yanked the knife out of the table even as he stumbled out of the booth, shaken and terrified.

"You crazy _bitch_!" he said, even as he practically ran the opposite direction.

She chuckled at that, put her knife back in its sheath, then returned to her beer… and at that point noticed Dean had disappeared. Where the hell was he? Probably in the back… ugh. Even if that asshole trucker guy had been barking up the wrong tree, at least he'd distracted her for a second from all the Castiel crap. Alex tried _not_ to think of what that hooker chick would be doing to Cas right about now—or _oh my god_ , what would _he_ be doing? She stared at the mug of beer in front of her, her stomach churning. This sucked. Why did she come along for this? What the hell was she thinking? That Cas was gonna change his mind and then want to hang out with _her_ or something? _Oh my god you're pathetic_. Alex couldn't stand it anymore and she stood up to throw her beer glass at the wall. It shattered and she stalked out of the club under the questioning, startled gazes of patrons and strippers alike. She didn't take much notice.

She was too busy imagining Cas and that stupid, plastic woman all over him, pulling off his clothes. At first, she pictured him terrified, laying there, afraid for his life, cowering, wide-eyed as that bitch crawled onto him like a bug. That was a bad mental image, but the next one was far worse, and on the opposite end of the spectrum. She pictured Castiel hungrily sweeping Chastity up into his strong arms, throwing her down on the bed roughly, ripping her lingerie off, taking her passionately like the characters in the romance novels she read sometimes. Both images made her want to rip someone's eyes out.

She ran a hand through her hair in agitation, reaching the end of the building where the alleyway started.

* * *

"Come on baby, let's get you more comfortable," Chastity said, walking Cas forward, her chest pressing into his as she tugged on his tie. They were in a darkened room that was small and had a large bed in it and she wouldn't stop touching him, leaning into him.

"I, I assure you, I'm perfectly comfortable—" he lied, trying not to be rude, holding his hands out, trying to keep her at a respectable distance from himself. She smelled very strangely and was looking at him in a way he found disturbing—he suddenly found the backs of his lower legs had hit against the bed and he fell slightly to sit down there. Chastity was already climbing on top of him, her legs straddling his. She was making soft little _mmm_ sounds that perplexed Castiel completely, made him feel afraid, alarmed. Her hands ran up his chest through his shirt and pushed at his coat a little. _She was trying to undress him_. He tensed, trying to stop her from what she was doing. "Y-you're making me less comfortable," he said, and then she nipped at his neck with her mouth—was she trying to _taste_ him? Cas felt frozen in the worst way possible and unsure of how to escape. Chastity ran her tongue along the place just below his ear even as she stuck her hands down low between their bodies and began to undo his belt. Castiel was no longer able to be polite as his mind clanged with the word _no_ over and over. _You don't have to Cas, if you don't want to._ Alex's words, words that he decided to get behind. He grabbed Chastity by the upper arms and pushed her away.

She reacted immediately. "What the _hell_ is your problem?" she asked, face conveying her aghast, angry emotions. "Don't _push_ me. Straight up stuff only. _No roughhousing_." As quickly as her anger had shown itself, her face suddenly transformed into the coy, flirtatious mask it had been before and she approached him again, tried to touch him—but Castiel held her back, looked at her in the eyes, deeply.

Usually he would ask permission before reading a mind, but today, he didn't. He was desperate for some way to get her mind off of touching him. He didn't _like_ her touching him. "I see pain in you, Chastity," he said, seeing everything about her in a small second. "It's not your fault that your father Gene ran away. It was because he hated his job at the post office. You work this job because you have no self esteem and want to be loved as you never were as a child."

Chastity's expression went cold with shock, then dark with anger. And then without warning she drew back and slapped him in the face, began screaming insults and telling him to get out… then thankfully began to push him away.

* * *

Alex paced the alleyway with short patience. She heard footsteps right behind her and turned to see the guy who had bothered her in the club and another guy. _Oh shit_ —she recognized that angry, vengeful glint in his eye, and turned to make a run for it, but he was already too close and caught her by the arm then shoved her up against the wall in the dark alleyway. "You crazy, dumb bitch! No one tries to cut my fingers off!"

He had yellow teeth and red ruddy skin from drinking too much. He was slow and stupid and drunk. "Oh, is that right, Billy Joe Bob?" Alex asked cooly. He seemed momentarily confused by her calm, nonchalant demeanor. And then, he was doubled over after she violently kneed him in the balls and smashed him in the top of the head with her elbow. She broke out of his grip only to get grabbed by the second guy, who bear-hugged her, pretty much disabling her completely. He _wasn't_ as drunk or stupid as his friend. "Hey!" she shouted, wiggling hard and trying to get free. The first guy had already recovered from her assault, and helped his buddy slam her back against the wall. Both of the men held her there against the wall, not just her arms, but her legs. Pissed more than anything else, Alex thrashed violently, seething.

" _Hey_!" came a thundering shout—Dean?

Then a low, threatening voice—Castiel. "Get away from her. _Now._ "

Her attackers turned to look, and Alex could see her brother, murderous, and Castiel, devastating. They were coming closer, and fast.

"Why, what are _you_ gonna do?" The first guy sneered, but even before he finished asking, Cas had reached out and practically ripped him off of Alex; threw him across the alley with brutal force where he smashed into some dumpsters and ceased to move. Dean had simultaneously grabbed the second guy and bashed him in the face with his fist, knocking him out cold in one violent, enraged punch. In all, the boys made quick work of the guys in all of five seconds, if that.

Alex couldn't help it. She was impressed at the show of strength and looked at Cas in a mixture of appreciation and then... dread. She took in his loose tie, the trench coat all askew, his partially unbuckled belt. She swallowed, suddenly feeling a little queasy. Had he...? Did they…? He was oblivious to her wandering, questioning gaze and had grasped her just above the elbow, looking at her sternly, leaning in, his eyes demanding a quick answer to his questions. His touch sort of startled her. "Are you injured?" he asked, his voice low and deadly. "Did these men hurt you?"

His closeness also caught her off guard. "N-no, I—"

Dean pushed Cas aside, looking at Alex with a horrified, savage expression. "You okay? What were they—"

Crowded, Alex held her hands up, palms facing them, as if to tell them to back up. "I'm fine. I'm _fine_. I totally _had_ that." She straightened a little, gave Cas a questioning look. "So um _that._.. didn't take you very long."

He remained silent, obviously not understanding the implication. Dean chuckled ruefully. "Yeah, so, Cas scared off the girl with all his angel ESP stuff. Messed the whole thing up."

"Oh," Alex said, trying not to sound as relieved as she felt. "So no…" she shook her head, trying to appear like she was searching for the words, trying to appear like it didn't matter either way. "No, consummation, or…"

No. No consummation. Cas's expression confirmed.

"Wow, come to the current century, Chaucer," Dean commented and Alex rolled her eyes at her brother, then brushed past them and went over to the unconscious form of one of the guys who had attacked her. She yanked him over onto his stomach, sticking her hand in his back pocket as she told herself to get a grip. Cas's sex life wasn't any of her business, anyway.

Cas looked stunned. "...What are you doing?" he asked her.

Pulling out the guy's wallet, she wagged it at him. "Hey, this guy needs to make the pain in my ass he's been worth my while." She pulled out several hundred dollar bills, impressed with the find. "Not bad."

Dean was going through the other guy's wallet and Castiel came to Alex, who was counting bills. He fixed her with a stern expression. "They had foul intentions for you," he insisted. "You shouldn't be so nonchalant."

" _Relax_ , Cas. Everything's fine," she said, avoiding looking at him in the current moment.

His intensity didn't waver. "No, I shouldn't have allowed Dean to distract me." His expression changed, slightly, and she didn't know how to interpret it. "My duty is to _protect_ you." It was said so vehemently, and combined with his gaze, Alex was temporarily stilled.

His eyes made it hard for her to find words. Flustered, she got outwardly pissy. "...I'm _fine_ ," she told him, then had to brush past him to avoid looking at him. She hardened her voice. "I protect _myself_ , okay?"

"Like you just did a minute ago?" He challenged.

Alex stopped and turned, head tilted to the side. She was pleasantly surprised. "Cas… was that... sarcasm?" She cracked a grin at him. "Very good, young grasshopper."

He just frowned. "I'm not an insect."

 _God, Cas._ He didn't know how cute he was. "I know you're not," she said, her tone decidedly fond. She smiled again, a crooked little quirked smile, and on a whim she reached out and fixed his messed up tie, carefully sliding the knot back up to its rightful place. Her thumb just barely brushed against the skin of his neck, and somehow, that simple, mistaken touch against the warmth of his skin made her smile fade. And then she made the mistake of looking him in the eyes again. His gaze was locked on hers, and it suddenly felt incredibly awkward, intense. Why did he look like he was asking her a question with that smoldering gaze of his? And what _was_ the question? Alex's expression fell completely and she pulled away from him, unsure of how to react... and if she was reading into things wrong.

"Dude, this guy has a bunch of _church_ business cards in his wallet," Dean said, clearly amused at his findings in the guy's wallet, oblivious to Cas and Alex. Alex, a little shaken—not by the attack, but by Cas—turned away silently and began leading the way to the Impala, her hands in her pockets, leaving the guys to lag behind a little bit.

"Man, I mean, I still think we should try again," Dean said to Cas, pocketing the cash he'd taken from the guy's wallet. "There's more clubs around here, and—"

"No, Dean," Castiel said almost wearily as they began walking to the car.

"Aw don't be like that, Cas," Dean said. "I still don't get why you didn't make it with Chastity. I mean, dude, she was beautiful!"

"No, she was not," Cas corrected.

"Oh, come on, you got nothing to judge her against," Dean scoffed as they came to a stop at the car. Alex was already in the back seat, shutting the door behind herself. Dean looked at Cas over the top of the car. "I mean, how many women have you even _seen_ in your lifetime, like five?"

Cas's head tilted to the side just slightly, as if what Dean had suggested was ridiculous. "All of them."

Dean looked a little put off. "Well. Uh. Touché. Well, maybe your thing isn't blondes, huh?" He chuckled. "Brunettes!" Cas's gaze faltered, his eyes sliding over to Alex. Dean, too busy laughing as he got into the car, didn't notice.

* * *

**Later That Night**

Alex sat out on the dilapidated porch of the abandoned house, not really doing anything. Just awake. A few empty beer bottles were beside her, a twelve-pack she was working on. She was definitely a little buzzed. She heard the front door open behind her and she listened. Heavy footsteps were coming close to her. Dean came down one step below her, his familiar shape and size sort of comforting and annoying at the same time. "Whatcha doing?"

"Nothing," she replied honestly, carelessly, glancing sidelong at him tersely.

He looked at her a couple beats. "You should get some rest. Big day tomorrow."

"Not tired yet."

There was a short silent. "You're still mad about your smokes," he assumed. Alex made a face. Not really, but if he thought that, fine. He sat beside her, let out a 'whoosh' of air, cleared his throat. "Right. So... uh, awkward subject." Alex's head turned slowly, her expression quickly becoming suspicious. Dean looked highly uncomfortable. This couldn't be good. He searched the sky, not looking at her. "Cas told me you're a… _you know_ … a, uh, a... virgin."

Alex's face went completely blank, her mouth dropping open from the punch of shock to her stomach. "What? How did he—" she stopped, seeming to remember, _oh yeah, he always friggin' knows everything_. She rubbed the back of her neck self consciously. She didn't want to have this conversation. "Whatever. Don't talk to me about that."

Dean, more awkward than she had ever seen him, clasped his hands together as he leaned over his knees. "Alex, uh… _abstinence_ is—"

"Oh my _god_!" She looked at him in horror—he was _not_ about to have _the talk_ with her. "Stop, are you serious? _Abstinence_? You think I'm _choosing_ to be the way I am? Uh, _no_. It just… it just turned out that way." She let out a laugh of dry, humorless air. " _Yeah,_ okay? I'm twenty-six. And I'm..." she couldn't say the word. " _That_."

Uncomfortable, Dean scratched the back of his neck. "Look Al, most guys out there… trust me, all they want is sex. Not love, not a relationship. They just wanna use women for what they can get."

Alex gave him a piercing look. "You would know." That hurt him, and she saw. Alex was sullen. "I don't need to feel any more abnormal than I already am, okay?" She shook her head and looked up at the stars, her heart wrenching. "Do you know I've had _one_ kiss my whole life?" A pained smile pressed across her face, an attempt to cover her hurt. "And it was a damn _prank_." Dean's face registered shock. Alex huffed, defensive. "I never told anyone. Too embarrassed I guess." She picked at a splinter next to herself.

"Tell me," Dean implored, sounding a lot softer now.

Her smile faded. A long silence passed, and she wasn't sure she would tell him at all. But she ended up taking in a deep breath and barreling forward. "Fifth grade. Kevin Dukes. Passed me notes in class… said he liked me. That I was pretty. I couldn't believe it." She looked down, breathed out heavily. "He took me to a classroom that I thought was empty, kissed me… then a bunch of the kids came out from where they were hiding and watching, and they all started to laugh at me and say…" she trailed off, haunted. "The most horrible things." She went quiet. Those memories still hurt as bad as they had the day they happened. The laughter still sounded so crystal clear in her mind. Alex was ashamed all over again.

"Son of a bitch," Dean commented hollowly. "You shoulda told me. I woulda kicked his ass all the way to China— _all_ their asses."

Alex looked at him directly. "Why do you think I ended up dropping out of school, Dean? Stuff like that." She scoffed. "Kevin Dukes—some skinny little ten year old with a bowl cut—was basically the only guy who ever really showed an interest in me. And that interest wasn't even real. Kind of gets under your skin. Makes you feel…" she trailed off, her expression pained. She couldn't seem to say anything else. Dean scooted a little closer and put a caring hand on her shoulder.

"Hey, no, don't do that," he said, voice filled with brotherly care and affection—the kind he'd always used when she'd been upset as a child. She leaned into him a little and felt more and more like crying. But she wouldn't let herself. Dean was quiet and thoughtful, more sensitive to her than before. "You know, I want you to find a guy someday who will… will take care of you and treat you good and marry you," he said, and it sounded like he was having to pull this stuff out of his ass. "I can see you, a couple scrappy kids, some kinda lumberjack, outdoorsy guy maybe..." he said, trying to sound optimistic. It was sweet—he was trying to cheer her up, say things that he thought all women wanted, but Alex just felt aversion. None of that sounded quite right to her.

She shook her head, correcting him. "Yeah, I don't think I want that stuff though… I mean I'm not sure _what_ I want but… not that stuff." She was a hunter and always would be. _That's_ what was right—and if she had to do it alone, okay. Honestly, she'd decided awhile ago that she was pretty much going to be alone forever anyway.

Dean was looking at her intently. "Come on, you don't ever, you know, wanna… meet a guy… see where it goes…?" He was trying, but it was making her feel worse, because she was twenty-six and hadn't ever 'met a guy' so why would she _now_?

She chuckled humorlessly, because otherwise she'd start to cry. "Dean… I think the possibility of God being real is more plausible than me ever finding a _boyfriend_."

"But even if—" he started.

" _Dean,_ " she said loudly as she gave him an open, pleading look. "I _don't_ want to _talk_ about this with you. Not now. Probably not ever again, okay? Please." He withdrew a little as if stung, but she was too humiliated to care.

Dean considered her sadly for a couple seconds then nodded and got up, looking remorseful. She knew he was thinking he never should have brought up the topic. He almost seemed embarrassed. That didn't happen a lot. "Yeah," he said, nodding shallowly. "Yeah. I'll uh, be inside if you need anything."

"Yeah, great," she mumbled, and didn't watch as he retreated. The door shut behind him and she was alone again. She took in a deep breath, shut her eyes, and then looked back up at the stars. And then frowned when she heard the door opening again. Aggravated, she rolled her eyes. " _Dean_ , I said—" she looked up and went silent. It was Cas. A little surprised, she blinked a couple times. "Oh. It's you." He made her immediately a little nervous.

"Hello Alex." He came down to her stair and sat down—and she could see that he remembered his lesson from the last time he sat next to her. He leaned his arms over his legs casually, just like she'd shown him.

That brought a little smile to her face and she reached for the twelve-pack near her foot, forgetting her angst momentarily. "Here. Have a beer." She cracked it open on the edge of the porch for him and handed it over, noticing his fingers and the way they felt when he reached out and took the beer.

He sampled it slowly. It was a darker beer than the one he'd had at the strip club. A frown creased his face as he stared at the beer sourly. "This tastes disgusting."

She looked at him sidelong. He really was so endearing in the weirdest, sweetest way. "You get used to it."

His expression got thoughtful, stone-like, and he set the bottle down. There was a long, long silence. So long that Alex gave up on a conversation and thought while staring off into the stars. And then Cas's voice cut through her thoughts, startling her.

"I should have been there to protect you tonight."

His concern was nice, but Alex heaved a rueful sigh. She should have known he wouldn't let that go. "Cas. I told you already. I've got my own back," she said, gesturing errantly with her beer bottle. "Don't guilt trip yourself. So I get beat up sometimes, no big deal."

He looked at her sharply at that comment, but said nothing else for a long moment. He grew pensive and stared broodingly out into the dark, overgrown yard for a long moment. Then suddenly he spoke again. "Count your scars."

Alex felt her eyebrows pressing in together as she looked at him for explanation. "What?"

His eyes came to hers, and even in the dark, the hue was brilliant and startling. He looked pained. "That's how many times you needed me and I wasn't there."

The words were a shock and a thrill all at once—almost romantic which _no way_ they could be romantic. Right? Alex gave him an odd look, a little lost for words, a little more than unsure how to respond. She felt nervous again. She settled on deflection, decided to imply he was being flowery and cheesy while she laughed it off. "Have uh, have you been reading romance novels, Cas?"

He got one of those tiny, knowing smiles on his face as his eyes traveled her face. "Have _you_?"

That question, combined with the look on his face, almost made her jaw drop. _Busted_. "Uh…" what was the point of lying? She winced, flustered at his playfulness. When had he picked _that_ up? "Yes…?" She smiled sheepishly but he was smiling, too. Just the corners of his mouth upturned, the edges of his eyes wrinkled a little. And feeling like they shared an inside joke or something, Alex playfully nudged her shoulder against his before she could think it through. Then she regretted it and cursed herself for being tipsy. She let out a long sigh as her smile faded slowly into a confused expression. She didn't know how to act around him sometimes.

Cas didn't seem bothered. He peered at her a moment, concern covering his face after a moment of softness had rendered his face younger. "To be honest, Alex, I regret not acting sooner," Castiel said quietly, still thinking about his statement about her scars, apparently. The grave tone of his voice transfixed her. "Letting Sam hit you. Letting harm befall you at all. I hated seeing that. I didn't want it to happen." He sounded so very vexed about it.

Cautious, Alex let her eyes search his for a moment, her somber expression mirroring his. "I'm okay, Cas." And she was. She broke the grim atmosphere with a playful expression. "Not to brag, but… I'm a pretty tough bird. I can take the hits."

Without missing a beat, he replied. "You shouldn't have to."

Her playful expression fell. Awkward again—everything was awkward again. "Yeah, well," she replied uncertainly, hesitantly. He had this way of always knocking her off her feet and it mystified her. Anyone else saying she shouldn't have to go through pain or be hurt and she would have been offended, thought they were saying it because they saw her as weak—that they felt _sorry_ for her. But Cas… when he said stuff like that, it didn't seem that way. How _did_ it seem? She couldn't quite put her finger on it. So without knowing how to reply to him, she changed the subject. "So," she cleared her throat, leaning heavily over her wide knees to fix him with an appraising look. "You okay after today? The whole… Chastity thing?" She tried not to sound overly curious.

"Yes." He leaned a little over his knees too, looking at the way she did it. "It was a very... _strange_ experience."

Well _that_ was cryptic. Alex wet her lips and took another swig of beer to just fill in the silence, trying to decide if she should ask what she wanted to know or not. Apparently there'd been no sex but… what _had_ there been? Feigning great casual half-interest, she cleared her throat, pretended to be studying and squinting at a distant star. "So did she… did she, uh, kiss you?"

"Yes," he replied. Alex's eyes widened a little and darted to him, even as he placed a finger against his neck. "Here." She couldn't stifle her feeling of relief to hear that. Was that messed up of her to be relieved?

"Oh," she said softly. "So not a _real_ kiss."

Her words caused him great intrigue and he tilted his head to the side. "And what makes a kiss real?"

A little unprepared to answer that, Alex fumbled. She was imagining herself kissing him without even meaning to. "Wha—well, I guess… on the mouth," she said, flustered, still seeing them kissing in her mind's eye. She straightened, trying to explain her entire line of questioning, trying to get herself out of the hole she was digging. Trying to stop envisioning what she was envisioning. "I was just um, you know, asking because I thought it would be kind of sad if an angel had his first kiss with a… a stripper or whatever." Honestly, the thought of him kissing any woman seemed wrong to her.

"The term 'irony' comes to mind," Castiel commented, surprising her yet again. Sometimes he seemed so shrewd to her, so knowing. Other times he was as clueless as they came. He was fascinating… and impossible to figure out.

"Yeah. Irony," she agreed, sending another little smile his way before she took another sip of her beer and then leaned her elbows on the stair one level up. "So, Cas," she said conversationally, teasingly. She had to be cool and act outwardly chill, like she wasn't sort of crushing on him and finding herself liking him secretly. "You're still a virgin. Dean's _heartbroken_."

" _I'm_ not heartbroken," he replied, then seemed to consider. "Then again, I have no heart. Metaphorically speaking, of course."

That comment caused her pause. "I'm not so sure," she said, and he met her gaze, looking oddly conflicted. She sat up, mimicking him, leaning over her knees again, looking at no particular point in the distance in front of her. The seriousness of what she was thinking about took away her more girlish feelings. "What you did for us… disobeying Heaven and risking everything…. _dying_?" She paused, affected, remembering. She shook her head. "How could someone who did all that have no heart?" She looked back at him and slowly sat up straight underneath his gaze. There it was again. That intense, consuming feeling brought on by the way he looked at her. In the dark, his eyes seemed so full of so much. Her emotions suddenly surged at strengths she didn't know possible and left her so afraid she could cry. "Are… are you really gonna _die_ tomorrow, Cas?" she asked softly.

He saw the way her eyes were shining and grew greatly concerned. "Why are you crying?" he asked softly. She said nothing, just let her expression silently plead with him: _don't make me say._ Part of her was compelled to suddenly take hold of him and kiss him and let that be her answer. But she was too afraid and didn't know how to just kiss a man out of the blue. A tear rolled down her cheek and she saw how his eyes followed the trail of grief as it streaked her cheek. Alex was humiliated to let him see her like that and suddenly became panicked when she felt even more emotion rising. With startling abruptness she stood up and fled into the house, trying to escape everything he was making her feel underneath the hold of his soulful gaze.

The intensity of her confusing feelings was terrifying.


	20. Above Us Only Sky

" _And I'm finding in myself the things that chase me to the corners: in the dark, far from home—the sins of longing for you."_  
\- The Crash Years

* * *

**Two Days Later**

"Dean. We have _got_ to stop driving." Alex was cramped, uncomfortable, and going crazy in the passenger side seat. None of all that was unusual per se, but after sixteen hours of it with only three or four short stops, she really was beginning to feel like she might murder someone if they didn't pull over soon.

Dean was ignoring her at the moment, just like he had done all day. She waited a few more seconds and then tried again, her tone bordering on pushy. "You've been driving for a million hours straight and you haven't slept in like three days. Can we _please_ stop?"

He acknowledged her with a half eye roll. She could tell he was tired as hell but fighting it. He had a lot on his mind—guess you would after trapping an archangel and nearly being fried by his wacky lightning powers. Alex thought back to Raphael's grand speech about God being dead, the angels who would bring the end of the world and "paradise" with it. Raphael had then suggested that they should consider that Lucifer was the one who had raised Castiel—something that had startled all three of them. That suggestion was still eating at Alex. And she could tell it had shaken Cas too. After leaving Raphael trapped in a ring of holy fire, they'd gotten out of there. Cas, clearly disappointed and troubled by the encounter, had disappeared shortly after without saying much of anything. But at least he'd survived the encounter. A small comfort, a small mercy.

"Dean," Alex prompted again.

A muscle jerked in his cheek. " _What._ "

Getting annoyed now too, Alex huffed at him. "What's your problem?"

"I'm tired and I've been driving all day!" He retorted.

Alex gave him a wan look. "How many times did I offer to drive?" She reminded him flatly. He ignored her and huffed loudly. Alex took a deep, tired breath and watched the buildings pass by outside. "You think God's really dead like Raphael claimed?"

Her brother chuckled sardonically. "Alex, I don't even think God is _real._ "

"Then where did angels come from?" She asked.

"Planet Voltron," Dean wisecracked.

Alex patiently refrained from jabbing him in the side and thought a minute instead. "Maybe God got lost out there," she suggested. "It's a pretty big universe. Or maybe someone trapped him somewhere to get him out of the picture..."

She got an unamused expression. "Or maybe it's all friggin' nuts and you're starting to sound looney tunes."

It was a possibility. Alex pulled out her phone to check it for messages—usually she forgot that she even had a phone unless it rang, but after getting a text earlier that day from Cas, she was curious if she'd hear from him again. He had written **Does this message appear on your device?** After laughing about how awkwardly he had phrased himself, she had texted back, **No**. And about two minutes later, he had texted back, **What about this one?** And she and Dean had giggled uncontrollably, Dean commenting that he forgot how much fun gullible people were.

Cas kept unintentionally throwing these funny, ironic, surprising moments into their lives that somehow made the horrible dark mess a little brighter. Alex almost didn't want to admit that to herself, because it was almost like they had replaced Sam with Cas there for those two days when they were tracking Raphael. And that made her feel guilty. She thought about being with the angel on that porch under the stars and how scared she'd been at the thought of him dying. Her face hardened a little as she stared out the window but no longer saw what passed outside.

After about twenty more minutes, Dean finally gave in and pulled them over onto the side of the street in front of a motel in the heart of Kansas City—Alex left all of her stuff in the Impala, Dean grabbed his backpack, and then they headed inside, but not before being accosted by some religious pamphlet-passing guy asking them if they had thought about God's plan for them. If only that guy knew.

Even as they got into the room, Dean's phone rang. "Oh look, angel calling," he said sarcastically and answered.

Alex half listened, catching snippets of Dean's side of the conversation as she crammed the contents of a pack of crackers into her mouth for her dinner… at one point, Dean covered the mouthpiece and, amused, told her, "He says the _voice_ told him he's almost out of minutes." _Oh, Cas._ She finished the crackers with a grin and tossed the wrapper as Dean continued walking the length of room, still on the phone. "Yeah, uh, in Kansas City. Century Hotel, room one-thirteen. No, whoa, whoa, not _now_. There's stuff we gotta do. Like what? Like sleep! Just pop in first thing tomorrow morning." He hung up and tossed his phone onto one of the beds.

"What'd Cas want?" Alex asked, looking at Dean sidelong.

Dean was taking his jacket off. "He says the Colt is still around… the demons have it… and he thinks that's what can kill the devil. We just gotta track it down."

"I thought no one could kill that guy," Alex said with a frown. Cas had said as much.

Dean shrugged. "Well if we can, I'm two thumbs way, _way_ up. Colt, here we come."

Alex scratched her head, squinting. "Okay yeah but we track it down _how_?"

Dean groaned, scrubbing his face with his hands, clearly over her questions. "Lemme think about that in the morning." He all but crashed into one of the beds, hugged a pillow into his face, and ceased to move. Poor guy was exhausted.

Alex thought a moment then pulled out her phone, composing a new text message, addressing it to Sam. She glanced Dean's way, feeling like she was doing something wrong. She returned her attention to the phone keyboard, poised to type—and then, nothing. She didn't know what to say. _How are you?_ No, that wasn't enough. _Just took Cas to a brothel few days ago and almost chopped a guy's hand off, how are things your way?_ Or, maybe, _Dean is being an asshole (what else is new) and oh btw God is dead. How's the whole demon blood problem?_ She sucked in her cheeks thoughtfully, then put the phone down softly without sending anything.

She had no idea how to reach out to Sam. She didn't really want to believe that Sam was rejecting the family, but it had been true before, hadn't it? Alex pulled her jacket off and glanced at Dean—he was already snoring. She figured some sleep herself wouldn't hurt and went to her own bed, switched off the light, then fell asleep pretty fast. She dreamed that she heard Dean talking on the phone, but couldn't remember what about, or who to.

* * *

Alex opened her eyes to the morning light and immediately knew something was different— _wrong_. Below her, the bed was hard and poking into her in odd places—and when she looked, she realized why. She was laying on bed springs. _What the_ —she looked around and became even more alarmed—the room was the same room, but looked like it had been through hell and back. There was ripped, disintegrating wallpaper, debris all over the floor, cobwebs in the corners, rusted, broken lamps on the cracked bedside tables. Freaking out, Alex jumped up, shaking Dean. "Dean! Wake up!" She whispered urgently, feeling as if she needed to be on guard, like something horrible was about to happen. He was groggily blinking, then realizing what he was laying on, and he shot up. "Something's wrong," Alex said, looking around in confusion. "I mean like, _wrong_ wrong."

Dean got to his feet, looking as confused as she was. He went to the window, and she heard him murmur a soft " _what the hell?_ " She joined him there and saw the street they had parked on last night—her mouth dropped open. As far as they could see, the entire city was in shambles and ruin, like there had been riots: Wrecked, hollow, burned out cars, trash everywhere, graffiti all over everything, broken store windows. And not a person in sight.

"What the hell _happened_ last night?" she asked, stunned. _Did we sleep through a nuclear bomb or something?_

"I dunno, but we're getting the hell outta here." Harrowed, Dean grabbed her arm, pushing her toward the door. When they got to the ground level and realized the Impala was gone, Dean's quiet panic went up two notches—Alex could tell by the way his jaw clenched and his nostrils flared that he was more freaked out than he was pissed. And that, in turn, freaked _her_ out. The car being gone meant that they only had the things on the things they'd taken with them into the motel room—which was only Dean's bag, as Alex had left hers in the car. So, no weapons, no car—and no clue what was going on.

Dean wandered down the street tensely, looking at everything in shocked silence. "We shouldn't be in the street," Alex whispered, trying to walk quietly as she trailed close behind. Her boots kept crunching on broken glass.

Dean turned suddenly, going stock still. "Did you hear that?" he cautiously headed down a wide alley way and Alex followed, sweeping everything with nervous glances. A small, skinny little girl was huddled over some broken glass on the ground. Her hair was matted, her skin was filthy. Dean approached her. "Hey, kid—are you okay?"

Alex looked at the little girl, then her eyes went up to the graffiti leering at them from the end of the alleyway. She froze, her heart seeming to stop. Spray painted in blood-red letters: _CROATOAN_.

Alex looked back at the little girl, at Dean leaning down to touch her shoulder—and made a horrible realization. "Dean, no!" she warned in a shout, yanking him aside even as the girl looked up and lunged forward, a piece of jagged glass in her hand. Dean and Alex jumped backward in tandem, barely missing being cut. The slash had been so violent that the kid almost pitched herself off her feet—and taking the only chance he might get, Dean kicked the kid in the face. She fell over, going still. Dean was breathing heavy, mostly from surprise and adrenaline.

They glanced at each other. "That was just wrong," he commented grimly. No time for sympathy, Alex nodded her head toward the ominous graffiti, and he saw it then muttered, "aw _crap_."

Just then a bunch of disheveled, agitated adults, maybe twenty of them, rounded the corner—Alex's blood chilled. Dean grabbed onto Alex, already backing up. "This is the part where we run!" he yelled, and run they did, ran for their very lives, not even sure where they were going. They rounded corner after corner, trying to lose the rapidly gaining Croatoans in the destroyed city streets. And suddenly, they rounded another corner and ran right into a high, chain link fence that shuddered on impact. Dean and Alex whirled, realizing they were cornered, weaponless, and probably as good as dead.

And then without any warning, the sound of semi-automatic gunfire rang out and several of the Croatoans in front of them jerked and dropped as bullets pelted the crowd. Dean and Alex grabbed at each other and fell to the ground for cover, half-crawling half-scrambling toward another nearby alley way. Dean pushed Alex ahead of himself. " _Shit_!" Dean swore, panting as they narrowly dodged several bullets and found cover in the narrow, stinking alley.

Alex was shaking and panting, pressed up against the wall beside her brother. "What the hell?!" she asked in a gaunt, breathless whisper over the sound of continuing gunfire as she gulped air down. "Kansas City got infected and destroyed overnight by the Croatoan virus?!"

"Not possible," Dean said, shaking his head in a sort of stunned way. "N-no way." But he didn't sound so sure. The sound of gunfire died out.

Dean craned his neck, peering in the direction from where they had just come. Alex recognized the look on his face—he was trying to figure out what to do.

After a couple seconds, he looked back at her. "We'll wait until dark and hop the fence. Stay sharp. You got your knife?"

She gave him a look— _duh_.

* * *

"I don't get it," Dean said, holding his phone up in the air. "No service. The hell is going on?"

Alex fiddled with the car's radio, but there was only static on every channel. They were driving down an entirely still highway in the dark of night. Every now and then they passed wrecks, abandoned cars, or fires, but they saw no people. It was eerie. After they had found a way out of the city, they had seen a sign posted on the outside of the fence that said the city was a "Croatoan Hot Zone." The sign had been dated August, 2014—a date that was years into the future. So, there was _that_. Alex glanced at Dean whose expression was rigid as he drove.

"You really think Bobby will he able to help us?" Alex asked.

"Well who the hell _else_ could?" Dean retorted.

"He might not even live in the same place in 2014," Alex pointed out. She hoped she was wrong.

"Or he could be _dead_ ," Dean said bluntly. Alex looked at him in surprise. She hadn't even considered that. And now she was. Her stomach twisted sickly.

"' _Croatoan pandemic reaches Australia_.'" The Winchesters both jumped at the sound of a new voice behind them, turning fast to see Zachariah sitting in the back seat reading a newspaper leisurely. And suddenly, this entire thing made perfect sense.

"I _thought_ I smelled your stink on this Back to the Future crap," Dean growled.

"' _President Palin defends bombing of Houston,_ '" Zachariah continued, casually reading from the paper, then looked up, smiled at Alex. "Certainly a buyer's market in real estate. Let's see what's happening in sports. Oh… that's right—no more sports. Congress revoked the right to group assembly. What's left of Congress, that is. Hardly a quorum, if you ask me."

Dean's knuckles were white on the steering wheel. "You are not funny, man, so stop trying."

"How'd you find us?" Alex demanded.

Zachariah smiled, speaking in a pleasant conversational tone. "Afraid we had to tap some _unorthodox_ resources of late—human informants. We've been making inspirational visits to the fringier Christian groups. They've been given your image, told to keep an eye out."

"The Bible guy outside the motel—" Dean surmised. "He, what, dropped a dime on us?"

"Onward, Christian soldiers."

"Very funny... now send us back, jackass," Alex said acidly.

"Oh, you'll get back—all in good time," Zachariah said with a friendly smile. "We just want you two to... _marinate_ a bit." His friendly persona seemed to fade a little, and he leaned forward, talking with a soft, dangerous tone. "Three days, Dean. Three days to see where this course of action takes you..." he then looked at Alex meaningfully. "And your family."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Alex asked, disliking his tone.

"It means that your brother's choices have consequences," Zachariah said. "This is what happens to the world and your little family pack if Dean continues to say 'no' to Michael. Have a little look-see." And then he disappeared, leaving two very frustrated Winchesters.

"Son of a bitch," Dean muttered. "Three days. Fine. Great. Friggin' great. I _already_ don't like this."

"I sure as hell hope Bobby can give us some damn answers," Alex muttered grimly.

But trying to contact Bobby would prove to be a dead end. They found his house in a state of abandonment, his wheelchair rusted and bent and turned over in his living room. Bobby was nowhere to be found.

They did find one lead—a black and white photograph of some gun-toting guys they didn't recognize. Bobby was in the front of them, sitting in his wheelchair, holding a gun too. Beside him, there was a guy who looked kind of like Cas. They were all standing in front of a sign that read Camp Chitaqua.

After doing some fast old fashioned research with some local maps and directories, Dean and Alex located the camp. It was only a couple hours from Bobby's, and they raced there in breakneck speed. Dean was convinced they would find Bobby there. Alex wasn't so sure.

The camp was surrounded by chain link fence and had armed patrols—Alex argued in whispers with Dean, said they should wait for daybreak instead of just sneaking in and risk being shot in the middle of the night—and he almost listened to her. Almost. But then he saw the Impala sitting off in some overgrown weeds, broken down and rusted out. He had muttered, "Oh, baby, no…" and climbed the fence. Alex had followed him, pissed but unwilling to be separated. She did hang back by the fence when he crept over to the car. It was out in the open, and she had a bad feeling about it.

"Dean—" she protested in a hissed whisper.

"Oh my God…" Dean said, touching his car frantically, not paying attention to his sister. "Baby, what'd they _do_ to you?"

Alex saw the shadowy figure too late—wasn't able to warn Dean before he was hit over the head. Alex ran out of where she had been hiding, ready to deck this guy who had just knocked out her brother. "Hey!"

The man whirled, and when their eyes met, both of them froze momentarily in complete astonishment. "What—" Alex managed, staring into the assailant's face, her mouth hanging open. In that brief pause, his face changed from shock to aggression, and there was suddenly a fist flying towards her face and the whole work went dark.

* * *

"Look, man—I'm not a shapeshifter or demon or _anything_ , okay?" she heard Dean say.

Alex groaned, grimaced, and opened her eyes, blinking against double vision. She was awkwardly sitting on some dark wood flooring and her wrist seemed to be tethered to something when she weakly pulled at it. "Yeah, I know," Dean's voice replied, as if he were talking to himself.

Alex looked up, confused momentarily, and saw that she was handcuffed to a metal ladder and that Dean was beside her... and that Dean was also _in front_ of her. She suddenly remembered everything—Dean getting knocked out, her rushing in, then seeing _Dean_ was the one who had knocked Dean out. She was so, very confused. She looked back and forth at the two of them, stumped. "There's two of you," she muttered while wondering if she was high. "Why are there _two_ of you?"

"That's what I'm trying to figure out… ' _Alex,'_ " said the Dean who was holding them hostage. He said her name as if he didn't believe that was her. He looked back at her Dean. "I did the drill while you were out. Silver, salt, holy water—nothing, both of you. But you know what was funny, ' _Dean_ '? Was that you had every hidden lock pick, box cutter, and switchblade that I carry. Now, you want to explain that? Oh, and the, uh, resemblance, while you're at it?"

"Zachariah." Dean said simply.

"Come again?" the other one asked.

Dean fixed the other Dean with a contemptuous look. "Zach plucked us from our beds in two thousand nine and threw us five years into the future."

This apparent future version of Dean's eyes narrowed. "Where is he? I wanna talk to him."

"We don't know," Alex told him, catty.

"Oh, you don't _know_ ," he retorted doubtfully, matching her tone.

She raised her eyebrows slightly. "He's not exactly on our _speed dial_."

Her Dean was watching the exchange with an odd expression, like maybe he was realizing what it looked like to see himself argue with his sister. He then cut in, drawing the future version of himself's attention. "Look, I just want to get us back to our own friggin' year, okay?"

Future Dean stood up from where he had been leaning against a table. "Okay. If you're me, then tell me something only I would know."

Dean went into deep thought, glanced at Alex then sighed defeat, looking at the other version of himself. "Rhonda Hurley. We were, uh, nineteen." He glanced sidelong at Alex and cleared his throat. "She, uh, made us try on her panties. They were pink. And satiny." Alex was now looking at him with an open mouth. Dean awkwardly rubbed his neck, avoiding her gaze. "And, uh, we kind of liked it."

The other Dean looked impressed. "Touché."

Alex, however, was trying not to dissolve into laughter. " _Woow_. Did you feel really _pretty_ , Dean?"

Dean finally turned to her, looking very serious. "I swear you to secrecy, right here and now."

Alex _pssh_ -ed. "Yeah we'll see." She was enjoying the look on his face. This would make for excellent blackmail if she ever needed it.

The 2014 Dean just watched, a strange expression on his face. Something like sadness. He wiped it away. "So, what, Zach zapped you two up here to see how bad it gets?"

"I guess," Dean said. "Croatoan virus, right? That's their endgame?"

The other Dean nodded. He looked really tired. "It's efficient, it's incurable, and it's scary as hell. Turns people into monsters. Started hitting the major cities about two years ago. World really went in the crapper after that."

This was a lot of heavy information. Alex's Dean took a pause, then looked up again, suddenly thinking of something. "What about Sam?"

2014 Dean went still, got a little quiet. "Heavyweight showdown in Detroit. From what I understand... Sam didn't make it."

Alex felt her heart drop. _No._ How? "We weren't with him?" She asked in soft disbelief.

A long, somber pause. "No." 2014 Dean looked down, withering slightly under his sister's wounded, questioning gaze. "No, me and Sam, we haven't talked in—hell, five years."

"What, we never tried to find him?" Dean asked, shellshocked.

There was a jaded, if guilty, scoff. "We had other people to worry about."

"Like _who_?" Alex asked, a little angrily—because, why would any version of Dean let the family fall apart like that? She suddenly realized she didn't know where future _her_ was. "What about me?" She asked. "Where the hell am I in all this mess?"

Dean nodded, looked down, like he'd just been waiting to be asked that. "Not here."

"Okay... so where?" Alex asked, getting fed up.

Dean stood up, took a couple steps toward the door, looked back at them with a strange expression, and his jaw clenched, unclenched. "Alex Winchester... is dead and gone."

" _What_?" She asked, to which Dean just scoffed.

"Yeah. Dark times, what can I say?" He turned to leave. Beside Alex, her Dean was positively speechless and horrified.

"What do you mean, _what can you say_?" Alex repeated, not really sure she believed what he'd told them. "I'm _dead_? You're joking, right?"

"No, I'm not _joking_." He looked slightly sickened. "You died eight months ago, okay?"

Alex felt stung. This was a surreal conversation. Her curiosity, as morbid as it was, got the best of her. "How?"

He let out a soft air-laugh, a sound that had no happiness in it at all. He looked bitter. "I don't think its best for you to know that _little detail_." He turned to leave, and the other Dean strained against his handcuffs in disbelief.

"Where're you going? You're just gonna tell us that crap and leave us here?"

2014 Dean turned and looked at them, irritated. "Yes. I got a camp full of twitchy trauma survivors out there with an apocalypse hanging over their head. The last thing they need to see is a version of _The Parent Trap,_ and Alex back from the friggin' grave. So, yeah, you stay locked down." He left, slamming the door behind him, his retreating footsteps the only sound.

"... _dick!"_ Dean exclaimed, earning a funny look from his sister. They were silent and still for a few seconds, trying to process all of it.

"Okay." Alex looked at her brother. "So have we decided if this real or not?"

Grudging, Dean looked her direction. "For all our sakes… I hope not. But I don't wanna wait around to find out." He looked down and began digging at a nail in the floor with his fingernails.

Alex waited a couple seconds, then cleared her throat. "What're you doing?"

He shot her a look. "How else are we gonna pick these handcuff locks, genius? I'm not sitting here cuffed all day until I come back."

Alex just smiled and calmly pulled the lock pick out from underneath her shirt where it hung on its silver chain. She dangled it in midair and then pointed at it. Dean stopped his floorboard digging and looked at her in a mixture of confusion and pleasant surprise. "When did you start wearing _that_?"

"You're too observant for your own good," she said sarcastically, fiddling with her handcuffs and the lock pick. "Remember that time I got locked in the panic room? I didn't like that very much, so…" she trailed off. Her cuffs snapped off and she began working on his. "Good thing I never mentioned it to you, or you—the 2014 you—might have known about it and taken it." She thought a second, frowned. "Wait. But if this is real… the real future… then why doesn't twenty fourteen you remember this? Wouldn't the you here in front of me be the same one later? So, the guy who just left, would be you, but later—and would remember doing this. Right?"

Dean gave her the weirdest, most confused face ever. " _Huh!?_ "

"Never mind," she said, feeling a little confused herself. "It made sense in my head." His cuffs fell off with one last turn of the lock pick. Now both free, the siblings stood up.

Dean turned on Alex, his face stern. "Okay, I'm gonna go find Cas. You stay here."

"Stay _here_?" Alex asked in protest, unable to believe he would ask that of her, especially in this crazy place.

Dean gave her a deadly serious look. "Yes. You heard him—uh, me. You're not alive anymore in this version of the future. These people see you, recognize you, they will shoot you on sight. Think you're a Croatoan or a zombie, I dunno. So, yeah. Stay here."

Not at all happy about it but conceding to the point, Alex complied, sitting down in one of the kitchen table chairs sullenly as Dean left the cabin. She folded her arms, frustrated. Too much of her life had been spent sitting and waiting around. All of five minutes passed before she stood, shaking her head, and left out the back door, stealing through the thick brush and skirting around the back of the cabins. Dean was always leaving her behind and making her stay behin— _ouch!_ —she walked right into a bunch of briers and hear a huge ripping sound, looked down, and swore softly—her shirt, Dean's old Metallica shirt—now had an impressive tear right up the center. She pulled the brambles away with just the tips of her fingers, wincing against the sharp pricks. She could see Dean going up into a cabin near the edge of the camp. She didn't see anyone else around and stole closer, then ducked down and froze as a handful of women came out of the cabin, talking and laughing. She waited until they had all walked away to steal a little closer.

She crept around the side of the cabin, and could hear two voices inside, indistinct, but both male. One was definitely Dean. She waited there at the corner of the cabin, peeked around, looking to see if the coast were clear. One woman was still visible, but heading up into another cabin. Alex could hear her brother's voice. "Dude, what _happened_ to you?"

"Life," was the strangely nonchalant reply in a voice that was very familiar— _Cas_? There was an odd laugh. "I recognize that look Dean. I'm past help, but thanks for your concern." That definitely sounded like Cas, but something was off. Alex glanced around—the coast was clear. She dashed up the stairs and through the beaded doorway. It was dim inside, but she recognized Cas immediately, even if he didn't look like himself at all.

There was a strange, goofy smile on Cas's face—he was sitting on a wooden chest and looking up at Dean—but when Cas glanced at her, the smile fell and was replaced with incredible shock. He shot up to his feet, his mouth open, his eyes wide, expression almost horrified. He looked like he had seen a ghost—which, she supposed, he kind of had, if she were really dead in this future.

"Hi, Cas," she greeted, kind of cautiously. "You look…" She trailed off, taking him in, not sure how to react. " _Different_."

Truthfully, he was barely recognizable and it shocked her. Cas looked incredibly rugged yet worn down in a way Alex couldn't describe. He had a scuffy beard and his hair was longer, tousled and unstyled. He had dark circles under his eyes. His outfit was the strangest part: He wore a loose, long-sleeved tunic, some kind of stretchy pants. He even _stood_ differently, and the expression on his face was so unlike anything she'd ever seen on his face before. It scared her for a second, honestly, that gaze in his eyes.

He didn't appear to have heard a word of what she had just said. He was just staring, swallowing. The blood had drained out of his face and he seemed to be at a complete loss for words. His expression wobbled, he looked down, and when he spoke, it was almost like he was talking to himself. "Yes, of course. You're… you're here. Why didn't I realize?" His eyes were doing weird things as he looked at the floor. Widening, then squinting. " _Dean_ from two thousand nine, _Alex_ from two thousand nine…" His voice was weird, he moved strangely. "Makes sense," he mumbled, a hand on his head now. "Makes sense."

Alex frowned, looked at Dean, sniffed the air slightly. Was that _weed_? Alex was quickly getting more and more confused. "Is he _stoned_?"

"Among other things," Dean said, and gave her an unhappy look. "You weren't supposed to come out of there until I came and _got_ you."

Alex shrugged innocently. He gave her a scowl. " _Relax_." She was distracted by Cas as she spoke to Dean. "No one saw me."

Dean just sighed in aggravation. "Fine. Well look, _halo_ over there can't take us back to our year, says he's got no angel power left." Cas looked up from the floor at them, his face blank. He kept looking at Alex and he appeared mildly physically ill. "So basically," Dean continued, "we're stuck. With this weirdass version of Cas."

Alex and Cas's eyes met and she felt her eyebrows moving in together as she studied his strange expression and old, weary eyes. _What happened to you?_

The sound of the beaded doorway opening caused the three of them to turn and look. A tan woman with blonde hair peeked in, smiling at Cas. There was an oddly suggestive kind of quality to the smile. "Cas, we're ready for you in my cabin."

He glanced her way clearly irritated, not really even looking at her. "Not _now_ , Tiffany," he said, gruff and impatient and maybe a little embarrassed. He waved a hand, trying to tell her to go.

She looked immensely confused. "But—"

Cas flew off the handle. "I said not _now_!" he practically shouted, trembling, his eyes wide and expression disconcerting. "Get _out_!"

Dean and Alex glanced at each other—more than a little surprised by the outburst. The girl left, looking pretty offended. Cas began to pace the floor. "What, changed your mind about the orgy?" Dean asked sarcastically, and Cas shot him an angry, frazzled look. Alex looked at Dean and balked. _Orgy_? Last time she'd seen Cas, he was a stuttering, fumbling, frightened virgin—had never even been kissed. Cas said nothing in reply, just looked sick and ashamed and wouldn't meet either Dean or Alex's eyes.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Whatever, there a bathroom here?" Dean asked.

"In there." Cas replied distractedly, gesturing vaguely.

Dean left the two of them alone and Alex studied Cas in confusion. He wouldn't look at her, only ran a hand through his hair as he made a weird grimacing face. "What's happened to you?" Alex asked softly, looking around the cabin. "Incense… candles… weed?" She paused. " _Orgies_?" She couldn't quite believe that part.

His expression worked so oddly that for a moment, she thought he was going to cry. "Just… ways to pass the time," he said in a strained voice. He was still looking down. He was frowning too, but not like he did in 2009. In that time, he frowned because he didn't understand. Now, it looked like he were upset about something, really bothered. Alex was entirely caught off guard by this entire scenario.

"Ways to pass the time," she echoed faintly. There was a sadness in that phrase that she felt somewhere deep down. She peered at him with sudden intent studiousness. "You okay?" She asked, sounding almost suspicious. "What's…" she looked around the cabin again, confused. "What's going on with you?"

His eyes came to hers and he seemed so wretched. His eyes were shining and his face was filled with a grave, desolate quality that was terrifying to look at. "I've… lost a lot," he said gruffly, then turned, beginning to straighten the things on top of the dresser behind himself with shaking hands, ignoring her.

What could he have lost? Besides apparently his _mind_? He continued to needlessly busy himself with tidying the top of his dresser—a little mirror, a photo frame with a pressed flower in it, a comb, an empty bottle of perfume, an incense burner. She was sorry that he was upset at her appearance, but she had questions to ask and couldn't hold them in. She cleared her throat and stepped a little closer, trying to ask politely for him to humor her. Maybe he could clear up a couple things for her and and then she could leave him to get high in peace. "Hey, uh, Cas, is it true?" She asked gently. What a weird question she was about to ask. "That, you know, I died?"

Something knocked off the dresser when she asked that and Cas went still. He suddenly looked so tense that he might snap. For a second, he made no reply. Then, soft and almost inscrutable: "Yes."

Her stomach flip-flopped with a weird, sick feeling. "How?" she asked intently, taking another step toward him and craning her neck around, trying to see him better. His profile was gaunt and rigid. Pained.

Slowly, he turned his head to look at her with eyes that seemed wounded. "A mistake." His voice wavered and he looked away again, back at the dresser in front of him. "It was a mistake."

Alex waited for him to say more, but he didn't. "What kind of mistake? Like, an accident, or—"

Cas suddenly whipped to face her, almost confrontationally—his expression was fierce and angry and unstable. "I can't _talk_ about this to you, okay?" He all but snapped, startling Alex with his loud, rough voice. The look on her face must have made him feel bad. He paused, calmed a little, looked contrite. "It's—it's... I just can't talk about it." He gave her no further explanation.

"O-okay. I'm sorry. I didn't mean—I didn't realize." Alex was a little embarrassed. Cas obviously felt the same.

"It's all right," he said faintly, and yet again, he wouldn't look at her. Alex however, watched him closely, trying to figure this strange future version of Castiel out.

As her eyes traversed his worn features and age-lined face, then down his scruffy neck and smooth chest the tunic revealed, she noticed a silver chain hanging around his neck. Whatever was on the end caught the light, and she could see a flash of silver shapes there in the V of the unbuttoned tunic. _Wait a minute_ —! Without a second thought she reached out and grabbed the necklace, consequently pulling him a little closer as she examined the two shining objects on the end of the necklace with wide-eyed, slack-jawed confusion—her old silver whistle, the one she'd had worn as a kid and teen!—and her dad's wedding band, the one she wore all the time? Stunned beyond words, she looked at Cas, then back to the items, then at him again. " _Why do you have these_?" she demanded, feeling stranger by the second.

Cas stared back, the oddest look on his face at her proximity and question. He closed his hand on the items and pulled the chain gently, tucking it back into his shirt. He backed up a little bit. His body language was guarded. "You gave them to me."

Alex smelled bullshit. "I _gave_ them to you," she repeated in disbelief. Her suspicions were raising. "And why the hell would I do that?"

Cas seemed unwilling to tell her, just looked away, shook his head. "Just… good luck charms. It's not important."

Alex gave him an exasperated look, frustrated by the situation in general. "Still allergic to straight answers, huh? Fine; listen, have you got anything I can wear? This shirt got ripped on my way in." She pointed to the giant tear on her shirt, and he seemed to notice it for the first time. His eyes raised from the tear to hers and he seemed way too conflicted about her question.

With a great deal of reluctance, he nodded toward the dresser. "Bottom drawer."

He was acting so strange. She opened up the drawer and froze. She recognized most of the clothing there—her green and gray flannel button up, her _Guns N' Roses_ tank top, her light green t-shirt with the smudge of vamp blood on the hemline that she'd never been able to get out. _What the hell?_ She was beginning to feel afraid, almost. She looked at him for an explanation. "What are you doing with these…?" she asked shakily.

He shrugged, scratching the side of his head, distracted. He looked physically ill again. "You and I were, uh... roommates."

" _Roommates_." Alex turned very slowly, looking at the one bed… then back at Cas questioningly.

"Yes, roommates," he repeated blankly, and began to walk out. "I need some air."

"What, I slept on the floor?" Alex called after him, but he had already left. No. Something about this was majorly off. He was lying or leaving something out. One little voice whispered that maybe they'd been... together. A couple. But she quickly shut that thought down. That couldn't be possibly true, could it? She was left to look around, puzzled, wondering if this were a huge joke. Roommates with Cas. That sounded like a sitcom or something. Dean came out of the bathroom at that moment, and Alex pointed a finger at him. "This future is fucking bananas."

"You're just _now_ figuring that out?" he asked sarcastically.

* * *

Alex changed into one of the tank tops in the drawer, one she didn't recognize—it was too weird to wear one she already owned—and about five minutes later, they could hear the sound of cars rolling in on the gravel. "Oh look, I'm back. That didn't take long," Dean said, and went outside. Alex stayed on the porch of the cabin, watching from a distance, and Cas stood a few feet off from the porch as Dean ambled toward the new arrivals. They were all were opening beers and drinking at the Jeep they had driven in. And then without any warning, 2014 Dean drew his gun and pointed it at one of the men's backs. "Hey. Hey! Watch out!" 2009 Dean shouted, even as a single shot rang out. The other two guys looked up and saw the two Deans standing ten feet apart.

" _Dammit,_ " 2014 Dean said, and then glared at his confused soldiers, taking a couple seconds, obviously trying to think of a way to remedy the weird situation. "I'm not gonna lie to you! Me and him—it's a pretty messed-up situation we got going. But believe me, when you need to know something, you will know it. Until then, we all have work to do." He pointed an angry finger at Dean and said, "My cabin, _now_."

Alex came down from the porch, rushing to Cas's side, watching future Dean roughly manhandle her Dean into the cabin.

"What's he doing with him?" Alex demanded.

"Bitching him out, probably," Cas said idly, and Alex looked at him oddly.

One of the soldiers stepped closer to them, looking at Alex with narrowed eyes, with recognition. "Wait— _she died_. I remember her. She was here when I first got here… then died. How can you still be alive?" His hand was crossing his body to the pistol on his hip.

Even as Alex was recoiling, her reflexes kicking in, someone flashed past her. Cas lunged forward with blazing speed, socking the other guy in the jaw with everything he had, a certain wild and sloppy but brutal energy to it, unlike the other times she'd seen him kick ass—but the guy went down onto his back from the force of the impact, and Cas stood over him, grabbing him by his jacket viciously. "Don't _touch her_ , Will, not you, not anyone! She's fine. Not a Croat, not _anything_! And keep your mouth shut about this, or you'll have to deal with me." He shoved the guy back and took a couple backward steps toward Alex, keeping his body between her and the guys.

"What, the camp drunk?" Will retorted, wiping blood from his lip and getting up slowly. "That's _real_ scary."

Cas's voice lowered, and he sounded something like she remembered. "Don't make me tell you twice."

Will seemed to think about it, then rolled his eyes. "Whatever, man." Will looked at Alex suspiciously but they left.

Cas turned to her, his expression more familiar to her—grim, dangerous. "Go back inside my cabin."

"But—"

"Just _go_!" He snapped.

Alex looked at him indignantly. "Look, I don't know why you're acting so weird, but—"

He took her by both arms suddenly, startling her. His eyes were desperate, he seemed on edge like he was close to losing his mind. But he spoke carefully, forcing himself to calm down and reign in whatever emotional breakdown he was close to having. "Alex, please just do what I say, go back into the cabin. _Please._ "

Blinking a couple times in surprise, Alex shut her mouth, frowned, then muttered, "Fine."

She went back inside and crossed her arms, watching Cas through the window. He was standing in front of the cabin, running a hand through his hair. He almost looked like he was going to be sick. He slowly came to the porch and sat on the steps, putting his shaggy head in his hands. Alex's anger died down in a sudden wash of empathy, of sadness. She wondered how that could be Castiel. He _looked_ like Cas, but... _what had happened_? Was this really his future? It made no sense— _none_. He was nothing like he used to be.

Alex looked around the cabin, giving it a better once-over. Candles, a Buddha statue, an exotic looking rug. The single, big bed. There was a dresser, a chest, a couple chairs and a small table. She glanced back outside where Cas remained unmoving, and she turned back around, eying the wooden chest curiously. She went to it and cracked it open as quietly as possible—then went still. His trench coat was neatly folded up there, and the sight of that triggered some kind of deep, surprised sadness in her. She touched it gently, with just the tips of her fingers, and she remembered him in it, just a couple days ago, as they traveled across the country in the Impala.

She shut the chest softly, momentarily too disconsolate to really do anything but stare around, puzzled. Shaking herself, she went to the closet, opened it curiously, then eyebrows went up as she saw what the shelves were lined with—hard liquor, and lots of it. She picked one bottle up, recognizing the green liquid as absinthe. _Damn, Cas_. To the left of the shelves were some of his clothes on hangars, and behind that, she recognized the sleeve of one of her oldest, most worn out cargo jackets. Seeing their clothes hanging together was odd. A morbid reminder that she had been here, but now was gone. Below the clothes, there were some boxes piled in disarray, and she frowned, peering at the one on top.

The contents of the box were jumbled—a bunch of pill bottles. She raked through them, realizing what they were with another pang of shocked sadness. Opioids and amphetamines—illegal, highly addictive drugs. Some of them looked like they had been half used up, most were nearly empty. She held a bottle of Oxy in her hand, suddenly so very sad, not sure what to think of this discovery. Oh, _Cas_. What _happened to you?_ And more than that… _why?_ Her heart hurt inexplicably for him. She carried the bottle with her and went to the window where she could see him.

He hadn't moved. Shoulders slumped forward, shaggy head of dark hair in his hands. Who _was_ that guy? Moreover, what happened to the Dean she knew? He'd just shot a guy in the back, told her she died without so much as blinking, said he hadn't talked to Sam in five years—this really _couldn't_ be the future. It just couldn't. She didn't believe this.

Cas came back in after a couple more minutes, avoiding looking at her. She, however, was watching him closely, concealing the bottle she still held from his sight. She had a theory, and had to know if it were right. "You're not an angel at all anymore, are you?"

He let out a soft, grudging sigh. "What gave me away?" Alex gave him a look. What _didn't_ give him away? He smiled cynically. His eyes were unaffected and dead. "Yeah. I'm not like I used to be," he said, and the amount of self-loathing in his voice was staggering.

Yeah no shit. She held the bottle of pills up to see how he'd react. His face went cold when he realized that she knew his secret. She was perplexed. "You know this shit could _kill_ you, right?"

His eyes raised to hers and there was an emptiness there that was devastating. "Kinda the point."

His words punched a hole in her, shocked her. It was starting to make sense. "You _wanna_ die," she surmised in soft disbelief, in heartbreak.

His expression wavered and he came a little closer, his jaw held tightly. "Life's just not working out for me these days," he said with a surprising amount of sarcasm and he snatched the bottle from her unceremoniously. Too stunned at his behavior and changed personality to do much of anything, Alex gaped, watching as Cas walked the length of the room and tossed the bottle into the trash can. He ran a hand through his dark, unkempt hair and then composed himself, clearing his throat. "Yeah. So, what part of two-thousand nine are you from?" He asked, apparently not wanting to talk his drug habit anymore.

Alex looked at him cautiously. "Early spring. We just hunted down Raphael and got jack squat from him."

"Yeah," Cas said, thinking. He chuckled to himself, a bittersweet and short sound. "That time we sat on the porch and you told me what a real kiss was." Her surprise at his comment showed and Cas's eyes fell away from hers. "It stuck with me," he explained heavily, and brushed past her to go to his closet. He pulled his tunic off and over his head as he went.

The sudden half-nakedness startled Alex all over again, but Cas seemed to think nothing of it and didn't notice how Alex stared at his bare back, and as he turned around, his broad chest and shoulders. It was shocking because he had _scars_. On his strong, tanned arms he had a few white lines like scratches, there was a blotchy raised pink spot on one of his biceps—a bullet wound? Smaller, dark long shapes—a few on his shoulders, a couple across his ribcage. Those looked like a knife had left them. For a second, she let her eyes wander down his torso, to the flat stomach and tapered hips. He turned around again, his back to her again. His very strong, _defined_ back. Alex touched her neck, cleared her throat. It was a little warm in here.

Cas got another shirt out of his closet and shrugged it on, buttoned it up. The things of hers he wore around his neck glinted in the light as his fingers went up, button after button and Alex eyed the ring and whistle sidelong, not sure if she believed him. She'd given those to him as 'good luck charms'? She looked at the bed again, could see some of her stuff hanging in the closet, thought about her shirts in a drawer below where his shirts were.

She mulled it all over with increasing suspicion. _Roommates_. Considering Cas again, she didn't believe that for a second, but the other option she was thinking of seemed just as ludicrous. Could they have actually been… involved? Like, romantically? Or was that a crazy thing to think? Because really, in what version of reality would she go for an alcoholic drug addict who apparently loved orgies? And in what version of reality would _Cas_ decide _Alex_ was what he wanted? In what version of reality would Cas even have the _ability_ to have a romantic side? She heaved a frustrated sigh.

When Alex plopped down onto the end of the bed and began to fiddle with a shoelace, Cas froze. She missed the way his face tightened in pain simply from seeing her sit on the bed. His voice grew strained and he doubled its gruffness to hide the emotions. "Come on, I need to take you to Dean's cabin," he said, pointing sharply at the door and hiding everything underneath a sour expression.

Alex looked up at him with curiosity, slowly standing, seeming to understand something was off. "Why?"

"You just... can't stay here," he said darkly, stone-faced, and was already heading out the door, throwing a "follow me" over his shoulder.

Cas took her to Dean's cabin like he said, then made himself scarce for the rest of the day, unable to face Alex for even a second longer. He would go back to his cabin and pour himself the strongest fucking drink he could find, anything to cover up the shame that was burning him alive inside. He would contemplate the alcohol, battling himself as he filled with self-hatred so strong that it sent him into rage. He'd then throw his glass against a wall and sink down to sit, miserable, with his face in his hands as he cried bitterly, like the broken, hopeless man that he was.

What had he _done_? How had he let himself become this? He was appalling and disgusting, a shell of who he'd been, a sick and low excuse for a man. He'd been able to forget reality in recent times with the drugs, the booze, the women he'd filled his hollow existence with to feel something ( _anything_ ) save the pain of her loss. But today, looking into her eyes again… he was miserable with himself for how deeply he'd betrayed her and her memory.

This wasn't just _his_ cabin. It had been _theirs_.

* * *

In Dean's dark cabin just after sunset, Alex lurked in the with her brother and watched as the other Dean and a woman named Risa leaned over a map. Cas was sitting at the table in a lazy, casual stance—his ankles crossed and propped onto the table. His gaze was on the unseeing side though.

Why the gathering? Well, it had become abundantly clear to Alex, for one, why Zachariah had sent them here, to this specific date. 2014 Dean had finally tracked down the Colt—the same one Cas had mentioned to them in 2009—and with it, he planned to kill the devil. Not next week, not next month. _Tonight_.

"Lucifer is _here_ ," Dean said, jabbing his finger into a circled portion of the map. "Now. I know the block and I know the building—"

"Oh good," Cas wisecracked, cutting Dean off. "It's right in the middle of a _hot zone_."

Dean gave him a cursory, challenging glance. "Crawling with Croats, yeah. You saying my plan is reckless?"

"If you don't like reckless, what about insouciant?" Cas retorted without missing a beat. Dean made a face, clearly not appreciating the attitude or understanding the word either. "Are you saying we, uh, walk in straight up the driveway, past all the demons and the Croats, and we shoot the devil?" Cas continued, his sarcastic tone and matching facial expressions causing Alex to stare. He hadn't looked at her even once since he'd shown up again.

Dean just narrowed his eyes at Cas. "Yes."

Cas leaned further back in his chair, giving Dean an unamused look.

"Yeah, well, no one's forcing you to come, Cas," Dean growled, to which Cas sighed, relenting.

"I'm going. Of course I'm going." Cas looked at the 2009 Dean. "But why is _he_? I mean, he's you five years ago. If something happens to him, you're gone, right?"

"He's _coming_ ," Dean said authoritatively. "Alex too… we could use the extra gun. She's a damn good shot."

At that, Cas's feet came off the table and his expression changed as he sat up straight. "What? It's too dangerous to take _her_ there, let alone Dean!"

2014 Dean tilted his head to the side at the outburst, frowning, looking at Cas with a suddenly intent gaze. "Cas… are you _sober_?"

Cas looked caught, as if that were an accusation he resented.

2014 Dean was clearly genuinely surprised. "Last time you were straight was…" he looked at Alex and his tongue nervously darted out, his eyebrows shrugged upwards. "Awhile ago."

Cas ignored the comment, getting physically agitated. "They _shouldn't go_ , Dean, and you know it."

"Hey, we're right here, you know," 2009 Dean said. "And we wanna go. So, end of discussion."

Cas turned on him, angry, using his hands as he talked. "Aren't you listening to me? It's much, _much_ too dangerous for either of you!" He looked between both Deans, as if looking for back up. When he got nothing, he seemed to grow resolute, hostile. "Fine," he snapped, and then pointed a finger at Alex while he looked at 2014 Dean. "But Dean, she's _not_ going. I won't let her."

That comment _definitely_ caught Alex's attention. "You won't _let_ me go?" She asked incredulously even as she stood up, becoming defensive. "That's not your decision."

Cas's eyes darted to her and he was deeply regretful and upset. He looked away, his jaw tight. "You don't _understand."_

"I don't think _you_ do," Alex challenged, to which Cas said nothing, only clenched his jaw even tighter.

2014 Dean gave Cas a dirty look, shook his head and stood up, map in hand. "We're locked and loaded and on the road by midnight. One of you take Alex and get her a weapon, one of you start getting the grunts moving." Dean looked at the other Dean. "I need some time alone with... myself." That would have been funny in different circumstances. In these, it was just adding to the feeling of a bizarro world.

"I'll get everyone rallied," Risa said, already brushing past Dean and heading out of the cabin.

"I guess that means you're with me," Cas said to Alex, sounding positively thrilled about it. What was his _problem_? She didn't like that, him telling her she couldn't go along on the assault. He was starting to sound like Dean for god's sake. Alex couldn't handle all these fucking men trying to tell her what she could and couldn't do. Either way, she shouldered that and followed him out of Dean's cabin and to one of the rusted tin sheds that offset the camp's mess hall.

After he had basically kicked her out of his cabin that morning, she hadn't seen him again all day and he was currently acting just as oddly as before. He was dressed differently, though. Not like a damn hippie. He had on faded jeans, military style boots, a button up, a rugged cargo jacket. He looked rakish and handsome, but his face, his _eyes—_ they were still hollow and avoided looking at hers.

The storage shed he took her into was about ten feet long and ten feet wide and the walls were lined with gun racks and those racks were brimming with semi-automatic weapons. Cas went to the back of the shed and pulled one off the rack, brought it back to her. "Here ya go," he said apathetically, holding it out to her. "AR-15 rifle. Your favorite."

Weird... she didn't favor AR's particulartly, but she didn't see a point in protesting. Her hands brushed over his as she gave in and took it. His expression went cold. Alex froze, thinking she had done something. "What is it?"

He shook his head, suddenly kind of laughing and smiling, as if what she said was funny, but there was no light in his eyes. He threw a hand up briefly. "Look around us! Everything's _wrong_." The smile was fading into a dark expression and he obviously regretted his little outburst. He pinched the bridge of his nose and muttered a curse word in frustration, trying to compose himself.

Alex watched him, not sure how to react to his behavior. She turned her attention to inspecting the gun, tested the feel of it in her hands, trying to sidestep his confession of pain, trying to get the atmosphere to be less awkward. "This has a good weight to it." She looked down the sights. "Not bad. I can see why I like it."

Cas said nothing—he turned so that he wasn't facing her. He began poking around on a shelf that had ammo boxes stored in disarray. Alex set the gun aside for a second, studying him. She had to try again— _had_ to. She was sorry he had a hard time with it, but she needed to know. "How did I die, Cas? Come on. Please, _tell me_. It's important." She gently grasped one of his arms, trying to appeal to him, trying to get him to look at her.

He looked at her like she revolted him, and he stepped back, refusing to look at her, looking at the guns beside him instead. "It's—it's best if you don't know."

"Why?" She demanded, not letting up. "I mean, it's _my_ future, right? I deserve to know. That's the whole point of Zachariah sending me and Dean here."

"No, I don't talk about it anymore," he said lowly, refocusing on the ammo boxes and starting to sort them for no reason.

Alex stood right beside him, getting in his space. " _Cas_ —" she started.

He abruptly snapped, lost his composure completely. "I said I don't _talk about it anymore_ goddammit!" He shouted, trembling with what looked like terror. Startled and even a little spooked, Alex stepped back from him and his features went from furious to stunned and hollow. "No, don't—don't be afraid of me, please," he begged, and his voice grew tight with grief. "I'm sorry. I don't… I don't like to talk about what happened that day."

Newly cautious with him, Alex felt her eyes narrowing. "Did you see what happened to me?" She asked carefully, going out on a limb, not sure in the least of how he would react to her question.

He didn't fly into a fit of rage. Instead, his eyes clouded with a sheen of tears and he let out a miserable, pained breath and looked down, putting his face into his hand, letting his shoulders slump. "I was with you when it happened," he confessed quietly, then let his hand fall and with a sick expression, he looked at her, not bothering to hide his distress. "I could have saved you. If I'd been just a little faster. Just a little faster." His eyes were glazed over and stared into middle distance unseeingly now. "Alex... I let you _die_." Again, his face crumpled and he ducked his head away, hiding his face behind a hand as a miserable choking sound came out of the base of his throat.

"Hey, hey... it's okay," Alex said, trying to calm him down. She put a hand onto his shoulder, trying to relay some reassurance to him. Her touch startled him and his hand dropped away from his face. He looked at her with the strangest expression and seemed unable to help himself. He reached out and let his hand cradle the side of her head, his thumb stroking downward over her hair with great bittersweet affection. Stock still, Alex stared at him, her hand drifting down from his shoulder. "W-what are you doing?" She asked, finding her breath short.

His heart was in his eyes as he studied her. "Have you really not figured it out yet?" He asked softly, sadly, fondly, then stroked his thumb against the hair on the side of her head carefully, conveying great tenderness in the touch. Taking his hand away and becoming more conflicted at Alex's shock, he wet his chapped lips, waited anxiously for her reply.

Her loud pulse filled her ears and shock flooded her veins. "...We weren't just roommates."

"No," he confirmed, just a murmur. His eyes held hers apprehensively. "We weren't just roommates."

Alex was shaking her head kind of hollowly. "No," she breathed. " _No_. That's crazy. You're not serious. You and _me_?" His expression flickered just slightly, as if he were offended by that assumption. Alex struggled with what that meant. "I mean… you and I… we _lived_ together?" Her voice dropped to a whisper. "We… we _slept_ together?"

Cas didn't say yes or no, but _come on Alex,_ of _course_ you would have if you _lived_ together. But she was so emotionally young when it came to relationships and romance, having never even kissed a man, that the idea of sex and living with someone—let alone the rugged, jaded man in front of her—had her dizzy.

Cas saw that and was gentle. "I understand this is probably a lot for you to process," he said somberly, his eyebrows pressing in a little further. "I… I wasn't going to tell you at all... but I know it has to be obvious by now."

Alex did a mental double take, distracted by the thoughts of sex. Her eyes went wide. "Oh my god, wait—did _I_ do orgies too?" Had she been on drugs, too? Into all kinds of stuff she'd never imagined herself capable of?

"Wh—" Cas's face went both embarrassed and insistent. "No, _never_ ," he said, then paused, his humiliation etched onto his face. "I uh… I was never with anyone but you. _Ever_. Until after you died." Another punch of shock to her stomach at his words and the love and commitment it seemed to imply. His shame at what he'd done since her death was tangible. "I'm so _sorry_ ," he whispered as his eyes fell. He was apologizing to the Alex she hadn't become yet but it hit her hard, made her feel strange. Hurt.

"I... don't understand any of this," Alex said, barely able to find the words. The painful mood of the conversation was hard and unexpected, and the way he looked so defeated and hurt was difficult to watch. His sadness kept radiating off of him and sinking into her, so she tried for half-hearted humor to clear the air and cover over her own emotional distress. "I mean aren't you, I dunno... like several _thousand_ years too old for me?"

He chuckled, a surprisingly fond smile coming over his face, softening his features, making the pain ebb away. "That's not the first time you've asked me that," he said affectionately. Alex went blank again. It was a totally disconcerting thing to hear from his mouth—it was so knowing and fond. Cas swallowed, looking genuinely apologetic at her expression. "I'm sorry. I've made you uncomfortable."

"Uncomfortable?" She shot back. "I feel like I'm tripping _balls_ right now Cas!"

His mouth turned up in a crooked little smile, and he spoke without thinking. "So to the point. I always lo—" he caught himself, his expression going rigid, "...enjoyed that about you."

Alex didn't miss what he was about to say, and she blinked a couple times as her heart turned a flip of shock and awe. She just couldn't believe this. Her and Cas? _How_? Sure, she had definitely admitted to herself that she found him incredibly attractive and interesting and she enjoyed being around him recently... and yes, she'd pondered it, a couple times in her mind, what he might be like to kiss or hold, but she blamed the romance novels and her idealistic mindset for _those_ thoughts.

Alex shook her head no slowly. If this were some kind of cruel trick, she didn't want to fall victim to it. She almost didn't want to believe it at all. It was too sad, too complicated, too unthinkable. Too far removed from what she knew now.

Castiel saddened in front of her, somehow seeming to be aware of what she was thinking without her even saying anything. Maybe on an impulse, he touched her arm with his hand, resting it there just above her elbow, bare skin to bare skin, his thumb tracing down slowly. The touch startled her, warmed her. Made her _feel_. He sought her gaze, his brow wrinkled. She stared up at him, feeling incredibly short of breath. The way he touched her was just _so unlike_ what she had expected. There was a familiarity to his touch that was stunning. He stared back into her gaze, expression intense and unreadable, his eyes flicking from her eyes to her mouth, then back. He looked at her like he _knew_ her—intimately. And as such, Alex pulled back, flustered. Cas looked almost rejected by the way she had pulled away, and then seemed to shake himself and pull himself together. He thrust a box of bullets at her, all business once again. "Sorry. Here. Should be enough ammo."

He looked at her a second longer, seemed to be struggling internally and then abruptly brushed past her, making a quick exit out of the shed, leaving Alex by herself with many confusing thoughts to ponder. The place where he had touched so slightly and softly still tingled, and she couldn't stop thinking about it.

* * *

It was midnight and there was a full, bright silver moon directly overhead in the sky. Alex headed toward where all the vehicles were starting up, her weapon slung over her back, her jacket hung over her arm. She paused when something caught her eye she hadn't noticed before.

Over past where the cabins ended and the woods began, in an overgrown patch of land, there were maybe twenty wooden crosses sticking up out of the ground. In something like morbid curiosity, she wandered over. Some of them were fresh. One of the graves, grass already grown over it, was crudely engraved with the initials A.E.W. She went still—Alexandra Elizabeth Winchester? Was this…? Someone was coming up behind her. She turned to see Chuck, who she had seen earlier that day while she and Dean were waiting around. He gave her a tight smile, hands shoved in his pockets. "Hey, Alex."

She looked back at the grave with her initials on it, ignoring his greeting. "Chuck, is this—?" she looked at him for confirmation.

"Yeah," he confirmed, kind of grimly. "That's your grave."

She could think of nothing to say, only tilted her head to the side, looking at the little bunch of yellow wildflowers there at the base of the cross. She wondered if Dean did that. "Someone put flowers on it."

"Yup," Chuck said. "Cas does." This statement drew a stunned looked from Alex. Chuck was oblivious, looking at the cross as he continued. "He always does. It's the _only_ thing he does consistently around here. Well, besides drink and cause problems."

Someone hollered Chuck's name, and the prophet threw a "gotta go" at Alex as he hurried off. Alex watched him leave, speechless, then looked over where Cas was loading up some weapons into an SUV with Risa. He had a rifle slung across his back and looked so manly to her in that moment—a shiver ran up her spine when she thought of his thumb rubbing against her arm. She thought about his eyes full of sadness because he'd cared about her deeply. _Loved._ He'd been about to say he'd loved her, back in the shed. Her throat felt tight with tears and Alex turned her attention back to the grave, the flowers. They were fresh like they'd been put out recently, so carefully arranged, tied with a tiny little strand of twine in a very uneven bunched up shape, like he'd try to tie a bow and not been able to quite pull it off. She smiled a little through her pain and confusion. _That_ was more like the Cas she remembered—kind of clueless on how to do everyday things. Like tying bows.

How strange to stand at her own grave. Somehow, even though it was more than just a little macabre, she thought how nice it was to know, even though she was six-feet-under dead in this future that someone still looked after her and still remembered her—and that someone just happened to be her guardian angel. She wasn't sure if that were ironic or kind of beautiful. On impulse, she crouched down and pulled a single yellow flower out of the gathered bunch, then slipped it into her jacket pocket.

* * *

Cas shut the tailgate of his SUV and rounded the corner of the vehicle, only to be confronted by present-day Dean, who was glaring at him. "Okay, you wanna tell me what the hell that was that back there?"

"What do you mean?" Cas asked, to which Dean gave him an unamused look. Cas could tell from the look on Dean's face that he was about to get chewed out.

"The way you got all bent out shape about taking me and Alex on our little field trip? Don't ever challenge me like that again."

Cas looked away, agitated. Dean stepped closer, his voice lowering gruffly. "You know, as much as I _despised_ you and my sister together, I need you to get your crap handled, and pronto. If Alex, the one from our time, could see what the way you roll these days… the women, the drugs, the days on end you stay wasted with chicks you won't even remember the name of the next day… what do you think she'd _say_ , man?" Cas couldn't look at Dean in the eye. Dean sounded disgusted, and Cas felt disgust _ing_. He knew he was so lost and far away from what he should be. Dean wasn't done. He was bearing down physically on Cas, getting angrier and angrier. "You think you're honoring her memory with this crap?" Dean continued, and Cas felt like he'd been punched in the stomach. "You're really over her _that easy_ , Cas?"

That final comment made something snap inside Cas, and he looked sharply at Dean, struggling to control himself. "I will _never_ be _over_ her, Dean."

Without any warning, Dean shoved him back against the truck violently, his voice a harsh growl. "Well if that's true, you sure as hell have a funny way of showing it!"

Cas grabbed Dean roughly and shoved him back, all of his pent up anger and sorrow boiling over into outrage. "I _loved_ her, Dean!" Both men were frozen like that for a moment, fistfuls of the other's jacket in their hands. Breathing heavily, shaking, Cas struggled to maintain a straight, calm face. "You _know_ I loved her. More than _anything—_ " His voice was bordering on desperate. "But I don't know how to do this anymore!"

Dean shoved him and let go, bitter. "It's a damn shame what you've become, Cas."

Cas only glowered, struck by the irony of it. "I could say the same for you, Dean."

There was a brief silence and Dean let the comment go, looking Cas up and down judgmentally. "I can see you shaking, man. What kind of crap you on now?"

"Nothing," Cas admitted, looking away. "Which is the problem."

Dean scoffed at him, disgusted. "You picked a hell of a time to start rehab, Cas."

"Dean—"

"No— _shut up_. I don't wanna hear your lame excuses anymore. Nothing you ever say can make _this_ —" he vaguely gestured at Cas, "okay with me. Just hold it together a little longer. We need to do this right, and kill the devil. You with me?"

Cas's jaw clenched. "Yeah, I'm _with_ you," he replied caustically. He looked at the man who he used to call his good friend and felt nothing but bitterness and shame and regret. Dean was looking at him as though Cas were the biggest disappointment and failure he had ever seen.

The sound of approaching footsteps on the crunching gravel alerted them that they were no longer alone. "Everything okay here, guys?" Dean from 2009 asked. Alex was behind him, unaware of what had just happened, hefting her gun.

"Yeah, everything's just _peachy,_ " 2014 Dean said, then brushed past them roughly.

"God, that guy is a douche," the other Dean said, watching him go.

Alex chuckled at that. Cas looked at her out of the corner of his eye, the sight of that little smile of hers making his heart twist in ways he couldn't bear. He motioned to his SUV, turning away before either of them could see his face. "Let's go. We're about to move out."

* * *

The car bumped down the back road they had turned off onto, and Cas glanced to his side. Dean was still awake, but Alex had fallen asleep about thirty minutes into the drive. Her head lolled on Dean's shoulder as he stared out the window tersely. Cas returned his gaze to the dark road ahead. This was so risky, and he couldn't believe he was actually driving these two to the place where they should be the furthest from. He blinked a few times, trying to stay awake, trying to stay alert. He felt horrible physically, suffering from sobriety. He hadn't been this clear in awhile, and he remembered why. Everything hurt and he couldn't stop his mind from going to all the dark places he so desperately wanted to pretend didn't exist.

Dean was digging through the glove compartment. "You got anything for a headache?" he pulled out an orange medicine bottle and squinted at it. "What the hell are _these_? Amphetamines?"

Cas snatched the bottle from him. "Give those to me."

"What the hell are you doing with those?" Dean asked, sounding genuinely shocked and even a little offended. It was almost as bad as when Alex had discovered his habit. Almost.

Cas shook his head, shamefaced, but trying hard to just stay aloof, calm. It was easier to be less emotional with Dean. "Nothing, today."

Dean sounded hesitant. "Uh, right... don't get me wrong, Cas. I, uh. I'm happy that the stick is out of your ass, but—what's going on—w-with the drugs and the orgies and the love-guru crap?"

Cas gave him a sidelong glance. "I'm not an angel anymore." Dean's eyebrows shot up. "Yeah, I went _mortal_ ," Cas said, with distasteful emphasis on the last word.

"What do you mean? How?"

He thought a minute about how to answer, shook his head tiredly. "It wasn't by choice, if that's what you're asking. I think it had something to do with the other angels leaving. But when they bailed, my mojo just kind of— _psshhew!_ —drained away. And now, you know, I'm practically human. I'm all but useless, Dean. Last year, broke my foot, laid up for two months." Without warning, he remembered Alex bringing things to him when he had been stuck in their cabin—he remembered her doodling on his cast a few times (a few appropriate things, and a few maybe not so much)—dropping a kiss on the top of his head when he had been complaining about how much he hated sitting for so long. His chest tightened at the memories. He'd loved her beyond anything and everything. Her loss had _destroyed_ him.

"So, you're human," Dean was saying. "Well, welcome to the club, I guess."

Cas just shook his head sadly. "I used to belong to a much better club. Look at me. I'm powerless. I'm alone, I'm drowning. Not even sure why I even bother getting out of bed most days."

Dean looked at him strangely. "Geez. So… the drugs? The women?"

Cas sucked his cheeks in, stared at the road ahead, loathing himself. "Guess that's just _how I roll_."

Dean looked deeply bothered. "Right. Yeah."

Cas fell silent, his grip tight on the steering wheel, his stare blank and straight ahead of himself.

His mind was full of noise and confusion, of memories of his wayward downward spiral into who he'd become now. At first it had just been alcohol abuse to deal with her death. Being drunk had soothed the void in his life and helped numb the excruciating pain from losing the only one he'd ever loved—the only one who'd ever truly loved _him_. He'd drank more and more and more, testing his limits, trying to kill the pain and loneliness and despair that hounded him and made life a miserable affair. It had worked well enough.

And then one night, around a campfire with a bunch of newly-rescued people fleeing the Croatoan virus, the unthinkable had happened. Drunk out of his mind, Cas had stumbled off from the group and one of the girls had followed him into the woods, pulling at his jeans as he fell back against a tree, unable to even stand. She'd had hair the color of Alex's and confused, completely out of it, Cas hadn't even known who she was, had just seen the top of a brown head of hair bent low over him and he'd thought it was her, his Alex, doing that to him.

When she looked up at him after blowing him, Cas had seen her face and almost passed out in horror at the realization of what had just happened—he'd pushed her away and run stumblingly back to his cabin, retched violently off the porch and nearly falling off of it. It was treason and he cursed himself for it, for dashing Alex's memory onto the rocks so readily. But it would get much worse. A month or so later he woke up after a night of being high off his ass and drunk to the point of passing out. A woman he didn't know had been naked in bed beside him, in Alex's place. Dismay and panic had set in over Cas, then fury—no one else belonged there, ever. Only Alex. He'd gone a little crazy and immediately kicked the girl out, not even dressed. He'd been so shaken up at her presence and what had clearly happened between them that he'd thrown a sheet at her and tossed her clothes after her, slammed the door in her face uncaringly and reached for more booze immediately, almost having a full on panic attack in the process.

He hadn't been sober once since then. Not until today.

He could barely stand to face himself. The things he'd done. The ways he'd tried to escape the pain, the high he'd been chasing every single day to keep his suffering at bay. It was a wonder he wasn't dead yet. It wasn't like he hadn't tried a few times. But somehow… he was still here.

And now the worst part was that so was she. She saw what had become of him, understood in some small way how he'd betrayed her and spit in the face of their love. A love she didn't even really understand yet, but would soon enough. If she could see him now, if she knew what he'd done… she would hate and despise him. Just as she should.

* * *

They arrived to the outskirts of the city just before sunrise and the convoy stopped to regroup.

Cas put his truck into park and then looked down at Alex, whose head lolled awkwardly on his shoulder—he'd taken a sharp curve a few minutes ago and she'd just kind of fallen into him. Dean was already getting out, slamming the door behind himself. Cas looked down at Alex's sleeping face, so familiar and so _missed_. Hesitantly, he gently brushed a few strands of her hair away from her face as his heart squeezed. Her skin was so soft under his fingertips. Her quiet breathing and just barely parted lips were the most beautiful thing he could ever remember seeing. As his eyes flickered over her face, all he could think was _I miss you so much._ His throat closed up in grief and his eyes ached as tears threatened to come. 

Cas pulled away, shaking. His entire nervous system was shot to _hell._ Could he do this? He needed a hit of something, or a strong drink. It was all too much to handle for him. He glanced at the floorboard, where he'd stuck the bottle of amphetamines. But then, beside him, Alex stirred, sitting up slowly, squinting a little. "I fell asleep?" she asked groggily. 

"Yeah," he confirmed, trying to sound like he _wasn't_ in the middle of a near-breakdown. "We're here. Just waiting for a few others to arrive, I think."

She sighed and stretched a little, oblivious to the way he watched her. "Okay. So, let's go kick Lucy's ass, huh?" She gave him a playful but helpless little smile. And his heart broke a little more even as it healed a little, too.

Alex got out of the SUV, shutting the door behind her. The sun was just coming up and it looked like it would be a dim, overcast day. It was already warm out. She went to the back of Cas's SUV where the tailgate was down. Dean was already with the others, who were congregated around Risa's SUV, maybe about forty feet away—why had Cas parked so far off? Alex peeked around the edge of the vehicle, up toward where Cas was. He was just standing there, staring at nothing, in front of the driver's side door.

Momentarily forgetting her gun, Alex went over to him. "Hey—you okay?"

He took a step away, his back to her and the car. Then turned around, looked at her plainly, his featured etched with a haunted expression. "No. I am _not_ okay." Hesitating, Alex went to him, then because it felt right, she put a hand on his shoulder gingerly. At her touch, he visibly became emotional—and Alex pulled her hand back, like she'd done something wrong. She backed up a little, and then he stopped her. "Wait."

"What?" She asked. He looked strange, just staring at her like he had something to say, but couldn't get it out. " _What_ Cas?" she asked, more urgently this time.

He shook his head, his eyes staring down at the ground, then someplace off beside him before coming to rest on hers. His expression was full of a pain she didn't understand. "Some mornings I'll wake up, and for just an instant, I—I forget. I forget you're gone. And I turn over and see you're not there and..." he was barely holding tears back. "You were the _one_ bright spot left in this world for me," Cas continued shakily. "All the shit I've done to myself these past few months… it's all to forget the pain. I've made so many mistakes and I can't take any of it back but..." He inched just a little closer, making her breathless. "Alex…" he trailed off, his expression desperate, intense. "Please… I..."

Alex was frightened—his intensity was palatable and contagious. Her heart began to beat faster in dread and anticipation. "What?" She prompted, searching his gaze anxiously. Her voice was barely audible. 

Cas's expression worked oddly and his eyes fell away from hers. "I know I shouldn't even _ask_ but… I want…" he squeezed his eyes shut, rubbing his forehead with his fingertips, refocused. "I _need_ —" he got frustrated again, and Alex waited, then jutted her face forward, raised her eyebrows. His expression was strange and hesitant. Finally, he swallowed, and his voice was just above a whisper. His eyes clung to hers. "Kiss me."

Her stomach dropped and her face went blank. "...W-what?" she asked faintly.

" _Please_ ," he said, his voice just a broken whisper. "I just… I can go in there and face the devil, face death, the whole nine. If you kiss me." He wet his lips nervously. "One last time," he paused, thinking of something, then smiled in the softest, saddest way. "Or… first, I guess. For you."

Alex's mouth hung open slightly. "I… uh…" she had quickly become flustered, breathless. His expression was so pleading. He gently caught her hands in his.

At the touch of his warm, dry skin against hers, she felt her entire body flush over in unexpected heat. "A dying man's wish," he said softly.

"But... you don't _know_ you're dying," she protested weakly.

A muscle in his cheek jerked, and his gaze faltered. "I have been for awhile now."

Alex looking up into his eyes hesitantly, her heart hammering faster than she could ever remember. She didn't want to say no. In the most secret place of her mind, she had fantasized about kissing him. She had. But now with him actually in front of her actually _asking_ for a kiss—she was afraid of the unknown and nervous to disappoint. Nervous that her ignorance would show. But she couldn't say no. Everything in her was screaming yes. So she threw all caution to the wind and told him yes silently with a tiny, intrigued nod. 

His expression changed to something else altogether, and she thought she saw his breathing hitch. Hers did too. The earnestness and the trepidation in his eyes made her dizzy. His chest touched hers as he closed the distance between them, one of his hands came to the side of her neck, the pad of his thumb tracing her jaw as he studied her thoroughly. She could smell him and it was so heady—linseed oil, firewood, incense. Her veins sang with anticipation, terror, curiosity, excitement as he came closer and closer. Cas leaned down, the side of his nose brushing against the side of hers as he softly pressed his lips down onto to hers, giving her a careful, measured, chaste kiss... and the soft touch sent a _zing!_ of thrilling feelings shooting throughout her entire body. She softened toward him a little automatically as her eyes fell closed. Her heart shot through her chest even as he drew back, just a little and just for a second, his lips soft and open, just centimeters from hers—she could feel him breathing against the skin of her lips. _Oh god_ —her body was in overdrive. His hand, now at the back of her neck, gently pulled her to him again, guiding her as he kissed her again, a soft, aching little touch that was maddening, that was _infuriating_. Instinctively, Alex could tell he was holding himself back for her benefit… but she surprised even herself when she escalated things. 

With a boldness she didn't quite recognize, Alex pressed into him hard as she tilted her chin up further, grabbing a fistful of his shirt as she kissed him in a desperate way she hadn't predicted and didn't know she even possessed. Her other arm reached up and and circled around his neck to pull him closer possessively. Her sudden actions seemed to unleash something in him—there was a low sort of broken down moan from someplace deep in his throat and she felt one of his hands crush against the small of her back, pulling her firmly against him. His other hand was tangling in the hair on the side of her head. She could feel his heartbeat thundering against her chest, fast. His mouth moved with hers now boldly, taking her into a deeper kiss, showing her how, and Alex felt like her body had been lit on the sweetest, most heavenly fire. She couldn't concentrate on one thing—it was all so much—the way their mouths were entangled, the sound and feel of his labored breathing, the warmth and solidness of him everywhere against her, so indescribable, so beyond stunning, so unlike what she had imagined.

Their breathing was becoming heavy and noisy in each other's mouths, and the way he pulled at her, his hands on her back, then her waist, then her hips, was becoming more and more frantic. Alex heard a strangled sort of moaning gasp escape her mouth and into his as her back hit against the side of the SUV. She might have imagined it, but she swore he whimpered as his hands skimmed down to her hips and grabbed roughly, lifting her up easily, pinning her against the truck almost harshly. His body pressed hard against hers, maybe he didn't remember who she was. But she didn't care. She didn't even consciously realize that she wrapped her legs around his waist or locked her arms around his neck, hands gripping his head tightly—she was completely caught up in the way he kissed her: wild and free, desperate and hungry, with his whole body, with his heart and soul. It felt like she was the only thing he wanted in the world, like she was something that he adored. As he held her like that and kissed her so furiously, so passionately, she couldn't deny it: she wanted him _so, very, badly._

The sounds of more cars pulling in nearby cut the moment short and they broke apart, breathing heavily, stunned. Cas gazed at her with eyes full of raw emotion as he still held her. She could only stare back—reeling, aching, confused, entranced. Her heart was racing and her breath was short and she was stunned at herself, at him.

Cas hesitated... and then gently pushed a strand of hair back from the side of her face, never looking away from her, his eyes full of memories, of unspoken things. His hand stayed there at the side of her face, tender and sweet, he looked heartbroken and in love at the same time... and Alex knew he was remembering moments she hadn't even lived yet. And she might not have known much, but after that kiss especially, she knew one thing for sure. This man, this version of Castiel, had loved her. _Loved_. In a way she couldn't even comprehend. The proof was in the way he was looking at her, the way he had kissed her. The flowers at her grave. The clothes still neatly folded in her drawer. The things he carried of hers. Her chest was tight and there was a lump in her throat that wouldn't go away. So overwhelmed by him that she touched the side of his face, too, with a tenderness she hadn't even known she felt, letting her thumb brush against his cheek. His vivid blue eyes seemed so full as they searched hers and he leaned into her touch. The moment felt indescribably intimate on a level she had never experienced.

It was suddenly too much and Alex pushed away, slid down. She walked a few steps off, her back to him, overcome with emotion she wasn't sure what to do with. She didn't want him to see her face or how much she was feeling at the moment. She took a few shaky breaths, trying to gather her thoughts, trying not to freak out. After a few beats he came up behind her, and there was a long, strained pause.

"You asked me how you die."

She turned around slowly at his soft words. He was pensive, grim, and looking somewhere off to his left, remembering. "You and I went on what was supposed to be a simple mission. Recon, far outside the city. But we got cut off, and there were Croats, too many of them. And, by the time we took them all out…" his voice softened, his eyes shut. "You were infected with the virus. You begged me to kill you before... before the change." He opened his eyes again, and she saw that they were shining with tears. "I said I couldn't, not with… not because of…" he swallowed, blinked, tried to stay composed. "But it didn't matter. I had to." He looked right at her. The raw pain on his face suddenly made sense. "And I did. I shot you and then watched you _die_." Again, his eyes began to shine with grief.

Alex shook her head, wordless, realizing in faint horror why he felt so responsible and traumatized.

Cas looked down. "I was supposed to be your _protector._ Forever. And I failed, miserably. I hate being just a _man_." He took a deep breath then cleared his throat, forcing himself to recover a little. "The point of me telling you this is… you and Dean have to change it. _Have to_. Because _this_ —" he looked around, gestured vaguely, "isn't how it's supposed to be."

"Cas, I—" she started, but was cut off by a familiar, gravelly shout over somewhere behind the other cars.

"Hey! You two clowns comin'?" One of the Deans yelled. The other one bellowed, "We don't got all day!"

Cas and Alex looked at each other a moment longer. There was so much more to say. But it would have to wait. Or never be said at all.

"Coming," Alex called back, then turned her gaze back to Cas. "Cas..." she started, but she was cut off when he unexpectedly drew her into a tight, impulsive, earnest hug. His arms felt strong around her and his hand cradled the back of her head. His face was buried in the side of her hair. He trembled and Alex was taken aback at him yet again. He was so _human_. She slowly put her arms around him too, noticing how their bodies fit so well. How safe his arms felt. Her emotions were going haywire, her throat felt tight. She shut her eyes tight, trying to steady her breathing.

When he drew back, just a little, there were tears swimming in his eyes. " _Thank you_ ," he said softly and stroked his hand down the side of her head, his fingers in her hair, his eyes holding hers. He leaned in again and kissed her cheek softly, slowly, and his eyebrows drew together deeply, making him look grieved as he did it. She leaned into his touch helplessly, softened into the warm press of his lips, inhaling his woodsy scent. Alex was left to wonder who it was he was kissing. Her, or the Alex from his time? It didn't matter—she was deeply touched and confused all at once. She felt the love in his touch and it almost broke her. A tear slid down Cas's cheek and his hand tightened on the back of her head, like he was trying to hold onto something he knew was already lost.

" _Alex_! Double time!" One of the Deans was calling, and the moment was interrupted.

Cas pulled back, letting go of her and with surprising deftness he composed himself and flashed her a crooked, disarming grin despite his inner turmoil. "Wanna go kill the devil?"

Alex's eyes rested on his face and a soft, sad smile spread across her lips. He intrigued her, burdened her, and made her ache, this Castiel. He hid his pain so well. But not so well that she couldn't see it. "Sounds good," she answered, trying to match his tone of voice. But she sounded soft and sad, like she felt.

Cas gave her an understanding, bittersweet smile, then headed toward the back of his truck and pulled out their guns as Alex smoothed her hair, straightened her tank top… both of which had gotten a little askew and disheveled. Cas saw her straighten herself and gave her the smallest little coy smile at that—like they shared a fun little secret—and he looked so boyish, so much younger in that moment. She smiled back, suddenly feeling shy—she tucked some hair behind her ear. He hoisted his gun, and then tossed her hers. For a brief moment, Alex didn't ever want to leave 2014.

* * *

Dean and Dean headed up the group, taking the lead about ten paces in front of everyone. 2014 Dean glanced back at Cas, Risa, and Alex, noticing that Cas and Alex were close to each other, that Cas kept looking at Alex every few seconds. Dean gritted his teeth, stepped a little closer to himself. If this guy really was him in 2009, which he was pretty sure he was, then he deserved a warning.

"Hey, word to the wise," he said, garnering a cursory sidelong glance from himself. "Keep Cas and Alex away from each other, you hear me? If it weren't for him, she'd still be alive."

"Huh?" Dean asked, clearly not following.

"Just do what I said," Dean insisted in a harsh, low voice. "Put a damn end to it. Don't let them be together."

"Cas and _Alex_?" Dean asked in a low, disbelieving voice. "Like, as in, _together_?" He suddenly seemed to think it was a joke, and chuckled. "Come on, man. What're you smoking?"

"Just shut up," Dean snapped, exceedingly annoyed with himself. "Trust me. He is her _death sentence_." He grabbed his other self by the shirt, demanding the other one's gaze. "She _dies,_ dude, you get that? And that's on him. _I_ didn't know, I didn't have a chance of stopping it. Now _you_ do." He shoved him away. "So I hope to god you do something about it, man." He clenched his jaw, then stalked away.

Dean sobered, looked back behind them at where Alex and Cas followed. The way future-Dean had said that didn't sound like he was lying.

* * *

Just outside the Jackson County Sanitarium, Alex glanced again in the direction that both Deans had gone about five minutes ago. They only had a couple more minutes until they stormed the building ahead of them where Lucifer was.

After her Dean had asked for 'a word with himself,' the two Deans had disappeared behind a building. She didn't think she could wait any longer, and turned to Cas, who was beside her. "I'm gonna go find the Deans."

"I'll come with you," he said, but she shook her head, standing up.

"No. I'll be right back."

He stood up too, looking terrified. "No, Alex, I can't let you go alone."

She stopped to look at him plainly, warningly. The small group didn't need to be any more disbanded than it already was, and the Deans were just around the other side of a building within earshot. " _Stay here_ ," she repeated. "I'll be back." She paused, giving him the smallest, saddest smile. He stood tall and brave, a gun slung across his body and 'fighter' written across everything about him. And at her command he looked conflicted but he stepped back, silently agreeing to stay behind.

Castiel watched as she left—and even though that wasn't _his_ Alex—not completely—it was still Alex. And he would would always love any version of her. From any time or dimension, she was the one he loved.

Alex hurried off, not knowing that was the last time she would see that version of Cas. If she _had_ known, she would have looked back at him again. Or maybe not left at all. 

She darted over to the building she'd seen the Deans go behind, and when she rounded the corner, she stopped short—one Dean was standing over the unconscious form of the other. "Son of a bitch," she muttered, cautiously approaching Dean. It wasn't her Dean. Her Dean was the one laying on the ground. "Care to explain?" she demanded suspiciously, very aware of where her weapon was and contemplating using it.

"Just a little… disagreement," he said, eyeing her with a look she didn't like.

"My _ass_ ," she retorted. "Liar."

He shook his head, laughed a little—a sound tinged by sadness. "Goddamit kid I've missed you." The smile faded. He looked oddly stricken, but only for a second. He lunged and reached out to grab her hard by the arm. "Sorry, Al. I recognize that look. You were about to run. Well, I can't let you do that. See, Dean here was gonna warn everyone that I'm going in the back while they go in the front."

Alex didn't pull away. She was too shocked at what this meant. "You're using those people as a _diversion_? Even _Cas_?"

Dean yanked her closer. "I _have_ to!" He was breathing hard, and his eyes were crazed, wild. "I got to kill Lucifer, and I've run out of damn options—what the hell else am I supposed to do?" Alex opened her mouth to argue with him, but he cut her off. "Listen to me, Alex. _Do not_ get involved with Cas. I'm _begging_ you." He paused, his face full of a pain she hadn't seen there before. "He's the signature on your death certificate."

"What do you mean?" She asked, not sure if he were insane or delusional or what.

He just shook his head, looked at her sadly. "I'm sorry about this. I am." And he drew back and hit her hard, letting her fall to the ground unconscious. Dean Winchester stood over his baby sister, breathing hard, unable to believe himself on the one hand, but also to the point where he couldn't afford to care anymore. He had one thing left to do. _One thing_. Kill the devil. And he wasn't going to let his sister or himself stand in the way.

Dean dragged Alex about fifty feet off, down an alleyway. He crammed her between a dumpster and a trashcan, figuring that when the 2009 Dean woke up, if he couldn't find Alex, that would stall him a little. Dean looked at his unconscious sister and allowed himself a final moment of gentleness. He knelt down and moved her hair off of her face. She really was so beautiful. She had been so full of life. Bitterness swelled in his heart as he remembered the day she died in 2013. It wasn't right, and it wasn't fair—everyone he loved had died. He stood up, Colt in hand. Well, now it was the devil's turn.

When Alex came to, she sat up, breathless, panicked, and beside a smelly dumpster. _Shit!_ How long had she been out? She scrambled to her feet and ran, trying to find her bearings. There was wind and lightning, but no other sounds—no gunfire, no shouting. She rounded a corner, and halted almost in mid-step—in front of her, Dean and—" _Sam_?"

He was wearing a white suit and looking at her with an odd, lifeless smile. "Hello, Alexandra."

Beside her, Dean was shaking his head. "That's not Sam. That's _Lucifer_."

"...What?" Alex breathed, suddenly understanding why Zachariah had told made them come here, had insisted they needed to see. " _No_..."

Lucifer laughed a little at her protest. "Oh, _yes,_ Alexandra. Yes." Absolute horror overcame Alex.

Lucifer then looked at Dean, a patronizing smile on his face. "While this little family reunion of ours has been sweet, honestly, I have things to do." He looked at both in turn. "Goodbye. We'll meet again soon." He turned to go.

"You better kill us now!" Dean shouted.

Lucifer turned back around. "Pardon?"

"You better. Or I swear, I will find a way to kill you. And if _I_ don't find a way, _she_ will. One of us will be the end of you, you hear me?"

Lucifer was vaguely amused. "Fascinating. Well, _I_ swear _this_ to _you_. You won't say yes to Michael. You won't kill Sam, you won't be able to save Alex from her own foolish choices." He shrugged almost modestly. "Whatever you do, you will always end up here. Sam will die, Alex will die. Nothing you can do will change that. Whatever choices you make, whatever details you alter, we will always end up—here. I win."

Dean shook his head, his expression completely tortured. "You're _wrong_."

Lucifer smiled. "See you in five years, Dean."

There was a ground-shaking roll of thunder, and lightning seemed to crack the sky in two. And just like that, Lucifer was gone. Alex and Dean looked at each other, aghast. Then Dean grabbed at Alex, catching sight of something behind them—Zachariah, and he was reaching for them.

Suddenly, they were in the quiet motel room in Kansas City. Alex almost fell over, dizzy from the sudden change.

"So, Winchesters." The two of them turned to see Zachariah behind them, smiling.

"Oh, well, if it isn't the ghost of Christmas screw you!" Dean growled.

The angel ignored the comment, looking between both of them animatedly. "You saw it, right? Both of you! You saw what happens. Dean, you're the only person who can prove the devil wrong. Alex, you're reasonable… tell your brother here—just say yes. Avoid all that pain, all the sad outcomes, all the death and guilt." He raised his eyebrows, smiled a little bigger. "Huh, Dean? What do you say?"

Alex looked at Dean, and for a moment, she had no idea what he would say, what he would do—they had just been to a future where Sam's body was Lucifer's vessel, where Alex was dead, where Dean was a shell of himself.

Dean turned away from Zachariah. "I say… nah."

"' _Nah_?'" Zachariah's smile was gone. "You telling me you haven't learned your lesson?"

Dean turned back around. "Oh, I've learned a lesson, all right. Just not the one you wanted to teach." He stood in front of Alex protectively, but she wasn't sure what good that would do. Zachariah could probably rip them to shreds with a single thought. Still, she inched a little closer to her big brother.

"Well, I'll just have to teach it again!" Zachariah said, his expression murderous. "Because I got you now, boy, and I'm never letting you—"

And suddenly, they were somewhere else entirely, standing beside a road, under the light of a street lamp. And there, between them, holding them each at the arm above the elbow, was Castiel. He gave them a little smile as he let go.

"That's pretty nice timing, Cas," Dean commented, looking at Cas with a lot of relief. Alex was doing the same—seeing Cas as he was supposed to be—trench coat, clean-shaven, in his right mind—and it almost counteracted all the heaviness of the past three days spent in 2014. Almost.

"We had an appointment," Cas was replying to Dean, the ghost of a smile touching his lips.

Dean put a hand on his shoulder. "Cas… don't ever change." Cas smiled a little more at Dean, then looked at Alex. His expression flickered, as if he were noticing something off. She looked away, her pulse a little faster than normal. He contemplated her a moment longer, then turned his gaze to her brother.

"How did Zachariah find you?" he asked Dean.

"Long story. Let's just stay away from Jehovah's Witnesses from now on, okay?" Dean pulled out his phone.

"What are you doing?" Cas asked. Dean glanced at him as he scrolled through his contacts.

"Something I should have done in the first place. Calling Sam." He walked a couple steps off, phone to his ear.

 _Thank God_ , Alex thought. At least one good thing would come out of that crazy trip to the future. She glanced up again. Cas was watching her intently and she couldn't help it... she looked at him strangely, seeing the Cas she'd met in 2014. "Alex. What happened? What did Zachariah do?"

She still couldn't quite look him in the eyes. "He, uh, sent us to twenty-fourteen. To see the future. What he said would happen, if… if we don't stop it. If Dean doesn't say yes to Michael." She trailed off, finally looked at him from under her lashes, her chest aching with sadness. "It was, uh, pretty... crazy."

He was frowning intently. "In what way?"

"Um." She was having trouble forming sentences. "Try _every_ way." She looked at him kind of sidelong, trying to reconcile the Cas of 2014 with this one. They didn't even seem like the same person—and she couldn't help but remember, in torturous detail, what she and the Cas from 2014 had done beside a beat up old truck, how he'd hugged her and held her and kissed her cheek. She almost felt ashamed, like she had done something behind this Cas's back—but it had been with him, only, a later version of him, right? Alex tried to keep eye contact, tried to appear fine and normal.

Castiel frowned slightly, his eyes narrowed in confusion as he looked at her. "What is it?"

"What's what? It's nothing…" she said, trying hard to appear normal. But he didn't seem to be buying it.

His head was tilted to the side. "You've never looked at me like that before." Castiel said. His words made her wither and Alex felt entirely vulnerable, as if she had been found out. "What is it?" He asked. He sounded distinctly suspicious, or maybe it was her guilty, confused conscience. He stepped closer and she was looking up at him, similarly to the last time she had, right before they had kissed. She couldn't control herself. She was breathing faster, remembering every little detail of those lips, that mouth— _oh god._ It all flooded her mind at once. The cabin, Cas's drug addiction, the sight of tears in his eyes, the feeling of his arms hugging her so tightly. His almost-confession of love. She swallowed. "Something's wrong," Castiel insisted levelly, searching her eyes. He seemed concerned, which only made Alex feel more. 

She shook her head, trying to think of anything but this man in front of her. "I'm fine." 

Cas didn't ask again, but his eyes didn't stop their close, unsure study of her. Dean was coming back, putting his phone in his pocket. His intrusion was a blessed relief. "So, Sam's gonna meet us halfway."

Speaking of Sam… Alex looked at Dean closely, suddenly anxious for another reason entirely. "Dean, did you know? About Sam being Lucifer's vessel?"

At that, Cas looked distinctly surprised, but stayed silent, just listening as Dean replied.

"Yeah. The other me told me. And, actually, Sam told me. Last night, here in two-thousand nine, when he called in the middle of the night."

Alex was hurt, immediately. He had never once mentioned anything to her about it, and it wasn't because he'd lacked opportunity. "Why didn't you _tell_ me?"

Her brother gave her a hooded glance. "Dunno. Guess I hoped it wasn't true," Dean said. "Didn't want you to be worried if you didn't have to be." He shook his head then finally looked at the angel. "Cas, I _begged_ myself to say yes to the angels."

Cas squinted. "I don't fully understand that sentence."

Dean paused. "Right. It's kinda trippy. Long story, actually. Listen, can we just fill you in later? I'm tired as hell and me and Al need to hit the road if we're gonna meet Sam in the morning."

Cas nodded. "Of course. You have my number."

Dean held up a finger. "Can you bring the Impala here, or…?"

"Oh. Of course." Cas disappeared for all of three seconds, and suddenly, the Impala was right there in front of them, sitting on the side of the street, and Cas was where he had been three seconds ago.

Beaming, Dean clapped Cas on the shoulder. "You are one handy guy to have around, Cas," he said, fully pleased.

"Thank you. Call me when you are ready to discuss the events of this journey to two thousand and fourteen," Cas said.

"We will," Dean said.

Cas glanced at Alex, who had already been looking at him. And then he was gone.

* * *

Life was back to normal again. Dean driving the Impala, Alex in the passenger seat. Except she felt like everything had changed. Seeing a future where you died, your family shattered to pieces, your angel fell apart at the seams… it left her feeling tired, heavy, afraid. "You're awful quiet," Dean commented, as if reading her mind.

"Lot on my mind," she replied vaguely.

"Me too. Glad we got outta there." He chuckled. "I was such a friggin' jerk, huh?" She shrugged. She didn't feel in the mood for joking. She could feel Dean looking at her sidelong. "Listen," he said. "I know this much for a fact. You're not dying in twenty-thirteen. Sam's not gonna be Lucy's chew toy. And, hell. Cas isn't gonna end up a mystic stoner guy. Not if I have anything to do with it. That version of the future will _not_ happen."

Alex looked out her window, troubled. "But what if it does? Lucifer said—"

"You're seriously gonna listen to that twerp?" Alex gave him a weird look—he had just called Satan a twerp. Only Dean. " _Nope,_ " he said authoritatively. "I'm changing the damn story. Screw fate. Calling Sam, getting him here back with us—that changes everything." Alex looked down at her lap. She hoped that was true. Dean cleared his throat. "Listen, I told myself… er, the twenty-fourteen me told me to watch out for something. For you and Cas. As in, together."

 _Oh shit._ Alex scowled, immediately feeling like she had been discovered. "Don't be ridiculous."

Dean looked at her intently between glances at the road. "You're not, I dunno, into him, or…?"

"Dean!" Alex exclaimed, hurriedly trying to get him off this awkward train track. "Come on. The guy's practically asexual." She went silent. She had actually kind of believed that herself, until the whole brothel thing. Now, with that _and_ a full blown make-out session with future-him under her belt, she wasn't so sure. However, she was still talking, trying to convince him otherwise and get him to stop asking. "Twenty-fourteen Dean had some screws loose. No offense. Now shut up, you're giving me a headache."

"Fine, whatever. All I know is I'm not letting Lucifer get Sam. I don't care whatever else happens. Not my family."

Alex stared out of the window if the Impala, not even fully hearing Dean. She was replaying the memories of 2014 over and over, unable to stop herself. She almost wished she _hadn't_ kissed that future version of Cas, because now, she would never be able to look at the current version of Cas without remembering, without wanting more of the same. Her body could still remember how his hands, his hips, his arms, his mouth had all felt in excruciating detail. She shivered a little, but not from the cold. Maybe the most torturous part of the memory was the way he'd held her and kissed her cheek. She'd felt the way he loved her in that embrace and touch. Felt it in every part of herself.

She reached into her pocket, fingers touching the very real little yellow flower she had taken off of her grave. The flower he'd put there. She pulled it out gently and looked at it, twirling it somberly between her thumb and forefinger. The future looming ahead was deeply concerning. Terrifying even. But with each passing second, they were steadily moving toward it with no way to stop the hands of time.

* * *

**2014**

Cas held himself up at the window just barely, watching as Alex and Dean confronted Lucifer, then disappeared when Zachariah touched them. And with the knowledge that they survived, that they had gone back to their own time, Cas let go, too weak to support himself anymore. He fell over and rolled over onto his back, his own blood pooling all around him from several gunshot wounds he'd sustained. When Dean had returned with no 2009 Dean or Alex, Cas had almost lost his mind with worry, had almost decked Dean right then and there, accusing him of being an idiot, of risking their lives. Dean had commanded him to "calm the hell down, chill out Cas, they went inside ahead of us, okay?!" And sickened because he had _known_ he shouldn't have let her out of his sight, Cas had stormed the compound, so afraid that she would die _again_ and he would stand by _again_ and let it happen _again_.

He groaned painfully, coughing and shaking. But at least he knew Zachariah had spirited them away, back to the year they had come from. A small assurance as he laid dying.

He stared at the ceiling in agony, trying with the last of his strength to pull out the photo in his pocket, the one he always carried. His hand shook violently as he brought the wrinkled photo close to his face. Even through his pain, his face relaxed briefly as he gazed at the picture—in it, he and Alex stood proudly wielding guns and confident smirks. They stood shoulder to shoulder. Partners. In life together, no matter what. He remembered how happy they were then, despite the shape of the world around them.

His eyes went to her torso, and he felt his throat clench as his thumb traced across her stomach on the photograph. She hadn't been that far along. Tears sprang into his eyes as he looked at the woman he loved, carrying his unborn child, the child who never had a chance, the child only he and she had known about and had been very surprised by—a blessed secret they had treasured together in the private, quiet, space of their relationship. Cas felt the tears running down his face now. The photograph had been taken just a week before they both died. One week after this photo was taken, he would be forced to kill both the woman he loved and the child she carried.

He remembered how she had begged him through tears, screaming for him to shoot her before the change, before she could turn on him. He had in turn begged her not to make him, said he couldn't, _couldn't_ —she had grabbed his gun, pulled the barrel into her stomach, told him _he had to_. He knew she was right, but _God_. It had taken everything, _everything_ to pull the trigger.

The sound of the gunshot still haunted his every waking moment, his every sleepless night.

He remembered her shallow breaths, her blood all over his shirt, his trembling hands. And then, as only she could, she smiled at him through her pain, touched the side of his face, whispered something only for them to know. And they had shared one last, tender, goodbye kiss. Tasted each other's tears. She'd held his gaze, and she'd been afraid. She'd clutched one of his hands, trying not to be. He remembered thinking, how did this happen? How did I _let this happen to her?_ He held himself together, just a little longer so that the last thing she saw wasn't him falling apart at the seams. She would want him to carry on and be strong. And even though he had _known_ that he couldn't carry on without her, he wanted her to think he would. He remembered his choked sobs as she died—her warm body going slack in his arms, her head falling to the side, the life leaving her. That day, he had learned what it meant to weep, to hope beyond any logical method that a moment wasn't real, to beg a god who wasn't even there to _please fucking change this!_ To Castiel, that moment was like dying, but the worst part was that he had to go on living.

In all the thousands and thousands of years he'd existed, he hadn't _lived_ until he had met her. And that day, when she died it was like he had died, too.

Cas clenched the photo tightly, his vision wavering, his breathing labored. He blinked rapidly, his vision going dark. This was the end, but he suddenly didn't feel ready. He began begging whatever God or power out there to save the one he loved from this outcome, this reality.

 _This time, let the ending be different. Please, please, please… give us one more try, a chance to live._ _And if not me, then at least for her._

He blinked unevenly, as if sleepy.

And unable to hold onto life any longer, Castiel let out his last shuddering breath and closed his eyes for the very last time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a totally AU version of this chapter (with steamy scenes) on my profile as a separate story called Darkest of Your Days.


	21. Tore Me Down

" _And every silence all around me is screaming through the walls."  
_ \- Copeland

* * *

**Later That Day**

Dean and Alex got out of the Impala at the same time, slamming their doors in unplanned unison. Their hands went into their jacket pockets as they leaned back on opposite sides of the car, facing different directions—Sam would meet them here soon just as agreed—and Alex was anxious for him to get there so she could maybe be distracted from herself. The late afternoon was cool and gloomy, a misty fog blanketing the landscape. A crow gave a harsh cackling call somewhere nearby, and cars passed by on the adjascent highway in muted whooshes.

"You okay, Al?" From the sound of his voice, she could tell her brother had turned his head slightly toward her.

Inside her jacket pocket, her fingers moved against the wilting yellow flower there. All she could do was shrug a little, her back still to him. "I guess."

There was a short silence, then a soft attempt at a chuckle. "Yeah, me neither."

She heard him shift, breathe deeply, and let it out a troubled sigh. She knew he was thinking about everything they had seen in 2014. A world gone to complete and utter hell. Horrifying. Haunting. She hadn't really slept since, even though she was exhausted and needed rest badly. All she could do was remember, _remember_. Lucifer, in Sam's body—no light or life in his eyes, only chilling malice—Dean, a broken, harsh shell of a man who had lost his way—and… _Cas_. Alex shut her eyes at the thought of him, pained to the point that she felt she might lose control.

 _Castiel._ Never in a hundred years would she have guessed he could ever turn out like that—fallen from grace. A fucked up human just like the rest of them. Beaten, broken, scarred, destroyed in ways she didn't even really understand. And _in love with her_ , or at least with the person she would become...

 _How are you supposed to come back from that?_ From going to the future and finding out the angel who saved your life, your brother's life, restored your voice, defied Heaven to help your family… that all he wanted before going to his death was a kiss from you? And how did you even begin to confront the floodgate of intense feelings it all set free inside—feelings you hadn't even known existed at all _?_ Or maybe you _had_ known somewhere deep down… but had tried your damndest to push them away.

Alex didn't know how to process. It felt like she was suffocating inside. There were so many thoughts zipping through her mind, and all conflicting, jumbled, confused. She knew at least one thing for sure: she hadn't been able to stop thinking of him, _both_ of him. She was trying to figure out when the one she knew now in this present time became _that_ Cas, the one who had loved her. Was it after the angels left and he became human? Had it happened _before_ then? Moreover, when had _she_ begun to feel that way about him? Although, if she were being honest with herself… hadn't she already started, a little bit? ... _More_ than a little bit? She knew the answer was yes, even if she didn't want to admit it to herself.

Cas had blown through her life like a tornado, and in his wake had left so many moments that alone might not have meant much—but piled on top of each other, they now seemed to take up her entire heart. At first she hadn't trusted or liked the stranger in the trench coat. Those feelings had changed very quickly into grudging, reluctant tolerance. Then she had unconsciously come to some kind of appreciative, curious interest. A constant feeling of wondering about him, of contemplating him softly. And _now_?

 _Dammit._ She closed her eyes, remembering a clutter of moments and sensations in rapid succession:

Every time he'd healed her—the touch of his hand, the blazing intensity in his eyes.

That look on his face any time she'd been hurt, even just a little bit.

How he hadn't understood her anger at him about his blind obedience to Heaven—then subsequently found it within himself to rebel.

The soft look he gave her sometimes that no one else ever had.

Him healing her voice. _Him healing her voice._ She would never be over that one.

She opened her eyes again.

She thought about how he wouldn't drop it, earlier that very day, when he asked what was wrong, she'd lied to his face and said nothing. He hadn't believed her. Her breathing hitched slightly as she realized... he was _learning_ her. She wasn't sure if that made her feel afraid or something else entirely…

Alex didn't know how to undo what had happened. Cas had gotten under her skin without her even realizing. He was so unassuming in that way. She hadn't guarded herself well enough, because she hadn't expected it. Not only because she never really anticipated having any kind of real relationship with a man—but because he _wasn't_ a man. He was an angel. The body he inhabited wasn't even his. She forgot sometimes that Castiel was that blinding light that had glowed underneath his skin when he healed. That the physical appearance of Jimmy Novak wasn't Cas at all. That Castiel was some kind of heavenly, celestial spirit who had traversed the universe for thousands—hundreds of thousands?—of years. But even when she thought about this massive, baffling reality… it changed nothing about the way she felt.

It was futile to feel that way about someone you would never even have a chance with. It was like high school all over again, the one time she'd had a crush on that artist guy in ninth grade. He'd never noticed her, even though she'd tried so hard to get his attention. It had broken her heart. This was _that,_ all over again, but with a weird twist in fate where she'd traveled ahead in time (to a future that she had to ensure would never happen) where she _did_ get the guy. It was like fate got off on torturing her. And _damn_ , did it know how. That kiss, his embrace and words, the look in his eyes had unlocked things inside her. The way he held her with such a tender desire was a constant thought she went back to. She could still remember the way every part of him felt against her in the kiss that they had drowned each other in.

Her thoughts made her breathing a little shorter. _How the hell_ was she supposed to deal with this? The more she thought about it, the more perplexed and apprehensive she felt. She didn't understand, and she wasn't sure if it were real at all. Maybe it was an elaborate prank by Zachariah designed to get to her, to mess with her head. Well, it had worked. She dismissed it again by force. It all had to be a cruel joke.

"There he is," Dean said, and Alex came out of herself with a start. Looking up, she could see a dark car rolling toward them up the dirt road out of the fog, and she stood up straight. The car pulled to a stop.

Sam's familiar, hulking figure got out and Alex went to him, almost running the last two steps. For a moment, she was just _so glad_ to see her brother again, in one piece and not possessed by the devil. She momentarily didn't care about all the crap between them, all the water under the bridge—she was just relieved, so, _so_ relieved. They hugged tightly for a minute. Alex looked up at him tensely. "You okay?" she asked, searching his face.

"Yeah," he said. He looked strained and nervous, but happy to see her, too. "It's really good to see you. I've missed you guys."

Dean, who had sauntered up slowly, was more reserved. "Sam."

Sam's expression fell a little bit. And then Dean pulled out Ruby's knife. For a second, Sam and Alex both stared at it nervously, but then Dean held it out to Sam, handle first. "If you're serious and you want back in… you should hang onto this. I'm sure you're rusty." Sam accepted the blade with hesitation and Dean sighed, getting ready to apologize. "Look, man, I'm sorry. I dunno. But I was, uh—wrong."

Sam looked at Alex, then back at Dean apprehensively. "What made you change your mind?"

Dean and Alex exchanged a fleeting glance. "Long story," Dean said. "The point is… maybe we _are_ each other's Achilles heel. Maybe they'll always find a way to use the two of us or the three of us against each other, I don't know. I just know we're all we've got. More than that—we keep each other human. We keep each other alive."

Sam looked touched by the words. "Thank you. Really. Thank you. I won't let you down." He looked at Alex. "Either of you." She gave him a soldiering smile. Sam took a deep breath, fixing Dean with an intent gaze. "So, what now?"

"We make our own future," Dean said, shrugging, trying to seem confident and unaffected. But Alex noticed how tensely he held himself.

Sam considered then nodded at Dean's statement, sort of hesitant and earnest at the same time. "Okay. Yeah. Sounds good."

* * *

**That Night**

Dean looked closely at Alex to make sure she was really asleep. She was breathing deeply, evenly, her mouth open a little bit. She was exhausted (hell, he was too)—but she hadn't slept at all in the three days they visited 2014 except in Cas's truck for maybe an hour. So she was pretty conked out now. She slept with her arms crossed, on her side, head kind of turned into the pillow, hair all over her face, breathing wheezy and deep. Yup, definitely asleep. A little smirk tugged at Dean's mouth. He turned, beer in hand, and sat across from Sam in the dim motel room, focusing on his brother now, his momentary amusement at Alex fading. He really didn't want to have this conversation, but he knew he'd been putting it off for far too long now. With Sam back, with everything he'd seen, it was time. He'd already told Sam briefly about 2014 on the car ride that day, but there was something else, something that felt even bigger and darker eating at him.

He waited a couple seconds, getting up the nerve, while Sam typed away on the laptop, not paying attention. He cleared his throat gruffly. "Okay, look, Sam. We gotta talk."

Sam glanced up curiously, ceasing to type. "About?"

Dean had his hands clasped on the table, and a tense jaw, his beer now sitting to the side, forgotten. "You're not gonna like it."

Sam hesitantly nodded, as if he understood. He shut his laptop, picking up on the fact that this was going to warrant his full attention. "The demon blood? Yeah, I kinda figured you'd want to talk about it. We haven't yet, I mean, not in depth." He paused, looking down, an exasperated little smile on his face, his eyebrows shooting up. "You kinda didn't _let_ me before."

Dean ignored Sam's passive aggressive comment, cutting to the chase—it wasn't demon blood he wanted to talk about, not really. There was something almost worse. "I, uh, I know I promised you a few years ago we wouldn't talk about this, uh, particular incident again, but after everything that's happened… I think we gotta." He looked at Sam meaningfully, and for a second, his brother stared, confused. And then chilled understanding washed over Sam's face, and he went totally still and silent. He looked at Dean with a questioning, dread-filled gaze. Dean forced himself to maintain eye contact. " _Come on_ , Sam—I just came back from five years in the future where you said _yes_ to Lucifer and the world went to hell because of it. I need to make sure that's not gonna happen."

Sam's chin was low, his eyes staring at Dean balefully, nostrils flared. "It _won't_."

"How do you know that, huh?" Dean challenged. "I've been thinking about it, and _hard_ too. All the things you've done up to now." He paused weightily. "And not just recently."

Sam looked cornered and pissed. "Dean, you _promised_ we wouldn't talk about that again."

"Yeah well that was before I knew you were Lucifer's friggin' vessel," Dean retorted, a little loudly. Sam's eyes fell away from his.

Dean's jaw worked, clenching and unclenching. He wanted to get up and walk away, but he needed to keep going. He stared Sam down. "Look, all I know is that I got to keep this family safe. And lately I've been thinking, do I have to keep this family safe from _you_?" Sam's eyes snapped up to his. "I need you to be straight with me. If we're gonna hunt together, if you're gonna sleep in the same room as Alex, you need to tell me you're not gonna go down that road. I need to know you are not going to say yes to Lucifer, _no matter what_."

Sam just looked at him, sullen and tense. "I told you. I'm _not_."

Dean sat back in his chair, at a bit of a loss at Sam's short answers, and getting mad. "You're gonna have to do a little bit better than that, Sam. I mean I hate to say it, but it makes sense now. Lucifer, wanting _you_."

Sam was glaring at the table, his cheeks hollow from his clenched jaw. "Because of the things I did as a kid."

Dean's eyes dropped, staring unseeingly into his lap. "Yeah."

Their eyes met at the same instant, guarded and mistrustful. Sam wet his lips, obviously trying to stay collected. "Look, I haven't done any of that stuff in like fifteen years, maybe more." He paused. "I promise." He looked earnest and _hurt_ , which only further pissed Dean off.

Dean leaned in, voice a little lower. "Yeah, you're a real nice guy aren't you. You think I buy that sensitive, understanding crap you peddle? I've known you your _whole life_ , Sam. And I know you're _not really that guy_." He paused, got quiet, couldn't believe he was actually going to say what he had been keeping in all these years. "I've seen how dark you are inside." Sam looked stung and fearful, and Dean just looked at him, grim. "I _remember_ , Sam. You probably think I forgot, right?"

" _What_ , Dean?" Sam muttered, looking like he was trying to brush it off, "It was just angsty kid stuff, like me trying to deal with being angry about everything. So what, I started a few fires at a couple schools, stole some stuff? No one was hurt, no one found out it was me."

" _I_ found out. I did," Dean said gruffly, and paused, feeling physically sick as he thought about it, barely able to look at Sam now. "You're lucky I never told Dad about any of that shit you pulled. But you know the fires and stealing weren't even what I was talking about."

Sam's eyes locked onto Dean's face, and he looked caught, guilty, afraid. There was a very long pause, where he struggled for words. "I—I don't know why I did that. I still don't know why, Dean."

"I do," Dean said grimly. "It was _Azazel_ , Sam. That blood he dripped into your mouth? It pumped through you then when you were a kid. Just like it's pumping through you now."

Sam could say nothing, just looked down, agonized. He was shaking his head in absolute horror. "What I _did_... it wasn't me."

Dean met his brother's agonized gaze, and he almost choked on the lump in his throat. "Sam… it _was_ you."

It had been a cold fall day. Frost on the ground, dead leaves falling off the trees. Dean and Alex had been playing hide and seek around one of the motels. Dad was gone, as usual. Sam had gone off on his own, probably to the gas station down the street. Maybe Alex was hiding behind the motel? Dean really didn't like it when she decided to get creative about her hiding spots. He always got worried if he couldn't find her right away. He told her a million times not to hide outside of the motels, but sometimes she did anyway, always so amused by his angry rants.

He had looked all over their room—no Alex—he had checked the lobby of the motel—no Alex. So he went around the back of the motel, heard a strange sound, like a cat crying. And rounding the dumpster, he froze at what he saw. Sam sat there in the corner made by the dumpster and the painted brick wall, and for just a couple seconds, he didn't notice Dean—and Dean saw it all. Sam was holding a mewing kitten in his hands. Scattered around Sam were dark furry, bloody lumps—Dean realized with horror that they were _dead kittens_ that had literally _pulled to pieces_. The word _horror_ was not strong enough for what Dean had felt seeing that.

Sam had seen him, started, face suddenly blank. For a minute, Dean had thought Sam was possessed, had grabbed him up and shoved him against the wall and shouted the exorcism chant—and _nothing happened_. And that meant the dead kittens, the blood splattered on the ground and on Sam's hands—that meant it was _Sam_ who had done that. _Sam_. And with fear and shame and horror, Sam had broken down, claimed he didn't know why he did that, that he hadn't known what he was doing, please don't tell Dad, please don't tell Alex, I'm so scared, help me Dean, please help me. Dean had, in stony, scared shitless silence helped Sam get rid of the little kittens torn up bodies, wash the blood off his hands using a hose hookup on the side of the building. And after that, they wouldn't talk about it for years, didn't even acknowledge it had happened. Dean had never quite looked at Sam the same way, and Sam had never quite been able to look at Dean without shame touching the edges of his eyes. They both wanted to pretend it had never happened. But they both knew it had.

Even to this day, any time Dean saw Sam with an animal, he wondered if those kittens had been the first. Or the last. He wanted to believe it had been a crazy, one-off circumstance, but maybe that was denial. Sam had also started fires at school, in gas stations, and had stolen frequently. Dean had covered for him or ignored that stuff completely, figuring it was because they had such a hard childhood, because Sam was trying to express his frustration at the crap life they shared. That Sam just needed an outlet for his anger and disappointment. But… now Dean wished he had seen those signs for what they really were. That Sam was dark inside, and not because of anything he or Dad had done or not done. Because now, after all Sam's betrayals—the demon blood, beating Dean to a pulp, consorting with Ruby, lying constantly—Dean saw that his biggest mistake was blind denial. But he really wanted to _believe_ Sam could conquer this.

Maybe the worst part of what Sam had done was when he ruthlessly attacked Alex. When Dean had watched him standing over her like that, there was a horrible few seconds where Dean thought _he is going to kill her._ How could he risk that happening again? Because Dean knew, he _knew_ that Sam was still struggling with this problem, this addiction. But there was this desperation to believe that Sam could change, could control himself, could fight the disease inside.

"Dean." Looking up, startled out of his gruesome thoughts, Dean realized Sam was staring at him, a little accusingly. "Listen, you said you'd stop holding that stuff over my head. So are you going to let it go, or aren't you?" Dean said nothing, and Sam's eyebrows knit together. "I would do _anything_ to take it all back."

"Yeah, you've said that before," Dean said dully.

"Because I _mean it_ ," Sam insisted, angry again.

Dean looked at him long and hard, then took another swig of his beer, not really even tasting the now lukewarm liquid. He set the bottle down, turned it in his hand, staring at it. "Yeah, I said I'd let that stuff stay in the past. But _you_ said you were okay and then I find out a few weeks ago that you're sneaking around behind my back, drinking demon blood, lying to your family through your teeth. You chose a _demon_ over your own family. You literally attacked our little sister as I watched. And you damn near killed _me_!" Sam looked at Dean resentfully, and Dean just stared back at him. "So, yeah. I got every reason to bring up the past. Because you're not okay."

"Really, Dean? I mean, are _any_ of us okay?" Sam asked with one of those little nervous laughs of his. Dean fell silent and Sam leaned forward intently. "Have you taken a good look at Alex lately?"

"Of course I have dude, I'm the one that's _been with her this whole time_!" Dean fired back, pissed at Sam's self-righteous attitude and tone. He poked his index finger down hard onto the tabletop for emphasis. "All the years and times you've disappeared, it's been _me_ and _her_. Dad, not always, you, not so much, but me and her, yeah. Always. So don't you try to tell me I don't know when something is wrong with her. She's _fine_."

Sam sat back in his seat with his arms crossed, looking at Dean with an air of superior annoyance. "Don't kid yourself, Dean. Something's really eating at her."

" _Maybe it's you, Sam!_ " Dean exploded, shooting up to his feet. "Did you think of that?"

"Why is it _always me_ , Dean?" Sam fired back, on his feet now too. The brothers were now practically shouting, not even remembering it was the dead of night and they weren't alone in the room. "There's _a lot_ more to this than what I did!" Sam roared, getting in Dean's face. "What about what _you've done_?"

A small, grumpy voice made them both turn. "What the hell are you two _yelling_ about?" Alex was sitting up halfway, groggy and annoyed, her hair sticking out to the side.

"Nothing," Dean said, glancing tersely at Sam. "Go back to sleep."

She mumbled something sour, groaned, then flopped back down and tossed her arm over her face.

Their conversation cut short, the brothers just kind of glared at each other, then Sam sat back down, re-opened his laptop and scowled at the screen, clicking the scroll pad harder than necessary. Dean swiped his beer bottle off the table angrily and paced for a minute, pissed off. It had been a lot easier with Sam gone. A hell of a lot easier.

Whenever Sam was gone, Dean had this tendency to believe they could work through their issues and not fight. And it never went that way, ever. Maybe it was because fate had been building them towards this divide since they had been born; this showdown that was supposed to go down between Michael and Lucifer. Dean scoffed at himself. He didn't even _believe_ in fate—but with a sinking feeling in his stomach, he wondered if he should, if he were being a moron.

Dean glanced at his sleeping sister's form, then at Sam, hunched over the laptop. All Dean could think is that he hoped he wasn't making the biggest mistake of his life. Sam was a good hunter, a decent human being most of the time, and his brother who he loved deeply. _But could he be trusted_? All he knew is after what Sam had done, this was pretty much the last chance Dean could afford to give. And that thought in itself was heavy enough to break Dean's heart in two. He didn't want to think about it.

So he just sat down on one of the beds and crossed his arms. He wasn't going to sleep until Sam did.

* * *

**One Month Later**

Alex smoothed another page of Dad's journal down as she slowly flipped through the pages. She was careful not to wrinkle the pages or leave dog ears. She ran her fingers over words in Dad's bold penmanship. Usually she looked through the journal for the purpose of research. But today she just was missing the way things used to be. When they were younger. Even though it had been shitty, it hadn't been _this_ shitty. She didn't miss Dad as much as she just missed a time when her brothers weren't walking on eggshells around each other and putting her in the middle of it. In fact, she didn't miss Dad much at all. Even thinking that made her feel guilty. But he hadn't been around enough to miss, and when he was around, she never felt like she lived up to his expectations—that, and he'd always been so angry, so volatile. She'd never been able to just be herself around him. It had always felt hopeless and impossible, but she had still _tried so hard_ for _so many years_ to be the kind of daughter he'd be proud of. Alex took her fingers off the page, thinking offhandedly about a nap. She was tired to her bones. Tired, and lonely. She'd been keeping Sam and Dean at arms length because she didn't want them to see how messed up, how afraid, how freaked out she was.

The last month had been silent. No Cas. No angels. No demons. Just monsters of the week. Currently she and her brothers were in Nebraska in a town where people were being killed off by practical jokes—a girl had scratched her brains out after the kid she was babysitting had put itch powder in her brush. The Winchesters had traced the murders back to a boy named Jesse. Somehow—they weren't sure how yet, they had just met him earlier that day—his irrational fears were killing the townspeople.

Alex would have been really fascinated by the case in times past as it was so out there and unusual, even for them... but right now, she didn't even know why they were bothering. Wasn't the world about to end? And here they were doing grocery runs.

She hadn't slept well in forever, well— _her whole life_ , but it had been worse lately. Lots of nightmares. More than usual. A lot of them involving Cas, the one from 2014. She kept dreaming about him dying alone, laying on the ground and choking on his own blood, afraid and alone. She would wake up sweating, panicked, sometimes even tearful. The weirdest and saddest thing was, if she and her brothers changed fate, she was mourning a person who would never really exist. But he had burned himself onto her heart. She could never forget. She _would_ never forget.

The door of the motel opened. It was Dean, by himself, keys jingling as he tossed them down. "Hey," she greeted, glancing up at him momentarily from the journal, trying to appear like she was okay. "Where's Sam?"

"Still out, digging up stuff on the kid," Dean said, and stopped in the middle of the room, looking at her tersely. "You okay?"

She didn't miss the confrontational frown on his face, but instead flipped another page of Dad's journal, not looking at him. "Yep."

"Uh _huh._ " He let out a grumpy sounding sigh and came and sat beside her. Alex glanced up at him hostilely, silently warning Dean to back off while he still could, but he just stared back, unimpressed, and then asked, "Okay. So who pissed in your Cheerios today?" Alex gave him a sullen glare. He tried a half-way concerned expression. "Come on Al, level with me. You've seemed… I dunno, kind of out of it for the past few weeks."

Alex looked away silently. She had been expecting this, but still, she didn't want to deal with it. Both Dean and Sam had been giving her looks the past few weeks, trying to see what was wrong with her, why she had been so quiet. She'd been purposefully avoiding them. Making excuses and not talking much.

" _Tell me_ ," Dean prompted, and wouldn't look away. It wasn't a threat, but it almost sounded like he was warning her that she'd better or else.

"I don't _know_ ," Alex muttered, evasively, defensively. "Nothing."

Dean gave her an annoyed look, crossed his arms. "Bullshit. Total, complete bullshit."

Alex's eyes flicked up to his. "Fine. You wanna know what's wrong? How about every single damn thing, Dean?" She set Dad's journal down, crossed her arms, pissed off. "I used to think this life sucked and that was _before_ the whole apocalypse, Lucifer, Michael thing. So if it didn't suck before, it fucking _blows_ now." She huffed derisively. "You wanna know why I'm acting weird? Because I don't think we can win this. I don't."

Silence. Dean seemed surprised by her outburst, confused, as if it didn't make sense to him. "I'm not letting Sam say yes," Dean finally said, as if reminding her of something she should already know, and as if it would fix everything.

Both of her eyebrows shot up. " _Letting_?" He was serious, and Alex could have rolled her eyes. "Don't kid yourself. Sam's gonna do what Sam wants to do. He may be trying to play nice right _now_ to earn your good graces back Dean, but seriously. Are you that _dumb_? Sam's got enough pride to match yours and then some."

Dean's scowl deepened, he held up his hands defensively. "Whoa, why are you getting on _my_ case?"

"Well someone needs to," Alex snapped. "You're being stubborn and stupid. How many times has this exact issue gotten us an inch from losing our lives? Your pride and shortsightedness."

Dean looked stung, but more than that, he looked like he couldn't believe what he was hearing. His scowl had fallen. "You think I'm gonna say yes to Michael."

Alex almost wished she hadn't said anything at this point because of the look on his face. She was suddenly grasping for a gentle way to be honest and regretting her rude approach. She looked down, staring absently at a loose thread on the blanket. "They'll find a way to convince you. Whether it's using me or Sam or something else." She looked at him. "Yeah. I do."

His expression was sad. Hurt. "You should trust me more than that. After all we've been through?"

Alex bit the insides of her cheeks. Her voice was unsteady, but she looked at him squarely. She couldn't stop now. "It's _because_ of all we've been through. I _know_ you, Dean. Better than anyone else. They'll figure out a way."

His jaw clenched oddly, he looked down. For a minute, she thought he was going to concede that she was right. Then he shook his head, frowning deeply, and stood up, walked away. "No. You're wrong. I am not gonna say yes. I don't care what those sons of bitches threaten, what future they show me…" He turned back around, and he had this look on his face like complete conviction. "We're gonna find a way to avoid all of this. Fate and destiny and all that crap? I'm not letting it dictate my life." He looked like he was over it, done. "And by the way, do me a favor and stop feeling sorry for yourself all the damn time."

"That's not _fair!"_ Alex protested, standing up hard. "I'm not… _feeling sorry_ for myself." She stared at him a second fearfully, as her true emotions came out. "I'm _scared,_ Dean."

Her brother looked a little taken aback, like he hadn't even considered that. Alex looked down, just kind of sad and quiet as she continued talking. "I don't wanna be." She looked at her brother pleadingly. "But have you looked at our family lately? We're torn _apart_. It's been nothing but fights and tension and us barely able to hold it together. I can't concentrate, I can't think straight. I can't sleep at night. I'm never hungry. All I can think about is what the future is gonna look like for us. Because if we're not together in this—the three of us, I don't think we stand one damn chance. Not one."

Dean seemed to be reeling, and opened his mouth to say something.

At that exact moment, the motel room door opened, and Sam walked in, a stack of papers in his hand. "So, I found out some stuff about Jesse," he said, then looked up, took in their expressions, the way they were standing. He frowned slightly. His timing was absolutely awful. "What's going on?"

Dean glanced at Alex, who was sitting back down on the bed, expression hard to read. "Uh, nothing. Everything's fine. What'd you find out about Jesse?"

Sam clearly didn't believe it, but with one last questioning glance, dropped the subject.

And just like that, they all proceeded to artfully avoided the elephant in the room—just like they had for the rest of their damn lives.

* * *

**? ? ? ? ? ? ?**

Alex sat up, suddenly awake and very befuddled. She was in a bed with white sheets and a fluffy comforter, in a nice, clean, bright carpeted bedroom. The walls were a soft beige color, the air smelled like fresh laundry. Photos of children's faces dotted the walls. Sheer panicked confusion overcame Alex. _What the…?_ Above what was probably the closet door, there were wrought iron words that said " _Live - Laugh - Love_ " in curly black script. Alex tilted her head to the side, puzzled. _Huh?_ There was a porch to her left with big sliding glass doors that were currently open, letting in the sound of happy birds singing. She could see a manicured green yard through the railing of the porch, and was that a... _Buick_ in the driveway?! She stared around the room some more. This definitely wasn't a motel and she couldn't remember what had happened yesterday— _where had she been before this?_ She couldn't remember anything recent, her brain felt like total mush. She suddenly heard water running behind the closed door of what must be the bathroom. Immediately, she jumped out of the bed, tense, and backed up against one of the walls. " _Sam_!" She hissed, kind of awkwardly poised to fight or run, she wasn't sure which. " _Dean_?"

She nearly jumped out of her skin when the bathroom door opened beside her head. "Sweetie, you gonna get up anytime soon? It's almost seven o'clock."

She almost fell over, recognizing the voice before he walked through the door— _it was Cas_ , but—what was he wearing? And what happened to his hair? _And why had he just called her sweetie_? He was wearing a pair of tailored light-colored dress pants, a crisp, well-fitting white button up. His dark hair was slicked down and parted neatly on the side. He was slinging a red tie around his collar and using the mirror beside the bathroom door to watch himself do it.

Even though that looked like Cas, she was almost a hundred percent sure it wasn't. Was she dreaming? This didn't feel like a dream. Alex tilted her head to the side. "…Cas?"

"That's my name, don't wear it out," he said with an air of distracted annoyance, concentrating on his image in the mirror. He glanced at her, almost judgmentally. "You getting dressed or what?"

She hadn't even realized she wasn't in her regular clothes. She looked down, realizing she was in some kind of fuzzy bathrobe and pajama bottoms. What the hell was happening? She tried harder to remember where she had been before here, but her mind felt completely and utterly muddled, she couldn't _think_.

"I picked out an outfit for you," Cas said, nodding toward the closet door, and she followed his eye line, saw what he meant—a little red dress hanging on the closet door knob.

She looked at it, looked back at him, incredulous. "No!" she exclaimed, offended.

He just glanced at her, amused. "Oh, really?" He snapped his fingers. And suddenly, she was wearing it. She gaped at herself—it was skintight and short with a plunging neckline and no sleeves. She glowered up at him. He was just grinning, which looked strange on Cas's face. Almost creepy, in fact. "Looking good, hon!" He sauntered up, his half-done tie forgotten. He put his hands on her hips and started to pull her to him.

"Hey!" she said, shoving him away. "Keep your damn hands off me!"

He pulled her to him despite the protest, a disturbing little smile on his face, and she couldn't break his strong, vice-like grip. He laughed patronizingly and put a hand on the side of her head, petting her hair. "Oh Alex, sweetie, I can touch you however much I like. We're married."

Alex stared. " _Married_?"

"Um, _ye-es_ ," he said in a bizarre sing-song voice, and pulled her right hand up, where a huge glittering diamond sat on a silver band. It was gaudy as hell, and Alex almost recoiled at the sight of it. Suddenly, somehow, Alex _remembered_. She remembered that she and her brothers had been investigating some bizarre, cartoony deaths and Dean had theorized a trickster was involved. _Holy shit._ And if she were right, it wasn't just any trickster. This had to be _the_ Trickster. _Oh my god._ Okay. Now it made sense. Okay. She stared into the face of 'Cas' and almost called the Trickster out right then and there, but then shut her mouth, realizing she had a chance here. She would pretend she hadn't figured it out and take him out when he didn't expect it.

Cas, fake Cas, had let go of her and was examining himself in the mirror, adjusting his perfectly knotted tie and straightening his cufflinks before he grabbed a piece of candy out of the bowl on top of the dresser and popped it in his mouth. Alex watched him from the corner of her eye, suspicion confirmed. "The kids are probably hungry," he said through the candy. "You should get a move on."

"The _kids_..." Alex repeated, suddenly feeling very afraid. _None of this is real,_ she reminded herself. And in the kitchen, she could probably find some kind of weapon—tricksters had to be stabbed with a wooden stake dipped in the blood of their victim. Wouldn't the victim be _her_ in this situation? So all she needed was a stake. Surely she could find some piece of wooden furniture or something to use as a stake.

Cas was heading out of the bedroom door, looking at her expectantly, like he was impatient. Alex resisted the urge to shove him through the wall, and instead followed him downstairs, trying to appear as though she didn't know what was going on now. She didn't have to pretend for very long. They went down a massive staircase and through a lavish household that was a complete zoo. There were children… _everywhere._ All of them had dark brown hair.

There was a shrieking screaming wail—a crash—a dog barking—screams of delight—and screams that were just screams—three kids ran past, rolls of half-unrolled toilet paper in their hands (... _why_?), she saw a couple more kids jumping on the couches, one standing on the table and practicing ballet with a bucket on her head, another one doing karate moves on another who was crying and screaming in protest—still more were throwing cereal at each other—one boy off by himself was walking on his hands and then fell backwards into a pile of toys—Alex felt completely overwhelmed, unable to set her eyes on how many there were. " _Holy shit._ How many damn kids do we _have_?"

"I lost count awhile ago," Cas said, shrugging, then gave her a disapproving look. "Also, _language_ , hon."

They passed a little girl who was drawing stick figures on the wall with dark red lipstick—her hair was smeared completely in what appeared to be vaseline. "Jess, _no_ sweetiekins," Cas said as he passed, and scooped the kid up, slung her over his shoulder like a sack of flour.

Alex didn't even have time to react, as two more of the kids appeared out of nowhere and started yanking at her skirt, shouting "Mommy! Mama!" and one of them was saying "I want cereal, I want cereal!" The other kid seemed outraged by the suggestion and tackled the first one. "No, _pancakes_!"

There was a huge crash behind her and she whirled to see a huge flat screen TV had toppled to the ground in the middle of the living room. Cas gave the little girl wailing on the floor a withering look. "That's why Daddy said not to use the TV as a balance beam, Jillian." He looked at Alex pointedly. "Alex—what are you doing? Take care of this."

"I don't—" she started.

Another kid ran up to her, an upside down squeeze bottle of jelly in hand, leaving globs of it all over the wooden floor. He had sticky purple jam all over his face. "I'm making jelly on poptarts, look Mommy! Yay!"

Something crashed into her leg—a little boy with shaggy brown hair, being tackled by another little boy with short hair. "Joey won't give me my monster truck!" One of them screeched. There was an enraged scream, and the other one grabbed the other by the hair. "Jared, it's _mine_!" They began rolling around on the floor, hitting each other.

Alex felt dizzy, turning around and seeing nothing but endless amounts of children doing insane things—she stumbled toward the kitchen, desperate to find a way to end this bizarre thing. "Johnny is eating my deodorant again!" someone said to her right, but she just kept walking toward the kitchen until she slipped on something wet—there was a bucket of mopping solution there beside her foot, a lot of it spilled onto the floor—one of the kids had his head dunked into it. Alex wasn't even sure what compelled her, but she stopped and plucked him out, holding him at arms length as sudsy Pine Sol dripped from his wet head. The kid screamed bloody murder and kicked like a madman, spilling the rest of the bucket everywhere. Alex backed away, stressed out and scared, despite herself—this is why she didn't like kids. They were like insane asylums on wheels!

"JENNA! GIVE THAT BACK!" and "Jackson! JACKSON! _STOP_ JACKSON!" and "Joan won't give me the markers, I WANT THE MA-aAaAa-RKERS!" Alex gaped, despite herself. All their names started with J. _Who the hell would do that?_

Cas was sitting at the kitchen table as kids, crazed like animals, bounced around him throwing things and fighting with each other. He opened a newspaper pleasantly, looking at her. "Coffee, please, hon," he said, then returned to his paper. "And make it snappy. I don't wanna be late to work." Thoroughly pissed off but resigned to not fly off the handle, Alex turned around and went into the kitchen. She didn't miss the fact that as they had walked through the house, she had seen no doors. This wasn't a real house. There was little point trying to get out, she was pretty sure. So instead, she swept the kitchen with her eyes, trying to devise a plan.

She saw a bunch of stuff she wasn't sure of—pretty sure that was a blender, and that was some kind of toast-maker—ah ha, a knife block. And beside it, a bunch of spatulas and mixing spoons in a container. She saw a wooden mixing spoon there. Well, beggars couldn't be choosers. She took it out and cracked it in half over her knee with a loud cough then looked over her shoulder. The Trickster was still reading, not paying attention. She then grabbed a knife from the block and steeled herself, already grimacing before she even cut. She opened her palm up, held it flat, sliced into the skin. _Shit,_ it never got easier, cutting yourself. Bright red blood flooded out from the cut across her palm and she stuck the splintered end of the wooden spoon against it, rolled it around in her blood. This better work. She glanced at the Trickster again, and for a second, felt her stomach lurch. Why did he have to look like Cas? It wasn't going to make this any easier. She grabbed the coffee pot in her other hand, held the wooden spoon behind her back with her bleeding hand, approached him slowly.

He glanced at her, cursory. Alex stood there for a second, staring at him. He really did look like Cas, not _exactly,_ but his face… he looked at her again, this time clearly annoyed. "Are you gonna pour it or _not_?" he asked, nodding toward his empty coffee cup, his face and tone completely douchey. That was all the reminding Alex needed that it wasn't really Cas, and she whipped out her makeshift weapon and leapt forward, stabbing the splintered, bloody end of the spoon into his chest, purposefully not looking at his face—she couldn't. But she did hear him scream out in pain. She stumbled back, temporarily horrified. All the kids had stopped and were staring at her, and Cas was slumped in the chair, the spoon sticking out of his chest at a weird angle, his eyes staring unseeingly off into space. Alex was breathing hard, staring around in a panic, waiting for the illusion to disappear as her expression quickly became more and more upset. But nothing changed.

"Really, sweets, _pro-obably_ shouldn't kill me in front of the kids. It's not the best example to set." She whirled. Another Cas! He looked exactly the same as the one in the chair—same outfit, same creepy smile. He stepped toward her, and without a second thought, she raced back the way they had come, upstairs, kids clambering after her. She slammed the bedroom door behind her and locked it, panicking. Why hadn't that worked? And now she was feeling a little dizzy from blood loss. She looked at the gash in her hand—and squeezed her hand into a fist, trying to stop the bleeding. She had cut herself a little deeper than she meant to.

"A- _hem_."

Alex turned around fast. There was Cas, just looking at her with his hands on his hips, a little smile on his face, as if to say 'did you _really_ think you could lock me out?' He stood in front of the open doors to the balcony, looking pleased with himself.

"Okay, Trickster, good one. Very funny." Alex was practically giving off steam at this point, looking at the impostor glaringly. "This is _hilarious_."

He ignored her, continued the charade. "You know, I don't want to be critical, but I've noticed you can't keep it together here lately. Ever since the kids… and your weight gain… I just… you don't _try_. It's not hard to do your job—cook, clean, take care of the kids…" he bit his lip, looked up and down her body slowly with hungry eyes, "please me sexually..."

That was the last damn straw. Alex walked right up to him and shoved him off the edge of the balcony, over the railing where he fell a story down with a huge crash on top of a plastic playground. "I know that's you, Trickster, now _cut the bullshit_!" She bellowed.

He grinned up at her. "Ouch."

There was a sound behind her, like fabric flapping in the wind, and Alex turned around then almost fell over—standing a few feet in front of her—" _Cas_?" She had gone totally still, daring to hope, but not sure if it could really be him—she wasn't sure if it would be possible to duplicate all those things she recognized about him—the crooked tie, wrinkled, oversized clothes, slightly hunched way he stood, the stern, puzzled, pissy look on his face. He took in her outfit, then the room, an odd expression on his face. Still, she remained frozen, afraid it was another trick, that this wasn't really him. "Is that really you?" She asked.

"Yes, of course it's me," he replied, sounding urgent, which only further alarmed her. "I've been looking for you and your brothers for days—you've been missing."

" _What_?" He met her wide eyes and then looked off at the space behind her, his frown deepening.

Alex turned to see the Trickster, still in Cas's form, standing behind her, giving her a chastising look. "Now, honey, pushing your husband out of a window is not a _very nice thing_ to do."

"Husband?" Cas repeated with narrowed eyes, and stepped forward putting himself between Alex and, well, himself... looking at the impostor with a deep frown, his physical stance intimidating. "Who are you? Why have you trapped her here?"

"Wouldn't _you_ like to know?" The Trickster giggled.

Cas's frown deepened further, and he paused. "Yes. That's why I asked."

There was a sigh, a roll of the eyes. "Oh, _Castiel_ , you always _were_ so awkward," Trickster said, and Alex looked at him sharply—not missing the inference that he _knew_ Cas.

At this point, Cas seemed to decide he was done talking to the Trickster, and turned around, reached for Alex purposefully, said "Let's go." But even before he'd finished speaking, before he could reach her, Cas went flying backwards, yanked roughly into the thin air like a rag doll, slamming into the solid wood dresser behind him. It cracked in half at the impact, and Cas's body was immediately yanked forward again, where he flew headfirst into the opposite end of the room. Bits of plaster went flying everywhere as he collided with a wall and cracked it too, leaving a huge gaping hole. Alex stared in horror, unable to physically move. Stumbling to his feet, Cas stared at the Trickster, seeming to be confused, almost alarmed. He had a bloody nose. "How—?" he started, but the Trickster cut him off.

"Sorry, bored! Bye bye!" He snapped his fingers, and Cas disappeared. The Trickster turned to Alex, gave her a smile. "He's just _precious_ , isn't he?" Alex just stared back, terrified. How the hell was _a trickster_ doing this? _How_ was he yanking around an all-powerful angel without even breaking a sweat?!

"What did you _do_ to him?!" Alex demanded angrily, grabbing the trickster by two fistfuls of shirt. "I'll rip your head off!"

He looked at her hands, clearly amused. "Aww, are you _worried_ about him? How _sweet_." Suddenly, he morphed into the familiar face of the Trickster—he was a small guy with big brown eyes, an expressive face—and she hated him.

Alex leveled him with a death glare then let go with a shove and backed up. "There you are."

He spread his arms wide, looking pleased with himself. "Here I am!"

Alex could barely contain her rage at this game he was playing. "What the hell is going on here? What did you just do to Cas? And _what_ have you done with my brothers?"

"Ah, _relax_ ," he said, waving a hand in dismissal. "Castiel will be _fine._ " He made a face. "Maybe." He grinned, his eyes bright. "And your loser brothers? They're stuck in TV land." He almost giggled at her confused expression. "While I wait for them to do what I want, I figured, hey, why not a little side entertainment with my sidepiece, huh?" He paused, pretending to think of something, pretending to be very thoughtful. "Plus, I _kinda_ let them know I had you here to convince them to hurry up the decision."

"What _decision_?"

His humor, his lightness, was suddenly gone, replaced by chilling resolve. "I want them to stop messing around and say _yes_."

Alex felt chilled. Surely he didn't mean… " _Say yes_?" She repeated.

Annoyance came over his features and he rolled his eyes. "Duh, _Alex_ , get with the program! To Michael, to Lucifer. I want your brothers need to quit dragging their feet and play their damn roles already." He made an annoyed, bored face. "It's getting real old."

Alex shook her head, looking at him coldly. "Look, I don't know what weird angle you're trying to play, but they won't do it."

He laughed with great enthusiasm, his eyes crinkling up and sparkling. He shook his head as the laugh faded. "Not even _you_ believe that, babe."

Alex glared, tried to think of something to say. But he was right. And it pissed her off that he had called that bluff. "Why do you care about it? Don't you realize the whole fucking world will burn if Michael and Lucifer have their little class reunion?"

"Yeah, I know all of that. I just need it to happen so I can get on with my life, and have _my_ moment while we're at it too," Trickster said, then made a goofy trumpeting announcement sound, further mystifying Alex. He became faintly more serious. "And _you_ need it to happen, too, Al." His use of Dean's nickname for her made her skin crawl. "You know why? Because you're tired of the whole damn thing. You know just as much as I do." He shrugged, trying to be cute. "One of them has to die. It's that simple."

" _Neither_ of them has to die you _dick_ ," Alex growled.

He just smiled softly, crookedly. "Keep telling yourself that. You can't change it. Can't do a damn thing." He raised his eyebrows, looking almost sympathetic. "Is it getting to you? Do you realize?" He was mocking her now. "You don't matter. Sucks, doesn't it? Sam and Dean, they're the ones God and the Devil have grand purposes for. They're Cain and Abel all over again, Thor and Loki. And _you_? No one cares." He shrugged, feigning concern. "You're just the pretty one." He gave her a patronizing smile.

Alex squeezed her fist, feeling the blood wet in her palm. "Fuck you."

He tilted his head to the side, looked at her almost fondly, but the expression was tempered by an underlying amusement at her pain. "You know, I can see why he likes you. Castiel. You've got this vulnerable, not vulnerable, jaded-by-the-world yet innocent-little-flower vibe going. It's cute, it's really _adorable_." She just glared at him from the corner of her eye, and he stepped a little closer, pleased with himself. "It's funny, Al. You and I are a lot more alike than you think."

Alex didn't bother hiding her disgust at what he'd just said. "I am _nothing_ like you."

He feigned surprised. "What—you don't feel tired of your family bossing you around? Trying to control who you are and fighting over you? Telling you who you're supposed to be? See, I have older brothers, too." His expression darkened a little with a sudden, quiet anger. "And just like you, I'm the awkward third wheel. The black sheep. Difference is, I grew some balls and left because I knew if I stayed I'd forever be the monkey in the middle. Well." He spread his arms wide, grinned. "Baby, look how far I've come! Free to be me!"

Alex rolled her eyes, seriously aggravated with his grand sweeping statements and implications.

"Gosh, would ya look at the time." He put his hands on his hips, acting overly cheery. "I could stand here all day and chat, but... I have other stuff to do." He wiggled his eyebrows meaningfully. "So, here's the deal. While those two loser brothers of yours play my game, you're gonna _survive_. We're gonna get you in good fighting shape." He wiggled his eyebrows again, but his smile was almost ominous now. "Prove yourself to yourself, huh? Admit it. You've been waiting for a chance to do things completely on your own, but you're afraid of doing it without your precious Dean and sweet Sam in your back pocket. So, I took care of that for you!" He grinned at her, like he had done her a big favor. "I decided to open the show with a little bit of comedy. Gotta hand it to me, right? It was funny. You, married, with kids. Like _that'd_ ever happen." He smiled as Alex just glowered. "I picked the angel because, well, I've seen inside your mind… saw that little crush of yours. So, _so_ sweet." He looked around the room. "You two have a _lovely_ home here."

Alex was made of stone. "You really like the sound of your own voice, don't you?"

His eyebrows knit together in an overly earnest expression. "In a little while, you'll be _wishing_ I was still here yakking your ear off." There was an ominous quality there that made Alex stop short. Then, he grinned ear to ear, his perky tone back. "So. Survive. I'll be watching! And, hey... I might even make a few guest appearances." He winked.

"What—" Alex asked, then suddenly fell over, onto the cold ground. Wait, cold hard ground—where had the carpet gone?

Disoriented, she looked around. She was in a dark building—a warehouse? An old factory? She pushed herself up off the dusty floor, looking around, feeling sick and woozy, possibly because of her palm, which was still bleeding. Shit, she really needed to stop the blood loss. She realized she was now wearing fatigue type pants, a tank top, and combat boots—was she back in the real world? She checked her back belt loop for her knife, but nothing was there.

She heard a soft sound somewhere nearby—a footstep? She froze, remembering what Trickster had said. Survive. _Shit._ She saw that there was a door just to her left labeled _control room_. She slipped into it, shut the door quietly, turned around—and started. She wasn't even in the warehouse anymore—she was in a dim, dingy old motel room. She could even smell the musty, cigarette-smoke smell. And there, sitting on top of the cheap air conditioning vent that ran the length of the window, a little girl sat. _Oh my God._ That was _her_. Maybe seven years old? A couple of GI Joe action figures sat nearby, untouched and forgotten. Little Alex just stared out the window silently, her feet, in beat up sneakers, tucked under her. Her dark brown hair was an unbrushed mess, and she sat as still as a photograph. Her expression was so haunted, so sad. Alex watched herself, frozen. Outside, Dean and Sam were playing catch without her, and she remembered that all she wanted to do was go out there and play, too. She tried to walk forward toward herself, but suddenly felt her feet stuck, and looked down. _Mud?_

She realized that she couldn't move and was sinking down. She struggled and tried to get free, but to no avail. She looked up, panicking, and saw nothing but marshy swamp and tangles of reeds in all directions. Oh God, she remembered this night. They had been in the swamps hunting a vengeful spirit and she'd gotten separated from her brothers, taken a wrong step, gotten stuck. The whistle around her neck, she needed to blow it. She fumbled for it, clutching with trembling hands, and tried to blow, but she couldn't blow, couldn't breathe right. _Help_ , she wanted to shout, but she couldn't. She blew again, and a weak little sighing whistle sounded. Fear clenched her heart in a fist. She felt herself collapsing backwards, the world spiraling around her, and she couldn't grasp onto anything solid.

Alex fell sideways, the ground giving way into nothing, and then suddenly she was sprawled on short, clipped grass. She tried to stand, managing clumsily. She was in a wide open park. She saw Sam just a few feet away, maybe twelve years old. He was with a bunch of kids around their age, Dean had gone off somewhere with his girlfriend of the week, probably making out behind a tree or something—Alex vaguely remembered this day. She had wanted to play football with the other kids, but they hadn't let her, if she were remembering right.

She watched young Sam, laughing and tossing the football back to another kid. "So, touch football, two taps for tackle," one of the boys said, and then nudged Sam, pointed at Alex, who was kind of lurking at the edge of the park near the swings, out of earshot. "Hey, isn't that your sister?"

"Yeah," Sam said, not sounding very keen.

"Go get her, she can play too," the boy said.

Sam seemed reluctant, then surprised Alex with what he said next. "Nah. She's got problems. She can't play."

"Why not?"

"She just can't, okay? Asthma, bad leg." Sam said, lie after lie pouring out to Alex's complete shock. "Be right back," Sam told the other kid.

Sam jogged over to Alex's younger self, and when he got to her, he shrugged. "They said they don't want you to play." Alex's mouth fell open at the complete and total lie—Little Alex tried to hide her disappointment, but didn't do such a good job. And then Sam had the nerve to _pretend to comfort her_ and put a hand on her shoulder, as if he felt bad for her. She had her notepad out, and scribbled: **You play - I watch.**

"You sure?" Sam asked. And his face looked so concerned. Little Alex just nodded, putting on a brave, _I'm okay_ face. But Alex remembered how she'd felt. Heartbroken. Left out—as usual. Sam left and jogged back to the kids who were waiting for him. Alex watched this scene with totally new eyes. Anger—so much anger. Why? _Why would Sam do that?_ What the fuck _was_ that? How many other times had he lied to her like that? Her whole childhood she thought Sam had been on her side. That he'd protected her from cruel kids and tough moments and bullies. But after seeing that, she had this horrifying suspicion that he been part of the reason she'd thought all of that. Had he manipulated other situations, too? _Why_? She felt like her heart was breaking in half, and all the trust and love she had left for Sam threatened to shatter completely. On cue, the park seemed to melt away, and she was spinning around, unable to see anything, only feel the sensation of rushing headlong through nothing.

"Come on, can't we just leave her for _once_? I can help on this hunt, Dad, you know I can—you need me on this one." Alex looked around, confused, recognizing Dean's voice. She was outside a motel room, in the soft haze of twilight, watching a scene she didn't recognize. Dad and Dean were talking there, standing in a mostly empty parking lot. "Having her along will just slow us down, you know it will," Dean was protesting, and Alex felt a cruel sense of betrayal slap her at what he'd just said—was he talking about _her_? "So why can't we just leave her here? She'll be _fine_."

Dad looked at Dean angrily. A look he had given his children so many times, when they challenged his authority or said the wrong thing in the wrong moment. "Just do what I say, Dean," he said, his expression and tone domineering. "Stay here with your sister. Just watch your damn sister. I'll be back."

As if on cue, a few-years-younger Alex poked her head out of a motel room door, her expression curious as she looked at her dad and brother. And then, with horror, Alex realized she _did_ know what day this was. This was right before Dad had disappeared. A few weeks later, she and Dean would go find Sam and life would fall apart all over again. Alex stared at Dean, who was looking at the other Alex with what she thought was reluctance, even a touch of resentment. Somehow, that hurt worse than anything had hurt her in a long time. She felt tears gathering in her eyes. Tears of pain. She shut her eyes, tried to remove herself from the memory, then heard the sound of screams, shouting. Her eyes popped open, and she was no longer in a parking lot with Dean and Dad.

She was now in an alley way, behind a building. She heard someone shouting an exorcism chant. She didn't remember this—she followed the voice and found Dean, maybe eleven or twelve, holding a young Sam against the wall of the building. Sam looked terrified, and he was covered in _blood_ —his hands, his shirt. Alex was confused—then she looked down. There were these strange furry, bloody shapes littering the ground at their feet. Alex froze, shocked. What was this? What was happening?

" _You're not possessed_?" Dean asked Sam, sounding beyond horrified, beyond stunned.

Sam was sobbing. "I d-don't know why I did it, Dean!"

Alex stumbled backwards, almost unable to breathe—no, that couldn't be real. That couldn't have happened! Suddenly, everything went dark, and she bumped into something, maybe a table. The lights came on and she squinted, shielding her eyes with a hand. "You can't be serious, John," she heard Bobby say, and she blinked a few times, her eyes adjusting. She was in Bobby's study, and Dad and Bobby were standing in there, alone, facing each other, as if they were in the middle of an intense conversation. She frowned. This wasn't a memory of hers. Bobby and Dad looked a lot younger than she'd ever remembered seeing them look.

Dad looked upset. "Bobby, come on. Try to understand. This isn't the life for her."

Bobby didn't look upset—he looked downright pissed. "John, if it's that important for you to protect her _from_ the life, then _quit_ the life."

Dad made a face she had seen him make a lot of times. Unwillingness mixed with hesitation. "You know I can't do that."

"Can't, or _won't_?" Bobby asked, and he didn't sound like this very often—Alex could tell he was very, very angry. "John… I can't believe you're even _considering_ this."

"It would keep her safe, Bobby, and you know it," Dad protested, but Bobby flew off the handle.

"She's your _daughter_ , ya damn fool!" Bobby shouted. " _You_ keep her safe! _You_!" The men looked at each other angrily, shaken. Bobby looked like he was trying to calm down, but was still glaring at the other man. "You're tryin' to duck outta your responsibility."

Dad threw his hands up. "She makes everything harder, Bobby!"

"That's what kids do!" Bobby shouted again, and got in John's face. Alex didn't understand. What was happening? "You really just want to _give her up_? Abandon her, sign her over to the state and then be done with her? She's not a _pet_ for cryin' out loud. She's your six-year-old _daughter_. She _needs_ her _family_. Maybe more than other kids do!"

And suddenly as it had started, the memory faded out completely. Alex was suddenly back in the warehouse, breathless, tears in her eyes. Her pulse was pounding from dizzy adrenaline and fear and grief. Suddenly, all made perfect, heartbreaking sense. The way Dad kind of passed her off to Dean. The way he always had this hesitation when he looked at her. Like he was disappointed in her, or disappointed in himself. Or just disappointed, period. The way he hadn't really given her any credit until her later teenage years. She had tried so hard to just get his attention, but she had always felt forgotten and overlooked. Now she knew for real. He hadn't wanted her. _He hadn't wanted her._ The pain of the rejection was almost physical at this point and she leaned against the wall, almost feeling like she might be sick. More than anything she just wanted to break down. The pain was literally almost unbearable, her chest hurt.

And beside her, the doorknob turned.

Alex jumped back, panicking, mad at herself for not finding a weapon, remembering everything she had temporarily forgotten in the wake of emotional distress. She had maybe one second to try and clear herself mentally, remind herself that she had to survive. She stood back tensely, behind the door. A dark head poked in, and she brutally shoved the person head first into the wall, a desperate and stupid move. The owner of the dark head of hair seemed to have expected that, and grabbed her even as she pushed him. He whirled her strongly, shoved her against the wall.

Alex's entire body went limp, she couldn't breathe. Horror and shock came over her features. "D-Dad?!" She gasped out, looking into the face of her father.

"Hi, baby." The sound of his voice—which she hadn't heard in years—sent a chill down her spine. _It's not really him, it's not really him._ But it looked just like him, the white hairs in his beard, the dark eyes, the tired wrinkles around his eyes, the crooked smile so much like Dean's. But his expression was chilling, filled with malice. He was roughly pushing her against the wall. His elbow bone was digging into her shoulder painfully and she was grimacing, trying to wiggle free. "You been a good girl for Dean?" He asked casually. Alex was literally shaking, no physical strength left in her body, fidgeting in a panicked, uncoordinated mess. He chuckled, smiling at her fondly. "You thought you got rid of Dad a long time ago, huh?" She looked at him in a mixture of confusion and pain, and he just smiled more. "Oh yes. _I know_. I know you were relieved when Daddy dearest died."

She tried shaking her head, choking back tears. Wanting to believe that it wasn't true. "No, no I wasn't," she protested shakily.

"Aw, that's my girl. Living in denial." He smiled, as if proud. He touched the side of her face with the backs of his fingers, and she winced against the seemingly tender touch, tried to pull away.

"Get away from me," Alex protested weakly, and blinked a few times. Her vision was beginning to get foggy.

"You _hurt,_ baby?" he asked, his expression filled with concern. He grabbed her hand, looked at the cut… then ground his thumb into the wound. She screamed, as he got in her face, suddenly terrifyingly angry. "Pain is part of _life_ , Alexandra, now stop being _so damn weak_! You have been _nothing_ but one let down after another to this family, _nothing_ , you hear me?"

Alex thrashed, trying to get away from his grip and from his words, and he just laughed, let go of her hand, looked at her for a minute, as if trying to figure something out. "So, I guess the question I have for you is… can you find it inside yourself to kill me?"

"Kill you?" Alex repeated, going still in terror.

He chuckled a little. "It's a dog eat dog world, sweetheart," he said, sighing as if tired. "Kill or be killed." His hands were both gently coming against her throat, and then suddenly pressing against her with brutal crushing force. He smiled pleasantly as he choked her.

Alex struggled intensely against the vice-like grip on her throat, but couldn't get her legs to work, as they weren't even touching the ground anymore. Desperate and sloppy, she drew her palm back and smashed it full-force up and against Dad's nose, stunning him—and he stumbled back, she fell down breathing in panicked little gasps. She scrambled to her feet, ran the opposite direction, out the door and down a flickering hallway littered with old wires and trash.

She could hear him following, and she was consumed in all-out terror. She knew, even as she rounded a corner and came into a wide, open, echoing room, that she needed to keep her head, or she wouldn't survive this. She went slack against the wall, struggling to breathe. Beside her foot, a rusty old shovel sat. The second she saw it, she grabbed it up and began wielding it like a staff, wincing against the roughness of it in her cut-up palm. She could hear heavy, running booted footsteps coming closer. She swung madly as he rounded the corner, hitting him in the face with the shovel with enough force to send him flying backwards. He must have had his hunting knife out, because it went skittering across the floor, and Alex dove for it without thinking. Even as her fingers closed around the hilt, she felt herself knocked sideways, and Dad was over her, pinning her down by the wrists. But she'd held on tight to the knife, refusing to let go.

"Now, Alexandra, put the knife down," he coaxed, grinning maniacally. "You wouldn't want to hurt your dad."

"You are _not_ my dad," Alex spat, and with a surge of adrenaline, she brutally drove her knee up into his stomach, and violently yanked her wrists forward and down, breaking his grip long enough, just long enough, to push him over, to kind of pull back, sideways. Even as he was rolling off of her, she was drawing back, without hesitation, still halfway on the ground. She plunged the knife into his chest with a scream. His face showed shock, horror, pain, and Alex just kind of pulled back, stunned, taking the knife with her. She was half sitting, agonized, shaking, watching him fall to the ground, dead. Oh God, oh God, she couldn't breathe—she knew that wasn't Dad, but it looked like him, it sounded like him, and she wanted to vomit everywhere. She looked at the knife in her hand, covered in bright red blood.

She almost dropped it in horror—but then she heard "Oh, _A-lex_ …" in a soft, sing song voice.

She looked behind her, recognizing the voice with dread. Sam. He stood there, completely still as she managed to stand up shakily. He had a soft, chilling smile on his face—it reminded her of Lucifer, and she stumbled back a little, barely able to stand up anymore. Something snapped in her—instinct took over. She knew if she didn't take her chance and attack now, she'd probably die.

Sam opened his mouth to say something, but before he had even drawn a breath, she flipped Dad's knife deftly in her hand, focused, twirling it so that instead of hilt she grasped the blade. She drew back and threw it with a pained grimace and the last of her strength. It sank with a horrible squelching sound into his chest. He looked at the knife, then at her, shocked. Then fell forward onto the ground. She looked at his still body in alarm—she couldn't believe herself. _That's not really Sam. You didn't just kill Sam._ But that look on his face when he'd looked at her, the knife in his chest—

Alex suddenly jumped back as shotgun blasts kicked cement up just a few inches in front of her feet. Dean was in front of her smiling, slinging a shotgun over his shoulder casually, grinning at her as he loped forward out of the shadows. "Hiya, kiddo! Now what'd you do _that_ for?"

 _No, not Dean. Not Dean now._ He looked at Sam, perplexed, then kicked his brother's lifeless body over and yanked the knife out of Sam's chest. He looked at her, gave her a 'someone's been a bad girl' look. He dropped the shotgun, and knife in hand, sauntered over.

Alex backed up, hit the wall behind her, momentarily unable to do anything—this was Dean— _no, it wasn't!_ She had waited too long to run away, and he was suddenly right there, and her chance at escape was gone. He pinned her against the wall, smirked, brought the knife up to trace a soft line against the skin of her neck. She could feel the blood on the knife from Sam leaving a wet line on her skin. She stared, horrified and frozen, watching Dean, trying to find it within herself to fight him off. She _couldn't_. She had nothing left in her. He smiled at her sweetly. "Hmm. Just like I thought. Dean's your Achilles heel, isn't he? It's kind of sweet how much you love this dumb jock."

His chin lowered, his eyes stared at her with malice, and the knife went lower, then he held the point there against her chest, twisted a little, and she sobbed as it broke the skin. _Maybe she deserved this_. All she knew was she was too weak, there was nothing left. She just looked away, defeated, crying softly, ashamed and in pain. The knife dug a little deeper and she cried out again, like a child, like a coward. And then, behind Dean, Cas appeared—a furious expression on his face like Alex had never seen—and Alex jolted, mouth falling open as he grabbed Dean by the shoulder with crushingly ruthless force, ripping him off of her. Dean attempted to stab Cas, but the angel grabbed Dean's wrist and bent it down, his grip unyielding, his eyes blazing. With absolute and ferocious power Castiel hit Dean across the face, and Dean went flying across the warehouse and went still.

Alex had fallen down, and was slumped against the wall, dazed, watching Cas in a mixture of disbelief, admiration, breathlessness. He looked back at her, more alarmed than Alex ever remembered him being. He was already walking back toward her, an urgent pace to his step. "I don't know how he's doing this," he said, talking very fast. "I tried getting your brothers, but—" suddenly he fizzled out again, disappearing completely, just as he had been about to get her. Alex's temporary relief was gone, replaced with despair and anger—she wanted to scream. Suddenly, the Trickster stood in front of her, smirking.

" _Damn_! I knew this would be entertaining, but really? Killing your own Dad? And Sam? I am _impressed_ , Alex!"

"You son of a bitch," she managed, trying to summon some fire, but only sounding broken. "Why are you doing this to me?!"

He snapped his fingers and she was yanked to her feet, at if held by invisible hands. He looked angry. "Because you _need to grow up_ , Alex! Stop depending on your _stupid, selfish brothers_ who are only going to let you down and tear your family apart! Face it, your family is a sham and you've been falling victim to their lies your whole life!"

" _Leave me alone_!" Alex screamed, ready to commit murder. She hated him for everything he had shown her.

He seemed momentarily incredulous. "Did you even _see_ what I showed you? All real. One hundred percent. They didn't _love_ you. They don't _care_ about you! You should be thanking me. They act like you belong to them, like they own you. You let your brothers boss you around, control you, tell you who you are. It's sad, Alex! You're _sad_."

Alex shook her head hard as her breathing raced. She was suddenly suspicious and realizing he did indeed have an angle here. "Is this even about me?"

He rolled his eyes as if he had been waiting for her to say that. "You got me," he said, then sighed dramatically as if he were relieved. "I guess you could say I'm pretty much the Alex of my family. No one thought I'd ever measure up or be anything." He smiled, an oddly cold, ominous quality to the expression. "So, hell, I decided I didn't need 'em. Let them tear each other apart, I don't _care_." He huffed, chuckled. "Look how many fucks I give." He paused, then furious, shocking anger overcame his voice and face. "Zero! _ZERO_! I give _zero fucks_!" He glared. "And neither should you—you sorry, _stupid_ child."

Baffled, Alex looked at him oddly, not sure what to say. It almost left her feeling sorry for him. Even after all the crap she'd just been through. And realizing she had the emotional upperhand, she raised her chin in defiance as a cold smile spread. "You said we were alike, earlier… and you couldn't be more wrong. Because I'm not jumping ship the second things start to go to crap and I'm not walking away, even if everything you showed me was real. If they go down, I'm going down with them. I don't care if we're the biggest walking disaster on earth. We're still _family_." Maybe she said all that to try and get under his skin, or maybe she meant it. At this point, she wasn't even sure.

Trickster rolled his eyes, groaned loudly. "Oh _please_ , you're _pathetic_ , Alex! Even after everything I just showed you? _Really_? Damn. I don't know if you're incredibly loyal or just stupid as a rock."

"I don't care what you think," Alex said darkly, then began to smile of all things because the jig was _up_. She felt so physically weak, but still managed to raise her hand, point at him knowingly. "You know what I figured out, 'Trickster'? You're not a trickster. There's just no way. Not the way you slammed around my angel like it was no big deal, the way you refuse to die when killed. You're something else. I got no clue what, but I'm gonna find out what. My family, and all those innocent people you've killed? I'm gonna make sure you rot in hell for all the jacked up shit you've done to us."

He tilted his head to the side, his eyes narrowed, either amused or indignant, she couldn't tell which. "You really think you're in a position to be threatening me?"

Alex stared at him unflinchingly, hatred boiling her veins. "Oh look, I made him mad."

That comment wiped his expression off his face, and he matched her stare for a moment, then raised his chin, a slight smile returning to his face. "Well. I've figured it out, Alex."

She frowned, thrown off. "Figured what out."

His smile got a little bigger. "Your worst nightmare, of course." He was wagging a finger now, pacing the floor in front of her. "It's not fighting, it's not killing, it's not a normal life, it's not your past…" he paused, looked at her, that soft little smile on his face. "It's your _future_."

He snapped his fingers, and the dark warehouse was replaced by something else entirely. Under a flat gray sky, she and the Trickster stood in a circle of overgrown grass. Weathered gray stone headstones fanned out in all directions—stretching out in all directions as far as Alex could see on all sides. She looked at the Trickster, who was smiling softly. "Your worst fear. Being completely and totally alone." He gave her a knowing smile, pleased with himself. "Oh, I'm _good_." He gave her a faux-stern frown. "Now. You sit here and think about what you've done, young lady. Oh, and _try_ not to bleed to death." He rolled his eyes and disappeared.

Alex looked at the gravestones that surrounded her with increasing alarm, turning in a slow circle, reading the engraved names with panic. _John Winchester. Mary Winchester. Dean Winchester. Sam Winchester. Bobby Singer. Adam Milligan._ The gravestones stretched miles in all directions, all littered with names of people she had known or failed to save. Anywhere she looked, she saw a name she recognized.

And then, she saw it, behind her family's gravestones. An obviously shallow grave, marked only with a simple wooden cross. On it hung a silver chain, with her dad's wedding band and her old silver whistle. And she knew, immediately, who it belonged to. _Cas, dead and gone in 2014._ Forgotten, anonymous. No name on the cross, just something of hers that he had clung to in those last months of his life.

Dead. They were all _dead_! She stumbled backward, overcome with horror, panic, grief. The world seemed to be spinning and dissolving around her, and the feeling of death and dying and being alone forever punching into her like a nail. She fell onto all fours, suddenly sobbing out in fear—and she thought about the future, about losing her brothers, her _anchors_ —she thought about Cas in 2014 and she thought about everything the Trickster had shown her and she was petrified, scared out of her mind. Her chest felt tight, too tight to breathe, and her heart raced so fast that she almost passed out. Her vision began to swim as her head became light and the full-blown panic attack shook her to the core. In her hands, she clenched onto the grass as hard as she could, afraid she'd fall off the face of the earth if she didn't. She tried shutting her eyes. _It's not real, it's not real._ But it was real. Everyone was dead and she was dying too and she sobbed out again. _Someone help me!_

She heard a soft sound in front of her and heard him speak her name in a soft, worried voice. Heard footsteps coming toward her, felt herself being drawn up by the arms. Her heart seemed to spasm in her chest out of relief when eyes bluer than the sky stared at her in dismayed concern. She didn't even think about it, she crashed into him, crying and humiliated but unable to do anything but hold onto him. And with her arms circled as tight as she could manage around his middle inside the trench coat, she clung to how solid and real he was. She tightened her arms even more until it hurt her arm muscles, because she was terrified that he'd disappear again.

For a couple seconds, Cas remained sort of frozen, not sure what was happening. Alex was just crushing him (not literally, of course, that would be impossible) with her arms. She was shaking, sobbing sounds wracking her entire body. He did not like this sound. In fact, he quickly realized that he _detested_ it. It made him anxious and tense to see her this way.

He looked down at the way she had circled her arms around him. He had seen humans do this before, and knew it was a hug. He carefully, calculatingly brought his arms around her, gently, then a little tighter, matching it to the way she was holding onto him, only not as hard—he felt the need to be gentle. He paused, wondering if he were doing it right even as he noticed how it _felt,_ her smaller form there against his. He could hear and feel her breathing like this. Even through the layers of clothing, there was a steady little thumping rhythm against his chest, her heart beating fiercely. Cas noticed the way her hands felt there against his back, the fingers taut, digging in, and he wondered why she held on so tightly. The longer they stayed like that, in the circle of each other's arms, the calmer she became, and Cas felt himself relaxing a little too as she became quieter, less panicked. The top of her head was right there, in front of his face, and without entirely meaning to, he leaned down, just a little. His nose brushed her hair. He could faintly smell shampoo, some kind of soap. She shuddered in his arms.

Her head was shifting onto his shoulder now, and the tip of her nose brushed against his neck. The little grazing touch startled Cas, sending a strange feeling shooting through his body. It was not unpleasant. He could feel her uneven breathing hitting the skin of his neck. A sensation that once he felt, he couldn't stop focusing on. His vessel flushed with warmth, and a surge of protectiveness overcame him. His arms tightened around her on instinct. Not because of calculation—but because he responded on some raw, human level that was still buried deep inside of the vessel, he guessed. Or was it something else?

Somewhere in the back of his thoughts, he was fighting to remember who he was—an angel of the Lord, holding a human girl in his arms. But he didn't let go, even though he knew he should. At the current moment he was somehow giving her comfort and he wouldn't refuse her that or take it away. He _couldn't_. And so he did not let go, despite knowing better. He thought about how he had watched Alex for more than a year, had seen her sorrows, had seen her crying. He knew the sadness she hid from others. She almost always cried alone, when she thought no one else could see. The sight of her crying had always unsettled Castiel in the past, had bothered him, even when he'd been in his true form. But her grief had never affected him as deeply as it did today. He felt _angry_ that she had been made to feel this way, and angry because he didn't know how to fix it... and helpless, because he wasn't sure if it _could_ be fixed. She was so much more torn apart than he had ever seen her.

After a few moments Alex, quieted and pulled back a little bit, hesitant to look at him. Her expression was ashamed and so very grieved. He hadn't even noticed how it happened, but now both of his hands gripped her right above the elbows, and hers mirrored his, resting lighting in the crooks of his elbows.

Her face was streaked with tears and her eyes were reddened. He had been experiencing intense helplessness for the past few days, trapped in the Trickster's world, but _this_ sight made him feel utterly _powerless._ It was as if her sadness seeped out of her, and into him. How could that be?

With the pad of his thumb, Cas wiped her right cheek, removing the tearstains there, his touch whisper-soft and hesitant. She seemed to stop breathing for a second, looking at him in what appeared to be something like fear. He stilled—had he done something wrong? Then her head tilted just to the side, a little bit, almost as if she were leaning her face into his hand. His vessel felt a strange reaction in the vicinity of his chest at her actions and Cas withdrew his hand, not understanding. He was a little suddenly apprehensive, suspecting himself of something, but he didn't know what. Alex looked up at him somberly. Her eyes were so dark and big and filled with an emotion he didn't recognize.

His eyes traveled her entire face, the face he knew so well now. His eyes stopped, resting a beat on her soft, parted lips. And for a moment, he imagined himself leaning down and touching his lips to hers, conveying the gentle and paradoxically strong things he felt for her with his mouth. The thought shocked him as soon as he had it. He realized the pulse in his body had picked up, his breathing was shorter, his nervous system felt jittery. Panicking slightly, he let go of her completely. What was happening to him?

She looked at him pleadingly. "Cas, _please_ say you can get us out of here. _Please._ "

There was an odd lurch in his vessel's stomach. "No. I don't know the way out. This trickster is very powerful." He looked down, then noticed the palm of her hand—bloody and raw. More than just a little scrape. "You're bleeding," he said, stunned that he hadn't noticed sooner.

He looked down at himself, looking for something, then pulled some of his shirt out of the waistband of his pants and ripped the fabric. He held her bleeding hand in his larger one, wrapped the strip of white fabric there with his other hand. She winced a little as the cotton touched the open cut skin there then looked at him uncertainly, watched him as he concentrated. He met her eyes, just for a second, then looked back down, tying a clumsy knot. He looked pained, and Alex remembered, offhandedly, when he had told her to count her scars. He was still looking at her hand, still holding it in both of his hands. And then, she almost thought she had imagined it, he brushed the exposed skin where her fingers met her hand. A completely unnecessary action. She looked at him, unsure. He was now staring at the spot on her chest where fake-Dean had dug the knife into, just above where her heart was. His fingers brushed against it, his eyebrows knit together further. He breathed out, dropped his hand away, looked at the graves and let go of her hand. He looked like he were in deep, serious thought. After a moment, he looked back at her, grim.

"I saw the things he showed you. He tried to keep me out completely, but he couldn't stop me from watching. I saw everything. What Sam did. What your father did. Everything."

Alex looked away, ashamed, hugging her arms around herself even though it wasn't cold. She was feeling sick again, weak, but she refused to sit down or admit how near to passing out she was. She looked back at him, not even sure why, but suddenly spilling everything in a self-loathing monologue, sorry for herself—just like Dean said. She just needed to say it all, to try and get rid of all the crap she was trying to deny. "All my life I've been trying to survive. And I _have_. But why? So I get to see _this_? Everyone I ever loved or cared about, dead?" She felt manic suddenly, enraged. "Why did the Trickster _do_ this to me? Is his idea of revenge?" She looked around, suddenly breathless and pained. "I would have preferred he just _kill_ me and gotten it over with instead of dragging me through this _shit_."

"No," Cas said intensely, but she was continuing, not really seeing him, not listening.

"And _now_ I find out Dad didn't even want me, that I was _nothing_ to him?" She swallowed painfully. "And maybe I already suspected that." She shook her head slowly, sad because that was true, and it hurt to admit out loud. "But _Dean_ —thinking I was a burden. Sam, _lying_ to me, manipulating me, making me think he was looking out for me—the other stuff—" she was getting pissed again. "I lived my life blind, not just _mute_. How did I not know all this shit?! They were staring me in the face and _I didn't see_."

" _Stop_." His strong tone startled her and drew her attention to his blazing eyes. "This is _exactly_ what the Trickster intended."

She looked at him, really looked at him, for a moment normal, not crazed or manic. "You're gonna die in twenty-fourteen, Cas, a horrible, terrible death. And what's worse…" her eyebrows were slamming together, "I think you _wanted_ to die. You wanted it." She paused, went quiet.

Cas frowned, opened his mouth. "I don't—"

Alex laughed, an airy sound, turning loopy once again. "My god, I'm convinced now, Cas. Zachariah's right. Sam will say yes, because he's dark inside, he'll _say yes_ , and the world will burn, and Dean will try and stop it and _he can't_ , and I can't do anything about it, _obviously_ —my brothers are tearing the world apart, and god, what am _I_ supposed to do, or _can_ I do anything—?"

"Alex—" Cas tried to cut her off sternly."

"It's _so funny,_ " she continued bitterly. "Me thinking my life mattered, you saying God had some purpose for me, it's a joke Cas, all fucking lies—"

"Alex, stop!— _look at me_!" He almost shook her, his face furious, confused, alarmed at the way she was behaving. "Look at me!"

She did, she did look at him, suddenly vulnerable and clear eyed, her breakdown cut short. He didn't seem to know what to say, and she looked at him desperately, like she was waiting for him to relieve her fears, to tell her everything was going to be okay.

And suddenly, they were not there anymore.

* * *

Dean and Sam stood with the "Trickster" in front of them—encased in a ring of burning holy oil; because they had realized after he dragged them through an odd TV reality, slung Cas around like a rag doll, refused to die, that he was something else entirely—an angel, and probably a pretty powerful one. Their hunch paid off. In the just-lit circle of fire, the Trickster clapped slowly, his bluff called. "Well played, boys. Well played. Where'd I screw up? How'd you know?"

Sam answered. "Nobody gets the jump on Cas like you did. Only another angel could slam him around like that."

Dean leveled the Trickster with a superior little smirk. "Mostly it was the way you talked about armageddon."

"Meaning?" Trickster asked, not following.

Dean shrugged. "Well, call it personal experience, but nobody gets that angry unless they're talking about their own family."

Trickster seemed mildly irritated by that statement. "So which one are you?" Sam asked. "Grumpy, Sneezy, or _Douchey_?"

Rolling his eyes at the terrible joke, the Trickster sighed. "Gabriel, okay? They call me Gabriel."

Sam's forehead wrinkled. "Gabriel? The Archangel?"

"Guilty."

Dean sauntered forward a couple of steps. "Okay, Gabe. First things first. You are gonna bring Cas and Alex back here from whatever hell you stashed them in."

"Oh am I?" Gabriel asked, smiling cooly.

" _Yeah_. You are," Dean said calmly. "Or we're going to dunk you in some holy oil and deep-fry ourselves an archangel." Gabriel's smile faded. He waited a couple seconds, and then, clearly pissed, he raised his hand and snapped his fingers.

Dean looked behind himself to see a slumped, bleeding, half-conscious Alex being held up by Cas, who was breathing heavily, blood running down his nose and the side of his face. His hands on Alex's arms seemed to be the only thing holding her up. "Alex! What happened?!" Sam asked, rushing to them as Dean rounded on Gabriel.

Angry was putting Dean's disposition lightly. "What the hell'd you do to her?!"

The archangel just smiled and shrugged innocently. Cas was glaring daggers at Gabriel. "He put her through a series of hells for his own personal amusement."

Dean's expression was murderous as Gabriel smiled nonchalantly. "What can I say, she delivered—I _laughed_ , I _cried_ , I learned new things about myself."

"You _son of a bitch_!" Dean shouted.

"I should have known this was you, Gabriel," Cas said with no shortage of gravelly disgust.

Gabriel held up his hands in defense, acting like he didn't know what the issue was. "Hey, before you deep fry me, consider this. I didn't really do _anything_ to her. It was all inside her already, I just… nudged a few feelings around. Brought a few things to the surface." He looked at all three of the men in turn. " _You're_ the ones who did this to her. You."

Dean stepped closer, his expression dangerous. " _Why_?"

Gabriel rolled his eyes. "Why _not_? She and I are practically the same person—the yin to each other's yang—and I'm tired of her blind loyalty to your dumb, sorry asses. All the two of you do to her… all my family has done to me… is tear apart everything worth loving. You wondering why I became the trickster? My own private witness protection. I skipped out of Heaven, had a face transplant, carved out my own little corner of the world so I didn't have to deal with the shit my family surrounded me with." He wagged his eyebrows. "Sound familiar? Remember when Alex ran away, Dean? Too bad she _crawled back_."

"Of course she came back, this is her _family_ ," Sam said, almost snarling as he took a step toward Gabriel from where he'd been standing beside Cas.

"What _family_?" Gabriel asked in humored disbelief. "Turned against each other, tearing at each other's throats? Why the hell do you think I brought you here and did this to you and am trying to get you to play your roles? Because I am tired of _my_ family tearing itself to shreds." His good mood was gone. He was suddenly, intensely angry. " _I need it to be over!_ "

Dean shook his head, lips in a thin line. "You are something else. You got some nerve, involving my brother and sister in your douche-nozzle family drama. You're all a bunch of assholes." He glanced over his shoulder, thinking of something. "Uh, no offense, Cas."

"None taken," Cas said darkly.

Gabriel looked positively ruffled at Dean's comment about his family. "Shut your cake hole. You don't know _anything_ about my family. I love my father, my brothers. Love them. But watching them betray each other, slowly kill each other? I couldn't stand it! Okay? So I left. And now it's happening all over again."

"Then help us stop it," Sam said, trying to appeal to reason.

Gabriel scoffed. "It can't be _stopped_. This has to happen."

"You wanna see the world end?" Dean asked in angered disbelief.

"Haven't you been _listening_?" Gabriel shouted. "I have to sit back and watch my own brothers kill each other thanks to you two! Heaven? Hell? I don't _care_ who wins, I just want it to be _over!"_

Sam shook his head, desperate. "It doesn't have to be like that. There has to be some way to, to pull the plug."

Gabriel looked at Sam patronizingly. "You _do not_ know my family. What you guys call the apocalypse, I used to call Sunday dinner. That's why there's no stopping this, because this isn't about a war. It's about two brothers that loved each other and betrayed each other—and guess what, there was nothing anyone could do about it. Not me. Not your sister."

" _What_ are you talking about?" Sam demanded.

Gabriel's expression fell. He shook his head blankly. "You _sorry_ sons of bitches. Why do you think you two are the vessels? Think about it. Michael, the big brother, loyal to an absent father, and Lucifer, the little brother, rebellious of Daddy's plan. Their younger sibling they fight over and don't even realize they're driving away or damaging in the process. That was me. That's _her._ "

Dean and Sam both looked at Alex, who was apparently a little lucid again. She was staring back at them, her expression pained and tired, clutching onto Cas weakly. Gabriel wasn't done. "You were born to this, boys. It's your _destiny_! It was always you! As it is in Heaven, so it must be on earth. One brother has to kill the other, and it's to the point where _I don't care_ who dies. Can't say the same for her, though." He looked at Sam, smiling a little. "Somehow, Sam... I think you already know that."

"What the hell are you saying?" Sam demanded, getting more aggravated by the second.

"Why do you think I've always taken such an interest in you boys? Because from the moment Dad flipped on the lights around here, we knew it was all gonna end with you. Always. This is real, and it's gonna end bloody for all of us. That's just how it's gotta be. Accept it."

Dean came close to the edge of the ring of fire, his glare unrelenting. The flames reflected in his dark eyes, a menacing effect. "No. I won't accept it. And you know what? We're outta here."

Dean turned and walked away, over to Cas, reaching for Alex. "I got her," Dean said tersely, giving Cas a look. Cas let go.

"Uh. Okay. Guys? You're just gonna, you're gonna leave me here forever?" Gabriel asked, stock still, stuck inside the ring.

Dean turned, and Sam took Alex from him, helped her out through the door as Dean hung back. "No. We're _not_ , 'cause we don't screw with people the way you do. And for the record? This isn't about some prize fight between your brothers or some destiny that can't be stopped. This is about you being _too afraid_ to stand up to your family!" Dean pulled the fire alarm roughly, and the sprinklers and alarm went off. "Don't say I never did anything for you," Dean shouted over the noise, and Gabriel glared angrily, the water raining down over his head. Dean left and didn't look back.

Sam had Alex sitting on the trunk of the Impala, and he was checking her for injuries as she kind of swayed unevenly, stared at nothing. "Cas, what the hell happened?" Dean demanded.

Cas ignored the question—he was looking at Alex intently. "She really needs to be taken to the hospital. Her physical injuries are worse than I thought. Meet me there."

He reached out and touched Alex's shoulder, even as Sam protested, "Wait—"

But the angel and their sister disappeared, and Dean swore violently, gave Sam, who shrugged as if to say ' _not my fault'_ a dagger glare. "Are you _kidding_ me?!" Dean bitched, and slammed his hand on top of the car in frustration.

* * *

Eventually, Alex realized she was laying in a hospital bed and being hooked up to things. Poked, prodded. Cas stood beside the bed, watching her with a grim expression. She felt lucid again, at least for right then, as his eyes met hers. "I should have known when I couldn't get to you," he said. "That he wasn't simply a trickster."

Alex sighed a very long sigh. Her head felt like it was three feet outside of her skull. "He's called the trickster for a reason. He fools everyone." Cas didn't look reassured at her statement. In fact, he looked even more depleted. "I'll be fine, Cas," Alex said weakly, because she knew she would be. "I get knocked down a lot. But I always get back up." She paused, her face blank, her mind ghosting over the new wounds that were fresh in her mind from the scenes Gabriel had showed her from her younger years. "I always survive," she murmured, half to herself, then glanced at Cas. She remembered how she had broken down with him earlier, unleashed the floodgates on him.

He, however, wouldn't stop looking at her, that frown of his deepening. But instead of stern, he looked bothered. "I'm supposed to be your protector," he said. He sounded disillusioned.

She looked up at him appraisingly. "Even after you're cut off from Heaven and kicked out of the angel points club?"

He looked at her, his eyebrows moving down just slightly. "Yes. Still."

Something about the way he said that made her want to jump out of her skin, made her feel like— _ouch!_ She winced as a nurse stuck another IV needle in her arm. A muscle jerked in Cas's jaw. She watched them hang a bag of saline solution and hook it up to the newest needle in her arm. She then glanced at Cas, suddenly worried. "You're not gonna just disappear again, are you?" Her gaze faltered—she had sounded way, way too desperate just then. "I just—I don't wanna be alone." But after the graveyard… he knew that, didn't he?

His eyebrows moved just a little closer together. "I will not leave your side," he said. And that small statement made her feel so much better.

She almost smiled. "Thanks, Cas." She watched as he pulled up a chair beside her and sat there with his hands clasped in his lap.

Growing somber, she remembered everything that had happened in the graveyard and looked down into her lap. She had thought, just for a moment, when he had touched her face, wiped her tears away, his eyes meeting hers so soulfully that maybe, _maybe_ there was something there. That maybe the way he had felt about her in 2014 was already there, at least a little bit. The way his arms had wrapped around her, then tightened… had she imagined that? She'd been so distraught that maybe she'd imagined it. Sidelong, her eyes swept over his face that was becoming so familiar. Something about it stuck with her, etching itself inside her mind.

His face wasn't the only thing etched in her mind. She couldn't even begin to think about the memories she'd been shown about Dean, Sam, and Dad. She refused. _Not now._ It was too much and she _just couldn't_. Instead, she focused on her hospital wristband. And without even wanting to, she thought of kissing Cas again. The heart rate monitor suddenly sped up a few beats, and Cas looked at it, frowning in concern. Alex shrank back into her pillows, knowing her face was giving away everything—Cas just didn't know what that everything was.

She had to let that kiss go and just focus on the present moment, stop overthinking everything and tricking herself into hoping that could happen again. Offhandedly, she thought of the weird reality where the Trickster… or, Gabriel, she guessed, had made her think for a split second she was married to Cas. She felt a little embarrassed, wondering if Cas realized the significance of that or… she glanced at him. He was leaning forward over his knees now, his fingers laced through and face intense.

She cleared her throat, a little timid. "Cas, can you do me a favor? Don't, just don't tell my brothers. About the husband-Cas thing with the Trickster. They'd never let me hear the end of it, and I just… it's weird. Please." She hoped she didn't have to explain further.

He looked at her a moment. "Of course." He paused, then seemed to have an idea, the smallest little smile coming over his face. He held out his hand, the pinky extended. For a split second, Alex looked at his hand, confused. Then, she realized what he was doing with a surprised little smile. She followed suit, holding out her pinky and they wrapped their smallest fingers around each other's. "I am forever bound," he said, clearly pleased that he had remembered this and applied it in the proper social context. Oh my god, it was too cute and funny, the way he looked _so_ proud of himself for making a joke and remembering a gesture she'd taught him. Alex couldn't help it. Even after everything today—all the pain, all the horrible pain—that sight of him smiling, eyes bright with a pleased, boyish twinkle warranted no other reaction from her—she smiled too. The smile reached her eyes.

* * *

Dean and Sam rushed into the hospital room to find Cas sitting beside Alex's bedside, watching her. "Oh my god," Sam breathed. Dean, a fist to his mouth, stood still, physically trying to contain himself at the sight of Alex in the hospital bed, eyes closed, hooked up to all the monitors and IV drips.

"She's sleeping," Cas explained, standing when he saw them. He came and joined them at the foot of the bed.

"Son of a _bitch_ ," Dean managed, his expression almost terrified, although a little less than before Cas had said the part about her only being asleep. "Will she be all right?"

Cas's frown deepened, his eyes went to Alex's sleeping form. "Physically, yes."

"And… _not_ physically?" Dean prompted.

Cas's eyes slid to Dean's. "I don't know." They all looked at her small, sleeping shape there on the hospital bed. Cas's expression was unreadable. "Something is wrong with Alex."

"No _shit_ , Sherlock—she just got torn to shreds in Gabriel's little house of horrors!" Dean almost shouted.

Cas glanced at him, perturbed. "No. I—" he paused, searching for words. "It's not that. It's something else."

"What do you _mean_?" Dean demanded, getting even more agitated.

Cas seemed frustrated, and answered Dean with an air of aggravated shortness, staring at him cynically. "I'm not _sure_ , Dean."

Dean made a face and rolled his eyes, then huffed, letting it go, but mad about something else, of course. "Fine, oh and by the way, next time maybe let us know _which_ hospital you decide to beam up to, Scotty. We went to _three_ other ones before finding you here." He brushed past Cas, went to Alex's side, and put his hand on the side of her head. He stroked his thumb across her hair, a pained expression on his face that Sam and Cas couldn't see.

"Okay, well can you tell us the details of what happened to her?" Sam was asking Cas, oblivious to what Dean was doing.

Sam got a sidelong glance from Cas, who seemed to be thinking deeply. "Yes," the angel said momentarily. "Gabriel showed her memories that were intentionally chosen to make old pains resurface. And he made her kill your father—at least, someone who looked like him. And then you, Sam, as well. And he tried to make her kill Dean. If I hadn't been able to get there… I believe she would be dead right now." Both the brothers looked at him, understanding perfectly, horrified. Cas's expression, too, was unusually terse.

"Son of a bitch. I should never have let that asshole go," Dean said, glaring daggers at the space in front of him.

Sam, however, was tilting his head to the side, eyes narrowed. "So she killed someone who looked like Dad? _And_ me? But... not Dean?" he asked. He got a little cynical smile on his face. The kind he got when he was pissed about something.

"Why do you sound so surprised?" Cas asked, drawing a startled look from both of the Winchester boys. Cas looked at Sam with what could only be called a glare. "I saw her memories, Sam. What you've done." Sam's face went blank, and then Cas stepped a little closer. "And I know what you did to her recently."

There was a darkness to Cas's voice that was making Sam look nervous. "Uh—yeah, I—"

Cas stepped a little closer, pivoting his chin down, staring at Sam unflinchingly, levelly. "Do not ever make the same mistake. Do you understand?"

Sam was frozen, staring, mouth half-open. Dean, however, was looking at Cas incredulously. "Whoa, dude—are you seriously threatening my brother right now?" He approached Cas with a glaring frown. "Is that any of your business?"

Cas turned, looked Dean straight in the eyes. "Yes. As a matter of fact, it is."

Dean's eyebrows shot up. "Oh, _really_?" He was beside himself, indignant. "Last time I checked, this was _my_ family, not yours."

Cas's eyes narrowed. "I only want to be clear with Sam that I will not allow him to physically harm Alex like that again."

Sam looked reluctant, guilty. "Well, I won't. Trust me."

Just then, a nurse came to the door and looked directly at Cas, tapping lightly on the doorframe with her knuckles, a chart in her other hand. "Excuse me, sir, we have the pathology."

Cas nodded. "Go ahead."

"Well, she's severely dehydrated and it kind of looks like sunstroke, or heat exhaustion. But, all of her labs are fine. She just needs some rest and fluids. We already got the stitches in her palm wound, so basically, we'll discharge her in a couple days, once we make sure she's shipshape. Nothing to worry about."

She smiled pleasantly at Cas, who nodded once more. "Thank you." The nurse left.

Cas looked at Dean and circled back. "Look, the reason I was trying to find you and realized you three were missing is because I had news to share. I have it on good authority that a demon named Crowley has the Colt." At this piece of news, both Winchesters looked surprised and intrigued. Cas continued. "I've gotten close to finding him. I think I've almost... 'got' him."

Dean nodded gruffly. "Good. Good. Okay. Well, let's get Alex rested and okay and back to Bobby's. Then, we find this Crowley dude, get the Colt, kill the devil. Sound like a plan?"

Cas was stoic. "Agreed. You two go rest. I'll watch over Alex tonight."

Dean appeared immediately taken aback, then quickly gruff. "Oh I don't think so." Cas frowned, not understanding. "That chair over has my name on it. And Sam, you're not going anywhere either. I want you all where I can see you." Sam rolled his eyes faintly but he said nothing.

Ignoring them, Dean sat down in the chair beside Alex's bed and slouched down into the seat, kind of sullen and pissy. No one said anything else.

Eventually, the brothers fell asleep, leaving Castiel as the only one awake. The hours ticked by, but he stayed there at Alex's bedside, unmoving, listening to _beep, beep, beep_ of the heart rate monitor, watching the night shadows shift and move across Alex's sleeping form. The blinds on the window filled the room with stripes of darkness and soft slats of moonlight.

After staring at it for hours, around four in the morning, finally, he reached out and brushed the strand of hair that laid across her forehead away with his fingertips. She looked so peaceful as she slept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to develop the idea of Sam having a darker side. I've always felt his backstory was lacking something, so I took matters into my own hands… PLEASE GUYS DON'T FREAK OUT I AM NOT CHANGING SAM TRUST ME PLEASE I KNOW WHERE I'M GOING WITH THIS-keep in mind, things may not be what they seem... I pinky promise you it will all be okay and be explained further.


	22. This Our Mortal Life

" _God only cries for the living 'cause it's the living that are left to carry on."_  
\- Diamond Rio

* * *

**The Next Morning**

_Beep, beep, beep_ … the sound faded in as Alex slowly came out of a deep and dreamless sleep. She groggily opened her eyes halfway, for a second not remembering where she was or what had happened—and then she saw the hospital room ceiling above her, felt the uncomfortable pressure where IV needles were shoved into her arms, became aware of a dull throbbing pain in the palm of her hand where stitches criss-crossed her flesh. And with these physical pains as a reminder, she recalled yesterday. And the days before it. And whatever peace she'd had while asleep was immediately gone.

"Good morning, Alex," came a deep, husky voice above and beside her. Startled, Alex snapped awake, sitting up halfway then cringing, sore everywhere, but looking to where the voice had come from. Castiel's familiar countenance stared down at her from where he stood beside the hospital bed—but his ever-present frown softened as their eyes locked.

"You're... still here," she said clumsily, both a question and a somewhat stunned comment.

Alex heard a soft, familiar snore at that moment and looked around the room, realizing that her brothers were there. Sam was in one of the corners, his giant body crammed into a hospital chair, an elbow on his knee and his face propped awkwardly on his hand as he leaned into the wall. And there on the other side of the room, Dean was slumped down uncomfortably in another chair, head awkwardly lolling back, mouth gaping widely.

Cas must have seen her looking at Dean, because he spoke up. "I don't think he meant to fall asleep. He was very irritable last night."

 _Of course he was_. Alex glanced at Cas, feeling bad. She could only imagine. Lately it had been nothing but mood swings and authoritarian rampages from her oldest brother, who was under daily-increasing levels of stress and didn't seem to know how to handle it any other way but to rip into his siblings and anyone else who dared get in his way. That, combined with his general weird attitude toward Cas more recently—well, it had all probably come to a bit of a head yesterday. And sure, it didn't help that Castiel had just spirited her away to a hospital without a second word to Dean, but for God's sake, her brother was really being a nightmare lately. She actually kind of wondered how exhausted Dean had to have been to fall asleep with Cas standing there—or maybe Cas had left and just returned a few minutes ago… she frowned a little and kind of cocked her head to the side, looking at Cas intently. "Have you... just been standing there all night?"

His answer was simple and immediate. "Yes. I watched over you."

The second the words left his lips, Alex's mouth dropped open slightly in surprise; she was more than a little flustered at the thought of him standing there just watching her sleep all night—that plus his earnest expression and the simple, open way he'd said the words made her feel oddly exposed. And the silence that hung there after it seemed to demand she say something, _anything_. But she literally felt that she'd forgotten the entire English language. Couldn't think of a single damn thing to say. An eloquent "uhh…" escaped and Castiel just continued to look down at her, his expression concerned again. Then he surprised her again by drawing in a deep breath, simultaneously sitting on the edge of the bed as his eyebrows knit together in a thoughtful, troubled expression. Alex was frozen, noticing helplessly how close he was at that moment sitting against the side of her hip. The end of his trench coat bunched up over the top of her thigh.

Pensive, he looked at her intently, oblivious to her sudden inability to breathe deeply. Alex was abruptly and intensely anxious not only because of his close proximity, but also because something about that _look_ on his face. He took a long time to speak, clearly struggling. His troubled eyes searched hers in silence, then fell away. "Seeing you in torment was…" his eyes flicked back to hers, "unbearable to me."

Her chest tightened. Their eyes remained locked and the air in the room seeming to be thin. Cas's forehead was wrinkled deeply and he looked like he was waiting for her to say something... but she was completely speechless, so much more than before. He had said it almost as if he were asking her what to do about it. And it was clear that he had been thinking about it, long and hard—waiting all night to tell her after maybe gathering the courage, or trying to decide how to say it. Alex swallowed. He had essentially confessed that her pain affected him on a level that frightened him. And that, in turn, scared _her—_ because… what the hell did that mean for them, exactly? He looked down, just for a second, at her hand where it rested palm down beside her on the bed—his hand moved slightly where it rested on his knee—was he thinking about touching her hand?—and then his eyes jumped back to hers again, waiting, anxious. His vivid blue eyes held so much honesty and pain and confusion.

He'd seen her come apart completely in a way that felt shameful for her. He'd seen Gabriel fling painful memory after painful memory at her, tear her down piece by piece and leave her a lost, crying, slobbering mess on all-fours. Somehow Cas had broken the divide and come to her in one of her most terrifying moments. And without a second thought, she had reached for him and he hadn't turned her away. He'd quietly held her and anchored her in the middle of the storm of pain. As she looked at him right now, she didn't know how to tell him what that had meant for her. And actually, she felt like she shouldn't confess it at all. It was too revealing of her innermost conflicted feelings—feelings that instinctively she believed must be wrong to have. The things she thought of him, the way he'd gotten so far under her skin—it alarmed her. She had never felt these things about anyone else.

Her thoughts achingly went back to how Castiel had held her like no one else ever had. Right now as they looked at each other wordlessly with bated breath, she wanted it again so badly. Just to be inside the warmth of his arms, to be close and feel his heart beating, hear him breathing steadily next to her. Feel the gentle pull of his fingers against her back like yesterday, when he'd experimentally and hesitantly pulled her close. The way that he'd held her had momentarily banished her fears and pains. It had just been for a moment. But the moment had been enough. Enough to pull her back from what had threatened to shatter her apart.

She remembered being struck oddly as she cried into his shoulder that he smelled faintly like fabric softener. She'd been mystified as to why he smelled that way. Been comforted by it too because it seemed so common... so everyday. She hadn't expected it. He'd wiped tears from her face, the gentle and seemingly tender touch of his fingertips scarred into her memory forever. Cas had done so much for her— _too_ much for her, not only yesterday. It all seemed to suggest one thing, that she had known all along, but not really fully believed. _He cared._ Much more than she had imagined or understood. Was 'cared' the right word?

Beside her, his hand again moved and left his knee to rest palm down on the bed, fingertips pointing toward hers, and his hand inched forward just slightly toward her hand. Was that... was he doing that on purpose? All that Alex could think, desperate and afraid and so confused was _why would this angel care about me like this, let alone at all?_ If it was because he had some kind of _feelings_ for her, _that_ was the most frightening thought of all to Alex. Not just because of everything that might happen in 2014. Because it was scary as hell to think of him seeing her in that way. It intimidated her to wonder, was he in a place where he cared about her past the point of friendship? Because when he looked at her in this way, holding her locked in a gaze, searching her eyes, his hand inching toward hers, everything inside of Alex seemed to scream at her that he must, he _must_ —his fingertips gently hit up against hers on the surface of the bed, the faintest touch. Alex's eyes were big and staring into Cas's in breathless uncertainty. _What are you doing, Castiel?_

There was the sound of stirring to their left and the moment was suddenly over, their gaze breaking and hands jumping apart, but not before they realized Dean was awake, looking at them. He seemed cranky, groggy, but was quickly becoming alert. "The hell… what time is it?" he managed, voice gravelly and a little disoriented. Cas stood up from where he sat, and even as Dean got out of his chair, there was a glare on his face aimed at the angel. "You're still here?" The question was accusing and hostile, and Alex was surprised at how Dean just automatically went there—didn't even bother with unpleasant or cranky, just went full speed ahead to asshole.

Cas, however, didn't even blink, just met Dean's eyes evenly. "Yes."

Dean stared pointedly for a second, then gestured at the door to the room, rudely demanded, "you wanna give us a minute?"

Cas looked at Alex briefly, then to Dean, frowning a little, then, under Dean's scowl, seeming to understand the implication. He somewhat grudgingly stepped out into the hallway, closing the door behind him.

Alex looked at Dean, upset. " _What_?"

"Was he here all night?" Dean demanded, ignoring her question, his eyes narrowed as he pointed an errant finger in the general direction Cas had just gone.

"I don't know," Alex lied, immediately; feeling a twinge of guilt the second she said it.

Dean was looking at her in a very intent, judgmental way she didn't like, and she scowled back, a lot more pissed off than she was letting on. He came a little closer, towering over her, arms crossed. "So you wanna tell me what went down in Trickster Land?" he asked.

She gave him a full on glare, tired of his crap and enraged that he was acting this way after everything she'd been through yesterday. " _No._ Screw off."

" _Excuse_ me?" he asked as if he couldn't believe his ears.

She grabbed the TV remote and switched it on, not looking at him. Not reply either.

Dean stood there a second, completely ready fight with her. A million sarcastic comments and retorts ran across his mind, all perfect for pissing her off and hurting her feelings and putting her in her place. But even as he thought that, he kind of did a mental double take, realizing that geez, she was in the _hospital_ and had been put through hell yesterday—he wasn't even really _sure_ about what exactly had gone down, all he had to go on were some vague details that Cas had mentioned. Dean stayed silent, stewing even as he realized that he was being a douchebag.

But speaking of douchebags, Dean's mind turned to someone he _didn't_ mind picking a fight with. The guy who had taken Alex, zapped off with her and not even let Dean know where to. The guy who had spent all friggin' night there in the same room with her, and was even sitting on Alex's bed staring at her intensely when Dean had woken up. The warning he had given himself in 2014 seemed to be screaming through his mind anew like a blaring alarm, danger, _danger_!

Dean left Alex's room and barged out into the hallway, looking both ways for the angel in question. Cas was a few doors down, looking into a patient's room through the open door, staring curiously at the flowers at the patient's bedside. Dean marched toward him, every freaked out, scared shitless thought compelling him forward.

He hadn't thought much of the warning he'd given himself in 2014, not after asking Alex about it a month ago—it had sounded absolutely ridiculous—junkless dweeby Cas and emo awkward Alex, a _couple_? He would find it funny if it wasn't starting to legitimately worry him. When he asked her about it when they got back, she'd smacked down the idea immediately, which had effectively sent the worry packing in Dean's mind. Until yesterday.

The image of Cas holding a woozy Alex up fleetingly passed over his mind's eye—the sight had freaked him the hell out; both of them bleeding and battered and clinging to each other in a way that seemed too close, too personal. He'd remembered his words to himself in 2014, when he'd warned about Cas being Alex's death sentence.

He thought again about how Cas held his sister. Cas held Alex like he meant it—there was no other way to describe it—like a man held a woman. It had unsettled Dean in the deepest way possible, but he'd tried to tell himself it was nothing, tried to believe the best of both his friend and his sister, but was still left wondering when the hell this had happened. Last time he checked Alex was annoyed by Cas, didn't trust him much. Maybe he should have paid closer attention, because now he was beginning to suspect the worst.

The scene he'd witnessed when he'd woken just a few minutes ago flashed across his mind again: his sister propped up in bed, Cas sitting on that bed, entirely too close to her as they gazed at each other, their expressions so _intense_ and disappearing the second they realized Dean was awake. Cas, standing up, as if trying to _hide_ something from him. And all of it was setting something off inside Dean, some raging fear that everything he'd warned himself about was true, was possible, and _maybe already happening_.

Dean had reached Cas in all of ten seconds, his jumbled, chaotic thoughts making him physically shaky. He roughly grabbed the angel by the shoulder, demanding his attention angrily. "Okay, Cas, you tell me _right now_ —what the hell is going on with you and my sister?"

Cas seemed perplexed by the sudden assault, looking at Dean's hand with a disapproving frown, then at Dean with narrowed eyes. "I'm her protector."

"Yeah? What, you don't have a _thing_ for her?" Dean pressed angrily, not letting go of Cas, instead grabbing a fistful of the trench coat covering Cas's shoulder.

The angel's head tilted slightly to the side in perplexed bewilderment and he ignored Dean's physical escalation. "What kind of… 'thing'?"

Dean was disgusted, impatient with Cas's stupidity. "You are such a pain in my ass," he griped through tightly clenched teeth, and then his voice raised into a near shout, and he shoved Cas slightly with the hand that gripped his shoulder. "Like, _a romantic thing_!"

At that, Cas's expression darkened, and he stepped further into Dean's space, voice lowered, as he grabbed Dean's hand off of his shoulder and pushed it away, his superhuman strength overpowering Dean's attempt at resistance easily. "You should watch your tone with me," Castiel almost growled. "I have tolerated your disrespect toward me for a very long time, Dean." The angel was clearly angry. "I have proved myself again and _again_ to you. Why are you angry with me?"

"Because in twenty-fourteen, I found out _you're_ the one who gets Alex _killed_ , okay?" Dean spat out, and there it was, out in the open.

Cas went completely still, his face screwing up in disbelief. " _What_?"

"Yeah, apparently," Dean said sarcastically. There was general horror on Castiel's face, an expression Dean hadn't seen there before.

"Why didn't you mention that when you told me everything?" Cas asked, sounding genuinely upset, almost angry. Dean met his demanding gaze haltingly. He'd taken the angel aside when Cas had checked in a couple weeks ago and told him, in general terms, about 2014, but he hadn't exactly known how to bring up that little part about Alex. He also hadn't really seen the point, because he had honestly believed it was a bunch of weirdo crap, mostly, until yesterday and today. At Dean's silence, Cas relented, his face softening. He touched Dean's shoulder gently, imploringly—the same shoulder that held the angry red hand print Cas had burned onto him in Hell. Dean looked at him harshly as Cas spoke. "It can't be true, Dean. You _know_ that I would never let her die," Cas reasoned, but he sounded disturbed, unsure, as if he didn't know what to believe. He took his hand off of Dean's shoulder.

"Well it wasn't exactly in your control anymore, was it, Cas?" Dean asked him bitterly. "You weren't an angel anymore, remember? You were a friggin' human, and twenty-fourteen me warned _me_ me to keep you two apart."

Cas shook his head, either not understanding, or flat out refusing. "We can't be apart, I'm her guardian angel." Dean's expression darkened as Cas continued. "I've been charged to watch over her for her lifetime."

Dean laughed humorlessly, seeing the irony right away. "If memory serves, you were also charged with being obedient to Heaven, and I don't see you following _that_ little rule anymore."

Visibly caught off guard by that statement, Cas was momentarily silent, almost guiltily so, and Dean looked at him in superiority. Then, Cas raised his chin, face neutral again. "Dean, I promise you. I will never let harm come to her."

"Then why is she in a _hospital bed_ right now, huh Cas?" Dean raged. "Cuz you did such a damn great job protecting her yesterday!"

Hurt shimmered across Cas's face before his eyes lowered in shame. Dean regretted his words, just a little bit. But then even more when Cas spoke, not looking at Dean. "I suppose I did fail her. And you. I couldn't rescue any of you from Gabriel. He was too powerful for me. Especially now." His eyes flicked up, pained, and Dean knew he meant now that he was cut off from Heaven. "I'm deeply sorry, Dean."

Dean had to clench his jaw to hold back his annoyance that Cas had just made it so much harder to be angry with him. He relented, remembering everything Cas had ever done for him, how much he owed the guy. And truth be told, Dean was tired of being angry at everyone. In fact, he was beginning to feel kind of desperate. But he couldn't admit to that. He took a deep breath, trying to reconcile his anger and suspicion to how much he liked and wanted to trust the angel. "Listen, Cas, buddy. I appreciate everything you've done for us. I do. I'm just—up against a whole _hell_ of a lot, you know?"

"Yes. I do know," Cas replied, surprising Dean. "That's why I'm trying to help you." He looked at Dean meaningfully, tinged with guilt. "It's the least I can do. After all we've been through together."

Dean couldn't hold his gaze. He let out a heavy, guilty, ashamed huff of air. Why was every damn relationship in his life like this? Full of angry fights and guilt that never let go. It was exhausting. It felt terrible. And Cas was right—they had been through a lot. It was easy to forget when angry that this angel had raised him from Hell. Restored Alex's voice. Saved their asses multiple times. Defied Heaven and _died_ for them. Dean looked at Cas grudgingly, feeling like an ass.

Maybe he was reading into a situation that wasn't even there at all. Cas hadn't answered him, _exactly_ , about Alex. But was it because Cas didn't even understand that possibility? Didn't understand the question because it was so unfathomable to him? Maybe the things Dean had been upset by—the way Cas had held Alex, the way he'd been gazing at her in the bed—maybe he was overreacting and just misinterpreting it. Cas was a pretty intense, unaware, awkward guy, right? And hell, to a passerby, the way Cas had touched Dean's shoulder a minute ago could have been misinterpreted. Dean really wanted to believe it was as simple as that. But after the warning he'd given himself… after _everything_ … he would never be able to let it go completely and he knew that. But today, he needed to just drop it instead of allowing this wavering allyship to break apart. Cas was waiting patiently for Dean to speak again, watching him silently, somberly.

Dean shook his head and shrugged mildly, spreading his hands. "I'm sorry man. It's just, you told me once that all roads lead to the same destination, that destiny can't be changed. So, I mean, what the hell am I supposed to do? Just let you and Alex pal around, become best buds and then whatever else? That's me signing her death certificate, if twenty-fourteen me was telling the truth. Can I take that chance?" Cas's eyebrows moved together just slightly. "Sammy and Al, man. They're all I've got left—I can't lose them, Cas, not after everyone else. And I just saw a future where they both _die_. So the only option I got left is to fight like hell to make sure that never happens." He looked at Cas openly, not sure what else to say.

Cas was empathetic, once again surprising Dean. "I understand."

Dean looked at Cas fully, letting himself be real for a just a moment. To sound the way he felt. Broken and scared and desperate. "Do you still believe it, Cas? That fate, destiny, whatever, can't be changed?"

Cas met his eyes with a grim hesitance, a muscle in his cheek jumping, his brows furrowing. "Truthfully... I'm not sure anymore."

Dean went still, scrutinizing Cas intently, unsure why the answer struck him as oddly ominous. Maybe it was because for a flicker of a second, he wasn't sure if Cas were telling the truth or not.

* * *

**Later That Day**

The TV had been off for awhile now. Silence just sounded better. Alex stared out the hospital window from where she sat in the bed. She couldn't really see anything out the window except some tree branches. Sometimes, squirrels ran along the limbs, stopped, beat their tails in the air, then darted onwards. She watched idly, disinterested, not really seeing with her eyes, just thinking.

Dean had come back in a few minutes after he'd disappeared and shaken Sam awake. He'd been sort of quiet and grumpy, but at least not a total douche like before. He'd apparently run Cas off, because the angel never reappeared. Maybe that was for the best, but it made Alex feel a little sad at the same time. She had wanted him to stay. However, the intense thoughts his presence had put her through were still there, in the back of her mind bothering her, confusing her, which is why it was probably best for him to be gone. He'd probably show up again in a week or two like he always did. In the mean time, she'd be left to her own devices... second-guessing everything, as usual. She thought about Cas reaching out to touch her hand. Thought of it over and over again.

Sam and Dean stayed with her for awhile, but it hadn't exactly been the Brady Bunch. They'd sat around in tense silence, watching TV halfway, ignoring the elephant in the room. Sam tried asking her at one point if she were okay, implying he wanted to know what had happened—but she told them she didn't want to talk about it, more or less. After that they left, saying they were going on a supply run, and then Sam texted to let her know they were grabbing lunch too and did she want anything. No. She didn't.

Alex was using the opportunity of solitude to mull over everything that Gabriel had put her through. In truth it all seemed kind of like one of her bad dreams. Like it couldn't have actually happened, that it was all in her mind. And well, she needed to remind herself that it _hadn't_ happened, not really, and it hadn't been real, not actually. But her pain? That _had_ been real. And Cas, _he_ had been real. The way he'd held her… that had been real. _That had been real_.

More disturbingly, the memories of her family… those had been real. She wished they weren't. She'd pushed the ones she remembered away on purpose. And the ones she'd never seen before, well. They hurt on an entirely new level. Made her feel like she couldn't trust anyone ever again. But underneath the negative feelings and the strong desire to bash their heads into a wall and leave, never come back… she refused to let herself think like that. Because she was deeply suspicious, after some thought, that maybe Gabriel was playing an angle where he wanted her to fall to pieces over all this and break the brothers apart so they would 'play their roles.' He had said he did all that crap to her because she was like him and she needed to see the truth. But she really didn't buy that crap. She refused to be tricked. And he _did_ call himself the Trickster, after all. But that didn't make sticking with her brothers any easier after feeling betrayed, rejected, and lied to by them.

She heard an increasingly familiar sound—Cas arriving, and she looked away from the window, startled out of her thoughts. He stood there at the foot of her bed, his hands clasped behind his back. That was new. "Hello, Alex."

"Hi Cas," she said, glad to see him back (surprised, too). He looked handsome as always, solid and comforting. There was a noticeable spike in her anxiety level at his arrival. After a second of silence where he didn't say anything further, she cleared her throat softly, feeling awkward. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to check on you," he said, as if that should have been obvious. He glanced around the room. "Where are your brothers?"

"Went to go get food."

Cas didn't ask after them further. He had fixed her with an expression that was something like hopeful or uncertain, but also nearly excited. "I… have something for you." He came to the side of the bed, and his expression reminded her of when he'd been so proud of himself for remembering the pinky promise. "I noticed other patients, in other rooms, had flowers…" from behind his back, he produced a little bundle of yellow wildflowers. He held them out to her and she felt her face go slack when she saw a bad little twine knot held them together. She was suddenly incredibly upset. Cas was saying, "I found them in a meadow right in the middle of a highway—"

Alex couldn't look at him _._ Yellow wildflowers, tied in a shitty knot, _just_ like Cas had left on her grave in 2014. Cas stopped mid sentence, taking in her face. "What's wrong?" He looked at the flowers in his hand, confounded, almost alarmed. "Are they the wrong kind? Is this an inappropriate gesture?"

Alex tried to compose herself, but it didn't really work. "No… they're, they're, very nice, t-thank you."

All the times she'd been in the hospital, she'd never been given flowers. Now, she felt emotional for different reasons. She was genuinely touched that Cas saw other patients with flowers, thought of her sitting in a room without any, decided she should have some, went out into a _highway median_ and picked her some damn wildflowers. Gathered them into a bunch, tied them together with twine he got who knows where. Knotted them together in a horrible excuse for a bow, like a little kid might. Cas looked positively devastated as his eyes went from her face to the flowers uncertainly.

"I... don't understand—I thought you'd find them pleasing," Cas said, fumbling, and growing more confused by the second. His distress made Alex feel even worse. "Are they... the wrong color?"

"No," she said, half to herself, looking at them, almost physically pained at the memories they stirred inside. She saw a wooden cross etched with her initials, flowers just like these sitting there at the base. "They're... the right color." She reached out and took them, , not wanting him to think she was ungrateful. She knew she couldn't make him understand why—she refused to tell him about all of that. It was too painful, and he wouldn't know how to handle it.

He was mystified at her comment that they were the right color, but the moment was interrupted as Dean and Sam walked through the door. "What're you doing here?" Dean asked, not exactly friendly, but not as rude as earlier, either. Alex had quickly dashed away the expression on her face. Dean hadn't noticed, too busy giving Cas the evil eye. But Sam was looking at his sister intently, his eyebrows furrowed.

Cas seemed to take Dean's question as a 'get lost' because he straightened and told Dean, "I was just leaving. I still have much work to do tracking down this demon Crowley." He glanced at Alex, then back at Dean. "I'll be in touch." And he disappeared.

Dean looked at Alex, eyebrows raised, not exactly short on attitude. "Nice flowers."

"Why are you being such an asshole?" Alex asked pointedly.

"Because it's a Monday," Sam quipped, attempting to lighten the mood. He got a sharp glare from Dean.

"I'm not being an asshole, I'm looking out for you," Dean said, addressing Alex gruffly. "Future me told me Cas is the reason you died, remember?" He made a face and threw his hands up. "Sorry for caring."

"They're just _flowers_ ," she grumbled.

Sam looked at his brother sidelong. "Dean, to be fair, do you really think that was a _real_ future Zachariah showed you two? I mean—"

"I'm not taking that chance," Dean said, cutting him off sternly. "On _either_ of your lives. Okay? So call me an asshole, I don't care." His pissy expression and general attitude didn't really convince the twins, who looked at each other at the same time, as if to say 'yeah, sure.'

Sam, a little uncomfortable, visibly pushed aside the retort he was holding inside and looked at Alex, clearing his throat. "Uh, so listen, we stopped and talked to the doc. They wanna do a psych evaluation in a few minutes."

Alex's eyebrows shot up high and then she began sitting up in the bed. "Oh, forget _that_." She ripped the IVs out of her arms even as both of her brothers gaped in horror, Sam kind of springing forward, arms outstretched, trying to stop her, but it was already too late.

"The _hell_ are you doing?" Dean demanded, totally aghast, like she'd lost her mind.

"I don't need a shrink asking me twenty questions about my life and my brain, okay?"

She shoved her shoes onto her feet unceremoniously, and Sam's plea of "Stop, Alex—" fell on deaf ears.

"I'm _fine,"_ she pretty much spat out, ignoring the stabbing pain in her side and the lightness in her head. "Let's go. Before they figure out the health insurance stuff they got from me this morning was fake."

Dean and Sam looked at each other, kind of grudging to admit that she did kind of have a point… and besides, Alex was already at the door. She looked back at where the wildflowers Cas had brought her had been forgotten on the bed. She glanced at Dean, who was watching her closely. And without much other choice, she turned and walked out, leaving the flowers there, because taking them felt like a loud exclamation of how much she was beginning to feel for Cas. And she didn't want anyone to know.

* * *

**Twenty Minutes Later  
Mama Q's Diner**

Dean shoved the plate of pancakes and sausage at Alex, who was practically glaring at him across the table. "Eat it."

"I'm _not hungry_ , Dean, I _told you_ ," she said.

She didn't appreciate this. But Dean was set on her eating something and had ordered her a huge breakfast plate and kept pressing. "Just eat it, will you?" He barked, losing whatever patience he'd had. "You need your strength!"

She was getting more angry by the second. "Stop telling me what to do!" She shot back heatedly. At this point, she wouldn't eat even if she _were_ hungry, just to spite him. Sam glanced between them uncomfortably as Alex pushed the plate back to Dean slowly, purposefully, her voice dripping with attitude. "I'm _fine_. Just stop it, Dean. Everyone, but especially _you_ , need to stop acting like I'm about to break in half or like you can boss me around all day long."

At that Dean smiled in superiority, leaning back in the booth casually, knowing exactly how much that would piss her off. "So, Gabe really got to you, huh?"

He wouldn't have that stupid, smug smile on his face if he knew exactly what that all entailed. "Yeah, he did, okay Dean?" Alex replied angrily, and his smile disappeared at her brash tone. She scowled at her brothers across the table. One was giving her the 'I don't understand' puppy dog eyes. The other was giving her the threatening ' _make_ me understand' glare. And Alex was outraged, her anger driven by the things Gabriel had showed her about them yesterday. "Gabriel, Trickster, whoever he is, showed me some messed up stuff. Made me _do_ some pretty messed up stuff."

"Yeah, Cas gave us the Spark's Notes last night," Dean said, and his word choice and asshole tone got an even more agitated glare from Alex.

"Well thanks for your _concern_ ," she said snidely, to which Dean just rolled his eyes. Alex could have punched him in the frigging mouth.

Sam leaned across the table, intent, concerned, and focused on his twin—polar opposite of Dean right now. "What happened, Alex?" He asked gently. "What'd he show you?"

Alex glanced at him fleetingly, kind of dodging his inquisitive, caring stare, her rage ebbing off a little. She felt exposed and sad suddenly instead of pissed, not sure how Sam could always be so calm and placating even when she was being purposefully bitchy. "You don't wanna know," she answered quietly, looking down at her lap.

"Oh, we _don't_?" Dean asked rudely.

" _Dean_ —" Sam said, giving his brother an exasperated, pointed look.

"Shut up Sam!" Dean retorted.

Alex's furrowed brow returned as she leveled Dean with an angry stare, her hackles raising. "Don't _talk_ to him like that, Dean!" He seemed surprised she was standing up to him again, but Alex had just had it with the shitty attitude, the domineering crap, and the bullying. " _God_ —what is your _problem_?" she asked, disgusted. She wanted to get back at her oldest brother and make him feel as crappy as he'd made her feel. She knew exactly how. And she was already talking before she could really stop herself. "You wanna know so bad about the absolute hell I went through? Which part, Dean, the part where Dad showed up and tried to kill me, taunted me, tortured me? Or the part where I had to kill Sam in cold blood? _Or_ the part where you dug a knife into my chest?" She pointed at the place where gauze was taped to her chest. "Or maybe you wanna know about the shitty memories Gabriel made me go through again. _Or_ the fucked up shit you two did and thought I'd never find out about." Sam looked especially nervous at that statement, but Dean looked unsure, like he couldn't imagine what she was talking about. Alex was like a train going full steam at this point, no possibility of stopping as she levelled Dean with a hurt, angry stare. "I saw you telling Dad I was only gonna get in the way of that last hunt he went on. You begged him to leave me behind because I was gonna _hold you back_." Dean looked startled, and Alex gave him a facetious little smile. "Real heartwarming, right?"

She turned her attention to Sam who looked pained by association and a little nervous because he knew he was next. She couldn't muster the same fiery, lecturing tone. When she spoke to him, she sounded more heartbroken and confused than anything else. "And Sam. Like, twelve years old and straight up _lying_ to some kids and telling them I was disabled and _asthmatic_ and that I wouldn't want to play football with them… then coming over to me and then lying to _me_ , saying the kids didn't want me to play. I mean, what the hell? Why?"

Sam looked positively shocked, and in quick succession, guilty. Dean, highly uncomfortable, was looking at Sam oddly. Alex chuckled sardonically, momentarily getting small, dark satisfaction out of seeing them squirm. "But guys, that's not even the best one. Picture this, right? Sam, like, killed some kittens in an alley—ripped them to friggin' shreds, and Dean was there too, you guys wanna explain what the hell _that_ was?"

"That—" Sam stumbled verbally, horrified. "I—you have to believe me. I don't understand how it happened, or why. It was almost like I was possessed."

"But you _weren't,_ " Dean said, giving Sam a harsh look. "I checked." Sam looked chastised and repelled.

Alex looked at Dean piercingly. "Dean, you knew about that all these years and never told me. Why?" she asked, to which Dean gave her a disbelieving look, like she was crazy to even suggest that.

"Because you were a damn kid, and a pretty friggin' fragile one at that, don't you think it would have, uh, like freaked you the hell out to learn your brother was like doing serial killer crap behind motels?" He almost seemed to think it was funny at this point. " _Why_ would I ever tell you, huh? At _any_ point?"

Alex leaned forward, unamused—she had thought about this all morning long. "Because I _could have told you_ that Sam would never _do_ that. Use your brain for _two seconds_ , Dean. Sam _loves_ animals. Dude was the biggest pansy in the world about blood and guts growing up." Sam was double-taking, not sure whether to be offended or happy she was standing up for him. "I mean, yeah, the whole thing is super freaky. Super, super freaky." She frowned, not looking at anything in particular. Thinking hard. "But... not quite right. I mean... what if that memory isn't even real? Did either of you consider that?"

They both sat back a little bit, their faces giving away the fact that obviously they hadn't. "But who could have done that?" Sam asked hesitantly. "And more importantly, _why_? That makes no sense."

"But it _does_ make sense," Alex said, believing it herself, getting intense. "Think about it. Maybe it's the angels trying to screw with us, or demons, even. Trying to turn us against each other. It wouldn't be the first time they've messed with our heads."

Dean snorted, his momentary intrigue gone. "Come on, Al. That'd be nice to believe it didn't happen, but from where I'm sitting, it sure as hell did. I was _there_. It's not like the glove doesn't fit—Sam's got a dark side, and we all know it." Sam's jaw tightened at that thoughtless comment, but he said nothing, letting Dean continue on his tirade. "Sam's the demon blood junkie. The one who set freakin' fires for kicks."

At that comment, the twins exchanged a terse look and then Alex looked at Dean long and hard. Sam's gaze dropped into his lap and he remained silent. Alex wet her lips and clasped her hands on the table, looking Dean dead in the eyes reluctantly, jaw clenched tightly as she hesitated. She should have known this day would come when she'd say these words aloud. "Sam wasn't the one who started fires, Dean. That was me."

Dean stared at her, completely blindsided. " _What_?"

"Yeah," was all Alex said, looking away, uncomfortable. This was something she wasn't proud of.

Dean wheeled on Sam, turning himself physically to stare at his brother. "You _covered_ for her?"

Sam returned his brother's stare, not backing down. "Yeah Dean, I did."

Dean looked confused. He was looking back at his sister, still too shocked to be pissed off yet. "You wanna tell me _why_ you would do that crap, Alex?"

She remembered the thrill of watching flames lick, devour, and destroy objects. It had started with balls of paper and scraps of cloth. And then, daring herself one time, she set a library book on fire, just sat and watched it burn. Wondered if everyone would think she were a hero and an amazing person if she secretly started a fire, let others see it, then put it out herself, making it seem like she saved everyone. Others would like her then. In pursuit of this idea she'd started fires in school bathrooms and libraries and one time, even the cafeteria, but always alone, not brave enough to really burn anything big or that could get out of hand. She remembered Sam, finding her several times and freaking out and then when the Wrath of Dean showed up... he'd told Dean he'd done it. To this day Sam had never told anyone the truth—ever.

Dean was currently staring at his sister waiting for an explanation. She shrugged briefly, embarrassed. "I guess, I dunno." She paused, realizing the irony of all of this. "Maybe I'm dark inside too." She thought of their whole lives. The monsters they had faced, the things they had done in the dark, things they wanted to forget. She glanced at Dean, the man who had tortured souls in hell and confessed he'd _enjoyed_ it. "I think maybe we _all_ are," she said cynically, and for a moment, the table was silent and somber. After a moment digging for bravery, Alex caught her twin's eye. "Sam, you covering for me like that meant a lot to me. It really did." There was a temporary lull, in which the twins looked at each other anxiously, all their childhood closeness remembered mutually. And then Alex continued. "But… we gotta talk about that lying, manipulating crap. You made it seem like those kids didn't want me to play… you lied straight to my face. And I get the feeling that wasn't the only time. Cuz I remember you telling me stuff like that a lot. That the other kids didn't want me around or didn't want to play with me." She almost didn't want to know the answer to her next question. "How often did you do stuff like that?"

"More than I should have," Sam admitted, agonized.

Alex shook her head slowly, heartbroken. "But _why_?"

Her twin almost looked at the point of tears now, shaking his head and barely able to look her in the eye. Even Dean looked like he was dreading the answer. Sam struggled. "It's not that I didn't want you to have fun—I just thought—in a weird way, that I was keeping you safe, because I mean, kids _did_ make fun of you. They called you horrible stuff, and maybe some of them might not have, if I gave them the chance to let you into their circles, but—I hated to see you hurt. I still do." Sam drew a deep breath. "And, also, I just—I just wanted you to _look up to me_." His jaw tightened. He was clearly ashamed. "I wanted you to love me like you loved Dean. And you loved Dean because he _did_ protect you, and he made you feel safe, he comforted you when you were sad..." At Alex's hurt expression, Sam shook his head, humiliated. Dean put an elbow on the table and scrubbed his face with the palm of his hand—his guilt and frustration and disbelief was palpable.

But Sam wasn't done, even though he was clearly upset. "And it's so _stupid_. I don't know, it's like I just figured out a way to make you like me more, depend on me more, and I did it. It was pathetic, it was crazy." He put his head in his hands and stared at the tabletop. "God, I really am a psychopath."

"No, you're _not_ ," Alex said immediately, passionately, because she knew exactly what he meant—how freakish and stupid he felt for his mistakes—she knew that feeling intimately. "I mean, we're _all_ messed up, okay? How could we not be? I mean, we barely had a parent—Dad was gone, constantly. We moved, _constantly_. Everything changed except the three of us. It was always us three. And maybe we were a lot more dysfunctional than we thought, and I mean, we already knew we were dysfunctional, but..." she trailed off, looking at Sam, who was visibly waiting for her to tear into him. "Sam… you didn't have to do all that stuff to get me to love you. Me loving you was… always just a given."

Sam could say nothing. He looked so deeply regretful. Silence stretched out between them. "God, Sam," Dean said finally, sounding tired, empty, and maybe a little disappointed, too.

Sam looked at his older brother in earnest, broken sadness. "I know. It was stupid. I know. But I lived my _whole life_ in your shadow, Dean. I mean, Dad loved you the best because you were the most like him, and I always felt second or third best."

Dean's eyebrows shot up in genuine wounded surprise. "Are you _kidding_ me? _You_ were Dad's favorite, Sammy. You were the most normal one of us, like with good grades and a nice little future—no matter what I did, Dad just…" he trailed off, his eyes ghosting over years of pain. "I always disappointed him." Dean looked directly at Sam, pushing past his inner demons. "He didn't see you as a failure, okay?" There was a self-deprecating smile playing on Dean's mouth. "That was me."

"Dean," Sam appealed, "Dad might have been _hard_ on you, but he _loved_ you, and you know he did. I was the odd one out, or, at least, that's how I felt." He looked miserable. "I was jealous of you both."

Alex looked at him like he had two heads. "Wait… I get why you might be jealous of Dean, but me, too? _Me_?"

Sam didn't meet her gaze. "You and Dean were always so close, it's like I was an outsider in my own family. I felt like a freak no matter where I went."

Dean irritably crossed his arms, half rolling his eyes. "Oh my god. Well boo hoo. We're _all_ pretty much freaks at this point, why do _you_ get to bitch and moan about it?"

Sam looked at Dean with some hostility but waited a second before replying, keeping himself calm. "I just know I wanted a life outside of hunting and paranormal crap and you _all_ gave me hell for it." He looked stone-faced. "It was like I was damned if I did, damned if I didn't. Sometimes still feels that way."

"So why are you here now?" Alex asked softly, sort of dreading the answer.

Sam did one of those little airy laughs, trying to cover up his real feelings. "Well, what else is there for me? Every time I try to have a normal life, it falls apart. It doesn't work. I guess I'm meant to do this. Even if I don't really want to all the time." Dean had the audacity to look somewhat hurt. Sam backpedaled a little. "Don't get me wrong. I know it's important. I know that."

Dean huffed at Sam, his angry fire gone, replaced by darkness. "But if your heart's not in it… why bother?"

"Because _you_ guys are in it," Sam said earnestly. "Yeah, I spend half the time being annoyed and pissed off with both of you, but at the end of the day… even though I'm not so sure about the rest of everything else in life… you're my family." He shrugged a little, grim. "Also, I kinda raised Lucifer. I need to put him back down."

" _We_ ," Dean corrected tersely. " _We_ are gonna put him down. Family affair."

"But—" Sam started.

"You know the drill, Sam," Dean cut him off. "We stick together. Even if everything in the damn universe is trying to tear us apart. We've tried to do it separately and it never works. So that's not gonna fly anymore." The brothers fell silent. It wasn't a comfortable, amicable silence.

Alex had felt hopeful a minute ago that they were going to reconcile something here. But they were pretty much where they'd started. And that was an exhausting way to be left feeling. "You know, it's like every damn thing in our lives—angels, demons, even the three of us—are working together without even realizing it to tear us apart and turn us against each other," she said. Dean's expression was snide and Alex looked at him dangerously, daring him to say something. "Gabriel was trying to tell me that I should just give up and let this whole thing happen, walk away from you guys. Kept going on about how I didn't have a part to play… but, you know what?" She paused, then spat out, "I don't _accept_ that. _He_ gave up on _his_ family. Well, that's his problem." She grabbed the untouched plate of now-cold pancakes and sausage, yanking it to herself. "Even if you _are_ fucking insufferable," she muttered. "Fate, prophecies, _screw it_." She stabbed into a sausage link with her fork, not even sure what she was trying to express except intense frustration at this point. A stilted silence commenced, and then with an exasperated huff, Dean got up and left, presumably headed to the bathroom. Sam watched him go then switched to watching his twin silently for a minute as she ate angrily.

"Hey, so…" he ventured. She chewed her sausage, looking at him guardedly. He pulled out a bent out of shape bundle of yellow wildflowers from his jacket pocket, and she stopped mid-chew. "You, uh, forgot something." Alex stared blankly at the flowers, then at Sam, who shrugged. "Got the feeling you didn't want them left behind," he said. He didn't say anything except that. But there was genuine care and maybe even understanding there.

She took the flowers from him slowly—touched deeply by the kind, thoughtful gesture. A soft, hesitant, surprised smile was on her face. "Thanks, Sammy."

He returned the smile, but a guarded sadness remained. Alex looked at the wildflowers pensively and put them in her jacket pocket before Dean came back. She looked at her twin closely, wondered if he had any clue what those flowers meant to her.

* * *

**One Month Later  
Bobby's House**

"We're about to go in now. If you don't hear from us in the next couple hours, _then_ you come," Dean's voice said in Alex's ear.

"I should be there with you guys right _now_ ," she replied into the phone sullenly.

"Well, just didn't work out that way, did it?" Dean asked, then didn't give her a chance to reply. "Talk to you later." In other words, conversation over.

"Yeah, fine."

They hung up.

This was a _crazy_ idea—stealing the Colt from some kind of super crossroads demon, this Crowley guy. And crazier still that Alex _wasn't there with them_. It almost seemed too convenient how Dean and Sam had gotten the heads up on Crowley's location and how Alex had gotten left behind. Ellen and Jo Harvelle had joined them at Bobby's a couple days ago, ready to help take down Lucifer, and they had been happy to have them. It was obvious to Alex that Dean liked Jo a lot, but really, did he have to take Jo in what felt like Alex's place? After the whole memory about Dean telling Dad Alex would just slow them down, it added insult to injury to feel replaced, even if it were just for one day.

Dean had just been acting weirder and _weirder_ ever since Alex got out of the hospital, freaking out over her safety, trying to get her to eat more, losing his temper more and more frequently and with less provocation. He hadn't really been doing the same to Sam, which irritated Alex and made Sam kind of uncomfortable. Sam had even said something to Dean about it in Alex's defense, then gotten verbally bitch slapped.

The thing about it all was they had _known_ the location on Crowley was coming at any time—Cas had been tracking the demon for the past two weeks. Earlier that very day, Alex and Bobby had gone into town on a supply run, leaving Sam, Dean, Jo, and Ellen behind. When they got back, just Ellen had remained. And then Alex got a call from Dean, saying they were already an hour away, that Cas had called with the location of Crowley, that they had been out checking out a lead when they got the call, that they were just going to go ahead and go. Without her. Naturally, she'd _loved_ that. It smelled like a setup to her, which is why she was feeling so crappy right now.

She'd been stuck here all day as Ellen and Bobby spent time shooting the shit and laughing about days gone by—which kind of upset Alex, who was worrying about demons, angels and her brothers, who were probably going to get themselves killed trying to get the damn Colt. She'd skulked around the house all day, trying to busy herself—fiddling with her shotgun (cleaning it three times), sweeping the kitchen, beating on a punching bag, having spur-of-the-moment target practice with some especially loud crows in the salvage yard, switching on the TV (hating everything on there), trying to reorganize Bobby's pantry. She gave up on that after awhile. Basically, she wasted time all day, her anxiety level creeping up as time went by. Around sunset, she'd gotten the second call from Dean, the 'we're going in,' call—and that had been about forty minutes ago. So now, _more waiting_. Alex felt like a caged animal, restless and pissed off. She was pacing the study now, listening idly to Ellen and Bobby in the other room. An abandoned whiskey bottle and a couple of shot glasses were on the desk where she'd left them.

She turned, paced the short length of the study again. If Dean had done this, left her behind on _purpose_ , she was seriously going to _strangle_ —she bumped into someone and she never finished the thought.

Cas's familiar face was in front of her. Her eyes widened in surprise. "Cas!" She hadn't seen him in two weeks. As usual, his sudden appearance caught her off guard.

"Hello Alex," he greeted neutrally, all business. "Your brothers have the Colt and are on their way here. They should be here in about twenty minutes."

"They _got_ it?" Alex asked, relieved but also a little surprised.

"Yes. Apparently Crowley just... _gave_ it to them," Cas said. "And told them where Lucifer will be tomorrow. It's not far from here." And that's when she saw the signs of suspicion and apprehension on his face, which counteracted the relief she'd felt a second ago. She opened her mouth to ask what was wrong, but behind her, she heard a voice.

"Who's your friend, Alex?" Ellen was leaned against the door frame, smiling, a beer in hand.

Ellen probably already knew who it was, but Alex humored her, a little impatiently. "Ellen, this is Cas."

"Ah, the angel—heard a lot about you." Ellen sauntered forward, stuck her hand out for a hand shake. Cas complied, remembering. Alex smiled a little, watching him. "You must've seen my daughter Jo if you were just with Sam and Dean," Ellen said conversationally.

Cas looked distracted. "Yes, the blonde one," he said dismissively.

The older woman kind of chuckled at that comment.

"Ellen, get your ass in here! I can't reach the damn top shelf," Bobby complained from the kitchen, and Ellen rolled her eyes in good nature.

"I'm comin', old man." She left.

Alex plopped down into one of the chairs at the study desk, motioning for Cas to take a seat opposite her. She leaned forward over an arm, intent on getting some answers. "Okay, Cas, so why would Crowley just give them the gun? And tell them where the devil is gonna be tomorrow?"

He sat opposite of her, still distracted. "Apparently he wants the devil dead as much as we do," Cas said. "Dean said Crowley claims that if Lucifer succeeds, he will obliterate demons." He paused, dismal. "Well, after he annihilates the human race first, of course."

Alex blinked. "Well." What did you say to that? "Uh, can't let _that_ happen."

He glanced at her sort of grudgingly. Alex wondered why he seemed so distant, so closed off. Maybe she'd hurt his feelings with the whole being upset when he'd presented her with flowers thing. The whiskey bottle nearby was looking better and better. Alex grabbed the bottle decisively.

"You know what? I think we could both use a drink," she said, pouring two shots. Cas looked at her questioning as she pushed a full shot toward him. "It's time for you to try some of the good stuff," she told him, holding her shot glass up in the air. He hesitated, then took the shot glass and did the same uncertainly, watching her for guidance. Alex clinked her glass up against his then demonstrated by lifting it to her lips, throwing her head back, and then slamming the shot glass down onto the desk. She grimaced against the sweet burn that made her muscles feel softer and more relaxed. She motioned to him to do his.

Cas didn't look enthused, but he raised the shot glass to his lips and just like she had, threw his head back, downing the amber liquid. His face was pinched and he held the glass in the air for a second, then remembered the last part and slammed it down, parroting her. He made a disgusted face and Alex bit her bottom lip, trying to hold in a laugh. "It tastes revolting," he stated, and gave her a perplexed look. "Why do you drink this?"

Alex shrugged, pouring another round. "Makes you feel better."

"Feel better than what?" he asked.

Her amusement faded. "Than normal, I guess." She raised her shot glass, a little perturbed by his question. "Bottoms up."

He took his shot up in his hand grudgingly, and they downed the shots at the same time. Alex thunked her glass down onto the desk and hissed. Damn, she loved whiskey. "Feel anything?" she asked Cas, who paused, then shook his head. What a shame. "Hey, they have whiskey in Heaven? Cuz if they don't, I'm not going." She grinned—that was funny. But he took her question seriously, pondering, eyes narrowed. He'd gently set his shot glass down even as she poured another shot.

"It would depend on the soul. Heaven isn't how the human mind traditionally imagines it. It's not one place. I suppose you could explain it as being a series of heavens. Each soul has its own heaven, a heaven that reflects that person's spirit."

"...So Heaven's not like some shiny mansion in the clouds?"

He seemed faintly perplexed by her question. "No."

"Everyone gets their own."

"Yes." He watched her take another shot. "Well. Some souls share a heaven, but that's extremely rare."

She felt her eyebrows raising and she neglected to slam the shot glass down. "What, like soul mates?" Surely that couldn't be the case.

His blue eyes met her hazel ones. "Yes."

Softening, Alex's voice was just a surprised murmur. "...I thought soulmates were made up."

Castiel's face took a turn toward—what was that? Amusement? Fondness? "Yes, and you also said angels didn't exist not long ago too." While it might have been blunt words, there was a softness there that struck Alex.

She didn't mean to, but she let out an embarrassing little laugh. That was a sweet thought. And it raised even more questions. "So okay, if Heaven is like, a celestial melting pot of tiny heavens… where do _you_ guys hang out? Do you guys get heavens of your own too?"

Cas grew more hard to read. "Angels aren't privileged to have personal heavens. We share a communal space, I guess you could say."

Alex felt a prick of interest. He sounded like he were talking about an office. "But Heaven's home, right?"

"Home," he repeated, testing out the word. It seemed like he hadn't ever considered that. Then he shook his head. "I don't think so. Bit it's the closest thing there is for me, I suppose."

Alex searched his face. The dimness of the room, the whiskey, the things she felt about him... it all allowed her to finally manage a very true thought to him. "You look sad sometimes."

Cas met her gaze readily. "I _am_ sad sometimes."

Immediately she felt empathy and wanted to take that feeling from him. But all she knew how to do was offer another shot. "Well, remember what I said about whiskey making things better?" She poured him more and handed it over, even as the thought crossed her mind: maybe she shouldn't be teaching him to cope with his feelings this way. Suddenly, she was thinking of 2014 Castiel, and the way it made her feel was so overwhelming. She watched Cas take another shot and sank quickly into clouded thoughts and fears, then quickly excused herself, saying she was going outside to get some air. Cas watched her go, a look on his face that she missed. It was almost like longing.

Outside, Alex contemplated the inky scenery and leaned against the weathered porch bannister, worry gnawing at her stomach. A minute later, the door opened and Bobby rolled out in his wheelchair.

"You okay, kid? S'going on with you?"

She stayed vague. "End of the world blues, I guess."

"Yeah, that'll do it to ya," Bobby commented, a rueful little smile hidden under his beard.

Alex glanced at him sidelong, sentimental feelings rising despite herself. This man, her _quote unquote_ uncle (more like the dad she'd never had) meant so much to her. Especially now that she'd seen him stand up for her in that memory Gabriel showed her. It proved that he cared about her, that he really, really loved her. And she would never, ever doubt that. Maybe she would doubt everyone else in the world, but not Bobby Singer. She remembered their months together when Dean died. Yeah, they'd had their little spats and hadn't exactly gelled immediately—different hunting styles and all that—but he had been there for her without question. Let her live with him, hunt with him. He'd let her lean on him when there was no one else in the world left to depend on. He'd bought little Hostess Cupcakes for her when she'd been sick with a cold. Handed them to her and muttered "I know ya like these, so, uh, here." It made her smile even now to think about.

He'd been there for her when she was a kid, too, more than he really realized. Some of her best memories were with him. Maybe it was because he'd always taken genuine interest in her. When she'd been with him she'd felt like she _mattered_ to him. And that feeling was irreplaceable. She smiled, thinking of her favorite memory. "Do you remember…" she asked aloud, reminiscent, "that time you took me to some kind of stupid princess puppet thing at the library… and we both hated it so much that we left half way through?"

He chuckled, a little embarrassed. "Yeah, I remember. Then you asked to go to the shooting range instead." He had this little smile, just for her, as he said, proudly, "that's my girl."

Alex could feel her heart swell in her chest at that. She breathed deeply, maintaining her composure. And after a minute, she looked at him again. She had to let him know—she might never have the chance again. "Uncle Bobby... I've really never told you, but… um... I just..." she didn't know how to word it without sounding sappy. It was just gonna have to sound sappy. "Having you in my life has meant a lot. Some of my favorite memories are right here, in this old house. With you."

He looked at her, obviously deeply touched. Then, he thought better of it, shook his head, and lectured. "Now don't you do that. Don't do this last night on earth speech crap to me, Alex Winchester." His grizzled face twisted up. "I'll kick your ass if you die tomorrow, hear me?"

Alex's mouth curved into a lopsided smile. "Loud and clear, boss."

Bobby sighed out long and hard, as if in defeat. "Ya'll are like the kids I never had." He reached over and put his hand on her back. "Always did want a daughter." His eyes were soft and kind and Alex felt her heart grow a size. A familiar sound met their ears, and they turned to see the Impala's headlights cutting through the dark, further down the driveway. "Good," Bobby said, turning to business mode again, "those idjits are finally back."

Alex watched the car approach, her feelings turning to worry and dread again. "Do we actually have a chance at this, Bobby?"

"Looks like," he said, but he sounded about as uncertain as she felt.

Sam, Dean, and Jo got out of the car. Jo had been sitting in Alex's seat. Jo grinned at them as she loped up. "We got it," she announced, glancing from Bobby to Alex, looking like she'd won the Olympics.

"I heard," Alex replied, looking past her and at Dean, who was purposefully ignoring her gaze.

Bobby was wheeling himself back inside the house, and Jo held the door for him, then went in after. Dean followed them inside, glancing tersely at Alex for the briefest of seconds, but basically ignoring her otherwise. Sam brought up the rear. The door slammed behind Dean and Sam stopped, looking at Alex. "Hey," he said. "Sorry you got left behind. It really wasn't intentional."

She looked at him crankily. "How'd you know I'd think that?"

He grinned crookedly at her and pointed at himself. "Come on. Your twin?" He put an arm around her and guided her inside.

Inside, Ellen had latched onto Cas in the dining room and had set up rows of double-shot shot glasses on the table. At Alex and Sam's arrival, Cas looked up at them. "We're playing a drinking game," he told them.

"Ellen, I don't think you're gonna win this one," Alex said.

From the study, Dean's voice bellowed. "Sammy!" Sam frowned a little and let go of Alex, who took a seat next to Ellen. Jo sauntered over to them from the kitchen, a bottle of beer in hand.

Ellen picked up a shot glass that was in front of her and drained it, then put it upside down next to four other empty ones. She challenged Cas with a smile playing on her lips. "All right, big boy," she said.

Cas looked at the woman and then reached for the first shot glass—downed it, set it back upside down just like she had—then did the same for the other four in rapid succession. Ellen and Jo looked highly impressed as he did so, and Alex, sitting back, arms crossed, had a conflicted smile on her lips as she watched.

He set down the fifth shot glass, and paused, trying to ascertain his level of sobriety. "I think I'm starting to feel something," he said, strangely almost excited.

Ellen gawked, then grinned at him. Beside Alex, Jo poured a shot and then put it in front of Alex, who shook her head. "Uh, yeah, no more for me. I'm _definitely_ feeling something." She pushed her shot glass at Cas, indicating he drink it too. He took it, downed it, waited, then shook his head.

"Actually, I don't think I _am_ feeling anything," he said regretfully.

Alex kind of chuckled. "You'd probably have to drink a whole store I guess."

"Sounds ill-advised," he said. And then he realized she was joking and allowed a smile to cross his face.

"Yeah, a trashed angel is all the world needs right now," Jo said, grinning at him widely. "But hey, why not?" She was pouring him more whiskey. Cas looked at Alex, who silently gazed back at him across the table. He had been away from her, from the Winchesters, for almost two weeks, and at first when he saw her again, he had been guarded. He still didn't understand what was happening with her and with him. The way he always felt so much when they occupied the same space together. It worried him.

Jo set the shot in front of him, said something—he wasn't listening—then walked off. He was still looking at Alex, whose gaze followed Jo in half-interest. Dean had come out of the study and followed Jo into the kitchen. Cas watched as Alex looked at them.

Alex seemed to be all right again after everything that happened with Gabriel. He had noticed that she had a scar on the palm of her hand where the stitches had healed. A reminder of how powerless he'd been to save or protect her. There was an odd sense that the angel couldn't seem to put his finger on, but he did recognize that she was acting differently. Something to do with the flowers he thought, but what? He didn't understand and couldn't identify what had changed, or what he had done. Alex felt his gaze and looked over. There in her eyes, the same thing he kept trying to decipher. It was different than how she used to look at him. And it always made him _feel_ so much...

Truthfully, Alex had been on his mind more and more and _more_ in the recent months. But especially this past month. Especially since everything that happened with Gabriel. And the fact that she remained in his thoughts was something he thought about, too. Grappled with. In human terms, agonized over.

"Right Cas?" Ellen said, laughing.

"I'm sorry, what?" he said, looking at her and frowning. She didn't say, just kind of got a strange smile on her face as if she were figuring him out.

Jo came back, pulled up a chair, leaned on the table and leaned toward Alex. "Your brother is such a loser."

"Which one?" Alex asked, because she honestly felt like it could go either way.

"Dean, _duh_ ," Jo said, grinning.

"You _just_ realizing this?" Alex joked.

"Everybody get in here!" Bobby called from inside the study. "It's time for the lineup. Usual suspects in the corner."

Ellen led the way into the study as everyone else shuffled in. "Oh come on, Bobby. Nobody wants their picture taken."

"Hear, hear," Sam agreed.

Bobby was fiddling with an old camera that was set on a tripod. "Shut up," he said. "You're drinking my beer." He rolled his wheelchair back, where everyone was piling in for the photo. "Anyway, I'm gonna need something to remember your sorry asses by."

Alex stood in front of Sam—Ellen on her left. Cas came and stood to her right. Their shoulders just touched.

"Ha!" Ellen guffawed at Bobby's snark. "Always good to have an optimist around."

Beside Alex, Castiel straightened, deadly serious. "Bobby's right. Tomorrow we hunt the devil. This is our last night on earth." Alex made a slight face. The camera flashed.

"Well. _That's_ a happy memory," Ellen said sarcastically, and headed back to the dining room where the alcohol was.

Alex was looking up at Cas in trepidation, but could find nothing to say, feeling entirely overwhelmed.

She went back outside onto the porch. What, he really believed that? Last night on earth?

Presently she heard the door open and close behind her. "Whatcha doing out here all alone?" Ellen another beer in hand. "Still a loner?" she asked fondly.

"Yeah, guess I am," Alex said, to which Ellen shook her head and leaned against the porch railing, thoughtful.

"Just don't know when you grew up, kiddo. You and Jo both. Happens too damn fast, and here I am just realizing how short life is." She sighed. "'Specially when I think about tomorrow."

"Yeah. This may be the stupidest thing we've ever done, huh?" Alex commented heavily. She hadn't meant it to sound so pessimistic.

Ellen nodded slowly, thoughtfully, speaking like she was talking to herself. "Might be. Might _not_. That's the beauty of the gamble." She looked at Alex appraisingly, a little smile crossing her lips. "So that angel buddy of yours. What about him?"

Alex looked at Ellen uncertainty, frowning slightly. "What do you mean?"

"Come on," Ellen nudged, looking slyer by the second. "Don't be coy with me. I saw the way you look at him. And, hell, the way he looks at you." Alex was shocked and immediately feeling heat rise into her face. She opened her mouth to deny it. Then couldn't. Ellen chuckled and then took a swig of beer. "You got it bad, girl."

"I do not," Alex said weakly. Even she didn't know why she was denying it right now.

Ellen looked at her meaningfully. "Trust me. I recognize the look."

Alex shifted, feeling put on the spot. "And so what if I did? It would never go anywhere."

"And you know that _how_?" Ellen asked, a little on the sarcastic side. "Hell, it's our last night on earth, apparently. No time like the present."

"Meaning what?" Alex asked.

"Make a move while you can." Ellen said simply, then shrugged. "And then, you'll know."

Alex toyed with the idea but shut it down quickly, too embarrassed at the thought of being rejected. Too lost in pessimism. It was a fantasy. "An angel wouldn't want all this."

Ellen didn't miss a beat. "Well trust me, _that_ one _does_."

Hearing the older hunter say that spiked a thrill inside, but Alex looked away, trying to cover up her increasing emotions with a soft laugh. "You're _drunk_ , Ellen."

"After all those shots, I better be," she replied, grinning lopsidedly.

Jo suddenly appeared, a huge new bottle of whiskey in her hand. "Mom! I need your help."

Ellen looked at her, eyebrows high. "With?"

"Opening this."

Ellen chuckled and looked at Alex. "We'll talk later," she said and gave Alex a motherly squeeze on the shoulder. Alex was left alone again, in what should have felt like peaceful solitude. But she just felt more anxious than before. Ellen's words had given her a momentary surge of hope. If this were her last night alive… maybe she _should_ at least consider…

Suddenly, she sensed someone next to her. Cas. His face was relaxed, he wasn't looking at her. He didn't say his usual "Hello, Alex." Instead he said, "here you are." He looked at her at that point, perplexed. "Ellen just told me she would snap my wings in half if I ever hurt you." Alex felt like she might die as Cas continued. "I think she was attempting humor. But such a feat is literally impossible, as my true form is incorporeal." He thought a moment.

"Right..." Alex said doubtfully, her thoughts elsewhere, her pulse picking up. _Make a move_ , Ellen had said. _While you still can._ Feeling like she might start sweating, Alex chanced a glance back at the angel in the trench coat—he was now looking out at the junkyard with mild interest. "So, uh, you really think this is our last night on earth?" she ventured.

He turned his head slightly and looked at her. _God almighty in Heaven, he is absolutely gorgeous_ , she thought despondently. "Yes. Killing the devil is an insane plan." He looked away again.

"Way to be an optimist, Cas," Alex said, attempting to be light. She studied his profile longingly.

His frown just deepened. "There's not much to be optimistic about. Tomorrow is the end."

Alex hesitated, recognizing her chance growing closer and closer. "So, what are you planning to do with this last night of yours?" She smiled a little despite herself. "You just gonna sit here quietly?"

His eyes came to look at her and they were soft, unreadably so. "You're referring to the last time I thought I was going to die." He became more serious again. "This time is different." A muscle jerked in his jaw and he looked down, putting his hands on the railing of the porch. "I don't want you to go. It's going to be too dangerous."

"Are Dean and Sam going?" A rhetorical question.

He looked her way. "Yes—"

"Then _I'm_ going," she said, leaving no room for argument, shrugging as if to say 'too bad.'

He didn't look thrilled, in fact, he heaved a little dark sigh. "You are…" he looked away, "very stubborn."

"Yeah, and it's one of the reasons you like me," she said, joking, but then wishing she hadn't said it at all, because he looked at her squarely. Even in the dark, his expression made her go still. Maybe it was the alcohol, or the thought that this might be her last night alive. But it emboldened her a little, and she thought about how he'd touched her fingertips to hers in the hospital. She glanced down at where his hand rested on the porch railing. Alex hesitated and her heart slammed to the top of her throat. But bravely she reached out, lowered her hand, and gently laid it over Cas's—saying things she didn't know how to say otherwise. Castiel looked at their hands, then back at her, and she inched a little closer, curling her fingers around his, her heart beating wildly in her chest. He didn't pull his hand away, he didn't pull _himself_ away, but his eyebrows moved together just slightly. It was now or never—

The door swung open behind them. "Hey Alex, have you seen my—" Sam paused, stopped, looking at them oddly.

Alex had literally jumped away from Cas at the sound of the door. "Your what, Sam?!" she demanded too loudly.

"My, uh, laptop," he said, eyes narrowed, looking first at her, and then Cas.

"What am I, the laptop patrol?!" she exclaimed, brushing past him, completely mortified.

In all fullness of the word, she fled the scene, dashing into the house and down the hallway without looking at anyone. _God_ , what had she been _thinking_? She wanted to disappear completely—hide away—so she went the only place she could think of. Downstairs, into the basement, into the panic room. She couldn't believe herself. For a second, she had intended to kiss Cas. _Kiss_ him. Maybe Sam interrupting was a blessing in disguise, though, because now that she thought about it (the surge of adrenaline and shame had sobered her up and fast), she was letting herself live in a fantasy world to believe Cas thought that way about her.

Alex paced the dim panic room, rubbing the back of her neck in agitation. And then she stopped, hearing a soft sound behind her. She already knew it without knowing how who it was, and turned to see Cas standing there in the doorway of the panic room, an odd expression on his face. Her heart rocketed into her throat. Cas almost looked like he were breathing heavier than normal and his head was tilted to the side. Then he asked what was possibly the most awkward, mortifying question in the world: "Why did you touch me like that?"

Alex swallowed. And then lied. "I don't know."

He stepped closer, seeing right through her. "That's not the truth."

Crap, _crap_. Alex felt physically shaky at his approach. "It's not important, okay?" she said, and tried to look pissed. "Just go away."

He didn't move. "No. I will not go away."

Alex looked at him, feeling so defenseless and confused. She remembered what Ellen had said. Last night on earth. Okay, so, why not. Why _the hell_ not. Cards on the table. She swallowed, bracing herself. Said it all kind of tersely. "Okay, fine, Cas. The reason why I, uh—" she couldn't bring herself to say _touched you_. She skipped it. "Is because sometimes, I get the feeling, and think that you, kind of I guess, that you—" she was losing her certainty, "Uh, when you look at me, maybe, you might have, like, I don't know, um..." she closed her eyes a second, felt herself grimacing, literally almost unable to get the words out. " _Feelings_ for me."

"Feelings?" he asked, as if he didn't understand the implication.

 _Oh god._ He was making her spell it out. "Seriously?" she begged, to which his face remained the same unknowing expression. Alex breathed out deeply, completely mortified. " _Romantic_ feelings." He was staring back at her blankly. Her heart was sinking. "And you don't, do you?" She asked, softly. She'd been wrong. Totally wrong. She'd read into things. He was silent, looking down. Probably inwardly trying to calculate how she had arrived at such a ludicrous conclusion.

And Alex was about to brush past him and escape again when Cas looked up, he finally met her eyes, his expression strangely vulnerable, his voice softer than usual. "The truth is… I think about you much more than I should."

 _Holy shit._ His confession froze everything. Her lungs suddenly felt incapable of breathing. Her heart slammed up against her ribcage. She breathed it out before she could stop herself: "Me too."

At those two words, she saw his eyes flicker. He looked pained, almost. He closed his eyes for a second, then reopened them. "We _can't_."

Alex was speechless. Had he _thought_ about this? Was he saying he'd considered... them? Together? Like she had? Alex felt dizzy with surprise, relief, apprehension, and frantic desire to know more. Cas turned and walked away a few feet. For a minute, she thought he was going to walk out, and she panicked. "Why?" she asked, drifting after him, desperate for him to stop.

He turned slightly. "It's too dangerous. For both of us. But… especially you."

"I don't understand," she protested softly. Dangerous? 

Regretfully, he turned around to face her fully, his whole face tense. He didn't really look at her. "Angels are forbidden to have romantic relationships. Our devotion is solitary. To God alone. When an angel devotes themselves to anything or anyone other than God…" he trailed off, his frown deepening, his gaze far away. "Horrible things happen." Cas looked grim. "I have to protect you, Alex… even if it's from me."

"Protect me from _you_?" she echoed.

He looked back at her halfway, seeing her speechless confusion. Then he began to tell her a story, the reason why he claimed he had to protect her from himself. "Almost two thousand years ago, an angel named Mariel walked the earth. He fell in love with a human woman named Helen. But Helen rejected Mariel when she saw his true form and nature. He became... unstable. Possessive. Volatile. And in his anger, he destroyed the entire vicinity of Pompeii. The place where Helen lived."

He stopped at that point, seeming to think that neatly wrapped up everything, explained it all, when all it did was further confuse Alex, who didn't really care about some human however many thousand years ago and an angel she'd never heard of before. She cared about Cas and herself. Cas however, was looking reluctant and he turned as if to leave. Alex desperately spoke up, because this was _not_ over for her. "Cas, please—you can't just say all that and leave!"

His expression, which had been so blank a moment before, was startling. "I have to!" His voice was loud and shaking, and it stunned her, scaring her just a little. She froze, wide-eyed. He grew quiet and reserved again. "I've—I've said too much already."

"No you haven't!" Alex protested vehemently. He _hadn't_ said enough—she needed to know everything, to understand where he stood.

Cas looked apologetic. And then, almost as if he were talking to himself, he let out a soft breath of air. "This was better when you were afraid of me. When you didn't trust me." 

Alex was mystified at the way he thought. "What are you _talking_ about?"

His eyes snapped back up to hers, no longer soft and yielding, but harsh. "I am not the benevolent and gentle being you believe me to be." He stepped close intimidatingly, his gaze reminding her of the ones he'd given her when they first met. His voice lowered dangerously until he was almost snarling. "I'm an _angel_. The original warrior and harbinger of destruction. And I could end you, right now, in the blink of an eye," he growled. "Turn you to dust with a mere _thought._ "

She recognized scare tactics when she saw them and Alex couldn't believe her own response but in the face of his declaration... she rolled her eyes with aggravated impatience and gave a weary sigh. "Oh, _please,_ Cas." His theatrics were obviously a smoke screen. A very juvenile, irritating smoke screen. 

He faltered, taken back at her response, then he quickly schooled his expression back into something forbidding as he doubled down and invaded her space intimidatingly. With a sudden surge of speed, he grabbed her by the back of the neck, holding her there as he breathed down on her menacingly. "Do you not believe me?" he demanded, trying to scare her or prove that he was some danger. 

Obviously he was powerful. But implying he would hurt her... was just laughable at this point. Because she saw straight through what he trying to do. And her voice dropped to the softest whisper, barely audible as she decided to let her guard down and take a chance that he might too. "You know, if you're scared... you could just say so." 

Surprise unfurled in his face. His fingers softened their grip. Daunted he swallowed, seeming absolutely vulnerable with startling abruptness. "What could I possibly be afraid of?" he asked, his whisper matching hers. His slackened hand had slowly relaxed down to gently rest against the side of her neck—hovering there like he might pull away any second. 

Alex didn't know what words to use. All she could do was reach up and touch gentle fingers to his hand then gently grasp his wrist in such a way the touch could never be mistaken as her eyes searched his. He was breathing harder—and he was so close she could feel the warm breath from his mouth hitting her lips. That look in his eyes faded into questioning curiosity and mounting deliberation. "Same thing I am," she breathed, putting it all out there and hitching all her pride to taking this chance. " _This_."

'This' being the slow draw and deepening connection. The magnet-like pull, the inescapable dynamic. 

Yes. The truth was inescapable: Cas _was_ afraid. Of how much he felt. Of how many strong and foreign feelings she stirred in him. Of the growing sense of need. Castiel stared at Alex, who was so close and entrancing, proving impossible to look away from. A moment ago, he had been in control. But what she said to him left him entirely compromised. He couldn't stop himself from noticing how her hair felt under his fingertips, the sensation of the warm skin of her neck under his hand, how her chest rose and fell faster than usual, brushing against the front of him so lightly. Her soft, parted lips that were so very close to his. What would it be like to touch his mouth to hers? He looked back into dark hazel eyes that looked into his without fear. Just… desire. He felt his expression fade as he recognized the look in her eye at last for what it was. And he knew he felt the same. 

The angel tried desperately to ignore the way every cell in his vessel and his mind seemed to be screaming, _begging_ for him to tilt his head down and put his lips onto hers. It was wrong, he _knew_ it was wrong; his inner dialogue was deafening, shouting _you can't do this, this can't happen, it's abominable under Heaven!_ He knew he should run as far away as physically possible and cast temptation aside. But it was too late. And it had _been_ too late the second he decided to follow her to the panic room. With every breath he took he could feel the distance between them closing, could see her eyes widening as they searched his. He was losing ground, this deafening desire was overriding every fail-safe he'd ever had, and in a moment of clarity—or maybe it was a moment of weakness—he gave in, no longer able to resists or deny his urges. He closed the small distance between them, brushing his mouth loosely against hers, unsure of how exactly to give a kiss, only knowing he wanted to try.

And then she showed him—pressing her lips to his with softness and care that floored him. _Oh_. His stomach turned over inside of himself at the feeling of kissing and he mimicked her, pushing his lips against hers in a way that came easily to his utter surprise. Even as a surge of pleasure and shock and wonder came over him, the lights above their heads burst, showering them in sparks like flecks of lightning then leaving the room dim. Neither paid that any mind. Alex's arms wrapped around his neck, he felt her hands going into his hair, fingers curled tightly, sending little zinging sensations all over his vessel. And Castiel was overcome. It felt _good_ beyond anything he had ever imagined. Of their own accord his eyes fell closed and his senses raptured in these newfound sensations: Her warm body pressed against his and he grasped tenderly, pulling her to him closer, reveling. 

He'd seen humans kiss and it had looked uncomfortable and strange. But now, to actually partake in the activity... Castiel's opinion was changed. He felt the kiss in every atom of his body—every cell and fiber was under a spell. It seemed as though they were communicating without words, it felt like they were breathing each other in _..._ and he never wanted this moment to end... this touching and feeling and intimate, wordless language of their mouths. Lost in her, Castiel couldn't find an end to things to focus on. His nose was pressed into her cheek and he felt how her hands were touching him softly, how her breaths were noisy and close to him, _inside_ of him sometimes, how her body seemed to fit against his so perfectly, how her touch gave him the feeling of being sheltered, lifted, and anchored all at once. The feeling was so resplendent and _good_ , so overwhelming, that he wondered, briefly, how he'd ever thought it could be wrong for them to be together, not if it were like _this_. But, in the furthest reaches of his mind, he knew why. And suddenly, he stopped, pulling away, realizing himself and his actions—the absolute danger in doing this with her and going down this path. He looked at Alex in the beginnings of fear. 

But then he saw how she looked stunned and close and breathless and _beautiful_ and he again felt helpless, unable to deny what his body and mind wanted—and with even greater urgency than before, he pulled her back to him, kissing her with passion like he'd seen so many humans do. It wasn't imitation, though. He _felt_ the passion flooding his body and mind, a devotion that had been created by everything he had felt about her for so long now. Castiel was internally shocked in the background of his mind at his own behavior and the ease with which this came to him, but it came to him all the same. He was desperate for more of this and more of her; he was unable to reconcile Heaven's laws with his feelings, these sensations, the knowledge that he was in the arms of the human being who had somehow become the pinnacle of his thoughts, motivations, and desires. He was stunned all over again when something soft nudged his mouth—her tongue? His vessel loved the sensation and warmth spread over him with dizzying speed. He mimicked her, letting his tongue nudge back, and mind-shattering pleasure resulted, deepening passion built—the kiss became so much more intense somehow—and a soft little helpless sound came out of Alex's mouth against Cas's when he stumbled them against the nearby wall. Startled at the little whimper, the angel pulled back with ragged breaths. 

It hit him all over again. _You shouldn't be doing this, Castiel._ It rang in his mind over and over again like a bell, like a quickly-rising alarm. _You shouldn't be doing this, Castiel!_

Horror quickly fell over him as they stared at each other breathlessly. What right did he have to do this? What sort of hellish audacity had gripped him? Cas pulled out of her arms, anguished and guilty. He almost stumbled as he took two steps backwards, aghast at himself, confused, still in the throes of the physical effect she'd had on him. She stood there where he'd left her, looking small, alone, questioning. _Hurt._

"I… I shouldn't have done that," Castiel said, finding it difficult to speak. What kind of miserable hypocrite was he? A minute ago, he had _told_ her that they couldn't be involved romantically and _why_. And then _he_ had kissed _her_. What sense was there in that? None! He remembered what Dean had said, the warning about how his closeness to Alex would be her undoing. Terror shimmered through him, body and mind. _What have I done?_

Alex tried haltingly to move closer to him, but he stepped back, not allowing her—it was too much for him. "That was a mistake," Cas said forcefully. Gutted, Alex stopped. Cas struggled, realizing how ashamed he was. How pained. "I'm sorry," he said honestly, agonized. "I've hurt you."

Her face crumpled, she looked away in rejection. There was sudden, intense abhorrence inside of Castiel. His lack of self control had harmed her. How would this affect things between them now? Had he broken some sort of sacred trust? Would she always be hurt and reminded of this when she look upon him in the future? He had _certainty_ overstepped his bounds. If only he'd had the strength to resist kissing her, if only he hadn't given in. He looked down, thinking how if he could take it back, he _would_ —his eyes flicked back up as he realized. He _could._ He _could_ take it back. This whole mess he'd created. The pain on her face. The road of sin they were so close to traveling down. He didn't know what other choice he had. It was the right thing to do. He would remove this memory. She never had to know about the kiss they should never have shared. 

He stepped forward, hand outstretched for her forehead, and she stepped back, eyes going wider. "W-what are you doing?"

"Making this right," he said, grasping her by the shoulder.

She already seemed to know where he was going with this and tried to shrink away. She hit a wall with her back, and had nowhere to run. "Please, no, Cas, don't do this!" she begged. He couldn't bear to look at her.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered wretchedly, and he was. He touched his fingers to her head.

Her expression went blank, eyes glassy, and she looked at him oddly. "I'm—wait, what was I saying?" she asked, woozy, then went limp, still, silent. Cas caught her then gently lowered her to the floor—she would be unconscious all night, he'd made sure of it. A twinge of guilt and darkness ran across his mind—surely this wasn't the best way. Her face was peaceful, smooth. He touched the side of it with the palm of his hand, for a minute, just looking at her. Then he pulled his hand away as if bitten. He couldn't. If he was going to keep her safe—even from himself—he couldn't allow himself to think of her in that way. Ever. At all.

And yet… he didn't know how to stop.

He stood up with every intention of leaving her there in the panic room. The others would assume it was from the drinking, no one would ask questions, really... but Cas stood there, unmoving, unable to walk away. He couldn't bring himself to leave her like that. It wasn't right. He crouched again to gather her slack form up into his arms and carry her upstairs. Every step he took seemed heavy and guilt-ridden and he questioned himself over and over—cursed himself over and over.

Dean looked up from his laptop to see Alex's limp form being carried by Castiel. Her eyes were closed and she wasn't moving, one of her arms dangled slackly. He almost shoved the laptop onto the floor, he stood up so fast. "Oh my god, what happened?" he demanded in a panic as he rushed over—did she fall down? A demon? Some kind of monster?

"She, uh, passed out," Castiel said. "From alcohol."

Dean froze, suddenly embarrassed. " _Oh_." He was kind of glad everyone else had gone to sleep so they hadn't seen that display.

Cas was looking at Dean grimly. "Where, uh, should I put her?"

 _Really_? "How about a _bed,_ genius?" Dean asked—not sure if Cas was hilarious or brain dead.

"A bed. Yes, of course."

Dean stepped into the hallway and opened the guest room door, yanking back the blanket on the bed and Castiel, with surprising gentleness, laid Alex down, settling her into the bed. Dean watched hawkishly as a little stiffly, Cas pulled the blanket back up over her and then stood back. "Is that sufficient _?_ " he asked. He sounded almost worried.

Dean looked at Cas sidelong. "That girl could sleep standing up. Don't worry about it." He turned to leave, got to the door, glanced back, and huffed. Castiel just stood there like a dumbass, looking at Alex's sleeping form. Dean looked at him, waited a second. Then cleared his throat. "This is the part where we _leave_ , Cas."

"Oh. Yes," Cas said. "Of course."

They left the room and Dean shut the door quietly behind them, then turned to Cas, looking at him hard—the angel was acting extremely weird. "You sure there's nothing going on you want to tell me about?"

Cas looked at him sharply, eyes narrowed. "What would be going on?"

Dean gave him a pointed look. Cas might be thick, but was he really that clueless? "I mean, a friggin' _angel_ takes special interest in my little sister—you better believe I'm gonna make sure it's nothing…" he searched for a word, "inappropriate." Cas's confused expression made Dean roll his eyes, and clarify awkwardly. "Meaning _romantic_ , Cas!"

There was a pause and Dean saw a muscle jump in Cas's cheek. "I don't possess the ability to be involved in that kind of situation," the angel said vaguely, not looking at Dean anymore.

"Meaning what?" Dean demanded, receiving another glare from Cas.

"Meaning _stop accusing me of it_ ," Cas said darkly, and brushed past Dean, clearly over the exchange.

Dean watched him go, annoyed. " _Dick_."

* * *

**The Next Day**

In the backseat of Ellen's Wagoneer, Alex sat in silence. She glanced at Cas, who was still avoiding her gaze. They had just passed the sign that said _Welcome to Carthage._ They were almost there.

They had been driving most of the day and it was nearing sundown. Most of the way there, Jo had been talking about hunting—the hunts she'd been on, the hunts she'd heard about. Alex had tuned it out mostly, trying to figure out why she felt so friggin' _weird_. She felt really out of it, like hung over, except she was pretty sure she shouldn't be. She hadn't had _that_ much to drink. She couldn't remember, and the details of last night were really fuzzy. She wasn't sure why. There was an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach that stuck like glue.

She thought maybe for a minute she felt off because of the fight she'd had with Dean. They had basically yelled at each other in front of everyone when they left from Bobby's—she'd made to get in the car with Ellen, Dean had pitched a fit about her riding with him and Sam, she'd told him to cram it—so there was that. But that was everyday stuff. Not enough to make her feel so strange.

Ellen glanced back at her in the rearview. "You okay, hon?"

"Fine," Alex said offhandedly. "Just feeling a little off."

Beside her, Cas looked at her sidelong, and she gave him a thin little smile. He looked away, frowning. She felt her smile fade. She _did_ remember trying to make a move on him before everything got hazy... so, was he angry? Had she upset him? It would seem so. Everything about his body language and expression seemed tense and disturbed and repelled by her. Alex was disappointed in herself. She couldn't do anything right—first she'd pissed him off with the flowers, then she'd gone and effed everything up yesterday. She looked out the window blankly as they entered the town. Carthage was empty.

"Where _is_ everyone?" Jo asked.

"At least we know we're in the right place," Alex muttered. It was nice and spooky. Her stomach twisted as she hoped against hope that this would work, that it wasn't some kind of horrible trap.

Dean and Sam pulled up alongside them, and Ellen rolled down her window to talk to Dean. "Place seem a little empty to you?"

"Yeah. We're gonna go check out the PD," Dean said. "You guys stay here, see if you can find anybody."

"Okay," Ellen confirmed, and the boys drove off as Ellen parked the car. They all got out, except Cas.

Jo tapped on Cas's window. "Hey! Ever heard of a door handle?"

Suddenly, Cas was standing outside, beside her. "Of course I have," he said, blasé. He was looking around intensely.

"What is it, Cas?" Ellen asked, watching him attentively.

"This town's not empty," he said forebodingly.

Alex tried looking where he was looking, but saw nothing. "What do you see?"

"Reapers," he answered.

"Reapers?" Ellen repeated. "As in more than one?"

"They only gather like this at times of great catastrophe. Chicago Fire, San Francisco Quake." He paused, frown deepening. "Pompeii." He glanced at Alex, then stepped forward. "Excuse me, I need to find out why they're here." He paused, looked back. Ellen and Jo were looking around, but Alex stared after the angel, frowning a little. "Stay together," he said to her. "I'll be back."

And he turned and walked away, weaving through the countless reapers. None of them acknowledged him, they were all standing and facing toward a single point—which was exactly where he headed. They were all gazing up toward a single point on an apartment, or motel building—in the window, a reaper with cloudy white eyes stared back at him… then turned and disappeared.

Castiel followed him, slipping through the distance and up into the building in an instant. He was in a dark hallway, and he could see the reaper at the end of it. He followed him, entering a dark room, intent on finding out why the reapers were here. Then, beside him, he heard a soft voice. "Hello, brother."

The dark room was suddenly lit up in a blaze of light, and Castiel looked down—saw that he stood in a ring of fire. A trap. He had been trapped. He looked up, seeing the other person in the room. "Lucifer," Cas said.

Obscured by shadows, Lucifer walked slowly toward him. "So I take it you're here with the Winchesters."

Castiel felt something jump inside him. He clenched his jaw. "I came alone."

"Loyalty," Lucifer commented mildly. "Such a nice quality to see in this day and age. Castiel, right? Yes, Castiel. I'm told you came here in an automobile."

A little caught off guard by the comment, Castiel narrowed his eyes. "Yes."

"What was that like?" Lucifer asked, further confounding Castiel.

"Um. Slow. Confining."

Lucifer finally came close enough that Castiel could see him. "What a peculiar thing you are," he said, looking at Cas with interest.

Castiel, however, was looking at Lucifer's face—there were peeling burns dotting the man's fair face. "What's wrong with your vessel?" Cas asked suspiciously.

"Ah, yes," Lucifer said, chuckling softly. "Um. Nick is wearing a bit thin, I'm afraid. He can't contain me forever, so—" he looked at Castiel meaningfully.

" _You_ —" Castiel started, stepping forward, then stopping as he reached the edge of the fire. He was breathing heavily, enraged at what Lucifer was implying. "You will not take Sam Winchester. I won't let you."

Lucifer seemed mildly perplexed. "Castiel. I don't understand why you're fighting me, of all the angels."

Castiel looked at him, glared. "You really have to _ask_?"

Lucifer looked at him openly, appraisingly. "I rebelled, I was cast out. You rebelled, you were cast out. Almost all of Heaven wants to see me dead, and if they succeed, guess what? You're their new public enemy number one." Castiel felt himself go still. He hadn't considered that. Lucifer continued. "We're on the same side, like it or not, so why not just serve your own best interests? Which in this case just happen to be mine?"

Castiel lowered his chin. "I'll die first."

Lucifer seemed almost amused by that suggestion. "And why should _you_ need to die?" he asked softly. "Wouldn't it be much more poetic... if it were someone else's life on the line? Someone you cared for more than yourself?"

Castiel felt something in him jump again. Fear. "What—"

Lucifer raised his hand into the air, snapped his fingers once, and Alex was suddenly there, inexplicably. She looked confused, out of breath, and there was _blood_ on her—she caught sight of him even as he realized it was someone _else's_ blood.

Castiel strained at the edge of the fire in alarm, as Lucifer smiled at Alex calmly. "Hello, Alexandra."

"How did you bring her here, Lucifer?" Cas demanded lowly, dangerously, his vessel trembling wrathfully. Lucifer smiled ever so slightly as Castiel's voice raised. "How did you _know_ where she _was_?"

Lucifer looked at him, smiling chillingly. "You give me so little credit, Castiel." He circled Alex, who looked so small and vulnerable next to Lucifer. "So, Alexandra, we were just talking about you," the devil said to her. "And forgive me for the thuggish tactics, but—" he produced a pair of handcuffs from behind himself— "I just don't want you to leave quite yet."

Cas's fists clenched and his breath caught as Lucifer grabbed Alex, snapping one end of the cuffs onto her left wrist before he threaded the cuff chain around one of the smaller pipes on the wall then snapped the second cuff onto her right wrist, effectively trapping her there. Lucifer gently traced his fingers down Alex's neck—she squirmed, repulsed and scared—the room shook slightly as Castiel stood there in helpless rage. Lucifer's fingers went lower, lower, then grabbed at the sliver of chain there, yanking her lock pick necklace off her neck. She looked shocked that he had known about it—he just smiled, his eyes twinkling as they caught the glow of the holy fire.

"Leave her out of this," Castiel demanded, catching Lucifer's attention once more. "I'm _warning you_."

Lucifer ignored the idle threat, walked the edge of the ring of fire with a slow, measured gait. "Do you know, Castiel, that in order for me to summon Death tonight… as part of the ritual… I have to kill all the women in town? And, well, I've killed all of them already. All except three. Jo. Ellen." He paused, looking at Alex. "And this one." He smiled sympathetically even as Castiel glared, enraged, realizing what was happening. Lucifer shrugged mildly. "I'm sad to say, Jo and Ellen will be dead within the hour. However… I can spare Alex. For you, brother. If you agree to help me."

Castiel glowered, his jaw clenched tightly. Across from him, Alex was shaking her head, resigned. "Don't do anything he says, Cas, _don't_."

He looked at her, pained, and Lucifer went to her, put a hand on her shoulder, his thumb stroking over it slowly. She shuddered in revulsion and Castiel swore that if this fire didn't separate him from her...!

Lucifer smiled at Alex then touched the side of her face in something like tenderness. He forced her to meet his gaze. She looked like she wanted to spit in his face. "We'll give him some time to think it over, Alex, what do you say?" He let go, nodded toward the doorway. "But, Castiel… look."

Cas followed Lucifer's eye line and his expression went cold.

Alex saw nothing there. "What is it?"

His chin jutted slightly forward in anger. "A reaper."

"Waiting," Lucifer said, and tapped Alex under the chin. "For you." He looked back at Cas. "Midnight," Lucifer said calmly. "Castiel. Make a wise choice. She doesn't need to die."

Castiel glared. "You're trying to manipulate me by threatening to murder her if I don't comply."

Lucifer put a hand over his heart as if he were hurt. "I'm being reasonable, Castiel. Offering you a kindness."

"It's not kindness," Castiel bit back. "You want to burn the world and everyone in it."

"You make me sound so very dreadful," Lucifer said, shaking his head. "You and I? We're on the same side."

"I am _not_ on your side," Castiel growled, and Lucifer shrugged, almost rolled his eyes.

"That's your choice. You see, unlike God, I don't see the point in forcing anyone to do anything against their will."

He seemed to tire of Castiel, and turned back to Alex, who immediately shrank back. "Alexandra. Why are you looking at me like that? We're going to be _friends_ , you and I. You don't need to be afraid."

"Oh, okay then," she said acidly. Even though she didn't look it, Cas could tell she was afraid—very afraid.

Lucifer chuckled a little, like she was cute. "So much like your brother Dean. And more like Sam than you think." He sighed, a long, high sound. "Well. That's neither here nor there. Castiel holds your life in his hands right now, and I honestly do hope he chooses to save you."

"You're full of shit," Alex spat, and suddenly Lucifer grabbed her tightly, shoving her against the wall with a loud thud—she cried out in surprise or maybe in pain. Castiel was furious at the scene.

"And _you're_ far too confident," Lucifer told her while smiling. He looked back to see Castiel practically fuming at the edge of the ring. "Look. How protective he is of you," the devil said softly. His eyes were catching the flickering flames. He looked so pleased as his sinister gaze took the other angel in. "You've fallen so much further than you're willing to admit, Castiel."

* * *

It was almost midnight, and nothing had happened or changed—Alex was getting frantic. When she'd been separated from Dean, Sam, Ellen and Jo, there were hellhounds after them, and Jo had gotten hurt, pretty bad too from what she could tell. God almighty, what if they had all been killed by those things?

As if on cue Meg walked in, and Alex's hatred could have almost blinded her. "I got the Winchesters pinned down," Meg said to Lucifer, pleased with herself. "For now, at least. What should I do with them?"

Lucifer paused. "Leave them alone."

Everyone in the room, even Meg, looked at Lucifer in confusion. "I—I'm sorry, but are you sure? Shouldn't we—" Meg started, but Lucifer just shook his head.

"Trust me, child. Everything happens for a reason." He stroked Meg's face, and the demon smiled, leaning into his hand.

"Well, Castiel," Lucifer said. "You have some time. Not much. But a little. Time to change your mind?" He waited. Castiel said nothing, just glared. Lucifer sighed and made to leave the room.

"Where are you going?" Alex demanded.

Lucifer shrugged. "Things to do. Don't worry. ...I'll see you again." She was chilled by that statement. Lucifer turned and looked at Cas, speaking softly. "Time's running out, Castiel." He left and Meg looked at Castiel and then Alex, frowning.

"What, is this some kinda trade? Sam for Alex?" She smiled. "Gotta say, I always liked Sam better. Then again, I _was_ inside him."

Alex struggled against the handcuffs. "Screw you."

Meg giggled, looked at Alex suggestively, a single eyebrow arching up. "Anytime, sweet cheeks." She turned her attention to Cas, looked at him with a coy little smile. "I don't believe we've had the pleasure."

"That's not the word I'd use for it," he said, and her face broke into a smile. She laughed heartily.

"Oh, I _like_ you," she said. "But, I gotta ask—you're honestly going to sacrifice yourself for the _Winchesters_?" She gave him a pouty face. "Come on, Clarence. It would be no fun if you missed our party. You're getting a VIP invitation and you're gonna say _no_?" She turned to Alex. "I mean, isn't that a _crazy_ thing to turn down?" Alex glowered. Meg made a face. "What, you're not even gonna talk to me anymore? My _feelings_ are hurt." She swaggered a little closer, barely able to hold back a grin. "How's the fam doing? Dean looked so surprised to see my hellhounds, didn't he?"

"You _bitch_ ," Alex growled, yanking at her cuffs noisily.

Meg rolled her eyes, that stupid smile never leaving her face. "You know, normally I might resent your tone," she drawled. "But today, I'm in a good mood. I'll let it slide."

Alex stared back unblinkingly. "Oh boy. Gee whiz. _Thanks_."

Enjoying the control, Meg laughed, threw her head back a little, flexed her neck, then fanned herself with her hand. "Mmmm. Is it me, or is it kinda _hot_ in here?" She laughed at herself while Alex looked at Cas dismally.

He was looking at her intently, eyes flickering down, then up, down, then up. With a rush of hope, Alex realized that he was trying to tell her something. Giving the impression that she wasn't looking at anything at all, Alex let her gaze drop a little. She saw the pipe that her handcuffs were attached to. The screw was moving, slowly untwisting. Her eyes flashed back to him, and she saw his hand moving, just slightly. She saw exactly what he was doing and then knew what she had to do. She looked back at Meg, who was still laughing.

Alex demanded her attention, baited her. She needed Meg to be close for this. "Hey _ugly_ , what's so hilarious?"

"We're gonna win. Can you feel it? These cloud-hopping pansies lost the whole damn universe. Lucifer's gonna take over heaven." She grinned at Cas now. "We're going to _Heaven_ , Clarence."

"Strange, because I heard a different theory from a demon named Crowley," Castiel said.

Meg stopped, eyes narrowed. "You don't know Crowley."

"He believes Lucifer is just using demons to achieve an end, and that, once he does, he'll destroy you all."

Meg's smile was gone. Alex egged her on again. "You're cute when you're delusional, Meg."

"Me? Delusional?" she looked at Alex, came a little closer. "I'm not the one with a crush on an angel, sweetheart."

Alex grew darker. "No, you're the one who thinks the devil's gonna let you live to see daylight once he's used your _pathetic_ skank ass up."

Meg came a little closer still, smiling again, so confident and egomaniacal. "You're _wrong_. Lucifer is the father of my race. My creator." She jerked her head at Cas. "His god is a deadbeat, but mine? _Walks the earth_."

"Not for long, bitch," Alex said, matching Meg's narcissistic expression, clearly pissing the demon off with that last comment.

Alex heard the screw drop to the floor, a little metallic ping even as Meg was getting in her face, saying, "you arrogant piece of—" Meg would never finish that sentence. Alex reeled back and knocked Meg in the forehead with hers, grabbing the pipe with both hands as she kicked Meg in the stomach—she yanked the loose pipe off the wall in both hands and using it to club the stumbling-backwards Meg across the face. The barrage of unexpected hits knocked the demon back into the ring of fire, and Cas caught Meg roughly, slamming his hand to her forehead—and… nothing. Meg gasped, panting, and then, realized nothing had happened. "You can't gank demons, can you?!" she exclaimed gleefully. "You're cut off from the home office and you ain't got the juice! So what can you do, you impotent sap?"

"I can do _this_ ," he said, and threw her down across the fire, striding out over her as she screamed. Cas reached for Alex, his hand taking her by the wrist. And they were suddenly outside, in the dark, on a road. Next to them, the sign that said _Welcome to Carthage._

Alex looked at Cas in alarm—he was looking at her breathlessly, demanding her attention. He grabbed the handcuffs and easily ripped them off—she wasn't sure exactly how—she looked down, surprised to see the twisted metal laying on the ground—he'd done that with his _bare hands_. He was gripping her by both arms.

"Are you all right?" he asked in such distress that she was frightened.

"I'm... fine, I—" she stuttered. He seemed to be only mildly placated.

"Do _not_ move—" he said intensely. "I'll be right back." And he disappeared again, leaving Alex blinking, shocked, without anything to do but wait. She didn't have to wonder for long—Cas returned with Dean and Sam on either side of him. Dean and Sam _only_.

Dread pitted her stomach. "...Ellen and Jo?" she asked just above a whisper. Sam shook his head, looking away, and Dean looked positively wrathful. Alex stared. "...The devil?"

"Alive and kicking," Dean said angrily. "The Colt didn't work."

Beside herself, Alex looked at her brother. "Are you sure that you—"

"Yes, I'm damn sure!" he shouted. "It didn't work, and he raised Death, and now we're _all new levels_ of screwed!"

Sam looked at Castiel, whose face gave away nothing. "Cas? What do we do?"

"What do we do?" He repeated, as if that were a ridiculous question. "What _can_ we do?" he asked bitterly. "It would seem _nothing_. Destiny is unwavering," he said, his voice becoming acidic. "Michael and Lucifer will fight. It's just a matter of when."

"They can't fight if neither of us says _yes_ ," Sam argued.

Cas looked at him sharply, anger like Alex had never seen on his face. "You will. _Both_ of you. It's inevitable. Destiny cannot be changed, and we shouldn't try to go against it. It will _always_ end in death and destruction." He looked between the three Winchesters, his face etched in harsh lines. "Tonight should prove that to you."

"It proves nothing except we can't kill the devil with the Colt," Dean retorted. "So we find _another friggin' way_!"

"There _is_ no other way, Dean," Cas said furiously. "You should accept it." Castiel looked at Dean as if in disgust. "Why do you insist on being so shortsighted and stubborn?"

"Because this is my family we're talking about!" Dean shouted. "I am not saying yes, because I refuse to kill Sam or leave Alex behind. You hear me, Cas?" Dean looked at them all, waving an angry arm. "We have lost too many damn people to walk away from this now. I am ending what I started, you all got that?" He looked like he wanted to murder someone. "I gotta go get the car. Stay here, all of you," he said, and turned, began to march down the road, back toward town.

Cas, Sam, and Alex watched him go silently. "He's not even the one who started it all," Sam said after a moment, sounding defeated. "I mean, maybe he broke the first seal. But I'm the one who set Lucifer free."

Castiel's jaw worked oddly, the heated anger fading away into an implacable expression. "And I'm the one who didn't warn you when I could have. I could have stopped it all." Alex tried to search out his gaze, but he wouldn't look at her.

"Are you all right, Cas?" Alex asked, trying to see into him, past his defenses and anger.

He glanced at her. "No. Lucifer shouldn't have been able to summon you like that. This requires investigation." She opened her mouth to say something else, but without any warning, he was suddenly gone.

Sam let out an exasperated puff of air. "Why does he always do that?"

Alex didn't know either.

All around them, crickets chirped, as if it were a normal, peaceful night.

They rode back to Bobby's in complete, dead silence. Depressed, sad, reflecting. Each on their own private hells and torment. All thinking about the loss of Ellen and Jo. Before Dean had come back with the Impala, Sam told Alex about what the women had done, how they had sacrificed themselves for Sam and Dean. She cried then, wept because they had died for nothing—Lucifer was still alive, and the Colt, their only hope, hadn't worked. Sam had held her tight and she'd cried all the tears she had left. And now, she was silent. She felt like if she cried in front of Dean, it would set him off, too. She could tell from looking at him how hard he was taking it. How much he didn't want to face it. It was heartwrenching.

When they got back to Bobby's, Dean got out of the car wordlessly and walked off a ways into the salvage yard. Sam hung back, then shook his head and went inside, probably to tell Bobby the news. Alex hesitated then followed Dean, not sure if she should or not, if he needed to be alone or not.

He had his hands in his jacket pockets, facing away from her. She came to his side slowly. "You okay?" She knew of course he wasn't.

Dean's face was etched in sadness. "All these people we love keep dying, Alex, and I keep thinking… is it my fault? Did I cause this somehow?" He looked at her then, grimacing, and then looked away again. "I'm a joke, Alex. I can't protect anyone. I always think I can." He seemed so hollow as he repeated himself. " _I always think I can._ "

His voice wavered with emotion and a broken quality. "I couldn't keep the two of them alive—I couldn't keep Lucifer from digging his talons into you—I don't think I can protect Sam from his future. From Detroit. I'm losing everyone and I'm starting to _get_ that I can't do a damn thing about any of it." He dropped his hand, expression blank. "Maybe I should stop trying."

Alex put herself in front of him. "Dean Winchester. Look at me and shut up." He did. His eyes shone with tears. "You don't get to give up on this." None of them did. "I know it hurts like hell. But don't you _dare_ let their deaths be in vain. We are _not_ giving up. We are _not_ letting Lucifer get what he wants."

He looked down, his voice passionless. "I'm tired, Al. I'm tired."

"We _all_ are," she said softly, not really knowing what else to say.

He wet his lips, a self-deprecating smile on his face that faded into grief once more. He struggled a minute, vulnerable. "And, the crazy things is… I thought… in the back of my mind… Jo and me, someday… maybe..." he trailed off. There was very rare, real emotion in his voice, and she saw a tear run down his cheek, the moonlight glinting off of the streak left behind. It completely broke her already aching heart.

Alex slid her arms through his, thinking of an angel who she felt the very same way about: _someday_ … _maybe_ … but probably not. She understood it so well. Dean kept his hands in his pockets, not really accepting her gesture of affection in any way except leaning his head sideways slightly against hers. He was trying to hold himself together—she could feel him struggling to breathe normally, against the threat of tears. They just stayed there like that awhile, silent, each unwilling to break down.

Dean pulled away finally, muttered something about going inside, avoiding her gaze as he did so. Alex was left alone to watch her big brother walk away. She suddenly thought how cold it was that night, and how she hadn't noticed until right then.

* * *

**Later That Night**

Alex walked by moonlight down the main road, watching the yellow lines under her feet as she went. It was late enough that she didn't even have to worry about traffic. Not a single car had passed so far, and she'd been walking for awhile, maybe thirty minutes. She was lost in her thoughts and trying to forget everything, trying to clear her mind. After following Dean inside of Bobby's house, she'd quickly realized that she needed to get out of there to clear her mind. She was probably a mile from Bobby's by now, but she kept walking, one foot in front of the other. Staying in motion helped her forget, just a little bit.

But she couldn't run from what was inside. She was conflicted, grieved, and hollow. She stopped and listened to the sound of silence. Everything that had happened tonight discouraged and wrecked her. The Colt failing to kill Lucifer had been like a punch in the gut. That had been their single hope. If _it_ couldn't kill him, what, if anything besides Michael, could?

Her mind turned to Ellen and Jo, and Alex closed her eyes tightly for a second. Alex had lost count of how many hunter friends had died in her lifetime, but she had never imagined having to add the Harvelles to that tally. It was another reminder that hunters pretty much always met bloody ends, violent deaths. And if she were honest, she felt her end approaching, too. That was the one certainty of this life—that death could come any day, and probably would.

There was a soft sound to her right.

"Miss _Winchester_ ," came a pleasant, accented voice. Alex whirled, startled and on guard, to see a dark-haired man in an all-black suit. He was sauntering toward her slowly, smiling pleasantly. "Out for a walk awful late aren't you, love?" He stopped a couple steps away, looked at her meaningfully. "Could be dangerous for a young lady to be traipsing about after dark, don't you think?"

"And who the hell are you supposed to be?" Alex demanded, looking him up and down, her hand hovering over her back pocket where her hunting knife was sheathed.

"Name's Crowley," the man said silkily. Alex's face dropped, and he nodded, as if he weren't surprised. "Right-o. I see you've heard of me." He lowered his chin, looking at her slyly. "Have to say I was disappointed when you didn't come along for the meet n' greet with your brothers."

Great, this was just awesome—a mile from Bobby's, no weapon to use against a demon, no one nearby to help—still, none of it stopped her from mouthing off. "Screw off or I'll kill you."

He sighed, seeming disappointed with her. "You lot are so predictable." He took in her expression and his face screwed up. "Oh stop looking at me like that, would you? I'm not the _enemy_ here, Alex."

At that comment, she raised her eyebrows, matching his attitude blow for blow. "Uh, you know who I am, right? The simple fact that you're a _demon_ makes you my enemy."

He rolled his eyes. "Right. Well. The enemy of my enemy is my friend. Or some tripe like that."

Alex crossed her arms, not taking her mistrustful eyes off of him for a second. "Yeah, my brothers told me all about how you want Lucifer dead. But that doesn't exactly make us buddies."

"No, I suppose it doesn't," he said, chuckling softly, then without any notice, he flew into a fit of rage. "Especially since they couldn't hold up their end of my _friggin' deal_!" Alex kind of leaned back when he blasted off, and he stopped, pressing his mouth closed, and when he spoke again, it was calm, pleasant. "I gave them the Colt to kill the devil. Look where that's gotten me."

"News travels fast," Alex commented suspiciously, not sure how he could know that so soon.

"Indeed. And since your blithering _idiot_ brothers couldn't kill the devil today… I'm forced to get desperate."

"I'm waiting for the punch line..." Alex said mistrustfully.

Crowley chuckled. His dark eyes were glinting dangerously. "You _are_ a pet, aren't you?" His amusement faded into semi-seriousness. "The punch line. Well. There are _rumors_." His eyebrows raised briefly. "That _you_ , my dear, have a part to play in this thing."

Her eyes narrowed. "What the hell do you mean?"

He sauntered a little closer. "Word on the grapevine is that _you're_ the one who'll kill Lucy."

The air left Alex's lungs. " _What_?"

"Yes, I _know_ ," Crowley said dramatically. "Didn't believe it at first myself, thought it was absolute bollocks, but now that your oaf brothers have gone and mucked it all up—well, I'm starting to consider the validity of what I've heard."

" _Dean_ is Michael's vessel," Alex said emphatically, her mind spinning. "Not me."

"Never said anything about Michael though, did I?" Crowley asked, smiling mysteriously. "Think about it a tic, darling. You're a Winchester. Your blood line ties you to this whole situation by association. _How_ remains to be seen. But I'm going to find out." He stepped a little closer still, eyes narrowing a little. "Because I know you want Lucifer dead just as much as I do."

She stared at him hard, not sure if he were trying to screw with her or what. He seemed entirely amused by her confusion, his eyes crinkling up in another smile. "Ah, me, look at the time," he said. "Things to do. Places to be. Hell to raise." But then, his eyes narrowed slightly as he looked at her, suddenly intent. "Hmm. Interesting."

"What?" Alex asked suspiciously, not liking the look on his face.

The smile was back, sly this time, knowing. "That angel on your shoulder? He's a _tricky_ little devil…" he chuckled lowly, looking at her as he knew something she didn't. Then with no fanfare, he raised his hand up beside his head and moved his fingers up and down twice, waving. "Laters."

In a single blink, Crowley was gone, leaving her absolutely reeling. Unsure what to think, or if he were really gone. For a second, she wanted to open her mouth and call Cas. She almost did. And then she shut her mouth, deciding not to.

Because something deep inside was telling her she shouldn't share what Crowley told her. With anyone. Not yet, anyway.


	23. Be All My Sins Remembered

_"Forward's the only way to go."_  
\- Belle and Sebastian

* * *

In every direction the arctic tundra stretched pristine and untouched. Snowy white mountains marched along the horizon, rising up from icy plateaus—the frozen oceans that stretched into what looked like infinity beyond. The sun bore down from crystal blue sky onto a solitary figure wearing a trench coat.

Castiel breathed in the sharp and icy air, his eyes scanning the distance. It had been two days since Carthage.

There was no logical reason for him to be here. And yet there he stood in a vast, empty wilderness of ice and snow, removed from any trace of humanity. Currently, he couldn't bear the sight of people. They all reminded him of her. Of what he had done.

Never before had his mind been such a disaster of overwhelming, chaotic thoughts. There was regret—confusion—guilt. And there was a deep seated fear because of what Lucifer had been able to do with Alex; how helpless Castiel had been to defend her—how unprepared he had been for what had happened. Had Azazel done something to Alex that night in the nursery? Had Castiel overlooked some mark, some sort of tracking charm or blood spell? Or was Lucifer far more powerful than he'd thought? Furthermore, how had the devil known what Alex meant to Castiel? He could still see Lucifer's hand touching Alex's face as if in tenderness. The memory inspired rage inside of him.

It was easier to face the rage than to face the other things: the shame and horror, the creeping suspicion that he had done the wrong thing. The self-hatred for his momentary lapse in sanity.

A simple touch of her hand on his had set in motion a series of actions that Castiel couldn't quite explain. It had only been her hand gently resting on top of his. Anna had touched him that way, once. But it hadn't been the same, not at all. There had been much more meaning and revelation behind Alex's hand coming to rest atop his. The instant their skin brushed, her fingers curling in hesitantly—he'd been suddenly aware that maybe he wasn't the only one who had these indescribable, confusing feelings. Her hand, her eyes, they had fleetingly confirmed the hope he'd buried deep down. And then she had run away and he'd had to follow, _had to know_ why she'd done that, needing to hear it from her—why she had touched his hand like that. It hadn't been his place to pursue that line of questions. It had been a huge mistake. And still, he remembered the feeling of her mouth against his, her body so soft in his arms...

It was easy _now_ —not in the panic room, not with Alex who had been so irresistible—to tell himself that he had been weak and foolish. To tell himself that he _should have been able_ to physically walk away, that he shouldn't have even followed her in the first place. And yet it had been impossible. His body, his mind, his every impulse and function had pushed him forward into her arms where he had given a kiss that he never should have even thought about, much less participated in. He cursed himself for not having the willpower or the strength to stop it from happening, even as, at the same time, he desired a thousand more...

All of the jumbled thoughts in his mind were overpowered by the memory of Alex's face when he had forcefully taken her memory. The sheer horror and fear when she had pleaded with him not to take it away haunted him. _Haunted him._ Tore at him inside. _He had done that to her._ No one else. Him—the one supposed to protect and guard her. He had taken something from her, intruded on and manipulated her mind. It wasn't his right and he realized that, but what other choice did he have? Let her remember? He'd said too much, revealed too much. _Done_ too much. Endangered her. He almost wished he could erase it all from _his_ memory, because every second, every _millisecond_ of what happened in the panic room stayed with him in torturous detail. His eyes fell shut, a conflicted expression on his face. And all he could see in his mind's eye was her. _  
_

A cold breeze whistled across the surface of the frozen ocean he stood on, stinging the skin of his vessel, whipping his trench coat around his legs furiously. His thoughts persisted. How was he even capable of what he'd done? A few months ago he never would have imagined this ever being in the realm of possibility. Yet here he was.

Even if she wouldn't remember his sins against her… _he_ would always carry the moment with him and be left wondering what it all even meant: the consuming nature of his thoughts toward her, the way he wanted physical closeness, the anxiety when he didn't know where she was. He wondered, briefly, unintentionally: What if he hadn't taken the memory from her? What would have happened with them? She had asked if he had feelings for her. He had essentially said yes. And when she had said she felt the same—it had ignited something that still remained, smoldering deep within. It compared to nothing else he had ever experienced or seen on earth or in Heaven.

He almost physically shook himself at where his thoughts were leading. These were dangerous musings. It was impossible. Not only were angel human relationships forbidden, but Lucifer had already shown Castiel that his worst fear was true. Alex would be used against him because of how much he cared for her. Any perspective he took, he saw himself as a danger to her. The best way to give her safety was to stay far away. He disliked the thought very much. He couldn't leave her completely. Not now. Probably not ever. But especially not right now, not when her brothers were being hounded by Heaven and Hell, not while Lucifer seemed to have his sights set on her. Not now.

He found himself recalling the first time he'd seen Alex. October, 2007. She had been sitting on the ground, boots off, shaking bits of dead grass out of the insides of them—hair a mess, something or someone else's blood on her—shirt a little ripped, some scratches on her arms. Sam and Dean were nearby, packing weapons back into the Impala. They looked rough, too, but Castiel didn't remember the details of their appearance. He had been attentive to her, not them. Alex looked at her brothers with those large, watchful eyes, and Castiel saw her sadness as clearly as he could see her slouching shoulders, the arch of her long neck, the shiny silver whistle strung around that neck. Dean had called to her, and silently, she had gone to stand with her brothers, who fussed over her scratches. She looked small next to them, young. Castiel hadn't understood why he was ordered to protect her, but he also hadn't needed to. He saw her and knew without knowing how he knew, that he was meant to be her guardian.

A handful of weeks later, after watching her pain and her silence, knowing he had the power to change it and wanting to... he had. There had been no other feasible option in his mind. It had been the right choice, not without consequences or hardship, but the _right choice_. He didn't question it, not then and not now. That had been before his vessel. The vessel, this human body, was the place where the questions truly began. Where the strange journey of temptation had commenced.

His vessel and the constant call of emotions that came with it complicated everything, making him unsure of himself and seemingly incapable of reasoning with any semblance of clarity. Everything was muddled and distorted, skewed by the curse of emotion. The longer he was here, walking the earth in the body of a man, the more intensely he _felt_. He wasn't sure that he wanted to feel anymore. And yet he seemed to have no choice in the matter; there seemed no other path for him than the one he was on.

Drawing a deep breath, Cas looked around the snowy world that surrounded him, reflecting on the past two days which he had spent trying to uncover how Lucifer had summoned Alex with a mere snap of his fingers. The Enochian warding symbols on Alex's ribs—placed by Castiel himself—should have prevented Lucifer from knowing her location. But so far, Cas had learned nothing. He didn't know why. And the thought that the devil could, at any moment, lay hands on Alex while Cas remained blind to her location—disturbed him on the deepest levels imaginable.

His search for God: fruitless. His search for answers about Lucifer: thus far unsuccessful. He was discouraged and alone, feeling the absence of Alex in every way, in need of answers and possessing none... wishing for an escape from the constant noise in his mind but finding quiet nowhere. Not even here in a frozen wasteland, away from everyone and everything.

* * *

**Two Weeks Later  
Ketchum, Oklahoma**

_Legend says a pure soul can destroy evil from the inside._

Alex sat back from where she'd been hunched over Sam's laptop and she rubbed an eye with the heel of her palm. She'd been on the internet for way too long. A bunch of the more 'mainstream' religions and mythologies had similar statements about a pure soul being able to destroy evil from within—that was the one recurring theme Alex was finding as she tried to find something, _anything_ , to dispel or confirm what Crowley had told her. Whenever Sam and Dean were distracted or gone, she'd pull out the laptop and read everything she could on Lucifer—but she had yet to find a website that actually talked about literally killing him and/or how. She needed to get to some of Bobby's books, because the vague stuff she was finding on the web wasn't cutting it.

 _"Word on the grapevine is that_ you're _the one who'll kill Lucy..."_

Crowley's ominous words filled Alex's every waking moment. She didn't trust Crowley, or _any_ demon for that matter, but what the hell was she supposed to make of the claim? She went back and forth between believing Crowley was just screwing around with her to wondering if he were being truthful. Where would such a rumor have even come from? And what kind of truth was there to it? It made no sense to Alex, who so far had been ignored by demons and angels alike. Everyone was after Sam and Dean. Alex had always been an afterthought (or forgotten completely—which was okay with her honestly). But maybe that was the whole point. Maybe they were distractions. But from _what_? Alex was driving herself crazy with questions and theories. She hadn't mentioned it to a soul and didn't plan on it either. Not yet anyway. She'd figure it out on her own and go from there. And besides—she had a feeling she hadn't seen the last of Crowley. However next time, she'd be ready for him.

Staring unseeingly at the laptop screen, Alex listened to the ringing silence of the motel room. She kind of wished, for a minute, that she hadn't wimped out about going along on the current hunt. But checking into a mental ward—even if it were to go undercover—nope. Not happening. She had a huge aversion to those places. Even driving by them skeeved her out.

So, she remained behind. Alone.

It had been two weeks already since Carthage. Dean hadn't quite been himself since. Well, had any of them? They had really thought the Colt would work. They were all the way back at square one with no clue how to kill the devil—or if it were even possible. Cas had seemed to think it wasn't possible from the beginning. Maybe he had been right.

A twinge of dysphoria ran through Alex's veins at the thought of him. Cas hadn't shown up since Carthage—after he disappeared abruptly, upset and riled. Where had he gone? Was he okay?

Alex knew he'd called Dean a couple times on the phone to check in, but that was it, nothing else, and it almost felt like he was avoiding her. She couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong there, but she wasn't sure what. His absence was noticeable. Sometimes she looked up, expecting he'd be there. But he wasn't. Alex leaned her elbows onto the table and scrubbed her palms across her face. She was so very tired. But more in her mind than in her body. There was too much to carry. Ellen and Jo—sacrificing their lives for a whole lot of nothing. Dean—withdrawing and holding Alex at arm's length, treating her like she was a child. Sam—hesitant and guilty and avoiding her. Cas—gone and silent and seemingly upset with her. Crowley's cryptic message, the idea that she might somehow play a role in this whole apocalypse thing. It was all _so much_. And she shouldered it alone. She took her face out of her hands, absently twisting Dad's wedding band around her index finger where it always was.

There was a soft sound in front of her and when she looked up she accidentally knocked a book off the edge of the table. It was Cas and he had a grim expression on his face. "I can't find out why Lucifer was able to summon you like that," he announced without any dalliance whatsoever.

Surprised, it took her a couple seconds to respond. "Uh, nice to see you too, Cas," she said as she shut the laptop and stood up, a little flustered. Her heart rate had increased. Then, frowning, she wondered aloud, "wait—how'd you know where I was?"

He glanced at her sidelong, troubled, his face hard with a stern frown. "I called Sam and he told me." The angel was distracted, on edge. "That's beside the point. Lucifer should not have been able to do what he did—the warding sigil I put in place—I haven't been able to learn why… or _how_ he was able to do that." He looked around the room intently. "Why are you here alone?"

Alex shrugged, a little ashamed of her self-perceived cowardice. "The job my brothers are doing isn't exactly my... cup of tea."

Cas looked at her, expression twisting up in confusion. "What do beverages have to do with it?"

A smile popped onto Alex's face at his question and she tried to hide it. She cleared her throat, trying to concentrate on answering his question. "They're, uh, hunting some kind of monster at a mental hospital here in town. Old hunting friend of Dad's is in there, Dean figured he owed the guy. But I, uh, don't do crazy houses." Cas's eyes narrowed just slightly as he looked at her half way.

Cas made no response. He went to the motel room window and looked out, scowling. Alex studied him softly, thinking once again: something was off about him. "You shouldn't be left alone right now," he said grimly. His bright blue eyes flickered over to hers briefly. "It's too dangerous."

Maybe he meant well, but the comment made her mood drop. "Cas—I know you're my guardian angel or whatever, but I'm not some helpless moron." She stared at him hard. "I can take care of myself."

He looked at her, eyebrows knit together, turned a little toward her. The way he said it was aggressive, somehow. "Like you took care of yourself when Lucifer summoned you?"

Alex felt her eyebrows raise in surprise, and before she could stop herself, she was slinging an insult back. "Yeah and _you_ were a big help stuck in your little fire circle, weren't you Castiel?" He was visibly hurt by her retort, and Alex regretted immediately. Her gaze faltered away and she felt herself fumbling for some kind of apology. "Sorry. I'm... just frustrated right now."

And that was the truth. She was so, so frustrated. No matter what she did, she felt weaker every day than the last. She used to fight hard, fear nothing. But these days, she ran from everything, lived in fear of the future, in fear that everything she did was in vain. Dean was treating her like she was a fragile china doll, Cas insisted that everything was too dangerous for her, she chickened out of the latest hunt. She felt smothered and ineffective. She wanted to matter. But maybe Gabriel had been right, that she had no role, that she was only a victim. She looked at Cas silently.

Cas took a deep breath, came away from the window but stayed back, further than usual, looking at Alex hesitantly. "I know that you are not, as you say, helpless," he said somberly. His eyes fell away from hers. "But there are bigger enemies after you than before."

Alex looked at him bleakly, nodding ever so slightly, feeling defeated. He was right. "I get it Cas," she said. "You're just looking out for me."

Again his eyes darted to hers. "Yes." His jaw clenched tightly. "It's not like before, when I knew where you were at all times. You're hidden from angels. From me." His eyes focused on some distant point to his right. Alex could almost see how agonized he was at this point. "But not from Lucifer…" he trailed off.

Alex looked at him closely. She knew the whole Lucifer thing was bothering him, but there was _something else_. She could sense it. "What _is_ it, Cas? Something else is wrong with you."

"I'm functioning fine," he replied darkly, pointedly avoiding her demanding eyes.

"You sure?" Alex asked, stepping a little closer, trying to read him. The second she did that, his eyes snapped to her. His expression seemed to chill over. She froze—he looked like he wanted her to get away from him, and she didn't understand. "Did I... do something?" she asked softly, so very lost and even a little hurt.

But Castiel, eyes now going back and forth over the floor in front of her feet, shook his head just once, his voice deep and disturbed. "No, of course not," he replied, almost mumbling. "I—I have to go."

And he vanished without warning, leaving Alex stung, mouth hanging slightly open as she stared at where he'd been. What the hell? Why was he acting like this? He'd been behaving strangely toward her ever since she'd tried to put a move on him the night before Carthage.

It had only been the touch of a hand and the intention of a kiss—but apparently that was enough to completely repulse him. That was the only explanation she could think of. Well, he had been acting a little oddly toward her before that, too, hadn't he? Alex felt such a deep sense of embarrassment and humiliation. She had believed like a damn lovesick highschooler, that Cas was interested in her in the way she had come to be interested in him. That the way he looked at her was because—she stopped the thought right there. This was ridiculous. Utterly laughable.

She sat down on one of the beds, feeling hollow and dumb. The motel room seemed emptier than it had before. She hated herself for the emotions she was feeling, and in a fit of rage she grabbed a book laying beside her and threw it hard, where it hit a piece of motel room art and sent the painting crashing to the floor. Alex buried her face in her palms, breathing hard to keep herself from breaking down.

Invisible to her, Castiel remained, his face a mask of torment.

* * *

**A Week Later**

"Wake up. Alex!" Dean's voice was really loud and right in her ear as she became aware that she was being shaken roughly. She tried shoving him away, but he yanked her up by the shoulder—if that wasn't a rude awakening, she wasn't sure what was. Awake but barely, she glared at Dean while seeing that Sam was awake as well and looking equally unenthused.

"Dammit, Dean," Alex moaned. "This is the first time I've gotten to sleep in two days and you wake me up in the middle of the fucking _night_?"

Dean was ignoring her and jerking his jacket on. "Anna just came to me in a dream and said we gotta meet her ASAP."

Alex stopped mid eye-rub, suddenly awake and suspicious. "Wait—whoa— _Anna_?"

"We shouldn't just drop everything and go, Dean," Sam put in tiredly, running a hand through his messy bedhead hair. "Could be some kind of trap."

Dean seemed to think that suggestion was ridiculous. "A _trap_? Come on, Sam. This is Anna."

"Who we haven't seen or heard from in months, remember?" Alex reminded him even as she stood, wishing she were still asleep. She got an ugly look for that one. "I'm just saying maybe we should be careful. We didn't even really know Anna."

Dean's expression remained gruff. "Speak for yourself," he said cryptically, getting a confused look in return.

"Alex is right, we need a second opinion on this," Sam said, pulling out his phone, the blue glow lighting his tired face as he began scrolling through his contacts. "I'm calling Cas."

Dean snatched the phone from Sam. "No, you're _not_ ," he said, ignoring Sam's bitchface and wagging the phone at him. "I don't need him raining on my parade."

Sam grabbed for his phone. "Give me—" he growled, "the _phone_!" Alex watched her apparently five-year-old brothers fighting over the phone. She didn't have time for this stupidity.

She exhaled an annoyed breath through her nose, resigning herself then looking at the ceiling. "Hey Cas, can you get your ass over here?" Alex asked out loud, drawing strange looks from Sam and Dean.

"Hello," Cas said, suddenly in the middle of the room. Even though she'd called him, Alex was a little surprised he'd come, honestly, a little taken aback at how fast he responded. She contemplated him with tentative eyes, then when his gaze met hers, she looked away immediately.

"You can _do_ that?" Sam asked Alex, kind of awed, then in quick succession, began to frown. "Why didn't I know this? And give me _that_." He swiped the phone back from his brother.

"Need to know basis," Dean grumbled, then turned on Cas. "Sorry, wrong number," he said sarcastically. "You can go."

" _No_ —" Sam said a little forcefully, giving Dean a surprisingly assertive stare. "Dean—tell Cas what you told us."

Castiel waited, listening, his expression somber and focused.

There was a very agitated huff. " _Fine_ ," Dean said, and looked at Cas, went over to him. " _Anna_ came to for a visit in la la land. Said she needs our help right away. That she's been in prison this whole time. Oh. And that _you're_ the one who got her put in there."

Alex and Sam, who stood back a little further, looked at Cas in unison. The angel's eyes had narrowed just slightly as he looked at Dean. "That's true, yes..."

"You wanna explain _why_?" Dean demanded gruffly.

Castiel paused for a moment and he was hard to read. He seemed mildly abashed. "I thought it was the right thing to do, at the time. Now... I realize that it was a mistake." He was frowning, thinking. "This news is troubling." He looked at Dean, the frown deepening. "No one escapes Heaven. No one. You will not go and meet her."

Eyebrows raising, Dean crossed his arms. "Oh, and _you're_ gonna stop me?" he asked, looking like he was ready to fight.

Castiel responded by stepping closer. "If I must." Dean's expression showed surprise as Cas leveled him with an unflinching stare. "Dean, if she's here, if she's escaped Heaven, it's because she was _sent_." Cas paused. "She is not to be trusted."

"This is _Anna_ we're talking about," Dean protested.

"Who we knew for a few days when she was _human_ ," Alex reminded. "She's been upstairs an awful long time, Dean." Both Cas and Dean looked at her in unison and she had to force herself to not look at Cas like she wanted to.

Dean didn't look as though he liked the implication, but he cut his gaze to Sam for a second opinion. Alex finally looked at Cas then, unable to stop herself. His guarded, intent gaze was directed at her. Her eyes fell away as her pulse leapt.

"I think Cas is right," Sam was saying to Dean, and Castiel tore his eyes away from Alex to turn his attention back to Dean.

"Give me the address she gave you," Cas said. "I'll discover her intentions."

Dean was clearly pissed, wanting to trust Anna but standing alone in the minority. He huffed. "Yeah. Fine."

* * *

A woman entered a large, dark, empty warehouse. Wind swept through the interior, and with it came the sound of whispering voices. "Hello?" the woman called, her brilliant red hair whipping around her face in the wind. "Who's there?" Over her head light bulbs burst, showering the entire warehouse in sparks. She stopped walking.

"Hello, Anna," Castiel said, appearing behind her. His voice echoed.

She turned around slowly, her dark eyes looking at him guardedly. "Well," she said. "If I didn't know any better… I'd say the Winchesters don't trust me."

" _I_ don't trust you," Cas corrected her, looking at his sister angel carefully. "I wouldn't let them come." He began to circle her intently, giving a wide berth.

She kept turning to face him. "And why is that?" she asked.

"If you're out of prison, it's because they let you out," Cas said, glancing around the warehouse, watchful for some kind of trick or trap. "And they sent you here to do their dirty work."

The other angel remained elusive. "What makes you so sure of that?"

"Because I've experienced…" he trailed off, remembering. "Heaven's persuasion."

"You mean when you _gave_ me to them," she said with clear bitterness.

Cas regarded her somberly, regretting what he had done. "That was a mistake." He paused. "Anna, whatever they sent you here to do—"

"They didn't _send_ me," Anna insisted almost angrily. "I escaped."

" _No one_ escapes," Castiel replied testily—she was lying, she had to be—but Anna almost seemed amused at his comment.

"All these centuries, and you're underestimating me _now_?" She asked. "I _escaped_. I'm working on my own." She paused, mouth thinning a little. "Essentially."

"All right," Cas said, going along with her momentarily. "If you're not one of them, then what do you want?"

"I want to _help_." She sounded emphatic, but Castiel almost had to smile at the way _she_ underestimated _him_.

"Then what are doing with that knife?" He asked, looking at her in superiority.

Her expression faded. She was caught. She grudgingly pulled out a knife—not an angel blade. "I'm not allowed to defend myself?" She asked. Another flimsy attempt on her part.

"Against whom?" Castiel asked. "That blade doesn't work against angels. It's not like this one." His angel blade was in his palm now, where she could see it and be aware of how prepared he was to fight her, if need be. Her eyes flickered from the blade to him, her eyebrows moved closer together. "Maybe you're not working for Heaven," Castiel said. "But there's something you're not telling me."

Anna's chin raised and she looked at him long, hard, and silent. Then finally, she spoke. "Sam Winchester has to die."

Castiel's eyes narrowed. He had suspected her of as much.

"I'm sorry, but we have no choice. Heaven is _divided_ , Castiel," Anna said. "Some want the apocalypse. Others want to avoid it at all costs."

"And you want to avoid the apocalypse by killing Sam," Castiel surmised darkly.

"Yes," Anna replied simply. "He's Lucifer's vessel."

"He's not the only one."

"What, that guy Nick?" Anna shook her head as if that were a ridiculous thing to suggest. "He's burning away as we speak. No. There may be other vessels, but Sam is the only vessel that matters. You know what that means: If Lucifer can't take Sam, his whole plan short-circuits. No fight with Michael, no Croatoan virus." She was unflinching. "I assume you've heard about the grim future ahead for everyone, Cas? For _you_?"

He looked at her sharply. "Bit and pieces."

Anna was frowning. "Maybe someone should show you the big picture. Because I've seen it all." She became pensive, eyes falling away from his. "And it's not pretty." She looked at him again. "We kill Sam Winchester and none of it has to happen."

Cas raised his chin slightly. "Even if you could kill Sam, Satan would just bring him back to life."

"Not after I scatter his cells across the universe," Anna said grimly. Cas turned away, disturbed. "They'll never find him. Not _all_ of him."

Castiel clenched his jaw in deep thought. She _did_ have a point. And maybe half a year ago, he would have gone along with her plan without a second thought. But things had changed, and he couldn't even allow himself to consider killing Sam. He turned back to her. "We'll find another way," he said, attempting to forge a common ground with her.

"Oh, will we?" Anna asked, darkly amused. "Last time I checked we weren't really even on the same side anymore, Castiel. You've changed."

He turned slowly to look at her again, seeing no reason to dodge her accusation. He knew she was right. "Yes, I have." It was strange though, because she'd encouraged him to change. Now she seemed filled with disappointment at the fact. But she seemed different, too.

Anna stepped a little closer, beseeching him. "What I'm suggesting is simple—clean—reasonable. Why are you so adamant about protecting Sam Winchester? It's in vain. It ends this way, or it ends with the apocalypse and Lucifer walking the earth and subsequently _destroying_ it." Castiel stared at the ground to her left. Anna continued. "How's the Colt working out? Or the search for God? Don't you see? _Nothing else_ is working. If you want to stop the devil, _this_ is how."

He looked at her at that point. He hadn't given up on God, and he wasn't ready to concede that there were no options left. He wanted to believe there was a way, somehow. "I disagree."

This made her frustrated and angry. "I didn't want to do this. But you need to see exactly how bad it gets for the people you care about. I may have been in prison this whole time, but I've _seen_ , Cas." She raised her eyebrows for just a second. "Everything you've been doing." Her eyes looked at him meaningfully. "Everything you _will_ do. To Alex." At the mention of her, Castiel felt his defenses immediately rise. Anna seemed to see it, too. She almost appeared to pity him. "You care about her very much, don't you?" Anna paused, not seeming to entirely understand. "Well, maybe seeing what happens to her if you refuse to kill Sam… maybe that will change your mind."

Cas frowned, not understanding what she was talking about—was she referring to what Dean had told him, how apparently, in the future, he somehow got Alex killed? Anna was stepping a little closer, raising her hand toward him, two fingers extended. "This might be a little intense," she said, and Castiel stepped back, trying to avoid the touch, but her fingers brushed his temple and it was too late.

In just a heartbeat, he saw vibrant detailed scenes that flashed in front of him without any time for him to even react.

In the span of perhaps two seconds, these are the things that Castiel saw...

Cas saw himself and Alex sitting with their backs against a wrecked car that was turned on its side. He wore the trench coat. She had a shotgun. Bullets whistled by, and Cas was staring at his hands in horror. "No, I'm telling you, it's _gone_!" he shouted, and he sounded panicked. Alex, gripping her shotgun close, looked at him in disbelief.

"How can it just be _gone_?!"

He shook his head, unable to respond. Alex craned her neck the other way, attempting to get a view of their assailants. A bullet barely missed her head, and she sat back, fast.

"Well, I wish I brought another shotgun," she commented wryly even as more gunfire popcorned through the air. Cas looked like he was about to be physically ill. "Hey," Alex said, demanding his attention, grabbing one of his shoulders. "Keep your head. Right? We're gonna get out of here."

He said nothing, but his alarm, panic, and dread was visible. Alex attempted to get him to look her by saying his name. "Cas." When that didn't work, she put a hand on his neck, her thumb resting on his jawline, saying his name again. He finally looked at her in the eye. Despite the war zone, the softest little helpless smile sprung onto Alex's face. "Looks like it's my turn to protect _you_."

The scene faded into a new one, where Cas, still in his trench coat, was pacing a motel room. "You're far too reckless," he was saying angrily. "I lose my, I don't know, _angel mojo_ today, and you risk your life like that? What would happen if you got injured?"

"Then I would be _injured_ ," Alex said, not hostile but not pleasant either. "I'm not gonna sit back and sip margaritas while Satan is trying, and sort of succeeding, to destroy the world. Sorry you lost your healing power stuff, but I risked my life before you, and I'm not stopping now either."

Cas looked at her almost sullenly. "Well I don't like it."

"You never have," Alex pointed out. She sounded a little annoyed, but after she said it, there was a grudging little smile pulling at her lips.

Quiet in front of her, Cas was looking down at the ground, then at her. "...I just don't think I could live if you died," he admitted softly. Her smile fell, replaced by a sudden vulnerability. There was a long silence, and then he took her hand gently, looking down to watch his thumb stroke across the knuckles.

"...I'm not going _anywhere_ ," Alex said softly, trying to sound confident. He gave her a look like he wanted to believe, but was too afraid to be able. He pulled her close into a tight hug and her arms circled around him, inside the trench coat. His eyes were shut tightly. One of his hands gripped the back of her head. The moment faded away into darkness.

A new scene. Dean was pacing in front of a very beat-up truck, scanning the distance in agitation. Behind him there was a campsite, cabins and cars. It was dusk. Dean took a long swig from a bottle. Realizing he'd drained the last of the contents, he glared then threw it down to the ground where it shattered.

An old Toyota Landcruiser SUV pulled in. Dean zeroed in on it, appearing nearly murderous. Alex and Cas got out. Cas looked different. He was wearing different clothes: hunting boots, faded jeans, a wrinkled button up with a well-worn army-green cargo jacket. His hair was a little longer, raked forwards messily, and he had the beginnings of a beard. Alex looked tanner than before, a little older and more mature. She was healthier physically, not as thin as she'd been in the past. Her hair was messy and her shirt was lopsided. She was straightening it and glancing at Dean, who bore down on the two of them with a glare. Cas was already taking a defensive stance, standing in front of Alex purposefully.

"Why the _hell_ are you two forty minutes later than everyone else?" he demanded.

"Got lost," Cas said casually, glancing at Dean with mild irritation, then grimaced, wrinkling his nose. "Dean—how much did you _drink_? You reek."

Dean shot Cas a death glare, his voice already bordering on a shout. "Listen, this is the damn end of the world and I don't have time for _you two_ to be screwing around!"

" _Relax_ Dean," Alex said, but it sounded more like a command than an attempt to soothe her brother.

Dean was outraged. "Oh, _relax_? Yeah, great! Lucifer released the freakin' Croatoan virus, he's out there trying to kill us, and this little group of a hundred people is depending on me to tell them what to do and how to survive. Yeah, it's a _real_ relaxing environment!"

"Look Dean, we're all living in the same hell, okay?" Alex fired back angrily. "Why do you have to act like you're the only one having a hard time?"

"Oh _cry me a river_ , yeah, you two are having such a damn _hard time_ , aren't you?" Dean asked, looking between the two of them pointedly. Alex remained resentful. He seemed to know something about them and was unhappy about it. Maybe it had something to do with their flushed skin and askew clothes.

Cas stepped a little closer to Dean, narrowing his eyes meaningfully. His voice was low. "Back _off_ , Dean."

Dean's head turned smoothly, his expression nasty. "You got some nerve, man," he slurred. "This is none of your damn business."

"Actually, it _is_ his business," Alex said immediately, not even giving Cas a chance to speak. Dean looked back at her, glaring and Alex returned the glare. "Cas and I are _together,_ Dean, okay? We have been for awhile now."

There was a silence. Dean looked at Cas, then at Alex, his jaw tight and nostrils flared. "When were you planning to tell me this?"

"What, to get your _permission_?" Alex asked sarcastically. Dean exploded.

"You don't think I deserve to know what's going on in my little sister's life?!" He moved toward her angrily, almost violently. Cas blocked his way, stepping in pointedly, holding out a hand and looking ready to deck Dean if need be.

"Dean—get back," he said. Dean stopped, a piercing glare aimed at the other man. " _Maybe_ you would know what was going on in her life if you ever made an _effort_ to be part of it, Dean," Cas continued bitterly. Dean's expression chilled further. "You haven't even _talked_ to her any time in the last year except to yell at her or tell her where she messed up a mission! And besides that, last time I checked," Cas continued, voice brimming with hostility and cynicism, " _she's_ the one in charge of making her decisions, not _you_."

Dean suddenly got an odd smile on his face, then looked down, chuckling.

"What's so funny?" Cas asked suspiciously.

Dean looked back at him, his expression superior and hateful. "You," Dean said cooly. "You were a pretty sorry excuse for an angel, but you're an even more pitiful excuse for a man."

"Hey," Alex barked, coming forward and shooting daggers at Dean with her eyes. "Don't talk to him like that!" She looked at Dean in disgust. "You're a real asshole these days, you know that?"

"Maybe I am!" Dean shouted, once again wrathful. "But you two don't get to mess around like friggin' idiots when you're out on a mission again, you hear me? You _come back_ when I say, no earlier, no later. There's a reason I'm in charge around here, and if you two want to try and go against me, I got _no problem_ kicking you out!"

There was a short silence. "Listen to yourself, Dean," Alex said, her anger fading into disillusioned sadness. "Who _are_ you? What happened to my brother?"

"What happened to your brother?" he repeated, face twisted in anger. He was unresponsive to her softer tone, his voice still bordering on a shout. "A whole lot of shit, that's what!" He looked at her with near disgust. "And it doesn't help that you're being a lying _bitch_ about everything either!"

At that comment Cas glaring dangerously, once again stepping into Dean's line of sight, his patience growing thin, his anger becoming more visible. He shoved Dean away, hard. " _Watch_ the way you speak to her."

Dean steadied himself, seeming to find the shove amusing. There was a deep chuckle in his throat. "That's sweet Cas," he said darkly, "trying to stand up for your little _whore_."

The words were barely all the way out of his mouth before Cas sprung forward and punched him in the face, sending him stumbling backwards with a split lip. "Don't call her that!" Cas shouted, then in confused anger shook his head, staring at Dean, aghast. "Alex is your _sister_!" Cas shouted almost sounding like he was pleading. "What is _wrong_ with you, Dean?"

Dean spat blood down onto the ground. "I call 'em like I see 'em, angel wings," he said cynically then wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve, giving them a dirty look as if he were considering retaliation. Then he shook his head, a dead-in-the-eyes smile on his face. "You're not even worth it, man." He turned and walked off into the night.

Alex looked deeply hurt and troubled, close to tears and shaken up by what had happened. She stared after her brother for a moment, arms hugged around herself. She looked at Cas—he had turned around to her, gently touched her arm, and was now looking at her in concern. "I don't recognize him at all anymore, Cas," she said softly, wounded. She looked down, and Cas stroked the hair against the side of her head tenderly, then kissed her forehead lingeringly, comforting her. He then looked back at where Dean had gone, expression troubled.

"Come on," he said, putting his arm around her shoulder and focusing completely on her. "Let's go home."

The scene faded away into the interior of a cabin. It was bright inside, daytime. From the flowery trees visible through the window, it was clearly spring time. The cabin was decorated simply. Some yellow wildflowers sat in a vase on a small table. The table had two chairs. A painting of a sunset hung on one of the walls. There was a large, unmade bed, a little kitchenette, and a small couch. That's where Cas was sitting—one foot propped up and in a splint.

"I _hate_ this," Cas said, forlorn.

Across from him and pulling a box out of the closet, Alex turned to look at him sympathetically. "I know." She wore a small shirt with tiny straps, and it bared some of her midriff. She came to sit beside him, the box on her lap.

"I'm useless," Cas continued. At that, Alex looked at him pointedly, wordlessly. He returned the look and she gave him a little look, a little 'don't go there' smile. He didn't seem to be able to stay unhappy, his face softening into a smile. He turned his attention to shifting himself, gingerly repositioning his foot. He hissed in pain.

Alex winced sympathetically. "I'm sorry. Broken bones suck." She shifted the box on her knees then tried to make light of the situation. "Even angels bleed sometimes, huh?"

Cas got quieter, a little somber. "I haven't been an angel for awhile now."

Alex looked at him sidelong, smiling crookedly, shrugging a little. "Well... you'll always be one to me." Cas sent her a sidelong look and Alex was suddenly flustered. "That, uh... sounded better in my head," she said, meeting his gaze with a self-conscious little grin as she laughed at herself. Her embarrassment faded into a meaningful gaze as his eyes stayed steadfast and affectionate.

"So." Alex cleared her throat. "Uh, wanna help me look through this junk?" She put the box between them, brushing the sappy moment aside. "I haven't looked in here since I packed it all up a couple years ago." She pulled out a photo. It was her, Sam, and Dean, smiling, arms around each other. Her face immediately saddened. "Now I remember why." She looked at the picture somberly for a long, quiet moment before she let out a troubled exhale. "I don't think I can keep this."

Cas held out his hand, motioning for her to give it to him. "I'll keep it for you," he offered. "If you get rid of it, you'll always regret it."

She looked at the photograph intently for a minute. "I should've gone after Sam while I still could have," she said softly to herself. Then she handed over the photograph to Cas, her expression a little blank. She went back to looking through the box, visibly pushing her thoughts aside, and Cas watched her sidelong for a moment. He then helped her sort through the box.

He fished out a shiny silver object. "Well, hello!" he commented, turning it over in his hand.

"My whistle?" Alex was surprised and touched. "I forgot I even kept that."

He held it out to her and she took it, regarding it in a mixture of fond reminiscence and sadness. She then looked at him openly, and there was such a depth, such a mutual understanding in the shared gaze. "You should have this," she said quietly.

Cas looked surprised. "Me? No. Why?"

Alex moved the box onto the floor and scooted closer to Cas, pulling out the silver chain that was hidden beneath his shirt and undoing the clasp. "This whistle was pretty much a part of me for twenty five years." Her eyes darted up to his. "You changed my whole life." She held his gaze, looked at him significantly. "Not just by giving me my voice."

He looked touched but still protested even as she was putting the whistle onto the chain—from which a silver ring already hung. "I can't—" Cas started.

Alex stopped a minute, eyebrows raised in a little playful, challenging expression. "Say no to me _one_ more time, Castiel."

His eyes softened as a fond, crooked smile spread over his face. "Wouldn't dare."

"That's what I thought," she said teasingly, fastening the clasp back. She tucked it all back under his shirt and Cas caught her hand in his, holding it a minute as they wordlessly held a gaze.

Cas's eyes seemed to darken. "Come here," he told her huskily. Alex complied immediately, climbing onto his lap. Her legs on either side of him as her arms circled his neck, one of her hands against the back of his head, fingers in his hair. His hands came to hold her waist as he looked at her adoringly—there was no other way to describe it. "You... are the most perfect woman alive," he said. Visibly embarrassed and pleased, Alex pressed a slow, sweet kiss to his lips. He smiled against the kiss, eyes closed. She drew back a little, putting a finger on his lips as his eyes opened again. She seemed to be trying to stop him from saying anything else. He appeared to be amused by that and spoke against her finger playfully. "Well, I _would_ know."

"Please just shut _up_ ," she said, grinning before she kissed him again, at first just to silence him. And then, after a couple seconds, the kiss deepened, becoming more passionate. His hands skimmed down to her hips then gripped a little firmer, pulling her closer as her arms more fully circled him, her hands cupping the back of his head and a shoulder, too. They pulled apart just slightly and Alex rested her forehead against his. Eyes now closed, Cas smiled softly. Content. Alex's eyes went up and down, skimming the length of his face, then she leaned in to kiss him again, making a soft sound that could only be described as sensual as Cas's hand began to trace from her hip to her rib cage, moving upwards steadily.

It all faded away.

Cas was chopping firewood outside the cabin around the back. Orange leaves dotted the trees surrounding the area—autumn. There was a solid thunk as Cas split a log and he stood back for a moment, wiping sweat away with the back of his sleeve. Alex appeared suddenly in the doorway of the cabin, her face anxious and body language tense. Cas saw her arrive and was about to smile at her, then took in her appearance and facial expression. "Cas—come inside," she said. "Fast." She disappeared back into the cabin even as Cas was wordlessly dropping the axe and doing just as she said. He climbed the few steps two at a time and entered the cabin to find Alex standing in the middle of the cabin, arms folded, expression intensely _wrong_.

"What is it?" Cas asked, going to her in concern. He grasped her arms gently, trying to get her to look at him. "Alex?"

She finally looked at him, expression close to horror. "Do you, uh, remember that last run the group did into the city? When you got mad at me for sneaking off to go to the drug store?"

"Yes, of course I remember—" Cas said, not understanding, sounding more than a little worried. "That was yesterday."

"Right, well—" Alex said, shaking her head, struggling. "I was getting a test." She seemed out of breath. "I thought I was just late." She looked at him in trepidation. "But… I'm, I'm _not._ " Cas looked lost and even more worried. Alex swallowed, her voice lowering to a frightened whisper. She was close to tears. "I uh, I." Her jaw worked oddly. "I'm _pregnant_ , Cas." He blinked twice. Alex waited for him to say something, then seemed to think he didn't understand. "With a _baby_ ," she clarified.

He let go of her and took a step back as if he'd had the breath knocked out of him. "I know what pregnant means," he said.

"What are we gonna do?" Alex asked, close to tears, her eyes downcast, blinking rapidly. Her voice was strained and frightened. "This is _no place_ for a baby, for a child."

Cas took in her distress again and then caught her hands up in his, trying to catch her gaze. "Our child," he said gently, chin bent down, eyes seeking hers. He sounded surprised and in awe and a little worried all at the same time. Alex's face softened as she met his gaze. " _Our_ child," Cas said again, looking at her with eyes full of many different things—apprehension, uncertainty, but most of all, love and a growing intense emotion. "We made something, together… a new _life_." He sounded like the thought itself stirred him down to the soul.

A certain kind of stunned hopefulness started softening Alex's features. "I just… I thought maybe you wouldn't want this," she confessed.

Cas looked at her in soft bewilderment. "I want _everything_ with you."

Alex looked at him intently, breathing hard suddenly, emotional. "You're sure?"

" _Yes_ I'm sure," he said immediately, touching the side of her face sweetly.

Alex looked somewhat relieved, but only for a moment. She became frightened again and her voice dropped to a barely audible whisper. "Cas, I'm just so friggin' scared. I don't know how to do this."

He pulled her close into his arms, soothing her. "We're in this together," he told her quietly. Alex had her head laid on his shoulder, eyes closed tight. Her arms were locked around him, seeking reassurance. One of his hands came there against the back of her scalp, cradling her firmly and comfortingly. He pressed a single kiss there on the top of her head and there was a smile on his lips and great, watery emotion in his eyes. He shut his eyes, seemed to breathe her in. For a minute they were still like that, then Alex pulled back a little, enough to look at him. She looked like she were thinking a million things, and Cas seemed to know it, too. "I'm gonna take care of us," he told her, and those simple words visibly relieved her. A brave smile was coming over her face despite her worry and he pulled her into another solid embrace. He was smiling and his eyes were filled with light and tears of joy. "We'll find a way. We always do."

The scene ended.

Alex was pacing back and forth on a cabin porch, her expression tense and worried. "Chuck it's been _two days_ and we haven't heard from them."

Chuck was watching her from the corner of his eye. "You know how those old CB radios are, Alex. Probably quit working. They'll be back. They always come back."

Alex stopped pacing and leaned against the railing of the porch of her and Cas's cabin, one hand on her head as if she were tired or had a headache. Her other hand rested on her lower back. Chuck looked at her sidelong. "Are you sick or something?"

"No, why?" Alex asked mistrustfully.

"I just, I guess I can't believe you stayed behind on this mission. Seemed like a pretty big one." Alex said nothing, staring straight ahead of herself.

Chuck tried again. "It just seems kinda out of character for you to not go… you always go."

"Not this time, Chuck," Alex said cryptically. Chuck regarded her with something like knowing.

At that moment, one of the younger guards ran past, shouting over his shoulder, "They're back!"

Alex craned her neck, trying to see down the twisting road. Dean's Jeep had just become visible, heading up the caravan. "Thank _God_ ," Alex breathed, so relieved. Chuck glanced at her. She was already taking off down the porch and toward the front of the camp where the cars would circle up. The other campers who had stayed behind were gathering, forming a small crowd as the cars pulled in. Dean swung out of his Jeep and Cas jumped down off the back, slinging his gun on its strap, scanning the crowd.

Alex pushed her way through everyone, making a beeline for him. She didn't even see Dean, passed right by him. Catching sight of her, Cas grinned, relieved, maybe as much as she was. He had a cut on his face, grime and dirt. Alex ran the last couple steps to him, throwing her arms around his neck even as he wrapped his arms around her too, lifting her up into a tight embrace. "I am _never_ letting you go anywhere alone, _ever_ again!" Alex told him, legs wrapped around his strong waist. He pulled back to look up at her, his eyes wrinkled from his wide grin.

"What, miss me?" he wisecracked, kissing her through both their smiles. Dean watched the reunion grimly, then stalked off in the opposite direction.

The scene faded.

Binoculars in hand, Alex and Cas stood on a plateau overlooking a small town. Cas's Landcruiser was parked next to them. "But this is the last time," he was saying. "This recon stuff, you know, pretty safe, but still." He lowered his binoculars. "Not safe enough. Forget the raids and Dean's crazy missions."

Alex was quiet a minute, and the breeze whipped her hair around her face for a couple seconds. "I agree."

Cas looked at her like he must have misheard. "You what?" He looked at her strangely. "You're not gonna argue with me?"

Alex lowered her binoculars and looked at him sheepishly then shook her head. "No."

Cas turned and faced her straight on, put a hand to her forehead. "Are you feeling all right?"

"A little sick, actually," she admitted, then good-naturedly reassured him. "I'm fine, I'm _fine_." She sighed. "I just know, for now, my out-in-the-field-days are gonna have to come to a close. To stay safe. To keep… the baby safe." She said 'the baby' as if it were still a foreign concept to her. A daunting but exciting idea she was still working to understand.

"I can stay behind with you," Cas offered, drawing a surprised look from Alex. "I don't have to go out on the missions, if it would make you feel better. You wouldn't have to worry about me."

"You'd do that?" Alex asked, touched.

"Of course," Cas replied, as if he didn't understand how she could think otherwise. "You're the most important thing to me. Out of everything."

Alex cocked her head to the side, a fond little smile on her lips. "You sure do know how to make a girl feel special," she said teasingly, grabbing him by the collar of his jacket. He grinned at her, kissing her as she pulled him close. It was a deep, familiar kiss. He held her like he cherished every single thing about her and that moment both.

She curled into him after the kiss and he wrapped his arms around her protectively. "We're gonna do this, Alex," he said softly, reflective. "Have a life. A regular life in a crazy world. Our _family_." He said the word family in such a gentle, awed way.

Alex frowned over his shoulder, squinting into the distance, straightening. Something had caught her eye. "What was that?"

Cas looked back where she was looking. "What was what?"

"I thought I saw some movement up at the farmhouse," Alex said, setting her binoculars down on the hood of the SUV.

"An animal, maybe? There's never Croats out this far from the city," Cas said, but was pulling his pistol out anyway, checking the chamber. "I'll go check."

"Not alone," Alex said firmly, and he looked at her, clearly not wanting to have this argument. She was already drawing her pistol.

Cas looked like he was thinking about protesting, then let it go, telling her, "just stay close."

Together, they approached the run-down farmhouse, sweeping the area with weapons ready. "There," Alex said, motioning her aimed pistol toward the window to the right of the main doorway.

There was a flash of movement and Cas tensed, holding out an arm. "Stay back," he muttered. Alex complied, but stayed on alert, her gun covering him, her eyes darting around, making sure they weren't being approached from behind or the side.

Cas slowly climbed the stairs up onto the large porch, his pistol held high. "I don't see—" he whispered… then froze. He muttered a curse word even as the front door burst open. Croatoans, at least seven of them, burst out, hungry for blood. "Get back, get back!" Cas was yelling as he emptied rounds into them, stumbling backwards down the stairs. It happened in less than three seconds—one of the Croats jumped off the porch railing and straight onto Alex, knocking her to the ground, catching her completely off guard. A gunshot rang out.

Cas didn't even see it happen but he heard her scream and whirled to look at her, almost getting himself killed in the process. The last Croat grabbed onto him, trying to bite him—savagely, Cas pistol-whipped his attacker across the face and shot him point-blank, then immediately charged the couple of feet over to where Alex was. He grabbed the Croat off of her, throwing a sloppy punch and then shot the guy two times in the chest, barely able to hold the gun. The Croat fell over, dead, forgotten.

Alex was laying flat on the ground, blinking, stunned as Cas dropped to her level, seeing the bloody wound on her shoulder and visibly losing something mentally, Cas let out a soft, shocked sound. He shakily gathered her into his arms, supporting her, and she looked at him with glazed over eyes, confused. She was breathing heavily. It was a deep, vicious bite wound on her shoulder. Blood spilled out, down her arm, staining his clothes too as he pulled her close. Cas fumbled, pulling her up as he stood and carried her away, stumbling back toward their vehicle. Alex's head lolled back and she grimaced, groaned, sounding dazed.

"You're, you're okay, you're gonna be fine," Cas told her frantically, setting her down in a sitting position against the tire of the car, looking at her wound, confounded and alarmed. "Fine, just fine, let me see," he was continuing. Alex was looking at him in shock. Their eyes met, both pairs filled with dread. She shut her mouth, swallowed, then closed her eyes tight.

"Cas—" she managed, then opened her eyes. They were wide and fearful. Knelt in front of her, Cas had a useless, shaking hand pressed hard down on her wound. "Cas, I'm gonna turn," she said in the softest voice.

He shook his head in vehement denial. "No, no you're _not_." He sounded angry almost.

Alex gave him an unexpectedly brassy look tainted by uncoordinated wooziness. "Do you _see_ this bite?"

He did, but his expression showed nothing but stubborn, fearful defiance. He almost didn't seem to hear what she'd said. "You're going to be _fine_ ," he insisted again in a rising, choked voice, not really looking at her, his words beginning to run together. "I'm going to get you out of here, and, and you're gonna be fine Alex, I'm gonna get you home, and you'll be—"

"Cas, _stop_!" Alex suddenly said, grabbing his face, making him look at her. She seemed suddenly and absolutely terrified. She breathed hard a few times out of her nose, then her eyes fell downwards to her bleeding shoulder. "We both know I am _not_ gonna be fine." Her voice broke at the end.

" _No_ ," Cas protested weakly, his voice breaking hopelessly. "Don't say that," he pleaded. Alex looked at him, filled with a sudden, quiet, dread-filled resolve. Cas saw it and went still in cold dread. Alex took his gun out of where he'd shoved it into his waistband. He looked from it to her in disbelief, face gone slack. Her eyebrows moved closer together as her eyes pleaded silently with him.

He was shaking his head weakly, silently. Alex's voice hitched. " _Please_ Cas, you have to..." she whispered, eyes filling with tears. She pushed the gun at him into the palm of his hand, using her other hand to close his hand around it. They stayed like that for a minute, Cas looking at her in lost, terrified dismay. He didn't move.

Alex groaned suddenly, screwing her eyes shut and gritting her teeth in pain, to which Cas looked even more terrified, grabbing her harder—and his eyes were shining with unshed, panicking tears. "Cas, please," Alex said, growing more urgent. He took the gun, wrapping his hand around it, but looked at her unmovingly, shaking his head again, adamant. A horrible sobbing sound escape out of his mouth. "If you don't, then I have to, and I _can't_ ," Alex said brokenly, barely able to speak in an even tone.

"I'm supposed to keep you _safe_ ," Cas said, looking at her in abject horror. "Not _kill_ you!"

"There's no other _choice_ ," Alex said. "If I turn and then hurt you—" she stopped herself, eyes tearing up. "It's too late for me, Cas!" she said, crying now. Cas just stared at her, dismayed. "Please. _Just do it_!" Alex insisted, panicked, voice rising in fear and urgency.

Cas's face broke. "I can't, I _can't_!"

Alex grabbed the gun by the barrel with shaking hands, practically stabbing it into her stomach. "Cas, shoot me!" she screamed. " _Shoot_ me!"

Their eyes locked and Cas sobbed out loud, his face the picture of misery and grief. " _I'm so sorry_ ," he managed in a tight whisper. The gun cocked with a loud click and they clung to each other tenderly, weeping for what was about to happen. He touched his forehead to hers and whispered through choked tears _I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry_ over and over again and she shut her eyes, waiting, trusting him in this final moment, whispering that she loved him.

And then the sound of the gunshot cracked through the thin autumn air like thunder.

Alex and Cas stared at each other in complete shock and horror—like neither could believe he had actually pulled the trigger. And then Alex whimpered in intense pain, face crumpling, and Cas threw the gun aside, trembling, beside himself, pulling her into his lap, cradling her with great affection as blood pooled across her abdomen.

"I'm… I'm _so sorry_ ," Cas said, barely able to speak through tears. His face was twisted in defeat and horror and gleamed with tear tracks.

Alex blinked strangely, staring up at the sky. "It's... okay," she said softly, sounding far away. Her face then scrunched up in pain and she made a horrible sound. Cas gripped her tighter as she breathed hard through gritted teeth, stared at the sky again. "Cas… do you... d-do you think there's still a Heaven up there?" she asked, then looked at him with teary eyes. She suddenly looked so much younger and vulnerable. "Where we can be together again?"

"Yes, of course there's still a Heaven," Cas told her immediately through his tears. She looked disillusioned, like she didn't believe him. She groaned again, sobbed, thrashed in pain, curling into his arms pathetically.

Her breathing was becoming shallow and labored, but she looked up at him and suddenly there was a brave little smile through the pain. At the sight of it, Cas touched the side of her face in broken tenderness, hand tightening as his expression struggled not to break. She looked at him a moment, eyes thoroughly traveling his face. "I love you. So _much_ ," Alex whispered, eyes locked onto his, expression soft and anxious. She grew intense. " _Promise me_ , Cas." She swallowed, winced a minute, pained. "Promise you won't blame yourself for this, okay? I—" she grimaced again. "I know how you are," she said through gritted teeth, but fought to maintain eye contact.

" _Alex_ —" he begged waveringly, looking at the woman in his arms with such guilt and pain. He pressed a long, aching kiss to her forehead. Her eyes fluttered a little, her hand weakly coming to touch his face then going to the back of his neck, pulling him toward her for one last kiss which he readily gave. It was gut-wrenchingly gentle, slow, fervent, and they both made soft sounds of grief at the action. She grabbed one of his hands when they pulled apart, looking afraid in her pain. He gently grasped her hand in return, running his thumb over the top of her hand gently, tracing familiar lines. His face was a battlefield of pain, denial, and grief, each fighting for dominance. As if sleepy, Alex blinked and her eyes got hazy. And then her eyes went dark and her body lost its life. She went completely limp in his arms.

Cas looked like he'd stopped breathing, as if he were frozen. He stared at Alex motionlessly, stunned. He asked her name softly, and when no reply came, when it was clear to him that she had died, he lost it, face crumbling as he clutched her body to himself. He wept loudly, a completely lost man.

The scene faded.

"Yeah, Chuck, it's just—" Dean looked over his shoulder, pausing mid sentence, frowning at the sound of a car coming.

"Ah good, they're back," Chuck said, sounding relieved.

"Geez, and it's about damn time, too," Dean grumbled at the sight of Cas's Land Cruiser pulling up. Then, he frowned deeper, pausing. Only Cas was in the car. And then, as he stopped the car and got out, both Dean and Chuck went still. Cas, who looked horrible and pale, had blood all over him and the look on his face said everything. He looked at them with a broken expression, shut his door, opened the back door, then pulled something out. Dean seemed to stop breathing when he saw what Cas had pulled out of the back seat and was carrying toward them. Alex, who was covered in blood. Limp. Dean walked forward as if in a dream, for a moment in total shock. " _No_ ," he said softly. His sister's skin color was unnaturally pale, bloodless, her lips pale and soft blue. She was clearly dead. Dean, who had stopped in his tracks, was suddenly heaving heavy, racing breaths, horrified and again he said, " _no_ ," more adamant that time, stepping back away from Cas in horrified denial.

"She—it was a Croatoan—" Cas said blankly, looking in Dean's general direction unseeingly. His fingers clenched into Alex's body like vices.

"You—you weren't supposed to let her get hurt," Dean said, shellshocked.

"I know," came Cas's agonized reply.

"You were supposed to protect her," Dean said again, hollow. Then, suddenly, he was enraged. "You were supposed to _protect her_!" Cas looked at Dean completely devoid of response.

Dean went forward, reaching out for his sister, barely holding himself together. "Give her to me," he said, grief breaking his voice.

Cas's eyes snapped to Dean's. " _No_." Cas looked down at Alex for the first time, and his expression distorted, his voice wavered. "I _can't_."

"Like hell you can't!" Dean said, trembling.

Cas responded by falling to his knees and breaking down, clutching Alex to himself pitifully. "You can't take her from me!" he sobbed out brokenly, clinging to the dead body, refusing to let go as he wept bitterly.

The scene faded.

Dean sat across from Alex's body, which was laid in Chuck's cabin. She'd been changed into another shirt, a long sleeved one that hid her shoulder wound. She looked like she could have been sleeping, even though she was so pale. Dean gazed at her silently. "Do you remember that time you glued my shoes to the floor, kiddo?" He shook his head, a soft, sad little smile on his face. "I was so damn mad." He looked at her face carefully, memorizing every detail. "Couldn't stay mad too long though. My little sidekick." His smile faded, his voice hitched. Memories seemed to pass in front of his eyes and he broke down. "I've missed you _so damn much_."

He put his face in his hand, tortured. "Why'd it all have to fall apart?" he asked, forlorn, frustrated, beyond sorrow. "Why'd you _leave me_? Why'd you fall for Cas? And why couldn't I just let it _go_?"

He shook his head in self-loathing, tears running down his face. "I pushed Sam away, was too proud to admit I did the same to you… I guess I thought because you were a few doors down we were still close." Dean bowed his head miserably, a broken man. "I'm so, so sorry Al."

There was a soft noise behind him, and Dean stood up, expression darkening, tears forgotten. "Cas."

Cas stood there in the doorway, looking even worse than he had before—disheveled, mentally deficient, grief-torn. Dean looked at him threateningly. "Get outta here, man."

"I _loved_ her Dean," Cas said, his voice low and unsteady.

"Well that doesn't matter now, does it?" Dean retorted bitterly. "She's _dead_ no thanks to you!"

There was a long, pained pause. "I had to Dean," Cas managed, but he didn't sound like he believed it.

" _Like_ hell _you did!_ " Dean snapped, and advanced on Cas, visibly shaking. "Alex was the only damn thing left in this world that I cared about or loved, I didn't want to but I _trusted you_ to keep her safe and _this is what happens_?!" Dean was irate, messed up, riled. "You let her get bitten then you _shoot her in the stomach_?!" He shook his head, a muscle jumping in his cheek. His fists were clenched at his sides. "You're lucky I don't fucking kill you where you stand, Cas."

Cas just looked at him, then his eyes went downward. "Maybe you should."

Dean took that as an open invitation, slugging Cas across the face. Cas stumbled back, his face turned from the force of Dean's fist. But he made no move to retaliate, he just sadly looked back at Dean, who again punched him for all he was worth, not just once—he began to beat Cas into the ground, blow after blow, blind and enraged and ruthless. Cas did nothing—just took it.

Suddenly, two other men rushed into cabin and broke them apart. "Whoa, stop, stop!" Chuck shouted as one of the camp guards held Dean back. "What the _hell_!" Chuck demanded, beside himself. Cas was sitting slumped against the wall, his face bloody and bruising. Chuck was completely aghast. "Dean, you're beating the man your sister loved… _with her body still in the room_? What is _wrong_ with you?"

Dean jerked out of the guard's grip, looking at Chuck and then Cas guiltily, conflicted. Cas looked up, a little dazed. Chuck shook his head. "Listen. I know you both loved Alex more than anything. I know you're both hurting. But this has _got_ to _stop_! I've watched you two fight over this woman for years now, and it has got to _end_!" He paused, embittered. "What would she say if she could see this?" He shook his head blankly. "You were friends once. _Best_ friends."

Dean and Cas glanced at each other then looked away. Chuck appealed one last time, looking at both of them pointedly, upset. "This is _no one's_ fault."

Cas's head was bowed now. Dean looked at his sister's dead body, then at Chuck. "Yeah, maybe someday I'll believe that," he said tersely. "But not today." He stormed out.

The scene faded.

It was night in Cas's cabin, and no lights were on. There was a loud crash. Cas threw one of the table chairs at the wall, where the painting of a sunset hung. The chair broke as the painting fell off the wall. In a rage, Cas took another swig of green liquid out of the bottle in his hand, letting out some kind of animalistic bellow before he kicked over the kitchen table then threw a plate that had been sitting on the counter. He took another long drink from the bottle then threw it at the wall violently. He grabbed the painting and threw it out the cabin door, then he turned and knocked everything off the top of the dresser where it sat in the corner. He ripped the mirror off the wall and sent it crashing to the floor. A picture of him and Alex sat in a frame beside the bed, and he took it and threw it hard with another strange pained shouting sound, panting and crazed.

He yanked open the closet where some shirts that were clearly Alex's hung. He went still. Stared at them a long moment, his rage ebbing. Then he shut the closet door again, jaw tightening. He grabbed his handgun from where it was tucked into his belt, and with a dark expression, he marched out the back door, stumbling a little in the dark, catching in thickets of thorns but not even seeming to notice.

The moon was high and washed the landscape in pale silver, and he stopped there, at the tree line, holding the pistol to the side of his head, putting his finger on the trigger—and then nothing. There was a long moment where he obviously tried to make himself pull the trigger. But he seemed unable. He muttered a dark curse word and then a horrible sound of grief tore out of his mouth.

He let the gun fall. Breathing heavily, jaw clenched, he flew into another fit of blind rage and ran full force into the large tree trunk in front of him, bashing himself into it. He fell backwards, landing hard, making sounds like sobs, but not from physical pain. He stood up drunkenly, looked around for the gun again, topsy-turvy.

"Cas?" came a voice behind him. Cas turned, grabbing at the owner of the voice, slamming them violently up against the same tree he'd just slammed himself into. "It's me Cas, it's Chuck!" Chuck said, hands raised in surrender, expression worried.

Cas let go, blinking weirdly, disconcerted and crazy. "You, uh, you okay?" Chuck asked, to which Cas exploded, grabbing Chuck with renewed vigor and misdirected rage.

"There's no _Heaven,_ Chuck!" He shouted cynically, bitter, hateful emphasis on the word heaven. "She's gone forever. _FOREVER_! Nowhere! She's nowhere and there's nothing and it's my _fault_!" Cas threw Chuck down onto the ground and began pacing manically. "I shot the woman I love," Cas said, sounding defeated, then suddenly enraged again. "I _murdered_ her!"

He stopped, putting a hand on his face which was twisted up in pain. Chuck watched silently, keeping his mouth shut and not getting up from where he'd been thrown. Cas shook his head and crumpled to his knees, both hands on his face now, miserable sobs shaking his entire body. "Leave me alone," he choked out. "Just leave—me— _alone_. Let me die. I'm dead without her. I'm nothing. I lost the only thing worth living for."

The scene faded away into a new one.

Crouched, Cas laid a bundle of yellow wildflowers at the base of a wooden cross etched with the initials A.E.W. He looked somber and stoic, his eyes slightly hooded. "She's been gone six months now, Chuck," he said, addressing the man who stood behind him, watching silently with hands in his pockets. Cas seemed a little out of sorts. His hair was longer and shaggy, unkempt, there were dark circles under his eyes. His color was sallow. He stood up, looking toward Chuck. "Six months." His mouth was in a thin line. "I don't think I can take much more." Cas stated it almost emotionlessly.

Chuck looked at him carefully. "I thought we went over this the night of the funeral," he said. "When you tried to kill yourself."

There was a cynical attempt at a smile on Cas's face. "Yeah, well, I still think about doing it every day," he said nonchalantly. "I've tried a few more times." His expression faded into loathing. "But like the moron that I am… I can't seem to make myself do it. I can't do it right."

"Cas..." Chuck said, putting a hand on Cas's shoulder.

Looking at Chuck's hand weirdly, Cas shrugged away from him and walked off a couple steps, then stopped. He sounded authentic again, briefly. "Living without her is the most painful—" he took a deep breath, eyes filled with heavy sadness. "She was the way I understood the world, Chuck." He paused, melancholic. "She taught me how to be human." He was completely still, and sounded earnest, lost, desperate. "I don't know how to love anyone but her. I don't even think I _can_. I don't want to." For a minute, he looked like himself. "I just wish I could go back in time. Change everything." He suddenly chuckled darkly, cynically, as if he were hearing himself. "Wow. Sometimes I hear the things I think and I'm like, how could someone _be_ such an idiot? Why do I even _bother_? I'm not even alive anymore. I'm just stalling. Putting off the inevitable. For no damn reason."

"Don't talk like that, Cas," Chuck said. He'd walked after Cas and was standing in front of him now. "You're important."

Cas rolled his eyes at Chuck. "I'm _important_? To who? Who the _hell_ would care if I disappeared tomorrow? Dean? He _tolerates_ me. The women I bullshit all day long? Yeah, right. _You_? Don't make me laugh." Cas gave a sharp, derisive sound. "I'm not _important_. I only live to get wasted." He sobered a little, melancholic again. "I'm pathetic." His jaw clenched tight, his eyes went down, his voice cracked. "She would _hate_ me if..." Cas swallowed, trailed off. He clenched the forgotten bottle in his hand, lifted it and took a swig. His eyes glittered with tears.

"Stay alive, Cas," Chuck said emphatically, watching his friend in concern. "You're still alive for a reason, I know you are. You matter."

Cas looked at him as if insulted. "You sound like a damn religious handout," he said darkly, then walked off angrily, leaving Chuck by himself.

The author sighed, then shrugged sadly. "You tried, Chuck," he muttered to himself, then looked back at Alex's grave for a long moment. "He really loved you, didn't he, kiddo?" He paused. "Maybe too much."

The scene faded.

There were a few cars gathered up, people loading weapons and getting ready for some kind of assault. Alex—Alex from 2009—was there with Cas, off to the side, behind a truck. Cas was looking at her strangely. "Kiss me," he whispered, and her expression dropped.

"W—what?" she asked, face blank.

" _Please_ ," he said, his voice just a broken whisper. "I just… I can go in there and face the devil, face death, the whole nine. If you kiss me." He licked his lips nervously. "One last time," he paused, thinking of something, and frowned, then smiled in the softest, saddest way. "Or… first, I guess. For you."

Alex's mouth hung open slightly. "I… uh…" she had quickly become flustered.

He hesitantly caught her hands in his. "A dying man's wish," he said softly.

"But... you don't _know_ you're dying," she protested weakly.

A muscle in his cheek jerked. His gaze faltered. "I have been for awhile now."

Alex looking up at him hesitantly, for a very long couple seconds, then nodded, expression a cross between nervous and intrigued. He seemed to have been holding himself back—he kissed her as soon as the go-ahead left her mouth. Gently at first, soft and glancing, then suddenly Alex seemed to take over, pulling him in with sudden passion, and the kiss became something else entirely. Cas pressed into her, she bumped up against the side of the truck they were beside, she let out a soft little moan—he roughly grabbed her hips, lifting her up, her legs wrapped around his waist, the kiss deepened even more, their hands tangled in each other's hair and—then it ended completely when the sound of arriving cars cut them short. They broke apart panting, staring at each other.

Without anything further, the scene faded.

An abandoned building, wrecked inside, run down: Cas laid in a pool of his own blood, several gunshot wounds in his chest and abdomen. He was gasping for air, dying, looking at a photograph in his hand, struggling. He seemed to lose his strength, and then the life went out of him, he breathed his last, going still.

The sound of dress shoes clicked, echoing, as a tall man entered the room. It looked like Sam. But it was Lucifer, dressed in a white tuxedo. He seemed almost sympathetic as he looked down at the dead body at his feet. "Ah, brother…" he commented softly. "How the mighty have fallen." His head tilted the the side just barely as his eyes traveled Cas's dead body and face. "A shame things had to end this way for you."

Lucifer crossed the room, over to a window, looking out. "You should have joined me while you had the chance, Castiel," he sighed, looking back at Cas's body briefly. He was cold, superior. "But no. You had to do it your way."

Lucifer returned his gaze to the window. "Better to reign in Hell than to serve in Heaven," he said to no one. He gazed out of the window triumphantly, his eyes chilling and never blinking. He took in a deep, pleased breath. "Hell on earth. Heaven just a memory." The smile deepened. "I win." With his finger, he drew a pitchfork in a splatter of blood on the glass of the window.

And it all faded out.

Everything Castiel had just seen had rushed his mind in the span of a couple seconds—he was still in the middle of taking a step backward when everything came back—the warehouse, Anna, reality. Completely stunned he stared at her, breathing heavily, reeling. His mind could barely process everything he'd just taken in and seen.

Anna looked at him intently. "You saw." She said. He could only look at her wordlessly, horrified. She seemed satisfied at his speechlessness. "So, now you see," she said, urgently. "Sam Winchester has to die, or all of _that_ happens. The pain, the broken relationships. The world, practically destroyed. You, a miserable shell. Everyone you cared about dead and gone." She looked at him significantly. "Lucifer walking the earth, no one left to stop him." She raised her chin slightly. "We can stop all of that. _Today_."

When he said nothing, she lost some of her certainty, frowning at him. Castiel shook his head again, regaining some composure, hiding his inner terror just barely. "The answer's still no, Anna."

Anna's face contorted in utter disbelief. She then became almost angry. "You're actually willing to let all of that _happen_? To Dean? To Sam?" Anna stepped a little closer. "To _her_?" At that, Cas looked at Anna, who was shaking her head almost in disgust.

"What you showed me—it's not real," Cas said vehemently, in denial. "I don't believe it," Cas said, faltering. And he didn't. He _couldn't_.

"Why would I _lie_ to you?" Anna asked insolently.

"You've already lied to me today, and you just want… to trick me into helping you." Cas accused, then turned a little, allowing the shadows to obscure his face from her. He was struggling, and badly. "None of what you showed me…" he said tremulously, "it's not _possible_." Was it?

"At this point in time, it's _definite_ ," Anna said defiantly. "The only one lying here is you. To _yourself_. That future _happens_. Everything you saw _happens_ , no matter what you do after today. This? What I'm proposing? This is the only way to change that. Don't you _want_ to?" She went quiet, giving him a chance to speak, but he said nothing. She tried again, forcefully. "Destiny doesn't have to be set in stone, Cas. We can _change_ it. All we have to do is _kill Sam_. He dies so that they can _live_." Still, Cas said nothing, and Anna grew more ardent. "The Croatoan virus never has to even exist—you can save _millions,_ Cas. Use your head! This is the right thing to do!" Anna stopped and got quieter, her eyes full of meaning. "Do this one thing and the woman you love can live." The woman he _loved_? Hearing it put that way made him defensive. Cas turned on her finally, dangerously, murderous almost. Anna was mystified. "Don't you _want that_?"

Cas looked at her unblinkingly, his voice low and dangerous. "Anna, you and I have been through much together." He stepped a little closer, his angel blade still in his hand, raising just slightly. "But you come near _any_ of the Winchesters, I will kill you without hesitation."

Anna looked at the blade, then at him, disappointed, disenchanted, not understanding. She backed up one step. "I don't think you'll ever regret anything as much as what you decided here today, Castiel." It sounded like a threat. She disappeared.

The second Anna vanished, Cas stumbled sideways, catching himself barely against a wall, holding himself up with a flat palm. _"The woman you love—"_ echoed in his mind relentlessly. He could barely breathe. It was as though the things Anna showed him had physically rendered him momentarily incapable of standing. His mind spun with the images he'd seen, the words he'd heard. It felt as though something had been ripped out of him—he couldn't make sense of it, couldn't understand— _was that real_? Had all of that really happened? Was that really the future? _T_ _heir_ future? All he could hear was the sound of a deafening gunshot and the strangled cries of Alex as she laid dying in his arms...

_Alex._

He looked up suddenly, a horrible thought crossing his mind—if Anna were gone, Sam was in danger, and possibly Alex and Dean, too. Without a second thought, Castiel flew immediately, back to the motel room where the Winchesters waited.


	24. Honeymoon's Over

_"How can I change tomorrow if I can't change today?"_  
\- Hatebreed

* * *

Cas had disappeared to 'discover Anna's intentions' about ten minutes ago.

Sam sat stock still on one of the motel beds with elbows leaned onto his knees and hands clasped. He glanced at his twin, who had been sitting in the same spot since Cas vanished. She had a hand on her knee, the index finger tapping constantly. She stared at the floor, deeply pensive. He could tell she was chewing the inside of her cheek like she did when something was really bothering her. He also knew she was exhausted—sleep deprived from the constant nightmares she'd been having lately. She hadn't said anything about it, but Sam had heard her waking up breathless and scared for the past few weeks. Since Carthage, he was pretty sure. He hadn't said anything because he knew how she was about this stuff. She'd tell them when she was ready—or never at all.

Sam glanced at his brother, who was pacing in agitation, true to normal form. "Come _on_ , how long does he need, anyway?" Dean demanded in a mutter, gesturing angrily with one of his hands.

As if on cue, Cas reappeared in the middle of the motel room, startling them all. Sam immediately noticed that he looked different than he had a few minutes prior—almost like he'd had the wind knocked out of him. The angel looked from Sam to Dean grimly. "I found Anna."

" _And_?" Dean asked impatient and urgent.

"And she wants to kill Sam," Cas replied harshly.

Aghast, Sam shot to his feet. "What? _Why_?"

Cas looked at him dead in the eye, his expression foul. "She believes it will forestall the Apocalypse." He turned around and marched over to the motel table without any further explanation.

Alex stood up with an incredulous expression on her face. "By _killing_ Sam?" She sounded like she hadn't heard right.

At the table, they could only see Cas's profile—he was pulling something out of his pocket—chalk? But when Alex asked that he went still, his expression pinching slightly, a muscle jumping in his cheek. His eyes slid in her direction, but he didn't look right at her. "Yes." He refocused on what he'd been doing and began drawing something vigorously on the table. He sounded impatient, like he was explaining something obvious. "No _Sam_ —no _Lucifer_. Destroy the vessel, destroy the devil. That's her mentality."

Dean, who had taken a minute to digest, was shaking his head. "Really? _Anna_?" He sounded a little let down. "I don't believe it."

"It's _true_ , Dean," Cas replied, sending a glancing dart of a scowl over. He sounded on edge and Sam looked at him intently, thinking hard and realizing that Cas was deeply upset—maybe because Anna had a point. Maybe because Cas thought _Anna was_ _right_. Sam swallowed, his heart beating fast.

"So she's gone all Glenn Close, huh? That's awesome." Dean said flippantly.

Cas looked at Dean with narrowed eyes, expression filled with malevolence. "And who, the _hell_ , is Glenn Close?"

There was a shocked pause in the entire room at Cas's rude, angry question. Dean looked at Cas oddly. "Uh… she's no one, just this psycho bitch who likes to boil rabbits."

Unamused and perturbed, Cas gave Dean a dirty look and returned to drawing. His chalk strokes were sharp and jabbing—Sam looked closely and saw that Cas's hand was shaking. _Damn, Anna must have meant business._ Sam had never seen Cas so shaken up. _Afraid_ almost. Which kind of messed with Sam, made _him_ afraid, made _him_ wonder. He approached Cas cautiously, using a soft, appealing tone. He had to know. "The plan to kill me—would it actually stop him?"

"Sam, _what_?"

Sam glanced at his dumbfounded sister but ignored her shocked question and wide eyes to look at Cas again.

The angel had gone still again, listening hard as Sam asked again, rephrasing the question. "Cas, what do you think? Does Anna have a point?"

There was a heavy silence and Cas looked at Sam darkly, then glanced at Dean, who still hung back and was watching with grim apprehension. "No," the angel finally said, distracted, somber. "She's—Glenn Close." He resumed writing with the chalk. Sam wasn't actually convinced—but let it go for the moment. He could feel Alex looking at him, deeply disturbed. He glanced at her then at Dean who looked similarly troubled. Sam was stumped.

He cleared his throat, going over towards Cas. "What are you doing, anyway?" he asked, looking at the strange symbols the angel was marking onto the surface of the table.

"A ritual," Cas said blandly. "It will show me where Anna is so that we can go after her."

Dean frowned. "What, look for the super angel-powered chick that wants to gank Sam? Why poke the bear?"

Cas looked at Dean with an impatient, narrow-eyed glare, once again seeming to be off-kilter and short-tempered. "What _bear_?"

"He means why tempt fate," Alex explained.

Again, Cas seemed to tense up when she spoke to him. He didn't look at any of them. "We... _poke the bear_ because Anna will keep trying. She won't give up until Sam is dead." He grabbed a bowl that had been sitting on the counter and slammed it down with more force than necessary onto the table. "Therefore, we kill her first," he said with dark resolve. He vanished without warning.

"What the—" Dean started, only to stop when Cas reappeared, a jar in hand.

Ignoring the Winchesters, the angel poured the contents of the jar, some kind of oil, into the bowl on the table. He began to recite something in Enochian. " _Zod ah ma ra la—ee est la gi ro sa._ "

Red flame shot out of the bowl and in unison Cas stumbled back in sudden pain, bracing himself against the back of one of the chairs—he had screwed his eyes shut, was breathing heavily, wincing. Sam and Dean exchanged surprised looks, and Alex had taken a couple steps forward, clearly worried, then hesitating. "Cas, are you—"

"Fine," he said tersely, straightening, avoiding looking at anyone but Dean. "I've found her."

"Okay," Dean said. "So where is she?"

"Not where," Cas said, frowning deeply. " _When_. It's nineteen seventy-eight."

Alex spoke first. "...She went back in time?"

Beside her, Sam was equally confused. "Why nineteen seventy-eight? I wasn't even _born_ yet..."

Cas looked at Sam grimly. "And you won't be if she kills your parents."

The twins stilled, understanding and then looking at each other apprehensively.

"Anna can't get to now you because of me," Cas said darkly. "So she's going after them."

"Take us back _right now_ ," Dean said.

Cas looked at him with little patience, cynicism almost. "And deliver you right to Anna?"

Dean didn't back down. "They're our parents, _Cas_ , we're going."

Cas shut his eyes a second, seeming to be frustrated. "It's not that easy." He walked a few steps away.

"Why not?" Sam asked.

Cas turned, gave him a peevish glance. "Time travel was difficult even with the powers of Heaven at my disposal."

"So, what, you're like a Delorean without enough plutonium?" Dean asked.

Cas looked at Dean unhappily. "I don't understand that reference." Beside Sam, Alex made a soft little sound, like a muffled laugh. "But I'm telling you, taking this trip, with passengers no less—" the angel shook his head somberly. "It'll weaken me."

"I can stay here," Alex volunteered, to which Cas's eyes snapped over to her. She was pretty used to being left behind to be point person or the getaway car or lookout from the distance.

" _No_ ," the three men said in unison.

Alex made a surprised, mildly disgruntled face, becoming mildly embarrassed. "Geez, just trying to lighten the load."

Sam looked from her to Cas, was looking at his sister intensely, his expression unreadable—Cas seemed to feel Sam's gaze and glanced at him, then looked away, jaw working. "There might be more angels who are in on this plan of Anna's," Cas muttered, eyes darting back and forth over the floor in thought. "I don't want _any_ of the three of you out of my sight."

"See, even more reason for us to go with you," Dean reasoned, approaching the angel insistently. "Cas, they're our mom and dad. If we can save them, and not just from Anna... I mean if we can set things right, we have to try."

"' _Set things right'_?" Alex repeated, eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

Dean sent her a pointed look, turned to look at her tersely. "Warn Mom about the nursery fire, Azazel—all of it. Stop the whole shit storm before it even starts." Dean said it like she should have already known what he meant and been on board, but Alex looked as surprised and unsure about that as Sam felt. In fact she almost looked upset as she stared at Cas.

Cas didn't notice her looking at him, he was staring at Dean intensely. He walked forward a little, expression stern. "You truly believe you can change the past, Dean?" he questioned cynically. His voice lowered, his chin pivoted downwards—he looked wary and intensely foreboding. "Even after last time?"

"Well it's at least worth a _shot_ , man!" Dean said, growing exasperated.

Cas seemed equally frustrated in response, looking from Dean to Sam, glancing just barely at Alex, then looking down to his left. He shook his head grimly. "This is not a good idea."

"Yeah well, good ideas aren't exactly our strong point," Dean said sarcastically. But he had the air of triumph to him in the slight smile and the way his chin was raised. Like he already knew Cas would do what he'd demanded.

Cas looked at him long and hard then gave in with a long, deep huff. " _Fine_ ," he muttered. "I'll be back with the required essentials." He vanished again.

" _The required essentials_ ," Dean mocked in a goofy, cartoony voice. His voice returned to normal. "Nerd."

Cas reappeared just as quickly as he'd disappeared—two large, ancient looking ceramic jars in hand. "We'll need some kind of bag," he said.

"Here," Sam grabbed his duffel and shook the contents out onto his bed, then handed it to Cas. Dean was grabbing his jacket, tossing Sam his. Alex grabbed hers from where it had been thrown over the side of a chair—looked like they weren't going to waste any time. Sam swallowed. This was all his fault.

"Holy oil," Cas explained as he put the two jars into the bag. He then pulled out an angel blade from inside his trench coat. He gave Sam a significant look as he shrugged on his jacket, pausing. "Do not lose this." He put it into the bag and zipped it shut. "Ready?" Cas asked Sam, handing him the bag.

Sam took the bag and swung it up onto his shoulder, attempting a smile, but it didn't quite work. "Not really."

Dean, Alex, and Sam gathered facing Cas, Alex between her two brothers, and Cas raised his hands, about to touch them and send them back—but Alex's voice suddenly stopped him short. "Wait, Cas—how bad exactly is this gonna set you back?" she asked, peering at him with her eyebrows knit together.

Cas didn't look at her when he spoke. "I'll be a little out of sorts when we arrive," he answered curtly. Sam glanced down at his twin, who appeared frustrated by Cas's shortness. Sam glanced back at the angel, who still refused to look at Alex. Sam frowned a little, his instincts telling him something, maybe some kind of fight or something, was going on between these two.

He didn't have time to wonder. Cas's fingers were coming toward his head—and then suddenly, the motel room was gone.

Sam almost fell over as the ground beneath his feet changed and then everything else, too—beside him Alex grabbed on and they steadied each other as Sam looked around in a daze. They were standing in the middle of a busy street and a loud horn blared behind them alarmingly close—the three Winchesters whirled as a car screeched to a halt, almost hitting them. "Get out of the street!" the driver of the car shouted.

"Watch where you're _going_!" Alex countered in a shout, making a rude gesture in his general direction even as Sam pulled her toward the sidewalk.

"Guys!" Dean barked, and Sam stopped short as a second car almost ran them over, jerking to a stop, almost knocking Sam over when the bumper hit his leg. The driver looked at them like they were crazy, and Sam awkwardly shrugged, mouthing 'sorry!' and stumbling forward as Alex pushed him along, trying to get them out of the street.

The three of them made it to the sidewalk, disoriented. "Ah, shit," Alex panted, scanning the area with a hand to the side of her head. She looked worried and confused, and then she asked what Sam was wondering: "Where's Cas?"

"I dunno," he said breathlessly, seeing no sign of the guy. "Did we make it?"

"Unless they're bringing Pintos back into production..." Dean said, pointing at one of the cars, "I, uh, I'd say yes."

"Oh my god!" Alex suddenly exclaimed, gone still staring in shock or maybe fear—her brothers both followed her gaze to see Castiel, collapsed against the side of a car a few feet away. He looked barely conscious at first glance.

"Cas!" Sam exclaimed, already hurrying over—he dropped into a crouch, grabbing onto the angel, who looked like he might fall over any second. "Hey, hey, _hey_!"

Dean and Alex were already on either side of Sam—Dean kind of bent over, and Alex had fallen to her knees to grab Cas's arm, asking his name in a voice awash in worry. The angel, usually so aloof and composed, appeared woozy, in pain, disoriented. He was gazing at Sam's twin in a daze. Blood ran down out of his nose. "Take it easy, take it easy," Dean commanded gruffly, looked at him intently. "You all right?"

Looking anything but, Cas frowned in pain at nowhere in particular. "I'm fine," he said. "I'm—much better than I expected." Sam was surprised to hear that—this seemed pretty bad to be 'much better than expected.' He made to start helping Cas up, but without warning, Cas coughed violently, gagging up blood, and then went slack, his eyes rolling back in his head. He pitched sideways and would have fallen over completely if Sam and Alex hadn't mutually caught him by the shoulder.

"Cas… _Cas_!" Alex stared at him, eyes wide, but got no response. She looked at Sam, wide-eyed. "Did he—did he just _pass out_?" She looked at Dean, aghast. "Is that even _possible_?" She looked at Cas again, who had brilliant red blood dripping out of the side of his mouth. "Angels don't pass out! Do they?!"

Sam put a hand in front of Cas's mouth, checking for breathing. It was there. "Well, he's breathing. _Sort_ of."

Alex held the pads of her pointer and middle finger against Cas's neck for a couple seconds. "Pulse seems normal," she said, but she didn't sound too relieved. "A little out of sorts my _ass_." She almost sounded pissed underneath all the worry.

Unsure, Sam sat back slightly to look at Dean, who had straightened up and was looking around in a disconcerted way. "What do we do?" Sam asked him.

"Hell if I know!" was the immediate response. Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. "I don't have _time_ for this, man." He let go of his nose and huffed a frustrated breath, then turned and walked off a few steps. Annoyed, Sam muttered an 'I'll be back' to his sister and got up, following Dean. Cas remained unmoving where he'd lost consciousness with Alex holding him up and peering at him anxiously in between cautious glances thrown around.

"Okay Dean, we need to figure this out, _now_ ," Sam said.

"I know, I _know_ ," Dean said, unable to stop pacing. He grabbed his own chin, totally clueless, his eyes scanning the area kind of desperately. And then, his eyes stopped. Sam looked where Dean was looking—The Prairie Court Motel. Sam looked at Dean, not understanding. Dean however clapped his hands together once decisively. "Okay, here's what we do. We put Back to the Future over there up in a motel, safe and sound where he can sleep off this— _whatever_ —while we go gank Anna."

"...Leave him _alone_?" Sam asked, a little surprised at Dean's idea.

"Well the other choice is just a _little_ inconvenient, Sammy," Dean said a low, tense voice, starting to sound defensive and backed into a corner. "I don't got time to drag around a big unconscious dude, do you?"

Sam made a face. "No but… you're saying we leave our ticket out of here… _behind_?" Dean made a face of his own at Sam's question. "Cas likes to disappear on us when he's, you know, _lucid._ What if he wakes up and forgets we're here or—" Sam stopped. He could speculate forever and there just wasn't time. He refocused to his main point. "We can't leave him, Dean. It's a bad idea."

"And we can't take him with, either," Dean argued, getting more impatient by the second. "So what choice does that leave us?"

Sam gave a frustrated huff, glancing toward where Cas and Alex were—then paused, the perfect idea striking him. "Alex can stay with him!" He said a little animated, not sure why he hadn't thought of it already. "Make sure he doesn't wander off when he wakes up!" He paused, looking back at the angel, suddenly a little bleak as he considered. _"If_ he wakes up."

"You have _got_ to be kidding me," Dean said darkly, and Sam felt himself raise an eyebrow slightly. Was Dean seriously still on this whole keeping Cas and Alex apart thing?

"Dean," Sam said, deadpan. " _Get over_ yourself." He got an evil eye from his brother but just rolled his eyes. "You're making a big deal out of _nothing_ —even if you thought Cas might try something—and that is a _huge_ if—does he look like he's up to doing something like that anytime soon?"

Dean looked at Sam unhappily, then in Cas and Alex's direction. "I mean, just _look_ at them, Sam!" Dean hissed, jabbing his hand out demonstratively. Sam looked—all he saw was Alex supporting a passed-out Cas while looking concerned.

"What?" he asked, looking back at Dean oddly. "All I see is Alex and her _friend_ Cas who she's worried about. Who is also, um, _super unconscious_ at the moment!" Dean responded by clamping his lips into a thin line. Sam stayed calm. "I'm right about this Dean. And you're being a little bitch."

"Am not," Dean muttered, then cut his eyes sharply to Sam, narrowing them slightly. He seemed to have thought of something, folded his arms, suddenly giving off an air of superiority. "Anna's after _you_ Sam—maybe I should leave _you_ here with Cas, huh?"

Sam's expression fell in exasperation. Dean couldn't just let it go. Of course not. Sam huffed. " _No_ , Anna's after Mom and Dad now, she doesn't even know I'm here. And, I mean, think about it. Alex will be safer here, right?" That last part got Dean's attention, just like Sam knew it would—they looked at each other significantly. If there was anything they would always agree on, it was that they wanted their little sister to be safe. Speaking of, she had noticed them exchanging words and had left Cas propped against the car to walk over with terse expression.

"What are you two arguing about _now_?"

Dean spoke up before Sam could. "Sam here wants you to stay behind and babysit Cas while we go do all the fun stuff."

"We need to make sure he doesn't disappear on us while we go take care of Anna," Sam quickly added, following up Dean's statement.

Alex's eyes flickered between the two of them for a long beat, her expression unreadable. "So... I'm automatically the one who stays behind while you guys run off and save Mom and Dad, face down a rogue angel who's after Sam, risk your asses and possibly get killed in the process?"

Dean looked at Sam, his expression suggesting Sam was done for. Sam pressed his mouth downward in a kind of shrug, briefly as he tried to appear nonchalant. "Uh, basically."

Alex glanced back at Cas, pausing, then looked back at them. "You guys _need_ me on this one."

"Yeah, we do—to make sure our time machine doesn't go AWHOL," Sam said, trying to appeal to her sensibility.

His twin folded her arms and looked at him challengingly. "Okay, well, why can't _you_ stay? You're the one Anna's after, right?"

Sam pressed his lips into a thin line—this was his _favorite thing_ , when it turned into a sibling rivalry contest. Dean looked at Sam, as if to say 'see? I was right.' Sam took in a long breath to keep his patience. "I can't stay because _I_ am _going_ ," Sam insisted, looking at Dean pointedly, then Alex. She was incredibly annoyed with him. Sam huffed, tried again. "Okay, here's another idea: _Dean_ stays with Cas."

Dean looked at Sam as though he'd suggested Backstreet Boys were real musicians. "Hell no!" he retorted. "I'm the oldest and I'm _going_ , that's final."

Sam let out a deep breath through his nose. "Okay, then by _that_ logic, Alex is the youngest, and _she_ stays."

"Youngest by one minute and forty-seven seconds, Sam!" Alex protested. "That doesn't even count!"

Sam muttered under his breath, "it does though."

Dean had his hand on the side of his head and chopped it down through the air, approaching his wit's end. "Look you two morons, at this point, I don't _care_ which of the two of you stays!" he thundered. "Time's wasting—Anna could've killed both Mom and Dad by now and have time left over to go catch tonight's episode of The Bob Newhart Show." He glanced from Alex to Sam, irked. "Okay, look," Dean muttered, "you two settle this the old fashioned way and we're done and moving on, end of story." He waited about one second then jerked both hands up at them. " _Today,_ guys!"

Alex and Sam contemplated each other reluctantly. Sam raised his eyebrows at her in challenge and unamused, she gave an aggravated "fine!" under her breath.

Sam made a fist and cradled it in his other hand. His sister mirrored him tersely. They didn't need a countdown or go signal—in unison, they started. One, two, three times they hit their own palms, and then on the fourth count, Sam held his hand flat—paper—and Alex kept her hand in a fist—rock. Sam's face broke into a triumphant grin and he covered her fist in his hand. "Paper beats rock!"

Alex made a frustrated sound. "Yeah, okay," she said, nodding grudgingly. "I can accept defeat." She let out a gusty sigh. "You a-holes really owe me one for this." Sam noticed that she didn't sound _that_ mad though, just kind of apprehensive. Dean, however, seemed to be over the entire thing, antsy and ready to get going.

"Yeah, whatever, let's get you two checked in so we can get this show on the road," he said, already striding back toward Cas. Sam watched Alex, who was looking at Cas with a weird expression. He thought it was worry, which made sense. He knew she really cared about the guy—it was her guardian angel after all, why wouldn't she? Alex seemed to sense her twin's eyes on her and looked back at him petulantly, which only entertained Sam.

"Hey, don't act like you hate it so much," he teased in a low tone, grinning as he nudged her. He got an 'I hate you' face from her in return.

* * *

**The Prairie Court Motel**

Alex ran the washcloth under hot tap water, unsure if she believed what was happening right now. Sam and Dean were already gone—they had checked her in a couple minutes ago, thrown Cas down on the bed and then left in a huge hurry—but not before Dean had told her they would call by ten o'clock _or_ be back that night—and if not, to come looking. So here Alex was, in 1978, holed up in a quiet motel room with an injured angel… but that wasn't even the best part. As odds would have it, the only room available at the motel was the honeymoon suite… and when they said honeymoon suite, they meant it.

The room was covered in cheesy red heart motifs and there were several crappy paintings of red roses displayed across the wood panel walls. A cheap bottle of complimentary champagne perched on the dresser, no ice or anything though—beside it sat two slender toasting glasses with gold hearts etched on them. There was a heart shaped tub in the bathroom, a little sculpture of cupid aiming a bow and arrow on the bedside table, and a plaque hanging above the bed that said 'Love Conquers All.' In short, the room was ugly as shit. Finished wetting the cloth, Alex rung it out and exited the bathroom. She'd had seen some corny motel rooms in her day, but this one took the cake.

However, she wasn't really so much focused on the room decor as she was the guy on the bed. Laid flat and unmoving, Cas looked just the same as when Dean and Sam had left—unresponsive. She paused a second, the sight of him like that scaring her all over again. Seeing him so messed up was really chilling. And somehow, the blanket he laid on (which, of course, was a tacky heart print) seemed put there to insult her or taunt her. He looked so handsome and like he could have been sleeping. Well, except for the streaks of blood across his lower face.

Alex shook herself and then gingerly sat on the edge of the bed, one leg folded under her as she leaned over him carefully, steadying herself with the light touch of her palm to his chest. Blood was drying underneath his nose at the edge of his mouth... and she felt almost sick. He hadn't been telling the truth about how bad off the time travel would leave him, the _idiot_. And now she was left not knowing _if_ he'd recover— _when_ he'd wake up—or if he'd be okay _at all_. Was this some kind of angel coma? Or the equivalent of hitting his head hard? How long would this last for? Would he be permanently damaged? And then, a more disturbing thought… was this him losing his 'angel mojo' like he'd talked about in 2014?

There was no way to tell, not yet, so she didn't need to get herself completely bent out of shape over it. She was powerless to do anything except clean him up a little, but since that was the only option, that's what she did. With her palm still pressed against his chest, her free hand began to carefully dab the washcloth at the blood that ran down from his nose. Alex reflected momentarily about how she just wasn't sure about this. Part of her was really screaming in frustration at being 'left behind' as her brothers went and hopefully stopped Anna from killing Mom and Dad… but… on the other hand, she really couldn't feel _too_ upset, because honestly, being here when Cas woke up, making sure he was okay—that felt immeasurably important to her too.

Still, Alex's mind went back to the other perspective—she could be out there, helping her brothers stop a crazy angel from murdering her parents, one of whom she'd never even known at all. As soon as Dean had demanded Cas take them back to 1978, Alex had been struck by the frightening and intriguing thought of meeting her mother. But the weird thing was, she didn't know if she even _wanted_ to—she had spent her whole life not knowing the woman, having no memories of her at all, only a couple of snapshot photographs, some stories, and nice sounding hand-me-down memories from Dean who _did_ remember her. So the idea of actually meeting Mom and putting a real, living, breathing face to the name was gray area for Alex. In the deepest parts of her heart, she felt that it was easier to write Mom off as a person in a grainy photo than see her as a real human being—not knowing Mom made it almost painless to exist without her. Just thinking that made Alex feel really shitty. Mary Winchester would be ashamed to know her daughter was that shallow and heartless and afraid.

And then there was the thought of seeing Dad. She wasn't sure if she could handle seeing him again, in any context. She remembered when he died. He'd told Dean and Sam goodbye, privately, separately. But hadn't said anything to her at all. Maybe he'd been waiting for the right opportunity that never came, maybe he just had died before he got the chance, or maybe he had been too afraid to talk to her. He had never talked to her much. He had never liked having one-sided conversations, which you tended to have with a mute person—and he'd never 'gotten' her like Sam and Dean had. He'd always looked at her with this kind of veiled, stand-offish look in his eyes. She remembered trying so hard to make him proud. She'd learned to shoot straighter, draw faster, load quicker than her brothers. She'd memorized sigils and wards and spells, more than Sam and Dean had. But he'd never done what she'd wanted him to do: just look at her with pride and joy. He'd acted proud of her some days, he'd sometimes laughed at the purposefully funny things she'd done or said (well, written). He'd patted her shoulder a few times in approval. But it had always felt like he were holding back. Secretly looking at her with intense disapproval and disappointment. And then, there were the nights he'd drink too much, get angry. And those nights were the ones that dominated her memories.

She didn't want to see Dad again, she realized. And she didn't know how to feel about that.

She thought about what Dean said about setting things right—he wanted to warn their parents about Azazel, stop the nursery fire, Mom dying, everything. What if he did, and _what if it worked_? It would change literally everything. Alex pictured herself living a life where she possessed a voice and had two parents who worked normal jobs. She pictured herself living in one house, going to one school. Having Christmases at home and always knowing where she'd be falling asleep come bedtime. Making cookies for bake sales and having a mom who would braid her hair and teach her how to talk to boys. Alex would be scared of guns and knives; she'd be squeamish at the sight of blood. She'd go to prom and get excited about turning sixteen and subscribe to shallow magazines about fashion and celebrities—she'd spend time complaining about minimum wage and how her MP3 player was a piece of crap—she'd have a dad who was proud of her, smiled at her with his eyes, _talked with her_. They would never even have a clue about the horrible, wrecked life they could have had instead. She imagined all of this and even though parts of it sounded completely amazing, it was so far removed from the life she now lived—and so it just set her at unease, felt wrong. Especially when she drew back a little and looked at Cas. If Dean changed the nursery, it would change this, too. It would mean she never met Castiel...

She'd finished wiping the blood away from under his nose and then moved onto the blood streaked at the edge of his mouth, slowly tracing the washcloth into the corner crease of his lips. She had to hold his face steady at this point with her other hand. Underneath her palm, his jawline felt rough from stubble. She realized the only sound in the quiet room was of his deep, steady breathing, and her eyes darted to his chest, which rose and fell rhythmically underneath her hand. She refocused.

She'd cleaned Dean and Sam up a million times but this was totally different, and oddly enough, left her feeling insanely vulnerable. Maybe it was just being in such close physical proximity to him. Alex realized how she was looking at him now, _really looking_ at him. His piercing gazes had always sent her eyes running away, but now, with him at a complete lack of consciousness… she could look as long as she wanted. Her eyes flickered around his face, first resting on his long, dark eyelashes, then the soft crease where his lips met each other, then the hollow of his cheekbone. She had ceased moving now. The scruff of his five o'clock shadow. The cleft of his chin, the graceful line of his jaw. The little dark curls of shaggy hair behind his ears. The weirdly beautiful vertical lines across his lips—lips that looked so kissable and tempting. The little, barely noticeable wrinkles along the ridge of his nose. The uneven line where his dark, messy hair met his forehead… the crazy rebel tuft of hair sticking up on the top of his head. She smoothed that down gently, haltingly, looking at his face again—then brushed his hair back from his forehead without thinking. An unnecessary action. But she had done it anyway. She looked at his lips again. She could hear another sound in the room now—herself, breathing a little harder than what was normal, because she was unintentionally remembering a kiss from 2014.

Exasperated with herself, Alex made a couple last gentle swipes of the washcloth, trying not to look at the angel. His face was clean now and Alex sat back a minute quietly, contemplating him from the corner of her eye. _Now what? I'm a little rusty on angel first aid_. She checked his pulse again, fingers to neck—it was normal and his skin was warm, smooth. She hesitated, pulling her hand away into her lap, watching him carefully for any change. But he didn't move at all, didn't make a sound. She had to make herself stand up.

Alex got up and tossed the bloody washcloth into the trash then turned around, folding her arms to study Cas apprehensively, not sure what to do. She found herself staring at the plain black dress shoes on his feet. They weren't scuffed or dull at all, they looked brand new. _How did he do that?_ She remembered the first time she'd seen him that she, Dean, and Bobby had shot him up pretty good, but the next time she'd seen him, he was in the exact same outfit—mysteriously sans bullet holes. Since then, she'd gathered that he seemed to be able to regenerate his clothes. That, or he had a magical heavenly closet somewhere with an endless supply of the same outfit. Hmm. And that… didn't seem likely. _Regeneration it is._ But if he had the power to alter his appearance like that, it struck her as a little odd that he chose to remain in the same, ordinary things. Something he'd told her, long ago, popped into her mind. _I like this coat,_ he'd said. She smiled softly in response—he'd shown up in her dreams trying to be helpful and had only succeeded in pissing her off—so, of course, she'd picked a fight with him, trying to keep him at arms length. She'd been so unsure about him. She'd _hated_ him in some moments, for fuck's sake. She continued to watch Cas, sobering. Things had changed so much since then.

She sat down on the edge of the bed again, fixing where one of the lapels of his coat had turned inwards. She thought of how the trench coat—the cheap suit—the ten dollar tie—the things he wore were so ordinary, so everyday, so unlike everything Castiel was: powerful, surprising, a lightning storm contained in a glass bottle. But, she reminded herself with a sudden note of somberness—that the clothing, the messy hair, the now-familiar face—that was Jimmy Novak, or at least it _had_ been, once—the things she had come to identify as Cas were not really Cas at all. She was struck with a pang of guilt thinking of Jimmy and wondering what had happened to him, if he were still in there somewhere. Until a couple years ago, this guy had been an average Joe. And now he was like some kind of angelic iPhone case, _if_ he was still in there at all…

 _Was_ Jimmy still in there, conscious and suffering, overwhelmed by the weight of a crushing angelic being that inhabited his every atom? It was difficult to look at Cas... Jimmy... whoever he was... and not have a lot of conflicted, confused thoughts about this very subject. And it was getting harder and harder to really even separate the two in her mind. She'd only seen Jimmy for like a day, and Cas for so much longer… but still, she was wondering something about herself: Was she attracted to the being Castiel was, or the physical appearance of Jimmy? It wasn't that simple, but… well, it didn't really matter, Alex reminded herself, as there was clearly nothing coming from it... it just would have been nice to have one less crazy unanswered question floating around in the insane asylum she called her brain.

She rubbed her forehead with the palm of her hand, getting up to pace a little now. This whole situation was so screwed up. She had messed up so friggin' bad hadn't she? God, maybe it would be better if Cas just stayed knocked out this whole time, however long it took Dean and Sam to return. Because if he woke up and started treating her weird again, she wasn't sure if she could take it. It sucked to have Cas skirting her like she was the plague. Grimly, she thought of this one girl Courtney that Sam had been good friends with in seventh grade—best friends, really... until Courtney told him that she liked him and wanted to be his girlfriend. Sam, definitely _not_ on the same wavelength, had been totally skeeved out and had started avoiding her at all costs because it was so awkward for him and he didn't want what she wanted _at all_. The friendship had fallen apart into nothing. In middle school, who cares, no big deal. But... wow. Alex was the Courtney in this situation, wasn't she? She felt embarrassed about the revelation. She would take back the hand touch thing in a heartbeat if she'd known it was going to ruin whatever they were before. She stopped pacing, looking sidelong at Cas's still form. _Friends_. They had been friends. And that should have been enough for her.

Miserable, Alex tried not to notice how Cas's clothes were too big. His white dress shirt, especially, kind of stuck out, bunched up. His trousers, however, laid flat against him, and she could see, vaguely, the taper and angle of his hips underneath. She swallowed, uncomfortable, needing to look anywhere but at Cas—still, her eyes wandered to his hands, which laid still beside him. Rough, large, warm, strong. Those hands had healed her, held her, wiped tears off of her face—those hands had snapped handcuffs onto her one day... then ripped handcuffs off of her the next. She thought of the irony of that. How when she first met Cas, he'd had zero problem leaving her cuffed in the basement at Bobby's. And then roughly a year later he'd savagely torn another pair off, the most upset she'd ever seen him.

She shivered a little at the thought of Lucifer, remembering when he'd shoved her to get a rise out of Castiel. He'd looked positively _murderous_ when the devil slammed her against the wall—Cas had drawn himself to his full height looking ready to destroy everything in his path, practically seething. And Lucifer had said, softly, far too close to Alex… "Look. How protective he is of you." As if he were _pleased_ with the display, like it was something that fascinated him. He'd almost sounded _triumphant—_ but why? Cas was her guardian angel, right? Wasn't he _supposed_ to be protective? She actually had begun to think about this very idea a lot the past couple of weeks—that maybe _that_ was the exact reason why she'd gotten so confused about Cas and his feelings toward her. She'd thought that the way he looked at her, his attentiveness and care were because of romantic feelings or emotions. She got it now—she'd made the mistake of looking at it from a human perspective. He had some kind of profound, deeply rooted bond to her because he was her guardian angel. She'd made the mistake of assuming things—that, paired with what had happened in 2014—she'd just been dumb. It was obvious that whatever she and future Castiel had in 2014 was because he was human.

 _Really, Alex… thinking an angel could fall in love with you_.

She'd laugh at herself if it wasn't so pathetic. She had seriously been reading too many romance novels. They were starting to melt her brain.

Alex stopped pacing and tried to get her head straight. She needed to stop mooning around like an angsty teenager and get to work preparing. If Anna showed up here, Alex wanted to be ready. It seemed highly unlikely, but it never hurt to be ready for a worst case scenario in her experience. She shrugged her jacket off and tossed it toward the heart-shaped coat knobs dotting the wall beside the door—the jacket totally missed but she didn't care. She had caught sight of herself in the mirror above the dresser. She looked so plain, so tired, so haggard to herself. She combed her fingers halfheartedly through the hair on the left side of her head, then realized it was a lost cause and looked away and back at Cas, pensive. Then, she drew her hunting knife out of the sheath on her belt and shoved the sleeve of her flannel shirt up a little bit. Holding her arm out in front of herself, she took a deep, reluctant breath—this never got an easier—then sliced into the skin there, suppressing a pained sound as blood flowed out of the cut. Satisfied, Alex re-sheathed her knife and went over to the bed again.

On the wall above the bedside table, Alex began to fingerpaint in blood, the strokes forming the angel warding sigil. She'd added this symbol into her mental catalogue of wards a long time ago, basically the first time she'd seen it. Funny how drawings and shapes combined _just so_ could save your life, trap a demon, send a spirit into the void.

After a moment she finished with the sigil. Alex washed her hands and grabbed a dry washcloth from the bathroom and held it against her bleeding arm then leaned against the bathroom doorway for a minute, waiting for the blood flow to stop, looking at Cas. He looked so peaceful. She wondered if he would dream, and if he did, what it would be. She smiled softly at the sudden thought that _she_ was watching over her guardian angel. And then she promptly stopped herself. These were more of her ridiculous romance-novel influenced thoughts.

The sound of silence was ringing in her ears all over again and Alex let out a soft, frustrated breath of air as her mind turned to worries over Sam and Dean all over again. If they screwed this up, got themselves hurt or killed, she would _murder_ them. Getting exasperated with herself and the silent room, the noisy barrage of thoughts, Alex looked around restlessly. She couldn't just sit here and stare at Cas all day, and she couldn't stew in silence about Sam, Dean, Mom, Dad, life... she needed a distraction, stat. She tossed the washcloth away then went and switched the television on—it was ancient, the kind with wood panels on either side of the screen with an antennae the size of a fish tank on top of it. Only one channel came in, and on it, some movie she'd never seen before. The picture quality was pretty horrible.

" _I tell you this as an artist, I think you'll understand,"_ a young Christopher Walken was saying to an even younger Diane Keaton—who was dressed really oddly, kind of butchy or hipster maybe. _"Sometimes when I'm driving... on the road at night…"_ he said, _"I see two headlights coming toward me. Fast. I have this sudden impulse to turn the wheel quickly, head-on into the oncoming car. I can anticipate the explosion. The sound of shattering glass. The... flames rising out of the flowing gasoline."_

Alex was not amused with her luck. This looked like a great movie to watch while she was already kind of depressed. But, at the very least, it was some background noise to distract her from everything else. She sat cross-legged on the far edge of the bed at a respectable distance from Cas. Close enough to keep an eye on him and make sure he was still breathing. She glanced at the cut on her arm, where the blood was beginning to clot, then absently rubbed an eye, thinking an IV drip of coffee would be nice right now because she was _so tired_. She looked back at the TV screen unseeingly, staring. She didn't want to fall asleep—because every time she did, the nightmare, the one she'd had for weeks now, consumed her.

* * *

_"Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?"_

Castiel heard a soft masculine voice speaking somewhere nearby. It was dark—his eyes were closed—what was happening? And then he remembered bringing the Winchesters back to 1978, subsequently collapsing...

 _"_ _Oh, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do,"_ the voice continued, as Cas, eyes still closed, realized how weak his vessel was. Hazily, he was recalling performing the locating spell to find Anna, then he remembered his conversation with her in the warehouse. His eyes snapped open, his pulse suddenly rocketing. He remembered _everything_. His eyes darted back and forth, staring widely at the dark, unfamiliar ceiling above. The things Anna had shown him about the future clambered loudly for attention, sending his entire vessel into a panicked and confused state. He heard the same male voice speaking still nearby, but didn't catch the words, his ears buzzing loudly.

Unsure where he was or what had happened—he seemed to be inside some kind of room and on a bed—he looked to his left—and promptly froze. Within arms reach Alex laid on her side, facing him, eyes closed, her form still. Her head was resting on her arm, her knees were drawn up toward her chest. If he hadn't seen her shoulder slowly moving down and then back up as she breathed, he had been a fraction of a second from believing she was dead—the memory of seeing her lifeless body covered in blood was still so fresh and pervasive in his mind that seeing her still there beside him had somehow convinced him, just for a moment, of the worst.

But she was alive—and _asleep_ —beside him. Cas let out a breath he hadn't realized had been held, then was suddenly struck by the realization that they seemed to be alone—where were Sam and Dean? He looked around the room briefly, wincing against the pain and difficulty of raising his neck even four inches. He was immediately confused by the overwhelming barrage of strange, red decorations that covered the room. He could see that the television was on. It was kind of dim in the room—they were in a motel suite of some kind. He couldn't hold his head up any longer and gave up, letting it thunk back onto the pillow.

He looked back at Alex, the strangest and most overwhelming combination of emotions overcoming him. In the most literal sense, he felt he couldn't _take_ these sensations and thoughts. They violently ricocheted around in his head, spilling over each other and multiplying and they were too much to bear—Cas wanted to grab his head in his hands and silence it all, just make it _stop_. But his arms were too weak to move, and even if he could move them, there was a terrible suspicion inside that no physical action on his part could ever quell this chaos inside of him—the noise in his mind wouldn't stop or end. He seemed to have no choice but to lay there lost in despairing, horrified thoughts.

He could barely understand what Anna had shown him. He had _seen_ it—taken it in—but couldn't _comprehend_ it all. He'd seen a future where a fallen, human version of himself and the woman beside him had been together and very obviously in love—he understood little of the intricacies of being human, but he had known they were in love with certainty. He was once again feeling his breath shortening as he wondered _how_. Castiel had watched humans since the dawn of time but hadn't ever imagined himself being capable of taking part in being one. He hadn't ever thought he would be anything but a servant of God and Heaven. But in this supposedly certain future, he had fallen from grace and forged a new life with the woman beside him... shared a home... created a _child_ … Cas blinked rapidly, eyebrows knitting further together. His heartbeat was fast and he could feel it in his throat. He heard the television still but the voices and music were muffled because he was so unfocused. He had created a _child_ , with _her_. That thought was even more confusing and bewildering than the rest, and he couldn't confront it, not yet. It was much too much.

He watched Alex closely as she continued to sleep. He felt such fierce protectiveness and desperation rise—quickly followed by shame and fear about the future. He heard the sound of an echoing gunshot, saw her dying moments flash across his mind. Could that really be where the future would take them? He didn't want to believe it. He thought of everything else briefly—Dean's cold and heartless demeanor, Lucifer walking the earth in the flesh, the Croatoan virus all but destroying the world. But none of it seemed as awful as the knowledge that he could be responsible for Alex's death. Not only her death. But the death of the small, new life within her—again, the thought of the child overwhelmed him and he sent the thought away. It wasn't difficult, because he was lost in so many other nightmarish thoughts. The thought that he could hurt Alex in any small way inspired endless horror and intense fear like he'd never felt before. He could never, never let that version of the future happen. _All roads lead to the same destination._ He'd said this to Dean once. Now Castiel didn't want to believe that, because if it were true... what Anna how shown him was inevitable. In that moment, Castiel swore to himself that he would find a way to make sure what he saw never happened. Even if he had to kill himself.

 _"Sin from thy lips? Oh trespass sweetly urged! Give me my sin again."_ The man on the television said, sounding deeply emotional and affected.

Cas glanced down to just beside his right foot where he could just see a couple on the screen kissing passionately. The sight of it made him think of the kiss he had witnessed between the Alex beside him now and the Castiel of the future. Quickly after the shock of witnessing such a passionate and sexual kiss, a dark, foreign feeling had shimmered through him. He wasn't entirely sure what it was. Why had she done that? And moreover, why hadn't she told him about it? Her strange behavior toward him when she'd gotten back from 2014 now made sense. He wanted to be angry that she hadn't told him about the kiss—but then, in quiet realization, he thought perhaps he had no right to think she owed him an explanation. Still, he couldn't brush aside the feelings of betrayal. And confusion. And, he realized in surprise— _hurt_. Was this jealousy?

Offhandedly he thought maybe that was why she had kissed him so readily in the panic room… because she had done it before. He felt a sudden surge of loathing and hatred toward that angel-turned-man who had fallen apart, gotten Alex killed, then had the audacity to involve 2009 Alex and _touch_ her like that. Castiel didn't recognize that man as himself. He was left feeling empty and bitter. But then his mind turned to the knowledge of how he had taken the memory of the panic room from her. Stilling, ashamed, he thought cynically that perhaps this is what the humans meant by 'irony.' She had hidden something from him—and he had taken something else from her. They were 'even,' weren't they? So why did it feel so awful?

He remembered seeing her and Dean right after he'd whisked them out of Zachariah's clutches. He'd immediately, instinctively picked up on the fact that something was wrong with Alex, but hadn't known what. He'd asked her about it. She had sidestepped. He'd asked again. She'd insisted she was fine, but the way she'd looked at him… he hadn't believed her. He remembered standing there beside a busy street later that night alone, hands in his pockets. Wondering about what she'd seen in this dark future that had rattled her so thoroughly. Dean had promised to explain it and had, a few days later when Cas went to see Dean in the privacy of a dream. Dean _hadn't_ told him how he had discovered Cas was the reason Alex died in the future. So many lies and half-truths. So now Cas was wondering what exactly had shaken Alex so deeply: The kiss? Did the future-Castiel tell her about her death? The child? Was she shaken up because of how hopeless and desolate the future of the world was? The sight of her brother Sam, possessed by Lucifer?

His anger faded into a deep sadness and frustration as he realized that if Alex _had_ told him about the kiss, he wouldn't have known how to react, what to say or do. He wouldn't have understood, not then. She had probably known that. He pondered. Perhaps the kiss in 2014 was bothering her in the same way that he was bothered by what he had done in the panic room. He couldn't know—she carried so much sadness with her, and sometimes, he thought perhaps she was cracking under the weight of it all.

He looked at her thoroughly now, turning his head slightly toward her. She often looked so weary and burdened, but right now, her face was relaxed and peaceful, soft, free of worries if only temporarily. He had studied her face countless times before, but never tired of the discourse. During his existence he'd observed innumerable humans, but none of their faces drew him like hers did. He didn't even know why. How many other women possessed similar features? And yet, there was no one in existence now or ever who was as oddly captivating as Alex was to Castiel.

In comparison to his world of Heaven and eternity, she should have been insignificant. But she wasn't. Not to him. He thought of it for a moment: him, a thousands of years old celestial being. Her: a fleeting, mortal blip on the timeline of eternity. But she was realer and grander to him than the Sistine Chapel or the Garden of Eden or Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata.

He loved the barely-noticeable freckles scattered across the bridge of her nose and the slightly mismatched shape of her eyebrows and the uneven arc of her hairline, the flyaway hairs that never seemed to be tamed… the sight of her eyelashes dark and fanning out against fair skin… he'd counted their number before. He was smiling softly now, unaware. His eyes ran from the point of her chin up the swoop of her angular jaw, then flicked over to the soft pink lips that were parted just slightly—and then he felt guilt crash over him like a wave breaks over a rock, and his smile faded. He remembered what it had been like to kiss those lips. And he longed to feel it again, the other-worldly quality of his mouth and hers, together.

Castiel couldn't look away from her. And when he _realized_ he couldn't look away, he felt the sensation of panicked worry eating at him from inside. He _needed to be distant_ from her, far away, because being close to her made him weak and vulnerable in the strangest of ways and in turn endangered her. He _knew_ if he could stay far away, if he could let their relationship be resigned to a few interactions per year… he would keep her safe from that future where they were in love, broken, and doomed. But despite his convictions and his recent attempts to keep them apart, fate seemed to be determined to push them together. Like now. He literally couldn't move his vessel, it was so weakened. And she was right beside him. It was easy to remember how it had felt to hold her close against him, how she had rested her head against his shoulder there in Gabriel's hell world. In quick succession, he remembered how he'd seen her lay her head on his shoulder in the future, right before they had approached that farmhouse… horror rippled through him again, as intense as before.

Alex shifted then in her sleep, moving her arm slightly—Cas froze at the sight of a streak of bright red blood there—and then he immediately reached out a weak, shaking hand and gently turned her wrist toward him, trying to see where the blood was coming from. He could see a cut, clearly self-inflicted there on her forearm, partially covered by her halfway rolled up flannel shirt sleeve. It looked like it wasn't bleeding anymore, but that didn't matter much to Cas—why had she cut herself? He looked around—then saw it. She'd drawn an angel-warding sigil beside the bed on the wall. He relaxed, just a little, but felt largely unhappy. She should have taken _his_ blood to do that, not hers.

She stirred suddenly, frowning a little in her sleep, then made a soft sound, like in pain. Castiel went still, unsure what was happening. Again, she whimpered, and becoming concerned, Cas touched her arm, said her name. Her eyes shot open, wide and darting around, momentarily confused. Then she saw him and stopped moving. "Cas?" she seemed disoriented.

They looked at each other for three very long seconds, then Alex was sitting up, perturbed, looking around like she was dazed. "Did I fall asleep?" It seemed to be a rhetorical question, because she squinted at her watch, then went wide-eyed. "For… shit, three hours?!"

She grimaced and rubbed her forehead, looking distressed. Cas watched her from where he laid. "Were you dreaming just now?" he asked.

She turned her attention to him then frowned a little, eyes darting away. "Uh, yeah, I think." Cas waited for further explanation, his forehead wrinkling. But she shook her head, acting like it didn't matter. "It's nothing." She then looked at him pointedly, turned back toward him, tilted her head the side just slightly, eyebrows close together in concern. "Are you good?" she looked him up and down, assessing him. "What happened to you?"

It was shameful to be stuck laying flat on the bed, unable to move much, her so high above him. He felt foolish. "My vessel isn't as strong without Heaven's power behind it." He explained, not able to keep his face from showing his discomfort about that fact. He paused. "I... don't think I can even sit up at this point."

"Damn," Alex commented. She looked worried. "You'll be all right though?"

He wondered if she were worried about getting back to her year, or about him. "Eventually," he answered. She looked kind of unsure about his answer. "Where are Sam and Dean?" Cas asked, and she swung her legs around toward him, sitting cross legged.

She looked unhappy at his question, cracking her knuckles in distraction. "Gone after Anna."

"They left you here with me?" Cas asked, frowning slightly, not sure if he understood how Dean would allow that.

" _Someone_ needed to keep an eye on you," she said, giving him a very small smile.

Cas let out a heavy breath, grim and regretful. "I shouldn't have listened to Dean. I should have come alone," he muttered. "Traveling with passengers… it's weakened me. I'm all but useless." It was highly dangerous that they were here in 1978 and he couldn't protect them against Anna.

Alex gave him a look when he said that he was useless, like she was unhappy he would say such a thing. She didn't say anything about it though. Instead she asked him, "Do you wanna sit up?"

He frowned deeply. "I can manage it myself." He lifted his neck, shifted his arms… and promptly realized he couldn't. It felt like the entire world were sitting on his chest. Also, everything hurt.

Seeming almost amused or maybe that was fondness in her expression, Alex rolled her eyes at him as she got up and rounded the bed then came to his side while giving him a soft little 'told you so' smile. "Okay, up we go," she said, hooking her arms under his. She used her body weight to drag him upwards along the bed while lifting him toward her—he was surprised at her strength. Grunting a little, she propped him there against the headboard—and there was a fraction of a second when she drew back but without completely retracting her arms from him where they looked each other in the eye and inexplicably remained still. Her hazel eyes caught the lamp light in the room and appearing to be almost amber in color at that moment—he was fascinated, intrigued... and then she pulled away completely, uncomfortable but trying to act as if she were at ease, trying to smile, looking more like she were grimacing. Cas realized that Sam made the same face sometimes. "There's no shame in, uh, asking for a little help now and then, Cas," she told him, attempting a light chuckle. He looked away. No shame? Then why did he feel nothing _but_?

He glanced at her sidelong. "You must be upset to be left behind."

She seemed surprised by his comment, thinking about it for a beat before shrugging in good nature. "Nah, it's okay. I mean, hey. It was my turn to watch over you I guess." She smiled at him, but it was a hesitant, cautious smile. Cas remembered her saying something like that in the vision Anna had shown him. And Castiel withered. Alex seemed to react poorly to that and sobered, looking away.

 _"My only love sprung from my only hate! Too early seen unknown, and known too late!"_ A young woman was lamenting on the television screen.

Alex huffed and got up abruptly, switching off the TV set, then turned back around with folded arms. Pensive, she cleared her throat, seeming to be unsettled. Finally, she looked at him squarely. "Cas… did I do something wrong?"

Her suddenly emotional tone confused him. "What do you mean?" he asked.

There was a pause. She shifted where she stood restlessly, her eyes dropping away from him. "I just—you've been acting kind of, I dunno, weird toward me since Carthage," she said. The blood in the veins of Castiel's vessel suddenly felt cold—did she somehow know what he had done? "And I just think," she continued, sounding lost, "did I do something to like upset you, or...?" she stopped there and looked at him fearfully, face and body tense as she waited for his reply.

Castiel looked away and kept his voice and face neutral despite the internal racket of fear and guilt. "No, of course not." It wasn't a lie, but Castiel knew he _was_ lying by avoiding the truth. _"When humans want something really, really bad, we lie,"_ Dean had told Cas not long ago. Cas didn't even desire to lie or hide things, especially from her... but he had trapped himself here where it was the only option that remained. He couldn't tell her the reason why he'd been more distant and avoidant was because of what happened in the panic room. She couldn't know about his mistake, his momentary lapse in control. Especially _now_ , considering what he had seen in the future. And yet he could see that it left her thinking she'd done something to push him away—Castiel marveled sorrowfully at the mess he had created. He didn't even know how to fix it, or if that were even possible. He watched her as feelings of misery and loathing went pinging around inside of him.

Alex was chewing on the inside of her mouth—Castiel could tell from the way her cheek hollowed out on the side. "I was really drunk the night before Carthage, okay?" She said, and Cas was perplexed. That wasn't true—she hadn't been _drunk_ , had she? Perhaps just slightly inebriated. "I, uh, don't really even remember most of what happened," she said, and Cas swallowed, feeling his teeth grit together, feeling his eyes drop down and away from her. "And whatever I might have _said_..." she continued awkwardly, looking at him as if waiting for him to understand. And suddenly he did. She thought when she had touched his hand… he closed his eyes briefly, and reopened them. "Whatever I might have _done..._ " she continued, highly uncomfortable.

He cut her off before she could continue, but he couldn't look at her. "There are no ill feelings, Alex. You did nothing wrong."

She looked at him closely. Did she believe him? Her face was scrunched oddly. "Are you sure?" she asked. "Because you just haven't been... _you_ the past few times I've seen you and I just thought—"

"Of course I'm sure," he all but snapped, hating being stuck sitting on a bed. And he was afraid of what she was asking, of what she might discover if she kept pressing him for answers, he was despising himself for what he had done and the wound he'd inflicted on her without even realizing. She was startled at his tone and sharp look. Cas was startled too and his eyes went down, his voice softened. He tried to find an excuse, another lie. Anything to sweep away the chance of her finding out what he had done, what he had hidden away. "It's… Lucifer… and also my search for God… I can't find answers on either anywhere, and—I'm highly vexed." It wasn't a complete lie, but it still felt like one. Alex seemed to be thinking his answer over and grew sympathetic. Cas felt a wash of shamed, guilty relief.

"So, no luck with the whole God thing," she said and came to sit at the foot of the bed near his feet.

 _The whole God thing._ Cas shook his head and pressed his lips together, avoiding her eyes. "He's nowhere to be found."

"But you haven't given up." Neither a question nor a statement. She sounded intrigued.

"I _can't_ give up," he said. There was too much at stake, there was too much at risk. And besides that, there was nothing else left to believe in. Everything else had failed Castiel. Heaven, his brothers and sisters, his own decisions and choices. "He's out there somewhere. I don't know why he's… hiding." His word choice of 'hiding' made him quiet for a moment. Why would his father hide when he was needed so desperately? It would make sense when he finally found God, he told himself. Perhaps it was a part of the design, a test of faith.

Alex looked down at the bedspread with a quietly disturbed expression. "Don't know how you can have so much faith in someone who is refusing to be found."

"Didn't you believe in your father?" Cas questioned. "Even when he went missing?"

Alex looked at him with a caught off guard expression. "Uh... no." She glanced off to the side. "I thought he'd finally just _split_ , honestly." Her chin moved forward a little in an odd expression like reluctance, then her eyes came to look at him uncertainly. She thought a minute longer, not looking at him when she spoke. "My dad and I… he failed me in so, _so_ many ways. How would I have _faith_ in him? When he treated us, _me_ so…" she stopped, swallowed, glanced his way. "I mean… you _saw_ what he tried to do, right? Give me up?" Her words paused him completely.

He realized his mistake, realized that he had temporarily forgotten that pivotal moment that Gabriel had shown Alex: John Winchester talking to Bobby Singer about giving his daughter up into state care— _disowning_ her. He remembered seeing the memory from where he'd been fighting to reach Alex, and at first, not understanding what the two men were arguing about. And when he _had_ understood, he'd felt a strange hollow horror. A father should protect his child, this was his solemn duty. And Alex had been more vulnerable than most children. Therefore her father should have _absolutely_ protected her, never even _considered_ letting her leave his sight, not even for a moment—Castiel felt something inside him darken as he thought of John Winchester trying to abandon the one who had been entrusted to him.

He spoke slowly, frowning, his voice affected by everything he was thinking about. "He never should have even considered… 'giving you up.'"

She looked at him from the edge of her eyes. "Why _not_?"

Those two words shocked him. "How can you ask that?" he asked in wounded disbelief.

"Because I _get_ it," Alex said darkly. "I was just… in the way. He didn't want me." Her voice wavered almost imperceptibly, leaving Cas feeling helpless to wonder why she would assume that or believe that.

"I don't understand," Cas said, looking at her intently—he could feel how wrinkled his forehead was.

Alex looked at him fleetingly, and her jaw working back and forth as she clenched it. She didn't say anything for a long moment. "He drank a lot. He _said_ a lot. The kind of stuff you don't just _forget_." Her hand gripped bedspread tightly beside her leg, and he thought perhaps she didn't even know she was doing that. "That stuff you saw that Gabriel put me through?" she asked softly. "That wasn't half of it. Not even close." Her voice steadied and she raised her chin then drew a deep breath. "So no. I didn't believe in him when he disappeared… even though we'd kind of been getting a little closer at the time… I just thought he finally got tired of it all. Of Dean and me and our shit." She looked very small and sad sitting there at the end of the bed. Her shoulders sloped forward a little as she looked at her feet. "I lived my whole life never knowing when he'd be back. _If_ he'd be back." Guilt and pain flashed across her features, and Cas didn't understand why. Alex shook her head, distressed, absently rubbing the side of her forehead with her fingertips. "He was a good man. I _know_ he was." There was a lot of deeply conflicted emotion in those words. "But I don't think I believed in him. Ever." She paused. "He never believed in _me_."

Cas was quiet, regretting what he'd asked her—it had clearly caused her emotional pain. He reflected morosely that he was her guardian and was supposed to keep her safe from harm. But no matter the path he took, it seemed he was cursed, only able to cause her torment and pain. And in the end, in the future… death? For a moment, he couldn't look at her. When he did, she was now peering at him in intent curiosity. "Have you ever even _met_ God, Cas? Dean told me one time that Anna said only a couple angels have ever met him."

"That's true," Cas admitted, understanding the unspoken question, looking down at his hand to the right, waiting for her judgement. "I'm not one of them."

She looked at him in vague surprise. There was a short silence. "No offense but… how can you believe in a guy you've never even met?"

He glanced up at her from the corners of his eyes, reluctant. Her heartfelt question seemed far worse than a flippant insult—which was what he had expected. He let the silence hang for a moment. "It's getting more and more difficult," he admitted grudgingly.

She turned a little, shifting and facing him more now, a hand on her knee, all traces of her former distress replaced by inquisitive curiosity. "If you find God, do you think he'd actually be up for stopping the Michael Lucifer slapping contest? I mean, isn't them facing off part of his grand plan?"

She phrased things strangely, he thought. Similarly to Dean. He felt himself frown as he thought over the question. He then answered truthfully. "I'm not sure. What I believe about that anymore."

He watched her reaction to his words—she blinked a couple times, looked down, her eyes going back and forth slowly. She was thinking deeply. And so was he now. Trying to quiet the creeping doubt within that God would never be found. He'd searched the world for months now. He was running out of places to look. But God had to be there somewhere, he _had to be_. He watched Alex again and her eyes snapped back to his—they were an impossible color; every shade of a forest filtered by late afternoon sunlight. As always, they drew him in. "Cas, I need to ask you something and I need you to be honest with me," she murmured, and her concerned expression alerted him to the fact that what she was asking worried her. "Does Anna have a point?"

He took a moment to understand what she was referring to. "About killing Sam?" Cas paused heavily. "Perhaps."

She frowned, looking at him intently. "That's not what you said when Sam asked you that."

"I didn't want to acknowledge it as an option," Cas said, avoiding her questioning gaze. It was an uncomfortable subject. "I still don't."

She sat back a little, her face softening thoughtfully. "When I first met you—you would have killed him without hesitation if you thought it would stop Lucifer."

He glanced at her and thought about how much had changed since then. "That's true," he acknowledged, not sure why it left him conflicted. Commands and orders had been his entire existence, he hadn't questioned the will of Heaven. And now, he did nothing _but_ question it. He let out a long breath through his nose. He felt troubled down to the deepest part of his being. But when he looked up at her again, he forgot the pain for a moment.

A soft smile pulled at Alex's lips and the action softened her entire face. She looked at him in a way he didn't know how to describe and he noticed that the air in the room had grown still, that he could hear his vessel's heart beating in his ears. Cas wanted to know what she was thinking, what made her look at him like that. He didn't have to wonder long, because she spoke as she lowered her chin a little, her eyes falteringly staying on him. "You've just—you've changed so much," she said, and unlike the way Anna had said it to him earlier—as an insult—Castiel recognized it as a deeply pleased admission, and somehow it caused him to feel pleased, too. Alex was still looking at him with those soft, open eyes, the look on her face giving him the impression that she had something important to say. When she spoke, she said something no one had ever said to him before. "You know what? I'm proud of you, Cas."

He felt a rush of something in his vessel, a visceral spike of instant and pleasant surprise—she was _proud_ of him? He felt lighter somehow, but it quickly faded into confusion, because he was unsure of how she could feel that for him. "Why?"

"...Because you've decided to be your own person, make your own choices." She sounded approving and pleased. Which only made him feel rotten inside, vile. If she only knew what choices he'd made—the things exercising free will had caused—she would more than likely not be speaking to him. She would be regarding him with a disdain he fully deserved.

Distracted by thoughts of the panic room, her begging him not to take her memory, he grew sullen and dark. "It was simpler just obeying orders," he said.

"Sure." She seemed to empathize with him, unaware of his inner struggle. "It always _is_ easier to just do what you're told—but it's not always better."

He thought about what the future could lead them to if he didn't stop it now. "How do you know?" he asked slowly. "If you're making the right choices?"

She shrugged, not realizing the weight of his question or why he asked it. "A lot of times you don't," she said, then reconsidered. " _Most_ times you don't." She looked at him intensely now. "But this one? Trying to save Sam… find another way to shut down Lucifer…? It's the right choice."

"But how do you _know_ it's the right choice?" he asked, thinking of Lucifer alive and well in 2014, of Alex dying in his arms, of Dean unrecognizable and merciless. He was desperate to know how he could learn whether he were on the right path or not.

"...I just _do,_ " she said, and the way she said it… he believed that she was certain. And it assured him in a very, very small way, but he was still left hollow and unsure how _he_ could know for himself when a choice was right or not. He felt foolish, a thousands of years old angel of the Lord seeking advice from a twenty-six year old human being. Perhaps she thought him foolish for not knowing how to do things like know right from wrong without someone telling him. But she didn't look like she thought that. Unlike her brother Dean, she never looked at him with deep-seated annoyance or displeasure—not anymore. She used to. He felt a ripple of fear inside as his stomach clenched. Perhaps a future where they were close and intimate wasn't as far off or as impossible as he had assumed. After all, it wasn't long ago at all that she had told him she hated him. But clearly, that had changed.

Disturbed, he stared at his right knee. "How can I know about other choices I have to make? How do I know if they're right?"

She let out a heavy breath, thinking, maybe trying to find a way to explain. Or maybe she didn't know the answer to his question at all. She then spoke, carefully. "You take the days as they come. Do your best to do the right thing," she paused. "And learn to be okay with not always knowing." She had grown introspective, looking at a vague place in front of herself. "Because trust me." Her eyes flicked back to his. "A lot of times... you just won't know."

How true that was. "It sounds simple when you say it like that," he said, downcast.

"That's the funny thing about life though," she said, but she didn't sound like she found it humorous. "Nothing's ever as simple as it sounds." Cas attempted to shift himself and grimaced. Concerned, Alex watched him. "Are you in pain?"

"It's tolerable," he said. "If I don't move."

"I'm sorry. If I had known you'd be messed up this bad…" Alex trailed off, paused. "I would've insisted you guys leave me behind."

"I wouldn't have let you stay," Cas said, to which she looked at him, faintly combative. But she said nothing and instead glanced at her watch tensely. Cas looked at his feet sprawled in front of him unmoving on the bed. He was still unable to move and his vessel was exhausted of energy. He should have come alone, taken on Anna himself, not have listened to Dean about bringing them. Another bad choice, he realized unhappily. He refocused on Alex, who had stood up and was over at the window `peering out. She seemed restless and concerned. "You're worried," he observed.

"Yeah, what else is new?" Her arms were crossed now and she sighed, sounding resigned. "I've spent my whole life worrying about those two stupid _jerks_." She said 'stupid jerks' with an odd amount of affection and a sad little smile. Cas frowned, watching her with a confused expression.

"I... don't understand. You used an insulting term—but with a tone that indicates fondness."

Her crooked little smile got a little bigger as she looked at him from the corner of her eye. "Family, friends… they get to do that." She paused, then unexpectedly added, "You _ass_."

Castiel opened his mouth to ask why she had referred to him as a posterior, then stopped. She was looking at him with a playful expression, trying to press her lips into a straight line, but her smile was evident. Cas felt himself smiling a little, too. _Family, friends got to do that._ He was smiling more now, and she chuckled, eyes crinkled. He understood. She was implying he was her friend, or perhaps even family, that he was among a special group of people to her. And then, the thought of her dead body in his arms four years into the future flashed in front of his mind's eye, and his smile faltered completely.

There was a sudden knock and they both looked in unison as a voice called "Housekeeping!" and the door swung open. Panicking at the unexpected intrusion and unable to move, Cas watched helpless as Alex, already halfway to the door, was drawing her knife behind her back, hiding it there, ready to attack—the knife still had her blood on it.

"Room's not empty," Alex said, stopping the door halfway with her foot, mostly blocking the newcomer's view into the room.

"Oh, sorry honey!" said the woman. Cas could just see the top of her head and part of her face from in the gap between the door and Alex's arm. "I thought this room was empty," the woman explained. Craning her neck she eyed Cas curiously, then grinned widely. "Damn, looks like you wore him out good!" She winked at Alex in an exaggerated manner.

"Uh—yeah, thanks," Alex said and turned, shutting the door in the woman's face and locking it with the chain this time. She re-sheathed the knife, a lot less amused than she had a minute ago.

Cas tried to decipher the woman's meaning, looked at Alex intently. "That woman. What did she mean you… 'wore me out good'?"

Alex looked at him and from her expression, he was surprised she didn't ask 'are you serious?' Instead, she pursed her lips and looked to her left. "Umm, well, this is the honeymoon suite," she said, eyes darting around, expression strange. Cas's frown deepened. He didn't understand what that meant, and Alex gave him a testy look, expellling a huff. "She, uh, thought we were… that we had… I guess, _you know_." Cas waited. No—he didn't know. "Had _sex_ , Cas," Alex said, exasperated, her ears and cheeks a little redder than they had been a moment before. He was silent and she folded her arms again, becoming sarcastic as her cheeks grew even redder. "You know what sex is, _right_?"

Cas gave her a hooded glance. He had existed for thousands and thousands of years—of course he knew what it was. And immediately after thinking that, he remembered the image he'd seen of Alex and himself in the future, her on his lap, her legs on either side of his legs, their arms wrapped around each other, his hand skimming upwards along the front of her body… Cas's skin began to feel hot all over. He tried not to think of it, not to imagine it, not to wonder about it: Sex. With her.

Copulation was an activity which most human beings participated in—it was a means of reproduction and a source of physical pleasure, or so he'd gathered—but more than that he understood it to be an expression of emotional and physical love. He hadn't thought about it much before; he had never quite understood the more intimate details of the act, nor had he cared to. Not before. Now, he felt a growing curiosity about it, and discomfort at the realization that he felt that way.

In Heaven it was said that sex was something God had created for humans to express love, but Castiel had observed that idea wasn't always true. Many humans had sex with complete strangers— _he_ almost had, thanks to Dean's insistence. Cas remembered that woman—Charity? That prostitute woman at the strip club. His vessel hadn't reacted at all to her, not positively. Not how it reacted to the woman standing across him in this room right now, he realized, finally looking at Alex again, hoping she would never know the extent of his sinful thoughts. She seemed to feel his eyes and met his gaze guardedly. Just her eyes meeting his made his vessel react.

"Yeah, uh, awkward, right?" she commented dryly on his continued silence, then rubbed the back of her neck self-consciously, trying to smile but grimacing instead. "Hey, so, let's not mention that to Dean. Ever."

He heard her, but he was distracted by thoughts of the future, fears of what it would bring. Did he possess the ability to change it? He felt able to when he was away from her, but in moments like this where she was close and in his atmosphere, he wasn't so sure he could resist forever. He'd already proved to himself that he was weak enough to stumble—the panic room. And he'd seen a future where he'd obviously given in and paid the ultimate price. The loss of Alex, the girl he was sworn to protect. He looked at her out of the corner of his eye, seeking an answer he wasn't sure she could give him. "If you knew the future were certain... unchangeable... would you still try to stop it?" he asked. Her immediate response was to make an almost cynically amused face.

She walked over slowly, arms still folded, almost swaggering like Dean did sometimes. "Uh, _yeah_. I mean, look at my friggin' life right now. Lucifer, Michael…? Everyone says it's gonna happen, that it's _fate,_ that it's already a done deal." She stopped, staring at the wall in front of her blankly. "Everyone except Dean and Sam."

Cas frowned. She'd neglected to mention herself. "What about you?"

She glanced at him again, grim. "I'll do whatever it takes to keep it from happening. You know that." Her jaw was tight, her voice was hollow. "I can't lose them." She looked afraid. He could see it in her tense shoulders, the rigid lines between where her eyebrows pushed together, her fingers nervously pressed flat against her legs as she stood still. He remembered seeing this same fear in her as long as he could remember. The fear that she would lose her brothers and have nothing. He considered telling her that even if they left, he would remain. But he felt it was a reassurance he couldn't offer her. There was a long silence and Alex sank to the bed again as she breathed out heavily. She sat near his feet and stared into middle distance.

Cas watched her unchanging profile. He was helpless and weak and realizing that _this_ was the reason he refused to give Sam over to Lucifer. Because it would offset a chain of events that would realize Alex's worst fears. And also, Sam was his friend—Dean was his friend. The three Winchesters were the first and only friends he'd had. He didn't want to see them used or manipulated. He didn't want to see his brothers Michael and Lucifer destroy each other and the world along with it. It gave him enough sorrow that his brothers were being made to kill each other, but the fact that it had to be _her_ brothers in the balance… made it even worse for Cas.

He looked around the room now, frustrated, searching for an answer. All he saw were hearts and roses all over everything in the room. The sight of them irked him greatly and he felt a scowl on his face. "These heart shapes are inaccurate," he muttered, and surprisingly, Alex looked at him, a strangely amused expression on her face, the pensive look fading away. She seemed to think of something.

"That reminds me." She stood up and went to the dresser, grabbing a small square thing off of it. She pulled little cards out of the little box and sat down, this time not on the edge of the bed, but in the middle of it, only arm's length away. She sat cross-legged. "The greatest pastime ever invented: a deck of playing cards," she said, shuffling the cards expertly. They made pleasing little papery sounds. She glanced at him doubtfully, pausing. "Do you know how to play poker?"

Cas looked from the cards to her in all seriousness. "Gambling is sinful."

She stopped completely, looking at him oddly. "Well, so is murder and we do that all the time." He looked at her blankly. She looked down at the cards. "I've seen you get smitey a time or two." She glanced back at him from underneath her eyelashes. "So cards can't be _that_ bad, right?" Cas was silent in his uncertainty. Alex began dealing cards, giving him a little peacemaker's smile. His unease faded. "We'll play _Go Fish_ instead."

* * *

"So weird how this was in the _honeymoon suite_ though," Alex said, moving her game piece to a purple square and subsequently cringing. "Stuck in the molasses swamp as usual," she muttered in a sigh, then glanced up at her guardian angel.

Cas drew another card from the deck, engrossed and focused. He looked so at ease and unlike the Cas she was used to—he was relaxed, eyes not squinted up, eyebrows not furrowed. He really seemed to be into the board game. They'd played _Go Fish_ for a few rounds and Cas had complained (well, _stated_ , but she called it complaining) about the lack of fish imagery, saying it with such serious concern. She'd laughed at the comment then poked around the room and found, of all things _Candy Land_ in a dresser drawer (and the remains of a joint too). She'd swiped the blunt for later.

Cas was now propped onto his side, his head resting in the palm of his hand—he seemed just a little stronger which was encouraging. He moved his piece to a red square just a few squares away from the 'home sweet home' square. "I'm winning," he said, looking at her with an almost sly smile on his face.

Alex gave him an overly-dramatic challenging look from where she sat across from him. "Don't be too confident, _buddy_." She turned over her newest card and smirked. It was a blue card, freeing her from the swamp and taking her forward one square ahead of his.

She grinned triumphantly at him and he drew another card, then raised his eyebrows… and showed her the yellow card, moving his piece to the 'home sweet home' square. And then he surprised her completely by making a face like she had a minute ago. "You shouldn't be so confident… buddy," he parroted her, and it sounded hilarious coming out of his mouth. Alex dissolved into giggles (which didn't happen—ever). She could barely see because her eyes squinted up so much as the giggles turned to full on laughter—he looked so funny—propped there like that, his face in his hand like a little damn kid, looking so pleased that he'd won the dumb game. Her guardian angel the _Candy Land_ champ. It was in, one word: cute. She shook her head, still laughing.

She wiggled her eyebrows at him. "Care to go double or nothing?" she asked, then he looked slightly confused and she laughed again. "I mean, wanna play again?"

Understanding flashed across his features, then _enthusiasm_. "Yes, again," he said, and moved their pieces back to the beginning as Alex grabbed up the color cards and shuffled them quickly. This was bizarre to say the least—playing a kid's board game with her wounded angel, but it also felt so good because he wasn't holding her at arm's length while looking at her like she was the spawn of Satan. Maybe it was just for today or now, but they were _okay_ again and that made her feel better about everything. Encouraged that they could be friends again.

Alex finished shuffling the cards and noticed that Cas was staring at her arm—at the cut on her arm where the blood was congealed. It wasn't super visible, just the end of it from beneath where her shirt sleeve was rolled up, but his smile had faded and his eyes flicked up to hers. "You shouldn't have used your blood for the sigil," he said, suddenly perturbed.

"Why not?"

"You could have used mine," he said. _Oh._ Alex made a face like she didn't understand how he could suggest that. Did he forget he had been bleeding and unconscious and had frightened the living daylights out of her _because_ he'd been bleeding? And he thought she'd just merrily slice into him for some more blood? It was almost funny, except not really.

"Uh, Cas, I wasn't gonna cut you open—no way."

He looked unruffled, in fact, a little pissed. "So you cut yourself instead."

Alex frowned at his tone then got a little defensive. "It's just a little cut, Cas." It hurt like a bitch, of course it did, but she wasn't gonna admit that. Instead she just raised her eyebrows, trying to sound like she didn't really care. "Do you _know_ how many times I've had to bleed doing what I do?"

His eyes met hers stubbornly. "Too many." And her air of confidence faded just like that. Cas's protectiveness of her sometimes made her feel angry, like he thought she was weak or stupid, but those two words carried a different conviction. Like he hated the fact that she hurt.

She looked away. When he said things like this to her… she couldn't help the way she felt. "Well, I did it to protect us," she said stiffly. His somewhat stern expression faded.

Alex put the _Candy Land_ cards down, staring blankly. "I think Lucifer is inside my head," she blurted suddenly. Castiel's expression went cold and Alex fumbled verbally. "Or, or _something_."

"What do you mean?" he asked intently, and he suddenly looked every bit the Cas that had stood at the edge of a circle of holy fire and stared the devil down.

Alex wasn't sure why she'd just blurted that out—she hadn't told anyone about it, had been too freaked out about it, hoped it would stop or go away… she folded up _Candy Land_ , moved it and the cards to the side, anything to avoid looking at him—

" _Tell me_ , Alex," he insisted, voice deeper than she remembered.

She finally looked at him. If she were going to tell anyone, it should be him. "I've been having this recurring dream," she said waveringly, trying not to sound as freaked out as it made her feel. "Since the night before we tried to kill him."

"What is the dream?" he asked, dangerous, intense, needing to know.

Alex wet her lips with her tongue, trying to figure out how to word it, because it was mostly feelings more than images. There really _were_ no images actually, just the vague shadowy interior of the panic room. She frowned deeply. "It's… so strange. I'm in the panic room every time. At first I feel… weird. Like I've let a secret out or said something I wasn't supposed to. But then I feel good. Safe… really, _really_ happy. But then it cuts short and there's this horrible fear and I want to run away, but something is… pinning me down. That's the worst part. The feeling of being trapped." She stopped a minute, stumped on her own thoughts. "And then I wake up." Cas's expression seemed like he feared the worst. Alex's stomach turned in anxiety—if it scared him, how bad was it? She waited, but he said nothing. "That weird dream, plus the way he just, called me to him—could he be inside my mind?" No reply. "I mean, how could he be, right?"

Cas was shaking his head, his expression stony. "No, I don't—I don't think it's possible."

"But what if it is?" She was starting to sound as desperate and afraid as she felt. "I mean would you even _know_?"

He avoided looking at her. His jaw was tense. "I'll find out. How Lucifer did what he did," he sounded grave and distracted. "But... I don't think that's him inside your mind."

"Well what else _could it be_?" Alex demanded, starting to fear the worst the more she talked about it out loud. "It started the night of Carthage," she reminded him. That, to her, was the biggest indicator. "Just, test me or something. For a mark or a devil tracking device, I don't know. Please Cas, can you?"

He was reluctant but then after a couple seconds he raised his hand, placing it on her shoulder. He closed his eyes and his face twisted in deep concentration like thought, he remained like that for about ten seconds. Ten seconds in which Alex just stared at the knot of his tie while trying to regulate her breathing... stuck feeling the weight of his hand on her shoulder. His simplest touch started fires in her. He finally opened his eyes, frowning. "Nothing," he said. Their eyes held. His hand moved just slightly down to the curve of her shoulder even as the frown softened, his expression becoming unreadable and intense. His eyes were bluer than any sky she'd ever seen. And then he took his hand away and said nothing. The loss of his touch was disappointing.

He looked like something was hurting him physically and Alex moved her head to try and see him better. "You okay?"

His eyes slid her direction, but remained downcast. "I'm fine."

He didn't sound fine. Alex, didn't think she believed him, but let it go, shaking her head as she was plagued by thoughts of Lucifer. If it wasn't some kind of mark inside, _how_? Any of it? "I just need to know why it's happening. If it means something." If Cas couldn't help her, could anyone? She waited a couple seconds then quietly sighed, deeply distressed. "I haven't even told Sam or Dean about it." She wasn't sure why she'd said that out loud, but it got his attention.

He once again met her gaze, deeply surprised. "Why not?"

Alex took a second, thinking about it, not totally sure. Then she shrugged shallowly. "They have enough problems of their own right now. If this _isn't_ something… I don't wanna worry them." There was another heavy pause. "But… if it is something…" she trailed off, not sure what she was going to say. She propped an elbow on her knee and put her forehead in her hand, so tired. So drained.

Cas was pushing himself up a little into a sitting position while grimacing. He leaned against the headboard, arms at his sides, head turned to look at her. "I won't let Lucifer have you. Or Sam." He paused, suddenly disconcerted as his eyes fell away. "I suppose that's not very reassuring, looking at me right now."

Alex smiled to herself unexpectedly. She almost felt protective of him in that moment, which was an odd revelation to process. "No. It's… I believe you, Cas." She regarded him through veiled eyes, realizing how much she owed him as she thought about everything. Not just Dean's life, but Sam's too. All this angel did was give to her and her family. How could they ever repay him, even a little? Maybe with a thank you. So she did her best, even though she felt a little awkward verbalizing it.

"It... it meant a lot that you weren't willing to help Lucifer find Sam that night. I—I didn't think you would continue to say no like you did." And when he had, with her life on the line… she'd been so proud of him. Scared shitless, but proud.

In response to her praise, he seemed to grow even more despondent and maybe a little angry, too. "It was an impossible situation to be put into," he said blandly. "I only got you out of Carthage with six seconds to spare."

Alex felt her eyebrows raise up a little. Had it really been that close to midnight? To when Lucifer said she'd drop dead if she wasn't out of town? That _was_ a close call. "Well, we got out though, right?" 

Cas didn't look at her. "Barely." He looked conflicted and Alex suddenly realized something. This was the _exact same_ kind of crap Dean put himself through constantly. She felt incredibly sad to see Cas doing the exact same thing.

"Don't blame yourself for things that didn't even happen," she told him gently.

His eyes snapped to hers. "Lucifer _had_ you there." He looked almost angry again. "That _happened_." He _was_ angry now. "He could have _killed_ you, Alex, and I wouldn't have been able to do anything. I barely managed to save your life." His jaw clenched, he looked away, his expression stayed foul. "And look at me now. Helpless again."

Alex stared speechlessly as he got quiet. He looked so frustrated and she knew the feeling, but still. Whenever he got angry like that, his eyes blazing with a quiet fire that promised retribution, she always mentally took a step back to remember how powerful he was. He could devastate his enemies with just a touch... all while he walked the earth in the body of a man. Castiel was a fierce enemy to have, and an all-important ally. She was pretty sure Sam and Dean didn't quite see him as she did, they seemed to underestimate him or maybe they were just too distracted with the craziness of reality to think much about it. Alex paused. _Sam and Dean._

She checked her watch and her stomach clenched. It was almost eleven at night. _Crap._ This was not good. Dean said he'd call by ten. She glanced at the phone beside the bed, her instincts buzzing with foreboding. "Something's wrong," she muttered and got up, suddenly incredibly antsy. _If I don't call you by ten, if we don't come back, come looking._ Dean's words to her earlier that day.

She turned to Cas who had started frowning the second she'd said that something was wrong. She looked at him apprehensively, knowing what she had to do. He wasn't going to like it, and she was pretty sure he would have to stay put, which he'd like even less. He was sprawled there on the heart-covered comforter like a sad rag doll. "Cas—I've gotta go find them. They've been gone too long—are you able to move?"

He looked at her, shocked, then frowned even deeper than before. "You can't go alone."

She was already snatching her jacket up off the floor where it had fallen, shrugging it on, and giving him a 'no, duh' look. "That's why I asked if you could move," she said. "Can you?"

He struggled a minute, pushing himself up further into a sitting position—then collapsing back against the headboard weakly. The worst part was the little weak groan he let out.

"So, no," Alex said, grimly glancing around the room. She didn't want to just leave him sitting there, unable to move or defend himself—but she literally _had_ to go find Sam and Dean. Cas watched her finish adjusting her jacket. He looked incredibly unhappy. She'd feel the same if she couldn't move or walk or do anything.

"I won't be long," she told him. "I'll be back as _soon_ as I find them." She turned to leave, but the sound of his voice stopped her in her tracks.

"Wait."

She turned back around. He was pensive. She walked over to him, watching as he reached inside of his trench coat, wincing, and withdrew something—a gleaming silver angel blade. "Take this," he said, holding it out to her.

She stared in shock then shook her head. "I—I can't leave you without a weapon—" she protested.

Cas held it out further. "Take it."

"Wait—I thought you gave Sam your blade," she said. He shook his head slightly. "I gave Sam Uriel's blade. This one... is mine." He held it out even further to her, handle first, the sharp end pointed at himself. And Alex was struck by how important this moment must be. He was letting her have the only thing that could kill him, the only thing that could defend him against other angels.

She looked from him to the blade. "Are you sure?" she asked. It felt like too much to accept.

"Take it," he repeated, holding her gaze. Alex looked from his eyes to the handle of the blade in his hand. She gave in and reached out, her hand closing over the handle, fingers brushing against the ends of his as she took it. The blade was surprisingly light and cool to the touch, almost seeming to hum with an energy against her skin. Just holding it was incredibly intimidating.

Her eyes flickered to his, doubtful.

His eyes were already looking into hers. "Anna is very fast," he said in quiet grimness. "Alex, be careful."

At that remark she couldn't help but smirk a little as she slipped the blade into the inside pocket of her jacket. "Always am."

"No," he said grumpily, "you're not."

Maybe that shouldn't have made her smile, but it did a little. The smile faded fast though as she took in his clear dismay. She felt her stomach clench a little bit as she thought about the danger and uncertainty of their situation. It was dizzying and overwhelming, really: Dean and Sam, missing, Cas down for the count, a powerful angel named Anna somewhere out there bent on killing her parents and/or Sam. In all the time that had passed already, she thought of how much could have already happened, terrible possibilities and scenarios played out in her mind's eye. She made herself stop, because if she let her mind go there, she'd panic. Days like this she had to think how impressive it was that she wasn't in a crazy house somewhere. Alex zipped her jacket and pulled her hair out of the collar to the side. She couldn't waste any more time. So she put on a brave face and nodded once at Cas. "I'll be back," she said, and turned, going to the door.

She paused there, looking back as her hand came to rest on the doorknob. Cas was looking at her in intense discomfort. He didn't want her to go. It was written all over his face. She really, really wished she didn't have to leave him there all alone, but what choice did she have? Sam and Dean might need help, might be dead for all she knew. Or... Dean might just not have been able to find a phone. Leaving Cas defenseless seemed risky, but not going and finding her brothers was risky too. For a second, Alex wondered if this were the right thing to do. Cas had asked her earlier about how to know when one was making the right choices. And this was one of those times when she just didn't know.

Conflicted, Alex took in a deep breath and turned. Then walked out the door.


	25. Meet the Parents

" _Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way."  
_ \- Leo Tolstoy

* * *

The instant the door closed behind Alex, Cas suddenly had a rush of fear and resistance and struggled again to sit up further, needing to be functional again and _now_. He foolishly hoped he would suddenly, miraculously be able to move and subsequently be able to go with her to make sure she was safe. But it was the same as before—the vessel pinged in pain all over, refusing to move. He let out the softest growl of frustration, barely able to contain the defeat he was feeling. He felt miserable, completely inept... and Alex was out there alone. Completely alone.

In all his centuries he had never experienced such a sensation of utter failure. Nothing was working as it was supposed to, and it wasn't just limited to his vessel. He couldn't hear the celestial whispers that Dean referred to as 'angel radio.' Castiel now regretted listening to Dean and bringing the Winchesters back with him. He might have stood a chance at taking Anna on by himself. But he had foolishly listened to Dean and given in to his demands, thus endangering them all. There was a dark thought lurking at the edge of his mind that Anna might have already killed Sam and Dean both, and Cas had just let Alex go after them, perhaps to walk directly into a trap. He had placed them _all_ in mortal jeopardy with his choice to listen to Dean's wishes. He cursed himself internally. What had he _done_?

Cas had wanted to command Alex not to go after them, not yet, and not _alone_ —the danger was too great. He might have done so in the past. But now he knew Alex well enough to recognize when she had made up her mind. So he'd done the only thing left to do: sent with her a small part of himself—his blade. It was only a small hope of defending herself against Anna, but it was better than nothing.

Castiel thought again of her face as she took his blade with so much hesitation then almost reverence, like she'd almost understood in a small way the significance of the gesture. Alex didn't know this—how could she, humans knew nothing of the sacred nature of the angel blade—but angels didn't give away their blades. Ever. They didn't loan them out. Each angel received only _one_ and only forfeited it upon death. Each blade was connected to its angel, and the angel to the blade. To give a blade away was considered an abomination. Castiel was sure that if his brothers and sisters in Heaven could see him now they would be shocked about how many rules he had broken in favor of helping the Winchesters. In favor of protecting the youngest one... _her_.

Cas struggled again, painstakingly pulling his legs over the edge of the bed. He felt such an acute sense of urgency. The reality of the risk to Alex's life was pressing on him greater than before and he needed to be where he could see her and know she wasn't in immediate danger. Refusing to accept his weakened state, he groaned in pain, pushing himself up with all of his strength, attempting to stand. He fell forward onto all fours, shaking from exertion.

* * *

**2010**

Dean stumbled, almost falling sideways—jolted by suddenly being sent forward in time and back to the future.

He saw that he was in the motel room they'd been in before when they'd left for 1978… his mind was left to reel from what had just happened, but mostly, he had to know Sam was okay—because a minute ago he'd been dead, Anna had killed him and—

"Dean," came a voice, and there was a big hand on his shoulder. Dean turned in dumbfounded shock to see Sam there, looking just as confused as Dean was. Overwhelmed with relief, Dean grabbed his brother and hugged him tight. Sam didn't really hug back, he seemed disoriented, and when Dean let go, Sam was looking around the motel room in a daze. "What happened?" Sam asked. "I was—we were in seventy-eight and—Anna—she stabbed me and... I remember…" His look of confusion transformed into realization. "Did I _die_?"

Dean looked away, disturbed. "Yeah, you did. Anna killed you."

" _Explain_." Sam demanded almost threateningly.

Dean thought it over—it was a jumble in his mind, too—the entire thing—and it was pissing him off. "Okay, so Anna stabs you… you fall over dead in front of me… then Michael shows up, ganks Anna—"

Sam looked like he'd misheard. " _Michael_?"

Dean glanced at Sam broodingly. "He was using Dad as his meatsuit. Great, right?"

Sam's look of sheer disbelief and shock summed up Dean's feelings on the whole deal. Smirking humorlessly, Dean began to pace back and forth in front of his brother. "Yeah, I know. He said all this BS about the bloodline, how Dad was _a_ vessel and not _the_ vessel, how free will is an illusion… I'm destined to say 'yes'... blah blah blah. Then he fixed you, sent us back." Dean paused, stopping mid-step, suddenly realizing something. His stomach dropped, his heart clenched. He suddenly couldn't breathe. "Shit. _Crap_!" He looked at Sam in horror, then around the empty motel room, whirling completely, frenzied in his search.

"What?" Sam asked.

Dean looked at his brother in breathless terror. " _Alex isn't here_ , Sam! She's still in nineteen seventy-eight! With _Cas_!"

Cold realization flashed across Sam's face, then anger. " _Dean_!" Sam exclaimed. " _How_?! Michael zapped you back too fast for you to tell him, _oh yeah_ , my sister's here too, could you give her a ride back?!"

Hackles raising at Sam's blaming tone, Dean grew confrontational. "Michael was in my _head_ man, I blanked for a minute!"

"You mean you _forgot_ about her!" Sam corrected accusingly, shaking his head in abject horror.

At that comment Dean went still. Instead of admitting that Sam was right, he considered punching Sam in the nose. "I told you we should've left Cas alone, taken Alex with us!" He raged.

Sam held up two hands defensively, raising his eyebrows at Dean. "So now this is _my_ fault?"

Dean ignored his brother's question and turned around, trying to see straight. Had he made the biggest mistake of his life by leaving Alex with Cas? _How the actual hell was he supposed to get her back here_? She was thirty-two years into the past for God's sake! Behind him, Sam seemed to have calmed down a little bit. "Listen Dean," he reasoned tensely. "I'm sure when Cas wakes up, he'll bring her back."

Turning abruptly, hostile, Dean stared hard at his brother. "And what if he _doesn't_ wake up, Sam, huh? What then?"

Sam lost bravado, clearly realizing Dean had a point.

"I _knew_ I shouldn't have let her out of my sight, dammit—" Dean knocked a lamp off the dresser beside him, repeating, louder, " _dammit_!" and trying to think, just _think_ what he could do now, if anything. He was literally at the end of his rope. In total desperation, not sure if it would go through or what, Dean stood there, glared at the ceiling. "Cas!" he shouted. " _Cas_! Can you hear me you bastard? You bring my sister back to me right now!" There was a long pause and nothing happened. "Cas?" Dean repeated, but with less power, more fear. Nothing. Dean looked at Sam, who could barely meet his eyes. Quickly crumbling, fearing the worst, Dean sank to one of the beds. "Jesus _Christ_ , Sam. What the hell are we supposed to do?"

* * *

**1978**

Exhausted, Alex opened the motel room door and froze—Cas was standing (just barely) and gripping the dresser with both hands. He looked up and saw her, his face washing over from pained exertion to relief. Alex shut the door behind her, already halfway over to him. "Cas! What are you doing?"

He wobbled a little, gripping the dresser tighter. "I was... preparing to come after you," he said, sounding disconcerted.

"On what _legs_?" Alex asked, dumbfounded—he looked like he was going to fall any second and her hands kind of hovered out in front of her near him, just waiting for him to topple.

In response to her question, he looked down, then back at her uncertainly. "Uh… these legs."

Alex, drained both emotionally and physically, shook her head, grabbing his arm and pulling it over her shoulder. "Cas—come on. You need to sit back down—" she said. He seemed unable to control himself very well, leaning on her weightily, his feet shuffling oddly as she took her other arm and wrapped it securely around his back and waist, basically supporting him completely as she walked him over to the bed. She grunted from the effort—he was very heavy. She left for _one hour_ and he was trying to kill himself by trying to come after her... when he was clearly not even able to _stand_ unassisted! Unbelievable.

Cas, a little dazed, was looking at her—she could tell because his voice was right in her ear. "You're much stronger than you look," he said, and sounded slightly surprised.

She just looked at him sideways, tone bordering on annoyed. "That's what I've been trying to _tell_ you," she said as they reached the bed. She helped him sit as he'd been before, leaning against the headboard, upright. His legs were still off the edge of the bed, dangling limply.

"What did you discover?" Cas asked, looking at her intently.

Alex's expression was foul. "A whole lot of nothing. The house was empty and dark, no one was there. They either went somewhere or…" she trailed off. Agitated and fearful, she yanked her jacket off and threw it toward a knob on the wall. It missed. She reacted by bowing her forehead into the palm of her right hand, shutting her eyes, then heaving a frustrated breath. Her eyes flew back open when she felt his hand close gently around her left wrist. Cas was looking up at her with an intense, questioning expression—concern. The anger and helplessness faded a little, replaced by something else: fear.

Alex swallowed, feeling more vulnerable and afraid than she had in awhile. She looked at his hand around her slender wrist. Then back into his eyes, despairing. "Where _are_ they Cas?" she asked, desperate for an answer. There was a long pause and she sounded scared and small to herself when she spoke again. "Was I too late? Are they…?" she couldn't verbalize her fear that they were dead.

She just wanted so desperately for Cas to tell her no, it wasn't too late, they were alive, not to worry. But Cas's hand dropped away, his gaze went into the middle distance in front of him, his jaw flexed tensely. "I don't know."

His answer seemed to make her chest tighter than before and she felt a surge of hopelessness overcome her. She stared down at his legs as they hung awkwardly. Almost angrily she bent and grabbed them, half-pushing half-hauling them up until they were in front of him on the bed, then she wordlessly walked away a couple steps, agitated, caged. She needed _answers_ , she needed to know what was going on, she needed her friggin' brothers to be okay—but she had jack squat to show for her search, no clue if they were alive or dead or what. She'd done it in record time too, Dean would have been proud of how fast she'd found John Winchester in the phone book, hot-wired a car, driven the fifteen minutes across town. She'd been ready for a fight, to face down an enemy... but had found nothing. And the whole time she'd been out there, she'd been worrying about what if she found Sam and Dean in dead piles on the ground—what if she got back to the motel and found that Anna had come and killed Cas, who had been left defenseless without his blade. _Crap, the blade._ She'd forgotten.

She turned back around. Cas was watching her and she could see that he was worried. Maybe a little affronted, too. She'd slung his legs down kind of aggressively without explanation, like she was mad at him. She wanted to explain to him—as usual—because that pleased little look he got when he understood was one of the best things she could think of—but she felt like if she opened her mouth, all the pent up emotions she was holding inside: fear, anger, self-doubt would spill out into the open. So, wordlessly, she went back to the bedside and took the angel blade from where she'd had it in her jacket. In her hand, the cool metal seemed to buzz with an incorporeal energy and strength. She held it out to him, thought about saying a thank you, but that didn't seem like enough. He took it silently, then he laid it beside him on the bed without even look at it. She followed the blade with her eyes, perplexed, then looked at him.

"We'll find them," he said, and his words surprised her, caused her to go totally still. She looked at him, feeling bare under his gaze, wanting to believe him, but not sure if she could allow herself to. Guilt and regret washed over her.

"I should've gone with them," she managed brokenly. Suddenly feeling like she just couldn't stand up anymore, she sank down, sitting on the edge of the bed next to his waist, her feet remaining flat on the floor. She felt like she was going to suffocate or implode. "I'm so _tired_ of _feeling_ this way," she managed to say as she stared at her knees. "Like _any_ friggin' choice I make doesn't _matter_ in the end." She tried to laugh at herself, but lacked the energy. She could only let out a weak breath of air. "I made this big speech to Dean and Sam after the whole Gabriel thing and... about how I wasn't going to be a bystander, but look. I am. I _always_ am." There was a heavy pause, where Alex had to fight away tears. "And they might be dead now. They might be dead."

"We'll find them, Alex." Cas repeated.

Alex looked at him challengingly. " _How_?"

His gaze faltered away. He thought hard and he seemed unsure at first. "In the morning. We'll go look together."

Alex resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "You can barely even sit up," she pointed out, a little harsher than she meant to.

Hurt flashed across his eyes and Alex immediately regretted it. "I know," he replied, and again looked away, unhappy. "I'm sorry. I've failed you."

Alex felt a surge of indignant anger at his words. "You've failed me?" she repeated. How could he think that? After all the stuff he'd done for her family, all the sacrifices and hell even _dying for them_? She felt insulted somehow that he would say he was a failure, and her temper was short as it was. "You haven't _failed_ me, Cas," she told him. "Everything you've done for me and my brothers is the opposite of that." It was all nice stuff to say, but she said it so aggressively, almost bitterly, that it lost any grateful tone it might have had. And before she could stop herself, she sealed the deal with one final bitchy comment. "Just cram the pity party, will you?"

Cas looked at her with a strange, wounded expression and didn't say anything for a couple of long seconds. "You sound like Dean."

Those four words somehow seemed to jab guilt into her gut. Dean who talked down to Cas? Dean who rolled his eyes at Cas? Dean who didn't treat Cas with respect or trust? Alex was suddenly grasping for a way to explain herself. "I didn't mean—" she shook her head. "I'm sorry… I just..." she just _what_? She couldn't find the words and looked down, remorseful.

"You're upset," he stated grimly, and she looked at him again. He was looking at his feet. "I understand."

She realized in genuine surprise that he was right—and how mature, how intuitive that seemed of him—but he looked so miserable, so personally offended, that it momentarily made Alex want to jump off the planet. She was a _jerk_. She gritted her teeth together. This is why conversations were so hard and why sometimes she just wanted to give up on them completely—she got so caught up in her emotions that she didn't stop to think about what she was saying or what it would do to the involved party. She tried to think of a way to explain herself to him.

"Yeah, I'm upset… not upset _with_ you though," Alex tried falteringly, wishing she could take back the thoughtless comments. She could almost see the wheels of his mind turning with self-loathing and she tried to catch his gaze. "How could I bet mad at you?" she asked. "I mean… after everything? And today you gave me your damn blade, Cas..." she didn't have to pretend—she literally was still floored by the gesture. More hesitant now, she looked away. "I kind of can't get over that."

"I couldn't go with you." He just clenched his jaw. "You needed it."

She studied him from the corner of her eye a minute longer. "It left you totally defenseless," she said, and he met her sidelong gaze with a hooded glance of his own.

His eyes flickered down, but then met hers again. "I wanted you to have it."

Her heart clenched with an unfamiliar warmth, as she felt like she heard all the things he _didn't_ say just then. She had gotten the feeling that he valued her safety over his own in the past, but today, he'd proved that all over again. She felt largely undeserving and caught off guard, like, _how the hell did I end up with this guardian angel who would give his life for me_? It was a huge, frightening thought and it made her feel a thousand things all at once. But the biggest one was a growing sense of trust and… she could barely keep his gaze now… _love_. Her heart twisted up, her pulse hammered. Her entire body seemed to go on high alert as she realized these things inside were not fleeting little confused feelings or shallow attraction. No. They were genuine, deep, and unmovable. That _word_ she'd thought just a minute ago. Her confusion levels skyrocketed. How long had she felt like this?

"What's wrong?" Castiel asked, frowning in unease, his head tilting to the side at her silence.

She realized her face had frozen in an odd expression as she'd gotten lost in thought. Covering, she quickly flashed a nervous grin. "I, uh… just… thinking how I have the best guardian angel ever," she told him sloppily—and it _was_ a sentiment she _did_ feel—but said in a light, nervous tone that didn't reveal exactly how deep that feeling went.

His eyes slid to hers again, sullen. "You're attempting to compliment me," he stated. "But I don't deserve it." Alex looked at him with perplexed concern. He heaved a heavy sigh, staring ahead of himself unseeingly, a deep frown etched across his handsome features. "I'm a poor example of an angel. Attempting to serve a God I can't find. Heaven has cast me down. I've made… bad choices. Bringing the three of you here being one of them." He still wouldn't look at her. "I'm not the best anything."

She didn't agree. Not at all. And without thinking, she whispered back what she really thought: "That's where you and I disagree."

Cas's eyes flew to hers, inspiring an increasing heartbeat. Without meaning to, Alex was yet again inside the memory of kissing him—well not him, but the future version of him. She felt a pang of loss for something she'd never had... and probably never would. Unable to handle it, she got up and went to the other end of the room. _He's your guardian angel, your friend—and that's all._ She repeated this in her head several times as she stood in front of the silent television, trying to believe herself.

"What... are you doing?" Cas asked after a couple seconds, and Alex, not sure what she _was_ doing, tried to act purposeful.

"I'm—" she looked down at the television, reached for the knob. "Uh, turning on the TV." The picture quality was horrible and she slammed the top of the TV with the side of her fist… maybe a little harder than she needed to. The static cleared and she saw Robin Williams on the screen. He was dressed in a ridiculous outfit—rainbow suspenders over a colorful shirt. Alex recognized it immediately. _Mork and Mindy_. She smiled a little bit as she remembered. "Huh. Used to watch this show as a kid."

She looked back at where Cas sat on the ridiculous bedspread underneath the plaque that said 'Love Conquers All'. Her smile faded. This was the part where she grew up and stopped trying to make this whole Castiel thing into something it wasn't. Accepted that his devotion and care was otherworldly and learned to be okay with that, not always selfishly longing for more. She could do that. She _would_ do that. She had to, otherwise she'd just torture herself over this.

" _Mindy! My whole emotional life is flashing before my eyes!"_ Mork exclaimed in animated distress on the television set, and Mindy comforted him with _don't worry, it was just a bad dream_. Alex went back to the bed and Mork was telling Mindy how he didn't _have_ bad dreams, as his alien race had cut off the ability for bad dreams when they had cut off their emotions. Cue the laugh track. Alex remembered this episode, actually.

Cas watched her as she sat beside him on the bed, leaning against the headboard, her shoulder just a foot away from his. She glanced at him. He looked away, watching the television for a moment. "Who is the man with the hair like Sam's?" Cas asked, referring to Mork.

Alex looked at him sidelong, resisting the urge to laugh out loud. "Hair like Sam's? Oh he'd _love_ that. Uh, that's Mork. He's an alien from planet Ork. He came to earth in an egg-shaped space ship. That girl's his roommate Mindy. But everyone knew they were more than that."

Cas took it all in, listening intently then frowned. "There is no such planet, Ork."

Alex did a bad job of hiding her amused smile. "It's a _show_ , Cas," she said. "Ork is made up. Mork is made up. He's an actor named Robin Williams." Cas almost looked suspicious and Alex tiredly chuckled, watching the angel out of the corner of her eye. Watching him was almost as entertaining as watching the show. He looked at the screen intently, as if he were staring at an impossible math equation.

" _But showing emotions is a good thing, Mork,"_ Mindy was saying kindly.

Mork looked shocked. _"But Mindy—that's a no no, no no for a Nanu-Nanu!"_ Laugh track. _"Mindy, I've made a decision and I don't think you're going to like it very much."_

" _What is it?"_ Mindy asked.

" _Well, I've gotta stop this before the emotions take me completely over, so… I've got this little door in the back of my mind… I'm going to round up all of my emotions put them behind that door, lock it, and hide the key… in my foot."_

There was laughter from the audience even though Mindy looked disturbed. _"Are you saying that you won't_ feel _anything anymore?"_

" _Right on, strike up the bland,"_ Mork said really fast and determined,. He stood up, putting his hands at the side of his head. _"Goodbye Mindy! I'm closing off my emotions forever."_

Mindy jumped up after him. _"Wait a minute Mork, don't!"_

Alex yawned, not able to stop herself—she was really tired. This reminded her of the nights she and Sam had spent wondering where Dean and Dad were. They'd always had each other and whatever local television shows had been on. He'd always try to get her to watch that Beauty and the Beast show but it was so cheesy and stupid and Alex would beg to watch The A-Team or Miami Vice instead. She blinked sleepily, getting drowsy.

" _Well you haven't convinced me that I need them,"_ Mork was saying, _"so on behalf of my emotions, I'd just like to say… goodbye, sayonara, ciao, ta-ta, catch you later Mama… and shalom! It's been nice feeling you."_

" _Wait a minute Mork, no, don't!"_

Mork's face had become emotionless, his voice had become monotone. _"It is too late. The door is locked. My emotions are shut off forever."_

" _Then so's the Mork who I like so well,"_ Mindy lamented.

" _Don't worry, we can go on having a non-emotional equivalent of fun,"_ Mork droned. _"There are certain advantages. Watch."_ He smashed himself in the hand with a little stone statue and Mindy cried out, asked if it hurt. _"You bet,"_ Mork said without any feeling. " _Ow. It's killing me."_

" _So what's the advantage of that?!"_ Mindy asked.

" _I can hurt myself all day without bothering other people,"_ was the stoic reply.

Mindy looked confused, then hurt. _"Mork, can that door in your head ever be re-opened?"_

" _Yes, but I can't do it, because what's behind there is far too dangerous."_

Mindy became angry. _"You know something, you are really DUMB."_

" _Nice try, but insults to a man with no emotions is like hay fever to a man with no nose."_

Mindy got upset, said Mork ruined her birthday, then accused him of being cold, then got quiet… sat down… said it was like part of Mork had died. And she began to cry.

" _If you think you can get to me by crying, you're wrong."_ He said, but then said her name, _"Mindy,"_ gently, worried. Then snapped to attention, his voice returning to monotone, however, it was more urgent than before _. "Fall back, systems to May Day, control tear ducts, think about baseball, baseball!"_ He was monotone again and sat down beside Mindy, who was still crying.

Castiel turned to Alex to ask a question—and stilled. She'd fallen asleep, head curled into the hard wood headboard of the bed, lolling uncomfortably in the space between it and her shoulder. Her mouth was open just slightly, some of her hair was in her face. She was fast asleep.

" _Ah, once again, I am in control,_ " Castiel heard Mork say emotionlessly. _"I can deal with you as any other person."_ There was a long pause and Mork's monotone voice softened. _"A person with invitingly soft skin. Rosebud lips. And sweet little eyes that leak cute little drops that roll gently down your cheeks..."_

Cas heard those things and looked at the screen, momentarily confused, feeling strange. This Mork alien man's words struck him in a way that he felt resounding deep inside. He looked back at Alex's sleeping face. _Soft skin. Rosebud lips._ He swallowed and briefly wondered if he should move off the bed, or if he even could muster the strength to—and then he realized that her head was slowly sliding down, tilting toward his shoulder and he froze, watching.

Her head stopped when her cheek hit his shoulder and Cas didn't move at all, because if he did, he might disrupt her rest. She shifted a little beside him and he felt a rush of protectiveness. The television was now just a hum in the background. He didn't look at it, not at all. He could smell the scent of motel shampoo on Alex's hair, feel the pattern of her breathing against himself. He didn't move a muscle for a very long time, even though his fingers itched to touch the skin of her face.

He could see her left hand, resting, draped across her thigh, and his eyes drifted across her scarred knuckles. Above them, a smooth white scar, maybe two inches long, arced across the top of her hand. He wasn't sure what these scars were from, only that they were evidence of the life she'd lived, the pains she'd endured. He knew that on the inside of her hand a dark scar slashed across the center from a wound inflicted in Gabriel's hell world. Each physical scar she carried was a reminder to Castiel of how fragile this human girl was. She was a strong _soul_ , but contained within a vessel doomed to mortality. And he knew that her physical scars did not compare to the numbers of inner scars and burdens she'd collected over the years.

Perhaps he could do nothing to remove any scars that she had already received. But after he recovered from this temporary weakness, he was resolved to save her from the future that awaited and to keep her safe from the future in which he was the one who caused her death. Whatever he had to do, he'd do it to make sure Alex lived.

She shifted against him again, making a soft sound and Castiel felt his vessel flush all over with warmth. Perhaps he should have been more reluctant to be close like this to her. But he didn't feel that way. He... he liked it. Cas remained unmoving the entire night, watching over her, at peace despite everything else, because he knew she was safe and with him.

* * *

Drowsy and comfortable, Alex snuggled into the warmth beside her, sighing a soft, sleepy sound, feeling like she could stay in this half-awake state forever. She felt rested for the first time in forever, if a little sore from the weird position she'd picked to sleep in. She realized, listlessly, that she didn't have the nightmare last night. The shape she was cuddled into suddenly moved a little bit and her eyes shot open as she realized, remembering— _she had been sitting beside Cas in bed watching TV and... then what?_ —she was staring straight at a button on the familiar beige trench coat. Panicked, she jerked upwards and found herself looking up into Castiel's face, which was just above hers. _Oh my god._ She had been sleeping… on him, basically on his lap! Quickly turning red, Alex gaped ungracefully.

"Good morning, Alex," Castiel said, and she had the brief thought, _I quit life._ He was looking at her softly. She pushed away, embarrassed for numerous reasons, the most immediate being—had she snored? Drooled? Dean and Sam gave her crap sometimes about drooling.

"G-good morning," she mumbled, mortified, her eyes going all over the place, a dead giveaway of how awkward she felt.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked. And she knew it was just him being weirdly polite and courteous like he always was, but seriously, _are you kidding me?_ Alex wanted to fling herself into a distant galaxy. She needed to disappear. She didn't answer his question, just slid off the bed, all business. There were bigger things to worry about right now.

"We need to go find my brothers," she said, grabbing her jacket off the floor and shrugging it on. She turned around to see Cas standing up and she stopped straightening the jacket to hurry over to him, already knowing where this was going.

"I can stand," he said, looking immensely excited (for Cas, anyway). He then attempted to take a step and wobbled dangerously. Alex only _just_ caught him as she reached him, bracing him with both hands. He'd grabbed onto her tightly, either arm.

"Okay, okay, take it easy," Alex told him, teeth gritted as she pushed him back up. "Don't get ahead of yourself."

He was stable again and they just stood like that for a couple more awkward seconds—Cas holding onto her as if for dear life and her hands flat against his strong chest. He seemed out of breath and Alex didn't know if this could get any more awkward for her. He didn't know how difficult he was making this for her. She wanted to blush furiously at the thought of sleeping on him all night. "So. How about we go now," she suggested artlessly, wanting to leave pronto. Not only was she anxious to find her brothers, but she wanted to escape this moment.

"Yes. But..." Cas was looking down at his feet. "I think I need help walking."

"You _think_?" Alex asked sarcastically, moving to his side and pulling one of his arms around her shoulder.

Cas got a little proud smiles on his face. "That was sarcasm," he observed, and he sounded like a little kid who had gotten excited about spelling 'cat' right.

Alex couldn't help but crack an exasperated grin as she looked down, wrapped her other arm around his waist like before. "Yes, very good young grasshopper."

He paused, and sounded confused again. "I'm not an insect."

"I know, I know..."

* * *

Alex had left the stolen car—a powder-blue Dodge Polara station wagon—behind the motel. She and Cas took about five minutes to walk the whole way thanks to Cas and his slow shuffle. She put him into the passenger seat where he collapsed and had to pull his legs in using his arms pathetically. Alex said nothing, feeling bad for him. She'd been pretty messed up in her day too and knew how much it sucked to be held back by injuries.

She hot wired the car again (Cas watched with great interest) and they drove the fifteen minutes to the Winchester home. The entire way there Alex was silent, thinking hard about Sam, Dean, Mom, Dad. Hoping to find them there, but not too hopeful in case it was the same as last night. But when they pulled up, she saw a new car in the driveway. _The Impala_. Her heart leapt in her chest and she parked her stolen car on the side of the street, suddenly breathless and shaking. Wherever they'd been gone to… they were back. Alex got out of the car, glancing constantly at the house for any sign of movement. She reached the passenger side, where Cas had pushed his door open and managed to get his feet on the ground. He braced himself to pull himself out of the car using the doorframe.

"Whoa, Grandpa," Alex said, thinking better of the entire thing and holding her hands in a stop motion. "You better stay in the car and be lookout." Cas paused and gave her quite the disgruntled stare. "Look at yourself, you can barely move!" she pointed out.

The angel was sullen, but not ready to comply. "I'm coming with you," Cas said, grunting as he found his full height. "Like it or not." And he started off without her as if to prove a point. Alex was left to stare at him in slight surprise, close his door and mutter something about 'stubborn son of a bitch' as she went to catch up to him. She stayed close just in case his legs gave out or something. He was able to walk a lot better than even fifteen minutes ago, she noticed. That was good. Her attention turned to the matter at hand: she stared at the house across from her, heart racing in anticipation as they closed the distance. She had no idea what they would find.

The house was boxy, very sixties in its architectural style. It had a very small yard and a stoop of a porch. When they got to the door she stared it down, breathing heavily. She suddenly felt intimidated and afraid.

"What is it?" Cas asked her, noticing.

Alex steeled herself, eyes still on the door. "Nothing."

She took a deep breath then knocked three times and they waited for about fifteen seconds. The door opened and a beautiful young blonde woman stood there. Alex went still. _Mom_. She recognized her immediately from the photos—she was younger of course. And beautiful, so much more beautiful than the photographs showed. Alex stared, enchanted and dumbfounded. She forgot what she was doing.

"...Yes?" Mary asked, looking between them expectantly with a slight hint of apprehension. Alex swallowed. Mom was beautiful. Perfect. Young and pretty and so alive. "Can I... help you?" Mary asked, eyebrows furrowing at Alex's continued silence.

"Oh—uh—hello," Alex said, suddenly realizing she had no clue what the hell to say or do—this was her _mom_. She hadn't even thought of making up a cover story and internally began to curse herself. Mary was wearing a floral print apron... like she was baking. Alex glanced around behind Mom, seeing nothing out of sorts. Mary was beginning to get suspicious. Cas was just staring at Alex, waiting for her to say something.

Alex busted out her best on-the-spot lie, trying to think of a way to get them in the house where she could see more and ask questions. " _We_ ," Alex said, gesturing between herself and Cas, speaking in an uncharacteristically perky voice, "uh, _we_ are your new neighbors. Just moved in down the street. Thought we'd come over and… say hello!" Alex listened to how ridiculous she sounded. Surely to God no one would buy that crock of crap… but Mary's face broke into a pleasant smile.

"Oh, how nice!" Mary said, and stepped to the side, gestured for them to come in. Alex gave Cas a look from the side of her eyes, and hoped he got her meaning, which was 'don't say anything.' "Please, come in," Mary was saying, and then looked back into the house. "John, company!"

Alex paused, her stomach twisting at the mention of Dad and the knowledge that she was about to see him again. Mary had shut the door behind them and gestured toward the living room couch. "Please, sit down," she said graciously, and then seemed to notice Cas, who was moving very slowly and stiffly, walking on his own, but not well. Alex was staying at his side, hovering almost, making sure he made it to the couch.

Mary looked concerned. "Is... he all right?"

Cas sat down heavily. "Oh, uh yeah, he's… he's got ankle... arthritis... problems," Alex lied stutteringly as she sat beside Cas. The second she finished saying that, she realized how stupid that sounded, because Cas also looked physically ill. The arthritis claim wasn't enough. "And uh he's getting over a stomach bug," she said, feigning a nonchalant attitude. "It really weakened him you know?" she asked. Good God Dean would kill her if he could hear these ridiculous lies pouring out of her mouth. _Dean—Sam._

Remembering herself, Alex leaned forward to ask Mary, who'd sat down across from her, about her brothers, to ask if she'd seen them—and then a familiar voice to her right startled her into silence. "Mary, what's going on?"

Alex froze at the sight of Dad approaching them from the hallway. He looked so much younger and lighter, not even like the man she remembered. But she still stiffened, sat up straight, the smile gone off her face.

"John, our new neighbors—" Mary stopped, trailing off, probably realizing she didn't know their names.

"Alex," Alex supplied, then nodded her head toward Cas. "And Cas."

"I'm Mary," Mom said. "And this is John." She tilted her head to the side thoughtfully. " _Alex_. Is that short for something?" Mary asked in polite interest. It kind of sounded like she didn't like the name Alex from the way she said it.

This was so damn ironic. "Alexandra," Alex said, watching Dad's every move hawkishly as he came around to sit beside his wife.

"Oh, how pretty," Mary said, smiling again.

John took a seat and put an arm around Mary, smiling pleasantly at them. "And Cas—that must be short for Casanova," John joked, but only Mary gave him a smile at the comment. Alex was working her hands oddly in her lap, trying to smile, but she couldn't even fake one. Cas's face was like stone. John frowned and looked at his wife, obviously feeling awkward, trying to make conversation. "Isn't there an Alexandra in your family, Mary?"

"Yes, my great grandmother," Mary said, also a little awkward. The clock ticked loudly in the silence.

This was going just _fabulously_. Alex cleared her throat and took in a deep breath. Being perky was exhausting. "You know, speaking of family, I was, er, I'm looking for my brothers. Sam and Dean? They said they were stopping by here yesterday but I haven't seen them since."

"No, sorry—" John said, shaking his head, then stopped, his eyes narrowing as he frowned. "Why would they have stopped by here?"

Good friggin' question. Alex stuck her tongue out enough to wet her lips nervously. "Because—uh—"

"Because they were trying to stop an angel from the future from killing you," Cas said, breaking his silence. John and Mary looked at him like he had two heads, then at Alex for an explanation.

She made a 'oh gosh, this happens all the time' face. "Don't mind Cas. Uh, he's a little loopy from the um, allergy medicine."

Mary looked at her with narrowed eyes. Alex could see growing mistrust behind the careful smile. "I thought you said he had a stomach bug."

Shit on a stick, she had forgotten that. "Yes— _yes_ —I did," Alex said, pretending to be totally confident and at ease, but inwardly scrambling. She laughed a nervous little laugh, jerked her thumb toward a very unamused Cas. "He's got pretty bad allergies, to uh, everything..." Alex couldn't stop the bad lies from coming, a total mess under her parents confused gazes. "Grass you know and, and um also trees… bushes... it just all messes him up."

Crap. _Crap!_ This could not be going any worse—Alex had never heard worse lies in her whole freaking life. Mary, however, seemed to be giving them the benefit of the doubt, standing up and giving them a smile. "Let me put on some tea."

Alex watched her mother leave. Mary could definitely tell something was up. Alex was inwardly cussing herself out. Dad was leaning forward over a knee, looking between them with a polite, if somewhat forced smile. "So, which house did you move into? I... don't remember one being for sale."

Of course not. "Just a couple houses down," Alex answered vaguely, shrinking back a little under his gaze. He seemed to notice that. Frowning slightly he turned to Cas, apparently not interested in her anymore.

"You got a job, young man?" Alex frowned at that comment—Dad had to be like twenty-five right now, and Cas looked like at least thirty-five… why did Dad call him that?

Cas looked at John without any expression whatsoever. "Yes, I am an ang—"

"Anesthesiologist!" Alex put in fast, and gave Cas a meaningful look, to which he only frowned, clearly not understanding. Alex wanted to stand up and shout 'why?!'—she was definitely not sure if this could get any more ridiculous and the universe owed her an answer as to why this was going so horribly. But she just kept a smile plastered across her face, hoping for the best. "So, you didn't notice two guys around yesterday?" she asked, trying to keep her face and tone pleasant. "One freakishly tall one with a lot of hair? The other one kind of smart mouthy and overbearing?"

John looked at her oddly, and shook his head. "No, can't say I saw them." He was still looking at Cas, still focused on the previous subject which Alex was trying to sidestep. "An anesthesiologist, huh? That's pretty impressive." He looked at Alex kind of appraisingly, then back at Cas again. "Now, this may be a little improper of me to say, but— _Cas_?—you look a little too old for this young lady here."

Alex's mouth dropped open and she looked at Cas, who was staring at John bleakly. Is that why he'd called him young man a minute ago—because he thought the opposite? Also: "He's not my boyfriend," Alex said, then immediately remembered she'd said they were the neighbors, so what else would they be if not significant others? _Crap_.

Dad looked at her with a darkening expression. "Oh?"

"No," Alex said, shrinking inside, trying to think of something to save face. "He's my—my..." she couldn't think of anything.

Cas was speaking again. "I'm her guard—"

"My gardener!" Alex said, giving Cas an exasperated look and not even bothering to hide it.

John looked at them as if he wasn't sure if they were joking or not. "Your _gardener_?"

Mary reappeared just then, a cup of tea in hand. She held it out to Cas with a smile. "Have some. Hot tea makes everything better."

"I'm not sure that's true," Castiel said with narrowed eyes. Alex nudged him with her knee and he looked at her, getting a weird look from the side of her eyes. He looked back at Mary, expression still a little perplexed. He took the tea. "But thank you."

Mary sat back down after telling Cas again to 'drink up' and Alex tried to think of something normal to say or comment on. "Your home is lovely," she said, but honestly she hadn't noticed one damn thing about it. "Just the right size to start a family," she continued with false cheer.

Mary seemed to automatically beam at that comment, looked at John adoringly, who smiled at her, put his hand on hers. Alex's heart tugged a little, her facade wobbled. My God, they were in love. John was chuckling. "I can't wait to have a house full of boys."

Alex felt her smile fade a little at that comment. " _John_ ," Mary laughed, pushing him lightly, playfully.

"What?" he grinned. "I wouldn't know what to _do_ with a girl."

"That's apparent," Cas muttered darkly. John heard that and frowned, and Mary too.

In fact, Mary stood up, smiled tightly now. "Alex, before you two go… can I get you to help me with something in the kitchen?"

"I'm... not good in the kitchen…" Alex protested.

Mary insisted. "It'll take two seconds, sweetie, now come on."

Okay, so they were about to be kicked out. And with no answers, either! Where the hell were Sam and Dean? Alex stood up and John did too in unison, his hulking six-foot-two frame dwarfing Alex and Mary both. "I've gotta grab my jacket and head to work," John said apologetically and walked toward Alex, holding out his hand—and Alex flinched away by instinct. He frowned at her reaction, seemed taken aback. "Just… wanted to shake your hand, neighbor," John said, eyeing her cautiously, uncertainly.

Alex, recovered, feigned casual pleasantness again and reached out to shake his hand. "Right. Nice to meet you, John."

"You too, Alex." He seemed kind of guarded toward her now. Alex felt bad about it, too. This wasn't the Dad she'd known. Not at all.

John moved over to the couch and held his hand out to Cas, who still sat on the couch, holding his tea cup sullenly in both hands. He didn't make a single move. In fact he was looking at John with something close to loathing. John gave up, looking confused, and he walked back down the hallway. Mary clearly got the same awkward vibes everyone else was getting, but gave Cas a polite little smile anyway. "Drink your tea," she said again to Cas, then led Alex toward the kitchen.

Mom was super nice, making tea for the sick guy, insisting he drink it a couple times over—they walked into the kitchen and suddenly Alex was flying sideways into the wall. Mary slammed her there, holding her there with one hand—the other hand held a really huge hunting knife at Alex's throat. " _Who are you_?" Mary demanded. Surprised, Alex stared at her mom, more impressed with her than anything else. Maybe she should be alarmed that someone was threatening her life, but all she could think was that Dean hadn't been lying… Mom was _badass_! "I said _who are you_?" Mary repeated in a low hiss. "You've got hunter written all over you," she shoved Alex a little harder, demandingly. "Are you here to hurt my husband? What do you _want_?"

"I'm looking for my brothers like I said," Alex said honestly and got another shove in reply.

"Stop with the lies and tell me who you are," Mary demanded.

Okay then.

In the space of one single second, Alex grabbed the handle of Mom's knife with one hand, slid her other arm between their bodies in unison even as she savagely bent the knife out of Mom's grip easily, she used her arm as leverage and whirled Mom around, slammed her against the wall—and suddenly they were just as they had been before, but now Alex was the one in control, the one holding the knife. Mary looked surprised more than anything else. Alex turned the knife away, raised her eyebrows meaningfully, showing her mom she wasn't an enemy.

"...Who are you?" Mary asked again, but quietly this time.

Alex drew in a deep breath. Hell, she had no other clue what to do, so she told the truth. "I'm Alex." She drew herself up a bit. "Winchester." She stepped back, letting mom go. "Your… your daughter."

Mary's expression went from ' _did I hear you right_ ' to ' _are you fucking kidding me_ ' to ' _wait_ …' in the span of three seconds. She opened her mouth to say something, but then stopped, looking at Alex carefully, scrutinizing her completely. For a brief second, Alex had this insane hope that Mom was going to look at her and _see_ who she was, _recognize_ her somehow… but that didn't happen. Mom's expression changed, went cold. "You're _crazy_ ," she said, and grabbed Alex roughly by her jacket—then her eyes rolled back in her head and she fell over unconscious. 

"What the hell Cas?!" Alex exclaimed in horror—Cas had stepped in, touched two fingers to Mary's head, rendering the woman into an unconscious heap. "What did you do?"

"Michael," Cas said, breathing heavily, standing oddly. "He was here."

"Where?" Alex asked, suddenly stock still.

"In John."

Alex looked at him like he'd gone stark raving mad. " _What_?"

"I'm not sure how or why, but Michael used John—your father as a vessel."

"Her _father_?" Came a new voice. "The hell are you talking about?" John was there behind them in the doorway, wearing a jacket and a freaked out expression—then he saw Mary on the floor and fear flashed across his features. He took a step back, looking at Alex then Cas in fear. "What did you _do_ to my _wife_?"

"She'll be fine, John," Cas said flatly, uncaringly, then looked at Alex. "She put a dangerous amount of sedatives in the tea. Of course, they won't affect me. I don't think."

Alex gaped at Cas, then looked at Mom. Wow, that was double impressive. Sneaky.

"Who are you people?" John demanded.

Castiel drew himself up a little bit. "I'm an angel of the Lord."

John's expression darkened—an expression Alex recognized. "Buddy, drugs are _bad_ ," he said, and Alex suddenly saw, tried to warn Cas with a shout—she recognized when her dad was about to snap—John charged the couple feet between himself and Cas, slamming the angel up against the wall. Alex tried grabbing John's shoulder to yank him off Cas, but John shoved her away hard and she fell down backwards. "What did you do to her?!" John screamed at Cas, shaking him roughly. "Tell me, _now_!"

Cas just stared down at John his expression chilling, calm. "Do not presume to tell me what to do, John Winchester," he said lowly, and brought his two fingers to John's temple. "Now, forget."

John crumpled to the floor. Alex, shakily getting up from where she'd been shoved, looked at Cas in a mixture of disbelief and confusion. "Forget? _Forget_? You just erased their memories?"

He ignored her question, stumbled over to her. "Why didn't you tell me that your father mistreated you?" he demanded, and Alex took a step back, bumping up against the kitchen counter.

"What?" she asked, barely a whisper.

"You're scared of him," Cas said, almost angrily. "You were afraid when he tried to shake your hand."

"No I wasn't," Alex protested—possibly too passionately.

Cas just stepped closer, his expression so intense. "Did he strike you in anger?"

Alex went cold. "How dare you ask me that," she said, and it was supposed to be anger that she asked it with, but instead, her voice shook with quiet fear.

Cas's frown changed from anger to deep sadness. Like he saw right through her and knew the answer was yes. He looked so deeply affected by it that Alex couldn't keep looking at him. She swallowed painfully and spoke with a sharp, hard tone. "It wasn't… it wasn't a lot, okay? It was only when he drank a lot. And only when I _deserved_ it," she said more angrily, then brushed past him brusquely, trying to shove her emotions down deep where they couldn't surface, because they hurt too much and she had thought she was done with this crap a long time ago.

Behind her, Cas hadn't turned around. They faced opposite directions. "How could a child _deserve_ such a thing?" he asked quietly. He truly didn't understand. As he looked down at John Winchester's unconscious form, his fist curled tightly at his side in unadulterated anger. Ever since stepping into this house and seeing the man walk into the room, Castiel had been fighting fury and anger toward him. Because he'd known this man had undervalued his daughter, had failed to protect her and considered _giving her away_ —but this new revelation he discovered just moments ago—that John Winchester had physically hurt or intimidated his daughter to whatever extent great or small—made Castiel feel like his blood was boiling beneath his skin, made him want to obliterate this man.

Alex turned around and looked at Cas, saw his fist, saw his angry stare aimed at her dad. "Cas." She said, but he didn't look away from her dad. She went over to him, grabbed his arm. " _Cas_! This guy right here—he's not the guy who pushed me around as a kid." He looked at her, his venomous expression fading. Alex's heart almost stopped when she realized his face right then—it was the exact same expression Dean had always had when Dad had gone off the rails and shoved her or yelled at her or, yes, a few times, struck her. Alex looked away, ashamed.

Cas's fist loosened then relaxed completely and he looked morose once more. Alex shook her head, letting go of Cas's arm. This was a mess, a total mess. "Okay, just—just _forget_ all this—" she said, chopping her hands forward helplessly, "Where the _hell_ are Sam and Dean?"

He looked at her for a long, tense moment. "I won't forget this," he said, responding grimly to the first part of what she'd said. "But I'll respect your wishes if you don't want to speak of it again." He looked unhappy about it, but seemed to drop it, squinting around the kitchen, his eyes appearing to take in things that she couldn't see. "They're not here anymore," he said. "I'm fairly certain."

"How?" Alex asked.

"John and Mary's minds were tampered with recently, and Michael's presence… I can sense it… he must have sent them back."

"Their minds were tampered with recently? Wasn't that _you_ just now?" she asked cynically.

He glanced at her. "No. Well, yes. But their memories were altered recently, before I even touched them."

Alex shook her head, unhappy. "Did you really have to do that?" It bothered her. And she hadn't wanted that moment with her mom to end… even if Mom had been about to kick her ass.

"I wanted to keep the timeline uncomplicated," Cas said simply, to which Alex gave him a look that said 'really?'

She didn't believe that for a second. "After all the crap about fate being unchangeable?" she asked angrily.

"There are certain rules which must be observed when dealing with time travel—" Cas was saying, but Alex, at the end of her rope, unintentionally channeled her oldest brother by cutting him off and shouting " _bullshit_!"

Cas's expression flickered as if in surprise, then became tightly drawn and Alex stood there breathing heavily for a couple seconds, then shut her eyes tight to keep it together. "I need a drink," she muttered before opening her eyes up again.

Cas looked surprisingly guilty, staring down at John and Mary. "I could… undo it..." he said, and his eyes falteringly came back to hers, waiting for her to tell him what to do. Alex looked at him in a mixture of unhappiness at him but also at herself. She was pissed that he'd done that, but... it didn't _really_ matter if Mary and John Winchester remembered this weird couple in their house in 1978, did it? And when she thought it over objectively, Cas _had_ said all that stuff about being an angel and then Mom had figured out something was up and attacked her in the kitchen—Dad walked in on it all… Alex's indignant anger was fading rapidly. Instead, she just felt sad, looking down at her pretty blonde mom on the floor. Then her dad, before he had even _been_ her dad. This was beyond screwed up.

Cas squinted, put a hand to his head, and Alex glanced at him, then went to him—was he about to start spewing blood again? Then she realized he was listening to something, not in pain. "It's Dean. He's calling to me from 2010." He looked at her. "We should go."

Alex felt her eyebrows raise in trepidation, she looked at him apprehensively. "Cas, you can barely stand up now, how are you supposed to be able to make another trip?"

"It will be easier with just you," he said.

"Just as long as you're sure you'll be all right," she said, and looked at him carefully. He looked distinctly regretful, then met her eyes somberly.

"I'm not sure of anything anymore," he said, and if the mood had been lighter, Alex might have joked about him being emo. But he meant it, and she could tell. And it kind of worried her, honestly, all this talk recently about his 'bad choices' and uncertainty about making decisions, his insistence that he was useless and a failure. Something was going on with him. He paused, looking at her parents still forms on the kitchen floor. "I can still change it back."

Alex looked at them too. Memorized Mom's face. Looked around the kitchen at the gingham decor, the pretty blue teapot and matching cups neatly lined up on a shelf, the cross stitch that had a mother duck with ducklings hanging on an otherwise empty wall. Little pieces of Mary Winchester, little glimpses into her mind and heart. Alex let out a soft breath. "No. It doesn't matter. _I_ remember." She faced him and took in a deep breath, nodding once. "I'm ready to go now."

He'd touched their foreheads when he brought them to 1978. But with just Alex, he just nodded somberly, reached out, and grasped her shoulder instead.

"Jesus _Christ_ , Sam," Dean was saying, sounding like he'd reached the end of his rope. "What the hell are we supposed to do?"

Alex and Cas were in the motel room where this crazy thing had all started and Dean was sitting on a bed, faced away, Sam beside him, turned away too. In front of Alex, Cas pitched forward and she staggered as he pretty much fell forward onto her. "Guys, help me!" she gasped, and both brothers whirled at the sound of her voice.

Sam, closer, got to her first, grabbing Cas's woozy form easily, getting him under one arm. "Hey. Hey, hey! Whoa, I gotcha!"

Dean caught him under the other arm a fraction of a second later, and looked at Alex with complete and utter relief on his face. "You crazy kids," he said, "You made it!"

Cas looked almost drunk, staring at something that wasn't there. "I'm—uhhh," he mumbled, and his eyes rolled back as his head fell backwards limply.

"Not _again_ ," Alex muttered, and then pointed at one of the beds, full of chagrin. Her brothers hauled him over to the bed and flopped him down, then turned to look at her. She looked from Cas's unconscious form to them. "Hi," she said tiredly, and smiled at them, relieved, exhausted emotionally, so glad it was over.

Sam came over and hugged her tightly and she protested a little, "Mffmfff, Sam!" her face smushed up against his massive chest.

"We, uh, got a little worried," he explained, letting her go.

"A _little_?" she asked fondly, rubbing her jaw like he'd hurt her in the hug.

Dean was still beside Cas, looking down at him intently, checking his pulse and breathing. "Seems okay," he said. Alex came over to thew other side of the bed. "How long was he out the first time?" he asked, seeming concerned about Cas.

"Three, maybe four hours," Alex said, remembering cleaning him up, remembering _Candy Land_ , remembering sleeping next to him...

"So what'd you guys do when he woke up?" Dean asked, and even though he tried to sound casual, Alex heard the hidden, suspicious question.

She looked at him, completely deadpan. "Lots and _lots_ of sex." Dean's face went completely shocked.

Sam laughed out loud at that and Alex's serious expression gave way to a pleased with herself smile. Dean, of course, was giving Sam the evil eye, then made a face at Alex. "Ha _ha_ ," he rolled his eyes. "Very funny." He looked like he'd never heard anything stupider.

Alex looked at Dean challengingly. "What the hell do you _think_ I did?" she asked. "I went and looked for you when you didn't show. Couldn't find you. Met Mom and Dad though." She shook her head a little. "Good times."

Sam seemed interested in that. "Did they remember us visiting?"

"No," Alex said. "They don't remember any of it. Cas took their memories when we left, too. Don't know how, he's so friggin' low on battery power." They all looked at the still form of Cas on the bed.

"I could use a drink now," Dean said. "Beers all around?"

"Beer's not gonna cut it," Alex muttered in a harrowed tone.

"Bring out the hunter's helper," Sam agreed and Dean rolled his eyes but complied. He got out some plastic cups and a bottle of whiskey.

"What happened? With Anna?" Alex asked. Dean poured three generous drinks. She watched Cas quietly as he explained.

"Well, Anna's dead—Michael ganked her, didn't seem to like her plan to kill Sammy. Michael used Dad as a meatsuit." Dean chuckled darkly, handed a cup to Sam. "More on _that_ later. My brain's fried. But the short and sweet version is that Mom's fine, Dad's fine, Sam's fine. And we didn't change a _damn thing_." He handed Alex her cup, looked at her, then Sam, then Cas. "Well… I guess this is it," Dean said.

"This is what?" Sam asked.

"Team Free Will. One ex-blood junkie, one dropout with six bucks to his name, one punkass kid sister, and Mr. Comatose over there. It's awesome."

"You're not funny," Alex commented, downing a huge burning gulp of whiskey. It helped her feel better immediately.

Dean shrugged. "I'm not laughing."

"What are you talking about, anyway? Team Free Will?" Sam asked.

"They all say we'll say yes," Dean said. "And it's getting pretty damn annoying."

"What if they're right?" Alex questioned, looking at him sidelong.

Dean took another drink. "They're not."

There was a pause. "They might be," Alex said. She didn't like it, but she wasn't going to avoid it, either.

Dean looked at her, expression hovering between a glare and a grimace. "Don't say that, Al."

Alex shrugged and set her cup down on the dresser beside her. "I'm just saying. You've tried to change the past _twice_ now. And neither time worked. Why's the future gonna be any different?"

"Geez, Miss Optimistic," Dean said. "Because I've _decided._ Maybe we can't change the past, but the future ain't written yet."

"Do you really think you can say no _forever_?" Alex asked. "Run from fate, destiny, whatever, _forever_?"

"Fate?" Dean repeated, like it was a bad word. " _Please_. Don't tell me you believe in that BS."

Sam, who'd been quiet this whole time, sipping his drink, finally spoke up. "Michael got Dad to say yes."

"That was different," Dean said immediately. "Anna was about to kill Mom."

Sam looked at Dean intently. "And if you could save Mom... what would _you_ say?" He hesitated a long time, then looked at Alex. "If you could save… _Alex_ , Dean... what would you say?"

"What do you mean?" Alex asked, her frown matching Dean's.

Sam shrugged, set his drink down too, looking at his twin with a great deal of apprehensiveness. "Sooner or later they're gonna try to use you against us. I mean, they already have a little," Sam said, referring loosely to the whole Lucifer thing. Alex looked down, feeling much worse again.

Dean took a deep breath, staring at his now-empty cup. "Why do you think I've been such a pain in the ass lately? I know that. I'm just waiting for someone to swoop in and take her from us. And I can never decide if she's safer with us or without and I can't friggin' take much more."

Sam frowned, looking at the bed behind Alex and Dean. "Whoa—where'd Cas go?"

They all looked at the bed—empty. "Friggin' angels, man," Dean said, aggravated. He went over to pour himself more whiskey as Alex looked around with a slack jaw.

"My life blows," Dean said, and raised his once-again full cup. "Here's to that."

Alex ignored him, staring at the bed for a couple seconds, then decisively grabbed up her duffel bag. She got her phone out of the side pocket where she'd shoved it last then threw a "be right back" over her shoulder. She hurried outside the motel room, stood near the chipped metal railing there and scrolled through her contacts. Found who she was looking for and hit _call_. It rang twice.

"Hello, Alex," Cas answered.

"Why do you always leave like that?" she demanded without ceremony.

There was a pause. "Like what?"

"Without a single word or a goodbye," She said, sounding a little madder than she meant to sound. She tried to calm herself, took a deep breath. "You were passed out on the bed and then you just disappeared—I mean… are you okay?"

"Yes," his deep voice replied. "Perfectly fine." 

"Perfectly fine?" she repeated. "Like last time 'perfectly fine'?"

There was another pause. "You shouldn't worry about me."

She paused, made a face, then smiled helplessly, watching the traffic passing out on the highway in front of the motel. "Yeah well. Too late for that."

"I see," he replied, and Alex felt herself growing introspective at dangerous levels. She felt like she needed to tell him something substantial, something meaningful.

"Cas—" she couldn't think of how to say all she was feeling and thinking. So she settled on, "I hope you feel better soon."

"Thank you, Alex." There was a long pause. "Should... we end the call now?"

Alex shook her head, smiling to herself. As usual, she found his social awkwardness completely perfect. "Sounds good."

She didn't hang up though. He had gone quiet again, then asked: "Is this the part where we hang up?"

She held back a laugh, just barely. "Uh, yes," Alex said. Another long pause.

"Now?" Cas asked. Alex was laughing now despite her best efforts—these funny Cas moments were always so out of left field, and she wasn't good at not being one hundred perfect amused by them.

"Yes, _now,"_ she said, grinning. "Bye." She closed her phone. And the realized someone was standing behind her. She turned.

"Finally called that guy from the bar, huh?" Dean asked, giving her a toothy grin. Shit, how long had he been there, and wait—what guy from what bar? Oh wait. Yeah, some guy had given her his number last week. She didn't even remember what he looked like. She ignored Dean's question and rolled her eyes, hoping he wouldn't ask again. He took a swig of the beer he was now holding and came to stand beside her, leaning over the railing. He looked at her long and hard. "You okay?" 

Alex felt distinctly guarded. "Why wouldn't I be?" 

"You saw Dad. Met Mom. Trippy, right?"

"That's a good word for it I guess," Alex muttered and thought about it a minute. She smiled really faintly, remembering fondly. "Mom was… so beautiful. And a total badass."

"Right?" Dean asked. He sounded so proud.

"I think maybe she might have been able to kick my ass on a good day," Alex said, grinning crookedly. "Wish I'd known her. Even just a little while." She looked at Dean with a more tense expression, her smile gone now. "You're lucky."

He made a soft little airy sound. "Not lucky enough." Dean paused, darkening, and Alex knew he was thinking about how Mom had died, wondering if he could have stopped it.

She picked at one of her nails in distraction. "Dad was… different."

"Yeah, uh. He was." They were silent for a really long moment. Dean seemed to sense Alex's internal thoughts.

"You'll drive yourself crazy if you think about it too much," he told her.

"About what?"

"What would've changed," he said. "If the fire never happened."

Alex didn't have to wonder. "Everything would have changed. Everything."

She oddly found herself remembering a very random moment from childhood—God, how old had she been… maybe seven or eight? She'd been small for her age then. Dad had been teaching them to shoot shotguns.

" _Hold it tight into your shoulder or the kick can break your bone," Dad said, pulling the butt of the gun into Alex's shoulder tightly, yanking her arm up so that the very heavy shotgun was straighter._

_Dean, watching from the sidelines, looked uncertain. "Dad, I don't think she's—"_

_John gave his son a dangerous, silencing look. "Dean, we've been over this. Your sister needs to be able to shoot this damn thing if she's alone and unprotected, you hear me?" He turned back to Alex, who was struggling to hold the shotgun up. "Now line up the sights and fire and," he made a frustrated, impatient sound as she struggled, "for Christsakes, hold the damn thing into your shoulder like I_ told _you."_

 _She tried to do what he said, to stop pissing him off, to just do something right. The shotgun had been so heavy to her and she had barely been able to lift it, let alone solidly aim it or anything. She'd squeezed the trigger and the gun went off. And she'd tried so hard to not cry from the immediate pain when the butt of the gun slammed into her little shoulder, but she hadn't been able to stop herself. Dad had seeming to be annoyed that she was acting like that. "Stop that Alex. Don't cry about it. It hurts a little now but this will save your life someday, you hear me? This will_ save _your_ life _." He seemed to relent a little at the sight of her distress and patted her roughly on the head. He'd crouched down to her level. She remembered how strongly he smelled of alcohol. "Sorry, Al. Maybe you're not ready for this, huh?" he stood up as if to walk off and a switch had flipped inside Alex._

_Defiant, determined, she'd glared, cocked the shotgun (a feat in and of itself) and reassumed the aiming stance, already wincing. She'd fired another shot, and the pain had been even worse the second time. John—Dad—looked proud of her then. She did it a third time, barely able to hold back tears of pain. And finally she'd gotten a, "that's my girl." And then Sam said something and called Dad over. Dad had walked away. And Dean, watching silently, saw Alex break down crying silently, cradling her shoulder alone._

_The bruise and the pain had lasted for weeks._

"You okay? Alex?" Dean's voice startled Alex out of the memory.

"Uh, yeah. Just thinking," she said. He nodded. He seemed to get it. For all the times Dean was an asshole to her, they really did have an understanding when it came to certain things. And Dad was one of them. Alex cleared her throat, turning her head toward him. "You know, for a little while there, I thought you guys were dead back in seventy-eight. When I couldn't find you."

Dean looked at her sadly. He heard what she hadn't said. "I won't leave, Alex, not forever. You know that."

Alex shook her head, cynical eyes going down into middle space. "I don't believe you," she said, being bluntly honest. "Everyone always leaves."

Dean took another swig of his beer. "Well, not me."

Alex shot him a threatening look. "Better not." She tilted her head to the side, thinking of something, and straightened up a little bit, poked him with her index finger. "Hey, also. You owe me a damn apology."

Instead of getting pissy or defensive or asking 'what the hell for' like she thought he would—Dean nodded and stared out in front of him. "For what Gabriel showed you. Yeah. I know. And I _am_ sorry." There was a long pause. "I didn't mean it, I was just… trying to get Dad to take me with him." He sighed regretfully, and he sounded like he was talking to himself now. "The things I did to try and get on that man's good side." He let the thought go, turned back to her. "You're my kid sister and I'd do anything for you. You know that."

"Then you should have apologized a lot sooner, jerk," Alex said, half-serious, half-joking.

Dean heaved a heavy sigh, getting uncomfortable. "I know. I just… these chick flick moments, man," he complained.

"Shut up," Alex teased, grinning at him, bumping his shoulder with hers. "You love them."

Dean's face changed and looked at her with maybe the most emotionally open expression she'd ever seen on his face before. He shook his head. "I love _you_."

Alex froze and looked at him in shock, not sure if she'd heard right. "You what? Are you… are you _dying_ or something?" she asked. She wasn't really joking, either.

He looked a little crestfallen at her question. "Can't a big brother… tell a little sister… you know, that he loves her?"

"Yeah... but you never say it, or I mean, not that often at least."

Dean set his beer down on the railing and leaned his hands both on it heavily. "I just don't wanna lose you. Or Sam."

"You won't," she said, confused by his quick apology, his expression of affection, then this cryptic statement about losing her and Sam. He turned his head and looked at her, then he reached for her, pullling her into a tight hug. Hugs from Dean usually comforted her. But this one just made her feel like something was really wrong.

* * *

**That Night**

In the dim light of the bedside table, the only one awake, Alex smoothed Dad's journal open to the first section; to the entries she'd always read the most. After seeing Dad earlier today… she felt like she needed to revisit these pages. The entries in the beginning were the most personal... they got more and more about supernatural stuff and less and less about Dad's thoughts as the journal progressed…. but in the beginning, it was just Dad, his thoughts, his worries, a glimpse into who he'd been before the hunt had overtaken him. Alex used to read and re-read some of these entries, because some parts of them had made her feel closer to Dad. She'd been able to tell from these that he'd _really_ loved her once, that he hadn't always looked at her and seen her as an obligation.

_**December 4, 1983  
** Last night I was sitting in the kid's room, in the dark, and I heard these noises… Mike said it was the wind, and okay, maybe it was, but it sounded almost like whispering, like someone was whispering a name, under their breath, again and again… like something is out there in the dark, watching us… I stayed up all night, just watching them, protecting them. From what, I don't know. Am I protecting them? Am I hurting them? I haven't let them out of my sight since the fire. Dean still hardly talks. I try to make small talk, or ask him if he wants to throw the baseball around. Anything to make him feel like a normal kid again. He never budges from my side – or from his brother and sister. Every morning when I wake up, Dean is inside their crib, one arm wrapped around each of the twins. Like he's trying to protect them from whatever is out there in the night._

_Sammy cries a lot, wanting his Mom. And Alex still doesn't make a sound. Sometimes her face scrunches up like she's crying, but no sounds come out. It scares the hell out of me and I don't know what to do. One twin can't stop crying, the other is just—silent. It breaks my heart to think that soon they won't remember Mary at all. I can't let her memory die._

_**December 11, 1983  
** Sammy has finally started sleeping through the night, and now that Dean shares a bed with him and his sister, he's out like a light as well. I'm not sure about Alex… before the fire, she always wanted to be rocked to sleep and I loved that time. She'd lay her little head on my shoulder and I'd rub her back. She would make these sweet little sleepy sounds in my ear. Now, she doesn't sleep unless she's sandwiched between her brothers. I sometimes try rocking her to sleep and she cries silently, won't hold still. It breaks my heart. I keep hoping things will return to normal, but they don't._

Alex paused sadly. That line in there about the sweet sleepy sounds. It always grabbed right at her heart. She'd always felt the love and tenderness of a father from him when she read that. That he loved to rock her to sleep as a baby and hear the sounds she'd made. The idea of him holding her close, her head resting on his shoulder in trust and attachment. Alex had all but memorized this entry when she was younger, because approval and affection were so few and far between from Dad. In fact, by the time she was old enough to read and write, he'd be all but emotionally dead to her. He'd kept her at arm's length pretty much until Sam left for Stanford. And then it had been far, far too late.

_**December 25, 1983  
** Didn't sleep again last night. Woke up in a cold sweat and realized it was Christmas. Where's Mary? That was my thought all night, and it stayed in my mind all day. Christmas without my wife seems unreal. Our celebration was clumsy… a crooked two foot tall plastic tree, a bunch of junk food stuffed in the stockings, and a pile of sports equipment for the boys… football, basketball, soccer. I didn't really know what to get for Alex, girl stuff was Mary's forte, and I got so depressed in the aisle of girl toys that I couldn't buy a thing._

_I think about my reality. Mary will never see Dean hit a home run. She'll never see Alex learn to walk, or hear Sammy say his first words. She won't take Dean to his first day at school, or stay up all night with me worrying the first night he takes the car out. It's not right that she's not here, and that's all I could think about today—that and I really don't think I know how to parent alone. I'm so angry I can barely see straight – I just want my wife back._

_The police have officially declared our case closed. What a Christmas present, huh?_

Alex's eyes hovered over this line: _I got so depressed in the aisle of girl toys that I couldn't buy a thing._ Alex remembered the first time she read this journal entry and saw that line, she'd felt so guilty for being a girl; for being something that reminded her dad of his dead wife. After reading that, Alex had gotten upset (understatement, really) and brutally ripped all the arms and legs off her Barbie dolls, gotten the scissors out to cut her hair off. Dean had found her and calmed her down, stopping her from cutting off her own hair. Then held her tight while she cried in silence. Alex shook her head now, realizing how ironic it was, how Dean had done all the stuff a father should do for her throughout the years. He'd gotten on her case about her abysmal grades (she hadn't cared about school), he'd gotten pissed at her when she mooned around in teenage despair. He'd protected her and Sammy from dad's drunken rages. Her throat hitched as Alex thought maybe the reason she and Dean had always been so close was because they knew their Dad's anger better than Sammy did. They had always turned to each other for help making it through.

Alex turned the page and hesitated. She didn't like to read this entry, but she always did anyway, unable not to. She didn't even know why Dad had kept it in there, honestly. There were a lot of torn out pages, but this one had stayed.

_**February 8, 1984  
** Today I don't know what happened. I was trying to piece together some things I'd found from local newspapers. Stuff about bizarre murders. I was thinking maybe they were somehow related to Mary's death, because the reports said the people had died in really strange ways—their insides had completely liquified. Well, I was trying to do all this and Sammy was fussing, Alex was getting into everything (she's toddling all over the place these days) and Dean was trying to get me to help him with this Lego thing he was building. He kept trying to get me to come over, and at one point he grabbed at my arm and asked Daddy please. I don't know what came over me, but all the anger and maybe some of the alcohol too, it just set me off. I snapped at him and shoved him away, harder than I should have, and he fell backwards into little Alex, who had been walking behind him. She hit her face hard on the edge of the coffee table. She made no sound, she never does, but she was crying, her eyebrow was gashed open and bleeding. I scooped her up and yelled at Dean about what he had done to his sister. Sammy started screaming real loud when I did that. And Dean shrank away from me. _

_I'm left wondering what the hell this is doing to me. If I can do this at all. Sometimes I think I should just let it go and focus on the kids._

_But this is something I have to do. I have to make sure Mary's death is avenged, if it's the last thing I do. Nothing else matters as much as that._

Alex re-read the last lines, the ones that made her heart clench. _Nothing else matters as much as that._ She believed those words completely. Her life, her brothers' lives were evidence of that. She shut her eyes, set the journal down onto her knees.

 _"He was a good man. I_ know _he was."_

Alex had said this to Cas the other day. She considered for a moment her words and the meaning, the desperation and heaviness behind them. John Winchester _was_ a good man. Or at least, she believed that he _had_ been, once. But over the years he forfeited his heart in favor of a mission he could never accomplish. John Winchester had lost sight of what remained, blinded by the lure of retaliation and vengeance. Nothing— _no one_ —had mattered to him as much as the thought of killing whatever had killed Mom. And everyone around him had paid the price of his obsession. Alex's heart broke anew every time she thought of the man her father had become. She had seen with her own eyes, just today, that he wasn't always that way. Azazel had changed all of their lives, forever. Wrecked the family almost completely.

And maybe Dad got what he wanted in the end—Azazel, dead—but at what cost? Dad was dead and gone. Killing Azazel didn't bring Mom back. It didn't fix any of the problems the Winchester family had been subjected to. Yes, Alex and her brothers had survived, but just barely, and to do _what_? To be on their own, left to deal with the devastating emotional aftermath. All they had left was each other, and even that was falling apart.

She thought of who John Winchester had been and who he had turned into. A man who had left his children with a cursed existence. _He was a good man. I know he was._ And he had been. He had been. The darkness, the warfare, it had taken who he was. Alex opened her eyes again, bowing her head, reflecting sadly that this must be what happened when a good man went to war.

At that thought, she looked over at Dean, asleep, above the covers as always. Her eyes flickered to Sam's hulking outline on the other bed beyond. They were good men. The best. And they were at a war like no other.

She would give anything to save them. But somewhere, deep inside, she had a dark, creeping fear that nothing could save them. Nothing at all.


	26. Insatiable

" _The heart wants what it wants."  
_ \- Emily Dickinson

* * *

**Three Days Later  
Plainville, Kansas  
...Valentine's Day**

Agent Wailer—a.k.a. Alex Winchester—shrugged off her suit jacket and laid it over the chair on top of Sam and Dean's. She wore her typical FBI getup—black dress shoes (not heels—she refused) and a pale blue button-up tucked neatly into navy slacks. She'd made an effort on the hair—pulling it half back and fussing over it, making it look sort of decent for once. She glanced up at Agents Marley and Cliff (Dean and Sam). They were rolling up their sleeves because this particular examination was about to get a little messy. Alex reflected humorously that this was so _typical_ that they would spend Valentine's Day this way.

Usually when they ran their FBI sham, they divided and conquered—Dean always headed it up and took one of the twins with him while the other one checked into other leads or just sat it out. After all, three agents in one place was unnecessary most times and tended to raise eyebrows. But none of the Winchesters had wanted to miss out on _this_ particular case. It was weird... even for them. A couple had literally _eaten_ each other to death—leaving very little for the coroner to let them examine, but, still. The same night that this apparently ravenous couple had eaten it (Dean's pun, not Alex's), another couple had shot and killed each other in a double suicide. It wasn't clear if the deaths were related or not. Something supernatural was definitely involved, at least on account of the couple who ate each other.

Saint James Medical Center's coroner, a rotund and jovial old guy, had done what most people did: taken one look at their FBI badges and given the Winchesters free run of the place—just instructed that they be sure and put the body parts back where they'd found them—which was the refrigerator. Dean snapped on some latex gloves then tossed a pair to each of his siblings. Alex caught hers, yanked them on, then grabbed one of the disposable blue aprons that Sam and Dean were already wearing, putting it on as she watched Sam bring over several clear containers of bloody human remains.

He set them down onto the stainless steel examination table in the middle of the room while Alex looked through drawers.

"Geez, there's not much left of these people..." Dean commented as he looked over the containers and took a seat at the head of the table. He pulled one of the bins to himself.

Alex sat down across from Sam and set down a handful of tongs then opened the container in front of her—some entrails. Eugh. She was suddenly rethinking her eagerness to come along to the morgue on this one. She poked through the guts unenthusiastically with tongs and offhandedly wondered where Cas was even as she was disturbingly drawing comparisons between how similar these guts looked to canned spaghetti. It had been three days since they'd physically seen him. She had texted him yesterday, not able to hold herself back anymore, needing to just know that he was still alive, basically. **Are you okay?** She'd asked. He'd replied about a minute later: **Yes.** And that had been that. She had almost texted him back about ten times after that but had stopped herself each time. Nothing she thought of to write made sense. And she still kind of got the feeling he was avoiding her maybe...

Before she'd never really been too concerned when he disappeared. It was just his mode of operation: appearing unexpectedly, leaving without notice—but now, after seeing him so banged up and weakened, it was hard not to worry about him, not call him and demand a status update on his well-being. This was new: she hadn't really worried about him before… he was a freaking _angel_ for crying out loud—but the past few days worrying about him was pretty much _all_ she'd done. Well, and replaying the time in the honeymoon suite over in her head a million times. Alex hadn't meant for it to happen but she'd felt close to him, safe. Trust was growing more and more. And now there was a noticeable, underlying pang in his absence.

She stabbed at the entrails in front of her bleakly. This sucked.

Dean mumbled something to himself beside Alex and she glanced at him darkly. Her oldest brother had been pissing her off royally the past couple days. His confrontation with Michael in Dad's body had clearly shaken him up—that much was clear to her because he'd been a little shorter tempered and meaner than usual—and he'd been drinking more than what was normal too. Dean drank a lot period point blank, so... that was just _great_. He'd been full on trashed last night and raging about how the music on the radio these days was shit—he'd broken the motel clock by throwing it at the wall, then slurred about how Sam needed to get a damn haircut, and then he'd promptly passed out on the floor. Alex thought it might have been funny another time. But not right now. Dean was constantly losing his temper over little things... he'd shouted at Sam the other day when he'd taken too long to decide what he wanted in the drive-thru, then snapped at Alex when she'd accidentally let some lettuce covered in mayonnaise fall out of her sandwich and onto the back seat of the Impala. She could tell he felt bad about it afterwards, but he never apologized. Just got quiet and stony-faced. Acted like nothing happened, like nothing was wrong.

"Earth to Alex," Sam said, looking at her from across the table. "You okay?"

Refocusing and remembering what she was doing, Alex nodded. "Yeah... just a little tired," she replied, which was true enough. The nightmares were still plaguing her and she _was_ tired. Sam looked at her a minute longer before returning to his examination of a heart. Dean, at the head of the table, was listlessly eyeballing another heart.

"Hey." Dean pushed the container toward Sam, really serious. "Be my Valentine?"

He got an eye roll and a ' _really_?' face from Sam, to which Dean gave a cheesy, fake grin.

"Give me _that_ ," Alex muttered, and pushed the container of entrails at Dean.

He took one look at it and cracked another grin. "Spaghetti, anybody?"

" _Dean_." Sam stopped what he was doing and gave their brother an impatient, annoyed expression. Dean just chuckled at his own joke and stirred through the entrails with the silver clamps wetly, not really being helpful. Alex rolled her eyes and picked up the heart from the container she'd just taken from Dean. _Squish_. The smell of human blood—metallic and cloying—was strong. Sam, who had returned to scrutinizing the heart in front of him paused, seeming to notice something.

"Hey—guys—there's like a weird little mark on this one," he said, frowning and pulling the on-table magnifying glass toward himself. "Like, a number three maybe?" He glanced up at his twin. "Anything weird on that one?"

Alex held the heart in a gloved hand, squinting at a tiny little white mark she'd just noticed just above where the right ventricle was. _What the—?_ "Yeah, actually—" she replied, intrigued, swiveling the magnifying glass toward herself and peering intently through it. Sure enough, there was a tiny little mark in the bright red tissue. It looked like a fancy letter E or maybe a 3, and it seemed familiar, but she couldn't place it. She held the heart out to Sam to compare the marks. "What do you think?"

Sam took it and squinted at it through the magnifying glass, then sat back, surprised. "Yeah." Sam frowned in deep thought, trying to figure it out. "These hearts both have identical marks." He glanced at Dean, then Alex, silent and thinking.

"Okay, _why_?" Dean asked, voicing what they all were wondering.

Sam ignored Dean, looked at Alex for a second opinion. "All right—am I crazy, or do these marks look _Enochian_?"

At that question, Alex grabbed the heart back from Sam. She scrutinized the little symbol again, remembering now where she'd seen something similar to it. "Huh! There's a symbol kind of like this one in the angel banishing sigil. Not _identical_ but…" she trailed off and looked over the heart at Sam, who looked like he had a similar realization, that he was remembering too.

"Yeah," he said intently, sounding like they were onto something. He glanced up at Dean. "I definitely think it's Enochian."

"What like angel scratches?" Dean asked. He'd gotten up and was looking over Sam's shoulder.

He got a bratty look from his sister. "No, the _other_ Enochian," she said sarcastically.

Dean gave her a 'you suck' face and stood, fishing for his phone. "See if I share my candy stash with you ever again," he told her threateningly, putting the phone up to his ear.

Sam watched Dean walk off a couple steps then looked at Alex. He leaned closer to her, wincing playfully for effect. "He thinks there's still some left," he whispered.

Alex pulled an overly dramatic wince. "We're _so dead_ ," she whispered back, and he cracked a grin at that point—and then they both dissolved into smothered laughter over the table full of bloody human remains.

"Cas, it's Dean," they heard their brother boom into the phone. "Yeah, room thirty-one C, basement level… Saint James Medical Center."

"I'm there now," came a familiar deep voice, and at the sound of it, Alex stood up and turned around, almost knocking over her chair.

Cas was standing in front of Dean. They were facing each other, phones still to their ears. "Yeah... I get that," Dean said.

There was a long pause and Cas narrowed his eyes. "I'm... gonna hang up now," he said.

"Right..." Dean replied and in unison, the two lowered their phones. Dean turned around, shaking his head, heading back to the examination table.

Cas pocketed his phone and turned his attention to the other Winchesters, approaching behind Dean. He looked fine—walking normally and appearing alert—back to his old self. Alex hung back near the column at the opposite end of the table, relieved to see him better again. Relieved to see him point blank. "Hello Sam," Cas said first, and then his eyes slid slowly to Alex. "...hello Alex." He paused, taking in her appearance. His head tilted to the side just slightly. "You look nice."

The brothers both gave odd looks toward Cas who still hadn't looked away from Alex. She looked surprised at his compliment. His arms hung at his sides and he had this open, matter-of-fact expression on his face, the slightest hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth. Dean looked between them and cleared his throat, his features twisted into an unhappy expression. "Hey, Romeo—cut the chit chat and take a look at these hearts."

"Hearts?" Castiel turned his attention and walked around the edge of the table next to Dean, who was indicating the table full of human remains.

"Yeah, so, we got a couple who ate each other to death," Dean said. "And this is all that's left."

"Ate each other?" Cas repeated as if he hadn't heard right, a deep frown furrowing his brow.

Dean shrugged. "Bon appetite."

Sam pushed the container toward Cas. "They both have these marks on their hearts. Looks Enochian to me. What do you think?"

Castiel picked up the heart in his bare hand, looking at the organ carefully. Alex watched him closely, noting when his expression changed from studious to apprehensive. "You're right, Sam. These are angelic marks." He sounded disturbed and glanced vaguely in Alex's direction. "I imagine you'll find similar marks on the other couples' hearts as well."

"So, what are they?" Sam asked. "I mean, what do they mean?"

"It's... a mark of union," Castiel said, and he sounded even more disturbed than before. "This man and woman were intended... to mate." He put the heart down, his hand now bloody, and, preoccupied, he shook it, wiping it against the edge of the container.

"To _date_?" Alex asked, thinking she had misheard.

Cas stopped wiping his hand against the container and looked at her kind of hesitantly. In the dim light of the morgue, his eyes looked so dark and full of something that made her go still, made her feel funny. "No... to mate."

Dean and Sam were exchanging a weirded-out look. "Okay, intended by _who_?" Dean asked.

Cas was rubbing his fingers together, looking at the blood left there distractedly. "Well, your people call them 'Cupid.'" Alex grabbed a paper towel from a small shelf underneath the table, frowning at him in surprise.

"Cupid? Heart and arrows Cupid?" she held out the paper towel, indicating his hand.

He looked at her fully—there was a pause—then he took the item and began to wipe his hand. "Thank you," he said. "And no, not really. There are no... arrows." He glanced at her again. "What human myth has mistaken for 'Cupid' is actually a lower order of angel." He glanced at Dean now, who looked more and more doubtful by the second. "Technically it's a cherub, third-class."

" _Cherub_?" Dean repeated dubiously.

"Yeah, they're all over the world," Cas said matter-of-factly. "There are dozens of them." Alex heard what he'd said, but paused, noticing he'd said 'yeah.' That was new, wasn't it? She watched him out of the corner of her eye, realizing that every time she saw him, he surprised her with the little things he was picking up, learning, then implementing.

While Alex was noticing this, Dean's mind was clearly somewhere else. " _Cupid_? You mean the little flying fat kid in diapers?"

Cas stopped cleaning off his hand and fixed Dean with one of those squinty, I-don't-understand frowns. "They're not incontinent." Dean's face was priceless at Castiel's reply—he apparently had no response for that one. Alex either. She was watching with her arms folded, trying not to look too amused. Cas was looking at her again, frowning deeply and apparently thinking hard. She smashed her lips together, trying to look serious.

"Okay, anyway. So, what you're saying—" Sam started.

Cas looked away from Alex and cut him off, suddenly very intense, moving forward adamantly. "What I'm saying is a Cupid has gone rogue and we have to stop him—before he _kills again_."

The sudden burst of assertiveness startled them all. Sam looked at Cas for a couple beats, unsure of how to respond. Then in a little higher pitched voice than normal, he said, " _naturally_ ," making a weird face and nodding at the table.

Cas seemed to recognize that Sam didn't believe him and he turned to Dean, who was nodding patronizingly, narrowing his eyes and pretending to be sympathetic. "Of _course_ we do."

Cas regarded Dean almost sadly, understanding that Dean was being facetious, and then turned to Alex slowly, reluctantly, as if expecting her to insult him, too. She didn't. "I don't see the issue."

Dean made a sound that indicated he thought it was preposterous. "Come on, Alex, _Cupid_? Really?" He gave a cynical little laugh and head nod, conceding. "Well. Guess it makes _sense_ for the romance novel addict to believe in Cupid." The room fell completely silent at the very needless jab. Sam looked at Dean, eyebrows raised in surprise—Cas was looking at Dean too, eyes narrowed. Dean put his hands up. " _What_?!"

Cas watched how Alex rolled her eyes skyward and shook her head, saying nothing. He forcefully refocused. "These, uh, these couples, these people—as long as this Cupid is out there—they're in danger. We have to act quickly."

"Right. Of course. _So_ ," Dean said, still not convinced. He had his arms crossed. "How do you track down a Cupid, anyway, huh? How do we find this dude?"

Cas was thinking, looking at the floor and frowning, then he looked up again. "I suggest we find a place that is rife with romance."

Clearly not understanding, Dean looked at Cas impassively. "Speak English."

Castiel's frown deepened. "I _am_ speaking English."

Standing at the back of the room next to another stiff on an examination table—one of the people who'd committed suicide—Alex looked up. "Like somewhere a bunch of couples in love would be?"

Cas met her questioning gaze steadily. "Yes, exactly."

"That restaurant around the corner," Sam suggested, looking at Dean and then Cas. "It _is_ Valentine's Day after all. A lot of couples will be out for a date."

Cas seemed to hear Sam a couple seconds after he'd finished speaking—the angel looked away from Alex, a little disconcerted as Sam waited for a reply expectantly. "Uh, yes, excellent idea," Cas said, glancing at Dean and then Alex, who hadn't stopped looking at him once. "I suggest…" he trailed off, eyes locked on Alex. He neglected to finish his sentence.

"Suggest _what_ , Cas?" Dean asked impatiently, glaring at Cas and then Alex. Cas seemed to remember everyone else in the room and looked at Dean again. "I, uh, suggest we go there immediately."

"To stop _Cupid_ from going _Rambo_." Dean summarized doubtfully, sounding less than enthused and still looking at Castiel closely, scrutinizing him. Cas seemed confused by the reference, but then seemed to decide that he agreed with whatever Dean was implying. "If that means that we prevent Cupid from further decimating the romantically coupled occupants of this town then… yes."

"Uh _huh_ ," Dean said and the gave up, throwing his hands up then letting them go where they smacked him on either leg. "Cupid. Okay! What the hell. Sign _me_ up for crazy." He pulled off his flimsy lab apron and started slamming the container tops back onto the boxes of stuff they'd been examining.

Alex exchanged a look with Sam—what the hell was Dean's problem? Sam shrugged lightly, and she thought maybe he was thinking, 'well, that's Dean for you.' Annoyed but also reminded that yes, that _was_ Dean for you, Alex resigned herself to deal with the bullshit. Sam stood up, took off his apron and gloves, then started to stack the containers up.

Still beside the suicide victim, Alex took off the uncomfortable plastic gloves she wore, tossing them into the waste bin. Cas went over to her, stopping right in front of her and she paused, hands on the apron string on either side of her neck. Cas said nothing, just stood there as she waited expectantly for him to say something. He didn't say anything, he just looked at her. She grew uncertain. He still he didn't say anything. She heard Dean slamming containers back into the cooler, but couldn't look away from Cas. She was actually getting sort of uncomfortable, fidgety under his gaze. Her tongue darted out nervously to wet her lips. Her stomach felt weird. Her head felt foggy. She had to work really hard to get words out. "So you, uh, you feeling better?"

There was a long pause. He almost looked like he was feeling... dreamy? It was officially starting to weird Alex out. "Yes," he said. "I am."

"Um, good." She thought she should take off her apron now but she couldn't really seem to move. His eyes were such an intense blue and held her there, and suddenly she was noticing every detail of how cute, no—handsome—he was, how captivating and and kissable— _whoa_. Her inner monologue stopped at that point, asking... _what_? Did you just seriously just _think_ that? She tried to push past the thoughts but her brain could only focus on his eyes, which were looking into hers so completely, then scanning her face, then glancing over her hair.

He seemed intrigued. "Usually your hair is down..." he said, eyes now flickering back and forth between both of hers.

She reached up and touched the side of her head. He liked her hair? She smiled at him shyly, touching the end of her hair below her shoulder. This pleasant, silly haze was taking over her mind. Almost like she was high or something.

"Let's move out, weirdos," Dean said, oblivious to what was going on behind him—he was shrugging on his suit jacket, already headed out the door without a backward glance. Sam was following, his suit jacket already on. He paused by the door.

Alex looked toward the doorway, away from Cas, and suddenly, all the ooey-gooey feelings were gone and she was left wondering what had come over her—maybe she shouldn't have eaten all that stolen candy, huh? Sugar rush. Yeah, that explained it. She chanced a quick peek at Cas, who looked similarly perplexed, staring at the floor with his eyebrows moving together. Weird. Her head felt a bit strange now.

" _Today_ , guys," Dean called—Sam waited at the door for them but Dean was halfway down the hall already. Alex hurried, yanking off the apron and grabbing her jacket. Sam let go of the door and followed in Dean's footsteps—Alex shrugged her jacket on, pulled her hair out of the collar as she headed for the door—Cas stood there and held it open for her, watching her walk through—and she was very aware that she was staring at him the whole time too, gawking almost. She almost tripped over her own feet.

Getting mortified with her behavior and seeming lack of control, Alex focused on the shiny marble floor under her feet. Beside her, Cas matched her stride as they walked down the dim hallway. She watched his shoes with great interest, noticing how big his feet were compared to hers. And then she suddenly felt him catch her by the arm, stopping her from walking—she looked up, confused, and saw she'd almost walked smack into a column. She looked at Cas, embarrassed—and also noticing how much she liked the way his hand grasped her arm. From up ahead, Sam came back into view, from around a corner he'd already rounded. "Guys," Sam said, impatiently, then paused, giving them a weird look. "What are you doing?"

Cas let go of her arm and they exchanged a mutually worried look. So he felt it too. What was happening? "We're, uh, coming," Alex said, trying to act like everything was peachy, grinning at Sam with her best effort. But from the way her face felt, she realized she probably looked more like a frightened chimpanzee baring its teeth than anything else. Sam gave her an even weirder look and waited for them to get to him, then walked with them the rest of the way—Dean was waiting impatiently at the exit, and then led the way outside. The Impala was parked there along the curb but Sam pointed east and led. "Restaurant's this way," Sam was saying. "Just like maybe two blocks, I think."

Silently, the group of four made their way up the sidewalk and past the medical center, Dean and Sam in front. There were some shops lining the street here—a bakery and a little gift shop, a drug store, then a florist. There were red roses and hearts all over the storefront and a huge display that said "Happy Valentine's Day" in swirly script. Cas looked at it curiously as they passed by, taking it all in.

On the sidewalk ahead, there was a bouquet of red roses laying discarded on the sidewalk, as if they'd been dropped in a hurry. Cas stopped in his tracks when he reached them. He stared down at them. Alex stopped too, turning slightly to look at Cas, then Sam and Dean did too. Cas then did a very curious thing. He bent down, picked one single red rose up, and looked at it for a long moment. Then he looked up from it and to Alex, then held it out to her. She looked at the flower and then him, confused. "...what are you doing?" she asked. Her brothers seemed to be wondering the same thing—Sam had a slightly amused, if perplexed look on his face, while Dean looked like he was thinking 'you have got to be shitting me.'

When Alex asked what he was doing, Castiel's expression fell just a little bit and he looked at the rose then back at her. He looked like he thought maybe he'd made a mistake. "Isn't it customary?" he asked.

Alex's eyebrows were raised then going together as her eyes narrowed. She wasn't sure if she were right or not, but as he stood there holding the flower out to her, with his bad posture and slightly confused expression... she couldn't see any other explanation. And she felt the ooey-gooey feelings coming back again as she noticed how far apart they were and how much she disliked that, how some of his hair stuck out on the side of his head and how wonderful that was. "Cas... are you asking me..." she paused, beginning to smile now, the kind of smile you smile when you just can't believe something, "are you asking me to be your _Valentine_?"

As if the thought hadn't occurred to him, he frowned, eyes squinted up, and he stared hard at the flower. "I... don't know." Cas looked up at her waiting gaze and he blinked a couple times, clearly not sure if he'd done the right thing or not. "Apparently... yes."

Alex felt herself smiling shyly again. Her hands were clasped together in front of herself—his frown was fading into a softer expression and she just wanted so badly to throw her arms around his neck where he could twirl her around like in the movies—

"Hey," Dean cut into her inner thoughts gruffly, "I thought there was a killer Cupid on the loose—you kids gonna stand there and flirt all day?"

Alex and Cas looked at Dean, and similarly, the weird thoughts Alex didn't quite recognize in herself ceased. Officially getting a little worried, she glanced at Cas, who looked similarly confused. But he was still holding the flower and looked so damn cute and oh god the little tuft of hair sticking out—

"Come on already," Dean barked over his shoulder, already walking away. Cas looked like he was about to drop the rose, but Alex reached over and took the flower from him. He looked at her, surprised. She grinned at him slyly sidelong and then tucked the rose into her jacket. He hid a smile and looked down at the ground as they followed Sam and Dean. Alex noticed that they fell into step together. He had his hands in his pockets.

Sam stopped a minute later in front of a restaurant. "Pagrino's," Sam read the sign out loud, then pointed at the little sidewalk sign that was out. "Bring in your Valentine for ten percent off dinner."

"Excellent," Cas said matter-of-factly, raising his chin slightly, looking pleased. "We can receive a discount."

Dean gave a huge huff of air, disgusted but silent, and went into the restaurant. They followed him. It was dim inside, as swanky as a restaurant with booths could get. Pink roses in vases dotted the tables... tables which were filled with couples. Cheesy hearts hung from the ceiling, tea light candles dotted every surface the restaurant had.

The hostess greeted them with a smile, looking over the four of them. "Table for two couples? Right this way."

Dean looked at Sam, who chuckled—the waitress had apparently assumed Dean and Sam, who were standing in front, were a couple. "After you, _dear_ ," Sam said, motioning with a hand for his brother to go first. Dean rolled his eyes and started after the hostess.

Cas apparently thought this was a thing, because he parroted Sam with Alex—extended a hand, indicating she go first. "After you, dear."

Alex did just that, doing her best not to bust up laughing. She went ahead and went first, smiling to herself, thinking of the rose inside her jacket and thinking of Cas, his face, his voice, his hands... what the—? She had a brief moment of wondering, _again_ , just what the hell was going on. This was more than a sugar rush. She felt giddy and strange, like she had no reign over her own reactions or thoughts, or like they were muddled, not completely her own. She blinked a couple times, as if trying to clear blurred vision.

Dean was waiting at the half-booth the hostess had taken them to and was indicating Alex sit next to him. She did, in a daze, and Dean sat down in the chair beside her. Cas was getting into the booth side of the table, sitting opposite of Alex. She avoided looking at him, purposefully, as the weird stuff seemed to get weirder when she looked at him. A couple minutes passed where Alex stared at her menu, not reading it, peeking at Cas from over the top of it occasionally, feeling her stomach flip flop, then looking away hastily. Each time she peeked up, he was staring right back at her, eyes dark and full.

Dean, watchful and suspicious appeared to be two seconds away from demanding an explanation. Alex tried harder not to look at anything but her menu. Their waitress arrived after a couple minutes of this awkwardness, smiling widely at Dean. "What can I get you folks?"

Temporarily distracted from watching Cas, Dean handed off his menu. "Cheeseburger, fries, Corona."

"And for your lady friend?" the waitress asked, smiling at Alex.

"Same thing," Alex replied, not really paying attention.

Dean was holding up a correcting finger at the waitress, kind of amused, if a little weirded out. "Uh, _not_ a couple, lady." Alex barely heard him. Cas was looking around the restaurant, head turned to the side—the _little shaggy curls_ behind his ears—they were distracting. In fact, the more she thought about it, the sight of those little dark swoops behind his completely perfect ear literally seemed to devastate her soul, she felt like if she couldn't reach out and just touch them, she might die. Her heart rate was increasing and her adrenaline was growing. She felt her hand, on her knee, clench. With great effort, she tore her eyes away, freaked out. _Stare at the table. Just don't look at him._

But she couldn't help it. Alex chanced another quick glance at him—and at the very same instance, saw him doing the same. They both looked away quickly.

"For you?" the waitress asked Sam.

"Chef salad with vinaigrette and water, please," Mr. Clean Eating replied. Alex smirked to herself, momentarily forgetting her distress. Sam hadn't been so health conscious a few hours ago when he was snatching a Reece's cup from her and shoveling it into his mouth.

The waitress, still addressing Sam, turned to look at Cas. "And for your boyfriend?"

Alex had to glance up at that one—Sam looked entirely unamused. Cas, realizing the waitress was talking about him, glanced up. He'd been staring hard at the little pink rose on the table. "Nothing, thank you."

"All right, shouldn't be long guys. I'll be back with drinks in a sec." The waitress left.

Cas cleared his throat, looking around at the Valentine's decor again. God, even his frown was perfect, he looked so grumpy and sweet and she just really wanted to—Alex stopped herself mid-thought, forced herself to look down into her lap. _What the hell!_

"Valentine's Day is a curious human tradition," Cas was saying, staring at one of the little hearts hanging above their booth. "Claudius the second cancelled all marriages and engagements in Rome to try to recruit more soldiers to join his war, but Saint Valentine continued to perform marriages for young lovers in secret." He looked at Sam at this point, then Dean. "When his actions were discovered, he was sentenced to be beaten to death with clubs and to have his head cut off."

All three Winchesters looked at Cas—Sam trying to decide whether to be amused or horrified, Dean impressed and definitely amused, Alex kind of warily, breathing a little heavily.

"Wow Cas," Dean said, chuckling. "That's super romantic."

The waitress reappeared with drinks shortly and said she'd be back soon with their order. Alex cracked every single joint in her fingers slowly, feeling more and more anxious.

"I wonder if the couples in here know about the origins of what they're celebrating," Cas said across the table. _Don't look at him._

"Maybe you should tell them," Dean wisecracked, taking a swig of his beer.

"Do you really think so?" Cas asked intently, and Alex could hear from his voice that his expression was probably cute and concerned and thoughtful and she _really wanted to look_ at him but _no don't do it._ She glanced at Dean who looked like he couldn't believe his luck at Cas's naivety. She literally had to lock her neck in place to keep from looking at Cas.

"He's pulling your leg," Sam said.

There was a pause, then a disconcerted, "No he's not. I would feel it."

"He means that Dean is joking," Alex explained in a fluster, looking at him without even being able to stop herself. Mistake number one, because Cas looked back at her. And their eyes locked. And her heart fluttered, actually fluttered in her chest. She saw him swallow, almost nervously—when had he looked like that before? Oh my god, it had been when he was at the strip club. But this time he didn't look scared as much as he almost looked _predatory._ It was her turn to swallow.

"Here you go, guys," the waitress said, setting down their food and startling Alex out of—whatever was happening in her mind.

"That was fast," Sam commented in surprise.

"Extra staff tonight, it's Valentine's," the waitress explained, the smiled at Sam. "Enjoy, lovebirds!"

"None of us are _together_ ," Dean muttered, not very amused about it anymore as he reached for the ketchup bottle. He glanced at Cas, who was snapping out of the stare he'd been sharing with Alex. Dean missed seeing it by a millisecond. "So, what, you just happen to know Cupid likes the cosmos at this place?" Dean asked, focusing on slathering his burger in ketchup.

Cas watched him. "Uh—this place is a nexus of human reproduction. It's exactly the kind of—" he swallowed, glanced at Alex, looked down, "—of garden the Cupid will come to—to pollinate." He had his jaw set firmly, then tugged at his collar a little, like it was too tight. Alex watched him do that, taking in every detail of that _hand_ and the way it moved—

Dean sat back and stared at his burger, suddenly looking very uninterested. Across from him, Sam paused, a forkful of salad hovering in the air. "Wait a minute. _You're_ not hungry?"

"No," Dean said, then got defensive. " _What_? I'm not hungry." Alex and Sam both looked at him like he was nuts and he rolled his eyes. "Take a picture," he said, "it'll last longer."

"None of us possess a camera," Cas said, not getting the slang at all. Alex looked down at her lap, hiding a smile.

Sam, ever the helpful one, turned to the angel. "Sure you do Cas, your phone has one," he said.

Cas paused. Alex peeked up from underneath her lashes—he was looking at Sam suspiciously. "You're... teasing me."

Sam set down his fork, good natured smile on his face, and held out his hand as he made a 'gimme' signal. "No, here, lemme see it."

Cas drew his phone out of his pocket slowly and handed it over to Sam. The phone looked so small in Cas's huge hand, Alex thought morosely. Longingly.

"Look, you push this button," Sam said, showing Cas, "the camera thing pops up… then push _this_ button…" the phone made a cheesy clicking sound. "Voila."

Cas seemed thoroughly impressed, taking the phone back and staring at it in wonder. "I'm—this is very ingenious." He looked up at them, as if he couldn't believe it, coming close to a grin. And that sight was way, way, way too much for Alex. _God in heaven, someone kill me now!_ She screamed internally, sitting there gripping the table with both hands, feeling like she was going to pass out.

Fascinated, Cas held out the phone and took a photo of the rose in the vase then looked at the screen, smiling to himself. Then he looked at Alex, who wasn't ready and probably looked kind of deer in headlights—but the fake camera sound went off and Cas smiled at the screen where the definitely-horrible picture was now displayed—he then glanced back up at her—she swallowed, wanting to disappear. Cas seemed to feel Dean's pissy stare and held his phone out again, snapping one of him—that would be a good one, the glare clearly saying 'I hate you' was a memory to cherish. Cas then snapped one of Sam, who was mid-bite of salad and saying "hey!" a second after the picture was taken. "I wasn't ready," Sam said through a mouthful of lettuce. Cas, however, looked at his phone, pleased. "Now I have a photo of each of you," he said proudly. Alex lamented internally, wanting to sob a thousand tears forever and ever. And directly after that thought, she immediately frowned, baffled at herself. A thousand tears forever? _Seriously?_ What the actual fuck was happening to her brain?!

"Lemme blow your mind again," Dean said, completely amused at Cas's lack of technical savvy. Alex, perturbed, looked sidelong at Dean, wishing she could tell her big brother what was happening to her because _she needed help, and NOW,_ but was pretty sure he'd blow a gasket. Unaware of her dilemma, Dean was addressing Cas with exaggerated slowness. "You can _text_ pictures, too."

Instead of looking thrilled, Cas looked suddenly a little downcast. "I prefer not to text," Cas said, looking down at the phone kind of peevishly now, all the previous affection he'd had for it now sullied. "The buttons are so small and the fingers are so big. Every time I make a mistake I have to write a whole new message."

He got three weird looks. Sam pointed at a key on the phone. "See this? It's a backspace button." He looked at Cas, smiling helplessly. "It erases mistakes."

Cas looked at it, frowning, then sat back in the booth. There was a long pause, and when he spoke, he sounded annoyed. "All this time that was there."

Why did he have to be so damn cute. _So, so, so cute_ …? Alex felt depressed, staring at him sadly. He finally looked away from his phone and put it in his pocket.

Dean was guzzling his beer, looking around the restaurant in a cursory way while Sam stabbed another forkful of salad up. Alex was left to gaze at Cas and feel her heart rate increase, her ability to breathe lessen. He felt her gaze and looked up at her from his lap, expression dark and intense, his chin lowered, his eyes darkening and _devouring_ her almost, and Alex felt like everything else just went away, it was just them and the things she wanted to do with him—and then he seemed to shake himself, get a little freaked out, the dark desire in his eyes lessening in place of confusion and fear. He looked at her burger, almost sounding panicked. "I want that," he said, and reached for it.

Spell broken, Alex watched him in confusion. "Uh, sure?" she said, and he took a _huge_ bite, chewing viciously, staring at Alex the whole time.

For a minute, she felt like herself again and watched him, completely mystified. Something was really weird about all this. No, not even weird, _wrong_. She was suddenly watching the way his jaw worked as he chewed, her head listlessly tilting to the side—how did he look so good even while chewing food like a moron? God, he was _so damn_ _hot_ that all she wanted to do was throw the table aside and then—she snapped back to attention, catching herself again. Cas had stopped mid-chew, looked to his left. "He's here," Cas said through a mouthful of food, suddenly alert.

They all looked at where he was looking—all they saw were couples. "Where?" Sam asked. "I don't see anything."

"There," Cas indicated a couple that was making out.

"You mean the same-side-of-the-booth couple over there?" Dean asked.

Cas set down his burger and announced: "Meet me in the back." Then he disappeared.

"Why can't he just walk like a normal person?" Dean complained, throwing down his napkin and getting up. Alex scooted out of the booth in a trancelike state, wondering if she were the only one feeling strange. She felt scared of herself and paranoid.

Dean lead the way back toward the kitchen, ignoring the questioning looks from the staff as they entered.

Alex leaned close to Sam as they followed Dean. "You feeling okay?" she asked him in a hushed, worried tone.

"Yeah why?" Sam asked, glancing down at her with a slight frown.

Alex shrugged, worrying her lower lip with her teeth. "I dunno, I think something must have been in that candy. I feel… _weird_." Sam shrugged too, like he had nothing to offer or add. That wasn't comforting.

They found Cas in the dingy rear store room with his back to them. His hand was outstretched unmovingly into thin air. "Cas, where is he?" Sam asked striding into the room and looking around in confusion. Just behind him, Dean and Alex came to a stop.

"I have him tethered," Cas muttered, then began to speak Enochian in deep, velvet tones. " _Zo da ka ma mah rana._ Manifest yourself."

There was a long silence in which Sam, Dean, and Alex all looked around the room expectantly. Dean's patience gave out and he walked toward Cas slightly. "So where is he?" he asked, his tone suggesting that Cas had led them on a wild goose chase.

"Here I am!" Came a new voice, and Alex jumped—beside her, Dean had been grabbed by a giant, naked, fat guy, who was bear-hugging him from behind and giggling madly, shaking Dean like a rag-doll. The shock alone of the sight made Alex freeze for a second.

"Help!" Dean wheezed, and Alex, not knowing what else to do, whipped out her hunting knife.

Cas was suddenly beside her, holding his arm out in front of her. "There's no need for the knife."

"Are you _sure_?" she asked, turning her head to look at him in supreme doubt. He looked back at her, and again, the second their eyes met, they were both rendered useless, just staring at each other.

Alex felt her freaked-out expression fade. He was really the most handsome, gorgeous creature in all of heaven or earth...

Without warning the naked guy barreled into Cas, saying, "Hello, _you_!"

Alex jumped back in surprise as Cas was manhandled in an enthusiastic hug. "What the hell is happening?!" she demanded of no one in particular.

" _This_ is Cupid?" Dean asked in marked disbelief.

"Yes," Cas managed to reply in a strained voice—it was a very tight hug.

Cupid looked back their way, set Cas down, setting his sights on Sam. "And look at _you_ , huh?" Cupid exclaimed, striding happily toward Sam, who looked terrified.

" _No_ ," Sam said, seeing what was about to happen and, turned fast on his heel to leave, but suddenly Cupid was in front of him and grabbing poor Sam into a very enthusiastic hug. This is the point in time where Alex began to slowly shrink back toward Dean, who she figured she could hide behind.

"Yes! Yes, yes, _yes_!" Cupid responded in growing enthusiasm.

Dean turned to Cas, not sure what to do and panicked. "Is this a fight?" he demanded. "Are we in a fight?"

Cas came forward to where Alex and Dean stood, shook his head slightly, eyes fixed on Cupid. "This is... their handshake."

 _Handshake?_ Cupid was hugging Sam with way too much affection, nuzzling his head into Sam's neck, eyes closed in what looked like bliss. "Well I don't like it!" Dean announced.

Cas seemed to concede, glancing at Dean for just a second. "No one likes it."

"Why does he have to be _naked_?" Alex asked despondently, watching Cupid shake Sam around and cuddle him.

As if he knew she was thinking about him, Cupid suddenly opened his eyes and looked right at her then grinned. "And _Alex_..." he said, like he was seeing an old friend he'd missed very much.

He let go of Sam (who looked traumatized), darting forward toward her, but in between Cas and Dean, Alex held her knife up fast, the glinting tip aimed right at Cupid's chest. "No, okay? No."

Cas had stepped up a little in front of her, his shoulder and arm blocking half of her body from Cupid's approach. With the multiple deterrents, Cupid stopped and sighed, made a sad face, then decided to be coy. "Playing hard to get, huh? I guess I'll let it slide for now. But I'll get a hug from you yet, cutie!"

Alex shrank a little closer to Cas, not taking her eyes off Cupid for a second. She'd never thought a hug could be scary before.

Cupid heaved a deep, happy, self-satisfied sigh. "All right, so—what can I do for you?" he asked happily.

"Why are you doing this?" Castiel asked, no nonsense.

"Doing _what_?" Cupid asked, wrinkling his nose playfully, a wide, open-mouthed smile on his face.

"Your targets—the ones you've marked—they're slaughtering each other."

Cupid's face fell immediately when Cas told him that. "...What?" He almost completely shocked, then sad. "They _are_?"

"Listen, birthday suit, we know, okay?" Dean accused harshly. "Don't play dumb—we know you been flittin' around, popping people with your poison arrow, making them _murder_ each other!"

"What we don't know is why." Cas said, much calmer than Dean. In between and behind Dean and Cas, Alex watched Cupid worrying his lip with his finger. He looked positively heartbroken.

"You think that I—" Cupid started, and his chin quivered. "That I would—" he wrung his hands over his belly. "Well, uh... I don't know what to say." His voice broke, he put a hand on his face, and began to cry, walked around Dean—Alex edged herself back and around Cas, who was turning to watch Cupid—who had gone to the back of the room and was giving them a great view of his saggy ass as he bent forward and cried softly.

Sam finally approached Cas, Dean, and Alex, and the four of them watched in disbelief as Cupid's shoulders shook. Alex put away her knife finally. "Great. We made Cupid—giant, crying naked fat man— _cry,_ " she said dryly.

Behind her, Sam hesitated. "Should… should somebody maybe... go talk to him?" he asked.

"Yeah, that's a good idea," Dean said, and clapped a surprised Alex on the shoulder. "This seems like your area Alex," he said, and nodded toward Cupid.

"What?!" Alex was dumbstruck. "Cuz I'm a _girl_? What if he _hugs_ me?" Dean shrugged, as if to say, 'who cares'. Alex huffed, looking at Cupid's back hesitantly. "Fine. I'll try," she muttered.

Wincing, she approached him slowly, gingerly. Cas trailed her slightly, taking a couple steps forward, watchful.

"Hey, uh— _champ_." Alex said to Cupid. He was still crying and faced away,. "Uh… we didn't mean to upset you… uh…"

Suddenly Cupid turned around, shaking with tears, grabbed her and pulled her close, even as she made a surprised sound. Behind her, all three men had jumped in surprise. "Oh god. Please stop," Alex protested, squeezing her eyes shut and trying not to feel things. He was hugging her _so tightly_.

"Uh, _gross_ ," Sam muttered, while Dean and Cas were taking action.

Dean was pushing, kind of in vain (angel strength and all) on Cupid's shoulder—"Hey, get your junk off of her, man!"

Cas successfully pushed Cupid and Alex apart with his hands, one on either's shoulder, telling him almost threateningly, "that's enough, Cupid."

Cupid looked a little befuddled, but then just looked at them appealingly. "Look guys, I would never— _ever_ —kill anyone! I love _life_. I love _love_. Love is more than a word to me, you know. I love _love_. I love it! And if that's wrong, I don't want to be right!" He looked at Alex, who was once again kind of behind Cas, peering out from behind his shoulder.

Cupid seemed to be waiting for her to agree with him. Dean shrugged at her and Alex looked back at Cupid, not having a clue what he was talking about. "Yeah... uh, love is… so _great_..." she said, and Cupid grinned now, putting his hands on his hips. _Ugh_. Alex had to look away.

"I knew you'd agree with me, Alex!" Cupid announced jovially before he became more serious. "Look, I was just on my appointed rounds!" he explained with great emotion and worry. "Whatever my targets do after that—that's nothing to do with me. I—I was following my orders." He seemed to get an idea then, looked at Cas, enthusiastic again, optimistic. "Brother! Please brother. Read my mind. Read my mind, you'll see."

Cas pivoted his chin down, staring into Cupid's eyes deeply for a minute, and Dean cocked an eyebrow at Alex as if he were asking 'you seeing this?'—then Cas looked at Dean, resigned. "He's telling the truth."

Relieved, Cupid sighed dramatically, crossed his eyes for a second. "Jiminy _Christmas_. Thank you!"

"Wait, wait, you said—you said you were just following orders?" Dean asked.

"Mm-hmm!" Cupid nodded up and down rapidly.

" _Whose_ orders?" Dean demanded.

" _Whose_?" Cupid laughed merrily at Dean's question, his eyes crinkling up in mirth. " _Heaven_ , silly. Heaven."

"And why does _Heaven_ care if Harry meets Sally?!"

"Oh, well mostly they don't," Cupid responded, suddenly calm and reasonable in the face of Dean's rage. "You know, certain bloodlines, certain destinies." Manic, he grinned at the Winchester siblings ending with Alex, pointing a vague finger at her, then waving it toward Sam, too. "Oh, like _yours_!"

" _What_?" Alex and Sam asked in unison, then exchanged a brief glance. In front and beside of Alex, Cas questioningly tilted his head to the side and she glanced up at him, yet again noticing those damn curls behind his ears—she couldn't look away, lost in thoughts of reaching out and touching him...

"Yeah, the union of John and Mary Winchester," Cupid was saying. "Very big deal upstairs, top priority arrangement. Mmm-hmm."

Alex snapped out of it, frowning to herself.

"Are you saying that you _fixed up our parents_?" Dean was asking in a deadly tone.

"Well, not me, but…" Cupid grinned again, "Yeah! Well, and it wasn't easy, either. _Ooh_ , they couldn't stand each other at first!" Alex looked at Sam, whose expression was unreadable as Cupid continued. "But when we were done with them—perfect couple!" Cupid chuckled deeply and his belly jiggled.

"Perfect?" Dean repeated, incredulous, like he were daring Cupid to be serious.

"Perfect!" Cupid repeated happily.

"They're _dead_!" Dean all but shouted.

Cupid's smile faltered into sympathy. "I'm sorry, but... the orders were very clear. You and your brother and sister needed to be born." The manic grin was back. "Your parents were just… meant to be!" He laughed again, putting his hands in the air in front of himself as he began to sing and wave his hands back and forth. " _A match made in Heaven—Heaven!_ "

Dean looked like he was about to lose his mind, stepping closer to Cupid threateningly. "Okay listen douchebag!" he thundered at maximum volume, and Cupid froze in shock. "Stop the damn singing and tell me _right now_ —" Dean jabbed a finger back at Alex, who was watching her brother with uncertainty and then disbelief. "Does she have one of your angel tattoos on her heart?"

Cupid, confused and clearly a little afraid, cowered back slightly. "My what?"

Alex, mouth hanging open and thinking she knew what Dean was getting at, glanced up at Cas, who was looking back at her, inscrutable, but... _my god._ She almost thought, from the look on his face, that he was thinking the same thing… did the two of them have the marks? But why would Cas be thinking that too, because he hadn't seen 2014 like she had and—my _god_ , his stubble, it was so beautiful and rough looking, she wondered what it would feel like to rub with the palm of her hand—or other things—shit, _shit_ , she tore her eyes away from him, shaking almost.

Dean was in Cupid's face now. "Your angel mark things have a habit of getting the people I love killed," he roared, "so you better fucking tell me _right now_ —" he grabbed Cupid by both shoulders.

Sam protested, "Dean, whoa!" and darted forward, pulled his angry brother back. Cas had an arm out to stop Alex from intervening, but she wasn't moving at all. It was safer here with him.

Cupid shrugged cautiously, his previous fear replaced with a huge, stupid grin. "Like it or not Dean, some things are just meant to be!" he said vaguely, and Dean's expression smoldered in hatred. "It's a whole new world!" Cupid exclaimed. He began to sing again. " _A whole new woooorld, a new fantastic point of vi—_ "

Dean yanked himself out of Sam's grip, hauled back and punched Cupid… and then promptly whirled, bent over, holding his fist, his face distorted in pain. "Son of a _bitch_ ," he managed, strained.

Sam threw his hands up in exasperation. " _Seriously,_ Dean?"

Dean responded by groaning and looking back at where Cupid had been standing—but he was gone. "Where is he? Where'd he go?!" Dean demanded through the pain he was clearly feeling.

Cas, annoyed, looked at Dean plainly. "I believe you upset him."

"Upset _him_?!" Dean retorted, walking off a few steps, shaking out his fist.

Sam, trying to control his anger, followed, dead serious. "Dean. _Enough_!" He told him intensely.

Dean stared back angrily. " _What_!?"

"You just punched a Cupid!" Sam accused.

Dean's immediate, fiery response was, "I punched a _dick_!"

Alex, finally leaving her hiding place, tried a gentler approach. "Calm _down_ Dean," she said, to which he just put his hands on his hips and pursed his lips, stared at the ceiling angrily.

Sam looked at his twin for support, who shrugged helplessly. Sam looked so done—he had clearly _had it_ and wasn't going to put up with it any longer. He was barely holding in his anger, Alex could tell from the way he moved and talked with his hands. "Um... so are we gonna talk about what's been up with you lately, or not?" Sam demanded of his brother.

Dean stared back for a beat, then his glare returned at full force. "Or _not_." And without anything further, Dean brushed past Sam, didn't look at Alex, just stalked out of the room, leaving his siblings to stare after him in something between disappointment and dejection.

A tense five seconds of silence passed. "I mean, that was out of line, right?" Sam asked Alex in frustration, turning to her with a conflicted expression.

"Yeah," she agreed, shrugged and shaking her head, feeling disheartened by the entire thing. Dean flying off the handle, freaking out over the heart-mark. God, though, she wondered. _Did_ she, maybe? She glanced at Cas, who was frowning intensely at Sam. Did _he_? Were they meant to be together, is that why they'd been together in 2014? She thought that then shook her head—more fantasy thinking. More silliness.

"What do you mean, Sam?" Cas was asking. "About… what's been… 'up' with Dean lately?"

Sam shrugged, exasperated. "He's been weird lately. I dunno."

"If by weird you mean 'jerk' then yeah I agree. But it's just his personality," Alex said cynically. She didn't really mean it, but it sadly felt kind of good to insult him after the past few days.

Distracted and on edge, Sam shook his head. "No, it's not. There's something bothering him."

" _Everything_ is bothering him," Alex retorted.

Sam gave her a look like he knew that, but hadn't wanted to say it. He sighed heavily, resigned. "Lemme go find him."

Sam left, heading the direction that Dean had gone. This was ridiculous, Alex thought to herself. Dean punching Cupid, interrogating him about Mom and Dad and herself and then trying to lay him out. Alex turned to Cas, realizing that they were alone—and she suddenly was afraid of what she might do in this crazed mindset of hers—but just then Cupid reappeared in front of them, looking around with a wide-eyed, cartoonish expression. Without even thinking, Alex clutched at Cas's arm so tightly that she slammed flush into his side. She immediately noticed how solid and warm he felt beside her and she never wanted to leave his side or— _dammit!_ Alex gritted her teeth together. She wanted to smash herself in the foot with an anvil—anything to stop thinking these crazy, distracting thoughts!

"Is the mean man gone?" Cupid asked anxiously. _Who, Dean?_

"Yes," Cas said, understanding. "The mean man is gone."

"He _hurt_ me," Cupid said sadly. Then shrugged, his expression changing quickly to upbeat once again. "He _tried_ to hurt me." He waved his hand in dismissal. "But it's okay. I'm fine!" he laughed openly, and Cas looked down at Alex then.

She knew she shouldn't, but she looked back, and there they froze for a second, then Cas blinked hard, looked away, rattled, looked at Cupid in confusion. "Is there… uh, is there a reason you've returned?" he asked Cupid.

Cupid folded his arms across his hairy chest, giving a long and happy gusty sigh as he smiled at them. "Oh. I just wanted to admire you two a little longer." He began humming _Whole New World_ again, and Alex stared at him, utterly lost. Cupid clapped his hands together and rubbed them gleefully. "Yes sir, this is a good one! Possibly the best one ever!" he exclaimed. And then disappeared as suddenly as he'd appeared.

Alex stared blankly at the spot where he'd been. "What…?" she asked, and looked at Cas for an explanation. Then noticed that his jacket had gotten a little messed up—probably when Cupid picked him up to hug him. She grasped the lapels, straightening the coat without thought... and then didn't let go. She could feel his eyes boring down onto her and she was suddenly very, very aware of how close he was and how badly she wanted to yank him to her and kiss him until there was no tomorrow—she looked up into his eyes and saw his expression was dark and full of intent. His hands came up to grasp her around the wrists, his expression wobbled, brief confusion flashing across his eyes. Then it was gone and he was looking at her like he _wanted_ her, his hands slid down from her wrists, skimming the length of her forearm and then his hands came to rest on either side of her hips, melting her like butter—his face was slowly tilting down toward her—

"Uhh, guys?"

They froze. Sam was at the door, looking really, really confused. Cas and Alex looked at him blankly, still completely frozen. "Uh, pretty sure Dean ditched us." Sam squinted at them, coming forward a couple steps. Cas and Alex separated at this point, looking at their feet and the ground in general. "Is... something going on?" Sam asked, confused and suspicious and also trying to hold back a smile too it looked like.

"Nope," Alex said, forcing herself to look up at him. She had a wan smile plastered across her face and Sam didn't look like he believed her—at all—but he nodded (eyes still narrowed in suspicion) and then looked at Cas, who was looking back at Sam with a priceless expression: wide, innocent, eyes, his mouth in a line, forehead all wrinkled up from how high his eyebrows were raised.

Sam cleared his throat, gave them both one more 'yeah right' glance and then dropped it, mercifully. He cleared his throat. "Listen, Cas—you mind zapping us over the the Palm Motel? Room twenty-six?"

No sooner than had he finished asking the question than they were standing in the motel room. Sam looked impressed or startled. "...I guess that's a yes." He thought of something, frowning. "Should have gotten my salad to go," he said sadly. Cas disappeared, and the twins looked at the spot where he'd been standing, mystified. Sam took off his suit jacket, sighed tiredly, then looked at Alex the way he did when he knew something was up. "Okay, so what was—" he started, but then Cas suddenly reappeared with two familiar plates—Sam's half eaten salad, and Alex's burger (one a huge Cas-sized bite missing).

"Your salad, to go," Cas announced.

Sam again looked impressed, then took the plate, shrugging, nodding, in a little bit of a better mood. "Uh, thanks, Cas."

Cas held out the remaining plate toward Alex who was avoiding his gaze. She felt like herself again, and deeply disturbed. "Not too hungry," she said, sat on the edge of one of the beds, troubled. Cas looked personally affronted that she didn't want the burger.

"But you didn't eat anything," he stated. He set the plate down, looking at her piercingly. She stared at his feet. "What can I get you? What would you like?" She glanced up at him. He was being so weird. Well, he was always weird, but this was weirder than usual. What _would_ she like?

 _You_ she almost said, and went wide-eyed, staring down at her lap. _Shit,_ get a grip Alex! "I'd like… a um, a, uh, cupcakes," she said down into her lap, saying the _second_ thing that came to mind. Cas was suddenly gone again. "No, I wasn't serious," Alex protested into thin air, then let out an exasperated breath.

"Spastic little guy, huh?" Sam commented, eyeing Alex closely.

She said nothing, just chewed the inside of her mouth, thinking hard, ready to change the subject. "Okay, Sam, if Cupid's not the culprit for those weird murders... something else is, right?" she asked. He clearly saw what she was trying to do and looked at her like 'really?' but she just continued. "The question is, what? I've never heard of a bump in the night that uses angel marks to target victims. I don't remember anything like this case happening ever before."

"Me either," Sam replied automatically, setting his plate aside. "So about earlier—" he tried again, but was interrupted by Cas appearing again. He was holding a box marked _Magnolia Bakery—best cupcakes in the USA._

"I got cupcakes," he said simply, looking at the box. "The best cupcakes in the US." Alex and Sam both stared speechlessly. Alex stood up slowly, taking in the sight of him standing there in front of her, so close and within reach. He looked so damn ridiculous and perfect there in that ill-fitting trench coat holding that box of sweets and she was tempted to grab him, whirl him around, slam him down on the bed, have her way with—

The door to the motel room opened and Alex swallowed. She was literally starting to _sweat_. This was not good. She almost felt like she might act on these urges, they got more intense every time, more consuming. More insatiable. It was Dean coming in, and he started when he saw them all. He must have forgotten that the angel could zap them anywhere faster than Dean could drive. His expression went from troubled to guarded in one second flat.

"Thanks for the _ride_ , Dean," Sam said to him.

Dean tossed his suit jacket onto a coat hangar on the wall. "Shut up." He stopped, sights set on Cas. He took one look at the cupcake box and Dean pointed at him roughly, looking murderous. "You. Me. Outside— _now_."

Cas complied, still holding the box, and Dean held up a hand, looked at him hard. "Leave the damn cupcakes, Cas!"

The angel set down the box on the kitchenette counter then followed Dean back out the door. Alex and Sam, who had watched the exchange in shocked silence stared, then Alex stood up, not sure if she should let this happen—Cas glanced back at her uncertainly, and Dean, already looking at Alex, gave her one of the most commanding glares he ever had. "Stay here, Alexandra," he growled, "don't even _think_ about following us." Alex felt her mouth drop open, shocked into stillness.

" _Alexandra_?" she repeated in disbelief as the door slammed behind the two men. He hadn't called her that since… she couldn't remember. Sam looked similarly shocked. The twins looked at each other. _What is happening?_ Alex got up and went into the bathroom, avoiding Sam's questioning gaze and reality altogether. She looked in the mirror, seeing a scared-shitless face staring back.

* * *

Outside the motel room, Cas and Dean stood in the flickering light of the dying overhead light. It was dark out now.

"All right look Cas," Dean started bluntly, not bothering to be polite or watch his tone. "I've tried to bite my tongue but I can't anymore—all that googley eyed crap in the restaurant and will you be my valentine shit—what the hell was that, huh?"

Cas looked unsure, speechless even, and Dean stepped a little closer, lowering his voice. "I don't know what your weird deal is with my sister, Cas, but it needs to stop, and pronto, you hear me!?" Dean was getting out of breath, he was so livid. He walked a couple steps off from Cas, trying to calm down. "Listen," he ranted, whirling around and jabbed his pointer finger down for emphasis, "I may not have much in this hell-hole world but I got Sam and I got Alex and I'll be _damned_ if I let either of them sign their own death warrant!"

"Dean, I—" Cas tried, but Dean cut him off, coming back toward him angrily, his index finger waving angrily.

"I saw the _future_ , Cas, the future where Alex is _dead_ and Sam is Satan's muppet, so don't think you can just _explain away_ this shit!"

Cas tried to speak again, but Dean refused to give way. However, he was starting to sound less angry, more desperate. "Cas, man, Alex's death warrant is _you_! So you tell me what I'm supposed to do when I see the way she looks at you—when you do nothing but _stare_ at her all day long!"

"Enough, Dean," Cas said grimly, looking down to his right.

"Enough?" Dean repeated incredulously.

"Yes, _enough_ ," Cas said, and looked at the other man squarely in the eye. "You're... mistaken." He let those words hang for a beat, then took a couple steps away from the motel, down off the sidewalk and into the parking lot. He stared up at the sky solemnly. "Dean I've... I've seen this future to which you're referencing." He looked away from the sky, eyes going down and to the side, in Dean's direction. "I've seen everything."

Behind him, Dean was momentarily shocked into silence. "Everything?"

"Yes," Cas confirmed heavily. His eyes flickered over the sky above him once again as he looked up. "I know that in it, Alex dies because of me. And Dean, I promise you—I will not allow it to happen. _Any_ of it." He turned back around to face Dean, who was stepping off the sidewalk, joining Cas on the pavement, his expression terse.

"I apologize Dean," Cas said wearily. "I don't mean it—the things you accuse me of—the way you perceive my relationship to her. I'm her protector. There is a special, profound bond between angels and the ones they protect." He paused, then looked at Dean openly. "I feel the same bond for you."

Dean made a face and recoiled just slightly, looking Cas up and down. Unexpectedly, a little humor returned to his voice and demeanor. "Well I don't know how I feel about that, Cas."

"If to a lesser degree," Cas clarified quickly, realizing Dean's implication. "After all, I was never assigned as your guardian. Simply your rescuer."

Dean shook himself, because Cas sounded convincing and sad and worried and Dean didn't want to be suckered. He remembered 2014 too clearly. "Yeah that's all great Cas," he said, voice returning to a gruff, assertive tone, "but explain to me how you and Alex end up together— _together_ —" he emphasized meaningfully, "four years into the future from now."

Cas's stoic expression flickered. "I'm—I'm unsure." He had looked away from Dean. "It doesn't happen unless I'm human." He drew in a breath and refocused, looked at Dean again. "Dean, I'm an angel. She's a human. We're not compatible. Please, understand this." Cas's expression was inscrutable. "Think about it, Dean. I don't feel things the way you feel them. I'm not human. I'm incapable of… that."

"Of _what_?" Dean asked, not following.

Cas looked irritated that he had to spell it out. "Human romance. Love." His eyes faltered away. He sounded bleak. "Whatever you want to call it."

"...But when you lose your angel juice it's a different story," Dean stated darkly, a question without being a question, and Cas said nothing, just looked down.

"This is why it's more important than ever, Dean, that we find a way to stop Lucifer. To prevent that future from happening." He shook his head slowly, deliberately, and to Dean, the angel looked his age momentarily—thousands of years old and so weary. "I don't want Sam to be taken by Lucifer," he said then paused, staring unblinkingly at the ground. "I don't want Alex to die." His voice had softened, but then he set his jaw firmly unflinchingly, his voice lowering again. "I'll do whatever it takes to prevent these things."

There was a fierce and rigid resolve in Cas's voice and demeanor and Dean let out a deep, disturbed breath, trying to figure out how to react. This situation, his assumptions, Alex and this angel—every time Dean thought maybe he was going nuts and making stuff up, something else happened that supported that creeping fear that Castiel and Alex were hurtling toward each other. Dean was distracted as hell in his own thoughts and world right now, but he had caught some weird moments between Cas and Alex today, and he _wanted_ to believe Cas, that it was just some kind of weirdo guardian angel protector crap—Cas was an awkward dude to begin with but—the way this guy looked at his sister... Dean just wasn't sure. Maybe it was that deep down, he didn't like anyone but himself and Sammy to be protective of her. He kind of felt like no one else had the _right_. Not after all Dean had been through to keep her safe throughout the years. Alex was his responsibility, and more than that, one of the only things left Dean loved in the world. Cas just wanted to swoop in and take her from him, and he didn't like that.

He eyed Cas carefully. Maybe it wasn't romantic for Cas, but Alex—that was a different story. Dean knew it on instinct that she was majorly into Cas, had some kind of fantasy crush on him and Cas didn't make it any easier for her with his weird gazes and comments and—dammit, this wasn't good. This whole thing just bothered him at his deepest levels. However, for the moment, he decided, grudgingly, to play peace keeper. "Yeah, good," he said absently. "Fine. We'll touch base with you tomorrow."

Cas looked confused, took a stuttering step forward. "I should stay and watch over you."

_Wow, he thought he was being subtle, didn't he?_

"Over _me_ , Cas?" Dean asked conspiratorially. He felt a surge of protectiveness, possessiveness, righteous anger. " _I'm_ her protector, Cas. _Me_." He stepped back, not dropping Cas's gaze. "Always have been. Always will be," he said solemnly, almost feeling like he was laying claim to Alex in that moment. And she wasn't a piece of property like that, but Dean knew the only person in the world he trusted to keep her safe was himself. No one else. Cas looked awash in confusion now, of course. He always looked confused, the damn super-powered moron. "Conversation's over, Cas." Dean regarded Cas a second longer, sarcastic now, defensive. "I'll let you know when you're needed."

And he turned, leaving Cas standing there. When Dean got to the door and glanced back, Castiel was gone.

* * *

Dean reentered the motel room to find Sam standing by the shut bathroom door, arms folded—he looked very unhappy.

"Oh, so you ran him off, too?" Sam asked, noticing Cas's absence.

Dean just gave him an impatient look, sidestepped. "What are you _talking_ about?"

Equally impatient, Sam pinched the bridge of his nose, then let it go, expelling a heavy breath, gestured to the closed bathroom door. "You upset her."

Dean made a face. " _I_ upset _her_? Was I the only one that saw the weird ass shit between them today?"

Oh _definitely_ not—but Dean did _not_ need to know what Sam had seen. Sam would figure that whole Cas and Alex looking like they were about to kiss thing _later._ Right now, he needed to get Dean to explain himself, to calm down. "Dean—" Sam started, then paused, restarted. "Okay, look, that's beside the point. You gotta level with me, man. What is _with you_ lately?"

Dean shot his brother a dangerous glare. "I told you before—screw off."

Sam got a little madder but stood his ground then approached Dean, controlling himself. He wasn't going to back down on this one, wasn't going to let his older brother push him around and set him off. "No, Dean, I want to _talk_ about this."

Disgusted and cagey, Dean yanked his jacket down from where he'd hung it just a couple minutes ago. "Forget this, I'm going out."

"You just got _back_!" Sam protested. He didn't get a response—Dean slammed the door in Sam's face.

Sam spread his arms out in helpless frustration, ran a hand through his hair, then circled back toward the shut bathroom door. _Great, just great._ Both of his siblings were refusing to talk to him and had him going crazy.

First there was Dean, acting like nothing was wrong when clearly something _really was_ , and now Alex… something was wrong with her, too, and maybe had been for awhile, now that Sam considered. Maybe since Dean had died, since Sam had left her alone with Bobby. He felt a twinge of guilt. If Alex falling apart was in any way his fault… after all the crap he'd put her through… Sam leaned against the wall, hung his head, scrubbed his forehead with the palm of his hand. She didn't deserve any of this—the constant hardship she was dragged through, the uncertainty of what tomorrow would bring. The Michael Lucifer thing hanging over her head. She must be freaked, he realized. At the thought of being left alone in the world if the angels got their way with himself and Dean.

Sam had gone out into the world and had friends and acquaintances, but Dean and Alex—all they'd ever had was each other. If he and Dean died or disappeared, who would she have? It was a sad little world they lived in. Not many people would understand what the Winchesters went through, the things they fought... the dark things they carried.

Out of the blue, Sam found himself remembering something from childhood—the series of crayon drawings Alex had made of these animal characters from her imagination. There had been three animals, and each of them represented one of the siblings—there was Bear, who was Sam, Lion, who was Dean, and Mouse, who was Alex. Bear and Lion had been huge animals with fierce claws and superhero capes. Alex had drawn Mouse, tiny, cute, furry little Mouse with a machine gun and or a machete in the illustrations. She'd written/drawn all these zany little adventures for the three of them. Sam's heart swelled unexpectedly at the memory. For all the crap in their childhood, there were some good memories too, mostly to do with her and Dean. And dammit, he loved them both a lot. Maybe he wasn't _good_ at it, but he loved them as best he could.

He looked toward the bathroom, into the wall at his side. She was in there, probably sitting on the floor and staring into space. He knew she wanted to be left alone, but he really felt like she needed someone to talk to. Yeah, he was pretty frigging curious about what he'd seen back at the restaurant—that embrace between Cas and his sister—but he could wait on finding that out, he just wanted to make sure she was okay.

It _was_ weird though, catching them like that, and had definitely surprised him. Maybe Dean, who Sam had thought was being a little nutso before—maybe Dean was right about them. He pictured them together, as a couple, thought about it hard. And maybe he was a sucker or something, but the thought of an angel and a human finding happiness together didn't seem as bad as Dean seemed to think it was.

He stopped, deciding that he shouldn't be thinking about this too hard—he might have misinterpreted what he'd seen, after all. All he knew for sure was that his sister was upset and he didn't want her to be. Sam raised his hand, knocking lightly on the door. "Hey, Mouse?" he paused, listening. He hadn't called her that in forever… definitely not for a couple years at least. Would she even remember?

"Yeah?" she asked after a minute.

He couldn't tell, from her voice, what she was thinking. He paused, then settled on, "I'll be out here if you need me."

There was a long pause. Then a quiet reply that made him smile softly. "Okay, Bear." She _did_ remember.

* * *

**The Next Day**

Castiel sat in Big Frank's Burger Hut, eating yet another burger. It was around dinner time and he had been here all day, alone in a booth and surrounded by a growing amount of shiny silver wrappers. He dimly reflected on how strange this was. He had eaten perhaps forty of them in the past few hours and had no plans of stopping. They were the only thing that seemed to help. He swallowed slowly. It was interesting. The combination of ingredients seemed to meld perfectly—warm melty cheese, cool strips of shredded lettuce, the savory patty, the tang of some kind of sauce, the acid of thinly sliced onion, the dryness and softness of the bun, the slight crunch of the sesame seeds on top. It was quite enjoyable. He found that he liked how the differing textures and tastes came together and ceased to be separate as he chewed each bite, the teeth rendering the solid food into a different substance altogether.

Yesterday at the restaurant with the Winchesters, he'd begun to feel hungry, filled with an overwhelming desire to consume. And the food sitting in front of Alex had been a good distraction from that desire. Out of something he thought was desperation, he had grabbed that burger—needing to do something physically and not sure what, and then had realized the burger tasted good, which made his other thoughts simmer instead of rage at the forefront of his mind.

His other thoughts. _Her._

He took another bite, trying to concentrate on the taste instead of anything to do with _her_. The constant flow of burgers seemed to be the only thing that worked, distracting him from the overwhelming thoughts of Alex—being apart seemed to help, too, which troubled him immensely. Last night, he'd made himself vanish, but had stayed close to Alex to watch over her until he realized he couldn't. That the foreign desire grew worse the longer he watched over her (she'd just been sitting on the floor in the dingy bathroom, stone faced), the more anxious he'd grown until he'd known _he had to leave her presence._

There was some great danger over this town, he could feel it—and the great irony was that he needed to stay away from Alex, leaving her defenseless all because his vessel and his mind were working against him somehow. It must have something to do with what was happening here because... he had almost kissed her yesterday, not a single thought of ' _no_ ' or ' _don't'_ entering his mind until Sam had appeared. This was troubling, perplexing, and he was uncertain. Greatly uncertain.

Cas paused, a burger in front of his mouth, but he stared over the top of it unseeingly, picturing Alex, wondering where she was and what she looked like, if she was thinking about him too... then he caught himself and quickly took another huge bite of burger, trying to focus on it instead. There was a heightened sense of alarm in the back of his mind as he wondered how much longer he could stay away from her and sit here and eat burgers, because he needed to be near her and protect her—what had she been doing all day, was she safe? Was Dean protecting her? Was Sam?

He thought of what Dean had told him last night. ' _I'm_ her protector, Cas. _Me_.' And he felt a surge of helplessness. Right now, this was true. And Cas didn't want it to be. He was supposed to be her protector eternal. He wondered about Dean's frantic question to Cupid about if Alex had the mark on her heart, the symbol of union. Everything Cas had told Dean last night about his devotion to protecting Alex, his incompatibility—he wanted to believe it himself. Only, he knew he was walking a fine line between truth and lies.

Cas glanced over, hearing someone approaching—he saw a familiar pair of black boots walking up to his table. And… bare legs? He looked up, following the path of bare legs to knees, then he saw the pattern of flowers—then the familiar tousled brown hair and the pretty face and bright, shy indescribable eyes. "Hi Cas!" she said, grinning widely at him, looking entirely delighted to see him. "I was across the street shopping and I saw you!" She sounded very upbeat, more than usual. Not completely herself.

"Alex," he said, standing up quickly. Several wrappers that had been on him fluttered to the floor like leaves off a tree. He'd noticed immediately what she was wearing, because it was different than anything he'd ever seen her in before. She was wearing her cargo jacket over a dress—floral print with a high waist and just-above-the-knee length… Cas was staring at where her legs ended and the dress began. He was suddenly intensely worried and couldn't look at her, but he also _needed_ to look at her, take in every detail, consume the sight of her if that's all he could have—the desire to do so was overwhelming, but he clenched his fists at his sides, staring at a linoleum tile on the ground, fighting hard against his rambling longings. "I need more burgers," he mumbled, sliding back into the booth and grabbing the last one on the tray.

She seemed to notice the wrappers for the first time. "Did you... eat _all_ these?" She slid into the booth across from him and he almost smashed the burger completely in his hands. He glanced at her—accidentally—and couldn't tear his eyes away. "Since when did you eat, Cas? And so... damn... much?" she sounded like herself again and was still looking at the wrappers, maybe trying to count them. He noticed the freckles he loved scattered across her face, the wild hair, the way her eyes darted across the wrappers. He was entranced. He was sure that he could look at her for all eternity times a thousand. She looked up at him, waiting for an answer. He returned the gaze, intensely desiring to be closer to her, forgetting her question completely. She seemed to be drawn into his unblinking gaze, then she visibly made herself look away, turning her head down and to the side, fast. "Something weird is happening," she said, sounding a little scared, looking disconcerted. "When I look at you, I get... I get stuck."

Similarly Cas had looked away, his heart racing. She was right. What was happening to him—and why couldn't he control himself? It seemed to be easier when they didn't look each other in the eye—but why? "We... we just shouldn't look at each other," Cas said, uneasy. He stared at the burger in his hands. In fact maybe he should leave right now, because he just wanted to toss the table aside and _devour_ her in the most carnal of ways—

"Yeah, yeah, I think you're right," she said, but sounded disturbed. She got quiet for a minute. When she spoke again, she sounded worried. "How long do we have to… not look at each other? Is this permanent?"

Cas set his burger down, hands both resting loosely on the tabletop. He stared at the tray. "I don't know."

There were a few seconds of tense silence.

And then she slid her right hand across the table, towards his left hand. She stopped just short of touching him, and he risked a glance up at her—she looked deep in concentration, looking at their hands about to touch, like she was trying to hold herself back. He was responding in kind to the gesture before he could even have a second thought—he slid his hand out further, grasped hers gently. Her eyes flicked up to his, scared, unsure. "Cas…" she said, a question, a plea, a statement all at once. He couldn't look away from those eyes—his grip tightened on her hand—she drew him like magnet to magnet, and he was helpless, never wanting to be parted from her side, wanting to lessen the space between them, wanting to—

He flinched, shaking himself out of the trance, pulling his hand back, breathing hard in surprise. Alex looked similarly shaken up and put her elbow on the table, her head down and a hand over her eyes, so all she could see was the tabletop below her. She let out a frustrated sigh and cleared her throat. "So the burgers, Cas? Why."

Cas looked down at the sea of silver wrappers on the table. "Yes, it's strange. I—it's the vessel. It seems to be starving." He paused. "Jimmy—he—liked these."

She was quiet a long moment. "You sound sad."

Cas looked up at her at that point, unsure how those words from her mouth could affect him so deeply, make him _feel_ —there was a very loud gurgling sound nearby and they both looked over at the soda fountain—where a slightly overweight woman was drinking soda straight out of the fountain, clawing at the nozzle with her hands wildly. She looked like she was drowning herself in it almost, it was puddling around her feet and she was choking on it as she shoved her face further into the stream of fizzy liquid. Alex jumped up and darted over, pulling the woman away by the shoulders, saying "Hey hey hey! _Hey_! Stop!"

The woman struggled for the soda fountain, trying to get back to it, yanking her arms forward and saying, "No! I need it, _I need it_!"

She broke Alex's grip and rushed back to what she'd been doing. Cas was right behind Alex—he'd followed her immediately, protectively, but he didn't know what to do—Alex apparently did though because she grabbed the woman again, hard, whirling her around with a grunt to punch her in the face, hard—the woman went cross-eyed and fell over sideways, unconscious. Alex winced, shaking her fist out. "Son of a _bitch_ ," she muttered.

Concerned, Cas turned her toward him even as he stepped around to face her and took her wounded hand in both of his. "Why did you do that?" he asked, looking at her hand, then at the woman on the floor, who was laying face-up in a puddle of soda.

Alex shrugged, kind of distracted and disturbed. "Saved her life, didn't it? Seemed like a good idea at the time..."

In his hands, her hand suddenly curled its fingers around the outer edge of his palm. They looked into each other's eyes at the exact same moment and Cas wanted so badly to kiss her, to shove her into the nearest wall and break her, have her, possess every part of her—

Alex yanked her hand back, regaining clarity, and when she did that, his returned momentarily, too. He took a step back, fearing that he was losing his mind. Alex looked around the restaurant, upset. "Cas, look around—something is happening to the people in this town—to _us_."

She looked down at her shoes, avoiding looking at him. "I saw some people in the dress shop trying to kill each other over the bargain rack and there was this one guy I saw who was jamming like handfuls of cigarettes into his mouth on the side of the street. Now this—"

She was cut off by the sound of loud shouting to their left. The cashier was screaming into her phone behind the counter, crying, bawling really. " _Why,_ Jared?! You _promised_ me! You _don't love me_! You promised you'd love me _forever_! Am I really that worthless?!" The girl began banging her head into the corner of the wall repeatedly, violently, hard enough that blood began to come out of her forehead where a wound rapidly was being made—and then Cas was suddenly standing behind the girl—he'd moved through space and wind swept through the restaurant—he touched her shoulder and she went slack, fainting. He looked questioningly at Alex, who had gone still, in shock at it all.

"Good, Cas, good," she said tensely, and looked around the restaurant with growing anxiety. "What is going _on_ in this _town_?"

"We should leave," Cas said, suddenly right beside her again. She jumped slightly. "This place seems unsafe."

"Holy crap!" Alex exclaimed, laying eyes on a couple two booths away—they'd thrown their food onto the floor and were climbing all over each other and were literally ripping off each other's clothes. She stared a second longer than took quick action. "We gotta _go_ ," Alex said—Cas had her by the sleeve of the jacket and was already half-pulling, half-guiding her out of the restaurant. Out on the street, it was chilly and overcast. "Cas, what is _happening_?" Alex asked. Cas had his hand on her back lightly, protectively as they walked. He was looking around constantly, searching for any sign of danger.

"Could a witch be behind all this?" Alex asked, glancing up at him.

She slowed down, and he did too. "No, this is too much for a witch—perhaps it's—" he trailed off, looking at her. They had stopped walking and they were beside a long, blank brick wall. He looked at her up and down, forgetting what he'd been saying or doing. "You should wear dresses more often," he said, and leaned toward her, his hands grabbing her waist, and—

Her phone rang. Startled, they stopped. Cas looked at what he was doing and pulled away, flustered. He hadn't even thought, he'd just _acted_. He wasn't sure if he should stay with her or leave, because he didn't seem to have control anymore.

Unnerved, Alex pulled the phone out of her jacket pocket and answered, walking a couple steps off. Her cheeks were red. "Sam, hey." She paused. "What? A demon? _Why_?" Cas watched her closely, not letting her get even two steps away. He needed to be near her. "Yeah, okay." She ended the call and put her phone back into her pocket. "Sam said he ran into some demon guy with a briefcase and he thinks it has something to do with what's happening here in town."

Cas reached for her to transport them. "We should go there immediately."

"Don't touch me!" she exclaimed, shying away from his hand, not looking at him. "It's... just, uh, I can't, just, um, just don't." She sounded shaky. "Let's just walk. I wanna walk, okay?"

She turned around and began walking again. And that's when Cas saw the two demons in male vessels round a corner up ahead—he saw their true, abominable faces. His stomach seemed to rocket upwards in alarm, and he was, without hesitation, drawing his angel blade and shooting forward, putting himself between Alex and the demons, shouting at her "stay back!" even as he viciously stabbed the first one in the chest. The demon let loose a blood curdling scream as his skeleton flickered and he died.

The other demon had turned and was running away—indicating they had not expected this fight, so what were they doing here—Cas didn't have time to consider this, he was yanking his blade back out of the first demon's chest and he flipped the blade smoothly in his hand so that he gripped the sharp end—he drew back and sent it torpedoing through the air where it plunged into the second demon, who screamed and fell forward, dead.

Instantly, Cas looked back at Alex, who was coming to him, grabbing his arm. "Are you all right?" she asked, concerned. He looked at her, vaguely out of breath—he tore his gaze away before the dangerous thoughts could begin.

"Demons," he said, and looked around, wary, vigilant.

"Why—?" Alex asked, her features wrinkling up in confusion.

"I don't know," he said. His voice deepened. "But we're not walking any more."

His blade flew to him, he grabbed her, and they disappeared off the street.

* * *

**About an Hour Later**

" _This town is not suffering from some love-gone-wrong effect,"_ he'd explained about an hour ago. _"It's suffering from hunger. Starvation, to be exact—specifically… famine."_

Cas's words rang in her mind, inspiring the following mantra: _It's not you, it's Famine. It's not you, it's Famine. The freaking horsemen of the Apocalypse Famine._ In the backseat of the Impala Alex was stone-faced, clenching her hands into fists repeatedly in an attempt to do something, anything, to distract herself. It was getting worse with every passing moment, she felt _crazy_.

Yesterday had been bad enough, this afternoon (the impulse shopping? Twirling in front of the mirror and wondering what Cas would think of her dress?!) had been worse, now _this_. She could barely think.

After getting attacked by the two demons, Cas had spirited them back to the motel room where Sam had just gotten back to with a mysterious briefcase. Dean had been waiting there for them and they opened the briefcase—which had contained a human soul. Cas had then seemed to have an 'ah-ha' moment, saying that the town was under Famine's curse, that Famine wanted the souls of these people and was killing them using gluttony, desire, starvation. _It's not you, it's Famine._

In the backseat of the Impala, Alex was growing beyond restless. It had been bad enough when Cas had whisked her back to the motel. Like a caged animal, she'd paced the back of the motel room, barely able to hear what Sam, Dean, and Cas were discussing. Her thoughts were screaming at her, begging her to just let her look at Cas, just _look_ at him, but when she did, she lost any semblance of brainpower in favor of increasingly frenzied, sexual thoughts. She'd catch herself and for a minute she'd be horrified at how out-of-control she felt, how possessed by the crazy hunger for the angel in the trench coat.

She felt like she wasn't sure what was going on anymore, she was so, so, so preoccupied with Castiel and every passing minute she was less and less capable of hanging onto her sanity. She was barely able to concentrate let alone form a coherent thought.

The Impala was pulling to a stop in front of a Biggerson's restaurant. "Demons," Dean said up front, looking at the men in suits out in front of the building. "Just like we thought." He paused, irritated. "Cas, you gonna stop stuffing your face with burgers for a minute? You remember the plan?"

Cas stopped, turned to Dean. He'd been eating burgers constantly the past hour, more and more frustratedly... if it were possible to eat a food out of frustration. Alex tried to remember the plan, tried to think it through, anything but thoughts of him. The plan was to… Castiel—no to, cut off Famine's ring and break this spell and—god the curls behind his ears— _shit_ —no, the _plan_ —she tried, she really did, not to stare at Cas's profile from where she sat. He was staring into space, jaw clenched tightly, a burger hovering in front of his face, but his mouth was closed. God, his _mouth_ —her hands were literally trembling now, she had to fight with herself to keep them still. Her thoughts went from coherent to complete mush, yammering in her mind and howling at her to touch him, just touch him, you need him so much and just—touch him, Alex, _take him!_

Panicking, not remembering about the demons or the plan or anything, she shoved the door of the backseat open, tripping over her own feet, breathing heavily, not even noticing where she was going, just _had—to—get—a—way—now_ or she was seriously going to rip the car apart to get to Cas.

She was aware that she was in a dark parking lot and stumbling in no general direction—then she saw that a man in a suit was bearing down on her, his eyes black as night. She reached back to where her knife always rested in the belt loop of her jeans and—oh _shit_ , she was wearing a dress, where was her knife?! Before she had a chance to react any further, the demon went flying backwards into the side of the building, sending brick and rubble flying. Confused, Alex whirled and saw Cas striding toward her, his hand outstretched.

He didn't stop when he reached her, he grabbed Alex roughly by both arms of her jacket and took them away from there—she felt the slight head rush of moving through space. They were no longer in the parking lot, they were instead somewhere dim and cold. Shivering, for a moment but clear-headed, Alex looked around. "Where _are_ we?"

It looked like a walk-in freezer—about five feet by five—and Cas, similarly confused, still holding her by the arms of her jacket, looked around, horrified almost. "Wrong place—the restaurant—I meant to take us away from here—it's… Famine… he's close, I can't seem to focus—I—" He started with surprise as Alex grabbed him by his lapels, trying to pull him to her. "What are you doing?" he asked, panicked, putting a hand against either of her shoulders, holding her back from himself.

"I'm losing my mind," she said, similarly panicked, sounding less and less sure. "I need—" she said, her voice cracking as she visibly strained, trying to stop herself from saying it, but she _couldn't_ , she was breathing hard like she'd been running for an hour, " _you_ ," she managed, the word full of emotion… and as soon as she'd said it, her expression grew dark, full of desirous abandon. _"Now_ ," she said, voice lower and demanding. Cas felt his entire body flush over in a pleasant fever at those words, the way she said them, the look in her eyes—and he was suddenly fighting harder than he ever had before.

The past hour had been difficult enough, but he'd been able to muddle through with the food as a distraction, but now there was nothing to distract him from her, nothing to stand in the way and she was trying to pull him to her—no, _no_.

He couldn't let this happen, not here, not now, not under the spell of Famine, she was vulnerable and he couldn't protect her from the things he wanted to do to her—not much longer—he was literally shaking from the effort as he held himself back from her, keeping her at arms length. He was breathing hard now, terrified. "I have to take us out of here—" he said, but he wasn't moving and he wasn't taking them away, he was just realizing it was already much too late. She stared at him, breathless, struggling to get to him, making it so very impossible for him to resist... her eyes, her mouth, everything about her sealed his fate completely. She looked so perfect and she was so close and he needed to touch her, kiss her, be with her— _it was over_ , he realized dimly, his own thoughts fading away into the chaos of furious desire. He couldn't fight it.

"I'm sorry," he only just managed to say, the last clear-headed thought he could muster as he gave in to the powerful torrent of desire. The hands that had been holding her back now pulled her to crash against him as he claimed her waiting mouth with his—she made some kind of relieved, wanton sound, her arms already wrapping around his neck and she grabbed a fistful of his hair, _hard_ , pressing her body against his desperately, making soft little sounds that set him over the edge, turned him into a desperate man. He pushed her against the cold metal shelf behind her, so fast and hard that some bottles fell down and shattered around their feet. In response, she pressed her hands into his chest and shoved him backwards aggressively—he slammed into the opposite shelf, knocking several boxes off and he stared at her in complete awe for the couple seconds that she broke the kiss. She gripped his coat tight in both of her hands, yanked him to her, kissing him savagely, a strangled moan escaping from her mouth and into his. Another surge of heat flushed Cas, driving him to the point of insanity.

In a trance, out of control, Cas crushed her against him possessively, his strong arms wrapped around her, one of his hands finding its way up between the jacket and the dress, to the warm, bare skin of her back and suddenly, he wanted more and needed the jacket _gone_ —he fumbled, pulling at it as they stumbled back to the other shelf, mouths refusing to part—he vaguely felt her pushing at his jacket and coat, making a groan like she was frustrated.

Her jacket came off finally and he threw it aside haphazardly, one hand now on her bare back and he made a frustrated sound. His other hand cupped the top of her shoulder, then grazed down the front of her, trailing down over her and then grasping her hip, thumb digging hard in against the bone there as he pulled her to himself. Alex gasped—but it was a sound wrought with some kind of primal pleasure he'd never heard her make and Cas felt something in him break and he groaned throatily, barely able to contain himself—he needed _more_ , this wasn't _enough_ , and he grabbed frantically at the side of her thigh through her dress. He was desperate for something, but he wasn't sure what.

She was still pushing at his coat and jacket and he let her go for a second, yanked them off clumsily for her, straining himself—he didn't want to stop kissing her for even a second as he practically ripped off the pieces of clothing—the second they were off of him, she caught his tie in her hand and pulled him back to her, making a frantic, relieved sound—she seized the front of his shirt in both hands and ripped it open brutally, the buttons breaking off and skittering around on the metal floor, leaving his chest and torso bare. She pressed her palm flat against his chest then trailed it down, down, down, ghosting her fingertips along his rapidly rising and falling ribcage, then his hipbone, then the place where his belted slacks started. He quivered, breaking the kiss, his eyes squeezed shut, mouth hung open right above hers, and then he let loose a higher-pitched, helpless sound as her hand trailed further down and brushed him over his pants, making waves of pleasure and need surge over him. He snapped, grabbing her by the back of the neck, kissing her harder, bruisingly, his other hand crushing her to him.

Frenzied, he whirled her around, slamming her into the front door of the freezer, a solid metal wall and she gasped again—Cas grabbed her roughly underneath each leg right behind each knee, lifting her up—she was hungrily searching for his mouth again, grabbing each side of his face in both hands as she wrapped her legs around him and he lifted her up—his hands stayed there for a minute, in the hollows behind her knees… and then they slid up torturously, skimming the bare backs of her legs, the roundness of her behind.

Cas was dimly aware, somewhere far away, that these things were coming to him at an alarmingly natural and terrifyingly fast pace—including what he did next, without even thinking. He rocked his hips into hers—and the pressure and friction between their bodies rendered him useless, took him soaring high and feeling like he could just let go, reach the limit of the sky itself and tumble down, fall forever—the second he ground his hips toward hers, a choked, primal sound escaped Alex, they broke the kiss and she grabbed a fistful of his shirt, hanging on to him for dear life, her expression dazed, her eyes heavy-lidded, her breath coming in shallow little gasps—and Cas was mesmerized by her like this. He had no choice but to grind into her again, pulling at her furiously, needing her _closer_ , needing more of this pressure and sensation, more of her. Writhing against him, her body and the sensation of it against him caused him to let out a low sound in the deepest part of his throat, almost like he was in pain, but he wasn't—not at all and he felt frustration overtaking him— _it wasn't enough_ —

That thought stirred him out of the mania and he realized, stronger this time, that this was really happening, he _couldn't control himself_ , he wasn't sure what would happen if he didn't stop this—with every ounce of willpower he possessed, he pulled back, just for a second, trying to escape, trying to save them. "I can't—I can't hold back—much longer—" Cas managed desperately, strained, not even sure how to put it into words. He wanted to crush her underneath himself, demolish her completely, possess her in every way, _destroy her_. "I'll _hurt you_ —" Cas said, despairing, because he couldn't pull away anymore, he was barely holding himself back as it was. In his arms Alex suddenly looked different, like she'd come out of a trance or woken up.

"What—" she said, looking at him, confused, a little disconcerted—but her confusion faded, she didn't say anything else, she _saw_ him and touched the side of his face slowly, gentle, her thumb brushing against the side of his lower lip. Her eyes searched his, searching for something… something that she seemed to see, and holding his gaze fervently until their lips met, she leaned in, kissing him softly and sweetly. His stomach seemed to flip inside out at the gentle touch and for the briefest moment, Cas knew that was _Alex_ kissing him like that, not Alex under Famine's influence. It was _her_ , and it was _him_ , and his whole body reacted, responded—he touched the side of her face too with the utmost care, lost in her touch. And then he felt the pervasive thoughts taking over again, his hands tightened on her, and he was trying so hard to pull away from her, save her from what his thoughts wanted to do to her. But Alex whimpered, feeling him attempt to pull away.

" _Don't_ stop Cas—" she made a pathetic sound, " _Uhh_ , _please_ ," she begged in a whisper, grabbing a fistful of his shirt, refusing to let him go. He was stronger than her, physically. But in that moment, she was his weakness, and he was no stronger than her. His willpower was forgotten at her touch, her plea. He couldn't help himself. He let go, gave in, forgot his worries and fears, his desire intensifying a hundredfold. He had to _have her_ , now. His hold on her had weakened for a few seconds, but with renewed vigor, he slammed himself into her, instinct took over, blinding him. He wasn't sure how but they crashed through the solid metal refrigerator door, completely breaking the door off its hinges—but neither was paying attention, busy barreling into the kitchen where, out of control, Cas crashed them into a countertop, kissing Alex wildly and noisily.

Pots and pans clattered to the ground loudly even as Cas turned and threw Alex up into one of the empty corners, denting the plaster wall a little bit in the process, but neither seemed to notice, Cas was grabbing her animalistically, one hand on her ass and another up against her back, fingers dug hard into her skin and she had her head back, noisily almost sobbing when he pressed himself against her again. She had her legs wrapped around him tightly, was fumbling with his shirt, no maybe his pants, breathing loud in his ear, then pulling back, finding his mouth again, biting down hard on his lower lip enough to draw blood. Agonized with unsatisfied desire, Cas growled against her lips, a sound that started out low, then changed into a higher pitched gasping sound as they moved against each other raggedly. Cas pushed at her dress, and Alex felt two of his fingers curl around the band of her underwear and brush against the skin beneath it—she whimpered, distressed at the fire of his touch—that combined with the feeling of _him_ against her there, _right there_ even through their clothes was almost too much for her. A tortured sobbing sound escaped Alex's mouth and she grabbed onto his shoulders with both hands suddenly, hard, losing her mind—

There was a loud clattering noise somewhere behind them. Startled, Cas and Alex froze as a familiar and shocked voice uttered, "holy _SHIT_."


	27. It's Complicated

" _I love you as certain dark things are to be loved... in secret, between the shadow and the soul."  
_ \- Neruda

* * *

Brothers weren't supposed to see their sisters in this kind of situation.

He'd rushed through the door into the restaurant kitchen, hearing a lot of loud noises like there was some kind of fight happening—but the second he'd entered the kitchen he'd realized he'd had it _so_ wrong. In the space of a second, he took it all in: Cas pinning Alex up against the wall—her legs tightly wrapped around him, her dress shoved up—one of Cas's hands was grabbing her ass—the angel's trench coat and jacket were both missing, his white dress shirt was halfway off—they were kissing each other with wild and passionate abandon, and the way they were _moving_ against each other, the _sounds_ they were making… were sounds that had him thinking that _mother of god_ he'd walked in on them _having sex_. Stopping blindly mid-step, he'd clumsily knocked into the counter, sending a pot clattering to the floor.

"Holy _SHIT_ ," Sam exclaimed softly. Alex and Cas stopped making out and froze, looking over at him in dazed surprise as if they were coming out of a haze.

Sam was aghast: Cas had a bloody lip, there was a huge gash on Alex's arm and some smaller scrapes and cuts and crazy red marks like where she'd been grabbed repeatedly, their hair was disheveled, their clothes were a mess—they looked like they'd been in a fight. As their eyes cleared they seemed to see him and take in their surroundings, then they looked from Sam to each other, surprised, breathing hard, horror flashing across their faces as if they hadn't completely known what they were doing. They untangled. Cas pulled away, stumbling back even as Alex shakily leaned back into the corner—and there was a flash of semi-relief when Sam realized they _hadn't_ been having sex—Cas's pants weren't open or down—but oh _god_ Cas had clearly been ready… and Sam looked away, traumatized. Embarrassed, Cas stood off a few steps from Alex—the angel was looking at her hesitantly and in shock, and then down at himself, seeming to be surprised. Alex was avoiding looking at either of Cas or Sam… and she was really, _really_ out of breath with an expression of utter mortification.

"What—what's—" Sam stuttered out, at a loss. Was this Famine? Had Famine done this? Because… _wait_. Sam looked between them in disbelief. "I… I broke Famine's spell like _five minutes ago_ , guys."

At that, Alex looked up at him, temporarily seeming to forget her embarrassment in favor of severe confusion. "Five minutes ago?" She seemed to think that was impossible. "I was in the _Impala_ five minutes ago," she protested. "You weren't even _here_ five minutes ago."

Sam looked back at his sister, not sure what she was talking about. He'd been at Biggerson's for like ten minutes. He'd saved Dean from Famine and his henchmen demons… broken the spell, then been told by a frantic Dean that Cas and Alex were missing and you check in here, I'll look outside... and literally ten seconds after Dean went outside, Sam heard the sound of pots and pans falling and what he'd thought was the sound of his sister crying out in pain… and then he'd walked in on them.

From where Cas stood a few steps off, he spoke up slowly, looking at the ground. "I think that I… accidentally… moved us forward in time by a few minutes." He paused, embarrassed. "I was very…" he swallowed, looking down uncertainly, "uh, distracted."

"Jesus _Christ_ ," Sam muttered, even more mortified than before, bringing his hand up to cover the lower half of his face. He didn't need Cas to explain any further—he definitely got the implication. This was way, way too much for Sam to process—and when he glanced at Alex, she looked absolutely beside herself with burning embarrassment. Sam gathered himself with a deep breath, putting his hands on his hips and trying to breathe normally.

His sister straightened up as if to walk forward but faltered, making a sound of surprise and pain. Her arm shot out to catch herself against the wall and she leaned heavily against it, wincing, teeth gritted together. Sam and Cas moved toward her at the same time in concern, but Alex took one look at Sam approaching and she shrank away in what was clearly fear. Stopping short, Sam wondered why—then his heart clenched as he realized and remembered. He wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand, and away came the bright red demon blood. Ashamed, understanding, Sam held his hands up in a gesture of yielding. "I'm not gonna do anyth—I'm _fine_ ," he assured her. Last time he'd been high on this stuff, he'd hurt her.

Alex had allowed Cas near to her and the angel was now holding her up gingerly—she wouldn't look at him though—Cas regarded Sam in dark suspicion. "No, you're not fine," Cas said darkly. "You've had demon blood." The way the angel stood with Alex holding her close was fiercely protective; almost _possessive_ and Sam was stilled by the sight of it—then there was a twinge of anger and protectiveness on his end.

"I said I'm _fine_ ," Sam repeated, a little hostile when he spoke this time. Angel or not, Sam would kill him where he stood if the guy had in any way harmed his sister—he felt up to the task, too, demon blood humming through his veins and making him feel sharper than normal, stronger than normal, buzzing with power.

"Stay _back_ , Sam," Cas said threateningly, his voice carrying great command. Sam did stop but not because of Cas. From behind Cas's shoulder, Alex was looking at Sam with big, scared eyes. Eyes that remembered what he'd done to her the last time he'd been high on this stuff. Sam felt a wave of shame overcome him and then sadness that she didn't want him near her. His bravado faded a little and he grew pensive. He had _tried_ to resist it; the desire to drink demon blood. But he hadn't been able to, not at all. It had been over before it had begun. Maybe that's what had happened here, between these two, Sam reflected uncertainly. They'd been unable to resist, thanks to Famine.

Alex made another sound of pain and it was easy to tell she was restraining herself—that she was hurting a lot more than she was letting on. "What's wrong with her, Cas?" Sam asked, overcome with worry, his focus shifting.

"It was me," Cas said, sounding disgusted and sickened and terrified. "I did this."

Alex looked away, groaning and shutting her eyes tightly, hissing in pain. Sam felt sick but had no choice but to remain standing there, removed from the situation. Cas turned back to Alex, horrified concern returning to his face again. He was cautiously holding her by her arms, giving the impression that he had no idea what to do but felt entirely responsible. "I'm… I'm so sorry Alex," Cas stumbled verbally, sounding frightened and shellshocked—something Sam had never heard in the angel's voice before. Cas withdrew his left hand from where it grasped her arm, looking at her bright red blood that came away on his fingers. The sight of that seemed to make Castiel sink deeper into despair. He looked at Alex again, shaking his head blankly, at a complete loss. His voice almost broke as he sought her gaze and she purposefully avoided meeting it. "I didn't… I didn't mean to do this to you," he managed in an unsteady voice.

In Cas's careful grip, Alex swallowed, overwhelmed by the pain and by Cas's pleading statement. She couldn't really focus at the moment. The pain was bad—really bad. She'd felt it distantly when the kiss had ended, when they had untangled from each other, but it had suddenly hit her full force—pangs and aches in her back, her arms, her legs—from where Cas had slammed her around and grabbed her hard, thrown her against things without restraint. Her shoulder actually hurt the worst maybe, and she breathed out unevenly, realizing it was dislocated. She glanced at Cas, so mortified. The pain had felt like pleasure under the spell, but now it was just _pain_ —crippling, almost unbearable. On the side of her arm she was aware of a searing sensation—she moved her arm out a little to look down at it—there was a huge, bloody gash there—had that happened when they'd crashed through the freezer door? There were a couple other places on her arms that felt scraped or cut, and she could tell that she'd have bruises all over come morning.

She winced, gritted her teeth together, groaning in pain. She could feel how concerned and ashamed Cas was, which only made it worse for her… because a minute ago the way he'd been moving against her had her literally seconds away from… from… she swallowed and shut her eyes, realizing how close she'd been to an orgasm. _Jesus Christ_. Alex wished she could disappear right now. In the heat of the moment it had felt _so right_ and she hadn't wanted anything more than she wanted him—and now she couldn't look at him at all; too afraid that she would see judgement or condescension or worst of all, disgust. Had Cas really wanted her? Or was it just Famine's spell? Cas had suddenly seemed really fond of burgers, too, and he'd never given those a second look before...

The sound of a door slamming somewhere nearby, probably the main entrance, startled them all. "Sammy! Sam!" Dean's muffled voice thundered from another room.

Alex's pulse rocketed in alarm and beside her, even Cas seemed to realize _this was bad_. Reacting at the same time as them, Sam's expression chilled over then just as quickly became urgent. "Cas. Clothes— _now_ ," he said and turned, going quickly out of the doorway and into the main part of the restaurant to intercept Dean. Cas disappeared—literally—from Alex's side and she felt her stomach drop in shock—he just _left_? How the hell could he just—

She didn't get to finish the thought. Cas reappeared in front of her, looking normal again— _everything_ back to normal, like he'd regenerated or something. His bloody lip was gone, his hair wasn't a wreck, the buttons on his shirt were back, his tie was there (crooked, of course), his jacket and coat were back in place. It looked like nothing had happened at all, it was like he'd erased what happened completely. He stood in front of her wordlessly, holding her jacket out to her with a hesitant gaze. She took the jacket blankly. Their eyes met. It was the gaze of two people who had no idea how to face what had just happened between them. He looked so apprehensive and lost. But all Alex wanted to know was… had that been _him_? Was that _him_ who had wanted her like that? Because she knew during what had happened between them her mind had not been her own, not entirely—but at her deepest level, beyond the madness of Famine's spell… she _had_ wanted him. Still did.

She looked away, unable to maintain eye contact. She was so, _so_ confused. To the point of agony.

She reflected in dazed apprehension that perhaps whatever had just happened with them—the highly intimate moment… the first time she'd ever been touched in that way… had all been caused by a spell. There was a very good chance that this would drive some kind of wedge between them and ruin whatever flimsy friendship they'd had before. The idea of this devastated her completely, causing her throat to seize up. The physical pain—the utter passion and wild abandon of the moment they had shared—the standstill now and the not knowing how this would affect them—she couldn't help it: her expression broke and crumpled.

Cas felt ruined completely seeing her like that. _He had done this. He had caused this. He had hurt her physically._ In fact, if Sam hadn't intervened, Castiel felt certain that he would have _killed_ her under Famine's spell. This chilled him to the core. The other couples had killed each _other_ , but he was an angel, a hundred times more powerful and stronger than Alex and he _would_ have killed her if they had continued—it was in fact a miracle that he hadn't hurt her worse. This knowledge caused him some of the deepest distress he'd ever known.

And even though part of him wanted to hide in shame—free her of the abominable sight of him—there was a stronger need in himself to help her somehow, and he was acting before he'd even thought it through. He touched the side of her shoulder, not sure why, and then briefly reflected that perhaps she would scorn his touch, after… after everything that had just happened. After what he had done to her. But at the touch of his hand Alex looked up at him, startled and gone still. She didn't reject him or pull away, she just looked at him openly, and Castiel thought of how she was so painfully beautiful to him, even like this. Her eyes looked like they might be shining with tears. Tears he'd put there. Castiel felt physical pain ripple in his vessel. And his hand, of its own accord, went from her shoulder to the side of her face, the touch somewhere between tenderness and despair. _How had he done this to her?_ _How could he have lost control like that?_ Briefly… just briefly… the things Anna had shown him in the future flashed before his mind's eye.

Then they heard a loud commotion—the sound of Dean coming in and Sam talking loudly—and Cas pulled back abruptly, rapidly distancing himself by a few feet and leaving Alex agonized. There was an ache of pain in him at the sight of her standing alone, an ache in a place that wasn't physical. This distance from her was too much, but he had no other choice.

Dean stormed in loudly, closely followed by a worried Sam. He just missed seeing Cas touching Alex. "Jesus _Christ_ , where were you two?" he demanded irritably, then he looked around at the destroyed kitchen—the pots and pans everywhere, the freezer door ripped off its hinges. He then leveled Cas with a demanding, sharp gaze. "Where the hell did you poof off to? You were outside the restaurant and then you just Batman-ed away without a word?!" Dean sounded enraged.

"I… tried to take her someplace safe," Cas attempted shakily. He wasn't lying, but to Alex, he sounded guilty. Before he could slip up and make Dean suspicious, Alex found her voice, covering clumsily with the best story she could come up with.

"We, we ended up behind the restaurant… got attacked by more demons out there," Alex lied, scared out of her skin for Dean to look at her. Which he finally did.

He took in her messy appearance and the cuts and the big gash on her arm. She held her breath without realizing. And for just a moment she reflected that she shouldn't be this terrified of her own brother.

But when he saw the way she looked like she'd been beat up, Dean's rage had disappeared instantly and was replaced with shock—he went to her, taking her gently by the shoulders—she winced—he didn't even touch her that hard, but the skin was tender. It would be bruised badly later. Dean saw her wince and looked her over in genuine concern. "You're hurt," he said, and Alex looked at him kind of in surprise. Besides the talk they'd had after she got back from 1978, this was the first time he'd sounded genuinely caring toward her in _weeks_. Dean touched the side of her head, scrutinizing her in worry, then he turned to Cas, expression darkening. "Jesus, Cas, did you just let them beat on her while you stood back?" Cas was silent, guilty, and looked down in response. _Holy shit… this was just horrible_ , Alex thought, barely able to keep her composure. But she had no choice.

"Relax, Dean, I'll be fine," she said, trying to get Cas out of the line of fire, not sure he could stand up under it. Dean turned his attention back to her, shaking his head in dissatisfaction, but he let it go for the time being and heaved a deep sigh. He set his sights on Sam who was standing off and watching. Sam still had the demon blood on his face. Dean slowly went to the other side of the kitchen, closer to his brother. Distracted and tense, Dean picked up a small cast iron skillet from the counter that Sam stood next to. Hefting it up Dean smiled down at it humorlessly, twirling it a little in his hand. Everyone else looked at the skillet, unsure why Dean was suddenly interested in cookware. Then in a sudden burst of movement, Dean used it like a baseball bat and full-force hit Sam in the back of the head with it. Sam's six-foot-four frame went rag doll and he crumpled down onto the floor, unconscious.

"Dean! _What the hell_?!" Alex demanded in a shock-high voice. Beside her, a little closer now, Cas was looking at Dean in uncertainty and misunderstanding.

Dean slammed the pan down on the counter angrily, wrathful. "He's hopped up on demon blood, Al!" He pursed his lips and his expression was dark. "After last time... I don't feel like taking chances." Dean stooped with a grunt, yanking Sam's unconscious form up then supported him by slipping an arm around his waist as he yanked his brother's arm over his shoulder. Sam's head lolled forward limply.

"Cas, take us to Bobby's, _now_ ," Dean commanded intensely. "I need to get him on lockdown _stat_."

There was hesitation on Cas's part, a slight, fumbling glance in Alex's direction… and then they were gone from that place.

* * *

"Alright, ready?" Dean was bracing Alex's shoulder with his hands as she waited with grudging dread on her face. She squeezed her eyes closed, nodded yes, bracing herself for the oncoming pain. "One... two... three!" Dean counted, and on three he forcibly slammed her shoulder back into place with a loud crunch. She made a horrible, pained yell and then let out a deep, tense breath, her cheeks puffing up as the pain radiated.

Cas stood a few steps back, watching her in distress, uselessly holding the box of medical supplies Dean had shoved at him a minute ago.

 _Brutal._ Across the centuries, Castiel had come to associate this word with wars and violence... the Khmer Rouge killing fields, the first World War, the Massacre of the Innocents in the first century. The unrestrained violence, the mercilessness, the disregard for the preciousness of human life—the dark tangle of violence, anger, and betrayal that resulted in death and destruction—that was brutal. He'd understood the word at a certain level, associated it with physical acts and periods in history.

But Castiel reflected that this _felt_ brutal to him: To helplessly stand by and see Dean fixing up Alex's wounds. Wounds that _he_ had inflicted. In a frenzy of passion—a passion he hadn't known himself capable of—he'd lost control, he'd been moments away from ending her life without being able to stop himself. It hurt him inside and gave him so many dark, tormented thoughts. _He had done this_. It was unforgivable. She was avoiding his gaze, and had been, since... since the spell had been broken.

Once Sam, still unconscious, had been handcuffed and put into the panic room, Dean had immediately set to work looking over Alex's injuries more thoroughly. He'd decided she needed stitches on her arm.

"Hand me that, Cas," Dean commanded, giving the angel a side eye.

Cas complied, handing over the supplies indicated to Dean but with no great certainty. Alex sat on an old chair and Dean had pulled up a big storage box to sit on. He rummaged through a crate of supplies and got out an alcohol pad then took Alex's arm in his hand and swiped the disinfectant across the gash there. She breathed in sharply, letting out a sound of repressed pain. "Stings bad," she mumbled, strained. Dean was getting out a needle and a spool of shiny black surgical thread. Cas watched with increasing discomfort. Many angels cared little about humans in physical pain as the soul was what counted and lasted—bodily harm was transitory. But for Castiel, the thought of Alex in pain, especially pain dealt by his hand... it was abhorrent to him.

"Shouldn't you take her to a medical professional?" he asked, trying to stifle the anxiety in his voice.

He received a sharp glance from Dean in return. "Cas, after thirty years of patching my kid siblings up, I think I got a simple stitch up."

Alex glanced up at Cas and their eyes met for a brief, torturous second.

He tried not to remember her against him, so close and physically arousing. He felt a mixture of shame and confusion wash over him as he looked away from her. Shame because in his deepest thoughts he had liked what they were doing—he had _wanted_ it—not with anyone else, but with _her_. And he didn't completely understand what that meant or why. In fact, he almost never understood the _why_ behind his actions and it was becoming more and more frustrating. In the past he didn't need to understand his actions as he hadn't been responsible for them. He just did what was commanded. There had been a comfort there in not having to decide wrong from right. Yes, he had felt the increasing pull of doubt, the increasing desire to do what he thought in his own mind to be right… but now he was on the opposite end of the spectrum, wildly piloting himself through life and situations with nothing to steer him but his thoughts, convictions, and feelings... all of which were constantly clashing, circling each other, fighting each other for dominance, warring within him, leaving him uncertain of himself.

"Ready?" Dean asked his sister.

Cas's attention refocused into the scene before him... like it or not.

Alex grabbed the whiskey bottle Dean had brought her and took a very long pull of the dark liquid then set it back with a hiss, regarding Dean with what looked like dread and tenacity alike. "Do your worst," she said, a humorous comment said without any humor. Cas watched, unable to look away, worried.

Dean took in a deep breath and muttered something like "here goes nothing." Holding her with one hand by the elbow, he carefully stuck the needle in at the bottom of the wound and made the first stitch. Alex's whole body tensed perceptibly and she let out a pained little sound that she attempted to stifle. Dean paused and looked at his sister in a disquieted way. "Sometime today, Dean, _Jesus_ ," she managed in between clenched teeth as she stared up at the ceiling, every muscle in her body rigid and screaming.

"Yes ma'am," he muttered, refocusing and continuing his work, stitching the open wound back together as quickly as he could. Each stitch seemed to pain Alex worse. She sat very still, eyes screwed closed, lips pressed together hard and going inwards. She breathed hard through her nose and her face became more and more scrunched in pain—she squeezed her hands and clenched her free one onto the chair, then hit her fist against her own leg a couple times in some kind of effort to redirect her brain. Cas had to look away finally, turnning and shutting his eyes. But he could still hear the strained way she breathed and fidgeted. Languishing in self-loathing, he again cursed himself for doing this to her.

A minute later, it ended. "Done," Dean said, tying off the thread and cutting off the excess, handing his sister a clean rag. Alex let out a deeply relieved breath and took the rag to hold it against the wound to stop the bleeding.

"Thanks," she said soft and low. Her voice was still tight with discomfort. Dean gave her a wan little smile and patted her on her other arm where there were no injuries and he started to put away the supplies he'd been using.

They both started when they heard the sound of Sam banging against the side of the panic room where they'd cuffed him. "Guys? _Guys_!"

Everyone went still and quiet and looked toward where the sound had come from.

"Hey! I'm in here, help me! _Help me_!" Sam sounded alarmed. Dean set down the box of medical stuff and stood up, going to the door of the panic room. He slid open the slat just a little to peer in. Sam saw it. His cuffs rattled loudly. "Dean! _Dean_! You gotta get me out of here!"

Dean looked like he was thinking about saying something, then heaved a heavy breath and shut the viewport, his expression grave.

Watching silently, Cas and Alex remained where they were as Dean came back, grabbed the whiskey bottle, and then leaned against the wall across from Alex. He was stone-faced as he took a swig.

"Lemme outta here, please! _Help_!" Sam's shouts intensified.

Dean closed his eyes even as Alex put an elbow on her knee and her face in a hand. To Castiel, they were suddenly and irrevocably the picture of defeat. Sam continued to shout and as Cas watched Alex and Dean become morose… Castiel felt the same way himself, touched with empathy. But he knew that Sam wasn't himself right now, that this was something that was temporary, not permanent. He wondered if he should try to remind them of that, take a chance and try to help again. So, he did. "That's not him in there," he said quietly. "Not really."

There was a pause where Alex peeked up at him solemnly and Dean let out a soft breath. "Yeah," Dean agreed heavily. Sam was groaning now, maybe weeping even. The sound was muffled a little by the walls. Alex's face was tight with a pain that wasn't physical as she listened to the sounds. Her gaze dropped to the floor. Dean was making a similar face to hers.

"Sam just has to get it out of his system," Castiel continued, attempting to comfort them somehow. "Then he'll be—" _fine_? Cas glanced at Alex, who looked doubtful and worried. And Cas realized he didn't know if Sam _would_ be fine. With the angels looming over their heads, the threat of Lucifer… the future he'd seen… Cas trailed off, silent.

And Dean, suddenly tenser than before, straightened himself, expression unreadable. "Listen, I just, uh… I just need to get some air."

Alex watched Dean go, her eyes flickering toward Castiel and then away. Sam's shouts echoed again, muffled and frenzied.

Cas looked at Alex slowly, barely able to bring himself to. The reality of what he'd done to her kept sinking in as he looked upon her. Disgusted with himself, Castiel let his eyes fall. He had only been in a human vessel for two years but the troubles it came with, the burden of emotions and thoughts that seemed interwoven with feelings (feelings that were devoid of logic)… it all confounded him completely. He couldn't fathom how Alex could contain the noise in her mind if it were anything like his or how she shouldered the burden of it and survived year after year, giving the impression that she was handling it, coping. He felt somehow weaker than her in that respect. Yes, he had seen centuries come and go, kingdoms rise and fall. But this human in front of him had _felt_ , had been betrayed, abused, forgotten, misused, overlooked, hurt, dragged through the metaphorical fire… all of this for her entire life thus far.

In moments like this, Castiel felt that perhaps he might fall apart. His darkest fear was that the future he'd seen in 2014 would come true. That this was another step in that direction. Toward her dying at his hand. Nothing seemed more unthinkable. Still, the fleeting image of them together, content, living a normal life… it stayed with him and it warmed him even as it frightened him past the point of no return.

Silent and still, Alex looked up at him finally, her eyes veiled and afraid and hurt, a little guarded. In the background, Sam's screams continued.

"Are you... alright?" Cas finally asked her, filled with dread. The question made her look down and away, he noticed her breathing quickened and her mouth moved oddly. She stood up unevenly, trying to hide the way she was struggling.

"It's whatever," she replied in a dismissive mumble. He heard anger and sadness alike in that strange, foreign statement. It's whatever? Her words almost hurt him somehow.

She hugged herself, a hand on each opposite arm, facing halfway away from him where he could only see her profile. His eyes swept over to where her stitched up wound would be. She still held the now-bloody rag there. He coveted for his ability to heal. But somehow he felt that even if he could take away the physical pain, she would still be hurt, she would still be avoiding his gaze like that. He didn't know what to do. How could they have been so close a few moments ago and now… _this_? He could see that she was watching him out of the corner of her eye. They were only a few feet away from each other, but it could have been miles—that's how alone Cas felt.

For a few snatched and hazy moments, he had felt the opposite of alone. There in her arms he'd learned a new definition for the word 'close'—and it hadn't been just physical, this closeness. It had transcended that. It had set his heart beating faster, his convictions rooting deeper, his feelings soaring higher. It had felt right, even though he knew, logically, it had been wrong.

...Hadn't it?

"Alex! Dean! Someone _help me_!" Sam screamed. Alex tensed, looking up, pain on her face.

Cas glanced in the direction where she looked, then back at her. "He'll probably be like this for a few days," Cas told her gently, cautiously. He was unsure how she would react to him now.

Alex finally looked at him and didn't look away. But she was apprehensive and guarded. "Cas… what… what was happening?" her voice was barely above a whisper. "What were we _doing_?"

His stomach jerked at her blunt question and his gaze faltered away. He knew that she wasn't asking _what_ they were doing, but what it had _meant_ , because… he wanted to know, too, so intensely. He needed to know if she had wanted it, too, if below the current of the spell, that she had wanted _that_ from _him_. Alex's question hung in the air. _'What were we_ doing _?'_ He didn't have the answer, or maybe he did he just didn't know how to articulate it.

"We were…" he began, uncertain, not possessing any clear idea of how to answer. And then the fear deeper than any ocean on earth overtook him when he again thought of the future Anna had shown him—he felt that if he admitted to her his deepest desires and affections, he risked everything—he risked _her_. And his mind screamed at him in quick succession, _you have to tell her!_ and then _she can't know!_ In agony, Castiel realized he was trapped. He had no other choice but to hide more of himself and his true convictions from her in order to save her from the future; he no other choice but to continue the lie he had started. The lie he had invented by taking away her memory of him kissing her in the panic room.

He steeled himself for what he was about to tell her. "It was... Famine's effect on us—" he said. He wouldn't look at her as he lied. It was too appalling—he didn't know if he could see her when he said what he said next. "It was—the vessel."

Alex sounded like she'd had the wind knocked out of her. "...W-what?"

"It was the vessel," Castiel repeated, jaw clenching tightly.

There was a long silence. "I… I don't believe you," Alex finally replied, but she sounded very uncertain of herself.

Castiel forced himself to look at her, and her expression made him want to die, but he couldn't let it sway him. He continued in the abominable lie, believing this was what was best, what would save her. "Jimmy… he um—he liked brunettes."

Alex's expression became almost angry at that remark and she came closer to him, eyes narrowed like she was suspicious. "Amelia—his _wife_?—was _blonde_."

Cas fumbled, feeling caught. He'd forgotten that. Alex's anger had transitioned into some kind of desperate hurt. "You can't tell me—" she wavered, "that all of that was just—that all of that wasn't you." She was almost begging him now for the truth, letting herself be vulnerable. " _None_ of it?"

Cas met her gaze. His conscience screamed at him that this was wrong. But he didn't know any other way to protect her. "I'm sorry," he replied stiffly, loathing himself. "It wasn't."

Alex stared at him, blinked, took a couple deep, fast breaths… then exploded. "That is such _bullshit_ , Castiel!" she pretty much shouted, then her expression crumpled and she turned away, walking to the opposite wall to lean there heavily, a palm against the wall. Her body seemed to have trouble breathing, her shoulders were trembling.

She bowed her head and let her palm become an angry fist against the wall. Castiel watched her in a mixture of sadness, shock, and hurt. He should leave. He should walk away. He should let her be angry at him and become bitter, because that would distance them. That would save her. But the sight of her alone and hurting was too much for him to bear and he regretted what he'd said. His misery increased tenfold—nothing he did and no choice he made seemed right. He went closer to her, stood just behind her, uncertain. And then put a hand gently, so gently, onto her back, onto her right shoulder blade.

Alex's head came up, but she stared straight ahead and she didn't make to look at him or turn around. She seemed to have gone cold. Her voice was calm, low, quiet. "Don't touch me." He didn't understand but he did as she said and took his hand away, feeling stung inwardly somehow. She turned her head slightly toward him, but wouldn't look at him, not even sidelong. "Just leave me alone, Castiel," she said evenly, voice low and measured, blank. She called him by his full name. She usually called him Cas.

Confused, Castiel didn't move yet. Usually her anger made her volatile—but she was quiet and placid, a still shining lake instead of a stormy ocean. This disturbed him more than anything else. She wasn't reacting like he'd thought she would. Castiel felt overcome with despair and frustration and regret. He couldn't _heal_ her, he couldn't _comfort_ her—he couldn't _fix this_ even though he so desperately needed to do all three. He tried again, his hand hovering just above her back. He wanted to touch her so badly, reassure her in some small way, tell her that at least that he didn't despise her. "Alex…"

"I said _leave_!" she snapped, voice trembling, turning away from him pointedly.

Castiel took his hand away, his entire vessel feeling so disappointed and wounded. He stepped back and disappeared, giving her what she wanted and fading away into the melancholy of shame.

Sam's shouts had dissolved into pitiful moans and Alex shut her eyes tight, digging deep for composure. There was no way she could stay in here and listen to his cries for help and not do anything. She let the rag drop away from her arm wound, then turned around in a robotic fashion and made her way out of the basement, trying to escape everything: her feelings, her brother's distress, reality in general. She walked up the stairs unseeingly. Each step she took was heavier than the last. Her heart was a twisted mess of pain. It overshadowed any physical pain she felt.

"Hey kiddo, you okay?" Bobby asked her. He was near the top of the stairs in his wheelchair. Alex had forgotten he would even be there but… she couldn't find anything in herself to respond to him at all, just shook her head a little and walked right past him. She felt like the second she opened her mouth she'd lose it. No one and _nothing_ was more important than just getting the hell out of here right now. In a haze of painful limps, Alex went out into the darkness of night, struggling her way to the end of Bobby's road, trying to hold herself together, trying to shove the pain away. For now, the stabbing sensations in her thighs were distracting from those feelings. Until she thought of _why_ her legs hurt so bad where Cas had grabbed her with his super-human strength hands. _God._ Overhead, thunder rumbled.

She reached the end of Bobby's driveway. This was where the old rusted _Singer Auto Salvage_ sign arced over the dirt road. On either side of it junked cars piled up. Alex leaned heavily against one of the old vehicles, palms on the the hood above the wheel well. She couldn't stop the thoughts from coming.

His words and what they meant to her echoed: _'I'm sorry. It wasn't,'_ he'd said. She'd heard: _it wasn't me who wanted you that way. It wasn't me who practically ravished you in furious passion. It wasn't me who looked at you with eyes full of desire and need. It wasn't me who touched you like you've never been touched before. It wasn't me who almost pushed you over the brink. It wasn't me. It wasn't me, it was all this body I inhabit. How could you even think that it was_ me _?_

She shouldn't be surprised—that's what she kept telling herself. He was a friggin' angel, a creature from a totally different realm… he'd existed for thousands of years... and who the hell was she? Some little blip on the radar. One single grain of sand on the beach. She felt cursed—only _Alex_ would have the bad luck of getting loopy under the spell of an apocalyptic horseman and make out with her guardian angel and then, _and then_ make the mistake of thinking he wanted it too.

But dammit! How _couldn't_ he have?!

She remembered the conviction and passion he'd kissed her with… it left her with instincts _screaming_ that it was _not_ fantasy, she wasn't crazy and there _had_ to be something to this—because Castiel had told her that Jimmy was dead, and anything left over about his preferences was dwarfed by his magnificent celestial bullshit or whatever. So how the hell could that be true that the _vessel_ wanted her, not _him_?

If it had been a person other than herself, would Cas still have acted? Still done all of that? Because she remembered that moment of clarity where the ragingly lustful feelings had ebbed away and he had pulled back, and she had _seen him_ , seen such soulful things in his gaze… things in his eyes that were never there at any other time… and she had kissed him and he had returned the kiss without hesitation. And out of all of it, _everything_ that had happened in that restaurant kitchen, _that_ shook her the deepest and hurt her the most. _It had been real._ It had been _them_. Why would Castiel _lie_ to her about this?

Alex could have cried or laughed at this point: She was in love with an angel who couldn't, wouldn't, or _didn't_ love her back. Maybe some combination of all three. But she so badly wanted him to. So badly.

Angry at herself for her feelings, she flew into a fit of rage, whirling around unevenly, fists clenched at her sides as she looked at the sky wrathfully, eyes glistening. "Castiel, you _fucking coward_!" She screamed. Her voice broke at this point. " _Liar_!"

She sat down on the hood of the old car miserably. What kind of hopeless lovesick child was she, anyway? It was the worst kind of pain to want someone who didn't, apparently, want you back. She had bigger things to worry about, the fucking planet was falling apart—but Castiel was something she couldn't stay away from in her mind. She thought of the first time he healed her, his gentle touch and the awe she'd felt for him. She thought of the second time he'd healed her, directly going against what Uriel had said, doing it with Uriel in the _same friggin' room_ , doing it _anyway_ and _looking at her_ like he did. Maybe that was when it happened—her, falling in love with him, or starting to—she didn't know, she just knew that at this point she didn't know how to fall _out_ of love with him.

At the current moment she wanted to be anyone else except Alex Winchester, _anyone_ else but the person feeling these feelings—

The sound of feet shifting on gravel nearby snapped her out of her thoughts. She jumped up and was shocked to see Cas standing in front of her, his expression miserable and a little reluctant, his eyes heavy.

Alex's misery increased when she realized how badly she wanted to rush into his arms, to be held there in safety. This thought only further infuriated her with him—how could he be the one to devastate her internally and at the same time be the one she wanted comfort from? In an attempt to protect herself from further pain, she became outwardly hostile. "I thought I told you to screw off," she said angrily, crossing her arms and looking away sullenly.

He ignored that, stepped a little closer. "I've upset you," he said. He sounded soft, gentle, concerned which should have only increased her rage, but instead, it broke her down.

 _Dammit_ she had been determined not to let him do this to her again, but she just couldn't hold it all inside… the anger, the sorrow, the rejected desperation. Her shoulders sagged, her crossed arms loosened. "No shit," she said, and even though she wanted to shout at him, she could barely manage to speak. "You—you kissed me like that, _touched_ me like that and then said it wasn't you." She blinked against watery stinging eyes. Disgusted with herself, she raised a hand to angrily dash away a tear off her face.

He saw the tears and his expression wavered. "Alex, I—"

She shook her head, trying so hard to hold it together. " _God_ , Cas! How do you think that makes me _feel_?" She asked accusingly. Did he really not know? His expression was mournful. How could this man have been so tangled up with her in pure passion, make her feel so amazing and part of something grand and beautiful… then say it wasn't even him? She told him how shitty it made her feel before she could stop herself. "It makes me feel stupid and worthless and cheap."

Castiel became almost angry when she said that. He went even closer, his trench coat brushing up against her knee. "You are _none_ of those things," he said intently and held her gaze, looking at the young woman in front of him who was suffering at his hand yet again. He was so torn and so unhappy with himself. Perhaps this was his curse, that anyone who he cared for so deeply would only be hurt by him. And even though he knew the future was grim for them, for _her_ , he couldn't keep on with the charade, with this choice. He just couldn't. It wasn't right, and he needed to tell her the truth. He grasped her gently there at the elbow and prepared to make his confession, even though the heart of his vessel hammered, his stomach turned, and he felt an unhinged sense of fear that telling her this would offset events he couldn't control, would make her hate him. But he knew he had to do this. So he did.

Hesitating, Cas began. "I lied to you, Alex. It wasn't Jimmy who…" he stopped here, looked down, trying to summon the courage. There was no turning back. His voice softened. "It wasn't Jimmy who... desired you that way," he admitted guiltily. Alex went completely still. Castiel's eyes slid up to hers and his veins coursed with anxious tension. "It was me." Her jaw slowly slackened and she looked like she couldn't believe what he'd said. He knew from her expression that she wanted to hear more. " _I_ … wanted…" he cast around for a way to say it, then helplessly settled on, " _you_."

She continued to stare at him and began to shake her head in stuttering confusion, her voice dazed and not fully convinced. "Why did you lie?"

Cas withdrew from her slightly, ashamed and unsure how she could not be livid with him yet. "I thought—I'm not entirely sure what I thought." It was an honest answer, because Cas was questioning his motivations and logic very closely now—they seemed unsound and also ineffective. "Perhaps that I was keeping you safe," he said and swallowed. This truly was the point of no return. He looked down. "From myself."

"Safe from _you_?" she asked, sounding like that was a foreign concept.

Castiel felt another pang of regret. He had explained this to her, the forbidden nature of romantic angel and human relationships, the danger therein. Only, she didn't _remember_ it. He had taken that from her. "It's… hard to explain," he explained in a very tense voice.

Her expression grew a little less soft. " _Try_."

It was halfway between a plea and a command and Castiel found himself suddenly faced with another choice: lie more to cover it up, leave and avoid the truth… or be honest and end the deception now. He didn't allow himself enough time to choose the coward's way out. "Anna showed me the future," he said. "Before we went back to nineteen seventy-eight. I saw the Croatoan virus, Lucifer using Sam, Dean… burnt and broken." Alex didn't look very disconcerted. Dean had told Cas about that and she was aware of those things… so those things weren't news to her. But what he said next, she hadn't known. "And… I saw us," Cas said, barely able to look at her. "What you and I became." There was a short silence of bated breath—Alex's eyebrows raised up. "I saw you _die_ ," he told her, and the pain at the memory of the image seeped into his voice and face. "In great detail. And it happened because of _me_."

Alex frowned. "But… but Dean… he changed it, didn't he? When he brought Sam back in, found the Colt. He says he changed that future."

Cas let out a heavy, troubled breath. "No. I don't think he has, Alex," he paused. " _I_ have to change it. I can't let Lucifer take Sam or…" he trailed off, then looked at her sorrowfully, "any of it."

She had a hurt and confused face. "I don't understand…" she looked at him in despair. Just like the last time he'd told her that they couldn't do this. Wrecked inside, Castiel realized what he had to do. He didn't want to. He was afraid of what she would think of him, but he had made up his mind and he looked at her sadly, reached for her.

"What are you doing?" she asked apprehensively, looking at his two fingers coming to the side of her forehead. She didn't move away or attempt to dodge his touch though.

Cas paused, looked at her directly in the eye. "I took something from you," he said gravely. "I'm giving it back."

"Wha—" Alex started, but his fingers touched her skin, and suddenly, she remembered it like she'd never forgotten at all.

_The night before Carthage. Reaching out, touching Cas's hand. Him looking at her openly, longingly. Sam interrupting them. Alex freaking out and fleeing to the panic room._

_Cas coming after her, asking why she'd done that, why she'd touched his hand. She'd lied, said she didn't know—afraid of being rejected. But he'd pressed. He hadn't let it go. He had seemed desperate for an answer and he'd refused to leave her until she answered him. And the alcohol, the idea that her life might end the next day had given her some kind of bravery and she remembered asking him, fumblingly, if he had feelings for her._

_His answer? "The truth is… I think about you much more than I should."_

_Hearing that had stunned her, had elated her, had scared her all at the same time. "Me too," she'd said, unable to believe the moment._

_But then it had all faded away when he said "we can't." And she_ heard _him explain that angels and humans weren't allowed to be together, that it was forbidden and volatile… she'd heard it but hadn't understood how it was fair or right because she wanted a chance, just a chance to be with him because how she felt wasn't going to go away._

 _And he'd turned to leave, but she hadn't let him, she'd seen a sliver of hope and had clung to it, but he'd become strained, then had tried to intimidate her, to frighten her away. He'd grabbed her close, trying to scare her. But there in his arms, feeling his heart hammering through his coat and against her chest, she'd been nothing except intrigued—she'd seen it—literally_ seen _the shift in his eyes from determination to fear and then to desire and conflict. She could see him fighting himself, but he lost. He'd kissed her then. His first kiss, a kiss he hadn't fully known how to give, but quickly learned. His mouth had been so sweet and earnest at first before the kiss deepened into something more fervent and searching. And maybe it become too much for him, because he'd pulled back, shaken up._

 _She remembered that when he pulled away he had been panicked, been shocked, telling her he shouldn't have done that, that it had been a mistake. And she'd been crushed._ Crushed. _And then when he'd realized he hurt her—his expression had changed, for a long moment he'd just looked at her and then he seemed to decide something. He'd reached for her, she'd asked what he was doing. "Making this right," was the answer, and she'd known suddenly. That he was going to take this memory from her. "Cas,_ no _!" she'd exclaimed._

_But he took it from her anyway._

The memory rushed into her mind and Alex blinked a few times, stunned, then looked at Cas, overcome at the revelation. He looked grim and resigned, ready to receive her wrath. But all she could do was revel in the truth of it all: He'd _kissed_ her and the way he had done so had revealed more than words could ever say—that he felt things for her that he felt for no one else. That he held things in his heart for her that were profound and deep. No wonder he'd taken the memory away. He couldn't lie to cover it up, the unspoken things she now knew that he kept from her. She knew now. She _knew_ , and her heart swelled because this changed _everything_.

At her speechlessness, Cas was puzzled and apprehensive. "Aren't you... angry with me?" he asked, seeming somewhere between disbelief and almost disappointment.

"Well _yeah_ but…" she replied automatically, then trailed off. Alex looked at him and saw a man—an angel—who felt like everything rested on him, and more than that, her entire life and well-being. And maybe that's what Heaven said a guardian angel had to shoulder, but in her opinion, Heaven was full of a bunch of jackasses and they needed to re-write the rule book. Especially when it caused Cas so much pain, so much confusion. But he wasn't even her guardian angel because of Heaven's orders anymore. No. He'd clearly chosen long ago to be her protector of his own free will, despite what Heaven said either way. And that was why she wasn't so much angry as she was just _torn_.

She got it, she did—that he took the memory for a variety of reasons, that he believed he was doing the right thing. He thought them being together was the reason why she died in the future. He'd told her they couldn't be together and it had wounded her and he hadn't wanted her to have to deal with more pain. It was obvious that he was afraid of it, of the thought of them being together. So was she, honestly.

So, no, she wasn't angry even though from anyone else doing the same thing she would have been livid. She was… honestly? Relieved. Because she had been _right_ about him and she _wasn't_ crazy and now the dreams about the panic room _made sense_ and hell yeah Castiel needed the ass-kicking of his life for pulling that shit but right now…? Right now she was just reeling from learning the truth: that this angel cared for her more than he was willing to admit. He had also clearly said they couldn't be together though. Herein laid the difficult feelings and the great sadness. She gently grasped his upper arms, seeking his gaze as he waited for her to reply.

"Cas I—yes I was hurt. It… it hit me hard." She paused. "But… I mean, we could have made that decision _together._ " She shook her head mournfully, unable to believe what she was saying. "To walk away from whatever this is between us." Her eyes wavered. "If that's what has to happen."

His eyes flicked up to hers and they were anguished. "What's between us is cursed." His statement was like a ton of bricks. "All I ever do... is hurt you. I damage you. I _kill_ you in the end."

At that comment about him literally killing her, Alex looked at him a oddly. "Aren't you being a little overly dramatic?"

"No. I saw it, Alex." Cas was deadly serious, and withdrew from her, troubled. "You were infected with the virus with me right there beside you. I didn't save you from being bitten and... and I… you begged me to… with a _gun_ … before you could turn…" he looked to his left, expression sickened. "And I did it." He paused heavily. "And there was… a… we had..." he trailed off, shook his head, deciding against saying whatever he'd been about to say. He looked back at her intensely. "I won't allow this to happen. It's my task to protect you. _Preserve_ your life, not _destroy_ it."

Even though he looked terrified—even though he was telling her about her brutal end in the future where he was forced to shoot her to death—it seemed so far away, so unthinkable that Alex couldn't quite identify with Castiel's horrified concern. "You told Dean once that all roads led to the same destination," she pointed out hesitantly. "And every time we've tried to change the future before… it's never worked." It was dismal of her, but realistic. Dean hadn't been able to stop Azazel from killing Mom. They hadn't been able to stop Lucifer from rising. What else had fate sealed in as unavoidable?

Cas looked even more intent, even more convicted. "I have to try. I won't risk your life."

 _What_ life? She didn't expect to live long anyway, she never had—and honestly if she had to live the rest of her life without Cas, she would _rather_ die young and take the time they had to be together. Lame? Maybe, but the way she felt? Yes. Alex struggled to find words, her mind a tornado, the walls of her emotions weakening, threatening to break down. Everything they'd shared so far… everything between them… it was too important and too valuable to just drop and walk away from. This angel had practically been her first real friend outside of her brothers. He was the one who had given her a voice and life and a _part_ of himself. He'd been her first kiss, the first and only person who had ever touched her intimately, the first person who had ever truly made her believe she was beautiful. The only person to inspire such heartfelt longings beyond the physical. The one who had died for her once and would die for her again. Who else in the entire world could ever compare, even a little bit?

She had no idea what kind of relationship they would have or how it would work, none of that but… the thought that _they couldn't_ was unfair and overwhelming, everything opposite of what she wanted. "So you're saying…" she trailed off then gathered herself, wishing that she would say this and he would reprove her, tell she'd misunderstood. "That we can't."

Their eyes met.

"Yes." he said. "That's what I'm saying." His reply sounded quietly devastated.

 _No_ —everything inside of her begged _no_ , because she didn't _want_ to just give up. She _couldn't_. She felt her pulse speeding up, her entire body buzzing with nerves. "But Cas—" she moved toward him. He wasn't far. "I don't _wanna_ walk away from this," she admitted, her emotions in overdrive. And then she asked the question that left her completely vulnerable to getting hurt again. Because she _had_ to know, once and for all. "Do… do _you_?"

Her question seemed to stir something inside of him, something he visibly fought. Something that made his jaw tighten and his mouth move briefly and his forehead tense up. For a minute, Alex thought he was going to turn from her and walk away. _Please, please don't,_ she thought to herself. Then his expression softened. He seemed to give up or give in.

" _No_ ," he said brokenly, conflicted. He reached out and touched her gently underneath her jaw, his thumb resting over the middle of her chin—his eyes dark and holding so many unspoken things, but most of all, a tenderness and affection. The skin underneath his hand came alive with surprise and thrill alike. Her heart jumped inside her chest and he shook his head just slightly, seemingly helpless as he gave his final answer: "I don't."

His hand swept back, tracing her jaw, resting against the side of her neck and their dark eyes held for a very long moment, saying everything. And then Cas closed the distance between them, pressing his lips to hers softly, fervently, surprising Alex completely, relieving her and making her dizzy. She melted into him, feeling Cas's hand now gently cradling the side of her head, letting herself kiss him and say all the things she didn't know how to say out loud in the way she embraced him. Helplessly, her hand came to rest against his face, palm against the scruff of his jaw, fingers curling into the hair at the side of his head. Warmth spread throughout her entire body, her pain was temporarily forgotten. His mouth was hesitant and shy almost, but searching and earnest, and together they found a deeper, slower kiss than they had ever shared before. Maybe they both knew they shouldn't, but neither could help it. Maybe it was a mistake, they probably shouldn't have, but there was no turning back. Even without a spell, they couldn't find it within themselves to resist each other.

It was a kiss that said _I don't know what's going to happen next. But I need you all the same._ The kiss was deepening and slowing, becoming increasingly passionate and heavy. It didn't need to make sense. Alex wanted him—needed him—desperately, and that was fact. One of his arms was around her waist and tightened just slightly—he was being delicate with her, obviously still torn up about the way he'd physically harmed her just a little awhile ago, doing the same thing... kissing. Except this was different. They weren't gale force driven to destruction and harm, they were just two people who desperately wanted each other and couldn't handle the reality that they shouldn't be together. Alex whimpered softly, wishing she knew how to be brave enough to deepen this moment even more...

"My my," came a low, velvet voice. "Am I interrupting something?"

Alex and Cas pulled apart fast, startled at the sudden intrusion—they hadn't heard anyone walk up. In front of them, smiling slyly—" _Crowley_ ," Castiel said lowly, eyes narrowing. He immediately stepped in front of Alex, putting himself between the demon and herself.

Crowley chuckled, giving the impression of casual pleasantry. "Castiel, I presume… we haven't yet had the pleasure." Crowley glanced at Alex, then back at Cas, seeming pleased. "And dear me, if the rumors about the two of you aren't true."

 _Rumors? What rumors?_ Castiel maintained a hostile expression and didn't ask. "What are you doing here?" he demanded.

Crowley shrugged, took a couple steps to his left, shot Cas a coy glance. "Just popped in for a quick visit with littlest Winchester."

Bristling, Cas didn't take his eyes off of Crowley for a minute. "What could _you_ possibly want with her?"

Crowley had stopped and he stood with his hands in his pockets, an overly concerned look on his face as he peered at Alex where she stood behind Cas. "Dear me, Alexandra love, you're not looking too well—guardian angel fall down on the job today?" his expression changed and he looked pleased with himself again, holding a finger out in thought. "Oh, that's right... _he's_ the one who did that to you." He made a tsk sound and wagged his finger once. "Domestic violence, such a shame."

Cas's expression fell completely in shock.

"Get lost," Alex muttered scornfully.

Crowley just smiled at her. "But you and I have things to discuss, remember?"

Cas looked back at Alex questioningly, then at Crowley. His expression was dark again, murderous. "What _things_ , Crowley?"

Crowley's maddening smile remained, he wiggled his eyebrows once, clearly enjoying the power play. "That's for me to know, mate."

Castiel strode across the remaining three feet between them and grabbed Crowley roughly, threateningly, by the front of his suit jacket. "You won't _touch_ her."

"What, only _you_ get to do that?" Crowley asked, eyes glinting, completely apathetic to Castiel's show of aggression. His voice lowered a little bit. "Tell me, Castiel… did you like it? Batting her around like that? If I didn't know any better I'd say the girl picked a boyfriend a little too much like Daddy _dearest_." That comment touched a raw nerve Cas hadn't even known existed and in a sudden fit of rage and anger, Cas moved to slam Crowley to the ground—but the demon vanished out of his grasp, reappearing beside Castiel a few feet off and out of reach. " _Ah-ah-ah_!" Crowley chided, nonplussed. He straightened his jacket. "Just had this dry cleaned. No horseplay for me right now, thanks." Castiel now held his angel blade in his hand and looked at Crowley dangerously. Crowley's eyes slid to the blade, his eyebrows raised—then his eyes slid to Alex, who was standing beside a junked car, leaning heavily onto it with one hand. "Funny, that." Crowley looked at Cas with a fascinated, superior little smile on his face. "Haven't you heard gambling's a sin, choir boy? I'm surprised you're willing to bet her life."

"What do you mean?" Cas asked darkly.

"Just _look_ at yourself, angel wings—I'm not the one here who's a danger to her." Crowley's smile twitched just a little. " _That_ would be _you_. Falling right into step to dance the same old song…" he trailed off meaningfully, seeming to suppose they would know what he meant.

At their confused looks, Crowley sighed, rolled his eyes. "You know the one—goes a little something like Lucifer coming over to Sam Winchester's for a stay, never leaving? Dean going off the deep end? Cas here a real boy? Alex the tragic victim of gun violence?" More shocked silence and Crowley grew impatient, snarky. "Yes _yes_ , I've seen the future, too, the whole bloody thing—" he paused, pretended to be introspective. "I laughed, I cried, I learned about myself." He smiled, eyes crinkling pleasantly, only it wasn't pleasant.

At the lack of reaction he got from Alex and Cas, he seemed to tire of the act, momentarily. "Look—I don't want it to happen, either, for different reasons though. My kind needs to _survive_. Couldn't give a rip if _you two_ live or die, but… still. Irony's not lost on me." He gave them sly looks again. "After all, I saw the show you two were putting on just a couple tics back. _Riveting_ stuff." He chuckled.

Cas didn't respond to anything Crowley had just said, just darkened again. "Leave. _Now_." His jaw tightened. "Or I lay you to waste."

Crowley smiled almost seductively at Castiel at that point. "Mm. I like it when you get all assertive." He looked at Alex, then back at Cas. His expression was challenging, self-assured, amused. And then the demon disappeared.

Cas looked around intently for any sign of Crowley as he went back to Alex, who was still leaning onto the car, unsettled. "What did he mean, he had things to discuss with you?" Cas asked, deeply concerned.

Alex looked at him in the eye and without even thinking, lied. "I don't know." Now _she_ was the one keeping secrets.

He didn't catch her in the lie, he was still looking around them, appraising the immediate area, his blade still in hand. "I don't like this. How did he know where you were?"

Bobby's address wasn't exactly a secret, and the outside wasn't warded... but Cas was right. It was disconcerting. He looked at her finally, and it was hard to really face everything they had been through together today. He seemed to have similar thoughts, because his expression changed slightly, becoming more doubtful and introspective. His jaw was tense. "As much as I don't want to admit it… Crowley is right. I—I'm gambling with your life." He paused heavily. "Every time I… give in to my feelings… it's just endangering you."

"But—" she began to protest, thinking she could reason with him, change his mind.

" _No_ , Alex," he said with dark, resigned finality, a voice lacking the emotional depth it had held a minute ago. It was unsettling how quickly he'd changed from emotive to emotionless. "We can't. We _won't_."

He touched her on the shoulder and they were suddenly inside Bobby's house where it was dark and quiet except for the sound of Sam's muffled shouts downstairs. Startled by the sudden change, Alex blinked rapidly.

"Stay inside, where the demon warding is," Cas told her brusquely. And he disappeared without another word, without any warning whatsoever.

Startled, Alex waited a couple seconds—he hadn't just _left_ like that... had he? "Cas? Cas!" Alex stood there a second, waiting for him to reappear. "Come back!"

He didn't.

* * *

**Two Days Later**

Outside, drunk as hell and pissed at the world, Alex laid on the hood of the Impala, staring up at the night sky. Everything was spinning and she felt sick. She sat up, wishing Dean would come out here and get onto her, cuss her out, fight with her. Anything to distract her from the hopeless bullshit she was dealing with internally. Cas had disappeared and wasn't answering any of her calls—after Crowley had shown up, it had just been _over_ apparently because she hadn't heard from him since. This frustrating circumstance was the inspiration for her current drunken state. The pain of longing for him, of actually having had these moments with him—and then nothing. _Nothing_. No explanation and no resolution. Just more uncertainty and heartbreak. And tears.

She cried so much more now than she used to and felt so much more than she used to. Dean, when he'd caught her crying recently, had thought her tears were because of Sam.

Sam was in the middle of crazy demon blood withdrawals... Dean was mostly avoiding her, being standoffish and depressed... life sucked overall at the moment.

Alex slid off the Impala hood, picking up the discarded whiskey bottle from where she'd dropped it on the gravel in the salvage yard. She tried to get a couple last drops out—but it was empty. Infuriated, she threw it with a loud shout, as far as she could... which wasn't far because she was wobbly and uncoordinated. Miserable, she began making angry mumbling noises like a child might—she couldn't even _throw_ things right!

"Little old for temper tantrums though, aren't we?"

Alex whirled, stumbled, and then made a face. "Ohh, just _great_. _Just_ who I wanted to _friggin'_ see!"

"Miss me, darling?" Crowley asked her, swaggering over to her casually. She hated this dude so much right now, well, always, but right now especially. He was getting cocky too, showing up in the _salvage yard_ now?

"No," she said, and jerkily stumbled to him, trying to be threatening. "I didn't miss you… now get your skanky demon ass outta my face before I—"

He winced a little. "Before you what, dear? Regurgitate your stomach matter onto me?" He lightly touched her on the fronts of her shoulders with the tips of his fingers and pushed away delicately. "Think I'll pass."

She tried to think of something cutting or mean to say, but her mind felt so garbled. "You suck," she settled on, then realized how stupid that comeback was. Crowley let it go, even though he made an unimpressed 'really?' face.

"Anyhoo," Crowley commented dryly. "Thought anymore about what I told you, love?"

Alex looked at him with a blank expression. About her having something to do with killing Lucifer? Yes, she hadn't _stopped_ thinking about it since he'd told her—and in fact, Cupid had mentioned casually that she needed to be born as well as Sam and Dean. Did that mean something? Well, if it did, she wasn't about to tell this jackass any of that. She gave a much too enthusiastic: " _No_."

The corner of his mouth tugged upwards just slightly, knowingly. "It's permeated your every waking thought, hasn't it." His voice was dark velvet. "Well, I've found some interesting factoids since our first little chat." He fixed her with a coy gaze. "Ever heard the one about a pure soul being able to destroy evil from the inside?"

Alex tried not to look surprised that he'd found that, the same thing she'd found recurring through so many religions and myths. "Uh, _no_."

" _Right_. Well. Lucy's evil, yeah? And guess who's the pure soul who can apparently destroy him?"

Alex stared at him hard, waiting for him to say, then when he kept just looking at her, she felt her mouth hang open stupidly. He meant _her_? Alex squinted at him, not even incredulous. She was at the point of laughter. " _Buddy_. I am _not_ a pure soul." She laughed bitterly, shook her head, sighed in over-amusement.

Crowley seemed to have expected as much, shook his head faintly. "Humans. You have higher standards than the rest of us. See, a pure soul doesn't mean what you think. It has nothing to do with hail Mary's or piety, not really." He grinned now, started counting on his fingers. "A pure soul is three things. One, it's human." He pointed at her. " _Check_. Two, it must be whole, not diced up to bits or somesuch. _Check_. Three... and this one's my favorite... the soul must belong to a virgin." Alex's face fell. " _Check_." Crowley's smile was positively devilish. "Although you came kind of close a couple days ago to being kicked out of _that_ club, aye?"

Alex glared at him vengefully, wishing she had the demon knife with her. "How the _fuck_ do you hell monkeys always know all this shit about my life?"

Crowley just smiled slyly. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

"Yes you asshole, that's _why_ I _asked_."

" _Heavens_ you're a saucy drunk," Crowley commented mildly, then waved a hand in dismissal. "You're missing the point. You've got a pure soul. You're a Winchester. It's painfully obvious that there's something _to_ this."

Alex tried to poke him in the chest with her index finger, but missed and got the top of his shoulder instead. "You know, I have a damn good mind to tell my brothers you've been stalking me, Crowley." She chuckled, a slurred sound. "You won't like them when they're pissed, and trust me, I tell them you've been coming around and oh- _ho_ there's _hell to pay_ for you my friend."

Crowley raised his eyebrows challengingly. "What? Moosey Sam gonna get me? He's not even on two legs. And Dean. Ah, _Dean_." Crowley clasped his hands behind his back, took a few steps to his right. "Now Alexandra, I know you won't tell them a thing. We both know that." He looked at her conspiratorially. "You tell them there's a possibility that you're involved in this whole end-of-the-world shindig... and they never let you out of the house again." He chuckled. "Ironic, isn't it? They tell you that you're their equal, that you're a great hunter… but end of the day, actions speak louder than words." He shot her an appraising glance. "Haven't you ever wondered why they're so protective of you? Why _angel boy_ is so protective of you? It's 'cause they perceive you as incapable and weak, love. They don't think you should make your own decisions. _Well_. I do." He feigned an epiphany. "Well well—a demon being the only feminist in the group! How's that for irony?"

Alex looked at him mistrustfully, fighting the desire to actually listen to him or agree with him. "You just want me to kill Satan for you so you can keep the demon party going," she said, then made a 'pfft' sound and rolled her eyes. "Well joke's on you, jackass. I'm not part of it. Your rumors are _wrong,_ so go find someone else to piss off."

Crowley, however, just gave her a deeply unnerving look, stepped closer. "Now, now. I wouldn't be so sure of that if I were you."

"Whatever, Crowley, _fuck off_." She glanced him up and down, finally coming up with a good insult. "By the way, your suit is tacky as hell. Looks cheap."

"This is _Armani_ ," Crowley said, affronted. Alex smirked at his reaction, and he seemed to realize and was suddenly all pleasant, cool smiles again, passively aggressively tearing her down. "No worries, pet. I understand. Upset about the boyfriend, aren't you? He never calls, never visits, never tells you how he feels anymore..." he sighed with mock sadness, then he smiled again. "Sad day when the only one on your side is a demon in a tacky suit, aye?"

She opened her mouth to cuss him out again, but he disappeared, leaving a shaken, pissed, and abysmally wasted Alex behind. She would drunkenly mull these things over for the next few minutes, try to stumble into the house but pass out on the stairs. She would then be found by Dean who would sadly pick her up, haul her inside, and reflect, yet again, on the unending times he'd failed his brother and sister alike, and how close to just being _done_ with _everything_ he was.

Because nothing was changing, nothing was getting better. Everything was going to hell, and every day was just another damn failure on his part.


	28. Bullets in the Gun

" _He went down, down, down…_ _and the devil called him by name."_  
\- Tom Waits

* * *

**Four Years Ago**

"Dean, it's _me_ ," John Winchester protested. He stood completely still while staring at the man currently holding him at gunpoint.

"I know my dad better than anyone," Dean growled back, the Colt steady and unwavering in his grip, his expression a fierce glare. "And you ain't him."

"The hell's gotten into you?" John asked in disbelief.

"I could ask you the same thing," Dean said menacingly, not fooled for a second. "Stay back."

Sam returned at that very moment—he'd been checking the protective salt lines he'd made in the abandoned old shack they'd holed up in. Sam's face was bruised and bloody, one eye was swollen up from the fight he'd had with a demon earlier that day. He saw his father and brother and stopped short, frozen. "Dean! What the hell's going on?!"

Behind Sam, Alex emerged from further back in the house, and her expression dropped, matching Sam's almost instantaneously. She looked similar to Sam—the same demon who had beat Sam to a pulp had flung her into the side of a car and the entire left side of her face was a mess, her lip was cracked and bloody, her dark green jacket was ripped. Her silver whistle glinted up from where it laid against her shirt. At the sight of her in the same room with Dad who _wasn't Dad_ , Dean edged closer to his siblings, keeping the revolver trained on their father.

"Your brother's lost his mind," John told Sam darkly.

Dean immediately shook his head. "He's not Dad," he insisted, fighting fear and panic.

" _What_?" Sam asked, as if his brother had suggested the unthinkable.

"I think he's possessed," Dean said, his voice beginning to waver in distress and disbelief and _how could he have been so stupid?_ "I think he's been possessed since we rescued him."

"Don't listen to him, Sammy," John said, relatively calm and commanding despite the tense situation.

Sam hesitated, unsure now, suspicious. "Dean, how do you know?" he asked his older brother. Almost hiding behind her twin's larger form, Alex was looking at their father in disbelief and mistrust, trying to see what Dean saw too.

"He's... he's _different_ ," Dean managed, barely able to think straight.

"We don't have _time_ for this," John said urgently, sounding every bit like their father, making it hard to figure out if Dean was telling the truth or not. "Sam, Alex, you wanna kill this demon, you've gotta _trust me_."

Sam looked at Dean, then their dad, and there was a long moment of silence. Alex's fingers tightened on Sam's arm, she moved toward Dean just slightly—her way of siding with her brother—and John saw it. " _Sam_ ," John appealed in a soft and pleading tone of voice none of them had ever heard him use.

Sam looked again at Dean, who was fighting to keep his composure, fighting not to break down. And that seemed to convince him. "No," he told his dad, or whoever it was. " _No_."

"Fine," John said, barely whispering, looking defeated and disappointed in his children, who were all standing in a huddle near each other. "The three of you are so sure, go ahead." He almost looked as if he were fighting tears now. "Kill me." He looked between the three of them for a moment longer, then bowed his head, waited as Dean held the gun steady… but Dean didn't pull the trigger—the Colt would kill the demon and Dad, too—and frozen, he just stood there, the gun trained on Dad uselessly. Alex looked at Dean in abject horror and confusion and Sam stood stock still, holding his breath. They were all hoping Dean was wrong. Hoping it was Dad in front of them, not a demon.

But Dean was right.

"I thought so," John said, but his voice had gotten ominously deeper, there was a little smile on his lips—and he looked back up and his eyes were chillingly yellow. Their worst fears were realized. And before any of them could react, they went flying separate ways, thrown up against three different walls to remain pinned there helplessly. The Colt clattered to the floor out of Dean's grip, and John—the demon—bent and casually picked it up. "What a pain in the ass this thing's been," he muttered.

Struggling against the demonic hold that pinned him to the wall, Sam stared at the yellow-eyed demon hatefully, recognizing the demon as the one who had killed their mother and ruined all of their lives. "It's _you_ , isn't it?" Sam's expression was quiet, deadly. The demon just smiled. "We've been looking for you for a long time," Sam said through clenched teeth.

"Well, you found me," the demon said, almost amused.

"But the holy water…" Sam said, confused and thinking back to when they'd tested him just to be safe.

"You think something like _that_ works on something like _me_?" the demon asked with a coy smile.

Growing angrier, Sam tried to fight the invisible hold, tried to break free, only to be pushed harder into the wall. A frustrated sound escaped from his throat and he leveled the demon with a death glare. "I am gonna _kill_ you!" he roared.

The demon didn't bat an eye. "Oh—that'd be a neat trick. In fact—" he put the Colt down on the old wooden table in the middle of the room, baiting Sam. "Here. Make the gun float to you there, psychic boy."

Sam looked at the gun but nothing happened and the demon chuckled lowly, turning his sights onto Alex who was pinned at the furthest end of the room. She saw him looking at her and went still from her attempts to break lose, watching his approach with a razor-like expression as her breathing increased rapidly. He only smiled, an eyebrow lifting almost imperceptibly. "What, don't _you_ have some angry things to say to me, too?" he asked, then paused. "Oh—" he pretended to think of something, then that sly, triumphant smile returned. "That's right. Can't talk, can you?" He stepped closer to her, took a dark lock of hair off her shoulder, looked at it with some kind of fascination there in between his fingers. He made a thoughtful _hmm_ sound and Alex struggled, her breathing grew frantic and strained as she fought harder to get free.

"Leave her alone," Dean said, voice wavering helplessly. He was ignored.

"Daddy's darkest secret." The demon said, looking Alex in the eyes. "He doesn't like to tell anyone about you. His freak, mute kid." He touched the side of her hair, petted her almost, trailed his hand to her neck, ran his thumb across the delicate skin there. She tried to shrink away, face twisted in revulsion. "But _I_ don't think you're that bad," he said, smirking almost. She looked like she'd never heard anything more despicable.

"Hey _get the hell away from her_!" Dean barked, loudly this time and the demon turned, looking at him over his shoulder.

"Or what? You gonna kill me, too?" the demon mocked, looking over at Sam challengingly. Straining against the hold even more than before, Sam looked murderous. The demon let go of Alex.

"Well, this is fun," the demon said, walking over to the window beside Dean. "I could've killed you a hundred times today, but this…" he sighed and chuckled a bit, pleased with himself. "This is worth the wait." Dean struggled, still pinned to the wall, and the demon looked over at him, smiling just slightly. "Your dad—he's in here with me. Trapped inside his own meat suit. He says 'hi' by the way. He's gonna tear you apart. He's gonna taste the iron in your blood."

"Let him go, or I swear to God—" Dean managed in a trembling voice.

"What? What're you and _God_ gonna do?" The demon asked darkly. "You see, as far as I'm concerned, this is _justice._ " He came over to stand in front of Dean closely. "You know that little exorcism of yours? That was my daughter Meg." He paused. "The one you killed today in the alley? That was my boy Tom. You understand."

"You gotta be kidding me." Dean shook his head, struggling to maintain his composure, trying to think of a way to break free and save his siblings _and_ save his dad.

"What? You're the only one that can have a family?" The demon asked cynically. "You destroyed my children. How would you feel if I killed your family?" He paused and slowly, so slowly, a dark smile spread across John's lips. " _Oh_... that's right. I forgot. I _did_." The smile was gone. "And you know, maybe I'm not done yet either." He looked in Alex's direction, then Sam's, who was glaring at him viciously.

"You tell me why," Sam demanded acidly. "Why you did it."

"You mean why did I kill Mommy and pretty, little Jess?" The demon almost smirked at that question, turning and facing Dean again. "You know, he never told you this, but Sam was going to ask Jess to marry him. Been shopping for rings and everything. Well, I couldn't have _that_." He turned back to Sam, his smile fading, replaced by an ominous expression. "You want to know why? Because they got in the way."

"In the way of what?" Sam asked suspiciously.

The demon backed up a little, almost swaggering. "My plans for you, Sammy. You…" his eyes slid over to Alex, "and all the children like you."

Sam looked over at his twin in dismay, breathless, then looked back at the demon in confusion and horror, disbelief. "She's not part of this," Sam said emphatically, shaking his head.

"Oh, but she is, Sammy," the demon smiled darkly. "And somehow, I think you already knew that." Sam's face fell, scrunching with even more confusion—or was that dread?

"The hell you talking about?" Dean demanded angrily.

"It's really none of your concern, Dean," the demon said, short on patience.

"Like _hell_ it isn't, asshole."

Rounding on Dean and coming closer again, the demon leaned closer intimidatingly. "You know, you fight and you fight for this family, but the truth is _they don't need you_. Not like you need them. Sam—he's clearly John's favorite. Even when they fight, it's more concern than he's ever shown you."

Dean's jaw clenched tight even as the demon turned and looked at Alex. "Wait." the demon was whispering, feigning thoughtful surprise. " _Wait_." His chilling smile was back. "How could I forget?" he pretended to be apologetic. "I take it back Dean. _She_ needs you, in fact, sometimes you think it's too much. Sometimes the burden of caring for her threatens to send you over the edge. Mostly because you know you can't keep her safe. Not forever." He was going to Alex again, his voice was dropping lower into more ominous tones. "Not from things like me."

"You did that to her, didn't you, you sadistic son of a bitch?" Dean demanded, trying to get the demon to come back to him and engage with him instead. Anything to get the yellow-eyed demon away from his sister. "You made her mute that night in the nursery."

The demon just chuckled, ignored Dean, addressed Alex. "Do you ever get tired of Dean being your mouthpiece? Cuz he doesn't always get it right, does he, Alexandra?" He touched her lips thoughtfully with his fingers and she stared defiantly into his eyes, with fear and hatred and rage alike. The demon was smiling mockingly even as Alex internally gathering the courage to do what she did next—which was viciously shoot her head forward as she opened her mouth wide, biting down as hard as she physically could onto his two fingers touching her lips. He screamed in pain and surprise as blood burst out—she let go and the demon recoiled briefly even as Alex spat into his face forcefully, blood and saliva alike.

The demon's face was utterly terrifying as he grabbed her roughly by the chin and made her look at him. She glared daggers, breathing hard as residual blood from biting him ran down her chin. "You little fucking _bitch_ ," the demon growled acidly, almost snarling he back-handed her across the face.

" _Hey_!" Dean thundered, enraged and desperate to break free—Sam was straining even harder, turning red and bellowing with effort.

Wincing, Alex's head was turned to the side as her vision doubled and flickered. The demon smirked, looking at the brother's reactions, apparently pleased. "This is going to be so much better than I thought," he commented, then looked at Dean with a deepening smile. "Watch _this_ trick."

Alex's head went back, her mouth wrenching open in a silent scream—she began to bleed heavily from her chest.

"Alex! _No_!" Sam shouted.

"Stop!" Dean pleaded, desperate and fighting the hold over him in complete vain.

"Oh, I'm just getting started," the demon said lowly and left Alex to writhe in pain as he walked over to Dean who suddenly shouted in agony, eyes screwing shut against the sudden violent onset of pain _everywhere_.

" _Dean_!" Sam shouted, even as Dean continued to spasm. He felt warm, wet stuff pouring out of his chest—blood. The pain was so intense, so unbearable—and Alex was still bleeding, still convulsing and he couldn't get to her, couldn't do a damn thing— _God no, this couldn't be how it ended…_

"Dad!" Dean whimpered, panting, "Dad, don't you let it kill us!"

Sam was shouting, trying as hard as he could to get free. Dean felt himself going weak, woozy, the world was becoming dark, there was blood in his mouth, the taste of it revolting—Alex was looking at him through her pain, silently begging him to help her, or maybe that was her wishing she could get free and help _him_. Dean could barely move now, it took everything he had to function at all, but with his last strength he looked up at his father and begged, prayed, hoped against hope that somewhere deep down his dad would hear him.

"Dad, _please_ ," Dean whispered… and then the world went completely dark and silent as he passed out completely.

* * *

The Impala sped down the road in the dead of night, three badly wounded passengers inside as Sam pushed the pedal down all the way, trying to coax as much speed as possible out of the car. He glanced back in the rearview mirror, seeing Dean and Alex slumped against each other, covered in their own blood—his brother was barely there, Alex had passed out completely. Even at the edge of consciousness, Dean was attempting to hold his little sister up.

" _She's not part of this!" Sam had protested._

_"Oh, but she is, Sammy," the demon had replied softly, shaking Sam down to his core. "And somehow, I think you already knew that."_

Sam's eyes flickered over his twin and he was filled with sickened worry. Beside him in the front seat, Dad groaned in pain. Anxiety jumping up about ten points, Sam glanced at him guiltily.

Right after Dean had passed out, Dad had snapped out of it somehow, regained control over the demon's possession—Sam had gotten the Colt, Dad had begged him, _commanded_ him to shoot him through the heart to kill the demon once and for all. But Sam hadn't been able, he'd frozen—Alex had stumbled over, barely conscious, and Sam thought for a second she was going to try and take the gun from him, shoot Dad and the demon herself—but then the black smoke had poured out of Dad's mouth and it had been too late. Now Sam could feel his father's anger, his disappointment, his judgement.

Beside Sam, Dad hissed in pain again. "Look, just hold on, alright," Sam said anxiously. "The hospital's only ten minutes away."

Instead of a nod and gratitude, Dad looked at him accusingly. "Why didn't you kill it? I thought we saw eye-to-eye on this! Killing this demon comes first—before me, before everything."

Sam's insides were sick. He glanced in the rearview again at his siblings, jaw tight, his entire body tense. "No, sir," he replied firmly despite his nerves. He shook his head. "Not before everything. Look, we've still got the Colt. We still have the one bullet left. We just have to start over, alright?" Sam was trying hard to backpedal, appease his father just a little bit. "I mean, we already found the demon—" Sam was cut off by what happened next.

In the span of two seconds, there was a bright flash of light, the sensation of brutal impact, the realization that they had been hit by something—and then, nothing.

* * *

It had been several days since the accident. Well. It hadn't even _been_ an accident: a black-eyed demon had done it, possessing a semi-truck driver and then smashing the several-ton truck headlong into the side of the Impala, trying, and almost succeeding, to kill them all. It was really a miracle that they had survived. Times like this, John could have almost believed what Mary had: that angels were watching over them. Well, maybe not him specifically, but his children? _Maybe_. If angels were real, they would want no business with the likes of him. A man who had ended up here, who had done this to his children, who had focused on one thing—and that one thing hadn't been them.

John was in the basement of the hospital, crouched down and tracing out a devil's trap—the white chalk line stood out starkly against the dark gray concrete floor. He had drawn so many of these that he did it automatically, unthinkingly, even with one of his arms in a sling and useless.

He thought he'd been doing the right thing by raising his kids to know how to kill, how to fight, how to hunt. He thought it would keep them safe, but now he saw that everything he'd ever done had quite possibly pushed them into danger and trapped them there forever. There was no way out of being a hunter except to die. It was with the grandest sense of irony that he realized in his attempts to avenge his wife's murder he'd instead sentenced his children to death. But the alternative would have been running forever. And who could do that?

Grimly John reflected that he felt to blame for all of this and helpless to stop anything at the same time. His oldest son was in a coma upstairs and it didn't look like he would pull through. His daughter was laid up with a broken arm, head trauma and internal bruising among other things. She was refusing to communicate with Sam, upset about Dean—upset about everything. John hadn't gone to see her in her hospital room, not when she was awake, anyway. He couldn't face her right now.

He looked down at his two now-bandaged up fingers that had been bitten. He remembered hitting Alex across the face when he was possessed and screaming internally _stop that, don't touch her!_ —but then the demon had slyly replied _what? You've done this before. Why can't I?_ And John had struggled to regain control, because such righteous self hatred and anger had coursed through his veins—the demon was right. There had too many times when he had flown off the handle and hurt his children. It had been the stress, the alcohol, the fatigue—he blamed these things for the times he had smacked his kids around... but past his sorry excuses he knew _he_ had done those things. Not the substances, not the circumstances.

But John had changed, or he thought he had—he'd been careful, he'd tried damn hard to control himself—he hadn't laid a hand on Alex in nearly two years now. And that was a shit thing to be proud of. Possessed or not, it was so awful that he'd done it again. The look on her face when his hand had struck her. He had forgotten how much that looked wrecked him. Every time he looked at her, he felt his every failure deep down in his bones.

At least _one_ of his children was unharmed for the most part. Sam was fine, or at least of the four of them, the least damaged. But even if he was _physically_ okay, John knew that Sam despised him for everything, hated him for what had happened, blamed him for this whole mess. And Sam's hatred for John could only be topped by his own self loathing, his own self hatred. He deserved Sam's scorn. Every bit of it. Completely sober for the first time in a long time, John realized as he finished the chalk outline of the devil's trap that he didn't understand why Dean was so loyal to him.

He finished the devil's trap, took out his knife, and began to mutter the incantation, preparing himself mentally for what he was about to do. This was risky and maybe stupid, but he saw no other options. He sliced his palm open until blood flowed—lit a match, finished the incantation, dropped the match into the bowl where the flames leapt high, burned bright, then died out. He stood up, looking around, waiting—then a hand grasped his shoulder, turning him roughly. "You conjuring me, John," the man said—and his eyes flashed yellow—John leveled the Colt at him. "I'm _surprised_." A smile came over the demon's face, and two black-eyed demons, a nurse and an orderly, appeared behind him. "I took you for a lot of things," the demon said, almost intrigued and a little amused. "But suicidally reckless... wasn't one of them."

"I could always shoot you," John pointed out. And damn, did he want to. It took everything he had not to pull the trigger and end this abomination right now, finish the job once and for all. But Dean's life hung in the balance.

"You could always miss," the demon replied, and he chuckled darkly. "And you've only got one try, don't cha?" His eyebrows furrowed just slightly. "Did you _really_ think you could trap me?"

There was a long pause. "I don't want to trap you," John said and he lowered the Colt, revealing his game plan. "I want to make a deal."

The demon seemed genuinely surprised. "...A deal, John? With _me_?" His eyes narrowed just slightly. He began to slowly pace the circle of chalk where John stood. "It's very unseemly, making deals with devils. How do I know this isn't just another trick?"

"It's no trick," John said evenly, truthfully. "I will give you the Colt and the bullet, but you've got to help Dean. You've got to bring him back." He watched the demon closely. His voice softened, giving away his emotions. "And… my daughter. Give her back what I know you took from her. You do that for me, the gun and the bullet are yours."

"Why, John, you're a sentimentalist," the demon said, smiling widely, mockingly. "If only your kids knew how much their daddy _loved them_."

"It's a good trade," John said, keeping his voice low and calm, keeping his emotions out of it. "You care a hell of a lot more about this gun than you do Dean or Alex."

The demon smiled at that, stopped walking, and looked at John pointedly. "Funny, I might have said the same to you just a few days ago." His smile faded. "And don't be so sure about that. Dean killed some people who were very special to me. But still, you're right, he isn't much of a threat," the demon conceded, arrogant. "And neither is your other son. Or your very _quiet_ daughter."

"You son of a bitch," John muttered, barely restraining his anger that boiled beneath the surface.

"Guilty as charged," the demon said, smiling wickedly. He stepped a little closer, looked at John thoroughly. "You know the truth, right? About Sammy, the other children?"

"Yeah," John admitted balefully, his stomach turning because he wished he _didn't_ know. He felt sick. "I've known for a while."

"Then you know that little Alex was supposed to be one of my special children, too," the demon said, made a regretful little sighing sound as he backed up, turned away a little. John felt every muscle in his body tense as the demon shook his head slightly. "Shame. We had plans for her. _I_ had plans for her." He looked back at John in a way that chilled him to his bones. "Who knows. Maybe they'll still work out, I don't know…" John wanted to lunge at the demon, tear him apart with his bare hands.

The demon smirked slightly, turning back to face John fully. "But neither of them know, John, do they? That you know more, _much_ more than you let on. That you've been playing dumb… avoiding facing the facts. Stringing them along all these years, hoping you can change fate..."

John was losing patience and fast. He needed answers or he would lose his temper and use the damn gun. "Can you fix Dean? Can you give Alex her voice back? Yes or _no_."

There was a cocky little smile. "You need to sweeten the pot a little if you want me to help you out, John."

"What more could you want from me?" John demanded angrily. "I don't _have_ anything else."

"Of course you do," the demon replied, and the look on his face filled John with uneasy dread. He suddenly flashed a grin. "I'll take the girl."

" _What_?"

The demon looked at John darkly, his former good humor gone in the place of deadly seriousness. "Dean lives. Alex gets her voice back… but she comes with me, no questions asked on your part." The smile was back, the lightness too. "It's just you and your boys like you always wanted."

"The hell would you want with her?" John asked in horror at the suggestion. The demon didn't say, just fixed John with a blood-curdling little smile. John shook his head in abject denial, in barely contained rage. "No—there has to be something else you want."

The demon's eyebrows raised slightly and he paused. "All right. Your life for Dean's. He lives. You die. Alex gets nothing." There was a smug smile on the demon's face, as if he thought he knew which one John would choose.

John didn't even have to consider. He stepped a little closer to the demon assertively. "I want to see Dean fixed before you take me. That's the deal."

The demon was silent, blank, surprised. John grew intense. "Don't look so surprised," John said bluntly. "You really think I would let you have my _daughter_?" He stepped even closer, threateningly, his words blazing with anger. He may have been a terrible father in many ways, but he'd be damned before he sold out his own flesh and blood to these creatures from hell. " _Never_. You will never have her in any way, you sick son of a bitch—not you, not any other hell reject, not even the goddamn devil himself. Not if I have anything to do with it." He stared at the demon unflinchingly, resolute. "Now are we gonna do this deal or not?"

* * *

"I can't explain it," John could hear the doctor say to Dean on the other side of the wall. "The edema's vanished. The internal contusions are healed. Your vitals are good. You must have some kind of angel watching over you."

"Thanks, doc," he heard Dean reply and the doctor left, walking past John who stood outside against the wall, out of their line of sight. It was early morning. The demon had come through on the end of his deal—Dean was alive and well. John heard his boys talking in hushed tones as he blankly watched the doctor walk down the hall. The single thought echoed in his mind: today he died.

He thought about telling them, he _wanted_ to tell them, but he just couldn't. Not outright. Swept up in end-of-the-line emotions, regrets, longings, John almost thought of just going now without a word to any of them, surrendering to the demon what he'd promised, just letting it end like this. He wasn't sure how he could bear to look at his children and know it was for the last time.

He turned to walk away, but hesitated, listening to Dean's deep rumbling voice and Sam's soothing tenor tones and changed his mind, unable to walk away—but not just for sentimental reasons. Dean had to know.

John took a deep breath and made himself known, stepping into the doorway and knocking on the doorframe. His sons looked up at him, vaguely surprised. "How you feeling, dude?" John asked Dean, smiling at him softly.

"Fine, I guess," Dean said, a small smile there at the sight of his dad. "I'm alive, at least."

"That's what matters," John said, returning the smile. The sight of Dean alive and well touched the deepest part of him, overwhelming him with so many thoughts and feelings. He was looking at his son and seeing him when he had been small, bright-eyed, eager, happy and not yet scarred by the world. John cleared his throat, looked around the room glancingly. "Where's—where's your sister?"

Sam, still upset after the argument they'd had yesterday about the demon, was looking at John without a smile. "Asleep in her room. She still isn't feeling too good." Sam replied, sounding distinctly blaming toward John. He paused and looked at his father suspiciously. "Where were you last night?"

John looked at his youngest son silently. If only he knew. "I had some things to take care of," John told him ambiguously, wishing that this once they wouldn't argue and fight.

Sam's eyes narrowed. "Well, _that's_ specific," he said, tone bordering on sarcastic.

"Come on, Sam," Dean said, sounding fed up.

Sam didn't even look at Dean, just kept his eyes on John. "Did you go after the demon?"

John looked down briefly, shook his head. "No."

"You know, why don't I believe you right now?" Sam asked accusingly. John finally came fully into the room, looking at his two sons, wishing he could tell them. He was remembering when Sam was young and happy, had trusted him, had run into his arms laughing—those days were so long gone that John could barely remember them, almost wondered if he were imagining them completely.

"Can we not fight?" he asked Sam softly. Sam looked utterly bewildered and stunned at the quiet question—John shook his head sadly, almost unable to keep his emotions at bay. "You know, half the time we're fighting, I don't know what we're fighting about. We're just butting heads." John swallowed, tried to keep that faltering smile on his face because if he didn't keep smiling, he'd fall apart. "Sammy, I, I've made some mistakes." God, he had made _millions_. "But I've always done the best I could," John said. The statement felt like a complete lie—he almost took it back. Almost. "I know my best was terrible. But it was all I had to give." Defeated, he looked at his son pleadingly, needing mercy where he didn't deserve it. "I just don't want to fight anymore, okay?"

Sam looked beside himself, peering into his father's face with quickly-increasing worry. "Dad... are you all right?" he asked apprehensively.

John just kept smiling, kept lying. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm just a little tired." He paused, suppressing his pain, holding himself together just a little longer, trying not to think about what he knew about Sam, the dark secrets he held inside. "Hey, son, would you, uh, would you mind getting me a cup of caffeine?"

Sam hesitated. "Yeah. Yeah, sure..." he looked at John several more times but left, still frowning in confusion. John watched him go sadly, eyes lingering on Sam's retreating lanky form.

Dean's voice brought him back to the hospital room. "What is it?" he asked softly, and John tore his gaze away from his younger son to look at his older one. Dean looked so worried and burdened as he stared up at him from where he was propped in the hospital bed.

John was overcome with regret and he shook his head, still seeing Dean when he was younger, only a little boy. "You know, when you were a kid... I'd come home from a hunt, and after what I'd seen, I'd be... I'd be wrecked. And you, you'd come up to me and you—you'd put your hand on my shoulder and you'd look me in the eye and you'd…" John struggled against tears as he remembered, "you'd say 'It's okay, Dad.'" He paused, and couldn't stop himself. He was losing control of his emotions, and his tears were audible in his shaking voice. "Dean, I'm _sorry_."

Dean stared at his dad in quiet shock. "What?"

John tried to smile through the tears, but the smile was faltering. This apology was years and years overdue. "You shouldn't have had to say that to me, I should have been saying that to you. You know, I put—I put too much on your shoulders, I made you grow up too fast. You took care of Sammy, you took care of Alex, you took care of me. I should've been the one who took care of everyone. I wasn't." John paused somberly, almost talking out loud now, not even to Dean. "I messed you kids up good. I wish…" he trailed off, shook his head. The things he wished... they outnumbered the stars in the sky right now and naming any of them was pointless. Wishing didn't change anything, and maybe his life was a joke but at least he was leaving behind three young people who might do it better than he had.

He welled up with the sudden onset of pride, because his son was a man worth being proud of. John didn't think he had much to do with the man Dean had grown into, but he had to let him know all the same. "Dean... you were all the man I never was. I just want you to know that I am _so_ proud of you."

Dean, who had been taking it all in silently, looked at John incredulously. "This really you talking?"

"Yeah, it's really me," John confirmed, and came closer to his son, who looked almost fearful at this point.

Dean seemed totally taken aback, even cautious. "W-why you saying this stuff, Dad?"

John looked at Dean through blurry, tear-filled eyes. "I want you to watch out for your brother and sister, okay?"

"Yeah, Dad, you know I will," Dean said, voice shaking. "You're scaring me."

"Don't be scared, Dean. Just listen." John leaned closer, growing serious, quiet, his voice low whisper. "You have to save Sammy. From himself, from what that demon did to him. And if you can't save him—Dean, you'll have to kill him." Dean drew back, eyes wide in shock. John wasn't done. He grew even more sickened than before. "And Dean, your sister… keep her safe. From Sam."

"From _Sam_?" Dean protested, more and more disturbed and terrified by the second.

John looked at Dean sadly, wishing he had more time. Because yet again, he was leaving too much on Dean's shoulders. "Just trust me, son."

Dean stared, aghast. "Dad—I don't—" he almost pleaded, eyes wide, begging John for a reason, an explanation. "What are you _talking_ about? What did the demon say to you?"

John looked at his oldest, knowing he _couldn't_ explain it, not in the time he had left. So he lied again, putting on a reassuring smile. "We'll talk about this later, son. Get your rest. I'll see you in a little while." And John retreated, not giving his son a chance to reply.

Dean watched his dad leave in shellshocked silence and John smiled through the pain at his boy one last time, then turned and walked away, closing his eyes and standing in the middle of the hospital hallway. Momentarily, he opened his eyes and they immediately went to his left, where Alex's door was open. He hesitated, his chest clenching. And slowly, he approached.

John lingered in the open doorway, looking at his daughter. She was on her side and sleeping deeply, her dark and messy hair a cloud around her head, her knees pulled up toward her chest, her hands underneath the side of her face. She'd always slept like that, difference was until she'd been six, she'd been snuggled up like that into Dean's side—Dean slept on his back, an arm under his head—and Sam would always be on the other side of Alex, his back to her back, his arms crossed and mouth open widely. They'd slept like that until John insisted they stop the 'little kid shit' and start sleeping separate. He'd still caught them like that a few times afterward, and it had infuriated him. _Why?_ Why had that stuff left him so enraged? Maybe because his kids were better parents and family to each other than he ever was. Maybe it's because he was worried that depending on each other would make them weak. Maybe it's because for years _everything_ had made him angry and crazy. Everything.

John came into the room slowly, hesitantly, looking down at his daughter, the little girl he'd spent a lifetime trying to convince himself that he was protecting. But seeing her laying there, bruised and battered and messed up as hell he couldn't help but think he should have let her go awhile ago. Not only to keep her safe from this life of demons and hell creatures… but to keep her safe from _himself_.

Their relationship had been so strained and nonexistent these last few years—maybe always, actually. Over the years Alex had become an expert at avoiding John and he'd been okay with that, because he knew in his heart of hearts that he wasn't good for her, that he had no clue how to parent her. So he hadn't really tried at all. After all, it had been too late. But now, in the sunset of his life, he wished he'd _tried._ Just a little.

He should have done _so much more_ for her, but he'd always left her as an afterthought, uncertain how to relate to her, uncertain how to approach her at all. He'd been angry at her for being different and abnormal. But now he was just angry with himself for the selfish, cowardly shit he'd subjected her to. He thought of when she'd been younger, a little stick of a girl with eyes too big for her head. The taller and older she'd grown, the more distance had been between himself and his daughter. Now, oceans might as well have separated them. And this was entirely his doing.

He was at her bedside now and didn't know what to do. He thought of waking her up to say goodbye—but he didn't. He just watched her for a minute, then carefully, gently smoothed the hair on her head and felt the heavy sadness settle over his heart. "Baby I'm so sorry," he whispered brokenly, and just looked at his hand on her head. He hadn't touched her affectionately like this in—well—he couldn't remember. He withdrew his hand from her. Here at the end of his life, he felt his failures so much more clearly than before.

John felt a deep sense of anguish overwhelm him inside and he turned, sitting there gingerly beside her. He leaned over his knees, clasping his hands together, silent for a long moment. Then he looked upwards, searching the ceiling and despairing, his voice just a whisper. "I… I haven't asked you for anything in a long time. But just… can you make sure she's safe?" John hesitated. " _Please_. I know I don't deserve anything good from you. But… she does." His voice cracked. " _Please_." He wasn't sure if he'd expected a reply or not, but he felt disillusioned and for a long moment, silence rang in his ears. Was this really _it_? At the end of your life, maybe you always expect it will be different. More grand, more like the closing of a chapter, like a grand finale—not a question mark, not a comma.

John took in a deep breath and stood slowly to his full height, knowing what came next. He walked slowly to the door and turned back around to look at his daughter, his little girl, one last time. And awash in regrets he could do nothing about, John Winchester steeled himself, drew a deep breath, and walked down the hall, a soldier until the end, accepting his fate with a raised chin, a steady gaze, and the knowledge that he had made the right choice. He had saved his son's life. He had kept his daughter safe from the clutches of the yellow-eyed demon.

Not even five minutes later, Dean would yank Alex out of bed and rush her into Dad's room where he was crashing, unresponsive. John Winchester would be pronounced dead at 10:41am.

* * *

**Present Day**

Alex spit and rinsed, the zing of minty toothpaste much better than the previous taste of vomit. _Never again_ she told herself miserably. She'd been saying this to herself a lot lately. Her head was pounding, her ears felt muffled, her stomach was a frigging nightmare, her head felt garbled and woozy, her entire body hurt. Much to Sam's frustration, she and Dean had gotten wasted last night, again. But she'd drank so much more than usual, trying to keep up with her oldest brother—and she was now she was realizing exactly how _stupid_ she'd been to think she could out-drink Dean like that. God—this was the hangover from hell.

Alex rubbed her face with the palm of her hand. Tired. Hurting. Heartbroken.

The past month was a blur to her. They'd spent about a week at Bobby's detoxing Sam and avoiding each other—then they'd left for Minneapolis to take care of a vengeful spirit and it had been a cut and dry job, nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing except the mood in their family. There had been a lot of silence between all three siblings, a lot more tension than in awhile, a lot of unspoken frustrations and suspicions. But they'd done what they did best… ignored it, said nothing about it. Carried on like life were normal, like the apocalypse wasn't hanging over their heads, like the devil wasn't hounding Sam, like Heaven wasn't after Dean.

After wrapping up on that job last week, they'd caught wind of weird stuff happening back in Sioux Falls and returned to find that the dead were rising—including Bobby's late wife Karen. At first the people who had come back to life had seemed okay, or at least not violent, not inhuman—but then one by one they began to turn, to kill, to dissolve into monsters. Alex stared at herself in the mirror, grieved. Bobby had wanted his wife to stay alive _so badly_. He didn't deserve to be alone and unhappy like that. He didn't deserve for _one second_ to have to see his wife again and then kill her again. Maybe all hunters were cursed to be alone, to see the ones they loved die, leave, fade out.

Going still, Alex felt herself rapidly becoming emotional as she began to think about _him_. She clenched the edges of the sink. Castiel was pretty much the biggest reason she'd been drinking so damn much the past month. She'd been trying to sidestep her confused and hurt feelings, trying to drown them out in a steady tide of beer and whiskey—but her thoughts were proving impossible to escape or forget, and the more she tried to run away from them, the more it hurt, the more the feelings burrowed into her, refusing to be moved.

Cas wouldn't answer her anymore. Alex had called to him almost every day of that first week but he'd been silent, hadn't appeared at all, not even for a second. She hadn't even tried calling him at all this entire week, bitter, finally accepting that he wouldn't come. The last time any of them had seen or heard from him was at Bobby's, the night that… that they had come so close to killing each other or fucking each other, she wasn't sure which. The night that he'd confessed things to her and she to him, and for a moment she'd thought even though he had told her they _couldn't_ , that they would anyway. Because even though he'd said that, even though he'd told her in so many words that being together couldn't happen—he'd gone against his words, kissing her so tenderly, leaving Alex absolutely convicted that there _was_ no walking away, not from this… but then he had done just that, without any warning, and she'd been devastated. To have been warm in his arms one moment then alone and cold the next. It stung.

At first, she'd called to him frantically, worried… but as the days passed the worry had turned to anger, disillusionment—now she was left feeling heartsick and alone, abandoned, with the reminders of him remaining on her body. She looked at the back side of her arm in the mirror, at the soft pink raised line where Dean had stitched her closed. A souvenir of the night when Castiel had cut her deep, in more ways than one. The bruises he'd left all over her body had faded, but the wounds he'd left on her heart remained, raw and open, painful.

Alex's eyes flickered over herself and she could so clearly see the deep sadness that she felt inside. It was etched all over her face, hidden in the slump of her shoulders and in the edges of her mouth which hadn't turned up in a smile in days and days. She wanted to physically break something out of anguished frustration. Maybe Alex would have in the past, but this version of herself had no fire left. And instead, she just hung her head and leaned onto the sink, squeezed her eyes shut, focused on breathing in and out.

She'd always been focused on surviving and living up to expectations, fighting and following after Dean and Dad… it had been her only choice and she'd accepted it. But now she found herself desperately longing for something for the first time in her life. _Him_. Maybe he was trying to protect her by putting distance between them... but she couldn't bear it—not after she knew what it was like to be in his arms and held like she was treasured. Not after she'd looked at him and seen her own feelings reflected back in his eyes.

And when she wondered if she would ever even see him again, her heart physically ached.

 _Get—yourself—together._ She forced herself to look in the mirror again, forced herself to stop, _now_. She straightened up, looked herself over tersely. She felt inches away from a breakdown, from utterly shattering and she looked away, trying to ignore reality. She readjusted the unfamiliar weight of the new pistol that was in the concealed holster at her hip. It was a semi-automatic nickel-plated Colt 1911, one like Dean carried.

She could now hear low male voices vaguely in the other room through her messed up ears—the TV. Sam must be up she guessed. There was a flash of humiliation when she thought of her twin who had seen her in such an intimate and awkward position with Cas… as if that hadn't been bad enough, Sam had insisted on taking her aside and _asking about it_ a bunch of times, acting concerned and worried—but Alex, mortified as hell that he'd seen that, had dodged him every time. Sam didn't know how deep the wound was he was poking at, he was just worried about her, but Alex refused, further frustrating Sam.

Alex heard the familiar sound of a shotgun cocking out in the main room and looked toward the closed bathroom door, annoyed. Sam must be cleaning out his shotgun again—why did he have to clean it so obsessively, anyway? He was always getting shell dust all over her stuff. The sound of the men talking heatedly on TV grew louder and Alex suddenly stopped, her irritation fading away as she realized that _wait_. That wasn't the TV. That was someone in their room!

She realized too late that what she'd been hearing wasn't what she thought at all. Not a TV. Not Sam cleaning a gun. The unmistakable sound of two shotgun blasts punched through the silence and Dean was shouting, someone was barking " _stay down_!" and _something was very wrong_. Alex wasn't thinking, just reacting, and _fast_ , adrenaline rocketing through her veins at breakneck speeds as she snatched her pistol out of the holster, charged out of the bathroom, gun held high in both hands—two men in dark clothing with masks shoved up over their heads stood over Dean, their shotguns aimed at him—Sam laid motionless and bloody on one of the beds—the men noticed Alex the second she came out and the one closer to her was whirling, his gun swinging around toward her and Dean was jumping off the other bed, lunging toward the guys shouting something and Alex was firing at the guy in front of her before she could even fully register anything, before she could even fully take everything in.

The room exploded into a chaos of gunshots and shotgun rounds and Alex felt something hit her in the stomach hard enough to make her stumble backwards—she watched the guy closer to her fall over dead, his shotgun that had been aimed straight at her clattering to the floor—she looked down at herself, mystified… her stomach was warm and sticky? And suddenly pain, unbelievable pain hit her. Air left her lungs, her pistol clattered to the ground. She hit the wall behind her and slid down, legs going out from under her brokenly. The world tilted and shifted around her oddly and she looked up—remembering Dean had been there and where was he now?

She looked to her side with great effort, hearing the sound of her own labored breathing loudly in her own ears. Shock hit her like lightning when she saw that Dean was draped across the bed, staring up at the ceiling lifelessly, covered in blood.

"D-Dean!" she choked out, but he didn't move, didn't respond. On the other bed, she could see Sam's massive feet hanging off the end. "Sam?" she begged. No response and the thought _they're dead_ shook her to the core and made the world close in on her, like her entire body was going to be sick, like everything was spinning out of control, like she couldn't move at all—and then the sound of booted feet in front of her. Alex looked up, panting painfully. She stared into the barrel of a shotgun—holding the weapon was a grim man. Behind him, the other guy she'd shot and killed was laying there.

Alex squinted up at her attacker, recognizing him. " _W-Walt_?"

He just stared down at her murderously. "You shouldn't have shot Roy, Alex," he told her lowly, lip curling upwards in a snarl. She heard the cocking of a shotgun and flinched. _Click-click_.

His finger slid toward the trigger. Alex closed her eyes, making a pathetic crying sound. And she didn't even think it would work but out of desperation and in pain and not knowing what else to do, she begged softly, brokenly. "Please, Cas…"

* * *

**Five Minutes Ago  
** **Glendalough Lake, Ireland**

The Irish people called this glacial valley a 'thin place,' believing it to be a holy ground, a spiritual refuge where pilgrims could seek to be closer to God. They said that here the veil was less, the divide was smaller—that one could reach out and touch God, be still and listen and hear his voice. Pilgrims came from all over the world to this place. One such pilgrim stood at the shores of the upper lake, looking over the tranquil waters silently.

Castiel observed the great verdant mountains surrounding the rippling lake, the billowing gray clouds above in the sky. He felt the cool dampness of the air, heard the lush rustling of the trees moving in the breeze. It was beautiful, it was serene, it was holy—but he didn't feel God here. He'd been looking for so long. There was almost nowhere left to look. A great, unexpected gale of wind came across the lake, whipping Cas's trench coat around him.

He wondered where God could be. Perhaps he was hiding, walking among humanity in a disguise. Maybe he was that child laughing and throwing pieces of bread into the water for the ducks. Perhaps he was the grizzled old man sitting on the bench leaning on his cane. But the biggest and most disturbing question was why would God hide? Why should God be so impossible to find? _Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest._ The Word of the Lord. Castiel was beginning to feel as though he had been led astray… because how could a _person_ find God if an _angel_ couldn't?

Cas's mind turned to Alex as it usually did, and he wondered where she was. She hadn't called to him in days. He felt guilty, because she'd called to him multiple times after what happened with Famine—and he'd gone to her immediately each time. But he'd remained invisible, not allowing her to see him. She had never known he was there at all. And each time she called to him, he'd arrived silently and he'd seen her face crumble when she believed he hadn't come—he saw her grow sadder and angrier each time. But he would rather her be sad and angry than dead at his hands.

It was difficult to keep himself away from her like this, but he knew it was the right thing. He'd decided it now and he wasn't going to fail again. He'd had a moment of utter weakness when she had told him that she didn't want to walk away and _did he_? He just hadn't been able to bring himself to lie or sidestep. He'd only been able to tell her _no_ , then close the distance between them with a kiss. A kiss that haunted his mind still. All of his moments spent with her haunted him, but that kiss—being so close to her, feeling as though she trusted him with everything that she had—it stayed with him and he felt certain that he would carry it with him forever.

A small bird flew overhead and Cas looked up and watched it: the powerful beating of the wings and graceful dip and swoop of the bird's body in midair. Truly a testament to God's artistry and power, something as seemingly simple as a bird. God was there, somewhere, and Castiel knew with perseverance and faithfulness, he would find him and discover—Cas stilled suddenly, hearing Alex calling to him—but this time was different—something was wrong, and he knew it right away.

He went to where she was immediately, and even before the scenery of Ireland faded completely, he smelled the unmistakable acidic tang of human blood. And he was in a dim motel room, mid-morning. In the space of a fraction of a second, Castiel took the sight before him in with a quickly rising sense of absolute horror—Alex was crumpled and slack against a motel wall in front of him, her legs were bent under her strangely, she was _covered in blood_ , her eyes were closed tightly, her face was a mask of pain—and a man Castiel didn't recognize stood over her, wielding a shotgun, the end of it just inches from her face.

Startled by Castiel's sudden appearance, the man with the gun reacted fast and whirled, the shotgun arcing up through the air to aim at Cas—but realizing what was happening and fueled by a typhoon of soul-scorching fury, Castiel was erupting into a blazing assault—he stopped the barrel of the shotgun midair with both hands, tearing the barrel in half ruthlessly even as the guy pulled the trigger—buckshot fired out in a violent explosion, ripping through the air uselessly. Cas grabbed the man ferociously and whirled him around, brutally slamming him into the dresser that was against the wall. Wood splintered and the dresser broke in half completely from the force with which Cas had smashed the man into it—Cas ripped his blade from where it was hidden inside his trench coat, not even hesitating for a second, he brought the flashing blade down on the man who had dared to hurt Alex, ending him.

The man's eyes went wide as the blade plunged through his chest, and under Castiel's murderous gaze, the man gasped out a last breath and died with no grand fanfare. He slumped over and fell to the ground, where Cas stared down at him, breathing hard, his heart hammering faster than normal, his entire vessel feeling shaky and uneven. The room was silent once more. Cas looked to his side, where he saw Sam and Dean each laying on a bed—both shot dead.

In alarm Cas turned, laying eyes on Alex again, fearing what he would see—she was looking up at him and she looked _terrified_ , her face twisted up in pain—she was struggling to breathe and Cas rushed over, dropping to his knees in front of her, shaking physically, horrified, his hands hovering over her arms as he looked at her and saw how bad it was. " _No_ ," he managed just barely, seeing that she'd been shot in the stomach, that she'd lost so much blood. It was pooling around her and the wall behind her was splattered with it, too. She grabbed onto the sleeve of his trench coat weakly and their eyes met and he saw how afraid she was and it was _just like_ the scene he'd witnessed in their future.

Panic swept over Cas as he realized that _she was_ _dying_ and quickly, too _—_ and he was powerless to do anything—he couldn't heal anymore—but Cas laid his hand over her stomach anyway, dizzyingly sickened when his palm became wet with her warm blood, when she made a pained, sobbing sound—a sound that wrecked Castiel completely. He began silently pleading with God, promised he would do anything in return, _anything_ , if his father would allow him this one miracle, _please_! Cas stared at his hand in increasing dismay when nothing happened, and every desperate hope he'd held onto was dashed on the rocks, every bit of faith he'd placed in his father fell away from him like leaves fall from a tree in autumn.

Alex trembled violently underneath his hand, weakly putting her hand over his, her fingers shakily curling around his—Castiel stared at their bloody hands, shocked and dazed—at the sight of her smaller hand clinging to his larger one his chest spasmed painfully. He tightened his hand around hers, looked up at her, despairing. "It's too late," she choked out and he looked at her in horrific denial, shaking his head, gripping the side of her head not even knowing why, his fingers tangling in her hair.

"No it _can't_ be," he protested, almost unable to speak.

Her warm hazel eyes were afraid, searching his even as her chest rose and fell raggedly. "Cas, I—" she faltered weakly, then trailed off, blinked twice as if her lids were heavy. Her breathing hitched, she seemed to lose her focus completely—and Cas gripped her tighter as if he could hold her back, keep her there with him—but she went still, her eyes sliding closed, her head lolling to the side, the breath gone from her lungs, the life gone from her body.

" _No_ ," Cas protested out loud, feeling as if everything inside of him were shattered and destroyed. His hand moved down from the side of her head to cradle her face—his thumb brushed against the still-warm skin of her cheek and he felt so much sorrow well up inside of him that he felt he might break. This wasn't happening—she wasn't supposed to die like this! Beside himself in grief and shock and anger and helpless dismay, Castiel looked upwards, not knowing what else to do, his voice barely a whisper. "Take—take me instead," he said, then when nothing happened, his voice raised to an enraged shout. "Take me instead!"

The silence was deafening and his anger propelled him to his feet where he stumbled back a few steps, shaky. "Where _are you_?!" he shouted at the ceiling. Nothing happened and Cas lowered his gaze, breathless, confounded, not knowing what to do, not at all. He looked at Alex's body, curled against the wall brokenly and he looked upwards again, his chest tight in pain. "I—I need your help," he begged desolately. " _Please_."

Castiel waited, desperate for an answer, for anything. But nothing happened. God was silent.

* * *

Silence. There was utter silence. Then the sound of a heartbeat in her ears. Her own heartbeat?

She became aware that there was darkness all around her, the kind of darkness that no light can cut through—the kind of darkness that presses in on all sides cloyingly. There was some kind of ground underneath her feet, but the air was dank and motionless, breathing was difficult—she realized there was an overwhelming sense of fright in the pit of her stomach, of _no, please, no_. Why was she scared? Where was she before this? Alex wondered _am I dreaming_?

She turned a little, trying to look around, but couldn't see anything past the pitch black depths around her. She turned again, growing more and more distressed—and then in the distance, just barely, her eyes perceived a faint light. She began to stutteringly edge closer to it through the darkness and almost wanted to drop to all fours and crawl because that seemed safer, but she stayed upright, kept moving closer slowly, muscles tensed and mind on overdrive.

She got closer and closer to the source of light, and could begin to make out a definite structure. It was an old phone booth—she saw the top of a solid stripe of blue, the white word _PHONE_ flickering a little. It looked old and weather-worn—the soft florescent light from the booth dissipated out into the dark, softly lighting just a little bit of ground—pavement—but on all the other sides of the booth, the light didn't hit anything—it was just solid darkness in every direction. She stood there in front of the phone booth, staring up at it oddly, unsure what was happening or where she was.

Without warning the shrill sound of the phone ringing cut through the utter silence, the black receiver rattled loudly on the hook, and Alex flinched backwards, startled. She looked around, maybe halfway expecting someone to appear and answer the call. Nothing happened. No one appeared. The phone continued to ring and Alex hesitatingly inched closer, hand outstretched. She waited a few seconds, unsure. Then grasped the receiver and held it to her ear. She heard crackling on the other end and frowned. Then nearly dropped the phone when she heard a voice _behind her_.

"Alex," the deep voice said and she turned around, heart in her throat because _she knew that voice_ only... _it couldn't be_ , could it? But he stood there not four feet away, looking just like she remembered. She stared, the phone clutched in her hand so hard that her knuckles turned white.

She searched his face and remained frozen in complete disbelief.

"... _Dad_?"


	29. Dark Side of the Moon

" _The stars, the moon... they have all been blown out."  
_ \- Florence and the Machine

* * *

_Mama, put my guns in the ground... I can't shoot them anymore…_

The sound of thunder rumbling woke Dean up and he was immediately confused. It was night outside and he was sitting in the Impala—alone. Good ole Bob Dylan played on the radio.

_That long black cloud is comin' down... I feel like I'm knockin' on heaven's door..._

He glanced around and saw no sign of anyone—where _was_ he? Dean switched off the radio, totally disconcerted—he couldn't remember why he was there or where _there_ even was or where he'd been before he came to. He got out of the car and realized _what the hell_? He'd parked in the middle of the damn road! Okay, this was officially starting to weird him the fuck out...

The trunk of the Impala closed suddenly and Dean jumped and turned at the sound, frowning in slight alarm as his heart rate jumped up a few notches. The frown faded into a surprised expression when he saw Sam standing there holding a huge crate of fireworks. Only, it wasn't not Sam _now_ , it was Sam when he was twelve or thirteen. He had the shaggy sandy hair—the small face that hadn't filed out yet—and the lanky awkwardness that comes with the early teenage years.

"...Sammy?" Dean asked in slow confusion. And yet, there was a strange familiarity about this that Dean couldn't figure out or place.

"Come on, let's go!" Sam called, oblivious to Dean's puzzled confusion. His little brother was excited, grinning widely and already taking off into the field that was beside the road the car was parked in. Dean stared after him for a fraction of a second before he felt something grab him. He looked down into the young, freckly face of Alex. She was the same age as Sam—hair in two messy ponytails on either side of her head. She was wearing that old green bomber jacket of Sam's— _wow,_ he'd almost forgotten about that thing. It was oversized on her. She used to wear it all the time.

She was holding his arm with both her hands while grinning up at him—the kind of grin she saved for when the three of them were up to mischief, to no good, to adventure. Her teeth were still too big for her face, and her freckles really stood out on her nose and cheeks. She pulled on him excitedly, tugging him after Sam—apparently she couldn't wait to get to where they were headed. "Weird dream," Dean commented to himself, but he went along with it, letting Alex drag him to where Sam waited. Dean smiled a little to himself as he let himself relax into this memory and/or dream. His brother and sister seemed happy. And that was kind of nice.

Sam plopped the crate on the ground in the middle of an empty field. He pulled out a couple of fireworks—Alex was grabbing two herself. "Got your lighter?" Sam asked, and Dean hesitated—he had that odd sense of déjà vu again. What the hell else was there to do though? He decided to go along with Sam's question and he checked his pockets. In the deep front pocket, a familiar shape he'd all but forgotten. He pulled out his old Zippo lighter. "Whoa, I haven't seen this in years—" he murmured in surprise, turning it over fondly in the palm of his hand. It was even more beautiful than he remembered. An iconic piece of his history he hadn't thought of in forever.

Alex swooped in and snatched it, leaving Dean to chuckle. "Whoa, little pyromaniac," he said even as Sam was grinning and holding out a fistful of fireworks toward his twin, telling her " _fire 'em up_!"

The twins looked so excited as they lit the fireworks—they were the type that you held while sparks shot out the top. Dean smiled softly, watched his siblings grin in unison, their eyes going wide in sheer zealous delight when the firework fuses caught fire. Sam and Alex ran over to Dean with the lit fireworks and Sam gave him one—they held them up high, at arms length, watching the fuses burn up, anticipating the moment when the fireworks would shoot off and the magic would happen.

All of their fireworks went off in almost-perfect unison, firing brilliant red streaks of light up into the sky, showering the dark expanse in flecks of sparks—the trees nearby glowed faint pink against the light—an ordinary landscape made surreal. Dean glanced down at his siblings—Sam and Alex's eyes reflected the light, their smiles were wide and carefree, and that didn't happen very often and Dean felt himself smiling, too, suddenly realizing why the scene felt so familiar to him. "Hey… I _remember_ this!" he said, smile getting broader as he looked up into the fountain of fireworks again. "It's Fourth of July, nineteen ninety-six!"

The fireworks died out, leaving the night dark once more and Dean looked down at Sam, who was looking up at Dean so happily. "Dad would never let us do anything like this," Sam said. "Thanks, Dean. This is great." He hugged Dean tightly around the waist—and Dean was kind of startled at the sudden burst of affection but he hugged Sam back after a second. His heart was really full, and he hoped Sam wouldn't look at him and wouldn't see how affected he was. Alex didn't notice either of her brothers. She was busy lighting _all_ of the rest of fireworks a few feet off, and Sam saw her momentarily, let out an excited whoop, pulling away from Dean—"fire in the hole!" he exclaimed in terrified delight, running to his twin and screaming in delight. He took her by the arm and pulled her away to a safe distance there with Dean. You could tell Alex would have been laughing loudly if she had the ability.

The fireworks begin to explode all at once and the night was no longer dark. There was a beautiful chorus of wild sparks and rainbow colors and zinging explosions against the dark velvet sky above their heads and Dean and Sam were suddenly laughing out loud and Alex—well—her head was throw back, mouth open in a huge silent laugh as her eyes crinkled up. Sam ran out and whirled around under the sparks while whooping, overjoyed at something as simple and carefree as this moment.

Alex hugged Dean around the waist, grinning toothily up at him, then she looked back up at the sky, her small head resting there against his chest trustingly. The fireworks continued to snap and pop, ribbons of light raining down over the three of them. Dean slowly put his arm around his sister, his hand squeezing her kid-sized shoulder—she was there and was safe with him, and he was comforted by knowing that. Sam caught Dean's eye from where sparks fell around him like confetti and he was smiling so big—the brothers nodded at each other after a second, and Dean's heart swelled too big for his chest. Because these two—this boy, this girl—they were and always would be his absolute world when all is said and done. _This is everything. This is it._ Seeing those smiles stretched across their faces, seeing unrestrained joy dance in their eyes, seeing them doing something normal and wild and childlike… it was everything he ever wanted for them, it was too much for him to take, he felt his eyes filling up. He remembered what he thought in this _exact moment_ , Fourth of July, 1996, fourteen years ago: _This is what happiness is._

There was an especially loud explosion, then another—and it was suddenly not a pleasant sound anymore, it had a different quality to it. _Was that gunfire?_ And Dean was suddenly ripped from the good feelings and was brutally assaulted by a stark series of flashing memories: the motel room, Roy and Walt and their shotguns, Sam shot in the chest laying lifeless on the bed, Alex rushing into the room and Roy turning to shoot her, Dean frantically lunging for Roy, a huge punch of pain exploding in his own chest, then... nothing. Dean was startled at the barrage of recollections. Just as quick as it happened he was back in the field but it was pitch black now—Sam, Alex, the fireworks were gone and it was silent, still. It was also raining now lightly and felt colder than it did before—there was something distinctly ominous about it. The rain didn't get him wet—he couldn't feel it at all. Where there had been absolute joy and happiness a handful of seconds ago, there was horror, anxiety, and dread.

Dean was breathing a little harder, freaked out. "Sam?" He asked softly. He paused, hearing no reply. "Sammy? Al?"

 _Nothing_. Dean saw that the Impala was still there and he went back to it. He looked inside, then all around, trying to lay eyes on his siblings. This was a really weird, really vivid dream. It _was_ a dream, right? Just then inside the car, the radio came on, very scratchy and filled with static.

"Dean!" Said a low, familiar voice. Dean frowned, leaning into the driver's side window.

"... _Cas_?" he asked incredulously. The radio crackled again, and that time there was no mistaking whose voice that was, even though it sounded weird, like the voice was being filtered through a tin can.

"Yes, it's me," Cas replied, and he sounded distinctly urgent.

Dean got back into the car. Suddenly this all seemed to make sense. "You gotta stop poking around in my dreams," he told the angel, then almost laughed, a little relieved that this _was_ a dream after all. "I need some _me_ time, man."

"Listen to me very closely," Cas's voice said intensely. "This _isn't_ a dream that you're in."

Dean's smile faded and he got a little worried by the angel's tone. "Then... what is it?" Then he though of those memories of the motel room, Sam covered in blood, Alex about to be shot... and his heart hitched slightly. He looked around the dark, nondescript landscape surrounding the Impala and it was with a sudden, huge amount of dread that he asked his next question. "Where… where exactly am I?"

"Heaven," Cas replied immediately, shortly, like he wanted to discuss something else.

Dean however was blinking in surprise. "You're joking!" he said, but then he quickly followed it up with, "you _are_ joking, right?"

"No Dean, I'm not joking," Cas's perturbed voice crackled.

" _Heaven_?" Dean asked, looking around at his surroundings again, definitely _not_ getting pearly gates from what he was seeing. Plus, what the hell would _he_ be doing in Heaven? This had to be a mistake. He was stumped. "Okay, well if that's true… how did I get here? And wait, _wait_ —" he was frowning intensely, realizing something. "Does this mean I'm _dead_?"

"Yes you are and please, just _listen_ ," Cas said, impatiently, his voice hard and urgent. The radio static buzzed and then cracked. "This spell, this connection, it's difficult to maintain."

Dean thought about Sam, dead and full of buckshot and laying on the bed next to him in the motel room. His stomach seized up in fear because that could only mean one thing... "Where's Sam, Cas?"

"He's there in Heaven too, ahead of you on the—"

Another terrible thought occurred to Dean, and he was suddenly leaning forward, cutting the angel off completely. "Cas—Alex! Is she—? Did she—" he couldn't bring himself to ask the question, he only remembered his sister whipping around the corner out of the bathroom, being stupid and heroic and thoughtless and Roy whirling, his shotgun raised high… but there was a chance that maybe she shot him first, right? There was a chance that she got the jump on both those assholes and survived. She was a good shot, hung over or not, right?

There was a very long pause and for a second, Dean worried that the call or whatever had been cut off and he banged on the dash a couple times with his fist, thinking the radio was broken. "Cas, you there?"

"Yes, I'm here," Cas said, and he sounded less focused than he did before. The radio crackled, almost making Cas's next words sound shaky or wavering. "She's—she's dead too, Dean."

Dean sat back in his seat, aghast, not able to speak for a few seconds, too stunned at the idea to even comprehend it. "I-isn't she supposed to have some angel protection deal?" There was long pause, no reply at all and Dean was getting mad now because he realized Cas was purposefully not answering. " _Cas_!"

"I'm here, Dean," Cas replied in a low, even tone.

Dean pursed his lips in irritation, let out an irritated breath through his nose. "Okay, right, Alex is dead too, _good job_ Cas—so where the hell is she? I see a whole lotta nothing and no one out here."

The radio crackled loudly. "I... I can't locate her," Cas said, and the way the angel sounded worried and uncertain set Dean at even greater unease. "She's drifting, Dean, I've—I've never seen anything like it."

"What the hell do you mean, she's _drifting_?" Dean asked, his stomach tightening in alarm.

"The souls and your bodies... they leave a connection here on earth to where they are in Heaven, and with this spell I can see where _you_ are, where _Sam_ is but—I can't pin her down and it's—I'm not—she's _in_ Heaven, I think but..." he sounded really unsure now, almost like he was talking to himself. "She shouldn't be drifting, no one does that—"

"Well what the hell does it _mean_ , Cas?" Dean demanded, getting more and more anxious and worked up by the second.

"I'm not sure, just..." Cas paused, then sounded really urgent again, hurried. "I'm running out of time, Dean. What do you see?"

"What do you mean 'what do I see'?" Dean asked, getting more agitated, more alarmed. He didn't like to be rushed. Thunder rumbled again, distantly.

"Some people see a tunnel or a river," Cas stated, then asked again: "What do you see?"

"N-nothing!" Dean said, freaked out, not seeing a tunnel, or a river—nothing besides his damn car and the road outside. "My dash," he told Cas. "I'm in my car. I'm on... I dunno, some road."

There was a second of silence, and Cas's voice was weaker, sounding farther away than before and distorted oddly. "Follow the road, Dean—you'll find Sam and—" the radio died out completely and Dean waited a second.

"I'll find Sam and _what_? Cas?" he fiddled with the radio controls but all that did was turn music back on. " _Dammit_." Dean muttered—it wasn't Cas he heard coming through the speakers anymore, it was Guns N' Roses.

_Take me down to the paradise city, where the grass is green and the girls are pretty… oh won't you please take me home?_

The song felt foreboding to him somehow. Dean looked around again and didn't see much else to do but what Cas said. "Okay," he said to himself reluctantly, thinking about Sam and Alex and oh yeah the fact that _they were both dead_. He let out a shaky breath and nodded a little, wishing he had more to go on than what Cas told him, wishing he knew how the hell he was gonna get himself and his siblings out of this mess. "Follow the road…" he muttered, then shrugged to himself, shook his head. First step: find Sam and Alex. After that he'd figure the rest out. Dean cranked the Impala and started down the dark highway. The moon was huge, glowing strangely, and the sky was purple-toned, odd. The stars seemed unsteady, spinning in slow, concentric circles overhead.

Maybe it was all supposed to be beautiful, but to Dean, it felt threatening.

There was no way for him to know what was happening back on earth right now, but as he sped down Heaven's highway, Castiel was back on earth picking up Alex's body, laying her down so gently on the third bed in the room—moving her hair away from her face, looking down at her in turmoil, his hand lingering there at the side of her face. "Where _are_ you?" he asked her softly, so puzzled and anxious. He looked at her a moment longer and sadness like never before pressed down over him like absolute gravity. "Where did you go?"

* * *

"Alex," he said, and she turned around and nearly had a stroke right then and there because it was her _dad_ standing there!

Alex looked at him in stunned-to-stillness disbelief because she hadn't seen his face in four years but it was _him_ and he was _exactly_ how she remembered—tall, solidly built; he had a scruffy beard touched with the beginnings of gray. Same messy dark head of hair. Same tired eyes. "... _Dad_?"

He smiled kind of hesitantly at her with his mouth, but his _eyes…_ they were really emotional, really _full_ , not holding back like his lips were. She'd never seen him look at her like that before and she felt a deep suspicious fear immediately. "Hi baby," he said softly, like speaking was difficult for him, like he was fighting back tears. _Hi baby?_ What the hell was this? Some kind of sick joke?

Alex looked at the phone in her hand—realizing she was wearing that old green jacket of Sam's that used to be too big for her—what the hell, she lost this thing years ago! She looked around into the gaping, swallowing darkness everywhere, then back at Dad, totally dazed and confused. She noticed now that he looked sort of wrong in his coloring, kind of pale or desaturated slightly. He was emanating an unnatural soft light, too—underneath his feet she could see pavement in a faint circle where light hit it. "What _is_ this?" she asked, aghast and suspicious and absolutely confounded.

He didn't seem to hear her question, he was just looking at her with this slightly awed, taken aback expression. "Your... your voice," he said, sounding stunned. Alex felt slapped by the words and recoiled physically, wanting to slam the phone on the hook and flee the area—who was this impostor standing in front of her? "I heard you got your voice back, but—" he began, and she moved to leave because this couldn't be right and she couldn't do this—but he stepped forward then stopped short like he was held back by something invisible, like he couldn't come any closer. He held up a 'stop' hand, panicking suddenly. "Don't—don't hang up the phone! I can't call back."

"...Can't call back?" she repeated, getting more and more freaked by the second. She kept her distance and leveled him with pained eyes. "You're _dead_!"

He was solemn. "Yes. I am dead. And so are you."

Alex made a face at _that_ suggestion. "Uh... what?" She could have almost laughed. "No... I'm dreaming."

"You're not dreaming." He looked incredibly drawn. "You know how I know? I made a deal to be able to talk to you whenever you... whenever you died."

What? In front of her, Dad flickered like a dying light, and Alex went slack jawed. Wait. _Wait_.

She suddenly saw the motel room and she was remembering the sound of Sam being shot, getting shot herself, praying to Cas—and literally as soon as the words were out of her mouth, his arrival. He'd brutally decimated her murderer and he'd come to her, dropping to his knees to hold her and oh god, Cas, the look on his face, his hand against the shotgun wound, the helplessness and terror written onto the features of his face. And she'd struggled to _tell him_ because she'd felt her life fading out completely, she'd known she was dying—she had been trying to tell him because he should know, even if he couldn't feel the same way, that someone, somewhere loved him, and that someone was her—but then she had faded out, she'd slipped away. She'd died.

Alex looked at Dad, eyes wide—he was waiting for her to reply and she clenched her jaw, shook her head 'no,' upset and reeling, trembling suddenly, close to tears and feeling physically ill. "All right, _look_ , I don't know who you are or what you want—but I'm outta here."

"Alex— _please_ —don't—" Dad begged, and the way he said it froze her on the spot. "It's me," he said earnestly, urgently.

She didn't like this at all, but for some crazy reason, she decided not to walk away... not yet. But every muscle was prepared to bolt if he came any closer. She fixed him with a terse expression and she steeled herself. "Prove it." Dad looked uncharacteristically uncomfortable, almost like the John Winchester she'd met in 1978—a little unsure, a little nervous. It was so strange and disconcerting. Then Alex had an idea. "What date did Mom die?"

Dad answered immediately, not even having to think about it. "November second, nineteen eighty-three." That wasn't the real question, that wasn't the real test—this next question was. Alex raised her chin just a fraction, challengingly. "What date was Dean born?"

Dad's certainty flickered. He didn't look so sure. "Uh… January. Fourth. Nineteen seventy... uh—"

Alex smiled cynically, let out a soft, disbelieving huff of air as she looked down. "January _twenty_ -fourth. Nineteen seventy-nine." She looked back up at him with a lot of mixed emotion. If it were an impostor, they would have rattled off the date without a second thought. But Dad… he never remembered their birthdays.

"Never was good with dates," he said lamely, and he looked stricken. Then a little cynical as he smiled wanly, realizing her game. "It really is me." He sounded like he was disappointed in himself but he shook it off, turning his attention back to her.

Alex was trying to process all of this. She was dead, talking to Dad? She still didn't believe it. Dad was looking at her thoroughly, concerned. Not angry, not disappointed, not annoyed, not bitter. And it was all she had ever hoped for but it felt _wrong_ and unfamiliar and she couldn't take it. "Where—where are you, Dad?" she asked, trying to regain control over the moment, trying to put together the pieces of this puzzle, figure out what was going on. "Where are you… calling... me from?" He flickered again.

"I'm okay," he said in that firm, don't-ask-me-more way he had. His smile was back and tinged with sadness. "That's all you need to know."

Alex wanted a straight answer but let it go—that was Dad after all and she knew when to back off—she glanced around herself, into the pitch black expanse around them. She felt small, lost, bordering on hopeless and she was scared. She tried not to sound that way. "Okay so... where am _I_?"

John shook his head slowly, glanced around, seeming to see things, his dark eyes darting back and forth. "I'm not sure. All I see is a run down parking lot."

"What?" Alex asked, and she looked around again—but she couldn't see anything except the phone booth and her dad—she could barely even see her own feet, they were almost lost in the darkness. Confused, Alex looked at her dad and she was getting more and more alarmed at the situation. If she was dead… this couldn't be Heaven, could it? Cas told her that souls generated their own heavens, and this was definitely not heavenly to her. Which only left one other option, didn't it? Funny, she always thought Hell would be a lot hotter and oranger. Like in the movies. Like the inside of a volcano times a thousand. But this darkness actually did seem worse than any fiery inferno could ever be—it seemed to seep into her soul itself. She was quiet now, looking at Dad falteringly. "Am I… am I in Hell?"

"No." Dad said, shaking his head and looking at her with his eyebrows knit together—Alex was even more suspicious now... because he had only looked at her like that—worried to his core—a couple times in her life, one of them when she accidentally got shot when they'd been hunting. Even though she was pretty sure that _was_ Dad in front of her, seeing him like that was so unfamiliar and upsetting. She wished for Dean so badly right then, because he would know what to do—he always did.

Dad took in a long, slow breath, hesitating and she waited, entire body tense—she wasn't sure why, but she dreaded what he was going to say because of that indescribable _look_ on his face. So when he finally said, "Alex... I'm so _sorry_ ," and the words were so heavy with a heartbroken earnestness. In response, she felt even more afraid.

Cautious, she looked at him while filled with hope and dread all at the same time. "...For?"

He answered immediately. ".. _.Everything._ " Alex couldn't believe her ears. His jaw was tight, working oddly—he was the picture of uncomfortable. "I... I should've asked you how school was going and helped you with homework and spent time with you that wasn't... I don't know, gun drills. I should've been involved in your life. In all you kid's lives."

Everything he just said was true and what she'd always wanted to hear but at the same time it was too little and hit her like an insult, like too small of an apology for too big a wound. "Well congrats on finally seeing the errors of your ways," she said bitterly.

Dad's expression wavered. He didn't like the dig, but his dark eyes held a faint hope, a deep pain. He didn't correct her or snap back. "I hope... someday... you can forgive me."

" _Forgive_ you?" she repeated and shook her head, looking away, struggling to control all this sudden anger. How _dare_ he. Every time he overlooked her, shoved her, made her feel small and stupid rang through her memories and she let the phone go and it swung down, clanging against the post of the phone booth loudly as her pointer finger jabbed at him with accusation—everything she'd never been able to say before flooded out like a monsoon. " _You_ would walk into the room and, and most little kids see their dad and get _excited_ and _happy_ , but _you_ would come in and there I was on red alert every time, making sure I didn't mess up and make you mad, trying to figure out if Dad was trashed or not, if I needed to avoid you that day!" Alex glared and felt none of the mind-numbing fear that she used to as a kid. Instead she only felt disgust and anger and sadness. "What kind of kid has to live in fear of their dad?!" He looked ashamed but Alex wasn't done, in fact, she was beginning to feel adrenaline surge as she stood up to her father for what was really the first time in her life. "You think you should have helped me with _homework_? How about making sure I could survive in the real world? How about making sure your kids had options other than the hellhole life you picked for yourself? Do you even _know_ what Dean has been through since you've been gone?! What Sam's had to deal with?"

"I wish I could take it back," he said. She scoffed at his hypocrisy.

"' _Wishing never got anyone anything_ ,'" she said, knowing he'd recognize that phrase. Dad looked up at her sadly. She was quoting him back to himself. He still didn't get angry though. He just looked devastated and Alex softened a little. Just a little. "You spent my whole life chasing after ghosts. After someone who was gone. But we were _there_. And we _needed_ you."

"I know," he said faintly. "I know."

"No you _don't_ know!" Alex shouted, blinking rapidly through tear-filled eyes. She felt herself shaking—these were things she had imagined saying to her dad for years. "If you _knew_ , you would have _changed_ it! You wouldn't have done what you did! You were a _terrible_ father!" Her voice was breaking with tears. "What did I ever do to make you _hate_ me so much?!"

John had the audacity to look tearful, then shut his eyes regretfully, his head bowing down.

Alex both seethed and grieved. Those words she'd just said should have felt good, should have made her feel retribution and victory, but instead she felt even worse than before. So she tried to cover it up. "Guess this isn't what you had in mind when you arranged for that last phone call to good old Alex, huh?" she asked, a bitter smile on her lips. Her smile faltered, she looked at him sadly. "What'd it cost you, anyway?" And who had pulled the strings to allow this to happen at all?

"It's not important," John replied. He sounded resigned. He sniffed gruffly, cleared his throat. "Your brothers taking good care of you? Keeping you safe?"

"I'm _dead_ ," Alex said somewhat spitefully, avoiding looking at him so she doesn't have to feel guilty about how sad he looked. "So… you figure that one out."

He didn't give up. He sounded gentle, appealing. "Tell me about yourself. Please." She didn't. So he clutched at straws. "You, you got a boyfriend back home? A husband?"

Alex's mouth dropped open slightly and she stared at him in flustered surprise, because the _second_ he asked that, she was picturing Cas, suddenly wondering where he was, if she would see him again, if he was all right. Missing him intensely, wishing he were there with her. Dad saw her expression, nodded slightly, and took it as a yes.

"He better be one hell of a guy," he said softly.

Alex opened her mouth to deny it, to tell him she had no boyfriend, husband, partner, lover, whatever—but then she said nothing. Instead she thought of the angel who watched humanity from afar for thousands of years, who restored her voice, who showed up and awakened something in her that she hadn't even known existed. It was complicated. So complicated. And over, unless she found a way to escape the whole being dead thing...

Dad had other things on his mind: "How'd you die, Alex?"

This was embarrassing. "Shot," she said wanly. "By _Walt_ fucking _Fletcher._ Friggin' _idiot_." Her mouth twisted, because it was truly unbelievable. He was a clown and yet he'd gotten one over on her. "Stupid way to die," she muttered. It was ironic—she'd watched Dad die, Sam die, Dean die. All of their deaths had obliterated her heart. But Dad… he'd left on purpose and without saying goodbye to her. That, and he'd _stayed_ dead unlike her brothers. 

When she had found out months after his passing that he'd _known_ he was going to die, she'd been devastated at his final abandonment of her. She still was. She wished it didn't hurt her so much. She wanted to lash out, to insult him or cut him verbally, but when she opened her mouth, her voice cracked, caught, and she was suddenly crying again, face crumpled, and she wasn't insulting him, she was appealing to him despairingly. "Dad I wish you'd said _goodbye_ to me," she managed. "B-before you died."

He was clearly heartbroken. "We get to say goodbye now, baby." Even he knew that wasn't enough, it was clear from his voice.

"But why didn't you _then_?"

There were tears in his eyes now too and his mouth was pressed into a line. He shook his head blankly, looking like he wasn't too sure of the answer. "I felt like there was nothing I could have said… that anything I could have told you would have just made it worse." Alex's eyes blurred with tears. She was mourning the relationship she never had with her father because she could see now, briefly, what it might look like. What _he_ might have been like, what _she_ might have been like, if things were different. But things weren't different—and all that remained between them was wreckage. He looked at her regretfully. "I didn't know it would mean that much to you," he said. It was Alex's turn to shut her eyes in morose pain. Dad continued. "I thought it would be better for you if I just walked out… didn't try and fix something I couldn't fix." Alex's heart sank in absolute grief.

There was a pause, and when Dad spoke again, it was reminiscent, tempered with a deep fondness. "You know I… I remember the day you and Sammy were born…" he said softly. Alex opened her eyes, barely able to. He'd never talked about this before. "I held you for the first time, you were _so tiny_ … and you looked right up at me. I know babies can't see at that age but—I swear—you looked right at me and... I felt like I never loved anyone as much as I loved you right then." His voice cracked, his smile was struggling through guilt and misery. "I just wish I could have held onto that, instead of letting your mom's death consume me like it did." He went silent, looking off into long distance. "Things would have been very different. For all of us." He looked back at her, miserable but resolute, his shining eyes capturing her gaze completely. "I know I've always had a hell of a way of showing it but… Alex, you're my daughter. Of course I love you."

Alex's face crumpled, her heart and head were overwhelmed completely. " _Dad_ ," she sobbed out, and there were tears running down her cheeks, she wished he really were there with her, that he wasn't just a flickering representation of himself.

He seemed to hear something beside him and suddenly seemed rushed, sidetracked. "I don't have much time left… Sam—is he... how is he?"

Alex was mystified, but heard the urgency in his voice. "W-well, he's dead," she said, wiping her cheeks, swallowing her tears, trying to get herself together. "But—but before that, he was fine I guess."

Her dad looked at her significantly. "You and I both know that's not the truth."

Alex frowned just slightly. "You mean the demon blood?"

Dad shook his head. "There's more wrong with Sam than that, Alex."

She paused, her stomach twisting. "What, Sam being Lucifer's vessel? We already know about that."

He shook his head, growing more and more hurried. " _No_ —that's part of it, but—" he looked up suddenly and fear flashed across his face. "They found me—"

"Who?" she asked apprehensively, looking up where he was looking but not seeing anything. " _Who_ found you?"

He looked back at her and some invisible, violent wind was rustling his hair and clothes. His voice grew urgent, he was shouting now, and Alex was afraid. "Tell Dean it's _not over_ , Lucifer planned to use you and Sam t—"

Suddenly his image flickered out completely, leaving a huge black nothing in front of Alex. She didn't even have a chance to register that—the phone booth faded out too, and she was suddenly in total, complete darkness, left with the sound of her own panicking heartbeat, her own heavy breathing. She stumbled backward, falling over onto her back—the phone booth had been there, but now there was nothing at all.

And then there was a blinding flash of light from somewhere up above and Alex's eyes were unable to take it—she threw an arm over her eyes then the harsh light faded somewhat and she winced and squinted over to her side, propping herself up onto an elbow. Her eyes were completely overwhelmed. It was all too bright and blurry and out of focus like there was a film over her eyes—she could now make out an overcast and unnaturally green sky above an abandoned shopping center parking lot. There were a few dinged up old shopping carts scattering the cracked old pavement—she saw the Impala parked over at the edge of the concrete ocean, heard _Fortunate Son_ playing faintly on the car speakers—there was a striking familiarity to all of this and wait, was this…? That time she Dean and Sam had ditched school and raced shopping carts around for hours when they were supposed to be on some dumbass field trip? But where were Dean and Sam? She felt like they should be there. And they weren't.

At that moment the parking lot kind of spun and wobbled dizzyingly, then she realized it looked _fake_ on closer examination, like an unfinished painting. In fact, parts of the scene seemed to drift off into the air now—parts of the parking lot peeled up like old paint curling up in summer heat, one of the shopping carts drifted apart completely and turned to dust, the Impala was melting into the ground, turning into a strange black puddle, and the music slowed down, skipped, becoming low and unrecognizable, messed up and sinister—the pavement wasn't pavement anymore, it was some unrecognizable flat gray material—and it was still all blurry and hazy and hard to see and if she wasn't freaking out before, Alex definitely was now.

Alex heard the sound of clicking footfalls approaching and looked up, disoriented and confused, somewhat expecting to see her dad, but it wasn't John Winchester. Unlike everything else, she could see the newcomer perfectly as if in HD, and her eyes went wide. "Well, hello young lady!" Zachariah said, smiling down at her with creepy cheerfulness. "Fancy meeting you here!"

Panic rushed her and she shot to her feet in record time, turning to run the opposite direction, only to bump right into him—he moved through space, anticipating her move—he held her hard by both arms, his grip painful and vice-like. He was still smiling pleasantly. "Now, where the hell are those pain-in-the-ass brothers of yours?"

* * *

Castiel sat there in the utter silence next to her dead body. Her blood was on his trench coat. He'd faced himself away, sitting on the edge of the bed. Now he stared at the wall across from himself. He knew that if he looked away from the wall, he'd see her out of the corner of his eye, and at the sight of her the helpless panic and horror would return, the fear would take him over. So he stared and waited, every muscle tensed to the point of painfulness. He'd done what he could—he'd taken the bodies of the murderers away and left them somewhere in the middle of the smoky mountain wilderness. They would probably never be found, not by people anyway.

It had been an hour since it all happened—since he'd come here and seen her die in front of his eyes. He still couldn't really understand that she was really gone. It felt too horrible to be the truth. He sat in the silence, wrestling with not knowing what had happened to her soul or where she was. Castiel had laid her down onto the third, empty bed after he'd realized God wasn't going to answer him. He'd looked around the room, seen his dead friends covered in their own blood, and subsequently felt overwhelmed. He could have prevented all of it. He felt like all the gravity in the universe was all in one place there above him, crushing him down completely as he stood back and stared at Alex's slight frame alone there, crumpled against the blood-spattered wall—he couldn't leave her there. It hadn't been right. So he'd picked her body up and the moment he'd done so, he'd seen himself in 2014 doing the same—but the difference was, what Anna had shown him had been all visual. When he'd picked her up today, he'd _felt_ the complete lifelessness of her dead weight there in his arms and it had devastated him all over again. Now, he could barely look at her, because with each passing moment, he felt the absence of her more and more deeply. With each second that ticked by, Alex felt further and further away, more and more impossible to reach.

The spell he'd worked, he'd done it five times already, trying it again and again because he didn't understand—he could feel Dean and Sam's souls because of the ritual, he could tell where they were and could communicate with them through the veil passably; their souls were steady and slow, bright lights in the darkness, but hers—hers was like a distant dying light that his eye could never catch, and it alarmed him—he had never seen any soul do that. He couldn't pinpoint her, he couldn't reach her at all. Why was she drifting? Why was she lost? And most importantly, could she be brought back at all?

Castiel knew that Sam and Dean were important to Heaven, that when angels found them, they would be sent back to their bodies without hesitation or question—but Alex—his chest twisted up in pain.

He never told her this, perhaps because of pride. But when Heaven cast him out, he had been cut off from things other than his angelic abilities. He was no longer Alex's Heaven-elect guardian. However—no other new guardian had appeared. Castiel would have known if another angel watched over her... and there had been none. Perhaps that was his fault as well, because he'd put the angel wards on her ribs—perhaps she received no guardian because Heaven couldn't find her. For some time he'd had the audacity to believe that his father was still entrusting _him_ to protect Alex even though the order of angels had turned him away. Now he faced the reality of the fact: either Heaven was purposefully ignoring the order to protect her... or the order had been abolished completely. He didn't know which it was, only that he had been here, walking the same earth as her—and he had failed to keep her alive. And now she didn't matter to Heaven and if Castiel couldn't reach her and bring her back, who could? Beside him, within arms reach, she laid growing stiff and cold. He knew that with every passing minute, the chance that Sam and Dean would be found increased. He shut his eyes now, listening to himself breathing. How alone he felt—how completely and utterly alone.

He wanted desperately to return to Heaven, to find her himself, and to bring her back—but he was literally locked out with no way in. He could hear the celestial whispers, he could _see_ into Heaven with various rituals and spells, but he couldn't actually _go_ there and it was maddening. How strange, how lonely, to be a being who walked between the realms, not quite human enough to be a man, not quite Heavenly enough to be an angel. He belonged to nothing and to no one but this family of broken people. To nothing and no one but her. He looked at her now and his stomach clenched, his body trembled. How could she be so close and at the same time so impossible to reach? He smoothed her hair again, searching her face while sickened inside, lost.

The television made a strange garbled sound, startling him in the piercing silence. "Cas!" came a familiar voice.

Castiel rose and went to the set quickly, sudden hope surging in him. "I can hear you," he said, peering hard into the television. He could faintly see Dean and then Sam too in a distorted, static-filled picture and he looked harder, hoping to see Alex too, but he saw no one else, only an empty living room and the two Winchester boys.

Dean seemed agitated, his face filling the screen as he leaned close. "Cas! I found Sam but, but I can't find Alex—you gotta tell me where she is, man!"

Castiel felt himself tense in anxiety and the sick feeling increased, the hopefulness dissipated when he realized that they hadn't found her. His emotions translated themselves into anger and he scowled at the screen, powerless and wishing Dean understood that. "I can't tell you where she is, Dean—I can't see her like I can see you—"

"Well _find her_!" Dean cut him off urgently, and in the background, Sam looked troubled.

"I'm _trying_ ," Cas told them, attempting to hold back on his anger and frustration. He didn't want them to know how worried he was, because if they panicked, they might not be able to find her in time.

Sam came a little closer, leaning down so that his face filled the screen. Several bars of static ran down across the image. "Hey Cas, there was this weird beam of light just now and—"

"Stay away from it," Cas told him immediately, urgently, leaning closer to the screen, speaking fast, because he wasn't sure how long this connection would remain. "That was Zachariah. He's searching for you—you can't say yes to Michael and Lucifer if you're dead, so Zachariah needs to return you to your bodies."

Sam frowned, glanced at Dean, puzzled. "What's so bad about that?"

Castiel's jaw clenched tightly at Sam's thoughtless question, and he wasn't able to remain as calm as he'd meant to. He spoke louder than he meant to, harsher too. " _What's so bad_ if Zachariah finds you before you locate your sister—" he looked away from the screen, mouth in a hard line as he paused, "is that she _stays dead_."

Shock filtered across the brothers' faces. " _Explain_." Dean commanded with a deadly glare.

Cas didn't want to—he considered lying, but realized it was too late, that he'd let it all slip out already, and perhaps the truth would motivate them better than anything else, anyway. Still, speaking it out loud was difficult for him. It meant he had to confront it. "There's... there's no reason for Zachariah to send Alex back. None."

"What? _Why_?" Dean asked, looking stunned completely, all of his anger washed away momentarily, and in its place, fear.

Castiel couldn't look at the screen when he explained. "She's not important to Heaven, Dean—she's not a vessel or a—"

"But you said she had a guardian angel thing!" Sam protested, and Cas looked up at the screen again to see Alex's twin looking so disillusioned and let down that Castiel had to look away again, stricken with a guilt he could not even begin to fathom.

He explained in a dazed kind of tone. "Yes, I thought so—but Heaven assigned no new protector, I would have known... I don't know why, but either Heaven is ignoring the guardianship order or… or it no longer stands at all." Sam and Dean looked entirely shocked. Castiel's gaze faltered once again. "And as we all know... I… I failed to keep her safe."

"Yeah no _shit_ , Cas," Dean snapped and he yanked himself back from the screen, scrubbing his face with the palm of his hand as if he were trying to gather himself. He walked completely out of frame and then there was a loud crashing sound, like Dean had thrown something. Sam glanced at his brother in awkward embarrassment.

Cas struggled to remain calm himself and addressed Sam, who so far was keeping his wits about him. "In fact, Sam—if Zachariah finds you, finds Alex, he may use her as leverage. To motivate Dean into saying yes to Michael."

Offscreen, he heard Dean curse loudly. Sam shut his eyes for a brief second, a muscle jerking in his cheek and he pinched the bridge of his nose, then seemed to make a visible effort to remain calm, focused, looking back at the screen tersely. "Okay Cas, just—how do we get her back to the land of the living?" His question was a good one, but Cas was silent, wordless. He didn't _know_.

 _Wait._ Castiel grew urgent, realizing he had an idea, and this was probably the very best chance they had. "You need to find an angel. His name is Joshua."

"Who the hell is Joshua?" Dean asked, his angry face once again taking up half the screen.

"He can help us, I think," Castiel told him urgently. The screen jerked, fizzled. "The rumor is he talks to God."

"And what does _that_ have to do with anything?" Dean demanded, his tone accusing as if Cas was foolish to suggest they do such a thing.

Castiel grew even more frustrated—this was their _only option_ , their _only chance_ , and Dean wanted to question him about it, as usual, wanted to do things his way, wanted to waste precious time arguing when they needed to be trying to get Alex out of Heaven while they could, _save_ her while they could! Cas glared at the man's image on the screen and spoke brusquely, not bothering to conceal his anger. "You think maybe—just _maybe_ —we should find out what the hell God has been saying? That maybe someone who talks to God might know more than we do? Maybe an angel _that close_ to God could _help us_?"

Dean looked inconvenienced, or maybe put-out. "Geez. Touchy."

Taking a deep breath, Cas searched for resolve and patience, but found very little. "Please," he said tensely. "I just need you to follow the road, to find your sister, and then take her and yourselves to Joshua. _Quickly_."

"But how do we _find_ her, Cas?" Sam asked intently. "Can't you come help us?"

"I would already be there if I could be," Castiel told him, feeling defeated. "I'm unable to return… they've cast me out." Castiel glanced to his side to Alex's body, and with growing urgency he looked back at Sam. "Just keep looking, and _hurry_. She's there, somewhere in Heaven." He again felt her soul flickering, half there. Castiel truthfully couldn't be certain she was there in Heaven at all. And he told them as such ruefully. "I think."

"...You _think_?" Dean repeated, his voice rising rapidly. "Heaven seems kinda big, Cas! How the _fuck_ are we supposed to find her with Zach on our asses and all of Heaven looking for us?!"

" _Dean_ ," Sam said, and his brother let out a heavy, deeply frustrated breath through his nose, glanced at Sam, then back at the screen, waiting for Cas to reply.

Castiel could see how alarmed Dean was, and identified with him—looked at him intensely. "Follow the road. I think she's near it, somewhere."

"What _road_?" Sam asked, leaning in closer. Another burst of static distorted the picture for a couple seconds.

"The Axis Mundi," Cas said, speaking swiftly. "It's a path that runs through Heaven—different people see it as different things. For you, it's two lane asphalt. The road will lead you to the Garden, which is where you'll find Joshua. And Joshua—he can take us to God or tell us where to find him, he can send Alex back." The television began to fade out, Cas felt the connection weakening, breaking. Becoming urgent with alarm, Cas gripped it tightly on either side. " _Hurry, Dean_!"

The television set died out completely.

Cas drew back just slightly to look at the silent TV, the sudden absence of any sound shocking to his senses. Would Sam and Dean be able to find her? Would Joshua be able to help at all? Were the rumors that he spoke to God even _true_? What if Zachariah found the brothers before they found Alex? Castiel stood up, his heart hammering, his limbs feeling light and unsteady. He felt such a strong need to be be there in Heaven, tearing it apart to find her then bring her back to where she belonged. But he was cursed to stay here, doing nothing, completely ineffective.

He looked at Alex and his feelings of helplessness bubbled up into sheer, unadulterated anger, into panicked and blind rage. _He could have prevented this._ He shouldn't have left her, even for a second. He'd been so selfish to avoid her because of his feelings, his inability to manage them. And now look what had happened—he'd been so intent on changing the future he'd seen in 2014 that he had left her unguarded and she'd died anyway, and _sooner_.

_This was his fault!_

Momentarily out of control, he turned and angrily grabbed the wooden chair sitting right there and sent it flying into the partition beside Sam's bed. The chair and partition were both destroyed and Cas stared at the damage done, breathing heavily for no reason, remembering when he'd seen himself wreck the cabin in 2014. The cabin he and Alex had shared. He'd seen that version of himself do that and hadn't recognized himself, but now—now he was stilled, knowing why that version of Castiel had done that. What was this? Some _curse_ that hounded Castiel and Alex? He looked down at himself and saw her bloodstains on his trench coat. His throat seized up.

And at that very moment, he thought he could hear her, feel her, like she was calling to him. He looked around, alarmed—but then there was nothing. Had he imagined it? He waited, stock still, listening hard and frozen. But there was still nothing. His mind was overcome with despair. And too lost, too confused, too lonely to bear any of it, Castiel sank again down to sit beside Alex. There he buried his face in his hands, feeling to much for anyone to bear.

* * *

_Cas? Are you there? Where are you? I need you..._

Alex was in the darkness again. Complete, utter darkness—right where Zachariah had left her hours ago. Or at least it _felt_ like hours. She was on the ground, not sure if she was dead or alive. She could feel what felt like dew-wet grass underneath her hands, brushing up against her clothes. It was soaking her knees. But that was about the only sensation she could cling onto. The darkness swallowed her. There was so much _nothing_ in this place, and she felt like she couldn't breathe, like if she wasn't careful, her mind would slip out, float away, leave her blank and empty and hollow. Was her body still even in existence? Only her wet knees and shaky breath rattling inside of her convinced her that she was. She wondered why Cas hadn't come for her. Maybe he couldn't. Hopelessness, loneliness, and despair overcame her again, wave after wave crashing over her, each one beating her down more and more.

After Zachariah caught her, he'd demanded to know where Sam and Dean were—she'd insisted she didn't know (and then told him to kiss her ass, she wouldn't tell him where they were even if she did know). Zachariah had looked at her in thorough annoyance then told her it didn't matter if she wouldn't tell him, he was going to find them, it was just a matter of time. He dragged her along with him through a couple of heavens—the first one was Sam's: she watched Sam get his acceptance letter to Stanford and punch the air in excitement, grin at the letter, re-read it a bunch of times, do a dorky little dance. Then Zachariah had pulled her out of there into another heaven, one of Dean's: where a twelve-year-old Dean had attempted to bake the twins a birthday cake at Bobby's and it had been half burnt and lopsided—a somewhat pitiful little cake with melting icing and a barely legible "Happy Birthday Twins" on it—Dean had run out of room to write with the icing and the word Birthday was split into two lines, the word twins started off huge, but the 's' on the end was small, going off the edge of the cake completely. Zachariah had taken her out of there before she could see Dean present his little creation to herself and Sam. She remembered loving that clumsy, heartfelt cake.

He'd spirited her to another heaven, still holding onto her with his iron grip—he'd taken her to a memory she had from her twenty-first birthday—and Alex had realized this must be one of _her_ heavens, because she remembered it well and it was one of her favorite memories. Dean had insisted on taking her to a bar because she was finally the age to drink legally, but she hadn't wanted to go—it's not like they had ever honored that law about drinking, anyway. She'd been drinking since she was thirteen or fourteen—that and with Sam not there, away at Stanford and not evening having _called_ them that day… birthdays were painful, a reminder of what was missing, what was broken. And Dad, of course, was nowhere to be found, off on some job. So Dean had gone and bought a bunch of liquor then driven the two of them to a park in the middle of the night and cranked up the music really loud.

This was the heaven Zachariah took her to, and it was strange because she couldn't actually _see_ herself in the memory, only Dean—coaxing an invisible her out of the Impala, insisting she get drunk with him, telling her 'just because your big sister Samantha is all kinds of douche doesn't mean you should pout around,' and he then dragged the invisible her out onto the grass when 38 Special came on… _I'm so caught up in you! Little girl!_ Dean lip-synced along ridiculously, whirling an invisible dancing partner around as he made dramatic faces and danced embarrassingly bad on purpose, pivoting his hips around and pursing his lips in goofy concentration. _And I never did suspect a thing! So caught up in you, little girl, that I never wanna get myself free!_ Dean stood back and did air-guitar solos, clearly aware of how stupid and funny he was being, looking pleased with himself, then grinning at the space in front of him widely, genuinely. That space was where she'd been standing and laughing at him, half cringing the entire time. Off to the side and watching the scene play out, Alex remembered how happy she had felt at that moment, because she'd very aware of how lucky she was to have someone like Dean who loved her like that. Who went out of his way to pull her out of the dumps. Who had stayed with her when everyone else had gone away. Dean then hugged the air in front of him and Alex looked at Zachariah accusingly. That was a private moment and him seeing it hadn't felt right.

Zachariah had stood back, looking at the scene with condescension, like it left a bad taste in his mouth. "Don't look at me in that tone of voice," he'd told her sassily. She looked at the angel who had given her throat cancer, had taken Sam's lungs, had given Dean stomach cancer. She would have given anything to have access to a murder weapon at that second.

"You're not funny, _asshole_ ," she'd told him flatly, and he had looked at her squarely, narrowing his eyes in distaste, looking like someone who was ready to give a lecture.

"You know, that mentally incapacitated idiot in the trench coat should never have given you your voice back." Alex looked at Zachariah in shock at the unexpected insult. He shrugged, facetious and wincing sympathetically. "You're very unappealing to begin with, add in the bad attitude and all the thuggish comments… not doing it for me, Alex." He chuckled. She opened her mouth to speak... and _nothing came out._ Zachariah grinned at her. "Lucky for me, I'm like a remote control... and you _always_ have a mute button, Pipsqueak." He laughed and sighed gustily, enjoying the panic in her eyes. "What does he see in you? The things he gave up to do that for you. Heaven knows why. _Well._ Heaven _doesn't_ know why, but, it's just a saying, you see." He suddenly looked to his left like he could hear something. "Ah _ha_. Gotcha." And without another word, he'd disappeared, and then so had everything in front of her.

It was like if an angel weren't with her, she couldn't see or hear Heaven at all. The second Zachariah disappeared she was plunged into sudden total silence and total darkness that pressed in like dirt in a grave. She stayed face-first on the ground, breathing hard, trying not to panic, clinging onto the sensation of wet grass, worried about Sam and Dean, not sure how much time has passed or if she could stay sane much longer. She tried to stay calm, focused on trying not to make a sound, because if she was reminded that she _couldn't,_ she might break down completely. She belly-crawled forward a little more, feeling with her hands for something besides grass. The darkness was so pervasive. Fear made her veins cold. _Pretend you're asleep. Your eyes are closed. That's all._ She thought of Cas, remembering when he hugged her in Gabriel's hell world. She tried to remember how that felt, to focus on remembering how it felt to be held so safely and securely. She tried to call up fond memories of Sam, Dean. Sunlight, breeze, 80s rock on the radio. She crawled forward more.

And suddenly without warning, she was yanked from that place nauseatingly, abruptly standing beside Zachariah and blinking against the brightness while almost falling over from the unexpected change. Sam and Dean were in front of her, being held back by two guys in suits. Their faces registered total shock at her appearance, and she was sure hers looked the same. Alex saw a third angel, a woman, who hung further back. They were in a house that was lit by an unpleasant, unnatural green light. There were brick walls where windows should have been. _What the..._?—Alex was totally disoriented and confused, everything was too bright and close and Zachariah clapped her on the back roughly, startling her further. "Ah look! The youngest, least attractive Winchester!" Alex looked at him in a daze, feeling stuck in place. "We were just visiting with Mommy," Zachariah told her in a highly patronizing tone.

"Alex!" Sam said.

Dean was struggling against the guy holding him. "You all right? What'd this asshole do to you?"

"Oh, she's _fine_ …" Zachariah answered for her. "A little _mute_ at the moment but… hey, we all have our off days, right?"

Dean looked shocked, then entirely enraged. "You son of a _bitch_!" he roared, and Zachariah chuckled mildly. "You fix her _right now_!"

"Or _what_ , Dean?" Zachariah asked, amused. Dean breathlessly, angrily stared him down as Sam gazed in shocked horror at his silent, stone faced twin.

Zachariah feigned intensely thoughtful concern. "Ya know boys, funny story. Alex here? Seems she has _no Heaven_." He paused, clearly enjoying the brothers' dismay and confusion. "I mean, I saw one of them and it was melting, coming apart… and the other ones, they just disappear completely if she's alone... now what do you suppose _that_ means? _Huh_!" He smiled, like he knew exactly what it meant, and Alex looked at him in terror. _Why wouldn't she have a Heaven?_ Is that why Heaven went dark when an angel wasn't around?

"What the hell you mean, she's got no Heaven?" Dean demanded all while looking as terrified as Alex felt.

"Just what I said, numbnuts. Little sister here is _defective_ , Dean." He grabbed Alex roughly, who had a surge of fire burst up. She kicked him in the leg… then made a face of pain. She'd forgotten for a minute. _Friggin' angels!_ It was like kicking a solid metal structure. "Am I supposed to say _ouch_?" Zachariah asked mockingly then chuckled, pulling Alex to him and stroking a hand down her bare arm, his touch distinctly sensual. She struggled a little, turning her face away, revolted and also jarred—when had her jacket disappeared? How had Zachariah done that?

"Didn't like it when I did this to Mom, did you?" Zach asked Dean, smiling a wicked little smile. "How about to little sister?"

Alex gritted her teeth together, realizing what he was trying to do—Zachariah was such a _stupid douchebag_ but he was smart and it was working by making her brothers angry—Sam looked away with clenched fists unable to watch while Dean struggled madly, looking like a caged bull ready to _murder_ Zachariah—but Alex was just royally pissed off. She imagined the various ways she would stab Zachariah if she had an angel blade.

"Leave her _alone_ ," Dean threatened in a deadly tone.

"Make me!" Zachariah said, grinning idiotically, and he waved over the female angel. Her brown hair was clipped up neatly behind her head. She was pretty and looked early forties, wearing a business suit like all the other angels. She took a hold of Alex—she was strong as hell—Alex gave her a death glare, unable to break away, but trying anyway.

"You're going to do what I say, boys." Zachariah said and went over to Dean casually… and then slammed his fist in Dean's stomach. Dean folded over with a pained groan. In unison, Sam and Alex fought desperately against the angels holding them, trying uselessly to help their brother. "I've cleared my schedule, Dean. I have all eternity, and, _oh yeah_ , I have the power to say if Alex here lives or stays dead." Zachariah looked at the angel holding Dean. "Get him up."

The angel lifted Dean up again and Zachariah punched Dean again. Sam struggled with renewed efforts against the angel holding him, and Zachariah's front of indifferent amusement began to fade into something bordering on anger. He held up an accusing finger up at Dean, whose face was twisted in pain. "Let me tell you something. I was on the fast track once. Employee of the month, _every_ month, forever. I would walk these halls and people would _avert their eyes_!" The house rumbled and shook, affected by his rage. "I HAD _RESPECT_!" Zachariah raged, then paused, smiling facetiously. "And then they assigned me _you_. Now look at me." He chuckled, his air of amusement back again. "I can't close the deal on a couple of flannel-wearing maggots and their useless sister? Everybody's laughing at me… and they're right to do it. So! Say yes, don't say yes; I'm still going to take it out of your asses. It's _personal_ now, boys, and the last person in the history of creation you want as your enemy is me. And I'll tell you why. Lucifer may be strong, but I'm—well, I'm _petty_. I'm going to be the angel on your shoulder for the rest of eternity. I'm gonna make you _howl_." Zachariah was suddenly pleasant again, turning to the angel holding Alex. "Naomi, if you please."

The woman angel grabbed Alex's wrist and twisted it, bending her arm back at an odd angle, and Alex winced in pain as the pressure mounted—she'd be groaning, no, wait, ah, _screaming_ now if she were able, but no sound came out. Zachariah held up a hand, as if to say 'wait' and Naomi stopped, holding Alex there in absurd pain as Dean and Sam watched helplessly. Zachariah walked over to Dean, looking down his nose at him. "Dean, we may be in Heaven, but I can put that kid sister of yours through Hell, got it? I say the word, her arm is broken. It'll hurt, bad. But it'll be nothing, it'll be a blessed _relief_ compared to all the other things I'll break in her."

Dean's expression was murderous, and he opened his mouth to reply but didn't get to. Zachariah socked him in the gut again, harder than before, and Dean made a horrible sound and doubled over.

"Excuse me. Sir?"

Everyone turned at the sound of a new voice—a slight, older black man stood there, clasping his hands in front of himself plaintively. Zachariah seemed surprised, then annoyed. " _Joshua_?" he asked in disbelief, then became irritated. "I'm in a _meeting_." He gestured toward where Dean was leaned forward in pain, held by an angel, where Alex was still just inches from having her arm broken.

"I'm sorry," the newcomer said politely. He had a pleasant, rasping voice. "I need to speak to those two boys."

" _Excuse_ me?" Zachariah asked in total shock, and took a couple steps closer.

Joshua remained where he was, unruffled. "It's a bad time, I know, but I'm afraid I have to insist."

Zachariah hesitated then chuckled darkly. "You don't get to insist jack-squat."

A gentle smile from the newcomer. "No, you're right. _But_... the boss does." Joshua stared at Zachariah unnervingly. "His orders."

The Winchesters all looked at each other now—was he talking about _God_?

"You're lying..." Zachariah said, but sounded uncertain.

A humble shrug. "I wouldn't lie about this. Look, fire me if you want. Sooner or later, he's going to come back home and you know how he is with that whole... _wrath_ thing."

Zachariah was silent, then reluctant, a little embarrassed sounding. "Fine, but you don't need _this_ one, do you?" He gestured to Alex. "I mean, come on—she's not a piece in the game."

"Sorry. You aren't to touch a hair on her head." Joshua seemed to grow a little taller, his expression grew less pleasant. "Now… restore what you've taken from her. And _leave_."

Zachariah looked at Dean and Sam, then Alex—his expression extremely foul. He finally looked back at Joshua, who stood his ground, his expression almost threatening now. And then with the fluttering sound of wings, Zachariah and his three angel goons disappeared. There was a second of surprise when this happened, and then Dean was moving across the distance between himself and Alex, grabbing her up into a huge, almost painful hug. She shut her eyes, holding on tightly, and for the first time since being there in Heaven, she felt okay. And suddenly she was gasping little relieved sounds—her voice wasn't gone anymore—and the relieved sounds started to sound more tearful. "Hey, _hey_!" Dean said, his arms tightening, a hand on the back of her head protectively. "I gotcha, you're okay." He let out a long, relieved sounding breath, and he suddenly sounded emotional, softer. His voice broke a little. "You're okay." Alex's eyes were shut tightly and she had her face buried in the front of his jacket shoulder.

Sam was there too now, he had a hand on Alex's back—and she abruptly withdrew from Dean and crashed into her twin for a hug—the last time she'd seen him, he'd been dead. He returned the hug gently. "You okay?" he asked her quietly, drawing back and searching for her gaze.

She nodded and wiped off her cheeks, focusing on calming down. "Y-yeah," she faltered. "Yeah, I am now."

The three of them all looked at each other, then they remembered the other person in the room. Joshua watched with a soft smile patiently, and when they finally looked at him, he turned his eyes to Alex. He approached her slowly, his clasped hands separating, one of them coming toward her. "It's time for you to go back, dear."

She looked at her brothers questioningly. "But…" she protested. However, she never got to finish the sentence. Suddenly she felt herself rushing through time and space, torpedoing back toward the surface—back to life.

* * *

Castiel sat on the bed contemplating Alex's body with grieving eyes. He had lost track of how long it had been now. Hours at the least. He hadn't heard from Dean or Sam. No one. He was losing hope.

As he gazed at her face, he thought that she was so beautiful to him even in death. So much so that it hurt to lay eyes on her somehow. So he looked down to where her hand rested beside herself so close to his. That hand had punched him, had pushed him away from her, had taken his mistrustfully right before he had defied Heaven for her—that hand had taught him pinky promises, that hand had touched his face and pulled him close. Mournfully, Cas covered that hand in his own. The skin was cold. He shut his eyes in anguish, his fingers curling around her hand, the tips of his fingers reaching the inside of her wrist. And then he stopped, frowned, and opened his eyes. Was that… was that a faint pulse?

Daring to hope, he looked at her face, confused—and then her eyes suddenly snapped open, she gasped loudly, she rocketed upwards—she was frantic, shaken, eyes darting all over the place like she couldn't see or couldn't focus. Even though he was totally shocked, Castiel managed to anchor and stop her, holding her arms firmly and then she registered him and then her expression broke completely. " _Cas_!"

She fell into him, embracing him tightly, burying her face in his neck, her arms around his shoulders. She was shaking hard and Castiel was shaking too, his arms already around her without a thought. He closed his eyes, holding her against him tightly—he was finding it hard to breathe, so overcome with this monsoon of relief and complete surprise—he bowed his head down, burying his nose and mouth in her hair. He held a hand against the back of her head, not daring to let go, and without knowing exactly why, he achingly pressed a kiss there against her hair, and then another. He felt jarred and anchored all at the same time; all he knew was that his Alex was alive and back here with him. He heard her taking trembling, calming breaths, he felt her shifting to look up at him and he drew back just slightly—finding her warm hazel eyes once again—and part of him that had been ripped away was restored.

And then her eyes slid away from his, over his shoulder—and her expression went cold when she saw where Sam and Dead laid dead. She was trembling again, and looked down at herself, seeing the blood, the holes in her tank top where the shotgun's buckshot had ripped through. "W-why aren't they alive, Cas?" she looked at her hands in slowly-dawning horror, both of which were covered in dried rust-red blood. "Why d-did Joshua send me back and not them?"

"I'm not sure—" he replied, finding his voice.

She didn't hear him, she seemed to be going into shock, looking down at her stomach at the blood stains. She stood up shakily and Castiel stood with her immediately, but she was already backing up toward the bathroom with eyes locked on her brothers then stumbling oddly, not seeming to have total grasp over herself. "I can't—it needs to get _off_ of me—" she whirled.

Cas, following closely, alarmed as she blundered into the bathroom—he wasn't sure what she was doing. There was a large shower there, the walk-in kind with a sliding glass door. It was already open and she careened into the shower fully dressed, fumbling with the shower dials in a state of extreme duress. She held her hands under the stream of water, seemingly unable to wait for the blood to wash off. The blood gave way to bright pink skin underneath as the water pelted her. Castiel hovered right outside of the shower door uncertainly as clothes and all, Alex turned away from him, leaning against the shower wall with her palms pressed flat against it—she was completely soaked now and her hands came to either side of her head. "This can't be happening."

Castiel felt as though he should go to her, but he remained outside the shower. "Alex—they'll be sent back. They're vessels."

She shook her head, finally looking back at him. "But what if…" she seemed to lose some physical strength and she suddenly pitched to the side, stumbling—and Cas darted forward, catching her before she could fall. Her hands grabbed his forearms tightly. The warm water streamed over him now, too, soaking his trench coat, his head, his hair. Instinctively, he felt like there was something more to why she was so frightened and rattled... he knew that she'd been drifting, and there was a sudden, awful suspicion.

Filled with unmeasurable concern, he looked into her eyes pleadingly. "What _happened_ up there?"

She shook her head hard, squeezing her eyes closed. "Why can't I…" she drew a trembling breath. "Why can't I just hold it _together_ anymore?" She was ill and dazed. "I-I used to be stronger than this, goddammit!" Her expression crumpled into misery. "I can't _do this_ anymore!" she managed raggedly. He believed her—and it killed him somehow. Water pooled at their feet in the bottom of the shower, faint red from the blood washing off of her.

"Do _what_?" he asked, his anxiety paining him at this point.

"Anything, _everything_ ," she sputtered. "I've tried," she choked out, "I've _tried_ , but I _can't_."

He took her face in both his hands, demanding her gaze and she stopped, meeting his gaze however distraught. "You can," he said, and her expression softened, she stared at him, then her hands came and grasped his wrists.

And even though Castiel felt so much horror, had so many questions, he remained composed, trying not to think of how desperate he was to comfort her—or maybe it was himself—with a kiss. He wasn't strong enough to move away nor weak enough to drift closer. Not until she leaned in and rested her forehead to his wearily and sniffed softly. His hands still held her face and one of his thumbs brushed across her cheek whisper-soft. Her eyelashes dripped—were those tears, or was it water? And she trembled, her thumbs touching the bare skin of his hands, stroking downwards once, a touch that seemed tender and intimate to Castiel. And his breath was caught in his throat, he was thinking of how he could never, ever see her like that again—dead and gone and lost forever—that he felt he would do anything, _anything_ to keep her alive. And not because of a decree of Heaven, not because of an order. This need to keep her safe was no longer anything except his own conviction. A conviction that ran deeper than any ocean on earth, reached higher than the sky itself.

He looked at her then, slowly, hesitating. _Realizing_. How ever since he saw her first, everything had been building toward this moment. The moment when he came to truly understand how much she meant to him and how much that scared him. He realized she had wedged herself deep in his—heart? No. He had no soul or heart, did he? All he knew was that she had imprinted herself upon his mind and spirit, she had _ruined him_ for anyone or anything else, she had changed his mind about everything. There was truly no going back. She had become what was most important to him—this beautiful human mystery of half-smiles and dark, haunting eyes—she was what was most important. Maybe he'd believed it was wrong once, but now? Today? This connection between them was real and lasting, undeniable. It _couldn't_ be wrong.

He hesitated, inching closer, and then pushed the small, ever-weakening inner protests aside, pressing his lips to hers lingeringly. Relief and warmth flooded him, he felt her hands mirror his—one on each side of his face as she returned the kiss. She relaxed against him and he against her, a million worries and fears banished at the touch of their lips to each other's. Achingly, they parted just slightly, just for a second to catch each other's eyes, then came together again in unison more burningly. The warm water showered over them, steam curled and rose.

They drew back just slightly and for a moment everything felt right, for a moment, they just _were_ … and then Alex's expression changed. "I'm, I'm sorry," she said, sounding like she was beginning to panic again. Her hands now gripped his shoulders tightly. "I'm _sorry_ ," she repeated, and he didn't understand. She swallowed hard, her voice barely audible. "I just don't want you to leave."

He felt he could literally break from what she implied, because he realized what she meant. Every time they had been close like this… he'd left her right after. But how could he, especially right now? "I _won't_ ," he told her with no shortage of grief at himself. He held the side of her face now, his thumb against her cheek again. "I won't," he repeated. Compelled and saddened alike, he pressed a kiss to her forehead. Their eyes closed at the same time, Alex's expression becoming deeply touched as if she might cry—Cas's brows knit close together in earnestness as he held the kiss there to the wet skin of her forehead. Her arms were now lightly resting on either side of his waist, her hands clinging to his soaked trench coat. Castiel held her tightly, breathing her in almost, the reality of having lost her sweeping over him all over again, causing his chest to spasm in pain. "I won't leave you again," he promised her, his mouth still there, close to her forehead. "Not without saying goodbye."

He looked down at her then, and she was looking up at him in torn hope, slight disbelief. And as he drank her in, he felt keen awareness that whatever their connection, their bond had been before… it had just become even deeper with the promise he'd made. Should that have panicked him? Perhaps he had lost his mind, but right now, it didn't matter to him. He just was so thankful that she was alive that other thoughts and worries paled in comparison to his relief. And then the euphoria faded—she seemed to falter in his arms, her expression grew strange. "I don't feel…" she said, and her legs went out from under her—Cas's arms, already around her, easily held her up and kept her from falling.

Cas looked at her anxiously. "Are you all right?"

She clung to him in a daze, eyes darting back and forth, looking down and nowhere in particular. She shook her head, grimacing. "No I—I think I need help," she said, sounding sullen about it. Hearing her ask for help set Castiel at unease—he could tell her body was giving out and it terrified him. What was wrong with her? What had happened?

He pushed the emotions and fears away, focusing instead on doing what he could. He didn't know what had befallen her in Heaven and might not for awhile, not until she was calm and okay. He picked her slight frame up easily and saw that she was a little embarrassed—this _was_ the same girl who always insisted on doing things on her own, who was insulted when her brothers treated her like she was weaker. So now, having to depend on him, that _would_ bother her. He said nothing and just carried her back into the main room—her eyes remained downcast except to flicker up to his face a couple times.

Carefully, he set her down on the vacant bed—she was dripping wet—they both were—and Cas stood back, narrowing his eyes in thought. "Towels," he said, then turned around and went back into the bathroom to find some—but before he picked them up, he looked down at himself. Without moving or even blinking, he manipulated the atoms surrounding himself, banishing the water molecules that had settled into the fabric of his clothing, darkened the strands of his hair, beaded on the surface of his skin. He was dry instantly. He had considered doing the same for Alex, but instinctively felt that she wouldn't want that. Any reminders of Heaven or angels might be detrimental to her right now. He wondered again what had happened to her there. He needed to know. He was worried, and deeply. Heaven wasn't the same place it had always been.

He returned to her with towels and she looked at him with distracted and upset eyes. She'd been staring over at Sam and Dean's bodies, her expression tense and afraid, sad. Castiel set the towels in a stack beside her and took one from the top. She reached for the towel but Cas wrapped it around her shoulders for her. She blinked rapidly, taken aback, like she hadn't expected that. Castiel brought the far ends of the towel together in front of her, circling it around her like a cloak. Inside this circle, she took hold of the towel, her hands just opposite of his. Their eyes met briefly. Her hair was dark and dripping, he could see the soaked strap of her tank top where the towel hadn't quite covered.

He thought hard through the sequence of events he associated with human cleansing rituals, recalling what came next. "You need dry clothes," Cas said.

"My bag is—" she started, but he had already seen it, recognized it, and took it up from where it sat on the floor a couple feet. She looked at him in more surprise.

He set it beside her on the bed and unzipped it slowly, looking for a suitable article of clothing, then stopped. "Is this... inappropriate?" he asked, suddenly realizing it might not be.

She was hiding a smile at him and looking at him with soft, open eyes. " _So_ inappropriate," she said quietly, but that little smile and the amusement twinkling in her eyes told him she was joking. He felt himself smiling back at her softly, relieved. She was beginning to look like herself again.

He found a tank top—she wore those all the time. He found a pair of jeans. He pulled both items out slowly, examining each article thoughtfully before laying it out. Alex watched him with interest, first looking at his face watching his eyes and subtle eyebrow movements, then looking at the way his hands held her clothing. Then she grimaced slightly and shifted in discomfort. "Cas… my whole body feels like… like it's weighed down, like my muscles don't work anymore." She sounded tired. "Is this… normal?"

Pausing, troubled, Cas looked at her. "I'm not sure," he told her honestly, thinking about it. "I don't know many people who've returned from death." He found a pale blue button up shirt with long sleeves and laid it on top of the jeans and the tank top he had selected.

"Yeah, guess dying and coming back isn't normal to begin with, is it. But... Sam and Dean have both done it before." She drew in a deep breath then let it out, sounding strained and apprehensive even though she was now attempting to be more conversational. "Maybe it was just my turn."

She looked toward her brothers again, then Cas stepped sideways into her line of sight, gently demanding her gaze. "You're going to be fine, Alex. I promise you."

She looked like she wasn't sure about that. "I can barely even lift my arms right now. It's getting worse. I feel so _tired_." Her eyes went to the clothes he'd laid out beside her, then down at herself. She looked exhausted, like the idea of changing her clothes seemed impossible. But she let the towel go and grabbed the bottom of her tank top, pulling at it weakly for a couple seconds before giving up, her expression twisting into a grimace. She looked upset. "Cas, I literally can't." She looked at him pathetically. "My arms are Jello."

Cas narrowed his eyes, scanning the reserves of his mind and memories. But he found no knowledge of this 'Jello' she mentioned. He narrowed his eyes even more. "What's... Jello?"

Her troubled expression softened. "Wiggly stuff that you eat." Cas tilted his head to the side slightly. That sounded unappealing. Alex shrugged, not looking at him anymore. "I can barely even make a fist." She was moving her fingers in and out, watching them with a deepening frown. "How long was I… uh, dead?"

"Hours," Cas answered. Although somehow it had felt like eons to him.

Alex seemed surprised. "It felt so much longer… like a day. Maybe _two_." She sounded so deeply disturbed and once again, Castiel felt concern ripple through him.

She sighed heavily, not noticing his distress. She was looking at the clean, dry clothes beside herself longingly, and Cas hesitated, then offered. "I can help you." Her eyes flicked up to him and he suddenly felt shy almost. "Get changed," he added for clarification. She looked down at the soaked buckshot riddled, bloodstained tank top she was wearing and she was quiet for a long minute, her eyes sliding over toward where Sam and Dean's bodies laid.

She looked back at Cas finally and he could tell she was apprehensive. "Okay."

His tongue darted out to wet his lips—a physical reaction he had never had before. He was a little surprised at himself, then he refocused. He grasped the bottom edge of her tank top with both hands then looked at her in the eye, waiting for her to change her mind—but she just waited and returned his gaze. Castiel swallowed, then began to take her shirt off. His fingers grazed the bare skin of her waist, then her side where her ribcage was as he carefully peeled the shirt off of her. He kept his gaze respectfully averted when she raised her arms weakly and he pulled the shirt over her head, leaving her completely bare from the waist up. He noticed how she breathed a little harder than necessary. He was very methodical and careful, dropping the destroyed tank top onto the floor, then taking the clean, dry one and holding it out in front of himself, his gaze downward to avoid the inappropriate.

Alex watched Cas, not really sure how this was happening or what was wrong with her, just sort of going with it—she weakly put her hands through the arm holes, feeling totally exposed and vulnerable. But Cas wasn't looking at her, he was staring hard at the floor, somewhere near her left foot. She was more than a little in awe of his calm, his poise, his helpfulness. The shirt was on now, Cas was tugging it down over her still-damp torso, and then she was modest again. There was a lump in Alex's throat, and she wasn't sure why it was there. But looking at him right now, she loved him _so much_.

He was looking down at her wet jeans, frowning slightly. She followed his gaze, and realized what he was thinking. How was _this_ going to work? She imagined it for a moment, Cas helping her out of the jeans, his fingers brushing against her bare thighs as he tugged them off, maybe his eyes flickering up to hers intensely... _Jesus Christ Alex!_ She looked away, awkward and embarrassed at herself. "Can you just… angel magic me?" she asked, and he glanced up at her. His bright blue eyes froze her. For a second, they were both silent, maybe having forgotten everything completely. His eyebrows were raised, his forehead wrinkled up, his expression somewhere between concern, care, and studiousness.

"Yes, of course," he replied, his voice softer than before. He hesitated, then knelt down before her and touched her lightly on the top of her thigh and Alex almost melted—he probably didn't know what kind of things a touch right there would do to her—it wasn't even scandalous, it was just knowing that was _him_ , touching her… but then the sensation of her jeans suddenly being completely dry distracted her and surprised, she looked down at them.

"Wow." She smiled softly. "You're kind of handy to have around." Understatement. But he was smiling back, a little crookedly, a little sadly. Again she was given to pause when she looked into his eyes. And then he picked up the button up shirt and helped her into that, guiding her arms through. She noticed he was putting it on her inside out but said nothing, just glanced at his backwards tie while smiling faintly to herself with a heart that felt full and safe.

He finished and drew back, nodding slightly. Even though Alex was physically weak and exhausted, she still felt overcome by her emotions and feelings for this angel of hers—what if he hadn't been here when she'd come back? Her voice cracked a little. "Thanks, Cas." He stood again. Without even meaning to, she turned her head again, looked at where Sam and Dean laid. The fear that they would never return struck her again like lightning. Where _were_ they?

"We can go somewhere else—" Cas suggested, looking at her uneasily.

Alex shook her head and raised her chin. "No," she said, resolving herself. "I need to be here when… when they come back."

 _Which they_ will, she reminded herself, choosing to believe that Castiel was right. But she couldn't just keep looking over and seeing that—her big brothers dead, Dean staring up into nothing, Sam riddled in bullets. Both of them soaked in their own blood. It was one of the most horrible sights she'd ever seen, and every time she looked over and saw it again, she wanted to be physically ill.

With what little strength her muscles possessed, she slid down into a sitting position onto the floor beside the bed, where she couldn't see the bodies of her brothers. Castiel sat down beside her without any hesitation at all, and she glanced at him sidelong, mildly surprised again. He sat with his feet flat on the floor, knees bent up—just like she'd taught him in what seemed a lifetime ago. _God, he's changed so much since then. Or maybe I have. Or maybe both of us have._ The space between their shoulders was too much, but Alex remained still, thinking hard. She wanted so badly to tell him everything about what happened in Heaven, to ask _why_ it had been like that, to just be held by him forever. The shower… the kisses… maybe those should have confused her. But she understood now, and it was startling but also so entirely obvious and unavoidable. He loved her, she loved him. The end. All these things stood in the way, all these dark things hung over their heads, all these unknowns hung in the balance, but none of it could change what they felt. So, where did they go from here? Question of the century.

She glanced at him again, remembering how much she had missed him these past couple weeks, how angry and confused and hurt she'd been when he hadn't come when she called. It seemed so out of character of him to just ignore her calls and she felt like there had to be more to it. "I… I called you a bunch of times, the past couple of weeks," she ventured, and he was immediately clearly uncomfortable. Alex pressed her lips together, looking at him for a long minute, not understanding. "Why didn't you come?"

Castiel's expression was morose, he seemed to wrestle internally for a couple seconds. "I did. Every time." Her heart jumped in her chest. He looked down, his jaw tightened a little. "I just didn't let you see me."

That _surprised_ her a lot. "... _Why_?" Alex asked after the initial shock.

Cas's expression flickered in pain. "I thought… I thought I could protect you. I thought I could change things."

He sounded so guilty, so burdened and weary. "Cas…" she said softly, not sure how to reassure him.

The angel in the trenchcoat shook his head slightly, looking ahead of himself with a hard expression. "I could have saved you from what happened here today if I hadn't been trying so hard to stay away..." he looked at her now, and his expression almost scared her, it was so intense, so emotional. "I almost _lost_ you."

She faltered under his gaze and shook her head, remembering Heaven, and there was a deeply unpleasant and frightened feeling in the pit of her stomach. "I _was_ lost," she said softly almost to herself. "It was all dark and empty up there… falling apart." It was too frightening to think about even if it were apparently over… for now. "Cas, I didn't have a Heaven," she told him in barely a whisper. "The only time I could see anything was if I was with someone else." Cas was clearly blindsided by this information. Alex felt small and scared. "Does that… does that mean I'm supposed to end up in Hell? Or when I die… I'm just alone in the dark forever?"

Cas's frown was stern and hard. " _All_ souls have heavens, even the ones that go below. It has to be a mistake."

Alex shook her head. It wasn't a mistake. It had happened, it had been real and so, _so_ unnerving, so terrifying. "Zachariah said I was 'defective.'"

" _Zachariah_ found you?" Cas asked, looking deeply alarmed.

Alex shut her eyes for a minute, memories turning her stomach again. "Yeah. What did he mean, Cas?"

The angel was just staring ahead of himself in blank horror, shaking his head. "You're not defective. You… can't be." He sounded lost. Alex realized he had no idea why it would have been like that up there for her, and it left her even more frightened. Castiel always knew this kind of stuff. If he didn't know—who would?

Alex thought of her brothers—the one who had been to _Hell_ had a Heaven! And Sam, too—the boy with the demon blood, the one who was the devil's own vessel. So why did that leave her with a Heaven that had been coming apart at the seams… and disappeared entirely if she wasn't in the presence of an angel? Did it have something to do with what Crowley had been telling her? Maybe if she was the one who killed or destroyed Lucifer, it meant her soul just was destroyed and voided completely. Was that really where she would end up, forever? For eternity? Alone in the empty listening to the sound of her own heartbeat all while losing her mind? She felt panic rising inside, she felt herself getting freaked out.

Cas was looking at her again and saw it. She felt his hand on her shoulder, the shoulder closer to him. He seemed to be frightened too but was pushing it aside, trying to comfort her, trying to steady her, and Alex needed him so badly. She held back her frightened tears. "Cas, I know that… I know that we can't," she managed, barely able to keep her voice even. "But right now I just need... need you… to _help me_."

He looked positively brokenhearted, convicted. "How?" he asked, simply waiting for her to tell him, but Alex shook her head, not able to put it into words. She weakly curled herself into his side and he seemed to realize—he moved himself closer and put an arm around her, a little awkwardly at first. Her cheek pressed up against the front of his shoulder and she held onto the lapel of his coat. She felt his face turn toward her, his chin just brushing her forehead. Her eyes fell closed and she just breathed. He was warm and solid, comforting. She could feel him breathing, too. She felt his chin lower, and she knew he was looking down at her now. She could picture the worried expression on his face. Her eyes opened, but she didn't move. Not yet.

"I saw my dad. In Heaven."

He went completely still at her sudden confession. "What?" His deep voice reverberated through her, they were so close.

Alex shook her head just slightly and the fabric of the trench coat rubbed her cheek. "I don't know how, Cas, but somehow... it was him."

There was a long pause. "You're sure?"

Alex was rueful. "Yes."

"I see." A short silence. "What did your father want?"

Alex could hear the concern and worry in his voice. He didn't, after all, have the best impression of Dad. "To say goodbye," Alex said softly, growing reflective, deep things welling up in her heart. She breathed in deeply and shut her eyes for a minute. She felt Cas's arm around her tighten a little and she opened her eyes to look into his. In that gaze, she felt trust. Love. He looked back at her with soft eyes and Alex was utterly wrecked by his closeness. By the urge to somehow convey her deepest feelings for him. Even though she felt so weak she reached up, her fingertips brushing against the collar of the trench coat, then the side of his neck. Her thumb rested against the scruffy edge of his jaw. His eyes searched hers, and he gently reached up, fingers curling around her hand in a way that could only be described as tender. His thumb swept across her knuckles, his other arm tightened around her, holding her there securely.

So much went unsaid, it felt like. But for now, there was peace in the quiet.

After a moment, Castiel prompted her softly. "Will you tell me what happened?"

Alex nodded. She was ready now. She took a deep breath, started at the beginning.

"First—I died." She paused. How often did people get to say that? "And when I came to… on the other side, I was in complete darkness, couldn't remember anything about where I'd been before that. Then I could see this faint light in the distance…"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Classic rock songs were peppered throughout this chapter and maybe you're wondering what they were or wanting to listen to them… they are listed below in order of appearance! 
> 
> Knockin' On Heaven's Door by Bob Dylan
> 
> Paradise City by Guns N' Roses
> 
> Fortunate Son by Creedence Clearwater Revival
> 
> Caught up in You by 38 Special


	30. The Righteous Man

" _The children of Cain are gathered, to plunder and burn and slay: God was with man in Eden, but where is God today?"_  
\- Charles Hamilton Musgrove

* * *

**Heaven**

One second Alex was there, the next she was gone—and Dean looked at Joshua in worried, suspicious confusion... then the house in which they'd been standing was suddenly gone too. Replacing it was a verdant garden—a conservatory of some kind. Overhead a tall glass dome let in sunlight that softly lit exotic plants, trees, and flowers crowding a small stone pathway. The air was warm and humid, smelling of earth and ozone. Joshua stood at the bottom of some stone steps in front of the brothers and the Winchesters glanced at each other cautiously. Dean felt especially rattled because a few seconds ago he was holding the sister he feared he'd lost… and now she was gone again.

"This... is Heaven's Garden?" Sam asked, sounding a little underwhelmed as he went down the stairs slowly, looking around in what might have been disappointment. Dean followed him warily.

Joshua had some pruning shears and was offhandedly clipping the gardenia bush he stood next to. "You see what you want to here," the angel explained mildly, interested in his work. "For some it's God's throne room; for others it's Eden. You two, I believe it's the Cleveland Botanical Gardens. You came here on a field trip."

Sam's expression lifted. "Yeah… I remember," he said, tone becoming more fond and reminiscent.

Dean however was of a one-track mind and found his voice again. "Yeah, good times," he interjected sarcastically while looking at Joshua mistrustfully. "Where'd you send our sister?"

"Back to her body, of course," Joshua said in his soft, rasping voice. He fixed Dean with a knowing gaze, pausing his task for a moment to smile faintly. "Don't worry Dean. She's alive and well."

"And probably freaked out as hell," Dean muttered. Alex had never died before unlike himself and Sam—she would be sitting in the motel room with his and Sam's bodies at this moment right? _Jesus Christ_ , he hoped she was okay… it was bad enough with everything else that had happened to her that day but Zach taking her voice—that was over the line, that was too much, and Dean was worried as hell. He could just picture her not knowing why she had been sent back alone, maybe not knowing where he and Sam were at all or if they'd ever be back. _God, what if she has no memory of Heaven? What if—_

"I wouldn't worry," Joshua said, interrupting Dean's concerned thoughts. He returned to pruning the bush in a slow, steady manner. "She's not alone."

Dean frowned, his thoughts halting. He didn't understand, but Sam looked like he thought he knew what Joshua meant. "Cas?" Alex's twin asked.

Joshua smiled as he trimmed a couple dead leaves away from the gardenia. "Who else? He _is_ her guardian angel."

Dean made a face, disgusted. Suddenly all these flowers and trees and sounds of birds were pissing him off. "Yeah he's _real great_ at keeping her safe, isn't he?"

"You sound unhappy about something," Joshua said, and the glib commentary was just about enough for Dean's temper. He chuckled dryly to keep from punching something.

"Pal, unhappy is putting it _lightly_. And y'know, while we're talking about things that piss me off… you got any idea why the _hell_ Alex doesn't have a Heaven?"

Joshua's eyebrows rose just slightly, he looked faintly sympathetic. "Yes, actually. I know exactly why. But unfortunately... it's not information I'm privy to say."

There was a rush of righteous, indignant anger at that comment and Dean's blood pressure hit the roof, his protective hackles raised. "You friggin' _kidding_ me? You better tell me right now or I am gonna take your little garden scissors and stick them right up—"

" _Dean_." Sam interjected loudly, giving his brother a look that asked ' _are you nuts_?' Unwillingly Dean clamped his mouth shut. Sam was right. Probably shouldn't piss off the angel who could send them back to earth.

Joshua's expression was still calm and he turned, giving the boys his full attention, setting his pruning shears down. He clasped his hands in front of him thoughtfully. "Have faith, Dean. God makes all things work together for the good of those who love him and are called according to his purposes."

"Well that _ain't me_!" Dean retorted angrily.

Sam grabbed Dean's shoulder hard, looking at his brother sharply. "Dean—can you just _shut up_ for two seconds?" And shaking his head, exasperated and barely hiding the fact, Sam attempted civility while Dean stewed. "Joshua—you talk to God, right?" he asked.

"Well mostly he talks to _me_ ," Joshua corrected pleasantly.

The Winchesters shared a significant look. "Well, we need to speak to him," Sam told him. "It's important."

"Where is he?" Dean asked.

Joshua answered in an oddly elusive tone. "On earth."

That was quite the bombshell. "Doing _what_?" Dean asked—that didn't sound so good.

Joshua's indifferent answer further frustrated and confused Dean: "I don't know."

Dean shook his head. This was rich, this was _great._ Ever the patient one, Sam was staying cool and prompting Joshua again. "Okay, well, do you know _where_ on earth?"

"No, sorry. We don't exactly speak face-to-face."

Dean looked at his brother, wondering if this seemed as fishy to Sam as it did to him. Not even the _angels_ knew where this God dude was? This couldn't be right. Something wasn't adding up. "I… I don't get it," Dean said, thinking out loud. "God's not talking to nobody so…"

"So why is he talking to me." Joshua finished his sentence for him and Dean waited expectantly. This better be good. "Well. I sometimes think it's because I can sympathize—gardener to gardener—and, between us, I think he gets lonely."

 _Lonely?_ The hell kind of answer was that? "Well, my heart's just breaking for him," Dean said sarcastically, his barely contained anger boiling beneath the surface again.

"Well, uh, can you just get him a message for us?" Sam asked, glancing at Dean disapprovingly.

"Actually, he has a message for _you_ ," Joshua said, and the brothers were both surprised, listening, waiting. Then were mutually shocked by what Joshua said next. "Back off."

" _What_?" Dean asked.

"He knows already," Joshua said simply. "Everything you want to tell him."

"But…" Dean started.

"He knows what the angels are doing," Joshua said, cutting him off. "He knows that the apocalypse has begun. He just... doesn't think it's his _problem_."

Words that left both boys ears ringing. "... _Not his problem_?" Dean repeated. This had to be some kind of joke.

But Joshua was continuing and his tone was growing more intense and assertive than he had been so far. "God saved you already. He _put_ you on that plane. He _brought_ back Castiel. He _saved_ your sister from the future that was supposed to befall her." Dean went still, not sure what Joshua was talking about with _that_ one, but the angel didn't pause. "He granted you _salvation_ in Heaven…" he turned to face Sam directly, "and after everything you've done, too. It's more than he's intervened in a long time. He's finished. Magic amulet or not... you won't be able to find him."

"But he can stop it," Dean protested, not understanding, not _getting this_. What was wrong with these people? "He can stop _all_ of it!" He was at a loss, shaking his head. "So he sends Cas to rescue me from Hell because 'God has work for me' and now it's… what, too bad, catchya later, good luck with the apocalypse?"

Joshua didn't blink. "Pretty much."

Every swear world in the book went through Dean's mind. "No. No fucking _way_ ," he protested vehemently, feeling tricked, feeling betrayed, because this was his _last option_ , this was supposed to be the answer to all the problems he'd been facing. "You can't be serious…!"

"I am." A blunt and blasé reply.

Dean's teeth ground together in frustrated, incredulous anger as his fists clenched up. " _Unbelievable_. So he's just gonna let _whatever_ happen and do jack squat about it? The hell kind of God _is_ he, anyway?"

Joshua shrugged almost imperceptibly. "Why does he allow evil in the first place? You could drive yourself nuts asking questions like that."

This was an absurd waste of time. "Fucking coward," Dean muttered, shaking his head in repugnance while staring at the ground, his nostrils flared and jaw clamped tight. "Can't even tell me in person that all the crap he's put me through was for nothing, that I'm on my own, that it was all some huge lie? Some _game_ for him?"

"I know how important this was to you, Dean," Joshua said, and he looked truly empathetic, shaking his head shallowly. "I'm sorry."

"What, saving the world? Stopping the apocalypse? You're _damn right_ it was important to me! Why isn't it important to _him_?!" Dean raged, but Joshua said nothing. Sam hung back silently and Dean scoffed. " _You're sorry_. Yeah, _thanks_ , that helps so much," he snapped cynically, then his mouth bore down into a thin, hard line. Suddenly he felt hopeless and emotional, beaten down and weary—all the things he'd been trying to avoid feeling. "Forget it," he said, and attempted to save face, attempted to appear at ease and uncaring. "Just another deadbeat dad with a bunch of excuses, right? I'm used to that. I'll muddle through."

"Except… you don't know if you can, this time." Joshua said, and Dean faltered, his defenses rising up. "You can't kill the devil... you're losing faith, in yourself, your brother... you feel your sister slipping out of your grasp… and now this?" Sam looked at Dean, surprised, maybe realizing just how desperate and depressed Dean really was—everything Dean had been trying to keep a secret. Dean avoided looking at Sam. "God was your last hope," Joshua stated, and paused, grew deeply sympathetic. "I just… I wish I could tell you something different."

"Yeah I bet you do," Dean muttered, but he was too burdened and worn out to put any fire into the words. "Just stay the hell outta my head, man. It's all the same damn story with all you winged freaks. Well lemme tell you, wishing never got anyone anything. So unless you got something helpful to tell me… we're done here."

Sam glanced at Dean but didn't reprimand him this time, he instead refocused on Joshua. "H-how do we know you're telling the truth about all this?" he asked.

Joshua seemed mildly affronted. "You think that I would _lie_?"

"It's just that… you're not exactly the first angel we've met," Sam said, cringing apologetically. "And… sorry, I just always thought God would _care_ about the world he created, the people he made. It... it doesn't add up."

"I'm sorry you feel that way… but I'm not lying. In fact, I'm rooting for you boys! I wish I could do more to help you, I do. But…" Joshua indicated the gardens surrounding them. "I just trim the hedges."

Sam was growing exasperated and his eyebrows knit together, he wetted his lips. "Come on man, if not for us, then for our sister— _help_ us," he implored earnestly, grasping at straws now. "She's not even _part_ of this."

Joshua looked at Sam directly, eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly. "I wouldn't be so sure about that if I were you." The Winchesters were both stunned into silence at the vague comment and Joshua shook his head slightly. "I'm sorry. I'm really quite incapable of helping you any further. And it's time for you to go home again. I'm afraid this time, won't be like the last. This time, God wants you…" he lifted a hand up… "to _remember_."

There was a whooshing sound and a bright light blinded them. Dean felt himself throttling forward, he felt like he was underwater and his lungs were bursting, and then he was shooting upwards, gasping for air, alive again.

* * *

**Earth**

Alex was where she'd been for the past fifteen minutes or so minutes—curled into Castiel's side as they sat on the floor at the end of the bed. Her head rested in the space between his shoulder and neck, and the side of his head tilted down toward hers, seemingly of its own accord—he didn't remember doing it consciously. Alex had told him everything—seeing her father and the phone booth, the darkness of Heaven when she was left alone, Zachariah's appearance and what he'd done, said—the heavens he'd taken her to—being left in the dark for what felt to her like a day—Zachariah's confrontation with Dean and Sam—his attempt to use Alex against her brothers. And then Joshua's appearance. Cas was struggling to process all of it—but one part especially.

"And then," Alex continued, as Castiel stared at the area in front of himself with a deep frown, "Joshua sent me back. You know the rest from there."

She became quiet and Cas mulled it all over. She'd told him everything calmly, factually, if a little distracted sounding. He knew she was wondering what he was, and that she was much more afraid than she sounded. "I don't understand..." Cas said slowly. "Why you wouldn't have a Heaven." It was one of the more disturbing things he had ever been told and he was completely baffled—however, the way her soul had been drifting and impossible to track down… now it made sense, but it was the kind of sense that only sent more terror racing through his mind.

Beside Cas, he felt Alex breathing in and out and for a moment, he shut his eyes, just focusing on that. In the darkness caused by his closed eyes, memories came to mind; he remembered seeing her as she lay dying in the future. _Cas… do you... do you think there's still a Heaven up there?_ She'd looked at him with teary eyes that could break a heart into pieces. He'd seen himself tell her that _yes, of course there was_. And then later he'd grabbed Chuck in a rage, shouting at him that there was no Heaven anymore, that Alex was gone forever. Distress coursed through Castiel's veins. What was he supposed to do? _What was he supposed to do_? Cas's eyes opened.

The only hope that remained was that Dean and Sam would return after speaking with Joshua and have some answer, have some word from God. Perhaps the reason God hadn't answered Castiel personally was because he'd done the wrong thing to defy Heaven. Perhaps God would speak to Dean, who was, after all, the righteous man. Cas clung to this final thread of hope despairingly and had to forcefully quiet his mind.

Alex shifted slightly against him and Castiel looked down towards her, feeling a fierce determination overtake him. "I'm going to find out why," he told her grimly. And he was. If it was the last thing he did, he would find out why she had no heaven awaiting her when she died.

"How can you find that out?" Alex asked. She sounded hopeful and apprehensive at the same time.

She was scared, he realized… he felt his protective instincts surge forth. He didn't want her to be afraid. "I'm not sure," he answered honestly. "But I will." The arm that he had around her tightened, his other arm came across their bodies so that he now held her securely in the circle of his arms.

He'd learned some time ago that it made her feel better when he put his arms around her… and reflected briefly that it made him feel a little better, too. After a couple seconds she relaxed into him, burrowing into his side a little more—and knowing she wanted to be close to him sent indescribable feelings rushing through him. Her hand and arm had been resting across his stomach, but now slid around him, pulling him closer than before. He felt her hand against his side underneath where his arm rested, and he breathed out slowly. Memorizing the way all of this felt. This moment was stolen and fleeting… and the future it would lead to was dark. But perhaps, he reflected, it was too late altogether. He couldn't seem to tear himself away from her. He needed to be close to her as much as he needed to be far away—but he was losing the fight. It wasn't a battle he wanted to win, after all. Being here with her felt righter than anything else.

Neither of them said anything for a long moment. He could feel how very small and fragile she was in the grand scheme of the planet, the universe, the galaxy. And he began to think of the stark reality, the truth of the matter: Dean would die someday. Sam would die someday. Alex would die someday. But Castiel? Castiel would stretch into eternity endlessly. Alone as he always had been. That thought made him feel very terrible indeed. He couldn't imagine going back to that existence again. Not after all of this.

But he would have to, wouldn't he? The fact remained: this was the way things were. She was human. He was not. And she would end, like all humans did. He thought, for the first time, that even if he succeeded in seeing her through this lifetime, she would die anyway. Of cancer? Of a heart attack? Of old age? Such deep sadness overcame him at this thought. And if she wasn't in Heaven, if she was drifting and in the dark and if he could never find or see her again... his chest tightened. He didn't want that. Ever. It was unthinkable and perverse. He imagined the universe missing one bright spot of light. This human. Why did she matter like this to him? He had seen billions of humans but _none_ of them had ever mattered like she did... why did the thought of her no longer existing leave him feeling empty, panicked, and afraid? He wanted to live in a way where he would never be parted from her. And this thought, this realization, stilled him. It seemed that fate was determined to push himself and Alex together, only to rip them apart brutally again—using their union as the cause of her demise. _What was he supposed to do_?

His strained, stressed mind turned to another unsolved mystery. What had John Winchester been trying to tell Alex about Azazel? _The danger isn't past._ What did it mean? Castiel knew nothing about this, had no idea what John could have meant—he could only conclude that John was either mistaken or that Azazel had concealed part of his plan much better than Heaven and Hell had guessed. Castiel's thoughts bothered him, deeply. All he could think, over and over, was _what am I supposed to do_?

No answer came. No revelation. He was completely confounded. Turning his head toward Alex, Cas did the only thing he really could in the moment, which was to assess her wellbeing. She seemed more relaxed than she had been when she first came back, she was calm now. This was one small mercy in the face of a monsoon, but it soothed him. She had barely been able to move her arms minutes ago, but now she held onto him tightly—he thought she was definitely recovering from her temporary state of weakness and was successfully regaining her strength. But he asked, anyway, to be sure. "Do you feel any better than before?"

"Well, I couldn't run a _marathon_ , but yeah," she said. "I think standing up might be in the cards again." Her humorous tone became softer. "But… I don't want to. Not yet."

He felt another rush of something strong in his veins when she told him that. He understood the sentiment. Her hand moved to his chest, palm flat there—he remembered when she'd done something similar… they'd been in the freezer… but this time she wasn't being sensual, she was pressing herself up, pulling back enough to look him in the eye. But he couldn't help but recall, through that touch, what had happened between them before… he swallowed, suddenly a little disconcerted, wondering how she kept doing that to him… affecting him so completely, mind and body alike. As she drew back enough for him to see her face again, he was struck again by how beautiful she was. She was looking at him intently, questioningly. "What did Zachariah mean, Cas? When he said you gave up things to… to give me my voice?"

Cas looked at her hesitatingly. He'd assumed she would ask this when she told him what Zachariah had said, a few minutes ago... and he thought about the answer. He wasn't sure that telling her would be beneficial… in fact, he wasn't sure if she could _take_ the truth of what he'd surrendered to restore her voice. If he told her what had happened, she would be horrified, she wouldn't understand. Her features showed concerned disquiet when he said nothing. "Why don't you want to tell me, Cas?" she asked slowly, and now she looked almost afraid. "What did you _do_?"

Cas looked down. Her hand that had been wrapped around him was now resting loosely on his knee and he was oddly compelled to cover that hand with his own. The skin was warm, he could feel her pulse underneath his fingertips. His eyes flicked to hers, and he held her gaze for a couple long beats. "Nothing I wouldn't do again," he answered her. Her face changed and the worry was replaced with some kind of caught off guard expression.

And then there was a loud gasp on the other side of the room—Sam shot up in bed and then Dean too. Alex jumped, looking at them in shock, and Cas froze, unsure what to do. Sam was panting loudly, regaining his breath, and Dean too—the difference was, Sam didn't seem to be seeing anything at all—he was flailing a little, off balance and reeling—but Dean was staring right at Alex and Cas, his expression rigid. His eyes met Cas's and his expression darkened… but he said nothing, tearing his glare away, and focused on Sam. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, Dean grabbed Sam by both arms and steadied him, seeming to be much better off than his brother was.

Even as Dean steadied Sam, Cas and Alex separated—Cas stood, helping Alex stand gently. Dean glanced their way, saw it, and his grip tightened on Sam. Guilty, Cas looked down.

" _Whoa_ ," Sam commented breathlessly, oblivious, staring unseeingly into Dean's chest. "That was… intense." He looked up at his brother, expression becoming concerned. "You alright?"

Dean's jaw tightened and he let go of Sam, glancing their sister's way. "Define alright." He stood up, then seemed to realize he wasn't at full capacity—swaying just slightly he stopped and frowned—then took a halting step toward Alex and Cas. Dean stared at Alex hard, glanced at Cas, then looked at his sister again. "You okay?" He asked her gruffly.

She seemed a little reluctant to speak with her brother, who was now looking at her thoroughly, taking in her damp hair, the way she was holding onto Castiel's arm for support. Alex met her brother's gaze falteringly. She sounded different than a minute ago when it had just been herself and Cas. "I'm fine, Dean."

Her brother's eyes narrowed. He didn't seem to accept her answer. "She seems to have had a rougher time than the two of you," Castiel observed.

Dean gave him a hard look. "Yeah, maybe that's because she didn't have a reservation upstairs—you wanna _explain_ that Cas?"

Sam was silently watching this all unfold with an earnest, concerned expression. Cas looked over at Sam, and then Dean, frowning, knocked off balance. "Joshua didn't tell you why?" he asked, feeling strange, like his stomach was sinking in sick confirmation of what he'd already suspected… but hadn't wanted to believe.

"Oh he _knew_ ," Dean retorted angrily, "but he just wasn't saying." Dean finally looked at Alex again, whose scared expression seemed to settle him slightly and he relented, looking back at Cas a little less angrily now. A little more despairing instead. "So you don't know, either?"

Alex sat down on the edge of the bed at this point, frowning at the floor and disillusioned. Cas looked at her in concern, then saw that Dean was watching him watch her. Dean's eyes were intent and sharp. Accusing almost. Cas felt caught and attempted to wipe his face of any expression. He approached Dean, attempting to appear calm and neutral. "No, Dean, I don't know. If I knew, I would have told you a long time ago." For just a moment, Dean's expression turned to open and pleading. Like he had no other possible idea of what to do or say. And Castiel shook his head, feeling the same way. The men looked at each other silently then Cas turned away, moving toward the smashed wall partition, trying to think, trying to _reason_.

Dean and Sam both noticed the smashed partition at the same time and looked at each other frowning, then in unison looked at their sister for an explanation. She was staring at her lap unseeingly. Didn't notice her brothers at all. "Everyone… has a Heaven," Castiel said softly, still facing away. He sounded disturbed to his core.

At this point Sam stood up and crossed the room to go to his sister, putting a comforting arm around her as he sat down beside her. He watched her, his forehead wrinkled up in worry. She hugged him tightly, squeezing her eyes shut. 

"Everyone has a Heaven," Dean repeated. "So why the hell wouldn't _Alex_ have one?" He was clearly trying to remain calm but just barely managing. "I mean, you gotta have _some_ idea, right Cas?"

Castiel turned around, harrowed. He looked at the twins for a couple of long seconds, his expression tense. Then he met Dean's expectant stare sadly. "Dean—I don't."

The two men stared at each other again for another long moment, Cas's eyes sad and empty because he was out of answers. Dean looked the same but was _angry_ about it. After realizing Cas wasn't going to say anything else, Dean made a sarcastic face. "Great. This is just the _best day ever_ ," he snapped, shaking his head and looking off to the side at nothing in particular. Cas's expression screwed up in confusion. How could he say that, even in jest or cynicism? Dean was now pacing in agitation, rubbing his hand across the lower portion of his face, appearing to be sorting his thoughts. Sam and Alex were watching their brother with guarded expressions, and to Castiel, in that moment, the twins looked very alike. "Well, all of that _great news_ aside—" Dean finally said, looking at Cas accusingly again. "Your friend _God_? He doesn't give a rat's ass."

"...What?" Cas asked, his face squinting oddly because he was unsure what Dean was saying to him. And what did a rodent's posterior have to do with it?

Dean threw his arms out angrily, at his wit's end. " _You heard me_ , Cas! God doesn't care, doesn't wanna help, doesn't think this whole mess is his problem. So where do we go from here, huh?!" His anger wavered into desperation at the very last few words he spoke.

Alex watched her brother shrewdly, just as upset at the news as he was, then she looked at Cas—their eyes met for a brief moment and Cas shook his head, his frown deepening. He looked back at Dean, who was now watching him hawkishly. "Joshua told you this?" Cas asked slowly, trying to make sense of what he'd just been told. It couldn't be true. It _couldn't_.

"Yeah, Cas," Sam interjected softly. He seemed sympathetic. Maybe defeated. "He said God won't help us." He looked at Cas sadly who turned to gaze at Dean blankly. Dean's grim stare silently confirmed Sam's statement, and Cas felt as if he'd been physically struck, as if the breath had been knocked out of his lungs.

Silently choking it down, Cas felt himself shaking his head—this certainly wasn't right. With his arms hanging limply at his sides, he stared down at Dean's shoes unseeingly. "That can't be true..." he managed to say, even as he was thinking of how God hadn't answered his begging pleas earlier that same day. How God had been impossible to find all this time. It _could_ be true. In fact, somewhere deep down maybe he'd already known or believed this. But he didn't _want_ it to be the truth. He turned around and put his back to them. "Maybe… maybe Joshua was lying," Castiel said, and he wished one of them would agree with him. Give him a small shred of hope to cling to.

But he heard Sam breathe out heavily. "I don't think he _was_ , Cas. I'm sorry."

Cas turned slightly to see Sam, who looked deeply compassionate. "But that makes no _sense_ ," Alex protested, still there beside her twin.

Sam just shook his head faintly, looking at his sister sadly. "I know. But that's what Joshua told us."

Alex met Cas's waiting gaze and he had to turn around, unable to bear the way she looked at him—not when paired with everything else on his shoulders right now. He had failed the Winchesters, for one, because he'd told them this was the answer, that this would save them all. And the father he had always believed in, served, _existed_ for—didn't care. Wouldn't help them. Castiel felt defeated, crushed, and looked upwards, one final despairing thought left in him. "You son of a bitch," he said, and waited to be struck down. Nothing. His pained betrayal worsened. "I _believed_ in…" he trailed off, not even sure why he was doing this. There was no sign, no reply, nothing _at all_. God had left a long time ago, hadn't he? _You fool._ And Castiel realized he was truly alone in this. Truly on his own.

After trying to steel himself, Cas turned around again, ashamed to face all of them. Alex had stood up and was looking at him in deep concern that he didn't deserve, and he looked away, dug in his pocket, drawing out the amulet he'd borrowed from Dean. "I don't need this anymore," he said heavily, overwhelmed with sorrow and even anger. "It's worthless." He tossed the amulet and Dean caught it. Cas stared at the necklace in Dean's hand. "I'm finished. It's over."

Dean looked at Cas with genuine empathy, suddenly feeling a surprisingly kindred connection with the angel—absent father who you believed in with everything you had… only to be let down and disappointed time after time? Believing in something that turned out to be a lie, a trick? Yeah. He got that. Cas had put all his faith and effort into what turned out to be a dead end—and the depression, the broken sorrow Dean heard in the angel's voice echoed what Dean lived with every day of his damn life. Dean almost thought of saying something to Cas, of trying to lift his spirits somehow, of attempting to comfort him in some small way—but then Cas looked at Alex again and the suspicious hackles raised again as Dean watched—the angel was weary and sorrowful as he looked at Alex—he seeming to be waiting for her to do something. Dean watched in mounting confusion as he watched what looked like a silent conversation take place between the two. Then Alex truly shocked Dean when she nodded just slightly, her eyes full of emotion and empathy. "It's okay, Cas." Wait. Was she _giving him permission to leave?_ And just like that Cas turned, walking a few steps away. Dean's mouth was now hanging open slightly. _What the actual hell?_

"Cas. _Wait_ ," Sam implored, standing up too.

Cas turned slightly, speaking to no one in specific. Sounding depressed as hell. "I'm going to find out why Alex has no Heaven."

And then without any further anything—Cas was gone.

Sam seemed frustrated: he threw his hands up slightly then ran a hand through his hair while huffing. Alex was the opposite. She stared at the space Cas had occupied, her expression strange. Dean stared down at the amulet in his hand, the reality of his life sinking in. God wasn't gonna help. So where the _hell_ was there left to turn? Everything was going wrong for him right now, _everything_! Dean thought of when he'd first come back and seen Cas holding his sister like that—arms wrapped around her, not enough space between them, Alex's head nestled into his shoulder—and that jealous, protective, possessive, scared shitless feeling came over Dean again. What the hell was Alex thinking? Didn't she know she was playing with fire and would be consumed by it? _Destroyed_ by it? And didn't she know that he _couldn't let that happen_? That he wouldn't stand by and let her sign her life away because she had some weird crush on her guardian angel? Dean's grip tightened on the amulet in his hand, so tight that the little barbs on it dug into his skin.

This amulet had been given to him by Sam when they were kids. Dean had always worn it. It had been one of his most prized possessions. But now he felt like that was a trick, too. Why had all of Sam's heavens… his happy memories… been times spent away from family? Dean felt disillusioned, like maybe he was the only one who really loved his family—that Sam and Alex were just humoring him, pitying him. He thought of what fake-Mom had said in Heaven to him… it wasn't _really_ her, he told himself. It was some trick Zachariah conjured up. He knew it then, and he knew it now. Still, her words cruelly replayed in his mind.

" _Everybody leaves you, Dean. You noticed? Mommy. Daddy. Even Sam. Next is Alex. Mark my words, sweetie. Everyone you ever thought you could count on… is going to go away. You ever ask yourself why? Maybe it's not them. Maybe it's_ you _."_

Maybe it _was_ him. _Next is Alex_. And Dean knew exactly what— _who_ —she'd leave him for. The angel in the trench coat. The barbs on the amulet dug in even more to his skin and Dean wanted to throw it at a wall. "We'll find another way," Sam said, approaching him and sounding determined but harrowed. "We can still stop all this, Dean."

Dean bit back a thousand sarcastic retorts and just focused on the amulet. "Yeah? How."

Sam stalled, then tried valiantly to instill hope. "I don't know, but we'll find it. You and me and Alex—we'll find it. We always do."

"Yeah, sure," Dean muttered and turned then threw his amulet into the trash can before looking at Sam pointedly. Sam was staring at the trash can, hurt by what his brother had just done. Dean ignored it. "Did you ever stop to think, Sam, that maybe, just _maybe_ , we won't always be able to figure this shit out? That someday we're gonna meet our match?" Dean was hopeless. "Come on. This is pointless. We are in _way_ over our heads. Today proved that."

"It's _not_ pointless," Sam protested, and Dean just felt more and more anger churn in his stomach.

Dean turned from his brother, bitter. "And yeah, while we're on the subject of being in way over our heads…" he fixed Alex with a pointed look. "You wanna tell me what _the hell_ is going on with you two?" it was a gruff and impatient question, Dean raised his eyebrows and gave her a look that said 'I'm waiting' while Alex looked at her brother in disbelief. Everyone in the room knew what Dean was asking about.

"Dean—" Sam protested, not giving Alex a chance to answer.

Dean rounded on his brother angrily. " _No_ Sam! This has gone on long enough—and I need a damn explanation!"

Sam did that thing he did where he attempted to smile even though he was clearly mad as hell. "Come on man, she just died and came back to life—you think you can _give her a damn minute_?" Sam was no longer smiling. Instead he looked disgusted.

"Do I look like I got a friggin' minute, Sammy?" Dean demanded wrathfully, getting in Sam's face. "Do I look like I got all the time in the world? Don't you see how _jacked up_ this is? Some thousands-of-years-old guy is taking advantage of your sister and you got no problem with it? I mean talk about _pedophile_!" Sam's eyebrows shot up high. Alex looked disgusted. Dean leveled her with a brutish glare. "Have you lost your mind?!"

She didn't reply. 

Sam grabbed Dean by the shoulder, forcefully turning him, kind of putting himself between his two siblings. "Dean, just lay off a little!" Sam said sharply, "I mean you're being absolutely—"

Dean yanked himself out of Sam's grasp. "Absolutely _what_ , Sam? Responsible? _Sane_?" Dean was on a tirade at this point. "Why don't either of you see all the levels of _wrong_ here? He's walking around in a borrowed meatsuit that's _married_ by the way—and if he ditches out of it again, what then, huh?" Dean was shouting. "He's not even _human_!" Dean gestured wildly in his sister's direction. "Alex has a crush on this angel because he's the only guy who's ever shown her the time of day—but it's dangerous and gets her killed and I'm _not letting it happen_!"

Alex moved forward, grabbing Dean hard by the front of his jacket, startling both of the brothers. "You need to shut your damn mouth _right now_ ," she told him in a trembling, anger-filled voice. She shoved him away brutally and he looked surprised as she stared at him balefully—clearly wounded. "I mean, what is this…? Be-a-heartless-asshole day?" she asked, trying to cover with sarcasm. Right behind her, Sam stayed put, looking at Dean with deep disappointment. "You don't even know half of what happened to me today," Alex continued accusingly, "and then you come in here acting like you own me and my life and you're the only one who gets to be there for me?" She shook her head, seeming to realize something. "This is ridiculous. I don't owe you any fucking explanation," she said stonily. And Dean was shocked. Who was this girl? They had _never_ had secrets the two of them. She'd always confided in him, and he in her. What was happening? But instead of appealing to her, he just reverted to his normal M.O.—which unfortunately was douche supreme. 

"Like hell you don't," he retorted. "I keep you safe. _Me_. That's my job, that's the one thing I haven't screwed up yet." He relented, thought about it. "And I guess I fell down on that today, huh." He wasn't trying to throw a pity party, but he realized it sounded that way once he said it.

Annoyed with him, Alex seemed done with the exchange. "Forget it. We're all fine."

"Fine?" Dean asked peevishly, flying off the handle again, unable to deal with everything inside his mind. "Your two brothers are Heaven and Hell's most wanted and God won't help and that's _fine_?"

" _Jesus Christ_ Dean!" She suddenly exploded. "Do you have to bring that up?!"

"Well excuse me for living in _reality_ —" he started.

She held up a hand, calling for silence, looking tense and incapable. "No. I just—I can't. I can't think about that right now," she said harshly.

"Well too bad Princess, because looks like it's the main event and you got front row seats," Dean retorted angrily, and immediately got one of the most righteous bitchfaces from Sam, ever.

"Dean!" Sam exclaimed, and his voice was shaking now, too. "She's _scared_! Come on."

Dean blinked and stopped, realizing Sam was one hundred percent right. He felt regret and self-loathing wash over him. He realized his mistake. As usual, his temper had gotten the better of him and he let out a deeply ashamed breath, suddenly unable to look at his sister. "I'm sorry," he said, clenched his jaw tight, managed to look her in the eye, just for a second. "I'm sorry."

Alex wasn't appearing very receptive. "Sure you are."

Dean got mad again. "I _am_!" he insisted, frustrated to maximum capacity at himself, the world, his family—everything. "Geez. Guess I can't do anything right," he said sarcastically, "unlike Castiel." The way Alex rolled her eyes only inspired another outburst. Dean's expression soured. "Oh _come on_ , Al. I'm not an idiot. I see the way you look at him," he accused. "The way he looks at _you_!"

"Just stop it, Dean!" she shouted and she glared at him angrily, so upset that her shoulders were heaving. "I am so _tired_ of you treating me like this," Alex muttered, and in a show of aggression reminiscent of her younger years, she pushed him away with both hands—Dean felt almost murderous at this point.

"Treating you like what, like I care about whether you _live or die_?!" he shouted, bouncing back from where she'd shoved him, bearing down on her wrathfully—only to be stopped by Sam, who grabbed his shoulder, gave him a 'cool off, Dean' look. Dean again yanked himself out of his brother's grasp, then looked at both of his siblings in total disbelief, feeling completely alone and misunderstood and ganged up on. "All I've ever done is look out for this family…" he said, shaking his head hollowly. "And _this_ is the thanks I get?" He scoffed and let out a disgusted breath. "Yeah cool. I'll catch you two later then." He grabbed a clean shirt and stalked out, slamming the motel room door behind him, fuming.

And then he heard footsteps behind him. "Dean!" He whirled, keeping his face hard. It was Alex. "Where are you going?!" she demanded, and for a second, Dean thought about letting it go. The rage, the jealousy, all of it. Because he couldn't stand to fight with her.

But bitter, angry, hurt, he just kept his face hard and pushed her away with finality by turning around, continuing on his way. "To get a damn drink," he threw over his shoulder. "If you need a shoulder to cry on, why don't you call your little angel boyfriend instead?"

There was a long silence—Dean didn't look back. But he heard the tears in her voice. "You're such an asshole!" she shouted at his back. He set his mouth in a hard line, kept walking, didn't look back. If he did, she might see how much he hated himself, too.

Back in the hotel room, Sam was changing shirts quickly, tossing away the bloody bullet-riddled one and pulling on a black one, about to follow after Alex and Dean—and then she came back in and Sam froze, he looked at her in surprise, his features etched in earnestness and concern. Where had Dean gone? She was really upset, but trying not to show it—looking down and away, hardening her face. "Hey, are you—"

"Don't Sam," she interrupted tersely, shaking her head as she plopped down onto her bed, the only bed in the room that wasn't covered in blood. She faced away from him, her shoulders slouched in exhaustion. She sounded like she was barely keeping it together. "I can't. Please just… just leave me alone." She curled up on the bed on her side, and after some consideration, Sam decided not to do what she'd said. He went around to the other side of the bed where he could see her face and crouched there beside the bed. His face was now level with hers, but she was staring at the sleeve of her shirt kind of blankly, not returning his gaze.

"Look," Sam appealed gently. "I know you need some space but… if you need me… I'll be here."

His twin's eyes—eyes that were the exact same color as his—flicked up to him. She looked kind of like she was despairing. "Why haven't you told Dean?" she asked him in a whisper. "About… about what you saw?"

Sam's eyebrows went up a little. "Do you _really_ have to ask me that?" They _were_ talking about Dean, weren't they? The same guy who had just flipped his shit over seeing Cas _hugging_ Alex. How would he have reacted if he'd seen them, _Jesus_ , dry humping each other's brains out? Sam looked at his conflicted sister, more serious than before. "I think we both know he can't hear about that," Sam said. " _Ever_."

Alex's features crumpled. "Why is he _like_ that? Why does he have to… to be that way?"

She sounded about as lost and let down as Sam felt. Dean just wasn't himself lately, he was really losing it in some ways, wasn't he? Sam shrugged, trying not to give in to despair. "That's... just Dean," he said helplessly and looked at his little sister sadly. She looked really torn up, and he instinctively felt it was because she didn't know what was going on anymore. For the past few weeks she'd been withdrawn, tense. Maybe it was because of Cas. Sam wondered, and his eyes rested on hers again. He was worried about a lot of things right now, one of the biggest things being her wellbeing. "Look—I don't really know what's going with you two—" he began, "but it's obvious to me that Cas cares about you. A lot." He paused tensely. "Just… be careful, okay?" She met his gaze hesitantly and he swore she looked like she wanted to tell him something, but she remained silent then looked away again. Sam frowned lightly, then made himself smile. "Your shirt's inside out, you know."

One corner of her mouth lifted up in a fond little smile. "Yeah," she said softly, her eyes flickering over the sleeve of her shirt where the inseam showed. "I know." Sam looked at the sleeve, trying to see what she was seeing. But it was just a shirt.

Alex's little smile faded and she became troubled again, drawing in a deep breath as her eyes went somewhere far away. Sam wished she wouldn't carry her burdens alone. He put one of his massive hands on the side of her head comfortingly. Her hair was damp—had she been in the shower? Sam wanted to ask her, pretty intensely, about Cas, and exactly how close he was to her, what their relationship was—but he didn't think this was the right time. And it wasn't his business. He just knew that his sister looked depressed and grief stricken.

He didn't feel very sure of himself at all anymore, but for her sake he tried to sound like he was confident. "We're gonna get through this," Sam told her. "All of it. We'll figure it out."

She looked at him once again, but this time, she looked like she was filled with the same dread he was feeling, the same hopelessness he couldn't shake off. "We might not this time, Sammy," she said quietly, and she seemed close to terrified tears. " _We might not_."

Sam couldn't find a reply. He knew she was right.

A couple blocks away at the same moment, Dean was sitting in silence in a mostly-empty bar… realizing he didn't even _want_ anything. _Comfortably Numb_ was playing on the crappy bar sound system. How fucking fitting. The sound of pool table balls cracking as they hit against each other sounded reminiscent of thunder. Reminding Dean of Heaven all over again.

There was literally nowhere left to turn and Dean felt like he was drowning, held underwater, losing his hold over life without a way to break to the surface. _What the hell was he supposed to do?_ Dean propped his elbow up onto the bar counter and put his face in his hand wearily... listened to Pink Floyd singing exactly what he was feeling.

" _I can't explain, you would not understand. This is not how I am... I have become comfortably numb."_

* * *

Fergus Roderick McLeod—that had been his original name before paying up on his soul deal and going to Hell, before becoming a demon, before taking the name Crowley. It had been a pitiful little existence he'd led in his previous, human life—but he supposed all legends had to begin _somewhere_. Crowley smiled to himself. He was just getting started—he had grand plans for himself, grand plans for Heaven, Hell, Earth. There was the small matter of getting the devil off the gameboard, but he'd find a way. If those Winchester idiots couldn't make it happen, Crowley would find someone who could. He swirled the whiskey in his glass, strolled to the other end of the room of his house, and set the glass down for a moment, perusing the book titles there with mild interest.

And suddenly he felt an unwelcome pull—he was being summoned, yanked out of his home and into a new location. The warm home he'd been in was gone, replaced by… he blinked, trying to make out his surroundings. It was dark here—a subway tunnel? That was new. He stood in the middle of a single-rail subway tunnel, somewhere deep inside of it. He heard water dripping, the sound echoing in the large, damp space. He looked up slowly and saw a huge devil's trap spray painted across the arching ceiling—and a damn good one, too. He turned around to see what pathetic sap had summoned him here, all air and attitude—then faltered slightly. _Not_ who he had expected to see.

The angel in the trench coat stood in front of him, his expression deadly. "Ah, blimey," Crowley said, recovering fast, not letting his surprise show. "If I'd known we were going to be meeting, I'd have worn something _special._ " No sooner had the words left his mouth than he was suddenly seized, turned, and smashed up against the far concrete wall—still inside the large radius of the devil's trap, and now in a good deal of physical pain. "Oy! What did I do to _you_!?" Crowley protested, and he felt the angel's grip tighten. His face was close, eyes dark, glittering with aggression.

"Why does Alex Winchester have no Heaven?" Castiel demanded.

Crowley forced himself not to react, not to move—he didn't let it show that he had _no idea_. Instead he smiled smoothly. "If you really want to know—" he drawled casually, "let me go."

The angel stared at him wrathfully for a couple more seconds—then shoved hard, let go. Crowley made a great show about brushing off his lapels. "Thank you _very_ much," he said, a little sarcastically. He eyed the angry angel with interest. No Heaven? He'd never heard of that, but thinking quickly, Crowley decided this would be useful to him, that he could use this to his advantage. This angel was clearly quite invested in the human girl. Well, Crowley had already known _that_ , but exactly _how_ invested he was remained to be seen. Guardian angels _did_ tend to become attached to their humans. But this one, this Castiel—he seemed more attached to his charge than what was normal. Crowley remembered the little show he'd seen them putting on, all mouths and breathy panting and gyrating—he smiled softly, chuckled lowly. Yes, very _interesting,_ this.

"So, you want to know if she's on the special guest list downstairs," Crowley said smoothly, and pretended to be thinking, then changing his mind. He grimaced slightly. "I'd hate to spoil the ending, though."

He should have known what _that_ comment would get him. Castiel grabbed him again and smashed him back into the wall again, harder. "Tell me, _now_ ," the angel demanded with increasing aggression.

"Jesus Mary and Joseph, they weren't kidding about you and her!" Crowley protested, feeling red in the face and wondering if his suit would be ruined or not. It was Dolce and Gabbana for God's sakes!

"Is she supposed to end up in Hell?" the angel practically snarled.

Crowley decided, for the sake of his suit, to come clean. "Come on mate, how's a two-bit demon like me gonna know that?"

Castiel narrowed his gaze at Crowley, seeming surprised… then resolved. "You'll find out."

"Oh, shall I?" Crowley asked challengingly.

"Yes," the angel replied in a dark, low, gravelly tone. And then his eyes went to his right. Crowley followed his gaze. "Or… you'll have to find a new vessel."

From somewhere far down the track, there was the sound of a train horn. And the faintest, growing light. Crowley looked at the angel in surprise, scrambling suddenly. "Oh, really, _come on_. All of this for some little mortal human? Some little speck on the page?" He realized that was the wrong thing to say—Castiel slammed him against the wall again with renewed vigor, sending a crack zigzagging up into the concrete wall.

Crowley grimaced, looking up and squinting as rubble dusted over him—and then he had a thought. Actually—if the angel kept pounding him into the wall, he might be able to escape the devil's trap completely. He glanced up again—another good slam might crack the wall far up enough to break the trap. It sounded closer now, he could see the headlights clearly as the train rounded the bend.

"Find out if her name is written in the book of Hell or I lay you to waste," the angel threatened again, and Crowley's mouth crooked into a little smile.

"She's important to you, innt she? Your beloved little _Alex_ … won't it be sad when she comes downstairs with me…" Castiel's expression was cold and furious. Crowley sealed the deal with a meaningful smile and the raise of a solitary eyebrow. "Oh the things I'll do to that sweet little soul of hers…"

Cas slammed him into the wall again with devastating force—and Crowley's theory proved true. He felt the devil's trap break, among other things—his back would have been broken completely if he was still human. It did sting a bit, either way. However, he was no longer bound, and the angel, too wrapped up in righteous anger, didn't notice. The train horn was close now, the lights were bright. Crowley wiggled his eyebrows at the angel just once. "Should learn to control your temper, mate. Lands you in _all kinds_ of sorrow. See ya later."

Crowley disappeared, returning home. He looked down at his suit. Absolutely ruined. He made a displeased face, then sighed heavily. No matter. A ruined suit was a small price to pay for what had just happened. He felt pleased, actually. This could be useful.

 _Very_ useful indeed.

* * *

Dean had stalked back in from his visit to the bar, packed his stuff, barked at his siblings that they were leaving and to get a move on. Cue the five hour, silent car ride. Tension thick enough to cut with a knife. Dean was taking them back to Bobby's—they needed to regroup and figure this mess out. He'd planned on driving all night, but then Sam had insisted that he and Alex needed rest in a real bed and so they'd gotten a motel room in Austin, Minnesota. None of them had said a thing to each other, just turned in. Dean had been watching his siblings all day from the corner of his eye—seen Alex avoiding looking at him, Sam giving him all these passive-aggressive stares, trying to guilt trip him. He felt like he had no one left who _got_ him anymore. No one who realized why he was so jacked up, why he was so angry about everything.

So now Dean laid there in the dark on a stiff motel bed, unable to sleep. His mind was racing, troubled, tortured with so many thoughts and fears. Sam, however, had knocked out as soon as they'd arrived and was snoring noisily in the bed to Dean's left. Dean looked to his right—he could see Alex's familiar outline in the dim light. She always slept on her side, and was turned like that right now, away from him. The second they'd gotten to the motel, she'd laid down on the bed, still in her jacket and shoes, then hadn't moved at all again. Dean could see her shoulder rising and falling. He saw that like himself, she wasn't asleep either. Her sleep-breathing was much slower than that.

As he watched her, he felt an incredible sadness wash over him. He only wanted to protect her and Sam too, dammit. He only wanted to keep them safe. Maybe he had a hell of a way of showing it, huh? Right now Alex was mad at him for caring, and had every right to be, he guessed. He'd kind of lost it on her. But he was under so much pressure—he was backed into a corner, and every time he looked up, there was always _one more thing_ going wrong.

All Dean knew was that he couldn't say no to the angels forever—it was clear that Zachariah wasn't going to give up, in fact, he'd been more pissed off than ever before today, and he'd specifically threatened Alex then shown Dean exactly how much power he had. Alex mute again couldn't happen. Alex _dead_ again couldn't happen. Sam being Lucifer's vessel was awful enough, but really, why did _both_ of his siblings have to be in mortal peril? Why did he have to be a failure at protecting both of them? Why did God have to decide to pull him, a supposed righteous man, out of Hell... send an angel to task him with a heavenly mission… then leave him high and dry? With no way out? It wasn't right. It wasn't _fair_. It was complete bullshit.

Dean stared at Alex's shoulder unseeingly now. It didn't matter why or that it wasn't fair. It was his reality. And sooner or later, Michael, Zachariah… _whoever_ , would catch up to Dean, and subsequently, to Dean's family. Sooner or later, Sam was going to face the devil. Sooner or later, Alex was going to be caught in the crossfire. And they might not get a lucky break like today again. 

His heart ached as he thought of his silent sister and long car rides in years past. Alex in the back, nose in a book because she was unable to contribute to the conversation. And Dean would look in the rear-view and wonder what she was thinking, if she'd ever be okay—if he'd be taking care of her until the day he died. And then he'd wonder if and when he died, would Sammy take over? Would Sam shoulder the responsibility, or run off like he did with so many other things? And Dean would ask himself if she'd ever be able to survive on her own if it came to that. Not so much physically, but mentally and emotionally. But _now_ he had to worry about what waited for her when she left this world for good. Now he had to worry about her eternal fate, he had to figure out _why_ and how to change it.

He didn't want to be in Heaven for all eternity without her there, knowing she was drifting somewhere in darkness. To him, that wouldn't be Heaven, it would be Hell.

It had always been her and him, _always_. Sometimes Sam had been gone, most of the time Dad had been gone. But Dean and Alex—that had been a guaranteed. That had been a given. Maybe it was selfish of him to think she'd always be there with him. And maybe he needed her more than he was willing to admit. 

Dean had never even considered that maybe she would go off and start a life of her own… meet a guy, even. He'd always just assumed she'd be there with him, living this life on the road, fighting at his side, letting him take care of her. Dean felt a strange feeling in his stomach when he thought about how he just didn't _trust_ anyone else other than himself to protect her like he knew he would. He would die for her, without question. He would do _anything_ for her or for Sam. He didn't think it was possible for anyone else to care about his siblings as much as he did.

So seeing Alex gravitating toward the angel in the backwards tie… it inspired nothing but negative feelings in Dean. The thought of his baby sister—who'd never had a boyfriend, had spent most of her life disabled, who had no Heaven—messing around with a two-thousand year old angel who was walking around in a body that _wasn't even his_ —Dean couldn't handle it. It set all his warning bells off, especially knowing that in some weird twisted version of the future, Cas got Alex killed. He had to keep them apart. _Had to_. He almost felt like he could have a panic attack as he remembered seeing Alex curled into Cas's side when he'd first come back from the dead. When the hell had she gotten that comfortable with Cas, anyway? Dean was lost. Confused. Worried sick.

Yeah, Cas cared about her, wanted to protect her—Dean got that. But were there strings attached? Did the angel have some dark interest in her? Was he taking advantage of Alex's little, naive, romance-novel-loving self? Castiel was a freaking angel—not a human—he barely knew how to do anything, how could he be emotionally capable of a relationship? And even if he were—it was still wrong, as wrong as Sam and Ruby had been. Any way Dean tried to look at it, he saw nothing but bad, nothing but weird, nothing but Alex making a huge, huge mistake.

And that's when Dean heard the softest little struggling breath, the quietest little restrained sob. And he froze, his heart clenching, his thoughts all flew out the window. Alex's shoulder moved oddly, like she was fighting herself. He recognized the way her body had stiffened and was shaking slightly. Dean hadn't said a word to her all day, had shouted at her and said horrible things, but on instinct he got up and went to her, not even thinking, because she was crying and he couldn't let her cry alone—he'd never been able to. He sat beside her, pulled her up, turned her around all in the span of a second or two. She was crying hard but with a clamped-shut mouth.

For a second, Dean wondered if she would push him away or reject him, but their eyes met, her expression was broken and anguished, and they embraced each other at the same time—she shook with sobs she struggled to keep silent, and Dean's arms tightened around his sister, his eyes filling with stinging tears. He squeezed his eyes shut and held her even tighter, afraid to let go, just wishing things could be like they used to be. But every part of him felt terrible, lost, defeated. He thought about Fourth of July, 1996. When the three of them had been these wild, carefree, stupid kids who had burned a field down and that had been their biggest problem. And now? He had started the Apocalypse. His brother was Lucifer's vessel. His sister was caught in the middle of a battle between Heaven and Hell.

Dean was losing it now, and fast, breaking down. "What am I supposed to do?" he choked out softly. In his arms, Alex just cried harder, holding onto him tighter.

* * *

_Liquor - Spirits - Beer & Wine_

Castiel stared up at the glowing neon sign morosely. He remembered a time when Alex had told him she drank to feel better. He had never felt worse. Crowley had escaped thanks to Castiel's foolishness—and must have put together a protective hex—because Cas wasn't able to summon him again. It was like he had hit a wall and there was nowhere left to go.

To his right, a church sign glowed in the dark night. In large black letters it asked: _LOOKING FOR GOD? HE'S LOOKING FOR YOU, TOO._

Castiel wanted to destroy the sign. It was a lie. A total, complete lie. Cas looked back at the liquor store in front of him. Whiskey. He was going to drink some. Perhaps several gallons. It wouldn't have any effect, anyway.

He considered, for a moment, going to Alex instead. She could make him feel better—but then he thought of Dean and grudgingly, Castiel realized he _couldn't_ go see her. Dean wouldn't allow it. Perhaps it was for the best. He didn't think so. But he felt so empty, so depressed, that for a moment, he just accepted it.

* * *

Sam watched his brother and sister hugging each other. Dean had his arms wrapped around Alex protectively, comfortingly, and she'd calmed down. Dean had calmed down, too. Sam felt a pang of jealousy. He'd always been on the outside like this and he didn't understand why. He could hear Dean whispering to Alex, things like _it'll be okay somehow_ , and _I'm not going anywhere_ , and Sam just didn't _get_ how their sister could let the guy who had torn into her earlier that day be the one who comforted her, too. Dean even had the nerve to kiss Alex there on the forehead at one point, like he was some caring, tenderhearted brother—not the guy who had ripped her a new one earlier. Dean had been way out of line, hadn't apologized to her at all, and she was just… okay with it? The display made Sam a little mad, honestly. It bordered on abusive in his opinion. 

But he just laid there, pretending to be asleep while stewing and figuring that's what he got for leaving the family when he did. Just then, his phone buzzed loudly on the bedside table. Sam pretended to wake up groggily. Dean and Alex kind of started, looked at Sam curiously, who turned on the lamp between the beds as he picked the phone up. "It's Bobby," he said, and answered.

"Kid," Bobby's urgent voice blared over the speaker, "get your asses over to Blue Earth _now_ —demonic activity _off the charts_."


	31. Closer to God

" _You can have my absence of faith... you can have my everything_ _."_  
\- Nine Inch Nails

* * *

**Just Outside of Blue Earth, Minnesota  
5:53am**

"Hey, _hey—_ what is that?" Sam asked in the front seat even as Dean was slowing the Impala down.

Ahead in the middle of the road, two cars were in flames and three people had been thrown clear of the incinerated wreck out onto the asphalt. The fire cast an intense orange glow over the horrible scene.

"Holy _shit_ ," Dean said. The Impala jerked to a complete halt. Both brothers were already halfway out of the car with Alex close behind, all running full speed—they didn't even bother to close the car doors behind them. The heat was intensely suffocating.

All three of the siblings reached a different victim at the same time, and all three of them realized it was a trap at the same time too. Because the second Dean crouched over a middle-aged woman, the moment Sam knelt to pick up a teenage boy, the instant Alex grabbed onto the feet of a thirty-something man to drag him away from the flaming vehicle he was sprawled next to—the three accident victims opened their eyes. Eyes that were black as night.

" _Demons_!" Dean bellowed a few feet off, even as Alex let go of the demon's ankles—but not in time. He grabbed her wrists with lightning speed, yanking her down onto him, grabbing her and flipping her over, slamming her back-first onto the hard concrete and… _trying to bite her neck_ —?! Holding the demon back with every ounce of strength she had, Alex took a stupid chance and shoved it back as far as she could, let go with one hand, then punched the demon across the face—and was immediately hit in return—her head whipped sideways, she yelped, pushing on the demon's shoulders, trying to get it off of her… it was growling, snarling, trying to bite her again— _what the fuck?!_

"Hey!" Sam's voice roared somewhere nearby, and her attacker was torn off of her and slammed up against the flaming truck. Steam hissed and the demon screamed in agony as Sam, face twisted up in pain from being so close to the fire, held the demon down, searing clothing to skin against the hot metal shell—Sam punched the demon brutally across the face, holding it by the front of the shirt—not noticing the teenage demon running up behind him—and Alex was scrambling to her feet, screaming " _Sam_!" in warning, but it wasn't in time. The teenage demon jumped onto Sam from behind, biting him on the shoulder savagely—and Sam screamed in pain, letting go of the demon that was on fire and stumbled back, struggling—and Alex who was on her feet now, lunged across the space separating herself and her twin, grabbing the teenager and managing to clumsily tear him off of Sam. The two of them fell to the ground where they rolled across the rough pavement, fighting for dominance.

The teen had to be only fourteen or fifteen, so he was smaller, a little less strong than the others—but still strong as hell—and he managed to end up on top of her, choking her, grinning savagely as she struggled mightily—and Sam was suddenly there again, grabbing the kid up, tossing him aside like he weighed nothing—but then Sam was tackled by the demon who was on fire—and the two of them went down fast and hard. Alex was stuttering up to her feet, whipping out her hunting knife, not even sure what she was gonna do with it—and then she was suddenly pulled backwards by the teenager—she twisted and struggled hard, but then maybe two seconds after she was grabbed, she felt the demon go tense, he screamed and his grip went slack on her—Dean, Ruby's knife in hand, yanked the blade out from where he'd plunged it into her attacker's back. And before she could even fully register what had happened, he moved her aside roughly, holding the blade high, bringing it down on the demon Sam was trying to fight off.

With a horrible scream, the demon's skeleton flickered as it died and fell off of Sam. And a stunned, breathless silence fell over the scene. Dean pulled his brother up to his feet. They all stared at each other, shocked, realizing they were lucky to be alive, that they had been totally unprepared for that very unexpected turn of events. Alex realized her mouth was full of blood and she spat and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, faced wrinkled up in revulsion. Sam was grimacing, making a pain-filled sound as he held a hand over a bloody gash on his shoulder, and Dean and Alex both reacted at the same time, noticing the wound, examining it with the same shocked, horrified expression.

And then Sam startled fearfully, noticing something. "G-guys!" he managed, and they looked where he was staring—where they saw at least _fifteen_ demons, in a horizontal line, walking up the road toward them purposefully.

Dean grabbed Sam tightly. "Car, car, _car_!" he shouted, and they all ran. The demons broke into a run, too. Alex got to the car first and without a second thought, skidded into the driver's seat as Dean shoved Sam into the backseat and tumbled in after, shouting at her to drive, to punch it, to _get us outta here_! The Impala swung around, jerked and shook as it dipped off the road for a second, turning around to head to opposite direction. They side-swiped one demon as the car barreled forward, and the body hit the hood, fell away with a sickening thud.

"Faster!" Dean roared in the back seat.

"It doesn't _go_ any faster!" Alex snapped, cutting the wheel sharply at the turn in the road, her eyes jumping to the rearview in alarm.

Sam made a pain filled sound and Dean was temporarily distracted from his backseat driving. "You okay?" Dean demanded of his little brother.

Sam seemed to suddenly think something was funny. "Yeah, I'm _amazing_."

"I've never _seen_ that many!" Dean exclaimed, whipping his head around and craning his head, looking behind them, trying to see if they were being pursued. And then suddenly they swerved around another corner and Alex slammed on the brakes, swearing loudly. There was an overturned semi truck trailer across the road ahead. It was in flames, blocking the way completely.

"What the hell!" Dean exclaimed, aghast—and then suddenly irrational in his alarmed anger. "See this is why I never let you drive!"

Alex threw him a brief, crazy look over her shoulder. "What, because there might be _flaming debris_?!"

"Just drive!" Sam shouted even as she slammed the car into reverse.

"I _am_!" she sputtered, and the tires squealed as she whipped the car around—then suddenly a man with black eyes flung himself into the side of the car on Dean's side, the car shuddered to a stop, and the window shattered beside Sam, startling them all—but especially Sam, who was was abruptly being pulled out of the window by a demon—and without a second thought Alex yanked up the e-brake, jumped out of the car, went to draw her pistol—and was grabbed and tackled to the ground from the side by a female demon.

And then suddenly a floodlight bathed the entire road in light, water rained over them from the nozzle of a high-powered hose somewhere overhead, and the demon who had tackled Alex to the ground was convulsing and screaming, giving off steam, letting go—water then jetted at the demon holding Sam—was that _holy water_? Over a loudspeaker of some kind, a male voice was reciting some sort of incantation—not one Alex recognized, it wasn't even Latin, she didn't recognize any words at all—and confused, shoving the flailing demon off of herself, she pushed herself up onto all fours, then onto two feet, watching frozen in a tense position—she wasn't sure whether to run or what. She stood right beside the driver's side headlight of the Impala. On the ground close to her there were about five demons, all convulsing as black smoke shot out of their mouths. Sam and Dean watched in total shock.

A man with sandy blond hair stood across from the Impala, holding a bullhorn—standing on the bed of an old red pickup, another guy was aiming the floodlight at the road and there was a tank of holy water rigged into the truck bed behind him—to the left of the truck stood a teenage kid holding a shotgun. Alex looked at the fallen demons, then the guy with the megaphone with extreme suspicion. Her hand hovered near her gun. "What the hell is all this?" She demanded, looking over everything again, wondering if these guys were hunters or what. "Who are you people?"

The kid with the shotgun seemed jumpy and nervous—when she took a step toward them, he was hefting his shotgun to aim it at her—but after years of hunting, of practice, years of experience and years of depending on instinct—this time completely sober, not about to be shot to death again by some idiot with a gun—Alex whipped her pistol out and had it aimed at him in less than a second and he froze, wide-eyed.

"Hey, hey—" the blond man appeased, raising his hands up in an act of nonaggression, looking surprised to see her weapon. "Put the gun down—we're not the enemy." He nodded his head toward the dead bodies on the ground. " _They_ were."

Alex didn't take her eyes off the kid. He looked like he had an itchy trigger finger and no idea what he was doing. "Him first," she said. She heard Sam and Dean closing in behind her.

"Put it away, Dylan," the blond man told the teenager, and the kid looked from the man to Alex nervously, uncertainly… and then grudgingly obeyed. Watching him carefully, feeling her brothers coming to stand on either side of her, Alex took a couple seconds, then reluctantly did as she'd said and put her pistol away… but stayed on high alert, ready to draw again if she had to.

The blond man looked at Sam's wound, frowning a little. "You kids all right?" he asked. He sounded suspicious, eyes flickering to Alex again.

"Yeah we're fine," Dean said, sounding plenty suspicious himself. "Who the hell are you guys?"

"Rob, I don't think—" the man on top of the firetruck started, addressing the apparent leader, the sandy-haired man—but Rob held up a hand.

"It's fine, Paul." Rob turned to address the Winchesters again, to answer Dean's question. "We're the Sacrament Lutheran Militia."

"I'm sorry—the _what_?" Dean asked. Maybe like Alex, he'd expected them to say they were hunters.

Rob seemed like he was humoring them at this point. "I hate to tell you this, but those were demons and this is the apocalypse. So… buckle up."

The teenager and the man named Paul were coming to stand beside Rob now.

"How do _you_ know about the apocalypse?" Alex asked him incredulously.

Rob looked at Alex in surprise, then at Sam, then at Dean, then back at her, frowning, clearly not expecting to hear what he just had. "...how do _you_?"

Dean smirked at that point, wet his lips, then chuckled dryly. "It's kinda our line of work." The three men—this supposed militia—exchanged confused looks at that comment.

"What do you mean?" Rob asked, even as Dean turned, ambled over to his car, opened the trunk up and looked at Rob then the other two men, waving them over. "Have a look-see," he said. The three men approached slowly, exchanging hesitant glances. They looked over the trunk contents in surprise as Sam joined them, Alex trailing behind, wondering what Dean was doing.

"Looks like we're in the same line of business, huh?" Sam asked as the men looked at the trunk full of weapons and supernatural paraphernalia.

"And among colleagues," Dean said. "That's a police-issued shotgun. That truck is, uh… inspired. Where'd you guys pick up all this crap?"

"You know how it is. You pick things up along the way," said the dark haired guy, Paul, neatly sidestepping Dean's question. All three men remained guarded and suspicious.

Alex, hanging back beside Sam, was dubious. "So… this is all of you?" she asked. " _Three guys_ is a militia these days?"

Rob looked at her with an unreadable expression. "We've lost a few good folks here lately. And, there's more of us back in town." He glanced at Dean now. "But that's really not any of your concern."

"Guys, come on," Dean said. "This whole corner of the state is nuts with demon omens. We just wanna help. That's all."

Rob and Paul look at each other warily, even as Alex fixed Rob with a piercing, questioning gaze, testing her theory. "Was that… an Enochian exorcism you used?" The two men looked at her in surprise and she shrugged. "Well it sure as hell wasn't Latin."

Rob looked at Paul again, and then looked back at the Winchesters, seeming to have decided something. "Follow us." He turned back to their truck, then paused, looked at Dean significantly. "And stay close. It's dangerous out here."

"Yeah, we got that," Dean muttered and let out a heavy breath then began to walk around to his side of the car. He got in his seat, started the car back up, glanced at Alex in the rearview. She was shooting a suspicious look after the guys getting into their truck as she rummaged for the first aid kit out from underneath the passenger side seat. Sam slid in beside her in the backseat, brushing the broken glass off the seat gingerly and shutting the door behind him.

"Enochian?" Dean asked Alex as he turned the car around. Sam was taking off his shirt, hissing as the fabric peeled away from his wound.

"Yeah," Alex answered Dean, distracted as she dug around in the first aid kit. "I dunno, you got any other ideas? Definitely wasn't Latin."

"Yeah, no, I know it wasn't," Dean said. She didn't see the skeptical, disapproving frown on Dean's face at the offhand mention of angels—she was too busy pulling out an alcohol wipe from the first aid kit. Dean let it slide grudgingly. "Okay, so how the hell would these middle of nowhere yahoos know an Enochian exorcism that _we_ _don't_?" Dean asked. He was casting watchful glances around them as they followed Rob's truck down the dark road.

"That's exactly what I'm wondering," Alex muttered, ripping open a packet and grabbing Sam's arm without any ceremony, rubbing the deep gash firmly with the disinfectant.

Sam hissed and Alex gave him a look. "It stings," he mumbled pathetically.

Alex grabbed some gauze, pressing it against the bite mark to stop the bleeding, muttering for Sam to hold it there, which he did, while she took out the medical tape, ripping off a couple pieces. "Does anyone else think it's weird that these demons were… bitey?" she asked, looking at Sam and then glancing up at the rear view mirror, where Dean's eyes met hers for a second, then he looked away.

"Demons getting their kicks in before the last call, I dunno," Dean said, sounding downtrodden and distracted.

The last call? Alex looked at the rear view mirror for a couple seconds more, waiting for her brother to look back at her, but he didn't. She remembered how he'd been crying on her shoulder just a few hours ago, how he'd said he didn't know what to do. She'd known he was depressed for awhile now, but after yesterday—finding out God wasn't going to help them sidestep the apocalypse—clearly, he'd taken it hard. When he'd flown off the handle, it had been difficult not to take personally. Usually Alex was able to roll her eyes and remove herself from the situation and realize that when Dean got mad and verbally belligerent like that, that he was letting off steam and processing whatever he felt. But yesterday… the things he'd said about the end being near, about having no options… she'd listened. She'd believed. And she, too, had despaired. Did he really think there weren't any options left? Dean _always_ knew what to do, and even if he didn't, he was tenacious. He _never_ gave up, he never _talked_ about giving up—not seriously anyway. She almost felt like his apathy and hopelessness were contagious.

Swallowing and refocusing, she taped the gauze down onto Sam's arm. "Antibiotics later," she muttered. There really wasn't a need to say that… after an entire lifetime of patching each other up they knew the drill by now.

"You need any help?" Sam asked, and Alex frowned, then realized she didn't even know her state as of the moment. "Your arm, lip… face," Sam said, gesturing to the pavement-burn on the side of her arm, the scrape across her upper cheek bone, the blood that was drying in the corner of her lips. She'd bitten part of the inside of her mouth when the demon had punched her.

She shook her head at Sam and dodged his concerned eyes. "I'm fine."

"Uh, okay," he said, sounding kind of like he didn't believe her. But he let it go, grabbing his duffel bag from where it was half-shoved up underneath the passenger side seat. Alex stared out the window. It was becoming light now outside and the landscape was covered in a thick blanket of fog. It felt eerie.

In the front seat, Dean was glancing back at his brother and sister in the rear view, deeply troubled and distracted by thoughts of the end, of the apocalypse. He just wanted to know what the right thing to do was, but he literally didn't know anymore. And the two of them—Sam and Alex—they were his responsibilities, his _life._ Dean was starting to wonder if any of them were going to make it out of this apocalypse thing alive. Odds weren't good, and that thought should have sent him into a rage, called him to action. But he just stared at the road ahead unseeingly. Hope was dwindling, fast.

The car ride remained mostly silent and they came to the town after maybe fifteen or twenty minutes. They'd been to Blue Earth before, but not for a few years. It was almost unrecognizable now. The entire town was enclosed with chain link fences with barbed wire spiraling across the top—some guy in a baseball cap with a rifle slung over his back manned the makeshift gate and let them in. As they rolled in and the gate shut behind them, Dean looked uneasy. "Is it just me or did we just enter the twilight zone?"

His siblings were too busy gawking to answer. People with guns walked the streets, their faces drawn tight. The Impala passed devil's traps spray painted onto the sidewalks in front of houses; there were demon wards chalked onto windows of businesses.

"These people aren't playing around," Sam commented in quiet worry. On the road ahead of them, Rob's truck pulled up in front of what was a quaint old church once. But surrounded by the haze of fog and people with guns, concrete barriers topped with barbed wire… it looked like something out of a post-apocalyptic horror movie. Honestly, it reminded Alex of the camp in 2014. She caught Dean's eye in the rear view, and from the look on his face, she immediately knew he was thinking the exact same thing. Her chest clenched.

Dean parked the car and they all got out, Sam tossing his bloody shirt at Dean who shoved it into the trunk. Rob, Paul, and Dylan walked toward the church, leaving the Winchesters to follow. Two guys with long-barrel shotguns stood on either side of the sidewalk that led to the church steps. A huge red devil's trap was sprayed across the sidewalk between the two men. Alex knew Sam and Dean were thinking what she was: none of them had ever seen anything quite like this before. They followed the supposed militia up and into the building.

When they got into the dim church they were met with a very unexpected scenario. Three couples stood up at the front of the church facing the pulpit. "Who would have thought the apocalypse could be so romantic?" asked a man, clearly the pastor. He smiled at each couple in turn. "Marriage, family—it's a blessing. Especially in times like this. So hold on to that."

In the very back of the tiny old church, the Winchesters stared, all three wearing very astonished expressions. "A wedding?" Sam asked in almost a whisper, understanding… and then scoffing. "Seriously?"

"And at _six-thirty_ in the morning?" Dean added quietly, sounding just as skeptical and unconvinced as Sam did.

"Yeah," Paul confirmed furtively, startling all three of them—Rob and Dylan had sat down in a pew next to a red-haired woman, but Paul had apparently remained standing there with them against the back wall. "We've had eight so far this week."

"What's getting _married_ gonna change about the end coming on?" Alex asked in a hushed tone, not really to anyone in particular.

"Well, it's not," Paul said, shrugging mildly. In the front of the church, the ceremony progressed, but Alex wasn't listening, she was paying attention to Paul now. "That's not the point," he said, and he looked reminiscent. "I mean, if you can spend the last time you have on earth with someone you love, someone you felt strong enough about to marry, be with for the rest of your life… why not?"

Alex blinked a couple times in mild surprise. There was something in his voice that made Alex look at him, really _look_. "So if you feel that way… why aren't _you_ up there?" she asked. She got the distinct feeling he was talking about someone he felt that way about. Dean and Sam were looking at Paul now too.

Paul's expression was hard to read, and he shook his head as his mouth turned downward briefly. "Even if…" he looked up, deciding to reword himself. "They wouldn't let us, even if we had wanted to. He's... dead now anyway."

"Oh," Alex said. She was quiet a minute, understanding. _They wouldn't let us._ It wasn't much, but it was all she could say about everything. "I'm really sorry."

Paul nodded, watching the wedding in front of them again. The pastor was droning on. "…in sickness and in health, as long as you both shall live?"

Alex watched the wedding with a growing sense of panic, not joy or any other positive emotion. Maybe she should have thought this was romantic, but it was just another reminder that the end was near. And not only did _she_ know it, but the _rest of the world_ was beginning to get the message, too. She glanced at Dean, who was watching the wedding with an unreadable expression. Did he really think the end was near, too? _Was it_?

Alex looked at the couples up there holding hands and gazing into each other's eyes with smiles. And all she could think about was that she had died yesterday. She and her brothers had _died_ yesterday. And everything was wrong with the world, everything was falling apart and God didn't care about any of it, but still these people were getting married, their eyes were still shining bright with hope. Alex wished she could have some of that hope—it was getting harder and harder to find within herself.

She thought of Castiel and wondered where he was and if he was okay. She'd thought of him all night long after he'd disappeared. He'd been so wounded to learn that God wasn't going to help. Was he all right? Did he feel as faithless and hopeless as she did? As Dean did? As Sam did? Because even though they hadn't really talked about it, Alex knew all of them—herself, her brothers, Cas—that they were all clinging to mere shreds of hope at this point. Shreds that were blowing away in the wind leaving them with empty hands.

"You may now kiss the brides!" the pastor proclaimed with a broad smile, holding his arms wide. Everyone cheered as the three couples kissed.

Alex and her brothers watched. None of the three of them were able to muster a real smile.

* * *

It was mid morning. Maybe. Castiel stumbled out of the liquor store, the world spinning around him mightily. What a strange sensation. He pitched sideways. The wall had seemed further away and he was a little surprised when his shoulder slammed into brick. He almost fell down, but he leaned away from the wall, shuffling sideways, finding a brief moment of balance. He paused and held absolutely still, squinting deeply. He waited five seconds, concentrating with all his might.

He took a step forward—and promptly fell the other way—he tried to catch himself again, and then collapsed backwards, falling down onto his back and elbows. He heard himself groan pathetically... an angel of the Lord, fallen down drunk on a sidewalk.

 _Who has woe? Who has sorrow? Who has strife? Those who dwell long over wine._ The verse of scripture came to mind suddenly and Castiel felt a strange sensation—his throat rumbling, his vocal chords vibrating. A low, cynical chuckle broke out of his mouth. A slurred, sloppy sound. He'd had those things—woe, sorrow, strife—long before he had ever even thought about consuming the alcohol. In fact, he _still_ had those things. The smile on his face wavered and dissipated. Why hadn't the alcohol worked? Alex said it made her feel better. Why hadn't it made _him_ feel better? If anything, he felt worse.

His mind drifted to her. And inwardly, Castiel felt himself stagnate, despair. He didn't want to think about her. He didn't want to think about _anything_.

All night long Castiel had downed shelf after shelf of alcohol, waiting to feel its effects, waiting to feel nothing and think nothing because of what had happened yesterday. He remembered begging God for help, for a sign, for anything. His pleas had fallen onto deaf, uncaring ears. The love he'd had for the father he thought loved him too and the faith he had maintained for centuries was shattered. Why didn't God want to help them? Why didn't God want to save them? These fragile, precious humans.

Castiel felt weighty and clumsy and drowsy. He thought absently that the owner of the store would be surprised when they came to open up the store and found the entire inventory gone. Cas had left the store a complete mess, bottles littering the floor, some smashed, some still half full and spilling onto the cheap linoleum floor. Oddly, Cas didn't feel any guilt about stealing the liquor. He felt regret because he was so drunk that he couldn't focus enough to walk, let alone travel through the fabric of space. Which meant he couldn't get to the Winchesters even if he wanted to. And now he realized maybe he shouldn't have become inebriated this way. What if they needed him? What if _she_ did?

Someone walked by and threw coins at him, and Cas blearily turned his head, his eyes crossing when he tried to focus on the ground beside his head where a few silver circles were rolling to a halt. What was he supposed to do with those? Everything was spinning again, even though he wasn't moving at all. He suddenly smiled, amused. _Everything was spinning, even though he wasn't moving at all!_ He chuckled again deeply, and then a little harder, realizing how funny a sound that was that his vocal chords were making.

"Get a job you lazy bum!" a shrill, female voice said somewhere nearby, and all Cas could think was that the voice was like screeching tires. He heard footsteps fade away and nothing was funny anymore. Cas decided he needed to stand up so he tried to roll over—and couldn't. He made a sound of frustration.

In the pocket of the trench coat, his phone suddenly made a little sound, the sound it made when the device received texts. The only person who ever texted him was her. He fumbled for it, he dropped it, he managed to get it again. He realized he had the phone upside down and righted it then squinted at the screen, his vision double for a second. He blinked a few times, clearing his eyes.

It was from Alex, just like he'd assumed. She'd written three words.

**Are you okay?**

* * *

Alex and Dean sat in the little crappy town bar. Dean was drinking a beer, people-watching halfheartedly as Alex was trying to text incognito. Sam was over at the bar, leaning across it and talking to Paul—who turned out to be the local bartend. It was a little bit after lunch time and they had now been in town for a few hours—gotten a motel room, learned a little more about what was going on in town.

After the wedding ceremony, Pastor Gideon had shown the Winchesters around. He was the guy who ran the show here in Blue Earth. The basement of the church was full of kids packing salt rounds—the church was stocked with a _weaponry._ Apparently this town was some kind of magnet for demons and had been overrun with them for the past couple months, but the attacks were getting worse and worse. It was possible that Blue Earth attracted demons because there was apparently a prophet here. The pastor's daughter, Leah Gideon, allegedly heard from the angels and got visions of where demons would be, allowing the townspeople to defend themselves. Dean, of course, had flirted with her. Right in front of her dad. The pastor. A bit embarrassing if you asked Alex. Leah had some kind of otherworldly calm quality to her—and she had known who Dean, Sam, and Alex were, had looked over the three of them with knowing eyes. It was chilling actually. Chuck had never been creepy like that.

Anyway, now that they knew a prophet was involved, Dean had told Sam to call Cas just a few minutes ago. Alex wasn't sure why Dean wasn't going to do it himself. She was too busy trying to contact Cas herself.

Alex stared down at her phone, dying for it to light up. She'd texted Cas about thirty seconds ago to ask if he was okay. She was worried about him. She was worried about a lot of things, but he was near the top of the list. He'd disappeared yesterday, depressed and sullen, telling them all that he was going to find out why she had no Heaven.

Her phone vibrated just then and she quickly looked down at it… and was suddenly very confused. **rvlkjg.:';**

 _What the hell?_ Alex glanced Dean's way furtively—he was staring off at nothing, beer in hand—Alex began to type in a reply text. **Cas? Is everything ok?**

A few agonizing seconds passed. And then his reply came in. **yes iM GOOD7**

...Was something wrong with his phone? Alex didn't even have a chance to compose a new text because another one came in. **HOW Are yoiu '?**

Alex hesitated, frowning, then quickly wrote a reply. **Why are you typing like that?**

**idrank some{ whisjhtkey adnd alclcohol8**

_Holy shit! Was Cas drunk?_ **How much?**

**5sheleves**

Her eyes went wide. She wasn't sure what to say back. She settled on: **Five shelves?**

His reply to her question made her eyes go even wider. **nO MY MISTAEK I MEAnt 50 shelrives**

Clutching her phone tightly, Alex got up from the table, her chair scraping across the floor loudly. Dean gave her a cursory glance. "I'll be back in a minute."

Alex hurried to the bathroom, locked the door, then called his number, pacing a small little circle on the floor. He picked up and she heard the sound of swishing, like he was rubbing the phone speaker across cloth. She stopped pacing, craning her neck to press her ear hard into the phone, listening. "...Cas?" she asked. More swishing. And then she finally heard him.

His voice was deep and gravelly, sort of sharper than normal. "I dropped the phone," he slurred. "It's too _small._ "

Hearing his voice so different rendered Alex into quiet shock for a second. "Cas? You all right?"

"Uh… yes." A pause. " _No_. I don't know."

Stressed out, Alex absently ran a hand through her hair. "What's—you drank _fifty shelves_ of alcohol?"

There was a long pause. "Mrore or less."

She couldn't bring herself to find the humor just yet. "… _why_?" She was guessing it was because of everything that happened yesterday, but _she_ was supposed to be the one who ran to alcohol when she was upset, not _him_! That was too much like the Castiel she'd met in 2014.

"Why?" he repeated, and he sounded dumbfounded. He took a long time to reply, maybe thinking about it. "It... seemed like a good idea at the time."

Alex took a deep breath. "Where are you, Cas?"

He was breathing noisily into the phone, like he had the phone right up against his mouth. "Uh. I don't know."

Alex pulled her ear away a little and it began. The amusement. Even though she didn't think she should be amused about this. " _Okay_ … well, what do you see where you are?"

"Um. The sky."

"The _sky._ " She blinked a couple times, arriving at the only logical conclusion she could think of. "Are you _laying down_?"

"Yes." He sounded so, so drunk. Alex closed her eyes and put a hand to her forehead, absently scrubbing her palm against it.

"Okay, well… do you know what _town_ you're in?" she asked. She had this crazy idea in the back of her mind that maybe he'd know where he was, if it wasn't too far, maybe she could go find him and pick him up.

But his answer was a very unsure "um…"

Getting exasperated, Alex tried again. "Can you come here to where I am?"

"Not right now," he said, said, garbled. "I seem to be incapasassacitated." He stopped. "Incapacitabed," he tried again. "In..capab..si..." he stopped, gave up. Sounded extremely cranky about it. "I can't get up."

She'd tried to stay serious and be mature, but it was too much and she stifled a giggle as she pictured him laying on the ground somewhere, drunk, his little trench coat bunched up around him on the ground, his expression confused, sort of grumpy but completely adorable. Smiling fondly and wishing she could see it for herself, she shook her head ruefully. "Okay, well… when you can stand up…" she said, "we're in Blue Earth, Minnesota. At the Green Valley Motel, room nine." She paused, and wavered. Wishing to be close to him, and now. "Come as soon as you can?" she asked softly.

"Yes, of course," he replied automatically, and those three words set her at ease. He would always come. She knew that, but hearing him say it gave her an immense and unexpected amount of comfort. He surprised her completely with what he said next. "I like your eyes. When I'm looking at them, I mean. Well. Just in general."

A little caught off guard, it was her turn to fumble verbally. "Uh…" she managed. "Thanks, Cas."

There was a long pause followed by a very unexpected statement. "I just really never want you to die."

It surprised her to hear that spoken out loud. She already knew that he didn't want her to die—but it touched her to hear him say it in that way. She suddenly felt way more emotional than she wanted to be. She cleared her throat. "Just, uh, come as soon as you can, huh?"

"Yes, I will." He paused. She could just _see_ his expression of tortured guilt. "I'm sorry I can't come right now."

Helplessly, she smiled a little. "It's okay." She paused, then tried to sound soothing. "Call me if you need me, all right?"

There was a long pause and she heard him breathing heavily into the speaker. Then he finally said, "Yes. All right."

She was quiet a second. It was time to hang up then, wasn't it? "Bye, Cas," she said, not really wanting to end the call.

He sounded like he was testing the words on his tongue. "Bye, Alex."

For three long seconds, she didn't move and didn't say anything. Neither did he. And then, knowing it had to end sometime, she pulled the phone away from her ear, feeling an emptiness settle into her chest. Her thumb hovered over the end call button. Why couldn't he be there _now_? Alex tightened her jaw then hit the end call button hard and stared at the words _Cas: Call Ended_. She then looked up at the bathroom mirror where she saw a girl who wanted an angel more than anything else in the world. Saw a girl who would die and exist in darkness with no Heaven. Saw a girl who was barely keeping herself together mentally and emotionally. But as always had to. _Had to._

She pocketed her phone and wandered back into the main part of the bar, distracted and troubled. Dean still sat by himself at their table. When she sat down, Dean didn't even acknowledge her. His beer was only half empty. Weird. Usually he would be on his second or third by now. Sam came over just a couple seconds later, three fresh beers in hand.

Alex poked at the bowl of peanuts on the table. "You get a hold of Cas?" Dean asked Sam, who was setting the beer bottles down on the table.

"Went straight to voicemail, but I left him a message," Sam said, then paused, a funny look on his face. "I _think_. So uh, what's your theory? Why all of the demon hits here?"

Dean looked tired, like he didn't want to have to think about answering right now. But he still did. "I dunno. Trying to gank the girl? The prophet, maybe?"

Sitting back in her chair now, hands in her lap, Alex wasn't so sure. "Chuck never attracted demons like that."

Dean made a face like he was considering that she had a point.

Sam nodded then looked at Dean for a second opinion. "I mean, why are these angels sending these people to do their dirty work?" he asked. "Making these people hunt all these rabid demons when the angels could do it for them?"

"I dunno," Dean said. Taking a swig of his beer, he didn't look too bothered either way.

Alex and Sam looked at their brother with similarly perplexed expressions. Something just wasn't right with their brother. Sam leaned forward, looking at Dean intently, frowning in disapproval. "Aren't you concerned at all that these people could get _ripped_ to _shreds_?"

Shockingly, Dean looked almost amused as he gave a blunt, uncaring reply. "We're all gonna die, Sam. In like a month—maybe two." He looked at Alex, whose slightly offended expression prompted him to say, "I mean it." His words, that dead-in-the-eyes smile stretching across his face—Alex was chilled. "This is the end of the world, but these people aren't freaking out. In fact they're running to the exit in an orderly fashion." Dean shrugged. "I dunno if that's such a bad thing."

Alex stared at Dean with a slack jaw. She couldn't believe her ears. Her world had been shattered hearing Dean talk with such blasé disregard for what she thought they _lived for._ Saving people. Saving each other.

Sam seemed to be on the same page as his sister: hurt and disillusioned. "Who says they're all gonna die?" he asked, increasingly emotional. Dean didn't respond, making it worse. "...What happened to us _saving_ them?" Again, no reply Sam's eyes flickered in the direction of their sister, then back to Dean. His brows furrowed earnestly, his eyes full of pain. "What happened to us saving _everyone_?"

Dean was silent—and then the church bell began to toll loudly. As if on cue, all of the bar patrons began getting up and filing out. "Something I said?" Dean wisecracked, watching with vague interest.

"Paul—" Sam said, nodding to the bar tend, who was shrugging his jacket on, making to leave with everyone else. "What's going on?"

"Leah's had another vision," Paul said, pausing at their table. "Mean's there'll be a hunt. You guys in?"

* * *

**An Hour Later  
Five Miles Off Hartford Road, Blue Earth**

The eight of them crept up the hill where abandoned house sat—they'd parked half a mile away and cut through some wooded property, trying to keep this assault a surprise to whatever demons waited. There wasn't any movement anywhere in the house or around it. This is where the prophet Leah had said the demons would be—apparently, she was never wrong. The little group of eight was armed with shotguns, holy water, and the demon blade—it was fair to say this was going to get _interesting_. There might be two demons in the house, there might be twenty. Either way, Alex was ready. Her adrenaline was beginning to pump, but especially now as the group knelt down and Pastor Gideon began to signal them out.

He motioned for Sam, Alex, and Paul to go left, Dean and Dylan to go right, and Rob and Jane (Rob's wife and Dylan's mom) to accompany him. Jane apparently was the only woman other than Alex who had ever gone on any of these demon hunts.

Their little assault team moved out, approaching the house quickly and discreetly. As Dean and Dylan broke right, Alex caught Dean's eye for a second—usually before they went on hunts, before they did stuff like this, he'd lecture her and remind her about a million things she knew already. But today he hadn't said a thing. She gripped her gun tighter.

Sam led Paul and Alex to the back door of the house—they kept to the side of the house as they skirted it—and they quickly, quietly ascended the back porch stairs. Sam gingerly tested the back door. He turned to Alex. _Locked_ , he mouthed, and she nodded once. Sam knelt and began to pick the lock, face crunched in concentration as Alex covered him, watched his back hawkishly, shotgun pulled tight into her shoulder. Paul backed up against the window beside the door, his weapon held high, too—and then they heard a shot somewhere on the other side of the house at the same time that a demon shattered the glass of the window where Paul stood, grabbing the man with astounding quickness, tearing him into the house. Even as Sam shot to his feet in surprise, Alex kicked the rotting door down, busting into what looked like the kitchen. Paul was grappling with the demon. Alex aimed, every muscle in her body screaming with adrenaline.

" _Down_!" she shouted, and Paul ducked—the second he did, Alex took a head shot. Blood splattered everywhere, including half of her face. Paul looked at the somewhat headless demon's corpse on the floor in wide eyed shock.

Sam stood there, frozen, looking down at himself. "I hate it when you do that," he complained—he had the demon's blood all over himself and a grossed out expression on his face. Alex racked the shotgun and shrugged.

Paul shouted—two demons had appeared in the doorway—Sam was already halfway there, demon blade high and plunging into one of the demon's chests—and the second demon took buckshot in the abdomen, courtesy of Alex. Paul, astounded at the quickness of the Winchesters, recited the demon exorcism then quickly followed after the two of them. The three of them advanced through the house, cutting and mowing down demon after demon—the house was full of gunshots and screams.

"Over there, _over there_!" Alex shouted, firing at the demon that was in front of her while trying to get Sam to notice the demon that was to her right—Sam did, and slashed into the demon violently with Ruby's knife, sending sparks flying as the demon's skeleton flickered. He charged forward at another demon in the main room, but Alex whirled, hearing footsteps behind her—and blasted down another demon in the nick of time just before it was about to get to her. She heard Paul shouting the exorcism again and looked sidelong—"Paul, look out!" she shouted, about to shoot the demon that had appeared out of nowhere and was advancing on him—but she was suddenly feeling something slamming into her. Her shotgun went skittering across the floor even as she stopped herself from hitting the floor face-first with her palms—she felt herself being dragged backwards by her ankles and she kicked, screamed, trying to break the hold—and then there was a loud shot and she was let go. Panting hard Alex looking up and over her shoulder.

The kid, Dylan, stood over her, looking scared shitless—he'd shot the demon who had gotten her, and the demon had fallen half-off of Alex, stunned temporarily by the shot. Just a few feet away, the demon that had Paul was choking the guy, and Dylan was frozen, following Alex's eye line and seeing it, too. "Don't just stare, _shoot it_!" Alex shouted at him from the ground—and she kicked the demon that had attacked her in the face, because she felt its hands clawing at her again. Dylan seemed to remember himself, he aimed and fired. Alex jetted up to her feet, trying to remember the Enochian exorcism—Paul was unconscious and Dylan was staring again and the two shot demons were recovering. " _Rah bah zu na ooh zow tay_ …?" Black smoke poured out of the demon's mouths and Alex stood back, breathless and relieved. She shrugged, eyebrows raised high. "Good enough I guess."

She realized the sound of gunfire was gone. "Clear!" she heard Dean bellow in a room close by. "Clear!" came another voice, further away. Pastor Gideon, Alex thought. She added her own, "Clear!" to theirs then she bent to pick up her shotgun. When she straightened, she saw Dylan staring at her.

"Y-you've got blood all over you," he said, sounding freaked out. She thought, absently, how nice it would be to be his age and not freaked by this stuff—seventeen? Eighteen? By the time she'd turned eighteen, pretty much nothing had fazed her anymore.

She looked at the demon's blood that was spattered on her jacket arm. "It's not mine," she told him. Alex put a steady hand on his shoulder. "Hey—we're fine. Not a bad job here today, kid."

The panic in his eyes disappeared in favor of an indignant scoff. " _Kid_? I'm seventeen."

She squeezed his shoulder then let go. "Like I said." Some people made it too easy to ruffle their feathers.

He rolled his eyes, re-hefted his grip on his shotgun, and tried to look grown up. Alex smiled to herself. On the ground Paul groaned loudly. Alex and Dylan helped him up, regrouped with everyone else in the main room—and they all walked out of that place feeling like a million bucks.

* * *

Life can change in a matter of seconds, Alex thought. Like how one second that little militia of theirs had been the victors, had been puffed up and feeling great about how they'd just kicked those demon's asses. And then just a minute later, Dylan was dead. His bright young life taken by a demon they'd overlooked. It could have been avoided, too. It didn't have to have happened that way.

It was now about four hours after he died and his makeshift funeral was being held at the church. Ironic was the word that heavily came to mind. Wedding in the morning, funeral in the late afternoon. When it was the end of days, people just couldn't wait around to do the things that mattered, Alex guessed.

She was outside of the church, unable to go inside. She just couldn't. _Couldn't_. She remembered standing around about a quarter of a mile off from that psychic Pamela's funeral, too. Some people thought it was disrespect. It wasn't. It was deep incapability to deal with the finality of death.

Leaned up against the wall beside the door with her hands in her jacket pockets and her gray hood raised up over her head, Alex was still with a terse expression. The town was quiet—a crow called in the distance here and there but other than that it was eerily silent almost. Pretty much everyone was inside the church. She vaguely wished for a cigarette. Or a punching bag. Or maybe a bed to lay down in and never get out of.

Or Cas.

Just then the church door opened beside her and a single person walked out then shut the door behind himself. Paul gave her a thin, wan smile, his hands in his jacket pockets. No one else followed him. The two exchanged a brief look but made no greeting.

He took out his flask, drank a little, then leaned on the opposite side of the door. He was quiet a minute, and it seemed like they weren't going to interact. Then the sound of his voice startled her. "So who'd you lose?" When she furrowed her eyebrows at him questioningly, he shrugged one shoulder up a little. He looked as drawn and heavy as she felt. "I recognize the look."

She looked away, eyes down on the old concrete sidewalk, thinking about the answer to his question. A little huff of cynical air passed between her lips. "Who _haven't_ I lost." There was another long silence, and then Alex looked at Paul sadly. Almost didn't ask. But felt compelled to. "When did he die?"

Paul's flask stopped halfway to his mouth. Then lowered. "Couple months ago," Paul replied. His voice was heavy with remembrance. Tight with emotion. He seemed to be thinking about something intently. His eyes went up, passing over the skyline in front of him. "You know, I'm not the marrying type, it just seems so meaningless in the world today... but… with him?" There was another long pause. "I thought about it. I thought about it a lot." His flask raised to his lips again and he took a swig then grimaced. "I like weddings better than funerals, I'll tell you that much."

Alex could hear and feel how regretful Paul was. She thought about Dylan. She was literally _right next to him_ when he'd gotten pulled underneath the car. It had taken seconds, and his life had been snuffed out. She wondered if she could have saved him somehow, if she'd been paying more attention or had reacted faster. She bowed her head down.

Paul let out a heavy breath, his mind clearly on Dylan too. "Kid went down swingin'. That might be as good as it gets these days." He paused, then held his flask out toward her. "Want some?" Alex shook her head no, the pit of her stomach heavy and sick. "Suit yourself," Paul said, then took another swig, then looked at her with a sad, cynical smile on his mouth. "You should come see me at the bar later. Drown your sorrows a little."

Alex pressed her mouth up into a thin line meant to be a smile. She preferred to drown her sorrows alone. And to that note... she just needed to be alone right now. "Thanks Paul. I'm gonna head back to the motel—tell my brothers if you see them?"

"Yeah, sure," Paul said, but seemed mildly concerned. "You sure you wanna walk there? It's a couple miles away."

Alex shrugged. She'd be fine. "I could use the air," she said, and he nodded, watching as she walked down the church steps, hands still in her jacket pockets.

* * *

**About An Hour Later**

Dean walked along the sidewalk, eyes on the ground. Sam had ditched him after the funeral, Alex was who-knows-where. He'd just been to talk to Leah, the prophet, and what she'd said to him was bothering him. He'd gone to ask her if she knew the deal. The stuff about the Michael Lucifer showdown, the stuff about how the world was supposed to tear itself in half and burn. He'd just wanted to know everything the angels were telling her. He'd wanted her to give him a lifeline, to convince him that his life wasn't just a heap of hopeless bullshit.

" _There's gonna be a prize-fight,"_ she'd said. _"And… it's gonna get bad. But after we win—and we_ will _—the planet gets handed over to the chosen. And… it's finally peaceful. No monsters, no disease, no death. You're just… with the people you love in Paradise. New earth."_

 _Just with the people you love_ , Dean repeated in his mind. Alex and Sam. Only, Sam was the other half of that prize-fight Leah had mentioned. "After we win—and we _will_ win," Leah had said. We. Heaven. Michael. Did she know that for sure? She was a prophet, after all. Maybe she'd foreseen the outcome. And maybe that was good news, Heaven winning. Dean felt his lip curl in distaste. Heaven and Hell could _both_ kiss his ass. This grand finale crap was for the frigging birds.

Dean hadn't wanted to consider saying yes to Michael. _Ever_. But if he could save _one_ of his siblings… wouldn't that be the right thing to do? Dean wished he knew. He tried to picture a future world where Alex could live in this supposed new earth. Maybe, if he said yes to Michael, he could strike up a bargain, make sure she got a Heaven. Make sure she was okay in the end. That didn't sound so bad.

But, _Sam_ … how could Dean let his little brother burn away in the fire? How could he let Lucifer take him, use him? And wasn't it already too late? The demon blood... the darkness Sam couldn't leave behind...

Dean wondered morosely what Dad would do. These thoughts of the end should have made him want to break down and weep for all the hopelessness he felt. But he could muster no emotion. He felt so empty, like his insides were a large echoing room.

" _Yeah, Paradise,"_ Dean had retorted cynically. _"Of course, that's if you can get past the velvet rope,_ " he'd said, felt jealous of Leah in that moment. " _Must be nice—being chosen_."

Leah had sounded almost surprised, looking at him with big, doe eyes. " _Dean…_ you're _chosen_."

He could have laughed in her face at that comment, only he hadn't had the energy. Instead, he'd shaken his head and managed a self-loathing smile. " _Yeah, more like cursed_."

And that was the truth of the matter. He was cursed. He had lived a life of violence and destruction. The remains of his family were crumbling. His brother and sister were slipping out of his grasp—he couldn't protect them like he used to be able to. And he could barely feel anything anymore about anyone or anything. He barely cared whether he woke up the next day or not. What did it matter? What did any of this _matter_?

* * *

" _Don't wanna touch you too much baby. Cuz makin' love to you might drive me crazy_."

Def Leppard rang out of the cheap motel clock radio and Alex sat against the headboard of the twin bed with a bottle of Jack. She was really quite pathetic, she thought, looking down at herself. She had gotten to the motel room a little while ago and been struck by the sudden urge to change her clothes, hating everything about her jeans, her tank top, her jacket—which was now ruined with blood, anyway. She'd dug through her duffel bag, then stilled when she saw _the dress—_ the one she bought under the influence of Famine. She hadn't gotten rid of it—she kind of liked it, actually. Maybe because of what had happened in that dress. So she'd put it on again then looked herself in the bathroom mirror. Wondered if she should be the kind of girl who wore dresses sometimes. World was about to end, maybe she should mix it up a little bit.

" _Love bites, love bleeds—it's bringin' me to my knees. Love lives, love dies, it's no surprise. Love begs, love pleads. It's what I need._ "

Annoyed, Alex switched the radio off. Love. _Ha_. She took another swig of the whiskey and thought about those couples who had gotten married that morning. She was too busy dying a _virgin_ to be worried about dying _single_. Oh well. But she wasn't going to die without having fallen in love. _We can't_ , Castiel had told her a few weeks ago. But still, they were. In a way they didn't talk about and didn't acknowledge. And if that's the way it had to be, fine. She'd take whatever she could get, however she could get it. Desperate times, desperate measures.

Alex tried to remember the time when she'd hated him—well, hate wasn't the right word. Mistrusted was better. But she couldn't remember what that had felt like, because now, and she wasn't even sure how it had happened, she trusted that angel almost more than anyone else. She thought about how yesterday she'd been leaning against him and in his arms, telling him all about what happened in Heaven, she'd felt like he was her shelter from the storm. She'd known he wasn't going to let go of her or let her be hurt. She wished so badly for him to appear now. The thought that she _needed him_ kept crossing her mind, and the thought startled her each time. And what startled her more was that she didn't really want to fight it anymore. She didn't quite understand what she felt, she just felt it.

She looked at her phone, which hadn't gone off. She'd thought about texting Cas a thousand times, but hadn't. God, the sweetheart. Angel-equivalent of passed out drunk somewhere after fifty shelves of alcohol. She shook her head softly. Fifty shelves of alcohol didn't sound bad right now. She thought about texting him _I miss you_. What would he think of that? On second thought, maybe she shouldn't.

She wished abruptly that when you died, you could just _be dead_. Why did you have to go on existing and being conscious after this life closed out? She thought of an eternity in the darkness of Heaven, all alone, and she stared down at her feet, becoming deeply disturbed. She really needed to get a new pair of boots. This pair was barely holding together anymore. She paused. Well, what was the point in new boots if the world was ending in a couple weeks like Dean had said? Maybe, she thought absently, maybe everyone was wrong. Maybe the end wasn't near. Maybe, last minute, something would change. Maybe they would still find a way. Maybe, maybe, _maybe_. She took another drink of Jack, enjoying the tipsy feeling.

As if he knew she was thinking about him, the motel room door opened and in walked Dean with a hard look on his face. His presence was like an immediate dark cloud over the whole room. She could already tell before he said a frigging thing that he was about to be a complete jackass.

"Seriously?" he asked, tossing his keys down. "You been sitting here with Jack Daniels instead of going to that kid's funeral?"

Alex looked at him resentfully. " _You're_ gonna lecture me about drinking?"

Dean rolled his eyes and threw his jacket across a chair. "Smartass."

"Where've you been, anyway?" Alex asked sullenly. "Where's Sam?"

"I got no idea where Sam is," Dean said apathetically, not looking at her as he answered. He went to the TV, got the remote. "I went to talk to the prophet."

"Talk, huh?" Alex asked sarcastically.

Dean shot her a look as he sat down on the end of one of the other beds. "Yes, _talk_."

"And…?" Alex prompted, setting the booze down on the bedside table and sitting up where she could see him a little better, not just his back turned to her. "What'd you find out?"

His expression was stony. "A whole lotta jack squat." He switched on the TV and ignored her.

Alex scowled intently. Dean was just off. Wrong. _All kinds_ of wrong. She tried to soften her voice, a new tactic. "You okay?"

He barely acknowledged her with a brief side glance. "Yeah, fine, why?"

Well. _That_ hadn't worked. She couldn't take this anymore. Alex stood up, grabbed the remote, and switched the TV off then stood in front of him deliberately. "You're _not_ fine," she said, a little louder than she'd meant to. "Come on. I've known you my whole life. Don't pretend."

Dean frowned, taking in her outfit. "Why you wearing a dress?" he asked, trying to sidestep her question. "I mean, who are you?" he was pretending to joke but Alex could see he was just trying to get her to go away.

"Come on, Dean," she said, ignoring his question. "What's with you?"

He got agitated, stood up, walked a couple steps off, turned around. Looking like he'd been set off. "What's _with_ me?" He threw his arms wide. "How about the end of the world, Al? The friggin' apocalypse or the angels on our asses or the fact that Satan wants to ride Sam like the rodeo?" he shut his mouth, pressing his lips together for a second as he looked away a second. And when he looked back up at her, he looked cold, cynical, done. "You know what I'm thinking? You really wanna know? I'm thinking _maybe I should_."

"Should _what_?" Alex asked, confused, but the second she asked it, she realized. "…say _yes_?" she asked, her voice rising in panic and disbelief.

Dean shrugged. "Michael defeats Lucifer, everything's okay again."

Alex blinked, unable to believe what she was hearing. "Everything's _okay again_? What version of reality have you been tuning in to? If Michael loses— _the world is screwed_." Alex stared at her brother, confounded. Was he listening to what he was saying? "If Michael wins, millions _still die_ ," she appealed, then stopped, looked at Dean in horror. "And... _could you really kill Sam_?"

Dean looked at her without blinking, his expression blank, resigned. "It wouldn't be Sam. It'd be Lucifer."

Those words were like a punch to the gut. Alex's voice was barely above a whisper, her face was filled with fear. "Dean… you're scaring me."

Finally,a little emotion showed on Dean's face, he looked away, softening a little into doubt. "What other choice do I _have_?"

"I—I dunno, keep _fighting_ it!" Alex told him emphatically, her heart hammering in dismay. "Say _no_. Don't let the angels _do_ this crap!"

"I keep saying no, they keep screwing with the people I love!" he nearly shouted. He let out a short huff, clenching his jaw. "No thank you." He got quiet then put a hand on his face tiredly, the picture of defeat. "There's literally _no other goddamn choice_ left, Al," he told her. "Try to understand that." He looked wrecked inside and wouldn't look at her. "If I can keep _one_ of you alive… that's better than nothing, right?"

Alex's blood went cold when she realized what he meant. "Don't choose me over Sam, Dean—" she said softly, becoming suddenly breathless in horror, "don't tell me you're gonna _do that!_ "

Dean's eyes met hers and Alex saw that was _exactly_ what he was thinking about doing. She grabbed him by both arms, dug her fingers in and shook him almost, suddenly so angry and scared shitless. "We all go down fighting _together_ or we beat this somehow but we are not _letting Sam die_ so we can live!"

Dean didn't tell her to get off of him, didn't yank away, didn't rant at her. He just stood there. "I mean, I don't care if I live," he said with heartbreaking earnestness. "I just want one of you two to survive this."

Filled with so much indignant anger, Alex shook him. "Well _I_ care if you live, Dean!" she shouted. " _I_ do!"

He finally pulled away from her and put his walls up, no longer reachable at all. "Thanks," he said sarcastically. "Appreciate it."

Alex could have slapped him. Instead she just looked at him in complete disgust. "What is _wrong_ with you?!"

He waved her away as if he were annoyed and he reclined on the bed against a pillow, kicking his feet up in front of himself—then shut his eyes and folded his arms. Alex stared. Was he really gonna say all that crap and then shut her out?

She was boiling mad. "Hello? I was _talking_ to you."

He didn't open his eyes back up. "Conversation's over," he muttered, then turned away from her pointedly.

 _Ass_ hole.

A couple hours later, this is how Sam found them: Dean on his bed, arms folded shut, eyes closed. Alex on her bed, turned away from him. Stony silence filling the room.

Dean cracked an eye open when Sam came in. "Where you been?" he asked.

"Drinkin'," Sam said.

"You rebel," Dean wisecracked, lacking enthusiasm. Alex turned a little, acknowledging Sam with a glance.

Sam paused, looking between both of his siblings and their body language, and his eyes narrowed slightly, eyebrows pressing together. "Something going on here?"

Dean glanced Alex's way. She'd sat up on her bed now, shoes on the bed, her back against the headboard. "Nah," Dean said.

Sam wasn't totally convinced, but had other things on his mind. "So, get this. I just got kicked out of the bar… because it was _curfew_." Sam stood, folded his arms, waited expectantly for a reaction. Alex just looked at Sam blankly. Curfew?

"Right," Dean replied, not sounding like he gave a damn either way.

"You hear they shut down the cell towers?" Sam asked, looking between both of his siblings.

"No. That's, uh, news to me," was Dean's reply. _So that's why my phone hasn't had a signal for the past hour_ , Alex thought morosely.

Sam was pacing a little now, agitated, animated. "Yeah. No cable, internet. Total cut off from the ' _corruption of the outside world,_ '" he said, making angry, sarcastic air quotes over those words. Alex was listening, but said nothing.

"Huh," Dean commented.

Sam stood there and looked at his sister who was taking a huge swig of Jack, then his brother, who looked like he couldn't even _think_ about giving a fuck. "Are you guys hearing me?" Sam asked, bemused, making a weird face. "They're turning this place into some kind of fundamentalist compound."

"Yeah, I think we got it," Dean muttered, arms still crossed.

"And all you've got's a 'hmm?'" Sam asked judgmentally. "What's wrong with you?"

Alex expected Dean to fly off the handle again, rant about the apocalypse and Michael and Lucifer. But instead Dean just shrugged and swung his legs over the edge of the bed tiredly. "I get it, Sam. I just don't care."

" _What_?"

"What difference does it make?" Dean asked, giving Sam a cynical little smile.

Shocked, Sam's immediate response was "It makes a hell of a—" he stopped then started approaching Dean, getting riled. "At what point does this become _too far_ for you?" Sam sat down across from Dean, began listing off everything that was wrong. "Stoning? Poisoned Kool-Aid? The angels are _toying_ with these people!"

"Angel world, angel rules," was Dean's indifferent reply.

"And since when is that okay with you?" Sam demanded.

"Since the angels got the only lifeboats on the Titanic," Dean said sarcastically. He stood up and went over to the coffee maker, leaving Sam to watch in stunned disbelief. "I mean, who exactly is supposed to come along and save these people? It was supposed to be us, but…" he poured himself some coffee. " _We_ can't do it."

"So what?" Sam questioned, beginning to sound less angry, more afraid. "You wanna, you wanna stop fighting, roll over?"

Dean shrugged and took a sip. "I dunno, maybe," he said, his uncaring attitude clearly getting under Sam's skin. And then suddenly Sam turned, fixing Alex with a pointed, expectant look.

"And what about you, Alex?" her twin questioned. "You done fighting too?"

Alex held the bottle of whiskey close. Her gaze faltered. "No," she said.

Sam shook his head just barely, giving a soft huff of disbelief. "Why don't I believe you?"

Alex looked at her twin guiltily.

"Maybe because she's seeing reality for what it is," Dean cut in, looking at Sam sharply from over his coffee.

Sam's jaw worked oddly. He tried a smile, but looked like a barely restrained angry bull instead. "Don't say that."

"Why not?" was Dean's reply.

"Cuz you can't do this to me," Sam said, suddenly intensely emotional. "To _us_ ," he added, clearly referring to himself and Alex. Sam stood up from the bed finally, getting zealous. "Cuz if _you_ aren't fighting, how the hell are _we_ supposed to? Dean, you can't give up now, not _now_."

"Actually, I can," was Dean's unmoved, unaffected reply. And Sam seemed to explode at that comment.

"Are you friggin' _serious_?" he demanded. "No, you can't, I won't _let you_! You can't do this to me—to her!" he jabbed a finger at Alex, who still sat on the bed, silent. "Dean—I got one thing, _one thing_ , keeping me going—my _family_. Us!" Sam threw his arms out wide, desperate. "You think you're the only one white-knuckling it here? We _need_ you. We can't _count_ on anyone else—what am I supposed to do if you give up?"

"I dunno Sam!" Dean thundered, setting his coffee mug down with a loud thud, finally showing a little emotion. He stared at the counter where coffee now leaked out of the cracked mug. He sounded broken. "I'm done with taking care of everyone else's problems."

Alex regarded Dean in defeated heartbreak. Sam seemed to have had enough and approached Dean, getting in his face. "Okay, you know what? It's bad enough you're pulling this crap on _me_ , but do you see what you're doing? You're dragging us down with you!"

"I'm facing reality, Sam, and you should too," Dean said, cool, calm, collected, aloof again, enraging his brother even further.

" _What_ reality?" Sam demanded in a near-shout. "You're giving up, you're deciding to pussy out because you're _tired of fighting_?" Sam _was_ shouting now. "We're _all_ tired of fighting. But that doesn't mean we _stop_!"

Dean shook his head hollowly, seeming to be entirely over the entire exchange. "You know, I don't need this crap from you," he said, already on his way out, grabbing his jacket from where he'd tossed it before. "I gotta clear my head," he muttered, leaving without a backward glance.

"Come on Dean— _Dean_!" Sam appealed. "It's past curfew." The door shut. Sam turned around, a hand in his hair. "It's past curfew." He sighed in frustration. "What the _hell_ is his problem?" Sam complained to the air in front of him, then he pushed his anger aside, studying his twin. After about ten seconds he went over to her and sat beside her feet near the end of the bed. "You okay? You don't look so good."

Her eyes flickered up to his. "I'm not."

Sam looked like he was trying to be reassuring. "He'll pull through. It's just... a bad day or something."

It was nice of him, really, to try to comfort her. But she didn't know if she could get on board. "You really believe that, Sam?" she asked. "That any of us are gonna 'pull through'?"

Sam looked chastened, then hurt, like her suggestion was personally offensive to him.

"I used to think we would," Alex continued, then shrugged shallowly. "Now…" she trailed off.

"Stop that," Sam said, suddenly dark, angry, and standing up. "You sound just _like him_." There was a tense silence and Alex was shocked, feeling small and stung. Sam pinched the bridge of his nose then refocused, turning back toward her. "All I'm saying is… you can't give up. Not yet. Cuz I'm _not_. Please."

Alex didn't want to tell him how hopeless she felt—Sam didn't look like he could take another blow. So she forced herself to nod and give him a wan smile. She couldn't think of anything to say. "I'll try, Sam."

He looked at her sadly—like he saw that her heart wasn't in it. But he said nothing else. Mirrored her nod and the wan smile. "Okay. Good." He sighed heavily, ran his hand through his hair, then looked around the room, so world-weary. "Look‚ I've got some books I borrowed from Bobby I've been meaning to read. You wanna help me?" he paused. "Might have some useful information in there about… all this." He gestured vaguely.

Research. Sounded like an okay distraction from all this horrible misery. It was better than laying in bed approaching drunk. "Sure. Yeah, but only if I can get some coffee." She paused, looking at the bottle in her hand. It was a lot emptier than it had been when she'd first gotten her hands on it. "I'm a little wasted."

Sam chuckled a little, shrugged, smiling kind of mischievously. "Yeah, I am too."

Alex shook her head fondly at him then went and started working on making a fresh pot of coffee.

* * *

**Forty-Five Minutes Later**

Sam walked across the room, digging in his duffel for another book. "I'm pretty sure it was in this one," he said loudly, loud enough for Alex to hear him in the bathroom.

"Sam!" she shouted back, exasperated just like he knew she would be. "How many times do I have to tell you—don't talk to me when I'm in here?!"

He chuckled, hearing the sink water running. He pictured her rolling her eyes. Sam turned, new volume in hand, heading back to where they'd been sitting for the past little bit, paging through ancient volumes together and trying to sober up. They were both definitely still buzzed, but nothing too sloppy. Sam suddenly heard a noise behind him and turned to see—Castiel? In front of the motel refrigerator, holding the door open.

"I got your message," Cas said, staring into the refrigerator aimlessly. He sounded irritated. "It was long, your message. And I find the sound of your voice... grating." He shut the refrigerator door clumsily, backed away from it— _stumbled_.

Sam watched, wide-eyed. "What's wrong with you?" Cas wobbled a little in the kitchen. Sam had a sudden, crazy theory. _No… no way!_ He looked at Cas a second longer, barely daring to believe it. "Are you… _drunk_?"

" _No_!" Cas replied gruffly, walking forward only just catching himself against the wrought-iron partition. Sam's eyebrows shot up high. Cas seemed to change his mind. "… _Yes_." Said it with a lot of attitude, too. Sam looked at the angel oddly in disbelief.

The bathroom door opened and his sister came out. Cas saw her and his expression changed from angry annoyance to almost happiness. He clung onto the partition as Alex stopped, seeing him too. " _Hi_ , Cas!" she said, sounding really surprised but pleasantly so, and she was smiling at the angel, _really_ smiling—actually, Sam hadn't seen her smile like that in months. Where her eyes crinkled up, her little faint dimples showed. Sam looked at Cas in confusion, whose head was leaned against the partition—his eyes soft, a little smile on his face, too.

"Hello, Alex," the angel greeted in return, and Sam felt his sister come to his side.

"You okay?" she asked Cas, and he looked like he had to think about it. She was looking Cas up and down, probably noticing the same thing that Sam had—the angel was toasted.

"I can stand up now," he said, still looking at her. "You're... wearing the dress again," he said, and Sam was suddenly mortified, realizing that was what Alex had been wearing the night that he'd seen them making out. And Cas apparently remembered that too.

Uncomfortable, Sam switched subjects, trying to get Cas's attention. "What… uh, what the hell _happened_ to you?"

Castiel turned his attention back to Sam, seeming annoyed. "I found a liquor store."

"And?" Sam prompted, not understanding.

"And I _drank it_ ," he said, sounding pissy, like Sam should have known that already. Cas looked at Alex again, the attitude suddenly gone. "I'm sorry you have to see me like this," Cas said, to which Alex just shrugged.

She looked understanding and fond. "You've seen _me_ drunk." She squinted a little, thinking about something. "In fact, I'm still kinda buzzed right now."

Cas finally left the partition, walking unsteadily toward Sam—who held two hands, just in case. "Whoa. There you go. Easy. You okay?"

Blinking slowly, sleepily, Cas motioned for Sam to come closer, like he had something to tell him. "Don't ask stupid questions," Cas grumbled in Sam's ear, and Sam was shocked, watching the angel in disbelief. Alex, just behind Sam, was what the angel was looking at now—he'd noticed the scrape on the side of her face and was frowning at it. He seemed to remember himself a little bit, looked at Sam intently. "Tell me what you called me about." He leaned back against a chair, trying to focus.

"T-there have been these—these demon attacks," Sam said. "Massive, right on the edge of town. And we can't figure out why they're—"

"Any sign of angels?" Cas asked, cutting Sam off. He was looking at Alex, and she at him.

Sam wondered if Cas was even listening to his reply. "Uh, sort of. They've been speaking to this prophet—this girl, Leah Gideon."

"She's not a prophet," Cas said immediately.

"I'm pretty sure she is," Sam said. "Visions, headaches—the whole package."

At that point, Cas finally looked away from Alex, giving Sam almost an eye roll. "The names of _all_ the prophets—they're seared into my brain," he said, being downright sassy. "Leah Gideon is not one of them."

Sam stared at Cas, baffled. "If she's not a prophet, what is she?" Alex asked.

Castiel looked at her, seemed to be struggling to think clearly. "False… prophet."

"What?" Sam asked, not catching what he'd said. Castiel stood up again, wobbling a little. "I think I know what she is but… I need to get a book."

"A book?" Sam repeated. Alex was still hovering at Sam's side.

"Yes, a _book_ ," Cas responded. "The thing with pages and a cover and words inside."

Sam blinked, surprised and even amused by the angel's use of sarcasm. "I know what a _book_ is, Cas."

Cas was looking sternly thoughtful. "Alcohol is very interesting isn't it," he said, apparently forgetting what he was doing.

Trying to refocus the guy, Sam put a hand on the angel's shoulder. "Where do you get this book from, Cas? Can I find it at the church library or—"

"Don't be stupid," Castiel grumbled. "It's at the Vatican." He straightened a little. "I'll go get it."

Sam held his hands out again. "Okay. Well whoa, whoa, wait… I dunno if you should go stumbling around in Italy by yourself."

Castiel's eyes narrowed just slightly. And then nodded, like he understood Sam's suggestion. "Yes. Good." He almost smiled, his chin raising a little bit. "I'll take Alex."

"No wait I meant—" they were gone. Sam threw his hands in the air. "I meant _me_."

* * *

**The Vatican Library**   
**Vatican City, Rome**

"Whoa—" Alex said, staring. They were suddenly standing in a totally different place—above them, arched ceilings etched with Renaissance depictions of saints and angels—below their feet, immaculate marble checkered floors—intricate columns lined the hall they stood in. Was this the Vatican Library? She didn't see books anywhere. Maybe this was an entry hall or something. She remembered Cas and looked to her side—saw that he was looking at he as he came closer to face her. He brushed two fingers against her cheekbone where she'd gotten scraped that morning.

"You… didn't have that yesterday." The touch and intense gaze startled her.

"We got attacked by demons this morning," Alex murmured in reply. Trying not to notice how close he was or how his concern made her feel. His eyes met hers. Then flickered down to her lips. And then his knees seemed to buckle. Alex grabbed him to keep him steady.

"It's alright," he said, blinking blearily. "I've… _got_... this." He made a frustrated groan. "The vessel is having trouble."

"You said it," Alex muttered. She spied a water fountain over beside a doorway labeled _il bagno_ and gently she began to steer him that way. He looked confused. "Drink some water," she said, motioning to the fountain. "It'll help sober you up." She paused. "Maybe."

He looked uncertain about that, but did what she said. And Alex watched her drunk guardian angel lean awkwardly over a water fountain. He'd never have used one before, she realized, and smiled a little, watching him as he processed it, sputtered a little, then figured it out. He stopped after ten seconds. "More," Alex told him. "Like... a few gallons worth should do the trick." After fifty shelves of alcohol, he probably should drink a whole swimming pool. She felt herself smiling ruefully as she folded her arms, leaned shoulder-first into the wall, and watched him.

Alex tested her patience as Cas drank and drank and drank—finally, he raised his head up, squinting his eyes. "Now my mouth feels cold." It wasn't a complaint. More of an observation. He looked a lot more cognizant now, so maybe the water really had worked. In either case: His eyes were very full, gazing at her openly. And Alex felt herself step back just a little—intimidated suddenly. By how much control he didn't even know he had over her... because when he looked at her like that, her entire body flushed over immediately.

"So um, what about this book or whatever?" Alex redirected, anxious to get a move on and escape her own feelings.

He seemed to remember their mission. "Yes. Of course. This way." He began to lead them down the grand hallway, watching her as she took everything in. He was definitely walking a lot better than he had been a moment ago. "Do you... like it?" he asked after a couple seconds.

"What, this place? Yeah it's…" she let herself take it in a little better. And her voice softened. "Amazing." Amazing was barely the right word. The gilded columns, the intricate painted ceilings and walls—she imagined how much time and work must have gone into creating this place.

"Only the Pope is allowed to borrow from the archives," Castiel told her absently. "This place has some of the oldest volumes on earth."

"And which one are we after?" Alex asked.

"It's the _Vaticanus Graecus_ ," he replied. "Very old. Very detailed."

"Where _are_ the books, anyway?" Alex asked. She assumed they were headed that way, but if this was part of the library, it sure was lacking in the book department. It was just huge, long hall of columns.

"The books are in the library," Cas answered her factually. _Well, duh…_ "There are over a million books here."

Alex made an overly incredulous face. So, this might take all night. She suddenly pitched forward, tripping over her own foot—Cas caught her and for a second, the two of them stared at each other closely. He was looking at her in a way that reminded her of the looks he'd given her when they'd been under Famine's influence. Alex felt her body flush over in unexpected desire. _Dammit, Cas._ He needed to stop doing this to her. A little frustrated, she pulled herself out of his grasp, leaving him to continue after her. She didn't really know where she was supposed to be going, but this long hallway seemed to have one general direction: straight. Ahead there was a large archway entrance into what looked like a grand room.

Once there, Alex paused and Cas caught up to her. The library was enormous. Above them an all-glass atrium arched—a dark starry sky was visible through the panes, the high and bright silver moon cast a cool, faint blue glow over everything. Centered underneath the dome a white marble statue of a male saint stood silent and watchful—on either side of the saint, stretching out for what looked like well over the length of a football field, two long halls. These halls were lined on either side with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. Above the halls were beautiful stained glass ceilings. It was beautiful, almost magical.

Cas was heading to the left and Alex followed, trying not to gawk. She forgot everything for a second, just amazed at the intricacy of this place. The smell of old paper and musty book bindings hung thickly in the air. How were they going to find _one book_ in this enormous place? Did Cas even know where it was? He seemed kind of aimless. The exact second she thought that, he stopped, turned, and looked at her with his arms hanging at his sides—and she sort of got the impression that he didn't have a clue what he was doing. Feeling overwhelmed again, she looked down the row of books they were next to. There were so many volumes. The shelves were crammed, there wasn't an empty space anywhere, and none of them had call numbers like books in America did—how the hell were these books organized, anyway? She pulled one out, looking at the spine, then the inside cover.

Cas watched Alex as she turned over the old volume in her hands. She looked so beautiful with the moonlight illuminating her. She seemed to glow almost, radiant, and he drank in the sight of her—the way her slender fingers splayed against the book's cover, her dark tousled hair tumbling over her bare shoulders, her graceful neck, the artful lines of her jaw, her full soft lips… lips he had kissed more times than he should have, and yet not enough at all _..._

Alex slid the book back onto the shelf. "Is there a reference desk or a—" she started, turning back toward him, but Cas—who knew exactly where the _Vaticanus Graecus_ was, who didn't need help locating it (it was on the shelf across from the one she was standing next to, actually)—all he could focus on was her. All he could think about was how much he wanted to kiss her again—the few times before weren't enough, and the hunger for her only seemed to grow each time he saw her. He moved forward, not even thinking. Alex's back hit against the bookcase softly when she shrank from him, her eyes dark, full, wondering... and he studied her carefully as he moved into her space so closely that he could feel her warmth radiating into him, feel her quickly beating heart pounding against him. "W-what are you doing?" she whispered.

Her question paused him. What _was_ he doing? He thought about it, a little taken aback—it was all instinct and craving that drove him now. His brain seemed unable to give him an answer. He only knew what he _wanted_... and that was her. Protective and tender feelings welled up inside of him as he looked into her eyes. Somewhere in his chest, eternal things burned in her name. He let his hand touch her forearm gently, then slowly drag upward to the skin of her shoulder. He watched his hand on her skin, marveling that he could touch her at all. He thought about her question: _What was he doing?_ He looked deeply into her eyes. "I'm doing what I want," he answered, then hesitated before he boldly closed the distance between them in a soft, sweet kiss.

Alex exhaled in soft surprise into his mouth, stiff for a second... before she relaxed into his touch and let her suppressed feelings of hunger and need dictate her next move: she grabbed him by the trench coat and yanked him harder against her. It set him off somehow. Castiel crushed his lips against hers, grabbing her by the back of the head, bearing down on her heavily and clumsily, opening his mouth on hers—he made a low sound in the back of his throat and sent feverish chills throughout her as his tongue nudged hers. He was pressing her up against the shelves without really meaning to as he kissed her with fierce sloppiness, his free hand bracing himself against the shelf beside her. 

Floundering underneath the brute force of his kiss, Alex whimpered softly as their bodies moulded together. Her hands slipped beneath both his coat and jacket, drifting to the strong planes of his upper chest. He groaned softly into her mouth as they kissed, he pulled her closer when her hands slid up to cup either side of his face—his grip was gentler now, less domineering. His hand came forward from the back of her head and she was surprised when he touched the side of her neck, tracing his fingers down in an exploratory, reverent way. The pads of his fingers left a trail of fire against the sensitive skin there, her breath caught in her throat, her hands fell away from his face to grab onto his arms and she hung on tightly, fingernails digging into the thick fabric of the trench coat. He had her high as a kite on arousal and he was barely touching her.

Just as she thought that, he got brazen. In a very unexpected swoop, Cas shocked her when his hand moved down from her lower back to grasp her rear and pull her tightly against him—as their bodies crushed against each other's she gasped into his mouth, louder than she meant to—because it was suddenly and abundantly clear to her that wasn't she the only one who was extremely turned on. He was hard against her and she could feel just how much so even through all the layers of clothing.

She was a little mortified at how loud that sound she'd made was, especially when he drew back just a little to look at her curiously like he was gauging her reaction. Alex was suddenly backpedaling mentally— _what was happening_? Sober, Cas would never do this, would he? The only time he'd been so sexual like this was under the influence of Famine and she was suddenly afraid to continue even as at the same time she wanted nothing more than to keep going.

Cas was leaning in to kiss her again but Alex tensed up, hands pressed against his chest lightly. He stopped to look at her questioningly. "I thought—I thought we weren't supposed to… to do this," she stumbled out breathlessly, feeling flushed and muddled, trying to do the right thing. She expected him to get that dawning look of ' _oh_ ' that he always got when they got too close. But this time that look didn't come across his face. Not even for a second.

He didn't blink, his predatory, consuming gaze stayed on hers steadily. "I don't care anymore," he said—and if it were possible, his voice was even deeper than it ever had been before, filled with so much dark hunger that it made her chest constrict. He leaned in to kiss her, and she almost dropped it, almost just gave up and gave in—but her conscience won out over her lust and she did the thing she never thought she would do—she held him back firmly, stopping him.

"Cas, are you drunk though?" she protested, not sure how far this would go if they kept tempting fate.

There was a short silence and understanding showed in Cas's eyes. "I'm in full possession of my faculties," he replied. "If that's what you're asking." His eyes were dark and unmistakably sultry as he leaned a little closer, tempting her to kiss him. "I don't know how else to say it—" he said so softly against the silence of the library. His voice was open, earnest, simple. "I want you badly."

Those four words and the way he said them did her in. Whatever resolve she'd had, whatever strength, whatever morality… it was all smashed to pieces and she was abruptly kissing him again, but this time she wasn't just being kissed— _she_ was kissing _him_. Deeply, passionately, messily, hungrily. He seemed to notice, too, because he moaned a little, less dominant than before, a little surprised by her ferocity for a moment. Her hands gripped him tight behind his neck and head; she pressed her body against his hard, not holding back anymore. And then he regained his bravado, beginning to return the kiss with growing intensity, pushing her against the bookcase as his hands began to roam up and down her sides with growing boldness, lighting her already heated body on fire.

He breathed heavy breaths into her mouth as he kissed her; his fingertips tracing down across her hip bone, then lower still, ghosting along the incredibly sensitive space between her hip and her upper thigh. Even through the dress his light and untrained touch felt electrifying and Alex panted into his mouth dumbly, wishing he would move his hand to where was screaming to be touched. Cas drew back from the kiss for just a moment and looked at her, fingers loosely threaded into the hair at the side of her head. Had any man ever looked at a woman the way he looked at her? He kissed her again, slowly this time, burningly, using his tongue to coax soft helpless sounds from her. In her belly so much hot, building pleasure pooled and she was overwhelmed, frantic for something, feeling like everything inside of her was clawing at the walls and going insane from anticipation.

Cas's hand moved from her hip up her side a little, then back down, then across her lower abdomen, touching her through the dress, stretching his fingers across her, pressing them in and testing the feeling of her as he kissed her slow and hot—and she couldn't tell if he was being teasing or if it was an accident, but his hand passed _so close_ to the place she desperately wanted to be touched, but it never did actually touch her there. Each time it came anywhere close she tensed up, her body screaming for him to let his hand stray downward and touch her there _please_ —but his hand just kept tracing back and forth everywhere but there. After a few seconds of the frustration Alex reacted on carnal instinct.

She grabbed his hand, stopping it mid-movement, then shoved it down boldly to cup her between her legs. Her hand stayed over his the whole time. She gasped loudly, moaning as their mouths fell open—his because he was surprised at the sudden control grab; hers because it felt _so damn good_ , the luscious pressure of his hand against where she was so warm and aching. Her body shuddered with anticipation and relief all at the same time. Even through two layers of clothing—her underwear, the dress—feeling his hand against her there was… there were no words or coherent thoughts to describe it. A little shocked with herself, Alex stared at Cas. He looked intrigued and entranced. Her fingers closed over his. He remained frozen with bated breath, watching her and waiting to see what she was going to do next.

She forged ahead, driven on by the all-consuming desire and by the courage her tipsy state afforded her—but maybe even more so by the way Cas was looking at her in mounting adoration, like everything she was doing was magic—Alex bit her lip as with her hand over his, she shyly showed him what to do, how to move his hand on her. It was making her insane, satisfying the ache and making it so much worse at the same time. Her forehead and brows twisted in strained, expectant focus.

He kept looking at their hands and then her—he was awestruck, like he couldn't believe she was letting him touch her like that. Alex was rapidly forgetting whatever shyness from before. She was barely able to concentrate because of the waves of pleasure ricocheting throughout her entire body. She felt hot all over and she was gasping and panting involuntarily, her vocal chords were letting out spastic little moans without her permission. Her other hand dug fingers into his neck with painful force, but he didn't seem to notice.

She was afraid to look at him fully, afraid he would be judging her suddenly or that the sounds she was making would have left a confused look on his face. But she did look at him and she was thunderstruck: his eyes held so much adoring fascination, they were bright and awed and aroused—and _that_ —that look made her whimper, or maybe it was how his hand felt against her. Her hand stayed over his as his free arm wrapped around her waist again, pulling her tight against him, his mouth seeking hers again, and when he found it, he kissed her more deeply than he ever had, his tongue sweeping over hers as he continued to bear down on her, pressing himself into their hands, a beautifully frustrated sound escaping his throat. She could feel the hard shape of him, the evidence of his readiness, and in response she made a strained little sound. They existed for a moment in this crazy haze of grinding and rubbing and sloppy, messy, loud kissing. Alex almost sobbed as the pressure and intensity built up to unmanageable levels—

And then Cas's hand pulled away and she was confused, disenchanted, let down, not sure why… and then she felt his warm hand grazing up the bare skin of her inner thigh and she shuddered against his mouth anxiously—his hand brushed against her, he hesitantly ran his fingers across the underwear between her legs and Alex gripped him by the shoulders tightly, a desperate sound like " _ahh_ " tearing out of her throat as she trembled, going slack against the bookshelf, completely at his mercy, in total shock, not even sure how this was happening at all.

His hand had skimmed up underneath the dress and it now pressed flat against her bare stomach, fingers curling in just slightly. Her breathing hitched. His dark eyes held her gaze—and his hand turned, fingers pointing down now, tracing their way lower, rendering her completely incapable as the light touch trailed scorching electricity across her skin—and then when his fingers moved past the waistband of her underwear, made contact with the place she ached for his touch the most—"ah, _fuck_!" she exclaimed in an astounded, strangled voice, surprising them both. " _Cas_!"

He looked at her in total shock, frozen. Had he done something wrong? "Should I stop?" he asked, confused, afraid he had misunderstood.

She shook her head immediately. "N- _no_ …!" she gasped, watching him in expectancy and disbelief.

That's when Castiel realized how she _felt_ to his hand, and his ability to breathe lessened. Beneath his fingers there was a stunning wet heat—a pliable softness like no other texture or sensation he had ever encountered—and he wasn't sure how he was _supposed_ to react to it, but the sensation only inspired greater desire, greater awe of her and this moment, and his heart hammered into his throat, he felt like he was going to burst out of his skin—and he remembered how she had shown him a minute ago how to move his hand. He did that again slowly and uncertainly—and she responded immediately; whimpered frantically, clutching onto him tightly. Her head fell back and the sound escaping out of her mouth almost made it seem like she was suffering—and for Castiel it was new territory that was suddenly intense and frightening, he wasn't sure if it were correct or not, and he stopped abruptly.

"Is this—am I doing this right?" he asked her, filled with dread that he had done it wrong, that he'd caused her pain—he watched her closely—she swallowed, breathed out, distracted, her eyebrows pressing close together, her eyes were closed.

"Y-yes," she said, flustered, shy again. Her eyes opened and her pupils were dilated widely, he could barely see any of her iris at all—she looked at him like she had a minute ago, so filled with need, and she seemed hesitant to say it, her voice faltering, she was having problems speaking properly. "I want—I want you to keep g-going, _uhh_."

Confounded at the wanton quality of her voice, swept away by the way she felt against his hand, not even really remembering who he was or anything outside of this moment, he did exactly what she asked, and she again responded immediately, shuddering in his arms, her soft shallow breaths and choking moans furthering his need to please her—he felt such an intense physical frustration, desire was howling in his veins, curling low in his stomach as he learned this side of Alex—and of himself. This was the most intoxicating thing he had ever encountered in his entire existence. He made a soft, strained sound and pushed her underwear down and away, trying to get better access to touch her more fully. The white cotton panties fell down to her ankles but Cas didn't notice and it only made Alex even more ready for him to _please god_ take her _right there_ against the library bookshelf—she whimpered again, louder this time. Her blood was pounding loudly in her ears, her body was shaking, she had never known it could feel this good. His breathing was ragged beside her ear and she suddenly wasn't content, realizing she had to touch him, too. Her inhibitions forgotten, she reached for his belt with both of her hands, fumbling with it—barely able to remember how to work the thing, her mind was so overrun and so focused on Cas's hand between her legs—but it came undone and she pushed at his pants frantically, unbuttoning and unzipping them, all while Cas continued to breathe heavily in her ear and touch her. She wasn't sure if he even realized what she was doing.

Alex pushed his pants down and away, clumsily fumbling with the soft material of his boxers, not really sure what to do, driven by pure fanatical desire. She rubbed an exploratory hand down across the fabric of the boxers and he made a soft, surprised sound then went still—she was reaching down into his boxers, finding him waiting. She was stunned. He was hard as a damn _rock_ and yet soft like velvet and it was bigger than she'd thought and deliciously warm in the skin of her hand—she groaned, not sure what to think or do... and that's when she realized he'd stopped everything that he'd been doing, that he was frozen and looking at her with this look of utter entranced shock on his face. Like he couldn't believe she was touching him there, skin to skin. Like he was waiting to see what she would do next.

With vast uncertainty she gripped him gently, not sure how much was too much—and experimentally, slowly, gingerly, she moved her hand downward over his length. Immediately she was rewarded with a frantic, astounded sounding groan from Cas—his eyes had squeezed closed, his mouth hung open, his eyebrows had slammed together, his free hand grabbed her hard for support. _Holy shit_! She went still, unable to believe she made him react like that—and he had opened his eyes back up and gazed at her, totally amazed. Feeling emboldened, powerful, braver—Alex tightened her grip, did it again, and he fell forward toward her as another pathetic, stunned groan broke free from his mouth. His face buried in the side of her neck even as she stroked him again. He made another sound, a sound he'd never made before… a soft little helpless groaning cry—and that sound, at the feeling of him in her hand—it was almost enough to make Alex come right then and there.

Getting fed up and frustrated and desperate and bold, she let go and pushed his boxers down, not even sure how far she pushed them, just pushed them _away_ and pressed herself, dress and all, against the warmth and shape of him, her arms circling around his middle tightly. She was trying to get closer, trying to find satisfaction but only feeling more frustrated as a result. He pressed back as he kissed her again, seeming to be over his temporary shock, seeming to be feeling as frenzied and desperate as she was—he pinned her flat against the bookshelf—and clumsily, like highschoolers fooling around for the first time they ground their hips against each other in increasing dissatisfaction. Alex wasn't sure how it happened but as they made out and moved against each other he shifted, pushing her upwards a little, and she was suddenly no longer standing on the floor—automatically, she hugged her legs around his waist, bracing her hands against his shoulders… and when his hand pressed against her hip over the top of the dress, when he moved his hand up her side—she would never know if it were accidental or intentional, but that movement pulled the bunched-up skirt of her dress away from in between her legs, leaving no barrier between them at all.

The second she felt the warm length of him pressed up against her between her legs, a frantic little groan escaped her mouth and he echoed her, his distress doubling at the feeling of her against him bare skin to bare skin. He pulled back, mouth hanging open, looking at her like he was out of it and totally gone. When he did that, when he pulled away like that—their bodies came apart too. And then, the moment that happened by accident, the moment that they would never be able to take back. They were both completely frozen, shocked, unsure of how it had happened—staring breathless at each other when they felt him unintentionally nudge up against her entrance. Their shocked eyes clung. And the silence was so great that a single pin dropping would have been too loud.

Holding still in shock, Cas stared at her, afraid to move at all, unsure what to do. All he could do was stare at her—he saw deep trust and desire there in the hazel depths that gazed back at him. _  
_

Castiel was no expert on human copulation but he knew what it was and that everything inside of him raged for her in that way, begging him to give in to the desire and the moment. He wanted to take her, know her, _have_ her. There seemed no concrete reason left in the universe for him to say no or to stop it. He felt her legs tighten around him, he felt the warm sheath of her press against him and he breathed in sharply, looking at her in the eye, his whole body begging him to do this—his entire being seemed to be screaming at him that _he needed her_. Alex leaned her face in and pressed the simplest, softest kiss to his lips that lingered.

And Castiel realized that he didn't care. Not about God, not about the laws of Heaven. Not about the future, not about the past, not about anything or anyone but her and this urgent, desperate moment between the two of them. _Nothing mattered_ except the woman he held in his arms. She was the pinnacle of his existence, the center of everything. He desired her so completely and unrelentingly, in _every way_ he could fathom. Their mouths broke apart, but stayed so close that they breathed in each other's breaths.

Nothing could hold him back except one thing: Cas found his voice. "Are... are you sure?" The question was breathy, husky, low. He searched her eyes intensely, every atom tensed in waiting for her reply...

Her hands were on either side of his face, she was already nodding and whispering, "yes, _yes—_ "

Overwhelmed by anticipation and adrenaline, Cas held her tighter, his forehead pushing into hers, his lips hovering against hers as he took their union and relationship to the most intimate level in existence. The angel was unable to hold back a stunned, primal sound at the devastatingly overwhelming feeling of being completely enveloped in secure and tight warmth, being _part_ of her. His entire body seemed to short circuit, the intensity was baffling and jaw-dropping, he had never experienced such utter physical pleasure—his mind could barely even comprehend that such a feeling were possible. He suddenly understood why humans loved sex so much.

A strangled, pleasured sob came out of Alex's mouth as she wrapped her arms around his neck, her hands tangling into his hair. She moved experimentally, grinding him tentatively. She was unable to keep another groan silent and she grabbed his face now, thumbs brushing across his cheeks. He looked into her eyes helplessly, letting her take the lead now. Her arms tightened around his shoulders, she buried her face in the side of his neck, overwhelmed with emotions and ecstasy all at once.

She moved again, this time a lot more than she had before and she felt him shudder when she did, he let out a soft, stuttering breath and she pulled her head up to look at him. His eyes were glazed over. She moved again, boldly, a _lot_ , and they both gasped, floored by the feeling, the knowledge of what they were doing together. Absolutely astounding pleasure came over her that time—Alex felt like she could pass out. Him, here, buried deeply inside of her was holy and sacred and _everything_ to her—this angel had saved her, had restored her, had given everything for her—and now his body was with hers, they were joined in a way she didn't imagine possible. Overwhelmed, she said his name softly—and it sounded like a prayer, like a plea, like worship—she was completely dependent on him in this moment, she felt like she belonged entirely to him, she wondered if two people had ever loved each other more than they did.

Castiel held onto Alex tightly as she continued to move on him. His vision went black for a second, and then bright stars were exploding in front of him. He heard himself make a deep, urgent sound. His eyes whipped up to hers. She was looking back at him with heavy-lidded pleasure-drenched eyes, her mouth parted open—and he was overcome. She was the most precious and valuable thing on Heaven or Earth or any place in between.

"Cas, _please_ ," she begged softly, gripping him tightly, trembling, waiting for him to move too. And he didn't know how to tell her no. Clumsily, one hand holding her underneath her thigh, the other around her waist—he was completely horrified to do this wrong, to disappoint her in any way—with utmost care and dread, he moved in her—and he was unable to stifle his reaction; he felt like he could collapse, like he could shatter, he heard a deep moan in the bottom of his throat—and when she made another soft gasping sound, he felt a surge of deeply instinctual desire. Her expression was still rigid with expectant anticipation. She was breathing loudly, he was too, and he did it again, moved himself outward then inward, making them both respond. He felt her fingers digging into his shoulders.

He hesitated still to move much more, he was afraid—the sensation of literally being inside of her was intense enough, but he was afraid he was that he might break her somehow. But there was a pleading tone to her gasps and pants, he knew she needed something from him, and he tried to give it, moving inside of her unsteadily, trying to do what she wanted, trying to imitate what he'd seen humans do before. He didn't know _how to do this_ —the thought was interrupted when she grabbed him by the side of the head by his hair and made him look her in the eyes.

She was looking at him with a gaze that held complete adoration and desire—and he didn't understand how she could feel those things toward him. But he was rendered awed by it, how sacred this moment was, how much it must mean to her, how much it meant to him, how astounding it was that she would allow him to do this with her… and he made the softest sound then kissed her, stopped thinking—just allowed instinct to take over—melted into her as the vessel, his body, seemed to remember what to do… and her arms wrapped around him tightly as praised her mouth with a kiss from his, one of his hands coming to cradle the back of her head gently. He began to move in her again, but this time, it was different—he was sure, he knew what to do, he didn't think about it, he just _did_. He gave everything he had to her, he let his body love hers, he let the many things he felt for her translate into the way that he moved. In response her head fell back, a relieved, amazed sound escaping her open mouth, and Cas watched her now, unable to look away—she was the most beautiful sight he had ever witnessed. The air around them filled with the sound of their ragged breaths—they clung to each other desperately, both shocked, both overwhelmed and amazed, overtaken by the other, as the rhythm they found became more intense and certain. Their eyes met and clung and their hands tightened on each other.

The sounds she was making were becoming higher and more and more strained, she sobbed, she grabbed his face and then his neck in both hands, beginning to sound frantic, desperate for something, and he was too, for the same thing, but he didn't know what it was—his breaths were now coming sharp and shallow, he could barely concentrate, barely hold himself together, so enraptured with the way it felt to be with her like this.

There was an alien pressure and pleasure building in his body, rising up in him—it was the most intense physical sensation he had ever felt. It overpowered him, began to scare him—it felt like there should be a limit but he _couldn't find it_ and he heard himself making pathetic, unsure sounds that rose in pitch because he was beginning to feel lost, like he would never find it, but he _needed_ to. He clung to her tighter and tighter and he felt like his mind was slipping away, he couldn't control his breathing or his vocal chords, all he could do was lose himself in her, despairing for something he couldn't name.

Under the spell of him, Alex was tortured in complete bliss. Cas was groaning, panting, grunting with increasing intensity and volume, his hands were grasping her tightly like she were the only thing he could hold onto to keep from blowing away—it was surreal and left her in the throes of ecstasy to have this effect on him, to feel him like this. She heard how afraid he was despite his bliss and she thought how he never would have felt anything like this before—and she loved him even more for it. With her eyes squeezed shut, she buried her face in the side of his neck, she held him tighter, one hand gripping his shoulder, the other clenched at the back of his head—trying to hold onto him, steady him, make sure that he knew that she was there with him in this. He was moving faster, the crescendo was inevitable. Her entire body was tensing, ramping up for release, and Alex held on harder as she began to gasp in surprise at the feeling of approaching ecstasy— _holy shit, oh god, it was too much!_ "Oh... _oh_ , Cas!"

Cas suddenly shuddered, crying out with intense surprise as he pitched forward into her arms. His groans were no longer groans but noisy choking gasps and realizing what was happening to him was the absolutely final straw... Alex abruptly shattered too, crying out loudly and uncontrollably in response to the blinding apex that hit her full force. She could have sworn she heard glass breaking overhead as she convulsed in his arms, completely wrecked and made whole at the same time. He held onto her tightly, not letting them part for even a minute as they helplessly rode the waves together. Alex realized dimly that broken glass rained down over them from above and she didn't know why, she only knew that she felt Castiel leaning over her as they came, his arms surrounding her, enveloping her body with his, sheltering her protectively as he quaked against and inside of her—and Alex wouldn't have cared if the world itself was ending, all she could do was hold on to him, sobbing from the intensity as they reached infinity together, as they discovered perfection. All she could do was surrender—he was light, he was power, he was ancient days and formless shape, he was creation and destruction, he was like taking in the entire universe in one single breath. And in that sacred, devastating, astounding moment, every part of her body and soul was alive and free and with him.

Thrown headlong into the brilliant blazing sun for the first time in his existence, Castiel was no longer just cells and atoms and consciousness, flesh and bone. No. He understood eternity, he felt the rushing rivers and the stormy tide and the crash of every typhoon break over him. He was left amazed, confounded, overcome, _forever_ —and breathless, in wonder, he clung to the one he loved, gone still as the room became quiet again. The monsoon of pleasure had faded and left him feeling utterly confounded and amazed. At their feet, shattered stained glass littered the floor. The angel trembled in Alex's arms, reeling from what had just happened, from the storm they had stirred in each other, from the feeling of being taken over the edge, of being dashed over rocks and of being sent crashing into a supernova—he knew that he would never be the same, that all other things would always pale in comparison to this, to _her_ , to what they had found together, what they had created.

He drew back just enough to look at her again, at the same time that she lifted her head off his shoulder. Her eyes raised to his. She was flushed, shaking, breathless, beautiful... his. This fragile, breakable, mortal human being. And overcome with tenderness, with so many thoughts and emotions, Cas's hand reached up to touch her face. With all the gentleness and affection that Castiel felt for her, he leaned closer helplessly, his nose brushing hers, his lips tenderly pressing to hers in a simple, chaste kiss. He felt her returning the gesture, felt her hand against his face now too, her thumb grazing over his jawline.

And all he could think was that he _loved her_. For every and any reason, he loved her.

Beyond measure. Beyond compare. Beyond anything.

And then he thought about that. Beyond _anything_.

More than he had ever loved God. Or Heaven.

He pulled away from the kiss, the elation fading—she looked at him, breathing raggedly, her gaze questioning—because she could see his face changing. It was because he was suddenly overcome by tens of thousands of years of programming and duty, by the sinking-in realization of what had just happened, what they had just done—the sin he had committed. She looked so wrong to him all of the sudden—and he thought of himself, a formless vapor that had existed in Grace and the void for thousands of years, a towering angelic being who knew no limits or death. The centuries he had witnessed passed before his eyes. The reality of who he was crashed over him. An angel almost as old as time itself.

So when Cas realized with dawning horror that he'd just taken her virginity, that he'd initiated it and done it while alcohol-addled, against a wretched bookcase, with a body that didn't even belong to him—he was suddenly terrified, looking at his beloved Alex—who he loved but _shouldn't_ , who he was supposed to always guard and protect and never involve himself with in improper ways—and all the good things he'd felt were gone, and instead all he could think was that he had _defiled_ her.

_What had he done?_


	32. Deadly Sins

" _Some things are just inevitable._ _"  
_ \- Unknown

* * *

It was like coming back down to earth from paradise itself.

The fever pitch of perfection and ecstasy was fading away now, and in its place there was an overpowering sense of wonder. Left breathless and dazed by a dumbfounded kind of amazement, Alex was flushed all over in dizzying heat, she was left to reel in every way possible in the aftermath of what had just happened. She was so very aware of the all-powerful angel who was trembling in her embrace, and her arms tightened around him just a little bit.

Only able to focus on one thing at a time, Alex's mind struggled to regain the ability to think clearly. She was aware that Cas's strong arms were holding her up, she could feel the fabric of his trench coat against her bare legs which still hugged around his middle. The two of them were pressed against each other so closely that she couldn't tell which thundering heartbeat was which—only that she felt two. His rapid breaths hit the curve of her shoulder and the side of her neck in little puffs of hot air. His warm forehead gently leaned against her temple, his hair tickling her forehead. But none of that really compared to the feeling of him still inside of her. The sweet, torturous pressure still remained, filling her to a point that didn't seem possible. She shut her eyes and let out a trembling breath. _Was this real?_

She turned her head toward him slightly and opened her eyes slowly. His head moved back a little and their eyes locked. His expression was so unlike any expression she'd ever seen on his or _any_ face ever before. Surreal and overwhelming emotions tumbled over Alex as he touched her face gently, his grazing fingertips leaving a hushed tingle across her skin. Cas leaned in, his nose brushing against her nose as he brought his lips to hers, kissing her with slow and simple sweetness. Helpless and in love, she touched the side of his face too, returning the kiss. And for a moment, as they shared that gentle, quiet kiss, everything was right—the troubles of the world were still there of course, but right now Alex didn't feel anything but complete, safe, wanted, adored. She was with the one she loved. Everything was okay.

And then it all went away.

With startling abruptness, Cas pulled away from the kiss, and the second he did, Alex could tell something was wrong, something had changed. Her stomach dropped when she saw how his expression had become clouded and troubled... where there had been euphoria and amazement a moment ago, now there was dawning horror and panic. She suddenly began to feel those things, too— _what was wrong_? He looked down and around, as if he were coming out of a fog, like he was realizing what he was doing, what they had done... and then he began to remove himself.

And Alex was suddenly empty and blindsided, standing on two shaky legs, feeling discomfort and confusion. Cas had taken a couple stumbling steps back, turning away from her. Suddenly cold and feeling his absence in every part of herself, Alex looked at his back in silent, baffled shock. What had she done—what happened? Why did he suddenly react like that? She heard his zipper go up, then his belt buckle clinking. And in a strange state of dazed confusion, she looked down at the ground, seeing broken stained glass littering the polished floors. Her discarded white underwear beside her foot. In a daze of autonomy, Alex stooped and picked them up off the floor—as she straightened, a series of horrible thoughts slammed into her like a solid brick wall.

 _She_ was the one who had moved his hand to touch her how she'd wanted to be touched. _She_ was the one who had unzipped his pants, had touched him, had pulled his boxers down. _Oh my god,_ maybe it was because he _hadn't wanted it_. Maybe he'd just done that with her because he had known _she_ wanted it, or maybe he'd been much more drunk than she had realized, maybe it was just his vessel and not him at all, maybe she had misinterpreted everything— _but why would—and did he really not—had she gotten it wrong and made the biggest mistake of her life?—how could she have let this happen?—she hadn't meant_ —

Alex was having a hard time breathing now, she felt lightheaded and queasy, her thoughts were half-finished and frantic. All she could think was _had she forced him somehow_? Taken advantage of him or something? Had she wanted it so badly that she hadn't cared to really find out if he wanted it too or not? He had seemed fine until that last kiss, _why_? Her heart sank. She was thunderstruck, confused, remembering how eager he'd seemed. How could she have _imagined_ that? Even as she wondered that, Castiel turned halfway, looking back at her over his shoulder.

His expression was unreadable; she couldn't tell what he was thinking. Her heart sank even further, her horror increased. She wanted to disappear and was too afraid to ask him what was wrong. His eyes flickered to her hand—she followed his gaze—she had clenched her underwear so tightly that her knuckles almost matched the white fabric. Cas's jaw worked strangely and he looked away pointedly, giving her a chance to put her underwear back on. Her shoes crunched on the broken glass under her feet as she did, and she was completely and totally mortified—she hugged her arms around herself when she was done. Swallowing thickly, feeling wretched and low, she tried to look at him but was only halfway able to. "A-are you all right?" she asked fearfully. Her voice wavered badly, there was no strength to it.

His eyes met hers just barely. His despair deepened. "I-I shouldn't have done that," he said miserably, his brows tense and knit together.

Her stomach was nauseated beyond belief, she almost felt like she could be sick. "W-why?" she asked, filled with dread.

His answer did nothing but make everything worse. "It was wrong." His words were startling and stinging, like a slap to the face, and he still wouldn't look at her. It was like the air had been ripped from Alex's lungs. She had felt fulfilled and loved and complete a minute ago—and was now left with a crumbling world. It was _wrong_?

Did he really believe that? She couldn't let herself believe that, and chancing everything, putting everything on the line, Alex went closer to him. " _Cas_ —" she appealed, hesitated, then tried to touch his face and get him to look at her—but he turned his face away from her hand and she froze. His gaze was still on the floor, he was purposefully not looking at her.

She stood there stupidly, unable to reconcile the passion and love she'd felt from him with this cold and unwilling Castiel before her now. Horrified, she asked herself _what have you done_? Everything inside of her protested, tried to understand, tried to convince herself that she'd done nothing wrong. She loved Castiel— _loved_ him—didn't ever want to hurt him or mistreat him in any way…

 _Stupid, childish, naive_. She wanted to die, she suddenly hated everything about herself and she turned around, hiding her face from him, fighting the urge to break down and cry. There was a long silence and then she heard him draw a book off the shelf.

"This is the book we came here for," his deep voice said, and he sounded distracted, weary.

Barely able to hold herself together at this point, Alex shook her head, fighting to keep her composure. Trying not to lose it completely. "Just... just take us back to the motel," she said in a voice barely above a whisper.

Their eyes met for an instant. Then suddenly, they were not there anymore—and Alex realized that for the first time, he took her through the fabric of space and time without touching her. And that realization was another blow, another devastation.

Her feet were now on cheap carpet—they were back in the motel again—it was dim, smelling faintly like cigarettes and disinfectant. Alex almost jumped out of her skin when she heard Sam behind her. "Did you guys find the book?" Alex turned around to see her twin getting up from the little couch, an open book on the coffee table in front of where he'd been sitting. The second Sam saw his twin's face, it was clear he could see something was wrong—he stopped and frowned, glancing at Cas before he looked back at her. His eyes were narrowing in attentive concern. "Something wrong?" he asked, directing the question to his sister who just looked away from him, her jaw tight. Sam's piercing stare went back to Cas, who was looking down at the book in his hands. Sam's frown was deepening, his eyes narrowed even more when he looked back at Alex, his tone taking on a suspicious note. "What… what took you guys so long?" he asked.

Alex exploded. " _Jesus Christ_ , Sam!" she exclaimed, "There were a shitload of books, okay?! Like you could have found it any fucking faster!" The words flew out of her mouth and left a stunned silence in the room. Shocked at herself, feeling herself rapidly dissolving, Alex had to flee. Without grabbing a jacket or looking at either man, she shook her head, holding back tears, and charged out of the motel room wordlessly, leaving a very confused Sam behind and a very shocked Castiel.

Sam looked at the door, eyes wide, eyebrows raised high—he was blindsided by Alex's strange behavior. "Cas, what—" he started out, then went silent, turning back around to see an empty room. The book was sitting on the table and Cas was gone.

* * *

It was freezing outside, she was in the highly impractical sleeveless, above-knee dress—but she didn't care. She just had to keep moving. She stumbled sort of blindly through the parking lot and toward the road, vision made blurry with angry, shameful tears. She couldn't stop herself, she just needed to _get away_. From him, from what had happened. From the pain, from herself, from everything. She was distraught when she thought of all the ruin and wreckage in her life, all the mistakes she'd made. She ran into something solid, felt herself being stopped mid-step—was temporarily shocked into silence and stillness as she looked up and into the face of Castiel, who looked down at her with a face full of pained concern. He was the one she'd been running from, and coming face to face with him was too much.

She felt almost like she could collapse, her emotions were so heavy and all-consuming. "I'm so sorry, Cas, I'm _so_ sorry," she sobbed out, and covered her face with both hands, bowing her head, wanting to escape the impossible guilt. "I t-thought you, that you wanted it, I thought that we were—that you wanted—" she looked up at him through tear-filled eyes, did the only thing she could think to do with her hands, and that was grab onto his arms as he continued to hold hers. "I'm _sorry_ ," she blubbered. "Please, _please_ , forgive me, I thought you really wanted it, I d-didn't think that you were that drunk and I, I wanted you, I wasn't thinking clearly," she stumbled out excuse after excuse as he stared at her with a strange, confused expression. "I used you to get what I wanted," she rambled blindly, getting more and more hysterical by the second, "I didn't think of how it would affect you or how it's not a natural thing for you to do or what it might do to you or—"

"Alex! _Stop_." He had tilted his face down, trying to peer into hers, and his features were distorted by a horrified expression. "You think _you're_ the one in the wrong here?"

She was so startled by his question that she couldn't even reply for a second. "A-aren't I?" she asked, taken aback.

He seemed equally taken aback when she asked that, and then almost offended. "How _could_ you be?" he asked, implying with his voice and expression that he didn't even acknowledge that as a possibility.

Alex blinked a couple times, getting even more confused than before. She was racking her brain, trying to figure out what was going on. His eyes wandered the space of her tearstained cheeks and his hand raised, he used the backs of his index and middle fingers to wipe away the tears. His eyes followed his fingers, and her gaze stayed on him, her confusion not lessening at all, but a small wave of comfort washing over her at his gentle touch. His gaze flickered to hers guiltily, and his hand froze then withdrew, as if he was realizing what he was doing.

He looked down, shut his eyes for a beat, and let out a heavy breath through his nose. His arms hung at his sides now. He was silent for a moment, and Alex was breathless and confused, hoping, teetering on the edge of absolute heartbreak. He finally spoke, in a low, quiet voice, his eyes hesitant to meet hers. "Alex… I _did_ want it." The admission made her heart jump and stomach roll, even though he sounded conflicted when he continued. "I just… I _shouldn't_ have."

She didn't understand. "Shouldn't have _wanted_ it or shouldn't have _done_ it?" she asked, heart hammering in desperate hope at hearing that he _had_ wanted it.

Cas looked burdened, every muscle in his face tense with grief. "Alex… I am… thousands and _thousands_ of years old." And that reminder of fact suddenly smothered the hope she'd felt. She was forced to remember that the man in the trench coat, the man she'd fallen in love with... wasn't a man. That they weren't supposed to love each other, that he wasn't even the same species as her. His eyes were heavy with the weight of countless centuries, and she felt how impossible this was, heard his message loud and clear: even though he _had_ wanted it, even though it _had_ happened… it shouldn't have. "I'm not a _human_ , Alex," he continued, looking at her, his eyes pleading with her to understand.

All she could do was nod and look down, attempt a smile to cover her true emotions, try to keep the brokenhearted tears from coming. Say in a weary, spent voice: "I know, Cas. I know."

He shook his head, his agonized expression mirrored hers almost exactly. "This isn't even my body," he said, each word driving a stake of pain further into her heart. But then he said something she hadn't expected. "I had no right… to do that." His voice caught oddly. "To take… take that from you." He swallowed, a muscle tensed in his cheek.

Alex looked at him, stunned, realizing his distress went a lot deeper than she'd thought. And suddenly, she could see light at the end of the tunnel again, saw a million-to-one chance that maybe they could get past this. "You're upset because I was… because it was my first time?"

He looked guilty and upset. "It shouldn't have been with me."

His statement shocked her, offended her almost. "I _wanted_ it to be," she told him pleadingly. He looked down and away, his face a mask of misery. Alex bravely sought his gaze, craning her neck a little, trying to get him to look at her, trying to make sure he knew he was _wrong_. "Cas… you didn't _take_ anything." She briefly thought, in the back of her mind, that she was insane for continuing to pursue this and him. But she did anyway. Maybe startling them both, she reached down, taking hold of one of his hands gently. He looked down at her hand in his. "I _gave_ it to you," she told him quietly. His eyes jumped up to hers, and the amount of emotion on his face was overwhelming. Even though he'd seemed so old a moment ago, he now looked unsure, young and inexperienced, like a teenage boy. And she remembered again how tonight had not only been the night she'd lost her virginity. He'd lost his, too. And the very thought of that left her speechless for a minute. Her body still felt warm with the afterglow. "I mean, remember," she said softly, trying to sound lighter than she felt, trying to make him feel better, trying to fill the suddenly-awkward feeling silence. "It… it was your first time too, right?"

His expression changed a little, softening. It was a rhetorical question that she'd asked, but he answered her anyway. "Yes." She felt his hand tighten around hers, just a little, and the reality of it hit her anew: she'd been with an _angel_. They had lost their virginities to each other.

Her body tingled with a rush of memories: his breath in her ear, his hands wandering her body, the moment of consummation… and the term 'making love' came to mind—even though she'd always laughed at it before—nothing else seemed to fit. For a moment, he'd been hers completely. For a moment Heaven and Earth and all the reasons they _weren't supposed to_ had just melted away. She was flustered, recalling how he'd been beyond passionate with her—tender and careful and giving, like all he'd cared about was giving her what she had needed and wanted.

Alex was suddenly overwhelmed, unsure what an angel could see in _her_ worth loving or worth wanting to please. A minute ago he'd said that her first time shouldn't have been with him, but she suddenly wondered why _he_ had wanted that with _her_. How was she worthy of this? Of him? What did he see in her? She had nothing to offer him except herself. And she didn't know why he'd want that. But even though she didn't know why he saw anything in her, she still knew he did. You could tear it all down, the universe, the laws of nature, entire civilizations, whatever: take it all away but she knew Castiel would always care about her. She just didn't know _why_.

"What is it?" Cas asked her, his eyes narrowing in concern, and Alex looked away, at the empty road and dark sidewalk; wanting to hide from him and also burrow into him all at once. Her emotions were going haywire and she was suddenly so very tired.

"I just… where do we go from here?" she asked brokenly, looking back at him with eyes that pleaded for an answer, a clear solution. A cut and dry answer that would take away all the unknowns and misunderstandings. But Castiel looked at her openly, a helpless kind of sadness on his face.

He looked as confused as she did. "I don't know."

Watching from about thirty feet away, Sam hung back in front of the motel door—he'd grabbed his jacket and made to follow after his clearly upset sister, then stopped when he'd seen that Castiel had met her in the middle of the deserted road. Sam had stopped, unsure if he should remain back or go to them and demand an explanation. He'd settled on staying back, but he watched them closely. Alex was upset and Sam could tell that something had happened—maybe she and Cas had argued or something at the Vatican. It didn't matter—whatever had happened to upset her, Sam wasn't going anywhere until he made sure that his sister was okay. He wasn't used to her going all Dean on him like she had a minute ago.

So he stood there, waiting, not really even sure what he was witnessing—he couldn't hear them at all, but he could see that Alex had calmed down. The two of them had been speaking intently for the past couple minutes, appearing to be anxious or emotional about something. They were currently staring at each other silently… and then, what little space had been between them disappeared. Surprised, Sam wasn't sure who initiated the embrace—only saw Alex bury her head in Cas's shoulder, saw Cas wrap his arms around Alex protectively, securely. And Sam was even more shocked to see that than what he'd seen when the two of them had been making out under Famine's influence. There was an enormous amount of visible trust and an intensity, an intimacy that he saw in the embrace. Sam felt his eyebrows raise up high.

Cas was an awkward guy, or at least, that's what Sam had thought before. But right now it was very, very obvious to Sam that he'd underestimated the angel. Cas held Alex tenderly, in the way that a man held a woman he loved—and Sam could see how much the angel thought of his sister: it was in the gentle way that his hand cradled Alex's head, in the tilt of Cas's head toward Alex's. Sam stared openly, unsure about witnessing this.

And that's when the sharp sound of a gunshot cracked the air in two. Sam's heart leapt into his throat, he saw Alex jump and for a second he thought _my god she's been shot_ —and he was shouting her name and running—getting to Alex and Cas, who both looked confused—and still held each other tightly, looking up at Sam in surprise and confusion.

"Are you all right?" Sam demanded frantically grabbing his sister by the shoulders, assessing her and glancing at Cas, too—

"Fine, I'm fine," she said, looking around, alarmed. "Where did that come from?"

Cas, who was stern and frowning now, looked at the bar. "It came from there," he said, nodding toward the little building that was plunked beside the motel. As soon as he said it, Sam was heading that way, and he didn't even know if they were following, all he could think was Dean… oh my god, _Dean_. He just _knew_ his brother was either getting shot at or the one doing the shooting.

The tendency to not think things entirely through was one of Sam's weaknesses when he thought one of his siblings might be hurt or in danger. Such was today. Sam reached the door to the bar and practically knocked it down as he slammed it open and barged inside, then froze at the scene that waited inside. Paul was shot and crumpled on the floor against the bar, wasn't moving. Jane held a pistol on him, her hands shaking badly. "Just give me the gun, Jane," the pastor was coaxing, standing between her and Paul's body.

"I had to do it, David," Jane said. She didn't sound remorseful. She sounded dangerous.

"What the hell is going on in here?" Sam asked cautiously, his steam fading as he laid eyes on Dean, who crouched beside Paul, putting pressure on the gunshot wound, but it looked like it was too late. Paul was still and unresponsive.

"He was _compromising_ the flock. He deserved to die." Jane spat contemptuously, gun still aimed in Dean and Pastor Gideon's direction. "He was a _sinner_."

Sam's eyebrows raised at the audacity the woman spoke with and he opened his mouth to reply—and then heard the angry voice of his twin behind himself. "Isn't _murder_ a sin?" she snapped angrily, clearly not thinking, and before Sam could react at all, Jane's head swiveled sharply to stare Alex down, there was a snarl on the red-haired woman's face.

" _You,_ " she spat, "have no right to say that to me. You and your brothers got my son _killed_."

It all happened so fast. Jane suddenly seemed to snap completely, swinging her arm around to bring the to aim right at Alex—and Sam couldn't move fast enough, it literally happened in one, maybe two seconds: Cas suddenly appeared out of thin air in front of Alex and the sound of another shot rang out loudly even as everyone in the entire establishment jumped in shock—maybe from the loud sound, or maybe from the shock of seeing a man appear out of thin air. Jane lowered the gun, stunned. "How—" she started, but was cut off when Sam tackled her, sending the gun flying through the air.

"Hey, hey!" Rob was shouting.

Dean stood up, pointed a finger at Castiel and then Alex, barely looking at either of them in the rising chaos. "Cas, get her outta here, _now_!"

* * *

Alex opened her mouth to protest but it was too late. She and Cas were already back in the motel room—Cas had moved them without touching her again, his back was to her, and he reached out a hand, steadying himself against the room partition. And Alex went still, looking at him with a frown. Why was he having a problem standing again? "What's wrong?" she asked, and then he turned around slowly. He was frowning slightly, looking down at his chest in confusion. A perfect circle, just a little smaller than a penny had been punched through the trench coat, right above his heart—and bright red blood blossomed out onto the beige fabric.

Her breath caught, her chest twisted, her stomach dropped, her entire nervous system was on fire with alarm. "Oh my god— _Cas_!" Alex gasped out, rushing across the short space between them, grabbing hold of him, looking at the bullet hole and then his face in complete shock. "You're _shot_!"

"I'm... fine," he said, but he sounded unsure, and his expression was strange, slightly pained.

" _Fine_?" She repeated, aghast. He looked a little woozy, he blinked oddly, twice, and she realized she needed to pull it together for his sake. "Okay, just…" Alex tried to think clearly, tried to calm herself down. Castiel was shot, but he was an angel, he would be fine, right? Maybe not though, he wasn't as invincible as he'd been once, he was cut off from Heaven, he'd lost many of his abilities—shit, _shit_! _Just keep your head,_ she commanded herself _. Treat the wound, figure out how bad it is_. She breathlessly told him "sit down, sit down," as she maneuvered him over to a bed and sat him down, staring at the blood seeping out onto the trench coat. Appalled at the sight, automatically doing the only thing she knew to do, which was to put pressure on the wound, she looked at him in alarm. "What were you _thinking_?"

He looked up at her without hesitation, frowning slightly. "That I was saving your life."

She was taken aback by his simple and sincere answer. By the realization that he _had_ saved her life. By the fact that he had taken a freaking bullet for her. And if she hadn't loved him before, she sure as hell did now. Warm blood seeped underneath the palm of her hand where she shakily applied pressure. "But now you're…"

"Fine," he repeated. She looked at him like he was crazy, wondering how someone with a bleeding chest wound, angel or not, could be fine. "Alex, I may be cut off from some aspects of Heaven, but this bullet wound… it's not fatal to me." He grimaced just a little. "It is, however, surprisingly painful."

"I'm so sorry, Cas," Alex said, pained by association, by the thought that he was hurting because of her. She looked around the room. "Okay," she mumbled, trying to think, holding her clean hand against the side of her head. "Okay. First aid kit."

She left him sitting on the bed and hurried over to where the duffel bags had all been tossed, wiping the blood off her palm against her dress skirt haphazardly as she crouched down and began frantically rummaging through Sam's bag. She knew there was a first aid kit and some medical tools in her twin's bag somewhere. Cas watched her quietly. She found the kit and then went to her bag, pulling something out of the very bottom—a flask.

Alex came back to Cas and handed him the flask, wincing a little—the irony of this wasn't lost on her. "I have to take the bullet out," she told him quickly. "It's going to hurt a lot. This… might help with the pain, a little? I don't know. It's worth a shot." Cas took the flask from her slowly, looking at her questioningly. "It's absinthe," she explained, glancing at him as she raked through the contents of the first aid kit. "Pretty strong stuff… my secret stash that I was saving for—" she let out a cynical little chuckle, "a special occasion." She shook her head ruefully, nodded at the flask. "Drink up." After visiting 2014 and seeing a Cas who had been into some pretty screwed up crap, Alex didn't like giving him the absinthe—it was a _full_ flask, too—but she also knew taking out a bullet hurt like hell and it would help if he could get a little wasted again.

Castiel looked at the flask in his hand, hesitating… thinking of the visions of the future he'd seen where he'd been an alcoholic and a complete wreck of a man… wondering why he hadn't thought of that grim future before right now. It might have been helpful to think about it before he'd done the things he'd done in the past twenty-four hours. Maybe when he'd been about to drink an entire store of liquor. Maybe when he'd been about to have intercourse. Things he couldn't take back or undo. He didn't see any reason to avoid this, either, anymore. He felt hopeless about his dismal future, about how foolish he was, how he was walking straight down the path he'd been trying to avoid all this time.

He raised the flask to his lips, tilted his head back, and drank deeply, draining the entire thing. The alcohol burned his throat, he was viciously reminded of last night when he'd downed bottle after bottle of every kind of liquor at the store. He finished the flask off, unsure if it actually would abate any of the pain radiating from the hole in his chest. He felt mildly muddled again, a little woozy. Was it because of the alcohol or the pain?

Alex laid a silver pair of some kind of silver medical tongs—hemostats, he thought—onto the bed after quickly wiping them down with an alcohol pad. She then took out some gauze and medical tape then set them beside the tongs, looking at Cas with a tense expression before she came to stand in between his parted knees. Castiel was suddenly very affected by her physical nearness. Memories of what had happened earlier that night, not even twenty minutes ago, suddenly filled his mind. He tried not to look at her and remember what she felt like underneath the skin of his hands, how she'd looked and sounded near the end of it all, how she'd clung to him and made him _feel_ …

"You, uh, you'll need to take your coat and jacket off," Alex told him, eyes flickering up to his. She said it softly, shyly almost. And forced out of his thoughts, Cas began to try to comply, but his whole left side was struggling to move properly, and he couldn't. Perplexed at how one single little piece of metal lodged in the flesh of his vessel could so impede his range of movement, Cas stared down at himself, then started slightly when Alex began to help him. She pulled his left arm up, tugging the sleeve of the jacket and coat off together, gently. Then pushed at the right side of the clothing, allowing him to extract his arm easily. He looked at her silently. He was now sitting there in his shirt and tie—and a bright red blotch stood out against the crisp white dress shirt. Alex's eyes had gone to it like metal to a magnet—concern and pain flitted across her features again, she wet her lips unconsciously before visibly refocusing. "Shirt, too," she told him, and there was no mistaking the nervous tremble in her voice.

Hyper-aware of every movement she was making, every little thing she did, Cas held stock still as she worked his tie loose. She glanced at him a couple times fleetingly as she pulled it up and over his head—Cas continued to watch her openly as she carefully pulled his shirt out of where it had been messily tucked into his pants—their eyes met briefly, and he wondered if she was thinking of what they had done earlier, too. She unbuttoned each button, starting at the bottom button and working her way up slowly. He watched the way her pulse fluttered in her neck, the tense way her jaw flexed. The way her eyes avoided his now. She unbuttoned the top button of his shirt and finally looked him in his waiting eyes. There was a pause, and then she seemed to remember herself and pushed the shirt away and down, her eyes dropping to the wound in his chest.

"Oh, _Cas_ …" she whispered, sounding so pained. The soft way she'd said his name was overwhelming to him. She ran a few fingers down the skin just beside the wound. Underneath her fingers, his chest rose and fell a little faster than before. Her eyes came to his again, and a sad, cajoling little smile came to her lips. "Even angels bleed sometimes, huh?" she asked him softly. And he was startled, shocked—remembering the visions of the future Anna had shown him. Remembering that Alex had said those _exact words_ to him in the visions. Alex hesitated now, taking in his expression, seeing that something was wrong. "What is it?" she asked, voice laced with worry.

He shook his head, looked down. He was filled with despair at the thought of those visions of the future, and didn't want her to know any of the painful details. "Nothing," he told her, unable to bear the thought of any of it actually happening, even though he'd taken yet another step toward fulfilling fate that night.

She didn't seem to believe his claim of 'nothing' but nodded, looked at his wound. She made a small circle with her lips and expelled a heavy, dread-filled breath through them. She grabbed up the silver tong tool from beside his knee where she'd laid it and she then leaned close, looking into the wound. "I can see it. Didn't go in too deep." She glanced up at him. "Ready?"

He gave a shallow little nod, racked over with guilt and despair but trying to push those things aside for the moment. He focused on her, watching what she did. She took a deep breath, bracing his shoulder with her left hand, holding him still as she carefully opened the tongs and pushed them into the hole made by the bullet. She was grimacing. The cold metal brushing against raw, exposed muscles and tissue hurt, but then he felt the lodged bullet shift as the tongs grabbed it and he gritted his teeth together. "I've got it," Alex said, her face screwed up with concern. "This is really gonna hurt, Cas. Hold on."

Her grip tightened on his shoulder and she pulled the bullet straight out, fast—Cas was surprised when an agonized groan ripped out of his throat. Pain exploded in the vicinity of his chest at the extraction of the small piece of metal. And then it was out, it was over, he was breathing heavily, she had already pressed some gauze over the hole and was putting the hemostats down and grabbing the tape. Cas didn't understand why he was feeling so much pain. He'd been shot, stabbed, slammed around in this vessel without feeling much of anything before. But now he felt, and so _much_. Good things _and_ bad things.

"Hold this," Alex told him, nodding toward the gauze over the bullet wound, and he did, obeying automatically, confused and in pain. He watched her as she ripped off some tape and carefully secured the gauze with it. She looked like she had done this sort of thing before. Many times, actually, she was very precise and careful. Gentle, too. And her fingers brushing against his bare skin sent increasingly familiar feelings of awakening through him—the feelings of pain lessened, and in their place, the stirrings of desire and longing. He shouldn't want this. He shouldn't want her. But he did. _So much_. He felt himself becoming distressed at his thoughts. There was a war inside of him, two sides pitted against one another. One side insisted he stop playing with fire—it had gone far enough, _too_ far. The other side told him it was already too late and begged him not to even leave Alex's side for a moment—wanted to kiss her again, wanted to feel and know her from the inside again…

Castiel grew flustered, looking away as she put a final strip of tape across the gauze. Her eyes glanced up to his, she straightened up but remained there between his knees. She was looking at him in concern, her eyes soft. "I can't… I can't believe you took a bullet for me," she said quietly, shaking her head a little.

He frowned just a little, because she shouldn't be amazed that he would sacrifice everything for her. "I'm your guardian," he told her. "I would take a thousand bullets for you."

His words seemed to do something to her—he immediately saw how they affected her—eyes jumping up to his, mouth parting softly, breathing quickening slightly. "You… you can't say things like that to me," she said softly, in a voice barely above a whisper.

"Why not?" he asked, genuinely puzzled.

She looked hesitant to say it, afraid almost, and she shook her head a little, backpedaling and taking a very long time to reply. "Never mind."

Sensing it was important, Cas looked up at her in concern. "Tell me," he requested fervently, trying to understand what he'd done wrong.

Her eyes locked onto his. He could see how frightened she was to say whatever she was about to say. And he wished he could make it so she never had to be afraid of anything ever again. She swallowed slowly. Her voice was still barely a whisper when she told him. "Because when you tell me things like that…" her voice cracked in anguish, softened to a mere whisper, "how can I not fall in love with you?"

The minute she said those words, everything in him went quiet and still, even as so much _everything_ surged forth in him that he didn't even know how to begin to process it—he didn't even think about it, there was no protest in his mind. He only moved to meet her, craning his neck upwards to meet her lips with his—his hands boldly went to her waist, and when their lips met, he heard himself make a soft sound of relief or maybe it was despair—he pulled her to him and downward, his arms circling completely around her. Her knees came to either side of his hips as he pulled her close. He felt her hands skim up his body to hold his face in the most tender of ways.

And kissing was just the pressure of two pairs of lips against each other, love was just chemical reactions in the human brain; neurological processes and pheromones and libido and vasopressin and oxytocin working together to trigger reactions and connections. It was chemistry, plain and simple. Except, it wasn't. Castiel could not downplay anything he felt for Alex to something as simple as science or biology. It transcended everything he'd ever thought or known.

She whimpered a little into his mouth. And Cas pulled away, breaking the kiss. Remembering himself, he searched the brown-green depths of her eyes breathlessly. And all the things he knew, all the knowledge he possessed about how wrong this was—an angel and a human—it all seemed flimsy standing against the weight of all the things he felt for her. He wanted to belong here—anywhere near to her. So much emotion surged forth inside of him. He thought of how there had been nothing left between them at all, of how she'd made him feel: alive... _real._

Her eyes fell away from his for a moment, she looked down at his chest with a tense expression, tracing her fingers across the top of his makeshift bandage. She was worried. Her eyes came back up to his. A wavering whispered plea left her lips. "I don't understand why we can't."

The misery she spoke with echoed through him and brought him downward. He could hear how she felt: desperate for things to be different. And he felt the pangs of regret again, realizing how much of a wretched hypocrite he was. He had told her time and time again that they couldn't pursue romantic involvement—he had told _himself_ time and time again that he couldn't allow it. He didn't know what to tell her. He needed her more than he knew what to do with, and yet he knew that being together was what would destroy them both in the end, if those visions of the future were accurate.

He continued to search her eyes, trying to find something to say to her, trying to determine where to go from here, what to do. He was so painfully aware in that moment that the two of them were from two different realms entirely. That the things they had done together in secret, dark places were expressly forbidden, abominable to Heaven. Castiel felt grief building.

Suddenly, the motel door swung open with a loud bang.

* * *

**A Few Minutes Ago**

"Cas, get her outta here, _now_!" Dean shouted even as he just barely intercepted Rob, who was charging at Sam—who had just tackled Jane, sending her pistol clattering to the floor.

"Outta my way!" Rob shouted, shoving Dean—who replied with a shove of his own and then a punch to the face.

Rob toppled backwards, stunned and collapsing onto the ground as Dean whirled around, heated. "Everyone just calm the fuck _down_!" he shouted, breathing heavily and glaring, ready to deck the first person who even _looked_ at him wrong.

Pastor Gideon picked up the fallen gun and looked at Jane, who struggled in vain against Sam. The pastor appeared to be shellshocked. He looked at the townspeople that had come with him—three men and a woman. "Everyone needs to go home," he told them, faintly. "Just, just go home." Equally stunned, the four people exchanged looks and then complied and filed out of the bar.

Jane's protesting shouts rang out after them. "I did what had to be done!" She shouted, yanking uselessly against Sam's iron grip. "I _protected_ the _flock_!"

No one turned back around, the door swung shut, and Jane looked at the Pastor, angry and betrayed. "I want to see my _son_ again! Leah said if we did what the angels say, if we purified the sinners out from among ourselves, we'd get to Paradise! Don't you _want_ that?! David, you can see your _wife_ again!"

"This isn't right," the pastor said in a daze of horror, looking at Paul's body, not seeming to hear Jane's insistent tirade at all.

"You're damn straight it's not right," Dean put in angrily, whirling and bearing down on Jane, who shrank a little into Sam at his sudden approach. "You killed a man, you _get that_ lady?" Dean demanded.

"He was a _sinner_ ," Jane retorted, regaining some of her defiant bravado, jutting her chin out and staring down her nose at Dean contemptuously. In response, he chuckled darkly, looked down. "What's so funny," Jane said, voice tinged with a note of suspicion.

"You know, you act all high and mighty and righteous but really, you're just as low as the rest of us. Shooting a man in cold blood—trying to kill my _sister_?" Dean's smile was gone. In its place was a chilling, threatening stare. "Lady, you pissed off the wrong guy tonight." He wet his lips, leaned closer to her, giving the impression of careful, contained rage. "You know how lucky you are to still be breathing air?" His voice was suddenly a shout. " _No one_ shoots at my sister or my brother and lives to tell about it, you hear me?!"

Dean looked back and down at Rob, who was staring up at him from the floor, blood running out of his nose and into his mouth. Dean levelled Jane with a commanding glare, making sure she knew he wasn't playing around. "So you and Rob here got about ten seconds to get the hell outta here before I return the favor—are we clear?" Sam looked slightly shocked by Dean's threatening rant, which wasn't over yet. Dean stepped closer again to Jane, lowered his voice. "If you come near me... my sister... my brother again... I won't hesitate to shoot you where you stand. Now clear the fuck out of here before I get trigger happy."

Sam took the cue and let go of Jane, who yanked her arms away angrily, pulled her husband up off the floor, and gave Sam and Dean dirty looks. Rob, sort of dazed with his arm over his wife's shoulder, looked at the pastor, confused and questioning. The pastor shook his head, held out a placating hand. "Just… let me handle this, Jane, Rob. Go home."

Jane said nothing, just shot Dean another glare over her shoulder as she and her husband stumbled out of the bar and into the night.

" _Bitch_ ," Dean muttered, shaken up and pissed off, half-blind with rage.

"That… that wasn't supposed to happen," Pastor Gideon said, hollow and in shock, holding the gun, staring at it blankly.

"Yeah well, it _did_ ," Dean retorted, and looked down at Paul's dead body on the ground. He sobered, his anger faded away into deep, painful sadness. He'd thrown a punch and started the entire fight that got this poor chump killed. Adding another stupid, pointless death he felt responsible for to the roster he kept in his mind, Dean glanced at his brother, who was silent and upset, shocked by what had just happened. As usual, the only one who could hold it together when shit went down, Dean forced his feelings away and focused on the problem at hand. "What the hell was Jane saying about purifying the flock?" he asked the padre, who came out of his fog slowly.

"She, uh, my daughter, Leah… she said that the angels are angry. That some people in the town were holding us back from reaching Paradise. Paul's name came up and… I..." the pastor shook his head hollowly, he went quiet.

"What, so Leah told you to go out and gun down any poor sons of bitches who weren't compliant with angel rules?" Dean demanded incredulously.

"Dean," Sam put in, coming forward, giving Dean the ' _cool it, would you?_ ' look he so often gave. "Pastor Gideon… it's not your fault," Sam consoled earnestly. "It's unfortunate that Paul died, but we can't do anything about that now. We need to focus on figuring out what is going on here with your daughter." Pastor Gideon's questioning look deepened, was offset by fearfulness. Especially when Sam's voice lowered a little. "I have reason to believe she's not a prophet at all."

Dean looked at Sam, frowning deeply—this was news to him. "But... the angels speak to her," Pastor Gideon protested. "She knows things no one else could possibly know, she's saved us from demons."

"Come on, Pastor," Sam reasoned. "Something's wrong here and you know it."

"It's the end of times, it's supposed to be a little rough around the edges," the pastor said, a very lame excuse that he delivered without any real conviction—only a lot of growing uncertainty. "Haven't you boys read the good book? God's wrath is serious business."

"Huh," Dean commented wryly, sarcastically. "Do _you_ even believe that crap you're trying to sell?"

The pastor looked at Dean, defeated. "What else am I supposed to believe?"

Dean smiled facetiously. "How about that God doesn't give two craps about you or anyone else on the planet, and that the angels are all a bunch of assholes who wanna destroy the world, huh?"

Surprise filtered across the pastor's face, and Sam looked at Dean in growing irritation. Sam forcibly stowed his anger at his brother to try and focus on mollifying the situation and the pastor. "Listen. We're going to find out what's going on here, okay?"

The words had only just left Sam's mouth before Dean was yet again speaking out of turn, making the situation that much worse. "Hey, could you us all a favor and stop trying to give the guy false hope? This is just the end of times and shit happens, like he said. Everyone's gonna die, why fight it?"

Sam wheeled on Dean, barely able to keep from hitting his brother across the face at this point. " _Dean_ , could you just—"

" _What_ , Sam?" Dean demanded, almost as if he were _trying_ to get Sam to hit him. "Could I just _what_?"

"Just shut up and stop _talking_!" Sam shouted.

Dean gave him an annoyed eye roll. "Yeah, sure. I'll do ya one better," he replied sarcastically, and turned, walked out of the bar and slammed the door behind himself.

 _What the hell was his damn problem!?_ Sam watched his brother leave, his fists clenched tight—and then he remembered the pastor and struggled to calm himself, huffing in frustration, trying not to let his intense anger control him. "Listen, we're gonna figure this out Pastor Gideon, okay?" Sam said, turned on his heel to follow his brother, who needed a smack in the face.

"Wait, what am I—supposed to do?" The pastor asked, almost frantically, and Sam paused, turned back around, racking his brain. He was so flustered and riled up that he could barely think.

"Just, just try to keep the people calm, try to keep everyone in their houses, okay? Stay with Leah and if she starts talking about killing people or carrying out God's wrath, whatever, _come get us_." And Sam went out of the bar, looked left and right, seeing no sign of Dean—and thinking fast, he decided Dean would have gone back to the motel room. Sam hurried around the corner back to the motel room, distressed as hell, barely able to see straight.

He opened the door to their motel room, slamming it actually, barely noticing anything—not Alex jumping back from Cas, not the wide-eyed guilt on their faces, not Cas's shirtlessness—all Sam saw was that Dean didn't seem to be there and he turned around, desperately looking out at the motel parking lot, searching for any sign of Dean. He saw no sign of _anyone_. "Great. Just friggin' _great_ ," he muttered, thinking of his older brother out wandering the streets with a chip on his shoulder the size of Texas. He turned back around, closed the door behind himself, trying to figure out what to do now.

"What _happened_?" Alex asked, looking at her twin in confusion and concern. "Where's Dean? You okay?"

"Oh yeah, I'm _awesome_ ," Sam ranted, running a hand through his hair, coming into the room, unfocused. "Leah told the townspeople that there are _sinners_ among them and if they want to get to Paradise, they have to… _purify the flock_." Sam was _pissed_. "And to top it all off, Dean's being an asshole and I have no idea where he went now." He let out a heavy breath, trying to calm himself down. He was going to have to take charge and figure this whole thing out if Dean was going to bail like this. Sam turned his attention to Cas.

"Cas, any idea— _whoa_." Sam stopped short. The angel was shirtless—there was a huge wound dressing across his chest on the left, there was a discarded, bloody white shirt beside him. Sam's expression dropped, he was scrambled for understanding as sudden alarm rose up. "What—" _Oh my God._ Sam realized as he rewound mentally: Jane hadn't missed his sister like he had thought—she'd hit Cas instead, who'd put _himself between the bullet and Alex_. Horrified, awed realization dawned. "Holy shit, Cas," he breathed, looking at the angel intently. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Well. I'll _be_ fine." Cas sounded grumpy. "I feel drunk again. That liquor was very potent."

He followed Cas's scowl to a silver flask laying on the bed—Alex's, he recognized it—and Sam swooped in, picked it up, sniffed, then made a face and a disgusted noise. " _Absinthe_?" He asked, looking at Alex with eyes that were already lecturing her before he even opened his mouth. "Alex..." he started, his tone very chastising.

She looked at him unhappily and shook her head, heading to the kitchenette. "Don't, Sam."

And realizing there were more pressing matters at hand, he dropped the subject and the flask, too. The sink began to run as Alex washed the blood off of her hands. "All right, listen, we gotta figure out what's going on in this town," Sam said intensely, "before more people are killed."

Cas, moving stiffly and seeming in a good bit of pain, turned toward Sam a little as Alex shook her wet hands vigorously and came to stand beside Sam. "This Leah Gideon is a false prophet. I think I know who she is," Cas said, and he looked at the book that he had brought back from the Vatican—it sat where he'd left it on the coffee table. Alex followed his gaze and went and got the book, took it to Cas wordlessly. Wincing a little, he laid the book on his knee, balancing the spine there as he paged through it. Alex sat gingerly beside him, holding one side of the book to keep it from falling off. Again, Sam was stilled by the sight of the two of them near each other. Alex seemed uncomfortable under Sam's gaze and kept her gaze on the book purposefully. _Jesus_ , Sam thought in awe. The guy had _taken a bullet_ for Alex.

Cas was focused on the book in front of himself. It had yellowed paper and middle-english looking text filling the pages. Inky black and white illustrations filled some pages completely. Cas flipped through it slowly, with one hand, then seemed to find the page he was looking for. Sam came closer to peer down over Cas's shoulder and into the book. He saw an illustration of a woman riding on a seven-faced beast filled the right-hand page, and above the artwork _The Whore of Babylon_ was written in red letters.

" _The woman will be made drunk on the blood of the innocent_ ," Castiel read, " _and with the blood of the martyrs. And she shall come, bearing false prophecy, turning the citizens of earth against one another other._ " He looked up at Sam. "She rises when Lucifer walks the earth. This creature has the power to take a human's form, read minds."

"How can you be sure that's what Leah is?" Sam asked.

"I'll have to see her with my own eyes," Castiel replied, shutting the book and putting it on the bed beside him, prompting Sam to move back a little. "I'll be able to see her true face." Cas stood up, didn't seem too steady on his feet.

Sam wasn't sure if he should steady him or stay back. "Maybe you better wait a little bit…?" Sam cautioned hesitantly.

Alex, who had stood up right after Cas did, spoke up. "Cas… I just dug a bullet out of you. Can you at least put your clothes back on before you shazam out of here?" She gave him a matter-of-fact look. "You can't just go around town half-naked." She picked up his shirt then her expression faded as she saw the bright red stain. "It's all bloody."

Cas took the shirt in his hands and suddenly, the blood disappeared—the shirt looked brand new. Sam's mouth dropped open a little bit. "How do you _do_ that?" Sam asked, awed once again.

"It's a simple manipulation sequence of the atoms in a specified area of matter," Castiel explained, blasé, as he put his right arm into the sleeve and pulled the shirt half-on. He sounded as if he were commenting on the weather out of boredom.

Sam was deeply impressed—then pausing, thinking of something. "Wait—can't you heal yourself?"

Cas glanced in Sam's direction but didn't look directly at him. "Not anymore," he answered heavily, and began to struggle with the left sleeve of his shirt, grimacing—Alex began helping to guide his hand into the sleeve gently. Sam saw how Cas looked at her then, and he wasn't sure how to even begin to describe the quiet and subtle adoration that filled Castiel's face. And if that wasn't enough, Alex was re-buttoning Cas's shirt for him as the angels's arms hung at his sides. Sam inexplicably felt like he was witnessing a private moment and a little uncomfortable, he averted his eyes for a minute, then watched out of the corner of his eye. Alex replaced Cas's tie and tightened it carefully, and Sam saw that her hands lingered a little longer than necessary on the knot, the gaze the two shared was intense as hell. Alex glanced Sam's way and then stepped back from Cas, who picked up his trench coat off the bed then told Alex, "I won't be long,"—and disappeared with the soft sound of wind and wings.

Always startled when he did that, Sam blinked, then looked at his sister, who looked as though she'd been through hell and back. "...you sure you're all right?" Sam asked her after a couple silent beats.

"Yeah, uh, it's just... crazy night." She was distracted, not really paying attention to Sam.

"You're telling me," Sam said, fixing her with a questioning gaze. "So, hey, what hap—"

The door of the motel room opened loudly, and the twins turned to see Dean coming in, Paul's blood all over his hands, a sour expression on his face. "Dean! You all right?" Alex asked, even as Sam fixed his brother with an accusing stare and asked almost at the same time, "where'd you go?"

"Hey, hey, enough with the twenty questions," Dean muttered, ignoring them and walking over to the kitchenette sink. "Just give me a damn second." He began to wash his hands, letting out a heavy gust of air. "All I know is this is a bad time to be in Blue Earth," he commented darkly, then shook the water off his hands and turned around, looking at his siblings with an unhappy expression. He opened his mouth to say something. And then the soft sound of angel wings alerted them to Castiel's reappearance. The angel stood at the far end of the room near the bathroom door.

"That didn't take long," Sam commented in mild surprise.

"It's her," Castiel announced.

"It's who?" Dean asked loudly, frowning intently.

"The Whore," Cas replied.

"The _Whore_?" Dean repeated incredulously.

"We'll need to kill her," Castiel said, coming a little closer into better light.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Okay, back up two seconds, Cas buddy," Dean said irritably, "What are you talking about and w—" he suddenly stopped talking, looked at Cas's chest sharply. "Are you... _bleeding_?" The bullet hole and bloodstain had stayed there on Cas's trench coat and Dean was staring openly.

Cas looked annoyed and made an impatient face. "It is not of import," he told Dean in a strange, clipped tone.

Dean looked officially shocked. He looked at Sam and Alex for an explanation. "What's wrong with him?"

"He's... a little drunk. Or hung over. Not really sure which," Sam supplied.

Dean had looked back at Cas, flabbergasted. "You're drunk and you got _shot_?" Dean demanded, apparently not able to believe it, but then realization dawned over his features, he looked at Alex, then at Cas, and Sam could literally see the lightbulb go off in Dean's head. His mouth hung open a little bit, he looked shocked and in quick succession, stunned. "Cas did you… _take a bullet_ for Alex?"

"Yes," Castiel confirmed neutrally. Dean blinked rapidly several times, speechless, then looked at Alex, who appeared to feel guilty. "I'll be fine," Cas said, his expression stern and businesslike. He didn't appear to want to discuss the matter any further. "We need to talk about what's going on here in this town."

"Yeah, uh, sure," Dean said, taken aback but rolling with it. "Uh… I'm all ears. What you guys got?"

"It's Leah Gideon. She is _not_ Leah Gideon." Castiel took the book he'd left on the bed and crossed the room with it, sitting down on the couch and laying the book out on the coffee table. He tapped the page. "Book of Revelation calls her the Whore of Babylon. She's behind everything that's happening in this town right now." Dean and Sam both went to sit near Cas, Alex hung back. "She rises when Lucifer walks the earth and has the power to take a human's form, read minds, control certain forces of darkness," Cas continued, then paused heavily. "The real Leah was probably killed months ago."

"So Leah isn't Leah," Dean surmised in deep thought. "Why all the demons attacking the town?"

"They're under her control."

"And the Enochian exorcism?" Sam questioned.

Castiel frowned. "What?"

" _Rah bah zu na ooh zow tay_ ," Alex recited from memory, to which Cas became amused, a surprisingly boyish grin suddenly playing on his features.

"What's so funny?" Dean demanded suspiciously.

"It's fake," Cas explained, trying to hide a smile. "It actually means, 'you, um, breed with the mouth of a goat.'" He looked at Sam and Dean, whose faces were blank. Cas peered up at Alex, who was leaning against the partition and mildly amused at the revelation—Cas chuckled softly, glancing at Dean again—and the smile faltered under the _what the hell is your problem_ look Dean was giving him. Cas looked at Sam, who looked equally unamused. "It's... funnier in Enochian," the angel said.

Dean looked at Alex, who was still trying to cover up her smile and he rolled his eyes. "You two are so lame." He looked at Cas, the bloodstain on the trench coat, and visibly let it go. "So the demons smoking out—that's just a con? Why? What's the endgame?"

Castiel thought hard. "What you just saw—innocent blood spilled in God's name. Her goal is to condemn as many souls to hell as possible. And it's just beginning. She's well on her way to dragging this whole town into the pit."

"You said we had to kill her?" Sam asked, remembering what Cas had said a minute ago.

"Precisely," Castiel confirmed.

"Alright. So how do we go Pimp of Babylon all over this bitch?" Dean asked, and got a strange, puzzled look from the angel.

"I rarely understand your strange choice of words, Dean," he complained, then narrowed his eyes in thought. "We'll need a stake made from a cypress tree that grew in Babylon."

"Great, I've got one of those in the back of my car," Dean muttered sarcastically.

Cas looked at Dean sidelong. "I can get it for us, Dean. You don't have to be so cynical." Dean was visibly taken aback by Cas's comment. The angel stood up right after saying it, crossing the room to the kitchen. He took an empty glass off the counter and filled it with water. Dean and Sam watched him with surprise. "But there's the issue of who will kill her," Cas said, turning around and sipping the water. Alex watched him discreetly, thinking he must have remembered how she'd shown him that water could help sober him up.

"What do you mean, who'll kill her? One of _us_ ," Dean said, his tone implying Cas was an idiot.

Cas gave the oldest Winchester an impatient glance. "I don't think so. It's not that easy."

"'Course not," Dean commented dryly, pulling the heavy book off the table and flipped through it like he was looking for something.

Cas continued to explain. "The Whore can only be killed by a true Servant of Heaven."

"Oh yeah? And who'd that be?" Dean didn't bother to camouflage his snide tone, glancing up at Cas from the page.

"Not you," Cas answered matter-of-factly. "Or me. Sam, of course, is an abomination." Sam looked offended, but Cas didn't notice. "We'll have to find someone else."

There was a short silence, and then Dean looked up from the book at Sam, then Alex, then Cas. "Why not Alex?" he asked.

Cas looked startled. "What?"

"Yeah, says here a pure soul can be a Servant of Heaven, in some cases," Dean said, raising the book slightly off his lap in indication. Sam craned his neck and saw that Dean had found the page titled _The Servant of Heaven_. An illustration of a floating man with arms spread out in a welcoming, saintly gesture covered one of the pages. "I'm just saying," Dean said, "she's ganked some pretty bad sons of bitches in her day, and look at this checklist."

Alex had darted over, was looking closely at where Dean was pointing. _A pure soul is whole, human, and belongs to a virgin_. _Those who possess a pure soul are often found to be a Servant of Heaven, should their intentions be pure and divine._

Dean looked at Alex, who was trying not to wither away as she realized. _Holy shit. Crowley… Lucifer… the pure soul crap she'd totally forgotten about until just now… oh my god._ "Pure soul…" Dean was saying with a nonchalant shrug, looking at Cas again. "She matches the bill."

Sam looked like he was having a difficult time accepting that, looking at Alex sort of intently, then Cas, who set down his water with a loud crack. "Dean," the angel said loudly, his voice harsh with sudden anger, "Your sister was gunned down just two days ago and died—she was shot at today and would have died if I hadn't been there and you want to put her in harm's way _again_?"

Dean was quieted at the outburst, by the sudden reminders of how close his sister had come to dying recently. How she _had_ died recently. And maybe he was so shamed by what Cas had said, how guilty he suddenly felt for everything that had happened to her that he didn't take into consideration how strange it was that Alex didn't argue or tell them to fuck off and of course she could take care of one goofy little Whore of Babylon. Her eerie silence went unnoticed by Dean, who instead looked at Cas, feeling oddly chastised under the angel's scowl. His eyes went to the bullet hole again and he clenched his jaw, realizing how much he owed Cas. "Well then _who_?"

Cas shook his head. "I'll find someone. First, I need to get the weapon." He looked at Alex grimly, his expression going odd. "I'll be back later." And Cas disappeared with nothing further.

There was a thick silence. "Dude sure is overprotective," Dean commented wryly, looking at Alex, trying to be funny and maybe make some temporary peace—he knew he was a little hard to be around right now—but he just got an _are you fucking kidding me_ look from her. She looked tense, drawn, and troubled beyond her years. And beside Dean, Sam was leaning over his knees, hands clasped, staring at the floor with a stiff jaw. The three of them were all completely silent, and after a couple seconds, Dean put his face in his hands, overwhelmed with life, with responsibility, with this situation they were facing in the midst of the apocalypse crisis.

He was beyond tired, beyond exhausted. He barely had anything left to give and yet life kept demanding more and more of him. Being around his siblings was a constant reminder of how screwed up he was, how much he had to lose, how much of a constant failure he was. He could _feel_ how unhappy and disappointed his siblings were with him, and he just couldn't take it. Not when he remembered himself at five years old and being the one who'd taught the two of them how to walk—watching them take their first steps and being there to catch them when they fell over. Not when he remembered how Alex always used to run to him when she was in her pre-school years, knowing he'd catch her and whirl her around in big circles. Not when he remembered Sam coming to him for help with math homework, and then telling him he was the best big brother in the world. It hurt to remember all that stuff because right now he felt like the two people he loved most in the world were depending on him but he couldn't even depend on himself anymore.

Feeling overwhelmed with growing despair and emotion, Dean stood up and grabbed his jacket. He heard Sam stand up too. "Dean, don't leave again," he pleaded, to which Dean turned back, held a reassuring hand out, then glanced at his sister, whose expression was unreadable.

"I just—I just need some space, okay?" he asked, trying not to sound as broken as he felt. "I'll be in the car." Sam's expression still begged Dean not to go, but Dean left anyway.

And so the siblings went their separate ways.

Dean would go to the Impala and sit in the driver's seat, a place where he felt like he'd spent half his life. He would stare straight ahead all night, alone, but by choice—sleepless and depressed, questioning his entire life and wrestling with the choice he had to make. Trying to figure out a way to protect his family, but not sure if it were possible anymore.

Alex would go to the shower. She'd sit down underneath the stream of hot water and wrap her arms around her legs—thinking dismally about the pure soul she'd forfeited, wondering if she ruined a chance to defeat the devil and save her brothers. Wondering what the hell was going to happen with herself and Cas after that night. She'd think how unfair it was that Paul was dead. She'd despair at how distant she felt from Dean.

And Sam. He would watch his siblings go in opposite directions and remain uncertain of what to do. He'd go to the couch and crack open a book and stare at it unseeingly, unable to concentrate, unable to think straight. He'd remain unsure as to why Dean was being so horrible, unsure as to what had Alex so upset. Sam would think about the way Castiel had looked at her, about the fact that the angel had saved her life that night.

And when Alex came out of the bathroom, dressed in a pair of jeans and her old gray hoodie, the twins wouldn't speak a word. She would just crawl into one of the beds and curl up, facing away from him. And Sam would accept her silence sadly and wonder when his family had become such a disastrous wreck. He'd wonder how to fix it, then wonder if it were fixable at all.

* * *

A solitary figure in a tan trench coat stood on a rocky bluff where a lone, forgotten cypress tree overlooked the city of Babylon. At his side, Castiel held the bare end of the branch he'd broken off. He gazed at the beauty of creation around him. The sun was just beginning to rise, casting a soft pink glow over the barren, rocky landscape and the still-sleeping city. And he lost track of time, he lost track of everything. He could only think of Alex, could only curse himself for his fault in destroying her status as a pure soul—and was horrified that he hadn't even thought about that or realized it until Dean had said what he had. Cas debated with himself, thinking hard about how to make it right, or if it _could_ be made right. He tried to trace through the time that he'd known Alex, tried to pinpoint exactly when the way he thought of her had turned into something that seemed impossible to walk away from.

He thought briefly about how Dean might react if he found out everything Castiel had done with Alex. Nothing that he didn't deserve, he thought wryly, guiltily, and he saw Alex's face flash before him in his mind's eye. His heart sank in self-loathing. How had he dared to do what he'd done? And why did he want to _do it again_? To crush her against himself and bury himself inside of her, find that peak of perfection and bliss again, hear her moan for him. He shut his eyes, unable to stop himself from thinking these wretched, dishonorable, tantilizing things...

His body felt awful, his head was beginning to hurt and pound, as if there were someone repeatedly hitting him there with a blunt object. His chest hurt, too, where the bullet had buried itself. Still, that pain almost made him feel better. It was a reminder that he had finally saved Alex instead of failing her. But the momentary triumph wasn't enough. He'd stopped a bullet, but he'd seen the future where he'd _put one in her_. It haunted him. And his logical side told him that staying away was the answer, yet every other part of him screamed in protest at the thought of leaving her. As the wound in his chest pulsed in pain, he thought about how he would do _anything_ to be the one whose life ended in 2013. That if at all possible, he would trade places with her. And maybe somehow he could. Perhaps, knowing what the future held, he could circumvent it. It was a small hope and a foolish one, but it was all he had. He had done what he'd done in present time and now he was left to live with the consequences. But how could he make make this right? He'd dishonored the woman who he loved.

 _Loved_. He bowed his head. He didn't even know how to love, and yet his spirit confirmed it inside of him time and time again. That love was the thing tying him to her, was what had been growing in him from the first time he'd laid eyes on her almost three years ago. And he supposed _that_ was the fated moment that had damned him, both of them. That gray October day when he had first seen her, this beautiful little dark-haired human with eyes like secrets.

When Castiel looked up, he became aware of how long he'd been standing there—the sun was now well above the horizon—and pushing his torment aside, Castiel went back to the motel. His wings invisibly rended the air apart as his molecules sailed through space and time, his Grace carrying him back to where the Winchesters would be waiting.

"I have the stake," he announced as he arrived in the motel room—and then he realized the motel room was dark and quiet. His human eyes adjusted and he recognized Alex's sleeping form curled up on one of the beds. On closer examination, he saw that she wore jeans and a gray hoodie now. Her hair was damp and she looked peaceful and beautiful. A wave of sadness rippled through the angel.

"Hey, Cas," Sam said softly, almost startling Cas, who turned around to see Alex's twin was sitting on the couch with a book.

Cas approached him then set the stake down, glancing around, suppressing his thoughts for the moment. "Where's Dean?"

"Out in the car being a loner," Sam said, trying to chuckle, to sound light. But to Castiel, Sam sounded defeated and hopeless. Sam set the book he'd been holding down, stared at it, then shook his head. "He's been really... different lately, Cas."

Castiel sat in the chair next to the couch and looked at Sam intently. "Different how?"

Sam thought a minute. "I dunno. It's like there's no fight left in him. Like he's given up on everything."

Cas frowned, paused, trying to understand what Sam's somewhat vague statement meant. "What are you saying?"

Sam shrugged his hands up uncertainly. "I'm not sure. Guess I'm just worried." Sam let out a heavy breath. "You know, sometimes I forget that he went to Hell and was there for decades, torturing souls." Sam clasped his hands together, looking at them morosely. "He's so much more brutal than he used to be. Maybe that's why, huh?"

"Hell is a terrible place," Castiel replied darkly, remembering.

Sam turned, looked at Cas fully. "You saw him there, didn't you?" he asked.

Cas looked at Sam silently, recalling the Dean he'd seen in Hell. He felt himself souring. "Yes." Cas knew that he couldn't tell Sam the details, that it was all too awful to comprehend. So he remained vague. "Dean was... broken in every way imaginable. At the time, I didn't understand why Heaven demanded his rescue," he told Sam, then shook his head, almost smiled as he thought about everything the Winchesters had changed his mind about. How intrepid and determined they were, but especially Dean. He looked at Sam again. "But I understand now."

Sam was quiet and thinking hard. "Be honest with me, Cas. Do you really think Dean and I can really find a way to cut this whole Michael Lucifer battle royale thing short?"

Cas looked at Sam, meaningful in a quiet way. "If anyone can, it's the two of you."

There was a humble, touched pause. "Thanks, Cas," Sam finally managed. He cleared his throat. "Should I, uh, go get him?" he asked, referencing Dean.

Castiel shook his head. "No. Not yet. You all need rest."

"Yeah. Sleep sounds good," Sam said, chuckling again in that airy, slight way he had. "Haven't had any in a day or two." Sam looked at Cas, and there was a long silence, then the middle Winchester made a face like he was trying to figure something out. "You just gonna… hang out here all night?" he asked.

Cas looked at him in slight surprise at the question. "I'll watch over you," he said, as if Sam should have known that.

But instead, Sam's eyes narrowed a little bit. "… right." Sam looked over at Alex's sleeping form over on the bed, then back at Cas, and his voice lowered a little, his tongue darted out to wet his lips. "Hey, Cas, don't take this the wrong way but… I gotta do this, man. After everything I've, uh, seen. I have to." Cas frowned, not understanding what he meant. Sam leaned a little closer over his knees, his expression intent and assertive. "See, Alex is my sister—and, I know I've done a crap job of looking out for her in the past but—I mean, it's still my job, you know?" Sam looked like he felt a little awkward at this point, or unsure of how to word himself. "And I'm not judging or anything, I just wanna know—are you and Alex…?" he trailed off, decided to rephrase himself. "I guess I just wanna know what your intentions are."

"My… intentions," Cas repeated, eyes narrowing in confusion. Didn't fathers ask this of men who were courting their daughters?

"Yeah," Sam confirmed hesitantly. "I just don't want to see her get hurt. And that might seem wrong coming from _me_ …" he trailed off and regret and shame filtered across his face. He pushed it aside. "But… when it comes down to it, she's one of the most important people in the world to me."

Castiel bowed his head a little. "Yes. Me too."

Sam's expression wavered a little, hints of surprise and maybe appreciation filtering across his face. "Yeah. You, you took a bullet for her tonight, man. I believe you." He thought for a long, quiet moment, then looked over at Alex again, and his expression became a little tighter, almost sad. "But protecting her from crazy people isn't enough. You don't know her like I did, Cas. This tiny kid who could never say a word. She had no friends, a really harsh childhood… pretty much everyone disappointed her, hurt her, let her down..." he trailed off. "Myself included." Sam's eyes seeming to flicker over memories and he seemed regretful and weary. "I just… I want her to be happy. And be okay."

Cas nodded, his eyebrows moving together just a little in deep thought. "I understand."

Sam shook his head, looked at Cas in a way that demanded Cas's full attention. "I don't want you to 'understand', Cas," he said intensely. "I want you to _promise me_." He paused for effect, not taking his gaze off of the angel for a second. "That you won't hurt her or walk out on her. If the two of you are gonna… pursue some kind of relationship or whatever… you gotta promise me, man. You gotta let me know that I can _trust you_ with her."

Cas was surprised—not only at Sam's straightforwardness in addressing him like this, but at the sheer amount of respect and love he could hear that Sam held for Alex. Cas had a new appreciation for Alex's twin, who was currently waiting expectantly for Cas's reply. The angel took a deep breath and answered Sam's original question. "My intentions are to always keep her safe, Sam."

Sam didn't look like he was satisfied with that. His eyebrows were still raised expectantly and Cas paused heavily, deep in troubled thought. He couldn't explain to Sam the entirety of the situation or how complicated it was. How Alex was the most important thing to him, how he loved her and shouldn't. How she consumed his every thought and desire. How he had all but fallen from grace with her in the Vatican earlier that very night. How he didn't know _what_ to do or _how_ to proceed from here, only that he had to keep moving forward.

 _You gotta promise me, man. You gotta let me know I can_ trust you _with her._

And with every good intention despite his many doubts and fears, Cas looked up from the floor, met Sam's waiting gaze. Spoke it aloud. "I promise you, Sam."

Sam let out a heavy breath, shoulders relaxing visibly. "Yeah. Okay. Good." He looked at Alex again, and Castiel followed his gaze. "Good," Sam repeated. And Cas felt even more uncertain than ever, sitting there in the quiet darkness, trying to determine his intentions for the human asleep across the room from him.

* * *

 _What time was it_? It was light outside. Alex opened her eyes groggily and squinted, realizing she was curled into her arm—she must have knocked the pillow off the bed, she did that all the time—she turned her head up and she saw Cas, sitting there beside her on the bed, a hand on his face and head, like he was trying to soothe a headache. Waking up fast, Alex was blinking the sleep out of her eyes and pushing herself up and trying to see if he was okay all in the span of two seconds. "Cas, hey... you okay?"

He looked at her, clearly not feeling himself. "Everything hurts. My head especially."

" _O-oh_..." Alex commented slowly, then nodded with a little wincing smile, knowing exactly what the issue was. "Welcome to your first hangover."

"I don't like it," he complained pitifully.

She resisted the affectionate urge to reach out and ruffle his hair. "No one likes it."

A loud Sam-snore broke the silence and Alex craned her neck sideways. He was asleep on the couch sitting up and cross-armed, his mouth wide open and head lolling toward his shoulder—the perfect time for a prank if Alex had been in a different mindset. She noticed a piece of a pale tree branch on the coffee table in front of her sleeping brother. "You got the stake, huh?" she asked Cas, glancing back at the angel who was clearly suffering badly from the headache. Getting an idea, Alex got up and walked across the room.

"Yes," Cas answered her, watching her curiously, his preoccupation with his head pain lessening. "What are you doing?"

She fiddled with the motel coffee pot and poured some coffee grounds into a clean filter. "Making you some coffee," she said, pushing the brew button. The machine began to groan. "Helps with hangovers."

"I'm past help," he said dismally, prompting Alex to look back at him appraisingly to see if he were joking or not. She didn't think so—he looked positively depressed.

"You're being a little over dramatic, aren't you?" she asked, trying to keep her tone light and teasing, but he only looked down. She went over and sat down on the bed across from him. "What's wrong?"

He shook his head, his gaze on the floor in avoidance. "Nothing."

Alex studied him closely. "Nothing?" she prompted in a tone that suggested she didn't believe him. He glanced up at her, those bright blue eyes locking on hers and captivating her. Suddenly reminded of when those eyes had stared into hers last night—and everything else, the knowledge that she had _been with him_ —the memories of what he'd _done to her_ —she became flustered and looked away.

"So, uh, w-when did you get back?" she asked him, fidgeting a little, glancing at the coffee maker, silently urging it to brew faster.

"Several hours ago," he told her.

She felt the awkwardness abate a little as she thought of him sitting there beside her for hours, feeling bad with a headache but remaining close and watching over her. She then noticed that the bullet hole and bloodstain were gone from the trench coat. "Is your… is the wound all right?" Maybe that was what he seemed so torn up about she thought, but then from his reaction, she realized that didn't seem to be it. He nodded distractedly, not concerned about it one way or another. He wouldn't really look at her, obviously distressed about something.

Frowning softly in concern, Alex watched him for a minute, then glanced back at the coffee pot, which had enough coffee in it now to at least pour a cup. She got up, bothered that Cas was closed off and unresponsive. But maybe she should have expected as much after what had happened. _God_ , what had happened. She tried not to remember it, because it was so erotic and Sam was just a few feet away and the memories of Cas last night made her feel fuzzy and warm and _Jesus, get a hold of yourself, Alex_. She poured a mug of coffee and took it to Cas, who accepted the mug and stared at the steam rising up off the dark liquid. Alex sat back down across from him, looking at him questioningly, her more R-rated thoughts fading away as she saw how miserable he looked.

"I've been thinking," he said tersely in that quiet, low voice of his, and his gaze faltered away, his brows knit together, his eyes scanned back and forth over the floor by his feet. He held the mug with two hands, his elbows rested on his knees. He finally looked back up at her in earnest uncertainty. "Should we... should I marry you?"

 _Not_ what she was expecting to hear. Alex's jaw dropped. "W-what?" She sat back a little, as if the question had physically blown her backwards. Had she heard him right? Her voice lowered into a whisper, like it was scandalous. " _Marry_?"

He seemed even more confused at her shocked reaction. "Isn't that... what you're supposed to do?" he asked. "Would it make things right?"

"Make _what_ things right?" she asked, aghast and caught off guard. Did he think because they'd had sex he was obligated to walk down an aisle with her…? She couldn't believe her ears.

Cas looked sickened and resigned, his next statement blew her even further away. "Alex, I defiled you."

"Wha—?" she stuttered out. Sam snorted a little, startling the couple—and they watched as Sam shifted, smacking his mouth in his sleep a couple times and settled back down. Alex leaned closer to Cas, speaking in an even lower whisper now. " _Defiled_ , Castiel?"

He looked down at the black coffee mug in his hands, uncomfortable and reluctant. "I took your innocence. Your… purity."

Alex couldn't process _that_ one. "...Are you fucking kidding me?" He _had_ to be shitting her. "My _purity_? Come on Cas. Have you _met_ me? I've ripped apart hundreds of things that go bump in the night—I steal, lie, cheat, kill…" she stopped and thought about it, the things she'd said sinking in. She shook her head. "I am _not_ some innocent, delicate petal. I was never a 'pure soul'…" she looked at him doubtfully. "How could I have been?"

"You were," he said simply. "And now… you're not." He seemed like he'd been thinking about it all night. "It's entirely my fault." He sounded very final and jaded and he sighed unhappily then raised his mug up to his lips, tasted the coffee and frowned. "This tastes very awful."

Alex stared at him, speechless and a little annoyed, unsure of how to even begin to respond, a million and one thoughts swirling around in her mind. And then the motel door opened and in walked Dean. He looked like he hadn't slept. The first thing he did was kick one of Sam's legs out from under him and tell him to "wake up, Gigantor."

As Sam's bleary eyes opened and he caught himself from falling over, he muttered " _Huh wha_?" and then protested with a complaining groan. "I _just_ fell asleep."

Dean turned his attention to Cas. "When did you get back?" he asked, neither hostile or friendly.

"A little bit ago," Castiel said vaguely. Alex eyes darted to him—she didn't miss the fact that Cas had just fibbed to Dean about how long he'd been there. Smart guy.

Dean didn't catch the lie. He just crossed his arms, raised his eyebrows, and pursed his lips. "You got the magic tree branch?"

"Yes," Cas said, and with a nod indicated the stake of wood that was on the coffee table.

"Okay, so who ventilates this bitch?" Dean asked, swaggering over to the stake, picking it up and turning it over in his hand, then looking at Cas. "Could the padre do it?"

"Pastor Gideon?" Sam asked for clarification, running a tired hand through his bedhead hair.

"Yes. More than likely he's our only option," Cas agreed, standing up, coffee still in hand. And Alex watched him from where she still sat on the bed. He looked normal and everyday, like this could be him in the mornings. Every morning. And she was suddenly imagining him reading the paper and sipping at coffee and looking at her fondly across a table, where she'd be sitting with a bowl of cereal, wearing some pajamas. She didn't even own a pair, but maybe someday she would...

"All right, so go get him," Dean told Cas, a little rudely, and Alex's little daydream was interrupted.

Patient as ever, Cas set his mug down on the coffee table. "I can't. The Whore is with him right now—I already checked." Cas was cautioning. "We'll have to be careful. Approach him when he's out of her grasp. If she finds out he knows… or that we know… it won't be good for anyone."

Dean looked displeased. "Great, so we sit around and twiddle our thumbs all day waiting."

"Yes, precisely," Cas replied, then added in, distractedly, "though the thumb twiddling is unnecessary."

"It's an _expression_ , Cas." Dean said in a decidedly patronizing tone.

Fed up with his horrible attitude, Alex gave him dirty, annoyed look. "Could you be a little less of a dick?" she asked bitterly. "You're giving me a headache."

Dean's eyebrows raised in a falsely surprised expression. "Oh, am I?" Glibly, he swept his arm out, indicating the way out of the room. "Door's right there if you don't like the conversation."

She stared him down—wounded, unsure of why he had to act that way—and trying to cover up her pain, she muttered something like " _fucking douchebag_ " under her breath and took him up on his offer, surprising everyone when she left and slammed the door behind herself.

* * *

Alex sat on the back of the Impala. The sky was overcast and the air was chilly. The air carried a damp feeling with it, and the grey clouds overhead seemed heavy with rain that wasn't falling yet. She'd walked out a minute ago trying to calm down. She wanted to scream or hit something. She had never been _so frustrated_ with so many things and all at once. Dean, who was currently in first place for the dick of the year award. Cas, ambivalently proposing marriage because he apparently regretted having sex with her or… something. Sam—well, Sam actually was on her good side right now.

She took in a deep breath, closed her eyes, then let the breath out. She remembered how sometimes in the past—a past that seemed so simple and wonderful in comparison to the world now—sometimes Dean would park the car in the middle of nowhere, the three of them would sit on the hood and watch the stars silently. Throw back a beer or two, smoke a joint. Just exist together. Usually nothing was said. Those used to be her favorite times, especially when she'd been mute. When it was just them, the galaxies above, and a quiet, deserted country road. Back then, she'd known that she was with the only other two people in the world who knew what it was like to be her. They had all just gotten each other and everything had been okay. Dean sometimes nudged her, pointing out a shooting star or a planet, knowing it would make her smile. She opened her eyes finally to a bleak world that paled in comparison to her memories. Where was _that_ Dean? Who was this angry, cagey, restless, hopeless man who was increasingly unrecognizable to her? Where was the older brother who used to crack a grin at her in the mornings and tell her ' _mornin' sunshine,_ ' and call her _baby girl_ and _sweetheart_ and _tiger_ when she got down in the dumps? Where was the Dean who used to get upset if someone even looked at her mean? Why was he pushing her away like this?

She heard footsteps shuffling toward her and she knew it wasn't Dean—he marched—and it wasn't Sam—he loped. Cas. She turned her head slightly and saw him. He came to a stop beside the trunk, beside her. "Are you all right?" He asked.

She _wasn't_ all right. "I'm…" she trailed off. Cas waited, Alex grew introspective. "Dean wasn't always like that to me," she said, unsure how else to say it. She looked at him, trying to be brave despite the fear. "What is _happening_ to him, Cas? To my family?" She chewed the inside of her cheek anxiously for a second as she looked away again, scowling at noting in particular. "I haven't even told them about what happened in Heaven."

"You mean seeing your father?" Cas prompted after a second and she half-nodded confirmation.

"I mean, even if I'd had the _chance_ —" Alex stopped short and soured. "I kind of don't even wanna talk to Dean." Even saying that broke her heart. "I don't even wanna _look_ at him right now." She stared into far distance, at the closed diner across the street.

"I want to help you," Cas told her. He sounded so heartfelt and sweet but unsure. "How _can_ I help you?"

Touched and surprised, Alex softened, looking at him with the beginnings of a smile when she saw how genuine he was. "I don't know. Maybe give Dean a personality transplant?" she rolled her eyes halfheartedly at her own joke, surprised when his expression softened. "Actually," Alex started, paused, thought about it. "There _is_ something you could do for me."

"Of course," Castiel said immediately. "Whatever you wish."

Whatever she wished, huh? She pushed the more R-rated responses away from her mind, cleared her throat. She actually couldn't believe she was asking Cas to do this for her. "You uh, you could tell him for me? About Dad and what he said. I mean, I told you you everything, so… you just tell him what I told you."

There was a considering pause. Then an affirmative, "Of course." Cas thought a moment longer, rueful about something. "Things must truly be different between Dean and yourself."

"What do you mean?"

"You used to tell him everything," Cas said simply.

And Alex remembered that Cas had watched over her for much longer than she usually gave thought to. Knew her life better than she thought he did. It made her feel strange. But he was right, and she nodded sadly, criss-crossing her legs to sit like that, shrugging her eyebrows up briefly in an ambivalent expression. "Yeah. Now I don't wanna tell him _anything_." She couldn't even begin to put into words how upsetting that was to admit. So she pushed the thought away and looked at Cas, who stood there with his hands hanging at his sides, his shoulders slumped. She temporarily let herself forget about Dean and she smiled fondly at awkward-as-usual Cas, then patted the spot beside her on the trunk. "Sit with me Cas," she coaxed. "Don't just stand there like a telephone pole."

He looked a little uncertain but complied, and his legs hung over the end of the car. Alex stole a couple glances at him, watching as he looked at some birds that had gathered on a telephone wire strung across the motel parking lot. And she suddenly blurted out, "can angels even _get_ married?"

He frowned a little, his eyes drifting downward and into middle distance. "I'm not sure. I didn't think that far ahead." He looked at her sidelong, and she saw the guilt that he felt about everything. Guilt, or maybe worse, regret. "I just thought… it might fix it."

"I don't understand what there is to fix," Alex said softly, staring at her lap tensely, feeling the sadness return. "Do you really regret it that much?"

He took a long pause to reply. "I should regret it. Who I am... it goes against everything." His jaw clenched a bit. "But I don't feel regret as much as guilt, I suppose." He sighed wearily. "I'm sorry Alex. I can't imagine my emotional incompetance is easy for you to deal with." Overcome with compassion and understanding, Alex just reached over and held his hand briefly, giving it a squeeze. He finally looked at her, and she gave him an encouraging little smile.

"Cas, if anyone gets the feeling of not doing things right, it's me." She tried to think of how to say it better. "I overthink like crazy. You do too, pretty sure."

He nodded faintly, seeming to feel a little better. "So what what I did... last night. It was all... correct?"

Alex grinned self-consciously, put on the spot because yes—it had been amazing. "I'd say so," she said, almost playful despite her hot-skinned shyness.

And there on the trunk of the Impala for only birds on a telephone wire to see, an angel of Heaven and a twenty-seven-year-old hunter exchanged a bashful smile—Cas appeared distinctly boyish when his mouth quirked up to one side just for her, and unconsciously, Alex's cheek moved down toward her shoulder as she tried to suppress her smile—it was an action that made her appear demure. And both of them were quiet for a minute, together in a surprisingly comfortable, if mutually thrilled silence. Because despite all the adversity and inner turmoil they faced, they both realized that the other didn't regret what they'd done together, only regretted the difficult circumstances and unknown future and the impossible obstacles they faced.

Alex's thoughts gravitated back to earlier subject matter and she sobered a little, even though remnants of the smile Cas had inspired remained. "I'm not the marrying type, Cas," she told him, then halted. "Or at least, I don't think I am." She hadn't even really thought about it, honestly. She'd grown up just hoping someone would someday look at her twice—she hadn't even gotten to the wedding fantasies like most little girls did. And she didn't really think Cas was proposing traditional marriage anyway. She got that an angel was bound to think sex outside of marriage was wrong or something… so this was him trying to make an honest woman out of her in the only way he knew how. And that was endearing and thoughtful despite being a load of garbage at the same time. She couldn't really take him seriously about it, but it still spoke volumes of how much he cared, and led her to ask the question she'd been sitting on for a little while now. Asking it was scary, but not asking it would be worse. "Cas... did you ever stop to think maybe we're... I don't know. _Supposed_ to be together? Even if it's just for a few years?"

And the instant he looked at her, she knew he had. "But you'll die," he said softly.

Alex wasn't fazed, she barely reacted; she'd expected him to say that. She knew that was the one guarantee in this life… a one way ticket to the end. " _Everyone_ dies, eventually."

He looked at her sadly. "Not me."

The motel door slammed just then and Dean's gruff voice sounded off behind them. "Hey, get off my damn car."

Turning, Alex frowned. "Where you going?" she asked sort of guardedly, seeing his jacket, his keys, and his moody expression as she slid off the back of the car. Cas followed suit. Dean barely looked at either of them. "To get some friggin' food," he replied, and slammed the door, started the car, and drove off without any further anything. He wouldn't come back for hours and hours.

While Dean was missing in action and off who-knows-where, Cas, Alex, and Sam shared a strange, tense, distracted day, waiting for him to resurface. Cas checked a couple times on the pastor and each time returned, shaking his head no, that Leah was still with him.

In an effort to pass the time and keep their minds off of their own individual miseries, Sam and Alex taught Cas how to play poker. The angel seemed mildly reluctant to learn it, commenting that it was a sin… and then he thought about it for a second and gave an almost cynical chuckle, agreeing to be taught after all. He did surprisingly well, winning a couple times to the amusement of the twins. He even seemed to like it once he learned the rules. Sometime toward noon, Alex fell asleep next to Cas as the three of them played another hand of cards. Her eyes blinked sleepily and head nodded down onto his shoulder and both men looked at her in surprise when that happened. Cas and Sam's eyes met—and Sam didn't say a word, just let it go. She slept for almost five hours there against Cas, who didn't move once, but did ask Sam a couple times if so much sleep in the middle of the day was normal for her. He was obviously worried about her state of exhaustion. And Sam thought that was sweet, but still felt a little weird about all of it. He tried to keep himself busy while Alex used Cas as a human, er, no, _angel_ pillow—he read some books, made some notes, paced around, thought about going to find Dean, but decided to stay put.

Hours passed. Dean didn't return until near sundown, wouldn't tell them where he went, only demanding Cas go get the pastor.

* * *

" _No_ ," Pastor Gideon said, shaking his head for longer than needed. He sat across from Dean and Sam in the motel room. "She's my daughter."

"I'm sorry, but she's not," Dean said. "She's the _thing_ that killed your daughter."

"That's _impossible_ ," the pastor told him immediately.

"It's not impossible," Alex replied somberly. She stood at the end of the couch nearest to Sam. "Listen to your instincts, Padre." How many times had the Winchesters had this same conversation? With countless mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers who were struggling to accept that their loved one was a demon, a creature, a ghost. Pastor Gideon, who Cas had finally managed to catch when he was not with Leah, was putting a shaking hand to his face in grief and confusion.

Sam continued the line of reasoning Alex had started. "Deep down, you know it's not her," he told the pastor, whose face wrinkled up. "Look, we get it—" Sam said. "It's too much. But if you don't do this, she's going to kill a lot of people. And damn the rest to hell."

Dean picked up the stake and held it out the Pastor Gideon, who looked positively horrified. "It's just… why does it have to be _me_?" he asked. They'd already explained in detail, but he couldn't seem to accept any of it.

"You're a Servant of Heaven," Castiel said from where he leaned against the partition.

"And you're an _angel_ ," the pastor protested, turning around halfway to look at Cas.

"A poor example of one," he replied somberly, and his eyes flickered up to Alex, who heard what he said and seemed saddened by it. Dean, still holding the stake out to the padre, missed the significance of it.

The padre turned back around and looked at the boys and their sister. It was like he was begging them to please, _please_ , find someone else. Anyone else. "You're sure I'm the only one who can do this?" He asked.

"Yeah," Dean confirmed grimly and the pastor looked away, putting his face in his hands again. Dean looked at Sam, prompting him to say something with a jab of his hand.

Sam gave Dean an impatient glance but did what his brother wanted. "We don't have any other leads, Pastor Gideon. Everyone else here in town is falling apart," he gently pleaded. "You can save people tonight. A lot of people. Please."

The pastor looked at them again, hesitating, but appeared to be resigning himself. "She _has_ been different," he told them wearily. "And today, she, she threatened me. Said she'd name me as the next sinner if I didn't shut up." He looked grieved, almost at the point of tears. "Leah would never do that. Not my baby girl. She would never." The broken way he said that last part sent a hush over the room. Maybe the pastor had known longer than he really realized. He looked at Sam, then Dean, his face a mask of torment. "What you're asking me to do is… insane—you understand that, right?"

"Believe me, Padre," Dean said heavily, his eyes glancing in his brother's direction. "More than you know. We'll be right there with you, okay?" Dean told the pastor.

"All right," the pastor agreed brokenheartedly. He took the stake up, looking at it sadly. "I'll do it. I'll do it."

Cas, who had been watching with a silent, conflicted expression, let out a heavy breath and walked out of the room, his hand to his head. Curious, Dean watched his back as he walked out of the motel room, then redirected his attention to the padre. "Great. Good. Listen, you take a few minutes, get yourself together."

Alex craned her neck, looking out the window even as Dean followed after Cas with a bag slung over his shoulder.

The angel was outside the motel, sitting on a bench in the neon cast of the motel lights, his hand on his head like he was in pain. "Whatcha doing out here, angel wings?" Dean asked, walking around to the back of his car and opening the trunk to put one of his bags there.

"Trying to recover from a headache," Cas said irritably.

"Ah," Dean said, remembering what Sam had said about Cas being drunk or hungover. "Gotcha." He shut the trunk of the Impala, put his hands in his pockets, and walked up to the driver's side of the car, leaning there. he looked at Cas long and hard, reluctant to admit how much he owed the guy. But he knew he needed to thank him, that Cas deserved at least that much. Even if Dean didn't like it and was pretty damn convinced that the angel was bad news for Alex overall, today the guy had been the difference between her being alive or not.

Dean cleared his throat. "So listen," he said grudgingly. "I owe you big time. I know that. And I'm… just… thanks. I don't think I can ever make it up to you."

Cas's hands were now loosely clasped in front of him, he didn't really seem to hear Dean at all. "Dean," he said lowly. "There's something I need to tell you."

Oh _shit._ Dean was suddenly filled with a horrible foreboding feeling, he just _knew_ Cas was gonna open his mouth and say he was in love with Alex. Voice lowering in caution and forewarning, Dean looked at Cas dangerously. " _What._ "

And then Cas said the furthest thing from what Dean had expected. "Alex saw your father in Heaven."

Dean almost did a double take, his glare falling away. "Uh, what?"

"When she first died, when she became aware of herself in Heaven... your father appeared," Cas explained levelly, not looking at Dean, just staring ahead of himself.

"What, like some kinda hallucination?" Dean asked, beside himself in surprise.

"No," Cas replied. "It was him. Contacting her from across the veil somehow."

Dean wet his lips and held out a finger. "Okay, wait, wait, _wait_. Hold on." He was getting exasperated. "How do you even _know_ that—and why the hell are _you_ telling me this, not _her_?"

Cas, unaffected by Dean's rising temper and voice, remained matter-of-fact. "She asked me to tell you in her stead."

"And why the hell would she do _that_?!" Dean demanded.

Cas finally looked up at him, his gaze sad almost. "Dean, consider it. Would you allow anyone else to speak to her the way that _you_ have been?" Those words shocked Dean into stillness and silence. Cas looked away, continuing. "She's upset with you, I believe." Dean stood there lamely. Cas's question and subsequent comment had left him dismayed. "That's beside the point," Cas said, oblivious to or ignoring Dean's shocked reaction. "He warned her, Dean. He was cut off before he could tell her everything, but he said... ' _tell Dean it's not over, that the danger isn't gone, that Azazel planned to use you and Sam to—_ '"

Dean was hanging onto every word in rising terror. "To what?" he asked anxiously, and Cas shook his head, looking disturbed at a deep level and no longer meeting Dean's gaze.

"That's the question," the angel said, frowning again into far distance.

This was _nuts_. "Okay, even if that _was_ my dad, even _if_ —Azazel is _dead_!" Dean protested vehemently. "Haven't heard from the bastard in years, I'm pretty sure that chapter's closed!"

"Can we really take that chance?" Cas looked up at Dean dubiously. His loud anger faded away at the quiet and reasonable question. Dean maintained a grim and thoughtful silence for a minute—could this have happened at a _better frigging time_? The threat of the apocalypse hounding him day and night, the angels after himself and Sam, finding out Alex had no Heaven, catching her and Cas cuddling on the floor after he'd come back from Heaven—all of that plus having seen 2014… you know, maybe the apocalypse and saying yes to Michael was a pretty good alternative to _that_ whole mess he'd witnessed.

Short on answers, Dean found himself looking to Cas for a solution, even though it made him uncomfortable. He looked at the angel in hesitant hopefulness. "You always know about this stuff, Cas. Do you know what my dad could have been talking about?"

Cas shook his head dismally. "No. If there was some plan, it's been kept secret from Heaven."

"Well how do we find out?" Dean asked. "I mean, how the hell did Dad even manage to get a message through to begin with?"

"I don't know," Cas said. He sounded like he was taking it hard, personal even. "I don't know anything."

Dean set his jaw, thinking of how disappointed Dad would be. The thought of his father still out there somewhere, suffering and worried about the family and possibly knowing about some danger Dean had overlooked—he almost felt choked. Dean shook his head in bitter disgust at himself and his circumstance. "I always told myself I'd keep them safe, Cas. Look at me. And I let them both get _shot_ to death two days ago."

"And I should have been watching over the three of you more closely," Cas said. Then let out a heavy, guilty-sounding huff. "Or at all."

Dean suddenly recognized something in Cas that he carried, too: that deep, undying feeling of responsibility for everything bad that happened to the ones he was responsible for. And that fact alone made him feel sorry for the angel. Dean looked down at the concrete beneath his feet. He felt incredible, resistant sadness filling him up as he thought about the message Cas had relayed about Dad. "I just... I was always so happy because I thought we dodged a bullet," he said softly, hollowly. "That Al sidestepped the whole 'demon's got a plan for your life' crap. That was supposed to just be _Sam_."

Again, Cas gave him a hooded glance. "If what your father said is true, we can't be too careful."

He was right. The nerdy little angel dude was right. Dean shut his eyes for a second, stress level skyrocketing. But besides that, he felt such deep, intense regret. Cas shouldn't be the one telling him this. It should be Alex. And instead of infuriating him, it made him surprisingly emotional. He just wished she would have told him herself. Maybe he'd pushed her and Sam further away than he'd thought or noticed. And Cas was right—Dean would sure as hell beat up any asshole who said even half of the shit he'd said to her lately.

As if tuning into his thoughts, Cas looked at him emphatically. "You're under a lot of stress, Dean. I know."

Dean attempted a smirk and a chuckle as he kept his eyes on the ground, walking forward toward the bench. "That's putting it pretty damn lightly, Cas."

He let out a deep breath and sat down beside Cas, leaning heavily on his knees. He got a slightly surprised look from the angel. "Listen. I've been... sorta, out of my mind a little lately," Dean said. "Ya know, at first I find out I'm Michael's vessel—okay, I can deal with that. But then I find out Sam's Lucifer's vessel... and friggin' see the future where he's being worn to the prom, where Alex is dead... you're some cynical bastard with no hope left... I mean, all because I wouldn't say yes." Dean looked at Cas, full of doubt and uncertainty. "I need you to level with me Cas. Should I really keep trying to ditch out of it? If _that's_ what happens?"

Cas thought about it deeply, his brows knit together closely. "I used to believe that it wasn't possible to change the future. But I think... I hope... that I was wrong about that." He paused. "Do I think you should say yes to Michael? No. There's too much at risk, too much to lose."

Not really what Dean wanted to hear. Well, he wasn't sure what he wanted to hear. All of it sucked, and he felt even more hopelessness settle over him. "Can I really just keep saying no forever?" he asked. "They're gonna start coming after everything I've got. It's only a matter of time."

Cas looked at him with a darkly concerned expression. "I know, Dean. I'll help in whatever way I can." He let out a tired sigh. "I know that your burden feels impossible," Cas said. "But you can't give up."

For some reason, that seemed pretty rich coming from Cas. In fact, it almost sounded like Cas had already given up. "Buddy, aren't you preachin' to the choir?" Dean asked. "You find out God doesn't care and you go off and drink a whole building full of booze and now you're sitting here with a hangover the size of Mongolia looking depressed as hell... doesn't take a genius to figure out you feel as shitty and hopeless as I do."

"It's the headache," Cas said in a distracted, bad-tempered tone, and Dean, muttering "sure" got up and went to the car to grab a bottle of aspirin.

"Heads up." He tossed the bottle to Cas, who caught it and looked at the label glumly.

"How many should I take?"

"You? You should probably just down the whole bottle."

"Thanks," Cas said stoically.

"Yeah, don't mention it." Dean looked at Cas from the corner of his eye, feeling a surprising amount of empathy for the guy. "Hey, I've been there," he told the angel. "I'm a big expert on deadbeat dads." He shook his head, again wondering about Alex seeing Dad in Heaven. He didn't like that she'd told all of that to Cas and had been seeking comfort from his arms—but maybe Dean's crappy attitude had pushed her there. He would get to the bottom of all of that, later. Right now just wasn't the time. He refocused on Cas, who looked miserable. "So… yeah, anyway. I get it. I know how you feel, and it sucks."

Cas looked up at him and suddenly seemed really young and helpless to Dean. "How do you manage?"

Dean smirked a little. "Well, on a good day, you get to kill a whore." At Cas's less-than-amused expression, Dean rolled his eyes and sighed. "Oh, loosen up, Cas. Live a little." He straightened. "I'll be back with the rest of the gang in a minute or two. Don't go anywhere." Even as he went inside, he passed Alex, who was coming out and shrugging a jacket on over her hoodie. She avoided looking at her brother. She shut the door behind herself, and then it was just her and Cas out in the chilly night.

"You okay?" she asked as she approached, hands in the pockets of her jacket. Seeing that it was her, he stood up, seeming startled to see her.

He looked down at the pill bottle that he held in his hand. "Dean told me to take the whole bottle."

She followed his gaze. "Headache still?" 

"Unfortunately," he said, his eyes coming up and capturing hers completely. They hadn't spoken much all day, even though they'd been together most of the time. Sam had been there, or she'd been asleep. And even though they'd reached some kind of truce there on the trunk of the Impala, there was still a lot tension and unspoken things—for Alex, anyway.

"I told Dean," Cas said, slipping his hands into his trench coat pockets, his stance mirroring hers. "What you asked me about."

Her eyebrows raised a little. "How'd he take it?"

Cas thought a minute. "He's… overwhelmed."

"Yeah," Alex murmured. _Overwhelmed_ came with the job description of hunter. And after last night and all of the confused, jumbled emotions it had come with… Alex was overwhelmed too. "I get that." And she knew she'd have to play question-answer later with Dean, but for now, she felt relieved that Cas had taken care of that for her. She looked at the angel carefully, trying to figure out how Cas was feeling. "And you?" she prompted. "How are you. Really?"

He looked unsure of how to answer, mentally searching. After a minute, he seemed to decide. "I'm overwhelmed, too," he said. His eyes held unfathomable amounts of pain, conflict, emotion. Alex found herself remembering when she first met him, how emotionless he'd seemed, how unreachable—there was such a startling difference between that Castiel and this one. Hell, she never would have guessed in a million years that this would happen. That the angel in the trench coat—the one she'd shot when she first laid eyes on him—would be the one she'd have her first time with. But no matter what she would have guessed or not guessed, it had happened. And there was no taking it back, ever.

"Listen," she said, voice lowering, her eyes searching his. "I've been thinking about, um, last night." His jaw tightened for a second at the mention of it. "And I just don't want you to regret it," Alex told him emphatically. "Because... I don't." His expression flickered, she couldn't tell if he was touched by her statement or bothered by it. Alex stepped a little closer, still looking up into his eyes. "I'm gonna die someday Cas... I accepted that a long time ago." She knew if she wanted a clear answer, she had to be clear about where she stood. But her heart hammered up into her throat and she was almost afraid to lay it on the line. The risk of rejection was so very great. But she saw no other option. She didn't have enough pride to stop herself. And she couldn't deny where her feelings had led her: "I… I'd honestly rather live a few years more and be with you than anything else." 

The way his face worked when she confessed that. "Alex…" he spoke her name softly. 

"I mean it," she told him, having to speak softer for how deep her emotions were becoming.

He shut his eyes closed for a second, his brows knit together, his expression so mournful. "I know you do." And he opened his eyes back up.

Their eyes met silently and Alex hung all her hope on what she said next. "So that leaves it all up to you, Cas," she said, trying valiantly to smile bravely. "What do we do now?"

His eyes slid up to hers slowly, and he looked afraid. "I am not going to let you die, Alex," he said, his voice full of intention and promise. "In two-thousand thirteen or any other year." And she thought that meant he was going to leave her now, that he was going to walk away in order to save her—and her heart sank. But then he touched the side of her face and his eyes softened, locked on hers. "I'll find a way to change it," he said with no shortage of great emotion. "If it's the last thing that I do." And she was stunned when he reached for her decisively, a hand tenderly holding her face as he and leaned down and kissed her in an achingly gentle way. Her eyes fell shut, she melted into his embrace.

Inside the motel, Dean shoved some bottled holy water into his duffel bag—never hurt to be on the safe side—then he promptly froze when he glanced up at the window and saw the two of them kissing. He felt all the blood drain out of his face even as the air in the room seemed to disappear.

Son of a _bitch_!


	33. Mr. Self Destruct

" _Dad, your boy's about to fall, he walks the razor's edge. He's on the brink of fading out, he's at his bitter end._ _"  
_ \- The Juliana Theory

* * *

Son of a _bitch_! Dean Winchester vaguely heard something drop—whatever he'd been holding (he didn't remember). His internal alarm was already blaring at a deafening volume. For a single moment, he could only stare at the sight before him. He was absolutely, _completely_ shocked.

Under the flickering neon light of the motel sign, Castiel was kissing Alex. The two of them were close, _too_ close—it almost looked like Alex was _inside_ the damn trench coat—the angel had a hand cupped against her face. They looked like two people in love.

" _Don't let it happen. Trust me. They'll undo each other. Destroy each other._ " The words that Dean of 2014 had told him echoed through his head violently and loudly. The shock was fading fast into anger, but more than just anger there was a deep and clawing dread, a sudden horrified fear that it was _too late,_ that all of his suspicions had been so much more true than he had dared to think _._ And Dean suddenly found himself remembering what that damn cupid had said to him. " _Like it or not Dean, some things are just meant to be!_ " No. Not _this_! It _couldn't_ happen—for a million and one reasons, but most of all because it got his baby sister killed in the end. And the frigging irony wasn't lost on Dean: that Alex's guardian angel—the dude who was supposed to _protect_ her—was knowingly doing something that would land her six feet under. That mother _fucker_.

Dean felt like something snapped in him. How dare that angel bastard? Cas knew, he _knew_ that them being together or involved or whatever was what got Alex killed in the end and he was still out there, kissing her in the most invested and romantic way Dean had ever seen anyone kiss _anyone_. His stomach turned. " _Think about it, Dean,"_ Cas had said to Dean recently. _"I don't feel things the way you feel them. I'm not human. I'm incapable of… that._ "

 _Incapable my ass, you fucking liar._ That damn angel had all but sworn to Dean that he wouldn't let himself and Alex end up together, that he'd 'do anything' to prevent it from happening. Righteous anger and something like hatred coursed through Dean's veins as he watched the angel and his sister part, watched Cas take both of her hands in his, watched them look at each other in silence with indescribable, soft expressions on their faces.

_How long had this been going on?_

Dean's fists were clenched, his nostrils were flared, his blood was boiling, and he couldn't just stand there anymore. He stormed out of the motel, not even bothering to close the door behind him, just flinging it open in a fit of rage, startling his sister and the angel. Alex immediately backpedaled toward the Impala, letting go of Cas's hands and looking at her brother in almost fear—Cas looked at him sternly—but Dean was too busy charging into the space between them to care or notice. Dean grabbed Alex roughly by her upper arm, forcefully propelling her toward the back door of the Impala. " _Ouch_ , Dean!" she protested, sounding surprised as she tried to pull her arm away.

He only gripped harder. "Just _get in the damn car_!" he thundered, staring down at her with a murderous glare. She stared up at him in complete shock and fear, and maybe any other time knowing he'd made her afraid would have upset Dean, but _today_? Today he _wanted_ her to be scared, he wanted her to _wake up_ , because what she was doing with Cas, whatever the hell it was—was dangerous and she _should_ be scared. He hadn't saved her ass all these times over the years and kept her safe to watch her throw her life away.

Behind him, he heard Cas take a step closer. "Dean, what are you doing?" the angel asked, his question a mixture of genuine uncertainty and warning.

Dean's skin crawled at the sound of that voice and he turned slowly. "Does this _look_ like any of your business, Cas?"

Cas's face darkened, he stepped closer. There was no mistaking the threatening tone in his deep voice. "Let go of your sister, Dean."

Dean did just that so that he could turn around to Cas and get in his face. He was shaking, barely containing his wrath. "You got some damn nerve, Cas…" he said, and his voice raised to an unrestrained roar. "I thought I could _trust_ you!" he shouted accusingly, grabbing Cas's lapels as hard as he could. Cas looked unperturbed at the physical assault—his face only registered guilt, which only made Dean want to pummel him into the ground even more. Sam appeared in the doorway, just in time to witness what happened next.

Alex grabbed onto Dean sort of uselessly, trying to pull him away from Cas. "Stop it Dean!"

Angry and riled past the point of clear thought, her brother threw his arm out, pushing her away a little rougher than he meant to. Alex was sent stumbling back toward the Impala from the force of the push. Cas's face went cold when Alex thudded up against the side of the car, and Dean realized he probably shouldn't have done that—but he didn't have a chance to say or do anything else. He was picked up by the shoulders like he weighed nothing and sent flying into the side of the motel where he collided back-first and then fell forward onto all fours.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Dean heard Sam shouting. Dazed, he looked up to see that Cas had gone to Alex and was touching her on either arm like he was checking to see if she was okay or not, then sending Dean a scalding glare, as if to ask 'how _dare_ you?'

"What the hell is going on here?!" Sam demanded, looking from Alex and Cas to Dean, his expression a cross between angry and shocked.

Dean, who was picking himself up off the ground and more pissed off than ever at Cas, looked at his brother with a venomous glare as he vigorously dusted off his arms. "That's what I wanna _friggin' know_!"

Dean noticed the pastor was standing just outside the motel door and looking at the four of them in shocked uncertainty, holding the stake idly. Sam seemed aware of it too and glanced at Alex and Cas, then looked at Dean, lowering his voice. "Dean, now is _not_ the time for this."

Dean looked at his brother in disbelief, his eyes narrowing. "You _knew_ about this, Sam?" he asked, because there was a certain knowing quality in Sam's eyes.

His younger brother's face registered both guilt and annoyance, and he sidestepped answering the question. "Dean—come on. We have a job to do right now."

Dean felt hot anger pumping through his veins. "Forget it," he spat in disgust, and then gave a facetious little smile, looking at his brother, sister, and the angel, barely able to contain how much rage he was feeling at the moment. "You know what. You're right. Let's go kill something—" the smile fell away coldly, "before I murder one of you instead." Dean's jacket snapped sharply with the force in which he straightened it, his face twisting into an acidic scowl, and he proceeded to avoid looking anyone in the eye. "Everyone just get in the damn car already so we can get this over with," Dean barked, already on his way over to the Impala, too angry to think straight.

"No," Cas said, startling everyone.

" _No_?" Dean repeated, frozen with his hand on the car door handle, an incredulous, wrathful look on his face. Cas's expression was every bit as rigid and angry as Dean's, and even Alex was looking at him with surprise.

"We'll meet you there," Cas said with a deep finality that didn't leave any room for argument, his eyes hard on Dean's.

And Dean opened his mouth to tell him he sure as hell better not even think about—but Cas put a hand on Alex's shoulder and suddenly the two of them vanished into thin air, leaving Dean to stare, shocked into silence—but only for about two seconds. " _Son of a bitch_!"

* * *

They arrived across from the tiny old church on the darkened sidewalk—the light in the church steeple cast a soft glow into the foggy night. A few street lamps dotted the road in either direction, misty halos floating in the air every twenty feet. Alex seemed a little disoriented as Cas took his hand off her shoulder and peered at her intently, unable to believe how carelessly and roughly Dean had shoved her aside a minute ago. "Are you all right?" he asked her, trying to catch her gaze.

"I'm f—I'm fine," she said, but from the look on her face and the tone of her voice, he didn't believe her.

"Did your brother frighten you?" Cas asked, trying to come closer to her, but she looked at him with wide, afraid eyes, she seemed to think about stepping back from him—and his stomach felt like it dropped. " _I_ frightened you," he said as he realized it. A dismal feeling settling over him at the realization that his impulsive, violent reaction to Dean's outburst had scared her. He thought hard, fast, trying to rationalize what he'd done, understand it, even. All he'd seen was Dean push Alex too hard and Cas had felt such impossibly large amounts of indignant anger. He struggled to understand, looking at Alex for an answer. "Did I... overreact?"

Her eyebrows raised up a little. "Maybe a little?" she replied, both a question and an answer, like she wasn't sure either. "He hit the motel _so hard_ —" she trailed off and Cas felt a clear sense of mortification. He _had_ overreacted. "You could've really hurt him..."

"I'm sorry," he told Alex earnestly, struggling to understand his actions and her her reaction. "I thought he hurt you and I… I acted. Without thinking." He looked down, becoming miserable as he thought about the irony of what he was about to tell her—because it seemed so foolish to say when he was endangering her by choosing to be close to her. But it was the truth, it was all he'd ever tried to do. "I was trying to protect you."

When he said that, Alex came closer to him and touched his forearm, and he looked up at her again, torn. "I know you were," she told him, then she looked at her hand, examining his arm, maybe thinking of how that arm she grasped wasn't his at all, or hadn't always been. She'd grown quieter. "I just… sometimes I forget. How strong you are." Her eyes raised to meet his, and he saw a quiet sadness there; an uncertain vulnerability. "How different you and I are from each other."

Cas felt as if the sadness in her eyes reached out and brushed up against him, leaving an ache somewhere beneath his ribs. He had known that for a long time. How very different they were. He knew it better than she did. Still, hearing her say it, knowing that she realized it too… left him feeling closer to her somehow instead of further away.

He thought back to the time when he'd measured the distance between them in the space of his mind. He thought back to the time when he'd watched her for that silent year before he'd obtained his vessel. He'd always known, especially then, that they were from separate worlds and different realms. In the beginning he hadn't imagined or thought that would ever change—he had been incorporeal light and Grace, totally separate and removed from humanity—above it, watching with interest and fondness but no real connection to the people who inhabited the earth. And Castiel had viewed himself as just another guardian angel charged with watching over a human—only, he had discovered that this one wasn't quite like the others. He'd known, increasingly, that this one, this Alex Winchester, was different. He'd been drawn to her and protective of her by instinct—she'd always been worthy of safeguarding. Deserving of her voice. And even back then, when he had been nothing but a flash of light in her peripheral vision, when she'd been impossible for him to reach out and touch—even then she'd called forth reactions and instincts out of him that nothing else and _no one_ else ever had.

Just like today. When he'd seen her oldest brother push her away roughly—it had triggered something in him and he'd lost his mind for the space of two seconds. He reflected with a great amount of discomfort how emotional and unstable he had become—he was piloted by how he _felt_ , at the cost of the Winchester family, at the cost of Alex. Perhaps this was all a huge mistake—could he really take the chance on her life? What if he couldn't find a way to change her future?

"Cas? What is it?" Alex asked, and he came out of the fog of his thoughts, saw her looking up at him, her eyebrows pressing in together slightly, her eyes searching his. And as he thought of how beautiful she was, the same place hurt again beneath his ribs. He had no _choice_ but to change her future—he wouldn't leave her. He'd meant what he told her earlier: He would find a way to change the future, to save her, even if it took everything he had.

Feeling too many emotions to bear, he took her hands again. And he thought of her thudding against the car again, he thought of John Winchester pushing her around when she was younger and he shook his head, feeling agonized. "Dean shouldn't be rough with you like that."

Her eyes lowered a little, there was no disguising that she _was_ upset about it. "He never _has_ been before," she said faintly. "I think… I think it was an accident." She paused, their eyes met. He hoped it was. "Listen," Alex said, her voice was soft and introspective. "Dean can be a huge douchebag sometimes. But at the end of the day, he's my big brother. He's not perfect. Not close." She paused, her lips curved up lopsidedly into something like a reluctant, if fond, smile. "If I was strong enough I probably would have thrown him against a building, too." Her little smile faded, she thought hard. "Point is, he can be a pretty horrible person to be around sometimes but… his heart's in the right place." She sounded weary and grudging about what she said, like she accepted it but at the same time didn't like it. "He's just... trying in the only way he knows how to keep me safe."

Cas felt a surge of concern. The same could be said for _him_. He looked down at their hands, saw how their fingers entwined. Her fingers tightened in Cas's. "He can't know Cas, about… what we did. Together. In the library."

Cas brushed a thumb over her knuckles, his eyes came up to hers slowly. "I know." 

"He wouldn't understand," she told him, her voice softening in volume but rising slightly in pitch as her expression grew more emotional.

"I know," Cas repeated.

"He's probably gonna try to kill you right now as it is." She paused, the slightest amount of reluctant amusement flitting across her face. " _Try_ being the operative word." She looked down at their hands, her fingers loosened a little, she grew somber and slightly distressed, deeply thoughtful. "I'm sorry Cas."

Those three words confused him. "For what?" 

She shook her head and looked away, guilty and troubled. "I got you kicked out of Heaven… got you shot today trying to protect me… got you in trouble for giving me my voice back…" her eyes came back to him. "You never _did_ tell me much about that." She sounded concerned and curious, hesitant to ask directly. And Cas didn't want her to know what he had lost to give her the ability to speak. If she felt guilty for it now, without knowing, she couldn't know the full story. "Anyway," she said wearily, "I guess what I'm trying to say is that all I've ever done is mess you up. And I'm sorry. I just... I don't like seeing you in pain or having a hard time."

Cas was shocked to hear that she thought she was to blame for any of those things, and he quickly corrected her, feeling almost hurt that she could assume she bore any guilt in any of those circumstances. "Alex, those things happened because of _my_ choices." He paused. "And I don't regret them." He tightened his grip on her hands. He would do it all again without question or hesitation. "None of those things are your fault."

Her eyes were dark and full, catching the light off the church steeple. "You sure about that?" she asked him quietly.

"Yes," he replied without hesitation.

She stared at him with eyes that were soft and filled with some kind of disbelief or wonder. Every part of him responded to the sight of her so vulnerable and trusting there in front of him. And even as she was stepping forward to him, he was circling his arms around her in a gentle hug. He felt her arms around him, inside the trench coat, felt her head nestled against his shoulder. He could feel her breathe, could feel the warmth of her against him. His eyes closed without him meaning for them to.

He was of Heaven and she was of earth, he was immortal and she was not, they were not supposed to be pursuing each other the way they were. Castiel thought of all the insurmountable things that stood against them. But however powerful the forces of fate and destiny were… the connection he shared with this woman, the incomparable and growing relationship between them, the things he felt for her and thought about her… these things were more powerful than anything else.

His eyes opened. "Maybe it doesn't matter," he told her in a slow, thoughtful way. He frowned to himself as he thought about it.

"What doesn't?" She asked, confused at his sudden statement, drawing back from the hug enough to be able to look up at him. Their hands rested on either side of the other's waist.

"That we're different from each other," he told her, feeling uncertain about how he was phrasing himself. The words felt clumsy and thick in his mouth. "I don't… it doesn't change anything. About how I…" he couldn't finish the sentence, he didn't really know how to say it or if he _should_. He suddenly felt unworthy, like telling her what he thought of her would be comparable to presenting dirty table scraps to a queen.

Alex waited anxiously, breathless. "About how you what, Cas?"

Cas opened his mouth to reply—then paused when Alex turned, hearing something. He heard it too—the approaching roar of a car. Headlights sliced through the darkness, swinging around the closest street corner with a giant lurch. "Geez," Alex commented darkly under her breath, pulling out of Cas's arms as she muttered something about "speed demon." The Impala was streaking through the night toward them at record speed, and most assuredly with it came the wrath of Dean. Cas's mood darkened measurably.

The car jerked to a halt across the street from them, right in front of a sign that said _NO PARKING ANY TIME_. Dean got out immediately, his expression screwed up in anger as he stared Cas down and slammed the car door closed vigorously. No doubt Dean was angry that Cas had transported Alex away so abruptly, but Cas didn't wither under the oldest Winchester's angry stare like he might have in the past. He only gazed back unwaveringly—he didn't require Dean's permission to remove Alex from volatile situations.

Dean looked at Alex and Cas standing there across the street on the sidewalk. They were standing close, shoulders touching, and they both looked at him mistrustfully—and Cas, okay, he could deal with getting that look from him, but Alex, too? _What the hell!_ Why the fuck was Cas acting like Alex needed protection from _him_? He was her oldest brother for crying out loud! This was just ridiculous. Dean barely registered the sound of Sam and the pastor getting out of the Impala; all he could do was steam in incredulous anger. On the way over here as he'd run every single stop sign and the one red light, Dean had been trying to figure out what the hell to do, how to _deal_ with this situation, how to knock some _sense_ into his sister and get that friggin' angel to _back off_. He had no clue how to accomplish either of those things, he didn't know _what to do—_ and when Dean Winchester didn't know what to do, he wasn't happy. And when he wasn't happy... _no one_ was gonna be happy.

"What, you two gonna stand there all day or are we gonna gank this bitch?" Dean demanded. He watched with rising blood pressure as his sister and the angel glanced at each other as if checking in and seeing what the other one wanted to do. And then Cas led the way over slowly, Alex trailing beside him and slightly behind—and Dean watched them with a slack-jawed expression as he tried to figure out when this had happened and how long it had been going on.

"You okay, pastor?" Dean heard Sam ask behind him as two car doors shut one right after the other.

"Yeah just... a little carsick," the pastor said, sounding unwell.

" _Yeah_ ," Sam's voice replied, and Dean knew the sassy attitude was pointed directly at him. "Me too."

Dean turned and looked at his brother balefully. He wasn't apologizing for driving fast and crazy. Sam gave him one of those faces he saved for when he thought Dean was being a tool and he disapproved. "Bite me," Dean retorted in reply to his brother's unspoken condemnation. The pastor looked at Dean in growing uncertainty.

Dean turned his attention back to Cas, who was standing a few feet off in front of him with Alex—she should be beside _Dean_ , not Cas and he almost reached out and yanked her away from the angel, then thought twice about it—he'd gotten a pretty solid reminder of how strong Cas was a few minutes ago. So Dean decided it was better not to get thrown at something again. He gritted his teeth, willing himself to stay calm and just _get this job finished_. It was one of the hardest things he'd ever done, being civil to Cas when he wanted to punch him in the face. But still, Dean somehow managed. For now. "Alright, Cas, _buddy_ ," he said with a great amount of sarcasm and restraint. "Why don't you shazam yourself in there and do us some recon, huh? Find out where the Whore is?"

Cas appeared reluctant at Dean's suggestion… maybe because it wasn't actually a suggestion. The angel glanced over and down at Alex—who gave him a nod so subtle it was almost unnoticeable. _Almost_. And with one final terse glance at Dean, Cas disappeared. Dean was irate all over again. "Got the boyfriend trained pretty good, don't you?" he jeered, unable to bite back an angry, sarcastic comment. He was even angrier when his sister didn't respond to the bait, just ignored him except for clenching her jaw and crossing her arms. 

"Uh, no one has even told me how exactly we're going to… to do this," the pastor said hesitantly, and Dean wheeled, realizing that in his rage he had sort of forgotten _that_ little detail: the task at hand of killing the Whore of Babylon. He hadn't given it _any_ thought at all, actually, not since… seeing what he'd seen. He didn't really want to have to think about how to deal with this whole Whore thing, he was too busy blowing a gasket over this _other_ crisis. He was at his fucking limit at this point.

Cas suddenly reappeared. "The Whore is in the fellowship hall with some others," he said. "They're… locking people into a small room inside the church."

" _What_?" Sam asked.

"What the hell for?" Dean demanded.

Cas's eyes slid sharply to Dean's. "I don't know. I suggest we hurry."

Dean made a face. "Yeah, great." He pulled together a plan out of thin air, too fed up to give it much thought. "Okay Trenchcoat, you go in there, stick with the Whore, wait for the signal." Dean looked at the padre at this point. "We get the jump on her, angel boy over there grabs her, holds her down, you stick the stake in her, we call it a day. Sound good?" He looked at everyone briefly in turn, daring them to ask him more questions or do something to further sour his mood. "Simple enough for all of you?"

Sam and Alex looked annoyed with him, Cas looked vaguely foreboding, the pastor looked physically ill and also doubtful, regarding Dean with disbelief, like he wasn't sure who put him in charge. "Great," Dean said without any enthusiasm, just more bad attitude. "Let's do this." 

He started out toward the church, striding with purpose, propelled by anger, frustration—the usual. Everyone followed him except Cas. Dean paused, looking back, raised his eyebrows and jutted his chin out as Sam and the pastor continued. "What are you waiting for?" Dean prompted impatiently. "Did you forget what I told you to do? Inside. Wait for the signal." Cas held Dean's gaze, then his eyes flickered to Alex, who'd stopped a couple steps ahead of Dean. Cas then looked at Sam, who was right at the church door, turned back halfway in concern. It looked to Dean like Cas was gauging how safe it was to leave Alex alone with him—and just when Dean was about to say something douchey to him again, Cas disappeared. "Give me a friggin' break," Dean muttered, turning back around toward the church, only to be confronted by the pissed off face of his sister right in front of him.

"You really need to stop that," Alex told him with a dark, quiet anger.

Dean looked at her pointedly. "Stop _what_?"

She gave him a look that clearly said 'you _know_ what you asshole.' But she said nothing, visibly trying her best not to detonate on him in the middle of the job. Still, if looks could kill...

"Guys, we gotta go _now_ ," Sam said, gesturing at the unopened church door.

The pastor's grip tightened on the stake, he looked sickened—and maybe on any other day, Dean would have felt for the guy, but today he was too overwhelmed with everything else, and he decided that he couldn't let another single minute go by without saying something to his sister. "We'll catch up," Dean told his brother, in a tone that suggested there was to be no arguing. But Sam looked doubtful and reluctant, his gaze darting to his twin and then back to his brother.

"Dean…" Sam started.

"I said we'll catch up Sam!" Dean exclaimed forcefully. At the outburst, Sam shook his head and let out an exasperated sigh, moved like he was about to come over there—but then Alex held up a hand.

"It's _fine_ Sam," she told him. 

Sam stopped, his brows furrowed deeply. He glanced at Dean skeptically before looking back at her. "You sure?"

Alex glanced at Dean darkly, then at Sam again. "Yeah. Just go."

Sam looked really unhappy about it, but he said nothing, just looked at them both for a minute and then turned with a final backward glance to disappear into the church with the pastor following.

Alex turned her head smoothly, looked at Dean cooly, her arms crossed. "What's your problem?" she asked in a soft low voice. Her cynical, rude tone was one he wasn't used to.

"I saw the two of you, okay?" Dean said. "I _saw_ him kissing you." She held her ground when he went closer to her and lowered his voice. "How long's this been going on, huh?" he demanded. "And don't you dare tell me you don't know what I'm talking about."

She was irritated by his question, looking at him with a narrow-eyed scowl. "It's not that simple."

"Like hell it isn't!" Dean raged, his blood pressure off the charts. "I will rip his fucking wings off, that lying bastard."

"You know what, _screw you_ ," Alex said, looking at him like he was scum. "I'm starting to get why Sam left for Stanford."

He soured defensively. "Oh _please_ —"

" _Stop bossing me around, Dean_!" she all but exploded—he had never heard her scream like that at anyone, ever, and he was momentarily shocked into silence. She was breathless in her anger, she was flustered, her voice was raising in pitch, she sounded accusing when she spoke again. "What, you're only gonna be nice to me if I do _exactly_ what you want all the time? You're only gonna _respect me_ if I constantly walk on eggshells around you? Does that _remind_ you of anybody, _huh_?" Dean's jaw tightened because he knew, right away, that she meant Dad. "I have followed you my _entire life_ ," Alex said acidly, "I have _always_ done what you said. But things changed." She looked at him coldly, shook her head, then set her mouth into a tense line. "And you don't get to decide my shit anymore."

It was Dean's turn to explode. "You don't _get_ to make decisions if you're gonna be so goddamn _stupid_ about them! I mean, come on!" He looked at her like she was nuts. "You got a death wish, Al? Cuz it sure looks that way from where I'm sitting!"

"You're the one thinking about saying yes to Michael, so don't even fucking start!" she retorted, voice bordering on a shout. She stopped, visibly forcing herself to calm down. "If I want to be with Cas, that's my decision, not yours. End of story."

Dean could have shaken her. "Oh no, no no _no—_ I am _not_ letting you do that—"

She made a face like she was disgusted with him. "Do _what_ Dean."

"Lemme tell you something, I sacrificed too much, _gave_ too much to this family and to _you_ to let you throw it all away now," Dean said, his voice almost trembling with the mounting emotion. He was starting to get desperate, unsure how she couldn't see _why_ he was so mad. Why couldn't she see that he was _scared_ for her? "Use your brain for _two seconds_!" he begged. "The dude is an _angel_! He is not the same _species_ as us. He doesn't know how to be _human_. What, you think your immortal boyfriend is just gonna stick around when you get old and saggy? That the two of you will just ride off into the sunset and live happily ever after like a normal little couple? Get your head out of the fucking clouds, Al!" She didn't respond to his pleas, only looked more and more exasperated and closed off. Dean's voice rose an octave in distress. "You _saw_ the future, you _saw_ your tombstone and you know he's the reason you end up that way—why the hell won't you _listen_ to me?" And unable to stop himself, Dean threw out another intentionally cruel comment in an effort to get her to react, say something, anything. "What, he kisses you a couple times and you think you're in _love_ with him? Grow up, dude!" She didn't spit back an angry retort like he thought she would, in fact, her face fell. And Dean felt like the breath had been knocked out of him, like he'd been swallowed in shock as he realized why she'd reacted that way. "...You _are_ , aren't you? You're in love with him." She said nothing, but her jaw worked oddly and Dean needed no further confirmation. He knew his sister's facial expressions well. "That is just the most fucked up—how could you be so..." he clenched his teeth and shut his mouth, holding back insults. Dammit, Alex. _Dammit._ He shut his eyes for a beat and took a deep breath in through his nose, trying to control himself. He couldn't believe how suddenly _sad_ he felt, realizing that she really _was_ in love with Cas. What a mess.

He felt himself getting emotional as he tried again to tell her why he was upset and what was so wrong with the whole situation. If he could just get her to _understand_... "Look. I get it, Al, I—I do. Guardian angel shows up, saves the girl, takes a bullet for her, spews all this crap about protecting her forever… it's the setup to a damn romance novel. Except you are _not in a book_ Alex, this is the real world and any future with this guy would _destroy you._ " He was strained with desperation, hoping she would just _listen to reason_ and come back to planet earth.

But she was in denial. "You don't know that for sure—that's just your excuse," she said, and there was no mistaking how angry and bitter she was at him. "You think I don't know why you're pulling this crap on me?" she asked accusingly. "You just don't want to see me happy."

"Screw happiness, I want you _safe_!" Dean exclaimed—the first response that had come to mind.

Alex's face fell, a single eyebrow moved up. She looked like she thought he was an idiot, like she couldn't believe the bullshit she was having to put up with. There was a glint of hurt, too. "Wow Dean. Okay. Yeah, thanks."

She turned to walk away and Dean reached out, grabbing her by the shoulder and refusing to leave the conversation there. "We are _not_ done," he told her forcefully, and she jerked away, yelling " _get off me,_ " shocking him when she shoved him away hard.

" _You_ get _your_ head out of the clouds!" she shouted at him, and the expression on her face made Dean feel like she regarded him as an abomination. "You think I'm gonna stick around and be miserable with _you_ the rest of my life?" she demanded, "that I'm just gonna stick around with you _forever_?" She jabbed a finger at the top of her head. "I have had it _up to here_ with you and your self-righteous bullshit!"

"I'm trying to _take care_ of you!" Dean protested in indignant anger.

Alex gave him a cold, malevolent look, hit him right where it hurt. "Well you're doing a shit job, like _always_ ," she said, knowing exactly the effect it would have on Dean, who felt like he'd been slapped in the face. That was probably the most hurtful thing she'd ever said to him. _Did she really think that_? After all they had been through together, everything they had survived, everything he'd _sacrificed_ for her? He literally felt his chest pang in a strong sense of betrayal.

"H-how can you _say that_?" he asked, stunned and wounded. He felt a shameful tightness in his throat, he could barely speak. "After everything I've ever done for you?"

She didn't seem to care one way or another that he was hurt. And he realized that he'd gotten it wrong. She said the most hurtful thing she'd ever said to him _next_ when she shook her head, looking at him in almost hatred. "You're _just_ like Dad."

Dean was left speechless, cut to the quick. And at his silence, Alex's expression changed, becoming a little uncertain. She opened her mouth to say something—and then the sound of a muffled gun shot rang through the night. In unison, the siblings looked toward the church where it had come from, then took off at a run into the building.

They could hear people screaming and shouting as soon as they burst through the door, and Dean ran, leading the way toward the ruckus, Alex close behind. There was another gun shot as they burst into the fellowship hall, which was in complete chaos.

Sam struggled with Jane, who had a shotgun and was firing into the ceiling, trying to break away from his grip—there was pounding and screaming coming from a locked, closed door on the opposite side of the room—the pastor was shot in the chest and dead on the ground, the stake on the floor a few feet off from him—a few of the townspeople were rushing Sam, trying to pull Jane away or maybe bash Sam's brains in, it was hard to tell—but the thing that Alex zeroed in on right away through all the confusion in the room was the sight of Cas, on the ground, groaning loudly and squirming in intense pain. Leah stood over him—her back to the door, leaving her unaware of Dean and Alex's arrival—her hand was raised, fingers outstretched toward Cas, she was chanting in a strange language... and each strange word that fell from her mouth seemed to cause Cas more pain, and Alex didn't even think. She just charged forward and barreled into the Whore like a linebacker, tackling her away from Cas, knocking the air out of her lungs and ending the incantation completely when she slammed Leah's body down to the ground.

The Whore hadn't even finished hitting the ground before she was twisting her shoulders violently, throwing Alex off and to the side at surprising velocity, with much greater strength than someone of Leah's size should have had. Half sliding, half flying across the floor on her side, Alex slammed into a table leg painfully with her upper back, knocking the table a few feet back from where it had been. And as she looked up briefly, across the floor, she saw Cas, his face a twisted wreck of pain. He was looking at her. It was one of those slow motion moments, where all Alex could do was stare, hear her own heartbeat. _Oh my god, if she ever lost him, if he ever died or disappeared forever…_ and then she saw the stake, within her reach, sort of halfway between herself and Cas. And even as she heard the footsteps of the Whore coming toward her, Alex threw herself into a frenzied crawl, grabbing the stake, scrambling up to her feet as she held the stake up at shoulder level. She whirled and faced the Whore, standing between her and Cas.

She heard Castiel groaning "Alex, _no_ ," on the floor, even as Leah sauntered closer, giving the appearance of casual boredom. A chilling little smile darted across her face.

"Don't make me _laugh_ —you think _you_ could kill me? You're _nothing_." Alex didn't have time for small talk. She lunged forward, brought the stake down, aiming it for the Whore's chest—but Leah's little hand shot out, stopping Alex's wrist in an iron grip, then bending Alex's arm back painfully. Yelping, Alex did the only thing she could think of—rearing back and head butting Leah hard and fast, sending the Whore stumbling backwards, a look of pure, unadulterated rage on her face. Determined in the worst way, Alex moved forward again, stake gripped tightly, head pounding—and then Leah's hands raised up, the palms flat and facing Alex—and suddenly Alex was sent flying clear across the room and into the doorframe where she hit her head and dropped to the ground, limp. The stake went skittering across the floor.

The entire thing had happened in the space of maybe ten or fifteen seconds—and Dean, who had rushed to Sam to tear two guys off of him, saw his sister hit the doorframe and snapped. Instantly leaving Sam to hold a struggling Jane, Dean charged forward and lunged mindlessly at the Whore—who knocked him down without even touching him, then leapt forward over Dean, closed her hands around his throat. Struggling and turning red as air became short in supply— _she was a whole helluva lot stronger than she looked!_ —Dean's arm reached out, fingers searching for the stake, which he knew was somewhere to his right. He could hear Cas somewhere nearby groaning, could hear Sam struggling with Jane still.

" _Please_ ," Leah said harshly as she saw Dean trying to reach the stake his sister had dropped. "First your sister and now _you_? Like _you're_ a servant of Heaven!" She pushed harder against his windpipe, leaned close, her voice menacing and vindictive. " _This_ is why my team's gonna win. _You're_ the great vessel? You're pathetic, self-hating, _faithless_. It's the end of the world. And you're just gonna sit back and watch it happen, you're gonna let them all die like you _always_ do."

And _that_? That was the moment that Dean Winchester decided he was _done_. Done fighting, done being the man who let everyone, including himself down. Done resisting day after day when he could _do_ something that actually would change things. He was done standing by and seeing the future he'd seen in 2014 begin to unfold. Done believing that Sam could say no forever. Done trusting that Alex was smart enough to take care of herself. Done being a stupid, stubborn asshole. _Done_. And his fingers made contact with the stake. With all the brute force he could muster, Dean punched the Whore with his other hand, hard enough that she lost her grip on him.

And with a guttural shout, Dean staked her through the chest. Her face reverberated with shock. "Don't be so sure about that, _bitch_ ," he growled, then pushed her off of himself hard, where she flopped around on her back. As he stood up and looked down at her, her face distorted, her true form screaming through. The stake, still sticking out of her chest, caught fire—and the Whore screamed, her face jittering demonically. With a huge boom, the stake exploded, leaving a burning hole and a silent, shocked room.

Jane had stopped struggling in Sam's grip, her face registered horror. "What—who was that? That wasn't Leah?"

Dean looked at her with a glare, pulling at the collar of his shirt as if trying to get more air. "No. And the so called angels you been taking orders from? Fake. All of it." He didn't bother hiding how pissed he was. "You've been duped, lady."

"But… I don't understand. How are we supposed to get to paradise now?"

Dean looked at the dead pastor—damn, maybe if he hadn't been out there arguing with his sister, he could have prevented that from happening—guilt shimmered through him, but he looked back at Jane, whose face was sickened as she realized how manipulated she'd been, and the price two men had paid for it. "Sorry," Dean said cynically, shaking his head. "Pretty sure you're headed in a different direction."

" _Dean, Sam_ …" Cas said on the floor, and both of the brothers looked quickly. Cas was propped up on his stomach, using one of his forearms as support, the other hand pressed to his stomach—he'd apparently dragged himself, in the chaos, to their sister, who was silent and unmoving, a collapsed heap on the floor—a trail of blood streaked out of her mouth on one of the sides. The angel looked up at them, and the fear on his face unmistakable. Sam rushed over and dropped to his knees, checking Alex's vitals, even as Dean stood shocked to stillness, because _if she was dead_ …

"She's fine, just unconscious… hit her head, looks like," Sam said. And Dean could breathe again. He turned to Jane and looked at Rob, who had a black eye.

Dean jabbed a finger at the locked closet. "Let those people out, you hear me?" Rob nodded, setting to do so immediately. Dean looked at Jane with no shortage of disgust. "And next time you decide you're righteous, do me a favor and remember the two men who have tombstones because of you."

He turned and saw Sam gently picking up Alex. Dean looked down at Cas reluctantly. The angel was grimacing deeply. _Of course_ Dean got stuck helping _him_ out. He yanked Cas up roughly and slipped an arm around the angel, supporting him. Doubled over, seeming dazed completely, Cas could barely walk, his stumbling feet not keeping up well as Dean began to walk them back the way they'd come.

Dean could feel the angel craning his neck to look backwards. "Is she…?" Cas asked woozily, clearly barely able to even form a coherent thought, but still asking about Alex in a voice thick with worry.

"She's _fine_ ," Dean said gruffly, if only to shut him up. He glanced back and saw his unconscious sister's head lolling weirdly as Sam carried her. 

"Dean, how the hell did you even do that?" Sam asked tensely as they hurried out of the church.

"Do _what_?"

Sam was short on patience. " _Kill_ her."

"With the stake," Dean replied with automatic sarcasm, then purposefully ran Cas into the fence they were walking beside, muttering " _oops_ " without even trying to sound apologetic.

"That's _not what I meant_ ," Sam said, frustrated as he followed Dean across the wet lawn.

"Long run of luck held out, I guess," Dean answered evasively, wishing Sam would just _shut up_ already. But, of course, he didn't.

"Yeah, sure…" Sam replied dubiously. "Last I checked, she could only be killed by a _servant of Heaven_."

"Well, what do you want me to tell you?" Dean asked, staring at Sam across the roof of the Impala. "I saw a shot and I went for it, now can we please get these two back to the motel?"

He yanked open the back door and dumped Cas in, slamming the door behind him. Sam looked at Dean in clear disapproval, shook his head, then hunkered down, opening the back door on his side of the car. Sam gently maneuvered his unconscious sister into the back of the car—and Cas reached out, helping as best he could.

And Dean, who had just gotten into the driver's seat and started the engine, glanced into the rearview, saw that, and once again almost had a stroke, seeing how Cas took Alex and held her up even though he was struggling himself. He heard Sam get into the car and close the door behind himself.

"Are you gonna do something stupid?" Sam demanded, to which Dean looked at him wrathfully.

"Like _what_?"

"Like _Michael_ stupid," Sam said accusingly.

"Come on, Sam. Give me a fuckin' _break_!" he all but shouted, snapping, hating the fact that his brother could see through him like that.

Sam seemed to snap, too. " _Give you a break_ , Dean? If you hadn't picked a fight with Alex back there, Pastor Gideon might still be alive!"

"Well you shouldn't have gone in without me!" Dean retorted.

Sam stared at Dean silently for a beat, looked away. "We saw a chance and went for it, okay?" He gave a fake little smile as he looked down into his lap. "And you know, funny thing is, with the way you've been lately, I sort of thought we might be better off taking her down without you."

Dean gave Sam a look that could kill—cuz Sam knew _exactly_ what he was doing when he said crap like that. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, Sammy," he retorted sarcastically. "That's real great."

Sam glanced into the back seat, apparently done talking with Dean. "You okay, Cas?"

"I'll be fine…" he replied slowly. Dean glanced in the rearview and saw Cas holding Alex's unconscious form, both of his arms wrapped around her holding her securely, his expression tense and worried. He refused to look away from Alex's face. Dean clenched the steering wheel tightly and the tires squealed as he slammed the gas pedal to the floor.

His brother was gonna be Lucifer's muppet and his sister was playing with fire and she apparently didn't care if she lived or died, so why should he care if _he_ lived or died? The car flew through the dark night at illegal speeds.

_"You're just like Dad."_

Deep sadness filled him. He was though, wasn't he? _Just_ like their father. Stubborn, obsessed, angry, addicted, broken, destructive. And more than that, he was just as pathetic and miserable as he'd ever been. Every bit as useless and worthless as Dad had always made him feel. This—being used as the vessel of Heaven—was his chance to show everyone, including himself, that he wasn't going to be a damn fool like his father had been, focusing his entire life on something that destroyed them in the end. Dean was tired of fighting the angels. He wasn't about to let the dismal future he'd visited come true. He was stopping it all, he was finally going to go against all of his deeply entrenched instincts—instincts to protect his family above everything else—and do the big-picture thing for once in his damn life.

And unbidden, Dean found himself remembering something that had happened to him a couple years back, during the year he'd been waiting to go to Hell to pay up on that soul deal. It had been a dream in which he was confronted by himself. He'd literally been standing in a room, facing another him.

_"You don't even care if you live or die," the dream Dean had said. "Talk about low self-esteem, Dean. Then again, I guess it's not much of a life worth saving, now is it?"_

_"Wake up, Dean. Come on, wake up," he'd muttered to himself, not wanting to hear this, not wanting to face any of it. Nothing happened, and the image of himself before him kept talking, condescending, judgmental._

_"I mean, after all, you've got nothing outside of your brother and sister. Your brother stays with you out of guilt. Your sister out of necessity. You are nothing, Dean. You're as mindless and obedient as an attack dog."_

_"That—that's not true."_

_"No? What are the things that you want? What are the things that you_ dream _? I mean, your car? That's Dad's. Your favorite leather jacket? Dad's. Your music? Dad's." Each statement had driven the feeling of despair of_ my God he's right _even deeper. "Do you even_ have _an original thought?"_

_Dean had scoffed, trying to look unaffected as his adversary continued._

_"No, you don't. No, all there is is, 'Keep Sammy out of trouble, watch out for Al! Look out for your little brother! Keep your sister safe, boy!' You can still hear your Dad's voice in your head, can't you? Clear as a bell."_

_"Just shut up," Dean told the dream, and his fingers curled around the shotgun he carried._

_"I mean, think about it... all he ever do is train you, boss you around, mistreat Alex who you tried so hard to protect in your own mind but really… you weren't brave enough to do what was right for her. You weren't selfless enough to get her out of the hellhole you called home life. You fucking coward. You're nothing but a hammer." Dean paused, smirking. "Funny huh about Sam? Sam he doted on. Sam, he loved. Why didn't he ever treat you that way, huh? You did everything he asked and more." Dream Dean chuckled sardonically. "Dad knew who you really were. A good soldier and nothing else. Daddy's blunt little instrument. Your own father didn't care whether you lived or died. Why should_ you _?"_

 _And his internal monologue had thrown him into a fit of rage. Dean snapped. "Son of a bitch!" he'd roared, then pushed himself hard, sending himself flying into the wall. "My father was an obsessed_ bastard _!" He kicked himself down, pummeled himself and pinned himself to a wall using the shotgun. "All that crap he dumped on me, about protecting Sam, about keeping Alex safe!? That was_ his _crap! He's the one who couldn't protect his family, who couldn't live up to his own standards!" Dean hit himself across the face with the shotgun, enraged. "He's the one who let Mom die!" He shoved himself into the wall. "Who wasn't there for Sam or Alex! I always was! He wasn't fair!" His voice rose an octave in heartbroken despair. "I didn't deserve what he put on me! And I don't deserve to go to Hell!"_

The sound of a shotgun blast echoed in Dean's mind and he felt his jaw clench involuntarily as he remembered shooting himself point-blank in the chest, watching the dream version of himself die. He _didn't_ deserve any of what he'd been handed, none of it _had_ been fair, but that didn't change a damn thing. He'd still been handed it, he'd still been shouldered with more responsibility and loss than most people could even handle _hearing_ about, much less living through.

Just once, Dean wished he didn't have to be the one who had to make these soul-crushing, life or death decisions. But like he'd decided earlier, he was just done. He wasn't even sure if this were the right decision, to say yes to Michael. He just couldn't fight anymore, he was tired of putting off the inevitable. Maybe he should have known, all those months ago, that fighting the whole Michael-wants-your-body thing was a losing game. He should have realized that fighting it would only make it worse for the people he loved.

All he'd ever wanted was for his siblings to be happy and safe... but with him, close enough for him to keep an eye on them, watch out for them. He really _had_ been Daddy's blunt little instrument, huh? He realized morosely that his entire life was built around those commands: Keep Sammy out of trouble, watch out for Al. Look out for your little brother; keep your sister safe, boy. 

If he looked back over his thirty-one years, it became clear to him just how deeply ingrained those commands had become. Dean had forced Sam back into the life, he'd kept Alex in it and with him because there hadn't seemed to be any other option… but now Dean wondered if he should have somehow gotten her out of this life years ago, if he should have left Sam at college to be safe, happy, clueless. Maybe Jess would still be alive. Maybe Alex wouldn't be involved with an angel who was going to destroy her life. Maybe his baby sister, the one he'd taught how to count to ten and throw a punch and change a flat tire… maybe she wouldn't be about to lose one or both of her brothers to the apocalypse. You know, maybe he couldn't entirely blame her for the torch she carried for Cas. Maybe it was her way of coping with so much pain and loss and screwed up situation after screwed up situation. He'd done some pretty crazy stuff to deal with the life, too.

Dean pulled the Impala up to the motel, glancing into the rearview again... and saw Cas gently touching Alex's face, wiping the blood away from her mouth with his thumb, his face a mask of concern. And Dean could barely contain his anger. That was too much for him to handle.

In a fury, Dean got out of the car, yanking Cas's door open and grabbing Alex from him with a low growling mutter of, "give her to me."

And Dean marched inside without a backwards glance, taking his sister over to one of the beds and laying her down there. Her head flopped over to the side, face covered in long, dark strands of hair. His anger receded. And he softened into sadness, wishing he hadn't fought with her. He reached down quietly, smoothing her hair out of her face. "You are so, so stupid Alex," he told her softly, anguished. Wondering if this were the last time he'd see her again. Trying to remember the time when she'd loved him and looked up to him and they'd been best friends. It seemed so far away. Impossible to get back to. 

He heard Sam coming in and turned slightly, then tensed when he saw that Sam was helping a limping Cas in. Standing, Dean frowned. "I don't want him in here," Dean told his brother gruffly.

"He's _hurt_ , Dean," Sam said, his whiny tone implying that Dean should feel bad about that.

" _Good_!" Was Dean's reply as he stormed across the room. And surprising Sam and Cas both, Dean grabbed Cas by the lapels, ripping him out of Sam's supportive grip, slamming him up against the motel wall. "What the _hell_ were you two doing out there tonight, huh? I saw you kissing my sister, you son of a bitch!"

"Dean, whoa!" Sam protested, grabbing Dean's shoulder.

Dean shoved Sam away hard and pointed a warning finger. "Back off Sam, I'm warning you." He thundered, and Sam just stood there and looked at Dean in shock. Dean jerked his head back to Cas. "What the hell do you have to say for yourself, huh?"

The angel was woozy, his head held unevenly, his eyelids heavy. He was frowning and grimacing. "You're... upset," he managed, to which Dean's grip tightened and he shoved him against the wall harder.

"You promised me you wouldn't do anything to risk her life Cas, you're _damn right_ I'm upset!"

Face filled with confusion and pain and hesitance, Cas looked Dean in the eye. "I want her safe just as much as you do. Perhaps more, in fact. Please believe me." His expression became pleading. "I tried to keep this from happening—I've tried to keep my distance. "

"Well try _harder_!" Dean shouted.

"I'm sorry Dean," Cas replied, sounding genuine and unsure. "I don't know how to… I don't know how to not be with her."

Dean's blood went cold. " _Be_ with her?" he repeated, then his voice raised to a roof-shaking shout. "I should rip your damn wings out, Cas!"

"That's literally not possible," Cas mumbled, sounding drunk again in his dazed state.

Even as he said that, Sam was back, putting a hand on Dean, and one on Cas, trying to separate the two, successfully pushing Dean back a few steps. "Dean, stop, _calm down_!" Sam told him, holding out a hand as he stood between his brother and the angel.

"I _can't_ calm down, Sam!" Dean exclaimed, voice rising in panic and emotion. "This is your sister's _life_ on the line!"

"Dean, I'm going to find a way to change things," Cas said, struggling to speak through what was obviously a lot of pain. "Just like you're going to find a way to stop the apocalypse, I'll—"

"No, no— _no_!" Dean raged. "You wanna have your cake and eat it too? That is my _sister_ you dick! She deserves a whole hell of a lot better than the likes of you!"

There was an intense, brief silence. And Cas looked down, voice low and filled with regret. "You're right. She does deserve better."

Cas turned and sat down—almost fell over—onto the bed he'd been standing beside. Sam steadied him by the shoulder as Dean stared at him silently, murderously. Cas looked at Dean sadly. "After all we've been through, Dean all I've done is help you…"

"You call _this_ help!?" Dean cut him off incredulously. "Don't try and guilt-trip me into being your friend, I don't owe you a _damn_ thing!"

"I raised you out of Hell," Cas said.

Dean glared. "Yeah, cuz you were _told_ to!"

Cas's passive, puppy-dog eye expression was fading into something more like anger. "I went against Heaven, I lost _everything_ —"

Dean cut him off again, done with the bullshit. "Are you some kind of _moron_ , Cas? I don't care what you lost, look at what you're _doing_! You're risking her life and you're a selfish bastard! If you cared about her at all you'd walk away _right now_!"

Cas looked conflicted as hell, his jaw going rigid and eyes going down, as if he were thinking something over very carefully. "I'm sorry Dean, I can't do that."

"Can't or _won't_?" Dean challenged with a rising voice.

Cas looked at him dead in the eye, and there was a lot of guilt in his gaze. "Both."

Dean shook his head slowly, barely able to see straight. "You son of a…"

Cas cut him off. "I left everything behind and was cast out of Heaven because I believed you were capable of changing the future. Can you extend the same trust to me?"

Sam, who was standing back and listening intently, looked at Dean cautiously.

Dean threw his arms wide. "I _did_ trust you! And then I find out you're sneaking around behind my back, seducing my sister telling her God knows what! You're taking _advantage_ of her! She's naive, she's practically a kid, Cas! How can you think _any_ of this is okay?" Dean stopped, looked at Cas in cold, judgmental disgust. "Look at you. I can see the wheels in your head turning, trying to rationalize what you're doing to her, to my _family_ —" he stopped, then looked at Cas with almost a smile. "Well guess what, choir boy? I'm putting an end to it once and for all." And Dean gave him a final glare for good measure and stormed out of the motel, hearing Sam yell his name as he followed.

"Dean, _stop_!" Sam said, catching up to Dean on the motel sidewalk. Turning around slowly, Dean looked at his brother acidly. "Dean what the hell is going on with you?" Sam demanded angrily. "How could you say that stuff to Cas after everything he's done for us?"

"Don't act like you don't know why," Dean said coldly.

Sam's jaw tightened perceptibly. "Look, I get that you're upset but I've never seen you touch Alex like that before—I mean you _scared_ her Dean."

"Well she _should_ be scared!" Dean retorted emphatically.

"What, of Cas? Or of _you_?" Sam asked, and his low voice began to raise in anger. "Last time I checked, he's the one who took a fucking _bullet_ for her—Cas would _never_ in a _million years_ lay a finger on her in the wrong way!"

Dean looked at his brother in baleful disbelief. "You don't _know_ that Sam!"

"Get your _head_ out of your _ass_ , Dean!" Sam shouted back, and Dean let out a heavy huff of air, wet his lips, then set his brother with a superior look.

"So what, you're cool with this dude, this thousands and _thousands_ of years old dude cozying up to your sister? The same sister who has never, Sam, _ever_ , had a lasting relationship outside of you, me, Dad, and maybe Bobby? She falls in love with the first guy who comes along and makes moon eyes at her—and as our long string of shit luck would have it, the guy just so happens to be a creepy old special-ED angel! That's all _okay_ with you?" Dean didn't give him a chance to reply, continuing to rant. "I mean why the hell am I the only one with enough brains to see that this is the worst idea ever? And as if the creepy To Catch a Predator vibe wasn't enough, I've seen the frigging future where he's the reason she's dead and buried underground! Where them being together— _together_ , Sam—gets her killed! You're cool with her waltzing into her own coffin? You wanna hand her some nails while you're at it, drive some in yourself, huh?"

Sam waited a second, his expression bitchy and cool. "I didn't think you believed in destiny Dean. I thought you said we could change things. Isn't that one of those things? What makes you so sure that she's as good as dead?" He raised his eyebrows, looked at Dean searchingly. "Is it really that you believe Cas gets her killed, or you just not wanting her happy?" Dean's face fell as Sam continued. "Because she really likes him, Dean. And he really, _really_ cares about her."

Dean shook his head, disappointed and let down as hell. "I can't believe you, Sam."

"And I can't believe _you_ , Dean," Sam said. "You're acting _crazy_ about this!"

"Sam, our baby sister doesn't have a Heaven and is messing around with the guy who gets her killed in the future, a guy who is kissing up on her in a body that's not even his, a guy who will outlive her by a million years—no exaggeration! Of course I'm gonna act crazy, why the hell aren't _you_!?" Dean's righteous anger faded into a cynical, little smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I guess I forgot. All the times you abandoned this family because you were too selfish to accept your responsibilities, too self interested to give a crap either way what happened to her or me. Same thing now, huh."

Sam made a face like he didn't even get why Dean would say that. "That's not fair, Dean. I have _always_ cared about what happened to you, _both_ of you!"

Dean was cold now, unaffected. "Nah. I don't believe you Sam, cuz actions speak louder than words, and I can guarantee one thing about you. You always give up, you always walk away."

"Oh, and that's not what _you're_ doing right now?" Sam accused.

"What are you talking about, huh Sammy?"

"Dean, I'm not the idiot that you think I am. You think I haven't noticed how depressed you are? How off you've been? You think I don't know _why_?"

Dean tilted his head to the side, made a mock-concerned face. "What, you wanna have some girl time Sam? Talk about all my bad feelings and sad thoughts?"

Sam's nostrils flared, a muscle jerked in his jaw, he shook his head as his mouth worked oddly. "You know, you are making it _really_ hard for me right now."

"To do what, Sam?" Dean asked carelessly.

"To hold it together, to have _faith_ in you!" Sam replied intensely.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Oh cry me a river, Sammy."

"I am _trying_ Dean, trying really hard to do this," Sam told him angrily. "But I can't do it if you're gonna keep being such a dick."

"Well you'll be relieved then," Dean told him with another facetious little smile. "Cuz you don't have to do it anymore."

Sam swallowed, his face fell. "Don't do this Dean."

"Lemme tell you something. I am not the bad guy here Sam, and I don't get why the hell you and Alex think I am. All I've ever done was look out for you two. I gave you _everything_! And it never was enough, was it?" Dean shrugged and threw his hands up. "Well I'm _done_. I am done being the guy you stick around with cuz you feel sorry for me. I am done giving and giving and _giving_ and getting nothing but shit in return. I am gonna change the future, I am gonna stop being a stupid, stubborn asshole and let those angelic bastards upstairs have their way with me."

Sam's eyebrows slammed together. "You can't be serious."

"Oh, I am."

"After all the time we've spent fighting this, Dean?!" His brother demanded, then became intense, drew himself up to his full height. "No, I won't _let_ you give up."

Dean smirked to himself. "I'm sorry, Sam." And he was. "But it's too late for all that."

And before Sam could react, Dean drew back and socked him in the face hard, hard enough to send Sam stumbling back, stunned and falling to the ground. And while Sam floundered, Dean jumped into the Impala, started it up, backed it up fast—and Sam slammed onto the hood, shouting Dean's name even as he cut the wheel—and his little brother went flying sideways into the parking lot as Dean slammed the car into drive and squealed tires out of there.

Wavering to his feet, Sam shouted uselessly. "Damn it! Dean! _DEAN_!" he stood there in shock, watching the Impala disappear around the bend in the road. Sam wiped at his nose with the back of his hand. Bright red blood came away. And as Sam looked back at the road that Dean had raced down a second ago, he suddenly felt lost completely.

_What the hell am I supposed to do now?!_

* * *

Inside the motel, Cas had edged himself along the bed he'd sat on, had then lurched across the space between it and the bed Alex was on, desperate to reach her. He'd barely kept from falling, catching himself with the palms of his hands on the mattress near her feet. He'd let himself collapse forward on his stomach, then dragged himself up alongside of her, trying to make sure she was all right, groaning from the effort of moving. He was in so much pain from the incantation the Whore had cast over him, weakened immensely.

But his pain was nothing to him, he was only frustrated at how incapable of movement he was, how he had been unable to stop the Whore from hurting Alex. He watched the steady rise and fall of her chest. A small reassurance that she was all right. And everything Dean had said to him raced through his mind, inspiring vast amounts of guilt and internal pain. He looked down at her. He was clumsily arranged on his side, and one of his hands rested on the arm at her side closest to him. His fingers tightened slightly, as if he thought she might slip from his grasp. He knew she wouldn't, but still. He didn't want to let go.


	34. For Me, It's You

" _You were looking down on me_ _, lost in outer space. We laid underneath the stars, strung out and feeling brave."  
_ \- Our Lady Peace

* * *

What _happened_?

That was Alex's first coherent thought as she came to. She last remembered seeing Cas laying on the floor of the church in obvious pain, which had made her mad as shit—so when she'd seen the stake just laying there, she remembered thinking _what the hell, right? Worth a shot._ Well, apparently not. She recalled trying to kill the Whore and then being sent flying clear across the room where she'd hit a wall. She didn't remember anything after that. Shit, is that why her head hurt so bad? She blinked a couple times, eyes adjusting to a dark room. She was laying on her back, on what felt like a rigid motel mattress. And that's when she realized that there was the substantial weight and warmth of someone beside her— _laying_ beside her.

Even as she was turning her head and trying to see who it was, he spoke. "You're awake." Cas's face was really close, so close that they were practically nose to nose.

Alex jerked her head back in surprise, then regretted the decision, cringing and shutting her eyes tightly against the sudden ripple of pain in her temple. " _Ow_."

His relief was replaced with worry. "Are you all right? Is the pain very bad?"

"I'm fine, I—" she stopped mid-sentence when she saw the blood trickling out of his nose. Without even doing it consciously, she pushed herself up so that she could see him better, reacting in alarm as she looked down at him and took in how weak and woozy he looked. "Are _you_ okay?"

Her question seemed to strike him as odd. "I'm fine," he said, not seeming concerned about himself either way.

She automatically went to wipe the blood away from underneath his nose. "You don't _look_ fine," she said almost accusingly, her thumb dashing away streak of red. Her eyes darted up to his, which were already looking at her. Her thumb froze in place, her breath caught. And that's when Alex heard a familiar sound—Sam clearing his throat.

A little startled, realizing that she and Castiel were not alone—Alex looked up in the direction the noise had come from, using her elbow and forearm to push herself up a little. Sam stood a few steps off, his arms crossed and a sullen expression on his face... he had a bloody nose. "Sam!" Alex exclaimed in confused surprise. "What happened to you?!"

Her brother grew even more brooding at the question. " _Dean_ happened to me," Sam said brusquely, only confusing his sister further.

"...What?" she asked as she sat up. She didn't see Dean anywhere, and automatically opened her mouth to ask where he was, then went silent before she'd even asked a thing. Something was wrong, very wrong. She could tell from Sam's face. She looked at Cas silently, whose expression only furthered her realization that something had happened. Fearing the worst, Alex looked back at Sam in dawning horror. Her voice dropped in volume and trembled. "W-where is he, Sam? Where's Dean?"

Sam's eyes fell away from hers and his jaw clenched. "Gone."

Her stomach dropped completely. "What do you _mean_ 'gone'?" Alex asked, her tone becoming intense and demanding—did Sam mean that Dean was _dead_? Her heartbeat was jabbering in her chest painfully, she looked at Sam in blank terror, remembering what she'd said to Dean last, how she'd left things with him. And it was like every worst nightmare she'd ever had was closing in on her, every horror she could imagine coming true… and then, behind her, still reclining on the bed, Cas's deep rumbling voice explained what Sam meant.

"We believe he's gone to… say yes to Michael."

That was _not_ what she had expected to hear. It should have been a relief after what she'd assumed a few seconds ago, but it wasn't. In fact, this was almost worse. Alex looked back at Cas in confused denial— _no_ —no _way_ , Dean wouldn't have done that. But Cas remained grim and resigned, like he saw no other explanation. Totally flabbergasted, Alex whipped her head back at Sam, who nodded heavily, wordless. And Alex looked at him in sudden, misplaced anger. "Well why didn't you _stop_ him?!"

"I _tried_ —can't you tell?" Sam asked derisively.

Reacting, not really thinking, Alex swung her legs over the edge of the bed. Her head was pounding. "We have to go after him!" she said, standing up too fast and experiencing a painful rush of blood to the head.

Sam grabbed either shoulder gently, steadying her. "Whoa. Easy."

"And why the _hell_ would you say it to me like that, Sam?!" Alex demanded shakily, losing her temper in a mild outburst. "That he's ' _gone_ '?" Her voice raised an octave. "I thought you meant he was _dead_!" The words left a heavy silence in which Sam looked at her sadly.

"I mean, Alex…" her twin started, as if he was trying to break bad news to her gently, "he might as well be." He looked at her in increasing distress. "You get that, right?"

She shut her mouth, looking at him angrily even though she knew he was right. "Don't say that," she whispered. "Don't you fucking say that." She was suddenly so overcome with grief. "Dammit, Sam," she muttered and tried to pull away from her brother's grip. He didn't let go and Alex shut her eyes, growled through gritted teeth, repeating more emphatically this time, to herself more than anyone else, " _dammit_!"

"What?" Sam asked, frowning at her.

"He _told me,_ okay?" she said, deeply upset and staring at her brother helplessly, sickened. Realizing what an idiot she'd been. "A couple days ago," she said, staring into her twin's right shoulder unseeingly. "He told me he was thinking about saying yes." She looked up at her brother, who looked shocked. Glancing guiltily over in Cas's direction, Alex was struggling to maintain her composure. All of her previous anger was morphing into the most wretched sense of self-hatred and guilt. "I should have told one of you," she muttered, and Sam let go, looking deeply angry.

"Yeah, you _should_ have," he said darkly, sending another wave of regret coursing through Alex.

"It wouldn't have changed anything," Cas said, slowly pushing himself up into a sitting position on the bed. "If Dean's mind was made up…" Cas paused. "I doubt any of us could have stopped him." He looked at Alex meaningfully, and she realized he was trying to tell her it wasn't her fault. There was a heavy pause.

"Maybe not," Alex conceded hesitantly, not fully convinced. She grew intense again, determined to make it right. "But we're stopping him _now_."

Sam gave a short, dark laugh. "Oh good, yeah, so do you know where he went? Cuz _I_ don't." Exasperated, he ran a hand through his hair. "I mean I don't get it, I just—" Sam's face looked gaunt at this point, he was so tense. "I can't believe he did this to us."

"Are you sure about this?" Alex asked. She didn't want to believe Dean would really do what Sam and Castiel were saying he'd done. "I mean what happened? What did he say? Maybe it's not what you think."

"Sorry, but it is," he told her, and shrugged, spread his hands out vacantly, seeming to be at a loss. "First of all: _He's_ the one who killed the Whore." He paused, letting that little factoid sink in—Alex had all but forgotten about her for a minute. She felt her hope fade a little bit. Sam continued. "We came back here, he picked a fight with Cas, stormed outside, said he was gonna change the future. Then he hit me in the face and took off." He sounded unhappy with himself.

Alex fell into tense, unsettled silence, trying to swallow reality, trying to stomach it. All of her anger seemed to dissipate into confused feelings of _how could he_? After all the time they'd spent fighting this, all the times Dean had _promised_ her he wouldn't say yes—he was just going to run off in the middle of the night? Abandon them? It made no sense the more she thought about it. Maybe Sam was wrong. "But if he was gonna say yes, why not just do it? Why drive off and do it?"

" _Alex_ ," Sam said her name in a lecturing, correcting tone. "Dean straight up _told_ me he was gonna do it. Okay? I can tell you don't want to believe me but… I'm not making it up or jumping to conclusions. He's saying yes to Michael." Sam looked at her, his expression clearly stating _and that's that—end of story_.

"And what, you're _okay_ with that?" She asked, disillusioned at his reaction.

He softened, seeming to realize how he'd come off. "No. Of course not." He sighed raggedly and went back to the original question she'd asked, his voice gentler now. "I, uh, I dunno why he'd drive off to do it. I guess he's not gonna do it right away." He thought a second, expelled a heavy breath. "This _is_ Dean we're talking about. Maybe he'll want a last hurrah."

"What, you mean like bars, girls, Van Halen live?" Alex asked, tone bordering on sarcastic because she felt so powerless and couldn't _believe_ that it had come to this. Her head felt like it was splitting in half.

Sam was quiet, thoughtful. Then looked at her in epiphany. "Lisa?"

Alex had to think a minute. "Lisa...? Lisa _Braeden_?" she asked, not sure if she followed Sam's line of logic. "He hasn't even seen her in like two years."

Sam shrugged slightly. "It's where he's went last time he thought his number was up," he said plaintively, and Alex remembered how they had driven halfway across the country to visit her when Dean had been dying and headed straight for Hell. She thought hard about it. Maybe Sam was right. "Look, it's a long shot," Sam said slowly, "but it's the only idea I have."

Alex wasn't so sure. But at this point, all she could think about was _why_ Dean would do this. She felt hollow. Betrayed at a base level. "He told me he wouldn't," she said faintly, more to herself than anyone else. Alex just put her face in a hand and rubbed her forehead with her fingertips, trying to massage away the headache and the stress, the sense of being abandoned, the urge to sit down and scream and cry and throw a tantrum like a kid would. How could Dean _do_ this to them? "That stupid, _selfish_ asshole," she muttered in a miserable, wavering voice. She felt someone touch her arm gently. Surprised, she looked up and over. Cas had gotten up at some point and was standing beside her, looking at her in tense worry.

Sam was looking at Cas hopefully. "Cas, are you okay enough to zap us around?"

In response to the question, Cas's frown became a touch guilty. "No, not yet. The Whore cast some kind of weakening spell on me." He looked down grimly, his voice lowering in a morose quality. "I'm all but useless. I'm deeply sorry." He cringed a little and sat down, seeming too tired or weak to keep standing.

Sam and Alex both looked at Cas silently, uncomfortable at his comment about uselessness. Sam attempted to smooth it over. "It's, uh, it's fine Cas. I'll… jack us some wheels." He glanced at Alex cryptically. "Either way, we're leaving, _now_."

Alex took his cue and began picking up their bags off the floor, as he was hurriedly throwing his books into his backpack. "And if this whole Lisa thing turns out to be a bust?" she asked, not sure if she was on board with the theory or not.

"It won't," he told her emphatically.

"It better not," she muttered, and grabbed a metal hanger out of her duffel, tossing it to Sam. He caught it deftly.

"What's that for?" Cas asked. He sat on the bed with a hand on either knee, giving the appearance of exhaustion and discomfort.

"You'll see," Sam said, and went over, hauled Cas to his feet, looping one of the angel's arms around his shoulders. "Come on Cas, you're gonna have to walk a little bit."

They exited the motel, Alex weighed down with all of their bags, Sam helping Cas along. The angel shuffled sort of pathetically.

"Sam what the hell do you keep in these bags, _bricks_?" Alex complained. Her twin wasn't too interested in her question, instead looking at their two options in the parking lot. A beat up old Ford pickup or a minivan.

"Truck," Sam said decisively—it was closer, anyway—and Alex looked around furtively, tossing their bags into the bed of the pickup, then took Cas from Sam, helping him around to the other side of the truck. Sam jimmied the lock using the hangar in about five seconds then jumped into the truck, reached across and unlocked the passenger door. Alex opened the door, which groaned loudly. Helping Cas in, Alex got in after him and shut the door. It was a little cramped, the three of them all in one seat.

Sam was fumbling underneath the steering wheel, yanking some wires out and brushing them up against each other repeatedly. "Feels sort of weird, stealing a car with an angel watching," he said, glancing up and over at Cas, who just looked full of chagrin at the comment. The truck roared to life loudly as the wires sparked together, and Sam glanced at his sister as he straightened up and shifted the truck into gear. "Battle Creek is like nine hours drive," he told them, looking behind as he backed the truck up. "Strap in for the long haul, guys."

And so they headed East, not sure if they would find Dean, not sure if they were right about where he was going, not sure if they could stop him if they _did_ find him at all.

"Who is Lisa?" Cas asked a couple minutes down the road, breaking the silence and reminding both of the Winchesters that Cas didn't know who Lisa was.

Sam glanced at his sister, who didn't look like she was in the talkative mood. So he explained, instead. "She's… an old flame of Dean's. They met way back in the day, maybe ninety-eight or ninety-nine." His face wrinkled in thought. "We went to see in her, when was that, two-thousand seven?" he looked at Alex for confirmation.

"Yeah, I guess," she mumbled.

Cas looked at her thoughtfully for a minute before turning back to Sam. "Why would he go and see this woman?" he asked, to which Sam had to think for a minute, giving the impression that he wasn't quite sure about Dean's motivations.

"There haven't been a lot of girls who Dean's actually cared about seeing again. But Lisa… I dunno." Sam was quiet for a minute. "I think he kind of loves her."

Alex looked at Sam in silent surprise. She hadn't expected him to say that. She looked away again, and the truck became silent. Cas watched Alex sidelong. She remained tense and distressed, quiet, staring down at her knees.

He looked down at Alex's hand which rested on top of her leg, just inches away from his hand. He moved just a little and gingerly brushed the back of his hand up against the back of hers.

Her eyes jumped to his hand, and then up to his eyes. For a minute, she didn't do anything, just looked at him with eyes full of an emotion he couldn't name. And then her fingers moved just slightly toward his hand, the backs of them brushing against the backs of his. That simple reciprocation made something in his chest swell. And when she gave him the smallest beginnings of a smile, a smile she obviously had to work to give him, a smile that was tinged with pain and fear—the swelling feeling almost felt impossible, like something inside of him would burst. He looked at the scrape across her cheekbone, the dark bruise just above her temple from her fight with the Whore… and the sight of those injuries, small as they were, inspired such a deep sense of failure. He couldn't seem to keep her safe, no matter how hard he tried. Underneath his gaze, Alex's flickered and she looked away, back down into her lap. But their hands stayed close, and after a couple seconds, she turned her hand, slowly and falteringly closing her fingers around his, glanced at him from the corners of her eyes. And even though he felt weaker than he had in a long time, Castiel felt like that—the simple action of her putting her hand into his—could give him the strength to do anything.

A mere hour and a half into the drive, as Sam sped down a deserted country road, the car suddenly lurched, there was a loud explosion somewhere in the engine area that shook the entire truck.

"What the _hell_!" Sam exclaimed, steering the suddenly powerless truck over to the side of the road, coasting on momentum. Alex realized Cas's arm had shot out in front of her as if to shield her or keep her from flying forward.

"Great, just great," Sam was muttering as he got out of the truck and slammed the door, hollered something about "get a flashlight, would you?"

Sam yanked the hood of the truck open and smoke poured out and he coughed, grimacing. Alex dug through her duffel, finding a flashlight and then going to join Sam. "What's wrong with it?" Alex asked, squinting down into the haze of smoke, trying to see what had exploded.

"Radiator maybe?" Sam said, waving a hand in front of his face in an attempt to clear the air. Alex beamed the flashlight down at the engine, eyes sweeping over the smoky jumble of parts as she waved a hand to clear the smoke.

"Uh, that would be a _no_ ," she said as she peered down at the engine and saw what had happened. She looked at her twin with a huge, fake smile on her face. He gave her a look like she was crazy before he leaned closer over the engine, squinting into the clearing smoke. His face fell when he saw what she had seen. A huge, gaping hole in the engine.

"Are you friggin' _kidding_ me?" he exclaimed, aghast at their bad luck.

"You _would_ pick the truck that was fifty miles from throwing a rod," Alex muttered with a sigh.

Sam made a supremely irritated face at her, huffed, then threw a hand up, obviously wracking his brain. "Okay so… what, I guess we walk back to that gas station we just passed back there."

"No, let's sit here in the dark and do _nothing_ ," Alex countered wryly. She got an exasperated glare from her twin who commented "ha _ha_ " snidely and went to the passenger side door where Cas was attempting to get out, one arm braced against the door, the other against the doorframe.

"Can you walk, Cas?" Sam asked, to which Castiel shot him a glance that could only be called cranky.

"Yes, of course I can walk," he said, and promptly stumbled forward, nearly faceplanting onto the side of the road. Sam managed to catch him before that could happen and then push him back where he could lean against the truck. Sam turned and looked at Alex, who was standing there watching, unable to believe how wrong every little thing was going for them right now.

"...he can't walk," Sam said, clearly sharing her exasperation with the situation. He looked around like he was casting for ideas on what to do. Alex realized how stressed Sam must be, how he was probably feeling just as bad as she was.

"How about I go back to the gas station, swipe another ride, and then come get you guys?" Alex offered.

Her twin stopped wracking his brain, considered, then nodded in agreement, but not without a slight edit on what she had proposed: "Yeah, good plan, but _I'll_ go so you can stay here with Cas—" of all things a little smirk came across his face. "I think we both know he likes you better than me." A little sheepish at the call out, Alex tried not to smile and failed. Sam smiled back, his hand moving back to take something out of the waistband of his jeans. "Just in case you need it," he told her, holding his pistol out to her. She didn't take it, opening her mouth to argue, but Sam's expression was deadly serious as he cut her off. "Take it," he told her in a low, sober voice.

Alex stared at him, conflicted and suddenly worried, but she did what he said after a couple seconds of unwillingness. She took the gun and tucked it down it into the waistband of her jeans at the small of her back, cursing herself for leaving her firearm in the back of the Impala.

Sam nodded tersely, satisfied that he'd left her with a weapon and he turned to go, but Alex said his name, stopping him. "Sam." He turned back, eyebrows raised in expectancy. She had maybe lost one brother tonight, after parting on shit terms. She wasn't gonna let that happen again.

She hesitated, then went to her twin and hugged her arms around him tightly, surprising him with the suddenness and intensity of her actions. He reacted slowly, hugged her back uncertainty. And when she drew back to look him in the eye, she was tense. Didn't tell him what she really wanted to say. Settled on, "Be careful, okay?"

And God bless her twin Sam, who saw right through her silent fears. His face softened and squeezed her arm gently, looked her in the eye, getting that knowing look. He held her gaze earnestly and told her in no uncertain terms, "I'll _be_ back. I'm not going anywhere, okay?"

"Okay," she said, face crumpling with emotion, eyes filling with tears. And Sam hugged her, tightly this time. Alex fought to keep from breaking down, struggled to regulate her breathing. Sam pulled back after a few seconds, looked at her intently, appraising her, waiting for her to be okay.

She nodded, forcing a thin smile. "Go on, time's wasting," she told him, trying to sound light. Sam glanced back at Cas, who was watching silently about ten feet away.

"Hey Cas, take care of her, all right?" Cas looked as though Sam had insulted him, but Sam was looking back at his sister and didn't notice. "I won't be long."

"All right." She nodded, and Sam shoved his hands into his pockets and headed down the road at a brisk stride, his hulking form becoming an inky silhouette as he got further and further away.

Alex watched him go, feeling more and more like this was the future she was going to be living in—one where both of her brothers were gone. She almost couldn't turn around and face Cas, because she felt so emotionally spent and raw. So much had happened in the past twenty-four hours, and it all left her completely overwhelmed. She'd been intimate with Castiel—that was enough to shake up her world forever, but then in quick succession, she'd fought with Dean and then woken up to find out that he'd run away and given up on them. Alex wondered if this was how blindsided and upset she'd made Dean feel last year when she ran away.

She swallowed the lump in her throat, took in a deep breath, and turned around to look at Cas, who was standing at where the cab of the truck began. He was holding onto the edge of the truck bed, looking at her in what was obvious concern. She wasn't sure what to do at all. She wandered over to the end of the truck, near the tailgate, but didn't go any closer to him. She couldn't think of a single damn thing to say. She just wanted to destroy something, smash something to pieces, wanted to punch Dean in the face and shake him until he came to his senses. And even though part of her needed nothing more than to go to Cas and be held, she felt herself reverting back to the way she'd always dealt with pain before. Like old times, she found herself _wanting_ to be left alone in silence. It was easier there, where no one pried in and pressed at breakable things like her thoughts and feelings.

"This has been an eventful evening," Cas finally said, breaking the silence hesitantly. Alex frowned slightly, looking up from where she'd been staring at the ground—was he trying to joke? Was he trying to get her to talk to him? She wasn't sure. She just looked at him silently, unable to respond. His expression clouded a little. "I'm sorry Alex." Her eyebrows moved together questioningly and he let out an unhappy sigh. And she could already tell he was going to start beating himself up again before he even opened his mouth. "I failed to protect y—"

She felt so much sudden anger and she snapped, because _one_ person having a pity party was more than enough for her. " _Stop,_ Cas! Just _don't_." He was surprised by her loud outburst, and his surprise turned to hurt as she flat-out ranted at him in misguided anger. "You're always whining about how you didn't protect me this time and how you failed me that time, and just..." her fiery anger was fading and she felt herself teetering on the edge of great and weary sadness. "I can't…" she attempted, and shook her head, quiet now. "Can you just _not_?" She shut her eyes, trying to get a handle on herself, miserable because now she'd gone and been rude to Cas, who didn't deserve it.

She opened her aching eyes, and he might as well have been a wounded puppy with the way he was looking at her in confused misunderstanding. "Why are you upset with me?" he asked, which only increased Alex's guilt and regret a hundredfold.

"I'm not… I'm not upset with you," she managed weakly, wanting to hide. "I'm just _upset_."

He came toward her, using the edge of the truck bed as support as he shakily covered the distance between them. Then he stumbled badly, only staying on his feet because of how tightly he held onto the truck and because she'd lunged forward, catching him by pressing both palms into his chest. He seemed ashamed of himself.

" _Jesus_ , Cas, you can barely stand," Alex said, realizing just how drained and weak he must be feeling. "Sit down, okay? Come here." She guided him to the truck bed and yanked the handle up, letting the tail gate down with a loud, creaking thud.

She helped him sit there and he looked down at his feet, which dangled in the air a few inches above the ground. "I seem to be more and more useless these days," he commented blandly, setting her off again.

"You're not _useless_ , will you stop saying that?" she asked intensely, not bothering to disguise how mad his self-loathing comments made her. He only looked at her sadly, as if he didn't understand how she could see him as anything other than useless. She wondered if he'd be this weakened or weakened at _all_ if he hadn't been cut off from Heaven. She felt so cynical and guarded, so to blame for what he had become—someone who thought he was useless to her, who felt less than worthy, when _she_ was the one who was useless and unworthy and stupid. "Is it worth it?" She asked him in a decidedly bitter tone. "Being cut off from Heaven, stuck down here with us in the middle of all this hopeless bullshit?"

"Yes," he replied. His eyebrows moved toward each other just slightly in earnest, as if he didn't know how she could even ask him that. "I'm with you."

His honest and clearly heartfelt response touched a raw nerve and the emotion she'd been struggling to hold down broke free, angry tears springing to her eyes. "Why the hell would you want _that_?" she asked harshly and turned away, walking to the tail light on the opposite end of the truck, hating herself and feeling like it was her fault Dean had left, her fault Sam hadn't wanted to stay with the family back when they'd been teenagers, her fault she hadn't been good enough for Dad to love more than he had—but mostly she felt that it was her fault that she had compromised Castiel and her fault that the were in so deep now, too deep to walk away from, tangled up in this complicated, uncharted territory.

So when she heard the tailgate groaning and his feet hitting the ground, when she felt his hands on either side of her arms, when she heard him say her name with a voice so full of caring and worry... she couldn't help herself and couldn't fight him off or turn him away, didn't _want_ to. She couldn't refuse her relentless need for him. She surrendered, turned around, went into his arms, let him hold her as the tears came, even though she was ashamed of herself. "How could he?" she asked brokenly. "Why would he just _leave_? Why would he abandon us, _me_?" She truly didn't understand, and her heart felt destroyed. "He said he would never do that. He _promised_ me he wouldn't say yes."

She felt his hand resting against the back of her head, the warm and scruffy skin of his cheek and lower jaw pressed against the side of her temple. Against her back, his hand pulled her a little closer, soothingly, whether he intended it that way or not. And she shut her eyes, the tension fading as she focused on the feeling of his chest rising and falling. How would things be, she wondered, if they were just two people? Not an angel of Heaven and a girl with a thousand unresolved issues and all these inner demons? But they weren't normal. They were Castiel, the outcast angel who had fallen into her family and Alex, the girl whose brothers were main players in the apocalypse, the end of days. She wondered, sadly if _she'd_ been the straw that broke the camel's back. The thing that had tipped the scales for Dean, had made him decide to say "yes."

It made sense now. Alex drew back, looked up into Cas's eyes. "If he hadn't seen us, Cas... he wouldn't have gone," she told him softly, feeling so guilty, but also upset because she shouldn't have to choose between her brother and the one she loved. He pressed his hand against the side of her face.

"Why do you think that?" he asked, his thumb brushing a tear streak away.

"Because of what Lucifer said to us when we were in two-thousand fourteen. He told Dean that he wouldn't say yes to Michael, that he wouldn't kill Sam, that he wouldn't be able to save me from my own foolish choices…" she trailed off, unable to say more.

"Me," Cas said heavily, understanding the unspoken implication of 'foolish choices' and hearing him say that broke something inside of her. He fell into deep and troubled thought. "I'm tearing your family apart, Alex."

She almost smiled at that comment, and it was a jaded, sad little smile. "This family's been on the rocks a long time before you came into the picture, Cas," she told him honestly, her voice carrying heavy notes as she thought of how true that was. However, she was wondering now what Sam meant by Dean 'picking a fight' with Cas, and she looked at him carefully, suddenly suspicious of what kind of insane things her brother might have said to Cas. "What exactly did Dean say to you?"

Cas didn't have to think back—he answered her immediately, like it was all he'd been thinking about. "That I'm risking your life. That I'm selfish and if I wanted to keep you safe I'd walk away."

"He _would_ say that crap," Alex muttered angrily.

Castiel just looked at her sadly. "It's not 'crap' though, is it?" the question, so gently said, caught her off guard and she looked at him wordlessly. Cas looked down, his expression twisting in anxiety and guilt. "He implied that I'm… taking advantage of you."

Her eyebrows slammed together in an angry frown. "Now that _is_ shit," she told him, leaving no room for argument. But he didn't look convinced and Alex's felt her emotions running high. She could literally pummel her older brother. "You're not _taking advantage_ of me, Cas, and I am not some _kid_!" She felt breathless and had to take a few deep breaths. "He acts like I don't know how to think for myself but I do. And I know what I'm doing with you."

"...And what is that, exactly?" Cas asked, startling her, not only because of the earnest, anxious way he sounded when he asked—but because she realized she didn't quite know how to answer. What _was_ she doing with him? Who was he to her? He just wasn't something you could just put into earth terms—boyfriend? Lover? Friend? None of those seemed right. The only word that came to mind for her, when she thought of him, was everything. He was _everything_. He was so unlike what she had expected to encounter, maybe because she had always believed, deep down, that she was meant to be alone. Castiel was nothing she could have dreamt up in a thousand years. He was a sum of stark contrasts, as intense and as fierce as a volcanic eruption, and yet at the same time as quiet and as gentle as a stream cutting through the heart of a forest. She glimpsed, sometimes, how otherworldly and magnificent he was, how divine. And she wondered why such a creature such as him would look at her the way that he did, would vow himself to her and kiss her in a way that made her feel like she was his very world.

At her silence Cas seemed to grow even more downtrodden and he looked away. "He's right," he said softly. "You deserve far, far better than me."

Shock wasn't a strong enough word for what Alex felt when Cas said that. "Dean _said_ that?" she asked, quickly furious. "I am gonna _strangle_ him," she said, then paused, anger fading as she thought about what she'd just said. "If he's not dead already." She heaved a charged, weary sigh, regarding Castiel in tense sadness. Didn't he know how, even though he wasn't technically a man, he was the best one she'd ever met? "Cas—there _is_ no one better than you."

His face registered uncertain confusion. "I don't understand how you can think that," he told her, and fell into deep thought, giving the appearance of careful and measured deliberation. "Every minute I spend with you is something I value beyond compare, but… I'm not worthy. And I feel very guilty."

His words were like shocking, painful barbs to her. "D-don't feel guilty," she managed, and the way she said it was almost pleading.

"I do, though." His morose state only increased as his eyes traveled her face and took in her distressed features. "And now I've upset you."

"...I just don't want you to feel guilty," she said, overwhelmed with how hard this was. She looked up at him imploringly, gathering her courage, trying to tell him all she felt. "You said to me, earlier tonight, that you thought maybe it didn't matter that we're different from each other. And I agree, it doesn't matter, or it doesn't _have_ to matter..." His eyes looked back and forth between hers as she forged ahead. Her voice lowered because of how vulnerable she felt—she remembered how he'd said their differences didn't change how he felt about her. She needed for him to know it was the same for her. "It doesn't change anything about how I feel, either." She saw how deeply the words affected him—like he couldn't believe it, like it filled him with wonder and worry all at the same time. She swallowed, continuing. "But… we need to face the facts, Cas. The things that make us different make this hard. There's like a thousand things standing against us." She took his hands gently, hesitantly looking up to him. This was one of the scariest things she'd ever done, telling him her innermost thoughts. "But I… I still want it. I still want this."

"Do you truly mean that?" he asked, as if he thought at a moment's notice she might change her mind.

" _Yes_."

"I… I feel the same," he told her earnestly and falteringly, fumbling with the heavy emotional content of the conversation. She felt exhausted and drained by it too, but like they were getting somewhere. She couldn't stop now.

" _That's_ what counts," she told him emphatically. "How _we_ feel. What _we_ think about us. Not Dean, not Sam, not Heaven, not Hell. _Us_. You and me. That's what matters."

His gaze was steady on hers. "You're what matters." He became upset, afraid almost. "I don't know how to be what you need," he said and it was nearly a protest. "I'm not _right_ for you."

She looked at him through swimming vision. This was the moment of truth. "But Cas... there's no one else. For me... it's _you_." She said it while struggling to keep her face from twisting up in all of the emotion she felt in those words. "And that's _it_." End of story. No one else, ever. That's how deep it went, how in love she felt.

His expression was so affected that he could have been close to tears. She suddenly found herself being pulled close into an unexpected kiss that was charged with great amounts of soulfulness. She was stunned and set on fire, feeling like sparks were raining down over her. And responding urgently, trying to pour all of the things she felt for him into the kiss, she pressed him forward. He backed up against the truck's side and she thought maybe his knees buckled because his entire body seemed to stagger—and breathless, they broke the kiss, looking at each other in mutual surprise. She was gripping his arms tightly.

He stared at her in dawning wonder, breathing a little heavier than usual. "How do you make me _feel_ so much?" he asked slowly, as if he were in awe all over again at how kissing her made him feel. His question seemed to remind him of something or trigger another question, because his voice lowered, his expression began to border on anxious. "Is it wrong? To want..." he trailed off into silence, giving the impression that he was slightly embarrassed.

"To want what?" she asked. In response, his hand moved down from where it had rested against her waist—and his thumb grazed against her hip bone through the fabric of her hoodie and tank top. She didn't miss his meaning, especially when his dark eyes met hers. _Oh._

She suddenly felt very aware of herself and of him and of how air was in short supply. Her mouth had gone dry, her pulse was like butterfly wings. He wanted to know if it was wrong of himself to want her, and realizing that was what he was asking made her completely flustered and heated in the most pleasant, aching way. "N-no," she stuttered breathlessly, trying to focus on answering his question, instead of how near she was to him. "It's not wrong to want to be close to someone," she told him, and he listened to her intently. She moved her hand from his arm up to the side of his face, brushing the backs of her fingers along the side of his face tenderly.

He covered her hand with his own, grasping it gently as he leaned in to kiss her again—and then headlights swept over them, startling them, and maybe by instinct, they stepped apart, looking into the light from the approaching car—and then were left realizing it wasn't Sam when the car passed them by, leaving them in silence and darkness once again. And feeling suddenly bashful, Alex backed up a little.

"You, uh, you should sit down," she told him, indicating the tail gate again—she wasn't actually sure how he'd managed to stand all this time, he still looked really drained. He looked at her in faintly perplexed bewilderment, then did as she'd said—sat down in the dead center and settled himself there… and then surprised her when he very awkwardly patted the spot beside himself. When she looked at him in surprise, he seemed to think it was because she didn't understand the gesture.

"It means I'd like you to sit beside me," he explained, and she was immediately rendered helpless at the cute comment, grinning crookedly. She _knew_ what it meant—but it always surprised her a little bit when he implemented the things he saw her do.

Should she really be that surprised or amused about the things he was learning and doing these days? He was learning at an amazing fast rate, becoming human in so many ways—and she knew that best of all. After all, he'd had sex with her just a day ago… and apparently, he wanted her again that way. The thought alone could have turned her into jello, and a little uneasy at how fast she was becoming distracted and physically aroused, she sat beside him, glancing at him furtively. He wasn't the only one who wanted it again. And she wondered if she laid down right there and pulled him to her, if he'd make love to her right then and there under the starry night sky. She squeezed her legs together tightly, more than just a little flustered, clearing her throat self-consciously. She looked up at the night sky, rubbing the back of her neck with her hand, mortified. "So, uh, you been out there?" she asked him, trying to think of anything to say to fill the awkward feeling silence. "To the stars?"

"I've been everywhere," he told her, looking from the sky to her, seeming to be unaware of her more illicit thoughts. "But I like being here." _With you_. He didn't say it out loud, but he didn't have to. They looked at each other for a long moment, and then he looked back up. "There," he said and pointed. She followed his gaze. "That's the constellation Lyra," he told her. She smiled to herself, because she recognized it. For the moment, she forgot her physical discomfort.

She leaned a little closer to him, indicated either side of Lyra. "And that's Hercules _there_... and Cygnus on the other side," she said, to which he looked mildly surprised. " _What_?" she asked in mock defensive surprise, smiling. She shrugged a shoulder up toward her ear humbly. "I once had a study guide of constellations and a twelve hour car ride, what else was I gonna do?"

His expression was fond and his lips were upturned. He looked back to the stars, his face soft and open. She liked when he looked like that. "The star Vega, there at the top right of the Lyra constellation… do you see it?" he asked.

It was kind of hard to miss—it was the brightest one in the constellation. "Yeah..." she confirmed slowly, not sure where he was going with this. And for a minute he said nothing and she thought he'd had no greater point to make, that was just showing her a star.

And then he spoke, his husky voice full of years and experiences and memories. "There's a story that the angels tell," he said, and those seven words, the way he said them, rendered Alex into a state of rapt attention, because whatever he was about to say was important—she could tell. "They say that every star in the galaxy belongs to a person who has lived, is living, or ever _will_ live. Every star is…" he thought about it for a moment, "an echo of a soul, I suppose you could say." He looked at Vega again, his eyes fond as they reflected the starry host. His mouth lifted up almost imperceptibly into the ghost of a smile. His eyes crinkled a little at the edges. "I always thought that one would be yours."

Totally caught off guard, she couldn't look away from him. Strange he would say always, since he was as old as time and she, well, wasn't.

He seemed to realize his vagueness and corrected himself. "Well. Ever since I first saw you." He grew distantly reminiscent, a soft smile softening his face further. "I wasn't even in this vessel yet when I started watching over you." Their eyes met for a long, fascinated moment. Him wondering about her. And her wondering about him. Becoming fractionally more fascinated in the most intense way, Cas's head tilted to the side by a few small degrees. "But... I think sometimes you sensed me."

It was like everything went still when he said that. The meaning of his words clicked immediately, making Alex's jaw sag open softly. After Dean died, in the depths of her despair sometimes she'd felt a warmth nearby, the slight kiss of a breeze that seemed otherworldy somehow—leaving her with the comforting impression that some benevolent and protective force was near. That she wasn't alone. There had sometimes been strange flashes of light at the edge of her vision too. And while not knowing the source had bothered her, in time she'd imagined that perhaps it was Dean's spirit, coming to keep her company beyond the grave. "That was _you_?" she breathed out, amazed and stunned at the same time.

He was struck tenderhearted by her question. "It was me," he confirmed quietly. Something incredible hovered between them keenly, sending a thrill through Alex's chest.

How did she even begin to respond? She was caught between a feeling of reverence and a giddy feeling she couldn't quite name. "My guardian angel..." she finally commented softly, amazed as it settled over her. How he'd been caring for her in ways she never knew all along. It made her think about everything in new light. Including the first time she'd seen him in the flesh. "It must have been strange when we first met. How I thought..." she trailed off, because their first in-person meeting she'd been ready to kill him. Now, remembering the way he looked at her that day... she understood things differently. "How I thought you were an enemy." She'd been so very wrong about that.

Cas contemplated her intently. "Well, I understood why, to a certain degree..." his volume lowered just slightly. "But I suppose a small part of me _did_ hope you would recognize me."

The sweetness of purity of those words he spoke. Alex became ruefully apologetic, cracking a weak, self-conscious grin and scratching the back of her neck in an awkward bid to do something with herself. "Well... sometimes I'm a little slow on the uptake I guess." She thought a moment more as she digested this news. "Why didn't you tell me sooner, Cas?"

He turned a shade more sad. "I didn't think you would believe me." Alex resonated with his more somber expression. She probably wouldn't have. He met her gaze again. His eyes were warm. "I'm glad you do now."

That warmth reached into her depths easily, leaving her softer inside. "Me too," she whispered, amazed as she thought of the progression of this. From complete strangers to _this_. And while it should have thrilled her, it caused her some feelings of confusion. "Cas, I'm sorry, I just... I don't understand," she managed tentatively after a moment. "What you saw in me then. Or what you see in me now." She fidgeted a little, dodging his intense eye contact. "I'm just like this weird, outcast girl." A freak of nature, nowhere near normal, a bumbling emotional mess. Finally, her dark, worried eyes met his. "Why _me_?"

Of all things, an odd little smile came over his face. "It's ironic, I suppose," he mused gently. "Because I wonder the same thing. Why _you_ would ever want _me_." Alex felt her eyebrows rising in tandem with a touched smile. Faltering, he reached over and covered her hand with his gingerly, surprising her with the emotion filling his eyes. He spoke very slowly and stiltedly, but purposefully, like he'd thought his words over for a long time. "Nothing ever meant anything to me until you," he told her, every soft word he said was said with purpose and deep meaningfulness despite the audible fear he harbored about speaking it aloud. Cas looked down to their hands, his expression intense. "I existed for millennia in this crowded universe. But I was alone." He seemed to have thought about this a lot. His eyes slid back up to hers. "I don't feel that way when I'm with you."

Alex exhaled softly, blinking a few times against vast emotion. What he said was an echo of what her soul felt. When he was there at her side, when they were together, she felt part of something, like she belonged in a way she never had before. It was intense and overwhelming and she was suddenly terrified to lose it completely—all she ever did was lose things, people, relationships—it was her curse. She felt like she could cry again, her emotions were in such a sudden whipped up frenzy. "I just don't want you to leave me," she blurted out in a harsh whisper, filled to the brim with fear that he too would walk away and desert her.

Castiel was taken aback by the sudden pleading statement. "I _won't_ ," he told her in no uncertain terms, trying to convey himself and his devotion in the way he spoke the words, but Alex just became more upset—however, it was in that unsettled, quiet way she had.

"I lose everyone," she whispered. Her eyes were becoming distant, like she was fading away from him. " _Everyone._ "

His hand still rested on hers and he tightened his fingers through hers, jolting her back from wherever her mind was going. "No. Not everyone," he told her, wishing he knew a way to really reassure her that he wouldn't leave her—not now, and not ever. She didn't look convinced, she just looked fearful—and Cas felt abysmal. He didn't know how to comfort her. How could he prove it? How could he show her? He moved his hand from hers to put his arm around her shoulder, hesitating, because he wasn't sure if she would accept or reject the gesture. He didn't have to wonder long, because even before his arm stopped moving, she responded as if that was what she'd been waiting for—she leaned into him, hugging her arms around his middle, putting her head against the front of his shoulder, nestling against him.

And the fierce feelings in his chest soared. It didn't matter to him what the future brought, as long as he could remain at her side, protecting her. He supposed he could understand how she was so hesitant to believe he would stay—she'd lived a life where she'd been let down and ignored countless times. So Castiel vowed to prove himself worthy of her and of this. Whatever 'this' truly was. Two beings, called to each other without being able to stop themselves. Cas let his head lean down over hers, and he wasn't sure how something could _feel_ beautiful… but she did. And without meaning to, he was suddenly thinking of the Vatican. How she had felt, sounded—how it had all made him feel. At the unbidden memories, Castiel felt as though the night had become ten degrees warmer, like the collar of his shirt was too tight against his neck.

Could that happen between them again? If it did happen again, would it happen differently? Was he supposed to initiate it? And if he was, how was he supposed to go about doing that? Would it feel the same? He wondered that if tonight, if he laid them down there in the bed of this truck, if she'd let him give her the only thing he knew how to: himself. And growing uncomfortable and embarrassed at himself, Castiel felt his jaw tighten.

Was it wrong to have these thoughts about her?

He felt her shift slightly in his arms and he tilted his head down toward hers, his lips brushing against the hair at the crown of her head. He didn't know what else to do but to tell her. "I won't leave you," he said, and her arms tightened around him.

How could either have known that what he'd just said, even though he meant it, wouldn't turn out to be true?

A few minutes later, Sam would return to find them like that—feet dangling over the end of the truck tailgate, arms wrapped around each other. He would always remember the sight of them like that as the headlights of the stolen car he was driving washed over them. Sam Winchester realized that night, after seeing them like that together, that Castiel _loved_ his sister. There was just no other way to say it or put it, there was no going back from that conclusion for Sam. It was almost frightening to him to see the angel hold his sister like that, and he wasn't sure why, only that the intensity and quiet fierceness that Cas exuded and held Alex with was staggering to look at.

* * *

**The Next Morning  
** **Battle Creek, Michigan**

Sam let out a heavy, stressed out sigh, keeping one hand on the steering wheel of the stolen Jeep while he rubbed the back of his neck, trying to work out a sore knot that had built up there overnight. He glanced into the rear view and saw Alex looking out the window, Cas beside her. They had been driving around Battle Creek for a couple hours now, looking for Dean the old fashioned way: trying to spot the Impala. He'd called Bobby and let him know what was going on, asked him to keep an ear out for any leads. But truthfully, Sam felt almost hopeless. He was so devastated that Dean would do this. Even if they _did_ find him, what if it was too late? And if it wasn't too late, what if Dean refused to get down off the proverbial ledge?

Sam felt so foul at the thought of Dean. This was just unfair to everyone, this was the definition of fucked up. He didn't understand why Dean thought saying yes to Michael would do anyone any good. Didn't he remember about how Lucifer was supposed to be present for the angelic boxing match, too? Didn't he remember that Sam was under _no circumstances_ saying yes, especially not _now_? He'd made his mind up a long time ago to fight tooth and nail not to let the devil have him, ever.

Sam scanned the parking lot of another motel they cruised by, hopeful to see the familiar sleek black shape of his brother's car—but, nothing. _Jesus, Dean, how could you do this to us?_

Sam wasn't used to being the one in charge. Not that he wasn't a take-charge kind of guy, but with Dean, there was only room for one leader. Sam had basically never been in charge of the family or in charge of taking care of his twin—not like Dean had. So today he was trying not to crack under the pressure he was putting on himself to find his brother, save the world, and keep his family safe. He'd been trying to focus on one small step at a time. Steal a car. Get to Battle Creek. Track down Lisa. Make sure Alex didn't fall apart, make sure Cas rested up and got better as fast as possible. He'd actually told Sam a few hours ago he thought he was well enough to start shazaming around again, but Sam told him to save it for when they found Dean, just in case it weakened him again.

Sam felt his stress tripling as they passed a bar. No Impala. They'd gone to see Lisa as soon as they got into town and found out Dean had told her goodbye, basically. Sam was close to panicking. Where the hell was Dean? There were only so many bars and motels and gas stations in this town, and they'd driven by most of them twice now.

Seeing Lisa again had been weird and brought back a lot of memories for Sam. She'd been shocked to see them, and then maybe a little affronted and weirded out when Cas had asked within her earshot, "this is the woman who Dean loves?"

It was weird how Cas could be so innocent and childlike in his cluelessness one minute, then intense at frightening levels at other times. Maybe that's why Sam felt the beginnings of worry when it came to Cas and Alex. Because he wasn't entirely sure what the guy was capable of. But, if Cas loved Alex—and Sam knew he did—he knew that the angel would never hurt her. Sam wished Dean could see the two of them right now, actually. Alex distracted and worried, Cas watchful and attentive, concerned about _her_. As they'd driven all night, the two of them hadn't said much, had just stayed close to each other. Alex had fallen asleep for about four hours, and Cas's shoulder had been her pillow. When she woke up, she'd taken over driving awhile so Sam could rest too. Now they were back to Sam at the wheel.

Even if it was probably the oddest pairing on the planet, Sam could appreciate the fact that someone obviously cared so much about his baby sister's wellbeing. He didn't understand why Dean couldn't. If Dean was going to flip his shit over seeing a kiss or whatever, Sam didn't even want to know what Dean would have done if he'd seen what Sam had, in the kitchen of that restaurant. Sam got embarrassed fast, remembering Cas and Alex making out against the wall. Dean would probably have murdered Castiel point blank if he'd seen _that_.

Sam thought about how protective Dean was, how _over_ protective… and how it made zero sense how he thought walking away and leaving them right now was the right thing to do. Had Dean lost his mind? Had he literally gone insane? Sam was so harrowed by the entire thing. His only hope was that he could talk some sense into his brother when… _if_ … they found him.

He slowed down as they drove by another motel parking lot. He scanned the cars parked there, desperate to see the familiar sight of the Impala.

* * *

**Mike's Travel Inn  
Room 100**

Dean folded up his beloved, worn out leather jacket and set it down into the brown box. He drew his keys out of his back pocket, looked down at them, feeling an unexpected twinge—Alex's old silver whistle dangled from the silver loop, next to the couple of keys he owned. His chest clenched in pain and he closed his fingers around the whistle and keys, taking a moment, and then tossing them down on top of the jacket. He took his gun out of his waistband and removed the magazine, checked it for bullets, then snapped it back in and set the pistol in there beside the keys. And that was it. These things were what he would leave behind.

Dean wondered how the hell these three little things were all that would be left of him when he was gone—and only one of them was actually his—the gun. The jacket? That was Dad's. The whistle? That was Alex's.

If Dean had been an optimist, he wouldn't be doing this, packing his things and preparing to leave a letter for the people he loved. But he wasn't an optimist, he was a realist. Yeah, Michael had said he'd spare Dean and maybe he would. But Dean wasn't banking on it—he didn't exactly trust angels or take them at their word. Basically, he didn't foresee himself coming back from what he was about to do. And it sucked a lot, but in his mind, he was taking one for the team and saving the people that he could.

Dean poured himself some dark whiskey and took a sip of the familiar amber liquid. It burned good and never got old. If nothing else, he was gonna make sure Michael agreed to some specific things. Guarantees of safety. For Lisa and Ben, Bobby. And for his sister, who needed someone to look after her more than almost anyone. He thought of how stupid she was, how shortsighted. There was a painful feeling in the bottom of his throat when he thought about leaving her alone. He'd promised he never would.

Forcing himself to focus, Dean pulled a chair up to the little motel table, took a pen up in his hand and pulled a sheet of motel letterhead to himself. He paused, the reality of what he was doing coming over him all over again.

He began to write.

_Sam, Alex, and Bobby—_

_Given what's about to happen, I'll be surprised if this package ever finds you. But if it does, I want you three to know that what I'm doing isn't about giving up. John taught us better than that. This is about time. We've run out of it._

_Left the Impala in Cicero. Where I'm going, we don't need roads. I know you'll look after her for me. Bobby—you've taken more for the team than anyone could ever ask. That makes you an honorary Winchester in my book._

_Sam. You told me once that you pray every day. Not sure if that's still true. Probably isn't, but if it is, give it one last try for me. And Sammy—one Winchester lost to this fight is enough. When it's over, after you've said yes and given in to Lucifer, I want you to know I'm gonna make good on what we talked about. You won't be alone at the end. I love you and I'm sorry it had to end this way, but at least it'll be the two of us together. If I have to go out, it makes it better that it'll be with you._

_Alex. Words can't say how much I love you. Please believe me when I say that everything I ever did was me trying to protect you. Hopefully what I'm about to do will make up for all the times I failed. I know it's hard to understand, but I'm not just doing this for the greater good—I'm also doing it for you. I know you don't believe me but I just want what's best for you. I mean that. Like I always told you, kiddo: keep your chin up, your head down, your aim straight. Know that I'm proud of you._

_If I come back from this, I don't expect any of you to forgive me, and that's okay. I'm doing this because it's the right thing to do. You all know what a stubborn son of a bitch I am, so I hope you believe me when I say I didn't want to do this, and honestly, as I write this letter, I still don't. I'd rather stay here with you crazy ole bastards. But that's not an option anymore. I know that me saying 'no' to Michael is what causes all that crap in 2014. I've decided I can't let that version of tomorrow happen. So, here's to a brighter future._

_Give 'em hell, kids, and pour a cold one for me._

— _D.W._

It wasn't the best letter in the world, it left miles of things unsaid, but it would have to do. He folded it up, put it in an envelope and set it on top of everything he'd packed up in the box of his personal effects. He sealed the box slowly, taking his time. Like he'd said in the letter, he wasn't eager to do this. Not at all. And he kept catching sight of himself in the mirror above the dresser and feeling despicable. No letter would ever make Sam or Alex understand. Especially Alex. He knew how abandoned she'd feel, and it caused him so much pain that he had to stop and bring a hand to his face. He'd promised Dad he'd always take care of Sammy and Al, and _look_ at him. He was leaving them to the mercy of the world, he was accepting the fact that Sam would be Lucifer's vessel, he was leaving Alex without even saying goodbye—taking off after one of the worst, if not _the_ worst fight they'd ever had. And he thought of the three of them playing army men in the back of the car on long road trips and shoving Legos into the crevices of the Impala and racing each other up and down motel hallways and sharing candy late at night when Dad wasn't there and Alex blowing him smoochy kisses when she'd been really little and Sam screaming with victorious glee the one time he beat Dean at arm wrestling. And Dean lost it for a minute, crying shamefully, quietly, hating the sound of his shuddering breaths. He tightened his hand on his face. He was overwhelmed with knowledge of what he was losing, walking away from. The family that he loved with everything he had.

After a minute Dean forcefully composed himself, finished taping the box shut, addressed it to Bobby, and decided to pour himself some more whiskey. He wasn't too affected by the stuff anymore, but it was worth a shot to try and dull the pain. And then heard a sound behind himself. He looked up into the mirror and was shocked at what he saw.

"What, you sending someone a candy-gram?" Sam asked, and Dean turned to face his siblings—Sam looked grim and disappointed, Alex like she might literally kill him. And the sight of them—he thought he'd laid eyes on them for the last time—almost broke him.

"How'd you find me?" he asked hollowly, not letting them see how deeply affected he was. And then without warning Alex went apeshit, lunged at him across the dividing space and socked him across the face with so much vicious force that he stumbled backwards and subsequently knocked everything off the little motel table.

Shocked at the wallop the punch had packed, Dean reeled, just barely remaining on his feet, automatically clutching at his face—he could taste blood, somehow he'd bitten the inside of his mouth or something. "Holy _shit_ , Alex!" Dean exclaimed, looking at his fuming little sister in a mixture of indignant anger and slightly impressed surprise at how good of a swing she could throw. " _Jesus_!" he gingerly touched his jaw.

"Don't act like you don't deserve that," she spat at him, livid and trembling, madder than he'd seen her in a long, long time. "What the _hell_ are you doing?!"

Dean glanced at Sam, who stood off grimly. And he was so overwhelmed with grief, because he realized there just wasn't a way for him to explain it. Not really. And he couldn't afford to let them in, or see how he was really feeling. If he was gonna do this, he had to make them think he was an asshole. It'd make it easier on all of them, in the end. "I'm doing what I _have_ to do," Dean told her, reverting to his cold demeanor.

" _No one_ makes Dean Winchester do _anything,_ " she challenged him. He looked down. She would have been right about that up until recently.

"You're gonna kill yourself, right?" Sam asked quietly, and Dean let out an jaded breath.

"I'm not gonna kill myself."

"No? You told me you're gonna let Michael make you his Muppet… that's basically kissing your life goodbye, Dean." Sam shook his head, disgusted. "What the hell, man? This is how it ends? You just… walk out on us?"

"Yeah, I guess," Dean said apathetically, and then saw Alex's jaw clench, her fists curl in, and he leaned away from her, eyeing her closely. "Easy, tiger, not the face." He got a dirty look as she crossed her arms and stalked a few steps off, as if to contain herself.

Sam came closer, his expression full of accusing anger. "How could you do that, Dean? Leave us like that?"

And all the tender things Dean had been feeling for his siblings a minute ago were forgotten in favor of indignant anger. "How could _I_?" Dean asked, unable to believe _Sam_ of all people would ask him that. It sparked sudden anger in him, because Sam wasn't the one who knew what it felt like to be abandoned—that was _Dean_. "All you've _ever_ done is run away!" he said loudly, and Sam's face fell guiltily.

"Oh so that makes it okay?" Alex asked him, and her bitchy tone really pushed some of Dean's buttons, because no, oh _no_ , he had _not_ forgotten about their little talk outside the church or the sight of her kissing Cas. He looked at her bitterly, feeling ganged up on, hopeless, angry, helpless.

"You know, you're a lot of big talk Al, but you're not in my shoes. If I remember right, you've run away too, remember? Where was all your self-righteous crap then?" He almost sneered at this point. "And by the way, where's your precious boyfriend? Left like usual, didn't he?"

She bristled at his comment but said nothing, clamped her mouth into a thin line. Sam was getting heated at this point. "Listen Dean. I was _wrong,_ okay? Every single time I ran away!" He took his hands out of his pockets, tried to calm himself down. "Just… please." He gave Dean his best sad eyes, and Dean vaguely thought man, if eyebrows could win academy awards for best performance. "Not now," Sam was imploring. "Bobby is working on something."

"Oh, really?" Dean said, not believing Sam's bullshit simpering act for a second. "What, huh? Enlighten me." Sam said nothing, just looked down. "You two got nothing and you know it," Dean said darkly.

"Maybe we don't," Alex said. "But we _will_."

Her fighting spirit was admirable but unfortunately wasted on him. "No... we won't," he told her unpleasantly, then set them both with an immovable, decided look. "Guys—my mind's made up. I'm doing this, like it or not."

"Not gonna happen," Sam said quietly, and his eyes jumped up to Dean's. "You know we have to stop you. "

Dean nodded, accepting that _this_ was where it was gonna have to go. "Yeah, well, you can try," he told them, and there was a great, weighty sadness on his shoulders as he looked between the two of them. He didn't want to have to do this. Trying to dissuade them, he looked at Sam pointedly. "Just remember: You're not all hopped up on demon blood this time, Sam. And Barbie over there—yeah, she got the jump on me a minute ago, but she isn't exactly a heavyweight."

"We're not gonna fight you Dean," his sister said, to which he shrugged, his mouth pressing into a hard line.

"You're gonna have to," he told her.

"No. We're not," Sam said. "You're gonna come nice and quiet."

Dean chuckled just barely, a short and airy sound. They had another thing coming if they really thought that he was gonna just go with them. "Says who?" he asked.

And then behind him, a familiar, deep voice. "Says me."

Dean whipped around to find Castiel standing behind him, and before Dean could even open his mouth, he felt Cas's fingers touching to his forehead—and then the world went pitch black.


	35. Runs in the Family

" _And my scars remind me that the past is real."_  
\- Papa Roach

* * *

Bobby Singer wasn't having what you'd call the best day. Hell, he wasn't having what you'd call the best _year_. He'd lost movement in both of his legs, was stuck in a wheelchair for the rest of his life, and had been forced to kill his wife all over again last month—something a man should never have to do once, let alone _twice._ And now? Now Sam had called to let him know that Dean was being a damn fool—running off to say yes to Michael. Of all the things Bobby had been expecting to hear Sam say… that hadn't been it.

What _the hell_ was the kid thinking?

Bobby would be pacing if his damn legs worked. He'd resigned himself instead to neurotically shuffling through some notes and newspaper clippings he was compiling. Like father, like son, Bobby thought bitterly. Both John and Dean as tough as nails and twice as sharp, both stubborn as a mule. Both of them running off on the family at the worst time possible.

What bothered Bobby was that he had expected a hell of a lot more from Dean. 'Course, he didn't know the full story of _why_ in the sam hill Dean would think saying yes to Michael was a good idea, unless he'd given up hope on other options, but that was the thing… that just didn't seem like Dean to give up. Ever.

Morning light streamed in through the window and Bobby leaned over his cluttered desk, fighting a massive headache. Time was running short, he felt it in his bones. He'd been feeling it for awhile now, this looming sense that the grand finale was coming closer and closer. But he pushed past the urge to give up every day, refusing to throw in the towel.

At that very moment, three people suddenly appeared out of the naked air. Sam—supporting an unconscious, slumped over Dean—and Castiel, a hand on Sam's shoulder.

Startled, Bobby sat back in his wheelchair. "Dammit, boys!" he exclaimed. "A little heads up woulda been nice," he said, to which Sam mumbled "sorry Bobby" while he set Dean down onto the pullout cot Bobby had set up in the office to sleep in. Bobby paused, frowning. "Wait, where's Alex?"

"On her way," Cas said, disappearing without further explanation. Bobby stared at the empty space the angel had just been standing in. Well that was just plain disconcerting, no matter how many times he saw it.

"Still in Battle Creek, getting the rest of Dean's crap together and into the Impala," Sam explained wearily, standing over his brother and running a hand through his hair.

Bobby wheeled himself from behind his desk, looking Dean over as he stated the blessed obvious: "So you found him."

"Yeah. We did." Sam rubbed his palm down over his mouth, crossed his arms, and sighed grimly. "This isn't good, Bobby." The older hunter could tell Sam was deeply, deeply worried and afraid. "Not good at all." Sam shrugged off his jacket and tossed it over a chair. He seemed beaten and drained.

"Sit down, kid." Bobby gestured to an empty chair, wishing he could take some of the load for Sam. "Tell me what happened."

Sam dragged the chair over and proceeded to give him the quick three-minute summary of how Dean had been acting strange for the past few weeks, how he'd been uncharacteristically hopeless and depressed, then how he'd and run off after spouting craziness about the angels and Michael and changing the future. Sam said that their confrontation with the Whore of Babylon had seemed to send him over the edge. "Well that and Cas and Alex," Sam was saying.

"Cas and Alex?" Bobby repeated. "What about 'em?"

Sam grew pensive. "Their, uh… relationship."

Bobby squinted. "Come again?"

Sam looked unsure of what to say. "It's—" he stopped talking when they heard the front door open. Speak of the devils. Alex stormed around the corner and into the office, looking about as mad as a wet hen. Cas followed after her.

"Hey, did you guys abracadabra the car over?" Sam asked, but his sister stopped dead center of the room and ignored his question completely.

"He left a fucking _suicide_ note," she raged, waving a letter angrily at her side for emphasis. "I found it in that box of stuff he had at the motel."

Sam, held his hand out as he stood. "Hey. Calm down, all right?" he looked at her meaningfully. Alex's expression alone challenged his words. Sam said nothing, but took the letter from her and read it over.

Bobby looked at Alex closely, noticing how when she and Cas exchanged a glance, her anger seemed to lessen, her shoulders seemed to relax, she visibly calmed down. What _relationship_? He was plain stumped at what Sam had said. That was the thing about the word relationship, it could carry a million and one definitions. Alex maybe felt Bobby's frowning stare and looked at him, seemed to remember her manners, finally. "Hey Bobby," she said, sounding a little abashed at her outburst.

He gave her a wan little smile as hello and then looked at Cas, giving him a single nod. The angel seemed to realize he hadn't made a greeting either. "Hello, Bobby," he intoned deeply, his eyes squinted into little slits. Hmm. _Hello yourself,_ Bobby thought, looking at the angel carefully, then wheeling himself back over to behind his desk. Today was about to get real interesting.

He picked up a newspaper clipping off of his desk, pretended to be reading it while he peered at Alex and Cas from underneath the brim of his ball cap, Cas especially. Bobby hadn't really ever looked at the fellow good and long. The angel was taller and bigger than Bobby remembered him being—and as the angel stood at the edge of the room, watchful and frowning as usual, Bobby realized he really wasn't that much shorter than Sam, maybe a few inches.

Alex wasn't a small girl by any means, she was Bobby's height, just three proud inches under six feet tall—but her petite build made her look pretty unsubstantial at the moment as she stood between Cas and Sam. Bobby looked at his girl sadly. _His girl_ —he thought that without even meaning to. He had a special place for all of the Winchester kids in his heart. Karen had always wanted kids, had told Bobby she could see him with a little girl of his own. Bobby hadn't really agreed with her at the time, had been sure he'd be a failure as a dad, would end up being too much like _his_ old man. But these days, he looked at the Winchester bunch and felt like if he were ever to have kids… these three would be them.

Bobby recalled the months Alex had been with him after Dean died, remembering how beyond sad she'd been and how hard she'd tried to hide it from him. They'd never talked about it, but one night he'd found her with a gun out in the tool shed, and the way she'd been contemplating that thing… he'd taken it from her and told her "don't you _dare_." And that had been it. He'd never mentioned it or brought it up again. The entire time he'd known the family, he'd worried about her more than Sam and Dean, period, and these days weren't no different. So if Sam meant that this angel guy was _interested_ in her, Bobby was immediately concerned and was going to make it his business to find out more as soon as he could. Cuz no man, angel, demon, _whatever_ gonna even think about touching that girl or being with her unless he had good—no, the _best_ —intentions.

Sam paced slowly, reading over the letter as Alex took her hooded jacket off and tossed it over where Sam's was. Predictably, she wore a flannel shirt underneath, sleeves rolled halfway up her arms. As usual, Cas didn't remove his coat—he just stood there, hovering awkwardly at the edge of the room while Alex waited in the middle of the study with folded arms for Sam to finish reading. Bobby wondered offhandedly why Cas wore that damn trench coat twenty-four-seven. Unlike Sam and Dean, Bobby hadn't met any other angel than Cas—but from what the boys told him, Cas was the only one worth his weight. The only one that they could trust.

" _Wow_ ," Sam said, finishing the letter and shrugging his eyebrows up briefly, then coming over and handing the letter over the desk.

Bobby took it and scanned it fast—and as he digested the words written in Dean's bold, strong hand, his heart sank. The kid had really been about to do it. Bobby shook his head, fighting his feelings. Not one to foul up the mood nor to let his inner despair show, he looked up, keeping his voice and face neutral. "So what's the plan, kids?" he asked, setting the letter down when he'd finished it. "What're we gonna do with this idjit when he rises and shines?"

Sam and Alex looked at each other, then they both looked at Cas—his stern glare rested on Dean, who still was laid out on the cot, dead to the world for now. The halo usually looked stern, and such was the case today, but upon closer inspection, Bobby realized he was _angry_ , but at a deeper and quieter level than the rest of them. It was a little unsettling, actually.

"I dunno," Sam finally said, his eyebrows pressing in toward each other as he threw his hands up briefly, seeming to have no real ideas. "Try and talk him out of it, I guess."

"You ever been able to talk him outta _anything_?" Bobby retorted.

Sam's shoulders squared in frustration. "So we change his mind," he said, spreading his hands out for emphasis. "We find another way for us to kill the devil or stop the angels." Sam paused looked at Bobby hopefully. "Say you got something, Bobby. Anything."

Bobby looked at him grimly. He may have been a considerate man, but he wasn't a liar, and he wasn't about to give Sam false hope. "Son, I hate it but I ain't. I been runnin' ragged over here trying to find something—hell, _anything_ —but I got diddly jack squat."

His words visibly hit both of the Winchesters hard. They hadn't wanted to hear that. "So you're saying Dean's right—that we don't have any options?" Sam asked in crushed disbelief.

Bobby paused, then tried the optimist's approach. "I'm sayin' I ain't _found_ it yet." He gestured at his cluttered desk. "I got a few books in today that we can look through, some print outs from the internet... who's up for a read through of the Apocrypha?"

Sam didn't look thrilled but he came over, dragging the chair he'd sat in over to the side of Bobby's desk and there he took a seat, pulling a book off the top of a pile to study the cover. Just then, a low groan came from the cot and everyone in the room turned to look at Dean, who was coming to. "The hell?" he mumbled, looking around with bleary eyes. He pushed himself up, his face already twisting from groggy confusion into an angry glare.

"Mornin', sunshine," Bobby commented gruffly, testing the waters. Dean shot him an unhappy look and then looked around at the occupants of the room suspiciously. While Castiel and Alex seemed decidedly hostile, Sam just looked at him sidelong, a little guiltily.

"What, we having an intervention?" Dean asked snidely.

"We _need_ to?" Bobby countered, getting an evil side eye.

"Dean, we brought you here because we're gonna find a solution, okay?" Sam said, setting down the book he'd been holding and drawing Dean's sullen attention. The brothers locked gazes. There was a great amount of mutual animosity there.

"A solution." Dean repeated churlishly.

Sam's jaw tensed and lofty sarcasm filled his voice. "Yeah. Something besides losing your friggin' mind, abandoning your family, and becoming the angel's newest show puppet."

Dean's jaw worked overtime in frustrated tension and he looked at his brother balefully. "Time's _running out_ ," he said, voice rising. "Don't you _get that_?"

"Yeah Dean, I _do_ ," Sam retorted with surprising intensity and great amounts of barely withheld anger. "Which is why we need to hold it _together_ and figure out another _way_."

For a second, Bobby wondered if the two brothers would leap across the distance separating them and start rolling around on the ground, trading punches. That's how intense the glares were. But then Dean sat back, rolled his eyes and sighed in sickened annoyance, apparently so disgusted that he couldn't speak any more to Sam. He stood up, made as if to walk out of the room—and then Castiel moved, blocked the way out of the room.

Dean leveled the angel with a challenging, narrow-eyed stare. "What, I can't go get a beer out of the fridge?"

Cas's chin raised a fraction of an inch and his eyes further narrowed into slits. "No."

Bobby again wondered if this was about to get physical as he watched the two guys stare each other down—Sam and Alex seemed to be wondering the same thing, looking tense and ready to spring at a second's notice. And then Dean looked over at Alex, who stood further off in front of the other desk Bobby had against the far wall. "You wanna call your attack dog off?" he asked her darkly.

Bobby frowned at the way Dean said that, the way he looked at his sister so contemptuously—something was _off_. Alex said nothing—her eyes bored back into Dean's stormily, her mouth was set in a firm line. And when she made no reply, Dean rolled his eyes and turned away, pacing back over across the room.

"Yeah, no, this is good," Dean commented disingenuously. "This is _great_. Really. Let's just sit here and read _books_." He gave a humorless chuckle and it was an almost angry sound. "Listen, you guys want to gank el Diablo, right? This is how we do it. _Me_."

Sam sat back in his chair, looking up at Dean thoroughly. "Aren't you forgetting that _I'd_ need to say yes too for that to happen?" He asked testily. His brother again chuckled.

"Oh no," Dean said, a bitter smile playing on his lips. "I haven't forgotten."

Sam's face twisted into hurt confusion. Dean ignored it. "Dean—this isn't you," Alex said, angry and full of hurt. "Why are you acting like this?"

He looked at her with eyes that seemed dead, cold. "Oh trust me, sweetheart. This _is_ me," he said flippantly. "Get used to it."

Clearly having to control her temper, Alex looked down and shook her head, a plastered, pursed expression like a sickened smile stretched across her lips. She looked at lot like Sam at that moment. Beside her, Castiel was regarding her with a frown—his expression grew stormier when his eyes flickered over to Dean, who was folding his arms and jutting his chin into the air. "I don't care what any of you say. I've made up my mind. It's been eight long-ass months of turned pages and screwed pooches and total bullshit. I'm done, man." He spread his arms and grinned humorlessly. "Bring on the apocalypse."

Bobby was starting to get tired of Dean's attitude. "You wanna take it down a notch there, Tony Robbins?" He flipped a page of the book in front of him unseeingly. "You ain't helpin'."

Dean gave him a disrespectful little smile. "Yeah, well, why don't you let me get out of your hair then?"

Bobby looked at Dean square in the eye. "What the hell _happened_ to you?"

" _Reality_ happened," he said forcefully, coming forward to stare at Bobby across the desk. He was becoming intensely angry. "Nuclear's the only option we have left—I'm trying to tell you—Michael can ice the devil, save a _boatload_ of people!"

"But not _all_ of 'em," Bobby replied firmly, not rising to Dean's level of confrontational rage. "We gotta think of somethin' _else_."

Dean retreated back toward the wall he'd been standing against, sending contemptuous glances all around. "You guys sound like a broken record—there _is_ no Plan B, and the longer we stall, the worse it gets!"

"Worse _what_ gets?"

"What they do to my _family_!" Dean all but shouted. "And besides that, if Lucifer burns this mother down, and I coulda done something about it, guess what?" He gestured angrily at himself. "That's on _me_!"

Bobby saw the anger, but more than that, he saw fear. Lots of it. He regarded Dean more gently. "You can't _give up,_ son."

Dean's head rolled forward as he looked down, a cynical smile on his face and a soft little laugh escaping his lips. Bobby felt himself frowning a little. What was so funny? And then Dean looked back up, his expression cold with anger and something almost like loathing. "You're not my father," he told Bobby, and the entire room seemed to grow unnaturally quiet. Dean stared bitterly. "And you ain't in my shoes."

Bobby felt like he'd been slapped in the face—Dean's words to him burning a very raw nerve, just like Dean had intended them to. Alex looked disgusted. "Can you just shut the fuck up?"

In response, her brother's anger seemed to triple. "You know what? _Shove it_ , princess," he retorted, staring down his nose at her with an accusing glare. "I've had it with all your little moral superiority bullshit lately—last time I checked, screwing around with an angel doesn't make you a saint."

Her mouth had dropped open at what he'd said—Sam was wide-eyed and looking at his brother in disbelief, Castiel's brows were knit together in deep confusion, Dean looked almost sick with anger, Bobby felt confused as all get out at the implication.

"What the hell is your _problem_?" Alex asked her brother, voice trembling with quiet rage.

" _My_ problem?" Dean asked in severe surprise, then he gestured at Cas, threw an arm in his direction. "He isn't a _man_ , Alex!"

Her eyebrows shot up in momentary shock, and then she became chillingly calm. "He's more of one than you've ever been," she said, shocking everyone with the cold and hateful way she said it.

Dean's expression was filled with quiet, rising fury. "You shut your mouth," he said lowly, voice trembling as if he were holding back.

"No, _you_ shut _your_ mouth!" she all but roared. Sam was standing up, appearing to be thinking about intervening—and Cas, who stood about five feet back from Alex looked uncertain about what to do, his concerned expression becoming more and more tension-filled—but Dean and Alex were oblivious to everything but each other.

"You act like you can just do whatever the hell you want to, like you can tear this family apart and screw over everyone you supposedly love?!" Alex looked like she absolutely despised him. "You're fucking _heartless_!"

Maybe it was a gut reaction, maybe it was an accident fueled by blind rage, maybe he didn't mean to do it exactly how he did. All Bobby knew is that the second she accused him of being heartless, Dean seemed to _snap_ —his face became almost animalistic with violent fury, and in the space of a second, he grabbed his sister by the front of her shirt and with an enraged shout of " _That's not true_!" he blindly shoved her—she let out a cry of surprise and went hurtling back into the low bookshelf against the wall, back-first—there was a loud, heavy thud as she hit it, books went tumbling to the floor, and Alex would have fallen forward onto the ground from the shock of the impact, but Cas had moved startlingly fast and caught her fall. Startled and breathless, she looked at the angel with wide-eyes, and then at the same time, the two of them looked at Dean, whose face had fallen.

"Dean, what the _hell_?!" Sam demanded, already to his brother and shoving him back toward the cot. Dean didn't react, he just kept staring at his sister in abject horror and shock.

Bobby was so angry he could barely form a coherent thought. "Have you lost your damn mind, boy?!" If his legs weren't currently on layaway, Bobby would have slapped that damn kid so hard, his clothes would be out of style when he quit rolling.

"Al, I'm sorry, I—" Dean started—and then suddenly Sam was knocked aside and Dean was lifted off his feet—Cas had him by the front of his shirt in one hand and he whirled him, slammed him painfully into the wall of the office. There was a loud sound from the impact—then cracking and crumbling.

Dean was groaning loudly, disoriented from the brutal attack—his shoulders had broken through the drywall completely from the force Castiel used. His feet dangled off the ground as Cas's fists tightened into his shirt. The angel's face was twisted, almost a snarl. "How dare you lay a hand on her—" Castiel demanded in a low, furious growl.

"Cas, whoa, whoa!" Sam said, attempting to get Cas to calm down, holding his hands out appeasingly, maybe about to try and break the two apart—but Cas looked at Sam and Sam froze, a shocked look on his face as he suddenly slid back several inches across the floor without moving his feet at all, as if he'd been invisibly pushed. Bobby watched with increasing dismay.

" _Ungh_ , _Christ_ ," Dean groaned in pain. Cas's expression just darkened and he pulled Dean out of the wall and then slammed him back in.

"Cas _stop_!" Alex shouted and the angel froze, seeming to come out of some sort of trance. She had appeared and tried to lodge herself between the two. Dean looked at her with shame. Her face became less fearful and more contemptuous, sad even. "He's not worth it," she said bitterly. Dean's face fell further. Cas didn't move a muscle. " _Please_."

The angel held her gaze, a muscle jerked in his jaw, he looked back at Dean… and then let go, allowing Dean to drop to the ground at his feet. Dean caught himself on his hands, looking up from all fours at Cas, out of breath, expression distorted by pain. "The next time you touch her like that... I won't stop," Castiel told him in no uncertain terms, a bold, open threat. His voice lowered. "Do you understand me?" Dean must have taken too long to reply, because he was suddenly dragged to his feet. " _Answer_ me."

"Yeah I _understand_ you," Dean spat after staring at Cas hard for a couple beats. Cas looked back and forth between his eyes and then roughly let go. The two of them stared at each other full of animosity, and Bobby felt like he was starting to get what Sam meant about _relationship_. He sat there, looking at the hole in his wall and the way that everyone in the damn room was at each other's throats and he got mad, mad as hell.

"Okay, look, someone wanna tell me what the sam hill—" Bobby started, and then was cut short when Cas suddenly hunched over, grabbing his head as if in pain, a horrible, sharp groan breaking through his gritted teeth.

"What's wrong?" Alex asked him, her face full of immediate fear—she'd grabbed one of his arms with both of her hands when he bent over, maybe trying to help him stand. He was grimacing painfully, and looked at her speechlessly, a hand still on his head.

"Cas, you okay?" Sam asked cautiously.

The angel looked at him with a rigid expression, his hand falling away from his face. "No." He gave no further explanation.

"What is it?" Alex asked him intensely.

He frowned deeply, staring at the space ahead of himself gravely. "Something's happening."

"Well what? _What_ 's happening?" she pressed in rising panic. He looked at her finally.

"I'll find out." He looked at Dean darkly, then at her, then at Sam, who gave a subtle little nod at Cas. "Stay with Sam," Castiel told her and then with a blast of wind, he disappeared completely. Papers fluttered wildly.

Dean, now sitting on the cot, leaned heavily over his knees. He looked at the twins in disbelief, getting what Cas had meant when he said that to Sam. That Sam needed to protect Alex from Dean. "The hell does he think he is?" he muttered angrily, to which Sam gave his brother one of those _are-you-fucking-kidding-me_ glares.

"The hell do you think _you_ are?" Sam challenged, and then turned to his sister, looking her over. "You okay?" he asked her meaningfully and she didn't say anything to him, just regarded him with unreadable eyes.

Alex eyed Dean sidelong, appearing to be betrayed and not so much angry as heartbroken. Dean's face was filled with regret and shame at that point. He dropped the tough guy act. "I'm sorry, I just—I got mad…" he said pathetically, and he repeated himself, softer. "I got mad." His voice broke and he looked up at his sister pleadingly, like he wanted her to forgive him. _Comfort_ him even. But she shook her head, looking at him with eyes full of unshed tears.

"Like father like son, right?" she asked him softly.

Dean's face fell completely. "Don't say that," he said, voice trembling, but this time with horrified denial. He stood up, and he looked close to tears almost. "Don't you say that," he begged.

When he stood up, she shrank back just a little—he stopped short, stricken. Sam looked unsure as to what his siblings were talking about—but from the way they were looking at each other, it was clear that there were volumes of meaning behind what Alex had just said to Dean, that he understood her meaning perfectly, and it devastated him.

"It wasn't—I didn't _mean_ to—" Dean tried, fumblingly, and Alex looked almost insulted.

"Isn't that what _he_ would always say?"

Dean appeared sickened. His gaze went to the floor.

"What are you two _talking_ about?" Sam asked, looking between the two of them in confusion.

Bobby had a pretty good idea of what they were talking about—he knew how John got when he was drunk. He knew how John was _period_ : angry, bitter, obsessed to the point of moral blindness. But it made him sick to hear his long-standing theory confirmed. He shook his head as helpless, righteous anger surged forth inside and he thought about how Sam had violently assaulted his sister a few months ago, how Dean had just shoved her brutally, how John apparently had done something similar. "You Winchester men are somethin' else, you know that?" Bobby muttered.

Sam stood there staring at his twin as his mind raced, trying to figure out what the hell she and Dean were going on about, what Bobby was saying. Because it almost sounded like they were saying Dad had… been abusive. Sam felt like his blood went cold. What else could they mean...? He looked at his twin in dawning horror. He would have known about this though, right? "You don't mean…" he started.

Alex was abruptly stony. "Just leave me _alone_ , all of you," she said, and went into the kitchen, leaving Sam to stare after her wordlessly then look at Dean for an explanation.

There was a long, tense silence, and Dean looked older than he was, heavy with thoughts of the past. "Why do you think I never left her alone, _ever_ , huh Sammy?" Dean asked, and his voice was layered with sadness, guilt, anger. "Why do you think that one road trip in ninety-nine I took by myself was the only one? The _last_ one?" He sat down on the cot and looked down, leaned his arms onto his knees and put his head in his hands. Sam stared open mouthed, remembering. Realizing.

" _Man, I'm telling you, she was all bendy like Gumby, this chick," Dean was saying to sixteen-year-old Sam, who laughed a little awkwardly at how Dean was describing this Lisa girl. "She was seriously an eleven, dude," Dean said, throwing his bag down on the motel bed. He'd just gotten back from a weeklong solo road trip and was clearly on cloud nine. Dad was still out on an ammo run._

 _Behind them, they heard the door open, and Dean turned around, knowing it'd be his sister walking in. "Hey tiger, did ya miss m—" his grin froze and then fell when he saw that she had a huge bruise on the side of her face. He looked shocked and he went to her immediately, dropping what he'd been doing to take her face in his hands and examine the bruise. "What the hell?" he asked, sounding quiet and scared. "You okay?" he asked gently. She seemed embarrassed by his question, just rolling her eyes and pushing his hands away, silently saying 'yes Dean, I'm fine…' but Dean was getting riled and looked back at Sam in disbelief and anger. "I told you not to leave her_ alone _, Sam! You_ promised _!"_

 _It had been all of a minute and Dean was already mad at him, as usual. Sam became defensive. "Dude, I went to the movies with some friends I met at school—she didn't wanna go and I didn't see a reason to stay and be bored when I could be out having fun…" Dean looked positively pissed. Sam got angry at how unreasonable his brother was being. "Come_ on _Dean. Dad was with her when she fell down the stairs… I couldn't have stopped it from happening if I were here if_ he _couldn't have."_

" _Yeah sure," Dean said darkly, implying that Sam_ could _have and_ didn't _and was the scum of the earth. Sam shrugged his hands up and stared at his brother, frustrated and wondering why he could never please anyone in this family. Dean turned away from him and gave his attention to his sister, who, as always, remained silent. She looked like she was feeling guilty about something and Dean pulled her into a hug—Sam watched them with the beginning pangs of jealousy. Dean always did that, treated her like a princess and then treated him like he was a stupid screw up. "I'm not gonna leave you alone again, okay?" Dean told her._

 _Sam rolled his eyes, completely fed up with his older brother's overbearingly overprotective nature. "She's not made of_ glass _, Dean, come on, it's just a little bruise!" He rolled his eyes at this point, over it. "She'll be_ fine _." Dean had just given him a furious glare._

And now… now Sam was beginning to understand.

Bobby was staring at Dean, who hadn't moved, whose head was in his hands as he stared down at the floor. "What, so you really done, kid? You just gonna walk out on us? On _them_?" He gestured at Sam, and then in the direction of the kitchen, where Alex had gone to.

Dean looked up at Bobby grimly. "It's not walking out, it's owning up. To what I gotta do."

"No," Bobby said, shaking his head in slow anger. "Giving up, that's what you're doin'."

"Call it whatever you want," Dean said indifferently. Bobby was quiet a minute, then pulled a pistol out of his desk and set it on the table. Dean watched out of the corner of his eye as Bobby took out the shining bullet he kept in his pocket, looking at it thoughtfully. "...What's that?" Dean asked cautiously.

Bobby didn't look at him, just kept his eyes on the bullet. "This is the round that I mean to put through my skull." He set the bullet down on the desk in front of him. He had the boys rapt attention. "Every morning, I look at it. I think... 'maybe _today's_ the day I flip the lights out.' But I don't do it. I _never_ do it. You know why?" He looked at Dean and all the anger he felt was suddenly hurtling to the surface and he was shouting at full volume, letting loose in his rage. "Because I _promised_ _you_ I wouldn't _give up_!" Dean was silent, attempting to look like he wasn't surprised at the outburst, but he very clearly was. "So stow your selfish, hateful attitude and get with the program, junior!" Bobby continued, leaning over the desk and jabbing a finger at Dean. "Cuz there's a _helluva_ lot more at stake here than how you _feel_! Look at that boy and girl in there—you really gonna give up _now_? You gonna leave them again after what happened _last_ time you up and _died_?!"

Dean stood, shaking his head in disgust, unable to listen to the things Bobby was saying to him. He exited the study, Sam hot on his heels. In the kitchen, Alex was standing by the window, biting her thumbnail and staring out of the glass panes. She glanced Dean's way then turned to put her back to him more. Sam followed Dean closely, who went to the refrigerator, tried to open it, and then found Sam in front of him, shutting the refrigerator with the weight of his body. "Why wouldn't you tell me that about Dad?" Sam demanded. "I mean, _shit_ , Dean! Don't you think I should have _known_?"

Dean just looked at Sam, unruffled. "It was none of your concern."

Sam grew angrier. "Like _hell_ it wasn't!"

Dean was impatient and annoyed. "Listen, Dad got drunk sometimes, liked to smack me and Al around, whatever. It's in the past," he said pointedly, apparently wanting to leave it there. "You happy?" He asked churlishly, and pointed to the refrigerator, raised his eyebrows in a foul, frustrated expression. "I'm gonna get a beer, do you _mind_?"

"Yeah, that's _exactly_ what you need," Sam said harshly, moving to further block the refrigerator. "How could you never tell me about this?"

"Cuz I wanted to keep you _safe_!" Dean exploded. "Cuz I wanted you to be able to look up to Dad how I wanted to be able to look up to him. He was… he was a lot of things, Dad. And you didn't know who he really was, Sam."

"What, _abusive_?"

Dean looked sick, like he couldn't believe Sam would use that term, and then he grew defensive. "Come on man, we weren't his punching bags, we were his _kids_." He stopped for a minute, seeming to realize he needed to make a concession. "He just… just sometimes lost his temper. I tried to always make sure if he needed someone to shove around, I was first in line. But sometimes… sometimes, I just couldn't be." He glanced Alex's way—she hadn't moved from the window. Dean's expression saddened, his voice grew quieter. "It was my job to protect you and Alex." He seemed to get really upset and looked away from Sam at that point. "That's always been my job." And the way he said it, the look on his face—it was clear that Dean felt like he'd utterly failed in every way.

He clenched his jaw, looked at the fridge, sad but trying to joke now, which was strange given the conversation. "Quit screwing around, Sam, lemme have a beer."

Sam just looked at his brother disapprovingly, troubled and sympathetic despite his anger. "Dean…"

Alex listened to the entire exchange without saying a thing, only feeling sicker and sicker. What had happened with Dean was bothering her, and deeply. What he had done wasn't the absolute end of the world—yeah her back did hurt a little and there would probably be a bruise from where she'd hit up against the bookshelves, but she'd had bruises before and would get over the physical pain. But maybe not the emotional pain.

Maybe she shouldn't have shouted at him like she had or basically insinuated that he wasn't a man, but after all the crazy crap he'd said to her, did he really expect her not to lash back out?

She thought of the absolute rage that had been on his face when he'd shoved her so hard with the intention of hurting her, and it broke her heart, because that was the _exact_ kind of thing Dean refused to let happen to her when she'd been younger. She didn't understand why he would do the very thing that had always made him sick in the past. The very thing he'd _protected_ her from all those years. For a second, she wondered if she deserved what Dean had done—she'd grown up to believe she was a screw-up and a disgrace, even though her brothers had always told her the opposite—her father's rough ways and absence and lack of involvement with her when he was around (unless it was an angry outburst, usually) had silently drilled into her brain, year after year, that she was nothing special and that she didn't deserve the kind of love she wanted.

Now, Dean had done the same thing to her that he'd _seen_ Dad to to her. She felt her chest constrict painfully. _How the hell could you do that, Dean?_ Him pushing her like that was all the convincing she needed that somehow, her oldest brother didn't love her anymore. That explained why he'd been able to leave so easily—he didn't care anymore. And that frigging _suicide letter_ , talking about how much he loved her and was proud of her? Lies. Complete crap. If he really loved her or Sam, he wouldn't _leave_. He _wasn't_ proud of her, that much was obvious from how much he hated her involvement with Cas. And she wanted to scream, because she shouldn't have to choose between Dean and Castiel, and she resented her brother so deeply for trying to make her do exactly that.

Whatever. Just, _whatever_. She couldn't afford to think about that or him right now. Honestly now that they had found him and brought him here, she wanted to just shut him away and not speak to him ever again. She decided to stop thinking about him completely, not to waste her time on the guy who was clearly far gone, past hope at this point.

Her thoughts turned to Cas and quickly became wracked with worry. He'd just suddenly doubled over and groaned in a horrible sound of pain then disappeared. Where had he gone? What was wrong? Who or what had made him hurt like that? The sound he'd made had freaked her out more than anything had in awhile. Her mind spun with unanswered questions. Would he be back at all? Was it some sort of trap he'd been lured into? Heaven was after him, apparently—and the thought that maybe they had caught up to him and taken him away for good or something... it stressed her to no end. She forced herself to breathe in and out deeply. She didn't used to care when he disappeared and she couldn't remember what it felt like to not care. Every time he left it got harder and harder. Because she never knew when he'd be back. And every time he _was_ there, she just wanted to cling onto him tighter. It scared her, honestly.

She thought back to last night, underneath the stars. How he'd told her nothing had meant anything to him until her. How he'd said she was beautiful. She was still reeling from everything he'd told her. She didn't think she deserved everything he felt for her and said to her.

There was an audible gust of wind in the study and Bobby suddenly called out "hey, shake tail!"

Just a little bit behind her brothers, Alex hurried back into the study, pulse hammering wildly in anxious anticipation when she caught a flash of beige. Relieved wasn't a big enough word for when she saw that Castiel was back.

He was laying a dirty, unconscious person down onto the cot as Bobby wheeled himself around to get a better look. "Who is it?" he asked, looking at the siblings in confusion. Alex looked at Cas, simultaneously trying to see if he were all right and wondering what explanation he would offer. He only looked at her breathlessly as he stood back, allowing Sam, Dean, and Bobby to crowd around the cot. Curiosity winning out, Alex craned her neck around Sam, trying to get a better view of the guy laying on the cot. The face and hair were caked in dark dirt, his clothes were filthy. He _did_ look sort of familiar. And then it hit her. _Wait, was that…?_

"That's... our _brother_ ," Sam breathed, and Dean moved forward, checking the kid's pulse—muttering "alive," even as Bobby was looking at Sam like he was nuts.

"Wait a minute," Bobby said. "Your brother...? _Adam_?"

"Cas, what the hell?" Dean demanded.

Alex, similarly caught off guard, was breathing "how?"

Adam was _dead_. Or at least, he _had_ been...

Castiel shook his head and set down two gleaming angel blades onto Bobby's desk. "Angels," he said simply. Everyone's eyes went to the blades. Had he just faced down _two angels_? His eyes glanced up into Alex's and she felt like her stomach dropped out from underneath her when she realized he must have just _killed_ two angels. Even though he was obviously fine, she felt sick at the thought that he'd been in danger.

"Angels?" Sam repeated. " _Why_?"

Castiel seemed unsure and grim, shaking his head just slightly. He obviously didn't like this newest development. "I know one thing for sure," he said, striding over from the desk to where Adam laid. "We need to hide him _now_."

He put his hand over Adam's chest and light shone underneath his palm as he branded him with Enochian warding symbols—Adam's body convulsed and writhed underneath Cas's hand and Adam's eyes shot open, he gasped, floundering backwards, struggling to sit up, looking at them all without any trace recognition in his eyes, only panic and confusion.

"Where am I?!" he demanded, and Sam went forward a little even as Cas fell back, his arm brushing against Alex's as he stood near her. They looked at each other briefly, each wondering what had happened in the absence of the other, concerned and not bothering to hide it.

"It's okay. Just relax, you're safe," Sam told Adam, who looked at him blankly.

"Who the hell are _you_?" the kid asked rudely, probably a little freaked at what was happening.

Dean took the cue. "You're going to find this a little…" he changed his mind, "okay, a _lot_ crazy, but we're actually your family," Dean said. "Your siblings."

"It's the truth," Sam said, trying to speak softly to calm the kid down. "John Winchester was our father, too. See, I'm Sam—"

"Yeah, and I'm sure that's Dean," Adam said, eyes flicking to Dean, then Alex, "and that must be Alex." How did he know who they were? The real Adam Milligan had died before meeting them at all. But his eyes switched between the three of them and he said, "I know who you are."

Sam's uncertain frown deepened. "How?"

"They warned me about you," was Adam's curt reply.

" _Who_ did?" Dean asked doubtfully.

"The angels," Adam answered impatiently, and there was a shocked silence at the information. Adam didn't seem to care about their confusion, just looking at them demandingly. "Now where the hell is Zachariah?"

His name sent a stunned wave over the group. "What business do you have with Zachariah?" Cas asked suspiciously.

Adam looked up at him blankly. "And just who the hell are you, huh?"

Cas narrowed his eyes. "Castiel." He paused heavily, seeming ashamed almost when he continued, his eyes flickering downward. "I'm... an angel of the Lord."

"Great, you can take me to them," Adam said, and made to stand up—but Cas put a hand on his shoulder, keeping the kid seated against his will.

"I'll do no such thing." Cas replied. "Zachariah—what would he want with you?"

Adam shoved Cas's hand away defiantly, appearing to realize he wasn't going to be able to just leave. "If you're not taking me," he said, "then it's none of your damn business."

"We just wanna help, kid," Bobby told him. Adam finally looked at Bobby solidly, appearing less than impressed.

"And who're you, grandpa?"

"That's Bobby," Dean said. "And he ain't no grandpa. He's one of the best damn hunters out there."

"Yeah, sure. Whatever," Adam said, looking down at himself and seeing just how dirty he was. "Can someone get me a towel or something?" he asked, then looked at Alex pointedly. She stared right back, disliking his attitude and wondering why he'd look at the only female present and make that demand.

She looked him up and down and gave him one of her more unpleasant facial expressions, deciding he was a jackass right then and there. "You don't need a towel, you need a hose."

He stared back at her seeming to feel exactly the same about her as she did about him. Sam, ever the peacemaker, cleared his throat. "Yeah, good idea," he said, and motioned for Adam to get up. "Look, uh, you can probably fit Dean's size. I'll uh, show you where you can take a shower and get cleaned up."

Adam stood up. "I need to get to the angels," he insisted, but Dean clapped a hand onto his shoulders, squeezing tight.

"First things first," Dean said. "Get cleaned up. Then we talk."

Sullen, Adam looked at Dean a minute longer, then went with Sam. The sound of their footsteps going up the stairs thudded overhead and Dean turned, making a face like he wasn't sure what to think. "Well, _this_ is an interesting plot twist," he commented, trying to be funny maybe, but Alex, who had put some distance between herself and him when Sam left, just looked at him untrustingly. His attempt at a smile faded away. "Look, Al—" he tried.

She shook her head and exited the room, throwing a crabby "no," over her shoulder.

Dean went to follow her, but Cas stood in his way with a grim expression.

There was a pause, and Dean didn't react like he normally would have. He didn't get angry or explode. He just looked defeated. Taking a couple steps backwards and visibly fighting great amounts of sorrow and frustration and loathing, Dean nodded, looking down at the ground. "Yeah. All right. I see how it is." He turned away then made a _get lost_ motion with his hand as if he didn't care. He muttered something ugly under his breath that sounded like "screw you very much." But Cas didn't react. He left Bobby and Dean to themselves and followed Alex, who had gone out onto the front porch.

She had paced down the porch halfway and she seemed to be waiting for him, holding herself anxiously, drumming her fingers against her arm absently. When she saw him walk through the screen door, she came to him quickly, grabbing him by both arms. "Are you okay?" she asked intensely. "I saw the angel blades—they tried to kill you, didn't they?"

Reluctant to admit just how close it had come, Cas nodded a single time. "Yes."

Alex reacted immediately. " _God_ , Cas." She put a hand to her face, fingertips on her forehead, highly distressed at a level that left Cas feeling something intense in his chest. She seemed to be having a difficult time figuring out how to word herself. "I just… I was so _worried_."

Her concern hurt him. "Well, I'm fine." Cas stepped closer to her, searching her face carefully, touching one of her arms gingerly, not caring about discussing his wellbeing any further, because that wasn't what was most important to him. "Are _you_ all right?" he asked, thinking of how horrible it was to see Dean shove her like he had, how slow Castiel felt he reacted, how horrified he still was that Dean could even _think_ of doing that to his sister. How he'd been almost unable to leave her side at all when he'd heard the angels voices clamoring in his head.

"I'm not _hurt_ ," Alex finally answered.

Castiel recognized that she didn't give him a clear-cut answer. He studied her carefully. It was strange how his concern physically riled him, making him feel anxious both in mind and body. "Alex—has Dean ever done something like that to you before?"

She shook her head and he believed her. "No, never." She smiled then, but it was pretend. She acted light, but it wasn't real. "Still. What a dick, right?"

Cas felt his head tilting to the side in puzzlement. He didn't understand why she would be false with him, unless she maybe didn't want him to worry. He looked at her steadily. "Don't pretend you're not upset," he told her gently. Her eyes snapped up to his in surprise. Her state of upset was in the details—he recognized the signs well now: the tense way her features would sit on her face, the slight movement in her cheek when she bit and chewed on the inside of her mouth. The way she squeezed her hands tightly into little balls, the way she blinked more than usual. Even the tone of her voice was different.

She seemed startled at what he'd said. Startled and unable to deny that he was right. "I... I _am_ upset," she conceded quietly, then took a moment before she explained further. "It's not that it like hurt a lot or something, it's… it's that he was never supposed to _do_ something like that to me."

It was a heavy, sad reality. Castiel wasn't sure if he could allow himself to let her stay with Dean after this. She was looking at him from under her lashes, hesitant now. "Cas, honestly, you… kinda scared me in there," she said, swallowing and looking at him nervously. "What were you gonna do to him?"

Castiel met her gaze slowly. "Hurt him very badly." He realized that perhaps again, he had gone too far. He felt frustrated, unable to put himself into words. "I only want to protect you."

She looked at him fully and she seemed open to him right then, not hiding anything. "I know," she said softly, then touched his hand that hung at his side. Grasped it gently. Her thumb slid up underneath the cuff of his shirt, brushing the bare skin of his wrist. And the simple touch felt electric to Castiel. Her eyes met his. He could find no words to say—they all seemed to disappear out of his mind. It was a spell she had over him, a trance she put him in. He was once again consumed with what he felt for her. His eyes bored into hers, and her lips parted softly as she stared back. He wondered why he suddenly felt so frustrated by how far apart he felt from her, how wide the distance seemed, how much he _wanted_ to—

The screen door squeaked noisily and Sam poked his head out of the door. "Hey, you guys wanna come in? Adam's done."

Alex looked at her twin in veiled irritation. " _Already_?"

Sam shrugged. "Took the fastest shower in the history of the world. Seems pretty eager to get going."

With a brief and reluctant glance at each other, the youngest Winchester and the angel went back inside, finding a restless Adam in the study. He looked different—his hair had been wet and obviously hurriedly scrubbed with a towel. His face was clean now and he wore some of Dean's old clothes that had been stashed at Bobby's. He was pacing like a caged animal.

"Sit down, would you? You're making me nervous," Dean grumbled. He sat backwards in the chair Sam had claimed earlier.

Adam did so grudgingly, and his fingers tapped nervously on his knee as Bobby poured a glass of whiskey and handed it over silently. Adam didn't look thrilled but sampled it, looking at Cas and Alex as they came in. Alex stood in front of the desk at the far wall, opposite of Adam, and Cas stood beside her. Sam sat on Bobby's desk, folding his arms and studying Adam.

"So why don't you just tell us everything?" Dean prompted. "Start from the beginning."

Adam looked like he'd rather eat moldy cheese, but as he looked around the room he seemed to mentally note that he was outnumbered. Unhappy about it, he started off in a bored tone. "Well, I was dead and in Heaven." He paused, and he almost smiled. "'Cept it—it uh, kinda looked like my prom and I was making out with this girl, her name was Kristin McGee—" he had a little bit of a smile on his face now, and Dean, ever the classy one, was nodding.

"Yeah, that sounds like Heaven. You get to third base?"

Sam cleared his throat noisily to cut that line of conversation off. "Shut up, Dean," he said, then forced an encouraging smile. "Just uh, just keep going, Adam."

Moody, Dean rolled his eyes. Sam pointedly didn't look at him. Adam didn't miss the fact that the brothers were at odds, he looked between them suspiciously for a second, then continued. "Well, these… these angels, they popped out of nowhere, and they tell me that I'm chosen."

"...For?" Alex asked when he said nothing else.

He looked at her almost piously. "To save the world."

Caught off guard, Dean narrowed his eyes. "And how you gonna do that?"

"Me and some archangel are gonna kill the devil," Adam said, growing smug now.

"What archangel?" Dean asked, more and more confused.

"Michael," Adam said, shocking his listeners. "I'm his uh, sword or vessel or something, I dunno." Adam sounded bored again, even though everyone else in the room had gone still.

"Well, that's insane," Dean concluded with a scoff.

Beside Alex, Cas was in deep thought. "Not necessarily," he said, drawing everyone's surprised stares.

Dean turned around in his chair, evaluating Cas carefully. "How do you mean?"

"Maybe they're moving on from you, Dean," Cas said, which struck Alex as extremely odd—they could _do_ that? Why hadn't they known that before?

Dean appeared to be having trouble with the idea too. "Well that doesn't make sense," he said neutrally.

"He _is_ John Winchester's bloodline, Sam's brother," Cas said. "It's not perfect, but it is possible."

"...Well you gotta be kidding me," Dean muttered, then was struck by an epiphany. "Wait, hold on. If it's bloodline…" he stared at Cas accusingly, looking at Alex for the first time since she'd re-entered the room and swept a hand toward her. "Could _she_ be a vessel?" He sounded genuinely concerned. His question sent a ripple of shock through Alex.

She looked at Cas, who was frowning deeply. "I... don't think so."

"Well find out!" Dean thundered.

Castiel's arms, which had been folded, fell to his sides, his gaze darkened, his tone became almost brazen. "If your sister were a vessel, don't you think we would _know_ that by now?"

"Hell if I know, Cas," Dean retorted, looking at the angel as if he were a moron.

Cas's jaw squared. "Michael seeks a _male_ vessel," Cas told him. "Alex is a female."

"Oh, _really_. I hadn't noticed," Dean snarked, then turned back around, rolling his eyes.

Cas tried one more time. "I doubt Michael would be after Adam if Alex were a vessel."

Dean ignored the angel.

"Why would the angels decide to do this?" Sam asked, upset by and stuck on the fact that Dean was being passed over in favor of Adam, how little sense it made.

"Maybe they're desperate," Cas answered, then stared at the back of Dean's head, his arms folding again. "Maybe they _wrongly_ assumed Dean would be brave enough to withstand them." Was that superiority in Cas's voice? Alex looked at him sidelong, feeling sort of proud of him for giving Dean some attitude right back.

Dean turned around again, gave the angel a death glare. "Alright, you know what? Blow me, Cas."

Castiel frowned, looking uncertain as to Dean's meaning. Alex just contemplated Dean, seeing how Cas's comment really had gotten under his skin.

Adam glanced around at the occupants of the room with a seriously doubtful expression on his face, picking up on the tension and discord.

"Look, no way," Sam was saying. "After everything that's happened? All that crap about destiny?" He sounded intense and heated. "Suddenly the angels have a Plan B? Does that smell right to _anybody_?" He looked around for someone, _anyone_ , to back him up, and Adam seemed to lose patience.

"You know this has been a _really_ moving family reunion, but uh, I got a thing, so—" he stood up, and when he did, so did Sam.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa," he Sam said quickly, physically blocking Adam's way. "Sit down. Just listen, okay? Please."

Not unlike an outnumbered animal, Adam glanced around at everyone who stood ready to stop him: Dean, Cas, and Alex. Shaking his head and giving up on the idea of leaving, Adam backed down. "This is unbelievable," he muttered, sitting back down with a sullen flop.

Sam settled back down onto the desk, but he wasn't as relaxed as before. "Adam… the angels are _lying_ to you," he said emphatically, his words salted with bitter first-hand knowledge. He'd apparently given up on the gentle approach, and was using a sharp tone of voice now. "They're full of _crap_."

Adam smirked and looked down. "Yeah, I don't think so."

"Really. Why not?" Sam pressed.

"Um, 'cause they're _angels_ ," Adam retorted.

"And did they tell you that half the planet is gonna get fried in the process?" Alex cut in. He looked at her without any trace of emotion. "Did they tell you they're at _civil war_ up there? Angels aren't all the good guys, buddy."

"Okay, first of all? I ain't your buddy," Adam said brusquely. "Second, I don't need to know all that stuff, not my area. It's the devil, right? It's gonna get bad. They said the fight might get a little into the moral gray area. But you know, as long as I'm putting Satan in cement shoes?" He shrugged carelessly, gave a little cold smile, looking _just_ like Dean for a second. "I'm okay with a little collateral."

 _Wow. What a hero._ Alex stared him down balefully. "You really have no idea what you're talking about."

"Oh, and you do, princess?" he asked, baiting her, the corner of his mouth lifting up further into an insulting little smirk.

"I'm not the one who was dead in the ground half an hour ago, dickhead," she fired back. His smile fell.

"Guys." Sam looked at Alex angrily. " _Stop_." He looked back at their half-brother, increasingly frustrated. "Listen, Adam, there's another way here for us to kill the devil, okay?" At that, Dean looked at Sam contentiously, clearly done with his brother's attempts.

"Great," Adam said, obviously not caring in the least, sounding more and more peevish. "What is it?"

"We're working on 'the power of love,'" Dean cut in sarcastically, drawing a scowl from Sam.

"How's _that_ going?" Adam asked cynically.

"Mm," Dean smiled facetiously. "Not good." At this point, he was acting almost _entertained_ by Sam's attempts to convince Adam.

Sam didn't let Dean's shitty attitude or goading little smirks and overly expectant expressions affect him. He focused on Adam, trying the heartfelt gentle approach again. "Look, Adam… you don't know me from a hole in the wall, I know. But I'm begging you. Please, just trust me." He paused, desperate. "Give me some time."

Adam looked at him grudgingly. "Give me one good reason."

Sam took a couple seconds, grasping at straws in his mind. "Because we're blood."

Dean seemed to think that was funny, looking down at his lap and smiling bitterly. Adam reacted as if he'd been insulted. "You got no right to say that to me," he said softly, dangerously.

"You're still John's boy," Bobby pointed out, and Adam looked at him sharply.

"No, John Winchester was some guy who took me to a baseball game once a year. I don't have a dad." He looked at each Winchester in turn now angrily. "So we may be blood, but we are not _family_. My _mom_ is my family. And if I do my job, I get to see her again. So no offense, but she's the one I give a rat's ass about, not any of you."

A brief silence hung.

"Fair enough," Sam said quietly. "But if you have one good memory of Dad, just one, then you'll give us a little more time. Please."

Adam looked around at how outnumbered he was again. "Yeah, fine," he said grudgingly. "Not like I have a choice."

"He took you to baseball games, huh?" Dean asked.

Adam looked at him fleetingly. "Yeah." He frowned at Dean, giving him a weird look. "What? Why are you all looking at me like that?"

Dean made a face, shrugged casually. "The old man never really did that kind of stuff for us," Dean said as if it weren't a big deal, but Adam's eyebrows raised.

"So what, you're _jealous_ of me?" Adam laughed scornfully. "Wow, that's rich. Yeah you had it real bad seeing him all year long, didn't you? How sad for you."

Alex shook her head with mild disgust. "This guy's an asshole, he fits right in," she muttered to no one in particular, but with a pointed look at Dean.

Adam looked at her spitefully. "Bite me, bitch."

"You first, jackass," she snapped back.

Sam stood up, pointed a finger each in turn at Adam and Alex. "Hey, there's no need for that," he said firmly.

"She started it," Adam muttered. Alex just crossed her arms again, not regretting what she'd said. Cas looked displeased overall, glaring at Adam openly.

"What's _your_ problem, Columbo?" Adam sneered. Cas frowned, clearly not getting the reference.

"Well isn't this just the best family reunion you ever been to," Bobby commented sarcastically.

Dean stood up. "I really need a beer," he said, sounding sullen, but then Sam grasped him by the arm, gently.

Dean looked at Sam's hand, then Sam, frowning. "Yeah, I uh… I'm gonna have to ask you to come downstairs with me." Sam looked at his brother meaningfully.

"Come again?" Dean asked, then wet his lips, preparing a grand speech and pulling himself backwards out of Sam's grip, taking with one of his hands, the bad attitude levels hitting an all-time high. "If you think I'm gonna just go down there and sit on my ass and let this stupid kid over here do my job for me, you—" he fell forward, unconscious mid-sentence thanks to Cas, who stood behind him.

Sam caught him easily, and looked at Cas with a thin attempt at a smile. "Thanks, Cas."

Adam's mouth was open and he appeared to be a little disconcerted by what had just happened. Sam hefted Dean up into his arms, then nodded in Adam's direction. "Can you uh, stay with him until I get back?" he asked Castiel, whose reply was, "of course."

"Need help?" Alex asked her twin, but Sam shook his head, already halfway out of the room.

"Nah, I got him."

Adam looked at Cas appraisingly as the sound of Sam's footsteps faded away. "What, you think I'm gonna run?" he asked irritably.

"If you're anything like your brother Dean, yes," Cas said factually, to which Adam's expression darkened.

"That guy isn't my brother. I don't know him. I don't _wanna_ know him. Or _any_ of you." Adam's jaw tightened, he looked around cagily. "This is bullshit."

Alex resisted the urge to roll her eyes, because if there was one more thing she needed in her life right now, it was Adam, who might as well be Dean Junior. "I gotta get some stuff outta the car," she said, pausing at the door frame on her way out, a hand on it as she looked back at Cas, who nodded. Their eyes lingered on the others. Adam's face wrinkled in confusion, catching the long, meaningful way they looked at each other.

* * *

Alex had good intentions of getting all of their bags, doing some laundry, straightening up the trunk of the Impala since it was a mess... but when she'd seen the keys on the front seat where she'd tossed them earlier, she stopped, forgetting her plans. She reached in through the car's open window and picked them up, looking at her old silver whistle hanging alongside Dean's keys. She'd been about to toss it awhile ago when cleaning out her things. He'd told her she was nuts, that she should keep it, that she might want it someday. She thought he was being stupid and sentimental, but knowing he wasn't long for the world at the time—this was when he'd had the Hellhounds coming soon—she'd said okay and had given it to him to keep until she wanted it back. At the time, she thought she wouldn't want it again.

She unhooked it from the key chain and left the keys sitting on the seat. She leaned back against the Impala and studied the whistle for a long moment. In the mid-morning sun, it gleamed brightly up at her from the palm of her hand. It reminded her of what Castiel had done for her. _Would_ do for her. She thought about the girl who'd worn this whistle for all those years—sad, lonely, frustrated at how she could never say what was on her mind at the right time, left out of everything... she wasn't that girl anymore. Because of him.

She heard footsteps crunching against the gravel toward her, and she looked up, already knowing who it was. Still, looking up and seeing him there in the flesh set her stomach fluttering all over again. She wondered faintly: shouldn't he seem more and more commonplace to her the more that she saw him? Instead, every new time her eyes beheld him, she was struck by even deeper feelings and emotions.

Cas stood a few paces away, silently looking at what she held in her hand, then up at her. He knew what it was. Her mouth curved into a soft smile and she looked down at her hand, closing her fingers around the whistle before she looked back at Cas. She wished he would come closer, and as if he could read her thoughts, he did. He cupped her closed fist in his hand and she opened her hand back up, watching him as he studied the small silver object.

His eyes met hers silently and she turned her hand down over his, setting the whistle into his palm, closing his fingers over it gently with her other hand. He looked down at his closed fist, then at her, distantly puzzled. She shrugged her shoulders up a bare fraction of an inch, her face soft. His eyes flickered from hers down to her lips, back again a couple of times, then stayed on her lips as he leaned down. Reading his mind with a heart that was doing thrilled loops in her chest, she tilted her head up to meet his lips with hers in a soft, sweet kiss that lingered. When they came apart, it wasn't far, and they didn't stay apart long. She couldn't help herself. That first taste had her needing more, and she kissed him again, a little less gently, a little less slowly as she longed for his endless touches and kisses.

He pocketed the whistle even as she took his lapels in her hands and pulled him deeper into her embrace, unable to stop herself. Castiel readily circled his arms around her, wrapping her up gently but tightly, enveloping her, a hand tangling in her hair, and the way he touched her like that made her more anxious—she pulled harder on his lapels, growing breathless, and after a moment, their mouths came apart again, their foreheads touching as they breathed raggedly, his hand moved from her hair to her face, his eyes half closed.

Cas appeared to be troubled about something, and Alex gazed at him in sudden rising concern. "What is it?" she asked quietly, her eyes flickering over his face.

He seemed to be trying to think of how to say something. His eyes rose up to hers, dark and full of an earnest anxiety, but he said nothing, just shook his head and carefully kissed her again, sending electric warmth over her entire body. _An angel is kissing me._ Alex was left reveling in how it felt, the soft pressure of his two lips pressing against hers... the feeling of his mouth parting open to move slowly and tenderly in exploration of hers. In growing desire, she pressed into him full force and kissed him more deeply, coming to life in his arms, losing her mind. It was like a language only the two of them spoke when their lips and mouths came together in this way. She never wanted it to end, she wanted to feel him like this forever... she wanted him again, so badly. And exactly when she thought that, he broke the kiss but barely withdrew at all. When he spoke she felt his mouth moving against hers to form the words he said next.

"I want you," he confessed in a soft, tight murmur. "So very badly." She could have died from the way those words made her feel—his pleading tone was like a lightning bolt straight down her center.

"N-now?" she asked breathily, choking on her question almost, wondering if he was going to just push her up against the Impala right in the middle of the salvage yard.

He seemed to be despairing, his breathing quickening markedly. "Yes, _now_ ," he said—and she didn't even care what he did to her or where, she just nodded frantically. And then his lips were on hers again, sending currents of warmth racing through her.

She was vaguely startled when a deep groan sounded from the bottom of Castiel's throat and he suddenly lifted her up into his arms. She was further caught off guard when there was an abrupt pull in the vicinity of her stomach, a feeling of wind rushing past her, and she suddenly felt herself falling backwards then hitting something soft and flat. Her eyes had flown open in surprised confusion to look at Cas who was suddenly above her—and above him were exposed wood beams of a roof. They were no longer in the salvage yard at all—he'd taken them into Bobby's attic, onto the spare bed that was kept up there.

Alex stared at him motionlessly, shocked and spurred on at the same time by how assertive of a move that was. Cas's coat was pooled around them, he had his palms pressed down on either side of her, he gazed down at her with an uncertain expression, gauging her reaction to what he'd done—Alex had recovered from the initial surprise and reached up, pulling him down to her by the tie, arching herself up to meet his lips with hers again in a sloppy, impassioned kiss they both let out soft, relieved sounds at.

His hands slid around her back to encircle her again and hold her close to him. Fumbling, Alex reached up with both hands into the tight space between their bodies, loosening his tie and pulling it up and over his head, breaking the kiss as she did so. Cas looked down at her breathlessly in rapt attention and Alex tossed his tie aside without looking to see where it went. She wondered if Cas were nervous like she was, because she almost thought he was from the look on his face. She brushed her fingers against one of his cheeks affectionately, overcome by how this moment was real, how _he_ was real. How the way they felt about each other was undeniably _real_. How he wanted her in the same way that she wanted him. Alex held his face in both hands now, brushing her thumbs back over his stubble, forgetting everything for a second except how beautiful he was. How beyond her it was that he looked at her the way he did. His eyes, brilliant blue patterned in little zinging lightning bolts throughout, were entire galaxies.

His face came down toward hers, nose brushing against the side of hers as he kissed her tenderly now. Her eyes fell closed by instinct as his lips kissed hers as if she were the most precious and breakable thing. With the backs of her legs, she pulled his torso closer to hers so that there was no space between them. She whimpered against his mouth when she felt him pressing up against her between her legs. He breathed out shudderingly at the sound she made and the sudden increase in the pressure.

She shoved at his jacket and coat awkwardly as they struggled to kiss even while shedding the trench coat and suit jacket. Somehow they managed, Cas holding an arm out while she yanked roughly on one sleeve until his arm was free, and then the same with the other. Carelessly, the coat and jacket were tossed aside. The second he was free of his outer layers his arms hugged around her with renewed vigor as if he couldn't stand to be any further away from her. His mouth surged down onto hers hungrily and one of his hands swept to her lower back, pressing flat-palmed into the contours of her spine and pulling her against him until they both gave a surprised, strangled gasp at the pleasure the friction created.

Alex was unbuttoning his shirt with stumbling fingers, desperate to feel the warmth of his skin, desperate for _more_ of him even as she simultaneously dragged the heels of her shoes across the bed to kick her shoes off haphazardly. She felt Cas pushing himself up onto his elbows, felt him begin to unbutton her outer shirt even as they continued to make out full force—her heart jumped into her throat as she felt the whisper-soft movements and inexperienced pulling of his fingers against her shirt as he undid the buttons in a way that was clumsy, endearing, and completely arousing to her. As a result of what he was doing she whimpered in pleasured torture. She'd never been so turned on in all of her life. His shirt was finally unbuttoned and she pulled back breathing raggedly to look at his toned chest and smooth, tanned skin that she could see in the gap of the open shirt. She suddenly felt intimidated by the sight of him and the fierce, hungry, curious way he was looking at her.

Beneath Castiel with her hair fanning out across the faded bedspread, Alex was breathing heavily and looking up at him with dark, unguarded eyes. Her mouth was open, her chest heaving up and down. Her shirt was unbuttoned and had fallen open, there was a thin gray tank top underneath, and Cas looked at the soft fair skin stretching over her collarbone—he wanted to touch her there, test the feeling beneath his hand, trace the shape of what laid beneath her skin. He did, he touched her there, fingertips light on the end of her collarbone near her shoulder. She watched him like he was the most entrancing thing she'd ever seen and he could feel how she breathed, how her pulse fluttered underneath his fingertips. What kind of magic was this? The sensation of touch. Of touching _her_. Her skin against his skin was like he imagined a drug must be. He couldn't stop and he also didn't want to, ever. He just wanted to keep feeling her, all of the dips and hollows and textures and shapes that were hers. He wanted to know every part of her, see everything. He wanted to know what she loved, what she wanted, what she felt.

Alex froze when she felt Castiel's hand sweep across the bare skin below her collarbone, his fingers leaving a trail of electricity across her upper chest as they traced downward hesitatingly. His palm brushed over the curve of her still-clothed breast and she shuddered at the feeling of being touched there. Helplessly, she looked up at him, overwhelmed. In the Vatican it had been dark and sudden and unintentional and a little easier thanks to alcohol softening inhibitions, but this was different, this was so much more intimate somehow... and even though they'd already been together, Alex was suddenly aware of how she still felt completely virginal and shy, unsure of herself, scared of this and of not being good enough.

His fingers rested on the skin above where her tank top began, just over where her heart thumped fast and hard. He looked at her like he was amazed all over again, then down at his hand, fascinated and adoring. "I can feel your heart beating," he murmured as he looked back up at her. She forgot her nerves temporarily. Castiel was unguarded, looking at her with eyes that were full of so many deep and substantial things.

She touched the left side of his chest and slid her hand over to where she felt the strong, rhythmical pounding against the palm of her hand. His skin was warm and firm. The pads of her fingers grazed a hard, smooth knot—the place where he'd taken a bullet for her. There was a lump of emotion in her throat. "I can feel yours, too." Their gaze remained locked until he bent his head down, stilling her with a kiss that that he hesitated to pull back from.

His hand slid away from her chest and moved around to brace against her back—he sat up, lifting her with him, sitting back onto his heels. With his free hand he touched the curving space where her neck and shoulder met… and slowly he took hold of the collar of her flannel shirt and began to pull it down and off, looking at her for a cue or any sign he should stop. She helped, shifting and moving each arm in turn, her pulse pounding a million miles an hour, her nerves going crazy every time that the edge of his hand or fingers grazed over her bare skin, her eyes falteringly trying to stay on his but nervously falling away again and again. He was undressing her, she was letting him, and she could barely think straight. When her shirt was off she was left in her in the gray tank top. Alex looked into his eyes fleetingly, swallowing, nervous. She had her legs wrapped around his middle still, he was only holding her there with one arm, but she knew that he was strong enough that even if she had let go of him completely, he'd still be able to hold her in place. He was so much more powerful than he looked. And yet he was so achingly gentle with her. It made her love him more.

She pushed his shirt down slowly off of his shoulders, looking at the spot there where the bullet wound was. It looked like old scar tissue even though it was only from a day ago. _A thousand bullets_. He didn't wait for her to pull the shirt off completely, he reached behind himself to each opposite arm and pulled it off himself, allowing her arms, which had locked around his neck, to keep her there securely against him as he sat. His arms were strong and defined, his shoulders broader than she remembered, and even though she thought she would love him in whatever body he was in, she loved the one he had claimed. The sight of him becoming more and more naked had her dizzy. He wrapped those strong arms of his around her again and gently lowered her back down to the bed. Once again his hard length pressed up against her, causing her to gasp out softly. She was overwhelmed to think that she could cause that to happen to him.

He heard her gasp softly, a sound that made blood flush his body with further degrees of pleasure and desire, and he didn't understand how he could feel _more_ of those things—every time that he thought he'd felt all he could, there was more with her. Cas marveled at the way Alex responded to whatever he did, and how in turn, whatever she did caused him to want more, always more. He pushed aside the voices telling him this was wrong. It couldn't be wrong, he didn't _want_ it to be wrong. He bent over her gently, his mouth meeting hers over and over again in sweet, fleeting, exploratory kisses. The rush of sensations she bestowed on him was so vast and yet not enough at all.

His hand went to one of his favorite places, the curve of her hip bone. He felt the shape of it through fabric then moved his hand down, sliding it up inside the shirt to feel her warm skin soft underneath his fingers—and hesitating, he began to push her shirt up further, knowing that in traditional human sexual encounters, the clothes all came off—and that's when he felt her go tense. She stopped short as her breathing hitched. Her hand had shot out to cover his. "I... I have scars," she said, and there was quiet fear or shame in her voice. Maybe both.

He'd stopped the second he felt her go tense and he looked at her, not understanding, suddenly worried he'd done something wrong, something that she didn't want. "I know," he told her, confused and concerned. "...I've felt them."

She still didn't look okay. "But you haven't seen them. They're… really horrible."

His face scrunched in a wounded expression as he understood that she was embarrassed of herself. "Nothing about you is horrible," he told her. "We don't have to," he told her earnestly, not wanting to do anything if she wasn't willing—but her hand gripped tighter, keeping his hand exactly where it was.

She was quiet for a couple seconds. "It's okay." She took a second to look deeply into his eyes and then decisively she guided his hand up, which shifted her tank top and revealed a small strip of skin above the waistband of her jeans. "I want to," she told him. He could hear that she was being genuine, but also that she was nervous. He hesitated, trying to decide if he should keep going. She pulled on his hand again, and he looked at her carefully, making sure, then he pushed the soft gray material up slowly to the top of her rib cage. As he looked down her torso, he saw the scars he'd glancingly felt in the Vatican. They were large and jagged claw marks, four of them slashing downward from the top of her rib cage on the right across her stomach at an angle. The skin of the scars was discolored and raised in an uneven pattern, standing out strongly, a strange blotchy pink against the rest of her fair olive skin. He traced his fingers down, matching up his fingers to the lines of each of the arcing scars. How awful it was to think of the day this must have happened to her.

"Werewolf," she explained in a single, soft word as she looked at him and pushed herself up slightly onto her elbows, her eyes dark and unconfident. Cas thought for a moment. He knew that when he kissed her mouth it made her feel good, maybe even beautiful. He wondered if he kissed her there, where she felt ugly, if the same would apply. Wordlessly, he shifted himself downward, moving his face closer to her stomach, and he felt her tense again and he glanced up at her—she was looking down at him uncertainly, holding herself rigidly, confused about what he was doing. His eyes lowered to the ragged line that had been carved into her skin what must have been years ago, and experimentally, he pressed a slow kiss to the end of the scar as his hands held her waist gently on either side. He could feel Alex breathing fast underneath his lips. Again he glanced up at her face, uncertain about what he was doing. He saw how she was waiting and trusting of him, surprised at what he was doing... but expectant of more.

Encouraged, he continued and his lips unintentionally grazed across her skin as he moved up a little further, kissing another claw mark gently, falteringly. He felt little permanent ridges in the scar tissue there against his lips, where thread had been stitched unevenly. He thought of her being hurt and in pain, he thought of what these scars meant, and it only made him want to protect her more, keep her from ever being in danger ever again. And he pressed kisses more fervently now, with burning slowness, his thoughts and love somehow bleeding out into the way in which he touched her.

Alex watched him with rapt attention, breath caught in her throat—in her whole life she could never have imagined this happening. She could feel every press of his lips even through numb scar tissue, each touch was like a spark singeing her skin in the most achingly beautiful way. She felt some of his hair brushing against her each time he bowed his head over her, she felt the tip of his nose pressing into her skin and as she watched his dark head of hair bending over her repeatedly, she took in the expression on his face—he seemed reverent of her, so careful, so loving.

He'd reached the top of her rip cage, startlingly close to her bust line and he glanced up at her. If it hadn't been intense before, it certainly was now, startlingly so. His eyes were filled with so much predatory intention and there was a raw nature she wasn't used to seeing there. He came back to her, kissing her again—it was deep and fire-filled, stoking heat between them, and the feeling was like nothing else for Alex, who became empowered and daring. She locked her arms around his neck, rolling him over—well, he let her—and she was on top of him now, drawing back from him just a little, their stomachs still touching as she looked down at him. He was gazing up at her like she was some kind of goddess.

The ends of her hair trailed across his shoulders and the planes of his upper chest, she looked from his eyes to his jawline, his neck, and she was so overcome by the desire to lean in and kiss him there. So she did, leaning down the small space and planting a gentle, hesitant kiss just below his jawline. She felt his breathing catch. Growing bolder, encouraged by the way he responded to her, she let her lips leave a wet grazing trail to the spot below his ear, feeling the shudder his body gave as she did. Her hands moved down, gripping his upper arms as she kissed him again below his ear and then a little lower on his neck, but this time not with closed lips—she let her mouth stay soft, she sucked slightly, experimenting, and he made a higher pitched sound of surprise, she heard him breathing heavily into her ear, felt one of his hands on her head gripping solidly and he made a low growl of frustration when she bit down gently, nipping at the curve of his neck.

With surprising force and speed he took hold of her and flipped her over, putting himself on top of her once again, kissing her burningly, pulling at her tank top, breaking the kiss long enough to pull it up and over her head as she maneuvered her arms clumsily through the arm holes. She felt him reaching back around her with both hands, grabbing at the clasp of her bra roughly. There was a loud ripping sound and he abruptly pulled back, looking at Alex with a strange expression. "I think... uh, I broke it," he said, pulling a hand out, looking at the ripped patch of white fabric that he held—one end had mangled metal clasps, the other end was torn jaggedly—and Alex found herself suddenly giggling because only Cas would do that—tear her bra in half in his haste—that, and he looked so _worried_.

"It's not the only one I have," she said, still grinning up at him and then wondering if you were supposed to laugh during sex, or foreplay, or… whatever this was. His expression softened, he smiled ever so softly at her, bent to kiss her again, and she could feel the way his lips were upturned against hers.

She felt his fingers slide up her shoulders, underneath the straps of her bra, and he pulled back. His eyes traveled up to hers, and she realized he was about to take it off, leaving her naked from the waist up. Her amusement from a minute ago was gone. She swallowed deeply, watching him as he pulled the bra down and away from her slowly.

No one else had ever seen her like this, and she was breathless, nervous, flushed, shy. He seemed overcome at the sight of her and then he stretched himself over her, kissing her lingeringly, moaning softly when his bare chest molded to hers. She whimpered at the new feeling of warm skin against her in a place she'd never been touched before by someone else. His eyebrows moved together deeply, his hand ghosted up her side, thumb brushing against the curve of her breast, a touch that made her whimper. She hung onto him tighter, becoming more and more convinced that if she didn't have him soon, she'd die from anticipation.

She moved her hands down between them boldly, drawing a soft sound from him as she fumbled with his belt buckle, the button on his slacks, the zipper. He followed suit, pulling urgently at her jeans. Even the realization of what he was doing made her feel like she could faint. She wriggled, trying to get out of the confines of her pants—Cas practically ripped them off her and flung them away then looked back at her. That's when he glimpsed her demon ward tattoo. It was inked into the skin on her side above her left rib cage and he touched it with two fingers softly then looked at her in the eyes. She was unguarded beneath him and waiting anxiously—and he realized he was still wearing too many clothes, looking down at himself—he shoved the waistband of the black pants down halfway to his knees, realizing he was still wearing shoes, too—he grew frustrated at all the things that were on him and proving difficult to remove.

He kicked his shoes off clumsily for the first time ever. Even as the shoes hit the floor with two clunks, he was wriggling out of his pants. Castiel was then slowed by intense realization of what they were about to do. He'd spent so much time thinking about what it would be like to be with her again and yet here on the cusp of the moment, he felt afraid—or perhaps the word was nervous.

She looked afraid, too—and it made his chest clench in worry. "Why do you look afraid?" he asked her, putting a hand against her face and holding it there. The touch of his hand seemed to drive some fear out.

"I'm-I'm not," she said, and she put her hand over his, her fingertips moving gently against his, sort of stroking his fingers. "I'm ready," she murmured, and he saw how she breathed faster when she said that. Hearing her say that made him breathe faster, too. "Just a little nervous."

Relieved somehow, Cas felt some part of him relax. "I feel nervous too." They shared the briefest little smile then. Alex watched Cas as he looked down, and she followed his gaze—he still wore his white boxers, she still wore modest cotton panties. His fingers curled around the waistband of her underwear and her breath caught in her throat—her entire body was on overdrive of nerves and excitement alike. She pulled her legs up a little bit, slowly, one at a time, letting him thread her underwear off of her... in her chest, her heart was beating a million miles an hour.

And Alex wanted so badly to tell him the truth that welled up inside of her: That she loved him. Instead, she pulled him down by the back of his neck to her and kissed him slowly—slid a hand down his chest, down his abdomen, and his breath caught. She touched him just above where his boxers began, drew back from the kiss, looking at him meaningfully. It was his turn to look apprehensive, she saw the anxiety flash through his eyes as he reached down, one-handed, shifting around, taking off the last remaining article of clothing.

She heard the sound of the boxers softly hitting the floor, felt the sides of his knees against the insides of her calves and her heart jammed in her throat. He hovered over her now as she gripped his upper arms. His shoulders and arms were strong and defined by taut muscles, his chest was broad and hairless and firm, his torso was sturdy and tapered downward to narrow hips and below that... _wow_. He was perfect and she realized anew that _oh my god this is really happening_ —she looked at his face with her mouth gaping open.

His chest touched hers once more and he settling himself between her thighs—he warmed her everywhere, his bare skin touching hers, and it was the most wonderful and thrillingly terrifying thing she'd ever known. She felt the soft nudge of him between her legs—her grip on him tightened instinctively, every part of her body was on high alert, begging for the moment she'd been afraid of just a minute ago. His eyes came to hers and she felt how tensely he held himself, how nervous he was too. And she thought it was somehow fitting that they would both want it so much and both be so scared when it came down to it. She was overwhelmed with how thankful she was to have this with _him_.

Just like he'd reassured her a minute ago with gentle touches, she saw that he needed reassurance, too. She searched his eyes, her gaze flickered to the fading bullet wound scar on his chest, then back to his eyes. On instinct, she touched his cheek with the back of her fingers. "I trust you," she whispered honestly, every part of her straining for him now, ready, _so ready_. His face softened, the fear faded away, and in its place was something else altogether, something that made her stomach flip and breathing pick up. He looped an arm under hers and around her, his hand coming to rest at the back of her neck, holding her tightly.

With aching and gentle slowness he pushed into her, helplessly letting out a soft little groan even as his head fell toward her shoulder. Gasping at the gorgeous feeling and amazing pressure, she buried her face in the side of his neck, holding onto his upper arms tighter. It was tortuous and it was divine the way he felt inside of her and it felt so much more intimate like this, with both of them naked, bared, nothing between them at all.

Her senses were so focused on Castiel inside of her, the feeling of his chest on hers, his hips over hers, his strong warm bare arms, his thighs pressed against hers. She could feel _so much more_ than the first time, she was aware of every sensation, she was so turned on that even though he was holding completely still inside of her not even doing anything yet that she was close to going over the edge. " _Ah_ …" she moaned helplessly, pulling on him, needing him _now_ , already knowing it wouldn't be long for her.

Cas's eyes were locked on hers and he responded to her pleading sounds, holding onto her tightly as if for dear life as he began to move himself in and out of her at a deep, slow rhythm he became more and more sure of. She clung tightly, amazed, almost in shock or awe—her mouth hung open and every thrust made a shocked, pleasured-yet-distressed sound come out of her mouth—she made herself be as quiet as possible. Strained sounds of raptured disbelief escaped from Cas's mouth, he seemed overwhelmed completely just like her. His hips met hers over and over and each time was unbearable to her, each time was too much and not enough, and he sounded like he was dying, or maybe that was her—she felt the tension mounting in her body fast, pooling in the low parts of her belly, and her eyes fell closed, she anxiously hung on as his fingers tightened into his hair. Everything she had was quickly becoming nothing at all—in that moment he had everything that belonged to her—and she gave it freely, losing herself in his arms and the fever of the moment. The sounds he was making were the most erotic thing she had ever heard—these helpless little moaning whimpers and gasping pants. The way he was making love to her was torturing her in the most beautiful way imaginable.

Desperate for the promised peak, she grabbed onto him as tightly as possible, wrapping her legs around his middle and pulling him deeper as her forehead hit against the top of his shoulder. He let out a soft cry when her legs clenched around his waist and she groaningly whispered his name in despair. Castiel heard the way she said his name and it made him need to move faster for her. He began to almost whimper because _he couldn't_ , it was too much—and he wasn't himself anymore, not _anyone_ , just the man who loved this woman. He kept going, fighting himself and the surrender he wanted to give.

Without warning, the dam broke over Alex and a frantic choking gasp came out of her mouth as every atom burst into bliss, as every cell shattered apart—she sobbed out and held onto him for dear life with every limb she had, shuddering uncontrollably as impossible ecstasy ripped through her and wracked her all over. Right behind her Cas gave a desperate, groaning muffled cry, then another and then another, his arms tightening on her almost painfully as he came, pressing her down into the bed as he was rendered uncontrollable by the orgasm. The height of pleasure rolled over them like high tide, drowning them completely, teaching them the meaning of euphoria, shocking them with the intensity of gratification. Cas strained against her a few last times with his hand tangled in her hair to hold her close—he quaked and shivered and then fell into breathless stillness over her, his open lips brushing against her neck. The only sound was of heavy breaths and they hung onto each other for a long minute in silence, mutually stunned.

Underneath him Alex trembled, completely spent and renewed all at once, stunned at how different it had been from last time—she felt _tears_ pricking at her eyes—and she wasn't even sure why. Breathless, she moved her head back and looked up at him. He was looking at her intensely, emotionally, seeming similarly floored by what they'd just done together. His arms tightened gently around her and he cradled her in the most intimate embrace they could share. He looked afraid to let go of her. "I meant what I said," he told her in almost a whisper. His voice was strained and emotional. She recognized that he was deeply upset. "I'm going to find a way to change the future," he said, increasingly emphatic. "I'll rip down the laws of nature if I have to. To keep you safe, to protect you."

The severe and passionate tone in which he said those things, the way he looked at her... it was almost frightening. Reeling from what he'd done to her on that bed, from the feeling of him still buried deep inside of her, she searched his eyes, starting to believe, starting to see what she really must mean to him. She thought of the Castiel she'd met in 2014, the Castiel who had lost his mind and wasted away when she died, she thought of how Cas might have killed Dean earlier that day if she hadn't stopped him.

_Nothing ever meant anything to me until you._

"You really would do anything for me, wouldn't you?" she asked him in softly incredulous epiphany, and somehow, she almost felt _afraid_ of the answer.

He brushed back her hair from her forehead and answered her helplessly, honestly, for better or for worse. "Yes." He seemed distressed.

Wordlessly, she pulled him back down to her, hugging him tightly, feeling his arms envelope her in return, feeling him bury his face in the side of her neck. And she was scared, too. Of the future, of what they were hurtling toward. She didn't feel brave anymore.

_You really would do anything for me, wouldn't you?_

_Yes._

It was only a word— _one_ word—but it was the one that would lead him to tear apart Heaven and Earth in the years that followed. The one word that would start things that could never be taken back or changed.


	36. Can't Run Forever

" _There are two things you cannot hide from: God and a dysfunctional family."_  
-R. Alan Woods

* * *

Dust filtered through the air, catching the midmorning light that came through the attic windows. The only sound in the cluttered space was of heavy, slowing breathing.

Castiel's head was bowed onto Alex's shoulder and he remained there resting, just listening to the sound of their breathing while feeling the beat of her heart against his chest. His eyes stayed shut and he took in every sensation, every feeling. His arms held her close, hers were around him too—he could feel all of her bare skin damp with a sheen of perspiration pressed up against his. And the reality of what he had just done with her washed over him anew as the feelings of bliss faded.

Cas drew his head off of her shoulder and found her eyes waiting to meet his. He felt the stab of guilt in his stomach again, but attempted not to show the emotion he felt. He remembered how it had upset her last time when she'd seen his conflicted feelings. And this time he had _no right_ to be torn or regretful—he had asked her for this. However, as soon as their eyes locked, he knew that she saw the truth of his feelings, even if he didn't want to feel them. "What's wrong?" she asked him so softly, concern filling the face he loved so much.

The fact that she so easily saw through him made him feel even worse. He felt like he'd done something wrong. Something sinful—and perhaps that was due to his nature. As an angel, he had never understood what led humans to desire the act. But now, here on earth, walking in the body of a man, being awakened to a horizon of emotion and sensation… being near her physically, learning the spark of a kiss, tasting the thrill of her touch… falling into her arms and discovering a heaven so unlike the one he had drifted down from… he understood.

But he still struggled. He wasn't sure how it could feel so obscene and divine at the same time. Castiel worried. Was he a sinner? He thought of the feelings she gave to him when he was inside of her, when she wrapped herself around him and called him forward to a small death he wanted to die over and over again… these feelings and sensations weren't simply physical and couldn't be tied to just his body. Here in her arms, even now despite his guilt, he felt connected in a way beyond the physical. As though he were forever bound to her, and her alone.

A minute ago he'd told her he would rip down the laws of nature itself to save her from the future they'd seen in 2014, and he wasn't even sure what had prompted him to say that—he'd just _felt_ so intensely, like all of his thoughts and feelings were so close to the surface. All he'd wanted to do was give those thoughts and feelings to her. He wanted to give _everything_ to her.

"Cas?" she asked, looking at him closely, her eyebrows growing closer still in worry. "What is it?" He realized he hadn't answered her initial question.

"I'm…" he didn't know how to reply, he could barely look her in the eyes—she was flushed, naked beneath him, it was right after they had engaged in the most primal human act he could think of. He'd made her writhe and gasp and tremble and reach ecstasy, she'd made him lose himself and make sounds he didn't _know_ how to make. They'd found some beautiful moment together, a moment of pleasure and connection and other things Castiel wasn't sure how to describe fully. But he couldn't bear the thought that he'd wronged her in any way. He was an angel and it had been hammered into his mind: Sexual relations outside of marriage were a sin, but sexual relations between an angel and a human… weren't even allowed. And yet here he was. "I'm... unsure what to feel right now," he confessed honestly, worried about how she would react.

Her expression softened. "It's okay," she told him quietly. She seemed to understand how vast and complicated his feelings were, she seemed relieved he didn't say something else. "I know."

To hear her say that comforted him. After another moment of quiet together, Cas realized it was likely time that he should remove himself from her—and almost reluctantly he did so, shifting himself away with a shudder. Alex took in a sharp breath and bit her lip glancingly. Cas missed the look of loss that shimmered over her features. He was glancing down at himself. He had never been unclothed like this before or really examined... himself. He was a little surprised at what he saw, then suddenly he didn't understand. She was a more petite person, and he had suddenly discovered that the body he was in... was _not_ petite in specific places. "Isn't it a little... large...?" he asked, perplexed—and she was staring at him with the most peculiar expression, and then she shocked him when she burst into a peal of bright laughter. "What?" he asked, confused. "Did I phrase myself incorrectly?"

She had a hand over her mouth. "No, it's—I—you—" she couldn't stop laughing, a tear leaked out of her eye she laughed so hard. Her eyes were crinkled up, her laugh was so boisterous and carefree. Cas felt his confusion fading, felt his face softening and brightening. She suddenly stopped, looking at him in dawning surprise.

"You're… _smiling_ ," she said, looking up at him with astonished, entranced eyes. And Cas realized he felt it—his mouth was quirked up to one side, lips parted, revealing teeth. To his knowledge, he never had done that before. He realized he could feel the smile everywhere, not just on his face.

"I've... never seen you laugh like that," he said, still thinking about it. He was fairly sure that was why he had smiled. She seemed so different to him in that moment. Completely soft, open, unburdened. No guard up.

She thought about it a second. "...I feel happy," she concluded seeming to be surprised to hear herself, too. "Crazy... with everything that's happening. But... yeah. I feel happy right now." She touched his bare shoulder with her fingers, looking at it briefly, then back up at him, a shade more shy. "Here with you."

Her simple touch and words made his stomach feel as though it turned a flip. He bent his head down, resting his forehead against hers for a moment. He felt the same way and it was thrilling and terrifying all at once. "What do we do now?" he asked softly, nervous again. Perhaps he was supposed to get up and dress immediately.

Alex was quietly hopeful. "Can you just… stay with me awhile?" she murmured.

Cas relaxed—yes. That was what he wanted too. "Of course," he replied softly. With both caution and a growing feeling of safety, he moved to lay close beside her, keeping his arms around her securely—and she reached across his torso, pulling his discarded trench coat over them like a blanket. She bowed her head down and rested it against his shoulder.

Underneath the heavy fabric, she pressed up against him, bare skin to bare skin, and Castiel was in awe of this atmosphere, the feeling of her arms wrapped around his middle, her head resting against his shoulder. His body still echoed with reverberations of what she'd given to him. The air around them was thick and sweet, heavy. How could anything in existence be better than this?

"I don't even know your favorite color," she suddenly said, prompting Castiel to become quickly confused.

"Um. What?"

She drew back a little, looked him in the eye, regarded him with thoughtfulness, and didn't answer him for a long moment. "Just… I wanna know you. Everything." She looked at him like she was trying to decipher an intriguing riddle. "I mean… do you miss Heaven? Do you like music? Were you ever an angel kid?" She seemed so lovely to him right then, looking at him like that, wanting to know him, their chests pressed to each other's, her eyes catching the light that streamed in from the window. "I want to know all of who you are," she finished quietly, bashful.

Castiel ran his fingers against the side of her face, tucking some errant strands of hair behind her ears. "Ask me whatever you wish to know."

She didn't have to think long about what she wanted to ask first. "Why can't I see your wings?" she asked, fascinated. "I saw the shadow of them once but…" one of her hands was on one of his shoulder blades and her brows worked inward slightly, "they're not there."

He thought a moment. "They're not like the rest of the things in this world—they're neither corporeal or incorporeal." He was frustrated slightly, unable to give her a real answer. "It's hard to explain." He thought back to her questions. _Do you miss Heaven? Do you like music? Were you ever an angel kid?_ Questions that surprised him. "Certain elements of Heaven I miss," he answered slowly, thoughtfully. "Knowing my place. The familiarity of it all. But no. I don't think I miss Heaven itself." _You weren't there._ He looked at her for a long moment. Alex hung onto his every word as he thought through her other questions out loud. "I've... never listened to music intentionally. And no, I was never a child, I was always… just... what I am now." He paused, remembering she'd said she didn't know his favorite color. "I've never given thought to if I had a favorite color or not," he said honestly.

"Blue. It'd have to be blue, right?" Alex said, smiling like she knew, but as Castiel gazed into her eyes he abruptly realized he _did_ have a favorite color.

"No. Not blue," he told her, and her little smile faded under the intensity of his gaze. "I like the color of your eyes best."

She seemed embarrassed or like she felt discomfort, he saw that her cheeks flushed a little bit. " _Cas_ …" she said, and it sounded like she was protesting.

"I made you uncomfortable," Cas said, unsure how he'd done so. Feeling embarrassed, he looked down. "I apologize."

She touched the side of his face, made him look back at her. She held his gaze. "Don't." She looked at him a minute, trying to figure out how to word herself. "You just say things sometimes that… really surprise me. Really make me feel..." she trailed off, her eyes dropping away from his shyly, her hand slipping away from his face and back down to his middle. "I dunno."

"Badly?" Castiel asked, trying to understand.

"No," she said, the ghost of a smile on her lips. "No. Not badly." She curled her head into his shoulder again, and the room was quiet for a long moment.

"What's… _your_ favorite color?" he asked her, because he realized he didn't know.

He felt her lips smile against his shoulder. "Blue."

Something swelled in his chest. He was full of a feeling that he only felt for her, and he bowed his head down closer to hers, his nose pressed into the hair at the side of her head. Her arms tightened around him a little in response and his chest swelled even further. Her hand rested on the side of his waist, her thumb slowly moved back and forth over his skin. He felt her draw back a little and he pulled his head back too, looking down at her.

"I wish I could see you," she said earnestly, searching his gaze openly. "The real you."

Cas was caught off guard. "My true form isn't… anything like this," he said, glancing down at himself—the body of the man made of muscle, tissue, flesh. "I don't think you'd like it," he told her, feeling a twinge of sadness. His true form, which he felt so detached from now… was fearsome and alien in comparison to this.

She didn't seem deterred, looking at him with soft eyes. "If it's you… then I think I would."

Cas looked at her deeply, his eyes flicking between hers. He felt the familiar swell between his ribs. "I think this _is_ me, now," he told her. "I don't think I'll be returning to Heaven anytime soon."

She studied him with an empathetic sadness. "Because you _can't_ or because you don't _want_ to?"

"Both," he answered sincerely, not understanding his reasoning completely, just knowing his answer was truthful. He tried to tell her what he felt, everything he was thinking. "Here… on earth… with you… I..." he trailed off, didn't know what he was trying to say. Frustrated, he went silent. She didn't push him. She was staring into his shoulder, thinking hard.

"Cas?" She looked as though she were gathering the courage to ask him about something. "You said that… that you saw us in twenty-fourteen, right?"

Castiel felt a twinge of dread and general bad feelings. "Yes."

Her gaze was curious and a bit shrewd. "What were we like?"

He frowned a little, trying to decipher her meaning. "Do you mean… in our interactions as a… a couple?" She nodded hesitatingly, and he thought hard about what words to use to describe what he'd seen. "We seemed… close." He paused in deep thought. "We... lived together and were always with each other, from what I gathered." His mind's eye wandered over the memories, and he remembered seeing himself smiling widely more than once, her too. "We appeared to be happy," he said quietly. "But then you died." His jaw tightened. "And I don't like who I became."

She was silent for a long moment. "Was it my fault you got that way?" She seemed surprisingly emotional, deep in thought, saddened. "I... don't want that to be you. Ever." She blinked a couple times, rapidly, her eyes shining as they looked into his. "It's like you were... broken."

He brought a hand to the side of her face, disliking the sorrow in her eyes. "I know," Cas said, and he thought of the things he had seen that she hadn't. He'd seen glimpses and flashes of the future, she'd visited it, met the man he supposedly would become. He was silent for a long moment. In the very back of his mind, he realized he had to tell her what he had avoided all this time. "It wasn't just your death that made me that way."

She frowned, growing worried at his tone. "What do you mean?"

He wasn't sure how to tell her, and his hand fell away from her face.

"What is it?" she asked anxiously, and she was propped up now on her arm now.

Cas met her waiting gaze slowly, hesitatingly. "I've always felt that I should tell you this but… I never have," he admitted, and looked down, afraid to tell her this for reasons he could not name. His eyes flicked back up to hers. "There was a… child. _Our_ child." Her face had gone blank. "You... were pregnant, Alex. When I… _he_ … killed you."

" _What_?" she sounded stunned, then quickly puzzled and almost accusing. "All this time you've known that and never _told_ me?"

Cas couldn't hold her gaze. "It seemed too awful."

"You should have _told_ me," she insisted gently, but she seemed confused.

"Why?" Cas asked her, genuinely wanting to know her reasoning.

She looked at him directly, her face full of a certain kind of mournfulness. "Because it _is_ too awful to know that. To know that you… shot me… while I was…" she trailed off. "You shouldn't have to carry that all by yourself." She let out a heavy breath, looking at him tensely, seemed to be thinking hard about what she was about to say. "For what it's worth Cas… you—I mean he—did the right thing." Cas felt his stomach clench oddly when she said that. "I mean, Croatoans aren't a joke. And for some reason if I were to get turned tomorrow… I'd want you to do the same."

"Alex, _no_ —"

She cut him off. "I'm just saying. I know it's horrible. And I know you hate it, or the thought of it. But it was… and it _is_ … the right thing to do. It's a mercy kill." Cas felt himself becoming deeply upset, and Alex seemed to regret what she'd said, if only because of how he reacted. "Hey," she said, cupping the side of his face again. "It's okay."

"No, it's not," Castiel protested, thinking of everything he'd seen, of how meaningless and preventable her death had been, how horrible it was knowing that in _any_ version of their future he was the one who put a gun to her stomach and pulled the trigger, ending her life as well as the spark of their offspring. He couldn't even get his mind to fully comprehend that thought—that they had created a _child_ together, that they were a mother and father together. He barely knew how to have a conversation, how could he ever fill a role as pivotal as a _father_?

Alex's thoughts seemed to be following a similar path and she looked very uncertain. "I don't know how I feel about that… being pregnant."

Cas remembered. "You didn't know how you felt about it in the future, either."

Her eyes came from someplace far away back to him. "How did you—uh, future you—feel about it?"

Cas thought back. "He—I—seemed to welcome the idea."

Alex's eyebrows were high up. She cleared her throat. "I, uh, I don't understand how I could have gotten pregnant, anyway." She frowned a little, looked sort of chagrined. "This may be TMI but… I haven't had my period in years, Cas. That's what I get for skipping meals and never sleeping and always being stressed out, I guess."

Castiel was silent for a minute—he knew that already and it worried him. He knew all about her body, and all the other bodies he encountered. He knew that Alex wasn't the most physically healthy, that she neglected herself much of the time, barely making time to keep herself alive. Similar to Dean, only while Dean stuffed himself to the brim with foods that would bring on a heart attack, Alex barely remembered to eat food at all. "You should eat and rest more," he told her sadly, to which she gave him a look, like he were asking the impossible. Cas looked down, wishing she could have a different, safer, better life. "You were physically more substantial in the future visions I saw of you. Perhaps that's how you could conceive."

She tilted her head to the side. "...Are you saying I was _fat_?" she asked, looking at him oddly, like she was about to either laugh or be angry with him, he wasn't sure which.

All humans were made up of a certain ratio of fat, muscle, tissue— _all_ humans were fat. And bone. And tissue. And muscle. But from the way she asked the question, he understood that she thought he was implying something negative about her body. "Uh… _no_?" he answered, and gauged her reaction. He'd said the correct thing, she looked appeased. "You weighed approximately twenty pounds more than you do now," he told her factually, and she looked impressed.

" _Huh_ ," she said, then almost smiled, the corner of her mouth flicking upwards briefly as she looked down. "Yeah. We really must've been happy." Her smile faded and she looked at him with growing anxiety. "Are we really… doing this?" Her gaze faltered for a moment. "Knowing how it might turn out?"

Without hesitation, Castiel tightened his arms around her, pulling her closer. Their legs touched, their stomachs touched. "I won't let it end that way," he told her intensely, reminding her of what he'd promised.

"But what if you _can't_ change it?" she asked him softly, a whisper.

He held her gaze unflinchingly. "I will. I have to." Their eyes remained locked for several seconds longer and then she closed her eyes, curled into him, and buried her face in the space between their bodies. He could feel her eyelashes fluttering against his neck when she opened her eyes and blinked.

"I need to tell you something," she said quietly.

Her tone caused him a mild flush of anxiety. "What?"

"I uh... I kissed you... _future_ you... in twenty-fourteen."

Oh. He already knew that. But she didn't know that he knew, and was looking at him apprehensively, worried. "I know," he told her, warmth swelling in the vicinity of his chest because it seemed to worry her, what his reaction would be.

Surprise darted across her eyes. "You know?"

"Yes," he answered. "I saw that, too."

Her surprise remained and grew. "You're not angry?"

"Angry?" Cas repeated, thinking about it. Well. He _had_ felt angry when he'd first seen it. He now understood that he had been jealous. Jealous of _himself,_ which was strange. But the anger was faded, and a question was all that remained. "I'd just like to know why you did that," he ventured, because he truly wasn't sure why.

"I... was confused," she said, visibly uncomfortable. "And he was you, sorta." Her eyes faltered from his. "I didn't think _you_ -you would ever kiss me." He caught her meaning—she'd wanted to kiss him before and thought he never would. Strangely, that warmed him. The faintest blush of rose tinged Alex's cheeks as she looked down at how they were naked and twined together, having done so much more than kissing. An almost coy smile played secretively on her lips as she looked at him more boldly. "Guess I was wrong about that."

Cas felt his lips turning upward in response to her smile, in response to what she implied. This private and intimate thing they shared was special, thrilling, wonderful. Despite his misgivings, here was the only place he truly wanted to be. Despite his doubts about whether this were wrong or right, several things distracted him from dwelling on it further: Her warm body next to his, her eyes so open and unguarded, her smile so soft and beautiful... he touched the side of her head, letting his fingers trace across her tousled hair. He contemplated every aspect of her, finding every single thing about her pleasing.

She contemplated him the same way and he watched her eyes traverse his face, felt her fingers brush gently against the skin of his arm and chest. Seeming to be overwhelmed after a moment, she ducked her head underneath his chin where she maintained silence. "I've been thinking." She said after a moment. "You did the right thing today. Dean needed a kick in the pants."

Castiel frowned, wondering if she were remembering wrong. "I... put him through a wall, I didn't kick his pants."

She pulled away from him, grinning again, and he loved it when she did that. "You don't know how cute you are, do you?"

Castiel faltered, and in all seriousness, swallowed nervously. "Uh, no." Was he supposed to know? When she only looked at him with a growing little smile, he hesitantly asked. "How cute _am_ I?"

She pressed her lips together, her eyes went to his mouth, then back to his eyes. Her eyes seemed to sparkle, then she grinned huge and hooked her arm around his neck, kissing him hard with a laugh. His confusion faded away and he felt the ghost of a smile turning his lips upward. He responded appropriately, kissing her back as they lay tangled together beneath the trench coat.

* * *

"So all that horror movie crap is real," Adam surmised dubiously, sitting back and trying to process everything Sam had just explained to him. "Dad _hunted_ monsters and ghosts and demons—and you do too." He looked at Bobby, and then Sam. He rolled his eyes and made a disgusted little sound. "Well _that's_ easy to believe."

A touch of sudden amusement played on Sam's features. "You were dead in the ground a few hours ago," he pointed out. "You should probably broaden your horizons."

Adam briefly realized there was something to the observation—then rolled his eyes again and looked away while falling silent. He rubbed his hands together anxiously, glancing around the room again. He thought about it again: demons, ghosts, monsters, angels… it was all real and Dad hunted that shit...? It just seemed a little nutso if you asked Adam, but maybe there _was_ more to life and reality than he'd noticed his first time around. Adam glanced up at the hole he'd noticed in the wall—it looked like something big had smashed into it, the plaster was bent inwards.

"I'm doin' a little remodeling," Bobby said sarcastically, and Adam saw that the old man was watching him closely. He looked down and away again, very aware that these people were watching his every damn move—how long had he been here, anyway? Several hours at least, all of which had been spent being looked at weirdly and told about crazy stuff he could barely bring himself to believe. He had to get out of here. The angels would be waiting. He wasn't sure why they weren't here already to get him, unless maybe they couldn't _find_ him. All he knew was that he had to get back to Mom and see her again. He let out a heavy breath, trying not to look as stressed as he felt. This was some fucked up shit.

There was the sound of footsteps descending the stairs, and Alex came into the study. Adam glanced at her sidelong, trying not to be obvious. She was in a different outfit and had damp hair. She'd been missing in action for awhile now, what, a few hours at least. Her and that trench coat dude both, the supposed angel. He studied her with thinly veiled skepticism. Maybe Sam and Dean as these badass hunter characters he could buy, but _her_? She looked like she weighed a hundred pounds soaking wet, like it'd be easy to snap her in half like a twig.

"Hey," she greeted.

"Where've you been?" Sam asked absently, glancing up from his book.

"Uh just, trying to get my thoughts straight." Adam was distinctly aware that she sounded like she was lying. She tucked a stray hair behind her ear self-consciously. Sam, however, was distracted. "And then I fell asleep," she continued. "But I can help now."

"Take your pick," Bobby said, gesturing at the books on his desk. She grabbed one, sat in a chair, and threw her feet up onto the end of the desk.

"Hey, what've I told you about that?" Bobby griped at her, but there was a hint of a smile hiding behind his beard. Alex looked at him from under her lashes for a moment, he gave her a friendly but warning look, and she took her feet off the desk, shifting in the chair.

"You seen Cas?" Sam asked, glancing up at her again distractedly.

At the mention of the angel, Adam saw how the corner of her mouth twitched. "Yeah. He, uh, went to check on Dean I think," she replied nonchalantly.

"Ah. Well, Dean's been quiet all day, didn't even seem surprised that I locked him in there," Sam said heavily, scrubbed a hand over his mouth several times. "I'm gonna give him a little longer then try and talk to him."

"Hmm," was Alex's unenthusiastic reply—she looked at her twin for a couple seconds, glanced at Adam mistrustfully, then returned to looking at the book she'd selected. Adam looked at her closely, trying to figure her out. She struck him as odd, and he couldn't figure out what group she would have been in during high school. Grunge, maybe. Outcast most likely. She'd changed since he saw her last—she was wearing an oversized black Led Zeppelin shirt with a green flannel shirt thrown over it, jeans that were too long for her legs and bunched up at her ankles around her faded boots. Her hair had been pulled into a damp pony tail that clearly she hadn't even bothered to smooth out. She didn't have pierced ears or painted nails and she wore no makeup. You could definitely tell she was John's daughter with her dark features and strong jaw. In fact, Adam realized that for twins, she and Sam didn't really look that much alike to him. It's funny… when Dad had mentioned his other kids, he'd always assumed Sam was the girl—Samantha, right? It made sense at the time.

Adam watched the three of them for about thirty minutes and they pored over a book about end time Mayan prophecies. They argued in good nature and swapped mostly inane sounding theories in between long patches of studious silence. Even though he could tell they were all under huge amounts of stress and pressure, they seemed to be dealing. From time to time one of the three would glance Adam's way apprehensively. He'd had about his fill of this, and was going stir-crazy. He was counting down the hours until night time when he thought his best chance at ditching out would be.

"Yeah, okay," Sam finally said in a tired tone, sitting back in his chair and rolling his neck to ease some kinks. "I need a break. Bobby, think I'm gonna grab a shower."

"Don't forget to wash behind your ears," Bobby muttered, engrossed in the book he was reading over. Sam chuckled at the comment and lumbered out, going upstairs.

Adam looked at his half-sister curiously, watching her a couple minutes longer. She was tapping a pen now against a blank notepad she'd made zero notes on, and was leaned over the corner of the desk opposite of him, brow scrunched up. Maybe it was sheer boredom, but he struck up a conversation. "So you're a hunter too, huh?" Adam asked her. She looked up at him dubiously.

Her eyes narrowed just a little. "Yeah, I am," she said neutrally and left it at that, didn't say anything else, just looked at him. He made a doubtful face to goad her and it worked. She sat back from the book she was studying, a confrontational look on her face. " _What_?"

"Doesn't that rough lifestyle mean you might break a nail?" he taunted, looking to pick a fight.

"Do I _look_ like the kind of girl who gives two shits about that kind of crap?"

He smirked a little. "Hmm," he took in her tomboy appearance again and made sure she knew he was insulting her when he said, "No."

She just rolled her eyes and returned to her book. Her pen didn't tap anymore, she just held it still. Adam was quiet a minute. "So, all that stuff Sam said about Dad living life on the road and dragging you guys along with him was true?"

Exasperated, Alex slammed the pen down onto the table, turning her full attention to him, even though she had a bad attitude. " _No_ , he made it all up," she said smartly. The Bobby guy gave her a look and Alex's jaw worked weirdly, she looked at Adam again. " _Yes_ it's true. We grew up on the road, doing shit that people like you can't even comprehend." She almost looked bitter. "Be glad you had a normal life."

"Normal?" he repeated, insulted.

She wasn't paying him attention anymore, back to her book again.

Adam forced himself not to lash out, and instead took a moment. He wasn't going to get intel from taking troll bait from this bitch. As Alex flipped a page of the book unseeingly, Adam noticed a dark scar across the palm of one of her hands, he indicated it with a nod. "How'd you get that?"

She paused her work to give him a dark little smile. "Someone kept asking me too many questions," she said evasively.

Adam couldn't help it, he grinned in a taken aback way at the audacity and sass.

"Kids, kids... can we settle down here?" Bobby complained, his cantankerous face half hidden behind a volume. "Sheesh," he muttered. "Family reunion of the decade."

Alex complied sullenly, and after a moment, Adam tried again. "So if angels are such bad news, why do you keep that one in the trench coat around?" Just like he thought, she reacted immediately, glancing up at him sharply.

After a second, she answered diplomatically. "He's... not like the others."

Adam smirked again. "Yeah. I _bet,_ " he said, his voice dripping with suggestion. Her expression immediately clouded over even though she tried to hide it. Enjoying himself and how easy it was to get a rise out of her, Adam raised his eyebrows up slightly. "You uh, got a thing for him or what? You like older guys?"

Bobby was peering up from underneath the brim of his ball cap, seeming interested now. Alex's eyes were practically fiery. "You wanna keep running your mouth or do I need to shut it for you?" she threatened impatiently.

That was hilarious, and he had no issue letting her know he thought so. "I'd like to see you try," he said, grinning crookedly at her, a real smile at the thought of this girl trying to pull one over on him. Her eyes flashed at him and Adam just grinned bigger. She was a lot easier to piss off than Sam was. At this point, Alex gave up glaring and returned to ignoring. "I'm uh, kinda famished," he said after a couple beats, and leaned over his knees, looking at her pointedly. "You wanna fix me a sandwich?"

She looked at him like he was an idiot. "Kitchen's right there."

"You heard the lady," Bobby told him, his tone more measured and calm than Alex's. Adam pushed himself up and sauntered into the kitchen to make a sandwich. When he had gotten out all the stuff he needed to make something, he turned around and saw that his half-sister had disappeared from the study. He looked at Bobby carefully. The dude was stuck in a wheelchair, but Adam had seen that he had a shotgun laid across his lap. Not really wanting to chance getting shot, Adam decided to bide his time.

He slapped a sandwich together, reflecting on how many times he'd done this—made his own breakfast, lunch, dinner, in his overwhelmingly lonely childhood.

* * *

Alex went downstairs, into the quiet darkened space of Bobby's basement. Adam was such a little punk. He reminded her of that kid in high school who was always making smartass comments and alienating everyone. He definitely fit into this family, that was for sure, especially right now, what with everyone at odds and under each other's skin and beyond stressed out. What a _mess_.

Cas was near the bottom of the stairs, standing still as he watched the panic room silently. The sight of him did a thousand things to her—calmed her down, thrilled her, made her feel warmer, made her forget her annoyance with Adam. He turned when he heard her, his eyes softened, his lips turned up just slightly. Alex gave him the smallest of tense smiles as she reached ground level. She hadn't seen him since she'd gone for a shower. "Any change?" she asked, sort of hopeful.

"No, he's quiet," Castiel replied, looking at her and then back to the panic room, frowning slightly now. "Restless though."

Alex nodded slowly, following his gaze, feeling the lightness of hope fading out. She wanted to believe in her big brother that he was stronger than this. For once in his life why couldn't he just stop trying to play savior of the world, stop trying to sacrifice himself and instead try to find another way? _Another way._ Maybe that was fantasy too. She knew Bobby and Sam were trying to act like there was another way, and she wanted to believe there was one too, but nothing they'd found seemed to offer any hope. And it wasn't like Bobby had _just_ started the research either. They'd been trying to figure out a way to kill the devil for _months_ now. Her heart was sinking. Dean wasn't right, _was_ he? That him saying yes to Michael was their only shot left? She refused to believe that, even though somewhere, in the back of her mind… she was starting to.

Beside her she felt Cas shift and saw that he was looking at her closely. "What is it?" he asked her, seeing her upset expression. She faltered under his gaze and for a moment, she almost told him 'nothing'—but it _wasn't_ nothing.

"I just... don't know what's left to do," she told him quietly, facing the truth herself as she spoke the words aloud. She felt almost guilty for the past few hours in which she'd given next to no thought to the apocalypse or her brothers or the world in general. Instead, she'd lost herself in Castiel's arms and just let go of everything else… and she was now faced with a huge dose of cold reality. The bitter truth. "None of those books have the answers we need," she said, almost to herself more than to him. They all knew it but were desperate and maybe in denial. Alex looked at Cas in silent, tense uncertainty for a minute, then looked away completely, realizing that she was up against a wall. "Maybe that's because there isn't a fucking answer at all. Maybe there _isn't_ a way to kill the devil." She felt sick saying it out loud. She looked at Cas with sudden hopelessness. "You're the one who said no one but God could kill the devil." And an angel would know.

It was Castiel's turn to look grieved and burdened and disappointed. His reply was reluctant and heavy. "Even if he can... he won't."

There was a weighty silence. "What… what options does that leave us, then?" Alex asked, and it was like she was begging Cas for a way out, a miracle, something to give her just a shred of hope. His face was full of sadness and deeply conflicted thought, he took a long time to answer.

"I'm so sorry, Alex," he told her in a strained voice, confusing her—she wasn't sure why he was apologizing, exactly—if it was because he didn't know an answer, or because he couldn't do anything to help her, or if he didn't like seeing her sad... or maybe something else. He drew a deep breath, his forehead rigid, and what he said next made her stomach drop. "I let Sam out of the panic room all those months ago," he told her, holding her gaze even though he was agonized. " _I_ allowed him to go free, which enabled him to kill Lilith, break the final seal, and subsequently bring forth Lucifer from below." Alex was wide-eyed—because she'd always suspected it had been an angel who'd broken Sam out, but she hadn't known it was _him_. "Everything that happened that night... was my fault," Castiel said, shamefaced. "I never wanted you or your brothers to know what I did… and I tried to make it right by taking you to Sam, giving you and Dean a chance to stop him. I tried to undo the damage that I caused." He let out a breath, looked around unseeingly. "Obviously, I wasn't able to." He couldn't look at her in the eye now. "I just want you to know how much I regret what I did. I always have. But moreso now than ever." His jaw tightened, he shook his head slowly. "If I had listened to my instincts, to you and Dean… Lucifer would still be sealed away. We wouldn't be facing this dilemma at all."

Alex's mouth had dropped open softly, her mind was working fast and furious to piece it together. "You think all this is all _your_ fault?" she asked in soft disbelief.

Obviously he did, from the look on his face. "Well I'm certainly not without a large portion of the blame," he told her, and she realized that she couldn't exactly disagree with him. He _did_ have a part to play in it. But the truth was that they all did.

"Even if that's true," she said, unable to make him feel worse by saying he was right, "...we can't change the past."

"I know that," he told her quietly, and his eyes flickered up to hers somberly. "I know that well."

There was another pause where Alex was both trying to figure out how to feel about this latest development and also wracking her brain for a way to convince Cas that he wasn't completely at fault. "If you didn't let Sam out, some other angel would have," she reasoned. "We both know that." She looked at him sadly, because he didn't appear comforted in the least. Her voice softened. "Not one single person is to blame for this situation we're in," she told him, and searched his gaze. "Least of all you." It was true—Castiel had just been going along with what he thought was right, he'd been naive and shortsighted, afraid to stand on his own two feet after a lifetime of following orders. She knew that. He wasn't the one who had raised Lucifer. There had been so many players involved in the plot—Dean, Sam, Ruby, Lilith, Raphael, Zachariah, maybe more. Maybe even her. Perhaps if she'd gone with Sam after Dean's death, Sam wouldn't have been led astray by Ruby. The what-ifs were endless. All Alex knew was that the angel she loved was blaming himself for it all.

Alex laid a hand on the side of Castiel's neck, stroking her thumb down across his skin softly, and he appeared to be reluctant to accept the affection, his features wracked with guilt. "We're going to get through this Cas, okay?" She was anxious for him to cling to hope with her so it could be more real. "Somehow." She might not have believed it herself, but she wanted _one_ of them to have hope at least. She was so blindsided by the things she'd learned today, the things he'd told her, and now _this_. He took her hand and gently pulled it off of his neck, turning her hand palm-up to run two fingers from his other hand over the deep scar tissue there in the center. He said nothing, just contemplated the scar, then met her gaze again. His eyes were full of turmoil and uncertainty, doubt, fear. All the things that she was feeling, too.

Alex's jaw clenched with dread as she looked at Cas. She took his hand, stopping him mid-stroke, and he looked up at her questioningly. "I'm going to ask you something and I need you to be one hundred percent honest with me," she told him, about to trust him with a question she was afraid to ask anyone but him. She slowly let go of his hand, hugged herself, nervous. "I don't… I don't really want to even think about asking you this," she admitted. He waited, frowning slightly, and she felt her stomach twist with nausea. "But I think at this point… I, I have to." She swallowed. "Was… was Anna right?" she asked, and her voice dropped to a flickering whisper.

"About what?" Castiel's frown then deepened measurably then turned to shock as he understood what she was asking. "About _killing Sam_?"

She just looked down, unable to believe herself, unable to believe she could actually consider it. "It's just that… if there's not a way for us to kill the devil, do we have to think about… making sure he doesn't get his true vessel?" She looked at him again, at the point of no return, asking a question no one would want to ask. Cas looked entirely stunned at what she was saying and it only increased the guilty sadness she was drowning in—that, and how he wasn't telling her no, which was what she wanted to hear. "I don't want to have to consider it at all," she told him truthfully, hoping he would believe her. She was quickly growing emotional. "God _help_ _me_ I don't." She seemed to realize the irony of what she'd said—God wouldn't help—and she became quiet, her eyes stinging with tears and powerlessness. She bowed her head. She couldn't face this. It was impossible. "That's my big brother," she said hollowly, voice cracking. "I can't lose him." She sat down on the stairs, put her head in her hands, miserable, almost in tears. "I can't lose _either_ of them. I _can't_."

She felt Castiel sit down beside her closely, a comforting proximity. He was quiet for a moment, and then she felt his hand come to rest on the back of her shoulder gently. She glanced at him, overwhelmed by an impossible weight resting on her shoulders. "I'll help you," he told her quietly. "We'll find another way."

Even though the ever-increasing pit remained in her stomach, his presence and comfort hit home deeply, washing her over with appreciation and hope... just not enough to quiet the whisper-soft voice in the back of her mind kept repeating _there_ is _no other way. It's only a matter of time before your brothers are both gone, taken, destroyed. And maybe not just them._ Alex suddenly wanting to reach out and hold onto Cas and never let go—just be with him and let the problems of the world fade out.

There was no way to know how this would turn out, she realized with ever-increasing despair. Maybe all she could do was hold on as long as she could to what she had before the inevitable loss. And so she leaned into her angel, circling her arms around him tightly, grieving, afraid, and unable to see the light at the end of the tunnel. Wondering if, in the crossfire, she would lose Castiel too.

* * *

Adam picked at the very bland sandwich he'd thrown together, then set it down completely, not really hungry anymore. The sun had just set and the house was dark now. He sat at the kitchen table frustrated as hell. He glanced across the house, into the study, where Bobby turned around his chair, facing the bookshelf. And Adam suddenly perked up as he realized this could be his chance. He might not get another, these people were like hawks. Heart beating fast, thinking of seeing his mom again and being at peace in the afterlife once again, he stood up and stole across the creaky old floor, toward the back door, reached for the doorknob and then—

"Going somewhere?" Sam asked, freezing Adam in his steps. _Shit._

Caught and he knew it, Adam turned around, kicking himself mentally but trying to act casual. Sam stood there, eyebrows raised expectantly. "Uh, yeah… out for a… beer," Adam lied lamely, the first thing that popped into his head. Sam _had_ to know that was a lie, but didn't call him on it.

"Great, we got beer. Have a seat," Sam said in somewhat strained pleasantness. Adam looked the guy up and down again—dude had to be at least two-hundred pounds of solid muscle. Running would be a bad idea.

Resigned to his crap luck, Adam gave up and went back to the table sullenly as Sam cracked the refrigerator open. "You know, you pitched this whole dewy-eyed bromance thing, but the truth is I'm on lockdown, aren't I?" Adam muttered, casting cagey glances around, sitting with his shoulders hunched forward.

"I wouldn't put it that way," Sam said, bringing a beer and setting it on the table in front of Adam, who stared at it unmovingly. Sam was clearing his throat and sitting down across from Adam, looking like he was about to attempt another conversation. "Adam, you may not believe it," Sam started, "but Dad was trying to protect you. Keeping you from all of this."

Adam didn't exactly feel in the chatty mood and looked at his half-brother with a rude, disinterested expression. "Yeah well, I guess the monster that ate me didn't get _that_ memo." Sam's face twisted in empathy, and Adam felt his stomach turn.

"You remember that," Sam commented quietly, seeming to be bothered by it and surprised even.

"Kinda hard to forget, Sam," Adam drawled in cool anger, putting on the guilt trip.

"I'm sorry that happened to you," Sam told him earnestly—as if he actually cared. What a _joke_. "Still, trust me," Sam said, and there was a quiet bitterness there. "The one thing worse than seeing Dad once a year—" Sam's face was very serious now "—was seeing him _all_ year."

Adam looked at his half-brother in thinly veiled distaste—how _dare_ this jackass sit there and look at him with that wounded dog expression, acting like he knew Adam's pain, loneliness, the huge hole in his heart? "Do you know how full of shit you are?" Adam asked acidly, and Sam's expression grew confused. Adam wanted to kick him in the face. In frosty contempt, he stared Sam down. "See, it was me and it was my mom," Adam told him. "That's _it_." He paused for emphasis—he hadn't had siblings to lean on like Sam had, or a dad for the first twelve years of his life. "She worked the graveyard shift at the hospital. I cooked my own dinners. I put myself to bed." Adam was bitter. "So you can say whatever you want about our dad, but the truth is, I would have taken anything."

Sam looked like he thought Adam must be crazy. " _Anything_?" He struggled silently for a second, looking a little on the annoyed side now. "You got things we never _did_ , do you understand that?" The nice-guy persona was fading a little into a more assertive, here's-how-it-is kind of attitude. "Dad wasn't who you think he was, Adam. Sounds like he showed up and played father of the year for a couple days with you here and there. But with us? He ignored us on a day-to-day basis, forgot our birthdays, acted like we were his personal little army detail, like he was our _drill sergeant_ , not our dad. I left home when I was eighteen because I hated it so much." Sam paused and let out a heavy breath through his nose, looking disgusted. "He verbally abused all of us, and he pretty much _physically_ abused Dean and Alex."

Adam managed to hide his surprise at everything Sam had just said, even though he felt immediately disillusioned and shocked. And not wanting Sam to know that, Adam fired back the first horrible thing he could think of, trying to keep his half-brother at a safe arm's length, trying not to let himself be open or vulnerable. "Yeah, well, they probably deserved it," he said, and let his mouth twitch into a lifeless little smile. As predicted, Sam looked angry, but visibly reined himself in.

"If you would just knock off the tough guy bullshit for _one second_ , Adam…" Sam said, short on patience but trying, leaning further across the table, trying to get Adam to knock it off, which only made Adam go harder.

"What?" Adam asked flippantly. "You want me to tell you about all my crippling inner sadness? You want me to care about your life? Sorry but I don't even know you."

Increasingly frustrated, Sam wet his lips. "Look, all I'm saying is if we had known we had a brother—"

"Well, you _didn't_ , so—"

"—we would've _found_ you!" Sam interrupted emphatically, angrily. Adam scoffed and shook his head. This was getting ridiculous. Sam talked a big game but it was pointless—it was the past and what was done was done. Adam had died at the hand of some monster ghoul thing, he'd watched his mom beg for help as she'd been eaten alive. And the kicker was that and his supposed family who _hunted_ monsters and creatures—had been nowhere to be found. At this point, Adam just wished Sam would fuck off. "Look, I can't change the past," Sam said trying hard to be calm, and his gentle, appealing tone was like nails on a chalkboard to Adam. "I wish I could. But... from here on out—"

" _What_?" Adam interrupted challengingly, staring Sam down. "We gonna hop in the family truckster? Pop on down to Wally World?"

Sam reacted just like Adam had intended. He shook his head, disappointed and rejected, discouraged. He sat back, no longer leaning over the table. "Tell you one thing, with an attitude like that... you would have fit _right in_ around here." He looked at Adam sort of sadly, heaved a sigh, then stood up. "Don't go anywhere," he told him, glancing toward the study, where Bobby was once again sitting at his desk.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Adam muttered, looking at Bobby, who watched him closely from across the house.

* * *

Sam went downstairs and he had to pause to let Alex and Cas get up from where they'd been sitting. It was dark, but he almost thought it looked like she'd had her head on the angel's shoulder, like they'd been sort of arm in arm. And he felt himself soften a little bit. It did his heart good to see someone being so gentle and sweet with his sister—and more than ever he felt like she deserved that kind of stuff after finding out about what Dad did to her and Dean. He felt his insides darken at that thought. _Damn._ Today had been sort of horrible, for all of them, but especially her, huh? Not only did her oldest brother hurt her like Dad apparently used to, but Adam showed up and had thrown a whole new wrench into the mix. No wonder Alex had gone off for a few hours to be alone. Sam froze mid-step as a thought came to mind. _Wait_. Cas had been gone the whole time Alex had been, hadn't he? _Huh._

Cas and Alex looked at him a little oddly, Alex in particular seemed to be wondering what he was doing stopping in the middle of the stairs and staring like that. Sam forced himself to walk down the rest of the way, trying to hide his surprise at his dawning epiphany. He wasn't sure why he hadn't realized it before just now. It embarrassed him a little, realizing that's why Alex had changed clothes and why Cas's hair looked a little wilder than normal. Sam suddenly remembered how he thought he'd heard something drop onto the floor upstairs at one point when he'd been on the second floor in the bathroom... and he'd written it off as house-settling noises, but now he realized wow, that sound sort of made him think of shoes hitting the floor… had that been… _them_?

"Uh, hi guys!" Sam said, trying to sound nonchalant and casual. His weird, stilted tone and way his voice sort of squeaked received a funny look from his sister.

"… hi…?" Alex repeated back to him—her eyes were squinted up a little like she was suspicious of his weird behavior.

Sam cleared his throat and scratched the back of his neck, pushing it out of his mind. He expelled a breath through puffed cheeks, looked in the direction of the panic room. "I'm, uh, gonna try and talk some sense into him," he said gesturing toward where Dean was, already dreading it, but trying to just stay focused. "He's had awhile to think, maybe he'll come around."

"Yeah, okay," Alex said, putting on a shield of an expression. "I'm coming with you."

"...You sure?" Sam asked, forgetting his unease—because after everything that had happened today and how mad Alex had to be at Dean right now, he didn't want her to have to be part of this if she didn't want to. It would be nice to have some backup though, and maybe with both of them in there, Dean might actually listen… still, Sam could do this on his own, if he had to. But it turned out that he wouldn't.

" _Yeah_ ," his sister replied without hesitation, then frowned like she was surprised at him. "You're not going in there _alone_ ," she told him firmly. "No way."

Sam felt a surge of powerful emotion—because he got what she was saying to him: that he didn't have to shoulder this situation on his own. He was so unexpectedly touched—he wasn't sure when it had become him and her against Dean, but he was glad at least one of his siblings wasn't giving up on him. "Okay," Sam said, clearing his throat again. "Yeah. All right. Let's see what we can do." He drew in another bracing breath and led the way to the panic room, glancing at his twin one more time.

"Should I come in with you?" Castiel asked Alex. His deep, husky voice was overlaid in poorly disguised worry. Sam paused, only a few feet from the door to the panic room. Alex had turned to Cas, the two of them were exchanging a significant look.

"It's... not a good idea for him to see us together right now," his sister told the angel quietly. Cas's expression reflected the pain that her voice held. "It'll just set him off more," she said softly, then followed up with a very earnest, "I wish it weren't like that."

Sam stood there awkwardly, feeling like he was intruding on a private moment as Cas looked at Alex gently. "Perhaps it won't always be," he said, and falteringly touched her arm. Sam was surprised when his sister stepped forward to the angel and kissed him.

He was embarrassed all over again. He'd always thought it was weird to see Dean with girls—but that wasn't anywhere _near_ as strange as this was. Sam rubbed the back of his neck and looked down at the ground. He heard the rustle of clothing as they parted, then heard Castiel tell her, almost a whisper, "I'll be right here."

He heard a little smile on her voice when she quietly replied, "I know you will be."

Sam looked up cautiously and saw Alex headed his way. She shrugged a little, hiding a little bashfulness in the motion. "I know you know," was all she said, and brushed past him to stand at the panic room door. True. Sam wasn't sure exactly _when_ this had all started between his sister and the angel, but he did really want to know, if only for curiosity's sake. Now wasn't the time to wonder about it, though.

Sliding the heavy lock away and yanking down on the heavy handle, Sam swung the panic room door open.

In the middle of the room inside, Dean stood with conspiratorial eyes that flickered over his siblings then resting on Cas, who was scowling at him silently from further back outside of the doorway. Alex and Sam stepped over the raised threshold of the door as Dean's eyes narrowed just slightly and he gave Cas a wry, cold look. "Well, Cas, not for nothing… but the last person who looked at me like that…" he shrugged mockingly. "I got laid."

Sam looked at Dean wide-eyed, trying to see if Dean had any clue what he was talking about—Alex looked similarly mortified, but Dean was just smirking at Cas, being an asshole. Oh my _god_ , if only Dean knew how appropriate that comment was... uncomfortable yet again, Sam glanced at Cas. "Uh, why don't you, uh, go keep an eye on Adam?"

Cas hesitated, looked at Alex, who glanced at her twin, then back at Cas, giving him a little nod. "We're fine."

And grudgingly, Cas nodded, closing the door without touching it.

Dean spread his arms, indicating the panic room, and clearly his mood wasn't vastly improved since earlier. "Is this really necessary?"

"You tell us," Alex replied darkly—she stood near the edge of the room, keeping her distance.

Dean seemed to shrink a little underneath the way she regarded him, he looked down. He lost a little of his steam. "Don't look at me like that," he muttered. He sounded ashamed, and Sam knew it was because of what he'd done earlier—but Dean avoided the subject altogether, skipping ahead to the Michael topic. "I was trying to do the right thing," he said softly. "What I'm supposed to do."

Not matching his quiet tone, Alex crossed her arms. "All the sudden _you_ believe in destiny?"

"I got my reasons," he told her defensively, and she threw a hand up, prompting him to please, go ahead and share with the class.

Dean looked at his sister almost pleadingly. "I mean you were _there_ , Al, I shouldn't have to convince you. You saw the future that I saw, remember? You saw me not saying yes and where _that_ got the planet." He threw a hand out, indicating Sam. "We both saw _him_ —" Dean said, and Sam felt his stomach turn, realizing what Dean was talking about. Alex's face fell as Dean continued. "And how it _wasn't_ him—it was _Lucifer_. Now you tell me how I can just sit back and let that happen."

Alex visibly struggled to find an answer for Dean. Sam looked at his little sister, pained. He knew this had to be beyond hard for her. He'd never spoken with her one-on-one about the whole Lucifer thing but every time it got brought up with the three of them, he could see his twin shutting down. She'd either mentally check out or physically walk away. And he couldn't blame her. He barely knew how to face the idea that Satan wanted him either. "We're working on finding another way," Alex insisted, trying to sound confident but not quite getting there. "One where you live, Sam lives— _everyone_ lives."

Dean shook his head and looked down again with a bitter little expression. "That plan doesn't exist and you know it. We've tried to find another way, you know we did. Gave it our best shot. And now I got less choice than I did yesterday, what with this angelic Plan B upstairs…" he raised his eyebrows for emphasis, looking at Sam now. "And I am _not_ letting him do it, okay?"

"Who, Adam?" Sam asked. "No, I'm... I'm not, either." Did Dean honestly think he would let that happen?

"No, you're not _getting_ me," Dean muttered and turned around, walking away slowly.

"Oh, no, no, I 'get' you perfectly," Sam said, pausing for emphasis. "But I'm not letting _you_ do it, either."

Dean got to the table, turned around, leaned against it, and looked at his siblings dead serious. "Bottom line that kid's not taking a bullet for me."

"Why do _either_ of you have to do it?" Alex asked in exasperation.

Dean's previous gentle, quiet tone evaporated. "Oh good luck talking him out of it, the angels made _damn_ sure he'd do what they wanted, hanging seeing his dead mom over his head," he ranted then leaned forward, looking at each sibling with a defiant glare. "It's _me_ or it's _him_. And it's gotta be me!" He leaned back and threw his palms up in a gesture that seemed to say he saw no other way. "Look, I'm tired of being the reason so many people have bit the dust, okay?"

"Dean…" Sam started.

"I'm serious," Dean cut in, deadly quiet again. "I mean, think about how many people we've gotten killed, Sam. Mom, Dad, Jess, Jo, Ellen." Each name he said was like a sledgehammer to the stomach. "Should I keep going?" Dean asked, and Alex came forward finally to stand beside Sam.

"We didn't kill them," she protested.

Sam quickly added, "It's not like we pulled the trigger."

Dean didn't believe that. "We might as well have. I'm _tired_ , guys." He paused, letting it sink in, and he looked years older than he was. "I'm tired of fighting who I'm supposed to be."

"But this isn't who you're supposed to be!" Alex insisted, emotional and emphatic and obviously angry.

Dean was mostly unaffected. And maybe his lack of reaction was what was the most troubling. "You don't have this on you, Al," he said faintly. "You can't possibly understand what I'm going through, and thank God for that too. I just wanna save who I can, all right?" He wet his lips, looked at Sam, seeming to be pained. "How can I make either of you two understand?"

"We _do_ understand," Sam retorted a little too sharply, then took a second to compose himself. "But if you could take _half a second_ and stop trying to sacrifice yourself, maybe this family could actually stick _together_." He looked at Dean long and hard. "Can we please just give that a shot?"

Dean was shaking his head, looking down to the floor beside his foot. "I don't think so," he said simply, and Sam clenched his jaw, keeping his mouth shut so he didn't say something that would only make things worse. Dean looked up and suddenly shut his eyes for a second as his shoulders fell slightly. He appeared rueful. "Come on Al… please don't cry," he said quietly. Sam quickly looked over at his twin. She had silent tears running down her cheeks and a heartbroken expression on her face. Dean's voice fell to an even softer volume. "Don't do that."

"I _believed_ in you," she told Dean brokenly. A muscle jerked in his cheek, he met her gaze.

Green contemplated hazel—both pairs of eyes agonized. Then Dean looked down and drew his mouth into a hard line, lowering his voice to a barely audible volume. "No you didn't." Her face fell. His eyes came to look at hers again. "And you know what? That's what it boils down to, kiddo. Belief. And I… I just don't believe anymore either."

"...In _what_?" Sam asked, dreading the answer.

Dean was reluctant to answer. "In either of you," he finally said, a whispered low blow. But what he said next was worse. "But especially in you, Sam." It felt like the floor had disappeared beneath Sam's feet and he was falling—his chest seized up in pain when Dean said that. "I mean, I _don't,_ " Dean said, and it was with brutal, heartbreaking honestly. Not anger, not a general dick attitude. He was being totally real, and that's what hurt the most. "I don't know whether it's gonna be demon blood or some other demon chick, or using me or Alex against you or _what_ , but… I do know they're gonna find a way to turn you."

It was a knife twisting in his chest deeply. "So you're saying I'm not strong enough," Sam said, blinking away the sting of tears.

"You're angry, you're self-righteous," Dean told him in that same quiet, matter-of-fact sad way. "You're _human_. Lucifer's gonna wear you to the prom, man. It's just a matter of time."

Alex looked at her twin in quiet horror and Sam shook his head, unable to hear this, hating how certain Dean was and how Alex was _listening_ to him. "Don't say that to me," he begged his brother, voice hovering above a whisper. "Don't put that on me. Not you… of _all_ people."

"I don't want to," Dean answered, full of his own pain. "But it's the truth. And when Satan takes you over, there's gotta be somebody there to fight him, and it ain't gonna be that scrawny little kid upstairs. No way. Lucifer'd eat him for breakfast." He managed a self-deprecating smile. "So, it's gotta be me. At least with me as Michael, we stand a chance killing the devil. I may not be as big as you are, but I'm your big brother. I've always been able to take you down, right?" He attempted a wavering smile, trying to bridge the gap between this horrible place they were in to some fond memories. It didn't work—Sam was struggling to compose himself, and Dean looked like he realized he shouldn't have even tried.

Dean heaved a jaded breath. "Listen... this is my decision, not either of yours. I know you're just trying to… to look out for me." He paused, cold again. "But you don't get to decide this." He looked at Alex. "Didn't you say something like that to me just the other day?" Taken aback, Alex's jaw worked oddly, as if she were wondering _how could you_? And then wordlessly she turned away and shoved the door open, leaving them alone and slamming the panic room door behind herself.

Dean looked at the closed door, his expression strange. Sam shook his head, a soft, humorless little huff of air meant to be a laugh escaping his lips. "You know, you're getting pretty good at this, Dean," he said softly.

"What?"

"Pushing the people who love you away." Sam looked at his brother accusingly.

Dean just gave him attitude and sauntered over to the desk, pretending to be interested in the book that was there. "Why are _you_ still here then?"

Sam pushed aside his urge to hit his brother and replied steadily, even if he was a little strained. "I'm disappointed in you. But I'm not giving up on you."

Dean's eyebrows shrugged up and down in a display of chagrin as he looked over his shoulder in what appeared to be little interest. "Huh, well. You're the last one left who's in _that_ club." He looked at Sam sullenly and he crossed his arms. "Sorry to tell you but I'm just gonna let you down. It's what I do best."

"Enough with the _pity party_ ," Sam told him intensely, giving his brother a pointed stare. "So you think I'm gonna give up and say yes… what happens to Alex, huh, when we're both dead or gone?"

" _Psh_." Dean went to the little cot and sat down with his feet far apart, elbows resting on his knees. "She's a big girl. She can take care of herself," he said, but it sounded like he were reciting lines off a script—his heart wasn't in it.

Sam called him on it. "Do you actually believe that?" he questioned incredulously, then went a little closer to his seemingly unreachable brother. "Dean just a couple years ago she was a totally different person, or have you forgotten? Don't let her fool you—she depends on us—and you—a lot more than you think."

"Nah," Dean said bitterly, still not looking at Sam. "She's got Trenchcoat." He looked up at Sam at that point closely. "By the way… did you know about that?" Sam's expression gave him away and Dean's mouth turned downwards in distaste and anger. "Yeah, thanks for the heads up."

Sam was lost. "I don't get why you're being like this about them."

Dean's eyebrows shot up like he couldn't believe what Sam had just said. He sat up straight as his expression quickly turned from surprise to a deep glare. "Because it's _wrong_ , as wrong as you and Ruby was."

It was Sam's turn to be surprised. He looked at his brother like he was insane. "Cas isn't a _demon_ who is using Alex to start the _apocalypse_."

"No, he's just using her," Dean fired back adamantly.

Sam grabbed the chair from the desk, sat down in it, then looked at Dean thoroughly. "Dean. Cas took a frigging _bullet_ for her. He gave her the ability to _speak_ , he's healed her and saved her life— _our_ lives—a bunch of times. He went against Heaven for us and ever since then has been trying to help us find a way to stop the apocalypse… if anything, _we're_ using _him_."

Dean looked distinctly ruffled by that thought but then quickly covered that up by acting like it sounded stupid. " _Please_ ," he muttered, and switched topics, trying to hide what clearly looked like the beginnings of a guilty conscience. "Forget about Cas," he said gruffly. "Just think about this: If you and I both say yes, those jackass angels don't get a chance to mess with our sister. I mean they got Adam, they turned him against us. It's only a matter of time before they get their claws in her and use her to make us do what they want, or worse, kill her."

Sam couldn't argue with that, but still, Dean seemed to be forgetting something. "So… save our sister… but let half the planet burn?" he asked doubtfully, wondering if Dean really meant that.

His brother looked at him, pained, surprisingly vulnerable. Soft again, sad. "She's our _blood_ , Sam. I spent my whole life trying to protect you both and if I can't save both of you, at least I can save one. Maybe I can even make a deal, make sure she gets a Heaven or, I dunno I—I just..." he seemed to be out of steam and rubbed his forehead with the palm of his hand before continuing. "I'm just saying… if only one Winchester can survive this mess… it's gotta be her, man." He looked at Sam despairingly. "Look me in the eye and tell me you don't think the same thing."

Sam couldn't answer for a second, because he knew what Dean meant but… "It's the lives of half the people on the planet for hers," he protested.

"I know it is," Dean said, looked down. "She deserves to live. I don't." He looked up at Sam sadly. "And I'm not sure if you do either."

"How can you _say_ that?" Sam asked, cut to his heart by Dean's words.

"Because it's the truth. And you know it is." Dean looked at him without a trace of anger. Just sadness. And Sam thought about the demon blood and Ruby and the things he'd done as a kid and how he'd let Jess die and how he'd failed to bring Dean back from Hell on his own and how he'd abandoned his sister when she'd needed him the most. And Sam said nothing for a long moment, just looking down and resting an elbow on his knee as he moved his hand across his mouth in distressed thoughtfulness.

Dean leaned forward over his knees. "We can't say no forever, Sam, do you get that? They'll keep upping the ante, they'll start killing everyone and everything we know and love to get us to do this. They are _gonna_ make us do this. No ifs, ands, or buts." Dean's eyebrows were raised up high. "Now we can decide to do this together, on _our_ terms, save a lot of people in the process..." he searched Sam's eyes intensely, "Or we can stand by and let someone _bully_ us into doing it." Sam looked at his brother grimly, trying not to be swayed. "I'm gonna do it," Dean told him decidedly. "I am. So what do you say, huh Sammy?" Dean almost seemed pleading, and for a second, Sam _was_ considering. "You said you wanted us to stick together, so... here's your chance." Dean looked at Sam, waiting for his response.

And Sam was suddenly reeling, unable to believe he could even consider becoming Satan's vessel, unable to believe his brother would try and talk him into it. Sam stood up from the chair, almost knocking it over, and he walked a couple paces off, quickly becoming enraged at himself. " _No_ , Dean." Sam was adamant and angry, but most of all, betrayed. "That's _not_ an option for me, okay? Not now, not _ever_."

Still sitting, hands on his knees now, Dean had clearly expected as much and gave an offhand shrug. "If you get our sister hurt or killed in this process… so help me Sam, I'll never forgive you."

Sam raised his chin. "I'm not the one who's hurting her, though, am I, Dean?"

Dean looked at Sam sharply but said nothing. His glare wavered and he looked away, shoulders heavy and slumped forward as if in defeat. And Sam was suddenly hurtling to the opposite end of the emotional spectrum to heartbreak and grief again. "What _happened_ to you?" he begged softly. Dean said nothing, just shook his head and kept it bowed. How was it, even when his brother was being the world's biggest dick, Sam could feel so bad for him? He paused for a long moment, growing introspective as he watched his brother closely. "Why didn't you ever tell me about Dad?" he asked softly, hesitatingly. "What he did to you?"

Dean immediately became visibly guarded. "Ah come on," he said, feigning disinterest, batting away an invisible something with his hand. "You didn't need to know."

Sam disagreed, studying his brother earnestly. "If I had known, I would have found a way to get us _away_ from Dad," he said, then paused, realizing. "Maybe that's why you never told me." Dean made no reply and Sam thought back to nineteen ninety-nine again. He closed his eyes briefly, opened them back up, fighting a painful feeling in his throat. "She… she told me she fell down some stairs. That time you went away on that road trip and met Lisa, remember?" He had Dean's attention. "That was Dad, huh?" Sam shook his head in disbelief, disgust, sadness.

And even though it was clear that Dean had mixed feelings, he looked at Sam like he was appalled at the question. "Dad was a hero," he replied defensively. "He was a good man."

Indignant anger boiled in Sam's veins. "Then why did you have to protect her from him?" he asked very loudly.

"Listen... Dad had his faults, I know that," Dean snapped. "He was pretty screwed in the head from the job, from what happened to Mom, to us. It's a wonder he wasn't worse."

Sam exhaled sadly, letting a long, gentle pause hang. "All I'm hearing are excuses." His heart ached viscerally. "He never should have laid a finger on her. Or you. I'm so sorry, Dean."

Dean glanced up in Sam's direction, avoiding a direct look in the eye. "Yeah. Well. I'm sorry too."

"It never should've happened," Sam insisted, disliking how Dean just seemed to be okay with the fact that that things had been that way.

Dean almost smirked. "Yeah, and you know what else shouldn't have happened? You and me, both knocking her down. Even once, man." And the realization that yes, both of them had purposefully hit or shoved their sister… was enough to break Sam's heart. Dean obviously had taken it to heart a lot more than he had shown. He had his head in his hand again, and Sam remembered painfully when he'd backhanded his twin across the face when he'd been high on demon blood. He'd never forgiven himself for that and never would.

Dean let out a gruff sounding breath, composing himself and clasping his hands between his knees, refocusing. "You know, speaking of Dad, Alex saw him in Heaven a couple days ago. _Cas_ told me all about it."

Sam was thrown. "...Wait, what?"

"Yeah," Dean confirmed. "The old man got a message through somehow. Don't ask me how cuz I haven't even had a chance to ask her about it but… Dad said something about Azazel's plans and how it's still dangerous..." he looked at Sam tiredly. "You know anything about that?"

Sam was staring at Dean in complete disbelief. "N-no," he answered, and it must have been the way he said it or the look on his face.

Dean was suddenly interested, intent, and looking at him almost suspiciously. "You sure about that?"

In total fear and panic—Sam covered his true feelings with anger. "Yes Dean, I'm _sure_. Look, I'm not saying yes to Lucifer, Azazel is dead and _gone_ and I want you to stop acting like you know everything. I'm stronger than you _think_!" He left the panic room in a huff, slamming the door behind him.

"Drama queen," Dean muttered, then raised his voice a few notches as he stood up. "You can't keep me in here forever!"

In response to his shout, Dean heard the door lock and he clenched his fists in frustration. He could hear Sam and Alex talking indistinctly outside of the room and he growled in exasperation.

So much for talking it out. So much for them understanding or listening to him. He was gonna have to do this the hard way. He remembered again what Cas had said to him all those months ago about the apocalypse. Dean had been a mess from Alastair's handiwork—hooked up to a million IVs and feeling like death warmed over. Cas had shown up in his hospital room.

Dean remembered asking him _"Is it true? Did I break the first seal? Did I start all this?"_

Cas had looked at him point-blank. _"Yes. The righteous man who begins it is the one who must finish it."_

And at that time… similar to now… Dean had felt unable.

 _"Well then, you guys are screwed,"_ he had replied. _"I can't do it, Cas. It's too big. Alastair was right. I'm not all here. I'm not—I'm not strong enough. Well, I guess I'm not the man either of our dads wanted me to be. Find someone else. It's not me."_

Did he feel strong enough now? _No._ Did he feel capable of this? _No._ He felt like he was taking the coward's way out even though he logically knew that this would save a lot of lives.

The righteous man. Well, _he_ might have believed it was a load of bullshit, at least in the beginning, but apparently Heaven didn't. He was the righteous man. Somewhere along the line fate had picked him as the one who would start the apocalypse and end it, too. That was the single shred of hope that he held onto now, that he could, in fact, end this, defeat Satan, and allow planet earth limp along a little longer. Problem was, he was locked in Bobby's basement where he couldn't get to the angels. It was looking like he had to take matters into his own hands. He had enough motivation to last a lifetime and was ready.

He remembered coming face to face with Lucifer in Sam's body when Zachariah had sent him to the future. Satan's words had always haunted Dean, but today, he almost wanted to laugh in the devil's face. _"You won't say yes to Michael,"_ Lucifer had taunted. _"You won't kill Sam, you won't be able to save Alex from her own foolish choices… whatever you do, you will always end up here. Sam will die, Alex will die. Nothing you can do will change that. Whatever choices you make, whatever details you alter, we will always end up—here. I win."_

_Not today, motherfucker. You don't win today. Not anymore._

He wasn't altering details, he was changing the entire damn storyline.

Dean listened closely—he didn't hear his siblings talking anymore—good, they'd gone. With any luck, Cas would come stand around uselessly outside again and Dean would be able to lure him in and escape.

Dean took out the switchblade he kept at his ankle, snapping the blade up. It glinted in the incandescent light. "Here goes everything," he muttered, and drew the sharp metal across his skin, hissing against the pain then watching bright red blood come forth.

He was very aware that he'd seen his brother and sister for what was probably the last time.

* * *

Upstairs, Castiel watched Adam quietly in the darkened study. The lights were off, the kid was sleeping. Bobby, in turn, was watching Cas and realizing while Sam and Alex were downstairs, he had a chance to feel the angel out a little bit. He wheeled over, cleared his throat, not sure how exactly to broach the subject. "Listen kid, uh… I gotta talk to you about somethin', man to man." He paused, realized his mistake. "Uh… man to angel."

Castiel turned to him, his eyes narrowing into a sternly curious squint. "Of course."

Bobby looked at the guy carefully, trying to be firm and clear, but also polite. "Now you may think it ain't none of my business, but I've known Alex since she was knee high to a grasshopper and—I love the kid. Like she was my own." As such, he put it in short, clear terms: "Don't let me catch you treating her wrong, hear me?" Cas's head canted just slightly to the side as his frown softened into understanding. "She deserves a guy who's gonna be around for the long haul," Bobby told him, fixing him with a meaningful look. "Is that you, son?"

"The... long haul?" Cas repeated uncertainly, apparently not understanding.

"The rest of her life," Bobby replied. Comprehension washed over the angel's features. "Someone who ain't gonna run off and abandon her like every other damn man in her life ever has. That girl deserves the best and then some."

Cas opened his mouth to reply, but the sound of the downstairs door opening interrupted the conversation. Sam came out and around the corner, looking haggard.

Distracted from Cas, Bobby looked at Sam hopefully. "How's he doin'?"

Sam said nothing, just shook his head 'no' with defeat. Bobby nodded, knowing he shouldn't have hoped for Dean to get his head of his ass. "How _you_ doing?" he asked Sam, who gave a weary shrug.

Cas was frowning again, looking at Sam with a hard, worried expression. "Where's Alex?"

"Downstairs, said she was gonna try and talk to Dean one more time."

"By _herself_?" Cas asked, straightening in alarm.

Sam put a hand out, trying to ease Cas's worry. "Cas, it's fine, you have nothing to worry abou—" Castiel brushed past him roughly and went downstairs.

Sam groaned in frustration and ran a hand through his hair.

* * *

Castiel could have transported himself angelically down to the basement, but he didn't even think about it until he was halfway down the stairs. The second his feet hit the ground floor, he forgot about that realization completely. He heard a crash, and he was suddenly afraid that he was too late. He restrained himself purposefully, realizing it might not be what he thought, that in the past, his overreactions had frightened Alex and been, in slang terms, over the line. Still, he rushed across the space between himself and the panic room door, he slammed the viewport latch back to see into the room. "Alex! Dean?" his eyes swept over the room, he saw no one—and then he stood taller, looking down—he saw a smashed lamp and Alex laying in the middle of the room, she _wasn't moving_ , and there was a streak of blood running down her cheek. His entire system seemed to go into horrified, panicked overdrive. Without hesitation, without even thinking, Castiel ripped the panic room door off of its hinges and he surged into the room, rushing over to her and dropping to his knees beside her, trying to see if—

"Cas."

He whirled. It was Dean, who looked sick and resolved, he had a hand held high—and in the space of a millisecond Cas saw the angel sigil drawn in blood—he shot to his feet, trying to stop Dean—but it was too late. The other man slammed his hand down over the symbol and a feeling like searing hot acid enveloped Castiel who screamed as he was painfully blasted far, far away.

Dean squinted against the bright light, a hand over his eyes. Cas was gone, and he was out of breath. He stared down at the crumpled form that was Alex in the middle of the panic room. Beside her, the broken lamp he'd hit her with. _This wasn't how this was supposed to have happened._

He almost felt as if he could be physically sick as he stared down at her in a panic, realizing the irony of what he'd done—hurt her again right after giving Sam a grand speech about saving her. But in the end, this was about saving her, wasn't it? He cursed her fighting spirit and the fact that she'd made him do that—if she hadn't walked in and seen the angel sigil, if she hadn't been about to run and give him away—Dean backed up a couple steps, his chest was consumed in pain and he had to leave, get away, _now_. He was in too deep now. There was no going back from this.

* * *

Sam came into the study carrying his groaning sister, who looked like she'd been hit in the head—"put me down," she was mumbling. Sam obliged even as a shocked Bobby was wheeling over.

"What _happened_?" he demanded, then realized someone was missing. "Where's Cas?"

"Blown to _Oz_ ," Sam hissed, helping his sister stand.

" _Dean_ did this to you?" Bobby asked incredulously.

"Yeah," Alex muttered angrily, holding a hand to the side of her head. She had a bleeding cut beside her ear at the top of her cheekbone. "I went in, saw him drawing that freaking angel sigil, he knew I was gonna yell—he put his hand over my mouth, we fought, he smashed a lamp over my head… good times."

Sam's anger was almost palatable at this point. "I am gonna _kill_ …" he stopped himself mid sentence, refocused on Alex. "You okay though?" he asked her intensely, and again, she made a face like she was annoyed.

"I'm fine, stop _asking_ ," she said, avoiding her brother's concerned, riled up gaze. Bobby realized she was embarrassed.

Sam was floundering, obviously pulled in a hundred directions, upset and overwhelmed. "Look, I'll go find Dean," he said. "He couldn't have gone too far. Just watch Adam."

Bobby looked at the kid like he must be crazy. " _How_? You may have noticed, he's got a slight _height_ advantage."

"Then cuff him to your chair," Sam said with exasperation.

"Just _go_ Sam, we've got it," Alex said tersely, then prompted him with a loud " _hurry_!"

Wordlessly Sam left, and Alex touched a hand to her bloody cheek, hardly able to believe what had happened. Some metal part of the lamp had cut her and it stung like a bitch. She couldn't tell how messy or how bad the cut was, either. "I'm gonna go clean up real quick," she muttered, and made for the bathroom, angry as hell. She knew her brother was a desperate man—he'd proven it when she'd walked into the panic room and seen the sigil he was drawing in blood on the metal locker. She'd taken one look at it and turned to escape, to shout for someone, warn Cas—but Dean had grabbed her, clapped his hand over her mouth he'd begged her not to make a sound, to please understand, he _had to do this_. She wasn't even sure how she'd broken his grip but she had and slugged him in the face and when she'd made a run for the door, he'd grabbed a lamp and blindly swung at her. It had worked. It had silenced her. She looked at the cut on her cheek. It wasn't that bad, just bloody. She wiped it off a little bit, rolled her eyes at her reflection, then stalked out of the bathroom.

She was shaking from anger at Dean and what he'd done. Blasting Cas to kingdom come... how dare he?

Alex got to the bottom of the stairs, walked around the corner and saw Adam coming out of the study, looking distinctly shady and sneaky. _Oh, you do_ not _wanna piss me off any more than I am already, kid._ "Where you going?" Alex asked, startling him. He stopped, a couple feet out of the study and into the kitchen. She approached him boldly, staring at him hard.

"What happened to your face?" he asked, seeing her cut.

Alex was in no mood. "I asked you a question," she snapped. " _Where are you going_?"

He set his jaw. "I'm leaving," he said and stepped to the side, trying to get past her, but she mirrored his movement, stepping with him and blocking his way. His eyes stayed on hers and he clenched his jaw in impatience. "Get outta my way."

"No," Alex said in a low threatening single word, and he paused, then tried stepping the other way. She went with him again and put both hands to his chest and shoved him. "Get back in there."

He was immediatly startled at her audacity. He tried to act tough. "Listen, I don't usually hit girls, and I don't wanna have to move you out of my way, but I will if I have to."

"Oh, yes, _please_. Go ahead and try _,_ _cupcake_ ," she told him, short on patience and almost itching for a fight at this point. She looked him up and down, _not_ impressed or scared by him in the least.

Anger flickered across Adam's features and he stepped closer to her, probably trying to test her and stare down at her, see if she would really stand up to him. And Alex, who had been fighting for years and years knew enough to take the offensive, to use the element of surprise—cuz he was bigger than her and strong, but it didn't matter how big your opponent was. If you knew how to fight dirty and use surprise to your advantage, keep your feet on the ground… you could take down almost anymore. As Adam stepped forward to stare down at her, she reeled back and socked him squarely across the face. He stumbled back a couple steps, making a surprised noise of pain even as she shoved him with all her strength back into the study—he fell back onto his elbows and stared up at her in shock, blood running out of his nose.

That's when Alex saw Bobby, unconscious and slumped in his wheelchair, shotgun across his lap, a smashed lamp on the ground beside him. Alex's mouth dropped open and her first instinct was to run to her uncle and make sure he was okay—she looked at Adam vengefully, and she didn't just see Adam, she saw Dean in him too. _How fucking dare that little twerp?!_ He was on his feet now, breathing a little heavier than before, wiping blood from below his nose with the back of his hand.

"You got lucky," he told her, drawing himself up to his full height, trying to act like he'd only gone down because he hadn't been expecting her assault.

"Care to test that theory?" she asked dangerously, and she could see from the look on his face that he was pretty much regretting everything about how he'd gotten himself into this moment. She saw him eyeing the shotgun—and they both dove for it at the same second, but Adam got there first, yanking the gun up and pointing it at Alex, who stood and stared then raised her chin slightly, gauging his distance from her, the way he held the gun. This was too easy. "You're not gonna shoot me," she told him calmly, almost bored.

"What makes you so sure about th—" he began to ask, and Alex lunged forward, grabbing the barrel of the gun with one hand and the hilt of the other fast, cracking the wooden butt of the gun across his face with violent force, stunning him so much that he fell backwards.

"Because you're on the ground and don't have a _gun_ , idiot," she told him, standing over him with the weapon she'd procured, one foot on his chest, holding him down on the ground as she trained the gun at his head. She chuckled dryly. "First rule of hunting... don't lose your weapon." He was holding his jaw in offended shock, like he couldn't believe what had happened or that she would do that. He made to move, but she cocked the gun, shook her head, and pushed him down further with her foot. "Wouldn't be _wise_ for you to move right now," she told him, then gave him a humorless little smile. "When Sam gets back with Dean, you two lamp-smashing psychopaths are going into the panic room _forever_ , you hear me?"

And that's the exact moment when the house began to tremble and a brilliant white light screamed in all around them.

* * *

The celestial whispers were the first thing Castiel heard as he came to himself after being blasted away into the corners of the four winds. For a glancing moment, he couldn't understand the words being said—his thoughts were reassembling themselves, he was quickly remembering how he'd found Alex laying on the floor struck down by Dean's hand—and that mental image made the very blood in the veins of Castiel's body boil in anger. Dean had done those things to _escape_ , to go to the angels, to utterly betray them all. And Castiel tore through space, rocketing back to the panic room, expecting to find her still there, even though some time had passed—but there was nothing but the sickening sight of several small blood droplets on the floor where she'd been.

Cas swept through matter into the upstairs area and found the study was wrecked by signs of a struggle—an unconscious Bobby Singer sat in his wheelchair, head lolling forward—and Cas went to the man, touched his pulse, looking around in growing desperation—he felt his heart hammering painfully, his throat closing up, things he couldn't control or stop. He stood back from Bobby and took two steps backwards. He called out for Alex, turning in a circle, seeing nothing and no one, _feeling_ an absence of human presences nearby. Where was she? _Where was sh_ e _?!_ And then he stopped moving as the words the angels were whispering suddenly became clear, unmuffled, loud and unavoidable.

_We have Alex Winchester and Adam Milligan._

Utter horror overcame Castiel and panic soon followed as his mind tripped over itself, unable to form clear thought. _No_ —why— _how_? What did the angels want with her? What were they going to _do_ with her? His immediate reaction was that _he had to rescue her_ , and his second thought made him feel physically ill: she could be anywhere or earth, _anywhere_ , and he had no idea _where_ —

And then he heard a man praying in place of Dean Winchester—and Castiel was almost unable to see, such were the levels of his wrath. So, Dean wanted to call down the angels? He would _have_ what he wanted. Castiel drew his hands into fists and disappeared, hurtling through the fabric of space at blistering speeds toward Dean, who was completely unprepared for _which_ angel would come and answer his prayer.


	37. Sacrifice

" _Your name is pounding through my veins, can't you hear how it is sung?"_  
\- Dashboard Confessional

* * *

" _The end is nigh!_ " The street preacher called loudly. He stood in front of a liquor store holding his bible up high above his head.

Dean hurried toward him—if he hesitated at all, he might not follow through with this.

" _The apocalypse is upon us!_ " The preacher shouted in a voice hoarse from shouting. "The angels talk to me, and they asked me to talk to you! The apocalypse—"

"Hey!" Dean interrupted breathlessly. The preacher looked at him in surprise. "I'm Dean Winchester. Do you know who I am?"

There was shock and recognition the second he asked. The preacher's eyes widened and his mouth fell open. "Dear _God!_ "

"I'll take that as a yes," Dean muttered, a little weirded out. "Listen, I uh, need you to pray to your angel buddies and let 'em know I'm here."

Without any further encouragement, the preacher fell to his knees in prayer, sandwiching his bible between his hands. Dean's pulse jumped up, he tried not to panic. He was _really_ gonna do this, wasn't he? He didn't have time to think about it anymore. The preacher began to pray in a loud, impassioned voice as Dean's stomach began to churn in earnest. "Our father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name—"

"You pray too loud," growled a familiar, gravelly voice, and Dean jumped, startled at the sudden appearance of Castiel who touched the preacher and rendered him unconscious in the span of a half-second. The preacher hadn't even finished falling to the ground before Dean was realizing _oh shit not good—_ but before he could react any further, he was grabbed hard and dragged into a nearby alley. For the second time that day, Cas slammed Dean up against a wall, this time brick, and pain exploded across Dean's already-bruised back and shoulders.

"What are you _crazy_?!" Dean protested even as Cas flung him to the opposite side of the alley hard. He stumbled from the force of the push, disoriented, and Cas grabbed him tightly, shoving him flat against the wall.

"How _could_ you?!" Castiel shouted, and then reeled back and hit Dean in the face, twice, each impact of the angel's fist making pain explode. Cas grabbed Dean tightly by the collar and breathed down his neck practically, seething through bared teeth. "The angels _took_ her because of you!"

"W-what?" Dean asked, confused, his mind suddenly ringing in a whole new kind of alarm. But Castiel didn't explain, he flung Dean to the other side of the alley, blinded by rage. He hit Dean in the stomach, once, twice—and it was like being struck by a mallet. "Cas! Please!" Dean begged, blood seeping out of his mouth.

" _No_!" Cas snarled, throwing him to the other side of the alley then grabbing him tightly, his face inches from Dean's. "You don't _deserve_ mercy," he spat. "Not after what you've _done_ , what you were _about_ to do!" He shook Dean angrily. "I gave _everything_ for you!" Cas raged. "And you give me _this_?! You betray us _all_!?" He stared at Dean venomously, and his low voice trembled. "If she dies because of what you've done…" he trailed off, too angry to finish his sentence.

He dragged Dean away from the wall with one hand then drew back and hit him hard in the face, sending him stumbling and falling backward. Relentless, Cas steadily bore down on the stumbling man and then kicked him hard. Dean flew back, hitting the chain link fence several feet up from the ground, before he slammed back down.

On the ground, Dean heard footsteps and he cringed, anticipating that Cas's strong hands would grab onto him again, drag him up, and beat him some more. The footsteps stopped. Nothing happened. Struggling, he looked up to see Cas looking down at him with cold fury written all over his features. "Tell me why I shouldn't lay you to waste right here and now," the angel hissed.

Dean panted, every inch of his body reverberating with so much pain. "I-I got nothing," he replied weakly, honestly. Coughing and gagging on his own blood, he could barely hold himself up.

Cas gazed down on him with revulsion and disgust. His fists were clenched tightly, he looked like he were holding himself back. Dean realized Cas really _was_ going to kill him—no ifs ands or buts. And maybe, he thought, maybe he deserved it. Maybe this was the way it was supposed to end. He was just so done with everything, so filled with guilt over his failures. He couldn't fight anymore and he didn't want to. "Do it," he told Cas faintly, begging him almost. And when the angel didn't move, Dean's voice raised several octaves. "Just _do it_!" he shouted. His vision swam, he blinked rapidly, and Castiel looked at him long and hard… then unclenched his fist, relenting.

"No," the angel said, as if he were tired, weary, defeated.

 _What?_ Baffled, Dean opened his mouth to protest, to ask why. But Cas reached out with surprising gentleness, touched the other man's shoulder… and the world went pitch black.

* * *

" _Adam_ did this to you?" Sam demanded, trying to examine the bruising cut on Bobby's temple, but the older man batted him away, annoyed.

"Like I told you, one second he's asleep, the next he's in my face with a lamp and it's lights out." Bobby paused grimly. "No pun intended."

"So what, Alex went after him or what?" Sam demanded impatiently, his voice filled with rising panic.

"I don't _know_ , Sam—" Bobby tried to explain.

Sam lost his temper. "Bobby what the _hell_! They could be _anywhere_!"

"Watch your tone, boy!" Bobby said, trying to stay calm but just barely succeeding. "We'll _find_ them."

The room was suddenly swept by a gust of wind that scattered papers wildly. "No we won't." Cas stood there supporting an unconscious, bloody Dean. The angel's face was held rigidly in a harsh expression, he looked almost ill. "The angels took them."

" _Angels_?" Sam repeated in horror, then thoroughly looked at his bloody, beaten brother. "And what the hell happened to _him_?"

Cas returned Sam's alarmed, questioning look with a dark glance. " _Me_." He half-shoved, half-handed Dean at Sam, who caught him fumblingly.

"What do you mean, the _angels_ took them?" Bobby asked in rising concern. Castiel was looking at one of the study chairs oddly as Bobby continued. "They were _hidden_!"

"Adam... must have tipped them off," Cas said, distracted and gruff. He walked over to the chair and picked up the jacket that was laid there—it was Alex's. His expression was unreadable as he silently looked at the garment in his hand.

" _How_?" Bobby demanded, trying to understand.

"I don't know," Cas said, and his grip tightened measurably on Alex's discarded jacket, his eyebrows stitched together. "I don't _know_ ," he repeated, louder, and his voice was filled with levels of alarm and distress that Bobby wasn't used to hearing from the guy. His jaw was rigid, he finally looked at Bobby. "Maybe in a dream." His eyes swept back and forth over the floor near his feet in deep thought, he looked at the jacket again, hesitated, and then put it back, becoming determined. He drew his weapon. Sam's face went cold when he saw the blade gleam. Cas glanced at Bobby and Sam in turn, and his face was full of an ominous quality. "All I know is that I have to find them, _now_."

"Where do you think the angels—" Sam started, but Cas disappeared with another mighty gust of wind. " _Cas_!" Sam shouted in protest, but the angel was gone. Not knowing what else to do, Sam dumped Dean down onto the cot, shook him by the shoulders, and then smacked him in the face, even though his cheek was bleeding and his lip was split. " _Wake up_ ," he growled, slapping Dean again, who suddenly sputtered to life and protested: "Ow, _ow_!"

"Dean you fucking _moron_!" Sam shouted, pushing Dean down by the shoulders.

"Wha—" Dean seemed dazed, unsure of where he was for a second.

"Hey take it easy—" Bobby tried.

"The _angels_ have Alex and Adam!" Sam thundered, standing up, removing himself from proximity to Dean before he punched his brother in his already fucked up face face. The confusion in Dean's eyes cleared. His expression became alarmed and he sat up, groaning pathetically in pain, looking at Bobby and then Sam, not understanding.

"T-the angels? _How_?" Dean asked, panting and holding a hand against his side.

"I don't know _how_ ," Sam retorted, "all I know is that they _do_."

"Shit," Dean swore softly, and put his head in his hand. " _Shit_! This is my fault."

"You're damn right it is, Dean!" Sam raged at full volume. "I could break your _nose_ right now!"

Dean attempted to make a face, but he ended up looking faintly ashamed. "Yeah well Cas might have already done that for you," he looked around, face twisted in pain. "Where is he, anyway?"

"He went to go _find_ them."

"Alone?" Dean asked, eyes widening.

Sam scoffed contemptuously. "What, _you_ wanna head up the rescue effort?"

"It's kinda my fault they got _taken_ , Sam!" Dean exclaimed, to which his brother rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, exactly," Sam muttered, then seemed to get a second wind of anger. "I mean what the _hell_ Dean?! I go downstairs and find Cas blasted away and Alex unconscious and bleeding on the _floor_?! How could you do that? I should cuff you to the damn _house_ at this point! Have you lost your _mind_?!"

"I don't…" Dean almost sounded near tears, which was rich. "...I don't know."

Sam took in an angry breath, his shoulders were tense and his jaw was clenched, he looked like he might, quite literally, explode.

Bobby, who had wheeled over to his refrigerator, was coming back with a bag of frozen peas sitting in his lap. "Calm down Sam, ain't no use to lose your head right now," he chided in that quiet but firm way he had. Sam visibly struggled to control his temper. "'S done is done," Bobby reasoned, but he didn't look too happy with Dean either.

Bobby handed over the frozen vegetable bag to Dean, who accepted it shamefacedly and put it against his swelling cheek anyway. His shoulders hung in defeat. "We gotta get them outta there," he said quietly.

"Wherever _there_ is," Sam retorted stiffly, crossing his arms. The three men exchanged loaded glances. All they could do was wait for Cas to come back.

* * *

They weren't at Bobby's anymore, she knew that much, but it was so _bright_ and she couldn't see anything—Alex blinked a couple times, trying to get her eyes to work as she also attempted to remain standing on two feet. There was an odd feeling like she'd lapsed in time, like she'd been stuck somewhere. Like it was later than she remembered it being. Like she was on some kind of crazy drug bender. It was a strange, bad sensation. Last thing she remembered, she had been standing in the study, holding Adam down on the ground… and then the whole place had been enveloped by a blinding white light.

She heard someone shifting near her, and her eyes began to adjust. Adam was laying near her feet, groaning. "Where _are_ we?" he asked, squinting as he rolled himself onto his side, as disoriented as she was.

Alex looked around again through normalizing vision—she saw serene paintings framed by fancy gilded frames lining the walls, fancy little statuettes and vases dotting the surfaces of the ornate side tables pushed against each opposite wall. A plush couch sat across from a large dining table… and Alex felt the blood drain out of her face when she realized where they were. The beautiful room— _the_ beautiful room—the same one that she and Dean had been trapped in when Sam had been breaking the final seal to release Lucifer. Panic swelled in her chest. _No no no. What's happening? Why are we here?_ Beside her, Adam was getting up woozily.

" _Damn_ ," he commented, holding his jaw gingerly, looking around at where they were. "Did you have to hit me that hard?" he complained.

" _Shut up_ ," Alex whispered urgently—which was probably stupid, angels had better senses than humans, but still. "We have bigger problems right now." She looked around frantically, but there was still no door. But on the plus side, no angels either. Yet.

Adam noticed the table in the middle of the room, piled enticingly high with hamburgers and cold beers in ice. Adam forgot his jaw and smirked, sauntering over to the table to admire the spread. "Maybe _you_ have bigger problems, but uh, I think I'm home-free now."

"No, you're _not_ ," Alex insisted, trying one last time to get through as her idiot half-brother pulled out a chair and sat down. " _Adam_. Listen to me. Whatever they've told you, whatever they've said—they're _lying_. We gotta get out of here, _now._ "

He didn't even look at her, just grabbed a burger and smiled down at it. "Yeah, sure. I think I'll have a burger…" he looked at her and smirked again, "care to join me?"

Alex looked at the burger mistrustfully, then at Adam in genuine concern. "I wouldn't eat anything here if I were you."

He ignored her attempts to help him. "Suit yourself, reject Barbie."

Exasperated, Alex heaved a disgusted sigh. So much for trying to help. He began to eat the burger in huge bites. He chewed loudly and Alex wanted to strangle him. Instead, she grabbed a fancy metal candelabra from off of one of the ornate wooden hutches that lined the room, held it like a bat, and swung it full-force into one of the walls, sending drywall flying in powder and chunks alike. She hacked again and again, desperately, then stood back breathlessly… and the wall was just like new the second she stopped, all the damage she'd done gone. "Fucking _hell_ ," she muttered, glaring at the wall in fear and fury alike.

Adam paused mid-chew. "What are you _doing_?"

" _Remodeling,_ " she snapped back. Adam seemed to think her mounting panic was entertaining.

"Now Alex—you should know that doesn't work by now," came a new voice, and Alex jumped, startled, turning to see…

"Zachariah," she said flatly. _Great. Just fucking great._

Her favorite angel douchewad stood there smiling pleasantly. "Hi! How ya been?" he asked, chipper. Alex dropped the candelabra with a sullen glower, knowing her resentfully accepting her powerlessness in that exact moment. Zach grinned at her, then Adam. The angel seemed pleased. _Beyond_ pleased. "So _good_ to see you again! I was afraid we left things on a bad note last time!" If looks could kill, Zachariah would have been dead under Alex's glare. He unclasped his hands from behind his back and chuckled, shaking his finger at Alex in good humor. " _Imagine_ my surprise when I find out Adam here gets picked up by your beau Castiel and that he takes the kid straight to _you_! I couldn't have planned it better. Well. Maybe if Sam had been there too. That would have been A _plus_ plus!"

"What do you mean?" Adam asked, puzzled by the angel's excited ramblings.

Zachariah suddenly looked sideways, narrowed his eyes, as if he were listening to something. His expression became odd. "Uh… sorry… can you excuse me for a minute? Seems like we've gotten some unexpected company outside."

He disappeared into thin air.

"What's he mean?" Adam asked.

Short on patience, Alex glared at him sideways, her arms crossed tightly. "What, about you and me or about unexpected company?" she asked. And then, at that moment, she realized what Zach had meant about both. Her stomach suddenly turned on its side and she felt her face fall, her arms uncross slowly. "This is a trap, Adam," she said, her voice made soft in shock. "This is a trap for Dean."

Adam shook his head, made a face. "No… no way. The angels said—"

She lost it. "Who _cares_ what they said!" She shouted, barreling over to him. "Listen to _me_!" She grabbed him by two fistfuls of his shirt and shook him, yelling. "I am _telling_ you the _truth_! These assholes are _using_ us! They're nothing but a bunch of cutthroats and _liars_!" He stared at her without moving, sort of fearfully, and Alex shoved him back into the chair. Maybe he was finally going to listen to her.

He straightened himself guardedly, looked at her with growing doubt. "Y-you don't know that," he said lamely.

Alex could have punched a wall, she could have kicked his teeth in, she was so angry at how helpless and stuck they were, how _stupid_ he was. She managed to say nothing, beginning to pace instead. This _was_ a trap, it had to be. Of _course_ Adam wasn't Michael's vessel, those slimy angels had lied to him and were using him for their grandest plan—crap, and not just him, _her_ too—bait to get Dean here to say yes. What did Zachariah mean? Was Dean out there right now saying yes to save her and Adam? Completely out of coherent thoughts, Alex grabbed a vase and threw it at the wall with an angry shriek. The glass shattered all over the floor.

"Good job," Adam muttered, appearing more reluctant by the second. He didn't seem to have an appetite anymore.

"Shut it," Alex snapped at him, trying to think, trying to _think_.

* * *

In the dark warehouse Castiel stood in a wide stance, facing the angel who stood in front of the entrance to the beautiful room.

"Hello, Castiel," said the other angel, his blade at his side, gleaming in the low light. He had dark hair, fair skin, and almond eyes. Cas knew him.

"Eliphaz," Castiel acknowledged lowly. His blade was at his side, too.

"This seems like a bold move," Eliphaz said, gazing at Cas with cold calculation. "Coming here alone. Where is Dean Winchester?"

Castiel glared at him unflinchingly. "Move aside."

The other angel blinked once. "I'm sorry. Only Dean Winchester is permitted to enter this room. No one else."

Castiel took a step closer. "I won't ask again."

"Neither will I," Eliphaz warned, his gaze clouding. "Leave. _Now_."

In answer, Castiel advanced on him, and Eliphaz suddenly disappeared. _Where did he_ —Cas whirled a hundred and eighty degrees, barely stopping Eliphaz's blade with his. The clang of the blades clashing echoed loudly in the musty warehouse, and the two warriors struggled for a moment, then broke apart, standing away and circling each other.

"Look at you, Castiel," Eliphaz murmured with narrowed eyes. "I didn't believe the rumors until now. You've changed." He wrinkled his nose just slightly. "You reek of humanity."

They continued to circle each other slowly and watchfully. "Better that than the stench of corruption," Cas replied, and Eliphaz's face twisted into a snarl, he lunged forward and slashed at Castiel's torso—Cas jumped back, narrowly avoiding being harmed, he recovered and slashed his blade too, sending Eliphaz back into a bend to avoid getting cut across the neck. Using the moment to his advantage, Cas arced his blade downward at Eliphaz's chest, but the other angel stopped Cas's blade a fraction of an inch away from his chest by grabbing hold of Castiel's wrist with his free hand. Eliphaz's blade streaked down through the air at Cas at the same time that he stopped Cas's attack. Cas barely caught him by the wrist... not before the blade had sunk into Cas's shoulder by a few inches.

There was a cry of pain and Castiel realized it was himself making the sound—Eliphaz was slowly grinding the blade deeper into his shoulder, hitting against bone. And the two angels wrestled, strength against strength, Grace against Grace, Cas just barely holding the other angel back. Eliphaz was right, he _had_ changed… he was weaker, he was slower. But he also had something driving his actions that no other angel in Heaven or Earth had. _Her_. His Alex. He would do anything within his power for her, and perhaps even more. Somehow, when he pictured her face in his mind, he felt himself finding new strength—and with a grunt of effort, he watched Eliphaz's face gather confusion even as Cas pushed his opponent's wrist away from himself slowly. With it came the blade, the tip bright red with blood.

Blue light shone out of the wound in his shoulder—but despite that, Cas felt his strength soaring, felt his blood singing with a new resolve. He raised his foot and kicked Eliphaz hard in the stomach, and the other angel flew backward, halfway across the warehouse. Even as he hit the ground, he was getting back onto his feet, holding his blade in front of him at a ready stance… but as he had righted himself, Cas seized the small window of opportunity, drew his blade back and sent it flying straight at the other angel. The sword plunged into Eliphaz's chest. Shocked, Eliphaz looked down at himself, then up—Castiel was suddenly right there in front of him. Eliphaz's hair blew back with the speed at which Cas had moved across the distance between them. Castiel grabbed the hilt of his blade. "You should have moved aside when I told you to," he said lowly, and drove the blade all the way in—blue light exploded from Eliphaz's eyes and mouth, he screamed, and Castiel yanked out his blade. Eliphaz fell down dead, and the outline of spidery black angel wings spread out beneath him on the dirty concrete floor. Black feathers fluttered through the air.

Castiel looked down on the angel he used to call brother, realizing how far his feet had led him from the path he used to follow. Sadness shimmered through him. Cas turned when he heard the sound of slow, steady clapping. Zachariah stood there, and behind him were six more angels. "Nice, I give it a nine outta ten, Cas!" he said of the fight that had just transpired, and Castiel narrowed his eyes. "So! What brings you by?" Zachariah asked, acting pleasant, putting his hands on his hips.

Castiel's gaze swept over the angels behind Zachariah. He recognized them all. "You know why I'm here," Castiel replied darkly, refocusing on Zachariah. "Stand aside."

" _Mm_ …" Zachariah feigned thoughtfulness, touched his chin in contemplation. "No." He looked at Cas's shoulder pointedly. "You don't look like you're gonna be up to much more roughhousing, to be honest with you." He chuckled, then dropped the act completely. "But enough small talk. Where's Dean?"

Cas lowered his chin, tightened his grip on his blade, and said nothing, instead looking over the angels flanking Zachariah. On his left, Daniel, on his right, Hezion. They were both skilled warriors, especially Hezion, and Castiel knew he couldn't go up against them and win. Zachariah was examining him closely. "You know, Eliphaz was right. You _have_ changed. Guess you would, what with the kind of time you spend with the locals." He smirked knowingly at Cas.

Castiel narrowed his eyes. " _Enough_ , Zachariah. Release the girl and the boy to me. _Now_."

"Yeah, sure! Of course!" Zachariah said with what seemed to be a great amount of concern, and turned to the tall, dark-haired male angel at his side. "Hezion... bring the female out here to me."

Hezion's dark gaze met Cas's for a glancing moment, he disappeared and reappeared two seconds later, holding a very confused looking Alex by the arm. On the other side of her, Daniel took hold of her other arm. The second Alex caught sight of Cas, her expression fell and she became frightened. " _Cas_!" 

Cas's front of calm indifference was gone. He couldn't hold himself back from tracing a couple of steps closer to her. "Are you all right?" he asked, unable to hide his anxiety. "Have they harmed you in any way?"

Zachariah chuckled and took a few steps Cas's way, his hands clasped behind his back. "Oh, we haven't, but we _will_."

"It will be the _last_ thing you do," Cas threatened, to which Zachariah laughed good-naturedly and turned back around, looking at Alex as if she were his prized pet. She looked back at him with contempt.

"You _know_ , Alex," Zachariah said thoughtfully, casually sauntering over to her, "you doesn't _look_ much like your mother… quite frankly I don't know _what_ trench coat over there sees in you but... maybe you're the same sorta gal…" he brushed Alex's hair back from the front of her shoulder, revealing the skin of her neck, he ran his fingers along the curve of her neck slowly, "...deep down inside." Alex's face twisted up in disgust.

Castiel bristled immediately and stepped forward. Behind Zachariah, all of the angels raised their blades just slightly in warning. Cas stopped short, torn and unable to move closer, unable to move away. Zachariah chuckled, stroking Alex's arm now, his touch distinctly sensual. He looked back at Cas in amusement as Alex tried not to give him the pleasure of her reaction. The angels holding her were different: Daniel's expression was stoic, but Hezion looked at Zachariah sidelong, mildly troubled.

Cas's shoulders heaved up and down, he could barely control himself. "Geez, take a chill pill there, fella!" Zachariah mocked, making a face and removing his hand from Alex. "I'm just messing with you. She's not even my _type_!"

"Taking her will the the worst choice you ever made, Zachariah," Castiel told the other angel in no uncertain terms.

Zachariah looked amused and was now reaching into his jacket. Out came his shining blade and Castiel froze, his breathing stopping for a minute. What was he going to do with that? "You aren't exactly in a position to be making _threats_ , Castiel," Zachariah chided, examining his blade with what appeared to be great interest. "Tell you what. You leave, bring back the oldest Winchester… the girl lives. You keep making trouble here…" Zachariah swept the blade upward, pressing the length of it against the side of Alex's neck, "the girl dies."

Castiel desperately looked at the angels who held Alex. He _knew_ Hezion and Daniel—he knew _all_ of these angels—and yet they all looked at him as though he were despicable to them, as if they were above him completely. Zachariah was waiting for Castiel to respond. Cas remained still, unsure of what to do, trying to keep his wits about him, trying to maintain an outward mask of scorn and authority despite his inner panic. "You won't kill her, she's too valuable to you," he said, hoping he was right. His mind was racing, calculating. His shoulder hurt, he was weakened. But he had to rescue her. She was _so_ close and yet so far out of reach.

Zachariah grabbed Alex's arm from Daniel and yanked her to the front of himself, holding his blade tighter against Alex's neck and as he did, Cas's entire body tensed to the point of snapping in half. "You really wanna test me?" He asked, soft and serious. "Step away, Cas. Bring Dean here, nice and easy, and then your precious little human pet stays alive."

Cas didn't move at all, he couldn't. He stared at Alex, who was looking back at him with wide eyes, and she shook her head slightly—to which Zachariah suddenly slashed his blade across the side of her neck lightly, enough to draw blood without being fatal. Alex inhaled sharply in surprise or pain. Cas stepped forward without even thinking, and Zachariah looked at him with eyebrows raised high, his blade at Alex's throat. Cas's hand was forced. Cas took several steps back, feeling murderous and sickened all at once. Zachariah shoved Alex back at Hezion, who held her still with both hands.

"Good boy," Zachariah told Cas, even as Alex began to struggle.

"Don't bring Dean here Cas, _please_ , just keep him away!" she begged. Hezion tightened his grip on her, and she made a soft sound of pain. Hezion looked at Cas with an unreadable expression, and Daniel, blade drawn, took a step toward Cas, letting him know it was time to leave.

Breathing hard, Cas looked at Alex, filled with fear. _He had no choice._ Every part of him protested, knowing that he was about to willingly _leave her there_. It was strange, too, a feeling like permanent loss weighed on him. He felt as though he would never see her again. He looked at her and only her, holding her gaze with his. "I'll be back for you," he promised with utter finality, and she stared at him wordlessly—her eyes begging him—and against every instinct, with a great deal of pain that wasn't physical, Cas tore himself away from that place, leaving Alex behind.

* * *

Sam stood in the door frame glaring at Dean who sat on the bed, holding the bag of peas against his face pathetically. Bobby had one now too and was holding it against his slightly swollen temple. Suddenly, Cas reappeared in the middle of the study, startling them all. It had been about ten or fifteen minutes since he'd disappeared. And even as Sam stood up straight in surprise, he saw the blood splatter on Cas's shoulder, the glowing blue that emanated from the knife wound. "Cas!" Sam exclaimed, going to him. "What happened to you?"

Cas ignored the question, harrowed. "They're being held and guarded heavily in the beautiful room," he said.

"Wait, _the_ beautiful room?" Dean asked, setting the bag of peas down.

"Yes, no thanks to you," Cas snapped at him.

Sam was trying to get a better look at the angel's wound. "Was there a fight? Are you hurt?"

"I'll be _fine_ ," Cas said, glossing over it. He was in rare form, the opposite of calm. "Listen to me, we have to go _now_."

"Whoa, whoa, _whoa_ ," Dean said, standing up. "Fly in there blind? Cas, we need a plan!"

Cas turned on him as if he couldn't believe Dean would hesitate for even a second. "We need to get them _out_ of there!"

"Yes, I agree, but let's get a game plan together, okay?" Dean reasoned, then looked at Cas strangely. "You're not thinking straight, man. We go in there without our heads on our shoulders, we end up with an even more messed up situation. Calm down."

"I can't ' _calm down'_ Dean! If you hadn't sent me away I could have protected them _both_." Dean withered under Castiel's glare and the truth of his words. "What you've done is unforgivable," Cas said gruffly, no longer looking at Dean. Shaking his head in disgusted disappointment, he glanced at Dean briefly. "I can't take you there. You'll only give in to their demands." He expelled a frustrated breath, clenched his fists, clearly holding in great amounts of anger. "This is an impossible situation."

Without warning, the study window shattered, startling everyone but Cas. Bobby looked at Cas's clenched fists and stony expression and he heaved a sigh, pushed his ball cap up an inch. "Cas, it's gonna be okay, you hear me? We'll figure this out." He looked at the shattered window and then the dented wall where Dean had been shoved earlier. "But you really need to quit wreckin' my house."

Cas seemed chastened. "I'm sorry, Bobby." He was looking down at the floor somberly. "I saw Zachariah hurt her. He... wanted me to see."

"What? Is she hurt bad?" Sam asked, his worry tripling as he uncrossed his arms and stepped away from the door frame.

Cas shook his head slowly. "No but—"

"Why would he do that?" Dean interrupted, getting more and more anxious.

"In order to manipulate me, the same way he intends to manipulate you."

"The hell you mean?" Dean demanded apprehensively.

Cas looked at Dean starkly. "He took Alex and Adam in order to lure you there. When you arrive to rescue them, he'll use them to force you to say yes to Michael."

"Son of a _bitch_ ," Dean muttered, then looked at Sam sort of accusingly. "I _knew_ this was gonna happen! I _told_ you! If I hadn't been such a screwhead, if I had just quit being stubborn months ago, this wouldn't have happened!"

"Well it _has_ , so now what?" Sam countered contemptuously, then he unexpectedly laughed humorlessly.

" _What_?" Dean demanded brusquely.

"It's funny Dean," Sam said coldly. "The _angels_ thought you were stronger than this. They thought they had to take Adam and Alex to force you into this... when you were just gonna wimp out and do it anyway."

"Now you listen to me—" Dean started angrily.

"We don't have time for your sibling rivalry right now," Castiel interjected harshly, drawing strange looks from the Winchester brothers. "The situation is this: your half-brother and your sister are both being held by Zachariah and guarded by at least six angels. If you stay away, Zachariah will kill one of your siblings—probably Adam—and then torture the other one until you go there. When you go there, once you say yes, I see no reason for him to keep either of them alive."

The brothers were both somber now. "So what do we do, Cas?" Sam asked faintly. "How do we save them?"

"Why can't you just beam into the USS beautiful room and grab the kids and beam back out?" Dean asked.

"I _told_ you," Castiel reiterated. "There are angels guarding the room, and they're all very fast. One of them did this to me—" he indicated his wounded shoulder, "one of the younger, more inexperienced ones. All the others there are much older. Faster. It's… close to impossible." 

"Look, I'm only seeing one option here," Dean said. "I gotta go. _Now_. You two come with me, maybe we can get the jump on Zachariah."

"Even if that were a possibility, how much of a fool do you take me for?" Cas questioned him.

Dean was exasperated. "Look, what if I promise you I won't say yes?"

Cas looked at Dean sullenly. "You were insistent on saying yes just minutes ago on the street, or have you forgotten?"

Dean pointed at his bloody face, deadpan. "Does it _look_ like I've forgotten?"

Cas's expression was filled with thinly veiled contempt. "You created this catastrophe, Dean, I don't need you to make it worse."

"Look, I'm good and pissed now," Dean retorted loudly, growing insistent, walking over to Cas while staring him down. "They took my _family_ from me and that was the worst possible move they could have made, okay?" He winced, giving away the fact that he was still in a great deal of pain. He brushed it aside, trying to convince Castiel. "I'm not giving those bastards the satisfaction of a yes now. They screwed up their chance at having this sweet ass the second they touched Adam and Alex."

Cas had grown introspective and sad, tilting his head to just the side to look at Dean hesitatingly. "You assured me that you wouldn't hurt your sister again and yet you did anyway. Why should I listen to anything you say?" 

"Because I'm just as serious about saving her and Adam as you are!" Dean thundered, insulted and insistent at the same time. "If not _more_ so!" He paused, grew bitter, then looked at Cas with a cloudy expression. "Besides, Cas, I'm not the only one who's ever broken their word around here." Both of them knew what he was referring to: Cas's romantic involvement with Alex, despite his promises to stay away.

A muscle jumped in Cas's jaw, he looked hard into Dean's eyes as his voice lowered. "You aren't in a position to be disrespectful to me." 

"Guys, we don't have _time_ for this!" Sam interjected, drawing both of the men's gazes to him. "We need to figure out a plan and get our asses to the room _now_."

Mildly subdued, the angel and the oldest Winchester were silent for a moment, and Dean looked at Cas quietly for a second. "Why didn't you kill me?" he asked. "Back there in the alley? Why'd you hold back, man?"

Cas's eyes jumped up to Dean's and he didn't answer for a long moment. He was appraising Dean closely. "Because she would never have forgiven me for it," Cas finally said, then looked down in reluctant thought. "And truthfully, Dean... I didn't want to. I couldn't." He looked at Dean sadly. "You are my friend. Even after everything you've done."

The study was dead silent. "Seriously?" Dean asked, taken aback.

"Yes." Cas paused, then squinted just a little bit. "...'Seriously.'"

Dean seemed to be touched by Cas's words and he just looked at the angel for a second, speechless. And then he nodded, seeming to grow empowered, as he braced himself. "All right. Let's go bust these kids outta the angel slammer."

* * *

Zachariah took Alex back into the beautiful room and Adam stood up when they reappeared and when he saw her bleeding neck.

"What happened?" he asked, seeming surprised and even a little worried. Zachariah ignored his question and came toward the table, leaving Alex to stew angrily in the far corner of the room beside an expensive-looking room divider.

"Sorry about that, sparky," Zachariah said to Adam. "Had some business to take care of. So!" He chuckled, sat on the side of the table casually, looked at the half-eaten burger on the table. "I see you and your brother Dean share the same refined palate."

"Uh..." Adam seemed uncertain how to react, looking at Alex in growing concern, his mood no longer smug and easygoing, instead uncomfortable and unsure. "Is she okay?"

"Don't worry about it," Zachariah said and indicated Adam's chair. "Have a seat."

"...sure, all right," Adam said, sinking back to the chair with mild suspicion. He stared at Alex a second longer, clearly trying to piece together what had happened. He tore his gaze away to pay attention to the angel. "So, uh… is it time?"

"For what?" Zachariah asked.

Adam looked like he was beginning to fear the worst, that what his sister had said was true. Still, he tried to hide that. "For Michael," he said simply.

"Oh!" Zachariah enthusiastically feigned remembrance. " _Right._ About that… look, this is never easy, but I'm afraid… we've had to terminate your position at this time."

Adam's face went cold with disbelief and betrayal.

"Hey, don't get me wrong. You've been a hell of a sport, really. Good stuff." Zachariah made the A-OK symbol with his hand. "But the thing is, you're not so much the 'chosen one' as you are…" Zachariah smiled pleasantly, "hmm, a clammy scrap of bait!" He grinned at that point. "In _fact_ , I wouldn't even go so far as to call you that. For their sister, oh, the boys will come _running_. For you? I dunno. But, doesn't hurt to be on the safe side." He chuckled. "If there's one thing Dean Winchester can't resist, it's saving family." He looked at Adam and shrugged humbly. "Shoulda listened to your sister, turns out."

There was a low chuckle and Zachariah turned around. "What's so funny, Alex?"

She looked at Adam mockingly. Her arms were crossed and her face held no emotion but contempt. "Just... why'd you even bother to bring _him_ here? He's not real _family_. Sam and Dean will want _me_. Not this illegitimate douche bag." She gave Zachariah a cold little smile. "Could've saved yourself some trouble."

Zachariah stood up from his seat on the table, turned on his heel, and came to her. " _Huh_ ," he said in deep interest. "So that's really how your family feels about him?" He sighed dramatically. "Then I guess there's no reason to keep him around." He was animated, as if he had a great idea. "I guess I'll just let him go free and clear!" He looked at Alex and chuckled darkly. "I'm just kidding, of course. Nice try though. I'll put him back in the ground, good and dead."

He turned around, took a couple steps toward Adam—and Alex wasn't willing to hold her bluff. "No— _don't_."

Zachariah turned around, looked at her with a triumphant little smile. "That's what I thought. Nice try though, Alex. _Gold star_ for effort." He seemed well pleased with himself and held his arms wide, indicating them both. "I mean, how can Dean resist? It's two for the price of one! And call me crazy, but it'll get him over here on the double. If it were just Adam, I bet they'd drag their feet, take all night…" he wagged a finger at her now. "Just watch. An hour, maybe two. Dean's in here, saying yes to Michael to save his precious baby sister. And the Winchester mutt too, I guess."

He looked at Adam and smiled facetiously. Adam was positively infuriated. "But you said _I'm_ supposed to fight the devil."

The angel winced in exaggerated sympathy. " _Weeelll_... turns out I _lied_." He giggled at Adam's expression, enjoying it immensely.

Alex muttered "told you," but there wasn't triumph there. Only sadness. 

"...You son of a bitch," Adam said quietly.

Zachariah put on false sympathy. "Hey, how do you think _I_ feel? I'm the one that's got to put up with that dumb, slack-jawed look on your face. Kid, we didn't have a choice. Gotta do what I gotta do, and nothing else was working. Michael needs his vessel and he put _me_ in charge of that." He chuckled again, but it was a nervous sound. "Talk about high pressure, am I right?" When neither of them did anything but glare, Zachariah rolled his eyes, refocused on Adam. "The Winchesters got _one_ blind spot, and it's family, each other in particular. See, Sam and Dean, they're gonna put aside their differences and they're gonna come get the two of you, and that is gonna put Dean right here… right where I need him."

"Yeah, except… he won't do it," Alex told Zachariah. He turned to look at her. "This is a huge waste of your time, Zachariah," she said, putting every ounce of energy into sounding like she believed it. "He won't say yes."

Zachariah nodded, smiling to himself. "You wish that were true now don't you, sweetpea?" Her expression darkened. "Now that I have you, trust me… if Adam wasn't motivation enough, _you_ sure as hell will be. I mean, did you see how your _boyfriend_ reacted to seeing me cut you open? Dean'll do whatever I want him to do." He stood up, adjusted his suit, and drew in a deeply contented breath as Adam and Alex watched him with glares. "Yep, feels good to be back on top! This is the night! _Our_ night. The magic finally happens, and it's all because of you two." He pointed a finger at each of them, then took in a thoughtful breath, puffing himself up. "And me. But who's keeping score?"

"You really like to hear yourself talk, don't you," Alex muttered as she uncrossed her arms, staring him down. "Well you can shut the fuck up, cuz I'm not letting this happen."

"Oh, and _you'll_ stop me how?" Zach asked, went to her, invading her personal space and looking into her eyes deeply. She recoiled, but she was against the wall and there was nowhere to go. He smiled then, reached around behind her, slid his hand down, grasped the hilt of her hunting knife that had been hidden by her long t-shirt and flannel. She watched him pull it out and study it thoughtfully. _Dammit._ He wagged it at her, his eyes raised up high. "I'm impressed that you would think about taking your own life to stop this from happening, to give me nothing to hold over Dean," he told her, and she was shocked that he knew that she'd thought about it. He narrowed his eyes at her. "But would you really kill Adam, too?"

She said nothing, just stared at the angel defiantly.

He laughed cheerfully and looked at Adam. "The things this family will do for each other. I'm tellin' ya."

"Do you really feel okay about half the people on this planet biting the dust because of your stupid angel pissing match?" Alex demanded, and Zachariah returned his attention to her, made a thoughtful face.

" _Mm_ … yeah!"

Alex could have strangled him. " _Screw_ you."

He shocked her when he touched her face with the backs of his fingers. She recoiled from his touch. "I _do_ have the next few minutes free, sweet cheeks," he said, smiling darkly, his voice suddenly sensual. She smacked his hand away forcefully. "What?" he feigned surprise, amused. "I thought you _liked_ angels! That's what Castiel told me…" his voice lowered a couple notches, he smiled at her leeringly. "You _are_ a naughty girl, aren't you?"

"Hey man, you wanna leave her alone?" Adam asked. He was standing up now with his shoulders drawn up near his ears.

Zachariah looked amused and impressed, and he stepped away from Alex. "Wouldya look at that—the trademark Winchester hero complex." Adam looked murderous and Zachariah rolled his eyes. "Calm down, kid. Geez, I'm just having a little fun."

"You let us out of here _now_! The deal is off!" Adam demanded, looking positively scared shitless.

"Will you cool your jets, corky? Sit down. I still need you. Two Winchesters for the price of one, remember?" Adam didn't sit down and Zachariah grew more serious. "Plus, you still get your severance, I'm not gonna go back on _that_. You still get to see your mom, okay?" His tone softened, became almost dangerous. "I'm being pretty damn generous right now, you really should just shut up and accept my offer."

Adam's lip curled up slightly in scorn. "Take your offer and shove it up your saggy old white ass."

Zachariah grew impatient. "You know what? I keep hearing _this_ …" Zachariah used his hand and made a talking motion. "But what I _want_ to be hearing is _this_." He closed his hand-mouth and in tandem, Adam fell forward onto the table. He caught himself with his hands as he spit up dark, red blood. "Yeah," Zachariah said, pleased. "That's better."

"Stop it, Zachariah!" Alex said, rushing to Adam and grabbing either arm, bracing him and helping him stay stable, helping him sit back down into his chair.

"Where's the fun in that?" Zachariah asked.

Filled with hatred for the angel who was currently grinning at them idiotically, Alex practically snarled. "You're a fucking _disease_!" she spat, and he just grinned wider.

"Yeah! I am!" he said, and suddenly Alex found herself heaving up blood too and falling sideways. "I'll leave you to it!" Zach said, then disappeared.

Adam was struggling as Alex pushed herself up to her feet, gagging on a mouthful of coppery, tangy blood. She spat onto the floor vengefully, supporting herself against the table with both hands, breathing heavily. Her head was spinning. Adam, slumped down in his chair, was looking at her in shock. His chin was covered in blood. "I _told_ you—" Alex said, but it wasn't in a mean tone. "Angels are lying _assholes_. They don't give two shits about us."

Adam looked almost like he could cry. "I… I should have listened to you guys," he said, and then gagging, he made a sound like a whimper.

"Spit, okay?" Alex said, and put a hand on his shoulder. "Try and sit up a little."

He looked at her with vast amounts of uncertainty and fear. "Why are you being nice to me? After everything I've done?" His voice broke, maybe because his throat was full of blood, maybe because he was scared. "You guys told me and I didn't listen."

Alex only half heard him. She had wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and was staring at the bright red. "Wait a minute…" she whispered to herself, suddenly grinning like a fool through bloody teeth, realizing Zach's mistake. " _Wait a minute_ ," she repeated, her mind racing and excitement growing.

"What?" Adam asked.

"Spit out as much blood as you can," she told him urgently as she grabbed the bowl of beers and dumped the contents out all over the floor. She held the empty bowl out to Adam, indicating that he spit there. "We're gonna need it."

He looked at her like she was nuts. But, he did what she said.

* * *

The three of them kept a fast pace—they'd been in Bobby's study just thirty seconds ago, now they were outside somewhere following Cas.

"Where the hell are we?" Dean asked. Castiel led the way through a dark, overgrown parking lot. Beside them was a huge rusted structure, a warehouse of some kind. It was still the middle of the night.

"Van Nuys, California," Cas replied shortly. He was in a hurry, his long legs keeping a brisk stride that Dean could barely match. Maybe halfway because he hurt all over from getting beat up earlier. Sam was beside Cas, looking around suspiciously, jumpy.

"Where's the beautiful room?" Dean asked, honestly confused—all that there was some old abandoned warehouse looking building lit up by a couple flickering street lights.

"It's in there," Cas told him, indicating the building they were walking beside.

Dean balked. "...The beautiful room is in an abandoned muffler factory in Van Nuys?" he asked in a tense whisper.

"Where'd you think it was?" Cas asked churlishly. They came to the end of the building where there was a door covered in graffiti. Cas stopped, casting careful glances around. There was a single, flickering light overhead that lit the area in a pale blue cast.

"I—I don't know," Dean replied, looking at the building and definitely not associating it with the room he remembered being stuck in eight months ago. "Jupiter? A blade of grass? Not... Van Nuys."

"Never mind the location of the room," Cas said seriously, his gaze intense and first going to Dean, and then Sam. "This is very risky. Are you two clear on the plan?"

"No, not really," Dean said. "You said you'd clear out the mooks and then we go in and grab the kids, but… I thought you said _before_ that the angels were too fast for you." He looked at the wound on Castiel's shoulder pointedly.

"They are," Cas replied matter-of-fact despite his stern expression. "But I'm going to try despite the odds. And if I can't fight them off… I have another way."

"What other way?" Sam asked, sounding very apprehensive.

Cas wordlessly began to take off his tie. "It's what you might call a long shot," he said.

"What... are you doing?" Sam asked, frowning at Cas. 

Castiel handed his tie to Sam without explanation. "Hold this." Sam took it and looked at it oddly, unsure.

"What's the other way?" Dean asked, also looking at the tie suspiciously.

Castiel reached into the pocket of his trench coat and pulled a box cutter out, looked at it sort of grimly, then slid the blade up with a few plastic sounding clicks. "This may be unpleasant for you to watch," Castiel said, and began unbuttoning his shirt.

Sam and Dean exchanged a look, baffled. "Whoa Cas, what's with the peep show?" Dean asked, but Cas said nothing, just pulled his dress shirt open. Both Sam and Dean jerked backwards slightly when Castiel sliced into himself, beginning to carve the shape of a circle into the skin of his torso.

"Whoa, hey, what—" Sam fumbled, clearly not sure if he should stand and watch or stop Cas.

Dean squinted, watching silently, beginning to recognize the shape being drawn in blood. "Are you… putting an _angel sigil_ on yourself?"

Castiel gave Dean a look that was almost sarcastic. "Yes." He then wordlessly returned to his work. There was a long silence, and the brothers looked at each other uncertainly.

"What will that do to you?" Sam finally asked, looking at Cas hesitantly.

Cas grimaced slightly as he turned the blade, pulled it upwards, cutting another line into himself. "I have no idea," he replied without stopping. "I don't think it's been attempted before. But in all likelihood, it will kill me."

Dean's expression fell. "Whoa, whoa, _whoa_ …" he was aghast. "Cas, buddy, let's back up a sec, look at our other options…"

Cas had finished carving and looked at Dean somberly. "There _are_ no other options, Dean." He looked at both of them in turn. "This _has_ to work. I go in there, clear out the guards—one way or another. You go in, spring the trap, distract Zachariah, Sam kills him with the blade I gave him. There can be no errors."

"You're really gonna risk your life for us again?" Dean asked, feeling sort of dazed by what was happening, looking at Cas and feeling confused.

"Yes," Cas replied, and looked at the other man meaningfully. "Don't let me down, Dean."

After the shit he'd put the angel through, the things he'd said to him, the way he'd tried to bully Cas away from his sister… most anyone else would have ditched long ago. Dean was beginning to realize he'd misjudged Cas. And even though Dean didn't approve of the angel's relationship with his sister, he couldn't deny that Castiel cared about her deeply. Enough to maybe die for a chance to save her. And that moved Dean to speechlessness.

"Cas—" Sam protested as the angel finished buttoning up his shirt.

"We don't have time to argue," Cas said, cutting him off. "I'll do my best to hold them off, defeat them. But if I can't... if I don't return…" he looked down, his voice softening. "Tell her that I'm sorry. And Sam…" he nodded almost imperceptibly at the tie. "Give that to her."

Sam's eyebrows moved together just slightly. "Why?"

Cas said nothing, just looked at Sam tensely, and then turned his attention to Dean. "Swear to me that you will never hurt her again, Dean."

Dean swallowed, feeling strange. It was like Cas knew he wasn't coming back. His voice faltered. "I-I won't, Cas." The angel looked at him long and hard, as if he were weighing the honesty of Dean's answer. He finally glanced at Sam.

"Keep her safe," Cas said. "Both of you. Don't give in to the angels." He went to the door and put a hand on the knob.

"Cas, buddy, you're talking like you aren't gonna come back from this," Dean said, halting Cas in his tracks.

The angel just looked back at both of them one last time and then wordlessly went into the warehouse.

* * *

"I'm so stupid," Adam groaned, "I wish I'd listened to you guys."

The two of them were sitting on the floor underneath the gigantic painting of some lady draped in flowy robes. Alex held a hand over her stomach, grimacing. Zachariah had put some nasty mojo on them, that was for sure.

She leaned her head back against the wall tiredly, then looked at Adam sidelong for a minute. She needed to set something straight with him. "Hey, the shit I said about you not being family and stuff to Zachariah? I was trying to get him to let you go. Didn't mean it." 

Adam looked at her then nodded through his pain. "Yeah. I know. Thanks for trying." He was trying to sound okay, but she could tell he was freaking out beneath the surface.

Alex took in a deep breath and let it out slow, looking up at the ceiling again. If she could get him to keep his head, things would go better for everyone. "We're gonna get out of here. Just remember what I told you to do."

Adam nodded and cringed, repositioning himself a little bit against the wall. "Yeah, okay I got it. If I can stand up. I feel really bad. Am I gonna die?"

"Nope," Alex replied immediately, trying to interject some humor into the situation. "You're not allowed."

That got a little smile from him.

"Dean'll be here soon," she told Adam, "and if not him, definitely Cas." She paused heavily, thought of Cas and how scared she'd been to see him there, facing down a bunch of angels all while he bled from his shoulder. And then she thought about Dean, hoping that she'd have enough time to stop him from saying yes. Her little hare-brained plan was pretty rickety, but it was better than nothing...

"But it's a trap," Adam protested, distracting her.

"They'll know that," she told him. They would.

Adam frowned. "And they'll come anyway?"

Did Adam really think there was an alternative? "Yeah. Of course."

Adam thought about that for a minute. "Must be nice to have people you know will always come for you," he said, looking down at the floor. He was introspective and quiet. "You know, I don't think I would have minded growing up with you guys," he said, then quickly tried to sound less emotional. "I mean, getting to kill stuff is cool." He paused, glanced at her. "And so is always having someone around."

"You had your mom though, right?" Alex asked, to which Adam shrugged crookedly, looking a little unwilling to discuss it. But he did so anyway after a brief silence.

"I mean. I dunno. She... wasn't around much, especially when I was school age." He looked at her, and Alex realized that maybe they were more similar than she'd assumed. "She was there but... she also wasn't. Sound familiar?" he asked, and maybe he was thinking the same thing, that they weren't as different as he'd thought.

"Yeah," she said slowly, thinking about Dad and feeling a twinge of understanding between her and Adam growing. "I'm sorry," she told Adam. She meant it. He looked at the ground glumly. Alex remained quiet a long minute. She understood loneliness. She understood wanting to be part of something you weren't part of at all. It inspired a surprising swell of compassion. Carefully, Alex reached over and let her fingers touch his shoulder for a second. Their eyes met. "Hey, when we get out of here... there's an extra seat in the Impala." Adam's expression flickered. Alex smiled almost playfully, trying to lighten the mood and be less uncomfortably serious. "I'll teach you everything I know, kid."

He matched her playful smile. "Sounds like a pretty short class," he joked. 

" _Pfft_ ," Alex coughed on a laugh, tasted more blood in her mouth.

They fell silent again, waiting. Alex looked at the little angel statuette that sat on the gilded table to her left. She was trying not to think about how badly this could end. Last she knew, Dean had disappeared and blasted Castiel away to kingdom come… where had Dean run to? If he had planned to say yes, why was Zachariah holding her and Adam? Something must have happened to change his mind, or maybe… maybe Cas stopped Dean from following through. Maybe Sam found him before he got far.

Alex hated not knowing. Sitting here helpless and useless was unbearable. Cas knew where she was and had told her he would be back for her—that was all she could bank on right now. She believed him. But she hated being a bargaining chip. She really would have turned her knife on herself and killed herself if she thought it would save half of the people on the planet. But that wasn't an option anymore. There was nothing to do but sit and wait and hope.

She heaved a huge, gusty breath, trying to expel some stress.

* * *

Quietly, Castiel entered into the dim warehouse for the second time that day. The door shut behind him and he moved forward slowly into the darkness, watchful and careful. This time, he knew what he was up against. His senses were all straining, his muscles tense. He held his blade in hand. He saw no one, but knew the angels were close. He could hear their thoughts; whispers on the very edge of his mind.

He came to the small structure within the warehouse where he knew the beautiful room was and then suddenly one of the whispering voices was loud, _close_ —and Castiel whirled, barely ducking and dodging the slash of a blade aimed for the back of his neck. Cas's hand shot out and grabbed the other angel, Enoch, by the wrist and twisted it backwards, stabbing him in the leg with his own blade. Enoch screamed even as he held on tightly to the blade and Cas yanked it out, stabbed down at Enoch's stomach. Falling down onto his back, Enoch resisted, held the blade away, but Castiel used every ounce of strength he had and put his weight behind it, rammed the blade downward into Enoch, who again screamed as the blade plunged into his vessel. His eyes and mouth filled with blue light, he collapsed dead underneath Castiel.

Cas stood up, his blade at his side, his shoulder ringing in renewed pain. He cast glances around, hearing the other angels whispering, growing closer. But they remained hidden. "You were warned not to return alone," came a deep voice, and Castiel turned quickly to see Hezion standing about twenty feet away, his blade at his side. His dark eyes glinted unreadably at Castiel. "Where is Dean Winchester?"

"Not coming," Cas replied darkly, sizing Hezion up, knowing that it would be nearly impossible for him to defeat this particular angel.

Hezion paused heavily, seeming to be let down by the information. He then raised his chin, looking at Castiel without any hint of emotion. "In that case, I've been ordered to kill you, Castiel. I'm sorry."

Castiel bristled. "You don't know the meaning of that word."

Hezion looked faintly unsure of Castiel's statement, but made no reply to it, only tossed his blade to his other hand. His eyebrows raised slightly. "I can't make promises, but I'll do my best to make it quick for your sake."

Castiel narrowed his eyes, realizing that the whispers of the angels were closer now. He glanced over his shoulder—Daniel was there, closing in slowly. Castiel turned in a small, tight circle. The other angels—Ishmael, Sabriel, Gadish, Zipporah—were all closing in, surrounding Cas on all sides. His gaze swept over them, he turned back to face Hezion, who was slowly coming closer. Cas knew that he had no chance against them if they all attacked him at once. He would have fought them to the death had they attacked one by one—but it was clear, now, what they planned to do. Outnumber him completely. Cas realized he was forced into using what he had planned as his last resort.

He thought of his promises to Alex, his assurances that he would never leave her, the commitment he had made to protect her. Guilt washed over him at the thought of him breaking his word to her, leaving her alone, perhaps forever, should this kill him.

 _I don't want you to leave me,_ she had told him tearfully just a couple days ago. _You don't understand. I lose everyone. Everyone._

Her words echoed in every part of him. As did his promise to always stay. 

The knowledge that he was doing this to _save_ her was the only thing that made it possible for him to continue. This was sacrifice, and she was worthy of it. Drawing himself up to face destiny, he dropped his blade to the floor where it thudded loudly, echoing. Castiel's shoulders were heaving, he glanced between Hezion and Daniel almost angrily. "What are you waiting for?" he demanded, taunting them to come closer, then glancing to his side at Sabriel. " _Come on_."

And they all came rushing in, blades held high. With blazing speed Castiel ripped open his shirt and smashed his palm into the center of the sigil. He instantly erupted into blazing light, wind, and fury as the angels screamed protest.

His last thought, as everything burned to sunlight, was of her.

* * *

"What was that noise?!" Adam asked, startled.

Alex had heard it too—it had been like the sound of a high pitched explosion and a blast of wind. Her adrenaline kicked up a few notches. She shook her head tensely. "Dunno."

They looked at each other uncertainly. They were both weak and tired from the blood loss. Suddenly, one of the walls _opened_ like a door and Dean was rushing in. Shocked at the sight of him, Alex could only stare for a second. She noticed that his face was messed up, like he'd been beat to hell and back.

"Hey. Hey," he said, coming to them urgently, dropping to a knee. "You two okay?"

"It's a trap, Dean!" Adam sputtered, trying to get to his feet and grabbing and dragging Alex up with him. Dean stood with them, his hands on their arms as he cast glances around.

"Yeah, I got that memo," he said tersely.

"Well, _finally_!" came a new voice, and Dean whirled around to face Zachariah, who had suddenly appeared right behind him.

"Zachariah," Dean said, standing between the angel and his siblings. "I should have known you were gonna show your ugly ass face."

"Yeah, you should have!" Zachariah said, smiling widely, looking at Dean mockingly. "Did you really think it would be that easy?"

"Did _you_?" Dean challenged cooly. Sam came out of nowhere at Zachariah from behind, an angel blade raised high—but Zachariah turned around at blazing speeds and knocked it out of his hand, throwing Sam against the decorative room divider.

The second the angel turned around, Alex screamed " _now_ , Adam!"

And with what little strength he had, Adam tore the big painting they'd been sitting beneath off of the wall, revealing an angel sigil drawn in his and Alex's blood. Alex slammed her palm down onto it, turning to look over her shoulder just in time to see Zachariah's dumb, slack-jawed look of shock as he became a haze of light that burst and then disappeared completely.

The room went still into silence. Dean was shocked. On the floor, Sam stared.

Alex looked at them breathlessly. " _What_?" she asked at their expressions. "You think I was gonna let you say _yes_?" she grimaced, spit more blood out, sick to her stomach.

"I was… I was gonna kill him," Dean said lamely, like she'd spoiled his big plan and Alex just gave him a look, leaned against the table for support as Adam bent over, a hand on each knee.

Sam stood up, wincing a little, and as Alex looked at Dean, then Sam, her eyebrows drew close together. "Wait. Where's Cas?"

Sam's expression flickered and something about it seemed to strike her as foreboding. She looked at Dean for an explanation and he wouldn't look back at her. Alex looked at him with a suddenly horrible feeling. "W-where is he?" the brothers looked at each other silently, then back at her, said nothing.

"Listen, Al…" Dean went toward her, she backed up, looked at him mistrustfully, and he stopped short.

Sam, who was up now, glanced at Dean fleetingly, went to his sister and put a gentle arm around her. "Let's get outta here, huh?" he asked, looking around at the room apprehensively.

"But…" she trailed off. Normally she'd probably be pummeling him for answers, but the way he and Dean had looked at each other, the way Sam's expression had wavered when she asked where Cas was… she became blank and wordless.

"Can you walk?" Dean asked Adam, who nodded and said yeah.

Sam led his sister toward the exit of the room. Beyond it was the interior of a dark warehouse, and Alex looked up at the side of Sam's face, feeling woozier. "Sam, where is he?" she asked faintly.

"Just, let's get you outta here, okay?" Sam repeated himself, not giving her an answer, walking with her out of the beautiful room and into the dark, dingy warehouse. Why wouldn't he answer her?

And that's when Alex spotted a single, discarded, silver blade about ten feet away. Her heart dropped and she froze. _Oh no._ Without another thought, she tore away from Sam, staggered to the blade, and weakly dropped to her knees to pick it up. "Is... is this his?"

Sam's reluctant, grim expression was all the confirmation she needed and she looked around wildly, then back at her brother. "W-where is he?" she asked, because he couldn't just be _gone_...!

Sam approached her hesitantly, as if he were trying not to set her off. "We don't know. He… he made it possible for us to get you out."

Alex looked at the blade, not understanding. Feeling blindsided. Remembering, just a few hours ago, Cas's arms around her, holding her close, silently promising that they would never let her go. And now this big empty cold nothing, this blade covered in blood and Sam refusing to tell her where Castiel was. Her violent, uneven heartbeat was choking her. She looked up at Sam in shock. "Is… is he _dead_?" she managed just barely, clenching the blade tightly to herself. 

Sam knelt down beside her, put a hand on her shoulder and was very, very gentle. "Shh, hey, _hey_ , don't think about that. Listen. He carved an angel sigil onto himself to get rid of all the guards. So I mean, he's hopefully fine, right?" 

Alex stared down at the blade in sickened silence, unable to agree with her brother for even a single second. She felt, deeper than deep, that Cas was _not_ fine. She couldn't find words, she almost felt like she would pass out. But Sam was taking her by either arm.

"Come here, come on," Sam guided gently, standing her up. "We need to get out of here."

He helped her walk out of the warehouse. She would have no memory of how they got from the warehouse to the car they stole, such was her distress.

* * *

The two angels stood on the deck of an expensive yacht at sunset. They stood at the railing, side by side in silence. The boat was still, idling on a gentle tide. Zachariah cleared his throat nervously, glancing over Michael. Here, in some rich dead guy's Heaven, Zachariah saw Michael as who he had last been—John Winchester from 1979. And he didn't look happy. He had his hands clasped together on the railing, and even though he leaned casually, his hands were tight enough that the knuckles were whitened. "So, yet again, Zachariah," Michael finally said. "You've failed to obtain my vessel."

"Dean's... just not cooperating," Zachariah said hesitatingly, choosing his words carefully, deeply afraid that he would be fired, _literally,_ for his failures. "Believe me boss, I tried, I did, but I'll do better next time, just—"

"Save your simpering for another day, Zachariah," Michael told him bluntly. He glared out at the ocean for a moment. "Didn't I tell you this was your final chance?"

"Yes," Zachariah replied faintly, trying to think of a way to get out of this, but realizing that there really wasn't one. He was probably as good as dead now. Michael was _pissed_. As soon as Zachariah had recovered from being blasted away by that _bitch_ Alex Winchester, Michael had pulled him here against his will. This was not good.

"Listen," Michael said finally. "I prefer to do things by the book. You know that. But I recognize that time is short and my options are all but nonexistent." He paused and looked over at Zachariah levelly. "Dean is stubborn. More stubborn than we thought. And now that you let our only leverage over him get away… we have even less to work with than we did before."

Zachariah watched Michael nervously. This felt like the prelude to an ass kicking.

"We're running out of time," Michael continued levelly, spreading his hands wide over the railing as he looked over the tranquil ocean again. "Lucifer is close to obtaining his vessel—very close. I need mine. I trusted you with an important task, Zachariah. And you've let me down." 

Zachariah wasn't too proud to beg, and he realized now was the time. "Gimme one more chance, Michael. I'll, I'll—" Zachariah recoiled under Michael's sidelong restrained glare. "We—we offer to bring his mom back, his dad," Zachariah fumbled, trying to prove himself useful, trying to think of _anything_. "I can get the sister again, maybe even one or both of the brothers!"

" _Can_ you?" Michael challenged stoically. "As I recall, you tried and failed for months to do that. You had them for, what, the span of a few small hours today before you lost them again. No." Michael raised his chin a little, looking down his nose at the other angel. "And besides. Dean resisted you the last time you reduced his siblings to bleeding lumps on the floor," he pointed out, reminding Zachariah of when he'd tricked the Winchesters into going to their father's old storage building. Zachariah had made all three of them suffer, had practically killed Sam, but Dean had _still_ said no. Michael looked at Zachariah patronizingly. "Why did you think the same tactic would work _this_ time?"

"I mean, I thought that I could—" Zachariah began.

"Dean Winchester is a wasted labor," Michael cut in sharply. "Even if you hadn't been blown away by the two youngest ones, do you really think he would have said _yes_? I've grown tired of his refusals to cooperate, his game of hide and seek. I don't have _time_ for it any longer."

Zachariah remained silent, unsure if saying anything else would help or harm him. He was completely at Michael's mercy right now and felt the scales tipping steeply against his favor. "I'm going to give you one final chance, Zachariah. If you do what I say, you'll be rewarded. If not, you'll be stripped of every power you've ever had."

Zachariah tried not to wince under Michael's intimidating, penetrating gaze. "I'm—I'm in," he said, because he knew he didn't have another choice. "Just tell me what to do."

Michael looked at him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. "Adam Milligan is the only option left. He's not preferable, but he's better than what I have right now. Which is, as you might remember… _nothing_."

"But... I thought it had to be Dean," Zachariah protested slowly, thinking back to the prophecy.

"The Lord works in mysterious ways," Michael murmured. He glanced at the other angel fleetingly. "Do you believe that, brother?"

"Uh yeah, of course," Zachariah replied automatically.

"I do too," Michael said in distant thoughtfulness. "Perhaps this is one of these mysterious ways. Perhaps our father is testing my ability to adapt to unpredictable situations." Michael straightened up.

Zachariah looked at him in confusion. "But—but what about—"

" _Enough_!" Michael suddenly exclaimed, and off in the distance, thunder rumbled. The sky had darkened, Michael seemed several inches taller and wider. Zachariah was quiet for a long moment and the Archangel's expression faded back into calm indifference. The sky returned to a soft rosy orange. 

"Now," Michael continued in carefully restrained calm. "Dean was my plan all along. But Adam... is accessible." He heaved a heavy breath. Zachariah felt a great amount of dread rising up inside. Adam was _not_ accessible, not anymore. But Michael seemed to think he was. "I have a way to convince Adam to say yes... but I'll need your help making it happen."

Withering a little, sheepish almost but mostly just afraid, Zachariah hesitated. "Uh, I dunno, he was gung-ho about saying yes there at the beginning but… then I, uh..." Zach laughed nervously, a high-pitched, pathetic sound. "Circumstances unfortunately were not to his liking and uh…" Zachariah decided to cut the BS. "I pissed him off royally." He tried to keep himself light and joking, hoping Michael's anger would stay at bay, that maybe the archangel would value Zachariah's forthcoming truthfulness. "I think the kid would rather eat shit than have anything to do with Heaven right now, to be honest with you."

Michael chuckled, as if he knew something the other angel didn't. "Don't worry, Zachariah," he said confidently. "Nothing you could have said to him will change the fact that he's ours already."

Zachariah frowned, tried to follow Michael's logic. "How?"

They weren't on the yacht anymore. They were in some other Heaven, a small kitchen. A woman with blonde hair was making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, humming to herself, smiling. She was oblivious to the angels, who remained hidden from her. She wiped her hands on her apron then turned around. "Adam, sweetie, sandwich is ready!" she called, then laughed when a little blonde boy bounded into the kitchen, flapping his arms in excitement.

Michael smiled softly, looked at Zachariah. "His mother. I have a new plan for her. I have a way to use her that we didn't think of before."

* * *

_Alex woke up slowly, in a pleasant fog of sleepiness. When had she dozed off? Her head rested on Cas's bare chest, his arms enveloped her, she rested in the rhythm of his steady breathing. Underneath her ear, she could hear his steady thudding heartbeat. "Hello," he said softly as she raised her head and looked up at him. His face was soft and boyish, relaxed. She remembered everything: Bobby's attic, the lovemaking, how he'd held her and traced patterns of fascination across the skin of her shoulders as she'd drifted off..._

_She smiled almost sheepishly. He was warm and they were still naked under the trench coat together. "Hello," she echoed._

And now? Now Alex was in the back seat of some stolen car, not even remembering how she'd gotten there or how long they'd been driving. Adam was beside her, Dean was driving, Sam was silent in the front seat. Where was Cas? It had been hours, days, weeks since they left the warehouse she thought. Or it felt that way. She wasn't sure, she felt sick all over. She kept telling herself: Cas will reappear soon. He'll call us and angel himself over and all of this sick worrying will have been over nothing.

 _After she'd said hello back, she'd asked him how long she'd been asleep. A few hours, he'd said, looking at her with this soft, deep gaze. She remembered feeling strange, shy, beautiful, part of a moment she for once in her life really_ belonged _in, there with Cas in the attic, in the space that was theirs alone, created by what they'd found in each other's arms._

Now she was cold, far away from that place she only had with him. He was missing, he was lost, and she knew it, felt it deep down past her bones. If he didn't reappear soon, if he didn't call soon, she would know her worst fear was true. She held his blade tightly in her lap, unable to think about how she would even begin to cope with losing Cas forever. She squeezed her eyes shut, remembering. 

_He ran his hand down her arm, looking at it in deep, distracted thought. "Alex," Castiel finally had said softly, his eyebrows pressing in together just a little bit as his eyes sought out hers. The look on his face had stilled her, she felt like he was about to give her bad news, like he was about to tell her something that scared him. He swallowed, searching her eyes. "My feelings for you are... well, they've become..." he paused, thinking his word choice over. "I think... that I—" he began._

_And when she realized what he was about to say—that he was in love with her or that he loved her—she scrambled to cut him off. "D-don't," she protested, suddenly caught up in fear._

_Castiel obeyed, but looked slightly wounded. Alex regretted her gut-punch reaction of fear. "I… I know you do." She paused tersely, wracked with anxiety. "You just, you don't have to say it out loud," she said tightly, and ducked his open, questioning gaze. She became quiet, looking down and feeling a little mortified with herself. It almost felt like a curse to say that you loved someone out loud. She looked back up at him, not able to say the words themselves and not able to let him speak them either. She was much too afraid.  
_

Alex opened her eyes back up to the dark, unfamiliar car. Beside her, Adam shifted and she could feel him looking at her. Dean and Sam kept glancing back, too. It was like they knew something she didn't. Like they had already decided that Cas wasn't coming back.

She stared into nothing and felt nothing.

It began to rain outside, heavily.

She wished she'd told Cas the truth. _I love you._

It was too late now.


	38. Things Fall Apart

" _One by one, hollow heroes separate as they run."_  
\- Breaking Benjamin

* * *

**Barstow, California**

The server set down four plates at the booth. "Get you guys anything else?" she asked.

"I think we're good, thanks," Sam told her, giving a wan, distracted attempt at a smile. The server told them to let her know if they needed anything else then left them to it.

It was still raining outside as they sat at the twenty-four-seven diner. It was early, like _crack of dawn_ early—they'd driven in silence for about two hours after leaving Van Nuys in the stolen car. Sam was trying to keep himself together mentally at this point. He was bone-tired exhausted, run ragged, and not sure what the hell was happening right now.

He glanced across the table at Dean. The oldest Winchester was already stuffing his face, taking huge, rude bites of his breakfast sandwich. Usually food always got Dean in a better mood, but right now, he was eating like it was a job he wasn't happy to be doing. Beside him, Adam was about to start on his sausage and biscuits, glancing around uncomfortably, obviously feeling a little awkward and cautious, unsure about the situation he'd abruptly found himself in. Sam couldn't blame him. Suddenly stuck on the road with your family—but a family you didn't even know at all. Add the angel drama onto the top of all that and it was a wonder Adam was being as calm and composed as he was.

Beside Sam, Alex had picked up her fork and pushed her scrambled eggs around her plate a couple times. She'd been really quiet the whole time since Van Nuys. It was hard to tell what exactly she was thinking or going through—but upset was definitely one clear emotion. Sam stared down at his eggs and toast. He didn't feel hungry, but he made himself eat. The four of them ate in the increasingly stilted silence. Sam could barely stomach his food. He hadn't talked with his older brother yet about everything that had happened over the past forty-eight hours or so, but he knew he needed to. He thought about Dean picking fights, taking off, being unwilling to cooperate or listen to reason, running away after hurting Alex and Cas alike… it was all horrible and nerve-wracking, but the thing Sam felt most uncertain about was the sudden one-eighty Dean had done, promising not to say yes after being so adamant about not saying no any longer. It was confusing as hell and Sam wasn't sure what to believe anymore. All he knew was that he didn't want to confront Dean about it yet—not with Alex and Adam present.

It all made for some very high strung nerves. Sam didn't like being without a gameplan—they'd settled on 'going back to Bobby's,' but what after that? Was Dean really anti-Michael again? Were they going to band together and fight this thing after Dean had given him that grand speech in the panic room about saying yes on _their_ terms? Sam had a bad feeling about this whole thing... and with the sudden addition of Adam, who was quiet, watchful, and cautious of them—everything felt a little bit claustrophobic. Sam glanced at Dean at the exact second his brother happened to look up at him.

" _What_?" Dean asked defensively through a mouthful of food.

"Nothing," Sam hedged, then made himself take another bite of his eggs. For another minute, there was no more talking—just silverware clinking and Adam drinking up the last of his Coke through a straw. There was a loud, sputtering sucking sound.

Immediately irritated, Sam gave him a look like _cut that out_. Adam stopped, cleared his throat, set his cup down, then glanced around at everyone at the table. "So. Uh. What do we do now?" he asked, maybe figuring that if no one else was gonna talk broach the subject, he would. Sam looked at Dean who said nothing, just chewed a huge mouthful and gave Sam a look like he was silently saying _your turn_. Adam looked between the two brothers a little suspiciously, sensing the discord. "Something you're not telling me?"

"Everything's fine," Sam said, trying to avoid any conversation that was too deep. "Eat your breakfast."

Maybe he came across too brusque or maybe Adam didn't like the tone of Sam's voice. Either way, Adam's expression became guarded and a little bit offended. "Everything's _fine_?" He grew sullen. "I may not be one of the _gang_ but you don't have to _lie_ to me."

Frustrated at himself and the situation, Sam backpedaled. "Sorry Adam, it's just… I don't _know_ what's next, okay?"

"So we figure it out." Adam said, maybe trying to be helpful, but instead just getting on Sam's nerves. "I mean like it or not, I'm part of this now."

Yeah, maybe he was, but it wasn't that simple. Sam heaved a deep breath. Adam was coming in kind of late into this situation and how could Sam even _begin_ to explain what they were really up against? They hadn't even told Adam about how Sam was Lucifer's vessel. The kid might think he knew the situation, but the truth was he _didn't_ —he _couldn't_ have unless he'd lived through it with all of them.

At that point, Alex mumbled something about the bathroom and got up, leaving the boys to themselves.

"She okay?" Adam asked after a couple beats, watching her retreating form for a second before looking at Sam. "Seems messed up."

"She'll be fine," Sam said, but it was an automatic answer, one he gave only to close the subject. He had no idea if Alex were okay or not. Adam seemed to sense that Sam was shutting him down and left it alone, making a face then taking one more bite of his breakfast sausage. He sat back, tossed his crumpled napkin down onto the plate, then stood up and excused himself, heading to the bathroom too.

 _Thank god._ The second Adam was out of earshot, Sam leaned forward to Dean, seizing the opportunity. But before he could even open his mouth, Dean cut him off. "Look man, I know what you're gonna say, so don't even bother." He didn't look Sam in the eye, not fully.

Sam moved back slightly, looked at Dean as if to ask oh _really_?

"I changed my mind, okay? For real. I'm not saying yes." Dean said, his tone forceful. He took in a breath and set his coffee down, still not looking at Sam. "I guess I owe you guys an apology," he said grudgingly.

Sam looked at his brother in disbelief. "An apology," he repeated. "Dean, you need to do a little better than an _apology_."

"What, you want a cookie too?" Dean asked sarcastically, finally looking at his brother. He gave a shrug like he was out of ideas. "I mean, what else am I supposed to do? I said I'm sorry, now we move forward."

Sam was frustrated to put it mildly. "Hey, you know what?" he leaned closer, his quiet voice sharp. "I don't _trust_ you right now and even if you really _are_ sorry, that doesn't do much for me." He didn't bother to hide how pissed he was. "What if you 'change your mind' again, huh? I can't take that chance." Sam leaned forward even more, his tone intense. "I need you to convince me that you're not gonna run off again or pull any more crazy crap like you have the past couple days. I can't let you run this show if you're gonna go AWOL again."

Annoyed and maybe a little convicted, Dean was getting defensive. "I'm _not_ , okay?"

"Swear," Sam replied intensely.

"I swear," Dean replied immediately, half rolling his eyes, like he was just trying to get Sam off of his back.

Sam looked at him steadily, seriously. "Swear it on Mom."

Dean's expression fell, he blinked a couple times, stunned. "Sam—"

Sam cut him off. "I mean it, Dean."

Dean's lips pursed out slightly. He was clearly not excited about it, but he did what Sam asked, and this time he sounded more like he meant it too. "Okay fine. I swear. On Mom's grave." He seemed to resent Sam for bringing Mom into it, though. "You happy now?"

Not really. Sam didn't feel much better. His fears were not abated much at all.

Dean looked at him intently, like he was seeing how hard a time Sam was having. He relented a little. "Listen, there's gotta be another way, and we're gonna find it."

Sam bristled at his brother's statement. "That's what I've been trying to _tell_ you," he retorted.

Dean sat back in the booth, spreading his arms. "Well I'm listening now, so what've you got?"

Sam faltered. "Uh—" Adam returned and Sam glanced at him as he slid in beside Dean again. "I dunno, maybe we start asking around where we haven't yet? Shamans, mystics, psychics? Someone's gotta know something."

Dean looked uninspired. "Maybe. No one's known jack squat before, but hey. No leaf unturned, right?" It was hard to tell if he were _trying_ to sound cynical or if he just felt that way. But he pinched the bridge of his nose briefly and reached for his coffee, pushing some obvious fatigue away. "I'll call Bobby in a few, see if there's anyone out in this area before we head back."

"We're going on a hunt?" Adam asked, perking up.

"An _information_ hunt," Dean replied a little sarcastically, his eyes darting toward Adam sidelong. "I hope you like long car rides and frustration, kid."

Sam sipped at his coffee, hoping it would start to work soon. But knowing himself, he knew that he'd need like three shots of espresso to jolt him to clarity at this point. He set the mug down. It was getting hard to keep morale going right now. He was just tired. He'd never been so tired before in his life. This was beyond hard. For a few minutes they waited around while Sam ate the rest of his breakfast and Adam hunched down in the seat, staring vacantly out at the restaurant dining room. Dean worked on finishing his coffee.

Finished with his food, Sam glanced back toward the bathrooms, realizing that Alex had been gone awhile now. For a minute, he contemplated whether or not he should go check on her. Usually he wouldn't but… after what had happened today, he felt a sudden, strong pull deep down urging him to make sure she was okay.

Listening to his instincts, Sam told Adam and Dean "I'll be back in a sec," and went to the back of the restaurant, hesitated, then knocked on the women's bathroom door lightly. This was kind of awkward. There was no answer from inside. He knocked on the door again, a little louder, clearing his throat. "Uh, Alex? You okay?"

No reply.

 _Ah geez._ This was sort of awkward. He nudged the door open, peeked inside, hoping no one saw him and thought he was a creeper. It was a bathroom with multiple stalls, all of which looked open and empty. He heard a weird hiccuping, gasping sound, and peered around the door to get a better view of the room and then he saw his sister was at the sink, bracing herself there, her hands gripping either side of the shining porcelain—her phone was forgotten in one hand as she bent over the sink—had she been trying to call Cas? She was staring down unseeingly, hyperventilating almost, her expression blank and shocked. She looked pale, like she'd been sick, and without a second thought, Sam went to her quickly, helping her to stay standing. He was alarmed at how bad she looked. "Hey whoa, whoa whoa whoa, just breathe," he told his twin, who shook her head, staring at the space in front of her.

"I'm not… I'm…" she didn't seem to be able to form coherent sentences, and realizing that she was shaking, Sam guided her over to the adjascent wall, helping her sit down with her back against it. He crouched in front of her, holding her by the arms steadily.

"Listen to me," he told her, trying to get her to look at him. "Breathe in and out, okay? Everything's gonna be fine."

He felt his sister grabbing onto the arms of his jacket, her eyes were squeezed shut now, she was panicking, but clearly trying to regain control. And Sam remembered the last time he'd seen her this way: the day that Dean was shredded by Hellhounds. It had started like this, then ended in a full-blown panic attack. "You're all right, it's okay," Sam coaxed urgently, trying to be soothing and calming even though he was freaked out to see how she was escalating. He could see her fighting herself, trying to calm down, and he put a hand on her head, gripping firmly. "Hey, _hey_ , stay here with me, breathe. In and out. That's good."

Her eyes opened up finally and his heart broke a little bit at the pain in her eyes. "He's _gone_ ," she said, her voice a pathetic, rasping whisper. "Just gone, and I don't… under… stand…"

"Hey—" Sam tried to smile encouragingly, but it was more sad than anything else. "Give it a little time before you decide he's gone for good, okay?"

She searched his gaze and it seemed like she was thinking a thousand things but couldn't say any of them. She looked down again, expression twisting up into almost physical pain as she tried to regulate her breathing. Sam suddenly remembered something and he fished around in his coat pocket, drawing out the tie that Cas had given to him before he disappeared. Maybe it would help.

"He told me to give this to you," Sam said quietly, catching her attention.

She looked down, saw the tie, and her face went slack.

"I think... he wanted you to keep it for him until he got back," Sam said, thinking that maybe this would give her the hope that Sam didn't really have—he'd seen how resigned Cas had been, how he'd looked like he was knowingly walking into his death. But Sam couldn't stand to tell his sister that, and maybe, just _maybe_ Cas had been wrong. Maybe he _would_ be back.

Alex didn't do anything for a second, just looked oddly at the tie in Sam's hand before she reached out and took it carefully. She looked like she was remembering something, like she was dazed. She seemed confused now and unsure. But at least she was breathing normally and not about to have a breakdown.

"You okay?" Sam asked, appraising her carefully. "Wanna stand up?"

Alex stared at the blue tie in her hand, realizing Sam had asked her a question. She shook her head very slowly, avoiding Sam's gaze. "Just… give me a few minutes?" She felt him hesitate. "I'll... be out in a few," she murmured faintly. "I'm okay."

Sam obviously didn't like it, but he respected her request and nodded, gave her arm an affectionate, supportive squeeze and stood up, leaving the bathroom with a couple of reluctant backward glances.

The room became silent except for the _drip drip_ of the leaking faucet. Alex ran her thumb over the texture of the tie slowly. She thought back to yesterday afternoon in Bobby's attic.

_She was decent again—wearing her underwear and her tank top once more, covered enough that she didn't feel awkward. Castiel sat on the edge of the bed, his back to her as he put his socks and shoes back on—he was wearing his pants again but was shirtless, and Alex was studying his back carefully. The tattoo of the cross that had been across his shoulder blade was gone completely—had she imagined it? She swore she remembered seeing it when she'd met Jimmy Novak—that the guy had even told her something about it being some college-era tattoo he'd regretted. So why wasn't it there anymore?_

_Finally, Alex asked Cas about it. He hesitated, thoughtful, then told her he hadn't liked the tattoo personally, that he'd removed it some time ago. She was surprised._ He really is claiming this body as his own, _she'd thought. She'd looked at him quietly, watching him pull his shirt back on from the side of her eyes, never over the fact that she got to see him like that. She had gotten a little flustered and busied herself by picking up his tie from off of the floor beside the bed, and that's when she saw that Cas had put his shoes onto the wrong feet.  
_

_He'd been confused at her sudden outburst of giggling laughter, and she'd pointed out that the shoes were on the wrong feet. Castiel commented that the shoes looked so alike, it was hard to tell… and she watched him switch the shoes and then tie those endearingly bad little lopsided bows he tied. She didn't want him to ever tie knots differently than he did—she loved the strange, clueless way he did things._

_While Cas buttoned his shirt back up, Alex had jokingly held his tie against herself and asked if it looked good on her. He'd paused his work and had seemed to be puzzled at her question, telling her that he didn't think women wore ties, traditionally. He'd said it with wide eyes and a just-trying-to-be-helpful expression that unexpectedly melted her heart._

_Alex put his tie back on him carefully once he was done buttoning his shirt. She knotted the tie neatly for him (thanks to years of practice when helping Dean play FBI), but made sure it was backwards, just like he always wore it. He'd watched her do it and softly told her, "I never want to forget this moment with you."_

She held onto the tie tightly—this remaining piece of fabric was more than clothing, it was a part of Cas, and that thought ripped open the painful tear in her heart even further—he'd slipped out of her grasp. Where was he? Was he even alive?

Sam and Dean didn't think he was coming back. Even though they weren't saying it, she saw it written clearly on their faces.

Alex could barely even begin to think about how to feel—she wanted to fall away from herself, be somewhere else, to be some _one_ else. She felt _nothing_ , she felt _everything_ , she was suddenly alone in a way she'd never been alone before. There was this emptiness, this utter fear and dread in the pit of her stomach, making her sick all over.

She hated herself for the uncontrollable panic she was fighting, she hated herself for being so afraid that he was _never coming back_.

* * *

**Nothing, Arizona**

"Are you coming?" Dean asked.

Alex looked up in confusion. The car they'd stolen—a Ford Explorer—was parked, she was the only one in the SUV—where were Sam and Adam? Dean had opened her door for her and he was looking at her in expectancy and slight concern.

"Coming where?"

His concern deepened by a few fractions. "…inside?"

Inside _where_? She leaned her head to the side, looked around—where were they? It looked like the middle of the desert—they were parked beside some ramshackle highway shop that looked like it'd been chewed up and spit out. She saw Sam waiting a little ways off in the middle of the parking lot with his hands in his pockets. Adam had his arms crossed. They were both squinting in bright noonday sun.

"...Weren't you listening when I was on the phone with Bobby a couple hours back?" Dean asked, and at her silence, he spoke like he was repeating himself. "We're gonna see about some mystic guru chick out here…? Name of Aura...? Her place was on the way back to Bobby's...? Figured it was worth a shot...?" He paused. "Any of that ring a bell?" He looked at her dubiously when she said nothing. "You _seriously_ don't remember me telling you this a few hours ago?"

Well, no, she didn't. Her memories of the day so far seemed inaccessible and dreamlike, she couldn't put the details together and she didn't want to. She made a faint and dejected little groaning sound, looking down as she shook her head. "Of course I remember," she lied, afraid he'd think what she did: she was crazy.

Dean was silent for a minute. When he spoke again, it was softer, apprehensive. "Al... you're really starting to worry me. You okay?"

Of _course_ he would be able to see straight through her dishonesty. Alex looked at her oldest brother and wanted to feel the passion of anger she'd had for him just a few hours ago—the hatred she'd felt for his choices and his actions toward her. But now, so sad and scared, she instead just looked away, feeling nothing about Dean, _nothing_.

Her brother looked at her for a long moment then stood back a little, making room for her to exit. "Get out of the car, can you?" he asked, and Alex guessed she could and vacantly swung her legs over the side of the seat and out onto the ground below. She got out. Her limbs felt odd and she wondered briefly if she were in mild physical shock. She was light-headed and her pulse was fast, unpleasantly so.

" _Look_ ," Dean's voice said beside her somewhere. He sounded heartfelt, kind, and slightly pleading. His hand touched the back of her arm gently. He said something like _don't give up, I raised you better than that._ Listening was hard right now. She could barely focus, but she told him _okay_. Just to get him to shut up.

He said something else but it seemed muffled, she couldn't hear anything but the word _sorry_ very well.

"Okay?" he asked gently.

She nodded, rattled because she had no idea what she was agreeing to. "Okay."

Dean looked at her a minute longer, not convinced. He let it go either way, motioning with a sigh for her to go with him. She put one foot in front of the other, trying really hard to get out of the weird fog she was in.

Adam watched Dean and Alex come toward where he and Sam waited. Something was wrong with her and it was obvious. The way she was acting, you'd think the trenchcoat guy died.

...Maybe he had.

"Shall we?" Dean asked gruffly, and proceeded to lead the rest of the way across the cracking weed-choked parking lot.

Adam had high hopes for what they were about to do: meet some sort of psychic lady who, according to the Bobby guy, might know something that could help with the Winchester's efforts to stop the apocalypse. It sounded cool, the idea of a psychic. But what Adam wasn't sure about was _why_ Dean and Sam were so dead set on stopping Michael's apparent mission to kill the devil.

It seemed like killing the devil once and for all would be a _good_ thing, right? The world was full of billions of people, and, you know, if a couple million had to die so that Satan was gone forever… it wasn't the _best_ trade, no, but _still._ It was the devil. You'd expect there to be a little fallout.

Adam glanced up at the billboard that loomed over the parking lot—it proclaimed _NOTHING_ in block letters. It was sort of eerie, really. And this seemed like a really weird place to find answers. It was out in the middle of the Mojave desert along Highway 93—which was just one endless, flat, straight highway with desert on either side. There was nothing and no one for miles. This little 'town' Nothing was named well. The only building there was one low, flat yellow shack with a sign in front of it, hand painted, that said _ALL MART_. A bunch of junk was piled next to it. The side of the building had been messily painted by hand and advertised " _crystals - divination - herbs and remedies - incense - specialty tea - spiritual supplies_."

"Oh good, _spiritual supplies_ ," Dean commented wryly, pulling the dirty glass door open. A bell jingled as they entered.

Inside the little shop it was dim and musty. It smelled like a vitamin shop, there was some sort of indescribable _feeling_ to the air... and Adam didn't like it. A woman who looked to be of Middle Eastern descent was sitting behind a counter. She seemed surprised to see them, looking up at them from a teacup she'd been studying. She had graying hair braided straight down her back and she wore a wildly patterned, colorful dress, she had many jingling bracelets stacked on her wrists. A red third eye was pressed into the space just above the gap in her eyebrows. She set her teacup down and rose to meet them. Adam could see that the cup had no tea in it, just a bunch of… brown stuff.

Hanging back, Adam squinted. "What's she doing?" he asked Alex in a low whisper. His half-sister seemed far away mentally, but when he asked her that, she came back, at least for a minute.

"Uh…" Alex looked, craned her neck, and then muttered her reply under her breath. "Tea leaves. You know. Hippie stuff." No, Adam didn't know. But he guessed he'd learned something.

Sam and Dean approached the woman behind the counter.

"Are you… Aura?" Sam asked.

The woman was briefly surprised. "I'm Rosemary." She looked at them both carefully, then Alex and Adam. "Aura is my daughter. Have you come seeking her divine truths?"

"Uh yeah," Dean said, trying a smile, coming across as facetious. "That."

"Hmm." Rosemary paused heavily, sounding reluctant, looking at the four of them skeptically. "Tomorrow might be better..."

"Lady, we're here _today._ " Dean retorted impatiently.

Rosemary seemed to decide she disliked him after that comment, rising from her seat stiffly without taking her mildly harder eyes off Dean. "Let me see if she's accepting inquiries today."

"We'll wait here," Sam said, attempting a crooked, charming smile, trying to smooth over his brother's rudeness. With another skeptical glance, Rosemary disappeared into beaded curtain that hung in the doorway behind the counter. Sam gave Dean a look to which Dean huffed impatiently and turned around, glancing around the little shop dubiously.

"Look at all this new agey _crap_ ," he muttered. "Crystals, incense, psychic powders? How's this place stay afloat way out here in nowhere land? Who _buys_ this stuff?"

"No one," Alex said quietly, holding up her index finger, which was gray with dust. "None of this stuff has been moved in years."

"Hmm," Sam looked around, his eyes narrowing steeply as he began to closely peer at the shop contents. All of it was dusty, just like Alex had pointed out. "Interesting..."

Dean began tapping the counter impatiently. "Dude this is a bust lead," he muttered. "I can already feel it."

Sam picked up a little jar labeled _vervain_ and squinted at it, halfway scoffing. "Bobby seemed to think this girl might know something, Dean, give it a chance."

They waited for about five full minutes. Dean grew more and more impatient, casting hooded glances at his sister and brother, not really paying any attention to Adam, who contented himself to poke around the weird shop.

Rosemary finally reappeared—and right behind her came a very young woman, perhaps just out of her teenage years. She was clearly Rosemary's daughter, they had similar features, but Aura seemed wild immediately. She had long, untamed black hair and deeply tan skin. Vivid sky-blue powder was lined underneath her eyes so thickly that it looked like she'd put it there with her fingers. Her arms were smudged with bright powders—magenta, saffron, violet—it looked like she had been painting on herself idly. There were beads scattered throughout her hair, a headband stretched across her forehead, her clothes were colorful and non-Western: a sari over some flowing, batik patterned pants. She was barefoot and wore bracelets stacked on her wrists just like her mother. Aura was striking and beautiful, but almost plain at the same time, her nose was large and upturned, her eyes too big for her heart-shaped face. Her steady gaze locked onto Dean. "I'm very sorry, my friend," she said serenely.

"Uh… what?" he asked, confused. "Sorry for what, exactly?"

She was serene, her hands folded together in front of her as she came forward into the shop to stand across from them. "I don't have the answers you seek. You instead have my apologies."

A little thrown, Dean hesitated. "Lady, I didn't even _ask_ you anything yet."

Her small smile grew a fraction. "And you don't need to."

Dean sent a pointed look at Sam, the one who was best at being civil and navigating conversations with strangers. Sam took his cue. "Aura, right? We came here to see if you can help us." Forever polite, he introduced everyone. "I'm Sam. This is my brother Dean, my brother Adam… and my sister Alex."

Aura didn't skip a beat. "Oh, I know who all of you are, of course," she said, her eyes scanning over them as if she were pleased. "The vessels of Heaven. Here at last."

Sam faltered, surprised at the development just like his companions were. "Wh—then you know… about the apocalypse." He looked at her uncertainly.

Aura inclined her head just slightly, half a nod. "Yes, of course. And I also know that you've come here to ask me if it is possible to kill Lucifer."

All four of them were taken aback. "How... do you know all this?" Alex asked. "Who are you?"

Aura was silent for a long moment, looking at each of them in turn. It was strange, the way she commanded the interaction, how her silences did not allow for interruption. Even Dean said nothing. Finally she spoke, but didn't answer Alex's question. "These are very momentous times, Winchesters." The use of their last name got startled looks. Again, they were left to wonder how she knew what she did. "There is a shift happening in the realms. Heaven. Hell. Earth. Your part to play cannot be understated." It was like she was suddenly channeling words that weren't hers: "The sword shall clash, the horn shall sound. Judgment Day approaches."

Dean and Sam looked at each other sidelong again, mystified. " _Right_..." Dean replied uncertainly when she said nothing else. "...So can we kill the devil or _not_?"

Aura answered as if it were obvious. "Well yes. _Everyone_ can die," she answered cryptically. "Even God."

That sent a ripple of surprise across the listening group. "And what do you know about _him_?" Dean questioned dubiously.

"He left," Aura answered levelly. "He felt misunderstood. Because he is." She smiled sympathetically. "He doesn't call the shots like everyone assumes. He just... observes."

Dean's expression fell into misgiving. The others with him mulled the information over with various reactions of their own. "Sounds like a useless chump." He watched the psychic closely, growing a shade suspicious. "You sure seem to know a lot for some random chick at a dump along a deserted highway." She said nothing and Dean pressed. "Tell us what you know—a lot of lives are at stake here."

"How true that is," she replied, briefly saddened. She looked at Sam, then Adam, then Alex, then back at Dean. "More than you know."

Dean faltered, lost a little bit of his nerve. "W-what's that supposed to mean?" His expression grew mildly suspicious. "What, you gonna tell us you're some kind of prophet?"

The question seemed to amuse her faintly. But she didn't reply.

Dean's jaw clenched tight. He was getting impatient. "Look... it's kind of important that you tell us anything you know."

She remained unruffled by his intensifying tone and glare, in fact she grew breezier. "On the contrary, it's important that I don't tell you anything else at all—I already may have said too much." She took in the unpleasant expression on Dean's face and regarded him with a small, sympathetic smile. " _Patience_ ," she encouraged. "Everything will be revealed to you as it should be, _when_ it should be." With no fanfare, she turned to leave, but not before setting them with a significant look. "Be careful on the highway as you travel. Dark spirits haunt the deserts here." Her eyes slid to Adam. "Goodbye." And she left.

Dean looked irritated as fuck, like he'd been let down. "Wow, thanks for a whole lotta nothing, Miss Cleo," he muttered, then looked around at his siblings darkly before brushing past Sam, to head to the exit.

Rosemary, who they had all forgotten about, indicated a jar of candy in colorful faded plastic that looked like they had been sitting for years, melting and solidifying a bunch of times over. "For the road?" she asked. "Twenty-five cents each."

"Uh, no, but thank you," Sam answered with distracted politeness. Alex was already following Dean out and Adam followed her. Sam brought up the rear.

Back out in the blinding sun, Adam heard Dean muttering "Well _that_ was a waste of time," as he yanked open the driver's side door and got in.

The rest of them piled in as Dean stuck the keys into the ignition. "Bunch of mumbo jumbo crap woo-woo," he complained, starting the car. "Let's blow this joint."

Adam was glad to be leaving, feeling less sure of what was going on than before. If that was a snapshot of hunting, then hunting was sort of... boring. One thing was for sure, he was out of place—more than he ever had in his entire life—and he was trying not to feel that way. He was all to aware that these people—Dean, Sam, Alex—were the only living relatives he had left.

The desert passed by outside as Dean drove them away from Nothing. Adam looked over at Alex, who had her hand in her jacket pocket. He could see a piece of a blue tie sticking out. She was holding onto it as she stared at the back of the seat in front of her unseeingly. Apparently that guy, Cas, had been a big deal to her. The minute Alex had found out about him disappearing, she'd done a one-eighty. He wondered what happened to the badass chick who had kicked his ass and mouthed off to Zachariah.

He reflected on how he knew how hard it was to lose someone, and realized he got it actually. He missed his mom _so much_. As Adam's thoughts wandered, his heart sunk a little bit when he thought of her, how much he just wanted to see her. Just one more time. She was the only person in the world he felt like he could be himself with.

* * *

**About 12 Hours Later  
Grand Junction, Colorado**

Adam woke up suddenly. For the briefest moment, he didn't remember where he was. All he knew was that he was in darkness… and just as he got scared his senses clued him in. His adjusting eyes could dimly make out his surroundings... and was that Sam snoring softly nearby? With the quietest relieved breath out, Adam settled back down onto his pillow. But he was wide awake now. 

He recalled his day: the weird Aura girl, the nonstop nine-hour drive after, the gas station dinner, then finally crashing at this motel. It had been exhausting even though they'd done pretty much nothing but drive. Alex and Sam were asleep back to back on the bed beside Adam while Dean was conked out on the floor with a pillow.

Adam stared at the ceiling, feeling a gnawing sense of discontentment grow. It had been strange when the angels told him that the family he'd never met, his dad's other kids, weren't to be trusted. But they'd been _angels,_ so of course he'd believed them...

Imagine his surprise when after he'd been brought back to life that those siblings he'd never known had in turn told him _angels_ weren't to be trusted. And even though that theory had been proven—Zachariah was a frigging _asshole_ —Adam still didn't feel like he _thought_ he should about his half-siblings. He felt their side glances and knew they didn't trust him... that they felt as weird about him being there as he did.

John Winchester had shown up when Adam was twelve. It had been, in a word, shocking. Adam had felt very strange about this unknown man suddenly showing up and expressing interest in being part of his life. He'd seemed nice enough. He'd taken Adam to some baseball games, talked to him about school, bought him things, spent a little time with him. But John didn't even tell him about his other kids until the third or fourth time Adam saw him when he was thirteen. Learning that he had two brothers and a sister had been another huge shock. He'd imagined them a lot ever since John told him. Dean, Sam, Alex... they weren't what he had expected. He wasn't sure _what_ he'd expected, really, but they were different than what he'd thought. Not better or worse, just different.

Restless, Adam got up quietly and tip-toed to the window. Weird, he thought he remembered there being heavy blinds across it. The glass pane was large and uncovered, he could see out into the parking lot really well. Someone was walking by on the sidewalk—and then light from headlights passing on the adjacent road lit her up briefly and Adam's stomach dropped. _Mom?!_

Without a second thought, he rushed out of the motel, not even closing the door behind himself—she was a few feet away, her back to him as she walked away. "Mom!" he cried out, and she turned around, frowning. He could see really well now, the moon was oddly bright.

"Adam?" She asked, dawning surprise in her voice. " _Adam_!"

He rushed to her, overwhelmed by disbelief. He had never hugged anyone so tightly in his life—she hugged him back, but it was sort of weak, was she all right? He pulled back urgently, looking at her carefully. "Mom, are you okay? How—how are you here? Did the angels—" he felt himself go cold with realization and fear, his jubilation was gone as he realized this had to be something bad. "The angels."

"Yes, the _angels_!" came a familiar enthusiastic voice. Adam whirled, holding his arm out in front of his mom instinctively. He was deeply afraid when he recognized the owner of the voice.

"Zachariah," he growled, his veins hammering in hatred.

"The one and only!" The angel confirmed proudly, chuckling as he approached, swaggering almost. "Did you _really_ think you could get away from me, kiddo?" Zachariah asked in amusement. "I mean, I wasn't done with you." He stopped a few feet off. "You and your bitch of a sister really shouldn't have done what you did," he scolded, still acting like it was all a huge, funny joke to him. "Do you have any idea how much it hurts to be blasted away to the four corners of the earth?"

Adam felt an overwhelming sense of dread, like Zachariah was getting to a violent, vengeful punchline. "Look, I dunno what you want or what's happening, but you leave my mom _out_ of it," Adam said acidly, trying to be brave and threatening, but he was scared. He glanced toward the motel room, praying that one of his sleeping siblings inside would wake up and see what was happening.

"Oh trust me," Zachariah said, seeing Adam's growing fear. "They're not coming to save you _this time_." His air of amusement was gone, and in its place was an eerie calm and focus. "No one can save you. And no one can save your mom."

Adam suddenly found himself slammed to the ground without even being touched, hitting back-first, cracking his head on the pavement painfully. He heard himself moan in shocked pain. He was stuck, he couldn't get up, and he could see his mom suddenly picked up and thrown against the side of the motel where she stuck as if glued—and she gagged and gasped, panicking as she began to cough up thick streams of blood.

" _Stop it_ Zachariah!" Adam shouted, struggling to get up, but stuck as if all the gravity in the world weighed down on him. "Dean! Sam! Alex!" he screamed, and Zachariah had the nerve to laugh jovially.

Mom cried out in intense pain. Adam could see her begging—and it was just like when the ghouls had eaten them and everything inside of him said no, _no_! Don't let this happen to her _again_ , help her, _save her_!

"Please, _stop_!" Adam begged, fighting with everything he had, but remaining stuck. " _Mom_!" he sobbed.

"I can do this all day!" Zachariah said gleefully, and Adam's mom gave another shuddering cry of pain as she coughed out bright red blood.

"Zachariah!" Came a startling, firm, authoritative voice, and everyone looked to see a young, dark-haired man standing where, a moment ago, there had been no one.

"Michael!" Zachariah exclaimed, fear filtering over his features. He shrunk back a step. "I was just—it's not what it looks like!"

Adam looked at the newcomer in confusion— _Michael_?

"Let Kate Milligan go, Zachariah," Michael commanded with aggressive finality. " _Now_."

Zachariah complied. Kate dropped away from the wall, falling to her hands and knees even as Adam discovered he was able to move again. He scrambled over to her.

"You've disobeyed me for the last time, Zachariah," Michael said frostily. "I told you they were not to be harmed in _any way_."

"I know, _I know_ , but I just—I got carried away, boss! It won't happen again!"

Michael's chin lowered just a little, a threatening effect. "You're right," he said, and Adam saw the silver blade suddenly slide down out of the long sleeve of Michael's jacket. "It won't."

Almost too fast to see, Michael plunged the blade into Zachariah's chest—and there was a flash of bright blue light, a deafening scream, and Zachariah exploded into light, then was gone completely.

Shocked, Adam helped his shaking mother up slowly, looking at Michael wordlessly. The archangel was pocketing his blade somberly. "I'm sorry Adam," he said, then looked at him fully. "I'm Michael. You may have heard of me." There was a slight smile.

Even though the guy had just saved their lives, Adam was suspicious. "...Why do you look like my dad?" 

Michael looked down at himself and straightened his jacket. "I'm... borrowing John Winchester's body from nineteen-seventy-nine," he explained. "It's temporary." Adam frowned. He didn't understand—something seemed off.

"What's going on, Adam?" Kate asked, confused. She sounded strange, her cadence was off. But Adam didn't think anything of it, because she'd just been through a lot. 

"Just let me handle this, Mom," Adam said, holding her tightly. He was so scared to lose her again. He stared down Michael intensely. "Zachariah told me he was working for you," Adam said. "He lied about _everything_. Used me to try and get to Dean."

Michael's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "Zachariah does do that. Lie." He paused. "He's not to be trusted. But I'm sure you've figured that out by now. And… clearly, he won't be a problem anymore." Michael's expression grew deeply serious and he came closer. "Adam, I'm weak. This isn't my true vessel, and I'm running out of time. Lucifer is close to obtaining his vessel, did the Winchesters tell you that?"

Adam's mistrustful frown deepened. "No…"

Michael nodded slightly, sighing with apparent ruefulness. "Of course not. They didn't tell you Sam is Lucifer's vessel, either, I'm sure."

Adam's eyebrows shot up. " _What_?"

"Hmm," Michael made a soft, thoughtful sound, seeming to be sympathetic. "They welcome you to the family and yet you know, you can _feel_ it… you're not a part of their family and you never will be." That hurt to hear, and Adam grew crestfallen until Michael spoke again. "Your mother. _She's_ your family." Adam looked at his mom briefly as Michael continued. "You were meant for greater things Adam. Brave things, world-changing things." Michael smiled now, his eyes softening, and Adam was stilled, remembering the same look on the same face, only when it had been about twenty years older. "You're not a side character," Michael continued. "You're not the little half-brother. You're important. To me."

"What do you mean?" Adam asked in uncertain apprehension.

Michael took in a deep breath, thinking for a moment. "I'm looking for someone who isn't going to let foolish, selfish pride get in the way of this opportunity. Adam, think it over. Together, you and I can kill Satan. If we don't, he'll damage this world beyond repair. I _need_ you." 

Adam was beginning to understand, but he was even more confused now than ever. "I thought _Dean_ was supposed to be the vessel."

"He was," Michael said. "But it seems he's not the man I believed him to be. And as I said before, this vessel I'm in… temporary. You're the only option left. My last hope."

Adam stared, speechless, and Michael didn't bother to water down what was becoming a plea. "You saw them. Your brothers. They're falling apart. It's only a matter of time before Sam says yes. And when he takes his vessel, when the embodiment of true evil walks this earth… someone needs to be there to stop him. He'll kill everyone, Adam. Lucifer despises humanity. We can save people. Your mother. We can save her." Adam tightened his arms around his mom. Michael's voice lowered. "All you have to do is one very simple thing. Say yes. And I take care of the rest. I defeat the devil with your help. Afterward, I return to Heaven, you return to your life. Your mom is safe, happy, alive. You both get a second chance. I'll even bring back your dad. If you want."

Adam swallowed, heart beating fast, mind whirling. Michael seemed so different than Zachariah: steadfast, noble, _good_.

"It comes down to this, Adam," Michael continued softly. "Are you braver than Dean? Are you willing to see this for what it is? A chance to save the world?" Adam looked at his mother whose eyes searched his. Michael waited patiently. "I'm not like whatever Dean has told you, Adam. I have the best interest of the world in mind. I hope you believe me."

Adam almost made a face. Dean hadn't told him _anything_ like Michael had assumed. Michael had told him more in two minutes than his family had told him all day. Adam thought about everything Michael had explained and felt purpose welling up inside of him, he felt how his mother was watching him expectantly. He pictured himself alive and happy, walking down a street, seeing people who were alive because of what he'd done, he pictured his mom picking flowers, laughing, full of life.

"So what will it be, Adam?" Michael prompted gently. "Will you be the weapon which defeats the devil?"

And not realizing it had all been a huge trick—that Zachariah wasn't really dead, that the woman who looked like his mother was an illusion, that the entire situation he thought he was in right now was a _dream_ he was having, not reality at all—Adam fell hook, line, and sinker.

Believing he was being brave, believing he was acting selflessly and doing something that would save millions, Adam drew himself up to his full height and looked over to his mother who wasn't even his mother. She smiled at him, and he felt renewed purpose. Courageous, he looked Michael in the eye and spoke with a clear, steady voice. "Yes." The last thing he would _ever_ say as himself. And with that single word, it was done.

They would tell stories about him in the future: The boy who died for the sins of an absent father. The boy who was brought back from the dead, drawn out of Heaven only to be pulled down into Hell. The boy whose only mistake was trusting in angels. 

* * *

**One Minute Ago**

Adam was mumbling in his sleep—something like, _Mom_ , _no_... and Alex tried to listen, but it became incoherent. She couldn't catch any more words. She stopped paying attention, letting his little protesting whines and mumbles fade out of her concentration. She had a hand in her jacket pocket. Her fingers tightened around the tie inside of it. She took in a deep breath then let it out very slowly. She thought of Castiel and her heart swelled with so much pain. She felt blank and hollow and yet agonized completely, torn apart everywhere. Her eyes stared straight up at the ceiling and hot tears leaked out of the corners of her eyes and down the sides of her face. She gripped her phone tightly—it was in her other pocket. She wanted it to ring, for his voice to be on the other end. But it was silent as it had been all day.

Sam shifted a little—his back was to her. Alex could hear Dean's slightly wheezy sleep-breathing somewhere on the floor near their feet. Adam was mumbling every other twenty seconds. She was literally surrounded, but Alex didn't know if she'd ever felt so _lonely_. She felt like she'd lost everything. How the hell was she supposed to live feeling this way? She still couldn't even really grasp what had happened. She kept replaying finding Castiel's abandoned blade in the warehouse.

A single word kept running through her mind: _Gone_.

He couldn't be. And yet he was.

" _Michael_ ," she thought Adam muttered, and Alex turned her head fast. _Michael_? Adam had gone went silent, and she held her breath, listening hard. But Adam made no more sounds. She tried shutting her eyes, but couldn't keep them shut. She was wide awake, too _tired_ to be tired, which made no sense. She felt her chest constricting, hopelessness overpowering her.

Suddenly, she heard Adam speak loudly, clearly. "Yes."

Wha—her ears rang oddly and the ringing increased, suddenly blasting through the air piercingly, and even as Alex was clapping her hands over her ears, she saw that Adam glowed bright before the room was washed out completely in a blaze of light that was nearly blinding.

She heard Dean yelling, felt Sam moving, she was jumping up—she felt Sam manhandling her—he was yanking her away from the bed Adam had been in. And then the room plunged back into darkness, leaving the Winchesters huddled in breathless confusion.

"Adam?" Dean scanned the room in alarm. "W-where did he go? What just happened?"

"He was… muttering about Michael." Alex said slowly. "And then he said yes really loud." She looked at the bed, becoming numb. Sam's arms tightened around Alex almost painfully, like he thought if he had her good enough, the angels couldn't take her again, too.

"How'd they find us?" he asked breathlessly, anxious. Dean shook his head, already springing into action.

"We're outta here, _now_ , before more come back." 

They fled quickly. Next thing Alex consciously realized, she was in the back of the stolen car again and her brothers were talking in low, intense tones in the front seat. She didn't hear what they were saying. One by one, everyone in her life was disappearing. She looked out the window and streetlights flashed by, the overhead light flickering over her face at an unsteady rhythm as the car sped down the road in the dead of night. Her throat hurt painfully, an impossible lump there at the base of it. Her eyes flickered back and forth over the darkness outside.

What had happened to Adam? And where was Cas? Slowly they were all falling like dominoes. Who would be next to go missing? 

* * *

**Saint Bernard Parish Hospital  
Chalmette, Louisana**

Nurse Katie Cooper looked up from the patient's chart, straightened her glasses, and scrutinized the John Doe patient who'd been admitted earlier that day. She'd heard a few of the other RN's talking about his mysterious circumstances—apparently this guy had been found on a shrimping boat off of Delacroix, bloody, unconscious, without ID and unresponsive. He'd been rushed in and was on life support now, showing close to no brain activity.

His face was messed up, he had a huge gash over his eyebrow; there was bad bruising along his jaw and the side of his temple. He looked like he'd been put through the ringer. Katie's co-workers had been talking about some kind of bizarre cuts on his stomach, and curious, Katie peeked, stunned by the jaggedly carved up flesh that covered his chest and torso. Who would do this to the poor guy? Who would do this to _anyone_? The weird, bloody symbol etched into his skin wasn't one she recognized, but it looked distinctly occult to her. Was this some kind of creepy ritual murder thing?

Just looking at him, he didn't _appear_ like the kind of guy who would be involved in that kind of stuff. _Hmm._ Even though he was in a coma and his face was devoid of any expression whatsoever, he looked... nice. Katie put his chart back into the holder on the end of the bed, wondered what kind of trouble had gotten him messed up like this. She wondered if he belonged to a gang, or maybe a cult, or perhaps some weird religious group...

His personal effects were in a clear plastic box beside the bed. Curious, Katie looked through them. She saw a box cutter, a ruined cell phone, a couple coins, a lone silver whistle. There were some photographs, too, three of them. They were water stained, distorted, wrinkled, creased from being folded, they were hard to make out. But right away, Katie could tell from their abysmal quality that they had been printed from a cell phone camera. She picked up the first two, which were stapled together, side by side… _weird_... the pictures were of two guys in their late twenties or early thirties. The picture on the left was of a guy glaring sullenly into the camera like he didn't want his picture taken—the picture on the right was another guy with longer hair, his mouth open and a forkful of food hovering halfway inside, his eyes half-shut as he blinked. Why would someone carry these two pictures around with them?

Katie set down the pictures and picked up the third photo. It wasn't stapled with the other ones—and it was more wrinkled and creased than the one of the men, like maybe it had been handled more. The picture showed a dark-haired girl in maybe her mid twenties looking into the camera with a surprised, deer-in-the-headlights expression. Katie glanced at the patient's face. _Hmm._ More than ever, she wondered what his story was. Who these people in the pictures were.

"Nurse Cooper—?" the sound of a male voice startled the nurse, who turned, caught, to see Doctor Griffin looking at her scoldingly. "How many times do I have to tell you not to go through the patient's person effects? I need you to go see to Ms. Tucker, she's overdue for a dressing change."

"Sorry, Doc," Katie said, and she hurriedly stuck the picture back into the box, embarrassed that she'd been caught again. "On my way."

She glanced back one more time at the man in the coma. She hoped that someone was out there looking for him.

* * *

**Four Weeks Later  
Muncie, Indiana**

The rain beat down hard and fast in sheets, making it almost impossible for Dean to see the road ahead. He had slowed the Impala to an agonizing crawl, he had the wipers going as fast as they would. A few miles back they'd been detoured off of I-90 and the county road wasn't lined with street lamps like the freeway had been. " _Damn_ ," he commented as rain continued to pummel the car noisily. "Is it just me or does this little rainstorm say 'sign of the times' to you?"

Sam glanced Dean's way briefly, tense. "Yeah."

There was a short silence. "She still sleeping?" Dean asked. He didn't want to chance taking his eyes off the road to check on her himself.

Sam turned around, craning his neck to look at their sister. She was leaned into the side of the car, her hands crammed into her jacket pockets, one of her shoulders bent up awkwardly as a makeshift pillow underneath the side of her head. Even though she was asleep, her eyebrows were drawn together slightly—she was resting, but not peacefully. "Yeah, still sleeping," Sam said, turning forward again, heaving a tired sigh.

"Good," Dean said, then chanced a quick sidelong glance at his very tired-out looking brother. "Should probably get some shut eye yourself, Sammy. You've barely slept at all the past few days."

"Yeah I know," came the weary reply. Dean could tell that his brother was really worried about something. He didn't have to wonder too much about what—take your pick at this point, pretty much. Sam was silent for a couple more seconds, then let out a frustrated little huff. "What are we gonna do, Dean? We can't keep going like this."

"Sure we can, as long as I get nearly lethal amounts of caffeine every few hours," Dean said jokingly. Sam gave an exasperated sound.

"That's not what I _meant_." He paused, and his voice dropped lower, the concern grew more pronounced. "I'm worried about her, Dean. Like, really worried."

Dean was sobered by his brother's statement. Sam had a way of doing that to Dean—cutting through to the issues and undermining his ability to act like everything was fine. And nodding, grim now, Dean let a heavy, troubled sigh escape. "Yeah. Me too."

The brothers fell into a tense silence.

It had been a horrible month. First Adam came back, then he was stolen away after apparently saying yes to Michael. It made no sense. It made them all deeply uneasy, and to Dean, it was yet another person he'd let down. He regretted so much how little he'd spoken to Adam the two days he'd been alive. He knew Sam felt the same. Maybe they could have stopped that from happening. Talk about a guilt trip.

The three of them had searched for answers this past month, traveling nonstop, trying to find anything that would help them figure out a way to gank the devil. The whole hippie chick Aura thing had pretty much set the standard for what they discovered: a whole lot of jack squat. It was discouraging, to say the least.

Cas was still missing and at this point, Dean was pretty sure that meant he was dead. They didn't talk about it, not really. Especially not around Alex.

Their sister hadn't been herself ever since Van Nuys—she was struggling and fatigued, barely able to sleep, not interested in eating. She had grown eerily withdrawn and quiet. She wasn't _there_ , she was doing crazy stuff like almost getting hit when she crossed the street yesterday—Dean had grabbed her hard, yanked her back, saving her life. She'd been confused, shaken up. He'd caught her wandering out of the motels they'd stayed in at odd hours of the night and just sitting on the Impala, not wearing a jacket, looking at the sky pleadingly. 

He knew it was because of Cas and he had no idea what to do, what to tell her, how to react. He felt bad. Seeing Alex the way she was was like watching a half-crazed grieving widow from olden-times movies or something, and despite everything, Dean regretted his heartlessness to the two of them previously. Even though he still didn't think the relationship was the best idea in the world, he would be nuts to not at least admit they felt intensely about each other. Dean was starting to think that his sister must have really like... _loved_ Cas, he guessed. And _damn_ if that hadn't been something powerful that had driven Castiel to sacrifice himself like that for her too. Dean couldn't call that motivation love because he didn't think angels were capable of that how humans were but… it was close, that was for sure. 

Mostly, they avoided the subject of Cas like it was the plague. But honestly, pretending the dude was coming back was what Dean wanted to do, for all their sakes. He couldn't live with himself if Cas really had died for them back there after the shit they put him through. But it had been four weeks. And every day he felt less and less hope that they'd ever see the angel again.

Dean was running himself ragged trying to take care of his family and was doing a shit job, he hated himself for everything he'd done lately, but he was trying harder than ever to be a good big brother. His sister, however, didn't seem too interested in the efforts. She was absent. Missing even when she stood right in front of him. Functioning, but in a robotic way. 

Dean had a thousand worries… the apocalypse, Dad's warning about Azazel, Sam's increasing depression, Alex's delicate state, Cas's disappearance, Lisa, Ben… he was under impossible pressure from all sides, he was struggling, he was feeling half insane some days. Of course, he buried it all deep down under sarcasm and jokes and his _who gives a fuck_ attitude.

But he was reaching a breaking point. And maybe the biggest thing that had to change soon was his sister. He couldn't deal with much more of of her behavior, not now. After she was almost hit by that car yesterday he'd lost it, let her have it, chewed her out, given her an ultimatum. 

"Hey, so," Dean glanced at his brother again and cleared his throat, brought it up, trying to feel his brother out for possible solutions. "I meant what I said to her yesterday, Sam. If she keeps up this crap she's been pulling… if she almost gets herself killed again, I'll take her to lockdown at Bobby's, no questions asked."

Sam was not a fan of that. "Dean she needs us right now."

Dean shook his head a little, explained. "What she _needs_ is to get herself together, Sam. I'm not trying to be a dick but… you saw what happened yesterday, right?"

Sam was silent, brooding. 

"Besides," Dean said. "I was thinking it might be better for her to stay in one place awhile. You know, rest up, get her mind off… all this."

"Divide up _now_ , after everything?" Sam sounded really unsure. "Do you _really_ think that would be best?"

Dean let out a heavy sigh. "I don't know what's best anymore, Sam. I got no clue."

"I think the last thing she needs right now is to be alone," Sam said quietly.

There was a long silence. Dean didn't think so, either, but he felt like keeping her in the action was bad for her too. Damned if he did, damned if he didn't.

Sam spoke again, but in a hushed tone. "Do you really think he's coming back, Dean?"

Dean stared straight ahead, his outlook bleak. He didn't answer for a long moment. "You were there. _He_ didn't think he was coming back."

"So why do we keep telling her that we're gonna find him?" Sam asked. "I don't think she believes it Dean." He expelled a heavy breath wearily. "I don't think _I_ do either."

"Yeah, well," Dean tried to say it out loud so that he could believe it, too. "I haven't given up hope."

Sam sat back, confused, thinking, then looked at Dean almost accusingly. "I don't get it. He was here and you couldn't wait to get rid of him and now you're hoping he comes _back_?"

Dean's mouth was in a hard line. "It's complicated, okay?" he asked, then cut the subject short with a cranky comment as the rain beat down even harder than before. "This storm is friggin' ridiculous. _Come on_!"

Ahead, he could see a glowing sign, and whatever it was, Dean had already decided he was pulling in. This rain was getting dangerous, plus he was going about ten miles an hour. Was it a gas station? Store? Even better. " _Yes_ , motel," Dean said mostly to himself, pulling into the parking lot as he recognized the structure. "No wait— _ho_ tel! Nice."

Sam protested. "Dean, we shouldn't stop."

Pulling into a parking space, Dean gave him a crazy look. "What, you wanna wash away with the flood? No thanks." He squinted through the watery, distorted windshield. "Looks nice, too."

Sam was perturbed but Dean ignored him, turning around in his seat and stretching backwards to shake his sister by the shoulder. "Hey! Sleeping beauty! Wake up."

She started awake, disoriented for a second: then she gave him a very grumpy, silent, groggy expression of irritation. Dean tried not to show how he really felt—sad as hell—because her silence these days was like all those years ago when she'd been mute. He always had to take two steps ahead back then, guess what she was thinking, because she wasn't saying. Today was the same, and he tried to cheer her up. "I know, I know. I suck," he said jokingly. No response, she just rubbed an eye with the heel of her hand. "You can go back to sleep once we're inside, okay?" Sam glanced sidelong at Dean in mild disapproval. He was unhappy about stopping.

One big, happy family, Dean thought cynically as he turned back around to face forward. He briefly looked into the rearview mirror and saw Alex glancing discreetly at her cell phone. Checking it for missed calls. She did that constantly now, and Dean didn't have the heart to tell her she should probably stop checking.

 _No. Not yet._ He wasn't gonna give up hope on that just yet—he refused. He cleared his throat and peered up at the hotel sign. _The Elysian Fields Hotel._ The place looked really ritzy, like they might have a kickass buffet inside. He was starving. He looked at the main entryway—it was close, but they would probably get soaked running in through the downpour.

He cracked a crooked grin at his siblings, trying to get them to lighten up. "Now or never, chumps," Dean said, and grabbed the door handle, preparing to get very, very wet indeed.


	39. House of Gods

" _All gods are homemade, and it is we who pull their strings, giving them the power to pull ours."  
_ \- Aldous Huxley

* * *

Three dripping-wet Winchesters burst into the hotel lobby, catching their breath as they came in out of the pouring rain.

As soon as they made it inside, they could see that the place was nice. No, scratch that, it wasn't just nice—it was downright _swanky_. The lobby was sleek and modern, artfully lit and immaculately kept. Fluffy white area rugs stood out against expensive looking hardwood floor, the lounge area looked like it was straight out of an ritzy magazine feature. A stone fireplace crackled warmly across from the front desk and adjacent stood a full-service bar. Beside it there was a sign that said _Pool & Gym This Way._

Dean made an impressed face, hardly believing their luck. " _Wow_... nice digs for once."

He looked at his damp siblings who both appeared to be thrown off by _how_ nice.

Lounge music played softly, there were a lot of people milling around. Apparently the storm had drawn quite the crowd in. Dean hefted his bag a little better and then led the way to the desk where the attendant glanced up at them and gave them a quick smile.

"Checking in?" He was a small, pale man with dark hair swept neatly into a side part.

"Yeah," Dean said, leaning a wet elbow onto the counter.

"Just a moment," the attendant—Chet according to his name tag—said. He typed rapidly on the keyboard of his computer, and Dean looked around again, unable to believe how great this place was. Also, how full of people.

"Busy night huh?" he asked.

"Any port in a storm, I guess," Chet replied, chuckling pleasantly as he slid some paperwork over to Dean. "If you could just fill this out, please."

"Yeah." Dean took the form and filled in total lies, laughing at his own inside jokes. Name? _Fred Gwynne_. Address? _1313 Mockingbird Lane_. Beside him, he heard Sam give one of those little huffs and he knew what his brother was thinking: _grow up, Dean.  
_

Dean slid the paperwork back across the counter with some cash, and Chet looked at him closely, like he saw something out of order. "Sir, I think you got a little…" he pointed to Dean's neck. "Shaving nick there." He produced a tissue out of nowhere with a flourish, smiling genially, motioning for him to take the tissue. Dean did, a little confused—he hadn't shaved in a day or two, how would he have a nick? But sure enough, the white tissue came away from his neck with a miniscule bright red blood stain. _What the hell...?_

"Your room key," Chet said, holding out a dangling silver key.

Dean reached out and took it, a little out of sorts. "Oh, uh. Thanks."

Beside him, he felt Alex tensing up—he looked and saw that she was yawning widely. He chuckled briefly, before looking back at Chet. "Hey, you wouldn't happen to have coffee, would you?"

"Buffet," Chet said, indicating left of himself. "All you can eat. Best pie in the tri-state area." Dean felt like the clouds had opened and sunshine was pouring through—this guy was speaking his language! "And coffee, too, of course, for the young lady." Chet said, with a good-natured wink. Grumpy as hell, Alex just gave him a look like _bite me_.

" _Food_ ," Dean said urgently to his two siblings. Need he say more? He led the way into the dining room, too hungry to care about going to their room first to change clothes. What awaited them was better than Dean could have imagined. It was like out of a dream: colorful, fresh food lined the buffet—he saw fried chicken, ribs, chicken-fried steak, burger and hot dog fixings, several kinds of pasta, salad, corn on the cob, rolls, french fries, an assortment of fresh fruits, grilled vegetables—and there was a piled-high dessert bar. He admired the spread almost lovingly, turning his head toward Sam slightly as to not take his eyes off the food. "Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?" he asked.

Sam of course gave him a look for that one and headed to the salad portion.

Dean piled a plate high for himself, spotted the coffee station, and stopped by it before going to the table Alex had sat down at. She hadn't gotten any food, she was hunched over the table like an old lady. With a thunk, Dean set down a mug of coffee in front of her and she looked up, a little startled. "Your back-to-life elixir, milady," he commanded jokingly, trying to kickstart her. "And sit up straight, would you?" She complied half-heartedly. Dean felt his heart sink a little. He was waiting for her to come back to herself, to start being normal again. But from the look on her face, today didn't seem like the day it was going to happen.

"Hey, you want me to get you something?" Dean asked, motioning toward the buffet. Her eyes slid up to follow the direction he was gesturing towards. "They have mac 'n cheese…" he said suggestively, wiggling his eyebrows at her. It was one of her all-time favorites.

"Not hungry," she muttered, and he could barely hear or understand her. Dean sighed and gave up, not sure if he were frustrated or hopeless or mad. He went to go get himself some water. What was he supposed to do, cram food down her throat? He couldn't _force_ her to eat. Was he supposed to tell her ' _stop being depressed or else_!'? It was sort of like she was refusing to let herself feel the pain she obviously carried. And sooner or later it was all going to explode out of her and cause some major damage.

Maybe he was a fool, but Dean was hoping that Cas would show back up and everything would just be... _okay_ again. That thought made him do a mental double-take at himself. Like it had _ever_ been okay to begin with. Dean scoffed at himself.

When he came back to the table with two waters—one for him, one for her—Sam sat beside his twin, picking at his plateful of salad, vegetables, and chicken. Alex suddenly had a dinner roll—Sam must have given it to her—she ate it like she couldn't taste it. Dean and Sam exchanged a look, saying nothing. Dean forcefully pushed his thoughts aside and dug into his food, forgetting about everything except how good the gravy slathered chicken-fried steak was. For a minute, the savory, crunchy heaven on his fork helped him ignore he all the things that were wrong with the world.

Sam scrolled around on his phone, trying to figure out about where this storm front had come from. His cell barely got a signal for some reason and he was getting fed up with the unresponsive internet access. He spent several minutes trying to get it to work with no luck. The apps would load halfway or not at all. Sitting across from him, Dean finished inhaling his dinner and got up, gleefully exclaiming something about how many kinds of pie they had here. Sam was a little annoyed. How could Dean think about _pie_ at a time like this?

Beside him, Alex shifted a little, set her half-eaten roll down. "You okay?" Sam asked her. He set his phone down for a second to study his twin. Her hair was damp, sticking to her head. She looked pitiful, but more than that, she looked _exhausted_ , and he knew she could use more sleep—hell, so could he. Glancing at the unfinished roll, he wished she would eat more. He was almost at the point of pulling a Dean and forcefully demanding _you finish that roll now,_ but he held off, knowing _that_ wouldn't end well. "Do you wanna go to the room?" He asked. "I can get the key from Dean if you need to turn in."

She considered, then shook her head _no_ and looked up at the exit where some of the hotel lobby was visible. Her eyes narrowed just a little, and Sam couldn't tell what she was thinking. She had both of her hands in her jacket pockets. They hadn't left her pockets much this past month at all. "No I'm… I think I'll go check out the pool." She said. She stood, her chair scraping the floor loudly.

Sam did a slight double-take, looking up at her. "The pool?" he asked, confused. "To _swim_?"

"Not to swim," she said vaguely, walking off without her bag.

Something about all this felt... _off_. "Don't wander off...!" Sam called after her, uneasy for reasons he wasn't sure of. He didn't want to crowd her, but he also wasn't sure if she should be alone right now. He fought with himself for a few seconds. Should he follow? _You're being ridiculous, Sam. She doesn't need a babysitter._ Anxious, he returned to scrolling through his phone, trying to get the damn weather page to load. He needed to do something, _anything_ useful.

He was going stir crazy, every day that passed he had to fight himself not to give up completely. That, and every day that passed he remembered what Dean had told him in the panic room: that Dad met Alex in Heaven and he'd said something about Azazel's plans… how the danger wasn't past. Total dread filled Sam every time he thought about that. Because all those years ago… there had been these dreams he'd had… and he shuddered. After Yellow-Eyes had died, he'd thought he didn't have to worry anymore. Quickly it flashed across his mind: scorching flames, a soul-shattering scream, the most wretched and vile feeling he'd ever felt. And he suppressed the memories of the dreams fast, too afraid to dwell on them any longer. He didn't want to remember, not even for a second. He didn't want to believe that the dreams Azazel had put inside of him could ever come true. _You need to tell Dean_ , the still, small voice of his conscience said. And then immediately after, _you can_ never _tell Dean—you can never tell_ anyone _. Just make sure what you saw never happens._ Sam's teeth were grinding together painfully. _How?_

"She go to the bathroom?" Dean's voice startled Sam, he looked up to see his brother arriving back with a plate full of pie.

"No, uh, the pool," Sam said, distracted, and trying to refocus on his phone.

Dean paused like he'd misheard. "The _pool._ Okay…" he brushed it off and sat down, noticing his brother's state anew. " _Sam_ , unpucker, man. Eat something, Jesus! Both of you on the air diet or something?"

Sam ignored the comment. "We should hit the road, Dean."

"In this storm?" Dean protested. "What, it's, it's—"

"It's _biblical_ ," Sam supplied, setting his phone down a little harder than he needed to. "I-it's friggin' Noah's ark out there, and we're eating _pie_."

Dean looked at Sam with nerve-wracking perception. "How many hours of sleep did you get this week?" he asked, cutting to the chase. "What? Three? Four? You're tired, you're jumpy, you're not taking care of yourself." He stuffed some pie in, rolling his eyes and talking through a mouthful. "You and Alex, I swear."

That got a salty look and a mumbled, "Yeah like the way _you_ do things is such a good metric to go by."

Dean stopped mid-chew, huffed heavily, then ignored the comment. He tried to be a little more understanding. "Bobby's got his feelers out, okay? We have talked with every hoodoo man and root woman in twelve states—we're doing a lot, of course we're all tired of all this crap. We _deserve_ some pie, bro!"

That might have been true, but Sam wasn't going to be okay until they had answers. "Yeah, well, I'm not giving up." Dean reacted viscerally.

"Nobody's _giving up,"_ he retorted, anger flashing across his features. "Especially me." A tense silence stretched between the brothers. "We're gonna find a way to beat the devil, okay? Soon. I can feel it." Dean was getting a little excitable, but almost in an indignant way. "And you know what else? We will _find_ Cas, we'll _get_ Adam back somehow too. But you are no good to me burnt out. I got one sibling making life hard for me right now, I don't need _you_ to pull the woe-is-me crap too." Sam was ready to mouth off—but Dean held up a hand for silence, seeming to regret his choice of words. "I only meant…" he said slowly, softly, "that I need you to be strong, Sammy. Cuz she's falling apart. And some days I think I am too, you know? So… don't you do that shit too." There was a vulnerability there, a deep sad uncertainty that Dean didn't show very often. And Sam was scared by it. But he tried to look supportive and agreeable.

"Yeah," he said, trying a little smile even though he was feeling less sure and stable than ever. "Yeah, okay."

Back to his lofty, good-humored self, Dean spread his hands as a grin grew. "Come on, we've actually got the night off for once. Let's try and enjoy it. There's like twelve kinds of pies up there, I mean, _jackpot_!" He chuckled and sliced his fork down into his pie, carefree for the moment.

* * *

The hotel had an Olympic sized indoor swimming pool and a heated spa next to it. Several guests splashed around in the pale blue water—there were some young kids in the shallow end with a woman who must have been their mom, there was an elderly man doing laps across the deep end. The room was warm and humid, it echoed loudly and smelled like chlorine.

She thought it would have been empty in here, and it wasn't. But it was empty enough. Alex checked her phone, pacing along the back edge of the room. She had this insane paranoia that the second she put her phone down or wasn't paying attention, that's when he would call. So she checked obsessively. She called his number several times a day. It went straight to voicemail each time. It had been thirty-two days he had been gone.

She selected his name off of her contacts list, hit _call_ , and her stomach dropped in the most agonizing anticipation she had ever experienced—hope that instead of clicking straight over to voicemail, it would ring this time. That he would answer.

 _Click_. Her heart sank. " _You have reached the voicemail box of.._." the smooth, robotic voicemail greeting proclaimed. And then the voice Alex loved, missed, and needed to hear speak to her again played: " _I don't understand—why do you want me to say my name?_ " She shut her eyes, the sound of his voice making a pain that was physical ripple through her body. _Beep, beep, beeeep—_ the keypad buttons he'd hit as he'd tried to end the recording. Her face contorted painfully as another, final beep sounded, indicating that she record a message. She hit _end_ and stared at the pool unseeingly, stock still. She heard a kid laughing. Splashing. Someone calling _cannonball!_

Angels… weren't supposed to die. And all this time, _he_ had been afraid _she_ would be the one to die. Maybe somehow it got switched. She thought about the hollow, broken shell of a man Castiel had been in 2014. She understood now why he'd been so destroyed. She felt that way, too.

She remembered once reading _it's better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all._ What a fucking bunch of _shit._ It would be better not to feel this pain. It would be better not to long for something you could never get back. It would be better if Castiel had never met her at all—he'd probably still be _alive_. It would have been better to have never loved him at all.

And at the same time she thought this, her spirit screamed that knowing him, opening herself up to being loved like he'd loved her… was the best thing that had ever happened to her. She thought of him warm and against her, showing her love in a way words didn't measure—she thought of him protecting her, guarding her, always trying to understand and help her. She loved him _then_ and she loved him _still_ and it _ripped her in half._

So why did it have to end like this? Why would she fall so deeply in love only to have it ripped away when it had barely just begun? She realized she was growing short of breath.

The answers didn't come to the questions her entire soul strained for. In her hand, she squeezed her phone so hard that some of the plastic casing cracked.

She couldn't bear to think of him too much or she felt like she would break apart. So she shoved her feelings away, stomping them down before she could really _feel_ them.

Alex looked at the pool again, and was suddenly struck by the utter silence. Everyone was gone. The pool was empty and still, the entire place was abruptly deserted. No one was left. _What the hell?_ Had she spaced out again?

There was a sudden, sharp little sting on the side of her neck and she jumped, startled, a hand clapping to the place where the pain originated. She felt something wet underneath her fingers, drew her hand away—and saw a small amount of blood.

Suddenly feeling a lot more alert than she had for a long time, Alex put her phone away, looked around suspiciously, her heart hammering, her adrenaline picking up. Quickly and quietly, she slipped out of the pool room.

* * *

Dean and Sam walked down the hallway a couple floors up, scanning room number plaques for Room 102. When they found it, they heard a loud giggle—in front of the doorway to the room next to theirs was a very excited couple was making out—the woman giggled again, _loudly,_ and Dean chuckled, leered, then pointed as the guy pulled his jacket off, bumping the woman up against the door simultaneously.

"What are you, _twelve_?" Sam asked at Dean's juvenile reaction, but he couldn't hide his little amused smile either.

Dean gave Sam a friendly scoff as he unlocked their room. "I'm young at heart!"

The door swung open and Dean whistled in low awe as the two of them went on in. "Wow," he commented, looking around at the deluxe room, well pleased. "Look at this. We're like Rockefellers!" There were two beds made up with expensive looking red duvets and each bed had a little candy bar nestled on the pillow. "Chocolates! Ooh." Dean picked one up, delighted, then glanced at Sam. "You want yours?"

Sam shook his head—he was looking around in increasing puzzlement. He had a weird feeling. "Knock yourself out… think I'm gonna go find Alex."

Dean's next discovery halted Sam. "Whoa." Dean picked up the little information display that was on the nightstand. It was mounted to a wooden block and Dean held it out to Sam. "'Casa Erotica Thirteen'... on _demand_." From Dean's excited expression, you'd think he'd discovered a lost treasure. Sam scoffed slightly, then stopped, deep in thought. Dean's smiled faded. "What?"

Sam shrugged, gestured vaguely. "Isn't this place... in the middle of nowhere?"

Dean was unconcerned. "So?"

"So what's a four-star hotel doing on a no-star highway?"

Dean shrugged, obviously thinking _don't know, don't care._ On the other side of the wall of their hotel room, they could hear the couple again—a high pitched shriek of laughter and then a pleasurable moan—Dean snickered again, ever the mature one—then came a thump, a very, _very_ loud thud—and then the wall shivered, shaking—the flat screen TV almost fell off that wall as it cracked and plaster dust went flying. Sam and Dean looked at each other wordlessly, then rushed of the room and over to the room next door—which, coincidentally, was labelled Honeymoon Suite.

They barged in only to find—nothing. No one. The room was empty. The large king-sized bed had rumpled blankets on it, but other than that, there was no sign that anyone had even been in the room at all.

"...Hello?" Dean called, walking into the room slowly, cautious.

Sam checked the bathroom. "No one," he said as he came back out.

Dean had knelt down at the foot of the bed and was picking something up from the shag throw carpet—a silver engagement ring with a gleaming solitaire diamond. An ominous discovery. "Something's not right here," he muttered as he stood up, scrutinizing the ring with a dark frown.

"You think?" Sam whispered tensely, holding himself like a spring in case of attack.

Dean pocketed the jewelry, his earlier happy-go-lucky mood completely gone. "Okay, you know what? We need to find Alex, pronto."

Sam nodded, swallowed, and then followed Dean out with a bunch of concerned backward glances.

Once they were in the hallway, they saw a familiar face heading toward them.

"Thank God," Dean muttered as Alex approached. Then he frowned even deeper. She looked startlingly alert and present, a total one-eighty from earlier.

"Something _weird_ is happening here," she hissed as she reached them.

"Yeah no shit," Dean retorted.

"Hey, what happened to your neck?" Sam asked, noticing a small diagonal slash of red on the fair skin there.

"Yeah exactly," she said, casting a furtive glance around. "Also, why everyone just… _disappeared_ from the pool all the sudden."

Dean and Sam exchanged a wary glance. "Disappeared, huh?" Dean repeated, then wet his lips, his gaze beginning to flit all over their surroundings in this mysterious hotel. "Yeah, Houston—I think we got a problem."

* * *

They were in the lobby once more.

"The, uh, the room next to ours—the couple that are, uh, joined at the lips—have you seen them?" Dean asked Chet.

"Mr. and Mrs. Logan—the... honeymooners?" Chet asked. He typed on his keyboard yet again, almost too fast to be humanly possible. The screen was turned too far away for Alex to see what he was typing. He turned back to them, smiled politely. "They checked out. Is something the matter?"

"They... checked out?" Sam repeated dubiously.

"Mm-hmm. Mm, just now."

" _Really_? It sort of seemed like they were, uh…" he paused for meaning. "...in the middle of something."

Chet shrugged deeply, that courteous smile never leaving his face.

"Yeah, it's kind of weird for honeymooners to, uh, check out without this." Dean held up the engagement ring, and Chet looked mildly surprised.

"Oh, dear," the hotel attendant said, then reached out to take the ring from Dean. "I'll just put that right in the lost and found. Don't you worry. Is there anything else I can help you with?"

Dean regarded the guy with thinly veiled mistrust. "Uh, no. No, we're good."

Chet's eyes slid from Dean to Sam to Alex, and his smile was becoming downright unnerving. "Super fantastic!"

All three Winchesters gave him an attempt at _you betcha_ smiles, but as they turned around, put their backs to Chet, each of their expressions became more like _what the fuck is going on_?

"Creepy," Sam commented in a low voice as soon as they were a few steps off and out of earshot.

"Twilight zone creepy," his sister put in.

"Yeah, just a little bit," Dean agreed under his breath, glancing back at Chet, who was going through some papers with his back to them. "All right, well. I'll scope out the joint, you two keep an eye on Norman Bates over here." Dean was a little annoyed. "I mean, one night off. Is that too much to ask?" He sighed, resigned, then left them with a "watch your backs," as he walked off.

Sam shrugged and Alex sat down on one of the couches. She picked up a magazine and pretended to read it, watching Chet carefully as Sam paced around then leaned against the fireplace, seeming to be really nerve-wracked overall. A couple of hotel guests came and went, about five minutes passed. Chet unexpectedly went out from behind the desk and headed down a hallway. Sam straightened from where he'd been leaned against the fireplace, Alex stood up.

"I'll follow him, you check out the computers," he said, and she nodded. Sam was already off at a brisk pace, following Chet down a side hallway and then around a corner.

Alex made sure no one was watching as she approached the front desk. She went to the main computer and hit the space bar, expecting the screen to wake up. Nothing happened. She looked around at the back of the computer, realizing that it wasn't plugged in to anything. Her eyebrows rose. _The hell?_ There were a few more computers lining the check-in counter, and upon inspection none of _those_ were plugged in, either—like they were just props or something. She picked up one of the phones and listened. No dial tone.

Okay. This was starting to really freak her out. Alex turned, glancing around before she began to page through the files that Chet had been looking through a minute ago. She quickly discovered that they were all _blank sheets of paper._ Alex halted her work. So this was all fake. For show only. A trick? A trap? Whatever it was, it was creepy as hell, and Alex stuck the files back in the box they'd been in and moved out from behind the counter... then realized that no one else was present. The dining room, which she could see when she craned her head to the left, was now empty. The bar across the way, a moment ago the hangout spot for two patrons, had been deserted.

Something was very, very wrong. Urgent, Alex hurried the way Sam had gone as discreetly as she could. It felt like she was being watched. With rising alarm, Alex dashed around a corner—and crashed into her brother who was especially startled.

"You almost gave me a heart attack!" Sam exclaimed.

"Sorry," Alex apologized breathlessly. "Where's Chet?"

Sam shrugged, shaking his head no multiple times. "I dunno, he disappeared, then I got _this._ " He pointed at a little nick on his neck and Alex looked at him funny. The elevator dinged beside them.

"Yo, bozos," came a familiar voice. Dean swept out of the elevator. "No EMF to speak of, but there were elephants. Well. _An_ elephant. Singular."

The twins looked at each other, then Dean, simultaneously. " _What_?" they chorused.

He shrugged matter-of-factly. "I was walking past some room, I saw an elephant, I looked again, it was just a dude."

Alex immediately pulled quite the face. "So you're high as fuck right now, is what you're saying."

When he realized the implication, Dean made a face of his own. "I'm not _high_ , dude, there was an elephant!"

He began to stalk back toward the lobby and his siblings stayed hot on his heels.

Alex looked like she thought Dean might have lost his mind. "So… you _actually_ think you saw an elephant."

"I _did_ see an elephant," he insisted.

"An _elephant_?" Sam repeated doubtfully. " _In_ the hotel."

Dean stopped, whirled, and gave them both growing irritated looks. "Yes an _elephant_. _In_ the hotel."

Sam's eyes narrowed. "...Like, an _elephant_ elephant?"

With a disgusted sigh, Dean turned back around and kept going. "What, should I say it in _Spanish_?!" he asked, getting a little more fervent as his footsteps marched quicker. "Yeah, an elephant elephant—like, full-on Babar!"

Sam and Alex exchanged the briefest stumped glance behind Dean's back before Sam decided to just go with it. "Okay. So. Elephant in the hotel. What the hell does…" Sam trailed off as they came into the ghost town lobby. The lounge music was still playing, resulting in an eerie effect. His voice dropped a couple notches, he seemed to think of something. "I haven't seen anyone but us in like, at least ten minutes. Where _is_ everyone?" Sam went over and tried to lobby doors—but they wouldn't open.

"Lemme guess—it's locked." Dean was grim and on edge now. "So what—the roaches check in, they don't check out?"

"Think about how we got here," Sam said slowly, dawning realization in his voice. "That detour on I-Ninety? The friggin' _hurricane_?"

"You saying we were led here?" Dean asked.

"Like rats in a maze."

"But by who?" Alex asked quietly, a familiar sick worry in her stomach again. "Angels? Demons?"

"At this point, no telling," Dean muttered. "What _I_ wanna know is where'd all the guests go." He looked around, trying to decide what course of action to take next. "Come on. We're gonna check the kitchen. Maybe some staff is still in there."

They went through the empty dining room, noting some tables weren't cleared off, some plates looked unfinished... like the people who had been eating had left in the middle of their meals unexpectedly.

Not good.

The Winchesters found the kitchen deserted, too. There was a huge pot of red liquid bubbling on the stove and Dean went closer to it cautiously. "Please be tomato soup. _Please_ be tomato soup…" he lifted up the ladle and with it came human eyeballs. The three of them all turned away, queasy, making grossed out sounds as Dean declared: "Motel hell."

"That's _disgusting_!" Alex exclaimed even as Sam was looking with interest at the freezer—it was locked, and he wondered why. He went over, peered into the little glass window, and suddenly jumped back when a hand slapped up against the other side of the glass.

"Help us! Get us out!" a panicked man cried—a hotel guest they had seen earlier in the dining room. Sam yanked on the handle of the freezer, but it was locked tight. He took out his lock picking kit, shakily jamming one of the picks into the lock.

"Hurry up!" Dean urged.

Sam turned to look at his brother. "I'm going as fast as I…" he trailed off. _Oh no._ "...as I can."

Dean recognized the look on his brother's face and his shoulders fell slightly. "There's somebody behind me, isn't there?"

Dean was grabbed roughly by strong, large hands, and yanked backwards even as a tall Black man darted forward and pulled Sam away from the freezer.

"You're coming with us," said Dean's captor—a short, overweight Asian guy.

Sam was confused, looking around the kitchen for Alex. "Where's—" he started.

" _Shh_ ," Dean cut him off sharply, giving him a look. He wasn't sure how, but she must have gotten away or hidden. "Easy, _easy_!" Dean complained louder as the guy holding him began to shove him forward.

The two brothers were manhandled out of the kitchen, across the dining room, and into the grand ballroom where a roomful of elegantly dressed people looked at the new arrivals curiously. The fancy ballroom was set up for a banquet, two long tables facing each other. An ice sculpture of a dolphin was on a back table, elegant glasses filled with champagne surrounding it.

Sam and Dean stared, not so much at the room but the people in it—the name tags on the people in the room were very familiar: Ganesh, Odin, Kali, Baron Samedi, Baldur, Meili... "Something tells me this isn't a Shriner convention," Dean muttered, breathless.

From back behind a partition, Chet—now wearing a name tag that said Mercury—wheeled a serving platter in. He stopped and lifted up the silver covering from the platter to reveal a severed human head surrounded by entrails and vegetables. "Dinner is served!" Mercury announced, and there was polite applause even as Sam and Dean shrank back in horrified disgust. A sudden blinding spotlight came on, and the brothers squinted, jumping as they threw their arms out to block the beam of light from their eyes.

"Ladies and Gentleman, our guests of honor have arrived," said the man with the name tag Baldur. He was a handsome fellow looking to be in his mid-thirties. He wore an expensive suit; he had dark hair and strong features.

Sam and Dean looked at each other, shocked and unsure what was going on. "If everyone will please take their seats," Baldur continued in his softly accented voice, picking up a flute of champagne and smiling charmingly. "We'll begin."

The men who held Sam and Dean shoved them roughly into chairs at the end of the table. Dean gave Sam the _be cool_ sign and the two of them waited vigilantly as the room descended into a quiet buzz of conversation.

A woman in a striking red dress stared at Dean and Sam with a lofty expression on her face. She looked of Middle Eastern descent—she was very beautiful and young, alluring—but there was something distinctly ominous about her. Her name tag read Kali.

Baldur clicked a fork to his champagne glass, calling for quiet. "Ladies and gentleman, thank you for coming. In all my centuries, I never thought I'd see this." He had a pleased smile on his face. "This many gods under one roof."

" _Gods?"_ Sam repeated in a whisper only Dean could hear.

"Now," Baldur continued, looking around at the occupants of the tables. "before we get down to brass tacks, some ground rules. No slaughtering each other. Curb your wrath." He smiled almost coyly now. "Oh, and uh, keep your hands off the local virgins. We're, trying to keep a low profile here."

Beside Dean, Sam shrunk down in his chair a little as his eyes flickered frantically over the occupants of the room. "Oh, we are so... so screwed." 

"We all know why we're here," Baldur said. "The Judeo-Christian apocalypse looms over us. I know we've all had our little disagreements in the past… but the time has come to put those aside and look toward the future. Because if we _don't_ , we won't have one. Now we do have two very valuable bargaining chips." Baldur looked straight down the middle of the table at Dean and Sam, pointed a finger. "Michael and Lucifer's vessels."

Everyone at the tables turned to look at them, and suddenly Sam and Dean understood… these gods meant _business_.

Baldur paused, suddenly narrowing his eyes at the boys, then looking to Kali as if something were not as he had expected. "I thought there was a sister."

"There is," Kali confirmed in a low, bored voice. "But who cares? She's not important. She's not a vessel." 

Mercury stood up halfway. "I can go get her, if you'd like."

"No," Kali said, her voice carrying more commanding this time. "Like I said. She's not important, at least not right now. I only bound her too because I don't want her running away to get help or some nonsense like that."

"Bound her?" Dean asked quietly to Sam, who shook his head, unsure.

But just as soon as Sam had shaken his head _I don't know_ , he grew still in realization. "Our blood," he said, thinking about how they had all gotten little nicks on their necks. "Somehow… our _blood_."

* * *

One second she was in the kitchen gagging over the thought of eyeball soup, the next she was suddenly in a random hotel room. She turned around and her eyes went wide in recognition when she saw who stood there smiling at her idiotically.

"Hiya!" Gabriel greeted happily.

" _You_!" Alex exclaimed accusingly.

He shrugged in false modesty, his arms wide. "Me!"

Alex grabbed the first thing her hand found—a wooden Casa Erotica display piece—and threw it at his head.

Gabriel ducked it easily and laughed. "Hey, easy tiger! You forgetting something?"

"Oh no, I haven't forgotten a _damn_ thing!" she told him angrily, remembering what he'd made her go through the last time she'd seen him.

He rolled his eyes dramatically. "No, _no_ , not _that_." He looked at her chidingly, told her what she'd forgotten: "I'm an _angel_... you can't hurt me, _silly_."

What he said stilled her, she felt a great deal of her anger fade away. "That's not true. Angels can get hurt."

Acknowledging that she had a point, Gabriel pulled a thoughtful face. "Touché." He smiled at her almost sympathetically. "Truce?"

Alex looked offended. " _No_. Why'd you pull me out of the kitchen?" The second she asked it, a thought struck her; she suddenly felt afraid that she knew _exactly_ what was going on. She scanned the room frantically, trying to figure out if it were real or not. "Is this more of your fucking mind game crap right now? This hotel?" She grabbed him by his jacket demandingly. "What did you do with Sam and Dean?!"

"Whoa, whoa!" Gabriel looked almost insulted and his face wrinkled up in distaste. "I didn't touch them. _Uh_ -uh. I'm not behind this. In fact, just the opposite." He mimed as if he were sounding a horn and even made a cartoony little sound to accompany it. Then he spread his arms out widely with a huge grin and twinkling eyes. "I'm here to _rescue_ you."

Brief surprise was taken over by suspicion and a scowling eye roll. "Is this the part where I'm supposed to say you look a little short for a storm trooper?"

Gabriel put his hands on his hips and gave her a look like he thought she was being cute. "Ah, two nerd points for you." His smile faded. "All joking aside, your brothers are in serious loads of ca-ca right now and the only one who can help _any_ of you is me."

"What are you _talking_ about?" Alex asked, getting more and more frustrated by the second.

"Downstairs, at this very moment," Gabriel said, walking the space in front of her, "a bunch of petty little gods are gathered to sell your brothers, the 'all-important vessels,' to the highest bidder." He paused, shrugged, then made a squinty thoughtful face. "Sell them or kill them."

" _Gods_?" She repeated.

"Yup! Gods. May have heard of a few of 'em. Odin, Kali, Ganesh, Mercury—the gang's all here!"

"Wait, Ganesh… the god with the elephant head?" So Dean _wasn't_ nuts. " _Huh_."

"That's the one." Gabriel chuckled. "Down in the ballroom there's pretty much every god a kid could ever hope to meet. All except the one who we'd all really like to see, right?" Gabriel sighed with dramatic, false sadness. "My dad's a no show, as _usual_."

"So you're saying a bunch of super-powered deities have Sam and Dean and you're… here to save us?" Not buying it, Alex narrowed her eyes. "Why?"

Gabriel chuckled. "Do I need a reason?"

Alex looked at the archangel like he was a moron. "Hmm. Let me think. _Yes_."

Gabriel threw his hands up in exasperation. " _Why_ do I _always_ have to explain _everything_?" He complained dramatically.

Alex folded her arms, set her gaze on him condescendingly. " _Really_?" He had to be some kind of idiot to ask her that.

He rolled his eyes again with a huff. "Okay, you know what, I'm _sorry_ ," he said mockingly. "What I did to you was _wrong_."

Alex gave him a bitch face that would have made Sam proud. 

Genuine frustration flickered across the archangel's face. "Look, I did what I did. Okay? And _now_ , I'm here to _help_ you." He shrugged, nonchalant. "I have my reasons, and they're legit, believe it or not." His head canted to the side. "Alex, I grabbed you up outta that kitchen before those pious dickholes could get to you, doesn't that count for _something_?" She looked at him in suspicion, trying to figure out his angle. In turn, he looked at her with something akin to fascination or maybe that was judgment. She couldn't tell. "You don't trust easy, do you?"

A cold, cynical little smile came across her face. " _Mm_. Not the best idea in my line of work."

Gabriel became annoyed and blunt. "Look. Here's the deal. Those gods down there, sure, they bound you and your brothers by blood but the punchline is that _you_ —" he poked a finger into her shoulder roughly, " _you're_ not important to them—which, _spoiler_ alert, turns out to be the worst miscalculation they'll ever make but hey—don't knock what get's the job done, right? It's Sam and Dean they want. So right now, you and I have an _opportunity_."

" _You and I_?" Alex repeated, spinning a little from everything he'd just said. She didn't even catch his meaning in some parts.

"Yeah!" Gabriel gave her a crazy look. "You gotta be _nuts_ if you think I'm gonna mount this rescue effort by myself!"

Alex leaned a little closer for emphasis. "And you gotta be nuts if you think _I'm_ gonna work with"—she poked him in the shoulder just like he'd done to her a second ago—" _you_."

Gabriel looked a little surprised. "You're gonna go up against a bunch of gods by yourself then?"

Alex made a face. "Why fucking bother? Everyone keeps telling me this is how it ends. So _let it end_." She was surprised to hear herself say it out loud, and surprised at how little she felt when she actually said it. 

Gabriel looked like he'd never heard so much bullshit in his life. "Oh my _dad_ you're pathetic. Get over yourself! Oh geez _boo hoo_. What is this, _Twilight_?! Your sparkly little boyfriend disappears so you fall apart and lose the will to live?! Come _on_!"

At the mention of _him_ , Alex bristled. "You know what, isn't this kind of what you _wanted_? Weren't you telling them to… 'play their roles' just a few months back?"

"I've had a change of heart," Gabriel said primly. He came a little closer, intense. "You're in over your head here Alex. You can listen to what I'm trying to tell you and we can get your brothers the hell outta dodge… or you can sit up here feeling sorry for yourself and not doing a damn thing to change it."

She said nothing, trying to control herself. Everything he was saying was making her _so frigging mad_. She kept her mouth clamped shut and looked away.

Gabriel seemed angry too. "You know, I don't remember thinking the story would end this way, with the heroine just… giving up and pissing away all the hard work she and her family put in!" His fire tapered off in favor of ice. "I thought you were supposed to be a strong lead female character, _Al_."

She looked at him indignantly. "This isn't a _book_ , this my _life_ and it's _hard as hell_ and you don't know _shit_ about what you're saying to me right now!" She snapped. "What I'm _going through!_ "

" _Finally,_ some emotion! Geez Louise!" Gabriel exclaimed, back to his goofy, stupid personality. But then he reigned it in a little. "Hey, for the record though... that's where you're wrong. I've loved and lost, just like you. My dad? Gone, absent. He doesn't give a shit about me. My brothers? Those two idiots are gonna end the world over their petty disagreements and daddy issues. And the one I love? Ah. Let's not even open _that_ can of worms. So don't tell me I don't know what you're talking about. Because I do."

"Oh _good for you_ , Gabe," Alex muttered rudely.

Gabriel gave her a sort of suggestive look. "By the way? It was high time Cas got laid if you ask me." At the angry look she gave him, he raised his hands as if in surrender. "I'm just saying!" He smiled impishly. "And hey, you know what? He's a tricky little bastard. Maybe even trickier than me. Between you and me, I wouldn't be surprised if he shows back up again."

Alex wanted to punch him in the face, because that's what her brothers kept saying—that Cas would come back—and she couldn't take hearing that false hope much more because every time she heard it, she believed it less. "Don't talk about him to me."

"Hey, _sorry_ ," Gabriel said, chuckling now. "Didn't mean to 'overstep my bounds.'"

"Okay, you know what, _go away_ Gabriel!" Alex barked, getting riled up. "I'm not helping you today or _ever._ "

"Come _on_ , Alex," Gabriel said, looking at her in growing condescension. "You're gonna let those gods do whatever to your brothers? I'm disappointed!"

Alex gave him an _oh please_ look. "Like I care about how you _feel._ "

Gabriel sighed with an exaggerated huff, supremely annoyed. "Well, didn't wanna have to do this _but_ …" Gabriel suddenly slapped her across the face—not hard, but it startled and stung. "Snap out of it!" 

"Ouch, _hey_!" Alex exclaimed, a hand on her stinging cheek. And without even thinking, she hauled off and slapped him right back.

He didn't even blink—but it seemed to be the thought that counted. He looked shocked at what she'd done. "What was that for?!" he asked her with innocent, wounded eyes.

" _You_ slapped _me_!" 

He was quite dramatic with his reply. "You're damn right I did, did it work? Did it knock some friggin' _sense_ into you?" Gabriel pointed at her authoritatively when she didn't respond. "Listen, _headcase_ : get yourself together, get over the fact that you don't like me. We're stuck together, ya dig? We got work to do."

Her cheek stung, her blood was pumping fast. And it was one of the first time in weeks that she'd felt anything like life.

"Last chance: do you wanna save your brothers or _not_?" Gabriel asked.

Alex didn't want to work with this clown, but she also knew it was a crazy idea to face down a bunch of gods alone. So she pushed her pride down reluctantly. Gabe began to smile contentedly as he saw her getting ready to cooperate. _Ugh_. "Just…" she sighed heavily, couldn't believe she was agreeing to this. "Tell me what to do."

* * *

"Well _I say_ we _kill_ them!" Zao Shen shouted loudly, banging his fist down on the table, giving Sam and Dean a furious glare.

Ganesh laughed. "Kill 'em? What, so the angels can bring the back again?"

The brothers looked at each other sidelong. This was pretty fucked up, listening to a bunch of gods argue over what to do with you. 

"I don't know what everybody's getting so worked up about! It's just a couple of angels having a slap fight!" Odin scoffed, vaguely disinterested. "There's no 'Armageddon.' Everybody knows, when the world comes to an end, the Great Serpent Jörmungandr rises up and I myself will be eaten by a big wolf!" He belly laughed.

Zao Shen rolled his eyes and sighed. "Here we go again…"

"Oh yeah?" Odin asked, looking across the table at the other god with disdain. "And why is that? Because _your_ beliefs are so much more realistic? The whole world's getting carried around on the back of a giant turtle? _Ha!_ Give me a break!"

Zao Shen didn't react well to the insult. "Don't mock my world turtle!" he exclaimed indignantly.

"What are you gonna do about it?" Odin asked, standing suddenly, leaning across the table and staring Zao Shen down menacingly.

"I'm gonna send you packing to Valhalla!" Zao Shen retorted, wagging his finger at the other god.

"You watch your mouth when you talk to me, _boy_!" Odin said, angrily pointing his finger right back at Zao Shen.

Sam and Dean looked at each other and Dean nodded slightly, they quietly got up.

" _Boy_?" Zao Shen repeated, clearly insulted. "I'm older than you!"

The brothers moved quietly toward the door, hoping the argument would cover their escape.

"...No one's ever proved that," Odin muttered.

There was a loud crash and Sam and Dean jumped back from the chandelier that had just plummeted down without warning in front of them.

" _Stay,_ " Kali said, her low voice ominous and commanding, and the Winchesters turned back around to face her, not seeming to have a choice but to comply. She looked at them a second longer, then turned her attention to the gods and goddesses in the room. "We have to fight. The archangels—the only thing they understand is violence. This ends in blood. There is no other way, it's _them_ , or _us_."

Sitting at the end of one of the tables, Mercury raised two fingers for attention. "With... all due respect, ma'am, we haven't even tried talking to the archangels." Kali looked at him sharply. Simultaneously, Mercury began to choke up blood. He grabbed his collar, panicking.

" _Kali_..." Baldur warned, stopping the goddess from killing the other god outright.

Mercury collapsed forward, able to breathe again, and Kali seemed mildly amused, looked at the panting boy cooly. She raised a single eyebrow at him. "Who asked _you_?"

The two doors of the grand ballroom suddenly swung open with a startling bang and in came Gabriel, arms stretched wide. "Can't we _all_ just get _along_!" he asked with an air of grand theatre.

Dean and Sam looked at the newcomer in shock. "Ga—" Dean started, but was cut off, unable to say a thing. He looked at Sam, who seemed to be similarly incapable of speech.

Gabriel tsk-tsked. "Sam... Dean..." he smiled almost like he was amused. "It's always wrong place, worst time with you muttonheads, huh?"

"Loki," Baldur said, greeting Gabriel as if he knew him. Sam and Dean looked at each other in complete confusion when Baldur called him by _that_ name.

"Baldur," Gabriel replied, pretending to be glad to see him, but it was clearly facetious. "Good seeing you too." He walked forward past Sam and Dean, making a face. "I guess my invitation got lost in the mail."

" _Why_ are you here?" Baldur asked, ignoring the comment about Gabriel's—Loki's—invitation.

"To talk about the elephant in the room," Gabriel said, and Ganesh began to stand up indignantly. "Not _you_ ," Gabriel said. His tone became serious. "The _apocalypse._ We can't stop it, gang." He held up a finger, smiling brightly. "But first things first." He turned back to Sam and Dean, giving them a pretentious smile. "The _adults_ need to have a little conversation. Check you later!" He held up his hands, snapped his fingers, and the brothers were no longer in the grand ballroom.

"Okay. Wh—did that just—holy _crap_!" Dean commented, totally beside himself, looking around at the hotel room they were suddenly in.

"Yeah, tell me about it," Sam said, similarly shocked. "By the way, next time I say let's keep driving, uh... _let's keep driving_!"

"Okay, yeah," Dean said, and put a hand on his head, looked around the room, still a little stunned. "Next time—now where the hell is our damn sister?"

"I'm right here," Alex said. Both of the brothers turned fast as she came into the room, slamming the door behind herself. She looked pretty sullen and was carrying a crowbar.

"What are you doing with _that_?" Dean asked as she threw it down onto the floor with a loud clatter.

"Gabe had me run a little errand for him but it was a bust." She looked at both of them closely, getting apprehensive. "Is it true? A bunch of gods downstairs?"

"Yup, all arguing over whether to _slit our throats_ or not," Dean said, feigning enthusiasm.

"Oh. Well. That's… just _perfect_ ," Alex muttered.

"Our thoughts exactly," Sam said, running a hand through his hair before he looked to Dean. "Alright, so what's our next move?"

Dean seemed a little bit out of his element. "I-I-I... I don't know. Grab those poor saps outta the freezer, I guess? Bust 'em out? Gank a few freaks along the way if we're lucky?"

"And when are _you_ ever lucky?" Gabriel asked. All three Winchesters turned fast to see that the angel was now in the room with them, seated casually in an arm chair, his leg crossed over his knee.

"You know what, bite me, Gabriel," Dean suggested gruffly.

Gabriel's eyebrows wiggled and he uncrossed his legs, standing up. "Maybe later, big boy." 

Dean went to him, grabbing him with one hand. "Listen, after that shit you put my sister through, you and I are gonna have words."

"Cool your jets, Hulkster," Gabriel said and took Dean's hand, removing it easily—Dean cringed and shrunk under the strong grip. "We don't have time for the melodrama, and anyway, she and I handled it. We're good, aren't we, Al?" He gave her a sweet, expectant smile. 

Dean looked at Alex for confirmation. She just made a face like _I guess so_. Dean shook his head, looking at Gabriel darkly. "I should've known, man. I mean this thing had your _stink_ all over it from the jump."

Gabriel looked severely let down. "Geez, you _too_? That's what she said. Look, I'm only gonna say it one more time: I'm not behind this. I'm the Costner to your Houston. I'm here to _save_ your ass."

" _You_ wanna pull _us_ outta the fire?" Dean asked incredulously.

"Bingo!" Gabriel confirmed. "Those guys are either gonna dust you, or use you as bait. Either way, you're uber boned."

"Wow, cuz a couple of months ago you were telling us that we need to 'play our roles.'" Dean said mirthlessly. " _You're_ uber boning _us_!"

Gabriel shook his head, chuckling. "Ohh... the end is still nigh. Michael and Lucifer are gonna dance the lambada, but not tonight. Not here."

"And why do you care?" Dean asked suspiciously.

Gabriel looked at Alex in annoyance—Dean was asking the exact same things she had. "I _don't_ care," Gabriel said. "But, me and Kali we, uh, had a thing. Chick was all hands. What can I say? I'm sentimental." At the skeptical looks he was getting, Gabriel became exasperated. "I _have_ my reasons, okay?"

"Listen, do those gods have a chance?" Sam asked quietly. "Against Satan?"

"Really, Sam?" Dean asked in surprise, turning to look back at his brother for an explanation. Alex looked startled by Sam's question too.

"You got a better idea, Dean? I mean, we've been looking for options, right? Maybe this _is_ one."

Gabriel shook his head. "It's a bad idea. Trust me, Lucifer's gonna turn them into finger paint. So let's get going while the going's good, hmm?"

He looked at Alex with an expectant smile and she gave him a sullen side eye. "We _can't_." She shrugged unhappily. "I tried to get into Kali's room like you told me, but she had some kind of spell or warding on it. I couldn't even get to the _door,_ much less get to the blood."

Gabriel looked annoyed.

"Blood?" Dean asked.

"Yours," Gabriel explained. "Kali had one of her little errand boys, probably Mercury, get blood from each of you. Sorry to break it to ya, but you're bound to her until the end of time… _or_ until she decides to let you go."

Dean didn't like to be told that kind of stuff—he stared Gabriel down threateningly. "So what do we do to get outta here?"

" _You_? You do nothing. Me… I'm gonna lay on a bit of the old black magic." Gabriel produced some mouth spray out of nowhere, spritzed some into his mouth, then wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Dean made a face. "Okay, yeah, whatever you gotta do. But we're gonna take the hors d'oeuvres in the freezer with us, okay?"

Gabriel shot him down immediately. "Uh no. Forget it. It's gonna be hard enough sneaking you mooks outta here."

"They called you Loki, right?" Dean asked, and Alex looked at her brother in confusion. "Which means they don't really know who you are?"

" _What_? Loki?" Alex asked, and looked at Gabe. He shrugged modestly. "Told you. I'm in witness protection."

Dean smiled cooly. "Okay, well then how about you do what we say, or we tell the, uh, legion of doom about your secret identity?" He asked. "They don't seem like a real pro-angel kinda crowd."

Gabriel's confidence had faded a couple degrees. "I'll take your voices away."

"We'll write it down," Dean countered.

"I'll cut off your hands," Gabriel retorted.

"We'll do an interpretive _dance_ ," Alex put in sarcastically, drawing a sharp look from both her brother and the archangel. "Come on Gabe. Do us this one solid, help us save those people. Or... I'll stab you in the chest."

The brothers both looked at Alex sidelong at her casual but sincere threat.

Gabe chuckled. "Like _that_ would…" he started, but trailed off when she pulled her jacket aside to reveal the hilt of an angel blade sticking out from the top of her pants.

"Don't think I won't," she told him, dead serious. And they both knew that maybe she wouldn't be fast enough to actually pull one over on him—but she was crazy enough to try it.

"You kept his blade," Gabriel said in soft surprise, his eyes flickered up to hers, he got one of those stupid smiles on his face. " _And_ you keep it in your pants. _Kinky_."

At the _I'm gonna kill you_ glare Alex shot at him, Gabe relented. " _Fine_ ," he sighed. "I'll help you guys get those saps outta here, but it's a bad idea, and if this goes south—your fault, not mine."

He straightened his jacket smartly and smoothed his hair down for show. " _Now_. I'm gonna go lay on the charm with Kali, get the blood, then zap us out. You have five minutes to get those chumps outta the freezer."

* * *

The Winchesters hurried downstairs, then had to duck back when they heard a man screaming—two of the gods—Zao Shen and Odin—were holding down one of the guys from the freezer, a cleaver held high. "No! N-No! No! Please! _Gah!"_ Dean made to move forward, but Sam stopped him abruptly.

"It's too late," Sam whispered frantically, even as they heard the sick sound of flesh being split open. The screams stopped. The lounge music droned on pleasantly.

The gods took the decapitated man into the grand ballroom, presumably to eat him, and the Winchesters slipped across the open space and into the kitchen entrance. All three of them rushed to the freezer, and when those trapped inside saw them, they began to shout and pound the door. Sam again began to pick the lock—Dean and Alex were suddenly grabbed from behind in tandem and sent flying backwards across the kitchen and into some metal shelves by Zao Shen, who had blood on his mouth.

He grabbed Sam by the neck, pinning him against the freezer door. Sam struggled, protesting in painful groans as the god lifted him high until his feet dangled off of the ground. Dean was trying to get up even as Alex, a little faster to get on her feet, was whipping out Castiel's blade.

"No, Alex!" Dean protested, holding a hand out uselessly. But she took the angel blade in both hands and stabbed it hard into Zao Shen's back—the god let go of Sam, screaming in pain as Alex yanked the blade back out. He fell over dead and Sam nodded a brief thanks to his sister before working on the lock again, rushing as Dean and Alex stood side by side tensely.

Dean stared at his sister in surprise, then the blade in her hand. "That thing can kill gods?"

She seemed as surprised as he did, staring at the gleaming metal length. "Well apparently it can kill _that_ one."

Good to know. But something else was pressing urgently on his mind: "Where the _hell_ is Gabriel?" 

"Not coming," replied a deep voice. There stood Baron Samedi, Meili, and Ganesh.

Dean had whirled and was blocking their view of Alex—and subsequently the view of the blade in her hand. He made a big show of standing there with his hands on his hips as he put a grin on his face and said, "Hi, guys."

Alex knew enough to take the opportunity he was purposefully giving her to put the blade away before it was seen. So she did, discreetly shoving it back into the waistband of her jeans just in time. Ganesh grabbed her and pushed her out of the kitchen. Sam and Dean were being forced along right in front of her. They were taken into the grand ballroom where Gabriel sat, Kali staring down at him. Great. Foiled again—his romantic conquest seemed to have failed.

"How's the _rescue_ going?" Dean asked sarcastically as he and his siblings were shoved down into chairs at the table. Gabriel gave him a dirty look. On either side of Dean, his siblings looked at him like _what are we gonna do_? He just shrugged helplessly, feeling cornered. They were outnumbered, and bad.

"Well, surprise, surprise," Kali said, addressing the occupants of the room. "The _Trickster_ has _tricked_ us."

"Kali, don't," Gabriel begged softly, so quietly that Alex could barely make out the words.

"You're mine now," she said to him softly, then sat on his lap seductively. "And you have something I want." She ran her hand down his chest sensually... reached into his jacket... and pulled out his angel's blade. "An archangel's blade," she said loudly. "From the archangel... _Gabriel._ "

She stood up even as all of the gods in the room looked at Gabriel with new levels of mistrust. Gabriel seemed to realize he needed to head off his impending execution and he nervously raised his hands in mock-surrender. "Okay, _okay_! So I got wings, like Kotex. But that doesn't make me any less right about Lucifer."

"He's lying," Kali said. "He's a spy."

"I'm not a spy. I'm a runaway. I'm an outcast. The _freak_ of my family. I'm here trying to save you." He leaned forward, serious and intense. "I know my brother, Kali. He should scare the living crap out of you. You _can't_ beat him. I've skipped ahead and seen how this story ends."

" _Your_ story," Kali said. There was a quiet anger underneath her placid exterior. "Not ours." She shook her head. "Westerners, I swear. The sheer _arrogance_." She looked at Gabriel with loathing. "You think you're the only ones on earth? You pillage and you butcher in your god's name. But you're not the only religion, and he's _not_ the only god. And now you think you can just rip the planet apart? You're wrong. There are _billions_ of us." She leaned closer to him. She still held his blade. "And we were here first. If anyone gets to end this world…" she put a seemingly tender hand against Gabriel's face, holding his gaze. "It's _me_." The blade glinted as she moved it back slightly. Her voice and face softened inexplicably. "I'm sorry."

Gabriel's face filled with shocked betrayal as she stabbed him with his own sword—and maybe Alex imagined it, but it looked like the goddess had tears in her eyes. Gabriel screamed and blue light exploded from behind his eyes and out of his mouth, his entire body jolted, and he went limp, slumped in the chair. Dead.

The Winchesters looked at each other in doubled horror, realizing things were getting out of hand and _fast_.

"This is _crazy_ …" Mercury said softly even as the other gods looked on, seeming to be thinking the same thing.

Sam and Alex frantically looked at Dean, who sat between them, freaking out—his knee was jumping up and down in nervous energy, his eyes were darting back and forth across the room. The twins looked at each other, the same _we're screwed_ expressions on their faces.

Kali straightened away from Gabriel's limp body, her expression like stone again. "They _can_ die," she said, looking around the room meaningfully. "We can kill Lucifer."

Beside Alex, Dean stood up without warning. "All right you primitive screwheads, listen up."

In unison, Sam and Alex gaped. "Are you _outta_ your _mind_?" Sam whispered through the side of his mouth.

" _What are you_ —" Alex started in a whisper through clenched teeth.

"I'm outta options," Dean cut her off, speaking low enough for only his brother and sister to hear. He looked at them both very briefly as if to tell them _just trust me on this one._

Dean looked up at the gods who were all waiting resentfully. He smiled cockily, took in a deep breath, then began to talk in a confident, commanding voice as his siblings both watched with slack jaws, no idea what their big brother was up to.

"Now on any other given day, I'd be doing my damndest to, uh, kill you," Dean said as he swaggered over a few steps to the right, looking the gods in the eye in turn, his demeanor filled with condescending smugness. "You filthy... murdering... chumps," he added in for good measure and chuckled, turning on his heel to casually amble up toward where the drinks were. "But, uh, _hey,_ desperate times." He turned, sweeping the room with a leisurely and cynical smile. Very angry faces stared back at him. "So even though I'd love nothing better than to slit your throats... you _dicks_ …" he pointed at them with both index fingers like it was their lucky day. "I'm gonna _help you_!" He turned around and grabbed a decanter of some dark liquor, beginning to pour it even as the twins looked at each other in complete, utter bafflement. Alex shrunk down into her seat, wishing she could just disappear. Dean finished pouring his drink. "I'm going to _help you_ ice the devil." He turned around, liquor in hand, that false smile still plastered across his face. "And then we can all get back to ganking each other like normal. You want Lucifer, well, dude's not in the Yellow Pages. But me and Sam, we can get him here."

" _How_?" Kali challenged.

"First you let those main courses go," Dean told her. "Then we talk. We can either take on the devil together... or you lame-ass bitches can eat me." His smile wavered slightly. "Literally." He took a huge gulp of the dark liquid in his glass.

Kali looked at him closely, assessing him, trying to decide whether or not to do what he'd said. Finally, she smiled just slightly. "Fine," she consented. "I can always get more. Go let them out. But... your brother and sister stay with me."

Dean set his drink down, gave his brother and sister a _be cool_ look, and marched out of the room, a man on a mission.

Kali watched him go, then turned and looked at Sam, her dark eyes not seeming to miss anything. Alex watched out of the corner of her eye as Mercury slunk out of the room, looking shaken up and shifty.

"So, Lucifer's vessel," Kali said, then her eyes slid over to look at Alex. "And... you." She studied Alex disdainfully. "We have no further use for you."

She raised her hand, snapped her fingers, and Alex was gone.

* * *

In the lobby, a hand hit against the service bell. Mercury turned around to greet the new guest—he was startled momentarily to see how fast his call had been answered.

"Checking in," said the newcomer. His face was worn, pale, peeling off in places.

Mercury smiled politely, but there was an apprehensiveness behind the expression. "Lucifer. Thanks for coming."

Lucifer smiled mildly. "Oh, you did right calling me."

"It's just…" Mercury looked to his side, speaking in a hushed tone. "The way the talk is heading in there, it's... it's _insane_." He chuckled nervously.

Lucifer nodded understandingly. "You know, I never understood you pagans, you're such…" he wrinkled his nose up, his smile became more of a loathing expression, "petty little things." Mercury's little smile fell in confusion as Lucifer continued. "Always fighting, always happy to sell out your own kind. No wonder you forfeited this planet to us." Lucifer pointed a finger at the god. " _You_ are worse than humans. You're worse than demons. And yet you claim to be gods." He smiled again as if in amusement, even as Mercury faltered, regretting his choice to summon Lucifer. At the same moment that Mercury realized his mistake, Lucifer's smile faded, the finger he was pointing at Mercury twisted with sudden and violent speed. Mercury's neck snapped, he fell over dead before he even knew what had happened.

Lucifer looked down at the dead god apathetically. "And they call _me_ prideful."

* * *

The lights flickered in the moving elevator, and Alex looked up, frowning. That was never a good sign. Impatiently she mentally urged the elevator to go faster, wishing she'd taken the stairs. Kali had sent her away to a locked room on the top floor, but Alex had broken her way out using a nightstand to destroy the door hinges enough that she could kick the door down. She had no idea what she was going to do once she got downstairs again, but she _wasn't_ leaving her brothers alone. 

The elevator dinged pleasantly, the doors slid open, Alex stepped out and looked up—and was met with a horrifying sight that made her stop mid-step. The hallway in front of the elevator was a bloodbath—dead gods lined the floor, their blood spattered the walls—and in front of her, as if he'd been waiting, Lucifer, covered head to toe in the blood of the ones he'd slain. 

"Hello, Alex," he said pleasantly even as she stumbled back. The elevator doors had closed and her back pressed into them as she stared at him in horror. "It's been awhile," he remarked conversationally, looking at her with a soft, pleasant smile. "You been doing all right?" He looked even worse than he had last time she'd seen him, like he was diseased to his core. He took in her horrified expression.

"Is it my face?" he asked her in what seemed like genuine concern. He was dreadfully close now. "I know... it's a little frightful to look at. I promise you... I'm the same sweet-hearted guy deep down."

He cupped her chin in one of his bloody hands and she tensed, thinking of her angel blade. He was staring at her deeply as if he could see her thoughts. "You look like there's something you're dying to ask me," he said coaxingly. "...I'm all ears."

She found her voice, even though she could barely breathe, asking the first thing she could think of, even if it was just to buy time. "Are you here to take Sam?"

Lucifer smiled, his eyes crinkled up, he let go of her face and gave her an amused look. "Well he'd have to say yes for that to happen now wouldn't he?" He sighed, folding his arms and putting a thoughtful finger on his chin. "I just don't know _what_ I'll do if I can't get him to comply..."

There was a note of implication in his voice that spurred Alex to look at him closely, and she thought of how Adam was now Michael's vessel… she swallowed, trying to remain detached and not let him see through her. "Is he... your only vessel?"

Satan almost smirked. "Why? Are you offering?"

"No, I—" Alex halted mid-sentence. She'd answered before she'd even heard his question. Her stomach churned. "Would that _work_?" she asked slowly.

Lucifer raised a single eyebrow, came a bit closer to her. Too close. "Would you like to try it and see?" he asked her teasingly, and his smile was unnerving. His eyes flickered up and down her inappropriately. "I'm not against... experimentation." He leaned a little closer to whisper in her ear. "But how would Castiel feel about another angel being inside of you?"

He drew back and chuckled at the look on her face. She was disturbed on every level, barely able to keep herself from shaking in the revulsion and anger she felt. And looking Satan in the eye, she saw how smug he looked, how sure of himself, and she felt herself getting brave and stupid. "You can't have Sam," she told him, some of her fire returning, some of her anger. "Not now, not _ever_."

She grabbed the hilt of the angel blade, but Lucifer's hand shot out and grabbed her wrist hard, painfully hard, stopping her. He looked at her cooly. " _Loyalty._ I can respect that. You love him very much." He seemed pleased, looking at her in a way that made her feel completely intimidated. "Enough to do _anything_ for him, I'd imagine..." he smiled, his chapped, discolored lips stretching across his peeling face ghoulishly. His hand still held her wrist tightly. "I have a previous engagement—I think I'm being rude, keeping them waiting. Care to join me?"

Alex wasn't sure if it were a real question or not. "No thanks."

Lucifer's head tilted slightly to the side, he looked at her in dark amusement. "I was just being polite, of course. I'm afraid I have to insist."

And never letting go of her wrist, Lucifer pulled her along with himself down the hall, over the bloody ripped remains of three or four gods and goddesses. Alex cursed herself, knowing she couldn't reach the handle with her left hand fast enough or well enough to have a chance to do what she'd wanted to do: stab him through the heart.

Lucifer dragged her around a corner and into the grand ballroom, where four people turned to look at the newcomers.

"Alex!" Sam exclaimed in horrified surprise, moving toward her by instinct—but beside him Dean grabbed him by the jacket, rooting him to the spot.

Baldur and Kali stood together next to the brothers, shocked to see Lucifer who smiled ominously. "Sam, Dean, good to see you again. Alex, dear, be a good little girl and go to your brothers. Go on."

She looked at him in disbelief—he was just… gonna _let her go_? He did just that, but before she could grab for her angel blade, she found herself sliding across the floor like she was on ice, bowling into Sam and Dean, who caught her, righting her. The three of them, grabbing onto each other, looked at the devil in disbelief.

He raised his arms slightly, cringing apologetically. "So sorry about the mess, everyone," he said, dusting his hands off for show.

Baldur's fury blazed on his face. He stepped forward toward Lucifer even as Kali protested, telling him "Baldur, don't."

He ignored her. "You think you own the planet?" He asked angrily. "What gives you the _right_?" He rushed toward Lucifer, who abruptly stabbed his arm and hand through Baldur's chest completely. Gasping in shock and pain as he died, Baldur looked at Lucifer with wide, horrified eyes.

"No one _gives_ us the right, we _take_ it," Lucifer murmured softly, then yanked his arm out of Baldur and threw him to the ground.

Enraged, Kali's stared at Lucifer as her arms suddenly bristled in flames. Lucifer smiled at her coyly and she raised an arm, lobbing fire at him—and the Winchesters threw themselves over the edge of an overturned table for cover while fire filled the room. Flames shot over their heads, blistering heat making it hard to breathe.

When the flames faded, Lucifer smiled at Kali. He was unaffected. He advanced onto her, hitting her and sending her flying. Above and behind the devil, part of the ceiling and wall had caught fire.

Behind the overturned table, Sam ducked his head back down to check on his sister. "You okay?" he asked. Suddenly Gabriel appeared next to Dean.

"Not really," Gabriel said. "Better late then never, huh?" He slapped a Casa Erotica DVD up against Dean's chest. "Guard this with your life."

"How the hell are you alive?!" Alex demanded, looking at the archangel in shock.

He smiled at her charmingly, shrugging humbly. "They don't call me the Trickster for nothin'!" He stood up, his angel blade in hand, and Lucifer, who was about to stomp on Kali, was blown back through the grand ballroom doors.

The devil collapsed down onto the ground and looked up at Gabriel, an unreadable expression upon his face. Gabriel stared at him challengingly, walking toward him and staring him down. "Lucy! I'm home."

Lucifer stood, rolled his neck, then advanced into the room. Gabriel held his blade high, stopping Lucifer in his tracks. 

Realizing that his brother stood against him, Lucifer fell back a little, his expression growing cold. Gabriel backed up, holding his blade high, offering his other hand to Kali to help her up. "Guys!" Gabriel called, not taking his eyes off Lucifer. "Get her outta here."

Taking the cue, Sam, Dean, and Alex jumped up and hurried over. Dean grabbed onto Kali, escorting her out as Gabriel covered their exit. A few embers fell from the ceiling above. The fire Kali had started was spreading.

"Over a _girl_ ," Lucifer commented lowly as Kali and the Winchesters disappeared through the ballroom door behind Gabriel, who blocked Lucifer from pursuing. "Gabriel, really? I mean I knew you were slumming, but…" Lucifer made a disgusted face. "I hope you didn't _catch_ anything."

Gabriel smiled and shrugged. "Hey, I'm not the first angel to throw it all away for a girl, now am I," he replied, leveling his brother with a stilted smile. "Lucifer, you're my brother. And I love you. But you are a great big bag of _dicks_."

"...What did you just say to me?" Lucifer asked, his eyes narrowing.

"Look at yourself! Boo _hoo_! Daddy was mean to me, so I'm gonna smash up all his toys," Gabriel said derisively.

"Watch your tone," Lucifer warned softly, dangerously.

Gabriel ignored his brother's command. "Play the victim all you want. But you and me? We know the truth. Dad loved you best. More than Michael, more than me. Then he brought the new baby home and you couldn't handle it. So this is all just one big temper tantrum." Gabriel's face grew serious, he pointed his blade at Lucifer. "Time to grow up."

Beside them, the wall was catching fire.

* * *

"We're just _leaving_?" Alex demanded, stopping just a few feet outside of the lobby doorway. Ahead of her, Dean, Sam and Kali turned around. The Impala was a few feet off in the dark parking lot.

Dean seemed to think she was crazy. "Yes, what, you wanna hang around for _happy hour_ or something?! We gotta get out of here, _now_."

Alex looked at him like _he_ was the crazy one and she pulled out Castiel's blade, gesturing to it. "Lucifer is in there right now, I have _this,_ we can _kill_ him!" she practically shouted.

"Uh, _no_ , I don't think so, get in the car!" Dean said, his tone indicating it was final. _  
_

She thought about it a second, turned back around, and headed back toward the hotel. Behind her, Dean grabbed her by the jacket, whirling her around. "What the hell are you _doing_!?" he demanded, aghast.

"I am gonna go in there and kill Lucifer!" she snapped, angrier than he'd thought possible.

"It's _suicide_!" Dean almost shouted.

"I don't _care_!" she roared, pushing at him and fighting him, trying to get away. Out of nowhere, Kali reached over and touched Alex, who slumped forward in Dean's arms, unconscious. He looked at the goddess in a mixture of appreciation and disbelief.

The goddess just gave him a contemptuous look. "Bitch at me later, let's _go_."

* * *

Inside the grand ballroom, embers fell down like lazy snow flurries and the two angels faced each other down. "Gabriel, if you're doing this for Michael…" Lucifer said in a gentle, reasoning tone.

"Screw him," Gabriel retorted. "If he were standing here, I'd shiv his ass too."

Dismay and then loathing filtered across Lucifer's face. "You _disloyal_ —"

"Oh, I'm loyal," Gabriel said. "To them."

"Who?" Lucifer questioned. "These so called _gods_?"

"To people, Lucifer. People."

Lucifer looked at his brother in disbelief. " _People_?" he asked, the word laced with disdain.

"Yes. Determined, stubborn, pain-in-the-ass... imperfect people." Gabriel spread his arms out a little. "The scenery around here is great, but human nature? Beats everything I've seen here or anywhere else."

Lucifer began to pace, slowly, back and forth in front of Gabriel. The fire was growing—three walls were licked by flames now, and the roof was beginning to char. Parts fell off onto the floor below. "So you're willing to _die_ for a pile of cockroaches," Lucifer said. "Why?"

"Because Dad was right," Gabriel said. "They're better than us."

Lucifer took that as personal offense. "They are broken. Flawed! _Abortions."_ He spat. "Our father _failed_ when he created humans."

"Failed? No. Damn right they're flawed. That's what I _like_ ," Gabriel said. "And a lot of them try. To do better, to forgive." A playful smirk played on his lips. "And you should see the Spearmint Rhino!" Lucifer was growing quiet, looking at his brother in utter devastation. "I've been riding the pine a long time," Gabriel said. "But I'm in the game now, and I'm not on your side, or Michael's. I've decided I'm on theirs."

"You fool," Lucifer said in soft sadness. "You strange, sentimental, _lonely_ fool." He sighed wearily. "It's not too late," he coaxed. "You can join me. Because I'm going to win, Gabriel. You _know_ I am. Be part of the new earth I'll create. Be part of the splendor of what's to come when I fix what our father destroyed."

Flippant, Gabriel made a face. "Mm, yeah, how about _no_."

Lucifer's expression was filled with pain, and around them, parts of the flaming ceiling began to fall more rapidly. "Brother, don't make me do this," Lucifer asked softly, a final chance for his brother.

"No one makes _us_ do anything," was Gabriel's reply.

Lucifer, knowing what was to come, knowing his brother's tricks and style, looked at Gabriel, dispirited. "I know you think you're doing the right thing, Gabriel… but I also know where your heart truly lies." He smiled sadly at his brother—and then whirled, catching Gabriel—the _real_ Gabriel, who had been sneaking up behind him—by the wrist, stabbing Gabriel's blade down into his own chest.

" _Here,"_ Lucifer said, and Gabriel's expression was shocked, betrayed as he gasped in pain. Behind him, the illusion Gabriel had cast of himself disappeared, vanishing into thin air. "Amateur hocus pocus..." Lucifer whispered. "Don't forget, you learned all your tricks from me, little brother." He drove the blade as deep as it would go, and Gabriel screamed, exploded in blue light, falling down to the ground. This time, it was not a trick. Black wing marks spread across the ground that was littered with flaming debris.

Lucifer stood over Gabriel's body for a long moment, a bitter expression on his face. Around him, the room collapsed in parts, flames consuming the structure. Lucifer turned slightly toward the back of the room, addressing a corner that was covered by a thick, flaming partition. "You know, it's rude to stare," he said softly.

A tall, pale man with dark hair and fierce, brooding features came out from behind the flaming structure to look at Lucifer without a word. He wore faded jeans, a black leather jacket, and a hard to read expression.

"Hezion," Lucifer greeted curiously. "The angel of shadows and night... are you here to try and kill me, too?"

Hezion came forward slowly, his eyes dropping to Gabriel and then coming back up to Lucifer. "No. I'm here to offer my services."

"Offer your services," Lucifer repeated, then paused cynically. "It's kind of a bad time."

Hezion ignored the comment. "Michael's obtained a vessel, I'm sure you've heard." Lucifer just raised his eyebrows slightly, indicating Hezion get to his point. "Adam Milligan is small. Weak. Incapable. Against you, against Sam Winchester… he's sure to fail."

"The _point,_ Hezion."

Hezion's expression didn't waver. "I'm here to sign up for the winning team."

Lucifer looked at his much younger brother without bothering to hide his repugnance. "You've always been like this, Hezion. Disloyal, _apostate_." His lip curled up slightly. "Do you know how I find those qualities to be?"

"I'm not disloyal," Hezion said, matter-of-fact. "I'm like you. I'm an opportunist. I do what's best for me."

Lucifer looked him up and down. "And you think that siding with me, Heaven's number one enemy, is what's best for you."

"Yes. Because I know Michael doesn't stand a chance."

Lucifer studied Hezion silently. The other angel was looking at him closely, taking in the peeling skin, the sores. "Your vessel is weak," Hezion observed. "You're probably finding yourself a little incapable of doing things you really need done." He stepped closer, raising his chin slightly, his mouth curving upwards just slightly on one side. "I can help you get your true vessel, Lucifer. And in return, you'll give me a place in your new world."

His eyes narrowed slightly and Lucifer almost smirked. "You're an odd one, Hezion. Always have been." Lucifer paused, thinking back. "Though I don't suppose you remember all of it... so many things _do_ tend to get lost in the mix..."

Hezion's expression faltered slightly as if in puzzlement and Lucifer smiled elusively. "There _is_ something I need a little help with, actually," he said thoughtfully, then wagged his finger at Hezion with a small smile. "You might be just the angel for the job." He felt himself smiling slowly as he thought about it and looked at Hezion thoroughly. He didn't trust Hezion and he never would. But he wouldn't hesitate to _use_ him. Lucifer held out his cracked and peeling hand, indicating the other angel take it.

Hezion put his in and the angels shook hands. Lucifer smiled ominously. Around them, the grand ballroom began to collapse in flames, beams breaking in half and snapping like twigs.

"It won't be long now," the devil said softly. "Not long at all."

* * *

As soon as his sister woke up again, Dean yanked the car over to the side of the road and he got out, pulling Alex's door open. "Get out, _now_!" 

She looked at him reluctantly, but got out slowly. She looked like she was shutting down again. Sam got out at the same time that she did, worried about what was happening. Kali sat still, watching silently.

"What the hell was that back there huh?!" Dean demanded, clearly scared and pissed alike. "You fucking _crazy_?!"

"Leave me alone, I'm fine," Alex said hollowly, avoiding his gaze.

" _You_ —are _not_ —fine!" Dean bellowed, his chest heaving in distress and anger. "I mean all the nuthouse crap you've been pulling this past month and then tonight you just decide to waltz in and _kill the devil,_ get yourself _killed?_ Have you _lost_ your _mind_?" He stared her down, emphasizing his words with his hands. He wet his lips, attempting to calm himself. He was angry, but he attempted to speak to her understandingly. "Listen, if this is about Cas—"

A switch flipped at the mention of Cas, total enraged grief suddenly struck Alex's features like lightning. " _Cas isn't coming back_!" She practically screamed. "Stop _telling me he is_!" And there it was: all of the horrified grief and fear and sadness that she'd been hiding or pushing away for the past four weeks—it was written across her face clearly. She was shaking. Sam now stood beside Dean, and Alex looked between both of them with shining, tear-filled eyes. "I am _not_ letting either of _you_ get taken from me, ever!" she raged, seeming to be overwhelmed to the point of near insanity. "If I have to die trying to save you I don't care! I can't _live like this_ anymore, do you understand?!"

She hit the side of the Impala with the palm of her hand, teeth gritted, pained tears leaking out of her eyes, and a wretched sob tore out of her throat. "He's dead," she said, and shook her head, shoulders slumped in defeat. A hand came up to cover her face. "He's _dead_." She practically wailed at that point in painful misery, and Dean moved toward her, attempting to comfort her, but she reacted like an angry, caged animal, shoved him away. "Get _away_ from me!"

The brothers looked at each other briefly, neither knowing what to do. She looked like she were in physical pain, she wrapped her arms around her middle and bent forward—and she was pitiful, helpless. She choked on her sobs, groaning as she screwed her eyes shut and took horrible quaking breaths. "It hurts, it _hurts_ , it fucking hurts so bad I can't breathe or think anymore!" She shrank back against the Impala, and she didn't seem to see them or anything else, she just stared blank and unblinking with wide eyes at somewhere near Sam and Dean's knees. Her voice had gone faint. "I am in _hell_ every day thinking about what happened, thinking about who else I'm gonna lose—I can't stand the things I think—" her voice suddenly raised to a panicked shout—"I _can't_ _DO THIS anymore_!"

Sam tried reaching out for her arm but she yanked herself out of the range of his grasp, backing up, shaking her head, eyes squeezed shut again, sobs wracking her body. She was becoming hysterical. "It's too much, it's _too much_! All of it!" She looked up at them, and her expression was full of some wild and ominous quality, like she was about to do something crazy—she was livid on a level they'd never seen. "I don't _want_ this!"

And with a shriek of rage or grief, it was hard to tell which, she threw herself down to the ground. Blind to everything except the red she was seeing, Alex wildly bashed one of her fists into the pavement repeatedly, screaming in pain and anger alike even as her brothers sprung forward and grabbed her up, struggling to physically restrain her.

Her wailing screams echoed through the foggy night.

* * *

 **That Same Moment**  
Saint Bernard Parish Hospital  
Chalmette, Louisana

_It was dark. There was nothing but endless drifting._

_But he was aware of himself again. And aware of something else, too. It wasn't physical pain that he sensed, it was despair and hopelessness screaming through the thick silence. And somehow he knew it was_ hers _. Immediately, he tried to reach up, to pull himself out of the darkness and to her, but he was unable._

 _He fought harder, panic squeezing a fist around him—he needed to wake up_ now. _He was needed—and nothing was more important in the universe than rising out of the darkness and finding her—but his will was overpowered by his body which was weak and powerless._

_There was a vague memory of her hand beside his, and he tried to reach out and take it, because maybe if he could do that he could reach her. But he felt darkness darker than night closing in again, and even though he resisted, he still faded out, slipping away into the place where he had no thoughts at all._

Nurse Katie Cooper paused, squinting at the vitals monitor—she thought she'd heard a sound indicating a spike. Sure enough, brain activity was up— _way_ up. John Doe's finger twitched, his eyebrows moved together for a second—a worried kind of expression. And just as quickly as it had happened, it ceased. The brain activity died down again, his face went still and calm.

Katie's shoulders sank down from where she didn't realize she'd been holding them. For a second, she thought the guy was going to come out of the coma.

She sighed softly and looked at him sadly.

Not yet.


	40. Wide Awake

" _I never meant to wither; I wanted to be tall.  
_ _Like a fool I left the river, watched my branches fall."_  
\- Lights

* * *

**Five Days Later**

She stood in the graveyard alone.

Skeletal trees dotted the cemetery, their limbs shivering in a ghostly breeze. Half-rotted wooden crosses quietly stood every few feet. The call of crows echoed over the dismal, cold scene. It felt hollow here.

...Where had Sam and Dean gone? They'd just been with her... hadn't they?

She thought she heard them calling, but when she listened hard, all she could catch hold of was the harsh whistle of wind across earth.

Trying to get her bearings, Alex was left to notice how everything seemed to become two-dimensional and blurred at her peripheral. About thirty feet off a large hole loomed in the ground—an open grave. Her legs seemed to have a mind of their own, because they carried Alex there without a coherent thought in her mind. She got to the edge and peered down into the void. At the bottom of the deep grave two lifeless bodies laid, their glazed-over eyes staring up unseeingly. And when she recognized them as her _brothers_ , she stumbled back in horrified shock. _Into_ someone.

She whirled to find herself staring into the face of _Sam_ —but it _wasn't_ Sam and she knew it right away. He was cold, soulless, evil, dark, strong, taller than he'd ever been and bigger, too. It was _Lucifer_ , she knew it on instinct, and he smiled at her. She backed up immediately, only thinking _get away from him now_ , forgetting where she stood. She almost fell back into the grave when the heels of her shoes sank into the crumbling dirt at the edge. She flailed backwards, Lucifer caught her by her arms, and his grip was bone crushing. He smelled like smoke and ash, and she saw the reflection of orange light dancing in his eyes, was shocked when she looked down and saw that the ground beneath his feet was on fire. "You could have saved them," he told her in a velvet whisper—Sam's voice—his eyes were cold, his mouth was twisting up into a sneer. "But you _didn't_." The flames underneath his feet were spreading out like water might flood flatlands—and the entire graveyard which had been so cold a moment ago was now engulfed in blistering heat.

"Whatever choices you make, whatever details you alter..." he leaned terrifyingly close, his voice was barely audible, that dark smile was impossibly gleeful. "I _win_." And Lucifer let her go with a shove, she screamed, falling back, trying to catch hold of something, _anything_. She fell forever, for what felt like miles and miles, and then landed hard on her back even as heavy burningly cold dirt began to rain down over her. She was stuck in place, and all she could see was Lucifer leering down at her in victorious contempt while wearing Sam's face. Around him the world was burning, even the sky. Alex could hear screams of dying people who she hadn't been strong enough to save. The dirt that fell down onto her was heavy, each clump that struck was like a kick to the gut. Her eyes burned out of their sockets, her chest was tearing apart, she was roasting to death and freezing solid even as every limb in her body was turning to liquid and she was gasping for air and screaming _no, no, no_!

" _No_!" she shouted and her eyes snapped open even as she rocketed upward breathless, disoriented, panicked, and in the dark. It came back to memory as her wide eyes adjusted and heart continued to race: Bobby's house. The sheer terror began to abate. It had just been a dream. Another vivid, shocking, _terrifying_ dream.

She wasn't in a graveyard—she was in the attic on the bed there. She must have fallen asleep as she laid there in the place she and Cas had been together last.

Her feet hit the floor as she sat up. She held on tight to the edge of the bed, leaning over her knees. Feeling crazed as she reeled, Alex put a shaking hand to her forehead, telling herself it was okay. That _none of that was real._ But the images remained so vivid, burned into her mind's eye. It had felt so, so real. She could still see Lucifer smiling cruelly at her as he wore her twin's face. She could still feel the obscene heat from the inferno he'd spawned. Her heart was still racing sickeningly fast and she shut her eyes for a moment, just trying to steady herself.

Maybe the dream hadn't been real, but the fear of losing her brothers, the fear of seeing them dead, of seeing Sam as Lucifer… that _was_ real, was something she couldn't escape from in dreams _or_ reality. And almost every time she fell asleep, ever since escaping from the Elysian Fields she'd dreams just like that. Where Sam or Dean were dead, where Lucifer crushed her beneath his heel, where he taunted her, hurt her, killed her and burned the world of life entirely. She felt haunted and hunted, unable to escape from her inner fears. And most of all, she was afraid the dreams would come true. They were always different, but the ending was the same—her brothers, dead. Lucifer smiling as he killed her, too.

Alex looked down at the bed she sat on—it was sometime in the middle of the night but the light from the full moon illuminated the attic well. She'd come up here to get a box of books for Bobby, had seen the bed, then had subsequently remembered everything she wanted to forget. Still, perhaps a glutton for punishment—or maybe reaching out for any small ounce of comfort that still existed—she'd curled up onto her side on the center of the bed and laid her palm down onto the empty bed beside her. That's where he had been. She'd shut her eyes slowly, trying to remember what Cas had felt like that afternoon over a month ago—when she'd held a piece of the only heaven she'd ever known there in her arms, not knowing how close the two of them were to being torn apart completely.

He'd loved her, and look where that had gotten him: dead.

He was _gone_. She still couldn't get herself to fully believe it—and she didn't _want_ to. It had been almost forty days but her heart, mind, and soul couldn't let go of the desperate need to see him again. She caught herself sometimes expecting at random moments to look up and see his frumpy outfit and dark hair and the face she'd come to love so much. She hated how deeply losing him had hurt her. She couldn't find a way out from underneath it. Why did he do that? Why did he sacrifice himself like that? Her life wasn't worth his and she was angry at him for getting himself killed. _Angry_. And sad. So fucking sad.

She was beginning to forget his face. Her mind strained to fill in the details, but he was fading. She couldn't hold on, even though she tried so desperately to. She didn't even have a picture of him. Not a single damn picture. A hot tear spilled out now onto one of her cheeks as she squeezed her eyes shut tighter, trying to remember him while cursing herself. The sadness was too heavy and she was nearly broken from carrying it. When would life be bearable again?

Alex forced her eyes open, sniffing, trying to get herself together. If nothing else, she was glad her brothers weren't here to see her like this.

She looked down at her scraped up right-hand knuckles—at the huge scabs from where she'd punched asphalt in a fit of incredible rage and sadness. Alex still didn't know what the hell had made her do that. She remembered flying into fits of rage as a kid and doing crazy destructive things when she was frustrated—she'd knock things over and ruin stuff and break things on purpose as a way to express her anger. But she'd never intentionally hurt _herself_ like she had five days ago.

All the _everything_ she'd felt was what she'd been slamming her fist into repeatedly. For a second she hadn't even _known_ she was pounding her fist into the pavement. She'd just known it was her fault Cas was dead.

Her brothers had yanked her up, physically preventing her from continuing the hysterical antics. And even though she'd resisted them for a minute, kicking and screaming and sobbing like damn crazy person, the fit passed and she'd been left deflated and dazed, one of them holding her by either arm. When she'd taken in the shocked, alarmed concern written across her brothers faces, the anger had been overcome with bitter shame. She'd given up, cried herself hoarse there on the side of the road, _finally_ letting someone comfort her after a month of refusing to even acknowledge that she needed help. By the side of some random highway in the absolute dead of night, her oldest brother had hugged her close, hesitantly at first, while her twin pat-patted her back and kept a hand on her shoulder. She had never felt so wretched or low, so weak and so ashamed of herself as she'd cried on her brothers.

She remembered sobbing " _I'm sorry, I'm sorry_ ," over and over again, not knowing what she was sorry for. It had left her so mortified to need her brothers comforting her like she was eight years old again. She remembered snatches of things they'd said like " _not your fault_ " and " _will all be okay_ " and she'd cried even harder to hear those things, those lies that were meant to make her feel better. Alex had felt like she would _never_ feel better, that it would never be okay ever again.

When she'd finally become too exhausted to cry any more, they'd realized that Kali had disappeared. Apparently (and hopefully) she'd released them from the blood spell. At that point, none of them had really cared. Alex remembered very little about the rest of that night.

Vaguely she recalled Sam grabbing his laptop out of the car, setting it on the roof and muttering something about " _better watch that DVD before we forget._ " _What_ DVD, she'd wondered. She remembered her oldest brother helping her sit in the back seat. She slumped there, exhausted, as Dean and Sam watched the Casa Erotica DVD Gabriel had handed to Dean after telling him to guard it with his life.

On it, Gabriel had recorded a message. It had gone something like " _If you're hearing this message it means I'm dead and you have no hope of killing Lucy without me. But... you can trap him, put him back into the cage you got him out of._ " Gabriel had explained how the horsemen of the apocalypse each had a ring, and if all four rings were brought together, they created a key to the cage. And the Winchesters, well they already had two—War and Famine's rings. After Gabe let that little piece of information slip, the recording had become a little more X-Rated and Sam had slammed the laptop shut with a sound of disgust.

" _Okay, you know what, this is good,"_ Dean had said. _"It's a long shot, but it's better than nothing, right? We got two rings. Collect all four, Satan's back behind bars."_

" _You make it sound so easy,"_ Sam had retorted sarcastically.

" _Easy, no, a plan… yes."_ There had been a long pause.

At that point, Alex had been so exhausted she wasn't able to keep her eyes open. She felt delirious almost, going slack against the car door, trying to shut the world out. Her brothers, maybe thinking she'd fallen asleep, proceeded to have a whisper-fight about what to do with her.

 _"You get that she can't come with us on this one, right?"_ Dean. _"Not now, not the shape she's in."_

" _So what, we ditch her at Bobby's and burn rubber?"_ Sam. _"Go after these horsemen without her, just leave her_ behind _when she needs her family the most?"_

Dean sounded furiously intense, like he'd been thinking about it a lot and was everything from worried to pissed regarding the subject. _"She hasn't slept in_ weeks _, Sam, not more than a couple hours at a time, she's not_ eating _, the dude she was into is_ dead _, her brothers are Heaven and Hell's most wanted, she's one damn step away from the friggin' nuthouse… and I am_ telling you _, this is gonna_ kill her _if we keep going like this!"_

There had been another long pause. Sam sounded torn. _"Look, I know she's not doing so great, but I still don't think it's a good idea to just… to just_ leave _her!"_

" _I know it's not, Sam, but what other option do we have? And listen, if you don't think it kills me to see her like this, you're_ wrong," Dean had shot back in an angry hiss _._ Then he'd paused, sounding a lot less angry, just… torn apart instead. _"But we just don't have any_ time _left. We got to stop the apocalypse. And as soon as we do, I_ promise _you, this family will stick together like we used to. We'll make sure she's okay, gets whatever help she needs. But for now, what she needs is to be in one place, safe, resting, somewhere that isn't with us. Bobby can take care of her. It's too_ dangerous _here with us, and what if she loses her mind like that again? In the middle of the job or something? We can't risk it. This is how we keep her safe. Now let's go."_

Sam had been silent. Alex kept her eyes closed, pretending to be asleep. She hadn't been able to even _think_ about looking her siblings in the eye.

They'd driven twelve hours to Bobby's, arriving early afternoon. Sam and Dean had tried to take their sister aside once they were there, explain themselves and why they'd taken her there. But she'd just told them, cold and detached, that she understood why they were doing what they were doing and that they'd better be on their way. That she'd be fine. They'd looked at each other warily. Then they'd nodded. Dean looked like he wasn't sure what to do, and ended up just squeezing her gently on the shoulder, telling her " _take it easy, kiddo_." He was standoffish, looking at her like he knew how bad she hurt and was ashamed of himself for being any small part of it.

Sam also looked like he felt guilty when they left. He'd hugged Alex hesitantly, for a second almost looking like he was going to argue against the decision to leave her there. But he'd stayed silent after all. She'd watched them go, remaining stone faced until the Impala disappeared down the driveway. Then she'd gone inside and shut herself away on the second floor the rest of the day, crying and miserable with herself. Knowing that with each passing second her brothers were getting further and further away from her, despair washed over anew. Her life was wrecked, and she had become a useless burden yet again. Strangely enough she almost longed for the 'simpler times' of her cruel and lonely childhood... it had been bad back then. But not _this_ bad.

After all these years, she should be stronger. But she couldn't find strength anywhere. Life was running her over repeatedly. She couldn't bear to think of Castiel, or the apocalypse, of anything with any real weight to it.

Alex forced herself to stand up, wipe her face off, and go find the box Bobby had sent her up here for who-knows how long ago. She looked through the dusty stacks of boxes for the one labeled "Mayan volumes"—there were about a zillion shelves up here full of boxes, junk, and defunct gadgets Bobby intended to 'get around to fixing someday.'

Bobby and Alex had always had this understanding, and it was the same now. He gave her enough wary, concerned looks to last a lifetime, but he hadn't asked her even once why she was there or what was wrong. He'd treated her like normal, which she appreciated, even though she could tell he knew she was having a rough time. She figured Dean must have told him details of what happened over the phone—she'd seen him make a call as he fueled the Impala up back in Janesville.

She was trying, whether consciously or subconsciously, to remain aloof and cool. Mostly she hated inconveniencing her ornery uncle—even though she sort of got the feeling he'd been lonely recently and frustrated with his wheelchair-bound status. She wasn't exactly the best company, but helping him with intown errands and around-the-house chores had been a good distraction from her jumbled emotions.

Alex found the box she'd been hunting for and she clomped down the stairs, through the second floor hallway, and then down more stairs, rounding the corner to the study where a dim light came from. She could hear him talking on the phone.

"Yeah, well, you better get to drivin'," Bobby was saying. "Hello? ...hello?" he asked listening hard for a second. He gave up after a minute, ending the call. "Musta lost signal," he muttered, looking up at Alex as she carried the box into the study. "Just missed a checkin from Tweedledum and Tweedledee," he announced as she set the box down on the desk.

The mention of her brothers caught her attention and also laid the softest strain of guilt across her heart again. "They find anything?" she asked, hoping Bobby wouldn't see through her.

"Swine flu—but no Pestilence," Bobby told her, sounding mildly frustrated by it as he threw an errant hand up into the air. Sam and Dean were trying to track down the horsemen Pestilence to get his ring, but they kept getting a cold trail. She and Bobby had been working on this end to try and figure out where Pestilence would strike next from the pattern he'd been establishing: dropping large amounts of swine flu in an eastward sweep. Maybe it should have felt good to be helping in that behind-the-scenes way, but Alex felt pretty useless. Bobby could have done that without her help, Sam and Dean were obviously managing fine… it was sort of depressing. "So what, you get lost up there or what?" Bobby asked, stirring her out of the thoughts. He was watching her out of the side of his eye as she pulled the books out of the box and stacked them on his desk.

"Fell asleep, sorry," she muttered, trying to avoid the subject and his gaze both.

Bobby sat back a little in his wheelchair, looking at her in that knowing way of his. "Y'alright?"

Alex tried to look at him, but could only bring her eyes up to his shoulder. "I dunno." She focused on pulling the heavy books out one by one. "Not really."

A couple of second passed, then Bobby's firm voice startled Alex. "Quit that."

She stopped unloading books from the box with a confused frown. "...Quit what?"

The reply was matter-of-fact. "Feelin' _sorry_ for yourself."

Suppressing a knee-jerk outburst at his unexpected command, Alex's mouth went into a thin line. Bobby was trying to be helpful, but he really had no idea what he was talking about. "I should be with them, you know I should be," she said tensely, and began to unpack the rest of the books with new purpose.

"You think you should be with them like _this_?" His tone wasn't challenging, it was honest—but she didn't like that he was implying she wasn't fit to hunt.

"I'm _fine_ ," she insisted, slamming the final book down onto the stack. She stared at it for a couple of tortured beats then reconsidered grudgingly, her eyes flickering up to Bobby's briefly. "Or... I'll... I'll _be_ fine." An embarrassed sigh eked out. "I don't have _time_ for this right now—the friggin'… end of the world is going down and I'm… acting like I can just have a breakdown in the middle of it all." Her frustration began to come through sharply. "I shouldn't be just sitting around on my goddamn _ass_."

"How you think _I_ feel?" Bobby retorted, motioning to his wheelchair. If he was trying to make her feel bad for being ungrateful, it worked. He fixed her with a perceptive, hard stare. "Kid, lemme tell you something. I know fine. And you _ain't_." He relented a little, studying her with a mixture of understanding and sympathy. "And what's more is you _shouldn't_ be. Hell, these times we're in… it's a wonder _any_ of us is hangin' in anymore. Don't be so damn hard on yourself." He sighed tiredly. "You're just like your idjit brothers, you know that? Always first in line to knock yourself down a notch or ten."

Alex knew he was trying to cheer her up in his own way but she just looked down, feeling cagey, dissatisfied, and pitiful. "I should be with them," she repeated in a mutter. "You know I should."

Bobby was giving her a challenging, no-nonsense look. "Well, you _ain't_." He pulled a book off the stack. "You're with me. And I could use a hand with this pile."

He looked at her expectantly. Alex contemplated the books reluctantly. They were all about Mayan end time prophecies. He was right, of course, but… she just wanted nothing more than to just shrivel up and die from the relentless unhappiness and fear. But Bobby needed some help. "I'll… make us some coffee," she said wearily.

"And for what it's worth…" Bobby said, stopping her as she was halfway out of the study to the kitchen, "it'll get better in time. Manageable at least." His kind features were soft with sad empathy. "The pain of losing someone you cared about."

His words really affected her. With a quick nod and a managed 'yeah,' Alex turned around to go to the kitchen before her emotions got the better of her. Thankfully, Bobby didn't bring it up again. She made them some coffee (Bobby put whiskey in his, offered her some… surprising herself, she said no).

After that it was back to business as usual: _hand me that book could ya, where'd I put my damn magnifying glass, does your text say anything about goat sacrifice?_

For about an hour, they tried to find a connection between what the Mayans had predicted and the actual apocalypse that was currently developing. Not much seemed to line up. It seemed sort of useless, but they dilly dallied with it. There wasn't really anything else to do, after all.

Alex's phone buzzing in her pocket startled her, for the briefest second, as always, she hoped she'd pull the phone out and see 'Cas' displayed on the incoming call screen. But it wasn't Cas. It was her twin.

"Hey Sam," she answered, a little deflated.

"Hey—"

The one-syllable word was said in a way that made Alex sit up straighter. "What's wrong?" she asked intently. Bobby glanced up.

"It's _Dean_ ," Sam said, deeply upset. "He's gone off with Crowley and just _left_ me here."

" _What_?" Alex thought she'd misheard. " _Crowley_? Wait, wait. Lemme put you on speaker." She did so and then put the phone down onto the desk between herself and Bobby. "Bobby's here too."

"Hey Bobby," Sam said heavily.

"Sam," Bobby greeted neutrally.

"Are you... _drinking_?" Alex asked, realizing that her brother didn't sound just off, he also sounded a little tipsy.

"Uh... yeah," he confirmed, and they heard him take a drink—straight out of a bottle it sounded like. Bobby and Alex exchanged an uncertain look. Sam didn't drink like that—not like Dean did.

"What happened, kid?" Bobby prompted

Sam sighed gustily. "Okay, so Crowley just shows up in the damn car out of _nowhere_ , says he wants to help us. And while _I'm_ trying to gank him, _Dean's_ actually listening to him for some reason." Sam sounded infuriated and whiny at the same time. "Like how the hell does he get off acting like—"

"Wait, back up—Crowley wanted to help with _what_?" Alex asked.

"Finding Pestilence," Sam replied impatiently. "He swears _up_ and _down_ he can get the guy, he knows the demon who'll know Pestilence's exact location… blah blah blah."

"So lemme get this straight," Bobby surmised doubtfully, "after handing the Colt over to you however many months ago, _knowing_ it wouldn't work to kill the devil, he's trying to screw you over again—and Dean just _went along with it_?"

Sam chuckled sarcastically. "My point exactly. Crowley said he didn't _know_ the Colt wouldn't kill Lucifer, Dean believed him, I guess." He let out another windy sigh. "Anyway, so Crowley says all we need to do is get this demon who's in with Pestilence and from there we can figure out where he is… but Crowley wouldn't let me go with. Maybe cuz I kept trying to kill him, but that's beside the point, right?"

Bobby and Alex looked at each other again. "Right..." Bobby agreed. Sounded like Sam and Dean were having an interesting night.

"So the two of them left to go get this demon together, bring him here and get Pestilence's location out of him. Dean just… went off with that demon, _left_ me here." Sam almost sounded like he could be pouting. "I mean, it's crazy, right?"

Bobby took a second to think about it, sipping at his spiked coffee. "Well, look, Sam, I got no love for demons, and, yeah, this whole thing _is_ crazy, but… I dunno. After a year of chasing up zilch, maybe it's _time_ to go crazy."

There was a reluctant pause. "Yeah, maybe..." Sam replied grudgingly. "Maybe it's the whiskey talking or the idea that now's the time to go nuts but… I'm… I'm starting to get a pretty crazy idea."

Alex stiffened, immediately worried. She didn't like the sound of that. "How crazy? What is it?"

Sam paused. "Uh… Bobby, you remember that time you were possessed?"

"Well yeah," Bobby replied. He made an uncertain, confused face and glanced at Alex. Where was Sam going with this? "Rings a bell."

"When Meg told you to kill Dean, you didn't," Sam said. "You took your body back."

"Just long enough to _shank_ myself, yeah."

"Well, how'd you do it?" Sam asked. "I mean, how'd you take back the wheel?"

Bobby and Alex sat forward on opposite sides of the desk at the same time. "Sam. You... you aren't suggesting what I _think_ you're suggesting, are you?" Alex asked in disbelief.

They could hear him taking another swig from his bottle. "Say... we can open the cage. Great. But then what?" Sam asked. "W-we just lead the devil to the edge and get him to jump in?"

" _Sam_ …" Alex cut in warningly, seeing where he was going with this. Sam continued anyway.

"So what if you guys lead the devil to the edge and _I_ jump in?" Bobby and Alex looked at each other in mutual shock as Sam continued. "It'd be just like when you turned the knife around on yourself, Bobby," Sam said, and he sounded like he was getting intense, emotional. "One action—just _one_ leap."

"Are you idjits trying to _kill me_?!" Bobby demanded angrily.

Alex was hot on his heels with a reaction of her own. "That's insane, Sam, no _way_!"

"Guys, I—" Sam started.

"We just got done talking your brother off the ledge, your sister's a holy wreck from hell and now _you're_ linin' up to say yes?" Bobby thundered in disbelief.

"I'm not… it's not like that," Sam protested emphatically. "I'm not gonna do it, not unless we _all_ agree. But we gotta look at our _options!_ "

"This isn't an option, Sam!" Bobby insisted. Alex was sitting back in her chair, stunned and unable to speak for the moment.

"Why not?" Sam asked.

"You can't _do it_ ," Bobby insisted. "What I did was a _million-to-one_ , and that was some pissant demon I was brain-wrestlin'! You're talking about taking back control from _Satan himself...!_ "

"Yeah," Sam said flippantly. "Yeah, I am."

"Do you hear yourself?" Alex asked. "There's no _way_ , Sam, no _fucking_ way that would ever _work_!"

"But maybe it _would_ ," Sam replied. "I'm strong enough."

"What are you _smoking_?!" Alex demanded, standing to her feet in alarm.

"You _ain't_ strong enough," Bobby argued. "He's gonna find every chink in your armor and use it against you—your fear, your grief, your _anger._ And let's face—you're not exactly Mr. Anger Management. How you gonna control the devil when you can't control _yourself_?"

There was a long pause, and Sam sounded both disappointed and slightly annoyed when he spoke. "Look. Yeah. Maybe you're right. It's a crazy idea. I get it."

"I don't think you _do_!" Bobby protested even as Alex was snatching the phone up and switching it onto regular speaker, holding it against her ear.

"Does Dean know you're thinking about this?" she demanded, exiting the study without a word to Bobby and heading outside.

"...Did you take me off speakerphone?"

"Yes, now answer the damn _question_." The door slammed behind her, she began to pace a small area on the dark porch.

"No," Sam told her quietly. "No he doesn't. I haven't told him yet."

Alex ran a hand through her hair, pursing her lips in frustrated anger as she struggled to find the words. "You realize, don't you, that even if that worked somehow, and that's a _big_ if, Sam that… that _you_ would be going into the cage, too, right? That you'd… basically be _killing yourself_?!"

"Saving a lot of people in the process, too," Sam said bluntly, then paused, sighing. "Listen, it's just… an idea, okay? A last resort if we can't figure out anything else out."

"I hate this idea," she told him without hesitation, shaking almost, remembering all of her nightmares.

"Alex—" Sam started.

She stopped pacing. "No, I'm _tired_ of everyone I know trying to _sacrifice_ themselves!" Her voice grew high and loud with emotion. "There _has_ to be another way, you hear me?! You _can't_ do _this!_ " He was silent on the other end. She sat down onto the stairs, put her head in a hand, elbow on her knee. She thought about telling him about the dreams, but realized she would come off as insane. "Just… just promise me you won't do anything crazy," she pleaded faintly, realizing all she could do was beg. " _Please,_ Sam. Not you too."

He grew quiet for a couple beats. "Like I said before," he told her, gentler now, more empathetic. "I won't unless everyone agrees. I promise, okay?"

She was silent for a long pause. Ironic—she now trusted Sam more than she did Dean right now. And when he said that he wouldn't do it without everyone else's consent, she was able to feel a little set at ease. "Okay," she said softly. She let out a tired, frustrated sigh, her hand still on her head.

"So other than all of that, you, uh, you doing okay?" he asked her hesitantly.

 _Was she doing okay?_ What a joke. But, considering everything… at least she hadn't signed herself into a mental ward or jumped off a cliff. "I guess so." She shrugged even though he couldn't see. "I don't know. I'd be better if I wasn't _me_ , you know?" She was attempting to lighten up the conversation, but her humor rang true and just made her feel more miserable.

"I'm sorry, Al," he said, and it was weird hearing him use the nickname. He didn't do that very often at all. "I really feel like we shouldn't have left you there."

"I'm fine, really, I am," she insisted, trying to convince herself of it, too. "I needed the break." And even though she didn't completely buy it, Sam seemed to. Maybe because he needed some good news, he'd take whatever he could get, even if it weren't totally true.

She could hear some amount of relief in his voice. "Good. Good. We're probably gonna head back to get you in a day or two anyway, after we get Pestilence's ring, if you're feeling up to it?"

Alex was startled—was she really ready to get back on the road? She feigned enthusiasm. "Yeah good, good. It'll be, _good_ , to get back out there."

She hear him taking another swig of his drink. "Hey, you realize our birthday is pretty much next week, right?"

Alex frowned. She hadn't—but sure enough, today was April twenty-something, wasn't it? She absently scratched her hairline for a second. "It is, isn't it?" She smiled slightly, trying to pretend to be in a good mood. "I got you a pony."

"Damn, you're always one-upping me," he joked back. "I got you a book of stamps."

Alex made a face, genuinely amused now, cracking a little smile for the first time in forever. "A book of _stamps,_ Sam? That's your made up gift to me when I got you a made up _pony_?"

He chuckled. "Yeah, uh, first thing that popped into my head," he admitted tiredly. They were both quiet for about three seconds. Sam sounded introspective and sad when he spoke up again. "Do you... ever miss the way things were?" he asked her faintly, his tone soft with nostalgia and longing. "I mean not _everything_ , obviously, just… before it was us trying to stop the whole friggin' world from ending. It seems like everything was simpler."

"Yeah, it _was_ simpler," Alex said quietly, nudging at a leaf with the toe of her shoe. "But it was still hell."

She heard Sam breathe out softly. "Yeah, it was hell, but… it was a better hell. For me, anyway." Alex's eyes felt shut for a couple of beats. He sounded lonely and sad, like he was holding in how freaked out he really was. She felt so sorry for him, so helpless to assist him in any way. "You don't know the half of what it's like, having Satan want you," he said softly. He'd never said much about this to her, and hearing him talk about it was terrifying. "I used to think that, that maybe the angels or Dean could save me, you know? But I'm starting to think that maybe no one can save myself but _me_. And that maybe even I can't."

"Sam…" Alex murmured softly, not sure what else to say. She thought of the terrifying dreams where her twin's familiar hazel eyes had been cold, dark, and evil. Telling him about the dreams didn't seem like a good idea—at least not now when he was so obviously scared shitless. "Don't give up," she encouraged. Both a request and a command. _Because I've seen what happens if you do._

"I'm not," he said. But she wasn't sure if she believed him. "Hey, I—uh, do you remember when I used to have those dreams?" he asked, changing the subject abruptly, startling her because of what she'd just been thinking.

Slightly alarmed, she faltered. "What dreams? Like the weird vision dreams? The Azazel stuff? Yeah..."

"Did you?" He continued. "Ever have crazy premonitions or dreams back then, I mean."

The alarm was no longer slight. Alex was staring straight ahead of herself, not sure how to answer. She'd always had nightmares growing up, but… these that she'd had recently seemed different than any other dream she'd ever had. "Uh, no," she told him, attempting nonchalance. "Can't say I ever did." She cleared her throat, concentrating hard. "What—what were they like, Sam? The dreams?"

Sam was silent for a couple seconds. "Uh… hazy. Just… weird glimpses of stuff strung together." That didn't sound like the dreams she'd had. "It's not important," he hedged, apparently already ready to drop the subject. Something about his weird, anxious tone made her feel a strange sense of dread in the pit of her stomach. "I just…" he began to ramble. "I dreamed lots of weird stuff and… some of it… there were some that I never, that you… I dunno. I'm sorry. I'm kinda drunk. I don't know why I brought that up." He cleared his throat loudly.

"Are you okay, Sammy?" Alex asked, getting even more worried than before.

"Pssh. I'm _fine_." She could hear how trashed he was with the overly enthusiastic _don't worry about me_ way he said it. She rolled her eyes at that point. Maybe she was worried about nothing.

"Yeah, you're fine," she retorted sarcastically. "And I'm _great_."

She heard him give a short airy laugh. "Yeah," he agreed. "Pretty much." He paused heavily, she heard him settling the bottle down onto a hard surface. He hesitated for a couple beats. "Hey, I just want you to know that I'm… I'm really sorry things ended the way they did for you two."

The abrupt mention of Cas caught Alex off guard, and for a minute, she was too startled and shocked by the sudden rush of emotion to reply. She felt the familiar ache of tears filling her eyes and she looked up into the cloudy night sky, wishing she could see the stars. "I miss him," she admitted in the faintest whisper. They were both silent for a few seconds. "I can't believe that… that he's… that he's just _gone_."

"Yeah," Sam said softly, understandingly. "You spend hours and days hoping you're just in some nightmare," he murmured hollowly. "That you'll wake up and realize it was all just a horrible dream. But it never is." That's when Alex knew he was thinking of Jess. She could hear how close to tears he was now, too. "Losing someone you love... it hurts more than anything."

 _Love_. She swallowed painfully, screwed her eyes shut, then scrubbed her forehead with the palm of her hand. "H-how did you get through it?" She just wanted to know the way out of where she was right now.

"Honestly?" A cynical chuckle. "Trying to get revenge."

Alex was silent a long moment. Revenge. Did she want revenge? Yes, but… what she wanted most was Cas back. "Revenge, huh?"

"Yup," he said. " _But..._ no amount of killing ever got me what I really wanted. Azazel's dead now, but… so's Mom, so's Dad. So's Jess." He was quiet for so long she almost thought the phone call had been cut off, was about to ask _hello_ when he suddenly spoke again. "I _really_ loved her, Alex. No one else has _ever_ come close." She heard him breathe out shakily. "I... I still wish so _bad_ I could get her back. She was the one. She was _it_ , ya know?" She heard him sniff and clear his throat. Yes, she did know. "Jesus Christ," he commented, chuckling forcibly. "Listen to me, all drunk and pathetic."

She was struck by the urge to respond to him genuinely, to try and comfort him—but she didn't even know how to do that right then and she felt too emotionally weak to be a shoulder to cry on—everything he'd just said had struck a chord in her, had resounded completely, and she felt cut open as a result. So instead of deepening the conversation, maybe selfishly or in cowardice, she backpedaled with a forced joking tone. "Yeah Samantha, making me a little uncomfortable over here."

He chuckled softly, taking her cue. "Sorry _Alexander_ ," he said. She could hear how he was suppressing his pain, too.

"Okay, so... call me when Dean gets back, okay?" Alex cleared her throat. "Keep me updated."

"Will do," he agreed.

She hesitated, wishing yet again she were with her brothers. Wishing she knew how this was going to end. Wishing she knew she wouldn't always feel _so bad_ inside. "Be careful, Sam."

He paused, sounding every bit as heavy and afraid as she felt. "You too."

Alex ended the call then looked at the screen for a second. She was restless and apprehensive. Would Sam really say yes to Lucifer? Would the things she'd seen in her dreams come true? How could she stand by and just let that happen if that's what was ahead? There was _no way_ Sam was strong enough to overcome Lucifer—no _way_. They would have to find another way to trick the devil back into his cage. Because Sam saying yes to Lucifer would only end badly. She knew it beyond understanding, in every cell of her body.

She looked up into the night sky, breathing in some of the chilly air. She wasn't sure why she still did this but… she looked back down at her phone, went to recent calls, and scrolled down one. She hit the call button. _Click—_ straight to voicemail. " _You have reached the voicemail box of…"_ said the recording. " _I don't understand—why do you want me to say my name?_ " _Beep._

Every time she did this, called his phone and listened to the message, it made her sadder. But she didn't seem to be able to stop herself from doing it. _He's not coming back… stop hoping he will._ She hit the end call button, stood up, and with a frustrated cry of anger she threw her phone as far as she could. It clunked against an old car somewhere off in the darkness.

Two seconds after she threw the phone, she realized that she really shouldn't have done that—and cursing under her breath, she went inside to find a flashlight.

* * *

**A Few Hours Later**

Alex realized it was a dream right away because she'd had this particular dream several times recently. Unlike the other dreams she'd had of fire and the devil and the end of all things, this one was good. Well, maybe not _good_. But better than the other ones.

In the dream she stood in Bobby's attic looking out the window, where the dark landscape below was a low, endless grassy field. Above it the velvet blue sky was scattered with millions of brilliant stars, and it was so bright and beautiful she could cry. But she turned, knowing what was beside her was even more beautiful.

On the bed, Castiel laid on his back with his arms at his sides, by all appearances asleep. Every time she had this dream it was the same: He never woke up no matter how she tried to rouse him.

Just knowing it was him—the sight of the trench coat, the tie—was enough to break her heart and fix it all at once. She went to the side of the bed, sat down gently, and tried to see into the shadows. His face was becoming harder and harder to see, because she couldn't remember. She touched a hand to his cheek, heart breaking in two because she couldn't _feel_ him, either. "Why are you always sleeping?" she asked in a whisper. "Why won't you wake up?"

She laid her head onto his chest, but he was cold, not warm—and it was like laying her head against a stone. She started to cry and it began to rain in the room, flooding the attic rapidly. She held onto him tighter, desperate, even though it wasn't him. All she wanted was for him to wake up, to be alive again, to be real.

* * *

**The Next Day**

Mid afternoon. Alex was on the porch again. She'd slept a few hours last night but not well and not enough—after dreaming of Castiel, the nightmares had returned. It was cruel: The dreams of Cas were so blurred and indistinct, hard to remember at all; the nightmares of her brothers and Lucifer were so vivid and inescapable.

Today she'd tried all day to stay busy: Sharpened her hunting knife, rearranged Bobby's pantry, taped her half-broken phone back together, swept the basement and found an old punching bag in storage—she'd put it up and beat it until she was shaking and weak. A long, hot shower followed. Somewhere in there she'd actually worked up a solid appetite for the first time in recent memory and fixed her specialty: cereal and hot pockets. It was nervous, anxious energy that kept her going. But as the hours dragged on and no calls came from her brothers, she took a turn for sullen and annoyed.

Currently with a cigarette between her two fingers, she squinted out into the salvage yard angrily. Sam hadn't called—his phone was _off_ when she tried to call him—Dean wasn't _answering_ —what the fuck was going on? She took a deep drag from the cigarette and exhaled.

"Nasty habit, that," came a smooth dark voice beside herself.

Alex whipped her head up, her free hand automatically going to where her knife was as she prepared to fight someone... then paused instead. " _Crowley_." She let her hand fall away from the knife warily but kept her distance and eyed him closely. "What are you doing here?"

"Now let's not be _rude,"_ he teased with a smile. "It's nice to see you too. Didya miss me?"

Alex pivoted her chin downwards, staring at him cooly. "Tell me what you want or leave." She took in another huff from the cigarette, eyes on him the whole time.

"To kill the devil," he returned mildly. "You know this." There was a suggestive eyebrow wiggle. "Or did you _forget_ about our little chats?"

She purposefully blew smoke out onto his face, smiling cynically when he made a face and wrinkled his nose. "Can't say that I have." She did however have a question now that she thought about it though. "Sam told me about your little offer to help find Pestilence," she said. "Seems to good to be true."

"S'not though, is it?"

Alex looked at Crowley down her nose, her cigarette forgotten momentarily. "You know my family's stance on trusting demons by now."

He matched her attitude blow for blow. "Darling, you're not one to talk about _trust_ issues. But listen, besides the point." He leaned his head a little closer. "I'm here to offer my thanks."

Her cigarette paused at her lips as her suspicion deepened. "For what?"

"For, hmm... how do I put this…" he asked softly, and then flew into a fit of rage. "For _completely and totally mucking up a chance to kill the devil_!" Great. This shit again. Alex half rolled her eyes then took another drag. "Perhaps you recall a small detail about little old you having a chance to off Lucy, mm?" Crowley pressed unhappily. "Remember how I was going to see what I could find, see what I could uncover? _Well._ I've got answers now but what's this: You couldn't do the one thing you needed to do and _keep it in your pants_! So there goes _that_ little option," Crowley ranted, "and now I'm stuck doing all this bothersome legwork myself. I find it quite tiresome, especially because the moosey one keeps trying to _kill_ me!" He sighed impatiently. "I hope it was worth it, your little sexual awakening," Crowley wiggled his eyebrows up once—not amused, just inconvenienced. "Tell me, was Cas a good lay then?"

Alex tossed the cigarette down, crushing it underneath the heel of her boot as she pointed a threatening finger. "Watch your tone," she snapped. "I'm this close to stabbing you in the goddamn throat."

He held his hands up in mock-surrender. "Touch a nerve, did I?" He lowered his hands and narrowed his eyes. It was his turn to look at _her_ with contempt. "You don't seem to realize the magnitude of the chance you've pissed away."

Alex was losing patience, fast. That, and irritated because what if he were right? "It was some rumor, Crowley, a _rumor_ of a rumor."

"No, dearest, it wasn't," he said soft and low, one of those unnerving smiles on his face. "Oh the demons I tortured to find what I did... and just in time for you to tramp it up with Heaven's most recently fallen angel." Crowley shook his head. "Come to find out, you're…" he pulled an overly thoughtful face, "satanic kryptonite, if you will. The demon I tortured went on and on about you and Sam and genealogy cack and DNA rubbish I couldn't quite wrap my head around, but..." he took in Alex's expression and held up a finger, as if to tell her _wait_. " _But_ , what I _did_ understand was that the prophecy about Michael and Lucifer was _misinterpreted_."

Alex prompted him silently with a doubtful expression as he began to pace slowly back and forth in front of her.

"See, downstairs they foretold that Lucifer's vessel—Sam—would be dark and twisted by demonic forces—Azazel, the demon blood, etcetera etcetera, we all know this story don't we. Sam's the vessel—he was prepared for it since _conception_ , practically. And in _him_ , Lucifer is at his most powerful. Are you with me so far?" He smirked. "See 'cause this is where it gets good. The prophecy _also_ said that the one who would defeat Satan would be blood-related, starkly similar and yet the total opposite of the devil's vessel—a pure soul capable of destroying all Lucifer should seek to create. And see everyone always thought that was Dean—Michael—who the prophecy spoke of. No, no. That, my dear, was you."

"...And you think that why?" Alex asked slowly.

Crowley made a face. "Dean, a _pure soul_? Please _._ " He rolled his eyes at that idea. "It's a story as old as time. You and Sam, it's like Yin and Yang, the two of you. The good one— _you_ —the dark one— _Sam._ Polar opposites… a boy, a girl. What's more opposite than that, aye? And yet starkly similar. Twins."

Alex looked at him uncertainly, not knowing what to make of all of it. And Crowley chuckled. "Starting to regret that roll in the hay yet, love?" Jaw clenched tight, Alex looked at him spitefully. It didn't seem to bother him in the slightest. "I haven't even told you the best bit. Basically, from what I gathered, if you'd gone to Lucy with your sweet, shining pure soul and gotten him to say yes… he'd die. It wasn't clear how, demon wouldn't tell me no matter how much I..." he chuckled fondly, "twisted the knife, so to speak. But my guess's Lucy'd be so weak and useless with you as a vessel, Michael would win by default. You're so scrawny and that, Dean, even _Adam_ as Michael would be able to win easily. Or who knows, maybe he'd explode the second he moved into Chalet Alex. What _was_ clear was that Lucifer would die." He took a deep breath, pausing for effect as if thinking of something. "And well, _you_ would too, but small price to pay, am I right?"

Alex listened, skeptical and apprehensive. Then she shook her head. Something was off. "How would the angels not know about this, huh? How would _Lucifer_ not know?"

Crowley shrugged, blasé. "Beats me, but apparently he doesn't." He smiled cooly at her, raising an eyebrow slightly in contempt. "Does it even matter anymore? You've gone and cocked it up, after all."

"It _does_ matter, because something's wrong about all this," Alex said. She had the distinct feeling that this was a load of crap, but Crowley seemed convinced and some parts _did_ seem to make sense, but... "Why would he even want _me_ as a vessel when he could have Sam? How would that scenario ever even happen?"

"Ah, I wondered that too. He _wouldn't_. But he'd see it as an opportunity to blackmail Sam into doing what he wanted. Think about it. You'd play _him_ while he thought _he_ was playing you. He wouldn't even have known what hit him. 'Course you'd have to get your oaf brothers to agree to that and I suppose _that_ would never happen, would it? They couldn't bear to part with their precious, sweet sister, let you die to save the world." He looked like he'd never heard of anything more off-putting. "Your family is the most ridiculous display of Hallmark sentiment I've ever come across."

She ignored the would-be insult, trying to make sense of all of it. Crowley continued.

"Is it any wonder Azazel tried to skank you up with demon blood, love? Take away your little squeaky clean soul status? Not only did he do that but he pushed your mute button, tried to make you helpless. He must have known you were a threat."

She hated to admit it, but everything Crowley was saying sounded more and more credible. She was shocked, guilty, confused. "Makes sense now, doesn't it?" Crowley coaxed softly. "You were a weapon all this time and didn't even know it. And of all things a friggin' _angel_ came 'round and ruined it for us all." He scoffed. "Maybe that's why God put a guardian angel on you, aye? To keep you alive long enough to kill the devil. Except you and good old Cas—had to go and ruin it all, randy sods. Can't say I fault you so much, he _is_ easy on the eyes, but blimey Alexandra. The chance you flitted away."

Troubled, Alex was staring hard at somewhere to the left of herself. She struggled with whether or not to believe what the demon had told her.

He kept on as she maintained silence. "We have one option left," Crowley said. " _One_. And it's a long shot from hell, if I say so myself. I need you and your two whiny brothers to cooperate with me if you're going to let me help you put Lucy back into time out."

Alex scoffed and chuckled, covering over her conflicted emotions with cynicism. "We don't need _your_ help."

"Keep telling yourself that," he said smugly and straightened his suit lapels. "Well. I'm off to go knock over a nest of demons. S'all part of my clever little plan to get us Pestilence's locale… care to join me? Get some aggression out? I mean it _is_ your fault I'm having to do this, after all."

That got him a brief glare. "Screw off."

He looked like he'd expected as much. "Suit yourself." He moved as if to leave, then changed his mind, as if he had one last thing to say. He held up a finger for a moment. "Did you ever stop to think… that perhaps you don't have a Heaven… because your soul is destined for Hell?" Alex looked at him wordlessly, struggling not to gape. "Of course you have," he answered for her coyly. "It's the only logical thing to assume. But now, knowing these things I've just told you… do you wonder if perhaps your sweet little soul was supposed to be destroyed completely, wiped out of existence when you killed Lucy?" His mouth quirked up into a little smile. "Mysterious, isn't it. Mind boggling." He leaned closer, tapped her chin with his finger, getting a warning scowl from her. "Perhaps, somehow…" he all but whispered, "You still have a part to play in this, hmm?" He stood back, shrugged nonchalantly, smiled cheekily. "Stranger things _have_ happened."

And without warning, he disappeared into thin air.

Alex spread her hands wide apart as she leaned heavily onto the porch railing. What—the— _hell_! For a minute she just tried to breathe, tried to think straight. Talk about a _bomb_ being dropped on her. Holy _shit_.

Could any of that be true? Her eyes scanned back and forth rapidly on the ground below as her mind spun around and around. It did make _some_ sense, or at least the idea of it. Sam was huge, strong, beefed up on demon blood—she was small in comparison. When she'd been younger, she'd cursed her petite build—she was strong sure—but next to her big brothers, she'd felt less than. Was her comparable weakness to her siblings actually a strength or part of destiny somehow? Was Crowley right, that God had tasked a guardian angel over her to keep her alive along enough to kill off the devil? That she'd had no heaven because in the future her soul wouldn't even exist at all? Was _Dean_ the one who was supposed to walk away alive from the apocalypse?

So many _questions_. She thought back to Lucifer, when she'd been face to face with him in the hotel and he'd been so teasing and dark—and she wondered if maybe he were thinking even then about trying to use her to get Sam to say yes.

Alex would spend the rest of the day mulling over the things Crowley had said to her. Wondering if by being with Castiel she'd messed up a chance to kill the devil... realizing she could never take that back, ever, no matter what. Wondering if maybe she still _could_ somehow play a part in killing Lucifer, even if she wasn't exactly what the prophesy had called for—a pure soul. That was a load of crap anyway. What did losing her virginity have to do with anything? What Crowley had said was true—she was physically smaller than Adam, Michael's vessel. She hadn't been prepared since birth like Sam had been, which also made her weaker.

For once, her weakness seemed to be a strength, and all she could wonder was what did she have to lose? If there were even a _chance_ that she could turn the tide in this... she would take it. The question she asked herself: _was_ there a chance?

* * *

**That Night**

She was in the dream where Cas laid sleeping nearby. It was the same as always: Bobby's attic, the stars out of the window, Cas obscured by shadows on the bed. She looked in his direction for a few seconds, then leaned against the window and looked out of it, wondering where the sudden gust of chilly breeze came from—and she looked up to see that the roof was missing. She wandered into the center of the room as she gazed upward. Overhead, she could see all the stars shining down. And snow fell gently, slowly. Snow? That was new. She shivered, glanced over at the bed… and was shocked to see that it was empty.

Where had he—

"Alex?" came the familiar gravelly voice behind her, and she whirled to see a sight that made her heart jump. Castiel. In perfect, vivid detail standing there in front of her. He was looking at her in serious confusion. She almost fell over.

"Cas—you're awake?!" she was overcome with shock and awe alike, unable to believe that he was there. Snow fell around them. Why was the dream changing?

"No... I'm not awake," he replied, looking at her like he couldn't believe what he was seeing, like he was absolutely unsure what was happening but also amazed. "I'm sleeping..." he said, and she frowned now too. "But I'm... less asleep than I was." He tore his gaze away from her, glancing around briefly, frowning ever so slightly. "Is this a dream?" He looked at her with one of those careful frowns that was so familiar. His head canted to the side in an inquisitive tilt. "Are _you_ a dream?"

His question struck deep sadness into her. "No, I'm real," she murmured quietly. " _You're_ the dream." He seemed puzzled by her statement. She looked into his eyes, went closer, and wanted to cry. He was so _clear_ to her now for some reason. "I can _see_ your _face_ again," she said softly, and cupped it in both of her hands, trying to memorize the details. She was surprised that his skin was warm beneath her fingers, that she could feel the rough stubble underneath her fingers. "How can I see your face again?" She asked softly, mystified, becoming a little worried. Their eyes locked. He looked so real, especially since everything around them was so indistinct and unrealistic. He looked at her with a curious, slightly troubled frown on his features, as though he were confused as to why she was amazing to see his face. "I'm... forgetting what you look like," she explained faintly, ashamed. As she looked him over, her eyes went to the bruise along his temple and the scab above his other eyebrow. "What's... wrong with your face?" she asked, touching the cut just slightly. That seemed like an odd thing to dream, and he'd never had a cut there before, so it wasn't a memory...

He touched a hand to the scrape above his eyebrow, feeling it, frowning. "I don't know," he said, then looked at her, squinting. "Did it work? What I did? Dean and Sam... they rescued you and Adam?"

"Yeah, it worked," Alex said bitterly, looking away.

Cas frowned, seeming to be putting together pieces in his mind. "How long have I been gone?" he asked. He seemed intensely concerned.

"Thirty-eight days," she told him, tried to smile and shrug, wrapping her arms around herself. "But who's counting?"

"Thirty-eight days?" he repeated, stunned. "I don't understand…" he trailed off. "And what's… what's _happened_ to you?" he asked, looking at her carefully now, concerned. "You look unwell."

Alex felt ashamed again. "I uh, haven't been doing so great, I guess. Since you..." she couldn't say 'died.' "Left."

His expression wavered with guilt. "I'm so sorry," he told her, and in the cruelest trick of fate, he touched the side of her face, then brushed her hair back a little, and the touch was achingly tender. She began to cry softly at the ghostly touch, and she squeezed her eyes closed. _This was too much_. None of it was real, but she wanted it to be _so badly_. She felt his other hand on the other side of her face now. His hands were warm, they _felt real_. She opened her eyes, looked at him, her hands coming up to grasp either of his wrists firmly. She never wanted to let go of him, ever.

"I _miss you_ ," she whispered, agonized and miserable. "Why did you _do this_ to me?"

He responded by becoming intensely frustrated with himself, and she thought offhandedly about how well her subconscious had constructed him. He was very believable. She was going insane, wasn't she? Losing her mind? But she didn't care. She wanted to keep dreaming this dream for as long as possible, even if it hurt. She could feel a tear rolling down her cheek even as she thought that.

"I'm asleep and I can't wake up." He sounded desperate as he held her face gently in both hands. "How do I wake up?"

"Why do you keep saying that?" She asked, searching his bright blue eyes for understanding. "That you're asleep?"

"Because I am," he insisted, and his eyes went to her cheek. He moved his thumb, brushing the tear away.

Alex didn't understand why he would insist he was asleep—maybe, she thought, maybe this was some kind of metaphor for how she felt about Cas. This had to be a lucid dream, it made too much sense to be anything else. She shrugged—he was waiting for her to answer. And she couldn't bring herself to say 'you're dead.' She decided to play along. Pretend. She felt so defeated and she looked down for just a second. "If you're asleep... wake up." She looked back up at him, mourning his loss all over again.

Snow fluttered in the air around them. Alex's voice softened into a scant whisper. "Just wake up."

"Just… wake up," he repeated, thinking hard about it. That was the moment when Alex halted at a single word that made her go still inside. _Wait. H_ e _looked_ real, he _sounded_ real, his _touch_ felt real, he was insisting he was asleep and for the past few weeks as she'd had this recurring dream, he _had_ been sleeping. Why was this time different? ...Cas had come to her in dreams before, hadn't he? What if this really _were_ him somehow? What if he were stuck somewhere _oh my god_! Her heart began to race as hope blindsided her and she began to lose the ability to breathe.

"Are you… are you _real_?" she asked him, her eyes flickering wildly between him. She grabbed his arms tight, suddenly feeling frantic. "Is this really you? Are you still _alive_?"

He opened his mouth to reply. But before he could say a thing, abruptly, he disappeared from her grip, leaving her panicking. "Cas?" she turned in a circle. " _Cas_!"

The snow began to fall heavily now, cold, whipping around her like a blizzard. She called his name again, but there was no reply.

And Alex suddenly woke up sitting in the recliner that Bobby kept in the second floor bedroom. She blinked a few times, realizing where she was.

The window was open and cold night air seeped in, a breeze gusting into the room. That's where the wind had come from. She got up slowly, automatically, blank inside. She shut the window, absently rubbing her arms with her hands. Even though she was wearing a long sleeve flannel, she was still cold. For a few minutes—maybe five—she stared out the window. She really was _losing_ her mind, thinking Cas was still alive and coming to her in dreams again. But he had before, she protested internally. So why would it be different now? _Because he's_ dead _, you_ stupid _girl._

She sat back into the recliner, crossed her arms, then nestled down into the uncomfortable old chair. She reached for her jacket, which laid on the floor beside the chair. In the pocket, his tie. She'd read somewhere that part of letting go of someone was getting closure… symbolically burying or cremating the remains of a loved one if you had no body to put in the ground. And it was almost like this tie was making it harder for her to let go of Cas.

She should burn it, she thought sadly, like they burned haunted objects to release ghosts into the void. He was haunting her. She was letting him. But she couldn't bear the thought of parting with his tie, his blade, his memory. As much as it hurt to hold onto Castiel, letting go and trying to move on seemed worse. She held the stupid tie in her hand, closed her eyes, and pictured his face. She could see it again. A small mercy.

Her phone suddenly rang loudly, and startled, her eyes snapped open. Sam or Dean, _finally_. She fumbled for the phone—it was in the other jacket pocket. She knocked it out in her haste and onto the floor, having to feel around for it a couple seconds. The poor phone had death wish—the screen was cracked and distorted from her fit of rage the other night. She squinted at the screen—the incoming call had a 504 area code. Wasn't that New Orleans? She almost didn't answer, because she knew no one there and it wasn't one of her brothers like she'd been hoping. But with a heavy sigh, she figured _why the hell not_ and hit the answer button.

"Hello?"

And she almost dropped the phone when she heard his voice on the other end. "Alex?"

She shot up to her feet, nearly falling over in shock. " _Cas_!?"

"Yes, it's me," he said. "I woke up, like you told me to. Are you—"

"You _woke up_?" Alex repeated, a hand on the side of her head, her mouth hanging open as she stood frozen, unable to believe this. Was she still dreaming? "W-what happened? Where are you? Are you all right? You're _alive_?!" She pinched herself, _hard_. Ouch, _son of a bitch_ , holy _shit!_ Tears sprung to her eyes again, but this time they weren't because she was sad.

"Yes, of course I'm alive. I'm at a hospital," he was saying. "I'm told I've been in a coma. You... thought I was dead?"

She was buzzing with euphoric amazement, pacing back and forth. Tears streamed down her face even as she grinned. "What? A _coma_? I don't—can you come here? Shazam yourself over?"

He was quiet for the shortest moment. "Uh… no. I tried but… I seem to be… powerless. Completely."

She stopped pacing, worried all over again, suddenly wondering if he were laid up in a hospital paralyzed or near death. "What? Powerless? Are you okay?"

"I don't think so." He sounded vexed. "I feel… a lot of things. Everything hurts and itches and I think I'm... _thirsty_."

"You're, you're _thirsty_?" She was smiling through her tears. "But you have your legs and arms and you're not dead or dying, right?"

He was quiet for another second and she could just imagine him frowning, looking down at himself to check and see if he did have his legs and arms. "Yes, I'm all in one piece."

Alex was already grabbing up her jacket, her wallet. "What hospital are you at, I'm coming there right away," she said, yanking her jacket on practically as she shoved her wallet into her back pocket.

"The hospital bracelet says Saint Bernard Parish Hospital. In Chalmette, Louisana," he said. Alex could hear another voice in the background where Cas was as she descended the stairs at almost a run. "The nurse is insisting I get off the phone now," Castiel said grumpily.

Alex's mind was a million places at once, too high on relief and joy to think straight. "Okay that's fine I can… find a flight in just a little bit, umm I…" she stopped at the foot of the stairs, overcome suddenly, leaning against the wall there, barely able to believe it. "Oh _my god_ , Cas," she said, suddenly breathless from emotion. "I thought you were _dead_. I really fucking thought you were dead."

She could hear how worried he was. "Are you all right, Alex? What happened after I left?"

"I'll tell you everything when I get there," Alex said. "And I'll be there soon." Her heart was frigging soaring at this point. "Not long at all, okay?" She was turning in a circle, not remembering where she'd put her shoes, she'd taken them off down here earlier, hadn't she? "Just uh, uh, give me a little bit and I'll be there. I can't—I can't think straight, holy _crap_ ," she exclaimed, unable to believe what was happening.

"How long?" Castiel asked. He sounded anxious. "I want to see you."

She almost ran out of the house without her shoes when he said that, it made her so much more desperate to see him. She thought fast, calculating travel time hurriedly in her mind. "A few hours, maybe? I dunno. A-as soon as I can. I'm coming now. I'll find you, okay?"

"The nurse is insisting," Cas said, then lowered his voice, like he were trying to be discreet. "She wants to talk about… insurance." He sounded like he had never heard of such a thing and was wary of it.

Alex found her shoes beside the front door, where she'd left them. She shoved her feet in haphazardly. "Stall her, I'll take care of all of that when I get there, okay?"

"Yes, good," Cas replied. He sounded reluctant to end the call. "I'll... see you soon."

Alex stopped again, smiling in absolute overjoyed disbelief. "Yeah. See you soon."

Cas grimaced as he shifted in the hospital bed. He was… _tired_. And _sore_. It was a strange sensation, and the nurse's constant questions were not helping. It had been almost four hours since he'd woken up and called Alex. The nurse had left a few minutes after he'd gotten off the phone with her. Castiel had feigned illness and had told her he was too unwell to answer questions. She'd seemed to believe him and had left him after telling him he would need several types of therapies after his month-long coma. His senses were dull—he couldn't remember what exactly she'd said now. He _did_ remember her telling him how he'd been found on a shrimping boat off of Delacroix, bloody, unconscious, unresponsive. She'd told him he was on a painful pain medicine and would need to continue to take it for awhile. He wasn't sure if the medicine were working. He was highly physically uncomfortable. Things ached that never had, especially his head.

The nurse was back now, asking him questions, trying to fill out a form. She'd reappeared about ten minutes ago with her clipboard and her questions. _Stall her,_ Alex had said. Not something Cas knew how to do, exactly.

And it didn't help that all Castiel could think about was Alex. He kept looking to his right, where he could see out the open doorway and down a hall. Every part of him was anxiously anticipating when she'd appear, finally. When he could see that she was safe with his own eyes. He couldn't believe how long he'd been gone, how tired and thin she'd looked in the dream. He wondered how that had happened—how they'd been able to meet there at all...

"You said your… wife Alex was on the way to get you, Castiel, right?" the nurse asked, looking at him over the clipboard through thick-rimmed glasses. For a moment, he was confused. His wife? And then he remembered earlier—because she had asked about insurance and then he'd fumbled around and said 'the person who has my, uh, insurance information is on her way.' The nurse had then asked 'oh, your spouse?' and he'd confirmed it nervously, just trying not to be discovered. 

"Oh, um, yes," he said, trying to focus. But he was reflecting on how strange it was to refer to Alex in that term, even if it were just for cover. It wasn't an unpleasant strange, though. "She is."

This nurse had been asking him a barrage of questions: what was his name? Castiel. What was his _last_ name? He didn't have a last name. How old was he? As old as the planet, if not older. But the body he inhabited was thirty-seven years old. The nurse had become increasingly confused with his honest answers. Currently she was staring at him in growing frustration she attempted to hide. Her pen hovered unmoving on the clipboard. "Does _she_ have a last name?"

Castiel almost said Winchester, then remembered that Alex and her brothers were wanted in multiple states. He glanced around the room, then beside himself at the heart rate monitor device. The name brand on it was Nellcor.

"Nellcor," he answered the nurse, smiling just slightly at his quick thinking. 

"Alex... _Nellcor._.." The nurse looked at him oddly, her eyes slid to the heart rate monitor, but she said nothing and went to the table on the other side of the room to sort through her files. Castiel thought he heard her mutter something about "shock, maybe amnesia or delusion..."

Castiel looked back down the hallway. His stomach felt strange. _Everything_ felt strange. Why was he powerless? He couldn't help but think of the future he'd glimpsed where he'd been human, weak… was this how it had happened? It worried him.

He felt so much, not just physically. His emotions, which he had thought were loud before, seemed to be screaming at him. He felt _too much_. It was intense. And every time he looked to the right and saw no Alex, he felt even more. Too much to hold. He was overwhelmed completely. 

* * *

Alex had never been so anxious in all of her life, ever. Flustered and excited and nearly jumping out of her skin, she'd woken up poor Bobby, rambled off where she was going, told him she was taking one of his old junkers and hope he didn't mind—she'd then driven herself to Sioux Falls Regional Airport and gotten a last-minute flight to New Orleans. The flight was fast, only about an hour and a half. But it might as well have been a thousand years for her. She'd driven the guy sitting beside her insane the whole flight as she'd tapped her foot and checked her watch repeatedly and drummed her fingers and chewed ten sticks of gum right after the other. 

After disembarking the fight, she'd gotten a cab to the hospital and she was now, _finally_ , in the intensive care ward, barely able to see straight—she went to the first person she saw. Being this close to finding Cas was making the anticipation even worse. She couldn't _stand_ it.

"Yes ma'am, can I help—" the nurse started to ask her, and then Alex happened to see a familiar face peering up from the room behind the orderly and she forgot her manners and everything else. Just _ran_.

* * *

Nurse Katie Cooper looked across the room at this Castiel guy suspiciously, her eyes squinty. He claimed to have no last name, said his wife's last name was Nellcor, told her he was as old as the planet…? He was either lying or he was crazy or maybe pulling her leg. That plus all the other weird, halting answers he'd given her… something was fishy. The minute he'd woken he'd started asking for a phone before he even knew why he was there. She wondered if he were afraid someone was coming after him. She was convinced after his shifty behavior that he was either suffering from delusion, insomnia, or maybe he was in the mafia. That would explain the weird, obvious lies he'd been telling. Or maybe it was a voodoo thing, what with that crazy symbol that had been carved into his chest… not that Katie believed in that stuff. 

Castiel looked to his right—he'd been doing that a lot, obviously expecting to see someone. But this time, his expression changed, becoming this remarkable mixture of surprise and anxiety and relief all at once—he sat up straight then stood up without warning, a little clumsily—and promptly was barreled back over by a willowy dark-haired girl who wrapped herself around him tightly—she knocked him back so that he was sitting on the bed again, and the girl was crying through laughter, she was hugging his neck tightly, then pulling back to hold his face in her hands, looking at him like she couldn't believe he was real, then hugging him again with what looked like every ounce of strength she had, burying her face in his neck, sobbing happily. Castiel had wrapped his arms around her in the most tender, touching way and his expression was strange, relieved—emotional in a restrained way, but emotional all the same—and Katie stood back, holding her breath almost. It was like those soldier reunions you saw on TV… like he'd been gone for years and they'd both been anticipating the reunion day and night, living for this exact moment.

Castiel's wife—Alex, he'd said her name was—pulled back a little, cupping his face in her hands lovingly as she gazed at him with great amounts of emotion. "I thought… I thought I lost you," she said in a choked-up whisper.

" _No_ ," he said simply, softly, and tucked some hair behind her ear, smoothed the skin of her cheek, moved his hand back behind her head even as in tandem, they seemed to get the same idea, and kissed each other gently, their arms tightening around the other, soft little sounds of relief escaping them both.

And when the two of them broke the kiss, Castiel had a bewildered, perplexed look on his face—Alex was looking at him in dawning disbelief—and he brought a hand up to his face slowly, touched his fingertips to just below his right eye and pulled his hand away, looking at his shining wet tears in utter shock.


	41. The Eleventh Hour

" _I don't have a choice. But I still choose you."_  
\- The Civil Wars

* * *

**Several Hours Earlier**   
**Somewhere in East Utah**

Backed into the dead end of a filthy alleyway, three men cornered a fourth.

"And you're _sure_ this is where he'll be?" Crowley asked Brady—Pestilence's right-hand man. Well, right-hand _demon_. Crowley looked at him cooly, _daring_ him to be lying about this.

Brady's face had blood streaks down the sides and splatters of the same on his expensive suit. Bright red was splotched underneath his nose and across his chin and there was some matted in his fair blond hair, too. He looked at Crowley with mild contempt, maybe because Crowley was the one who'd beaten the blood out of him. "Yeah. I'm sure Pestilence will be there," he muttered, then glanced over at the two brothers who stood back a few steps off—Dean, wary; Sam, cold and glaring.

Crowley turned away from the other demon, thoughtfully looking down at the piece of paper that Brady had just handed over. As Crowley swaggered over to Dean, Sam narrowed his eyes at Brady in unadulterated hatred.

"What do you think?" Dean asked Crowley, nodding at the slip of paper.

"It's good." Crowley seeming to be pleased. He handed Dean the paper with Pestilence's location, turning slightly to send Brady a smirk. "After all, you've got no reason to lie, have you? Like I said before, you're in my boat now."

Brady smiled facetiously. "You've screwed me—for _eternity_." He said, and Sam felt darkness choking him, white-hot anger bubbling in his veins. At his side, he held the demon blade.

"Nah," Crowley replied apathetically, glancing at Sam, who had murder on the mind. "Won't last that long. Trust me."

Earlier that day, Sam's world had been turned upside down. And he'd been waiting for this moment, the moment when he could slit Brady's throat.

 _Dean dragged in some guy, the demon who Crowley had said would lead them to Pestilence. And when they sat him down in a chair, tied him up, yanked the devil's hex bag off his head… Sam had gone still in shock,_ recognizing _the demon._

" _B-Brady?!" Sam stared into the face of a guy he'd called a friend in his college years. And he hadn't understood, not at all._

" _Heya, Sammy!"_ _Brady smiled through bloody teeth even as Sam felt his reality crumbling anew. "Sorry but… Brady hasn't been Brady in years. Not since, oh… middle of sophomore year?"_

 _Shock filtered over Sam. Shock and_ horror _when he'd realized that he'd been friends with a demon,_ good _friends and for_ years _. And suddenly it clicked into place, made_ perfect sense _how Brady had suddenly just dropped out of pre-med in their sophomore year, how he'd gotten into drugs, started taking home a different girl every night (usually a stripper or a hooker). And Sam remembered trying so_ hard _to help the guy he thought was his friend get back onto the 'right track.' Why hadn't he realized back then that Brady hadn't just changed—that he'd been a different person?_ _That he'd been_ possessed? _It was so obvious now, like the demon had been taunting him almost, daring him to realize. But Sam hadn't._

_Brady chuckled to see Sam's realization and stunned silence. "That's right. You had a devil on your shoulder even back then. All right, now, let it aaaallllll sink in..."_

_And that's when Sam realized something else and flew into a fit. "You son of a bitch. You son of a bitch!" Dean had to restrain Sam, who was almost blinded with rage. "You introduced me to_ Jess _!"_

" _Yessir!" Brady grinned proudly. "That was me!"_ _He laughed in unrestrained, cruel delight at Sam's reaction. "Remember when I came back from break all messed up?" He taunted. "Remember how much_ time _you spent trying to get me back on the straight and narrow? You really were a good friend, weren't you Sam. But ol' Yellow Eyes didn't send me back to be your_ friend. _No, we could tell we were starting to lose you. You were becoming a mild-mannered, worthless sack of piss! Now come on. We couldn't have that. You were our favorite, he had_ plans _for you. So I hooked you up with a pure, sweet, innocent piece of tail, watched you fall in love with her... and then I toasted her on the ceiling. That's right—Azazel might've put the hit out on Jessica, but, man, I got to have all the_ fun _!"_

 _Sam almost murdered Brady right then and there even as the most painful memory he possessed had surged through his mind all over again: the girl he loved more than anyone, screaming and burning to death on the ceiling as he'd watched and done_ nothing. _Just run away._

" _Did it make you mad Sam? Did it get that blood of yours boiling?" Brady had asked, barely able to contain his spiteful mirth. "Must have, after all, got you back in the life, back where we needed you…"_

_Dean was still holding onto Sam at that point, who was shaking, furious, and ready to claw Brady's eyes out._

" _You know, she thought we were friends, too. She let me right in the day that I lit her up… you know what she was doing? She was baking cookies. Such a sweet little girl..." Brady had begun to laugh gleefully at that point as he continued to talk, taking huge amounts of pleasure in the memory of murdering the woman Sam had wanted to marry, have children with, grow old with._ _"She was so surprised…" Brady drawled, "so_ hurt _when I started in on her… begged me please no Brady, what are you doing, Brady?"_

_And Brady had practically cackled, watching Sam writhe as he tried to get away from Dean's restraining grip._

It had taken _everything_ Sam had inside not to kill Brady then—to not rip himself out of Dean's grasp and fucking send that black-eyed asshole into the darkness that did not end. But Sam had gotten a grip on himself (well, with Dean's help) and told himself _wait._ Be _patient._ Get what we need out of this motherfucker, and _then_ you can rip his heart out of his chest.

Now, the moment was here. Sam knew it and was feeling some sort of calm, dark anticipation. At his side, he held onto the demon blade. He could almost smile now. Behind him, he knew Dean had the can of salt from the back of the car.

Crowley seemed to get his cue, realizing that it was time to leave. And as he began to retreat toward the open end of the alley, Brady's expression chilled a couple degrees. "Where you going?" He demanded, even as Dean began to pour a thick line of salt across the alleyway. Brady looked at it nervously, then Crowley, seeming to finally see that he was much more screwed than he'd imagined.

"I'm _going_ to do you a favor," Crowley said, stopping next to Sam. "End your misery once and for all. By association, that is." He gave Brady a coy smile and a wink, then looked at Sam knowingly. "I expect we'll be in touch."

Sam stared Brady down, not looking away for a second.

Dean let Crowley pass and and then closed the salt line behind him, effectively sealing Brady into the dead-end alley. Crowley disappeared into thin air, and Brady looked like he wished he could do the same. Too bad Crowley had trapped him in his body with a sigil. Sam's mouth curved upward just slightly.

Dean set the can of salt down. "What is this?" Brady asked, attempting nonchalance, his eyes flickering between the two brothers. He was smiling strangely, nervously, and he had his hands in his pockets.

"Guessing you wanna do the honors?" Dean asked Sam while looking at Brady calmly.

"You know I do," Sam replied, not taking his eyes off of the demon for even a second.

"What _is_ this?" Brady asked again, growing angry. "I gave you what you wanted, what we _agreed_ on—let me go."

Dean chuckled, looked down, and Brady looked at him sharply. "What's so funny?"

The oldest Winchester wet his lips without wavering in the slightest. "All those angels, all those demons, all those sons of bitches—they just don't get it, do they, Sammy?"

Sam's eyes narrowed just slightly. "No, they don't, Dean."

"You see, Brady… _we're_ the ones you should be afraid of." Dean said. "And you don't get to call the shots anymore." He glanced at his brother, silently giving him the go-ahead.

Sam tightened his grip on the knife and began to approach Brady, who scoffed, laughed lightly, then rolled his eyes. That lifeless smile never left his face. "I bet this is a _real_ moment for you, big boy. Gonna make you feel all better?"

"It's a start," Sam said as he took another slow, deliberate step towards Brady, who, in unison, took a step back. His smile faltered a little. _Good._ Sam wanted to draw this out—see Brady squirm and beg for his life. But Brady suddenly smirked, glanced at Dean and then back at Sam, wiggled his eyebrows up briefly.

"Y'know, the only thing I wish were different about all of this is I wish your _sister_ were here to see this." His smile widened when Sam's expression registered cold, warning fury. "Hell, maybe _I_ just wanna see her again, after all, it's been awhile, and _damn_ if that little bitch isn't hot."

"Don't talk about my _sister_ , Brady," Sam threatened sharply. His voice trembled in undiluted rage but he held himself back, refusing to let Brady rattle him.

"Aw Sam, come on. Lighten _up_!" Brady grinned. "You think you're the only one _Daddy_ had plans for?" Sam's confidence flickered. "Are you really _that_ stupid?" Brady asked scornfully. "I don't think you are, so tell me: why the hell have you been playing dumb all these years?" Brady took another step back as Sam advanced on him by another step. He gave an overly dramatic shrug, simpering almost. "I like Alex, so _sue me_. She was supposed to be special, too, did you know that?" His lips curved upward in a knowing, closed-mouth smile. He was in total control of the conversation and they both knew it. "And she still _will be special,_ after this." Sam didn't like his soft, knowing tone. "The two of you… the most special out of all the children Azazel gathered..."

"What are you talking about?" Sam demanded, becoming afraid but trying to remain outwardly threatening. Behind him, Dean had gone still in rapt worry.

Brady ignored the question. "I've heard she's into _angels_ these days, that true?" He was greatly amused by the thought.

Sam knew Brady was trying to get a rise out of him and use a wild, brainless attack to make a break for it. So Sam held himself back, trying to stay aloof and collected. Speaking through clenched teeth, he raised the knife a little, glaring at Brady relentlessly. "Cut the crap, Brady. You tell me what you're talking about right now or I swear to god—"

"What, you'll _kill_ me? Great, so do it! Is that gonna make up for all the times that we yanked your chain? Yellow Eyes, Ruby, _me_? But it wasn't all our fault you turned out how you did, was it? No, no, no, no. _You're_ the one who trusted _us_. _You're_ the one who let us into your life, let us whisper in your ear over and over and _over_ again. You're the one who's staring reality down the barrel and trying to act all high and mighty but really, you're just as low as the rest of us. We've got the same stuff in our veins, you and me and, deep down, you know you're _just_ like us: angry, spiteful… full of desire for everything corrupt and abominable. Sam, you're part of something bigger than yourself, something darker than all those secrets you keep…"

Getting close to losing it, Sam's voice raised, and fast. "Shut up," Sam spat, trying to get control back. " _What_ did Azazel plan to do with my _sister_? Tell me _now_."

Brady cracked another bloody grin. "Oh, you'll see, Sam, don't you worry about _that_."

The foreboding, threatening nature of the words, combined with the way Brady seemed so sure made Sam lose his edge for a second. And when he faltered, the demon took the opportunity. The grin disappeared unnervingly fast and Brady suddenly lunged at Sam, swinging a wild fist at him. Sam reacted fast, ducking the blow just barely, swiping the demon blade across Brady's side, grabbing the demon and whirling him then shoving him face-first into the wall. He held Brady there, the blade tight against his neck.

"Tell me _now,_ you son of a bitch!" Sam thundered, pulling the knife tighter. And even though he had the upper hand, he shook not with rage, but with _fear_. Trying to cover it, he lowered his voice, filled it with as much menacing as he could muster. "You aren't taking anyone else from me ever again, asshole."

Brady laughed, low and soft, slow, and Sam could see the demon's eyes slide in his direction. "No, you're right. _I'm_ not," he said smugly. "See... this right here is what they call 'misdirected anger,' Sammy. The rage and bitterness you feel, the all-consuming need compelling you to bury that knife in me until I bleed and die underneath you… is what you should feel for yourself." His voice lowered to a whisper. "Because _you're_ the one who's to blame for everything that's going to happen." He laughed again, harder, loud, a sudden bark of sound. "It's just _too good_!"

"Stop _laughing_ ," Sam growled, and shoved Brady hard, backed up a couple steps.

Brady turned around, sneering. "Do you think maybe you hate us so much because you hate what you see every time you look in the mirror? Because you know, deep down, how dark you are, how _twisted_?! You ever think of that, huh?!" He was gloating, gleeful, and Sam could feel himself losing his temper completely. He was done listening to this waste of space, he was so furious, and every second that passed and Brady continued to breathe air was vile. "Did you ever wonder if maybe the only difference between _you_ and a _demon_ … is your hell is right here on earth, and no matter whether you're dead or alive you'll never escape from your worst enemy... _yourself_."

"Maybe that's true," Sam breathed, and his mouth curved upwards now in a smile. Brady's eyes narrowed, his smile faded—even as Sam lunged forward and stabbed the blade hard into the flesh of Brady's stomach, relishing the scream of pain and fear that ripped out of Brady's mouth. He grabbed Brady behind the neck with his free hand, forced him to meet his gaze as he died. "But you and all of your friends will never escape me, _either._ " Sam ripped the blade out and Brady collapsed, his glazed eyes wide with shock, mouth slack as he fell down dead.

Breathing heavily, Sam stared down at the corpse, expecting to feel more triumph and more relief. What he felt was more like dread and emptiness. He turned around. Dean was looking at him oddly. And Sam looked down at the blade in his hand. It was covered in demon's blood and Dean was looking at the knife, too. Warily. Then at Sam.

"You want me to—?" Dean started.

"I got it," Sam muttered and wiped the knife, both sides, onto the leg of his jeans, defying Dean to continue the sentence. And chastised, Dean nodded grimly, eyeing Brady's body. Sam brushed past him, stalking down the alley toward the Impala. When he got to the car, he didn't get in, instead suddenly leaning down onto the roof feeling so much utter heaviness. He thought of Jess—sweet, innocent Jess who had never hurt anyone, who had looked at him like he was a hero and a good man. She'd always told him how proud she was of him. How much she loved him. Sam would have given _anything_ to have been there in her place, to have died instead of her. Nothing could ever bring her back: a thought that had echoed hollowly in his heart from the day she died until now.

Sam would never tell Dean or Alex—not now and not then—but for years in the back of his mind, he'd sometimes blamed them and Dad for her death. Because if they hadn't come to get him, if they hadn't pulled him back into the hunting life... she would have lived. That's what he'd always thought, anyway. But after today, he wasn't so sure.

What Brady had said… maybe it _was_ his fault, and not because of something he did or didn't do, but because of who he _was_. That single thought was unbearable. He held a hand to his forehead, his mind whirling at a dizzying rate. The dreams of his sister were starting to pound through his head again without warning, and he was scared, cornered, wondering why Brady said she was supposed to have been special, and still would be...

"You okay?" Dean asked. Sam realized Dean was across from him at the driver's side door of the Impala.

Sam let out a heavy breath and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to get himself together. He shook his head, disillusioned about what had just happened and wary of the future. "I thought... it'd feel better, you know?" His voice and face darkened. "And I didn't like that stuff he said about Alex."

Dean seemed to share his sentiment—glancing to the side darkly, his jaw tightening perceptibly. He opened his door. "Me either. Let's get back to Bobby's, regroup, get her. Go from there."

"Yeah," Sam said. He glanced back at the dead body in the alley way and opened the door to his side of the car, pausing. Revenge never brought back the ones you lost. He knew that. So why did it feel like he'd lost Jess all over again? And why was he so certain, deep down, that his sister was next? The things he didn't want to remember crossed his mind without his permission. He heard the screams again, felt the heat of flames…

"Hey!" Dean's voice came from inside the car and Sam realized he was just standing there. "Earth to planet Sam. Come on, it's like a solid twelve hour drive. We gotta vamoose." Dean put his hands up, impatient, clearly wondering what Sam's deal was.

Sam looked over his shoulder for one last moment. "Yeah, no, sorry."

Dean looked at Sam oddly as he sat down and swung his legs into the car, pulled the door shut after him. "You sure you're okay?" he asked his little brother, concern tightening his features.

Sam clenched his jaw. "No." He glanced his brother's way but not at him directly. "I'm not okay."

* * *

**Chalmette, Louisiana  
3:08am**

Nurse Katie Cooper remained frozen and silent as the just-reunited couple in front of her looked at each other wordlessly. Alex, who'd knocked Castiel over when she'd run to him full force, was sitting with her legs on either side of him. Her arms had slackened around his neck as they stared at each other in what looked like astonishment.

Castiel blinked a couple times as he stared at the tears that had come away on his fingers, then he looked at his wife in surprise, who seemed similarly stunned, a breathless, half-confused smile on her face. Slowly, she brushed the backs of her fingers across one of his cheeks and then gently cupped her hand to the other side of his face comfortingly, using her thumb to brush away the wet streak below his eye.

God, it was a sweet moment. The nurse almost felt like she could get teary eyed, too. But instead she cleared her throat apologetically, feeling like she was part of an extremely intimate moment—pretty sure that the wife hadn't even noticed her yet, which made it feel even more like an intrusion.

The wife—Alex, Castiel had said her name was—turned her head, noticed Katie for the first time, seeming mildly surprised to see the nurse standing there. "Oh. Hi." Alex cleared her throat and wiped her cheeks rapidly with the side of her hand. "Didn't see you there." Castiel hadn't looked Katie's direction even once—he only had eyes for Alex, who maybe felt his intensely soulful gaze and turned her attention back to him. She seemed unable to stop herself and touched his face again, her face relaxing into the smallest little smile, like she couldn't believe he was really there. Like he was the most precious thing to her.

"Sorry," the nurse apologized, feeling more and more like she was intruding with every passing second. "I don't mean to interrupt…" she cleared her throat and excused herself fumblingly. "I'll uh, give you two a minute. I'll be right outside if you need anything." She stepped out of the room, feeling embarrassed of herself and a bit flustered. Neither Castiel or Alex seemed to hear her or care, they were too busy being wrapped up in each other—quite literally.

Katie remained close, watching in quick flickering glances from the side of her eye as she held her clipboard, pretending to read it. She couldn't help it—she was curious as crap about the mysterious couple who were currently saying nothing, just embracing each other—his arms circling around her waist, one of her hands on his shoulder, the other curled into the hair at the back of his head, and it looked like their eyes were shut—he'd rested his head onto her shoulder, his face was buried in the side of her neck, she had her face bowed down toward his. Her nose was in his hair, her eyes were shut. Katie wasn't sure if she'd ever seen two people who appeared to be more in love. And there was a pang of disillusionment or maybe jealousy in the pit of her stomach. Billy had never held her like that, not ever.

Katie studied the wife carefully. Alex looked to be in her late twenties—she wore some old jeans, hunting type boots, a neutral-toned plaid button up, a cargo jacket. She had a military style messenger bag slung across her body. Actually, no… Katie realized on closer inspection that it was a _real_ military grade ammo bag. Katie's brother was in the Marines and he used the same kind. Huh. This Alex girl had the look of someone who was smart and sharp, observant and wary—she was wiry and petite but looked relatively strong… though she currently looked a little underweight and not very well-rested, like she'd been running and looking back over her shoulder nights on end. It all added in to the theory that Katie was beginning to build that these two were involved in some bad business. She briefly pictured them as Bonnie and Clyde types, or maybe sexy international spies like in that Brad Pitt movie she'd seen a few summers back.

"Are you in a lot of pain, Cas?" Alex asked her husband in a soft, worried murmur, pulling back and looking at his cut up face then ghosting her fingers over the bruises that discolored his temple, his jaw. _Cas_ —that must be his nickname.

"I have no real point of reference to access, but… yes, I believe so. It's not as bad as it was when I first woke up." He told her. He grimaced a little, and his wife grimaced too, clearly not happy about his pain, empathizing with him. He brushed aside his own discomfort. "The angels… did they hurt you?" he asked, his face etched over in apprehension.

 _Angels?_ Katie's unconscious frown deepened slightly. Castiel had said some stuff about angels earlier, too, when she'd been trying to get basic information from him—he'd sounded a little crazy. But Alex didn't look at him like he was nuts when he asked her if angels had hurt her.

"Nothing I couldn't handle," Alex told her husband, who caught her right hand in his, looking at the large scab across her knuckles.

"This?" he asked, looking up at her, his expression tense with concern.

Katie suddenly wondered if maybe 'the angels' was a gang or a code word for whoever had hurt Castiel. "No, that was me," Alex told Castiel, looking down at her messed up hand. She sounded mildly ashamed. "I did that."

Her husband's expression grew confused in the midst of his vast worry. " _You_?" he asked.

"Long story," she said, dismissing it, refocusing on her husband, brushing his messy hair back from his face. He wasn't easily derailed, still gazed up at her with great amounts of unease. But she was smiling at him despite that, and her closed-mouth smile was so heartfelt and full of tenderness. "I'm so _glad_ you're okay." She told him softly. It was easy to hear from the wavering tone in her voice how convinced she'd been that Castiel wasn't coming back.

Katie glanced at her watch. She really needed to do her rounds soon. Feeling really rude but knowing how she was always pissing off the head nurse and some of the doctors with her penchant for running behind schedule, forgetting paperwork, and getting too chatty with patients, Katie cleared her throat, turned around and went back into the room, an apologetic expression on her face. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Nellcor?"

Alex's brow furrowed and she looked at the nurse as if to ask ' _me'_? She glanced at her husband and then got a funny almost _amused_ look on her face as she looked back at Katie. "Y...es," she replied slowly, glancing at Cas again as she got up and stood beside Castiel, not going far from him at all. "That's me. Mrs… _Nellcor_."

Castiel was now looking at Katie grumpily, clearly unhappy that they'd been interrupted.

"I'm so sorry..." the nurse paused and tried a disarming, silly smile. "I don't mean to get all up in ya biz-nizz," Katie apologized with joking drama, falling back on her goofy side to try and get a laugh or smile. She wilted a little when they both looked at her oddly. Dammit. No one ever thought that was funny, why did she always try it again? _Professional. Be professional._ "But uh, I need some information. Some paperwork. I'll, I'll leave the two of you once I get some basic information," she said, being totally serious again. "There's just not a lot of us nurses on the night shift and I need to make my rounds soon, so…"

"Of course," Alex said—she was more understanding than her sullen husband—and also appeared anxious for answers. She stayed at his side, kept a hand on his shoulder. "How is he doing? He said he was in a coma?"

"Yes, he was in a coma," Katie confirmed. "But he's doing well—remarkably well. We were all pretty surprised that he woke up at all, actually. The doctor on-call should be in to see you both soon, by the way, and he can tell you more, but… for now, I can tell you that your husband was pretty much brain dead. Then he just… _woke up_ a few hours ago out of nowhere." Alex and Castiel exchanged a brief glance at that. "He was a little disoriented, but very coherent overall." She was getting a little animated now. "It was kind of a miracle, really." _Crap, there you go again, inserting personal opinion into medical diagnosis._ Katie made herself get back to just facts. "We've got him on a morphine drip for the pain right now, we'll increase the dose if he continues to experience discomfort… his vitals are good, he seems to be recovering a lot better than some might, actually." Katie looked at Castiel, mildly impressed, giving him a little smile. "I can't believe he stood up a minute ago when you came in. Pretty dang cool."

Alex was nodding, listening closely. At the last part, she smiled and glanced down at her husband, giving him a knowing smile. "Yeah well, he's... a pretty dang cool guy," she said, grinning now, and it made her even prettier than she already was. There were clear notes of pride, love, and admiration in her voice. Castiel looked almost bashful at the playful compliment, the smallest smile tugging on his lips he looked at his wife, who suddenly seemed to think of something and looked back at the nurse. "Wait… what's the pain medication for, exactly? What are his injuries?"

Katie didn't have to look at his chart, she knew Castiel's condition by heart. "He had severe internal bruising and trauma to the brain and head, as well as the… freaky symbol that was cut into him. The cuts were deep and still haven't finished healing all the way." She studied their reactions at the mention of the symbol. The wife seemed to know, her expression fell, she grew pensive and looked at Castiel, whose wide, open eyes stared back up as if he were silently telling her not to be upset. Still, Alex was clearly troubled.

Katie's curiosity was killing her, but she guessed asking about the symbol and the circumstances was the police's job, not hers. "He's going to need physical therapy most likely," she told Alex. "Not _much_ probably, but we'll want to verify that his motor skills are up to par. He'll need a lot of rest, shouldn't stay on his feet too long. We'll probably want to keep him a couple more days for observation before he goes home with you."

Alex faltered. "A couple more days?"

Katie faltered too, uncertain why they'd be eager to leave when Castiel wasn't fully recovered… then a thought dawned. What if they were on the run from the guys who'd cut Castiel up? She tried not to show how interested she was. "Is that going to be a problem?" she asked, fishing for answers and trying not to sound suspicious.

Alex's mouth turned downward briefly and she shrugged, shook her head, and acted suddenly unfazed, like Katie had misread her. She gave a bright smile like everything were fine, shook her head. "No, no. Not at all."

Katie wasn't sure—she didn't know if that were the truth or not, seemed sort of over the top... but she went along with it, moved ahead—she really did need to start her rounds as soon as possible. "Good. Well, here's the part everyone loves: paperwork." She laughed awkwardly at her own joke. "I'll need you to fill out some forms, we're going to need some ID for him, insurance… he's been on life support for over a month now, I'm afraid the bill might be a little shocking…" Katie glanced down at her clipboard, realizing she had just gone and said something inappropriate again. She tried to recover. "No worries, I'm sure it'll be fine. We can talk to the billing department… someone will be in in about… four hours, around seven."

Alex nodded, looking down, frowning in thought. God, they were a young couple—well, no they weren't, he looked almost forty—but somehow they _seemed_ young, and Katie felt bad, wondered if the cost of the medical care would set them back too bad, put a strain on their marriage. She hoped they had good insurance. She then remembered there was one more thing she needed to discuss with Alex. Katie cleared her throat, tried to be discreet. "Mrs. Nellcor, if I can just talk with you privately? For a minute?"

Alex's attention seemed to be piqued and she nodded consent, followed Katie into the hallway where they stood out of earshot from Castiel but could still see him. "Mrs. Nellcor—" Katie started.

"Call me Alex," she said, grinning again at the use of her last name, like she found it funny or awkward or both.

Katie shut her mouth, opened it again. "Alex." It shouldn't have felt so weird, addressing a patient's spouse by their first name, especially since Katie thought Alex looked just a little younger than herself. "Your husband is… displaying signs of… moderate delusion, possibly some kind of trauma induced selective amnesia."

Alex grew concerned. "How do you mean?"

Katie lowered her voice a little. "Well, he's just said some strange things. Like, that he had no last name… that he was as old as the planet, but that his _body_ was thirty-seven… some stuff about angels. I think he thinks he _is_ one, or was one."

Alex made a thoughtful face, almost amused. "That _does_ sound a little crazy."

Katie was confused. A lot of people, when getting even slightly bad news, got worried and paranoid, and it was like you could see them starting to prepare for the worst as they wondered ' _will I have to live the rest of my life with this_?' but this Alex woman was unaffected. She was looking back into the room, smiling at Castiel with soft eyes, eyes full of fondness and love. Like she wouldn't care what was wrong with him. Like she loved him no matter what. Katie realized she had never looked at Billy like that. And maybe she was nuts but seeing this weird, quirky, totally in love couple was suddenly making her question her own two-year relationship. Just… the way Castiel was looking at Alex even now, like he didn't want her to disappear from his eyesight, like he absolutely adored her. If a guy looked at her like that, she wouldn't mind if he were a little crazy, either.

Katie's curiosity got the better of her. "If you don't mind me asking... how did the two of you meet?" she asked Alex, who refocused on the nurse, looking mildly knocked off balance by the question.

"Um, we met…" there was a distinctly suspicious slide of Alex's eyes to the side, like she was trying to think of something. "At work. We met at work. He uh, was around for a whole year before I really noticed him. You would have thought I didn't even know he was there." Alex chuckled as if it were funny. "Then one day he walked through the door and... it was like sparks flew." She was laughing softly, to herself, like it was an inside joke. She shrugged, looked back at Castiel again. Her amusement softened into that same fond gentle gaze she seemed to constantly look at her husband with. "Now… here we are."

Katie was intrigued and becoming _totally_ convinced that the two of them were spies or secret agents. Maybe they weren't even really married, actually, maybe that was some kind of cover story, but in love? Definitely. They were definitely in love. And you know what, she was going to choose to believe they were married, because even if they weren't, they should be. And Katie was worried for them, because she didn't even know who they were, but she could feel, instinctively, that they were up against something.

And it was the exact kind of thing she constantly got in trouble for, but Katie asked it anyway: "I'm sorry, it's none of my business but… the way he was found—with the… weirdo symbol carved into his chest. Is he… are the two of you in some kind of trouble?"

Alex was mildly amused again, her expression seemed to say _you might say that_ —and Katie felt a thrill race through her. _Oh my god I knew it, secret agents!_ "Nothing we can't handle," Alex said, and there was a confidence there that Katie thought was _so damn cool_.

Slightly starstruck, she couldn't help but grin stupidly as she pulled out the basic information form and handed it over. "Okay, well, uh, if you could just fill out this patient information form. For our records, if you can. I'll have someone from the billing department come up in the morning. And I'll be back to check in after my rounds."

Alex took the form and looked at Katie in mild concern at her behavior. "We'll... be here."

"Okay, great." And Katie hurried off.

Alex watched the nurse go, looked down at the paperwork in her hand, and crumpled it up as she went back to Castiel. They would _not_ be there when the nurse got back. She tossed the crumpled form into the trash bin and shut the door behind her for privacy... then stopped when her eyes locked with Cas.

"Hi." She said softly, briefly forgetting her hurry. Just took him in—hospital gown and bracelet, messy hair, bright blue eyes, boyish features. She still couldn't believe he was really here, and couldn't ever remember feeling this happy or relieved— _ever_.

"Hello," he replied, and there was that little ghost of a smile on his lips again. He was irresistible and she went to him again, hugged her arms around his neck, and let out a shuddering breath... just so, so, _so_ relieved to feel him breathing, his heartbeat pounding against her, his arms around her again. In fact, it struck her all over again that he really was back and tears filled her eyes. She squeezed her eyes shut, held him tighter for a second, and felt his forehead brush against her neck as he turned his face toward her.

Alex had to force herself to think about what she was doing—getting them out of there before anyone else showed up and realized that Castiel had no ID, no insurance, no way of paying whatever medical bill he'd accumulated… it would be simplest just to cut and run while they could. Reluctantly, she drew back and looked at her angel. "Can you walk?" She wasn't above stealing a wheelchair if she had to.

"Yes, I believe so."

"Good, cuz we gotta go," she told him. "Get outta here while there's not a lot of staff around."

And looking down into his face, she didn't want to have to be away from him for even a second, but she forced herself, again, to get her head in the game. She spotted the bedside table where the familiar trench coat was folded up on one of the lower shelves—she could see little peeks of his pants, shirt, and jacket sticking out underneath it, too. His shoes were on the floor, she saw that the socks were in shoved into each shoe. Okay, good.

Alex crouched and picked the stuff all up except for the shoes then set his clothing down onto the bed beside him.

He understood. Stiffly, he pushed himself up to his feet and pulled off the hospital gown awkwardly. He was wearing black boxer briefs that the hospital must have put on him—she didn't recognize them. But what she noticed more than his underwear was the scabbed angel sigil on his chest. And momentarily stilled in faint horror, she stared. "Oh _Cas_." She touched her fingers to the scabbed sigil, and she saw him flinch just slightly underneath the touch of her fingers.

He'd done this to himself, for _her_. She sought his gaze, feeling horrible all over again. "That's not what hurts," he told her. "Mostly it's my head and… well… everywhere."

Alex handed him his white dress shirt then watched him shrug it on. He didn't button it up yet. "Where are Sam and Dean and Adam?" he asked, taking the pants that she held out to him. Bending with a grimace, he put each of his legs through a foot hole. The wrong ones.

"Backwards, Cas," she told him, having to press a bittersweet smile away. "Backwards."

He paused, looked, and frowned briefly. "Oh." He fixed the problem and pulled his pants all the way up, buttoned and zipped them.

"Sam and Dean are somewhere up northeast of here, trying to find Pestilence—Gabriel said the horsemen's rings make some kind of key to Lucifer's cage, so… that's what we're doing."

He frowned. "Interesting." He picked his suit jacket up and she buttoned his dress shirt for him without a second thought. He watched her work, quiet for a moment. "And Adam? Where is he?"

Alex paused, two buttons away from being done. Her eyes flickered up to his, her expression growing harder. "Gone," she buttoned the remaining buttons. "He said yes to Michael, we're pretty sure."

Castiel appeared very disturbed and surprised indeed. "I don't understand..."

"I don't either," Alex told him, then motioned at his suit jacket, which he'd been holding forgetfully. "Jacket." She glanced back at the closed hospital room door, nervous about someone coming in and finding her about to whisk away the coma patient who hadn't paid and wasn't on file and had no records.

Cas shrugged on the black suit jacket and sat down onto the bed, grunting slightly when he reached down for his socks and shoes. "I find getting dressed to be very tiresome," he complained, pulling on one sock, then pausing. "Is this on the right foot?"

"I... don't think it matters with socks," she told him, a crooked little smile pulling on her mouth. She watched him for a minute as he put on his socks, then pulled on his shoes, tying those clumsy uneven knots. He did it all slowly, obviously sore and struggling to move well. She wondered how long he'd be like this for. "When do you think your batteries'll recharge?"

"Meaning my state of celestial grace?" He shook his head and looked down, his eyebrows knit together tightly. "I don't know. Maybe my… 'batteries'… may never be recharged. I feel incredibly…" he looked up, and his expression seemed lost, afraid, confused, his voice faltered, and it had never done anything quite like that before. " _Human_." It was like being punched in the stomach, hearing that quiet confession. Neither of them said anything, but both of them were thinking of 2014. Castiel, in particular, looked worried. "How am I supposed to keep you safe now?" he asked softly, and he seemed so much smaller and more fragile than he ever had. Alex didn't like to see him scared.

She tried to look hopeful and confident, then squeezed his shoulder. "We'll keep each other safe," she told him. But she was scared, too.

He stood up, still frowning slightly, and he took the trench coat up, shrugging it on. Seeing him in it suddenly made her feel a lot better.

"You look…" she couldn't think of a word, just let out some sort of appreciative soft huff of air. "Just missing one thing," she said, and reached into the pocket of her jacket… drawing out his tie.

When he saw that she'd carried it with her, a soft, touched smile lighted onto his lips.

"I kept it for you," Alex told him, stating the obvious—what she didn't say was that she'd kept a part of him with her at all times, day and night. But when his eyes flickered to the pocket she'd pulled it out of, then back up to hers, she thought maybe he understood it all the same.

She looped the tie around his neck and began to knot it for him. God, the last time she'd done this was after they'd slept together in Bobby's attic. Self-conscious, she looked up into his intent eyes… and from the way he was looking at her with them, she thought maybe he was thinking the same thing she was. Wordlessly Alex craned her neck up and kissed him, soft and sweet and slow. His hands touched either of her arms, his mouth returned her kiss, and she could have sobbed for happiness. He was here, alive, and they had another chance.

Despite the physical arousal that so predictably came at the softest kiss of his lips, Alex broke the kiss and let go of the tie regretfully—they had to get out of there, _now_. She turned, going to the box of personal effects that she'd spied sitting on the bedside table. She saw her silver whistle, a couple wrinkled pictures, his old cell phone (clearly ruined) some spare change… and a box cutter. That was what he must have carved that sigil into himself with. She picked it up almost broodingly. Behind her, she heard Cas take a shuffling step closer.

"What happened after I disappeared? Did Dean and Sam succeed in killing Zachariah?"

"No, I—" Alex started.

She heard the familiar sound of angel's wings and turned, confused. She quickly became terrified.

"Did someone say my name?"

It was Zachariah, practically beaming, hands on his hips. He stood between them and grinned idiotically at each of them in turn, relishing the shocked, semi-horrified looks on their faces. "Hiya, lovebirds!" He chuckled. "Don't look so _surprised_!" He held up a finger like he was reciting from memory. "Say an angel's name loud enough, if they're listening, they can find you." He indicated Cas with a sweep of his hand, pulling a face as he did. "' _Cas_ ' here should know this."

Cas, weakened as he was and weaponless, recovered from his shock and drew himself up to his full height, approaching Zachariah. "You'll not take her again, Zachariah," he growled, to which the other angel gave a short, derisive laugh, and turned to face down Cas.

"Even if I _was_ here for her, which I'm _not,_ how were you planning on stopping me?"

Castiel's expression fell into puzzlement as he processed what Zachariah had said. "If you're not here for her…" Cas trailed off and Zachariah nodded, pleased.

"By the way, thanks for screwing up my plans, Alex— _sweetie_. Real good job. I'd kill you right now if Michael hadn't told me _not_ to." Zachariah's annoyed expression sprung back to that false cheer he always exuded. "Hey, maybe later!"

He turned back to Castiel and grabbed him abruptly by the front of his shirt, shoving him into the wall. Cas gave a great cry of pain the likes that Alex had never heard from him before—and it made her see red. "Raphael is tired of your constant meddling, Castiel… you messed him up one too many times," Zachariah lectured as he held Cas against the wall, his feet dangling above the floor. Cringing and groaning lowly, Cas panted in pain as his opponent continued. "And now… well, he's decided you have to die." Zachariah gave a wicked smile. "So! Any last words?"

"I've got a couple," Alex growled in his ear, right before she stabbed him with brutal force through the side of the throat with Castiel's blade, which she'd concealed inside of her jacket. " _Fuck you_."

Zachariah screamed as his Grace burned blue beams out of his mouth and eyes. When Alex yanked the blade out, he collapsed down to the ground, there was a sound like thunder… and below his dead body, spidery black wings stretched across the hospital floor.

Alex stood over him breathlessly, confirming he was dead before her eyes flew to Cas. He was standing slackly against the wall, looking at her in a mixture of surprise, awe, worry—but he was unharmed and alive. His eyes flickered to his blade questioningly.

She shrugged, a little out of breath, her adrenaline still going, making her shake a little now. "I kept it," she said and bent over Zachariah, pulled his jacket open a little—where she found his blade tucked inside. She grabbed it up, straightened, then looked at Cas kind of cheekily as she crossed back to the bedside table. "And I'm keeping this one, too." Someone would have heard that scream, they needed to move, _now_. Alex grabbed the box of Cas's personal effects and dumped all of it unceremoniously into the ammo bag she had slung across her body. They could hear a muffled voice over the hospital intercom system and they both looked up at the same time, then at each other. "We _really_ need to go now."

Without any further delay, Alex took Castiel by the hand and they fled the hospital together.

Nurse Katie Cooper would come back to a very different scene than she'd left—all the nurses on shift and a couple doctors gasping and panicking over the strange, dead body of a guy in his fifties who no one had ever seen before… with strange, inky black wings etched beneath him.

Katie would take in the sights of the dead man, the crumbled wall, the signs of a struggle, the absence of Castiel and Alex and all of his things and think to herself, again, _I knew it!_ The two of them were some kind of spies on the run… and had evaded this guy who was in a gang called The Angels, apparently. How did they have the time to paint the wings onto the floor, though? Some things would always be a mystery, she guessed.

When she got off of work a few hours later, she would call her boyfriend Billy of two years and tell him it was over. Because really, when she thought about it, she deserved a guy who would look at her like Castiel had looked at Alex. And she wasn't gonna settle any more.

* * *

**Jackson, Mississippi  
Around 6am**

Cas and Alex were no longer in Louisiana. After slipping out of the hospital, Alex had stolen a car—some kind of sedan—and they'd started driving North. Cas had been uncomfortable about stealing the car, Alex had told him sorry but at three in the morning before the bus stations were running full swing, it was their only option. After he had resigned himself to a life of thievery, Cas had listened as Alex told him in detail about what happened with Adam—how he'd disappeared in a flash of light in the middle of the night, mumbling about "Michael." She told him how they'd spent the month visiting spiritists and shamans and psychics and how no one had any answers or ideas on how to kill Satan. She told him about last week when they'd been drawn into a trap by several demigods and gods who had been eager to stop the apocalypse. Cas was especially horrified when Alex told him how Lucifer had suddenly appeared and taken interest in her again. She explained more in depth how Gabriel had left a recording, saying he was dead and how the horsemen's rings created a key to the devil's cage.

Cas was deeply troubled when Alex told him how Sam was contemplating saying "yes" to Lucifer to jump into the cage. Troubled and intrigued, almost.

Alex didn't tell him about her visit from Crowley.

About two and a half hours into the drive, Cas had noticed his stomach felt empty… and when it had made some strange noises, Alex had seemed to hear, looked at him oddly, then asked if he were hungry. He hadn't known one way or the other if he were hungry, but she'd decided he was and they were now some place called "Waffle House." It was neither a house nor was it made of waffles.

It was busy in the restaurant, even at the early hour—the kitchen was out in the open and short order cooks in strange paper hats were calling out things as food sizzled on the large, flat grill surface. It had a hustle and bustle to it that Cas was interested in. There were many different kinds of people here—old, young, Black, white… Castiel looked at the occupants with fondness, remembering how endeared he was to people, the things they did, the odd traditions and sayings they came up with. But none of them were as endeared to him as the one who sat across from him. As if she knew he were thinking of her, Alex looked up from the plastic laminated menu she'd been scanning.

"Know what you want?" she asked.

He felt himself narrow his eyes just slightly in confusion. "Yes," he replied. Of course he did—he wanted her. He wondered why she had asked him that so abruptly. He didn't have a chance to ask her.

She set her menu flat onto the table and leaned over it, looking at him intently while resting her elbow on the table and her chin in her hand. "Cas, did you know what carving the sigil onto yourself would do?"

"I assumed it would kill me, actually," he answered honestly. She straightened up, frowning, her hand coming away from her face. At her upset expression, he attempted to explain himself a bit better. "I'm your guardian angel. I would give my life for you, Alex. You know I would." She only looked more upset and Cas's head canted to the side slightly. "What is it?" He spoke more gently that time.

Her mouth moved oddly. Shadows of her pain and sadness showed. "...For the past month I thought you _had_."

Brief, weighty silence hung between them. Sorrowful compassion twisted Cas's face. And then a short, older woman with choppy salt-and-pepper hair and several missing teeth came to their table. "All right folks! You decided?" She held a pen and a little pad of paper to write their order on.

Her timing was inconvenient, but Cas plunged ahead. He tried to remember the right way to order food, the way he'd seen people do it in the past. "A, um, waffle, please."

The server peered over the little notepad. "That it?"

She seemed to be implying something, like he should order more, that a waffle wasn't enough, and Castiel squinted slightly. "...Should I order something else?" he asked, then looked at Alex, wondering if he were doing this wrong.

"I mean, that's up to you, chief," the server said. Her name tag said Flo.

Immediately, he frowned in puzzled confusion. "Why do you think I'm a chief, Flo?" He asked sincerely. Nothing about his outfit said Native American, did it?

Flo looked at him oddly then seemed to give up and instead turned to Alex, who was smiling at Cas—and it was one of those little twitchy smiles she smiled when she was trying to hide it. She had her chin in her hand again, her mouth was partially hidden behind her pinky and ring finger. But he could still see the smile. He liked it.

"And for you, miss?" Distracted out of her smile, Alex looked up at Flo. "Three scrambled eggs and bacon—extra bacon, please. And two coffees, two waters." She set her menu back where she'd gotten it, on the rack with all the condiments.

"Sure thing, back in a jiff," Flo said, glancing at Castiel oddly one last time, who was taking a bottle labeled _ketchup_ out of the little wire basket to study it curiously.

Alex leaned toward him, her hands in her lap now. "You know they have stuff other than waffles here," she told him covertly.

"But it's called Waffle House," Castiel said, absently scratching the itchy mosquito bite that was on the inside of his wrist.

"A little confusing, I know," Alex said in amusement, her eyes soft. She looked at him for a long moment as he put the ketchup bottle back and pulled out the bright yellow one labelled _mustard_. He opened it, sniffed it, and cringed. It smelled absolutely pungent. He closed it and put it back, uncertain why anyone would eat this mustard substance. He looked at Alex again, and when he did, he was left feeling strangely content. Just sitting here in the noisy din, surrounded by people, with her. And then he was mildly startled when Alex's hand touched his, where it rested on the table. Meeting her gaze, he understood she wanted to hold his hand and he melted somehow, readily turning his palm up to accept. He studied the way their hands and fingers met each others, the differences in skin texture and tone, size. Contentment set in over both of them as they waited for their meals.

Presently, Cas found himself studying this restaurant and all the things happening in it. The cash register dinged as a customer paid, a cook slapped raw bacon slices down onto the griddle with an impressively loud sizzle. "One hash brown scattered smothered diced!" A server yelled over the sound of metal spatulas banging against cooking surfaces. A couple conversed a few tables over, a younger server swept the old checkered floor and the bristles made a steady, dry sounding rhythm that Cas enjoyed. In the back corner of the restaurant, there was an old man reading a paper with a steaming cup of coffee beside him.

Cas felt himself smiling softly. "I find this atmosphere enjoyable," he said, looking back at his companion. He saw that she was watching _him_ like he was watching the others. With soft, appreciative, fond, loving eyes.

"Two waters," Flo said, setting down two plastic cups of sloshing water in front of them. "Back with your coffee in two shakes."

Alex gave her a nod and brief smile. "Thanks."

"Thanks," Cas echoed, mimicking her. Flo was sauntering off to another table to take another order.

Across from Cas, Alex seemed contemplative. "So, you're hungry, you're sore, no angel poofing powers… do you really think this will be permanent?" She paused, then began to theorize out loud. "Maybe you just need to rest and heal, like when we went back to seventy-nine."

Cas gripped his glass of water, looked at it frowning. "No... it's not like that time. This is different." He let out a short, heavy breath. "I'm not sure why but it's just… gone." He glanced up at her again, both horrified and somewhat drawn to the idea of becoming what she was… mortal. But when he thought deeper on it, he felt any enthusiasm fade. He'd been a poor excuse for an angel, what kind of man could he possibly be? He became troubled. "Perhaps this is when I… become human," he said, looking down now, trying not to think of the flawed, violent, unhinged man he'd seen himself become in 2014.

"You don't sound too happy about it," Alex observed, and it was hard to tell what she was thinking.

Castiel was conflicted. "What I was before… was better. I could protect you. Now I'm…" he looked down at his hands, laid them on the table palm facing up, his frown deepening. "Mere flesh and bone."

Their hands still held, and she gripped with a sudden gentle squeeze. "Like me," Alex said. Their eyes met and she smiled faintly. "It's not the worst thing, is it? You're alive and we're… here. Together."

Here, together. On earth. He looked at her hand in his and Cas felt some of his anxiety fade in favor of the familiar rush of feelings at her touch: warmth, safety, comfort. His eyes came back to meet hers, his mouth curved up a little. "Yes. There is that."

After a moment, Alex pulled her hand away, took in a breath, and checked her phone, her mind visibly switching tracks. After she put her phone back she heaved a charged breath. "So. You think the plan to put the devil back into the cage will work?"

He'd been too shocked by all of the information she'd relayed earlier to respond properly. Cas still found himself uncertain of what to think. "It will be difficult to trick him inside. In fact, I can't think of how. But Sam's idea seems risky, too."

Alex seemed to share the sentiment, pulling a face. "Yeah but.. we're running out of options… every time we turn around something else goes wrong…" she trailed off and her expression darkened. "Oh. I forgot to tell you about the dreams I've been having."

Interested immediately, especially because of the dream he had somehow reached her in earlier that night, Castiel felt himself lean a little closer to her. "Dreams?"

"Visions, maybe," she mumbled uncomfortably. "I don't know. I keep seeing Sam and Dean. Dead. And Lu—" she stopped short of saying his name after the whole Zachariah debacle. "Satan is always there. And he's always Sam. And then the whole world burns."

Cas thought for a minute, considering and calculating. "You've never had psychic dreams before, have you?"

She shook her head. "No." She paused, frowning now. "But there was the dream tonight where you and I talked to each other. How did _that_ happen? What _was_ that?"

Castiel paused uncertainly. "I'm not entirely sure how it happened, to be honest with you. The only explanation I can think of is…" he trailed off, deep in thought, then looked up into her eyes. "We share a profound bond, you and I."

Her face relaxed into a helpless little smile, she looked down and chuckled lightly. "I guess we do, don't we." She looked at him again and he wondered what she was thinking of. Her eyes seemed so bright. No one else looked at him like she did, and he couldn't look away. Her smile faded in a moment as she fell into deep thought. "What I don't understand is why aren't you in the dreams? You never are and… I dunno, Sam and Dean are two of the most important people in the world to me so… why aren't you in the dreams, too?"

He was one of the most important people in the world to her? Cas felt a deep flicker inside of him somewhere past physical. How mere words could do that to him was a mystery he couldn't fathom. Not for the first time, he privately marveled at how he responded to her so automatically. "I don't know," he answered her slowly. She seemed genuinely worried and he wished he knew how to alleviate her fears. All he could do was make a logical guess at why she was dreaming these things. "The dreams of the end are probably the result of your subconscious fears."

"Hope so," Alex said. She didn't seem to feel any better and Castiel sat back slightly. He rubbed the bug bite on his wrist again, irked with it.

Flo reappeared with two ceramic mugs of steaming dark liquid. "Here's your coffee, ya'll, food'll be up in just a couple minutes, kay?" she plunked the mugs down onto the table and bustled off again.

"Have you told your brothers about the dreams?" Castiel asked, watching Alex turn the mug of coffee where the handle was on the other side. She slipped her fingers through the loop, pulled the mug to her lips, and blew softly.

"Nah," she answered, seeming to imply with her body language and expression that wouldn't be a good idea. "They'd just think I was nuts. They don't need to know. The dreams are probably nothing, like you said."

Cas looked at Alex, who had clearly lost weight this past month, slept very little—and now he had a strange suspicion that she hadn't spoken much either. He thought back to how she had told him about the past month but hadn't put any personal details in—it had all been factual and removed. He felt a sudden, strange sensation taking over him, his mouth suddenly opened, his eyes squinted closed, his lungs pulled in a long, slow breath and he couldn't stop himself—he felt so tired. What just happened?

Alex was looking at him in a mixture of surprise and growing mirth. "Did you just _yawn_?"

He blinked a few times, surprised and realizing she was correct. "I think I did."

Alex tilted her mug of coffee toward him as if toasting him, and she nodded toward his untouched mug, indicating he drink some. His nose wrinkled just slightly and he lifted the mug, wary. He remembered how this stuff had tasted, and he hadn't liked it before. Still, he lifted the rim of the mug to his lips, sipped—and his nose wrinkled even more. Alex smiled sympathetically at him. He set the mug down and scratched at the mosquito bite on his wrist again, irritated. "Will this bug bite always itch?" he asked, looking at the soft swell of reddened skin that stood out on the inside of his wrist.

"Until the end of time," Alex told him with deadly seriousness. Castiel looked at her in shock—that long? Her deadpan face cracked into a grin—and she looked so beautiful like that. "No," she told him. "It won't."

"You're always teasing me," Cas commented, but he wasn't unhappy about it. In fact, he somehow liked it when she did that, because she always laughed afterward.

Flo reappeared with two plates and a dark bottle of something. She set down their meals. "Order up, sweethearts. Enjoy!"

Castiel picked up his fork, realizing this was a new experience altogether for him. "I've never used a utensil before..." he said, and looked at the round, dimpled food item on his plate—a waffle—in the center of it, a little pat of pale yellow stuff was dissolving. He wondered if he should stab the fork down into the center and try to eat the waffle like that, or—

Alex had her fork and held it out demonstratively. "Watch." She leaned closer to him, showing him how to use a fork to slice into the side of the waffle. Then she looked at him expectantly, indicating that he do the same. He took his fork and used the side of it like she had, mimicking her. She made another cut, creating a crooked little triangle—and then she stuck the fork down into the triangle and pulled away a bite-sized piece of waffle. She smiled at him and stuck it in her mouth, chewing triumphantly.

Cas now had a little wedge of waffle, too, and looked at it with dawning fond interest. "It's very ingenious," he said—both the fork and the waffle. He put the bite of food into his mouth. His frown softened as the blunt taste of coffee was covered over with the starchy, slightly sweet, fluffy taste and texture of the waffle. He smiled, impressed and pleased. "Now this… I like."

"I bet you like this, too," Alex said, and put a piece of bacon from her plate onto his. " _Everyone_ likes bacon. Well, except vegetarians I guess."

"But I don't want to take your food—" Cas protested.

Alex gave him a pointed, easy going look. "I got extra for _you_ ," she explained setting one more strip onto his plate. "Now try it." He hesitated, then complied and lifted his fork. "With your fingers," she added, amusement playing on her voice again.

Oh. Cas picked up the strip of bacon and looked at it a moment, then took a bite. Crunchy, savory, salty, smoky. He _liked_ this! He cracked a half-grin. "This is very enjoyable," he said and Alex laughed at him.

"Thought so," she said, and repeated herself in joking triumph. "Like I said. _Everyone_ likes bacon."

"Except vegetarians," Cas echoed through a mouthful.

Alex grabbed the little dark brown bottle the sever had brought. "Try this. It's syrup and it's _good_." She drizzled a little bit over his waffle for him, then put some on her eggs and bacon… strange.

She mashed everything on her plate up together—the final product was brown and sort of unappealing —but Alex ate it all ravenously, and Castiel felt good watching her eat. He began to work on eating his waffle, taking his time, cutting wedges out, pouring more syrup when he realized how sweet and sticky and tasty it was. It was a very good invention, this syrup substance. He got better at using the fork, too.

As he stuck another piece of waffle into his mouth and chewed, catching Alex's eyes across the table, Castiel wondered if this would be his existence from now on… breakfasts with Alex, stealing cars. Being together. On the tail end of a swell of joy, he felt a ripple of doubt. He barely knew how to use a fork, he didn't exactly fit into her world seamlessly. He had been better suited to be with Alex when he'd been an angel, or at least better _for_ her—able to protect her and watch over her. He'd been less powerful than before, but he'd still been powerful, at least in comparison to this, now. What did he have now? He looked at one of his hands, clenched it, let it fall open, then turned it over a moment. He had nothing but this, his flesh and bones. He briefly imagined growing old. Aging like she would. Together. What would that be like?

Alex's phone rang just then, a garbled sound. She pulled it out, squinted at the screen, then answered, glancing up at Cas. "Hey."

Cas could hear who it was from where he sat. "Hey, sorry to call so early, you up?" came Dean's voice.

Alex appeared mildly hesitant. "Well, uh, _yeah_..."

"Okay good. We're like four hours out."

"From Bobby's." Alex surmised.

"Yeah."

She cleared her throat, apprehensive about what she said next. "Okay, well I'm like… I dunno, _fifteen_ hours out from Bobby's."

Dean's voice raised in surprise. "What? Where are you? What are you doing? When'd you _leave_?"

Cas looked at Alex earnestly, the piece of waffle on his fork forgotten briefly. "Should I explain?"

"...Was that _Cas_?!" Dean exclaimed.

"Uh, yeah, so Cas is alive," Alex explained. "Called me last night—or early this morning I guess."

"W-why didn't he just zap over to Bobby's?" Dean asked. He sounded suspicious and confounded all at once.

Alex glanced at Cas briefly. "Uh… no can do."

"Explain."

"Well, he's been in a hospital in a coma for the past month… and now that he's back in the land of the living he's just…" she trailed off hesitantly, seeming reluctant to keep going. "Kind of powerless, I guess."

"Wait, you mean he's outta angel mojo?" Dean asked incredulously.

"That's one way to put it."

"Well that's… just great," Dean paused. "So, what, he calls and you just, drop everything and go to wherever he is—without _telling_ me?" He sounded unhappy and Cas frowned slightly. He didn't like to hear them argue, especially not after the last time. But he knew that Dean had been good to Alex the past month—it was one of the first things he'd asked her about after they'd stolen the car.

"Hey, I _tried_ calling you all day yesterday and you never answered," Alex retorted, then sat back in her seat, falling into deep thought. "Wait, if you're on the way back to Bobby's, do you have Pestilence's ring?"

"No—but we know where he is. Davenport, Iowa, some nursing home. Where are you two, anyway?"

Alex glanced out of the restaurant window. "Few hours north of New Orleans. Mississippi."

Dean thought for a second. "Tell you what, meet us there in Davenport. We're probably ten hours out. If you guys get a car or ride a bus you can meet us there. You have money?"

Alex made a face. "Who do you think you're talking to? Of course I do."

"Okay, good," Dean said, then chuckled derisively. "Yeah and Sam here tells me he told you his genius idea to say yes to the devil."

"Yeah, he did." Alex confirmed neutrally. She looked like she were prepared for Dean to become unreasonable.

"Un-freakin-believable," Dean said, and Cas wasn't sure if that were a commentary on Sam's idea or Alex's failure to relay the information… but Alex just kind of smirked.

"Weren't _you_ jumping up and down a month ago to say yes?" she countered.

There was a sullen pause. "You didn't have to bring that up."

Cas looked at Alex, trying not to be rude, but not sure when else to ask. "Can I speak to Dean?"

Interested, Alex nodded. "Hey, Cas wants to talk to you, hold on." She handed the phone over.

"Hello Dean."

"Cas." Dean's deep, gruff voice was much clearer now, and he sounded less sullen than he had a minute ago. "We all thought you were dead, man. I'm… I'm glad you're okay."

"Thank you. Dean, your sister's told me about everything that happened. Thank you for keeping your word."

He heard Dean chuckle airily. "Yeah well, I'm the one who should be saying thanks. You saved their lives and I… I really underestimated you, Cas buddy." Dean sounded as though the compliments were hard for him to say, so Castiel appreciated them even more. After a long silence, Dean spoke up again. "So... can I talk to my sister again, or…?"

"Yes. Of course." Cas handed the phone back.

"Hey," Alex said. "We'll head that way soon, okay? Also, my phone's about to die and I don't have the charger, so..." she trailed off.

"Dammit, Alex, what have I _told_ you about always making sure I can get in touch with you?"

Alex looked up at the ceiling. "I know, I _know.._."

"Okay, look. Just burn rubber and meet us at Serenity Valley Convalescent Home. Davenport, Iowa, got it?"

"Yup."

"And hey… no funny business, you hear me?"

Alex rolled her eyes, appearing to be unsure whether she should be annoyed or amused by her brother's command. " _Bye_ Dean." She ended the call and stuck her phone into a pocket. "Looks like we gotta get moving…" she told Cas, and scraped the last bit of egg off her plate with her fork. "Pretty sure Iowa is like twelve or so hours from here."

The server came back as if on cue, holding a yellow slip. She set it down onto the table. "Here's your bill, ya'll, need anything else?"

"Can you tell me where the nearest bus station is?" Alex asked.

"There's a Greyhound station downtown, just east of here." Flo pointed for emphasis. "Cross over highway fifty-one and go a couple streets down, the depot's there."

"Thanks."

"Uh huh! Ya'll have a good day." She took their plates and left.

"A bus?" Cas asked, confused.

"I'm too tired to drive—I _really_ need sleep." Alex paused. "And I'd rather not take a stolen car much further anyway."

"Because it's wrong to steal?" Cas asked.

She cracked a lopsided grin. "Because the longer I keep driving it the greater the chance of getting caught by the cops. But sure, let's say because it's wrong." She took a gulp of her coffee, grimaced, then wiped the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand, digging in her bag. "I have to live on pretty gray morality, Cas. And now you do too. For example… I need to stop and steal you some major prescription pain medicine… that morphine in your system'll wear off soon and you'll be in a world of pain." She seemed to be almost talking to herself at this point as she raking through her bag, frowning. "I guess I could forge a prescription but I don't have any stuff to make a believable one with me…" She fished out some money and set down a twenty and a ten dollar bill onto the table then gave him a slight, helpless shrug. "At least I'm paying for breakfast, right?"

* * *

**Later**

About thirty minutes after leaving the Waffle House, Alex found a twenty-four hour pharmacy. There she left Cas in the stolen car, went inside, tripped the fire alarm and used the distraction to steal Cas some medicine called Lortabs. They then crossed town and found the bus depot, bought tickets to Davenport, boarded the bus and were settled in the further row of seating in a back corner. Outside the sun was rising slowly, rendering the sky a dim gray. The passing landscape was hard to make out, and Alex had turned on one of the little overhead lights so that she could see what was in her hand.

"So, take one of these. It'll probably make you sleepy for a little while," she advised, handing Cas a little white pill speckled in blue. He took it into the palm of his hand and she pulled out a water bottle out of her bag. She must have gotten that from the drug store, too. She seemed to realize that he hadn't ever had to take a pill before. "Uh—put it on your tongue then just take a drink of water, really relaxed… and swallow it."

Cas did as she said. It was a strange sensation when he felt the pill go down and knock up against the back of his throat. He swallowed again, feeling it stick in the base of his throat. He then drank a little more and felt the pill go all the way down. Not the most pleasant thing he'd ever experienced. Water did, however, drip down out of his mouth and onto his pants.

"Thank you," Castiel said. Alex took the bottle back, screwed the cap on, then stuck it back into her bag. That's when she paused.

"Hey, that reminds me." She pulled out a book from her bag. "I got this for you. When I stole the drugs. I, uh, stole this too."

She held out a paperback that said _Sirens of Titan_ _by Kurt Vonnegut_. It had a light purple cover with three strange hand-drawn yellow eyes on it. "I… thought you might like this. I read it when I was ten. Heady stuff for a ten year old but… I dunno. I saw it there on the shelf and… I think it might be your kinda novel."

Cas was surprised and felt an odd sense of humility wash over him. She had _gotten_ something for him. "Thank you," he said, looking at her a moment longer, almost too surprised to know how to accept the gesture. She held the book out further to him and he took it, turning it over in his hands reverently. He could smell the pages—a thick, pleasing, papery smell. He'd never read a book before—he had the word of the Lord etched onto his mind of course, but that was different. He'd never done what the humans did and read for pleasure or interest. He looked at the back of the book, curious as to what made Alex think he would like this particular tome.

The description said: " _Beyond the limits of space, where the beauty of woman is without compare but man is without a memory of sexual delights… where nothing is forbidden but free thinking is an unforgivable sin… where life is perfect, but resistance to perfection means death."_ Intriguing.

Alex shrugged kind of bashfully. "I dunno. I thought, long bus ride, maybe a book…" she did that thing she did where she dipped her head toward her shoulder a little self consciously. She cleared her throat and started pulling things out of her bag. They were the things that had been in his pocket: she set them down one by one into the small space between them. She pulled out his ruined cell phone, some quarters, the box cutter, her silver whistle, and then the wrinkled, water-stained pictures. She looked at the one of herself thoroughly and made a face. " _Whoa._ This is the worst picture of me ever. You really need a better one."

Castiel frowned. He loved that picture and didn't understand. "What would make it better? ...It's of _you_."

She seemed surprised, flattered, and a little embarrassed by what he'd said—but mostly flattered. Bashfully, she handed the photo over to him. He put it back into the pocket of his coat where it belonged, then picked up the rest of his things and put them there too.

She pulled his angel blade out—she had it stashed inside her jacket along with Zachariah's, which she was now clearly claiming as her own. "Guess you'll want this back," she said, and turned the blade, offering it to him handle-first. He accepted and met her gaze as he took it. He remembered when he'd given her the blade back in 1979. How long ago that seemed...

Alex rubbed one of her eyes with the heel of her hand, blinking rapidly after. She was tired, Castiel remembered and observed. He thought maybe he felt the same… his body felt sluggish and weary. "I think the medicine is working." His eyelids seemed heavier than they had before. "I feel very drowsy." It was similar to when he'd been drunk, but less unpleasant. His body urged him to just shut his eyes, but he resisted.

Beside him, Alex suddenly yawned—a soft little sleepy sound—then leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. "Me too," she murmured. Feeling her there against him, so trusting and close… his chest seemed to grow a little bit somewhere inside, welling up with vast emotion he wasn't sure what to call. Looking down, he could see that her eyes had drifted shut. For a moment, Castiel basked in this moment and felt how his heart grew warmer and bigger in his chest.

Momentarily Cas opened up the book— _his_ book—and read the first line of the first chapter: _Everyone now knows how to find the meaning of life within himself. But mankind wasn't always so lucky._

A content smile rested on his lips. He liked that. The statement of a whole consciousness, the implied shift in perception, the indication that things had not always been so glorious but had become thus at the present time the sentence had been written. All of that in eighteen little words. He heard the softest little snore and looked down—realizing that Alex had fallen fast asleep. That big, swelling feeling in his chest grew even bigger. He would never leave her side again. He swore it to himself, and in that moment, he believed he could actually accomplish that goal. After about five minutes of watching her, the book forgotten, Castiel nodded off to sleep too.

In the back of a greyhound bus, they were easy to miss—the man in a trench coat and the young woman with dark brown hair sleeping together with heads leaned in. She had both of her arms looped around one of his. How could anyone know that the man was a fallen angel? That the woman leaned against him was the reason he fell?

* * *

**Davenport, Iowa  
Serenity Valley Convalescent Home**

"This way," Castiel said, leading them down a dim hallway. So far they saw nothing—no one. Not a peep of anything. Kind of eerie. After an thirteen-hour-and-some-change bus ride, Cas and Alex had finally arrived in Davenport. Alex had used a phone book and a town map from a gas station to find the nursing home where Sam and Dean said they'd be… because neither of the Winchesters had picked up their phones when she tried to call from a pay phone.

Cas seemed to know where he was going, maybe sensing Pestilence's presence somehow. Alex wondered if his angelic powers really _were_ all gone like he thought. But the way he'd gotten hungry, thirsty, slept that day (for nearly nine hours, longer than she had)… wasn't exactly angelic. However he'd never had to use the bathroom and he hadn't gotten hungry again. It was hard to tell what exactly was going on with him.

They rounded another corner and Cas led on. Alex had her newly acquired angel blade out—Zachariah's. Figuring it had more of a chance of fucking up Pestilence and any demons with him than her little hunting knife did, she gripped it tightly. Where the hell were her brothers, anyway? She knew they were here—the Impala was parked out front.

A wave of nausea hit Alex and she grimaced. _Bad time to get a stomachache, body. Please not now._

She and Cas turned another corner and promptly stopped. A few bodies littered the area and Alex felt another wave of nausea hit. "He's close," Cas told her—that explained her sick stomach. He turned to look at her apprehensively. "I don't think you should go any further," he looked down then the hallway ahead, frowning deeply. "He'll make you very sick."

"And he won't make you sick too?" Alex challenged. He met her gaze and she told him in no uncertain terms, "I'm not letting you out of my sight. Where you go… _I_ go."

Surprisingly, Cas didn't argue. He accepted it with a mixture of chagrin and fondness, like he'd known she would say as much. "Stay close," he told her, holding her gaze a moment longer.

She gave him a little smirk. Always.

They advanced down the hallway and Alex felt sicker and sicker—Cas wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, suddenly sweating profusely, maybe feverish. Alex stumbled about seven steps down the hallway, her stomach cramping up miserably, and she threw an arm up against the wall to support herself. The world was spinning strangely, she felt like vomiting. Her entire body was on fire with a violent fever.

She felt Cas at her side, supporting her. "Are you all right?" he asked as she struggled against the queasy feeling, the need to puke everywhere.

" _Nope_ ," she managed in a strained voice. "He's definitely close."

"Let me take you back," Cas said, indicating she come with him, back away from where Pestilence.

Alex shook her head hard. "No. I'm not leaving you." She suddenly coughed violently and doubled over, gasped for air. _Shit,_ Pestilence didn't play around. Were her brothers okay? They needed to _hurry,_ she could feel it.

Cas looked miserable and she wasn't sure if it was because he was feeling ill as well or didn't like to see her unwell. Either way, they moved forward again, jerkily this time. Alex's vision began to double. Her grip on her angel blade had become shaky and sweaty and loose, she wanted to fall over and die… where was she, anyway? What was happening? Why did she hear the tune of Back in Black in her mind? She felt distinctly nuts, like she was close to hallucinating, and she wondered how high her temperature was. Cas was holding her up, his hand gripping her upper arm. He stopped at the next door they came to. "He's here," he panted, pulling his blade out from inside his coat. Alex grabbed onto the doorframe to hold herself up, not sure if she could go any further without collapsing. The world spun with more and more speed.

Cas kicked the door open, startling the occupants inside—a wiry, elderly man in glasses—Pestilence—and a young curly haired black-eyed nurse. On the floor Sam and Dean were curled up groaning and injured, sick, oblivious to the world.

Not thinking straight, Alex stumbled toward them lurchingly, making it about three steps into the room before she staggered into a fall, dropping her blade. Holding herself up on all fours weakly and hacking up a huge glob of blood, she groaned pitifully, clutching at her stomach with one hand and falling onto her side. Her entire body was wracked violently with deep coughs and the inability to catch her breath. Somewhere above her, she saw Castiel's blurry outline. He came into focus for a second—she saw that he was horrified. She moaned and bared her teeth, shutting her eyes against a violent spasm of pain.

"Al...ex…" Sam managed in a gasp, through a mouthful of blood. Alex tried to reach him, but he was impossibly all of three feet away.

Pestilence and the nurse looked at Castiel with what was clearly fear—they didn't know, yet, that the angel in front of them was almost as human as the Winchesters were.

"How'd _you_ get here?" Pestilence asked Cas darkly—he sounded nervous.

Covered in a sheen of sweat, Cas swayed in place. "A bus."

"... _Cas_?" Dean asked, groaning on the floor.

Cas lurched toward Pestilence, hefting his blade, appearing more and more unwell every second. "I—" he started, then gave a great choking cough and fell onto his hands and knees, hacking up blood. His blade clattered uselessly to the floor at his side. Pestilence bent and took the blade easily, turning it over in his hand with great interest, looking at Cas with great amusement.

"Well, look at _that_!" Pestilence exclaimed as he understood the situation. "An occupied vessel, but powerless. Oh, that's _fascinating_ …" Cas was heaving, blood dripping down and off of his lower lip, his eye caught something on the floor near to him, he glanced at Alex, grimacing… and she was groaning horribly, writhing almost—Sam and Dean were similarly incapacitated, looking close to death. Cas looked back at Pestilence, his expression murderous. The horseman was grinning down at him, intrigued. "There's not a _speck_ of angel in you, is there?"

In a flash of movement Cas grabbed the demon blade from where it had been discarded on the floor. Summoning strength he didn't know he had, he sprang to his feet, grabbed Pestilence by the wrist, then cut off his ring finger and pinky finger all at once with a brutal slice of the blade.

" _Ahh_!" Pestilence cried out in surprise and pain.

Even as Castiel released him, he managed to grit out: "Maybe just a _speck_."

The demon nurse bellowed in rage, rushing Castiel brainlessly, knocking him over—then found herself with the demon blade in her stomach. She convulsed and collapsed, dead. Cas threw her off of himself and stood up, panting from exertion and anxiety.

Sam and Dean were already getting up—when Cas cut the ring off Pestilence's finger, the powerful spell had been broken and they weren't ill anymore. Maybe just a little stunned. Sam pulled his dazed sister to her feet even as Dean rushed over to the table and picked up the bloody ring and finger Castiel had just cut off of the horseman.

Pestilence, who held his bleeding hand as he stood back at the far end of the room, was disturbingly calm. "It doesn't matter," he told them softly. "It's too late." And then he vanished into thin air.

Alex and Cas looked at each other breathlessly, frowning. "You okay?" Sam asked his sister, and she nodded, straightened up.

"Yeah, you?" she asked.

A little disconcerted, Sam rubbed his palm down and over his mouth and chin then shrugged. "Guess so."

"What took you so long?" Dean asked with a note of aggravation, looking at Cas and then Alex.

Alex looked at him with a rigid expression. "You could have _waited_ for us to get here," she retorted. "Nice to see you too." She gave him an irritated side glance as she picked up her discarded angel's blade, then Cas's too. Dean said nothing, pulled a face.

"It's really good to see you Cas," Sam said, gingerly clapping the angel on the shoulder with one of his massive hands. "Glad you're still here with us."

"Thank you, Sam," Cas said. "It's good to see you too."

Alex handed Cas one of the angel blades and Sam saw the significant glance the two of them shared. Dean said nothing, but his cold scowl was enough commentary.

Sam looked at the spot Pestilence had disappeared from, filled with foreboding. "What did he mean it's _too late_?"

Dean looked too. He appeared deeply unsettled. "I'm not sticking around to find out." With a couple of dark glances at Cas and Alex, Dean nodded toward the door and pocketed Pestilence's ring. "Let's blow this popsicle stand, huh?"

They headed back without delay to Bobby's. And in a show of his immature control freak nature, Dean would suggest that Cas sit up front with him in the Impala, separating his sister and the angel by way of passive aggression. It was a long seven hour drive back to Bobby's.

* * *

**Sioux Falls, South Dakota**

"And then Cas cut his ring finger off and none of us were sick anymore," Sam finished explaining. Dean pulled the ring in question out of his pocket, holding it between his thumb and pointer finger.

In the study, Sam and Dean sat across the desk from Bobby—Cas leaned against the desk at the wall a few feet away, Alex was beside him sitting backwards on a chair. The four of them looked tired out and tense, and for the Winchesters, that was normal. But for Cas to look physically weary was a little on the odd side.

"Well, it's nice to actually score a home run for once, ain't it?" Bobby asked. Dean plunked the ring down onto the desk, staring at it blankly. Bobby took in everyone's grim expressions and grew confused. "What?"

Sam heaved a soft, thoughtful sigh. "Last thing Pestilence said: 'it's too late.'"

Bobby sat back, frowning dubiously. "He get specific?"

Sam shook his head. "No."

"We're just a little freaked out that he might have left a bomb somewhere," Dean said. That had been the topic of most of the glancing discussions they'd had on the car ride back from Davenport—what Pestilence had meant and what way, if any, they had of stopping whatever plan he'd set into motion. "So please tell us you have actual good news."

Bobby wasn't enthused. "Well... Chicago's about to be wiped off the map," he said reluctantly. "Storm of the millennium. Sets off a daisy chain of natural disasters. Three million people are gonna die." Sam and Dean looked at each other darkly and Alex put her face into an exhausted hand.

"I don't understand your definition of 'good news,'" Castiel said, frowning.

"Well… Death, the horseman—he's gonna be there," Bobby explained. "And if we can stop him before he kick starts this storm, get his ring back…"

"Yeah, you make it sound so _easy_ ," Dean commented snidely, his tone bordering on rude.

"Shut up Dean," Alex told her oldest brother, annoyed with him. Bobby looked at the two of them closely. There it was again, the clear, growing rift between the oldest and youngest Winchester. He hated to see that. He glanced at Cas, who was looking down, seeming to be conflicted. "How do you know all that stuff, anyway, Bobby?" Alex asked. She sounded distinctly suspicious and Bobby looked distinctly guilty.

"I had, uh, you know… help."

The sound of someone clinking around in the kitchen made them all turn. "Don't be so modest," Crowley said airily, announcing his presence as he always did—without warning, and at the strangest of times. He was pouring himself some of Bobby's whiskey. "I barely helped at all." He took his glass of whiskey and sauntered into the room, leaning against the doorframe. "Hello, boys, madame. Pleasure, etcetera."

Alex had stood up the second she saw him, Cas right after her—and Crowley looked at the two of them saucily. "Please, no need for that," he said, and they slowly sat back down. He sniffed the whiskey he'd poured himself, made a face then set the glass down, leveling Bobby with a little arrogant smile. "Go ahead. Tell them. There's no shame in it."

Everyone in the room looked back at Bobby in unison. "Tell us _what_?" Sam asked. He seemed to be bracing himself for the worst, which, hell, this pretty much was.

"World's gonna end," Bobby mumbled, dodging everyone's eyes. "Seems stupid to get all precious over one little… soul."

Sam and Alex both went slack-jawed, Cas hung his head in dismay, even as Dean's face went cold all over. "You _sold_ your _soul_?" he asked in disbelief.

"Oh, more like pawned it," Crowley commented mildly. "I fully intend to give it back."

"Well, then give it back!" Dean demanded, temper flaring.

"I will," Crowley replied evenly.

"Now!" Dean thundered.

Sam was looking at Bobby with a morbidly curious expression. "...Did you _kiss_ him?"

"Sam!" Dean exclaimed.

"Just wondering," Sam defended.

"It's a good question." Alex put in, siding with her twin, her hands shrugged up to her shoulders. Dean made a face, but was clearly curious too—all three of the Winchesters looked at Bobby expectantly. Crowley of course was loving it.

Embarrassed as hell at how all the eyes in the room were on him, Bobby made an indignant face. " _No_!"

Crowley cleared his throat meaningfully, drawing all the gazes in the room to himself. He held out his phone, and on the screen there was a picture of Bobby and Crowley kissing—Bobby's eyes were screwed shut, Crowley was looking into the camera. The Winchesters gaped, Alex put a hand over her mouth—it wasn't clear if she were covering up a gasp or a laugh.

Bobby looked at Crowley, mildly humiliated. "Why'd you take a picture?"

"Why'd you have to use tongue?" Crowley shot back silkily, further deepening the embarrassed flush on Bobby's cheeks.

"...Can you text that to me?" Alex asked Crowley, drawing four incredulous stares from Sam, Dean, Bobby, and Cas. She shrugged defensively, looking at them innocently. It was just her inner troll at play. " _What_?"

"Sure, lemme have your digits and I'll sext it right over," Crowley purred.

"All right. You know what? Enough of the comedy hour," Dean said, standing up out of his chair and crossing the room to confront Crowley. "Give him his soul back _now_."

"I'm sorry," Crowley said without much conviction. "I can't."

" _Can't_ or _won't_?" Dean thundered, close to flipping his lid completely.

"I _won't,_ all right?" Crowley retorted, a little more loudly, a little more defensive now. "It's insurance."

"What are you talking about?!"

" _You_ kill demons," Crowley said in a velvet growl, then glanced at Sam sharply. " _Gigantor_ over there has a temper issue about it, can't say that your little angelfood cupcake _sister_ over here feels any sweeter on me than he does." He glanced at Alex, who was regarding him guardedly now. "But none of you will kill me…" Crowley said, smiling again casually, "as long as I have that soul in the deposit box."

"You son of a bitch," Bobby muttered, realizing he'd been had.

Crowley looked like he resented that comment. "I'll return it," he reiterated. "After all this is over, and I can walk safely away." His voice suddenly raised into an unexpected shout. " _Do we all understand each other_?!"

Dean looked at Bobby angrily, then Crowley, his expression foul. "Yeah. We understand each other." He brushed past Crowley and stalked out of the study.

"What's got under his skin then?" Crowley asked, as if he hadn't the slightest idea why Dean was perturbed. He gestured back at the kitchen. "Anyone fancy a cuppa?"

"How's about you get lost?" Bobby retorted sharply.

Crowley looked around the room. "Fine. I can tell when I'm not wanted." He disappeared into thin air.

Bobby looked at the twins, who were eyeing him strangely. "Why'd you do it, Bobby?" Sam asked. He sounded upset, which made Bobby feel a couple shades worse.

"I only wanted to help," he said. "And hey, I _found_ Death, didn't I? It was part of the deal." He paused. Alex and Cas were looking at him with similarly anxious frowns on their faces. Bobby shrugged, adjusting the brim of his hat. "This hare-brained plan to shove the devil back into his little box is our last option, so… I was just tryin' to do my part to make it happen."

Sam nodded tensely, deep in thought. "Once we have all four rings though, then what?" He looked back at his sister, then scrubbed his hand across his forehead, standing up with a heavy expulsion of breath.

Alex looked pained and reluctant, like she was silently begging her brother _no—don't do this_.

* * *

Outside and behind Bobby's house, Dean had the Impala's hood raised. He pulled out the filthy air filter to replace it with a new one. It was cold for late April and the sky was cloudy, overcast, dim. He heard two sets of footsteps on the gravel nearby and he glanced up. His siblings. Further off by twenty or thirty feet, Cas hung back with his hands in his coat pockets. Dean looked at him warily before turning his attention back to his brother and sister. Sam gave him a look and leaned his back against the car. Alex stood there with her arms crossed beside Sam. She didn't look too happy. Hell, neither of them did. "Lemme guess," Dean said, coming to stand a couple feet off from Sam. "We're about to have a talk."

Sam looked down. "Look, Dean, um…" he drew in a deep breath as if he were steeling himself. He stood all the way up, looked at Dean intently. "For the record… I agree with you, with _both_ of you." He glanced at their sister, who remained silent and brooding. "About me," he clarified. "You both think I'm too weak to take on Lucifer... well... so do I." Alex was visibly mildly surprised at his admission. "Believe me, I know _exactly_ how screwed up I am," Sam continued. "You, Alex, Bobby, Cas… I'm the least of _any_ of you."

"That's not true," Alex butted in, frowning in confusion and almost personal offense, "Why—"

"No, it _is_ true," Sam interrupted, and his voice was full of conviction. "It is. I've always run away, I've always given up, I've never hung in like you guys have and I'm _sorry_. I'm not the right man for the job. But… it looks like I'm the _only_ man for the job. If there was another way we could…" he trailed off. Dean folded his arms now, listening with a stony expression on his face, leaning against the Impala as Sam continued. "But I don't think there _is_ another way. There's just _me_."

Dean glanced up at Sam, deep in thought, and Alex looked at her oldest brother. Taking in his expression made her become irate. "Are you actually _listening_ to him?"

Dean threw his hands up dispassionately, his shit attitude written all over his moody expression.

More understanding and kind than Dean was at the moment, Sam looked at his twin emphatically. "Alex, I know you don't like it, and I'm definitely _all ears_ if you have any other suggestions," he told her, pausing to let a silent beat hang for her to come up with another idea or solution, which clearly, she didn't have. She said nothing, only clenched her jaw tightly, glanced at Dean darkly, then back to Sam. "I don't know what else to do," Sam told them both earnestly. "Except just try t-to do what's got to be done."

" _Aaaand_ … scene," came a familiar voice behind them. Crowley smiled at them and sauntered around the car. "There's something you need to see," he said, handing a newspaper over to Sam who took it uncertainly. Lurking still at a reasonable distance, Cas watched with a dark frown aimed at the demon.

"...Niveus Pharmaceuticals is rushing delivery of its new swine-flu vaccine quote _'to stem the tide of the unprecedented outbreak,'"_ Sam read slowly. "Uh... shipments leave Thursday—tomorrow." Sam looked at Crowley, stumped. "What's this have to do with anything?"

"Niveus?" Alex repeated, her head canted to the side in thought. "Isn't that where you snatched that Brady guy up from?" she asked, thinking back to everything her brothers had said in the car trip back to Bobby's about their past week tracking down Pestilence.

"Yeah, but…" Sam trailed off, realization dawned onto his face. "Oh."

"Ding ding ding. That's right, Brady, V.P. of distribution, Niveus Pharmaceuticals," Crowley confirmed then smiled leisurely. "We all caught up, then?"

"So, Pestilence…" Dean started slowly.

"...was spreading swine flu…" Sam continued.

"So he could distribute a quote unquote _vaccine._ " Alex finished.

"Smart one, right here," Crowley patted Alex on the shoulder fondly, she gave him a dirty look even as both of her brothers seemed to become slightly taller and Cas took a step closer. Crowley's face fell indignantly. "Oh the lot of you! Knock it off, will you? I'm here to _help._ Now _,_ I'll stake my reputation on it—mark my words, boys and girl, that vaccine is chock-full of grade-A, farm-fresh croatoan virus."

The Winchesters exchanged a quick look. The brothers were especially aghast. "Simultaneous, countrywide distribution," Sam commented tensely. "That's quite a plan."

"You lot better stock up on… well, everything," Crowley said. He wasn't being a total wiseass—there was a certain note of warning to his voice. "This time next week... we'll all be living in zombieland."

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. "Great. One more thing to do, like we didn't already have enough on our plate," he muttered in frustration.

"Oh come off it. You make it sound so impossible." Crowley gestured to the three of them. "Look, there's a whole lot of us now. Dean, you and I head over to Chicago, get Death's ring while Sammy and Al here, they go knock Niveus over onto its ass. Win, win."

"Divide and conquer," Sam surmised, eyes downcast as he thought about it.

Dean looked at Crowley grimly. The demon had a point, but not one Dean was very enthusiastic about. "For the record, I don't like this," he said.

Crowley just smiled mildly. "Didn't think you would. Now, there's something we'll need, Dean. I'll be back round in just a tick." He disappeared again.

Dean turned and faced Sam straight on, pointing an authoritative finger at him. "Okay, Sam, look, I'm gonna get this last ring but we are _not_ jumping head first into some crazy plan where you say yes to the devil. We are gonna make this decision together, okay, the three of us." He paused. "Cuz call me crazy but if you say yes to the devil and can't fight him off… the world's all kinds of screwed. You'd dominate that poor bastard half brother of ours like no one's business." They were all silent for a guilty minute thinking of Adam. "It's not a good idea, period," Dean finally concluded mistrustfully.

Sam was reluctant and resigned. "I never said it was _good._ I said it was our last chance."

Alex was looking someplace over Dean's shoulder. Decisively, she went around to the back of the car, opened the trunk, grabbed a shotgun and ammo out of the trunk, then started off toward Cas.

"Where you going?" Dean asked gruffly.

She glanced back at him. "To teach the angel how to shoot a shotgun."

The brothers watched her go. " _That's_ not something you hear every day," Sam commented, attempting a chuckle. Dean didn't look so amused.

"What if it backfires, Sam?" He asked in a low, quiet voice. "What if you say yes and you can't even raise a pinky against Satan?"

Sam looked at his older brother direly. "That's not an option. If I do this… we have to know it's gonna work."

* * *

On the outer edge of the salvage yard, Alex had just finished going over gun safety rules and was giving Cas a live demo. She loaded a single shell into the gun chamber, cocked, aimed, fired and left a large gaping hole in one of the junked cars beside them—all in about one second. The sound of the shotgun blast was startlingly loud. "Now you do it," Alex told Cas. She handed the gun to him and he took it uncertainly, then the shotgun shell she handed him.

With nervousness, he put a shining golden cartridge into the chamber and slid it in until it clicked, just like she had. He held the gun like she'd shown him when the gun was empty, but his confidence wasn't too high. Alex corrected his form by putting one of her hands onto the barrel as she stood beside him, pushing the butt of the gun more firmly into his shoulder. "Always tight into your shoulder," she reminded. "If you don't, the recoil will bruise you bad." He looked at her as she continued to explain. "Shotguns like this one, sawed off, work best at a close range, about how far we are from the target right now. Just aim in the general vicinity of where you wanna hit, cuz the buckshot will spray everywhere. You can't miss, pretty much." She pointed at the old car headlight she'd set on top of an upside down barrel, patted him on the shoulder, and gave him an encouraging little smile. "Go for it, Cas."

He felt utterly foolish but aimed as best he could then pulled the trigger and watched the car headlight explode as buckshot hit it. The gun kicked hard against him, he was surprised at the brute force of it… and also reminded sickeningly of the time he'd seen himself shoot a gun in visions of the future. He was disheartened and miserable. He lowered the shotgun, feeling entirely useless and trapped in himself, doomed to the fate he'd foreseen...

"Hey, _hey_ ," Alex said, taking the shotgun from him, noticing his sudden upset mood. "It's okay. You can do this," she encouraged. "I know it must be overwhelming." She was assuming he was upset because he was having difficulty with so many new experiences… when the truth was that he was only thinking about how powerless he was to protect her now. And how he'd used one of these manmade weapons, a gun, to end her life in the future.

"I don't like guns," he told her, meeting her concerned gaze slowly. His mind ghosted over the memories of her dying in twenty-fourteen.

Sam lumbered up, a couple beers in his hands. "Hey guys. How's the shotgun lesson going?"

Alex smiled sympathetically at Cas, who was morose and not too confident in himself. "I think he'll do just fine," she said, trying to cheer him up.

"Cas, Dean told me to tell you that he wants to talk to you, whenever you get a minute," Sam said.

Cas's face twisted into a half-quizzical, half-apprehensive frown. He glanced at Alex. "I'll go now," he decided.

Alex set the shotgun down onto the hood of an old busted Bronco after making sure the chamber was clear. "I'll come with you," she said, but Cas shook his head, his frown deepening.

"No…" he trailed off. "I think I should speak with him alone."

Alex looked at him carefully, concerned. "...You sure?"

He didn't look sure, but he seemed resigned. "I'll be fine."

They were doing it again, Sam noticed—looking at each other silently, seeming to study each other and speak to each other at the same time. After a couple seconds, Cas headed back toward the house and Sam smiled at his sister crookedly when she finally looked over at him. "It's good to see you two together again," he told her.

"...Really?" she asked softly. His kindhearted, considerate smile was silent confirmation. She gave a quiet, rueful little air laugh as her eyebrows shot up briefly. "I wish Dean felt the same."

Sam wasn't sure if it were true or not, but he decided to be optimistic. "He'll come around."

His sister gave him a funny look, mildly suspicious and mostly sarcastic. "Are we talking about the same Dean right now?"

Sam chuckled softly, offering her one of the drinks he'd brought. "Beer?"

She swiped it readily. " _Please_."

* * *

Dean was leaned over the engine of his car off in his own little world as he tinkered. He had his jacket off and wore a t-shirt that had some dark black oil streaks on it.

"Hello Dean," Castiel greeted.

Dean glanced up somewhat warily and straightened, wiping his hands on a black-streaked rag. "Cas." He tossed the rag down onto the edge of the engine, spread his hands apart and leaned over the engine again, not looking at Cas. "So, all outta angel batteries, huh?" He glanced up briefly. "What, you human now?"

Castiel frowned slightly, pensive, unsure. "I might as well be."

Dean stood up again, looking at Cas in that same wary, watchful way. "I'm sorry man. Glad you made it though." He sounded a little forced, and tried to chuckle—a clipped, strained sound. "We thought you were dead. Like, never coming back dead."

"Yes, that's what everyone has been saying," Cas confirmed slowly. He wasn't sure where Dean was going with this conversation.

Dean wet his lips and put a hand out in a _pay attention_ sort of gesture. "Look man, we gotta clear the air about something." Castiel felt the small amount of dread in the vicinity of his stomach growing bigger as Dean looked at him with a cloudy expression. "I don't know how I feel about you and my sister, okay? I don't _get it_ , for one. Of all the human girls in the world, why'd you have to pick my little sister?" Dean sounded almost pleading, which was worse than when he was angry.

Castiel couldn't put it into words, the way he'd been drawn to Alex from the start. He shook his head. "I... I don't know. I just did."

Dean's expression darkened. "Look, I'm all for her having a guardian angel, for getting protection from Heaven, blah blah whatever, but… we've _talked_ about this. And now you're human or at least mojo-less. Just like the Cas I met in twenty-fourteen. See, I'm watching the future unfold right in front of my eyes where Alex is dead and Sam is Satan and you're… a wingless, drugged out mess. I saw her give you Lortab on the friggin' car ride over here… do you know how freaky this is? What if this is where you get hooked on pills?"

Cas was silent, stunned by the thought. He hadn't even _considered_ that.

"Tell me again how I'm supposed to just go along with this," Dean continued tightly. "'Cause I'm not down to watch her ruin her life over you. I'm not trying to be a dick, it's just the way it is."

Cas was growing frustrated. "Dean, if the idea of what happens in that future didn't loom over us, would you still feel this way?"

" _Yes_!" Dean replied immediately, emphatically. "You're too old for her, you're not normal, you're not _human_."

Castiel felt himself darkening. "Strange that you didn't seem to find these things to be issues where Anna was concerned." Dean was startled. "I know about you and her, Dean," Cas said bluntly. " _All_ of it." Castiel stared at him tensely. "And I believe the term that most accurately describes you right now is… hypocrite."

"That was _different_ ," Dean said forcefully. "When she and I were together, she was human."

Cas shook his head. "She was what I am now. In fact, she had more angel remaining in her than I do."

Not what Dean had wanted to hear, clearly. He threw his hands, his face screwed up into a overbearing expression. "I mean, how would you ever take care of her, man? It's a _delusion_. She needs someone who can provide for her, protect her from the world out there—someone who she doesn't have to raise, _train_ like a pet or a kid. Not some angel from planet clueless! You don't know how to _do_ anything, Cas. The whole time I've known you, everything normal to me, to us, you look at like it's Greek. You're not from our world, you don't understand our life, and what's more... I don't think you ever _can_."

Stung, Cas was silent. He wasn't sure why, but now, like this, his emotions were so much more close to the surface. And what Dean had just said _hurt_.

There was a box of silver tools balanced on the side of the Impala just above the car's headlight. "Hey, hand me the socket wrench would you?" Dean asked, and Cas recognized that it was a challenge. Cas looked down at the tools and didn't know what any of them were—he recognized only a screwdriver and a small hammer. Dean gave Cas a somewhat superior look and Cas wondered if Dean were _trying_ to make him feel stupid. Dean picked up a long silver tool when Cas did nothing—the end of the tool reminded Cas of a faucet. "It's _this_ one." The way he said it hurt again.

Cas watched Dean pull something out of the car engine. His heart was beating faster than normal and he looked at the tools, discouraged, feeling worthless. But he thought of Alex, who looked at him like he was something valuable and worthwhile. He looked back at Dean and raised his chin. "I may not know the names of all these tools," he said, "or how to do the most basic human tasks but… Dean... I _love_ her."

Dean's head whipped to the side as he looked at Cas in abject shock which quickly darkened into indignant anger. "No you don't," he said, standing up. "Don't you say that to me and don't you _dare_ say that to her," he thundered. Cas thought he saw fear flickering across Dean's eyes. "You don't know what that word _means._ "

Cas looked at Dean, not understanding why his friend would treat him this way. "How can you claim to know what I feel?"

Dean pointed a livid finger at Cas. "You listen to me. All you will _ever_ do is _hurt_ her, leave her, and damage her. Mark my words Cas!" He gestured vaguely at nothing and whisper-shouted so as to not be overheard. "You don't know how broken she was this past month with you gone, how messed up—almost _suicidal_ she was!" Castiel was shocked, unsure whether Dean were overreacting or speaking truthfully. "I may be in your debt for what you did to save her and I am grateful to you, I _am_ ," Dean said, controlling his anger but still giving away how enraged he was. "And I am trying my _damnedest_ to be reasonable but you don't seem to _get_ what you're doing and I need you to _understand_." Dean's outrage was building up at a rapid pace. "Ever since I was a damn kid those two have been my responsibility and I have watched them live the shittiest life in all existence and all I've ever tried to do was make it better. And now it's at an all time low—my brother is talking about going to hell and dying like I did and my sister is with the last guy she should be with and there is _nothing_ I can do about any of it!" He threw the wrench he'd been holding across garage and it knocked into a shelf of stuff that clattered down to the ground. Dean pinched the bridge of his nose and gathered himself. "Look man I know you care about her, I do. But you're _bad_ for her and you know it. And if you did love her you'd walk away and let her be with someone her own age, her own _species_ , someone who isn't gonna screw her over in the end." Dean looked at Cas pleadingly, begging him to listen.

But Cas shook his head slowly. "I won't walk away from her, Dean."

Dean's expression hardened and fell, he nodded, his mouth in a hard line. He shook his head, wouldn't look at Cas for a few seconds. "I wish to hell we could be friends Cas. But I am not okay with this. I'm _not._ "

"Dean…" Cas felt like he had nothing left in himself. He was pleading at this point. "Shouldn't it be her decision?"

Dean's next words were heartbreaking. "Not if she chooses you."

Castiel looked down, hurt and confused, deflated. Feeling unworthy, abominable. Useless. Foolish.

"You two do whatever the hell you gotta do," Dean muttered. "Just don't expect me to like it or accept it, _ever._ "

* * *

"So did killing Brady make it better?" Alex asked Sam. She was sitting cross legged on the hood of an old car up near the windshield. Sam was reclined next to her, his long legs hanging over the edge of the hood. He was propped up on an elbow, his beer in a hand.

"No. I feel worse," he said. He was staring off into middle distance, thoughtful and somewhat grim. "Cuz, turns out my whole life, demons have been right there behind me, manipulating every single step I took... makes me feel like a puppet." He looked at the beer in his hand. "Scares the shit out of me. Makes me wanna take matters into my own hands, stop being played, you know?" Alex looked at him carefully, knowing he meant saying yes to Lucifer. He shrugged, raising the beer bottle to his lips again. "But what if I'm just falling for it again, you know?"

The twins were silent and pensive for a minute. It was getting pretty dark outside now. Looked like rain for sure sometime soon. "I used to dream that you died," Sam suddenly said and Alex looked at him as if she'd misheard.

"Huh?"

"I dreamed it over and _over_ ," he said, his eyes somewhere far away. He looked deeply disturbed. Alex felt disturbed by association. Sam shook himself. "And the details, maybe I blocked them out or m-maybe I didn't dream clearly, I'm not sure. But there was fire, I remember that. And… I was too scared to tell anyone." He looked down, obviously deeply ashamed of himself. Alex touched his shoulder gently for a couple seconds and he glanced at her briefly. "When Azazel died... I thought we were home free, you know? I thought I didn't have to worry anymore." He looked at her, and she could see how torn up he was about it. "Now I'm not so sure. Brady was saying all this stuff and… and now I'm just worried about you all over again."

Sam looked away again, grinding his teeth, she could tell from how the edge of his jaw worked. "Hey, I'll be fine," Alex said with an air of exaggerated confidence. "See, I have these awesome big brothers… who always have my back. Maybe you know them?"

Sam chuckled lowly. "They sound like losers."

"Nah, they're pretty cool," she joked back. "...Even if they _are_ super ugly."

Sam made a half-amused, half-offended face. "Hey!"

She shrugged, made an overly innocent face, and then they both laughed softly. This, the two of them hanging out, reminded her of when they'd been kids and had just been _friends_. It had been different then of course, but somehow, she thought this was better. Not just because she had the ability to speak now, but because they'd worked through their issues and were more solid than ever. So it was even more important to her that he didn't go and get himself killed by the devil.

Dying in a fire. Sam had dreamed she died in a fire. She thought of her dreams of Lucifer burning the world. In some of the dreams, she'd been on fire. She thought that telling him about her dreams would only freak him out more, so she said nothing. Only looked at him after a moment. "You can't say yes Sam," she murmured tensely, remembering the dreams so clearly that for a moment she couldn't look at his face—because that was Lucifer's face. "We have to figure out another way."

There was a long pause. "I don't think there _is_ another way," he protested. And he sounded hopeless.

Alex let out a breath and ran the palm of her hand down across her chin and mouth. "You know, you and Dean have always sacrificed yourselves… and it's just your default M.O. now." She thought a minute about what Crowley had told her. "But there _is_ another way. I can feel it."

"Maybe," Sam said. "Maybe not."

She was quiet another moment, trying to figure out a way to test Sam's reaction to the things she was thinking about. "I wonder if I had been born a boy, if you and Dean would have been so protective over me."

Sam looked at Alex oddly. "That's... a kind of random thing to wonder." He gave her a fond, slightly lecturing look. "It's not a bad thing to have brothers who want you to stay safe and alive, Alex."

"I know," she said with a sigh. So far so good. "But it seems like a double standard." She paused. She had to be careful about how she phrased this. "Like, for example... if I suggested that _I_ could kill the devil by saying yes to him… you and Dean wouldn't even let me think about it. Just because I'm a girl."

"No that's… I mean yeah, no, we'd never let you do that, period, no matter what. Maybe you being a girl is _part_ of it but…" Sam got slightly frustrated, his confusion and suspicion piquing. "Do we really even need to hypothesize about this?"

"Yeah, no, sorry." Alex sipped at her beer again, looking over the junk yard somberly. Just like she thought. Sam was the less overprotective of her brothers, more reasonable than Dean by a long shot—and he'd shot down the glancing possibility of her being able to kill the devil without a second thought. There was probably nothing to it, anyway, she thought. But, Crowley did seem to be pretty well informed. Alex craned her neck a little, trying to see over the piled-high cars and toward the house, wondering if she'd see a flash of tan trench coat. She was mildly worried about whatever Dean wanted to talk to Cas about.

"So did you really get me a pony for our birthday?" Sam asked, giving her a cheeky little smile and cutting into her thoughts.

She looked down at him and raised an eyebrow. "Oh yeah. Pink. Sparkly."

He chuckled. "Cuz I uh, actually have your present here." He wasn't joking.

He was reaching into his jacket pocket and Alex felt herself sit up straighter in surprise. "Aw, _Sam_ ," she protested, feeling bad. "But I haven't gotten _you_ anything yet."

"It's okay. I just… saw this in a gas station and thought of you, thought I'd give it to you early. No time like the present, right?" He held out a really cheap, flat metal keychain shaped like a cupcake and painted with cheesy glittery paint. Sam almost laughed at himself at this point, shrugging. "It's... kinda stupid."

Alex looked at her brother, took it and grinned down at it. "I love it."

His mouth lifted up crookedly in a stupid grin—his dimples cut into his cheeks. "Yeah and I know how you don't even have keys to anything, but I thought you could put it on your duffel or something," Sam continued.

"You genius," Alex said fondly. He shrugged in playful humility and Alex looked at her keychain, then reached over and hugged an arm around his neck, pressing their cheeks together for a second. "Thank you Sammy," she told him as she pulled away. "You're a good big brother." She contemplated his familiar face, thinking about the past few years and how rocky things had been for them. "I'm really glad we're friends again," she said honestly.

And she saw that he felt the same. He smiled at her softly, nodding. "Me too."

Alex laughed awkwardly at them, pointed at him, then cringed slightly. "So, chick flick moment over, or...?"

" _Yup_ ," Sam agreed readily, and sat up all the way, swinging his legs over the side of the car to sit beside her still but with his feet on the ground now. "I'll go see if Bobby needs a hand with anything. Gotta figure out how exactly we're gonna stop this whole Croatoan outbreak thing." He paused, gave her a little smile. "Betcha ten bucks explosives will be involved."

Alex nodded her approval. "Hm. Those are always fun."

The twins headed to the house together—Sam walking a little slower than normal to keep from outpacing his twin with his long legs—and when Alex glimpsed Dean working on his car alone, she frowned, telling Sam she'd see him inside.

She approached Dean slowly. He was banging around on the engine aimlessly—she recognized that he was trying to act like he was doing something important but really was just trying to kill time. "Hey, you seen Cas?" she asked.

He glanced up at her fleetingly. "Went off somewhere, I dunno. Seemed kinda pissy."

Alex got quiet a second. Dean wouldn't look at her still. "What'd you say to him?" she asked, her tone mildly accusing.

"Nothing," Dean muttered. "Don't worry about it."

There was an uncomfortable pause. "Dean… the world's probably about to end. Do you _really_ want to spend our last days pissed off at each other?"

He stopped clanging around under the hood and straightened up, giving her an unreadable, terse look, wiping his dirty hands on a grungy rag. "You know, I've been thinking about what you said," he told her, looking straight at her now. "How I'm just like Dad in all the bad ways." _Oh great, here we go._ Alex looked at her big brother reluctantly. "And I think maybe you're right," Dean said, surprising her. "But I'm also like him in the best ways. I do what I have to to keep this family safe. Even if it pisses you off, even if it's not what you want."

Alex was pissed off _now_. Still, she tried to reason with Dean, even though it never seemed to work. "Dean. I'm going to be _twenty-eight_ in a week. I'm an adult and I have been for awhile now." She huffed somewhat indignantly. "And... you're not my _father._ So stop acting like it." She appealed to him desperately. "Just be my _brother._ Be happy that I found someone."

Dean looked insulted and wounded. " _Him_?" The word was said with disbelief and total lack of understanding.

"Yes," Alex said. _"Him_." And she said the same word Dean had with great amounts of affection, emotion.

Dean looked almost repulsed. Or maybe that was hopelessness. He swung his rag onto his shoulder, shook his head, and didn't look at her. "I don't get you at all anymore." He began to mess around underneath the hood of the car again closing the conversation.

But she had a final remark to leave him with. "Maybe you never did."

She stalked off in search of Cas, leaving Dean to stew. And honestly, he wasn't even angry anymore, he was lost and confused and felt like giving up on everything. His brother was slipping out of his grasp, his sister too… the two people he depended on most in the world. And one of them, Alex, hated him. All Dean was trying to do was protect her. He was so, so unsure of himself these days, which made him try even harder to do the right thing. The thing was, it was getting hard to tell what was wrong and what was right.

She did deserve to be happy, but… not with _Cas_. How could he be the right guy for her? _How_?

Alex would look for Cas for several minutes and finally find him at the end of Bobby's road, staring off into the distance somberly, deeply upset about something. He wouldn't tell her what, would claim it wasn't important. She would talk him into going back to the house for peanut butter sandwiches and milk, telling him that they could use his help formulating the plan to stop the croatoan outbreak. He'd go with her but would remain withdrawn and brooding for the rest of the day.

* * *

**Just After Sunset**

Castiel stood outside beside Bobby's old black van. Bobby was loading up some of the C4 that Sam had brought up from the basement into an army green duffel bag a few feet away. Cas watched glumly, uselessly.

Sam, Alex, and Bobby had tried to include him throughout the day as they'd planned out the attack on the Niveus distribution center, which was a couple states away. However, he hadn't been able to add anything to their efforts and had felt out of place.

The plan was that they would leave from Bobby's shortly, drive most of the night, arrive in the morning, stop the trucks from leaving, then blow up the plant.

Dean's words had been running through Cas's mind all day. About what Alex really needed—a man, a _human_ man. Cas was deeply distressed, because he'd tried to think of what he could offer her, and he could think of nothing except himself. What did he have? Nothing. And losing all the powers that had made him relatively useful at all, in a dire time such as this… to say the least, fate had a cruel sense of humor. Cas felt himself heaving a disconsolate breath and Bobby stopped what he was doing a few feet away.

"What's _your_ problem?" the hunter asked.

Cas faltered slightly underneath Bobby's pointed stare. "This is what they mean by 'the eleventh hour,' right?"

"Pretty much," Bobby confirmed.

"Well, it's the eleventh hour, and I am... _useless_. All I have is this." Cas waved the shotgun he held briefly, hating the feel of it, the weight of it, the smell of it. "What am I even supposed to do with it?"

"Point it and _shoot."_ Bobby replied snidely.

"No, I know that," Castiel mumbled. He felt low and small, pathetic. "What I used to be—"

"Are you really gonna bitch—to _me_?" Bobby demanded, gesturing to himself in his wheelchair. And Cas was chastised by the man's hard tone. Bobby wheeled himself forward, grabbed the duffel bag out of his lap, then threw it at Cas who barely managed to react and catch it in time. "Quit pinin' for the varsity years…" Bobby told him gruffly, "and load the damn truck."

Cas watched roll back into the garage. He threw the bag Bobby had tossed at him into the old black van resentfully. He glanced back at Bobby, who was now about fifteen feet away… behind him, Alex appeared from the inside of the house. She had a couple of ammo bags and a box in her arms. She was heading toward him and Castiel went to help her, feeling even worse than he had a moment ago after Bobby's harsh words, but wanting to be helpful however he could. Alex took in his morose expression as he took the box from her and she attempted a smile. "I know what you're thinking… how come Bobby had all this C4 just laying around, right?" He tossed the box into the van, feeling too miserable to know how to react. "What's wrong?" Alex asked, looking at him intently, sliding the ammo bags off her shoulder and slinging them into the van without looking.

He turned and faced her, not attempting to hide his state. He knew she would listen to him, if no one else would. "Everything."

"Everything?" she repeated, slightly hurt and confused by his words. She looked both ways—Dean was off a little bit, loading up the Impala, not paying attention to them—Sam and Bobby were fussing over some stuff in the garage. Surprising Cas, Alex grabbed his hand and pulled him around to the other side of the van out of eyesight of the three other present people.

Cas was confused but intrigued by the unexplained action, and when she pushed him up against the other side of the van and stood so close that no space was left between their bodies, he understood. He became breathless, wondering what she was about to do. She touched the side of his face gently, soothingly.

"A lot's wrong right now, I know it is." She whispered, and her eyes held his gaze steadily. He felt her hand move down just a little across the skin of his face. "But not _everything_." She traced her thumb down across his lower lip, looking at him with eyes that had grown full of a quality that made his pulse raise by several beats per minute. "...Right?" she asked softly, hopefully. His expression flickered and changed, melting a few degrees. And Alex went onto her tiptoes just slightly, pressing her lips up to his softly—a comforting and sweet reminder. An anchor that pulled him back down to earth. It sparked that familiar fire to life deep in Cas. He met her kiss with his own and suddenly they were helplessly deepening that embrace, forgetting everything but each other and the magic of their undeniable connection. She sighed so softly into his mouth, he felt one of her hands in his hair, the other snuck inside his coat and jacket to curve around his waist and pull herself to him. He forgot all of the things that had been plaguing him.

He felt the rigid way his face had been etched all day softening and he realized dimly that ever since the hospital he'd been thinking of kissing her like this and had never found the right time… and that she must have been doing the same—because he'd discovered there was a tone to kisses, and the tone to this one was desperate and hungry, filled with pent up things. Like they'd both been saving up and holding it back—and finally unleashing the floodgates. On instinct, Cas turned them a hundred and eighty degrees so that she was the one with her back against the van—she breathed out the faintest gasp into his mouth as he continued to kiss her deeply, tongues stoking fire. He pressed himself close, she whimpered ever so softly and Castiel did too. He was losing his _mind_ —becoming very hot, his clothes felt too tight, all he could think about was how much he wanted her in the most primal way he knew of. How did she simultaneously make him feel powerful and powerless? A soft little groan sounded in the base of his throat—he put a gentle hand on the side of her neck. He could feel her pulse fluttering underneath his thumb, the most gorgeous rhythm in the universe… and he would never be tired of how it felt to kiss her and be kissed by her, it felt like worship and adoration, like comfort and reassurance.

He pulled away a little enough to look down into her face deeply, in awe of her and the overwhelming surge of emotions in his veins and chest—the love he felt for her was even more than ever before and he didn't understand how he could hold all of it inside. He wanted to tell her. He wanted her to know. And then he realized her face was clouding with deep sadness. He didn't understand until she spoke: "I missed you _so much_ ," she admitted in a hoarse whisper, her eyes shining with the ghosts of the clear pain he could hear in her voice. He held his hand at the side of her head, fingers threading through her hair, and he was so quickly distressed to see her in anguish. Her breathing was slightly labored, her eyes rapidly scanned between both of his in thought. "I, I thought you were dead—" she continued, and Cas held himself very still—he could hear how important this was for her to say. But her voice was barely audible. "And the worst part was I never got the chance to tell you—"

"Where'd you two idjits disappear to?" Bobby's voice, on the other side of the van, thundered. "This truck ain't gonna load itself." There was some grumpy mumbling. They could hear Sam talking somewhere nearby too.

Cas looked at Alex, reluctant to part but knowing they should. He stroked the side of her hair, searching her gaze. All he wanted was to be with her again, to be wrapped up in her, to show her what he couldn't ever seem to put into words. Maybe reassure her, reassure himself, too. She didn't look as sad anymore, there was a soft little smile on her face and the way she looked at him prompted him to pose one soft, single word question to her. "When?" He didn't feel useless when it was the two of them together. And he wanted to know what she was about to tell him. She understood, and her dark eyes looked up into his.

"Soon," she promised in a whisper. They drifted together again, lips seeking the others, but another loud shout interrupted.

"Alex, where'd you put my ammo sling?" Sam hollered.

Even more reluctant than before, they parted, the promise of _soon_ on both of their minds. "Wait here a minute," Alex told Cas quietly. She was looking at him slightly coyly again, eyeing the crotch of his pants with a cute little expression. "Then follow." He looked down at himself. _Oh_. He saw why she said that. Yes, it seemed like a good idea to wait here a minute.

A few minutes later with the van loaded up and the Impala full of supplies, everyone gathered near the garage to say goodbye. Thunder sounded in the distance.

"All right, well…" Dean looked at Sam in mild cynicism. He seemed so tired. "Good luck stopping the whole zombie apocalypse."

Sam pulled a face. "Yeah. Good luck... killing Death."

"Yeah," Dean replied, nodding hollowly. He glanced at his sister, then Cas, tense and clearly worried about going separate ways. "You guys be safe, all right?"

"We will be," Alex said. Dean met her gaze begrudgingly. They both had regrets about where they currently stood and it was obvious.

Sam however was down on memory lane with a funny look on his face, chuckling briefly. "Remember when we used to just… hunt wendigos? How simple things were?"

Alex and Dean both made similar doubtful, cynical faces. "Not really," the oldest Winchester said, shaking his head with the softest rueful smile.

Sam reached around behind his back. "Well, um…" he pulled out his demon blade and offered it to his brother. "You might need this."

Dean reached out to take it, but then a new voice startled them and interrupted the moment.

"Keep it." Crowley handed Dean a small scythe. "Dean's covered. Death's own, that. Kills, golly, demons and angels and reapers and, rumor has it, the very thing itself."

"How did you get that?" Castiel asked incredulously.

Crowley shot Cas a cheeky expression. "Hello?—King of the crossroads." He turned back to Dean. "So, shall we?" He glanced at Bobby now, too. "Bobby, you just gonna sit there?"

"No, I'm gonna _riverdance_ ," Bobby retorted, giving Crowley a look that clearly said _bite me_.

"I suppose if you want to impress the ladies," Crowley commented, mystifying everyone, but especially Bobby. Crowley sighed as if in impatience. "Bobby, Bobby, Bobby... really wasted that crossroads deal. Fact—you _ge_ t more if you _phrase_ it properly. So, I took the liberty of adding a teeny little sub-a clause on your behalf."

Sam and Dean looked at each other, raising their eyebrows slowly, even as Cas and Alex exchanged a glance too, frowning in dawning disbelief.

"What can I say?" Crowley asked. "I'm an altruist." He looked at Bobby again, a soft little smile on his face. He made a _get up_ motion with his hand. "Well? Just gonna sit there?"

Face full of frightened disbelief that didn't dare to trust but deeply wanted to, Bobby gripped the arms of his chair… pushed himself up really slowly at first… then shot to his feet when he realized his legs worked again, and perfectly too. "Son of a bitch," Bobby breathed in surprise as everyone looked at him in wide-eyed surprise, smiles dawning.

"Yes, I know," Crowley said at Bobby's slack-jawed state. "Completely worth your soul. I'm a hell of a guy."

Bobby looked at him in the oddest mixture of gratefulness and confusion. " _Thanks,_ " he said uncertainly.

"I know, I know, I'm the tops," Crowley muttered. "This is getting maudlin. Can we go?" The demon walked off toward the Impala even as Alex practically bounded up and hugged her uncle around his neck, grinning widely. Sam stood back grinning too, barely able to believe it.

"I'll be damned," Bobby said, looking down at his feet, still in shock.

"You will be if he doesn't give your soul back," Dean muttered. When he got two looks of disapproval from the twins, he attempted to backpedal. "I'm just saying!" he said defensively.

"Well, shall we?" Bobby asked. Nothing could dampen his sudden good mood. "I'll drive." He grinned—for probably the first time in months, and circled the van, got in, starting the engines.

"All right Dean," Sam said, turning and putting a hand on the passenger side door handle. He paused tensely. "Seeya."

"Yeah," Dean said, looking at his two siblings. He looked like he felt excluded or sad. "Seeya."

And he didn't say anything to Alex, just looked at her, appearing mildly ashamed. His hands were in his pockets, he glanced at Cas then turned and walked away to his car, not looking back at them.

Alex watched her big brother go, following by a couple of drifting footsteps before she stopped, wounded. Not sure what she'd been hoping for. The divide between herself and Dean was only getting bigger. It hurt that he wouldn't accept the one she loved. He was making her choose. And she'd made her choice. The one she was getting into the van with.

She turned and gave Cas a small, strained smile, got into the van, and he followed.

And the under a dark night sky full of storms, two vehicles went their separate ways.


	42. Here to Fall

" _Rescue me from me, and all that I believe.  
Should I fall from grace here with you? Will you leave me, too?" _  
\- Smashing Pumpkins

* * *

**Last Year**

Castiel was confused, reeling, and in so much pain laying on the ground unsure of where he was.

The last thing he remembered was being with Alex and her brothers—late at night, out in the woods, and Alex had been very, very drunk. Castiel had taken the flask of absinthe from her on impulse because her behavior had been so strange: she'd rambled angrily and grievously to him about her father, she'd been upset and sarcastic and out of control. He'd only wanted to help her and understand her.

But what had happened after that? Briefly, he couldn't recall—the searing, aching pain crippled him and his ability to think. And then he remembered that several angel brethren had summoned him away from the Winchesters forcefully, demanding he come with them because he was wanted for an audience with the archangels—and that he was to leave his vessel behind. Castiel had known what that meant. He had resisted at first—an instinct he never would have possessed before. Another instance of disobedience he could add to the growing list.

Castiel groaned and raised up slightly, seeing his older brothers Michael and Raphael in front of him—and he knew he was weakened, because he didn't perceive their true forms, instead he saw their vessels. Castiel looked down, realizing that he still saw himself as Jimmy Novak. They were in a heaven that was an ornate, french style palace hall, and Castiel was sprawled onto the shining marble floor.

Raphael bent forward just slightly, looking at Castiel with a stony, unreadable expression. "It hurts, doesn't it. Being ripped out of a vessel without warning."

Yes. It did. Very much. Castiel looked up at his older brother full of agonized pleading. "Why have you done this?"

Michael looked at him cooly. "We've brought you here so that you can explain yourself. Your actions."

Dread pooled inside of Castiel. He felt caught.

Michael made a 'get up' motion with his hand. "Stand, Castiel."

Castiel did as he was told, apprehensive underneath the glowers of the two archangels. They seemed displeased. "Your interference and interactions with the human girl are becoming increasingly extraneous and unnecessary," Raphael said plainly in the slow, insolent tone he so often took. "You've been warned before. You've been disciplined before... or have you forgotten?"

No, he had not, and he never would. Castiel looked down.

"Explain yourself, Castiel," Michael prompted. "Why you continue to foolishly walk this dangerous line. You are a servant of Heaven."

"Yes, I know that I am," Castiel replied. He was thinking deeply, earnestly. "But she's… she's my friend. The Winchester family. They're my friends." The archangels looked at him strangely and then at each other, and he could see that they did not understand him. Castiel attempted to explain himself. "I don't believe my actions have been—"

Michael cut him off harshly. "Your opinion is unimportant, Castiel." He stepped closer. "Your obedience is what we require. You are to accept what we tell you without question and cease acting on your own accord." He looked at Castiel for a long moment, cool and aloof. "You have no need of friendship. Not Alex Winchester's, not Dean Winchester's, not Sam Winchester's."

Castiel had wanted to protest, but Michael continued. "Be grateful we allow you this exception, Castiel. After what you did before…" he trailed off meaningfully and Castiel knew he was expected to express guilt and regret. But he would not, or perhaps he could not. He had given Alex Winchester her voice back and he would not apologize for it—because it was the right thing and he knew it, even though all of Heaven had disagreed. "After what you did before," Michael repeated, dissatisfied with Castiel's silence, "you should not be allowed even a second chance."

Castiel frowned. Puzzled. Suspicious. "Then why am I being given it?"

There was a short silence, and the archangels exchanged a glance. Castiel felt, intuitively, there was something they were not communicating to him. "The Winchesters trust you," Michael told him artlessly. "We can use this to our advantage."

"But make no mistake," Raphael told him. "This will be your last warning. If you fall to disobedience again... I will lay you to waste myself."

Castiel and Raphael locked gazes and there was a long, tense silence.

"The relationship you had with her is over," Michael told him. "You are not her friend. You are her guardian, and that is all. You will not interfere in safeguarding her from anything less than imminent death, as you've been commanded. Do you understand?"

Yes. Castiel understood the command, but he also felt great despair. His loyalties were torn and it was a new, terrifying sensation. He knew who he was: a soldier, a bearer of the Word of the Lord, a member of the Heavenly host. His role was to obey without question, to carry out the will of God and Heaven until the end of time. To remain unquestioningly loyal.

But there were questions. And there were doubts. And there was her.

He thought of the little family he called his friends. He thought of Alex, who he had watched in the quiet, lonely moments, who he had seen cry when she thought no one was there with her. Who he had felt an inexplicable sense of kinship to from first sight. She inspired gentleness and fierceness in him all at once and he wanted to be loyal to _her._ He wanted to protect her from everything that would cause her any harm at all, not just from imminent death. It didn't seem right that Heaven would forbid him from guarding her as closely as he knew she needed to be.

She never left his mind, not even for a moment.

"Do you understand?" Michael repeated, more intensely now.

Quiet defiance glittered in Castiel's eyes even as he spoke a false truth purposefully. "Yes."

Michael was detached yet malevolent. Clearly, he did not believe Castiel's answer. He reached out a hand and searing, blinding light consumed Castiel—but right before the punishment began, Castiel heard his older brother say to him, "you _will_."

* * *

**Present Day**

How times had changed.

Castiel was in the back of a dark van that sped down the road at breakneck speeds—he was powerless, cut off from Heaven, reduced to human nature. And yet, not unhappy about it. He couldn't be, not entirely.

Across from him sitting on a plastic crate and deftly loading another shotgun with nimble fingers, the reason he had defied Heaven glanced up at him, feeling his gaze. Her dark eyes flickered over his features, she gave him a little smile that was tender, then she returned focus to her task. He felt himself smiling too, just slightly, despite everything.

He'd spent much of the day feeling inadequate and ridden by emotional torment concerning his newfound condition as an all-but-human fallen angel. What Dean had said—that Castiel was not human and never would be—haunted him still. Dean's vehement disapproval of the two of them together in any sort of romantic context weighed heavily. Made him question himself. Dean was wise and insightful, despite his shortcomings of a quick temper and stubbornness… and as such, Castiel wondered if the man had a point.

His emotions were so much rawer and more overpowering now, and he wasn't able to rise above them in the least like he'd been able to in the past. When he'd first acquired his vessel, he'd been compartmentalized: emotion, logic, duty had all been separated. But slowly, as he had fought for the Winchester family and became more involved with them, his thoughts, feelings, and convictions had all become a tangled mess. It was difficult to process, so overwhelming.

Even though Dean spoke with certainty, Castiel clung to the idea that his own feelings were worth something, _meant_ something, and shouldn't be cast aside so readily just because Dean disagreed. With Alex, Cas didn't feel out of place, in fact he felt that he belonged _._.. but he wondered if he should feel this way at all. More than anything, Castiel desired to be worthy of Alex, because his conviction was that she deserved only the best. Herein laid the dilemma: he did not view himself as the best _anything_. He was a wayward angel, a guardian who had failed her several times over, an angel who had been stripped of everything that made him an angel. So what did that make him now? At best, he was a placeholder. A shadow of a human—clueless and incapable. Just what Dean had said.

He disliked that she had to show him how to do everything—he wished to be able to care for her without assistance. Perhaps that was his sense of pride rearing its head. Pride, or shame. He didn't want to be useless or a bother. He desired to give to her the things he wasn't sure how to provide: stability, support, protection. He wondered if this is what the humans called 'wishful thinking.'

Dean was right. Castiel was not a human. Not really, not completely. But whatever he was, despite his misgivings about what the future held, he reminded himself that he was _here_. With _her_. _Finally_. Not separated by the laws of differing dimensions. Able to speak to her, be seen by her, interact with her. Touch her and be touched. Perhaps, deep down, he had been waiting for this and daring to hope—for the time when the divide between them would crumble down and leave nothing between them but the air that they breathed. Perhaps he had been put here to fall. And perhaps he had been meant for this fate all along.

Nearly three years ago, when he'd first seen her, he'd known she was important. He'd felt it with certainty. And now he realized it was because he'd sensed that she would be important to _him_. And she was. The _most_ important thing. That's why he supposed he should have foreseen this happening, the long fall to earth. After all… Alex had brought him downfall after downfall from the very beginning. Every time he had sacrificed for her and defied Heaven he'd been stripped of power and position, each time more and more. The first time, when he had restored her voice. The second, when he had rebelled outright and given Dean and Alex a chance to stop Lucifer from rising. The third, when he had gone up into a blaze of light, nearly killing himself to save Alex from Zachariah's clutches.

He didn't regret his decisions or actions, not even for a fraction of a millisecond. He only regretted that he was no longer capable of protecting Alex the way he knew how, with celestial power at his right hand. But he would learn how to safeguard her as he was now, this mortal mass of flesh and blood. And if they somehow survived this apocalypse, if they somehow stopped Lucifer from destroying the world, Castiel would find a way to save her life in the year 2013—he vowed it to himself all over again, looking across from himself at the one he would guard and protect for the rest of his days, to his dying breath. She was stripping a pistol and cleaning the parts with a rag and he thought he had never seen a more beautiful, frightening sight. He knew she was proficient and strong, but just the thought of where they were going right now and what could happen to her in the crossfire was utterly _terrifying_.

They were heading to the Niveus Pharmaceuticals distribution plant where Croatoan virus was being shipped out disguised as a vaccine. Pestilence was clever to have manipulated the situation like this, and if the four of them were not successful, the virus would sweep the country overnight, exterminating millions and millions of people and plunging the entire world into the apocalypse without hope of escape. That fact was vexing enough, but any mention of the word Croatoan triggered immense, helpless fear in Castiel. He could still remember Alex as she lay dying in his arms. He wished he had never seen those visions that Anna had shown him. Taking Alex anywhere near anything to do with the virus made alarm bells scream in his mind. All he could do was promise himself that he wouldn't let her out of his sight, not even for a _moment_ as they completed this job.

She looked up at him again. There were only about three feet between them or so, but it felt like a far distance. She was so lovely in the dim light from passing street lamps and cars flickering over her features. Again, she gave him a little, soft smile. There was a hesitant, apprehensive quality to the expression—she was worried and anxious like him. Maybe that's why she'd been busying herself for the past few hours, quietly working on things he didn't know how to help with. She returned her focus to the pistol she was reassembling, and there was a loud, metallic click as she pulled the slide back and double-checked her work, then pushed the slide forward, satisfied with her handiwork momentarily.

"All right guys, shotguns all loaded, your rifle too, Bobby… ammo bags packed… charges secure." She pulled her crate forward a little toward the front seat, craning her head around Sam's seat and handing over his gun, handle-first. "Sam, your pistol had so much damn buildup inside I'm surprised it even _shot_ straight anymore," she said teasingly.

Her twin was a little sheepish and he chuckled as he took the pistol. "Thanks, Alex." Sam had been pensive and quiet for the duration of the van ride, and even now he seemed distracted, snapping a trigger guard on then tucking the pistol into his jeans. He scanned through the windshield unseeingly with thoughtful, narrow eyes.

"Are we there yet?" Alex asked Bobby. There was a distinctly joking tone to her question that he responded to with a brief, affectionate side glance.

"Few more hours." He chuckled. "Hope you brought a coloring book."

Castiel didn't understand why that comment entertained the twins, but Alex and Sam were both momentarily lightened, looking at the man who they referred to as their uncle with amused smiles.

Cas imitated Alex's motion and scraped the crate he sat on forward a little to be nearer to her, sensing that a conversation was about to begin. Bobby glanced at him in the rearview. "So I'm guessin' these yahoos told you all about Sam's crazy idea to stop Satan?" Bobby was in better spirits than he'd been in earlier, but there was an underlying quality of apprehensiveness to the question.

And Castiel understood why. He nodded tensely, narrowing his eyes in thought. He'd been mulling this over. Though maybe not as in depth as everything else. "They did," he confirmed and expelled a weighty breath. "' _Yes'_ to Lucifer. Then jump into the cage. It's an interesting plan."

" _That's_ one word for it..." Bobby muttered.

"So when are you gonna tell me it's the worst plan you ever heard, Cas?" Sam asked. "Everyone else has."

"I am happy to tell you that if it's what you want to hear," Castiel replied. "But... it's not what I think."

"What?" Alex asked. She was looking at him in flat-out shock.

He knew she would be unhappy with what he was about to say. "Your family has a habit of exceeding my expectations," he told her, and there was an almost fond note in his voice. "You are all very stubborn and strong willed." He looked at Sam now. "Dean resisted Michael to a point that Michael gave up on him… an impressive feat in itself." He frowned deeply. "Maybe you _could_ resist Lucifer, Sam, but… Adam being chosen as Michael's vessel presents a very dangerous dilemma."

"As if it weren't dangerous already?" Alex reasoned in a mild huff. Cas glanced at her and saw that her nervous fear was doubled.

"Dangerous how?" Sam questioned.

Cas tore his gaze away from Alex, conflicted. He knew none of this would be what she wanted to hear. Because all of it meant losing her brother. But he wanted to be truthful. "If you say yes to Lucifer and then fail… this fight _will_ happen. And the collateral…" he shook his head gravely, looking down. "It'll be immense. Adam isn't Michael's true vessel, therefore, he's weakened already, disadvantaged. And you're Lucifer's chosen vessel—so if you weren't prepared, if you failed to resist Satan, Michael would be defeated. I'm sure of it." There was a heavy silence in the van. "You'd need to be ready. As strong as possible to be able to grapple with Lucifer and cast him back down into his cage."

"What do you mean?" Sam asked, intrigued and anxious, paying close attention. "How?"

Castiel met the man's uneasy, questioning gaze. "Demon blood." Sam's expression registered shocked.

" _Demon_ blood?" Alex echoed as if she'd misheard.

"Yes. Demon blood." Castiel looked at her somberly. "To take in Lucifer... it would be more than he's ever drunk."

"But… why?" Sam asked.

"It strengthens the vessel," Cas explained. "Keeps it from exploding."

"...But if the vessel exploded, wouldn't that kill Lucifer?" Alex asked.

Castiel shook his head slowly. "The vessel would die, not Lucifer."

Alex was grim and sat back slightly. "Ah."

Sam seemed to be struggling to understand. "Wait, so, the guy he's in now—is he drinking demon blood?"

Cas's eyes flicked to Sam's. "Gallons."

"And how is any of that _not_ the worst plan you ever heard?" Bobby commented sarcastically.

Castiel turned his head toward Bobby. "The alternative is to continue running."

Bobby pulled a face, reluctant, glancing at Cas sidelong. "Touché."

There was a short, thoughtful silence. "Come on, you guys can't really be thinking about this," Alex protested, sitting forward again and looking at her brother, her uncle, her angel all in turn. "I mean, why not summon Lucifer and then like throw the rings down, shove him in?" She asked, tripping over her words, flustered and desperate. "Or, one of us kills him with an angel blade? There has to be another way, _right_?"

Cas knew why she was so keen to find another way, and as much as he wanted to be able to tell her there _was_ another way… he couldn't think of one and he couldn't lie to her to give her or _any_ of them false hope. "A human fighting an angel. That would never work. He's too fast. And I can't, I'm…" he gestured at himself briefly. " _This_." He shook his head, deep in anxious thought. "It might work to open the cage and summon him but… pushing him in, I don't know how we could manage that. And if we couldn't, he might also take the rings and with then, our only chance. I truly don't think there's another way, Alex."

Castiel looked at her sadly. She was silent. Sam's eyebrows shot up, his forehead was wrinkled in apprehensive thought, and he glanced over at his sister. "Like Dad always said... taking the offensive's always better."

"Yeah, and look where _that_ got him," Alex replied peevishly.

She sat back, removing herself from the conversation and subsequently ending it, too. This was _crazy_. Had she been a moron to keep believing there was a way for Sam to walk away from this? After all, Dean had dodged a bullet when Adam filled the shoes her oldest brother was supposed to fill… and the secret things Crowley had told her about Lucifer and how she was supposed to have been the one who could have killed him bothered her again. Upset and in denial, Alex put an elbow on her knee and her face in a hand. She felt a warm, heavy hand come to rest on her other knee, and she looked up at Castiel, who was looking at her in vast worry and sadness. She couldn't believe he thought Sam's idea was good. She also couldn't believe he wasn't protesting more about her being along for this ride to Niveus. He'd objected yesterday when he first learned of Pestilence's plan to distribute the Croatoan virus disguised as a swine flu vaccine—and the Winchester's subsequent plan to go head off that distribution by blowing up the factory distribution center. But he seemed resigned to it now.

Maybe she should resign herself to certain things, too. That if no other plan or option came to them, she would be saying goodbye to Sam forever. And that if Sam didn't succeed in defeating Lucifer and dragging him into his cage… that the entire world would burn… just like in her dreams. Her throat began to ache in emotional distress. Alex looked at Cas's hand on her knee and covered it with one of her own hands, curling her fingers around the outer edge of his palm. His skin was warm and comforting, but she was afraid.

In the back of her mind, there were whispers, terrified whispers commanding her to _do something_ , to save them all, to stop Sam from making the biggest mistake in history...

* * *

**Springfield, Missouri**

Thunder rumbled distantly and the occupants of the van looked up at the sound briefly except for Bobby, who was peering through some binoculars at the Niveus warehouse where workers were busy loading huge boxes of 'vaccine' into huge yellow trucks. It was early morning—an overcast, dreary day that fit the tense mood. They were parked across from the large warehouse complex and putting the final touches on their plan of action. It was important to get this right. Alex was double checking her shotgun again and Sam was looked at a blueprint of the warehouse that Bobby had somehow gotten his hands onto yesterday—probably Crowley, now that Cas thought about it.

"Yup, they're loading up hotshots of Croatoan in the trucks," Bobby confirmed, setting his binoculars down. "Okay. First truck don't leave for an hour. We get in, we plant the C4 every twenty-five feet, then we pull the fire alarm so everyone scrams."

"Uh... that truck is leaving..." Cas pointed out. Everyone looked up in unison at the truck that was pulling out of the loading dock at a crawling pace.

" _Balls_!" Bobby exclaimed. "Okay, new plan," he said, a new note of urgency in his voice. Sam was already getting out of the van and yanking open the side door as Bobby was doling out the new plan and reaching back—Alex shoved his rifle into his waiting hand. "Sam with me, we'll skirt the west side of the building and see if we can get in before they go into lockdown, Alex, you—"

Alex was three steps ahead of him—already slinging one of the ammo bags she'd prepared across her body, grabbing two shotguns and jumping out of the van. She brushed past Sam, who was grabbing at the other bags that were on the van floor. "On it," she said. Cas was right behind her, startled by how quickly they were having to take action. "Heads up," she told him as he jogged slightly to catch up with her, and he barely caught the shotgun she tossed to him. She strode across the parking lot at a brisk pace and Castiel wasn't sure what they were going to do—the warehouse was enclosed by a high chain-link fence but that was exactly where she was heading to. Were they going to climb over it? On the other side, cars and trucks lined the parking lot, partially obscuring Alex and Cas from being seen.

The yellow Niveus truck was slowly chugging toward the closed wrought-iron gate at the end of the parking lot that they were moving toward. Alex held her shotgun tight against herself lengthwise, and her stride turned into an all-out run as she saw how little time they had. Castiel chanced a quick glance behind them, seeing that Bobby and Sam were cutting through the parking lot headed to the far corner of the warehouse.

Alex stopped short at the fence, shocking Cas when she drew her foot back and kicked hard, three times, at the place where the chain link fence seam was secured to a flimsy pole. The metal clasps that held the fence to the pole snapped under the brutal force and she was stooping slightly, squeezing in through the gap she'd forced. "What are we supposed to do?" Cas asked, following her, the metal points of the fence scraping against his shoulder uncomfortably. She was bent over a little, shoulder pressed into a large SUV that was parked there. They were close to the gate that the truck was heading for, and she watched it hawkishly as it approaching them slowly, its engine growling lowly. She gestured briefly at the gate, breathless.

"That gate up there is automatic, you smash the keypad thing when I give you the signal, I'll take care of the driver."

"But—" Castiel made to protest. She suddenly grabbed him by the back of the neck and kissed him, once—hard and fast—shocking him and catching him off guard. Before he had a chance to react, she was pulling back and grinning at him almost playfully.

"For luck," she explained. The truck rolled to a stop and Alex told Cas, " _now_."

She was already moving, bent over and almost militaristic in her movements as she ran up between the parked cars and then pressed close to the side of the Niveus truck, skirting alongside it and toward the driver's open window. The driver's arm reached out to swipe a card into the keypad—and Alex leapt up, her feet finding a hold on the little step underneath the driver's door. She walloped the unsuspecting driver on top of the head with her shotgun, stunning him and yanking him by the arm _hard_ , she used all of her weight to pull him out of the truck completely even as he yelped in protest—and the second he crashed on the ground face-first, she jumped down off of the truck and rammed the butt of her shotgun into the back of his head, rendering him unconscious and silent.

Simultaneously, Cas smashed the keypad with the end of his shotgun and the gate shuddered and stopped rolling open. The two of them looked at each other, a little breathless. "You should have let me take care of the driver," Cas said. She gave him a faintly amused challenging look.

"Maybe next time," she said, smiling despite herself at his somewhat grumpy expression.

The sounds of commotion—shouts and some heavy stuff tumbling over caught their attention and Alex hurried down to the end of the truck and peeked around the end—then quickly jerked back. A bunch of guys were looking at the stopped truck and jammed gate and maybe she'd imagined it, but one of them looked black-eyed. She wasn't sure if they'd seen her or not, but she could tell: "They know something's up," she hissed to Cas, who was beside her holding his shotgun awkwardly, looking grim. Why couldn't things just go according to plan? Just once! " _Shit_ ," she muttered, glancing to the far side of the warehouse where Sam and Bobby were hugging to the side of the building, their guns raised. " _Hurry_ guys," she muttered under her breath, hoping they could make it in before one of the warehouse guys sounded the alarm.

She crouched down, peering across the parking lot from underneath the truck, and saw a pair of booted feet striding toward them—but instead of rounding the truck around the back, it looked like he was heading up to the front passenger-side of the truck—and Cas was closer. Alex looked up at Cas, pointing urgently, and he seemed to understand, moving back up toward the front of the truck and the unconscious driver.

"Yo Anderson, what's up with the gate!" the newcomer called out as he rounded the front of the truck. He stopped short when he saw Cas, right there in his face, waiting.

"Out of order," Castiel replied gruffly, and smacked his shotgun across the man's face, knocking him out cold. He seemed mildly grudging, contemplating the shotgun briefly. "Perhaps these things aren't so bad."

Alex gave him a look, almost a smirk. "Told you."

They could hear the warehouse doors closing and Alex quickly got confused and craned her neck back around the end of the truck. "Oh no, _no_!"

"What's happening?" Cas asked, beside her again and turned toward her protectively, standing so close that her arm was pressed into his torso.

"They're going into lockdown, they know we're here," Alex said tersely, and then they heard a gunshot and screams. Without a second thought, Alex took off at a run toward the warehouse, recognizing the sound of Sam's voice commanding people, "go, go, _go_!"

A huge Suburban SUV came out of nowhere and squealed to a stop in front of Alex, cutting her off unexpectedly, and a male, black-eyed demon bolted out of the driver's seat, snarling, a pistol in his hand, raising up to aim at her—and Alex was raising her shotgun too—but abruptly the demon was stumbling backwards, something silver and bright in the middle of his chest—and he screamed, convulsing, his skeleton flickering wildly. _What the—_ Alex realized that Cas had done that and looked back at him—then almost fell over in terror, because there was another demon behind him, and before she could say anything, Cas was knocked forward flat onto his face with a cry of surprise, and the demon who had tackled him to the ground had a knife raised high, the sharp tip glinting wickedly, right above Castiel's head…

Alex had never experienced so much righteous anger and terror all at once. She dropped her shotgun without a single thought and darted forward, grabbing the demon's wrist tightly with both of her hands to keep him from stabbing it downward… the jagged blade cut through the sleeve of her jacket and into the soft flesh of her forearm, but she didn't care. She yanked the demon up further by the arm and smashed her knee into its face, twisting her opponent's wrist so hard it snapped altogether—the demon's knife clattered to the ground even Alex reached into her jacket for her angel's blade, she whipped it out in a fit of absolute rage and fear, grabbing it with both hands like a baseball bat. In a single panicked swing, she took the demon's head off completely when she slashed the blade blindly through its neck. As the head rolled, she stood there breathless and shocked, heart beating audibly in her ears almost sickeningly. _Whoa._ Pushing himself up onto his hands, Castiel looked at the decapitated body beside him and then up at Alex with wide eyes.

"A-are you all right?" she asked him, dropping to her knees and grabbing him by the upper arms, her angel blade clattering forgotten to the ground beside her. He could have just died, he was now as mortal as she was, and she'd really realized it to fullness and was _terrified_.

"Yes, I'm fine, I—"

The sound of another truck engine somewhere nearby rumbling to life caught their attention, then an unfamiliar voice shouting "Go, go, go!"

Another huge yellow truck was pulling out of the loading dock area, heading the opposite direction than the other truck had gone in—and even as Alex and Cas were standing up—it wasn't clear who was helping who to their feet—they saw the truck barreling toward a far gate they hadn't seen, then careening through it without stopping.

"Oh my god, oh shit, _shit_!" Alex exclaimed, then sprang into action. She grabbed up her angel blade and left her shotgun behind, her mind not fully functioning at this point. "Get in, get in!" She told Cas, even as she was jumping into the still-open door of the running Suburban the demon she decapitated had been driving. Cas stopped to quickly yank his blade out of the other demon and snatch his shotgun back up, and as soon as Cas was in, Alex hit the gas so hard that the tires burned rubber against pavement—and she spun the vehicle around, giving chase.

They shot out of the Niveus parking lot and she floored the gas, right behind the truck that was careening down the side road wildly, then turning so fast it almost capsized onto an unmarked, old road that ran alongside the Niveus complex—Alex glanced at Cas, who still had his shotgun, and she tightened her grip on the steering wheel as she accelerated further, making the engine roar. "Cas, I need you to get ready and shoot this truck's front tire out, okay?"

"Of course," he replied, and she could have laughed at his grim calmness if she wasn't in such distress. They could _not_ let this truck get away. She heard Cas cock his shotgun and a small twinge of pride did well up in her, because she'd taught him how to do that. She pressed the button to roll down his window and then floored the gas all the way and jerked the car to the left-hand side of the road, bringing the Suburban up next to the delivery truck, giving Cas a good shot at the tire—this road wasn't paved well and it would be hard to get a steady shot. Cas fired once—the truck swerved beside them, and it didn't look like the tire had been hit—Cas cocked the shotgun again, fired again—and the tire blew with a loud pop. Alex hit the brakes as soon as she heard the sound—the Niveus truck fishtailed across the road, losing control and then swerving sharply to crash hard into a tree.

Throwing the Suburban into park, Alex scrambled out of the car immediately as Cas did the same, and he moved faster actually, closer to the truck than she was. The driver of the Niveus truck stumbled out, his black eyes giving him away—and with his blade in hand, Cas bore down without hesitation, ruthlessly backhanding the dazed demon across the face, shoving it into the side of the truck and then stabbing it through the heart, ending that demon's existence right then and there. The demon slid down the side of the truck and crumpled to the ground and Castiel looked down at the dead demon malevolently, his blade glinting in his hand.

 _God, he's badass._ Alex stood there in the middle of the deserted old road, breathing hard and looking at him appreciatively, struck by how attractive she found him in this moment. How much she loved him. And he looked up, meeting her gaze with steadying breaths. "Nice job," she told him, a proud small smile on her face. He smiled back. A wind gusted up over them abruptly, sending Alex's hair wildly blustering around herself, Cas's trench coat fluttering around his calves. Closer now, thunder rumbled. It was going to rain, and soon. Alex looked around—they were in a heavily wooded area and she couldn't see anyone or anything on either end of the road. This was as good a place as any to set a truck on fire. It didn't look like anyone had been down this road in a long time.

"Okay, we need to torch the whole truck," Alex said, refocusing on what needed to be done, and pulled her ammo bag to the front of herself, pawing through the contents, looking for the book of matches she'd stuck in there, even as she walked around to the back of the truck and unlatched the lock that kept the sliding metal door down.

There was a funny clanking sound inside of the truck, like something was rolling around or moving. _What was_ _that?_ Cas got a horrified look on his face and he said " _no, don't_!" and he was rushing toward her, as if he'd realized what she hadn't yet.

Perplexed, Alex didn't even have a chance to react. The door shot up as if it'd been yanked upwards from inside and Alex stumbled back in surprise as a rabid Croatoan leapt onto her snarling madly, knocking her hard onto her back. Alex was suddenly struggling against brute force strength for her very life, she could see that there were three other Croats that had all rushed Cas. She heard shotgun blasts and heard him practically screaming her name. Fighting with everything she had to hold the Croat above herself back, Alex had both of her hands on his neck as his bloody teeth clacked together way too close in hungry bites—blood dripped down onto her and repulsed beyond compare, Alex turned her head away as far as she could, even as the Croatoan's bloodshot eyes, wide and inhuman, stared at her wildly. Suddenly there was a flash of beige above Alex, and the Croatoan was ripped off of her completely.

Castiel threw the last surviving Croat against the side of the Niveus truck and without hesitation, shot it in the head. Blood sprayed everywhere, splattering the sunny yellow of the truck. Cas turned to look in breathless horror at Alex, who was on her back and propped onto an elbow, her expression gaunt and scared as she looked up at him. The shoulder of her jacket had blood all over it and a soft, shocked sound escaped Cas, he dropped the shotgun and staggered over, falling to his knees beside her, staring at her shoulder in utter horror.

" _No_ ," he protested softly, his shaking hands coming to hold either of her arms. She looked at him with confusion, following his gaze to her shoulder... then understanding washed over her face and she shook her head rapidly, sitting up, holding onto his arms too.

"No, no, Cas, no, I'm _fine_ ," she told him. "Some of the blood from his mouth must have dripped onto me. I'm not bitten. I'm okay."

As if he didn't believe her, he yanked the shoulder of her jacket down, anxiously examining the flannel shirt beneath. It was clean and undamaged. Relieved beyond compare, almost to the point of tears, Castiel pulled her close, cradling her against him tightly as his hand behind her head crushed her into his chest. He was shaking, and his fear frightened her. " _Cas_ ," she pleaded, her voice muffled, her face buried in his chest. "It's _okay_ ," she repeated. His upset state was getting her upset, too.

Another gust of wind blew over them and with it came the first drops of errant, thin rain. Thunder grumbled ominously. Cas suddenly stood up and walked away a few steps, a hand on his head. Alex had never seen him so visibly shaken up, and the way he distanced himself from her was strange, new, unsettling. Alex stood up, about to follow him, when her phone began to ring loudly. Keeping a worried eye on her angel, Alex dug for her phone in her ammo bag. It was Sam. She shrugged the bag off of her shoulder as she answered, dropping it at her feet. "Hey."

"Hey," he said, a little breathless. "You guys stop that truck?"

"Yeah, we did." She pulled her bloody jacket off one arm at a time, looking into the back of the truck which was empty. It had been a trap. One she was lucky to have survived.

"You guys okay?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, fine," Alex said, glancing at Cas again. Her adrenaline was racing still.

She balled her jacket up and threw it down at her ammo bag as Sam continued. "Okay, well we just cleared out all the mooks over this way and we're gonna set the charges."

Distracted, watching how Cas leaned against the SUV a few feet off from her, Alex chewed her lip anxiously. "Sounds good. So, uh, you guys good over that way?"

"Yeah, why?" Her twin was picking up on her distress. "You okay?"

"Just, if you don't need us, we'll... catch up," Alex said. She needed to calm Cas down, reassure him.

"Ah…" Sam sounded mildly awkward, clearly assuming she wanted time alone with Cas for another reason. "Gotcha. No, no, we're fine. You guys, uh, go ahead. How long we talking?"

Alex looked at Cas who was leaning against the Suburban heavily, clearly distraught. This was only going to add to the awkwardness and to Sam's assumptions, but she didn't care. "Don't wait for us. Head back when you're done. I'm the owner of a nice, new demonic SUV, so… we'll head back in a bit, okay?"

Sam paused and cleared his throat. "Yeah, okay. Uh, you two be careful out there. Call me if you need anything."

"Yeah, I will." Alex hung up and stuck her phone into her pocket. It was beginning to rain now and she shivered slightly, crossing her arms over herself.

Cas was leaning against the Suburban by pressing a palm to one of the closed windows. He stared down at his feet and his expression was absolutely horrified. He heard her approach but he continued to stare at the ground. "How did they get in there? Why were they _in there_?"

"I don't know, some kind of diversion, but it's okay, just, just calm down and we'll—" she said gently as she approached him, blinking against the rain drops, but he suddenly snapped his head up and looked at her almost wildly, panicked, grabbing her by either arm abruptly.

"I _can't_ calm down!" he almost shouted, startling her. It was clear to her in that moment how human he'd become. He heaved several rapid breaths. "How am I supposed to calm down?"

They were both getting wet as the rain continued. Alex was shocked at his outburst and frightened because he wasn't supposed to be afraid. "Cas, I'm fine," she told him emphatically. "I'm _fine._ " She felt herself crumbling as she remembered how close _he'd_ come to death just a few minutes ago. " _You're_ the one who almost died." She shuddered helplessly, squeezing her eyes shut for two seconds. "If I lose you again I…" her voice broke. "I don't know what I'll do."

He looked at her but it was pained, it was _agonized_ , and as rain trickled down his face, it looked like tears. He shut his eyes tightly in torment and bowed his head. "Hey, _hey_ ," Alex attempted to soothe, and she raised a hand up, brushing her thumb across his jaw. He opened his eyes to look at her, clearly suffering. And not knowing what else to do, Alex leaned in and gave him a soft, simple kiss of reassurance. Trying to reassure herself, too.

When she pulled back to look at him, his strained expression remained—he breathed in and out a few times, each time more rapidly as his gaze flickered back and forth between her eyes—his expression darkened measurably as his eyes burned into hers, his jaw tightening visibly. He'd never looked at her quite like that before, so despairing and wretched and furiously covetous, and even as she realized what that look meant, he was taking hold of her roughly, pulling her against him, crushing his lips to hers, frenzied and afraid, seeking more of her, his mouth demanding, his nose smashed into her cheek, his hands grabbing the back of her head as he made a soft sound that was both relieved and agonized.

Surprised but only briefly, Alex responded to him with all the pent-up fears and longing she'd held inside for the past month, deepening the kiss as much as she could—she had missed him so much she could weep at just the thought of it—and he blindly pushed her against the side of the car, her back hit up against the smooth metal of the SUV—he grabbed her face then her arms, her waist, trying to hold onto every part of her frantically, pushing himself against her and pulling on her madly even as she did the same—the rain streamed over them, soaking everything, running into their mouths as they kissed deeply, whimpering at the other's every touch—and Cas lifted her up abruptly, pinning her there against the car and she hugged her legs around him as his hands threaded through her wet hair. Her arms circled tightly around his neck, her hands dug into him, one at the back of his head, the other into his shoulder—his hips tightened against hers, and he heard her gasp or sob over the sound of the loud rain around them. She rocked her hips into his with a muffled moan as she held him as close to her as she could. Their teeth knocked together but neither one of them cared.

One of Alex's hands felt blindly beside herself for the door handle, he heard it click open and followed her lead—with sliding wet hands they both pulled and pushed the car door open and fumbled into the back seat of the car, refusing to cease kissing each other as they tumbled awkwardly into the tight space there—Cas managed to pull the door shut behind them, just barely missing slamming one of his feet in the door, such was his distraction.

He sat crookedly in the corner made by the door and the car seat and she sat on top of him, knees on either side of his thighs. The two of them were pressed up against one another tightly, wet and dripping, arms enveloping the each other. Out of the rain and in the quieter space of the car, their noisy breaths were loud and the kiss was becoming more frenzied, their movements against each other more and more feverish. Overcome with passion that he could barely contain, Castiel broke the kiss, grasping her head and pulling it to the side, exposing the skin of her neck to his mouth. He began to kiss her there—not close-mouthed and soft, but with deeply possessive sucking kisses, and he didn't even know why he did it, was only was driven to madness at the thought of _not_ doing it—Alex gasped softly, surprised, her eyes fell closed, she was temporarily rendered putty in his hands, and he pulled her down further onto him as he continued to adore her neck with his mouth. He could feel her lower lip dragging against his ear as she panted softly, every little soft cry she made maddening him completely; he had to have her, _now_. Even as he felt her shakily unbuttoning his shirt, he pulled one arm of her flannel shirt down and off, then grabbed the back of it shirt, yanking it off forcefully, leaving her in the wet, white tank top she was wearing underneath, and their mouths clashed with one another's again. He pulled the strap of her top down, exposing her shoulder. He splayed his hand behind her shoulder blade, pulling her shoulder to him, pressing kisses against the warm skin, nipping and dragging his lips, uncoordinated, not following any logical pattern he could think of, just knowing that he wanted to kiss her _everywhere.  
_

Frantically now, her fingers fumbled to loosen his wet tie even as his free hand slid up her shirt, making her top ride up to her ribcage, and he was kissing her collarbone now. He felt his wet tie whip away when she yanked it to the side, her warm hands braced against his bare lower torso, and the skin-to-skin contact made him moan softly, made him need _more_ —his shirt wasn't even off, it was just unbuttoned and open, his coat and jacket were still on, her shirt was twisted and wet on her, but it seemed as if there wasn't _time_ , and Alex seemed to share the sentiment—she moved her knees between his and began to yank on his pants even as he was pulling on hers, and the two of them almost fell sideways from the awkward fiasco of undressing the other from the waist down. Cas's pants only made it to the middle of his thighs, hers only somewhere below her calves, but neither of them could wait and his hands took her by the waist, lifting her up over him. He brought her down to settle over him even as their mouths had found each other's again. Her weight began to press down over him and they both clutched each other tighter, guttural gasps escaping their mouths as they became one.

Dazed, overcome Castiel looked up at her in awe—her entrancing hazel eyes were wide open and looking right back at him. They were both panting softly, relieved but only momentarily—there was a brief, still moment where, in unison, they brought their hands to the other's face. Alex leaned close, her expression twisted in anxiety and earnestness—she pressed a slow, aching kiss to the place where he was cut just over his eyebrow and he could _feel_ how much she had missed him.

Her hand tightened on his face and her other hand braced flat-palmed against his bare chest—and she began to slowly rock her hips over him. They were both gone completely in all mental capacities when she did that—he heard himself moaning in both protest and pleasing frustration at what she did. Her head fell onto the top of his shoulder and she made the softest, most beautiful moan he'd ever heard, her arms now circling around him him as if he were her anchor. His arms enveloped her tightly, refusing to let go. She was so warm, she had wrapped him in staggering pressure of the most beautiful kind, and he belonged here with her, in the place that only existed between them, like this.

His hands were up her shirt on her shoulder blades, her skin was warm and damp and he pulled her down, guiding her movements with increasing frantic quality as he groaned lowly, his face buried in her chest. A moan escaped when she moved up, almost removing herself from him completely but then pressing back down onto him fully but in agonizing slowness, once, twice, three times… making stars explode in his vision.

Alex drew back to press her forehead against his and Castiel watched, entranced and tortured and desperate for more as she continued to make love to him achingly—her eyes were heavy-lidded and her mouth was open softly, she seemed dazed and lost and transfixed and he felt the same—he heard himself making the agonized, frustrated, desperate sounds she always drew out of him and he felt like his mind was drifting away completely—his forehead bowed down and pressed against the front of her shoulder as he pulled her near with strong hands, needing her closer still. She moved herself on him with increasing speed, and something in him snapped.

Feelings of urgency and something almost like alarm flooding him, Cas held her tightly and in a single, swift motion he moved them both, all but slamming her down onto the car seat in his haste, so that he was over her—he held a hand behind her head supporting her, and she cried out, her hands gripping his upper arms tightly as he began to make love to her roughly, passionately, despairingly. His movements were wild and not gentle, high-pitched whispering gasps were escaping his mouth over and over as he held onto the front of one of her shoulders tightly, half out of his mind with primal need. She felt like sunshine and certainty and forever to him, and it overloaded his senses completely. Immense, staggering pleasure was filling every single atom he possessed, building up tensely, tightening around him, and he didn't think he could go much longer, not at this pace, but he didn't stop or slow down, he just gritted his teeth and let loose a sound of beautiful frustration and looked down at her—the flushed pink skin, swollen lips, pleasure-hooded eyes—she was out of breath, in impassioned torment beneath him, restless and anxious. Seeing her like that only urged him to move harder and deeper. But doing so only increased his anguish and his breaths were now coming in short, shallow bursts. He tightened his hand into the front of her shoulder, trying to last, trying not to fall off the end of the earth, hearing himself making loud, guttural sounds he didn't even know he could make.

Her hand came up to lay on top of his, her fingers laced through his tightly, he closed his fingers around hers without hesitation… and her face began to contort, he could feel her entire body tensing up underneath him and around him, she was growing even more breathless and beginning to whimper higher and higher and he was doing the same as everything began to crumble—and her fingers tightened around his, she let out a soft little helpless cry as her eyes locked onto his, she looked close to tears. "Cas, I _love_ you," she whispered urgently, and he saw a tear run out of the corner of her eye down into her hair. Her fingers tightened in his again, she suddenly lurched forward to him and began to gasp uncontrollably and _he loved her too_ —he held her hand tighter as she began to shudder around him, a sensation like being swept up by waves in a stormy ocean. The world fell away... and Cas's eyes closed and mouth fell open as everything he had burst out of him in white-hot heat, over and over again. A solitary, stunned moan of satisfaction escaped his lips against the pattern of her high-pitched sounds of bliss and rapture. Their foreheads pushed in against each others as the waves kept coming and eventually subsided, leaving them to collapse in spent exhaustion. It was over.

Cas's rapid heartbeat was drumming so strong and hard that he could feel it in his throat, in his hands, everywhere, slowing now as they laid there breathlessly. Resting on her shoulder, their hands were still pressed together, fingers interlaced. And on instinct, Cas dropped a single, lingering, whisper-soft kiss to the back of her hand, then bowed his head over her as their hands came apart. She was out of breath underneath him and her eyes shone with tears from the intensity of the what had just happened. He stroked her damp hair back, treasuring her in his arms, marveling at how she fit there with him, how close he felt to her, how beautiful she was. How much she trusted him—how much he trusted her. How her heart beat strongly pressed up against his chest... how alive she was. Her vivid green eyes looked up at him and he couldn't believe that she loved him, that she wanted this from him. And he loved her, too. So much.

He remembered the first time he'd seen her and how far away she'd been from him, how unreachable, and then how she used to look at him with mistrust and how he'd loved her even then, but hadn't understood it, hadn't known the name of what it was that pulsed through his veins for her.

He had walked eternity and had been created to be a soldier of the Lord. But this was the only place he'd known as home—with her. Anywhere with her. He was fallen from grace, an outcast of Heaven—but it didn't matter. For the second time that day, he thought that maybe he was here to fall. If the place he would fall to was her arms… that was what he wanted.

And he couldn't hold it inside any longer. As the rain beat down onto the metal roof above them in a car pulled off to the side of an abandoned old road, Castiel told Alex out loud that he loved her, too.

* * *

_April 29th, 2010. The day Castiel and Alex would always remember as theirs. Where they were aware that the end was near but defied it—finally telling the other what they felt and promising the other the rest of their lives, in so many words. And instead of rushing back to Sioux Falls, the lovers would travel north slowly. Stopping to eat a lunch of gas station sandwiches in a roadside park, watching birds, talking about things of little consequence as well as things of major consequence. Castiel would pick a flower for Alex, a single white daisy that he found that reminded him of her. Just being together was enough for them. Neither of them wanted to think about what lay ahead, not really. And they did return to Sioux Falls that night, but instead of going to Bobby's, they checked into a hotel room and spent the night together where they could be together without questioning, prying brothers around. The two of them shared a queen-sized bed, but it could have been a twin, that's how close and how wrapped up in each other they remained all night long. Each in turn would think about how they never wanted to sleep apart from the other ever again.  
_

Chuck leaned back from what he'd just written and there was a fond smile on his face. This had to be his favorite love story. So unexpected, so strange and striking. Such a long time coming. A sudden, last thought occurred to him and he frowned a little now, adding another sentence into the draft.

_The next day would be the beginning of the end… for all of them._

Chuck tapped a thoughtful, troubled finger against his chin. Times like these, he wanted to intervene... but he had his rules and methods, and he resigned himself to sit back and let it all unfold as it all had to.

* * *

**Chicago, Illinois**

Dean gripped Death's scythe tightly as he crept into the back of the pizzeria. _This is nuts._ Of all the places for Death to be, a frigging pizzeria? But Crowley had been sure. And as Dean edged out of the kitchen and into the dining room, he knew he had the right place. The little diner was full of dead people lying on the ground and slumped over on the red-and-white checkered tables. A single person still remained living—a slight, stooped figure with thin dark hair. The man's back was turned to Dean and he sat at a table facing the window. His heartbeat quickening slightly in freaked out adrenaline, Dean stole further into the restaurant and closer to Death, his footsteps silent, every muscle in his body taut with focus… and then, in his hand, the handle of the scythe began to feel warm, hot— _burning_. Dean fought to hold onto it, but couldn't, the heat became too much—and loudly, the weapon slipped out of his grip and clattered loudly onto the floor.

_Shit._

Dean looked at Death's back, knowing he was already a dead man but simultaneously, _stupidly_ hoping maybe the guy hadn't heard it.

Without turning around, Death spoke in a pleasant, mellow voice. "Thanks for returning that." Huh? Dean looked down to see that the scythe had disappeared from the floor next to his feet… and when he looked at Death's back again, he saw that the scythe had reappeared beside Death on the table he sat at. "Join me, Dean," Death suggested amicably, still not turning around. "The pizza's delicious."

Outside, the rain and thunder were growing louder—the wind was picking up—Chicago was as good as gone, three million people were about to die—and Dean thought maybe if he played his cards right he still had a shot at killing Death or maybe he could talk him out of wiping this city off the map. Dean moved forward slowly against his better judgement. Real, genuine fear filled him, as well as the heavy weight of responsibility as he thought of all those millions of sorry sons of bitches who were going to die in a few minutes if he didn't succeed here.

"Sit down," Death said, focused on eating a slice of deep dish pizza with a fork and knife. Slowly Dean complied, even though his true instinct was to run for the hills. Death seemed disinterested in his presence overall. He had a long face, a hook nose, and a prominent, wrinkled forehead. Long, chin-length dark hair was slicked back from his head and behind his ears. He was very plain and unassuming, but sitting across from him was terrifying. "Took you long enough to find me," he commented mildly, cutting his pizza primly. "I've been wanting to talk to you."

Dean swallowed, trying to save face, trying to remain unreadable. Lightning flashed brightly. "I gotta say—I have mixed feelings about that. S-so is this the part where…" he cleared his throat when his voice wavered, "where you kill me?"

Death finally looked at him in the eye, chewing a bite of pizza slowly, and his eyes were unnervingly perceptive. He swallowed the food. "And why would I do that?" He was casual and languid in the way he spoke. "You have an inflated sense of your importance. To a thing like me, a thing like _you_ , well…" he picked up his cup, sipping his soda with a loud slurp sound. "Think how _you'd_ feel if a bacterium sat at your table and started to get snarky."

Dean stared— _snarky_? Dean had barely said two words. This guy hadn't even _seen_ snarky. But he remained silent, listening to his gut which urged him to handle this situation very, very delicately.

"This is one little planet in one tiny solar system in a galaxy that's barely out of its diapers," Death lectured indifferently. "I'm old, Dean. Very old. So, I invite you to contemplate how insignificant I find you."

The diatribe was lost on Dean, who was confused as to what Death wanted from him. Death took hold on the pizza server, shoveled up a slice, and put it onto a plate that happened to be in front of Dean—as if he'd been waiting for him. "Eat," Death commanded.

Dean looked at the wedge of pizza in distaste, not able to summon an appetite. Death watched him expectantly, almost challengingly—there was a hint of warning to the horsemen's gaze. Aware of how precarious the situation was, Dean obeyed slowly. He sawed off a bite like Death had and put it into his mouth, barely tasting it.

"Good, isn't it?" Death asked.

"Y-yeah," Dean agreed automatically. He glanced at the ring on the horsemen's finger then looked away quickly, trying to gather his courage and formulate a plan. _Any_ plan. "I-I got to ask," he said, chewing the tasteless food in his mouth, trying to strike up a conversation that he could at least get some information out of. "How old are you?"

"As old as God," Death said, focused on his pizza again. "Maybe older. Neither of us can remember anymore. Life, death, chicken, egg. Regardless—at the end, I'll reap him, too."

Had he heard right? Dean leaned forward slightly. "God?" He asked incredulously. "You'll reap _God_?"

"Oh, yes," the horsemen replied softly. "God will die, too, Dean. Everyone, every _thing_ dies. It's only a matter of time. You know this." 

Dean was flabbergasted and out of sorts. He had to get out of here somehow. He put on a charming smile, or tried to. "Well, this is way above my pay grade."

Death glanced up at him, chewing methodically. "Just a bit."

"So... then why am I still breathing, sitting here with you?" Dean asked uncertainly. He wasn't sure if he should tempt fate, but Death seemed to want something from him if he were reading the signs right... which was terrifying. Dean wet his lips quickly. "W-what do you want?"

Death contemplated him unreadably. "The leash around my neck— _off_. Lucifer has me bound to him. Some unseemly little spell. He has me _where_ he wants, _when_ he wants. That's why I couldn't go to you. I had to wait for _you_ to catch up. He made me his weapon. Hurricanes, floods, raising the dead. I'm more powerful than you can process, and I'm enslaved to a bratty child having a tantrum."

Dean tried to follow. "And you think… I can unbind you?"

"There's your _ridiculous_ bravado again," Death commented disdainfully. "Of course you can't. But you _can_ help me take the bullets out of Lucifer's gun. I understand you want this." Death held up his hand and showed his ring to Dean clearly. "I'm inclined to give it to you."

"...To give it to me?" Dean repeated dubiously.

"That's what I said."

Dean looked around as lightning flashed. What kind of trick was this? "But what about…"

"Chicago?" Death sighed. "I suppose it can stay. I do like the pizza." His chin lowered a little and he slid the ring off, holding it between his fingers. "There _are_ conditions."

Of course there were conditions. But at this point, Dean would probably agree to anything. "Okay. Like?"

"You have to do whatever it takes to put Lucifer in his cell," Death said.

Well, that was a no-brainer. "Of course."

" _Whatever_ it takes," Death reiterated significantly.

"That's the plan."

"No," Death replied immediately. "You _have_ no plan. Not yet. Your brother. He's the one that will stop Lucifer. Well, for now anyway."

Dean was stunned and remembering yesterday when Sam had approached him about saying yes to Lucifer and jumping into the cage. "What, you think—"

"I _know_ ," Death interrupted softly. "So, I need a promise. You're going to let your brother jump right into that fiery pit." Thunder crashed outside loudly, shaking the building. "You won't allow your sister to stop it, and you won't allow yourself to stand in the way, either." Death held out his ring to Dean. "Well, do I have your word?"

Dean didn't like this idea, but staring at the ring, he knew he only had to say a couple simple words to get that ring in his hand. "Okay, yeah," he said. "Yes."

Dean held his hand out. His gaze was quietly foreboding. "That had better be 'yes,' Dean. You know you can't cheat Death." And he dropped the ring into Dean's hand. "And if you _try_ , I'll find you. I'll find your family. I've heard about your sister. The one with no Heaven. What a shame it would be if she died before you had a chance to figure out what was happening to her soul..."

Stomach flipping over in in distress, Dean felt himself go cold. "What do you know about that?" he asked.

Death looked at him cooly. "Do not assume to demand things from me, Dean. I have nothing more to say on the subject." He gestured to his ring. "Now, would you like the instruction manual?"

Outside, the storm had ended abruptly. 

* * *

**The Next Day  
April 30th, 2010 **

Dean pulled into the familiar driveway of Bobby's house. It was early morning and he was exhausted after eight hours of driving, five hours of trying to find Death, and the eight hours of driving he'd done before that. He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept. There was a lot on his mind to put it succinctly. He'd asked Crowley, on the road trip from hell, if he knew anything about what Brady was getting at when he'd said Alex was supposed to be special, too, that Azazel still had plans for her. Crowley had given Dean one of those wiseass, smug little smiles and said that no, he hadn't the foggiest. There were too many unknowns for Dean to process right now, and Death's not-so-indirect threat toward his sister weighed heavily on him. Every way he turned, some asshole was threatening his sister or his brother. And damn if it didn't work every time. His family was his weak spot.

Dean pulled back around the house and into the salvage yard, parking the Impala and getting out before sauntering tiredly into the garage. Struck by a sudden thought, Dean took two rings out of his pocket—War and Famine's—then laid them onto the table Bobby kept there. Then he took the other two rings—Pestilence and Death's—and laid them out too, slowly pushing them together. Like magnets, they zipped in together. Wow. Nice. So this was the handy little key that would lock Satan away for good.

Dean looked up, hearing footsteps. It was Bobby—standing tall and proud on two legs. "Hey," Dean greeted. "So how'd the Rockettes audition go?"

Bobby cracked a grin. "High kick's not bad but boobs need work. You get the ring?"

Dean chuckled. "Yeah. So where is everyone?" he asked.

"Sam's still sleepin'. Kid's plumb wore out."

"And Alex? Cas?" 

"Not back yet."

Dean immediately felt his face cloud over. "Not _back_ yet?" He asked slowly, looking at Bobby through narrowed eyes. "When did _you_ get back?"

Bobby looked at Dean almost challengingly. "Yesterday afternoon." 

Dean's eyes widened in shock. "What the hell, Bobby!" He couldn't believe this. "We're in the middle of the friggin' _apocalypse_ and you just... let her _run off with Cas_?" 

"Watch your tone, kid," Bobby said, not bothered. In fact, he looked at Dean like _he_ were the one in the wrong. "Look, might not be my place but... she's not some teenager anymore, Dean. She's a full grown woman. Maybe you oughta stop tryin' to run her life. You'll chase her off, if you haven't already." Not what Dean had wanted to hear. Bobby looked at him closely. "What's goin' on with you and her, anyway?"

Guilty just like Bobby had intended, Dean looked down, his mouth drawn into a thin line. He took a really long moment to reply, his anger dissolving into disillusion and shame. "I dunno Bobby. She… she used to need me. They both did and now… not so much." It sounded so pathetic when he said it out loud. Dean tried to cover over his deeply wounded feelings with a little smile. "Guess they've grown up, huh." The smile faded and Dean's voice grew soft with pain. "I just look at her sometimes Bobby and she's still that fifteen year old punkass silent kid I was always having to look out for and take care of and keep safe." He shrugged then chuckled airily before his voice fell to a bare and hollow murmur. "You know, not to be creepy but I thought she and I were gonna, I dunno... either get old together or die together. Before she got her voice back, I just… I was ready for that, you know?" Dean hung his head. "I always thought she'd be there." Sam hadn't. Dad hadn't. Alex was the one member of his family who had been ride or die. But now... things were changing. And damn it hurt. "Guess I'm just a selfish bastard, huh?" Dean sat down at the table, uncomfortable and miserable. 

Bobby looked at Dean sadly. "Look… the world might be about to end. I'd suggest the two of you set things straight while you still can."

Dean huffed, a sound almost like a dark laugh. "Yeah, I don't know, Bobby." His jaw tightened and he looked off into the salvage yard blankly. "Most of the stuff I've said is stuff you can't just take back." He refocused, trying to pull him together. "Anyway. I got bigger problems now."

"Like what?" 

"I told Death I was cool with Sam driving the bus on the whole Lucifer plan. And I'm not sure if I am."

Bobby's eyebrows raised slightly and he sat down across from Dean. "So Death thinks Sam oughta say yes too, huh?"

Dean shrugged. "I dunno. Yeah." He frowned suddenly. "Wait, what do you mean, _too_? Who else thinks Sam should say yes?" 

Bobby shrugged, not quite meeting Bobby's gaze. "Cas. Me. Sam."

" _You_? Whoa whoa whoa, what happened to you being against this?"

Bobby sighed. "Look, I'm not saying Sam ain't an ass-full of character defects. But…" he trailed off. "Back at Niveus? I watched that kid pull one civilian out after another. Must've saved ten people. Never stopped. Never slowed down. We're hard on him, Dean. Always have been. But he's been runnin' into burning buildings since he was, what, twelve?"

"Pretty much," Dean replied softly… proud of his brother but also guilty over where that life had landed him.

"Look, Sam's got a… a darkness in him," Bobby conceded softly. "I'm not saying he don't. But he's got a hell of a lot of good in him, too. He's a hero at the end of the day and you can't tell me he ain't got a heart of gold. That everything he's ever done is cuz he wants to do the right thing." 

Dean looked down. "I know."

"Then you _know_ Sam will beat the devil… or die trying," Bobby said. "That's the best we could ask for. So I gotta ask, Dean. What exactly are you afraid of? Losing? Or losing your brother?"

Dean was silent a minute. "Both, I guess," he said heavily, then sniffed, sat back, and sighed. "Death made some pretty big threats if I didn't let Sam say yes. So looks like my hand is forced, huh?" He smiled facetiously to cover over the mounting despair.

* * *

**Later**

Dean wandered through the salvage yard and found Sam reclined on the hood of the Impala. He put his phone back in his pocket, agitated. Three hours since he'd gotten back and nothing. It was getting close to noon.

"Hey," Sam greeted mildly.

Broodingly, Dean took a beer out of the cooler that was beside the Impala and cracked it open then leaned his back against the car, turning the beer bottle cap over in his fingers in annoyance. The overcast gray sky overhead and chilly air was making Dean unhappy. Scratch that… _everything_ was making him unhappy.

Sam craned his head around to try and see his brother's face. "You get a hold of Alex?"

Dean raised the beer to his lips apathetically. "Nope. Phone's off or dead." He took a sip of the pale brew, stewing.

"She'll be back Dean, don't worry."

"Yeah." Dean threw down the cap of his beer bottle. "Okay, so... I'm in," he suddenly announced.

Sam looked at his brother oddly. "In with…?"

"The whole 'up with Satan' thing," Dean reiterated gruffly. "I'm on board."

Sam sat up slowly, his eyes widening. "You're... gonna let me say yes?"

"No," Dean said, forcing himself to go through with this, even though it went against every instinct he had. "That's the thing. It's not on me to _let_ you do anything. You're a grown—well, _over_ grown—man. If this is what you want... I'll back your play."

Sam was obviously not expecting that. "...That's the _last_ thing I thought you'd ever say."

"Might be," Dean retorted cynically. "I'm not gonna lie to you, though. It goes against every fiber I got." He swallowed painful emotions. "I mean, truth is... you know, watching out for you... it's, it's kinda been my job, you know?" Dean finally looked over at Sam directly. "But more than that, it's... it's kinda who I am. You're not a kid anymore, Sam, and I can't keep treating you like one." He looked down. "Either of you. Maybe I gotta grow up a little, too." He was silent for a minute. "I don't know if we got a snowball's chance. But... but I do know that if anybody can do it... it's you."

Sam was touched and astonished. "T-thank you."

"If this is what you want…" Dean started, then looked at Sam intensely, almost wishing his brother would change his mind. "Is this _really_ what you want?"

Sam took a minute to reply. He was grim and resolute when he replied. "I let him out. I gotta put him back in." Not exactly Sam saying this was what he wanted outright, but Dean heard that Sam was saying, basically, yes.

His heart sank but he kept his face from showing that. "Okay. That's it, then." Dean took a drink of his beer.

Sam nervously cleared his throat. "I'll uh, I'll need some demon blood," he said. "Well, lots of it, actually. The more I can drink, the stronger it'll make me."

Dean didn't even care to know how Sam knew that. He was so hollow inside that he didn't know what to do with himself. "Bobby'll know where we can find some black-eyed mooks," he muttered. "If we can just get that damn twin of yours to—" he paused, hearing the crunch of gravel nearby. Tires on the driveway.

The brothers both turned. A large black Suburban SUV was pulling in and they could see Alex behind the wheel. Cas was beside her in the passenger seat. Relieved and mildly incensed all at once, Dean's grip tightened on his beer bottle. "Well if it isn't the dynamic duo," he commented sarcastically.

Sam gave his brother a look. "Dean, _don't_."

"I'm not, _I'm not_ ," Dean said, giving Sam a look that said _get off my case_.

Dean got an irritated look in return. "I mean, you see how happy she is with him, right?" Sam asked in that overly sensitive, caring tone that Dean was immediately annoyed by. 

"Yeah, I do, and you know how 'happy' usually goes for this family, right?" Dean fired back darkly, looking at his brother almost angrily. "It never lasts." 

Sam looked at the approaching vehicle, his expression concerned and hopeful. "Maybe this time it will."

The car rolled to a stop near them and Alex got out of the driver's side, glancing at her brothers briefly. It was so gross... Dean _could_ see how happy the two of them were and it was the worst—making him feel guilty and stupid and unsure of himself. Cas looked at Alex like she was the most wonderful thing he'd ever seen—you could literally see him watching every little movement she made and see how enamored he was. The guy had been in love with her for a long time, hadn't he? The two of them approached and Dean looked at his sister cooly. "Where you two been?" 

" _Disneyland_ ," she wisecracked. So she wasn't going to tell him. She looked worn out, like she hadn't slept much. Dean's stomach turned again and he shot a sharp look at Cas. In the past he would have demanded to know what the hell they were doing and where the hell they had been, but today… he didn't. He deflated slowly. What Bobby said was true. She wasn't a teenager. And he wasn't her dad. Dean felt a deep sense of loss. His brother, his sister… they were everything to him and he had a really great way of showing it, huh?

Dean glanced at Cas, who stood at Alex's side—too closely—and looked back at Dean almost balefully. "Sounds like fun," Dean commented snidely and stood up all the way, setting his beer down onto the hood of the Impala. He crossed his arms. "Well—Sam's gonna do it."

Alex frowned slightly. "Do... what?"

"Say yes," Dean replied bluntly, and her expression fell, her mouth dropped open, she looked at Sam in total shock.

"Wait— _wait_ ," she said, holding a hand up for effect, rapidly growing indignant and flustered. " _Sam_. You _promised_ we would make this decision the three of us...!"

He was apologetic and slightly guilty. "I know, but—"

"But _what_?!" she demanded.

"I _have_ to do this," Sam said firmly. "I let him out. I need to put him back."

"You were _tricked_ into letting him out," Alex insisted forcefully. "What if this is another trick, huh? Either of you friggin' _jackasses_ think of that?" She was panicked and angry. Afraid.

"Look—we have the rings, he doesn't know about that—" Sam tried, but his twin cut him off.

She began to ramble almost crazily. "You know what, I should have told you this before but, but the whole past month, I've seen all these crazy dreams, _visions_ where you're Lucifer and the world is burning and all I know is that you _can't_ do this Sam, you _can't_."

The brothers exchanged a dubious, caught off guard look. "You what?" Sam asked. "You've never mentioned this before."

"Hey, you weren't exactly doing so good this past month," Dean said pointedly, getting a sharp glare from his sister.

"I _know_ what I dreamed."

"Yeah, _dreams_ ," Dean said, discrediting her without a second thought. She'd always had bad dreams her whole life. He glanced at her folded arms, noticed something was missing from her hand. He balked. "Hey, where's Dad's ring?" 

She looked at him sullenly and glanced to her left. "Lost it."

"Oh well _good job_ ," Dean said, feeling a rush of anger—how the hell could she have misplaced that! It meant a lot to him, which is why he'd given it to her in the first place. Getting three bitchy expressions from Sam, Alex, and Cas, Dean let it go. "Okay, look, we're gonna do this, like it or not, Al. I got all four horsemen rings and Death was pretty clear about what to do with it. So… we gotta go get some demon blood and hit the road." He looked at his sister rudely. "Stay here if you want, I don't care." It wasn't true of course, but he lashed out when he was hurt by default. 

He turned without giving her a chance to respond and headed toward the house but glanced back just in time to see how visibly distressed his sister was. Cas touched her arm gently, knowingly. And Dean felt replaced, as fucked up as that might have sounded. He turned his back completely and stalked into Bobby's house.

* * *

**That Night**

The devil's in Detroit. That sounded kind of like a bad country music song, didn't it? The Impala streaked down a dark highway with Bobby's van close behind. Dean glanced into the rear view mirror where he could see his anxious, silent sister sitting beside Cas, who was asleep and snoring softly. "Aw. Ain't he a little angel?" Dean commented in faint sarcasm. Alex's eyes flickered up to his for a minute then darted away. She'd been like this all day. Either giving him death glares or inexplicable sad, soulful looks.

"Angels don't sleep," Sam replied softly, deep in thought.

Dean set his jaw, gripped the steering wheel tighter. Since that afternoon, they'd tracked down a couple pissant demons and killed them, drained their blood and bottled it for Sam to drink when they got to Detroit—which is where all signs pointed to Lucifer being. There was a block of old abandoned apartments where apparently there had been an unexplainable temperature drop. And just like the Dean in 2014 had told them… the devil took Sam in Detroit. It was getting kind of hard not to stop the car and turn it around. Dean was very surprised that his sister was actually going along with this at all, actually. She had refused to be part of the demon blood thing. She'd waited outside while they killed and drained the demons, and when they had come out, she'd had her hands over her ears like her head hurt or she was trying to keep out a loud noise. She'd said it was nothing. A headache. She'd been withdrawn all day. But he couldn't really blame her. Sam was about to kill himself, essentially. And what if Dean couldn't find a way to bring him back after the deed was done?

Dean glanced at his brother sidelong. He couldn't keep his worries to himself any more. "Sam... I got a bad feeling about this."

"Well, you'd be nuts to have a _good_ feeling about it," Sam replied almost jokingly. Dean shot him a sharp look.

"You know what I mean," Dean said. " _Detroit_. He always said he'd jump your bones in Detroit. And… here we are." 

"Here we are," Sam echoed, a little quieter than before.

"Maybe this is him rolling out the red carpet, you know?" Dean asked. "Maybe he knows something that we don't."

Sam gave Dean a flippant look. "Dean, I'm sure he knows a _buttload_ we don't. We just gotta hope he doesn't know about the rings."

Dean made a face like he was thinking _no shit, Sherlock._ Sam huffed and glanced back at his sister then almost did a double-take when he saw her. She had her hands on either side of her head again, she was wincing harshly, like she was trying to keep out a loud sound or was in a deep amount of pain. "Whoa, hey, Al, what's wrong?" Sam asked, twisting around in his seat to face her better, his voice a little higher in concern.

She came out of a trance, staring at him, for a moment seeming dazed. "Just… just my head again," Alex replied weakly. She looked paler than normal, too. "Headache."

Sam stared at her dubiously, and Dean frowned, glancing at her in the rearview. "You sure?" he asked.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm sure." She winced, looking physically ill. Her arms were hugged around herself. She looked small and hopeless, reluctant to speak up. "And I mean the subject matter doesn't exactly help."

Sensing his sister's deep upset, Sam gave her a small, sympathetic smile, trying to encourage her a little. But she just looked at him with an agonized expression. And Sam heaved a reluctant breath.

"I know this is gonna be hard for you both, and I know the timing's not the best, but…" Sam drew his shoulders up slightly and looked at Dean, bracing himself for something, his tongue darting out to wet his lips nervously. "There's... there's something I gotta talk to you two about."

Dean frowned mildly. "What?"

Sam glanced back at Alex, then looked at Dean. "This thing goes our way and I… Triple Lindy into that box…" he wet his lips, looking at Alex now. "Y-you guys know I'm not coming back."

"Yeah, we're aware," Dean replied for them both.

Sam looked back at his brother intensely. "Good. So you gotta promise me something, Dean."

"Okay," Dean replied evenly. "Yeah. Anything."

"You gotta promise not to try to bring me back."

Alex looked at Sam with a strained expression while Dean reacted immediately. "What?" he gave Sam a look like he was nuts. " _No_ , I didn't sign up for that."

"Dean—" Sam started, getting flustered at his brother's raising voice.

"Your Hell is gonna make my tour look like Graceland," Dean snapped. "You want us just to sit by and do _nothing_?"

"Once the cage is shut, you can't go poking at it, Dean," Sam insisted, trying to keep his tone reasonable and calm. "It's too risky."

"No, no, no, no, no," Dean replied angrily. "As if I'm just gonna let you _rot_ in there."

"Yeah, you _are_ ," Sam insisted, "you don't have a _choice_." 

"What, you think Alex and I are just gonna let you waste away in there for all eternity?" Dean asked gruffly. "What, kick your ass down into hell and then go back to _hunting_ bright and early Monday morning?"

"No," Sam said decisively, firmly. "No more hunting." He stared at his brother meaningfully, commandingly. "You go find Lisa. You pray to god she's dumb enough to take you in, and you… you have barbecues and go to football games. You go live some normal, apple-pie life, Dean, you quit giving Cas and Alex _crap_ and let them be together. _Promise_ me, both of you, that you'll go live your lives, put all the dark shit from our past behind you and just… just _live_." Sam looked at Dean pleadingly.

His brother shook his head. "You can't ask me to leave you there," Dean said softly.

"I'm sorry, Dean," Sam said. "You _have_ to." 

Dean went silent, his hand tightened on the steering wheel, his jaw clenched mightily. But he said nothing. Sam glanced back at his twin. She was staring unseeingly into the back of the front seat. "Awful quiet back there," Sam said, unsure if she were even listening. She looked like she were a million miles away, torn up and thinking hard about something else entirely. "Penny for your thoughts?" he tried. 

She looked up slowly, first at Sam, then the back of Dean's head. "I'm… I'm gonna miss this," she said faintly, and she sounded close to tears. She looked at Cas then, and Sam could see how much she loved him as her eyes flickered over his sleeping, peaceful face. "But I guess what has to be done… has to be done, huh?" She sounded hollow. Fearful. But resigned. It was a one-eighty from earlier which Sam thought was odd briefly but he didn't dwell. 

He felt somehow worse knowing she was accepting it like that. "Yeah."

"You're really gonna do this, Sam?" She asked, staring at the extra two gallons of demon blood near her feet. They wouldn't fit in the trunk. Sam followed her gaze.

"Yeah," he replied quietly. "I am."

She looked down at her feet and held a hand to her forehead, grimacing in pain. Her cheeks had tears on them. "M-my head hurts," she said softly, and Sam's features twisted in concern. She usually got annoyed by physical pain, but today she was off—seeming to be agonized by everything. 

"Hold on," Dean said, similarly concerned seeing his sister so upset and pained. He was regretting how he'd been acting to her more than ever. He pulled off the road into a gas station. "I'm gonna fuel up. Sammy, you wanna grab aspirin from the convenience store?" The Impala pulled up to a gas pump.

"Will do." Sam looked back at his sister and gave her his best attempt at an encouraging smile and with the familiar creak of the door, he got up and out of the car.

On impulse, Alex sprang from stillness into movement and rushed out of the car, not even shutting her door behind her, she looked almost panicked and rushed to Sam as he rounded the car, smashing into him in an unexpected hard hug. She sobbed loudly, her face buried in his chest—and Sam was caught off guard and even a bit alarmed. "Hey, _hey_ ," he soothed automatically, bringing his arms around her even as he and Dean exchanged a worried look. Dean looked upset, frozen right outside of the door to the driver's seat, and Sam knew it was because he hated to see their sister upset, and she was upset because Sam was essentially saying goodbye forever. Sam rested his chin on his twin's head, feeling her shaking with tears, and he didn't _want_ to leave. He was suddenly emotional and cleared his throat, surprised.

"I—I'm gonna _miss_ you, you know that?" He asked her faintly. He pulled back, his hand on the side of her head, and he held her gaze steadily. "Promise me you'll remember the good times, okay?" He tried to smile at her but he could barely manage it. His eyes stung. "Go and… and _marry Cas_ and have _kids_ and be _safe_ and do the stuff I always wanted to do." His voice almost broke. "And tell your kids about their uncle Sammy who really didn't wanna go as soon as he did, but _had_ to." 

Her expression broke, she squeezed her eyes shut and hung her head, shaking it 'no' as she sniffed loudly. He stroked his thumb down against her hair and she opened her eyes back up, grabbing his arms. "I love you, okay?" she asked urgently, and Sam wasn't ready for this—to hear her say goodbye, to really face what he was about to do, it was too much, and she'd only said that she loved him, out loud, two or three times his whole life. When they'd been kids, preschool age, she always was drawing stick figure families on construction paper and very often they had proclaimed in terrible kiddy handwriting _i luv Sam end Deen_ with backwards e's and an m with too many ridges. Sam had secretly kept one of those all these years, and they'd probably find it in his stuff after… well, after he was gone. 

He swallowed a huge lump in his throat. "I-I love you too, you know I do," he said, and tried to cover over his wavering emotional state with an attempt at a smile. "Look, let's save our goodbyes for later, okay?" He begged. She just looked up at him, grieved, and Sam pressed a quick kiss to her forehead, then hugged her a minute more.

Dean could see how Sam was struggling and he wet his lips, attempting to give his kid brother and sister a way out through humor. "Hey, you two bleeding hearts done over there?" He asked in a goofy, faux-impatient voice. Sam looked up, his face softening as he gave a little air laugh.

"Yeah. Yeah, we are, _jerk_."

Dean looked at Sam, unperturbed and all show. "Bitch."

The brothers both looked at Alex, waiting. And seeing that they were trying to cheer her up, recognizing that they were waiting for her signature addition to the classic Winchester squabble, she gave in, a sad little smile on her face as she raised her hand up and with her thumb and index finger made the shape of an "L" on her forehead. _Losers._ Just like old times. Her expression wavered and Sam patted her shoulder gently. "Lemme go get you some medicine, okay?"

She nodded and let out a trembling breath as he let go of her. 

And he walked into the gas station convenience store. She watched him for a long couple beats and Dean watched her, worried. She finally turned and looked at him oddly. Dean felt so damn guilty and bad, all he wanted was to be the big brother she loved again. "What is it?" he asked, shutting the door to his side of the car finally. She shook her head, eyes somewhere far away for a minute. 

"I just... didn't think it would end like this," she said blankly. 

"Yeah, well," he muttered, and started over to her slowly. He hadn't, either. And he wanted to fall to his knees and weep at the thought of losing Sam. He was still hoping, maybe foolishly, that another answer would present itself. But his little sister needed reassurance, so he tried his best to act like he had himself together. "When you gotta save the whole world, I guess you gotta take some losses." She looked absolutely devastated and he touched her arm gently, hesitating, not sure if that was what she wanted or not, if he'd just piss her off or not. "It'll be okay, Al. I promise. Somehow. We'll get through this. You and me." He remembered Cas, and looked back at him falteringly, grudgingly. He had to force himself to say this next part. "And… him too I guess." Alex looked at him in dawning disbelief. 

Dean just shrugged guiltily. He had no other choice, and he had realized that she was going to decide what she would decide… he had no control over her. He had to swallow his misgivings and let her do what she was going to do. It wasn't to say he didn't have a huge problem with her dating the dude who would get her killed down the road, but… today just wasn't the day to rake her over the coals about it. And her stunned reaction to his grudging tolerance made him feel sort of ashamed. She hadn't looked at him like she used to—like he was her hero—in forever, it felt like. All he wanted to do was take care of his little sister. He looked at her sadly, expecting her answer to be no. "Hey, are you and I… we ever gonna be okay again?"

She gave him a helpless smile. It was tainted by sadness and didn't quite reach her eyes. "We always are, aren't we?" Implying that yes, they would be all right, maybe not now, but eventually.

And that's what he needed to hear—that at least one of his siblings was going to stick with him, that he hadn't ruined the relationship completely, and Dean smiled at her through the pain. Yeah. They always were, and he ruffled her hair affectionately, so glad that he could almost cry. "That's my girl," he told her softly, like he always used to. 

Her expression distorted, she looked close to crying. "I _am_ your girl," she told him, and the fierce, certain, no-doubt-about it way she said it went along with the crushing hug she suddenly gave him. "And I always will be." Man, that got him straight in the heart. 

"Y-you okay, Al?" he asked her, pulling back and holding her by the arms, studying her face closely.

Even though her face was streaked with tears, she made a face at him that suggested it was ridiculous for him to even imply she'd be okay at the current moment. And he wondered which twin got the sass from which, or if they'd just both been born with it. "No." She indicated the car with a thrust of her chin and then dashed her fist across her cheeks, wiping away her tears. She made a brave, playful face at him. "Now put gas in the car, Dina."

He rolled his eyes and made a face, raised his hands in mock surrender, then pulled a face. "Yes ma'am."

He missed the way her face fell when he turned back around. She looked at him like she thought she'd never see him again.

He sauntered over to the pump and began to fill the tank, leaning against the car casually. He rubbed his chin absently then stretched, rolling his neck and trying to ease the tension there. For a couple minutes, he spaced out and watched the purchase amount go up as the tank filled. Suddenly struck by a funny memory that he knew would cheer his sister up, Dean chuckled. "Hey, do you remember that time you and Sammy—" he began and turned then stopped short—she wasn't standing where she'd been, and when he peered down into the car, all he saw was Cas, still sleeping soundly. 

And after Sam came back out with no Alex in tow, after they checked the bathrooms and the store and shouted her name and checked with Bobby who was idling nearby… they realized that their sister was _gone_. Without an explanation or clear warning, she was just _gone_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dearest readers, on a serious note, please be prepared. The next chapter contains some pretty dark content and some huge reveals!


	43. It's Darker, Always Darker

***** CONTENT TRIGGER WARNING: Implied Rape/Incest (non-explicit, Lucifer-created) *****

* * *

" _Things fall apart; the center cannot hold; mere anarchy is loosed upon the world…  
and what rough beast, its hour come round at last, slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?"  
\- W.B. Yeats_

* * *

Waking up was a strange feeling for Castiel. It was a sudden awareness of consciousness, followed by another awareness entirely of how reluctant his body and mind were to leave that place of rest. Before he even opened his eyes, his muffled senses came back to clarity—his ears heard the low sound of the car engine as it drove, he could smell the old leather, he felt the car underneath him jostling as it hit uneven parts in a road. The vehicle was slowing down to a crawl. Had they arrived in Detroit?

Cas opened his eyes, looking to his left where Alex was, a little smile dawning across his lips when he thought of her. The smile fell away when he saw that the seat beside himself was empty. He sat up faster than he thought possible, snapping out of the half-lucid feeling. He looked over his shoulder through the large back window. Bobby's van followed the Impala down a dark alley way. She must be with Bobby, but why? "Where's Alex?" he asked urgently, inexplicably feeling a sense of quickly growing alarm.

When he turned back around and saw the way Sam and Dean glanced at each other and then looked back at him, he _immediately_ knew something was wrong. Dean stopped the car and threw the gearshift up into park then took the keys out of the ignition. "You wanna tell him, or me?" Dean asked Sam and his tone was dark, inscrutable. Without waiting for a reply, he got out of the car.

There was a deepening sense of dread when Dean said that and Cas got out, too, faster than he thought possible—he stared across the car roof at Dean. "Tell me what?" Castiel asked intensely, needing to know _now_ —his pulse had picked up, alarm was coursing through his veins at full strength. Where was she? Where was Alex? Why did Dean have that look on his face? Sam was getting out too and while Dean's expression was almost angry, Sam looked mournful.

"She ran away," Sam said grimly as he shut his door. "We _think_ ," he added.

Castiel felt thunderstruck by something like terrified confusion. " _What_?" he looked at Dean for an explanation, almost unable to remember how to breathe for a moment.

The oldest Winchester let out a heavy breath and leaned his arms onto the top of the Impala, pinched the bridge of his nose, then shut his eyes. "What do you want me to tell you, Cas?" He threw a hand up, giving the impression that he'd given up. "She took off."

Cas was frozen in place, staring at Dean in confusion. He heard what they were telling him, but she couldn't just be _gone_. No… she wouldn't run away from him, and he _knew_ it and couldn't bring himself to believe that she would. "She... wouldn't do that," Cas said in a stilted, strained voice, his features twisted into a wounded, befuddled expression. "I know that she wouldn't."

"Yeah well she _did_ ," Dean said gruffly. "She left her phone, left your friggin' Lortabs on the seat beside you. One minute she was there, the next she was just gone and some motorcyclist was yelling about his bike being stolen. She _ditched_ , Cas, okay?" Dean sounded mad about it. Cas was wrecked. Why would she do such a thing? Without a word to him? No, something about this wasn't right.

Cas looked at Sam. "How long ago was this? Why didn't either of you _wake_ me?" He looked back at Dean, getting more and more upset as the knowledge that she was no longer there became realer and realer. "Why did you just let me _sleep_? You should have woken me, Dean! The second you knew she was gone!" Betrayed, Cas looked at each brother in turn. He was devastated, infuriated, and helpless—all at the same time.

Dean looked at his brother darkly. "I _told_ you he'd flip out."

Sam's head tilted to the side and he pulled a sour face. "Yeah. You _did_. And I wanna know why _you_ aren't flipping out, Dean." Sam looked at his brother accusingly and clearly agitated, Dean paced alongside the car a few steps, jamming his fingers through his hair then gestured jerkily.

"Look, it's obvious she got freaked out and couldn't come all the way with us and see her twin brother hand himself over to Lucifer, okay?" Dean's expression was foul, he was defensive, but wasn't sure over what. "I mean come on, this isn't the first time she's run away!"

Sam fixed his his brother with a clearly contemptuous scowl, then looked at Cas and drew in a deep, regretful breath. "I wanted to wake you up, Cas, but Dean told me not to. I shouldn't have listened. I'm sorry." He let out a heavy sigh and leaned his back against the car, bowing his head down to scrub his forehead with his hand.

Bobby approached, binoculars in hand. He seemed to be able to sense the tension and know the situation at hand. He cast a cursory, concerned glance at all three of them in turn. "I think this is the spot, guys. Everything okay here?"

Cas looked at him bluntly. "No."

Bobby put a hand on Cas's shoulder and squeezed. Cas could see that the man was troubled, too. "Don't worry, son, we'll find her—just as soon as we're outta _this_ foxhole." Bobby left them, walking up the alley to peer through his binoculars.

Castiel looked back at Dean darkly, great amounts of contempt boiling in his veins. Underneath the scalding glare, Dean looked away guiltily. "We have to go _after_ her, Dean," Cas said in a firm, unwavering voice, forcibly setting aside his anger for the moment. He didn't have time for petty disagreements over what should have been done in time past. He needed to _find_ her, now. The urge was overwhelming and he was struggling not to lose his temper.

Dean came around the back of the car, slowly. "Yeah, sure Cas. Let's go after her. Let's just ditch the possible only shot we have at getting Satan behind bars." He fixed Cas with a challenging, cynical expression. "Any idea where she went? Any _clue_ as to where she could've gone? Cuz I got nothing, and right now, the devil's here in Detroit and we gotta do this man, we gotta do this _now_." At Cas's glare, Dean pulled an ugly face. "Hey, don't get pissed at me, get pissed at _her_ for being a friggin' kid about this and running off at the worst time possible."

"You're wrong Dean, you must be. She wouldn't _run away_ ," Cas insisted, then looked away, deep in conflicted thought. He said the next part almost to himself. "Not from me."

Dean's expression twisted into an angry, disgusted expression. "Oh you think you're so damn _special_ , don't you."

Cas stared at him with a crestfallen expression. "I find your attitude toward me to be completely unhelpful right now."

Dean wet his lips and ran a frazzled hand over his chin, then chopped his hand through the air. "Listen, my brother is about to commit suicide to save the world and it might not even _work_ and my sister abandoned ship and I got no idea where she is, I'm not in the best fucking mood okay?!" He didn't seem to be able to hold still, half turning away like he was about to walk away, then stopping and heaving a heavy breath, his shoulders tensed up toward his ears. "I'm sorry Cas, okay? I got no choice. We'll go find her after we do this." He looked at Sam meaningfully. "We gotta do this _now_ Sam, while we still have the opportunity."

Sam was nodding grimly. "I know."

Cas looked at both of the brothers in disbelief. Didn't they sense it, too? How something was very wrong and off? Why weren't they as worried as he was? Bobby came back, walking a little faster than normal. "Demons across the street at that old apartment building," he said to Dean. "At least two dozen of 'em. You were right—something's up."

Dean nodded, foreboding filling his face. He looked up at the apartments and Cas saw just a hint of fear dart across the man's face. "More than something. He's here. I know he is." Dean glanced at Cas with an inscrutable and clouded expression, then turned and walked to the trunk of the Impala.

Sam looked at the apartments too, feeling his heart hammering sickeningly fast in his chest. This was really it. He was going to do this. He had never been so afraid in his life. Bobby caught his gaze, and Sam knew that they both recognized that this moment meant goodbye. Bobby looked down, sadness flashing over his features, then he braced himself and walked over to Sam. There were tears shining in his eyes, and his voice was soft. "See ya around, kid."

Sam stayed brave. "See ya around." They embraced tightly, and when they came apart, Bobby looked at Sam pleadingly.

"He gets in... you fight him tooth and nail, you understand? Keep swingin'." Bobby blinked back tears. "Don't give an inch."

Sam's expression was rigid. "Yes sir." Bobby clapped him on the arm and turned away as his face distorted in grief. The older man walked off a few steps, kept his back turned to them. Sam struggled to maintain his composure and he wished so badly that his twin were here. If he'd known at that gas station was really going to be the last time he saw her… he would have hugged her a lot longer and said a lot more. But he hadn't, and he had to leave it at that no matter how much it grieved him inside. He cleared his throat, blinking tears away and caught Cas's somber, conflicted gaze.

Sam went over to him and extended a hand to him for a handshake. "Take care of these guys, okay?" He asked. Cas looked at Sam's hand blankly.

"That's not possible," Cas replied, his tone almost depressed. "I can't even take care of your sister."

Sam's expression fell and so did his empty hand, but he tried to keep his brave face on. "…just _humor_ me, Cas. Please."

Cas seemed to understand and became disappointed in himself. "Oh. I was supposed to lie," he muttered, and then in a strange display, he attempted a reassuring, off-the-cuff kind of smile, which looked strange and unnatural. "Uh... _sure_ ," he said with false, stilted nonchalance. "They'll be _fine_."

Sam could have laughed at the guy's expression if the situation wasn't so dire. "Just—just stop... talking," he said, because this was only making Sam feel worse and worse.

"Apologies," Cas said, dropping the act, once again distraught and clearly in torment. "I find myself deeply upset right now." He looked down at his feet unseeingly and Sam stepped a little closer, taking hold of Cas's arm. Cas looked up at Sam.

"Promise me you'll find her, Cas," Sam said urgently, quietly. "And when you do... tell her I'm so sorry. I wanted to say goodbye better than I did." He huffed softly. There was a huge lump in his throat and he squeezed Cas's arm. "Take care of her Cas. I know you will."

Cas nodded, still filled with apprehension and doubt. "I'll do my best, Sam."

Sam nodded. "I know you will. I'm... I'm glad she has someone who… _cares_ about her as much as you do."

Near them, Dean watched silently, leaned over the open trunk of the car. Sam caught his gaze. It was time. Sam expelled a heavy breath, drew his shoulders up, then went to Dean who was now pulling out one of the gallon jugs of demon blood that had been stored in the back seat. Dean put it with the other ones then counted the jugs, frowning lightly. "I thought there was one more, Sam but… I dunno, guess not."

"It's fine. It's enough." Sam looked at the containers of bright red liquid and then at Dean. He felt queasy at the thought of drinking the blood, at the thought of what he was about to do. Everything from shame and terror and hope coursed through him. But mostly shame because of what demon blood had done to him in the past. He looked at his older brother sidelong. "You, uh, you mind not watching this?" he asked quietly, and Dean looked at his brother sadly then did as he wished, starting to walk off toward the front of the car… then turned slightly as Sam lifted the first jug up out of the trunk.

"Sam—you sure about this?" Dean asked softly, filled with obvious dread. "We can try something else, we can find something else, I mean, there has to be another way, man, right?" He swallowed and Sam saw how scared his big brother was. How he didn't really believe there was another way, but as always, was trying to make everything okay, was trying to keep Sam safe, was trying to give him an out. Dean pleaded with Sam silently, then out loud. "You don't have to do this."

Sam looked at the jug of blood that he held. No, he didn't have to. No one was forcing him to do this, not really, but after a lifetime of ducking responsibilities and taking the safe way out, he wasn't going to back down on this one. He was going to do this. He was going to save the world and finally save his family instead of them always saving him.

He was going to keep Alex safe from the dreams he'd seen. He'd lied to her the day before yesterday when he told her he didn't remember the details of the dreams he'd had where she died in a fire. But he did. He remembered in perfect, _horrifying_ detail. His baby sister, pinned brokenly to a ceiling, blood dripping from her stomach as she screamed… Sam standing below, hand outstretched. Him, _the one who had been burning her._ All these years he had lived in fear of telling anyone the dreams, he'd lived in fear of them coming true. But when Azazel had died and the dreams had stopped, Sam had been relieved. He'd been assured. But not anymore, not with what Dad said to Alex in Heaven. So this, Sam essentially killing himself… wouldn't just save the world from Lucifer. It would save Alex from any chance of that ever happening.

It was too terrible to even think about, the sight of her dying at his hand... under the influence of demon blood, he'd always assumed. That's why he'd stayed away from her when Dean had died and he'd been with Ruby, becoming addicted to the substance of her blood. And Sam had spent such a long time living in wretched guilt over the dreams, whether or not to tell Dean, whether or not to take the secret to his grave. Sam had always known that he would give his life to save his sister. And now... he was about to. Maybe it was for the best that she wasn't here to see him drink down this thick fiery blood that had caused him to strike her across the face in time past.

 _You don't have to do this_ , Dean had just said to him. Struggling against the lump in his throat, Sam shook his head no and looked at his brother in the eye, feeling the bravest and most afraid he ever had. "Yes. I _do_ have to do this." Sam looked at him meaningfully. "Turn around, Dean."

And Dean did, with tears in his eyes.

* * *

Castiel and Bobby hung back as Sam finished the demon's blood and slammed the trunk of the car shut with gusto and then, somehow seeming to be physically larger than he had a minute ago, marched down the alleyway, a man on a mission.

Dean followed as Sam strode across the empty street with arms raised in challenge. "All right! We're here, you sons of bitches!" He roared. "Come and get it!" Cas could see two demons in suits come out of the doorway to the apartment. They took hold of Sam and Dean and Cas fought his instincts to save them. He held still and watched them disappear into the building.

His stomach churned, the pain from his wounds was returning and he felt physically horrible, but none of it was comparable to his emotional distress. He was agonized to his core at the thought of Alex out there alone somewhere. He didn't understand why she would leave, it made no sense at all, and the struggle for understanding was tearing him apart internally.

He couldn't hold still. He paced one, two, three steps back and forth. He wanted to leave _now_ and find her, but he didn't even have the first idea of where to begin or how to locate her in this big world without any angelic powers at his disposal. He couldn't stop thinking _she wouldn't just leave like that_. Something was deeply wrong and every moment he stood here uselessly, doing nothing, he felt like he was betraying his duty to protect her, that she could be out there somewhere needing him and that he was forsaking her. Over and over again, clanging loudly in his mind the conviction that _something—was—wrong._

Perhaps this feeling was what people referred to as gut instinct. He couldn't ignore it, and was becoming restless to the point of what he believed to be insanity. But the second he turned to Bobby to tell him he was leaving to find Alex, he caught a movement up in the dark window of the third floor.

A solitary, shadowy figure came to stand at the window, and at the chills produced by the presence, Castiel knew that was Lucifer. So that's why, for a moment, he couldn't breathe at all. That was not the hefty, towering vessel of Nick in the window.

"No..." Cas breathed out in a stupor of horror. He was frozen where he stood, not understanding how that would even be possible. "Please, _no_."

* * *

Sam and Dean were roughly dragged and pushed up several floors along a cracked, splintering old staircase then down a narrow dark hallway and finally into a dank old apartment. Dean grunted in protest as the demon handling him shoved him through the doorway carelessly—his shoulder cracking into the dilapidated wooden doorframe.

The apartment had broken old furniture and walls that were rotted away in places, but none of that drew the boys stares. Standing there at the far end of the apartment at the window, back turned to them… _not Nick_. As the boys were let roughly let go, Dean stared in confusion at the back of the familiar, slight figure standing at the window. Her finger had just drawn a pitchfork on the frosty glass pane.

"A-Alex?" Sam asked breathlessly, moving forward a little towards her… then halting completely when she turned around to face them. Dean almost had a heart attack. It had only been about two hours since he'd seen her, but she wasn't the same girl anymore.

Her color was pale, almost gray. Obscene spider veins crisscrossed underneath the surface of her skin—she looked like a vase that had been hairline cracked all over. Her eyes were vacant and yet foreboding, her mouth was twisted into a lifeless smile. "Guess again..." she said, and that's when they really knew it wasn't her—her voice was quiet and dark yet sing-song, a perversion of her real voice. She took a couple steps toward them, slow, measured. "So nice of you to stop by, boys," she drawled pleasantly, and the smile on their sister's face stretched a little bigger.

" _Lucifer_?" Sam asked in abject horror, his voice barely above a whisper.

"That's right," she replied, again in the haunting and _wrong_ speech pattern their sister never used.

Sam and Dean were rendered temporarily speechless by horror and confusion, both of them confounded and dismayed by the sight before them. Dean found his voice first. "What are you doing in her, you son of a bitch?" He could barely breathe—he was completely and utterly terrified. Lucifer looked at him, and even though it was his sister standing there, even though that was her face, Dean could barely even _recognize_ her. "Alex, c-can you hear me?" he asked, perhaps foolishly hoping against hope to see even a flicker of his sister in those cold eyes.

Lucifer almost looked sympathetic, wincing using Alex's familiar features. "Sorry boys... Alex can't come to the phone right now." The little smile on her face was almost playful and the effect was sickening. "But I'd be happy to take a message."

Overcome with rage, Sam shut his eyes, gritted his teeth, and used the abilities afforded to him by the demon blood. All the demons in the room fell over, dead. Sam reopened his eyes and looked at Lucifer dangerously.

"Hm. Neat trick," Lucifer said, almost bored. "But... you forgot one." Alex's eyes went to somewhere behind the boys and between them. They turned to see a tall man wearing a black leather jacket. He had striking, dark features set against pale skin and eyes that glittered at them smugly. He smirked mildly at their surprise. "Oh, that's _right..._ " Lucifer commented softly as if in surprise. "You can only kill _demons_ with your little sideshow talent… not angels."

Sam and Dean looked at each other in more rising fear. Lucifer had angel allies. "Hezion," Lucifer said to the man in leather, "we're about to have more guests. Let's make sure they're... welcomed." As if on cue, the door slammed open and Castiel burst in, breathless and horrified and opening his mouth to say something when he was jerked into the room without hands, pulled like a rag doll through the air and then slammed back-first into a far wall painfully. Behind Cas, Bobby had crouched slightly into a defensive position, but he, too, was dragged into the room without even being touched and Hezion took hold of him, touched Bobby's head and the older man went unconscious and dropped to the floor like a rag doll.

"Bobby!" Dean exclaimed. Hezion looked at him warningly. Dean stayed in place.

"Alex, no, _no_ ," Castiel said, struggling against the invisible hold over him where he was flattened against the wall.

"Ah, Castiel." Lucifer sauntered over, smiling at Cas with dead eyes—the way Lucifer pronounced his name was different than Alex ever had and the effect was terrifying. "An angel who's married to his work... I should have guessed you'd show up. I've said it before but I'll say it again..." Lucifer looked at Castiel in faint fascination, as if trying to figure him out. "What a _peculiar_ thing you are…"

"What have you done to her?" Castiel asked, his voice high pitched and breathy with alarm at how near-death Alex looked.

"Nothing she didn't ask for," Lucifer replied casually… and the expression was too pleasant, too calm. Lucifer's triumph gleaming through Alex's eyes as she stared at Castiel in the eye unblinkingly. And then without warning, her eyes flickered. Alex's face distorted, she lurched slightly, and for the briefest moment, confusion and fear came over her. Cas dropped away from the wall, released from the hold he'd been in—and he was reaching for her immediately and she looked terrified, uncertain, lost. "Cas, wha— _ahh_!" she crumpled forward into his arms with a cry of absolute pain, teeth gritted—and then without warning she straightened oddly and Castiel was slammed against the wall again.

Lucifer looked slightly thrown by what had just happened, frowning darkly and looking at Castiel almost suspiciously. "Interesting..." he commented warily, eyes sweeping up and down over Cas strangely.

Cas struggled valiantly as he stared at the embodiment of evil in the body of the woman he loved, his expression agonized and fearful and horrified and enraged all at once. "I don't know how you've done this but I won't let you have her," he growled, fighting Lucifer's hold over himself in vain.

"Too late for that," Lucifer replied mildly, then held a single finger over Cas's lips. "Now do us all a favor… and shut your trap." When her finger came away, Cas looked confused. His mouth remained shut as if by force.

Still frozen where they were and in shock, Sam and Dean watched as Lucifer, in the body of their little sister, turned to them and folded her arms then tapped a thoughtful finger to her chin. " _Well_. I'm sure this is not what you expected when you walked into the room, is it, boys?"

" _Why_?" Sam asked, trembling in both rage and helpless fear. "I'm your vessel, _I_ am. She has _nothing_ to do with this!"

Lucifer looked mildly inconvenienced, then faintly amused. "Well, she _does_ have something to do with it now, wouldn't you agree, Sam? But you're right. She's not my true vessel. This… _her_? Disgraceful. Worst vessel ever." Lucifer laughed suddenly and swung her arm up against the old metal bookshelf that was rusted and falling over—hard enough to break bone. The boys both started, cringing helplessly. The shelf collapsed loudly, and Lucifer looked down at the already-bruised arm. "So weak and ineffective," Lucifer commented indifferently, then looked up at Sam, who was ready to spring, yet conflicted because that was his sister's body in front of him—how could he attack Lucifer and not her as well?

"You two look so _confused_ ," Lucifer commented, smiling now and showing teeth. The devil began to pace slowly, enjoying the horrified tension that blanketed the room. "Allow me to explain. I know it's probably a little... surprising. A bit of a… plot twist, if you will." Lucifer pulled a sympathetic face and paused for a moment. "I do apologize for any inconvenience."

Dean watched with growing rage, his fists clenched. But then when Lucifer began to explain, his rage dissipated into hopelessness and unfathomable grief. "Sam. Dean. Your sister asked me for this. Seems like little sis has the same save-the-world complex that you do… that and a _couple_ wrong ideas about this little cohabitation arrangement we've come to." Lucifer grimaced sympathetically and Dean's sadness began to give way to anger again. "I'm afraid that might be my fault, too. Gosh, all I did was tell a few little fibs to a few ears here and there... planted a few choice dreams… had Hezion whisper in her ear… and look what happened." Lucifer spread his hands out in a helpless little shrug then chuckled lowly. _Son of a bitch_ , Dean could barely see, such was his wrath.

"It's _sweet_ , really, the amount of bravery it took for her to do what she did. Drank a gallon of demon blood on the side of some road before she summoned me. Choked it down thinking she was going to save the world, save her brothers, save the angel she loves…" Alex's eyes slid to Cas, who looked positively sickened where he was silent and stuck. "She thought it through, boys. Had a plan. She summoned Michael first and told him she was going to pray to me, say yes to me while Michael stayed hidden nearby, waiting to get the jump on me. She knew she'd be weak enough to be defeated with that pitiful amount of demon blood pumping through her veins..." Lucifer paused, smiling darkly. "We've had more to drink since then, she and I..." There was another little sick smile and Dean's heart was breaking in two to hear what had happened to his sister while he had been angry at her for running away. He cursed himself and his stupidity, his pride. He should have know something was wrong. Cas and Sam had both been right. 

"It's too bad I was three steps ahead of her," Lucifer said, and there was a clearly ringing note of pride in Alex's voice. "Clever girl... but not clever enough. After all… I was the one who planned this whole thing, wasn't I? It was almost too easy." The question only served to mystify and terrify the brothers further, who were suddenly feeling like they may not have a single clue what was really going on. Alex's chin raised up, the chilling smile stretched her pale features and her voice softened. "So, long story short… she prayed to me and I sent Hezion to snatch her up before Michael even knew what was happening. Oh, she was so _surprised_ that it didn't go how she thought it would, tried so _hard_ to hide it…" 

Sam was practically seething at this point, Dean wanted to break down and weep and beg Lucifer to just _please let her go!_ His eyes stung with tears—he was barely holding himself together—and he glanced Cas's way. The ex-angel pinned to the wall was distraught and had stopped struggling. Dean looked back at his sister's form, so confused and angry. _Why_? It made no sense! Lucifer was still pacing languidly. "I brought her here, asked if she'd like to let the devil inside and she said yes, just like that. Guess she thought maybe she could fight me off or something… I don't know. She gave it her best effort. You should be proud. She really thought she could kill me…" there was an apologetic wince. " _Probably_ my fault for leaving all those red herrings for her to find." Lucifer's eyes went from Sam to Dean and that little smirk was chilling to the bone. "Well. Bless her heart."

"Why the hell would you even possess her, you bastard?" Dean asked, his voice wavering with emotional torment. " _Sam_ is your vessel, why would you _do this_?!"

"Watch your tone, Dean," Lucifer said softly in warning, and the cold, dead eyes stared him down for a long moment. Lucifer turned to look at Sam again. "Alex here is… my _insurance policy,_ if you will."

"Insurance against _what_?" Sam demanded, both at the end of his rope and terrified of the answers.

Lucifer rolled her eyes slightly, as if bored with the exchange. "Sam. I know you have the horsemen's rings."

Dean's heart dropped even as Sam attempted to appear unfazed. "I don't—I don't know what you're talking about."

"Really? You're going to lie to _this_ face?" Lucifer asked, pointing to Alex's face and circling the finger around a couple times. She sighed and patiently continued. "Come on Sammy. The magic keys to my cage? Ring a bell? _I've_ never lied to _you_." Lucifer pulled a face then shrugged in false modesty. " _Well_. Avoided telling you the details, yes. Manipulated you. Mm, a little. But never let it be said that I lied to you, never to _you_ Sam. Do me the same favor and be honest."

Sam's shoulders heaved up and down as he stared at Lucifer, trying to hide his fear. "I _know_ what you plan to do," Lucifer told him, even as Dean's sickened feeling doubled as he realized this whole entire thing was a trap, from day one, _all_ of it. And they had walked _right into it_. "A wrestling match inside your noggin. I like the idea, and hey, I've already beaten one Winchester today, why not another? Go for a record, hm?" Lucifer laughed softly, a chilling effect. "Just you and me? One round?" She raised her eyebrows and held out a playfully warning finger, voice bordering sing-song again. "No tricks." She held one hand out to her left, palm up. "You win, you jump in the hole." She held out her other hand to her right, palm up. "I win… well. I _win_." Her hands came together, fingers steepled in thoughtfulness. "Like you, Sam, I value honesty. So I'll tell you now: It won't work. I'm stronger than you. So much stronger. But… if you decide to back out now… I keep this little consolation prize." Lucifer gestured loftily at Alex's body then looked at the brothers with haughty eyes, reveling in the victory he seemed to know he'd already won. 

"What to do, what to do..." Lucifer said softly, thoughtfully, mockingly. "Question is, now that you know that I know your endgame… now that you know the risk… are you still willing to chance it?" Dean and Sam looked at each other in mutual devastated horror. They had already lost.

"Let's talk options, Sam," Lucifer said, pacing back and forth again leisurely. "One: save your sister's life and let me have you instead, my true vessel. Two, walk away, let her die—by Michael's hand, or by the effect I'm having on her. Your choice." Lucifer stopped pacing, looked disingenuously sorrowful. "And by the way? She's currently dying of every kind of cancer known to man. This little hundred-twenty pounds of meat just _can't quite handle me_." Lucifer smirked and looked at Cas. "It's... a pretty tight fit in here, I have to say." The smirk widened at Cas's tortured expression and useless struggling. Lucifer looked back at Dean now. "Get me out of her soon, maybe the damage can be reversed."

"You son of a bitch," Sam said sharply, drawing Lucifer's attention. "I was gonna say yes anyway! Why would you _do_ this?"

There was a humble shrug followed by a truly empathetic expression that was even more disconcerting than the other chilling smiles and stares. "You're _mine_ Sam. You've always been mine, and I always knew you'd say yes… all I had to do was make it impossible for you to say no." Sam's jaw flexed wrathfully, his fists clenched at his sides and Lucifer smiled again. "Even if you _were_ already going to say yes… you have to admit this was entertaining." Lucifer fiend surprise. "No? I'm the only one?" There was a low chuckle. 

At Sam and Dean's scalding glares, Lucifer got mildly exasperated and set Sam with a look that was both warning and full of appeal. "I'm not to blame here Sam. I may have created the opportunity, but she's the one who said yes. She practically _begged_ me to get inside her." Lucifer shrugged Alex's mouth up into a helpless, pitying expression. "Who was I to turn her down? She was _so_ polite." Alex's face grew thoughtful and Lucifer paused a couple beats as if listening to some far away sound. "She's begging me right now, too… but for escape, for release... she's in so much pain..."

"Jesus Christ, Sam, get her outta there now, _please_!" Dean begged, his voice high in urgency.

Lucifer looked at Dean in wicked piousness. "Feeling guilty, are we Dean?" Lucifer approached him by a few steps. "She thought about telling you this idea of hers but… well, she knew you wouldn't let her risk her life. She knew you would never let her endanger herself. _Ironic_ , isn't it? You ensured her harm by trying to prevent it." She clicked her tongue chidingly, then her eyes slid to Sam. Alex's arms spread wide and her face was filled with a triumphant, challenging expression. "So how about that wrestling match? What do you say Sam?" Her voice became impossibly soft and sing-song. "A fiddle of gold against your soul says I'm better than you- _ouuu_..." 

"Sam, _hurry_ ," Dean urged. He didn't need to encourage his brother.

Sam was already stepping forward, intense and decisive. " _Yes._ Do you hear me? _Yes_!" 

Her eyes glittered in triumph just before Alex's head went back. Blinding light blazed in the room, and Dean had to look away. When the light died away, the twins were both motionless on the floor. Cas fell away from the wall and the second he was released, he was crawling over to Alex. 

Was the exchange made? He couldn't even tell, and Dean's first instinct was to rush to his siblings, but he knew what had to be done and with a badly trembling hand and a spinning head, he drew out the horsemen's rings from his pocket. They were locked together and he threw them at the far wall where they stuck as if magnetic. If this didn't work, he didn't know what he would do. He chanted the phrase Death had made him memorize. " _Bvtmon… tabges… babalon!"_

At his words, the elements obeyed. Beneath where the rings were stuck, the wall began to crack and sink inwards, the entire room shook and the wall began to peel away, sucking itself inwards and revealing a dark, circular void. Struggling to stay on his feet, Dean looked behind himself. Cas was sitting on the floor with Alex's unconscious form pulled up into his arms. Sam was stirring on the floor. Dean rushed to his brother, hoping against hope that his brother had control, that this plan of theirs would work. "Sammy!?" 

"Dean!" Sam shouted back, grimacing, struggling, then giving a cry of torment. "I can feel him, oh, god!"

Not even able to hear, just focused on doing, Dean hauled Sam to his feet. "You gotta go now! Come on!" Dean looked at the hole on the wall that was growing wider and wider, sucking more and more cracked wooden wall inwards. "Go now, Sammy, _now_!" On his feet, Sam obeyed and walked forward toward the hole—Dean could see his shoulders heaving up and down as he steeled himself... and then he relaxed, turned around smoothly, and smiled cooly. Dean's world crumbled.

"I was just messing with you," Lucifer said thunderously in Sam's voice. Above the wind, his voice carried authoritatively, and when he spoke, his mouth moved strangely, looking nothing like Sam at all. "Sammy's long gone." Lucifer announced, then turned back to the wall. " _Chdr bvtmon tabges babalon_!" The wind ceased, the wall was once again as it had been. Lucifer took the horsemen's rings off the wall and looked at them calmly.

Near Dean's feet, Cas looked up at Dean in sheer horror. Limp in his arms, Alex looked as though she might as well be dead, and if it weren't for the shallow rise and fall of her chest, Dean would have thought she _was_ dead. Lucifer sauntered over slowly, turning the horsemen's rings in his hands. He was looking around the room with a slight frown, and that's when Dean realized distantly that the Hezion guy was gone. Lucifer seemed unhappy about it, but refocused on Dean. Sam's eyes looked at him for a long moment, the smallest sympathetic smile tugging at his lips. "I told you... this would always happen in Detroit." Lucifer looked at Alex's unconscious body and then back to Dean and the smile increased. "I'm sorry for your loss." And he disappeared. Dean stared breathless and horrified for a second before turning and rushing to drop down to his knees in front of Cas, who cradled Alex across his lap there on the floor.

"What did he mean, what does he mean?!" Dean demanded in alarm, scared shitless, looking at his sister in a panic—she looked the same, diseased and practically lifeless. "He said he'd let her live!" Cas looked up at him with eyes that were shining with tears, and seeing that made Dean go completely still. _Oh no_. And he already knew it before Cas said it, but hearing it out loud seemed to suck out all the air from Dean's lungs. 

"She's _dying_ , Dean." His ragged voice could barely speak the words.

The men looked at each other and Dean began to shake his head. _No._ Not Alex. But he looked down and saw how her skin was sapped of all the color of life, how she was barely breathing, how she looked dead already. And Dean didn't even understand what had just happened, didn't know how she could have been lured into this and he'd had no clue. He felt such a tidal wave of guilt and despair crashing over him that he could barely see at all. Just a few hours ago, she'd been _fine_. How the hell had this happened? What was she thinking? She looked like she might pass any second, such was her appearance, and Dean reached out a trembling hand, placing it on the top of her head. Stunned, silent tears ran down his cheeks. His heart burned in his chest so painfully. 

"H-how long, Cas?" Dean asked, barely able to form words.

Cas shook his head and looked down into her still face, lost. He didn't answer for a long moment, and Dean could see there was a tear track down one of his cheeks, that Cas looked physically ill almost. The sight of that made Dean's terror even more pronounced. Cas sounded as shellshocked as Dean felt. "A few days maybe, I… I don't know." Cas's fingers tightened on her, his arms drew her slightly closer to himself, his face twisted up at he gazed into her unmoving face.

Dean stood up in a daze, unable to stop staring at his sister as he shook his head again. No. _No_. This was _not_ allowed, this was _not_ okay, he was _not_ going to accept this. He began to pace back and forth, trying to think of something, anything, some way out of this, some way through. He wanted to shake Alex and scream at her and beg her to tell him why she'd gone and done this. _Stupid,_ stupid _girl. Why did you have to try and do what I always do? Why'd you have to try and save everyone? Don't you know that's_ my _job?_ Dean was getting out of breath, he shoved a hand through his hair and paced harder. He didn't make it all this way, all these years, he hadn't kept those two idiot siblings of his alive all this time to see them fucking die now, no, oh _no_ —he hadn't gone to Hell and been brought back to stand by and let this happen.

But what could he do? _What could he do!?_ She was going to die and so was Sam and without warning, Dean lost it. "Why _the hell_ would she do this, Cas! I'm supposed to be the one who takes the hit in this family, _me_! And instead I lose Sam and Alex the same goddamn night?! Where the fuck is the sense in that?! What am I supposed to do, Cas? _What am I supposed to do_?!" He shoved the nearby bookshelf violently, it skittered across the floor and into the wall and Dean put his head in both of his hands, shaking from emotion and fear and despair and anger and _grief_ that was as heavy as all the gravity in the world _._ _It's already over. Your family is as good as dead._ No. He refused to accept that and he pulled himself together.

Dean wet his lips, controlling himself, speaking calmly again even if it were forced. "How do we stop this, Cas?"

"Stop _what_?" Cas asked. He was utterly hopeless and it showed. He shook his head, looking back at Alex again. His face distorted again. "It's over, Dean."

"It's not over until I _say_ it's over!" Dean felt how his hands shook uncontrollably at his sides and clenched them into fists.

Cas looked at him almost indignantly, like he couldn't believe Dean's audacity. "Lucifer will meet Michael on the chosen field and the battle of Armageddon will begin." He looked away, somewhere into middle distance, his expression rigid and torn. His voice softened, heavy with sorrow and weariness, defeat. "I wish I could see some hope in this. But... I see none."

"Where is this chosen field?" Dean demanded, angry about Cas just sitting there and giving up.

"Even if I knew, Dean—" Cas started heavily.

Dean was almost on the verge of breaking down and crying and it translated into an angry, overbearing near-shout. "You listen to me, you junkless sissy, we are _not_ giving up! You say you love her well get on your fucking feet and _prove it_! Help me find a way to _fix_ this!" He was breathless with emotion and Cas looked at him silently. Guilty? Reluctant? Dean couldn't tell, all he knew was that he needed help, he needed _help_!

"Boys?" Bobby's voice came from somewhere behind Dean. He was pushing himself up, a little dazed. "What happened?" Then he saw Alex and his expression fell. " _Christ_ ," he breathed, then scanned the room. "Sam?" he asked, expression distraught in useless hope.

Dean's mouth wavered, he struggled to keep it in a thin line. He shook his head. "Gone."

Without a trace. He could be anywhere, _anywhere_. Dean wracked his mind desperately, at the end of his rope. No revelation, no idea came to him. And then suddenly it dawned on him. He looked at Bobby breathlessly. "I-I think I know how to find him."

* * *

Castiel sat on some dirty steps that were off of the alley where the Impala and Bobby's van were parked. He was still holding Alex. Hadn't let go of her for a second. She was still and limp in his arms, breathing shallowly and unconscious. Cas was beside himself at how quickly everything had crumbled. Just yesterday they had been beyond happy—had woken up in each other's arms. She'd been so _alive_ and he thought that they would spend the rest of their lives together, that he would learn to be human with her at his side, that they would somehow find a way to stop her death in 2013. He'd pictured a life for them, he'd been hopeful despite some misgivings. The thought of being with her had been the one bright spot for him in the midst of losing his powers, of losing who he'd been before. But now, today, the one he loved was withering away from him, was a day or two away from fading out completely. And he could do _nothing_ except watch it happen. 

Dean was on his cell phone in the Impala a few feet away and Cas could hear his rumbling voice indistinctly. Bobby's van was nearby too and Cas could hear a female voice reporting the latest news over the radio.

" _Reports are flooding in—a seven point six earthquake in Portland, eight point one in Boston, more in Hong Kong, Berlin, and Tehran. The U.S.G.S. has no explanation but says to expect a six-figure death toll."_

It was starting.

He stroked his hand down the side of Alex's face mournfully. No. It was _ending_. Her pallid complexion was profaned by the strange, dark veins that were etched underneath all visible skin. _Oh, Alex._ He wondered why his chest ached so painfully, why this had happened, why she had _done_ this. He didn't understand how she could have made such a huge decision to try and stop Lucifer on her own without leaving him even a single clue. He'd had no idea she'd been thinking of this. It almost felt like betrayal. He was grieved to his most innermost parts. He thought the humans called this feeling heartbreak, and it was fitting, because everything inside of him felt broken so painfully and the source of all the destruction began there in the left of his chest—pounding despair and misery into his veins again and again at a steady rhythm.

Cas hung his head for a long moment, unable to believe what he was about to do. But he had no pride left, only heartache and misery and desperation for some way out of this—not for him, but for _her_. And with that in mind, his head raised up. "Please," he whispered aloud, looking upward to the dark, starless sky. His eyes flickered back and forth over the dark expanse. "I don't deserve an answer and I don't deserve your kindness after everything I've done... after all the sins I've committed against you... but I promise, I swear to you, I will do _anything_ if you heal her, give her another chance. Father, _please_." He heard sirens off in the distance. " _Anything_." Cas faltered, almost in tears at the rejection, the silence, the utter indifference God was continuing to show him. "I'm begging you," Cas whispered in a cracked voice. He almost held his breath, staring, waiting, hanging all his hope on a God who didn't seem to care anymore. There was no reply and Cas bowed his head down, attempting not to become overwhelmed in desolation.

What was left for him to do? She would die. And he felt that he would, too. He loved her so much that it hurt. Abruptly, Alex breathed in sharper than she had before, her eyes fluttered open, and she looked up at him in a daze or disorientation. His breath caught, his stomach flipped in surprise and worry, he tightened his arms around her urgently.

"Alex—!" he said her name and he sounded both relieved and afraid.

"...Cas?" She asked softly. Her voice was cracked and papery, weak. She tried to sit but didn't seem to have the strength, seeming surprised by how weak she was—Cas helped prop her up a little more so that she was leaning her side heavily into his shoulder and torso. She looked down and saw one of her hands—grayish and patchworked ghoulishly in veins. Realization and understanding washed over her features. He could quite literally see her remembering everything that had happened during the possession as her face crumpled. One of her hands came up to half cover her face and her body shook with great, silent sobs. "Oh no," she whispered brokenly.

Her eyes screwed shut and Cas recognized that she was ashamed. He traced his fingers along the side of her head, carefully pulling her closer so that her face was buried in the front shoulder of his trench coat. There he held her securely—unsure why her distress seemed to be his own, why seeing her so distraught was making him feel the same. He was living in fear that every breath she took would be her last, that she would die and he would be alone. And seeing her crying so pitifully made him break inside even more. It would have been better if she hadn't remembered the possession, and he wished he could take the torment away from her somehow. He could feel one of her hands as it came to weakly grasp at the front of his shirt. He didn't know what to say or do, he was still in shock that his Alex, the spark of life itself, could be so dim, so close to being extinguished completely. He couldn't accept this but didn't seem to have a choice. He leaned his head down mournfully, resting his forehead against the side of her head as she shook with feeble tears. His face contorted painfully as he struggled to keep his composure too. He stroked his thumb against her hair over and over again, fighting with himself internally and searching for the right thing to say, a way to make her tears stop.

"I'm so _stupid_ ," she managed weakly through tears, her faint voice muffled. Her voice raised in pitch, becoming more unbalanced. "I thought I could save you. I thought I could save everyone, I'm so _fucking stupid_."

He felt insulted at what she'd said. "No, you're not," Cas told her and drew back, holding her steadily. He didn't completely understand what had happened or why she'd believed she could do that, but he knew she wouldn't have done it without good reason, and he _loved_ her and wished he could take this from her. She looked agonized, her pale face was shining with tears, some hairs were plastered against her cheeks. He swept them away without a thought, searching her eyes and blaming himself. If he hadn't been sleeping, maybe she wouldn't have run off and done what she had. Maybe he could have stopped it. "Listen to me," he implored, barely able to keep his voice even. "Lucifer would have found a way to get Sam to say yes. With you or without you." It was true. He wasn't lying for her benefit.

Her expression crumbled even further. "It's my fault," she insisted brokenly and shook her head just barely, seemingly unable to summon the strength for more. "I fucked up the whole world. If I hadn't done what I did, Sam might not have said yes," she looked Cas in the eye, mournful, terrified. "He can't fight Lucifer, he's too strong. Michael's as good as dead. And I did this."

She coughed weakly and blood trickled out of her nose. Cas felt a wave of fear crash over him. He wiped the blood away with his thumb, trying not to look as terrified as he felt. She caught hold of his wrist feebly and looked, seeing the blood. She grew quiet, her eyebrows moving together just slightly. He saw that she was afraid, that she knew. He moved his hand to hold hers gently. He didn't want her to be afraid—he didn't want this to happen to her. He would give anything to change this. Anything. He tightened his hand on hers and she whispered his name softly, begging him for help that he couldn't give.

Cas bowed his head down toward hers, shut his eyes. He was lost. So lost.

"Cas." Dean's deep, quiet voice startled both of them. The oldest Winchester was standing off by a few steps with his hands in his jacket pockets. He was looking at them with a pained, agonized expression. At the sight of him, Alex looked like she were dreading his reaction, steeling herself for his wrath. That's almost what Castiel expected too, and he stood up, easily holding Alex as he did. He was prepared to walk away if Dean began to assault her verbally. 

But Dean didn't say anything. Didn't throw anything in her face, didn't lash out. Just looked at his sister with heartbreaking amounts of empathy and grief. "You okay, kiddo?" he asked her in the softest voice. She looked away, upset. Dean went closer, putting a gentle hand on the back of her neck in an appeal for her gaze. She wouldn't look at him, she had her head turned toward Cas's shoulder and her face was screwed up to keep from crying again.

"Everything's gonna be okay," Dean insisted in a whisper, his hand tightening on the back of her head. He didn't look away from her for a second. She looked at him finally through her emotional agony. "I'm gonna go talk to Sam," he said. "I found out where the chosen field is, where Michael and Lucifer are gonna fight. Chuck told me. It's right outside of Lawrence, at Stull Cemetery, about eight hours from here. Just enough time for me to get there by high noon tomorrow when the showdown starts. I'm gonna take care of all this, you hear me?" She looked at him in a mixture of shame and hope and he shook his head—he appeared as if he might begin to cry at any moment. "Sweetheart, I'm so sorry this happened to you," he choked out, eyes glittering with tears. "I wish you would have _told_ me."

She nodded and looked down, a fat tear leaking out and streaking down her cheek. "I should have. I'm _sorry_." The way she said it in a voice that was strained and high-pitched and cracked made Dean and Cas look at each other in mutual distress. 

"Shh," Dean said, refocusing on his sister and keeping his voice calm and collected, assertive, confident. "I'm gonna figure this out. Like I always do."

Cas hesitated. "Dean—are you sure about this? If you couldn't reach him here, how can you do so on the battlefield?"

Dean shrugged hollowly. Cas saw the depth of Dean's hopelessness briefly, but Dean answered in a voice that indicated he didn't seem to care. "I mean, I got nothing to lose by trying, right?"

Cas said nothing, but Alex sniffed in Cas's arms and looked up at Dean. "I have to come with you," she said.

Cas frowned at her, immediately disliking this idea. She needed rest and care, to stay as far away from Lucifer as possible. "Alex, no. You shouldn't travel, you're—"

"Dying," she said, cutting him off quietly. "I know. I know I am. I can feel it." Her expression wavered briefly. "So don't fight me on this. _Please."_ Her voice grew a little more intense, more firm. "This is my fault. And I mean, as long as we're still alive, we _have_ to try and stop Lucifer." She looked cajolingly at Dean, who was fully teary eyed now. And as it always did, the sight of him crying made her waver even more. She pressed her lips inwards, trying to compose herself. "One of our brothers is dying tomorrow," she said to him, her voice breaking, more tears running out of her eyes. "And whichever one it is… I don't think they should have to die alone. I need to be there with you. That's just it."

Dean and Cas looked at each other again for a long, tense moment. They both knew Alex might not even make it through the night. This was in effect her last wish.

"Yeah," Dean agreed softly, nodding hollowly. He swallowed painfully. "Yeah, okay. We do this together. Just like always." 

* * *

In the dark basement of an abandoned old dance school, Lucifer flexed his right arm, shoulder, then hand, pleased with the feeling of strength and belonging. He walked through the five waiting people, who stood with their eyes downcast, shoulders slumped. Lucifer paid them no mind. Not yet. 

He was enjoying this feeling, this triumph. _Finally_ —at last. The only disagreeable thing was how Sam was still so insistent upon not cooperating. He felt the boy inside clawing at the walls. It was almost cute, really. Lucifer looked down at his hand, which clenched and unclenched without him telling it to. He smiled down at the hand almost fondly. "Sam..." he murmured. His hand stilled. "Come on. I can feel you... scratching away in there." In front of him a few steps off there was a cracked old mirror on the wall. Lucifer studied his reflection, Sam's face. "Look... I'll take the gag off, okay?" Lucifer approached the mirror. "You got me all wrong, kiddo. I'm not the bad guy here. Talk to me."

Sam chest heaved up and down, he stared at himself in the mirror venomously. "I'm gonna rip you apart from the inside out!" He raged acidly. "Do you understand me?" 

Lucifer didn't bat an eye at the threat. "Such anger... Young Skywalker." There was an almost haughty smile, then a concerned stare. "Who are you really angry with?" Lucifer asked. "Me? Or that face in the mirror?"

Sam was near tears, helpless and trapped and wretched, struggling in vain against Lucifer's crushing presence and control. "I'm sure this is all a big joke to you, huh?" he asked, fighting so hard but unable to budge at all. Lucifer was too strong. Much too strong. Just like he'd said.

"Not at all," Lucifer said earnestly. "I've been waiting for you... for a long... _long_ time." Sam could feel Lucifer inside of his mind, attempting to coax him into submission, attempting to soothe him and settle him. Sam resisted all the more, mentally kicking and screaming. Lucifer looked into his reflection deeply. "Admit it—you can feel it too. Beyond this little temper tantrum you're having, you feel the _exhilaration_. And you know why that is? Because we're two halves made whole…" there was the ghost of a smile on Lucifer's face. "Reunited and it feels so good."

Sam withered, disgusted. "This feels pretty damn far from good," he spat.

Lucifer looked a little disappointed. "Stop trying to lie to me, Sam. You can't. I'm in your head. I can see it all—" his eyes flickered back and forth in thought, Sam could literally feel Lucifer paging through his mind and memories, intruding on everything that he thought and felt. "How odd you always felt, how... out of place in that... 'family' of yours." Lucifer smiled softly even as Sam remained silent, unable to deny how true those things were. "You always knew there was something about you, something _different,_ " Lucifer continued. "Maybe you called it dark, but... I call it special. And your sister? She was supposed to be the same way, too. Special." 

Sam managed a sneer through his panic. "Well you lose _that_ one, asshole."

Lucifer shrugged his lips downwards briefly, unfazed. "Mm, no. After we fight Michael, we'll go back in time. We'll drip the demon blood into precious baby sister's mouth ourselves, purify her, too. And together—the three of us—we'll begin the new world order."

 _What?_ Sam's stomach twisted, his pulse rocketed. Alarm overtook his every sense. " _The three of us_?" He repeated. Surely Lucifer were joking—this had to be some mistake. "What do you mean?"

Lucifer shrugged mildly, sighed. "Your father... was mistaken. Him warning your sister that the danger wasn't past? He meant _this_." A little smile grew on Sam's face as Lucifer controlled his body. "He didn't know it was me behind Azazel's every move. Me. Always me."

Sam swallowed, dread building up inside—the small relief that he'd saved Alex was fading, replaced by terror that he'd done something far worse and set something sinister into motion. "W-what are you talking about?"

Lucifer lowered his chin, looked into his eyes knowingly. "I think you might already know, Sam. _Come on_. Surely you remember… the dreams I had Azazel give to you? Only they weren't dreams. They were _visions_. Previews of what's to come."

Sam was speechless in horror and Lucifer seemed curious. "You thought my endgame was simply to defeat Michael? Oh no, Sam. You must think me unimaginative. Azazel was doing my work long before you were born. Preparing for this. _He_ didn't even fully understand my plans and I didn't want him to. He wasn't my family like you are. You and I? We'll purge this world of all the filth it holds. Humans. Demons. My disloyal brethren. And we'll fill the earth with the new, perfect creation. Not flawed and defective like the humans, not low black-eyed demon vermin. Not aimless angels loyal to a missing father figure. A new race built on loyalty and _love_."

Sam stared, aghast. And then his stomach felt like it dropped out completely. "This is where your sister comes in, Sam. I think I should show you more of what the future holds. All I ask is that you remember that greatness—true greatness—requires doing things we may not always find pleasant. Something tells me you won't like this very much. Hold on." 

Without warning, Sam was suddenly plunged into a dark world of pain in his mind where he was disembodied and formless, seeing a dark swirling mist around him. He was confused and disoriented. And then the mist parted, he could hazily see Alex. The image came into focus and he could see that behind her, a tall, imposing figure approached. Sam realized that was _him_ , but… no. It couldn't be. His expression was so cruel and cold, he looked hellbent on wickedness. Sam tried to open his mouth and warn his sister, but it was like he didn't exist. He had no mouth, all he could do was watch.

The vision continued: Alex turned, saw Sam approaching her, and fear overcame her features—she whirled to run—but Sam stretched a hand out, she snapped backwards in the air toward him, colliding right up against him with her back into his chest. His strong arms held her there in place and it was distinctly inappropriate, the places his hands were—one hand was splayed against her hip, crushing her to him, one was on the front of her neck and half of her face, holding her tight against him. Sam felt himself recoiling internally at the sight, how his sister struggled away. "Sam, please, no! Stop!" She pleaded.

Sam saw himself lean down, his mouth right at her ear, his hands holding her still easily. "I'm not _Sam_ ," he breathed in a low, frightening voice. And with the greatest amount of terror he had ever experienced, ever, Sam understood what this meant. What was _happening_. Alex began to struggle even more and Lucifer just yanked her back to himself, whispered something in her ear, smoothed her hair back from her neck, leaned down to sensually brush his lips downward against the skin just below her ear. 

Sick, revolted, scared beyond wits, Sam tried to escape this visual, tried to scream and help her, but nothing happened. And mercifully, the image faded away, he saw no more. But the terror remained. The mist returned, covering everything with darkness and then parted once more. Sam could hear Alex screaming and grunting with exertion, he saw that she was pregnant and in painful labor, on a dirty floor like an animal as Lucifer stood above her, looking down coldly, contemptuously. There were two black eyed demon nurses at Alex's side, delivering a baby—no, _babies_. Two of them. And when the newborns were both out—silent and not crying as normal babies do—Alex collapsed backwards, forgotten for the moment as the one of the nurses turned to Lucifer. "Twins, a boy and a girl, as you said." The nurse held one of the children in her arms. The babies both had glowing gray eyes—they were clearly not human. 

Lucifer nodded approval as he looked over his son and daughter with a glint of cold pleasure in his eyes, then looked down at Alex, who was wracked in agony on the floor, covered in blood, appearing to be ill beyond compare and almost dead. Lucifer seemed almost sympathetic. "And so you have completed the task I asked of you. We both always knew this day would come, didn't we? You've always stood against me. I've given you chance after chance. I have no more chances left to give to you." His expression darkened. "If you're not with me… you're against me."

He held a hand out, flicked his fingers upwards and Alex shot up through the air, twisted and slammed up into the ceiling back-first. "I truly am sorry it had to be this way, Alexandra," Lucifer said softly, but his voice held no indication that he really was sorry.

She was crying, shaking her head, appealing to him with a cracked, barely-there voice. "Sam… _please_!" She begged, and blood dripped downward onto the floor below from her stomach. "I know you're in there, please, _please_ … don't do this! _Fight him_!"

Lucifer looked at her and his eyes darkened. " _I'm not Sam_." His jaw clenched, a smile ghosted across his lips. "And there's no one left to save you or him." His hand raised again, flames burst into existence all around her and she screamed as the ceiling became an ocean of fire. Lucifer lowered his hand and watched in what appeared to be apathy or boredom as Alex burned on the ceiling, just like Mom had. Just like Jess had.

And the vision was over, but the effect it had on Sam would last for years—and in that moment, the shock, the horror, the absolute repulsion was so strong that Sam was suddenly in control again, just briefly—long enough to fall to all fours and vomit onto the basement floor, and all he could think was he had to kill himself. _He had to kill himself._ He scrambled to his feet, pitching around as if he were drunk, and with his fist he smashed the corner of the mirror, grabbing a jagged shard of glass. He drew it back to stab himself in the chest, not thinking clearly, just wanting to die, just wanting to keep what he had seen from ever happening, and his hand flew toward his chest… then stopped. He opened his hand without even thinking and the shard fell out down to the floor. Sam felt himself laughing slowly. Deeply. Lucifer shook his head then frowned in faint fascination, wiping the corner of his mouth with the sleeve of Sam's jacket. "What an interesting taste," he commented mildly, then spit and sighed, looking into the nearly shattered mirror. The reflection was jagged, leaving a ghoulish effect. "Sam, Sam, Sam. You can't kill yourself. I won't let you. Not now. Not ever. We'll be together for all eternity, you and I." 

"That's my _sister_ you sick bastard!" Sam cried out. He was at the point of tears—in a thousand years he never would have guessed that would be the devil's plan. He would have killed himself years ago if he'd known this. Lucifer let him cry, but only for a moment. He looked at Sam almost sadly. 

"Don't look so surprised. I _am_ the devil, Sam… I'm bound to be a little sick and twisted, aren't I? At least from your perspective." He looked at Sam questioningly. "You and your family are direct descendants of Adam and Eve, the mother and father of this pathetic race. Didn't you know Eve was taken from Adam? They were basically twins, Sam; brother and sister: the same DNA, same bloodline… haven't you read the Bible? The first few books are nothing but incest. God got _that_ much right. It keeps the bloodline pure." At Sam's expression, Lucifer blinked once, slowly. "I'm sorry. I know it's not ideal for you." 

"Not _ideal_ for me?" Sam repeated. He could barely breathe. "I won't let you do that to her! It's not happening, _ever_! EVER!" His shouts did nothing, garnered no reaction at all.

"I'm sorry... but it is," Lucifer said plainly. The unaffected, unperturbed reply made Sam want to be sick again. He stared in breathless horror, shaking his head, so afraid.

"No, no, no no no _no_!" Sam repeated over and over, reduced to nothing but quivering fear and abhorrence. Lucifer was slowly reeling him in, allowing less and less of Sam to come through—it was like slowly being choked, slowly fading into unconsciousness. Sam fought valiantly, but Lucifer just shrugged as if helpless.

"Yes. It has to be this way Sam, has to be the same bloodline, has to be twins... like it or not. Has to be the two of you. We'll purify her with demon blood, she'll carry Nephilim twins… and then they'll become the true mother and father of my new race. _Our_ new race. It's only _once_ that we have to do what must be done with your sister." Sam wanted to die when Lucifer said that, panic racing through him because he already knew he couldn't resist Lucifer, couldn't control him at all. Satan was going to _rape_ his sister using _his_ body. Sam would have passed out, such was his distress, if Lucifer didn't have such full control.

"Sam, breathe. It'll be over fast, I promise. I understand that you find it unsavory. I'll do whatever I can do make it easier for you. Maybe we can even persuade her to take our side—perhaps she doesn't need to die in the end. But you should be prepared for that outcome, Sam. That's why I gave you those visions. I wanted you to know what your future held. I wanted you to know you'd lose her too. All the important women in your life have died that way, haven't they? She will too, unless she changes her mind and joins us. Joins _me_."

" _No_ ," Sam spat. "I will _never_ let any of that happen! None of it!" He was having to fight with everything he had to even say anything at this point. His body was betraying him, he could barely even think anymore. _He had to get out! He had to find a way to stop this! To warn them!_

Lucifer looked at him quietly. "In time, you'll feel differently. When I'm king of Heaven, Hell, and everything in between with a new race of children at my feet… your feet… you'll see. You'll be happy Sam. This is how it's supposed to be."

"No," Sam insisted. He tried to shake his head but he couldn't. "I don't care what I have to do—I'll stop you!"

Lucifer sighed. He appeared dissatisfied with Sam's reaction. "You know, all those times you ran away from your problems, your family... you were running towards me, Sam. _I'm_ the one who understands you. I'm the one you've been waiting for you your whole life. You're special. You matter. And this is how." He looked at Sam in a remorseful way. "I understand it may take you some time to come to accept me. But I'm patient. And I'm loyal… to myself most of all. Sam, you and I are one. At last."

Sam managed one last belted-out threat, feeling the words tearing up his throat in a deafening roar and he tried to move his hands toward himself to hurt himself somehow. "I am going to _kill you_!"

Lucifer almost rolled his eyes. "I'm sorry Sam, but I've grown tired of this little quarrel. I think it's time we stop arguing. Start doing something… productive. Something _together_." He made Sam look behind them, using the mirror. "Look closely at who I've gathered here. Any of these little devils look familiar to you?"

Sam looked and realized that yes, he recognized every single person there. Lucifer explained for him. "That's Mr. Bensman... one of your old grade-school teachers. And that's your friend Doug from that time in East Lansing. And Rachel... your prom date. Sam Winchester, this is your life. Azazel's gang—watching you and yours since you were a rugrat, jerking you around like a dog on a leash. I know how you feel about them. So, what do you say you and I blow off a little steam? Come on… it'll make us feel better." Lucifer's pleasant smile sickened Sam. He was losing ground, he could barely manage to say the single word he got out.

"No—" Sam protested, then felt as if a fist closed over him internally. Lucifer was stamping him down like a bug underneath the heel of his boot. And Sam despaired completely.

Lucifer's eyes darkened, his fist clenched. " _Yes_." He turned around to face the demons circled in the room behind himself, standing at Sam's full height.

The slaughter began. Screaming inside silently, Sam was unable to do anything.


	44. Dust to Dust

" _Love of mine, someday you will die, but I'll be close behind…  
if there's no one beside you when your soul embarks, I will follow you into the dark."  
_\- Deathcab for Cutie

* * *

In the rear of Bobby's van, Cas sat on the floor with his back leaned against the vehicle wall. He held Alex curled up against him and her head rested against the front of his shoulder. Asleep, her breathing was shallow and uneven. She was heavy in his arms in a way that Cas couldn't quite describe—not physically.

The day before yesterday, the two of them had sat on the top of a picnic table in the early afternoon, their feet resting on the bench where you were supposed to sit. Birds had been exchanging songs in the tree branches above, a few families with young children played on the playground nearby. Cas had been aware as they sat there with her that he was part of a real, normal moment of Alex's life—and of his life now, too. _His life now, too._ The day before yesterday, he'd been truly struck by the realization that they were going to share a life together here on earth. But that future had been shattered.

 _Today_... she was in his arms, wilting like a dying flower.

The day before yesterday, they'd shared turkey sandwiches from a convenience store as they sat on the table instead of at it. Cas had fondly recalled seeing Alex during the year he'd watched over her—he'd been without a vessel and so perplexed and intrigued at how she always sat off alone on things that weren't meant to serve as seats: tables, speed bumps, fences, countertops, car hoods, curbs, sidewalk ledges, tree stumps (anything but an actual chair). So that's why in present day, he thought perhaps most people would have glanced their way and seen nothing but two people sitting on a graffitied picnic table, but to Cas, being part of her life even in the mundane and the ordinary was beyond meaningful. In that moment he'd felt that even though all of this was new and foreign to him—food, sleep, pain, fatigue, powerlessness—he could belong here in this world if she were beside him. In between their feet, a plastic grocery store bag full of candy had rested. Because "everyone in the world has a favorite candy," she told him after the sandwiches were gone. His face had twisted up into a questioning, slightly worried look—he had never _eaten_ candy, how was he supposed to have a favorite? She had picked up several bright packets. "We just have to figure out yours." She had smiled so much that day, her eyes wrinkling up at the edges in beautiful little crinkles. Even when she stopped smiling little lines stayed, evidence of how happy she'd been. It had made him smile, too.

 _Today_... Cas knew that he might not ever see her smile like that ever again.

The day before yesterday he had told her he would go with her wherever she went, that he would stay with her for the rest of his now-mortal life.

 _Today_... she was dying. And Castiel felt as if he were dying with her.

When he thought about how he would be left behind to go on living this life as a stranger in a strange land alone… he didn't want to remain. How could he live here knowing she was either in Heaven in total darkness or in Hell being tormented forevermore? How could he face even a single day knowing how she had perished, how he had stood by and watched it happen? She was his friend. His _best_ friend. No. She was more than that, so much more, but Cas couldn't put it into words even in the space of his mind. All terms and endearments fell short, no words in any language felt big enough to say who she had become to him. All that he knew was that when he lost her, he would be lost too.

He studied her sleeping face morosely and ran his fingers over the side of her cheek. The skin was cold to the touch and the sensation sent grief racing through his body. She was barely alive. He let his hand rest against the side of her head, and everything inside of him was wrecked as the love he felt for her ached through him, tore him apart because _he would do anything to save her from this_. Her color was ashen, the strange obscene blue veins making a profane patchwork of hairline cracks across her skin everywhere. Despite everything, he still thought she was the most beautiful sight he had ever beheld. And he hadn't known true despair until now, until this.

 _He had to find a way to save her_. But with every minute that passed, he knew with further appalling certainty that he had no options remaining. He wracked his mind incessantly trying to find a way to save her. He had no soul to sell, but if he did have one, he would trade it in a heartbeat to see her live past this. He had no allies in Heaven to call upon for help—he would be killed the instant he attempted it. No doctor could reverse the damage Lucifer had done to Alex simply by possessing her. It was over, and he knew it.

But he didn't understand. The day before yesterday, she'd been _strong_ and _alive_ and laughing and _his_ and now…? Now she was fading away, slipping out of his grasp, and there was no way of holding onto her. He was losing the one he loved, losing her to the darkness _forever_.

* * *

Dean stared nearly unseeingly through the windshield of the Impala as he sped down a dark, mostly-deserted highway heading west. The radio was off and the car was silent. He gripped the steering wheel with one hand and ground his teeth mindlessly, glancing into the rearview every few minutes to see Bobby's headlights behind him.

Lawrence, Kansas.

The minute Chuck had said that's where the 'appointed battleground' for Michael and Lucifer's final showdown would be, Dean had felt an even larger sense of dread. It seemed poetic that it would end where it began—the town he and his siblings had been born in. He didn't used to believe in destiny but you know what, maybe he should. Even though Dean was trying to convince himself that there was still a chance to change everything that was going wrong right now… he knew the truth. He'd messed up big this time, run himself out of options, and was finally, _finally_ at the dead end of the road. He could feel it. That this _was_ the end. It was already over. And there was nowhere else to go, nothing else left to do but to go down swinging.

_Take care of your brother and sister. Keep them safe, make sure they're okay._

Dad's words were seared into his mind and staggering guilt came with them. Family first. Family first. _Family first_. That's what Dad drilled into all of them… and with it had come the bitterness at how hypocritical his words had been. _We have to take care of each other_ , he'd say… then disappear for days at a time, leaving Dean to be the caregiver to Sam and Alex, leaving Dean to wonder if Dad would even be back this time at all. John Winchester had put too much on all of his kids. But especially on Dean.

And without meaning to, for no reason, Dean abruptly remembered the first time his sister had walked—cute little wispy-haired baby Alex, maybe about to turn a year old. She'd pulled herself up to stand by using the leg of a chair, then taken two great lurching steps toward him on little fat toddler legs. Little Sam army-drag crawled after her, drooling all over the motel room carpet and crooning happily. Dean had whooped as Alex wobbled toward him, two little baby teeth in that gummy smile. Her mouth had been open in a silent, delighted laugh, she had clearly been amazed at herself, at this thing she had just discovered how to do. _Alex is walking Daddy, she's walking!_ Dean had exclaimed, gleeful and amazed and five years old. He'd hurried forward and caught his little sister as she toppled forward unsteadily after she tried to take a third step. John had glanced up from his journal. _That's great, Dean_. He'd smiled a little, tiredly, then looked away. Sam had sputtered happily, making _pbbt-pbbt_ noises with his mouth, unaware of how disappointed Dean was that Dad didn't seem to share his rapture at what had just happened.

Even then at five years old, Dean had known something was wrong with his dad and the way their family worked. Even at that age he'd understood, somewhere deep down, that his brother and sister needed protection and love that their dad didn't seem to know how or want to give. Dean had missed Mom so much, crying at night when he thought of how she had been taken away, how she was never coming back. He'd clung to his brother and sister even tighter, afraid they would get taken, too.

It was unhealthy, the way he treated his siblings throughout their childhood and adulthood, trying to parent them one minute then depending on them for his sense of self-worth the next. For years Dean had felt like the way he'd been there for the twins and raised them was the one thing he'd done well... but he didn't think so anymore. Hindsight was twenty-twenty and Dean wished he could have seen _then_ what he saw _now_. How bad he'd messed up—how so much of what was happening right now was his fault.

If he hadn't been so domineering and black-and-white, quick to shoot Sam down without a second thought, maybe Sam would have told him about Ruby and the demon blood sooner, would have come to him for help instead of trying to work through his addiction on his own. If Dean could have been more approachable, more willing to accept Sam despite his problems, maybe they would be closer, maybe Sam would have trusted Dean with his secrets.

And Alex. Dean knew he was a total fucking idiot for how he'd driven a wedge between himself and his sister. They'd been so close their whole life that he'd assumed nothing could ever change that. Well, apparently an angel wearing a trench coat could—or at least Dean's _reaction_ to said angel's interest in his sister. Dean knew he'd done a lot wrong where that whole thing was concerned. That he'd acted like he owned Alex almost. He'd insisted on treating his sister like she was still a kid, he'd insisted on trying to control her life to his standards just like Dad had done with all of them. It hadn't worked—it had just left Alex embittered and unable to trust him. Maybe if Dean hadn't alienated her so much recently, she would have told him about her idea to kill Lucifer. It was true what Satan had said to him… that in his hellbent quest to protect his sister, he'd done the opposite and made _sure_ she would get hurt.

It was infuriating for Dean to look back and see how all of their individual flaws had ensured this outcome: Sam the vessel, Alex a pawn, Dean the one left to try and fix it all but powerless to do so and afraid to do anything, because what if he was just being manipulated again? It was terrifying how every step of the way they had been blindly playing right into the devil's hand. The kicker was how they always thought they were doing the right thing: Sam thought killing Lilith would stop Lucifer from rising, Alex thought she could kill Lucifer because of the lies he'd had planted for her to believe. Dean had set it all into motion by telling Sam he was okay with him saying yes to Lucifer and trying to use the horsemen's rings to throw the devil back into the cage. And _that_ action had in turn prompted Alex to run off, thinking she was saving Sam and giving Michael an instant win. God. _What a mess._

_Take care of your brother and sister. Keep them safe, make sure they're okay._

Dean swallowed a painful lump in his throat and propped his elbow against the window ledge, rubbing the side of his forehead with painful force. His mom and dad were dead. His sister was dying and his brother was possessed by the devil. He wanted to break something in his helpless and sad fury.

_Take care of your brother and sister. Keep them safe, make sure they're okay._

How _could_ he? Their fates were all but sealed. He'd tried and tried and _tried_ , _God help him_ he'd tried… but look what had happened. Abruptly, Dean slammed his hand up against the steering wheel and let loose a wretched sobbing sound as the helpless, frustrated, scared tears came. He was unable to hold his grief inside any longer; his heart was broken completely. Dad's words wouldn't stop repeating over and over in his mind.

_Take care of your brother and sister. Keep them safe, make sure they're okay._

He clenched his hands on the wheel, steeling himself, forcing his emotions to shut up. He just wanted to know why it had to be this way, why the people he loved the most in the world had all paid an impossible price and why he was left untouched, living and breathing just fine. He had dodged the bullet and he _hated_ that fact with his entire being.

Hate it or not, it was what fate had dealt him. So Dean was going to do what he could to make it right and try _one last time_ , despite the impossible odds. He refused that Sam should have to do this alone, and he would _try_ , goddammit he would _try_ one last fucking time. And if he couldn't help Sam throw the devil off his back, Dean would die where he belonged—with his family, with his brother and sister. That was his only consolation. That if all three of them were going to die anyway, at least they would be together.

He blinked away tears, unable to believe how it had so suddenly come to this.

_At least they would be together._

* * *

She was so, so cold, and it burned her down to the bone. Alone in darkness and scared of something but unsure _what_ , Alex suddenly jolted awake breathlessly, her heart racing at a dizzying speed. She gasped loudly, gulping for air as if she'd been drowning. Disoriented, she grabbed for something to hold onto, realized she was being held, and that what she reached for was the familiar material of Castiel's trench coat.

"Alex?" he asked, and she looked up at him with wide eyes, trying to catch her breath. Everything inside of her hurt and she felt weak, drained, lifeless. So, so tired and cold, _so cold_. Her stomach was wretched, her heart fluttered too fast to be normal, and with every beat of her pulse, pain pounded through her veins. "Are you all right?" She could hear how worried he was and looked away. She was so ashamed of herself and felt the gentle way his hand cradled the back of her head. She struggled not to cry.

She wanted to be sick, her head was spinning oddly, and she couldn't stop thinking about how cold she was. "It's so _cold_ ," she mumbled, and he held her a little closer to himself, his familiar solid warmth comforting and distressing all at once. She shivered, unable to get warm, feeling like winter had settled down into her bones. That's how she had felt with Lucifer inside, his icy fire permeating and overtaking every cell of her body, killing her slowly. Even when Sam had pulled Lucifer out of her and taken him in her stead, the chill had remained.

Sam. Oh god, _Sam_ … Alex's heart hurt viscerally at the thought of her brother out there somewhere, going through what she had gone through. Alex buried her face so that Castiel couldn't see her expression, because she was having trouble staying calm, staying composed. She'd been _tricked_ , she'd been used, and now Sam was going through the same thing she had gone through, he was being consumed by sharp cold needles of everlasting pain. And she blamed herself for not telling her brothers what she planned to do, she blamed herself for not trying harder to find a way to convince Sam not to say yes. She blamed herself. The shame was unbearable, the knowledge of what she'd done was horrifying. She had thought it was the right thing and she had been _completely wrong_ , played like a fiddle. Devastated wasn't even close to how she felt. She wished her brothers had left Lucifer there in her, called Michael down to that dank old Detroit apartment, and had let her die and Lucifer with her. Then the world would be safe and the three men she loved most in the world would be saved. But Lucifer had known that her brothers would never let her die like that. He had known their weakness was each other, but especially her.

Her stomach churned and alarm screamed along her veins in a frenzy as her heart cried out on Sam's behalf. They _had_ to save him or they had to die trying. There were no other options.

She shook with the sudden onset of tears, trying even harder to turn her face away from Cas, to still her body's giveaway quakes. But Cas knew and she heard him let out a grave, soft little breath as he maybe searched for words. "None of this is your fault, Alex," he said softly in that deep, rumbling voice she loved so much. She shook even harder with silent sobs because he was trying to comfort her and make her feel better. But it _was_ her fault. She was so stupid. She'd been duped and she was going to fucking _murder_ Crowley—she didn't care if he knew it was all lies or not. She needed someone to blame. Becoming angry, she tried to sit up, but floundered weakly and miserably. Cas had to help her sit up better and she became even more miserable, realizing how debilitated she was.

"It _is_ my fault," she managed to get out, her tone sharp with animosity, mostly directed at herself. Even her _voice_ was weak and sickly, lacking its normal steady timbre. "For believing that I mattered in this whole thing. For being so fucking stupid and not telling anyone. For thinking I could save the world." She said the last sentence with great amounts of wounded sarcasm, because it _hurt_ to fail, it hurt to be tricked, it hurt because she had thought for once she mattered. And she hadn't. She'd just been a pawn. A foolish, foolish girl.

"You were tricked," Cas appealed, seeming to sense her self-loathing emotions. "Don't be ashamed. How could you have known?" His voice and tone were both heartbroken and Alex felt so mortified. She couldn't look at him without wanting to break down completely.

"I'm supposed to be _smarter_ than this," she said brokenly, wishing so badly she could take back yesterday, wishing she knew how Cas could still look at her so tenderly and caringly after she made such a fatal error, how could he still look at her like he loved her when she knew she looked like a monster.

It didn't seem to matter. Cas was as gentle and loving as ever, touching the side of her head, searching her eyes. She couldn't help herself at that point. " _Cas_ ," she sobbed, crumbling at his touch, at the look in his eyes. As much as she loathed herself in that moment, she couldn't self-protect and turn away from him, not now. She needed him so much, maybe more than she ever had. She clung to him for comfort as she realized that she was already mourning his loss... because she knew she was dying and she was afraid for what would happen to him when she was gone.

She had a thousand things she wanted to say to him and she despaired because there wasn't enough time left—they had barely scratched the surface of what she wanted to be to him. The helpless romantic inside had imagined a life with him, she had dreamed of waking up with him every day and just being together for the rest of their lives. But her dreams were dashed on the rocks. She clutched his trench coat tighter in her hand. "I wanted more time with you," she confessed raspingly, and felt his arms tightening around her, felt his scruffy cheek against her clammy forehead. Her heart hurt so badly. "I… I didn't think the rest of our lives meant a couple more days." She shivered and shook with quiet choked tears, wondering when she had become so fallible and vulnerable, so afraid, so pitiful. Her throat felt like it was closing up on her when she thought of what was coming. "I'm scared to die," she choked out in a whisper, letting her most terrifying feeling out into the open, blinking back more tears at the thought of being alone in the darkness up there forever without him, without _anyone._ It was like being a petrified little kid again. "I don't wanna go," she choked out.

Cas drew back purposefully and sought her gaze. She could see him as passing lights flickered weakly over his face. He had a hand against her face, his thumb at her jawline and he looked deadly serious as his eyes held her gaze. "You won't be alone," he told her with an earnest, fervent resolve that she hadn't expected. "I'll find you. No matter what, no matter where you are... I'll find you." His words were a fierce oath. "I promise."

Her heart clenched, softened, and burst all at once. She believed him. And wondered how she hadn't loved him how she did now from the first time she saw him—she couldn't find the end of how grateful, awed, and confounded the way he loved her made her feel, but at the same time, it confused her. "I… I don't understand why you love me Cas," she said quietly, both humbled by his affections and feeling entirely undeserving, unsure as ever what he saw in her, why he would choose to love her and pursue her into the unknown, find her in the afterlife.

Her statement seemed to momentarily catch him off guard—at first because, from the look on his face, he seemed to think _why would it be any other way_? But then he thought a minute. "I've also tried to understand it," he said slowly, his eyebrows pressing in together. "But it's too vast." He seemed poignant in that moment without meaning to be. "Perhaps it doesn't need to be understood," he suggested, and his voice softened, and his eyes flickered between hers slowly. "I feel it all the same."

Her heart broke because she knew how much he _did_ love her—he had proven it over and over and promised himself to her for the rest of their lives—but even though she knew that, simultaneously she thought of how he deserved something better than her: a happy story, a long life and joy every day. Not this abrupt tragic ending. She saw the pain and loss and heartbreak in his eyes and knew that _she had caused that._ She dismayed for him, wishing she hadn't done this to him. She hadn't meant to devastate him like this. But despite her misgivings and inner lamentations, her heart echoed his sentiments: what she felt for him was too vast for her to understand, and she knew that whether or not she understood it, she still _felt_ it. Her heart would never be able to forget him, this angel who had walked the earth and sought her out and given himself to her in every way possible.

He was mortal now all because of her. He would die too, if not today then some other day. And Alex was consumed with sorrow as she thought of him up against this harsh world all by himself. She held onto him as tightly as she could and buried her face in him, beyond grieved, wishing that they could have both stayed in the day before yesterday, just existed there forever—that day had been _theirs_ and theirs alone.

But that day was lost into the void and they could never have it back. Today promised the demise of it all, the demise of _them_.

* * *

**Lawrence, Kansas**

They had barely made it to Lawrence in time. Chuck had said noon was when the archangels would fight, and the hour was fast approaching. Dean was antsy and nerve-wracked as he turned onto Stull Road and slowed down. The cemetery was about a mile down the road, and Dean pulled over into an overgrown parking lot adjacent to a gas station that had been demolished years ago. Only the sign remained, hanging sideways and cracked in two. Bobby's van pulled in behind him, parking a couple car lengths away and Dean shut off the Impala, grabbed his keys out of the ignition and sat there, deliberating.

The silence rang in his ears and he wrestled with himself for a second, then spread his hands powerlessly, looked up, and let his hands fall down onto the tops of his thighs. "Okay, look…" he said out loud, then. This was stupid. He wet his lips, unable to believe how desperate he had become to do this. "I don't even know if you're out there or listening or if you even _care_ but…" he trailed off, rolled his eyes at himself, and huffed, becoming exasperated and sullen at the same time. His tone darkened and he looked down. "Ah, forget it," he muttered. "I already know you don't care." Dean got out of the car and shut the door behind himself.

Bobby was walking around to the side of the van that Dean couldn't see and Cas was approaching Dean—and not wearing his trench coat. Dean met him at the end of the Impala. Cas was morose and distracted, apprehensive and terse. Four things that Dean realized didn't even used to be in Cas's emotional vocabulary a year or so ago. Interesting, but what Dean really wanted to know was what happened to the angel's signature wardrobe piece. He looked odd in just his suit. "Where's your coat?"

"Alex is cold," Cas said somberly, and Dean softened measurably at the answer and what it meant.

"H-how's she doing?" he asked, almost afraid of the answer.

Cas just shook his head and looked downward. Dean's heart sank. "She's weak, in pain…" the other man's expression distorted visibly, his voice weakened with sorrow. "She doesn't have long Dean."

His heart spasmed painfully at those words. Dean had to shut his eyes and grit his teeth to keep himself together. He'd known she was dying the minute he'd seen Lucifer in her, but he couldn't bring himself to accept this. It hurt too much. Dean sighed heavily and turned to put his back to the Impala. He leaned against it as he looked down and scrubbed his chin and lower jaw with the palm of his hand. He felt agonized. He didn't want her in harm's way, but he couldn't deny her this last request, could he? "I really don't wanna take her in there, Cas," he confessed softly, staring out into middle distance with a rigid expression. "Goes against every instinct I got."

Cas mimicked his body position and stood beside him, leaning against the Impala too. His eyes traveled the far distance and he seemed guarded and disturbed, sharing Dean's sentiments. "I don't want her to, either," Cas said. "But it's what she wants." He was reluctant but resigned. Dean looked at him sidelong, unsure how to react to Cas's input. He'd swallowed some major pride in letting his sister ride with Cas and Bobby the way here. He'd always wanted to be the one who would take care of her and it was hard to see someone else, someone relatively new in their lives do that. That, and he hadn't had the heart to take Alex out of Cas's arms. She'd been huddled into him and holding onto Cas by the shirt, and he could see that she hadn't wanted to let go. So he hadn't said a word. Just told them "follow me," and gotten into the Impala.

Cas looked back up momentarily, glancing at Dean's profile in concern. "We don't have much time until the archangels will meet. What is your plan for all of this?"

Dean shrugged shallowly and avoided looking Cas in the eye, uncomfortable because there really _was_ no plan. "Try and talk to Sam."

Cas looked away, brow furrowing deeply. "I doubt that will work."

Dean half rolled his eyes, a knee-jerk reaction to the increasing hopelessness he felt. "Well thanks for the vote of confidence, Cas."

"However, at this point, any effort is better than none. The archangels will be angry to be disturbed," Cas said thoughtfully, ignoring Dean's sarcasm. "It would be better, easier, if you could perhaps speak with Lucifer and Sam alone, without Michael being there." Cas went silent, said nothing else and Dean looked at him, waiting for more, allowing himself to become mildly hopeful at the ex-angel's input.

When Cas remained quiet, Dean prompted him. "Any ideas on _how_ to make that happen?"

"Yes, actually." Cas looked at him intently. "Do you still have the holy oil I had given to you?"

Dean frowned in thought. "Yeah, in the trunk. But it's not much, not enough to make a very good circle."

There was the faintest little sly smile on Cas's face. "I wasn't thinking about a circle."

Dean was intrigued. "What then?"

"An improvised incendiary weapon. Uh, I think you call them fire bombs."

Dean held up a hand, realizing what Cas was suggesting. "Wait, wait… a Molotov cocktail? Made with holy fire?" Dean was surprised and impressed at the idea, then quickly skeptical. "Would that _work_?"

"It would give you five, maybe ten minutes," Cas answered. He was somber again, probably thinking about the magnitude of what they were talking about doing.

"Hey, it's something," Dean said, feeling a little better than he had a minute ago. Not great, but a little better. He looked sidelong at the angel who had proven himself over and over despite the way Dean had treated him. Softening and feeling like now was the time to say everything he needed to say, Dean lifted his hand and clapped Cas awkwardly on the shoulder. Cas looked at him strangely. "Thanks Cas," Dean said a little awkwardly, deciding not to let any of his misgivings or grudges or judgement get in the way right now. "For everything."

Cas didn't react how Dean thought he would. Instead of looking pleased and accepting of the compliment, Cas's expression darkened and he looked _dis_ pleased. He looked down toward the ground. "It's... not enough, what I've done for your family," he answered gruffly. "I don't deserve your gratitude."

Dean recognized that self-loathing, guilty tone in Cas's voice and gave the fallen angel a look. "Come on man, don't do that. I don't think we really had a shot in hell from the get-go. But you still tried, you know? You did what you could. And I can appreciate that." Cas looked up at Dean sidelong, and pain flickered across his face, staying there in his eyes. Dean was slightly taken aback at the intensity of it. "What?"

Cas's expression only grew more and more agonized. "I comprehend the fact that all people die, Dean. But I…" he trailed off, and revealingly, he looked toward toward the van, where Dean knew Alex was. "For the first time in my existence I can't understand _why_ it has to be that way."

Dean didn't know what to tell him, because it set off feelings of helplessness and despair in him all over again. He stared off, deep in thought for a long moment. When he finally spoke, it was soft and low. "All my life I been watching people I love die. I'll never understand why, Cas. Understand it or not, it happens. Over, and over and over. To everyone ever." His mouth wobbled a little and he moved his jaw oddly, glancing toward the van. "Even her." He felt Cas looking at him. "And now you too," Dean observed, realizing that he had no idea what was going to happen to Cas in all of this. "What'll happen to you when you die, Cas?"

Cas shook his head once and answered simply, off in his troubled thoughts. "That remains a mystery." He turned his head and looked toward the van again. Dean watched him a minute, consumed with the irony and guilt of this whole thing. He didn't really know what was going on between Cas and Alex, he didn't understand how robotic, awkward, stilted Cas could enrapture his sister so much. But it was clear the dude cared about her immensely, and Dean felt bad. All this time he had been a man on a mission to get Cas away from his sister, using the excuse that he was saving her and protecting her. But it had been an excuse, and a shaky one he realized now. He shook his head faintly.

"You know, all the times I ripped you a new one cuz I was worried that you'd be the one to get her killed..." Dean was unable to smile even humorlessly. "And in the end it was me." He looked down, unable to bear the burden of that truth as his eyes began to sting. "In the end it was me."

The men looked to their side as the sound of heavy footsteps approached. It was Bobby. The older hunter looked ragged and worn out, and Dean knew he was probably just as downtrodden as the rest of them were. "You two yahoos busy shootin' the shit or we gonna figure out a game plan for this whole thing?"

Dean cleared his throat and stood up. "Yes sir. Time to make us a holy fire cocktail."

"A _what_?"

Dean managed a smirk. "You'll see." He rounded the back of his car and cracked the trunk open.

* * *

Alex sat in the open van doorway, legs hanging over the edge. Cas's coat was draped across her shoulders and it swallowed her completely. Didn't do much to warm her, but she still hugged it around herself. She leaned her shoulder into the side of the door, almost too weak to even sit up. Cas had insisted she take one of his Lortabs for her pain a few hours ago when she'd woken up, and even though it made the pain a little better, she felt even more tired and sluggish than before. Her body was protesting every little thing she did, and Alex was beginning to feel more and more ready to be _done,_ to close her eyes and let life slip away. But she hung on. Mostly for Sam's sake.

She could see one side of the Impala from where she sat—the passenger side. Vaguely, she could hear Dean's voice, Cas's voice, Bobby too. When the three of them all went to the trunk and opened it, she looked up, finally able to see them now. She caught Cas's gaze. Dean turned and looked at her too, and both of their expressions were tense and worried. Cas said something to Dean and then approached Alex. He looked so different in just the suit—handsome as ever, but different, not quite himself. Still, seeing that he was coming to her immediately soothed her a little.

He reached her then knelt down onto one knee so that they were eye level—his hands found hers and the fingers intertwined loosely so that their hands rested together in her lap. The warmth of his hands in hers was so tender, so soothing. He studied their hands for a long moment, frowning deeply in quiet distress. Alex had to focus on breathing steadily not to become overcome by emotion, not to throw her arms around his neck and beg him to find a way to change this terrible ending, find a way for them to stay together, if not forever, just a little longer, _please_. As the end came closer and closer, as she got more and more tired, she was beginning to panic. It wasn't fair. It wasn't _right_. It shouldn't end like this.

Cas finally looked up at her, and the sadness on his face was great. "You're sure about this?" he asked her gently.

She could barely meet that sad gaze of his, she could barely breathe, so she looked down. As much as she also wanted to be selfish and just go be with Cas somewhere quiet until her body gave out for good, she _couldn't_. Not when her brothers, all three of them but especially Sam, needed her. She almost choked on the lump in her throat as she answered. "Yes. I'm sure." She looked back up into his beautiful bright blue eyes, regretful and torn.

His face showed conflict, his eyes briefly lowered to stare unseeingly into her collarbone before he looked back up at her pleadingly. "Let me come with you," he asked emphatically. "I know Bobby and I are supposed to follow behind... but…" he trailed off, his face wavering. Alex noticed how his features moved so differently than it used to, utilizing broad ranges of emotion that it hadn't when she'd first known him. "I don't want to be away from you," he all but begged. "Not now."

Alex didn't want to be away from him either. She had no idea what Dean was planning, but she guessed she and her brother would drive in and Bobby and Cas were going to follow or flank them. She didn't know how to answer him or what to say. "I'll be okay," was all she could muster, and she tried to smile softly at him through her pain, through the knowledge that soon they would be away from each other forever. But the smile probably just looked like a pained expression.

Swallowing what felt like a rock in the bottom of her throat, she touched his face gently and searched his eyes, struck by nostalgia, by awe at how much she loved Castiel, how he'd taken her life by storm and changed her forever—softened her heart, cut through her like a knife without even meaning to. A real, unforced little smile that was tinged with wavering emotion spread across her face as she thought of how far the two of them had come.

Alex shivered suddenly, and she knew that no amount of blankets in the world would help. "It's so cold," she whispered, and leaned forward to press her cheek against his shoulder. He shifted to put his arms around her. Her teeth chattered uncontrollably, even though she squeezed her eyes shut and tried to grit her teeth together to stop it. The shivers passed, leaving every muscle in her body exhausted and _done_ , begging her to lie down and just stop fighting it.

No. Not yet. Not yet.

She feebly tightened her arms around Cas, focusing on the rhythm of his breathing.

Off by the Impala, she could see that Bobby and Dean were embracing, clapping their hands on each other as they hugged goodbye. "I think it's almost time to go," Alex said, voice wavering. She didn't just mean in the car. She was fading away. She was scared, he was scared. A slight breeze blew her dark hair across the front of her face and Cas used two fingers to tuck the loose strands behind her ear but it slipped back out as soon as he let go and the ghost of a smile came over his lips.

"Even your hair is stubborn." His voice was fond, sad, and quiet. The smile faded and he looked at her deeply, soulfully, moving her hair back again, his fingers staying behind her ear as he leaned in to her, his eyebrows knitting together in anxiety as he softly pressed his lips to hers. Weak as she was, Alex brought her hands up to press against either side of his face, trying to memorize this so she could carry it with her forever, wherever she ended up beyond this life. Because somewhere deep down in her heart of hearts, she knew—she _knew_ —that this was the last time that he would kiss her. It was equal parts fierce and tender, the simple touch of lips to lips transcending words. They lingered there, mournful.

When they drew apart, he searched her eyes with his and brushed his thumb across her cheek as his hand stayed against her face. Pain and regret were both clearly etched onto his handsome features and he looked like at any moment he could begin to cry. "I would have saved you if I could have," he told her in a voice broken with guilt and grief. He shook his head faintly, staring at her in agony. "I'm so sorry this has happened to you."

"You _did_ save me," she said, thinking of how his presence had changed it all. "From silence…" her gaze faltered as pain and love alike swelled. "From being alone."

His face crumpled. She thought maybe he was really going to cry and it made alarm and grief surge forth inside of her. "Please don't, Cas, _please_ ," she begged, her voice becoming strained as her sorrow grew more pronounced. That's when he looked back up at her with eyes that were welling with confused, heartbroken tears. His face was distorted and she'd never seen it like that before.

"But Alex... I _love you._ " He looked so lost, like he was begging her for help with understanding why it was ending this way.

She broke down and fell forward to him, clutching him with all the strength she had left as she buried her face in the side of his neck and cried. "I love _you,_ " she managed, trying to put all the feelings that she felt into the words, trying to show him, somehow, that she meant it, that she would give anything to save him from this sadness she had caused him. They stayed there, clinging to each other in mutual grief and confusion as they both breathed unevenly and held onto each other for as long as possible. They heard booted feet approaching perhaps thirty seconds later and pulled apart a bit to see who it was.

It was Dean and he said nothing—no rude comments, no bitchy looks. "It's, uh, ten till noon," he said quietly, not looking at them squarely at that point. "We gotta get over there if we're gonna do this." He looked at Alex sadly. "If you still want to."

Alex nodded at her brother, heart hammering sickeningly in her chest at the thought of what they were about to do. With her hands on Cas's shoulders, her reluctant gaze met his. This was it. His eyes were red and his cheeks had shining tear tracks on them. She had no words, she couldn't think of how to tell him goodbye, mostly because she didn't _want_ to. That stupid lump was back in her throat and she could see that he was struggling too. And then, she got an idea. She lowered her hand and reached her pinky finger out—Cas looked down, saw it, and his expression wavered, but then he reached out his hand, too, looping his pinky finger through. He held her gaze soulfully. In a soft voice meant only for her to hear, he reassured her. "I meant what I said. I'll find you." He got that little smile on his face he got when he was pleased with himself—only it was tainted with great sadness and pain. "And if I recall correctly…" he tightened his finger just a little bit, "this means I'm forever bound."

Her heart burst all over again at the comment. He _remembered_ that stupid joke she'd pulled on him. Eyes welling with unshed tears, she nodded. She believed him and she felt at peace, despite the great sadness. "Forever bound," she repeated in the softest whisper, trying not to cry. "I'll—I'll see you later, Cas."

He nodded just slightly and neither wanted to part, but both knew they had to. Their fingers unlaced and Alex shrugged his coat off one shoulder with great effort. "You'll need this." He took it slowly, looking at her uncertainly, like he was going to protest, but then he didn't. He stood and put the coat back on and Alex felt better as she watched him pull it on one arm at a time. There he was.

Dean cleared his throat, came closer, and reached for Alex. "I got her Cas," he said softly.

Cas looked at Dean, then back to Alex and seemed to resign himself—he stepped back sadly and watched as Dean bent down and slipped his arm around Alex's back, down to her waist, about to pick her up. "No, I wanna walk," Alex protested, her voice wavering. "Please." She didn't say why, but she didn't think she needed to. It might be the last time she did. Dean's face flickered with pain and then he attempted an _everything's fine_ smile.

"Okay. I gotcha." Dean said nothing more and helped her stand up and looped his arm underneath hers then down around her middle, supporting her on the walk of maybe fifteen steps to the Impala. Alex looked back several times at Cas who stood with his arms hanging at his sides, a pensive look on his face. Bobby stood at the front of the van and gave a grim wave. He'd already said goodbye to Alex, privately, a few minutes ago in that Bobby Singer way. A pat on the shoulder and a gruff "you done all right kid. Proud to know you."

Dean got Alex to the passenger door of the car and opened it for her. One last time, Alex looked over her shoulder at Cas. Their eyes locked across the distance for a brief moment and she didn't want to leave him.

"Duck your head down," Dean instructed, and she refocused. She lifted her legs laboriously into the car.

"You're sure about this, kiddo?" he asked softly, steadying his arm against the car door frame. He looked at her long and hard. "You don't have to come. You and Cas, you two could just… wait this one out, you know?"

Surprised at his resigned offer, Alex looked up at him and tried to figure out if he were being genuine. She saw that he was and she was shocked. As much as she wanted to stay with Cas, she'd made her decision. "I'm sure."

Dean paused, then gave her one more chance to get out of what was about to happen. "It's not exactly the safest place for you to be, you know?"

"I know," Alex said. "But that's where our brothers are. So…" she looked through the windshield and took in a very deep breath. "That's where I'm going."

Dean's worried face broke into a soft little smile, and she could see that he was both proud of her and hated the idea of her going. But he accepted it. "Okay." He patted the door frame. "Okay." He shut her door for her, walked around the back of the car, gave Bobby the thumbs up, and the hunter and the ex-angel got into the van together. It started with a thundering rumble. The two of them were going to go in front of Dean and Alex and get in place by cutting through the back of the graveyard. Bobby had the little weapon Cas had suggested making and now they just had to wait and see if it would work. Dean swung into the driver's seat of his car as the van pulled past them. Cas looked at them with a tense expression on his face, then was gone.

Alex watched the van leave out of the side of her eye. Her chest hurt and she brushed some leftover tears off of the skin below her eyes. It was time to be brave, one last time.

"Okay, we give them a couple minutes, then we head in," Dean muttered. He seemed distracted and Alex looked at him from the corner of her eye.

"You think we have a shot in hell at this?" she asked, pretty sure he didn't.

A muscle jumped in his cheek. "Here's hoping," he answered vaguely, then cut that conversation short by explaining the plan. "So basically you and I are gonna drive in right at noon, distract the two featherheads. Cas and Bobby sneak in from behind, get rid of Michael so we get some Sam time. Then we talk to him, see what happens."

Had she missed something? Alex thought hard. Her brain felt muddled. "Get rid of Michael how?"

Dean looked her way, almost smirking. "Holy fire Molotov. Cas's idea."

Alex looked down at her lap, smiling softly at the twinge of pride she felt. "He's pretty clever, isn't he?"

"Yeah, not too shabby," Dean replied neutrally. He cleared his throat and dug in the pocket of his jacket. "Look what I found in Sammy's bag." He pulled out a little folded up piece of green construction paper. "I was going through it a minute ago, trying to find some friggin' matches and… I found this." He unfolded the paper, which looked old and faded—then handed her the dented paper over. It was a kiddy crayon drawing of three very rudimentary lopsided stick figures: a stick figure girl with outrageously long arms stretched out to two stick figure boys on either side of her. _i luv Sam end Deen_ it said underneath. Lopsided stars and hearts were sprinkled around the three figures. A badly drawn car—the Impala, she guessed—was beside them. Most kids would have drawn a house.

Her throat tightened as she realized what it was. Choked on sadness, she struggled. "I can't believe he kept this stupid thing," she whispered.

Dean was nodding and trying to keep his face from crumpling. He took it back and looked at it with a hard to read expression. Alex could tell he was trying to gather his courage to tell her something. Finally, he set it down and looked at her with an emotionally open expression. "You know, Sammy and I were real lucky to have you around, Al."

The look on his face, the realization that he was about to give her a goodbye speech freaked her the fuck out. She couldn't accept how close the end was. " _Dean_ …" she protested.

"I mean it," he cut her off. "And I might not get another chance to say this stuff so… just hear me out." He looked down at the drawing a second then swiveled in his seat and put the paper onto the back seat before he turned to look at her again. "Sometimes I thought about how what it would have been like growing up without you. And I just... it wouldn't have been right, you know?" He put a hand onto the steering wheel, brows knit in thought as he looked out through the windshield of the parked car. "You... you put a lot of sunshine into our lives." He chuckled suddenly, like he was remembering something. "Homecoming, remember that one homecoming we went to? One of my favorite memories."

Alex made a face, trying to remember. Surely he didn't mean what she thought he did. "...You mean the time I dumped the punch bowl over that asshole principle's head and got us kicked out of the dance _and_ suspended from school?"

Dean raised his hands, shrugging. "Hey, the dude had it coming!"

Alex couldn't help it. Tears welled up in her eyes as she looked at her older brother and she remembered what she hadn't thought about in years. How Dean had taken her to a homecoming dance when she and Sam were newly fourteen—he'd _insisted_ on it, hadn't taken her silent grumpy headshakes for a no. Instead he'd stolen ("borrowed!") an old prom dress from the girl he was dating at the time and told her she better put it on so he could take her whiny ass to the dance. So Alex had grudgingly worn the god-awful blinding purple dress but with boots and a jacket, annoyed the entire time, but also secretly delighted to be part of a normal high school tradition. At a certain point she'd dumped punch all over the idiot principle who seemed to have it out for her family—he'd insulted Sam in front of a bunch of teachers and pissed Alex off for the last time. As soon as the juice rained down, Dean and Alex had gotten kicked out—Sam, who managed to escape association from the fiasco, had been mortified by his siblings antics. So Dean and Alex had ditched and gone to a local fast food joint then sat on the roof of the place, throwing french fries at people's heads from above. Dean had laughed about the look on that principle's face for what seemed like _weeks_.

"Yeah, the dude _did_ have it coming," Alex said, voice fraught with emotion and nostalgia. Dean seemed to be thinking about it too. He was laughing with a shit-eating grin on his face.

"That guy's _face_ man, when all that red punch and the lime slices…" he trailed off, chortling. Then Dean's grin faded and he looked at her with softening eyes. "You were prettier and cooler than any other girl there that night, you know that?" He sounded guilty now, and Alex's smile left her face. "I didn't tell you stuff like that enough." Surprised at him, Alex just stared. Her oldest brother cleared his throat again, seeming to be embarrassed. "Listen, I just, I know I've screwed up so a lot more than anything else but… everything I've ever done I've done trying to keep you safe." He looked at her earnestly through a rigid, regretful expression. "And I will _never_ forgive myself for pushing you away like I did this year." He paused tensely, seeming to have trouble meeting her gaze. "I just need you to know that I love you. And that I'm sorry."

 _God,_ Dean… Alex swallowed painfully at his confession and openness. There were a lot of things that he'd done wrong and she wasn't over a lot of them... but there was something stronger than all of her resentment. How much she loved him, all the memories they shared, the lifetime they had lived together. Even more tears were gathering in her eyes and she smiled at him through them. "World's best oldest brother," she said simply, emotionally.

He looked equally as emotional. "World's best, coolest, bad-assest sister."

"Assest isn't a word," she told him, smiling despite the pain, almost laughing. She loved this jackass brother of hers so much.

He smiled bittersweetly then shrugged humbly. "It is now."

Alex attempted some humor, summoning the energy to make a face at him. "I'll call Miriam-Webster, let her know."

Dean made a confused face. "The dictionary is a woman?"

Alex looked at him with mock dead seriousness. "Yeah, I mean, she knows everything, so... makes sense to me."

Dean seemed to realize he should have seen where that was going and he laughed, a bit reluctantly. "Touché." He checked his watch anxiously, drummed his fingers on the wheel of the Impala and Alex took in a deep breath.

If this really was it, she had to let Dean know a few things, too. But this was hard. She had to swallow her pride and fear. She clenched her jaw, trying to figure out how to word herself. She glanced at him sidelong. "Dean… what I said to you… last month or whenever. About you being just like Dad in all the bad ways." She pressed her lips together, turning her head to look at him better. He was silent, almost holding his breath, dreading what she was going to say.

"I wouldn't have made it if it weren't for you." She owed her life to him ten times over, and saying this sappy heartfelt stuff aloud was uncomfortable but she kept going, watching as her brother's face become deeply affected. She meant every word of what she said and knew that it was what he needed to hear. "I _never_ questioned whether you were on my side or not," she said falteringly, voice high-pitched from effort. "I never had to worry because I knew you'd be there no matter what. If Dad left, if Sam left… you'd still be there. I never doubted."

Her face was crumpling. She remembered how he had covered for her and claimed that _he_ needed a nightlight and that _he_ was scared of the dark when he figured out _she_ was scared of the dark—how he had always given her high fives and thumbs ups and fist pounds and told her "that's my girl" whenever she did something right or cool—how he had snuck her into the best R-rated movies when she was still to young to legally see them—how he had always brought her books he thought she would like, how he looked out for her constantly and how he'd always, _always_ told her it would be okay then _made sure it was_. "You were my _best friend,_ Dean. You still are."

His eyes were welled up with tears and he scooted closer, hugged her tightly but carefully, holding a hand against the back of her head firmly. She felt him press a kiss to the side of her head and she shut her eyes, trying her hardest to hug him back through her failing strength. Memories of their years together flooded her mind, and despite all the horror and crap and loss and tragedy, she was so thankful that she'd had Dean and Sam with her for it.

Dean drew back, hand still on the side of her face and he looked at her with a bittersweet expression, his thumb stroking her hair affectionately. He managed a little smile and she knew he was about to make some kind of joke. "So, been meaning to ask… you really like that Cas guy, huh?"

A rueful, weak smile softened her face. "'Like' isn't the word," she said honestly.

He nodded, looking at her intently, expression hard to read. "I know."

She couldn't tell what he was thinking, what he wanted out of that question and she shrugged, growing withdrawn at the thought of Cas. "Doesn't matter now though does it. It's over. Everything."

Dean didn't seem to like her statement. It made him sad. "It ain't over till it's over, right?" He let go of her, shrugged, and looked off into middle distance. "Maybe today isn't it for us. We've gotten through worse, right?"

As much as she would have liked to believe that, Alex shook her head, depressed. "I don't think so. You're just trying to make me feel better." She worked her jaw and her voice dropped to almost nothing. "I think we both know this is over."

"Hey, hey." He looked at her with the beginnings of indignant denial on his face. "Don't you give up on me now, Al." She looked at him sidelong at the harsh tone and he paused, wet his lips, softened his voice. "You were trying to do the right thing with what you did yesterday." He had her attention and she looked at him with a strained expression. "It's okay," he told her. "I'm not mad at you."

 _What?_ Alex stared in faint disbelief. She deserved his anger, _everyone's_ anger. "How can you not be mad at me?"

He looked at her earnestly. "I love you too damn much to be mad at you." Regret and grief filtered across his features. "Just wish I could have kept this from happening to you." He leaned in a little, demanding her gaze. "You listen to me. Lucifer was gonna get Sam one way or another. Don't blame yourself for that."

She withered a little bit under his words and stares, wanting to believe what he said was true, wanting to believe he really felt that way. She looked down at her knees, fatigue washing over her anew. She blinked heavily and took in a raggedy breath. "I feel so tired Dean."

His face showed fear and grave concern, he swallowed and his voice was barely above a whisper. He touched her shoulder gently. "Hang on just a little longer, baby girl, okay? Just a little longer."

She nodded pathetically and didn't look at him, because she wanted to cry again. "Okay."

He glanced at his watch then let out a shaky breath. "All right, showtime." He started the car and pulled back onto the road. Alex saw how his hands clenched and unclenched on the wheel of the Impala, how his jaw wouldn't stop tensing, how freaked he was, how scared shitless.

She was too, and it was making her _sick_. She stared out the window at the unremarkable landscape. "My heart's beating like fucking hummingbird's wings," she muttered anxiously, chewing on the inside of her mouth. She felt like she'd drank five energy drinks in a row. Dean glanced at her sidelong, chuckling despite himself when he saw her chomping the inside of her cheek.

"You're gonna chew a hole in your face, Al," he said affectionately. He'd told her that constantly growing up... and she hadn't yet. They exchanged the smallest little smile at that memory. He gestured at the little box of cassettes on the floor near her feet. "Hey, do me a favor and find Pyromania, will you? I need some Leppard right now."

 _Of course you do, Dean._ Alex bent with effort and pulled the box closer and rifled through his tapes until she found the one he wanted. It clacked around in its plastic box. "Side one or side two?" She asked, sitting up and feeling out of breath from the simple task.

He slowed down and turned, pulling them into the entrance of the graveyard. He looked at the graveyard ahead with a terse expression. "Side two," he told her, and she slid the cassette into the tape deck.

" _Gunter, glieben, glauchen, globen!" T_ he song began, then the cowbell started the beat. _"All right! I got something to say!"_ The electric guitar began to whine the riff they'd both heard a million times. _"Hey it's better to burn out! Yeah, than fade awa-a-a-y!"_

Dean took in a huge breath and expelled it noisily, once again giving away how nervous he was. And then he did something he hadn't done in years. He held his hand out to her, looking hopeful that she would take it, and she looked at him with a puzzled look on her face—he used to do that when she was younger, when they were heading into a scary or new situation; it was his way of silently reassuring her that she was going to be okay, that she wasn't alone. He'd never been embarrassed about doing it, ever—how many times had he walked her to a classroom at a new school? How many times had he gotten made fun of for holding his little sister's hand? But he'd never let it bother him even once, not outwardly anyway. He'd just told her "they're jealous they don't have such a cool sister like I do. Now go kick some ass, Mouse."

And now he was asking her for the same gesture. Alex scooted closer and put her hand into his, holding as tight as her weak digits would allow. She felt a little better, immediately, a little braver. Their hands held there on the seat of the Impala and Dean's shoulders relaxed a little, he nodded and looked out at the graveyard, taking in another deep breath. His jaw flexed and he swallowed. She could literally see him gathering his courage and squeezed his hand silently, feeling him tighten his grip back. "All right. Here goes nothin'," Dean muttered, and gunned the engine a couple times, then slowly drove them into the cemetery.

As the car crawled over a small slope, they could see that two familiar figures stood in the center of the old abandoned graveyard. Sam's tall imposing form, Adam's shorter and more proportioned. They both turned at the approach of the Impala, their expressions unreadable masks. Dean pulled right up to them, looked at Alex and let go of her hand with one final squeeze. He parked the car, shut it off and got out, leaning onto the door. "Howdy, boys." He paused, looking between the archangels with a gruff expression. "Sorry. We interrupting something?" He shut his door and walked forward a little bit even as Alex pushed her car door open, barely able to even summon the strength to even do that. She used the window ledge to haul herself up to stand. She was having a hard time breathing and when she looked at her brothers—the one she'd known a lifetime, the one she'd only met recently—her emotions were almost impossible to control. How the hell had this even happened? Dean looked back at her glancingly, worried. She shut the door and it didn't close all the way because she couldn't summon the strength.

Lucifer looked at Dean cooly. "Dean. Even for you, this is a whole new mountain of stupid." It was chilling because he looked exactly like Sam, but the demeanor was different, the way he held himself was different, his eyes were cold and lifeless, calculating and cruel. Those eyes slid to Alex, he looked amused and perplexed all at once. "And you brought your dying sister… now why would you do _that_?"

Dean was staying guarded and calm. "You promised to save her, so you gonna make good on that or what?"

Lucifer's eyebrows rose slightly, he pretended to be thoughtful, narrowing his eyes and looking off to the side before he looked back at Dean challengingly. "Nah."

Dean looked like he'd expected as much. "All right then, I'm done talking to you. I'm talking to Sam now." Lucifer's eyebrows raised in faint amusement.

Michael stepped forward at that moment, his expression foul. "You're no longer the vessel, Dean," Michael said. "Neither of you got any right to be here."

Dean looked at Adam tensely. "Adam, if you're in there somewhere, I am so sorry."

No emotion or feeling crossed Adam's face. "Adam isn't _home_ right now."

Alex caught a flash of beige on her peripheral and her heart jammed in her throat, knowing Castiel was nearby. "Well, then you're next on my list, buttercup," Dean said, oblivious. "But right now, I need five minutes with him."

"You little maggot," Michael said, distaste sullying his face and voice. He began to advance on Dean. "You are no longer a _part_ of the _story_!"

A deep, commanding voice from behind them suddenly rung out. "Hey, assbutt!"

Castiel had stood up to his full height from where he'd been hidden and Michael turned to see him holding a bottle from which a flame was burning—and Cas threw it squarely at the archangel, who screamed as it hit him and exploded, engulfing Michael in scorching flames. Dean stumbled back from the heat and piercing sound that accompanied the blaze, and beside the passenger-side tire, Alex leaned away, hands clutching onto the hood as she shut her eyes. She couldn't crouch down. Her leg muscles were too shaky and spent.

When the noise was gone and the heat faded, Michael was gone. Dean looked at Castiel breathlessly. " _Assbutt_?" he asked incredulously.

Cas shrugged, like he was silently saying _it was the best I could do at the time_. "He'll be back—and upset—but you got your five minutes." Cas's gaze went to Alex, and she thought he was about to come to her, but then Sam's voice stopped him.

Lucifer set Cas with a venomous stare. "Castiel. Did you just _Molotov_ my brother with holy fire?"

Cas took a slight step backwards, suddenly aware he was the object of the devil's wrath. "Uh... _no_?" Alex's stomach dropped in alarm as she realized how angry Lucifer sounded, how _dangerous_.

Lucifer's jaw tightened. "No one dicks with Michael but me," he said wrathfully, and Sam's hand raised up, fingers held together like he was going to snap them—

"Lucifer, no, no, no please!" Alex begged in a rush of frantic pleas, and she chanced taking a few stumbling steps forward, leaning heavily onto the car as she did. Lucifer turned and looked at her coldly, annoyed, fingers still raised by his head as Cas's face filled with emotional pain at her clear struggle to stand and move.

"Alexandra, you're really not looking too well," he said snidely. "Why don't you just leave this matter to the men?"

She ignored the insult. "Please, _please_ , don't hurt him," Alex begged—she was shaking perceptibly. Cas had taken a couple steps toward her the second Lucifer had turned halfway to look her. Lucifer's fingers relaxed, his hand lowered, he turned to face her straight on. He got the smallest little wicked smile on his face.

"Hm. Well since you asked so _nicely_ ," Lucifer said darkly, and began to walk towards her.

Dean quickly moved to block Lucifer from getting to his sister—his expression tense and warning and grim. "Sam—" Dean started. "Talk to me, Sam." Lucifer paused momentarily, his expression torn between amused and annoyed. And then he swept Dean aside easily with a wave of his hand, sent him flying nearly twenty feet across the graveyard where he collided painfully with a tombstone and groaned, staying there.

"Dean!" Alex cried, even as she was roughly grabbed by the front of her jacket and lifted up until her feet dangled above the ground. She let out a sound of wounded surprise. Lucifer looked at her with a cold expression.

" _Let her go_!"

Lucifer turned his head to see Castiel standing in a wide stance just a few feet away—weaponless, angry, afraid. A faint little inconvenienced smile came over Sam's face and Lucifer moved his free hand in a 'come here' motion—Castiel was grabbed by an invisible force and dragged through the air, whirled around a hundred-and-eighty degrees where he slammed into the driver's side of the Impala, shattering the window with the force in which he collided. He groaned, seeming to be stuck there half-standing, his back pinned against the car. Dean was moaning in pain somewhere nearby by Alex couldn't see him anymore. She had her hands weakly grasped around Sam's wrist that held her up high so easily. Barely able to breathe, Alex searched Sam's face for a sign that he was in there.

"Sam, are you in there Sam?" she asked desperately, knowing he _could_ hear her because she'd been able to hear, too.

Lucifer turned his head to look back at her, and even though the face was that of her twin's, he had never looked so unfamiliar to her. He ignored her question. "I didn't _finish_ what I was saying," he practically growled, and he strode over to where Cas was, holding her up above the ground the entire time, making it even harder to breathe than it had been before. He dropped her roughly to the ground where her feet collided and sent pain shooting up her leg bones even as he whirled her around so that her back pressed into his chest, so that she faced Cas. Lucifer made her stand there and fear cascaded over Alex as he inexplicably reached into her jacket.

"Since you asked me so nicely not to hurt your precious Castiel…" Lucifer breathed down her neck, "how about _you_ do the honors?" He pulled out her angel blade from where it had been hidden and he grabbed her wrist with his other hand, making her hold the handle of the blade, crushing his other hand over hers, forcing her to wield it. Cas looked at her in something like horrified realization as he breathed hard, his entire body heaving with effort and pain.

Realizing what Lucifer was about to do, Alex panicked and began to whimper as she started to freak out at the most basic level, fighting wildly with every ounce of strength she had left which wasn't much. Her whimpers turned to screaming protests as she tried to push backwards, staring at Cas wide-eyed in horror and realizing she had no way of breaking the grip on her. "No, stop! _No_!"

It all happened so fast—Lucifer moved himself and Alex forward, too strong for her to resist. "No, _no_ ," Alex begged, and smashed the palm of her hand up against Cas's lower left-hand ribcage, trying with all of her sapped strength to push herself away from him, trying with everything she had to save Cas from what was about to happen.

Castiel just held her gaze anxiously, his expression tense and worried as his hand came to cover her hand that was pressing uselessly against his chest. His fingers curled around her hand tightly, as if he were _reassuring her_ and telling her it was okay, that he didn't blame her, that he accepted what was about to happen. His breathing quickened even further, like he was preparing himself. "Don't watch this, Alex," he implored her urgently, even as Sam's hand clamped down even tighter onto hers. Alex began to scream again, as if somehow her wretched protests could make this stop "I'm so sorry," Cas choked out, and his eyes were filled with immeasurable pain and regret, helplessness, unwillingness to leave her.

"No, please, Sam, _no_!" Alex sobbed frantically, feeling Sam's steely fingers almost breaking hers as his body tensed and he drew the blade back, puppeting her. " _No, noooo_!" she was almost hyperventilating at that point, dying of terror.

" _Yes_ ," Lucifer said through gritted teeth, and with a thrust of his wrist, he made Alex stab Castiel through the heart. Cas screamed and his head went back as his Grace blazed out of his eyes and mouth. Alex screamed, Dean shouted from somewhere nearby—and Lucifer let go. Alex fell over as Cas did too, lifeless, leaving wing prints charred across the Impala. Sobbing deliriously, crumpled over Cas's still form and holding onto two fistfuls of his trench coat in her hands, Alex was shellshocked. He was dead, and she couldn't breathe. She heard Lucifer smirking as he stood over them. "Till death do you part," he mocked heartlessly. And the comment made Alex see red, she closed her shaking feeble hand around the hilt of the angel blade in Cas's chest, preparing to do something incredibly stupid—she looked up at the devil just in time to see a bullet hit him in the shoulder.

Lucifer turned slowly and challengingly to look at Bobby, who had the colt raised high. Bobby shot him again, straight through the heart. Nothing happened. Lucifer only looked down at his bleeding chest, annoyed, then back up at Bobby, his features twisting with hatred. Lucifer raised his hand up and jerked it oddly—and Bobby's neck snapped.

" _Nooo_!" Dean shouted—he was standing nearby, slumped over slightly. Alex almost passed out as she watched Bobby hit the ground. Lucifer's neck whipped to the side and he fixed Dean with a menacing glare.

" _Yes_." Lucifer shoved Dean back and into the Impala's windshield violently. The impact of Dean's head cracked the glass into a jagged circle. Groaning, Dean laid there dazed, but Lucifer grabbed him by a leg, yanked him down the hood and pulled him up, punching him in the face hard enough to make him whirl, see stars, and momentarily lose clarity. Crumpled over the hood of his car, Dean saw the blood dripping down from his mouth onto the shining black surface of his car. _Take care of your brother and sister. Keep them safe, make sure they're okay._ Dean gathered himself and turned around, breathing hard and trying to fight the sick feeling in his stomach.

"Sammy, can you hear me?" Dean asked, almost in tears.

Lucifer's face filled with cold contempt and he approached slowly, murder in his eyes, no hint of Sam anywhere to be seen. "You know... I tried to be nice... for Sam's sake." He brought his hands up slowly to grip Dean by the lapels of his leather jacket. Dean tensed, preparing for whatever was next. "But you... are such a pain... in my ass."

Lucifer backhanded Dean brutally, sending him stumbling sideways, then kicked him in the knee, hard enough to break bone. A pained scream tore out of Dean's mouth and he fell over, clutching his leg. Panting in pain, Dean looked up at Lucifer. For a minute, he contemplated staying down. _Take care of your brother and sister. Keep them safe, make sure they're okay._ Dean dragged himself up, using the bumper of the Impala and keeping all of his weight on one leg. "Sammy, fight him, you hear me?!" Dean urged, then hissed in pain he didn't have time to let himself feel. His voice rose in urgency. "Sam, I know you're in there, don't let him win!"

Lucifer grabbed Dean by the jacket. "Oh, Sam's in here, all right." He threw another bone-crushing punch, holding Dean with one hand so that he couldn't fall away. "And he's gonna feel the snap of your _bones_!" Lucifer socked him again and let Dean fall down to the ground this time. "Every single one." He hauled a bleary-eyed Dean to his feet. "We're gonna take our time. I've already won, Dean." Lucifer shoved Dean up against the Impala and began to beat him ruthlessly, not stopping even once, he hit him again and again and _again_ , until Dean's face was swollen and disfigured, raw and oozing blood. And Dean didn't fight back, he just took it.

Inside of himself, Sam felt every sickening blow his fists beat into his brothers bloodied face, heard his brother's pained cries—and could do nothing. He struggled and begged and pleaded and raged but nothing worked and he was stuck. _Dean! Dean fight me! Don't let him kill you!_

Suddenly, Sam felt a strange pressure in his side. Lucifer looked down and when he did, Sam could see that there was an angel blade stuck halfway right into his ribcage. He looked up. Alex was standing slightly behind him, clearly about to fall over—she'd thrown the blade but missed and hadn't thrown it hard enough. Sam despaired even as Lucifer's fury blazed. "You—leave—my brothers— _alone_!" Alex shouted in a weakened voice, not backing away, and Sam shrank internally in horror as Lucifer yanked the blade out of himself and cast it down, looked at the glowing blue wound contemptuously. He let Dean go, who fell down to the ground, wounded and dazed. Alex looked frail and deathly, like even standing was a struggle.

Sam felt his mouth opening, felt himself speaking, but it wasn't him. "You know, you may be more trouble than you're worth, Alexandra," he said quietly, but there was a danger there in his voice, a warning. He felt Lucifer's annoyance and impatience and Sam fought even harder as Lucifer took a step toward his sister. _Don't you go near her you son of a bitch!_

Alex didn't run, didn't move, just looked Sam and Lucifer straight in the eye and spoke to Sam. Tears streamed down her cheeks and he could see how she was in every kind of agony that could exist. "Sam, _fight him_!" she cried.

_I'm trying, oh god I'm trying! Alex get away from me! Run!_

Sam couldn't stop Lucifer no matter how hard he tried and he watched himself bear down onto her and take her by the neck then slam her to the ground ruthlessly. He straddled her crushingly and put both hands on her neck, beginning to choke the life out of her.

_No, no, no! Please don't kill her, don't hurt her!_

His hands only tightened on her neck.

_I'll just bring her back later, Sam. Stop trying to fight me, I'm getting tired of it._

"Sam, _no_! _Sam_!" Dean begged from somewhere behind them. Without even looking, Lucifer gestured a single annoyed hand. Dean slammed into the side of the Impala and hit his head hard.

Beneath him, Alex was choking, gasping for air and fighting to stay alive, her hands grabbed onto his uselessly. "Sam, _please_ …!" she rasped. Tears ran out of her eyes and down into her hair as she looked up at him in fear and pain.

" _I'm not Sam_ ," he growled through gritted teeth. And then the strangest thing happened. Alex's face relaxed, she stopped struggling. She looked at him and it was so obvious that she _loved him_. Sam reached out to that desperately, to who he was: her big brother, not the devil. Lucifer wavered.

"You _are_ Sam," she wheezed, barely able to breathe, turning blue, but appearing fiercer than Sam had seen her before, more determined and strong than ever. Her teeth were gritted, her expression was intense and furious. " _My_ Sam. And I am never giving up on you _ever!_ " Her ragged, shallow inhales sounded inhuman. But she choked out words all the same. "Listen—to me, you're—not alone, I'm—with you, Sammy!" Sam screamed inside, fighting with everything he had for his twin, the one he'd been with since conception, the one he shared a birthday with—the one whose hand he'd held in his as they crossed the street as kids—the one who had kept all the secrets he ever told her—the one who had tried to make him chicken noodle soup that one time and exploded the microwave when she put the entire can in there—the one who knew his favorite things and his biggest mistakes and had always been willing to give him just one more chance.

Sam could feel himself gaining traction as he thought of how much he loved her and how much he wanted to save her from everything Lucifer had planned for them. As he held onto this solid anchor, Sam found a new strength within himself and began to wrestle Lucifer backward, began to regain control over his body. Sam was able to loosen his grip on her neck and Alex could breathe again—but then as soon as it had begun, Lucifer suddenly rushed back over him and kicked Sam downward internally. Lucifer brutally pressed Sam's hands down with deadly force... and Sam felt Alex's neck snap beneath his hands. Her head lolled to the side, eyes shut, body still, life gone.

_No! Oh god no!_

Dean, who had crawled over was several feet away—he froze. "Oh god, _no_ , Sam, _no_..." he pleaded in a broken sob. Inside, Sam was screaming. But outwardly, he just stood up, annoyed, and grabbed Dean up by the front of his jacket and slammed him down onto his back, then dragged him over to the Impala, slamming him into the metal siding harshly. "How many of you people do I have to _kill_ today?" he snarled.

Dean tried to reach for Sam through his heartbroken tears. "Sam, it's okay," he choked out. "I-it's okay. I'm here," he said. "I'm _here_. I'm not gonna leave you, Sam."

 _Pathetic,_ Lucifer told Sam. _Pathetic how he thinks he can reach you. You're mine, there's no escaping now._

Lucifer punched him again, then again, but Dean just took it tearfully, repeating himself, voice choked with emotion. "I'm not gonna leave you."

 _Stop!_ Sam despaired, wretched and agonized. _Just stop!_

_No. I'll never stop, this is just the beginning. Now watch as I kill not only your sister but now your brother with your own hands. All they've ever done is held you back. All they've ever done is weaken you!_

Lucifer drew his fist back for another punch, one that would kill Dean… but just then, a cloud moved away, the sun came out and glinted off the roof of the Impala, catching Lucifer's eye. He looked, seeing his own reflection in the window, then past that, a little green army man stuck permanently in one of the ashtrays of the car. On the back seat, a drawing of stick figures and big sloppy kid writing was laid errantly— _i luv Sam end Deen_ was surrounded by lopsided stars and hearts. And Sam saw these things too. Lucifer wavered inside underneath the surge of emotion and memories the army man and drawing produced.

All Sam could hear was the wind whistling around him as he remembered playing army men in the back of the car and how Alex always used to chew on the little toy soldiers heads and arms and Sam would complain and Dean would say not to complain, that Alex was just making the army men more realistic, like they had sustained combat zone battle wounds. And then Sam thought of how they had carved their initials onto the floorboards together in secret one afternoon and how Dean had jammed legos into the air vents of the car and how Alex had stuck chewed off army men heads into the passenger ashtray and the summer heat had melted it all into a hard mass and rendered the ashtray completely useless. And Sam remembered sitting on the hood of the car on starry nights and sharing a beers and laughs and even a joint with his siblings after hard days—he thought about watching Alex catch frogs and then shove them down the back of Dean's shirt to make Sam laugh… and a million memories of them flooded his mind: his brother and sister, the two people in the world who had fought _with_ him and _for_ him and _beside_ him and never permanently given up on him, ever. Love, sheer overwhelming love washed over Sam as he realized that Lucifer was _wrong_.

 _No. They never held me back. They made me_ better. _They gave me something to fight for, something to believe in. And I believe in them more than I believe in you! They_ strengthen _me, you son of a bitch!_

And Sam gathered all of that strength as the memories of his life careened through his mind, spilling out in a monsoon. With a deafening roar, Sam surged upwards inside of himself and cast Lucifer aside and he gasped, stumbling back in control of himself again and momentarily shocked by it.

Blinking rapidly, gasping and out of breath, Sam looked at his hands, the hands that had just killed his sister and agony came across his features. "Oh _god_ ," he said, and looked back at her. She laid like a broken doll on the dead grass and he staggered toward her as if in a horrified trance, like maybe he thought it had all been a bad dream. She laid there without moving, clearly dead. "No, oh no—" his hands were on either side of his head as he looked at her in terror. He did that. Oh god, he _did that_! He had _murdered_ her, he'd let Lucifer do it, he hadn't been strong enough or quick enough...

"Sam?" Dean asked, mumbling, almost at the point of passing out where he was sitting slumped beside the Impala.

Sam turned, tears streaming down his face as he heaved from labored breathing. "I-it's okay, Dean," he told his barely conscious brother, filled with terror and absolute grief. "It's gonna be okay—I've got him. He's not gonna hurt anyone ever again. I'm ending this now." Sam reached into his pocket with shaking hands and tossed the horsemen's rings down about seven feet to the left of Alex's body. " _Bvtmon tabges babalon!_ "

The ground caved in around the rings and the earth shook, air began to suck down into the widening hole, a loud and powerful wind filled the entire cemetery and whipped at Sam's hair and clothes. This was it, the end for him. Sam turned back to Dean, afraid, breathing heavily, distraught and tortured by what he had done. Dean stared at him with a slack jaw, only one of his eyes able to open—the other was swollen shut. Both of the brothers were in tears and Sam nodded at Dean. _It's gonna be okay. I've got him. I'm going to save you, Dean_. Sam looked at his sister's dead body again and his misery doubled, his horror and guilt were beyond comparison. He turned to jump into the hole, to end this once and for all—he had wanted to save her from Lucifer, but in the end he wasn't able and he would never forgive himself. He took a step toward the edge of the hole, tensed, preparing to jump.

" _Sam_!" A sudden voice behind him startled him and Sam whirled. "It's not gonna end this way!" Michael shouted. "Step back!" Adam's familiar face glared at him and Sam's heart spasmed in fear but he didn't budge, in fact, he slid his foot back, edging closer to the hole.

"You're gonna have to make me!" he shouted back through his agony. His eyes burned with tears, he slid back a little more.

Michael's glare deepened. "I have to fight my brother, Sam!" Michael insisted in a shout above the wind. "Here and now! It's my destiny!"

Sam looked at Dean, who stared back fearfully, silently urging Sam to jump but also horrified that he would. Sam looked down at Alex's dead body. _No. It may be your destiny, but it's not mine._

" _Listen to me, you're not alone, do you hear me? I'm with you, Sammy."_

Her last words to him, said with so much love. And as the image of her dying at his hands replayed in his mind, he didn't have to think twice about what to do next.

With a gut-wrenching sob, Sam closed his eyes and spread his arms, letting himself begin to fall backwards… and with a shout, Michael lunged forward and grabbed onto Sam, attempting to pull him back, but Sam held on with all of the strength he had, pulling the archangel down with him.

And Sam and Michael fell together, down, down, down. The circle of sunlight above them vanished completely and inescapable darkness swallowed them whole.

Above the ground, the hole closed with a blinding flash of light and loud horrible crack.

And then all was silent.


	45. Ashes to Ashes

" _I am free... and that is why I am lost."_  
\- Franz Kafka

* * *

Dean Winchester was the only man left alive in the world. That's how he felt as he cradled his sister's broken and lifeless body in his arms. He'd dragged himself over to her, fighting the pain of his broken leg the whole way. He held her and wept.

He was the only one left.

Bobby laid silently nearby dead and broken, Cas's body was on the other side of the Impala. The silence was gut wrenching. Just wind whistling over the grass, just the call of crows now and then. Just the sounds of Dean's own wretched hiccuping sobs as he thought of all he had lost in the span of not even five minutes.

His whole world was gone. Destroyed. Alex was growing cold and stiff in his arms, her skin was blotched and pale, distorted by the gruesome veins that Lucifer had left when he possessed her. Just a few feet away, the horsemen's rings laid on the ground where his brother had thrown them, his final act here on earth. Sam was gone. He wasn't coming back. Dean hadn't been able to save him. And he hadn't been able to save her, either.

Whispering over and over again how sorry he was, Dean rocked his little sister as the exhausting, overwhelming grief suffocated him. He hadn't come this far to lose them in the same damn day. Yet here he was. He thought of how the twins had been born a minute and forty-seven seconds apart. Maybe they were supposed to die close together, too. His heart broke in half at the thought.

He would have traded himself for them without hesitation... but he couldn't.

This wasn't supposed to happen. The thought of gathering their bodies—Alex, Bobby, Cas—the thought of salting and burning them on the very ground that Sam had fallen into Hell through was too much. Dean imagined going on without the only people in the world he really loved, knew, trusted… and despaired at the thought of being the only one left standing after all these years of hunting.

He thought of his gun tucked into the glove compartment of his car.

_Just let it be over. Just let me be done. I can't take this suffering anymore._

* * *

Castiel remembered when Alex had been forced to kill him.

The look in her eyes when it happened was all he could see in his mind's eye. He remembered the physical pain when the blade stabbed into the cavity of his chest, he remembered hearing himself scream in pain as he reacted helplessly, as he died. He'd been afraid, but not because he was afraid of death—he was afraid to leave her. He remembered holding her hand for as long as he could, trying to comfort her as it had happened, knowing how horrible it was but not being able to do anything about it. He remembered how she screamed and cried and fought valiantly, trying to save him. He'd known he was dead from the second Lucifer had looked at him with those cruel eyes. But all he'd been able to think about was her. How he hadn't wanted to die before she did. He'd wanted to be there with her when she took her last breath, because she shouldn't have to be alone in that moment. And Satan had taken that from them.

Now he was over, now he was done, dead. Except… he _wasn't._ There was no sense of time passing, but he was suddenly, without fanfare, cognizant of the fact that he was alive and whole again. His eyes snapped open and he gasped in a deep breath of cold, sharp air. Over him there was an overcast, unremarkable sky and Cas blinked rapidly, stunned and breathing fast, hard. _How?_ He felt it immediately… the power and clarity of Grace running through his veins once again, singing in his blood and vibrating fiercely through every atom. Life returned like a tidal wave to the body he was fused with and had died in; he was fully restored, as powerful as he had been before he had been demoted three years ago, and he was awed—and then a little afraid. _Why?_

Who had done this? Why had he been resurrected? And as a higher-order angel again? A sinking feeling came over him internally as he remembered what he had done.

" _I promise, I swear to you, I will do_ anything _if you heal her, give her another chance. Father,_ please _."_

That had been his plea to God yesterday as he held a sick and dying Alex in his arms. A desperate promise made by a desperate man. The sinking feeling continued. Castiel had sworn to do _anything_ and now God—it must have been God—had restored him and resurrected him, giving him the ability to save her. God had heard him, his Father had granted him an answer… just not the way in which Castiel had expected. What payment would God would require of him now? A question that disturbed Cas to the deepest parts of his mind.

Shouldn't the knowledge that God was not gone comfort him? It did not.

The graveyard was oddly silent and Castiel rolled himself over slowly, feeling every beat of the heart in his chest reverberating through himself in a way that seemed as if it should be painful. He heard no one and nothing. A strange, dazed, off-balance sensation filled him.

Where _was_ she?

Castiel pushed himself up and stood to his full height. He saw Bobby, laying still and silent a few feet off from him. And then he heard the soft little sounds of someone crying. He turned around.

He saw Dean sitting brokenly with one leg out in front of him... Alex's body in his arms. And Castiel approached slowly. She looked like she might have been sleeping there as her brother held her, cradling her as one might cradle a child. Dean was shaking, shoulders heaving as he wept, head bowed over his sister.

Deep, strange sadness welled over Castiel when he saw them like that, when he realized she was dead, when he felt that Lucifer and Michael had both been locked away, that Sam was gone, that only Dean had survived. Cas paused, didn't go closer for a moment, puzzled with himself, disturbed. He knew his power and strength, knew that he was able once again to raise the dead, heal the sick. But the knowledge troubled him instead of assuring him, he felt a strangely overwhelming sense of dread and displacement. Something was wrong—with him, maybe. He heard the whispers of angels in the back of his mind again, the call of Heaven. Castiel moved forward again, each step he took seeming heavier than the last.

"You don't need to mourn, Dean," Castiel said quietly, announcing his presence. Dean's head whipped around, he looked up at Cas in shock. His face was bruised and swollen. Tears streaked his bloody face.

"Cas, you're alive?" he asked in a choked voice full of disbelief.

Castiel felt himself smiling sadly as he came to a stop just beside Dean. "I'm better than that." He reached down and touched Dean's forehead with two fingers, healing him instantly. Dean blinked in shock as his every pain was banished and his wounds were erased. And then he looked down at the broken body in his arms once more.

"A-Alex is dead, Cas," Dean said. He sounded hollow, looked back up at Cas in something like wretched hope.

Castiel looked at her still face, feeling his expression tighten. "Not for long," he told Dean heavily, and reached his hand down to touch the side of her face, knowing that by carrying her back into life from death he was binding himself to his promise to God. That by doing this, he was agreeing to do anything that God would ask. _Anything_. He had no idea what it would be or what it would demand of him. But it didn't matter the cost—as Castiel always would, he chose to save her, accepting whatever fate would befall him by doing so.

Would he be able to remain with her? He didn't know. And that's why when he touched the cold skin of her face and called her spirit and soul back from the dead... he was afraid. Filled with quiet foreboding. And somehow certain that what had just begun was now over whether he wanted it to be or not.

* * *

It was dark wherever she was. Still, silent. _Obscenely_ silent.

And then she remembered what had happened.

Being forced to stab the one she loved through the heart brutally. The immeasurable heartbreak. She'd almost allowed herself to collapse down and die right then and there with him, such was her grief and pain.

But she could hear Dean crying out in pain and begging Sam to fight the devil. She could hear Lucifer using Sam's voice as his own. And fierce, lifelong love for her brothers gave her a final burst of purpose and strength, inspiring a possessive kind of anger all aimed at Lucifer, the one who was trying to destroy everything that was hers. _No. You are not allowed to take them too._ She'd barely been able to summon the ability but had anyway, and with a terrible sob and all of the strength she possessed, she'd wrenched the angel blade out of Castiel's chest. Teeth bared in pain that was emotional and physical alike, she'd managed to stand up one last time by grabbing onto the side of her brother's car. She looked down at Cas for what she believed to be the last time—and his face was still and peaceful, his eyes were closed. Blood blossomed out over the left lapel and front of his trench coat. His legs were awkwardly bent underneath him from the way he'd fallen. He looked broken... and she had done that to him.

She loved him so much and it hurt, it _hurt_. Just a couple days ago he'd held her hands in his; she had looked into his eyes and seen forever, been desperate to believe they could have a future even though the world was falling to pieces around them. Now that future was shattered. And all of it— _all_ of it—felt like it was her fault.

She'd gone to Lucifer and said yes thinking she was going to save the world. She had cursed it instead. Now she was going to tell him _no_ if it was the last thing she ever did.

Now it was all over. She would live here in the darkness, mind drifting apart. Alone. She was dead. Life had ended.

So then, why did she feel a strange sense of being called back? Why was something drawing her out of this blank place she was in? The darkness dissipated as a blazing blue light abruptly took hold of her and pulled her up and out of the darkness, back to life, into another realm of consciousness completely. Alex felt aware of herself physically again and the world around her. Her eyes snapped open and she gasped in with what was close to panic, her lungs empty of air and desperate for breath. Disoriented and confused—the last thing she'd seen was Sam's face over her, filled with hatred aimed at her—she fought to get her bearings.

Alex felt how she was being held and as her eyes regained the ability to focus, she saw Dean looking down at her in complete shock and dawning agonized relief—and then she saw that Cas stood over him and had leaned down, was drawing his hand away from her. Her mouth fell open slackly, her eyebrows slammed together and her newly restarted heart picked up the pace immediately. _Castiel?_ How… how was he alive? How was _she_ alive? And why was he looking at her like that? With a sad little smile, like he was relieved but also full of apprehension, almost like he were mourning something. Was this even _real_?

Breathless and definitely panicked, Alex looked at Cas, then Dean, then Cas again, reeling, unable to speak at all, realizing that she felt normal again, not weak and drained and at death's door. But she had been _dead!_ How… she suddenly caught her breath. Was Castiel an angel again? She felt her brother's arms tighten around her, felt him stroking the hair on the side of her head, and he was smiling now, almost laughing, but through tears. "Oh my god—oh my _god_ , Al, you're okay," he breathed, voice choked on relief and deep emotion as he looked at her like he just couldn't believe it. Still spinning mentally, Alex numly watched Dean turn his head and look up at Cas in total stunned wonder. The angel looked down at them with a pained expression on his face.

"Cas... are you _God_?" Dean asked with a reverent sort of awe.

Cas's sad smile stretched a little wider. "That's a nice compliment. But no." He paused, growing troubled. "Although, I do believe he brought me back. New... and improved." He said those last few words with a certain amount of ruefulness salting the words. Cas looked down at Alex with more of that strange expression, and his sad smile faded, something about the look in his eyes gave it away… that something had changed, something was _wrong_. And she didn't understand any of this, she was filled with a horrible feeling of dread for reasons she didn't even understand. He held out a hand down to her, indicating she take it.

She did slowly in an off-kilter trance, still not even sure if she were really alive, still not sure what was happening. His warm, familiar hand grasped hers and that's when she knew it was real. But how? _How?_ As she reached her full height, she stared at Cas in total confusion, barely able to believe he was standing in front of her again. She looked at the place where she'd stabbed him. There was no blood, no wound, no sign it had happened at all. But she hadn't _imagined_ all of what had happened, she couldn't have. "You're… I saw you die," she stumbled out, filled with turmoil, a strange feeling she'd lost her mind but also sheer desperation to believe he really was okay. "I _killed_ you," she said, a question and a statement all at once and she searched his eyes rapidly. His expression was guarded, he almost seemed to be avoiding her gaze.

"I'm... all right now," he told her, and there was a strange quality to his voice. Hesitance. Reluctance. "I was restored." She realized he had still been holding her hand because at that point, he let go slowly. Alex looked down at her hand—pulled it up a little, turned it over slowly, blinking rapidly in stunned wonder as she realized she was as good as new. Her hand was healthy light olive skin again, no longer grayish and profaned by dark blue veins. He'd healed her completely and she looked back at him, feeling a smile dawning across her face because he was alive, and she was too and everything was okay, wasn't it? And she was about to hug him and laugh and cry from happiness, but then her smile fell when she took in the way he looked back at her. Something wasn't right and she felt sure of the fact all over again. Dean stood up close to her, a hand light on her back, like he was afraid she would fall over. But she felt fine, strong. Why would she fall over? A strange unsettled feeling kept gnawing at her and Cas's eyes fell away, his jaw tightened. Her heart was beginning to beat at an uneasily fast pace again. What was wrong?

She stared as Cas turned to look at Bobby's dead body over on the other side of the Impala. Cas went to him and Alex suddenly realized. Wait… she looked around, beginning to search the area, trying to piece together what had happened. And then she realized who was missing and her stomach dropped out from under her. _No._

"W-where's Sam?" she asked softly, afraid of the answer, suddenly feeling short of breath. Dean was looking at a small glinting object on the grass a few feet away from them. His expression was all the answer she needed. Alex followed his gaze and her heart skipped a beat, choking her. The horsemen's rings laid on the grass alone.

"He did it, Al," Dean said hollowly, staring at the rings. "He wrestled Lucifer back and he… he dragged Michael in with him too."

Her heart wrenched in her chest, her eyes stung with the automatic onset of tears. Her entire nervous system seemed to betray her, suddenly turning to mush. But that meant… that meant something she couldn't even fathom. "H-he's… _gone_?" she asked dumbly. Not Sam, not Sammy.

Dean's jaw clenched and unclenched. His voice faltered. "He's gone," he confirmed softly. Alex looked at her oldest brother, shaking her head in denial, but saw nothing but grieved affirmation in Dean's face, and with sickened clarity, she knew it was true.

 _No._ She backed away from the rings as she stared at them in horror, not even knowing where she was going, just shocked and stumbling, then hitting up against the side of the Impala, almost collapsing as the word _no_ ran through her mind a thousand times over. And maybe Dean was able to hold it together marginally because he was the oldest and because he was the big brother, but in that moment, she couldn't. Alex put her crumpling face into her hands, quaking with grief that made her feel insane. Her world seemed to fall apart just as quickly as it had come back together. Dean went to her, attempting to hug her—and rage suddenly spiraled. "No!" Alex screamed, and shoved him away like a wild animal. "He's not gone, don't you fucking _lie_ to me!" She breathed so hard and fast she felt faint, and Dean's sick, heartbroken expression only confirmed the worst. The rage collapsed underneath the weight of utter devastation and Alex lost it completely, sobbing and almost falling to her knees—but Dean darted forward and enveloped her in his strong arms—arms that had held her throughout the years and always made things better, but not this time because _nothing could_ and she hung onto him wretchedly, in shock, in denial. Dean held her tightly, crushing her almost. He was crying too.

They heard Bobby gasp somewhere nearby. "Holy _Moses_!" they heard him comment, awestruck and breathless, confused. "Did you just raise me from the _dead_?"

"I did," Castiel's voice replied.

There was a short silence. Bobby sounded absolutely blown away. "T-thanks."

"You're welcome."

Dean was murmuring something about _gonna be okay, gonna be okay_ over and over, his hand on the back of Alex's head so tightly that it hurt, his vice-like fingers pulling her hair and digging into her scalp. Alex could hear two sets of footsteps approaching and Dean's arms loosened around her, he pulled away, but not far.

Castiel and Bobby stood beside each other and Bobby took one look at the Winchesters and it was clear that he understood. His careworn face was stricken. "… he didn't make it?" he asked softly. Dean shook his head. Alex stared at the horsemen's rings through bleary, tearful eyes. It was like her soul was being eaten alive by acid, that's how much it hurt.

"C'mere, sweetheart," Bobby urged Alex, who was barely able to see at this point. He put an arm around her and led her away from the place where Sam had died and she let him, in a daze of shock, sniffing and crying. Dean watched blankly, Cas hesitated, then followed after Bobby.

"Just focus on breathing, hear me?" Bobby instructed, holding Alex by both arms, trying to get her to look at him. She didn't.

"W-why is he dead and I'm alive?" The question was said softly and with heartbreaking confusion. She stared at the ground, then looked to her side where Cas stood, her face distorted strangely. Bobby looked at Cas too, who was silent and seemed to be waiting. And Bobby realized that he wasn't the person who should be holding her. He let go and stepped back. Even before Bobby had moved away from her and let go, Alex and Cas were moving toward each other, she crashed into his waiting arms and he held her closely as she mourned the loss of her brother. Bobby hung back and gave them their space, watched as they drew back a minute later and just looked at each other wordlessly—Alex through red tear-filled eyes. Cas's expression flickered with empathy and pain when he saw her expression, he put a hand against her face and bowed his forehead down until it rested against hers. Her eyes squeezed shut as she struggled not to weep openly.

Bobby didn't mean to watch, but it was hard to look away. Cas loved Alex. And he could tell. It was moving on a level he hadn't expected. Trying to be respectful, Bobby turned away, tugged the brim of his hat down a little bit. Dean had walked over to where the horsemen's rings had been thrown. Bobby felt the grief of it hit him all over again. There was so much bittersweet pride that Sam had done it, that Sam had saved their asses and sacrificed himself so selflessly. But it hurt. It hurt a hell of a lot. They had known this was gonna happen, hadn't they? Still, it blew chunks. This hunting life had no happy endings. So why was he always so stunned and saddened when the inevitable happened? Ripped up friends, dead relatives, and Sam down in the cage with the devil. Nothing about it was fair or right. But it was still reality.

A few minutes passed. Bobby looked back and saw that Alex had sank down onto her heels into a crouch, Cas had as well in front of her and was holding her hands loosely between them. She seemed quieter, subdued even, but deeply mournful as she looked down blankly at their intertwined hands. Cas squeezed her hands gently as he told her almost too quietly for Bobby to hear that he would be back in just a moment. Alex nodded automatically when he told her that, seeming someplace very far away. Cas stood slowly, looking down at her for a long moment with the oddest, most pensive expression on his face.

Cas glanced at Bobby, a question there in his eyes, and Bobby nodded. He wasn't going to leave her alone. A muscle jumped in Cas's cheek, he nodded tensely, glanced at Alex again, then turned and headed for where Dean was.

Castiel approached Dean slowly, who looked down at the horsemen's rings just in front of his feet. His expression was stony. When Castiel reached him, he stood beside and said nothing for a long moment. At last, he spoke, soft and somber. "I'm sorry for your loss, Dean." Dean glanced at him sidelong but said nothing, just returned his gaze to the ground after a couple of seconds.

Silence spanned between the two of them for another minute and Cas scanned the cemetery, just thinking. He looked back at where Alex was. She was still squatted down and had her arms wrapped around her legs, she was staring unseeingly into middle distance with a strange, pained look on her face. Bobby was next to her now, talking to her, a hand on her shoulder. Cas felt more pain just looking at her like that. Even though he could heal her physically, he couldn't take away the trauma and pain of what had happened… and who she had lost. Guilty for reasons he wasn't sure of, Castiel joined Dean in looking down at the ground at the horsemen's rings.

After a moment, he spoke again. "I have to find out why I was resurrected," he said out loud, slowly and full of dubiousness, maybe hoping Dean could offer advice and insight, maybe looking for help or input. "There must be a purpose."

Dean barely reacted. "Maybe God just likes you, huh?" A cynical, halfhearted question.

Castiel shook his head in deep, troubled thought. "That can't be it. I've gone against every law Heaven instituted over and over again."

There was a soft, tired sigh. "Maybe that's _why_ God likes you."

Cas's eyes darted to Dean. "I very much doubt that God likes me, Dean. But I'm indebted to him, all the same." He paused heavily. "I have to return to Heaven and discover why I was given back my life yet again."

Dean looked at him with a strange expression. "Why don't you just chalk it up to good luck and let it go, man?"

"I don't believe in luck," Castiel replied, not looking at Dean, just staring into far distance, not seeing what he looked at. "I have to find out why I've been put back. I think I already know... but perhaps Joshua can tell me plainly."

Dean's brows furrowed slightly. "Joshua? The one who God talks to?"

"Yes. Him." Cas's eyes drifted upward even as the weight of reality settled over him. He could hear the whispers of the heavenly host in his mind, indistinct and abuzz over what had just happened with Michael and Lucifer. He realized something and it worried him even further. "With Michael in the cage, I'm sure it's total anarchy up there. The only archangel left now will be Raphael. But he may not be there anymore, either. I don't know."

Cas paused, feeling Dean watching him. Is this why God had brought him back? To return to Heaven and restore the peace that had been lost? Now that he had thought it, he couldn't seem to find any other logical conclusion. He looked back at Dean, who was looking at Cas almost mistrustfully now. "I think God must have brought me back to… to bring peace back to what's inevitably been left in shambles. I just don't know what he'd choose me."

Dean's growing foul expression puzzled Castiel. "What, so that makes you like the new Master Yoda of the clouds?"

Cas's eyes narrowed in thought. He didn't recognize that name. "Who is this Yoda you speak of?"

Lacking his normal fire, Dean shook his head almost ruefully. He sounded absent from the conversation, like summoning the energy to speak was the most difficult task he had ever been faced with. "Man, you have got to catch up on pop culture. Little green guy, talks funny?"

Confused as to why Dean would draw that comparison, Cas tried to understand, but couldn't. "...That doesn't sound anything like me."

There was a glimmer of impatience, almost _scorn_ in Dean's expression now. "The point is, God gives you a brand new shiny set of wings and suddenly you're his little bitch again?" Dean shook his head, but his frown was more pained and let down than anything else. "After everything we went through, man? You're just gonna _ditch_?"

"You misunderstand me, Dean, I never said—"

Dean cut him off tensely. "What about Alex, huh?"

A question that somehow seemed to bludgeon Castiel in the stomach. He understood what Dean was asking and he was wondering the same thing too. He looked toward her again, pained in every way. Remembering his promise to God. He answered Dean the only way he knew how. "My allegiances are torn."

"Wow Spock. Real heart you got there," Dean said acidly.

Cas felt himself reacting to Dean's comment in a mixture of indignant surprise and confusion. "First you endlessly criticize me for my role in your sister's life and now you're angry with me for what's happened? For the choice I'm faced with?" There was a pause and helpless anger surged forth. "Dean, I did everything I've done for _you_."

Dean gave the angel a dirty look. "For _me_ , Cas?"

"Yes," Cas replied immediately, emphatically. It was true, but there was a part he'd left out, and Dean was obviously angry he hadn't said it. Cas was frustrated by everything and Dean's predictable attitude was exacerbating the situation. "And for her," Cas admitted, but her knew Dean already knew that and said as much. "You know I have."

Dean suddenly changed, becoming deeply emotional in a way that wasn't angry. "And I owe you my life several times over, I owe you _everything_ , but you sound like you're about to get flighty—I mean, _now_ , of all times? Sam just _died_ , Cas. Do you get that? Do you?" His eyes were red, watery. "And you're just gonna drop her— _me_ —and run back to Heaven?" He shook his head and looked away, voice wavering as he tried to sound tough. "That's great Cas."

Suddenly understanding how much Dean was grieving and afraid of losing even more than he already had, Cas's anger faded into sadness. He didn't always understand these things intuitively, in fact he almost never did unless it was with Alex. He understood her the best and sometimes he forgot how little he understood everyone else in comparison. And for all the ways Dean had made him angry and alienated him and hurt him in the past, all he saw when he looked at the man beside him, he saw someone he cared deeply about, and was hurt to see pained. "I'm not going to just 'drop' you or her, Dean," Cas told him. "I would never do that." Dean looked at Cas guardedly. Cas's jaw tightened. "But I have to go find out what's required of me now that I've been brought back."

Not what the other man had wanted to hear. Dean's face darkened. "Yeah, uh huh. Well when you see your buddy _God_ up there, _if_ you see him, you tell him I'm coming for him next."

Cas watched him sadly. "You're angry."

"You're damn right I'm angry," Dean said, and his voice was gaining a familiar gruff edge to it. "I mean, what about Sam? What about me, huh? Where's my grand prize? All I got is my brother in a hole!"

Dean was being irrational, and Cas reminded him of such, trying to help him see the good in it. "And Alex and Bobby, alive again." Dean's face twisted oddly and he shook his head, looking down. Cas didn't know what else to say. "You got what you asked for, Dean, what we worked for. No paradise. No hell. Just more of the same." Genuinely confused, Cas looked at his friend for a moment. "You knew it would end this way—you knew what the risk was. Why are you acting as though you didn't?" Dean was silent and stony.

Cas attempted to console Dean, to tell him how the world would be a better place for what had happened the day when Sam Winchester defeated the devil and flung him into his cage. "Sam's sacrifice—" he started.

"Enough, Cas!" Dean exploded. Bobby and Alex were startled by the outburst that was loud enough for them to hear from about twenty feet away. They looked at the two men in concern and Dean saw it, steadied himself, shut his eyes, and held his hands out, controlling his temper. When he opened his eyes again, he seemed regretful, but didn't apologize. Just glanced Cas's general direction. "I'm not like you. When I lose someone, I can't just accept it and be on my merry way."

Hurt and chastised, Cas looked down and away, wondering why he tried at all. "I was merely attempting to comfort you."

Dean made a face. "I'm a little past a pat on the back right now."

Cas understood that Dean was reeling from the loss of his brother, but he couldn't comprehend why the man was lashing out at him in this way. All he'd done was help and sacrifice and bleed for the Winchesters, and Dean never thanked him, not really, had only continually lamented about what Cas _hadn't_ done and _wouldn't_ do. And Castiel wished Dean could understand how he needed Dean to help right now with figuring out what to do about God bringing him back. But Dean didn't seem to grasp Castiel's dilemma, or maybe he did and just didn't care.

"You agreed to this, Dean," Castiel said, a little firmer and harsher than he meant to. "And this is for the best—the world is safe again, Lucifer is gone. You _knew_ the stakes, you knew what this would cost."

Dean's brow tensed. "The stakes weren't _fair_."

No. They weren't. They never were though, were they? There was a long silence and Castiel thought of what he was up against. He didn't know what his Father would demand in return for Alex's resurrection. All he knew was that he feared he would lose her, that God would tell him he was never to see her again, that he would be punished for sinning against her or for breaking the laws of Heaven. Worse still, that _she_ would be punished somehow, too. But perhaps God would tell him that he had been been given the opportunity to watch Alex, to meet her, to become a disjointed part of this broken little family all on purpose. Maybe God _wanted_ him to be the model and messenger of a new era, one in which angels did not file into a line and serve as tools, as hammers as Dean had once put it. A new era where angels pursued choice and free will and didn't chain themselves to the rigid constricts of mindless servitude. The more Castiel pondered it, the more this made sense to him. Why else would God reward him _twice_ now for his seeming rebellion against the grand plan?

God had brought him back because this was what he wanted—victory over the devil. Or perhaps God didn't even actually care about the outcome, perhaps he was more interested in watching this grand story unfold page by page, in the details that made up the tale of earth and humanity, in the twists and turns and surprises. Maybe God wanted his angel children to leave behind the idea of predestination, maybe Castiel had done the right thing, maybe God had been disappointed in all the other angels for never questioning or doubting their roles. Maybe, maybe, maybe… Castiel could think of so many maybes and possibilities. But he couldn't be sure until he went to Heaven and found the answer himself.

Castiel looked at Dean, who looked so forlorn and upset. And as always, Cas set aside his wounded feelings and personal worries and tried to help. The stakes weren't fair, Dean had said. And Cas agreed, but couldn't imagine what could be done about it. So he asked. "What would you have me do, Dean?"

Dean didn't have to think about it. "Get Sam outta there," he replied immediately. "You resurrected Alex and Bobby, can't you do the same for Sam? I mean you got _me_ outta Hell."

True, but it had been with a whole garrison of angels at his side. Cas thought about it pensively, uncertain. "That was different."

Taking Cas's reflective answer as a no, Dean clouded over mournfully and looked away. "I guess I just thought maybe you were done playing by the rules, Cas. Guess I was wrong."

Cas looked over at Alex once more and he felt that familiar swelling, bursting feeling in the vicinity of his chest. She looked so sad, so lost, and it didn't have to be that way. He had the ability to change it now. "Maybe…" he pondered softly, almost to himself as a thousand memories of her and then imaginings of a future with her ran across his mind, "maybe I _am_ done playing by the rules."

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?" Dean asked peevishly.

Cas thought hard, his mind going over a new thought, a stirring possibility. A sense of thrill and elation was beginning to grow. He looked at Dean fully. "What would you rather have, Dean?" he asked. "Peace or freedom?"

"...Why the hell can't I have _both_?" Dean asked, taking in Castiel's strange expression, clearly confused and exasperated and sounding close to tears even though he covered it over with anger. "Which one would _you_ rather have?" he asked, and there was a gruffness to the question that Castiel ignored.

He was looking at the one with dark brown hair and hazel eyes. She was looking back at him and Castiel knew the answer, feeling his chest almost constrict. He raised his chin a little, almost smiling now. "I'd rather have freedom."

And freedom was his for the taking. Cas felt a certain sense of confidence welling in him at full force as he thought of a God who had restored his life twice, who had rewarded him for going against the precepts of Heaven, who looked upon him with clear favor. For a minute, he forgot his worries about what God would demand in return for what he'd been given, in fact, maybe Cas almost believed there would _be_ no outstanding debt… that God had _blessed_ him among all the angels, had given him this angelic power back for a reason. For this reason. _To be free._

And feeling as though he could soar on the confidence at the thought of what he was going to do for them—for Alex, Dean, and Bobby—he left there without a second thought, eager to do what he was planning. He hurried, veins humming with anticipation and hubris and _purpose_. He would bring Sam back. There was no reason for him not to. God had _chosen_ him and given him this power for a reason and had told him without words that freedom and choice was what he desired for the angels. And if not for all of the angels, for Castiel.

Wings black as night carried him down, rending the dimensions apart as Castiel delved into the underworld, into harrow hell where time was distorted and everything was darker than pitch, but on fire all the same.

He left behind a shocked Dean and a startled, afraid Alex. They didn't know where he had gone, and Alex shot to her feet when he disappeared without a single warning. He said he'd be right back, where had he gone? And wrecked by the loss of her twin she stared at the place he'd been with a gripping fear that she wouldn't see her angel again.

There was no reason for that specific fear, no logic behind it... but she felt it all the same.

* * *

**Later**

Sam woke alone in a rainy graveyard he had died in, gasping for air as he laid in the mud, soaked to the bone. He sat straight up, heaving breaths noisily as he squinted against the pelting raindrops. He was very disoriented. It was dark—night time? He remembered falling down into darkness that burned as he pulled Michael down too... then nothing else.

Standing slowly, looking around, Sam was aware of how he felt... _nothing_. Cold, wet, dirty, yes, but otherwise apathetic and even-keel. Almost bored or disinterested. Just… _fine_. Should he feel fine? He realized he _did_ feel unsure— _definitely_ unsure as to why he was alive again, what had brought him back. Where were his brother and sister? He wondered that, then realized he didn't really care where they were. _Huh._ Strange. He didn't let it bother him, instead he headed for the adjacent road, walking through the downpour steadily. Not feeling like himself, the way he remembered being before, but not finding the ability to care about it, either.

Castiel followed Sam invisibly, watching him hitch a ride from a stranger. When Sam didn't ask to use a phone, when he didn't appear concerned or shaken at all, Castiel felt the first flicker of doubt, the first beginning of the thought that maybe he had made a mistake. He decided that no, it was just that Sam was just reeling—different humans dealt with shock in different ways. That's what Castiel told himself so that he didn't have to give credence to the feeling of fear that flitted briefly across his mind.

Castiel decided he would come back and check shortly on Sam, make sure he reunited with his brother and sister. And even though his next instinct was to go to Alex—time worked strangely in harrow hell and he'd been gone for only a few minutes in his mind, but here on earth it had been probably eight hours or more. She would be wondering and worrying.

And he almost did, but then he heard the whispers of his brothers and sisters in Heaven and he resolved to find Joshua first. He wanted to be able to tell her everything, explain his promise and plea to God and know what his debt was, or if there was one at all. He left Sam and his powerful wings carried him through the veil that separated earth from Heaven. He had been gone for what felt like forever, and when he arrived, when he found himself in the paradise that belonged to an autistic man who drowned in a bathtub in 1953, he felt a sense of peace overtake him. This was the Heaven he favored above all others—it was a serene, verdant garden, neatly kept and orderly. Many flowers bloomed, and the majority of them were yellow. The man stood in a far corner of the place in his bright red zip up sweater. He flew a kite peacefully like he always did, gazing up at it with a soft smile and rapt delight.

Cas felt himself smiling. He didn't know why he was so endeared to this paradise, but he was. He sensed a new presence and turned around, seeing several of his brothers and sisters there. Rachel was at the front of them and seeing their familiar faces calmed Castiel in a way he had not anticipated. Composed and quietly poised as always, Rachel looked at him with an amazed expression on her face. "You're alive..." she exclaimed softly, perhaps unable to believe it.

"Yes," Castiel replied, even as her face registered confusion.

"But Castiel, we saw Lucifer destroy you," she protested softly.

He spread his arms out slightly like he'd seen all three of the Winchesters do before and shrugged his shoulders up slightly, a gesture he understood to convey humility. "I was brought back—and as I used to be, no less."

Behind her, the other angels exchanged surprised glances. "And Lucifer? Michael?" Rachel asked.

"They're both gone," Castiel answered, approaching her now. "Locked into the cage."

At the news about Michael, some of the angels appeared to grow worried but others, Rachel in particular, seemed to take it all as a sign, a wonder. "It was God, wasn't it?" Rachel asked, filled with hope, her confusion fading. "He's finally returned." The other angels clustered around her now, coming forward from where they had been standing back.

Cas smile fondly, almost proudly. "No. It was the Winchesters. They brought down the Apocalypse, Sam jumped into the cage after overpowering from the devil."

Disbelief showed on Rachel's face, but it was curious, not judgmental or cynical. "How could a mere _human_ do such a thing?"

More pride swelled in his chest. "The Winchester family is quite remarkable."

Rachel thought a moment, not as interested in hearing about his humans as his resurrection. "But it was God who brought you back, wasn't it? Who else could it have been?" She looked at him with a reverence and awe he had never seen another angel look at him with, and it was startling. "He's chosen you, Castiel," she said in a breathless, revering tone. "To _lead_ us."

"No," Castiel corrected her immediately, gently, feeling certainty and purpose once again, faith in what he was about to say. "No one leads us anymore. God chose me as _messenger,_ to tell all of Heaven: Things are not as they always have been. We're all free to make our own choices and to choose our own fates."

As he had guessed, the idea of choosing her own fate mystified Rachel and the other angels. But instead of puzzling over it right away, Rachel instead tilted her head to the side and studied him with a veiled expression. "And what fate have you chosen, Castiel?" she asked, with the first hints of guardedness in her voice.

Castiel thought of the most beautiful smile he had ever seen and the touch of warm skin and the feeling of belonging; the one human being he could call his own. He answered truthfully, overcome by even the briefest thought of her. "A simple one. A new one."

Rachel seemed to understand, surprising Castiel. "With her. On earth." He was stilled temporarily because he had forgotten, for a moment, that Heaven would know of his involvement with Alex, that he might face discrimination and judgement for everything he had done. Cas was further startled by Rachel's next question, spoken with curiosity and a hint of apprehensiveness. "What does it feel like? This word, 'love.'"

When she asked that, a couple other angels behind her looked fascinated, a couple others looked dubious and uncomfortable or suspicious. Castiel thought about it. What did love feel like? "It's... not something I know how to describe," he answered slowly. "It's beyond words, somehow."

"And you felt it?" Rachel asked in soft wondrous disbelief.

"Yes," Castiel said, then looked in turn at the other angels—Abel, Hillel, Ezar, Ruth, Gad, Esther. He loved them, his brothers and sisters, all the thousands of them that filled the celestial planes… but he didn't love them like he loved the humans. He thought maybe this was God's ultimate plan for the angels and realized that he had never known what love really was until he had walked earth, met the Winchesters, and fallen into the arms of the youngest one. The one with eyes like promises. He looked at Rachel, stirred emotionally. "I believe that God wants us to feel love."

Rachel's brow knotted together. "But the laws… the precepts…" she protested slowly.

"Perhaps they were tests," Castiel suggested. He realized that without solid evidence, a way of proving what he was theorizing about, they wouldn't understand, ever. He wouldn't have understood before either.

"Tests?" Rachel looked at Abel, who stood beside her, and their confusion was mirrored perfectly in each other's faces. Rachel returned her inquisitive gaze to Castiel. "We don't understand. What does God want us to do if not follow orders?" She almost sounded afraid.

"God wants us to have freedom," Castiel said, trying to convey how it was a good thing, but only further mystifying his brethren.

Rachel tried to comprehend. "But what does he want us to _do_ with it?"

How else could he explain it? Castiel didn't know how to say it any other way. "To be free."

Rachel was quiet for a moment, processing. She shook her head just slightly. "I don't understand."

Reflecting that perhaps explaining free will to the angels would be like trying to teach poetry to fish, Castiel decided to try again later. He really needed to hurry, to be brief here. His priority was not teaching his brothers and sisters at the moment. "Where is Joshua?" he asked. "I must speak with him."

"We don't know," Rachel said. "He hasn't been seen since he spoke with the Winchesters."

There was yet another flicker of that feeling of foreboding and worry when she said that. "But that was months ago," Castiel said, his confidence fading slightly.

"He's gone, or hiding," Rachel said. "No one knows. It's a mystery."

"Why would…" Castiel began, then saw how Rachel and the angels behind her all looked over his shoulder to the same place at the same time. He felt the presence before he even turned, but turned anyway, filled with trepidation.

Raphael stood there. He was flanked by three male angels on either side. "Castiel," he said lowly, his dark eyes boring into Cas's unflinchingly. "You've returned at last. Have you come to beg forgiveness?" That's when Castiel looked to the angel at Raphael's left-hand side—the familiar, striking pale face and dark black eyes, the whisper of a smirk on his lips. Hezion.

Alarm raised in Cas immediately, he reached for his blade. "What is he doing here?" Cas demanded. "He's a traitor, he was working with Lucifer, I saw him!"

Raphael looked faintly annoyed at Castiel's reaction and Hezion just smiled as if he were accepting a great compliment. "There's no need for thug tactics, Castiel, put your weapon away. Hezion was working with Lucifer because Michael and I _told_ him to. He was what some might call a…" Raphael's expression flickered into almost a smile, "double agent. Put in place to ensure that Lucifer would obtain his vessel so that the apocalypse would happen. The apocalypse you derailed, Castiel."

Anger surged forth at the realization that this angel had played a part of hurting the Winchesters, in Alex, in any small way and Castiel had to force himself to return his blade to the inside of his coat. Raphael was too strong to fight, and with the angels beside him, Cas stood no chance at all. "The apocalypse is a fight that doesn't need to be fought," Castiel insisted in a growl.

Raphael studied him cooly, an air of superiority in his eyes. "Says who? _You_?"

In no uncertain terms, Castiel raised his chin, defiant. "Yes."

There was the slightest smirk, the smallest narrowing of the eyes. Then Raphael turned to all the other angels. "Leave us." They obeyed immediately, but Rachel last of all, with a concerned expression on her face. When they were gone, Raphael clasped his hands behind his back and circled Castiel slowly. Cas watched him hawkishly, suspicious and on his guard.

"You've grown prideful," Raphael observed. "I wonder why it is our Father chose to restore you. You're fortunate I've decided to give you a final chance. Tomorrow—I've called for a full assembly of the holy host." He came to a stop in front of Cas. "You'll kneel before me and pledge allegiance to the flag, all right?"

"And what flag is that?" Cas tested.

Raphael almost rolled his eyes, growing exasperated. "Me, Castiel. Allegiance to _me_."

"Are you joking?" Cas demanded.

"Do I _look_ like I'm joking?" Raphael retorted.

Castiel frowned slightly. "…You never look like you're joking."

Least of all right now. Raphael was aloof and capricious. "You rebelled—against God, Heaven, and me. Now you'll atone. We'll start by freeing Lucifer and Michael from their cage. And then we'll get our show back on the road."

Just as Castiel had thought, and absolute revulsion rose in him at the thought of it. "Raphael… _no_. The apocalypse is not going to happen, I made _sure_ of it!"

There was a offhand eyebrow raise from the archangel. "You merely stalled it. The apocalypse will always happen, and I'll ensure that it does—it's God's will."

Cas's teeth were gritted together painfully. "You _know_ that Armageddon is not necessary! Why do you insist on seeing our brothers destroy each other and tear the earth apart?!"

Raphael seemed nearly bored. "Because it's what I want."

His older brother's apathy merely served to fuel Castiel's growing rage and fear. "You're asserting your own will to be that of our Father's," he accused. "Your desires are not God's will. You are not _God_ , Raphael."

Another soft smile, a glittering insolent pride in the archangel's eyes. "That remains to be seen."

"You _blasphemous_ —" Castiel started.

"Let God come prove me otherwise," Raphael taunted. "He hasn't yet." He fixed Castiel with a haughty gaze. "Don't get righteous with me, Castiel, do you know how sanctimonious you sound? I know the full extent of how you've sullied yourself with that human fleck this past year. You allowed her to corrupt you, twist your mind, drag you down into the filth with her. You reek with the stench of the sins you committed with her." He looked down his nose at Cas, cavalier. "You've become just like them, haven't you? Confused. Misguided. Self-righteous. Pitiable. You've forgotten who you are, what your purpose is. I'm giving you a chance to redeem yourself, to be cleansed. Your purpose is to obey the will of Heaven, not to pursue free thinking. Your loyalties are to _me_ , not to the Winchesters."

Castiel chose to be stubborn, to cling onto the idea that freedom was what God had given him. "I disagree," he said sharply.

Raphael inspected Cas slowly, genuinely perplexed. "You've broken every law for them. For her. Why? What is so… _important_ about her?"

"Everything," Castiel replied absolutely, not even thinking, just speaking. "Everything about her is important. She is one of the most important humans to have ever existed."

"And you know this _how_?"

A pause. Castiel wasn't sure and he withered slightly. "Because of what I feel."

" _Feel_?" Raphael's inquisitiveness was gone in place of pious disdain. "Your feelings are of no consequence to me. Only your actions matter, only your obedience. And you've done nothing but disobey since you set eyes upon her."

Beginning to become confused and doubtful, Castiel fumbled for words. "God has shown me favor despite my actions, therefore I can only conclude—"

"That you're _special_?" Raphael asked with a sharp, biting laugh. "That God approves of your sin? Whatever his reasons for bringing you back… I don't care. I know your trespasses, Castiel, and you will listen to me or I will turn you to dust."

Cas looked down, growing more and more upset as he realized the feeling of victory and triumph when he rescued Sam was washing away. Raphael was powerful and wanted to restart the apocalypse. That couldn't happen. But how could he be stopped?

"I'm the only remaining archangel, or have you forgotten?" Raphael asked, as if he knew Cas's thoughts and was gloating about how Cas had no allies, no way of fighting back against him. "God left us and one by one, the archangels have been lost," he continued. "First, Genesis fell to earth, then Gabriel abandoned us, and Lucifer rebelled and was cast out. Now Michael is lost. Who is left, Castiel? _Me_. I am in charge now. God has chosen _me_. Not you."

Eyes sliding up to Raphael's, Castiel was filled with animosity. "And you want me to follow your ludicrous plan, to undo everything I worked for this past year? To let this fight between Lucifer and Michael happen?"

"Yes," Raphael said, unaffected and detached. "You sound upset, Castiel. A human trait that has no place in your existence. Like it not, all the work you've done to defy my plans has been in vain. Tomorrow you'll swear yourself to me, along with the rest of the brethren."

"They won't bow to you," Castiel insisted, growing panicked inside. "They won't let you put the apocalypse back into motion."

Raphael was undeterred, almost amused. "Are you sure? You know better than anyone, Castiel. They're soldiers. They weren't built for freedom. They were built to _follow_. And do you see what I'm doing? Leading them. Not filling their minds with useless notions of free-thinking and choice."

Castiel stepped closer to Raphael, staring at him with all the wrath he felt. "Then _I_ won't let you."

" _Really?_ " Raphael asked patronizingly. "You?" He raised and opened his hand, his palm facing Castiel as it filled with painful white light.

Castiel screamed as he was blasted far from there and through the heavens erratically. His vessel pulsed with pain and he slammed down onto the ground hard, back-first, beginning to cough up blood as what Raphael had done to him took effect. He rolled over and spat the thick red substance down onto sand, trembling violently. He could hear seagulls crying and the rhythm of the surf crashing on the shore nearby. A few feet away from where he was bowed over the sand pathetically, Cas could see a shining pair of dress shoes. He looked up slowly.

Over him Raphael towered, cold and unfeeling. "I grow tired of your insolence and resistance, little brother," he said in his soft, low voice. "Tomorrow you kneel… or you and anyone with you dies. Including her. I'll be watching you, Castiel." Raphael crouched down, his eyes drilling into Cas's. "The day you go to that little human again I'll be right behind you, there to take her from you. It's only a matter of time before I find her, so bow to me or I'll torment your little human pet for all of eternity." Horror overcame Castiel at the archangel's threats. Raphael stood again and looked down his nose. "Don't think I won't." He was gloating and Castiel was disgraced, breathless, and afraid. "Now," Raphael said softly. "Do you see where free will and choice has gotten you? I know how _weak_ you truly are." He let a couple beats of victorious silence hang. And then Raphael disappeared.

* * *

**Back On Earth**

Sometimes when the worst things happen, it brings out the best in us, the strongest and most fierce baseline abilities we possess. But sometimes, the worst just brings out the _worst_. For the Winchesters, who had endured blow after blow and loss after loss, they should have been stronger for it. But even the strongest structure will break when it's been cracked relentlessly, when it's been put to the test just a few times too many.

Relationships as strong and steadfast as Dean and Alex's should have been able to sustain the loss of Sam. But because of the tension and mutual disapproval that had been building between them, because they had already been at a breaking point… the loss of Sam and the disappearance of Cas were combined into the final straw that served to break them apart completely. Less than twenty-four hours after Sam fell down into hell and Castiel disappeared, the two surviving Winchesters tore into each other instead of hanging onto each other for support.

Around three in the morning of May 2, 2010—the twins twenty-eighth birthday, Alex burst back into their motel room from the rainy walkway she'd been pacing for the past hour. She had been calling and calling and _calling_ Cas all day since he disappeared and he wouldn't come. Her grief had turned to raging anger all directed at Dean, who was withdrawn and silent, seemed to have checked out mentally after an initial bout of uncontrollable emotions. Bobby was off to himself a few rooms down, sensing that the Winchesters needed space. The youngest Winchester was at her wit's end—beyond fucked up mentally and emotionally.

Sleepless and trying to get drunk on a steady flow of beer and whiskey, Dean sat on one of the beds and in a horrible, pitiable state. He was using the laptop and trying to look through news stories, trying to find something to do. _Anything_ but face what he had lost, anything but process it all, anything but think about how Sam wasn't ever going to walk into the room and get on his nerves again, steal his deodorant, then make that unamused bitchy face at him.

When Alex stormed back in and startled him out of his thoughts, her hair damp and jacket askew and expression foul, he should have known what was about to happen. He should have known better than to let himself talk to her, he should have known he would say things he'd regret.

"What did you say to him, Dean?" Alex demanded after she slammed the door behind herself. A little startled, a little more than tipsy, Dean looked at her, unclear about what she was asking.

"Come again?" he asked.

"To _Cas_ ," she said accusingly. "He won't answer me and you're the last person who talked to him. What did you _say!_ "

Dean made a face. Just what he wanted to talk about. "What about what he said to _me_? That he was going back to Heaven to be the new sheriff or some bull like that." He took a swig of beer as her face dropped in disbelief. _What?_ He looked at her in a way that was heartless and insensitive in the moment. "Why do you look so surprised? He was never gonna stay, Alex. He's from a goddamn different _planet_ than us!" Dean had the nerve to be angry at her, but he had _warned_ her about this and she had brushed him aside like he didn't matter. "I _told_ you and you wouldn't _listen_ ," he said darkly. "I didn't say a damn thing to him."

"I know you did this Dean, I _know_ you did!" She shot back tremulously, growing more and more emotional. "Was it not enough that I had to lose Sam, now you had to try and take Cas, too?!" She made a strange moaning sound, like she was in physical pain then looked up at the ceiling, began to shout like a crazy person. "Cas! Castiel! _Cas_!" She was frustrated and scared, and Dean could see it. "Where the hell _are you_?"

"Al. He's an _angel,_ " Dean said angrily, standing up and shoving the laptop to the side, pissed at her for being more worried about Cas than upset about her brother being lost forever. "He was _always_ gonna leave you; why the hell did you think it could end differently?!" Cruel words but the truth as far as Dean was concerned, because no one stayed, ever. "I mean, have you _met_ us?" he ranted. "We never get happy endings, case in point, _yesterday_!" His sister was looking at him and listening to every word, wounded and shocked and unwilling to believe, but Dean kept going, angry at the whole damn world, totally irrational because of it, because of how hurt he was too at Cas's unexplained disappearance. Alex wasn't the only one who had called him and gotten no answer. "Cas is up there, floating around being God's good little holy errand bitch-boy and that winged jackass never gave two shits about us," Dean said, directing all the anger he felt at his sister. "Did you _really_ think—"

She lashed out at him, striking the beer bottle he'd been holding out of his hand and sending it crashing to the floor where it burst. "Shut up, just _shut up_!" she screeched, and for a minute, all Dean could see was a pathetic little kid in front of him when she batted his drink out of his grasp. But somehow it just made him cynical and annoyed instead of wrathful. He was so fucking _tired_. He looked at where the bottle was busted and light brown beer pooled into the cheap motel carpet.

"I'm gonna pretend you didn't just do that," he said, his tone not kind at all. He turned and sat back down on the bed, giving her a dirty look as he cracked open a new beer. She wasn't even looking at him—she had her teeth clenched and mouth in a hard line and was glaring at the wall. At least she had stopped her damn incessant whiny shouting. Dean had a couple cruel thoughts about when she hadn't been able to make any sounds at all and felt ashamed of himself. The things he'd said to her seemed harsh and he felt a pang of guilt. He just didn't know how to handle what he was feeling right now—god, why wasn't there more whiskey? He didn't know how to say he was sorry to her, so he didn't even try.

They fought sometimes, squabbled as siblings do, and they always just pushed it aside and got over it without saying sorry. He figured that time would be the same. He was wrong. "I was looking at some websites and seeing if there were any jobs around…" he started wearily, trying to move forward and push the argument out of the room, let her know he was willing to just let it go and move on… but she apparently wasn't done being angry.

In a rage the likes he'd never seen her in before, Alex grabbed the laptop from him and threw it across the room where it smashed into the wall and broke. " _Fuck_ hunting!" she screamed irately.

Dean looked at destroyed computer. It had broken into two halves. "That was Sam's laptop," he said quiet and low, not looking at her.

What Dean didn't know at that moment was that Alex blamed herself for the whole thing. That she felt like the biggest fool in all of existence for falling victim to Lucifer and landing Sam in the cage. She didn't accept that maybe it was inevitable that Sam would end up down there. She faulted herself and was scared of getting Dean hurt too, she felt like Cas had left her, and she was, in a word, _done;_ at a level of grief she didn't know how to handle and didn't want to trust anyone with. And as a result, she lost her mind a little bit, turned it all into anger, and aimed all of that anger at her brother.

"How the _hell_ can you think about hunting right now, huh?" She asked, loud and impassioned and out of control. "How the _fuck_ can you just try and act like everything's _normal?!_ " She was crying and shaking and furious. "Sam _died_ yesterday!" She turned red from the force of her shrieking scream: "OUR _BROTHER_ IS _DEAD_!"

And if she'd wanted him to get mad, it worked. Dean shot to his feet, incensed. "You think I don't know that?!" He shouted, and the room fell silent. The two of them looked at each other with pained expressions, full of agony, and Dean felt himself getting close to tears as he stared at her shining cheeks. "You think I don't know today's your birthday?! _His_ birthday?!" He was so fucking hurt that Alex would think he didn't care. He put his forehead down into the palm of his hand. She must think so little of him. His head hurt, he felt the effects of the whiskey. "It's _killing_ me, okay?" He let his hand slap down to his side. "And that's why I need to chop something's head off, cuz if I don't, I… I don't know what I'll do." He felt defeated. "We gotta just keep going, you know?" He looked at her pleadingly, the one who had always been with him and kept her head down, kept fighting, given him a reason to fight, too. But she didn't seem to share his sentiments, and instead of calming down, she got more riled up.

"Why the _hell_ would we keep _going_?" She asked, disgusted. "Are you serious? This is our sign that we need to _stop_ before we screw the world up any more than we already have!"

Dean was indignant at her implication. "We _saved_ the world!"

"We couldn't even save our own _brother_!" Alex shot back loudly. "He's in the pit and it's my _fault_!"

"No—" Dean told her immediately and forcefully, shocked at how much she clearly meant that. "No it's _not_."

She got even angrier, raging like a hurricane at this point. "Stop _lying_ to me, I'm not a child, I know what I did, stop trying to _protect_ me!"

"It's my _job_ to protect you!" Dean retorted, getting mad again, feeling his patience wearing thin.

Her expression turned ugly, nasty. "Is it also your 'job' to run off the only guy I've ever loved?"

He tried and failed to suppress a scoffing eye roll. "You don't _love_ him," Dean muttered in dark annoyance, and he wasn't even sure if he thought that or not, he was just trying to hurt her at this point because he was tired of being hurt. "You just _think_ you do. You've been reading way too many of those bullshit romance novels."

Alex was clearly offended. "You don't even know what love _is_ —" she said acidly. "I've watched you fuck girls for the hell of it and screw shit up with every single bitch you ever liked and you've never come close to what I have with Cas! You're _jealous_."

Dean made a face. " _Please_."

"You've never had a relationship that lasted, you've never been in love," Alex pressed, driving in the nail of pain and getting under Dean's skin because it was true and it hurt. " _You're_ the one who doesn't know what love is, you're the one who—"

"Alex—" he cut her off warningly, but she only exploded at the interruption.

"Shut up Dean, I'm _talking_!" Her bellow stilled him and she looked like she was about to lose it—she was turning red, she was breathing uncontrollably. "I have tried and tried and _tried_ to tolerate the shit you give me over Cas but you are _not_ allowed to run my life and you are not allowed to treat me the way you do!"

"What way, looking _out_ for you? Making sure you're _okay_?" Dean was bitter and drunk and getting fed up fast with her ungrateful assumptions, her obsession with thinking Cas was this perfect dude and that Dean was the bad guy. He made a mistake with what he said next. Maybe he forgot who he was talking to, but the words just came out before he could stop himself. "Look, I didn't say anything to Cas, he left on his own! Maybe he was tired of dealing with all your friggin' issues, I know I am, Jesus _Christ—_ it's bad enough being your brother, holy _shit_ I can't imagine what it'd be like to _date_ you!" The look on her face immediately made him regret his thoughtless jab and Dean scrambled to take it back. "I wasn't… I didn't mean that."

The damage had been done and he could tell. "If you're so tired of me, I can _leave_ ," Alex said sharply, but he saw the tears gathering in her eyes.

Dean scoffed at the dramatics. "Yeah right."

Alex's expression grew a few degrees cooler. "You don't think I would?"

He folded his arms, daring her. Her insolence grew and she silently demanded he tell her why he was so sure. So he tilted his head back a little bit, smug without meaning to be, because he honestly believed what he was about to say. "You need me."

Her eyebrows raised and she looked absolutely flabbergasted. And then her face twisted into a vehement scowl. "I don't _need_ you. I've _never_ needed you!"

Furious that she would say that even if she didn't mean it, Dean was firing back a defensive, hurtful answer before he knew what he was doing. "What, when you were helpless and mute and depressed all the time, you didn't _need me_?" he demanded brusquely, setting her off all over again.

Before he even knew what was happening, Alex grabbed him by the shirt and punched him in the face with all of her strength—a sloppy, impassioned blow that stunned Dean, who Alex shoved as hard as she could—he stumbled backwards and crashed down into the table between the beds, knocking the lamp off. "You're the biggest fucking asshole I've ever met!" Alex raged, grabbing him by the shirt again as he half-laid half-slumped against the nightstand and bed. "I wasn't helpless _then_ and I'm not _now_ either!"

He saw that she reached behind herself to grab her knife—she held it high and for a second, he was suddenly worried she'd snapped. She brought the blade down with violent force and speed and it thunked deeply into the nightstand. Dean jumped as the metal buried into the wood. "What the fuck are you doing?! You lost your goddamn _mind_?!" Dean asked, a scared hand held out uselessly in front of his face.

She let go of him with another shockingly hard shove then stood up and looked down at him almost menacingly. "No."

"Then why the hell you stabbing furniture?!" he asked in breathless fear, not moving.

"You gave me that piece of shit knife and I don't want it anymore," she said foully, then turned and grabbed her bag off the bed and began to shove her stuff into it angrily, shaking as if from low blood pressure.

Dean got up slowly, a little cautious now, then saw what she was doing and copped an attitude again, trying to call her bluff. Not even knowing what he was doing anymore, maybe _wanting_ to fight with her in some weird twisted way. "So now you're gonna run away, that's just real mature, Alex," he said derisively. Maybe he felt like he was losing ground, because he decided to lob another heartless insult to try and make her mad, get her to engage with him again—that and he was scared shitless at the idea of her leaving. "I take it back. You and Cas are perfect for each other, you're both clueless _children_!"

She zipped her bag shut with more force than necessary, ignored what he said, then slung the strap over her shoulder and finally gave him a look. The crazy off-kilter anger was gone. She looked calm in a way that he hated. "I wonder," she said. "How will you survive without someone to push around to make you feel better about yourself?" She made a face that reminded him so much of Sam that it hurt. "I don't need you," she said bitterly. " _You_ needed _me_. And now you screwed that one up too."

Stunned, hurt and cut to his heart itself, Dean watched as she began to walk away. Overcome with gripping fear, he followed. He couldn't lose her too. "You're not leaving," he said, but she ignored him, so he grabbed her shoulder, forcing her to turn around roughly. "I said, you're not leaving!" She yanked away from him, eyes flashing.

"Don't touch me! Don't tell me what to do Dean!" She shouted, and for as stony as she'd been a second ago, she was almost snarling at him now. "I am twenty-eight fucking years old and you can't tell me what to do anymore! I needed you once but I don't anymore and if you follow me, I will fucking _kill_ you!" As if to prove her point, she yanked her pistol out and pointed it straight at him, trembling, in tears, and Dean was shocked, he stepped back, looking at the barrel and then at her.

" _Alex—_ " Dean said softly, unable to believe what she was doing. She looked pained and enraged and broken and so lost as she pointed the firearm at his face. Was this a cry for help or was this her losing her mind once at for all? He couldn't tell but he was suddenly so aware of how careful he needed to be, how close he was to losing her too. And he had no one to blame but himself. He thought of how he'd just verbally bashed her and tried to dominate her and manipulate her and he was so sorry and didn't know how he always, _always_ did the things he hated the most.

He felt his eyes glistening with tears, saw that she was fighting tears too. The gun wavered slightly in her unsteady hand. "Don't stop me, Dean," she said just above a whisper. "Let me go." And that made him so much more scared than anything else that she had done or said to him in the last few minutes. He couldn't speak, he couldn't believe she really was going to leave him. He didn't say anything, because anything he said would be wrong. And she raised her chin a little, as if she were gathering courage. "I can't do this anymore," she said. "So I'm not going to."

"Al... we're all we got _left,_ " he pleaded, desperate to see her relent, soften, break down. He was kicking himself for letting it come to this. But she just tightened her jaw further and he could see how much she meant what she said. "Don't go," he begged, his heart breaking in fucking two as his voice lost all strength. "Not like this."

"I'm sorry." Her eyes glistened with tears, little oceans that would spill out and run down her cheeks. "I'm done," she said with quiet anger and apprehension. "I. Am. _Done_." She lowered the gun slowly and Dean didn't move. He was shellshocked by what had just happened. She tucked the gun away and said nothing else. Just looked at him for a minute in a way he had never wanted to see her look at him… filled with mistrust and burnt bridges and utter hurt. And without saying a word, she turned and left, shutting the door behind her. And it was over just like that. Dean stared at the closed door, alarmed. He stood there for about ten seconds, panicking, not sure what to do, if he should go after her or let her cool off awhile—she'd be back, right? This was just her reacting to Sam's death and them fighting, she'd be back, right? But what if he let her go and she didn't come back at all? What if she really did leave him?

Dean grabbed his jacket and ran out into the rainy night after his sister. But he couldn't find her. He went on to look for hours, driving around town and checking the kinds of places he knew she would probably go to—abandoned houses, bars, convenience stores, an old rusted warehouse by the river. But she was nowhere. She had disappeared without a trace. She didn't want to be found.

Not knowing what else to do, Dean stayed at the same motel she'd left from for three long, agonizing days and kept looking for her, hoping she would change her mind, hoping she'd come back, hoping she'd walk back in and let him tell her how sorry he was. But he guessed that she didn't want anything to do with him anymore, because she stayed gone and he heard nothing from her. He called Cas and got no answer. He called Alex's phone constantly and got no answer. Confused, hurt, broken completely, Dean did the only thing he could think of after those three days.

Out of options, out of ideas, and afraid to be alone, he went to the only person he thought might take him in—he couldn't be by himself, he just couldn't, and he'd never been able to. So he went to Lisa, afraid of being rejected by yet another person, but desperate for someone to help him through the pain he was feeling. And Lisa did, for reasons Dean didn't even understand. _He_ wouldn't have wanted him, why would Lisa? But she did.

Dean didn't see or hear from his sister again for months and months and months. He would lay awake some nights and wonder if she were even still alive. Get worried and worked up and decide he was gonna go out there and find her somehow, then realize he had no way of doing that. And so he lived life automatically, went through the motions, checked out on a deeper level and just existed in a way that felt hollow and meaningless compared to life before.

Lisa and her son Ben were the only bright spots for him. They made the hard days easier and long nights better.

But they weren't Sam and Alex. No one could replace them, ever.

* * *

After Castiel recovered from Raphael's discipline and show of power, he limped through Heaven, trying to find an answer, trying to find Joshua. He was desperate, hurt, confused, and none of the other angels had seen Joshua, he was absent from the throne room. No one had seen him or knew of his whereabouts and Castiel didn't know what to do. Not only could he not find the one angel who God spoke to, but now Raphael—who was so much stronger than Castiel or any other angel for that matter—had threatened to take Alex and hurt her if Castiel did not submit. And he couldn't fall into line with the plan to restart the apocalypse. So what options did that leave him?

Downtrodden and heartsick because he knew he couldn't go to Dean and Alex—Raphael was watching him now—Cas was cornered. He returned to Stull Cemetery, the place where Lucifer had been defeated. He thought maybe if he could just be in a place that was close to where she had been, maybe he would know what to do. But when he got there, he was just as lost as before.

If he submitted to Raphael, he would save Alex but he would never be able to risk finding her again—he would be revealing her location to Raphael by doing so. And if he defied Raphael, he would be killed or imprisoned, and useless to protect the one he loved. Was the only way to protect her truly the worst of the two options? To submit and see the world half destroyed? No. there had to be some other way.

Perhaps he could find Genesis, the lost archangel. She had had fallen to earth thousands of years ago as punishment for taking a lower-level angel as her lover. No one knew who he was, the angel she had sinned with, but there had always been rumors that she was still alive. Perhaps she was still down there somewhere, perhaps if Castiel could find her she would fight with him against Raphael… but as he thought about it, he realized how far-fetched it was. How limited his options really were.

Castiel grew frustrated and angry. And then he heard someone approaching behind him. "Ah, Castiel. Angel of Thursday. Just not your day is it?"

Castiel turned, recognizing the voice and unhappy to hear it. "Crowley," he said cautiously. "What are you doing here?

"I want to help you help me help ourselves," Crowley answered, testing Castiel's patience.

"Speak plain."

Crowley smiled slightly, pocketing his hands into his black peacoat. "I want to discuss a simple business transaction. That's all."

"You want to make a _deal_? With me?" Castiel had no fortitude for this meaningless line of inquiry. "I'm an angel, you ass. I don't have a soul to sell."

"But that's it, isn't it?" Crowley asked coyly. "It's all of it. It's the souls. It all comes down to the souls in the end, doesn't it?"

Already frustrated because of everything that had happened to him and Crowley's deliberately vague, pompous statements, Castiel felt himself getting agitated. "What in the hell are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about Raphael's head on a pike," Crowley replied. "I'm talking about happy endings for all of us... with _all_ possible entendres intended." Crowley turned slightly, indicating that Cas go with him. "Come on. Just a chat."

Cas didn't move. "I have no interest in talking with you."

Crowley paused, feigned dissatisfaction. "Oh, all right then. No interest in talking about a little thing that concerns your little playmate Alex E. Winchester… and her eternal fate?" Crowley asked with raised eyebrows. At the reaction that flitted across the angel's face, Crowley smirked. " _Mm_ , that's what I thought. I have it on good authority that you two are on the rocks by no choice of your own. Come on. Hear me out. Five minutes. No obligations. I promise—I'll make it worth your while."

Cas hesitated. He was no fool—he knew who Crowley was and what he did. But he also knew that he was smarter than the demon and stronger. And if this concerned Alex, if this demon had some way of defeating Raphael… he would hear him out. "All right," he agreed guardedly. "You have five minutes."

Crowley smiled pleasantly. "Right-o. Off we go, then."

They were suddenly someplace else—at the back end of a long hallway. It was dim here and a yellow light cast over the entire place, making it feel dirty and dank. The noise echoed oddly, classical music played over muffled speakers—countless people stood in a line which stretched into the distance, into the other end of the hallway which seemed to have no end. Above this line, a sign hung that said _NEXT IN LINE: 6,611,527,124_.

Castiel and Crowley emerged at the end of this line. "Where are we?" Cas asked, taking in the slumped, defeated looking souls lined for miles and miles.

"You don't recognize it, do you?" Crowley asked, and there was a hint of pride to his voice. "It's Hades, new and improved. I did it myself."

"This is Hell?" Castiel asked, not sure if this is what he had imagined or not.

"Yeah. See, problem with the old place was most of the inmates were masochists already. A lot of 'thank you, sir. Can I have another hot spike up the jacksie?' But just look at them." A wide, jaunty smile broke Crowley's face. "No one likes waiting in line."

"And what happens when they reach the front?" Castiel asked, not sure if he understood this concept well.

"Nothing," Crowley said. "They go right back to the end again. That's efficiency."

Cas almost rolled his eyes. "Enough of the wasteful talk and bragging," he said. "You have four minutes left. Tell me what this has to do with Alex."

The angel and the demon began to walk down the hallway beside the people who waited in line. They all stared ahead of themselves unseeingly. "What are you planning to do about Raphael?" Crowley asked.

Had Crowley simply brought him here to gloat? Castiel's patience wore thinner and thinner. "What can I do, besides submit or die?" He asked, hating the thought of both.

"Submit or die?" Crowley repeated. "What are you, French? How about _resist_?"

If only he could. "I'm not strong enough to go up against Raphael and you know it," Castiel replied peevishly, yet again reminded at how dour his dilemma was. "And he's threatened her. He's threatened both of the Winchesters. But her especially. I won't risk it."

Crowley gave him an almost amused side eye. "Very rude of your big bro, if you ask me. And you're right, you're not strong enough... not on your own, you're not. But you're _not_ on your own, are you? There's a lot of angels swooning over you. 'God's favorite,' the trendsetter, the rebel. Buddy boy, you've got what they call sex appeal." He chuckled knowingly. "I think baby Winchester might agree."

Cas glanced at him gruffly. "She probably would. Get to the point."

"Angels need leaders, so be one," Crowley said. "Gather your army and kick the candy out of each and every angel that shows up for Raphael."

Castiel stopped walking, looked at Crowley directly. "Are you proposing that I start a _civil war_ in heaven?"

"Ding! Ding! Ding! Tell him what he's won, Vanna."

Cas was disturbed. "You're asking me to be the next Lucifer, to rebel and seek my own gain."

" _Please._ Lucifer was a petulant child with daddy issues. Cas, you love God. God loves you. He brought you back. Did it occur to you that maybe he did this so you could be the new head of security upstairs? Did it occur to you that perhaps this is his _blessing_ for you and the misses? Don't you think she's _worth it_ , Cas old boy?"

"Yes but… the amount of power that it would take to mount a war…" Castiel trailed off.

"More than either of us have ever seen, yeah," Crowley conceded. "But what if I said I knew how to go nuclear?" That smirk had returned.

Cas felt as though he were playing with fire at this point but had to know what Crowley was getting at. "What do you mean?"

"Purgatory, my fine feathered friend. Purgatory," Crowley began to walk again and led Cas down a little side hallway off of the main one. It looked like an old school or business building—unremarkable and not well maintained. "Just think about it. An untapped oil well of every fanged, clawed soul. I mean, what's that over the years? Thirty million? Forty million? Just sitting there, plump and rich for the taking."

Interesting prospect, Castiel had to admit… "How would you even find it when no one ever has?" he asked, still not liking the idea that Crowley was the one who brought this idea to him.

"We'll need expert help."

"From whom?" Castiel demanded.

Crowley stopped walking, talking with his hands now. Cas glanced at the painting he had stopped beside—a very unpleasant portrait of Crowley wearing some sort of uniform. Confused, Cas looked at it for a couple of beats as Crowley continued to speak. "From experts, of course. I know of three eerily suited 'Teen Beat' models with time on their hands, you might know them…"

Hunters? The Winchesters? Cas was quick to cut that idea short. "No. Not Dean and not Alex. I can't risk giving away Alex's location to Raphael and the two of them are together. That wouldn't work. Sam however…" Castiel thought of how Sam seemed so detached when he'd been brought back. Would he retire along with Dean and Alex? Or would they begin to hunt again? Would Sam split off from them completely? It was a strange feeling like premonition that told him Sam would not return to his brother and sister. It was troubling to think about. "I don't know about him."

Crowley seemed mildly inconvenienced. "We'll need more than _one_ hired hand but… fine. I know of a certain big, bald patriarch I can take off the bench to get us on the right track, maybe another couple hunters who could be convinced as well. The point is… the hunters can get us to the monsters. The monsters can get us to Purgatory. I know it."

And Purgatory could give him enough power to destroy Raphael. It was tempting. But Castiel tried to sound unconvinced. "And what's your price in all of this?"

"Just half."

Cas was taken aback at the audacity of this demon. " _Half_?"

"My position isn't all that stable, ducky. Those souls would help me just like they'd help you. Besides, wouldn't you rather have me in charge down here?" He smiled, trying to appear comely. "The devil you know…"

Castiel shook his head, turned away, trying to think this through, weigh his options. "This is pointless," he said wearily. "Your plan would take months, and I need help _now_."

Crowley already seemed to know that. "Granted. Yes. But just to show you how serious I am about this scheme… how about I float you a little loan? Say, fifty large? Fifty-thousand souls from the pit. You can take them up to Heaven. Make quite a showing, knock Raphael onto his ass, let him know what's what. It's either this or the apocalypse all over again. Everything you've worked for—everything that Sam and Dean and sweet wittle Alex have worked for—gone."

Cas's teeth ground together. Crowley was right and even though instinctively Castiel knew he should not be working with a demon… he still kept listening to Crowley.

"You can save us, Castiel," Crowley appealed. Castiel turned back around to look at the demon once again. "God chose you to save us. And I think… deep down… you know that. Why else would he have brought you back?" Crowley was charming and smooth.

Cas thought hard, looking down, shaking his head slowly, thinking of Alex, on earth, and how he needed to keep her safe. "The risk involved…" he said. "And there's no telling how long the war could drag on. I can't leave her unprotected for that long, and I can't task angels because Raphael could find a way to trace them." He was trapped, he had to make this impossible decision, he was faced with the idea that he might never see her again, and he couldn't fathom that. It hurt to even think.

Crowley shrugged, spread his hands out. "I've got quite a lot of black-eyed help around, could keep tabs on the wifey."

His eyes jumped to the demon's and he bristled for a couple different reasons. "You're suggesting _demons_ watch over her?" He asked sharply. "What do you take me for?"

The demon only smiled obligingly. "An angel with no other choice," he replied. "Come on, have I let you down yet? They'll watch her, make sure she's all right in that big bad world out there without her hubby to keep her safe. They let _me_ know the second anything's amiss, then I let _you_ know."

Castiel narrowed his eyes and looked at Crowley carefully. "Who was the one who told her about Lucifer's lies?" he asked without any sort of lead in.

Crowley's eyebrows rose in reply. "And why do you suppose I'd know _that_?"

Cas was exasperated. "You always know everything."

"Yes, well, not _everything_." Crowley shook his head. "I haven't the foggiest who told her that load. Most likely suspect, our friend Hezion… the angel of bullshit and betrayal." Crowley brushed aside the conversation, cut to the chase. "So whaddya say? Want to shake on it?"

Castiel swallowed deeply, raised his chin. "I have a term, too. You'll find out if her name is written in the book of Hell. If it is, you remove it for eternity and surrender her soul over to me."

Crowley seemed pleased. "Scout's honor," he said, straightening dramatically and raising two fingers in a salute Castiel didn't recognize. " _Now_." Crowley's smile widened. "Do we have a deal?"

He let the silence hang for several seconds. And not knowing another way to save her, to stop the apocalypse, and to prevent Raphael from destroying everything they'd worked for… Castiel agreed to it all.

"Yes."

* * *

Balthazar was in his favorite Heaven—a strip club with hundreds of scantily-clad dancing girls. This Heaven belonged to a mobster, some guy named Al Capone if memory served right. Balthazar smiled at the especially cheeky girl who danced in front of him—she was smiling back at him sensually, working the pole. "You little _minx_ ," he said admiringly, even though she wasn't a real person—just an imagining of Capone's mind. Balthazar still loved her all the same. Well, loved her lithe little body, anyway. The sexy mood was cut short as another angel suddenly arrived, right in Balthazar's face.

"Hello Balthazar."

Feeling startled and violated by Castiel's sudden appearance and proximity, Balthazar made a face and took a step back, affronted. "Blimey, Cas. You certainly know how to make an entrance don't you," he complained, then took Castiel in, realizing something seemed off about the angel in the trench coat. Balthazar became vaguely concerned. "You seem… different."

"I'm stronger than I once was," Cas said vaguely.

Interesting. "How so?" Balthazar prompted, sensing there was some hidden agenda his brother was concealing, but Cas just glanced at one of the dancing girls closest to them and then scoffed and looked away. Leave it to Cas not to appreciate the finer things.

"I'll tell you later," Cas replied. "I've come to you you because I need you to do something for me, and quickly."

There was a grave note to Castiel's voice that was intriguing. "Of course. What is it?"

Castiel seemed increasingly annoyed with their surroundings and was struggling to stay hyper-focused on Balthazar. "I need you to take a message to Alex Winchester for me."

Alex Winchester. Balthazar knew that name. "The girl you…" he trailed off, thinking carefully on how to phrase this, "...have a vested interest in?"

"Yes," Castiel replied, then looked down in somber thoughtfulness. "To put it mildly." It was easy to see that Cas was carefully measuring himself and the way he worded his sentences. "It's of the utmost importance that she receives this message, Balthazar." He looked his brother in the eye piercingly, evaluating him. "Can I trust you to deliver it for me?"

Balthazar didn't need to hesitate. "Yes, of course you can. What's the message?"

Castiel looked at his brother long and hard, as if trying to decide something. "I'm trusting you to be discreet with its contents."

"How naughty," Balthazar commented, chuckling. Cas was not amused. Balthazar sighed. Cas had never been one for joking. "Yes, _yes_. Now what's the bloody message?"

Castiel leaned a little closer, lowered his voice, his eyes bored into Balthazar's. He seemed urgent in a way that was foreign to Balthazar. "Tell her that there is a war in Heaven and that I cannot leave." Balthazar's eyebrows raised slightly at that—so that's why Cas wanted him to be discreet? What war was he talking about? Cas wasn't done. "Tell her that I can't come to see her again until I defeat Raphael, that it's not safe, that I don't know how long it will be…" his grave expression flickered into that of something that seemed to pain him. "Tell her... that I am so sorry that I was torn away—it wasn't my choice or intention. And ask her…" Castiel looked down, his jaw clenched. He sounded miserable, or maybe rueful, or maybe wretched. "Ask her to wait for me, if she will." He seemed to be finished.

" _What_ war in Heaven?" Balthazar asked, bypassing the other contents of the message for what was concerning him at the moment.

Castiel's eyes locked onto Balthazar's, and there was a grim, determined, resigned quality in them. "The one that I will declare today, against Raphael and his plans to unleash the apocalypse I've sworn to stop."

Balthazar's eyebrows raised at his brother's words, at this utter declaration of loyalties. A loyalty to the humans, not to Heaven. "It's true what they've said about you and her, isn't it?" He asked Castiel slowly, softly. Cas didn't seem to know what Balthazar was asking and he made no reply, only looked back at his brother through a face that might as well have been a mask. Cas was different and Balthazar could tell. He hadn't believed the rumors, but he did now. How unheard of, how strange, that Balthazar's brother would grow that attached and endeared to a tiny little human pinprick on earth below that he would do what he had: fight for the humans rather than the will of Heaven as all angels were created to do. But Balthazar didn't judge—he too questioned his role in the growing chaos of Heaven. He too felt a dissonance that made him want to leave this place. Balthazar summoned a small smile. "I'll make sure the message is delivered, Cas, and give you the reply she sends."

Cas looked only mildly relieved. "Balthazar, you must be discreet. I can barely risk sending you in my stead. If Raphael finds her…" he trailed off, and seemed very weary, very burdened, very worried. "Raphael _cannot_ find her."

Balthazar nodded once. "Understood, Cas. I'll do it at once."

Mild relief flickered across Cas's face despite his distraction and concern. "Thank you Balthazar. You are a good friend. It will be an honor to fight at your side once again." And with the sound of wings, Castiel disappeared.

Balthazar looked at the dancing girl in front of himself, not nearly as entranced as he had been before. A war in Heaven. Seemed like a bad idea and Balthazar wasn't sure if it would work or what good could possibly come from it. Raphael was powerful and had many followers. But if any angel was going to lead a rebellion, it should be Cas—the angel who had rebelled against Heaven several times already, fallen from his state of grace and done the most forbidden thing that existed: been with a human. A human that apparently was worth starting a war over. But fighting was not what Balthazar wanted to do. Shouldn't one be vested in a cause before fighting for it? Balthazar turned, looking over the occupants of the club without really looking, then stopped, seeing a familiar face.

He folded his arms as the other angel smirked at him and stood up leisurely from the leather seat he'd been sitting in close by.

"Hezion," Balthazar greeted neutrally. "Don't you know eavesdropping is rude?"

Swaggering over slowly, Hezion gave off an attitude of smug indifference as he watched the girls dancing for a minute, not even acknowledging Balthazar for a long beat. Finally, he turned his attention away from the strippers. "Does it look like I care?"

"Mm," Balthazar commented mildly, facetiously. "No, not really."

"I'm here because I have a proposition for you."

Balthazar narrowed his eyes and then suggestively looked Hezion up and down. "And what 'proposition' might that be? You know I'm partial to the ladies, right? Not skeevy angels named Hezion who lurk about in the dark."

There was a low chuckle. "…You sure about that?" Hezion's constant smirk deepened. Balthazar made a bit of a face and Hezion remained amused. "Enough of the flirting, Balthazar, I'm here to discuss business." Hezion leaned in just a little and lowered his voice. "Our brother Castiel is planning on starting a civil war. I think we both know there will be a lot of collateral damage when it begins. We would be wise to look our for ourselves and save our own asses while we can, don't you think?"

Balthazar raised his chin a little bit, fixing his brother with a dubious look. He was curious, but not convinced. Hezion was a bit of a gamble, and everyone in Heaven knew it too. "Hez old boy, I don't know if you're a forward thinker or an _idiot_. How exactly do you propose we would do that?"

Hezion smiled to himself like he knew something, some wicked little secret. "The celestial weapons. It's a two-angel job. We can take them if we're quick."

Balthazar rolled his eyes. He should have known Hezion would have suggested something ludicrous. "And be hunted down and strung up on the gallows? No thank you."

Hezion wasn't deterred, in fact, he seemed amused at Balthazar's comment. "Fair point." His eyes glittered darkly and he raised his eyebrows slowly. "But would they hunt us if they think we're _dead_?" He smiled at Balthazar's dawning realization. Hezion stepped forward, lowering his voice even further. "We take the weapons—very valuable, I might add—fake our own deaths, go enjoy a life of luxury and leisure on earth, let Heaven tear itself apart in the meantime. It doesn't have to be our concern."

Balthazar was quiet, thinking. Hezion glanced sidelong, appreciatively looking one of the strippers up and down. "A civil war in Heaven just isn't the best use of our time, and call me crazy... but I'm not in the mood to get killed over something I don't _care_ about." He returned his attention to Balthazar. "Castiel lived on earth with the humans, why can't we?" He smirked, looked at one of the girls again. "They have lots of places like this down there... I think you'd like it."

Balthazar narrowed his eyes, a small smile stretching onto his features. He was liking the sound of this very much. "Go on," he told Hezion. "Tell me more about this little plan of yours." As the lights pulsed and sultry music thumped, two of Heaven's more self-interested angels plotted to steal the heavenly weapons. The next day, under the cover of the war that broke out, the two of them would fake their own deaths, take the weapons, and leave the realm completely to hide away on earth.

And because of what happened, Balthazar wouldn't be able to deliver the message to Alex—not because he didn't _want_ to, but because he couldn't risk anyone finding out he wasn't actually dead. He didn't understand the importance of delivering the message, or how important Alex was to Cas, but how could he?

Castiel would instead mourn Balthazar and believe that he had died in an ambush when he'd returned to Heaven just after delivering the message to Alex. He had trusted his friend and had assumed the message had been sent and received. He didn't know that Dean and Alex had separated or that she was out there somewhere on her own with only demons watching over her.

* * *

Castiel went to the same park picnic table he and Alex had shared turkey sandwiches on and contemplated what he was about to do. Start a war in Heaven.

He sat where he had sat before—on top of the table, feet on the bench where you were supposed to sit. He was aware of how empty the place beside him was. He ached in that familiar place inside of his chest for her. He looked upward even as he felt the souls scorching his insides, making him more powerful than he had ever been before. Strong enough to knock Raphael down a notch and start a war. But he wasn't completely sure. "Is this really what I'm meant to do?" he asked out loud, seeking an answer, needing a definitive reply. But none came. _He_ had to decide.

And when he thought of the alternative—the apocalypse happening, millions of humans dying, Lucifer most assuredly winning the battle, the future that they had foreseen happening in 2014… Castiel knew that he had no choice. He _had_ to defeat Raphael. Not only to stop the apocalypse from happening, but to keep Alex safe.

He cursed himself internally. Everyone in Heaven and Hell seemed to know how much she meant to him and he was a danger to her without even meaning to be. His love for her put her into harm's way, making her a target for his enemies to hold over his head. But if he could win this war, defeat Raphael and establish new laws in Heaven, they could be together. He wasn't even sure in what capacity, but it didn't matter at this point to him. He had wanted to live a simple human life with her, but now he was torn. He felt the pulse of Heaven beating through his veins, but at the same time, blood just like hers. He was both human and of Heaven, not one or the other anymore, at least not in his own mind.

His plan came to order as he sat there and stared across the park unseeingly, hearing children laughing as they played on the swing set. He would use the souls from Purgatory once they obtained them to become the most powerful angel in existence long enough to kill Raphael and subsequently abolish the old order. He would set Heaven free of the archangel dictatorship that it had known for so long. He would find a way to secure Alex's soul a Heaven. And finally, at last, when it was all done, he would keep his promise to her to remain at her side.

And with his decision made and her in mind, Castiel's wings ripped through the dimensions, carrying him back to Heaven. And there he stormed the meeting of the holy host, strengthened by the fifty-thousand souls that writhed inside of him. He boldly approached Raphael, whose face at first showed pleasure—he assumed Castiel was there to bow to him. And then he saw the look on Cas's face and his smile faded. He saw Castiel clenching his fist as fierce power gathered there, and raising his fist and opening the fingers, Castiel blasted Raphael away into a distant Heaven with a loud clap like thunder with a blaze of light brighter than the sun itself. The host looked at Castiel in surprise and the beginnings of reverent fear.

"There will _be_ no apocalypse," Castiel asserted. Absolute wrathful power roiled around the words he spoke. "And let it be known—you're either with Raphael or you're with _me_."

With those words, war broke out in Paradise. And so the long road of good intentions wound on… the road that led Castiel to a thousand tragedies he would forever regret causing. But given the choice over, what could he have done differently? He would never know the answer, but in the years to come, he would always, _always_ wonder. And he would forever reflect that this was how he learned that freedom was not indeed free.

For all of time they would tell stories of the angel who started the war in Heaven and ripped everything apart, rebelling against everything he had once believed in for the sake of saving one, small human life: the girl who waited, even though she never got the message he sent.


	46. The Silent Year

" _Every hand let me go that I tried to hold.  
Every warm-hearted love left me freezing cold."_  
\- Owl City

* * *

**November, 1995**

At thirteen years old, Alex was supposed to be braver than she actually felt that day as she in the Great Smoky Mountain range. Thirteen was supposed to have been the year she felt like a teenager, an almost-grownup, but as she huddled there, crouched on the ground against a massive oak trunk, she felt like a scared little kid.

Her heart raced, her breathing was unsteady and sickening, she was the definition of paranoid in that moment. She was on high alert because she knew that he was out there somewhere and was going to get the jump on her any minute. He was going to be one step ahead of her like always, and no matter how ready she felt, he'd _get_ her. Hyper vigilant, she was exhausted from how far she'd run into the woods—a couple miles at least, then she'd cut a quarter of a mile over and then doubled back back in the direction she'd come from, hoping she'd be able to throw him off that way, maybe getting the jump on him this time. She _hated_ this.

Every little sound made her jump—every little breeze that rustled the trees terrified her, every snap of a twig or rustle in the underbrush made her heart flip flop around like a dying fish. She'd found a big fist-sized rock and had stuck it in one of her socks as makeshift weapon and that was now in her jacket pocket—she also had a tree branch she'd snapped in half in her hand. Two measly weapons, but weapons all the same. Maybe he was watching her from somewhere, maybe she was going to get attacked any second—there was a steep ridge to her left and a sloping embankment behind her, she'd picked the most defensible position, but it never seemed to matter. He always got her, he always said she needed to stop taking the defensive, but she didn't know _how_ to take the offensive all by herself like this. That's why she hated these training runs, because she couldn't fall back on her brothers for help. It was all _her_.

"How many times have I _told_ you?" His voice suddenly said behind her, _right_ behind her. Shit shit _shit!_

If she could have screamed in startled fear, she would have. Instead she just scrambled forward, trying to get away. She knew he was fast. But he grabbed her easily and she gasped, panicking as she floundered for her weapons—she'd dropped the branch and the rock sock was uselessly in the pocket of her jacket— _dammit!_ She was tackled forward, face first down into the dry leaf covered ground. It knocked the wind out of her, it hurt. She could hear how agitated and disappointed he was, his voice was rising fast. She'd made him good and mad, as usual. "You have _got_ to watch your back, Alex, come _on!_ "

She struggled to breathe under his heavy weight. "Your brothers aren't always gonna be there to do it for you," he barked, and she struggled uselessly, trying to break his hold. "And I could hear you breathing a goddamn _mile_ away, you have _got_ to control yourself better or you're as good as _dead!_ " John Winchester held his daughter there on the ground firmly as she cursed herself for, yet again, doing a piss-poor job. She was thrashing uselessly, teeth gritted, kicking herself for getting ambushed as usual—how the hell did her Dad always stay so quiet?! She heard him take a steadying breath. He stopped shouting now.

"Mistake number one, not taking the offensive," he said, carrying on with the lesson in that familiar gruff, demanding tone of his. "Okay, now this guy has you, now what Alex, how do you get away from him?" Her hands were pressed flat against the ground, some roots poked into her skin painfully. He was too heavy to just lift off. Alex resorted to dirty fighting, as usual, and her hand darted up behind herself, grabbing a handful of her dad's hair. She yanked _hard,_ knowing Dad wouldn't baby her or react unless it really did hurt like hell. So she made sure it did.

When he yelped, she used the temporary distraction and reprieve to wiggle out from under him and frantically army-drag herself a few feet forward, trying to scramble up to her feet, but he was already recovering, lunging over her again. She flipped over awkwardly, pinned underneath him again. He grabbed at her wrists, slamming them down to the ground on either side of her head and she gave up, pissed but pretty sure he'd won again. When he saw that she wasn't trying, his face screwed up in anger. He smelled like alcohol.

" _Fight_ , dammit!" He shouted at her. "The monsters and demons out there aren't gonna be as nice as me, _come on!_ This is life or death now _act_ like it!" He smashed her wrists into the ground again for effect, trying to make her mad or maybe just because he was enraged. She didn't know, but it definitely made her mad.

She imagined that her brothers needed her help, that if she didn't break free _right now,_ they'd die. And wishing she could cry out in helpless rage like she wanted to, Alex head-butted her dad, bashed her forehead into her dad's nose and chin. Pain exploded there in the front of her skull but Dad was reeling from the surprising move and he loosened his grip on her wrists. She yanked her hands to herself and hit him in the face with her fist, then shoved at him and fought like a caged animal, pulling one of his ears hard. He protested with a shout of "aaah!" and she punched him again with her free hand, then again. He fell sideways and she smashed her now-free knee into his stomach, wavered up to her feet, then fell promptly when he grabbed her ankles and yanked.

On all fours now, she kicked him hard in the face and scrambled a few steps off, hands searching her pockets in a frenzy—where the hell was her rock sock?! Did it fall out?! She heard him behind her and before she could react, Dad grabbed her by the back of the jacket and yanked her sideways and pushed her up against a tree roughly, holding her there forcefully so that she faced him. She wasn't even five foot four yet, he was over six feet tall, and she thought as she often did, how easy it would be for him to kill her. He was breathing hard, his nose was bleeding and his cheek was bruised. All her doing. And the irony was he almost looked _pleased_ with her. "Not bad, but now what?" He asked. "Where's your weapon, huh? Shouldn't have dropped it. Mistake number two."

He saw how she was thinking about giving up and he shook her, getting mad again. "No, don't you do that, Alex, don't give up, stop that shit _right now_ , you hear me?" He waited and she just stared at him breathlessly. She was tired, she was hurt, she didn't want to fight him, she hated these training runs and just wanted to be left alone. But he was getting more and more pissed at her lack of reaction. "Stop letting your fear cripple you," he told her angrily. "The only person you can rely on in life in the end is yourself, now _do it!_ " He was in rare form, and his anger was beginning to seep into her, stir a wrath she hated to feel because it was so dark, so all-consuming. She didn't like that side of herself. But he wouldn't stop shouting at her. "Stop being a coward, stop being so dependent on me and your goddamn brothers to save you and fucking _save yourself!_ "

She snapped, she went animalistic, breaking his grip and beginning to hit him as hard as she could, swinging blindly and landing a few punches in his torso and chest… then missing one and wildly overcorrecting, she lost her balance. Dad grabbed her by the collar of her jacket like a wet kitten and knocked her down to the ground, done.

He was passionless now. "You're dead," he said, blasé. "He killed you. Easily."

Alex pushed herself up slightly and spit—some leaves and dirt had gotten into her mouth. She looked up at her father who was shaking his head, looking at her with hooded eyes kind of sidelong. "You have no control at all—you're too damn emotional, just like your mother," he said, but he wasn't yelling anymore. This was worse. He sounded apathetic, like she had disappointed him on every level. His jaw tightened and he put his face in his hand for a second to rub it. "I have tried and tried with you, Alex. This is ridiculous. You're a goddamn pushover, you know that? You wouldn't last a day out there alone. Not a single day." And he sounded forlorn, like it was his fault.

She believed him but she also _didn't_ believe him. Alex wanted to look up at him and tell him how much she fucking hated him right then, how full of shit he was, how his lessons were all crazy and meaningless and _cruel_ and how dads weren't supposed to be how he was. _And why don't you love me? I love you even when you do this crap to me. I wish I didn't, I wish I hated you for real._ She was caught in a place between complete rage and total despair, but he barely glanced at her. He was over it, disappointed and not interested in her being angry at him anymore. "Training run's over," he said and started walking off.

 _No. Training wasn't over._ He had unleashed a fury in her that couldn't just be brushed aside. And seeing red, not thinking at all, just wanting to hurt him like he hurt her, she stood up and charged him, kicking him in the back of the knees as he walked off, catching him totally off guard. _Watch your own damn back, you asshole._ He fell forward as his legs went out from under him, he went facedown but was already flipping himself over onto his back. Just like she'd expected, and she jumped down on top of him and started pummeling him in the face with her fists so hard that her knuckles bled. He flailed a couple seconds in surprise from how intense her sudden attack had been and then regained control, catching her wrists, flipping her over and suddenly backhanding her across the face in anger. The second he did that, his anger fell away, he let go of her. He looked stunned at himself and swallowed then stood up, shaken and stony. "I said training run's over," he repeated, but he looked sick. Tears filled her eyes, her cheek stung from the impact of his hand. He looked at her with an indescribable expression and turned away, leaving her to get up off the ground all by herself.

And those were what Dad called training runs. They all hated them—Dean, Sam, and Alex—but she hated them the most.

* * *

**Present Day  
Battle Creek, Michigan**

Alex thought of that memory among others and realized as much as she hated Dad's tactics and choices, his parenting style... he had been right. The only person you can rely on in life in the end is yourself. And right now, she was learning that the hardest damn way there was.

It had been four days since she and Dean had clashed so horrifically. Four days since Cas had left without an explanation. Four days since Sam and Adam had died.

Alex took out a small switchblade she'd shoved into her boot. _Snick._ The blade flipped out, glinting in the dark light of the drafty old warehouse she was in right now. It was around sunset and it would get dark soon.

On the floor she had seven candles arranged on the points of a chalk-drawn septagram, next to it was a bowl. In it, stuff she'd lifted from a local new age place: wormwood, cat's blood, a crow's feather among other things that had taken her several days to round up. Summoning a demon shouldn't have been such a pain in the ass, but it was.

She took her switchblade and braced herself then began the always-fun task of cutting herself open. She hissed through gritted teeth as the point drew blood across the palm of her hand. Satisfied with the flow, she turned her hand and let the blood drip down into the bowl for a few seconds. The final ingredient. She wrapped a rag around her hand to stop the bleeding when she was done. This was the moment of truth. She grabbed a match from where she'd stuck a few in her pocket and struck it with a snap on her thumbnail—a trick Dean had taught her. _Dean._ Her face darkened. _"Et ad congregandum..."_ she chanted. She realized she hadn't spoken out loud all day long up until then. _"Eos coram me."_ She dropped the match into the bowl and it went up in a fast roaring blaze, completing the ritual.

Appearing in front of her about ten feet away, Crowley looked mildly surprised at the summons, but not for long. "Funny. I don't remember having a visit with you in my pocket calendar," he said, full of his trademark jaunty attitude.

Alex glared. "Cut the shit, Crowley."

He chuckled. "Ever the polite one. You seem to be feeling a bit _cross_ ," he observed mildly, taking a step toward her—but only before slyly glancing up and the around to see if she'd placed a devil's trap somewhere.

"Mm." Her eyes narrowed, furthering the deadly note of her glare. "Try again." There was a cold and wrathful kind of humorous quality to her expression and mannerisms.

"Angry?" he asked. Gloatingly almost.

"Well," she started evenly, slowly, with faux-thoughtfulness. "I wanna cut your fucking _head_ off, so _you_ tell _me!_ " She ended the sentence at a near shout, baleful as she glowered at him.

He merely raised his eyebrows. " _Angry_ then," he supposed, smiling maddeningly. "Something I said?" He chuckled, then stopped when she whipped out her angel's blade. He seemed genuinely surprised, intrigued. "And where did _you_ get _that_?"

Alex's eyebrows shot up. " _You_ don't know?" She asked, then made a faux-amazed face. "Wonders never cease, huh?" She looked at the blade and gave it a nonchalant twirl, looking at it in faint interest. "Found it at the Antiques Roadshow." Her eyes flicked back to his.

Crowley strolled forward just a few more steps, smiling cheekily. Right where she wanted him. "Fine, play hard to get," he said, making the mistake of believing himself safe. "Now what—"

She struck another match against the hilt of her blade and dropped it to the ground. The all-but invisible gasoline she'd painted thickly onto the floor caught fire, blazing brilliantly into a large devil's trap which Crowley now stood dead center of. The demon's face registered genuine confused shock as he realized he'd been tricked.

For once, she had the one-up on Crowley and they both knew it. He looked at her in slack-jawed surprise and she gave him a cool, superior little smile, enjoying every second of his stunned silence. Even when the fire burned off, which it had now—the burn marks would leave the trap singed faintly onto the concrete floor. Crowley was trapped until she said so and Alex relished that fact completely. His momentary shock ebbed and he recovered forcibly, but still couldn't manage to be quite as lackadaisical as he had been before.

"Well, this _is_ is a new one on me," he murmured, attempting to be his usual jackass self, but he was clearly pissed off about the twist. "I'll give you ten points for creativity. I think I get it now," he said, glancing peevishly at the angel's blade. "You summoned me here to kill me, hm? Get some payback?"

Alex's grip tightened on the blade, she imagined cutting Crowley's head off and then playing soccer with it. "Don't tempt me," she retorted, "Cuz as much as I want to stab you in between your crusty little eyes right now for all that bullshit you spewed at me, the ideas you put into my head... what those ideas made me _do_ … I'm not gonna kill you. _Yet_." Alex waggled the blade at him meaningfully. "Just watch yourself, Crowley. I'm in a _bad_ mood right now and honestly… I can't promise a damn thing at the moment."

Was that annoyance or a hint of nervousness that ran across the demon's features? She couldn't tell. "Right. So, why the reach around, eh? What is it you want from me if not sweet, sweet vengeance?"

"What I want from you…?" Alex began to walk the outer edge of the devil's trap nice and slow. "I want you to get comfortable. Cuz I'm keeping you in time out until you do something for me."

She stopped halfway around, putting all her weight onto one foot and crossing her arms—a casual and in control stance. She leveled him with a calculating smile.

Crowley looked insulted. "Really? _You_ , trying to blackmail _me_?" He shook his head slowly, there was a dangerous little eyebrow raise and smile. "Oh Alex... this will not end well for you darling. You'd do best to let me walk before I get good and cheesed off."

She ignored him completely. "Bring Sam and Adam back or you're dead. Those are my terms."

Crowley merely looked inconvenienced. He rolled his eyes and sighed. "So predictable, Alex." He smiled pleasantly and put his hands into his pockets, back to his reigning superiority. "Answer's _no._ "

Alex was milliseconds away from showing him how serious she was about her threats when right beside her, _right_ behind her ear, there was a low, rumbling growl, a snort. She froze as her hair rustled in the force of warm, humid air. Her veins ran cold as she realized she hadn't been as prepared as she thought. A hellhound. And just like that, the tables had turned. Shit. Alex clenched her teeth and bore her mouth down into a hard line, refusing to even look at Crowley for a long second. She was so mad she could spit. Dammit, _dammit!_

When she finally did look at the demon again, he shrugged, sighed gustily. "You tried, didn't you," he said, as if he thought she should be proud of the fact. He actually seemed genuinely communicative as he began to talk again. "Listen, use your brain for two tics and _think_. I never wanted Lucifer to get his meatsuit, remember? I was anti-devil the _entire_ godforsaken time. So _why_ would I have told you that tripe if I knew it was all a ploy? The answer is I _wouldn't_ have." For a moment, it could have almost been an apology or an admonition. Then he had to go and be a smug, cocky bastard again. "My feelings are hurt," he mocked. "And here I thought you and I were so much closer than all this."

Alex could hear the hellhound breathing, feel its exhales hitting up against the back of her head and she thought about trying to kill it. She was fast and the blade she was still holding in her hand killed just about anything… but going up against a hellhound? That was kind of suicide. And she just wasn't in the mood to kill herself that day. So she kept staring sullenly at Crowley.

"I'll blame your lapse in judgement on the latest Winchester family drama," Crowley continued. "By the by, I simply _must_ know. How'dya like life on your own in the big, bad world without big brother bear to wipe your hiney and tuck you in at night?" He chuckled darkly at the scalding stare she was giving him. "If looks could kill…" he said, then cocked his head to the side and back slightly, narrowed his eyes, smiling arrogantly. "Now be a good little girl and let me out or I have Fido rip you to shreds." He lowered his chin a fraction, his eyes glittered. "Those are _my_ terms."

Alex imagined killing Crowley and feeding him to his own hellhound, she glared daggers at him… but realized if she wanted to stay alive, she needed to do what the demon said. Silent and resentful, Alex drew her stick of chalk off her pocket and crouched down, drawing a thick line through the outer circle of the devil's trap with harsh, angry force. Crowley sidestepped his way out, pleased.

Alex stood back up to her full height. "Now call your bitch off," she demanded lowly.

"Say please," Crowley challenged.

Alex made a face. "Fuck you."

Crowley cracked a grin, laughing lowly, white, even teeth showing. "Oh _you_." He trailed off into a chuckle, then sighed, greatly self satisfied. He whistled shrilly and Alex could hear claws clicking across the ground away from her and toward Crowley—who pulled a hand out of his pocket and began to pat the air beside himself. It would have looked ridiculous and funny any other day.

"Well," Crowley put his hand back into his coat pocket and sauntered forward, returning his attention to Alex. "Now that we have all that behind us, I'd be happy to discuss a soul deal with you, if you're _really_ desperate to bring a brother back."

Alex's heart clenched and she really did think about it for all of two seconds. Crowley waited with that frustratingly superior, teasing smile on his face. She raised her chin. "Sorry. I don't do those."

"Mm. Heavens. I wonder why," Crowley commented breezily, even though they both knew he knew all about her Dad making a soul deal, her oldest brother too. "Well then, I guess we're done here." Crowley turned to leave.

"Wait."

Crowley turned back around halfway, looking at Alex expectantly, curiously. She could barely believe she had to resort to asking _Crowley_ this question. Desperate times, desperate measures. She swallowed, tried to remain stone-faced. "Is… do you know... is Cas still alive?"

A strange little expression flitted across his face. "Pardon?" he asked, as if he hadn't heard right.

Annoyed—he was trying to make her ask it again and she couldn't, no, she _wouldn't._ Alex doubled her efforts to look foul-tempered, hoping he couldn't see how much of a wreck she was inside. "Just answer the damn question," she told him acidly.

Crowley turned all the way around to face her and seemed oddly superior again, eyes flicking over her face in that cool, knowing way he had. "What, he's not at your beck and call like he used to be?" He clicked his tongue, began to mutter. "Not even out of the honeymoon and there's trouble in paradise, my goodness what _drama_." At the impatient, irritated look on her face Crowley smiled. "Darling, I happen to know he _is_ alive and well but… is he coming back?" He seemed to be enjoying her distress. "Remains to be seen." At the increasingly crushed, confused look on her face, he rolled his eyes. "Honestly, poppet. Did you stop to think maybe he left 'cause he was tired of all that whining and crying and carrying on?" Crowley looked at her with raised eyebrows. "You _do_ do a lot of that, don't you." At her silence, Crowley fixed her with a rare, serious look, almost sympathetic or something. "He's a lost cause, darling. I think it's safe to say he's not interested anymore." As quickly as he'd become genuine, his air of pomp returned. "Now if you'll pardon me, I have souls to torture and maim." He winked. "Toodle-oo."

And without further ado he was gone, leaving Alex to stare blankly at the spot he'd just been in.

In her mind Alex had planned that to go a lot better and more in her favor than it had. She sank down onto her heels and let out a shaking breath, scrubbing her forehead with the palm of her hand, letting herself feel all the fear she hadn't let herself feel when Crowley had been there. She squeezed her eyes shut and ground her teeth together. _What the hell are you even doing? This is pointless._ Maybe she should have made a deal. It was a fair trade, wasn't it? Her soul for Sam's, at least? If she hadn't basically forced Sam to say yes to save her from Lucifer… he might still be here. She felt so miserable and so to blame. All she'd wanted to do was make right what she'd screwed up.

 _Now_ what? That was the question harrowing her mind. She had called and called to Cas for three days solid and heard nothing. Today she'd stopped. Every time she called and he didn't come, she grew more worried of two things: one, that he was dead. Two, that he heard and wasn't replying on purpose. He had seemed strange the last time she'd seen him. Distant, removed somehow. Maybe becoming an angel again had changed something for him. Maybe what Crowley said was right. But she didn't understand. She didn't _understand_. It made no sense—she had believed the things he had told her, she had believed he wouldn't leave her ever again, so why had he? She didn't know if she should be heartbroken or worried or afraid or angry and she looked upward now silently. She wanted to call him again, but when she spoke his name aloud, pleaded with him and got no answer, the pain was unbearable. The rejection and abandonment was too much.

But she decided that she would ask one last time, that she could stand to call out to him just once more. Her eyes flickered back and forth over the ceiling above her. She heard water dripping and echoing noisily somewhere behind her. _Drip, drip._

"Cas? Where did you go?" She paused, her heart hammering painfully in her chest. Her voice was just a whisper. "If… if you're out there… if you can hear me… _please_. I just need to know why you left." Silence. "Cas. Where _are_ you? Why won't you answer me?" _Drip, drip._ No reply. Nothing.

At that exact moment, Heaven was being ripped apart by the newly declared war. All across the realm, the skies were dark and shadowed. Millions of souls were displaced from their heavens as angels fighting angels tore the fabric of paradise asunder, as brothers and sisters killed each other in the name of freedom and choice and peace. How ironic it was that peace and freedom should be gained through such violence. Castiel, locked in combat and struggling to survive twisted his opponents wrist back and then drove the blade into his brother's chest, hearing the scream, seeing the blue blaze of Grace burning hot and then dying out. He stood over his brother Thadriel, sadness filling him at the sight of the wings scorched across the ground. He hadn't wanted this—to have to turn against his own, to have to kill his brothers and sisters. Why wouldn't they _listen?_ Raphael had poisoned their minds. Behind him, a newcomer with foul intentions. Castiel whirled and blocked another attack. His sister Gomer. And as Castiel fought, he couldn't hear one soft plea spoken to him among the millions of deafening, dismayed shouts echoing across all of Heaven.

Back on earth, a girl in a worn out cargo jacket and dirt-stained jeans stood up, heartbreak written across her face. With no reply and no understanding of _why_ , Alex felt herself shutting down on a certain level. Methodically, she gathered her things and left the warehouse, heading out into the darkening world.

She went to Lisa's with no memory of walking across town, only the realization that she'd arrived and that the sun had fully set. She stood on the sidewalk in front of the house, staring for a long time at the bright dining room window. She had trailed Dean here to Lisa's earlier today in a stolen car, making sure he was okay after he left the motel she'd ditched him from.

She'd had every intention of knocking on Lisa's door and telling Dean how fucking sorry she was for losing her mind and pulling a gun on him and lashing out at him. She'd had every intention of begging her older brother to _please take her back_ and _give her one more chance_ ; she planned on telling him she knew she _did_ need him, and that she knew he needed her too, that they needed each other right now because they'd lost everyone else. But then she saw him with them through window. And she hadn't been able to follow through.

Dean was sitting there at the table, smiling at Lisa's son Ben as they passed a bowl of dinner rolls around the table. Alex drew closer, disguised by darkness—even if any of them had looked out the window, they wouldn't have seen her. Lisa, dark-haired and beautiful, Ben bright-eyed and probably ten years old, Dean, tense and weary but trying not to give himself away in either respect. They looked like they could belong together, the three of them.

Alex saw how Dean rested his hand on the table, how Lisa put her hand over his sort of falteringly and gave him a small, understanding, hopeful smile. Dean's expression wavered, he managed a slightly pained smile back at her. Why did that hurt to watch?

As his sister, Alex recognized how much her brother was struggling internally but also how he was actually warming to the idea of being part of Lisa and Ben's life. And with a great welling sadness, Alex realized maybe this was what he needed. A normal life, a _real_ family. Not the fucked up one he had been subjected to with her, Sam, and Dad. Not the endless co-dependency and impossible responsibility John Winchester had saddled him with. Maybe this was her brother's one chance at happiness.

Alex couldn't find it within her heart to take him away from this chance. So she didn't.

Like Dad had said: the only person you can rely on in life in the end is yourself. Maybe she should have known it would always come to this—just her against the world. Maybe she was finally ready. It didn't matter if she was ready or not. It was what she had to do. What she was _going_ to do.

And so Alex Winchester shoved her hands into her jean pockets and turned and walked off into the night.

As the weeks turned into months, she never went far. She always stayed within a few hour radius of where Dean was, and she checked on him often. He wouldn't know this for a long time.

* * *

One of the first things Dean did when he got to Lisa's was to scrub the angel wing char marks off of the Impala, maybe trying to erase the memories of what had happened in Stull Cemetery. The whole time he scoured the surface of the hood and side of the door, he thought about who those wings belonged to and why they were there. Wondered where the hell Cas had gone, why he wouldn't answer. Bitter and feeling rejected and ignored as well as deeply ashamed of what had happened with Alex… maybe thinking he didn't _deserve_ an answer... he stopped calling.

Lisa and Ben welcomed Dean graciously and mercifully into their lives, giving him something to focus on and contribute to. Dean gave it his best shot, the whole 'normal life' thing. He got a job—a respectable, boring job doing welding and construction. He went to work at eight in the morning, got home around five in the afternoon. Dinner was at six every night. He helped Ben with homework and building model cars, they played catch sometimes and Ben asked for advice 'man to man' about girls. Dean fixed things around the house for Lisa and helped out as much as he could. Learned what day was laundry day, what day was garbage pickup. In short, Dean fell into routine and used it as a distraction from his deepest feelings of despair, worry, inadequacy, and self-loathing. The daily whiskey helped with forgetting those things, too.

When driving the Impala the ten miles to his job every day got to be too much emotionally, Dean bought an old Ford F250 off some guy for a thousand bucks and parked Baby in Lisa's garage and covered her up with a tarp. He couldn't stand to drive the familiar car alone. Every time he'd looked over and saw the empty seat beside him and behind him, it was a reminder of the reality he was trying to forget.

For awhile, he was constantly looking over his shoulder and listening out for his phone, fully convinced that his sister would reappear. But she never did, and, of course, he blamed himself for it completely. He was worried about her—he remembered the look in her eyes when she'd pulled the gun on him and he didn't understand how she could have done that. Sure, the Winchesters were all used to having guns in their faces most of the time but she would never have done that to him before, not in her right mind. And the more he thought about it, the more he realized her doing that meant she was really, really struggling, barely holding it together. And so now she was out there somewhere maybe half out of her mind with grief and confusion—things he felt, too—and he was afraid for her to be alone.

He thought of how ironic it was that he could love his sister as much as he did and then push her away so far when they'd needed each other the most. Or, well, when _he'd_ needed _her_ the most. _I don't need you_. That's what she'd said to him, and it might as well have been a declaration of _I don't love you_. The more days that passed, the more he believed just that. And wondered how anyone could love him, especially Lisa.

Lisa didn't know Dean, not like his family had, and he wasn't comfortable with the idea of her knowing him that well either. There were dark and violence things in his past, things that would make her afraid of and repulsed by him. Sometimes he thought Lisa knew more about him, intuitively, than she let on. But she gave him grace and never pried, always remained respectful. Told him that he was the guy who had basically just saved the world and he was _supposed_ to be a wreck after everything that happened. He appreciated her for how she accepted him as broken as he was, how she didn't push him to be something else. But he tried. He really tried. To be someone better than who he already was. Because he thought she deserved that, someone better than him.

But he wished he had someone to share his pain with. Lisa hadn't been through the kinds of things he had. She wouldn't know how to handle or even understand if he opened up to her fully. So he never did.

Sometimes, usually in the middle of the night when he was plagued by wakefulness and harrowed by thoughts of what had happened and what he'd lost, Dean thought about going and trying to find Alex, then trying together to bring Sam back somehow. But he had promised Sam that he would try and live a normal life. That, and Dean was scared. Of finding Alex and being rejected, of trying to bring back Sam and not being able to find a way. It was miserable. He missed them so much. Who the fuck was he without them? The gap that their absences left was palatable, tangible, never-ending. He wasn't sure if he could ever get used to this 'normal life,' this life without his family. But he guessed he had to. He at least needed to give it a fair shot. It was what Sam had asked for. He kept his head down and took it one day at a time.

There were baseball games and family movie nights and drinks with the guys from work. Dean pretended that this guy who went to neighborhood barbecues and stressed over bills was really him. He tried to appreciate knowing where he was going to be sleeping every night. He tried to like having structure and predictability in his life. But in the back of his mind, he wondered why it all felt so damn wrong—then felt guilty about having those thoughts.

There were good days, unremarkable days, there were bad days. Lisa and Ben helped him through all of those days just by being there. He really grew attached to them, and the closer they got, the more he thought about leaving because he really felt like a curse at the end of the day. And Lisa and Ben? They deserved better than to be cursed. But he stayed. Because when it came down to it, Dean was terrified of being alone.

* * *

**Six Months Later**

Crowley sat with his feet propped up, ankles crossed onto his large oak desk. His office was dank, dark, creepy… just like he liked it. The gray stone walls, reminiscent of a dungeon, were decorated with displays of old rusty torture tools. Behind him were a series of metal filing cabinets, and above them there hung a ridiculously massive painting of himself shaking hands and grinning with Hitler. On his desk, the things you'd expect to find on any work desk: a cup of pens, a stack of paperwork two feet high, a little bobble-head of Crowley's likeness, and a miniature Judas Chair model—brilliant torture device they thought up in Medieval times, if Crowley did say so himself. A shining golden name plate sat on the desk facing outward, declaring _Crowley: King of Hell, Playboy of the Year 1941_.

Humming a little ditty to himself, Crowley paged through his very thick binder of soul deals, reached for his glass of whiskey, then started slightly when he heard the sound of wind against fabric and looked up, saw that he was no longer alone in his office. Standing in front of him and looking irritated, tense, and sour stood the angel in the trench coat. _Finally_.

Not letting his surprise show through, Crowley raised his eyebrows and smiled, pleased. "Ah, Cas, my favorite halo. Was wondering when you'd come." He uncrossed his ankles, sat up properly.

"What do you mean, when I'd come?" Castiel questioned gruffly. "There's a war in Heaven, a war you had me start. I've been _busy._ "

"Now, now, let's not play the victim, darling," Crowley said, standing up and taking his short, low glass of whiskey up with him. He sniffed appreciatively at the rim, swirling the dark liquid languidly while studying Castiel closely. The angel looked browbeaten, exhausted, and foul-tempered.

"What do you _want_ , Crowley?" he asked with dark impatience. "I don't have all day."

Crowley's eyes narrowed, a sudden thought occurred to him. He looked at the angel closely, gauging for his reaction. "Do you not know how long it's been, Cas, since we spoke last?" Cas's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. "Six months." The King watched as sheer confusion and then realization and then something like dread flashed across the angel's face—all within the space of a couple seconds. And then Cas tried to hide it, tried to go back to being stone-faced. Crowley just rolled his eyes and sighed. "Yes, go ahead and _pretend_ you knew that. I like the constipated look you get when you try and act like you know what you're doing." Cas said nothing and clenched his jaw a bit. Crowley looked him up and down, reading the signs of fatigue and despondency that Cas was trying so hard to conceal. "War must be taking quite the toll then, hm?" the demon asked conversationally.

Cas was perturbed and troubled in equal parts. "Time works differently in Heaven, it's not constant or stable like it is on earth," he said. "To me only a few weeks have passed."

"Sad story," Crowley retorted sarcastically. "Where _did_ I put my tiny violin?" At the confused expression on the angel's face, the demon rolled his eyes. "Never mind."

Unfriendly and ill-tempered, Cas glanced away. " _Why_ did you call me here?" He abruptly seemed to think of something. His eyes snapped back to Crowley and his voice changed from dark and aggravated to something more urgent. "Is it Alex? Is something wrong?"

Crowley suppressed a smile. Oh, Cas had it _bad..._ which for Crowley meant _good_. It was just too easy to have this carrot named Alex to dangle in front of Cas. The demon canted his head to the side, a knowing smile playing at the corners of his lips. "I called—and s'not the first time either, mind you—because I did indeed locate Miss Winchester's name in the book of Hell. She's slotted for a room downstairs with extended stay, but here I am, ready to hand the right to her sweet little lost soul over to you."

Genuine shock and displaced confusion showed on the angel's face, it was as if he couldn't believe she would be in the book of hell at all. "How is it that her name would be in there?" he asked in mild horror, voice a little softer than it had been before.

Crowley shrugged. "Don't ask me, ask Fate. Literally, go ask her—I heard Atropos has a hate-on for you after that whole apocalypse jive." Crowley wiggled his eyebrows at the stunned angel and set his drink down, pulling a thick book off the shelf to the right of his desk. "I just have the book mate, I don't decide who goes in it or why." Crowley began to leaf through the massive tome. "Doesn't matter now though, does it?" He asked, finding the page he sought and smiling crookedly up at Cas. "You're going to throw out the rulebook and get her a penthouse suite upstairs. Crisis averted."

He set the heavy book down on his desk and then took a large metal circle that held about fifty keys on it from where it hung on the wall. The right to Alex's soul had to be transferred from the book to another object, anything physical would do. He selected the first key he touched and pulled it off the loop then went back to the book and muttered the incantation. The words _Alexandra Elizabeth Winchester, 1983 - 2013_ disappeared off the page and the key burned bright then faded back to its normal state. It was complete. Crowley picked the key up and waggled it at Cas meaningfully.

Cas watched him for a moment, silent and hard to read, disturbed. He stared at the book where her name had just disappeared from. "How is she?" he asked hesitantly. "How is Alex?"

Crowley pursed his lips slightly in hooded annoyance. "Mm. Well, she keeps _killing_ the demons I send to watch her. I'm getting bloody sick of it, too. Eleven demons in six months!" There was the faintest little look that came over Cas's face that pissed Crowley off. "Oh don't look so pleased about it. You need to hurry it along before I'm out of cronies."

" _I_ need to 'hurry it up?'" Castiel asked, filled with sudden righteously indignant fury. "As I recall, this entire war is contingent on _you_ finding Purgatory."

Crowley paused humbly, thoughtfully. "Well yes I suppose there's that."

"How close are you?" Cas asked intensely. "I can't sustain the same pace for long—Raphael is too powerful, too many of us are dying."

"Keep your pants on, would you?" Crowley leveled the angel with a slightly challenging stare. "I'm going as fast as I can. Would be a helluva lot faster if you'd let me pull Dean and Alex off the bench to get me my monsters that will get us to Purgatory..."

"They're not going to be a part of this business," Castiel said firmly, then added as a self-loathing afterthought: "It's bad enough that _I_ am."

Crowley let out an annoyed heave of air. "Then you, my friend, will just have to wait. You can't just streamline these things." He held the key up again and showed it to Cas who looked at it and tried not to reveal how much he wanted it to Crowley, who could see it easily without even trying. "And by the by," Crowley said lowly, "next time I call you, _try_ not to drag your feet, savvy? We're business partners as I recall and I dislike it when I can't get a hold of you."

Cas's eyes flicked up to Crowley's, locking. His face was full of balefulness. "How unfortunate that you feel that way," he almost snapped. "Now give me what's mine."

"Was that _sarcasm?_ " Crowley asked, pleasantly surprised and amused, grinning widely, making his eyes crinkle up. He walked around the desk, coming to stand in front of the perturbed angel. "My, my. They grow up so fast." Cas was wrathful and impatient and Crowley was annoyed that no one appreciated his freewheeling sense of humor and comedic timing. He rolled his eyes, supposing he _did_ have to make good on his agreement to Cas and that his fun was over. He sighed dramatically. "Your right to Alex's soul… I surrender it to you for safekeeping, as fulfillment of our agreement." He dropped the key into Cas's outstretched waiting hand. "What do you plan to do with it, if you don't mind my asking?"

Cas closed his fist around the key and now his arm was at his side again, his eyes were narrowed and his face rigid. "It's none of your concern." And just like he'd appeared—without warning—he disappeared.

Crowley sighed gustily and put his hands into his pockets. "Kids these days. So rude." There was a light knocking on his office door and Crowley raised a hand, opening the door without touching it.

Lola peeked her head in. "Hiya Bossman," she said, chewing and popping a mouthful of gum as usual. "Your eleven o'clock flogging and maiming's here." She jerked her thumb in the vague direction of where the torture rooms were. Lola was a demon who was young in appearance with short, over-styled, and unnaturally reddish hair, a petite heart-shaped face, and large expressive brown eyes. She always dressed and in a way that made her look like a gothy Spice Girl reject—right down to the godawful body glitter and neon blue eyeshadow.

Crowley smiled at his underling secretary. "Wouldn't miss it for the world." He strolled out of his office, feeling good about his lot in life. Cas, under his control and on his way to getting Crowley some major soul power—clueless, not even knowing that Dean and Alex weren't together anymore, that she was out there on her own. He couldn't have planned it more perfectly, the way that she was out of the picture, not distracting Cas but still motivating him. And, well, there was the whole killing-every-watcher-Crowley-sent thing, but other than that, Alex hadn't rocked the boat since that little try at killing him six months ago. Dean, not making a peep since he'd shacked up with some woman and kid. And Sam… oh, Sam. Hunting and hunting _well_ , getting in some trouble here and there but making a killing. Quite literally.

Yes, things were shaping up quite nicely for the King of Hell.

* * *

**Later**

Time—Castiel had almost no sense of time as the war which broke out across Heaven overtook the celestial planes like a flood. Seeing Crowley and learning that it had been six full months since the battle began had jarred Castiel badly. In Heaven it had only felt like a few weeks had passed. Upset, worried, and now the holder of the right to Alex's soul, Castiel felt even more lost than he had before. Why had her name been in that book? Why did her death still occur in 2013? Questions he had no answer for but _needed_.

Cas was scouring the heavens for any sign of Joshua in between trying to convince his brethren that Raphael's regime would end in disaster, in between battles that saw many good angels die. Many had been lost on both sides. Castiel's followers were growing slowly. He spoke to them about free will and choice, yet he was tied down. His choice would have been to go to the one he loved, but he could not.

Six months he had been gone from her, and it didn't feel like that long to him. The second Crowley said it had been that long, guilt and panic had gripped Cas at the thought of Alex waiting that long for him—he knew she would have gotten the message Balthazar delivered, but six months was a long time—would she grow tired or waiting, would she worry? He knew she would still be with Dean and that thought was his only comfort.

Immediately upon leaving Hell and seeing Crowley, Castiel had summoned Rachel and told her to go to earth and find Alex, ensure that she was as Crowley had said. To give her a message and tell her that he would come to her as soon as he could, that time had passed without him even realizing, that he hadn't won the war yet. Rachel hadn't returned yet and Castiel was anxious for an answer.

He still heard Alex sometimes, a simple question of his name, and each time it broke his heart anew and now, knowing how long it had been for her, it hurt even more. He was desperate to go to her in a dream or to visit just briefly, to rest his eyes upon her face, to hold her in the empty space of his arms and talk to her, hear her voice and just be with her, to quench an undying thirst only she could sate. But he was the biggest target in Heaven, the most wanted angel, and the eyes of the enemy were always on him. Going to Alex would be selfish on his part, it would only endanger her. He had to defeat Raphael first. There was just no other way.

Terrified of how precious Alex was to him and how easy it would be for the enemy to use those feelings against him, Castiel had instructed his devotees, the ones on his side, never to mention Alex. He thought perhaps if he could convince Raphael that she didn't matter to him that he could keep her safer from harm. He only spoke of Alex to Rachel, his Lieutenant, the one who believed in him the most.

He had sent Rachel to Alex what must have been a few earth-days ago and Castiel drew in a deeply pensive breath. He stood in a heaven he had never been to, one that had been damaged in the war: it was a big grassy field with a single tree from which a swing hung. This place had once been serene and beautiful, but the grass was blown sideways, dead angel wing marks were burned onto the ground, the sky was ripped up like paper. Sometimes Cas doubted what he was doing and wondered if the fight he had started was worth the outcome he desired.

Then he thought of what he was fighting for. _Who_ he was fighting for. She stayed with him there in his deepest thoughts and most meaningful memories and for now, that was all he had to hold on to. In his pocket, he curled his hand around the small silver object she'd given to him. A great amount of sadness and longing alike overcame him. He shut his eyes for a moment.

He imagined her wondering where he was, he imagined her alone and searching the sky and breathing out his name in the form of a question. He could barely fathom this tension, this divide, this loneliness that being without her produced—he wanted the war to be over, he wanted to be past this _now_.

Missing her was like every goodbye they had ever said… but said all at once.

"Castiel."

His eyes snapped open at the sound of a familiar voice beside him a few feet off. He turned and saw Rachel. Immediately anxiety came over Castiel. "You've returned," he said, going to her immediately and searching her face for any indication of the news she brought—he found himself incapable of waiting, he _needed to know now_. "What did you find? How is she?"

Rachel smiled, putting a steadying hand onto Castiel's arm. "She's well," Rachel said soothingly. "She and her brother are fine. I gave her your message and she was glad to receive it." Utter relief flooded Cas, he felt tension viscerally leave his body, he breathed out as if he had been holding his breath.

Squeezing his arm reassuringly, Rachel held his gaze and, unbeknownst to Cas, continued to _lie_ straight to his face. "She told me she would wait as long as she had to, Castiel."

"What did—" Castiel started. But suddenly three angels appeared in front of them, blades at their sides. And Rachel was glad, because she didn't want to lie anymore; hadn't thought that he would want to know any more than he had asked already. Castiel and his Lieutenant turned their attention to the battle at hand, and Rachel hoped he wouldn't ask again. He would, of course, and Rachel would remain vague, telling him what he wanted to hear… feeling guilty for lying but justified in the end.

Rachel had gone to earth, found the girl Castiel was so attached to, intending to deliver the message… but then Rachel had seen the girl and hadn't liked what she had seen. Perhaps it was sinful of her to lie and deceive, but Rachel was driven by a strong need to protect her brother in arms from both distraction and mistake. And Alex Winchester was both.

Free will was what they were fighting for, so Rachel had decided to exercise it. She hadn't _gone_ there intending to disregard Castiel's request, but then she'd seen this human girl in the flesh and she'd been mystified and confused. Castiel said this human was many things—good, kind, beautiful, lovely—but what Rachel had seen was killing and filth and lowness. Things that would tarnish Castiel. So Rachel had remained invisible and decided not to deliver her brother's message.

Alex Winchester was not fine. She was not with her brother. But Castiel didn't need to know either of those things. He needed to focus on winning the war.

* * *

**Even Later**

Crowley yanked Garlington to his feet. "Didya _really_ think," he growled, "for even a _second_ , you could pull one over on me?!" He sent the scrawny demon flying into the stone wall.

Garlington panted and collapsed down on all fours. He was covered in blood. "We just knew the girl was important to you, not why or— _ahhh!—_ anything! I was just doing what Meg said, please, _please_ , I'm no one, just a peon, _please_!"

Crowley grabbed him up by the collar and held him against the wall with cool anger. "So you and your little gang of misfits thought you'd swoop in, kidnap the girl I've a vested interest in, then use her as leverage over me?" Crowley almost smiled. "Serves you right what happened, doesn't it." He let go of the demon roughly.

Slack and trembling against the wall, Garlington had the look of a demon who had looked the devil himself in the eye. "She—it wasn't even _possible_ what she did!" he protested, voice tight with panic. "There were _five_ of us, she killed the others and almost me too!"

"Boo- _fucking_ -hoo." Crowley made a face, rolled his eyes. "Amateurs."

"No, you don't understand!" Garlington protested in rising terror, "It was like she was _on_ something or like—"

Crowley backhanded the squeaky-voiced demon across the face. " _Do_ shut up," he commanded tremulously, "you sound so _stupid_ when you exist." He calmed himself, narrowed his eyes, then raised his chin slightly. "Now. Tell your little boss _Meg_ I'm coming for her. Sooner or later, that dirty little double-crossing whore is mine." Crowley reconsidered, smiled now. "Actually, sorry. Looks like you won't be able to tell her after all."

Garlington's face registered questioning confusion even as without any further adieu, Crowley stabbed one of his favorite acquisitions—a demon blade from Japan—into Garlington's chest cavity. The demon screamed and Crowley wiggled his eyebrows, satisfied, but still pissed off as Garlington fell over dead. "Cheers." Crowley looked at his hands. Covered in blood, as usual. "Riveting stuff," he commented flatly, filled with both boredom and annoyance. He turned to his companion. Lola had her arms folded and was leaned into the door frame. One dark eyebrow arched up, there was a little smirk on her cute face.

" _Love_ watching you work," she said, pushing away from the doorway and sauntering over, looking at the dead demon's body on the floor. She put her hands on her hips. "So, this chick has killed _how_ many of our kind now?" She shot Crowley a look. "She's starting to make us look bad. Maybe you should pick less moronic grunts for the job, ones that won't keep getting caught."

The comment seemed to set the King of Hell off. "Maybe _you_ should keep your bloody _trap_ shut!"

Lola being Lola just made a face at the outburst and blew a bubble in her gum, appeared unimpressed. _Are you done yet?_ her expression seemed to ask. The little pink bubble popped.

Crowley sighed, regulated. "Sorry darling. Misdirected anger, you know how I am." He walked over and gave her chin an affectionate little tap. "You're looking very mid-to-late nineties Gwen Stefani today, by the way. _Really_ need to let me take you shopping—it's like your closet just regurgitated itself onto you." Lola seemed pleased at his words.

Crowley walked off a few paces, wiping his bloody hands on a rag he picked up from off the table. "Any-hoo. The help I've got watching her? They're _not_ morons. She's just good at what she does. _So_ good in fact that I'm having issues getting replacements lined up. _Apparently_ the grunts are getting a little gun-shy over the littlest Winchester." Crowley soured slightly. "She's about to piss me off, truth be told."

Lola fixed her boss with a quizzical look. "Why are you wasting the manpower on her, anyway?" She came a little closer and lowered her voice conspiratorially. "The angel would never know if you didn't make good on your end of the bargain..."

Crowley shot her a chastening look. "Deal's a deal. I'm a man—ah, _demon_ —of my word." He thought about it. "Most of the time." He chuckled darkly. "Seems like she doesn't need the help though, doesn't it? She's got it well and bloody handled, she's friggin' clearing my stock room of goons." Crowley pointed at the dead demon who'd been going on and on about Alex. "What this one said?" He paused meaningfully. "Let's not have that get out, understood? I know you and your water cooler talk. Last thing I need's the employees being even more spooked about Alex E. Winchester, A.K.A. pain in my ass."

Lola agreed not to say anything. But it was too late. The demons had already begun, _months_ ago, to fear the human girl who carried the angel's blade and killed their kind brutally. It wasn't her size, stature, or even her ability that forbade. It was the dark storm that raged inside of her and boiled out. It was the things she'd done to the black-eyed monsters she'd caught watching her. It was the rumor that she drank their blood and made them watch while she did it.

* * *

**Two Months Later**

Another night where he laid wide awake, not able to stop thinking. Dean tried not to sigh loudly in frustration because _why couldn't he sleep, dammit_ —Lisa was asleep peacefully next to him and he didn't want to wake her. Christmas had come and gone last month with no word from Alex. A short little call from Bobby… and that was it. Lisa was really into the whole Christmas cheer shit and honestly, it had made Dean feel a little better when they finally took down all the damn decorations and reminders of the holiday he wasn't sharing with his family.

Eight months since everything had happened. Eight. Fucking. Months. Dean's thoughts were simplistic and disjointed in his tired state, he was only half lucid. It would be time to wake up and go to work soon and he'd slept about two hours the past five nights in a row. Awesome.

The clock ticked in the loud silence, and beside him, Lisa gave a soft sigh in her sleep. Dean looked at her and smiled a little, if sadly. Most of his smiles were that way, touched by the sorrow that lingered deep inside.

There was a sudden loud pounding on the front door of the house and Dean started, jumped, reacting instinctively and reaching for his gun (underneath the pillow—Lisa hated it, but he insisted). He was wide awake, heart pounding a hundred miles an hour.

Beside him, Lisa was stirring, confused and still half-asleep. "Dean—what time is it?" she mumbled, voice rough. He was already getting up, his gun in-hand.

"Three in the morning," he whispered back tensely, and she heard his voice, realizing something was wrong. Waking up more, she saw the gun and got freaked out then sat up straight, petrified. He was at the window, pushing the blinds down slightly and trying to see the front door, but he couldn't quite see it from that angle.

"Stay here," Dean whispered, holding a hand up, gesturing for her to not move. "Stay _right_ here. I'll find out." She nodded, clutching blankets to herself.

Dean stole down the hall quietly past Ben's bedroom—peeked his head in and saw that he was still fast asleep. The kid could sleep through a damn _tornado_. Dean moved through the house on high alert, watching every shadow, his heart pounding with an adrenaline he hadn't felt in awhile now. His hunting instincts came back like he hadn't ever stopped using them. He got to the front door—it was solid wood, no way to see who was on the other side. He put his back to the wall just beside the doorknob and held his gun tight and ready near his face, focusing on steadying his breathing. Step one, find out where this person was standing.

"Who's there?" he demanded loud enough that whoever was on the other side of the door could hear him.

"The President of the United States," came a voice that belonged to a female and was distinctly teasing. _The hell?_ Dean made a face at the door—he didn't recognize the voice. "Relax. I'm not armed. Just open the door."

Dean hesitated, not sure if that were a good idea or not. But throwing caution to the wind, he unlocked the door and cracked it open slightly, gun already trained on the place he knew she was standing. Opposite of him stood a caucasian woman around his age with long blonde hair and strong, pretty features. She wore a dark rust red leather jacket and had her arms crossed. She immediately struck him as intelligent and sharp.

" _Morning_ ," she commented, scanning him up and down and lingering in amusement below the belt before looking him the eye. That's when he remembered that all he was wearing was candy-cane patterned boxers (a gift from Lisa) and a t-shirt with socks pulled up almost to his knees. Also, he was pretty sure his hair was sticking straight up.

Disgruntled immediately, Dean resisted the urge to be modest. He looked her up and down, too, then saw that there was a pistol tucked into the front waistband of her jeans. Balking slightly and narrowing his eyes, he frowned. "You said you weren't armed."

She held his gaze steadily, a soft little smile on her face. "I did say that, didn't I."

Dean looked at her with narrowed eyes. "Enough bullshit, who are you?" he asked gruffly, still keeping the gun on her from behind the door where she couldn't see.

She folded her arms and shifted her weight, that smile still lingering. "What, Dean, you don't remember me? My feelings are hurt."

 _Remember_ her? He'd never seen this chick a day in his life. She saw how he was drawing a blank and lowered her chin, gave him an expectant look. "Think, Winchester. Fifteen years ago? Arizona?" Dean blinked, clueless, trying to remember what the hell she would be talking about. She sighed and looked up and off, like giving him clues was pulling teeth to her. "You thought you were the shit, I had _braces_ …" she trailed off, giving him a chance to remember.

He wracked his brain. "I'm sorry, who—" he squinted, trying to place her. He'd remember her face, it was really striking. And then he almost did a double-take. Wait. Braces? No _way,_ this couldn't be who he thought it was. "... _James?_ " he asked incredulously. His gun lowered a little.

Her expression changed just slightly when he called her James—she looked slightly annoyed, and that's when he knew it _was_ her. " _Ah_." She commented flatly. "You _do_ remember me. So you _also_ remember—it's _Jamie_." She looked at him pointedly. Yeah, she had told him a million times, but he'd never called her anything but James. Well wait, that wasn't true. She'd also told him not to call her Braceface. He hadn't listened to that one either. Her eyes locked on his and she studied him carefully, then gestured with a nod toward his hand that was behind the door holding the gun. "Do you mind not aiming that thing at me?"

How did she…? It didn't matter. "Yeah, uh. Sorry." He lowered the gun, looking at her in veiled amazement. This could _not_ be the same Jamie Ward he'd met back in the day. He had been, what, sixteen at the time? They'd been in Arizona hunting Skinwalkers with Dad. Jamie and her uncle and brother had been on the same job and they'd ended up joining forces. At the time Jamie had been an ungracefully tall, scrawny, knock-kneed fifteen-year-old with braces that took over her whole face and a lisp from how big they were in her mouth. She'd had horrible acne and was a subpar hunter, a pious snobby rich kid, a fraidy-cat and a party pooper and Dean had pretty rudely and smugly let her know he thought as much of her. He remembered telling her she looked like a giraffe and a slinky on separate occasions, he remembered how she kept "accidentally" letting tree branches smack him when they walked through the woods when she'd had the lead for all of two minutes.

What he couldn't get over was how _different_ she looked today—she'd filled out, grown into herself, she had straight even teeth and had actually developed some level of style, she didn't look gangly or nerdy like she used to. He was taken aback and didn't mind letting her know. "Damn, uh... you look… different."

She smiled genuinely, but then it became teasing. "So do you…" her eyes dropped to below his waistline to the stupid boxers languidly and she pulled a highly amused, questioning expression when she looked him in the eye again. So it was back to teasing each other mercilessly like they had years ago.

 _Great._ Dean was not amused at all. "They were a present," he muttered. This was all beside the point. He was tired and this little class reunion was nice but he needed to know why she was there. "Okay great well—nice to see you I guess, now wanna tell what the hell you're doing at my house at three in the morning, James?" He saw how that name got under her skin. _Score one for me._ He felt himself regaining a little dignity and he even cracked a slightly cheeky smile. "If you need my help on a job or something, sorry. I'm retired."

Whatever bantery mood she'd been in before fell away and she became pretty serious. "Yeah I know but—" She lowered her voice. "It's Alex." Two words that floored Dean immediately.

"W-what?" he asked, almost speechless. He opened the door some more, looking at Jamie intensely, his voice rising in anxiety. "Have you seen her? Do you know where she is?"

The look on Jamie's face was worrying him. "Yeah, we've been hunting together on and off together for a few months and…" she hesitated, her eyes faltering under the demanding intensity of Dean's silence. "I dunno what's happened to her but it's something bad."

Dean's heart was beating fast. He felt almost ill. "What do you mean?"

"She's missing," Jamie said. "As of a few hours ago. Straight up—" she threw her hands wide in a shrug, "— _vanished_ right out of our motel room."

Dean nodded, thinking fast. "Lemme get dressed," he said. "Gimme five minutes."

Jamie's eyebrows rose faintly. "Just like that?" she asked, a little surprised that he was just ready to go with her at the drop of a dime without any more information or convincing. Maybe she thought she was going to have to try harder.

"Yes, just like that, now sit tight." Dean shut the door and hurried back to the bedroom, shaking almost, a man on a mission as he thought of his sister, in trouble somewhere and needing him. Missing? Vanished? Oh _Jesus,_ Alex. _What are you into?_ Dean's chest hurt, he was so worried he thought he might have a stroke. He knew he should have gone out and find her months ago, he _knew_ it.

When he got to the bedroom and turned on the light without warning, Lisa protested with a groan and put a hand over her eyes, squinting against the brightness. "Who is it?" She asked, voice filled with nervous fear. "Is everything okay?" He was yanking a dresser drawer open. Jeans, he needed some damn _jeans_. "Dean?"

He found a pair and started yanking them on. "Old hunting acquaintance," he muttered, completely focused on the task of dressing himself.

Lisa swung her legs over the bed, watching as he pulled the first shirt he saw on. "W-what are you doing?" He heard the quiet fear filling her voice.

"I gotta go," he said, checking his gun and tucking it into the waistband of his jeans then crossing the room at a brisk stride. "Something's happened to Alex and I gotta go." He pulled the duffel bag full of old hunting stuff out and crouched over it, pawing through it all quickly to double check himself. Lisa was standing now.

"Just like that? You're just taking off in the _middle_ of the _night?_ " She asked in disbelief and Dean stood.

"Yes," he answered immediately, almost aggressively. "This is my sister and she's in trouble."

Lisa looked at him with a hugely uncertain, worried frown. "...You sure about this?" She asked, and he heard what she was asking. Did he even know if it were true?

Dean shrugged, tossing the duffel onto the bed as he went back to the closet and yanked one of his jackets off the hangar. "No, but… I'll be fine."

Lisa had walked to the window and was looking down into the yard where Jamie was waiting halfway down the sidewalk and tapping a boot, illuminated dimly by the street lamp. Dean shoved his feet into his hunting boots and didn't even bother to lace them. "That's your old hunting buddy?" Lisa asked. "She's pretty."

Dean shouldered the duffel bag, not missing Lisa's tone. A little exasperated—this was no time for that crap—he went to her. "Relax, Lees. Just get some rest. I'll be back when I can." He kissed her forehead quickly, squeezed one of her shoulders, and headed for the door.

"Dean—" Lisa protested.

He looked back at her. "Tell Ben not to worry. I'll call when I know something."

She sighed unhappily but let him go.

Dean almost jogged out of the house and out to where Jamie waited.

"Hot damn, that was fast," she commented, eyes flickering up to the top of his head. "Hair still needs work though."

"Yeah sure whatever, let's go," Dean said, nodding toward the dark greenish blue Tahoe SUV parked at the curb. He distractedly trying to pat his hair down into his every day hairstyle. "That you?"

"Yup," Jamie confirmed, already on her way over to it. Dean shoved his bag into the backseat and swung into the passenger side even as she hopped into the driver's seat and started the engine. It rumbled to life loudly.

"How far's the motel she disappeared from?" Dean asked, shutting his door.

Jamie shrugged, looking over her shoulder as she shifted into reverse and backed up. "Little less than an hour."

Dean looked at her in bewilderment. His sister had been that close to him when it happened? "Only an hour?" he asked, his voice conveying his extreme surprise.

Jamie glanced at him sidelong. She looked like she were trying to decide if she should tell him something. "Alex has this... _thing_."

Dean frowned. "What thing?"

"This thing where she won't go real far from here." She glanced at him again meaningfully, understanding the significance. "Where you are."

Disbelief and wonder came over him. Dean's heart felt like it burst and he tried to school his expression to neutrality, but he couldn't hide the emotion that flickered over his face. James saw it, too. Dean cleared his throat. He needed to find out as much about his sister as he could—where she'd been, what she'd been doing. Hearing that she'd been hunting sort of broke his heart. Mostly because maybe he'd hoped she could find normal life, too, like he had, somehow. But maybe not. He cleared his throat gruffly. "So how long you guys hunted together?"

"Mm," Jamie thought for a second, fiddling with something on her dashboard, "Four months or so I guess."

"What'd she do before that?"

Jamie shrugged and shook her head, glancing into the outside rear view mirror. "All I know is when I found her she was waiting tables at some mediocre restaurant and said she wasn't hunting anymore but… well, she got roped back into it thanks to me." Jamie's tone was hard to read, it was purposefully light and humorous, but Dean thought he heard something else there. He couldn't figure out what though.

"So it's you, Gary, and Glen?" He asked. "And Alex just… hitched a ride on the hunting express?"

Jamie's expression became a little withdrawn at the mention of her uncle and brother. "It's me and Glen. Uh." She seemed to reconsider. " _Sometimes_ it's me and Glen. He's pretty hit and miss, always off doing his own thing but, well..." she appeared to have a lot of emotion surrounding what she said next, even if she _did_ disguise it pretty well. "Gary died a few years after we met you guys."

No doubt thanks to the hunting life. Dean quieted a little. "Sorry to hear that."

She sent him a brief appreciative look. "And I'm sorry about Sam. Alex doesn't talk much but... she did tell me that."

Dean felt his brow furrowing. _Alex doesn't talk much_. "What kind of job were you guys on when this happened?" He asked, hoping to maybe start putting the puzzle together before they even got there.

"Your run-of-the-mill pissed off ghost thing. Nothing fancy. Finished it up yesterday."

"And then Alex disappeared _from_ the motel room?"

Jamie looked as uncertain and mystified as Dean felt. "Yeah. Place looks like a tornado hit it," she was scowling ahead at the road, holding the wheel steady with one hand. "I wasn't there when it happened. Glen was."

Dean looked at her sharply. "Your brother and my sister… were alone in a motel room together?" He clarified, not sure if he liked the sound of this.

Jamie gave him a funny look at the tone in his voice. "What, you want me to call the police?" She took in his disapproving scowl and seemed to find it funny. "They're adults and they can do what they want." She smiled like she knew she was about to get on his nerves. "Including each other, if they want."

Annoyed but trying not to show it—that's what she was after, dammit—Dean crossed his arms and sank down slightly into his seat. "Now you're just being a troll," he muttered. He was trying to remember what Glen was like. All he remembered was a snotty, sneaky blond tweenager who had stolen his wallet, taken all the money out, then replaced the empty wallet back into his pocket somehow—he _knew_ that was Glen who did that—he'd known it then, he knew it now. But he'd never been able to prove it.

Jamie reached over and turned the music up—it had been on volume zero. A horrible noise like machine guns and something that was supposed to sound like a guitar faded up in volume and Dean literally flinched away at the racket. "What the hell is _that?_ " he asked, feeling offended and sort of disturbed. On the speakers, a guy was screaming what he assumed were words, but it sounded like a fucking _nightmare._

"Music," Jamie replied, already copping an amused attitude at his revulsion.

Dean shook his head emphatically. "No—this is _not_ music," he said, frowning and listening for a few more seconds. "How the hell can you listen to this shit?"

She chuckled, thoroughly enjoying his disgusted, confused expression as the thrash metal blared. With a very impish glance at him that would have been cute if she wasn't insufferable just like she'd been fifteen years ago... she turned it up even louder.

* * *

Thank you _God_ —they finally reached the motel and Jamie turned down the torture—the quote unquote _music_. They pulled into a place called the Cherry Tree Inn, a pretty predictable slum motel. Jamie parked her SUV in between two cars—a beige late 90's Chevrolet Blazer that was jacked up with tires too big for itself and a beautiful black two door 60's Ford Mustang. Dean immediately knew which one belonged to his sister. The Mustang looked sort of like a smaller version of the Impala and his chest hurt again, viscerally.

Jamie was already getting out and Dean followed her, grabbing his bag of stuff, steeling himself for what he was about to find. He looked at Alex's car as Jamie unlocked the door. She pushed it open and Dean went with her inside.

"Glen?" She asked, sounding confused. She switched the lights on. The room was clearly empty. "Fuck," she muttered.

"What, he's gone now too?" Dean asked.

Jamie threw her hands up, it looked like she wasn't sure if she should be worried or pissed. The room _was_ a disaster. The wallpaper was torn off the walls, the lamps were sideways, the TV was busted, the windows too. It really did look like a tornado had blown through. Honestly, it reminded Dean of when Cas had first tried to contact him before his vessel. No. No, this couldn't have been Cas.

Dean walked the room slowly, taking it in, searching for any signs that would point to who or what could have done this. He recognized his sister's duffel bag in the corner and saw one of her jackets hung over the back of a chair. His heart felt painful in his chest. _Focus, Dean._ "You guys made any enemies lately?" He asked, then realized that was a stupid question and reworded himself. "I mean the kind who could do something like this."

Jamie had her phone out and was tapping the screen in concentration. "Take your pick," she admitted. "There was this family of Kitsunes last month actually I… well, let's just say if Uncle Bob found what Alex left… he'd be wanting some payback." She gave him a significant look then put the phone to her ear.

"What do you mean?" Dean asked, kneeling down at the foot of one of the beds, looking for any traces of sulfur or foreign substances. He saw nothing.

"Dammit, Glen, _answer_ —" she muttered, then turned her attention back to Dean. "Your little sister's a bit twisted, let's just leave it at that." She got no answer on her phone and snapped it shut in agitation.

"Maybe he just went out to get something," Dean offered. He was distracted. Alex was twisted? That didn't fit.

"Yeah, maybe," Jamie responded gruffly. "And there were also these demons that jumped Alex a couple months ago, she… well, it was pretty crazy what she did to them. One of them got away… he might not like her so much right now either." Jamie shook her head, eyes scanning the room. She looked really worried and stressed, but she stayed focused. "Honestly, Dean… it's kind of like _she's_ the one who's out for revenge. I just don't know against who."

Dean looked at Jamie, not sure if he believed her. He knew his sister was capable as hell, but… something just didn't seem right about what he was hearing.

The door to the room suddenly opened and in strolled a very tall blond guy. He carried a six-pack of beers and had a distinctly laid-back air of confidence. "Yo," he greeted, and it was like with that single word, he had offended Jamie in every way possible.

"'Yo'?" She repeated. "' _Yo'?_ " She crossed her arms angrily. "Where the hell did you go? I _told_ you to sta—"

"Relax, relax," Glen cut her off, waving her away indifferently. "I needed a six pack, don't worry about it. I was gone five minutes." He pulled the fallen-over motel table back up and set the beers down on it as he spoke, then turned and acknowledged Dean, approaching him and holding out his hand. "Dean. It's been awhile."

They shook hands—and it was a good, firm handshake. "Glen." _You still owe me thirty bucks, man._ The guy was tall, probably Sam's height—he wore jeans, a graphic t-shirt and a flannel over it, a hooded jacket over that. He had tousled blond hair and a light, short beard plus strong features like his sister. He was built as hell with broad shoulders. He'd changed too, just like Jamie had. They were practically unrecognizable.

Glen let go of Dean's hand. "I'd ask how you're doing but… you know," he said, then motioned to the drinks he'd just brought in. "Beer?"

Dean shook his head. "Yeah, no, I'm good. So, you were with Alex when… _this_ happened?" He gestured at the wrecked room.

"Yup." Glen cracked open a beer. "We were asleep, I hear this, I dunno, wind and a high pitched kind of screeching noise." He took a drink. "I woke up and she was gone right out of the bed."

Dean raised his chin just a fraction of an inch, looking at Glen carefully. "Which bed?"

Glen wiped the side of his mouth on the back of his hand then indicated the bed on the right. "That one."

Eyeing Glen with a suspicious glance, Dean went to the bed his sister had disappeared from and began to poke around in search for anything out of the ordinary.

"I wouldn't bother, I already checked it all," Glen told him, sitting down on the other bed and leaning over his knees with beer still in hand.

Dean squinted, seeing something small and black behind the bedside table. He pulled the table out more, grabbing the small, light object. A tiny black feather. He turned and looked at Glen balefully, holding up the small feather. "Then what the hell is this?"

Jamie looked at the feather and then her brother in rising aggravation. "You _said_ you checked that side," she accused.

Glen obviously felt attacked and raised his hands defensively. "I _did!_ "

Apparently this was an issue for them. "Oh like last month when you said you checked a perimeter and you were texting some bimbo instead?"

"I _did_ check it!" Glen retorted.

"You can't just look at something for one _second_ and call that checking!" Jamie said angrily. "You blew my cover and almost got me _killed_!"

"One time thing, won't happen again," Glen muttered, almost rolling his eyes. He seemed more inconvenienced than anything else.

"It just _did_." Jamie looked like she was beyond fed up.

"Can you two stow the family feud for two seconds?" Dean demanded, standing up, feather in hand. Jamie looked at Glen, pointing a warning finger at her sullen brother as if to say _we'll talk about this later._ She then proceeded to ignore him and went to Dean, who was staring at the feather. "What is that thing?"

He stared at it, looked at the room and didn't have a doubt in his mind anymore. "Angels," he said grimly, then reconsidered. "Or… angel. And I think I know which one."

Jamie and Glen exchanged a look as Dean looked up at the ceiling. "Cas! Castiel! I need you to wing it down here pronto." Nothing happened. "That means now!" He bellowed. Again, nothing.

"What's... a Castiel?" Jamie asked, and Dean looked at her dubiously. Alex had been with these two for months and they didn't know who Cas was? No… something obviously was wrong. Getting more and more worried, Dean returned his attention to the ceiling, probably looking insane. But he didn't care.

" _Cas!_ I don't know what you're playing at, but if you hurt her or if one of your buddies took her—dammit, just get down here _now!_ " Again, nothing, and Dean turned around, looking behind himself then around, flabbergasted. "Where _the hell_ is he?" He asked, mostly to himself, then tried again, stubborn until the end. "Alex is _gone,_ Cas, do you hear me?!"

"What do you mean, gone?"

Dean whirled, Glen stood up in surprise, Jamie's mouth went open slightly as she visibly kept herself from gasping. Castiel stood there, frowning deeply, looking at Dean, who was surprised to see him there for two seconds, then recovering. "Nice to see you too," he wisecracked, then indicated the room. "You know anything about this?"

Cas looked different than Dean remembered. Like he felt heavier, like his shoulders were carrying more than they used to. He seemed impatient and stressed. "About what, what are you talking about? Who are these people? And what do you mean Alex is _gone?_ "

Dean was mad. Cas was supposed to be her guardian angel and he didn't know? What the actual hell was going on? "She disappeared in the middle of the night, sight unseen, I found _this_." He held out the little feather angrily. "Now which one of your buddies does this belong to?"

Cas looked at the feather and his expression changed—went from _fuck off_ to _oh god_ in less than a second. And Dean suddenly realized this might be worse than he thought.

"Give it to me," Castiel demanded, and snatched it without anything further, leaving Dean to blink and watch as Cas went to the table where Glen had set the beers. With a sweep of his arm, Cas sent the beers crashing down, he had drawn a stick of chalk out of his pocket and was drawing furiously.

"He—y…" Glen protested halfheartedly at the mostly broken beer bottles.

Jamie watched dubiously, no idea what was happening as Cas continued to draw as if his life depended on it. Dean approached slowly, full with dread, not sure what Cas was doing. The angel seemed to finish drawing and set the feather down into the middle of the the symbol he'd drawn, held his hand out over it, shut his eyes and with deep concentration uttered some sort of Enochian incantation. "Zod ma rah kah mah vah rah." The feather burst into flame and disappeared. Cas opened his eyes, a shocked look on his face.

"What is it Cas, who took her, _why?_ " Dean demanded, needing answers, needing them _now._

Cas stared ahead of himself blankly, fear gathering on his features, panic. "Nandriel. No, _no_ …"

And Cas disappeared without explanation. _  
_


	47. Lay Me Down to Sleep

" _It was pride that changed the angels into devils."_  
\- Saint Augustine

* * *

Alex remembered jolting awake as glass shattered and wind roared. She'd fallen out of bed reacting on instinct, reaching for the gun under her pillow—then been ripped away from the motel room completely. Like a little leaf she'd been caught in a gale force, spinning out of control into an endless abyss, not sure which direction was up or down or what was happening at all but now… now everything was still and dark.

She felt like she was in a waking dream—her eyes were barely able to focus as they blinked open blearily, she had the distinct feeling that her body was moving faster or maybe it was slower than her mind, like she was out of sync. Something was _wrong_ with her, and she realized that as she also realized how _everything hurt_ and then that she was tied to something with wrists behind her back. Her head lolled forward onto her chest and she struggled to raise her head—she ached all over like she'd been in a fight, like she'd collided hard with a hard surface several times. But—she hadn't—had she? She must have been. She could feel cuts and scrapes on her bare arms and the back of her head was pounding where there'd been some kind of impact. Son of a _bitch_ it hurt.

Alex struggled to hold her head up, survival instincts telling her to focus, _focus_. She quickly took inventory of herself: arms behind her and tied tightly to what felt like a small metal pole. Beneath her a cold cement floor. Her legs were sprawled out in front of her and one of them felt broken. Her eyes were too cloudy to make out much more. She blinked several times over, squinting as she realized her hearing was off—everything sounded muffled and tinny.

 _What had happened?_ She couldn't remember a damn thing. The world was flickering, making her feel drunk and stupid. It was probably someone looking for revenge who had brought her here—she hadn't exactly made many _friends_ this past year...

Her eyes regained some ability and she was able to see that she was in a warehouse... but it kept _changing_ —through a dirty window not far away from her Alex could see sunlight, and from the angle of light, it looked like it was late afternoon—but then it changed and it looked more like early morning, then it was abruptly night, then it was daylight again and raining, then sunny again, then windy and snowy—like she was somehow leap frogging through time. And then Alex noticed the warehouse changed too every time the outside changed—the interior was decrepit and rusted then nicer and newer, then dirty and abandoned looking, then clean and brand new, then old again. It kept changing and changing and _changing_ and Alex felt sick, distorted, off balance. Her visioned blurred again and she tried to shake her head, but she was slow as a slug and could barely manage to blink. She heard echoing footsteps beside her and tried to look up and see who it was. But her muscles were stiff and uncoordinated. She couldn't quite manage to turn her head.

A tall, lithe young woman walked over and around to stand in front of Alex. She was intensely beautiful with piercing eyes and striking youthful features and hair that was pulled away from her face tightly. Alex felt a sense of recognition, even though she was very convinced that she'd never seen this person before. The stranger's arms were folded across herself in a mistrustful, cautious posture and she was dressed in a shimmering jet black top and expensive looking black slacks, pointed black heels. Expensive diamond earrings hung from her ears. By all appearances she was ready for some kind of elegant event and Alex was mystified. Was she a demon? Some kind of monster? Maybe a skinwalker. The woman arched a single, artfully penciled eyebrow down at Alex, who attempted to speak, but it was like trying to talk through a mouthful of sludge—she felt like she'd been put on slow motion. "Who… are?" she managed slowly, thickly. No other words seemed possible to form, it was too tiring and monumental.

The woman seemed fractionally irritated, her eyes narrowing just slightly. "We've been over this, Alex," she said in a low voice that was surprisingly girlish and rasping at the same time. Something about the voice felt familiar. "When you attempted quite foolishly to kill me a few minutes ago?"

 _Kill_ her? Alex had never seen this person before. "I… don't…" she managed. If she hadn't been tied down, she would have fallen sideways at that point. She blinked heavily, wondering if maybe she was hallucinating or drugged. Maybe that's why the warehouse kept changing. She was tripping _balls._

"Hm. The time displacement really seems to have gotten to you..." The woman crouched down and held Alex's chin firmly. "I'm Nandriel." Shock registered in Alex's mind, and it must have also shown on her face. "You seem surprised," the angel commented. There was a veiled, guarded, mistrustful tone to her voice, and the same qualities also came through in her entire demeanor. "What did he tell you? About why I was demoted? Somehow... I doubt you got the full story." Nandriel's face softened into a smile that was cynical at best. "Did he tell you I was imprisoned? Stripped of my powers? Treated like I was the devil himself just because I wanted to become a human?" At the dazed look on Alex's face, the angel let go and stood up. Nandriel seemed disturbed, further mystifying Alex. "I'll take that as a 'no.'"

Nandriel sauntered slowly to the window—she stood tall and straight, her movements were graceful, like how a seasoned ballet dancer might move. The angel didn't seem to notice the seasons and days changing through the window, just looked through the glass pane quietly, focusing on a distant point. There was a serene quality to her, but there was also sadness and anger, and something else entirely that set Alex's inner red flags raising. Nandriel was her ex-guardian angel, right? That's what Cas had told her, what, two years ago—and Alex had always assumed that Nandriel had fallen like Anna had, becoming human. She didn't know she'd been in angel prison all this time. Maybe that's why Nandriel felt familiar to Alex, but why was she doing this? What was happening? Wait. Was this some kind of revenge move? _But what did I do?_ Confused and helpless and under the effect of what felt like a mind-numbing drug, Alex twisted her wrists uselessly against the rough rope that held her in place.

Nandriel cast a fleeting glance Alex's way. "Do you know, Alex… I thought I'd be trapped in there forever?" Her voice was soft and thoughtful. She took a long, slender finger, tracing it down across the flickering window slowly, watched the digit with dark, somber eyes. "I thought they would continue to punish me century after century, until the end of time, for my so-called sins." Her voice softened wistfully, pain filling her soft, girlish voice. "All I wanted was to be a human." She turned and looked back at Alex beseechingly. "Tell me, is that truly so wrong?"

 _Don't answer that._ Alex's first thought and instinct, because there was a very clear sense of danger that she was getting, a very strong intuition to err on the side of caution. She tugged weakly at her wrists again, realizing that even if she were at her full mental and physical capacity, the rope was just too tight. Weapon, where was a weapon. She had a knife in her boot, but that was impossibly out of reach... her angel blade was… back with her jacket, slung over a motel chair. There was no way to get to her little knife, there was no way to pull out of the ropes, and she was under some kind of spell or drug, she could barely even think a single coherent thought. She tried to focus instead, to learn as much as she could, maybe stall whatever was happening. "Why… are we… here?" she asked stutteringly.

Nandriel became visibly bothered and her eyes slid to Alex for the briefest of moments. "Because I need you for something." She then refused to look directly at Alex, instead began to look at the ground near where Alex was restrained. "I hope you'll believe me. I wish it didn't have to be this way."

Well _that_ was vague as hell and ominous to boot. Alex's sense of danger was now soaring at an all time high—this was _not_ good and she had a really strong conviction that she needed to get out of there pronto. But she clearly couldn't do it on her own. That meant there was only one option left. It scared the shit out of her to hang all of her hopes on the one who had disappeared without explanation from her side over eight months ago but she still believed, deep down, if she _really_ needed him, if it were life or death... he would come to her. _Oh god please don't let me be wrong._ Filled with a dreadful hope and fear alike, Alex opened her mouth to say the name that filled her every waking thought. "Ca—"

The second she opened her mouth, Nandriel was suddenly in front of her and had clamped a rough hand across her mouth, preventing Alex from finishing the word. A violent wind blew over the room with the speed the angel had moved with.

"Why would you call him?" Nandriel asked angrily, suddenly unhinged and expressive, the total opposite of what she'd been a minute ago. "Has he answered any of the _other_ times you called him this year?" Her jet-black eyes flickered between Alex's, and there was a cold, indignant scowl on her face. "He's just like the _rest_ of them. Self-loyal. Traitorous. A backstabber, a hypocritical _fool_." She stood back and let go of Alex brusquely, who attempted to speak again... but found herself voiceless. Alex gaped dumbly up at the guardian angel she had never known, feeling betrayed. She was panicked and sluggish, trying harder to make a sound and finding herself totally unable. Nandriel's beautiful features were twisted in disgust. "How is it you can still love him after he _deserted_ you and _abandoned_ you? How is it you have _always_ loved the ones who hurt you and wronged you? Your _father_ ; your _brothers_ , and now Castiel who has shown you no concern in nearly a _year_!"

Silence rang loudly and Nandriel glared down at Alex demandingly. The words stung, or maybe that was Alex's eyes, which fell away and down guiltily. Nandriel had carefully aimed those verbal barbs like she knew exactly what they would do to Alex: they raised a hundred doubts, fears, and guilts all at once, spoke to Alex's insecurities, and made her feel small and foolish. Nandriel's jaw was tight with a cold anger. "I know you better than anyone else in this world, child, I know your brainless loyalty and dependence on your broken, defective family. Why? What I want to know is _why_." She grew silent and studied Alex with somber contempt. "I know you but I don't _understand_ you."

She began to leisurely walk in front of Alex, back and forth with her delicate brow knit together and wrinkling slightly. The angel suddenly scoffed and halted as if she had a realization, looking at Alex in dawning epiphany. "The things you've done this past year… perhaps _you_ don't understand yourself anymore, either." Alex's stomach dropped a little. How much did Nandriel know? The angel's features twisted scornfully. "Do you honestly think he would still love you if he knew? The things you've done? The _thoughts_ you've entertained? ...the tall blond man you were sharing a motel room with when I found you?" Nandriel was haughty now, snide, bitter. "Perhaps you and Castiel _are_ perfect for one another, after all. Both of you disloyal to the other at every level _imaginable_."

Unable to speak a word in her defense, Alex just shook her head as vehemently as she could. It was a concerted effort against the wooziness that washed over her like a wave. _No, you're wrong, you're wrong!_

"Anyway." Nandriel was suddenly calm again, thoughtful and measured, almost apologetic. Her voice grew soft. "Castiel won't find you here, outside the reach of time itself. Even if he wanted to." She looked mildly rueful, and then guilt flashed across her pretty face for just a moment. "I _am_ sorry for what's going to happen here soon, and I _am_ sorry to silence you but… you must remain quiet, now." She looked off to her side vacantly. "Until Raphael arrives."

Alex's eyes snapped up at that. _Raphael?_ Memories of the angry archangel flashed through Alex's mind and she felt her stomach jolt. What was going _on_ here?!

Nandriel paced languidly in front of Alex again, her inner torment clear on her youthful but stony features. "I grew fond of you over the years, Alex. I did. But fondness is fleeting and meaningless to me now. What I desire is freedom." She looked at Alex, who was silent, not by choice—holding onto hope that _someone_ was going to find her here, wherever here was. Jamie, at least—she'd be looking for her, she knew she would be. Nandriel looked sympathetic, like she knew and recognized the look on Alex's face. "I can see how you're hoping for rescue. But no one's coming for you, Alex. Not this time."

Nandriel was, in a word, _wrong_. Even as she spoke, cycling Alex and herself through time over and over again, effectively hiding them from anyone who wasn't invited, Castiel had realized Nandriel was outside the reach of summoning after trying for the third frantic time. Close to panicking, he held himself still and forced himself to think, _think_. If Nandriel, who was supposed to be in prison and who had taken Alex for some unknown reason, was beyond the reach of summoning, she must be in another dimension or perhaps even in a time-loop. Usually, this would hide an angel completely, but Castiel suddenly realized… Nandriel had been present in Alex's life for over twenty years. All he needed to do was find an instance of the angel within time. If he could do this, find her and get some of her blood, there was an Enochian sigil that he could use to find her in the current time. So without a second thought, Castiel slipped back through the bonds of time to a night he knew Nandriel would have been part of.

The night of the nursery fire.

* * *

**Lawrence, Kansas  
1983**

Castiel found himself in a dark room. It was small and decorated with images of teddy bears piloting airplanes—a whimsical but unrealistic motif. There was a moon shaped night light on a wall beside a little wooden dresser, two cross-stitched circles hung on the wall beside a colorful teddy bear clock. One of the circles said _Alexandra_ in pink letters, the other one said _Sam_ in blue letters. A crib was set in almost the middle of the room, leaving all sides free to stand near. The room was quiet save for the sound of two babies cooing and gurgling quietly, the clock ticking. Castiel kept himself invisible as he moved toward the crib, reflecting on how strange he found this moment to be, how deep a sadness he felt knowing what was going to transpire in that room in just the span of a few minutes. For a moment, he was paused from his current state of apprehensiveness in favor of reflection. How odd that he was about to see Sam and Alex as infants, but especially her. Another unsettling reminder of how old he was, how ancient.

He peered down into the crib as he walked around to the side that was closest to the window. There they were. The twins laid beside each other wide awake, little arms and legs pumping enthusiastically—dressed in blue pajamas, Sam was looking up at the airplane mobile that hung over the crib, cooing and drooling as Alex, in pink pajamas, tried to grab her brother's ear. They both had impossibly large eyes, and even at six months old, Sam was noticeably bigger than Alex. Still, they were so small, so fragile, and Castiel suddenly thought of how he could change this—he could change _everything_ if he so chose. And the thought terrified him.

"Come on, let's say goodnight to your brother and sister," came a soft feminine voice, and the lights came on in the room, even as a little boy with a thick mop of brown hair—Dean—ran on short little legs to the crib and clambered up the side opposite of Cas. Mary stood at the doorway wearing a white nightgown. Her long blonde hair tumbled around her shoulders. She hung back for a moment and watched her oldest child with the twins, a little smile on her face.

"'Night, twins," Dean said, leaning down over the babies. "Love you Sammy..." he kissed Sam on the head, who sputtered happily. "Love you Al..." Dean leaned as far as he could and kissed Alex on the head. He was rewarded with a high pitched coo from his sister, who tried to grab Dean's hair but missed. Dean grinned and chortled, then leaned back and rested his arms on the top of the crib railing, putting his chin on top of one of his hands. For a minute he just admired his brother and sister, watching Sam reaching for his toes.

"Dadadada," Alex babbled.

Dean gasped loudly and whipped his head around. "Mommy, she's doing it again! She's saying dada!" He announced in an excited almost shout.

"Shh, love, shh," Mary said, chuckling and coming to stand behind her oldest, circling him with her arms comfortingly and pressing her cheek beside his. "Let's not rile them up, okay?" It seemed to be too late for that. Even as Mary kissed Dean's cheek, Sam laughed shrilly at his big brother and waved his arms uncontrollably, thwacking baby Alex in the face, who blinked in surprise and started, a reaction delayed by a couple of seconds.

"Oh, careful Sammy, you hurted Allie's face!" Dean said, catching hold of his brother's chubby arm gently and guiding the arm down to Sam's side slowly and carefully. His voice took on a certain note of instruction and wisdom that parents usually used with children. "We have to be _gentle_ with each other."

"That's right, little man." Mary smiled at her oldest son, and Castiel could see how proud the woman was of her children. She stroked Dean's hair affectionately. "Such a good big brother, Dean," she murmured. "Always taking care of your brother and sister." She pressed a kiss into his hair.

"Yeah, Mama, I always will," Dean said.

"I know you will, bud." Mary ruffled his hair playfully before turning her attention to the twins. Even Castiel, who was not one for the subtleties of human emotion felt another burst of deep sadness inside of himself. This young boy, barely four years old, would be saddled with responsibilities and sadnesses no human being should have to carry. This woman, the Winchester mother, would die a terrible and painful death on the ceiling above their heads in a matter of minutes. But to the Winchesters, this was just another night.

Mary leaned down over her babies, smiling. Alex was kicking her legs cheerfully as Sam studied his mother with wide eyes and a curious expression. "Good night, my loves. My Sammy boy..." she brushed Sam's wispy barely-there hair back from his head, kissed his forehead, then she smiled down at Alex, who cooed and wriggled, still kicking her legs and flailing her arms excitedly. Mary chuckled softly, eyes crinkling up at the edges. "My sweet, _sweet_ girl." She kissed Alex's head, stroking her darker hair affectionately and tracing her fingers across soft features. "Angels are watching over you," she whispered.

"Hey, Dean!" came a deep, authoritative male voice. John Winchester had just entered the room. Cas looked up and watched as the man who would soon turn into a shell of who he was now grinned widely at his boy. Castiel felt a flicker of distaste.

Dean turned and jumped off the crib, already racing across the room, delighted to see his father. "Daddy!"

" _Hey,_ buddy!" John scooped Dean up and laughed, hugging his son whose little arms circled his neck tightly. It was striking, Cas thought. How much Alex grew up to look like her father: the dark hair, wide set eyes, thick eyebrows, strong jaw. "So what do you think?" John asked his son. "You think your brother and sister are ready to toss around a football yet?"

Dean laughed. " _No_ , Daddy. And Allie is a _girl_ , she can't throw a _football!_ "

John chuckled deeply. "Now, we'll just see about that, son. Girls can do things just as good as boys can."

Dean's little features scrunched into a dubious expression. "Uhh I don't know Daddy... but I do know they're just _babies_ —they're too _little_ to throw a football!"

John pretended to be very serious and thoughtful. "You know what, I think you're right, bud. Maybe we should wait a little longer before we try that, huh?"

"Yeah, I think so," Dean said, not realizing his father was joking with him. He lit up suddenly, thinking of something. "Dad, _Dad!_ She was saying dada again!"

John seemed both pleased and slightly deflated. "Was she? And I missed it _again?_ " John sighed, glanced at his wife, and gave her a tired smile. "Ah, one of these days I'll be around when she says it."

"How was work?" Mary asked, coming toward her husband from the crib. There seemed to be an unspoken tension between them, or perhaps it was just that both were tired.

"Work was work," John answered. "I'm glad to be home."

"You got him?" Mary asked, referring to Dean.

John nodded an affirmative. "I got him." He gave her a smile that was worn around the edges. "You get some rest, sweetheart. I'll be in after awhile."

Mary nodded and kissed him lightly on the cheek as she passed by. "Thanks, hon."

"Night Mama!" Dean called after her.

"Goodnight, Dean," Mary answered from where Cas couldn't see. And that's when he realized how final that farewell really was.

John was looking into the room, still holding Dean up high in his arms. He smiled at the twins through the slats in the crib railing. "Sweet dreams, Sam. Sleep tight, Allie girl." He turned his attention to Dean. "Come on champ, let's get you to bed."

He turned and began to retreat down the hallway. Castiel could hear their fading conversation.

"Aw Da-aaad... I don't wanna go to bed yet!"

"No complaints, that's an order little man."

"O-kaaaay. Can you come home early tomorrow from work, Daddy?"

"We'll see, dude. Hey, did you brush your teeth yet?"

The sounds of their voices faded into muffled, indistinct sounds and Castiel looked down at the twins once again. The two babies were cooing and looking at each other. Sam's chubby little baby hand reached out and grabbed at his sister's cheek—an uncoordinated little movement. He giggled then sputtered wetly when she protested in frustration with a little keening sound. They seemed so defenseless and vulnerable. Premonition filled Castiel, whose instincts told him he should be protecting the Winchesters from what was about to happen. It was within his ability and power—he could kill Azazel easily. The Winchesters would never know the difference.

The children would grow up with both parents, John wouldn't lose his mind to grief and destroy his children's lives in the process. Alex would live a normal, typical life.

But then there was the fact that none of the Winchesters would become hunters. All the people they saved in the future would die.

Still, Mary would live. Alex would speak. Sam wouldn't be groomed as the vessel of Lucifer, and Lucifer might not rise because Azazel couldn't complete the preparations. Perhaps another demon would step in and try to complete the task, but perhaps not.

Dean would never go to Hell, he wouldn't be forced to grow up too fast. He would remain Michael's vessel, but without Lucifer rising, there would be no need… Castiel thought back to the cupid who said John and Mary's union had been commanded of Heaven—and he knew it was because Sam and Dean had been meant to serve as the vessels. But just because something was _meant_ to happen... did that mean it _should?_

Castiel pondered deeply, realizing something very important and troubling. If he killed Azazel tonight… he would probably never meet Alex, and if he _did_ , she wouldn't be the same Alex that she was now. That, and would he even remember everything that he had with her during the past three years? Or would it all be erased? Would he forget and continue on as he had—alone in Heaven, watching humanity from afar, forever feeling like he was waiting for something, never realizing the thing he'd been restlessly longing for all along had been her?

Alex— _his_ Alex—would become someone else entirely, she would blossom with the ability to speak and with a loving mother to guide her. She would grow up, she would fall in love with and marry someone else, live a normal life, never know what a pained, mostly wretched existence she would have led otherwise. Never know _him_ , never know what might have been. These thoughts unsettled him to his core.

Besides all of that, of course, Castiel knew that altering this night—an already-written past—would severely damage or even destroy the fabric of time. The nursery fire had set so many important things into motion, as horrible as it was—and if Castiel changed it… there was no way to predict what else would change. A few years ago, Castiel never would have considered intervening and attempting to change fate. He would have seen it as being none of his business or concern. But now—now he wondered, he considered it, he weighed the options carefully.

His instincts told him it was too great a risk, too great an unknown, and he could potentially destroy everything by tampering with what had already transpired. But the biggest reason he didn't want to was because at his core (and he realized this now) he was selfish. He couldn't bear the thought of losing her, or of erasing what they had found together: this precious, fragile connection, this understanding. This feeling of being held and of holding in ways beyond physical. It hurt to think of her, it hurt _not_ to think of her, it pained him in places he never knew pain could touch. And yet he knew what happened here tonight must remain as it always had.

Baby Alex cooed low and soft and Castiel looked down at the twins. It felt wrong to love her; he felt a bitter sense of self-hatred. Everything he'd ever done and it still wasn't enough. How long would this war last? How long would he be forced to stay away from Alex? Was she even alive? Had Nandriel harmed her? How was it she could be right here at six months old and lost to him completely at twenty-eight? Worry and fear filled him at the unknowns, the questions, the thought of her hurt and needing him, the guilt of knowing how long he'd been absent from her side. His only comfort was knowing she that was with Dean and that he'd been able to get her messages. Still, they were small comforts.

He _needed_ to see her, he couldn't bear the separation much longer, and the thought of her out there somewhere in another time or dimension with Nandriel, who was most likely driven crazy by her time in the exile of prison… it urged him to be hasty and find her, find her _now_.

Growing even more anxious, Castiel glanced around the darkened room. It wouldn't be long now. The twins settled down and about five minutes passed, then Castiel could hear the faint sounds of the television downstairs in the background. Five more minutes ticked by with no sign of angels or demons. And then, Castiel felt it. The faintest ripple of a dark presence nearby. The mobile above the twins began to spin of its own accord, and the twins looked up at it sleepily. Fascinated, perplexed. The clock stopped ticking. The moon-shaped nightlight flickered and Cas looked at it with great apprehension. Azazel was close. Castiel's senses became hyper-focused. Where was Nandriel?

A plain, light-haired man in a black peacoat edged into the room and the nightlight caught his unnaturally yellow eyes for a second. If it were possible for blood to run cold, Castiel's blood did. _Azazel._

The demon glided into the room without making a sound, unaware of Castiel's presence. He placed his hands on the crib railing and smiled down at the twins wickedly. He was directly across from the angel, who didn't take his eyes off the enemy for a single millisecond. The demon's long fingernails tapping against the wood—the sound chilling. "Hello, little ones," he greeted in a soft, dark voice. "My special children... Daddy has _plans_ for you." He smirked proudly and ran a hand over Sam's head almost affectionately, then reached for Alex to do the same and Castiel went completely rigid. A sudden, soft female voice startled the demon, halted him mid-reach.

"John?" It was Mary and she seemed half-awake. "Are they hungry?"

Azazel's face had gone stony, he turned just slightly. " _Shh_."

Mary sighed tiredly and didn't see that it wasn't John standing there in the dark room with her children. "Okay." She padded away and Azazel waited a moment, then returned his attention to the twins. He smiled calmly, using his long thumbnail to cut his wrist open leisurely. In the dark, his yellow eyes flashed ominously and Sam was beginning to moan anxiously, sensing that something wasn't right. Castiel was growing increasingly alarmed. Where was Nandriel? She was supposed to be here to save Alex from receiving the demon's blood, but she _wasn't._

Azazel reached his wrist out and held it over Sam who was closer to him. "Well Sammy, you're up first, aren't ya…" the blood dripped down into Sam's mouth who was now fussing quietly. "Now, now, that's it," Azazel soothed, watching to make sure the blood made it into the child's mouth. Castiel looked around with increasing panic. Nandriel was nowhere to be seen. "Better than Mother's milk," Azazel purred, cracking a smile and showing white, even teeth. Satisfied with what Sam had received, Azazel's yellow eyes flicked over to Alex, who was resonating with her twin and was showed the beginning signs of upset, her lower lip quivering.

"And now, my little princess…" Azazel murmured and smiled down, moving his hand forward to drip blood into her mouth too—but the demon jumped in shock when his wrist was grabbed by an unexpected grip like iron. He suddenly found himself face to face with a fierce, angry entity. Castiel held the demon tightly, stopping him from what he had been about to do.

"No," Castiel growled. "Step away, _now._ "

At both the sound of Castiel's deep, furious voice and his sudden appearance out of thin air, baby Alex was startled. She began to fuss and cry in quickly rising volume—the kind of volume that could get the demon caught—so Azazel looked down at her and put a finger to his lips. " _Shhhhh_." And Castiel felt it—the crackle of energy and power and then the little cries from baby Alex stopped even though her mouth was still open in what should have been a very loud cry.

Castiel was shocked and dismayed when he realized what had just happened.

"And who… are _you?_ " Azazel asked in fascination, oblivious to Cas's stunned horror. When Cas just stared at him wordlessly, Azazel dug his fingernails into Castiel's wrist painfully. "What, cat's got your tongue?" The demon hissed. Hatred and protectiveness alike surging forth, Castiel bristled—his huge, dark wings manifested and took over the entirely of the nursery almost, dwarfing the demon who at that moment realized that he was locked into a battle of the wills with an _angel_. Shock and fear flashed over the yellow eyed demon's face.

At that moment, Mary raced around the corner, eyes wide, face full of panic and fear. She took in the sight of an angel and demon struggling over the crib with her babies in it and she raced forward mindlessly, her only instinct to reach her children. "Get away from them!" she cried out, and Azazel raised a hand. An invisible force slammed her into the wall and she began to scream as she was pushed upwards.

"If you're gonna stop me, Wings, you better make it snappy!" Azazel barked, and Castiel let go of his wrist, watching Mary in horror, wanting to intervene, but knowing he shouldn't and couldn't. The worst part was how Mary looked at him with scared eyes, seing his wings and perhaps imagining that he was there to save her. But he wasn't, and he couldn't. Like a coward, he stepped back into the corner and out of sight, shielding himself from human eyes even as Mary was pushed up the entirety of the wall then slid along the ceiling, right over the crib, paralyzed. Azazel cut her stomach open with a slashing gesture of the hand. The demon disappeared then, perhaps fearing that Castiel would reappear and stop him. And just like that, it seemed to be over—everything was silent—but Castiel knew it wasn't over.

He could hear John running up the stairs and calling his wife's name… but all the angel could do was look up at Mary, who was silent and frozen and staring down at her babies in pain and fear. Azazel had paralyzed her completely. Sam was whimpering, beside him Alex was crying full-force, little features twisted up like she was screaming. But no sounds came out. John burst in through the closed door into the dark room. "Mary?" he asked, confused, and he came to the crib, his expression worried. He didn't see his wife on the ceiling.

"Hey, Sammy… you okay?" he asked softly, relief coming over his face. He patted Sam's head, then looked at Alex and his expression froze as he saw how his daughter was crying hard enough to turn red, but was making no noise at all. Worry grew on his face rapidly. "Allie? Baby what's..." blood dripped down and onto the sheet beside Sam's head. John looked at the little drop, touched it, then his expression wrinkled up further when another drop of blood landed on the back of his hand. He looked up slowly, then fell backwards in shock when he saw his wife, bloody and pinned brokenly on the ceiling, face frozen in a pained, silent cry. "No, Mary!" he shouted, his expression filled with absolute horror.

Flames burst all around Mary at that exact moment and John screamed his wife's name in terror even as Sam wailed. Burning alive, Mary would have been screaming too—but she and her daughter were silent after Azazel's work. Castiel couldn't continue to stand by and do nothing. Wretched compassion and sorrow compelled him forward and he reached up, breeching the space between himself and Alex's mother, his wings carrying him up into midair and he allowed her and her alone to see him. Mary looked at him in confusion— _who are you?_ —the question he could see in her eyes.

"Rest, Mary. May Heaven welcome you gently." Filled with sorrow, he touched Mary on the side of the face, taking her pain from her and channeling it into himself, bearing the brunt of agony for her—this was a feeble gesture, but the only thing he could offer. And when he touched the side of her face, relief flooded her features and her eyes closed as if into a peaceful sleep even as the ends of her hair began to burn away into red-hot threads and then nothing. Flames filled the entire room now and Cas felt as if he were being burned alive even though the flames didn't even touch him. Pain filled every his atom and he allowed himself to feel it; he _deserved_ to suffer. 

John was shouting somewhere in the hallway and Cas knew that he had taken up the twins and that Dean would have them now. Immense pain continued to fill his vessel, but Castiel bore it and remained with Mary as she burned to death. Her pain continued to be his. It was immense. "Mary! _Mary!_ " John cried desperately, somewhere close by. The flames raged and began to hurl fireballs. John was forced to flee. And then, without fanfare, Mary was gone completely. Castiel felt her life force expire and her soul evaporate into the void. The pain he had felt that had been meant for her was gone, leaving him stunned. And then all around him, there was a violent explosion of flames. He heard sirens approaching, he could hear baby Sam's screams somewhere outside even from inside the burning nursery. His feet touched the ground again and his wings faded away and he stood there, aghast, dazed, blindsided.

Slowly, Castiel walked through the flames to the window and looked down into the dark yard. He saw a firetruck pulling in, he saw John huddled with his children at the corner where the yard ended and two streets met at an intersection—and Castiel went there invisibly, standing beside what was left of the Winchester family. John was on his knees in the dew-wet grass, staring up through devastation at the flaming window of the nursery. He was held Sam, who cried incessantly. Dean clutched Alex to himself with a face soaked by tears. "Where's Mommy?" he asked in a trembling voice. "Is she with the firemen? Daddy, where's Mommy?"

John looked at Dean speechlessly, unable to answer. Sam began to scream all over again. John blankly rocked the baby and told him "shh, _shhhh_ ," as he stared again at his house, as firemen began to soak the flaming second story. There was a look on John Winchester's face like no other look Castiel had ever seen. And Castiel was ashamed for reasons he couldn't name. 

Dean looked down at his sister and for the first time saw how she was crying and no sounds came out. Great concern came over his young face, he said her name a couple times, then fearfulness overcame him completely. He looked up at his father with wide, panicking eyes—his voice rose in pitch and speed and volume. "Daddy, she won't make noises, Daddy, something's wrong with her, _Daddy_ —"

John snapped, losing patience. "Dean, be quiet, _be quiet!_ " John said at a near shout, then saw how his son was startled and scared by his tone. John looked down, clearly struggling not to weep, trying to hold himself together, to understand what had just happened to his wife. "Just—just be quiet buddy, _please._ I'm… just please, Dean, wait a minute, calm down. Your sister is fine, we're all _fine._ " He held baby Sam with one arm and put his face into his hand. Dean held his sister even tighter, his little eyes filling with tears all over again.

Castiel walked away, too overcome to listen to anything more. They weren't fine and they never would be ever again. Neighbors came out of their homes, peering with folded arms at the commotion. Cas stood back, deeply upset.

Where had Nandriel been? Had he really been the one all these years who had saved Alex from the demon blood? And was he the one who was to blame for her mute state for the greater portion of her life? Is that why he had been so ready to fix her? Because somehow, he'd known _he_ had _caused_ it? The thought was enough to destroy him.

He was almost too afraid to go to another close call in Alex's history to try and locate Nandriel—what if he caused some other tragedy to befall her? This seemed to be his curse: always doing more harm than help to her.

He shut his eyes, miserable. Wanting to die. And then, like a ringing gong, like a chiming bell, clearer than clear, he heard Alex screaming his name at incredible volume, almost deafeningly—and when he heard that familiar voice calling him so loudly and urgently, his heart seemed to leap up to the top of his throat, life seemed to surge forth in his veins, and whatever downtrodden feelings that had been weighing him down disappeared. His eyes snapped open, overwhelming feelings of protectiveness surged over him in response to her call. _I'm coming!_ His entire being seemed to proclaim without saying it held onto her voice and rocketed through time and space to where she was. 

* * *

**A Few Minutes Ago**

Whatever drug or spell that Nandriel had put over her seemed to slowly be wearing off—the time jumps had slowed down, the wooziness was dissipating, her mind felt miles and miles clearer, but Alex was still unable to speak. _Bitch._ She watched Nandriel carefully, guardedly, trying to keep herself emotionally under control. After so many months of successfully avoiding an emotional break—except that one _epic_ breakdown Jamie had borne witness to a few weeks ago with the Kitsune family—Alex had remained cold, aloof, detached, and in control. Silent, measured, and harsh by outside appearances. So she wasn't about to lose control now. But at the thought of Raphael coming to get her for unknown reasons Alex was inwardly despairing, getting the feeling that she was about to be used yet _again_ as some kind of bargaining chip or something. But _why?_ Cas had been gone for nearly nine full months now, he'd never told her why, he hadn't replied to her calls—she'd stopped calling completely save the now-and-then skyward glance and question of his name. She'd all but given up and avoided _thinking_ about how she'd given up, because when she started to think of Castiel… she _felt,_ and she felt a _lot_.

Alex watched as Nandriel paced in front of her. The angel was off in her own internal world. Alex wondered why Raphael would want her—to use against Castiel? That was the only logical conclusion she could come to, but it implied two things: one, that Castiel was still alive and two, that he still cared about her, and… she didn't have much evidence to believe Castiel still even _thought_ of her. He would answer, he would send word, _something_ , wouldn't he? He would. It wasn't like him to just leave her, in fact, he never would have—not without a damn good reason. That was the ever wavering conviction that her heart stubbornly believed. She felt like a cracking frozen lake, buckling underneath the weight of the many angers and fears accumulating on the icy surface.

Some days she decided he must be dead—because Castiel would never, ever leave her alone and wondering. But maybe he would. Maybe she didn't know him like she thought. She circled around and around and around mentally trying to figure out what had happened. It frustrated her and grieved her to no end. Most of all she couldn't bear to think that he were alive and had stayed away on purpose. 

Maybe Castiel was upset about how she had killed him in the cemetery—maybe he had realized that she wasn't whatever he had imagined her to be, maybe he'd realized how weak and worthless she really was. Maybe his return to his angelic default had somehow changed things for him. She kept hoping that there was some explanation, some sort of reason that would make sense once she found it out. But for now, she couldn't take the thoughts of what she'd lost and what had happened.

So she tried not to think about it at all and had managed not to for the most part these long, empty months. The killing, the working, the self-discipline, the copious amounts of booze, the constant _doing_ and throwing herself into projects and hunts… she'd poured all of herself into tasks and routine and staying busy and it had kept her sane. She hadn't let herself slow down and think, because that's when she could feel herself cracking further and further.

But now, pretty sure she was about to die or be used as an angel chew toy… she couldn't stop herself from thinking through everything. She wanted to wake up and find out these past eight months of hell had been nothing but a nightmare she'd imagined. She just wanted to see him again, hear him again. Know he was all right. But the days kept coming and the loneliness was all-consuming and Sam was dead and Cas was gone and Dean had chosen a different life. As the longing for the way things were and the yearning for the one she loved overtook her, the feelings of rejection and abandonment came too. 

There was a great looming fear that maybe Dean had been right—Cas had used her. That she'd been naive to believe that the angel loved her. As soon as she thought these kinds of things she would internally about-face and kick herself. _Castiel had loved her._ She _knew_ he had. She'd heard it and felt it; he'd breathed it into her and pressed his love into her lips with every kiss. So what had changed that? 

She didn't know. But she still loved him. To the point of agony.

That's why every empty day that continued to come weighed down her shoulders with greater hollowness and meaninglessness. That's why she grew both more desperate and more apathetic all at once—two contrasting states of being that didn't make sense to feel at the same time. There was a distinct feeling of going through the motions, of existing without living. She'd lost everything that had anchored her and all at once. Sometimes she thought it was a wonder she hadn't lost her mind completely. She'd lost damn near everything else.

She thought of Sam. No more animated "hey guys, get this!" No more chastising looks and moral compass inputs whether you wanted it or not. No more research buddy, no more partner in crime, no more random facts at strange moments or moose jokes, bear jokes. No more Sammy, who was the best at keeping secrets and giving advice and annoying the ever-loving shit out of her at the drop of a hat. He had become a real man, he had grown up, he had become a hero—her hero—and now he was gone. 

She thought of Dean, whose absence was so visceral and painful. No more replays of the same classic rock songs over and over, no more well-intentioned if domineering guidance. No more constant companionship from her most kindred of spirit; no more just feeling _understood_ by someone at the most basic level with no strings attached. Gone were the days when she knew she always had someone in her corner, backing her up even if he was pissed to high hell at her. No one called her Al anymore. No more Dean giving her a look, motioning for her, and insisting "get over here—we're gonna hug this bitch out." And no more big brother who could take one look at her and cut through the crap and know something was wrong. 

All of it was gone.

And it wasn't that Dean had left _her_. She'd decided to leave him before _he_ could leave _her_... but she'd tried to hedge within her own mind and convince herself she did it for him, because she wanted what was best for him. She knew the truth: he'd never quit hunting and settle down with Lisa with Alex in the picture needing him. It was a jumble in her heart and mind and she wasn't even sure anymore about her motivations. All she knew was she was trying to do what her brother had always done for her and look out for him, protect him in some small way.

Dean didn't look exactly happy the few times she'd spied (there was no other word for it) on him. But she'd always thought she was projecting her own misery onto him. Of _course_ he'd be happy. He had a family, a house, a regular job, he wasn't harrowed by sleepless nights and monsters and constant peril. He was happy. Right? He had to be. 

She wasn't, but that went without saying. Alex had lived the same life they always had, unsure of how to do anything else… squatting and staying in shit motels and eating gas station food. She'd used her more illegal skills—card counting, pool hustling, pickpocketing—in that first month to survive, buy a car, and get set up. She'd found her Mustang at a used car dealership and it had been written off as junk because the engine was rusted and useless. She'd bought it cheap and restored it herself, working at a mechanic shop for awhile and bartering her time for parts. She remembered sometimes thinking how Dean would be so proud to see her putting the skills he'd taught her to use. 

Before Jamie and before getting back into hunting, Alex worked a string of odd jobs, taking under-the-table pay and trying her hand at quote unquote _normal_ life. She waited tables and worked at a chicken farm and then another mechanic shop and then briefly tended a bar at a strip club (until her temper had gotten the better of her and she'd beaten some asshole into the ground for harassing herself and one of the strippers). She had hated every second of 'normal life.'

Then Jamie Ward had shown up and Alex had gotten dragged back into the game. There was Glen too—who always came and went, drifting in and out of the hunts as his freewheeling mood dictated—and Alex had settled into a new normal of hunting with Jamie. It was a good balance and partnership because Alex had a new, unspoken rule that she did not get close to anyone. Jamie seemed to be cut from the same cloth. She kept things at a relatively non-personal level and never pushed or pried, which Alex was good with. Glen… was a different story. He was the world's biggest flirt, he liked to tease her and goad her, he didn't seem to understand why Alex was quiet, closed off, and "a huge downer" like his sister. Sometimes though he'd say something really poignant or meaningful, sometimes he'd catch Alex slightly off guard and make her think there was more to him than how he acted on the surface level. 

Alex realized the sounds of Nandriel's footsteps had ceased and she looked up quickly. The angel was looking at her sharply, seeming to notice how coherent Alex was becoming. In response, Nandriel drew her gleaming angel blade from somewhere behind her back and approached Alex with intention written all over her face.

Alex squirmed backwards uselessly and Nandriel seemed impatient. "Relax, Alex, nothing you haven't been through before." The angel grabbed Alex's bare upper arm, steadying herself as she crouched and without warning, sliced her arm open—Alex gasped loudly at the startling sting of pain—Nandriel drew vast amounts of blood and dipped her fingers into it then began to fingerpaint on the floor beside Alex, a strange symbol she didn't recognize. What was she doing? Her breath was coming in short now, Alex felt herself panicking. 

"Rah ma ya zod—" Nandriel started. And hearing the language of angels did something to Alex—all she could think of was Castiel and it was like a dam broke, she sobbed silently without warning, all the thoughts she'd been holding inside sort of all welling up at once—and she couldn't stop herself as tears of desperation, pain, fear, confusion, sadness, heartbreak wrenched themselves out of her. Every sense she possessed was so distraught, every thought was of her angel, every voice in her head screamed his name, begging him to still be alive and to still care about her, to come to her, to help her. _Castiel!_ Her mind screamed. _Please!_

"—na zod ka ra va." The sigil drawn in blood went up in a puff of smoke and the feeling of wooziness returned suddenly like a clap of thunder. Alex's head flopped forward uselessly, drugged all over again. 

And then, she heard the voice she hadn't heard in what seemed to be a lifetime.

"Nandriel!" he thundered. Stomach flipping, Alex used all the power she possessed to look up, believing she must have finally lost her mind. She couldn't breathe—even though her eyesight was muddled—she could see that _it was him_. Castiel stood at the far end of the warehouse, his trench coat sweeping around him from the blast of wind he'd arrived in, and then the wind rushed over Nandriel and Alex, who blinked rapidly against the strong surge of air. His expression was fierce and Alex thought she would die of the intense shock of seeing him again. 

Nandriel stood with a face filled with confusion. "Castiel, how—" she began, but Cas began to bear down on her with a murderous look on his face. Weapon still in hand, Nandriel froze him in his steps by crouching down and holding the sharp blade to Alex's neck.

"Come closer and I kill her!" 

Cas, who had stopped the second he saw where she was going with the blade, held his too. His shoulders heaved up and down with shallow, impassioned breaths and he glared at Nandriel then his gaze shifted to Alex—who stared at him in a daze, barely able to believe what was happening. _Cas?_ His expression flickered, wavering, she felt like hers probably did too—then Cas looked at Nandriel, wrathful and fearsome. "What have you done to her? Why are you doing this?"

Nandriel looked at Castiel dangerously. "You found me... _how_?"

Castiel ignored the question. "Explain yourself, Nandriel," he said forcefully, voice trembling with anger. "What have you done!?"

Nandriel grabbed Alex roughly and pulled her to her feet, holding the blade at her neck the whole time. Cas's vengeful look wavered as Alex cried out silently in pain, gritting her teeth against blinding agony. Yes, her leg was definitely broken. She tried to stand all on one leg and lean away from the pole, but her movements were sloppy and uncoordinated, she kept accidentally putting pressure onto her broken leg and pain screamed along her entire leg. The time jumps were rapid fire and making her dizzy.

Cas held out a staying hand toward Nandriel and his stormy approach faded—he became more concerned and cautious as he saw how injured and out of sorts Alex was. "Don't hurt her," he said, voice distinctly pleading, taking on a note of desperation. Slowly he became mystified, as if he were struggling to understand. "How could you _hurt_ her? She was your charge once, her safety was supposed to be your priority."

Nandriel looked at Castiel challengingly, and grief filled her face and voice. "I can't care about that anymore." She seemed vastly emotional as she began to speak in rising timber. "I was imprisoned for no _reason_ Castiel. For my entire existence I was _faithful_ , I served Heaven, I did what the archangels said, I did _exactly_ as I was told! I decided, after millennia upon millennia, that I wanted something else and _this_ is what they give to me? Imprisonment and exile, discrimination and despair? It's _wrong_. I didn't _deserve_ that. I just want to be _free._ " 

"And how is it that bringing her here and hurting her will accomplish your freedom?" Castiel questioned, aghast, but seeming to have a vague, horrifying clue to where this was going.

There was a long, cool silence and Nandriel raised her chin. "You made a mistake, brother," she said, by all indications she was truly sympathetic. "You weren't discreet. Everyone in Heaven and Hell, too, I imagine… knows this human's worth to you. I didn't do that—you did. And Raphael? He'll agree to leave me alone and never come looking for me if I hand-deliver Alex Winchester to him." Castiel's face went cold and dark and Nandriel raised her eyebrows warningly. "Don't misunderstand me, Castiel. I don't like this. I'm fond of the girl, I am. But I can't let it affect my judgement."

Castiel was shaking his head and it appeared that he was both terrified and angry and trying to conceal both, trying to remain veiled. "You've lost your mind, Nandriel."

"I have _found_ my mind!" She shouted without warning, then seemed to realize how uncontrolled her outburst was and almost ashamed, she calmed herself then tried again. "Castiel, I'm like you." Her attempts to stay calm failed. "I want freedom, I want free choice, I want to make my own decisions, I want to be _free!_ " She practically screamed that last part, and she seemed like a petulant child to Alex, who looked at Cas through swimming eyes. He was so close but so far away, and she was afraid he was going to disappear again without warning. He returned her gaze with an indescribable look on his face, hovering and holding himself back from running to her.

Nandriel was oblivious to the silent exchange and kept talking. "I want to know that no one is coming after me. I give Raphael what he wants... he leaves me alone."

Castiel looked distinctly murderous again. "How did you escape? _No one_ escapes." His voice was practically a demanding growl now. "Were you let out? Give me a name." He took a single step forward, testing the waters or perhaps forgetting himself for a moment. Nandriel tightened her grip on Alex and Cas froze again.

"No one _let me out_... are you crazy?" Nandriel scoffed. "Your war? It's tearing Heaven _apart_ at the _seams._ I found a hole, a tear in my cage… and I clawed my way out." She grew deeply baleful. "I'm never going back, and I'm making sure of it." Her voice trembled, she spoke through clenched teeth. "I'll _die_ before I go back. I never deserved to be there, you _know_ I didn't."

Castiel reacted negatively. "Then why didn't you save her the night of the nursery fire? Why were you going to let her receive demon blood?"

Nandriel looked offended, then quickly pious. "My orders were clear, Castiel. Prevent immediate death. Not protect her from every small thing, not coddle her. I did my job, and I did it well." She paused, surprise dawning on her features. "Wait… _wait_. Are _you_ the one who stopped Azazel?" Her eyebrows rose in surprise even as a caught look passed over Castiel's features. "All these years… everyone wondered who intervened. Some thought it was God himself. And all this time it was... just you." Nandriel sounded almost disillusioned. Alex looked at Cas questioningly—her dulled mind was struggling to follow the conversation taking place. 

"I'm not interested in your commentary," Castiel said gruffly. "Tell me how you found her, how you traced her location."

Nandriel was clearly offended this time. "How did I _find_ her? Castiel. I watched her for twenty-five years. I know her better than anyone else. Including you. Finding her was easy." The female angel seemed to be losing patience, too. "Listen, I'm short on time. Raphael will be coming soon—you better make yourself scarce, I've heard you two don't play nice anymore. And isn't there some battle you're missing by being here right now?" Her sarcasm was met with a deadly glare from Castiel. 

"I am going to give you one chance and one chance only," he warned. "Step away from her or perish. _Now._ "

Nandriel only shook her head slightly despite the flicker of fear that ran across her features. "No."

Castiel's jaw tightened and ruefulness flickered across his face. "Then you leave me no choice, Nandriel."

Nandriel was decidedly sad. "There's always a choice, Castiel."

Castiel's blade glinted at his side and he looked at Alex, his expression difficult to read before he looked back to Nandriel. He, too, seemed sad—but resigned. "Then you have chosen to die."

He disappeared abruptly and Alex's heart seemed to fall out of herself completely— _no_ —and then there was a blast of wind at the side opposite of where he'd been, Nandriel frowned, looking—Cas had a hand raised and had reappeared almost right beside them. Nandriel flew backwards by about forty feet and slammed into rusty warehouse siding, fell down to the ground. Without Nandriel holding her up Alex collapsed down, still tied to the pole, but Cas caught her with both hands and helped break the fall. No sooner had their eyes met than he was flying sideways and away from her.

Wrathful and malevolent, Nandriel strode up the length of the warehouse with her blade clenched tightly. She wasn't as powerful as Castiel was and that much was clear to even Alex who was still having trouble focusing—but she could see that Cas had barely been blown back ten feet and he was on all fours, already standing back up with his blade brandished, his sights set on Nandriel, whose pride and foolhardy decision to fight Castiel would be the end of her life. She raised her blade high as she got close to Cas—she sought to bring it down on him but he grabbed her wrist mid-arc, using her own attack against her. In a display of strength and warrior prowess, he deftly yanked her forward and flipped her over his head, slamming her down to the ground flat onto her back, whirling and stabbing his blade down through her chest without hesitation.

Shock and pain filled Nandriel's face, she screamed and writhed, bright blue light scorching out of her mouth and nose and eyes. And then she was dead and black feathers fluttered in the air around them.

Cas withdrew and looked down at her for the briefest instant, conflicted about what had transpired, but then he turned to look at Alex, who was trembling from trying to stay conscious and keep her head up. He forgot Nandriel and dropped his blade and rushed over to Alex, quickly sinking to her level and catching her face gently in his hands.

His warm hands sent relief sobbing through her, his touch made her ache and soothed her all at once. "Are you all right?" he asked urgently, voice soft with worry and concern. His brilliant blue eyes were so much more intense than she remembered, his features so handsome. She opened her mouth to reply, remembered she had no voice, then grew confused and frustrated. "...Can you not speak?" Cas asked, his expression growing intensely disturbed as he realized that she was effectively mute. She shook her head no. 

He immediately touched her throat with two of his fingers and met her gaze with eyes she had dreamed of for the past eight months and she wanted to reach out to him, but her hands were still tied behind her back.

" _Cas_ —" she managed weakly in joy, able to speak again.

A tender, relieved, overwhelmed little smile mirrored back to her from him. And then Cas's eyes dropped slightly—he noticed her facial scar and he was startled, stilled, and then agonized—she felt him run his thumb over it, his eyebrows knitting together deeply. It stretched from just below her left eye down across her cheek, a jagged, white, ugly scar. She'd gotten it in the first demon attack she'd experienced that year. Cas's voice caught. "Oh, Alex…" he breathed out seemingly unable to even word himself—her eyes were welling with tears at this point, she was so overcome, barely daring to believe he was really there and just like she remembered him. "I didn't…" he stumbled, "I don't…" his expression changed suddenly, grew cold and terrified, and he seemed to be hearing something and he looked around almost frantically—then Alex heard it, too. A high pitched ringing sound. 

Castiel panicked and ripped her away from the pole almost painfully, holding her like a limp rag doll—and for just the briefest moment she was in his strong arms again. She tried to hold on, she weakly grabbed his lapel for dear life. But she couldn't.

In rapid succession several things happened. She thought she heard him say that he was sorry, she felt a sudden burst of clarity like she'd been brought out of the strange trance Nandriel had put her in, and then without any warning whatsoever she was flying through nothingness, spinning and out of control and alone, then suddenly blinded by midday light as she crashed into a cold snow bank.

Shocked to find herself freezing and shivering and surrounded by cloying wet snow, she pushed herself to sit up and hugged her arms around herself hard against the incredibly cold, sharp air. She moved her leg slowly, cringing in anticipation of pain… but there was none. It wasn't broken anymore. She reached up and touched her face, finding that the scar on her face was gone too. She looked around in confusion. 

"Cas?" she asked, and her voice trembled. She tried again louder. " _Cas!_ " Her voice carried a certain note of desperation across the huge, snowy field she was inexplicably in the middle of. No reply came.


	48. Noise and Confusion

" _Oh she's waiting for me but I'm a long, long way from home."_  
\- Foreigner

* * *

In a frozen field god knew where, Alex sat in the snow and looked at her arm blankly. The place Nandriel had cut her was gone, and so was the scar that had run along the back of her arm—she held out her hands and turned them over in rapid unison to look first at her knuckles (smooth, unscarred) and then the palms of her hands (like nothing had ever happened). It seemed that every single last scar she'd ever had was suddenly _gone_.

That wasn't really her first concern though. Had Cas really just flung her somewhere and left? She stood up then promptly let out a surprised, pained " _aah!_ " and almost fell when she realized her ankle was twisted—it must have happened when she tumbled across the field and crashed into the snowbank. She hissed in pain and wrapped her arms around herself uselessly, teeth chattering. It was below freezing and she was in the middle of nowhere—a lone, gravel road stretched out alongside the field she was in. Alex looked at the road then upwards, not sure what exactly had just happened. "Cas?" she asked, eyes hungry to catch sight of him somewhere. But all she saw was snow. Her heart was still hammering from what had been anxious relief a moment ago. Those feelings were quickly becoming terrified fear that she had been abandoned again.

" _Cas_!" The only answer that came was wind whistling harshly over the frozen ground. "Please—what the hell is _happening_?!" She begged. No reply. She stood there for a few seconds, realizing the obvious truth she wanted to deny: she was alone. It destroyed her all over again. But the elements gave no mercy and no consideration to her emotional distress. Her teeth chattered together as she shivered anew. She needed to get herself to shelter or this cold would turn lethal.

With no choice but to move, Alex began to painstakingly limp and hobble her way toward the road. Was he okay? Had that ringing sound she'd heard just before he threw her been the approach of Raphael? If it was so dangerous he had to shove her into the void without even looking to see where she'd land, was Cas even alive now? What _war_ was Nandriel talking about? Nothing had explained why he'd disappeared nearly nine months ago, why he had never sent a message, why he'd just left her and never bothered to tell her _why_. She wasn't sure if she should be worried and afraid or angry and indignant. Why couldn't someone just give her some damn answers? Alex gritted her teeth and hop-hobbled faster. Her nose was already numb from the cold, her bare arms were losing feeling from the frigid sting of windchill, she hugged herself tight in a useless attempt to warm up.

When she got to the edge of the field where a low hand-stacked wooden cross-tie fence marched, rage overcame her and she picked up one of the heavy ties and clumsily threw it several feet with a shout of animalistic anger—which just ended up twisting her ankle even further from the brainless outburst. Eyes glittering with tears, she clenched her fists and looked at the field in heartbreak. It remained empty and she despaired. She put her face in her hands and breathed deeply in and out to calm herself down. No crying. None. _Stop_. That shit was the shit that Old Alex did. She looked upwards again and gathered herself, then set herself back to the task of surviving.

Alex awkwardly and clumsily clambered over the fence and onto the other side, glad that she'd gone to sleep in her shoes that night when Nandriel had taken her. She looked both ways—the road stretched straight in either direction, and neither way looked different than the other. The road was covered in a light layer of snow, no tire tracks. She didn't hear any sounds of traffic and saw no power lines, meaning this really was a remote place. Well _that_ was fucking comforting. So was the thought that she would die from exposure if she was out here for too long. So she picked a direction and headed that way, hoping for the best and wrestling her miserable feelings the entire way.

About an hour later Castiel appeared in the middle of the field that Alex was now miles away from and he looked around in high anxiety, out of breath, blood running down the side of his head in a single trickle from the ambush he'd just barely survived. Short of breath and knowing Raphael was right behind him, Cas squinted through what appeared to be a quickly growing snowstorm. The angel rapidly became increasingly dismayed. Where the hell was this? He'd meant to return Alex to the motel he'd met Dean in a few hours ago, but in his rush, he'd been unable to fully calculate the trajectory—and it looked like he'd missed _completely_. His sense of alarm doubled.

Now she wasn't here at all and it was dangerously cold; a human couldn't survive for long in these conditions. Castiel turned in a slow circle, trying to see footprints, trying to find some kind of clue as to which direction she'd gone. He saw no such clue. And then the tell-tale ringing began to sound and Castiel's heart sank because he knew he couldn't stay. He had no choice in what he had to do next. He couldn't bear how cornered and forced his hand was.

He tore himself away from that place and began to rabbit through locations and dimensions, drawing Raphael away from that snowy field, trying to elude the archangel so that he could go back and find Alex. He was wrapped in helpless fear, the fundamental need to make sure she was all right harrowed his every second of existence. But Raphael was right on Cas's heels, and remained so for what was on earth days and days.

* * *

**Grand Ledge, Michigan  
Oakwood Cemetery**

"I'm telling you… this is a waste of time," Jamie said, re-hefting her duffel bag of supplies.

Carrying two shovels in one hand and a plastic container of gasoline in the other, Dean glanced her way as they walked side by side through a shaded, snow-dusted cemetery. Their shoes crunched on the frozen ground. "Maybe," he conceded. "But it's something to do."

She shook her head, looking like she was thinking about either laughing or rolling her eyes. "Might wanna reevaluate things if this is your idea of a good time."

Dean knew she was joking, but it got on his nerves. He shot her a look and suppressed a rude remark. He was on edge—sister missing, Cas not responding, dead ends everywhere he turned, and ever since finding out Alex was MIA what, maybe seven hours ago, he was feeling increasingly cagier and cagier. All of _everything_ was getting on his nerves. The one-hour drive here to Grand Ledge had been a little bit like hell: the insane way she drove (stopping too fast and driving over the speed limit and just pissing him off in general—he hated not being the one who was driving), and the absence of food (he couldn't stomach the thought of eating right now, anyway). All of it was creating a foul mood. At the very least, she'd elected not to play any of her death metal crap at him—instead putting in a Tom Petty CD. That had obviously been for his benefit and he grudgingly reminded himself of that small act of kindness.

"I said it was something to _do_ , not something I _liked_ ," Dean corrected, trying his damnedest to be polite… ish. She was humoring him right now and he knew she was annoyed, too. This little trip to the cemetery probably _was_ a huge waste of time just like she kept saying. But he was desperate and needed to do _something_ , even if it were something pointless. And maybe this wouldn't be pointless.

They came to a stop at two roped off headstones. Bright yellow police tape had been strung around the area, forming a clumsy rectangle crime scene. Dean used the shovels he was holding to raise up the _Police Line Do Not Cross_ tape high then looked at Jamie pointedly. "After you," he prompted a little wanly. She looked at him sort of suspiciously at the courteous gesture, like she expected there to be a catch. Either way, she decided to let him be chivalrous and ducked under it. He followed, letting the tape fall back down.

"Well. This is it." Jamie said needlessly.

Dean looked over the crime scene with a studious frown. Side by side, two headstones stuck out of the ground. A husband and wife—Jane and Henry Griffin. The husband's grave had been dug up, dirt was piled beside a five-foot hole, there were some charred remains of a wooden coffin at the bottom. Some crime scene numbers had been set out near evidence. The wife's grave was untouched. This was the last job Alex had worked.

Jamie said the husband—Henry Griffin—was the vengeful spirit, that the wife had been unfaithful and the husband's spirit had been going around killing a bunch of ex lovers, and that there had been quite a laundry list. Dean didn't know all of the details, just the quick and dirty facts, but it was enough to make him feel slightly ill when he realized that the headstones were covered in sappy poetry about marriage and love. Dean shook his head to himself. "' _All you need is love_ ,'" he read sarcastically, sending a slightly trollish look Jamie's way. "And apparently, twenty lovers on the side."

She returned his look with a knowing look of her own.

When Dean had heard that Alex and Jamie didn't salt and burn the wife's remains too, he'd gotten the crazy idea that maybe the wife was the vengeful spirit—or _a_ vengeful spirit—and had something to do with Alex's disappearance somehow. Yeah he'd found an angel's feather and Castiel had said some name before he disappeared and went AWHOL—Nandriel—but Cas was being a douche bag and not answering Dean, who never could sit still and do nothing. He'd called Bobby and then some other hunting acquaintances but gotten nothing, then grilled Jamie and Glen on their recent hunts, trying to find some kind of thread to follow. So when Jamie had mentioned this particular case, he'd jumped at the chance to do something. So here they were. Glen was still at the motel in case Alex showed back up.

Crouched over her bag of supplies and pulling out the can of salt, Jamie looked up at Dean and stood, fixing him with a naturally disarming smile. "So, you take all the girls grave digging?" That was the same teasing, friendly, but carefully guarded tone she'd been using with him all day.

"Only the cool ones," he quipped right back, and tossed her a shovel.

She caught it easily and accepted the compliment with faint, positive surprise. After all, he'd been pretty committed to letting her know what a fucking loser she was when they were teenagers.

Dean stuck his shovel into the hard dirt that laid above the wife's grave and stomped his foot down onto the metal lip of the shovel, forcing it down as far as it would go, and he grunted, tossing the first shovelful of dirt over to the side of the grave. He'd forgotten how much of a pain in the ass digging up graves was, especially in the wintertime. Across from him, Jamie was threading her fingers through her long blonde hair to tie it back into a ponytail.

He glanced up at her as she pulled her outer jacket off—it was cold as hell out here, but he guessed she was just anticipating working up a sweat. Her dark plaid button up shirt shifted and he could see the distinct mark of some kind of intricate tattoo inked across the front of her shoulder—it looked like maybe her whole shoulder was tattooed, he couldn't tell, but he was interested and surprised.

"Cool tattoo," he commented, sort of impressed that she had one at all. He wouldn't have guessed that from knowing her before.

She had tossed her jacket down on top of her bag and pulled her shirt back into place so he couldn't really see what it was. "Thanks," she said, then smirked as she grabbed her shovel, glancing at him kind of proudly. "Got it to piss off my mom."

Dean felt his eyebrows raise slightly in mild amusement. It was hard to tell if she was for real or not. "Did it work?"

Jamie tossed her first shovel-full of dirt on top of the pile Dean had started, briefly sending over a playful little look that seemed to say _yup._ Nice. He smiled conspiratorially for a second then began to dig again, glancing at his partner in crime a few times, wondering.

He'd only been around her for a couple weeks back in 1995, and now a few hours into present time, and he wasn't really quite sure what to make of her. Back when they'd been teenagers, she'd been distinctly snobby and prudish—the kind of girl that had annoyed him to no end. Really know-it-all and stuck up, book-smart and not afraid to let him or anyone else know how she intellectually dwarfed them. She'd had a huge vocabulary that she'd used and confused him with, she'd been dorky and gawky and unaware of how uncomfortably uncool she was. Maybe that opinion he'd held of her had also been him being a little more on the shallow side, too. But he _definitely_ knew she'd been a pretty bad hunter, kind of skittish and bad about second-guessing herself. He'd gotten the feeling she was new at it back then. Her uncle, Gary Ward, had been a real stand up guy, a definite pro. Dean had pieced together their story a bit at a time back then: Jamie and Glen's dad was gone or dead, their mom was in jail for one reason or another, and their uncle had custody. He didn't know the full story at all, but he was pretty curious, admittedly.

Back then, she'd been pretty easy for him to read. Now? He wasn't really sure. He'd only been with her for a few hours, but the difference was pretty much night and day. She came across now as laid back and self-assured and a bit calculated, not very in your face or in your business. She'd developed a snarky side and had what seemed like a pretty badass personality… she had chilled out on the look-at-me-I'm-really-smart thing, and she was proving, so far, easy to get along with. But there was something he couldn't quite put his finger on about her that felt slightly forced, like she was trying too hard or hiding something. And there was an unmistakable wounded aspect he sensed, some invisible scar she carried.

It kind of went without saying that something terrible had happened to her: she was a hunter. With the title came the guarantee of pain and tragedy. She'd apparently spent the past fifteen years hunting, and that was why she'd changed and hardened and why she seemed somehow damaged even though nothing really pointed to that overtly: it was just a hunch. Dean knew what hunting did to people better than anyone else. It didn't matter who you were: you hunted, you were forced to close off and become toughened to the outside world. You were damaged, and the longer you hunted, the more damaged you got. That's why he was such a miserable wreck.

As they silently continued to shovel more and more dirt out of the grave, Dean reflected on how he probably wouldn't have gone along with this had their roles been reversed. If Jamie had shown up and said "hey, let's go dig up a grave and burn the remains just to be on the safe side, even though you're sure you finished the job" he would have told her to screw off; he did it right the first time. He kind of got the feeling she _felt_ that way but was putting up with it anyway. Maybe she understood where he was coming from: she was the older of herself and Glen after all. Maybe she was tolerating Dean because she got his desperation. Either way, he appreciated it and also felt kind of shitty about it.

He paused and wiped his brow briefly, his muscles sore already from the back-breaking work.

Jamie tossed another shovelful of dirt, glancing at him with a near-smirk as she continued doggedly. "Don't tell me you're tired already."

Dean joked back halfheartedly. "I've been in retirement, go easy on me." He forced his shovel into hard earth again, refocusing and determining that he wouldn't take another break until she did. They continued on for a moment in focused silence. While Jamie was preoccupied, Dean snuck a few glances at her so he could really take a thorough look. Her face remained focused, a few long wisps of butter-colored hair falling down to frame the sides of her face. She was pretty and he'd have to be blind to miss that—but more than pretty, she had this shrewd fierceness to her that he found intriguing. Her ice-blue eyes snapped up to his just then, catching him. He looked away fast, immediately feeling awkward. Neither said anything.

And Dean fell into deep thought as he continued to shovel up cold packed earth. "So Alex _really_ never mentioned the name Cas or Castiel to you?" he asked abruptly, breaking the silence without warning whatsoever.

Jamie kept working. "No. That guy who showed up in the trench coat and scribbled all over the table, right?"

"Yeah."

She shook her head, grimacing a bit against a heavy shovelful. "Today's the first time I heard of him." A small, curious glance came his way. "They friends or something?"

"Yeah. Or something," he muttered, almost to himself. Jamie looked at him curiously at the way he said that, said nothing, returning to digging.

Dean tried to resume digging, but he was frustrated and needed to know so bad he couldn't stand it anymore. He stuck his shovel into the ground beside him. "Look, did my sister ever mention why she won't come see me?"

Another one of those brief, careful glances from Jamie, who kept digging. It seemed like she was being careful how she answered him. "I asked her once and she said it was none of my business."

Dean frowned slightly, trying to figure out exactly what kind of partnership Jamie and Alex had struck up. "What, you weren't curious?" he asked. "You just... gave up, let it go?"

Jamie stopped digging and stabbed her shovel down into the ground beside herself, seeming to get mildly defensive at the questions. "I _was_ curious. Still am." Jamie gave off the distinct impression that she didn't have time to explain herself, but she did anyway. "I'm curious about a lot of stuff. How she got her voice back. What happened to Sam." There was a brief pause and she softened somewhat. "What happened to _you_. Your dad." She seemed to intuitively sense there was pain around all subjects she'd just mentioned even without the details.

"A whole lot of shit happened," Dean summed up softly in just a few crummy words.

Jamie nodded faintly, her eyes contemplating him closely and expressing surprising amounts of sympathy without words. "Yeah," she murmured, a word that somehow made Dean feel sad from the way she said it. Seeing how the mood was so gray, Jamie took in a deep breath to bolster herself and spoke more businesslike again. "I could tell from the way she acted that it was all a closed subject. So... I didn't push."

Dean wasn't sure about that approach and eyed her skeptically. "Call me crazy but I like to know the people I hunt with. I need to be able to trust them."

Jamie was skeptical right back. "Meaning what?"

"I'm saying did you really just let her waltz into your life without wanting to know the details? Who you were bringing on board?"

The sarcastic jokester returned. A grin broke Jamie's face and she looked down then over, half-rolling her eyes. "You're right, I should have run a multiple-point background check and gotten some personal references." Dean wasn't laughing. He made a face and she forcefully made herself get serious. "I'm a good judge of character, okay?" She shrugged and let her free hand go wide then hit against the side of her upper thigh. "And maybe I was a little desperate, too," she admitted. "Glen... doesn't exactly always... or _usually_... follow through." A flicker of disappointment ran across her features and she hurried to hide it. "And it's not easy to hunt alone."

Dean didn't get it. "Then why do it?"

Jamie looked like she was thinking about answering honestly for a brief second. Then didn't. "The salary and benefits," she wisecracked, then resumed digging. Dean grudgingly figured he needed to follow her lead. "The monsters lately they're... out of control," Jamie said after a moment, much more genuine now. "Never seen anything like it before. So when I ran into Alex… well, it just kind of all worked out."

Dean tossed a load of dirt away. "You said you ran into her waiting tables, right?" He couldn't picture that.

"Yeah, some hole-in-the-wall place a few towns over from you."

Damn. He got a lump in his throat all over again, staring off into space, holding the handle of the shovel beside himself idly. "I wish I knew she was that close," he said quietly, thinking aloud. "I kinda figured she would get as far away as possible from me after what happened."

"Sam dying?" Jamie asked carefully.

"Yeah," he answered noncommittally, and began to dig again. But he was distracted and bothered. In an effort to distract himself from his distractions, after a minute he decided to try for a conversation, after all, he _was_ curious about a few things, and he wouldn't mind knowing just a little bit more about the chick he was working with currently. " _So_ ," he said, starting off with a conversational tone, overly friendly, trying to brush aside any weirdness from before. "Humor me. What exactly's keeping you in the life, James? I know it ain't the salary and benefits." She shot him a look—maybe because of the nickname she hated, maybe because she didn't want to talk about it. She looked kind of adorable when she was pissed and he felt himself smiling without meaning to, amused by ticking her off. She rolled her eyes upward and hefted another shovelful of dirt out of the grave. "Oh come on," Dean goaded, "I know more than you think… the rich family, old money, crazy mom…" he trailed off and got another sharp, slightly surprised sidelong look from her. A little smug because he'd been right, he leaned onto the shovel like it was a staff. "I'm good at reading between the lines," he told her, a little prideful. "And I know for a _fact_ this life is an option for you. So why you still in it?"

She stopped digging, her expression stormy and defiant, fully aimed at him. "Did reading between the lines also tell you I want nothing to do with the life I came from?" He'd struck a raw nerve. "Cuz I didn't _then_ and I don't _now_." She resumed digging with fervor born from anger. It reminded him of the teenage Jamie he'd known. "I'm not the rich kid snob you think I am, Dean. And I wasn't then, either." She huffed, wiped fingers across her brow, and relented a bit, calming herself down. Maybe a little embarrassed at the outburst. "Anyway. You know how hunting is. Doesn't really leave you compatible with the real world." She rammed the shovel into dirt again with a rigidly held jaw.

He agreed more than he could say. After a minute of feeling a little awkward, he decided to keep probing around for info. "Your mom still in the can?"

Jamie didn't ask how he knew that—Glen had let it slip that their mother was in jail and Dean had always thought that was interesting. With a very loaded expression on her face as she jabbed her shovel into the ground harder than necessary, Jamie revealed a very surprising detail indeed: "Killed herself in there when I was nineteen."

Dean was immediately taken aback and awkward all over again. "Oh, uh—damn. Sorry," he offered feebly.

She said nothing in return, just made a really thoughtful face and straightened, pausing her work to look directly at him. "You know... it's kind of amazing that you got out," she said, switching subjects purposefully and by all appearances she was both a little jealous of him and sort of in awe, not sure how it could really be true. "That just doesn't happen too often from what I've seen."

It was Dean's turn to feel put on the spot and he tightened his jaw, looked away, and fiddled with the shovel handle. "Yeah well."

Jamie was visibly intrigued. "Don't tell me you _miss_ this."

Dean remained deep in thought, reminiscent in a painful way. He shoveled another scoop of dirt halfheartedly, not really focused. "What I miss is that I always knew who I was gonna be with."

She was quiet for a minute, understanding dawning across her aquiline features. "But you have a family now, right?" She asked. "That lady and her kid?"

Dean hesitated, lost in his thoughts. "Yeah," he muttered, an answer given just to close the subject.

"Well there you go, Jacket." Her voice was back to the more playful, non-consequential tone she'd been using all day.

He felt a little pleasantly surprised grin come across his face. "Jacket," he repeated, chuckling despite himself, glancing up at her as his face was tilted downward. "I forgot about that."

"I didn't." Jamie smiled a little at Dean's reaction to the old nickname. When he'd incessantly made fun of everything about her in 1995, she'd picked the jacket he always wore—the leather one of Dad's—to try and harp on him about, she'd refused to call him Dean and either called him Jacket or jerk. She'd made fun of him for wearing it all the time, which thinking back, wearing it in the blazing early summer temperatures _had_ been kind of ridiculous... "You thought you were _so cool,_ " she teased.

"I _was_ ," Dean said with an air of playful smugness, enjoying the more light banter over deeper stuff. He shrugged slightly in faux modesty and wiggled his eyebrows once. "Still am."

"Mm _hmm_ ," she commented in put-on doubt for comic effect _._ She nodded her chin out toward his shovel. "Okay Fresh Prince, how about more digging, less yakkity yak." She tossed her shovelful of dirt right at his feet and laughed at his indignant " _hey!_ "

"I can dig and talk at the same time," he said, resenting her implication and shaking each foot in turn to get the dirt off.

A friendly if challenging look came his way. "Then why _aren't_ you?"

He just gave up and in and sighed heavily. "All right, all right," he muttered, but in a better mood than a minute ago. They were down about three feet into the grave and Dean stepped into the hole at this point, Jamie followed with a little jump.

"Where is that thing, anyway?" Jamie asked. They were back to back now. "The jacket."

Dean was quiet for a minute. "Put it away in Lisa's somewhere." That jacket was another reminder of Sam and Alex and he'd packed it away awhile ago.

"Lisa—that's your girlfriend, right?"

"Yup."

A few beats of silence passed. "Does she know?" About the life.

Long pause. "A little," Dean said. Lisa knew enough, and she didn't need to know more. It was bad enough that Dean carried what he did. He'd rather no one else have to carry that impossible weight. "Honestly the less she knows, the better," he muttered. "Anyway, I'm out of the life now, so..."

He could hear the amused smile on Jamie's voice. "Says the guy digging up a grave…" he smiled a little, too. He knew one thing: he didn't miss this back-breaking work. His hands were getting chaffed. Damn, he'd gone soft in these past eight months. "So when we find your sister, what then?" Jamie asked, startling Dean. That was a damn good question he hadn't thought about.

"Dunno," he answered honestly, stopping mid movement and looking unseeingly ahead of himself. He was so worried about Alex that he could almost cry—he'd failed, he should have looked for her harder all those months ago, he should have done more than he had. It was too late now for real. Maybe she was dead. His voice was barely audible. "I just... wanna see her again."

Jamie was quiet, he could hear that she'd stopped digging and turned her head toward him slightly. She sounded like she were cautioning him when she spoke. "Dean, you need to be ready for the possibility that… she might not wanna see you."

Dean's heart twitched painfully at the suggestion and he turned his head toward her slightly. "What? Why?"

Jamie let out a thoughtful, weighty breath. "Call it a gut instinct but… _shit_." He heard her shovel clatter down and knew something was wrong even before he had fully turned around. "Cops," she said in a whisper—and Dean glimpsed two officers getting out of a cruiser off at the main road within shouting distance.

"Come on, come _on_!" he urged, already leaping out of the grave and grabbing Jamie by the wrist, pulling her along with him and towards where the woods began to get thicker and deeper. Shit, had they been spotted? He wasn't sure. After crunching through the frozen leafy ground at a run for long enough to put some distance between themselves and law enforcement, they stopped, a little out of breath—Dean more than Jamie. Another reminder of how out of shape and practice he was. Too many beers, not enough running for his life.

"Did they see us?!" Dean wondered out loud—Jamie had seen more than he had.

She shrugged breathlessly, craning her neck to try and catch sight of the officers. "No, don't think so, or maybe a little, I don't know—they probably did, I mean—ah, who knows."

"Well okay, _that's_ clear and concise," Dean commented snidely. He got a _don't test me_ look in return.

"Come on, we gotta get outta here," Jamie said sullenly, no doubt pissed she'd lost some stuff including her cool red jacket, at the gravesite.

"But we didn't—" Dean started.

She whirled, patience snapping in half, voice rising into a whisper shout. " _Dean._ There's _nothing_ there. You _know_ there's not." She paused, softening her tone at the look on his face. "Sorry, okay? I'm not getting arrested over this and neither are you. Now come on." She grabbed him by the arm and pulled.

He didn't really have much choice and feeling utterly deflated, he went along with her. Once she was sure he was accompanying her, she let go of him with a backwards glance made of mild sympathy and mild annoyance both. They cut back through the woods, circling back toward where the front of the graveyard was. Jamie had parked in the designated parking lot outside of the cemetery—and when they could see it again through the trees, they both came to an abrupt halt in unison.

" _I told you_ you should have parked somewhere else," Dean said in a heated whisper, throwing his hands up in exasperation when they saw that another cop car was pulled up into the parking lot and another set of officers were peering into Jamie's Tahoe. They were only about forty feet away—if Dean threw a rock hard enough, he could hit one of them.

"Well where would _you_ have parked, genius?!" Jamie shot back in a testy whisper. The two of them looked at each other tensely for a second. "We'll just wait for them to leave." Jamie waved a hand in dismissal, glaring with crossed arms through the trees and at her car.

"They're not gonna just leave," Dean insisted. He took on a patronizing tone and looked at Jamie pointedly. "They're gonna find that stuff at the grave, see that we were digging up another one, then start looking for us, impound the car, then what?" Jamie's annoyance at his input only irritated him further. Just because he hadn't hunted in awhile didn't mean he was an idiot. "This isn't my first rodeo, princess," he told her in another disgruntled whisper.

"Oh and this is _mine?_ " She retorted, eyebrows raised up high.

"See that guy?" Dean indicated one of the cops. "He's radioing for backup. We need to get a handle on this before—" he stopped mid-sentence, realizing explaining was pointless, she looked like she'd rather stab herself with a screwdriver than listen to anything he had to say. So, he decided to revert to his default mode of operation: take charge. "Okay look, I'm gonna make a diversion, you— _hey_!" he protested when she reached up and ruffled his hair violently so that it was a total mess, then angrily yanked his jacket so that it was askew on him and half off one shoulder—what the hell was she doing? Dean watched, frozen and caught off guard and definitely not in charge as she very quickly pulled her hair out of the ponytail and let it swish like chicks did in the hair commercials. A glorious wave of blonde fanned out and she scrubbed her hair roughly, making it look unkempt like she'd been rolling around on the ground. She unbuttoned her shirt incredibly fast, revealing a skintight camisole underneath and she yanked that down a little and grabbed at her boobs, pushing them up high to give herself more cleavage—and red-blooded man that he was, Dean couldn't help but gawk. Jamie missed it because she was staring off at the cops in deep concentration. Dean was admittedly mystified and a little, uh, turned on. "W-what are you—"

"Just follow my lead," she muttered and grabbed his hand, pulling him along and then out into full view of the officers. Even as Dean was panicking at the sudden unexplained move, she turned around and grabbed him by two handfuls of his jacket with a startling huge grin on her face, walking backwards as she did so, dragging him right along with her. She giggled throatily and Dean panicked slightly when he realized she was craning her neck forward to him like she was gonna kiss him—but then it turned out she'd been faking. She pretended to notice the cops just before she would have touched her lips to his. " _Oh!_ " she exclaimed and Dean thought absently that she really should be an actress, even _he_ believed what she was doing. But more important, what were they supposed to do _now_? She had frozen, and the two officers were approaching.

"This your car, lady?" One of them asked, jerking a thumb back over his shoulder at her SUV.

"Yeah, yeah it is," she answered in a wide-eyed, innocent kind of way that Dean almost laughed at because it didn't fit her personality at all.

"You kids wanna explain what—" the other officer stopped, taking in their appearance and seeming to put two and two together. Jamie giggled again and bit her lip and cuddled into Dean as she grinned in a _you caught me way_ at the officers and Dean realized what she was doing. Oh my god this was the _stupidest_ … he wanted to sigh and roll his eyes but he went with it helplessly—what else could he do? He let himself act like he'd just gotten some action, forcing himself to grin kind of slyly and put an arm around Jamie in what hopefully looked like a familiar way. He tried not to enjoy himself, either. Because Lisa.

Both of the officers looked at each other sidelong, then back at the couple.

One of the officers seemed more straight-edged and disapproving, the other one nodded kind of approvingly at Dean, like he was thinking _you sly dog_. The more pious officer leveled them both with a stern frown. "What exactly were you two up to back there? We've had reports of grave robbers."

If Dean had looked beside himself he would have seen Jamie in deep concentration. "We were messing around," she said, and Dean's eyes slid to her sidelong in a silently aghast remark. This was the craziest, dumbest idea...

"They were messing around," the approving officer said to the dubious one. Dean frowned slightly.

One of the policeman's radio beeped, a voice came through over the little speaker. "Uh yeah Frank, we spotted a Caucasian male, brown hair, with a Caucasian female, blonde hair, they left a bunch of junk up here at the grave site, over."

Dean stiffened. _Shit._ Busted. He tried to decide which officer he should punch in the face, which one he could deck easiest—but beside him, Jamie spoke calmly. "That wasn't us." He felt her sway slightly and grab his arm like she had a head rush or something. Instinctively, he tightened his arm around her, his free hand grabbed her wrist just in case and he held her up slightly, but didn't look at her. She was trying to act nonchalant and he followed suit.

To Dean's shock, both officers nodded. "Right, no," said one.

"We know it wasn't," said the other and tipped his hat, stepped aside and swept his hand out, indicating that they carry on their way. "Have a nice day, kids."

Jamie—seemingly recovered from whatever little head rush she'd experienced, sent a smile at the men. "Thanks officers," she said, and walked right through them, pulling Dean along by the hand. "Come on, honey." The second they had walked through the officers, she let go of his hand and dropped the act like she'd flipped a switch—she was sullen and bitchy again, walking a little faster than necessary and shooting him a dirty look. What did _I_ do? He was confused, looked back at the world's dumbest officers a couple times. He couldn't believe their luck.

"That was the stupidest idea," he muttered to her as they reached the SUV, trying to figure out how, exactly, they had just walked away from that. They parted ways at the back of the car, both getting in and shutting their doors and he looked at her suspiciously, patting his crazy hair back down. "You Obi-Wan Kenobi or something? Jedi mind tricking your way outta stuff?" he asked. Half joking, half serious.

She looked at him sidelong and held up a correcting finger. "Number one: I'm Han Solo. Number two:" She seemed a little cheeky. "That's just the power of boobs, dude." At the look on his face she grinned at him. "Lighten up."

Jamie began re-buttoning her shirt to put her cleavage away and Dean tried not to check her out again, but he really couldn't help stealing a last glance at her very nice rack before she finished her work. She was curvy and athletic, the exact type of female body that he went crazy over. Yeah. That _was_ just the power of boobs. _Pathetic,_ he thought with chagrin. Done with himself and annoyed, Dean looked at the dashboard pointedly and cleared his throat. When she was done and started the car, Dean relaxed a little and sent a sidelong glance her way then frowned. A bright red trickle of blood ran out of her nose. A little surprised and slightly worried at the unexpected sight, he sat up a little straighter. "Hey you got a nosebleed. You good?"

She faltered and wiped underneath her nose with the back of her hand, looked at the blood with a little frown then brushed his concern aside with a justification. "Dry air," she said, then hardcore focused on driving and pulled out of the parking lot fast. Something about her reaction struck him as weird but he said nothing. Her phone began to ring. "Hold that thought," she said, and grabbed the old cell phone and answered it. "Hello?" Jamie's face suddenly registered total shock then relief. "Alex!?" A grin appeared. "Oh my god! Hey!" Dean's head whipped sideways. "Where are you, are you oka— _hey_!"

Dean had very rudely grabbed the phone from her and clapped it to his ear. "Al?!" he breathed, pulse suddenly going a hundred miles an hour in despairing anticipation.

There was a long pause and he almost said her name again because maybe the connection had been lost. Then he heard her familiar voice after months of silence. "... _Dean?_ " she asked, sounding dumbfounded.

He let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and a huge smile broke his face, his heart literally felt like it unfurled from the tight hold it had been stuck in. "Oh my _god_ , Al, you okay? What happened? Who took you? Who found you? Was it Cas? How—"

"Slow down, slow down, I'm _fine_ ," she said. Truthfully she sounded _not_ fine, exhausted and burdened and a little shocked that she was speaking to him but she repeated herself. "I'm fine… but... what are you doing with Jamie?" He could hear traffic behind her. She was probably on a pay phone.

"She came and got me when you disappeared last night," Dean said. Not important, they could talk about this later. First things first. "Where are you? We'll come get you."

She hesitated. "Uh, Reed City, apparently." She sounded distinctly reluctant.

Dean thought quickly. "That's just a couple hours from here," he said, wondering why she was there of all places. Something was off. "Hey, where the hell is Cas?" Dean asked. "Did he find you? He said some name, Nandriel? Can he zap you over to us?"

His sister let out a very long, noisy breath of air. "Look, it's all a long story I just don't feel like telling, Dean… I'm exhausted and it's fucking cold as balls out here and I just walked like three miles with a damn twisted ankle. No idea where Cas went. He just… dropped me off in the middle of nowhere and left and…" she was frustrated and he could heard it.

Even though she was complaining and grumpy, she was coherent and she was _alive,_ and knowing those two things, Dean was smiling through what worries still remained. The rest, to him, was details. "But you're okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Dean…" she paused, her voice might have caught, or maybe it was the traffic noises, he couldn't really tell. "It's... really good to hear your voice."

He swallowed and looked out his window at the passing scenery, not realizing how badly he'd needed to hear that. She _did_ miss him. And now he knew. He felt the same. "Yeah," he agreed softly, trying not to sound overly emotional. Jamie was in the car, after all. He couldn't help himself from asking what he was dying to know, though. "Why haven't you come to see me?" he asked her earnestly, trying not to sound as hurt as he felt. "All these months I've been waiting. Worried as hell about you and if you were even _alive_." He tried to laugh a little, try and sound lighter than he felt.

There was another long pause on Alex's end and she sounded guilty when she spoke again. "I know Dean. I'm… just not ready yet."

Her words were like a pin to a balloon, and the elation he felt suddenly evaporated as he realized this wasn't going to go like he'd envisioned it. Hurt, he could barely think of what to say. "Not ready yet?" He blinked rapidly, trying to think carefully and not say the wrong thing and upset her further. "I don't get it, did I do something?" he asked, then realized he'd done a lot of things. But… still. "I mean, outside of the obvious?" He asked, then wet his lips quickly, trying to convince her, again. "I promise, Alex, I did _not_ tell Cas to leave last year, I wasn't lying to you about that."

"No, I know." He didn't know if he really believed her answer and it _hurt_. "No. I just… I just can't see you. Not yet, you know?" No, he didn't know. "I can't. It's just too much."

Dean resorted to begging, because he couldn't not see his sister, he just couldn't. "Al—come on, this is _crazy_ ," he implored, voice beginning to waver with emotion. "We can't just, just never _see_ each other again—it's been almost nine _months_."

"Trust me," she said, and her voice was heavy. "I know exactly how long it's been." There was another long pause and Dean was heartbroken by lost confusion all over again. "Dean. I need you to respect my wishes. And don't push me. Don't." She was barely audible, he could hear how sad she was. He just wanted to know everything would be okay someday. But maybe it wouldn't be. He said nothing, just kept listening in defeat. "I'll come see you soon," she promised. "Just not yet."

Dean didn't know what to say and struggled for a minute. "At least give me your new phone number," he asked, trying to smile and sound accepting, like he was okay with all of this, trying _so damn hard_ to back off and not rock the boat, maybe convince her he'd changed.

Alex paused. "Put Jamie back on."

It was like a sledgehammer to the stomach. Dean's voice cracked. " _Al_ —really?"

"Yes," she said gently, and she sounded composed now, done with the conversation. Not really like the Alex he knew and he was taken aback. "Really."

He felt angry at that, and for a moment, he thought about trying old tactics of guilt tripping her by telling her how miserable she was making him and how terrible she should feel for doing that to him, or telling her too fucking bad, he was gonna come see her like it or not. But in a display of either great maturity or great cowardice, Dean forced himself to let it go.

"Yeah, fine," he said, and almost handed the phone off there in bitterness. But he knew he needed to take what opportunities he could. He swallowed his pride and struggled, looking upward and shaking his head, closing his eyes. "Take care of yourself, okay? I miss you. And I love you. And… I really hope you come see me soon." It was like pulling teeth to say that stuff in front of Jamie and he could barely hold it together, but he didn't wait to see if his sister said something back. He shoved the phone in Jamie's general direction without looking at her. "Here."

Jamie took the phone and a brief one-sided conversation followed. "Hey. Yeah. Okay. Well look, I'll call Glen, see if he's—oh okay. All right. Then I'll just take your sister Dean home and meet you guys back in Grand Rapids tonight. Yup. Mmhmm. Okay. No, no. Yeah. You too." She hung up and let the awkward silence hang for a couple beats, glancing cautiously at Dean sidelong a few times. "Glen's gonna go get her, he's only like an hour from Reed City." She trailed off, got quiet, and gave Dean some space and silence.

Dean said nothing for a long moment, caught up in all of his deep distresses. Alex wouldn't even give him her fucking _number,_ was he really that bad of a person? Did she really hate him that much? What if she held this grudge of hers forever? Was she really okay at all? Every instinct in him said something was wrong and his only evidence was her absence and the behavior she'd displayed before splitting. And one part of him said he was just looking for an excuse to barge into her life, another part said he was being an idiot and she'd just grown up finally and subsequently outgrown her need for him.

He looked at Jamie miserably, needing reassurance or _something_. "Jamie—is she okay? Like for real, is she? 'Cause she took off almost a goddamn year ago after almost shooting me in the face and that just now was the first time I've talked to her since." His voice choked up a little. "I had no idea if she was even alive, you understand?" Jamie did sympathize, her face said it all. "And I'm going nuts not seeing her and I can't do it much longer—I just _can't_..." He trailed off, agonized by his feelings and hating that he was telling a near stranger all this. Jamie was silent, mulling over his questions. It didn't look optimistic. "She's not okay, is she?" Dean prompted, seeing it written all over her face. His voice softened with something like dread. "What aren't you telling me?"

Jamie's eyes narrowed, she had one hand on the wheel and her eyebrows were knit together in deep thought like she were trying to decide something. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips briefly and she didn't answer him directly. "Look. Tell you what. If in—say, three months—she still hasn't come around your place or called you…" she looked at him briefly and significantly. "Call me. I'll arrange for us to uh… accidentally run into you." Dean was genuinely surprised at the offer and she quickly edited herself: "Just don't push your luck Jacket." She sighed and leaned an elbow onto the windowsill, resting her head into her hand ruefully. "I can't believe I'm promising you this crap to begin with. She'd kill me if she knew."

Dean nodded shallowly, grateful and touched by the offer, not sure what he'd done to deserve it, but not about to question her about it, either. "Thanks," he murmured, then turned and stared at the passing landscape, deep in thought.

"Guess I'm taking you home, then," Jamie said, and reached up for her aviator sunglasses which were tucked up in the little sun visor above the steering wheel.

"Yeah," Dean said quietly, distracted. "Home." That word just didn't ring true like it should have.

He could hear the easygoing grin she cracked in her voice. "But first, _burgers._ " Dean glanced at her and smiled halfheartedly despite himself, his more tense thoughts about his homecoming to Lisa and Ben fading out. Eats didn't sound like the worst idea on earth.

Dean wasn't in the best place ever but Jamie's promise to make sure he saw Alex eventually was a small comfort. That, and he could really go for a burger right now. Knowing Alex was alive, his appetite was back. One step at a time, he figured. He didn't _love_ this, but at least Alex was hunting with someone who Dean guessed he didn't mind that much. That, and at least he knew his sister was nearby geographically. It wasn't what he wanted, but it sure as hell could be worse, couldn't it? He gave Jamie a small smile, reflecting back to a pimply and opinionated teenage brat who he'd never have predicted turning into the woman he sat beside now. "You're not too bad, James." That was his way of saying thanks for everything.

He saw the telltale annoyed muscle jump in her cheek and an eye roll came his way. " _Jamie_ ," she corrected with all the patience of an exasperated saint.

His mouth twitched slightly and he fought a smile. "Uh huh."

She looked at him sidelong in cool, amused challenge then reached for the volume knob. Dean groaned and sank down in his seat a little bit. She was going to take her revenge on him with death metal. With a sigh, he guessed he'd earned that one.

* * *

**Reed City, Michigan  
Sawmill Saloon **

Alex scowled sidelong at the bartender who was looking at her oddly where she sat at a booth. Maybe it was because of all the shots she'd ordered and was still downing or the way she glared at anyone who passed her by. Maybe it was because she was wearing a fucking _tank top_ in the dead of winter and because her tight ponytail had gotten pulled sideways and was falling down, giving her the appearance of a homeless person. Whatever. Alex didn't bother to fix anything. She was in a foul, bitter mood and thought the bartend should count himself lucky that she wasn't trashing the place or picking a fight with someone. She hadn't gotten drunk like this in awhile and it didn't feel good at all. Anger kept building, then sadness, then the frustration of helpless feelings. She'd been here for approaching three hours now and Glen was taking his sweet-ass time as usual. Grand Rapids was only an hour car ride away. _Hurry it up, asshole._

She had walked for three miles before she was able to hitch a ride into town. And with each step the pain increased—not onlyher ankle, but the pain she carried in places past the physical. Add to that the unexpected shock of hearing her brother's voice on the other end of the line and she was kind of a wreck right now. She tapped her fingers on the booth she sat at, not sure how she should feel or how she _did_ feel. Foreigner played on the bar radio. Dean liked this song.

_I was inside looking outside, the millions of faces — but still I'm alone, waiting, hours of waiting — paying a penance, I was longing for home._

Stupid fucking song, why did it resonate with her so deeply? Home. She didn't have a home anymore, and never had like most people did. To her home was people. Dean and Sam, Bobby… and most of all Castiel. She grew miserable as she remembered secret things only they knew about. He'd felt like home to her, he'd been forever and _hers_ and they had belonged. She wanted that back and would give almost anything just to have things be the way they were—they hadn't had enough time together at all. She wanted to drown in sadness. _Fuck my life_ she thought despondently.

She worried about him again, thoughtlessly gnawing the inside of her mouth and staring blankly at the space in front of herself. Nandriel had wanted to hand her off to Raphael, who apparently was against Cas at this point. Was he fighting all of Heaven? And if he was, the most important question was _why?_ Why couldn't he just come _explain_ it to her? She had called him a few more times as she'd hobbled into town and then given up sort of angrily. No answers as usual.

She rubbed her forehead tiredly and stared down at the dark liquid in the shot glass she kept turning and turning in circles. She focused on the sound of the glass sliding against the tabletop. She began to consider leaving Jamie. It had been a good distraction, her and Glen whenever he was around but… she was restless for something she couldn't name. _Well_. She could name it. But she couldn't _have_ it. And if she ditched the Wards she'd be alone again. That thought of that was more frightening than she wanted to admit.

Talking to her oldest brother today and hearing how upset he was when she told him she didn't want to see him (in so many words) had been gut-wrenching. She wanted to see him, of course she did. But the thing was, she knew she couldn't. Not right now, and for a bunch of reasons, but mostly because she was scared shitless of it. This past year she'd been strong because she'd _had_ to be. She'd had no crutch or fallback, at least not at first. And she thought that if she saw Dean now she'd immediately revert back to the weaker role of 'little sister.' He'd take one look at her and leave the life he'd built with Lisa and Ben and she didn't want to be the reason he gave up such a rare chance at normal. Dean needed a healthy, stable life, and Alex wasn't a part of that. In a way, she was trying to protect her big brother from himself, from his own co-dependent instincts. Hers too.

Alex took the shot she'd been toying with, hissing against the burn as the liquor went down. Eventually she would go see Dean but… she couldn't handle the idea today. She was pretty sure that she'd lose it when she finally saw him and had to come face to face with the guilt of everything she'd done: forcing Sam's hand into saying yes to Lucifer, going nuts on Dean and leaving him and saying such fucked up shit to him… and there were darker things that she was worried for Dean to find out about. She somberly thought of all the demon attacks she'd faced that year. Dean would literally _kill_ her if he found out what she had kept hidden from everyone else so far...

She glanced up and saw Glen's familiar towering figure darken the doorway of the bar as he pushed the glass door open and came in out of the cold. _Finally._ His tousled blond hair looked windblown and he ran an errant hand over it as he approached her, spotting her right away. He wore his tan Carhartt jacket over a plaid shirt and looked like a typical woodsy, outdoorsy guy. He got a few glances like he always did. It was the height, for one—he was probably about six-foot-five or maybe a little more, he was built proportionally and was physically commanding. He loped over to Alex, easy going as always—she didn't think she'd ever seen him in a hurry.

"Hey!" he greeted in his deepish tenor voice. He slid into the booth across from her and glanced around at the bar, scoping it out briefly before he looked her over. "You good?"

Alex could have killed him. Was she good? "Peachy," she snapped irritably and downed another shot. "What took you so long?" He did that thing where he smiled, shrugged, and made you forget why you were mad at him—he had the charm and looks to pull it off. Except it didn't really work on Alex. "I twisted my ankle and almost froze to death," she complained like it had been his fault.

He remained unperturbed by her bad attitude. "I better call 911 huh?" Alex rolled her eyes. "Just asking," he teased. "Don't shoot me." His crooked grin faltered as he stared with narrowing eyes at her left cheek. "Hey... where'd your scar go?"

Alex huffed drunkenly. She'd realized since being flung into the snow that her wisdom teeth were back too—a dull ache in the back of her mouth said so. "The angel did it," she muttered, not super willing to discuss all that with Glen fucking Ward of all people.

"What and he didn't he fix your ankle?" Glen asked innocently, clueless as to how it would trigger Alex.

"Yeah, and he didn't stick around long enough for me to fucking _talk_ to him either!" Alex exploded, her resentments and frustrations coming to a head in her alcohol-addled state. Glen was genuinely surprised at the outburst and looked at her in a way he never had. She realized she'd never been drunk around Jamie or Glen. Tipsy maybe. Drunk as fuck? No. This was probably not the best idea she'd ever had. Still. There were a few shots left and she wasn't going to leave without taking them.

"...you _sure_ you're okay?" Glen asked, sounding like he was beginning to worry. Alex just scoffed. His steely gray eyes looked over the shot glasses and beer bottles littering the table then jumped back up to her. He seemed almost suspicious at this point. "What exactly happened? Where did that uh, Nandriel dude take you? What did he do to you?"

She didn't correct him or tell him who Nandriel was. He didn't need to know any of it. "Don't worry about it."

Glen looked mildly stung. "Alex. Come on." He almost seemed impatient, which was rare for him. "When are you gonna level with me? You've been hunting with Jamie and me for what, four or five months now? You're not gonna tell me what happened?" When she said nothing he scoffed mildly, heaved a sigh, then accepted it. Alex downed one of the remaining shots after giving him a cold, withdrawn smile. Glen watched her do that then nodded his head toward the door. "You ready to get outta here?"

In all of her maturity Alex took hold of another shot. "Leave me alone."

"So _no_ then," Glen supposed and then cracked a cheeky grin at her, grabbing the last one of her shots and taking it before she could grab it away. Alex gave him a dirty glance and he just gave her a challenging, playful look. She rolled her eyes and downed the shot she'd been holding, content to stew here a little longer and make Glen wait. But as always, he made himself at home and looked like he didn't mind it.

Glen flagged down a server who was passing by. "Yeah, Guinness extra stout?"

The server—tall, tan, brunette—looked him up and down, obviously liking what she saw. "Coming right up." Glen saw the flirtatious nature of her response to him and acknowledged it with a little side smirk. He loved the attention as usual. Alex rolled her eyes. The day wasn't complete if someone didn't come on to Glen or make _come hither_ eyes at him. His eyes were striking, she'd give him that much and his body was good, she guessed. But what attracted people was his attitude and demeanor. He always looked like he owned the place, like he knew exactly what he was doing, like he was relaxed and at ease and in control. He played it cool, close to his chest, and she'd always figured it was a carefully crafted persona.

But maybe it _wasn't_ a persona. Alex had never seen him get pissed in any of the situations she'd been in with him. Jamie yelled at him sometimes when he was a dumbass and he'd get defensive and annoyed, but Alex had never heard him shout and never seen him flat out lose his temper. Usually he walked away when Jamie was trying to start a fight, removing himself from the situation instead of engaging. Dean could take a lesson from him, Alex reflected hazily.

The server came back after a minute and handed Glen a beer with a smile. "Here you go," she said and her eyes were practically undressing him. "Just lemme know if you need anything else."

Glen smiled back with the same energy. "Will do." She sashayed off and Alex saw how a receipt accompanied the drink and the little scrap of paper had her name—Stephanie—and number scrawled in pretty writing on it with an _xo_ beside it. Alex shook her head, rolled her eyes again, but was almost laughing now. Of course. It was almost comical at this point. This was like a throwback to the Sam and Dean years. Alex remembered many a time when her brothers had been hit on by random chicks and sometimes men too. She felt a slight pang of sadness, remembering Sam and how he'd always been sort of weirded out by that sort of thing. And Dean, of course, loved every second of that crap. Guys had never had the guts to hit on Alex with Dean around, who was forever giving off _touch her and you die vibes_.

Glen cracked a crooked grin, seeming to feel pretty good about himself as he checked out the little name and number note he'd gotten. He wet his lips slowly with his tongue, then looked at Alex mischievously. "So what do you think, should I call her?" He took a swig of his beer, that shit-eating smile refusing to budge.

 _Idiot._ "I think we both already know you will."

He smirked and looked down, eyes scanning the name and number. When he crumpled up the bill and tossed it down into an empty shot glass, Alex was a bit disconcerted. "Nah," Glen said, giving an entertained smile at her surprise. "Not interested." He leaned back in the booth, threw an arm over the back, then grinned crookedly as he saluted her with his beer. He took another swig and remained nonchalant. "So that dude in the trench coat… Cas—he's seriously an angel?"

Not what she wanted to talk with Glen about. "Mmhmm."

"Huh." Glen took it in stride like the weather forecast. "He didn't look like I pictured angels would look like." She didn't engage, but Glen tried again. "You know him, right?"

A very cynical expression came over her face. "You could say that."

Glen shook his head and sighed dramatically, grinning and showing white teeth. "Geez Winchester you're killing me with the mystery hour. Would it really be that bad to tell me _one thing_ about yourself?" He was teasing her.

But something about the question and his concern, however casual—that and the alcohol—and she suddenly found herself saying something very true and very personal. "I've never been as disappointed as I am right now."

Glen heard her somber, introspective tone and set his beer down, dropping his cavalier attitude. He seemed genuinely interested and concerned. "Why's that?"

Alex didn't look at him. She was off in her own head. "Do you ever spend a long time imagining what it'll be like to see someone again?" She asked quietly, staring at the table as she tried to make sense of it all. "And then that moment comes and is _nothing_ like what you thought? And it's so far removed from what you needed that it makes you question everything?" She finally looked up at him. "I mean what kind of moron _does_ what I did this year…?" She was so confused she could scream, but instead she just put her elbow on the table and covered half of her face in her hand, forlorn and feeling a little sick. Her nose felt stuffed up after all that time in the cold and her head was woozy. Maybe from the booze, maybe because she was coming down with something. "I had it in my head that things were different. But maybe it's over."

Glen was trying to follow her somewhat rambling monologue, the wheels in his head were turning and he seemed to realize. "Wait a minute… _wait_ a minute. Are you telling me you and the angel in the trench coat…?" He looked at her in surprise. "You guys were a thing?" Alex's one eye just looked up at him and then she dropped her hand down so that the other half of her face wasn't covered. She shrugged wearily, confirming without saying anything. Glen was speechless for a second, processing. Then he offered some sympathetic words. "Well. I mean… if it's really over, then at least you know, right?"

It felt like a huge sledgehammer to her stomach. Alex shook her head blankly. She was getting emotional and fought it.

Glen seemed to feel sorry for her. "I think you deserve someone who's gonna stick around, personally."

Her eyes darted up to him and she sat back fractionally, feeling defensive of Castiel even though she couldn't completely disagree. "He's… got a lot happening right now, it's not that simple," she muttered. And that's what she hoped the case was.

Glen seemed a little confused about all of it and studied her for a couple beats. "I've never said it before but… I mean, I see it. How sad you are." Alex looked at him reluctantly as he kept speaking. "And if it's _him_ making you sad…" Glen trailed off and didn't finish what he was going to say. "I just think you deserve happiness. That's all." His tone was intense and so were his eyes and he saw how he was putting her on the spot. So he changed his approach. "You know what you need?" He was joking again. "A rebound."

Alex sighed, rueful. She knew it would come to this, because it always did, and she'd never been sure if it were a joke or if he were serious. "Let me guess," she said, not smiling but not about to cry anymore either. " _You're_ volunteering." He made a funny face and spread his arms a little, seeming to say _well if the shoe fits, I'll wear it!_ She had to admire his tenacity if nothing else. She couldn't help herself, a tiny little annoyed smile came over her face and she looked away in an attempt to hide it, equal parts amused and irritated.

He just grinned at her, raising his eyebrows, seeing her smile. "I mean us here in this bar, having drinks which, oh look at that—" he slapped down a fistful of bills onto the table, " _I_ just paid for. Our first date. What now, Winchester?"

It was hard not to smile back at him—he always did that to her, to everyone—charmed you even if you hated him. Alex tried even harder to be annoyed. She slapped her hands down onto the table and pushed herself up, mad that she wasn't as pissed at his antics she thought she should be. "I'm leaving."

He stood up too, a cross between dubious and amused as she hobbled away. "On what legs? And did you forget I'm your ride?" Alex stopped to lean on a booth—walking with a limp while drunk was more challenging than she'd thought. While she stood there and willed herself the mental clarity to walk out to his car, Glen shrugged off his jacket and put it on her without warning. She protested as he set it on her like a cape.

"No, don't—" she practically whined, but he cut her off, holding the jacket on her meaningfully.

"It's cold as hell, no arguments," he said in his _that's final_ voice. Alex stared at him resentfully. The huge jacket was really warm and smelled like him, which wasn't a bad thing either. Glen was amused by her dagger stare. "You could look a little more pissed off about it though."

She rolled her eyes then frowned. "This is like wearing a damn tent."

"Always complaining," Glen said, then shocked her when he bent slightly and scooped her up into his arms.

" _Hey_! I can walk! Put me down!" She protested loudly, drawing a few stares from some bar patrons.

Glen was already heading for the door. "I just saw you _not_ being able to walk, dummy." He used his foot to push the door open then they were outside in the freezing cold again.

Alex lamented her fate and remained sullen, trying to be stiff in his arms and not get too close. Glen seemed to be enjoying the momentary proximity. "You need to hurt your ankle more often," he joked suggestively, and she pointedly turned her head away from him.

"You need to get punched in the face," she muttered back. Her head was spinning from the shots.

He chuckled at the comment as he carried her across the parking lot and over to his Blazer—a tan SUV that had belonged to his deceased uncle. It seemed to have sentimental value to Glen, who kept the car really nice and had all these extra things added to it, like an expensive sound system and very pointless undercarriage lighting system. As he walked them over there, Alex tried not to think about how desperate she was just for closeness—how this little stunt Glen had pulled had her feeling really, really vulnerable after everything that had happened today. Glen was warm and solid and it made her think of Cas, who she wanted _so badly_. Being in his strong arms for ten seconds earlier that day hadn't been enough. Why. _Why?!_ She was beyond frustrated and harrowed by the waiting and wondering. Was Glen right, was it really over? She didn't know, but she hadn't been hugged since the day Sam died and this right now was the longest physical contact she'd had with anyone in almost nine months and it was confusing and she felt so _stupid_. She wished so badly for one of her brothers at that exact moment, someone to just hold her and tell her it was gonna be okay.

Her first preference, of course, would be Castiel—but maybe it _was_ over, maybe he was just her guardian now and nothing more. Her mind spun with possibilities. Could she go certifiably insane from this? Sometimes it felt that way.

They were at the car now. "Watch it, careful," Glen said as he began to lower her to the slushy, snowy parking lot ground so that he could unlock the car. But she grabbed onto his arms when her feet hit the ground because her equilibrium was super compromised. "Lush," he teased mercilessly, his steely eyes warm and full of bright fondness that Alex didn't quite understand. Didn't quite trust. And then the look in his eyes shifted to something else very intentional. That's when he caught her off guard by closing the space between them with a sudden, soft kiss she hadn't asked for. A kiss she pulled away from immediately. Alex's abrupt shock at the action gave way to embarrassed fury. With a quickness and force that sobered her a great deal, she pushed him away hard with both hands. "What the hell!"

Glen looked embarrassed and even a little surprisingly aggravated at her response. "My bad," he said simply. "Sorry." But there was some attitude there that was very easy to dislike. But before Alex could reconsider going anywhere with him, Glen was back to his lighthearted ways. He opened the door for her, indicated she sit down. "Buckle up, booster seat. Let's get you back home."

Thrown off—Glen had never made her feel like he just had in that moment before, maybe it was an honest mistake—she hesitated, considering her options, then got into the car with a face like stone, avoiding looking at him. She was fucked up in the head completely and mortified. Had she sent him signals? She didn't think so...

He shut the door once she was in and she sort of angrily tore his coat off of herself and threw it into the back seat. She'd just be cold, screw temperatures. Miserable, Alex clenched her hands tightly and stared out the window of the car. She'd never felt more alone or lost than she did at that moment and she shivered a little, sniffing again… it felt like the beginnings of a sore throat and a stuffy nose for sure. That's just what happened when you walked around outside in sub zero temps for an hour in nothing but a tank top, she guessed. And you know what, she deserved misery, she deserved to fucking _die_. Life just didn't feel right anymore. Fuck this. All of it.

Glen got in, started the car, turned on some music and didn't goad her or try and talk to her. He seemed to sense she wanted nothing more than to be left alone. Alex stared out of the window the entire car ride back, plagued with horrible feelings and the terrible conviction that she had gone back on everything she'd ever said and promised to Cas.

She'd always thought it, but she thought it even more at that point than ever before: Cas deserved so much better than her.

A tear ran down her cheek when she thought that maybe he had finally realized that, too. Maybe that's why he had left.

* * *

**Three Days Later  
Hell**

Crowley threw another dart at the massive poster of Jesus he had plastered on the stone wall in front of himself. The dart landed right between the eyes and Crowley chuckled, pleased with himself. The King of Hell raised another dart—then was thrown off completely by a loud voice at the precise moment he let the dart fly.

"Hey, Bossman!" Lola snapped her gum loudly.

Cantankerous at how his dart had hit the space _beside_ the poster, Crowley looked at his assistant silently, short on patience. He'd just _started_ and needed his me-time, dammit. Lola was wearing a gaudy getup as usual and little glittering butterfly clips were scattered through her nearly neon red hair. It was, in a word, abhorrent. Leaning against the doorframe of his entertainment room, she grinned jauntily and jerked her head back toward where she'd just appeared from. "Stalin's complaining about his bunkmate."

"Ah, Dahmer being mouthy again?" Crowley chuckled, turned, and threw another dart. Right in Christ's holy junk. The King of Hell practically cackled then glanced Lola's way, remembering that she was waiting. "Tell Stalin not to lose his head," he advised, then aimed another dart, shutting one eye for accuracy.

There was a long silence then a very timid throat clearing. "Uhh…"

Crowley paused and turned smoothly, lowering the dart. Lola looked distinctly guilty. " _Lola_... you _didn't_."

She winced innocently, shrugged, and tried to act nonchalant. "...I can staple it back on." She bit her lip. "... _again_."

Crowley chuckled at that and gave her a look. _Oh you._

Suddenly, a fierce wind blew over the room and Crowley found himself being grabbed and slammed up into the poster of Jesus. "You said you were _protecting_ her, you said she was _safe!_ " Castiel's angry, bloodied face was right in front of Crowley, who was, in all truth of the matter, quite taken aback at the sudden arrival of said angel.

"What the bloody _hell_?!" Crowley protested.

"The angel Nandriel took her several days ago and _you said_ you would tell me if she was in peril and _you didn't!_ " Castiel shouted.

A bit flabbergasted, Crowley looked at Castiel like he was looney. "First off, why don't you kindly _unhand_ me," he growled lowly, not appreciating the threats in his own house. " _Second_ —and this's _important..."_ his voice rose to an indignant shout. _"_ It's _not my fault!_ "

"Then _whose_ is it?" Cas demanded angrily without taking his hands off Crowley. The angel was the most frustrated Crowley had ever seen him. He seemed a little insane almost. "I have been _running_ from Raphael for days now, I don't even _know_ how long and I don't even know if Alex is _alive_ and it's your fault this happened, so explain and _quickly_ if you value your life," Castiel thundered, shoving Crowley further into Jesus for emphasis—then looking up at the poster and seeing what it was of. Faint confusion overcame his features.

"Look, Cas—I understand you're upset, I do," Crowley said impatiently, trying not to fly off the handle completely. "But your little missus has been _killing_ all the demons I keep posting on her, you see. Told you this before, you might recall. Same with the _last_ one who, oh, I didn't find out was dead until _today!_ Whatever you're talking about with this Nandriel character... I'm in the dark, mate." Castiel's face remained a furious mask. Crowley was getting really irritated with how the angel wouldn't let go of him, but he realized he knew how to get him to let go. "But you should know—she's fine. Alive and well." He paused, pretending to remember something. "Actually, seems down with the common cold but that's a small detail, isn't it."

Castiel's face worked fast and hard, his expression inscrutable and he glanced back at Lola, who had been standing there with wide eyes and her arms ramrod straight at her sides.

"I don't want your kind watching her any more," Castiel growled, turning back to Crowley. He let go with a shove. "Is that understood?"

Crowley frowned a little. "What, you're gonna leave her out in the wind?"

Cas didn't answer, just looked at Crowley fiercely. "Tell me where she is, _now_."

So dramatic, this one. Crowley rolled his eyes, only tolerating Cas at this point because he was useful. "Lakeland Motel, Whitehall, Michigan. Room one-oh-one."

"You would be wise to hurry your part of the arrangement," Cas growled, then was gone with another blast of wind that ripped the poster of Christ off the wall completely.

Crowley straightened his suit sullenly and looked at useless, wide-eyed Lola. "Ya know, angels are real arseholes when it comes down to it," he muttered, then kicked at the curled-up Jesus poster on the floor. He severely disliked this entire Alex Winchester drama and sometimes thought it'd be easier to kill her off completely or pull a Raphael and use her as a hostage against Castiel.

Then again, Crowley wasn't a fool. And he knew if he did that and got caught… it'd be the last thing he did. So for now, he just had to tolerate the whole thing. And hey, at least after tonight, he didn't have to send any more red shirt demons down to keep tabs on little Winchester. It was beyond annoying how she kept spotting and killing them.

If ever there came a day, he might have it in mind to exact a little revenge on her for cleaning out his demon stockpile. But for now, he left well enough alone.

* * *

**Lakeland Motel  
Whitehall, Michigan**

It was risky and it was not the best idea—but Castiel knew Raphael was currently in battle in Heaven and was hopefully subsequently distracted. Cas walked up the motel walkway along the rooms, invisible to the human eye, searching for Room 101 anxiously.

He couldn't keep doing this, he _couldn't_ —and he wasn't even sure what he hoped to accomplish with what he was doing right now, he just had to verify with his own eyes that Alex was alive. Cas felt so guilty for flinging her into an inhospitable environment and disappearing after. He cursed himself for entrusting her to the care of demons. He'd known it was a bad idea from the beginning and still he'd done it. Why? He should have trusted his instincts that had so strongly warned him against it.

Castiel found Room 101 and peered into the window. Relief flooded Cas at the sight of her. Alex was sitting back on a bed, leaned against the headboard with her knees drawn up near herself—she wore a long sleeved shirt and looked generally tired and ill, her nose was red. She was sick just like Crowley had said, and Cas thought surely he could chance the quickest of encounters to heal her, to speak with her face to face, _finally_ , tell her more details that the messages he'd sent with Balthazar and Rachel hadn't divulged. Cas was about to go into the room—every part of him anticipating the moment and straining for her—and then he saw the tall blond man he'd seen the other night with Dean. This man was walking to Alex across the room and Cas faltered. Slightly confused, he peered into the room further and saw that no one else was there. Where was Dean? Why was Alex alone with a strange man?

She seemed to know this man, who had an extra blanket and put it around her then rubbed the top of her head affectionately then sat beside her, handing her some pre-packaged food items and talked to her in a seemingly casual, free-spirited way. Alex smiled just a little—the smile was a little hooded and sad and then Castiel saw the _way_ this man looked at Alex: he was _interested_ in her. And a feeling Cas had never experienced before bristled in him. It wasn't pleasant and he didn't know what to do, but his first thought was that he should do something to this man to hurt him. There was no logical reason for it… Cas just _felt_ it. And then he heard his Lieutenant calling to him urgently, saying _hurry Castiel, Raphael's broken through our ranks and we need you!_

Cas didn't leave immediately, he stared at Alex and this man in confusion, unsure what he was witnessing. He must be misinterpreting. She wouldn't take a suitor, she wouldn't, not unless… he frowned in thought, confused and feeling distinctly wounded at a deep level. Surely it hadn't been _that_ long that he had been gone. Alex had told Rachel she would wait for him and he had clung to that message. Cas thought hard—he'd been gone for something like six and a half months of earth time, if he was calculating correctly. But maybe he wasn't. Had more time than that passed? A feeling of horror and panic passed over him and he wondered if maybe it had somehow been a few years and he didn't even know it. His eyes caught the little bedside calendar. The date was late January 2011. It hadn't been years. It had been nearly nine months. But why was Alex with this man, who was he, why was he sitting so _close_ to her?

Rachel was calling him again in rising panic and torn beyond belief, Castiel had to respond, even though _everything_ inside of him protested leaving Alex with this man he didn't know. Logically, he knew he had to return to Heaven and finish what he'd begun, that his garrison needed him, that he was a leader and he had to lead. But tearing himself away from earth was almost impossible.

Castiel knew that _everything_ was in vain if he couldn't defeat Raphael... but he felt, that day, after seeing Alex and the strange blond man, as though _he_ was the one who had been defeated.


	49. One Big, Happy Family

" _I don't want love to destroy me like it has done my family."_  
\- Pink

* * *

Dean flicked on the light in Lisa's garage, deep in his troubled thoughts. Jamie had just dropped him back off a few minutes ago and it was midday. Ben was at school—Lisa was at work—and Dean was a wreck, even though you'd never know it from just looking at him.

His phone call with his sister repeated in his mind over and over. Was he supposed to be worried, or was he supposed to be pissed? Because he was worried. Definitely worried. And hurt. And _confused,_ because he thought she should want to see him as bad as he wanted to see her. All he wanted to know was why.

He slowly entered the garage and looked at the covered Impala pensively. It had literally taken everything inside of him to back off and let his sister have the space she apparently wanted or needed so badly. Dean couldn't shake the feeling that something was _wrong_ with her at some deep level. Thinking back to the night she'd stormed off after putting a gun in his face worried him even more. He went over and over that fateful night in his mind day after day. He shouldn't have gotten drunk, he shouldn't have antagonized her or let his grief get the better of him. He'd selfishly thought no pain could top his own at losing Sam and had felt angry at her for acting like hers was worse than his. It had been a stupid, immature, and probably totally wrong assumption. He'd recently come across an article about twins that was written by a girl who'd lost her twin. A quote from the piece haunted him: _In the co-dependent claustrophobia of our sister-sister relationship, there was a strange kind of comfort. When my sister died, it seemed unusual and painful to breathe, to stand alone, to be so unconfined. She and I had an unbreakable bond… and yet, it was broken._ Funny. That's kind of how Dean felt about losing Alex. Only, she was alive. Alive and unwilling to see him. _There is nothing like losing your twin—nothing. I feel guilty for being alive. The hardest part is relearning who I am in the world without my twin. It's a long road for me._

He thought of the words he'd read on a page, imagining Alex was the one who had written those things. As bad as Dean hurt, there was a growing suspicion that she was going through something worse than he was. After all, she'd been possessed by the devil however briefly. That had to leave a mark. His heart ached and he wanted to shake his sister and yell at her _let me help you goddammit!_ He was barely able to function past basic necessity, but he hid it, and he hid it well. The thought of Alex struggling similarly broke him.

Dean went to the back of his car and pulled the cloth cover off of Baby just enough so that he could access the trunk. The sight of the familiar gleaming black body made him pause and he ran tentative fingers across the smooth surface sadly. _I miss you, old girl._ Dean wasn't even entirely sure why he was doing this. He kinda figured it must be sentiment. That, and patheticness. Which wasn't even a word, but should be.

He opened the trunk slowly and the familiar smell of the Impala hit his nostrils—old leather, linseed oil, salt, engine oil. A wave of bittersweet nostalgia hit him as he breathed in and glanced over the contents of the trunk. Sam's old stuff—a couple duffel bags of clothes and personal effects. Dad's journal. Some hunting gear, some extra weapons. His old leather jacket—the one Jamie had nicknamed him after. Alex's backpack she'd left behind, the wallet she hadn't taken with her when she'd left so abruptly. He hadn't looked in the trunk for pretty much the entire time he'd been with Lisa. He'd shut it all away and covered it up, trying to make it all go away. But today, he wanted to look through all of it and remember. Touch the things that held pieces of the life he'd lived, the life he'd lost. He reached for Alex's wallet where he knew he'd find fake IDs with the stupid punny names she thought up. Some of her best hits: _Al Beebak, Yura Butt, I.C. Weiner, Anita Lay, Gaye Hooker, Seymour Butts._ God, they'd been so carefree in years past. When the hell had it all gotten so hopeless?

A noise from inside the house suddenly startled him, making him jump and go tense. Just like that, he was in red alert mode. It was still too early for Ben to be home and Lisa would be at work... who was that in his house? Paranoid, with thoughts of monsters and enemies clouding his mind, Dean whipped his pistol out from where he'd stuffed it into the waistband of his pants earlier and he edged into the house silently, expecting bad guys to jump out from behind every corner and piece of furniture. His heart raced—he heard shuffling footsteps and he whipped around the corner where the intruder was, his pistol trained on where the sound was coming from—and he subsequently scared a very unsuspecting Lisa half to death.

She screamed and dropped the basket of laundry she'd been holding even as a shocked Dean immediately let the gun's aim fall away from her. She'd sagged backwards with a hand against her heart and was half-standing against the wall, breathing hard, expression filled with frightened alarm at the sight of the weapon. "Dean! What the _hell!?_ "

Having realized his mistake the second it was too late— _she was supposed to be at work, why the fuck was she at home!?_ —Dean reacted less than calmly, barely able to breathe from the shock of having almost shot his girlfriend. "What the hell are you doing here?!" he asked and he sounded angry, even though in reality, he was _freaked_.

She was equally freaked. "I'm taking a long lunch to catch up on laundry, _Jesus_ , Dean!" She was shaking, looking at him like he was totally insane. Dean put the weapon down with a clunk onto the hutch beside himself and held his hands out to show her he meant no harm.

"I'm sorry," he said, scrambling to explain himself. "I heard a noise and I thought—"

"Thought _what?_ " Lisa demanded, panicky. He tried to approach her and she held a hand up, silently telling him not to come closer. He stopped. Her other hand was still on her chest. "God, you almost gave me a _heart attack_ ," she accused, voice high-pitched in agitation. "You should have called me and told me you were gonna be back!"

Dean looked down, pissed at himself and feeling stupid. He should have, but he hadn't even _thought_ about it. Lisa seemed to come around a little more when she saw that he was upset. She took in a deep breath. She was guarded and a little mad, but she pushed it aside visibly. "Is everything okay?" she questioned in a strained voice. "D-did you find your sister?"

Dean had to look down again as he worked his jaw bitterly. "Yeah. Mostly."

Lisa's eyes widened. " _Mostly?_ "

Dean realized how that sounded distinctly like he'd found his sister dead and in pieces and he pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation then explained himself, even though, at the moment, he was so frustrated he wanted to break something. "No, yeah, sorry, we found her and she's fine. But she won't let me visit her. I didn't even _see_ her. Just…" he gestured his hands jerkily and let them fall to his sides with a slap. He felt so empty. "Talked to her on the phone."

Lisa listened then nodded with a frown on her face. She shrugged sympathetically. "Maybe that's for the best, Dean."

He looked at her sharply, a knee-jerk reaction. "How the hell would that be for the best?!" he demanded loudly, maybe too loudly, and her expression faltered at his rough tone.

Dean hesitated after his outburst, immediately wishing he hadn't asked it so harshly and rudely, ashamed at himself but also not too happy with her comment. And maybe it was just because tensions were high for him right now or because he and Lisa had been arguing a little more than usual. But mostly, it was because he didn't like it when she insinuated that his family ties made him weak. He didn't like how whenever Alex or Sam came up, Lisa tried to sidestep the conversation and act like the twins were in the past and staying there. Didn't she understand how much he _loved_ his brother and sister? How they had been his _entire goddamn life_ for thirty-some years and losing them both at the same time had almost killed him? That he couldn't just close that chapter of his life and move on and be normal, well-adjusted, happy? No. She didn't understand, and she never would—she wasn't from the reality he'd lived in. No one but his flesh and flood knew that heavyhearted feeling, and the only family member he had left didn't even want to see him. So he had every right to be miserable and irritable, right?

Maybe he did, but Lisa's hurt expression made him feel bad. However, instead of apologizing, he just grew stone-faced and attempted to hide how ashamed he was—it was easier than trying to put forth the effort to ask for understanding and comfort. "I'm gonna get some air," he muttered and brushed past her somewhat coldly, knowing full well it was a dick move on his part. But he needed to be alone with his thoughts, he needed to go feel sorry for himself—and he knew that Lisa wouldn't let him throw himself a pity party. Not for the first time, he thought about how he didn't know why Lisa let him stay, why she put up with him and his constant bullshit. But, she did. For now anyway.

After going outside and standing there broodingly for a few beats, Dean did what he'd been doing with increasing frequency lately: he headed to the bar. His old friend Jack Daniels understood all of his pain and sometimes even took big chunks of it away. Not forever, but for a few blessed hours at least. And Dean, a desperate man, would take whatever relief he could get.

He guessed that he should resign himself to this life of mowing the lawn and helping with bills and having arguments with Lisa over how to keep the pantry organized, but for some reason, he felt like this was temporary and he kept holding onto a twisted hope that this wasn't it for him.

And he was guilty when he entertained those thoughts, because he'd always imagined this little suburban life was what he wanted. Now that he had it… he wasn't so sure anymore, and it _freaked him out_ that he felt that way. He owed too much to Lisa and Ben to walk away. He loved them, he did… but…

When Alex finally showed up and asked him to hit the road with her, he wouldn't say no.

And he wondered about what kind of man that made him.

* * *

**Two Months Later**

The sharp sound of her cell ringing cut through the silence and Jamie Ward glanced at the time readout in her car, frowning as she grabbed her phone and steadying the steering wheel with her other hand. Four in the morning, and whoever was calling her was from a number she didn't know. "Hello?"

"Jamie! Where are you?" It was a loud, rough male voice on the other end.

"... _Dean_?" Jamie asked, not entirely sure if the theory was correct, but that sure _sounded_ like Dean Winchester's voice on the other end.

"Yeah it's me, now where are you?" he asked again, demanding and way loud and not explaining himself at all.

Jamie made a face at his coarse approach. " _Driving_ ," she answered, a little irritated at his attitude. She played along sarcastically. "Where are _you_?"

He ignored her question and she then heard the growing note of urgency and alarm in his hurried voice. "Listen, this is important: there are some djinn after my family, okay? I was poisoned by one today, almost died, they're after Alex now, it's this whole revenge deal and she's next on the hit list—I'll explain later but I need you two to _get inside_ someplace safe and stay inside till I get there with backup—these djinn are extremely dangerous, you hear me? Not like the ones I've seen before—all they gotta do is _touch_ you and you're as good as dead."

"Well that's just _great_ ," Jamie muttered resentfully almost to herself. It was always something, and that something was always _bad_. She was exhausted, depressed, and fighting the world's biggest headache from sleep deprivation, but it looked like she was gonna have to put her own needs on hold as usual. "How do you know they've even tracked us down?" Maybe this was a false alarm.

"I don't, but it's too dangerous to act like they haven't until I get there," Dean said forcefully. He sounded scared. "Now I need you guys to _get inside_ and tell me where you are so we can burn rubber and meet you."

Jamie winced. She wasn't with Alex at the moment, but _was_ on the way back and would be there within fifteen or so. She decided to keep that information to herself. "It's the Super Eight in Lansing. Room one twenty one."

"Okay, I think we can get there in about forty," Dean said. "You two lock the doors and turn the lights off. We know there's three of these creeps, maybe more. Do _not_ try and fight them, you hear me?"

"Yeah, I _hear_ you," Jamie said, coaxing more speed out of her SUV in an effort to get back there faster. He was talking loud enough that if she held the phone at arm's length she still could have made out his words perfectly. He was as insufferably bossy as she remembered him being. She paused, suddenly realizing. "Wait, who's 'we'?"

There was a brief pause. "Uh, me and some friends." He sounded almost like he was dodging the question, but he was changing the subject before Jamie had time to be skeptical. "I need you to give me Alex's number so I can give her the heads up."

"Yeah all right, hold on a sec." She held her phone out in front of herself as she scrolled through her contacts list, eyes flickering between the dark road and the bright phone screen. She pursed her lips together tightly and let out a long, tired, nervous breath. It was always only a matter of time before the dark caught up and swallowed a hunter whole. However, today wasn't gonna be that day. Not if she had anything to do with it.

* * *

**Room 121**

Alex gasped loudly underneath him, whimpering anxiously as he took her higher and higher… skin to skin, body to body—she had _missed this_ so much, she had needed this _so much_. His mouth came to hers yet again, briefly capturing the increasingly loud moans she was emitting. Clinging to him with everything she had, needing him as close as possible, she didn't care about anything but what he was doing to her right now. He was breathless as he ravished her. She felt the rising finish begin to come over her abruptly. She cried out helplessly as ecstasy began to wreck her; she groaned out as he carried her through the rolling tide of bliss; and then he too lost composure and began to crumble. He moaned in soft distress over and over again against her neck, his hands tight and hard on both her upper and lower back as he crushed her underneath himself, filling her every sense. Waves of pleasure kept crashing over them and she was holding on for dear life, so overwhelmed by the intimacy they shared, so overcome with feelings of safety and wholeness and belonging.

Spent, Alex collapsed down onto the bed shaking and winded, looking up into his face breathlessly… and when their eyes met, she wondered why she suddenly felt so sad. A faint sense of inexplicable disappointment and doubt grew. She reached up and hesitantly brushed some of his dark hair away from the side of his forehead, her features twisting into a confused frown. Something was... _wrong_. It felt like any moment he might slip away. "Cas?" she asked him softly. Her voice sounded far away and she was beginning to feel more and more afraid because something was _off_ , and where had he even come from?

She couldn't remember anything and felt disoriented, and then Cas visibly began to withdraw from her and became emotionally cold. Fear struck her like lightning, panic rose. "Don't go, don't _leave_ me," she insisted and begged at the same time, trying to clamp her panicking arms around his torso to keep him there with her.

"Let go of me," he said flatly. His voice wasn't right.

No— _no_! "You promised you wouldn't leave me—you promised!" she said, voice rising hysterically. Just as she feared, he looked down at her uncaringly, like her words meant nothing to him. He thought she was pathetic and she could see it in the expression on her face. But—he had just looked at her like he loved her, what had she done? _Why_? He tried to move away but she held on tighter, increasingly alarmed, crying now, desperate to keep him there with her.

"Please Cas, tell me why, what I did—no, _don't go_!" He tore himself out of her arms and she felt naked and betrayed, the room seemed too big and empty, sounds echoed loudly, the floor tilted sideways, he was walking away and all she saw was tan trench coat and she couldn't get to him or grab onto him to make him stay. She tried to call him but her voice was gone, she tried to run after him, but she was held down by an invisible force.

_Come back—why are you leaving? You can't leave me!_

A loud ringing, buzzing noise sounded beside her head. What the… Alex jolted awake without warning and was very jarred as she realized that she'd been asleep. What had just happened with Cas had all been a dream. A very realistic... very _convincing_ dream. She was deeply upset, out of breath, and her heart was racing in fear and panic caused by the dream-turned-nightmare. There was an immediate and strong sense of being tricked and she was _angry_ as she listened to her phone ringing and vibrating loudly beside her head. She sat up in a jerky motion and snatched her phone up, scowling at the screen. Unknown number. Churlish—short on sleep (she never slept restfully anymore) and in a foul mood in general these days, Alex threw the phone back in the direction of the bedside table. It hit the side of the table and there was a loud crack. _Whatever._

She cast glances around the dark motel room and saw that Jamie still wasn't there—she sometimes stayed gone overnight. Glen was overseas and had been for the past four weeks, there was no telling when that giant dumbass would be back.

Alone. She was alone, it was four in the morning, and she could already tell getting back to sleep wouldn't happen. Giving a charged sigh, Alex swung her legs over the side of the bed and rested an elbow on each knee, tiredly scrubbed her face with both hands, trying not to think about her very hot and heavy dream or the part where it crashed and burned and the rejection and abandonment happened.

She dreamt of Cas often—seemingly unable to escape thoughts of him even in sleep. Some nights she dreamed that he stood very far off and she tried to get to him but he would look back at her scornfully then break her heart when he told her to stop following him and that he was done with her. Yet some other nights she dreamt the opposite, that he came to her and held her, stroked her hair and was gentle, kind, and reassuring. Telling her that he just had to "stay away awhile longer." Sometimes he was far away and they couldn't get to each other but she could _feel_ that he loved her, that he longed for her like she longed for him. And other nights still she dreamed things like she had tonight… things that left her frustrated and empty and aware of how alone she was. Aware of how utterly heartbroken.

It had been two months since she'd seen Cas so briefly. Since he'd appeared and saved her from Nandriel then flung her into the middle of nowhere and disappeared again without explanation. She _ached_ , mind, heart, spirit for understanding, for _him_. She hated this reality. She told herself over and over that she was fine.

But she got further and further from _fine_ the harder she tried. One night recently, she'd thought of trying to kill herself just to see if he'd come, she'd glanced at her gun sitting there on the nightstand and then she'd balked at herself. The things she was doing lately scared her. The things she was thinking. Alex was fighting harder and harder against the realization that she needed someone to help her—that Jamie and Glen were okay but not right, they were a bandaid solution to a deep, abiding wound Alex carried around. Jamie was as closed off as Alex was past a certain point and both of the women had a silent understanding that neither wanted to bridge that gap between them. They were partners more than anything else, working well together, and they left it at that and stayed surface level. Then there was Glen. He was difficult to pinpoint, all over the place, more concerned with having fun and pursuing whatever interested him at the time, in getting thrills and taking crazy risks for kicks… in flirting with her constantly and trying to get her to go out with him. She rebuffed him time after time, sometimes flattered by it, other times pissed off by his devil-may-care attitude and over the top propositions. Alex didn't really identify with him or understand how he could be so freewheeling. But he was. Sometimes she wished she could be like him, because he never seemed to be upset by anything.

These days she was always tortured by _everything_ but repeatedly squashed it down further and further, refusing to acknowledge the reality that she was falling apart. She wished she couldn't feel a damn thing. Dean had said that once. And as much as she wanted him... she didn't want to be the burden he carried anymore.

She thought of her twin every fucking day. Sammy's death had changed everything. _Everything_. The pain of losing her twin was still as fresh as it had been the day she'd woken up and subsequently realized he had taken Lucifer from her, saved her, and damned himself in her place. How was she supposed to ever be okay after that? Knowing that her error in judgement had cost her brother his life? The survivor's guilt was staggering. Sometimes she blessedly forgot everything for a little while and didn't think about reality for a few moments, then was without warning was blindsided all over again at the thought that _Sammy was dead_ and how she'd never see him again. It was a weight she carried with her every day. Alone.

She wished so badly for a chance to do everything over again.

She sighed loudly in the silent room, frustrated with herself, depressed and not sure what she was really doing anymore. Her phone was buzzing again and she sent a resentful look in the obscure direction of wherever it had landed. Alex got up and made some coffee, trying not to think about how miserable and pointless her existence had become. She just focused on making the coffee, even though as she did that, she thought of how she wanted something else to drink, something thicker and more ruthless, something that would make her mind spike and adrenaline surge, her body feel invincible and powerful. _You just had some yesterday. Get a grip._

Gritting her teeth, Alex wondered if she had a death wish and tried not to think about what she realized was honestly a full-on addiction… unaware of how she was being watched, carefully, by enemies she'd unknowingly made five years ago. Unaware of how interesting things were about to get.

* * *

In the back of a dim van, Dean made the phone call and held his breath. The phone rang about six times and then he got a generic, robotic voicemail message prompt. Not what he'd been hoping for. His stomach turned unpleasantly. Why couldn't she answer the phone? Was she okay? Had those sons of bitches already gotten to her?

"Please leave your name and number after the beep," said the default voicemail robot. _Beeeep._

"Al, it's me, you need to call me, _now_. It's not safe—you're in danger. Just _call_ _me_ as _soon_ as you get this, okay?" He recited his number for her and hung up, feeling a million times more anxious. What if she didn't check the voicemail? Maybe he should call again. He did, tapping his fingers anxiously on his knee, feeling a little on the insane side, thinking that maybe she just hadn't heard it ringing or something. Again, no answer. "Dammit," he muttered, then hung up and tried again, twice more. No answer either time. He could barely handle his frustrated anxiety.

"No answer?" Sam asked.

Dean looked sidelong at his brother—still unable to believe this was _actually happening_ and that he was with Sam at all. "No," he confirmed a little guardedly, the reality of the situation hitting him all over again. "No answer." He looked at his living, breathing, in-the-flesh brother. He was still having major issues believing this was real life. Today had been completely baffling and shocking to say the least.

Sam showing up out of nowhere and saving Dean's friggin' life from a djinn poison overdose.

Sam being _alive_.

Sam having _been_ alive for the entire past _year_.

That was the punch to the gut: finding all of that out and then learning how Sam had been hunting with the Campbell family the entire time and how he hadn't even bothered to let Dean know he was above ground again. Instead, he'd defected and decided to join up with a tiny little group of some of Mom's distant relatives who they'd never even known about. One of them was Samuel Campbell... their grandfather... who was supposed to be _dead_ , who died in the 70's after Azazel killed him. Apparently he was in the same alive-without-explanation club that Sam was in. The theory that Sam and Samuel explained to a very upset and shaken Dean was that whatever had resurrected Sam had also resurrected Samuel. The question was why? Who had resurrected the two of them, and what did they want?

The situation was fishy and crazy and had Dean all kinds of freaked and suspicious. For the first couple minutes when he first saw Sam, he had thought he'd died and was in Heaven or Hell. But then Sam had told him _no Dean, you're still breathing air and walking topside_ — _I'm back._ And it _was_ Sam… Sam had proved it with the typical tests: silver, salt, holy water. He wasn't a demon, he wasn't a skinwalker, he wasn't a shapeshifter. He was… him. And he'd been here a whole friggin' year, never once bothering to let Dean know it. That was the single thing Dean could _not_ get over.

" _You been back practically this whole time?!" Dean asked in disbelief, staring at the brother he'd believed to be dead and lost forever until two minutes ago. "What, did you lose the ability to send a friggin' text message?!"_

_Calm and somber, Sam fixed Dean with an emphatic gaze. "You finally had what you wanted, Dean."_

" _I wanted my_ brother _, alive!" Dean exclaimed in hurt protest._

_Sam shook his head slightly, maintaining his correcting tone. "You wanted a family. You have for a long time, maybe the whole time. I know you. You only gave it up because of the way we lived. But you had something, and you were building something. Had I shown up, Dean, you would have just run off. I'm sorry. But it felt like after everything, you deserved some regular life."_

_Dean scoffed, trying to work through his jumbled thoughts and how he had the very clear cut instinct that what Sam was saying wasn't the whole truth. "Okay great, fine—" he said testily. "Then why didn't you look up Alex and drag her into this little thing you got going, huh? She's been hunting, too."_

_Sam's face gave away nothing, he shrugged mildly, not concerned. "I tried to find her once, but… I guess she didn't wanna be found."_

_Dean had the distinct impression that Sam was lying. But he hadn't called him on it. He'd just said something like "well that's just friggin' great, Sam."_

Flabbergasted didn't even begin to explain how Dean felt right now. That, and out of his _mind_ with anxiety. The djinn that had come after him weren't playing around—they'd dosed him up real good, made him see all kinds of insane shit, then Sam had appeared out of thin air and stabbed Dean with a needle full of some kind of antidote Samuel had. If not for his brother, Dean would have died. Apparently these djinn weren't like the other ones Dean had run into before. These new ones looked like humans, were fast and strong, and most importantly they were out for revenge against Dean and his family. Several years ago, the Winchesters had killed a djinn that captured and almost killed Dean—and now, apparently, that djinn's kids were out for revenge.

The second Sam and Samuel had explained the situation to him—that Sam had been hit by these djinn just a few days ago, that Dean's poisoning was not the last and Alex was most certainly next—Dean had gone into overdrive, making arrangements for Gwen—another Campbell relative he didn't know or trust but _had_ to for the sake of emergency—to take Lisa and Ben to Bobby's for safekeeping in case the djinn came back around and realized Dean wasn't dead after all.

"Hey man can you drive faster?" Dean asked loudly. The van wasn't going quickly enough, every spare second they could gain might save his sister's life.

In the driver's seat of Samuel's van, Christian—some third cousin or crap like that—glanced back. " _Relax_ ," he said, not shy about letting Dean know the command got on his nerves. Dean had disliked the guy from the get go, but that feeling of distaste only grew at the snide comment.

Samuel glanced back at Dean, a little less passively aggressive hostile than Christian. He was a tall, imposing man with a shining bald head and dark eyebrows. "Take it easy, Dean," he said steadily and confidently. "As long as they did what you said, she'll be fine."

Dean didn't believe in guarantees and knew how things could and _did_ go wrong constantly in this line of work. He didn't appreciate being told to calm down... Alex and Jamie were in danger and Glen too if he were there—he'd forgotten to ask. Dean glanced at Sam, wanting someone to back him up on how they needed to _hurry_ —but Sam wasn't even looking at Dean, he was scrolling around on his phone. Dean almost did a double take. Sam looked almost _bored_. Indignant, Dean looked at his brother crazily. "What's your _problem_ , man?"

Sam looked up neutrally. "What do you mean?"

"Why am I the _only_ one freaking out over this?" Dean asked, pretty sure he wasn't nuts to be concerned here.

Sam seemed to be humoring him at this point. He gave a short little derisive laugh and patted Dean on the shoulder. "Dean. Relax. Don't lose your head. It's been awhile since you've hunted," he said, holding Dean's gaze almost patronizingly. "Keeping your head is the most important thing. You know this."

Dean was mystified and angry all at once. "Yeah but… this is our _sister_ we're talking about," he protested.

Sam nodded and shrugged. "I know. And she'll be fine. Just calm down, Dean." He went back to his phone and Dean made a face. What the hell was going on with these people?

* * *

**Room 121  
**

"Alex will you _stop_?!" Jamie urged, blocking Alex's way out of the motel room. "Just wait for your brother to get here—"

"Jamie, if I don't go out there and take care of this, those blue-eyed djinn assholes are gonna start trying to lure me out, and you know how they're gonna do that?" Alex was intense. "Using people. _Innocent_ people." She clenched her weapon tighter, wishing Jamie would just _move_. "We've waited long enough for him to get here and I'm not risking it—and besides that: I don't _need_ him to rescue me!" She sounded bitter then almost threatening when she spoke again. "Now get out of my way."

Jamie tried again as Alex made to move forward, blocking her strongly. "You can't kill these things without a silver blade dipped in lamb's blood," she protested, then eyed the dark steel scimitar Alex held at her side adamantly. "Which is not _that_."

Alex smirked despite herself. "Yeah, well, pretty much everything dies when you cut its head off," she replied darkly. "Now _move._ "

Jamie gave up but wasn't happy about it. Alex brushed past her and left the motel room.

Striding out into the middle of the mostly-empty motel parking lot, Alex looked at the djinn she'd spotted off across the street. He was young and his head was shaved, he stood there with his hands in his pockets, his arms were covered in bright unnaturally blue tattoo patterns. She wondered if he were the one who tried to kill Dean. "I'm right here, you sons of bitches!" she shouted, glancing around for the other ones now. "Come and get me!"

"Well, well," came a female voice and Alex turned sharply. "Finally decided to come out and play." A tall young woman with curly brown hair and beautiful features stepped out from where she'd been lurking on the other side of Jamie's big SUV. She wore a tank top and her bare arms had bright blue tattooed swirls and abstract lines that reached to her elbows.

Alex looked her up and down calculatingly. "You know, you could have come to the door and _knocked_ instead of skanking around out here in the dark like a freak."

"Where would the fun be in that?" the female djinn replied, matching Alex's cynical tone. The cool hatred wasn't hard to miss. "Allow me to introduce myself," she said snidely. "I'm Brigitta. You and your asshole brothers killed my father…" her faux smile faded. "And I've been waiting a long time to meet you, Alex."

Alex was up for the challenge and felt herself smiling ominously. She gave a dark little chuckle. "I bet you have." She lowered her chin slightly, tensing, adrenaline surging—this was the only time she felt alive anymore, when she was about to kill something. "Are you gonna _cry_ like your daddy did when I stabbed him in the back?" Fury flashed across her opponent's face and Alex lashed out abruptly, slashing at Brigitta who jumped back and dodged the blow just barely, grabbing Alex's wrist with surprising deftness before she slammed her up against the Tahoe and grabbed her neck crushingly. She held her wrist against the car, preventing Alex from hurting her.

"I'd heard _you_ were the one who killed him," Brigitta spat through bared teeth. "So this is for my father you _bitch_." The blue tattoos on her arms suddenly began to grow, expanding and curling down from her elbow to her forearm, her wrist, then her hand. Alex felt a strange burst of unpleasantness coming from from the source of the djinn's hand, seeping into her veins and bloodstream. But then the poison stagnated and fizzled out, not achieving its intended goal. Alex felt herself smiling at Brigitta who frowned in confusion, startled at the lack of reaction.

"Sorry, sweetie," Alex said in a low, cool voice. "Must be my _diet._ " Even more confusion, and then fear filtered across the djinn's face, and Alex's smile was gone. In its place, cold-blooded murder. "I heard _you_ tried to kill my _brother_ ," she growled, face darkening. "That was your dad's same mistake." In a burst of adrenaline and vengeance, she broke the grip holding her down by violently grabbing onto Brigitta's wrist and twisting it hard enough to break. When the djinn doubled over, stumbling back as she cried out in pain, Alex raised her foot up and kicked her adversary hard in the stomach, shifting her grip on her weapon into both hands. She mercilessly bore down on her enemy, destruction humming through her veins. It happened too fast for Brigitta's two nearby brothers to stop—Alex's scimitar slashed horizontally through the air and found its mark, sent Brigitta's head flying off her body with a sickening thwack sound.

The headless body fell sideways and Alex stood over it, blade in hand, then turned to look over her shoulder where a very angry young band male djinn was quickly coming at her, his hand outstretched, absolute rage filling his face. Alex turned to face him and meet the attack head on, didn't see the other brother behind her, wasn't aware of his presence until he abruptly grabbed her even as the bald one did what his sister had and shoved his hand at her neck, choking her.

This time, the djinn's poison seemed to have a mild effect on Alex, who wavered and became woozy. And then suddenly Jamie was standing next to her and had grabbed the djinn's bare wrist in a brazen, iron-like grip.

" _Cede mihi ingenium!_ " Jamie exclaimed, her voice crackling with power and her face filled with a startling fierceness, a brutal concentration. A sudden wind blasted across them, sending Jamie's fair blonde hair blowing away from her face—and her eyes glowed blue for a brief moment, just like a djinn's would—confusion filled the djinn's face as she held her grip on his forearm and strange dark veins began to grow underneath the place where Jamie's hand gripped. Alex could have laughed in her quickly-increasing state of delirium. _That's right you dicks, I have a witch in my back pocket. What now?_

Her attacker's blue tattoo marks were gone and instead, they covered Jamie's arm and hand—she'd claimed his ability, however briefly. Alex began to feel clarity return even as the djinn Jamie refused to let go of began to fall to his knees underneath her relentless grip. She seemed to grow slightly taller and stared down at him then she began to shake with effort, as the veins that spread across his arms became bigger and bigger. His eyes rolled back into his head even as he overdosed on his own poison. He crumpled to the ground, dead, and Jamie, weakened at the use of magic and becoming affected by the djinn's poison stumbled, began to dry-heave, then fell onto all fours as the blue tattoos faded from her skin. She went pale and her eyes clouded over, milky white. She fell down and over onto her back, going still as blood trickled out of her nose.

Even as Jamie collapsed, Alex felt her blood trying to fight the poison. She struggled against the last djinn who had grabbed her neck from behind and wasn't letting go. He was letting every ounce of poison he possessed seep into her. He was strong, and the poison overloaded her system—Alex felt her heart speeding up to fatal rates, colors exploded strangely at the edges of her vision, and she thought, _hmm, the poison must really be working_. She began to hallucinate, seeing Dean and Sam running towards her. She heard one or both of them yelling—there were a couple other guys she didn't recognize with them. _Interesting_ , she thought sort of despondently.

Then the world faded out and she lost consciousness completely.

* * *

Alex blinked her eyes open in confusion. She'd been put onto a bed and was back in what looked like the motel room.

"Hey, hey, you with me kiddo?" Came a very familiar, very urgent voice. She felt a hand smacking the side of her face a few times, gently, repeatedly. She made a sound of protest and ducked her head away from the hand, trying to bat away her attacker, looking up and squinting through normalizing doubled vision. Then her heart went still when she saw who it was.

Bent over her with a hand on either arm as he looked down at her with heartwrenching amounts of relief flooding his face... her big brother. Her wooziness disappeared instantly and her eyes went wide. "Dean!" she exclaimed softly. Her heart seemed to soar out of her and she reacted on impulse, not thinking even for a second of the year-long separation or the tension between them. Just feeling happier than she'd ever been _ever_ to see her brother. She was already starting to sit up and as she did, he readily scooped her into a solid, relieved embrace, lifting her up into a sit-hug, his familiar big arms tight around her, one hand cradling the back of her head protectively—he made a soft relieved sound, and Alex hugged him around the neck and let out a shaky breath that was almost a sob. Her eyes squeezed close tight as she tried to reign in her suddenly unstable emotions, as she tightened her arms around his comforting, familiar shoulders. She couldn't stop the smile that broke her face even as the threat of tears loomed. For the first time in almost twelve months... she was completely okay. Just like when she'd been a little girl, she turned her head away from him, letting her neck nestle against his, her cheek on his shoulder. She didn't want to let go _ever_. She suddenly struggled against tears and clamped her mouth in on itself and felt one of his hands tighten on her back. Why the hell had she left him? It made no sense to her now. None at all.

She drew back but not too far, keeping her hands on either side of his shoulders, hardly able to believe he was really there, needing to make sure it really was him. He looked the same as she remembered… he looked fractionally older maybe and she didn't recognize his shirt, but it was definitely Dean and she didn't realize how much she'd missed him until right now. " _Hey_ ," she said softly, voice wavering with emotions.

His eyes were shining a little, he smiled at her. "Hey," he repeated softly. He didn't let go.

Alex looked at him wordlessly for a long few seconds, struggling a little with how to put it. "I'm… I'm _sorry_ ," she said, encapsulating all of it—everything she needed to say to him—into two words.

His little smile grew bigger and it was soft, tender the way he looked at her, and she saw that he didn't care about any of it. "Me too."

She opened her mouth to ask him what happened and what was going on—and then the door to the motel room opened. Alex's heart dropped out of her completely as a very familiar looking tall young man with longish brown hair walked in. _Sam!?_ Shock flooded her nervous system, then confusion, then understanding, all within the space of two seconds. Alex's face fell and she felt utter devastation come over her when she realized this wasn't real. She looked at Dean in dawning disappointment. "I'm hallucinating."

"No you're not," Sam replied factually. "It's me."

But even the way he said it was wrong. "Al," Dean said, catching her attention. He was serious and careful in the way he spoke to her. "We don't know how yet. But that _is_ Sam."

Alex shook her head and looked down, pulling away from Dean and into herself. "Come on guys," she said sullenly, mad she couldn't even enjoy her fantasies now. "I know how this works. Djinn poison you and as you overdose to death they show you either your worst fears or greatest desires…" she trailed off when the door opened again.

A tall, bald man who looked to be in his late fifties or early sixties came in followed by a shorter, brown-haired guy. Who the hell were _they_?

"Ganked that last one, cleaned up the other two bodies," said the bald one. What, the djinn? Alex stared in confusion.

"This is real," Sam said, again factual and sounding only mildly invested, drawing her attention again. "You _were_ poisoned but Samuel's antidote saved your life. And hers." Sam motioned briefly to somewhere beside Alex and she looked to see that Jamie was sprawled unconscious on the bed next to her.

Confusion overcame Alex even more strongly than before and she felt dumb, uncertain. "... _what_?" she asked uselessly, trying to make logical sense of what didn't make any sense at all to her. She looked at Dean for explanation.

"Long story," he said genuinely, carefully, like he was trying to break the news to her gently. "But… that's Sam. And he's alive. You're not hallucinating."

She looked at Sam again, mouth hanging open dumbly. That was Sam? And Sam was _alive_? Alex looked at Dean in rising horror, breathless and barely able to speak. "D-did you… did you make another deal?"

"No!" Dean said immediately, seeming to be shocked. He seemed to think of something with great amounts of sudden dread. "Wait, did _you_?"

She was offended by his question. "Of course not!"

Dean seemed to let out a breath he'd been holding and shrugged, shook his head, then looked over his shoulder at Sam with an air of brooding. "I dunno what to tell you. That's him." Her oldest brother sounded apprehensive about his statement but she didn't care or pay it mind—as if in a dream she stood, not even realizing it, staring at her twin in quickly heightening emotion— _that was Sam—and Sam was alive—and it was all okay somehow oh my god!_ He smiled sort of pleasantly as she walked the five steps separating them in a dazed shock then slammed into him and hugged him for all she was worth, suddenly breathing hard and noisily, sort of like Sam did sometimes. She felt him hug her back, but it was weird. It didn't feel right. She pulled back and looked at him questioningly. Why was he so calm and not overjoyed to see her too? As quickly as she'd been overcome with relief, she was overcome with an inexplicable suspicion.

"Good to see you, Alex," he said.

 _Good to see me?_ Alex stared with a frown that grew deeper with every heartbeat. "...H-how long have you been back?" she asked dubiously, suddenly feeling uncomfortable.

Sam made a nonchalant face, seemed to be preparing for some fallout. "Uh, like eleven months now I guess."

Her stomach dropped and eyes bugged. "Eleven _months_?" Aghast and floored, she could barely process. "You've been topside for eleven _months_?" She turned accusingly. "Dean did you know this?"

"I found out today," he told her, letting it be known with his tone of voice that he wasn't happy, either.

Alex looked back at her twin, utterly betrayed and flustered with bewilderment. "Then where the hell have you _been_? Why'd you let me think you were dead this whole time? I _mourned_ you Sam, I wanted to _kill_ myself some nights because I thought you were…!" She trailed off. He had the audacity to look slightly confused at her reaction. Anger overcame Alex, beginning to make her voice rise. "And you're just… _fine_?" Didn't he know or care about the _hell_ she'd been through?

"Look, I should have found you," he said, not rising to her level of emotion. "I tried, okay? But you didn't wanna be found."

She stepped back from him and looked him up and down with narrowed eyes. "And Dean?" She challenged. "Why didn't you find him? What's your excuse for _that_ one?"

Sam shrugged reasonably. "He had Lisa. He didn't need me and I wasn't going to drag him back into the life. I wanted to hunt."

" _You_ wanted to hunt," Alex repeated incredulously. No. That didn't make sense. Sam had always wanted out of this life. She looked at the two silent men who'd come in after Sam had, and she was irritated. "And who the hell are these guys anyway?!" She jabbed a hand out at them rudely.

Dean, who'd stood up when she had, came a little closer and motioned to the older man then the younger one with a dismissing wave. "Our grandfather, Samuel Campbell. And some third cousin removed something or another, Christian."

Alex looked at Dean in slow disbelief. "Samuel Campbell. The one who _died_ like forty years ago?"

Dean pulled a face like he thought the same thing she did—that it was crazy. "That's the one."

"Nice to meet you, Alexandra," Samuel said, stepping forward to shake her hand.

She took his hand doubtfully. He had a crushing grip. "It's Alex," she corrected curtly as he let go.

"You were named after my mother," he said, as if that gave him the right. "And isn't Alex a boy's name?" Alex withered. What the fuck?

"This is the two-thousands," Dean retorted on her behalf, trying to turn it into a joke as he walked forward to stand beside Alex, shoulder to shoulder. "We have the internet, and girls with boy names, Gramps. Listen, uh, you two wanna give me and my siblings a minute?"

Samuel glanced at Sam then Christian, sort of unhappy about the request, but he complied. "Sure," he said. Christian remained silent and shot Alex a look she didn't like. The two men left.

"Okay, what the _hell_ is going on here?" Alex asked as soon as the door shut, looking between both of her brothers, not sure what to think. She pointed at Sam and stared at Dean, harrowed. "How can he be back?"

"I asked myself the same question," Sam said, not giving Dean a chance to reply. "I woke up in that field, the place where I died and… no clues. Nothing. I called Cas, he wouldn't answer, I tried Bobby—"

"Bobby _knew_?" Dean asked, looking at Sam with a shocked expression. Alex was similarly confounded.

"Yeah," Sam confirmed to Dean's chagrin.

"...So you and Bobby were _both_ in on keeping me and Al in the dark?!"

"If you have to put it that way, then yeah," Sam replied unemotionally. "I was trying to do what was best for you, Dean. Like you've always done for me."

"And you really were _fine_ with letting me think you were dead this whole time?" Alex interjected, catching her twin's attention. She was hurt deeply and felt like she didn't even recognize the young man in front of her. Flabbergasted didn't even begin to describe her mindset. Heartbroken was more like it. Her eyes stung. "Sam—how _could_ you?"

He took in a deep breath, looking off and over her head into far distance like he was making a concerted effort of some kind to think. "Look, I remember killing you, okay?" He asked—and he seemed put on the spot, uncomfortable, ready to stop talking about it. "And I thought maybe you wouldn't want to see me."

Deeply offended at his sweeping assumptions, Alex crossed her arms, becoming defiant. "You didn't think maybe I'd blame myself for all of it? Spend day and night _grieving_ you? You didn't think maybe you should just let me know you were still kicking; that you owed that to me after everything that happened?" He shrugged at her questions as if he had no answers for her. Alex shook her head, getting mad at his near-apathy. "That wasn't _you_ who killed me. That was _Lucifer_. And you sound like you're making excuses." She paused and tried to reel herself in and calm down while gathering more information. "What do you remember? About the cage?"

He shrugged his mouth downward briefly. "Nothing, thankfully."

 _Nothing._ She glanced at Dean. He was as disquieted as she felt. There was a tense silence in the room and none of them said anything for a long moment. Was Sam acting this way because he _did_ remember and it was so horrible he had to disassociate? Was this really Sam at all?

"So... what now?" Sam asked, breaking the silence and looking at his siblings in mild expectancy. "We're probably gonna hit the road," he said, gesturing with a jerk of his thumb in the direction Samuel and Christian had disappeared in. "You two wanna join us, or…?"

Alex was astounded at his casual question. "What, just like that the gang's all back together?"

"Why not?" Sam asked.

"Oh, let me _think_ ," Alex said sarcastically—had he not been listening to what she said? She could literally punch him in the face and the temptation was too great for her to resist. She turned around, forcing herself to calm down. It was then that she remembered Jamie and went over to check on her. The blonde was breathing normally, her color was good again and her pulse was fine, and looked like she'd start to come around soon.

"You, Dean?" Sam asked, behind where Alex was bent over Jamie. "You coming with us?"

Dean glanced at Alex and then hedged. "Uh… no. Don't think so. I gotta go get Ben and Lisa and take them home and… honestly man, I think that's where I'm supposed to be. With them."

"But you told me earlier that you were bad news for them, that—" Sam started, piquing Alex's interest.

"I know I did," Dean cut him off. "But I changed my mind. I gotta take care of my business, you know? And… they're my responsibility now."

Sam was quiet for a minute, thinking and somewhat imperious. "You're really going to endanger them again like that?" He asked. "Wasn't this some kind of wakeup call for you?"

Dean was a little insulted at Sam's very blasé question. "What, you're suggesting I leave them alone and unprotected? I made them vulnerable the moment I knocked on their door." He paused, and Alex saw how jaded and burdened he was. "I can't undo that."

Sam nodded and took it in stride, not seeming to empathize with him or pick up on the slightly divided mindset Dean was in. "Right. Well, I understand. But if you change your mind, lemme know." He paused and when Alex looked at him, Sam amended his statement. "And you too, Alex." She could tell he didn't give a shit either way and it hurt, it _confused_ her. This was beyond disappointing and devastating.

The only thing that made it better? At least Sam was the only one acting like he couldn't care less—Dean looked at her and shrugged his arms out briefly. "Guess that means you're my ride," he said to her. "If that's okay with you," he added quickly. He was hopeful and looking at her with a mixture of nervousness and wavering optimism—he seemed to doubt she would go for it, but tried anyway, putting on a brave little smile. "You uh... you wanna go see Bobby?"

He wanted to spend time with her and it warmed her heart. Despite everything, Alex felt a soft little smile on her face as she looked at him—she'd spent the better part of a year trying to avoid Dean but now that he was here, all she wanted was more time together. Her throat was thick with emotion she tried to play off. "Sure. Road trip." He smiled back, relieved.

Sam looked between them and seemed to be unsurprised at their obvious bond. "Well, guess that's my cue." But it wasn't sarcastic or passive aggressive. It was matter-of-fact. "You guys call me if you need anything," he said, then glanced at Alex on his way out. "Dean's got my number." 

He left just like that, leaving Alex to stare after him strangely. "Yeah, bye," she said hollowly after he shut the door. She looked at Dean wordlessly.

"I know," he said, then looked at the door Sam had just walked through. "Trust me, I _know_. Sam's… off."

"Try factory reset—" Alex looked at her brother in concern. "Are you _really_ sure that's even him?"

Dean shrugged and frowned, just as confused as she was. "Yeah. Salt, holy water, silver… all Sam."

Alex frowned too and looked down, mind racing with theories and most of all, deepening disappointment. "I don't get it."

He didn't answer. She looked over at him questioningly and saw that he had other things on his mind. He had this sort of happily disbelieving smile on his face. It was like how he'd looked at her when she'd first come to. "I'm really glad to see you, Al," he murmured, and she saw how he was trying to hide his deeper emotions to avoid making things uncomfortable with how much he meant it. He gave a soft little self-conscious laugh and looked down at his shoe, face working oddly. "You got no idea how much I missed you."

She nodded, similarly unable to look at him, especially when he looked up at her sort of sidelong from the corner of his eye. "Me too," she admitted, feeling oddly transparent under his studious gaze. Her avoidance seemed to inspire worry in him.

He faced her fully and craned his neck down slightly, trying to look her in the eye. He had that gentle, questioning tone to his voice. "You okay?" He asked, paused, and clarified. "I mean, really."

She managed to raise her eyes up to look at his. "More or less."

A long, pained moan sounded and Jamie was stirring, drawing the attention of the two Winchesters. "What…" she mumbled, then made a sound like " _un-nnngh_ ," as she sat up stiffly and put a hand on her head. She half-glared as she clearly attempted to regain the ability to see straight—her hair was bushy on one side and her sullen expression was sort of humorous. Dean sauntered over to the side of the bed opposite of where Alex stood.

"Ah, well look who finally decided to join us," he quipped, earning a glare.

"What do you mean, _finally_?" she challenged grumpily. "You were later than you said you'd be."

Dean let her have that one. "Yeah, sorry. Apparently the Campbell side can't friggin' _drive_."

Jamie squinted a ridiculous amount, not understanding what he was referencing. "The what can't… _huh_?"

"Never mind," Dean said. "You got a little…" He pointed to underneath his own nose and she put two fingers to the same place on her face, withdrew her fingers and saw the blood. She fisted her hand up and dashed it away, immediately a little uncomfortable.

"You okay? Looked bad," Alex said—not asking outright. Dean _hated_ witches with a passion. Jamie caught the subtle question and looked at Alex sort of sidelong.

"Yeah, fine," she said, but she was distinctly frustrated. "I don't think I did it right though."

It was Dean's turn not to understand a reference. "Didn't do what right?"

"Drop kick that djinn in the face," Jamie lied easily, smiling somewhat facetiously at him then glancing at Alex again. Alex saw the veiled nervousness in Jamie's eyes and hoped her expression conveyed herself properly: she wasn't gonna out her to Dean. After all, it wasn't exactly public knowledge that Jamie was a witch.

Alex couldn't quite figure out the backstory there either. Most witches belonged to covens or ran in duos. Jamie was a lone wolf who often seemed to be negatively affected when she used magic—nosebleeds, fatigue, passing out. After expressing concern the first time it had happened, Jamie had told Alex that she was sort of new at being a witch and still learning. From what Alex had seen, she was indeed very powerful but definitely inexperienced. Alex wasn't totally sure about her theory but she definitely got the feeling Jamie was not proud of her abilities and struggled with the idea of being a witch. Alex was curious—because witches became witches by choice—but she didn't ask about it. It was quite clearly a closed topic and painful subject for whatever reason. 

Dean was shaking his head, oblivious to Alex's thoughts. He was looking at Jamie sort of lecturingly, but it wasn't without mild concern, either. "I told you not to go out there, I _specifically_ told you." 

Alex cut in, taking the blame—after all, it _was_ her fault. "I got tired of waiting and you know, when Jamie told me they tried to kill you…" she trailed off and almost smirked, a little prideful and gloating. " _Well._ "

Dean didn't seem to share her slightly cocksure triumph. "That was reckless as hell—I don't know why you two are still alive if you're pulling risks like that." He didn't rage at her, he seemed genuinely concerned and reasonable. Alex was distinctly surprised and impressed. Maybe he'd changed this past year. 

"Yeah, well, we must be doing _something_ right," Jamie said lightly, covering for Alex and effectively telling Dean to leave it alone. Alex sobered a little bit when she looked at Jamie again. If not for Dean, Jamie would be dead right now. Alex hadn't asked for Jamie to come out with her, she'd been prepared to face all those djinn on her own, see what happened, cut the heads off a couple of them if she was lucky. She'd gone out there not caring if she lived or died, only wanting to even the playing field a little bit. It was kind of shameful, really, how mindless she let herself become sometimes.

Alex crossed her arms self consciously. It _was_ a miracle she'd lived this entire year—she'd been reckless and volatile. And tonight—Jamie running out there and saving her ass and almost dying in the process—was a reminder that she needed to dial it down. A little chastised, she averted her gaze. She heard her brother chuckle in amusement, his focus elsewhere.

"Need a hand, James?" Dean asked as Jamie began to clumsily swing her legs over the edge of the bed and prepare to stand. She gave him a supremely bitchy look at the nickname.

* * *

**About An Hour Later**

"Yeah, I'm just having a really hard time picturing you working a real job…" Alex said, teasing her oldest brother lightly. She blew on her coffee.

"Been there ten months now," Dean confirmed, raising his mug as if in salute at her from across the table.

She cracked a small grin, echoing his playful demeanor. "I'm impressed." She sat back a little in the booth opposite of him and shook her head in what seemed to be faint affection. "Look at you Mr. Normal Life."

He shrugged modestly and took a sip of his coffee. Alex was taking him to Bobby's—it was an eleven hour car drive and they'd stopped for some breakfast. He was finally getting up the nerve to ask her about what was really on his mind. He was careful, because he feared she might snap on him—however, so far, she seemed perfectly okay. Or maybe he wasn't good at reading her anymore. The past year had changed her a little. She looked good—tanner than he remembered her being, she'd gained some weight and looked healthy and more fit than she'd been the last time he saw her—she also looked tired as hell, but that was a given with the life she was living. She wore her hair in a tight ponytail which was new—but she dressed the same as she always had, jeans, boots, a plain shirt with a flannel over it, a jacket over that. She looked grown up, she looked her age. And it was bittersweet.

"Yeah—so I went all suburban and… you..." he paused, looking at her studiously, wondered about everything that had happened to her this past year. "You kept hunting."

Her eyes flickered up to his and she set her mug down, rubbing her thumb over the handle a few times, looking there instead of at him. "Not at first," she admitted slowly. "I tried real life for awhile, tried _not_ to hunt but…" she shrugged her shoulders and mouth at the same time, "normal didn't agree with me." She smiled sort of cynically. "I mean, it was never _that_ normal though. I got a few, you know, weird little jobs. Never got a place though… mostly lived in my car."

That detail broke his heart. " _Al_."

At his reaction she was markedly uncomfortable and avoided his gaze. "I didn't like staying in motel rooms. Alone." Oh god, well if he hadn't been brokenhearted a second ago, he was now and Alex saw the expression on his face and got mildly upset. "Don't do that, Dean. Don't guilt trip yourself for what I decided to do." She attempted an _everything's fine_ smile. "It wasn't a big deal."

He put his face in his hand for a minute and gathered himself, rubbing his forehead with his palm. It _was_ a big deal, but he withheld the urge to argue with her. He tried to stay reasonable and understanding, remembering the last time they fought. "Why'd you go?" he asked her despondently, seeing how she was reluctant to answer. "Really. After all this time… you owe me that at least."

Alex's pained eyes met his silently for a couple of beats. Her voice was barely audible and wavering when she spoke. "Do you hate me?"

A question that struck him right in the chest. He could only answer one way: readily and genuinely. "In no universe would that ever be possible, Al." Her features melted into hopeful relief and Dean sent him a small, wounded smile. "I do hate what happened, though."

She hesitated, then looked out the window beside their booth. She was silent for so long he thought she wasn't going to answer at all. Then she did. "I left because… well at first, I was just reacting. Everything was so wrong. Cas left, Sam died…" she looked down, deeply emotional but holding it back. "I couldn't handle it. I didn't know how to be around anyone with how sad I was and… I dunno. Grief makes people do weird shit." She looked back at him and chuckled ruefully in her throat, a halfhearted sound that tried to cover up her sorrow. "I mean, I tried summoning _Crowley_ and blackmailing him into raising Sam."

Dean looked at her with wide-eyed shock. "You _what_?"

"Didn't work," she said, then frowned, narrowed her eyes in thought. "I don't think." They exchanged a weirded out, contemplative glance. "Anyway," Alex said—they would have to work on that one later. "When that fell through… I was gonna come get you but… I saw you with Lisa and Ben and… I thought it was what was best for you." Dean made a slight face, unhappy with how both of his siblings had decided what was best for him without consulting him at all. Alex set him with a examining, questioning gaze. "Dean, you wouldn't have stayed with them if I was around. And… all these years it's like I was this load you had to carry and I mean, really—I'm an adult, you know? It was just time for us to separate." It must have been something about how he was looking at her, because she frowned, looked at him closely, softly. "Aren't you happy?"

What a loaded question. "Honestly?" He drew in a deep breath, eyes flickering back and forth across the table in front of him. And he said nothing else, drawing a blank. Yes and no. Mostly no. He wasn't sure how to answer so he just shrugged widely. His eyes jumped up to her, he was stuck on something else she'd said. "You're not—you never _were_ —a 'load' I carried. You're my sister. I'd do anything for you. You know that." He faltered a little. "I hope."

She looked at him with an unguarded gaze and reached across the table to squeeze his hand briefly. "I do know." There was a sadness there in her eyes and voice he didn't understand. 

"Blue plate special and the number four with extra bacon," the server announced, interrupting the moment. The siblings let go and sat back. The server set the heavy ceramic plates down and bustled off.

Dean poked at his sausage and bacon and Alex started to cut up the chicken portion of the chicken and eggs she got. It was quiet for a minute, then she cleared her throat. "So, Ben—must be like having a kid, right?" She was conversational if slightly timid and her eyes flickered up to him fondly. "I bet you're good at that."

Dean smiled a little, thinking of that awesome kid who he'd basically been a dad to this past year. "He's great."

"And Lisa?" Alex continued, chewing a mouthful of chicken now. "I mean, this has to be the longest you've ever been with anyone."

Dean contemplated a sausage he'd stabbed with his fork. There weren't as many feelings there as he thought there should be. "Yeah, it is and… it's… I dunno, uh, great." He paused. "She's a really great girl."

His sister gave him a dubious if amused look in the middle of running a piece of chicken through her runny fried eggs. "You're saying 'great' a lot." 

Dean stuck the sausage into his mouth. "Am I?" he asked, then turned it into a joke. "That's great." His sister just rolled her eyes in good humor at his stupid little pun and put a piece of chicken in her mouth, smiling faintly as she chewed.

The smile faded and after she swallowed, she got reflective and somber. "This is so crazy," she said introspectively, staring at her plate. "Seeing you again, seeing Sam. I still can't believe…" she paused and put her fork down, leaning an elbow onto the table in pensive thought as she fixed Dean with quite the curious frown. "You're _really_ not gonna go hunt with him?"

Dean worked his mouth in thought, trying to stick with what he knew was the right thing. "I meant what I said about Lisa and Ben. I have to take care of them. I put them in a lot of danger, you know? I'm thinking my hunting days are over." He tried a chuckle but it sounded hollow and Alex looked at him sadly. He looked down at his plate unseeingly. "I miss it sometimes, I'll admit. I miss it cuz it's something I know how to do." He paused, thought about it more. "Or I _did_. I'm rusty as hell." 

"You could jump back on the bike if you wanted to."

Dean hesitated. "Yeah, I dunno. I wouldn't want to unless it was the three of us again," he said, looking at her carefully for her reaction. "And with Sam not even sending a damn postcard to say he was outta Hell… I dunno. Kinda throws me off."

She nodded faintly and he couldn't tell if she was for or against the idea of the three of them hunting together again. "Yeah." She didn't invite him along to join her and when she didn't say anything else regarding the matter, Dean realized anew that this was probably it. The three of them living separate lives. Like normal grown up siblings did. He didn't like it though. Still, he tried.

They ate for a few minutes without saying anything, then Dean cleared his throat. He'd been thinking, for the silent portion, about what normal grown up siblings did, or were supposed to do. He felt insanely awkward suggesting this though. "So listen, you should visit sometimes," he said, trying not to think about what a weird time it'd be, how he knew it would all be some endless awkward thing. "You could come and stay, spend some time with Lisa and Ben, me?"

Alex glanced up at him, less than enthused, probably thinking the same thing that he was. "Yeah, uh, maybe."

 _Nope._ He couldn't do this—he'd tried, but it wasn't right. Dean huffed and set down his silverware, leveling her with a serious gaze, deciding to just be a hundred percent honest, tell her how it was—because if he didn't, he'd never know one way or the other. And more importantly, neither would she. "Okay, look," he said intensely, full of earnestness. "I'm gonna lay it out there. You say the word, Alex… I'm there. With you. Jamie and Glen, they're nice, whatever but—they're not family. They're not me." 

He saw a flicker in her eyes. She looked down, trying to hide it from him. She seemed conflicted. "I know. It's just… maybe _because_ they're not family is why… it sort of works."

That hurt to hear. But he soldiered through. "I know there were bad times but we always had each other's backs, right?" He paused, trying to get her to look at him. "And I mean, didn't the good outweigh the bad? In the long run?" He felt like he was literally holding his heart out to her and begging her not to squash it.

So when she looked at him with eyes that were maybe a little shinier than a minute ago and nodded, he felt himself get equally emotional. "It did," she said simply.

Dean cleared his throat and stabbed another sausage, tried to get it together. After a couple more minutes, he decided to chance asking her about what Jamie'd told him two months ago. Something he'd been wondering about. "Hey, so James said something to me—like you'd done some jacked up stuff to some Kitsunes or something, what was that about?"

Alex smiled softly, almost reminiscently, and Dean felt slightly taken aback. "I've always been a little twisted," she said vaguely, looking at him with unreadable eyes. "You know that."

They all had been, honestly. And something urged Dean not to ask about it anymore. Not yet. Instead, he backpedaled, switching subjects. "She seems like she's really chilled out. Gotten cool."

Alex looked at him briefly as she took another bite of eggs. "Who, Jamie? Yeah. She's not bad."

Dean paused, looking at Alex carefully. "And that Glen guy. What's his deal?"

There was a notable reaction to the question. "He's annoying and never there when you need him to be." Something about her tone, combined with his impression of Glen from two months ago made Dean look at his sister sharply.

"He a problem?"

Alex gave him a look. " _Dean_."

"I'm just asking," Dean said, slightly defensive, because he wasn't being unreasonable. "Got weird vibes from him."

Alex smiled sort of sadly at her brother. "You get weird vibes from _every_ guy who comes within ten feet of me."

Dean got quiet for a minute, deciding to take his chances. "Speaking of, uh… you heard from Cas lately?"

He saw how hurt and confusion flitted across her face, how she immediately became quietly distressed. She attempted to act nonchalant, uselessly slicing at chicken with the side of her fork. "Well. I've seen him _once_ all year. When he got me outta that jam with Nandriel." Her jaw tightened and she looked out of the window again, her fork going still on the plate. She looked so much older in that moment. "Other than that… he won't answer. I don't know why."

As opposed as he'd been to the angel and his sister being romantically involved, as much crap as he'd given the two of them, seeing how heartbroken she clearly was—even after almost a year—Dean meant it when he told her, "I'm sorry."

She tried to scoff and laugh it off but it was a miserable attempt and she got quiet then looked at him in clear heartbreak. "You were right," she said, and her voice was soft, hurt. "I think you were right. About everything." She looked down and he saw how much pain she was in.

He didn't know what else to do. One of her hands rested beside her plate and he reached over to put a reassuring hand over hers. "It'll be okay," he said, wishing he could guarantee that. "Give it time."

She again tried to laugh, but her eyes glittered with the beginnings of tears. "Do I have any other choice?" she asked, and he saw how hard this was for her. He wished she wasn't so tenderhearted, he wished he knew a way to take away the pain. It must have been a hard year for her—thinking Sam was dead, Cas ditching out like an asshole… and going through it alone with strangers. She'd needed someone and he could have been that someone. It hurt—this entire situation just fucking _hurt_. 

Alex drew her hand away from him and settled back into her booth to look at him silently for a long minute, visibly thinking about telling him something. "I really shouldn't have pulled a gun on you," she said after a moment. He heard how guilty she felt about it, how upset she still was. "Or said the things I said."

Dean decided that he had drawn enough pain out of her for that day and besides, he'd forgiven her. It had been a crazy time and they had both done crazy things. "It's okay. I deserved all of that," he told her, refusing to make her feel worse. Turning the conversation back to lightness, he sat back and wiggled his eyebrows at her, cracking a grin—the kind he knew she found impossible to resist. "Personally, I think you _should_ have shot me."

There it was. A small and hesitant, bittersweet smile. She tried to hide it. "You're not funny," she said, even though she was clearly cheered by the gesture.

"I'm hilarious," he corrected playfully, then picked up a couple slices of bacon and held them out to her. "Want some of my bacon?" He put it on her plate without an answer. "I know you do."

She looked at him with that same hesitant smile—like she thought she shouldn't be smiling but couldn't help it. That had been his job throughout the years… keeping her and Sam smiling and okay through the shit storms they'd faced. It felt good to be doing that again. 

For the first time in eleven months, Dean knew that he was somewhere he really did belong. And maybe it wasn't for long, because he'd be with Lisa and Ben again soon, but for now, he took it all in and as corny as it was, cherished the time together. As they made their way to Sioux Falls, Dean would make a million excuses to stop at this place and that place. Essentially he dragged his feet, prolonging the visit for as long as he could, trying to hang onto the life he'd lost as long as he could, trying to pretending that it was like it used to be: just him, his sister, and the open road.

* * *

**Three Days Later**

Tired from an eleven hour drive back and weary from all the thoughts in her mind, Alex knocked on the door to Room 213. "It's me, Jamie," she said, hefting her bag on her shoulder again. She heard movement within the room and stifled a yawn. She'd barely slept the past three days, that's how focused on spending as much time with Dean as possible she'd been. It had taken them nearly twenty-four hours to make the twelve hour trip to Sioux Falls because Dean had dragged his feet. Let's look at that overlook, he'd suggest, then oh, let's check out that record store and see if they have any cassettes. They'd taken so long that they ended up stopping at a motel for the night. They got a pizza and beer. It had been like old times… watching cartoons and then some old episodes of the A-Team. It had been surreal, comfortable and familiar. Alex kept catching herself getting really comfortable with it, then realizing this was temporary and reminding herself that she couldn't get used to it. Still. They'd made peace. And it had been really hard saying goodbye.

He'd said to her, more than once, that all she had to do was say the word. So she refused, because she really did believe that Dean should have the normal life he'd found. 

This was the way it was gonna be: Dean was with Lisa and Ben, Alex was with Jamie and Glen, Sam was… with that Campbell bunch. The more she thought about it the more depressed she got: Both Sam _and_ Cas had ditched her. Purposefully. She was pretty sure about that now. 

The motel room door swung open and instead of Jamie, there was Glen—cracking a crooked grin when he saw that it was her. He was wearing a black button up with sleeves rolled halfway up, dark jeans, and had a beer in hand—he looked like he'd never been gone at all. She was surprised into stillness. "You're back!"

"Just got in a few hours ago," he said, stepping aside to let her in and gesturing for her to come inside. He shut the door behind her when she was in. 

"Where's your sister?" Alex asked, noticing the distinct lack of Jamie in the room.

"Went to go get some food," he said offhandedly, following her into the room. "Need some help with that?"

She ignored his offer and slung her bag down on a bed, turning around to look at him. Glen was a talker, so she went ahead and asked before he could start bragging. "How was… wherever you went?" All she knew was he'd been 'overseas.'

He smiled to himself and he seemed to be pleasantly reminiscent. "Paris was great. Munich, loved it. Venice…" he shrugged, made a face, "sorta bored me."

Alex looked at him with reserved amusement. She wasn't sure if he were joking or serious. "Of _course_ it did."

He shrugged with dramatic humility, then looked at her significantly. "Jay told me about Dean and Sam. Crazy times."

Ha. That was putting it lightly. "Yeah, crazy times," she replied cynically, and turned around, beginning to look through her bag.

"So, I gotta know…" he said, coming up to stand beside her. He sounded pretty serious.

She glanced at him. "What?"

Never mind—he wasn't serious. He cracked a grin, his gray eyes crinkling up in anticipation. "On a scale of nine to ten, how much did you miss me?" Alex gave him a pointed look then walked over to the little motel dresser and stuck some of her shirts in there. He made an impressed face, watching her reaction. "That much huh?" he asked, not deterred as usual. He walked over to his matching black bags, dug around, and she glanced into the mirror that was on the dresser, watching him there behind her. "Swiped you something while I was over there," he said, much to Alex's chagrin. What _now_?

He came back over to her, a sparkly silver and diamond something in his hand. "No big deal, saw it, thought of you." He held it out in the palm of his hand. Alex balked. It was ridiculously ornate, a diamond necklace that obviously spared no expense.

"No big deal?" She repeated, then looked at him warningly. "Do I even wanna _know_ where you stole this from?"

He seemed to like her reaction. "Mm... probably not." He smirked, self-assured and cocky, then acted playfully wounded at her bitchface. "Come on, Alex, this necklace is awesome!" he protested.

She just made a face. _Why me?_ He did this often—brought her and Jamie alike things from his shadier hobby—stealing. He usually seemed to stick to the United States, stealing art and valuables from rich old money then reselling it, but the past month or so he'd been overseas, getting his thrills over there she guessed. The weird thing was he didn't even _need_ to steal, not for money anyway—Alex knew he and Jamie had both inherited some huge amount of money when their mom died, she knew they had a mansion somewhere, just not where—and while Jamie seemed to want to avoid that life completely, Glen wanted to steal from those who lived it. It seemed more like thrill-seeking than necessity, and it made Alex a little uncomfortable. Jamie didn't like it either, from what she'd gathered.

She didn't take the necklace from Glen, instead crossing her arms. "Okay, first… what on _earth_ possessed you to get this for me?" She gestured with one hand at the thing. "I mean, does this _look_ like something I'd wear?"

He looked at her with eyes too intense for her liking. "You _should_ wear it. It's the kind of thing a queen would wear." Cue another eye roll from Alex, then Glen cracking a grin as he grabbed her shoulders, turning her around to face the dresser mirror despite her soft protest. "Here, try it on," he said, and gave her no choice, looping it over her head, letting it rest across her upper chest just below the collarbone. He was close to her and she was uncomfortable at his closeness. He fixed the clasp, fastening it around her, then leaned down a little and looked at her in the mirror to smile briefly. "It looks great on you," he said, his voice a little softer and deeper than usual. "Knew it would." His hands rested on either of her arms and she was trying not to overreact. He wasn't being weird or creepy, he was semi-animated and friendly now, she was just being paranoid. "I thought you needed an upgrade," he said. "From that penny necklace."

At that comment Alex huffed and turned then began to take the diamond necklace off as she walked off from him—she wore that penny around her neck because it had meaning. More meaning than all the diamonds in the world. Cas had given it to her—one of the only things he'd had in his pocket at the time, but it had been his and he'd given it to her. He gifted her with it that day after she'd almost died in the Croatoan attack. Early this year she'd drilled a tiny hole into it and strung it onto a little chain. She wore it long, too, it usually wasn't visible, it typically rested down below her shirt. Close to her heart. She wondered, offhandedly, if she should stop wearing it. If what it meant wasn't real anymore. Had it ever been? Had he really loved her like she thought?

Glen watched Alex storm off a few steps and take the necklace off. "Really? No 'thank you Glen? You're so thoughtful, Glen'?" He teased.

She looked back at him with a wan expression. "N-ope," she said in clipped tones. "Think I'll stick with my ragamuffin penny necklace but…" she smirked cynically at him and held up the diamond necklace. She pretended to be really thoughtful and contemplative as she looked at the piece of jewelry with a dramatic frown. "I wonder how much this'll get me at the local pawn shop." She flashed him a facetious smile and wiggled her eyebrows just once.

Glen wasn't upset. Through an _I should have known_ smile, he shook his head and put a hand over his heart, pulling a wounded face. "Aw come on Winchester, you're breaking my heart," he said, looking at her with one of those little looks that was meant to charm her socks off.

"No I'm not," she replied blandly, giving him a half eye roll. He still hadn't managed to get a smile from her and he made an almost pouty face.

"Come _on_ , Al—what do you want from me?" he asked, lightheartedly playing up the hurt tones in his voice.

"Don't call me that," she said in all seriousness. She was increasingly exasperated with him. "I want nothing from you, dude. Like I keep telling you, _nothing_."

He dropped his more playful attitude for a minute. "Yeah you keep saying that but… I think we both know you want more than nothing from me." His eyes searched hers, his voice dropped a little lower, he stepped a little closer, his eyes flickered down to her lips. "I keep thinking about that kiss, don't you?"

She put a hand on her hip and fixed him with a crazy look. "Yeah, I do, specifically how I never _asked_ you for it." She shoved the necklace at him. "Keep this."

Glen didn't take it. He relented a little. "Come on sweetheart, you can do whatever you want with it, don't give it back to me."

"I don't _want_ it," she reiterated emphatically and shoved it at him again. 

He still didn't take the necklace back, just looked at her coyly, like he was enjoying the rise he got out of her. "Am I wearing you down, Alex?" he asked knowingly.

She flung the necklace sideways, voice rising an octave. "You're pissing me off!"

He grinned. "God, you're so cute when you're mad." 

She gave him an exasperated expression and then silently turned to walk out of the room. He watched her go, not bothering to even try and be appropriate, a smile tugging on his lips. 

For Glen Ward it was kind of hot actually how one minute she acted like she couldn't stand him—then he'd catch her looking at him sidelong like she was thinking about wanting him and fighting with herself over it. Glen enjoyed a little game of cat and mouse as much as any red-blooded guy did, _but_ … he _was_ getting close to feeling almost impatient.

He wondered if she was a lights off or lights on kind of girl. Well, he'd find out soon enough. He smiled to himself.

* * *

**Heaven**

It was all violence and chaos and disorder, endless conflict, death. Castiel was wearied down to his core and ready for it all to be over—however, no end seemed to be on the horizon, and the realization that everything had changed forever burdened him, wore him down. Heaven was eroding; it was a mere echoing impression of what it had been before. Cracked and crumbling, the days in Paradise bled into each other. The battles dragged on for what seemed an eternity and just as soon as one skirmish ended, another broke out. It effectively trapped Castiel in Heaven, crushing him underneath the weight of the duties he'd chained himself to the day he declared open war. But _that_ particular day there finally seemed to be a lull and Cas called his lieutenant the instant he realized he had been given an opportunity.

Rachel appeared before him. She, like him, looked wearied and worn. "You called me?" 

"Yes," Cas replied shortly. He didn't have much time and he was close to desperate. "I need to return to earth briefly."

Rachel's expression changed and she tilted her head to the side, becoming perplexed and dubious. "...Why? I thought you said it was too dangerous to see her right now."

She raised a good point and Castiel conceded it without question. "It is, but…" he trailed off heavily, losing his certainty as he descended into deep thought. There was an _instinct_ , a gut feeling that he _had_ to see Alex, and _now_. "I have no choice. I can't explain. I have a sensation of…" his frown deepened measurably, "... _foreboding_." Rachel only looked more confused and then mildly disagreeable. Castiel paid it no mind. "I have to go. Not for long. But in my absence, I'm leaving you in command." He turned to leave but Rachel stopped him, taking hold of his arm. He down looked at her hand oddly, then back into her face, bemused—she was going to question an order?

"Castiel… _brother_." She studied him carefully and let go of him. He could see that she was upset and perplexed. "You can't leave us _now_. You shouldn't be leaving at _all_." She paused and frowned at him, first giving the appearance of concern, then of rebuke. "You've been unfocused... distracted... making mistakes." A pointed pause and look. "Since the last time you went to earth." Her words struck guilt into Cas's conscience—he knew she was right. Rachel saw him falter and pressed. "I can't help but draw the conclusion that this _dalliance_ of yours is harming you and threatening the outcome of this war."

Bristling at the audacious comment and what it implied about Alex, Cas withdrew from his sister-in-arms and set her with a cold stare that was bordering on a glare. Whatever guilt he'd experienced was gone in the place of animosity. "I don't expect you to understand this, Rachel," he said churlishly. "I only expect you to do what I tell you." Again, he turned to go.

And again, her voice stopped him. She was louder this time, a little more urgent and assertive. "I've read the celestial commandments, Castiel. In depth. Perhaps you should, too." Her voice rose in pitch a little. "Do you even _know_ what your actions have cost? What you've set into motion?"

Castiel turned and looked at her sharply, suspicious. "What do you mean? What are you talking about?"

Rachel raised her chin and narrowed her eyes slightly. "I went to the throne room and read the commandments at length, something you should have done, I think, a long time ago." There was abruptly a certain note of haughty warning in her voice. "You should count yourself fortunate at how Heaven is in disarray. Under the old regime... you would have been cast out like _Lucifer_ for what you've done with her." Castiel looked at her with mounting trepidation—he wasn't sure what she was getting at, but again, a strange gut instinct came over him. An instinct of dread. Rachel was lecturing him at this point: "If an angel should fall to a human and sin with them— _sexually_ —" she said that word with a clear tone of disgust—"it results in eternal damnation of the human's soul and exile for the angel. Both are cast out of Heaven, _forever_."

 _Eternal damnation?_ Castiel faltered. No—he had never heard that before—that couldn't be true...! Shock and dread surged through him, panic rose at the blindsiding thought that maybe the one he loved had no Heaven because of _him_ —because of what he'd done with her. He could have fallen down from the amount of sheer horror crashing over him—and all he could think was that he would _never_ have touched Alex even _once_ if he'd thought _she_ would pay the price of his transgressions. Similarly horrifying, the thought that it was much too late, that he couldn't take back what they'd done together. His mind seemed to whirl around inside itself, a tornado of alarmed thoughts, of stumbling half-ideas of how to fix this, and then after that was the question of _could_ he fix this? How could he save her from what he'd done? He didn't know, but he _had_ to find a way, _had to_. Wasn't it enough that he had caused her to spend most of her life mute? Now he found out that he was the cause of her eternal damnation? All of that and the memory of seeing himself killing her in the year 2013 utterly destroyed him internally. He was a curse, an obscenity, a fool—

Oblivious to his absolute dismay, Rachel fixed him with a imperious look. "Is that why you're fighting this war?" she asked, assuming the opposite of what was true, interrupting his dread-filled thoughts. "To save yourself from exile, Castiel?"

He bristled anew, angry at levels he didn't even know possible. "I'm fighting this _war_ —" he said loudly, then stopped short. He almost said _because I need to save her_. He caught himself, though. "Because Raphael must be defeated and the apocalypse must not happen."

Rachel took in a deep breath, measuring herself as she looked around at the Heaven surrounding them—a playground—and then back to him. "Yes. That's what you keep saying." She implied what was true: that Cas was hedging, not being totally honest about his motivations.

He looked at her silently, jaw gritted, heart pounding uncomfortably fast as he struggled to comprehend and process what she'd told him about the celestial commandments and the punishments that were on his and Alex's shoulders. He didn't care about the fate that awaited him—let Heaven cast him down—but knowing he had caused his Alex never-ending condemnation was the most despicable feeling he had ever experienced. More than ever, he needed to find Joshua and try to speak with God, more than ever he needed to— _augh!_ —he and Rachel both winced in unison as a loud voice called to both of them specifically—Ezekiel, a foot soldier, urging them to come quickly. _No_ , Castiel thought despondently, knowing what the call meant. That he was needed, yet again, that another battle was about to begin. Rachel looked at him as if she were half-sympathetic, half-triumphant.

"See?" She asked softly. "You can't leave now—you can't leave until this war is won. Your place is here—God chose you for this. You're our commander—not _me_ — _you_ have to lead us and remain focused on our mission. You have to stop allowing this little affair of yours get in the way. You're an _angel_. You always will be. And your loyalty is to us."

Her words touched a nerve he hadn't even known to exist. "My loyalty is mine to decide," Castiel snapped, emotions raging. Rachel seemed surprised at his impassioned reaction. "That's what we're fighting for," he reminded her. "Freedom from the old ways." His voice was gruff with barely-withheld hostility—because to him, in that moment, Rachel was the one holding him back from Alex. That and he was so angry, so filled with abhorrence for himself and his mistakes, that the only tone of voice he could summon was baleful, the only thing he could feel was fury with himself and despair at what he had learned that day.

Rachel looked at him long and hard. "As true as that may be… that we're fighting for a new order in Heaven and for freedom… some things stand forever, Castiel." She almost seemed to pity him. "Do you _really_ think you can change what God has written into the fabric of eternity?"

Castiel's reaction was not what she had expected. "If I have to," he snapped, "I _will_." He met her surprised eyes with a deadly glare. "If he objects, let _God_ try to stop me." His eyes narrowed deeply, his jaw tightened. "No one else will—and even our father himself might not succeed." He turned away brusquely to leave.

Rachel's face was filled with disillusion and horror. "Castiel—you're close to blasphemy… this girl you're so consumed by isn't more important than the fate of the whole world!"

Castiel looked back at her unwaveringly, his face stormy and his voice trembling with dark fury. "She is to me."

And without a further word he disappeared from there, answering Ezekiel's call, his various angers and fears driving him to fight with more brutality than normal... the harrowing thought that he was the cause of everything that would destroy the woman he loved refusing to leave his mind even for a single second.


	50. The Babysitter's Club

_"_ _A baby is God's opinion that the world should go on."_  
\- Carl Sandburg

* * *

**Two Months Later**

Alex remembered that fateful night very often… it had, after all, changed her life completely, setting her onto the path she was on now, setting her at the top of a downward spiral. It stuck in her mind like glue, remaining in her mind perfectly preserved in excruciating detail: Chugging down a gallon of stolen demon's blood, sick and gagging the entire time, barely being able to keep it down, feeling its effects immediately—the dizzying rush of adrenaline and strength, the feeling of being outside of her head, the sensation of invincibility. It had all been to try and kill Lucifer. And in the end, Lucifer had instead killed her. And, Alex had thought for about a year, he had killed Sam too.

But he _wasn't_ dead. Two months ago to the day she'd learned Sam had been alive this _whole damn time_. The grief and guilt she'd shouldered the time between his supposed 'death' and the day he suddenly just walked into her motel room? All of that pain had been unnecessary. A fact which made her resent and almost hate Sam. How could he let her feel that way for a single day? That he was dead and gone and that it was her fault? It bothered her on every level and she had to know: _what had changed_? It had her all kinds of uneasy and worried about what happened to her twin. She hadn't heard from him since that night with the djinn attack. Another stab to the back she tortured herself over.

However, Dean was a different story. Alex and her oldest brother now called each other every few days and texted in between. She was even supposed to go visit him and Lisa in a couple weeks. He had just moved himself and Lisa and Ben to a new and 'safer' neighborhood. Alex was a little apprehensive about the upcoming visit to say the least—she wasn't sure what Lisa and Ben would think of her or if she'd fit into the family environment. What did normal people do in their free time, anyway? She had no clue.

Things were sort of predictable on the hunting front except there had been an oddly large number of vampires around. So that was interesting. Another interesting thing: Glen had stuck around for almost two solid months now—solid for Glen, that is. He drifted off a few times a week to 'visit friends' and 'conduct business,' but since the necklace incident he'd dialed it back and had been surprisingly… not that annoying. In fact, almost likable. Almost like a different guy. Jamie was the same as always: focused on jobs. She was a pretty organized and thorough hunter with a pretty good knack for connecting dots and reading between the lines. It was kind of cool to see her utilize her witch powers on jobs, and Alex liked the team they ran.

However, right now, both blondies were MIA. Alex checked her watch and paced back and forth a few steps in the motel room she was in. She'd expected them an hour ago. Maybe they got delayed. She took out her phone to call one of them, flipped it open, then stopped as always. Her phone background was the same one it had been all year. The only picture she possessed of Castiel. She'd taken it with her phone the morning she'd woken up beside him, literally one day before the world went to shit. In the cell phone snapshot he was laying in bed beside her on his stomach, his cheek resting against his bare arms which were folded over a pillow. He wasn't looking into the camera—he was looking slightly up, at where she was—and smiling at her in that soft, barely-there way he had. The photo was lo-res, grainy, slightly blurred. But her heart twisted and clenched at the sight of him as it always did, at the memory of that night together. Often, she wrestled with herself over whether or not she should keep this picture, because all it did was pain her. And for that matter, she wondered if she should keep wearing the penny he gave her or holding out hope in general.

Wasn't time supposed to heal all wounds? So why was it getting worse? She wanted to delete the photo but moreso delete the pain that came with it.

Emotions welling up from within and Alex looked upward at the motel ceiling. She didn't even have it in her, but she decided. One last try. Because if she never asked, then she'd never know. "Cas?" She paused. Her voice was a mere, trembling whisper. "Castiel?" Saying his name aloud made her almost crumble. She took a minute to gather herself, trying to be brave. "Listen. I… I know I haven't said anything in a few months... maybe more than that. I don't wanna bother you if you're... trying to send me a hint so… this is the last time I'll call, okay?" Hearing herself say that out loud made her feel ill. Her voice rose slightly in pitch.

"I don't know what I did, or, or what happened but… I really wish you would tell me so I can know why this is… why you're gone." Silence. "If you're coming back someday, _please_. I need to know. Just… just give me a _sign_." She looked at the ceiling appealingly, getting desperate. "Am I supposed to walk away? Is it over? You said… _we_ said…" she trailed off, remembering and wounded by the memories. The room was silent. No one coming to answer her call. How sad, strange, and small she felt. He wasn't even listening. _Or maybe he was dead._ She swallowed, and it hurt, she didn't understand, she hung her head and looked at the floor. This was the misery all over again. "You used to come when I called," she whispered, then saw a wet spot suddenly appear on the carpet. A teardrop. She looked upwards again, unable to dredge up the ability to be angry. All she felt was loss and utter loneliness. This was goodbye, the goodbye she'd been trying to run away from this whole year. "I hope you're okay wherever you are," she managed. "I still love you. Even if…" she trailed off. _You don't love me._

She looked at the picture on her phone again and ran her thumb over the screen where his face was, trying to touch him and realizing how pathetic she was. And fighting back tears, she went to her pictures folder, selected that picture, then scrolled through the options menu. Selected _delete_. Her thumb hovered over the button and then she pressed it with a horrible feeling careening through her. A prompt came up: _Are you sure?_ Left key for _yes_ , right key for _no_. Her heart was hammering sickeningly fast, she was trying to make herself do this, stop holding on, let go, escape the pain. _Yes_ or _no_? She stared at the picture with rising emotion, not able to bring herself to do it… but with every ounce of willpower she had, she moved her thumb over the left key. _Push it. Just delete it. Erase it. Stop clinging onto what's gone._

And abruptly, the screen winked out, lit up, and began to ring, an unrecognized number on her screen. Startled, Alex let it ring a few times, then answered, shaken up from the picture dilemma. "H-hello?"

"Hey, it's me," said the last voice she'd been expecting to hear.

She nearly did a double-take, becoming jarred for a whole new reason. "... _Sam_?"

"Yeah, listen, I need your help," he said, not bothering with pretense of any kind. His short, hurried tone made her pause.

"...Nice to talk to you too," she said, feeling suspicious. She cleared her throat, sniffed, then wiped her nose with the back of her hand, beginning to pace the room all over again. "With what?"

"A baby."

Her eyebrows shot up high and she stopped in her tracks—had she heard right? "A... baby?"

"A baby," Sam confirmed, his tone inscrutable.

" _What_ baby?" She demanded, because what _exactly_ had her brother been up to this past year?!

"I don't know, just—a _baby_!" He exclaimed, sounding frustrated and short on patience. "Samuel and I are working this job where babies keep disappearing, I _found_ one and now I don't know what to _do_ with it."

"And I _would_?" Alex asked. He'd lost his mind.

"Better than me!" He exclaimed in growing urgency.

Yeah right. "Sam—I know _nothing_ about babies," Alex told him clearly and pointedly—he knew this, or _should_... "Why are you calling _me_ about this?"

She could hear her twin huff in exasperation. "Fine, whatever," he said brusquely. "I'll get Dean's help." Alex paused, frowning at the clicking sound she heard. Was that… did he just hang up on her?

"Hello?" She looked at her phone—yeah, he hung up on her. "...Rude," she muttered and pocketed her phone, off kilter from the abrupt phone call. Temporarily she'd forgotten about the Cas picture in favor of mulling over her twin. Disturbed, Alex bit her thumbnail absently, thinking. The motel room door opened—in walked a familiar tall figure and she looked at him sidelong. Well _finally._

"Sup," Glen greeted distractedly, typing something on his phone. He paused, noticing her expression. "Everything okay with you?" He lowered his phone then pocketed it, stood there and crossed his arms.

"Yeah, fine," she said tersely, looking behind him—no Jamie. "Where's your sister?"

Glen sauntered in past her, heading for the mini fridge. "Just talked to her a minute ago, she said she might have found a job—some people over in Jackson said their house is haunted. She already headed over. It's not too far from here." He cracked a typical grin, playfully wiggling his eyebrows once as if he was thinking the hunt might be up his alley. At the same time, he was grabbing a dark beer out of the fridge. "Sounds like fun to me."

Not really in the mood, Alex crossed her arms. "Fun. Right."

"She said we need to meet her over there stat, so…" he jerked a thumb backwards over his shoulder then cracked open his beer. "I'll go check us out of the room, you down?"

Absently, Alex nodded and shrugged, off in other thoughts. "Yeah, I guess."

He looked at her and seemed to empathize with her. He came over, beer forgotten in his left hand. " _Hey_ ," he said, seeming to appeal to her and almost scold her at once. "You're depressed." He set her with a determined look. "You know what, let's go get a drink—a _real_ drink, somewhere cool, on me. We can meet up with my stick-in-the-mud sister later. You need to have some fun."

Getting annoyed and thinking she saw where this was going… Alex turned and grabbed her duffel bag up off the bed. " _Drinks_? No. Jamie'll need backup. You can't just pick and choose when to help her out, Glen. You'll get her fucking killed. That's your family, why are you like this?"

Glen ignored her words. "Alex. I get it," he said, somewhere behind her. He sounded like he genuinely cared. "You're trying to get over someone. You need some help through."

Alex turned around and gave him a fairly hostile expression. He was pushing too much. "I don't need help, okay?" She asked rudely. "Especially from you."

Mildly crestfallen he looked down, a rare display of what appeared to be genuine chagrin. "Look: Alex. I may joke around and flirt a lot and I know sometimes it's too much and I'm sorry but…" he looked at her frankly. "I care about you a lot, you're… you're special. I like you, I've liked you a long time." He smiled a little because they both knew he hadn't been shy about saying so, either. He wet his lips, but was almost nervous—and she'd never seen him act nervous and it somehow made her nervous, too. "I mean it's obvious there's something here. Something worth... trying out." He swallowed. "I just want a _chance_."

Alex was both uncomfortable and flattered… and felt a little regretful for her rude tone a minute previously. Relenting a little, she tried to let him down gently because she felt bad at his very heartfelt tone. "Glen—you're sweet." She shook her head, too chastened to look in his eyes very well. "But I'm not interested. And I want you to stop this or we're gonna have problems." She stepped away. "I'll meet you there, okay?"

She had her bag and slung the strap over her shoulder again, attempting to walk past him. But he set down his beer and moved to block her way, his hands held up in a 'stop' gesture. "I'm—I'm not trying to push you, and I'm sorry if this is too forward, but let me finish, please." There was a vulnerability there that she'd never seen before. Intrigued and cautious, she watched him carefully.

Then he reached out and touched her jawline softly—she almost jumped at the gentle touch, not sure of how to react—he looked at her soulfully, like he thought she was beautiful. It reminded her of how Cas always looked at her, and something in her broke a little bit. "You're a beautiful girl but... that's not the only reason I like you so damn much. You're strong and cool and we get along good, never a dull moment, right?" He smiled, trying to get her to do the same, then saw her discomfort with his touch and took his hand away, seeming to beat himself for overstepping his bounds, internally. He kept going, visibly struggling to form words and put his thoughts together. "What I'm trying to say… sorry, I'm not good at this stuff but… I think we'd be great together. I'd finally have something to keep me in one place awhile, you know?"

 _What_? Not sure what had gotten into him, more than a little blindsided, Alex reverted to being a little more snide. "I think, personally, your sister should be enough motivation for you to stay in one place, don't you?"

He let out a soft, cynical little chuckle and looked down. "Yeah, well, she's not." His eyes darted up to hers. "But you are."

Was she insane, or was she really starting to believe he actually felt this way? It briefly _briefly_ made her consider him. At least for a rebound, maybe. She saw how he saw her considering and quickly zipped her emotions up and hardened her face. "I asked you to stop. So stop." She brushed past him. She was gonna have to have a talk with Jamie about getting her brother to back off if this shit kept up. "See you in Jackson." She didn't look back.

Glen watched her go, rolled his eyes, then took in a deep breath and then pulled his phone back out and finished writing the text he was about to send to… Sarah? No. Sadie. Some girl he met at a bar last night who liked bad boys and was asking him to come over now. He saw no reason not to; he never turned down an opportunity. However, the thing he liked the most was the thrill of the chase, and Sadie made it easy, too easy—he'd had a hundred girls like her before, which was why Alex… well, she was one of his favorites… she was unique. The careful persona he'd worked over on her was one of his best.

To Alex he was a roguish and charming heart-of-gold hunter who had no filter and was by appearances sort of shallow and whimsical, adrift in life, not interested in anything that would last or be of consequence… but little by little, he'd let little instances of vulnerability and uncertainty slip out at a steady tide culminating with what he'd said tonight. Just as predicted, his carefully chosen words and actions had drawn out the exact reactions he'd expected. He was wearing her down bit by bit, and it wouldn't be too much longer now. She loved to hate him, and he figured a couple more of those carefully-timed bleeding heart moments paired with her obvious emotional vulnerability and she'd give in, let him do what he wanted. They always did. He always got his way. 'No' wasn't in the equation. He'd blow her mind and make her forget every other guy she'd ever had. He would be able to say he was better than a fucking _angel,_ how many guys got to say that? He smirked to himself. He was looking forward to it, no doubt… but in the mean time… he finished writing out the text to Sadie.

_I'll be right there baby ;-)_

He hit send.

Glen didn't see, but an angel came to the room just a few moments later in search of the one who had called to him just minutes ago. Castiel was mildly wounded from being locked into hand-to-hand combat with Raphael. He had heard her asking for him, and while her words had been garbled because of the archangels closeness it had seemed important, so he had torn himself away from the battlefield after eluding Raphael. But she wasn't there. There was only a tall blond man on his phone.

"Yeah, Jennifer, sorry but I have a paper due in the morning, I'm heading to study group like right now—" he chuckled. "Very funny, but I'm not too old to be in college, ever heard of a Master's? Mm-hmm. I can't come over tonight, is what I'm saying. But in a couple days for sure. I'm there. You, me, some wine… the fireplace..." he chuckled again. "Hey, so, don't get too weirded out or anything, but… I keep thinking about it and I think I'm ready to meet your family. Is it too soon? No. I think so too. Yeah. Sweetheart, I agree completely." He laughed again, sounding carefree and affable, kind. Castiel remembered this man—Alex had been with him before, that time she'd been unwell. Cas wasn't sure why he got such negative feelings from this particular man... but he still did.

Castiel began to look around nearby for the one he loved. But she was nowhere to be found, and soon, the angels called his name once more. The emptiness and longing he felt inside grew even wider and deeper. The need to see her face again was so great that it was painful.

* * *

**The Next Day**

"Yeah I agree," Jamie said. "Seems like one of the family members is hiding something." She was packing more herbs into a hex bag she was making. "I mean vengeful spirits don't just try and get revenge for _no reason_. One of those people did something to Beth Sanders."

Alex nodded offhandedly, whetting the blade of her scimitar against a sharpening rod with quick, light motions. "Someone's definitely lying."

Jamie set down the completed hex bag and started on another one, raising her eyebrows. "Looks like we're gonna be doing some surveillance."

"You mean spying," Alex corrected grudgingly, immediately becoming a little deflated. She realized that's what those hex bags must be—Jamie's own little witchy phone taps, in so many words.

Jamie chuckled softly at Alex's predictable distaste for anything besides fighting. "Call it what you want," she said reasonably, stuffing a moonstone down into the bag. "It gets the job done."

"Spying is _boring_ ," Alex said resentfully.

"Hunting isn't all slashing and hacking," Jamie reminded with a note of playful lecturing in her voice. "You know this."

Alex waved her sharpened scimitar through the air, slashing it fast and hard enough that it made little _vwoom_ sounds. "Slashing and hacking is my favorite part," she said, unaware of the little smile on her face as she played with her deadly weapon. When she noticed Jamie's expression, she stopped. "What?"

The blonde's ice-blue gaze faltered away, her brief look of mistrust was gone. "Nothing." Jamie began to return to her task, then stopped and sighed in resignation, seeming to have a change of heart. "Alright. Sometimes…" she held a hand out, palm up, for emphasis. "You worry me a little. You get this look in your eye… you get a little…" she scratched the side of her head, searching for the right word. She looked Alex in the eye when she found the right term. "Sadistic."

Alex felt mildly chastened because it was true. But she didn't feel entirely guilty. "Yeah, maybe I do." She got up to pack her blade back into her weapons bag and get out from under her friend's very piercing gaze. Jamie seemed to sense Alex's discomfort and dropped the subject.

"Anyway, I finally heard from Glen while you were showering, forgot to tell you," Jamie said, back to work on hex bags again. "He's on his way to us, supposedly. And hey, hand me my duffel while you're over there?"

Alex grabbed the bag and tossed it at Jamie, who caught it just barely with an _oof_ sound _._ "Yeah?" Alex asked, busying herself with sliding the blade of her scimitar into its leather holster. "Did he say where the hell he disappeared to _this_ time?" She crouched down and put the weapon away. "He was supposed to be right behind me last night."

Jamie sighed, her displeasure thinly veiled. "Yeah, well, he said some buddy of his called to cash in a favor, needed some help with some project, I don't know; I don't care. He might be here later, he might not." She sounded over it. As usual. Jamie had low tolerance for Glen's ways.

Pushing herself up to stand, Alex turned around to look at Jamie again, who was digging in her bag for something. "Why do you keep him around anyway?" Alex asked, in a tone that suggesting she was joking. But there was an honest question buried there. "He's kind of useless. All he does is annoy you." He was actually pretty good in a fight, but as far as day-to-day went, he was completely inconsistent and frustrating. Unreliable.

Jamie smirked down into her lap as she pulled out some iron rounds and laid them out beside herself. Was she cynical or bitter? It was hard to tell. "Yeah, he really is useless, mostly. But he's all I've got. And I'm all _he's_ got." There was a growing note of truth and confession in Jamie's voice. "Everyone else in our family is dead and gone. I can't just… abandon him." Alex almost thought Jamie would ask 'right?' after that. But she didn't, she remained quiet for a second, frowning in thought, then seeming to shake herself. She returned to her task. "At the end of the day, everyone should have someone they can rely on."

"Well he doesn't seem to have a problem leaving _you_ high and dry," Alex pointed out.

Jamie didn't pause, but her classically beautiful features became a little stonier. "Yeah, well, that's just Glen, isn't it."

Alex was quiet a minute. "I can't figure him out."

"What's there to figure out?" Jamie asked, sarcastic, glancing at Alex sort of sharply. "He's a loser." It was said in what was meant to be jest, but Alex heard the grudge buried there.

"I'm serious," she said. She really wanted to know more about this guy. Get a second opinion of him.

Jamie stopped what she was doing. The subject of her brother always seemed to make her like this, but usually, she avoided saying much of anything. A little irritated, Jamie shrugged, letting her hands go up to her shoulders then slap back down onto her legs. "I dunno what to tell you. Glen is Glen. He... drives me crazy… never does anything right… he's never on time or consistent or worried about anything… he's spoiled and entitled and always has been… thinks he's God's gift to women… obviously I'm not the best person to ask, I mean, I love him—but… I don't really like him. We've never really gotten along. He thinks I'm the world's biggest bitch for believing in things like responsibility and commitment and for expecting him to follow through on things." She attempted a cynical chuckle, it faltered. She sounded like she was trying to downplay herself. "Guess you could say there's some bad blood between us. My mom thought he was the 'perfect kid,' and me… I couldn't do _anything_ right. So… I guess I still hold some grudges that are probably _way_ past their expiration date." She seemed mad at herself almost, shoved something into the hex bag she was holding a little harder than she needed to. Not the usual calm, collected, and somewhat snarky Jamie.

"I know how that is," Alex muttered, thinking about all the grudges she held that were probably really stupid to hold on to. She looked at the hunter she'd spent so much time with the past year, yet barely knew at all. She chanced a personal question, as this conversation was quickly becoming personal and not a lot of these happened. "So was your dad around, or…?"

Jamie shrugged like she didn't care, but Alex thought she saw that it was facetious. Jamie continued to speak in a non-emotional tone, even though it looked like she were thinking hard. "Ah, barely ever. He worked all the time, he was some big deal lawyer and when he _was_ around, he wasn't interested in us kids. _Any_ of us." Alex frowned, because that seemed to imply there had been more than just Jamie and Glen.

Jamie saw Alex's confusion and her voice softened, taking on a note of mourning and great sadness. "We... had another sister. Erin. She… she drowned when she was just two. I was eight. Glen was six. And he's the one who found her." Jamie paused, eyes far away, expression rigid. "You never forget something like that. Seeing your little sister's dead body in the water." She had this look of torment that Alex identified with immensely. "It's all so fucked Alex. My mom went psycho and murdered my dad a few years after that all happened. Then killed herself in prison. All that shit kinda does things to a person. Me and Glen both." She scoffed a little against her clear pain, trying to brush it off. Alex was shocked at the new information. "Anyway. I think that's why my brother never fully commits to anything—he's scared to be invested, you know? He doesn't want to lose what he loves, so he runs away from everything." Alex thought maybe that was Jamie's dilemma, too, and Jamie seemed to realize everything she'd just said was highly revealing—she tried to backpedal, forcing a lighter, more easy going tone. "Wow. I'm saying way, _way_ too much."

Alex hesitated, then decided to share something personal too, to maybe sort of stack the decks evenly. "When you found me at that bar or whatever earlier last year… the real reason I didn't wanna hunt with you at first was because I was trying to run away from my past." Jamie looked at her curiously. Alex shrugged, trying to think through it better. "Hunting reminded me of everything I lost. I thought it'd be easier not to face all that anger that I had inside." She swallowed and thought of all the crazy choices she'd made this year, all the things she'd done in the dark. "I think that's why I can get a little twisted sometimes," she said softly, to herself more than anyone else. "I'm angry. I'm _so_ angry. And I'm _angry_ that I'm angry." Alex almost laughed at herself, at how ridiculous her emotions and thoughts were. "How does that make any damn sense? Angry that I'm angry," she muttered lowly, feeling that familiar emptiness, that constant feeling of being alone, even when people were right with her. She couldn't hold her false, self-deprecating smile anymore. "I just feel like… life isn't supposed to be the way it's turned out for me, you know?"

"How's it supposed to be, then?" Jamie asked. Maybe because she wanted to know, too.

Alex let out a heavy breath, mouth pursed in thought, expression bitter. "That's the question. I thought I knew. But I don't." She shook her head shallowly. "Just… not like this." An uncomfortable silence spanned between them and Alex cleared her throat, attempting to make it less awkward. "Sorry. Too much information. I know. Just... thought I'd even the playing field a little."

Jamie said nothing, thankfully, just gave a little gracious smile and began to put all the completed hex bags into her duffel, effectively letting the subject close. Alex paced a few steps, yawned widely, then rubbed her eye a little. So damn tired.

"No yawning allowed," Jamie said puckishly, steering them into business-as-usual mode. "We have things to do."

"Sorry," Alex managed through another noisy yawn. "Do you know a spell to help keep me awake?"

Jamie gave Alex an impish look. "Yeah, it's called coffee."

"Ha _ha_."

Jamie stood up. "When's the last time you got a solid eight?"

Alex pulled a flabbergasted face. "Uh— _never_?" She joked, then shrugged. She'd love to sleep solid, long, and deep for a long time, maybe a couple years, but... "I can't sleep anymore, not well anyway. And when I do sleep, I have… the _worst_ dreams."

Jamie was sympathetic as she went to the coffeemaker and started a pot. "Yeah. I know all about that." The glass carafe clinked against something. "Not enough that this life's a nightmare, but even in dreams it follows you." Alex sat on one of the ends of the beds, yawning again and stifling it. A couple beats of silence passed, then Jamie cleared her throat. "So. Who was he?" she asked.

Bemused, Alex tried to figure it out. "Uh… who was who?"

Jamie turned around as the coffee maker began to grind away. She crossed her arms, letting her head cant to the side. She seemed to know, intuitively, but was hesitant to ask. "The guy. I know there had to be a guy. And it must've ended pretty badly."

Startled by the subject and Jamie's words—it seemed very un-Jamie like to ask about all these personal things, but maybe they were becoming better friends than Alex had thought. Either way, the statement, the fact that Jamie could _tell_ deeply triggered Alex. Sometimes it just hit her all over again that it really was over; that she was the only one who still hung onto it being real. "Yeah. There was a guy. And it didn't end badly. It... ended with a question mark," Alex said hollowly, not bothering to try and duck the subject anymore. She shook her head, feeling stricken. "I dunno. We were from different worlds. He went back to his, and here I am in mine." A derisive little smile spanned her features. She hated talking about this, thinking about it. "I always kinda knew it was too good to be true." She swallowed her feelings and made herself be indifferent. "And honestly, let's never talk about it again, okay?"

Jamie nodded. "Sure."

There was an abrupt pounding sort of knock on the door and Alex turned, frowning—Glen never did that; he either barged in or rapped on the door smartly. That sounded like someone else. Jamie seemed to remember something. "Oh—forgot to mention. Someone _else_ called while you were in the shower."

There was something about her voice that made Alex grow dubious. "Who?" She asked suspiciously.

Jamie just smiled. "Go see." At the mistrustful frown Alex gave her, the blonde just made a _'go on'_ motion with her hand.

Alex did—went to the door and opened it cautiously, then her face fell in surprise. Sam's huge form took up the entire doorway almost and he unceremoniously shoved a baby at her, literally into her chest. "Hold this," he said and began to let go, giving her no choice but to awkwardly clutch the little human as her twin brushed past her and into the motel room.

Blinking in shock, Alex held the baby, frozen, afraid to drop it or something. Dean, a huge box of diapers in his hands, smiled appealingly and raised his eyebrows—Sam had been blocking her from seeing him. "Hi! Mind some company?" he asked even as his dumbfounded sister lost her cool completely.

"What—why— _how_?" She asked, trying to ask several different questions all at once, panicking slightly because—baby.

"I know," Dean sympathized and brushed past her too. She could see he also had a couple grocery store bags with him and she dumbly followed her brother into the room, holding the squirming baby in her hands tightly and awkwardly, afraid to drop it.

"Surprise…?" Jamie said to her with a sort of hopeful, _please-don't-shoot-me_ sort of look on her face. She went over and shut the still-open door for the Winchesters.

"I _hate_ surprises, you should know that by now," Alex complained, but she was preoccupied with not killing the small human she had been forced to hold. She had a better grip on the baby and held it out at arms length, trying to get a look at it. It stared back at her with big blue eyes, seemingly innocent and a little confused by what was happening to it. She wasn't sure if she'd ever felt more freaked. "W-what am I supposed to do with this thing?" she asked, looking at her oldest brother in almost despair. "Whose kid is this?"

"Just hold him a little longer," Dean said, preoccupied with opening the box of diapers. "Sorry, Al. Needed a place to lay low for a sec—called James, she said you guys were close, too good an opportunity to pass by," Dean was rustling through a grocery store bag of baby supplies. "Sam found the kid while working a job—pretty sure the parents are both dead. Also, a _shifter_ is after this little guy."

"What? Why?" Jamie asked. "You didn't tell me that."

"Need to know basis," he said, distracted. "It got the jump on us at the supermarket, seems pretty into the idea of kidnapping this kid. As far as _why_ … that's what we're trying to figure out. Oh, by the way—" he turned to Sam who was setting up some stuff—a couple binders, folders, his laptop—on the little motel table, off in his own little world. He motioned to his brother, then to Jamie. "Sam, James. James, Sam."

" _Jamie_ ," she corrected.

Sam paused his task. "Nice to see you again, it's been awhile," he said, then pretty shamelessly looked her up and down. "You uh, you grew up." He gave her a distinctly flirtatious eyebrow raise and smirk and she gave him quite the look in return—but hers was not as friendly. It was more like a silent _don't start with me_. "Mind if I set up here?" He already had. Skeptical, Jamie just shrugged.

"Be my guest." She turned and glanced at Dean. "I'll call the front desk for a crib." Jamie went over to the phone and looked at Alex, who was sitting on the bed with the baby at arms length, sort of propped onto her knees. Jamie was faintly amused at Alex's posture and expression. "You look like you've never held a baby before."

"I don't think I _have_ ," Alex said, trying to move as little as possible. What happened if you shook a baby? Didn't they die on impact or something? And weren't they supposed to puke on you a bunch? This one wasn't puking or dying… so, well, that was good, right? He was heavier than she thought a baby would be… and she noticed how he had the _biggest_ little eyes framed by long, dark lashes, how his face was cute and chubby, how he had a little double chin, wispy hair on his head. He stuck a couple fingers in his mouth and cooed, seeming to find her just as fascinating as she was finding him. He wasn't exploding or breaking and you know, he was actually not that bad at all.

"Hey, you're kinda _cute_ , aren't you," she said, relaxing a little, intrigued with how small he was, how his chunky little wrists connected to his beefy little hands, how his little tummy was round and fat. She'd never really seen a baby up close like this. Without warning she remembered how Cas had told her once about how she'd been pregnant in the future, in that post-apocalyptic Croatoan-riddled world of 2014. Wow. This moment somehow made that once-possible future realer to her. Holding this kid right here and now was suddenly so much more stilling and saddening in a way she wasn't sure how to understand. This baby had blue eyes—she wondered what color eyes _their_ baby would have had. She felt her head tilting to the side and she smiled a little sadly.

" _Gah gah gaaaah,_ " the baby babbled and sucked on his fingers loudly, frowning a little like he was experiencing mild discomfort.

Maybe there wasn't anything to this baby stuff, Alex thought. Just as soon as she thought that, his face changed, wrinkled up, and he began to fuss. "Oh—uh… shh, it's okay, little dude," she cajoled, but he went prone, beginning to cry in rising displeasure. Alex stiffened, panicked. He began to cry harder. "Oh my god it hates me! I think it's dying!" She looked at her big brother pleadingly. " _Dean_! Help me!"

He chuckled, opening the box of diapers and setting up shop on the other bed. "Relax, relax. Babies cry. It's kinda their thing. He just needs to be changed." He grabbed a diaper and pointed at her with it. "Also, he's a he, not an it. We're calling him Bobby John."

"How was I supposed to know that?!" she asked, nerve-wracked by the baby's fussing. And wait, Bobby John? She almost laughed.

"He's in _boys_ clothes," Dean pointed out, a lot calmer than she was.

"So was _I_ when I was a baby," she retorted, remembering the photos Bobby had around of her and Sam around eighteen months, both in little baby boy outfits—apparently Dad didn't see a point in getting girl clothes for her at that age. Bobby John was squalling now, turning her into a nervous wreck. "Why won't he stop crying!" She asked, getting really freaked out. His little face was turning red, was that bad? Good _god_ he was loud! How was she supposed to get him to stop? She tried bouncing him a little, getting frantic. " _Shit_ , kid, you—" she gasped at herself, embarrassed because she realized that was a social code she'd just broken. "Oh fuck, you're not supposed to swear around kids—" her eyes widened again. "Dammit—I'm— _ugh_!" She drew her mouth into a thin line, embarrassed. Bobby John was whining miserably. Sam and Jamie were hiding smiles, Dean made an _oh come on_ face at her. "Okay, I'll just stop talking," Alex said, subdued.

"Good idea," Dean said, reaching for the baby, apparently ready. "Hand 'im over."

Alex did, relieved at the deepest levels, but still somewhat petrified, watching her oldest brother with wide eyes. "Do you actually know how to _change_ him?" she asked, horrified at the thought of doing that.

Her brother gave her an _oh my god please l_ ook. "Do I know how to change him," Dean repeated in a teasingly indignant chuckle, then began to do just that—laid the kid down on the bed and onto a baby blanket. It was like a car wreck—Alex couldn't look away, had to watch. Dean let out a sound of amazed disgust. " _Damn_ —ugh—wow, Bobby John, good job little man. How did you even _make_ that much?"

"You're a real hero," Jamie chuckled.

"I do what I have to," Dean said, then made an exasperated sound at the baby. "Okay, alright, you know what? I'll pay you _money_ if you hold still." Sam laughed from his little perch at the table and Dean turned to look back at Sam. "This is like defusing an IED, with _poop_!" He exclaimed, maybe looking for sympathy. He didn't get any from Sam, who just chuckled again. Alex shot him a look. Her twin hadn't even really said _hello_ to her and he was engrossed in his research, not paying her or anyone else much mind. The hell was _that_?

Dean sighed and kept on with his little task, managing to finish up. "Okay, alright, alright, alright, you are golden, Bobby John. Time to hit the hay—where's that crib at?" he asked Jamie. He picked Bobby John up and began to hum a little tune to calm down the fussy baby.

"Should be here in a minute or two, I hope," she said, then paused, a dawning smile growing. "Are you humming _Smoke on the Water_?"

Dean paused. He had been. "At least I'm not making him listen to death metal," he said, and resumed humming, getting an amused side-eye from Jamie.

"Dean, you're just going to make it cranky again," Sam said in a reasonable tone, glancing up and over a sheet of paper he was studying.

"Am not," Dean said. There was a knock on the door. "Ah, there it is. Hold him." He dumped Bobby John into Jamie's arms unexpectedly as he walked past her.

Although Jamie was startled by the sudden action, she didn't seem to have the same sort of paranoia that Alex had experienced. She held Bobby John easily. Alex watched her with the baby, and it was kinda funny. Jamie, tough as nails, taking a seat next to a bag of weapons, her half-sleeve tattoo showing because she was wearing a spaghetti strap top. The familiar tattoo was black and white and of a large, stylized grim reaper holding a scythe. Surrounding the shape of the reaper was a pattern of thorny rose stems and what looked like feathers—the design wrapped around the entirety of her arm front to back, elbow to the top of her shoulder and some of her chest. Every time you looked at it closely, you could notice more details you hadn't noticed before hidden in the design. Bobby's John's little head next to the sort of scary tattoo was a striking contrast. But even though Jamie sort of looked like bad news if you didn't know her, holding that baby she seemed sweet and suddenly incredibly motherly. She smiled down at Bobby John, rocking him like it was second nature. "Hey, you, all better?" she soothed him, and he crooned softly.

At the door, a motel employee held a large, weirdly shaped… thing. "This pack and play work for ya'll?" he asked. "We don't have any real cribs."

Dean accepted the huge object readily. "That's great," he said. "Thanks." He shut the door. "Al, start on this, I gotta hit the head."

He shoved the object at her and headed to the bathroom. "But... what _is_ this thing?" she asked, looking at it in confusion.

"It's like a pop up crib, sort of," Jamie explained. "Take it out of the bag, it should sort of fold right out, I think."

It was heavy and clunky. Alex fumbled with it, trying to pull the thing out of the stiff bag it had been shoved into. She looked at the strange shape of mesh and plastic rods and canvas and was mystified. "You wanna give me a hand?" She asked Sam, who was turning on his laptop and straightening some papers.

"I think you've got it," he commented mildly, earning a dirty look. It was very strange to have him there again and acting like... _this_.

Alex let it go for the time being and attempted to figure out this strange structure. "Fold right out my _ass_ ," she complained, trying to make sense of the stupid thing. Jamie shrugged helplessly when Alex looked at her in rising exasperation. Dean came out of the bathroom just in time to see his sister get completely frustrated, sit back, and throw her hands up. "This is like a total mindfuck!" she complained, then clapped a hand over her mouth, looking at the baby in horrified mortification. "Shit, sorry—oh my _god_." Her hand went to her forehead and she moaned pathetically at her automatic use of profanity.

"That kid's first words are gonna be bleeps, and it's all your fault," Dean teased as he walked over to where she was. "Seriously, Al, these are the easiest things to put together. You just pull these, snap that up, push down here—" suddenly, there was an actual structure in front of her and it looked like a crib. "Presto. Baby cage."

" _Baby cage_?" Jamie asked, and she obviously thought his choice of words caught her off guard and she thought they were funny. In fact, Alex didn't know when she'd seen Jamie grin that widely before—where her eyes crinkled up and sort of sparkled. 

Dean seemed pleased with himself and his joke and gave one of his little smug grinning smirks. Alex rolled her eyes. He wasn't funny, he was a _dork_. "Here," he said, reaching for the baby. Jamie handed him off and Dean jostled Bobby John soothingly, walking him over to the pack and play while patting him on the back and humming Smoke on the Water again. The baby blinked sleepily, almost falling asleep then and there on Dean's shoulder. "Okay, if I put you down, you gonna be a man about it?" Dean asked. He gently laid the baby down into the makeshift crib… Bobby John was quiet, calm, and Dean drew back carefully. And the baby stayed quiet like magic, drifting off to sleep.

" _Huh_ ," Sam commented.

"Wow," Alex said.

"Nice," Jamie agreed.

Dean looked at all of them suspiciously. "What?"

"You're just, uh, actually, not awful at that," Sam said.

Dean brushed off the backhanded compliment. "Dude, I'm barely keeping that thing alive."

"No, no, no, seriously," Sam insisted. "You've got a whole Dr. Huxtable vibe coming off of you. You're like... father material."

"Yeah, well I kind of had to be lately, you know," Dean said, washing his hands at the kitchen sink thoroughly.

"You mean Ben," Sam guessed. 

Dean shook the water off his hands and he glanced Jamie's way sort of mistrustfully—it was kind of a personal question Sam had just asked in the presence of non-family. "Yeah, I mean Ben," Dean confirmed, then cleared his throat, crossed his arms and shrugged with a smile, trying to put a positive spin on his self-deprecating tone. "I mean, I know he's not my kid, but I don't know, I'm starting to feel like... yeah, he is."

Sam made no reply—just looked at Dean without much emotional resonance. Dean seemed to visibly feel uncomfortable and rubbed a hand on the back of his neck.

"Coffee anyone?" Jamie asked as she went over to the little maker beside Dean. It had just finished brewing.

"Yes, all of it," Alex said. She was feeling how tired she was, again. She couldn't help it—another yawn escaped.

"Nah, I'm good," Sam said, focused on some papers he was rifling through.

"Think I'll take some hunter's helper," Dean said, gesturing at the bottle of whiskey that was on the little kitchenette counter. He helped himself as Jamie poured two mugs of coffee then handed one to Alex.

Bobby John made a soft, sleepy sound from further back in the room and Dean looked that direction, pausing with his glass of whiskey in hand then glancing at his sibling in turn. "You know, I think about the way we grew up, and…" he shook his head. "I kind of feel like I have a chance to do something different with Ben, you know? Something better than what we had."

Sam hesitated. "You sure about that?" He asked, earning a questioning look from his sister.

"What do you mean?" Dean asked sort of dubiously.

"Look, you clearly care about the kid. But moving them around? Keeping them on lockdown? I mean, you _do_ have them on lockdown, right?" Sam looked at Dean meaningfully, and for a minute, Alex thought maybe that _was_ Sam, that he hadn't changed—that he was just resigned or hiding his true self for some reason or another. Dean seemed to resent the line of questions and walked off a few steps further into the room. "Just… how is any of that different from how we were raised?" Sam prompted. 

Dean sat down on the corner of the bed closest to Sam, whiskey in hand. "So you're saying…" he started, then glanced at both Jamie and Alex in turn, who were in the kitchen, feeling the awkward vibe. Alex sipped noisily on her coffee, trying to look like she wasn't paying very close attention—which of course she was. "Okay, and first of all? I don't appreciate you trying to talk to me about this with them here," Dean told Sam in no uncertain terms. He seemed defensive. "But I'm not shoving anybody into this life, okay? This is temporary. End of story."

Sam scoffed through a cynical little smile, never taking his eyes off Dean. "Dad always said it was temporary too, Dean. He said it for twenty-two _years_ , and Alex can back me up on this if you wanna act like that didn't happen. Look, I get it. You wanna watch out for them. That's great. I'm just asking... how do you do that and not turn into our father?"

Dean opened his mouth to reply but was apparently speechless. He looked away, uncomfortable. "Dean has his problems but he's not Dad," Alex said defensively, cutting into the conversation without invitation. She'd accused Dean of being like Dad before yes, but she didn't like Sam's tone or Dean's distress. 

Sam turned to look at her piercingly, his arm over the back of his chair. "You sure about that? This life does things to people."

"Like what it's done to _you_?" She challenged, not bothering to hide her bad attitude.

He frowned a little. "What do you mean?"

Alex regarded him coolly for a few seconds, decided against confronting him. "Nothing. Doesn't matter. You go back to your _research_." She sipped her coffee and looked away from him. Sam scoffed mildly, seeming to get that he'd just been dissed. Dean was quiet on the bed, drink forgotten. Jamie sipped at her coffee in the kitchenette, her expression seeming to suggest she was thinking about how awkward this was to witness. 

The door opened at that moment and in came Glen, who stopped short for a second at the unexpected sight of Sam and Dean. "Whoa," he said, then cracked a grin and shut the door behind himself. He carried a plastic bag and a big backpack, which he tossed down beside the door. "What'd I miss? Hunter reunion or what?" He saw Dean and gave him a small chin raise. "Dean—" he turned to look at the other man in the room. "And... Sam, right?"

"Yeah, hey, nice to see you again." Sam stuck his hand out for a handshake.

"Same," Glen said, and the two men shook hands briefly before Glen turned to Alex and held up the bag in his hand—it said _China Garden_. "Picked you up some of your favorites—chicken lo mein and those deep fried donut things." He smiled at her hopefully and it had a very charming effect.

A little embarrassed for a reason she wasn't sure of, Alex took the bag. She wanted to be bitchy about it—her normal reaction to when he did stuff for her—but after their conversation last night, she thought maybe she'd misjudged him before. So she smiled tightly. "Thanks."

"What about me?" Jamie asked, jokingly challenging but also sort of serious from the look of it.

Her brother looked at her sort of uncertainly. "You don't like Chinese food." His sister gave him a look but didn't say anything. Glen shrugged a little. "My bad." He looked at the rooms occupants a little closer now. "So what's going on? You guys here to join us on this ghost hunt or whatever?"

"No, just stopping in to shoot the breeze a little," Dean said, faintly facetious. Alex noticed how he seemed decidedly hostile toward Glen and she got a little annoyed—why did he have to do that? God, if Dean was like this with _her,_ how would be be if he ever had a teenage daughter? 

"Crap. I can't believe I missed this," Sam suddenly said, staring at a piece of paper in his hand.

"What?" Dean asked.

"This house on Elm. The mother was killed, baby was grabbed, but daddy wasn't living in the house at the time so he's still alive. According to this he works at some auto body shop—not far from here. What do you say we go and have a chat? See what we can dig up?"

Dean shrugged mildly and stood up. "I say let's."

"No no no—you can't both go," Alex said, setting down her bag of food and halfway moving to block the door, even though no one had moved to leave. "Who the hell would watch the kid?"

"Uh—you?" Dean asked, alarming his sister completely.

"What kid?" Glen asked, putting his hands into the pockets of his dark jeans.

"The one over there," Sam said, nodding mildly over at the pack and play in the corner.

Glen noticed it for the first time, saw the sleeping baby through the mesh siding. He got a weird, questioning look on his face. "Whose _is_ that?"

"Yours—baby mama showed up and left her here with us." Jamie snorted at her joke. 

"No, really—this something to do with a job?" Glen asked, all business, ignoring his sister's attempt completely.

Dean confirmed. "Yeah, kids are being snatched up and a shifter's after this one."

"Interesting," Glen said, pouring himself some whiskey now and taking a couple good-sized sips.

"Okay look Dean—you can't leave that kid here, okay?" Alex asked, trying to stay on track. The baby was cute, but she was pretty sure that she'd accidentally kill it within thirty seconds if Dean left. "Sam and Glen can go or I can, but you are not going _anywhere_ ," she insisted.

Dean looked at Alex in a mixture of slight exasperation and mild fondness. "You know, I'm not sure who the bigger baby is—you or Bobby John," he said, and relented with a sigh. "I'll stay."

Sam looked at Glen, standing up. "You wanna tag along, man?" He was offering to be polite, it seemed like, and was faintly surprised when Glen agreed to it.

"Sure, why not." Glen downed more of the alcohol—all of it, actually—then pointed a finger-gun at Alex playfully, like he was saying 'catchya later.' Sam made a slight face, like _okay, fine_ at the prospect of having the guy riding shotgun.

"You two be careful out there," Dean said and he watched the two of them leave, his expression somehow reluctant or suspicious, Alex wasn't sure which or who that suspicion was aimed at. She was just relieved he wasn't leaving her and Jamie alone with the baby. The door shut behind the two tall ones and the room was back to four occupants—a man, two women, and a sleeping baby.

Jamie returned to sorting through bullets on one of the beds. Dean looked a little cagey and paced with his whiskey, glancing at the baby a few times. Alex dug out her little carton of lo mein and fished for the chopsticks that were lost in the bottom of the bag. Dean glanced at her as he turned, beginning to pace up back toward her again. "Want some?" Alex offered, indicating the carton in her hand.

Her oldest brother seemed distracted. He looked at the bag Glen had given her almost in unease. "I'm good."

* * *

Two guys who could almost be called giants—both almost six-and-a-half feet tall, loped out to Sam's black Charger—a new model car with a sleek body and an eye catching design. "I think the shop is like ten minutes from here," Sam told Glen as they settled into the seats.

"Not bad," Glen commented, distracted. He was texting on his phone.

Sam started the engine and got them on the road. He remembered Glen from when they were kids—he'd been tall then too but a lot smaller physically. The guy was huge now, imposing and commanding. In fact, if Glen was good at hunting, Sam thought maybe he'd be a good addition to the Campbell team. "So, still hunting," he commented, deciding to feel the guy out about that possibility. 

"Here and there," Glen said, still focused on his phone. "I got other things I do, too."

"Like what?"

Glen smirked slightly. "Whatever I feel like." He was proud of it, clearly. He glanced at Sam meaningfully. "Most of the things I like are on the less than legal side, if you know what I mean."

No, Sam didn't know what he meant, but he liked the confident sort of bragging tone Glen used. It made him think of the Campbells—Christian in particular. It was quiet for another couple minutes and Sam decided to test another theory he'd developed back there in the motel room. "You seem into my sister."

Glen glanced at Sam sidelong, pausing. "And if I am?"

Sam shrugged. "Fine, I guess." He thought about it. "I don't really care, to be honest. But I will tell you this… the guy she was with before? You're up against some pretty steep competition." 

Glen seemed to think that was funny and Sam didn't understand why. "Nothing I can't handle." The blond hunter seemed to be feeling superior and smug. "I saw him once. Really dweeby looking guy." He was full-on pompous and conceited, obviously pretty sure he had nothing to worry about. "I think I got this in the bag."

Sam just chuckled, taking the social cue. Whatever, it didn't matter, and the subject was suddenly boring him anyway. Relationships, people, conversations... he couldn't find it within himself to really care. He could _act_ like he cared (and he'd figured out fast that he needed to act that way, that people didn't trust him if he showed his utter apathy). In a way, it brought him satisfaction to act one way and see people react to what they thought were his genuine feelings and thoughts. Sam felt like he had the higher hand, like he was the smarter one, that he was in control. He liked that. He liked being the one who was pulling the strings.

Ever since coming back from the dead, it was all base motivation for Sam: food, sex, violence. Not sleep—he didn't sleep, at all, ever. More time to train, to hunt, to excel. He didn't have all those little annoying gray emotions and feelings anymore; everything was black and white, and he either cared or didn't care. And truthfully… he didn't really care about _anything_ anymore. It was freeing, actually, it felt _better_ to exist this way. He was all logic and calculation. It was a colder existence than he remembered leading before, but he felt superior, machine-like, untouchable and not weak.

Being around Dean was sort of annoying to him, because his brother seemed to expect him to be someone else entirely and it was exhausting keeping up the charade. Still, he did, because he needed Dean's help—also, he had this strange thought that he owed the guy. Suddenly there was a distinct, stark flicker of _doubt_. Sam frowned. Strange.

* * *

Sitting across from Jamie, Dean looked at her tattoo plainly as she double checked some shotgun rounds. "That's not what reapers really look like, you know," he commented and took another little sip of whiskey.

She looked at him briefly, sort of smirking a challenge. "I like him. I call him Mort. Get it?"

Dean squinted slightly. "Uh… no."

"Mort...ality?"

Dean did get it then and it wasn't clear if he were laughing at _her_ or at the bad pun. " _Dork_." She grinned lightheartedly, accepting the label graciously and enjoying her little pun. 

"So. I thought you were out, Dean," Alex said. She was standing up and eating the last of the Chinese takeout straight out of the carton. Glen and Sam had been gone awhile now and she'd reheated the food.

Dean looked at her briefly and she saw how guilty he felt. "I _am_ out. This is just me helping Sam out cuz Samuel's upstate somewhere and Sam, apparently, is just as good with babies as you are." He looked at her teasingly as he stood up. "And you're basically the _worst._ "

"No arguments there," Alex agreed, setting her finished carton of food down on top of the TV, looking down at Bobby John who was fast asleep on his back in the pack and play. His hands were in loose little fists and he had his arms up on either side of his head. "You know, he's cute when he's not screaming at me," she admitted fondly. Dean came to stand beside her.

"I don't think it was personal," he joked. "He was just upset that his diaper was a friggin' _war_ zone." He shivered as if from a bad memory.

"It's weird we were all that size once," Alex commented, not really able to understand it at the moment, how every person she'd ever met had been that tiny once.

Dean got quiet, reflective. "I remember when you and Sammy were that small," he said softly, contemplating Bobby John with nostalgia. Alex looked at her brother thoughtfully.

Jamie's phone rang loudly, cutting through the moment. "Hello? Hey Irv. No, sorry. I'm not in the area. What are you—oh. Yeah I still have those files. I think they're in my car. Can you hold on a sec?" She pushed herself off the bed. "I'll be back in a few," she told the Winchesters and then she left the room.

Dean smiled at his sister tightly and walked off a few steps. She turned to watch him and seized the opportunity for a private conversation. "You really have them on lockdown? Lisa and Ben?"

He looked down at the glass in his hand, his jaw tensing. "Yeah. Yeah I do." He looked up at her and shrugged helplessly. "What else am I supposed to do? I put them in danger by just being part of their lives. And now I gotta keep them safe from the things in my past. I mean, those djinn a couple months ago… if they found out that dose they jacked me up on didn't work—they would've come back, made sure they finished the job. If Lisa and Ben were there… if they got hurt in any way…" he sighed, burdened and haunted. "We've made a lot of enemies over the years," he lamented. "And any more of them catch wind of where I am, who's important to me…" he paused. "Lisa and Ben, they're not like you and Sam. They wouldn't stand a chance." He got quiet. "Sometimes I do think it'd be safer for them if I just high-tailed it outta there but… where the hell would I go?" He was ranting at this point almost. "With _Sam_?" He seemed opposed to the idea and upset that he was opposed to it. "I dunno." He cleared his throat then became hesitant, studying her in reluctant hope. "You, uh, you thought anymore about you and me? Hitting the road again?"

Alex sighed softly, feeling pressured. "Dean, I told you. I don't wanna be the swing vote. You have to decide if you're staying with Lisa and Ben before I think about it. I mean, you've always wanted this, right? And now you have it. And maybe, who knows, no other skeletons will come creeping out of the closet to get you. Maybe those djinn were the last."

"Your optimism is real respectable," he wisecracked, "but come on, this is _us_ we're talking about. Do the demons and monsters _ever_ stop coming?" Fair point. Alex conceded with a slight shrug of her eyebrows. Dean sat down at the table and set down his drink with a clunk, rubbing his face tiredly with his hand in thought for a little while. "I keep thinking about that crazy dreamworld those blue-eyed assholes' dad put me in all those years ago," he murmured. "Sometimes I really do wanna go back there."

A little caught off guard by the sudden subject change, Alex tried to follow. "Wait, what—you mean that djinn who dosed you up back like five years ago?"

"No, the _other_ one," Dean quipped sullenly.

"Okay, okay, sorry," Alex chuckled, raising her hands in mock-defense. She sat down opposite her brother and glanced at all the papers Sam had left there briefly. "You never did tell us the whole story, you know. Of what stuff you saw in your little dreamworld."

"Ah, I told you enough," he said, waving a hand in dismissal.

Alex looked at him in exasperation. "No you didn't," she said, remembering how it had gone down that night maybe five years ago or so...

_Dean paged through a magazine morosely while sitting on the edge of a motel bed. Alex was sitting with her back leaned into Dean's as she sat cross-legged cleaning out a pistol, the parts scattered in front of her on the bedspread. Just a couple hours ago she and Sam had saved their brother from overdosing on djinn. Now he was being really quiet about the whole thing. Something was obviously bothering him. Alex thought it was probably because whatever fantasy that the djinn had sent him tripping balls on had been so great that reality was a depressing in comparison. It was depressing anyway. She blew some carbon dust out of the gun slide she was cleaning._

" _You all right?" Sam asked, sitting down beside Dean, whose general demeanor was upset, distracted, and sad._

 _Dean cleared his throat lightly. "Yeah. I'm all right." He didn't_ sound _all right and he wouldn't look at Sam. Alex stopped what she was doing and listened, sensing that something important was about to be said. Dean took a few beats, thinking deeply. "Should have seen it, guys. Our lives." A soft, bittersweet smile came onto his face. So he had dreamed about them. She should have known. "You were both total wussies."_

_Sam chuckled, grinned, understanding, Alex smirked down into her lap. "So we didn't get along then, huh?" Sam asked._

" _No," Dean confirmed, not smiling anymore. "It was us, it was out lives but we… just didn't really mesh. We were civil, but we weren't, I dunno. Friends."_

_Alex frowned to herself, then Sam said exactly what she'd been thinking: "But I thought it was supposed to, to be this perfect fantasy," he ventured, frowning a little, confused._

" _Yeah, well, it wasn't," Dean said, and he was deeply upset—it was easy to tell. He set the magazine he'd been halfheartedly looking through down. "It was just a wish. I wished for Mom to live. Mom never died, we never went hunting and so the three of us… we just kinda drifted apart and lived these boring, normal lives. But we weren't really family. Not like we are now."_

" _Yeah," Sam said softly, compassionately. Behind Dean, Alex had turned a little in concern, the firearm forgotten. Sam was gentle with his big brother. "Well, I'm glad we are." Dean turned to fully look at him. "And I'm glad you dug yourself out, Dean. Most people wouldn't have the strength, would have just stayed."_

" _Yeah… lucky me," Dean replied in soft cynicism. "I gotta tell you though, man." He stood up, careful not to set Alex off balance when he did. "You know, you had Jess. Mom was gonna have grandkids. And uh… Alex. She could talk." She turned to look at him in wide-eyed surprise and curiosity, her stomach flipping, her heart melting a little. He got a little smile on his face, like he was remembering and was sad about it because it wasn't real. "And you were friggin' hilarious, kiddo." He put his hands in his pockets and looked down sadly as he leaned against the TV set._

" _Dean... it wasn't real," Sam reminded gently, trying to encourage. Alex turned around completely, she now sat where Dean had a minute ago, legs off the edge of the bed._

 _The oldest Winchester just got quiet, more upset. His voice was soft and broken when he finally spoke. "I know. But I wanted it to be. And I wanted to stay." He almost looked like he could cry, like confessing it broke his heart. "I wanted to stay_ so bad _. I mean, ever since Dad... all I can think about is how much this job's cost us." He paused, even as his sister got up and came to his side. He tried not to look at her. "We've lost so much," he managed, eyebrows furrowing together in an attempt to hold himself together. "W-we've... sacrificed so_ much _."_

" _But people are alive because of you," Sam said, to which Dean scoffed and looked down, blinking away tears. "It's worth it, Dean. It is. It's not fair, and... you know, it hurts like hell, but... it's worth it."_

 _Dean met his brother's gaze. "You sure about that Sammy?" he asked brokenly. He shook his head again, burying his face in a hand. Alex went onto tiptoes and circled her arms around her big brother, hugging him tightly. It was all she could do. Silently tell him_ it's okay _._

That's all Dean had really ever said about it—Alex had tried later to ask him about it with her notebook—she remembered scrawling **wanna talk about it?** But he'd just smiled sadly, ruffled her hair, and shaken his head no then patted her on the shoulder and told her not to worry about it. She'd always wanted to know more but figured if Dean didn't wanna say and left it at that. But now she was dying once again to know what kind of life she'd lived in that fantasy world Dean had created. So she pressed gently since he'd already sort of started the conversation.

"I had my voice, right? I remember you said that." He looked at her out of the side of his eye quietly and Alex prompted him again. "What kinda job did I work?"

He chuckled, looking down at his whiskey with a fond little smile. "You were a boring-as-hell-secretary at some law firm."

"You made me a _secretary_?" Alex asked, balking playfully. "Come on, you could have made me something a little cooler—you _know_ I wanted to be a space gymnast growing up."

Dean grinned and chuckled, shaking his head. "Yeah, _still_ pretty sure that's not a real thing."

"I was gonna be the pioneer," Alex reminded and grabbed his glass from him, stealing a sip as she wiggled her eyebrows at him. "I mean, backflips with no gravity. And you were gonna be my astronaut assistant, remember?" She frowned a little, trying to figure out what that job title she'd thought up as a kid even _meant._

Dean looked at her with a soft smile. "Yeah, maybe someday we can still do that." They shared a _we're so stupid_ smile and laugh. 

And then Dean grew a little somber, deeply introspective, his eyes going somewhere far away. "You were safe. Maybe your life was boring, but… in that world, you were okay." He smiled to himself a little bit, bittersweet. "Mom was alive, you had your voice and were married to some accountant guy, Sam and Jess were together, just got engaged… everyone was happy. But everyone was, was _scattered_. You lived a few cities away—Sam freakin' lived on the other side of the country. We weren't close, I mean you and I got along but… just like with me and Sammy, there was like some kinda bad blood there. We weren't family like we are now." He seemed a little unsettled at that point, frowned deeply. "And you weren't really _you_ anymore. You dressed like, I dunno, an uptight church lady. And you didn't even know what a camshaft or a fan belt was." At her frown that asked _and why did that come up_ , Dean explained. "Mom's car was busted and I suggested you take a look at it. And then you ladies both laughed your asses off at me. You and I apparently only saw each other on holidays. If that." 

Alex considered everything he'd just told her, half amused at it, and also sort of disturbed. "That sounds kind of more like a nightmare," she said, then realized Dean hadn't mentioned someone. "And Dad? What'd he do?"

Dean cleared his throat, unsettled. "Oh, uh… he was dead."

Her eyebrows rose up high. "Dad was _dead_ in your fantasy world?"

Dean avoided her gaze guiltily. "Why do you think I never wanted to talk about what I dreamed? What did it say about me, you know? I don't… I still don't know." 

Alex swallowed painfully, heart suddenly beating fast. If she was ever going to talk about this… now was the time. And she felt like Dean needed to hear this, too—he looked like he needed reassurance and understanding. "You know, it's okay. I didn't know how to feel when Dad died, Dean. In fact... I sort of felt… _relieved_." Her brother looked at her with both hurt and empathy all at once and Alex tried to make him understand. "It freaks me out that I felt like that—what kind of person or daughter does that make me, you know? I _loved_ him but I also wanted him gone and… I _still_ don't know how to feel about him. Not really." There would forever be a longing there to understand better. "It wasn't our fault that he was the way he was," Alex continued, lost in painful thoughts and feelings. "And I don't think we should have ever felt like we had any responsibility for the things he decided to do." Dean's gaze flickered up to hers briefly. "I think he was a good man, I do," Alex said emphatically. "But along the way he… got lost. It was all too much for him." She bitterly thought about how she understood insanity a little better these days than before. Some things were too much to carry. John Winchester had been many things... human being number one. 

Dean was quiet. "Yeah," he replied softly, then took his whiskey back from her and drank some more, brooding.

In the back of the room Bobby John stirred and began to fuss softly. Alex looked toward the kid, getting a little nervous, then at Dean who would know what to do. "What's wrong with him? What do we do?"

Dean gestured toward the kid by using his whiskey glass. He was a little distracted, still. "Pick him up, hold him awhile."

"What? _Uh-uh_ , you do it," Alex said, shaking her head _no_.

Dean looked at her, obviously thinking _you are ridiculous._ "Alex. I've seen you face down demons, wraiths, vamps. Pick up the baby and stop _being_ one."

Alex stood up and huffed, mad that he was making her. She edged toward the little makeshift crib. How did you even pick up a baby? And what if she made him cry harder? Bobby John was whimpering sadly and Alex felt a little of her own hesitation fade as she saw him. Poor guy. Okay. She leaned down and carefully scooped him up, hefting him up into her arms. His little face was just above her shoulder and she held on tight, afraid to drop him. Dean smiled crookedly, tiredly, summoning some amusement at his sister's _am I doing this right_ expression. "Pat him on the back a little," he suggested, and Alex did, then imitated what Dean had done earlier with the gentle rocking-jostling motion. It seemed to work. Bobby John calmed a little, began to soothe. His head rested on Alex's shoulder now, he hiccuped a little as he settled. "There, see?" Dean asked. "It's not rocket science." 

It was kind of sweet, this little trusting human laying his little head on her and using her as a pillow. She actually kind of liked it and began to relax as she walked back and forth like Dean had. Alex decided to try humming— _Pour Some Sugar On Me_ —the first thing she thought of. She only realized how inappropriate that was a few bars into the song, and by then, she just kind of went with it. Dean chuckled when he recognized the melody and Alex shot him a look—kept humming. _Just be glad I'm not singing dude—you know I can't carry a tune for shit_.

Bobby John seemed to relax more too and after a minute he let out the cutest little tired stuttering sigh she'd ever heard. Poor little guy… he seemed okay again and Alex carefully, gingerly laid him down into the pack and play again, drawing away carefully, like she was afraid to shatter something. He settled down, blinking sleepily. Maybe he'd had a little bad dream and that's why he'd cried a minute ago. Did babies dream bad things, too? Alex wondered.

Jamie came back in at that moment, no longer on her phone. Dean acknowledged her with a glance, downing the rest of his whiskey, Alex stood back and watched Bobby John for a minute, then decided she could go for the same thing—a nap. The coffee she'd attempted to drink earlier hadn't really helped. She went over to the bed that didn't have Jamie's things strewn all over it and flopped down onto her stomach. Not even five seconds later, the bed suddenly bounced as Dean flopped down beside her on his back. 

"Hey!" Alex protested, then laughed and pushed him away—or tried. "Get off!"

"Make me, shortstop," he said, and began to mess with the Magic Fingers controls beside the bed.

"Dean, you know I hate Magic Fingers," she complained but he ignored her, chuckling low in his throat as he goaded her. Same old Dean. She elbowed him in the side and he made a sound of protest, more because it tickled than anything else. She sighed when the bed relaxation system her brother was so obsessed with came on. Really, she felt like a grain of rice being jolted around on top of a spinning washing machine. But Dean sighed happily and relaxed, his head propped up with his hands behind his head. "You're such a loser," she muttered, but she wasn't exactly unhappy. He was so familiar, so steadfast. She thought about it, saying yes to hunting with him again. Really, what was holding her back, anyway? 

On the other bed loading a shotgun, Jamie smiled fleetingly with a note of sadness when she glanced at the Winchesters. She and her brother had never been on terms like that—ever. 

Alex was drifting off to sleep when there was a strange splatting sound and Bobby John started to cry, loudly—different than before, and it was clear that something was _wrong_. Dean had already sat up ramrod straight, Alex was a millisecond behind him, twisting up into a sitting position. Jamie got there first and stood over the crying baby. "Uh… guys?" She bent down, picking the baby up, then turned around, her expression strange—Dean and Alex froze when they saw. Bobby John was no longer Caucasian and blue-eyed. He was now Black.

And suddenly it made sense. Dean said what they were all thinking. "Oh my god, the shifter is his _dad!_ " 

"What should we do?" Jamie asked, looking slightly panicked: Bobby John had bits of skin and blood all over him. He was crying hard and loud, obviously scared by what had just happened. But even though he was basically gooey and disgusting after shedding skin, Jamie didn't seem to care, she held the baby close, getting all the mess all over her. _Shh, shhhh,_ she encouraged, trying to calm the inconsolable baby down. 

"Sink—bath—now," Dean said, and pointed the way to the kitchenette.

"What does this even mean?" Alex asked, blindsided, hanging back as Dean and Jamie worked as a team. "I thought you said Bobby John's parents were dead—was one of them a _shifter_?"

"I don't _know_ ," Dean said, a little busy at the moment. "Rinse this part off," he told Jamie, moving poor, confused, hysterical Bobby John around in the sink as they basically hosed the poor kid down.

"He's being too loud, make him be quiet," Alex said, getting anxious.

"I _can't_ ," Dean said, increasingly frustrated.

"Almost done, Bobby John, it's okay, sorry—" Jamie used a dishrag to wipe his face off and he hated it, screamed even louder. " _Eesh_ ," she commented at the rising hysterics. 

"Blanket," Dean commanded. Alex grabbed one from his pile of baby stuff and tossed it to him.

A sudden pounding sounded at the door, startling them all. "Manager!" a voice announced. "Everything okay in there?"

Dean glanced at the door, irritated, handing the blanket to Jamie. "Yeah, no, we're fine," he said loudly. "Thank you, good night."

"There's been complaints," the male voice on the other side of the door said. "Mind opening the door, sir?"

Dean shook his head at Alex, who had made to move forward. "It's not a good time," Dean said loudly, handing the baby off to Jamie and helping her to wrap the loud baby up snuggly. "Just got out of the shower."

The doorknob rattled and in unison all three hunters reacted, realizing that was _not_ the manager out there—Alex backed up fast and dropped to a knee, digging with fast fingers through her weapon bag for a silver knife even as Jamie shrank back into the kitchen corner holding the baby protectively. Dean held a hand out to her, telling her silently to be still. He edged toward the door, ready to attack. The door unlocked and burst open even as Alex got a grip on her silver blade and stood, her hair swinging around her at the force with which she whirled. A police officer stood there, only, Alex was pretty sure he _wasn't_ a police officer. Standing right inside the door and to the side, Dean hadn't been seen yet by the shifter. Alex baited him, knowing exactly what Dean was planning.

"Come and get me, slimy," she taunted. He barged in, heading straight for her, drawing his gun just in time to get attacked—Dean lunged, pushing him sideways into the wall so hard that the shifter lost his grip on his gun. The shifter was barely affected, he used brute force and shoved Dean back toward Alex. The shifter spotted Jamie—it was hard not to, as the baby was still making a racket and sobbing uncontrollably.

"Give me the child and maybe I won't harm you," the shifter said, stepping toward her once.

Dean lunged at the shifter again, knocking him sideways then slashing him across the face with a silver knife. Surprisingly strong, the shifter grabbed Dean and threw him at Alex, who had been one step away with her knife raised. She flew backwards and she and Dean crashed into the TV set painfully.

"The baby, _now_ ," the shifter demanded, and advanced on Jamie, fast, hard, deadly intent in his eyes. Genuine fear flashed across Jamie's face—she had no weapon and Dean and Alex were on the ground—she seemed to lose her cool.

"Get _back_!" she cried out the second before the shifter was about to touch her, and her voice rang loudly, a thunderous power contained inside of it intertwined with a high pitched sound that could shatter glass—and, apparently, did. All the glass objects in proximity broke in unison and a powerful wind billowed over the room—it blew the shifter backwards and it was as if her voice itself had ripped through him—he exploded in a huge splat of blood and guts and Jamie fell down onto her knees as if she'd been kicked in the gut, barely managing to keep a hold of Bobby John.

Alex pushed the TV set off of herself even as Dean stood up breathlessly, looking at Jamie in the beginnings of confusion and horror. "What the—" Dean looked at the bloody remains then Jamie, who was breathing hard and had a wild look in her eyes. He swooped down and snatched the crying baby from her and backed up, scanning the wreckage in aghast realization—in the blast of wind, her duffel had fallen over and hex bags littered the floor and bed. Blindsided, Dean gaped at Jamie. "...You're—you're a _witch_?" he asked in soft confusion, then turned to look at Alex in rapidly rising amounts of indignant anger. "You've been hunting this whole time with a goddamn _witch_?!" He clutched the baby hard. He looked betrayed and a little scared.

"Dean, not all witches are—" Alex started, pushing herself up to stand. The leg of her jeans was torn open thanks to the broken TV.

"Yes they are!" Dean shouted. "Do you remember _how_ witches become witches, Alex? They make _deals_ with _demons_! And the more powerful the witch, the more under a demon's _thumb_ she is!" He looked at Jamie like she was contagious. She was on her knees, winded and wounded, a hand against the cabinets beside her for support. "So whose hellbitch are you, huh?" He asked cruelly. "Crowley? Meg? _Who_?"

Jamie's face was cold at his words. Her jaw tightened against clear hurt. "I'm _no one's_ bitch." Her voice shook. 

"Well _some_ one's yanking your leash to give you power like that!" Dean thundered.

"Dean—" Alex protested at his overreaction. "Take it easy, would you?!"

"Take it _easy_?" he echoed incredulously, looking at her like she'd never suggested anything crazier in his whole life.

Jamie attempted to stand, pushing herself up on her knees. She was wounded and angry. "Look, think whatever you want of me but I just saved— _oh_." Her legs gave out and she stumbled back and sideways and her shoulder hit against a lower kitchenette cabinet door painfully. She let out a sound of pain and she coughed weakly, blood splattered out of her mouth. She looked like she was going to pass out. Dean faltered, unsure about his anger for a second. Alex hurried to Jamie and crouched beside her, helping her stay sitting. Jamie looked like she might fall down any second but she stared up at Dean, who was looking at her with renewed, stubborn revulsion. It almost looked like she were going to cry, something seemed to snap in her at the way he was looking down at her with such revulsion. "Maybe I didn't _ask_ for this!" she cried out in a surprisingly emotional outburst. 

For the briefest moment, Dean was conflicted. Then he shook his head and set his features like stone. " _All_ witches ask to be witches," he replied tightly, full scorn. "Don't try and act like you didn't."

Just as quickly as she'd been emotional, Jamie withdrew and became expressionless. Her voice was low, quiet, soft. "Take the kid and go."

"Yeah, no, you don't have to tell me twice," Dean muttered. They heard commotion at the still-open doorway. Sam and Glen came in, both of them seeming to be confused at what they were seeing—the room a wreck, guts everywhere, Jamie collapsed, Dean holding the baby angrily.

"Something going on?" Sam asked, looking from Jamie to Alex to Dean in turn. Dean gave his brother a _no shit, Sherlock_ evil eye, already grabbing up some of his stuff one handed in preparation to leave.

"What's the problem?" Glen followed up, reading the mood of the room. "Who exploded all over the floor? And the wall?"

"We found out the baby's dad is a shifter," Sam said, then looked at the blood everywhere, the silver knife Alex still held. "So… I'm guessing you guys just saw him."

"Yeah, we did," Dean snapped, and, bag of stuff in hand, glared around at everyone indiscriminately. "We're leaving. Sam, get your crap. You coming, Alex?"

Still down on the floor with Jamie, Alex looked at her brother angrily, surprised he would even ask her that. "No."

Dean lost his cool. "Why the hell not?" He demanded roughly. Alex shook her head and looked away, she was ashamed at his behavior and also not terribly surprised, which made her even more crestfallen. She said nothing, further angering—and scaring her brother. "It's _dangerous_ , Alex, you shouldn't stay with them!" 

Alex stood up and crossed her arms, setting her brother with a disappointed look. "These people are my _friends,_ Dean!" Sadness flickered over her face and she set her jaw, resigned and bitter. Mourning his loss already. "Why don't you head out, huh?" She was sarcastic purposefully. "I'll call you later."

He wasn't happy about it and let her know with his general demeanor but he nodded tersely. "Yeah, great," he muttered. "Don't listen to me. As usual." He shook his head and left. Sam followed, giving Alex a glance and some weird kind of forced smile as he left.

Alex shut the door behind her brothers, a hand on her forehead as she gritted her teeth together because _why did it always have to go this way?!_ She'd forgotten about how Dean's overreactions tended to go. It's dangerous, he said. _Please_. He was so overly dramatic and shortsighted sometimes. Rolling her eyes in exasperation, she shut the door behind her brother and went to apologize to Jamie and help her up as Glen stood in a corner of the room, arms crossed, watchful.

Alex didn't know that Dean was one hundred percent right about it being dangerous for her there.


	51. Blurred Lines

" _You save yourself or you remain unsaved."_  
\- Alice Sebold

* * *

***** CONTENT TRIGGER WARNING: Sexual Assault (non-explicit) *****

* * *

**A Few Days Later**

Glen Ward was many things, but he wasn't evil. People liked him, thought he was funny and charming and cool. He was capable and strong, a little self-obsessed, but _hey_ —if that was his only flaw, not bad. He wasn't evil. Yeah, he did things that were questionable but that was just part of living life to the fullest and taking in every experience possible. He stole, he cheated, he lied, he manipulated people and situations, he didn't care about anyone other than himself… but, he wasn't evil.

That was Glen's mantra, the only thing he cared about pretty much: _I'm not evil._

He had started repeating this to himself on July 4th, 1988. Everyone else had been around the front of the mansion watching fireworks in the night sky and some of those bright bursting lights had reflected in the dark water of the luxurious family pool. Glen had stood there at the edge of the shimmering water and wondered _am I evil_? Because below the surface of the water, his two-year-old little sister Erin was struggling after falling in by accident. Glen just watched and did nothing, curious and fascinated as her tiny body sank to the bottom of the pool, eventually going still and beginning to drift. _Am I evil_? He thought maybe a big brother should have jumped in to save her or called for help, but he didn't do either. It seemed marvelous to him that life was so fragile and easy to snuff out, and he'd been struck by the chance to watch it happen. And who was Erin, anyway? Just another human being taking up space on the planet. Him letting her die like that was just a kid being curious. He wasn't evil. He was _different_.

He remembered how Jamie found him staring into the pool—small, eight-years-old, she'd screamed in shock and quickly panicked, hyperventilating as she told Glen to go get someone. Then she'd jumped in to try and save their already-dead sister. Jamie didn't really know how to swim at the time but had somehow found it within herself to overcome her fear of water and pull her sister out. Glen had watched her sobbing over Erin, who had been blue in the face... dead for several minutes already. Adults clustered around his sisters and Glen stood off, staring and mildly frustrated. Why didn't he feel the panic and horror everyone else did? At first he thought it was because he was evil, but he didn't like the thought that he was evil. Then he decided it _wasn't_ because he was evil. It was because he was smarter than everyone else, and higher above stupid things like emotions. He was better than everyone else.

Ever since that night, he'd felt this smug sense of power. Because he knew he could have changed what happened and he'd chosen not to. He was like a _god_ or something, he could say whether another person lived or died by what he chose to do or not do. That thrilled him. And as he grew up, he learned how to keep people believing things other than what was actually true: how to play on their doubts, fears, weaknesses, desires, wishes. He became an expert at playing roles and manipulating any situation he was in, always to his own benefit and amusement.

To his sister, he was forgetful and half-ass and flighty—he kept her in the dark by letting her think she was the smarter one—to Alex he was a rogue with a heart of gold who was opening up slowly to the idea of a real, lasting relationship and true intimacy. To Jennifer, he was a business major who was down on his luck and looking for a love to heal wounds from his past. To Sadie, he had been a bad-boy one night stand with quite a bit of S&M thrown in there. There were other women and even a few guys too and there would always be more. It wasn't even entirely about the sex for Glen, although it never hurt to get laid. It was about pushing the boundaries to see if he'd get caught, because he got off on danger and lies and the pleasure-rush those gave him. He got off on controlling people's thoughts, puppeting them into exactly the situation he wanted them in. And no one ever guessed his secret because he was smarter than _all_ of them. They fell for what he said and believed him _every time_. He'd never get over how much he loved looking people in the eye and saying something and watching them believe it as the whole time, he was smirking internally at how easy it was to prey on their trust and vulnerability.

He was an opportunist and the world was his grand experiment. It was all an inside joke. And he always got the last laugh. No, he wasn't evil. He was good. The _best_. And Alex was about to find that out. Right at that moment, she was inside a motel room and he was outside getting a first aid kid. She'd just gotten cut up sort of bad in a scuffle as they put yet another vengeful spirit down earlier that day. And seizing the opportunity, recognizing what a perfect scenario it was, Glen had sent Jamie off on a fool's errand by telling her he'd just gotten a call from an old hunting buddy and they needed to move on that as soon as possible. He'd said he needed to patch Alex up and that they would catch up. He'd basically sent his sister on a wild goose chase and later would tell her he accidentally told her the wrong address to go to. She'd get exasperated with his 'forgetfulness' and bitch him out. He'd act like he cared what she said about him and around and around it would go… this little game he played with the world and everyone in it.

Glen loped back up the sidewalk and into the motel room, opening the door. He paused there and smiled crookedly at Alex, who was sitting on the edge of a bed and had rolled her shirt up to look at the angry red slash across her torso. The day he'd found out she'd been with an angel, that had been the first act, the time when he became truly intrigued with the thought of seducing her—intrigued with the idea if seeing if he could best a celestial being. And today? Today was the grand finale.

* * *

Alex hissed a little as she peeled her shirt up a little and looked at the stinging line that had been slashed there just below where her ribcage began. _Thanks, barbed wire. You're so great._ She sighed in discomfort, waiting for Glen to hurry his ass up with that first aid kit. Ever since she'd been a kid, she'd had that placebo effect of a bandaid or bandage making her feel better immediately. She put a hand to her head, feeling a headache coming on. She glanced at her stuff piled at the top of the bed pensively. Her flask was empty... she needed more.

The sound of the door made her look up—Glen paused there, kit in hand, smiling at her a little. Alex gave the biggest flirt she knew a friendly but warning look—she wasn't a prude but sitting there with her entire midriff on display to him was bound to get some comments and she wasn't in the mood to hear it. He smiled a little more at her _don't say a damn thing, idiot_ glance. "You think you'll live?" he asked teasingly and came over to her.

She rolled her eyes. It _was_ just a scratch. But it did sting pretty bad. "I'm fine."

He surprised her when he knelt one-kneed in front of her and set the kit down beside her on the bed to look through it slowly, oblivious to the way he'd caught her off guard. "Sure you are," he commented vaguely, implying something and glancing up at her fleetingly a couple times, his eyes intense and full of meaning. She looked away, uncomfortable with how close he was. She tried to think of something rude to say. But honestly, he had her off her game, knelt down in front of her like that. All the things he'd been doing and saying lately had her second guessing him and herself, too. It made her uneasy. Was Glen her type? She didn't know. Did she even have a _type_? In high school and stuff, she'd always been attracted to the outcasts, the really artsy guys, the theatre majors, the dorky but nice math nerds, the ones everyone made fun of. In later years on the road, she hadn't even really met any guys who made her look twice. Her type… was the tall, dark-haired, awkward, heartfelt type that wore a trench coat. At the thought of Cas, she became even more uncomfortable at Glen's proximity.

"Okay, you need to get just a _little_ closer so I can actually do this," he said, trying to joke with her—she was sitting as far back as possible from him. He had a little disinfecting wipe in hand, but hadn't taken it out of its little individual wrap. He took hold of her briefly—a hand curving around either of her hips just where her jeans started—and pulled her forward to him. Her pulse picked up at the abrupt touch of his strong hands—her knees went apart when they bumped up against his chest, he scooted closer too—either side of his torso hitting against either of her inner thighs. _What… what was he doing?_ He let go of her and she was stiff as a board, frozen, not breathing, trying not to flip out. He was studying her cut closely, not seeming to acknowledge how close and intimate of a position he'd pulled her in to. _You're just misjudging. Calm down._ Although she did have to wonder: would he be dressing his _sister's_ wound like this...? He opened the little alcohol pad he'd gotten out of the kit, not noticing her spiking anxiety. Glen was nice, really… funny, strong, witty, smart, laid back. And he definitely wasn't bad to look at. All these facts made her even more flustered when she realized she'd noticed him a lot more than she realized.

"All right, this might sting," he said and steadied her with a hand against her side—warm palm to her bare skin. The gentle touch made her swallow and get flustered automatically. It had been forever since she'd been touched in a way that felt sensual and she hated her body for responding the way it did—with longing for more. She tried to ignore herself and then was actually _glad_ when the alcohol pad touched to her wound and sent searing pain shooting through her torso.

" _Agh_ …" she winced and grimaced. _Son of a bitch._

He smiled a little, his eyes flickered up to hers. One of his fair eyebrows raised slightly. "Come on, that didn't _hurt_."

"Like hell it didn't, hurry up," she complained. He shook his head and smiled to himself fondly, gently brushing the pad across the length of the cut several times to clean and disinfect. She held back protesting sounds of discomfort the whole time. When it was done he silently reached for the antibiotic ointment and then began to lightly smear the medicine across her cut. Alex frowned a little. His hand was still on her side and his thumb moved back and forth, like he was trying to soothe her. She tried not to look at his fair eyelashes or regal features, the little ghost smile tugging at one end of his mouth, his strong broad shoulders and tousled blond hair, the three day scruff he always sported. She tried and failed. He set the ointment away when he was done and then looked up at her with this intense, emotionally vulnerable look in his eyes, startling her. Suddenly he put his other hand on her other side so that he held her bare waist in both hands—he pulled her forward a little more and kissed her softly on the stomach just below the cut, shocking Alex and scaring her all at once because the only one who had ever kissed her there before was Castiel and _oh god_. She reacted to the touch by drawing in a soft, surprised breath and going rigid all over again. Then she grabbed his hands and shoved him away defensively as anger grew—both at his audacity and her reaction to how good it had felt. "Knock it off, Glen," she fumed, grabbing at an oversized bandaid in the kit. "I'll do this _myself_." She began to shakily tear open the packet in front of herself.

" _Stop_ ," he appealed softly, and caught her fumbling hands in his, making her cease and look at him. She was breathless and _embarrassed_ and ready to rip her hands out of his... but something about the way he was looking at her changed her mind and made her stay put. He really did look apologetic and a little scared that he'd done something wrong, which made her reconsider. "Sorry," he said, "I'm sorry... I-I didn't mean to push you. I... just acted without thinking. You, you make me… do things I don't understand, sometimes." He seemed to get embarrassed, looking away. "Ah, forget it." He took the bandaid from her, and unhappy with himself, he began to apply it, this time keeping a respectful distance, looking up at her repeatedly with chastened eyes.

Alex let him, not because she needed help—she could do it herself—but she was literally so starved for a gentle, caring touch that she couldn't deny herself the fleeting comfort and closeness. As guilty and torn as she felt about deriving any small semblance of pleasure from his touch… still, she did. She stared blankly over the top of his head and blinked against watery eyes, not sure if it was because of the stinging cut or something else. It felt like betrayal to think of another man at all in the way she was beginning to allow herself to think about Glen. And it wasn't just betrayal, it was finality… it was the sound of the door closing, it was the end of the hour, it was the last page of a book. It was her really realizing that it really was over.

Glen finished gently applying the bandage and he looked up at her with slow, cautious eyes that seemed soulful and earnest. "You _really_ think I'd ever do anything to hurt you?" he asked softly, and it made her feel bad. He put his hands on her sides again, hesitant and careful, because maybe he could see through her and how she'd wanted that touch, how she _still_ wanted it, even though the second his warm big hands settled onto her skin, so did the guilt. He searched her faltering eyes pleadingly. "Do you _really_ think I'm such a bad guy?"

Underneath his gentle touch, Alex was struggling to think straight; her heart was aching with sad confusion. "No, I just—there's—there's someone else."

"There _was_ someone else," he corrected. She tried to look away and he caught her jaw in his hand, gently making her look at him. "Look at what he's done to you, Alex. Broken your heart completely. I know he did. I see how sad you are. How _lonely_." He moved one hand up to tuck some of her hair behind her ear—a sweet touch her life had been missing for so long now. He softened and empathized: "You don't have to be." Words that threatened to make her break down. She _didn't_ want to be alone anymore, she was so tired of being empty and abandoned; she _needed_ someone. But she still wanted that someone to be her angel. Castiel wasn't there though, was he? And Glen was.

She looked at him with eyes filling with telling tears—she was torn down the middle, not wanting to go along with this on one hand, but on the other hand, thinking she _should_ give in and use Glen to forget her pain. "You're so goddamn beautiful," he murmured and gently touched the side of her neck as he looked from her eyes to her lips. "I just… really wanna kiss you right now," he almost whispered, and his hand brushed against the side of her face, his lips parted a little. He looked so earnest and heartfelt. Alex was at war inside of herself—her heart was racing and she felt dizzy, and it wasn't entirely unpleasant, either.

He was craning his neck up slowly, watching her carefully, and she knew he was going to kiss her. His other hand touched the other side of her face so that he was cradling it tenderly in both hands and she still didn't move, her face becoming agonizing in expression the closer he got, and she didn't know if she was going to accept the kiss or not—and just before his lips would have touched hers, she turned her head away, unable to bring herself to it. "I _can't_ ," she insisted in a broken little whisper, and her hands pressed gently into his upper chest to stop him. His hands stayed where they were as he sat up a little higher on his knee and leaned his head in to kiss the curve of her neck gently as his hands glided down to her shoulders. Alex shut her eyes, eyebrows slamming together and fingers curling into his shirt, body tensing as treacherous heat flushed her. Having someone touch her so gently and longingly after a year of holding out for Castiel was too much—and even though everything in her screamed _yes_ , she was hyper-aware that _it wasn't Cas_ who was touching her like that and she resisted, holding herself stiffly, almost jumping away from Glen and threatening his life if he ever touched her again… but she also was so unbearably lonely. Glen was warm, breathing against her neck and then kissing her again softly, moving some of her hair back, stroking the sensitive skin of her shoulder and neck with his fingers, eliciting a soft little expulsion of breath out of Alex's slightly agape mouth. He kissed again, less innocently—more sensually—and something snapped.

 _Cas_. Her other half, the one she belonged to, the one who she couldn't betray like this—and she got panicked and pushed Glen back then got up off the bed quickly, anything to get away from the temptation he was presenting her with. She shakily rolled her bunched, torn shirt back down, her back to Glen—and she went to the window, distancing herself. She was playing with fire being here alone with him in her emotionally deteriorated state. And she'd had demon blood a couple days ago. It made her even more sexually frustrated than normal.

"Alex—" Glen appealed, standing up slowly. She lifted up a couple of the closed blinds that laid across the window, looking outside tersely. "I'm sorry, do you really not want…" he trailed off and he sounded so sad that Alex felt guilty all over again. Had she somehow led the guy on all these months? She'd thought he was nothing more than a gigantic flirt, a rakish frat boy at best. She hadn't seen the substance he apparently hid away deep down. The thoughtfulness and heart he hid from everyone else.

She turned her head slightly, hearing him approaching with soft footfalls. "I told you, I _can't_ ," she said, then shook her head and let the blinds snap closed again. This was so, so _hard_. "I _won't_." She needed to leave. But...

She felt him come up behind her and her breath caught a little at his proximity and the question of _what was he doing to do?_ "Sweetie," he murmured sympathetically, and she felt his hands gently touch either of her arms from behind. She weakened at the feeling of being held however gingerly. "He's not coming back." She looked upward, blinking rapidly as she fought that statement. " _I'm_ here," he told her in a soothing tone. His warm breath made her body tingle without permission. She felt such deep confusion. His firm chest touched her back ghostingly and his warmth seeped into her. She shut her eyes, conflicted at an excruciating level. "It's okay," he told her. A whisper, a seduction. "You wanna forget, right?" _Yes_ , she did— _no_ , she didn't. She didn't _know_...! He ran his hands up and down her arms gently, sending a feeling like sparks across her skin. "I can help with that." He kissed the side of her neck again, straining her defenses. "If that's all you want me for… all right."

He was saying _use me_. Goddammit, she was supposed to be _stronger_ than this! Alex gritted her teeth together as he kissed her neck again, his lips warm and soft. "No—I…" she almost whimpered but it was a stuttering and weakening excuse, a fallacy, an automatic thing she said. She could. Nothing was stopping her, not physically. She turned her head to the side, trying to look at Glen, wishing she would see a handsome weary face with dark eyebrows and brilliant crystal eyes and wide lips and age lines scattered across tan skin—a gaze that conveyed love and tenderness beyond compare.

But it wasn't Cas. And somehow she still wanted this because it was better than nothing. She despised herself for that thought.

"Stop thinking, just let me help you," Glen murmured behind her, circling his arms around her and nuzzling her neck with his nose then mouthing it softly, half kissing, half sucking. Her throat closed up a little bit and she didn't know herself anymore, her hand shot out and grasped the wood border of the window she was facing and she held onto it for dear life as she fought herself, not sure what to do. He sucked inwards hard and she gasped softly in pleasure and pain alike, felt him lacing a hand through her hair and pulling her head to the side, tilting her head to expose more of her neck and he repeated his actions, leaving marks on her neck and eliciting soft gasps from her, his hand on the front of her neck now, soft. Dangerous desire was pooling deep down and the allure of what Glen was doing softened her, melting her.

Faintly, below the chaos of rising titillation, Alex was struggling against a rising panic. Was this really happening? Was she _really_ letting him do this? She was, and she couldn't believe herself. Being as emotionally and physically impoverished as she was, she didn't do what her instincts kept telling her to do, she didn't run away. Instead, she stayed there and let Glen touch her in an exploring, slow, curious way but she felt wrong about it, so wrong. _He's not Cas,_ she reminded herself over and over again. Glen continued to kiss and love-bite her neck, ghosting his fingers across the front of her neck even then down over the swell of her chest… she sucked in a breath sharply and his hand dropped lower to over her belly button and he pulled her closer to himself, flush to his hips.

She tried to force herself into this, because maybe this was the only way to get over Castiel. She tried to just let go, to not be anything but into it as Glen's hands slowly trailed up, coaxing her shirt upwards over her middle. She let out an almost pained sound when he nipped and sucked the skin just below her jaw into his mouth and through the space between his teeth. Her other hand slammed straight into the blinds to press there flat-palmed.

She forced herself to shut her eyes as misery and guilt piled onto her with horrible, consuming vastness. There was a lump in the bottom of her throat that she couldn't swallow away, there was a vaguely sick feeling in the pit of her stomach even though her body was enraptured at the feeling of being kissed and touched. This was cheating. She was _cheating_ on Castiel, she was being unfaithful to him. Sure, he hadn't shown his face in a year, he'd vanished abruptly, appeared for all of ten minutes to save her from Nandriel and then thrown her into a random place without thought… and maybe it really was over for him, but _it wasn't over for her_. She still loved him and that's why this was wrong—she still hadn't let go of him. And maybe never would. Glen was gently touching and squeezing her chest now over her shirt and it felt good and she craved it and yet it was so _detestable_. She felt her throat thickening as emotion choked her.

Why the hell would Cas leave her like he had and refuse to come to her constant calls?! Say he _loved_ her and possess her heart itself and say he'd be with her the rest of his days then leave without a single fucking word of explanation? What if the rest of her life was like this? Would she really never know why he'd left?

Glen's hands moved down to caress the fronts of her thighs and she shuddered, freaked out as hell and simultaneously aroused and filled with horror at herself—she wasn't sure if she could go through with this after all. Yes, he knew exactly how to touch her: his hands were experienced and confident and she had no doubt that he was probably an amazing lover but… beyond her physical desire for sex, she craved intimacy and love those two words were tied to Castiel exclusively. Even if Cas never ever came back, even if Glen was the last man to ever show interest in her… was it really worth it? Knowing she'd gone back on her word? Glen's hands curved inward to the insides of her thighs, moving upward to hit up against her between her legs. Her eyes shot open, her breath caught, she clearly saw Castiel's face in her mind's eye. _This is a mistake._ _I can't do this._

"Stop, _stop_ —" she said, voice rising a little in panic, and she pushed at his hands—then was met with surprising resistance.

"Come on, baby, just relax," he soothed into her ear, not letting go, or taking his hands away, in fact, touching her harder by rubbing a hand across the crotch of her jeans despite her telling him to stop. "I know you want this; just quit fighting it."

His words terrified her immediately. "I said _no_!" she insisted, conveying herself clearly, leaving no room for doubt that she wanted him to stop, _now_ —and she tried to yank away, but he didn't _let_ her and stark panic overtook her, confusion. "What the hell are you doing?!" she demanded in a quickly rising voice.

"What you want, what I _know_ you want." His tone had become sharper.

"No, get _off_ of me!" she insisted, and began to fight his hold. His arms closed over her like a vice and fear choked her at the abrupt shift that had taken place.

"Are you fucking _kidding me_?" he demanded, tone distinctly angry and full of righteous indignation—it was like a different man was suddenly there behind her—he was _hurting_ her and he sounded merciless. She was struggling and he abruptly sounded like he _hated_ her. "You're gonna string me along all this time and act like you're gonna give it to me then stop me _now_? What, you trying to _trick_ me or something Winchester? _Me_?"

"Glen, stop, _please_ —!" she begged, getting hysterical and trying to fight him away, but her movements were made incredibly useless by her panic. "What are you doing—what are you _doing_!?" she protested, struggling valiantly, but he had her in basically a bear hug and he shoved her against the window roughly, holding her in place with his sheer size and weight—blinds smashed into the side of her face. This wasn't Glen! She _knew_ him! Was he possessed?! No, not possible, he had an anti-possession tattoo. And that was the most terrifying, gut-punching thought of all: that she had trusted him and he wasn't who she thought.

"No," he growled, " _Hell_ no, you're not gonna make me look like the bad guy, you _wanted_ this you little _bitch_ , you _begged_ for it, don't try and act like you didn't!"

And she realized far too late that she was in the most dangerous place she'd ever been, that Glen wasn't who she'd been led to believe, and that he was quite possibly out of his literal mind. "Get off me, get _away_!" she protested uselessly, voice rising in panic as he refused to let go of her, his arms crushing her painfully, one of his hands roughly trying to undo the button of her jeans as he went on a tirade about how he wasn't evil, how dare she make him resort to this, and he used some of the ugliest words in the english language to refer to her—then put a hand on the back of her head and shoved the side of her face into the window more. And something about _that_ seemed to flip a switch in her brain, help her focus and push her panic aside. She felt the familiar adrenaline-rushed feeling she got in the middle of fights and she decided _no. You don't get to do this to me, you lying psychopathic asshole_.

And gathering her wits, tuning out his words and letting herself become tunnel-vision focused, she went back to what she knew. Fighting dirty. She went slack in his arms, pretending to give up, even though her every sense was furious and ready to take the advantage when he gave it—and he did immediately, shoving shoved a hand down into her jeans—and when he did that, one of her arms got free and she bent it so that the elbow was a sharp point. With every ounce of strength she had, she pushed away with all of her weight from the window and used the freedom of motion to ram her elbow back into his stomach. She turned with the motion and managed a valiant blow to his face with her fist, hard enough to break the skin of her knuckles and crack his nose—he stumbled back a step, catching himself on the nightstand—and he angrily ripped the clock radio off its cord and too fast for her to counter, he struck her in the side of the head with it so hard that her ears rang and her vision doubled, going grayish. She stumbled sideways, stunned, falling down to her knees—and realized she should have run while she had still been able. _Oh my god what is he going to do to me?_ A strange, dull question that echoed as the room spun around her maddeningly.

Glen grabbed her easily like a rag doll and threw her down onto the bed, stomach-first.

* * *

**Easter, Pennsylvania**

Dean and Sam walked out of the Lincoln Avenue Police Department, both dressed in their FBI getup—suits, ties, the works. Dean was back in, and the two of them were hunting together again as of about one hour ago when Dean had rolled into town.

After the shifter baby debacle a few days ago—which, incidentally, had ended badly with another shifter getting the kid after all—Dean had returned home and, after some discussion, Lisa had basically told him she couldn't stand to see him wallowing around in restlessness, that she couldn't take his mopey, cagey attitude. That he needed to go hunt, because it was clear to her that he didn't want to be there now that he knew Sam was alive and now that he'd seen Alex again. _Come home when you can,_ Lisa'd told him, but not without resentment. He was still torn about the decision.

So far, Sam was still questionable. But it had only been an hour so… Dean didn't wanna misjudge anything. He could definitely feel how different things were though, and it wasn't just because Sam was acting bizarre, it was because Alex was missing from the dynamic. It was _weird_ to Dean, it felt like he was trying too hard to reclaim the golden years—a.k.a. the time before Stull Cemetery and the subsequent collapse of his family as he knew it. And he couldn't believe he was calling the hell they'd lived the golden years, but at least they'd been _together_. Maybe they still could together again, maybe they could find it again: the way they used to be. He hoped so.

He needed to call their sister soon and try and apologize for… what, for the fact that he was _worried_ for her? The fact that Glen gave him the creeps? The fact that he knew it was dangerous to hang around witches? He'd been totally blindsided by the revelation that Jamie was a witch, and felt oddly betrayed. He'd thought she was cool—then learned _that_. He had to figure out a way to get his sister out of the volatile partnership she'd struck up with the two Wards. He just had a bad feeling about the whole thing.

It was ironic his thoughts were on witches, because the two paranormal deaths they were investigating here in Pennsylvania? They both seemed pretty damn witchy: two dead officers; one completely liquified, the other covered inside and out in huge, disgusting boils. That particular corpse was basically one of the more disgusting things Dean had ever laid eyes on.

"So, what do you think?" Sam asked, in stride beside Dean as they walked down the sidewalk. "Next move? Go see Officer Bumpy's partner, see if we can get any leads there?"

"Huh? Oh, uh… yeah that sounds—" Dean's phone rang and he dug in his pocket, holding up a finger with his other hand. "Hold that thought." He frowned a little when he saw who it was calling. Alex. She hadn't called him since the the whole Jamie-is-a-witch thing and was probably still pissed at him. He almost thought about not answering because if she was gonna chew his ear off… no thank you. But he decided to take the chance as Sam glanced impatiently, ready to get a move on. Dean ignored him and answered, using his most charming, lighthearted tone. "Hey, kiddo, not still mad at me are you?"

" _Dean!_ " she burst out. He stopped walking abruptly. Her voice immediately alerted him to the fact that something was _wrong_. "W-where are you?" she asked in a breathy, panicked voice.

"What's wrong?" He asked intensely. He had stopped breathing for a second.

"I'm—I—I need you Dean, come get me, _please_ —" she sobbed and he thought he heard her say 'oh god' as if in pain and he went from being worried to terrified for her in a millisecond. "I just killed someone, I just _killed_ someone—" she wept.

 _Holy shit._ "What, like, like… a _person_?" he asked, aghast because she killed things all the time, but she had said she killed some _one_.

"Yes, a _person_." She made a horrible gaspy breathing sound.

Wide-eyed and needing to know a million things all at the same time, Dean freaked, a hand on his head, fingers jamming through his hair shakily. He turned around, paced a couple steps back the way he'd come, then turned back and headed for the Impala, disorienting himself. "Where are you? Do you have a weapon? What happened? Are you injured? Did anyone see?" He could faintly hear the sound of traffic whooshing past Alex, like she was driving with a window down or standing beside a highway.

"I'm—I, I was driving but I can't see right and—my _head_ —the—I'm in Adrian and I just passed mile marker ten on Highway twenty three." She sounded sort of sluggish and confused—scaring Dean all over again—he stood there with a hand on his head, listening hard, getting more and more terrified the more she said. "My—I have weapons but I think I'm about to pass out—" she groaned loudly and he could see her pained face in his mind's eye. "Dean—how far away are you?"

She _needed_ him and he knew it and was already scrambling in his brain to figure out the fastest route to get there—he'd started walking again, _fast_ ; he was a man on a mission and that voice on the other end was the most important thing in the universe to him right then. He didn't let her know how scared he was: he kept his voice calm and assertive, confident. "I'm a few hours from where you are but I'm gonna break every speed limit to get to you, you hear me baby girl?" He poured every ounce of brotherly reassurance he possessed into his tone and words. "You just sit tight, you hear me? I'm coming to get you. Can you get somewhere and lay low?"

"Dean, hurry!" He could hear that she was crying and she didn't answer his question. "I see spots, my head hurts, Dean it _hurts_ —"

Her reaction to the pain was freaking him out the most. She never cried about pain—complained and bitched yes, but never cried like a little kid about it. Dean was panicking by association. "Is your stomach upset? Have you thrown up? Do you have a fever?" he asked rapid-fire, trying to diagnose her on the fly, because head injuries weren't something to kid around with—but he heard no answer. She seemed to have hung up. Son of a bitch. What the fuck was happening! He called her back and it went straight to voicemail. Shit— _shit_! With shaking hands Dean started to put in Bobby's number as he got to the Impala, trying to get his keys out with one hand and put the number into the phone with the other, then remembering his silent brother who had followed him and was looking at him questioningly, waiting for an explanation with way too calm of an expression.

"What's up with her?" Sam asked like he hadn't heard Dean's frightened tone or seen how the call had terrified him.

"Alex's in trouble, we gotta go," Dean said, shoving the key into the door to his car.

" _Now_?" Sam asked incredulously, as if her crisis was inconvenient for him. "How bad of trouble?"

Indignant and immediately furious, Dean looked at his brother sharply. "What do you mean ' _how bad_ '?!"

"Dean, these leads are gonna cold if we don't—" Sam started, collected and reasonable.

" _Fuck_ the leads!" Dean shouted, enraged. "Do it yourself if it's so goddamn important; our sister is passed out on the side of a road somewhere four hours from here and you're worried about some _case_?!" Sam had lost his mind; he had literally _lost_ his freaking _mind!_

Sam huffed, looked like he was trying to collect himself, like he was getting ready to make an excuse. "Look, I didn't mean—"

"I don't wanna hear it Sam!" Dean thundered angrily, short on time and patience alike, "now are you coming or _not_?"

"We don't both need to go." Sam was the picture of removed and cool-headed and it _infuriated_ Dean. "You get her, I'll go see the dead officer's partner."

"Yeah, _great,_ you do that," Dean snapped and got into the Impala without another word to his brother. He squealed tires out of there and kept his police scanner on, because the speed with which he planned on driving was illegal… and he didn't have time for a pullover or pursuit.

Just over three hours later when he strode into Bixby Hospital in Adrian, Michigan, still in his FBI getup, Dean knew what he was walking into and was as prepared as he could be, given the circumstances. He had used the time on the road to both get Alex safe and then gather as much information as possible using call after call. He was was even more anxious to lay eyes on his sister after what he'd found out.

He'd worked with Bobby over the telephone to first find out what county Adrian was in, and what the direct line to the 911 dispatch there was. Using that information, he'd reported his sister's general location and condition, made sure an ambulance got sent to her—called back ten minutes later and verified they did have her and she was alive, found out what hospital she was being taken to. He'd called Bobby back and to let him know what was going on then called the local police department where Alex was and gave the officers a false name and badge number, said he needed to know about any disturbances or homicides reported that day. There had been one. A shooting of some kind at a local motel—or, gunfire and a lot of blood left behind. But no body. Maybe Alex had gotten rid of whoever she killed; Dean didn't know. But apparently when she'd been taken into the hospital, the police had responded to the scene of her collapse and found her car full of weapons—including the gun that matched the bullet casings found at the crime scene. So as if it weren't bad enough she was in the hospital, she was gonna be held on suspicion of connection to a shooting. Dean had called back an hour later after that call for an update and found out they'd run Alex's prints and realized who she was and that she was wanted in several states for various crimes. So basically, by getting her sent to the hospital, he'd opened a pretty big can of worms. The real FBI would probably be there within hours for her as she was on their watch/wanted list.

Dean's priority was get her outta there (if she wasn't too badly injured) before the shit could _really_ hit the fan. If he _couldn't_ pull off an escape for them both… it would spiral out of control fast. So this _had_ to work. Anxious, he struggled to play the part of steely, lackadaisical and burnt-out FBI agent. He flashed his badge at the first hospital personnel member he saw, no time to waste, nervous he'd look over his shoulder any second and see the real feds. "Agent Bonham, FBI," he announced to the mousy, frazzled looking nurse he'd all but shoved his badge at. "I need you to take me to the patient in custody, _now_." She complied and led him through the hospital to his sister without question.

Dean first saw Alex as he passed a long glass window that separated the room she was in from the hallway he walked down—and he was shocked. She was laying in a hospital bed propped up halfway with hands loosely laying in her lap—one of them cuffed to the little side railing on the bed. She wore jeans, boots, and a shirt that was torn in the midsection where he saw a bandage had been applied—and it looked like she'd been in the fight of her life. She had strange red blistering marks that looked almost like hickeys across her neck, a huge black and blue bruise on the side of her head, a cut down the middle of it, a split lip, and a puffy shiner just below her right eye. Dean automatically bristled at the thought of someone putting those injuries on her—and he hoped whoever she killed was the one who did that to her—but then he took in the look on her face and his fury faded. She stared at her hands vapidly and he could see how deeply upset she was, how lost in thought, how scared—she looked years younger to him somehow, like the little pre-teen Alex who had constantly been picked on in school and tried to hide her sadness by withdrawing. No sooner had he thought that than she looked up and saw him, gettting a look of relief and desperation on her face—he saw how bad she wanted him to be in there with her and he could barely stand to do what he did next—he gave the subtlest shaking _no_ of the head as he followed the nurse to the door to the room. He glanced at the officer stationed beside her and the nurse meaningfully. Alex understood and looked away, distressed.

"Right in there, sir," the nurse said. Dean nodded his thanks as she left. This was risky. He had to play it just right, he had to really bust out some acting chops for this one if he wanted to get his sister out of this. _Please, please let this work_. He opened the door to the room and went in, swaggering a little like he owned the place, fully committing to the role, because Alex's fate pretty much depended on it.

The nurse who was attending Alex turned, frowned at him. She was short, middle-aged, and overweight with pleasant features and ruddy cheeks. "Excuse me, sir, you can't be in here—"

"Oh, I think I can," Dean said sarcastically, giving off the air of vague disinterest in everything. "I'm with the bureau, your superiors should both have told you to expect me." He glanced at Alex and pretended to be unimpressed with her—all show for the watchful nurse and officer. Alex was utterly quiet and her shoulders were caved forward, she looked at him with an unreadable expression. He turned his attention back to the officer and room nurse, not letting himself give away the ploy. He flashed his badge and an acrimonious smile at them then closed it with a snap, pocketing it smoothly. "Agent Bonham. I have orders for you to release her to me—" he looked at the officer beside Alex and scoffed, putting his hands in his pockets and smiling facetiously. "Let me guess, you small-town crackpots didn't already know _that_ , either."

The nurse and police officer looked at each other uncertainly and Dean kept up the act, playing on their doubts. He paced the room a little and took a hand out to gesture lazily like he was used to this. "Right. No. _Great_. Well contingent on her condition, we want her back at headquarters for questioning concerning other matters I'm not at liberty to discuss." He stopped, turned, then looked at the RN again, putting his hand back in his pocket. He was careful to sound appropriately blasé and routine about all of this, even though he wanted nothing more than to just knock them both out and take his sister and run. But unfortunately, the room was bordered with three clear glass window panes. Doctors, nurses, staff and patients were all around and would see if he did something like that. So, Dean had to do this the pain-in-the-ass way. "Mind telling me her condition?" he asked the nurse. "She stable enough to transport?" She looked okay, he'd seen her worse off.

"Well, uh…" the nurse faltered and looked at Alex hesitantly, then at Dean. "Let's speak outside."

Dean narrowed his eyes slightly, not appreciating the grab for power in the exchange. "In here's fine, ma'am."

The nurse's face pinched and she suddenly got sort of sassy. "Outside the room, _Agent_ ," she said, dropping the nice act. And she turned and led the way, surprising Dean. Not having to feign annoyance, he followed sullenly, casting a glance at his sister before doing so. He saw she was worried that he wasn't going to actually get her out of this.

Dean and the nurse stood outside the room beside the window and Dean crossed his arms unhappily, briefly glancing sidelong where he could see Alex in the bed. "All right, what's the big secret, Nurse… Peggy?" he asked, reading her name tag.

The nurse folded her arms too, fixing him with a serious look. "I didn't think it would be _prudent_ to discuss this in front of her," she said churlishly, apparently not liking his attitude. " _Yes_ , I think you can transport her," she continued in clipped tones, almost like she held a personal grudge against Dean. She glanced Alex's way and Dean thought he saw mild worry in the nurse's eyes. "Her condition's stable and we've done about all we can do for her—she's got your basic run of the mill assault wounds… some mild head trauma, a pretty good concussion, mild contusions. But there's possible sexual assault and she's refused the rape kit."

It was like he'd been punched in the gut—Dean's entire body was struck with the most horrifying sick feeling. "... _Rape_ kit?" He repeated dazedly, his voice suddenly gone weak. No, surely he'd misheard—no, _no_ —

"Right, yes," the nurse said, still looking into the room and currently oblivious to Dean's fallen, horrified face, his look of utter growing terror. "She told someone on the ambulance she'd been assaulted and she seemed to indicate it was of a sexual nature, but once she was here, she clammed up and refused the rape kit examination point blank." She paused and looked at Dean directly then was taken aback by his expression. "You okay, sir?"

Dean remembered himself and he scrambled to find a reasonable excuse for his face. "Uh, yeah, yeah, she… I got a sister about her age… and I just… what a horrible thing to happen." He looked into the room and struggled to control himself and his expression. He was about to give himself away if he didn't get it together.

Except, his show of genuine emotion seemed to work in his favor. Peggy softened toward him a little and reevaluated him because of his clear compassion and concern. "Oh, oh, I see," she said, nodding her understanding, seeming touched by his response. "Well. It's not uncommon for victims to refuse the exam, but…" she trailed off and looked at Dean candidly. "Can you promise me, Agent—that you'll be careful with her? See if you can get her to do the exam again once you're wherever you're going? It really should be within ninety-six hours of the assault for best results." She faltered. "I know I'm not a police officer or an agent and it may not be my place... I know she's a wanted criminal... but in my book, she still deserves to be treated like a human being. With kindness and compassion, just like everyone else."

Dean stared at her wordlessly, so shockingly touched by her statement—she didn't even know how much she'd sort of renewed his faith in the human race with that single sentence. Overcome by emotions for every reason possible, he struggled to save face and respond to what she'd said. He looked into the room, at his sister on the bed. "Yeah, I'll, uh, I'll take good care of her, don't worry," he said, dazed, not even entirely sure what he'd just said. "She'll be safe with me."

Nurse Peggy sighed, obviously conflicted. But she nodded. "Okay. I'll draw up the release papers in cooperation with the bureau. She'll just need to _rest_ when possible, though, Agent Bonham. Maybe wait a few days before questioning her too intensely, if you can swing it?" Dean gave her a tight _will do_ smile and Peggy looked into the room at Alex, Dean followed her gaze. "I just really can't believe a sweet little thing like her's wanted by the FBI…" she said softly, then looked at Dean hopefully. "Mind if I ask what for?"

Dean feigned a smug smirk, trying to get back to the indifferent FBI persona. It was hard. "That's classified, ma'am. Now if you'd get me those release papers. I need to get a move on." His expression felt plastic and fake, but he held it.

She nodded. "Of course." And just like that, she headed to the nurse's station.

One down, one to go. Dean let out a heavy, long breath—this was, without a doubt, the worst day of his entire life. He glanced into the room at the officer and thought to himself _here goes everything_. He reentered the hospital room. Looking at his sister and those bruises and marks now... he almost lost it completely but somehow managed to hold it together. But he knew his front wasn't as seamless as it had been before, his demeanor was affected and he was thrown off by what the nurse had just told him. Still, he had to do this and get his sister out of there. Digging deep, he summoned a facetious little smile and glanced at the cuffs that were tethering his sister to the bed. He looked pointedly at the officer who was standing beside her, hands clasped in front of himself. Dean indicated her cuffs and feigned lazy indifference, even though his heart was pounding painfully fast. This was the moment he couldn't screw up. "If you would, officer?"

The police officer hesitated. Dean knew the type: middle aged, lazy and uninspired, sort of complacent, bored all the time in a small town that didn't see a lot of action. By the book and scared to do something wrong, thrilled by the idea of being a hero in whatever small way, even if being heroic just meant being anal retentive. "I'm sorry, Agent," the officer said, "but none of my superiors said to expect you…" he trailed off nervously.

Dean's gaze was dagger-sharp and filled with the clear message that _you just pissed off the wrong fed_. "Lemme guess, Sparky," he said, addressing the older man with no respect and a growing note of carefully placed anger. "You wanna be a good little small-town cop and waste federal time because your cute little department is slow on the uptake and bad at communicating with each other—" Dean scoffed through a cynical smile, acting like he got that shit all the time, then he let himself get mad for real. It wasn't hard. "Well listen, I don't got _time_ to fuck around, okay?" He pointed a finger at his sister. "This kid is wanted in eleven goddamn states and has been on the wanted list for _years_ and as of when I walked in here a minute ago, she's _my_ jurisdiction, not yours!" he thundered, letting the officer wither under his glare. Then came time for the threats, the physical intimidation, and Dean laid them both on thickly, maybe a little over the top because of how urgent his need was to get his sister away from the cops and feds. "Buddy, you do _not_ wanna piss me off—I'll slap you with obstruction and official misconduct so fast it'll make your head fly off— _Jesus_ you little city cops are all the same, my _god_ ," he muttered. "Are we done with the bullshit? Get those damn cuffs off her and I'll take it from here."

As usual, the threats worked—the policeman looked scared of getting in trouble, of being the idiot at the end of the day. And so he complied. "Uh, right, okay." He fumbled for his keys and hurried to undo Alex's cuffs. Dean and Alex's gazes met tensely and she seemed so ashamed. His heart clenched painfully. He refused to think some man could have done what Nurse Peggy had implied. It had to be a mistake. "All yours, Agent Bonham," the officer said. Dean made a 'get up' motion to Alex with his fingers. She complied slowly, like she was sore and having trouble moving.

"Can you stand okay, kid?" he asked gruffly, trying to disguise his inner turmoil.

She was looking at the floor as she stood. "Yeah."

Dean put a hand on her shoulder as if to guide her, but honestly, he just needed to comfort her any small way possible—he struggled not to look at her like he wanted to. The officer was still watching mistrustfully and Dean realized he had to keep up the act just a little longer. "Miss Winchester, try anything and I'll shoot you. Got it?" he asked, then manhandled her toward the door, nodding a sharp goodbye at the officer.

Silently, brother and sister walked down the hallway, keeping up the ruse, not looking at each other—brother struggling to keep his composure, sister obviously in complete emotional distress.

"Just keep looking down, walk fast," Dean said under his breath, just loud enough for only them to hear, his hand still on her shoulder. He cast furtive glances around—hurrying a little bit for fear of the FBI showing. But as they neared the North Exit near where he'd parked, he saw a janitorial closet and on a whim after looking around really fast, he opened the door and pushed her in, followed, then shut the door behind himself and took her by both arms to really look at her—in stark florescent light, he could see her injuries with terrifying clarity and those marks on her neck made him hurt. "Jesus Christ, Alex, what _happened_?" He asked, barely able to speak. "Are you… are you okay?"

She held herself stiffly and the _look_ _on her face_ was the worst thing he'd ever seen. Her voice barely worked, it was thick with pain and maybe the onset of tears. And the word he had dreaded to hear left her lips with heartbreaking softness: " _No_."

His heart shattered at that single word and broke completely. He couldn't take what he thought it meant. She hung her head and covered her mouth with her hand, visibly trying not to cry. And maybe _she_ was able to hold back right then, but Dean wasn't. Gritting his teeth against the helpless grief that was breaking him in two, he crumpled. He should have been with her, he should never have left her, or let her leave, or _any_ of it. He cursed himself and despaired on her behalf—she didn't deserve this!

He touched her tangled hair gently there on the side of her head, trying to reassure her. His hand trembled, he heard himself taking in a horrible sobbing breath as he shook his head no over and over and reality set in. "Alex, _no_ … baby girl, no," he protested pathetically, wishing mere words could undo tragedy. He didn't know what else to say or do. It hurt too much, and he couldn't do a damn thing to take it away. He hugged her gently, almost afraid to do so because what if she didn't want to be touched—but she hugged him back tightly, almost painfully, her face in his shoulder. Her smaller frame quaked against his as she tried to be brave and not weep. Dean shook his head as his composure cracked. Wretched tears rolled down his cheeks thickly, he squeezed his eyes shut and didn't understand how this could have happened. He trembled from effort he was using to keep his grief at bay.

And then, as he held her close like that, he realized he could pick up the distinct masculine smell of aftershave or cologne clinging onto her skin and hair—and rage boiled in his veins, he went cold all over, murderous. He drew back, shaking for new reasons, his grief turning into absolute fury _fast._ He tried to remain calm for her sake but his voice trembled, his face gave it away. His hands were on either of her arms and he looked at her intensely. "Who did this to you, Alex? _Who_?" Dean would kill him, tear him fucking apart with his _bare hands_ —

Alex was ashamed, which didn't make sense when she said what she did next: "It doesn't matter. H-he's dead now. I... shot him and ran away." Her voice was weak and soft, raspy, hoarse.

Dean hesitated, confused—because she'd told him twice now that she'd killed someone, but if that crime scene at the motel with bullet casings and blood and _no body_ was her work… did that mean the guy she thought she'd killed was still out there somewhere? He studied her closely, scared. "And you're, you're sure you finished the job?" he asked softly, hating that he had to ask it, because obviously she was upset to have killed a human. But she nodded blankly, more shame and conflict crossing her features. "Who was it, Alex?" He asked, because he had a horrible suspicion that he already knew _exactly_ who had done this. There was an ugly feeling in the pit of his stomach, a dawning suspicion that he'd looked the man who hurt his sister in the eye and shaken his hand. When she said nothing, his voice dropped to utter softness and he asked what he was most afraid of. "W-was it Glen?"

Her eyes raised to his slowly, full of ashamed confirmation. She didn't say no and Dean wanted to punch the wall and then sink to a crouch and cover his face with his hands—that's how heavy the truth was. And then, faintly, brokenly, she nodded, eyes dropping away from his. And Dean was fucking _ruined_. God, how could this have happened to her? _Son of a bitch_ —she was too innocent for this, too tenderhearted, too burdened by other shit to have this on her shoulders now too. That asshole, that motherfucking _prick_ —Dean should have trusted his initial instincts.

Dean attempted to reign himself in, but another silent tear slipped out onto his cheek as he looked at his sister. All he could see was the bruise under her eye, the burst blood vessels on her temple, the split lip, the horrible red welts on her neck. Evidence that she really had been assaulted in the worst way. And he had to ask, because if he didn't, he'd tear himself up inside wondering. He tried to ask the most unthinkable question he'd ever had to ask her. His throat was dry, the words stuck on the way up. He could barely speak. "Was it… _" ...rape?_ He couldn't say that and he worked his jaw painfully. "Did, did he… make you…" ... _have sex with him?_

Alex's hazel eyes, the same shade as Sam's, met his briefly, fire coming back into them, she surprised him with the loud and almost defiant way she answered. "No— _hell_ no, you think I'd let some worthless son of a bitch do that to me?" Her voice trembled with rage. "That asshole _tried_ , Dean." Even though she looked mad enough to kill, her eyes were shining with tears. "And then I put a fucking _bullet_ in his chest." The closet went silent and Alex breathed heavily in and out of her nose. Her wrath faded and inexplicable uncertainty crossed her face, like she wasn't sure about what she'd done—she became stony and put her arms around herself and looked away from him, her voice became low and flat. "He didn't get what he wanted, okay?" Short pause and a flicker of vulnerability. Her voice was soft again. "And I don't wanna talk about it anymore."

Dean thought maybe he should feel relieved, just a little—but he wasn't relieved in the slightest. He was utterly horrified at the thought of some huge six-and-a-half foot tall guy trying to take advantage of his sister, leaving those angry red hickeys all over her neck, knocking her around and trying to force her to… to… Dean lost composure again and nodded his understanding, putting his face in his hand and struggling with all of this. "You don't have to say anything else. I'm just glad you're…" he trailed off. 'Okay'? She wasn't though. He couldn't find a word. All he felt was despair. "I should never have let you leave," he said softly. "I should have done so many things differently."

Her mask faltered. "Me too," she said after a pause, her face working oddly as she tried to hold herself back. And something about the entire exchange made Dean wonder: Did she think this was her _fault_ somehow? He didn't know. He just needed to make sure she knew he was there for her. He carefully pulled her into a hug again with a soft "c'mere", ignoring the sickening smell of Glen that still lingered. If that asshole was still out there somewhere, Dean was going to find him and put a fucking bullet in his brain. But for now, he focused on taking care of his sister, making sure she knew that she was safe, and that he was gonna take care of her.

"You're okay now, I'm here," he soothed, still torn up emotionally but being strong for her sake. "I'm not going anywhere." And he meant that too. He gently, carefully held the back of her head, promising himself he would never let anything like this ever happen to her again. "I got you, sweetheart."

* * *

**Several Hours Later  
Easter, Pennsylvania **

" _Wow_ ," Sam said and sat back, seeming to be blown back by everything Dean had just told him in hushed tones across the motel table.

They were a few stories up at least and the sound of traffic came up through the open window. Sam had research spread out all over the table but it was currently being ignored. The shower was going in the bathroom and the brothers were silent as Sam let it all sink in. Dean was in street clothes now and had his hands clasped on the table as he stared at nothing, expression foul and tense. "I knew he was bad news, Sam, I _knew_ it—why didn't I listen to my instincts?" He stood up, antsy as hell, rubbing his hand down over his mouth anxiously.

"And you said they didn't find a body," Sam said, eyes narrowed in thought.

Dean glanced sidelong at his brother, who seemed only mildly concerned and perplexed by everything he'd just told him. "Right," he confirmed dourly. "But you know what, Alex doesn't need to know that. It'll just scare her more and she doesn't need that. Not right now. If he's still kicking, trust me. I'll fucking find out." He expelled a heavy breath through his nose and turned then paced the other way. "Anyway, she was pretty sure she killed the son of a bitch. So, I dunno. Maybe he crawled into a hole and died." Dean shook his head, filled with hatred. "I fucking hope he did."

"This is really unthinkable," Sam said, but even though Dean agreed with the words, the tone Sam used was devoid of the things Dean thought Sam should be feeling: hopelessness, horror, sadness, grief, pain. He just sounded… false. Dean looked at his brother with a _what the hell is wrong with you_ expression. And then a phone began to ring, one Dean didn't recognize the sound of and he looked in the direction it was coming from—then saw it was Alex's cell. She'd left it on the night stand before going to take her shower. She'd been in there a really freaking long time, too. He cast a worried glance that way as he went to the phone and picked it up, frowning deeply. And when he saw the name on the screen he darkened. _Jamie W_. His stomach turned, his veins ran dark. He answered.

"What do you want?" he asked sharply with no pretense.

" _...Dean? I was trying to reach Alex. What are—_ "

Dean cut her off. "Listen, I'm gonna be real clear about this: your fucking brother tried to go Ted Bundy on my sister today and if he's not dead already, you better put a bullet in his head or I will. We good here?"

There was a shocked pause. " _What?! Dean—wh—I don't—what are you saying? I don't—_ "

"Trust me, sweetheart, I'm serious," he practically growled. "About all of it. And if I see you around me or my family ever again, I'll kill you too."

He hung up abruptly then angrily strode to the open bay window and pitched the phone out where it fell three stories and shattered on the sidewalk below.

Sam turned in his chair. "Uh... why'd you do that? That was Alex's phone."

"So I'll get her a new one," Dean said, flippant and forceful at the same time. He didn't have time for Sam's passive-aggressive comments. He heard the shower stop running right then and hoped he hadn't just made a mistake by tossing her phone out. He'd just cut Alex off from reminders of the Ward family, from contact with Jamie—in his mind, he was protecting her. It kind of went with the theme of the day, anyway: Alex had lost everything, it was all impounded somewhere in South Michigan—car, clothes, weapons, everything. And because of that, he'd stopped a couple hours back to get her new clothes—he'd run into Hal-Mart and cleaned out their stock of size small tank tops, flannel shirts, and size two jeans; he'd grabbed a pair of men's hunting boots in her size—then had gotten weird looks from an old lady when he picked out a pack of women's underwear. Dean didn't care—he'd had other things on his mind. Like maybe when this whole thing calmed down, they could go get Alex's car. If she even wanted it. Maybe she wouldn't. Maybe it would just serve as a reminder of what had happened to her and the people she'd spent so many months with.

This was _insane_. Trying to hold his broken, threadbare family together like this when Sam was being Mr. Robot and Alex was… he didn't even know. She'd been silent and brooding the car ride over, withdrawn. She'd said maybe ten words. Her expression the entire time? A tough _I'm fine, don't ask_ kind of expression. She'd closed down and he'd backed off in the interest of being careful and respectful. He wasn't sure if he should try and get her to talk about it at some point or do things the Winchester way: pack it up and never talk about it again. Sweep it under the rug and pretend it hadn't happened. Ignore the issue and carry on like they always did. I mean, how could they though?

Getting frustrated, Dean realized he needed a fucking beer, _now_. Sam had the little motel fridge stocked and Dean pulled out a cold one then cracked it open and consumed it broodingly in the kitchen as Sam did stuff on his laptop, the picture of focus and interest in the job. The job in which Dean currently had zero interest. It was making Dean furious. And being Dean Winchester… he confronted his brother on it without a second thought. "A year ago, this happened to Alex, you'd be a _mess_ ," he accused. "And now you're just… compiling _research_? The hell is wrong with you?"

Sam sighed, sat back, and gave Dean his attention but acted as though it were inconvenient to him. "Dean. I dunno what to tell you. It's horrible what happened, it is, but be reasonable. Is getting upset going to help her? The best thing we can do is carry on like normal. Getting upset is only gonna upset her more."

Dean scoffed. "Oh please—me acting like I don't give a shit, how's _that_ gonna help her out?"

Sam smiled briefly, a cynical little expression. He hung an arm back over the chair and regarded Dean cooly. "You know, this is actually another reason I never came and got you from Lisa and Ben's. I realized this year that _this_ …" he gestured vaguely, "this family dynamic of ours? The one where you set the stage and run the show and make me and Alex into your _kids_? Where you bully us around emotionally?" He shook his head. "It just doesn't work for me, Dean. Not anymore. And apparently, it didn't work for her either." He turned back to his laptop as if that was that.

"Excuse me?" Dean asked, eyebrows had raised up high in shock at his brother's little deadpan monologue.

Sam didn't look at him. "You heard me just fine."

The bathroom door opened and Alex came out, drying her hair in a towel—dressed in her new jeans, a black tank, and a neutral flannel. The brothers went quiet for a minute, acknowledging her with a brief glance (Sam) and standing up straighter and looking at her carefully (Dean). He tried to see how she was doing but he couldn't tell. "Hey," he greeted carefully.

"Hey," she echoed, soft. She was being systematic, acting really focused on her task—which she had apparently just finished. She tossed the towel back over her shoulder into the bathroom without a second thought and walked toward the bed then frowned slightly, looked around like she was hunting for something. "Where's... my phone?" She looked intensely worried—a genuine expression.

"Uh." Dean wet his lips. "In a hundred pieces," he admitted. Maybe throwing it out the window _had_ been a little much. Too late now though...

Alex looked at him with a panicking expression. " _What_? That's not funny Dean, where is it?" She flew off the handle completely when he hesitated tellingly. " _Where is it_?!"

At the outburst Dean realized he'd somehow made a huge mistake. He attempted to pacify, extending a hand slightly. "Hey, hey—it can be replaced, come on."

"No it _can't_ —" she almost shrieked, then her face fell like she was going to weep—and as much as she'd held back all day, it was suddenly all pouring out. Alex looked like she'd lost something of immeasurable value and she flopped down to sit on the edge of the bed, seemingly defeated over the loss of her cellphone. "It had… it had a _picture_ on it, the most important one..." she trailed off when her voice cracked and she put her face in her hands, beginning to sob like Dean had never seen—shoulders shaking, horrible crying sounds that were loud and pitiful and filling the entire room.

Horrified, not sure what she was crying about—was it the phone?—he falteringly went to her, feeling awful. "I'm sorry, I didn't know." He tried to sit next to her and put his arm around her but she yanked away and stood, angry tears glittering in her eyes.

"Look, you know what? I don't need you to feel _sorry_ for me," she spat, shocking him. "I'm fine. Stop looking at me like I'm _broken_. I'm _fine_!" Chastened and pretty sure she was the furthest thing from _fine_ there was, Dean watched her visibly compose herself and grow outwardly stony almost frighteningly fast—she'd been hysterical not ten seconds ago, but now she was wearing that same pinched, tight expression she'd worn all day. "If we can just not talk about it, any of it," she said lowly, and looked at Dean, then glanced at Sam. "I just want to do something normal, okay? I just wanna do something useful." She paused, looked at Sam, then peered at his laptop screen, walked over, crossing her arms across herself. "What kind of job are you guys working?"

...She wanted to concentrate on a _job_? "Al…" Dean started, but she looked at him sidelong, sharp and sullen, silently telling him _don't._

"I'm serious," she said. "The job."

"It's an interesting one," Sam said readily, willing to indulge her request, not sharing Dean's concerns. "Seems sorta Biblical if you ask me. Three deaths… first guy liquefies into a pile of blood. Second dude dies covered in boils. Third guy—the one you missed while you were off getting Alex, Dean—locusts. Ate their way outta Officer Colfax's brain while I watched. Good stuff."

"...While you watched?" Alex repeated, eyeing the jar of live, buzzing locusts that was on the table beside her twin.

"Yup," Sam confirmed, typing away on his laptop.

So they were gonna do this the Winchester way: act like nothing happened. Dean gave in unhappily. He heaved a heavy sigh and ambled over to the table slowly. "So blood, boils, locusts," he said, distracted.

"Right," Sam said. "Three of your more popular Egyptian plagues. Check this out." He held up a jar of bugs Alex had been looking at.

"I thought you got over your ant farm phase," she said, sullen and attempting to crack a joke, but failing, mostly because she sounded miserable. Dean looked at her sadly, not wanting her to be like him and close off like that. But he guessed he couldn't blame her. He was still reeling from the entire day. He could only imagine what was going on in her mind if _his_ was such a disaster.

"So you're saying they chewed their way out of that cop's melon?" Dean asked, forcing himself to focus on the job. He took the jar from Sam and looked at it oddly. "I don't quite remember that in the King James, do you guys?" He sat down opposite of Sam.

Sam shrugged, rifling through some papers. "Meanwhile, a kid named Christopher Birch was shot in the head last month after a vehicle pursuit. Guess who the three officers were on the case? Our three dead cops. And they all filed the _exact_ same police report."

Dean took the paper Sam was extending to him and read out loud: "' _Suspect exited vehicle brandishing a firearm. We were forced to fire_.'" He paused, set the sheet down. "So what you thinking? They pop the kid accident or otherwise, plant the piece, lie about what happened? Sounds about right. Bunch of dicks. So who's trying to put the hit on on the cops? Kid's family? Kid's friends? Mad girlfriend?"

Alex paced over to the bay window at the far end of the room, looking out of it quietly with that same stern frown of hers as Sam shook his head.

"Dunno, but actually… Colfax was kinda out of it when I got there, but he kept saying how _God_ wanted him and the other cops dead." Sam paused, clarifying kind of needlessly. "This was before he keeled over, obviously. Maybe Heaven has a hate-on for bad cops."

"What, like… Heaven as in _angels_?" Alex asked. Dean didn't miss the cautious, sort of embittered tone in her voice.

"Maybe," Sam said, shrugging mildly.

Dean scoffed. "So we're listening to the guy with the _bug_ in his custard? That's—that's the, uh, the theory you want to go with? What about other sane theories—what I mentioned—family, friends, girlfriend?"

Sam brushed Dean's logic aside. "Yeah, but who'd have the juice to pull deaths like these out of their sleeves besides maybe a witch? It's not far fetched. I mean, angels gotta have _something_ to do, right, now that we're post-apocalypse? And the deaths are blow-for-blow outta the good book. It makes sense, Dean."

"What, you're saying the halos are bored so they smite the five-oh with Egyptian plagues for kicks?" Dean shook his head. "I dunno." He sipped on his beer, thought hard. "Huh. I might know someone who could tell us though..." Dean hadn't thought of Cas in a long time, in fact, he was suddenly having a _wait a minute_ moment. Where the _hell_ had Cas been today when Alex was in trouble?!

At the wordless mention of Cas his sister had looked at him abruptly with an unreadable expression, her fingers pausing—she'd been smudging dust off the windowsill. Sam looked confused for a second, then realized what Alex had and made a face. "Who, _Cas_? You're kidding, right?" He scoffed. "Dean, I _tried_. It was the first and second and third thing I did, soon as I got topside. Son of a bitch won't answer the phone."

"Hey, you got any _other_ ideas?" Dean asked, standing back up and shrugging his hands out a little.

"Sam's right," Alex said flatly, smudging the windowsill with her pointer finger again, not looking at either of them. "Trust me. He won't answer." She glanced at Dean with hooded eyes. "We're on our own with this one."

Dean bristled as an infuriating thought came across his mind. "Did you… did you try and _call him_ today?" he asked, suddenly so angry at the thought of her in trouble and her freaking guardian angel bailing on her…

But Alex shook her head, cutting Dean's escalating wrath short. "No. I didn't even think about it." There was a flicker of sadness across her features.

Dean was shocked at her answer— _really_? She hadn't even _thought_ about it? ...Damn. She must have truly lost whatever faith she'd had in the guy for that to be the case. And now that he thought about it, where the hell _had_ Cas been this entire time, this whole year? What happened to all the 'but Dean, I love your sister and can't be apart from her' crap? What happened to that… that _love_ between them? What happened to the utter obsession Cas had with keeping Alex safe? It made no sense. Maybe Cas had changed his mind when he got his angel mojo refilled? The loose ends and unanswered questions were really troubling, and maybe trying to call Cas was a bad idea, but Dean didn't see any other options. He cleared his throat. "Well, okay. I uh… I guess I'll still try and call. I mean, I got no other angels on my speed dial, so…" he trailed off, looking to his sister for approval. "Worth a shot, right?"

Alex looked at her oldest brother grudgingly and shrugged one shoulder up apathetically. She was opposed to the idea because she wasn't a fan of getting her hopes up and then being let down but… Dean could find out for himself that Cas didn't answer anymore. She turned away from her brother and gazed out the window over the city of Easter. It was an overcast day. A day like any other day. Except it wasn't. She looked down at the sidewalk and saw pieces of her smashed phone down there. Her heart clenched. That stupid piece of plastic and circuit boards had the only existing photo of Cas on it. And now it was destroyed. She couldn't even keep that small part of him. It all kept getting ripped away from her grasp and it wasn't _fair_ but maybe… maybe this was fate, karma, telling her _let it go_.

She heard Dean shuffling over to the other side of the room and she swallowed a painful lump in her throat, trying to stop thinking about it. _It_ being what had happened earlier that day. But she couldn't forget the feeling of being suddenly blindsided by someone she had trusted, someone she thought was her _friend_. She couldn't forget the feeling of having all the wind knocked out of her as his knee had jammed into her back and he crushed her down onto the bed—she could still hear his belt clinking and hear all the horrible, filthy things he'd said to her, trying to intimidate and demean her as he told her how she wanted it, how she had asked for it. She could still feel his callous hands unwelcome on her body as they touched her brusquely, and she unconsciously curled in on herself a little protectively, as the painfully fresh and vivid memories refused to leave her mind. How had she allowed that to happen? How hadn't she seen through his lies and bullshit? It made sense to her now in hindsight. Now that it was too late.

It had taken every last ounce of energy and focus to save herself, to reach for the keys she'd seen on the nightstand despite the ringing in her ears and the threat of unconsciousness after being hit in the head so hard. She'd slashed him across the face with the keys brutally, and managed to get out from under him and grab her gun from the pocket of her jacket, which hung off the headboard of the bed. She heard the gunshot in her mind and saw him falling over and laying there, shock on his face as he clutched his bleeding chest wound and gagged on his flooding lungs—and she'd felt _bad_. She'd felt bad for shooting the man who'd just attempted to fucking _rape_ her. Not for the first time that day, Alex wondered what was wrong with her. She'd left him there to die and ran out in complete panic. She was a mess over the entire thing, wondering if somehow she was misremembering it, if she'd given him the wrong signals, if it had been her fault somehow… _had_ she asked for it?

No. _Hell_ no, who _asked_ to be raped and or assaulted? He was a _psychopath_ , he deserved to die and she was _glad_ she'd shot him dead. She just wished she'd never fallen for what she now realized were carefully planted lies. He wasn't who she'd believed him to be. In fact, she had a strong hunch that _no one_ had known who he really was. She'd done the world a favor by blotting him off the pages. Dread pitted in her stomach. Soon, she'd have to call Jamie and say 'hey, what's up? It's me. I killed your brother because he tried to make me have sex with him. Hope we can still be friends.' _Jesus._

She rubbed her forehead with the palm of her hand then glanced back at Dean who had just taken a seat on the edge of one of the beds on the end of the room opposite of her. She knew he was about to pray to Cas. Why hadn't _she_ called Cas for help? A question that had been bothering her all day. But she hadn't even _thought_ to call for him when Glen had attacked her. Not even for a _second_. She'd only depended on herself and then thought of him just before she passed out on the side of the road. It made her sad. Hadn't she been trying to forget him all this time? She finally _had_ and it felt horrible. Wrong.

So, seeing Dean preparing to call him—she hoped he'd come and she also she hoped he'd stay away. Both. She turned back to the window and bit her thumbnail, frowning out into the distance unseeingly, her heart beating fast, her stomach feeling queasy with that familiar wretched hope. She told herself _don't do that—_ because hope was wasted on her these days.

"Now I lay me down to sleep," Dean said, covering up his discomfort at praying aloud by trying to act dumb. "I pray to Castiel to get his feathery ass down here." Alex shut her eyes. Hearing his name spoken aloud made unpredicted pain echo inside of her. It was the most beautiful and devastating word she knew of.

"You're an idiot," she heard Sam say.

"Stay positive," was the curt reply.

"Oh, I _am_ positive."

Dean sighed loudly with aggravation. "Come on, Cas! Don't be a dick! We got ourselves a... a plague-like situation down here, and... do you… do you copy?"

A little bitter smile tugged on Alex's lips. It was hard not to be bitter. So hard. But it was easier to be embittered than to be lost in despair. She didn't want to believe he was dead, but more and more, that's exactly what she believed. She realized how much like a widow she was in that moment. Alone and in mourning; clothed in darkness at the thought of her other half lost forever.

"Like I said…" Sam said, smug. "Son of a bitch doesn't answer—" he trailed off and for a second Alex swore she had heard the sound of angel's wings. She opened her eyes to the city view in front of her, suddenly breathing shallowly as she heard Sam speak. _No. No way._ "H-he's right behind me, isn't he?" her twin asked.

Her heart jolted. And Alex turned around slowly as if in a dream, her nervous system screaming in suddenly unbearable anticipation—and when she saw Cas's back—his dark head of hair, his trench coat, his hands hanging at his sides—her mouth fell open in shock, her heart seemed to stop completely, her face contorted into an expression of utter disbelief, she froze because if she moved, he might disappear. The way he stood with his back facing her, he hadn't seen her yet and he greeted Sam. "Hello," he said—and his voice—the one she had been missing all this time—was everything she'd forgotten it to be. She was doubly stunned, near tears almost and hardly able to breathe. Sam looked up at the angel in disbelief from where he sat.

" _Hello_?" Sam repeated.

Cas paused, slightly uncertain. "Yes..."

"' _Hello_.'" Sam imitated angrily in a mock-Castiel voice before he reverted to his normal voice. "'Hello'?!"'

"Uh, that is still the term?" Cas asked—and Alex saw from the way his head moved that he glanced at Dean briefly.

"I spent all that time trying to get through to you. Dean calls once, and now it's " _Hello_ "?!" Sam demanded—exactly speaking Alex's confused thoughts aloud. _How was… where had… why…?_ Her mind felt cloyed. Her thoughts were stuttering slowly around inside her brain.

"Yes," Cas answered simply, sounding exasperated. He took a couple steps toward Dean.

"So, what, you—you like him better or something?" Sam asked.

"This isn't a game of favorites, Sam," Cas answered irritably—and what Alex couldn't see was how he was looking left and right, sweeping the room in front of himself over with a questioning gaze—looking for _her_ —Dean saw though. And when Cas opened his mouth and asked, "Where's A—" Dean was already gesturing in her direction with his beer, expression a little pinched.

Alex would never forget that moment as long as she lived: Cas turning around and seeing her, their eyes meeting across that room. Her breath caught spectacularly as his expression changed from stern and rigid to soft and surprised, and maybe… relieved? No. _Glad_. Alex felt her face twisting slightly into a questioning expression because she didn't understand how he could just reappear when she had called and called and he had never come. No words or actions came to mind, she could only stand there struck silent and dumb.

He took a step toward her and for a minute from the look on his face, she thought he was going to walk the five or six steps separating them and hug her—and then suddenly he seemed to realize something, he frowned and looked at the motel table—she followed his gaze and saw him swoop in and grab Sam's knife that had been laying there. He approached her in sudden, unexplained urgency. Alex shrank away with her back to the glass pane of the window, confused, then even more so when he slashed his own palm open and punched his index finger into the blood. "W-what are you—" she started even as he grabbed the front of her shirt and ripped the button-up open enough to reveal her upper chest. Without explanation he finger-painted a strange Enochian symbol there so fast it was as if someone's life depended on it. Alex remained stiff in confusion.

"Hey, what the hell are you—" Dean said, already halfway across the room.

Cas held a hand out and back, silently telling Dean not to come closer. " _Rah zod mah rah Castiel bay zoh dah._ " The blood symbol burned bright and stung a little. Startled by the quick rush of burning, Alex let out a surprised sound—when she looked, she saw that the blood had disappeared off of her skin.

Dazed, she blinked rapidly. "What was—what are you doing?" she asked in a shocked whisper, looking up into Cas's face for an explanation. But his fingers hovered just at her collarbone. He was taking in the welts on her neck with a deep, concerned frown. His eyes flickered up to hers, then he took in her other battle wounds on her face… and seeing him do that overwhelmed her with the need to disappear. She looked away.

"What… what's happened to you?" He asked softly, startling her when he touched two gentle fingertips to the puffy skin below her eye. The tender touch and look in his eye was the most confusing thing she'd ever experienced.

She shook her head hollowly, borderline offended she was so befuddled. "W-where the hell have you been?" she managed in a gaunt whisper.

He grew bewildered. "What do you mean?"

"What do you mean, _what do I mean_?" Her voice rose slightly in accusation. "I called you so many times and you never _came!_ "

Castiel looked just as stumped as she was, but dread was building. "I couldn't—because of Raphael. Because of the _war_." He grew uncertain and even a little afraid at her expression. "You _know_ this," he stated, but it sounded like he was beginning to question if she did.

"How would I know this?" She countered, wracking her brain. Did he mean from that two minute encounter with Nandriel?!

Cas's concern kept mounting. "Because of the messages I sent."

"... _What_ messages?"

Cas was quickly becoming just as aghast and confused as Alex was. "I sent two different angels in my stead," he insisted with faltering confidence. "At two different times." His brow knit together deeply as he connected the dots. "Are you saying… you never got either message?" He sounded as though he couldn't fathom it. "But Rachel told me…" he trailed off, seeming to realize something.

"Who the hell is _Rachel_?" Alex asked when he went silent. She didn't understand _anything_ he was talking about.

"Not who I thought," Cas said, his color paler. Like he'd been socked in the gut. He shook his head as he visibly reeled, the pain filling his eyes so great that Alex suddenly wondered if this entire thing—the time apart, the separation—had been some gigantic _misunderstanding_.

When the two of them went silent to stare at each other in mutual confusion, Sam cleared his throat. "Hey, look, as touching as this reunion is..." he looked at the angel. "We kinda need your help, Cas."

Clear anger tightened Cas's features and he turned his head to look at Sam sharply. "It's rude to interrupt, Sam."

Sam's eyebrows raised in challenge. Een Dean and Alex were surprised at the gruff tone and sarcasm the angel used. "It's also rude not to answer when someone calls you," Sam retorted without missing a beat. " _Repeatedly_."

Cas scowled a little deeper and Dean—who so far had been totally ignored by the angel—sidled up beside him and Alex. "Cas—yeah, _hi_ , nice to see you too—I think what he's trying to say is that he went to Hell for us. I mean, he really took one for the team. You remember that? And then he comes back without a clue and you can't take five friggin' minutes to give him some answers?"

Cas's expression faded slightly into reluctance and he turned a little more to face Sam, who was still sitting in the chair. "If I _had_ any answers, I might have responded," he said wearily. "But I don't _know_ , Sam. We have no idea who brought you back from the cage... or why."

Sam was silent and displeased. Dean, however, had something more to say. "Okay, right. _Great._ So then why'd you ditch out on my sister this whole year? What's your magic eight ball answer for _that_ one?" Alex shot her brother a look—surprised he asked that.

Cas tensed again and glanced Alex's way. "It's complicated, Dean."

"Yeah?" Dean scoffed. "Well I think we'd all like to know. And by the freakin' way—what the hell kind of angel magic did you just do to her, man?"

Cas glanced at Alex, obviously not wanting to engage with the brothers yet—his hesitant body language conveying his desire to remain near her and speak with her—but he gave up and in to Dean's demands for conversation however reluctantly. "I cast a temporary shield against Raphael's eyes so that—"

"The archangel guy we visited in Waterville?" Dean asked skeptically, remembering back.

"Yes," Cas responded. "He's vying for command of Heaven."

"...so it wasn't God who brought me back?" Sam butted in, breaking the strained stare between Dean and Cas.

Visibly, Castiel lost patience but he attempted to corral it. " _Sam_ , no one's even _seen_ God. The whole _thing_ remains mysterious."

Sam frowned. "What the hell does _that_ mean?"

Cas turned and took a step toward Sam. "What part of 'I don't know' escapes your understanding?" Yet again, Sam's eyebrows shot up high at the uncharacteristically clipped tone.

Dean cut in between the two, no-nonsense. "Cas, look, cut the BS. If Sam calls, you answer. If _Alex_ calls, you answer. Okay? You wing your ass down here and you answer the damn phone, problem solved! Why you being like this? Ignoring Sam _and_ Alex then coming when _I_ call?" He scoffed and gestured at Alex. "I mean, I thought you were supposed to be her guardian angel! She told me you just up and left her for the whole _year_ , man, I mean… what the hell? To be honest, that was one of the only things that made me feel okay when I was wondering where she was out there: that you were looking out for her—and you _weren't_? Damn, that's ten kinds of fucked up, Cas. And after what happened to her today…" he trailed off and rethought himself, shutting his trap.

Cas stood there in confusion. "What do you mean?" He asked, glancing at Alex—who was looking at her brother like _how the hell are you just gonna bring that up to him in front of everyone?!_ Before Cas could press for more answers, he processed another thing Dean had said. A flicker of anxiety ran across his face. "Wait. I know that Sam remained apart from the two of you but… are you saying you two weren't together either?" He looked at the brother and sister in turn and Dean chuckled cynically, saluting Cas facetiously with his beer before taking a sip.

"Wow, Cas. You really _have_ been gone, haven't you?" He muttered, shaking his head as if he should have known.

Cas turned to Alex, his features etched with pained confusion. "You were _alone_ all this time?"

The way he asked her that, the look in his eyes… she had to look away. She could barely form words to answer and didn't want to, either. "More or less."

He was coming closer again and she swallowed, her nerves and emotions on overdrive. She hadn't thought their reunion would go this way all the times she'd imagined it. His eyes ran over her body as if he were examining her and then he froze in place. "Wait… what…" he paused and his expression distorted with horror. "Alex—have you consumed _demon blood_?"

It was her turn to look gut-punched. She almost passed out from the feeling of being discovered. Her first instinct was to lie to his face and tell him _no, of course not, are you crazy?_ Because the truth was so horrible and embarrassing and shameful and she didn't want all to know. Behind Cas, Dean was staring in utter shocked horror. What were they going to say and do when they found out? Would they treat her like she was less than human? Would Cas be disgusted with her? Would Dean disown her? All she could do was try and save face, a little. Explain it pitifully. Try and excuse herself. "It was a hard year, okay?" She managed, then looked down, unable to meet any of their gazes. This was truly the worst day of her life in every way possible.

Dean spoke first, his voice soft and disbelieving. " _What_?" He sounded appalled. "D-demon blood, Al?"

She was almost unable to look at her brother at all—he looked like he'd been let down in every way possible. Sam however took it in stride—he had an attentive frown on his face. Alex wanted to disappear and almost burst into tears. Well, now they all knew. She was an addict. She redoubled her outward mask and became as detached as possible. "I didn't mean for it to happen, it just _did_ , okay?"

" _How_?" Dean asked—and that's when she realized he was heartbroken, not furious. He put his beer down onto the table blindly and approached her. When she said nothing, Dean grew desperate. "Alex! Since when?"

She looked at him sharply, refusing to break down. "Long enough Dean, now stop _asking_ ," she snapped. Her oldest brother recoiled as if bitten. Alex was really at the point of running out of there any second—she couldn't do all of this, not _today_.

And then Cas surprised all of them. He'd gone silent briefly, clearly thinking hard as he looked at Alex with great amounts of concerned speculation. "Dean, Sam. If I could just speak with Alex privately for a moment, I'd—" he began.

Dean was already shaking his head no vehemently. "No. Not happening. I don't want her alone with a man other than me right now."

Alex withered. She hated that her brother knew what had happened to her. She chanced a look at Cas timidly, who silently questioned her with his eyes. She didn't want him to know about her assault. But she _needed_ to talk to him—about other things. And so she looked at her brother meaningfully. "Dean. It's okay."

Dean looked like he was going to protest and turn this into another freaking fight like he always did. But then he surprised her when he visibly held some words back, took a beat, looked at Cas carefully, then checked back in with her. "You sure?"

She felt faintly amazed at that two word question. Was he really going to back off? "Yeah."

Dean didn't like it—that much was clear. But in a surprising show of respect and maturity, he let it go. "You two got five minutes," he said in a short tone. "I will be _right_ on the other side of this door. You call me if you need me, Al." He gave Cas another mistrustful glance. "Come on, Sam." Dean then shook his head at himself, left the room with his brother behind him, and Alex watched them go.

The door closed, leaving the room in brief silence. The angel and the hunter slowly looked at each other, both of their gazes veiled. Was he angry at her? Was he going to say she was an abomination? Was he going to tell her that he'd left her because he always knew she would end up too twisted, too low, too sullied for him? Suddenly, Alex was scared to hear why he'd gone. She looked into his familiar face and didn't know if he loved her anymore and wanted to be anyone but herself in that moment. And then, wordlessly, hesitant and unsure and careful, Cas touched either of her arms gently and comfortingly. It startled her. "I didn't know," he said, three words that conveyed how agonized he was and how he hadn't known anything that had happened to her that whole year. How couldn't he have _known_?

Pain tightened Alex's face and she didn't even realize that when he'd touched her arms, hers had raised up and she'd laid her hands onto his forearms. She second guessed her automatic reaction to his touch—withdrawing her hands a little. She felt like she had to hold back from him even though all she wanted was to reach out to him. "I thought you _left me_ ," she whispered, so confused and unsure where to even begin.

Shock and hurt showed on his face. " _No_ ," he said immediately, and her heart burst as she dared to hope. "I thought—I thought you knew what was happening. I sent two angels, I sent two messages—and was even told that you replied." He shook his head faintly, seeming to understand. "I've been lied to." Pain filled his features as he put two and two together. "And you spent this whole time thinking I never sent word." And when he said what he said next, she realized she _hadn't_ been wrong to hang onto hope. To believe that he still loved her. "I thought of you every hour, every minute, every second." His eyes searched hers deeply, almost pleadingly. "I didn't forget you. I didn't leave you. I would _never_. You know that."

Her eyes stung as he said that to her and even though the words were what she had been _so hungry_ to hear... she didn't know how to believe him after all that time, after the utter loneliness and silence and broken trust. He _did_ leave her. Cas appeared to recognize her reaction to his words as disagreement. And if Castiel, the angel who had once claimed to her that he possessed no heart could look heartbroken… he did. "I'm so sorry," he whispered weakly. "I didn't realize… I didn't _know_." He let go of her and stepped back slightly as if he were shaming himself. He looked down, his hands hanging at his side. "Please forgive me."

The loss of his closeness and the distance between them was painful. Alex looked at him silently, long and hard, trying to put all of her jumbled emotions into words, trying to boil down a year of waiting and hating herself and cultivating bitterness into a few words. And if she wasn't still completely in love with the angel in the trench coat, she wouldn't have bothered with trying to explain herself or talk to him about it. But if possible, she loved him even more now and it hurt her because he hadn't come through for her and she didn't fucking understand how he could just stand there like that and ask for forgiveness. "I needed you," she managed in a trembling, faint voice. "I needed you _so bad_ and you were gone and I didn't know if you were dead or alive or… or ignoring me… you just… _disappeared_ right after Sam died, what was I supposed to _think_?" An inferno raged in her heart. "This year was hell, Cas, _hell_."

"I'm so sorry," he repeated. She got angrier when he said that even though she thought she should be grateful he was back. She should just throw her arms around his neck and cry for joy. But the bitterness wouldn't let her, she was wounded deeply and didn't understand at all. The only thing she could feel was painfully shattered trust and the agonizing realization that things would never be like they had been before. She had spent all this time wanting to pick back up where they left off and now she realized… they couldn't. And she looked away, struggling with herself, wanting so badly just to reach out to him and beg him to tell her it would be all right, to please take her back to the place they'd been before—but stubbornly she insisted on holding herself back, trying to protect herself from hurting more.

Cas was studying her carefully: the cuts, scrapes, and bruises. He seemed hesitant to ask, as if he could sense that if he asked too harshly, it would upset her. "What _happened_ to you?" The care in his voice broke her heart completely. That was _exactly_ what she wanted to hear and she shut her eyes for a long second. "Who hurt you like this? Why did Dean say he didn't want you alone with a man other than—" he stopped mid-sentence, his face fallen with an expression that was scary for her to see. Alex said nothing—her pulse suddenly rising with dread and shame. He was looking at her neck and two warm, gentle fingers brushed against one of the marks Glen had made. "Are these…? Are these from kissing?" he asked so very softly and full of dread.

Alex could barely keep her composure. She moved a hand up to cover herself however inadequately, no longer able to hide her emotional distress. She felt overwhelmed and defenseless and she didn't want him to know how she'd been violated and manipulated and used. Or how, briefly, she thought she wanted it. Sex with someone else, closeness with someone else. How she'd let Glen put his hands on her, how she'd let him kiss her neck and feel her up and… her head hurt, she felt dizzy. "Yes," she choked out and turned away from him, fighting hard not to lose it. Behind her, Cas came a little closer. There was a long, rigid silence.

"Did… did someone _force themselves_ onto you?" he asked in an absolutely appalled, fearful tremble.

 _Oh god._ How was she supposed to talk to him about this? She almost snapped at him and told him not to worry about it but… she couldn't. Maybe it was because underneath the heartache, she still trusted Castiel more than almost anyone and wanted him to be the one she went to for help and comfort. She turned again and sank down to the edge of the bed, sitting there miserably, wishing she could keep this horrible dark thing from him and pretend it never happened. But it had. "I-I don't know," she said, answering honestly because she was so confused and mortified. She shook her head and stuck an elbow onto her knee, letting her head fall into her hand. "Yes, and no, I don't… I don't _know_."

"What do you mean you don't _know_?" He asked, full of worry and stark confusion. She saw his feet come to right there in front of hers, he crouched down and peered up at her, and he was so handsome and she loved him _so much_ and had missed him _so much_ and didn't deserve him in the least. Maybe it was all her fault, everything that happened. She didn't know.

She tried to explain, even though it was the most sickening thing she'd ever had to say aloud. He deserved to know. "At first I thought… I thought…" her voice cracked. "I thought I wanted it. I was confused—I thought you were gone and… I don't know. I thought I wanted it." She peeked up at him miserably, unable to identify with herself now that the heat of the moment had passed. Cas looked agonized at her words.

Seeing that look on his face, she felt the weight of her actions and thoughts threatening to crush her completely. She just wanted to disappear. Alex moved her hands to her knees, about to brace herself and stand up. And then he gently touched one of her hands with his, stopping her—and when she looked at him in surprise, she saw how he was soldiering through this with her. He swallowed and a defeated kind of sadness rested there in every line of his face. "I was gone for a year. I understand. You were lonely."

Shocked, Alex suddenly scrambled to refute his argument because she couldn't stand the look on his face or the thought of him somehow assuming that anyone could ever take his place. " _No—_ I mean, yes, I was lonely, but… I wanted to wait for you, I tried to and I really thought… that you were gone. And then, at that point... I just wanted t-to forget you. And I didn't know how to." Confessing it out loud was wretched. But his hand didn't leave hers and she held on more tightly, even though she felt pitiful and disgusting. She looked at their hands the entire time she spoke, so ashamed of herself, wishing she'd just held onto hope a little longer, run from Glen and the temptation a long time ago. But she hadn't. "I tried to go along with what—with what he was doing," she confessed, and a silent tear rolled down her cheek. "But I couldn't. So I said no." She paused, closed her eyes, trying to shut out the memories. "And he wouldn't stop."

Cas's expression—which had been supremely pained as she told him about it—darkened completely. Wrath flashed in his eyes. He stood up, clenching his fists at his sides. " _Who_?" She heard the murderous fury making his voice tremble.

Alex looked up at him with a pained expression, feeling small and foolish. "He's dead. I killed him." She got up, crossed her arms, and walked toward the window a few steps. Castiel must think her dirty, stupid, weak. All the things she thought of herself.

" _You_ did?" He asked, sounding hurt. Why would that offend him? Alex was confused. And then, his next question made her realize why he sounded so wounded. "Why didn't you call me? I… I could have saved you."

She turned, a hand errantly resting against the wall beside the window and she looked at him sadly. Maybe this was the hardest thing to confess. "I... didn't think you would come." She paused, then her eyes fell away from his. "I saved myself."

Castiel was gutted. His shoulders visibly fell a little and his mouth parted open. And for once, he seemed utterly devoid of words. For a long and awful moment, neither said anything. Then he composed himself somewhat gruffly. "Let me heal your wounds," he said, and she heard his unspoken sentiment: _let me do something, anything, to make this better._

She hesitated and almost said no because of angered pride—he couldn't take away what had happened to her just by making her physical trauma go away. But she _was_ in pain all over… sore and bruised and cut up and her head was killing. So she swallowed her negative reaction and nodded _yes_. He came to her, putting his hand against the side of her face. The gentle touch affected her deeply and she looked into his eyes, seeing white light reflecting there as he took away her physical hurts. When it was over, he didn't move his hand away. His thumb moved tenderly against newly healed skin on her cheek. She weakened completely at the touch. "I'm so sorry," he said again. Without warning, him repeating himself and offering a flimsy penance for neglecting her that entire year stirred the anger up again. She pulled away from his touch.

"Saying you're sorry won't change it," she said stiffly, suddenly lashing out and word-vomiting all of her hurt and confusion onto him without warning. "And taking away my injuries doesn't take away what _happened_ to me." Her voice wavered as emotions rose rapidly. As she tried to blame anyone but herself. "I wouldn't have even been _around_ him if… if you… if things had been different, if I knew—if I had a single goddamn _clue_ where you went or _why_ you just split; I mean, you said you sent me messages but why wouldn't you come see me yourself? Did it really never occur to you to fucking double check?!" Her voice rose passionately. "Why the _hell_ couldn't you just come see me, even _once_? You promised you would never leave me and I _believed you_ and all the shit I got into this year was me hanging onto hope and dying more every fucking day that you didn't come back—and if you just don't want me anymore say it okay?!"

And the room went silent.

Alex was momentarily taken aback at the torrent of disjointed thoughts she'd just spewed. She didn't feel any better like she thought she would. Instead she felt worse. She wanted nothing more than to be angriest with _him_ but really, she was angriest with herself. Cas was taken aback by her rant and he appeared to have no idea of how to reply except to shake his head and look at her in wounded bewilderment. "How can you _think_ that?" Alex's mouth dropped open in renewed disbelief at him. How could she think that? How could she _not_?

"Because you _left me_ like everyone else ever has! Without a single goddamn _word_!" All of the deeply-suppressed feelings she'd spent sleepless nights mulling over began to tear out of her like a banshee. "Ever since you came along I've been a stupid and weak and when you left I broke apart! You _ruined_ me, Castiel! And then I ruined myself! I don't even know what I'm _doing_ anymore!" She stood there breathing heavily from emotion, reflecting miserably on how stupid and childish to believe Cas actually cared, because actions spoke louder than words, right? And she wished she wouldn't have said any of those things, because she didn't want anyone to know how bad it hurt and how broken she felt. Cas again looked unsure of how to react to her—only deeply, deeply sad. And she became sad too, tears stinging her eyes. "I just— _tell me_ why you never came to see me, please—you could have told me, you _should_ have told me why you were gone. Tell me, Cas." She steeled herself. "If you don't love me anymore just say it, please, so I can finally _move on_ with my life," she said, a desperate plea from a desperate girl.

His reaction was immediate when she said that about him not loving her anymore. "I am doing this _because_ I love you!" He said, raising his voice emphatically and subsequently bringing a stark silence over the room. Her heart felt like it dropped out of her completely. Rendered completely still by his exclamation, Alex stared wordlessly. Cas took hold of her arms gently just below the shoulders, pleading with her silently for a moment. Then, out loud. "Alex, all my enemy's eyes are on me—the day that I left you at the cemetery I was ambushed by Raphael, he made it clear that if I came to see you he would follow me and take you from me, _hurt_ you. I have stayed away to _protect_ you. Because I know that if he takes you, I'll have no _choice_ but to do whatever he says." Conflict shimmered across his features briefly. "I would sacrifice anything and everything if it would save you," he said intensely. "I would do anything for you— _anything_ —and they _know it_. They're using what I feel against me. Against the entire _world,_ and it's dangerous. I'm fighting this war for you, for _us_." His expression wavered into the territory of sadness, his eyes became gentler, more appealing, even as she felt herself becoming deeply ashamed at her one-sided, selfish assumptions. "I didn't even realize how long it had been for you. Time works differently here than it does there." He let go of her and she saw how weary he was, how jaded and taxed, and when he briefly rubbed fingers to his temple and forehead in a very human gesture, she was stricken with a sudden, grave worry for him. She was abruptly seeing just how hard the past year had been on him too, and sadness deeper than the ocean settled over her. This was such a mess. He shook his head, frowning at the floor. "The war, it's… torn Heaven apart. It never ends, the fighting, the killing. I'm… _tired_ , Alex." She forgot her own angers and fears and hesitated, then touched his arm gently. 

He looked at her hand, his frown clearing a little. With his opposite hand, he reached over and took her hand and held it in his gently, somberly. "I never imagined it would be like this," he said softly, and his voice was filled with remorse. "I thought… I thought I was doing the right thing," he confessed brokenly. "If I had known the things it would have set into motion, perhaps I would have… done things differently." His eyes found hers. "I didn't know what my absence would do and I know you said not to say it but… I am. I'm so _sorry_." His voice dropped to almost a whisper when he said 'sorry,' and Alex's heart reached out to him. They had both been through hell this past year.

"It's... it's okay, Cas," she said quietly, choosing to leave the bitterness behind and instead hold onto the chance of them fixing this because it was all she wanted. She'd woken up that very morning thinking Cas didn't love her and had left her and might be dead… but none of that had been true and with him here, now, holding her hand and telling her what had happened… she had hope again. It scared her, but she clung onto it fiercely. It wasn't ideal, this entire situation they were in and the aftermath of the time apart wasn't anything but intensely painful… and she didn't know if there would ever be a way to undo it all but she could start with forgiving him. What else could she do? "It's okay," she repeated and he shook his head no, obviously filled with guilt.

"No. It's not," he said miserably. "The things that happened to you. Because of me. I can't take them away. I can't undo it."

A harsh, painful truth. Alex took in a deep breath and looked at his large, tan hand holding her smaller fairer one. Her voice trembled tellingly. "Are you… gonna leave again?" 

Rueful conflict was etched onto his face. "I… I _can't_ stay. I can't endanger you. I'm leading a war." She was hurt all over again. It seemed like fate was cruelly determined to always find something to thwart them. And it wasn't _fair_. She couldn't bear the thought of him leaving again… this time knowing he was missing her just like she was missing him. Cas quickly and emphatically amended himself at the look on her face. "But I'll find a way, from now on—I'm not sure how, but I will. To always come when you call. No matter what's happening." He paused, his eyes pleading gently with her, and she looked at him in hesitance. "Promise me you'll call me when you need me, Alex."

She faltered, her inhibitions threatening to hold her back—she wanted to withdraw and save herself from the heartache, she wanted to run away from the depth and intensity of this love. But she couldn't. Everything she'd held inside for the year—longing, desperation, readiness to be with him again—compelled her to take the chance, go out on the limb, have faith again, and trust him with her heart.

"I need you right _now_ ," she confessed softly through a cracking voice, and finally—after a year apart, after days on end not knowing where the other had been, after sleepless nights and self-destruction and endless doubts, fears, loneliness—all of it was forgotten for the briefest moment as in unison, they reached for the other and embraced tightly in front of the window. She crumbled like a stone wall and cried in overwhelmed relief as he wrapped her in long-lost warmth and security and the knowledge that somehow it was all going to be okay, that Cas was still committed to this. And so was she.

Alex didn't know what tomorrow held, but she knew Cas hadn't left or forgotten her, and that's what she'd been holding out for, what had been keeping her alive all this time, practically. And even though she knew there was so much lost in the time apart and wounds that needed to heal and mistakes that had been made… she really wanted to believe that they could have the strength to weather the storm. Together.

_Together._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you or someone you know has been abused, molested, or assaulted in any way, please reach out and tell someone who can help you (teacher, therapist, authority figure, someone you trust). If you carry that darkness alone, you shouldn't have to. I speak from personal experience and can tell you guys that the day you stop feeling ashamed about what happened to you is the day you can start to really heal. People will do all kinds of jacked up things to you your whole life but you don't have to remain a lifelong victim to the pain and trauma. What wrongs are committed against you don't have define you or hold you back.


	52. Fair Weather Friends

" _Everything you touch it surely dies."_  
\- Passenger

* * *

Jamie looked around the motel room in a blank haze, stunned by the phone call that had just ended. Dean's words replayed over and over mentally, leaving her so shocked that she couldn't feel her feet or hands...

_Your fucking brother tried to go Ted Bundy on my sister today and if he's not dead already, you better put a bullet in his head or I will!_

Ted Bundy was an infamous _murderer_ and _rapist_. Was Dean saying that Glen had… had tried to… do those things to Alex? Jamie spiraled. Glen wouldn't… he _couldn't_ do either of those things, to anyone, _ever_ —and certainly not _Alex_ , their friend and hunting partner—Dean had to be wrong...!

Glen was an asshole and an idiot and a huge flirt but… he wasn't a murderer, he wasn't a _rapist_. Jamie knew him. She _knew_ him.

...Didn't she?

The motel room the three of them had been staying in the past few nights had been labeled a crime scene and was locked down when she'd gotten there a few minutes ago—and she'd been unprepared for what she found when she broke in. Blood and disarray everywhere. Signs of a huge struggle. Glen's phone discarded on the floor. No sign of him or Alex anywhere. Panicked, Jamie had called Alex, but had gotten instead a very angry Dean who had told her the utterly unthinkable. Jamie stared at blood stained carpet—it had huge spread like someone had been bleeding out. Alex? Glen? She didn't know, but after talking to Dean, she thought it had to be her brother's. Terrified, she scanned the room yet again in a dazed attempt to assess what happened.

There was a broken lamp, a busted clock radio, and bloody car keys tossed on the floor. There was the messed up bed closest to the window which made Jamie's stomach twist. The sheets were coming off of it, mattress cover and all—like a life-or-death struggle had taken place there. Nearby two bullet casings were circled in police chalk and numbered. Jamie wanted to throw up. There had to be another explanation, there _had_ to be. Shaking, she ran a hand through her uncombed hair. There was no trail of blood leading out of the room. Glen's car was parked outside. So where was he? Dead or alive, he couldn't just have _disappeared_.

Her eyes zipped to stare at the blood splatters again and Jamie felt the beginnings of a panic attack ramping up. It wouldn't have been her first. This scene brought back horrifying memories of finding her mother all those years ago and Jamie tried so hard not to think of that… so she closed her eyes and focused on deep breathing. In and out. _One, two, three. Count to one, two, three._ A grounding technique she'd used on herself since she'd been young. And even though her pulse calmed down and her throat didn't close up, she remembered that horrible day without wanting to: Finding her mother sitting hunched over in a silk dressing robe stained with blood while smoking a cigarette and downing sherry with a face of stone as she sat on the luxury chaise in her grand bedroom. Behind her, Dad was bloody and dead on the bed, stabbed repeatedly with a kitchen knife that glinted beside Mother on the expensive lounge.

 _You're supposed to be practicing!_ Caroline Ward had shrieked, standing and throwing her glass of alcohol at Jamie, who wore her soft pink ballet leotard and tights. Her aim missed by a mile. At eleven, the sight of a dead father and a mother covered in horrific blood had sent Jamie into a full-blown panic attack. Every one of her senses had gone dark and shaky and to this day she _still_ didn't remember how she got from the master bedroom to the bottom of the grand marble staircase. But she would forever remember falling into one of the maid's arms as Caroline stumbled down the stairs with that bloody knife, smearing red against angelic white as she raged about killing Jamie next. That maid had saved Jamie's life by whisking her out of the house and calling 911 then hiding with her until the police arrived.

Jamie didn't like to think of that day. Or _any_ day that involved her crazy bitch of a mother. Hate was not a strong enough word for what she felt for the woman who had treated her like a doll instead of a person, demanding impossible performative things from her from day one. Jamie—who actually never went by Jamie in childhood since she was born Jameson Rose Ward—had been stuck with nannies and maids and never given her much attention at all—whereas in comparison Glen had been doted on and hailed as the favorite. Caroline Ward had spent all of her time obsessing over Botox injections, age lines, social standing, expensive brands and luxury vacations, alcohol, and prescription drugs. She was the most unloving and shallow woman Jamie had ever known, insisting on being called "Mother" or "Caroline." Never Mommy or Mama or Mom. And Jamie was forever terrified to become her mother. It was strange to remember the woman who had birthed her: tall, austere, beautiful, plastic—coming out of their idyllic mansion in handcuffs, smiling serenely for the neighbors and onlookers… all while covered in the blood of Jamie's father. You didn't forget things like that. No matter how hard you tried.

Every time she saw great amounts of blood, she remembered that day with horrifying intensity. That had been the turning point in Jamie's entire life. With Caroline going to prison and Dad dead and gone, Jamie and Glen had been thrust at the first willing family member—their uncle Gary. He was the opposite of everything the rest of the Ward family was. Where they were all old money Southerners transplanted to the north, Gary was poor, salt-of-the-earth, genuine, and loved life. He lived simply and without airs. And he was a hunter. He manned up in the biggest way to take Jamie and her brother in and raise them like they were his own. He'd opened up Jamie's eyes to a different view on life, helping her learn to trust: he'd been present where Jamie's parents had been absent. Involved, considerate, and kind, reasonable. Reliable. He had changed her life in so many ways. He was the one who started calling her Jamie instead of Jameson and letting her decide what she wanted for her own life. Life turned from forced pointe ballet, French, violin, and horseback riding lessons to Jamie realizing she liked rollerblading, videogames, rock n' roll, and endless movie marathons. Their years together were flowers in her soul to this day, and she credited him for who she had become. When he died during a hunt when Jamie was nineteen, it had been devastating. It still was. Jamie opened her eyes back up.

A terrible thought was brewing: Glen had always been the closest to Caroline and had always been similar to her. He had been more upset about Caroline going to _prison_ than Dad being _dead_ … what if he was just like her? A secretly murderous narcissistic psychopath who never raised suspicion until it was too late?

Jamie swallowed deeply and edged closer to the huge blood stain on the carpet, forcing herself to keep her head, find out what happened, _then_ freak out. Crouching beside the bed, Jamie noticed something that had almost blended in with the carpet perfectly. With a very dark suspicion indeed, she ran two fingertips across the dusty ash-like substance then sniffed what came away. _Sulphur_. She stood up fast and took two steps back. Demons? _Glen, what have you done? What did you do?_ _What_ _happened_ here? She stood there in breathless increasing dismay for two seconds before grabbing one of her bags and angrily digging through it for what she needed—several elements and a bowl. She was going to find out what the hell happened here. She slammed the bowl down onto the ground and crouched again, scrawling the symbols for summoning onto the floor sloppily in her rush, finishing at a breakneck speed. Not thinking very straight, she shook as if her blood sugar was at zero while she grabbed more things out of her bag—tossing the necessary ingredients in with a passion. Finally, she took out her butterfly knife and swung it open deftly then slashed the gleaming blade across her palm harshly almost like she was punishing herself.

Jamie hissed, squeezing her blood down into the bowl angrily then found her matchbook, striking one with a snap. " _Eos coram me_." She dropped the match into the bowl and the contents went up with a poof of smoke.

A short, curvy woman with dark brown hair appeared. Jamie faltered. The newcomer was dressed in dark jeans, a loose purple top, and a black leather jacket. The demon looked at Jamie through narrowed eyes, seeming just as surprised and suspicious as Jamie was. "...and _you_ are?" Her voice was strong, low, smooth, slow.

Jamie hesitated. "You're... not Ruby..."

The demon rolled her eyes with gusto. "Gold star for you," she drawled sarcastically, her voice lazy and not expressive. She folded her arms, put all her weight on one foot, and let her head cant to the side. She had a distinctly threatening look in her eyes but the softest little smile on her face, like she was relaxed. "Now, who the hell are you and why'd you summon me?"

Jamie frowned deeply, squeezing her throbbing, bleeding palm in an effort to dull the pain and stop the blood flow. "I summoned _Ruby_ ," she said lowly, disliking and fearing this unexpected turn of events. Did she do the spell wrong in her haste?

"Well you got _Meg_ ," the demon retorted with boredom then paused, narrowing her eyes—and interest grew, a smile crept up across her lips. "Wait... I know who _you_ are." She smiled broadly revealing white teeth. But it was creepy, because the smile didn't reach her eyes. Meg laughed lowly. "Ruby wasn't a crossroads demon but you and her dealed, didn't you?" She gave a short little laugh but there was a sinister quality to it. With a nod, Meg's eyes sparkling with dark light. "I remember hearing about you. The _witch_." She arched a dark eyebrow. "So how's it feel, sweetie, knowing you helped raise Lucifer?" At the flabbergasted look on Jamie's face, the demon feigned innocence and surprise. "Oh— _oops_ —didn't know that?" The look fell off her face into superiority and she chuckled mockingly. "Maybe you should have read the fine print before selling your _soul_ , hon."

 _Raise Lucifer_? As in the _devil_? Jamie stared in horror—she'd heard the rumors about the apocalypse and all the stuff about Heaven and Hell being at war with each other; she'd seen all the shit that happened last year but… _no way_. And no way did she have something to do with it, either. In front of her Meg sighed impatiently and glanced at her polished fingernails distractedly. "Look. Ruby's dead now and I inherited her deals, _so_ … what do you want, _princess_?" She fixed Jamie with an unfriendly, hostile expression—which, coupled with a cool smiled, was chilling. "And make it snappy, will ya? I got places to be."

"What do you _mean_ , I helped raise Lucifer?" Jamie asked in complete disbelief, forgetting, for a moment, her other questions. "You're telling me that really _happened_?"

"Geez _Louise_ , giving blondes everywhere a good name, aren't you?" Meg drawled cool and sarcastic and mildly amused, giving the impression that she'd never met anyone stupider. "Where have you _been_ the past couple years? It was apocalypse central up in this bitch, or didn't you notice?" Meg grinned at Jamie's confounded expression. Her slow and playful tone was absolutely infuriating. "Yup. That's right. And your cute little ass helped us out with it, too." She looked Jamie up and down suggestively. "Didn't it seem kinda _peculiar_ to you that Ruby wanted you to sign off on something extra in return for your deal? Didn't you kinda wonder _why_ she only agreed to take your soul deal if _you'd_ agree to let her make you a little witchy?" The demon gave her a look. "Put two and two together, why don't ya?"

Angry and terrified of what she was learning, Jamie struggled to keep her protective walls up. "I don't make soul deals everyday, okay?" she snapped, her stomach turning sickeningly. Had _everyone_ played her for a fool? "How was I supposed to know what was what?"

Meg's expression was smug. "They played you, Blondie… like a fiddle."

 _They_? "The fuck are you talking about?" Jamie demanded harshly, dreading the answer but sharpening her words like knives, not letting Meg see for a second how scared she was.

Meg's eyes glittered and she adopted an overly enthusiastic demeanor which was insulting in the context of the conversation. "Well golly _Pete_ , Barbie, what I'm talking about is how _you_ were one of the seals—see, Ruby and me? We were Lucifer loyalists. We sorta… mm, _fudged_ a few seals to speed up the big day. And yours was the one that went a little something like ' _and a good woman shall give her soul over to the heresy of witchcraft to save a betrayer_.'" She said that last part in a goofy, mocking voice then chuckled, bit her lip, and shook her head. "By the way… how'd it work out with the prince charming you traded your soul for? I mean, musta been a real _swell_ guy if you did all that to save his life." She wrinkled her nose up, smiling, like she thought something was cute and started talking baby-talk. "Warms my cold, wittle black heart."

At the nameless mention of Jake, Jamie felt gutted all over again and it showed on her face. The demon chortled. "Oh no, trouble in paradise? No happily ever after? What a cryin' shame…" Meg's smirk deepened infuriatingly. "Honestly, you made it too easy for them, sweetie, basically handed that seal over on a silver platter." She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. "Way to give it up on the first date."

Why did she keep saying _them_? Ready to stab Meg in the head—at least Ruby had been straightforward and not constantly laying on the innuendoes left and right—Jamie glowered at the demon, done with that discussion. In a burst of movement, she grabbed Meg by the collar. "Listen, _bitch—"_ she breathed threateningly. She usually was better at keeping her head, but today had her feeling on the brink of sanity. "My brother—I think he dealed with a demon here, and you're gonna tell me which one."

"Oh _am_ I?" Meg asked, voice cold and restrained with fury. Apparently, she didn't like being told what to do. She raised a hand upwards and suddenly Jamie flew backwards across the room, colliding back-first into the dresser with a painful crunch. She fell forward, catching herself with a hand, groaning in surprised pain, then suddenly felt her head being yanked up by the hair. Meg stared down at her contemptuously. "You hunters are all the same," she said throat bared teeth. "Fucking high-horse _chumps_. Don't forget who pulls the strings around here, _cupcake_." She suddenly laughed, a disturbing effect. A secretive smiled loomed. "How long do you have left, anyway?" she asked, enjoying Jamie's reaction to the question. "Not that long, if I remember right." She arched her eyebrow again and scrunched her nose up. "Time flies when you're having _fun_ , doesn't it?" She patted Jamie on the face a couple times roughly. Her voice lowered in pitch. "Now, be a good girl for Mommy. Next time you see me... it'll be in hell." She let go and stood to her full height then gave another chilling smirk. "Can't _wait_. Toodles!" And in the blink of an eye, the demon was gone.

Cringing against the pain in her back, the witch winced and shut her eyes, struggling to breathe against the stabbing pain—it felt like she'd broken a rib. She held one of her hands against her side, cursing herself and her panic-dictated move. " _Sana sub hoc manu—_ " she whispered hoarsely, and the forces of magic obeyed—her rib pain disappeared and she could breathe again. Relived, Jamie sagged against the dresser. The telltale trickle ran out of her nose and the pounding commenced in her head, the fatigue settled in. But it wouldn't last long. She had accepted this tired song and dance by now, and soldiered through as she lamented her reality.

It didn't matter really, after all, Jamie Ward was a dead woman walking and had been since 2008. She'd never told a single soul. She alone lived with the dark knowledge that every morning she woke up, she had one less day to go until the Hellhounds came.

She cursed the fateful day when she made a desperate, thoughtless soul deal. She'd been in love for what felt like the first real time. His name had been Jake, and she had thought he was a hunter. He'd swept her off her feet in the span of a month. And then during a hunt he'd had a horrible accident that seemed like it was all her fault. So when the demon Ruby just suddenly appeared out of nowhere and offered to save his life— _all you have to do is give me your soul and let me make you a witch, then you never hear from me again until your time's up_ —Jamie had agreed without any consideration for herself, not caring what price she had to pay. And what a price it was.

She'd been cursed with being a witch that day. She'd never known why the demon had insisted on that stipulation either—Jamie had been so focused on saving Jake that she hadn't realized what becoming a witch would mean. Even now a few years later, she was _still_ always having trouble with her abilities… often hurting herself or doing things slightly wrong in the process of trying to use them. Other witches didn't accept Jamie, and many hunters instantly turned on her when they found out. Latest example, Dean Winchester. Jamie wasn't proud of being a witch most days, even if her powers _did_ save lives and allow her to do incredible things. It was a lonely, vagabond existence.

Had Jake been in on the plot to lure Jamie into breaking an apocalyptic seal? Was he a demon too? After talking to Meg just now, Jamie didn't know how it could be otherwise. After he'd been resurrected, he'd had sex with her one more time but it had been different—rough, cruel, selfish. She'd been confused and wounded emotionally. And then he'd said it had been fun but he was over it, then left abruptly and never shown his face again. Jamie had been absolutely heartbroken and humiliated. And now she understood. The entire thing had all been a trick. And she'd fallen for it, hook, line, sinker.

After Jake, her heart had gone completely dark, the light of hope leaving completely. She had sworn never to fully trust anyone ever again.

How was she supposed to cope, finding out she had been used to help raise Lucifer? On the same day Dean Winchester implied that her brother had tried to rape and kill someone? What was she supposed to _do_? What very little was left of her world was crashing down. The guilt and existential dread was staggering. She was so tired of trying to soldier through and being left with nothing but loneliness and pain for her efforts. She was just trying to make a few things right in the world before the curtain call. That's the entire reason she loved hunting: saving people. With or without credit, making the world a safer place healed Jamie and gave her a reason to exist. No one had saved the loveless little girl who lived like a ghost in that mansion under Caroline's tyrannical rule. Jamie's heart ached to think of herself at that age. She never wanted anyone to feel that sense of abandonment or despair. She acted tough and fought hard and people thought she was some shrewd, wisecracking hunter but underneath it all... no matter how much she tried not to, Jamie felt deeply.

She and her brother had never been close or friends. She hadn't liked him even half the time. Loved, yes, she guessed. But it was guilt and duty and the fact that she didn't have anyone else but him that had kept their little family unit limping along. Her eyes went sidelong and saw Glen's discarded phone. Hesitating, afraid of the truth, Jamie took a beat then steeled herself and reached out to pick it up. She refused to live in a lie. She had to know the truth. The phone came on and asked for the password. She tried a few different significant dates and numbers and none worked. And then she tried the one she should have tried first: Mother's birth year. The phone unlocked. And Jamie's worst fears were quickly confirmed in awful detail. The texts, emails, photos, and videos on the phone were of a man who lived a double, triple life—and much of it was too graphic, violent, and sexually deviant to handle. Unable to see any more at a certain point, Jamie threw the phone away from herself as if it were a poisonous snake, almost so sick she could vomit.

With a churning stomach and a cry of emotional agony from a broken spirit, Jamie slammed her hands into her face. Great gasping sobs tore her asunder, and she was forever broken by what she had seen. _I hunt monsters. And my brother_ was _one. Alex got hurt because of me. How many others did I endanger? How did I never know this?_

As the storm of unbearable grief roared, Jamie thought of the handgun she had in the back of her car. Of how easy it would be to end this cursed Ward bloodline once and for all.

* * *

**Easter, Pennsylvania**

Several stories up from street level in an unremarkable hotel, the two of them held onto each other tightly in the nearly-silent room—him: quiet and tense, head bent down over hers—her: shaking with tears, her arms circled around his middle inside of the trench coat. Castiel had forgotten what she felt like, how the sensation of being in an embrace with her was like something out of the Heaven he used to know. But her soft crying sounds were heartbreaking. And whatever gladness he felt at the reunion, he felt a hundred times more pain and guilt. There was dread, too, because he knew this was only temporary. He would have to leave soon and the camouflaging ward he'd set over her would only last so long. But how could he leave, especially after what he had learned today? Could he undo the damage caused by his ignorance and his false assumptions?

He had thought Alex knew where he was—fighting a war in Heaven. She hadn't.

He had thought she'd been with Dean, safe and relatively protected. She hadn't. Off on her own for reasons he didn't even know, she'd apparently spent the entire year alone. Retroactively, he was afraid for her safety and he cursed himself for not knowing.

The things that could have happened to her. The things that _did_ happen to her. And there could be more he didn't even know of yet.

It was devastating because he thought she had been safe and patiently awaiting his return, aware of what he was doing and the fact that he planned to come back. _That's what Rachel had said…_ he darkened. No, not said. _Lied_. He would deal with her soon, and harshly too.

But right now, he held onto the moment they had been given and drifted in dispair. This was his fault. All of it. Was it not enough to discover that he had damned her soul by being with her sexually? Was it not enough that he'd been the cause of her mute condition? Misery abounded wherever he touched her life, and it was too late. _Too late_. Not just for those things… but for the horrors that had befallen her today. His arms tightened around her as if perhaps he could protect her from what had already happened.

Cas had removed the bruises and physical hurts from her, but Alex was right. He couldn't erase what had happened to her. He couldn't take that away. He didn't even fully know what had happened to her and couldn't bring himself to ask. Castiel thought of a man putting his hands on his Alex… kiss-biting her neck and forcing himself onto her, striking her across the face and making her hurt, making her do something she didn't want. His blood ran molten with fury as he envisioned her frightened and struggling underneath that giant blond man who he had seen a few months ago. Somehow, he knew that man was the one who had committed atrocities against Alex. The mental image made him feel physically sick, a feeling he hadn't experienced in quite some time.

The last time Castiel had cried was about a year ago, when Alex had been dying at Lucifer's hands. He felt the same way now, as if his grief was so much it wanted to spill out of him. She hadn't even thought to call him and had told him as much. She'd given up on him, and he was so, _so_ sorry. His stroked his palm down over the back of her head once, cradling the nape of her neck with his hand, realizing with guilt-ridden self loathing how in his quest to save Alex, he had lost sight of her completely. Maybe had lost more than just sight. Even though they were in each others arms, he couldn't explain it… he felt very far away from her. His eyes closed and his eyebrows knotted together tensely.

He was a fool for assuming he could pause everything here on earth to fight the war in Heaven. He'd been so ready to believe what Rachel had told him. He should have _checked,_ he should have found a way to see Alex and tell her himself all the things she had been unaware of for the entire past year. But he'd been so crippled with fear of endangering her. And so he'd handed her over to the cruel wiles of fate. And now look what had happened.

He could sense by proximity that her blood ran thick with demon's blood. Another thing that weighed his heart like stone. Cas was torn between both wanting to remove himself as far from her as humanly possible to end the pain he seemed to cause her, and the need to take her hand and never let her leave his side again. How would she be all right after this? He had failed her in every way possible, and he had been so _negligent_. He'd done it all for her… but had he lost her in the process? Their bond, so strong and profound before, seemed unsure and flimsy to him now.

Alex drew back, her eyes red and watery, cheeks shining with tears. Looking up at him with what looked like guilt as his hand moved from the back of her hair to the side of her face, she shook her head faintly, struggling. Like she were resisting his touch, almost. "Cas… I _really_ thought you were never coming back." Her words, her quietly breaking voice, the confirmation she had truly believed he would leave her forever without a word… it was all the most gut-wrenching thing. How could she think that? How had he let this happen? She sniffed, looking down, another tear rolling down her cheek as her expression crumpled again. "I'm _so sorry_ ," she said in a soft, pained rasp.

He felt how his face was twisted. Sorry for _what_? He didn't understand—she had nothing to be sorry for, if anyone had things to be sorry for, it was _him_. The hotel room door abruptly opened back up with a loud bang, startling the two of them. Dean came into the room like a dark cloud, a suspicious glare on his face. Behind him, Sam looked bored with his arms crossed as he peered in lazily.

"You two set, or what?" Dean asked gruffly.

Alex pulled away from Cas, trying to hide her teary face from her brothers. She mumbled something about needing a minute and disappeared quickly into the bathroom—and Cas had to stop himself from following her like a magnet. He watched her, then stared at the closed door.

* * *

Alex shut the bathroom door and leaned her back against it, looking upward. Too many eyes on her, too many eyes. She was reeling—her emotions were so intense that they'd begun to affect her physically. Or maybe it was because she needed more demon blood. She moved away from the door and braced herself against the stained ceramic sink to stare into her reflection with a strained expression. The bathroom was dark and lit only with a single overhead light, making her face look long and shadowed. She looked like what she was: an addict. Jumpy, on edge, not _normal_. How had this happened to her? All too well, she remembered when _Sam_ had been the one with this problem. She'd been so quick to judge him for it. So callous, so ready to side with Dean.

Funny… she and Sam were more alike than she'd ever thought. She'd followed in his footsteps almost exactly. Drawing the comparisons was almost laughable. When Dean died, Alex and Sam had fought and separated and Sam had subsequently given in to a demon blood addiction. And now, almost blow-for-blow, Alex had done what he had. Fought with Dean and ran away when Sam 'died.' Lived on her own and gotten addicted to the substance just like Sam had. She understood now. The blood got under your skin, it made you feel good when everything else in the world felt bad. What she _didn't_ understand was why her twin was being so cold and unfeeling right now towards her and Dean. He was almost unrecognizable, and it scared her. What had happened to him? It didn't make sense.

Alex ran some water, hearing Dean and Cas's voices indistinctly in the other room. He was really here, and her heart gave a small jump. Everything that had just happened—his appearance, their few minutes alone… that had all really happened.

Suddenly overwhelmed by an abrupt downpour of shame and guilt, Alex gripped the sink tight and sobbed once, attempting to hide the sound and breathe steadily. She felt low and dirty, not just for the demon blood. The word rape, ugly and uncomfortable and shameful bounced around in her mind and she gripped the sink even tighter, pressing her lips in together, trying to stay calm.

 _Come on, baby, just relax._ That voice haunted her. _Hold still, bitch, you're making it really hard for me to enjoy this._

A gunshot. His look of shock and pain. The sound of her blood hammering in her ears painfully.

Alex had killed humans before—two of them—but neither of them had been a person who she'd thought to be a _friend_. Glen made it three; three people she'd killed. And he deserved it, the fucking _asshole_. She realized that her whole body was shaking with sickened adrenaline and her head hurt, her veins begged for demon blood because it would help her forget this awful feeling. She suddenly remembered the running water and looked at it blankly, recalling a callous voice in her ear and hands that didn't belong on her body touching her painfully. She could somehow still feel those touches and without realizing it, she wrapped an arm around herself stomach protectively, as if she could shield herself from those memories and horrors.

Alex didn't want to admit even to herself how deeply Glen's actions had shaken her. So, true to the Winchester family name, she pushed her thoughts and emotions concerning the matter down and away, angrily refusing to think about it. Instead, she cupped her hands under the water and splashed her face, washing away the evidence of tears that had been there. She finished and cleared her throat, then patted her face with the little towel hanging beside the sink.

Standing to her full height, she drew her shoulders up and took in a deep breath. She couldn't let them see how bad off she was. Having them worry over her and treat her like she was a fragile vase wasn't gonna happen. She hated that shit, because it implied that she was weak and stupid, and that's exactly how she felt… so, she'd act like she was okay. Alex didn't need anyone else confirming the horrible suspicion she carried that she was beyond help and messed up for good. _I'm fine_ , she told herself in ever-increasing doubt, I'm _fine._

She heard Cas saying something as she turned the water off, that deep, unmistakable tenor carrying through the closed door. She looked at the door silently toward where he was, her heart flip flopping at the sound of that low voice. Finally, she had some answers, enough for now anyway. She understood that there was a war in Heaven and that Raphael opposed Cas and had sworn to hurt her and find her. That fact alone spoke of how important she was to Castiel and she squeezed her eyes shut at the sudden onset of more overwhelming guilt that threatened to turn to tears. She thought of all the times she'd decided he didn't love her—she still struggled to understand in her heart of hearts even if her mind understood better now.

Her palm moved from her mouth to scrub her forehead as she breathed out shakily. What _now_? He said he couldn't stay, that him being around her endangered her. How long would the war last, though? How was she supposed to just keep waiting around? This was so _hard._ She thought you were supposed to find the love of your life and then things were neatly wrapped up, the sad times would be over. That's what all those stupid books she used to love had implied. That's what she'd wanted to believe. But reality was that she loved Castiel painfully and the circumstances around them were pulling them apart. It felt hopeless.

That, and… it wasn't like she remembered. All this time she'd been longing for not only him, but _them_ —the way they'd been there at the end. Even though she hated to admit it to herself, he seemed strange to her again, unfamiliar, and she was disillusioned with herself. Was it supposed to be like that? Or maybe he felt distant because of the demon blood. She remembered how much he had detested Sam's addiction to it. Would he detest her now, too? Change his mind about loving her? He wasn't a human like she was. He was an _angel_. And she was filling herself with the blood of freaking _demons_. She knew he hated demons and all they stood for and dammit, so did she! She hunched over the sink again, propping an elbow onto the ledge there. This was scary and she felt _alone_. She put her face in her hand miserably.

She _hated_ that they all knew now, that Cas had just blurted it out for Dean and Sam to know. Dean's look of utter disbelief and heartbreak had been worse than a fiery tirade. And Sam's apathy had been another unexpected low blow. What were they going to do with her? She couldn't just _stop_. Starting had been accidental but now it was impossible to escape the clawing, itching desire to drink. She'd had a flask of it in her car and she thought of it anxiously… she needed more soon or she'd start to get sick. In fact, the headache she had was probably the first symptom. Alex resolved to explain it to them and tell them she'd wean herself off of it. If she'd gotten on it, she could get off of it too. Maybe she could turn this around. No, not maybe. She _had_ to.

She looked at her reflection in the mirror again. And didn't like who she saw there. Her eyes fell away from the mirror and she was disappointed with herself on every level. Looking at the closed bathroom door, she almost didn't want to go out again and face them. Face him. There was this creeping fear that the longer the angel saw her now, the more he'd see how low she had sunk. And when he saw that, he really _would_ leave her.

And the worst part, she couldn't blame him even for a second. Who would want this disaster she'd become?

* * *

Dean watched as Alex disappeared into the bathroom after mumbling something about needing a minute. Behind him, Sam came in and shut the door. What was going _on_ here? When Dean had walked in a couple seconds ago, it looked like the two of them were in the middle of something upsetting. Alex had clearly been crying.

Five minutes. That's what he'd given them. Not that he'd wanted to—letting his sister out of his sight felt wrong given everything that had happened. But she'd wanted it, and as hard as it had been, he had. A year ago he would have been a prick about it and probably not have allowed it. But… his time with Lisa had changed some things about him.

There wasn't really a way for Dean to deny that Cas still really, _really_ cared about Alex. It was obvious. He was gentle with her in a way that he wasn't with anyone else, just like Dean remembered… but something was different. Something had changed. Dean felt guarded and suspicious of this entire thing. The war Cas had mentioned however briefly... the way Cas had flipped out and done some angel blood thing to Alex the moment he laid eyes on her… the shocking gut-punch when Cas had asked her if she'd been drinking _demon blood_. In a million years, Dean had never expected to hear _that_. What had happened to her this year? Why had Cas let that happen and just ditched without a word?

Stressed to the max, Dean set his sights on the angel, wanting some damn answers. "What'd you say to her?" he asked in a low, warning tone.

Because if Cas made her cry, if he'd hurt her feelings or broken her heart, it didn't matter if the guy was an angel. Dean would _find_ a way to beat his face in.

"That's between myself and Alex," Castiel replied, matching Dean's rough tone and not meeting his gaze. Dean's eyebrows shot up at the reply. The angel looked out the window he stood beside instead of meeting Dean's expectant gaze. He was jaded. Not sure what to make of the angel's statement, just not _liking_ it, Dean did what he was best at: glared. Cas seemed to sense it and turned halfway, looking at Dean sidelong. He spoke in a low, rueful tone. "Dean—we have to get her away from the demon blood." He paused heavily and dipped his chin down. "Like we did with Sam."

Dean's expression softened from foul to _oh god_. What, put her into lockdown? Let the demon blood tear its way out of her system? Watch her hallucinate and go nuts like Sam had when he came off of it? It had been bad enough watching Sam go through that, now _her_? Castiel seemed to share Dean's disturbed and pained feelings on the matter, only Cas was more resigned about it. Like he'd already thought it through. "By my best guess, she drank some a day or two ago. She'll crave more, and soon. If she isn't already." He took in a weary breath then let it out and turned from the window to face Dean better. The angel looked as defeated as Dean felt. "I suggest you check her things, she may have some with her."

This was… unthinkable. Horrible. The worst. All of it. Everything. "She… she doesn't _have_ anything, man," Dean said, his voice strained with emotion. His shoulders slumped a little and he crossed the room, needing to sit down because everything weighed too much and gravity was defeating him. And he'd thrown the last thing she owned down onto the street without a thought. Maybe that's why she was so upset… because her phone was the last possession left. "It… it all got impounded by the cops. Whatever she had's all in her car a state away." Dean sank down onto the little couch pushed up against the wall. Shaking his head, he said nothing more, just stared vapidly into middle distance. What had _happened_ to her? She'd been so reckless this year, she'd endangered herself and cut herself off from everyone who she'd ever supposedly loved and needed. Dean wondered if maybe she _wanted_ to die. He knew _he_ had some nights. He rubbed his face with the palm of his hand, silent and tense. Across the room, still near the window, Cas was stone-faced and deep in distressed thought.

"Dean. You flipped your _shit_ when you found out I was on demon blood," Sam said, looking back at Dean from over his shoulder—he'd sat down at the table again. His tone was cool and accusatory. "And you're just… down in the dumps when _she_ gets hooked?"

"Shut up, Sam, I don't wanna hear any of your crap right now," Dean muttered heavily. He didn't even conjure up a dirty look or glare for Sam.

"You know, the more you drink, the more you want," Sam said. "And the less you have, the crazier you feel." He shrugged. "At least, that's how I remember it. So if she had some a couple days ago… she'll start jonesin' soon. _Real_ soon." He seemed so unaffected by the thought that even Castiel paused to look at Sam strangely for a moment. Dean felt disgusted with his brother and his blasé attitude. But no words came to mind, no tirades or rants. He just wanted things to be how they had been. He wanted his brother and sister back how they used to be. Dean pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to gather himself.

Standing off to the side, Castiel saw how Dean looked at Sam with so much questioning confusion, and Cas, too, was unsure. Sam was not himself. He glanced at Dean and Sam guiltily. Another thing he had done wrong: raising Sam from the dead wrong somehow. He couldn't tell them— _any_ of them—that he'd been the one who raised Alex's twin. Not until he knew how to fix it. There were other things he couldn't tell them. Like how Alex's soul was damned because of him, how he'd claimed the right to her soul and hidden it away like a dark secret. And with that in mind, at the reminder of how much sin he had accumulated against the Winchester family, he grew angry with himself. The anger translated into helplessness, which only made him more anxious to act.

"We should do this _now_ , Dean," Cas said in a low, urgent tone as he approached the hunter.

Dean stood up at Cas's insistent suggestion, an adamant expression on his face. "No, _no_ ," he whispered furiously, glancing at the bathroom door as he came to meet Cas in the middle of the room. "After what _happened_ to her today?" He made a face. "I'm not _throwing_ her in _lockdown_. At least not yet, Cas."

The two men stared at each other with similarly loaded expressions, and Castiel felt another pang of emotional pain. Strange. He saw how the way he felt was reflected in Dean's eyes and face, he saw clearly how much this man loved Alex too. And if Dean loved her, he should agree with Cas to do what was best for her. Trying to convince him, Cas appealed. "Dean, I don't like it either," he started, intending to tell Dean that he would personally take her to Bobby's and find a way to stay with her as she detoxed from the demon blood addiction. But he got cut off.

Dean made an ugly face and threw his hands out sarcastically, losing his whisper in favor of his regular rumbling voice. "Yeah well congratulations, Cas, on being such a sweet, _caring_ guy!"

"...Why are you directing your anger toward me?" Cas asked in quiet, troubled confusion.

"Well who _else_ should I direct it toward?!" Dean demanded, aghast. "You were supposed to be her guardian angel and look what happened to her! I mean, where the hell _were_ you, man?" Dean's disappointment and emotional turmoil only furthered Castiel's. "I thought… I thought you were looking out for her." That was even worse than his thunderous accusations. That quiet, wounded statement.

"I... thought I _was_ ," Castiel said guiltily, staring at the ground. If only he had known. What could he do _now_? This was temporary. Raphael was still out there. The war wasn't over. And his allegiances were torn. Cas met Dean's gaze and the two of them looked at each other with similarly agonized expressions.

The bathroom door opened at that moment and both of the men turned. Alex hesitated in the doorway, looking from Dean to Cas. She'd splashed her face off and it looked like she'd run her fingers through her hair. She looked like she'd recovered from her emotional distress for the moment. With eyes narrowed, she frowned suspiciously, obviously sensing the tension in the room. "What's... going on?" she asked slowly.

Cas and Dean glanced at each other silently, both coming to the wordless agreement to say nothing of what they'd been discussing. Alex's frown deepened. Dean wet his lips and put on a disarming smile with a shrug. "We, uh… Cas was just telling us about how he thinks he can help with the case," Dean said, looking at Cas pointedly.

"Uh… yes," Castiel faltered, catching on and realizing he was expected to lie. "Yes, uh…" Cas began to walk over to the table where all of Sam's research was piled up. He actually _did_ have a few things to add to this investigation. Had come to Dean for that specific reason. However he was not in the frame of mind to do much but worry over Alex after everything that had happened since their reunion. However, he forced himself to try and put it from his mind in the meantime. Sitting at the table, Sam glanced up at Cas, who picked up one of the printouts. It featured a Renaissance depiction of the angel of death.

"First it should be known that your theory is incorrect, Sam," Cas said distractedly, not looking the man in the eye. "Angels are not the ones behind these killings. But, they _were_ committed with one of our weapons." He paused heavily and glanced at Alex, who was quiet and unreadable, arms folded as she leaned against the bathroom doorframe. Cas was finding it extremely hard to think about the case. He only wanted to take care of what was most important to him: her. But he supposed Dean was right. To just suddenly sweep Alex away without notice to the panic room for demon blood detox would be jarring and add to her trauma. So Cas went along with the deception and couldn't look at her anymore as he thought of how she'd needed him and he'd been far away. "There's... only one thing that could have brought these specific deaths into existence," he murmured, setting the paper down somberly. "You call it the staff of Moses."

" _The_ staff?" Sam asked incredulously. "Huh."

Cas picked up the jar of locusts on the table and looked at it grimly. "It was used in a dominance display against the Egyptians."

Dean scoffed, trying for amused sarcasm as he stood off to the side of the table. "Yeah, uh, that one made the papers."

"...Didn't the staff turn a _river_ to blood?" Alex asked, onto the fact that something was amiss. "Not one _guy_?"

Cas glanced at her briefly, his guilt gnawing at him. "The weapon isn't being used at full capacity." He saw how her eyes took on a note of questioning at his demeanor. Again, he looked away.

"Okay, but... what is—what is Chuck Heston's disco stick doing down here, anyway?" Dean asked. Cas saw that he was trying to act light-hearted and how his tone was joking. Cas didn't understand the reference and didn't know how that was helpful. "I mean, don't you guys put away your toys?"

Always with the jokes. Cas didn't have time for jest. How could he explain all of what had happened to the weapons, to Heaven? Cas took a moment, staring at the jar of locusts before he walked off a few steps into the middle of the room, effectively hiding his face from them all for a moment. He felt so burdened by everything. He turned the jar over in his hands, focusing on it briefly. "Before the apocalypse, Heaven may have been corrupt, but it was stable. The staff was safely contained." He sighed heavily, thinking of how utterly decimated Paradise was. He turned and then looked from the brothers to Alex, who still watched from the bathroom doorway. "It's been chaos up there," he said. "The war, it…" he looked away. He felt distant from all of three of them, he felt out of place, he felt to blame for so much, including what had happened to Heaven's weapons and for these deaths too in a way. "In the confusion, a number of... powerful weapons were stolen." He glanced sidelong at Alex, who looked at him with a certain degree of sadness. He wondered if he looked sad, too. As close as they'd been a moment ago, he felt worlds apart. Was it too much to ask for a reprieve from all of the circumstances that were determined to sever them apart? He felt certain that what they needed was more time together so that he could explain more, so that he could understand what had happened to her.

"Wait, you—you're saying your nukes are loose?" Dean asked in dawning realization, forcing Cas to remain present in the moment.

He took a moment to reply. "I'm... afraid so," Cas confirmed, realizing that his desires, as usual, would have to wait. "But you've stumbled onto one of them. We must find the weapon that did this." He indicated the jar of locusts that he still held, growing deeply somber, realizing that he could use some support in this matter. He looked at Dean, the one in charge. "I need your help."

" _You_ need _our_ help," Sam repeated doubtfully, scoffing and standing up while crossing his arms.

"After all the help you gave _us_ this year," Dean put in resentfully without missing a beat.

Castiel was immediately full of indignant defensiveness. He had come when Dean called, he had done what he could, he would have done more if he had _known_ —but he _hadn't._ He'd been lied to, made endless mistakes, and nothing could undo the consequences. He felt himself bristling because it was _true_. He'd been needed and he hadn't responded because he hadn't _known_. His anger surged because he felt so helpless and stuck, unable to do anything at all. Cas reacted without thinking and tossed the jar of locusts at Dean, who caught it with a soft, surprised _oof_. Pouring all of his frustrations into his words, Castiel adopted a decidedly foul tone. "Sam, Dean, my ' _people skills_ ' are ' _rusty_ ,'" he ranted with a surprising amount of acid, using air quotes over the words he was emphasizing verbally. "Pardon me, but I have spent the last ' _year_ ' as a multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent, unaware of your individual plights here on earth," he snapped, then relented slightly, even though his tone was still forceful and louder than normal. "I'm sorry, I am, for failing to be here when you needed me." He glanced at Alex darkly, expression conflicted, and then he softened, pulling himself together. He looked at Dean again. "But I am here now and believe me, you _do not_ want that weapon down here." He paused significantly. "Help me find it. Or more people will die."

Dean and Sam were surprised at the rant. And when Cas glanced sidelong again, he saw that Alex, too, was deeply confused at his reaction. Perhaps he had _over_ reacted. But all he could think of was her being attacked, assaulted, and him being none the wiser. It made him want to utterly decimate something.

"All right," Dean said, visibly deciding to roll with it. "Okay. Well, if the angels didn't pull the trigger, then that brings us back to motive." He headed to the little table.

"Yeah." Sam agreed. "If angels didn't pop the kid, who did? Right now, we got three dead cops." He reached for what Dean had picked up off the table—a newspaper clipping. "Only thing linking them... is this." He read off of the clipping. ' _Father of slain suspect calls for investigation_.'"

"So you suspect this man of committing the murders?" Cas surmised, narrowing his eyes as he followed the logic.

Sam shrugged. "Seems like a good place to start, anyway."

"Maybe this guy got his hands on Moe's staff, huh?" Dean put in.

Cas frowned. The sooner he could help them solve this mystery, the better. He planned to take Alex to the panic room by the end of that day, whether Dean liked it or not. It just had to happen, one way or the other. He glanced at her and felt guilt over what he was planning. "Do you have this man's home address?" Cas asked, his focus divided down the middle between this case and Alex.

"Yeah, hold on a sec, I got it earlier… public records…" Sam leafed through the papers that were piled high.

Alex finally seemed to decide to leave where she'd been stationary in the bathroom doorway, tapping her fingers on her upper thigh as she walked into the kitchenette, distracted. Cas watched her sadly. What was she thinking? She had her other arm wrapped around herself as if she were cold. She winced, frowning at nothing like she had a headache. She'd begin to crave demon blood again soon if she hadn't already. Again, Cas wondered about her year alone. And to think, he'd spent all that time lamenting his own loneliness in Heaven. How selfish he was. How shortsighted.

Alex ran a hand through her hair, glancing at Cas, her expression hooded. He noticed that she looked so much more physically healthier than she'd been the last time he'd seen her. Her skin was tanned and she had gained weight, she looked strong and supple. He knew it was the demon blood's effects—it made the human body stronger for a time before it began to destroy it instead. Sadness spanned across his mind as their eyes held a gaze. Her eyes slid sidelong to her brothers and she paused, seemed to consider something. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips in thought, her eyebrows creased together slightly, then she seemed to give up on hesitance and she came to stand in front of him.

"I... thought you said you couldn't stay." It was a question just as much as it was a statement.

He met her tense gaze with one of his own. "I can't," he told her sadly. "Not for long. Only long enough to recover this weapon."

She nodded once, silent and conflicted, then winced a bit as she touched her fingertips to her forehead. When she saw Cas's concerned look, she tried to downplay it. "Headache," she mumbled.

 _Oh Alex_. He remembered when Sam had been so abominable to him. The boy with the demon blood. That seemed a lifetime ago when he'd been so different of an angel. He felt no such feelings of disdain for Alex. The only thing he felt was horror that this had happened to her. And the need to fix it. Because if the addiction became too severe, it would kill her. And he was not going to let that happen.

Dean was watching them quietly, not looking his usual fire-and-brimstone. Just sort of troubled. Unsure.

"Here's the address, Cas," Sam said, reading off a sheet of paper and catching the angel's attention. "Twenty-two twenty-two, Sycamore Lane—"

* * *

One second, Sam was reading out the address for Darryl Birch, the next, all four of them were suddenly standing in a dim living room in front of a very surprised, middle-aged man who sat on his couch.

"Cas, a little warning next time," Dean complained, a little disoriented. This day just kept getting crazier and crazier. Beside him, Alex was confounded—beside her, Cas was stoic—and beside him, Sam frowned mildly.

"What the... how'd you get in here?!" the man on the couch exclaimed, shooting up to his feet. Dean recognized him from the newspaper article as the father of the boy who the police had killed.

Sam flashed his FBI badge, which apparently he kept in his jeans pocket at all times. "Mr. Birch, settle down," he said, then snapped the ID shut. "Federal agents."

"But... you can't just _walk_ up in here!" Darryl protested, aghast.

Sam ignored him. "Quite a collection you've got there, huh?" He nodded toward the coffee table, which was littered with newspaper clippings.

Darryl's eyes widened. "What are you trying to—"

"Look, we know the truth, all right?" Sam cut in coldly. "Chris didn't have a gun on him when those cops shot him. They set him up."

Mild surprise showed on the man's face. "Yeah," Darryl said softly. "They're all getting theirs."

Accusatory, Sam stared at the man. "And who's _giving it_ to them, Darryl?"

When the man frowned and said nothing, Dean spoke up, testing Sam's theory. "Darryl?" He paused meaningfully. "Did you kill Toby Gray and the others?"

" _Me?!"_ Darryl asked, panicking. "I didn't kill anyone! Look at how they died!"

"You smote them with the staff of Moses," Castiel stated, deadpan, stern.

Darryl looked at him oddly, going still. "...The hell kind of Fed are _you_?"

"He's _new_ ," Alex excused casually, putting a wan smile across her face. Dean glanced at her sidelong, not for the first time that day wondering if she was really, actually okay or not.

Darryl looked at her oddly too. "I'm supposed to believe _you're_ an agent? What are you, _sixteen_?" Alex looked thoroughly annoyed at the question. Darryl regarded the four of them suspiciously. "Who are you guys, really?"

Getting impatient, Cas shook his head. "We don't have time for this." He took a threatening step toward Darryl. "Where is it?"

"Leave my dad alone!" Came a young, scared voice. And everyone turned to see a skinny boy maybe thirteen or fourteen, holding a stick in his hand—he aimed it like a gun at them. The second Cas turned around and saw it, he transported through space to put himself in front of Alex, startling everyone in the room. The boy started at the sudden movement and being only an arm's length away, Cas took the stick away, surprising the boy completely. "Cas, take it easy—" Dean said even as Darryl flipped out.

"Hey, what are you—how did he—?!" Darryl cried, then suddenly found Cas in his face and he fell over, unconscious at the touch of two fingertips to his head.

"What did you do to him?" the boy asked in rising panic, stepping back in horror at what had just happened.

"It's all right," Dean said, holding a calming hand out to the kid. "He's just sleeping." Cas was looking at the stick in his hand, brow furrowed deeply and Dean glanced at him sidelong. "Is that...?" he asked.

"Yes," Cas confirmed.

"Why's it so _short_?" Alex asked, features screwed up in confusion.

Cas looked at the stick oddly. "It's—it's been sawed off."

"Who are you people?" The kid asked, voice rising in panic as he kept edging backwards. "It wasn't my dad who killed those cops, please, don't hurt us!"

"Listen, we're not here to hurt you, okay?" Alex said, following him slowly.

"But we need to know." Dean was right with her. "Where'd you get this thing?"

"Please don't kill my dad," the boy begged, still backing up as the four adults followed. "It was me. I did it."

"We're not here to kill _anyone_ , okay?" Alex repeated more assertively. The kid stared at her with big brown, scared eyes.

"What's your name, kid?" Dean asked—the boy had physically backed himself into a corner and had no place else to go.

"Aaron," he replied nervously. "Aaron Birch." He must be the murder victim's younger brother. Alex and Dean exchanged a glance—behind them slightly, Sam was silent. Off to the side, Cas was looking at the boy with a predictable frown.

"Okay, Aaron, where'd you get that stick?" Dean asked.

The boy hesitated. "You won't believe me."

Dean raised his eyebrows, smiling cynically. What _wouldn't_ he believe these days? "Try me."

The kid glanced at Alex, then Cas, then looked back at Dean. "It was an angel."

"An _angel_?" Dean repeated.

Alex looked at Cas questioningly even as Aaron explained. "Those _liars_ , they killed my brother, and nothing bad even happened to them," he said, voice trembling. "It's not fair. So I prayed to God every night he would punish them. God didn't answer. But _he_ did."

"His name—did he give you a name?" Castiel asked.

"No," Aaron said. "He just said I could have justice, but I was gonna have to take it myself. He... he _gave_ me the stick."

"What, just… just _handed it over_?" Alex asked, eyebrows raised doubtfully.

"Ah, come on." Dean called the kid's bluff and walking a little closer, which clearly made Aaron even more nervous. "He didn't just _give_ it to you now did he, Aaron?"

Considering his words carefully, the boy was cautious. Then swallowed. "Okay, fine. I bought it."

"You _bought_ it?" Sam repeated then chuckled, leaning against the staircase casually. "With what?" He turned a shade more mocking. "What's your allowance?"

"What'd the angel want for it?" Dean asked, not giving Aaron a chance to reply to Sam's dumb question. "What did you give him for it?"

The boy was somber, trying to put on a tough face. "My soul."

"Your _soul,_ " Alex echoed, shock filling her voice.

"...You sold your soul to an angel?" Sam asked doubtfully.

"Can that even happen?" Dean asked Cas. Everyone looked at the angel, who looked confounded.

"It's... never happened before," Cas said uncertainly, then almost appeared to speak to himself instead of them. "An angel buying souls. That could explain why he cut the staff into pieces."

"What? Why?" Sam prompted.

Cas was grim. "More pieces, more product."

"More 'product'?" Dean asked. "Who _is_ this guy?"

"I don't know. But we'll find him." Without warning, Cas stepped forward and smacked his hand to Aaron's forehead and the boy fell unconscious.

"Hey wh—" Alex started, even as her oldest brother stepped back in surprise.

"What'd you do that for?!" Dean demanded.

Suddenly, they were in their hotel room again and Cas was standing in front of them with Aaron slung over his shoulder like a sack of grain. The room was dimmer since the sun was setting. "Portability," Cas said, and turned and maneuvered the kid onto the bed roughly, laying him out there flat like a pancake.

"Cas…. you realize you just _kidnapped_ a _kid_?" Dean asked, shocked at the angel's audacity.

Slightly behind him and beside him, Alex watched Cas and he turned around to face Dean with a stony, resigned expression on his face. She was noticing more and more how Cas was distracted, troubled, jaded, _different_. She thought about what he'd said about the war. She knew what fighting constantly did to a person. Her head pounded painfully and she ignored it angrily. _I'm fine_.

"If the angel we seek truly bought this boy's soul, when a claim is laid on a living soul, it leaves a mark, a brand," Cas explained gruffly.

"What, like a—like a shirt tag at camp?" Sam asked.

Cas looked at Sam uncertainly, faltering slightly. "I... have no idea. But I can read the mark and find the name of the angel that bought the soul."

"How can you read the mark?" Alex asked cautiously. She felt uncomfortable for a reason she couldn't name and walked to the opposite side of the bed so she could look over the kid closely. Was it like Dean's handprint he'd had when he first came back from Hell? She didn't see any marks on Aaron, but maybe it was on his back or chest or legs somewhere. She looked at Cas across Aaron's still body. "Where is it?"

Castiel's gaze flickered away. "It's... on his soul. And reading it… well, it'll be painful for him." Cas began to roll his sleeve up. "Excruciating." Alex stared, mouth dropping open slightly. She was taken aback. Was Cas gonna like stick his hand into the kid's head or chest or something?

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa." Dean held a hand up and came a couple steps closer. " _Hold on_."

" _Dean_." Cas seemed inconvenienced by Dean's protests, which startled Alex further.

"He's a _kid,_ Cas," Dean insisted. "A ki— _Sam_?" he looked to his brother for support expectantly.

Sam just looked at Cas. "Any permanent damage?"

"What?!" Dean looked at Sam like he was nuts.

"Physically, minimal," Cas said.

He began to reach down for Aaron—and then Alex's hand shot out and grabbed his wrist. The angel's eyes snapped to hers. It panicked her somehow and she pulled away abruptly, feeling stung for no reason she could name. Confused with herself and seeing how Cas's expression faltered, Alex tried to maintain her course and brush her reaction aside. "Cas… you, you can't just do that to him without him saying okay," she said, a strange sensation rising up in her, a horrifying feeling she didn't recognize. She felt bare and stupid, like there were too many eyes on her—Sam, Dean, Cas. Without warning, she was remembering Glen's vile voice in her ear, his knee pressed into her back, one of his hands pulling on her hair painfully. He had done that to her without consent, and the feeling of being violated resonated over her all again.

"I _have_ to, Alex," Cas insisted, unaware of her inner thoughts. He looked conflicted about it, but not _enough_ , and she was staggered, not even fully cognizant of the conversation anymore, just remembering what she wanted to forget. She heard Dean saying something but Alex was staring at the patterned bedspread unseeingly, becoming quickly short of breath. How could anyone _do that_ to someone else?

"I mean, Jesus, Cas, let's just look at our options here!" Dean exclaimed, trying to be reasonable, but close to panic from the sounds of it.

"What _options_?" Cas asked, his voice rising, too—and he turned his head to look at Alex's older brother almost angrily. "Dean! If I get the name, I can work a ritual to track the angel down."

"And I'm all for that," Dean insisted loudly. "But come on, there's gotta be another way."

Cas stared at Dean stonily. "There is no other way."

A long silence. And then: "Uh… Al? You okay?"

She flinched, starting out of her waking nightmare. Dean was looking at her oddly and Cas was too. "What is it?" the angel asked, and she flipped out, hating being looked at.

"This isn't _right_!" She burst out, shaking, a little bit off kilter. "You shouldn't _do_ this!" Dean picked up on the fact that she wasn't talking about Aaron and made to move toward her, but she held a hand out and shook her head adamantly, her expression caged. "I'm fine, don't _touch_ me, I'm _fine_." The room fell silent and Alex stared at Cas, feeling sold short. This wasn't the Cas she'd known, the one who hated to hurt anyone, who was gentle and kind unless you gave him a real reason to be angry with you.

"Maybe it's not right, but it's the only choice I have," Castiel said in a deep, regretful voice.

"So… you're gonna torture a kid, just like that?" Dean asked appealingly, like he shared Alex's convictions, like he found it strange that Cas would do this.

"I _can't_ _care_ about that, Dean!" Cas insisted, then lost his fire. "I don't have the luxury of that kind of thing anymore." He glanced at Alex and turned to bend over Aaron. Dean seemed to give up, but Alex didn't, in fact, she got furious.

Maybe she was just hypersensitive but she felt protective of Aaron, she couldn't just let Cas stick his hand in him or whatever and hurt the kid without Aaron at least _knowing_ about it. So she blocked Cas's attempt to bend over the kid with a rough hand against his shoulder. This was suddenly so important to her that she could scream and her head hurt and her body felt like it was dying without the blood it craved and she just wanted things to be like they had been before life turned to crap, she just wanted to know Cas wouldn't really do this to an innocent kid. That he would listen to her, give her a chance to try a different way. "Cas, _please_." Her mind spun weirdly. "Just, just think for a second," she appealed. "At least let Aaron have as _say_ in what you're about to do to him. He's just a _kid_."

His bright blue eyes flickered between hers. Unlike his responses to Dean, Cas seemed to actually consider her words. "He won't agree to it," he insisted regretfully.

"You don't _know_ that," Alex replied vehemently, her tensions running high. "Wake him back up. Let me talk to him, m-maybe I can get him to, to give us an okay." The room was too hot and her stomach was roiling.

Cas just looked at her sadly. "Alex, I realize this must seem very cruel of me, but—"

" _No_!" Alex shrieked, then was subsequently shocked at how _loud_ she had been. Embarrassed, she swallowed, shook her head, and averted her eyes. _I'm fine._ She tried to calm herself and act like nothing was as wrong as it really was—for her own sake, too. "Just, just don't do this without his permission, _please._ Cas, for me. Do this for me. If I can't get him to agree, then you go ahead. But please, give me a couple minutes to talk to him. Come on, Cas. Just a couple minutes. You can do that, right?" Cas didn't appear sure, more concerned about her reaction and the way she was word-vomiting and pleading than the content of her question. But, he looked down at Aaron, hesitating, then back at her. And she knew he was going to grant her request.

He relented, nodding. "Yes. All right." And he touched two fingertips to Aaron's forehead, waking the child up.

Disoriented, Aaron shot up to sit breathlessly, almost hyperventilating as he looked around in a panic. "W-what did you guys do to me?!" he demanded, voice cracking pre-pubescently.

A little surprised and unprepared and feeling everyone in the room looking at her, Alex's mouth suddenly felt like cotton. What was she supposed to say? "Hey, uh, relax," she said, glancing at Cas nervously, then Aaron, who looked anything but relaxed. "It's okay."

"Where am I?" he asked fearfully, looking at her then Cas, then Sam and Dean. He was breathing hard and looked like he might try something. "What do you want with me?!"

Alex gingerly sat beside him on the bed with a leg folded underneath herself as did her best to appear nonthreatening. If this didn't work, she didn't know if she'd be able to let Cas go through with the soul reading so she gave it her best shot. "Aaron, right? I'm Alex. And uh, those are my brothers, Sam and Dean. And our angel friend, Castiel." He looked really scared and she wracked her brain, which felt incredibly muddled. "We just, we really, _really_ need to know the name of the angel who sold that piece of the staff to you," she told him, trying to ignore the splitting headache. Son of a _bitch_ , she needed something to help it go away.

There was a flicker of guilt across the kid's face again and he shook his head, slightly shamefaced. "I told you… I don't know his name." He looked at Cas fearfully. "W-what are you guys gonna do to me?"

"You're gonna be _fine,_ I promise," she said automatically and repeated herself. "We need your help, that's it." He looked at her with that same fear, not believing her, and Alex opened her mouth to tell him what Cas needed to do, then suddenly realized she recognized that fear in the kid's eyes. She softened a little, empathizing with him, surprising herself a little because suddenly, she knew exactly what to say. For a minute, she felt better. "Aaron, I know what it's like to lose a brother," she told him honestly. "It hurts. Every day, all day, in every part of you." He listened to her intently but guardedly, glancing at Sam and Dean, then back at her. "You kinda feel like, I dunno, like you lost a piece of who you are, right?"

His face faltered. He was clearly trying to hide his true feelings of sadness. "Yeah, I guess."

Really, she identified with this kid more than she realized. She thought of when Sam had died—twice now. When Dean had died. How bad it hurt. How much she'd wanted to change it, do something, get justice somehow. "Yeah. So when you found out you could give those cops what they deserved, when you found out you could have revenge… you did what a lot of people would have done." She understood. She did. "But I don't think Chris wouldn't want you to be messed up in all this. Soul deal, _murder_? Aaron." She fixed him with a meaningful, heavy gaze. He was messing around with grown-up stuff, so she was gonna treat him like he was grown up and ask him a pretty hard question. "Those cops died at _your_ hand. You get that, right?"

She saw how he didn't want to think about it. "They deserved it, though," he insisted with wavering confidence.

Alex shrugged mildly, realizing how sweaty she felt. "Maybe they did." She looked at him unflinchingly and forced herself to be mind-over-matter, to ignore the discomfort of her headache and dry mouth and sweaty palms. "Those cops were the guilty ones but… now _you_ live with the guilt, don't you? It's not over. And the worst part is you're a murderer now, just like them." His mouth worked oddly, his dark brown eyes shone with tears that he was fighting, hard. Alex felt tired and almost lost her train of thought—where had she been going with this? She forced herself to focus. "You, you can't take it back, and I dunno if you want to or not. But right now—we need you to help us stop the angel who sold that weapon to you, okay? Soul deals aren't something to play around with. Trust me."

Aaron looked at her with flickering eyes—he looked back and forth at her knee and then her eyes about five times before he frowned deeply and got really quiet. A tear escaped his eye. "I wish I hadn't done it," he managed, his voice cracking with tears. "I thought it would be like the movies. I thought I'd feel better. But it feels _bad_." He looked at her with great amounts of pain. "You wouldn't understand. What it's like to kill someone and know you killed them."

Alex had to smile a little at that, a cynical and wan reaction. "Actually, I do understand. I've killed." Her expression faltered. "I have a lot of blood on my hands." The word blood made her mouth feel thirstier than ever and she was ashamed. She hid it, or tried to. "So trust me, Aaron… I know for a fact that you don't wanna keep going down this road." She looked at him silently for a second then ran one of her hands across her forehead. It was damp with perspiration. This wasn't good. "Listen. I need you to tell me that you're okay with this. My friend Cas here needs to read your soul. And it's gonna hurt, a lot. So, he'll knock you out so you feel less pain." He looked freaked out at the words 'hurt' and 'pain' and Alex scrambled for a way to convince him. She came up with: "I, uh, I can hold your hand, if you want." Didn't kids like to have their hands held?

He scowled sullenly, looked away grumpily. "I'm not a _baby_."

Alex glanced at Cas briefly. Aaron said nothing else. "Uh… so is that a yes or a no?" Alex prompted the kid.

Aaron's eyes came to hers cautiously. "Am I... in a lot of trouble?" he asked.

He definitely was. Mostly because he'd played around with things that would haunt him forever. Alex was sorry for him. "What do you think?"

Aaron was silent, then steeled himself, raising his chin up and putting on a brave, tough face. "Yeah. All right. He can do it. And…" he moved his hand so that it was palm up. "I guess you can hold my hand, if you _have_ to." Alex smiled faintly and reached out, putting her sweaty hand in his. Aaron's brave front wavered and Alex squeezed, suddenly feeling like she was Dean and Aaron was her. She looked up at Cas and nodded a go ahead. He had watched the entire exchange closely, thoughtful but also worried—clearly, about her. She withered a little. _I'm fine._ Cas focused his attention onto the boy.

"I am going to render you unconscious now," he said. Aaron shrank back a little as Cas reached for his forehead. The boy looked at Alex with wide eyes.

"It's okay." She squeezed his hand again, stifling a grimace because another shooting pain wracked her head without warning. She felt an inward panic. What if she couldn't get more, soon? Would she die? Cas's fingers touched the boy's forehead. Aaron fell unconscious.

Watching silently, Dean was pretty damn impressed that, _one_ , Cas had listened to Alex. _Two_ , that Alex had exhibited so much thoughtfulness and maturity. He wasn't sure if he'd ever seen her talk to anyone so much who wasn't either himself or Sam or Bobby or Cas. He watched the angel and his sister exchange a glance, and both were guarded, sad, unsure. He realized how different both of them seemed to him from what they'd been last year. Cas seemed like he'd grown up, somehow. Gotten colder, too. He'd been so human the last time Dean saw him. Dean looked at his sister again, noticed how she looked sort of… sweaty. When had that happened? Dean swallowed his worry. Maybe Cas was right. Maybe he should get her to the panic room before the shit really hit the fan.

Castiel stuck his hand _into_ Aaron's chest and Aaron screamed in pain even though his eyes remained shut—and Alex hissed as his hand tightened like a vice on hers. Cas stared hard as light seared through Aaron's body, emanating from his chest. Strange red veins lit up in zigzags across his neck and face. Aaron's screams and cries were horrible. "Cas, _hurry_ ," Alex urged softly, unable to look away from the kid's pained features. And then it was suddenly over—Cas withdrew, Aaron went slack, his hand went limp in Alex's.

Cas stood and he looked more disturbed than ever, thinking deeply. "He'll rest now," he said, looking at Alex, who was checking his pulse. "You… really seemed to know how to speak with him."

She was emotionally drained and just heaved a heavy sigh as reply, returning Cas's gaze falteringly. She wanted to hide from everyone and everything because it was getting worse and she was struggling to keep up the _I'm fine_ act. She checked Aaron's forehead, laying her palm tremulously across the hot skin. It felt like he had a fever, or maybe that was _her_. Everything felt generally unwell and her stomach churned. She suddenly wondered: When had she last eaten? She couldn't remember, and was pretty sure she hadn't slept in a couple of days. Across from her, Cas began to roll his sleeve down again.

"Did you get a name?" Sam asked, unbothered by what had just happened. "What is it?"

"Yes. And… I thought he died in the war," Cas said darkly, shaking his head, rounding the end of the bed and pacing toward the other wall.

"What, he—he was a friend or something?" Sam pressed.

"I thought he was," Cas said in deeply confused tones, as if he had been mistaken. "I'm... very bemused at this turn of events."

"Yeah, well, your frat buddy is now moonlighting as a crossroads demon, that's just great," Dean snarked.

Cas wasn't paying attention. "Balthazar," he muttered to himself, "I wonder—"

"So we can find him now, right?" Sam asked.

Suddenly, a new voice near the room doorway sounded. "Balthazar." Everyone whirled and Alex shot up to her feet between the beds. A dark haired man in a suit stood there, and in his hand, an angel's blade. "Thanks, Castiel. We'll make good use of the name." He lunged forward and attacked Cas, who sprung forward to meet the assault, his blade out from seemingly nowhere. The metal clanged together loudly as Castiel blocked the blow then ducked another one aimed for his head.

The two angels grappled, grabbing the others wrists in a temporary standstill. "And by the way, Raphael says hello…" the newcomer said and turned his head slowly, looking directly at Alex, who, weaponless and standing alone between the beds, was frozen. There was a creepy smile on the angel's face. "Oh, and he knows who you're hanging out with again, Cas..."

At that comment, Castiel snarled and threw the angel sideways—Sam and Dean had to practically dive to get out of the way. Recovering to his feet, the unnamed angel just chuckled as Castiel, standing between Alex and the attacker, stared him down murderously. The angel had obtained both blades and charged at Cas, who sidestepped him and grabbed his wrists then kneed the angel in the stomach as he simultaneously yanked the angel's wrists down so that both blades dropped to the floor with loud clatters. Vengeful, Cas grabbed the angel hard and shoved him hard then pursued, grabbing him again and charging them both into the window with a loud shatter—and they plummeted several stories down to the street below. There was a loud crash like glass and metal and then the sound of a blaring car alarm—and the Winchesters rushed to the busted window, shocked. On the street below in the dying light of day, Cas laid back-first in a huge dent his body had made in the top of Sam's douchey car—and the other angel had smashed the hood and windshield. Cas was pushing himself up like it was a mere inconvenience.

"Holy _crap_ ," Alex breathed, not sure if she were awed or horrified. The strange angel disappeared, leaving Cas who looked up at them.

"My car…" Sam said weakly.

"Silver lining," Dean retorted, clearly not too upset. In fact, he was kind of amused. Cas disappeared suddenly. What the—

"He's gone." The Winchesters turned in unison. Cas was behind them and had picked his blade back up. He went to Alex without warning and he put his hands on either of her arms and stared into her eyes intensely. Arms stiff at her sides and expression like _what are you doing?_ , Alex stared back, obviously kind of surprised.

Dean looked at the angel weirdly—he really didn't know what was going on between these two anymore. "Uh… what're you doing, Cas?" He asked uncertainly. "Staring contest?"

"Checking the ritual I did," he said without missing a beat, still staring into her eyes. Satisfied, he nodded, and his eyes became less crazy. He glanced at Dean. "It's still intact." He let go of her and strode to the kitchen as he tucked his blade away. He began to open cabinets at random, leaving the Winchesters gaping for explanation.

"Alright Cas, so who was that guy?" Sam demanded, the first one to find his voice.

"A soldier of Raphael," Cas answered, slamming a cabinet shut then glancing back at them, his gaze resting on Alex briefly. "I told you—it's dangerous for me to be with you right now. I'm the most wanted angel and you're..." he trailed off.

The brothers exchanged a glance and Alex just stared, looking queasy. "She's _what_?" Dean asked.

Cas's jaw tightened. "Important to me. And they know it." He resumed banging around in the kitchen without explanation and the Winchesters hung back. Beside Dean, his sister suddenly reached for his arm as if she'd been about to stumble. He felt how she hung on and looked at her, silently asking if she was okay, trying to help her stand. She batted him away and stood on her own, glaring angrily. Cas slammed another cabinet shut, oblivious. "He must have followed me when I answered your call, I'm not sure." He found a bowl and set it down onto the little kitchen table.

"Sit down, will you?" Dean said quietly to Alex and jerked his head toward the bed. She wasn't doing too good, and he was beginning to realize how real this demon blood thing was.

She looked like she was going to argue, then changed her mind and gave up, and complied. Cas watched her with renewed concern. "I'm sorry... but _what's_ going on here?" Sam asked loudly, obviously wanting an explanation and fast, forcing Castiel to refocus.

"I can explain later," Cas said shortly, and began to head for where Sam's weapons bag was, more urgent than before. "Right now we have to—"

Dean moved to block his way. "No, not later. _Now_. Stop, all right? Too many angels, Cas! I don't know who's on first, what's on second."

"What _is_ 'second'?!" Cas asked in exasperation.

"Oh my _god_ ," Dean muttered. "Forget it. Just _explain_."

"It's simple," Cas said, his tone sharp again. "Raphael and his followers, they want him to rule Heaven. _I_ —and many others—the _last_ thing we want is to let him take over. It would be _catastrophic_."

Sam narrowed his eyes in thought. "You're talking... civil war."

Cas glanced at him. "Perhaps the term 'revolutionary war' is more fitting, but technically, yes." He turned, and strode around Dean. "Which is why we have to find Balthazar and his weapons before Raphael does. Whoever has the weapons wins the war." Cas opened Sam's weapons bag with a yank and began to sort through it, looking for something.

"Help yourself," Sam commented sarcastically.

"And what happens if Raphael wins?" Dean asked. "What—what does he want?" On the bed, Alex sat with her forehead in her hand, eyes screwed shut.

Cas took out a flask of holy water from the bag, looking at it hard, then Alex, then Dean. "What he's always wanted—to end the story the way it was written."

"You mean the apocalypse? The one that we derailed?" Dean asked in growing alarm.

"Yes," Cas said, taking out a box of chalk too. "That one. Raphael wants to put it back on the rails. Undo everything we did."

"... _Why_?" Dean asked.

"I need myrrh," Cas said, looking around and frowning.

" _Myrrh_?" Sam asked. Cas disappeared.

"Freakin' angels." Dean sighed.

Suddenly they heard sounds behind them. Cas had reappeared and was drawing on the little kitchen table with chalk.

"Cas… are you okay?" Alex asked slowly—she was hunched over and watching him, visibly doubtful that he was, in fact, okay. Dean was kind of wondering the same thing, actually.

"Yes, perfectly fine," he replied gruffly. Alex looked dubious of the fact.

Dean wet his lips, trying to get to the bottom of things. "Okay—so why does Raphael want to bring back all this crap?"

The reply was vague. "He's a traditionalist."

Dean scrutinized Cas, wondering why this was the first he'd heard of this. "Cas, why didn't you _tell_ us this?" he asked, stepping closer, truly wanting to know the answer. They could've helped, maybe. Sure, they had their differences, but when it came to the important stuff, Dean wasn't gonna let those differences stop him from helping a guy who'd proved he was on their side several times over. This was, after all, the angel who had saved their lives many times, brought Alex and Bobby back from the dead, and helped them stop the freaking apocalypse. It had been a team effort, so… why had Cas not asked for help? Why had he avoided them like this? Something just wasn't adding up.

Cas stopped drawing at Dean's question, startled. "Many reasons," he answered after a pause, his tone reluctant and grudging. "I... was ashamed. I expected more from my brothers. I didn't want to weary your shoulders with more unnecessary burden. And… Raphael, he… he's holding something very precious over my head, attempting to control me." Dean watched Cas and Alex exchange a very tense glance. What the actual hell was going on between those two? Cas shook his head and bowed it. "I'm sorry," he said softly, deeply, genuinely. And then the brief moment was abruptly over when Cas suddenly grabbed Dean by the wrist and yanked him close. "I need your blood."

"Whoa, whoa! Hey!" Cas was too strong and Dean couldn't get away, and the angel sliced his palm open without warning. " _Ahh_!" Dean protested with a hiss. "Why don't you use your own?!"

"It wouldn't work," Cas said lowly, and his gaze flickered up toward Alex, he sounded deeply regretful. "I'm... not human." Cas roughly held Dean's hand over the bowl on the table and Dean squeezed his hand, letting blood drip into the bowl grudgingly. Not exactly thrilled, Dean glared when Cas let him go.

Cas proceeded to ignore Dean again and added the myrrh and the holy water into the bowl, and as it drizzled in, he chanted in Enochian. " _Zod ah mah rah mah ee es loh voh pah_." The contents of the bowl began to smoke and Cas closed his eyes as if listening closely. The Winchesters watched silently, all of them sort of befuddled by the display, then Cas's eyes snapped open. "Got him. Let's go."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. All of us?" Dean pointed to Aaron, unconscious on the bed. "What about him?"

Cas paused. "Don't you think the police will take him home?"

Dean's eyebrows rose up high. "Wow, yeah, sure Mother Theresa," he muttered, then gestured to Alex, who looked like she'd been sitting in a sauna—sweaty and uncomfortable. "And her? You're gonna bring her along to pow wow with your dick angel friend? Doesn't that seem kinda, I dunno, _dangerous_?"

"Can you stop talking about me like I'm not _right here_?" Alex asked, mildly perturbed. "I'm _fine_ and I'm _going_." Dean looked at her in indignant innocence and shrugged. _So-rry._ For caring. For looking out for you. _Geez_. He noticed how on edge she was. Her hands were working oddly at her sides. Her forehead was practically shining with perspiration. He recognized the beginning signs of withdrawal… Sam had the exact same reaction in the past. This wasn't good, and he looked at Cas, wondering if maybe they should just go ahead and… get her safe. Put this case on hold. But they were so close to wrapping it up…

Cas seemed to understand the silent question. "She's safest with me for now. Until…" he narrowed his eyes conspiratorially, meaningfully. " _Later_."

"Right," Dean said, darkening. _God_. Alex frowned, catching the exchange and not understanding it. She stood up stiffly.

"What—" she began.

"Sam, the holy oil," Cas commanded, cutting her off purposefully and avoiding her gaze.

"Got it," Sam said, grabbing up the bottle from his weapon's bag.

"Wait, what are you two—" Alex started again.

And without warning, suddenly they were standing outside. It was early night and the sky was dark gray. They were on the edge of a beautifully manicured lawn in front of a very luxurious mansion. "—talking abou…" Alex trailed off, looking around in impressed surprise, forgetting her question. There was a huge swimming pool, a fountain, some stone statues.

" _Huh_ ," Dean commented. It was pretty damn extravagant. "I was expecting more Dr. No, less Liberace."

"He's inside," Cas said, all business, and looked at Sam and Dean. "You boys stay out here. I suggest you prepare some angel sigils, should Balthazar have friends here. Alex is with me."

"Whoa, no, Cas, I don't—" it was too late, and Dean sighed softly when his sister disappeared along with the angel. "Son of a bitch," he muttered in resignation, putting a hand through his hair.

Sam shot Dean an almost amused look. "Relax Dean, Cas has her."

Dean scowled, huffed, glowered at his idiot brother. "Exactly."

"Why'd he tell us to bring the holy oil?" Sam asked, looking at the jar in his hand and ignoring Dean's petulant attitude.

Dean looked at it and frowned. "Good question." He thought a minute, getting an idea. "Sure would be a shame to let it go to waste, wouldn't it?"

* * *

Alex and Cas were suddenly inside of a darkened mansion foyer—it had an incredibly high ceiling from which an ornate crystal chandelier hung. Polished marble floors reflected the rising moonlight outside, and several suits of armor lined the walls. Kind of creepy, honestly. Alex could hear the sound of muffled, upbeat music coming from someplace deeper inside the house. Okay… so, where was this rogue soul-buying angel? There was no movement, and besides the music, no indication that anyone at all was in the house.

"W-where is he?" she asked in a whisper. Her voice echoed in this large, stark room and the sound messed with her ears, which felt a little muffled.

"Close," Castiel said, squinting and seeming to see things she couldn't. Beside her, he seemed far away and they looked at each other at the exact same moment. He looked defeated in a way she didn't understand. And for a moment, she could only worry about him.

She forgot how afraid she was to be seen by him, _really_ seen. "...Are you sure you're all right?" she asked, because he'd been acting so strangely and they'd barely been able to speak and she didn't know where they stood or what was happening, only that things were _so unsure_. She was still sweating profusely and now in the cold mansion, it felt bad—her shirt was damp and cold, her skin felt numb where sweat caught the cold air. But her head felt a little clearer, for now. Maybe she was gonna be okay after all.

He didn't reply to her question and it took a lot of courage to talk to him, because she knew how awful she looked and how shameful it was—the things she had done in the dark. " _Cas_. I know you." She faltered a little. "Or, I, I _think_ I do. Something's wrong."

Cas's voice and expression both softened. "Yes. You do know me." His words made her heart skip a beat and affected her deeply, making her feel okay in a place that had been wrecked before. And wonder of wonders… a soft, cautious, genuine little smile briefly came to her face. Cas reached for a hand and looked at it sadly, held it gently, then sighed and relented, explaining himself. "This angel—Balthazar—is one of the ones who promised me that he would deliver a message to you. Now I find out he's alive, well, and… living here." She saw how his jaw tightened and how his eyes couldn't quite meet hers. "And you were hurt today and I knew nothing of it and…" he trailed off. Her chin lowered a little as the shame returned at the mention of _that_. "Your instincts are correct. I am not all right." He paused, his eyes raised to hers, and the effect was intense. "Are you?"

His question blindsided her and she felt like he could see everything wrong with her and she wanted to shrink away, hide forever. " _Me_?" Her skin was crawling with horrible physical sensations, her head pounded. She wanted to tell him, she wanted to tell him so badly how _not fine_ she was. But she lied and kept up her crumbling act. "I'm fine."

Castiel looked heartbroken at the lie, obviously seeing it as such right away. "You're not fine," he said, and she let go of him and stepped back, because he was right and she was shamed. He only appeared to be sympathetic and grieved. "How could you be?" He asked gently, and she realized he _understood_ it. That after the things that had happened, 'fine' wasn't really in the cards.

And so touched by his words, the horrible truth blurted right out of her mouth... because Cas always helped her when she asked and she needed help right now more than ever and she was getting too _desperate_ to hold onto pride. She almost cried for shame because it was so horrible to admit: "If I don't have m-more demon blood soon, Cas, I… I'm gonna _die_." Overly dramatic, yes, but it felt true and her ability to reason well had really, really lessened. She looked down and fought tears realizing how pathetic she was, feeling how her cells screamed for the relief of the acidic, burning liquid. She hated herself. "I _need_ it," she confessed, wanting to die from embarrassment. Her arms wrapped around herself.

Cas looked broken at her words but remained calm, his reaction comforting. "I'm going to help you, Alex," he told her, touching the side of her arm reassuringly, his expression emphatic and genuine if a little conflicted. Alex looked at him in breathless hopefulness. He was going to help her? "As soon as we finish here," he promised. She let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding—mortified at herself, struggling to hang onto function, but trusting him, so thankful, so _relieved_. She imagined him getting a demon for her after she explained everything, imagined him being proud of her when she weaned herself off it in time. She nodded her understanding and took in a shaking breath, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hands. Her headache was becoming more intense again but she ignored it with a great amount of resolve. Cas was gonna help her. If she could just hold it together a little longer, she'd be okay. And the best part, he didn't seem to think she was an abomination. She wouldn't be able to take it if he did.

Castiel tore his tense gaze away from her and looked into the darkened mansion—there was a grand room with a staircase through the doorway of the foyer. "Let's get this over with," he said grimly, his eyes darting around warily. "This is not a safe place for you to be." He looked at her again. "Stay close to me." She nodded and the two of them went further into the house.

He led the way slightly, she was right beside him and behind him. As they entered the room with the staircase, they could see that halfway up on the ornate railing, a very fat frog sat inexplicably. _Ribbit, ribbit_. Alex shrank a little closer to Cas. "Why's there a frog?" she asked in a whisper, wishing she had a weapon. Not that she was scared of frogs, but… it seemed ominous.

"That's... unclear to me at the moment," he replied, staring at the amphibian hard. Alex was caught off guard when she felt his hand slip into hers—and suddenly they were standing at the top of the staircase, bypassing the croaking frog completely. Alex looked at Cas in surprise, he was looking back at her with an unreadable expression, then looking down at their hands. He let go of her hand before she'd even had a chance to really take in the feeling and he nodded toward where the music was coming from, indicating that they should go in there.

An ornate set of double doors seemed to be where the sound was originating from and Cas led the way by a step and pulled the doors open to reveal a darkened room with flashing strobe lights, a grand piano on a small stage, and several huge marble statues. Loud, annoying music played. Alex looked around cautiously, not able to see anyone. But it was too dark to see very well, anyway. Cas watchfully entered into the room and Alex stayed on his heels, casting glances around, trying to breathe deeply to calm her racing heartbeat. The doors suddenly shut of their own accord and clicked loudly, locking. Alex and Cas looked back in unison, realizing simultaneously something along the lines of _oh crap_. Cas's blade slid down into his hand and his other hand reached out slightly to remain in front of Alex protectively.

"Cas," came a friendly, smooth male voice, and the angel and hunter turned again.

Beside the grand piano a man now stood. He held a tumbler of some kind of alcohol in one hand. It was hard to see very well in the dim room, but the man was an average-height guy who looked to be in his mid forties. He was handsome with sandy blond hair and had an air of charming self-assurance. He spread his arms out welcomingly, swaggering down the stairs of the little stage slowly with a smile. "You're here," he said pleasantly in a mellow English accent, then looked at Alex and smiled a little bigger. "And you brought your ladyfriend—how nice! I didn't have time to clean up, hope you'll pardon the mess..."

"Balthazar," Castiel greeted lowly. As Balthazar reached Cas, without warning, Cas pulled back and smashed his fist into the other angel's face with incredible force—sending him crashing at least ten feet back into the piano, which shattered when Balthazar hit it.

Laughing leisurely, Balthazar picked himself up even as a furious Cas went a couple steps closer with fists still clenched. " _Well_ ," the angel said, dusting his hands off and straightening his blazer. "Showing off for the girlfriend, are we? 'Spose I deserved that," he chuckled. "It's good to see you, too, Cas."

"You have some explaining to do," Cas growled.

Balthazar just sighed comfortably, gesturing with a nod to the side of the room as he came back to stand in front of Cas. "He told me you might be coming to see me, but my goodness, didn't think it'd be so confrontational." Cas and Alex followed his gaze and suddenly the lights came on and the music stopped. On the floor, the angel who'd attacked Cas in the hotel room laid dead. "Oh, you know, the old frog in the throat," Balthazar said, and a frog suddenly jumped out of the angel's mouth, croaking. Seriously? Even in her semi-delirious state, Alex pulled a face.

"Even _I_ know that that's a bad joke," Cas said with annoyance, sharing Alex's sentiments. "I grieved your death, Balthazar. I trusted that you had delivered the message I asked you to send. Today I found out you didn't."

"Yeah, yeah," Balthazar said, seeming to be earnestly regretful, to a point. "I'm sorry about that, you know. I wanted them to think—you know, so... they wouldn't come looking for me?" He shrugged helplessly. "Terribly sorry, Cas, I am." He turned his attention to Alex. "Well don't be rude, Cas, introduce me! This _is_ her, isn't it?" He smiled charmingly at Alex, suddenly reaching out and taking her hand. "Enchanté, mademoiselle," he purred, letting his eyebrows wiggle up once roguishly. "Delighted. _"_ He kissed her clammy hand, smiled, and produced a rose from behind his back with a flourish. "For the little lady."

Alex pulled her hand away. This guy was weird. "Uh… I'm good," she said, declining the rose. Balthazar produced a fluffy white cloth object.

"A towel then?" He asked helpfully. "You look a bit shiny—Cas been giving you the workout, has he?" He winked coyly, not realizing why Alex was sweating so hard.

Cas grabbed the towel and threw it sideways. He seemed to have reached his limit. "Enough of your _show_ , Balthazar. What is all of this? What are you doing?"

"Whatever I _want!_ " Balthazar said breezily. "This morning I had a ménage à—what's French for twelve?" He cracked a grin. "You two tried it yet? Very enjoyable."

Castiel looked positively abhorred. "You shouldn't be so reckless."

Balthazar looked at Cas slyly. "Isn't that the pot calling the kettle black, my friend?"

Frowning and squinting, Cas grew suspicious. "What... does kitchenware have to do with it?"

Balthazar sighed as if he should have expected that. "Oh Cas. Always were a little slow on the uptake, weren't you." He chuckled then fixed Alex with an amused gaze. "How _is_ it you put up with him, Alex? Is he always like this? You must have the patience of a saint." He spread his hands out briefly in a shrug then became a little more serious. "Listen you two, in all honesty I _am_ sorry. I really didn't like having to let you down the way I did. It was a difficult decision. But..." He shrugged helplessly and tried a charming smile. "Here we are."

"You don't realize what your decision set into motion," Castiel said bitterly. "I _trusted_ you."

"Let me make it up to you," Balthazar said, voice filled with earnestness.

"And how would you do that?" Castiel challenged.

"I'm sure we could figure _something_ out," Balthazar said confidently, suddenly producing a little tub of some sort of food from behind his back—the label looked fancy. "Alex love, could I interest you in some pâté?" At the sight of food she wanted to puke. She could barely keep up with the conversation at this point—her veins felt sharp and pointed inside of her, she wanted to claw her way out of her own skin.

"Stop trying to distract from the issue," Castiel said angrily, and the pâté disappeared.

Balthazar dropped his pleasant attitude in favor of slightly irked reluctance. "Look. If I had it to do over, I would have delivered the message, all right?"

Cas looked at the other angel long and hard. He relented a little bit. "I'm not here to argue with you over what can't be reversed. I'll deal with you regarding that matter later. I'm here because you stole the staff of Moses."

"Sure, sure," Balthazar admitted readily, in fact perhaps a little proud. "I stole... a _lot_ of things."

"You stole it then you decided to pimp it out and steal innocent little kid's souls?" Alex asked, unable to help it. She didn't like this guy and her agitated physical condition almost made her feel drunk or feverish. "Real dick move."

Balthazar appeared delighted. "Oh look, she _does_ talk."

"Shut up, dollar store Richard Branson," Alex retorted.

The blond angel's eyes crinkled up in amusement. "Ha! That was _funny_!" He looked at Cas. "You didn't tell me she was _funny_ , Cas." He looked at Alex again and she didn't like that coy, knowing smile. "I can see what he likes about you—you have a sparkle about you, don't you?" He looked at her closer, noticing how sweaty and sick she looked. "And possibly some kind of virus, _eugh._.."

As if Cas sensed Alex's unease, he stepped a little closer, blocking her a little bit more from Balthazar's uncomfortable glances and stupid comments. "Balthazar… you were a great and honorable soldier. We fought together. I'm struggling to understand this betrayal."

"Come on Cas… it's not betrayal," the other angel protested, then shrugged and smiled. "It's _liberation_."

"Liberation?" Cas asked, growing increasingly mystified. "I know you. You're not some common thief."

"Common? No. Thief?" He thought a second. " _Eh_. Hez and I, we pulled off the heist of a lifetime, Cas. I thought about including you in the plan but… well, I knew you wouldn't go for it." He spread his hands again. "It's a new world, Cas. I can be whoever I want to be, have whatever I want to have." He glanced at Alex briefly, then looked at Castiel meaningfully. "So can you."

"No," Cas said. "I'm leading a war in Heaven, or have you forgotten? I need your _help_ , Balthazar."

"I know," the other angel said, surprisingly seriousness and seemingly caring. "I've been hearing all about you, and as far as I'm concerned, you and me, Cas, nothing's changed. We're brothers. Of course I want to help you. I'll make it up to you, I told you I would."

"Thank you," Cas said, and his shoulders relaxed slightly. He paused. "I need the weapons."

"Ah," Balthazar's expression soured a little. "Don't ask _that."_

"But you just said—" Cas huffed, frustrated all over again. He was starting to lose patience, and Alex could hear it. She stared at the arm of his trench coat unseeingly and listened to him talk, but sound was increasingly muffled. "Why take them? Why _run away_?"

"Because I _could!"_ Balthazar was indignant. "What? _You're_ the one who made it possible," he reasoned, gesturing to Cas. "The footsteps I'm following—they're yours. What _you_ did—pursuing your own desires, stopping the big plan, erasing the prize fight from the timeline? You did more than rebel. You tore up the whole script and burned the pages for all of us." He laughed, well pleased with his lot in life. "It's a new era. No rules, no destiny. Just utter and complete freedom."

Cas had listened to all of that with silent denial written on his face. "And _this_ is what you do with it?"

"Hey, screw it, right?" Balthazar said, brushing off Cas's question. The blond angel turned and slowly ambled back toward the destroyed grand piano. "I mean, Dad's not coming back. You might as well blow coke and jump on the bed." He turned around to look at them again, now standing a few feet away. He was smiling offhandedly. "You proved to me we could do anything, so I'm trying... _everything_. What difference does it make?"

Castiel was incensed. "Of course it makes a diff—it's... _civil war_ up there!"

"I know," Balthazar said softly. "Why do you think I left?"

"If we can beat Raphael, we can end this!" Castiel insisted loudly, his voice trembling with fury. "I _have_ to end this, Balthazar." He paused, looked at the other angel warningly. "Just _give me_ the weapons."

The other angel laughed and shook his head. "Do you know what's funny about you? You actually _believe_ that you can stop the fighting." His smile faded and in its place, ominous certainty. "It… will... _never..._ stop." He looked at Alex expectantly. "Do you hear me, Miss Winchester? This war of your boyfriend's is the eternal kind. Get used to him being gone."

"Balthazar—" Castiel interjected.

"My advice to you, Cas—grab something valuable—" he looked at Alex pointedly. " _Ahem_ —and fake your own death."

With a slight shake of the head, Cas looked down, disappointed. "You've gone insane," he said, then looked at the other angel grimly. "Your little holiday is over. Raphael knows you're alive by now."

"Oh, Raphael can try me anytime," Balthazar said casually. "I'm armed." He shook his head. "I'm sorry, Cas. But I'm looking out for me now. And, all else aside, I really, really _am_ happy to see you alive and well." He paused and squinted slightly. "Even though Alex still hasn't managed to pull that stick out of your ass."

Suddenly thunder crashed loudly, startling all three of them. "...Was that you?" Balthazar asked Cas, whose eyes were wide suddenly. Cas shook his head slowly, filled with dread, and Balthazar seemed to be getting ready to leave. "Oh, that's my cue then. Tell, uh, Raphael to bite me." He snapped his fingers and disappeared. The lights went off, and thunder crashed, and lightning flickered brightly.

And Cas, looking upward in dawning alarm. "He's here," he breathed out, realizing how foolish it had been to bring her here. Panicking, he whirled and grabbed hold of Alex by either shoulder to take her as far away from rhere as possible… then… _nothing_. "He's cutting me off, somehow," Cas said aloud, his voice rising in dismay. What could he do?

"Who? Who is?" Alex asked, and her words slurred. She looked so unwell.

"Raphael." Cas looked over his shoulder in fear. He shouldn't have brought her here, he should have realized…

"Hello, Castiel."

Letting go of Alex Cas whirled and saw his brother Magdiel ten feet away. His blade was out and his face promised murder. Fear filled Cas—if Magdiel was close, that meant Raphael was, too. Cas held out a hand, trying to stop Magdiel from doing this, trying to appeal to him one last time. "You're making a mistake. Please. There is another way." Magdiel only began to walk toward Castiel and Cas raised his own blade, not _wanting_ to do this. "Brother, _please._ I don't want to hurt you!" The angel didn't listen, didn't stop, and Cas didn't have a choice. He threw his knife into the Magdiel's chest, killing him instantly. And when his brother fell to the floor dead, Cas stared down at the sight, defeated inside. "Why won't any of you _listen_?" he asked, and filled with heaviness, he looked behind himself… and suddenly saw that Alex was gone.

That's when he heard her—a soft little sound of pain—and he whirled, panicked, then suddenly came face to face with Raphael, who held Alex by the front of her shirt like a wet kitten. She looked barely conscious.

"Looking for _this_?" Raphael asked, baiting Castiel boldly, and the second Cas thoughtlessly lunged forward for Alex, she was sent flying at super-human speed into the double doors, shattering them off the hinges—she disappeared beyond where he could see, there was a horrible thud—and before Cas could react at all, he was hit in the face and knocked down by the powerful archangel who grabbed him by the collar. "They don't _listen_ , Castiel," he hissed, "because their hearts are _mine_."

Raphael grabbed Cas up and then let go, kicking him in the chest with enough strength to break all of Cas's ribs. The force of the blow sent Cas skittering across the floor in the direction Raphael had thrown Alex. Rolling to a stop in a heap on the ground at the top of the stairs, Cas tried to get up, grunting in pain—and Raphael met him there, yanking him up and slamming his fist into Castiel's face, sending him reeling—then he grabbed him by the back of the neck and hit him again then let him fall down the staircase. Castiel rolled, fell, and came to a stop on the midway landing. He was panting and in pain, but trying to see where Alex was and if she was okay. He glimpsed her briefly laying in a broken heap on the ground level. She wasn't moving. _No_ … Cas struggled to get up, even as tall, imposing, powerful Raphael came to stand over him and kicked him to the bottom of the stairs brutally.

The second Cas came to a stop at the bottom, he attempted to get up and when he did he found himself facing Raphael, who was unharmed and smiling cooly and suddenly striking his fist down like a hammer onto the top of Castiel's head. The blow confounded Cas, who collapsed down onto his knees. He could taste blood in his mouth and the world was spinning strangely. Raphael roughly grabbed him by the collar and raised his blade high. Just behind the archangel on the floor in a crumpled heap, Alex moaned in pain.

Raphael saw how Cas's horrified gaze went to her and he gloated menacingly. "First, _you_ die," he said. "Then, I kill _her_ with the blade still dripping with your profane blood." He leaned closer to Cas. "Somehow, I don't think God will be bringing you back this time." He drew back to make the kill and Castiel panicked.

"Hey!" Came a loud, ringing voice, and Raphael whirled. Balthazar was there and held a strange, glowing crystal. He smirked. "Look... at my... junk."

"No—" Raphael said, frozen in place, unable to look away. " _No_!" He began to crackle and crystalize, his skin turning white as snow. And in a matter of two seconds, his entire vessel turned to salt, which lost its form and clattered to the floor harmlessly. Cas stared in shock.

"Same thing happened to Lot's wife," Balthazar said cheekily. "Iodize the poor sucker, and your kitchen is stocked for life." He laughed, but Cas was already moving over to Alex in a half crawl, half drag.

"Christ, Cas, you look like an old man," Balthazar commented mildly, watching with folded arms. Cas ignored him, trying to get to Alex as fast as possible—and when he was beside her he realized that her back was broken and her head was bleeding and she was at the point of _dying._ With shaking fingers that couldn't move fast enough, he touched her forehead to heal her, then remembered he was injured, too, when the attempt to mend her only hurt him. " _Ahh_ —!" he grimaced painfully, a hand going to his forehead automatically as the pain jolted him. Alex stared up at him, breathing shallowly, her face a mask of complete pain, and he forgot his own physical distress completely. He caught her hand when it weakly reached up toward him, horrified at himself.

"Oh enough of the _dramatics_ ," Balthazar said and rolled his eyes, uncrossed his arms, crouching down and touching Alex lazily on the forehead with two fingers, healing her. She seemed surprised and more cognizant again, beginning to sit up. Cas felt relief overtake him. Balthazar was looking at Alex oddly. "Has she… been drinking _demon blood_?" He asked, sounding intrigued. "My my, Cas, this _is_ a twist. Explains the..." he trailed off and gestured vaguely. "Well, everything."

Cas only grew protective of Alex at Baltazar's comments, pulling her up silently to sit as he looked at the other angel somewhat mistrustfully.

"You two are positively sickening, anyone ever tell you that?" Balthazar asked, standing up and crossing his arms again, looking at how near Cas held the human girl to himself. "And by the way: you owe me."

"I don't deny it." Cas answered stiffly. He turned his attention to Alex. "Can you stand?"

"Yes, of course I can stand," she said grumpily, although Cas had to help her do it. Even though he was injured, he was still much stronger than the average human man.

Once they were standing, side by side, Cas looked at Balthazar, who appeared quite pleased. Cas didn't understand. "You came back. Why?"

Balthazar shrugged, his face pleasant. "Told you I'd make it up to you. Well. Now Raphael will have to go shopping for a new vessel. Should give you a nice long head-start on him." His smile widened, his eyes crinkled. "Some, dare I say, _quality time_ together? _Don't_ say I never did anything for you two. In fact, I'd say you owe me twice over." There was a good-natured, friendly tone to angel's voice. He winked. "Well. Until next time."

Cas nodded. "Next time."

Baltazar smiled and took about three steps backwards, smiling knowingly… and a new voice suddenly sounded. "No time like the present."

A ring of fire suddenly blazed to life around Balthazar, who had just unwittingly stepped into it. Sam, who'd been hidden in the shadows, smirked, flicking a lighter. "Holy fire," Balthazar breathed, looking at it in disdain and slight panic. "You hairless ape! Release me!"

Sam turned slightly to the area behind himself, like he was talking to someone a room away. "Dean—looks like we caught ourselves a little cloud-hopper."

Dean appeared from another room, the jar of holy oil in hand like he'd been off setting up more rings of holy fire just in case.

"You fools—let me go!" Balthazar demanded.

Dean took control quickly. "First you're taking your marker off of Aaron Birch's soul!" He retorted, standing on the edge of the fire circle and staring at Balthazar aggressively.

Offended by the demand, Balthazar balked. " _Am_ I?!"

Dean smirked. "I think you are. Unless you like your wings extra crispy." He indicated the jar of holy oil he held.

Balthazar turned back to Cas, who was supporting Alex at this point. "Castiel, I stood for you in Heaven," he said angrily. "Are you gonna let—"

This was what humans called 'just desserts,' he thought. Castiel merely narrowed his eyes at his brother who had betrayed him. "I believe... the 'hairless ape' has the floor," he replied sarcastically.

Balthazar was surprised then looked around and realized he was outgunned. With little else to do but laugh, he gave in. "Very well." He shook his head, inhaled, and touched his clasped hands to his forehead, exhaling. He lowered his hands. "The boy's debt is cleared. His soul is his own."

Dean looked at Cas questioningly across the circle of fire and Cas nodded just slightly. Dean refocused on the angel in the fire. "Why you buying up human souls, anyway?"

"In _this_ economy? It's probably the only thing worth buying." Balthazar looked at Dean with total contempt. "Do you have any _idea_ what souls are worth? What power they hold? Now... release me."

Predictably, Dean became belligerent. "Suck it, ass clown. Nobody said anything abou—" he started, even as Castiel raised his hand then lowered it. The flames flickered and then died out.

"Cas, what the hell?" Dean asked, aghast.

Castiel looked at Balthazar, who had saved Alex's life and destroyed Raphael's vessel—two things that were very difficult to repay. "My debt to you is cleared," Cas told him.

Balthazar smiled faintly, a slightly soured expression. "Fair enough." He disappeared.

"Cas, are you out of your mind?!" Dean demanded.

Cas looked at him almost angrily. "No," he said. " _Enough_ Dean." His voice lowered, full of meaning. "It's time."

The other man's expression registered understanding and mild dread. "Yeah," he said, taking full notice of his sister's strained expression. "Yeah, okay."

"Time for what?" Alex asked, dazed. And then when they were no longer standing in the mansion, but in the familiar dark basement of Bobby Singer's home, just outside of the panic room… she realized and as dazed as she'd been, she had a burst of clarity. "No, guys, wait— _wait_!" she protested, trying to escape—but found that she couldn't with Dean holding one arm, Cas the other.

"This is for your own good, Al," Dean said even as she began to make sobbing sounds and repeated _no no no_ over and over again. "Sam, the door, _move it_!" Dean commanded thunderously, urging his slow, unhurried brother along.

Sam pulled the door open with a loud, metallic creak, and as Dean and Cas manhandled a thrashing Alex in, Sam just watched, sort of removed or skeptical, it was hard to tell. "I'll, uh, go tell Bobby we're here," he said. "Before he decides that we're intruders and comes down here to shoot us." Sam had a point—they hadn't called to announce their coming arrival. Sam disappeared up the steps, leaving Dean and Cas alone with Alex, who was fighting and making it difficult for them.

"No… no!" She shouted, panicking. "Don't put me in here, I don't want—Dean! Cas! Stop! Don't _do this_! I can't live without it! Stop! Sto- _ooop_! You don't _understand_! Let me explain, let me _explain_ you fucking _assholes_!" Her panic turned to fury, especially when they let her go and backed up to stand and block the way out.

Breathless and betrayed, she stared with wild eyes, her posture that of an animal that was about to attack. Dean stepped toward her a little and held both hands out slightly, as if he were silently telling her _be cool, calm down_. She did the opposite, abruptly lunging for him and punching him in the face, falling down with him when he grabbed at her blindly, trying to restrain her. She attempted to scramble away but he held her there in a bear-hug as she twisted and screamed. "Let go, let _go-ooo!_ " Cas, surprised by her outburst and attack stood back—hesitating to step in.

"Cas!— _ugh_ —" Dean protested as she elbowed him in the stomach. " _Cas_! A little help!" he managed as she pulled on his ear hard. "Ow, _ow_!" Her fingernails clawed at his face and he flailed, yelping when her knee smashed into a very sensitive area between his legs.

She suddenly went completely slack when Cas touched her and Dean let out a breath that was both relieved and pained. Damn—his jaw stung from where her fist had landed and he could feel the smarting lines across his cheek where she'd scratched him. And, of course, his precious family jewels… son of a bitch, _ouch_. And to think, he'd been the one who'd always told her "kick a dude in the nuts when you're in trouble." He'd meant other guys… not _him_.

A little stunned, Dean took a few seconds to sit up—then Cas helped him put Alex onto the little cot and they stood back wordlessly.

Laying there, she could have been sleeping and she looked harmless and sweet… but also extremely sweaty and a little gross, too, hair plastered to her sweat-damp face. Only Alex could look all those things at once. Dean's heart hurt, because he couldn't help her with this, not how he wanted. This was gonna be mostly her, getting through the withdrawals. And he was worried. How bad, exactly, was this gonna get for her? It had been hard enough with Sam going through this. Unable to stand the sight of her there and the way it reminded him of Sam's struggle with the same dilemma, Dean turned and limped out of the panic room, because he felt entirely lost, claustrophobic, and overwhelmed. He leaned his back against the cold metal wall of the room once he was out of there and closed his eyes, letting his head fall back. _Dammit, Dean, man up. Don't cry about this_. He'd already cried today in the hospital closet.

Dean slid down and sat on the floor there, resting his arms on his knees, hanging his head, putting his hand to his forehead. He wanted to escape this horrible reality. This was too much.

He heard Cas's soft footsteps beside him and immediately checked himself, putting forth his steely exterior. He glanced up at the angel, whose expression was rigid as usual. "How long will she be out?" Dean asked, putting on a hard to read tone.

"A few hours, at least," Cas said. He sounded pretty upset about it. Like… emotional. And then Dean was even more surprised when Castiel sat down, on the ground next to him, mimicking his positioning.

For a long couple of beats, they brooded in silence. And then Dean shook his head, unable to stop himself from asking. It was a desperate cry for help if there'd ever been one. "What am I supposed to do, Cas? My brother's acting like a freaking robot and my sister's a demon blood addict—I mean how the hell did this _happen_?"

Cas have any answers. "I don't know, Dean."

Dean had hoped for some kind of magical solution. He was disappointed when Cas had nothing to say. For a minute, they were both silent and terse. And then, Cas looked at Dean sidelong hesitantly. "Did she… tell you what happened to her?"

Dean's heart jumped unpleasantly. He knew what Cas was asking about. The… Glen thing. "No, not really." He paused, looking at Cas, filled with dread. "She… she tell you?"

Cas shook his head faintly, looking down. "No."

Dean felt hollow. When it rained, it poured, huh? She didn't deserve this crap. She wasn't like any other girl he'd ever known; she felt deeper than she let on, she took things to heart, she was just like him in the way she beat herself up about stuff. She over-analyzed the shit out of everything and what she'd been put through today and recently… what if she was never okay again?

"I should have been there to protect her," Cas said abruptly, and the guilt… the guilt. Dean identified completely.

"You and me both, buddy," he said, seeing no point in trying to make Cas feel worse. He obviously felt like shit. _Join the club, man._ A few more minutes of silence passed and Dean stood up, went to the open panic room door, and looked at his sister. Cas remained seated, far away in thoughts.

Sam came down the stairs, jogging almost, appearing to be just fine. Dean turned slightly at the sound of his approach. "Dean—Bobby's got a job for us," he said, and Dean looked at his brother like he had grown a pair of antlers.

"Come again?" He asked, thinking this had to be a joke. "A _job_?"

"Yeah," Sam said, then made a face. "What? _Dean_. She'll be _fine_. She's a strong girl." He scoffed at Dean's _are you fucking serious right now_ expression. "Trust me: she's gonna just hallucinate shit for the next week or two, she won't know the difference if we're here or not."

Dean stared dumbly—maybe that was true but… _come on_. "You got to be kidding me."

Sam didn't seem to see the problem. "Uh… no. People are dying, Dean. Bobby can watch her. The job isn't far from here, and it'll only take a few days. Come on."

Growing indignant, Dean's voice rose. "Someone _else_ can go, not _us_." Feeling betrayed, he threw his hands out. "I can't believe you're even _suggesting_ this, man!"

Sam huffed, annoyed that he had to explain himself. "Okay, look Dean. I'm worried about her, I am. But I know she'll pull through."

"Sam, do you _hear_ yourself?" Dean asked. "I mean, call me crazy, but I feel like you don't even _care_."

There was a frown on Sam's face. "Of course I care."

"Could have fooled me," Dean muttered.

Cas was looking at Sam from the corner of his eye, still seated on the floor, his back to the panic room wall.

"Listen," Sam said, taking on an explanatory tone. "I've been hunting non-stop for the past year, kind of on the wild, you know? I guess I'm a little rough around the edges. So sue me. These people need our help. Alex will be _fine_." Dean was conflicted, feeling guilt-tripped and torn. Sam was impatient. "Come on, Dean. If you won't, I'll go alone. You gonna let me go without backup?"

Dean stared at Sam, not recognizing him fully. Rough around the edges? Try freaking _different guy_. Hell really must have worked a number over on him or something. That was the only explanation he could come up with. And the ironic part was that he felt guilty about wanting to stay here with Alex—if Sam went by himself and got hurt—Dean clenched his jaw. _Why the hell do you have to put me in this position, man? Don't make me choose like this._

Dean heard Cas standing—the trench coat rustled briefly. "I'll stay, Dean."

Turning with a frown Dean wondered if he'd misheard. "What?"

"I'll stay with her."

Dean hesitated, actually considering it. "Cas, I don't know…"

"Let me atone for what I've done," Cas said plainly. "What I've _failed_ to do. In what small way I can. I owe this to her. To you." He paused, looked down briefly. "You know that I want nothing but her safety, Dean. And I'm not like you. I don't eat, I don't sleep. She can't harm me. I won't leave her side for a minute."

Dean looked at the angel reluctantly, then at Sam, who waited in impatient expectation. _You know that I want nothing but her safety, Dean_. Yeah. He got that, as much as it still weirded him out. But the biggest thing was the point Cas had made about not needing to eat or sleep. Cas could watch her better than Dean ever could. Dean reluctantly glanced into the panic room. This was the selfish part… he didn't know if he could stand to see her hallucinating and having fits like Sam had. Was that horrible? And letting Sam go off on a hunt alone couldn't happen. So, Dean caved despite some misgivings and despite not feeling a hundred-percent about the decision. "All right," he agreed ruefully, unable to believe himself. "All right." He got intense. "But only if you _promise_ to stay here, not go anywhere else, for anything, even for a second. And if something jacked up happens, you'll come get me _immediately_."

Cas nodded, both surprised and humbled that Dean had agreed. He straightened. "Yes. You have my word." He looked at Sam briefly. "But before you two leave… I have two things I need to accomplish." He paused. "I'll be back in a few moments."

And the angel disappeared from Dean's sight.


	53. Skeletons

" _Rescue me from me... and all that I believe."_  
\- Smashing Pumpkins

* * *

Castiel ascended the celestial heights, slipping through the dimensions to leave earth behind. The Heaven he arrived to was a tranquil scene: nestled in prairie land, a little cottage overlooked a small pond. Autumn burnt the clustered trees alongside the water's edge into brilliant yellowy orange. The pond was a mirror, reflecting the stunning blue sky. A wooden dock stretched out several feet over the water, and at the end of it an elderly couple stood next to one another holding hands. They were unaware of the angel's presence.

He'd arrived to a Heaven that belonged to soulmates. These were the rarest Heavens of all. He was stirred—reverent of this and of them, the two souls who had created this place together. He saw how the shorter of the two men laid his head contentedly onto the taller man's shoulder. How wonderful it was that these two people—meant for each other, intertwined at the soul level—could remain together even in the life beyond life. Cas wondered: had he been born on earth instead of created in Heaven… would he have been _her_ soul mate? He thought of soft hazel eyes and freckles scattered across fair skin. He thought of the sound of her voice and the privilege of her smile directed at him. And then he thought of how he hadn't seen that smile in so long. And with rapidly increasing anger, he remembered why he'd come back to Heaven in the first place.

As if on cue, Castiel realized another angel had arrived. He immediately turned around, reaching for his blade. When he saw who it was, he had to stifle his true reaction of contempt. He let his hand fall and did not draw his blade. "Hello Rachel." His greeting was neutral and he watched her hawkishly. She was the reason he'd returned to Heaven.

"Castiel," Rachel returned. She stood just a few feet away and she was difficult to read. Mildly perturbed, maybe. Suspicious, certainly. "Where have you been? We've been calling you."

"Yes. I know," he said brusquely, giving away nothing with his tone or demeanor. "I've been busy, and I still am."

Her features twisted into mistrustful confusion. "What do you mean?"

Cas stepped closer to her, narrowing his eyes. "I came here to tell you that my presence is required on earth for some time." He paused, noting the distinct note of distaste that ran across his angel sister's face. "I'm leaving Ezekiel in charge in my absence."

Her mouth dropped open. "You can't be seri—Ezekiel is just a _foot_ _soldier_!"

Cas was diplomatic in the face of her outburst. "He's proven himself loyal."

Rachel was absolutely scandalized. "And I _haven't_?"

"Hm," Castiel feigned thoughtfulness, even though inwardly he was thinking of her lies and betrayal. "I suppose you have." And here was the trap he laid for her, the test. With utmost convincing emotion, he smiled a little as if grateful. "I wanted to thank you, Rachel, for traveling to earth and delivering my message to Alex all those months ago."

He studied her reaction, thinking perhaps he saw the briefest glance of guilt in her features. But instead of confessing her sins—which would have been the correct action to take—out of her mouth came more untruths. "Of course, Castiel," she said, putting on a gracious smile that was insulting. "I was happy to do so."

Without any warning, Castiel grabbed Rachel by the collar with two hands and smashed her into the side of the cottage. " _Lies!_ " he snarled furiously. She was shocked and wide-eyed, realizing she'd been discovered. "I know you never gave her my message," he seethed. "And then you had the _audacity_ to lie to my face and falsify a return message?" He was so angry he could have killed Rachel on the spot. "Give me one reason I shouldn't demote you or _worse_ right here and now."

Rachel was stiff and frozen in his vice-like grip, completely unprepared for his assault and demands. Fumbling, she tried to answer. "I-I saw her drinking the blood of demons, Castiel, she's an abomination, I only wanted—" she clearly recognized how that had been the wrong thing to say when Cas's face darkened in growing fury. Scrambling for a way to placate him, Rachel's voice rose in something close to panic. "I only wanted to safeguard you, keep you _focused_!"

She was pulled out of the side of the cottage and slammed back in with brutal force. "It wasn't your _place_ ," Castiel spat, only growing angrier with _himself_ when he realized how the trust he'd placed so readily in his sister had been his biggest mistake in a very long time. How this was truly his fault for not being wiser. Great helplessness grew inside. Castiel was dismayed at how she could have done this. He begged her to help him understand, to make her motivations clear. "You lied to me, _knowing_ that it would keep me from her— _why_?" She said nothing for a long moment and Castiel mourned what Rachel had done. " _Why?_ I am her _protector_ ," he said, great sadness drenching his words. The irony was not lost on him: he _was_ Alex's protector, yet had failed to do that very thing.

"And _I_ am _your_ protector!" Rachel retorted much to Cas's confusion. "If _I_ don't protect you from your own foolishness, who _will_?!" She seemed so genuine that Cas was momentarily taken aback, losing his grip on her. Rachel's tone became pleading. "She's broken you, Castiel. I don't recognize who you've become."

Cas said nothing for a long moment, merely staring at her in renewed scorn, not even fully hearing the insults she lodged against him... only the confirmation that she had done it intentionally. There was no explanation that would exonerate her from guilt, she displayed no remorse whatsoever for her actions. With a mighty shove Cas let her go and stepped back, not letting her out from under his glare. "I could say the same for you," he accused, utterly despising what his sister had done. Rachel _knew_ what Alex meant to him. He had _trusted_ her and been burned—but his wounds were nothing compared to what had happened to Alex. "The things you set into motion by not telling me—you've done the unforgivable."

"To keep you safe; to keep _all_ of us _safe_ ," Rachel insisted tremulously. Castiel was astonished all over again. How could she _think_ that? He shook his head as he gritted his teeth together harder. She didn't know what she was talking about. She didn't care like he did, in fact, it seemed like she didn't care at _all_. It broke something in him. Rachel became apologetic and looked down, her features becoming confused. "I knew you would leave us if you knew what she was doing, Castiel; I knew you would go to her when you were needed here. I know you care about her, brother. But… we're fighting a war. And you're our leader. You can't have divided interests or we will _not_ win." She saw how his expression was souring again. "Castiel, please—I didn't mean to cause harm," she insisted pleadingly. "You came back and told us we were free to make our own choices. And that was the first choice I ever made. To lie to you. I... I've never had this freedom before, and it seemed right to me, Castiel. I swear to you. I _thought_ I was doing the right _thing_. I made a choice. A wrong one, I see that it must have been wrong, now." She silently implored. "Forgive me, brother."

"I will not forgive you," was the immediate, hostile answer. He didn't care about her excuses or reasons. No matter how sorry Rachel might truly be, she had still done what she'd done. And there was no taking it back, no explaining it away. The reality remained: Alex had spent a year not knowing where he'd gone, assuming him dead or worse. She had been lonely and afraid and physically dependent on demon blood. Then violated with no one to defend her but herself. Refreshing these things in his mind made him feel murderous.

He thought of his dwindling forces here in Heaven and his desperation to win this war. He had to end it at all costs—and he was loathe to admit this even to himself, but Rachel needed to remain on his side. He needed her as an ally, no matter how much he now detested her. He didn't like this at all. But it was strategy and necessity that drove him to the decision—he couldn't afford to lose such a dedicated warrior. So he regarded her with utmost deadly seriousness. "I will grant you exception this one time." He raised his chin to look at her bitterly. He cursed himself for ever trusting her. It had cost him too much. It had cost Alex too much. And he wouldn't make the same mistake again. "But there will be no more chances for you, Rachel," he said flatly. "And I will never trust you like I once did."

Without anything further, he turned his back on her and left.

* * *

**Five Days Later**

Alex was someplace dark and shadowy. She couldn't make out any real shape or structure, and the effect was completely disorienting. There was a general feeling of physical illness, a hollow sensation. Like an itch she couldn't scratch. She was very aware that she felt uncomfortable in her own skin, like she needed something _really_ badly. What, food? Water? Also, where the hell _was_ she, anyway? She looked down, raising her shaking palms up to inspect them. She could barely see, but her skin seemed dirty and pale gray. Something was wrong here.

"Well, _hello_..." came a smooth voice somewhere nearby and she whirled, finding herself face to face with Lucifer in the rotting vessel of Nick. Holy _shit_! Plunged deep into ice-cold fear, she backed up... or tried to. But she was stuck.

"Get away from me," she ordered tremblingly, trying not to give away how afraid she was. Weapon. Did she have a weapon? She felt around for one and realized she was completely unarmed. Panic surged. _How_ was he here?! He was supposed to be in the cage!

"Get _away_ from you?" Lucifer repeated innocently, doing just the opposite and edging closer instead. "But Alex, how?" He feigned confusion. "I'm… _inside_ of you. Your head. Your _mind_." Oh. Oh _no_. He smiled a little and his peeling, gruesome features made it a sickening display. "I like it in here. A little cluttered, a little paranoid, lots of issues, lots of self-flagellation... you're my kind of gal." He chuckled and came closer, patting her face with his cold, heavy hand. She flinched away from his touch, unable to move or run away… and the realization that she couldn't do either made her even more scared. _What is happening? Is this another dream?_ Lucifer started to pace leisurely in front of her. "Come on, _Al_... don't act like this is the first time we've... hooked up." He shot her a playful look and a coy eyebrow raise. "I recall lots of late night visits this past year… _well_." He shrugged thoughtfully. "On those nights you actually managed to fall asleep, anyway." A low, dark chuckle, and those dead eyes flashed ominously. "Insomnia's a real _bitch_ , isn't it?"

Alex shrank away, or tried to. "I said, get _away_!" she shouted with increased volume, like if she said it louder it would work better. _Wake up_ , she told herself, wake _up_! This was just another dream of the devil, like the others she'd been plagued by since Sam died. "You're not real!"

An amused laugh. " _You're_ not real!" Lucifer mocked jovially, then gave a playfully irritated sigh. "Oh come _on_ , lighten up will ya?" He paused and tapped a thoughtful finger to his chin. "Maybe it'd make you more comfortable if I looked like someone less… Nick?" His features distorted and he was suddenly _Sam_. Alex's anger faded into breathless horror. "Hiya, sis," Sam's familiar voice said, low and smooth as polished marble. He was smiling, but it wasn't friendly. "What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Stop it, just stop!" Alex shouted, twisting against ropes that suddenly bound her in place. She struggled hard, feeling her throat close in panic. _Let me out—let me out!_

"But I'm just warming up," Sam said, only it was Lucifer speaking, and it was obvious from the cadence he used, the coldness in his eyes. "Come on, Alexandra. Get _over_ it. Stop being a drama queen," he said, rolling his eyes at her. When she looked at him wrathfully, Lucifer shrugged his mouth downwards thoughtfully. "Hm. You must _really_ regret our little deal, huh?" He sighed, pretended to be apologetic. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry you're such an _idiot_." A huge grin broke Sam's face—dimples and everything. He laughed, a sound that was profane because it belonged to Sam, not Lucifer. "Actually… I'm not sorry, not really," he said, wincing with mock apology. "I mean, it got me Sam, didn't it? Ah, you shoulda seen the look on your brothers faces when they realized what I did to you, what you agreed to…" he trailed off, becoming overly thoughtful. "Oh wait. You _did_."

Another huge grin and self-satisfied laugh. He sauntered closer. "And hey, the way Sam is _now_? That's _your_ fault. You get that, right? Hell stripped away everything Sam ever was. Burned away the Sam you loved. All thanks to _you_." His eyes—the same color as hers—were cold and dead, soulless. "Everyone you love burns in the end, don't they?" Lucifer taunted in a whisper that made her skin crawl. He reached over and stroked her hair with great interest.

Alex squeezed her eyes shut, grimacing in disgust. "Not real, he's not real, you're not _real_ ," she whispered over and over, trying not to gag on her racing heartbeat. Things were wobbling and uneven but she felt Lucifer withdraw and retreat a few steps backward. A small relief. _Go away, just wake up, it's okay, it's not real._

"Oh, I'm _real_ ," came a male voice that wasn't Sam's. Alex's eyes popped open because she was more scared of it than maybe any other voice she could think of.

A tall blond man stood there and smirked down at her. Terror shot through Alex's veins, she immediately struggled away. But she was still stuck in place and her fighting was in vain. "Don't be scared, baby," Glen said softly, approaching slowly, and each step made her even more afraid. "It's _me_. I'm gonna take good care of you… you know I will." He stroked the side of her face with his fingers and she shuddered noisily, a sound of terror broke out of her mouth and he just chuckled softly, as if she were cute when she was petrified.

"Stop—" she choked, then found a stronger, louder voice. "Dean! _Cas_!" She called out with growing alarm because maybe this _wasn't_ a dream. Maybe this was _real_. "Someone _help me_!"

Glen's sandy eyebrows shot up high in surprise, then angry disbelief came over his plain features. "You think _they're_ gonna help you?" He grabbed her and threw her down onto her back, standing over her like a giant. She backpedaled fast on her elbows and found herself trapped against a cold, hard wall. "Wow. You're stupider than I thought, _bitch_ ," Glen said as if remarking on the weather, following her leisurely. "Dean doesn't love you; _Cas_ doesn't love you. Why would either of them, huh?" He crouched down at her level and she was so afraid of him that she couldn't move one bit. "You're a disappointment at every turn," he spat. " _Weak_. Why would they come when you call? You're not _worth_ saving." He picked her up by her collar and he stood with super human strength, smashing her back-first into the wall and she cried out in pain, trying to fight, but her body refused to cooperate. "No one will ever want you again, you get that right?" Glen asked in a low, vile whisper. He suddenly morphed, and a new man now looked at Alex. "Especially _me_."

Alex's eyes widened in shock and horror. She ceased fighting. " _Cas_?!" She gasped out, shocked to be face to face with the one she loved, shocked at the _look_ he was giving her. In his eyes, nothing but pure contempt. He _hated_ her and it was obvious—and Alex was ashamed, confused, hurt. She'd known he would despise her, so why was she so stunned to see evidence of it? His hand tightened on her painfully.

"I leave you for a year—only a year—and you _betray_ me?" He asked in the familiar gruff voice—only it was filled with disdain. "You let another man _touch_ you? You let another man _kiss_ you?" She withered away, eyes were filling with stinging tears. _Yes_ , to both questions. Her heart was beating so hard and fast she thought she was doing to have a stroke, but Cas didn't look concerned. "I thought I loved you," he said sneeringly, tightening his grip on her collar painfully. "But I _don't_." He yanked her sideways and threw her down to the ground without warning, letting her land hard on her stomach and palms. She was crying now—his words and actions were knives cutting her apart.

"I'm sorry, please believe me, I'm _sorry_ —" she choked out raspingly, looking back up over her shoulder at him and barely managing to. She felt lower than low, and the furious way he stared down at her didn't do anything but make her feel even further down.

"You _are_ sorry," he agreed derisively, slowly circling her and coming to stand in front of her, his shoes almost in her face. "And selfish and _pathetic_. Human, _below_ me. I _never_ loved you, how could I have? You're a monster, an adulteress, an addict," he growled, each title hitting her where it hurt and she tried to cover her ears because his words literally seemed to be killing her. But nothing could block the stinging accusations he was hurling down. "You took what we had and ruined it, you took what I promised you and acted like it was yesterday's garbage, like I meant _nothing_ to you—you should have waited for me, you should have believed in me, _you friggin' idiot_!" Those last three words rang in a higher pitched voice, Cas's face and body changed—and Alex was now staring up at _herself_. Only she was bruised and battered and had demonic eyes black as night.

"Look at yourself, Alex! _Look_!" Black-eyed Alex ranted disdainfully. "You _deserve_ this. You're nothing. You're _no one_. They all left you, do you think they were trying to _tell_ you something? Cuz I do! You had the right idea, going off that whole year on your own—no one wants you." She scoffed and kicked Alex in the arm when she tried to push herself up to stand. "Stay down, bitch," black-eyed Alex hissed, then began to pace around Alex slowly. "Dean doesn't need you ruining his life more than you already have; I mean, have you _thought_ about it? If he hadn't been stuck with your useless ass all those years? He could have been out there living his life. You're nothing but a _burden_. You should have never been _born_." There was a scornful little laugh. "No wonder Daddy wanted to give you away… no wonder Sammy left and is acting the way he is now… he doesn't care. He can't _pretend_ he does anymore." There was a cold smirk. "I wonder how much longer Dean can keep the act up, don't you?" She paused and there was no smile on her face anymore. " _No one_ loves you. Not even _you_ love you."

Alex watched the black-eyed version of herself crouch down in front of herself. There were big hand prints marring her, hickeys on her neck. Alex felt herself being grabbed by the hair at the top of her head, and black-eyed Alex's face was right in hers. "And Cas. Don't even get me _started_ on that, on _him_. Were you _lying_ to his face when you made vows?" Alex felt like she'd been punched in the gut. " _You can't take things like that back!_ " Black-eyed Alex screamed with sudden passion then backhanded Alex across the face. The pain exploded, blinding Alex temporarily. It felt like her jaw was broken—she clutched her face and rolled sideways from the force of impact, stunned. Black-eyed Alex stared down without remorse as Alex cowered, sobbing from pain and anguish. "And here you were this whole year, acting like what you and he were was _nothing_ , like you could just decide to take it all back," Alex snarled contemptuously, her features twisted in disgust. Every word was sending Alex hurtling toward the ledge of total insanity. "And you claim that you _love_ him. _Please._ "

Something inside snapped in half. "I _thought_ he was _dead_!" Alex screamed, pushing herself up and trying to attack her assailant. She rushed at the black-eyed bitch, attempting a tackle, but it was like nothing and no one was there, she pitched forward into empty air and fell down onto all fours clumsily.

"You _liar_ ," came her voice from behind Alex. A steely boot tip crashed into her ribcage and Alex cried out in pain, unable to get up. "Liar! _LIAR_!" The accusations kept coming and so did the painful kicks.

Managing to stand somehow, Alex whirled and let a wild, uncontrolled punch fly in the general direction of her attacker. "I'm not a liar!" she shrieked, her fist sailing through empty air and sending her staggering sideways but she recovered just before she fell. "You don't know what I went through!" she insisted tearfully to no one, hysterical at this point.

She was grabbed roughly from behind and felt a knife at her back. "I know exactly what you went through," she heard herself say in a low, angry voice. "I'm _YOU_! I know every self-centered, stupid thought in your egotistical little head. And you don't _deserve_ him!" A violent shove sent Alex flying into the darkness—she tripped and fell face-first, making contact with the ground painfully, jaw-fist. She tasted blood in her mouth and groaned. _Just let it be over—all of it—please. Enough!_

"You know who you _do_ deserve?" Alex's voice asked.

She felt herself being grabbed by the hair and being yanked up then thrown down onto her stomach, being pinned down from the back, and it was Glen's voice in her ear again. "Look what you're making me do, look what you've _done_!" He accused. She felt a jarring blow to the back of her head and she cried, sobbed, protesting with great sounds of pain as she fought against his heavy weight. She thought she heard someone ask her name faintly. " _Alex_?" And then a very loud: "You fucking _bitch_!"

"Let go, let me go!" She shrieked, only to be hit again. "Stop! Please _stop_ , just sto-ooop!"

"Hold still," he commanded in a hiss.

Then she heard someone asking her name again: " _Alex?_ "

Glen was yanking on her, she was struggling. "It'll be over soon," he growled, "Hold _still!"_ She refused to.

Somewhere nearby, that same voice she recognized but couldn't place: _"_ Alex, wake up— _wake up_!"

She flailed, eyes snapping open—had they been shut? There were several things she realized all at once: Someone was touching her arms, she was laying down on a softish surface, and she was in _danger_. She didn't even bother getting her bearings, she was blinded by panic, by the thought of it being Glen holding her down. "Get away! Don't touch me!" She screamed, rolling off of the soft surface, her chest stinging with breathless alarm. She fell away, tumbling to the ground painfully, surprised at the shockwave of pain it sent through her when she collided shoulder-first. Scrambling to get away, she ignored the pain and pushed herself up and ran for the door—it was locked and she whirled, scared as hell. Cas stood there at the opposite end of the small room. Not pursuing her or looking at her with hatred. Instead, holding a hand out slightly, as if to try and tell her to calm down and take a second.

"Get back, get _away_ from me!" She warned in a breathless and hysterical voice—and she let her eyes dart around in a frantic search for a weapon. Cas moved toward her fractionally and the movement caught her attention, she shrank against the door behind herself, feeling renewed with frantic alarm. Oh god, what now? What would he say and do to her? Was he going to tell her more about how she'd let him down in every way? "Just stay away, _please_ , stay away," she begged, wincing as if she was about to be struck.

His face was filled with worry and he stopped—remaining about five feet away. Alex frowned in confusion because… this seemed different. He wasn't going to berate her? Rake her over the coals?

She looked at him in growing puzzlement, seeing how his features were filled with worry and sadness. "Alex. It's _me_ ," he said. "You're in the panic room. You've been hallucinating."

What? With a hammering heart, Alex looked around, trying to figure out what was real. The panic room. Yes. Like he said, this was the panic room. But... why? And why was it such a wreck? It looked like there had been some kind of huge fight here. She saw the old desk knocked over onto its side, the things that had been on its surface scattered. The cot was a mess, the pillow was halfway across the room and ripped partly. The gun shelves were bare, like all the weapons had been moved out of the room. Some supplies had been smashed and scattered on the floor, knocked off the metal shelves that stood near the desk—it looked like a storm had blown through here. _Wait._ Had… had that storm been _her_? She looked at her palms again—they trembled badly, like she was hungry or weak or… _going through withdrawals_. Oh god. Alex looked at Cas again, feeling shock run over her like cold water. What was happening? Even as she wondered that, she realized how physically weak she felt. How long had it been since she'd eaten? Her legs buckled a little and she slackened, unable to stand on her own. She used the solid metal door behind her to break what would have been a fall—and Cas was there with her before she hit the ground, helping her into an awkward sitting position leaned against the wall. His touch was warm and gentle and she was woozy. "Hallucinating?" she asked sluggishly. "I've been _hallucinating_?"

"Yes," Cas confirmed ruefully. Crouched in front of her, he was quiet for a couple of beats. She couldn't understand why he was looking at her with so much barely concealed distress and concern. Or how he was even there at _all_. "You have been for a few days now."

"A few days now?" she repeated, confused and scared, because she literally could _not_ remember anything with real clarity except what she'd just hallucinated. She felt awful, physically sick like from the flu. But a lot, _lot_ worse. Her arms weakly went around herself in an attempt to feel better against the aching chills she was becoming aware of. Wait a minute. Alex looked at Cas, then around, as if she'd missed someone in her previous sweep of the room. "W-where's Dean?" He would be here if something was wrong with her, right? Where was he?

Cas's expression faltered. "Not here," he said reluctantly, and Alex thought she'd misheard. Before she could ask, Castiel volunteered the information. "He and Sam are on a hunt."

"A _hunt_?" she repeated numbly. "They left me? _Dean_ left me?" Devastated, she blinked twice, not understanding. "But…" she trailed off. It felt to Alex like she was six years old again and wanting the comfort of her big brother, needing it more than anything else. " _Why_? He never leaves me…" she trailed off, remembering that wasn't true. Mortified and dazed, Alex looked down, a hand covering her forehead and eyes. Maybe this was more hallucinating. Maybe this was Hell. Was she _dead_?

"Do you know why you're here?" Cas asked her in a hushed, serious voice. "In the panic room, with me?"

He sounded like a doctor talking to a patient and gently trying to break the news that she had cancer—she thought hard, because she knew the answer to his question—she _knew_ she knew the answer, but… nothing came to mind. She buried her face in her hands, lost and stressed. Why was Cas even here? When had he come back? Hadn't he been gone for a really, _really_ long time? She remembered but didn't, and it was maddening, frightening. "God, Cas—I feel… I can't remember _anything,"_ she confessed, even more scared than before, her theory on this being Hell becoming more and more viable. "My brain feels like scrambled eggs." She let her hands drop and tried as hard as she could to remember something— _anything_ —about why she was here. And then, like a lightning bolt, it hit her. She remembered. And she almost wished she hadn't. But at least this meant she wasn't dead and in hell. Slowly, she met Cas's waiting gaze. "The demon blood."

"Yes," Cas confirmed. Alex's horrified mind was sent to spinning—so this _was_ real. How long had she been here? Where were her brothers? Where was Bobby? Had she been acting insane this whole time, or was this the first time she'd been conscious? Did Cas despise her like she suspected he must? She tried to escape the questions by getting up. A very sad attempt as her muscles were uncoordinated and her body was weak. Cas stood with her, a hand on her arm and she angrily batted him away, trying to do it herself and get out from under his gaze that saw everything. Helplessness anger was beginning to churn below her surface, as well as the desire for a very foul, abominable liquid.

"You and Dean tricked me," she growled, turned halfway to face the other direction. Her arms wrapped around her middle and her stomach boiled as she remembered more and more details. "Into coming here."

"We did," he replied truthfully and readily. His tone was soft, as if he were trying to be gentle with her. And it pissed her off. "I'm sorry for the deception." He sounded truly apologetic. "But would you have come freely, had I told you the plan?"

"No, of _course_ not," she snapped, gritting her teeth together, realizing she felt so terrible because of how bad she needed a fix. "Dammit, Cas. I need more! _Shit_." She stumbled and leaned heavily against the cold metal wall beside herself. She was sick, _bad_ , and all it would take was a _little_ drink to make her feel better...

"My advice to you is that you try not to think of that," he said wearily. He got a dirty look for his unsolicited feedback.

"Yeah, _thanks_ ," she muttered sarcastically, hating everything; becoming completely focused on the thought of blood, blood, _blood_. Her stomach abruptly growled insanely loudly as a hunger pang shot through her.

Cas heard it, frowning slightly. "You need to eat something," he said, and gestured to a plastic plate that was on the floor, a fallen-apart sandwich on it. Had she thrown it earlier? "Bobby brought a sandwich for you this morning," Cas explained, crouching and putting the sandwich back together as best as he could. Alex watched, suspicious and mad about everything. Distantly she briefly thought that it was cute to see Cas putting a sandwich together.

Standing, Cas brought the sandwich to her. She looked at it balefully. When she didn't take it, he extended it toward her further. "Eat?" He asked. "Please?"

She _was_ ravenous and he looked very upset that she didn't accept it right away. " _Fine_ ," she muttered, snatching it away from him and taking a huge, impolite bite. Even as she chewed, all she could think about was how to get out of here, how to get the jump on Cas and get herself more demon blood. That was all that mattered to her in the entire world… sating the insane need. Castiel watched her sadly and she wondered if he knew what she was thinking. She took another huge bite. It had no taste at all.

"You asked about Dean a minute ago," Cas said then sighed quietly, turning and drifting off by a few steps. "He left because… I don't think he could bear the thought of watching this happen to you." He paused and looked at her meaningfully, or at least it seemed meaningful. And the way he said it, she almost thought that's how he must have felt, too. He turned away again, setting his back to her, and Alex put down the sandwich. Her eyes went to the little metal chair that was knocked over just a few feet away. That would make an excellent weapon. She crept closer to it, planning to grab it and hit him over the head and make an escape of some kind… then his voice abruptly stopped her. "Aren't you growing tired of trying to fight me, Alex?" He wasn't even looking at her, and unless he had eyes in the back of his head, she didn't know how he'd seen her.

She'd frozen in her tracks and he turned halfway, looking at her with weary eyes. "I'm sorry but I will not allow you to leave this room until the demon blood is out of your system completely. But if you must keep trying to hurt me… go ahead." He seemed so resigned. "It won't work. I'm an angel." He turned to face her then approached, presenting himself to her almost as if he were inviting an attack. "You can't hurt me, Alex," he said ruefully. "No matter how hard you may try." His words rattled her and she had an odd sense of deja vu. Wordlessly, she stared at him for a long moment. His sad blue eyes held hers and seemed like an anchor, pulling her back to a shore she'd drifted far from. And then he broke the trance and nodded back to her discarded sandwich, his expression tense and distracted. "Now please. Eat more. You need your strength."

Alex took in his downcast face and eyes, feeling an epiphany strike her. Had this happened before, the attempt to escape and knock Cas out? What was _happening_ to her? Trying to _attack_ Cas? Trying to _hurt_ him? This wasn't _her_ —and for a minute, she felt clear-headed, and as a result, _horrified_. Ashamed. She had never guessed it would get like this, she'd thought she could stop any time, but she'd been fooling herself obviously. "I've been… trying to hurt you?" she asked in a quiet, dismayed murmur. That thought was so awful she could barely bring herself to look at him.

"Repeatedly." He seemed hesitant to look at her and something in her broke at the thought of what had been happening in this room.

Alex felt her eyes stinging, her chest swelling with pain—she stepped backwards, stunned and speechless. When he followed her movement with worry, she couldn't deny it anymore: "I need help," she managed just barely through a throat closing with tears. His eyes softened, and even though they were still filled with pain and grief, she saw empathy and love there when his eyes met hers. "Please _help me_ ," she begged, not even sure how he _could_. She forgot her fears and reservations about him, only remembered that she loved him and trusted him and he always saved her—and she was desperate to be saved—so she pressed herself into him, circling her arms around his middle, holding on for dear life as she buried her face into the front of his shoulder. She cried miserably, and she only cried harder when he accepted her instantly.

"Of course I'll help you," he told her. His emotional and deep voice echoed through her comfortingly. "I will _always_ help you." Words that were like salve on a wound. Her eyes fell shut and for a moment, they were _them_ again. She calmed down, trusting him wholly, allowing herself believe that he could rescue her. Alex let him hold her there in the long-lost but familiar space of his arms where touch transcended words. He hadn't forgotten her or left, he hadn't gone away, he wasn't angry at what she'd done and she was so, so _relieved_. It felt too good to be true. His hand gently touched the back of her head and he felt so warm, safe, and comforting. A heavy weight lifted and she opened her mouth to tell him how much she missed him, how much she loved him—and then a horrible suspicion came to her and she didn't say anything at all. This couldn't be real. A minute ago, she'd thought this was too good to be true. And in her experience… good things _weren't_ real. So _this_ wasn't _real,_ how could it be? This was another hallucination or trick. It had to be. Cas wouldn't love her, not through _this_.

"Wait—" she said, stiffening and pulling back. Something wasn't right. He looked disillusioned when she pulled away. " _Wait_. H-how are you even here with me?" Cas had told her he _had_ to stay away or he risked endangering her, how he'd said he couldn't stay for long when they'd been in Pennsylvania. Guard raising and suspicions flooding her, she stepped back. "Have you been here with me the whole time?" She looked at him through narrowed eyes. "I thought… you said the war… and… Raphael.. or…"

"Yes, I did say those things," he said tiredly but patiently. As if he'd explained it before. Maybe he _had_. She had no memory of it. "I've been here with you for almost five days now." Five _days_? Her eyebrows rose slowly and she didn't know if she believed him or not. "Raphael's vessel was destroyed, which is why, for the moment… we're safe from him."

When he said that, she recalled Raphael turning to salt as she laid on the floor dying, in pain. Oh yeah. "Huh. Yeah. I remember now..." she said darkly, distracted by feeling that itch again in her veins. She wanted to tear her skin off to make it feel better. She _needed_ some demon blood, and felt herself twitching almost. It was hot in here too. How long had she been sweating like this?

"As far as the war…" Cas trailed off. "I _am_ needed up there. But... I'm needed here, too." He was deeply troubled, but looking at her pointedly. "I've _been_ needed."

Momentarily given pause, Alex realized what he meant and forgot about how sweaty she felt. "You mean me." A question and a statement.

She saw how his muscles worked in his jawline. "Yes."

Guilt and shame washed over her in bucketfuls under his soulful gaze. He seemed to silently be pleading with her—for what? What did he want from her? Why was he even here? Was it a guilt thing? Did he feel bad for being MIA for so long? Or maybe this was him trying to be a good little guardian angel. Either way, she was torn between being amazed that he would stay with her and being angry as hell that he had waited so long to get his ass to her in the first place. Everything was jumbled in her mind. All she knew was that she was angry and hurt and needed a hit soon.

Everything throbbed in continuous pain, she felt dirty and sweaty and cold but hot all at once, wracked by horrible shooting aches in her veins. "I feel so sick," she complained while pushing a hand against her churning stomach. Those couple bites of sandwich were heavy like lead in her belly. "How long will it be like this?" She had a high pain tolerance but this was a lot. A feeling of panic was fighting to overtake her, because this was hell, dead or not, and she didn't want it.

He shook his head slightly, guessing. "A few more days, at least."

A few more _days_ of this? Panic and fear gripped her tight. "I can't," she said, voice rising with alarm even as she backed up, an unconscious reaction to the need to _run away_ from everything inside of herself. "I _can't_." He made to follow her, opening his mouth to speak but she just shook her head even harder, feeling almost like she couldn't breathe. "Cas, you don't _understand_ ," she said angrily. "I can't _do_ this." She needed more blood or she was going to keel over dead, how dare they take away her choice to do whatever the fuck she wanted? How dare he stand by and let her go through this shit?! How could he let her writhe around in pain and hallucinate her worst fears and greatest traumas and be so blasé about it? He didn't understand how hard this was or how bad she needed just a _little_ , just a _few drops_ —

"You _can_ do this," Castiel said. "And I'll be here with you."

"Is that supposed to make me _feel_ better?" she snapped, shaking in a cold sweat as she glared. She clamped her teeth together to keep them from chattering.

His expression showed mild hurt. "I thought—"

"Oh who _cares_ , Cas," she ranted thoughtlessly, driven to anger by her insane need for a fix. "You know what—you should go up there and fight your little war, leave the girl with the demon blood habit out of it. Don't worry yourself on my account, we all know where _that_ always gets you." She meant it as an insult but abruptly she thought of all the ways he'd been hurt and compromised by trying to protect her and suddenly all she felt was overwhelming, heavy bitter sorrow and she wanted to weep under the weight. What had she done?! She loved him and she'd subjected him to _this_? "You should _hate_ me," she said, filled with surprise and self-loathing, realizing that was the truth. How selfish she was, how pathetic, how lost. She was a _monster_. "I should die—why aren't you killing me?"

Her words seemed to devastate and horrify him. "I would never kill you, Alex," he said, coming closer with nothing but anguish and care on his features.

She stepped back in response, baleful and angry again, wishing he'd nut up and finish her off. "Well you _should_ ," she raged. "I shouldn't be alive, not like this," she insisted with growing fervor and hysterical emotion. "I—I messed it all up." He didn't know what she'd been through, seen, and done the past year. She didn't want half of it to be real. "This isn't living, my _god_ Cas, what if I never feel normal ever again?" She shook her head, remembering slicing demons open and _enjoying_ it. A sobering thought that made her withdraw. "...What if I always feel like this and never get over it?"

" _Alex_..." he started but she shook her head, looking around, realizing something.

"There's a demon close by right now, Cas," she said lowly. "I can _smell_ it." And perhaps the saddest thought of all: "I'm something I'd _hunt_ if I weren't me." Castiel looked at her with fully grieved features even as Alex realized: " _Wait_ …" she looked at the closed panic room door. "Why is there a _demon_ nearby?"

Cas looked less than enthused about her question and its answer. "Bobby is… experimenting on it."

" _Experimenting_?" Alex asked, then let out a sharp little laugh, imagining a variety of silly scenarios. A little punch drunk from lack of real rest, food and sanity, she chuckled. "Don't experiment _too_ much Bobby or you'll end up like me." She laughed at herself, starting to sound loopy and high. "Don't drink the Kool-Aid! Ha, ha- _aaa_ … ahh..." she trailed off, not sure what was so funny. Embarrassed she frowned to herself. She'd seen so many demons in her day, and her bizzaro behavior was currently _reminding_ her of one. "...Am I evil?" She asked softly. Drinking the blood of demons, getting off on violence, craving the next time she could kill a monster… who _was_ she?

"Of course not, Alex," Castiel told her genuinely, giving her a thread of hope to cling to.

"Then what's it make me?" She asked barely above a whisper, desperate for him to tell her something that would alleviate this horrible pain and fear inside.

"Human," he answered with gentle and harrowed honesty. "I don't think any less of you, Alex." The soft words dismayed her instead of comforting her. _You should._ Her eyes dropped away guiltily under the intensity of his gaze. She was utterly mortified, wondering if he were lying to make her feel better. He _had_ to think less of her… because her behavior was insane. "Why did you begin to drink it?" He inquired gently, and she bristled at the very forward question—she wasn't going to tell him _that_. "Was it because of Lucifer?" His intuition, right on the money, made her grow even more closed off.

" _Ah_ , seemed like a good idea at the time, Clarence," she muttered tersely, an offhand reference to the angel from that Christmas movie _It's a Wonderful Life_. The second she said it, she remembered that's what Meg had called him. Great. Now she was talking like demons, too.

Cas must not have remembered Meg's little nickname for him. "Clarence?" he asked, squinting in confusion.

Alex didn't hear his question. All she could think about was needing something to fill this void, satisfy the need that was making her psycho. "I want some _now_. I'm going crazy," she insisted, stressed to the brim, looking for a way to distract herself or make the clambering feelings of _need_ go away. She looked at Cas again and noticed his gorgeous jawline and wide, smooth pink lips she remembered kissing so long ago. Her eyes wandered downward to the collar of his dress shirt, then lower still… she remembered how he looked underneath all those layers; she remembered his smooth warm naked skin. Her mind called up images of him doing things to her that were very un-angelic. She felt a familiar stirring at the thought of him like _that_. It had been so, _so_ long. Alex decided that she wanted him in the most basic sense and suddenly that was _all_ she wanted: for him to slam her up against something and screw her until she fainted. The look in her eyes must have changed because his expression flickered with slight confusion. She moved closer to him, slinking almost, full of predatory intent.

"What are you d—" he started.

"Enough bullshit," she whispered gruffly, deciding to take matters into her own hands, "I _want_ you, okay? I _need_ you." She grabbed him and pulled him to her, she reached for his belt and began to unbuckle it with harsh hands.

Cas was taken aback and pulled away when she attempted to kiss him. "Alex, no, not like this—" he protested, stopping her hands. "You're not in your right mind."

"Who _cares_ ," she said through gritted teeth, not liking his reaction one bit. He looked at her like he didn't recognize her, but Alex didn't care, she just wanted him to make her feel alive again, she wanted him as close as possible in the dirtiest way, she wanted to scream and make him scream, she wanted to fuck and be fucked. She yanked her wrists back from his gentle hold and ran a hand up his chest across his shirt, let the other one go lower, quite brazenly—he jumped slightly when she grabbed him below the belt.

"Take me, Cas, here and now," she growled, and when he didn't do what she said right away, when he looked like he was going to pull away instead, she got pissed, so pissed she couldn't see straight. "Just put me against this damn wall and fuck me until I can't see straight you _bastard_!" She screeched—and when he moved away from her to try to reason with her, she didn't give him the chance. Instead she tried to slap him across the face—he caught her wrist easily and Alex realized she had no idea what she was doing, the words she'd screamed at him suddenly registered and she withered away, mortified over the temporary bout of insanity. "I'm sorry, I c-can't think straight, I'm not—this isn't me," she apologized in rising alarm, getting scared all over again because she literally didn't know how to control herself and her mind kept running circles around itself. "This isn't _me_."

Castiel nodded slightly, sad again. He let go of her wrist. "I know."

Something about the way he was looking at her, how he didn't seem entirely shocked at her behavior made her stop dead. "H-have I been doing this stuff the whole time?" she asked as the dread crept.

His eyes went downward vaguely in thought. "Essentially."

 _Christ._ Alex was taken aback, fearful to know what exactly she'd done these past five days. Attacked him, tried to get him to have angry sex with her, asked him to kill her? He shouldn't have to do this, in fact, she didn't _want_ him to. Not for the first time she thought of how low she must seem to him and she was so afraid he'd never be able to unsee all of this—it was just too much. "I don't want you to see me like this, Cas," she confessed in aghast honesty, walking away and wrapping her arms around herself in the face of more cold chills. Close to collapse or breakdown or maybe a fit of rage, she shook her head fast, trying to clear her mind of the craziness, trying to hang onto herself. "J-just leave me alone." She didn't _want_ to be alone, in fact, the idea killed her inside, but it would be better than this.

"You shouldn't be alone," Cas said, his voice low and soft behind her then dropping to a near-whisper. "...Haven't you been alone long enough?"

His words sliced her open deeply— _yes_ she had been alone long enough but… she shut her eyes tightly, pained at how grieved he sounded over their separation. He was torturing her, he was _torturing_ her. For one, she wanted to cling to that care and love she heard in his voice, she wanted to bury herself in it and in him but… he'd been gone _all this time_. Where the hell had he been when she'd needed him? It didn't matter, she forgave him and wanted nothing more than to turn around and go to him. Angry with herself and how ready she was to overlook the past, she forced herself to be terse. "Yeah well you shouldn't have to be the one to babysit me," she muttered gruffly, confused with herself even as she said it. What did she want? She'd pined for him every damn minute of every damn day he'd been gone… so was she really going to be a bitch and push him away now that he was finally here?

"I'm not 'babysitting' you," he said, and she heard the hurt in his voice. "I'm caring for you."

"Like you cared for me this past year?" she accused bitterly. She said the words and they were both shocked by them, rendered silent. Alex opened her mouth to apologize… and no words came out. She couldn't say she was sorry. Because in a way, she didn't think she had anything to apologize for. And she owed herself this selfishness, dammit. She didn't care about some crazy war in Heaven she hadn't seen or been affected by, she just wanted Cas all to herself. Or, she _had_. Now she suddenly didn't know. What she wanted most was some fucking demon blood so her _head_ would work right again.

Unaware of her inner craze, Cas looked at her sadly for a long moment and burdened, Alex just looked down. "Yesterday… when hallucinating…" Cas said falteringly, "you asked me to hold you." Her eyes jumped up to his. He sounded very troubled. "When I did, you _screamed._ You said you could never be touched again, ever, by anyone." His eyes were ladened with tortured questions and he stepped a little closer, but kept a very careful, respectful distance. His handsome features were twisted up with emotional agony. "How badly did he hurt you, Alex? I have to know."

His question startled her and made her defenses surge. "I don't want to _talk_ about _that,_ " she said sharply. He looked as if his worse fears were confirmed and Alex saw what he was thinking and wanted to tell him _no, it's not as bad as you think_. But she said nothing, just suddenly gritted her teeth against a blistering headache that came out of nowhere. Her blood pounded loudly in her ears and she screwed her eyes shut and bent forward, making a sound of pain. She felt two gentle hands on either of her arms helping her stay standing. How horrible that he could love her despite this, how awful that she would make him go through this with her.

She felt another bout of craziness coming on, of anger and panic and she tried to get rid of him again. "Cas, I'm losing my mind, _please_ ," she begged with abrupt despair. "You can't s-see me like this, I don't know what I'm gonna say or do, you gotta _leave_." She gulped down air and wet her lips, deciding to try and play the sympathy card because she needed blood _so bad_... "Or just, just let me out and I'll be okay. You want me to feel better, right?" She made her saddest eyes at him, trying to get him to break. "Cas, I only need a little. Just a couple sips, Cas, _please_. Help me!"

He shook his head slowly and sadly, not budging. "I _am_ helping you."

She saw red. "No you're _not_!" she shrieked, completely losing all semblance of mental clarity when she realized she was trapped and not going to get any blood. "You fucking _asshole_!" She kicked the chair beside her then grabbed it and threw it uselessly at the wall with an animalistic sound. "Let me out!" she howled, then took the plastic plate and slammed it into the wall so hard that it shattered, cutting her in the process. "Let me _out of here_!"

"Alex, please _stop_ ," Cas appealed even as she kicked a leg of the turned over desk, trying to break it to use as a weapon. Her hand was bleeding and she didn't seem to notice, she tried to rip the desk apart crazily and uselessly, ignoring him. "If you don't, I have to render you unconscious, and then you hallucinate even worse than before," Cas told her, voice rising slightly. He was trying so, so hard to be reasonable.

"Shut up, shut _up_! I can't hear myself think!" Alex screeched, her hands on either side of her head. With an abrupt and frustrated cry she collapsed to sit onto the ground, suddenly letting go of the anger and switching to pure grief instead. "I want Dean," she wailed, rocking back and forth in misery. She sounded like a child calling for her mother. "I just want my big brother." She saw her bleeding hand and crumpled anew, beginning to cry so hard that her shoulders shook. Trying to calm her, Cas knelt down to reach out and reassure her, but she swiped a hand out angrily at his attempt. "Why did he leave me?" she asked, anger growing again exponentially. "Why did _you_ leave me? Why does everyone _leave_?!" She got to her feet lurchingly, leaving Cas to stand and watch her with that deeply sad expression on his face.

"I hate you so much," she said, whirling. Her face was streaked with tears. "You _tricked_ me and I _hate_ you." With a horrible sound of grief and anger, she suddenly lunged at him and tried to shove him but instead fell backwards because he was completely immovable like a wall. He barely caught her and she venomously protested his hold, kicking and screaming, half out of her mind. It got to be too much. And regretfully, Cas pressed two fingers to her forehead, letting her fall into quiet unconsciousness, ending the insanity. As her body went slack, he caught her easily.

The panic room fell into silence once more.

Cas looked at the now still and quiet woman in his arms. He felt heavy in ways that were indescribable. She had been like this for the past five days. In fact… this was _improvement_. However, watching her go through this was easily the worst form of torture Castiel had ever endured. He carried her limp form to the cot and laid her there with utmost gentleness, sweeping her scattered dark hair back from her face with two fingers. His fingers paused and lingered at her temple. She was so beautiful. And she seemed so broken. His chest ached in that familiar place and the weight he was carrying pressed down on him all over again. _Whatever you face, I will face._ A promise he'd made to her roughly a year ago. He hadn't kept that promise, and the sorrow was too much to bear. He knelt beside the cot and took her wounded, bloody hand in his. He let healing energy transfer from himself to her—and the cut was gone, the blood just a memory. But it had still happened. Just like everything else he'd walked with her through these past few days—it had all happened, and he couldn't forget it.

He pulled that hand of hers to his lips and pressed a lingering, conflicted kiss to the back of it. He wished he could heal her of demon blood addiction, but it wasn't that simple. There were things not even he could take away or heal. He let go of her hand, realizing that maybe he shouldn't touch her or kiss her like that. He'd done it without thinking, and now he remembered how she had reacted with horror at being touched any small way whatsoever a few times the past several days. The knowledge of _why_ destroyed him. He gently laid her hand down to rest across her own stomach and then he stood.

All year long he'd imagined being with her again. He hadn't imagined _this_. Castiel walked off a few steps, barely able to look at her, because when he looked at her, he thought about everything that had happened to her. While hallucinating, she'd said the name several times over of the man who violated her: Glen. Always begging him to _stop, please. Get away._ Murder boiled inside of Castiel's veins at the name. He should have been there. He leaned a forearm into the wall adjacent, bowing his head down and bringing his hand to his forehead. How was he supposed to _do_ this? The pain and dismay was utterly overwhelming.

He couldn't even fathom leaving her again, yet knew the time would come when there would be no choice. The war continued in Heaven without him, and Ezekiel spoke to him through what the Winchesters called 'angel radio' daily. At the back of his mind at all times, he heard the whispers of Heaven, the news of the war. But that war wasn't the one he cared about, even though he knew he should. Right now, on earth, he was fighting a different war, a battle to get Alex back from the clutches of this addiction. He was determined to see her through it, even though he was completely spent emotionally and mentally. No wonder Dean had fled from this. Castiel understood now. Watching this was _agony_ , and he was so helpless. All he could do was remain at her side and support her, stay. It didn't seem like enough. But it was all he _could_ do.

Over the past few days, she'd proclaimed her hatred of him many times over, then quickly thereafter sobbed that she loved him and then she'd beg him not to leave her. Heartsick, Cas tried not to take any of the more negative and hurtful things Alex had said at face value. She wasn't herself right now, and he knew that. Demon blood was a foul and dangerous substance, highly addictive and lethal to most people. It twisted the mind. It perverted the ability to reason clearly. But he felt deserving of her hatred, no matter how genuine it was or not. How could he _not have known_ this was happening to her? He should have _sensed_ it somehow.

He looked back at the cot where Alex remained unmoving—she almost looked like she could have been peacefully sleeping. It was an illusion. Soon she'd begin to mutter and murmur, frown and twitch and whimper as the nightmares began. Sometimes it was a few hours she slept before she began to thrash in hallucinations, sometimes it was ten minutes. When it got severe, he would wake her and they would go through the same dance they just had: She wouldn't remember everything, wouldn't know it was him was at first, would try and attack him, she would break down, refuse to eat… and when she got so violent and belligerent that she was in danger of hurting herself, he'd put her back into sleep. The cycle would repeat until the demon blood had finished exiting her system. A few more days, at least. The thought was exhausting, but mostly because he couldn't bear to see her this way.

The thing he kept wondering was _how this had happened_ to her. She refused to tell him. He assumed the addiction had started when she'd gone to Lucifer and drank demon blood in an attempt to save them all. How he wished she would have told him her thoughts and fears, her idea to go to Lucifer. How he wished she would have trusted him with her reckless plan. He could have _saved_ her. A great guilt covered him, one that was constant and never-ending. He'd made so many mistakes and errors and all he was trying to do was _fix it_ , fix her. But he wondered if in the year he'd been gone, she'd become unfixable. What if he'd lost her in the process of trying to save her? What if the Alex he knew and loved was gone?

She'd asked him to _kill_ her and it wasn't the first time. Each time she'd stunned him with the plea, all he could think of was 2014. That horrible glimpse of a future where he'd done just that—killed her and watched her die in his arms. The anxiety and horror whenever she said those words—" _you should just kill me_!"—was traumatic at the deepest levels to Castiel. He didn't exactly know why she thought she should be killed. Maybe she wanted to die because she felt guilty. About the things that had happened to her in the year he'd been gone. She shouldn't feel that way. But he knew so little of human emotions… he wasn't sure how to comfort her or soothe her or change her mind. Words and expression didn't come to him with the ease that they did for her and for other humans. He walked across the quiet panic room, his footsteps echoing on the iron floor. The light was dim and cast soft shadows across her. He remembered that brief time he'd been all but human. He'd felt so much closer to her. Bound to her forever. Now… he felt like she was someplace far away where he couldn't reach.

All the things he should have done differently ran through his mind and he marveled at what a mess everything had dissolved into. Heaven, earth, all of it was torn apart. All because of that fateful day in 2007 when he'd been assigned to protect a human named Alex Winchester. In hindsight, it seemed that day spelled disaster for both of them—and not just them, but the entire world. Heaven was right to forbid this kind of relationship, because all this love had done was was to tear things apart. He'd started a war for her, he'd essentially followed in Lucifer's footsteps for her, he'd ripped Paradise asunder and rebelled against everything he'd been created to stand for. All of it in a desperate bid to save her and to find a way for them to be together.

Instead he had cursed her and sealed her eternal fate. But he refused to accept that. Not then and not now—she would not be eternally damned on his account. This war he'd started would be won at any cost, he would defeat Raphael and establish new order in Heaven, he would go to the throne room and change the celestial commandments himself, rip it all to shreds if he had to. To fix this. To fix her and what he had done to her. Briefly, he reflected on how far he'd fallen. The things he was willing to do to protect her were unseemly and blasphemous… working with the King of Hell? Ripping God's laws up? Lying, keeping secrets, killing his fellow angels? He didn't like to think of these things.

He focused on why the end justified the means, and he truly believed that he wasn't in the wrong for what he was doing and planning to do. Nothing else mattered except fixing what he had broken. Despite it all, he couldn't bring himself to regret her. She gave meaning where there had been none and had created new life in him. He loved her in a way that would never end.

Alex suddenly made a soft little sound and distress flitted across her sleeping features for just a moment and she moved slightly, jumping in her sleep. It was starting. Castiel prepared himself for another heartbreaking encounter. He went to her side and knelt there, a hand on either of her arms to protect her from hitting herself. She would begin to thrash soon.

She didn't deserve this. _She didn't deserve this._

* * *

The phone rang loudly in Bobby Singer's kitchen, twice. " _Yeah_ ," Bobby answered tersely. He cradled the oversized cordless phone between his shoulder and face as he returned to his work at the stove.

"Hey, it's me," came Dean's familiar voice on the other end.

"Well, imagine _that_ ," Bobby muttered as he flipped a fried egg with his free hand. It sizzled and hissed in the pan.

"Yeah, imagine that," Dean returned, trying to sound upbeat with a short chuckle. He hesitated, then the worry came through in his voice. "So, uh, any updates? She doing okay?"

Bobby set down the spatula and leaned against the counter with one hand. "Dean—like I told ya last time you called, what, a couple _hours_ ago? Same. She's fine as she _can_ be given the circumstances. Alive, workin' through it." There was a heavy, stressed out sigh at the other end of the line and Bobby shifted the phone to his other ear. He was a little annoyed. Dean kept calling at the most inconvenient times. "Just like the other million times you've called, I got nothin' new to add," Bobby said, then softened a little, realizing he shouldn't be so hard on the kid—he just got a little crotchety sometimes when people badgered him. "Look, I know you're worried," he said. "We all are. But either be there or be here, Dean. S'all I'm sayin'."

There was a pause. "That's just it. I shouldn't have left, Bobby," he said, sounding completely guilt-ridden. "I should be _there_. This job is taking too long, and Sam could have handled it on his own, anyway."

"Sam could have handled a _Lamia_ on his own...?" Bobby repeated incredulously. Dean _had_ to be shitting him.

Dean gave another frustrated sigh. "Well yeah, no, I guess not but—you know what I mean, Bobby!" The oldest Winchester made an impatient sound and Bobby could just _see_ his angry, confounded expression. Bobby rolled his eyes at the familiar and slightly disrespectful dramatics. He flipped his egg once more. He liked them cooked well. Burnt, even. "Sorry," Dean said, calmer and refocusing. "That reminds me. Did you find out the best way to kill it?"

"Yup, silver knife blessed by a holy man." Bobby slid his egg off the pan and onto the waiting plate.

"Right, okay," Dean said. He went quiet but said nothing else—like he was done talking but didn't want to hang up.

Bobby paused, listening for three seconds. "Dean…?"

"Yeah?"

Using his best fatherly tone, Bobby was patient and kind but firm. "You boys take care of the Lamia and _then_ you call me. And I'll call _you_ if anything changes with Alex. I haven't forgotten how to dial out, in case you're worried."

Another short pause. "Yeah, all right. Thanks Bobby." And he hung up.

Bobby hung up too, tossing the cordless phone down with a sigh. Things just always had a way of going bad to worse around these parts. In Bobby's basement there were currently two problems: One, Alex Winchester, demon blood junkie. Two, a crossroads demon he'd lured and trapped. All within fifty feet of each other. Not exactly the best cellmates, if you asked him. But Bobby had been in the middle of this little project _before_ the Winchesters and their angel had shown up without warning and dumped Alex into his basement. See, having lent out his soul last year to Crowley, he was pretty pissed when the good-for-nothing jackass refused to give it back. Bobby'd tried to summon Crowley last year after Stull Cemetery and force the demon into giving the damn thing back but Crowley's Hellhound had sort of thrown a wrench into the mix.

That's why Bobby'd wrangled that specific crossroads demon after months of work and research—he had the gal's original bones, the ones that belonged to the human the demon was inhabiting. Bobby was testing a theory he'd heard about… experimenting, if you wanted to call it that. And Crowley would have quite the fun surprise waiting for him in just a few days, if Bobby's experiments proved successful.

However, Alex's presence had thrown him off a bit, rendering Bobby distracted and worried. Her unexpected arrival and the news that she was addicted to demon's blood came as a real shock. He hadn't laid eyes on her in a year and the last time he'd seen her she'd been bad off, grieving Sam's death. Then she'd disappeared completely. So seeing her again and like this was a tough pill to swallow. Maybe those damn twins were more alike than he'd thought. Speaking of Sam…

There was definitely something off about him. Bobby had known it all along but when Sam came up into his living room five days ago without warning and said "hey, uh, Alex needs to use the panic room to detox off of demon blood if that's okay with you. And by the way, have you heard of any hunts in the area?" Well, Bobby had wondered if the kid were _joking_ with him when he'd asked that so unconcernedly. But apparently, whatever brought him back had left him out of touch with emotions. Sam had no tact anymore—he was goal-oriented and cold, unaffected by most things. Just… robotic. But maybe that's what Hell did to a guy. Bobby wouldn't know. He'd never been.

But Dean, who _had_ been to Hell and back, was still kinds of mad about how Bobby had known about Sam being back all year. When Lisa and Ben had come to stay here a couple months ago after the whole djinn fiasco, Bobby'd told Dean that Sam being alive wasn't news to him. Suffice to say, Dean hadn't been thrilled. Maybe it was wrong of him, but Bobby hadn't said a word about Sam popping back up from the dead. It had been done in hopes to keep Dean safe from the urge to dive back into the hunting life with his brother. All the good it did, huh? Here Dean was again, caught up in the same old mess of monsters and demons.

And monsters lately, it was like they were on steroids or had lost their maps home. Good example, Sam and Dean were currently hunting a Lamia—those were never supposed to leave Greece, ever, and Bobby had never heard of one being stateside, but there was one in Wisconsin of all places. And Rufus, one of Bobby's hunting buddies, had just tracked and killed an Okami in Iowa. Those were supposed to only be found in Japan. It was sort of like the underbelly of the monster world was getting restless and stir-crazy. Cabin fever, maybe. Not good, any way you sliced it.

A loud shriek emanated from downstairs and Bobby glanced up, stilling for a minute. _Damn, kid_. He heard her sometimes, screeching and hollering and knocking stuff around. Always followed by Cas's quiet, deep tones. Bobby looked in on Alex and Cas that first day after the brothers left and seen Alex sitting huddled on the floor in the middle of the room, hugging her knees, crying and begging Cas to "get me some, _please_ , I thought you loved me, I _need it_!" Cas had consoled her by touching the side of her head, he'd said something Bobby couldn't quite catch, and Alex had looked at him angrily then stood up—he stood too—she'd walked away then suddenly whirled and tried to attack the angel. Tried being the operative word. Cas had seemed only saddened at her lunacy and as she'd shouted obscenities. He'd touched her forehead and let her fall limp into unconsciousness, catching her grimly. Seemed like that was the holding pattern they were in down there.

Bobby had peeked in on them a few times and was taking food down every day but mostly he tried to stay scarce. It was hard as hell to see her damn half out of her mind. Bobby hadn't asked Dean why and Dean hadn't said, but Bobby had been pretty surprised that Dean had just _left_ Cas with Alex. Maybe it was wrong of Bobby, but he'd assumed that it must have been because Dean couldn't handle the thought of watching Alex go through the withdrawals. Watching Sam detox had been tough enough. And Bobby would never say this out loud, but he was pretty sure he knew which twin was Dean's favorite. That's why he was so damn surprised that Dean had gone with Sam and left Alex behind. The whole thing either said a lot about how much Dean trusted Cas, or how desperate he was to escape having to watch his sister go through hell.

Should be a few more days, Bobby thought, and Alex would come to her senses. It was a shame she'd gotten hooked, and a mystery... but he knew firsthand that she tended to go a little berserk when she lost people she loved. When Dean had died… _well_. That had been a can of worms, to say the least. She'd been angry and vengeful and so grieved, but had never really talked much about it. Had just thrown herself into hunting, working, and doing things. He remembered that time he'd found her and the gun in the shed. She'd been thinking about it, taking her own life, and he'd known it then put that to an end real quick. He still wondered… what if he'd been too late? Well, he _hadn't_ been.

The way Dean and Cas were acting now, Bobby felt like there was something they weren't telling him. Surely there couldn't be something worse than that sweet girl getting hooked on demon blood. He hoped not. He was just glad she hadn't put a gun to her head and pulled the trigger that past year of being alone. He knew firsthand that the idea was pretty damn appealing on some days. This life they all lived was a great and terrible burden, and sometimes dying sounded like the best option.

But dying would have to wait a little longer. He still had things to do. Bobby ate his fried egg as he got back to his research. He pulled out his stack of world maps and laid out the one of Scotland. He smiled a little to himself because if this plan he was brewing up worked... Crowley was going to crap his kilt.

* * *

**Four Days Later**

When she woke up that time, she could feel that things were different somehow. She was being held by Cas, who sat on the floor. Her head was settled into the crook of his neck and her knees were close to her chest, one of his arms supported her back, the other one looped through the bend of her knees. It was a warm, safe, and comforting place to be, immediately making her feel at ease despite her grogginess. And then, Alex began to recall how she'd fallen asleep in his arms…

_She was sitting against the panic room wall and he came to sit beside her. His arms rested over his knees. Hadn't she shown him how to sit like that? Alex glanced at him sidelong and saw how he was already looking at her too—self-consciously, her eyes darted away. She resumed staring at the ground between her knees. They hadn't said much that day because she was feeling clear-headed and as a result was wading through the swamp of remembering everything she'd said and done the past two days. Exhausted, ashamed, and disgusted wasn't even close to how she felt.  
_

_Beside her, Cas was quiet and strong like he had been for all the past days that she could remember. It would have been better if he were angry with her and giving her rude looks, if he were telling her how awful she was but… he wasn't._

_It felt like forever that they'd been stuck in here together. She knew he was worn thin by it just as much as she was. Circumstances were starting to return to her mind: how she'd tried stabbing, hitting, kicking, throwing things at him._ _He'd even let her try and beat him up several times—then healed her broken fists sadly. He'd listened to her ranting and raving about how much she hated him for what he'd done to her, he'd apologized for leaving, she'd cried about what 'you made me do.'_ _How he stayed here with her in this psychotic break was beyond her._

" _I'm so tired of this, aren't you?" she asked softly. Her voice rasped because of how much she'd shouted herself hoarse the past week._

" _It doesn't matter how I feel," he answered wearily._

_Alex finally looked at him fully. "Doesn't it?"_

_He met her gaze and said nothing. Did he really feel that way? That what he felt didn't matter? Crumpling, she bowed her head into a waiting hand. When he touched her arm gently, she was even more grieved, uncomfortable receiving affection from him because of how she had treated him. "Why are you doing this?" Her voice was thick with wavering emotion. "I don't deserve this… your kindness." She raised her head with teary eyes. How could he even_ look _at her?  
_

" _Don't say that," he told her, pleading with her on some level. "You're not worthless like you keep saying you are."_

_Did she keep saying that? She couldn't remember. What she did remember was how much simpler things were in the past, during the apocalypse. Ironic as hell that the end of the world had seemed better than this. This was just… continuation of the darkness and uncertainty. Unable to withhold her thoughts and feelings from him, she reached for a line of hope to hang on to. "I just wanna go back to the way things were before," she told him, struggling not to lose control over her strained emotional state, asking him for a miracle or something… she didn't even know. She was so tired and emotionally ragged, and maybe Cas saw that, because he didn't address her comment._

" _You need rest," he told her gently. "Let me take you to the cot again."_

" _No," she said a bit sullenly, looking at it with a dirty side-eye. "It's lumpy and smells like old peanuts."_

_Castiel paused, a little confused at her complaint. Then he looked at her from the edge of his eyes. "Uh… well, I'm not lumpy..." he offered uncertainly. "And I don't think I smell like… old peanuts." She almost smiled at his unwitting, oddly-timed joke. It was a light moment in the midst of the darkness and it made her remember with full clarity how much she loved him. Then she remembered how they had fallen apart, and it was the biggest tragedy she could fathom. Yet here he was, silently asking with his eyes for her to come to him and let him hold her._

_She didn't give herself time to talk herself out of it or tell herself that she didn't deserve that. She_ needed _him and for now, she silenced her inner protests. Nodding faintly, she went to him, circling her arms around his neck as he lifted her easily, settling her there comfortably in his arms. Their gazes locked and her arms froze there around his neck. They were close, a breaths distance away, and the way his full, dark eyes held hers, for a minute, she thought he was going to kiss her. Her heart jumped in expectant hope and great horror alike, she was scared of that for reasons she couldn't name. Then his eyes lowered away from hers and he bowed his head away. The moment was gone._

_Maybe that part of their relationship would die out, maybe that part of it was ruined… how would he ever want her again? After this? Alex laid her head onto him and so many memories of brighter days with him came over her that so did the predictable tears. She shook with restrained emotion and he held her tighter. Tiredness kept rolling over her. It wasn't long before she all but passed out from emotional, mental, and physical fatigue. Cas didn't let her go for even a second._

She felt worlds different now as she continued to stir to wakefulness—she felt rested and clear-headed again for the first time in recent memory. When she lifted her head up off of Cas's shoulder, she found herself looking into his waiting eyes.

"Hello," he said softly. A single word of greeting that she felt him say—that's how close she rested against him.

"Hi," she returned, feeling mildly shy. Was he really here with her with her? Had he really stayed all this time? It felt like a dream in the best of ways… and for a minute she thought of nothing of real depth. Just looked at Cas and saw him for maybe the first time in days, really _saw_ him. The howling madness of the demon blood was gone and Castiel was so much more beautiful than she remembered… those tired but somehow boyish features, the scruff of stubble across his jawline, his brilliant azure eyes… and thinking about how good he looked made her abruptly realize she must look pretty terrible. How long had it been since she'd showered?

Cas studied her closely and he seemed a little hopeful. "How are you feeling?"

Huh, good question. She forgot about her personal hygiene for a minute and instead thought about how she was feeling, taking a mental inventory, giving herself a little time to really consider it. "I'm feeling…" her eyebrows rose fractionally in pleasant, relieved surprise as she realized she really _did_ feel okay again, "like me again, I _think_." She felt calm and level. Was the nightmare finally over? She sat up slightly then frowned, realizing how stiff and sore her limbs felt. She stretched a little, then made a soft little moan of protest as taut muscles complained. "How long did I sleep?"

"Sixteen hours."

She stopped mid-stretch, eyes going saucer-wide. "Wha…?" That was insanely long. And that entire time, she hadn't had any bad dreams or hallucinations. He smiled softly at her, and she saw that he was relieved. "Does that mean… I'm outta the woods?" Hope was flourishing, and relief.

Cas paused, eyes narrowing in thought. "I... don't know what that saying means. But if it means you're past the worst parts of the detoxification… yes. In fact, I think today is the day you can finally leave this room."

That was the best news she'd _ever_ heard—she almost teared up out of happiness. Impulsively she hugged him tightly around the neck—and she didn't see how his face showed surprised relief at her genuine reaction and the way she was reaching out to him. She was too busy grinning with her eyes screwed shut. Thank god it was all over, _finally_. Alex made a soft little sound that was half-laugh, half-whimper. And then flashes of what had happened flitted across her mind without warning and her brief respite into joy faded. Yeah, it was over but… the _things_ she'd said and done… she pulled back from Cas, becoming hesitant and contrite.

Not looking him the eye, she cleared her throat and began to stand up on sore, stiff legs. He helped her gently. "Cas, I need a shower more than anything," she said, pulling her arms back to herself and attempting to be lighthearted, or at least sound that way. Then she realized: "All my clothes are..." she trailed off. They were in her car. Which had been impounded or something. She couldn't remember.

Cas saw her look of distress and instead of echoing the sentiment, he got another small smile on his face, like he knew something. "There's something you should see," he told her, then touched the back of her arm gingerly. Suddenly they were outside in the salvage yard. Early morning light made Alex blink a few times in confusion.

"Dean told me you lost everything last week," Cas explained, then indicated that she should to her left. Her heart clenched in surprise when she did. Parked there on the gravel, a familiar friend: her jet black 1968 Mustang. Cas became uncertain when Alex's jaw went slack. "It's not much, but—"

"No, it's... _everything,_ " she said, overcome with surprise, touched at how he'd somehow gone and gotten this for her. It wasn't just a car. It was so much more, and for a minute she forgot about all her self-loathing and was overwhelmed with a rush of good feelings... because this car was _hers_ and she hadn't lost it like she lost everything else. "This dumb car," she breathed with a growing smile as she went over and touched the inky exterior with gentle fingers. Cas stood back and watched. This two-ton combination of metal and rubber and leather had been her home the year she'd been alone, it had been her project, her obsession… the thing she'd poured all her frustrations into, especially the first couple months before… before the demon blood.

"When I first saw her, she was this sad, _sad_ rusted hunk of junk," Alex said softly, looking over the sleek black hood, remembering. She'd refinished that and repainted it. A labor of love. "No tires, a broken windshield, no engine… half the body was rusted and sun-bleached. But I saw what she could be. The first few months, this is all I did. Worked on this car. Hours and hours." She paused, looking up at Cas, who was watching quietly, his hands in his trench coat pockets. He seemed glad to see her reaction. "Thanks Cas," she said, humbled and emotional, unsure how she could ever make any of this up to him at all. "This means a lot." She paused, still dealing with a lot of embarrassment. It was hard to accept his kindness after her actions. "Everything you've done. Means a lot."

She cleared her throat and then went to the back of the car, opening the trunk to get her duffel bag. Then she darkened. She remembered there being a flask in there, and she didn't want Cas to think she was trying to get to it… "I already removed it from your things," he said, guessing her thoughts and surprising her. He came to stand beside the trunk.

Alex was impressed but also a little unsure. "When did you get so intuitive?"

His eyes trailed downward grimly. "Commanding a war has taught me many things." He seemed very grown up and mature and burdened to her in that moment. There was a lot of unspoken things in his tone. She worried about him briefly, but her greasy hair and general feeling of _I'm gross_ ended up dominating her thoughts.

She grabbed her bag out of the trunk and closed it behind with a familiar metallic _thunk_. "I'll uh, I'll go get showered," she said, and turned toward the house.

Cas followed. "I'll come with you."

Alex stopped. "I… I kinda need some privacy, Cas." Wait. She knew why he wanted to follow her. A little mortified, she was chastened. "I'm not gonna... jump out the window or anything or run off to the closest demon dive."

"I just want to make sure you're all right," he said, then made an assumption of his own. "If you're worried about me seeing you unclothed... I already have."

Her eyes shot up to his. "Uh…" Alex shut her agape mouth and pressed it into a thin line, looked to the side. "I know that. I remember." And she did. They had been so comfortable in those last few days before the world had gone to crap, so intimate and now… things were strange and unknown. "Cas, just… I need some space, okay? Just because you've… seen me _unclothed_ before doesn't mean…" she wasn't sure how to tell him she was just not okay with being seen naked, at all, by _anyone_ right now. "I'm not… it's not okay right now."

He grew startled, then understanding, then deeply unsettled. "Yes, of course, I didn't even think…" he seemed unsure of what to say. "I didn't mean…"

This was so uncomfortable. Cheeks warming, Alex shrugged, shook her head, and tried to downplay everything. "No, it's fine. I'm fine," she said, scratching the back of her neck absently and not looking at him. "I'll _be_ fine."

Castiel's worried expression didn't waver. "Let me take you there," he said, and reached out for her.

"No, I can wa—" too late. They were standing in front of the upstairs bathroom door. "—alk." He stood back, indicating that he was going to remain right there. Alex looked at him long and hard, then mumbled something about being out in a few minutes. She proceeded to shut herself in there and immediately turn the shower on then set her bag down onto the sink.

She looked at herself in the mirror and was shocked at her appearance. She looked utterly _disgusting_ —her hair was greasy and limp, her skin was grimy from sweating so much, her— _wait._ She touched her fingertips to her upper chest, confused and slightly panicked because _it was missing_. Where was her penny necklace? It was gone, why was it _gone_? She searched with frantic fingers around under her tank top straps and then looked down her shirt, as if it might be lurking around in her clothes somewhere. Oh no no _no_ she couldn't have lost it, that penny was what Cas gave her a year ago, the only thing he'd had in his pocket and he'd given it to her _where was it_!?

And then she remembered in disconnected flashes ripping it off and throwing it at him, telling him to take it back, she didn't want it. _Oh my god._ She slowly covered her mouth with her hand, horrified. The meaning wasn't lost on her.

* * *

Castiel stood there outside the bathroom, listening to the water run. He heard her moving around in the shower and listened closely. She seemed all right, but he needed to be sure. About ten minutes passed and then he heard boots clomping up the steps, alerting him to a new presence. Bobby came around the corner.

"Hey Cas. How she doin'?"

"Better," Cas said, nodding faintly. "Much better. In fact, I think she's completely through it."

There was visible relief on the hunter's face. "That's real good news." Bobby smiled under his beard and patted Castiel on the shoulder. "You did good, Cas. Earned some major points with me."

Castiel paused, not understanding. "What sort of 'points'?" He questioned with intrigue. "Are they redeemable for something?"

Bobby looked taken aback and then a touch wearily amused. "You, uh, really need to work on your jargon, kid."

Ah, so that had been slang for something. Cas decided he should ask Alex later about what Bobby had meant. But for now, he had something else he was wondering about. "How did it go with the bone burning?" Cas had gathered what Bobby had been doing over the past week and had even discussed it with the man a few times when he'd brought food down for Alex.

Bobby nodded. "Worked like a charm."

The shower stopped in the bathroom and Cas glanced that way before refocusing on Bobby. "You seem pleased," he observed.

Bobby shrugged modestly. "You would be too if you'd figure out a way to back the guy who's holdin' your _soul_ over your head into a corner."

Castiel frowned a little. "Crowley?" He asked, suddenly guarded.

"Yup," Bobby said, oblivious to Cas's internal reaction of nervousness. "Came into some real interesting information recently. I've got it all narrowed down, think I know where the bastard's bones are buried." The hunter suddenly seemed to get an idea. "Hey—you doin' anything this afternoon?"

Not liking the sounds of this, Cas tried not to show his reaction. "…Why?"

"Could use a hand," Bobby replied nonchalantly.

The angel put two and two together. "Burning Crowley's bones?" Castiel couldn't let that happen, he was secretly working with Crowley to open Purgatory and use the souls therein to gain enough power to defeat Raphael once and for all. As bad as it was, for now Cas had to protect Crowley's life if there were a threat against it. And worse still, he couldn't risk telling anyone his secret.

"Not exactly," Bobby said, grinning lopsidedly, feeling good about whatever plan he was thinking of. He didn't notice Cas's look of slight alarm. "But I'm gonna _threaten_ to do that if he won't hand my soul back over."

Cas realized he needed to be very, very careful with how he chose to proceed. "That seems risky," he commented vaguely.

"Well you got any _other_ ideas on how to get the dad-blasted thing back?"

Cas was honest. "Uh… no."

The bathroom door opened slightly and Alex poked her wet head through the cracked doorway. "We'll do it, Bobby."

"Ah," Bobby commented, a little uncertain as to how he should react to her dripping and towel-clad appearance. "Hey, kiddo. How long you been there?"

"Long enough. We'll do whatever you need us to do."

Castiel looked more than a little bit reluctant about Alex volunteering them for the job. "Alex, I'm not sure…"

"It's just digging up a grave, right?" she asked, glancing his way

"Doesn't this feel a mite too soon for you to be out there in the field again?" Bobby asked in veiled concern. "You need your rest, you gotta get yourself back in shape for it."

"I've done a lot more with a lot less gas in my tank and you know it." Another use of jargon Cas wasn't entirely clear on. "Bobby, I'm _fine._ I need to get out of here and do something so I can feel like myself again. Just give me a few minutes to get dressed." She shut the door and with it, closed off any further opportunities for either man to argue.

Castiel frowned at the door, perturbed. Bobby just chuckled in resignation, seeing Cas's reaction and empathizing. "Trust me, that girl wants somethin'… too bad if you're resistant to the idea." The man turned to walk back where he'd come from and spoke up as he got further away. "We'll make sure and feed her before I send you off to where Crowley's got his bones laid up."

"But why would she _want_ to do this?" Castiel asked, making Bobby stop and turn mid-step. Shouldn't she want to rest and continue to recuperate? Shouldn't she want to stay here and not become involved in more danger?

Bobby wasn't confused. "Have you _met_ her family? Gluttons for punishment," he stated factually, then became mildly pensive. "The only thing they know how to _do_ is to keep goin'." He smiled tightly, wan. "I'll get some supplies rustled up for you two. I hear Scotland's nice this time of year."

* * *

**About An Hour Later  
Canisbay, Scotland**

A small white abbey was nestled on the top of a gentle green hill that overlooked a vast moor—on that plain a proud old stone castle sat beside a great lake, and beyond, great rolling mountains marched. The sky was overcast and gray, the chilly air was thick with moisture. It was probably about six or seven in the evening—the light was soft, even, and waning. It was beautiful, it was serene and picturesque... and Alex wasn't paying a damn bit of attention to it. She was up to her waist in dirt, shovel in hand. She wore jeans, a flannel button up with a cargo jacket, and a foul expression.

Back in South Dakota, Bobby had given them a layout of his plan as he made Alex eat a can of beans, then they'd gotten some supplies together, including an international cell phone that Bobby was gonna use in this little plan of his. They would get the call in probably twenty minutes or so. She and Cas were just a few inches away from hitting the coffin where Crowley—better known as Fergus McLeod when he was human—rested in peace. Not for much longer, motherfucker. There weren't many demons Alex hated as much as him. She still hadn't told anyone that it was him who'd fed her that pack of lies about being Lucifer kryptonite. It didn't really matter, nothing they could do about it now.

Adjacent to the tiny church, the old graveyard was small and fenced in by a waist-height stacked stone wall. Weathered gray headstones scattered across the sloping hill. Behind Alex, shoveling dirt right with her, Cas was silent. They were back to back and the air between them was tense and oddly uncomfortable. She hadn't said much to Cas. Ever since realizing she'd thrown the penny he'd given her at him, she was too mortified and shaken up to say much—that plus everything else she knew she'd done made her want to withdraw. It was easier than facing the music. So she didn't say anything except short, clipped, necessary things. When she'd overheard Bobby talking about this little errand, she'd leapt at the chance to do something useful. Maybe to make up for the shit she'd put her loved ones through with the demon blood addiction, she didn't know. She just needed to do something meaningful and feel useful and decent again. She stuck her shovel down into the earth and kicked down on the lip of the shovel, then grunted and sent dirt flying out onto the grass outside of the hole they were digging.

"Are you sure you don't need to stop?" Castiel asked.

"I'm fine," she said in growing irritation—this was like the tenth time he'd asked and his concern was grating her raw nerves. "Stop _asking_." And she _was_ fine. Tired, yeah, physically not her best, but it felt good to be punishing her body for what it had done to her the past week.

She heard Castiel sigh heavily, then heard him stop digging. "I wish you would let me do this my way."

"What, with angel magic?" she asked sort of rudely. "No hard work involved?" She scoffed and sent another shovelful of dirt flying, not pausing for a second. " _No_. Sometimes breaking your own back's a good thing."

"By what _logic_ would breaking your own back be a good thing?" he asked peevishly, and she heard that he was angry with her, or frustrated.

"It's just a _saying_ , Cas," she retorted, sending another sloppy shovelful of dirt out of the grave. She sort of _wanted_ to fight. She sort of _wanted_ him to be angry at her and tell her off.

But he didn't fire back another angry question or retort like she wanted. There was a short wounded silence, which was worse, and she stopped digging to look down at her booted feet, feeling remorse settle on her shoulders. "Why are you angry with me?" He asked her quietly.

She couldn't find a mean reply in herself at the soft question. Only endless guilt. "I'm not angry with you," she admitted. "I'm angry with _me_." She gritted her teeth and smashed the shovel down into dirt with renewed vigor. "The things I did, what you saw…" she stuck the shovel into earth again with more force than necessary.

There was abruptly a gentle, appealing hand on her shoulder. "You have nothing to be ashamed of," Cas told her. Alex's bitter rage reared its ugly head again and she pulled away from his touch, too disturbed with herself to accept it.

"Like hell I don't," she snapped, still not turning to look at him. "Don't _patronize_ me."

"Alex…" he appealed.

She whirled angrily. "Just help me dig this grave up and—" she saw his hand sweep over the ground beneath their feet and a pile of yellowed bones appeared at his feet. " _Cas_!" Alex all but shouted, throwing her shovel down petulantly.

He looked at her plainly. "It's about to rain." Thunder rumbled lazily as if on command, and Cas turned to look over his shoulder. Behind him, she could see the rain coming across the moor and sweeping toward them.

"Oh." She deflated, not sure what the fuck her problem was.

Cas took the huge step out of the grave and extended his hand down to her to help her out. "We should go inside," he said, choosing, again, to overlook her behavior.

Alex looked up at him with reservation, then at his hand… and refused the help, pointedly getting out of the grave herself without much grace. She walked ahead of him, not looking back. _What the hell am I doing right now_? She wondered, even as the rain suddenly swept over her. It was heavy, thick and loud, and she was soaked immediately. She turned and looked back at Cas, who was watching her through the haze of rain, his arms hanging at his sides. He hadn't moved from the graveside. His hair was wet now and stuck to his head, plastered against his forehead. He looked alone and sad, which was how she felt too. She was trying to push him away because she couldn't handle the thought of losing him again. It would hurt too much. It would _kill_ her. _You love him, why are you being an asshole?_ Because it was easier than what she really felt, and she was a coward who couldn't deal with the emotional pain or the dread that she was as unlovable as she felt deep down. She turned, unable to bear the sight of him looking at her like that. She continued toward the church, not running. There was no point; she was already utterly soaked. Had they really come all this way just to fall apart? Was she really going to be such a _bitch_ and spurn his attempts to be tender and kind?

 _He shouldn't have chosen her,_ that was the thing she couldn't stop thinking. And now things were too fucked up to repair and it was her fault. Things changed, people changed, end of story. Maybe the universe was trying to tell them they didn't belong together anymore. She got to the side of the church and the door there opened without issue. Huh, they didn't lock their churches in this part of the world? She glanced behind her—Cas was following, but at a hesitant distance. Her heart clenched in pain but she didn't wait for him. She went inside, trying to be alone, trying to distance herself from the pain while being an absolute child about her emotions. The old wood floor creaked underneath her work boots. Rainwater dripped down from her clothes and hair.

The church was small and cozy and had a high, arched ceiling. She was in the back of the sanctuary where hand-carved wooden pews lined either side of the aisle. A crucifix was centered above the humble wooden pulpit, and angel imagery decorated the wall on either side of the cross. Behind her, she heard soft footsteps and turned slightly. Cas was dry—magically—and touched her shoulder wordlessly. Suddenly she was dry too.

There was a long, uncertain pain. "Thanks," she said wearily. Her voice echoed softly and she couldn't meet his gaze. _Just tell him. And say you're sorry. And find a way to fix this._ She considered it for a minute, needing to do those things more than anything else… but the thought of being hurt again was too much. _I can't._

She turned and wandered up the aisle, looking up at the angel imagery with resignation. Trying not to feel Cas's presence behind her. Really, this was ridiculous. She'd spent the entire year wishing he'd be there, now he was and she was acting like _this_? Alex didn't understand herself in the least and when she reached the front row of pews, she sank down to sit there quietly and pressed her hands in between her knees then bowed her head. It might have looked to anyone else like she was praying. But she was mourning.

About thirty seconds passed and then she heard him walk up the aisle. She shut her eyes as he came closer. Was he finally going to berate her and tell her he couldn't handle it anymore, that he didn't love her like he thought he did? The things she'd hallucinated replayed in her mind… Cas telling her over and over how disappointed he was, how angry, how upset with her choices. It was hard to forget those things. And sometimes hard to figure out which things were real or not.

The pew creaked next to her under his weight as he sat beside her. When his arm brushed against hers, her heart caught. He was staring ahead of himself into middle distance, deep in thought. A long moment passed and she thought they were just going to sit there in silence, and then without warning, he spoke, breaking the utter silence of the empty church. "I know you're angry because I was gone," he said softly, and his voice echoed like hers had. "I'm angry with myself, too." Their gazes met at the same moment—his harrowed and deeply grieved, hers guarded and unsure and growing increasingly pained. He looked down. "I know it's worthless, but… I _did_ try to tell you. Twice. Where I was." She saw how his jaw clenched. "The first message I gave to Balthazar was… I told him to tell you of the war in Heaven and how I couldn't leave. That I couldn't come see you again until I defeated Raphael. That it wasn't safe, that I didn't know how long it would be. I told him to tell you how sorry I was that I was torn away. That I didn't choose or intend it. And I asked him… to ask you… to wait for me. If you would."

Her chest literally ached at the heaviness in his voice, the realization that he was mourning this mess just as much as she was. If only Balthazar had done what Cas had asked. Cas shook his head somberly. "I thought he died delivering that message. Instead I found out, just a few days ago, that he faked his own death and deserted me for his own selfish reasons. It's… what I believe you might call a tragedy, the way these things played out."

Her defenses were crumbling down at his honesty, at the anguish in his voice, at the feeling of him next to her. She stared down at the wooden floor tensely as Cas continued. "Six months passed and I didn't even know it." He sounded utterly broken. "And when I did realize… I sent Rachel to you. I told her to tell you that time had passed for me without my even realizing. That I still hadn't won the war. That I hadn't forgotten you." He paused even as her eyes shut. This was everything she needed to hear but it was so intense and hurt her on levels she didn't even understand. Cas's pause was weighty and his voice grew softer. "I was so afraid you would think that… that I had forgotten you," he told her, and when she opened her eyes, a huge tear dripped down onto the floor. "When Rachel returned, she told me she saw you. That she delivered the message. That you told her you were waiting for me." He shook his head, anger passing over his features. "She lied about all of it."

"Why would she do that?" Alex asked, not understanding why some random angel would sabotage them like that. It hurt her, she felt wounded… like, _what did I do to you, Rachel?_

Cas seemed to be wrestling with the same question. "She thought she was doing what was right. At least, that was her claim." His voice darkened a little, but it was incredible sadness that prevailed in his tone. "I still don't know if I believe her."

It was such a cruel joke fate played on them… each had believed the wrong thing all year. It wasn't _fair_. Alex bowed her head, overwrought. "You're crying," Cas observed softly and sadly, shifting a little to face her a little more, leaning to her as if he was going to try and hold her. A huge silent tear ran down her cheek and she turned away, hiding behind the shield of her hair.

Cas seemed confused as well as afraid to push her at all, and he retreated, studying her in concern. "This whole year, I… believed you knew where I was," he said, still trying to convince her or comfort her, she didn't know. She wiped her cheek, cursing her emotions. "I believed that you were with Dean. That you were waiting for me." It felt like an accusation and she was stung by it, even though she knew that he was trying to explain himself to her. She should have _waited_ and known he would be back. Instead she'd acted like she had a death wish. He was gathering courage to ask something, and she dreaded what it would be. "How did it happen, Alex? The demon blood." Her eyes shot to his. " _Please,"_ he asked. "Tell me."

She owed him that much, didn't she? After he'd gone through the horrors of it with her? Alex took in a deep breath and stared off at the pulpit. For a long moment she said nothing. _Just say it. Get it over with. Stop being a pussy._ "It was an accident," she confessed softly, remembering. "I first drank it… because of Lucifer." How awful that night had been, and how mortifying a mistake she'd made. It haunted her. "And t-then, a month or so into living alone, I started noticing I was being followed. Watched. It was demons." She didn't see, but Cas's expression wavered perceptibly. "And so I lured one, trapped him. Tried to get him to tell me why I was being followed. He got outta the trap, we fought, I beat his face until it was dripping blood. He got the upper hand for a minute. It just… dripped down into my mouth. I can't tell you how strong that one little drop made me feel." She swallowed deeply, looked down, working her hands anxiously together. "I tried not to. But the demons kept coming. And…" she repeated herself, out of any other way to say it: "I tried _not_ to. But it _did_ save my life a couple times. Made me strong enough to take down enemies I couldn't take otherwise." She scoffed at herself, cynical and self-deprecating. "And the weird thing is, the demons, I still don't know why they were tracking me. I killed so many of them, like… I dunno, maybe twenty? Thirty?" She let out a heavy breath and put her forehead into her hand. " _God_."

Cas was silent, digesting, off in his own world of guilt. "I've tried to keep you safe." He sounded numb almost. "And I destroyed you in the process."

Alex looked at him with an intense frown. "I'm not _destroyed_ ," she said immediately. Then she wavered. "Don't say I'm destroyed." She stood up, trying to escape this conversation and the knowledge that Cas thought she was beyond repair. Cas stood up behind her and gently touched either of her arms, said her name... and it was _too much_. She yanked away and turned to look at him through pained features. "No—Cas. _Stop_." He seemed startled at her reaction, then hurt by it. "What are we doing?" All the sadness she carried was spilling out of her to the tune of hopelessness. "This is a mess. We can't do this," she said, shaking her head and struggling against herself. "I'm _bad_ for you, case in point, this whole last week." She smashed her lips together for a second, blinking away stinging eyes. She was trying so hard to be brave, to do the right thing. To be grown up about this, but she was confused as hell and didn't even know what was going on, not really. Only that she thought they were screwed. "When you first kissed me, all that time ago. You warned me that we shouldn't. You were _right_. The only thing here for us is pain."

Castiel looked thunderstruck. "...How can you say that?" he asked in a voice soft with disbelief, and if her heart hadn't been broken before, it was now. It was easy to see how blindsided Cas was by her confusion and her urges to pull away and run. So that's why she was so startled when he appealed to her with an almost uncharacteristic surge of conviction. "You once told me that we were not a mistake," he said, stepping closer and taking her gently by either arm to emphasize his meaning—his expression pleaded with her to still feel that way. "Do you remember that?"

She looked up into his eyes and her throat choked her with emotion as memories consumed her. "Yes," she replied, barely a whisper. "I remember."

Utterly devastated, Cas searched her gaze. "Then why do you seem to believe the opposite now?"

A question she had no clue how to answer. "It's... complicated," she hedged, then shook her head, wishing someone could help her understand what was going on. "I don't _know._ "

"Is this about… what happened to you?" He was trying _so hard_ to understand. His question filled her instantly with fear and regret, shame, anxiety and memories of what Glen had done. "I know that you feel guilty, that you think it's your fault," he said, trying to be careful, but also not able to keep himself from addressing it—she knew half of her crazed ranting in the panic room had been Glen-centric. "It wasn't your fault, how _could_ it have been?" he asked, clearly pained at the thought that she felt that way and simultaneously trying to understand and speak to her jumbled feelings on the matter. "I don't hold it against you—how could I?"

Her eyes were gazing at the floor. Her voice was soft, low, trembling. "You don't know what happened."

"Then _tell_ me," he asked, desperate and gentle and trying to understand.

And Alex knew that if she didn't tell him, if she kept lugging around this heavy weight on her own, it would kill her. Even though she wanted to keep it to herself and keep beating herself up over it, if she was gonna tell anyone about what happened… it wouldn't be Dean. It wouldn't be Bobby. It wouldn't be Sam. It would be Cas. So she dug deep for strength and told him everything. But it wasn't easy. "Glen was… I thought he was an okay guy. He seemed… nice enough." Long pause to bite the insides of her mouth. This was going to be harder than she thought. Cas looked like he was filled with impossible dread. But Alex kept going. "I knew him and his sister a few years back when we were teenagers. Ran into them a few months into this past year. Started hunting with them. He, uh, he flirted with me a lot, I knew he liked me. But, he liked all girls, and even some guys so… I dunno. But he kept saying I was different. Made me think…" she trailed off, feeling insanely stupid. Her cheeks were burning and she looked down at her feet. She felt sick, telling Cas this. "He… he kissed me once. I thought you were gone and I… started thinking… I dunno. That I needed to move on." Her voice broke in shame. "I didn't even _like_ him that much." She glanced up at Cas, waiting to see utter shock and repulsion on his face. But all she saw was heartbroken sadness.

This was the hardest part and she didn't know if she could muddle through. But she tried. "And… what, last week? He and I were alone and… he started… fixing me up cuz I got hurt and…" she struggled to keep speaking, " _touching_ me and… I let it happen." That was the source of her greatest shame, right there. "I wanted it on some level," Alex said, still not able to look Castiel in the eye. "And he wasn't you. And I thought about how he wasn't you, like, and it got to be too much and I couldn't go through with it. And I changed my mind and said no." She grew quiet, chilled. "And he wouldn't stop."

She raised her eyes to look at Cas, who was utterly horrified. He seemed afraid to hear more. Alex looked down, ashamed, but soldiered through, stating the facts. Anything to get this over with. "I started to fight back when he… wouldn't let me go. He hit me in the head, hard, to where I couldn't see straight. Threw me down onto the bed, pinned me there." She felt oddly disconnected from those horrible memories as she spoke them aloud. Like those things had happened to some other poor, stupid girl. "I was on my stomach and my head was spinning but I saw car keys, grabbed them... used them as a weapon…" she came out of her semi-trance. "I don't even know how, Cas, but… somehow, I got away before he could…" She couldn't bring herself to say 'rape me.'

Still horrified, Cas looked at her for a long moment, trying to decide something. "So he didn't…" he trailed off, seemingly unable to say the words either.

She shook her head, voice a mere whisper as she ran a hand up and down one of her arms. "No."

"I should never have left you," Cas said, deeply upset. "Even for a second."

 _Yeah, well… you did._ She didn't say that out loud. Instead she wrapped her arms around her own torso and shrugged. "I just… he _fooled_ me, so easily. He lied to my face that whole time and I _believed_ it. I... thought I had better instincts." That wasn't the worst part, or the thing that bothered her the most. And Cas needed to know. "I hate myself for… for ever even _considering_ him. At all, even once." She chanced looking at him, trying really hard to show him, somehow, that she regretted ever thinking what she had about Cas not coming back. That she saw how wrong she'd been. That this wasn't his fault. "I just wanted to feel something. _Anything_. I…" _missed you so much._ "I was alone. And I didn't know where you'd gone."

Pain filled his eyes and he seemed completely at a loss. Outside, the rain was letting up.

"I had a lot of time to think the past year," Alex said as she began to walk toward one of the tall, narrow windows slowly. "But I didn't _wanna_ think." She got to the window and stared out of it without seeing much. "Most days, I believed you were dead, Cas." She looked back over her shoulder to where he stood. It was hard to tell him this, it left her naked emotionally. "But the days I believed you were still alive were worse… cuz I thought if you were alive and not here… I _thought_ it meant…" her voice almost gave out. "That you didn't want this anymore."

He didn't even hesitate. "I will _always_ want this." He came to her without waiting. She felt herself outwardly trying to stifle how much it meant to hear him say that. "Why won't you believe me?" he asked, taking her expression the wrong way. "You believed me once."

"I should have waited for you," was all she could say, wishing she could just hug him and ask him to make everything all right again. "I should have believed you were coming back."

"You had no reason to believe I was." He seemed defeated. "I am so sorry, Alex." He sounded as regretful and sorry as she did and the space between them, even though only a couple feet, seemed endless, infinite, and vast. Impossible to cross.

In Alex's pocket, the phone Bobby had sent with them rang shrilly, startling her. After a brief confusion, Alex pulled it out and answered, short on choices and remembering she wasn't here in Scotland for kicks. "Hey Bobby," she answered gruffly, eyes watching the floor, darting between her feet and Cas's.

"Showtime," he told her, his voice a little faint on the other end of the line. "Hang on and wait for your cue, all right?"

Alex glanced at Cas. "Yeah." She nodded toward church exit. "We should probably go back out there," she told Cas, having to be businesslike. Personal matters would have to wait. "It stopped raining." Cas's features distorted just slightly into a frown, but he nodded his resigned understanding and they left the church, heading back into the damp graveyard. Alex kept the phone to her ear. She could hear Bobby chanting in Latin... a familiar summoning ritual. She glanced at Cas, who, once they reached the grave again, looked grim and off in his own thoughts, distracted. Tense. Alex had to turn away partially because Bobby was counting on her. She had to focus on this moment and leave her emotional crap at the door for the time being. Head in the game. A hunter's no use to anyone distracted, Dean always said.

"Well, _you_ look like hammered crap," Bobby's voice said in her ear. But he wasn't speaking to her.

Crowley's familiar voice sounded on the other end of the line. "And you're a vision as always." There was a pause. "Really, Bobby, a devil's trap? Don't we both know how this game ends?"

"Shuddup. I want—"

Crowley cut him off. "Lemme stop you right there. In fact I'll do the shorthand for you." He began to mock Bobby's voice and accent, which was pretty goofy sounding. "' _I want my soul back, idjit_!' 'Fraid not. ' _But I'm surly and I got a beard. Gimme!_ ' Blah, blah, blah. Homespun cornpone insult, witty retort from yours truly. The bottom line is, you get bubkes." Alex could _hear_ Crowley smirking. "Are we done?"

"Just getting started," Bobby replied steadily, his card up his sleeve. "I know it all now. _Fergus._ You may be king of the dirt bags here but, in life, you were nothing but a two-bit tailor who sold his soul in exchange for an extra three inches below the belt."

"Just trying to hit double digits," Crowley purred. "So, you got a glimpse behind the curtain. And?"

" _And_ … now I know where you're planted," Bobby said. "Say hello to my little friend."

Alex heard the phone being picked up. This was her cue. "Crowley," she greeted in a voice dripping with faux enthusiasm, then added in for effect, " _Darling_."

Cas was watching with folded arms and a pensive expression, leaned against a nearby headstone.

"Ah," Crowley said, sounding a little bit caught off guard. "My favorite Winchester girl. It's… been a long time. We should get together."

Enjoying the uncertainty in Crowley's voice, Alex put on the drama. This was one thing she had gotten good at. Channeling her older brother and putting on overly confident airs even when she was a total mess inside. "Huh, well, I dunno. Maybe when I get back."

" _Back?"_

"Yeah… I got bit by the travel bug and I'm about, mm, four thousand miles away right now... standing in this cute little place called Canisbay. _Scotland_. You ever been?" The other end of the line was silent and she chuckled, imagining his dumbstruck expression. "I'm trying to picture you in one of those little plaid skirts."

"They're called kilts, sweetie," Crowley said with growing discomfort, even though he tried to sidestep it with stupid comments. "I had very athletic calves. So what, exactly, are you doing in my neck of the woods, hm?"

"Looking for buried treasure," Alex replied casually. "Think I found some, too. The bones of one Fergus McLeod..."

The phone made a noise like it had shifted away from Crowley's mouth—he was speaking to Bobby now. "This is _ridiculous_. The whole burning bones thing—it's a myth."

"We could test that theory," Alex offered slyly. Cas again glanced at her, their eyes met for a second. He seemed to dislike this entire thing.

"I know an employee of yours who would disagree," Bobby put in on the other end.

There was another pause and it was pretty clear how trapped Crowley was feeling. "... _Ah_. That's where she got to."

"You demons," Bobby's said darkly. "You think you're something special. But you're just spirits. Twisted, perverted, evil spirits. But, end of the day, you're nothing but ghosts with an ego. We torch your bones, you go up in flames."

"Hey Crowley, got a light?" Alex asked, feeling a little power-high and fingering the matchbook in her jacket pocket. "I do."

On the other end of the line, Bobby gave his last chance. "Your bones for my soul. Going once… going twice."

There was a loud thud, then Alex could hear Crowley say "Bollocks" faintly. Had he thrown the phone down?

There was a long pause. "You can go ahead and leave in the part about my legs," Bobby said, and then a few seconds later, "pleasure doing business with you." Had it worked? Was it really that easy?

Crowley sounded absolutely butthurt. "Now if you don't mind?"

A couple more beats passed, then there was swishing at the other end of the line, and Bobby's voice was loud in Alex's ear. "He made good on my end. You two watch yourselves, you're about to have company."

"Yeah." She hung up even as Castiel turned around, hearing a twig snapping. Behind them, Crowley approached with a big satchel. His expression was foul. The demon paused, seeing Cas, as if he were startled. "What are _you_ doing here, harpsichord?" He asked, seeming a shade angrier. Cas's stony face darkened even as Crowley looked at Alex with utter contempt. "The nerve of you, the _both_ of you."

The demon was clearly shaken up, and Alex enjoyed it thoroughly. "What, you're the only one who gets to bone others, Crowley?" Pun intended. Crowley looked thoroughly unamused, like her little joke had defeated his hope in the human race.

"Speaking of bones," he said flatly, looking at the space between Cas and Alex where his bones had been placed. He smiled tightly, clearly wanting to stab either one or both of them in the face. "I believe _those_ are _mine_." He made to move forward—and suddenly found himself with an angel blade at his neck.

"Not so fast, dickwad," Alex hissed. Crowley and Castiel alike were taken aback at how fast she'd moved—she'd whipped the blade out and had a hand closed like a vice at the back of his neck—the point of the blade pressed softly into the base of Crowley's neck, and he swallowed, wide-eyed. As laid back and controlled as she'd been a few minutes ago, she was furious and close to killing him right then and there. "After what you pulled last year, the shit you started… I don't have many reasons to let you live, do I? In fact… go ahead and name _one_."

Cas's hand was on her shoulder to stop her. "Alex—a deal is a deal," he said. Crowley looked at Cas and his expression was unreadable but foul. Cas's voice lowered. "Even when made with this abomination."

Angry that he had a point, Alex considered for a couple more seconds. He gave Bobby his soul, this jackass demon was supposed to get his bones. But after killing so many demons the past year, what was one more? Especially _Crowley_. But Cas was right, and she hated it, but she relented. She pulled the blade away angrily and put it back into her jacket. Crowley plastered a wiseass smile on his face, having the audacity to pull his head back and look down his nose at her cooly. "You mad at me love, or do you just want a taste?" He asked softly, his voice despicable, gruff velvet, his words striking a nerve in her and making her lose her edge. Crowley saw it and smiled even wider. "I must look so delicious to you right now. Well, pull up a chair and pass the pepper, it's dinner time," he goaded, then looked at her with thinly-veiled disdain. "You're just like your waste-of-space moose brother, aren't you? Nothing but a junkie."

Cas stepped forward, demanding Crowley's attention and simultaneously protecting Alex from Crowley's harsh glare. "Don't speak to her that way," he growled, and Alex didn't see the meaningful look that the two of them exchanged—or how there was more going on between them than she knew. It was like they were silently challenging each other.

Crowley gave in and let a sarcastic little comment fly. "Oh how sweet. Standing up for your little _whore._ " The tree Crowley was standing beside was almost shattered in half when Cas slammed the demon into it brutally. "Oy, _watch the suit_ , mate!" Crowley protested, red-faced and appalled.

Cas held him by the front of his jacket and seethed. "I'm _warning you_ Crowley," he spat.

Something about the angel's words seemed to inspire a threatening quality in the demon's expression. "Oh _are_ you?" Crowley asked softly, eyebrows raised tauntingly. "What was it you were saying a minute ago about a deal being a deal?" He looked at Cas with pointed meaning. "Now do me a favor and sod off, Columbo." Cas backed off, but his expression remained dark and stormy. He glanced at Alex, who was beside him and already looking at him in slight worry.

Crowley straightened his jacket, disgruntled. "This entire thing's left me in a foul mood, I'll have you know." He brushed past the angel and went to his bones, which were piled beside the grave now—had Cas done that? Alex didn't know, but he must have. The demon crouched over them and inspected them. "Interesting, isn't it," he said cooly. "I'm not the one with with skeletons in the closet, now am I?" he asked, skull in hand as he turned his head to give them a dark and knowing look. "And to think I've been so nice and kept your little secret for you this whole time. The one about what you two did about, oh, a year ago, was it?" His sour expression softened into amusement when Cas and Alex glanced at each other in mild worry. Crowley stuffed his bones down into the satchel, in control again and enjoying it completely. "I've the right mind to go blab to your oldest brother just to spite you after this lovely little reach around, Alex dear." He rose, satchel in hand, and gave them a little smile. "What _do_ you think he'd say, hm, Cas? One can only _imagine_. Now, if you'll excuse me." He turned as if to walk away, then changed his mind and raised a finger as if he were thinking. "Ah, and… next time you cross me like this—either of you—there'll be hell to pay. Literally." His dark features were chillingly serious. 

"Keep an eye on those bones, Crowley," Alex retorted, keeping up the attitude for show, to try and make it seem like he didn't worry or intimidate her in the least. He did _both_ , but he didn't need to know that. "Would be a shame if you misplaced them."

Crowley narrowed his eyes and smiled back, every bit as false as she was. "A crying shame," he said snidely. "Cheers." And he disappeared.

The graveyard was silent, and so were Cas and Alex for a long moment. "How does he _always_ know _everything_?" Alex asked, staring at the spot where Crowley had been. She was extremely shocked and uncomfortable and wondering if Crowley meant what she thought he did. But how could he know _that_?

Cas seemed similarly troubled and was shaking his head. "I'm not sure." He paused heavily, meeting her faltering gaze with a hesitant look in his eyes. "Perhaps… perhaps we should tell Dean before Crowley does."

Alex shook her head adamantly. " _No_. No." She looked around unseeingly at the Scottish landscape surrounding them. "Let's just go. Back to Bobby's, okay?" She turned and began to gather their things. "We're done here."

She grabbed the two shovels, the bag of weapons she hadn't needed and she straightened then nodded tensely, giving the darkening Scottish landscape one last look. She felt Cas touch her arm again, and with a jolt they were at Bobby's again, in the basement. That was always so strange, just suddenly being one place then another. She felt Cas looking at her and tried not to think about it. She went to Bobby's tool rack and hung the shovels back up where they'd been, her back to Castiel.

He followed her. "Why are you acting this way?" he asked her slowly, and the worry in his voice was utterly decimating. "I don't understand… I thought…" he trailed off and she turned back around to look at him.

"You thought what?" she asked, guarded. Not hostile, not open, not anything.

He approached her slowly. "Alex, I—" he stopped walking and his gaze went upward, he seemed to be listening to something. She followed his gaze with her eyes, seeing nothing but dark ceiling "I'm... being summoned," he said heavily. "It seems that I need to go."

Her face was blank. "Oh." It seemed like the air in the room had lessened. She nodded and looked downward quietly, attempting to save face for the moment. From the second he'd shown back up she'd been afraid of this moment and known it was coming… so she should have been ready for it. But… she wasn't. She could have reacted one of two ways: the first was to show him how deeply his announcement upset her: kiss him, hug him, tell him how much she already missed him. The second was to act like everything was fine and avoid the heartache. Selfish and scared, she chose option two. The thought of more heartbreak was too much, the thought of losing him again or maybe not seeing him again for another year was _terrifying_.

Cas was wearing his emotions on his sleeves unlike Alex: It was obvious he didn't want to go and that the thought of leaving her again was emotionally torturous… and that made her withdrawn exterior even harder to maintain. Alex couldn't look at him, couldn't take in how sad he was. "I... don't know how long I'll be gone. Or when I can come back." He paused, and drifted a little closer, seeking either to comfort or be comforted, she didn't know. "I truly wish…"

Alex shook her head. "It's fine," she said in a forced tone, trying to be unaffected, trying to be _fine_. "I'll call you if I need you." She made herself look him in the eye and give a tight little smile.

Castiel didn't smile back. Instead, he looked sadder. Resigned and deflated and lost. "I... suppose this is goodbye, then," he said quietly. This was awful, and it was beginning to dawn on Alex _how_ awful. She wasn't the only one who had gone through shit this year, and maybe she should try and remember that—but it was too late now. Cas looked down, his features scrunched in anxiousness, his dark eyebrows working toward each other rigidly. "Do you still…" he paused, looked like maybe he wasn't going to finish his question, like maybe he was ashamed of what it was. His voice softened, he looked up at her. "Do you still love me?"

His question was like a brick wall, the look on his face was utter defeat and Alex couldn't breathe for the smallest moment. Oh god. All day she'd been pushing him away and trying to hurt him, fight with him; all week long she'd told him she hated him then thrown what he'd given her in his face—of _course_ he'd doubt she loved him—but hearing him ask it made something snap inside, causing all the things she'd been holding deep within to surge to the surface.

"Yes," she told him with suddenly urgency, realizing her mistake and panicking, forgetting her own selfish reservations and stupid need to be in control. " _Yes_ I still love you, how would I ever _stop_?" She'd been so inside her head she hadn't even thought about how it would come across to him—even more ashamed of herself and how shortsighted she was, how egotistical, she shut her eyes hard. She hadn't given his feelings the thought they deserved. "I'm sorry, I just—what I put you through this week, I'm too embarrassed to even face myself let alone you," she confessed wretchedly.

She heard Cas step closer and opened her eyes. He seemed so relieved but timid, wanting to reach out to her but hesitating. She knew it was because of Glen, and because of how Alex had mostly been rejecting Cas's touches. But he still chanced it, gently letting his hand rest against her hair at the side of her head. The touch was enough to break her completely. "Don't be embarrassed," he said, and his voice was thick with emotion and comfort. "I love you."

His confession set her to tears. She leaned into his hand and accepted the affection because she needed it so badly, she missed him so much, and she couldn't run away from this any more. Pressing her hand over his, she squeezed her eyes shut tightly—and he chanced proximity, coming a little closer even as she stepped toward him too, letting her forehead drop to rest against the front of his shoulder. "I'm scared," she admitted in a whisper against his trench coat. "So _fucking scared_."

He drew back just enough to look her in the eyes, and he was so close she could feel his warm breaths hitting against her lips. "Don't be afraid," he told her solemnly, his thumb gently stroking against the hair beside her ear as he held her gaze soulfully. Her heart jumped in response to the touch and the depth in his eyes. His other hand came to cover hers, which was laying against his lapel. Without blinking or looking away, he told her in an soft, certain, steadfast voice: "I will _always_ come back to you. I will _always_ find you." The devotion and love in his voice overwhelmed her and she could barely fathom that those things were meant for _her_.

His hand slid away from hers and went down into the pocket of his trench coat—she watched curiously as he pulled something out. Whatever it was remained concealed inside his closed fist. He brought his hand up between them then showed her what he had just fished out: a shining penny on a broken silver chain. Alex looked at it then back at him—he looked at her hopefully—and she realized he was giving it back to her… forgiving her all over again for the psychopathic behavior and everything she'd said and done. Her heart twisted and clenched and flipped, hope sprung back to life, and she closed her fingers around the beloved object that she'd worn the year he'd been gone. It was a small action but they both understood what it meant, and for them, this moment was powerful and vastly meaningful.

Overwhelmed with emotions and his closeness, the love in his eyes, she tilted her chin up toward him, forgetting everything but the way everything in her wanted to reach out for him. His eyes searched hers questioningly as his eyebrows knit together anxiously. His eyes dropped to her lips as their noses brushed—his breathing hitched and his fingers slipped into her hair but he was hesitating and nervous, maybe afraid to overstep his bounds. So she closed the distance, showed him it was all right with her if it was all right with him… she brushed her lips against his just barely—and when she invited the kiss, he accepted, moving forward. A soft muffled sound of relief came from the base of Alex's throat as their lips pressed together—it was the sweetest sensation in all of creation—the gentle, tender press of his mouth to hers, the unspoken sentiments conveyed through the simple touch. Her hands went to either side of his face—Cas made the quietest little sound of surprise and anxiety—her necklace threaded through her fingers as she almost sobbed at the gentle, careful, heartfelt way he kissed and held her. His nose pressed into her cheek, his hand cradled the back of her head and it was just like she remembered… only better. She breathed him in, melting into his arms. For a minute, all of her doubts and fears seemed stupid and silly, and instead of thinking about all the things they were up against, she was remembering how strong they were together. How right this was… how wrong she was to have ever believed they shouldn't be together. He was where she belonged, and she remembered now. She _remembered_. Their foreheads rested against the other when the kiss ended and her eyes stayed closed. She felt him shift slightly and he pressed a lingering kiss to her cheek. Her mouth turned upwards in a helpless little smile.

Alex pulled away a little bit to look at him. His eyes went upward again, and she knew he was being called, but was delaying departure for her sake. "How long will this war last?" she asked. Balthazar had said it could go on forever, essentially. And she got that the war was to prevent the apocalypse from restarting, she understood that Cas was fighting for the right side, but the thought of it never ending was so scary.

Cas shook his head, troubled. "Not much longer… but I don't know. Months? A year? It's... difficult to say. Raphael _will_ fall. I'll make sure of it."

Taking in a deep breath, Alex nodded, accepting this reality. "All right," she said, giving him a soft, genuine, torn smile as she stood a little taller, trying to be brave. This was hard and bittersweet and she was still scared of the unknown future, but she trusted him. Loved him. Believed he could do what he said: win this war and come back to her afterward. And now it was time to put aside her kid stuff and stop being so self-centered. She had to start thinking about him and his needs, too. "I'll be here when it's over," she told him, which is what she knew he needed to hear. "I'll be waiting."

His eyes softened and cleared. "I hope not for long," he said quietly, and took one of her hands in his, squeezing gently, touched and encouraged by her support and pledge to wait. She hoped the same thing—that he wouldn't be gone long—and didn't want him to go at all... but she saw how he kept looking upward with an increasingly worried expression. "I have to go," he told her regretfully, more urgent this time.

She nodded. There seemed to be a million things she wanted to say to him, ask him… but there wasn't time. So she settled for: "Be careful up there, okay?"

He met her gaze, his hand still holding hers. He didn't want to go and she could see it plainly. "Call me," he told her in utmost seriousness, his urgency making him speak in something close to desperation. "If you need me in the least, _call me_. I'll come. I promise." He looked upward again, as if bees were circling his head—and Alex knew the calls must be getting more pressing.

" _Go_ , Cas," she urged gently, knowing she couldn't hold onto him right now.

He lowered his head and looked downward, seeming to realize he really _did_ have to go now. Her hand slipped from his as he stepped back, wordless, looking at her with a sad expression. "Goodbye, Alex," he said, seeming to find the words difficult. 

That sounded so final. Alex replied with something a little less dire, a sad smile on her face. "See you later, Cas."

His expression softened and he echoed her, seeming to understand. "...See you later." He seemed to like the way that sounded better. And then with the soft sound of wings in flight… he was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're wondering about when Cas gave Alex that penny, it hasn't been shown yet, only mentioned. The actual scene where this happens will be shown in a flashback soon.


	54. The Vampire Diaries

" _I'm not afraid of werewolves or vampires or haunted hotels,  
I'm afraid of what real human beings do to other real human beings."_  
\- Walter Jon Williams

* * *

**Later  
**

Answering the call with dark foreboding, Castiel left Heaven's battlefields and descended to earth. There he found himself in a dim warehouse littered with trash. No one seemed to be here, and the angel was confused. Then, behind him, he heard the familiar voice: "Hello, Cas old buddy."

Castiel turned and his expression grew only darker. "Crowley." Cas scanned the space sharply. Why were they meeting on earth this time instead of Hell? He hadn't seen Crowley since Scotland. The angel narrowed his eyes. "What is this place?" 

The King of Hell chuckled and sauntered over, looking up and around the dilapidated place fondly. "Home sweet home. Our new business headquarters, if you will."

Not in the mood for humor, Castiel glared at his business partner, angry that the demon could even be _called_ that. "What do you want."

"What do _I_ want?" Crowley asked, feigning innocence. "I just wanted to _remind_ you of our little arrangement."

Increasingly irritated, Castiel's face remained hard and unfriendly. "I haven't forgotten. I don't require a _reminder_ from you."

"That so?" The demon asked, by all appearances calm and conversational. "Well. I'd like to know, what, _exactly,_ were you thinking," Crowley continued smoothly… before he flew into a fit of absolute rage: "When you took Alex Winchester to my sodding homeland and helped her dig up my bloody _bones_!?" His shout echoed in the huge space.

Growing angry at the demon's audacity and attitude—he wasn't Cas's superior, and when he spoke as if he was, ancient fury boiled in his veins. "I was _thinking_ that I was protecting your bones," he replied hostilely. "I made certain they weren't burned, didn't I?"

Face twisted into an ugly, sarcastic expression, Crowley sneered. "Appreciate it. _Truly._ " He leaned closer and his voice took on a soft, warning tone. "Let me be blunt with you, trench coat. You can't be flitting down to earth and traipsing about with the missus right now; you can't be going 'round for a visit whenever the mood strikes. The more time you spend around littlest Winchester, the more you risk her finding out about the dirty details of our little partnership. And what's more, you can't be making house calls on Dean and Sam, either." Crowley paused, pacing a slow circle around Cas, who was frowning deeply, wondering _why_ Crowley would say this. The demon explained as if he'd anticipated Cas's confusion: "The Winchesters start asking _questions_ … those questions will require _answers_. And if they find out about what you and I are doing with Purgatory, mate…" he came to a stop in front of Cas again. "They won't stand for it. Mark my words."

Cas hesitated, considering Crowley's statement. He knew it was in what the humans called the moral gray area, what he was doing—partnering with the demon Crowley to find and then open Purgatory, use the souls therein to defeat Raphael… it was a means to an end. _Preferable_ means to an end? No, but it was the only way Castiel knew to stop the apocalypse from restarting. "Alex is reasonable," Cas said slowly, still in deep thought, "so are her brothers. If I explained it to them—" 

"Do you hear yourself mate?" Crowley asked, cutting him off. "These are the _Winchesters_. Dean, A.K.A. Captain America, Mr. Morality… he hates my kind. Can't say his sister's much fonder of black eyed bastards…" he smiled darkly, "though she _did_ develop a taste for us. Sam's the only one who was in love with one though. That's besides the point. They find out you're working with me, they find out about our little arrangement... cracking open Purgatory… there'll be hell to pay." Crowley paused and leaned in, eyes narrowed." Y'see, everyone else made the mistake of underestimating those little plaid-wearing fleabags. Only reason I'm still kicking? I haven't made that mistake." He stood back and Cas knew he was right—that Dean, especially, would not stand for what Castiel was doing in the dark. As if reading the angel's mind, Crowley concluded with, "They simply can't find out. It has to stay between us, and us _only_."

Cas looked at him sharply, his jaw clenching tightly. He felt cornered and, as a result, furious. "I tire of secrets."

"Cry me a river," Crowley commented with disinterest, then a sly smile grew. "You and I both know you've gotten good at keeping them, haven't you?"

Cas said nothing for a long moment. He knew what Crowley was talking about and it both angered him and struck a chord of fear deep down. "How do you know about that?" he asked, attempting to remain stone-faced.

Crowley shrugged mildly, putting his hands into his pockets. A pleased, mocking smile caused his eyes to glitter. "I have my sources."

Castiel let his glare say things he didn't speak aloud for a long moment. Then, done with the encounter and angry at how true everything Crowley had said was, Cas turned to go. "We're done here."

Crowley's soft, pleased chuckle behind him paused him. "Why do you seem so surprised that this is a torrid little thing you and I've got going, hm? You should have known." Cas turned a little to look at Crowley with hard eyes. The demon waggled his eyebrows up knowingly. "That's just what you get when you partner with the King of Hell, innit?"

Yes. He supposed it was. Wordlessly, Castiel left that place, righteous anger and a feeling of self-loathing coursing in his veins. What exactly _was_ he doing? The right thing, he thought. He hoped. But the notion of purposefully keeping the truth from Alex made him feel _wrong_. He didn't want to have to _lie_ to her, but Crowley was right. The more time Castiel spent with her, the more the risk of her finding out what he was doing. The more he saw her, the more he would have to lie to her to protect himself to ensure that the plan to open Purgatory wouldn't be derailed.

It felt wrong, _wronger_ than wrong. Both to be away from her (how long had it been, since he'd had to leave her there at Bobby's after Scotland? He didn't even know, time escaped his grasp at the moment)… but however long it had been felt _too long_. If it were up to Castiel, he never would leave her again. But the war. His duties. The things that chained him to Heaven. As always, those things awaited.

* * *

**Limestone, Illinois**

It was late morning on a pretty day and Dean leaned back against the side of the Impala casually, his phone to his ear and an uncharacteristically relaxed smile on his face. "Yeah and hey—uh, I'm actually not far from you guys right now," he told her. "I'm maybe three hours out, tops." 

"Yeah?" Lisa sounded hopeful on the other end of the line. "So, ya think...?"

"Well, there's some stuff I gotta do here first…" he said slowly, sort of playful.

"Of course," she said, and he could hear her smile. Dean's grin grew.

"But I was thinkin' that, uh, I'll wrap up here, and, y'know, make sure I'm not followed…" he wet his lips, smile widening. "I'll have to take side streets, and I'd have to come at night—"

"Will you just _shut up_ and get your ass home?" she interrupted then laughed, and he did too. "I can't wait to see you," she said softly. "This phone thing's getting old."

"Yeah, it is," he agreed. It had been forever since he'd seen her face.

"Well, call us when you're close," she said. "And be careful."

"Course. Bye, Lees." He hung up, smiling to himself helplessly as he thought about her.

" _You_ look excited about something," came a familiar female voice. Dean turned slightly to see his sister walking up, two gas station coffees in hand. She held one out to him and Dean's smile fell a little. "So how's Lisa?" she asked knowingly, not seeming to notice how he deflated a little. He deflated because he felt abruptly guilty about allowing himself some happiness, no matter how small.

It had been two days since Alex had met back up with him and Sam. And she was acting weird. She was acting… _fine_. She'd brushed off all his hedging questions about the panic room, the demon blood, the… other thing. Instead of being withdrawn and moody like he'd expected her to be, she was instead eager to tackle the job they were on right now… which mystified him.

It made no sense to him that she'd just have bounced back to herself so fast. She seemed so businesslike and diffident. Cracking jokes and maintaining shrewd but good spirits, not carrying that distant look of tortured thought and deep pensiveness that she always had before. But a couple times he'd caught her looking off into the distance sort of tensely when she thought no one was looking and he'd seen the telltale way she chewed the inside of her mouth and bit her thumbnail—nervous tics she'd displayed all through childhood and adolescence. Things she did when something was bothering her—and things had _always_ bothered her—she was a textbook over-analyzer, and a lot more emotionally sensitive than she let on. But the times the past two days when she caught Dean studying her somber moments, Alex was back to projecting fine, adjusted, and cool.

Dean was pretty damn sure she was _none_ of those things. He'd actually tried to call Cas yesterday to get the angel's take on what had happened in the panic room, but the angel wasn't answering for who know's what reason. Bobby had told Dean over the phone that the panic room been rough on Alex but Cas had been true to his word and stayed with her the entire time. It was odd… Dean was both intensely thankful for that and completely appalled at himself for leaving Alex to detox alone, and with of all people, _Cas_. If he were honest with himself… it was one of the more cowardly things he'd ever done, ditching her like that. He hadn't been able to _handle_ the thought of seeing her going through what he'd watched Sam go through with the demon blood. So he'd run away.

"Dean? Did you hear me?" She asked, looking at him with a _anyone home?_ sort of questioning look.

Right, she'd asked about Lisa. Dean tried to look less emotionally messed up than he felt. "Oh yeah, uh, she's good, she's…" he'd promised to visit Lisa, and now he realized _what do I do about Alex_? Ditch _again_? "I was thinking of going for a quick visit, nothing long. See her and Ben after we finish this job." He paused, worried that she'd get that _you're leaving?_ look he dreaded. "If, you know, if you're okay with that." 

She looked at him questioningly. "Why wouldn't I be?" From all appearances and tone she was perfectly fine with the idea. Dean stared, not believing it. She had to be secretly mad at him for ditching. _He_ still felt bad about it, why wouldn't she?

"I, I dunno…" he wracked his brain for the most delicate way to put it. "We just got teamed back up yesterday, Sam's kinda a weirdo lately… you… had things to deal with..." he trailed off, not really wanting to get more specific and push her over some fragile ledge.

"You should definitely go see them when you can," she said, seeming totally supportive of the idea, even a little flippant. She leaned against the car beside him and lifted her coffee up as Dean kept watching her with a dubious expression. "I'm a big girl," she said, smiling easily his way in the face of his concern. "Don't forget it." She blew on the coffee through the little sip-hole, proceeding to look ahead of herself and end the conversation.

But Dean couldn't bring himself to let it go. He held his coffee without drinking any. "It's just… we haven't talked about… what happened."

She glanced his way briefly. "I got through it," she said simply. "Now all three of us are in the panic room alumni club." She raised her coffee cup toward him slightly with a silly grin on her face. "Cheers."

" _Cheers_?" Dean repeated, watching as she drank some coffee like nothing in the world was wrong at all—she was really gonna dumb it all down to them all being panic room lockup alum? She was gonna play it for humor? Who the hell was she, _him_? "What, it's all a big _joke_ to you now?" he asked, aghast.

"Come on, lighten up," she said, growing a little sullen at his attitude.

"Sorry, I just don't think it's that funny, joking about the bitch-blood crap," he said, temper flaring at her nonchalant attitude— _he_ didn't think it was funny. He thought it was his own personal hell, the things that had happened to his family. 

His sister just gave him a brief, testy glance. Dean took a couple seconds to put his thoughts into words—and calm down, too. He set his coffee down on the Impala's roof as he turned to face her. "Look… it's just..." he didn't know how else to say it and put his hands out, gesturing and showing how he felt at his wit's end. "You seem almost _too_ good, you know?"

Obviously not liking his confrontational stance or the subject matter, she became a little catty. "' _Too good_ '?" she repeated. "And that's a _bad_ thing?" She did one of those things she and Sam did like pros—a humorless little laugh and an eye-roll that seemed to indicate she was above the current conversation. She proceeded to talk to him in a clear, sure voice. "Dean. I'm _good_. For the first time in awhile. I'm off demon blood. I'm with you and Sam again. Even though Sam's… kind of a weirdo, like you said. Either way. Life's a whole lot better for me than it has been in awhile." She tucked a hand into her side, in between her ribs and her other arm, gesturing lazily with her other hand, which still held onto the coffee. "I'm allowed to be happy."

Dean watched her sipping her coffee casually. Was he really way off base here? Was she actually okay? He still didn't buy it, because he'd been around the block a time or two himself. "Yeah, but… the stuff that happened, that doesn't just go away."

She glanced up at him pointedly over the lid of the coffee, her eyes a shade darker than they had been before. "Especially not when your brother won't stop bringing it up."

He heard how she didn't want to talk about it, and that made him pretty sure there _was_ something to his theory. If she really were over it, she wouldn't care about it either way. "I just wanna help," he told her, genuine but guilty. It was a little too late. He couldn't quit thinking he never should have let her leave that night a year ago when Sam died. But he had. And here they were.

Alex smiled obligingly when he said he just wanted to help. "You're real sweet, Doctor Phil… but I don't need the diagnosis." She gestured to the police station across the street where their brother was currently doing some solo sleuthing. " _Sam's_ the one you should be trying to psychoanalyze. Any new theories on why he's gone all Mr. Roboto?"

Smooth, changing the subject like that, Al… but he grudgingly went with it and dropped the current subject matter, deciding to try again later. He picked his coffee back up, turned around and put his back to the Impala, leaning there beside her again. He was frustrated… but what else was new? "Not really. I've tried talking to him about it a couple times but he's just… I dunno. Not all there." He sipped his coffee and thought a little bit. His siblings were both so hard to get a read on right now. "Maybe Hell burned away some parts that we'll never get back."

Alex shook her head, eyes narrowed in thought. "Something about him just doesn't feel right to me."

Something they could both agree on. "Yeah. Same."

She turned her head to look at him sidelong for direction. "So what do we do?"

That was a good question. One Dean had kind of been ducking because Sam _was_ different. Emotionally cold, focused on jobs above all else, sort of insensitive to things he'd always been hyper-aware of before. Had Hell stripped away his capacity to feel? "I dunno," he told his waiting sister. "We… keep going? Hope in time he finds himself again? I really got no clue, honestly." He figured being truthful was gonna go further than lying to her face. She digested his opinion with a thoughtful, troubled expression and Dean tried a smile. "Hey, at least we're still us, right?"

Her eyes, the same color as Sam's, crinkled up slightly as a little smile crossed her face. She was looking out ahead of herself, he didn't know at what. "Yeah. At least we're still us."

Only, _were_ they? Dean knew _he'd_ changed the past year… he'd been out of hunting and in the domestic life. He'd been a boyfriend, a welder, a sorta-dad to Ben. It had made him softer for sure, a little rusty where the whole hunting thing was concerned. It had been so long since he'd been the Big Brother that now, suddenly exactly that again, he was overwhelmed by it. And he wasn't the only one who had changed. Alex had been hunting and working and doing who the hell knows what else besides getting a taste for demon blood. Putting herself in danger, that was for sure. Choosing shitty 'friends.' And now she felt closed off to him, sort of older too. It was ironic… all those years when she'd been mute, he'd been able to take one _look_ at her and know what she was thinking and feeling without any words at all. The day she'd gotten her voice, her independence had really started. And with it had come the gradual distance. Now, he felt like he barely recognized her. Mostly because she wasn't _letting_ him see her. That's what made him the saddest. He would bet a million bucks that she was sad and fighting the kinds of emotional battles he fought every day. But why wouldn't she talk to him about it? It must be a lot worse than he thought for her to put the guard up so high like she was.

Maybe he wouldn't go see Lisa. Not yet. Maybe he should stay put. Until he knew for sure that his sister really was all right.

It was quiet between them for a few seconds, but Dean had one more thing he had to ask about. One more thing that he was dying to know, that he'd been sitting on, wondering about, and getting all kinds of uncomfortable over. There were all _kinds_ of crazy vibes he was feeling about this, and now was as good a time as any to ask, right? While it was just them, no Sam around. So Dean asked and watched her carefully, trying to figure out the truth from her reaction. "So… uh, what about Cas?" 

He expected her to react, but when all she did was let her eyes go down fractionally in thought, Dean was stumped. Her poker face was a whole helluva lot more unreadable than he remembered it being before. "What about him?"

Dean felt a little on the confounded side at her lack of, well, _anything_ , and fumbled. "You… you two… I dunno, on the rocks, or what?" She looked at him sidelong with faintly questioning eyes. But she said nothing, forcing him to fill the silence. "Look, I don't even know, last time I saw you two together, really, you were acting like… a couple, back at the graveyard where Sam died. He shows back up last week and you were crying all over him and he looked bummed about something… he offers to take care of you… now he's MIA again and I just… I wanna know what the deal is."

For a minute, she looked like she was considering telling him. Then she looked across the street and the moment was lost. "Yeah, how about we talk about that later," she said sort of darkly, nodding toward the police station. "Moose, five o'clock."

Dean followed her gaze. Sam's familiar figure was loping across the small-town street to them. He had a stack of fliers in hand.

"Hey," Sam greeted as he reached them. "So…" he handed Dean a small stack of missing person fliers. "Six girls in seven days," he explained, "which is more disappearances than this city has seen in over a year. They're all about the same age."

"And cute," Dean remarked offhandedly as he looked through, getting a weird look from Alex and a sort of eye-roll and laugh from Sam. Dean defended himself. "Hey, ice cream comes in lots of flavors, guys."

"Yeah, like my favorite… _jailbait,_ " Alex teased, then grabbed the papers from Dean and gave him a pointed, amused look before she began to look over them for herself. "Didn't you _just_ get off the phone with Lisa?"

Dean made a face. "I'm allowed to look," he said lamely.

Sam wasn't interested in their conversation. "So we got half a dozen girls, late teens, a shower away from greatness." He paused as Alex shuffled through the papers and frowned deeply. "Sounds like a profile, right?" Sam supposed. "I mean, what else they got in common?"

"Well... they're all brunettes..." Alex said as she reached the last printout. She slapped the stack to Sam's chest and he looked a little surprised, then grabbed onto it.

" _Huh_ , you're right." He frowned a little as he paged back through the fliers. "Interesting."

"That's not enough to go on, really," Dean said, which he knew his siblings already knew. "But hey, six directions to go here. Pick a number."

"Seven," Sam corrected. "Another call just came in today. Girl named Kristen Swan. Went missing on Wednesday. I say we head to her house, see if we can catch her trail."

Dean nodded agreement and pushed himself up to his full height. Fair enough. "Sounds good to me." He headed around for the driver's side as Sam got into the Impala. Dean glanced at his sister, who was already heading back for her own car—which was parked behind the Impala. Another thing that was bugging him—she was driving herself everywhere. She wasn't riding with them like the old days. Attempting a friendly, hopeful tone, Dean tried to change her mind as he opened his door. "Hey, you wanna ride with?" He cracked a casual grin, the kind that was playful, light, and she'd never been able to say no to in the past. "Back seat misses you. We can come back and get the Mustang later?"

She was already opening the door to her car and only glanced up at him briefly to shake her head. "It's okay," she said, her tone polite and friendly yet slightly brusque. "I'll meet you there." Her door slammed.

Dean stood at the door of the Impala a little longer than he needed to. Hurt, because yet again, he literally felt her pushing him away.

* * *

The Winchesters stood in the Swan home—it was a nice, conservative, boring house. The kind with uninspired watercolors of flowers hanging on the walls, bible verses splashed in swirly script all over everything, and really uptight, pastel decor. Kristen's father, Steve, let them in readily when they identified themselves as agents.

"I really appreciate the FBI's involvement in my daughter's disappearance," Steve said, his energy clearly stressed and worried. He was in his forties and wore khakis, a button down, and a sweater vest. He was the definition of vanilla. "Kristen's a good kid," he continued. "A little naive, sure... you try to be a good parent. Girls are hard." He paused and looked at Alex, wincing slightly like he hadn't thought before he'd spoken. "No offense."

Dean glanced at Alex, who just rolled with it. "None taken," she said, the picture of professionalism—which was apparently her thing these days. Dean forced himself not to dwell. They had a job to do and he needed to focus.

"We'd just like to find your daughter," Sam said.

Steve paused then looked up the staircase, indicating it with a nod. "Last door on the left."

Dean followed his gaze. "Thanks, Steve." He led the way. As the Winchesters climbed up the stairs, Dean gave a quick glance back to the girl's father, who was taking a seat onto the couch and putting his head in his hands. Poor guy. "Whaddya think he was talking about?" he asked his siblings, quiet enough that only the three of them could hear. _Girls are 'hard'? She was a 'little naive'?_

"Drugs?" Sam suggested as they got to the top of the stairs.

" _Boys_ ," Alex muttered, earning another little glance from her oldest brother. "Well, or girls maybe," she added on with a shrug after a second thought.

They wandered down a painted white hallway lined in more annoying paintings of boring flowers, then found the last door on the left. Dean opened it, flipped on the lights… and they all froze momentarily when they saw the room inside. "Oh it is _so_ much worse than drugs," he muttered. Alex had been right when she said boys… sorta.

Kristen's bedroom didn't fit with the rest of the house at _all_. The walls were painted a deep blood-red and all the furniture was black; cheesy gothic accessories and decor littered the room and its surfaces—among these things, a fake crystal ball with a fang base, a skeleton candelabra with black never-burned candles, and way too many posters that featured pale guys with brooding expressions and inhumanly yellow eyes. The posters proclaimed _Twilight, My Summer of Blood, The Vampire's Dream, Once Bitten_. Kristen's room looked like a gothic teen shrine to...

" _Vampires_?" Sam snorted. 

Dean felt a little skeeved out. "Ah, these aren't vampires, man, these… these are _douche bags_." What a freaking _sham_.

Alex shut the door behidn them after they all came into the room and then jumped back, a little startled—taped to the back of the door was a full-sized cut out of a teen heartthrob 'vampire.' He was giving an intense, sort of murderous stare. "Whoa," she commented, seeming sort of turned off by the entire vibe of the room.

"Well doesn't _he_ just get you all fired up." Dean snorted sarcastically. How could anyone think these guys were _hot_? "Come _on_." He rolled his eyes and continued to look around the room and voiced all of their thoughts when he shook his head and uttered a very glib " _wow_."

Alex walked the length of one of the walls, stopping to stare at the poster for _My Summer of Blood_. "So… Kristen had a little bit of a thing for vampires," she surmised.

Dean gave a short little laugh and sent her a joking look like old times. "Crack detective work, Captain Obvious. What gave you _that_ idea?" He got a little smile and eye-roll in return and she shook her head then went back to poking around. He knew what she was thinking: _shut up, Dean._ He smiled to himself, but the smile fell a little as he watched her inspecting the top of Kristen's dresser. Some asshole had tried to do terrible things to her last week. And Dean had been a hundred miles away, none the wiser. And now here she was, acting like everything was normal. It made him all kinds of sober. 

Sam pulled out a red laptop that had been slightly pushed up and under the pillows on Kristen's bed. "Aha!" he announced, distracting Dean. "Here we go." He carried it over to the little desk by the window and set it down then sat down in front of it. Dean and Alex drifted over to stand behind Sam as he cracked the computer open. "Let's see what we can see," he muttered, tapping the space bar to wake up the laptop. A fake sounding clip of a scream played as a _super_ close up picture of an intense-looking fake vampire popped up and filled the entire screen. He was brooding, pale, and had eyes shining like gold. All three Winchesters flinched back at the unexpected screen. "Th-that's just… uncomfortable," Sam commented, face twisted in revulsion.

"What's _he_ so bummed out about?" Dean asked, making a face. Seriously… why did people dig this crap?

"Make it go away, Sam," Alex muttered, looking at the screen like she had a bad taste in her mouth.

"Yeah, sure," he said, and pressed some keys—a password prompt came up. Sam paused. "Ah… gimme a couple minutes." He tried the password _vampires_ and hit enter. The laptop made the same screaming noise, denying him access.

Great. This could take awhile. Dean picked up a paperback book that was on the desk beside the laptop. _My Summer of Blood_. On the cover, a teenage girl in a white nightgown was asleep on a bed while a pale-skinned, male vampire stood next to the open window. He was staring down at her, and to Dean, it looked like maybe the scene of a murder five minutes before the crime took place. He waggled the book at Sam—Alex had wandered over to the bookshelf beside the desk. "Look at this. He's _watching_ her sleep. How is that not the creepiest thing ever?"

"I gotta concentrate here, Dean," Sam said, typing the password _dracula._ The laptop made a screaming noise again. Nope.

Dean glanced at Alex, who was off in her own world looking through the shelves on the bookcase. The book cover honestly made him think of Cas, who had done the exact same thing—stayed all night and watched his sister sleep that time at the hospital. It had freaked Dean out then, and it freaked him out now. Cas had probably watched her sleep all last week in the panic room, too. Before he could help himself, it popped out of his mouth thoughtlessly. "I bet you think that's cute, huh?" Dean asked, pushing his luck and trying to gauge her reaction, shamelessly goading her. "Old guy who doesn't look old watching a young girl sleep." His sister just gave him a mild _what's your problem_ look, then crouched down at the bookshelf next to the desk and looked through some of the volumes there. So… that told him _nothing_.

Dean cracked the book open to a random page, grudgingly resigned to not knowing about Cas and Alex for now. He walked off a few steps as he read aloud from it in a cheesy, overly dramatic voice. "' _He could hear the blood rushing inside her, almost taste it. He tried desperately to control himself…_ '" the laptop screamed again as Sam got another guess wrong. "'... _Romero knew their love was impossible_ —'" Dean stopped reading and made a face. " _Romero_? Really? You believe this crap?" He looked at Alex for support, but she just shrugged and Dean stared at her in disbelief. "Don't tell me you _read_ this," he said.

"Honestly, I liked _Once Bitten_ better than _My Summer of Blood_ ," she said, blasé and concentrating on her search, earning a baffled, _you're kidding_ look from Dean. " _What_?" She asked, glancing the look on his face. "I read them a couple years ago when they came out. Don't judge me."

"Too late," he told her. She just rolled her eyes at him. He turned the book over in his hand, read the summary aloud. "' _Romero and Tatiana's love was forbidden in every sense… she was the outcast teenage girl suffering from anemia, he was a tormented blood-thirsty vampire from a distant time—once, he had been a world-famous ballroom dancer, now he was dancing the line between loving Tatiana and killing her where she stood'_ —oh my _god_ , are they serious? This sounds like an _actual_ parody of itself… I mean, this is a national bestseller. How is that possible?"

"Dean, shut up, will you?" Sam said over his shoulder, irritated. "I'm trying to think." The laptop screamed again as he tried and failed _again_ to enter the right password.

"Try 'Damien'," Alex suggested, then squinted in thought. "No it wasn't Damien. 'Damon.'" 

Sam did. More screaming.

"Oh well, I tried. Hey check this out," Alex said, standing up. In her hands, a binder labeled 'From My Soul.' Alex gave Dean a meaningful, somewhat mocking look. " _Poems_ Kristen wrote," she explained, turning her attention to flipping through the papers that were three-hole punched inside. Alex stopped, frowning, then read aloud from one of them. ' _I wish I could be a thing of the night. I wish I could savor love's first bite. I want to be leased from the chains of mediocrity. I want my fanged prince to come set me free._ '" She paused, sort of uncomfortable. "Jesus _Christ_ , was _I_ this emo as a teenager?" Dean just gave her a look. "Shut up," she muttered, even though he'd said nothing. He tossed the book he'd been holding down and picked up a pillow off the bed that had a fake vampire's face on it. The dude's pinched expression made it look like he was constipated, and Dean chuckled to himself. _Ridiculous._

The laptop screamed again and Sam made a sound of frustration. "Hey, try, uh—" Dean thought for a second as he set the pillow back down. "Try 'Lautner.'"

" _Lautner_?" Alex asked, dubious. "No, Sam, try 'Pattinson.' This chick is team Edward, trust me." Dean's mouth dropped open and his eyebrows shot up. Alex gave him a weird look. "I mean, how do _you_ know about it?" 

"You kidding me? It's everywhere, it's a freakin' nightmare," Dean covered lamely. "I bet even _Cas_ know about that stupid franchise," he muttered.

"How many T's are there in 'Pattins-'" Sam began to ask, then stopped mid-word. The laptop dinged pleasantly and Sam got excited. "That's it. We're in! Ha!" He bent over the laptop, typing and clicking. "Okay, let's see… hm."

"Well?" Dean prompted, going to stand behind Sam again and lean over his shoulder to look at the laptop screen.

Sam squinted at the social networking website he was on. "Well, her inbox is full from some guy claiming to be a vampire. _'I can only meet you at night… I don't trust myself with you… the call of your blood is too strong…'_ blah blah blah, a bunch more crap like that _._ "

"Gross." Alex set down the binder of poetry and leaned over Sam's other shoulder to look at the message with an intensely studious expression. " _Damn_ ," she commented, seeming mildly impressed in a dread-filled way. "So this could be real vampires fishing for victims or maybe even your run-of-the-mill serial killer who knows what the teenage girls are into these days."

"Either option sounds pretty bad," Dean mused aloud. Alex stood up and retreated into the middle of the room as Dean frowned a little deeper. This just didn't seem likely… vamps using the internet to fish for victims? That seemed like a waste of time when they could just go to a bar or a club and find plenty of idiots to feed on that way. "I'm gonna go with human mouth-breather on this one," he said, pretty sure that was a safe bet.

"Hard to tell, but I mean, talk about easy prey," Sam said, turning slightly to look at Dean for a second. "For _actual_ vamps especially." He looked back at the laptop. "These chicks are just throwing themselves at you. All you gotta do is… I dunno. Write bad poetry and talk about how depressed you are." Sam clicked on another message. "Huh. So looks like this guy wanted to meet her at a bar called _The Black Rose_."

Dean rolled his eyes and at the name of the place. "Gimme a _break_ …"

"Just reporting the news," Sam said, even-keeled. "It's worth checking out, right?"

Dean heaved a thoughtful sigh. Was this even really up their alley? Could be a huge bust lead. He crossed his arms, not sure about it. "I mean, it's probably just your standard-issue perv, right?" 

"One way to find out," Alex said from behind them.

Both brothers turned to look at her. "What do you mean?" Dean asked cautiously. Something about the tone in her voice seemed foreboding to him.

She was holding a shirt up against herself that she'd picked up off the dresser. It was dark red and looked low-cut and said _I Won't Bite_ in rhinestones. A pair of fangs was emblazoned underneath the words. "This looks about my size, doesn't it?" she asked in overly innocent tones. A slow smile grew on her face. "I feel like going out tonight, boys."

* * *

**The Black Rose**

Alex got out of the Impala first—the sole of her spiky black knee-high boot hitting the parking lot pavement with a crunch.

"Of all the bad ideas you've ever had, this has to be the worst," Dean complained, getting out a second after her. It was dark outside and the chill of evening hit him as he got out. He slammed his door and gestured to her erratically. He was all kinds of moody and resistant. "I mean, _look_ at yourself, you look like…"

"Kinda the point, Dean," she said, cutting him off and raising an eyebrow at him. She crossed her arms and smirked at him almost. Like she thought he was being _funny._ Her knee-high boots were high-heeled, jet black, leather. Fishnet leggings criss-crossed up her legs. She wore a gothy looking choker around her neck. The low-cut, fitted magenta shirt that proclaimed in rhinestones _I Won't Bite_ with fangs was tucked into a short black pleather miniskirt. A black leather jacket was over all of it, and the only reason she was wearing that was because she had a machete concealed in there. Alex had 'borrowed' the outfit from Kristen's closet. And to top it off, she was wearing _makeup_ for what Dean thought was maybe the second time in her life maybe—and it looked like she hadn't done it completely right, either. Black rimmed her eyes unevenly, thickly. She'd even put on red lip stick. She didn't look like herself, and she didn't seem to care that he was worried about her crazy plan to be the vampire lure. She'd insisted she fit the profile—she got mistaken as a teen girl all the time, was brunette, could play the part of vampire-smitten gothic chick—and Dean had grudgingly agreed in theory, but he was having second thoughts now that they were outside of the bar where Kristen had probably disappeared from.

Sam, getting out much leisurely than the other two, smirked at his brother. "Dean, calm down," he said, cracking an easy grin. "She's the perfect bait."

"Exactly!" Dean exclaimed in a whisper-shout with rising urgency. "If these are real vamps we're up again, this is all _kinds_ of stupid and dangerous!" He looked at his sister, who was adjusting one of her boots—she had knives hidden down there, he'd watched her strap them on. "This the kinda stunt you pulled the past year?" He demanded. "Risking your life like there's no tomorrow?!"

She made a confused, amused face at him as she straightened, and she didn't rise to his level of anger. "Uh… isn't that what hunting _is_?" Dean withered. It was a pretty good point. "You know what, if you have such a huge problem with it, we can maybe find _you_ some eyeliner and an _I Heart Vamps_ shirt, too." She patted him on the face cajolingly, like he was cute but she'd had enough. "I got this, Dean," she said confidently, then glanced over at Sam, who was more in the mindset to actually do the job. "Now you two just stick with the plan and I'll see you inside." She took off toward the entrance to _The Black Rose_ , then wobbled in the high-heeled boots mid-step, almost falling—she righted herself and then shot them a dirty look and pointed a finger at them with a jab. "Not a word," she warned, then turned around and resumed walking, just more carefully this time.

Yeah right, it was too good an opportunity to pass up. "Real smooth," Dean grumbled, and she threw a good-natured middle finger over her shoulder at him. He shook his head. He didn't like this, but mostly, because she'd been in such a bad situation recently and this seemed… sorta like she was pushing the boundaries a little bit. _Trying_ to get skeevy guys to hit on her? _Trying_ to draw the bad guy out using sexuality? His protective instincts told him _no way you should let her do this_. 

"She'll be fine, Dean," Sam said placatingly, his hands in his pockets as he walked up to stand beside Dean. He was watching his twin walk into the bar but spared Dean a brief glance. "She's got us watching her back." In that moment especially, there was something distinctly un-Sam about Sam.

Dean looked at his brother with a dark, unsure expression. "Right," he said and drew in a deep breath then turned back to watching their trampy looking sister walk up the side of the building. "Yeah." Two seconds passed and Alex's dark brown head disappeared into the entrance of _The Black Rose_. And Dean decided never mind. "Screw this," he muttered, and without a backward glance, took off after his sister. He caught up to her in the dim hallway that led into what looked like a big room ahead. Colored lights flashed and low music thumped there. "Wait up two seconds, Al," he said, catching her by the shoulder lightly.

She got annoyed and glanced around, leaning close to speak in hushed tones. "Dean, the whole point of entering separately is—"

"I know, I know, but who _cares_ , Al?" he asked in exasperation, then giving a very gothic looking passerby a tight _how-ya-doin'_ smile before turning back to his sister and whispering loudly. "Come on, look, we've been together for a couple days now and I can't keep _not_ saying anything, all right?" Alex looked more and more pissed and Dean was glad. Let her get mad. He wanted to see some real emotion out of her. "You're acting like you're okay but I don't get how the hell you _could_ be after everything."

She gave him a bitch-face that could win awards. "Seriously? You pick _now_ to keep pestering me about this?" She crossed her arms and gave him a lot of attitude. "All right. Great. Let's do this _now_ , Dean." She looked mad enough to spit. "I'm _fine_." She pulled a face and threw a hand out like she was saying _and that's all there is to that_. And then she turned the conversation around on him, became almost accusing. "How are _you_ okay after everything? You've lost your family, your home, you've been to Hell, you've died, Sam died, I ran off on you, now you've gone and ditched Lisa and Ben—"

Indignant, Dean cut her off. "Whoa—I have not _ditched_ them."

She made a face like she was thinking _you kidding me right now?_ A couple with crazy piercings and lots of tattoos walked by hand in hand, looking at the squabbling siblings curiously. Alex and Dean waited for them to pass and remained silently sullen. The second the passersby were out of earshot, Alex was talking again. "The point is, insane _shit_ has happened to all of us. Stuff that would send most people howling to the loony bin—"

"Or running to the whiskey shelf, or out for a hit of _demon blood_ ," Dean said darkly. Alex definitely reacted to that. She looked rueful and pissy, but she somehow managed to keep her cool.

"Yeah, you're right," she said evenly, clearly working to be patient and not hit him. "I may have problems. And I may have dealt with some of them in stupid ways. But I _dealt_. The best I could. Like I said, before you _cut me off_ … we've all been through crazy crap. But we're all okay and we got through it. Same thing now. So let it go."

"Let it _go_?" Dean repeated incredulously, his temper rising. "None of us are _fine_ , and you _know_ that." He gestured almost violently. "Have you taken a look at Sam lately? He's not fine!" Dean's anger was making him animated in the worst way. "Have you ever, uh, I don't know, _talked_ to me? I'm not fine and I haven't been for my whole goddamn life!" Dean looked at Alex accusingly. "And you're not fine, either!" He insisted gruffly, wet his lips, tried to get his very baleful sister to try and break through, talk to him. "What, it's all just _over_ now? The shitty year you had, what you did, what _happened_ to you? Call me crazy but I don't exactly believe you right now!"

Alex just met his gaze. "Look at me." She blinked once, shrugged again. "I'm fine. Now if you'll _excuse me,_ I'm gonna go do my job." She turned to go but he grabbed her shoulder and didn't let her.

"Al—!"

She yanked away, eyes flashing. "Dude! Stop!" Her shoulders heaved from sudden breathless anger. "Get the fuck out of the past! Stop bringing it up, okay?"

"I just know you can't keep this stuff inside forever, Alex!" Dean protested with rising desperate earnestness.

"Oh, like _you_ came a hundred percent clean about Hell?" She fired back. "Dean I'm not dumb. You're still holding on to so _much_ of that crap. You only told Sam and me a drop in the bucket, don't insult my intelligence. So why do I have to tell you all about _my_ hell if you won't tell me about _yours_?" She crossed her arms tightly.

Again, Dean was blindsided by how she was misinterpreting his concern… that, and he was so deeply saddened at her word choice. Calling it her _hell_. He hurt for her, and he would take that pain in an instant. "I care about you, I'm just trying to help," he implored, wishing he could show her how he literally _lived_ for her and Sam to a certain point. How he'd do anything for them. How he just wanted to help both of them and make it better.

Instead of a glare or a snide comment, Alex softened, however reluctantly. She looked tired. "I know, Dean. I do." Her jaw clenched. Then she looked at him through a pinched expression and in a strained voice, asked him to stop trying to help. "But I need you to back off right now." She shrugged, mildly defeated, and wouldn't look at him again. "You and I were always so close, but… I've been on my own for a year. Things are different."

She was right, and it broke his heart because she was pretty much saying she didn't _want_ to be close to him right now. And moments like this were rare for him, but he swallowed his pride and hurt over the whole thing. Made it about her instead of about him. Tried to reassure her. "I'm still your big brother. And I'm always gonna be here for you, understand?"

Alex seemed annoyed. "I know, I know," she muttered, extremely uncomfortable and ready to stop the conversation. She jerked her thumb toward the interior of the bar. "I'm gonna go start canvassing now."

She turned to go.

Dean watched her leave, sort of wishing he hadn't had that conversation at all. His impulses were off. It hadn't gone how he wanted at all. He'd pushed her away even further. He moved a hand down over his mouth and chin briefly, giving a short expulsion of exasperated breath. Alex was right. There were things that haunted him that he had never told anyone. He was barely holding it together. What the fuck _else_ was new, he reflected cynically. One thing was for sure… he needed a damn drink. 

* * *

_The Black Rose_ was a bar/club hybrid, a clearly gothic hangout. The atmosphere was dark, dim, and a bunch of really emo looking people milled around. The bar itself was centered in the room, not up against a wall. It provided a pretty good way of scoping out the whole place while not drawing too much attention. Dean took a sip of his beer, watchful of his sister, who was currently weaving her way through the crowd across from him, trying to draw out their vampire perp. They were looking for a guy who was _trying_ to look Twilight, and honestly, _most_ of the guys here looked sort of pop-culture vampy. Black leather getups, spiky detailing on shirt sleeves and shoulders, piercings, emo haircuts, some of them wore makeup or had black painted nails. Needless to say, Dean and Sam definitely stuck out sitting at the bar in their typical plaid getup.

Pop culture had gotten a lot wrong about vampires and Dean was full of chagrin over all this to say the least. Real vampires could go out in the sunlight (even though it apparently wasn't their preference) and didn't give a shit about crucifixes, garlic, wooden stakes, or coffins. They didn't turn people by biting them, they had to feed their blood to a human directly to turn them. The only way to kill them was chopping off their heads. And their fangs only came out when they were ready to feed. In short, it made identifying vampires difficult. They looked like normal human beings until you were about to get bitten. 

"So you're sure?" Sam asked, off in his own little world, on the phone. "A hundred percent? Huh. Yeah, interesting. All right. Yeah. Talk later." Sam ended the call and pocketed his phone, turned toward Dean. "So, sounds like we're dealing with vamps for sure. Samuel says this is the fourth town he's heard of. Same pattern. Kids go missing, blood bank van gets jumped. Guess what? Blood bank was robbed here in Limestone just last night. Saw it in the paper earlier. What do you think?"

Dean wasn't exactly excited to hear they were looking for real, actual vamps. "Just friggin' great," he muttered, watching Alex even closer. Sam followed his gaze, then, typical Sam, he scoffed, implying that Dean was being overly dramatic.

"What's the big deal, Dean? She's a hunter. A good one." 

"Yeah but I don't like using her as bait, okay?" Dean asked, then gave Sam a pointed look. "And you shouldn't either."

"Maybe you should have more faith in her abilities," Sam replied with a shrug.

Dean glanced at him peevishly. "Maybe you should shut up."

Sam smiled briefly. "Same old Dean."

Not entirely sure how to take his brother, Dean was quiet. "Yeah." He tried to force himself to relax, then tried to strike up a conversation. "Hey, this isn't all bad," he said, gesturing at Sam's beer. "We haven't had a beer together in forever."

Sam wasn't paying attention. He gestured with a faint thrust of his chin toward the area across from the bar. "Check it out."

Dean followed his gaze. Alex was over there talking to a guy in his late teens who was decked out in dark leather and eyeliner. He seemed pretty into Alex—grinning, posturing, eyeing her. He leaned close, whispered something in her ear—and Alex made a face like she had never heard anything so stupid. She pulled back, wiping the look off her face with sort of startling ease, appearing to be enjoying herself… she made a 'come here' motion with her finger… grabbed the kid's chin in a hand, pulled him closer… then her other hand shot forward and yanked fake plastic fangs out of the kid's mouth. She flicked them into the guy's face. Poor dweeb was blinking, shocked, and Alex was giving him a clearly false smile and an eye roll and moving on. 

Sam chuckled. "Okay. Not our guy." He returned to his beer, casually leaning on the bar.

The kid Alex had just un-fanged followed her like a puppy dog, apparently trying to appeal to her—Dean faintly caught the words 'babe, come on!' over the music. Dean was tensed, half standing, ready to go over there and kick some ass if he needed to. 

Sam glanced at him sidelong. "Relax, Dean, would ya? Kid's like a hundred pounds. She could break him in half while she had a hand tied behind her back." He took a swig of his beer, not concerned.

Dean didn't sit down. Alex turned around to face the kid. She must have said something really disturbing or scary, because when she finished saying whatever she had to say the kid drew back, wide-eyed, and left, hurrying straight out of the bar. Dean relaxed a little and chuckled, catching his sister's gaze across the bar. She gave him a little smirk, then continued to wander through the crowd. Dean felt his smile fade a little. He still didn't believe she could just be fine. But she sure was acting like it. 

He sighed, restless. "What was that kid wearing fangs for, anyway?" Dean asked, scoffing—did chicks really go for that crap?

About twenty minutes went by, Alex milling through and talking to guys, lurking around and getting approached by creep after creep. She shook her head no after each one, glancing at Sam and Dean. None of them fit the bill. About four beers in, Dean was getting frustrated and bored, a little distracted. Sam, as usual, seemed tireless and ultra-focused. "Dude, this lead is a bust," Dean muttered, swiveling his head to look at the dance floor to his left. That's where all the drunk people were. And hey, someone who looked relatively _normal_. In a sea of black and dark colors, one girl caught his eye—she was turned the opposite way and he couldn't see her face, but he didn't need to. She was blonde and wore an eye-catching little red dress that hugged every curve and barely covered her _very_ nice ass. The little red number had long sleeves and was cut to reveal almost her entire back—which, by the way, looked impressively strong. The girl could dance too, her hips were like magic, and Dean turned more, smiling without realizing it, appreciating the distraction. Some people just had that _it_ factor when it came to dancing, exuded sexuality and magnetism without even trying at all. This chick definitely had it and was making the stupid gothy trance music a little more tolerable. And then she turned a little, tossing her head back, and Dean's stomach dropped out from under him when he recognized her. No… fucking… way. His face fell and he reacted without thinking, getting out of his seat and dragging her off the dance floor into an empty adjacent lounge room. 

"The hell are you doing here?!" he demanded roughly, cornering her against a wall with hands like vices on strong arms. "You following me and my family, _huh_?"

Jamie Ward stared at him, face screwed into a shocked, sloppy expression. And that's when he realized she was very, very drunk—she reeked of vodka and her eyes were dull, her expression wasn't very coherent. And then he took in how bad she looked—her lip was busted, there was a huge red bruise across one side of her forehead, a little cut on her cheek, she had dark circles underneath her eyes—and genuine surprise made Dean's voice go a little softer. "What _happened_ to you?"

She seemed to get a little of her clarity back. "A whole lot of _shit_ ," she slurred, face twisting into a mean expression. "Now let _go_ of me." She tried to twist away, but he only tightened his hands on her arms. Resentfulness grew and she glowered at him. 

"Not until you tell me why you're here," he said darkly.

She let out a disgusted huff, her head lolling around as she conducted herself drunkenly. "A _job,_ dumbass, what's it to you?" Dean glared at her and she rolled her eyes, getting exasperated and annoyed. "Serial killer, vampires, I don't _know_." 

" _You're_ working _this_ job." Dean looked at her like she was nuts, because he was pretty sure she _was_. "With who?"

She chuckled—sounding like she was high off her ass when she did, too. "Me, myself and _I_."

Was she for real right now? Dean looked at her in growing confusion. "Okay… so you're doing this hunt… by yourself... _drunk_ out of your _mind_? What, you got a death wish?" 

Her expression was baleful again and dark. And Dean thought damn, maybe she did have a death wish. "I said _let go_ ," she seethed, and when he didn't… well, he paid for it. He wasn't quite sure of how she did it, but her foot or maybe her leg kicked him hard in the back of the knee and when his leg gave out in response, she slammed the heel of her hand into the side of his head and then grabbed his jacket shoulders and half-shoved, half-flung him away from her—he tripped over the edge of the low lounge table and fell backwards, barely catching himself on his hands. And Jamie looked down at him in a fury, fists clenched at her sides. Dean held his aching jaw where she'd hit him—freaking _hard_ too—remembering, suddenly, that she was a witch. And realizing he had pissed her off. 

She took a step closer and Dean raised a hand defensively, paranoia surging. "Whoa, whoa, don't put any of your witch-bitch mojo on me!"

She stopped short and made a face like _oh my god are you joking right now_. And sudden amusement grew and her hand shot out as if she was about to conjure. Even as Dean yelped and ducked, he heard her laughing and when he looked, disgruntled and scared, she had her hands on her knees as she lost her mind laughing at the fake-out. He checked himself fast—had she turned him into something? "You're not worth the effort, _dummy,_ " she said, the laughing fading into something more bitter. She straightened and stumbled a little, holding her arms out to keep her balance as her expression fumbled. She managed to catch herself even as Dean made a face. 

Christ, she was _hammered_. "How much did you _drink_?" He asked incredulously. 

She scoffed and didn't answer his question as he stood up slow and careful, watching her hawkishly. "I'm not following you," she said, answering his question from before. "I'm not following _anything._ I'm here for a job, that's it." And she was gonna get herself killed going about it like _this_. Dean looked at her uncertainly even as she wet her lips and her eyes took on a pained look. "Is your, uh, your sister here with you?"

Dean's hackles raised fast and his suspicion was renewed a hundredfold. "I don't see how that's any of your concern."

She got incensed and it was pretty clear her reaction was so strong because of her intoxicated state. "It's my _concern_ cuz she was my _friend_." 

His eyebrows shot up wrathfully. "Yeah? You let all your _friends_ get violated by your disgusting brother?" 

Her expression fell and genuine guilt-ridden agony came over her strong, pretty features. "Dean if I had known that he would do that—"

Dean cut her off in a cold challenge. "What. What would you have done."

She looked like she could cry. "I would have shot him myself!" she shouted, taking him aback with the fury, pain, and dismay she said it with. "Christ, Dean, he's my brother, he's not _me_!" she continued, eyes glittering with emotion he almost bought. "Whatever the hell he did—which, I don't even _know_ what he did, no one's told me _shit_ —I had nothing to do with it!" She shook her head and took a few heaving breaths, and for a minute, Dean really considered buying it. "I'm so fucking sorry," she whispered. 

Dean shook his head at himself. Here he was talking to a goddamn _witch_ whose brother had hurt his sister. He was getting soft and stupid and whatever small moment of seeing her as a victim of Glen as much as the rest of them were... Dean shoved it away to hold his walls in place. "Yeah, nice story," he said flatly then stepped closer, intimidating her by staring down—he was taller than her and a whole helluva lot bigger. And witch or not, he wasn't scared anymore. Pretty girl or not, he didn't care. Fuck her feelings and her trying to make him see some decency in her. "Stay away from my family, you hear me?"

And without another word, he brushed past her roughly, letting his shoulder knock into hers purposefully.

Jamie watched Dean go, surprising amounts of genuine rejected hurt filling her features. Yeah, she pretty much did have a death wish. And she guessed this was her cue to leave this bar and give up on what she already knew was a stupid attempt to maintain the only norm she knew. Her hunting days were over. She couldn't do this alone. And alone was where she'd found herself. Struggling hard against tears, Jamie gritted her teeth and shut her eyes, agony ripping out from her soul itself. All the glassware in the room busted without her even meaning to do that—and humiliated, cursing her powers, she slunk out of _The Black Rose_ to lick her wounds. 

* * *

While Dean was busy picking a needless fight with Jamie, Alex continued her prowl. Unaware that Dean had disappeared she was approached by a tall, dark-haired guy in leather with intense eyes. He was pale and looked at her with great interest, getting right up in her personal space. "You look like the kind of girl who belongs to the night," he said to her, his voice low and suggestive. He leaned close, and she made herself stay still. His voice was soft and low. "I could show you things you couldn't imagine…" That was the best I-wish-I-were-a-vampire pickup line she'd heard all night. In fact, as he drew back to look at her again, she realized there was something about this guy that seemed legit. This was the first guy she really thought actually _might_ be a vampire.

"What kinds of things?" she asked, playing it like she was intrigued.

He didn't blink as his eyes bored into hers. "Things of eternity."

She would have rolled her eyes, but instead Alex looked down, attempting to look demure, then cast her eyes to the side, checking to see that her brothers still had eyes on her. Dean wasn't there anymore— _huh_ —but Sam gave her a subtle nod. Alex looked back at the guy. "Show me."

He cast around mysterious glances. "I can't show you here."

"Where can you?"

"Let's go out back." He held out his hand to her, indicating he take it. "Come with me." She didn't really want to but she did. And the second she did, she realized they had their guy. His skin was cold and lifeless. Real vampire. He began to lead her toward the back exit and Alex chanced a discreet glance back at Sam, who trailed them through the crowd. She quickly and covertly made the signal Dean had invented for vampire—two fingers in a peace sign, facing inward toward herself imitating a vampire bite. Sam nodded understanding. They'd get this guy alone and use him to find the nest. Vampires always traveled in packs.

Briefly, Alex thought about how wrong it felt to be holding anyone's hand but Cas's. She missed him. _Don't think about that._ The vampire led her down some stairs, through a shadier portion of the club. He kept looking behind them, even though Sam was shadowing at a safe distance. "We're being followed," he said, then abruptly pushed her through the back exit. "Quickly!" 

She stumbled out into the night air and down into the back alley. She looked behind herself for the guy… and, nothing. Empty doorway. She looked around—how could he have just disappeared? "Hello?" she asked, self-aware and careful, taking in her environment quickly. "Weird vampire guy?"

Behind her, a soft, new male voice. "Well hello. You're _pretty_."

She turned around quick, seeing a stranger who had seemingly dropped out of the sky. He was shorter than her, compact, and had long, wild hair that fell in curls to his shoulders. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, but he dressed young, like he thought he was hip—with a distressed leather jacket, some pagan necklaces, some skeleton rings on his thick fingers. He had a goofy expression on his face and looked sort of like a doofus, honestly. "Uh… thank you?" Alex asked, skeptical.

He grinned at her coyly, overly friendly. "Where's your boyfriend?"

" _What_ boyfriend?" she asked, narrowing her eyes at him.

"Pretty boy," the man explained, still grinning. "You were arguing with him a little while ago? I _want_ him." The man giggled—actually giggled. He wanted _Dean_? 

Officially weirded out, Alex backed up a step, her red flags raising, because something about this was way off. "Uh, sorry, I don't think he swings that way. Now if you'll excuse me… I have someplace less creepy to be." She began to back off—and then the guy was suddenly gone and Alex felt herself being grabbed and yanked backwards hard, then thrown with superhuman strength.

She went flying through the air and landed painfully back-first on a dumpster lid where she rolled sideways off of it and fell further down into a pile of trash bags. Disoriented and confused and wondering where the hell Sam was, Alex tried to get up, managing to get her foot on the ground… then fell over when the heel of her boot made her wobble and stumble. "Sam!" Alex called, trying to get help, reaching in the general direction of her machete—but before she could get it, the curly-haired guy grabbed her by her jacket and slammed her up against the dumpster and punched her in the face, stunning her. "Ahh—" she groaned, barely able to see from the insanely strong hit—it almost seemed superhuman, the force of his fist against her face—wait… was he? She wondered that even as her attacker opened his mouth and pointed fangs descended down over his human teeth—and realizing what was happening, Alex struggled wildly with renewed strength to get away to no avail even as he bit his own wrist and let blood flow out. Holding her down despite her valiant protests and struggle, he smeared her mouth with his rancid blood.

The second it touched her tongue, it was all over. Her blood ran cold and hot, screaming in pain as the change began—weakened and disoriented, she fell backwards into the pile of trash bags when he let her go. Her mind was spinning and bursting and nothing made any sense at all, her blood seemed to be having seizures inside her veins. Nearby, she saw a very tall young man in a flannel shirt and rugged jacket holding a sword thing. He just stood there, he had longish hair and was… watching curiously, almost smiling. Why would he smile? Who _was_ that? Alex blinked against bleary eyes when the vampire was suddenly in her face again. 

"Now. Your first assignment, sweetheart. Be a good little girl for me. Your boyfriend. Turn him." He grabbed her hand in his and let blood drip into her palm. He held her gaze in his eyes. She couldn't look away. His words seemed to bore into her, seemed to be her own thoughts. "Take this blood… and _turn him_." He grabbed her chin and reiterated. "Look at me. Turn him. I compel you." The serious look fell away and again, he giggled. "After you do that, come see me, pretty girl. I have plans for you." 

"Hey!" came a loud voice, and the guy with the sword suddenly ran forward and made to attack.

The vampire jumped away, grinning maniacally and dodging a swipe from the blade aimed for him. He jumped onto the side of the building and climbed it like a spider, getting away easily. Dazed, Alex looked up at the guy who had just run up. She recognized him, she thought... "I don't feel… good…" she said to him. Everything was getting really hazy and confusing. And then a new man burst out of a door nearby—he was dressed like this tall one, in plaid, jeans, and a cargo jacket, but he was shorter with close-cut hair. Didn't she know him, too? He looked around frantically, and when he saw her, he came running. Then she realized that he was the one. The one she was supposed to turn. And she stood clumsily, remembering her task and only her task. She had to obey. She remembered the eyes boring into hers. _Turn him. I compel you._

The newcomer ran up to her and grabbed her shoulders. His voice was gruff and loud and she could barely understand him, because all the noises in the world seemed to be plugging up her ears. _"Are… okay?! What… do to... you?! Lex?!"_ His words were clipped and echoing weirdly.

She stared at his mouth. _Turn him._ She took the handful of blood that she was holding onto, and did as she had been commanded. With speed she hadn't known she possessed, she grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him forward even as she shoved the blood into his mouth with every ounce of strength she had. He was shocked and he sputtered, falling backwards. And she remembered nothing else as the world went dark around her.

* * *

Sirens suddenly blared, loud as hell, cars, horns—she heard _everything_ and her eyes snapped open, she clapped her hands over her ears because it _hurt_. Beside her, a familiar grumbling voice. "Oh my god, what is that _sound_?!" Dean asked, sitting up and holding his head in both hands. As Alex's blurred vision returned and she tried to focus, she realized she and Dean had both been thrown down on the bed like sacks of flour. Why was everything _so loud_?!

Sam's voice sounded someplace nearby. "What sound, Dean?"

Alex pushed herself up and grabbed her head. A lamp crashed to the floor someplace nearby as Dean stumbled into it clumsily. He turned and caught sight of her even as she saw him, too. She couldn't see right; everything was painfully bright, but she could tell that he looked horrible—pale, eyes rimmed in red. And there was blood all over his mouth and chin. The _hell_? Maybe she looked the same, because his face registered horror when he looked at her. "Alex—uhhh, what—" he paused, suddenly distracted, setting his sights angrily on one of the motel room walls, "the hell _IS—THAT—NOISE_?!" He pounded on the wall angrily. "Keep it down, dammit!" he shouted, then put his face in his hands. Alex and Dean both recoiled in unison when Sam switched on the other lamp that hadn't been smashed yet.

Dean squinted and held a hand out even as Alex ducked her head down and covered her eyes with an arm. "Sam, please, _please_ shut that off, it's blinding!" Dean complained, rubbing an eye with his hand uselessly.

Sam complied and mercifully, the room went dark. Alex tried to stand up—her vision was doubling and the world was spinning and every noise was _deafening._ She stumbled, feeling like she was suffering from impossibly low blood sugar or seasickness. Her ears ached, there were a million screeching sounds in her head, a steady sound of a hammer hitting against a tin roof, Sam's footsteps were like thunder. She heard a million things at once: a lightbulb buzzing someplace nearby, voices in the room next door, mice feet scampering across a floor, even Sam's _breathing_ sounded like tornado winds. "Christ, Sam, stop making all that racket!" she accused, clapping her hands over her ears uselessly.

"I'm not doing anything!" Sam protested. 

"What the hell happened?!" she demanded, teeth gritted against all the noise. Her oldest brother, similarly tortured, had his hands on his ears, grunting as if he had a headache.

"You don't remember?" Sam asked, seeming mildly confused. "You both got turned." He paused, then clarified. "Into… vampires."

Alex and Dean both looked at Sam in unison, seemingly both noticing at the same time. They could hear their brother's heart beating steady and strong. _Thump thump. Thump thump._ And at the same moment, Alex realized. Oh no. She wanted to taste what was pumping through his veins. She wanted his blood _._ Oh _shit._ Shock made her feel faint and light-headed.

Dean seemed to be having a similar conundrum, staring at his brother in shocked, leery pain, hands falling slowly away from his ears. Sam looked at both of them a little warily and made _calm down_ gestures with his hands. "Guys… you should sit down…" 

" _You_ sit down!" Dean retorted then sat on the edge of one of the beds and cradled his head in his hand. "How'd this _happen_ , Sam?"

"Vamps got the jump on Alex. Then she turned you, Dean." Sam's explanation was matter-of-fact. Alex gaped, shocked and not remembering that at all. "I wasn't quick enough to save you guys. I'm sorry." A passing freight train made Alex and Dean double over, Dean groaning and letting his head fall toward his knees, Alex trying to cover her head with her arms and knocking into the little column in the middle of the room as she lurched back, her head clanging with too many noises.

"Of all the ways to die, _damn_ , to go out like this…" Dean grumbled, "My head's like a frickin' hellscape!"

Sam looked at him like he was nuts. But Alex got what he meant. Every sound was amplified and echoing, like being in a cave but with the volume at a hundred million thousand. Speaking of… "What is that fucking _sound_?!" Alex asked, going insane and frantically trying to identify the loud, mechanical banging sound. She would kill someone if that noise didn't stop. 

Dean got up, seeming to know what was making the sound. "It's _that_ …"

"What's _what_?" Sam asked, getting more and more confused.

Dean roughly grabbed and ripped the little bedside clock off the wall, making sparks shoot out as the power cord severed. Both Dean and Alex recoiled at the burst of brightness and Dean dropped the clock onto the floor, staring in dismay, seeming to have an epiphany. "Shit. _Shit._ This is bad. This is… I can't…" he looked at Sam blank and horrified all at once. He swallowed, looked at his sister in dread. And Alex knew what he was thinking, her face fell. But… she wasn't a _vampire_. She couldn't be, and Dean couldn't be one, either! This was just a bad high or something, right? Dean turned to Sam. "Sam y-you gotta kill us," he said, voice soft with horror. "Both of us." 

Sam cocked his head to the side, like he hadn't heard right. "What?" He scoffed. "No. Look, Samuel's on his way, I called him on the way over here. He's close, just a couple hours out. He said to make sure neither of you fed. Guys, we'll figure this out."

"How?!" Dean demanded, approaching Sam with sudden anger. While Alex was in silent shock, Dean was in full-on freakout mode. "What the hell is to figure out?! Look at us!" He suddenly became accusatory, staring at Sam oddly. "Why aren't you freaked out?"

"Of course I am!" Sam said indignantly. And then Alex realized why Dean asked Sam that.

"Really?" Dean asked. "Cuz I can hear your heartbeat, and it's pretty damned steady." She could hear it, too, in fact, it was the only sound she could focus on. _Thump thump. Thump thump._ This wasn't a bad trip or a dream. This was really happening. Her mouth watered almost at the thought of blood. She was so _hungry_ for it. _But I just got_ over _a blood addiction,_ she thought with despair.

Sam faltered at Dean's accusation. "That's cuz I'm… I'm _trying_ to remain calm," he said, not leaving time to question the matter further. He grew intense, like he was trying to act the part of concerned brother now. "Dean, look—Samuel will know what to do!"

Dean scoffed. "C'mon, man, we're… we're monsters. This is _not_ a problem that you spitball. We gotta deal with this before I— _we_ —hurt somebody." He finally turned his attention to Alex. His wan face and pained features grew sad and guilty, filled with despair. "I'm sorry, kiddo," he said softly. "This is my fault. I was busy picking a fight and took my eyes off you for one minute and…" he gave a short little lame attempt at a laugh. "Worst timing ever, huh?"

"A _fight_?" she asked, filled with pain—her head ached _so_ badly. Who would he be fighting with and why?

Dean looked rueful and dark, glanced away. "Never mind." He groaned suddenly and put his head in his hands. This was a nightmare. It didn't feel real. Alex moaned as an ambulance passed somewhere nearby. Everything hurt so much. She let her head go into a hand.

"How's it feel?" Sam asked, studying Dean closely.

"Now?" Dean asked, irritable. " _Now_ you wanna talk about my feelings?"

"No, I mean… physically."

Getting more and more pissed, Dean let Sam know. "How do you _think_ it feels? _Not good!_ " He brushed past his brother.

"Where you goin'?" Sam asked, getting a very evil eye and ugly-toned retort from Dean.

"Bathroom, okay? News flash, bro: vampires pee!" He slammed the door with gusto behind himself and Sam sighed, crossed his arms, then turned to look at Alex.

 _Thump thump. Thump thump_. His heart was pounding so steadily and all she could think about was how she could now _smell_ his blood. "So, what about you?" He asked, prompting her to say "huh?" He reiterated his earlier question. "How's it feel?"

Irked at his questions and all the sounds and lights and echoing and the new, heady smell of warm blood filling her nostrils, Alex made a face and stalked away from him and over to the window, trying really hard to fight this. "What is this, the Discovery Channel?!" she snapped.

"I'm just curious."

"You should be _worried_ ," she muttered, gripping the windowsill and leaning against it heavily, her voice too low for him to hear. "Old Sam would be worried." Outside, the street lamps in the dark were like little acidic dots and she shut her eyes against the pain that they drilled into her head. 

"What's that?" he asked, not catching her words. His stupid voice was pissing her off even more. 

She whirled around. "I said it feels really great!" she yelled. "Fan-fucking- _tastic_! Two thumbs way, way up!" Glaring at him, she abruptly winced at the little wall-light that was behind his shoulder. It was so damn bright.

Sam looked annoyed at her reaction. "Geez, forget I asked." 

"Just turn off that fucking _light_!" There were some shoes beside a duffel bag near her feet and Alex grabbed a shoe and with a shout of rage she threw it at the light. It shattered and the room sank into total darkness. She sighed in moderate relief, only slightly soothed. The sounds. The _sounds_. 

"...How am I supposed to see?" Sam complained. But Alex was suddenly falling forward slightly, she had to turn and throw a hand out to the wall to catch herself from falling down. She could feel, in her mouth, a new sensation—over her teeth, fangs were creeping out and down. Horrified at the feeling, the cold sensation in her veins, the utter lack of life in her body and the overwhelming _noise_ … she realized how desperate she was for human blood, how Dean was right. _They both had to die._ She sank down to sit on the floor, despairing completely while trying not to think about how good Sam's blood smelled, how much she wanted it. In silence, she sat there and fought her instincts, tried mind over matter. Tried not to accept this, tried not to think about anything real. But of course, reality was all she _could_ think about.

Dean was right. She was _not_ okay. Not about anything, not really. But she _really_ wasn't okay now.

A few minutes passed. Sam stumbled around in the kitchenette, grumbling about something or another. Eyes filling with scared tears that she allowed in the dark where no one could see, Alex was so utterly ashamed and confused and covered her face with her cold hands. Why had this happened? Why couldn't she remember being turned? Why was Sam so different, so heartless? Why why _why_?

A single thought kept pounding through her head like a nail driving through splintered wood: she couldn't face Castiel ever again. She couldn't bear to let him see her like this… a bloodthirsty monster. Well. Hadn't he already? The jumbled memories of the panic room flooded her mind. She hung her head, completely miserable and defeated, wanting someone to just tell her it'd be okay, even though she knew it never would be ever again. It was _over_. A strange, numbing thought. All of it. This was a startling, sad way for it to end. But, _Castiel_. Razor sharp fangs begged for blood in her mouth and she fought away even more tears as the reality sank in anew. Let him remember her as they'd been together last: her, brave and sending him off to battle, despite great trepidation. Him, giving her a kiss that had been as beautiful and warm as a sunrise. That seemed a better ending than him seeing her like this: a monster and a disease. She could write him a letter, explain what had happened to him there. Have Sam give it to him.

A siren outside blared and Alex clenched her hands on either side of her disastrous, clamoring head. _Thump thump. Thump thump._ She could smell Sam, she knew exactly where he was without even looking. Her more clear thoughts began to fade as she focused on that. 

So many sounds here were harrowing her mind as Sam's steady heartbeat maddened her to insanity, made her fangs beg. The idea of blood became the only thing she could think about. She could just take a little bit… Sam wouldn't mind, would he? He was a big guy, he didn't need all that gorgeous, delicious lifeblood, he could share some… she looked up, her eyes working insanely well in the dark. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up a little, and she could see how his forearms were covered in huge, blood-fat veins… they called to her. Told her to drink. And she began to forget everything except that call.

Alex stood up slowly and intently, watching him with new, razor-focus as she contemplated him, then realized that was the weapons duffel bag beside her feet... Sam was looking at the bathroom door and not paying Alex any mind—the water was running in there and had been for awhile. Sam sighed as he went to the bathroom door. He knocked on it twice impatiently. "Dean." No answer and he opened the door then seemed surprised. "The hell? Aw _come on_ Dean!" He exclaimed, then turned, crossed the room, and grabbed his jacket off the bed.

"I gotta go look for hi—" he never finished the sentence. Alex hit him in the face with a crowbar she'd gotten out of the weapon bag. He was totally unprepared for the attack, stunned to the point of near-unconsciousness. He fell backwards onto the bed and she was swooping in like a hungry tiger, grabbing his wrist and bringing his arm to her mouth. Her fangs sank into his skin and hot blood burst into her mouth even as Sam cried out in pain and surprise.

* * *

**Battle Creek, Michigan**

Dean, not exactly clear-minded, didn't think it through. He'd stood there at the bathroom mirror and felt his fangs coming in. And realized _this is it_. The end of his fucking life. And he wasn't gonna have many more chances to say goodbye or do what needed to be done. Not thinking straight, he'd ducked out the motel bathroom window, gotten into his car, and driven at fatal speeds under the cover of deep night to the place that had been his home for a year. Now, he stood in the dark room just inside the open window he'd broken in through. He watched Lisa sleep in the bed they used to share. She looked beautiful, even through his bleary, profane eyesight—tan, healthy, dark-haired, delicate-featured. So _alive_. She wore a very tight, skimpy lace camisole. Her neck looked so gorgeous and soft, her décolletage was inviting—he watched how she breathed steadily. He could hear her heart beating even from the distance he stood at, he could smell the intoxicating balm of her blood and he _wanted it_. A dog abruptly began to bark and Lisa stirred, opening her eyes, then she sat up fast, startled and afraid, for a minute not knowing who he was. And then she recognized him, even in the darkness. 

"Dean!" she exclaimed in surprised but apprehensive relief. 

"Hey," he said, trying to sound like himself. But he was so impossibly sad because of why he was here.

She reached over and turned on her nightstand lamp and it blinded Dean who looked away, eyes aching at the sudden, impossible burst of light. "Hey," she returned, rubbing an eye sleepily. "I... wasn't expecting you for a couple of days."

"Yeah, yeah…" Dean tried to act normal, but he was squinting and he could hear her heart beating and everything felt wrong. "I wanted to see you." He sat down on the bed near her feet because he was afraid of being too close. Of what he might do to her if he lost control. 

Lisa, unaware of the reality but picking up on the fact that something was wrong, looked at him carefully. "What's up? Are you okay?"

"Listen…" Dean started slowly, not sure how to explain any of it or how to tell her goodbye. 

"What's going on?" she asked, getting very concerned and edging closer. Her heartbeat was picking up a little, he could hear the blood rushing inside of her. Concentrating was almost impossible and in his mouth, the fangs craved release from where they currently rested hidden in his gums. 

"It, it doesn't matter," he said. He didn't want to tell her the truth. It was too horrible. He just wanted her to know he appreciated everything they'd had. However on-and-off and hot-and-cold as it had been. "But I need you to know… you and Ben... just, uh... thanks. Okay? For everything." Every time he tried to look at her, the lamp blinded him. His head pounded. 

Lisa slid out from under the cover and moved even closer to him—he could see how she was wearing pretty much nothing, he could smell her blood even more strongly, her heartbeat was louder. "Dean, you're scaring me," she whispered, trying to lean closer to him.

Dean got up abruptly, filled with filthy thoughts involving sex and blood and screams—all hers. "I… I gotta go…" he said with rising urgency, realizing this had been a _bad_ idea. She was _not_ safe from him—he was dangerous.

At his declaration, she stood, confused and riled up. "No, you can't just show up here like this and—"

"Believe me, I wish it was different," he said, cutting her off. Barely able to concentrate at her closing proximity.

"Just _stop_ and explain to me what's going on!" 

Miserable and regretting his decision to come here, Dean shook his head, barely able to meet her gaze. "Lisa, I can't bring this crap home to you."

"You're… you're talking about your work?" she asked, soft, confused. His eyes traveled her. She was so innocent, so ripe for the plucking, so unaware of the things his condition, his _disease_ , was compelling him to do to her…

Resolve heightened because of how alarmed he felt, Dean shook his head and backed up a little from her. "I'm talking about my _life_. It's ugly… and it's violent… and I'm gonna die— _soon."_

Very upset now, Lisa stepped closer beseechingly. "Just tell me. Just tell me what the hell is going on…" she asked, taking hold of his arms and staring into his eyes with vast amounts of concern.

He stared down at her, frozen, fighting his urges, trying not to hear the delicious heartbeat in her veins, trying not to inhale that gorgeous aroma of lifeblood. It was irresistible. He snapped, grabbing her hard and shoving her against the wall that was beside them. She gasped, shocked at his actions, staring at him with wide eyes. As their eyes held, her concern faded, she seemed entranced at him and almost _interested_ —her bosom was heaving as her pulse skyrocketed, he stared at the little curve where her neck and shoulder met—he wanted to taste her there, he wanted to dive into her veins with his fangs, sample her blood. He felt himself giving in, called forward by the song of her pulse, his mouth drawn to the maddening perfection of her neck… _Dean, stop_ his inner voice told him, and he realized what he was doing—he remembered himself and with all the self-control he possessed, he yanked himself away, horrified even as his fangs descended in his mouth, ready to puncture her. He turned away from her and lurched away a couple steps, pained and in torment, realizing if he didn't leave _now_ he would probably kill her. 

"Dean?" Lisa asked behind him, voice high with panic. She wasn't entranced anymore and Dean was confused.

"I gotta go," he said, and completely shaken, he fled into the hallway, covering his mouth with his hand, disoriented, his vision blurred. He had to get away from her. He had to get away from _everyone_.

One door down, Ben emerged—the light coming from his bedroom was bright as the fucking _sun_ and Dean recoiled even as the kid wandered out, rubbing his eyes. "Dean…?" he asked, confused and half-aware, but when he saw it _was_ Dean, he smiled and came forward to greet him.

"Ben, j-just stay there," Dean commanded in a gruff, panicked rush, squinting and almost doubled over as he held out a warning hand.

"I thought I heard you—" Ben started, getting too close—Dean could smell his blood and the light behind the kid was inconceivable and Dean lost his mind.

"I said _stay back_!" he shouted, shoving Ben aside too hard where he collided with the other side of the hall. And Dean saw that through what seemed another person's eyes. The callous way he knocked the kid aside was reminiscent of what his dad had done to him. To his sister. He was just like his father, but even worse now.

And with that thought Dean tore out of the house, panicking and full of fear. _I'm a monster. I have to die._ Someone has to kill me. _I have to die. Someone_ has _to kill me._ There was no way he could hold off on drinking someone much longer. The desire was too intense and he was barely holding onto his mind at this point. He pulled out his phone, groaning as he stumbled back to the Impala—the screen was acid-bright and he could barely look at it. Still, he scrolled through, trying to find someone who would kill him sight unseen. And then, he saw the name _Jamie W_. He'd kept her number, and maybe this was why. Beggars couldn't be choosers. Dean hit _call_ and leaned heavily against the Impala, half out of his mind with lunacy, bloodlust, and horror.

She picked up and there was some swishing. " _What_?" she asked, pissy. She sounded half-asleep and still drunk.

"Where the hell are you?" Dean asked, gruff and barely able to concentrate on forming words.

She moaned softly, like she wasn't fully awake. "Still at the bar, drunk in my car." Then she grew suspicious. "Wait. Why are you _calling_ me?"

He didn't explain. Just barked out an order. "Stay there and don't do anything stupid, I need you to do something for me." And he hung up without a word, got in his car, and drove like an absolute madman, alternating between nearly wrecking and nearly running off the road. When he parked crookedly in _The Black Rose_ parking lot, he saw Jamie's Tahoe parked off by itself and he grabbed his machete out of the trunk, stumbling over to the SUV. He could hear all the noises of the city and smell people nearby and he was getting really, really worried that he couldn't hold off much longer. Jamie was asleep in the front seat of her car, her head awkwardly resting on her shoulder and her mouth opened in a snore—she was in the same red dress—why did it have to be the color of blood? Dean banged on the window loudly, rudely waking her up. She sat up in a panic then saw it was him and grimaced then squinted mistrustfully. 

She didn't open her car door or roll down the window. Just spoke through the window. He could barely hear her. "Seriously? You here to bitch at me more?" Unhappy and groggy, she hunkered down into her seat even more, apparently ready to go back to sleep. "Fuck off before I shoot you," she muttered. 

"A gun won't work," Dean said, indicating his weapon. "You'll need my machete."

 _That_ got her attention and woke her right up. "Wait… what?" she paused, then slowly got out of her car, shutting the door behind her. She looked at him carefully and took in the blood along his collar, the red-rimmed eyes, the pale color cast. She was surprised, the bitchy look left her face. "What's wrong with you?" she asked, and she sounded a little worried on his behalf. "You look _terrible_. Are you... sick?" 

He shoved the weapon at her with a shaking hand, realizing he could hear her heartbeat and it was making his mouth water. "Chop my head off," he said urgently, "Just do it, make it snappy, before I hurt anyone." She looked at him like he was speaking an alien language. "I got _turned_!" He said loudly, then pulled up his upper lip, showing her his new fangs for emphasis. She recoiled, genuinely surprised and finally a little wary. 

"Whoa, the dentist isn't gonna know with that one," she commented with a weak little laugh, backing up a little against the side of her SUV.

Annoyed, Dean was losing his cool fast. "I don't got time for the comedy club, now _do it_!" He grabbed her tightly for emphasis, only meaning to scare her into action—but she did nothing, just stared up into his eyes in a very uncanny way. In that moment, Dean remembered that some vampires had the ability to compel—put their victims into a trance of sedated and compliant behavior. And when Jamie just let him stand there, pushed up against her intimately—her chest heaving alluringly, her mouth open as she breathed, her eyes locked on his—he realized that had to be what was happening and why Lisa had let him just shove her against a wall, too.

Dean's breathing was quickening, fast… he could hear the blood rushing inside her, almost _taste_ it. Her ice-blue eyes stared up into his and her heartbeat was the most maddening call in the entire universe, he saw her sleeve had fallen down a little to reveal the soft round shape of her shoulder. Her other shoulder was tattooed, he remembered faintly, but this shoulder? The bare skin looked warm, inviting, flushed with blood. He tried desperately to control himself, tried to tell her how he was a monster, what was wrong with him: "I wanna drink your blood, understand?" he asked softly, losing his edge of alarm in place of desire. He was suddenly finding her so intoxicating, so delicious, so ready for the taking. Beautiful. "Taste you... feel your heartbeat in my mouth... sink my teeth down deep into that soft little neck of yours..." the words kept coming and he didn't even think he was saying them, but she smiled a little, eyes glazed over as if she were hypnotized by what he was saying. 

Dean's clarity was falling away in favor of bloodlust—he didn't even know who she was or _care_. "You smell _so damn good_ —" he said and leaned in, letting his hand graze the bare skin of her shoulder where blood flowed beneath. He couldn't help himself. He had to have her blood, now. He pulled her sleeve down further, grasping her shoulder and pulling it to him as she made a soft sound of surprise—not protest. He bent down and pressed his nose to her skin, inhaling deeply—enjoying how she suddenly clung to him in her state of being compelled. He opened his mouth, his fangs descending, begging to pierce through the silken skin and harvest hearty red lifeblood. And the second one of those fangs touched her skin, she snapped out of her trance, said " _hey!_ " and shoved him away before he could break the skin. Following his stumble, she raised her elbow up and crashed it into his face, stunning him, then grabbed his collar and cracked her fist into his face—she hit like an MMA champion, he thought faintly. He collapsed down onto his back next to his machete, which had already clattered down uselessly.

Dean looked up at the fierce blonde woman who towered over him in the red party dress who had maybe just broken his nose. "Don't _bite_ me!" she said, indignant and surprised and horrified all at once. Even angry she was goddamn pretty and he was mad at the thought. 

He groaned at the physical pain, at the noise clanging around in his head, at the realization that he'd almost just fed on her. "I told you, you got to kill me," he said, miserable and past hope.

She dropped the jokes and relented. Crouching beside him, she kept her knees together as she contemplated the machete, then him. Briefly, she had no guard up at all and he felt like he was looking at someone else entirely. A friend or something. "I'm sorry, Dean." She meant it, and it was obvious, and she seemed genuine, almost vulnerable. Like she identified with him or something. He could smell her blood still, and it was clouding his mind.

Dean reminded himself that he didn't _like_ her, that she was a _witch_ , that he didn't associate freely with her kind. "I don't need anyone feeling sorry for me," he retorted, trying not to get cold feet. He needed to _die_. He was _thisclose_ to killing. "Now pick up that damn machete and end this now _please_."

She hesitated, studying him with a very rigid, torn expression. And it pissed him off. She was a hunter, he was a monster, the end! What was there to decide? She was showing her weakness in her hesitation. He grabbed her wrists angrily, suddenly yanking her down and almost knocking her over as he pulled himself up, getting in her face. "Enough with the _moral debate_ , James!" Dean exclaimed, barely able to tolerate the insane need to taste her. Her smaller wrists in his big hands pulsed with blood and he let go as if stung, laying there propped up on an elbow beneath her—she'd fallen over him and was pushing herself away from him with her hands. "I want blood, understand?! I want _your_ blood. I'll kill people, I'll kill _you_!" Dean swallowed painfully, because this was such a shitty ending to his story. This was the opposite of who he was supposed to be. He was supposed to _save_ people, not hurt them. Jamie's eyes went to the machete. She slowly reached down and closed her fingers around the handle then looked back at Dean with unsure eyes.

He braced himself for the kill, wishing he hadn't gone to see Lisa. He should have stayed with Sam and Alex, the ones he owed more to than he ever would to Lisa, loved a million times more than anyone else in the world. _Shoulda, woulda, coulda._ Story of his life. Just another failure to add to the never-ending list. Too late for regrets. He'd done what he'd done. He hardened his face and voice, raised his chin, and faced it like a man. "Now do your damn job and gank me," he told her commandingly, not letting her see his inner conflict. "You gotta put me down. I'm a monster."

She looked at him with an unreadable expression, searching his eyes with hers. "Aren't we all?" That's when he realized he knew the emotion in her eyes: compassion. She softly touched the side of his face, cupping it almost like it was a tender touch. He looked at her questioningly, a strange feeling alighting in his chest when he looked into her eyes. Even as he was opening his mouth to ask her what the hell she was doing, she quietly uttered a single word: " _Somnus_."

And Dean Winchester's world went black as night.


	55. Fanged Up

" _It doesn't matter what you are. It only matters what you do."_  
\- Sam Winchester

* * *

Alex became aware slowly as she came out of the darkness of unconsciousness.

Momentarily disoriented and not remembering what had happened, she could feel how she sat in a wooden chair with her hands behind her. Ropes bound her waist and arms tightly—the _hell_? She strained at them instinctively even before her eyes had opened fully. And then she remembered attacking Sam, feeding on him—and him getting the crowbar away from her. _Ah_. He must have knocked her out. Coming to quickly, feeling a new sort of calm and strength as she woke, Alex realized that she felt… _good_. Sam's blood, although she hadn't gotten a lot, made her feel totally different. Alive again, but in a new way. A _better_ way. That's what her first thought was, but then quickly after it, she recoiled internally, horrified at her own thought process. Alive in a better _way_? She'd been turned into a _vampire_ and just fed on her own _brother_! Distinctly, her two mindsets warred against the other: her familiar humanity which was slipping away as her newfound vampiric state of being fought for dominance.

The constant barrage of noises hadn't stopped—she heard heartbeats and traffic and lightbulbs and electricity—but the sounds weren't as completely jarring and deafening as before; she felt like she could almost separate them from her senses, somehow—she wasn't sure how to process it at all. And then Alex realized… there were _two_ human heartbeats in the room with her now, not just one. She raised her lolling chin off her chest and saw that a pair of black booted feet was in front of her. She frowned. That wasn't Sam. She looked up slowly.

A tall, imposing man with a shining bald head and thick eyebrows was looking down at her with his arms folded. "There you are," he greeted leisurely, smiling just barely—he looked distinctly calm and in control, self-assured. She didn't like it. "Morning, sunshine."

Alex stared at the man guardedly. She'd met him just the once, and he hadn't left the best impression then, either. "Samuel..." she greeted cautiously. His heartbeat was steady, loud, strong. Samuel Campbell: her maternal grandfather—her mother's father. She didn't know much about him except he was a hunter and had _died_ in the seventies… yet was somehow inexplicably alive again since about a year ago, just like Sam was.

"' _Grandpa_ ' would be fine too," he suggested. And even though his tone was friendly and pleasant enough, there was an unpleasant glint of calculating and superiority behind his eyes. Alex felt another twinge of dislike.

She pulled a little against the ropes that held her down again, realizing that she almost felt strong enough to snap the ropes completely. But instead of testing that theory, she decided to bide her time. She raised her chin and narrowed her eyes then adopted a guarded and snide tone. "So what is this? Family reunion?"

Samuel's little smile never left his face, resulting in an expression that seemed to imply Alex was stupid. "Your brother didn't tell you I was on my way?" He glanced to the side and Alex followed his gaze. She'd already known he was there—Sam's heartbeat and scent was familiar, locked _inside_ of her somehow—but it wasn't until she laid eyes on him that she reacted with genuine care. Saw what she had _done_. Sort of sullen and in a new shirt, Sam had his arms crossed. On one of those arms, a large bandage. The place where she'd bitten him. He stared at her from near the window.

"I'm here to help," Samuel explained.

Yeah, _whatever_. He was a little too late—Alex—the real Alex, not the corrupted vampire-version of Alex, saw her brother and was deeply horrified at herself, realizing all over again that _she was a monster_. She saw how the faintest bit of blood had seeped through his bandage. Her mouth watered a little—and then her eyes teared up as she realized how she truly couldn't fight this, that it was suddenly _who she was,_ and she was powerless to change it. She wasn't _human_ anymore. "Sorry," Alex muttered to her twin, then bowed her head down, kept her voice gruff, and shoved her tears away angrily. "You, uh, you okay?"

Sam shrugged, pushing himself up to stand, arms still crossed. He seemed unable to give two shits about anything either way—he took a couple steps toward her. "Yeah. Fine." He paused and cracked a cynical, straight-faced joke. "My _shirt's_ ruined." She looked at him at that point, confused—Sam shouldn't be wisecracking at a time like this, should he? Who _was_ this guy? He narrowed his eyes at her like he was trying to figure something out. "How do you feel?" he questioned. In the past, Sam would have asked that out of genuine care and concern. But today, he seemed to ask it out of a scholarly interest—there was no empathy in his eyes.

Hurt because it was clear he didn't really care and she didn't know _why_ , Alex resorted to defensive sarcasm. " _Dead inside_ ," she quipped, peevishly staring past Samuel and at the empty bed behind him. Then, Alex realized someone was missing. Worry surged forth. "Where's Dean?"

Samuel glanced at Sam, who looked down and smiled derisively, appearing to be mildly annoyed. "On his way back right now."

Well _that_ was cryptic. _Whatever, Sam._ Everything he was doing was pissing her off more and more, but it didn't really matter anymore. It was too late to fix the broken relationship or figure out what had changed. And honestly, she didn't even want to. She didn't _like_ Sam anymore and was bitter at how he'd let her think that he was dead for a year—he seemed to have no remorse about how it had torn her up. It was like he didn't care at _all_.

She was done trying to understand. She was done with _everything_ , like it or not. After all, this was probably her last day on earth. She and Dean couldn't stay the way they were… she knew that below her in-shock state of mind. They were menaces. _Monsters_. That word kept coming to mind. And monsters had to be put down.

Unbidden, she thought of the fierce, gentle angel in the trench coat. She would have one final request before Sam or Samuel ended her existence: That they allow her to write him a goodbye letter in private, then see that he got it. She couldn't say goodbye in person. Selfishly, she couldn't bear to think of him seeing her like this. That, and she was so afraid she'd lay eyes on him and want to _drink_ him…

Samuel was dragging a chair up, setting it across from the one Alex sat tied into. His heartbeat was loud and annoying. Swallowing her emotionally raw thoughts, Alex raised her chin again, projecting a cool, somewhat hostile demeanor toward the balding grandfather who she didn't know from a hole in the wall. "So you here to kill us or what, ' _Grandpa_ '?" she asked, snide.

Samuel didn't seem to like her rude tone, but instead of glowering, he just smiled a little more, calm and composed. "That dad of yours didn't teach you to respect your elders, huh?" he asked conversationally, setting the chair to face back-first toward her. His casual insult surprised Alex. He took a seat across from her on the chair backwards, like he was totally at ease… and she didn't like his know-it-all attitude or the cool way he stared at her. "Figures," he said mildly, clasping his hands together. "Anyway, I can't say what _your_ future is, per say, but Dean might still have one."

Alex looked at him shrewdly and despite her growing insolent feelings toward him, decided to ignore his fighting words and be the bigger person. "What do you mean?"

Samuel held up a leather-bound book that looked really old. "This here's my grandfather's journal. There's a cure in here."

"A cure?" Sam and Alex chorused. Samuel shot Sam, in particular, a strange look.

"A cure for _what_?" Alex asked urgently, feeling a sense of hope where she'd had none before.

"The journal says the cure'll turn a newborn vampire back to a human," Samuel explained, and Alex gaped. There was a way out of this? The second she thought that, Samuel stomped her hope down unintentionally. "But, thing is… the vampire can't have fed. And Sam here says you already have."

Expression falling and shoulders slowly lowering down into a slump, Alex averted her gaze. Samuel sounded sort of haughty about that last part. She had barely been able to think, she'd needed blood so _bad_. Same old song and dance, huh? Once an addict, always an addict. Alex was so disappointed in herself. But she also realized that for now, the need was sated—a small mercy. She wasn't insane with bloodlust... even though both Sam and Samuel's blood was loud and distracting, she was okay. She hoped Dean had somehow managed to hold off better than she had. What if he'd fed too? Then the cure wouldn't work. Alex almost scoffed at that point because she had no _clue_ if some hokey old cure from some obscure old journal would actually work. She had no idea if Samuel was actually a good hunter or reliable resource—Sam said he was, but Sam was full of shit lately.

"You tried this cure out before?" Alex asked, studying Samuel closely. Hoping that maybe he'd say yes and at least Dean could escape this nightmare.

"Haven't had occasion," Samuel said, a little grim now.

Alex looked down and clenched her jaw tightly. Well, at least Dean had a some small shot in hell. That was better than what she had going for her. "So basically, I'm fucked," she surmised.

Samuel was disapproving at her choice of words. "What kind of language is that to use?"

Whipping her head up, Alex stared at her grandfather challengingly. _Just_ what she needed. Some bullshit male relative who had no right to say a damn thing to her coming in here and acting like he could just tell her what to do. _No_ —she didn't think so. "I'll say what I want," she retorted, _daring_ him to say something else to her, daring him to try and tell her what to do again.

Instead, he just drew back slightly, looked mildly thoughtful. " _Huh_."

" _What_?" Alex asked in a short, hostile tone.

Samuel looked at her cooly, taking his time to reply. "No respect for authority, mouth like a trash can, think you know everything…" he shook his head a little bit, seeming to be looking down on her. "You're more like your father than I thought you'd be."

Taken aback and bristling, Alex blinked once. "The _hell_ is your problem?" Clenching her fists, the ropes strained against her stiffened arms and she let her expression twist into something ugly and hostile. "You want my respect, you _earn_ it, old man," she spat. "And don't you mention my dad to me _ever_ again."

Yet again, Samuel's face was even-keeled and he seemed to almost enjoy how he'd so obviously goaded her. "I can see that this is an argument that's gonna go south, fast," he said neutrally, but that small, superior smile never left his face. "Let's quit while we're ahead."

Disliking him more and more, Alex gritted her teeth. He was the most patronizing, _infuriating_ … "Who put this guy in charge anyway, huh Sam?" she asked angrily, sharply looking at her twin. Then realized she had another important question. "And what the hell are you guys gonna do with me if there's no cure, huh?" She was breathless, getting mad, getting _real_ warmed up to the idea of drinking one or both of the men at this point. And realizing _that_ —how the thought of tearing into her own flesh and blood family struck her as appealing—her more human mind fought for dominance, she was startled into sudden fear at herself and her thoughts.

The two men looked at each other wordlessly when she asked what they were going to do with her if there was no cure. There was an abrupt knocking at the door. Sam's arms uncrossed. "That must be her." Momentarily distracted, Alex looked at her already-moving twin with a confused frown. Who must be who?

Samuel stood too and followed Sam to the door. Alex couldn't see from where she was, no matter how much she craned her head. Then she heard a familiar female voice and she went still in shock. "Special delivery. He's passed out in the back of the dark green Tahoe parked on the west side of the building." Alex heard the sound of keys jingling like they'd been tossed and caught, heard Sam say thanks. Heard two pairs of heavy footsteps leaving the motel room. Heard high-heels clicking toward her. Smelled new blood.

Alex already knew who it was before she saw Jamie, but still. When Jamie slowly, hesitantly walked to stand in front of Alex, it was like a punch in the gut to see the familiar face—mostly because it reminded Alex of Glen. She swallowed, suddenly nerve-wracked. And then was confused, because Jamie was wearing a worried expression and a little red dress with a plunging neckline and long sleeves. Not her normal jeans and tight shirt combo—was she _hunting_ in that dress and heels? There was nowhere to hide a weapon _anywhere_.

" _You're_ all dressed up," Alex noted guardedly, trying to figure it out and play it cool. "What's the occasion?"

Jamie looked down at herself, like she'd forgotten what she was wearing. A lifeless, single chuckle came out. "Figured I should wear it at least once before I die," she joked, but she also sounded kind of serious. "Being stupid, I don't know." Alex could tell Jamie was off. Distracted. Depressed, even. Jamie was taking in Alex's appearance with a note of confused, faltering amusement. "What's with _your_ trashy outfit?"

"What, you don't like it?" Alex asked, matching Jamie's sort of joking, careful tone. Not unpleasantly, Alex squinted at her friend, forcing herself to ignore the never ending _thump thump, thump thump_. "What the hell are you _doing_ here, anyway?"

Jamie sighed as if she had no idea and tossed a tired hand up. "Long story, but uh… ran into Dean and he was trying to get me to kill him, so…" she gave a wan, tight attempt at a smile, "interesting night."

"Dean asked you to kill him," Alex repeated, her stomach flipping unpleasantly at the news. Without saying goodbye to her? Dean wouldn't do that… would he?

Jamie nodded, grim and hard-faced. "Yeah." She turned the chair Samuel had been sitting in to face Alex and sat down slowly. "Also, tried to eat me."

Alex's eyebrows raised a little. " _Huh_ ," she commented, appraising Jamie closely. "Awkward." The blonde looked sort of awful—tangled hair, bruised forehead, busted lip, dark under-eye circles. Her eyes were bloodshot, and something about her demeanor was different than normal. It looked like she'd been in a lot of fights lately. Maybe because she was now on her own—Alex had killed Jamie's only remaining living relative to her knowledge. A pit of guilt settled in her stomach but Alex cleared her throat, forcing herself not to feel that way. "You okay?" she asked, trying not to sound as bad as she felt. She hadn't even _called_ Jamie to check on her since… since what happened. She hadn't given it much thought at all, had decided to just cut ties, because that was easier. Now, she regretted that decision and felt like a shit friend.

Jamie seemed to be uncomfortable at the question, shrugging and brushing it aside. "Yeah, who cares," she said, downplaying herself. She eyed Alex's ropes with a frown. "Are _you_?"

Alex looked down at herself, chuckled darkly. "A little tied up at the moment. Also, a vampire. So… not great." Remorseful, Alex again cleared her throat, figuring she owed Jamie a little bit of an apology. Wondered if Jamie had any clue that she was sitting across from her brother's murderer. "I'm sorry I didn't call you to tell you what happened or whatever. Dean tossed my phone and I just kinda... I dunno. I've been distracted."

"No, it's fine," Jamie said with a valiant effort to sound nonplussed. Looking at Alex kind of sadly now, her eyes rested on Alex's mouth and chin. Alex realized both must have been still covered in blood, and her human mind was embarrassed, her new vampire senses were _proud_. And she was left in the middle not knowing _how_ to feel. There was a long silence, then Jamie looked Alex in the eye sympathetically. "Dean didn't say you got turned too."

"Yeah, well," Alex let out a heavy, windy breath, trying not to think about it. " _I'm_ apparently past hope but my good ole grandpa thinks he's got some magical cure for Dean."

Jamie stood up decisively for reasons Alex wasn't sure and walked over to the kitchen. Alex heard the water running in the sink. "Just Dean?" Jamie asked, her tone tense. "Not you?"

"I, uh, I fed, so apparently it won't work on me," Alex admitted, a little shamefaced. "But if Dean hasn't put a straw in anyone yet, maybe he's got a chance."

The water cut off, Jamie's heels clicked across the floor as she came back. "So, he could get fixed and you're just… _stuck_?" Jamie asked incredulously. She held a damp dishrag in her hand. What was _that_ for?

"Sounds like." Alex pushed that sad thought away and set Jamie with an intensely questioning gaze. "Why didn't you kill Dean if he asked you to, anyway? You saw what he was, right?"

Jamie made a face like she was thinking _trust me, I saw_ … "Yeah. I definitely but… I couldn't." She looked at Alex with renewed sadness. "Hold still." She quickly leaned in and wiped Alex's chin off for her, not getting too close, seeming to understand that the closer she got, the more it would bother Alex. Jamie's heart beat was so loud and the sound of her blood was rushed noisily in Alex's ears. She tried not to hear it or think about it.

"Thanks," Alex said, depressed, glancing at how the washcloth came away bright red with Sam's blood. _Blood_. The sight of it made her a little hungrier for some, made her remember all over again what a monster she was. "Back up, would you?" she asked Jamie quietly, voice trembling. "Your blood's noisy as hell."

Jamie did and stood back. "You know, I still haven't forgotten Ypsilanti," she said after a minute. "How you saved my ass back there. Lemme, uh, make some calls and check some spell books. See if I can figure anything out for you." She nodded toward the door. "My phone's out in the car." She made to leave, but Alex stopped her with five words—a sudden confession she blurted out.

"Jamie. I killed your brother."

Immediately, Jamie's heart rate skipped, then doubled. She stopped in her tracks and looked at Alex with a gaping, horrified expression. Alex stared at her own knees. "You knew that had to be me, right?" she asked guiltily. She was gonna die soon anyway, might as well face this oddly shameful situation. "When you found him dead there, me gone and not answering the phone—you had to know, put two and two together… figure out it was me, right?" She looked up at Jamie, who was clearly upset and surprised. Her voice faltered. "He tried to hurt me."

There was a lot of deep shame surrounding the entire thing in Alex's mind. A lot of pain she didn't want to face.

Jamie's expression was sick, pained, sad, afraid, regretful. "Look..." she said in a strained voice, "I don't know what he did to you but I'm… it's…" she couldn't seem to find a way to explain herself. "Dean and I talked, the day it happened and he… he sort of alluded to it being pretty bad and I just…" her jaw clenched tightly, she looked at Alex straight on, and for the first time Alex had ever seen, there were _tears_ were in Jamie's eyes. "I'm sorry," she said, voice choking a little. When she blinked, an ashamed tear ran out onto her cheek. "So _sorry_. We spent all that time hunting monsters and... he was one. I hate any man who would do that to a woman. Doesn't matter if he was related to me or not. I'm _sorry,_ Alex. I wish I'd known he was capable of... of that." She cleared her throat and tried to compose herself. "I just wanna help you somehow, okay? Least I can do. After everything hunting with me put you through." The guilt she felt was crystal clear, surprising Alex immensely and making her feel validated. Relieved, too. Jamie set her chin, nodded just once, and became the Jamie Alex was used to: matter-of-fact, focused, and a little grim. "I'll look in my spell books. See what I can see."

Alex nodded somberly. "Yeah. Okay. Thanks."

Without another word, Jamie left even as Sam and Samuel returned and carried an unconscious Dean in, dumping him into a bed. Alex craned her neck, a new reason to be upset distracting her from the other one. What had happened to him? Had he fed? Was he okay? Sam smacked his face repeatedly even as Samuel stood back with arms crossed. "Wake up, Dean," Sam commanded, and when Dean stirred and protested, Sam immediately demanded to know: "Did you feed?"

"Outta my face, your blood is so freakin' loud!" Dean commanded, surly and pushing Sam away hard—then catching sight of Alex, whose chair faced the bed. "Why's she tied up?" he asked, looking at Sam balefully for an explanation.

"Because she decided to _attack_ me," Sam answered shortly. "Now did you feed or not?"

Dean said nothing, just set his jaw and got real pissy, glaring in Sam's general direction, then Samuel's. "Answer the question, Dean," Samuel said sternly.

Dean batted an invisible something away in annoyance. "You can relax, I didn't _drink_ anyone."

Samuel let out a tense breath. "Thank God _one_ of you's strong enough to withstand the temptation." Alex looked at her grandfather sharply, not appreciating the comment.

Dean was startled. "What's that supposed to mean?" Then, understanding slowly he looked at his sister, his expression falling with the beginnings of dread. "Al?"

Uncomfortable under his stare, Alex looked down. "Yeah," she confirmed. "I'm sorry." And she was, at least in part. Her body wasn't sorry, but her mind was. And anyway, it was too late. Sullen, her eyes darted back up to her brother. "Where'd you go, anyway? Why'd you just leave?"

It was Dean's turn to look uncomfortable and he stood up, got quieter. "I uh, I went to say goodbye to Lisa… which, for the record, was a lousy idea." He swallowed, shame flickering across his features. "But I…. I couldn't let it end without trying, you know?" He paused and suddenly frowned, seeming to remember something. "Wait… where the hell's Jamie? She bring me here?"

"She said you tried to eat her," Alex said, fishing for the truth by reading Dean's expression… which was immediately a hundred percent guilty.

"I was under the influence, okay? Still am." He glanced at Sam and Samuel, who must have been pretty appealing at that point to him. Alex was feeling hungry again, too. Dean seemed pissed and desperate all at once. "Shoulda known she wouldn't have the balls to gank me," he grumbled, then shut his eyes and winced as an ambulance wailed past somewhere nearby. "This is a nightmare. We gotta go, quick." He turned to Samuel. "How we gonna do this? I can't watch you kill her. I can't. You gotta do me first." He was pointedly not even looking at Alex—all she could see was his profile, his jaw working hard. He was trying not to break down. She recognized it. And seeing him that upset always got her upset, too.

Samuel looked at Dean for a moment, then walked forward. "Okay…" he said slowly, pausing for effect. "Or… I can just turn you back."

Dean faltered slightly as if he hadn't heard right. "What?"

"I didn't drive all this way to kill you, Dean—I'm here to _save_ you."

Suspicious, Dean looked his grandfather over closely. "...How?"

Samuel sauntered over to the table where he'd set his journal down. "I have a cure," he said, opening up the book and tapping a marked page with his finger. Dean, frowning judiciously, went to look. "It's an old Campbell recipe, kind of like the soup. No one's tried it since God knows. What I hear… this stuff is a bad trip."

Dean looked up from the old, yellowed page, looking uncertain. "You tried it before?" he asked, and it was possible to hear how he was allowing himself to hope.

"No," Samuel said. "But the cure is good according to these pages, and nothing in here's ever led me astray before." He leaned forward over the table, hands on its surface. "But you gotta hold off—a lot of this is on _you_. You drink someone and you're done, the cure won't work. I'm talking one drop of human blood—"

"Wait," Dean cut him off gruffly, suddenly frowning deeply again. " _Wait_." He looked at Alex, who was silent and watchful. "She _drank_ Sam. So that means what?"

Samuel straightened slowly. "I dunno what to tell you. It says this only works if the newborn vamp hasn't already fed."

Dean obviously didn't like that. "No— _no_. If there's a way to save me there sure as _hell_ has to be a way to save her! Who says this cure won't work on a full-on vamp? Huh? I mean, you don't even _know_ if the cure works at all, right? You seen it with your own eyes, 'Grandpa'?"

Samuel reaffirmed what they all already knew by now. "I haven't."

"Okay, all right," Dean said, agitated and cagey. "Here's what we're gonna do. We're gonna try for this cure and hope like hell it'll get my sister un-vamped. What do we need to make this happen?"

"Your fighting spirit's admirable, son," Samuel said, but he didn't sound like he meant the words. "Trickiest thing on the list's blood of the fang that turned ya."

That gave Dean pause. He didn't seem to know what to do with that information. But Alex did. "I don't remember the guy who did it, but I have his scent," Alex said, and suddenly three sets of eyes were on her.

"You have his _what_?" Sam asked, confused and a little grossed out. Alex just gave him a silent and brief _fuck off_ glare.

"Okay, you tell me where he is, I can get it," Dean said, looking ready to go _now_.

"You're gonna walk right into the nest?" Samuel asked dubiously.

"Well, I'm one of them, aren't I?" Dean asked. "So all I gotta do is get in there, get the guy alone, and shoot him with so much dead man's blood that he'll think he's rushing a fraternity."

"I should come with you," Sam said.

Dean immediately made a face. "No. Dude, you _reek_. You're like a walking hamburger. I gotta do this solo."

" _How_?" Alex asked. "You won't know which vampire it is, Dean. And even if you knew who it was, you're _anemic_. Those vamps get the drop on you, you're dead. I barely drank any and I feel… well, pretty good now." She decided to test her earlier theory and began to use all of her strength to strain against the ropes. "Good enough to do this." The bonds holding her snapped against her new superhuman strength, and as she stood up, Sam and Samuel both looked shocked. She heard how Samuel's heartbeat picked up in anxiety and she smirked a little, looking at him darkly. He was nervous she was going to hurt him or drink him. " _Relax,_ " Alex said, decided to play with him a little bit. "I don't drink old people."

Dean looked grim about taking her along, but made no arguments. "Get your machete."

She crossed the room under Samuel's watchful gaze and reclaimed her weapon that Sam had taken from her whenever he'd knocked her unconscious, giving it a deft whirl for measure and enjoying the hawkish way her grandpa watched. She intimidated him. _Good._

"Okay, as good as this sounds..." Sam hesitated, "we haven't been able to find the nest yet, how will you?"

"Didn't you hear me?" Alex asked, stashing the serrated machete inside her jacket. "I can smell the guy. The nest is two miles east of town."

Dean looked at his sister, nodded quickly, then glanced at his brother and grandfather. "We'll be back."

"Dean." Samuel pulled out a large, safety-capped syringe filled with blood. "Might need this. Dead man's blood. There's enough there to drop a linebacker and then some." Dean hesitated, obviously suffering from bloodlust… then took the syringe of what was poison to vampires. Samuel looked at him intensely. "Good luck, son."

Wordlessly, Dean stashed the syringe in his pocket and tightened his jaw. Looked at his sister, jerked his head toward the door. She took his cue and brother and sister headed out.

The second they were gone, Samuel rounded on Sam, who had started gathering things and packing up. "What the hell's wrong with you, Sam?"

Pausing, Sam looked up as if he had no idea what his grandfather was asking. "Whaddya mean?"

"You knew about the cure."

Sam's face showed mild confusion. "What?" He scoffed, as if the idea were preposterous. "No I didn't."

"We talked about it _months_ ago," Samuel reminded him.

"Not me," Sam said, his tone a little too hard and insistent. He resumed shoving things into his duffel bag. "Must've been Christian or something."

Samuel _knew_ what he remembered and didn't hide his doubtful expression. "Huh. That's strange, cuz if you _had_ known, it'd be almost like you _let_ them get turned," he said, accusing without saying the words outright. "Get a man on the inside? Help us find that alpha vamp we've been looking for?" Samuel watched his grandson closely, trying to read between the lines. "Only something went a little wrong with that plan, didn't it? When little sis got bitey." He looked at Sam's bandaged arm for effect.

Sam stopped, looking at his grandfather as if he were perplexed and offended. "You serious? You think I'd do something like that, risk my own brother and sister?" He paused for effect, regarding Samuel with revulsion. "What's wrong with _you_?"

To Samuel, Sam's reaction seemed pretty damning and he didn't back off. Just kept staring at his grandson, waiting for the kid to crack. Sam looked mildly uncomfortable under his grandfather's unflinching stare. "Look, I'm just relieved there's a cure, okay?" he asked, trying to act the part of concerned brother.

"For _Dean_ ," Samuel reminded. Strange. In Samuel's day, family stuck together… Sam didn't seem to subscribe to that belief, almost seemed to detest his siblings. "Son, your sister's prospects aren't good. I don't see her living through the night." Samuel paused, expecting just a flicker of something from Sam. But he saw nothing. So he tried to clarify. "Mostly because we'll have to finish her off if the cure doesn't work. Which… I'm pretty sure it won't." Again, he waited to see Sam's reaction. There was none.

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," Sam said then gestured vaguely as if he were suggesting that they leave. The only thing he seemed to be feeling was eagerness to depart. "We should probably try and go find the nest, I don't care if the two of them are vampires now. They're gonna need backup." It was like Sam was trying to say and do the right thing, but not for reasons Samuel understood.

Samuel wasn't sure what to make of his behavior. His grandson was already halfway out the door and Samuel followed grudgingly. Sam was hiding something and Samuel knew it. Wasn't sure _what_. After all, he hadn't even met Sam until roughly a year ago… when they'd been resurrected from death and run into each other during a hunt. Sam was reliable, efficient, sharp-witted. But also sort of disturbing with how detached and cold his personality was. He was the opposite of his siblings—Dean and Alexandra were obviously attitude-riddled spitfires and they seemed to have much more emotional sides than their brother Sam did. Dean's fierce loyalty and obvious deep sensitivity made Samuel think of his beloved daughter Mary… Dean truly was his mother's son. But the only thing Samuel could see when he looked at his _granddaughter_ was John Winchester. The man who'd stolen his daughter away. The man Samuel Campbell had never approved of in the slightest.

Sam and Samuel exited the west side of the building, back out toward where that blonde young woman—Jamie—Sam had said was her name, was still parked. The red dress was highly impractical, especially since she was allegedly a hunter. She had the back of her vehicle open and stood there intently studying a little volume under the light from a nearby streetlamp. She glanced up at Sam and Samuel. "Going somewhere?" she asked in mild curiosity. Dean and Alex must have exited the other side of the building.

"Yeah," Sam said. "Thanks for your help." He never stopped walking. He kept heading for Samuel's black van. Samuel, however, paused to look over Jamie's stash. In the back of her car, a relatively neat assortment of weapons and tools of the trade. He saw several spell books—huh, interesting—and some herbs tied loosely, hanging as if to dry. Not a hunter's most normal accouterments. She held a leather-bound book in her hand. It looked distinctly witchy from the pagan symbols he could make out etched along the spine and cover. She didn't see how he studied the book.

"Where are Dean and Alex?" she asked, craning her neck slightly as if she expected to see them following behind Samuel. Worry. He heard worry there in her voice, although it was very carefully disguised and almost impossible to catch.

"Went to the vamp nest," Samuel explained. "They need blood from the fang that turned them for the cure to work."

Jamie paused, her expression sharp. "Right." She seemed very cautious and slow to believe. "Alex said the cure would only work on Dean?"

Samuel didn't know how Jamie knew the Winchesters, but he could see that her concern was genuine—and mostly about Alexandra. "That's probably true. We'll see," he replied. He held out a hand, smiling tightly, figuring it was time for formal introductions. "Samuel Campbell. I'm their grandfather."

She looked at him without hiding the fact that she was sizing him up. She stuck her hand out and shook his briefly. "Right. Jamie. Ward."

He smiled a little more at her. "You kinda remind me of my daughter," he said. Really, anyone in their twenties with a pretty face and blonde hair reminded him of Mary.

"…Okay." Jamie's expression showed uncertainty, but she made no reply to his out-of-place observation. She indicated the leather-bound book she had brought in with her. "Look. I think I might have found a spell to fix Alex."

Samuel paused. He decided to test his theory. "You a witch?"

Her ice-blue eyes darted to his. "We gonna have a problem if I am?"

Samuel smiled slightly. "If you can be useful, I don't care _what_ you are."

She didn't smile in return. She seemed to be a very serious person, but not in the way Sam was. He saw how much pain she was trying to hide. How vulnerable she was. Interesting.

Jamie opened up the book, which seemed to be a journal not too unlike Samuel's—handwritten pages, little sketches of things, pagan looking designs and spells jotted down across the tanned pages. "Okay, the spell I remember hearing about… apparently witches don't cast it anymore because, historically, it kills the witch who does the spell," she said, looking at a clipping pasted in. It had writing in a language Samuel didn't recognize, and an odd illustration of two circles overlapping each other. "I think because the disease transfers over to the caster, or like the life forces switch—there's not a lot of information on the spell, but I think it works. So, if the cure doesn't work for her… we can try this."

Samuel paused, frowning. "You willing to risk your life over this?" he paused, getting a sudden idea. And Samuel Campbell was a straightforward man… so, he asked, not hesitating. "You two… together or something?" When he got a surprised look from her, he shrugged mildly. "Hey, I'm from a different time, but we had lesbians back then."

Jamie's face registered a completely floored expression. "Uh... no. We're not a couple." She seemed so surprised that she reacted with humor, she cracked a little bit of an awkward grin and looked down, chuckled just once, seeming to find the idea ridiculous. She was pretty, he thought, and she reminded him even more of Mary than before. Jamie composed herself and explained why she was willing to risk her life, without saying anything about it in specific. "Let's just say I owe Alex. Big time." She was telling the truth, Samuel thought. She seemed a little guilty about something. But he had a hunch.

Samuel didn't bother being anything but blunt. "Almost seems like you might wanna die."

He saw no discernible reaction on her guarded, cool expression. "Interesting theory."

Samuel glanced toward the van where Sam was waiting with arms crossed impatiently. "We're gonna go meet the kids over at the vamp nest," Samuel said, turning his attention back to Jamie. He was always looking for new people to add to his team, and this girl—who obviously hunted alone, was looking for something or someone to latch onto… he wanted to audition her. See if she was any good. "They might need backup if things get rough. You in?"

She crossed her arms and looked over at Sam with a tense expression, considering, then back at Samuel. "Sure." She shrugged and raised an eyebrow just slightly. "All dressed up, I need someplace to go." She tossed down her spell book in favor of picking up a fierce looking machete.

* * *

Under the cover of night, Dean and Alex made their way across town in tense silence. Their footsteps were hurried, carrying them to a portion of the city that was a lot seedier and more run down. "You smell that?" Dean asked, abruptly pausing to contemplate the scent. They stood across the street from a series of buildings. In the shadows of an overhang, they were invisible to anyone who had eyes on the street.

Alex nodded, eyeing the ramshackle building that was sandwiched between an old bank and a condemned apartment building. "Yeah. This is definitely the place." She paused, the reality of it coming over her again. "I can't believe I can _smell_ vampires." It was sort of cool and horrifying at the same time.

"Yeah. Trippy." Dean glanced at his sister sidelong. He was still having a lot more problems with his new condition than Alex was. Lights and sounds were bothering him a lot more than they were her. She'd had blood, which had to be why. "All right," Dean said, getting his game face on. "Stay close to me, all right?" His tone took on the familiar this-is-how-it's-gonna-be tone she was so used to. "You point out the dude who turned us, we pump him full of dead man's blood, slice him open, steal some of his juice back, then we blow this joint. Things get hairy, you got your machete, I got mine. You still remember how to use yours?"

She scoffed, not sure if he were serious or not. "Do _you_? I'm the one who's been hunting most of the year." He shook his head and groaned as, nearby, a train rumbled by on the tracks, brakes squeaking. Alex heard it too, but it didn't demolish her eardrums like it would have earlier. Dean started off toward the building, but before he'd even gotten a step, Alex stopped him with her arm. "Dean, there's a _lot_ of vampires in there," she said. She could smell them. At least twenty. "What if they figure out something's up or we can't slice open the leader without a captive audience?"

On edge and vaguely sick looking, Dean shrugged. He needed blood, bad. "We'll make it up as we go."

"Don't you ever get tired of doing that?" Alex asked, but she sounded sort of fond, not complaining like she'd meant to.

Dean smiled at her tightly, shrugging. "You know me." They crossed the street together and found that the iron door into the warehouse was unlocked. Dean reached for the handle, but Alex's soft voice cut him off.

"Dean." He looked back at her, waited. She was contemplative, a little upset. "If this cure doesn't work…"

He didn't let her finish. He didn't let her do the whole I'm-dying-and-I-know-it speech. "It'll _work_. Come on." And he gave her no choice but to follow.

She trailed him wordlessly into the dim warehouse. It was a disaster—ripped plastic tarps, junk and trash scattered in a tight hallway. Ahead, there seemed to be a bigger room and that's where Dean was quietly heading. It was silent in here. No heartbeats around, no humans. It was oddly calming, because the humans were so distracting. Alex felt more focused here. More aware. And then, she smelled it right before he appeared. Out of nowhere, a tall, pale guy with dark hair appeared, stepping out from a side room. Dean and Alex reacted in unison by jumping back—he was a vampire, they could smell it—and they mutually kept their cool, waiting to see what he'd do. And when all he did was say a very bored, "Sup," Dean took the lead, playing it cool. Alex stood behind him and slightly to the side, basically semi-hiding behind his shoulder. That guy looked familiar. Hadn't she met him before?

"Hey," Dean said, nervous. She could hear it. "We're, uh…"

"The couple Boris turned outside the bar, right?" The vampire had a lazy smile on his face. "Said to look out for you."

"Y-yeah," Dean replied, attempting a pleasant, nothing-wrong-here smile, glancing at Alex just briefly. "That's… that's us."

"I'm Robert," the guy said, and his eyes slid to Alex, he smirked. "Remember me, sweetheart? 'You look like the kind of girl who belongs to the night…'?" He grinned lopsidedly. Alex frowned, that weird sense of deja vu hitting her again. Robert saw her confusion. "No? Ah. Anyway, glad you guys made it. Follow me."

The siblings exchanged a tense glance and complied. "So, you must be starving," Robert said, leading them through a doorway and into what felt like a walk-in cooler. Inside, there were blood bags—the ones that had been stolen from the blood bank. Dean hesitated, obviously unhappy with this new temptation, especially when Robert grabbed a bag and indicated that Dean should take it.

"I'm okay," Dean said. Robert looked at him with a mild frown. Dean fumbled for a cover. "I killed _so_ many people on the way over here, so…"

Robert's eyebrows rose, as if that surprised him. Then, beside Dean, Alex moved forward. " _I_ didn't kill a bunch of people," she said, and grabbed the blood bag much to Dean's dismay. She knew Dean wanted to know what the hell she was doing from the way he was looking at her. And also that he really, really wanted some, too.

"Help yourself," Robert said, grinning as she slurped copious amounts down. This was a strategic move, she told herself, this would make her even stronger if a fight popped up or something. "And hey, new guy…" Robert looked at Dean. "Company line is we, we don't just kill people anymore…" a smile grew on the vampire's face, "but you _gotta_ tell me what that's like."

"Yeah." Dean returned the smile… inside, he was probably chopping this guy's head off with his machete. But outwardly, he just nodded and held the smile. "Yeah, first chance I get, I'll… I'll show you myself."

"Sweet," Robert said, pleased.

Dean looked at his sister, who had just downed a full bag of blood like it was nothing. Practically salivating and yet similarly reviled, Dean watched her cast the bag aside and wipe blood away from the corner of her mouth. She was both guilty and relieved. "Tastes just like Capri Sun," she joked, and Dean gave her a look only oldest siblings knew how to give.

"Come on. I'll introduce you to everyone," Robert said, not paying attention. He exited the room, indicating that they follow.

Dean caught Alex by the arm as she made to follow. "You _crazy_?" he demanded in a whisper.

She yanked her arm back from him, replying in an intense whisper of her own. "I'm all in at this point Dean and besides, it'll make me stronger. Just might help me _save_ your ass."

Ahead, Robert turned back a little toward them. "Lover's quarrel?" He snorted. "Hurry it up."

"Why do they think we're dating?" Dean grumbled, following Robert and Alex further into the warehouse, then through a hole in the wall, then down some old stairs. They seemed to be in a different building now. Possibly the bank they'd seen. More vampires lurked around the foot of the stairs. Alex could smell the vampire who had turned her even more strongly… but he wasn't one of these.

"Ah, some of your new bunkmates, man," Robert said, looking back at Dean with a jaunty smile and indicating the sullen young men. All of them were handsome, Alex realized. Really, really handsome, like CW lead actor handsome. Was there something to that? "They're recruiters," Robert said, then looked at Dean. "Just like you."

"...Recruiters?" Dean echoed.

"Yeah," Robert said, and stopped, fixing Dean with a smile. "Big man'll explain. I'm guessing your girlfriend here's gonna be a recruiter too once she's compliant." Compliant? He smiled at Alex, eying her in a way that seemed predatory. "You ever do any writing, sweetheart?"

Robert made to step a little closer, then Dean's arm shot out in front of Alex. "Hands off, man," he said, seeming unsure of what to say next. "She's… uh, mine."

Alex looked at Dean sidelong. _Really_? He shrugged a little, like, _what else was I gonna do?_ She refrained from making a face. Robert appraised Dean and stepped back, nodding. "Right, sorry." He looked around, then kept on leading them further in. "This way."

They came into the main lobby of what used to be a very nice bank. No longer well-kept, the place had fallen into disarray. Trash and dirt, dust and cobwebs had taken over. It was nearly three stories high with a large vaulted stained-glass ceiling above. An old desk was at the floor level, and at it sat a young teenage girl with dark brown hair. Kristen. The girl they'd been looking for. She was somber and pale, sitting in front of a laptop. Behind her, a guy with long curly hair leaned over her. He had a hand on her, and a chilling little smile on his face. Immediately, Alex recognized his scent. He was the one who had turned herself and Dean. She nudged Dean with her elbow even as Robert led them closer. Dean got her meaning and nodded subtly.

"Hey Boris," Robert said to the curly haired vampire. "Found the new converts."

Boris glanced up at the newcomers, pleased. "Be with you in a minute," he said, smiling slyly, then returning his attention to Kristen. He dictated to her and she typed as he spoke. "Put: 'Your skin is the black velvet of the night.'" He chuckled. "Stupid bitch'll eat that up, she'll be _dying_ to meet." Boris leaned in and took a long sniff of Kristen's hair. She recoiled and Alex's more human side was filled with anger. This vampire, for whatever reason, was preying on impressionable young girls. And she couldn't wait to chop his fucking head off. She looked behind herself, assessing the situation. There were more vampires nearby—a couple of tough looking male vampires.

If an all-out fight broke out, Dean was gonna need her help. And then, Alex noticed the cages on the side of the room. Young teenage girls similar in looks to Kristen filled the cages. There were six of them and they were vampires. A few of them were sucking down blood from bags through tubes. A few were laying on the floor as if bored or tired.

Boris chuckled, petting Kristen. "Go get yourself some blood, sweetheart. Then march that little ass right back here, okay?"

She obeyed immediately and looked at Alex with an intense expression—it was a mixture of fear, hatred, pity, and apathy. Boris slowly swaggered out from behind the desk as Robert led Kristen away to go get blood. "Ah. My newest family members," Boris said, grinning at Dean and Alex. His eyes rested on Alex a little longer. "Sweetheart, into the cage."

"What?" Dean asked, even as a young, male vampire with gauged ears and a bald-shaven head man-handled Alex away from him, and toward a cage that had three other girls in it. Dean protested. "Hey—whoa, she's not going in there!"

Boris confronted him, held a hand to his chest, blocked him from following. "Relax, loverboy. It's just for a little while. Until we got her nice and tame." Alex shook her head faintly, telling Dean to relax. Not yet. She let herself be put into the cage, resigning herself to spectate. She glanced around at the girls she was sharing a cage with. They were all so young. They couldn't have been more than sixteen years old. Why was this happening? What was Boris's end goal? She turned to look out through the metal bars of the cage, gripping a cold rod in each hand as she watched her weakened brother out there with Boris.

"Glad you're here," Boris was saying. "Wondered if maybe that tall hunter chopped off one or both of your pretty little heads."

Dean didn't seem to have his normal confidence about him. "Nah. We got away." He faltered, rethinking himself, realizing he needed to play dumb. "Sorry, what's a 'hunter'?"

"You'll see if he finds us." Boris leaned close to Dean, an almost impish expression on his face. "You'll see him inside out." Boris laughed, entertained at the idea. "You eaten?"

"Yeah," Dean said, barely able to conceal his total contempt, glancing at Alex who tried to silently tell him to stay strong and be cool.

"Good. You'll need your strength." Boris saw how Dean had looked at her and sauntered over toward her, eyeing her with great interest.

"For?" Dean asked loudly, trying to get Boris's attention back.

Boris turned, slightly flabbergasted. "Robert didn't tell you?" He snorted, a little miffed, forgetting his fascination with Alex. "Figures." Without warning, Boris crossed the space between himself and Dean, smiling eerily. "Say. How old do I look?"

Dean looked like he was having a hard time not balking. "Thirty-three?"

Boris grinned. "You're off… by about… six centuries?" He chuckled, backing up dramatically, spreading his arms wide to indicate the room that was full of their kind. "And these are the best days in the last six hundred years to be a vampire. Dracula? Anne Rice? The Salvatore brothers? _Please_. These stupid little brats are so horny they've reinvented us as Prince Charming with a Volvo. They…" he pointed straight at Alex. "All the naive little girls who believe the crap society pedals about our kind… they want a promise ring with fangs, so I give it to 'em. _You_ —you go out and you get them, and you bring 'em home to me."

"S-so what's with the cages?" Dean asked. Alex could almost hear what he was thinking, cuz it's what she was wondering, too. How the hell were they gonna get her out of the cage she was locked inside of currently?

"Oh, that's just, y'know… till they're _obedient_ ," Boris said, smiling easily. "Eventually these girls will go out, and they'll fetch me boys like _you_ , and around and around we go…"

"What the hell for?" Alex asked tartly, speaking to him for the first time.

Boris turned to look at her slowly. "For the grand scheme! For the coming day of victory!" He paused, a chilling note of certainty in his voice. "You'll see."

Dean swallowed, tried to act like he thought that was cool. "Gotta say, I'm impressed. This whole system, it's… it's all you?"

Boris laughed as if the thought were preposterous. "Oh no, no, no, no… I just… implement, y'know? Make sure you all fall in line." He pointed to the ceiling with reverence. "It's _his_ … our father's…"

Dean followed his gaze, confused, and Alex did too. All she saw was stained glass. "Your father's?" Dean asked.

Boris contemplated Dean. "Aren't _you_ the curious one?"

"Oh, you don't know the half of it," Dean said.

Leaning in closer, seriously violating some personal space issues, Boris eyed Dean closely. Uncomfortably. "In due time." Boris's voice lowered to a whisper. "You… you want the private tour, don't you?"

Dean managed a smile through his revulsion. "Thought you'd never ask."

Boris stepped away, beckoning Dean on with a hand, turning his back on him. He began to walk the other way, and Dean seemed to decide it was now or never—the only vampires nearby were caged. And there was still that one bald guy, but he must not have worried to much about it—Dean reached into his pocket and took out the syringe of dead man's blood, uncapping it. He raised it, creeping up on Boris silently, ready to plunge the needle in—but then one drop leaked out and hit the floor. The single drop was loud like fanfare. With superhuman speed Boris turned, cutting off Dean's attack by grabbing his arm and ducking under, suddenly positioning himself behind Dean to twist his arm behind his back, put Dean into a solid chokehold.

Useless and in a cage, Alex watched and shook the bars that held her back. "Dean!"

"You playing games with me, boy?!" Boris demanded—and Dean, weakened because he hadn't fed, dropped the syringe when Boris squeezed his arm hard enough to break it. Boris began chuckling lowly against Dean's neck triumphantly, and Alex wanted to break the fucking bars that were holding her back—and then suddenly, something changed. She felt it. They _all_ felt it. Boris looked upward as if he were hearing something—his hold loosened on Dean and suddenly he let go and fell flat onto his back, his eyes still wide open. Was he dead? She didn't know, but she was losing her grip on the bars, her body was going limp.

"De—" Alex began, seeing how her brother took a step toward her, alarm written across his face… and then suddenly, she fell down, losing consciousness. A series of quick visions spiraled through her mind: A man sitting on a bench in the night. A little girl in a frilly dress and with a flower in her hair. A graveyard filled with white wooden crosses. A cell dividing. A man—reaching out, with long, sharp fingernails. A large, ivy-covered house. The girl again. Blood cells rushing through a vein. The graveyard, dissolving into a classroom with rows upon rows of empty desks. The little girl. A pond, the man with long, sharp fingernails standing beside it. A roadmap, where the highways pumped like veins. A red circle was drawn around Aurora, Illinois. She kept seeing the same face, this man with the pointed fingernails, she kept seeing the little girl, and then blood. So much blood.

And then it was over and Alex groaned and rolled over, standing up. Around her, the other vampire girls were doing the same. Suddenly, Boris slammed into the cage door almost, jingling keys around in the lock. "So, he thinks he's gonna come in here and shoot me full of dead man's blood?!" He asked. "I don't think so!"

Alex looked at her brother, panicked. He was laying on the ground, not waking up as fast as the rest of them had.

"Dean! _Dean!_ Wake up!" she screamed, realizing that Boris was going to let out the girls and send them after him.

Dean rolled over woozily and saw what was happening. He scrambled to his feet, grabbing for his machete even as the cage next to Alex opened with a creak. "Go get him, girls!" Boris shrieked maniacally, rushing over to Alex's cage to let out those girls, too—they were hissing and panting, ready for blood, and Alex whipped out her machete with no time to spare, hacking one's head off in the madness before the cage door swung open. But that didn't even the playing field that much at all—and Dean took off running, Alex found herself grabbed and thrown as she tried to give chance. She groaned, blindsided, crumpling against the outside of the cage.

Boris stood in front of her and behind him, she could see the bloodthirsty, brainwashed girls disappearing up the stairs after Dean. "Looks like your boyfriend's not the only one who's been naughty!" Boris said, eyeing her bloody machete. This curly-haired fucker in front of her was gonna pay. Game face on, she stood up slowly—her body didn't hurt like it would have had she still been human. "What, no dead man's blood?" Boris sneered, looking at her machete in amusement. "Just a huge _steak knife_?" He grimaced, as if sympathetic. "That's really cute but… you're kind of out of your element right here. I'm pretty fast, remember how I got the jump on you in the alley?"

Alex was feeling the familiar surge of adrenaline she did during moments like these. But unlike before, there was a new, superhuman ability of sense. She felt faster, stronger, smarter than before. "Yeah," she replied softly, evenly. "I remember. But now I'm one of you, aren't I?" She smiled a little, feeling how the blood she'd drank before was strengthening her. "You might find me a little faster and stronger than before."

Boris didn't seem perturbed. "Maybe," he said, chuckling. "But you're new at this and I've got a few hundred years on you. If you fight me, I'll kill you, sweetheart." He scoffed, then laughed sharply. "All you vampire chicks are the same… weak, useless. Good for one thing, and one thing only. Do you _know_ how many girls just like you I've killed?"

She narrowed her eyes, taking in everything about him, sizing him up. "No. But as of today, your career snapping up innocent girls is _over_." This was who Alex was, and she felt confident again. Saving people. Hunting things. This was what she did… vampire or not. Last day on earth or not.

"Oh is it?" Boris asked, a smile playing on his face.

Alex paused, eyes going upward. She could hear the shrieks of vampires, the sound of Dean's blade hacking heads off. A little smile came over her face too. "You hear that?" She asked quietly. "My brother is upstairs right now slaughtering every last one of your precious little nest. And when he comes back down here, he's gonna find me standing in a puddle of your blood, holding your head in my hand." She looked at Boris again and let him know, exactly, how dead he was. " _Sweetheart_ … I'm nothing like your other girls."

Boris's teeth slowly showed as his mouth widened into an almost flirtatious grin. "Oh, I _like_ you," he said, then bit his lip for effect. "Feisty." He lowered his chin, looking at her from under his lashes. "Come on then. Let's tango."

And tango they did. Alex leapt across the dividing space between them, machete gripped like a sword—he jumped back, laughing when she swiped at the empty air where his neck had been a minute ago. He'd jumped up—hanging by a single arm casually from the little balcony above. Still laughing like this was a game he loved, he jeered down at her even as Alex realized if _he_ could jump around like, that must have meant _she_ could, too. And so she tried it: she jumped with all she had, slashing her blade wildly just a second too late. He dodged to the side deftly and, grabbing her by the back of the head, smashed her forehead into hers, stunning her and letting her drop back down to the ground. She was recovering into a roll on the ground floor even as he jumped down. She was already standing and on the defensive—but her machete was several feet off, knocked out of her hand. It was in between them. At the same second they both rushed for it, and when Alex saw Boris making to punch her in the face, instead of ducking the blow, she pulled an old trick out of the bag and slammed her forehead _forward_ into his fist hard enough to break his knuckles—and in his stunned stumble, Alex's foot caught underneath the blade of her machete and she kicked upward, catching the hilt like she'd practiced a million times. And lunging forward, not giving him time to recover, she slashed her blade with all the strength she possessed. The machete found its mark, and the vampire's head sailed off even as his body went slack and fell over.

Breathing a little harder, Alex turned just a little to look at Boris's decapitated head. If she stayed alive long enough, would she become just like him? Lose all the humanity she'd once had? She looked down at her feet, where blood was beginning to pool just inches away. Upstairs, the noises had ended and she looked up just in time to see Dean appear. Instead of running to her or hurrying, he seemed taken aback. He was covered in blood splatters and weary. But he was alive.

"I, uh… I got the blood we needed," Alex said, her voice quiet and sort of hollow. Even though it should have seemed like victory, it felt more like defeat. Dean came downstairs slowly, his bloodstained machete at his side. He must have taken on _all_ those vamps himself—he looked drained, pale, and the weird red cast underneath his eyes was more pronounced. "You okay?" she asked.

He brushed aside her question. Just looked at her, then Boris's head. "Are you?"

It was time to stop lying. Both to herself and to him. There was a bench a few feet away, and Alex went to it, sank down there. She'd been trying to hide from this ever since… well, a long, long time. "No. I'm not okay." She stared at the ground, trying not to break down, because everything was wrong. _Everything_. "You're right. You were right." He sat beside her and she couldn't stand to look at him and see how sick he was, how unwell he looked, how screwed up their entire life had become as of just a few hours ago. Instead, she put her face in her hands, made a frustrated sound, then made fists and slammed them down onto the tops of her thighs, breathing out fast and hard, once.

For once, Dean said nothing. Just let her angst in silence. Maybe he was doing the same thing. Even though that was what they were after… the blood of the vampire who had turned them pooling at their feet, Alex didn't feel any hope whatsoever. Just despair and regret. "Do you ever just… wish this wasn't our life?" she asked, frustrated and not sure what they had done to deserve this. "The killing and the pain… the losing everything you ever had?" She was _mad_ about it. "I mean, _why_? Why'd it have to be this way?"

She finally chanced looking at her brother sidelong. He was looking down at his lap and his profile was distressed. "I wonder that every day," he said, not looking at her. They were silent for another very long moment before Dean spoke again. "You were right too. I haven't forgotten Hell. Not for one day." His voice broke on that last word, he shut his eyes against what looked like great amounts of pain. Not knowing what else to do, Alex hesitated, then put a hand on his back. Let it remain there.

Dean forced a smile and it was a valiant attempt, but Alex could see how close his constant pain was to the surface. "So hey, you know what I'm gonna do?" he asked. "If this cure of Samuel's doesn't work on you, I'm not even gonna try it." What? Alex looked at her brother oddly. He shrugged, still not looking at her. "Just, screw it. We'll go be vampires together. Vampire vampire-hunters. Could be fun, right?" He finally looked at her, and it was like he couldn't stand the thought of the other alternative.

"Could be fun," she echoed blankly. They both knew if the cure didn't work, she had to die. But neither of them said anything about it. And reaching out for help from the only person she had left, Alex looked at her brother, at the point of tears. "Dean, when Cas finds out what's happened to me..." Her face was twisting painfully. "That I'm not _human_ anymore..."

Dean had this way of sometimes surprising her with his ability to empathize and put away his own bad attitude about the subject matter. This was one of those moments. He put his arm around her for thought a second. "Well, neither is he." It sounded like it was hard for him to say, but he said it anyway. "Maybe he won't mind, huh?"

That was a sweet thought. But she just needed to know that Dean was going to help her when, not _if_ the time came. "Dean, if the cure doesn't work on me… you guys have to do the right thing."

He stiffened slightly, understanding that she was asking him to be the one to kill her. "No. Don't say that."

Alex looked at her brother through pained, pleading eyes. "You've been helping me and doing the right thing since the day I was born. Don't you _dare_ stop now."

His arm tightened around her and they said nothing else, both too upset and realizing there wasn't much left _to_ say. That's how Samuel, Sam, and Jamie found them. Big brother with his arm around his baby sister. Blood flooding the area before them, carnage scattered throughout the old building.

* * *

Back at the motel, Samuel mixed up the cure quickly as Dean had more and more trouble being around the three humans—Sam and Dean were at the table where Samuel was working as fast as he could. Jamie stood off watchfully and silently. Alex sat on one of the beds, looking every bit as though she were just waiting for the guillotine to fall. _Thump thump, thump thump._ There were too many heartbeats in the room, Dean was barely able to function at this point, his thirst was so great. He felt like he was dying. And every time any of the humans got closer, he had to fight himself off the urge to drink them. They all smelled so good.

"If this works, you know it's not gonna be a kiddy ride, you know that, right?" Samuel asked.

"Yeah, no, got it," Dean replied, wincing against all the noises that were bothering him.

"So what'd you see in there?" Sam asked, leaning across the table. Getting closer.

His brother's words were loud and cloying, he didn't understand them, and Dean was annoyed with his brother's closeness. " _What_?"

"In the nest," Sam said, his voice clanging around in Dean's head, mixing with the loud thundering sound of his heartbeat, "what'd you see in there?"

 _Thump thump, thump thump._ "Sam, I can't hear you—your blood is so goddamn loud, okay? Just—just back off!" Dean demanded. Sam did, and then Dean saw Jamie behind him again, recognizing her scent as Sam's drifted away—it was different than Sam and Samuel's. Softer, sweeter. And he couldn't stand the sight of her in that red dress with all that damn blood-warm skin showing. "Why are you even still here?" He asked her rudely, glaring.

Samuel glanced up at Dean briefly, pointedly. "Try being a little more polite to the lady, Dean. She's here as backup."

"Backup?" Dean echoed, confused.

"She's got a way to maybe fix Alex if this doesn't," Samuel said.

Dean realized what that meant and decided to pick a fight. "With what, with your witch crap?" He went over to her, trying to be intimidating, even though he was falling apart and every sound was like nails on a chalk board. "I don't _think_ so."

Jamie shook her head, not really giving him the time of day. "Get over yourself," she muttered, and he realized he shouldn't have gotten so close. He could almost taste her, and he was intoxicated with the thought of biting into skin, tasting her blood, drinking it all down to the last drop. "You wanna back up a little?" she asked tersely, as if she could read his bloodthirsty thoughts. He heard how her heartbeat picked up a little. He was making her _nervous_. And somehow that made her blood smell even better...

" _Dean._ " Samuel waited for Dean to back up, which he did. But it was hard as hell. Cagey and getting desperate, he complied, shaking.

"Hurry it up, Grandpa," he growled, realizing if they didn't get it done soon, they'd have a bloodbath on their hands, courtesy of his insatiable desire.

"All right," Samuel said, injecting the sludgy mixture he'd concocted with Boris's blood from the syringe they'd used to collect the sample. He divided the cure into two coffee mugs. "Alexandra?"

She got up, appearing peevish at the use of her full name, but accepted the coffee mug from Samuel, sniffed it, and made a face. Dean was almost sweating bullets at this point, but didn't want to take his until he knew she was okay. "Ladies first," he told her.

Shaking her head slowly, she looked brave but scared. "Together," she insisted. "On three." Just like they always did shots together. Or had, in the past. "One, two, three," she counted, and in unison, they chugged the potion. It was absolutely disgusting and lumpy, like the foulest waste imaginable, and Dean could barely swallow it.

" _Ugh_ …" Alex commented when she was done, frowning deeply, then looking at Dean, watching him. He waited. Nothing happened. He still heard heartbeats, still felt an insane desire for blood.

"I don't think it—" he started, then sudden, violent sickness came over him and he barely spun around in time to retch into the waste basket. His body expelled everything he had, he heard Sam ask if it were working, he heard Samuel say that maybe he was dying, he felt his sister with him, holding onto his shoulders…

And suddenly Dean stopped throwing up and went rigid, almost screaming in pain as he looked upward into darkness, felt his eyes explode and stomach shrink in on itself and mind combust. And then he remembered what he'd forgotten as his body writhed in pain yet remained ramrod straight: Alex, laying there in a pile of trash bags with blood on her mouth, him rushing to her as she'd stood up, then shoved blood into his mouth. But… why? Everything rushed his mind. Lisa, Ben, Jamie, Samuel, Sam, Boris, the nest… he collapsed, curled in toward his stomach, unaware of anything happening in the real world, just sure that he was in pain and dying. And then, it all ended as abruptly as it had begun. The maddening noises, the pain, the sound of hearts beating. He was laying on the ground, panting and sweating and _human._ Stunned, he sat up slowly even as two sets of hands helped him—Alex and Sam. He looked at both of them, dazed and relieved, then realizing Alex appeared the same as before. A little paler than normal, expression gaunt and resigned, like she had a death sentence.

"Did it work?" he asked dumbly, voice soft with threadbare hope.

Alex shook her head, appearing exhausted and defeated. "No."

No? Still in mild physical shock from the cure, Dean looked over at the spot where Jamie was waiting. Only, she was a little closer than she had been, and her arms weren't crossed anymore. He didn't say anything and didn't have to. He was desperate. He didn't care. He wanted Alex to live.

"I guess that mean's I'm up," Jamie said, a tight little smile on her face. Samuel looked at her oddly.

"You sure about that?" he asked and Jamie gave him a quick, pointed look then proceeded to ignore him.

"But you always get kinda fucked up casting," Alex protested faintly as Jamie came over to her. "If this spell isn't a sure thing, I don't want you do that to yourself."

"It's okay," Jamie said, still smiling tightly. Almost nervous or hesitant. "I'll be fine. We should try. I owe you, remember?" A sadly said reminder that was understood on multiple levels between them.

Alex didn't seem too hopeful but agreed anyway. "All right."

Jamie took in a deep breath as if steeling herself. In one hand, she had her journal opened to a specific page. She gripped Alex's neck at the side. The men all stood back a little as Jamie began to recite an incantation in an language none of them recognized. She struggled to speak the more she said, and both Alex and her seemed to grow weak, slumping toward each other. And then, black like charcoal began to creep up Jamie's hand and arm as she chanted faster. Her eyes began to burn white and the black continued to edge up showing on her neck now then her jawline, as if she were taking on the disease itself—and then there was a sound like a sonic boom and with it, both girls fell over as if dead.


	56. Truth Be Told

" _Nobody said it would be easy. Nobody said it would be this hard.  
Oh take me back to the start…"  
_\- Coldplay

* * *

Dean had spent more nights just like this than most people ever would: wide awake and listening to the harrowing rhythm of a hospital heart-rate monitor as he worried if his brother or sister or father or friend was gonna pull through. Today, it was Alex's steady heart rate he was hearing translated to that familiar pulse of _beep, beep, beep_.

The oldest Winchester sat in a flimsy chair next to his sister's hospital bed where he'd been stationed for going on three hours now. He had his arm resting on the bed, his hand over hers. He wasn't gonna let go until she came back.

Dean was exhausted mentally and physically as usual, but it was all made worse from the vampire crap and the cure bullshit. Those two things left him feeling like he'd been hit by a semi truck, run over by a steam roller, scraped up with a spatula, and then shoved into a blender. The entire hellish night was a horrible, effed up blur. He remembered getting here to the hospital and racing two unconscious chicks into the emergency room with Samuel as Sam had parked the van, but after that… all he remembered was that the doctors said Alex was unconscious for no discernible reason and they had basically said she must be a narcoleptic. He recalled yelling at the doctors for being certifiable dickbag morons when they'd arrived at _that_ ludicrous, unfounded conclusion. That had been the brief moment when he'd almost been kicked out for unruly behavior, but Samuel had pacified the situation somehow. And now Dean was resigned to wait. Alex's condition was apparently stable enough that the doctors weren't worried. But that didn't keep _Dean_ from worrying.

He paused, looking up and over across the hall—he could see through the open doors into Jamie's room. She was still and drained of all color. The doctors said it looked like she'd had a massive stroke. She was currently in a deep coma—but it wasn't a normal coma. She was at fatal levels of feverish and her brain activity was off the charts. They'd 'never seen anything like it.' Dean heard that phrase so damn often in his line of work and he was tired of it. He turned his attention back to his sister, squeezing her hand again, studying her still face for a few seconds. Mumbling a vague threat like he always did when they were younger and she didn't wanna wake up. "Hey, wake up, Al." _Beep, beep, beep._ "Hey." He paused. "I'm gonna steal all your clean socks if you don't get up." _Beep, beep, beep._ No response. No suddenly waking up and pushing Dean away and valiantly defending her socks.

If Dean had been a praying man, he would be on his knees. The thought crossed his mind to call Cas for help, but stubborn, bitter pride kept him from trying. It wasn't dire yet. And last time Alex had a problem Cas had stepped in. Dean could handle this one. He hoped.

Where the hell was Sam? Dean realized it had been more than thirty minutes since his gigantic brother had shown his face. He should be here, in this room, with his family. Dean guessed that his brother was probably out in the car listening to the police scanner or reading a newspaper in the hunt for a new case, which made Dean want to hit something. This wasn't right. _Sam_ wasn't right. He was pissing Dean off all the time and making him more and more uncomfortable. He tightened his jaw and heard his teeth groan in protest. Even when the twins had been at odds, even when they'd downright hated each other, they'd had each others backs and had never been as apathetic toward each other as Sam was being toward Alex. It was like he just couldn't be bothered with worrying about his own flesh and blood. Dean had a pretty awful theory that if Alex died... Sam wouldn't even bat an eye.

Well. At the very least Dean wasn't a blood-sucking Twilight wannabe anymore, right? Samuel's insane cure had worked and he was a human again. And so was Alex—Dean had checked her gums several times now, verifying that there were no traces of telltale vamp chompers. They would be resting, mostly hidden, above the canines. He checked her again, just to be triple, _quadruple_ sure she really was magically healed—by leaning in and grabbing her top lip and pulling up, peering. Normal, human gums. Man, he owed Jamie a million apologies, huh? He felt really bad. And like he'd really misjudged.

Alex stirred abruptly under his touch. Shocked and hopeful at the sudden movement and her slowly opening eyes, a disbelieving grin spread across Dean's face as he remained frozen in place. "Hey, _hey_!" he exclaimed breathlessly. "You're back!"

Groggy and a little disoriented… also grumpy… Alex squinted. "Why were you touching my lip, weirdo?" Her voice was rough, like she'd shouted herself hoarse, and she was looking at him like she used to as a teenager when she'd wanted five more minutes of sleep.

"There she is," Dean said, chuckling through the affectionate, relieved statement. She was okay—she was herself, she was human, and she was calling him a weirdo. "Feel all right?" he asked anxiously, studying her carefully and trying to see how she was.

She made a soft little protesting groan as she sat up slowly. "Well… I don't wanna _bite_ anybody, so…" she trailed off, pulling a very thoughtful face like she were wondering if she were crazy or not. "All that vampire stuff… that wasn't a crazy alcohol or drug induced hallucination?" She seemed incredibly coherent which was another relief.

"All real."

Alex took a couple seconds to process. Her eyes darted back and forth over the bedding that laid over her knees as she visibly ran through the night in her mind. "Wow. _Okay_ … wait." She clearly got to recalling the part where Dean had been sick as fuck. "Are _you_ all right?" she asked, looking up at him with widened eyes. "Last thing I remember you were puking your vampire guts out all over the place."

That was sweet. Her, worrying over him. Chuckling and a little rueful—puking everywhere was never a great moment you wanted people to remember—Dean focused on the more appealing fact: "Yeah, well, the cure worked—I'm a hundred percent human again, and so are you."

Alex shut her eyes and let a relieved breath out as her shoulders slackened. And then she paused, opening her eyes. "Wait. Where's Jamie?"

Dean looked down, deflating slightly. He let his eyes do the talking and looked across the hall silently. Alex sat up a little straighter when she followed his gaze and saw Jamie in the bed across the way. "...What's wrong with her? Why's she passed out?" There was a lot of obvious concern there in his sister's voice, which only made Dean feel worse.

"She's... in some kinda coma." Horrified, Alex quickly looked at him for an explanation, _now_. "Collapsed when she did that witchy mumbo jumbo on you." _When she saved your life._ Guiltily, Dean tried to be optimistic. "Hey, maybe she wakes up soon, too. Like you just did." He hoped he was right. But he wasn't gonna bank on it. Jamie looked like death and her prospects didn't seem optimistic. It killed him, because witch or not, she'd saved Alex and royally screwed herself up in the process. What was he supposed to _do_ with that? He'd treated Jamie like shit and demeaned her for being a witch… the very thing he now was thanking his lucky stars for. If not for her... Alex would still be fanged up. A walking death-sentence.

"I _knew_ I shouldn't have let her do that," Alex muttered, bowing her head into her hand regretfully, seeming to blame herself. "She _always_ gets messed up doing that shit..."

Dean said nothing about it, because honestly, selfishly, he was just so _glad_ Alex was okay he could cry. Yeah, it sucked real bad that Jamie wasn't on two legs, but… a few hours ago, he thought his sister would have to die because she was a monster. Now she was herself again and so was he, and they had another shot at this crazy thing called life. Still, it had come with a cost.

"They think she'll pull through?" Alex asked in worry, staring tensely across the hall again.

Dean looked sidelong over his shoulder, lacing his fingers together as he leaned his elbows over his knees. "They got no idea." He was left to think about of the trail of dead friends and acquaintances he and his family had left behind in their wake. Would Jamie's name be added to the list?

Maybe Alex was wondering the same thing. Perturbed, she tightened her jaw and shook her head. "Why would she _do_ that? _Dammit_ , Jamie." Alex angrily ripped off the heart rate clamp on her finger and swung her legs over the side of the bed, standing up. Dean followed suit, a little shocked at how fine she seemed to be.

"Hey, hey take it easy wouldya? You just got topside," he protested.

Alex batted him away, insisting she was fine, where were her damn shoes.

"Hey, you're up!" came a familiar voice. Alex and Dean stopped. Sam stood there, filling the doorway to the room. There was a pleasant little smile plastered on his face. Alex faltered in confusion at her brother's appearance—then her eyes widened briefly as if in realization or fear—and she went stone-faced. Sam caught it all and his face took on an inquisitive look. "...What?"

"Uh, nothing," Alex said, feigning nonchalance and covering over her other emotion. _Weird_ … Dean's eyes narrowed just a little, because he could hear that something was wrong and she was covering. "Just, uh, surprised to see you." Sam dropped it, accepting Alex's answer even as Dean made a mental note to ask her about the little exchange later.

Newspaper in hand, their brother came over, tapping a page eagerly. "Okay. Look what just read. A few towns over from here. A string of freaky suicides and a couple weirdass murders." He paused and Dean stood back slightly, giving Sam a _you gotta be kidding_ stare. "Sounds like it could be our kinda thing," Sam said, not seeming to notice or care about Dean's reaction.

"A _job_ Sam?" Dean repeated incredulously. "Right _now_ you come in here and pitch a _job_? ...Anything about your sense of timing strike you as a little _off_?"

Sam's face took on a note of perplexed innocence, like _Dean_ was the one being strange. "People are dying. Isn't it our job to keep them safe?" He paused and sized up their sister. Besides not having her shoes on, she looked her normal self. "Alex looks good to go, so what's the holdup?" He became almost vaguely amused. " _What_ , you two just gonna sit around and babysit the vegetable across the hall?"

Dean was offended by his brother's seeming apathy. "Have a damn heart, Sam!" he exclaimed. "Not everything's about the job!"

"Right," Sam returned, as if he were trying to take back what he'd said. Suddenly, he was overly empathetic. "Right, of _course_ not. I'm worried too. Of course I'm worried."

Dean stared at his brother with a dead sort of expression. He was _mad_ , he was over it, and he wasn't gonna let it slide this time. He grabbed the crook of Sam's arm. "You know what… walk with me." He pointed a stern finger back at Alex, who was opening her mouth to protest. " _Stay here._ "

Dean guided Sam roughly out of the room and into the hallway. As soon as they were out of earshot, Dean shoved his brother away. "The _hell_ is your problem, Sam?"

"I don't _have_ a problem." Sam was cool and non-confrontational, which only incensed Dean more. He shook the newspaper for emphasis. "Dean, this is what we do. Save people."

Dean gestured angrily in the vague direction of Jamie's room. "Yeah, like _her_." Confusion flashed across Sam's face. Did he _really_ not _get it_? "We owe her, Sam! She put her ass on the line and saved Alex's life when she didn't have to!"

Sam's features worked weirdly, like he was attempting to act sympathetic. "Yeah. Yeah, I get that. And uh, if she ever pulls through, great." He looked at Dean pointedly. "But even you have to admit: unless you know some magical way to bring a person out of a coma, we're pretty useless here, Dean. We're not doctors. We're _hunters_."

Out to prove a petty point, Dean made a face. "You know what, I _do_ know a magical way." He crossed his arms and looked upward grumpily. "Cas—Castiel. You got your ears on? Need your help with waking up a sleeping beauty named Jamie Ward, buddy." The brothers scanned around for the familiar tan trench coat. No angel appeared. Sam raised his eyebrows challengingly at Dean, who cleared his throat, gave a tight little _this will work smile_ and then spoke a little louder. "You ten-four, Cas? Need ya down here, man, like… _now._ " Dean looked around expectantly, getting more and more annoyed when there was no response. Sam gave Dean a little _told you so_ smile and Dean raised his voice even more. "Cas! Don't be a dick!" He waited... and again... _nothing._ Disgruntled, Dean glared around at nothing in general. "Just freakin' great."

"Hey, no one can say you didn't try," Sam said patronizingly. His focus seemed pinpointed on one single thing in the entire universe: "Now. Are we gonna go check out this lead, or are we gonna sit around and act like people out there don't need our help?"

Dean glared, because Sam was sort of right but… _come on_ , this wasn't how Sam would act! He might have a point, Dean had to admit. If people really were in trouble over in Illinois they should go help. But just ditching out on Jamie? He owed her a little more than that. Down the hall a familiar, bald man appeared and Dean went silent and schooled his expression into something more neutral. He wasn't into airing the family dirty laundry to anyone but family. Grandpa didn't count. He might have been blood, but they didn't know him.

"Problem, fellas?" Samuel asked as he reached them. He had a little cup of coffee from the hospital cafeteria in hand.

Dean regarded his grandfather with thinly veiled mistrust. "No. No problem."

Samuel nodded thoughtfully, clearly not convinced with that forever constant knowing glint in his eyes.

"Samuel, you wanna do me a solid and stay a few days, see if Jamie gets her groove back?" Sam asked to Dean's surprise. He was gonna just hijack the job from Dean like that? "We gotta go catch a lead."

Oh _do_ we? Dean asked Sam silently. In reply, he got the ghost of a Sam bitch-face from times past, as if Sam were saying _of course we do, moron_.

"Already?" Samuel asked. Even he seemed taken aback at Sam's assertion, which made Dean feel marginally validated.

Sam appeared mystified as to why he was meeting resistance and gave his grandfather and brother two pointed looks, like _they_ were the strange ones. " _Yeah_ already. Alex is up, there's stuff going down barely over an hour's _drive_ from here..." he trailed off, shrugging in the face of Samuel's confusion and doubtfulness. "Hey, that's just the life for ya," he said. "We don't get to decide when the jobs happen." He looked at Samuel expectantly. "Now you gonna stick around with Blondie or what?"

Samuel took it into grudging consideration, glancing toward the hospital room where Jamie was then back at the boys. "Yeah, sure. Guess I can spare a couple days."

"Great. Thanks," Sam said with no measure of gratefulness in his voice at all. He seemed annoyed and hurried. "I'm gonna go back to the motel room and get our stuff, Dean." He brushed past his brother. "I'll be back for you two in twenty."

Dean watched his brother leave and there was a bad taste in his mouth. "He always like that?" he asked Samuel sullenly.

"Never met anyone as dedicated to hunting, that's for sure." Odd enough, Samuel also seemed unsettled by Sam's behavior.

It made no sense to Dean. Dean who watched Sam run away happily from life on the road in favor of higher education. Dean who had to _drag_ his brother kicking and screaming back into hunting. Now it was just Sam's _favorite thing_? "He used to hate this job," Dean muttered. "He used to friggin' _hate_ it."

"People change," Samuel put in artlessly.

Dean was too tired to argue with anyone except maybe Sam. "Guess they do." He looked toward Jamie's room and shook his head, deeply bothered by this turn of events. "Any ideas as to why's my sister okay and she's not?" They'd both lost consciousness at the exact same moment, so why hadn't they woken up at the same moment?

Samuel took a long moment, like he was trying to decide something. Then he leveled Dean with a careful gaze. "Son… last night while you and your sister were at the vampire nest, she told me that spell she did would probably kill her outright."

Dean's stomach flipped sickeningly as his mouth dropped. " _What_?!" he exclaimed, dismayed and floored. "...You mean to tell me she _knew_ this was gonna happen?" He got abruptly pissed. "And you didn't mention this to me _why_?"

Samuel laid an authoritative hand on Dean's shoulder and was calm, firm, and gentle. "She made her choice, Dean. It was hers to make. And anyway… she's not dead _yet_." He said that like maybe there was still hope, then removed his hand from Dean's stiff shoulder and jerked his head toward Alex's room. "You kids get ready to hit the road. I'll let you know what happens here."

And without another word he turned and left Dean there, completely blindsided.

* * *

**Calumet City, Illinois  
** **The Next Day**

"I dunno, maybe this is just an extremely twisted town, Sam," she said as they entered the motel room. Alex tossed her car keys down onto the kitchen counter as she walked past. Behind, her twin lumbered in and shut the door as she tiredly rubbed her forehead. He had a few newspapers in hand. "Maybe these deaths are just what they look like," the youngest Winchester continued. "Suicides and screwy murders." She folded her arms and turned around to look at Sam plainly.

They were both still in their FBI getup—Sam in a predictable suit and tie, Alex in her tried-and-true black pantsuit. Outside, still in the Impala on his phone, Dean was also in uniform. They'd just been to the home of one Jane Peterson, a young woman who had recently died by suicide during a busy shift at her restaurant job. Normally, suicide wasn't something the Winchesters investigated. But when a town suddenly had a burst of violent, unforeseen suicides and weird murders (construction worker jack-hammering his wife to death then hanging himself, old lady killing another old lady in a beauty parlor by stabbing her to death with a metal hair pick), and all within two weeks, it raised some suspicions that there were supernatural forces at work. But they'd just been to speak with Olivia, Jane's older sister, and found nothing conclusive at the home the sisters had shared. Nothing else was adding up yet either, and Alex wasn't as certain as Sam was that there was actually a job here.

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," Sam said, taking a seat at the kitchenette table and spreading his newspapers down in front of himself. He was exhausting Alex: He just didn't _stop_ and was of one mindset: the job, the job, the _job_. "Olivia basically _goaded_ her sister into suicide and isn't sure how it happened," Sam lectured, like Alex hadn't been right in the room when they'd discovered it. "Like she was possessed, or was under some kind of curse."

"Yeah... _maybe_..." Alex muttered, arms still folded as she approached the table by a couple steps, "or she could have been lying. I mean, who would want to take the blame for making their sibling feel bad enough to end their own life? Just admit there's a good chance she was trying to cover her own ass." She paused, watching Sam sorting through the three papers he'd bought—one local, two national. "There was nothing witchy at the house, no EMF, no demon-dust… we checked the restaurant, too. This could just be _people_." She paused, giving Sam a meaningful look. "People do horrible shit to each other."

He glanced up at her briefly and she couldn't see any discernible emotion. "I'll give you that," he said obligingly, "but taking into consideration the other freaky murders and the other suicides, I still think there's something here. I can feel it."

"Ooh, can you, Master Yoda?" Alex wisecracked. Sam gave her an appraising look across the top of the paper he was poring over. Yet again, she was left feeling disillusioned and even more afraid that her growing suspicions were true.

For the past twenty-four hours, there had literally been no chance for her to tell Dean what she'd remembered when she woke up in the hospital. It had rushed back into her mind with startling clarity and horrifying detail and Alex hoped she wasn't remembering it right, because if it were real… she wasn't in the room right now with her brother. She was in the room with someone else, maybe some _thing_ else. It replayed again in her mind's eye: Sam standing there and _letting_ that vampire turn her. He'd had the strangest look on his face, almost the beginnings of a _smile_ as she'd been force-fed vampire blood. Alex had been stealing glances at her twin for the past twenty-four hours now, trying to figure out if what she'd seen was real. Figure out if that was Sam at all there with her. Her guard was doubled and she was no longer relaxed with her twin. Aware of where her weapons were at all time, she was focused on one thing: keeping Dean and herself safe. But she _loved_ Sam and was desperate for this to be him in front of her, just with a bad case of Hell PTSD. However, she wasn't sure if that's what it was. And she wasn't sure if she could let herself and her other brother stay around him if he wasn't gonna have their backs.

She glanced toward the door. She could see Dean now through the window. He was standing just on the other side of it on the sidewalk with his phone to his ear and was keeping an eye on her through the slatted blinds even as he had what appeared to be a pretty intense conversation. He didn't even know what she knew yet and still he was on edge about Sam too. Maybe he could sense it. Alex looked at Sam again, who seemed to have zero clue that she was watching him differently now. She walked a little closer to him as she took off her suit jacket, then stopped completely when she glimpsed the newspaper date—May the fourth. Her stomach dropped in shock at the realization: _their birthday had been two days ago_. It had slipped her mind completely. She couldn't _believe_ she forgot, then she realized she couldn't believe her brothers had both forgotten too. She looked at her twin intently, seeing an opportunity to test the waters. She sat down across from him, studying his expression and hiding her disturbed state of mind. "Hey, is it really May fourth?" she asked, feigning casual surprise. "Did we forget our birthday?"

He glanced at the newspaper date. "Huh. Guess we did," he said, and he had no reaction to it. Just replied to her and kept reading, his expression pinched with focus. She felt a little stung by his blasé reply, that and her suspicions only got deeper and deeper. That feeling of foreboding only got worse and worse. She sat back a little as a horrible feeling of finality and sadness settled over her. Dean had _forgotten_ their birthday for the first time ever and Sam didn't apparently care. _You need to tell Dean about what you saw._

Alex felt shellshocked. Not just right now, in general. Everything was a blur since what had happened with Glen. Cas reappearing, the demon blood shit hitting the fan. The panic room. Scotland. The vampire crap. It was too much. Her reality was all building up onto her shoulders and there was this feeling of inescapable grief. She swallowed, telling herself to get a grip. But every direction she turned, she was up against walls that were slowly closing in on her. How could she get a grip? There was nothing to hold onto anymore. That thought made her fight even harder to push away all the noisy worries, doubts, and fears that made it hard to sleep at night. She wanted to be strong. She _had_ to be strong. In some ways, with Dean being withdrawn and quieter than usual and Sam being whatever the hell Sam was being, Alex felt like _she_ had to be what Dean had always been: the anchor, the encourager, the one who held the family together. There was an awful loneliness to her life that she'd never felt before, and she wasn't sure if it was because of Castiel's absence or because of how she was refusing to be honest about her emotional wreckage.

Dean came in at that moment, ending his phone call as he did. "That was _Samuel_ ," he said, tossing his phone onto the table and yanking his suit jacket off. His expression was bothered. "He said Jamie just… _disappeared_ thirty minutes ago."

Alex stood up so fast that her chair almost fell over. " _What_?"

He jammed a hand through his hair then threw his hands up in a defeated, mystified shrug. "Yeah. I dunno. Said he left for five minutes to get some grub from the caf, then when he got back… no James."

Speechless for a couple seconds, Alex tried to figure out if Dean were joking or what—but he just looked disturbed and worried. "What, like she just… woke up and _walked out_?" she asked, because that sounded unlikely.

"Yeah, I guess," Dean said, appearing just as uneasy about the idea as her. "He said no signs of anything weird. Just… empty bed."

How the hell…? That didn't sound right.

"Hey, all's well that ends well," Sam put in, getting two crazy looks from either of his siblings. "What? She's awake, right? That's good news."

He was pointedly ignored by his two angry siblings. "Well should we go try and _find_ her?" Alex asked, because she genuinely wasn't sure what course of action should be taken, if any. Because if Jamie had really walked out and didn't want to be found, trying to find her would be pointless.

Dean seemed to be considering the idea. "Samuel said he's gonna see what he can see. I dunno."

"If she's out there, he'll find her," Sam said in dismissal, then glanced up at Dean. "You guys wanna help me out with skimming these papers?"

Maybe it was petty of Alex, but she was sick of Sam and his belligerent apathy. Deciding to get rid of him, she fixed him with a cool little smile. "Sam, how about you go take a listen to the police scanner in my car while you do that? See if you hear anything worth following up on." She snatched up one of the newspapers and shook it for emphasis, barely concealing how pissed she was. "I'll read this one."

Sam was agreeable and got up. "Yeah, good idea." He exited, and the second he did, Alex turned to look at her oldest brother and roll her eyes about Sam. She looked at the newspaper she held with mild contempt before she smacked it down onto the table. She had zero intention of actually reading it.

"Trust me, I wanna punch him in the face too," Dean said as she plopped down to sit on the corner of one of the beds. She looked up at her brother grudgingly as he grabbed two beers out of the fridge and popped the little metal caps off using the counter and a blow from his palm. "He's getting on my last damn nerve here lately," Dean said, taking a swig from one of the bottles before offering her the other one. She took it, even though she didn't really want it. Dean pulled at his tie to loosen it as he sat opposite of her on the other bed. He looked and sounded exactly what he confessed next: "I'm fucking exhausted." He got his tie loose enough to take off then threw it toward where he'd slung his jacket. Even though he appeared normal enough, Alex could sense all over again that Dean was depressed and just as lost as she was right now. She wished she knew how to cheer him up.

"Any luck getting Lisa yet?" she asked as he kicked off his dress shoes. He'd been trying to call Lisa all yesterday and some of today, too.

He glanced her way, fumbling a little. "Uh, no. She won't answer." He became a shade more regretful, sighing and stewing for a minute, "I messed up bad, Al. Shouldn't have gone there."

He'd told them briefly what had happened when he went to Lisa's as a vampire. So Alex tried to sympathize. "You just wanted to say goodbye to the person you care about. Nothing wrong with that."

He scoffed at the latter part of the statement and she could see that he was thinking something along the lines of 'there was a whole _helluva_ lot wrong with it.' But he didn't say anything. And oddly enough, it made her _sad_ that he didn't argue with her. It was obvious he was worried about everything in his life right now, especially her—and that made Alex feel bad. When they'd been growing up, Alex had believed that her oldest brother was a superhero, capable of taking on the whole world. Now, she knew he was just a man. A man who carried loads too big for anyone to carry. And still, somehow, he carried them. She took a pull of her beer, not really enjoying the taste.

Dean chanced an attentively worried glance at her. "So what about you? Did you, uh… did you call Cas up to say your piece?" he asked. "Back when we were… you know, bloodsuckers."

The mention of _him_ made her immediately less certain of herself and uncomfortable because the focus had been shifted onto her. She replied fast, tried to make it look like she wasn't ruffled by the question. "Nope," she said, looking at the ground. Bravely, she looked him in the eye, trying to look confident. "You know me." She shrugged, took another sip of beer, and tried to look unaffected. "I don't like goodbyes."

Dean studied her closer for cracks in the armor. "Right," he momentarily said, still not seeming to entirely believe the front she was putting up. He was right, but she didn't want him to know that, so she gave a tight little smile and tried not to think about how loud the silence rang in her ears. Her brother studied the label of the beer he was resting on top of his knee. "You know, uh… I wasn't gonna leave without saying goodbye to you," he said abruptly, not bothering to hide how guilty he felt about it. "I really wasn't. Then I just panicked."

"It's _okay,_ Dean." He'd already apologized about the same thing at the vampire nest, then yesterday, and now again. He didn't seem to agree that it was okay and didn't seem to accept her forgiveness. He just kept looking at her with that sad, tense expression and Alex softened. " _Stop_."

Mild confusion passed over his features. "Stop what?"

"Looking at me with those pity eyes."

He tried to protest and act like he wasn't doing what she said he was. "These are just my regular eyes."

She smiled at him and she didn't have to force it. It was time for him to stop worrying about her and it was time for her to stop letting him. From here on out, she was going to just suck it up and be strong and independent. He just had to get used to the idea. "Dean…" she was gentle but firm. "You've been waiting all week for me to break down." She paused for emphasis. "It's not gonna happen, I'm good." Her smile softened a little into a fond, solicitous expression. "Just relax. Be _normal._ "

"I _am_ being normal!" he protested a little defensively, looking at her mistrustfully. "You told me you weren't okay, remember?"

Her tearful confession in the vamp nest crossed her mind. _I'm not okay,_ she had told him. "Yeah, I remember," she said, then attempted to discredit the very real confession she'd made. "I remember that I was a _vampire_ with a death sentence over my head. Life seemed pretty hopeless at the time and, heh, I didn't feel very good about the future, you know?" She downplayed like it was her job, and for a second, _she_ could almost believe herself. Almost. "But I got a new lease on life now, so…" she shrugged, trying not to think of the things that bothered her. Instead she turned the spotlight back to Dean. "And don't try and change the subject. You're _not_ being normal. You're being _way_ too nice and _way_ too quiet."

"I'm being 'too nice'?" he repeated in confusion. "I'm always nice!"

Now _that_ was laughable. Cute, even, and she cracked a grin, because she knew this guy better than almost anyone else, apparently even himself. "No... you're _mean_ ," she corrected. "Like a grumpy old man. What happened to all the bitching and moaning?"

Dean gave her a crazy look, like he was thinking about laughing at her question. "So lemme get this straight: You're _complaining_ that I'm not complaining."

Alex saw an opportunity to make her brother laugh and pounced, taking on a playful tone. "Best part of my day is hearing _you_ whining about how _I'm_ taking too long in the bathroom." Dean looked down, a rueful little smile playing on his lips, and Alex started ribbing him with things he had actually said in the past (mostly). She put on a funny high-pitched nerdy voice. "'Who decided soy milk should even be a thing? When did _gum_ get so fancy? Where did that friggin' idiot learn how to drive, Florida?'" Alex kept on, getting more animated. "'Turn that racket down—if it's not from the eighties it's not music! And if it's got too many vegetables in it, it's not real food! I'm Dean Winchester and I'm gonna go angry-fix my car!'" Dean was fighting a grin now and had a hand over half his face. "'I have the blood-pressure of a hummingbird on crack! I hate sunshine and don't know how to text!" By the last sentence, they were both basically giggling, and Dean especially seemed to have needed it. For a minute, neither of them remembered their dire situations or the things weighing on them.

"Hey, texting's dumb and I stand by that conviction," Dean said in mock-seriousness, then pulled a face. "I mean if you have something to say, just _call_ the person, is that really so damn hard?" Alex shrugged helplessly, enjoying the lighthearted moment that reminded her of times that currently felt lost. Their eyes caught the others and their smiles faded a little, Dean's pensive mood seemed to bleed through again and he cleared his throat, forcing the smile off his face completely. Like he was guilty about allowing himself any cheer at all. "Yeah. I'm… it's been a rough couple weeks all around," he said gruffly, then looked at her with those sad eyes again. His voice softened, betraying how worried he was about everything. "I just want you to be okay. Almost lost you."

Well, she'd tried. But maybe ducking the issue wasn't the answer. "I know." She nodded slowly, knowing what he was thinking about. The demon blood, the assault. Everything. She redirected the conversation to him again, because those things had to stay hers. She couldn't add those to his burden. "I just want _you_ to be okay," she told him seriously. His gaze ducked away.

Alex was a little discouraged. She knew that feeling all too well. The doubt that anything would ever be all right ever again. It was bad enough that she felt that way. He shouldn't feel that way too. At least Sam-the-robot wasn't wallowing with them, huh? She glanced at the window where she could see just a sliver of the side of her twin brother's face. He was sitting in her car, listening intently to the police scanner. At the very sight of him, her stomach turned. She knew all over again that she hadn't imagined him standing by and letting her get turned into a vampire. And Dean had to know what they were up against here. What had happened. She looked at her brother with a hardening expression. "All right, so…" she trailed off. How did you even _say_ this? That your brother had something really wrong with him and was a danger to the family? Dean heard the anxiety hiding in her voice and looked at her with narrowed eyes and growing interest, like he could sense whatever she was about to say was extremely important.

"Look, I need to talk to you about Sam," she told him, then paused again, worried about how her oldest brother would react to the news. She decided to beat around the bush. "Dean… has he done anything recently that seemed like, insanely out of character?" Her oldest brother's expression showed shrewd confusion and she tried to explain herself better. "Like, has he endangered you, or just, stood by when he should have been doing something to help out?"

His expression kept darkening. "Why?" A cautious, single word.

"Don't freak out," she said, however, she could already tell he was getting there. "Okay. I'm pretty sure… I'm pretty sure he _let_ me get turned. And then let _you_ get turned too."

Dean's face went absolutely cold. "Explain. _Now_."

She did. Intensely and with vast uncertainty. Not because she didn't remember it well. Because it seemed so horrible that Sam could really do what he'd done. "...I thought I had to be imagining this, Dean. But I remember it _so_ clearly. Getting jumped by that vamp, and Sam was right there, a few feet off… and he wasn't _doing_ anything. He was standing there _watching_. Like he was… I dunno, almost like he was interested in what was happening." Remembering it all over again, her veins went cold. "He had this little _smile_ on his face." Dean looked absolutely horrified and Alex shook her head, looking out the window. "I don't know if that's Sam out there."

Dean lowered his voice to a hiss of a whisper and leaned closer to her, freaked out. "Why the hell didn't you tell me this _sooner_?!"

She matched his whisper with one of her own. "I didn't exactly have any _chances_ since the hospital when I remembered it, Dean!"

He stood up, breathing a little heavier than before, looking out the window with an indescribable look on his face as he set his beer down onto the kitchen table and stared out the window at their brother. Alex stood up too and Dean shook his head, beside himself with blindsided dismay. "I _knew_ something was wrong with him but…" he trailed off, looking back at her in dread. "You're sure? I mean, you're _sure_ you're sure?"

She wished she wasn't. "Yeah. I am."

Dean didn't ask for any more information. He took her at her word, maybe because the suspicion had been building in him like it had been in her. He took decisive action, grabbing his cell phone out of his pocket. "Watch the window," he commanded. "You tell me if he's about to come in here."

"What are you doing?" Alex asked as he hurriedly pushed buttons on his phone. She put her barely-touched beer down beside his.

"Calling Bobby!" Was the agitated reply. Dean began to pace the room, throwing glances in Sam's general direction as he got hold of Bobby and explained the situation in a gruff, shaken voice, hurrying because they weren't sure how long Sam would actually stay gone. Alex went and sat back down on a bed, her hands gripping the edge of the mattress on either side of her legs. She kept her eyes on Sam, who was oblivious outside. She caught snatches of the phone conversation as she kept watch, but didn't really start listening until a certain point. "Well that's what she told me, Bobby! I don't know what else to tell you!" Dean protested, throwing a hand in the air for emphasis.

" _We tested him. Salt, silver—everything."_ She could hear Bobby's voice through the phone even from her distance, that's how loud Dean's ancient cell was.

"He basically _threw_ us to that vamp, Bobby, are you hearing me right now?!" Dean turned and began to pace the other way now, his disturbed state of mind translating into supremely volatile demeanor. "It's a friggin' miracle she's human again! I'm telling you—whoever that guy walking around in Sam's shoes is, he is _not_ my brother."

" _Well, then he's something we ain't ever seen before then."_

"Yeah, or it's freakin' _Lucifer_."

" _Did you call Cas?"_

Alex's stomach flipped a little at the unexpected name mention.

"He's not answering," Dean grumbled, "Screw him. I can't wait anymore." He met Alex's sidelong glance. Cas was kind of a sore subject for them and he hadn't been brought up in the past twenty-four hours even once.

" _Look, I get it,"_ Bobby's voice continued, _"You're rattled. You're right to be. But let's be professional—"_

"Professional?" Dean repeated. "Sam _watched_ Alex get turned! He let it happen!"

Alex stood up, put a hand on her forehead, and rubbed. This was crazy.

" _And she's_ sure _she saw what she thinks she saw?"_

"Damn it, Bobby, yes, she wouldn't make that up!"

" _I'm not tryin' to say she's lyin', son, I just… it ain't the same as proof. 'Cause we're talking about—"_

"—we're talking about doing something about this and _fast,_ " Dean cut in sharply. Again, Alex looked at her brother apprehensively. 'Doing something' sounded like he meant killing. That seemed like a giant leap to take, and she faltered, wondered if maybe she should have waited before telling Dean what she'd seen. "It's not just the vamp stuff, okay?" Dean asked. "He's been different from the _jump_."

" _I know,"_ Bobby conceded. _"I'm with you."_

" _Are_ you?" Dean challenged.

" _Yeah. I'll hit the books, hard. Just don't_ shoot _him yet, all right? Watch him. We need facts. 'Cause if it ain't Sam... we don't know what it is. And if we're gonna put him down, we need to know_ how _. You and Alex keep an eye on. Watch for anything weird."_

Dean scoffed immediately. "Anything _weird_? _Everything's_ weird—I don't even want us to ride in the same car with him, much less work a damn _case_."

" _He_ is _your case, Dean, nut up."_ Bobby sighed. _"You got anything else to go on?"_

"Yeah, my skin crawls being in the same room with him," Dean quipped darkly. "Why don't you look _that_ up?"

" _Yeah, sure."_

Dean shook his head and dragged the palm of his hand down over his mouth. "Dunno how much longer I can do this, Bobby. You got to figure out what the hell he is and fast."

There was a heavy pause. _"Dean, there's a worst-case scenario."_

"What, Satan's my co-pilot? Yeah, I know."

" _Well, that'd be the_ other _worst case."_

Dean and Alex's gazes met briefly again, and Dean appeared to be confused. "Well, then what, Bobby?"

" _Maybe it's just_ Sam _."_

The room went completely silent and Alex looked at Dean in somber anxiety. That was her greatest fear... that Sam was just this way now. That he just didn't _care_ anymore. Somehow that was worse than anything else—him being a human being who didn't care about his brother and sister's wellbeing in the slightest.

" _No_." Dean rejected that idea and shook his head as his jaw tightened. "No way." He jabbed a finger down toward the floor. "You got a day, Bobby, one day, and then I'm _handling_ this." And without any more Dean hung up rudely, in a completely foul mood. He looked over at the kitchenette, where several bottles of whiskey were. "I need something strong," he muttered.

She didn't normally do this, but today… she did. "You sure?" Alex had noticed how he'd been drinking so much more than normal here lately. Or, more than he used to. It wasn't healthy. The second she asked him, he turned around with a clouded expression.

"Don't do that," he warned flatly. "Not you too. I'll drink as much as I friggin' want."

She had no idea what he was implying—maybe Lisa had gotten onto him? His rude response made Alex get slightly sullen and sarcastic. "Yeah, well. Your liver probably looks like a camouflaged tarp by now, what's a little more gonna do to you?"

There was a short, tense silence and Dean looked guilty. Alex felt bad and understood, faintly, why Dean was desperate to abuse a substance. Anything to forget the problem and make it go away, but they couldn't do that with Sam. He was their _brother_. "Look, I get it," she said tiredly. "You're upset about Sam. But you can't just decide you're gonna _shoot_ him if Bobby doesn't find something out by tomorrow!"

"Well what am I _supposed_ to do?!" Dean asked. When she came up with no immediate answer, he turned to face her and walked over to speak intensely. "Sam would never just stand by and let you get turned, Alex. _Never_!" She looked down, conflicted. "You know that!" Dean insisted. "And I can't let us be around him if he's gonna endanger you! If that _is_ Sam or _isn't_ , he's _dangerous_."

"Yes you can, and you will 'let us be around him,' Dean," Alex retorted. "'Dangerous' is our life—so you and I are gonna sack up, keep our heads, and figure out who or _what_ that is out there. Okay?" Dean was chastened and unhappy. He opened his mouth to reply… then never did.

The motel room opened without warning and in walked the one they were arguing about. Oblivious and seemingly eager, Sam cracked a smile. "Guys, there was another crazy murder."

Dean and Alex both faltered momentarily, trying to transition from high tensions to playing it cool. "Yeah?" Alex asked, finding her voice first.

"Dentist _drilled_ a guy to death," Sam said. He sounded way too excited about it.

Dean narrowed his eyes slightly, glanced at his sister, then attempted a typical comment he'd make. "You mean the... non-sexy kind of drilling, right?"

Sam wiggled his eyebrows once. "Fifty bucks says he's mixed up in all the crazy."

"And this happened when?" Alex asked. She had to admit, that did sound pretty insane, especially if it just happened—it was still business hours.

"Not long at all—the perp just got taken in downtown," Sam said, then jerked his head backward, indicating the doorway. "Let's go talk to him."

Alex was up for it, but Dean hesitated. "Okay, uh... why don't you go ahead?" he asked then glanced around, fishing for an excuse. _Really?_ Alex didn't think avoiding Sam would give them the answers they needed, but Dean seemed to want to do exactly that. "We'll catch up," he said, then pointed at the newspaper on the table. "Uh… research. We're gonna do a little research." He got a pointed, wide-eyed _are you insane_ side eye. If Dean was going to talk about friggin' _killing_ this guy in a day or two, they should probably make sure they knew _who_ they were killing, not just dodge spending time around him!

Sam paused, frowned slightly in mild confusion. "Research?"

"Yeah," Dean said with a little more false enthusiasm than necessary. "We, we gotta know what we're up against, right?" Alex was trying not to shake her head at Dean's weirdo behavior.

Sam took the question in stride, agreeing after a couple seconds of deliberation. "Yeah. Yeah, good idea, I guess," he conceded, then looked at his twin, smiling a little even as he squinted in thought. "But is it really gonna take _two_ of you to do research? I could use some backup."

"Uh…" Dean faltered.

Alex did the last thing Dean would want at that moment and decided to go with Sam—almost to spite her controlling oldest brother and prove to him that she was capable of taking care of herself. "No, you're right Sam," she said, grabbing up her suit jacket from off the back of a kitchen chair. "I'll come with."

Dean looked at her with wide _what the hell are you thinking_ eyes.

 _Don't be a baby,_ she glared right back at him.

"Great," Sam said, not noticing. "Let's go." He turned for the door, Alex following behind.

"Wh—uh—" Dean protested, quickly following and then loudly stopping them. "No, Alex has to stay here!" He sounded panicked.

The twins turned around. Sam looked confused. Alex was giving her oldest brother a dagger glare, trying to silently communicate _butt out_. "Why?" Sam asked, mystified and looking at Alex for an explanation. She gave none, only arched an eyebrow slightly at Dean, who tried to come up with something— _anything_.

"Uh… we were having a really important conversation," he said lamely, scrambling for an excuse. "About… feelings. And uh…. things."

Alex rolled her eyes and didn't allow her brother the control. She'd already decided she was going with Sam and made it known. "No Dean, it's okay," she told him. "We'll finish the 'conversation' later. You stay _here_ and enjoy your _whiskey._ " He soured slightly at her dig about the whiskey. "We'll call if we need you. We've got our weapons and we've done this a million times before," she said, basically referring to herself as 'we' so that Sam wouldn't get what Dean's problem really was. " _We_ don't need you with us for everything. We can take care of ourselves." As an afterthought, she glanced at her twin. " _Right,_ Sam?"

Sam seemed totally unsure but agreed anyway. "Uh, yeah. Sure."

Dean was silently threatening and pleading Alex at the same time with his stare but she ignored it and gave him a meaningful, pointed look of her own. "We'll see you later," she said with finality and turned, grabbing her keys before she exited the room.

"You wanna drive or me?" Sam asked as he shut the door behind them.

Alex was already headed to her car. "I'll drive," she said flatly. Her phone buzzed in her pocket and she pulled it out, glancing at the screen. A text from Dean. Oh geez. She opened it. **U crazy?**

She typed out a reply really fast, glancing at Sam discreetly over the top of the car as he swung into the low passenger-side seat. **Don't worry moron I got my gun.** She got into the car, started it, and fiddled with the air controls. Her phone buzzed again.

**Call if N E THING weird ! kick ur ass l8r**

"Everything okay?" Sam asked, apparently wondering why they weren't leaving yet.

"Yeah," she said, putting on an unreadable expression. "Yeah." She put the car in reverse, well aware of herself, of Sam, and of where every weapon she possessed was. Once they were on the road and cruising, she glanced at him sidelong. Again, she tested him, trying to get a feel for how much of her brother was left in there. "So you wanna listen to some music, or…"

Sam was staring straight ahead, expression unaffected. "Nah. I don't really like music anymore."

Who didn't like _music_? In the past Sam would have requested _Red Hot Chili Peppers_ or _Dave Matthews Band_ or some other college-y rock group she wasn't too familiar with. "Well, _I_ still like music," she said. "So how about some _Journey_?" It was a rhetorical question. She'd already hit play. After a couple minutes of driving—Sam quiet and focused on the point in front of himself, Alex chancing a few sidelong glances here and there—she cleared her throat, deciding to see what else she could find out. "So, Samuel. What's _that_ guy all about?"

Sam's answer was short and concise. "Good hunter. Little bossy. Not bad in a pinch."

All true enough as far as she knew. But the cryptic tone and brief answer wasn't fulfilling her curiosity. "How'd you guys meet, again?"

"Ran into each other on the same job."

Getting answers that weren't one or two words out of him was like pulling teeth. "Which was _what_ kind of job?" she asked, redoubling her patience.

"Rugaru. Over in Portland."

 _Huh._ It just didn't fit with Sam's personality to take up hunting with a random family member who also happened to be alive again inexplicably. There was something to this. She kept casually, passively digging for information and clues, anything. "And you just paired up with him. Sight unseen."

"Yeah, pretty much."

The clipped answers were driving her crazy. "I mean, you had to know I was out there somewhere if you knew about what Dean was doing, right? So why'd you never track me down?"

"Tried," Sam said simply. "Couldn't." He finally looked at her for more than a millisecond, seeming to sense that she was fishing for some kind of input on his part. He said what she hadn't expected at all. "I'm glad we're back together again. The three of us. We're a good team."

Although it sounded nice, it didn't seem entirely genuine. Was that what he thought she'd wanna hear? He seemed so calculating to her suddenly, and it chilled her to the bone and made her unsure if she really should be alone with him. Memories of Glen, who she'd trusted until it had been too late, came to mind.

"Yeah. A good team," she echoed, outwardly appearing to agree with him and happy about the family reunion. She forced a smiled in his direction so he wouldn't see how suspicious she was of him. Inwardly, she was more unsure of him than ever and fearing the worst. There was a seemingly caring and thoughtful smile on her brother's face. It had a foreboding effect on her because it was missing an earnestness, a warmth. Alex was definitely beginning to regret her impulsive decision to accompany Sam out on the investigation, but stubborn pride kept her from turning the car around. She had to follow through on this.

* * *

**A Couple Hours Later**

Dean slammed the motel room door behind himself, making a beeline for more whiskey once he was inside. This was easily one of the more stressful days he'd had and there wasn't enough Jack in the world right now to soothe his rattled nerves. He yanked a glass out of the crummy motel cabinet and poured himself a glassful of hunter's helper. This was him trying not to be the overly-controlling brother. Alex wanted to be alone with the guy who'd let her get turned into a vamp? _Fine_! He downed a huge gulp of the dark amber liquid. _Not_ fine, but what choice did he have? She was super into doing her own thing these days and he was trying his damnedest to let her have the freedom to make her own shitty choices. It went against every instinct he possessed and basically had him in one of the foulest moods of his life. The alcohol wasn't helping much, either. Surly, Dean cast around glances for Sam's laptop. Where was that damn thing? He for real needed to do research now.

Alex had called him a little bit ago with two bits of information: one, the dentist who'd drilled a guy to death? He had killed himself in his holding cell as soon as he'd been left alone. She and Sam hadn't gotten to talk to him but they'd been able to talk to his assistant, who'd heard some of the lead-up to the murder. Apparently the patient had said some very true but incriminating things that had pissed the dentist off enough to kill right then and there. Dean could see the pattern that was beginning to form: people were telling the bitter, raw truth in this town for some reason, and it was driving people to murder and suicide. Jane's sister Olivia had apparently told Jane how much of a burden she was and that she should kill herself. Seemed witchy or curse-y to Dean, but there were no overt signs of witchcraft they could find.

The reason Alex had called him a bit ago was to ask him to go check out a place called _Harry's House of Horns_ while she went and picked Sam up from the morgue. She'd found a receipt from that shop at the dentist's office when she checked out the crime scene and had remembered seeing a magnet from the same business at Jane's house. Dean had gone since the horn shop was the only thing they could find in common for the victims. Harry, the shop owner, had asked Dean (masquerading as FBI) when he was going to get him his stolen horn back. _What stolen horn?_ Dean had asked. _The priceless, thousand-year old antique that disappeared the same day Jane died,_ Harry had said, then shown Dean a picture of an ancient looking horn.

Dean found Sam's laptop and opened it up. He had a feeling maybe Harry's missing horn was involved somehow in the weird truth stuff going on in town. He started to search the web for horns that appeared in biblical times. He kept getting one hit over and over: Gabriel's horn of truth. There was an arty depiction of it on one of the webpages that looked an awful lot like the picture Harry had shown Dean. "Yeah, great," he muttered under his breath. "The God squad's involved." He reached for the nearly-empty glass of whiskey on the nightstand and drained the last few drops. This was just what he needed. More angel crap. Cas was being an asshole as usual and not answering his calls. He'd tried a few days ago and then again last night, calling him and telling him that he needed help about Sam. And then today after Alex had left he'd tried again, even more alarmed than before after what Alex had told him. _Cas, I need some answers about Sam, pronto!_ He'd basically shouted. _Where the hell are you?!_ Cas hadn't shown. Typical.

Even though he knew it wasn't gonna work, he still tried, even if he was sort of surly about it. "Castiel? Hello?" he muttered, not putting much enthusiasm into his voice at all. "Possible loose nuke down here, angelic weapon. Kinda your department." He shut the laptop and tossed it down on the bed beside himself then stood up, whiskey glass in hand. He looked upward, raised his voice. "You hear that, Cas?" He rolled his eyes, turning around to head back for more whiskey. Then stopped short when he saw the angel in the trench coat leaned against the kitchen counter. There was a pensive look on the angel's careworn face.

"Hello, Dean."

"You kidding me?" Dean asked, his jaw hanging slightly. "I've been on red alert about Sam and then you come for some stupid _horn?!"_

Cas was quiet, withdrawn, and plaintive. "You asked me to be here, and I came."

Dean flew off the handle. "I've been asking you to be here for _days_ , you dick!"

A little wounded, Cas's eyebrows moved together slightly as if he didn't understand Dean's insult. Then he looked down and maintained his earnest demeanor. "I didn't come about Sam…" he looked back at Dean anxiously, "because I have nothing to _offer_ about Sam."

"Well that's great," Dean retorted rudely, "because for all we know, he's just gift wrap for _Lucifer_! And my crazy dumbass sister is just _out there_ with him right now somewhere!"

At the mention of her Cas was visibly affected, which only incensed Dean further. The angel shook his head slowly and looked down beside himself. "She'll be fine." Cas picked up the half-empty bottle of whiskey that he'd spotted. "He's... he's not Lucifer." Liquor in hand, Cas slowly approached.

"And how do you know that?" Dean asked tersely.

In a surprising act of perhaps apology, Cas poured Dean more whiskey into his glass. "If Lucifer escaped the cage, we'd feel it."

Maybe Dean should have been comforted by that, but he just felt more lost than ever. What did that mean? Who was the guy walking around who looked like his brother? Was it like Bobby had said? The "worse-cast scenario"? Cas finished filling his glass halfway and Dean lost his angry front in favor of the fear he was feeling. "What is _wrong_ with him?"

"I don't know, Dean," Cas said heavily. "I'm sorry."

He said he was sorry but didn't look sorry enough. And Dean remembered how Cas had been a year ago, back at the graveyard. Emoting and vulnerable, kneeling there beside Bobby's van with Alex, who'd been dying from being possessed by Lucifer. He'd seemed so genuine and caring, and that had been the only time Dean hadn't been totally skeeved out about them together. Now he was apparently back to his original make and model: stiff, clueless, and unreliable. "What happened to you, Cas?" Dean asked, a little sour. "You used to be human, or at least _like_ one."

Castiel looked as if he'd been accused of something wretched and his eyes fell away from Dean's guiltily. "Yes," he admitted heavily. "I was. But... I'm at war." He turned away and returned to the kitchen sink, leaning there heavily as he kept his back to Dean. "Certain... regrettable things are now required of me."

That was _rich_. "Yeah?" Dean basically sneered. "What things, like breaking my little sister's heart?" Cas turned around, his expression strange. Shaking his head, Dean raised his chin a little and narrowed his eyes at Cas. At that moment, Dean saw Cas as the scapegoat for all the things currently wrong with his sister. "I dunno what you two got going these days, but she hasn't been the same since you," he accused. "And by the way real _good_ job being her guardian angel, Cas, way to keep her safe."

Cas's eyes narrowed as his frown deepened. "What... do you mean?"

"Oh, geez, Cas, I dunno," Dean said with an ugly, blunt tone. "Some dude almost _raping_ her? The way she got turned into a freaking _vampire_ a couple days ago? And you're just off fighting your stupid little war in the sky while this shit goes down?!"

Cas looked positively shocked and horrified. "A vampi—is she all right?"

The panicked look in the angel's eyes was almost like a slap in the face to Dean because it was too little too late. "Yeah, _fine_ , no thanks to you," he snapped. "You talk such a big game about protecting her then never come through when she needs you. My sister doesn't need that shit from you or anyone else, understand?" He tightened his jaw. "What she needs is someone who's not gonna run off on her all the time." He paused for gut-punch effect. "And buddy, that clearly ain't you."

Again, Cas looked hurt and disillusioned. "Why did no one _call_ me?"

"Because you never friggin' _answer_!" Dean thundered.

There was a tense silence, and Cas was looking down again in what looked like shame. _Good_ , Dean thought. He _should_ be after failing to keep her safe. And then Cas said something that would stick with Dean forever after: "Dean. If it's about her, I will _always_ come."

Something about the words and the way they were said made Dean have this strange pit of fear in his stomach. He was actively mad at Cas for not caring enough but it freaked him the hell out to hear Cas basically imply that she was more important than anything else. To Dean, it felt like the circumstances were like the perfect storm for something awful to happen—he couldn't even explain it to himself in his own mind. He just had a bad feeling about it. Again, he wondered exactly how involved the two of them were, yet was afraid to find out. Disgusted outwardly, Dean rolled his eyes. "Gimme a _break_ , Cas."

Chagrinned, Cas seemed to stow his personal feelings. His face became blank. "What is it that you need from me, Dean?"

"Gabriel's horn of truth." Dean replied blandly, also pushing his more snide demeanor to the wayside. "Is that a real thing?"

Cas was immediately interested, frowning deeply and approaching Dean again. "You've seen it?"

"I think it's in town," Dean said. "Something's forcing people to—" he stopped when Cas abruptly disappeared from in front of him. "Oh, well, you're _welcome_!" he complained and raised his glass to his lips to drain the rest of the whiskey.

"It isn't the horn of truth."

Dean turned, almost choking on half-swallowed whiskey. Cas stood there behind him by the beds. "What are you talking about?" Dean asked, a little caught off guard. "You were gone for like two _seconds_. Where did you look?"

Cas's befuddled expression suggested Dean's question was a little preposterous. "Everywhere."

"...Right." Dean eyed him dubiously. "Well, nice seeing you, anyway." He turned around to pour himself more whiskey. Why bother? He should just drink straight from the bottle. It was almost all gone, anyway.

"Dean." Cas hadn't left yet.

" _What_?" He asked sharply, not turning around.

"About your brother. I... I don't know what's wrong with him, but I do want to help. I'll make inquiries." There was a heavy pause. "And about your sister… you're right. I should watch her closer." Dean turned around to see Cas standing there and looking at the floor in a somber, pained way. "This is a difficult time for me."

That guy had a lot of nerve. "Oh how _sad_ for you, Cas."

Cas's eyes raised to Dean's and were full of confusion and pain. "I'm attempting to help you, Dean," he implored. "All I've ever attempted to do is to _help_ you. Why do you insist on being so hostile?" The heartfelt question rendered Dean unable to summon a mean retort. He faltered a little and felt a flicker of shame at himself. Cas was tense and his low, sandpapery voice was burdened. He no longer looked at Dean at all. "I'll contact you when I've found any news worth sharing." He disappeared, leaving Dean in the empty room.

Well this was just _wonderful_.

Dean downed the last of his whiskey stash then looked at the empty bottle mournfully. There was a bar across the street. And that's where he was suddenly heading without a second thought. As he crossed the street, his thoughts refused to leave the Alex and Cas conundrum filling his mind. Were they still some kind of weird little couple like they'd seemed to be last year? She wouldn't say and Dean wasn't about to ask Cas. Not yet. As far as he could tell, the two of them seemed to be on the rocks or on a different page. Like before, he didn't like it. But maybe it was winding down and over now. Maybe Alex's little infatuation with the angel in the trench coat was running its course and now she'd seen for herself that it wasn't gonna work out. Maybe now she could get over it and find herself a _human_ guy.

And really, maybe he was misremembering things. That kiss he'd seen, maybe it was Alex who had initiated it—Cas was no Rico Suave, he was a popsicle stick with arms and no personality. It was a mystery why Alex was attracted to him at all. Dean remembered how Cas had privately told him that he loved Alex a year ago. And now Dean wondered if maybe the angel had been confused about what he was saying or thought he was feeling. He _had_ said it when he'd lost his powers and wasn't as robo-angel as he was right now. Dean remembered that day Cas and Alex been gone and apparently spent the night away together somewhere. At the time he'd had this crazy feeling that they'd been together. You know… _together._ But now he was thinking, honestly, how could Cas have sexual feelings about _anyone_? He barely had _feeling_ feelings. Either way, it was too weird to think about, a thousands-year old angel trying to put the moves on his impressionable, romance-novel reading, relationship-virgin (and otherwise-virgin) sister. If he ever _did_ find out Cas had taken advantage of Alex's little crush like that… well Dean wouldn't be happy at all, and that was putting it mildly.

* * *

Across town from where Dean was currently stewing, Alex was in a very pink, very cat-decorated bedroom. She could hear Sam talking in low tones in the living room on the other side of the apartment wall.

She'd gone to pick up her twin from the morgue after her little visit to the dentist and had found him tapping a foot impatiently outside as he had waited. All the murder and suicide victim's bodies were _gone_ from the morgue apparently. Vanished seemingly into thin air. But one of the bodies that had disappeared hadn't been a suicide or murder. It had been a girl named Corey who died in a car crash, and she'd died a week before all the other deaths had started. Patient zero, maybe? Sam was out in the living room, talking to the girl's roommate while Alex poked around Corey's cat-obsessed bedroom. There was a framed photo of a fluffy black and white cat on the dresser, little cat statuettes littering surfaces. _Cat overload, much?_ It made Alex a little queasy.

She went to the bedside table, noticing the corner of a box poking out from underneath the bed. Bending, she pulled it out and straightened. What was this? She set it down on the bed, about to open it. And then...

"Hello, Alex."

A hand over her heart, Alex jumped back a little and gaped at Cas, who stood on the opposite side of the bed. "Jesus, Cas! Almost gave me a heart attack!" she exclaimed, stunned to see him just suddenly just standing there. He looked the same as ever—stern and devastatingly handsome and mildly worried with his hands at his sides. His abrupt appearance made her self-conscious and in how she was completely unprepared to see him. "W-what are you doing here?" Maybe something was wrong.

"I saw you," he said. "When I was searching the town for Gabriel's horn of truth." He paused and looked at her with great somber hesitation. She had no idea what to do or say. "Dean told me," Cas ventured slowly, and his husky voice was full of concerned anxiety. Alex's chest clenched apprehensively. "About what happened. How you were... somehow turned into a vampire." Hearing that cursed word from his mouth made Alex shrivel internally in disgust at herself, like she could have somehow controlled what had happened to her. She looked downward, a little queasy. She hadn't wanted him to know about that at all. "Why didn't you call me?" Cas asked her sadly.

His intensely caring presence was overwhelming and she cleared her throat, looking around for something to do or pretend to be doing. Anything to disguise her inner feelings. "Didn't wanna bother you," she said in clipped tones, trying to run from her own feelings. "I know you're busy."

" _Bother_ me?" he repeated, hurt. He chanced coming closer, rounding the side and then end of the bed to come toward her. She was hyper-aware of everything about him: how close he was, how tall he was, how easy it would be to go to him for a hug, how good he looked, how his shoes made muffled little sounds on the carpet as he came to stand just a few feet away from her. "Alex, you should have called me," he said, and it was easy to hear how he couldn't understand why she didn't. His careful distance seemed intentional, like he was trying not to upset her or make her uncomfortable. And she wished it wasn't that way. The deep the divide between them felt impossible to cross. "I could have _helped_ you," he continued earnestly. "Or at the very least _tried_."

She shook her head just once, a pained, tight smile on her face. Speaking became difficult. "Couldn't let you see me like that, Cas."

Further confused and hurt, Cas came a little closer. "Why not?"

"I just couldn't, okay?!" she asked, getting riled up at his increasing nearness. He was arm's length away. Close enough to touch. Close enough to push away. The shame she felt from the demon blood and the vampire crap still ate at her and made her feel so ugly and worthless. "H-haven't you seen me at my lowest points enough lately?" She looked up into his eyes fully and letting him see, for a moment, her true feelings.

In a moment out of what seemed a past life, he hesitated and then reached out and gently touched her arm, trying to comfort her and maybe initiate an embrace. His touch was simultaneously everything she wanted, needed, and desired… and also not close to being enough. She pulled away, not even entirely sure why. Immediately, she regretted it. But it was too late.

Castiel was stung and surprised. He quickly became abashed despite his confusion. "I'm sorry," he apologized, clearly upset with himself. "I didn't mean to overstep my bounds."

Immediately feeling a little worse, Alex attempted to act like everything was A-OK and tried to cover up over the issue at hand. "It's fine. I'm just… just busy, focused on work. It's a lot. But it's nothing I can't handle." He didn't seem to believe her, looking at her with those intensely sad blue eyes of his. They broke her a little, reminding her of how lonely she was and how unsure she was about the future. She tried to make it about him and tried to sell the idea that she was staying strong for him. "But I guess that's just life right now, huh? You've got your stuff upstairs, I'm down here." She shrugged and smiled even though she didn't feel the smile. "You don't need to worry about me, Cas," she lied. "I'm fine." _God,_ she wasn't fine at _all_ , but if he if had any idea of how screwed up she was right now, he'd feel guilty for leaving. And she knew, inevitably, he'd have to. In a way, she felt like she was protecting him from sadness by keeping hers to herself.

His eyes seemed to see everything about her and he didn't look sure about her statement of _I'm fine_. "Alex, we should talk, shouldn't we?"

She wanted to shrink back, disappear. Talk about what? The demon blood? The vampire stuff? The things she'd said in Scotland? Something _else_? The idea of having an emotional discussion terrified her. "Not now, I have um, a job," she said, excusing herself stiltedly as she motioned to the bedroom vaguely. "The case." Even to herself, her reaction was ludicrous and she hated herself for it. This was hard as hell, because the thing she dreamed of constantly was this, _him_. All she could think about was how she wanted to just _be with him_ like they had been before. She just wanted to know where they stood. She wanted to let him in and let herself be real with him. But right now when given the chance, she was too scared to actually let it happen. She'd been so burned and was so terrified to be burned again.

"Of course," Cas said after a long pause. He was polite and courteous as ever, but still deeply anxious, trying again to appeal to her and get her to talk to him. "The job. I only thought—"

Alex shook her head, shifted the box on the bed, trying to look businesslike. "Maybe later, Cas."

"But—"

"No!" she suddenly exclaimed, looking directly at him. She'd said that a little louder than she meant to and they were both surprised by it. Alex took a second to compose herself. Chastened, she attempted a calm tone. "I… I told you. I'm busy right now."

He looked so miserable and worried and lost that she couldn't meet his gaze. She had both of her hands on the box she'd found under the bed but she just stared down at her hands without seeing or remembering what she was doing. Only realizing that she was fucking up this moment with Cas beyond compare. He'd picked the wrong girl, he loved her too much, and she was doing nothing but letting him down. She didn't know how to be _better_ at this. She blinked away emotion that threatened to turn to tears. At this point he studied her profile silently. Her hair, swept back into a neat little low pony tail (part of the FBI look) didn't hang down to shield her face from scrutiny.

Cas seemed to see through her. "I don't understand why you're attempting to push me away." His forlorn insight was heartbreaking.

She glanced his way, pitifully trying to deny his very accurate statement. "I'm not."

Another long pause. "You won't even look at me," Cas observed in a disconsolate tone, sadness coloring the way he sought her gaze. His pained voice softened. "Do you truly find me that abhorrent?"

Sick with herself—she hadn't meant to make him feel that way—Alex put a hand on her face, her attempts at holding him at arm's length buckling underneath her need to reassure him. "No. No, of _course_ not." It was time to just man up and let him know she was having a tough time, that she was hurt and confused and carrying a lot of unanswered questions around, could he please help her understand some things? So she attempted to be honest and dropped her hand down, drew her shoulders up, then turned to look at him straight on, preparing herself for a really emotionally exhausting conversation. "I'm just… this is _hard_ , Cas." That was putting it lightly, but it was all she could dredge up for the moment. With surprising intuition, Cas seemed to understand, vaguely, what she meant, and started to speak to her fear without hesitation on his part.

"What we were before…" he began, then paused, looking upward, his expression darkening and screwing up into a squinting frown.

"What is it?" Alex asked, dread filling her. She already knew. He had to go.

"I'm being summoned to the battlefields." He looked down grimly, his jaw working. _Don't go_. Her hand shot out almost of its own accord, latching onto his wrist through the trench coat as dismay rocketed upwards in her—he seemed surprised by her sudden action and before she could think it through, she closed the distance between them and threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. She had to squeeze her eyes shut against the tears she'd been holding back. She felt his arms hugging around her gently, as if he were afraid of breaking her or upsetting her again and she hugged him even harder, trying to somehow tell him through the touch _I still love you, I'm just afraid. I miss you and I need you more than I know how to say._ _I just want us to be okay again. Are we okay? Do you still love me?_ Being held there in the safety his arms, she could believe nothing had changed at all. She drew back regretfully, knowing he had to leave. And as they came apart, her doubts returned, her fears reared their head again. She pulled away completely, stepping back and away from him. She could think of nothing to say.

Cas seemed both encouraged and vaguely worried by the sudden hug and then the abrupt way she'd ended it. "I'll return to you as soon as I can," he promised.

She nodded. And then he was gone, leaving a gaping empty space both in the room and in her heart.

* * *

Dean pulled up to the apartment complex and eyeballed it as he parked the Impala there on the side of the road. This was about to get... _interesting._

About ten minutes ago while Dean was lurking at the bar uselessly, Sam had called to tell him to head that way because he and Alex had found patient zero. Dean had slapped money down on the bar as thoughts of Sam plagued his mind and the barkeep has innocently asked if she could get him anything else. Dean had said no, then mumbled to himself that all he wanted was the goddamn truth.

An offhand comment. But apparently, the way to get yourself cursed. The second he'd said that, the barkeep had wondered out loud why she couldn't get pregnant; maybe because God knew her marriage was a scam. She'd paused then frowned, asking why she'd said that, then promptly reasoned that maybe it was because she'd been snorting oxy all day. Again, she'd been shocked at her sudden confession. Then, the busty woman a table over had looked at Dean and smiled coyly then told him she was sitting the way she was sitting that way so guys would look at her recently bought breasts. She'd then commented on how much attention she needed. Appreciative of the sight of all that cleavage but a little flabbergasted at the sudden outpouring of truth, Dean had hightailed it out of the bar and then realized, hey… maybe this wasn't such a bad thing. He was cursed with hearing the truth from whoever he came into contact with? That meant he had a few questions for Sam.

He got out of the car, intent on going up there and finding his brother and getting the damn truth even as his phone began to ring in his pocket. He looked to see who it was—Lisa. Finally. But this wasn't the best time. Hmm. He answered anyway, dreading this call. "Hey."

Lisa's familiar voice sounded not so happy with him. "Saw you called," she said lowly.

Not good. "Yeah, it's been crazy," Dean said, feeling like he was about to get raked over the coals.

There was a long, tense pause. "Ben won't even talk about it."

 _God_. Dean put a hand on his forehead, filled with self-loathing. "Lisa, I'm sorry, but this is actually the... worst time in the universe to talk," Dean said, looking over at the apartment building again. "C-can we do this later?"

"You shoved my _kid_ , Dean," Lisa said, her voice cool with anger. "How about we do this now?"

"It… it wasn't like that," Dean said, not sure how to tell her 'my fangs made me do it.'

"Then how was it?" she challenged.

He shook his head vapidly, coming up with nothing. "I... can't really explain." She probably thought he was a liar, a drunk, and a child abuser.

There was a long pause. "You wanna know the truth, Dean?" Lisa asked calmly. And then he remembered the truth curse anew. He was about to hear the whole truth and nothing but the truth. "You've got so much buried in there, and you push it down, and you push it down," Lisa accused. "You never face any of your problems! Do you honestly think that you can go through life like that? Just, what, drink half a fifth a night and you're _good_?"

Always with the nagging about the alcohol. "You knew what you signed up for," Dean told her grudgingly. It wasn't a point of pride for him.

"Yeah, maybe," Lisa said, clearly not finished airing her opinions. "But I didn't expect that _Sam_ would come back or your crazy sister would reappear. And I'm glad they're both okay, I am. But the minute Sam walked through that door, I knew. It was over. You three have the most unhealthy, tangled-up, _crazy_ thing I've ever seen. And as long as they're in your life, you're _never gonna be happy._ You're just gonna keep being an overgrown father to two adults who don't even _need_ you. _You're_ the one who needs _them._ " She paused, sounding surprised at herself and a little worried. "That... came out so much harsher than I meant."

"It's not your fault," Dean said quietly, because it wasn't. It was the truth curse. But it still hurt him the same to hear those things. Was she right? Did his brother and sister not need him? Was he the one with the real issues?

"I'm not saying don't be close to your brother and sister," Lisa said, trying to explain herself. "I'm close to _my_ sister. But if she got killed, I wouldn't bring her back from the dead! And she's got problems, too, but I mean, I wouldn't just give up my _life_ to spend it with her and help her out… she's a grown woman! And so is Alex! I mean, you and your sister, it freaks me out. Siblings just aren't supposed to be that close, Dean."

His hackles raised. She had no right to say that; she didn't know what the hell she was talking about. She hadn't been through the life that he had. She hadn't needed to protect her sister from the shit Dean had tried to keep away from Sam and Alex. "Okay, Lees... I'm not gonna lie," he said gruffly, trying to stay calm and not show how insulted he was. "Me and my family? We... we've got our issues. No doubt." He didn't need to say anything else, because she knew that well enough. "But you and Ben—"

She cut him off. "Me and Ben can't be in this with you. I'm sorry. It has to be over. It's over."

What? He was stunned at the sudden statement, and protested. "Lees—" he started, then heard the click at the other end. She'd hung up. He stared at his phone, shocked. Over? Just like that?

Behind him, he heard the approach of footsteps and he turned in a daze. Alex was walking down the sidewalk toward him, her expression stern and distracted. "Hey," she greeted as she got to him. "Think we found our…" she paused, finally looking at him squarely and noticing his expression. Her face softened into worry. "What's wrong?"

He must have looked as shellshocked as he felt. "I uh…" he trailed off, barely able to understand what had just happened. "I think Lisa just broke up with me."

Sympathy passed over her features. "I'm sorry Dean. But, hey, I didn't really like her that much anyway." She said that and then immediately balked, confused. "Uh—what I meant to say is, I've never liked _any_ of the girls you've dated." Her mouth dropped open and she clapped a hand over her mouth, seemingly horrified at herself as she put two and two together. "Wha… Dean! Did you get yourself cursed with the truth?!"

"Yeah," he said, downcast. "And boy am I getting it." He folded his arms and looked at her challengingly. "Got anything else you wanna confess?"

"I really hated your haircut in the nineties," she said, then gasped at herself, clapped her hands over her mouth but she didn't stop. "And your little five-hair mustache that you were so proud of when you were fourteen!" she exclaimed, breathless and disconcerted. "You looked like a pervert." Her eyes widened in shock at herself and she was getting frustrated. "Oh my god, words won't stop coming out!" she said, voice a little shrill with panic.

"You said you _liked_ the stache!" Dean protested. He'd been so proud of it at the time. "I _distinctly_ remember you giving me the two thumbs up!"

"My thumbs lied," she said, completely truthful and dismayed at herself for it. Her face worked hard, like she was trying not to say more. "Also, I threw your swiss army knife into a gutter when I was seven because you pissed me off."

He'd always wondered what happened to that thing. Grim, he pressed his mouth into a wan line. "This curse sucks."

He spotted Sam coming out of the apartment building, carrying a box. Sam was already coming over, his long stride getting him there quickly. "Hey! So we found something," he said, indicating the little box he had in hand.

Dean looked at Sam squarely. This was what was going to make the truth curse worth it for him. "It can wait," he told his brother. "We got to talk."

"What's up?" Sam seemed willing enough. With arms crossed, Alex stared at the ground beside Dean, her mouth clamped closed.

"There's a few things I want to ask you, and, uh, you're gonna tell me the truth," Dean said.

"Yeah, Dean. Of course. What are you talking about?" Sam asked, then understanding came across his face and his eyes widened. "Whoa. Are you saying _you're…"_

"Yeah. I asked for the truth." Dean narrowed his eyes at Sam. "So, like I said, I have a few questions for you." This was the terrifying moment of truth and Dean raised his chin a little. "Did you just stand there and let Alex get turned into a vamp?"

Sam looked Dean in the eye, seeming remorseful. "Yes. I did."

It was like an emotional and physical shockwave hit Dean, rendering him unable to breathe for the slightest moment. "And _why_ the hell would you do that?" he asked, low and dangerous. Without even realizing it, he stepped closer to Sam, putting himself between his siblings protectively.

Sam's face took on the long-forgotten puppy-dog eye look, then shame. "I… I froze."

Dean balked. " _You_ froze." That made zero sense. "Dude, you have been _Terminator_ since you got back."

Sam shook his head, somber and increasingly sad. "I don't know. Shock, maybe? And then it was too late." He looked at Alex with a worried expression in his eyes. "I feel... _terrible_ about it." Alex's mistrustful eyes met his and he looked down, utterly defeated. " _Terrible_ ," he repeated, then looked at Dean pleadingly. "I'm so sorry. Believe me. Dean... I can't _lie_ here—do you _really_ think I would let something like that happen on _purpose?_ " He was getting agitated and upset, reminiscent of the Sam that Dean and Alex remembered. "She's… my baby sister, my twin. H-how could you even—"

"Okay." Dean cut him off, realizing that this was the truth and he needed to let Sammy know it was all right. He was relieved, but somehow, he didn't feel entirely better. "Okay. Sorry," he shook his head and glanced at Alex, who seemed similarly surprised at Sam's confession. "I… I thought… I dunno what I thought. I... I guess I was wrong. It's just been a really, really bad day." He thought about Lisa and Cas and everything and rubbed the side of his face.

"Hey. It's okay," Sam consoled, giving Dean a kind smile. "I got your back, all right? I always have."

Dean nodded, fighting deep emotions off. He could barely look his brother in the eye. "Thanks, Sammy."

"Yeah." Sam motioned to the familiar Mustang parked across the street. "I'm gonna go put this stuff into Alex's car." He brushed past them and the second that all they could see was his back, his face went completely blank of emotion. But Dean and Alex didn't see.

Dean and Alex watched their brother walk across the street away from them and Dean shook his head. "Well. I dunno whether to be relieved or more depressed than before," he said, and looked at his sister for some kind of advice or wisdom.

She looked like she was similarly thoughtful. Opened her mouth to maybe tell him it would all be okay, they would figure it out. But instead… she said the last thing he was expecting to hear. "Cas and I had sex." Her face was absolutely floored after she said that and Dean gaped at her. Was she _serious_?

"No you didn't," he said slowly.

"Yeah, we did," she replied casually. "We were each other's firsts." After she said it, her eyes widened in horror.

Dean was momentarily too shocked to do anything but stare like an idiot. The truth curse. She couldn't lie. "Ho...ly… _fuck_ ," he managed, then realized the irony of his choice of words. "Literally," he commented darkly as the reality set in. "That son of a bitch. I _knew_ it, I _knew_ he was screwin' around!" he growled then paused, his voice raising. "Again, _literally_!"

Alex shook her head and made a face full of denial. "Dean, we love each other. We wanna be together forever."

Dean held up a hand and made a face like he'd smelled something bad. "Ugh, come on—don't gimme that crap..." Did the L word have to come into it? Was she really that dumb?

"It's not crap," Alex insisted, "he loves me enough t—"

Dumbfounded, Dean cut her off. "Cas? _Cas_? I mean, of all the dudes in this universe... _him_ , really? Dude doesn't even know how to pick out a new outfit and has a permanent stick up his ass, how the hell is he gonna… do _that_ … to you… _ugh_." Dean felt the need to lean against something. "I'm gonna be sick."

Alex opened her mouth to tell him off, but instead of insults, out came something much worse. "I don't know what you're worried about—he's an amazing lover, Dean, I really love how he—"

"Oh no, no no no… _no_!" Dean told her, panicking and getting more and more furious as the reality of it all set in. "Do _not_ tell me any of _that_. I'm scarred for life as it is!" She seemed confused. He threw his arms wide and looked at the sky for sympathy, deciding in overdramatic fashion: "This is the worst day of my life."

Alex rolled her eyes. "How do you think _I_ felt, growing up, watching you play tonsil hockey with every cheerleader in every high school we went to?! And that time I saw you and Amy Allen in the gym. I still have nightmares. It's gross. _You're_ gross."

"Am not," Dean retorted, then pointed at her. "You are." Wow, not one of his best comebacks ever… _focus, Winchester,_ he told himself. "When did this happen? When did that haloed _jerk_ wad put his ancient-ass angel moves on you?"

She looked like she was going to tell him to screw off. Instead, the truth came out. "That night you ran off to say yes to Michael, then in Bobby's attic a couple days later, then in a car and then…" she stopped, her face turned red almost from effort. " _Dammit_ Dean! I'm really fucking pissed you're using this spell to ask me this stuff!"

 _Yeah, that's nice, cry me a river._ Dean didn't really care. Cas had some fucking nerve to go behind Dean's back and do this crap. He struggled not to hit the roof completely, he tried to take it in stride. "Of all the disturbing shit I've seen and heard in my day... I mean, I kinda thought he was like a Ken doll down there," he muttered.

"No, he's got—"

Dean held both hands out, fast, his eyes going wide. "Whoa, whoa, stop right there, do _not_ need to know that! Never, ever, tell me about Cas's junk, _god_!"

Alex was just as exasperating as he was, and turning red to boot. "You're the one who got cursed with the truth! Shit, Dean, I'm gonna threaten to kill you right now even though we both know I never would." She heard herself and was pissed. " _Dammit_!"

Dean could care less if she threatened to kill him. He was in Dad mode. "Did you at least use protection!?" he asked, _daring_ her to say no.

Her face registered something like _uh oh_. "No. Never. Not even once."

Dean hit the roof. "Jesus friggin' _Christ_ Alex!" he basically shouted. "You crazy?!" He looked around like he literally couldn't find the words to say. "What is _wrong_ with you? That's just what the world needs, Castiel Junior running around!"

Alex considered. "Huh. That would be a cute name, wouldn't it?"

Even more riled up than before, Dean grabbed her by the shoulders, trying to get her to listen to reason. "Christ, Alex, you still think you're gonna have a regular life with this guy?! What, you're just gonna get _married_ , settle down, have _kids_?!"

"Well yeah, actually, Dean—"

"Okay, okay, _enough._ " Dean waved a hand in dismissal, getting disgusted with the entire thing. "I don't wanna hear any more about this crap, what he _did_ to you or where he did it with those creepy meaty hands of his. _Eugh_." That wasn't the thing that made him the maddest. He was almost so pissed at her lack of responsibility that he wanted to walk away. Dean couldn't handle it: What if he got her _pregnant_? Would the kid even be human? What if there was some kind of angel STD? Christ, he didn't _know_! He forced himself to calm down. He still needed to know something. And with his next question, he set off an unforeseen monologue neither of them expected. "Are you two still together or what?" Because he _would_ be speaking with Cas about this, at _length._ Speaking and maybe punching.

She shook her head sadly. "I'm not sure." Her face suddenly registered great emotional pain and she looked down, swallowing hard. And then it all came pouring out as her voice cracked. "I'm not _sure_. And it's _killing_ me. This life is _killing me_." Her eyes raised to him and her composure crumbled at an alarming rate. "I can't eat or sleep, Dean, everything bothers me and nothing's _normal_ anymore. Not Sam, not you, not Cas—not _me_ —" her eyes were flooded with tears at this point and she looked terrified. "I was almost raped, Dean!" Hearing her say it aloud was like being hit with a sledgehammer and Dean didn't know what to do. "It was the worst, scariest moment of my life and I'm trying to act like I don't give a fuck because I don't wanna be seen as weak or stupid, two things I _know_ that I _am_ ," she blubbered, voice wrought with pain. "I hate asking for help because I've always felt so helpless, and everything I've ever done is me trying to prove that I'm not helpless. But I don't _know_!" She put her hands on the top of her head like she was grieved to the point of madness.

No longer mad—now worried and shocked—Dean reached out, trying to touch her shoulder. She felt his hand and jerked away like it was venomous. "I'm so _tired_ of leaning on people!" she exclaimed as tears ran down her face. "My whole life I've used a crutch and it was _you_. I used to need that, but I don't anymore, or I _shouldn't_! I'm twenty-nine, I'm an adult, or I'm supposed to be…? But here I am, emotionally fucked up in every way possible." The utter hopelessness and grief in her voice was painful. "I always thought when I was this old, I'd have it figured out, that I'd feel grown up. But I still feel like a clueless _kid._ So I've been _trying_ to act like whatever a normal person is supposed to act like, I've been trying to be strong because I don't wanna be your burden anymore." Another sledgehammer to Dean's heart.

Alex shook her head, face crumpling all over again. "But it's _killing_ me. I don't know how to be anyone but who I am; and who I am is twisted, and lost, and _confused._ " She rubbed her face with both hands like she was trying to scrub something away. "Pathetic, screwed up, insecure," she mumbled. "My brain is a fucking _maze_. I just go around and around in circles, trying to just do what I'm supposed to do, just trying to be okay—but like, how am I supposed to be okay? After the things we've seen and the shit we've lived?" She looked at Dean and begged him for help. "I didn't pick this life. I _didn't_. But I can't _do_ anything else—I don't _know_ anything else except ripping and tearing and being covered in blood." She shut her eyes in agony for a quick second. "And sometimes, I like it. Which scares the shit outta me. I don't wanna be who I am. I'm a _killer_. And not just monsters anymore, either."

Guilt filled her tear-stained face. "Jamie shouldn't have _done_ what she did for me, how am I supposed to deal with the fact I killed her brother and maybe killed her too? We don't know if she's okay. We don't!" Dean opened his mouth to stop her, but Alex kept going. "You know, I spent the whole _year_ thinking I got Sam killed, that it was my fault for being stupid and saying yes to Lucifer—and it was, you know? Cuz if I didn't do that, Sam might still be _Sam_. Do you realize that? Your 'precious baby sister' does nothing but screw up!" She was sneering through the tears now. "Come on, you gotta hate me deep down, Dean. I held you back for _years_. You gave up so much for me and Sam, but especially me. You never would've stayed with Lisa this whole past year if I hadn't left. You _wouldn't_ have." She was becoming angry now. "And you know what? We shouldn't need each other like we do. You and I are so _screwed up_. Did you know this whole year I never went more than a hundred miles away from you? I felt too scared to! I mean, what the hell, right? I checked on you constantly, I called Lisa's house hoping you'd answer just so I could hear you ask hello..." Dean was stunned at the confession, but Alex wasn't done—she was miserable. "I worked on _cars_ like you do, I watched all the stupid _shows_ you and I used to be into. Sometimes at night, I pretended you were just out running errands or, or doing a job and would be back soon. So that I could feel less alone. Less scared. I just wanted things to be like they used to be and god... I'm so terrified of being alone."

She sank down to sit down there beside the Impala, weary and drained from her curse-compelled confession. Dean slowly sank to a crouch beside her, not sure what to do. She just stared blankly through blood-shot eyes into the empty space in front of herself. "I spent the year thinking Cas just left me like everyone else always did, and it was _hell._ My life, this year. Was _hell_." She sobbed softly and put her face in her hand. "B-before him, no one but you ever made me feel like I was someone worth having around. And I don't know where he and I stand anymore and it scares me _so fucking bad._ I don't know what I'm doing. I just wanna know it's all gonna be okay." A fat tear rolled down her cheek and she shut her eyes in pain. "I feel like I lost him somehow. I feel like I lost everything." She looked at Dean with utter openness on her face. "Dean, I'm in _love_ with Cas, I _love_ Cas, and he's—he's my—" she closed her eyes and struggled, suddenly and violently biting her tongue—she made a sound of pain and cupped a hand to her jaw.

"You okay?" Dean asked, confused. She kept her mouth clamped shut, grabbed his wrist and tapped his watch, indicating he look at the date. Huh? Dean squinted at the date… and then realized. "May fourth. _Shit_." He'd forgotten their birthday! It had been two days ago and he hadn't even thought about it for a second. He'd never, ever done that before—he'd always gone out of his way to make the day special because Dad had always forgotten. Dean's heart sank. "I'm sorry, Al, I dunno how that happened."

She gave a blank shrug, holding a hand against her jaw and cheek. She appeared to be very, very shaken. "Please don't ask me anymore questions," she murmured in a heartbreaking rasp. "I... I really didn't wanna tell you any of that." Dean didn't know what to say at all—he felt bad, and he was kind of stunned about everything she'd just let fly. She had never told him that much personal stuff all at once. It was a _lot_ for him to process and he saw how upset she was that he'd gotten truth from her in the way he had. Maybe he shouldn't have used the curse to his advantage like that.

A tall guy suddenly walked around the back of the Impala and peered down at them. "Hey! You two gonna sit around all day?" Sam asked, jerking his thumb toward the road. "We have a case to work."

Dean didn't have any fire left to snark off at Sam with. "Yeah, uh… we'll be right there," he said, then took a look at his miserable sister. "Actually, know what? You go on and head back in Al's car. She's riding with me back to the motel."

Sam looked at Alex's stony, tear-soaked face and nodded, seeming mildly concerned. "Yeah, okay." And he left.

Dean stood up, holding out his hands to his sister. "Come on, sparky. Up'n at em." She took his hands grudgingly and he could tell she was embarrassed about everything she'd told him. Once she was full height, Dean put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed, letting his tone and expression convey how much he meant it: "You were never a burden. You hear me? Never. More like partner in crime or best friend. And both those things kick ass." He squeezed for emphasis. A muscle jumped in her jaw and her face worked oddly as the emotional storm clouds parted a little. But she said nothing… probably afraid to blurt out more uncomfortable truths. Dean decided for now to let all that heavy stuff go. "Wanna stop somewhere for a milkshake?" he asked. Her favorite.

She shrugged, still down in the dumps. "That's what I thought," Dean said in a way lighter tone than he felt, actively working to sweep everything that had just happened under the rug for the time being. "Milkshakes, here we come."

* * *

The Winchesters met up back to the motel room then changed out of FBI stuff and into more everyday wear. Alex went mostly silent after figuring out that any time she spoke to Dean, a rude or embarrassing truth popped out. Dean went between feeling bad for misjudging his brother to remembering Alex's confession and feeling bad. Focusing on the job wasn't the easiest for Dean given all that but Sam took lead, which helped. Sam showed him the box Alex had found in Corey's bedroom. In it, a cat's skull, grains of paradise seed, and devil's shoestring. Corey apparently had become obsessed with finding out the truth after discovering her boyfriend had cheated and Sam found out that the three elements stored in that little box of hers were used for a spell to invoke Veritas—the goddess of truth—who didn't just give you the truth. She _slammed_ you with it until she got her tribute. Sam was pretty sure that those vanished bodies of the suicide and murder victims must have been what Veritas had taken as payment for her truth services.

Once they realized _that_ , they also quickly realized they had to take her out—Dean was on the menu, after all, after having invoked the truth without entirely meaning to. With some more research about Veritas's personality and traits according to lore, they put together a pretty good profile: her Achilles heel was dogs, she hated deception and lies, loved truth and loved _giving_ truth—and could see everyone's darkest secrets the instant she looked into their eyes—however she was demanding and self-worshiping—as Dean put it, an attention whore.

After the group figured out who was behind everything, they needed to identify her specifically. Dean chanced it all on a hunch: he'd noticed all these posters and news spots around town with this local news anchor Ashley Frank the past day or so here in Calumet City. She had a show called Frank Talk which focused on revealing the truth within the media. 

Dean convinced Sam and Alex to back him up on this one and see if there was anything to see. The twins went with it—they didn't have any other leads, after all. They staked out the news station and waited for the young news anchor to leave for the day. She was very pretty, brunette, and drove an expensive looking red convertible. Under the cover of darkness, they followed her to a ritzy house—it was enormous and modern with an all-glass front.

Parked off at a discreet distance, the Winchesters watched from the Impala as Ashley Frank walked into the house and switched on the lights.

"If you're right about this," Sam said, "we'll be ready." He handed Dean a hunting knife soaked in blood, then Alex one as well. He had one too.

"What's on this?" Dean asked hesitantly.

Sam glanced his way. "Dog's blood."

Dean balked. "...Do I even wanna know where you got this?" 

"Probably not."

" _Ugh_ …" Dean grimaced at his knife then glanced into the rearview at his sister, contemplating her for a few seconds. "Ready?"

She gave a tense nod, catching his gaze briefly in the mirror. She hadn't said anything out loud for hours. The three of them got out of the car, skirted the house, and peered in through the large glass pane walls. Ashley had disappeared further into the house. Without hesitation, Dean used his knife to jimmy the front door lock. It took him a couple seconds and they were in. Sam followed, Alex behind, an uncertain look on her face—she wasn't as sure about this as Dean was.

The house was lavish and minimalist all at once, the architecture was extremely expensive looking. It didn't look lived in really. And it didn't look like an evil villain's lair, either. "Looks normal enough to me," Sam murmured, voicing Alex's thoughts. "No dead bodies anywhere."

A cat ran by, the bell on her collar tinkling lightly. She scurried around a corner and Dean looked at his siblings in turn, shrugging mildly, indicating that they follow. The cat scampered down a grand staircase that went into a darker, lower level of the house. At the foot of the stairs was a stone mosaic of Veritas—they'd seen one like it on the internet. Dean pointed at it and looked at his siblings as if to say _see? Told ya._

 _Huh._ So this _was_ the right place. And when they rounded another corner, they realized that all the more. In the dim basement there were several very disturbing, half-pulled apart, mutilated bodies. Two were on two separate gurneys, another laid mostly consumed off in a corner, another was hanging from a hook over what looked like an empty in-ground hot tub. The body was beheaded with the skin torn off.

"You came for dinner," came a soft feminine voice. As the three Winchesters turned they saw Ashley Frank—only, she was now dressed in a goddess's raiment. Before they could react at all, she raised a hand and waved it, and with it came a devastating blow—they went hurtling across the room and crashed into the hanging, dismembered torso. Alex hit her head on a marble stair of a drained spa below, and everything went black.

The next thing she knew, she was coming to with her hands tied behind her back against a metal pole. Across from her, Dean was tied up and still unconscious, his head lolling down onto his chest. Sam was tied to a third metal pole to Alex's left. He was already awake and caught her eye, silently communicating _stay sharp_. They were in what had once been an in-ground spa, but it no longer had water in it. Above their heads, the bloody torso hung. Alex looked at it and groaned softly against the pain in the back of her head. Not good. Her knife was gone—she recognized the loss of its weight at her hip. Across from her, Dean was regaining consciousness slowly.

Veritas was over at the gurney, but turned her head and looked at them with a smile. She wore a beautiful silk dress the color of gold, and priceless, ancient-looking ornaments were pushed into her dark hair. "Mm. Sit tight," she purred, then pointed at Dean flirtatiously. " _You're_ up next." She turned back around, returning to fuss over the mutilated corpse in front of her.

Sam was wiggling around a little and Alex looked at him with a scowl. What was he doing? Then she remembered how he kept a switchblade up his jacket sleeve. He must be cutting his ropes. Alex glanced at the goddess again, wondering how fast Sam could discreetly get out of his bindings.

Veritas opened the mouth of her most recent victim—the dentist, Alex was pretty sure—and with pinchers, pulled his tongue straight out of his mouth. It came out with a sickening squelch as she pulled, ripping it. She turned around and smirked at them, showing off her prize. "The tongue... is the tastiest part. It's where the lies roll off." She raised the tongue to her lips and took a big bite, enjoying it immensely. Dean, sickened, closed his eyes even as Alex averted her gaze with a repulsed face. "Mmm. _Mmm_!" Veritas smiled then swallowed, looking at all of the Winchesters in turn. "I cannot _wait_ to eat yours. I mean, I've seen liars before, but you three? Gold standard." She laid down the pinchers and sauntered around the edge of the spa. Alex looked at Sam meaningfully. _Hurry_.

"Point of professional pride," Dean quipped, giving Veritas his best _die in a fire_ smile. Their eyes met.

"I wouldn't be so cocky if I were you, Dean," Veritas said, matching his smile with one of her own. "You know what happens when you base your life on lies, right? The truth comes along and… makes things really interesting indeed." Her eyes slid to Alex's and Veritas smirked when the eye contact was made. "So, while _you've_ still got your tongues… let's play a little game of truth or truth, hmm?" She leaned against one of the floor-to-ceiling columns that connected to the pole Alex was tied to. She was tall and beautiful, her figure was like an hourglass. Dean rolled his eyes and looked away.

Veritas crouched down beside Alex and took hold of her chin, forcing her to look at her. The little smile on the goddess's face grew, as if she were delighted. "Alex. _Oh_ … you're holding onto a good one, aren't you?" Baleful, Alex glared, but Veritas placed a cool finger to Alex's lips briefly. "Think I'll save the best for last. Drop _that_ bombshell as our grand finale."

Veritas stood even as Dean fixed her with a pissy stare. "You can relax, cat woman," Dean spat. "She already told me everything."

 _How cute,_ Veritas seemed to think and she chuckled, walking down a stair to sit beside Dean. "No. Not everything. There's one more thing she _reaaally_ doesn't want you to know..." Dean frowned, looking at Veritas and trying to gauge if what the goddess was saying were true or not. Alex shriveled, panicking internally. This was _not_ how she wanted her brothers to find out her deepest secret. "But, all in due time," Veritas said, her voice low and smooth. "First… Dean. I think it's _your_ turn to spill some, being the oldest and all. What should we ask Dean first, hmm? Something... personal?" She looked at Sam pointedly. "About you?" She fixed Dean with that maddening, cool gaze. "Hey, Dean, I'm _curious._ What do you really feel about your brother?"

"Better now," Dean answered, given no choice but to reply. "Before I found out the truth, I wanted to kill him in his sleep." Both Sam and Alex were surprised at the brutal answer. Dean's jaw was tight. "I thought he was a monster. But now I think… he's just acting like me." Dean looked at Alex. "And just like her."

"What do you mean?" Veritas encouraged.

"It's the gig," Dean continued. "You're covered in blood until you're covered in your own blood. Half the time, you're about to die. Like right now. I told myself I wanted out... that I wanted a _family."_

"But you were lying," Veritas said, her voice curling around the word 'lying' with distaste.

"No," Dean said. "But what I'm good at... is slicing throats. I ain't a father. I'm a killer. And there's no changing that. I know that _now."_

"How bad, exactly, is the drinking, Dean?" Alex suddenly asked, drawing three surprised looks. Veritas was delighted.

"Interesting question, little sis!" the goddess gushed, then looked at Dean commandingly. " _Answer._ "

"Way too much," Dean answered, and he was supremely guilty about it. "I can finish fifth in a day no problem, sometimes more. Anything to numb the guilt. I can't stop. And trust me, I've tried."

"Hm," Veritas cocked her head to the side, looking Dean over with that little smile on her face. "This is good. What else should we ask oldest brother? Oh, I know. Why is it, Dean, that you have such a huge problem with the idea of your sister and the angel, hmm?"

Dean's expression clouded over. "He's older than dinosaurs. Literally. And I dunno if he's trustworthy, if he can take care of her. I should be the only man in her life, as fucked up as that sounds—because I've been watching her back from day one, and I don't trust anyone else to do that. Period. I dunno what it is he sees in her except naive innocence and a huge crush he can take advantage of." Alex felt wholly insulted, but Dean wasn't done. "And I worry that he's like me: I know how to pick women who look at me and feel sorry for me. They have sex with me, I use them to feel better about myself and then I leave 'em. I never stay and I never follow through. I tried to with Lisa and I guess I couldn't. All I've ever done is use women for what they could give me. And I don't want some jackass like me to ever do the same thing to my sister."

Alex stared at her brother in mild shock. He was looking down and shaking his head, rueful about what he'd just been forced to say. Veritas patted his shoulder patronizingly. "How _sweet_." She studied him a beat longer. "Tell us how you feel about this Lisa woman." 

"I feel like our best times were years ago. Like I care about her a lot but... end of the day, I don't really know why we're even together." Dean appeared stunned at his own admission and visibly reeled. 

"Charming," Veritas commented in a sweet and mocking tone, then stood and began to approach Sam. "So, Sam walking back into your life must have been a relief. Hmm? The three amigos, together again? And how do you feel about the band getting back together, Sam?" She took a seat next to him and Dean seemed to dread his brother's answer.

"Look... what we do... is hard." Sam hesitated. Dean was looking over at a large metal hook that laid on the ground nearby, discarded. Alex followed his gaze as Sam kept speaking. "But… we watch out for each other. And that's what's important. And that's it. That's the truth."

Veritas looked at him strangely, almost angrily. "No. No, it's _not."_ She stood up slowly, looking at Sam with an absolutely astonished expression." How are you doing that?" She demanded, her temper rising. "That's not possible. You're _lying_ to me!"

"No, I'm not!" Sam said, matching her anger with some of his own.

"What are you?" Veritas looked at Dean wrathfully. "What is he?!" 

Dean and Alex gaped. "I don't know what you're talking about!" Sam said, his voice growing louder.

"Really? I doubt that," she snarled, "I doubt anything that comes out of your mouth right now. You're not _human_!"

"What?" Dean asked softly, eyes wide.

Veritas looked at him in a fury. "You didn't know? Now, _that_ I believe." Without warning, Sam suddenly stood, snapping his ropes and tossing his switchblade to Dean, who managed to get it with a great stretch. He sawed at his ropes vigorously as Sam leapt for the knives Veritas had confiscated. He got knocked aside but valiantly tried again, leaping for the gurney where the knives waited. The second he got his hands on one, Veritas knocked him down with a one-two punch, then jumped on top of him and closed her hands over his throat harshly.

"Dean, _hurry_!" Alex urged with growing alarm even as he got through his ropes. He slid the knife to her hand and scrambled for the hook he'd spotted. Alex got a grip on the knife and worked on awkwardly cutting at her ropes as fast as possible. Sam's gasps of protest filled the basement as Veritas choked the life out of him, but Dean rushed her and swung the hook down, impaling Veritas from behind with it—she whirled and her human face was replaced with a monstrous one. She hissed, making to attack Dean—then found the dog's blood soaked knife in her heart, courtesy of Sam. With a cry of surprise, the goddess collapsed and fell halfway into the spa, her body laying upside down on the stairs there just as Alex got free to stand up. She stood up in the middle of the sunken spa, shocked and staring at her brothers, the switchblade in her hand forgotten momentarily.

Dean held his knife out toward Sam threateningly as he stood up panting. "Dean, it's _me._ " Sam held his hands out to show that he meant no harm.

Dean began to move forward and Sam edged back. Alex took two steps toward and Dean shot her a deadly serious look. "Stay _there_ , Alex." The tone in his voice stopped her cold. " _You_ are _not_ my brother," he said to Sam, who backed up cagily. 

"Just listen," Sam said, holding his hands out even further.

"What are you?!" Dean demanded thunderously. "Tell me before I cut your _lungs_ out!"

Sam began to back up to edge around the spa. Alex turned with them, her position in the middle of the spa seeming oddly vulnerable to her. "I'm me, Dean," Sam rushed, getting nervous at the look in Dean's eyes and the knife in his hand. "Look, please, just let me explain!"

"Why the hell should I believe anything you say?" Dean asked. There was murder in his voice.

Sam glanced sidelong at Alex, and without warning he suddenly jumped down, grabbed her roughly and yanked the switchblade from her. With brute strength, he pulled her against him to face Dean, and held the sharp tip of the knife there against her neck hard—all within the span of three seconds. Breathless and horrified, Alex was shocked into silence.

"Back _off_ me, Dean!" Sam demanded intensely, and he sounded crazy enough to actually try something—Alex felt the switchblade press in a little more to her neck—her adrenaline went wild. "Drop the knife!"

"Hey, hey, take it easy!" Dean exclaimed in fearful horror, immediately laying his knife down and raising his hands. "Don't hurt her, Sam!"

"Sam! What are you doing?!" Alex protested against the bruising pressure of the knife at her neck. She could feel against her back how his heart was actually picking up a little—he really _was_ afraid, but she didn't know of what.

"Okay, okay," Sam said, panicking, trying to convince Dean of something. "You want the truth?! Here it is, here it is. God's honest! Veritas was right. There's something wrong with me, really wrong. I've known it for a while. I lied to you both. And… _yeah_ , I let Alex get turned by that vamp. Because I _knew there was a cure, Dean_ , and we _needed_ in that nest! And I knew you guys could handle it!"

"Handle it?!" Dean asked, enraged. "She almost _died_ , Sam! _I_ could've died! I could've killed _Ben_!"

Sam shook his head, at his wit's end. "And that should stop me cold. But I—I just don't _feel_ it. I mean, look at me!" He indicated what he was doing to his twin. "Would I have done this before? No! I know I wouldn't! But ever since I came back, I can't feel anything. Nothing! I don't know what's wrong with me. I think... I need help." 

Dean suddenly went calm. Too calm. He nodded and considered. "Okay. We'll help you. Just… let her go, Sam." Sam hesitated and Dean repeated himself. "I'll help you. Just let her come up here, all right?" He made a come here motion and Sam let Alex go. She hurried up out of the spa even as Dean grabbed her and pulled her out. Sam stood there for a second as Dean looked his sister over then refocused on Sam. He kept that chillingly calm demeanor and smile up.

"Hey. All right, brother," he said. "Let's get through this together. Like we always have." Dean extended a hand to Sam, who hesitated, then took it. He looked hopeful, and Dean helped haul him up to stand at ground level. And then without warning, the _second_ Dean had his brother where he wanted him, the rage he'd hidden came out. He hit Sam hard in the face and grabbed then rammed his wrist into the stone column hard enough that the switchblade dropped away. Dean let loose and sucker punched a stunned Sam, knocking him down to the ground. Dean followed him to the floor, grabbing him by his jacket and he viciously began to beat his brother to a pulp. He kept going even when he was unconscious, and Alex was freaking out completely.

"Dean! Stop! _Stop!_ " She tried to pull him off, but he flung his arm out at her, his eyes were crazy, and she took a couple steps back. Dean was beating Sam to _death_ , and Alex panicked. "C-Castiel, I need you to get down here _right_ now!" she cried out, and almost instantly, he was there—a few feet in front of her. He immediately turned his head at the commotion Dean was causing and leapt into action when he saw what was going on. He yanked Dean off of Sam much like a mother cat carries a kitten—but instead of by the scruff of the neck, it was by the back of his jacket. Dean struggled uselessly at Cas's superhuman grip. " _Get the hell off me_!" He roared, and when Cas let go, Dean stood to his full height and straightened his jacket with an angry snap then leveled Cas with an angry glare and a disbelieving, baleful slow shake of the head. "You son of a _bitch_."

Cas wasn't looking at him—he was assessing Alex, who was standing off against one of the spa columns, appearing to be shaken up and out of sorts. "Hey!" Dean barked, demanding Cas's attention. He got it, but Cas remained where he was, standing between Dean and Sam.

"Dean, why are you beating your unconscious brother?" he asked, frowning deeply. He looked around at the bodies scattering the basement. "What happened here?"

"He's not _Sam_ , Cas!" Dean thundered. "He _looks_ like Sam and _sounds_ like Sam but that ain't Sam!"

Cas frowned a little. "I can assure you. That _is_ Sam."

Dean looked like he wanted to kill everyone. "Okay, listen here you ancient pervert—" he started.

"Dean!" Alex interrupted loudly with a warning look. This wasn't the time. She got an extremely petty face from her brother but she ignored him in favor of Cas, who was thoroughly confused. "Cas, can you take us to back to our room at the Jefferson Motel? One-twenty-one."

Without hesitation Cas did as she asked and Dean glowered silently first at the angel then at Sam, who was now on the motel room floor. "Don't hurt him, Dean," Alex warned as she saw the look in his eye. "That's still our brother."

"What do you mean, don't _hurt_ him?" Dean asked, enraged again. "He was gonna hurt _you_!"

"What do you mean?" Cas asked lowly, looking at Alex for an explanation. Her gaze fell away from his and she absently rubbed her neck—the place where Sam had held the switchblade.

Dean was rounding on Cas angrily. "All right, look, Romeo. You're gonna stay until we figure out what the fuck is wrong with him! He _let_ Alex get turned by those vamps, he friggin' threw _me_ to them too, and then he has the balls to try and hold her hostage with a knife at her neck...? No. No, no. _No_. Not okay. _Nothing_ that has happened today is okay with me." He cast an angry glare around the room. "I need some fucking ropes to tie this psycho up," he muttered, then looked at Cas with an ugly expression again. "You wanna go get the Impala for me, Casanova?"

"Could you use some goddamn manners, dude?" Alex asked, getting pissed. "Cas is not your _butler._ "

He gave her a snide look. "You use some protection, I'll use manners."

Alex wilted then shook her head, disgusted with her incredibly childish brother. She met Cas's waiting gaze and nodded slightly, letting him know it was okay to go. Cas paused and she could see he was very disturbed. "I'll… be right back," he said, and Dean and Alex scowled at each other. It was all of two seconds before Cas reappeared. "Your vehicle is outside, Dean."

"Great, _thanks_ ," he said facetiously. "You always so fast?" Another immature, petulant dig that made Alex make quite the face. He stalked out of the room and slammed the door behind himself. God, grow _up_ Dean. His behavior was ridiculous. But at least he was gone for a couple minutes. The rope was really deep down in the trunk.

Alex studied her twin's bloody face sadly, deep fear and worry making her stomach turn. She felt Cas's eyes on her and she met his gaze reluctantly. He seemed worried. "Are you all right?" he asked softly, approaching her, seeming to be disbelieving of what he'd heard. "Sam tried to _hurt_ you?" He seemed unable to accept that almost but still looked her over carefully, as if he were looking for any signs of harm.

"Yeah, he did, I'll explain later. I'm okay." There were more important things she needed to tell her angel. She swallowed and glanced at Sam's unconscious form, just to make sure they weren't being eavesdropped on. He was still, but she lowered her voice anyway. "Cas… Dean found out about us." She realized she needed to be more specific about _what_ he found out when Cas's expression registered a certain kind of shock and apprehension. "That we've been together," she clarified quickly. "It was the truth curse—it made me say a lot of stuff I really didn't wanna say. I couldn't _not_ say it. I tried not to."

Cas nodded and took it in stride… then searched her gaze with growing anxiousness. "What else did he discover?"

Alex faltered, averted her eyes, and hedged. "That I didn't like any of the girls he ever dated and I threw his knife down a street drain?" She already knew that wasn't what he had been asking, and when she peeked up at him, she saw the telltale signs of very great worry in his eyes.

"But not..." he trailed off meaningfully, seeming as hesitant to discuss this as she was. His eyes dropped to her penny necklace and automatically, almost protectively, her fingers came to touch the cool circle of copper briefly. Their eyes locked again.

Alex pressed her lips in together, the picture of uncertain. "No. He stopped me before I could say it. I almost did, though. A couple of times." If Dean hadn't cut her off like he had those two times, if she hadn't literally _bitten her tongue_ to keep from saying it... Dean probably would have thrown _punches_ or _knives_ at Cas, not just petty insults.

Cas thoughtfully took one of her hands, just the fingertips, gently in one of his own. Silently reassuring her and calming her. "If he knows about the, uh—intercourse—perhaps we should tell him the rest." He looked at her questioningly.

That seemed like the worst idea in the world to her. And besides… "Cas. _We_ haven't even talked about… 'the rest,'" she said, lowering her voice to a intense, nervous whisper. It had been a year ago and during what they thought was the end of time. People did insane things when they thought the world was gonna end, but maybe she and Cas could win first place for their little foray into insanity. She looked away from his intense gaze because she felt like all of her inside thoughts were all over her face. "I mean, how would that conversation even go if we decided to tell him?" she asked, then tried spitballing it. "'Hey, Dean, by the way, remember the apocalypse? Remember when Cas lost all his angel powers and we thought he was pretty much human? Remember that day Cas and I just kind of went off and spent the night away?'" Alex looked up into his eyes, her heart hammering hard as she got ready to speak aloud the secret only they knew. "Call me crazy," she whispered, "but I just don't think he'd exactly jump for joy if we told him how we ran off and got _married_ , do you?"

Castiel never got to answer.

Dean suddenly opened the door with a loud bang and paraded his ass back in, a huge coil of rope in hand. "All right, morons," he muttered peevishly, "this kid ain't gonna tie himself up."


	57. April 29th, 2010

" _In all the world, there is no heart for me like yours.  
In all the world, there is no love for you like mine."_  
\- Maya Angelou

* * *

Chuck penned the following words down thoughtfully:

_...A year ago almost to the day, things were very different._

_There wasn't a huge gap forced between Alex and Cas, there wasn't a war in Heaven that ripped them apart from each other. Not yet._

_Instead there was Castiel, who was all but human at that time. There was Alex, who had spent the past month believing Cas was dead after sacrificing himself to save her._

_There was the ever-deepening love affair between them: the fallen angel and the human who found something in each other they'd never known before. There was an apocalypse, there was the idea that the world was going to end in a few days or weeks. There was a general feeling of inescapably hurtling toward a doomed crescendo, toward the end of all things._

_People do strange things when they think they don't have a lot of time left. Maybe that's why Cas and Alex did what they did. But really… I think you and I both know there was a lot more to it than an impulse decision or flight of fancy. In a time to come, both would come to second-guess and even at times regret their mutual choice. But that day, they felt nothing but the certainty of love and a deep desperation to hold onto each other._

_Maybe it was crazy, maybe it was ill-advised. But in either case a year ago, Castiel—fallen angel of ancient days, and Alex Winchester—flesh and blood human—married in secret. This is how it happened._

The author sat back with a fond smile on his face.

* * *

**April 29th, 2010  
Springfield, Missouri**

Rain poured heavily outside. In the back seat of a stolen SUV that was pulled off to the side of an abandoned road, two lovers who had been recently and cruelly divided by fate were finally in each other's arms again. Unable to withstand the distance or desire any longer and having just had a close encounter with death, the two of them flung caution to the wind in favor of having each other once more—they barely managed to get enough clothes off to make it happen in their frantic hurry. It was only their third time being together like that.

They collapsed down together when it was over, him on top of her in the back seat, both of their bodies shaking from what they'd just done. In the moment of climax, she'd gasped his name and then whispered aloud... for the first time ever... that she loved him. Tears had run out of her eyes. And he loved her too.

The angel Castiel, fallen to earth and devoid of his celestial abilities, trembled in the arms of his human lover, unable to do anything but reciprocate readily, his heart full beyond compare. "I love you, Alex Winchester," he confessed in a whisper—helpless to hold back the words that had for so long silently beat to the rhythm of his heart; helpless to do anything but finally tell her what he had been aching to speak aloud for what seemed such a long time. Her face softened, her lips parted slightly and her eyebrows rose fractionally—her eyes, already shining with tears, seemed fuller. He somehow saw his own feelings mirrored back at him wordlessly there—he saw and understood that she loved him too. Incapable of doing anything else, Castiel bent down and kissed the woman he adored, letting his mouth remain soft and chaste on hers. His eyes fell closed at the indescribable sensation of her lips pressed to his, of her fingers gently weaved into his hair. He breathed her in, this resplendent creation of flesh and bone who wrapped him in a warmth like a sunrise.

She seemed holy to him in that moment, divine and hallowed. He touched the side of her face with a soft hand, marvelling in the feeling of her quick pulse beating underneath the warmth of her skin. She was so beautiful, every last atom and molecule, so precious _._ And he drew back from her as uncomfortable beginnings of guilt began to creep up on him. His proclamation of love felt so hypocritical. Deeply ingrained laws and warnings against sexual sin flashed through his mind. They had copulated three times now, and afterward, each time, guilt predictably swallowed him whole.

Sexual relations between humans and angels were absolutely forbidden. The first time they'd engaged in intercourse, he'd spent hours and hours afterward wondering if he should marry her to make it right and had even asked her what she thought about that. She'd been flabbergasted, then asked if angels even _could_ get married. No, he supposed they couldn't. But _now_ he wasn't even sure if he even _were_ an angel anymore after losing his powers—but he _did_ know that he and Alex _weren't_ man and wife. And if he were indeed a human now or close to being one... well. Of course he was ready to commit himself to her forever in that way.

But Castiel struggled with who he was versus what he was doing. Part of his mind said he should never have gone down this path with her—and the other part insisted there was no other choice. It was magnetism, their bond—and he didn't want to be without it. What happened between them that night at the Vatican had been mere continuation of something that he was still unable and unwilling to stop. It felt so recent to him, this discovery of sexuality with her. To him, that night against the bookshelf had happened only days ago—the coma he'd fallen into had made him miss thirty-eight days. So to _him_ , it felt like it had only been six days since they had first been together. Six _days_ since he'd lost his virginity. He'd been an angel for countless centuries, and for all that time he'd been above reproach. But he'd become destined to be a sinner ever since he'd laid eyes on Alex. She'd inspired rebellion and emotion and desire within him that simply wasn't permitted. It had culminated with their physical union, and he didn't think he could put an end to it. He didn't _want_ to, either.

Still, everything he had ever been taught and conditioned to believe nagged him, trying to convince him that this was wrong at every level. But _how could it_ really be so wrong? Only a moment ago, before it ended in the racing thrill of bursting feelings and absolute pleasure and helpless gasps as he and Alex clung each to the other, he'd felt as though they were wrapped up in something from paradise itself. He'd been connected to and dependent on her completely, she'd been his entirely, and it had been so beautiful, this giving and receiving, this reaching and searching and finding in one another. It had felt right. It had _been_ right… hadn't it? He was confused and upset that yet again, as always, he was reacting so negatively in the aftermath of intimacy. He saw how she was searching his slowly falling face, how she was becoming concerned, how she already knew something was wrong. A little more shame came over him—he never could do anything quite right. He didn't want to disappoint her—she probably found his moral dilemma so tired and insufferable.

Etched into his mind, burned into it, passages of scripture ran together: _For this is the will of God, your sanctification: that you abstain from sexual immorality. If a man seduces a virgin who is not betrothed and lies with her, he shall make her his wife to atone for the sin he has lodged both against himself and against the woman he has defiled. Because of the temptation to sin, each man should have his own wife and each woman her own husband. Give honor to marriage, and remain faithful to one another._ The Word of the Lord.

But did God even _care_ anymore? There wasn't even proof that God _wrote_ those things. A blasphemous thought he never would have allowed himself before.

Filled with a great sadness, the fallen angel's short-lived feelings of bliss were overcome with sensations of failure and emotional disorientation. Cas could no longer look at her. He felt… ashamed. And _ashamed_ that he felt ashamed. He hesitated, then began to move away a bit. He was sorry, he felt confused, he wasn't _sure_ what he was doing. Yes, he loved her—but he felt so unworthy. He used his palms to push himself back and away, then into a sitting position. He awkwardly turned to face away from her and maneuvered himself ungracefully to pull his pants back up. This was very distressing and the silence in the car felt clumsy, awkward. Cas moved slowly as he re-dressed and kept his gaze away from her purposefully—allowing her to keep whatever dignity possible as she put her clothing back to where it had been before he'd almost torn it off of her like some animal.

When he was finished he sat there silently, head bowed down. Cas didn't know what to say or do.

They sat on opposite sides of the car now—him with his hands resting loosely between his knees as he faced forward and finally he risked a sidelong look at her. She was decent again and sat with a leg half tucked underneath herself, facing him at an angle, her arms circling herself just slightly like she was cold. Her hair was tangled and misshapen, her damp shirt was twisted, the strap was still down, leaving a shoulder bare. She looked concerned—her eyebrows working toward each other, eyes filled with apprehensive worry—she was watching him closely, she kept opening her mouth slightly like she was about to say something then she'd shut it, seeming to be left wordless.

His eyes fell away from hers as he became heavy with guilt. "You don't deserve this," he murmured, his torn feelings reflected in his troubled tone. This mess, this wreck of a situation, the baggage he bore and inflicted upon her. He doubted a man—a real human man—would be acting this way. And he was reminded, yet again, that he didn't even know what he was anymore. Man? Angel?

Alex shook her head, inching a little closer, worried. "Deserve _what_?" she asked, imploring him not to feel the way he did. "Cas, you're perfect to me. I… I _love_ you. What is it?"

Castiel balked slightly at her tender words and the way she said them to him. He looked at her while silently wondering how she could say that _he_ was perfect. He shook his head in denial, his face a mask of torment. "I shouldn't do this to you. I shouldn't _keep_ doing this to you." He clenched his jaw, looking away again and down at one of his knees gravely as verses about abominations and eternal punishments and adultery swarmed his mind. "Sexual relations in the back of a car with an… an angel trying to pass for a man…" Saying it out loud made him even more miserable and he hung his head.

Her eyebrows raised slightly in surprise before moving downward to knit fiercely together. "Cas—no… nothing about what just happened is wrong. We both wanted it, right?"

Cas couldn't lie. "Very much so," he admitted quietly.

Her eyes were dark and full. "Me too." She moved across the space separating them and took hold of one of his hands—an immediately comforting gesture—and he looked at her fully, waiting with bated breath for her to say more. She spoke with a soft and deeply emotional voice. "There's nothing _wrong_ about this, Cas," she said, holding his hand more tightly, trying to convince him. He _wanted_ to be convinced, too. Her other hand raised up and she brushed the backs of her fingers against the side of his face soothingly, chancing a timid little smile. The touch somehow touched his heart itself. "We both wanted it and we… we love each other, right?" A faltering, demure question. He realized she was frightened that he might reject her and that she was making herself vulnerable in these attempts to comfort him.

" _Yes_ ," he answered emphatically, his frustrations mounting at the absolutely confounding nature of this dilemma. He couldn't let her think that he didn't love her or didn't desire her, because he _did_. It was impossible... nothing he did made anything right, he always seemed to make the problem exponentially worse. He didn't think he knew how to explain it to her fully, or how to make her understand his feelings and belief system. She couldn't comprehend how old he was, how _different_ they were, and it made him ache. She was a human. He was not, or at least, he didn't have the human experience. He'd been created in centuries past to be one among thousands of God's instruments, his warriors. Now here he was… put into the body of a man and bereft of all the powers and Grace. Still, he couldn't just cast aside the life and reality he knew, he couldn't erase God's word from his mind. And fumbling, grim, frustrated, Cas attempted to explain why he felt so conflicted about sexual relations. "It's… dishonorable to you. And forbidden. This is wrong of me. I just _shouldn't_."

His answer seemed to sadden her, but she just curled into him, laying her head in the crook of his neck and circling her arms around his middle the best she could. Her closeness made him weak inside and he didn't even mean to—but he let the lower side of his face rest against the top of her head and again, he ached. She felt so right in his arms. Just the feeling of her there with him soothed him. He never wanted her to leave—this sensation, her weight against him, her head laid trustingly onto him… it was everything. With her, he felt less unsure. With her, he felt belonging.

"It upsets me when you say that it's wrong," Alex told him almost in a whisper, her tone honest and soft and a little forlorn. Her sadness only deepened his. There was a long, tense pause. "We both want it, so why is it wrong?" The very question he was wrestling. He tried to think of how to explain it to her, then realized that he heard the wavering lilt of tearfulness in her voice when she spoke again. "Why do you get upset afterwards each time? Is it something I do?"

She thought this was _her_ fault? Faintly panicked, he tried to come up with some sort of way to comfort her.

However, Alex was looking at him pleadingly and didn't give him the chance. "I just don't want you to feel like that. Like you're doing something wrong to me. You're _not_."

Cas was confused as to how she could overlook his errors. All he could think of were his many faults and mistakes. "I removed your memory of our first kiss. I lied about it not being me who desired you under Famine's influence. I took… I took your _virginity_ while we were both intoxicated. In the Vatican. Standing up." Quickly becoming utterly depressed by his thoughts, Cas's voice reflected his low feelings. "This entire relationship is forbidden; if it harms your immortal soul in any way..."

"Cas..." she entreated gently, raising his chin by cupping her hand to the side of his face. " _Stop_." Her features were full of concern and her eyes gently demanded his gaze. "You're new at this. Don't forget that. We're _all_ just figuring it out as we go—you're no exception." The encouragement seemed so logical in the face of Cas's insecurities, and he listened to her covetously as she took her time to explain how she felt. "The first two things... taking my memory and lying. You fixed those mistakes. You told me the truth because you realized it wasn't right to be dishonest. When you did those things, you were only trying to do the right thing. I know you were." Her face softened with a careworn smile. "You always try to do what's right." Her faith in him dwarfed his negative feelings for a moment. "And the Vatican… I _wanted_ that. You know I did. If I had it to do over, I wouldn't change it. Not ever. If I had to go back and choose, just once or a thousand times… my first time would always be with you. And it wouldn't matter where or when or how… just… I would always pick _you_." His heart felt like it clenched with love to hear her say those things. Her thumb stroked down against his cheek and he saw how sad she was at his distress. "Our first time may not have been perfect, but… it belongs to us. And I don't regret it."

All the things she said touched him deeply, making it difficult to speak with emotion welling up strongly. Alex considered something deeply. "We don't have to have sex, Cas." He was surprised at the care in her face despite a great amount of anxiousness, too. "If it really bothers you that much… I mean, honestly I love being with you like that." A shy little smile passed over her face and she hid it. " _But_ …" she let out a long breath and shrugged sort of forcefully, and he saw she was trying to be brave, somehow. "If it's too much for you, if you really can't take it, then… we don't have to." He was immediately very touched at the offer. "I don't wanna do anything you're not okay with."

As he understood more and more that she was trying to keep his best interests at heart, a powerful feeling blossomed in his chest. " _Alex..._ " he said softly, treasuring the way she loved him, and for the smallest moment he accepted her affections without believing himself unworthy of them. His hand was still on the side of her head and he let his thumb brush against her hair once, softly. He felt his already unfathomably vast love for her overtake him even more. He wondered how such a thing were even possible.

She gave him another brave, small smile through what he clearly saw to be trepidation. "Maybe it'll just take a little while for you to be okay with this," she said, looking at him deeply. "But... I can wait. And I will. And if it never happens again for us… that's okay too."

She was telling the truth and attempting to honor him and his feelings. It left Castiel stricken in a way like never before. He looked at her in the awe of disbelief and thought of how this closeness between them was the result of virtually infinite potentials of outcomes—how in another reality or dimension, this moment and relationship might not exist at all. How intricate and fragile and exceptional their connection was. She was so very wonderful and incomparable. Again, his thumb brushed down across her hair and things he felt escaped out of his mouth into the air. "I find you so very lovely," he told her honestly, letting his adoration form itself into words. "In every last way."

Alex looked down, somewhere between demure and self-conscious at the sudden proclamation. He saw how her soft eyelashes fanned out against her cheeks, how her kiss-moist lips parted and turned upwards slightly. Even if he wanted to, he couldn't resist her. "Your offer of stopping is very thoughtful," he told her slowly, thinking out loud almost. "But… I don't think that it would work." She glanced back at up him with questioning eyes and he swallowed, a little hesitant as he admitted this to her: "I seem unable to stop myself from wanting… the things that I want with you."

Alex's heart clenched in a way that was both delighted and afraid. She heard how forlorn and resigned he was, how weighted down. He sounded guilty and upset, as he did after every time they had sex. She didn't know what else to do or how to fix it, except to give it time and try not to take it personally. She understood as best as possible, as much as she could, that he came from a different world than she did, that this was new to him—even newer than it was to her. Not just sex: emotions, pain, fatigue, hunger… he was feeling all those things, and it was _all_ new to him. Some parts newer than others. She ghosted a hand along the shirt over his chest, pensive. Underneath it, the angry red scar was hidden. It was from where he'd carved the angel sigil into his own flesh a month ago to save her and Adam from Zachariah. He'd almost _died_ because of his actions. He'd spent the month in that coma while she'd believed him to be _dead_ and gone forever. She was so fucking glad to have him back even though it scared her a little that Castiel wasn't what he had been before. He was now a flightless bird—a wingless angel—and he had fallen down to earth, crash-landing here because of her. She wondered if it were her fault that he was powerless now. She wondered if Cas resented the decision at all. She hoped not.

As disconcerting it was for Alex to see Cas clumsily dealing with his growing humanity and fallibility, she wondered: how frightening was it to be _Cas_ right now? He needed her more than he had before, she thought. To be strong, to help him, to be understanding of his conflicted thoughts and feelings. It was _scary_ to live life as a mere human, and who would know that better than Alex? But Castiel wasn't going to live his life alone. She'd already decided that. She craned her neck up and kissed his forehead, trying to tell him, wordlessly, that it was gonna be okay. Somehow, they'd figure it out.

She let the press of her lips linger there then she drew back a little and brushed some hair back from his forehead, studying him gently. He seemed very vulnerable and unsure to her in that moment, like he was asking for guidance or advice, an answer to the dilemma he was faced with. She didn't really know what to tell him—she didn't want him to feel guilty about having sex with her, and she wasn't sure how to help him be all right with it. Maybe he would _never_ be fully okay with them being intimate. She didn't know; but she meant what she said—she'd wait for him to be all right with it, or if he never was… she'd accept it and find a way to take it in stride somehow. What mattered right now was reassuring him the best that she could. "We'll find a way through this, okay?" Her forehead bowed down against his, their noses brushed. "Together." In the secret places inside her mind, she pictured the two of them with graying hair and wrinkles. Together, until the end.

"Together," he repeated softly, letting his fingers move some of her hair to the crook behind her ear. And Alex had no way of knowing it yet, but Castiel was once again thinking of marrying her. Not just to make things right, but also because the thought of being her husband seemed right. But he said nothing of it to her. Not yet. Instead he kept his thoughts inside, pondering them at length.

* * *

**Lincoln, Nebraska**

A couple of hours later Cas and Alex sat on a picnic table side by side. They rested their feet on the bench where you were supposed to sit and they ate generic gas station turkey sandwiches in the shade of a tree. It was midday, the storm had cleared, and some birds had come out, some kids, too—there was a playground nearby. The kind with a slide, monkey bars, swings, a huge metal geo dome for climbing. Those had always been Alex's favorite.

She glanced at her companion, smiling to herself a little. Watching Cas eat was… well, there was no other word for it. It was _cute_. Even though he looked to be a man approaching forty, even though she knew that he was thousands of years old, he seemed boyish and youthful to her. Sometimes, she suddenly remembered how the face she saw, the eyes she loved… those weren't even really Cas, not truly. And she didn't understand or know how to think about that. Usually, she didn't think about it for long because it bothered her too much to remember Jimmy Novak. Cas had told her a couple months back that Jimmy was essentially dead and gone. And now, with Cas seemingly locked in a human body and not going anywhere, she selfishly wanted that to be true—she _wanted_ Jimmy to be gone forever, because she wanted this to be Cas. Human. _Hers_. Always.

Alex considered him with relative somberness. _Was_ he human now? He was thirsty, hungry, had pain from his injuries sustained a month ago… but some things still didn't add up. He hadn't needed the bathroom even once since she'd picked him up from the hospital nearly forty-eight hours ago, he didn't sweat like a person should, he seemed just as clean as he always had without need of a shower. It was weird. But she didn't dwell on these things too long. At least he was okay. At least he was there with her.

She still found it so hard to believe he would risk everything for even a small chance to save her. The entire past month he was missing after angel-blasting himself halfway across the country, she and her brothers had assumed he was dead. She'd held onto hope just barely. She'd been lost. The moment she'd heard his voice on the other end of the line when he'd called her from that hospital in Louisiana? She'd been found again.

She didn't want to take him for granted. She never _had_ , but now more than ever she wanted to be close to him and care for him. Funny thing… he was a fierce and devastating warrior, yet he inspired a feeling of protectiveness in her, especially right now. Just yesterday, she'd saved his life from Zachariah. And today, they'd saved each other. The rabid Croat that jumped her and almost killed her still stuck in her mind. Life could end so quickly. And maybe it was about to, she wasn't sure. There was the whole apocalypse thing hanging over their heads and the thought of it had been unbearable for Alex. With Cas back… it wasn't quite as unbearable.

The depth and intensity she loved Cas had a way of startling and mystifying her. It had come from nowhere and felt stronger than anything in existence. She glanced at her companion again, taking in his handsome, thoughtful profile. Emotion swelled in her chest. Had there ever been anyone like him in the history of the world? He felt her gaze and turned, catching her eyes with his. There seemed to be an unspoken understanding between them that today, they weren't enslaved to fate and duty. Today they were just two people, taking what time they could (they'd never had enough, anyway), pretending, at least outwardly, that it was an ordinary and carefree day. Simultaneously, they smiled a little at each other, and Alex let her gaze drop away when she felt shy under his unguarded gaze. She leaned her head onto his shoulder, letting it rest there, wondering what he would do. She smiled a little to herself when she felt how his head leaned toward hers.

Maybe dragging their feet in the middle of the apocalypse crisis was stupid and selfish but… they were doing it anyway. Cas and Alex were on their very slow and unhurried way back to Sioux Falls, where Sam and Bobby would meet them. Dean, currently somewhere in Detroit and after the horsemen Death's ring, would probably get to Bobby's that night, or early tomorrow. The five of them would continue to try and find a way to stop Lucifer, stop the apocalypse, stop the entire _world_ from ending. But for right then, on that day… Alex and Cas were just being together.

Alex wondered if Cas were still internally bashing himself over the sex thing… he'd seemed more reflective than normal for the couple-hour car ride from Springfield to here. He'd remained off in his thoughts. It wasn't like she was issue-free on the matter of sex, either… she felt shy about it still, sort of new at it and clumsy, and scared to get caught (even though she was about to be twenty-eight for crying out loud). She knew had nothing to be ashamed of, but still. Cas's guilt over it was just something they had to work through, wasn't it? With whatever amount of time that was left? She grew a little deflated at the thought of the world ending. It loomed over her no matter how much she tried not to think about it.

She took in a deep breath and focused on here and now, making herself forget the big picture. She took in the park, watched some birds, and thought about how pleasant this was. She glanced sidelong, considering trying something. Then she looped her arm through Cas's and timidly cuddled against it. She felt his hand close over hers gently, felt his fingers interlacing with hers, and she realized she was smiling, completely content despite the circumstances surrounding them. What if every day could be like today?

Today, at the gas station where they'd bought these sandwiches and a bag full of assorted candies and chocolates, she'd made him try some cheap sunglasses on a whim. She'd laughed at him standing there like a telephone pole, arms at his sides, expression blank, with those dumbass flashy sunglasses on. He'd picked up a tabloid magazine and asked who Kristen was and why it was relevant information to the public that there were rumors she cheated on Rob. Alex had told him that was an extremely good question to ask, and she didn't know—but bought the magazine for him to read, because she delighted in seeing how he reacted to things she took for granted. Sure enough, as they sat there eating their sandwiches, he'd paged through and been quite mystified by American celebrity culture. "Why does it matter who 'wore it best'?" Oh, she loved him. Could it always be like this? Cas asking questions that warmed her heart and made her reevaluate things, stop and just see life in different light. She'd been so jaded in the past and never met anyone as innocent in spirit as he was. He had a pure heart. He brought a joy she had never felt before.

Alex lifted her head up off his shoulder and reached beside herself for the oversized gas-station drink they were sharing. Cas had the magazine she'd bought him on his knee, forgotten. Alex peeked down at the pages of the magazine as she took a noisy sip of soda. A woman with honey-colored hair was smiling up from a glossy spread that proclaimed _HOW SHE DID IT!_ in huge pink letters. Alex felt herself making a cynically amused face—she could only guess what inane thing that celebrity had done. "What's that article say?" she asked, morbidly curious.

"' _Jennifer Lopez has her best body ever_ ,'" Castiel read aloud uncertainly. He set the magazine down against a knee again, frowning in thought, then looked at her with slight disbelief, like he thought someone was playing a joke on him. "And... people truly care about this matter? I don't understand why it's relevant."

"Me either." Alex admitted with a shrug.

Cas mulled it over. "I think it seems like a very odd thing to read about."

"Same," Alex agreed, then offered the drink his way. "Want more?"

Cas laid the magazine aside and accepted the cup to take a sip. Today was the first time he'd drank through a straw, and earlier, on first attempt, he hadn't been able to figure it out right away. Alex watched him sidelong, proud and smiling.

"Thank you," he said, handing the styrofoam cup back. She took it back and set it down, then leaned her head against his shoulder again. She liked it there beside him.

Alex watched a kid swing on the monkey bars out in the park for a minute. If the world was going to end in a week or two, that kid and everyone else in the park was as good as dead. A sobering thought she didn't want to confront. She let her eyes wander over to the houses that were across the park and set in a row on the quiet street. Her eye caught on a cute little cottage with ivy growing up the front, pale blue shutters, and an oak door. The little yard was lined in neat hedges and a single big oak tree grew in one corner. The house looked like something out of a story or something. Cozy, homey, like what she thought a real home looked like. Instead of thinking about the end of the world, she allowed herself to dream of a future. "I'd live there," she said, volunteering the information without a second thought.

"Pardon?" Cas asked, unsure what she was indicating.

She nodded toward it, then pointed. "That house. I'd live there." Cas didn't follow what she was trying to convey, and Alex sat up, trying to explain. She remembered it in a bittersweet way. "I used to do nothing but imagine, as a kid. All the houses we'd pass and see, in the car… I'd always decide which houses I'd live in or not. I had a pretty good imagination. And I guess maybe I really wanted a home."

Cas was quiet for a moment. "Do you still?"

Alex shrugged, looking at the cute little house a little longer, then back at Cas. " _Eh_. I've decided that people are home," she told him, resigned to this opinion she'd cultivated. "Not places." Sometimes, yeah, she did want a real home. A place that would stay in one place unchanged. Four walls and a roof she could depend on. A familiar place to land and rest. But the life she lived—home wasn't a place. It was brothers. And now it was Cas too. She looked at him sidelong, squeezed his hand a little, and tightened her fingers through his. He smiled just a little, his eyes softening as they rested on hers.

A kid shrieked loudly as he went down the huge neon orange spiral park slide, distracting the two of them—he'd gone down on his back and backwards. He laughed raucously as his mother scolded him.

"Did you used to play on those contraptions when you were a child?" Cas asked, nodding toward the playground in curiosity.

"Mm, not so much when I was a kid." At the school playground, she'd usually picked a corner of the yard and lurked there picking sticks apart, tracing drawings and often times swear words on the ground. Or she'd put her chin in her hand and let her mind wander to daydreaming as she watched others play. Sometimes she'd done pull-ups on the monkey bars or climbed onto the top of the playground (then quickly gotten in trouble for doing so). Dad hadn't taken them to parks much… after all, according to him, playing was a waste of time. "But Dean and I, Sam sometimes too… we've just gone to parks in the dead of night and acted dumb," she explained, then made a bit of an amused face. "Usually 'cause we were _plastered_ ," she said, then clarified in case he didn't know that term. "Drunk, or maybe high." She laughed sort of slyly, thinking of the time Sam smoked too much weed then got his ass _stuck_ in a tunnel slide as he kept saying over and over how he'd just realized he was a person and he couldn't believe it. She and Dean, also stoned out of their minds, had to yank him out of there, laughing the whole time at his high observations. It was a good memory.

Cas's head canted to the side a little bit as he tried to understand what she'd just told him. "And you did this… for enjoyment?"

"Yeah, cuz we're stupid," she said, smiling softly as she thought of the good times in years past. There had been good in all the crap, there really had been. She fixed her attention on Cas curiously. "What's _your_ idea of fun?"

Stumped, Cas faltered. "Uh…" he squinted, maybe wondering if it were a trick question. "I've... never had to think about that before." She gave him a few seconds, wondering if he'd come up with anything at all. He did. He turned to her with a small, hopeful smile on his face. "I always enjoy spending time with you."

She was touched and caught off guard at his words… as usual. "Me too," she told him, voice soft. She leaned onto his shoulder again and moved as close as possible, settling against his arm. Her free hand curved around the crook of his inner elbow. "I'm glad we're together right now," she told him, nestling her head down onto his shoulder a little more. What she'd just said was just the beginning of how she felt, honestly, about how he'd been gone. Just a few years ago she never would have imagined ever loving anyone the way she did Castiel. If she thought about it too much, the intesity of it scared her.

They were quiet together there for a moment, and when Cas finally spoke, he sounded hesitant. Worried, like he was wondering something very strongly, but unsure about hearing the answer. "Dean said… yesterday, we spoke and… he said you didn't do well in my absence."

Alex thought a minute, a little mad at her brother, but also unable to deny it. She _hadn't_ done well when Cas disappeared. "I thought you were dead," she said faintly, upset again just thinking of it. "How would I ever be okay, thinking that?"

Her fingers tightened a little on the arm of his trench coat. And what Castiel said next—in his usual weary thoughtfulness—made her heart feel like it stopped. "I... never want for us to be separated again." Alex sat up, needing to look him in the eye. Did he mean that? It seemed like a huge thing to say. And she couldn't understand how he would really, truly feel that way about her—it hit her like a ton of bricks and it seemed too good to be true. He was looking at her with the utmost earnestness and concern. "You shouldn't feel alone," he said, then looked off across the park, seeming to think of something far away. "I watched you feel that way for so long. You were with your brothers and yet… you seemed alone." He was frowning at his own words, visibly not entirely understanding his thoughts. He looked at her as if for help in processing. "I remember thinking that the first time I saw you."

"The first time you saw me?" she repeated, wanting to hear more, feeling like she was asking to hear a fairy tale. Only, this was her _actual life story,_ the thing she'd constantly wondered and wanted to know more about: Cas, watching over her. "When was that?"

He didn't have to think. He answered immediately. "October eleventh, two-thousand and seven." A soft little smile brightened his eyes, which were far off again, seeing memories in his mind. "You were… sitting off, away from Sam and Dean. Shaking dirt and pebbles out of your boots. I knew you were different than everyone else. Right away. I knew." He looked down, becoming thoughtful and faintly bemused. "I still don't know how I knew that." He his eyes came back to hers again.

Alex felt herself smiling, because the irony wasn't lost on her. "I knew _you_ were different when I first saw you too." Breathy laughter made her shoulders shake a little, cave forward. "Only… I thought you were a super-demon or something." After all, she'd _shot_ at him when she first saw him. She made an overly-dramatic _oops_ face and was surprised when he, too, chuckled—a shyly deep and vibratos and _beautiful_ sound. And him sitting there beside her, hand in hers, eyes crinkled up as they reminisced… she was reminded that he was worlds more human than he'd been before he burned all his angel mojo away to save her. Worlds more human than the first time she'd laid eyes on him. She pulled his hand off the table and to herself, resting their entwined hands on the top of her thigh. "I was so mean to you," she murmured, studying their hands—his tan and big, hers smaller and fairer in comparison; carrying scars from years of hard work and fighting.

Cas contemplated her with gentle eyes. "You didn't know me then." He paused for a long instance. "When… when was it that you changed your mind?" There was this genuine, faltering curiosity in his voice, like he was nervous to put himself out there and ask this. "About what you… felt. About me."

Her eyebrows rose slightly in surprise. _He wanted to know when she'd fallen in love with him_ —the thought melted her insides. It had been a gradual thing, falling in love with him and coming to trust him so deeply. So that's basically what she told him. "Well. There were a lot of moments where I started to love you," she said honestly. However, one moment stuck out in her mind, one moment had taken her past the point of no return with her feelings for him. So, she told him, albeit a little shyly. "But I remember in nineteen-seventy-nine… when you gave me your blade." She held his gaze falteringly—thinking about it made her abruptly and deeply emotional. "I… loved you then. For real. And I knew it." Just like she knew it now. His eyes were unreal blue, full of tender and questioning things when she told him that. Alex couldn't help it, she smiled at him because he was so sweet, he was fierce and awkward and strange and he fit with her. And also, she noticed how some of his hair was sticking up crookedly on the side and to the back. She reached up and patted the flyaway strands back carefully, her heart bursting with warmth and affection.

Cas's gaze was growing intense. "I think I knew all along," he said, pausing her actions because of the way he said the words. "What I felt. About you." He seemed to be mildly frustrated, his eyebrows knitting together. "Feelings… they're strange to me. New. Hard to understand." His eyes came to hers, his features softened. "But with you... I understand things more than anywhere else."

When he said stuff like that, it was hard not to feel like the most lucky girl in all the world. To think that an angel was saying he'd loved her all along, that he understood the world through her, in so many words… it was humbling, a little overwhelming, and she let her hand fall away from his hair, she lessened the intensity of the moment with a lighthearted comment and dip of the head. "Happy to help," she said, and they shared another meaningful gaze before a loud burst of shrieking laughter distracted them.

A group of little kids were rough-housing and play-fighting by the swings, wrestling over ownership of a stick with great amounts of boisterous zeal. A girl with bright red hair suddenly emerged out of the pile of kids, waving the stick and running away as fast as her chunky little legs would carry her. "I'm the king! I'm the _kiiiiiing_!" she shrieked in delight as the other kids gave chase. All of them were breathless with laughter the entire time.

Cas watched the children with a mixture of curiosity and reserved puzzlement. "I can't imagine what it's like," he said, prompting Alex to look at him in confusion. "To be a child."

A little stilled by his declaration, the soft mournfulness in his voice, Alex didn't know what to say. Somewhere, in a photo album far away, there were photos of Jimmy Novak as a child. But that wasn't Cas, who had existed for inconceivable amounts of time and had, to her understanding, just one day come into existence. Like that. No childhood, no growing up. Just instantly all he was now.

 _I can't imagine what it's like to be a child_. Attempting to make him feel better, or maybe just saying the first thing that came to mind, she shrugged. "Me either." He looked at her oddly, not understanding, and she had to explain herself. Because she did, sadly, mean it. "I mean, I _was_ one, but… I guess I mean… I was never a kid like other kids were." Like those out on the playgrounds. Cheeks blue and sticky from lollipops with moms waiting nearby. Alex's mood was quickly lowering when she thought of how she'd been robbed of a childhood in so many ways. And these kids would be too when the world ended in flames. She tried not to refocus. "We all grew up pretty fast, you know? And he didn't like us to act like babies."

Castiel darkened at the nameless mention of him. "Your father?"

"Right." Alex pulled her hand out of Cas's and leaned over her knees, clasping her hands together, her mood continuing to grow somber. Dad was one of those subjects she just didn't know how to feel about. Cas obviously didn't like her father. But it wasn't that simple. "He wasn't the best dad ever. But he also wasn't the worst. He just… I dunno. Couldn't let his obsession go." It was complicated and she could probably write a book on it, but she didn't really want to talk about John Winchester any more today. So she forced herself to push it aside and she looked at Cas, smiling and signaling that the conversation was changing tides. "Did you like your sandwich?"

Cas understood that the conversation was shifting, but seemed a little hesitant to answer her, confused about why it was being cut short. "Yes, thank you."

Alex reached down and grabbed up the plastic bag of candy she'd plunked between their feet when they first sat down. "So! Candy. Everyone in the world has a favorite candy. So. We just have to figure out yours. What do you think? What looks good?"

Cas looked at all the bright wrappers with mild apprehension. "How am I supposed to choose which I try first?"

She shrugged. "Pick a couple. Doesn't have to be an informed choice. Be random." She helped him be random and grabbed a bar, the first one her hand touched. "Here, this one." She unwrapped it for him, broke a piece off, and handed it over.

"All right," he said, accepting the little morsel and he paused, hesitating, then bit down on it. "Why is it important that I try— _oh_ —" He looked at the remaining bite in his hand, seeming surprised. "This is very good."

Alex grinned at him, taking a bite from piece she'd kept. "Kit Kat," she said through the mouthful. " _Classic_."

"I like it very much," Cas said, smiling a little and putting the rest in his mouth, then seeing how his fingers had a little melted chocolate on the tips. Alex saw him staring at his newest problem.

"Just lick them," she said, briefly thinking about doing it herself… but Cas stuck them into his mouth and sucked the chocolate off, frowning intensely the entire time, not sure what he was doing. Again, all she could think was the word cute. _Adorable._

Alex fished out another candy—Swedish Fish gummies—and opened the bag, shooting him an impish, thoughtful glance. "Hey... so, is this our first date?" she grinned, handing him one gummy candy. "Cuz I'm pretty sure it is." She popped a gummy into her own mouth, chewing it in a very mannerless way. "I'm taking you to an arcade for our next date."

"What would we do there?" he asked, then seemed to notice the taste of the candy in his mouth. "I like this too," he said, nodding his approval of the bright red candy.

"Play games," she answered.

"Like CandyLand," he supposed, mildly excited to discuss something he thought he knew about.

"Oh, no, _video_ games—" Alex corrected, then realized he might not even know what those were. "They're a little different, on screens, you use controllers to move these little characters…?" He seemed very suspicious of this idea and Alex dropped it, a grin spreading across her face. "Al _though_ , I might be up for a rematch sometime where CandyLand is concerned." She feigned playful suspicion. "I think you cheated."

Castiel opened his mouth to assure her that she was wrong, but then just before speaking seemed to recognize that her expression, tone of voice, and statement were a joke. He took a second to think it over, a little smile spreading over his face, teeth almost showing. "You're teasing me," he said, but it almost sounded like he liked it.

"Sorry," she apologized, not really sorry. "I just like seeing you smile."

He seemed pleased that she said that, then frowned a little, moved his mouth weirdly, like he was having an issue. "This candy is stuck in my teeth," he said, seeming unsure of what to do.

"Try poking it with your tongue. Like this." She demonstrated, opening her mouth wide and poking her tongue around at her lower teeth, then collapsing into self-conscious laughter when she realized how silly she looked.

Cas was watching her with a soft content expression. "I like seeing _you_ smile."

Alex put the side of her face in her hand and propped her elbow on her leg, looking at him through laughing eyes. "Oh my god, we are the most sappy and awkward couple in the _world_ ," she groaned through a crooked, pleasantly embarrassed grin, even as she realized what she'd just called them: _Couple_. Cas looked like he recognized the significance, too. And just as happiness rose, a darker thought came to her… would they even live long enough to have an anniversary of any kind? That's what couples had, right? Dates, anniversaries… a future to look forward to. But they were smack dab on the edge of the apocalypse. On the edge of the end of everything.

Alex felt herself becoming a little morose at the thought. For a minute, she forgot the candy. She frowned down at her shoes. "Cas?" She was quieter, reflective, unsettled. "Do you really think the world's gonna end in a few weeks?"

He, too, became quiet. Shaking his head shallowly, his expression pinched with deep thought. "The future we saw in twenty-fourteen would indicate otherwise but… at this point, I don't know what to think."

"Me either," she said wearily, glancing at him just in time to see him cringe slightly, like he had a sensation of pain. Alex forgot her other worries momentarily in favor of concern. "You okay?" she asked, straightening a little as she looked at him carefully and quickly, trying to see what was wrong.

"Everything hurts." A simple statement that made her feel so bad for him.

Immediately, she grabbed her ammo bag—which she was carrying around like a purse today. In it, his Lortabs she'd stolen after breaking him out of the hospital. She shook out another pill and handed him the drink. "Sorry Cas, I should have realized. I lost track of time."

"You needn't apologize." Cas swallowed the pill and handed the drink back. "Thank you. For taking care of me." He reached for the bag of sour gummy worms and looked them over with somber studiousness.

"Well, I mean, I owe you, don't I?" Alex asked, trying to sound casual, but actually feeling pretty serious about the sentiment. How could she ever repay the things he'd done for her?

Castiel seemed confused about her question and let the gummy worms go to his lap. "Owe me? For what?"

"Uh… everything? You _fixed_ me." This was one thing she could never get over, ever. _Ever_. The fact that he'd given her a miracle. A new life. A chance to finally be free from the prison of her mind. He'd given her what she'd dreamed of and hoped for and obsessed over for her entire life: her voice. It was totally overwhelming, what he'd done for her, and her suddenly tremulous voice reflected that feeling. "Every single day I'm… I'm so fucking _grateful_ I can speak," she confessed, and he held her gaze, growing concerned at how upset she sounded. "You don't even know how much it means," she continued, tearing up from not sadness, but happiness and great emotion. "How much you changed. And you didn't have to. You _wanted_ to. I don't… I still don't get it. Why you would do that for me."

His worry faded. He brushed her cheek with two fingers, wiping away the tears there on impulse. Growing a little quieter as his hand fell away, his gaze was open and soft. "I saw that you needed something. And I knew that I could give it."

He transfixed her completely. Confused and in love, she shook her head slowly. "What did I do to deserve this?" she asked barely above a whisper, wanting to know but thinking maybe she never would. "You… you just blow my mind. You can't be real."

Cas's face showed mild confusion even as a little smile spread across his face. A very human expression. "I'm real."

Even though her heart melted and she smiled back, she remembered quickly how what he'd done for her hadn't been without consequence. He had been punished for giving her voice back to her—she'd gathered this over time, but Cas had always refused to tell her the details. "You got in trouble for what you did," she said, feeling bad about it, wondering what had happened to him because of his kind act on her behalf.

He didn't look disturbed. He only looked fondly reminiscent. "It was well worth the trouble, believe me." And she realized he wasn't thinking of the punishment—he was thinking of what he'd given her.

But Alex felt bad. The more she thought about it, the guiltier she felt. The more undeserving. "Seems like everything you do for me just sets you back further and further." He looked at her, not understanding her meaning, waiting for her to explain. Alex tried not to sound too self-pitying. "I mean… what's happened to you now. Being human. Or mostly human."

Cas looked down in soft thought. His expression intrigued her. She wondered what he was pondering, because it seemed as though he were thinking very hard about something important. She looked at his profile, remembering a time that seemed so long ago—he'd come to her in a dream and stood there with her beside a Tilt-A-Whirl and she had barely known him then, but he had intrigued her then almost as much as he did now.

"I was thinking…" he finally said, soft and thoughtful, looking out at the playground, taking his time. Almost speaking to himself, Alex thought. "Maybe it's better this way." What was he talking about? He opened the bag of gummy worms and took one out, looking at it closely. It was neon pink and covered in sugar crystals. "Not entirely desirable, but… it seems appropriate somehow."

Alex watched him put the piece of candy into his mouth. He chewed it slowly, thoughtfully, and the way he still stared off into the distance seemed almost like he were trying to avoid something. "What do you mean?" Alex asked. What was better this way? What was appropriate somehow?

He glanced her way briefly, seeming hesitant and reluctant. "I think I like these best," he said, indicating the bag of candy briefly. Sounding words away. "The gummy worms." Was he… dodging the question? Cas studied the bag frowned thoughtfully. "Strange they'd model this confection after lumbricus terrertris."

"Is that… the Latin name for worm?" Alex asked, a little smile spreading across her face. He was so weird and wonderful. He nodded _yes._ Alex nodded too, but slowly. "Ah, okay." She studied him closely, trying to see what it was troubling him. "You _sure_ you're okay, Cas? You seem… like something's bothering you. Besides physical pain." He glanced at her guiltily, and she knew she was right. "Tell me," she urged.

He hesitated, looking down at the space between his feet. "I've... been thinking about it all day," he finally said, and she swallowed, nervous about whatever he was about to confess. Her first instinct, even though she knew he loved her, was that he was going to tell her how they couldn't be together. Cas still stared down at his feet. "If I'm going to be a man… not an angel… and if we are going to be… together…" his head came up and he looked at her in the eye with vast uncertainty and hope alike. "Shouldn't we?" She was confused. _Shouldn't we what?_ He clarified his meaning. "Be married?"

Her mouth dropped open in surprise, shock resounded in her veins, she stared at him and blinked three times. " _Married_?" she repeated—he was bringing it up like they'd discussed it many times over. She almost didn't take him seriously. Not at first.

Showing himself to be surprisingly insightful, Cas spoke to her incredulous reaction. "I've thought about it at length," he said, making her already slack face slacken more. "And I am absolutely sincere."

Alex fumbled, unable to consider it. "Look, I, I know the thought of the world ending is scary but… we can't just run away together."

He was a little bemused at her words. "I'm not asking you to run away," he said slowly, thinking hard. "I just want to do the right thing."

And then, she understood. It clicked into place. "The right thing," she repeated, feeling her shoulders slump. "Because you think this is wrong." It made her sad, it reminded her of how different they were. "Cas, we are not a _mistake_ to be fixed," she implored, wishing he could see that. Wishing he would stop making her suspect that maybe they _were_. And besides, wasn't he forgetting something? "I mean, the world's about to end, why would it really matter if we were _married_?"

He wasn't deterred. In fact, he only seemed more quietly certain. "Perhaps _because_ the world's about to end it matters even more."

"Marriage isn't even necessary anymore," she protested, trying to teach him what she knew—which, she realized the more she thought about it was _jack squat_. She'd never seen married couples up close and personal, she'd never even seen her father with her mother. She'd just seen marriage in books and movies and she loved that crap, but realized it was just that: crap. Real life was never like the books or movies. In _her_ life, relationships never lasted and whatever good things came her way always fell apart. And she didn't want to lose Castiel—she didn't want to jinx the delicate thing they had going. "You can love each other without getting married, I mean, these are modern times," she said. "Marriage is, is ancient, it's—"

"So am I," Castiel cut in, rendering her silent for a moment. He looked weary and his eyes were downcast, his brow furrowed. " _I_ am ancient." Sadness rested in his eyes. "Older than most things you know about or can conceive of. And you're… twenty-seven."

"Almost twenty-eight," Alex said, knowing it made no difference, but trying to inject some humor. What did you say to what he'd just said? Cas _was_ ancient, and sometimes, she felt it more than others. He was from an entirely different world than she was. Maybe he romanticized the idea of marriage. But as much as she loved romance novels and the idea of a happily ever after, she remained jaded. Cynicism had kept her safe a lot of times in the past. "Marriage is just a piece of paper," she said, "It's just a legal thing."

Castiel seemed to contemplate her statement. "Marriage as my father intended it… is an everlasting covenant between two people." He looked off, then recited something that sounded familiar: "'And the two shall become one flesh.'"

Alex thought, trying to place it. "Is that from the Bible?"

"Yes."

Dubious, still pretty sure Cas had no idea what he was asking her or at the very least that he wasn't being realistic, Alex tested him. "And you would want _that_ with _me_?" She was totally convinced he'd stop, think about it, then realize _no_.

"Yes," was his immediate, solemn answer. Alex was yet again speechless. Cas looked into middle distance, frowning ever so slightly. "Every passage of scripture is burned into my mind—I'm sinning against you. Or, I feel as though I am." He seemed mildly disappointed in himself, or ashamed. "I know that you don't hold the same convictions as I do. I know that you must be frustrated with my inability to be like you."

Alex rushed to console him. "No, Cas, it's not that." This was hard—communicating was hard. And she was trying her damnedest to figure out why on earth he would feel like marriage could fix things that weren't broken. "I just think you're freaking out about the end of the world and losing your powers and being stuck in a human body," she said. "I get it. This is all new for you."

Cas shook his head. "It's not that." He looked at her directly, stilling her. "Alex. All I know is that if the rest of my life, however long it may be, will be spent as a man… I want to spend it at your side. As your husband." She was speechless, dazed at what he was saying. "Will you let me?" He frowned, squinting in thought. "Should I get down on a knee?"

He moved as if he were going to stand up, and alarm filled Alex. She grabbed his arm, preventing him from getting up. "Wait, whoa, no, don't." He seemed confused at her reaction, but Alex was confused, too—confused and beginning to realize he might actually be for real. "You're really serious about this? I mean, have you thought this through? Is this because you feel guilty about us having sex? 'Cause it kind of seems that way to me."

There was confirmation there in his eyes. "I _do_ feel very guilty for what I've done… what I want to do even now. With you."

She swallowed. What he wanted to do more of. What _she_ wanted to do more of. She struggled to focus. "T-that's not why you're supposed to get married though," she faltered. "You're supposed to get married because you wanna spend the rest of your life with that one person."

His expression suggested he knew that already and that he was surprised she implied that he didn't. "Well yes, of course," he said, straightforward. "That's what I want." 

All of her excuses fell away. "It is?" she asked, floored at his declaration.

He studied her for a moment, his eyes carrying memories and great emotion. "Alex… when I was assigned to you, I was bound to you for the rest of your life. And now… I can't imagine this existence without you in it." There was another half-smile. "It seems somehow fitting, doesn't it?" She hung on his every word—he seemed to have really, truly thought about this, and what he was sharing was blowing her away. "I realize now. From the first time I saw you… maybe before that…" he thought hard, trying to find a way to say it. His voice softened, as if he were reverent. "I've belonged at your side. I've belonged _to_ you." He paused again, faltering. "And not because of celestial commandments. Because of... things I don't even know how to describe." She couldn't find words to reply with and he was quiet for a long moment, just holding her gaze. 

"Our relationship, as it stood before, when I was an angel... was forbidden in all senses in Heaven and on earth." His mood dipped back down into darker territory. He sighed very softly without opening his mouth. "And now I'm… mere flesh and blood." He sought her gaze again. It almost seemed like he was asking her to let him belong with her here on earth. As a human man. _Her_ human man. Her heart was so full at that moment. "I just… I want to make it right, what's between us, if I can," he said, struggling to explain. "Because of the way I care for you."

She loved him, she _adored_ him, but this was terrifying. " _Cas_ …" she began, trying to think of what to say.

He saw her conflicted expression and his face fell. "You... don't want to." Distinctly wounded and rejected, Cas nodded as if he should have known. Her stomach plummeted.

"No, _no_ , it's not that… it's… I mean, it's not that I don't love you. I _do_. And I want the same thing, to always be together…" she trailed off, realizing maybe marriage wouldn't help or hurt either way—she already knew no one else would ever do, she couldn't imagine loving anyone else besides him. Still, she resisted the idea out of fear of the unknown. She began to say every single thing that came to mind. He couldn't possibly _really_ want this with her.

"Cas, almost everyone I get close to ends up dying and you're mortal now and… I can't lose you again, and this seems so sudden and not even _possible_ , I mean, we haven't even _known_ each other that long and you don't know enough about _me_ , and how would we even do it? I mean, I don't think I'm the marrying type, I don't understand what marriage even _is_ , or what it looks like in real life, I would be so bad at it…" Her excuses died out as she looked at how steadfast he was. How all the things she said didn't deter him in the least. _Unbelievable_ … she felt her eyebrows raising slowly, because he _really_ meant it. She was beginning to believe him. She was beginning to _consider_ it. "Y-you would really marry me? Just like that?"

He didn't hesitate at all. "Yes. Today. Now. The sooner the better." She swallowed. _Wow._ He thought deeply, his face assuming the familiar, intensely introspective frown it so often displayed. "Isn't it what people do when they love each other?" He was like an innocent young child in that moment. He glanced at her almost shyly and her heart flip-flopped again. "I've thought about this for some time. Ever since we first… were first together." And she knew he was telling the truth. She recalled how he'd asked if he should marry her the morning after their first time. A sense of dizzying, overwhelmed awe was overcoming her as he continued to explain himself to her. "As I said before. It's not a whimsical suggestion. I'm very serious." 

He _was_. "And you know that marriage is supposed to be, like, final?" she asked, barely able to believe they were actually discussing this. "That's it? No one else?"

"Yes, of course," he replied, then frowned questioningly, tilting his head to the side just slightly. "Who else would there be?" 

Alex was having a hard time staying grounded and realistic. Castiel was asking her to _marry_ him—that's it, no one else, _marry him_. Talk about surreal—and Alex's romance-novel loving side could have just taken the leap, thrown caution to the wind, blindly followed her love-struck little heart down the wedding aisle... but she didn't want to do it for the wrong reasons, or without thinking it through. Forcing herself to be pragmatic, she tried to keep them both focused. "I-I'm not sure," she said, making herself really, really think about all of it. "I… mean, _think_ about it, Cas. It would never be normal for us, like with a, a mortgage, white picket fence, your wife in the kitchen making a pot roast..."

Cas was totally confused about all three things she'd just mentioned. "What do those things mean?"

She faltered, because if that's not what he thought marriage was, what was it? "Those things mean… I dunno, that's just what married people do and have." She paused, realizing she really _wasn't_ the person to ask. "I think." She snuck a peek at him sidelong, her heart beginning to race as she swallowed away a crazy, thrilled curiosity. "Okay, for the sake of argument, say we… did it. Got married. And then _if_ we lived past this apocalypse, and that seems like a pretty big if... what then?"

Cas seemed unsure of how to answer. "More of this?" He gestured to the things scattered around them. "Sandwiches and, candy, and… being together?" He looked at her without reservation or guard. Her excuses were fading away. She could picture those things he'd just said. She could imagine that. Her. Castiel. Food and life and _whatever_ and just being together.

"You make it sound so simple," she reflected softly, wondering if it really could be that way.

"The rest of our lives," Castiel said out loud, sounding as reflective as she felt. "Together." He looked at her with faint hopefulness. "That _is_ simple, isn't it?"

When he put it like that she agreed and it made her stomach turn loops. That _was_ simple. _Thrilling_. The rest of their lives, however long that might be… together. She already wanted that. _Maybe_ , she thought, maybe marriage was what you decided it should be. Maybe if she and Cas took that plunge together, it would be like the rest of their relationship had always been. Strange, a little quirky, but theirs. And because of that simple fact, _perfect_.

Warming to the idea, still, she found herself realizing there were roadblocks. "But, but even if we wanted to…" she said, "you're not a citizen, you don't have any ID, I'm _wanted_ , it wouldn't be legal even if we got married somehow…" She guessed they could do a commitment ceremony somewhere, but was that the same thing? Didn't it have to be legal to be authentic? She looked at Cas, conflicted. "It wouldn't be real, would it?"

Cas surprised her with his answer. "It would be between us. Isn't that real enough?"

He was completely entrancing her with this crazy, beautiful idea and it was making breathing difficult. But then a sudden thought came, punching a hole in the elation. "My brothers though…" Alex said, realizing how complicated this would be. How big of a potential problem. "Dean would _not_ go for this."

Cas considered with mild sadness. "I think you're right," he said. "But shouldn't it be your decision? Not Dean's?"

As big a part of her life as Dean always had been, Alex knew that when it came down to the wire, her big brother wasn't going to make any of these decisions for her. But it hurt, because he was so against Castiel and Alex couldn't fully understand why. "Yeah. It's just, I can usually trust his judgement so well. But when it comes to us… he's kind of an idiot." It made her so very sad. "I'd want them there for it. But I mean, I guess that's not really an option, is it." She looked down, thinking of how it would create so much drama if they actually did it and Dean found out. Sam would be cool, Alex knew he would—but Dean? He'd probably hit the roof. 

"We could tell them after all of this," Castiel said, referring to the apocalypse. He paused heavily. "If there _is_ an after."

Truthfully, Alex didn't think there would be an after. Which made her consider Cas's proposal even more. "This is _crazy_..." she murmured, looking out at the park in front of them, trying to get this through her head. Cas wanting to elope. She looked at him again. "Isn't it? Crazy?"

He was nonplussed, considering her question, then shaking his head slowly. "I don't think so."

Maybe _she_ was just crazy. Because Alex was actually thinking about it, was _thisclose_ to throwing caution to the wind and marrying the angel she'd fallen in love with, come what may. Because somehow in this crazy fucked up world she'd found what felt like the missing piece: the one she loved and connected to without trying, the one who comforted her with a single touch, the one who made her believe in love stories and had given her one of her own. He'd appeared out of nowhere and they'd collided into each other, and nothing had ever been the same again for either of them. With Cas, life was richer, deeper, more meaningful. _Realer_. With him, everything felt right, like this was the way it had always been meant to be. And above all else… she trusted him. Anyone else, she'd never even think about marrying. Him, she could let herself say yes. But she needed to hear one thing, she needed to know it again. "Tell me you love me," she asked him softly.

A little puzzled at her abrupt words, Cas's head again tilted to the side as he looked at her. _Really_ looked at her. "I do," he said. Everything about him seemed to soften toward her, reach out to her, reassure her. "I love you."

Hearing his voice wrap around those three words with such tenderness, her throat closed slightly as emotion rose. Her voice softened to a near-whisper. "For how long?"

He seemed perplexed, as if she should already know, as if there couldn't be any other answer than the one he gave: "Forever." 

Her eyes were full with tears that she didn't even understand. Happy? Sad? Scared? She didn't know, because she felt all of those things. "You promise?" she asked, still not completely sure about her answer.

He paused, then a little stilted and awkward, he leaned closer, putting his hand on top of where hers rested between them. She realized he was attempting to initiate a kiss, but feeling timid about it. She was compelled forward to receive what he was offering, and there they shared a sweet, soft, slow kiss. The comfort of his familiar, tender touch washed warmth over her and neither of them hurried to pull away. His fingers laced through hers and she tightened her grip just a little, feeling his other hand gently coming to cradle the side of her head. When they slowly drifted apart from the kiss, Castiel didn't go far away and didn't stop touching her face. Just studied her gently as he gave her his answer: "I promise."

There was nothing but reassurance resting there in the cobalt depths that gazed back at her. He'd always looked at her in a way no one else had ever had, and she loved those eyes and the way they saw the world, she loved who they belonged to. He'd seen all of creation and wonders she couldn't even imagine, yet he looked at _her_ like _she_ was the greatest and most beautiful thing he'd ever beheld in his whole life. It was impossible to completely put her finger on what Cas was, _who_ he was, but her mind tried: He was the tan coat and the blue eyes and the dark hair, the half smiles and the inability to get pop culture references, the fierce protectiveness, the gentle attentiveness. But there was so much more, there was something else, something _more_ than she could understand. He was light and power and ancient days, he was above her and beyond her... yet she knew whatever she asked of him, he'd willingly give. She wondered how he could look at her like she was his world, like she was _different_ , like she was the one exception to every rule he'd ever had. It amazed her and frightened her. It humbled her. It thrilled her. He wanted to devote the rest of his days to her and call it marriage. He wanted to be hers. And she wanted to be _his_. She wanted to take the leap, knowing he'd catch her. End of the world be damned… consequences be damned. None of it mattered.

Alex was given over to terrifying, breathless courage. "Ask me again," she said, as if in a dream, never looking away from his eyes for even a second.

He visibly recognized the significance of the moment. Cas faltered, nervous about what her answer would be. "Will you?"

She felt herself drawing a deep, amazed breath into her lungs. "Yes."

There it was. Just like that, one word. But it changed their lives forever and they both knew it. Cas's face was soft with a dumbstruck quality and Alex felt similarly stunned, amazed, scared and excited all at once.

"You _will_?" he asked, as if he couldn't believe it.

A smile, teeth, dimples, and all was beginning to dawn across her face. " _Yeah_ ," she reiterated. Cas looked back at her, a disbelieving smile widening across his face.

* * *

Deep in the throes of writing, Chuck's fingers flew over his typewriter:

_If you happened to at Ballard Park at approximately 12:47pm on April 29th, 2010, you might have glimpsed a man in a tan trench coat sitting next to a woman in jeans on a picnic table. You might have seen her tell him "yes" about something and then seen the two of them look at each other with wordlessly breathy smiles before hugging tightly. You might have noticed how the man held this girl like she were the most precious thing he had ever touched. You might notice how the young woman seemed to implicitly trust and adore this man by the way she rested her head in the crook of his neck, by the way she let her eyes fall closed as she breathed him in._

_You wouldn't know that you had just seen the guardian angel Castiel, the one all of Heaven still tells stories about because of his great love for the human currently in his arms. You wouldn't know the woman in his embrace was the savior of all mankind. How could you have known that? To you, they would appear to just be an offbeat couple in love, sharing a cheap gas station lunch. When in reality, the legacy unfolding there in that park that day was one that changed the entire future of planet earth and beyond._

With a soft sigh of nostalgia, Chuck ceased writing for a moment to sit back in his chair. He always felt strange about self-insertion when it came to writing but in the interest of honoring the truth of what happened... he returned to the keys to add another sentence. A reminiscing smile played on his careworn features.

_Only one other person was present when they said their vows... and, well—that person was me._


	58. Song of Songs 6:3

" _With you, I will go. You are my love, you are my fair one."_  
\- Chris Quilala

* * *

**April 29th, 2010**   
**Kripke's Hollow, Iowa**

Chuck opened the milk carton and tilted it to pour the contents over his cereal. The second he did, he recoiled. " _Aaahh_ , no…" huge clots of spoiled, soured milk plopped out onto his Apple Jacks. " _Bleurgh_ ," he muttered and grimaced then tossed the ruined food, bowl and all, into the trashcan… then realized his mistake. "Aw come _on_!" He threw his hands up and made a face and fought with himself for two seconds. Was saving the bowl _really_ worth a dig in the trash? He guessed so. He _was_ running out of bowls after all. Resigned, he reached in there, cringing and making disgusted sounds as he tried to get to the bowl. His fingers touched something slimy, cold, and lumpy instead. He made a face and made a shuddering sound. Was that this morning's oatmeal that he'd put way too much water in then had to toss out?

His phone rang at that exact moment and he looked up. Really? Right _now_ you call?! He retracted his arm from the trash and made a face then shook his hand off as he hurried over to his phone. "Hello?" He held his slimy hand away from himself like it was diseased.

There was a pause at the other end, then a familiar female voice. "Um, hi Chuck. It's Alex." She appended her assertion almost immediately. "Winchester."

Of _course_ he knew which Alex it was. He grinned. "Hey, Alex, I was just writing about you a few minutes ago!" He forgot his disgusting, oatmeal-coated hand in favor of sudden elation.

"Uh… _okay_..." she said, not following, pausing awkwardly. "...So the reason I'm calling is because I was wondering—" she paused, realizing what he meant about how he'd been writing about her. "Oh. Wait. You mean…? You were… _writing_ about me. Us?"

"Yeah," Chuck confirmed, friendly and conversational, pretty excited, honestly. "I already know. Really sweet proposal, Cas is a great guy huh?" There was an awkward silence at the other end and Chuck realized, oh yeah... Alex _wasn't_ his BFF. He saw her as his character and he knew her so well that she _felt_ like an old buddy, but… she really didn't know _him_ at all. It was hard to keep these things straight sometimes. He cleared his throat and wiped the idiotic grin off his face, trying to be professional and not scare her off with his enthusiasm. "So, you guys, uh, you heading this way?"

She sounded surprised that he went there without any further pretense. "Wha—well, if you will..."

"Of _course_ I will, are you kidding me?" Chuck chuckled out of self-consciousness and excitement alike, feeling important (as luck would have it, feeling important always made him paranoid). He wet his lips. "Just… gimme a little minute to get ordained online." He gave his trashcan a side-eye, darkening a little. "I was thinking of doing it earlier but… cereal debacle."

There was another pause and he would have bet a million bucks that Alex was making a squinty confused face and wondering _what the hell is wrong with this guy_? "Uh, _right_." She cleared her throat, and Chuck heard how antsy she sounded. "Um okay, well we're a couple hours out… so… see you soon."

"Okay, drive safe," he said, then suddenly thought of his manners and rushed to put them to use. "Oh, and, congrats!" He paused, hearing nothing. "Hello?" He looked at the phone. "Ah, she already hung up," he muttered to himself. Slowly, he turned and gave the trashcan the evil eye. _That_ would have to wait. He needed to get ordained online. Well, _did_ he? This wasn't gonna be a legal marriage, was it? Cas wasn't a legal citizen, Alex was on the FBI watch list… it _couldn't_ be legal, the more he thought about it. _But_ Chuck had always wanted to get ordained anyway. No time like the present, right?

He cracked his knuckles and wiggled his fingers, heading for his computer... then realized now he had oatmeal on _both_ hands. He froze mid step, grossed out all over again and irritated with himself. "Wash the hands," he said sullenly as he headed to the sink. "Good starting point." _Stop talking to yourself, Chuck. People will think you're crazy._ "I know, I _know..._ " he muttered with an exasperated sigh.

* * *

A couple hours later a stolen SUV pulled up to the curb in front of Chuck's ramshackle old house. Out of the car came a young woman with dark brown hair. Her trenchcoat-wearing companion exited the vehicle with a plastic grocery store bag in his hand. In it, there was some kind of bunched up piece of white clothing.

Alex looked at Chuck's house apprehensively. "Are you sure you're sure about this?" she asked anxiously, looking at Cas with a quickly-increasing heart rate. He was a few feet off, studying her. She'd been getting more and more nervous the closer they got to Chuck's. "Is this insane?" she asked, then looked back at the house. Her nerves were jangled and she felt _crazy_. "This _is_ insane," she said and looked at Cas again. "We're _insane_!"

Cas paused, thinking about it in utmost seriousness. "I feel perfectly mentally competent," he replied, not really getting what she meant. Alex swallowed and looked around at the ground in front of her feet, scanning it without seeing much. Her heart was racing—this was real and they were actually going to do this without Dean and Sam, without sleeping on it, without another minute's hesitation. And that was _crazy_. Cas studied her with concern, trying to understand. "What is it?" he asked softly, touching her arm faintly. At his touch and the concerned question, she calmed automatically and her eyes went to his hand. She swallowed again, this time slowly. Cas was here with her. He was here. And it was normal to be nervous about this, right?

Her voice was barely above a whisper when she spoke. "I'm just… really scared." Her wide eyes met his, asking for help or guidance.

Cas was visibly worried at her sudden confession and he stepped a little closer, searching her face. "Of what?" He paused. "Of… matrimony?"

Well yes but also... the apocalypse, the end of the world, death, things falling apart, him dying and leaving her alone again, losing her brothers...

He waited for an answer and she settled on the truth. "Just… _everything._ "

The statement left him confused. But his hand was still on her arm… and he didn't let go. Alex took in deep, steadying breath, concentrating on the feeling of his hand holding her steady. Maybe that single action is what helped her: him staying in that moment with her even though he didn't know how to respond to her statement. His presence meant more than words could, honestly. Her nerves became calmer. She remembered how overjoyed she'd felt when she said yes to him a couple hours ago, she remembered how happy and overwhelmed he'd been. She searched his eyes, somewhere between elated and terrified. "You're sure about this, Cas? _Really_ sure? This is what you want?" It was about to be too late to go back.

Cas smiled one of those soft little blink-and-you-miss-it smiles of his, letting his hand skim down her arm and take hold of her hand. Pleasant, comforting feelings radiated from the place where his warm hand pressed into hers. He seemed shy in that moment. "You know that I am." His eyes held hers in a steady, hopeful gaze and she thought of the picnic bench and how he'd laid it all on the line to her, telling her that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her and only her. The ultimate declaration of love. Her heart skip-hop-jumped even as she recognized how his eyes were tinged with traces of worry. His thumb ran across her knuckles comfortingly and suddenly Alex realized that Castiel was just as scared as she was. Maybe not of getting married, but of doing the wrong thing or of pressuring her into something. Even as she realized that, he confirmed her hunch in so many words: "Alex, if you don't want this, tell me. Please."

Her stomach somersaulted. He loved her in a way she had never even known really existed and she _did_ want this. But another side of her said it was a bad idea, said it was totally nuts to do it right now without more time to think about it. Nervous fears were eating at her and she kept thinking about what would/could/might go wrong or how she might end up letting Cas's expectations down. He'd made it sound like he _had_ no expectations, like he just wanted to be with her the rest of her days, but really, he _had_ to have expectations, right? _This is_ Cas _you're thinking about, Alex. The one who gave everything for you over and over again without a thought for himself._ He was as good as his word; he meant what he said. She knew that. And reminded of that truth, she felt the way in which she loved him threatening to burst her completely. Maybe that's what scared her, too. How much she loved this strange and beautiful being called Castiel. Her heart could barely hold it in. "I _do_ want this," she told him faintly, sidestepping the truth a little because she didn't want to hurt him. She did want it... _mostly_. Wishing she knew how to better put her thoughts into words, she felt foolish for feeling the way she did and didn't understand it entirely. "I'm just… _scared_ , I don't know how else to say it."

He was intense and meaningful and he seemed so strong and trustworthy to her in that moment. "I won't let harm come to you," he promised, assuming she was afraid of being hurt. "In any way." His expression flickered and he looked down at his hand holding hers. His voice softened and he seemed conflicted briefly. "I don't want you to be afraid."

She wasn't as afraid when he said things like that. He didn't have it all figured out, either; the two of them were equally clueless and stumbling through life. They were kindred spirits. They'd known the numbing sting of loneliness, the hollowness of quiet years and the feeling of never quite belonging or fitting in where they were. But when they were with each other... it just wasn't like that. Together, they seemed stronger to Alex. And that thought comforted her. She squeezed Cas's hand. If they watched each other's backs and protected one another, then maybe neither of them had to be scared at all.

A sudden interjection distracted them. "Hey! You two just gonna stand out there all day?"

They both turned their heads to see Chuck squinting at them from his front porch with a huge stupid grin. He wore slippers and a ratty old bathrobe over a t-shirt and some boxers. Alex and Cas glanced at each other and Alex took a deep breath—no turning back now. She tightened her hand in Cas's she led him toward the house and up the front porch stairs. Her nervousness increased with every step and she thought maybe she might throw up from it. Instead, she smiled tightly at the author. "Hi Chuck."

"Good to see you two," he said, beckoning them to enter his house as he held the door open. He seemed eager. "Come in, come in!"

They complied. Chuck led the way in through the tight little foyer where a staircase and hallway stretched. It was dim inside the messy house—and looked like no one had ever tidied the place possibly ever. The kitchen seemed to have thrown up onto the adjascent living room and study: There were old juice containers, beer bottles, pizza boxes, empty cracker sleeves and crumpled soda cans littering every last surface. There was laundry piled high and some towels draped over chair corners—a bookshelf crammed so tight with books it was about to burst. More books and magazines were stacked errantly on the coffee table, on top of the old TV, and on the floor next to the couch. "Sorry, uh, I was just cleaning up," Chuck mumbled, grabbing three empty beer bottles up off his coffee table and then brushing some pizza crumbs off the corner of his kitchen table with his elbow as he passed it on his way to the trash can. "Check it out!" he said, and indicated, proudly, a piece of paper that proclaimed _Wedding Officiant_ on the fridge. "Just printed it off." He crossed his arms and sighed happily at the piece of paper, then looked at Cas and Alex, who were standing there sort of awkwardly. "So... how are you?" Chuck asked—as if he wouldn't already know, being the prophet-author guy that he was.

Alex was sort of beyond words at the moment—both amazed at the way Chuck kept his house (it seemed worse than the last time she'd been here) and fighting the urge to pass out from the neurotic butterflies in her stomach. "Good, great," she said distractedly, noticing how there was a spoon coated in what looked like spaghetti sauce stuck to an open book's pages on the couch. Literally _stuck._ She looked at Chuck and realized she should probably return the polite gesture. "How… how are you?"

Chuck made a face as if to convey that thinking about how he was stressed him out. "Ah, you know. I barely ever sleep and I feel like my body's falling apart; my new neighbor is kinda weird, plus I'm really tired of writing but it never seems to end…" he trailed off and cleared his throat, attempting a casual smile. "So—uh… fine, fine, how are you?" He paused, remembering. "I already asked you that."

Alex was getting overwhelmed. She took the bag Cas was holding from him, drawing a curious look. The room felt very hot and everyone seemed to be looking at her. She needed a minute. "Hey Chuck, where's your bathroom? I have to change. And puke." She paused and made a face, conceding that she hadn't thought that statement through. "Probably not in that order."

Chuck had grown wary. "Down the hall, to the left."

Alex scurried away in that direction, to the staircase and then to the right, leaving Cas to watch. He stood a little straighter and craned his neck to watch her exit. Confused concern had flooded his face. "Is she ill?" Cas asked, anxiously looking at Chuck for an answer. "Should we get some medicine, or—"

Chuck patted Cas on the shoulder. "I think it's just nerves, Cas. Have a seat, relax." Cas looked like he'd rather not, especially when he saw the book that was on the couch with a spoon stuck to it. Chuck followed his gaze. "Uh… lemme, just…" Chuck trailed off in slight flustered embarrassment and picked it up then hurriedly closed it, spoon and all. He tossed it onto the coffee table. With a great, resigned sigh, Cas took a seat on the couch and tensely alternated between staring at the floor and peering up in the direction of the staircase, where Alex had disappeared. He clasped his hands, then re-clasped them, then did it again, seeming to be dissatisfied each time with the way his hands rested together. Like he was nervous, maybe. Chuck watched him with growing quiet affection that he hid beneath a polite smile when Cas glanced his way.

* * *

Down the hall, Alex shut herself into the bathroom and expelled a shaking breath, tossing the plastic bag down onto the sink before she leaned there. Her adrenaline was rushing and her stomach churned with anticipation. She shut her eyes, trying to calm herself down. You'd think she was dreading this or something. It wasn't exactly that, it just felt _huge_ and momentous and permanent, three things that scared her. She didn't know anyone who had been able to hold onto the one they loved: not Dad, who lost Mom. Not Bobby, who'd lost Karen. Not Sam, who lost Jess. Not Dean, who had never tried to hold onto anyone for more than a few weeks at a time because he didn't want to chance it. Still… Alex was apparently going to try and hold onto Cas. She was going to ignore the dire odds.

Her eyes flickered downward at the plastic bag she'd brought into the bathroom with her. In it, the cream-colored, almost-white dress Cas had spotted in the thrift shop window next to a gas station. It wasn't a wedding dress. She hadn't even tried it on. But he'd spotted it and asked, wasn't white the tradition? Yeah, it was. And on a whim, she'd bought it, figuring what the hell, _why not_.

Alex looked herself in the mirror and searched her own face, hunting for what it was that he loved about her. Where _was_ it? The thing that drew him to her? She saw a youthful face and big greenish eyes and a peppering of freckles. She saw long nights and hard work and cynicism tempered by naivety. She saw lonely years that were drawing to a close. She saw someone who had been given a love story. Her fingers traced thoughtfully against her own neck above where her vocal chords laid. Even before she'd ever seen him or heard his name, he'd loved her. She knew that and it was totally overwhelming. An angel, a fierce being from another world _loved her_.

Alex remembered a day two years ago when the strange, handsome man in a trench coat had walked into her life under a shower of sparks. She'd never been the same since, and neither had he. And now this.

Out there in Chuck's living room, he waited: her guardian angel, her once silent and invisible protector, her defender and her hero and her friend _._ Her heart turned a somersault at the thought of him. He was out there waiting for her to _marry_ him. This was a total act of trust—because love was giving someone the power to destroy you but trusting them not to. And she trusted Cas. She trusted him completely. Really, she was going to do this for him when it came down to it... because she would have been all right with staying what they were, but this was what he very obviously wanted and the world was about to end so... what the hell? She didn't _not_ want it...

Alex took in another deep breath and shut her eyes then breathed out slowly, listening to the soft expulsion of her own air.

 _Tell me you love me,_ she'd asked him earlier that day.

_I do. I love you._

_For how long?_

_Forever._

Alex opened her eyes again and pulled the bag with the thrift store find closer, peering down into it. That was the dress she was going to get married in. She looked up into the mirror, repeating the thought in her mind with an astounded smile coming across her face as she thought about that. Her inner turmoil lessened as her romantic side experienced a thrill.

_This is the dress I am going to get married in._

* * *

In Chuck's living room Castiel was no longer sitting on the couch. He was pacing back and forth while frowning around the room. He kept looking back toward where Alex had gone. Sitting on the couch, Chuck could only take so much of the angel's stiff back-and-forth march.

"She's just nervous, Cas," the author told him, cracking open a cold can soda. Cas had refused refreshment, but Chuck was thirsty. "Relax, will ya? Come sit back down."

"Yes, certainly," Cas said without emotion and sat down—not relaxing in the least, sitting there beside Chuck rigidly in obvious distress. He was silent for a long beat then his eyebrows worked together a little more and he looked at Chuck with that ever-present apprehension. "I feel nervous too, Chuck."

The author chuckled softly, fondly. "That's normal. A lot of people get nervous before they tie the knot."

Castiel looked at Chuck oddly. "What _knot_?" Chuck stifled a chuckle. Cas seemed to decide it didn't matter. "I... just want what's best for her." He stared at the floor, his deep frown becoming a concerned expression. "Am _I_ what's best?" The question seemed to dismay the angel. In a very human gesture, Cas let out a heavy breath and put his face into his hand.

Chuck smiled softly, because he couldn't help it. He was especially fond of this one. He knew Cas had grown a lot since he'd last seen him, but witnessing it in person was pretty amazing. Chuck leaned forward over his own knees and attempted to console Cas, whose care and love for Alex was a rare kind of devotion that would become legend. "I wrote your story, or I'm _telling_ it anyway, and... at the very least, I know there's no one else out there who will ever love her like you do, Cas." And it was true. Chuck knew Cas cherished Alex in every sense of the word.

Appearing only faintly comforted at Chuck's words, Cas looked at the floor again, his shoulders slouching, his voice flat and guilty. He shook his head in great chagrin. "I can't seem to stop fornicating with her, Chuck."

"Uh..." Chuck paused. So it was going to go there. "I know, buddy," the author said sympathetically and pat-patted Cas's shoulder awkwardly, getting a _what are you doing_ frown from the angel. Chuck cleared his throat and took his hand away. "Be that as it may... I think we both know that's not _really_ the reason you want to marry her, is it?" He looked at Cas knowingly.

"No." Castiel admitted. "It's not the only reason." He paused, considering. "It... feels right to me." His tone suggested he didn't know if he should allow himself to feel that way.

"Maybe that's because it _is_ ," Chuck encouraged, smiling softly again and watching Cas deliberating sidelong. He was proud of Cas's character development. The guy still had a long way to go and a pretty complicated arc… but man, how far he'd come. The author took a sip of his soda.

Cas drew in a breath, thinking again, his eyes going back and forth slowly over the space between his feet. "She's afraid, Chuck." The angel looked at Chuck solicitously, like he was asking for help knowing what to do what that information. "She told me that she felt afraid. How is it that I can help her be less afraid?"

Chuck pondered a minute, pulling a thoughtful face as he tapped a finger against the metallic soda can. It seemed really simple to him. "Just… be there for her. Let her know you care." He paused for a second. "I mean, as sappy as it sounds, just knowing someone's with you helps a lot." Cas took that advice in with a squinting frown as Chuck continued to muse aloud. "It's a big thing you two are about to do. Fear, is… it's normal. I mean I'm scared all the time. Bills, talking to women, leaving the house, stop signs—I never know whose damn turn it is—it's all really scary."

Cas nodded although he didn't look entirely convinced. He appeared to be thinking about something else now, but he hesitated to ask. "Can I ask you something else, Chuck?"

"Sure, Cas. Anything."

"This may be an inappropriate question," Cas started, visibly becoming a little uncomfortable. His gaze fell away from Chuck's tellingly. "But is it normal… during... _intercourse_ … for her to make sounds like she's dying?"

Chuck sputtered and almost spit his soda everywhere. "Whoa, Cas—uh—um…" _Ah, get it together Chuck. Tell Cas how it is._ "Okay, look. It's supposed to be noisy during... _that_ , all right?" Chuck was turning a little red and he dipped his head low, rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously. "According to the movies I watch, anyway." He paused, thinking about it. "Then again, I think most of those women are faking it."

Castiel was listening with intense, stern attention. "Faking what?"

Chuck shrugged his hands out and gave Cas a wide eyed _come on, you know this_ look. When Cas only looked further confused Chuck had to swallow his awkwardness. "You know." Apparently, Cas didn't. "It. _It_ , Cas." Still no understanding in Cas's face. "The grand finale? The, the big finish?" Chuck got flustered when Cas's eyes narrowed further in misunderstanding. "The orgasm, Cas, the _orgasm_!" he hissed in an intense, secretive whisper as he looked around as if they were being watched.

Understanding crossed Cas's face. "Why didn't you just say that to begin with?"

Chuck scratched himself under the chin in discomfort, because this whole conversation was weird. "Ah… uh… this is making me kinda uncomfortable," he said while looking around his living room and trying to find something to do, some way of escaping this little exchange. It came to him and he slapped his hands down onto his knees. "You know what?" He stood up. "I think I'll go pick some wildflowers out of the back yard for your fiancée." It was her wedding day, after all, right? Every bride needed flowers.

Cas stood up quickly, his face registering an urgency that Chuck found strange. "No, I should do that."

"Uh… okay. Back yard's through there," Chuck said, indicating the back door.

Cas went there and paused, turning back to Chuck. "You're sure those sounds aren't something negative?" he asked, and Chuck was a little on the mortified side with what Cas said next in his typical worried tone. "She's always been very loud." He paused and clarified himself with unnecessary reiteration. "Very. Loud."

Chuck sighed and put a hand to his forehead for a moment, fed up and a little amused and not sure if Alex would appreciate this little exchange. But Cas was asking so innocently that Chuck had to give a straight-faced answer. "You have nothing to worry about, Cas," he said patiently. "The more... _sounds_... you can get outta her, the better. Okay? Go nuts." He gave Cas a pointed little look and smile. "Now go pick those flowers, Cas. Also, keep that information about Alex's… vocal tendencies to yourself, okay? Just trust me on this one."

Cas nodded slowly, taking in the advice he'd been given. "Thank you, Chuck." And with that, the angel in the trench coat exited to Chuck's back yard.

"Oh me." Chuck folded his arms and rubbed a hand across his face. "Can't believe I just gave sex advice to a freakin' angel," he muttered to himself. "Add _that_ to my resumé." He chuckled and shook his head in good-natured ruefulness as he realized that ordaining the first ever marriage of an angel to a human was also resumé worthy.

They were an odd couple, Cas and Alex—emotionally childlike warriors, pariahs in their individual worlds. Alex's life could have turned lesser women to shells or machines, but Alex? She remained strong because she allowed herself the honesty of emotional vulnerability. And then there was Cas, the soldier who had seen all of history and time and space—he was a merciless force of nature yet was curious and kind at heart. He'd been created for a heavenly purpose and yet had found his own path... there was something beautiful and sacred about that. They were both special; him among angels and her among humans. They spoke the same language, a language all their own.

It was Chuck's favorite kind of love story. The kind that no one had seen coming. Well, not _no_ one. He smiled to himself.

* * *

Alex Winchester hadn't ever been the kind of girl who had imagined her own wedding day or played dress-up; she'd never even pictured herself as a bride.

She'd been to one wedding her _entire_ life—it had been more than twenty years ago and she barely remembered it. She and Sam had been really young, maybe five or six, Dean was nine or ten. Dad had left the three of them with a nice couple—old family friends—for a few weeks while he went on a hunt. This couple had taken the three Winchester children to a friend's wedding. Alex remembered being really unsure about what was happening, sitting in the back of a church as the ceremony dragged on. Then she'd understood toward the end that the nice lady in the pretty white dress and the man in the black outfit were promising, in front of everyone, to be together forever. Then the pastor had said something like, " _to cleave to each other for the rest of their lives and leave their families, therefore uniting in…_ " 'Leave their families' had been the only thing she'd heard and Alex had looked at her big brother Dean, who was bored stiff. She'd been suddenly upset at the idea that someday some lady in a white dress would come and take Dean away from her. Alex, a kid who didn't understand it better at the time, had decided _she_ would marry Dean and maybe Sam too so that they could always be together and never have to leave their family. Nowadays she wasn't sure if her thinking that at the time was cute or creepy. But one part of that memory stuck with her. Two people promising forever. She could do that. She could picture forever with Cas. And today, she was going to promise the rest of her life to him. However long that might be. However scary it was. If it was with _him_ , it would be okay.

If she _had_ ever been the kind of girl who dreamed of weddings, nothing she ever could have imagined would have been like _this_ … a whirlwind romance with a centuries old angel… a seemingly guilt-induced proposal with much more behind it than she'd thought at first… and then this, deciding to elope in the eleventh hour. Most women who got married probably knew their wedding day months and months in advance. She'd only realized it a couple hours ago when she'd said yes.

Alex wiggled around in Chuck's tiny bathroom and managed to zip the dress up the back with some creative maneuvering, then straightened it. All she had were her camel-colored work boots. They didn't really match the dress but she guessed it didn't really matter. If Cas hadn't spotted this dress at that thrift shop, she would have married him in jeans and flannel.

Alex turned around to look herself in the mirror with the dress on for the first time. Momentarily, she halted, genuinely surprised at how much she liked it, how pretty it was, how kind of perfect it was for her. It hit her all over again: this was _real_. Slowly, she smoothed the dress while looking herself over in the mirror. Wow. Was she dreaming this?

The dress was the softest ivory and covered in stretchy lace. The hem went to her lower thigh. It had a high, gathered waist and a modest scoop neckline, quarter-length sheer-lace sleeves. It had discreet little functioning pockets on either side of the dress which were hidden unless you went looking for them. Tiny little white-thread loops stuck out on either side of her waist where a belt was supposed to go, she guessed. This must be some kind of summer dress—it definitely wasn't supposed to be a wedding dress. But that's exactly what it was gonna be.

Looking herself over carefully, she decided that her tousled, unbrushed hair left something to be desired. She raked her fingers through the mess. What could she do with it? What would Cas like? She didn't even know how to do much except a ponytail or a braid… wait, there was an idea. Alex squinted into the mirror, her face becoming concentrated as she pulled all of her hair over onto one shoulder and then smoothed down the part at the top of her head, beginning to braid a small section loosely from the temple of her head to the nape of her neck. She hadn't done this in awhile. It came back to mind and her fingers remembered how after a couple false starts.

Funny story about how she knew how to braid her hair at all—without a mom, Alex had always had terrible hair as a kid—her dad hadn't even known how to do a basic _ponytail_ let alone anything else, and so she'd grown up not knowing how to do anything with her dark brown mane at all. She'd either have it down and bedraggled, or in a lumpy, uneven excuse for a ponytail. After Dean saw Alex getting made fun of for "ugly hair" by some little girls with sleek ponytails and pretty braids, Dean had gotten his girlfriend at the time to show him how to do a few basic things—including ponytails and braids. He'd then turned right around and taught Alex what he'd learned. He swore Alex to secrecy about it. _Oh Dean_. Alex stopped braiding for a second, feeling deep sadness at the thought of him.

She wished _so badly_ that he were here for this. Dean was her big brother, her best friend and rock. Or, he _had_ been. Right now, he was holding her at arm's length. And maybe she was doing the same. She had lost so much faith in him recently when he did what he promised he never _would._ He'd _left_ and tried to say yes to Michael, then shoved her and hurt her and been mean to her and horrible to Cas. How had things disintegrated between them like this? Castiel was part of the reason that she and Dean were so at odds and she knew that. Hopefully Dean would forgive her for doing this without him there to be a part of it. _If_ he ever found out. She returned to braiding her hair with a note of somberness. The world might be over in a couple weeks, after all.

And Sam. She thought of Sam. Oddly enough, she knew that her twin would understand this, to a degree. In fact, she'd sooner tell him than Dean, given the choice. He'd _get_ this in a way Dean wouldn't… and she just knew that instinctively. Sam would probably be surprised, a little worried, but also respectful of her decision. He'd tell her he was happy for her, he'd wish them the best, and maybe jokingly threaten Cas's life if he ever hurt Alex. Not having her brothers here for this was hard to think about. But this was about her and Cas, she reminded herself. Not her brothers, not anyone else. Dad came to mind abruptly and Alex paused, feeling another twinge of uncertain sadness. Dads were supposed to be there on wedding days. Dads were supposed to do a lot of things hers hadn't.

Alex shook her head as if to make the thoughts go away. This wasn't the day to mourn what was lost. Today was… something good. Something kind of _crazy_ but good. She reached the end of her little braid and checked it in the mirror. It went from the temple of her forehead down the side of her head and rounded out loosely into the rest of her hair, which was swept to the side. It looked fancier than normal, at least. Kind of nice, she guessed. Either way, this was as good as it was going to get. This was the final product. How long had she been in here anyway? She wasn't sure. She'd kind of dragged her feet, finding some disposable razors and shaving her legs stone-age slow, then she freshened herself up because weddings had wedding nights, right? That thought made her inexplicably nervous and dizzy and excited.

She needed to get through the wedding part first and had no idea what to expect as far as that was concerned. Hopefully Chuck had that handled. She had no clue. Alex smoothed the dress down over her stomach needlessly, nerves getting the best of her. There was nothing left to do but go do this thing. She turned, setting her eyes on the closed door. _Okay._ Just… go out there. Her mouth pursed to the side indecisively and she narrowed her eyes at the door knob. It wasn't just a door. It was her whole future. _His_ whole future. … _Their_ whole future. She reached her hand out, forcing herself to just open the damn door… but found her hand stopped and hovered just above the knob.

There was abruptly a soft but startling knock on the bathroom door and she jumped back slightly. "Alex?" Chuck's voice.

Immediately, she assumed the worst. Castiel had decided to go. Chuck was there to tell her the bad news. Alex cracked the door open just a little, looking at the author apprehensively. Chuck looked back with expectant worry. "You okay in there?" He saw her expression and explained himself. "I'm just checking on you. He was worried."

"Oh." _He_ was worried. Of course he was. Relief translated into a little _I'm stupid_ smile as she looked down, almost laughing at herself but too flustered by her internal thoughts to manage quite right. She opened the door fully, but didn't move out of the bathroom.

Chuck took in her appearance and smiled fondly, sort of like she thought a father might look at his child. Like he was proud of her. "You look great. Really beautiful, Alex."

Inexplicably, she felt bashful under his praise and turned her head down a little. "Uh, thanks, Chuck."

"So… you… gonna come out, or...?"

Alex worried her lower lip and lowered her voice. "Chuck… should I do this?"

Chuck's face softened into an encouraging _hell yeah_ smile. " _Absolutely_ you should. I mean I've been shipping you guys before you two even knew each other's _names!_ "

She faltered, squinting in confusion. "What? 'Shipping' us? Like... in the _mail_?"

His eyebrows rose in amusement, then Chuck let out a little whoop of laughter. " _You_ just had a Cas moment," he exclaimed, seeming greatly amused and approving. Alex was totally lost and Chuck composed himself. "Uh… it's an internet thing. Anyway. Your question, uh… I'm just the writer. Your story is up to you." He smiled with great knowing. "But... I think we both know you want it to include him as a permanent main character, don't you?" There was a certain sort of cheekiness that Chuck was displaying now. He leaned closer, slightly conspiratorial. "By the way?" he asked. "That time you asked me if you and Cas would ever be a thing?" He pulled a falsely humble face. "I _miiight_ have acted a little less informed than I actually was. Pretty sure you guys have always been endgame, if I'm telling the whole truth."

Alex felt herself smiling and gaping at him at once. He looked so _pleased_ with himself, too. "You little _twerp_ ," she accused fondly.

Chuck shrugged, smiling widely as he excused himself. "Spoilers." His eyes slid to his right, indicating that she should look where he was looking. "He's waiting for you." Her stomach flip-flopped. "So just come on out whenever you're ready." Chuck gave her another little smile then headed back toward the living room. Alex listened to the sound of his slippers scuffing along the hardwood floor and waited until it sounded like he turned the corner into the living room.

Her heart was beating fast again. Was this real? Alex put her hands on either side of the door frame, drawing and then releasing a steadying breath from a small circle she made with her lips. She waited a few more seconds and closed her eyes, gathering her courage. She opened her eyes back up. It was time. Still holding the door frame, she leaned forward just a little and peeked just her head out of the door, craning her neck slightly to look down the hall.

 _There he was._ Her heart stuttered and tumbled and caught all at once.

He stood by the end of the staircase at the very end of the hallway about fifteen feet away. In one of his hands he held a single daisy. On his face an anxious look was holding steady—he'd been staring at the doorway and the second she peeked her head out, their eyes met. Her lips softened into a smile and all the fears about him leaving fell away immediately. He looked so handsome waiting there like that... and it was like falling in love all over again for Alex as she took in his trench coat and messy hair and careworn face, his awkward posture, the look on his face when he saw her. Slowly, Alex came out of the bathroom. When saw her fully as she came out of hiding, his expression fell away into something much softer. He appeared almost nervous as she went to him one slow and careful booted step at a time. All she heard was her own heartbeat and the floor creaking as she crossed the distance to him. Her stomach was yet again full of manic butterflies.

Cas remained glued to the floor and maybe more stunned than she was. She reached him, stood there, and asked him silently, _well?_ She impulsively did a 360-degree turn and then, not sure how to end the awkward twirl, she shrugged.

" _You_ are…" he seemed lost for words, " _beautiful._ " Alex never blushed. But at his compliment, her cheeks and neck burned hot and a little bashful, flustered smile popped up onto her lips. She tucked some hair behind her ear. He looked like a little boy who was handing his crush a hopeful love note when he held the tiny little daisy in his hand out to her. "I… found this for you."

Her heart swelled as she took it, her fingertips brushing against his as she accepted the sweet and unexpected gift. "Thanks, Cas." Chancing a glance into his eyes, she tucked the little flower into the braid beside her ear. When she was done, her other hand went to his, which waited. Their eyes held a few beats longer and then, both seeing the soft beckoning and shy desire in the others eyes, they leaned in, holding hands and both thinking the same thing.

"Hey, not yet!"

The would-be kiss was cut off when Chuck's voice startled them—Alex pulled away from Cas and their hands came apart. Chuck was standing there like a creeper while wearing his reading glasses—he had a good-natured scolding look on his face. "Not before the I Do," he lectured playfully. He had a stack of papers from his printer in his arm and appeared as if he were ready to get the show on the road. He looked down at the papers, then seemed to notice what he was wearing and grabbed at his bathrobe, frowning. "Uh… hold that thought. I need to go put on some pants."

"No Chuck, it's fine," Alex said. What difference would pants make? "Let's just do this thing."

Chuck abruptly looked nervous, his eyes darted to Cas, he wet his lips, then he shrugged. "All right. Okay!" He cleared his throat, adjusted his reading glasses, then hesitated. "Right here?" he asked. They were standing beside the staircase with the living room beside them.

"No, how about in the _coat closet,_ " Alex wisecracked.

For a second both Cas and Chuck thought she was serious, then Chuck's face registered understanding. " _Ah_ ," he said. "Sarcasm. Okay, so right here, then." He straightened his papers. "Well. Uh, you two hold hands, all right?"

Their eyes locked and Cas offered his hands to her palm-up. This was it. In a trance, Alex slid her hands into his, taking hold. Her heart was a hummingbird, her emotions were so near the surface that she was teary-eyed for no reason at all. _Breathe. Just breathe._ Cas's thumb stroked her hand gently and his gaze continued to hold hers. Internally she vowed that she would never let him go. Ever.

Chuck fumbled around with his gathered papers. "Sorry guys, I don't even know what all I have here," he said, looking down his nose and through his glasses at the jumbled print-outs. "Just a default marriage ceremony. I might have to edit as we go." He cleared his throat again. "Well. Let's do this." He took in a deep breath and began to read aloud from the page. "' _We are gathered here today in the presence of…_ '" he paused and squinted. "No one. Well, _each other_ I guess. To, uh, marry the two of you crazy kids." He paused, scanning the paper. "It says I'm supposed to give some kind of anecdote about marriage and what it means." He paused, distinctly unprepared. "Uh, my parents divorced when I was eight. And they hated each other a lot. But... some marriages work, I've heard." Alex gave Chuck a weird, half-amused look and Chuck shrugged. "Okay, umm… it says… tell the story of how the bride and groom came to know each other. Huh, hang on a second. I actually have just the thing!" He leaned into the living room and yanked a book off the bookshelf there, holding it up for emphasis. Alex recognized it as one of the Supernatural books. " _No Rest for the Wicked_ ," Chuck explained, opening the book and flipping through on a hunt for a specific page. "Cas's very first appearance… ah ha. Uh, so this is kinda dark but… what the hell, right?"

Chuck began to read to them. "' _In the room with Dean's dead, Hellhound shredded body, Alex was huddled down against the wall, arms around her knees, tears soaking her face. Utter grief overtook her and nothing seemed to make sense anymore. Her oldest brother was dead, and she felt afraid. Alone. But Alex didn't know that with her, a form of light and power abided. The angel Castiel, invisible to humans and without substance or ability of touch, sensation, or a physical form, watched over her. He saw his young charge crying and wished, for the first time, to have the ability to reach out, to touch. He'd seen humans rest a hand upon a shoulder to comfort the other. Alex was suddenly startled by a strange feeling of being watched, of being accompanied, and for a moment, she looked around the room, clutching herself tightly, deeply afraid. Unaware that she was in the presence of the angel who would become her champion, her friend, her ally… and more.'_ " Chuck stopped, smiling down at the page fondly, then up at them. "Safe to say this is the 'more' part, huh?"

Alex marveled helplessly at Cas's hands holding hers. Warm hazel found deep cobalt and something profound welled between the two people as their gazes embraced. Yes. It was safe to say this was the 'more' part.

"So, that's the first appearance Castiel made within the story," Chuck said, closing the book. "And we all know when Alex first saw _you_ , Cas, she shot at you." He looked at Alex and there was an impish, fond smile on his lips that reached his eyes. "You little firecracker."

Alex was looking at Cas, not Chuck, a sort of chastened, playful smile coming across her face despite all of the deep emotion. "Never _did_ say sorry about that," she said, her smile fading into nostalgia. She tightened her hands in his just a little. Shouldn't you recognize the love of your life right away? She hadn't. Cas was returning her gaze with soft, full eyes.

"He wasn't mad about it," Chuck volunteered, looking through some more books. "A little confused… but that's kinda his M.O., don't you think?" He found another Supernatural book and flipped through it on the search for another excerpt. "Ooh, yes— _Heaven and Hell_." He smiling crookedly down at the pages. "This is Cas and Alex's first official meeting, you ready?" He appeared really excited about this one and took in a deep, exuberant breath before he started.

"' _Underneath moonlight, Castiel prepared to show himself for the first time to Dean and Alex Winchester. The hunters waited beyond the closed doors the angel stood in front of._ _And Castiel thought about what this moment would allow him. About who was on the other side of those doors._ Her _. With this thought racing through his veins, h_ _e raised a hand, commanding the bolted doorway to surrender to him—the wooden beam began to buckle as the doors trembled under his building power. Wind began to gust and the entire warehouse shook._ _He would finally know what she looked like through human eyes. And she would see_ him _. A thought that left a strange sensation in him. Was that apprehension he was feeling? Worry? He pushed away the thought and willed more power to channel through himself to drown out his musings. The door burst open at his command._

 _Inside the dark warehouse, a veil of sparks showered down like an electric rain. The pulses of popping light illuminated three human figures. His eyes went straight to the one with long brown hair. There she was. She clutched a shotgun and gaped at him with outright awed fear. For a moment, Castiel felt the same way: Too afraid and too awed to move at all. But he had his mission and commands. So he forced himself to bypass the feelings and with his new human legs, he began to cross the distance between them. He saw Dean Winchester, he saw Bobby Singer. But he_ looked _at Alex. He barely felt all the ammunition that began to pummel into him—he understood they did not yet grasp who he was. He had expected this. So h_ _e kept moving forward, undeterred. And when he stood face to face with Dean and Alex, in the most secret place in his mind, he did recognize the feeling that seeing his charge in the flesh put inside of him. It was pure, unadulterated wonder. He was, in a word: captivated._ _'"_

Chuck peeked up from the pages, a dreamy little smile on his face. "He was _so_ much more into you than he let on," he reflected, then sighed wistfully at the couple holding hands. He paged through the book, hunting for a specific passage. "Ah, here's another one of my favorites. This wasn't too long after your first meeting, if I'm remembering right." He glanced through, trying to find the best place to start. "Alastair, demons, uhhh… here it is.

' _Anna shouted for them to shut their eyes, and the room began to blaze a dangerous burning white. Castiel's head whipped up—he was on the floor face-down, filled with pain from Alastair's attack. But his pain didn't matter. He looked to Alex who was in a state of human shock—she wasn't shutting her eyes, she was injured badly, sprawled onto the floor, and struggling to breathe. Anna's Grace was beginning to sear the room. Alex would be blinded if she didn't shut her eyes and look away. A feeling like no other rose in Castiel, who dragged himself over to her with more quickness he'd known himself capable of and all but slammed his hand over her eyes to protect her. He felt how she was startled at the touch, but she didn't pull away. In fact, when he pulled her closer to him, attempting to cover her with his vessel, she blindly grabbed ahold of the front of his shirt. A feeling he had never felt struck him. This feeling was soft, warm, it seemed to reach out to her on a plane of existence he didn't know of, and it originated in the place under his ribs, in the left of his chest. What was this? There was a sound like an explosion, and then wind gusted over them, as if a tornado had torn through the place. The light died away and Castiel, stunned for reasons he didn't understand, let his hand come away from Alex's eyes. She blinked rapidly, looking up at him through her striking hazel eyes, and he was yet again entranced with her in a way he didn't fathom. She seemed very surprised, or maybe afraid, and let go of his shirt… and then she suddenly grimaced and made a whimper of pain. Alarm stabbed through Castiel, its intensity frightening him._

 _Nearby Dean was bellowing something at the demons, but Castiel could only focus on her—her ribs were broken, it wasn't fatal but it was very serious and very painful… but he wasn't supposed to heal her unless it was life threatening. A desperate, broken groan of pain came from deep inside of her throat and that feeling of alarm skyrocketed in Castiel. He felt his face change and respond to heightening emotion. He glanced briefly at Uriel, then back at Alex. She needed what he could give. And without more thought about it, Castiel reached out, laid his hand on her ribcage, and their eyes locked as he did so._ What are you doing _, she seemed to wonder. As he let healing cover her broken bones, her features softened into stunned relief. He felt how her ribs rose and fell with breath beneath his hand and Castiel realized then what he'd always known, but it resonated with him on a startling new level: She was alive but wouldn't always be—she was fragile, fleeting, important and special and he knew it but wasn't sure how to explain it even within his own mind… then he realized he had finished healing her, yet his hand remained there on the warmth of her body needlessly. Somehow, the thought of keeping it there appealed to him. So he pulled his hand away and abruptly left her side, unsettled by these things which he did not understand. He would dwell on that moment for a long time to come.'_ "

Castiel listened to Chuck read that with a soft look of reflection on his features and then met Alex's waiting gaze. Their eyes said it all. Chuck, sort of oblivious to their deeply emotional silent conversation, snapped the book closed. "Kinda cool, having all your greatest hits written down, huh?" he asked, pleased at their reactions.

He grabbed another volume. "This one is from _Meet the Parents_. Your little trip back to the seventies. I never published this one, actually." He cleared his throat. " _'There came a moment for Alex when she realized. That her feelings for Cas were unlike what she had felt for anyone, ever before. They were deeply affectionate and fond in nature, curious, somehow protective even though she knew he wielded more power than she could even comprehend. And for Alex, who trusted little and denied herself much, the growing need to know this angel frightened her. She knew what it meant, and she thought of how a blind man touches the face of another: gentle and exploratory in a quest to understand. That action was done not out of necessity but out of the deep compulsion to know, to satisfy some unnamable curiosity. And this was how Alex felt about Cas. Inexplicably drawn to reach out to him... to see who he was. In nineteen seventy-nine, in a honeymoon suite somewhere in Kansas… Alex knew_. _She was in love with her guardian angel. And there would never, ever be any going back from that.'"_

A tear rolled down Alex's cheek from the emotion that the words made her feel, and Cas wiped it away without thought. She reassured him with a tight little smile and he took her hand again. It felt like they were both holding onto each other for dear life now somehow.

Chuck smiled softly as he watched them. "I could read excerpts from these all day but I hate my own writing and you get the basic idea." He tossed the novel back in the general direction of the living room and returned his attention to the marriage ceremony printouts. "So… what page was I… dammit." He dropped all the papers on the floor and scrambled to pick them back up. "Ah-ha. Okay." He attempted to sound serious and proper. "' _Marriage is based on love. True love is rare to find in the world. Many philosophers have asked what love is._ ' Call me crazy, but I think the two of you know. But I'll read this thing anyway." Chuck paused for effect. "' _Love is patient and love is kind; love is not jealous or boastful. It is not arrogant or rude. Love does not insist on its own selfish way; it is not easily angered, it does not rejoice in wrong, but rejoices in the truth. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never fails._ " Chuck seemed to feel like he was finally hitting his stride. "That's why we're here today," he said, using his own words. "Because the two of you have found… in this crazy, brutal, fucked up—err, sorry, screwed up—world… a love like they wrote about since the beginning of time." He glanced down at his paper.

'" _Marriage is many things,"_ he continued, _"but it's not something that should be entered in to lightly.'_ Well _yeah_. One look at the divorce rate should tell you that much," he muttered, then immediately apologized for the interjection. "Sorry. Uh… ' _we are here today to bear witness as you commit your lives to one another before God and man."_ He chuckled at that line for reasons that remained unexplained. _"I ask you both to consider what you're entering in to with wise and guarded hearts that are fully aware of—_ '" He made a face. "Sheesh, who _wrote_ these? Sorry guys. ' _Speak in truth… spirit of faithful engagement... solemn declaration... bind you together,'_ blah blah blah… ah, here it is. The important part." He cleared his throat and looked at Cas with a note of somberness. "Cas... repeat after me."

Chuck then led them both in an exchange of vows. They took turns repeating the following to each other: _Wherever you go, I will go. Whatever you face, I will face. For the better or for the worse in all circumstances, I take you as my own. For richer or for poorer. In sickness, and in health. From this day forward and for the rest of my days, I choose you._

"Now's the ring part…" Chuck murmured. " _'The wedding ring is a symbol of eternity. It is an outward sign of—'"_ he stopped abruptly. "Wait, do you guys even _have_ rings?"

Mildly disconcerted, Alex hadn't even thought about that. Looking at her hand, Dad's silver wedding band she'd worn for years gleamed back up at her from her index finger. A little bittersweet, she smiled down at it. "Yeah, actually," she said, and slipped it off, placing it into Cas's hand and closing his fingers over it. He seemed very surprised at the gesture. It wouldn't fit him, she'd had it resized for her finger years ago—and besides, they both already knew this had to stay a secret, at least for awhile, so him wearing it wasn't even a thing, but… she smiled at Cas and shrugged a little. "You can keep it in your pocket?"

"I have nothing to give in return," he said, looking at her gift with a pained expression. With his other hand, he reached into his coat pocket, trying to find something. Anything. Out came a single penny. He looked at it somberly, seeming to be very disappointed. "It's... all I have with me."

To her, a penny from Cas was better than all the diamonds in the world. "I'll take it," Alex said, and held her hand. He appeared to be a little disconcerted about it, but carefully placed the penny into her hand. She put it into the little pocket of her dress. Cas saw that he was supposed to follow suit and took her father's ring and put it into the pocket of his trench coat, then took her waiting hands again. They looked at Chuck for guidance.

"Well. Good enough, I guess," the author said. "Okay, so… _'because you have desired each other in marriage and pledged your love and faith to each other, sealing your vows in the giving and receiving of…'_ a ring that doesn't fit and a penny... by the power vested in me by the _internet_ … _'I hereby proclaim that you are husband and wife in the sight of God._ '" He gave them quite the self-satisfied, cheeky smile and paused. When they stared at him for further instruction, Chuck gestured like they should already know. "Kiss now, kiss!"

Oh. Mutually dumbstruck by soft and tender emotion, they closed the distance. One of Cas's hands came up to touch the side of her hair as the kiss lingered sweetly. A little plastic snapping sound and a burst of light startled them and they pulled apart to see that Chuck had produced a little disposable camera out of his bathrobe pocket. "Kodak moment," he grinned.

Cas of course frowned and asked what a Kodak was.

* * *

**That Night**   
**Sioux Falls, South Dakota**   
**The Oaks Hotel**

Three hundred miles later Alex switched on the light in the dark motel room—beside the queen sized bed, a lamp came on to softly illuminate the dim room. She kicked her hot boots off, walked barefoot to the dresser, then put down her ammo bag. Behind her, Cas closed the door quietly.

It was like floating on a cloud. Whatever had happened between that kiss and now was a big, beautiful blur. She remembered Chuck had jokingly called them "Mr. and Mrs. Castiel" then trying to give them Twinkies as "wedding cake" and subsequently joking about bringing the kids to visit their Uncle Chuck someday. He'd promised not to tell a soul about the wedding. They thanked him and then left there looking at each other like _did we really do that_? Cas had asked for a driving lesson ("shouldn't I know how to operate a vehicle?") and Alex couldn't remember ever laughing so hard. He didn't really get the concept of easing the brakes. She recalled the sound of the tires squealing _erk erk erk_ over and over again as he made the SUV lurch forward like it was having a seizure. God, she loved him.

They'd stopped at a mom n' pop diner along one of the highways. He'd had a cheeseburger, she'd opted for chicken fingers. Neither of them had been able to stop smiling, like they had a special little secret all their own. Alex likened them to bumbling and shy little high school sweethearts. They had sat there in that diner booth beside each other instead of across each other, elbows brushing, knees touching. Every time she tried to sneak a glance at him, he was already looking at her.

Now they were here and she was standing at the dresser, her back turned to him as she worried her lower lip inside of her mouth. She heard his soft footsteps approaching her and they were muffled by the carpet. He came up behind her—his trench coat brushed against the backs of her legs, his hands came to touch either of her arms. "What is it?" he asked, sounding concerned. It surprised and warmed her that he knew something was bothering her.

"Nothing," she said automatically, still looking down in thought. Well, it wasn't nothing. "I guess I'm just a little overwhelmed?" _To say the least._ She bit her lip briefly. "I can't believe…" _we got married_. "Any of this." She was amazed and scared and couldn't get over the day they'd had.

She snuck a glance up into the dresser mirror and saw them both in the reflection. He had his hands on her arms and was gazing down at the side of her face intently. She smiled a little and crossed her arms over her body to touch each of his hands with hers, eyes on the couple in the mirror. Those people in the mirror had a love story not many people would believe.

Alex turned her head and looked up at him. He searched her eyes deeply. As always, he _saw_ her in ways no one else ever seemed to. She leaned forward, closing her eyes then letting her forehead rest against his chin. Out of everyone else in all the world… he had chosen her. That would always, _always_ amaze her. Alex let him hold her, tightening her hands a little where they still held his. She felt him breathing steadily and after a minute she withdrew and opened her eyes, tilted her chin up, kissing his lips softly, slowly, the promises and vows they'd spoken filtering through her mind once again. The tips of their noses brushed as they drew apart, and then Cas leaned in and sought another kiss—a lingering, slow kiss that conveyed a steadfast conviction. How had they found this? This unshakable connection, this space that only existed between them, this understanding only they possessed. This sacred, profound bond.

His hands began slowly tracing upwards across her arms, the exploratory touch matching the way he kissed her. Her breathing caught and their mouths came apart… she felt the gorgeous warmth of his hands skimming her arms even when they reached the lacy sleeves of the dress she wore. She glanced into the mirror again, watching him, the way he touched her and looked at her. He gazed at her without ceasing, eyes going from the side of her face to the curve of her neck and everywhere in between. His hands stopped at her shoulders then one stayed put and the other moved her hair back from the front of her shoulder, exposing her neck… he leaned down and pressed a soft, lingering and hesitant kiss there just below her ear, closing his eyes briefly as he did so—and the place where his lips touched was like a lightning rod, a small epicenter of abrupt warm feelings that spread under her skin, tickling and comforting and arousing all at once. She melted into his arms languidly. After a moment he drew back to catch her gaze. His eyes were filled with questions, he seemed to be gauging her reaction to the way he'd kissed her neck.

"Again," she told him in a murmur, maintaining eye contact, feeling a newfound and growing confidence in this part of their relationship.

At her soft command, Cas's questioning look faded and he leaned close again, pressing another kiss a little lower on her neck with growing confidence. Her eyes fell closed again and she unconsciously tilted her head, giving him better access. His hands moved down to her waist and she caught one of them in hers, lacing her fingers through his as she hugged herself into him, feeling his warmth radiating. His lips unevenly and slowly trailed kisses on her neck and the top of her shoulder, getting her physically turned on fast without even meaning to. She turned her head toward his, breathing shallowly now. He stopped kissing her, his breathing soft in her ear. She felt one of his hands lightly trace a path down her back, from shoulder blade to the small of her back. A light, inquiring touch that seemed to ask if she wanted more.

She silently answered yes by turning around and circling her arms around his neck, kissing him softly, slowly, deeply, maintaining the slow burn of the encounter, just savoring every small moment and touch. He made the softest little sound as he pulled her against himself with the utmost gentleness. She felt his hands wander to the top middle back part of her dress—he was going to undress her. Their mouths came apart and she stared, totally transfixed by him. They were a breaths distance apart, he watched her with mild apprehensiveness as he slowly tugged the zipper down all the way. His eyes traveled her face, her mouth, her shoulders and bust line as he traced the tips of his fingers down the bare skin of her spine—starting at the nape of her neck to the dip of her backbone—not intending to arouse her, she didn't think, just wanting to feel the pattern—but the way he was looking at her and touching her made her shiver, made her eyes fall closed, made her breathe a little faster and grab onto the front of his shirt. He touched her like she was a piece of art, something to be appreciated and adored at the highest of levels, and it was too amazing to be real.

As his hand came to a stop and rested against the small of her back, Alex opened her eyes back up, touching the side of his face with the backs of her fingers. His deep, oceanic eyes were full of things meant only for her. He touched her face too and pressed his warm lips to hers lingeringly in an innocent, chaste kiss that she smiled against. In that moment, she let go of and forgot her worries, fears, distractions.

He surprised her when he drew his arms back and awkwardly shrugged off his trench coat and jacket at the same time, not breaking the kiss as he did so. The garments hit the floor with a soft sound even as he put a hand to the side of her head, fingers slipping into her hair as their lips came apart. It felt like a dream to her and she wanted more. She reached for his tie and tugged on it, loosening the knot with both hands. He waited until she pulled it off to step just a little closer—chest to chest—and he stroked a hand against the back of her head once as she began to unbutton his shirt and kiss him once, twice, three times, angling her face forty-five degrees right, then left, the right again, exploring his lips with hers as her hands unbuttoned his shirt leisurely. When she loosed the last button, she pushed his shirt open and leaned into him, kissing the hinge of his jaw whisper-soft as she pulled the shirt off by the sleeves, one at a time. Underneath her hands, she could feel the jagged skin where the scar was from the angel sigil he'd carved into himself. _Oh Cas._ Her devotion to him only seemed to increase tenfold at the thought of what he'd risked for her.

Naked from the waist up, Castiel leaned in and caressed the side of her face then kissed her cheek reverently, pausing to breathe her in. She felt his warmth all the more as his bare chest touched hers through the dress. His hands came to the tops of her shoulders and curled around the neckline of the dress, pulling downward gently, enough that the dress slipped down to pool around her feet. This left her only in white panties and a bra. She barely had a chance to register what he did next: he wrapped an arm around her waist and hefted her up, hooking his other arm behind her knees—sweeping her up easily. He turned them, carrying her the three feet to the bed, looking her in the eye the entire time, his gaze intense. He wanted her. He was going to take her. And he was her husband. These thoughts floored her, and she couldn't stop thinking about the passages Chuck had read to them, back when they'd just been strangers...

Cas settled her down, shifting her easily underneath himself and looking at her face thoroughly, moving some of her hair back from the side of her face. She craned her neck upward to meet his lips with hers, missing his kiss already. There seemed to be no other more intimate moment to her as his lips met hers. He overtook her every sense as his tongue coaxed hers into a slow dance—he had gotten so _good_ at this and it ruined her. A soft, low moan sounded in the base of her throat. He had ruined her forever—she would never, ever be over the effect he had on her. She heard him kicking off his shoes as she ran fingers through his hair. She held on tight as the kiss grew deeper and deeper, more impassioned, more heady. Their groans mingled and his fingers tangled then tightened in the hair at the top of her head. He moved his hips forward, grinding himself down on her purposefully, eliciting a soft gasp of pleasure from them both.

They broke apart and he looked at her with soft eyes for a moment. He seemed to be considering something, and he leaned down, kissing her jawline slowly, curiously. Decisively, he kissed the side of her neck in the same way, then the dip of her clavicle, then the very top swell of her breast where the bra began, making her very uncomfortable in the best way—and slowly, in exploration and fascination and tenderness, he took his time and pressed soft slow kisses against her everywhere—the bend of her arm, the inside of her wrist, the top of her ribs, the curve of her hip bone, the soft give of her stomach, the top of her thigh, the side of her knee, the front of her ankle. His nose dragged against skin as he traversed her, his hands touched her, _felt_ her, and it wasn't in a lustful way. It was worshipful and kind, it was admiring and gentle. Alex remembered the words from _No Rest for the Wicked,_ the ones that had talked about how he'd wanted to touch her. He slowly worked his way back up, doing just that… pausing to gently press his lips to the scars on her stomach. He traced fingers across them, drawing back to look at them, then up at her. She pushed herself up onto her elbows even as he moved up to her and let his mouth crash to hers again with increasing urgency. His hips settled between her legs and she put an arm around his back, pulling on him even as she pressed her hips into his—they both gave a soft, strangled sound at the pressure.

He circled his arms around her middle and pulled her up a little as they continued to kiss. His hands fumbled with the clasp her her bra uselessly, he couldn't seem to figure it out—Alex smiled against his mouth as she reached back deftly with one hand and undid the clasp for him. She laughed lowly—then forgot what was so funny when he pulled the bra off and his warm skin hit against hers. Her laugh turned into a soft little gasp of pleasure, her head fell back as he lowered her down to the bed again while staying body to body the entire time. _Oh_ , he felt so real, so warm, so alive. She felt him tracing his fingers down her neck, across the roundness of her shoulder… and then he boldly let his palm graze against one of her bare breasts, inspiring a moan from her in response to the gentle, exploratory touch. Watching her the whole time to make sure it was all right, he kissed her shoulder—eyes flickered up to hers—he kissed a little lower—his eyes flickered up to hers.

She was breathless in rapt attention, propping herself on an elbow, wondering if he was going to let his mouth touch her _there_ … and just as she wondered, his head bowed low and he kissed the swell of her breast just above the nipple, making her breath catch. Then he moved down a little more, his eyes flicking up to hers constantly and hesitantly. She was biting her lip without really realizing it, holding her breath as he continued. He was _experimenting_ , seeing what sort of touches did what to her. A thrilling rush of deeply abiding love and intensity overcame Alex even as he kissed her nipple directly. She took in a sharp breath at the zinging sensation of those soft lips against the delicate skin. Getting more confident, he kissed it again, softly, then _again_ , but this time he kissed it as if he were kissing her mouth—yet awkwardly and uncertainly, like he'd seen it done but wasn't sure how to do it himself, he let his tongue softly nudge her nipple, he closed his mouth over it and the sight of him doing that was already impossibly hot, but the sensation of his warm tongue moving against the sensitive skin was enough to make her go blind for the smallest second. She gasped involuntarily and grabbed him by the hair. He stopped and withdrew ever so slightly, studying her with dark eyes.

"Is that… pleasing to you?" he asked, further flooring her with the sweet, stilted way he asked. Words didn't seem to come to her… she bit the edge of her mouth and nodded. _Um, yes. Pleasing as hell._ His pupils were impossibly dilated and she could see how turned on he was, which only turned _her_ on more. He swallowed. "Should I… do the other one?"

The question had a comedic quality to it he hadn't intended and her heart burst, she grinned and the hand she'd fisted into his hair came to rest against the side of his face. He looked up at her expectantly. "Yes please," she murmured, biting back a smile and a laugh and then not needing to do either as he repeated his actions on her other nipple—her head fell back, her mouth fell open, her eyes shut and she made a guttural sound of amazement as she tried not to faint. The warm cave of his mouth on a place she had never realized was so damn hypersensitive drove her to blissful insanity. He paused his actions and in a daze she looked at him, saw that he looked up at her. "I want…" he faltered, went silent.

When he said nothing, she shook her head a little, looking at him with a rapt, questioning gaze. "What?" she asked breathlessly. _Anything, Castiel._

He swallowed very slowly—she saw his adam's apple bob. His voice was husky and deep and sent shivers through her, he seemed increasingly hungry and apprehensive at the same time. "I want to touch you."

She swallowed, breath hitching. "You _are_ touching me," she said thickly, wondering if he meant what she thought he might...

"No I mean—" a muscle flexed slowly in his jaw. "Somewhere else."

There was no mistaking the trembling tones of desire in his voice, and her body responded with a barrage of warmth and adrenaline. "Where?" she asked faintly, and he looked up at her silently, saying nothing, seeming instead to be feeling timid. "Show me where," she whispered, voice catching—she almost choked on how much anticipation she was feeling because she thought she knew where he wanted to touch her and _oh god_ she wanted that too. Obeying her prompt slowly, his hand moved from her ribcage over the skin of her stomach, falteringly, achingly slow, trailing down further, and her breathing became increasingly heavier, her eyes shot up to his. He was looking at her, not his hand, watching her reaction to his touch.

His fingers brushed down to the space between her legs where she was the warmest and wettest. " _Here_ ," he breathed, even as she involuntarily breathed out a soft groan at the soft pressure of his fingers against where she ached. She moved against his hand slightly without even meaning to—and then his warm, sweet lips came to hers, kissing her softly, achingly, matching the hesitating way he began to rub her through the underwear. Her eyes screwed shut and her eyebrows slammed together. _Oh, Castiel, god_ —she whimpered out nonsensical noises, barely able to kiss him back, losing her mind at his touch which became more and more sure as her reaction spurred him on. It only became more and more wonderfully torturous, what he was doing to her... and then abruptly, his hand moved away, jarring her out of pure bliss. She groaned, frustrated, aching for his touch again, desperate and confused... then she realized what he was doing.

His hand slid down into her underwear and he watched her reaction as his fingers made contact. They both shuddered and she clung to him even harder, enchanted and addicted. And then, shocking her, he moved his hand further down and carefully, pressed two exploratory slender fingers inside. His face changed when his fingers curved in and a strangled little sound escaped her mouth—his eyes squeezed shut, his mouth fell open a little and he bowed his head down, seeming to be overcome at the feeling. She, too, was overwhelmed: The beautiful aching pressure caused her hips to move forward into his hand and an unashamed moan to break free from her lips. He opened his eyes and an awed expression was on his face.

"You feel so _beautiful_ ," he breathed, then grew faintly shy. "So warm and… and, and very wet." Alex withered a little underneath his potentially-mortifying proclamation. "Do I do this to you?" he asked, innocent and curious. By asking that, he struck her temporarily mute, dumb, and helpless. Her tongue was heavy and her head was dizzy in the most pleasant way. She could have laughed if it weren't for the maddening amount of desire and need—so she just nodded, putting a hand against the back of his neck and pulling him to her for a kiss—enough _talking._ She wrapped her arms around his neck and ground herself down over his fingers and gasped into his mouth at the feeling. She did it some more, trying to show him what she wanted, the way to move. He seemed to have trouble concentrating on doing anything at all, he lost the ability to kiss her and was almost in another world—he was making sounds as she moved around his fingers and she realized he was getting off on just _feeling_ her _._

That was so fucking sexy and she was so turned on that she couldn't see straight. His head rested on her shoulder now, his noisy breaths hitting her neck hot and fast. It was too much, those sounds he was making and the luscious tension his fingers heightened. She was going to come right then and there if they didn't stop—and when she realized that she shot a hand down to cover his, silently telling him to stop. She didn't want to peak—not before he did. He raised his head in mild worry. "What is it?" he asked.

"I was gonna, uh…" _grow up, Alex_ —she felt herself turning red. She couldn't bring herself to say it, even though she had a pretty foul mouth in other parts of life. " _You know_."

His face distorted slightly into one of those I-think-I-know-what-you-mean-but-I'm-not-entirely-sure squinty frowns.

Before he could ask her an awkward question about it, an idea struck Alex, a thrilling and slightly scary one, but one she had to pursue. And suddenly focused on that, Alex put her hand on the front of his shoulder and pushed him a little, indicating he should do what she suggested next: "Lay down." He looked surprised, and then nervous and anticipatory as he did what she said. She followed his motion with her body and laid down on top of him, her legs resting on either side of his. A soft little sound came out of his mouth as her hips pressed down over his, her weight settling over him. He was very ready, and she felt it through her underwear and his pants. He looked up at her with a dawning sense of wide-eyed wonder as he saw the look of intent in her eyes. Feeling confident and a little coy, her heart beating fast in nervousness and anticipation, Alex wondered: how would he react? What would he do? She wanted to make him feel the way he always made her feel.

She began to press kisses down the side of his neck, slow and soft, a few nips and sucks in between. Her hands trailed down his arms—which had circled her loosely. A thrill rushed through her at the realization that he couldn't seem to _not_ touch her. She kissed his sternum and moved a hand down his side, dragging her digits across the skin and reveling in the soft sound he made when she did that. She paused to press a gentle, grateful, broken kiss against the scar that covered so much of his torso. Then she continued to kiss her way down his stomach. Brazen when her hand reached his hip, she dragged inward and rubbed her palm over the crotch of his pants—he grabbed a fistful of bedspread and cried out softly, uttering the softest word—Enochian? Her stomach flip flopped at his reaction to what she was doing.

His chest and stomach were heaving up and down faster and faster the lower she got—and when she reached the top of his pants and kissed the skin just above the fabric, he made a nervous, breathy little sound and then she began to unbuckle his pants. When she glanced up, she saw how he looked almost scared but also aroused as hell. She sat up a little and grabbed boxers, belt, pants and all, gave a great tug and got it all down to his knees. Alex shuffled back on her knees and pulled his socks off, then yanked his pants and boxers off one leg at a time. She lost a little of her nerve when she saw him like that—completely naked, for what was only, really, the second time ever. He was intimidating and magnificent. She was anxious and dizzy as she positioned herself between his legs and took hold of him, bent her head low, and planted a soft kiss on the very tip of him. She let her eyes flicker up hopefully. Cas looked absolutely shocked and aroused. He sat up onto his elbows, staring at her with wide eyes.

"What are you—" he asked, even as she hesitantly closed her mouth over him. He seemed to temporarily lose the ability to speak. " _Ahh_ —Alex, uhh—no you— _uh_ —" he looked at her in something like aroused terror, he was rigid all over and stared at her as if in fear. "I don't want you to—" he protested and she pulled back, confused.

"But doesn't it feel good?" she asked, startled. Had she done something wrong? All guys liked blow jobs, she thought…? Maybe if she used more tongue.

"Yes, but—" he started even as she tried again. "Oh, _ah_ … but it seems demeaning to— _ah_ —you— _uh_ —" His incoherent words grew even more incoherent as she she circled her tongue around in a way that seemed like it would feel good. She tasted salt and was surprised at how turned on this was making _her_. His head fell back and his features tightened in pleasure and concentration, he groaned noisily and was utterly overwhelmed, breathing fast and hard like he'd just run a marathon. He _did_ like it. Encouraged in the most heated of ways, Alex pushed her luck and, not entirely sure of what she was doing, gingerly took him in further.

For a few moments, she experimented on his length with her mouth and lips, drawing moan after moan and a string of breathy enchanted compliments. Finally, Cas seemed to lose patience and whispered for her to "come here."

Alex did. In only her underwear, he pulled her closer by the small of her back and lifted slightly, her knees parting as she settled across his lap, chest-to-chest, legs folded on either side of his. She whimpered at the pressure there, which only increased when one of his hands gently slid down, grasping the curve of her ass to pull her closer. There wasn't a word to describe what it was like, him holding her like this, their bodies responding to the other's like this. The rising heat and tension, the stirring bliss and the absolute intimacy and safety that existed here, with him. The humbling feeling of being so fully adored and treasured. They were learning each other in every way, but this way was one of her favorites.

His arms wrapped around her tightly and he hefted her up, turned them both, then caught himself with one hand as he lowered her down onto her back. When she settled there, he watched her as his free hand traced down the front of her ribcage, over her hip bone, and then caught on the edge of her underwear. Breath stopping mid-throat, Alex's stomach fluttered. He didn't know how magical he was.

Instead of pulling her panties off then and there, Cas surprised her when he mimicked, almost blow for blow, what she had done a minute ago—he kissed his way downward: first her neck, then her shoulder, then the curve of her breast, then the ridge of her ribs, then the top of her pelvic bone as he slowly pulled the white underwear away. He was crouched between her legs by the time he got there and Alex suddenly wondered… was he going to…? He threaded the underwear off her one leg at a time, his fingers traced through the dark curling patch of hair there and she felt both embarrassed and aroused at his closeness.

She watched him as curiously, slowly, experimentally, he planted a single little soft kiss into the space between her legs, just above where she ached. She made a startled sound, gaping at him as a rush of tortured pleasure exploded. "Ca—ah— _ahhh_ —" she tried, but words were lost on her completely. Watching her the entire time, he did it again, but this time, lower—exactly where she wanted, and her head fell back. She gasped loudly at the new, impossible feeling. He paused then did it again, a little harder and a little longer. She squirmed and bit her lip, body coursing in pleasure as a sound like _nrrgh_ tore out of her mouth. She looked at him in total enraptured surprise.

His eyes were bright. "You like this," he observed thickly, pleased with himself and both interested and aroused at her reaction.

 _Christ_ , Cas, do you have to be so cheeky without meaning to be? She tried to open her mouth and say something to him but then her back arched as instead, a sound of total pleasure broke free from her lips. His lips were pressing against her again, she could feel him breathing and it felt _so amazing_. "Cas, _oh_ , you, _ah_ —!" And like he had a minute ago with her breasts, he slowly and experimentally opened his mouth and began to use his tongue, nudging uncertainly... and when he did _that_ —an unintelligible word-sound escaped her mouth, her hands grabbed out for anything to hold onto—one of them found a fistful of bedspread, the other one caught hold of his hand, their fingers interlaced.

"Ah, _oh_ —" she writhed. He pulled her even closer, shutting his eyes in pleasure and moaning softly against her most sensitive place as his tongue and lips continued their blissfully torturous work. Alex pulled so hard on the bedspread that it came untucked, sheets and all. Her hips were tilting up and forward into his face unbidden; her body was desperate for more and the need was rising to blinding amounts. She tightened her other hand in his, going blind from pleasure and the thrill of this new way of being touched. But even as she drowned in the sensations he was creating, she wanted, no, _needed_ , him to be inside of her and _now_.

She cupped a hand against the back of his head urgently. She absolutely couldn't wait any longer. He stopped what he was doing, looking at her questioningly. His eyes were almost black, the pupils were so dilated. "Come _here_ ," she whispered, and it was clear what she meant.

He immediately obeyed and crawled back up to her, seeming to share the sentiment of ultimate, furious need. The anticipation was so much that she could barely see, she pulled on him uselessly, hellbent on having him as soon as humanely possible. She felt his knees pressing her legs apart and his weight settling over her as she grabbed the back of his head with both hands, kissing him sloppily, deeply, tasting herself on his tongue and whimpering as she felt the press of him between her legs.

Her head arced back into the bed and she made a loud, unrestrained sound of relieved anguish as Castiel pushed into her fully. He was burying his face in her neck with a deep groan even as her arms circled around his neck tightly. Overwhelmed with pleasure and love and relief and _agony_ all at once, Alex's legs went to wrap around his middle and no time was wasted—entangled with each other, mutually lost in heady bliss, their entire atmosphere become nothing but the hot, heavy breath of the other, the feel of sweat-damp skin, the friction created between their bodies. Loud, lost, and beautifully frustrated, they moved together, learning the best way, finding the most blissfully distressing cadence. Fingers tangled in hair and dug into skin, arms stayed tight against the other, bodies remained flush as they ground into each other with quickening frenzy and deepening passion.

It didn't take long at all. They grew frantic mutually with rising urgency and Alex gasped loudly underneath him, whimpering anxiously as he took her impossibly higher and higher, hurtling her toward the absolute peak… he was reducing her to nothing even as he gave her everything. She cried out helplessly as she hit the wall of ecstasy; she groaned out his name in awe and desperation alike as it came over them like a tsunami: the covenant, the fall, the rapture itself. He moaned in soft distress over and over again against her neck as the climax ripped through and rendered them lost and dumbstruck by nirvana. With his hands tight and hard on both her upper and lower back, Castiel's body rocked against hers once, twice, three more times… and then slowed, relaxed, and gave out, completely spent.

For a minute, it was silent in the room except for the sound of their mingling heavy, slowing breaths. Stunned as always, exhausted by the torrent of pleasure, Alex was momentarily speechless and amazed. They were so physically close—her nose pressed into the curve where his neck met his shoulder, and she felt his pulse... the warmth radiating off of his skin. Cas lifted his head off her shoulder—he was flushed and worn out and satisfied. She'd done that to him. He touched the side of her face with utmost gentleness, she felt her lips tugging slightly into a soft, shy smile… and she covered his hand with hers, turning her head and pressing a kiss into the palm of his hand before she peeked back at him.

"You... are the most amazing thing in all of creation," Cas told her in a soft voice. His expression was so intense and intimate that her smile fell. His fingers laced through hers, he seemed almost afraid of how much he loved her… and she resonated with that fear. His heart thundered in his chest and echoed into hers, he was trembling a little, physically drained from exertion.

Transfixed, Alex craned her neck up and kissed his lips softly. Their hands came apart, mutually cradling the others face tenderly. Cas rested his forehead against hers when the kiss ended and just breathed, closed his eyes, his hand moving from her face to the curve of her shoulder.

Warm and content in every way possible, Alex smiled even though her eyebrows were knit together in a strange anxiety. He was too perfect to be true, this was too right and wonderful to last. But she believed it would. Which was also why she was scared. Pushing aside the fear, she ducked her head toward his neck and shoulder, pressing kisses there, so filled with affection that she couldn't do anything _but_. He tensed, then he flinched away and squirmed and then giggled—wait _, giggled?_ It was a surprisingly sandpapery, rich sound. _Oh my god._

She looked at him with a weird expression, because Cas didn't _giggle_. "That—that felt strange," he protested through an oddly wide grin, and he seemed perplexed and worried and extremely amused all at the same time.

"Cas, are you _ticklish_?" Alex asked, a disbelieving grin dawning across her features—her skin was hypersensitive after sex, maybe his was too—she tested her theory, running her fingers lightly down his neck repeatedly, and he almost yelped, rolling sideways jerkily, trying to get away, making laughing noises almost frantically but Alex held on and rolled with him, laughing at his reaction. He almost fell off the edge of bed, then suddenly Alex _was_ rolling off the bed, squeaking in surprise as she fell to the floor, knocking the lamp over when her arms flailed in an ungraceful swan dive.

Tangled in the sheets she'd dragged with her, she laughed hard, sort of punch-drunk, propping herself up onto her elbows at the absurd thought of Cas giggling and the realization that she'd probably just looked the stupidest she ever had. He wasn't giggling or smiling anymore, he was freaking out, already coming down to her all awkward and naked. Alex laughed harder as he rested on his knees and reached for her in concern. "Are you all right?" 

"I, I think I need help up," she said, smothering a giggle and pressing a smile away because she was planning something sort of devious. She tried not to look too excited about it. He bent and circled his arms around her, unaware of her playful intentions. She grabbed onto him, hands just under his armpits, and she tickled _hard._ He protested with a shriek that turned into rising laughter, a sound she'd never heard out of his mouth before. Losing ability to coordinate himself, they rolled away from the bed further, Alex going mad with laughter as he tried feebly to push her away, gasping for air and laughing raucously. 

"W-what's h-happening to me?" he asked in a voice that was both panicked and drenched with mirth and Alex stopped—he was tangled in the sheet with her now on his back, hands hovering in front of himself as if in defense with a breathless, panicked grin on his face. Her hair trailed down to touch his chest and she smiled, loving everything about him.

"What's happening to you... is a tickle war," she said softly, then kissed him gently, felt him relaxing… then she grabbed his sides again and tickled him for all she was worth. At first, he tried to get away, then seemed to have another idea and mimicked what she was doing: he grabbed her sides and wiggled his fingers into the space below her armpits and Alex howled with laughter, suddenly trying to get away from _him_ now.

" _Noooo_ , stop, it tickles!" she shrieked, tears in her eyes as she doubled over beside him—he was still on his back. He did stop and they looked at each other with breathless grins, and even though it was strange to see him smiling like that… she loved it. Without warning, completely overwhelmed with affection, she hugged him around the neck as he laid there. She buried her face in the front of his chest, then turned her head so her cheek rested with her face turned toward his. She was exhausted from this crazy day, but she didn't want to miss anything—she wanted to stay up all night and just be together while they could… because she was very aware that tonight was in the minority. They just didn't have the freedom to be together like they wanted to right now, not with Dean around… this might be the last time they got together for awhile. She didn't know.

Alex traced traced her fingers across his chest, thoughtful and quiet and feeling how her heart was slowing to its normal rate. Underneath her fingertips, the scars Cas bore from what he'd done to save her. "You okay this time?" she chanced quietly, curious and a little worried. Would he feel guilty about sex like he always did? When he caught her hand in his and moved his thumb across her skin gently, she propped herself up enough to look him in the eye.

He looked so manly there beneath her with his free arm resting underneath his head, his expression unguarded, genuine, and soft. "Yes," he said, and his thumb moved across one of her knuckles again. "I think that I am."

Relieved and happy, Alex kissed one of his knuckles, studied their hands a second, then laid her head down on him again. This was heaven. And she should know… she'd been to the real Heaven and it hadn't been right, but this _was_. His hand still held hers and she wondered how she'd stumbled into this. What if they had never met? What if she'd insisted on keeping him at arm's length? What if she'd never allowed herself to fall in love with him? All of those what ifs didn't matter. Here they were and as crazy as it was, they had taken the leap, tied the knot. She still couldn't quite believe it. "Did we really get _married_ today?" she asked him in a dazed murmur.

"Unless I'm misremembering," he said, and she heard almost a teasing tone to his voice.

Her eyebrows rose fractionally in pleasant surprise even as she pushed herself up a little to look at him. "Cas... are you _joking_ with me?" He just smiled a little more and she laughed, slow and comfortable. He smiled back but it was still gentle, no teeth showed.

His eyes seemed so tender as they searched hers slowly and without a thought, Alex traced fingertips down the side of his face, her laughter subsiding into the whisper of a smile. She thought back to the first time she saw him. How could she have guessed he'd be the one to give her a new life entirely? Make her believe in love, give her a reason to trust? He had become her safe place to fall, and she felt understood, she felt _real_ with him. She kind of believed, deep down, that he was her soulmate. Even if angels didn't have souls… he was her other half. He had to be. 

Shy now she dropped her gaze away, the reality of what they had promised each other that day hitting her all over again. Her brothers would be so hurt when she told them, which eventually they'd have to. _If_ they lived past the whole end of the world thing. Maybe this marriage would be something Cas and Alex took to their graves. Maybe she didn't even need to worry about the future as much as she was—everyone might be dead in a few weeks. But what if there _was_ a future? What would _that_ be like? Growing reflective, wanting to dream about what that might be like, her gaze flickered back to him. "So… if we live past this whole apocalypse thing… what do we do?"

He seemed slightly sobered by the reminder. He took her hand again. "Whatever you want."

She thought maybe he'd answer like that, and she frowned in thought, trying to get him to answer for himself, not just defer to her. "But what would _you_ want?" He appeared to have no reply. "Think about it. What kind of life would you want us to live?"

"...I would want what you want," he said, repeating himself, basically telling her he would follow her lead. Or maybe saying he had no idea. At her slightly befuddled expression, he seemed confused, too.

"Cas, come on. I know you must have thought about it. What you'd want." Right? Had he really not?

"What I want is selfish," he said, intriguing and worrying her briefly.

"How so?"

He looked at the ceiling, eyes going back and forth, far away in memories. "I saw how we lived in the future… it was us. Living together. We had a cabin. There were things of our own inside." He looked at her again. "I think I'd want that."

Alex studied him. "I don't think that's selfish," she said in a hushed tone. It wasn't the life she lived now, on the road with brothers, but… it sounded good. Just, a simple life. It didn't have to be normal or American-dream, if it were ordinary and offbeat and simple and with him… they'd figure out the rest. One curiosity remained with Alex though. "I remember there being another thing in that future that we had..." she said, recalling with great intrigue what he'd told her about that day in Bobby's attic… how the two of them had been about to become a family of three in the visions of the future he'd witnessed. She hesitated, nervous to ask and nervous to know. "Would you want that, too?" It was a curiosity, the thought of them pursuing parenthood.

Cas's reply was soft. "With you, I want everything." He fumbled for a minute, growing conflicted. "However, I'm not sure how to… well, I didn't think about… how this would truly work."

"What do you mean?" she asked, worry jumping up in the pit of her stomach again.

"I was better equipped, before, to do this," he said, still not explaining. "I suppose I could try to get a job. Or maybe I could become a hunter, like you." _Oh_ —Alex's eyebrows rose in understanding. "Money is necessary, isn't it?" 

"To a certain point," she replied, shrugging in false modesty. "But I think I can get us by. I know a few tricks."

He paused uncertainly. "Shouldn't _I_ be the one who does that?"

Alex searched his gaze earnestly. "We take care of each _other_. And Cas… I don't doubt for a second you'll take care of me." She felt unworthy, like however much she loved him would never be enough to return his affection.

Totally in love, he seemed to take her in anew. "I can't put it into words," Castiel murmured. "The things I feel for you, the way I think about you."

"...I don't think you have to," she told him in a faint voice. Her emotions were right below the surface, her eyes filled with them abruptly. "I already know." And she _did_ know. Through and through, that he loved her beyond limits. Enough to reach out to her in compassion and heal her, restore her before they had spoken even a word to each other. To heal her and save her life numerous times over, to defy Heaven and everything he'd ever been loyal to. For her.

She laid her head down on his chest again, settling into the curve of his side, quiet and stilled. She looked up at the weird shadows on the ceiling made by the fallen lamp. After a moment, he abruptly spoke. "I wish I could have given you something better than a penny."

She smiled a little to herself. "You gave me you," Alex murmured. She was so sleepy and content, warm here beside him. "There _is_ nothing better."

His arm tightened and pulled her a little closer, she felt how his chin and jaw brushed against the top of her head. _Mmm._ She could have fallen asleep there like that. Alex looked at the ceiling shadows again drowsily and was suddenly struck by a whimsicality. Maybe it was how tired she was, but it she lifted her hand up into the shape of a dog and smiled crookedly at the shadow it cast onto the ceiling. Cas looked at her hand oddly, then the shadow created, slightly mystified. "Shadow puppets," she explained offhandedly, then said "' _Hello_ ,'" and moved her hand like the dog was saying it. "This is a dog," she explained, and Cas's head tilted to the side, she could literally hear his internal dialogue: _that looks like no canine I have ever beheld_. He surprised her when he looked at her hand in concentration and mimicked her motions, haltingly making a dog shape with his hand. He squinted and frowned at the shadow it made.

Alex moved her pinky finger up. "Now it's a bunny," she said, and made her hand hop slightly. She chuckled at herself and glanced at him sidelong, moving the tips of her fingers to touch against the tips of his—making the shadow dog and bunny kiss. His eyes left the shadows to look into hers. 

Spellbound, she dropped her hand down, craned her neck, and kissed him deeply, lingering there in his atmosphere. His arms circled her and his familiar warmth called her closer to him. She melted, kissing him leisurely with a soft mouth and she explored him with her hands. He felt so good to her, strong, solid, safe, warm, inviting. And they were both quickly becoming uncomfortable and aroused again—but for a few minutes, all they did was touch, pet, pull at each other and kiss deeply, exploring until Alex couldn't stand it any longer—she pulled the sheets that had been bunched between them away and laid down on top of him, initiating another encounter.

" _Again_?" he asked in a breathless whisper, both surprised and also highly approving of the idea. Her hands found his and pressed palm to palm, fingers lacing through tightly. She held his hands there beside his head on either side, emboldened.

"Yes, and… this time, you're not allowed to move," she told him in a low voice. She pushed her hips down over him, taking him with a low moan—he exhaled softly, surprised at the suddenness of her actions. His eyes were glazed over and dark as, still holding his hands, she began to move slowly, tantalizingly, purposefully torturing him and unintentionally herself… underneath Alex, Cas—much bigger and stronger, so much more powerful—surrendered to her. 

Seeing him like that: submitted to her, vulnerable and begging wordlessly with panting breaths and gasps... she felt like she was a goddess. _His_ goddess. She let go of his hands abruptly and wrapped her arms closely around his head, not satisfied with how far apart she felt from him. His arms immediately circled and tightened around her, hands splaying into the skin of her shoulder blade and mid-back. He bit his lip in anxiety, eyes screwed shut; he grunted then let out a frustrated breath, she began to kiss the curve of his shoulder, slowing her hips to a maddening crawl. The feeling of the slow burn was incredible and she was having problems keeping herself together, she felt absolutely insane with bliss. She tortured them both like that for about thirty seconds before Castiel, apparently, couldn't stand it any longer.

"Uh, _Alex_ , faster, _please_ —" Cas pleaded, pulling on her hard, begging desperately, and she couldn't say no to the need in his voice. She obeyed his wishes and gave him what he wanted, moving faster and harder, making him breathe louder and quicker. He didn't seem to know what to do with his hands: first they pressed hard against the small of her back, then they grasped her sides and pulled, then they gripped her upper arms, then they cupped her face as he kissed her sloppily, then one of them grabbed the hair at the back of her head as the other one trailed down to press against the softness of her breast desperately. He suddenly cried out loudly and his hand tightened in her hair, she could feel him shuddering underneath her. She was no longer in control, now she was crying out for him as she seized, he held her harder, his hips rocking against hers as he disobeyed her rule of no movement but she didn't care. She pulled against him, urging him on as they destroyed each other with the throes of absolute pleasure. With a surprised gasp and then a desperate cry, she began to die a small death in his arms on the floor of the motel room. It was blindingly intense, it took _everything_ out of her, and if Cas wasn't holding her as tightly as he was, she thought she might fall off the face of the earth itself. She went limp over him as the orgasm finished with her, her heart was hammering so hard that it felt like her entire body was vibrating. She felt defeated in the best of ways, drowsy, out of everything, too weak to move—but somehow managed to raise her head and look at him in the eye. _Wow._ He seemed to be thinking the same thing.

"You've made me lose my mind," Castiel whispered breathlessly. His voice was soft and he tucked some of her hair behind her ear, his eyes going back and forth between hers. He looked at her like she were absolute magic. "The things you do to me…"

She smiled, feeling like she was glowing—she kissed his cheek softly, then the corner of his mouth, then his lips. Her body was weighed down with an afterglow like no other and she laid her head down on his shoulder, her face turned to him. With lessening clarity, she murmured against his neck that she loved him then listened to his heart beating. Her eyes were heavy and she shut them for just a minute, _just a minute_ —faintly feeling how his lips brushed and pressed a sweet kiss against her forehead. She drifted off without meaning to, there in his arms.

* * *

Morning came, and the motel room slowly grew brighter as the sun rose outside. In the bed, two people laid. Naked underneath the blankets, they faced each other, the man cocooning the woman with his arms. She was nestled into him trustingly. The slept deeply, warm and safe there together. The room was calm, quiet, peaceful.

Alex woke up first. She remembered drifting off to sleep on Cas down on the floor. When had he moved them? From his deep, even breathing, she could tell he was still fast asleep. Her heart fluttered a little. She had just _woken up_ beside him. Last night and yesterday rushed her mind and her heart did a little skip-hop-jump. Alex drew back a little—slowly, trying not to disturb him—just enough so she could see his face. He looked so peaceful and _handsome_ and she wondered if a heart could burst from happiness. Hers felt like it would, and she smoothed some of his hair back, studied his face, loving every single detail—the age lines, the little scars, every hollow and arch and dip.

He stirred at her touch and opened his eyes slowly. For the briefest second he was groggy—then he saw her and a soft little smile came over his face. She smiled, too. "Good morning," she murmured.

"Good morning," he echoed, his voice quiet and rough with sleep. He reached over and moved some of her messy hair away from her face, letting his hand rest there on her head when he'd finished. She nestled closer. Their noses grazed and they said nothing, just existing there together in a bubble of each other for a moment.

Castiel was hers and she was his—he wasn't going anywhere, they were going to _be_ together. Maybe for a couple more weeks, maybe for seventy more years. Briefly, Alex's happiness wavered when she thought about how yesterday was gone. Today, they needed to go back to Bobby's and face the music. The apocalypse was still on the calendar and they were the ones who were stuck trying to stop it.

For the first time in her life, Alex truly considered running away from it all forever. Because now, she had something—some _one_ —to run to. She thought of Dean, who would try and ruin the relationship and run her life and Alex looked at Cas with hesitation. It wasn't fair. They'd _just_ been reunited, and more than that, they'd _just_ found each other in the grand scheme of life—he'd lived for thousands of years alone, and she _felt_ like she'd lived for thousands of years alone. The world couldn't end, not right now, not _yet_. "I don't wanna go back," she confessed. "I wanna ditch out on everything. Can't we just stay here forever?" She was only half-joking, and he seemed to see that.

He didn't say anything, but the look on his face suggested he was silently telling her _you know we can't._

A small self-deprecating smile came over her face.

"We have to go back," he said, the voice of reason. His eyes dropped to her lips and went back to her eyes, and was that… a hint of playfulness in his eyes? Intrigued, she forgot her more complicated thoughts. "But… we don't have to leave yet." Suddenly feeling a heightened sense of interest, she searched his crystal blue gaze. Her stomach began doing flips of anticipation at that look in his eyes.

His mouth crooked up just slightly to one side as with his thumb and index finger, he gently took hold of her chin and kissed her sweetly. He slid closer—bare skin to bare skin beneath the sheets. She made a soft _mmm_ sound as his touch brought her to life, as she reached out to hug herself to him. He was melting her with the gentle assertiveness of his touch. It was like a new discovery, every time he touched her, every time he kissed her, every time this happened, and she wanted it, loved it. Loved _him_. She opened her mouth for him, deepening the kiss—feeling her stomach zing when his tongue gently nudged against hers. They were never going to get a _nything_ done if they kept this up, she thought faintly. And as if reading her mind, he began to press her body downward, putting himself over her, gently initiating what would stick in her mind as the best wake-up call she'd ever gotten.

* * *

**Forty-One Minutes Later**

Stunned, Alex's head hit the pillow. "Holy _shit_ , Cas—!" she exclaimed through her ragged breaths.

He grinned at her lopsidedly, coy and pleased and tired but happy. His skin shone with the slight sheen of perspiration and Alex grinned widely, shaking her head in staggered amazement. Beside her now as he rolled off her, Cas propped himself up on an elbow. She impulsively grabbed his neck and kissed him hard, smiling and chuckling even as she pressed her lips to his. She pushed, using her weight as she kissed him to make him lay on his back and then she flopped down onto her stomach. "Good morning to you _too_." She had her arms folded underneath her cheek and he rolled over to be closer to her, mimicking her posture. 

He gazed at her with a soft smile and adoring eyes and touched his hand to hers. She laced her fingers through his, letting their hands lay in the small space between their shoulders. "I wish every morning could be like this," Alex confessed. It was hard knowing that this wasn't going to be standard.

"I do, too." Cas grew a little more somber. "If they ask where we were today and yesterday… what should we say?"

Alex sighed. She knew there was going to be some Dean Winchester hissy fit action happening later that day when they got back to Bobby's. She wasn't really looking forward to it. "I'll handle it," she told him, equally somber. "And just remember. Dean doesn't have a right to know everything, even though he _acts_ that way." It was bittersweet. "Someday, we can tell them. Someday." Just not yet.

"It must make you very sad that they weren't there," Cas said with heavy thoughtfulness. "I'm sorry."

She was touched at his insight. "Yes and no," she admitted. It kind of was one of those 'it is what it is' kind of things. Yeah, she was sad, but… what could she do about it? "It's okay," she said. It had to be.

She smiled a little at him. He looked so perfect there like that next to her and she suddenly realized she needed to cement this moment in her mind. She pushed herself up, looking around for her phone. "Don't move," she told him, and using sheets like a huge towel, she got out of bed (and realized her legs were weak from all the, um, working out she and Cas had participated in recently). She took her on-silent phone from out of her ammo bag. "I need to take a picture," she explained, then paused. The phone screen showed a bunch of missed calls from Dean, all recent, like an hour ago. _Hmm._ This wasn't going to be pretty, facing him again.

"A picture of me?" Cas asked as she got back into bed, laid on her side. He seemed to think that was a strange idea.

"Of you," she confirmed and held her phone up, pushing the capture button as he looked not into the camera, but at her. It was the most perfect picture in all of existence. Grainy, a little blurred, but him. She smiled at it, then him, leaning over to him to hug him sort of awkwardly from behind, then kiss the back of his shoulder before she sighed regretfully. "Okay—I have _got_ to take a shower," she confessed, feeling less than fresh at the moment. Did _he_ need a shower, too?

She'd grown up with men and maybe it wasn't ladylike of her but she stuck her nose into his armpit and smelled—but weirdly, she didn't smell sweat, he smelled like deodorant, as always—clean. She drew back and laid on her side, propped up on an elbow. He _wasn't_ completely human. He couldn't be—he hadn't needed to shower or use the bathroom. He'd been hungry and had slept, but other than that…

"Why... did you smell me?" he asked, seeming very curious about the sudden sniff.

"Fresh check," she said. That's what Dean had always called it. Cas rolled over to lay on his side, propped up on an arm. He squinted at her armpit, wondering something very intensely.

"Am I supposed to reciprocate?" he asked, and leaned forward a little like he was about to.

"No no no!" she said, giggling suddenly, picturing Cas with his nose in her sweaty armpit _. No._ That didn't need to happen. "I was just seeing if you needed a shower." Her smile faded a little. "Which, you don't." Her smile evaporated completely and her troubled question came out after a couple of falters. "What if you never age like I do, Cas?" She imagined an old woman hobbling around with a young Cas beside her.

"I... suppose that's a possibility," he admitted slowly, frowning in deep thought. "But what would that ma—oh." He seemed to understand, but then became perplexed by it. "Are you afraid I would no longer love you in old age?"

She looked at him silently. Well… yeah?

"Alex. Nothing will change my devotion to you," he told her, sitting up a little more. "Ever. And certainly nothing as transitory as physical attributes." He touched the side of her face and she leaned close, resting her forehead to his and shutting her eyes for a second, nodding.

"Okay. The shower," she said, pulling back and putting her worries out of her mind. She paused though, turning around as she got out of bed. She still clutched the sheets to herself to hide her nakedness. "Do you need more painkillers? You feel okay?" 

Cas considered it. "I should probably take some, yes."

Alex smiled sympathetically and got a plastic motel cup off of the top of the microwave, filled it at the sink, then brought him his dose of Lortabs.

"Thank you," he said, accepting both.

"Don't miss me too much while I'm gone," she said teasingly, then headed for the bathroom. Cas watched her go then swallowed the pills. It wasn't a comfortable sensation, but he was getting better at it. Cas heard the water start as Alex showered. He re-dressed, picking up his scattered clothing items from all over the motel room floor. He picked up her dress and carefully zipped it back up, folding it as best he could before he set it on the dresser. He picked up the lamp they'd knocked over, then looked at the bathroom door. She wasn't done yet. His stomach growled and he looked down at it. Food. She'd be hungry, too, wouldn't she? Cas hesitated, getting an idea, then looked for her wallet and found it, taking out some dollar bills.

He went to the vending machine he'd noticed outside the motel yesterday. There he got a random assortment of packaged foods, not sure which ones were appropriate for breakfast, if any. He got about twenty of them, not sure if that would be enough. He took them back to the motel room, spread them out on the little table, then got another plastic cup off the microwave and filled it with water, setting it and his cup onto the table. Was that enough? Would she like that? He didn't know. He sat on the end of the bed and waited, alternating between looking at his hands to the bathroom area, anticipating her reappearance.

He thought of yesterday. He thought of last night. He smiled to himself when he thought of her. In all of existence, Castiel was sure no man could count himself as blessed and favored as Cas had found himself to be. It was difficult to truly accept that she had given herself to him as his wife—it seemed 'too good to be true'—a human saying that he now understood. He sat there with a wistful little smile on his face, staring into space unseeingly, pleasantly. So lost in thoughts of her, Cas was startled when he heard Alex speak. 

"You got breakfast?" she asked in pleasant surprise, looking at all the food in crinkly wrappers on the table.

He stood up, surprised he hadn't noticed her come out of the bathroom. She was wrapped in a towel and had wet hair—water clung to her fair skin. She was doing that smile which he understood to mean that she was amused and confused at the same time. He followed her gaze to the table. "Is it too much?" he asked.

She chuckled. "We _might_ have leftovers... just an educated guess." She looked at him fondly. He could tell that she liked what he had done. That made him feel good. She sat down at the table and he followed suit.

"Trail mix, bear claw, powdered donuts, potato chips… Hostess Cupcakes?" she held up the package in question with a little smile on her face as she looked at him.

"Your favorite," he said proudly, smiling. He'd gotten all of the ones the vending machine had—seven packets of them. He hoped that was enough. Alex seemed to be very pleased, she was grinning and shaking her head. She got up and came to him, standing between his knees before she sat on one of his legs, circling her arms around his neck. She pressed a kiss against his forehead, murmuring that she loved everything about him. He looked into her eyes and he loved everything about her, too.

" _So_ , how does it feel to be my husband?" she asked, seeming to be playful and shy all at once.

When she said _my husband_ and he felt as though something inside of him burst. The thought made him feel like he could soar. "It feels… very good," he admitted, not doing verbal justice to the true feeling it gave him. He attempted to match her playful tone, but he sounded more genuinely curious to himself. "And… how does it feel to be my wife?" Saying the words aloud was stunning and surreal. _My wife_.

" _Your wife_ ," she repeated, biting her a smile as she looked down, appearing to be amazed at those words just like he was. She looked back at him. "It feels right."

Her answer brought him to life all over again and he didn't know what else to do—he kissed her, never tiring of the soft press of her lips to his. He only meant to kiss her briefly. But when they drew back, the distance seemed too much and they kissed again, a little longer and slower. They drew apart but it didn't last for long and Cas enveloped her in his arms, cradling her there as they came together to kiss again deeply. Breakfast was forgotten for awhile.

* * *

 _The newlyweds stole a couple more hours together—making love again, eating breakfast in the park across the street, visiting an arcade like Alex had joked about the day before. Castiel, of course, was terrible at video games. When it became clear that they had done all the stalling done that they could, the two embraced tightly and prepared themselves for reality, heading back to Bobby's around mid-day. What happened on April 29th, 2010, remained an unspoken secret that they carried in the deepest and most hidden parts of their hearts. They didn't even speak to each_ other _about it again for over a year. It wasn't normal, this marriage of theirs, nor would it ever really be. But it would always be theirs. And that was enough._

_Some uppity playwright once said, "Love is only a dirty trick played on us to achieve continuation of the species." Personally, I disagree. Love is real. Rare, yes, but real. After all, I've seen with my own eyes._

_The End_

Chuck sat back from his computer and smiled fondly at the title of the story on his screen. _Song Remains the Same_. The funny part was, he may have been the author, but they were truly the writers.

Their story was not the kind of story he had come across many times before. It was quite the miracle that in the face of a million things which could have kept them apart, the human and the angel still found each other... loved each other... and decided to hold onto the other, promising forever in the face of the great unknown.

Chuck stared at 'The End' for a long minute then hit backspace, erasing those words with a rueful smile. Because he knew this wasn't the end. This was just the beginning. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes: FYI, I hadn't originally planned for them to get married... possibly ever because to me they were always forever bound, already married in a way because of their clear soul bond (even though as an angel Cas doesn't technically have a soul). BUT, when I got into character headspace and realized how Cas would feel at this particular time in the story... believing he was gonna be human and believing that this was going to turn into the 2014 storyline... I realized that being an ex-angel who had Biblical laws seared into his mind, he'd want to marry her for sure. There were hints that I scattered throughout the previous chapters:
> 
> Chapter 42: Dean notices Alex's ring is gone, she claims to have "lost it." Some text dances around what happened. Later Sam gives a goodbye speech, telling Alex to go be happy and marry Cas—which upsets her even further cuz she already did and can't bring herself to tell him.
> 
> Chapter 43: While possessing Alex, Lucifer taunts Castiel and says he is "an angel married to his work" — he can see all of Alex's memories and knows of Cas and Alex's secret.
> 
> Chapter 44: Cas thinks about how he and Alex were going to share a life together. In a later scene, Lucifer mockingly says "til death do you part" as he makes Alex stab Cas to death in the graveyard.
> 
> Chapter 45: When speaking with Cas, Crowley calls Alex Cas's missus and wifey. Cas thinks about keeping the promise he made to Alex to stay at her side.
> 
> Chapter 46: Crowley taunts Alex and says that she and Cas aren't even out of the honeymoon and there's trouble in paradise. Crowley calls Cas her hubby in a later scene. And even later in the chapter, Cas reaches into his pocket and curls his fingers around the "small silver object" Alex gave him. His ring.
> 
> Chapter 48: Alex thinks about the things she "doesn't want Dean to find out about."
> 
> Chapter 49: Alex's sexy dream of Cas is kind of a memory of their wedding night. The dream turns into a nightmare and she's crying about how Cas "promised he wouldn't leave." In a later scene, Glen tries to give Alex a diamond necklace to replace the "weird " penny necklace she wears.
> 
> Chapter 50: Alex looks at the cellphone pic she took of Cas the morning after they got married.
> 
> Chapter 51: Alex feels like a widow, thinking of how Cas is gone: "She realized how much like a widow she was in that moment. Alone and in mourning; clothed in darkness at the thought of her other half lost forever."
> 
> Chapter 53: Cas thinks about his wedding vows/promises, Alex gets insanely upset when she realizes she ripped off her penny necklace and threw it in his face, realizing maybe he thinks she regrets the marriage etc. Crowley tells them he has a mind to go blab their secret to Dean (just to get a rise out of them). Cas asks if they should "tell Dean about it." Alex freaks out and says no then avoids the subject. Cas gives her the penny back and essentially forgives her, wordlessly reassuring her that nothing has changed.
> 
> Chapter 54: Crowley calls Alex "the missus" to Cas again, sneering at him for becoming good at keeping secrets.
> 
> Chapter 56: This chapter was crammed with hints. When confessing the truth, Dean cuts off Alex several times right before she was about to reveal the full truth.


	59. Not Broken

" _So I wait for you like a lonely house_ _until you will see me again and live in me.  
'Til then my windows ache."  
_\- Pablo Neruda

* * *

**Present Day**

In an unremarkable motel room in Illinois they spoke in hushed whispers over the unconscious and bloody body of Sam Winchester.

 _Dean's found out about us and how we've been together,_ she told him.

 _But not the rest?_ Cas asked in veiled alarm.

She paused, knowing exactly what he was asking about. _No._ _Not the rest._

Silent and barely acknowledged at all, it hung between them: The secret they'd kept from everyone, even themselves at times.

Alex had shed many tears the past year thinking of Castiel and those precious, too-perfect hours when they had been together and everything had been okay… when Cas had been like a human man and called her his wife. She'd woken with him at her side and her heart had yearned for _all_ mornings to be like that. And then no other morning had been at all.

She had spent the last year despairing for him to return. And now...? Nothing felt certain anymore. Cas had barely been around since she discovered that he was, in fact, still alive. There were so many things left unsaid between the two of them, so many questions that went unanswered. Alex continued to hold her doubts and fears inside where they threatened to shatter her.

Castiel, who had at the time of their marriage thought himself a mortal man, was no longer such. He had been brought back to life by God himself. And not as a man. As an angel. He was once again ageless and immortal and forbidden to pursue Alex in a romantic sense. But his vows to her had been everlasting. No matter his species, he counted himself as her husband and was fighting this war not only to keep the apocalypse from restarting but also to find a way to permit their union, to find a way to save Alex from what he had _done_. Damning her soul by being physically intimate with her weighed heavily on him; the marriage had fixed nothing and he knew that now. But he had a way to remedy things and to absolve her of damnation forever—he would rewrite or rip up the celestial commandments when at last he won this war. Alex knew nothing of his discoveries or plans and he didn't want to speak of these things to her. She had enough burdens to bear. Including _him_. The husband who had been forced to abandon her not even half a week after he promised her everything. When she had ripped off her penny necklace in the panic room last week in a fit of insanity because of the demon blood, she'd screamed at him and said their marriage wasn't real and could never be, that he didn't love her anymore. It had cut him to his heart for her to say that. He thought he must have hurt her very greatly for her to think those things even for a second. His guilt was triplicate and his shame was plenty—he'd promised never to hurt her, and he had done just that. Unknowingly, unwittingly... repeatedly. Now, things between them seemed cracked and torn. Alex was so sad and he didn't know how to comfort her. He was sad, too, heavyhearted at the thought of the staggering difficulties facing them now. He couldn't remain at her side, and they both knew it. The war demanded much of him. Would it take more than just his efforts and strength? Would it take her, too?

Before Cas and Alex could discuss any more, Dean suddenly opened the motel door with a huge coil of rope in hand. He'd disappeared a moment or two ago and was in a distinctly foul mood. "All right, losers," he muttered peevishly, casting dark glances to both the angel and his sister as he entered, "this kid ain't gonna tie himself up."

He was talking about Sam, who he'd beaten unconscious. Alex and Cas, who had been standing close and touching, stepped apart the second Dean entered. It wasn't necessary for them to do that… he knew about them now, after all. Or he knew _enough_. The sour look on Dean's face suggested he had many things to say on the matter, but he remained in huffy silence for the moment.

Cas lifted Sam up off the floor as Dean uncoiled the rope angrily with great, exaggerated movements, watching both Cas and Alex hawkishly. Alex pulled out a chair from the kitchenette table, indicating that Sam be put there, and Cas followed her lead, sitting Sam's slumped form there as Alex held the chair steady. Over Sam's shoulder, Cas and Alex's eyes met and held tight with great amounts of mutual yearning. What was she thinking, Castiel wondered. Was she all right? It was impossible for him to tell—she was quiet, her expression was strained. They needed to talk, he knew they did and he glanced at Dean. Now wasn't an opportune time. Cas hoped so strongly that he would not be called away to Heaven anytime soon. He sensed that he was needed by Alex, and very much. Knowing how needed he'd been the entire past year devastated him further. If only there were a way to take back what he never could.

Dean rudely leaned down between Cas and Alex in a way that wasn't necessary and began to tie Sam's wrists tightly behind himself to the chair. Alex stepped back and Castiel did too. This greatened the distance between them. Probably just as Dean wanted. Alex's eyes were reluctant to look into Cas's now and Dean continued to restrain Sam, not saying anything. Finally, he finished tying the ropes and straightened, looking Cas dead in the eye. "We got to talk," he said, steady and controlled. But there was cold anger in his voice and eyes. And Alex was aghast he would breech this subject at all right now.

"Oh my _god_ ," she commented bitterly as she looked at her brother with a testy glare. "You _cannot_ be serious, Dean."

"Oh I'm serious all right," he retorted churlishly.

Alex quickly grew incensed. Her voice trembled. "No. _No_! It's none of your business!"

Dean looked at his sister with a strange expression, as if he was displeased and confused. And Cas broke his silence, attempting to divert the brunt of Dean's oncoming verbal assault. "Dean… perhaps this isn't this time to discuss—"

" _What_ , Cas?" Dean demanded, aiming his angry gaze at Cas now. "You _screwed_ my _sister_!" Cas's face fell as he wondered how Dean could put it in such terms. And then:

 _Thwack!_ A slapping sound, Dean holding a hand to his cheek in shock, and Alex pointing a finger in his face which she had just smacked.

" _Stop it_." She was pissed and wounded, breathing heavy. Her anger made her speak in aggressive, clipped tones. "You're acting _insane_. Just _stop_." It looked like she might deck him for real if he tested her.

Dean stood there wordlessly, too shocked to react. And instead of blowing a fuse, instead of acting a fool, he took a moment, let his hand fall away from his reddened cheek, and pressed his mouth into a thin line. Cas and Dean exchanged a tense glance. Castiel wondered what Dean would think if he knew that they were, in fact, married. Would his anger about them 'screwing,' as he had put it, dissipate if he understood that the physical side of the relationship was part of something more sacred and profound… everlasting? Would Dean recognize and admit that Castiel truly did love Alex if he knew how they had committed themselves to one another a year ago? He had a strong feeling that Dean would be even more enraged to hear of their union. It saddened the angel, who loved the entire Winchester family and saw them as _his_ family. He desired Dean's friendship and brotherhood, not his wrath and hostility.

Although the oldest Winchester was still clearly unhappy, his sister's reaction had put him into his place. Not very gracefully, Dean changed the subject by clearing his throat and sniffing loudly, then crossing his arms and looking at Sam darkly. "All right, so… if that's really Sam like you say, Cas—you gotta figure out what's wrong with him. Stat. Get crackin'." He stalked off further into the room to lean moodily against a low dresser.

Truthfully, Castiel would have much rather consoled Alex—he recognized that she was upset under her anger—but as he had so painfully learned recently… his desires did not have top priority. In Alex's eyes there was resignation. She had accepted that this moment was not made for them and that there were other things to address. He had to accept that, too. Reluctantly, Cas turned his attention to Sam—who he had secretly brought back. Pretending not to know seemed deeply shameful but Castiel couldn't tell them, especially now, knowing that he'd brought the middle Winchester back from the grave so much wronger than he thought. Wrong enough that Sam would let Alex fall prey to vampires without doing anything, wrong enough that Sam would put a knife to her throat. Cas would have killed anyone else who attempted such a thing upon Alex, but this was Sam. And the reason Sam wasn't himself was Castiel's fault. It was a maddening, guilt-ridden conundrum, and he felt that both Dean and Alex would be appalled to learn the truth.

Sam slumped in the chair, his broad shoulders caved forward and his still face a bloody mess from Dean's fists. "He looks terrible," Cas commented darkly, wondering how he could have made such a mistake and endangered both Dean and Alex in the process. Sam began to stir at that moment, groaning and blinking blearily as he raised his head.

"Cas? What's—" he stopped short when Cas pulled one of his eyelids back to examine his eyeball. "Get off me," he muttered, straining a little against his ropes.

"Has he been feverish?" Cas questioned, glancing at Alex. She stood off to the side and slightly behind her twin, unseen by Sam for the moment.

"Have you?" Dean asked Sam brusquely.

Disoriented and confused, sounding overly innocent, Sam stared at Cas oddly, then Dean. " _No_. Why?"

"Is he speaking in tongues?" Cas asked Dean, then didn't wait for an answer, looked at Sam. "Are you speaking in tongues?"

"No," Sam repeated with continuing confusion. "What are you…" his face fell. "Are you... _diagnosing_ me?"

"You better hope he can," Dean said almost threateningly. Cas put two fingers to Sam's neck, feeling the pulse there. It was normal and steady.

Sam's face twisted as he stared at his brother. "You really think that this is—"

"What, you think that there's a clinic out there for people who just pop out of hell wrong?! Who try and get their brother and sister killed?!" Dean fired off hotly. He walked forward, drawing himself up to his full height as if he were trying to be intimidating. "He asks, you answer, then you shut your hole. You got it?"

Chastened but a little sullen, Sam fell quiet and Cas took his fingers away from his neck.

"How much do you sleep?" the angel asked. He was beginning to form a terrible suspicion.

There was a short pause. "I don't."

Cas felt a sinking, dread-filled sensation.

"At _all_?" Dean asked, surprise filling his face.

"Not since I got back."

"And it never occurred to you that there might be something _off_ about that?!" Dean asked, getting more than just angry—he seemed afraid and he looked at Alex briefly, whose stony expression gave away little—she was absolutely silent. And Castiel understood Dean's show of fear. If Sam, who appeared to have no conscience had tried to hurt his sister just today, had let her get turned into a vampire without a second thought… if this Sam shared a room with her _while she slept unguarded and unaware_ —that was a highly dangerous and unsafe scenario. For a brief moment, Dean and Cas were united instead of divided, exchanging a loaded glance… both immediately and silently understanding how averse they were to the idea of Alex being around Sam at all right now.

"Of course it did, Dean," Sam said, then hesitated oddly. "I-I just never told you."

Dean and Cas looked at each other yet again and on a whim, Cas crossed to stand on Sam's other side now, putting himself between Alex and Sam. Sam still hadn't even seen his twin, but Castiel would take no chances. "Sam... what are you feeling now?" the angel questioned, his suspicion growing exponentially… because a human who didn't sleep at all wasn't even fully a human.

Sam scoffed sarcastically. "I feel like my nose is broken."

"No, that's a physical sensation," Cas said, growing upset internally. "How do you feel?"

Confusion was set across Sam's face. "Well, I think—"

" _Feel_." Castiel reiterated the word strongly. Sam blinked twice, uncertain.

"I... don't know."

Castiel took in a heavy breath and looked at Alex long and hard. Sam followed his gaze, turning his neck as far as he could. He said nothing when he saw his twin. Cas began to take his belt off, drawing three perplexed stares. "What are you...? Uh…" Sam stared as Cas approached him with the belt.

"This will be unpleasant," Castiel said, offering the belt to Sam and holding it near his mouth. "Bite down on this," he said. Wary and doubtful, Sam did. "If there's someplace that you find soothing, you should go there. In your mind." His eyes flickered to Alex, who was appearing to be absolutely shocked at what was happening. "You may find this disturbing to watch," Cas warned, more gentle when he spoke to her. He couldn't spare her from this. It had to be done.

Like he'd done with Aaron Birch, Castiel reached his hand into Sam's chest and red veins crawled up Sam's neck even as grunting cries of agony escaped through clamped teeth. Castiel felt around, trying to find Sam's soul. But there was a large void. A great nothingness. Sam continued to suffer loudly at the excruciating pain Castiel was causing him.

Alex's expression contorted and she looked away, unable to deal with her twin in pain—and the more Sam writhed and cried out, the more her face twisted in silent agony. And then it was over and Cas withdrew, his expression grim. He'd found nothing—no trace of the soul at all. Sam was left to gasp noisily as he reeled from pain, grimacing with his eyes shut. Cas took his belt back even as Alex got a glass with a shaking hand and got some water from the sink.

"Find anything?" Dean anxiously asked as Cas turned to face him.

Castiel was stony, deep in thought, trying to mentally work out how he had pulled Sam out of death without his soul too. "No. I found nothing," he said truthfully, looking back at Sam heavily.

With a strange expression, Alex stood in front of Sam and touched his shoulder with one hand, helping him take a drink of water… still displaying compassion for him even though he'd sought to harm her only moment ago before Dean had knocked him unconscious. "Thanks," Sam murmured after he gulped and sputtered some water down. He seemed exhausted and dazed, and Alex looked sad in ways that reached past her eyes. She finally let her gaze come back to Cas, anticipating his news.

"Physically, he's perfectly healthy," Cas told them all hesitantly, watching the scene with weary shoulders.

"Then what is it?" Dean asked, his dread building.

"It's his soul," Cas said, shaking his head slowly and hiding his utter horror, trying not to give away himself. "It's gone."

"... _No soul_?" Alex repeated in a soft, stunned voice.

Dean's face registered a mixture of shock, confusion, and doubt as he came to Cas's side. "...What do you mean, he's got no soul?"

Cas forced himself to look Dean in the eyes—not Alex, who he was especially loathe to deceive. He was lying by omission to all of them. "Somehow, when Sam was resurrected... it was without his soul."

Dean blinked, rapidly trying to understand it. "So where is it?"

Cas answered truthfully. "My guess is... still in the cage with Michael and Lucifer."

Alex paled immediately, increasing Cas's guilt tenfold.

Frustrated, Dean walked off a few steps, composing himself. "Okay, so is he even still Sam? I mean, really." Everyone looked at Sam, trying to figure out just that.

Cas in particular studied Sam sadly, wondering how he could have made such a grave mistake. "You pose an interesting philosophical question."

"So he's down there still, in a way?" Alex breathed softly, horrified.

Cas made no answer. His expression was 'yes' enough.

Dean's antsy, aghast state was getting worse. "Well, then, just get his soul outta there."

"Dean—"

"You pulled _me_ out!" Dean reasoned, like it was that simple. He sounded afraid and confused, and Castiel understood. But...

"It took several angels to rescue you, and you weren't nearly as well guarded," Cas explained, and it wasn't a lie by any means. "Sam's soul is in Lucifer's cage. There's a difference, a big difference. It's... it's not possible." And it wasn't. If it had been, he would have tried. Devastated, Alex's sickened and worried eyes studied her twin with quiet alarm.

"Okay, well, there's _got_ to be _some_ way," Dean insisted, unflinchingly determined to do something. Anything.

Cas offered nothing else. Because there was nothing else to offer.

"So, are you gonna untie me?" Sam asked, getting restless.

"No," Dean said strongly and immediately, only giving his brother a brief, irritated glance.

"Listen, I'm not gonna—" Sam started.

"Sam, how the hell am I even supposed to let you out of this _room_?" Dean demanded, crossing the room to stand in front of Sam and glare at him. Alex drifted over toward Cas as Dean faced Sam—and while Dean wasn't looking, Cas touched her arm and silently they searched the other's gaze for a brief moment.

"Dean, I'm not some _psycho_ ," Sam was appealing, trying to sound genuine. "I didn't want you or Alex to get hurt. I was just trying to stop the vamps, I was just trying to keep myself safe."

"Are you _high_?" Dean exploded. "You aren't some _psycho_? Well excuse me but seems all kinds of psycho from where I'm sitting to let your family get turned into monsters and then hold your own sister at knife point!"

Sam sighed like he was irritated. "I'm sorry," he said impatiently, trying to say what Dean wanted to hear. "It won't ever happen again. Please let me go."

"You're kidding, right?" Dean asked both cynical and genuine at once. "'It won't ever happen again'? Seriously? That's all you got?"

"Well, what are you gonna do, just keep me locked up in here forever?" Sam asked, growing snide.

Dean raised his eyebrows fractionally. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

"Okay, fine, look, I get it." Sam was putting on his best performance, but traces of contempt and irritation showed through. "I get it, Dean. I was wrong. But I'm _telling you_ I-I'm trying to get right. It's still _me_."

"Is it?" Dean asked frostily—he was unconvinced.

" _Yes_. So just let me go."

Dean's expression didn't even flicker. "No way in hell."

"Dean, maybe we can just—" Alex started, and her tone seemed to set Dean off. He whirled.

"Alex, _no_! You're psycho too if you're just gonna let him have another chance!" He ranted with incensed animation, using his hands a lot. "First Sam throws you to vamps, then he uses you as a human shield—call me crazy but I don't wanna go for third time's the charm in this situation!"

Alex said nothing, but her eyes showed conflict. The room went silent.

Impatient, Sam sighed. "I didn't want it to come to this," he said reluctantly—and then he stood easily, having worked out the restraints Dean had tied around him.

"Nice knots, dumbass," Alex muttered to Dean, who shot her a dirty look. Next to her, Cas had drawn himself up protectively and regarded Sam carefully.

"You're not gonna hold me, Dean," Sam said calmly, pulling the ropes off his wrists completely and then fixing his brother with a pointed stare. "Not here, not in a panic room, not anywhere. You two're stuck with the soulless guy, so you might as well work with me." He set them with a determined look. "Let's fix this."

"Do you _wanna_ be fixed?" Alex asked uncertainly.

Sam glanced at her and mulled the question over for a quick second, then nodded once. "Yeah. I think so."

Dean narrowed his eyes at his brother, shaking his head, undecided even though what he said seemed decisive enough. "You listen to me. I'm not 'stuck' with you, all right? You may be my brother but it ain't just you and me in this." He lowered his voice, seething. "I got a good mind to leave after the stunts you pulled."

Sam nodded, taking it in stride. "Understandable."

"But you're my brother and I'll be damned if I don't find a way to fix this for us," Dean declaring in a wavering voice. He wet his lips, becoming intense and deadly. "So this is the deal, and listen up, cuz I'm not gonna repeat myself." He paused, going closer to Sam. "I'm gonna be watching every damn move you make," he threatened, getting in Sam's face. "You go within ten _feet_ of our sister without my permission and it's adios. Any more crap like that vampire shit and that human-shield shit and it's _over,_ Sam, you hear me? You touch her, you so much as _look_ at her wrong and you're _done_." He paused. "And we ain't sharing motel rooms anymore, either."

"Fine," Sam said, nodding. "Sounds about right to me."

Dean looked his brother over in mistrustful unease. "Cas, clean him up."

Cas obliged, coming forward and touching Sam on the forehead. All in an instant, it was gone: his broken nose, contusions, bruises, and all the blood.

"All right, if we're gonna figure out what happened to your soul, then we need to find who yanked you out," Dean said, pacing a little further back in the room and frowning harshly. "You say you don't know?"

"No idea."

"Then we start a list," Dean said, looking to Cas. "If it's so hard to spring someone out of the box, then who's got that kind of muscle?"

"I don't know," Castiel lied, ashamed of himself the entire time and trying to conceal it. He looked at Sam carefully, avoiding Alex's anxious gaze. "You have no memory of your resurrection?" Did Sam remember, at all, that it had been Castiel who had pulled him up from the cage?

Sam shrugged. "I woke up in a field. That's all I got."

"No clues?" Cas pressed. "None?"

Sam thought for a second then conceded. "I've got one. Samuel came back same time as I did, pretty much. I say we go see if he's got a soul or not. Maybe he can point us in the direction of whatever big bad brought me back."

Dean was already pulling his phone out of his pocket. "Yeah. Good," he said. "Lemme call Samuel, see where he is." He retreated further into the room and as he talked on the phone, Alex took hold of Cas's forearm at his side, looking up at him anxiously.

"Can you stay a little while?" she asked in a whisper, gazing up into his eyes with wavering hopefulness. Her request touched him strangely, leaving a feeling of warmth underneath his ribs, a feeling of longing deep in his chest.

Cas glanced at Dean, who was still talking loudly on his phone, then his eyes came back at Alex, who waited for his answer. "Yes," he replied softly. "I'll stay." He needed to. There were still many things between them left unsaid. Alex nodded, mildly relieved.

Sam scoffed at the two of them briefly. Castiel returned the gaze sidelong… knowing that this situation was his fault. Discouraged, Cas looked downward, hearing Dean ending his phone call as he did. "Samuel's back at his compound, three hours from here," he reported, grabbing his jacket and pulling a bag up off the floor. He was short on temper. "Let's go."

"I thought he was supposed to still be looking for Jamie," Alex said, both a little surprised and angry.

"Said he couldn't find her," Dean said tersely, tossing another duffel bag at Sam and sparing his sister only a brief, hooded glance. "And anyway, we got bigger problems right now."

"Now? We're leaving right _now_?" Alex asked dubiously.

"Yeah, I ain't sitting around to figure this out," Dean said gruffly, heading for the door. Sam followed as Alex and Cas glanced at each other wordlessly, communicating non-verbally.

"Dean, uh…" Alex began, and Cas heard how nervous she was. Dean had stopped, hand on the door, expression expectant in a way that seemed rude. Cas spoke in Alex's silence so that whatever anger Dean felt would be directed at him instead. He walked forward slightly, putting himself closer to Dean than Alex was.

"We'll meet you there," he said firmly, leaving no room for protests. "Call me when you reach your destination. I need to speak with Alex. Privately."

Dean's face took on a strange look and his eyebrows rose, eyes narrowing. A little, humorless smile crossed his face. "Oh, _talk_ huh?" he asked, then chuckled derisively, drawing something out of his wallet to throw it angrily at Cas, who caught it just barely. "Use a _condom_ this time." Cas frowned down at the little foil square Dean had lobbed at him. What was this?

" _Dean_!" Alex exclaimed, appalled at her brother, who was leaving in an angry state, too fed up to put up a fight.

When Dean slammed the door behind them without anything further, the bedside lamplight flickered weakly, like the force of the door closing had done something to it. The room fell silent except for the _buzz buzz_ of the lamp.

"What is this thing?" Cas asked, looking at the strange packet Dean had thrown and turning it over in his hand. He could feel, under the foil, the distinct shape of a circle raised around the edges.

Alex was entirely disgruntled and crossed her arms, not looking Cas in the eye. She stared at the little packet instead sullenly. "Protection."

"How could this possibly be a weapon?" Cas asked, mystified. And why would Dean insist this was necessary for a conversation?

"No—" Alex said, smiling suddenly, just a little, despite how sad she looked. "Protection against _pregnancy_. It's contraception."

 _Oh._ Castiel understood now and raised his eyes to Alex's, which met his hesitantly.

Outside, the Impala's engines started and they could hear the tires squeal angrily against the pavement. Alex's eyes slid to that sound and her misery was palatable. Now that they were alone, Cas didn't feel the need to stand away from her. He chanced going closer. Before, he would have taken her into his arms without a second thought, but now, always on the edge of his mind, was a fear of overstepping his bounds. So he hovered nearby, _wanting_ to hold her but feeling afraid to take the chance. The lamp Dean had disturbed kept flickering weakly, making the room dimmer than it had been before.

Cas indicated the packet Dean had thrown at him. He knew what to say about _this_ , at least, now that he knew what it was. "This isn't necessary," he told her somewhat distractedly, setting it down on the dresser beside himself. "I know you've started menstruating again this year, but I'm an angel. I have control over conception." Alex seemed surprised and Cas paused. It must be strange for her how he knew about her menstrual cycle. A man wouldn't know that. But Castiel wasn't a man, he was an angel, and he knew things with just a glance that no one else could. He peered at her closer, abruptly noticing something else. "Your tongue is hurt," he said, stepping a little closer. There was a puncture deep enough to have drawn blood.

"I bit it," she said vaguely. "I was about to tell Dean about our… the…" she couldn't seem to say the word 'marriage', and for reasons unknown, Castiel felt that familiar sinking feeling inside. She had _wounded_ herself to keep their union hidden and she couldn't say aloud what they had done. Why?

"Let me heal you," he offered quietly. She hesitated then nodded, letting him touch her face to heal her. At the touch of his hand, he saw how she was emotionally affected, and he thought, if possible, his heart went out to her. When he had healed her, she put a hand over his and their hands stayed there at her cheek. Anxious gazes held steady and Castiel didn't know where to start. He thought of how many questions she must have, how many things he wanted to know. How much time had been lost, how many secrets and horrible things he was keeping from her. How angry Dean was with them right now. How Alex had hurt herself purposefully to keep from telling him their secret. It wasn't worth that—surely they could explain it to him? Cas paused, thinking hard, trying to decide the right thing. "I should talk to your brother about this," Cas said heavily, searching her eyes, brushing his thumb against her cheek. "Us."

Her eyebrows moved together a little. "Can _we_ talk about us first?" She laced her fingers through his and pulling his hand down, letting their hands remain entwined between them. The look on her face alerted him to her inner turmoil. The tone in her voice let him know that she was very upset about something. The bedside lamp kept flickering like it was dying out.

"Of course," Cas agreed apprehensively. "What is it you would like to discuss?" He wanted so badly to hold her but he did not move at all. A paranoid feeling grew that he would only make things worse, because making things worse was all he ever seemed to do. His question of what did she want to discuss seemed to overwhelm her and she couldn't find words, though she tried.

 _Neither_ of them seemed to know what to do or say and Cas was in a pain beyond the physical. She was close, but not close enough, and he was left aching and hoping. "Is it all right... if I hold you?" he asked, voice awash in apprehension. Should he feel so full of trepidation to ask her that? She looked as though she might crumble when he asked that and he recognized the answer _yes_ in her eyes before she even moved—moved forward to him. He met her and put his arms around her, felt her circle her arms around his middle, inside his trench coat and inside his suit jacket. Her face buried in his chest. Every cell that was Castiel breathed her name in anxiety and relief altogether, and the rigid uncertainty from a moment ago softened then fluttered away like a petal on the wind.

The war in Heaven, the secrets he kept from her, the things he was doing to try and right the wrongs he'd committed… it all faded away and he didn't think of those things. He thought of this and of _her_. Here, she was safe with him and he could feel her warmth like the sun, he could smell her familiar scent of soap, sweat, and shampoo. Here, she fit in his arms perfectly and he could protect her forever and things could be as they were before. It was so intense, the sensation that welled within him to have her in his arms again. And then he realized she was shaking. Crying. And the relief faded into alarm.

He drew back, holding her arms and looking into her face, trying to see what was wrong. Her eyes were shiny with tears and her features showed heartbreaking amounts of pain. He thought of asking Alex aloud what was wrong, but he already knew that _everything_ was. Sam, soulless. Dean, angry. Himself, absent. Her life, scattered to the wind. "Do you think Sam will ever be okay again?" Alex asked, her eyes silently cajoling him to reassure her. "Will he ever be _my_ Sam again?"

 _Oh Alex_ —her heartache was yet again his fault. As much as Castiel wanted to tell her yes, he couldn't lie purposefully about that to her. "I don't know," he said, guilt-ridden. Alex would despise him if she knew—that he was working with Crowley and using Sam and Samuel to open Purgatory. But when Cas accomplished these things, Heaven would be secured, free will would reign, and the two of them could be together without fear of consequence. Surely she would forgive him when he told her at last the things he'd done and why? He _would_ tell her, when he was able. If only that time was now. But it wasn't.

"I try and act strong but it's not working," she confessed quietly, seeming so unlike herself in that moment. "I don't _understand_."

"About Sam?" Cas asked weakly, taking her sadness and mentally adding it to the rest of the things that were his fault.

"About _anything_." She was mostly composed now but still emotionally raw. "This may be a dumb question but… when we…" she hesitated and wet her lips self-consciously, "got, got married, you were… human. Or a lot more like one than you are now. Now that you're… an angel again… what does that _mean_ for us?"

Cas frowned a little, trying to understand what she wanted to know. "What do you mean?"

Whatever she was about to ask caused her great reluctance and dread. "Just… has anything changed?"

Her question startled him. "Why would it?" Cas asked, quickly becoming confused and worried—did she think that because he had been restored to his Seraph state that the vows he'd made were null and void? From the way her eyes searched his so anxiously, he thought so and it alarmed him. "Nothing has changed, Alex," Cas said, his confidence wavering as he looked into her ambivalent gaze. "Not for me."

Great insecure sorrow welled in Alex's eyes. "But you're ageless and I'm mortal. You're stuck in Heaven, I'm here on earth. We were apart for a _year_ and it almost _destroyed_ me." Her words were devastating blows. She faltered, eyes unable to meet his. Her hand in his was loose, not holding fast. "Things… things just aren't what they were before between us."

Cas was silent and taken aback, hurt by her words because they were true—the moment she said them, he couldn't deny it. And not only was he hurt, but he was suddenly _afraid_. Had she slipped from his grasp already? Had she fallen away from him? Had the hurt inflicted by his absence done irreparable damage? As his alarm heightened and the silence stretched out, Alex became distressed too. "Say something, Cas," she breathed in a strained voice, begging him.

"I… I don't know what to say," Cas confessed starkly, feeling a cloying and terrifying sense of finality settling over him. He was out of his element, he was drowning in emotional helplessness—how could he fix this? Was she telling him, indirectly, that she hadn't the strength to continue with him in this? His uncertainty only served to further defeat Alex, who looked down, eyebrows pressing together as gaunt sadness etched over her features. Even though she was close to him, she was far away in a way he couldn't describe and Cas's insides writhed painfully in the vicinity of his chest.

"Did… did we make a mistake, Cas?" she asked in a weak voice, looking at him with eyes that broke him. "It didn't feel like a mistake. Not then. But now… I don't know."

It felt as though he were being stabbed through the chest and Castiel sank down to sit on the bed just behind him, staring at her in abject, shocked defeat. She thought they had made a mistake? How could it have been a mistake? He remembered watching as she walked to him dressed in white. That day, he'd been a real man because the heart inside his chest hadn't been just an organ of tissue. It had been a thing made of dreams and hopes and love. She'd made it that way. How had that precious bond between them become so broken and frayed? Was it even possible to repair? His emotions were so wretched and desperate that they affected him physically, sending pain throughout his body. His chest hurt, his stomach hurt, his arms hurt. His eyes stung as if they were burning.

His thoughts were interrupted when two arms circled around his neck. Alex stood between his knees and hugged him, a hand cradling his head as she bowed her head down to him. "I'm sorry," she choked out, lips by his ear, apologizing not just with words but with the way she held him and touched him. "I don't feel sure about anything right now—I'm exhausted and I talk without thinking and everything is so bad right now… it's not your fault, it's just me being stupid, I'm _sorry_ …" he felt her trembling hand stroking his hair—and he looked up at he, hearing how his heart pounded in his ears. She was upset and he needed to comfort her, but he felt as though he were incapable of doing anything at the moment. The bedside lamp flickered again, abruptly gave a little buzzing pop, then went out completely, leaving the room dark except for moonlight. Cas looked toward the lamp just slightly, dazed.

"I guess all things burn out eventually," Alex murmured, sounding so sad. Cas didn't think she was talking about the lamp. Cool silver moonlight filtering in through the blinds making the dark room seem smaller and more intimate.

Hearing how forlorn she was gave him a surge of strong conviction. "Not all things," he insisted softly and anxiously, and he chanced touching her, resting his hands on either side of her waist, trying to tell her without words that unlike that lamp, his feelings for her would not fizzle out or break… he wanted another chance despite the great odds against them to be with her, to love her, to live up to what he'd promised. She turned her attention back to him and petted the side of his head. In the darkness, her eyes were full and searched his with growing earnest longing and worry.

"Please don't be upset Cas," she begged, taking in his pained expression. "I shouldn't have asked you if it was a mistake."

"Of course I'm upset," he replied immediately, his face and voice showing how much so. He knew exactly what he'd done and was beginning to understand why she was questioning everything, even him. "I gave you reason to doubt me. I left you alone. I've _hurt_ you. I've left you uncertain about our union." Miserable facts Castiel could barely face. He should have known better, he should have known that an angel could never be what a human needed. That he would never fully understand how to navigate the treacherous waters of emotion. That he would do nothing but squander her love and affection and let her down no matter how hard he tried to fulfill her needs.

Her eyes were shining with unbearable emotion. "I'm _not_ uncertain," she said, voice thick and soft. She sounded braver than she had before… and somehow, it just made him feel worse to hear how willing she was to overlook what he'd done. "If you're not," she continued, "then I'm not either."

He tilted his head to the side, shaking it a little in a silent _no_. He knew many things, but most of all he knew he would never be free of the hold she had over him and the way his heart and mind clung fast to her in every instant of every day. "I'm not uncertain about you," he confessed, but it wasn't without heaviness. "How could I ever be?" But he had so many regrets about how things had unfolded. "I wanted us to be something else than what we are right now," he confessed, feeling selfish and dizzy pain in his throat and chest. "I made so many mistakes with you, Alex, how can you ever forgive me? I _hurt_ you. All that I have ever done is hurt you."

"No," she disagreed with soft eyes and an earnest tone. "That's not all you've ever done."

Memories of the beautiful moments they had shared together flashed across his mind and he remembered her smile, her laughter, their friendship, their bond beyond the physical. The way he'd always felt at rest with her, at peace. He longed to recapture what they'd been, he was terrified of the thought that perhaps it had been broken beyond repair. She was right in front of him and so beautiful and real, moonlight making her seem more enchanting than what seemed possible. Her expression was full of trepidation. "All I want is for us to be together again," she confessed in a wavering whisper. Castiel's heart clenched, twisted, and broke from relief at her words and the look in her eyes, the way she drew a little closer to him. "That's _all_ I want," she repeated, trying to convince him.

But he needed no convincing. He believed her. And the way she was studying him made him restless with need. He realized he was pulling her a little closer to himself, that every muscle in his body was straining toward her but also hesitating. Waiting. She drifted closer to him, her eyes asking him before her lips did. "Kiss me," she requested in a husky, anxious whisper. His stomach jumped (a physical impossibility, but he felt it all the same) even as she leaned closer, her nose brushing his as her hands cupped the side of his face. "Just forget everything and kiss me right now."

He couldn't deny her for even a second, he didn't stop to think it through or examine it with logic. He simply did as she asked, meeting her waiting lips with his in a gentle kiss they both let out a soft sound at. Never, not _ever_ would he get used to the sensation of her mouth on his. He tightened his arms tenderly around her even as she pressed against him and they mutually deepened the kiss. Her fingers tightened in his hair. He groaned lowly, because the kiss unleashed a feeling of hunger and need that he had forgotten for a year—but it came barreling back over him immediately, his veins pounded faster with heated blood that yearned for her. He couldn't hold back on the fervor he felt, the utter despair for her. They kissed each other with not just mouths but with bodies and he ran a hand through her soft, loose hair as she whimpered and slid closer, straddling his lap with folded legs, laving his mouth with kisses that were intense and full of need that he recognized in himself. His body strained to be as close as possible to her, and as a result, their passion only deepened and grew more intense, more demanding.

Her plush lips and hot tongue sent currents of impossible, tight warmth rising throughout his body as her little whimpers drove him to insanity. He moaned faintly, overwhelmed by physical sensations of her against him like this—he'd forgotten how heady and overwhelming she was, how right it felt to be in her arms, how one touch from her was his downfall and weakness. Even though his body craved more, his mind hesitated. What about how he had damned her soul, doing exactly this? He planned to rewrite the celestial commandments when he gained the power of the purgatory souls, but until then—should he refrain from intercourse with her? Concern for her well-being worried him, causing him to regretfully pull away a little and tilt his chin down. He couldn't risk her soul. She sought his lips, not understanding that he was trying to end the kiss. He pulled away further, his heart hammering painfully. "We shouldn't," he murmured, not sure how to explain it to her and also worrying about the last time she'd been touched sexually. What if Cas's touches made her think of the man who had assaulted her?

Alex, frozen, looked absolutely confused. "Why not?" Cas faltered. He couldn't tell her the shameful, terrifying truth… how what he'd done had cost her Heaven and put her name into the book of Hell… it was too awful to say. He looked down, trying to think of some excuse. Alex, meanwhile, was growing more and more wounded. "Why do you not want to?" she asked softly, her arms loosening and her body shrinking away from him just a little. The worry in her voice made his eyes jump to hers.

"It's not that I don't want to," he told her and swallowed, shifting a little, uncomfortable because his body was already aroused to the point of pain. But fear of eternal damnation made him continue to hesitate. He tried to reassure her feebly. "I do want to, very much so..."

Confusion continued to fill her crestfallen face. "Then what? What aren't you telling me?" She spoke more and more slowly, fear creeping into her eyes. She still sat on him, but her body didn't press into his anymore. She seemed hurt, disconcerted, upset, unsure of how to respond to what he'd said. What irony it was: he'd hurt her… yet again. Castiel's shoulders slumped. And then Alex seemed ashamed, no longer looked at him. "It's because I cheated on you, isn't it?"

His eyebrows rose, then furrowed. " _Cheated_?" He repeated, surprised. Wasn't that a slang term for being unfaithful? He saw how much she blamed herself for something he never would, and protective love swelled within him, prompting him to circle his arms around her with renewed conviction. "Beloved," he breathed anxiously, the first time he had ever used a term of endearment. He moved a hand to sweep some hair behind her ear as Alex's eyes jumped to his. "You did nothing wrong," he implored, wishing she would believe him. Pain tightened his voice at the thought of that man violating her in any way. And then he thought of how, if he hadn't left her side, it never would have happened at all. "I'm the one who went against what I vowed," he reasoned sadly. He remembered promising _wherever you go, I will go_. And for an entire year, she'd been alone, mourning him. He was a liar, a hypocrite. _He_ was the unfaithful one.

She was resolute despite her pain. It made him love her even more. "You didn't have a lot of choice about leaving. I know that now."

Cas looked at her sadly, wishing things could be done differently, wishing he could take her grief from her. "And does knowing lessen your pain?" he asked softly. His question made her lips part open a little, made her eyes shinier. They were both silent for a moment, and Castiel decided that he should tell her. Not everything, but one thing at least. However, it was very difficult to tell her this, and he hesitated, his voice darkening. "I... found out something very terrible this year."

Apprehension filled her features and she hesitated, maybe dreading what he was going to say. "W-what?"

Castiel looked down, shamefaced. "I already knew that angels and humans were forbidden to engage in sexual relations, but I didn't know the punishment." He raised his eyes to hers, mournful to know he'd defiled her soul itself in the eyes of Heaven. "I learned that any human who sins with an angel is to be cast out of Heaven. Damned for eternity." Her eyebrows rose in mild surprise. Cas continued to explain, but carefully, not telling her all the details. "I went to Hell and removed your name from the book. You can be sure I will never allow it back in there." He gazed upon her fully, wishing things could be different, wishing they could be together physically without consequence. "I _will_ find a way to allow us an exception from the laws of Heaven, but until then… I'm very afraid to risk your eternal fate for fleeting pleasure."

Digesting the information, Alex paused, looking at him with great concern. "And what happens to the angel?"

For a fraction of a second, Castiel didn't know what she was asking. Then he realized she was asking what punishment had been prescribed to _him_. "Cast into exile," he answered, surprised at how calmly she was taking the news, how her first reaction was to ask about _his_ fate. If Raphael won this war, Castiel _would_ be cast out of Heaven and stripped of his wings. Alex would never know Paradise. Only Hell. And Castiel would not allow that to happen, ever.

"I don't understand," she said earnestly. "Isn't it... kinda already too late for us to avoid all that?" She paused, slightly bashful and rueful. "Many times over?"

Memories of their most intimate moments traveled across his mind, making him swallow a little. She had a point, maybe, but still he resisted, wanting to find some way to protect her from all things… even himself. Irrationally, he thought perhaps if he stopped them now, perhaps the damage could be lessened. Even as he thought about that, he realized how foolish and illogical it was. The damage _had_ been done... and wouldn't withholding himself from her only serve to damage things even more?

Her eyes studied him with a strange empathy and concern as she thought long and hard. "I didn't realize how much was riding on you winning this war," she said softly, brushing some of his hair back from his forehead. Cas's eyes locked onto hers in surprise at her statement—she seemed to know him. To see his struggles and the weight he carried. "It's too much for one man's— _"_ she caught herself "— _angel_ —'s shoulders." She was touching the side of his face and searching his eyes. The vast amounts of love and worry in her eyes humbled him. "How are you doing all of this and not falling apart?" She was the only one who had ever asked him such a thing, or to express concern about his inner well-being as far as the war. Her question struck a part of him he hadn't explored—the side of him that was stressed and burdened past capacity, the portion of him that couldn't bear even one more responsibility or hardship.

How _was_ he doing all of this and not falling apart? "I don't know," he answered honestly, not confident. He felt stripped of all pretense, smaller than he actually was, oddly bare. But he was resolute despite his feelings. He had to be. "It's because I have no other choice," he told her, and he was grim, knowing his role as a soldier and commander. "I will do anything to win this war. Anything." His voice softened as he thought of _why_ he fought. "To keep you safe. To fix what I destroyed."

She studied him with that brave, somber expression a little longer. "We're not broken." Her words were like water to a man who had wandered the desert. He wanted to believe her, he could see how she wanted to believe, as well—her face was filled with so much wretched hope, like she wanted him, was afraid to be hurt again, but was flinging herself into his arms again haphazardly, chancing everything in favor of loving him. And it occurred to Castiel how inescapable and imprisoning their love was, to both of them. How it was as unrelenting and certain as the grave—it was all too late to turn back. His face must have shown uncertainty, because Alex leaned a little closer, beseeching him. "Show me we're not," she whispered pleadingly and looked him in the eye. Her gaze dropped to his lips, then flickered to his eyes, then back to his lips and she kissed him cautiously, softly, slowly—oh, how she tempted him with that single action. She drew back a little, breathing out, her warm breath fanning across his lips. It was dangerous to kiss like this, but Castiel was aching and he gave in, telling himself just to kiss her once more.

He sought another kiss, his body reacting predictably at the sensual touching of lips. He drew back just slightly, trying to recover, keeping his eyes closed, but she followed him, kissing him again, hands now on either side of his face, body pushing in against his. A low sound tore out of Castiel's vocal chords as he opened his mouth to hers and drove the kiss deeper. It was maddening, this heavy, passionate, frustrated kiss they were torturing themselves with. He felt her familiar curves against him through the layers of their clothing and his hands and his mouth remembered them faintly, pleading to know them again—he was growing breathless and dazed by desire—but he found it within himself to resist and he stopped the kiss, resolving to end this temptation. But the second he pulled away, he was going back to her again helplessly with renewed fervor—he needed just a little more, and then a little more, and then a little more still—and the kiss became frantic, Cas's breathing grew noisy and ragged through his mouth and nose as Alex whimpered for him and pressed herself against him.

His hand grasped her waist and pulled her closer as Alex covered his hand in hers and moved it for him—she slid it up to cover the softness of her breast. They both moaned faintly at the feeling and Alex pressed her hand over Cas's so that he cupped the soft flesh covered by fabric. Cas was left in a stupor of feverish longing. "Ahh—Alex—it's—we _shouldn't—_ " he panted, wanting to have the strength to stop them while hoping she would give him reason to continue.

"I don't _care_ ," she replied in a voice thick with urgency and need, and now she moved his hand down and underneath her shirt and back up to touch her again—this time only the cotton of her bra stood in the way, and Cas groaned as his eyebrows slammed together and his eyes screwed shut.

"I've damned us both," he protested tightly, his fingertips against the compelling softness of her breast. His strength wavered and waned dangerously.

She seemed to accept the sentence, eager to sin with him all over again—she used their hands to push her bra cup aside—then rubbed his palm against the exposed peaking nipple there and they both gaspingly moaned, powerless at each other. " _Cas_ —" she breathed his name out pleadingly, a single word laced with begging desire, need, love, desperation and he _couldn't resist_ —he heard how much she needed him. And he needed her too. Groaning loudly, Castiel crashed his lips to hers again and pulled hard on the bra, ripping it in half down the middle in his haste to touch her more.

As he pressed his hand against the luscious weight and warmth of her bare breast underneath her shirt, she moved her hand down his body to touch him in a place that inspired Cas to make a very loud and pleasureful exhale—he'd forgotten, he'd _forgotten_ how this felt. " _Alex_ —" he protested miserably, because he wanted it and so did she—but he was still so afraid of causing further damage to her, he was so afraid of failing to win this war.

When she drew back a little and looked at him with wide-open eyes, the beginnings of rejection showing in her flushed, breathless face… Cas knew he couldn't refuse her. Not now. All of his fail-safes were shattered, all of his protests were forgotten, and he resolved to give her what she so clearly desired. He had damned them both and now he would damn them all over again in the sweetest sin that existed—and victory would be his in this war. It _had_ to be. He caved in completely and kissed her again, pushing his reservations away. He did not allow them to interrupt again. He let himself feel every sensation, let himself touch and be touched, let the fire between them grow hotter and hotter, tried to put every ounce of love and devotion he had stored away in her name into what he did next.

He gathered her in his arms and lifted her, turned them, then laid her down onto the bed and pressed himself down over her carefully as she wrapped him in herself. She made the most beautiful sounds as his kisses and touches made the inferno they'd lit rage even more. His shoes were kicked off to tumble down to the floor, then her boots followed. Her shirt, his coat and jacket, his tie, his shirt, his pants, her jeans, her ruined bra—all piled up one after the other on the floor, discarded without a second thought.

Cas murmured that he loved her against the side of her neck, Alex was crying out and gasping as he touched her between spread legs with fingers that hadn't forgotten how to make her see stars. Her obvious mounting bliss was the greatest eroticism to Castiel, who wanted her to know ecstasy over and over. She was so beautiful like this—flushed by pleasure and short of breath with eyes dark and heavy-lidded, mouth open in a silent call for a kiss which he eagerly gave. Her hand slid down his chest and stomach and touched him through the thin fabric of his boxers and he shuddered, amazed at the feeling that her touch brought to him, amazed at how trusting she was, how ready she was. He was ready, too.

She pushed his last article of clothing away and he helped her, bracing himself onto all fours over her. He got out of his boxers in an ungraceful stumble, almost falling sideways—clothing was very inconvenient at times. Cas heard her laugh so softly when he canted sideways—and his heart lurched in delight at the sound, he looked at her and saw how relaxed, how happy, how beautiful she was—and he loved her and wanted her all the more, pulling her underwear off with too great of enthusiasm and ripping them in his super-human strength hands by accident. She only bit her lip, holding back a fond smile and what sounded like another laugh. He opened his mouth to apologize, then stopped, noticing something that gave him abrupt pause. Her stomach scars were gone—he'd noticed that before, and knew it was from when he had healed her so hurriedly after Nandriel, a few months ago. But now he realized that wasn't _all_ that had been healed. He hadn't expected this.

"Alex…" he said, voice rising in slight alarm.

"They're just underwear, Cas, don't worry," she said, craning her neck up to kiss him.

"No, it's—I…" he swallowed, tried to think how to say it. "You're a virgin."

"Uh..." She paused, looking at him strangely, almost amused. "Pretty sure I'm not."

Castiel was embarrassed that he hadn't noticed before. He tried to explain the best he could. "When I healed you so hurriedly a few months ago, I must have… healed _everything_."

Her eyebrows rose. " _Oh_." She thought about it for a minute, then a rueful little smile came over her face. "Well…" she was smiling more now, eyes soft, reflective, affectionate. "...Then I guess this can be the first time you always wanted us to have."

His heart lurched with tenderness. He looked at her anxiously. "Are you sure?" He asked, feeling something lodged in his throat.

Her face softened. "You know I am." She watched the way his face worked and then her expression flickered, her eyes filling with so much deep emotion and the sheen of tears. She touched the side of his face, letting her thumb brush against his jaw. Her voice was just a whisper now. "I trust you, Cas. I want this." The most beautiful words she could say, words he didn't deserve, words that must have taken so much courage to speak after how he'd violated her trust so thoroughly this year. She kissed him then, melting him all over, easing his anxiousness. He could feel how she loved him, how she wanted him, and his apprehension faded. This time _could_ be different. Better. This time, he knew what to do.

Her hands grasped his forearms, she watched as he lowered himself over her, he noticed how her breathing hitched when their chests touched. He searched her eyes deeply in the dark, poised to make them one again. His body strained for her. But he waited. "Ready?" he asked softly.

She nodded just a little and told him mmhmm in a murmur, her eyes holding his as he shifted and wrapped his arms around her more closely—cradling her carefully and then moving his hips forward until he bluntly nudged at her. Their eyes clung and their breathing came shallowly.

Castiel was gentle and careful, going as slowly as possibly, not focused on himself, but on her. Alex breathed out loudly as he first slid inside even as Cas shuddered at the sensation he hadn't felt in a year—it was almost like it was the first time he was feeling this, that's how incredible it felt to gently dive deeply in until he could go no further. Overwhelmed with love, he bent to kiss her forehead lingeringly then let his forehead rest against hers as he tried to control his staggered breathing. Cas looked at her in both absolute bliss, then saw how her eyes were filling with tears. Sudden concern skyrocketed.

She saw his worry and shook her head a little. Emotion wrecked her features. " _God_ I love you, Cas—" she confessed and hugged him tightly, fingers digging into his skin as she hid her face in his shoulder.

"Am I hurting you?" Cas asked anxiously. It had been a long time—perhaps this was causing her discomfort.

She shook her head and turned her head toward him, her nose pushing into the side of his neck. "No, it doesn't hurt. Just… _tell me it won't always be like this_ ," she choked out in a whisper, holding onto him as if she thought he was going to fall away. He felt how she was quivering with tears. "Everything in the world against us… everything gone wrong." She pulled back enough to look him in the eye. "Tell me we'll be all right someday," she begged hoarsely. "I _need_ you in my life."

Her words struck terror into him and an urgent need to comfort her. Not knowing what else to do, he whispered that he would _always_ be in her life, that everything would be better someday and he kissed her achingly, cradling her head in one of his hands. He had to make it all right, he _had_ to. When their mouths came apart, Alex gave a frustrated sound and rocked her hips against him even as she wrapped her legs and arms around him, pulling him in even deeper than he thought possible. Shocks of euphoric physical pleasure shot through Cas. Alex was whispering for him to take her, _oh god please Cas take me_. He moaned breathlessly at her words and put his arms around her tightly, letting their bodies press down into the bed as he made love to her for all he was worth.

She was lost in bliss the same as him, her every touch and movement seeming to tell him silently _I love you I need you I love you I need you._ It was desperate and earnest this thing they were doing to each other, it was fervent and impassioned and Castiel was overpowered by her in every way. Without a single word leaving her mouth, only incoherent, wanton sounds, Castiel understood that she was nearing the crescendo and he rushed to help her reach it by doubling his efforts. She moaned his name anxiously and clung to him tightly then trembled like an earthquake in his arms as she began to fall apart and reach utter ecstasy. It spelled his downfall to see and feel her like that—and Cas groaned her name and tightened his hands on her. He was thrown headlong into exploding stars, he was helpless and nothing _,_ just flesh and blood and _hers_. He heard someone crying out in surprise and pleasure, then realized it was himself. His body spasmed and seized as the apex controlled him and drained him, shook him to his core—they held onto each other as they were wrecked by delirious, ravishing pleasure. And then it was over and they were left to pant in the quiet, dark room as the comedown began.

Alex gave a soft, crying sound and Castiel touched her head, her face, holding her worshipfully as he asked what was wrong. All she could manage was, "I missed you… I _missed_ you."

Cas turned them onto their sides to face each other and he held her, asking for her to tell him why she was crying but she again insisted tearfully that she just missed him so much. She curled into him and Castiel was hurt and confused, terrified that something was wrong. Why wouldn't she tell him what was wrong, he asked.

She told him he didn't need more burdens to bear, and he told her she would never be his burden. She was his treasure. She bowed her head to his shoulder then said she was just sad. _Please just hold me awhile_ , she pleaded heartbreakingly. _Stay._ And he did.

For a few moments, they said nothing else. He stroked her hair, trying to comfort her. He silently harrowed his mind for a way to reassure her. When her tears abated, he held her close in the darkness and pressed his lips into her hair. "After the war… after I defeat Raphael… we'll find a way," he promised her in a gaunt whisper.

"How?" came a whisper of her own.

He answered her the only way he knew. "Together."

She snuggled even closer to him then, and Cas thought they were both aware of how precious this moment was, how rare it was, sadly, to have this time together. His heart already broke at the thought of leaving.

"I've... heard lots of people say the first year is the hardest," Alex murmured after awhile, sounding sad and thoughtful. "Man, were they right." She attempted an airy chuckle, but it sounded more like a sigh.

"The first year of... marriage?" Cas asked, making sure he followed correctly.

"Yeah." She paused. "Today's May the fifth."

It _had_ been a year. Over a year. Wait. May the fifth. "Your birthday," Cas realized. "It was three days ago." He hadn't even realized and he frowned slightly. "A gift is customary, isn't it?" he asked, wishing he'd remembered. "What would you like?" He would get her anything she desired.

Her arms circled around him and she said nothing at first, but he sensed that she was sad. All she did was shake her head. "You."

"You have me," he told her tenderly, but he felt the half-truth of what he said even as she corrected him.

"You—all the time," she clarified despondently, pulling her head back to look at him. "Every time we're together... I'm waiting for the goodbye."

Silent and bereft, Cas touched the side of her face and held her gaze. Neither of them knew what to do, and both of them loved the other enough to die from the feeling bursting in their hearts. She was lonely and alone, and he could do nothing to change that. Not right now. Everything depended on victory in this accursed war he had declared. Castiel felt guilty. So guilty. His allegiances were divided down the middle and moments like this made him long to rip his grace out completely, crash to her forever. But Cas knew nothing but how to be an angel. He couldn't protect her as a man. He could better love her as a human, but he could better serve and safeguard her being what he was now. It was a miserable dilemma that burdened his heart. And even if he wanted to—and he _did_ —he couldn't leave Heaven for her. He had a war to win. So much depended on his victory.

"We won't always be separated as we are now," he told her softly, committed to seeing that his words were proved true. He circled his arms around her again, pulling her close. "Someday we'll be together and there will be no goodbyes."

"Will you be a man or an angel in this 'someday'?" Alex asked softly, sounding nervous to hear his answer.

He thought about it and then answered honestly. "I'm not sure." She said nothing, mulling over deeply what he said. "Which one would you have me be?" he asked her. Those hazel eyes darted up to his.

"I… I don't know." But he wondered if she _did_ know her preference. He opened his mouth to ask her if she meant that, but she was already speaking again. "Tell me about the war, Cas? About what it's like. What you've been doing all this time up there."

In the darkness of that motel room, he indulged her, starting at the beginning and delving into detail while avoiding mentioning Crowley and some of his more questionable actions. Instead he told her of how the heavenly host was torn between following himself and Raphael, how Paradise was almost unrecognizable in some places because of the destruction that had transpired. He told her how he was searching for Joshua to try and speak with God but had not been able to locate the angel anywhere. Cas told her how he had a handful of other angels searching the earth for Genesis, the lost archangel.

"Genesis? I don't remember her being mentioned in the Bible," Alex said, frowning in thought. "I've never even heard of her before."

"No, you wouldn't have." Castiel paused. "As punishment for her love affair with the lower-level angel, she was struck out of God's word. That's what they say, anyway. No one remembers."

"No one remembers?" Alex asked softly, intrigued.

"No. She was cast out a very long time ago," Cas answered. "I suppose her lover was, too."

"And who was her lover?"

Cas shook his head, feeling as though he knew the answer to that question, but when he tried to remember it, a large blank nothing came to mind. "No one remembers that either."

Cas told her how he was seeking Genesis to see if she would side with him and help end the war in Heaven. But what if Genesis sided with Raphael or didn't know who she was anymore, like Anna hadn't known? Alex asked. Castiel smiled a little ruefully and answered the best he could. He mostly didn't know answers. He told her about how the battles never seemed to end, how he'd learned more and more of betrayal, how he could only trust a select few angels. He told her of the heartache brought on by killing his brothers and sisters. He named some of them. Told her names, stories—one of Eremiel, who had shown Castiel a very special fish in countless years past, one of the evolutionary benchmarks of humanity. "That was when we still walked the earth in our true forms," Castiel said softly, deep in memories. "He was a good angel. A good brother. And he died at my hand because of this war. Because he was blinded by Raphael's lies."

Alex held Cas's hand close and brushed her lips over his knuckles, told him she was sorry, she couldn't imagine. Her touch and words seemed to tighten around him protectively, comforting him. She said she wished she knew a way to help him and those words made him smile just a little despite his pain. He touched her, unable to say with words what he felt. And then Cas reiterated his apologies at how he had just disappeared from her side when she'd needed him the most, the day Sam died in that graveyard, he told her he had never expected things to unfold as they did. He knew she could never forgive him for it, but he explained it at length: Raphael's blackmail, Castiel's own powerlessness to do anything but stay away to protect her. Alex accepted it bravely, saying she understood.

Castiel asked what had happened to break herself and Dean apart for the year. She told him about their fight, the way she had 'lost her mind for a few minutes' she put it: Holding her brother at gunpoint and blaming him for everything. Alex went on to slowly tell Cas what her year had been, how she'd tried working a few honest jobs but felt lost and out of place. How she'd fallen back on living the only way she knew. She didn't say things about how alone she'd felt, but Castiel could hear it somehow. She had been just as lonely as he had. In fact, even moreso, he thought. He held her tighter because of that. Alex asked how all of Heaven knew about their relationship, and Cas shook his head regretfully, because he didn't _know_ how all of Heaven and Hell alike knew of his love for her. Alex asked if Heaven knew about their marriage and he said no and it would remain that way for the time being. Alex said that was all the more reason to keep it from her brothers, at least for now. "Until we know more about what the future looks like," she concluded in sad thoughtfulness.

Castiel heard her loneliness again and apologized quietly, telling her he was sorry about the way things were for them at present. Alex was valiant despite clear misgivings, telling him that after today, after being with him and speaking with him she felt better—how she'd been so worried after Scotland and after throwing the penny back at him. Cas touched it then where it rested against the space between her breasts. He murmured how he only wanted the best for her. She looked at him intently, the silence spanning for a moment. Then she abruptly asked if he remembered when she'd killed him at Lucifer's hand.

He was surprised at the question. "Yes," he breathed softly, recalling the utter horror in her eyes, recalling Sam's face but Lucifer's chill... how she'd screamed as Lucifer had puppeted her into killing him.

"I still have nightmares about that," Alex confessed in a voice that betrayed how tormented the memory still made her. Castiel grasped her hand in his and held on tightly.

"You didn't do that to me, it was Lucifer," he told her in fierce quietness.

Her eyes looked into his. "I know, but… I felt you die. I _watched_ you die." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "And I wanted to die, too."

Cas hugged her, kissed her hair, unsure what to say, remembering the worst time of his existence. She had been so ill—withered away into a shell of herself, pale and gaunt, eyes dull and glazed, lips drained of youthful rosy hue. She had been dying after possession, and he'd been a mortal man who was unable to do anything for her at all. "I still blame myself for all of that, you know? Everything that happened that day," Alex admitted softly, her voice filled with guilt. "If Sam hadn't been able to get control back like he did… the world would be burning now. And it'd be my fault."

Cas frowned deeply to himself. He hadn't dwelled on these things in quite some time—and hearing how much she had hurt him. "No. Lucifer would have found a way to trick or persuade Sam into being his vessel no matter what you did or didn't do." He remembered a moment that had been so frightening for him. "But why did you? Without telling me? Without... saying goodbye?" he asked faintly, his tone tinged with pain. "I woke up and you were gone."

"I know," she murmured remorsefully. "I was trying to do the right thing. Didn't want anyone to talk me out of what I thought was gonna save you all. So I just... left without saying anything to anyone." She shook her head, sounding a little bitter. "Guess you're not the only one who left when you said you wouldn't." Her voice darkened even further. "Fucking _Crowley_ ," she muttered scathingly.

Cas was slammed with suspicion at the unexpected mention of the King of Hell. "...Crowley?" he asked, trying to sound neither too upset or too nonchalant.

"The one who told me all the bullshit about how I could kill Lucifer," she said with a sigh. Shocked and then very angry, Cas remained stone-silent. He hadn't known that Crowley had perpetuated Lucifer's lies that almost ended Alex's life. "It doesn't matter now," she continued, oblivious to Cas's inner thoughts, "but I mean… if I saw him right now I'd definitely stab him in the throat." She drew back and looked at his face. "Why do you look so surprised?" she asked. "Crowley's a demon. I should have known better than to listen to him."

"Yes," Castiel said, trying not to be as terse as he wanted to be. "Demons lie." The irony wasn't lost on him: angels lied too. Either way, Crowley would pay. But for now, Cas focused on Alex. He pushed his boiling angry thoughts away and took in a deep breath to refocus. "Does Dean know that Crowley said these things to you?"

"No. He'd roast me alive for being so stupid. And for never telling anyone."

Cas paused, trying to be delicate. "Surely you realized Crowley's information could be untrustworthy?"

A soft sigh came from her lips. "I thought I was smarter than him I guess. I dunno. I wanted to be the one who could save everyone, for once… and I thought if I told you or Dean or Sam about it, you would just try and protect me." A wan smiled came over her mouth. "Maybe I should have let you, huh?"

Cas tightened his arms around her and was silent for a long moment. He wanted to say they should always tell each other everything, that she should never keep anything from him, not _anything_ —but if he said that and then withheld all the things he was keeping a secret… that would make him a despicable hypocrite.

"Do you remember your time being possessed?" he asked her softly, thinking back to the day he had faced Alex and she hadn't been Alex.

She became very quiet. "Yes. It was cold. And I was very, very scared."

Only a handful of words, but they chilled him. She'd been tricked, used, and left for dead by Lucifer. Cas was left to shake his head mournfully. "I would have saved you if I could have," he said, wishing he had been able.

"You _did_ save me. You brought me back from the dead."

Cas drew back, moving a few loose strands of hair away from her face with his fingertips. He would always try and save her and he didn't understand when she didn't give him the opportunity. "Why didn't you call me when you were turned into a vampire?" 

The question quickly embarrassed Alex. "I… I was a monster. I didn't want you to see. I was ashamed," she admitted to Cas's great sadness. "I thought I was gonna die and… I guess I wanted the last you saw me to be something good. Not more of me after blood." Her eyes were downtrodden and low.

" _Alex."_ He gazed upon her somberly, grieved that she would think that way. Her eyes met his haltingly. "You should know by now… nothing will stand in the way of my love for you. _Nothing_." It was terrifying, and it was the truth, and both of them were somehow afraid of how much he meant the words.

After a short silence, Alex quietly told Cas about what had happened with Sam, the vampires, all of it. The details were very alarming to Cas—how Sam had so willingly endangered his siblings, how Dean had run away, how Alex had fed on Sam and then how Dean and Alex had tried to fix the problem themselves with their grandfather Samuel's cure. And then when Cas learned of this woman Jamie Ward's involvement, how she'd saved Alex's life and then been hurt by it then disappeared completely, Cas nodded thoughtfully. "I'll see if I can locate this Jamie Ward and see if she is in fact all right," he said slowly. "We owe her your life after all, it seems."

Alex looked at Cas in sad hopefulness. "Don't you already have a million other things to do already?" 

"Well, not a million," Cas said, believing that to be a grand exaggeration. "Several hundred, perhaps." He began to wonder why Alex was smiling like that. The way she always had when she joked. Cas was too busy thinking about something else. "I don't want you near Sam right now," he confessed, trying to convey how crucial this seemed to him. "Not after this week and what he's let happen to you, what he's done."

To his surprise, Alex didn't protest vehemently. Instead, she went quiet for a minute. "But… he's my brother."

"I know," Cas said. "But he's dangerous right now. He has no moral compass, no empathy. I know that Dean will try to keep you safe, but…" he trailed off. "And _I_ can't watch over you very well right now." Admitting that was difficult and disgraceful, but true.

"Cas, I can take care of myself." Alex paused and thought about it. "Well. Most of the time."

Cas touched her shoulder cajolingly. "Please. Consider for my sake separating yourself from him for the time being. Until a solution presents itself. I don't want you in harm's way."

At his gentle request, the headstrong and stubborn Alex he knew and loved did not dig in and resist. She surprised him when instead of answering she studied him with tender eyes, looking into him deeply, seeing all of him (or so it felt). Finally, she spoke. "You seem so grown up to me right now," she observed in a soft voice. Why did it sound like she felt bittersweet about that? He'd _had_ to—he'd had to step up and do the things required of him. Did that make him more grown up? Alex was still focused on his request. She nodded once. "I'll _consider_ it," she said, seeming sad about that. "Especially if Dean keeps acting like a jerk to me about..." she trailed off and sighed, her eyes falling sideways furtively. "Things."

He heard how she was hurt thinking about her oldest brother. Cas's hand was still on her shoulder and he caressed the skin there, trying to comfort her. "He loves you very much, Alex," Castiel said. "I know he does."

Alex's eyes flitted back to his as she managed a rueful smile. "I know he does. He's just kind of bad about knowing where his business ends and mine begins." She sighed then looked at him with an abrupt glint of interest in her eye. "Speaking of that… how much longer can you stay?"

Cas frowned and shook his head slightly. To his best knowledge, he wouldn't be called away for at least another hour or two... but he couldn't exactly predict it, either. "I'm not sure," he answered truthfully. "Why?"

She answered by leaning in and kissing him softly, sweetly— _oh_ , that's why—and she shifted herself closer, enough that he could feel the heat radiating off her skin, then closer still until they were chest to chest, stomach to stomach, thigh to thigh—her mouth opened to him and he understood, giving in to her without protest. The rift that had been lodged between them was slowly closing with every touch and word and gaze. How long did they lay there kissing languidly, side by side, hands exploring each other's hair, each others arms, sides, chests? Castiel didn't know, but as his hands took in her body, he was once again thankful at how much healthier her physical form felt. 

"You feel so much softer than you did last year," he murmured appreciatively, letting his hand grasp the firm curve of her behind (she made a gasping, giggling sound when he did that) and then he finally began to roll over onto her, laying her down onto her back. There he took his time to thoroughly, deeply kiss and touch her neck, jawline, collarbone, sternum, breasts, stomach, hips. She clung to his head with her hands as long as she could, not laying down but craning toward him, as if she couldn't bear to be separated from him. Every last part of her was beautiful and he wanted to show her the extent of his adoration.

He kept dragging his lips further and further downward, to the place where he knew she loved to feel his mouth. She reacted with a soft intake of surprised breath, their eyes met briefly and she murmured a coarse swearword and Cas felt his mouth grinning crookedly at her strong reaction. Just as he remembered… she liked this very much. He continued, lavishing affection upon her and tasting her deeply, his hands exploring and caressing her thighs and hips and sides. She was breathing hard and writhing in torment at the work of his mouth, whimpering his name like a prayer.

For almost an hour, the encounter continued—with the kissing of mouths and hands that explored every inch of the other; with whispered words and gentle comforts and then finally deep and slow lovemaking that was intensely appreciative and soulful, almost tantric in nature. It was like being high off of the other, like reaching nirvana. It ended as Cas sat back on his heels with her straddling him. Their arms wrapped around each other and left no distance at all between their heaving and sweat-damp bodies. Their mouths were a breaths distance apart and open so that they breathed the exhales of the other. Slow and powerful bliss came over them like the deepest inhale of sweet mountain air, like a sunrise over the ocean, like salvation itself.

* * *

**Lansing, Michigan**

"Turn here," Sam directed. Dean complied. Under the cover of darkness, the Impala bumped down a rundown gravel road seemingly to nowhere.

"This place sure is out here," Dean complained, switching hands on the wheel restlessly.

"Yeah, Samuel likes things discreet," Sam said offhandedly, then paused. "So, Dean—"

"Will you shut up already?" Dean was in a sour mood and not exactly excited to be riding around with a soulless douchebag for a brother. "I already told you. Don't wanna talk to you right now."

Sam sighed, sounding so very much like Sam for a second. "Come on Dean," he said levelly. "It's me. If we're gonna do this, hunt together, we have to trust each other."

"Oh that is _rich_ ," Dean mumbled. Trust each other. Ha. In the back of his mind, he wasn't too sure about keeping Sam on. He had Alex to think about, too. This sucked, being stuck in the middle—which sibling should he be loyal to? The brother who needed help getting his soul back or the sister who'd just overcome a demon blood addiction and had issues picking her boyfriends?

Dean had seethed for the first thirty minutes of the drive after leaving Cas and Alex in Calumet City. Then he'd gotten pissed at himself for actually going along with Cas's 'I need to talk to her alone' thing. _Talk._ Right. Now, three hours after leaving them at that motel room, Dean was kicking himself.

 _What, so he fucks Alex and makes her think he loves her, then disappears for a year and leaves her a brokenhearted mess… then just thinks he can waltz back and get some more?_ Dean shook his head and rolled his eyes. Whatever. It was her choice—clearly Dean couldn't stop her. He'd tried last year and just gotten pushed away and alienated. All Dean could think was, _really_? _Cas?_ Awkward doofy constipated Cas? Yeah, he got that Cas had saved her life and done some pretty amazing things for her, but at the end of the day, Cas had the sex appeal of a nail file. Or that's what Dean thought, anyway.

Dean wasn't a prude by any means—his views on sex were pretty self-centered and he had casual sex, one night stands, you name it. So did Sam and more power to him. But that stuff was below his sister, who was tenderhearted and a romantic at heart. Special. Dean was past hope of having a monogamous, long-term relationship, he was pretty sure about that now after the trainwreck of trying to make it work with Lisa. But Alex deserved better than he did. Empty sex with strangers, feeling good for a few minutes and then being alone again? Sometimes that was exactly what Dean wanted. But he was getting older now and... it wasn't always a fair trade. Dean guessed he could get by on meaningless sex, but Alex deserved a guy who would stick around and make her life better, someone who would give her stability and safety. And maybe Cas _thought_ he was that guy but really. How _could_ he be? Cas wasn't emotionally or mentally all there, he was a friggin' angel and wasn't even from the same planet that Alex was. The two of them were messing around with something dangerous. Dean couldn't shake that thought.

It wasn't even the idea of the two of them having sex that upset Dean the most... although it did disturb him—there were other reasons the idea of the angel and his sister bothered him. Much more _important_ reasons. Cas was strong and powerful and not human. He was way into Alex. Obsessed, even. And that left Dean uneasy, knowing the angel who had started a war in Heaven was gunning for his sister. What were his intentions? What was he expecting to get out of this 'relationship'? Did the angel view Alex as a person, or a possession? Dean was going to make it his business to find out. Just as soon as he got over _this_ crisis. He glanced at his brother sidelong. He really missed the old Sam right about now.

"There," Sam said, indicating a chain link fence gate up ahead. "They know to expect us."

Sure enough, the gate began to open as Dean drove up. He drove through and two guys with guns waved them in. Dean steered the Impala into what looked to be a pretty impressive compound—fortified and guarded, several smaller buildings clustered around a larger one, maybe an old warehouse or factory. "Park there," Sam said, pointing over at Samuel's familiar black van and Dean did so then got out and let out a heavy breath.

"Guess it's time to call the lovebirds," Dean grumbled then gave a windy, disgusted sigh. "Cas. We're here. Wanna get your ass over here, Romeo?"

Leaning his arms onto the roof of the Impala, Sam looked around expectantly. Dean got annoyed fast when Cas didn't appear right away. And then, behind him, Cas's unmistakable voice. "Hello Dean."

Dean turned around—there was Cas, looking the same as always—no, he looked a little different. His expression was less _I have to poop_ than usual. Beside him, Alex looked the same as she'd looked when they'd left, only—her hair had been brushed (she never brushed it) and her cheeks were rosy, like she'd been for a very vigorous run—her expression was calm. Dean withered and got flustered. He found his voice as he struggled to hide his gaping expression underneath a mask of _I am not amused_. "Yeah, _hi_ —" he shot a glare at Cas, unable to stop himself from making a comment. "You two have a good _talk_?"

Cas looked at Alex with a perplexed _what do I say expression_ even as Alex just shook her head and chuckled, further maddening Dean. "Yeah, great. Listen, how about you meet us inside, lover boy?" Dean snapped at Cas. "Look for the huge shiny bald guy. Can't miss him."

Cas narrowed his eyes discerningly and glanced at Alex, communicating with her silently, then nodded to Dean. "I'll see you there." He disappeared.

Dean set his sister with an expression that suggested he was dead inside. "You're glowing," he commented flatly.

She gave a soft little chuckle and walked past him with a rough-housingly affectionate pat on his shoulder. "And you're _adorable_." Great, so she was gonna be a little shithead. Well, at least she wasn't slapping him anymore. She acknowledged Sam with a nod, pointing at the compound. "Sam? You wanna show us around?"

"Yeah, right this way." Sam took the lead.

Grumbling, Dean hurried to follow. He wasn't going to let Sam and Alex too close to each other, and he _definitely_ wasn't going to let them be alone together after what had happened.

Inside the compound was dark with a low ceiling and bare, industrial walls. A few cheap fold out tables lined a big main room where Dean quickly counted about fifteen people—sharpening machetes, loading guns. A few glanced up, recognizing Sam but eyeing Dean and Alex dubiously. "Gramps throw a barbecue, leave us off the e-vite list?" Dean muttered even as a familiar guy came to greet them. Christian Campbell—their third cousin or some crap like that. Dean had met the guy once or twice before and didn't like him much. Christian had a bad attitude and strong, plain features. His light brown hair was slicked back from a receding hairline and he carried himself with an air of pompous swagger.

"Sam!" Christian laughed, greeting him with a handshake and clap on the back. His smile faded as he laid eyes on the other two Winchesters. "Dean. Alice."

Alex corrected him immediately, sizing him up, probably remembering him from a few months ago when she'd seen him before. "Alex."

"Right," he said, eyeing her a little rudely. 

"Hello, Newman," Dean snarked. "Where's the man?"

Christian jerked his thumb back over his shoulder, eyeing Dean with open suspicion. "Down the hall, third door to the left." Dean set off in that direction without another word, his siblings right behind him. Third to the left… Dean counted doors, found the one they were looking for and all but burst into the room, hellbent on this task of finding out if Samuel was soulless, too.

Samuel was seated at a desk in what appeared to be a makeshift office—he'd been studying a slip of paper but upon Dean's rude entrance, he hurriedly put the paper away into a drawer of his desk. Huh. Interesting. "Well come right on in," Samuel commented a little sarcastically, trying to hide his emotions.

"Need to ask you a few questions," Dean said, getting straight to the point as his sister stood beside him with arms folded. Sam shut the door behind them.

Samuel glanced at Sam, then Dean again. "What's wrong?"

"The day you got back," Dean said. "What happened?"

Samuel's expression showed impatience. "We've been over this," he said, apparently not in the mood to chat.

Beside and behind him, Castiel appeared. "Well, recap it for our wingman," Dean said, glancing at Cas and indicating Samuel look, too.

Samuel swiveled in his office chair and looked Cas up and down, summing him up. If he were startled, he didn't show it. "This Castiel?" he asked mildly. Cas nodded shallowly. The bald hunter smiled condescendingly. "You're scrawnier than I pictured."

Cas recognized that he was being shaded and came back with a surprisngly cool and catty, "My true form is approximately the size of your Chrysler building." 

Alex's expression froze as she visibly tried not to laugh. 

"All right, all right, quit bragging," Dean muttered, pretty sure Cas meant it the way Dean thought he did. Classy, Cas. He rolled his eyes briefly before he returned his attention to Samuel. "So, you were dead, and…"

"And, pow, I was on Elton Ridge," Samuel returned blandly. "Don't know how. Don't know why. I got nothing to hide, guys."

"Well, you mind if Cas here double-checks?" Dean prompted. 

Samuel's expression showed confusion. "Double checks?" He asked, then saw how Castiel was rolling his sleeve up. Samuel got a little skittish. "Double checks for _what_?"

"Your soul," Cas replied.

Samuel's dark eyebrows shot up, and, quick on the uptake, he put two and two together. "Wait… so that means… Sam?" 

"Fresh outta soul," Dean wisecracked blandly.

Sam shrugged. "Whatever dragged me out... left a piece behind."

Samuel looked a little unsettled and then glanced at Cas, nodding. "Yeah, fine. Go ahead and check me."

"This will be very unpleasant for you," Cas said. "You have my apologies." He approached Samuel.

"Usually I have 'em buy me a drink before they get handsy," Samuel muttered, watching Cas reach toward him with heightening apprehension. And then when Cas reached into his chest, Samuel screamed in pain and writhed violently, obviously not expecting it to hurt as much as it did. It lasted only a few scant seconds. As Cas withdrew his hand, Christian burst in, a gun clutched. 

"Hey, _hey!_ " Alex raised a hand even as Sam moved to intercept. 

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Sam held both hands up. "It's okay. It's okay."

"What the hell's going on in here?" Christian demanded, staring first at Cas who was rolling his sleeve down, then Samuel, who was doubled over in pain.

"Angel cavity search," Dean quipped.

"I'm fine, Christian," Samuel grunted. "Just... give us a minute."

"But—"

Samuel used a much firmer voice—the likes of which seemed threatening almost. "Just give us a minute."

Christian didn't look happy about it, but he backed out and shut the door behind himself.

" _Well_?" Dean asked Cas.

"Unlike Sam, his soul is intact," Cas said, moving away from Samuel and a little closer to the Winchesters.

"Did you know?" Sam asked Samuel. "About me?"

Samuel's expression was terse. "No, but I…" he trailed off. "I knew it was something. I... you're a hell of a hunter, Sam, but... the truth is, sometimes you scare me." He shook his head. "So, what's the deal here? How do we fix this? How do we get his soul back?"

Dean shook his head too. "We don't know yet, but we have to." Cas looked toward the ceiling quietly, frowning, and Alex was watching him.

"Well, I'm here to help, of course," Samuel said. "What leads you working?"

"A bunch of dead ends and... you," was Sam's reply.

Samuel crossed his arms, resigned and tired. "Well, then, we'll just have to dig."

Castiel spoke suddenly, still staring at the ceiling. "Sam, Dean, Alex... I have to get back. I'm being summoned."

Alex sounded surprised and reluctant. "Now?" 

He looked at her fully, seeming to apologize to her silently with his gaze. "Yes. I'm sorry."

"You're _leaving_?" Dean asked, staring—they could really fucking use Cas's help on this one.

Cas seemed slightly offended at Dean's flippancy. "I'm in the middle of a civil _war,_ Dean."

Dean wasn't in the mood. "You better tear the attic up and find something to help Sam."

"Of course," Castiel said, his voice dark with surprising sarcasm. "Your problems always come first, Dean."

Well, I never. Dean was taken aback at the somewhat sassy comment.

Alex, voice softer than Dean's, drew Cas's gaze, which softened immediately. "Cas, just be careful up there," she said, and there seemed to be deep meaningfulness in her voice.

"Of course," Cas said, the same two words he'd said to Dean, but they were uttered in a gentle, considerate way. "And I _will_ attempt to find some way of helping Sam." He paused, holding her gaze, like they were the only two people in the room. "Think about what I asked you to consider." Dean's eyebrows rose at that comment even as Alex nodded yes, she would. And then Cas disappeared completely. Dean looked at Alex closely. What he 'asked her to consider'? What did that mean?

"Would've asked him to stick around for a beer," Samuel commented wryly, a hand to his torso as he still grimaced in pain. He glanced at Alex briefly. "Seems to like _you_ pretty well."

"You got no idea," Dean muttered, looking at Alex studiously. "What did he mean, what he asked you to consider?"

All he got from his sister was a side-eye, a slight shake of the head, and a muttered "tell you later."

Dean was unenthused. "Yeah great." He looked at Samuel, resigned to keep trying to find things out from closed off family members. "So, what's with the book club outside?" he asked. There was had to be a reason there were so many hunters around.

"Putting together a hunt," Samuel replied, pulling an ammo box up off the floor and opening it.

"That's a lot of guys for one hunt," Dean commented offhandedly. Alex was eyeing the shelves of books and taking in the titles silently as Sam narrowed his eyes at his grandfather.

"You found him, didn't you?" Sam asked, sounding mildly excited about it.

"Found who?" Alex asked, immediately latching onto her twin's intensity.

"He's got a lead on the alpha vamp," Sam replied, obviously into it.

" _Really_?" Dean asked, mildly impressed if that were true. "How'd you track him down?"

Samuel was mildly amused. "We're good."

Dean watched his grandfather carefully. "That's all I get? 'We're good'?" Why all the beating around the bush?

"When's the run?" Sam asked. He sounded awfully eager about it, too.

Samuel hesitated, clearing his throat. "Dawn."

Sam faltered, frowning. "You didn't call me? Why?"

Samuel looked down, didn't answer.

"'Cause of me," Dean supplied, then glanced at Alex. "And her." Sam narrowed his eyes at Samuel a little. Alex pondered Samuel carefully, then glanced at Dean sidelong. From that quick glance, Dean got the feeling she didn't trust Samuel any more than he did—and obviously, the feeling was mutual. "You don't trust us very much, do you?" Dean asked his grandfather. "Especially when it comes to big game like this."

"That's not true," Samuel said immediately, probably trying to keep the family peace or some crap like that.

Dean shrugged and smiled easily, testing Samuel. "Okay, well, then, we're in."

Samuel's eyes flickered with unease and he tried to backpedal. "No offense, but—"

"So you _don't_ trust us," Dean surmised.

There was a long pause. "No, I just don't know you two. Not like I know Sam."

Fair enough, Dean thought. But there was something going on here, Dean could sense it. So he kept trying to volunteer them for the little morning run Samuel was planning. "All right, how about this. You call the plays. A hundred percent. I'm here to listen."

Samuel chuckled. " _You_? Since when?"

Dean played it close to his sleeve. "Since big daddy bloodsucker. I ain't gonna miss that." He could feel Alex's curious eyes on him but he held Samuel's gaze. "I get it. This is your deal, not mine. I'll follow your lead. I trust you." All total bologna of course. And Samuel didn't look too sure.

"You really gonna turn away a couple extra hands?" Alex added in, drawing her grandfather's cool, unreadable gaze. She must have guessed Dean's plan, because she was put on the passive aggressive moves like a pro. "We owe you for everything last week. Let us help."

Grudging, Samuel glanced at all the Winchesters in turn, last of all Alex. He snapped his ammo case closed with a loud click. "All right. I just hope you're good with a machete, kid." 

* * *

"I don't trust him," Dean said definitively as the three of them went back outside and headed for the Impala. Cold incandescent floodlights cast a glow over the gravel lot where cars were parked helter skelter. "Dude's hiding something." Sam gave Dean an odd look as they walked in the chilly night air. Dean was in the middle and shaking his head. "I can feel it," he continued, seeing how Sam didn't have a frigging clue. "And if you weren't Robo-Sam, you'd feel it, too."

"Huh," Sam said in pronounced thoughtfulness.

"What?" Dean asked, stopping to look at his brother, who had a look on his face like he was trying to figure something out.

"Just… you, saying you don't trust family," Sam said, frowning mildly. He turned his gaze to Alex, who stood beside Dean, shoulders almost touching. "What about you, Alex? You trust Samuel?"

She scoffed mildly, keeping her hands in her jacket pockets. "Not for two seconds."

Again, Sam looked confused, but willing to hear her out. "Why?"

Alex shrugged. "Just don't. He gives off major bad vibes."

Sam narrowed his eyes, looked at her in continuing studiousness. Dean wet his lips and lowered his voice a little, casting glances between his two siblings. "Look, we hang close on this hunt, we blend in, we see what we can pick up. That's the plan." 

"You still think Samuel's connected to this whole soul thing?" Sam asked.

Dean was out of answers. "I still think he's the only lead we got." He glanced at the Impala. "Now let's go get our gear and get in on this family reunion, huh?"

* * *

Alex wandered back a little further, her boots crunching on the gravel. She was outside, exploring the compound a little as she took in a drag from the cigarette she'd bummed off of one of the hunters inside. Mark, Matt—something like that. She'd spied the familiar cigarette box square in his shirt pocket and asked for one, struck by the sudden desire for one. It had been awhile. She blew out and watched smoke flutter out into the dark night air. It had been awhile for a lot of things. 

She'd woken up this morning depressed, without hope, unsure of a million things, scared of everything and nothing in particular. And now she felt centered again, renewed, okay, more like herself again. _Castiel._ She smiled a little, warming when she thought of him. His name relieved her, the things he'd said to her strengthened her bones, the smell of him still clung to her skin. Somehow, they were going to make this crazy thing work, and she could believe that again now. It made current problems feel a little less dooming, at the very least. 

She kicked at some gravel errantly, peering around the back of the compound curiously. A couple smaller buildings were huddled there and she drifted toward them leisurely. Samuel had really managed to put together quite a little business here—all the extra hands inside, all the weapons and what she had observed to be a pretty good arsenal of literature in Samuel's library. _But_. Impressive or not, Dean was right… there was definitely something off about Samuel and this place in general. It felt like something was being hidden or kept secret. Alex stopped at a little building that was padlocked, realizing immediately... none of the other buildings had padlocks. Curious, Alex threw a glance over her shoulder. No one was around. She crept closer and checked out the padlock, peered at the lock in the darkness. It would be easy enough to pick. If Samuel was hiding something, she wanted to know what. She dug around in her jacket pockets, found a bobby pin, and stuck it down into the padlock.

"You lost?" came a female voice.

Alex whirled, heart in her throat. Standing there with a plate of food in hand was one of the Campbell cousins. "Jen," Alex greeted cooly, trying not to look guilty, not sure if she even remembered this chick's name right. 

" _Gwen_ ," the brunette corrected. She was shorter than Alex, with elfish features and big eyes that made her look perpetually surprised and a little crazy.

"Right. Gwen."

Gwen looked at Alex suspiciously. "What are you doing out here?"

Alex held her cigarette up. It balanced easily between two fingers and she cracked a facetious little grin. "Getting lung cancer, you?" She looked at the plate of food. It seemed pretty late for dinner and pretty early for breakfast. 

Gwen didn't seem to like the question. "Look, you probably shouldn't be wandering around out here," she stated neutrally, but there was some definite hostility beneath passive tone she used. "People might think you were snooping."

"Hm. Yeah. You're probably right." Alex took a drag. "See you inside." She walked off without waiting for Gwen to reply and kept going until she got to the corner of the building, walking loudly… then stopped and doubled back silently to peek around the corner. There she saw Gwen unlocking the padlock then entering the hut with the plate of food. All while throwing distinctly shifty glances around. What the hell was going on in this place? Who was in there?

"Hey."

Alex almost fell over at the deep, masculine voice right behind her and she turned fast, dropping her cigarette and reaching for a weapon… then stopped when she saw who it was. " _Christ,_ Dean!" she hissed at her brother. "Don't sneak up like that!"

He looked a little smug that he'd gotten the jump on her. "Don't get snuck up on," he countered.

Alex picked up her dropped cigarette grumpily and then grabbed him by the crook of the arm, walking him back toward the front of the compound briskly. "There's something weird going on here," she whispered intensely, casting careful glances around and stopping them beside the Impala.

"Tell me about it," Dean replied, seeming to share her misgivings. "Just tried to snoop around in Samuel's office and Christian cockblocked me. They're hiding something." He eyed her cigarette with distaste.

" _Don't_ say it," Alex warned him, recognizing the look in his eye.

"I'm not, I'm not," he said, sounding sullen. But just to humor him, she took a last drag then tossed the cigarette down and crushed it with the heel of her boot.

"Where's Sam?" she asked, crossing her arms and looking at her brother carefully. He looked tired and harrowed, but more than usual.

"Inside, polishing his blade." Dean cracked a juvenile grin that chased away the weariness etched on his face.

"Grow up," Alex said, even though she was amused at the immature quip, too.

"You first," he said, because she was grinning despite herself. She rolled her eyes, trying to be mature and failing. Dean cleared his throat, got quiet and thoughtful, then leaned his back against the Impala. It sounded like it took everything he had to ask what he did next. "So—uh… things with Cas. Better?"

His gruff, stiff question sort of shocked her and her eyes darted to him in surprise. Yesterday she'd vomited out a lot of private thoughts and feelings about Cas and how much she loved him and how unsure she was about how he felt about her. All under the truth curse, and all to Dean. She would rather he _didn't_ know that stuff, but… oh well. He did.

She answered him very carefully because she was sort of suspicious of his motivations for asking. "Yeah. Better."

Dean looked like he was trying to swallow a very large emotional pill. "That's… that's good."

Alex gave him a funny look sidelong, because he sounded like he was having to drag the words kicking and screaming out of himself. "You really mean that?" 

He sighed loudly, giving up on trying to maintain the farce. "I dunno." At Alex's look of mild disappointment, he shrugged in chagrin. "Hey, at least I'm honest," he said. Even _he_ sounded a little disappointed in how he was reacting. It was obvious what a hard time Dean had with the idea of Cas and her, but it was a pretty big step for him to at least try and ask her about it like a normal big brother would. Dean was looking at her in a soft, sad way. "He really does make you happy, huh?" He seemed to feel bittersweet about it.

Her heart lodged in her throat as everything inside of her shouted _yes!_ Aloud, she answered him neutrally. "Yeah." Alex wished she could tell her brother everything but he just wouldn't understand. Not yet.

Dean's expression stayed all soft and sad, like he thought he had lost her or something. "Guess I can't be too mad about it then, right?" he asked, trying to joke around, but he really sounded like he didn't know how to feel still. Alex didn't know what to say and stayed silent, glad that at least Dean wasn't freaking out.

Maybe Cas was right, maybe Dean just needed to be sat down and made to understand some things. But the question was, would Dean ever really get it or understand and let her go? Dean wasn't like normal big brothers—he was better, yes, but he was also admittedly way too attached to herself and Sam—he viewed them as his siblings and also as his children, his responsibilities. He wasn't the only one with unhealthy attachments… Sam and Alex were pretty twisted up in the family dysfunction too, but Alex moreso because of the way she'd been voiceless growing up. She'd always clung to Dean and vice versa, more than other brothers and sisters did. The life they lived, there had been little other alternative. Alex tried to remember these facts when Dean got so petulant and psycho over her life and wellbeing. But it couldn't stay this way forever—they couldn't hold onto each other like they had before, and they both knew it. She was growing up and had found something new to hold onto: Cas. 

Even though Alex was pissed at Dean for the better half of most days, she would _always_ be there for him when he needed her. And Alex was suddenly aware that maybe this was one of those times. Dean had just broken up with Lisa yesterday and then found out that Sam was soulless—add to that finding out how Cas and Alex had 'screwed,' as Dean so charmingly put it and you had one thing: Dean feeling like he was all alone. Why hadn't she realized that before? Maybe Dean looked sad right now because he felt like he had lost everything at the same time. Lisa and Ben bowing out of his life, Sam not Sam without his soul. And Alex with her heart so clearly invested in the trenchcoat-wearing angel. 

Alex was suddenly overcome with compassion for her brother and grabbed his arm reassuringly, patting a little. When he looked at her sidelong questioningly, she gave him a truce smile, trying to be hopeful. "Hey. Don't look so bummed out. We're gonna get through this Sam crap, okay?"

He didn't look assured. He tried to sound strong, but she heard how he was scared deep down. "And what if there's no getting through this one?"

Alex didn't want to acknowledge that as a possibility. "We always find a way," she said, then shrugged like it was no big deal. "This time's no different."

Dean took in what she said and nodded, trying to look like he agreed, then swept the conversation aside. He nodded toward the compound. "I need some caffeine, you in?"

She told him sure and they went into the Campbell compound and spent the rest of the night getting ready for the hunt that was happening at dawn.

* * *

**That Morning**

Alex leaned against the pickup truck, bored and annoyed. Some 'hunt' this was. It was insulting, being left behind to guard the cars. The sun wasn't quite all the way up yet and the day was both cooland foggy. Alex looked up and down the road again. It was a rural location in the middle of countryside nowhere. The alpha vamp was apparently holed up in a house that was about half a mile through the trees to the west. And here she was… babysitting the convey. Restless, she paced across the road and scrubbed at a smudge of dirt on the Impala out of habit. She gave a frustrated sigh and crossed her arms and turned and leaned against the Impala then tapped her foot slowly. This was, in a word, _bullshit_.

Dean hadn't been given a much better task than she had… he was with Gwen and had been told to hang back and take care of any straggler vamps. Basically, Samuel had made sure to keep them out of the hunt. Dean had wordlessly shot Alex a look that said _just do what he says_ when he'd seen her protesting internally.

But how the hell were they supposed to find out _what_ Samuel was being so weird about if they didn't do any investigation? Dean had said they were supposed to blend in and stick close—so what had happened to _that_ plan? A crow called somewhere nearby and a deer or rabbit broke a stick somewhere in the woods behind her. _Uggghhhh… this is stupid._ Alex's impatience boiled up and she decisively grabbed her machete and muttered "screw this," then headed off into the woods in the direction everyone had gone. She didn't see or hear how she was being followed. Stalked. Not until it was too late. 

She paused when she got a fair distance from the road and turned to look over her shoulder, eyes narrowed deeply when she thought she heard a sound. What was—

Pain exploded and her vision went white-hot as something powerful struck the side of her head, stunning and blindsiding her with enough force to make her spin and stagger a few steps sideways—before she even knew what had happened she was crashing down painfully, unsure of which direction was which. She heard someone groaning nearby. No wait, that was her. Vision swimming, head pounding where she'd been hit, Alex struggled to maintain clarity and rolled herself over, trying to find her machete with blind, groping fingers, trying to identify and locate her attacker. Above her, trees stretched up into the dull gray sky, doubling and tripling and spinning and she panicked, trying to push herself up—but she was slammed back down to the ground, hitting the back of her head from the force of the action.

Her wrists were held on either side of her head in vicelike grips by cold, crushing hands and she followed one of the arms, looking up in a disoriented search for the face of the person who was doing this.

Pinning her down, a familiar and towering blond man with piercing gray eyes. "Hey, _sweetheart._ Miss me?"

The confusion suddenly ended when she recognized him; her heart clenched in complete terror when she realized _Glen Ward_ had apparently come back from the dead. On his face there was a chilling, triumphant smile.


	60. Back in Black

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: attempted sexual assault

" _Forget the hearse 'cause I'll never die!  
I got nine lives, cats eyes, usin' every one of them and runnin' wild…"  
_\- AC/DC

* * *

Dean hung back uselessly, kicking dirt like a chump in the woods somewhere as Samuel Campbell led the huge hunt for the alpha vamp. That man was _hiding_ something, and Dean _knew_ it. Him and Alex being stuck in background positions proved that all over again. Dean had gotten stuck with his cousin Gwen and Alex was babysitting cars about a half mile back, probably bored out of her skull and pissed about the bullshit assignment Samuel had delegated her to. Dean let out a growling breath of impatience as he peered through the trees. The misty morning air felt damp and cloying and made him all the more restless. He couldn't see anything through the thickly wooded, foggy expanse but he knew that a quarter of a mile ahead, the hunters were closing in on the alpha vamp's compound. Dammit, he should be there too. What was Samuel _up_ to? Dean couldn't shake the instinct that something was really off.

Gwen ambled over his way with crossed arms, her boots cracking on the pine needles. Her features made Dean think of a strange doll and he gave her a terse little glance which she caught and returned.

"Hey, so—sorry about the 'reject' thing back there," she said, trying a contrite smile. The first words she'd spoken to him since back at the cars when she'd been told to stay with Dean. _I'm in the rear with the reject?_ she'd asked, incensed. Samuel had ignored her and she'd gone all sullen and stony.

Dean brushed it aside. "Ah, I've been called worse." It wasn't really his biggest problem, some family member chick he didn't really know dissing him. He had other things to worry about. Like Sam, his missing soul, and how the hell life was supposed to work from here on out.

Gwen was still trying to start a conversation though. "I'm just, uh, get sick of getting left behind," she explained then shrugged, smiling nervously. "Think it's probably cuz I remind him of his daughter or something."

 _That_ comment caught Dean's attention. This girl Gwen, like Mom? He didn't see it. But he decided to humor her if for no other reason not to be rude. "Well, you _do_ speak your mind."

His cousin smiled a little. "I'll take that as a compliment." Another silence stretched out and Gwen paced around, glancing at him sidelong. "So, your sister. Do you always leave her behind on dangerous runs like this one?"

Dean tried not to look as mistrustful as he felt. "What's it to you?"

Gwen shrugged defensively. "Just wondering if I'm the only one who gets stuck in the dugout during the big game."

 _Ah._ That made sense. Dean figured it couldn't hurt to tell her the truth. "I mean… it depends. But usually, no. She's a damn good hunter. We, uh, we look out for each other." Though here lately, he wasn't sure about her being involved in all this, especially if soulless Sam was gonna be around for awhile. The guy wasn't trustworthy and didn't seem to give two craps either way about the safety of his siblings. Dean looked at Gwen, who he had no clue about. Was she a good fighter? A decent hunter? He didn't know. He barely knew her from a hole in the wall. "Samuel always stick you in the rear like this?" He asked her, trying to figure it out.

"Yeah," she said, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms again. "Especially whenever Sam's around. Samuel doesn't like him around me."

Again, Dean's attention was piqued and he felt a strange, dark suspicion in the vicinity of his stomach. "...Why not?"

Gwen made a face like she didn't know how to put it. "Your brother's… kind of a creep."

Dean was fully focused on Gwen now. His eyes narrowed dangerously. "Like how?"

 _Snap!_ A sudden sound of a twig breaking cut the conversation short. Dean turned fast, focused on the ominous sound as he pulled his machete out swift and quiet. What was…

" _Augh_!"

He whirled just in time to see Gwen get slammed to the ground by a snarling vampire who was gunning for Dean now—the vamp lunged at him and Dean lost his grip on his weapon as he grabbed thoughtlessly at the guy and whirled him, slammed him against a tree.

Hissing with feral craze, the vamp shoved Dean hard, knocking him back to the ground with superhuman strength. The back of Dean's head hit the hard-packed ground and jarred him bad. On the ground and weaponless, Dean froze for a second—even as the vamp's head flew off. Dean barely managed to whip his head away from the violent splatter that hit the side of his face. The headless vampire body fell down on top of him and he was abruptly staring into a severed neck. Blood poured out onto the ground beside him and Dean grunted in disgust, pushing the body up off of him. Holy shit.

Above with a sort of surprised and proud smile on her face, Gwen stood, her bloody machete in hand. "You're welcome."

She cracked a grin and offered her hand to Dean, who was so over vampires right now. He got up on his own. He didn't need Gwen's help. He picked his machete up and scrubbed the blood off his face with the sleeve of his jacket, pissed that he'd let a vamp get the jump on him. And that's when a gunshot cracked the air like thunder. Then another, and another. Dean couldn't stop himself. He took off in the direction of the gunfire.

"We're supposed to wait here!" Gwen protested. She didn't follow.

Dean was already booking it toward the sounds of the shots full force, machete at his side, heart pumping with adrenaline. The house where the sounds of gunfire came from was run down and abandoned looking, surrounded by a tall, wrought-iron fence. He skidded to a halt at a rusted gate, searching for a way to get in. He could see in the little courtyard beyond that vampire and hunter alike had been slaughtered brutally. He grabbed at the gate, shaking it hard and finding that it was locked. He wasn't gonna have any luck there, and he hurried around, skirting the edge of the house, only finding more dead bodies scattered across the lawn and the side of the house. Mostly vampires.

The sky darkened without warning and wind swept across the yard like a storm was coming on—Dean hurried all the more, searching for someone, _anyone._ A couple windows had blood splattered across the windowpanes—signs of quickly unfolding carnage. Yet he saw no one alive. He heard a couple more gunshots, then everything went silent. Samuel was shouting somewhere nearby and Dean honed in on that sound, letting it guide him. Although now he wasn't running. He was stalking. Dean hugged the edge of an old wooden shed as thunder rumbled loudly. He peered around the corner of the structure, trying to spot Samuel. What he saw baffled him.

Samuel's black van was parked there, back doors both open. Samuel and a couple other hunters—including Sam—were manhandling someone toward the van. This someone had a black bag over their head. This person's hands were chained behind them, and long, sharp fingernails jutted out of ebony fingers. Dean was shocked. He had seen those hands before… in the visions he'd had as a vampire. That _was_ the alpha. And Sam and Samuel were… taking it captive? Not killing him? Lightning cracked the sky.

 _This wasn't right._ Dean pulled his head back away from the corner of the shed and stood there, breathing heavily from panic for a second. No wonder Samuel hadn't let him or Alex come along for this. Something shady was happening. But what?

Dean abruptly turned his head back the way he'd come hearing the sound of… trees falling? What the hell? Dean took a couple steps toward the sound, mystified even as the ground he stood on shook from the impact of a tree hitting the ground deep within the woods, somewhere near where Gwen and Alex were. Dean's heart skipped a horrifying beat. He could hear how trees were falling and splintering and crashing at an alarming rate, like something was tearing through them. And although he had no idea what was happening, he realized that his sister was totally alone out there with no backup and terror suddenly avalanched over him. Without a coherent thought in his mind, he took off at a breakneck run toward where the forest was quite literally being ripped apart.

* * *

**Five Minutes Ago**

Pinned down onto the cold hard ground, Alex stared in aghast disbelief up into the face of a man who should have been a ghost. Her head was spinning with intensely disorienting pain from the force of the blow that had been dealt to her and she had to wonder—was she hallucinating or something? Glen was _dead_ —she'd shot him point blank in the chest! But here he was, his familiar and cruel face above hers as his cold hands imprisoned her wrists on either side of her head.

He smirked at her wordless stupor. "What, you don't have anything to say to me?" His low voice was dark and fraught with a smug quality that made her skin crawl.

Alex's features screwed up. "You're dead…" she managed thickly as her mind worked overtime to understand, to grasp. She thought maybe she was in physical shock. Her ears rang badly and her voice sounded distant to herself. She pulled at her wrists faintly, trying to get free. His grip was unrelenting and she began to panic. This was _real._ But… how? "I _killed_ you!" she protested with rising clarity.

The smirk on his face widened. "Not quite." Alex stared dumbly for two more seconds, then suddenly writhed and squirmed with every ounce of effort she possessed, freeing a leg and smashing her knee upwards between his legs with all the power she could summon. He yelped and doubled over toward her… then dropped the act and laughed like he was relishing the funniest joke he could think of.

"So _cute_ , Alex," he said, grinning down leeringly. Alex was flummoxed. How the hell was he okay after that?! It should have disabled him completely! "Go ahead and scream, too," he purred in encouragement, leaning closer and letting his voice take a sensual tone as his lips brushed against her ear—and she held her face as far away from him as possible, grimacing. "No one can hear you, sweetheart. Except me. And I like screamers."

Her fighting spirit flared and even though he terrified her, she wasn't too terrified to keep from fighting. In fact, _anger_ was the dominant emotion she felt. What was the stupid ass motherfucker doing coming back into her life? She'd been through enough shit and this was her breaking point. No more. He had another thing coming. "Get _away_ from me," she snarled, and when he drew back to grin at her sloppily, she cracked her forehead into his chin as hard as she could, pulling at her wrists valiantly—but it was like he was absolutely unaffected by the blow she'd dealt and his grip didn't loosen at all. _What the fuck?_ He was chuckling again and her head hurt so much worse than before. Panting and bemused, Alex's head dropped back down to the ground. She was so dizzy and so confused about what was happening. "What you're here for _revenge_ or something?" she asked, distantly weighing her options. Should she scream for help? Should she call Cas? Stubborn pride urged her to take care of this bastard herself, to prove to everyone and herself that she wasn't useless or weak. And she'd killed this jackass before—mostly.

" _Revenge_?" he asked, feigning surprise. "Why would I want _that_? I'm better than I've ever been, thanks to you." What was _that_ supposed to mean? He leaned closer and his hot breath turned her stomach sickeningly. "I'm here for murder and a quick fuck," he all but whispered, then smiled chillingly. "Just... _not_ in that order." His eyes went down her neck to her chest suggestively. "We gotta finish what we started a few weeks ago, don't you think?"

Alex sneered at him, acid boiling in her veins. " _No thanks_." She turned and abruptly craned her neck toward his wrist, mouth opened to bite him, and he let go of her other hand to grab her by the back of the head as he anticipated her movement, cutting off her attack completely. He was pulling her hair so hard that it made tears spring to her eyes, but one of her hands was free, and she was already reaching for the switchblade clipped at the her belt loop.

"I'll do the biting for now, mmkay?" Glen asked, yanking her head back and literally biting her neck hard enough to draw blood—and even as Alex screamed in pained protest, she stabbed him full force in the heart with the switchblade—the metal point plunged into flesh with a sickening thud. And then the strangest thing happened. Glen drew back from her in slow measure and looked down at the hilt of her knife sticking out of his chest as if it were a slight annoyance to him. "... _Really_?" he asked, as if he were inconvenienced and a little ticked off. He grabbed her by the shoulders and slammed her back to the ground full force where her head hit a protruding tree root. Pain exploded all over again and she groaned, momentarily losing traction. His hands closed like vices over her wrists again.

Glen laughed easily, the smile reaching his eyes. "Sorry, baby. But I'm a little stronger than you remember me. A little... _better,_ " he drawled even as she kept struggling, trying to get out of his insanely strong grip that seemed almost super strength. He should be bleeding out, he should be _dying_. She opened her mouth to call to Cas… and then Glen's eyes went black as night—pupil, iris, whites— _everything_. Alex froze in gut-punched shock. He was a _demon_? _How_? He saw her stunned fear and it seemed to amuse and delight him. "Thanks to you for almost killing me, I got the soul deal of a lifetime," he announced breezily, and blinked, letting his eyes return to human appearance. "Most people get that ten year shit, but me? I lucked out. This cute little red-headed demon's building an army of black-eyes to kick out the King of Hell. And I'm Patient Zero."

 _What_? Alex was momentarily mystified—something smelled fishy, and for a minute, her shrewd side won out. If that were true, she wanted to know more about it. "Not possible." She was pretty sure it _wasn't_. "Demons aren't just _made_ overnight, it takes years of torture to remove their humanity." 

Glen chuckled. "Well apparently there wasn't much human about me to begin with, so…" he feigned remembering something important. "But I mean, I _do_ have to do a couple things to get full-fledged. Killing my bitch sister's one of those things. Tracking her down's actually how I found you, sweetie. And hey, two birds with one stone, right?"

" _What_?" Alex seethed, suddenly panicking—had Glen spirited Jamie out of the hospital when Samuel had been watching her? "If you fucking touched her I'll _kill you_!" she roared. Glen just smirked.

"Sure you will," he said casually, not seeming to care what she said. His eyes were darkening with terrifying intent and his voice softened. He crawled a little closer, his knees shoving her legs apart. "You gonna be a good girl for me this time?" he asked coaxingly, a hand slipping underneath the hem of her shirt to touch her stomach. Alex spit in his face, fighting his grip tooth and nail, raging against him without avail. She smashed the heel of her hand up into his nostrils with the palm of her hand, hard enough to draw blood, break bone, and piss him off.

"Guess not," Glen muttered, and the playfulness evaporated and he drew back to bash his fist into her face repeatedly, attempting to beat her into submission or unconsciousness, whichever came first. She managed to block a few of the blows with her arms and he yanked them away repeatedly. She screamed and shouted something that sounded like "castle" to Glen—but he was so high on brutality that he didn't notice or care.

* * *

**Heaven**

It went off like a nuclear explosion across the celestial battlefields, leaving utter death and destruction in its wake. The Horn of Joshua sounded and rendered all the angels who were in close proximity to the trumpeter into dust as their cells scattered and blew apart. The angel Daniel, who was one of Raphael's most loyal, stood high and proud as he watched the enemy fall around him in all directions. At his side, the horn glinted.

A second legion of Castiel's forces were close to Daniel, but not close enough to be killed instantly by the sounding of the horn. Instead the fifteen angels were viciously blasted away in all directions as the trumpet cried out and ripped paradise asunder. Castiel was among these angels. He felt himself tearing backwards through varying heavens from the force of the devastating blow even as his vessel exploded with pain—every atom shivered, buckled, and threatened to dissolve. He collided with something that cracked, broke, shattered—and he fell face down into grass.

He tasted blood on his tongue and his ears ran with it, making sounds muffled and strange to him—blinking from shock as he groaned and spit out the metallic lifeblood that was choking him, Castiel laid there trembling, every part of him hurting profusely even as his Grace began the daunting task of repairing and healing his vessel. But the angelic weapon had done vast damage. Daniel could not be allowed to keep that weapon, or the war would be over. Cas dragged himself up, heaving with effort as he stood unevenly. He took a staggering footstep forward, barely able to stand at all—his body was perilously injured and he would have to wait for it to restore itself before he could attempt another attack.

And then, somewhere very far away, he thought he heard his name being called. He looked around blankly as his senses struggled to work properly. Who was calling him? The voice was urgent and afraid and he could barely hear it because of the damage done to his vessel—he strained, trying to understand and hear. And then, he recognized _her_ voice. _Alex_. Her voice was a _scream_ and was filled with the kind of panic which gave Castiel sudden alarmed clarity. Without a second thought he dropped all of Heaven, tearing through the dimensions to get to her.

* * *

**Earth**

Castiel collided with ground at blazing speeds, and the impact of his uncontrolled crash landing made the ground shudder as if from a fierce earthquake. He found himself in a heap on all fours, greatly disoriented. Through blurred vision, he looked around as he pushed himself up lurchingly, driven by intense anxiety. He stood in a small crater, the epicenter of his collision. He stumbled out of it unevenly as the world seemed to spin underneath his feet. _Where are you_? His ears were muffled and confounded, his vessel unreliable and slow. He heard commotion and screaming behind him and he turned around in clumsy quickness, almost falling over as he did so. Horror lodged in his throat when he saw Alex on the ground, being straddled by an enormous man—and Castiel recognized him at once. Glen Ward. The towering blond man was hitting her in the face repeatedly, cursing at her as his other hand held her down by the neck—her shirt had been shoved up to her ribcage and bare skin glared. Cas was already moving, his steps fast and uneven and furious.

Alex was screaming and struggling even as blood ran down her face—her eyes were squeezed shut and Castiel could hear her repeating _his name_ over and over in rising panic as he drew near, and every time she said it, he put more willpower behind his sluggish, stumbling steps, trying to get to her faster. Glen paused his assault and smashed his massive hand over her mouth, attempting to silence her as he used a series of lewd words to insult and demean her, which only created more wrath inside of Castiel's veins. He seized the man by the shoulders the second he was within reach and tore him off of Alex, throwing him weakly by several feet. He then stood between the two of them, heaving from the exertion. Rage pounded in the angel's veins, rage of a quality that he had never tasted before. "Don't— _touch_ —her—" he growled in between heavy breaths. The words dripped with the promise of murder. And then at that moment, he realized that Glen wasn't a man. Not anymore. Castiel could see his true face, the abominable face of a demon.

And even as Castiel recognized that his opponent was a demon, Glen was pushing himself up to stand, surprised as he recognized that Castiel was an angel. Quickly, Cas looked back to Alex, anxious about her condition—she was on the ground a bloodied, beaten mess and it broke his heart, horrified him, angered him all at once. Her lip was split and swollen, her temple was gashed open and a river of blood ran down her face. On her neck, a bite mark oozed profane red, around it a dark purple bruise was beginning to blossom. Her nose was bloody and marred, one of her eyes was black and puffy. Her expression was dazed but Castiel could see that she still had her wits and clarity. Her wide eyes stared up at him as she remained frozen, propped onto her elbows. She seemed as horrified at his condition as he was at hers. For a moment, Cas had forgotten how terrible he must appear, too. His eyes fell to the exposed, fair skin of her midriff. And he was reminded of what this man had done and had been trying to do again. Castiel's blood seared his veins even as he vowed that today, this being would cease to exist. 

Castiel turned his most fearsome gaze upon Glen, and for a moment, the demon _did_ look afraid. He took a step back. And then as he fully took in Castiel's appearance—the blood running out of his mouth ears and nose, his shaky footing and pained expression, the obvious weakened condition—the fear faded and the demon's eyes glinted with a cold, superior quality. "You feeling okay there, angel boy? You look half-dead." The demon grinned slowly, wiggled his eyebrows up, then took an experimental step forward, testing the waters. "Maybe I can help you get _all_ dead."

Cas knew that he _was_ damaged greatly and at the point of collapse. But even though his vessel was wounded and faltering, nothing seemed to matter. Not logic, not science, not facts. Only this demonic man dead and gone forever. Castiel's fury was as deep and wide as every ocean, his righteous anger gave him blazing, shaking intentions to smite this demon and wipe him from the face of the earth for all eternity, and with every ounce of strength he possessed, Castiel drew himself up to his full height as he stared down this scum. Nature responded to Castiel's fury—the sky began to blacken, a sudden wind swept in, and Cas's eyes were shadowed. There would be destruction in this place today.

"Get far away from here, Alex," he said through gritted teeth, clenching his fists at his sides as he stared down the demon and took a greatly focused step toward him. 

" _No_ ," Glen said, then a hand shot out to invisibly stop Alex, who was trying to stand up. She was slammed back down by supernatural force, pinned to sit against the nearby tree trunk. Glen's eyes narrowed darkly as he leveled a dark glare at Cas. "I want her to see this."

Blinded by anger and quickly becoming even more drained, Castiel held the demon's gaze and laced his own words with thick, ominous qualities. "Yes," Cas said darkly. "Let her watch as I _destroy_ you."

Overhead, thunder rumbled heavily and lightning cracked the sky viciously as the wind whipped around them with increasing speed. Glen made a face as though he were thinking about backing off—but Castiel stood there wobbling, obviously barely able to even stand, and Glen did not flee. Just began to smile slowly.

Squirming against the tree breathlessly, Alex piped up. "Hey do I get a say in this, guys?" she asked in surprising amounts of sarcasm. When the two men looked at her, she gave Glen a deadly smile and raised her chin as she used her strongest, coldest voice. "Go to _hell_ you little _bitch_."

The man's face washed over with anger and Glen started for her—Cas intercepted, grabbing him and smashing his fist into the demon's face hard enough to send the demon stumbling back by a few feet—the effect was disappointing and disconcerting, and Castiel was suddenly doubting himself. Just one hit had taken all of his strength, which didn't seem to be much at the moment. Glen laughed, dashing the blood away as he straightened back up. " _Serious_?" He was high on confidence and airs. "That's all? Come _on_ , teeter totter. Gotta hit harder than that if you wanna tango with me."

Glen darted forward, faster and more nimble than Cas was at the moment. He grabbed the angel by the front of his coat and whirled him to get good momentum then threw him into a tree with blinding force—Cas hit it sidelong and the tree cracked in half at the impact. It groaned and fell slowly, great crashing noises echoing through the gusty woods as it plummeted to crash and shake the ground like an earthquake. Castiel pushed himself back up to his feet with a groan, even more disoriented than before and trying to get his bearings. Glen used the moment to his advantage and picked the dazed angel up, lifting him up over his head with a grunt. He flung Cas into another tree. The wood splintered upon impact, spraying shards of wood everywhere. The tree shuddered, cracked, and began to fall down even as Cas remained on the ground, groaning in pain, trying to get up and seeming to have problems doing so. Glen was laughing crazily as the wind whipped his hair sideways. He seemed delighted at how easy it was to kick the angel around—then he stopped mid-laugh, choking abruptly. He turned, eyes wide in panic as he searched out Alex, who was halfway into an exorcism.

" _Omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio,"_ she chanted fast, still stuck in place by the invisible hold, _"infernalis adversarii, omnis legio,_ _omnis congregatio et secta diabolica—ahhh!"_ Glen charged over and he lifted her up by the neck with a single hand, crushing her windpipe. Her feet dangled above the ground and she gasped and writhed as he held here there, her hands grabbing his wrists uselessly.

"You're _really_ not worth all this fucking effort, you know that?!" Glen demanded in genuine exasperation, maybe because the exorcism had jarred him so much. He quickly began to fire off a sentence that made little sense at the time. "It's starting to make sense why she told me I had to kill _you_ to hold up my end of the bargain—you just won't stop being a pain in the ass, will you? I get why I'm supposed to kill your dickwad brothers and trust me, it'll feel good to tear their throats out… but I think I'm just gonna go ahead and cut to the killing _you_ part, save myself some trou—"

Glen was suddenly pulled backwards by the hair and catapulted into a tree, courtesy of a very drained Castiel who stumbled, almost falling over from the force of throwing the demon. Alex's feet hit the ground even as she reached into her jacket and whipped out her angel blade, flipping it deftly so that she held the blade end, not the hilt—she drew back to throw it across the distance and make the kill, for real this time while there was a chance. But Glen saw and held a hand out and she flew backwards by about fifteen feet. She collided shoulder-first about fifteen feet up from the ground into a massive tree. When she fell down to the earth, she didn't move again. Cas stared, eyes wide at the sight of her crumpled and still. Above them, the sky was still dark and stormy, the wind loud and deafening.

"What now without your little bitch of a _girlfriend_ to pick up your slack?" Glen asked above the wind. He had blood running down the side of his head now from hitting the tree, but he was grinning triumphantly.

How _dare_ he use that foul term for her? Hatred shook Castiel and anger burned. He would have turned this mite to dust easily on any other day. "You speak too much," he growled, digging deep for strength that didn't seem to be there. He let his blade slide into his hand and he brandished it as he rushed Glen, who ducked the attack and grabbed him by the wrist, holding the arm high and bending the wrist as hard as he could, trying to get Castiel to drop the weapon completely. Cas's teeth set in exertion as he struggled to repel the demon—he was shocked at how easily the lesser being was dominating him.

Glen was almost a head taller than Cas and used his brute size and strength to force the angel down slowly—before he smashed his forehead into Cas's painfully. For a moment, Castiel lost sight completely. His blade fell out of his hand even as he blindly clutched at his opponent, trying to find a weakness or flaw. Indignant anger rushed through Cas again, who shut his eyes for a small fraction of a second. Glen held him in a choke-hold. Any other day, Castiel would have ended this abomination in ten seconds flat—but today he was limping and bleeding. _But not beaten_. Castiel wrapped around his Grace, sought its blazing strength, however weakened… he remembered who he was. He was born and bred of ancient days and heavenly strength, he was an instrument of destruction, he was unrelenting and unforgiving, a great and terrible storm that demolished all evil. He was an _angel,_ a son of the celestial heavens, a warrior, a protector. _Her_ protector. And Castiel opened his eyes, clinging to that thought alone.

With a sudden rush of strength and determination, Castiel snapped to his full height and shoved Glen _hard_ with both hands—the blindsided demon flew backwards into three trees, one right after the other, ripping chunks of them out as he streaked through air like a bullet—and Castiel was waiting for him before he had even stopped flying—he seized him by the collar and whirled him the other way, letting him tear back through the forest the way they'd come, breaking more and more trees in the process. Again, Castiel anticipated Glen's trajectory and was waiting for him. He grabbed the demon out of midair, whirling him and seizing him by the collar with one hand then cracking his fist across Glen's face brutally even as he soared them up through the stormy sky, twenty-five stories at least. As Cas plummeted them back down to the earth at unreal speeds, he let loose a blazing furious series of punches to the demon's face, releasing his unrelenting anger upon this monster of a man and demon. All he could see was his Alex, hurt and injured and bloodied and violated by _this_ person. He held Glen beneath him as the ground hurtled up to meet them.

Castiel slammed them both to the ground with finality, hard enough to send a shiver through the woods all around, hard enough that Glen's body was wedged deeply into the dirt—and that would be his grave. The demon was half conscious, his face was unrecognizable and bloody and he stared up at Cas in total fear, as it should be. Castiel's wrath came to full fruition as he remained high on celestial intent and power and grabbed Glen by the front of his shirt, pulling him forward to receive his bitter end. Glen opened his mouth and black smoke began to pour out as he tried to escape himself, flee like a coward from the fate Castiel was about to serve him. But the angel was too fast and his hand shot out and stopped the smoke, slowly forcing it back into the demon's mouth. Not slowly because it was difficult. Slowly so that Glen could know and feel his last moment and shudder in terror for it. Power crackled in the air and light seemed to emanate from Castiel who finally and savagely slammed his hand down to Glen's mouth and gave a furious sound—there was a scream of agony and white light burned the demon alive from the inside out, but that wasn't enough. Castiel's eyes went white hot as he let his hand render total destruction upon this man, body, spirit and soul, burning him away to nothing but ashes of ashes. There was a sound like a small sonic boom; the ground shook and overhead the leaves burned and turned to dust in a twenty foot radius of where Castiel's fury burned.

The wind ceased and the sky cleared even as sooty leaves collapsed and drifted down like gray mist over the area. Cas rose slowly. Nothing but dust remaining at his feet. His blazing strength was fading quickly and his vessel, dangerously close to implosion, barely allowed him to stand. But he had to find her. Castiel turned around slowly, lurching again as he searched.

Staring up at him with stunned expressions, Dean and Alex gaped up from the ground—where had Dean come from? Castiel didn't know, but brother had gathered sister into the safety of his arms, as if he had been about to pick her up and run with her. But they were both frozen, awed and maybe a little afraid, staring at him as they clutched each other. Cas took a shaky step toward them as the world began to fade to gray, then black. "I…" his eyes lost clarity and he fell forward, unconscious. 

Dean gaped even as Alex freaked out. "Cas!" She began to crawl toward him, her twisted (possibly broken ankle) not stopping her for a second. Dean was too shocked to do anything but stare. Had he really just seen what he'd seen? Sure, he knew Cas was capable of doing some pretty intense stuff, but— _damn_. Dean stood slowly, in a trance as he stared at the hole Cas had pounded into the ground with Glen's body—the broken and fallen trees—the soot raining down all around them—the sky that was overcast gray again instead of dark and stormy black. Dean was overcome by a horrifying sense of awe and terror. Alex was turning Cas over with great effort so that he was face up—checking his breathing, touching his face, asking his name softly over and over. Both of them were covered in blood and Dean was agape at it all. What— _the hell_ —had happened here?

Dean heard commotion behind him and whirled, his clear-mindedness returning as he reached for a weapon—then he relented, seeing who it was. "What the _hell_ is going on here?!" Samuel demanded, staring at the scene before them with wide eyes. Behind him were Sam, Christian, Gwen, and about ten other hunters Dean didn't know.

Their guess was as good as his. "I don't know," he answered evenly, still shocked. He turned to look back at his sister, who was with lifeless-looking Castiel on the ground. 

"What do you _mean_ , you don't _know_?!" Samuel demanded loudly.

"I mean I don't know!" Dean snapped, wheeling on Samuel. This was none of his grandfather's damn business. As such, he became brusque. "Don't worry about it, I'll _handle_ it." He saw how everyone was staring curiously at his bloody sister and the angel—and Dean got defensive, stepping in front of Samuel to try and block the view. "Get your people outta here," he said gruffly, "We'll catch up."

Samuel looked less than enthusiastic about the idea, but maybe he figured he'd better leave well enough alone. He adjusted his grip on his gun and nodded his head toward the road even as his eyes studied Dean mistrustfully. "Everyone with me, back to base."

When everyone including Sam turned to go, Dean was shocked, then quickly became pissed. "Sam, not _you_." Sam turned, appearing stumped as to why Dean wanted him to stay put. Dean was betrayed: Did Sam _really_ not care about finding out what had happened to his twin sister? Apparently not. He stood there like a soulless douchebag, scanning the scene with detached curiosity. As soon as the Campbell crew was out of earshot, Dean was letting an acidic question fly. "What, not curious about what happened here, Sammy?"

"Sure I am," Sam said, sounding as excited as someone whose taxes were due the next day.

Was Sam really not seeing their sister at the moment? She was beaten to a pulp! " _Glen…"_ Dean let the name hang in the air. It got no reaction. "The _demon…"_ again, no reaction... "attacked your _sister_."

Sam seemed mildly intrigued. "Huh. Didn't peg the guy for demon."

Dean gave his brother a disgusted look. "You're such an asshole right now, you know that?" He turned away angrily and went to Alex, crouching down beside her as she bent over Cas.

The angel was still, his face streaked in blood from multiple injuries. Just being there beside him, unconscious or not, was slightly scary for Dean, who had just seen the guy literally turn some guy to dust after slamming him into the ground from twenty-some stories high. It was easy to forget sometimes how powerful and dangerous Cas could be. In fact, Dean realized he didn't even _know_ how deep the power ran. Was it reassuring or terrifying to have an ally like that? Dean wasn't sure. "He okay?" Dean asked quietly, not sure how to even approach the situation at all.

"Breathing," Alex said, glancing his way. One of her eyes was nearly swollen shut. "But not much." Her condition broke his heart and made him have to swallow away enormous amounts of horrified guilt. He should have _told someone_ about Glen possibly still being out there—because Dean had known no body had been found at the scene where Alex shot him. Why hadn't he done something to prevent this? _Christ_.

He looked at Cas again, who had saved Alex and taken care of that asshole Glen once and for all. He swallowed the strangest feeling and his voice was soft as he looked at the angel in new light. "He'll be fine," Dean told his sister, trying to maybe reassure her enough to focus on herself for a second. "It's _Cas_. He's always fine." He took her by the arm gently, peering at her injuries again. "You don't look so good, though." He let go and stood, beckoning her. "C'mere," he said, indicating she get up. When he'd run into the scene mid-fight, Alex had been stunned on the ground and when Dean had pulled her to her feet, she'd fallen over in surprised pain, saying her ankle was twisted or broken.

"Can you stand?" he asked, offering her both hands. She grabbed one and hauled herself up, keeping all of her weight on her right foot as she winced, tried to take a step, then stumbled bad. Dean caught her and steadied her. Yeah right. He wasn't gonna have her hopping through the woods on one leg. He picked her up easily and she made no protest, surprisingly.

Sam stood off, looking at the bare tree branches with interest. He seemed to have no concerns in the world, which only made Dean madder. "Hey, Captain Feelings!" He glowered at Sam balefully then jerked his head to the side toward the unconscious guy. "Make yourself useful and get Cas."

Sam paused. "What for?"

Dean and Alex both balked and asked in unintentional unison: "What _for_?"

"We can't just _leave him here_ , are you nuts?" Dean added quickly, appalled at his brother. 

Sam seemed neither here nor there and without protest, he headed toward Cas. "Just asking," he said levelly, then bent and picked Cas up with some effort and a grunt or two. "Holy shit this guy is heavier than he looks," he complained. Dean was already heading back through the woods toward the car, shaking his head and mumbling foul things under his breath. Alex's arms held around his neck tightly—she watched Sam carrying Cas from over Dean's shoulder. Dean held her a little tighter as he thought of how he was the world's biggest moron for leaving her alone at the cars to begin with. Mentally, he kicked himself, hating himself for shit decision after shit decision.

When they got to the Impala, all the other cars and trucks were gone and Dean sat his sister on the trunk of the car as Sam tossed Cas like a sack of potatoes into the back seat, despite Alex's protests of _be careful with him Sam!_

Dean was focusing on assessing Alex. One thing at a time, and first things first. "Okay, so what we got," Dean muttered to himself, pulling off her shoe then peeling the sock back to look at her ankle. "Ooh… not good," he commented under his breath. There was a huge bruise there at the anklebone. "Can you move it?" Alex managed to make her foot jerk slightly, but she hissed in pain.

" _Ugh_ ," she muttered, sounding angry. "Broken." In this family, a broken bone wasn't just an inconvenience. It was a huge life setback. Dean was grim as he looked his sister over. She had a gash on the side of her face that needed stitches, she reported that her nose felt broken, and she had a nasty bite wound on her neck. That fuckin' _tool._ Dean was ashamed of himself again for never telling anyone, namely Cas, that Glen might still be out there. Either way, some of her injuries needed professional medical attention, not just the Winchester seat-of-your-pants method of patching up.

Dean noticed how Alex had gone still and he frowned slightly. She was staring at the heel of her hand with a sickened look on her face. Dean followed her gaze. There was blood on her skin—not hers. Was that Glen's blood? Dean suddenly realized—Glen was a demon—that was _demon_ blood—oh _hell_ no. He grabbed her hand and rubbed it against the sleeve of his jacket hard and fast, erasing temptation. Alex met his gaze shamefacedly, understanding that he understood. "Thanks," she managed faintly.

Dean patted the side of her arm gently, trying a smile through the more painful and confused emotions he was feeling. "Hospital?"

She matched his smile falteringly, grimacing against what he was sure were horrible amounts of pain. "Yeah," she said, and pulled a face through the agony. "I... need drugs. Lots and lots of drugs."

Dean pulled her off the trunk and helped her into the back seat, where, on the ride to the hospital, Sam stared out the window in boredom, breaking Dean's heart all over again. Alex pulled Cas half onto her lap and she held him there in what seemed to be a sweet way—she stroked a hand across his hair like he were familiar to her, like she loved him, and Dean wished he could feel differently than he felt. All he could only remember was the destruction Castiel had rained down on Glen and even though he was glad as hell that the bastard got what was coming to him… Dean had an anxious feeling he couldn't shake. 

He used to think Alex had chosen a mentally deficient oddball to be romantically involved with. Now he felt like Castiel was much more dangerous and powerful than he had ever imagined. Shouldn't it have made him feel better to know that this strong, impervious being was there to protect and take care of Alex?

It didn't. It made Dean feel incredible amounts of dread.


	61. Get Well Soon

" _I've been waiting like a knife to cut open your heart and bleed my soul to you._ _"  
_ \- Smashing Pumpkins

* * *

This had to be some kind of record: Alex in the hospital _three times_ in less than a space of a month. The first time had been after Glen's brutal assault on her. The second time had been after being un-vamped by Jamie. Now she was here because of Glen _again_ … but this was the _last_ time she'd never be in the hospital because of that asshole… Cas had made _damn_ sure of that.

Dean hung back at the edge of the room and fidgeted his fingers around, rubbing his thumbs against his other fingers in anxious energy as he watched a nurse taking Alex's blood pressure. Sam was outside in the Impala babysitting Cas (who was _still_ unconscious after his very thorough beatdown on Glen). They'd been in the emergency room for a couple hours now and Dean hadn't sat down the entire time. He'd paced around the room Alex had been put in to and watched as the nurses did what nurses did: bandaged, stitched, medicated. In between those things, the staff had given Dean some pretty suspicious looks and asked Alex who he was in relation to her, who or what had injured her like that, if there was domestic violence in the home… all of it was standard hospital procedure, but Dean recognized that the nurses suspected _him_ of doing all that stuff to her.

She _did_ look like a battered woman. There was no getting around that fact. She had a puffy black eye, stitches on the side of her temple, a big bandage on the side of her neck, bruises forming all over her jawline, cheeks, arms, a broken ankle. It looked so, _so_ painful but she hadn't complained at all—she'd even joked around with the nurses a couple times, acting like it was no big deal. That's what was eating at Dean. It _was_ a big deal. She could have _died_ today if it hadn't been for Cas's intervention. Dean shifted and started pacing the small space again as he raked fingers through his hair. He couldn't get over how close of a call his sister had just had and how he _should have told someone_ Glen might have still been alive. If he'd just _told Cas_ when he first found out about it, today never would have happened. It was just another example of more bad decisions and stupidity on Dean's part. He wanted to kick himself in the teeth. He felt personally responsible for Alex being laid up in the hospital bed with all the surface injuries, rib contusions, a concussion, and the broken bone.

Dean remembered running up on the scene and not being able to believe his eyes. He hadn't really known what was happening at first, just saw Alex dazed on the ground and knew something bad was happening from the storm, the trees falling, the crackle of weird energy in the air. He'd crouched to pick her up and get her outta there… and that's when he'd seen Cas unleashing a bone-chilling assault onto Glen. He'd never forget the fury burning in Cas's face. _Note to self: Don't piss Cas off unless you want to bite the dust… literally._

"Blood pressure's good," the nurse—short, distracted, with spiky peroxide-blonde hair—told Alex and pulled the noisy velcro wrap off her arm. "The doctor'll be in shortly, all right?"

Alex nodded, leaned back into the halfway reclined bed. "Thanks."

The nurse bustled out of the tiny room and Alex gave Dean a rueful smile. It must have been the worried look on his face that inspired her to tease him. "I look good, huh?" She pointed to one of the plastic chairs against the far wall. "Sit down, will you? You're gonna wear a hole in the floor."

Dean complied reluctantly, pulling the chair over near to the bed so he could sit beside her. As he sat down she sighed restlessly, fiddling with the hospital wristband that had been slapped on whenever she'd first been admitted. Of all things, she seemed impatient. Shouldn't she be freaking out? "I'm so hungry, damn," she muttered, thinking out loud.

Dean perked up. Finally, something he could do. "I'll get you something."

He made to stand, but the second he started to get up, she looked at him with her good, un-swollen eye. "No, wait a minute." He paused, drifting back into the seat. She was studying him and her eyebrows were drawing together in the beginning of concern. It looked like she was noticing something beyond what he was displaying on the surface. "What's wrong, Dean?"

The question startled him. What was _wrong_? So many damn things were wrong he could barely start to count them all, but the reasons started with her in the hospital bed and beat to hell by a guy Dean should have already taken care of. However, he didn't say that. He didn't say any of the truth, not really. It was his load to carry as the oldest: the problem with Sam and his soul or lack thereof, the worries about Alex and what happened today (not to mention her involvement with Cas). There were other things weighing on him, too. Lisa and Ben suddenly bowing out of his life, the bad vibes about Grandpa Campbell, the whole Jamie disappearing thing… everything felt up in the air and out of balance. Life was more chaotic and unstable than it had ever been and Dean couldn't hold any of the moving pieces together. Everything was scattered and messed up, a shell of what it'd been before. At least it'd been sorta consistent before, even if it hadn't been picket-fence perfect...

 _What was wrong?_ Alex was waiting for his answer and he tried to make it as vague as possible, tried a little _everything's fine_ smile to hide his more dour thoughts. The smile didn't succeed. "Just… hate to see you here like this, I guess."

Her worry softened and she relaxed a little, giving him an offhand look at she batted something invisible away, brushing it off. "I'll be _fine_."

He looked down at the shining hospital floor underneath his feet then said it before he could stop himself. "Yeah, well, you almost weren't."

There was a short silence. "Dean." She sounded really grown-up and sympathetic, suddenly very serious and caring, almost parental. "You can't have eyes on me twenty-four seven. Don't beat yourself up."

Easy for her to say when she didn't know he'd _known_ Glen might still be alive. He was too ashamed to tell her that. So he played the coward card. "Yeah," he dodged, miserable with himself and looking at his interlaced fingers that were clasped between his knees.

His sister watched him for a couple more silent seconds then let it go. She looked out the hospital room door and then craned her neck back to look out the window restlessly. She sighed in dissatisfaction and Dean knew what she was gonna ask before she even did. "Can you go check on Sam and Cas again?" She tried to sound less worried than he knew she was. She'd been more concerned about Cas than herself on the ride over, after all.

Dean had already been out there to check like seven times already at her request, and each time was the same. Sam in the front seat, distracted with researching potential jobs on his smartphone while Cas laid in the back of the car unresponsive and bloody. "Al… Sam knows to come in here the second Cas wakes up, all right?"

Gaunt worry filled Alex's face as she nodded reluctant acceptance and stared hard at the end of the bed. " _If_ he wakes up," she said softly.

"Ah, he'll be fine," Dean said, not letting the mood get too heavy. "He always is, isn't he?"

She cut a hooded glance at him. "I guess."

Dean saw the opportunity for some information-gathering and casually transitioned the conversation that way. "He's somethin' else, huh," he ventured, trying to act nonchalant. "With the turn-you-to-smoke stuff and the destroy-the-rainforest crap…"

That definitely got her attention and had her looking at him questioningly. He wondered if she was freaked out at Cas's show of power. He couldn't really tell. "Yeah," she said thoughtfully, deeply reflective. "I've never seen him so…" she thought for the right word, "intense." That was one word for it. But she dismissed Dean's worries: "I guess there's a side of him we haven't seen much of."

Yeah, clearly. Dean was deeply unsettled. Her reaction wasn't really what he'd been looking for. She didn't seem to share his blossoming concern: _What if_ they didn't know Cas well enough and _what if_ they got on his bad side and _what if_ a million other nerve-wracking scenarios…? All made worse by the fact that he knew Cas and Alex were having sex. _Ah geez._ He'd forgotten that for a few minutes. That complicated things and made him even more nervous about the future. Did the two of them think they were going to be a couple and stay together? Cas _had_ claimed to love Alex last year and Dean had rolled his eyes at the time. Now he wondered. Or was it more like the two of them were just some kinda freaky friends with benefits? Dean wasn't sure if that was entirely possible with Alex's romantic dreamer side in consideration, but maybe he didn't know her like he thought. Maybe Cas had sex with _lots_ of human girls now and Alex was just one on a long list. _That_ idea was particularly stomach-turning. Was Cas respectful with her? That was what was most important to Dean.

This was one of those moments where Dean didn't feel like Alex's brother. He felt more like her dad and he wanted to make sure any interested man passed the test and had his sister's best interests in mind, wasn't just trying to use her to get some action. Alex could have been thirteen or thirty-nine and Dean would be acting the same way. Part of the reason, he guessed, was because she was so inexperienced with relationships that she might as well have _been_ thirteen (in his mind, anyway). That, and Dean had been Alex's mouthpiece for so long growing up that he was used to calling the shots and making decisions for her. It was hard to step back, especially on big deals like this. Cas wasn't just a man. He was this super-powered being from another dimension and Dean had been well-reminded of the fact earlier that very day.

It was stressful (to put it mildly) when an angel who might as well be a demigod was interested in and possibly obsessed with your sibling. The angel _seemed_ harmless enough in most moments: emotionally bumbling and socially awkward and a puppy dog when it came to some things. But he also had access to all that power and could clearly get very, very angry… was Dean _really_ so insane to worry about Cas maybe, possibly, somehow hurting Alex someday? Wasn't it his job to look out for her and screen any guy she dated or involved herself with?

Dean realized he'd gone into a tense silence and his sister was looking at him oddly, like she was suspicious about what he was thinking. He wet his lips and tried to feel her out on his worries, see if she was at all concerned about what he was concerned about. "Listen. I'm glad he saved you," Dean said, and he was. "And I am _glad_ that asshole Glen is dead." Glad wasn't a big enough word. "But I just…" he trailed off, not sure how to say it without sounding like an ungrateful jerk. "Doesn't it kinda freak you out how, how powerful Cas is?"

"Why? It freaks _you_ out?" Alex paused, seeming to hear what he was implying immediately. "Dean… Cas would _never_ hurt me."

He wanted to believe her, but he didn't know if he could, and he sure as hell didn't trust many people these days. "You sure about that?"

She didn't hesitate or waver. " _Yes_."

The hospital room went silent as Dean had an epiphany. It felt like this was The Moment all parents must have when they are struck out of nowhere by the realization that their child truly isn't a child anymore but an adult making their own decisions and living their own life. Looking at her now, he saw how confident she was of her answer and her belief that Cas would never hurt her. He saw how she'd made a decision all on her own without help from the family. It startled him, it took him aback, it made him realize she wasn't the kid he so often viewed her as. Disillusioned and struck by sorrow because he suddenly felt like he'd lost something, Dean remained silent. _Damn._ It hit him.

His voice was soft. "You really love him don't you?" Even before he'd finished asking it, he realized he already knew the answer. His question had Alex quiet, her expression soft. She didn't have to say yes out loud, but her face confirmed it completely.

There was a sound at the doorway of the room just then and they both looked up to see Cas holding himself up just barely with a hand against the door frame. He looked in bad shape—blood still on his face, shoulders heaving as he breathed raggedly from exertion.

"Cas!" Alex sat up immediately, about to jump out of bed (apparently forgetting her broken ankle), but Cas stumbled across the small space separating them and got to her before she could stand at all. He swept her into a tight, relieved embrace as she sat awkwardly in bed. She readily hugged him back and squeezed her eyes shut, her face buried in the front of his coat. Cas's hand held the back of her head and pulled her close.

Dean sat back with a slack jaw, unsure what to do at the public display of affection. The angel and his sister embraced like it had been years or like they had thought the other one was dead. Dean averted his stare and self-consciously rubbed the back of his neck, glancing at them briefly and uncomfortably. He forgot that the last time Cas must have seen her was when she was still on the ground and half-conscious. He must have been worried about her. Either way, they were oblivious to him for a few seconds, first hugging tightly then drawing back to look at each other in mutual concern—Alex touching fingers to the blood running down the side of Cas's head, Cas gingerly brushing a touch against her purple-and-blue bruised jawline where Glen's fist had clearly been. There was marked tenderness and affection in both of their touches.

Dean wanted to make a sound of annoyance or do something to express his discomfort and reservation. But he clamped his mouth shut, kept quiet, and said nothing, did nothing. Sam casually announced his presence by sauntering into the room at that moment. He glanced briefly up and over the top of his phone. "He's up."

No shit, Sherlock. "Yeah _thanks_ ," Dean retorted, standing up and purposefully trying not to look at Cas and Alex too closely. It was too weird for him. Way too weird.

"You still don't look all right," Alex was saying to Cas, her face a mask of worry. "Are you—"

She didn't finish her sentence—Cas put a hand to her face and tried to heal her but apparently didn't have the juice. He groaned in surprised pain and almost fell over onto her from the effect it had on him—Sam and Dean reacted fast and caught him by either arm just barely, steadying him. Cas had clearly been unprepared for what happened and maybe had even hurt himself worse by attempting to heal her. His face conveyed how taken aback he was. "I… don't seem to be at full capacity," he said in a strained voice, his eyes dazed and unfocused for a moment. He was leaning down, temporarily unable to stand fully. Dean and Sam helped, letting him sit on the tiny little hospital bed.

Full of concern, Alex held onto one of his arms once he was sitting near her, supporting him. "What _happened_ to you?"

Dean frowned. He leveled Cas with a studious gaze. "Wait… you mean Glen didn't do this to you?"

In response to that question he received a look from Castiel that seemed to pose the sassy question _are you fucking kidding me?_ "Of course not," the angel replied gruffly, as if suggesting such a thing were idiotic. "I was already injured beforehand. I was in battle." His expression grew pinched and harrowed as he thought deeply. "Daniel has somehow come into possession of the Horn of Joshua. It's a very deadly weapon. It killed many angels and very nearly killed me… he can't be allowed to keep it."

Although Cas said all of that in utmost earnestness, he seemed distracted and looked to Alex, more interested in her than in his own condition or plight. For a short silence they held each other's gaze, wordlessly communicating something Dean wasn't sure about. "Are your injuries very grave?" Castiel asked softly of her. He sounded pained on her behalf, which softened and touched Dean unexpectedly. She didn't get the chance to reply to him.

A new voice sounded as a burly, bearded doctor entered the room. "Hello folks!" he greeted, looking over the silver rims of round glasses as he sauntered in. "How's everyone doing today?" He smiled tightly and impatiently, as doctors do. He was already forming a new sentence, gesturing at Alex with his clipboard. "If I can, I need you gentlemen to leave the room a few minutes so I can speak with the young lady privately." He asked it pleasantly, that rigid little smile plastered on his face the whole time.

"Yeah, sure," Dean answered, even though he was in no hurry to leave at all. He was always suspicious when doctors wanted to talk to people in private.

"My goodness, looks like you were in a tussle too, fella!" the doc observed, taking in Cas's not-so-great appearance.

Dean pulled Cas up by an arm. "He's fine, just a few scratches," he said dismissively, pulling Cas along with him and out of the room in compliance with the doctor's request. Sam followed, nose already buried in his phone again. He wasn't even watching where he went and stopped walking altogether after a few steps, consumed in his phone screen.

Down the hall from Alex's room and out of earshot but not too far (still able to keep an eye on everything), Dean stopped, his hand still grasping the crook of Cas's arm for suppoert. The angel seemed to be able to walk, it was just done with some difficulty. Further down the hall, Dean glanced a vending machine. Remembering Alex's complaint of hunger, he decided he could maybe kill two birds with one stone. He cut a glance at Cas, who was staring back into Alex's room. "Did he hurt her very badly?" Cas asked anxiously, pausing Dean's plans for a minute.

The palpable worry was very striking and human. It made Dean falter a little, remembering what the angel had done for her. For a minute, he guessed he had to stow his inner grudge. "No, not too bad," he said, which obviously brought Cas some relief. "She's tough, Cas. She'll be okay. And, uh… a lot of that's 'cause of you and what you did, so, uh…" he let go of Cas's arm and patted him awkwardly on the shoulder. "Good job." Not the best way of thanking someone for saving your sister from rape and murder… but Dean wasn't exactly great at saying thank you. He also still wished _he'd_ been the one who had ripped Glen to shreds, so his pride was getting in the way a little bit.

Cas didn't see though. He was gazing in Alex's direction again. "As soon as I'm able, I'll heal her," he said.

Dean couldn't help himself. "Yeah, I've heard about how you like to lay hands on her," he muttered.

Cas's attention was finally diverted and a squinting frown overcame his face as his eyes crimped. "What?"

"Walk with me, Cas." Dean said gruffly, grabbing the angel's shoulder and steering him down the hall toward the vending machine. "We gotta talk." Cas half-limped half-shuffled and waited for Dean to speak. _How did you even start this conversation?_ Dean jumped right into the deep end, figuring beating around the bush was a time waster. _Still._ It was about to get awkward. "So," he led off flatly, "my sister told me how you two are uh… doing the horizontal mambo."

Cas looked confused at the reference. "We've… never danced, Dean."

Dean rolled his eyes and tried again. "Bumping boots?"

Cas looked down at his shoes, then at Dean with squinty eyes. "I don't understand."

Dean pulled an weary, exasperated face as they got to the vending machine. "Having _sex_ , Cas."

Understanding flooded Cas's face. "Oh. Uh… yes." He was clearly abashed at the subject matter and Dean stared at him hard. _Son of a bitch._ "Dean, it was never my intention," Cas said in an earnest tone. "I didn't plan it. It just… it just happened."

"What, by _accident_?" Dean retorted sarcastically, then angrily scanned the vending machine contents for something to get for his hungry sister. He saw mini donuts and Bugles and pulled out his wallet, fishing for ones. He kept his voice gruff but didn't look at Cas as he asked the next question he had. "Who else are you having sex with?"

Cas was stunned by the question. "What?" His voice was filled with genuinely stark shock, like he couldn't believe Dean would think or ask that, like the thought of sex with someone other than Alex was a foreign concept to him. It caught Dean's attention. " _No one,_ " Cas told him. "Only her."

"Why just her?" Dean pressed, trying to find out the angle.

Again, Cas looked like he was mystified. He had to think for a minute—either because he was lying or because he had never stopped and thought it through. "I would never want to engage in the activity with someone else." Cas's discomfort speaking on the subject with Dean was pretty obvious, but he soldiered on. "Intercourse, as I understand it, is a way of expressing romantic love. Or at least that is what it is for me." Dean couldn't hide his surprise at Cas's startlingly earnest, romance-novel answer. The angel raised his chin slightly and held Dean's gaze without wavering. "I love her, Dean."

The angel's answers were increasingly surprising. "Love." He repeated blankly, looking at Cas closely for any hint of deception. He saw none, which was what threw him. This wasn't the first time Cas had claimed to love Alex but: "I thought you were incapable of love." Castiel had literally _told_ Dean that he was without the capacity for love or romance last year. That's why Dean's eyes were narrowing mistrustfully.

Of all things, a fond yet rueful smile tugged at the corner of Cas's mouth as he looked down in faraway thought. "I was wrong."

"Son of a bitch," Dean muttered, a mixture of pissed off and dazed. He _wanted_ to be so much angrier than he felt, but he felt almost… _impressed?_ This is what any guy in his right mind would want for his sister, right? Someone who thought sex was about love and love only? Someone who definitely and obviously cared, someone who came when she called and stood by her when she needed someone? _No. I'm supposed to be pissed about this._ But Dean felt more depressed than anything else. _Was this how it felt to give a daughter away in marriage?_ A weird thought but Dean had it all the same. Cas and Alex would never get married of course, but this whole conversation felt to him like handing her over, giving her away, letting go of her. Except it was way after the fact and he was just finding out how deep in Cas and Alex were. He was unsettled because just like a week ago or whatever, Alex had said she didn't know _where_ she and the angel stood. Well… that had changed. Something had happened between them yesterday, obviously, at the motel room. They'd made up or gotten back together or, or… _something_.

Needing a minute to figure out how he felt about the whole thing, Dean returned his attention to the vending machine and finally fed the bills in, pushing buttons in a haze. "So… you're telling me you and Alex are in some kind of relationship," he said woodenly as the donuts came free from the metal spiral holding them. He watched them fall in a tense trance. "Some kind of committed, monogamous relationship."

Cas watched the donuts too. "Yes."

Dean's jaw tightened and he poked the numbers for the Bugles a little harder than necessary. He didn't like them keeping this from him. His voice was tight. "Since when?"

There was a pause. "I'm… unsure of the exact time-frame." Cas looked distinctly guilty as his eyes jumped sidelong toward Dean. "Awhile."

Dean eyed Cas carefully, making sure Cas knew, from his gaze alone, how deadly serious he was about getting all the facts here. "Lemme put it this way," he said, stooping to grab the snacks out of the vending machine. He didn't wanna know this at all and at the same time he _needed_ to know in order to better figure out Cas's motivations and see if he was really telling the truth. "When did you two first… _get together_?"

The immediate reaction on Cas's part was hesitance and unwillingness. "I'm not sure if—" he began.

"Just answer the damn question, Cas," Dean said flatly, almost threateningly. It was cocky as hell for Dean to demand things like that, but hey, that was just his personality. Plus, this was his sister they were talking about.

Cas was probably thinking about how easily he could turn Dean into dust even in his injured condition. But all he did was look down and think for a second before answering carefully. "The night when that woman Jane attempted to shoot Alex," he said quietly, which came as another shock-that-wasn't-a-shock to Dean. He remembered Cas taking the bullet for her, rescuing her from certain death. That made a lot of sense, honestly. Guy saves girl. Guy gets laid. Plus, Dean had seen them kissing not long after, maybe the next night. That _had_ been awhile ago that it had all started, then. A couple months before the shit hit the fan with Lucifer and Sam. Geez.

"So you wanna tell me why you ditched out on her all year long, Cas?" Dean asked, voice growing bitter.

His question seemed to hit Cas hard. "I had no choice, Dean," he said heavily, with great remorse. "It was to protect her. I have many regrets regarding that." His mouth thinned a little and his gaze was tense. "Please believe me."

Dean shook his head slightly. Kinda hard to believe Cas, who was apparently a serial liar. Cas seemed to know what Dean would be thinking. "I know that I told you I wasn't able to even feel romantic feelings," he said. "I believed that, for a time. Or _wanted_ to believe it." He paused warily. "Dean, I've struggled with this very deeply. I never meant to complicate things or overstep my bounds." Was that some kind of apology? There was a silence and Cas drew himself up a little bit. He took in a deep breath through his nose and gave the impression of resignation and authority. "But what's happened has happened. Alex and I are together. So I hope you'll understand and accept us."

At a slight loss, Dean openly gaped for a second at the terms Cas used and the assertiveness he used. _Us_. _Together._ It seemed so sudden and real and Dean was scrambling for footing, like the rug had been yanked out from underneath his feet. "H-have you two thought this through?" he asked, freaked out anew because of how final Cas sounded about it all. "I mean, you're both into it right now but… I dunno, you noticed how you're not a human and she _is_? Is this a, a long-term thing, and if so, _how_?" He wasn't trying to be a dick anymore. He really wanted to know how the hell Cas and Alex planned to continue this thing. Were they really that shortsighted? Didn't they see this could never end well? That the deeper in they went, the worse the heartbreak would be in the end? It filled Dean with so much foreboding.

"I've thought about this too, Dean." Cas's low, even voice surprised Dean. He seemed more grown up than Dean remembered. "After the war… perhaps I'll…" he trailed off introspectively, voice softening in thoughtfulness. "Perhaps I'll leave my old life behind."

Dean's eyebrows rose slowly at what Cas was implying. "You mean… become human?"

Cas's expression was far away in someplace fond and reflective, his eyes casting down the hallway toward Alex again. "It seems appropriate."

"…You'd _do_ that for her?" Dean asked faintly, shocked all over again at the emotional depth in Cas's eyes, voice, and face.

At that question, Cas's gaze turned to Dean's somberly. "Dean, I would do _anything_ for her."

 _Jesus Christ._ What was going on? How was it that serious? Yet again taken aback, Dean was almost speechless. Cas wasn't joking or bluffing at all and Dean stumbled around verbally for a reply. "…You're serious right now, aren't you?" he asked in a shellshocked tone. He'd gone into this conversation with a lot of doubts and reservations and judgements and now had been slammed in the face with one clear fact: Cas really did seem to love Alex. To the point of sacrificing everything for her. Dean really didn't know how to take that. "I'll be damned," he breathed, then saw an opportunity for some dark humor. "Already was, actually. Maybe you remember."

Cas made one of his faces. "…That joke seems in bad taste."

The comment surprised him and almost made him smile. "Fair enough," Dean said, but his little smirk at Cas's comment was falling because he was worrying again over his sister's future and Cas's part in it. Yeah, Cas meant well and at least had some kind of super-attached feelings for her… but what if Cas was confused? What if he ended up letting Alex down like every other damn person in the world did? What if he got tired of her or bored with sex or led astray by some other pretty face? What if his feelings changed? What if he left her and shattered her dreams? What if he couldn't follow through in the long run? His sister didn't need that shit. Not after Dad, not after a lifetime of disappointments and watching the only people she loved walk out.

But Dean had learned a lesson the year that he'd been alone and without his brother and sister. He'd learned that Alex had a limit for his bullshit and that if he tried to run her life, she'd bail. She obviously had huge feelings for Cas. She was already involved with him, deeply. And Dean realized he could do nothing but accept it if he wanted to be part of her life. Still, his instincts were nerve-wracked and he had so many damn doubts about this. "Can I trust you with her, Cas?" he asked, putting his honest feelings on the line for a short, rare moment. This was possibly the most terrifying thing he'd ever faced: entrusting his sister to someone other than himself. "I mean, really _really_ trust you," he clarified in a weakening voice. "I always promised myself I'd be _dead_ before I let anyone hurt her. And I know she's way into you, like at epic fangirl levels so… if you're gonna be with her—which you already are— _promise_ me you'll treat her right, man." There was a lump in his throat. "I mean like a friggin' _princess._ "

Cas saw Dean's emotions below the surface and his face knit into a concerned expression. "Dean—what is it?"

Dean tried to maintain his composure and not give away how torn up he was over this. "I just… I'm having a hard time with this, Cas," he admitted, trying to scoff it off and shrug it away. But he _was_ having a _hard_ time with this, and he knew it came through in his voice and demeanor.

It was just… for almost _thirty years_ Dean had seen Alex every single day, had been connected to her and she to him. He knew her better than anyone else in the world. Better than Sam, better than Dad. He'd imagined he'd always be her caretaker, back in the days when she'd been mute and needed so much extra help and support. He'd been willing to be that caretaker. In fact, he'd accepted that as his role in life. When she got her voice back just in time for him to die and go to Hell, he'd thought _at least she has a chance at something normal now_. _And at least I did my job while she needed me._

 _Now_ what? Sam needed him, maybe—what with the whole soulless issue. But Alex was growing up. Becoming an independent person. She was choosing Cas. And no wonder. Dean thought of how Cas had been the one who stayed with Alex and gotten her through demon blood withdrawals. How he'd saved her life many times over, healed her injuries time and time again, rescued her from mutism, taken a bullet for her, saved her from Zachariah, saved her from Glen, saved her from Nandriel, brought her back from the grave itself. There wasn't really an end to Cas's devotion, the more Dean thought about it. And because of those things, Alex clearly looked to Cas for comfort and safety. Cas was Alex's hero, he realized. _Dean_ used to be her hero. _I_ _'_ _m being replaced._ But maybe it was the right thing. Maybe this was growing up. Maybe this was good for her, for the family. Maybe this was just part of it.

Dean just wanted to clutch both his siblings to himself where they would be safest. There were too many unknowns out there in the world. Too many things that could hurt them.

Cas seemed to understand and empathize in some small way with Dean's struggles. "You can trust me, Dean," he assured. "I have nothing but her best interests in mind. I'm committed to her and only her."

Dean was still so wary, but he couldn't do anything about it either way. "Okay, well… that's great," he said tiredly, mind turning to something else that needed discussion. "But listen, you should know better, man. I mean, she said you two've never used protection even _once_. That's gotta change, you hear me?"

A puzzled expression overtook Cas's face and he misunderstood. "I always have my angel blade with me," he said, to which Dean's face fell. _Oh my god Cas, how dumb can you be_. Dean all but face-palmed. Cas seemed to understand then. " _Oh_ —you mean birth control." He paused and gave Dean a highly significant look. "There's no need." Dean frowned, not getting it. No _need_ …? The look Cas was giving Dean suddenly made the hunter balk. What, Cas could _control_ that or something?

Apparently so. Dean was deadpan. Built in baby-proofing. " _Well._ I've heard everything now." He threw a hand up a little, not sure what else to say, then rubbed her fingertips across his forehead wearily. What a day this had been. Scratch that… what a week. Finding out about Cas and Alex, finding out about Sam's soullessness… just to start. "Look, I'm still on the fence about this," he told Cas, then let his hand slap down as he sighed and looked down the hall at Alex's room. They could see in the open doorway and saw the doctor nodding and getting ready to leave her. "But I also know you make her happy," Dean admitted heavily, glancing at Cas with hooded eyes. "Can't knock you for that." It was like pulling teeth to do this. "And uh, about what you did for her today…" He paused stiffly. "I owe you."

Graciously, maybe not even on purpose, Cas sidestepped the compliment and the thanks Dean was so uncomfortably trying to give. "You don't owe me anything."

Castiel: Angel of the Lord. General weirdo. And maybe not half bad.

Dean realized he liked Cas more than he wanted to despite everything. Maybe this wasn't as terrible as he thought. It wasn't _exactly_ what he'd envisioned for his sister, but… it wasn't as bad as it could have been. Dean stuck his free hand out. A peace offering. The mature thing to do. "I think I owe you a handshake at least," he said. Cas took his hand slowly and grasped it firmly, his expression showing mild suspicion, like he didn't understand how this could actually be Dean's reaction. Despite everything, Dean smiled a little, thinking about how far Cas had come in the time they'd known him. The guy was loyal, he'd give him that much. And he had saved Alex so many times that Dean had lost count. "You're… an okay guy, Cas," he said, letting go of Cas's hand.

Cas glanced at the hospital room again and Dean sighed to himself. He could see how his sister was craning her neck to look down the hall and Cas peered down the hallway at her anxiously. The two of them were of a one track mind, it seemed. Dean thumped the angel on the back and slapped the vending machine snacks into his chest. When Cas looked at him questioningly, Dean jerked his head in Alex's direction. "Trust me man, she's dying to see you. Why don't you take her this stuff." Cas's hands accepted the crinkling packets and Dean said what took a lot of grace on his part: "I'll… I'll give you two a minute."

Cas seemed touched by Dean's gesture. "Thank you Dean."

"Yeah, whatever," Dean retorted, his face wan with chagrin. No chick flick moments. Reluctantly, he gestured Alex's way. "Go get 'er, tiger." Cas took a moment more to look at Dean as if waiting for the catch or the 'just kidding.' When neither came, Cas started off.

It was then that Dean let him know one last thing. "And Cas." The angel stopped and turned to look at Dean. With a pleasant smile that ironically held a tone of warning to it, Dean raised a finger. "I'll kill you if you ever hurt her." It was said jokingly and Cas looked at Dean oddly, probably unsure of how to respond. Dean let his teasing demeanor fall. "But seriously. _Kill_ you." He pointed at Cas to let him know he meant business, then waved him along.

Cas looked unsure of how to take Dean's casual threats. However, he obviously had other things on his mind and headed into Alex's room.

Dean remained where he was. A year ago, he never would have stood for this. And now here he was accepting it. _Forcing_ himself to accept it. For now, at least, despite the still-present feeling of unease in the lowest pit of his stomach. _Please, please don't let this be a mistake, the two of them together._ Dean knew that when Cas wasn't upsetting Alex with his unexplained absences, he made her happy for whatever reason. That's what worried him. The Winchesters _never_ got happy endings. The people they surrounded themselves with got picked off by cruel fates one by one. Maybe that's what rubbed Dean wrong about this whole thing. Something good now meant something far worse later.

Sam brushed past Dean and said something about needing his phone charger. Dean watched his brother walking away and realized he was in the middle right now and had a decision to make. Alex had Cas. Who did Sam have? After everything Sam had done recently to endanger their sister, something had to change, and soon. The current arrangement just didn't work.

* * *

Alex was glad when the doctor finally left and stopped pestering her with questions and diagnoses. She'd seen Dean and Cas talking down the hall intently in between the doctor's droning, which had only served to vex her. Knowing her brother, it was something related to what he'd found out recently.

So the second she saw Cas coming her direction, she sat up rapidly. _Dammit_ , she wanted to stand up and go to him but her broken ankle wouldn't allow it.

"You okay?" she asked before he was even fully in the room. He was walking oddly and blood still ran down the side of his face. He looked really hurt, and Alex always worried when he got injured enough to bleed. He wasn't _supposed_ to bleed. It had gotten so bad that Alex had thought she was about to see Cas _die_ at Glen's hand.

"Yes, fine," he said, and with a grunt, he sat down with a wince into the chair that had been pulled up beside the bed.

"You don't _look_ fine," she observed, face filled with worry as she looked him over closely.

"It's nothing," Cas said, attempting to stifle a wince. He held out two packets to her. Mini powdered donuts and Bugles. Alex took them slowly. "Dean said you were hungry," Cas explained.

 _Ah ha._ She smiled a little. "Thanks," she said, and set the food items aside. She _was_ hungry but it would have to wait. Her anxiety took away her immediate appetite, anyway. She glanced out the doorway again and saw how Dean about twenty feet down the hall standing around aimlessly with hands in his pockets. Was he just… giving her and Cas _space_? That was weird. A little doubtful and uneasy about what was happening, Alex looked at Cas for answers. "You guys talked awhile…?" she started, prompting him to share what had been said. Cas's face showed slight apprehension and Alex's protective instincts reared up. "On a scale of one to ten, how mean was he?" She was halfway between joking and serious. "I don't care if my ankle's messed up, I _will_ kick his ass if he was a dick to you."

"He wasn't." Cas's quiet answer surprised her. His bright blue eyes met hers, startling her with their intensity. He'd seemed sort of absent until this moment, but suddenly he was there with her in every way. He was like that sometimes. You never knew when he was going to suddenly get almost too intense to handle. He reached out and took her hands into his, letting their hands rest on her lap together. "He had some questions about our relationship and certain aspects of it," Cas explained slowly.

Of _course_ he did. Alex let out a gusty sigh and looked down, ready to turn red. Cas wasn't always one for tact or subtlety. Had he told Dean private details about their relationship? Had he said things that Dean _didn't_ need to know?

"I didn't tell him about… _everything,_ " Castiel told her meaningfully, his eyes briefly lowering to the little penny necklace circling to her neck. Alex's eyes raised to his from beneath her lashes. His hands tightened on hers just a little and Alex remembered her bloody and beaten appearance because of the pained way he was looking at her. "I was very careful not to say anything you wouldn't like for Dean to know," he said quietly, apparently knowing how she'd worry he would have given away private things.

Alex felt a helpless little smile tugging at the corner of her mouth as she imagined it: In the old days, before he'd begun to learn discretion, Cas might have innocently and bluntly told Dean something like 'yes, we are having sexual relations, Dean. I highly enjoy penetration and so does your sister.' Imagining what Dean's reaction to _that_ was pretty hilarious.

Unaware of Alex's inner thoughts, Cas studied their hands with gentle eyes. "But I think he understands now that you and I…" his eyes raised to hers, "are together."

Her amusing thoughts about Cas explaining sex things forgotten, Alex was _fully_ taken aback. "What, and he's just… _okay_ with it?" The way Cas said it seemed final. Like Dean had accepted it or something. There had to be some missing detail. Alex glanced at Dean again who was just out there staring at his feet idly. Her stomach flip-flopped. No _way_.

Cas turned his head to look down the hall toward Dean. "He's trying very hard to accept us, I think."

Alex took several seconds. She remained highly skeptical, making several very different and interesting faces as she considered the possibility. No. No _way_. "It's gotta be a trick," she said warily. _Right?_

Cas seemed to consider, then shook his head. "I don't think it is," he said, looking her over closely, sympathy filling his gaze. "Are you in very much pain?"

Always with the worry over her pain level. She smiled at him, bittersweet and affectionate. "I've had worse." Her smile fell as she thought back over the crazy day. Her heart ached with strong emotions that she couldn't quite name or fathom. "Cas, what you did today…" she started. Her voice weakened on the word 'today', then faltered completely.

Cas's face was filled with an emotion that was like the ghost of righteous anger. His eyes burned with dark earnestness. "I never want to see you hurt." There was that intensity again, and at such powerful levels too. Alex would never want to be this angel's enemy. His eyes promised wrath upon those who would go against him. She knew the extent of his gentleness from personal experience… but today had seen exactly how terrifying he could be to an enemy. He was not someone who should ever be double-crossed, that was for sure…

Still, he wasn't invincible, and the dried blood streaking his temple and jaw reminded her of that. "I don't wanna see you hurt either," she said, worrying coloring her voice darkly. She paused and wet her lips, not fully able to look at Cas because of how upset this next thing had her. "You said you were almost killed today." She grasped his hands tighter, feeling powerless and scared to lose him. She tried to joke in the face of a real fear. "Don't get killed please."

Surprisingly, Cas seemed to hear the joke and a small, rueful smile stretched across his lips as he looked down. His expression slowly grew serious and rigid, the small moment of humor forgotten. "I'm at war," he said evenly, as if thinking it through out loud. "Every day my life is at risk."

There was a short silence. "Does that scare you?" Alex asked faintly, and when he looked up at her with questioning eyes, she stood by her instincts. "You look afraid." And he did. She couldn't even put her finger on where the fear was, but she saw it plain as day in him. She held his hands more securely.

His gaze faltered from hers as if from guilt or hesitation. "I fear losing this war. So much depends on the outcome." If Alex were right, he almost sounded like he was avoiding something. "I can't fully explain…" he trailed off and his eyes went upward, scanning the ceiling in worry. Was he hearing angel radio? "Every moment I'm here Daniel might be further decimating Heaven," he said, worry thickening his voice. "I really should return."

"But you're hurt," Alex protested. She'd seen how he'd barely been able to stand and fight Glen—how was he supposed to go back to Heaven in his current condition? He'd get killed if he went to battle like this.

"I'll find a Rit Zien," Cas said, as if that explained everything.

Alex paused for a second, frowned. Was she supposed to know what that was? "A what?"

"They're a special class of angel," Cas said. "Similar to a field medic. They're healers. I have a few loyal to my cause." His soft distress became more pronounced as he looked at her fully. He let go of one of her hands and held her left hand in both of his. There was an emphatic nature to his touch. "I truly do yearn for the day when this is all over and I don't have to keep leaving you."

When he said things like that, she didn't know what to do or say. Selfishly and unrealistically, she wanted to ask him to never ever leave again. It was hard to be apart, especially after the last year. But she understood that life was full of unfairness like this separation. "As long as you come back, it's okay," she said, trying to lessen his sadness. It was obvious how conflicted he was, and she _did_ understand why he was fighting the war. But they both obviously felt the same aversion to saying goodbye. And Alex thought of how they _always_ seemed to be saying goodbye.

Cas's eyes nearly killed her, the sadness in them at that moment. "I don't like leaving you," he confessed with a voice that didn't hold back on feeling. Alex wanted nothing more in that moment than just to hold Cas and reassure them both. He needed to know it would be okay. She needed to know it would be okay, too. She swung her legs off the bed gingerly and reached for him.

Their mutual injuries made the embrace awkward—Cas remained seated but leaned forward to meet her and Alex leaned down over him, balanced on her good foot as she hugged his shoulders tightly, sort of halfway still sitting on the edge of the bed. One of her shoulders had been dislocated earlier but she didn't care. Pain wouldn't last as long as the feeling she got from holding Cas. His arms felt weakened but enveloped her all the same. She felt him breathing out a sigh of relief, or maybe that was dissatisfied longing. She felt the same and was already thinking of how fleeting this moment was.

When she pulled back, it wasn't far—just a breath's distance. He had a hand on the side of her face and the saddest look in his eyes. And then she felt the familiar tingle of warmth radiating from the palm of his hand and Alex started. He was healing her, or at least trying to, and she attempted to pull back because of the look of strain suddenly overtaking Cas's face. But despite his injuries, he was still stronger than her, and didn't _let_ her pull away. It was over in two seconds and Cas groaned, face contorted with pain as his hand went to his own head. "Cas, don't hurt yourself over me!" Alex admonished in a voice that was high and tight with almost anger. She was upset and surprised with him for doing just that.

"I'll be fine," he said, even though he looked physically ill. Alex, however, was feeling abruptly fine, totally normal physically—no more aches, no more pains. It didn't seem fair: her well-being for his pain. She unhappily and anxiously touched his arm, trying to soothe him sort of uselessly. His scrunched up forehead and faintly labored breathing attested to the fact that he _wasn't_ fine. He felt her touch and looked at her, a pained little smile flitting across his lips. But then he was looking heavenward again and his expression fell. "I can hear the angels," he said. "I need to hurry."

" _Now_?" Alex asked, alarmed at the thought of him like _this_ —he was hunched over in a chair like a damn old crippled man! How was he supposed to be able to even stand up, much less fly his ass to Heaven and find a… Ritz Zen angel, or whatever he'd said?

Cas let out a heavy breath. "Unfortunately yes."

"…You're _sure_ you'll be all right?" Alex pressed. She wasn't convinced at all and didn't like the idea of Cas leaving—well, ever. But especially now.

Cas's pinched expression faded at the tone of Alex's voice. The softest ghost of a smile curved his lips again. "Don't worry yourself over me."

"You're kidding, right?" Alex asked, both affectionate and reluctant. "I'll _always_ worry about you."

He had to go. He was _going_ to go. She could see it in his eyes. Her chest constricted a little. "Just… be careful, Cas," she said with resignation, recognizing the goodbye hanging over this moment. She searched his brilliant blue eyes and wished he could stay just a little longer where she could verify with her own eyes that he was safe. "Come back when you can?" she asked in a voice just above a murmur. Knowing how short life could be and not willing to waste an opportunity, she leaned closer and embraced him again, whispering that she loved him so softly she didn't know if he heard, then rested her face in the side of his, trying to memorize him and remember this, send him on his way with reassurance of some kind. He silently reciprocated with a gentle, longing kiss to her lips, a touch to her face, a silent promise in his war-weary eyes when he withdrew. Reluctance filled the moment and his face. He said goodbye aloud and then was gone just like that.

Her hair blew back a little and the chair he'd been in stared back at her emptily. The room felt suddenly hollow and big, lonely.

It was never easy to see him leave. But that time was one of the hardest, and Alex felt the silence and worry sink deep into her bones. After having been without him for an entire year, the little snatches of togetherness just weren't enough. But they were better than nothing. Alex looked down at her hands and arms vapidly—no bruises, no cuts. No scars. _Dammit,_ she'd forgotten to ask Cas to fix her wisdom teeth—whenever he'd saved her from Nandriel a few months back he'd done some kind of system reset on her. Scars, all gone. Tattoo had disappeared (she had to get it redone). Wisdom teeth: back and really annoying, aching at inopportune times. Whatever. She'd wait. Honestly, she wished he _hadn't_ healed her. She could have hobbled around and dealt with the injuries if it meant saving him some pain and trouble and risk...

She looked upward, filled with worry. She would be so glad when this war was over. _Please let it be over soon, somehow._ Although, a possibly more daunting reality awaited: what life would be like when he wasn't tied down to a war anymore. Filled with anxiety, Alex absently touched fingertips to the penny resting just underneath her shirt. She didn't want to admit it to Cas or even to herself but she had spent the entire year second guessing what they'd done, what it meant, if she should have gone through with it, if it had been because of impulse or something deeper. It wasn't that she didn't love him (she did) or was worried that she wouldn't always love him (she would) or that she didn't long to spend the rest of her life with him (she did, so very much). It was that in hindsight, it seemed… crazy. There wasn't another word for it.

That was the real reason she didn't want Dean (or anyone, really) to know about what happened at Chuck's. She was terrified she would be labelled insane for running off and eloping with Cas in the eleventh hour… and that she'd believe the assessment too. She had to figure it out herself, first, before she told her brothers. Well… Sam wouldn't care though. At all. The thought of her twin saddened her. He was alive, but he might as well have been dead. The Sam she knew and loved was gone. He was scary and apathetic, disinterested in anything but jobs and hunts. Alex was left to grieve a death that hadn't really happened… and to hope he wasn't gone forever. If they could just find his soul somehow…

She paused and reflected somewhat cynically that hope was a bitch. It always left you hanging on to receive more pain and letdown. Her fingertips still touched the smooth circle of copper around her neck. She had a lot of hope about herself and Cas, despite some worries and misgivings, too. Having spent too much of her life worrying and over-analyzing and thinking she wouldn't have a love story of her own, Alex decided to keep hoping for the future and make the best of whatever questionable decisions she'd made thus far. Cas wasn't a mistake. How could he be?

A soft knocking sounded on the door frame. Alex looked up to see her oldest brother. Dean hesitated as he glanced around the room for Cas. "Everything okay?" he asked, coming in. He sounded _really_ weird. "Where'd Cas go?"

Alex pushed her somber thoughts away in a stark second and opted for a casual air. She felt a little awkward around her nosey oldest brother. "Ah, you know," she answered, slipping her switchblade out of her boot and cutting off her hospital bracelet in a single slice. "War to win or something like that." She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and bent down to fiddle with the ankle brace she didn't need any more. She was glad they hadn't put a cast on yet… those were a pain to get off. She still hadn't fully looked at Dean. Partly because she was a little embarrassed.

" _You_ look all better," Dean observed. He sounded as awkward as she felt.

"I _am_ all better," she replied, cutting a glance his way and tossing the ankle brace aside then motioning for her other shoe, which was sitting in one of the plastic chairs within Dean's reach. He handed it over. "Except…" she trailed off, accepting the shoe from him and making a hesitant face. Dean paused at her apprehensive tone, honing in on it. She cleared her throat, face worried and a little scared. She looked up at him anxiously. "I'm… I'm pregnant."

Dean's eyes went saucer-wide and his mouth dropped open—he looked like he could pass out from shock. " _What_?!"

Alex's face dissolved into laughter. It was too easy with Dean. His expression was hilarious, especially as he realized she was kidding. She shook her head mirthfully, amused at herself as she pulled on her other boot. Just like that, brother and sister were back to normal, at least mostly. She'd gotten him back. She felt better.

"Very funny." Dean grumbled flatly, then muttered something about "kill you."

"Come on, that was a good one," Alex teased, standing up and mussing his hair lightheartedly. She hugged him impulsively, then decided it was too much sap and drew back and punched him in the shoulder lightly. Dean stood there, clearly confused and still full of chagrin about her little trick. She raked fingers through her hair absently, peering out into the hospital hall, her mind falling away from trickery and into more somber things again. "Where's Sam?"

"Went to the car, I think," Dean said distractedly, getting a look on his face that made Alex pause. Something was wrong. "I saw him, uh… him and Samuel loading the alpha into their van."

"You what?" Startled, Alex's eyebrows knit. That… didn't sound right. " _Why_?"

Dean shook his head slowly, disturbed. "Dunno. Can't be good, for whatever reason." Alex noticed how stressed out Dean was at that moment—he held his shoulders tightly, his forehead was gaunt, his eyes looked too tired for his age. Sometimes she forgot how much he carried. "Something weird's going on."

After a moment of shock, Alex nodded understanding, gone stone cold sober at this news.

* * *

They found Sam out at the Impala with a paper spread over the roof of the car. He was poring over it intensely with a cup of hospital coffee set nearby. He glanced up at Dean and Alex's approach. "Hey," he said, and didn't acknowledge them too closely. "So Samuel just called. Wanted to see where we were and when we'll be back." He gathered the newspaper up. "Think I might have found a new lead, too." He paused, finally seeming to notice something. "Cas gone?"

He said nothing about Alex's miraculous healing, nor the fact that she could walk again. More animosity toward his brother built inside of Dean—this wasn't Sam—but he hid his growing anger. "Yup," he answered shortly, keeping his voice casual on purpose. He was too tired and emotionally drained to outright punch Sam in the face. Plus, maybe Sam would be honest and let Dean know the why behind the alpha vamp weirdness Samuel was currently running. "So hey, I didn't even get the chance to ask…" he paused, hoping Sam would tell the truth. "How'd the big daddy vamp takedown go?" Next to Dean, Alex was tense. It was telling, really, how she stood with Dean on the opposite side of the car, distanced from Sam. She wasn't saying or admitting to it, but Dean knew she was cautious of her twin now. Suspicious. Not trusting at all. And it killed Dean that this was the way things were.

"Great. Easy," Sam answered easily, lying without appearing to lie at all. "Samuel finished him off."

Dean paused, a dark feeling settling onto him. "Finished him off. As in dead."

Sam's expression showed mild confusion. "Yeah, as in dead."

"In the compound, right?" Dean pressed.

"Yeah, inside the house," Sam replied, his tone implying Dean was being ridiculous.

Fucking _lies_. "I _saw_ you walk that alpha out the door, Sam," Dean countered, his cold anger making him over-pronounce every word. "And, call me _crazy_... but he was kinda _alive_ for that part. So the only conclusion I can come to's you're _lying_ to me."

Sam didn't look thrilled. "…Oh."

"Yeah," Dean bit back. "' _Oh_.'"

Sam's jaw tightened just a little. He mostly looked inconvenienced—not contrite or guilty. "You weren't supposed to know about that."

"About what?" Dean demanded.

When Sam said nothing, Alex spoke up. "What's Samuel doing?" She sounded more cautious and careful than Dean.

Sam shrugged. It was hard to tell if he were lying again or not. "He's uh, he's catching things, taking them somewhere, grilling them for info."

"Info on _what_?" Alex asked, her voice growing more demanding like Dean's before sarcasm began to drip: "You filming a documentary? A vampire tell-all?"

"I dunno," Sam answered testily. "That's _his_ area."

"Grilling for info? So _t_ _orture,_ right?" Dean was beside himself with indignant feelings. This was unbelievable. "And not telling me about what he was really doing—that was his idea?"

"No, it was mine," Sam answered impatiently, stunning Dean and Alex both.

" _Yours_?" Dean asked, then quickly covered up his hurt with a colder, harder tone. "Why?"

Sam paused, taking turns glancing at both of his siblings with a hard gaze that suggested annoyance. Like he didn't want to have to deal with this conversation at all and it was a huge imposition on him. "Honestly?" He paused again. "'Cause you'd mess it up. Both of you. You shoot first, ask questions later, Dean, and we needed to ask questions. And Alex's big mouth always gets us in trouble, so…"

"Hey!" Alex protested. " _What_ big mouth?"

"I'm just telling you the truth," Sam said bluntly.

Wow. This was just getting richer and richer. Dean shook his head and wracked his brain for answers. All he was feeling was bitter disappointment and cold fury. Sam was literally acting brain dead. There was no excuse for this shitty behavior. Dean took a couple pacing steps away, gathering himself, trying not to explode. "You know, I-I don't care if you've got soullessness or the freakin' mumps, man—" he turned back around to face his apathetic brother. It made Dean all the angrier. "You _know_ better than this!" Dean was desperate to see even a _glimpse_ of who Sam was, or used to be. He didn't see it and he felt hopelessness wash over him. "Do you even _want_ your soul back?"

Sam looked increasingly impatient and clearly wasn't getting any of this. "How does that have anything to do—"

Dean cut him off, voice speeding up angrily. "Have you been to the place where Samuel takes them? I mean, have you been in on these interrogations?"

In the face of Dean's anger, Sam remained slow and measured. "No, but I hear—"

"What does he want?" Dean asked, trying to get Sam to _think_. "And _why_? Did it ever occur to you that this is _really_ shady?"

Nope. Obviously not. Sam looked like the idea had never come close to crossing his mind. "He's our grandfather," he replied, like that was reason enough to trust.

"Yeah, and you're our _brother,_ " Alex suddenly and cynically put in. Both brothers looked at her. "Our brother who almost got us _killed_ last week." She held Sam's gaze sharply. "Just 'cause someone's family doesn't make them Mother Theresa, Sam."

Sam looked confused at the statement. "He might be _blood_ , but he's not _family,_ " Dean added, trying to get his brother to _see_. He never thought a day would come when he'd have to explain this to _Sam_ of all people. And Sam looked as receptive to that idea as a fist would be to a brick wall. It didn't seem to resonate with him at all. Dean shook his head, aghast. "Wow. You don't see it, do you?"

"What?"

"You've got _no_ instinct," Dean said, scoffing. "I mean you are _seriously_ messed up."

Sam almost rolled his eyes. "Thanks."

"I'm not kidding, man!" Dean retorted, then abruptly remembered how earlier that day Gwen had told him Samuel didn't like Sam to be around her. What better time to ask about it than right now? "By the way, why'd _Gwen_ seem to have a big problem with you, huh? What's going on there?"

Sam shrugged, growing sick of the questions. "I guess I hit on her a few times, I dunno."

Alex did some kind of double take as Dean stared with a slack jaw. "On your own _cousin_?" It was worse than he thought, and he was immediately thinking _well if he's hit on our cousin, what's to stop him from being a creep about…_ his eyes slid to their sister. She had this weird look on her face, like she was realizing what Dean was. This was literally the creepiest moment of his life. "Dude, Sam… what the hell, man?" Dean pleaded. "All this stuff really, _really_ makes me wanna walk right out, let you figure everything out on your own!"

He almost ditched Sam right then and there… but he couldn't because _that was his little brother._ That was _Sammy._

Sam looked mildly surprised at Dean's declaration.

Taking in a deep, calming breath, Dean regulated himself, readdressing his brother. "But I'm not ready to give up on you yet," he conceded. However, he was getting close. "Look. If we do this... _I_ drive the bus, _I_ call the shots, and you tell me _everything_ , whether you think it's important or not 'cause—trust me— _you_ can't tell the difference." Sam didn't look very vested in his words, and Dean lost heart again. Sam didn't care at all, and it wounded him on the deepest level. "Or, you know what, go. Go with Samuel. See how that pans out. It's up to you." He tried to remain aloof, even though he was hurting bad. "I barely care anymore."

Beside him, he felt the gentlest touch of Alex's hand on his arm near his wrist. A silent _it's gonna be okay._

Was it though? Really?

Sam considered as he leaned over the top of the Impala across from his siblings, hands folded together thoughtfully. He studied Dean with sharp, calculating eyes. "I always trusted you in the past, before I was like this," he said. He thought again for a long moment. "So… I guess I'll make the decision to trust you now."

Dean looked at his brother dubiously. "Yeah," he said in an inscrutable tone. "Great." This complicated things so hardcore. But for the moment, he had a mission on the mind. Finding out what the hell Samuel was doing with that alpha vamp who was supposed to be dead. He glanced around balefully, then shot his brother an evil eye. "Get in the car."

* * *

After the several-hour drive back to Samuel's compound, Sam proved himself in a small way by going to their grandfather and covertly activating the GPS trace on the old man's cell phone. This allowed the Winchesters to follow Samuel offsite in the middle of the night to an abandoned old warehouse a town or two over. Apparently, this dump was where he was doing his shady interrogations.

After lock-picking their way in, the Winchester three slipped from shadow to shadow inside, on the prowl for answers. Samuel and Christian were inside somewhere, too. With machetes drawn and at the ready, the three Winchesters followed the low sound of voices ahead somewhere. The warehouse was typical: leaky, echoing, and constructed from cold steel and rough concrete. Rust and rubble littered the place. Alex loosened and tightened the grip on her machete a couple times over, her instincts on high alert at present.

"Where is it?" came a muffled voice from a room that was close. Samuel. "Answer the question," he continued threateningly. "Where is it? How do we _find_ it?"

Dean motioned 'against the wall' and the three hunters pressed close there and stayed still, listening. Dean peered carefully around the doorway he was close to, then moved back quickly to avoid being seen. He looked at Alex and then Sam, and made his sign for vampire.

"Answer. The. Question." Samuel's voice was low and warning. When no reply was made, the sound of something electric powering up came. Electricity zinged and popped and Alex understood. They were torturing the vampire… but there were no screams or even grunts.

A new, smooth and masculine voice came. "Ouch. Stop. That hurts." The voice was sarcastic and gentle, chilling.

Samuel's impatience and surprise and fear was audible. "This—this is club med compared to what we have planned for you!" he said, trying to sound intimidating. "I got—I got all the time in the world."

The soft voice of the alpha came again. "Well, that makes two of us."

There was a long silence, then the sound of something being thrown down in what was probably exasperation. Samuel exited through a door that was on the other side of the room even as the alpha chuckled easily, like he was enjoying a nice day at the park. Silence rang and Dean and Alex looked at each other, then at Sam.

"Are you three going to hide all night?" the alpha asked, startling them. "Come on out, boys and girl…"

Sam waited while Alex pointed a finger toward the room and made a face to ask _should we?_ Dean shrugged as if to say _why the hell not,_ and he stepped out of hiding, pulled the door open a little further, then led the way in.

In the dark room, the alpha vampire sat on a chair like a man might sit on a throne… only his hands were nailed there to the wooden chair he sat in, he was bound in chains securely, and his bare feet were nailed down to the floor. A grand metal cage surrounded him, and attached to the four nails driving him into captivity were wires attached to a generator. Looked like Samuel did this kind of thing all the time. To top it all off, an IV was attached to his arm. Dead man's blood. It would have killed any other vampire. He must be stronger than the rest.

A pleasant smile came over the alpha's face at the Winchesters' steady and cautious approach. Alex had to sidestep a table full of torture instruments. Yikes. _Granddad's a psychopath_.

"How can I help you?" the alpha asked them. He had a quiet and eerie smile on his face that never seemed to leave.

"We got some questions for you, Skippy," Dean said, approaching even closer than Sam or Alex did. "Since you're going nowhere fast."

There was a low and quiet chuckle. "Don't be so sure."

"Yeah?" Dean asked, then looked around for effect. "Locked down pretty tight. And with all that dead blood rushing through your veins, not sure you got enough juice to fire up that psychic bat-signal of yours, do you?"

"True," the alpha replied. He spoke clearly, succinctly, with emphasis on pronouncing every word carefully and properly. "Not near enough juice for that... _Dean._ "

There was a telling pause on Dean's part—he was caught off guard. "I didn't realize we were on a first-name basis."

"Of course we are. After all, you were my children... for a time… weren't you, Alex?" His eyes slid to her. His leering smile widened. "Tell me, my precious ones… did you _enjoy_ it?"

Dean walked forward, anger darkening him. "Eyes over here, fright night. _I_ _'_ _m_ asking the questions." He slammed the electricity breaker to the on position, and blue-white sparks zinged from the nails where the wires were connected. The alpha stared at Dean. His smile was gone.

"Just chop his head off, Dean," Alex said impatiently, walking forward to join Dean and staring the alpha down through the bars of his cage.

Dean's machete glinted in his hand. "Would love to."

"When your kind first huddled around the fire, _I_ was the thing in the _dark_!" The cool and collected demeanor had been traded for cold fury. "Now you think you can hurt _me_?" A smug smile crossed his face again and he settled back into the chair, calm again. "I have all night. I'm happy to tell you whatever you want to know."

"And why's that?" Sam asked, approaching just a couple steps from where he'd been lurking. "Scared to lose your head?"

"Because soon, I'll be ankle-deep in your blood, sucking the marrow from your bones," the alpha returned pleasantly, looking at all three of them in turn, a chilling glint in his eye. His gaze fell upon Alex. " _You_ especially look tasty."

Her face twisted into a sneer and she back talked immediately, not thinking through her comeback. "Hasn't anyone ever told you not to play with your food before you eat it?" she paused, feeling both Sam and Dean looking at her. She held her face steady but had to admit: "Bad analogy."

"Yeah, could use some work," Dean said, quipping right along with her. She cut a glance at him. _Shut up.  
_

"Amusing," the alpha said, mild interest playing on his features. "Perhaps you'll rejoin the brotherhood. Both of you."

Alex made a faux-thoughtful face. "Yeah, I'm gonna have to say no thanks to that one."

"You're really it?" Sam asked, always the focused one. "The first of your species?"

A proud little smirk came over the alpha's face. "The very first."

"But if you're the first," Sam said, "who made you?"

Cryptic, the alpha raised an eyebrow almost imperceptibly. "We all have our mothers. Even me."

"What's that mean?" Dean demanded. In response, the alpha laughed lowly and said nothing. Dean tried again. "What's with the big surge of vamps lately? I mean, it's like—"

The vampire's dark eyes darted to Dean. "Like we're going to war."

"War?" Alex repeated. "Against who?"

Another maddening laugh from the alpha.

"What's going on?" Sam asked, his voice rising with impatience. "Why did Samuel bring you here?"

The alpha looked at Sam with narrowing eyes then sniffed. "…You smell cold," he said, and Dean and Alex looked at their brother oddly. "You have no soul," the alpha said, studying Sam with soft inquisitiveness. "What an oddity. Do you feel how empty you are? What is it like to have no soul?"

Sam stared. "Answer my question."

"You first," the alpha responded.

A sly, superior smile spread across Sam's face. "You're the one in the cage."

The alpha held Sam's gaze a moment, then gave in. "The thing about souls—if you've got one, of course—is they're predictable. You die and you go up, or down. Where do _my_ kind go?"

Annoyed, Dean got mouthy. "All right, enough with the sermon, freak."

"I'm trying to answer the question, now…" the alpha looked between all three of them teasingly, like he was baiting them. "When we 'freaks' die... where do we go? Not Heaven, not Hell. So? What's left?"

"Legoland?" Dean asked churlishly.

Alex had another theory. "Purgatory." She'd bombed that one high school test about Someone or Another's Inferno, but she remembered the name of the middle ground between Heaven and Hell.

The alpha smiled at her. "Been reading your Dante, I see."

" _Purgatory_?" Dean made a face. "Purgatory's real?"

"Oh, stupid cattle," the alpha muttered. "Of course! And it is _filled_ with the soul of every hungry thing like me that ever walked this earth. Now, _where_ is it? _That_ is the mystery. And _that_ is what your kindhearted granddaddy is trying to beat out of me."

"Samuel brought you here... to find out where Purgatory is?" Sam asked in abject disbelief.

"I keep telling him—how would I know such a thing? But he refuses to untie me."

Sam smiled through the bars at the alpha, drawing closer. "You know exactly where it is," he said, as if he could read the vampire. The alpha said nothing, just smiled. "But why's Samuel care about any of this?" Sam pressed.

"He _doesn't_ care," the alpha replied, a broad and lifeless grin spreading over his face. "He does as he is told." He looked at Dean almost challengingly.

Dean got the implication, eyes scanning the ground in thought then looking to his brother. "Well if the old man's Kermit…" He looked at his sister now. "Whose hand's up his ass?"

The sound of a gun cocking behind them caused the Winchesters to turn.

"Evening, guys," Samuel said. He stood there with his shotgun. Christian and Ralph, a third cousin or something, stood behind him. They also held weapons. "How about step away from the cage nice and easy."

The alpha chuckled even as Dean countered. "How about point that thing someplace else?"

"Outside the room, _now_." Samuel gestured vaguely with his shotgun, not holding it on them completely. "Keep your hands up where I can see 'em."

Disgruntled, Dean led the way out into the brighter hallway, his hands held up in churlish surrender, his expression pissed.

"All your weapons on the ground, now," Samuel commanded.

Sam seemed especially surprised. "You _can't_ be serious. Samuel."

Samuel looked at Sam without any flicker of emotion. "Deadly."

Furious, Sam dropped his machete to the ground, shaking his head. Dean followed suit and Alex let hers drop, too. Christian patted them all down for weapons as Samuel and Ralph held guns on them. He took everything off them, which was infuriating. Dean's box cutter and blade and gun, Alex's switchblade, angel blade, Sam's pistol. Everything. Watching her stuff get dumped onto the ground by Christian made Alex's blood boil furiously. He then had the gall to give her a little smirk and vaguely sexual looks as he patted her down with unnecessary slowness. Alex gave him a death glare and almost punched him in the face, but he stopped just in time. Still… this would _not_ end well for him.

Last weapon clattering to the ground, Samuel sent Ralph in to guard the alpha. Dean was glaring at his grandfather with a passion. "Wow, you know, I have seen some stupid in my time, but you take the crown," he grumbled. Alex tried to figure out if maybe the three of them could get one over on Grandpa and Christian in Ralph's absence. "Putting Jaws in a fishbowl?" Dean was ranting now. "How do you think that's gonna end? I don't know what kind of game you're running—"

Samuel's face twisted. "You think I'm doing this for kicks?"

"I think you got the rest of these feebs convinced that you're John Wayne. So whatever you're doing, whatever you're _hiding_... it's gonna put you and everyone around you in the ground!"

Without warning, Samuel grabbed Dean and threw him into a wall with so much brutality that it seemed he wanted to kill. Dean shoved his grandfather away, breaking the hold easily, sending Grandpa stumbling back, gun clattering to the ground. Christian was raising his gun to shoot—but Sam barreled into him, using his size and strength to stun Christian and slam him into the far hallway. Alex grabbed her stunned grandfather by the collar of the shirt and slammed her fist into his jaw, cutting off any further attack he'd made on Dean, who was on the ground and scrambling for his gun and ammo slide.

The sound of a gun cocking made them all freeze. Gwen smiled at them pleasantly, an assault rifle in her hands. It was pointed straight at them. "Hi." She gestured at Alex with the tip of the gun. "You wanna let go of Gramps?"

Nope. Definitely not. But Alex did, and raised her hands even as Dean did the same—laid his gun back down on the ground and slowly, carefully stood.

Christian shoved Sam hard for effect and poked his gun into his side. "Hey take it easy," Sam complained.

Samuel looked mildly impressed, dashing away some blood from the corner of his mouth and looking at it, then Alex. "Not bad, Alexandra." He glanced at Gwen. "Maybe you can teach your cousin how to do that."

What, how to throw a good punch? Was Samuel trying to compliment Alex or insult Gwen? He bent to pick up his shotgun.

"Look," Dean said peevishly. "This is just a beautiful family reunion, I know, but we got to—"

A scream sounded from nearby—the room where the alpha was. "Ralph?" Gwen asked, eyes widening.

"Grab your stuff," Samuel said over his shoulder to his grandchildren. He was already heading toward where the scream had come from. Gwen and Christian, guns held tight, followed. Scooping up their gear and fumblingly trying to shove it all back where it went, the Winchesters were a few steps behind their grandfather and cousins.

Ralph was dead inside the captivity room, and the cage was empty. Machetes in hand, Alex and Dean exchanged a look that said they were both so _done_ with this bullshit.

"How much dead man's blood we got left?" Samuel asked, pacing around the cage and peering at it, trying to see how the vamp got out. Christian held up two humble syringes. Not enough, then.

"How long till the alpha's a hundred percent?" Dean asked tersely.

"Hour," Samuel answered. "Maybe less." Alex muttered something about _fucking morons_ under her breath. She had her weapon clenched tightly and was watchful of the room's entrances and exits. Vampires were famous for their abilities to stalk and prey, and the alpha was probably close, watching them even now. _Dammit, Samuel._

What Samuel said next only added to her incredulity. "We need to get him dosed up and back in the cage."

" _No_ ," was Dean's immediate response.

Samuel's expression grew ugly and he approached Dean. "What do you mean, 'no'?"

"What are you, _crazy_?" Alex asked. She stood near Dean as her machete twitched at her side.

Samuel stopped, looked at her carefully. "Playing catch is _not_ on the table," Dean said with furious finality.

Impatient and mad, Samuel's voice raised. " _Dean_ —"

"We take the thing's head off or it kills us all!" Dean shot back. "You _know_ that."

Samuel looked at Gwen and Christian almost guiltily and said nothing. Dean seemed to have gotten his way. "Okay," he said, calmer now. He looked at each of them in turn. Sam, Gwen, Christian, Alex. "We split up. Clear every room. You get a shot, you take it. It's not gonna kill him, but dude will move a lot slower without any kneecaps." He let his attention shift back to Samuel pointedly. "And if we make it through this we're having one _hell_ of a family meeting." His tone promised that it wouldn't be pleasant for Samuel and he brushed past him roughly. "Al, Gwen, with me."

Alex, whose gun was back in her car a state or two over, stuck by Dean closely, her machete not feeling so comforting up against the threat of an alpha. Quiet, they stole down the hallway to the left as Sam's group went right. Gwen's steps weren't as quiet as Dean and Alex's, and Dean turned to her, made a 'shh' sign with his finger to his lips, pointing at her feet. Gwen nodded shakily, hardening her face and softening her steps. In tandem, the Winchesters did what they'd done their whole life. Dean and his sister fell back into the tried and true training Dad had given: they kept close, their backs slightly to each others in large spaces to better observe their surroundings. They said nothing and just used signals and eyes to communicate.

Alex nudged Dean at one point, motioning to a single drop of blood on the floor. Dean swept the area with the aim of his gun—a bunch of old wooden shipping boxes littered the area, and grease was pooled off in the shadowy corner of the space. Gwen nervously turned around, checking behind them and the way they'd come. They didn't hear a sound. For three harrowing minutes they crept throughout the rooms of the old building in search of the alpha. Beside the single drop of blood and then one other smudge of blood on a door frame, they found no trace.

"Do you think—" Gwen started in a whisper. That's when they heard shots and shouts coming from deeper into the building, back from where they'd come. They took off at a haphazard run, because one of those shouts sounded like Sam.

What they found back in the torture room was a mystery.

Samuel was on the ground, Sam was staggering against a wall, two guys with black eyes were holding onto the woozy alpha… and Christian, too. His eyes were black and he smirked at the new arrivals. And then, the three demons disappeared with the alpha without explanation.

"The hell…?" Dean breathed, voicing everyone's shock. Alex drifted into the room after Dean, trying to piece together what had just happened. From above, the sound of slow clapping suddenly rang. Everyone look upward in unison to see who was there.

Leaned against the metal railing casually at the top of a rickety metal staircase… _Crowley_. Alex's stomach turned at the sight of him. "Well," he purred in that low gravel voice as he looked down at them, "that was dramatic."

It was instinct and hatred that compelled Alex to snatch her angel blade out of her jacket and throw it straight for him. Crowley sidestepped it without even looking, sighing as if in chagrin before looking at her briefly. The blade clattered uselessly to the ground and Crowley looked at it with disinterest. "Rude."

" _Crowley_?" Sam sounded less than excited about the demon's appearance. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Nice to see you too." Crowley smiled as if he were feeling friendly and swept his gaze over the room's occupants. "Hello, poppets. What an unexpected treat. Alex, as usual, your aim is appalling. Can't say I'm complaining though." He began to leisurely make his way down the stairs.

"Bring Christian back _now_ ," Samuel commanded shakily, getting up off the ground.

Crowley feigned misunderstanding, pausing just briefly in his descent. "I'm sorry?"

"My nephew!" Samuel all but bellowed. "The one you just crammed a demon into!"

"Oh, no," Crowley said mildly, reaching ground level and sauntering over to Samuel. "I had him possessed ages ago. Samuel, really." He smiled coyly. "I keep an eye on my investments."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, wait, you two _know_ each other?" Dean asked.

"Not in the biblical sense," Crowley drawled. "More of a business relationship, I'd say."

"What _business_?" Alex asked, appalled.

Sam, however, seemed to know and was giving his grandfather a cool stare. "You're Crowley's bitch."

Samuel sounded deflated. "It's not what you think."

"It's precisely what you think," Crowley retorted, well pleased. "That alpha he's caught me is getting him a gold star."

"Since when do you give a crap about vampires?" Dean asked venomously.

Crowley clasped his hands behind himself and walked forward casually, pretending to be thoughtful. "Since, uh... what's today—Friday?" He looked upward as if trying to remember. "Since, let's see…" he let his index finger fall into Dean's chest, "…Mind your business."

Crowley chuckled and walked in between Dean and Alex, by all appearances about to walk out of the doorway behind them. Alex turned, glaring at him, wishing she hadn't missed earlier. "Listen, asshole, we know you're looking for Purgatory."

He turned around, looking at her almost flirtatiously. "So you heard about that."

Unamused, Alex narrowed her eyes at him. "Yeah, so _why_?"

"Isn't it obvious? _Location, location, location_." No one understood what the hell he was talking about and Crowley half rolled his eyes. "I'm a developer. Purgatory is vast, underutilized, and hell-adjacent—and I want it."

"What for?" Dean demanded.

Crowley's head swiveled Dean's way and his gaze was soft and warning. "Best shut your gob. Employees don't question management."

"We ain't your employees," Dean fired back.

"'Course you are!" Crowley returned pleasantly. "Have been for some time now, thanks to Gramps. I don't keep Captain Chromedome around for his wit, do I? Samuel knows things. More than any of you, actually. Walking encyclopedia of the creepy and the crawly. And _I_ knew you three are so hung up on family-loyalty nonsense, he said jump, you'd get froggy." The smug little smile on Crowley's face was sickening.

"Yeah, well, the game's over," Dean said with a cold, you're-dead-to-me smile aimed in the demon's general direction.

Crowley didn't bat an eye. "'Fraid not, not if you want to see Sam's soul ever again."

" _What_?" Alex asked, and his lying eyes and face and smile made her see red. "Oh you _liar._ " She physically made for Crowley and Dean's arm shot out to stop her. Crowley chuckled deep in his throat.

"You're bluffing," Sam said.

Crowley was superior and sly. "Tell them, Samuel."

Samuel was guilty under everyone's questioning stares. "He pulled us both back, me and Sam."

Genuine anger filled Sam's face as he stared at Samuel. "What? You _knew_?"

Samuel's convicted silence was confirmation.

"No," Dean said, turning to Crowley angrily with teeth clenched. "Cas says it takes big-time mojo to pull something like that off, and you're nothing but a punk-ass crossroads demon."

" _Was_ a punk-ass crossroads demon," Crowley corrected. "Now? King of Hell."

Alex's eyebrows skyrocketed. " _You're_ the King of Hell?" Without even meaning to, she gave a short derisive laugh, remembering what Glen had said about some red-headed demon gathering forces to overthrow the King of Hell… which just so happened to be Crowley.

At the laugh, Crowley's eyes narrowed a bit. "What's so funny?"

Alex shrugged innocently, let a maddening smile play on her lips. "You'll find out soon enough I'm sure."

Crowley's expression darkened. "I dislike the disrespect," he said threateningly, making the smile falter on her face. "We've talked about this, Alexandra." He chuckled again, a low and sandpapery sound. "My my. You must love the thrill of the risk." Alex shut her mouth and said nothing else, knowing exactly what he was implying. He'd tell Dean everything he knew. Smirking once again, Crowley looked at Dean frostily. "Now believe me, I've got the mojo Dean darling. I snap my fingers, Sam gets his soul back. Or, you can be… _y_ _ou_ , and I shove Sam right back in the hole." He looked at Sam with a curious expression. "Can't imagine what it's like in there... and I can imagine _so_ many things." A wicked smile spread across his face. Everyone was silent and Crowley reveled in his small victory of rendering everyone dumbstruck. "So! We clear? Me, Charlie. You, angels. Job's simple enough—bring me creatures. Aim high on the food chain, please. Everybody wins. It's been a pleasure. See you soon." The demon disappeared, leaving a shocked group of people behind.

The silence didn't last long. "It's time to go," Samuel said apathetically, glancing at Gwen and dodging everyone's stares. "Get the van."

Gwen looked pissed off and didn't move a muscle. "You're letting a _demon_ call the shots?"

Samuel looked and sounded shaken. "Nothing's changed. We hunt. _Period_!" His gruff demeanor softened just a little. "Don't worry about him. I'll take care of it." Gwen stubbornly stood her ground and Samuel leveled her with a gaze full of ultimatum. "You trust me or not? Get the _van_ , Gwen." For a minute, Gwen looked like she wasn't going to comply. Then she stalked out, doing what Samuel said.

Samuel started packing up the table full of torture devices as Sam approached. "Working with a demon, huh?" he asked in a soft, dangerous voice. "You're not who I thought you were."

Samuel met Sam's gaze with fire. "You don't know anything about me, son."

"Apparently not," Sam returned evenly. Beneath his calm exterior, rage clearly boiled.

Alex looked at her grandfather with disappointment. "I thought you were supposed to be this super great hunter," she said in an accusing voice. "Would've thought you'd have to sense to know making a deal with a demon's always gonna bite you in the ass."

"It's not that simple," Samuel said, his voice and glance irritated.

"Yeah?" Dean challenged. "What's so important that you're the King of Hell's cabana boy, huh? What'd he offer you?" His voice dripped with sarcasm and disapproval. "Girls? Money? _Hair_?"

"I got my reasons," Samuel said vaguely and hefted his bag of weapons up, making to leave. Dean didn't move out of his way and Samuel didn't back down. For a minute, the two men stared each other down. Then Samuel challenged Dean quietly. "You gonna make a move, go ahead."

"Or _what_?" Dean asked lowly.

"Or nothing," Samuel said, pausing meaningfully. "I'm not gonna do anything to you, Dean. You kids... you're my family. So the way I see it, you got two choices—put a bullet in your grandfather or step aside."

Sam immediately took the invitation, drawing his pistol. Two hands came to push the gun down. "Whoa whoa whoa, Sam—" Alex said as she and Dean both stopped him. "Calm down."

"He sold us out," Sam said tightly.

"Yeah he did," Dean said evenly, looking his brother in the eye, trying to convey silent things to him. "Let it go."

Sam's eyebrows pressed in slightly. "Why?"

Dean said nothing to Sam, turning to look back at Samuel. "Get out of here," he said to his grandfather. Samuel's surprise was marked… but after considering for a moment he left without another word.

There was a stark silence and Sam looked at Dean questioningly. "Why'd you let him go?"

Alex recognized how Dean was struggling with everything that had just happened. "I guess I'm feeling generous today," Dean answered, attempting a wan smile. Sam's face was puzzled and Dean looked dejected. "He's still family, Sam."

"Who cares," Sam said bluntly. "He lied and manipulated and used us."

"We've done the same to others for less," Dean reminded heavily. His words seemed to make the room feel quieter, more bare.

"So what now?" Sam asked his older brother.

Dean shook his head, voice weak with protesting despair. "We can't work for _Crowley—_ "

Sam's face registered confusion. "You sure about that?"

" _Yes_ ," Alex said strongly, speaking for Dean and herself. "There's gotta be another way."

"What other way?" Sam asked as his face twisted up into an expression of exasperation. "There's nothing."

They'd only found out about Sam's soulless thing a day ago, and Alex reminded them of such. "We don't know that yet."

"Say Crowley's telling the truth though," Sam argued. "Just running the math—do we really have another choice?"

"We could stab him in his throat," Dean offered in half-seriousness, looking to Alex for approval. She nodded, playing along, because that wasn't the worst idea in the world.

"And get my soul back how?" Sam asked, missing the half-joke. "I'm just saying, seems like we gotta play ball, at least for the moment."

Dean gave a sigh laden with stress. He was really reluctant and looked between his siblings in quiet desperation. "I mean… there's gotta be another _way,_ right?"

"Has there been so far?" Sam asked, the voice of reason. "Cas doesn't know, and if he doesn't, who will? Crowley's our way out."

Dean shook his head, looking from his brother to his sister in something like dread. "Man, I have done some _stupid_ things in my time, but punching a demon's clock?"

"Look, just till we find another way, or just till we get the damn thing back," Sam said.

"And then?" Dean asked doubtfully.

"And then we track Crowley down and Alex gets to stab him _without_ missing." He gave Alex a little slanting glance, then refocused on Dean. "We give that son of a bitch what's coming to him. You with me, Dean?"

Dean's mouth thinned and he shook his head, harrowed. "I dunno man. I dunno."

* * *

**The Next Day**

Alex poked at the plateful of pulled pork in front of her and glanced across the table at Sam, who was eating like it was his job. They were sitting outside of a place called _Fat Mack's Rib Shack._ The sign for the restaurant was a cheesy cutout of a pig in a chef's apron. The smoky smell of barbecue wafted over the mostly-empty outdoor dining area.

The past day had been pretty awkward. They were currently on their way to back to Calumet City to get Alex's Mustang where it was still parked at the motel where it'd been left. Dean seemed anxious for that, probably wanting to put some space between Sam and herself. She wouldn't mind it either, to be honest. Every day that passed her twin creeped her out more and more. It was sad. She hated it. Was Crowley telling the truth? Did he really know how to bring Sam's soul back? It remained to be seen.

Alex still hadn't heard from Cas after he'd disappeared from the hospital. Nerve-wracked over his well-being, Alex worried the inside of her mouth absently while staring at Sam blankly. Cas had asked her a couple days ago to consider removing herself from wherever Sam would be while he was soulless. After everything that'd happened and then finding out he'd hit on Gwen… Alex was seriously considering it. But Dean needed her. Right?

Sam felt her staring at him and glanced up, popped a crinkle fry into his mouth before he gave her a weird look. "What?"

Alex shook her head and looked away, missing her twin so much that it suddenly hurt her chest. "Nothing."

A few steps away behind Alex, Dean was talking to Bobby on the phone. "No, anything about souls," he was saying. "Yes, _I know_ it's not much to go on. Just…" there was a long, tense pause. Alex looked over her shoulder at her oldest brother. He had a hand on the back of his head as he listened for a couple beats. "I know, Bobby, but there's gotta be another way. I don't know. Keep digging." Alex returned to raking a fork through her food distractedly, listening to Dean's voice as she did so. "I mean, if Crowley thinks we're just gonna—"

"Crowley thinks you're just gonna what, Dean?" came a familiar velvet voice. Sam and Alex's heads whipped up. Crowley had materialized beside Dean, who gaped. "Is that Bobby Singer? Give him a kiss for me."

Dean's jaw tightened and he spoke into the phone tightly. "I'll call you back."

"Good news for the three stooges!" Crowley said, sauntering over to the table where Sam and Alex sat. "I've got a job for you." He pulled out the chair next to Sam, turned it around, and sat on it backwards, giving Alex a playful little smile.

"How about you fuck off?" she invited in a hostile snap.

Crowley unfolded a newspaper leisurely and looked at Alex over the pages pleasantly. "How about you learn some respect for your superior, mm?"

Dean sat down next to his sister, pocketing his phone and giving Crowley a deadly glare. "I'm gonna say this once," he said, pointing a finger at Crowley. "You can take your job and shove it up your ass. Screw off and get away from my family, okay?"

"That any way to talk to your boss?" Crowley asked.

"You're not our _boss_ , dickbag," Dean retorted in his signature angry, loud voice.

Crowley sighed in resignation, looking at Alex and Dean in turn. "Ah, come on you two. Been through this. Quit clutching your pearls. You've been working for me for some time now. Sam here, longer."

"We didn't know," Sam said, a slightly arrogant smile curling his lips.

"Like that makes a difference to you," Crowley replied without missing a beat. "You'd sell your brother or sister for a dollar right now if you really needed a soda."

Sam's face didn't deny Crowley's claim and Dean and Alex were mutually startled then pained.

"Look," Crowley said, refocusing the conversation. "I'm sending you—"

" _No_ _,"_ Dean insisted.

The beginnings of cool scorn tightened Crowley's features. "Beg pardon?"

Dean shook his head adamantly. "I've done some shady stuff in my time, but I am not doing this, and I am not involving my family, either. No."

Crowley's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. "Ten quid says you will," he said, abruptly reaching over and tapping the back of Sam's hand. Sam yelled and yanked his hand to himself—red hot skin sizzled in the place where Crowley had touched, and Sam gasped in pain.

At the sound of her brother's distress, Alex's tough demeanor fell. "What are you doing to him, Crowley?!" she asked, sitting back in panic as Sam squirmed and moaned in pain, holding his hand.

"You like pain, Sam?" Crowley asked tauntingly. "You like Hell?" Crowley scowled at Dean now. "You need to stop thinking of this as some kind of deal," he said lowly. "This is a hostage situation, you arrogant little thug." His voice rose. "I _own_ your brother! Do you understand me?"

Sam hissed, made a sound like _aaah_ , and Alex panicked, gripping the table with white knuckles. "Stop it, Crowley!"

Crowley smirked and snapped his fingers. Sam relaxed and breathed in and out heavily a few times, looking at his now-normal hand with a strange expression. "See?" Crowley asked Alex with a cold glint in his eyes. "I can be polite."

Dean, who'd been silent but not unaffected, was breathing heavily, his glare burning in Crowley's direction. "Come on, Dean, smile," the demon enticed. "It's not that bad. Here's incentive—you bag me a live alpha, and I'll give you little Sammy's soul back with a cherry on top."

"What, alpha vamp not good enough for you?" Sam asked sharply.

"Best mind where you poke your nose, if you want to keep it," Crowley said to Sam, then turned his attention to the newspaper he'd been holding in a hand the entire time. "Your merry little hike up the food chain starts here." He spread the paper out. "Businessman found dead in his car—chest ripped open, heart missing. Sounds like?"

Sam picked up the newspaper. The headline read _Businessman Falls Victim to Animal Attack._ "Werewolf," he said.

Dean shook his head, frowning slightly. "No, it's not a full moon."

Crowley smirked. "Werewolves turning on the full moon— _so_ oh-nine."

"He's right," Sam said. "Samuel and I ganked one about six months back on the half-moon."

"Jamie and I took one down on a waxing crescent," Alex put in sort of somberly.

"Things've been out of whack for a while now, I guess," Sam concluded.

Dean looked at Sam pointedly. "Yeah, I guess." Sam met Dean's somewhat antagonizing stare and frowned uncertainty, not catching his brother's sullen implication.

"So, it's settled then," Crowley said demurely. "You bag the howler, bring it home to papa." He smiled when no one said anything. "See you soon, boys. Princess." Crowley disappeared without another word.

Dean leaned back in his chair and put a hand on his face. Sam resumed eating. "This coleslaw's really good," he said, unbothered by what had just happened.

When Sam said that, Dean pushed his untouched plate of ribs away and looked at Alex, already standing up. "I gotta talk to you," he said flatly, then gave Sam a false, sarcastic smile. "You enjoy your _coleslaw_ , all right?"

Alex got up and went with Dean, who steered her out into the gravel parking lot beside the rib shack. They stood beside the Impala and out of the hearing range of Sam (who didn't care either way—e was eating his food and reading the paper in rapt attention).

Dean seemed reluctant and resigned, beaten down emotionally. "Al, you're not gonna like this," he started wearily, "but—I don't think you should be around Sam right now. Or part of this whole deal with the devil thing, either." She said nothing, even though she was immediately protesting silently. "I can't keep you safe, Cas is distracted with his whole war in the attic thing…" Dean trailed off when Alex's brow creased in the beginnings of hesitance and denial. "This isn't about you being a girl or being the baby of the family or something like that, okay? I mean, did I try and keep you off the Samuel thing yesterday? No. I _know_ you're a good hunter, okay? I know you are, and I'm not trying to be overprotective here or something. I mean, you know I'm trying. To, to let you grow up and be your own person." He was implying the Cas situation. Alex listened with surprise at his rambling confession and heartfelt tone. Was something _wrong_ with Dean? This wasn't like him. "I mean it, Alex," he said. "Sam's _seriously_ freaking me out right now and I just… I need you to please do what I'm asking you to."

"…Which is what?" Alex asked cautiously. She already had a pretty good idea of what he was going to say.

"Go stay with Bobby awhile," Dean said, begging and pleading her with his eyes and voice. "Just until I get Sam his soul back. And I'm not asking you to sit on your thumbs, either. Bobby can always use a hand. Help the old man out with research, hunts, whatever. Maybe you two can find something on that end that Sam and I won't."

He had a slight point, but Alex shook her head. "But I can help you guys. Three of us hunting together, we'll get more alphas that way, right? Maybe?"

"I know, but…" Dean's voice lowered and he glanced Sam's way furtively. "Al, Sam was _hitting_ on _Gwen_. He used you as a hostage a couple days ago. He let us get turned into vampires. I mean… it's _dangerous._ "

"I know that," Alex replied, matching his almost-whisper. "Which is why I don't wanna separate. If I'm not with you, who's gonna have _your_ back?"

A touched little smile came over Dean's face, like her worrying over him surprised him or something. "I will," he said, then got a little cocky. "Soul or not, Sam can't get one over on me."

"You sure about that?" Alex asked, not in the mood for jokes.

"I'll be fine," he said. "Don't worry about it, kiddo."

Alex let out the softest little derisive chuckle. "I'm not a kid anymore, Dean," she said kind of fondly despite her mild annoyance, too. He'd probably still call her kiddo when he was a seventy years old.

A bittersweet look remained in her brother's eyes. "Don't remind me, Mouse." He got this look on his face that she didn't understand and he hugged her tight, like it was goodbye or something.

When he pulled away, Alex looked up into his eyes questioningly. "You're worrying me, Dean," she said, trying to see what was the matter.

"I'm fine," he said, but she didn't think so.

"Are you really?" she challenged with gentleness and firmness alike. They both knew he would never be completely fine. Not after Hell. Not after Mom, Dad, this life, the losses. The weight, the burden.

Dean didn't let his guard down—he just shrugged, giving the impression of leisure. "Fine as I can be." He looked at her carefully, sidestepping her concerns about him. "So… we got a deal here?"

Alex looked at him long and hard. She wanted to say no, _hell no,_ I'm staying with you. But the facts were too big to avoid: Dean thought it was a bad idea to be around Sam. _Cas_ thought it was a bad idea to be around Sam. So she decided to listen to them—the two most important men in her life—and trust their judgement on this. "All right, look," she said in a no-nonsense, businesslike way. "I got a few terms. One: You call me _every_ day and let me know you're okay."

"No problem," Dean agreed readily.

"Two: If you need me to come back at any point, you _tell_ me, right away."

There was a single nod. "Can do."

Alex maintained her deadly-serious demeanor, because she meant it all. "Three: Know that if this takes more than a few months, I _am_ coming back whether you like it or not."

Dean's eyes softened as he smiled. "It won't take that long. Trust me, I can't stand this version of Sam." He looked back at the patio area where Sam ate alone. His expression faltered. "I'm ready to have my brother back."

Alex followed his gaze, her voice quieting. "That makes two of us." She looked at Dean again expectantly. "So, you agree to my terms?"

He stuck his hand out for a handshake, indicating that he did. "Put 'er there." They shook on it. Dean then crossed his arms, leaned back against his car, and looked off thoughtfully. "We'll get through this, all right? We're gonna get Sam back." He gave the softest little laugh. "If it kills me."

Alex gave him a look— _are you serious_? Even if it killed him? The slightest little smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. He thought he was real funny, joking about how he _had_ died to bring Sam back before. "Too soon, Dean," she said flatly. He had the dumbest sense of humor sometimes.

He grinned and shrugged, pleased with himself. "Hey, I'm just getting you back for yesterday!"

Alex raised a challenging eyebrow at him. "You know how this ends when we try and out-revenge each other, right?"

Dean made a mock-thoughtful face. "Badly, for you."

Alex gaped with indignant amusement. "You _wish,_ dingus _!_ " Sister shoved brother playfully and he chuckled—he'd always loved annoying his siblings and getting a rise out of them.

Just a couple hours later when they got to Alex's car, Dean and Alex hugged goodbye. Alex almost changed her mind—it felt wrong to have just reunited with her family and now walk away again. But she stuck with her decision and promised herself that at the first sign that Dean needed her, she'd jump back in. Sam sat in the Impala while Dean and Alex parted, not even getting out to say farewell. He raised a hand and glanced her way, waved halfheartedly, clearly not caring one way or the other. Alex gave him a drawn smile and told him to get well soon. It sounded like a joke, but it was from the heart.

And that was it.

The brothers headed one way and Alex headed the other.

It would been awhile before the three of them were together again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so Season 6 SRS diverges away from the show plot line a little bit. Alex (and Cas! And Bobby! And others!) are about to have a few original adventures… :) :) :) look out for Garth… Ghostfacers… angels… and more!


	62. Cupid's Stupid

" _Love was the most savage monster of all._ _"  
_ \- Rick Riordan

* * *

**Ten Days Later**

It was around one in the afternoon and pretty hot outside for mid-May. In the somewhat-forgiving shade of the covered garage adjacent to Bobby Singer's house, the Chevelle sat with its hood yawning widely open. _Hair of the Dog_ played on a classic rock station in the background. Bent over the car engine, Alex wiped her brow with the back of her hand, momentarily pausing the work. Her hair was in a messy ponytail and she wore long-sleeve navy blue coveralls over her regular clothes. Grease and grime smudged her face, clothing, and hands; her fingernails were lined in black. Perspiration wiped away, Alex returned to deftly twisting the torque wrench. The tool produced the familiar clicking sound as she finished installing the last spark plug. She went by feel carefully, waiting for the plug to feel settled and tight but not _too_ tight. _One more click_ … and she was satisfied, pulling the wrench and socket out then sticking the ignition wire back into the shaft above the new spark plug.

Alex rested for a moment, leaning with her hands spread wide to brace against the car. Lazily, she let her eyes wander the car engine. Cylinder head, fuel pressure regulator, intake manifold, intercooler, battery. Below all the top components she could see glimpses of the charge pipe, the valves, the distributor, the timing belt. Engines were pretty cool. All these parts on their own didn't do very much, and if one was out of sync with the others it could mess up the entire function of the car. Harmony. Engines demanded harmony. It was therapeutic to figure engines out: getting them to work, maintaining their functionality. But it also made her miss Dean, of course, to do any kind of engine stuff. She'd learned most of this from Dean after all—Sam definitely wasn't mechanically minded. He had a knack with computers and technology that Dean and Alex for sure didn't have.

Alex refocused and cleaned up the top of the car battery with her rag then shook her head ruefully. Bobby didn't take care of his car well enough, that was for sure, and he was lucky Alex had thought to take a look at it when she had. His spark plugs, for one, had been appallingly corroded. She'd spent all morning out here giving his car a little TLC: tightening loose valve nuts, inspecting the rotor shaft, cleaning the air filter, replacing the spark plugs, changing the oil, replacing some shoddy old wires and coils. Bobby _knew_ how to do all this stuff—he'd been a mechanic by trade before he'd been a hunter after all—but he just didn't seem to like working on cars anymore. Alex however liked it plenty and was happy to do it for him… it was a hobby that was intensely useful and made her feel smart, relaxed even. And she _needed_ to feel relaxed right now.

She was more high-strung than she was letting on, and was it any wonder? With everything that had happened in the past couple weeks, she was a little on the insomniac side, a little on the worried-as-hell side. _What a fucking year, huh?_ Alex shook her head. _Mental note: see if I can track down Jamie when I've got a spare few days._ She had to be out there somewhere. But her phone was off and she'd seemingly vanished off the map completely. When Alex thought of Jamie, she thought of Jamie's brother and her mood sobered a little. The Glen thing had shaken Alex's life and mind up not once but _twice_. She shivered a little, remembering Cas burning that asshole to dust. Cas had never seemed so furious or frightening. Glen was definitely, _definitely_ dead. So… why was Alex still having nightmares about it? By it, she meant what had happened. What Glen tried to do. It had impacted her more than she'd acknowledged, maybe even to herself. She had never been one to look at a strange man and feel a shrinking sense of fear before Glen's assault, but now she found herself suddenly cautious and nervous around big, unfamiliar men.

It _did_ help explain why she'd given in so readily to Dean's appeal for her to take the bench for awhile. Her self-preservation made sidelining herself an easier decision than it would have been before—and Sam was scary, no doubt, dangerous even. Even though it still logically felt like the right move to have made for _herself_ , Alex felt bad and guilty knowing that Dean was out there alone with robo-Sam. What if he needed her help? And wouldn't he be lonely, sort of? What if Sam hurt him or didn't have his back?

Alex straightened up and worked on reconnecting the battery cable, her brow furrowed in tense thought. He _wasn't_ Sam. He just wasn't, not without that all-important missing piece of soul. Was his soul suffering in Hell? Was the Sam she loved screaming and burning alive at this very moment? _I hope not. God I hope not._

All in all, it was pretty damn bittersweet to go opposite directions so soon after reuniting. The year apart had changed all of them a lot. Alex was more inclined to independence and self-reliance. Dean had showed himself to be more patient and accepting and respectful. And Sam, of course, was a soulless douchebag who thought it was okay to let his siblings get turned into vampires.

Alex accidentally knocked a socket wrench off the edge of the engine where she'd set it and grumbled to herself as she worked to get it out of where it fell. Successfully getting the tool free, Alex gave it a dirty look and tucked it into her utility belt.

Dean had called every day just as promised to check in. There was always a note of forlorn and brow-beaten tiredness in his voice when they spoke. He surprised her with his attempts to be supportive of her, though. He asked about Cas and if she'd heard from him, asked if everything was okay between them, told her to 'go easy on him'—whatever that meant. All of what he said about Cas was said very awkwardly and forcibly, but said all the same. It was like he was trying to be a normal and emotionally independent big brother. It was very striking. Dean was growing up. And so was she.

It just sucked that they couldn't be together right at that moment. She missed him—of course she missed him. And Sam, too. The old Sam. The Sam who'd been present and emotionally giving, the Sam who got excited about research and prissy when you goaded him; the Sam who was a reliable moral compass and made the best _are you friggin' kidding me_? faces on earth. The Sam who hugged her tight and could tell when something was wrong and gave her 'cheer up' smiles when she was down in the dumps. It was a real dick move of Crowley to bring Sam back soulless like that. The demon knew _exactly_ what he was doing, too, hanging that over Dean's head. Still, why would Crowley have waited so long to involve Dean and make his demands known ( _work for me or I throw Sam back in the fire!_ )? Something felt a little off. Story of her life, she guessed.

Speaking of people she missed…

Cas had called her eight days ago (he got a new phone) and when she told him where she was and how she was taking a break from Sam and Dean, he'd come to see her at Bobby's. He had looked good: No more blood on his face, no more woozy or weakened state. However, that tired and distressed nature had been ever-present in his eyes, even in the way he stood. He had said hello and told her of how the Horn of Joshua was destroyed in a hand-to-hand struggle (apparently it went sailing into the outer edge of the Holy of Holies and was vaporized on impact). Even as he was asking how she was, he was abruptly summoned and the visit (all thirty-some seconds of it) was cut short. He'd been frustrated, she'd been frustrated (but had tried not to show it too much). He'd promised to return as soon as he was able. She hadn't seen or heard from him since.

It was nerve-wracking thinking of him up there fighting and risking his life every day. She wished she knew how to be there for him better. In fact, when she thought about how much pressure Cas and Dean were both under, she felt guilty all over again about being tucked away at Bobby's. However, she wasn't sitting around doing nothing. She and Bobby spent several hours every day researching anything and everything to do with soul lore. So far, they found nothing that would help with Sam's issue—but they weren't set on quitting anytime sooner, either. Besides that, Alex made herself useful by helping Bobby with errands, cleaning, and stuff like fixing his car today. She'd taken up residence in the attic—she told Bobby it was so that she could sort through his ridiculously cluttered collection of volumes up there (he must have had _hundreds_ of books stacked up against the attic walls). And that _was_ part of the reason... but she also loved the attic for another reason. It was nice, quiet, insulated and climate-controlled, yes… but most of all, it had appeal for her because of the memories she associated with that small, bright space. She and Cas had been there together once.

Every night when she went to sleep ( _if_ she went to sleep), she remembered how she and Cas had been there in that same bed, holding each other each a year ago before everything had fallen apart. Before _they'd_ been torn apart. They'd been younger then, more innocent somehow. She missed that time in their relationship. Even though she guessed that things were relatively patched up for now, it still felt different. Cas seemed distant, and maybe it was because of the war, maybe it was because he stayed gone so much currently. She just wanted so much for him to be _there_ for a day or two, for there to be time together so that she could feel sure again. She was resigned to the fact that for now, she had to wait. The whispering questions and stressful doubts at the edge of her mind made her feel guilty and dubious. Their time in the motel eleven days ago—a couple snatched hours of intimacy and conversation—it had been a lifesaver, but she needed the same again.

It was hard when your husband was away. Ha. _Husband_. Cynicism colored her thoughts as she tried to decide what to do with _that._ Some days she loved the idea of being married to Cas, other days she didn't even understand what it meant. At the time it had happened she'd thought the world was going to end and _just screw it_ had been her mentality. Plus she'd been _so in love_ with Cas that she would have probably done _anything_ he asked or said. She still loved him, of _course_ she did—in fact she loved Cas so much it hurt, but the secret they were keeping only added to her anxiety. The year apart had embittered her, and it was hard to just bounce back or heal immediately from all the bad feelings and doubts that had soured her over the months when she hadn't known where he went. She understood well enough: the miscommunications and the misunderstandings, Cas staying away to protect her from Raphael… but it just wasn't _fair_ what had happened. And as a result, their relationship was wounded. Or maybe that was just her.

It was weird, because when he _was_ with her, physically in the same room, she had no issues with the thought of being married to him. When when he was looking at her and speaking to her and holding her gaze with so much care, when he was in bed with her, when he was kissing and touching and holding her, she _knew_ she belonged with him. But when they were apart and his absence was so deeply felt (like right now), the questions started. Was it real, _really_ real? Would it last? Hadn't he wanted marriage solely on the fact that he'd been 'human' more or less? Did he feel the same about her now that he had angeled-up again? Round and round her thoughts went, settling nothing, resolving nothing, just further agitating and stressing her. The endless feeling of in-between was what was so hard and harrowing. _Cas—just come see me and make everything all right, okay?_

She faded out of her thoughts when she became aware of a car approaching. She turned her head and squinted up and over into the salvage yard where a sad, beat up nineteen-seventies Ford Ranchero Squire was pulling in slowly. A familiar sounding song thumped rhythmically inside the car—was that… _No Diggity_? That brought her back to the nineties right away. The car creaked to a stop not far away and the engine cut off. Not recognizing the vehicle or the person in it, Alex straightened, cautious. Her gun was nearby on the little rolling work bench she had out. _Better to be safe than sorry._ She grabbed and stuck her piece down into the back of dorky tool belt she was wearing. He might just be someone here to buy scrap metal or something but it never hurt to take precaution as far as she was concerned… especially after the year she'd had.

Feigning nonchalance but aware of every single thing happening, Alex closed the hood of the Chevelle. She slung her rag out of where it had been tucked into the coveralls and scrubbed at her grease-streaked hands with calculated casualness, eyeing the newcomer who was leisurely unfolding out of his car. He didn't _look_ like bad news. He actually looked kind of… comical.

Tall and scrawny like a beanpole and wearing a rumpled outfit that did him no favors, the guy was reminiscent of a gangly teenager even though he had to be thirty at least. His jeans were too short above his converse shoes, his plaid shirt swallowed him alive. Shaggy brown hair peeked out from underneath a haphazard ball cap that was worn far back on his head (a head that was too big for his stick-figure body). He had huge ears that stuck out awkwardly and his face was made up of oddly small, elfin features… except the huge nose that reminded Alex of a ski slope. He loped over her way, adjusting his old grimy ball cap in greeting as he reached her. He had a pleasant and laid back demeanor that was obvious before he even spoke.

"Howdy little lady," he said affably, smiling pleasantly. He acted like he knew her and was a hundred percent at ease, but she had no _clue_ who he was. She gave him the beginnings of a questioning look even as his smile widened and he nodded as if pleased. "Guessin' you must be the famous Alex Winchester," he said in the slightest southern drawl. "Heard a lot about you," he said, then looked around at all the tools she had laid out. "Getting your elbow grease on, eh?"

Alex remained skeptical. "…And you are?"

"Name's Garth, _mon amie,"_ he replied breezily, an unexpected and great self-confidence to his demeanor—he seemed to think highly of himself and have no shortage of smiles that made his eyes sparkle. He swept his hat off for dramatic air. Was he… curtsying? "Garth Fitzgerald the fourth," he introduced himself. "Hunter, hip-hop enthusiast, Jenga expert." He plopped the hat back where it'd been, a crooked _I'm-so-charming_ smile slouching on his face.

Alex gawked. … _Hunter?_ And more importantly: _Jenga expert?_ "Uh… _okay_ …" She hesitated and dumbly stared, waiting for further explanation. No way he was a _hunter-_ hunter. Maybe he meant deer hunter or something. He said nothing else, his silly grin holding steady, and she was forced to fill the silence. "So… can I help you?" she asked, eyeing him closely. He didn't look like he could _be_ a hunter. Way too skinny and bright-eyed. "Need some scrap metal, or…?"

He laughed as if she'd just made an adorable mistake and he found it cute. "Oh no no _no,_ " he said, and sighed as if trying to withhold his amusement. He jerked his thumb back over his shoulder, still grinning. "Workin' a job couple hours over. Called Bobby for a hand."

Alex stared with a dumb look on her face. Was this a joke? " _You're_ a hunter," she stated, and it was a question and a flabbergasted statement at the same time.

The door groaned open behind Alex. "Hey Garth," Bobby greeted. He was his predictable grumpy-around-the-edges self. "That was quick, you musta done ninety the whole way here."

"Bobby!" Garth's smile doubled in enthusiasm and he went right on over and hugged a protesting Bobby zealously, slapping him on the back as he laughed. He drew back and gripped Bobby by the upper arms, his expression suddenly soft and serious, like he was trying to be philosophical. "Speed limits are for the simple-minded, amigo. Always remember that."

Bobby looked as befuddled as Alex was about that statement. "Uh… right." Garth let go, smiling again. Bobby glanced at Alex briefly. "So I see you two've met."

"Yes, yes we have," Garth answered immediately, then smiled at Alex as if in fondness and approval. "Think she'll do just fine, Bobby."

"…I'll what?" Alex asked, making a face like _did I hear you right?_ When Bobby made a face like _it's not my fault_ and Garth just kept smiling and nodding, Alex got exasperated. "One of you explain, _now._ "

Garth's face fell and confusion showed, he looked at Bobby for explanation. Bobby shrugged and threw his hands up. "Hey, I didn't say she'd _do_ it, I said you could come make your pitch. So… get blabbin'."

Out of the loop and not liking it too much, Alex leveled Garth with an impatient _tell me now_ look.

Garth's crestfallen expression was gone, replaced with a look of almost excitement. He spoke with his hands, maybe imagining himself captivating or mysterious. "Picture this. A successful nightclub in Omaha, barely two hours from here. Every night it's packed to the gills with people looking to get it twisted. Two weeks ago, the disappearances start—couples, _always_ couples, and seven of 'em so far. The profile? Deeply unhappy lovebirds who're on the rocks, _or_ people who're cheating on their partners. The culprit? Remains a mystery." He paused, expectant. When Alex said nothing, he shrugged. "I've been working the case for a few days now, can't get any further, couples keep on going poof." He resumed his attempts to sound alluring. "This, my friend, is where _you_ come in."

"What, you need backup or something?" Alex asked dubiously.

Garth laughed openly at her question, shook his head as if in fond chagrin. "Alex, Alex, Alex," he said, then sighed dramatically, smiling at her even wider. "We gotta go undercover," he said, then pointed two fingers at her. "I need _you_ … to be my girlfriend."

Alex's expression fell. Seriously? She let her gaze slide to Bobby. What, so Garth had called Bobby looking for a female hunter and Bobby had just _volunteered_ her? _Nice, Bobby._ The older hunter ducked her piercing gaze. Alex returned her eye line to Garth, who was waiting, clearly confident that she'd say _sure, let's go!_ But she found herself cracking a sarcastic, doubtful grin. Undercover as _his_ girlfriend? Maybe it was mean of her, but she said it anyway. "No one would ever believe that."

Garth's response was pure gold. "Now I know I'm a catch, but don't sell yourself short, Miss Winchester," he encouraged earnestly, prompting her eyebrows to shoot up in baffled amusement. His expression was sympathetic and overly-earnest. "Even in those ratty coveralls, you're still pretty as a picture."

Her mouth was open in a dumbfounded gape and she was honestly speechless for a couple seconds. Alex settled on finally holding a finger up to him. "…Hold that thought." She then grabbed Bobby by the shoulder and steered him out of earshot of Garth, who started poking curiously through her tools. He clumsily knocked some over and they clattered loudly on the cement floor.

"Don't touch those, Fabio!" Alex called, then looked at Bobby like he was nuts, lowering her voice to an intense whisper. " _Seriously_ Bobby?"

"Hey, I try and help him out sometimes," Bobby defended mildly. "Plus, thought maybe you'd like to get outta the house."

Garth was picking up the wrenches he'd knocked over and held two on top of his head like bunny ears. "Hey look, I'm a bug!" he called to them and giggled shrilly at himself.

Alex stared a couple more seconds at Garth the bug and then looked at Bobby, who appeared entirely embarrassed by association. "Is this guy for real?" she asked, not sure she could actually believe that this goofball was legit a hunter.

She got a side glance. "Unfortunately," Bobby grumbled, then shrugged. "Kid's a real loon. Dunno how he's still above ground. Kinda an idjit most of the time, as you can maybe see. But… s'got heart of gold. Tries hard. And plays a mean game'a Jenga." At that comment, Alex's face did a small double take. _What was with the Jenga_? Bobby gave her a half-smile. "Go crazy. Every hunt I ever did with Garth was one for the books." He paused. "The comic books, maybe." Alex's look of hesitance prompted Bobby to give her an encouraging look. "Come on, I know you're bored off your ass doin' house duty."

"I am not!" Alex protested.

"I'm just _sayin_ '… I only got so many engines you can fiddle with," Bobby said, casting glances around the garage and salvage yard beyond. He was good at reading her… the idea of a hunt was appealing for sure. It would be a nice distraction from everything else, and Garth was a total goofball, Bobby obviously trusted him, there wasn't a threat there—Alex could definitely take Garth's stick-figure build in a fight. Bobby patted her on the back reassuringly, gruffly. "Go do the hunt," he said, and he sounded very fatherly in that moment. "It'll do you good to do somethin'." At Alex's remaining look of reluctance Bobby pulled a face. "Or fine, stay, I need some help mendin' socks and readin' volumes as thick as a roof shingle."

…That didn't sound so appealing, honestly. The idea of a hunt sounded so tempting. Alex looked at Garth, who was putting an arm out to lean in a debonair, casual slouch against her rolling tool bench. He didn't realize about the wheels and almost fell over completely when the cart rolled away under the weight of his lean, which quickly turned into a frantic, flailing, tool-clattering debacle. The guy was like an accident on legs. Alex shook her head in disgruntled chagrin. _What the hell._ She couldn't quite believe what she said next: "Think I'll go with Garth."

* * *

Alex presently found herself in the last place she'd expected to be that morning when she woke up… on the road with the most inexplicably optimistic hunter she'd ever met. _Poison_ by Bell Biv Devoe pumped on Garth's shoddy sound system and he bobbed his head in time to the early-nineties hip-hop, his shoulders doing some kind of weird sitting-still dance as he drove them down the road at crazy speeds. He had on aviator sunglasses that were _huge_ on his face. "This is my _jam_!" he announced gleefully, oblivious to Alex's _are you serious_ side-eye.

"So I gathered," she commented neutrally, not sure if she believed he was really this guy were for real or not, and if he _was_ for real… how was that even possible?

"Gotta keep it nineties, that's what I always say," Garth said contentedly, leaning back casually in the driver's seat and keeping one loose hand on the wheel. He was insanely chatty, overly friendly, and a big-time space-case. She'd only known him for about an hour now, but the guy was... _unique_ , she'd give him that. And sort of annoying. Like right now. "That girl is poiso- _ooooon_!" he sang along in a nerve-wracking falsetto as he dipped his shoulder down, letting his head follow it, thinking he was real cool as bobbed his head like a chicken to the music again. Apparently, he was having the best day ever or something. Alex felt like backing away slowly. This much zeal for life wasn't normal, was it? He reached for the volume knob and dialed it down a few notches. "So, do ya think we should change our names for the cover?" he asked. "I always thought I'd make a good Darryl or Miguel. I think you'd make a good Ashley or Nicole…" he was overly thoughtful. "Britney, maybe… not Melinda, you don't look like a Melinda…"

"Uh, I think our current names are fine, Garth," Alex said. She didn't quite know how to take this dude. "Cover works best when not all of it's made up."

"True dat, home slice," he replied, completely genuine, a laid-back smile playing on his thin lips. "Good thinkin'. I can see why Bobby keeps you around."

 _I can see why he wanted to palm you off onto me._ " _So_." A short silence hung. Alex eyed him mistrustfully and curiously both. "How long you been hunting?"

"Ah, few years, give or take," he said vaguely, then glanced at her pleasantly. "You're a lifer, right?"

"A lifer?"

"Yeah. Whole life hunting. A lifer."

"Oh." She had never known there was a name for it. "Yeah, I guess. Pretty much."

Garth nodded with utmost knowingness. "I can see it in your old-soul eyes," he commented casually. "Also, the Winchester fam's pre- _eeetty_ famous in Hunter-land," he continued, oblivious to her bemused expression.

"…Are we?" She was more and more befuddled by the moment with his off-the-wall statements and observations.

"Let's just say I might need your autograph later," he said, winking at her like he thought he was super suave and charming. He was neither. He was nerdy and cringy.

"O…kay," Alex managed, then cleared her throat. She didn't want to laugh in his face or make him feel bad with the faces she kept making without a second thought. But it was definitely a challenge. She tried to stay professional and refocus things to the job. "So, the hunt," she said, trying to remember what he'd told her. "No trace at all of the couples once they disappear?"

"No trace," Garth confirmed. "No bodies, no leads, no nothing. They always disappear from inside the club, too, seems like. Seven couples in two weeks. Police can't make heads or tails of it, club owner's stumped, staff hasn't seen anything weird. All I know's the couples who disappeared were seen arguing loudly in this club before they went ka-poof. Oh, and a few solo-flyers, cheating types, disappeared from the club, too, forgot to mention that. The interesting part there? All of _them_ had left spouses at home, who _also_ disappeared."

So, fourteen people gone without a trace. Considering the possibilities and taking the facts in, Alex mulled it over. "What, so someone has some kind of bone to pick with couples on the rocks?"

" _Bingo_ ," Garth replied, animated. "Hard to know who though. The couples had no connections to each other that I could find." He held up a finger in thought. "One weird thing though… the local fast food joints have all reported heavy french-fry theft in the past two weeks."

Alex frowned deeply like she'd heard wrong. "…French fry theft?"

"Yup," Garth confirmed flippantly. "Huge quantities of golden potato goodness just gone outta McDonalds and Burger Kings sight unseen."

"…And you think that has something to do with the case?" Alex surmised doubtfully.

Garth shrugged. " _Maybe_ …" he sighed long and gusty. "Can't make heads or tails of this one, to be honest. But it's definitely freaky, so… might be connected somehow."

Alex couldn't think of a specific monster or creature who took interests in wayward couples or ate french fries. _Huh._ Stumped, she shrugged. "Might be witchy, maybe?" She suggested uncertainly, thinking that maybe the french fry thing was just a coincidence of some kind.

"That's what I thought too, but I broke in there during the day and scoped the place out," Garth said casually. Alex pictured him busting in through a window and falling over his own legs. "No hex bags, no talismans or spell work anywhere. Place was clean."

 _Huh._ His use of familiar terminology and the growing realization that he really _was_ a hunter had her intrigued. Maybe the second he was in the zone he turned into James Bond. Maybe she was misjudging him. Probably not, but maybe. "How'd you learn all this stuff in just a few years?" she asked, wondering how he'd stumbled into hunting and more importantly, how he'd stayed alive so far. It didn't fit at _all_.

"Guess I just catch on quick," he said, a humble and pleased smile playing on his face. He turned to look at her and pulled his sunglasses down his nose to peer at her slyly over the tops of the rims. "I _was_ homeschooled _._ "

"... Right. And you… usually hunt by yourself?"

"What can I say?" Garth asked, shrugging and smiling with that same sense of sly modesty. "I'm just a lone wolf."

"Uh _huh_ ," she returned uncertainly, then made herself focus. "Okay, so what's your game plan, Garth? I'm guessing you wanna lure the perp out, right?"

"Well Lexie,"—she looked at him very quickly when he abruptly used a nickname she never used—"I thought we'd dress our best and infiltrate the premises tonight all while playing the part of an unhappy couple in order to lure out the entity behind the deaths." He spoke so properly, but with his easy, lazy southern drawl.

"No problem," Alex said, even though she wasn't entirely sure about pretending to be his girlfriend. As long as it didn't involve anything physical or creepy, fine. Anyway, they were going to be playing _unhappy_ people, right? So she probably didn't need to even worry about putting on a lovey-dovey act. Out of nowhere, she thought of Cas and a pang of longing and worry struck. She missed him and was abruptly hit with how _much_. She looked out of the car window and up into the clear blue sky. _Hope you're okay up there_. The thought of him risking everything and running himself ragged, fighting day in and day out for victory, for a future together, for _her_ … it struck her with sudden and unexpected power, making her eyes ache with emotion she hadn't expected. Not comfortable with appearing vulnerable, Alex focused on the present moment. "So you got a real girlfriend somewhere out there?" she asked Garth with a put-on conversational tone.

"At present, no," he answered, then shook his head just once as his eyes lit up a little. "But there _is_ a little filly I gots my eye on. Shew- _wee_ , she's a tall drink of water," he said then gave her a coy smile, raising his eyebrows quickly and letting them fall back down. "Nurse."

"Ah," Alex said. Dean liked nurses too. The porno kind, anyway. "Every guy's fantasy."

Garth sounded like he was lost in fond recollection. "Patched me up real good back in New Orleans a few months back. Real peach. Really shoulda gotten her number." He paused. "And name, maybe. _Hm_. Can't remember her name…" he shrugged it off then looked at Alex. "What about you? Got a gentleman caller?"

Alex hid a smile, glancing out of the window to hide her face temporarily. "Guess you could say that."

"Wait, don't tell me," Garth said. "I'm good at this stuff." His voice took on a thoughtful tone. "He's average height, beardy. Real life of the party with a bad boy side. Likes motorcycles and clubbing and yoga."

"'Beardy'?" she repeated, thrown and amused at the same time. She pictured Cas in black leather at a club doing yoga and wasn't sure if that mental image were hilarious or somehow hot. "Anyone ever tell you you're kinda weird, Garth?" She was absolutely out of her element with this guy but somehow starting to find it kind of... _fun_.

"Ah, we're all weird," he replied breezily. "And life is weird. And when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with our own, we call it love." The sudden philosophy startled Alex, who looked at Garth in surprise. He was kind of totally on the money, but where had that _come_ from? He didn't notice her astonished stare. He reached down between the seats and held up a packet of dried meat. "Jerky?"

Alex couldn't stop herself. She laughed out loud because she _liked_ this guy and his offbeat sense of timing, his out-of-place comments, the way he was so unapologetic about his awkwardness. He didn't seem to care, _at all_ , about what anyone else thought, and you know what? That was cool.

She accepted his offer, momentarily charmed by his oddness. " _Sure_ , why not. Jerky."

* * *

**That Night  
Omaha, Nebraska**

At some stuffy department store the likes of which Alex had never in her life stepped into before, she waited outside the dressing room for Garth to hurry up. She stared off at the perfume department (a whole _department_ dedicated to perfume. She still couldn't get over that—how many different kinds of perfumes did people _need?_ ).

Garth had picked out his "clubbin' duds" with painstaking slowness. Alex in the other hand had grabbed the first flashy dress she saw on the rack: a gold sequin-covered strapless thing. It was blinding and ridiculous but eye-catching, which was part of the ruse, right? She was wearing it now—it fit like a glove and was hard to move in, hitting mid-thigh. It felt really revealing and left no place for weapons to be concealed except right up at her inner thigh. She had packed her weapons bag in Garth's car and _did_ have a thigh holster for her gun—so that'd have to do, she guessed. Club security would probably be pretty tight. Garth would have to smuggle in the majority of their weapons. _Garth_. All day as they'd prepped for this "sting operation" as he called it, she'd been increasingly baffled and amused at him. He was genuinely kindhearted and sweet, two things she didn't know how a hunter could ever be, but he was somehow. It almost made her anxious, because the kid could get killed doing this stuff. _Kid._ He was older than her and here she was thinking of him as a kid.

At that moment Garth came out of the dressing room wearing a hideous bright purple silk shirt, the kind that looked shiny and slippery. It was unbuttoned a couple buttons to show a sunken, scrawny chest and the shirt hung off him too big. He'd tucked it into his pleather black pants which were _way_ too tight, the shoes he'd picked out made his feet look like _boats_ , but he was swaggering with a grin. "Righteous, yeah?" he asked, the picture of self-satisfaction as he checked himself out in the full-length mirror. He smoothed his hair to the side, pleased with what he saw. "So balls."

"Yeah," Alex agreed, suppressing a smile again. ' _So balls'?_ It was like a car-wreck… she couldn't look away. "Great."

He grinned at her, nodded approval. "Cool duds, Lex. Super fly."

She didn't bother to correct him. He'd been calling her Lex and Lexie _all day_ and she didn't have the energy to fight this nicknames. "Thanks," she said, wishing it was possible to get into a club wearing jeans and a Rolling Stones t-shirt instead. Either way, she was anxious to get a move on and get to the ass-kicking. "Ready to go be unhappy in love?"

In response, Garth whipped out a pair of Ray Ban style sunglasses he'd apparently had in his back pocket, putting them on smoothly and spreading his hands out in a pose. " _Booya_."

"So… _yes_?" Alex asked, an unsure little smile at his antics creeping onto her face. He was so ridiculous.

"You know it, amiga!"

Alex contemplated him with a slightly cringing expression even as her smile remained. "Hey, you know only douchebags wear shades inside at night, right?"

He made two finger guns at her way. "Exaaa _aactly_ ," he said knowingly, then popped the collar of his shirt, making it oh so much worse than it'd been before. "I'm gettin' into character! Hate me yet?"

Smirking and shaking her head, Alex played along. "Can't stand you."

"Perfecto, mamacita!" Garth said, grinning. He suddenly frowned at her feet, whipped his sunglasses of, and shook his head. "Oh no no no, those boots will _not_ do." She was wearing her work boots with the dress. " _You_ need _heels_."

Alex made a face. "Heels?"

Garth gave her a lecturing look. "Heels."

Immediately grumpy, Alex gave an insolent sigh. "Now I really _do_ hate you," she muttered.

* * *

What happened that night at _The Halo_ would go down in Alex's memories as the most ridiculous and off-the-wall hunt she was ever a part of.

Wobbling into the dark and noisy club in sky-high stilettos, she was convinced that she looked crippled from the way she was walking—she was barely able to move at all without holding her arms out for balance. "Who… the _fuck_ … invented these death traps?!" she complained—the rickety heels she wore were even harder to walk in than those asshole spiky boots she'd sported last month to lure vampires. There must be an art to walking in these things, but she hadn't learned it yet, obviously. She clutched onto Garth to keep from falling, but he wasn't very reassuring… his rail-like physique looked and felt like he might fall over if the wind blew particularly hard. Stumbling as her heel turned under her, Alex squinted at the multi-colored laser lights beaming down into her eyes. It was loud and confusing in the nightclub, and it smelled like human sweat and alcohol. _People did this shit for fun?_

Trance music pumped loudly and Alex hung on tighter to Garth's stick arm, not sure where they were going. He still had his sunglasses on and as such, he blindly walked right into a cocktail table he didn't see. "Oops, sorry, sorry!" Garth apologized—he sent drinks spilling everywhere, including onto a couple of people.

"Hey watch where you're going, asshole!" a drink-doused guy with greased back hair snarled.

"You have my apologies, good sir!" Garth called over the music. He was already moving on, getting them past the angry table of people he'd just knocked into. He almost walked into _another_ table and Alex foresaw it, yanking him to a stop.

"The shades gotta go, Garth!" she yelled over the headache-inducing electronic music.

"What?" he asked, pointing at his ear.

She raised her voice even more. "I _said_ , the sha—"

"Just kiddin'!" He laughed and took off his sunglasses then tucked them into his pocket. He shouted over the din. "Heard ya the first time! I got ears like a snake! So check this place out, huh?"

 _The Halo_ was full to the gills, packed with people mingling, dancing, and drinking. There was a lounge area, a big dance floor, a currently empty stage, a bar, a DJ booth. A super high ceiling stretched out the expanse and exposed industrial beams gave the place a modern feel. On the ceiling, alien-like symbols made a mosaic in faint black-light paint. Alex thought the weird symbols _almost_ looked like sloppy, cartoony Enochian. But it was hard to see very well and she moved her gaze onward to take in the rest of the club. Moody up-lighting set the scene and made for more atmosphere: bright pinks and vivid purples glowed off the walls and ceilings, an ever-changing rainbow of lights swept over the busy dance floor. Alex made several cops, a few plain-clothes and a few uniformed. Garth had told her that earlier how the club was under a strict watch and would close soon completely if the disappearances didn't stop. But apparently even with police presence, the disappearances were still happening. Last night, an arguing gay couple had disappeared right off the dance floor according to Garth.

As Alex and Garth stood there and observed how chaotic and noisy the joint was, Alex realized that this seemed like an unlikely and difficult place for a perp to pick victims. "How the hell would anyone even be able to _see_ a fighting couple in this craziness?!" she asked Garth, leaning close to shout in his ear.

He mimicked her, putting his mouth right near her ear. "Maybe they're targeted outside of the club first?" Garth asked, deafening her.

Well if _that_ were the case, if the couples were being chosen by some kind of human serial-killer or something at their jobs or homes, this was a huge waste of time. _But,_ if somehow some paranormal baddie _was_ choosing couples here at the club by supernatural means, they would find out soon enough, she guessed. Either way, the bar was looking pretty good to Alex and she pulled Garth (currently functioning as her walking cane) that way. "Let's get drinks."

They managed to get there without Alex tripping over her own feet. Garth ordered a Mike's Hard Lemonade—a dweeby, _barely_ alcoholic drink—and then insisted he needed to take it slow if he wanted to be "any good" for the job. Alex got straight up Jack Daniels as usual and sipped on it thoughtfully as they skulked around the bar pointlessly. Alex was trying to respect that this was Garth's hunt, but she was itching to take control and do things her way, AKA, better. First, she would have broken in during the day and hidden a cache of weapons and resources for herself to access during this particular point of the job—as it was, Garth had a knife in an ankle holster, her angel blade strapped onto his other ankle precariously, and she had a gun barely hidden inside her inner-thigh holster.

It was bad enough that Alex felt so weaponless but they literally had _no clue_ who or what was behind the disappearances… yet here they were, trying to lure out the baddie without any knowledge of who it was or what its weakness might be. Alex was all-in-all feeling a little apprehensive about Garth's hunting style (which seemed sort of cavalier). She was staying hyper-vigilant, trying to get a read on everyone in the nearby vicinity, trying to cast around for any clues about what sort of monster or whatever they were dealing with. Nearby there was a stressed-out looking bartender, a few flirting patrons seating along the bar, some gyrating couples nearby at the edge of the dance floor. Nothing out of the ordinary. No red flags at all.

Garth had already played journalist apparently and interviewed a few staff members and the club owner about the disappearances. One of the staff said he'd seen a couple on the dance floor arguing and pushing each other angrily and drunkenly—he'd looked away for one second, looked back, and they'd just vanished and hadn't been seen or heard from again. The other accounts of disappearances were all similar—they'd been in the club one second, gone the next. Alex glanced at Garth, who was bobbing his head to the electronic music. Alex couldn't hear a single real instrument in it.

_Right. So, acting like an unhappy couple._

Alex downed the last of her liquid courage and glanced at Garth's drink. He'd had less than half of his beverage but something about his demeanor said _tipsy_. "Hey, you wanna take it easy there bud?" Alex asked, then made the decision for him and snatched the bottle away from him, giving him a _you'll thank me later_ smile.

He burped loudly and made a sound of protest, closed a fist and thumped his chest uncomfortably, then looked around sort of aimlessly. "So should we dance?" Garth asked innocently, pointing to the dance floor with a really unsure scrunched up face.

" _Dance_?" Alex asked. She only danced when she was raging drunk, and only to classic rock. Not… this 'music' playing in the club. _Eugh, no thank you._ She shook her head no.

Garth seemed to remember why they were there. "Okay, well… let's just stand here and argue! Right? That's what unhappy couples do!" Garth was a little uncoordinated, clearly tipsy just as Alex had thought… from like four gulps of beer. "Just remember not to take any of the things I say serious," he warned covertly, then abruptly raised his voice to a deafening shout, putting an ugly look on his face… and proceeded to make the least convincing rant Alex had ever heard. He flung an arm out for drama. "You suck! Everything about you _sucks_!" he yelled, drawing a couple curious glances from people within a ten foot radius.

His choice of words and the jumpy way he was holding himself—arms ramrod straight at his sides, fists clenched, Alex had to try not to _laugh_ at his sudden outburst. She leaned close, eyes shifty as she tried to be discreet. "That's not how people _argue_ , Garth."

He didn't break whatever insane character he was playing at the moment. "Oh, how _do they_ then?" he asked, sneering ridiculously and gesturing jerkily, reminding her of a cartoon character. "How _do_ they fight? _Huh_? Oh my god oh my _GODDDDD!_ " He suddenly grabbed his own hair with both hands. Alex's eyes were wide like saucers and she froze, not sure what to do—people weren't going to think they were an unhappy couple, they were going to think he was a nutjob (Alex was wondering at that point, honestly, if he were). What was he _doing_? Hadn't he ever, you know, seen real people? He continued his comical, enraged, soap-opera worthy rant. "Woman! You drive me crazy!" he continued at maximum volume. The bartender was definitely paying attention as Garth used his hands to emphatically flap around in the air. "I can _not_ with you anymore! Cannot! _Will_ not! I'm so unhappy with you! _UNHAPPY!_ "

Alex grabbed him by both arms. "Garth, stop, _what_ are you _doing_?" she asked in a hiss. He winked at her super quick, that goofy smile breaking through for just a second before he suddenly resumed his antics.

"Oh, am I _embarrassing_ you?!" he asked loudly, making a face like disgust, not taking her cues to _take it down a notch_. He pulled away and gave a dramatic finger point. "Well! _You_ embarrass _me_! With your, your _ways_ , and your _face_!" He suddenly leaned close, excited about something. "Slap me," he said loud enough only for her to hear. "Hard! Don't hold back, make it look good!" His voice raised back to a loud shout as he drew back again. "Yeah, what are you gonna do about it? Are you super unhappy? Do I make you _miserable_?!" He stood there expectantly and waited for her to slap him.

Not able to believe she was going along with this, Alex gathered all of her inner courage and prepared to say the dumbest thing she ever had. Thank god no one who knew her was here to see this. " _You're_ the one who _sucks..._ man!" She shouted, trying to put believable amounts of anger in her voice as she hauled back and slapped him in the face, not holding back at all.

And poor Garth. He didn't just reel from the hit. He _fell down onto the floor_ on his back… and didn't move. _Oh crap._ Alex stared, wobbling in place on her stilettos. "Uh, Garth?" She went down onto her knees beside him, smacking him on the side of the face, but he was out cold. Not sure if that were hilarious or the worst, Alex made to pick him up. However, before she could do anything else, everything went black and she lost consciousness completely out of nowhere, with no discernible point of origin. Softly, like suddenly falling asleep.

* * *

There were hard metal lines poking Alex's back painfully and cold ground underneath her legs. She could hear the sound of the club music, muffled somewhere nearby. They were in some kind of old storage room that never got used—old broken glass from bottles littered the floor and cobwebs and dust covered the dim, dank space. Immediately nervous about spiders, Alex sat awkwardly and realized one of her wrists was cuffed… to an old rusty radiator she was slumped against. She gave a good yank and found herself very restrained. Beside her, Garth was still unconscious and cuffed too, his head lolling on his shoulder, mouth open with drool dripping down.

" _Garth_ ," she whispered. When he didn't respond, she reached out to smack him lightly and repeatedly.

"Five more minutes," he muttered, and she smacked harder, trying not to make too much noise in case the big bad was somewhere nearby. Garth's eyes flew open. " _Ow_!" He looked around and got his bearings, then stopped abruptly on one place. His mouth dropped open and a look of shocked uncertainty filled his face. "Uh…"

"Well. Well well well," came a soft male voice. Alex followed Garth's gaze and balked. Where there had been nothing and no one before there was now a heavyset, burly guy appearing to be in his mid-twenties. He had wild curling blondish hair, an untrimmed beard, and absolutely _nothing_ on. His expression was dramatic and chastising. "How the turns have tabled," said the man as if in great superiority, then narrowed his eyes at them.

Alex made a sound and looked away, grimacing. "Aw, dude, why are you _naked_?" she complained, not even giving attention to his verbal gaffe.

"Why are _you_ clothed?" he countered, but the way he asked was distinctly childlike—he shrugged widely, drew his face back into his neck, giving himself a triple-chin in the process as he widened his eyes and pulled a face. "We could drive ourselves _crazy_ with these questions!" Alex tried just to look at his face. Everything else was… really uncomfortable to look at. And flaccid. _Ugh_. The naked guy paced, hands clasped behind himself. "Speaking of questions…" he stopped walking dramatically. "Where… did you… get _this_?!"

He had nothing in his hands and Alex glanced at Garth, who shrugged, looking as mystified as she was. "Get _what_?" she asked cautiously.

Naked man inspected his hands incredulously. "Wait… where did I put…" he looked around the dim room. He saw what he was looking for sitting on a large box and pounced on it, brandished the item high above his head. " _This_!"

 _Shit._ Her angel blade. Even as Alex was wondering if she and Garth could pull the radiator off the wall with combined efforts or if she could shoot her handcuffs off—wait, gun was gone, dammit—she answered neutrally. "It's mine."

Naked guy seemed to think that was a load. "Cow excrement!" he shouted. _Huh?_ Did he mean... 'bullshit'? "You think you're soooo smart, huh?" he asked in a clipped, breathy voice. "Trying to trick me? No one tricks Timmy. Ha! Ha ha, ha! You'd have to _kill_ an angel to get their blade. So, lady in the shiny dress, what angel did you kill, _hmmmmm_?"

Was this guy for real? Alex stared, trying to figure out who he could possibly be. "Well, if you really have to know. Zachariah."

Timmy's face showed distaste. "Oh. _Ohhhh._ Ew. Hated that guy. Bleh." Sudden zeal and approval overcame his face. "You killed him?" He let out a sloppy sounding laugh that hiccuped at the end. "Super awesome."

The knowledge of angel stuff, the apparent involvement in couples disappearing, his nakedness, the angelic-looking symbols she'd glanced on the ceiling at the club… Alex's mental lightbulb went on brightly. "Wait a minute… are you a _cupid_?" she asked intensely.

Timmy's eyes went wide and he gasped, put a hand on his gaping mouth. "How'd you know that?" He looked at Garth. "How'd she _know_ that?!"

"Are you the one behind all the disappearances from this club?" Alex pressed.

Timmy bared his teeth apologetically, putting his fingernails against his lower lips. "… _Maybe_?"

Alex leveled the cupid with an exasperated gaze. " _Yes_ or _no,_ Timmy."

Again, the cupid was dumbfounded. "How'd you know my _name_?" he asked in vast wonder.

Alex faltered. Was this an act or real? "…You said it a minute ago."

Timmy nodded slowly, studying her with a small, crazy-eyed smile. " _Fascinating_ …"

Garth leaned close to Alex, spoke under his breath. "Guy seems a little unstable." Alex cut a quick glance at him. A little?

The cupid had his eye on them, and he looked like he was feeling triumphant. "Also, I _know_ you're not a _real_ couple," he said, making a prissy face. "Cat's outta the bath." Another jumbled up saying.

"Sure we're a couple, aren't we Garth honey," Alex said, not really even trying.

Garth grinned, punching her in the shoulder lightly with the hand that wasn't cuffed. "Sure are, love duck."

Timmy chuckled, pacing again. Everything swung around when he walked and Alex suppressed a grossed out sound as she looked away. "Okay, there are three reasons I know you're not a couple," Timmy said with utmost enunciation, holding an index finger out for emphasis. " _A_ , because you kinda suck at pretending to be one. _Two_ , because I'm cupid."

Garth caught Timmy's gaffe and looked at Alex sidelong. "Is he cupid, or is he _stupid_?" he asked in a sly mutter.

Unfortunately, Timmy heard and utter devastation overcame his features. "That is mean," he said as if he were greatly insulted, voice rising emotionally into an all-out wail. "That is _so mean!_ " He turned his back on them and gave them an excellent view of his saggy ass as he sobbed into his hands.

"Whoa." Garth looked like he either felt bad or impressed. "…I made cupid cry."

Alex shook her head. She was about a hundred percent done with this this day. "They do that a lot."

"We do _not_!" Timmy retorted passionately, whirling around to face them again. Alex valiantly averted her eyes from his swinging junk. "And I'm not _crying_ , I'm just allergic to _meanies_!" Timmy threw Alex's blade down petulantly and Alex eyed it longingly, pulling at her handcuff. What was it with angels and handcuffing her? "It's just really _hard_ , okay?" Timmy asked.

"What have you done with the couples you took?" Alex asked, keeping her voice hard and assertive. His crying wasn't gonna get to her.

Timmy grew desolate and irate. "I _love_ love, okay? But also, I've noticed love _sucks_! And I've had it! Because no one stays togethered even when they promised they would—and what's worst is when people stay together but treat each other so _mean_. It's not right!" He let his hands slap down nosily against his naked, hairy thighs and his great passion faded into deep sadness. "That's why I've been putting them into time out."

Intent, Alex leaned forward. "You what?"

"They deserve it, okay?" Timmy said defensively then gave an exasperated laugh. "I don't care if it's not Heaven's orders, the war that Castiel started means _I_ can do what I _want_!"

At the abrupt mention of _him_ , Alex went still in surprise. Garth however looked at the cupid sadly, gave him puppy dog eyes, and spoke to him with overly-sensitive tones. "What did you do with the people, Timmy? You can tell me. I'm here to _listen_."

Timmy gave Garth a baleful face. "No, you're here to say mean things to me!" he said, then stuck his tongue out.

"You said you've been putting couples into time out—what's that mean?" Alex prompted, totally focused on finding out what was going on. Beside her, Garth was fidgeting for whatever reason.

"It me-aaaaans they were _supposed_ to _love_ each other," Timmy replied, his tone bordering on sassy and angry at the same time. "The world and stuff messed up their love, so I _took_ them _out_ of the world." He seemed very proud of himself, like he'd had a stroke of genius. "I locked them all away until they love each other again like they're _s'posed_ to." He paused, cringing as he scratched the back of his neck. "…So far though they all just kinda hate me."

Alex stared at him testily. He seemed like a child, so she spoke to him as such. "You can't do that, Timmy, you have to let those people go."

He began to shake his head vehemently. "No, no, nooooo. _Nope!_ Nuh-uh. They haven't learned their _lesson_ yet."

Beside Alex, Garth had stopped fidgeting. "If you don't let them out," he said with utmost seriousness, "we'll have to stop you."

Timmy narrowed his eyes. "Those are fighting words you just talked…" his face changed to amused questioning. "But how are you gonna get me if you're stuck to that refrigerator?"

Garth suddenly shot to his feet and shouted " _Auuuughhhhh!_ " as he charged Timmy. It was probably supposed to sound like a war-cry, but it sounded more like a shriek of terror. Stunned that he'd somehow slipped his cuffs, Alex stared dumbly for a couple seconds at what was the goofiest and stupidest fight she'd ever seen.

Garth barreled into cupid and promptly bounced right off, falling back as Timmy laughed. Not giving up, Garth grabbed Timmy's ankle and pulled on him valiantly, trying to yank him down. Timmy flailed with great uncoordinated arm-spins and fell sideways then grabbed onto a metal support beam to keep half-standing even as Garth stood up and made two fists, held them in front of himself all wrong, then jumping around like a fight-ready video game character. He looked like a parody of himself, and Timmy, naked, indignant, and close to tears at being attacked let loose a cry and charged Garth.

They began to slap each other in the face, leaning their heads back with arms at full length. An exasperated Alex stood as much as her cuffs would let her and put her foot to the wall, grabbed the radiator with both hands, and began to yank on the radiator with all her strength, trying to pull it out of the wall. It was old, and her prospects were good—it shuddered and she doubled her efforts as behind her, Garth and Timmy continued to slap each other hard, then suddenly took hold of each other by the throats.

"Use the _blade_ , Garth!" Alex called, grunting as she pulled hard on the hard metal radiator with both hands. The structure began shuddering as the drywall began to give out. Encouraged, Alex pulled even harder, cursing the radiator under her breath. "Son of a bitch, _come on!_ " she yelled, turning red from exertion. _Just—a little—more!_

Garth head-butted Timmy... and subsequently knocked himself out. " _Ow_ —!" Timmy complained, holding a hand to his head. Then he saw how Garth was laying unconscious. He pumped his hands into the air with sudden delight and elation. "Ha! I win! I _win_!" He backed up, celebrating his victory as he shrieked with laughter. He turned around to address Alex, who had just fallen over and taken the just-freed radiator with her. Unfortunately for Timmy, he turned around and walked right into a low-hanging metal beam—which he hit forehead-first. Cross-eyed and slack-jawed, Timmy went timber like a tree.

Alex, out of breath from wrestling the radiator she was still cuffed to but now mobile with, staring at the two unconscious guys dumbly. "You have _got_ to be kidding me."

So, apparently cupids were a lot weaker than regular angels if he could get knocked out like that—but how long would Timmy be out for? Alex stood up with effort, teetering on the heels she was wearing but forced to stay in them because of the broken glass on the floor. She hugged the massive radiator to her chest and grunted from exertion as she shakily walked all of five steps to the fire alarm near the door. She pulled it with some creative maneuvering and immediately alarms blared and she heard water spraying outside of the room, people beginning to scream and run a few rooms over in the main room of the nightclub. Good. Civilians would all clear out and be safer from whatever threat, if any, Timmy posed. The sprinkler in this room sputtered weakly and no water came out. It was rusted shut. Alex tried the door while precariously balancing the damn radiator in her arms. The way out was locked solidly. Great. There was another door marked _Basement_ a little further back. So, no way out, Garth useless on the floor… Wait! Her angel blade. She inched her way to it, heels crunching on glass and errant trash and debris.

The radiator's dead weight was _killing_ her and she wracked her brain for a way to get out of them. She could break her own thumb to slip out, but that was last-resort. Where was her gun so she could shoot the chain in half? It was nowhere to be seen at all. She had nothing in the way of a lock-pick and anyway, with the revelation that this whole thing was angelic in nature… Alex bit her lip in hesitation, then decided it didn't hurt to ask. She looked upwards in trepidation. "Uh… Cas? I don't mean to bother you bu—"

"Alex, what is it?"

She turned at the sound of his familiar voice so fast that she almost fell. He steadied her. His sudden presence and proximity was startling. He took in how she clutched the heavy radiator to herself and wore such a strange outfit. With rising concern, his eyes briefly took in Timmy and Garth before he looked back to her in alarm. She saw how he looked her over for injury and noticed the handcuffs. "Are you all right? What's happening here?" he asked, his tone becoming off-kilter in sudden angered demanding. Before she answered, he was already snapping her cuff chains in half with his hands alone; he took the radiator from her with a single hand and tossed it aside like it weighed nothing. It cracked the cement floor when it landed.

"Uh—it's—a hunt," she said, staring at the radiator he'd tossed in something like awe. He took hold of her wrist with a gentle hand. The cuff still encircled her wrist until Cas took it between both of his thumbs and forefingers, twisting the metal apart and breaking it easily. She watched as the cuff fell to the floor and she was yet again surprised by him. Even though she knew how powerful he was, it was stilling to see it with her own eyes again. Cas took hold of her by both arms, looking over her sequin dress and shoes with obvious confusion. "What's going on, Alex?" The anxiety in his voice brought her back from the haze of surprise she'd been in. "You're all right?"

"I'm fine," she assured, brushing it aside. "One of yours, terrorizing the locals." Alex nodded toward Timmy.

Cas narrowed his eyes at the cupid and then seemed to recognize him. "Timeus." His eyes narrowed into little slits as he looked to Alex for explanation. "Terrorizing how?"

"He's taking unhappy couples and locking them up somewhere, don't know where yet." She paused, a little nervous. "Is this a Heaven thing…?"

Castiel's furrowed brow darkened and she saw his guard raise imperceptibly. "No. Right now the cherubs are doing next to nothing because of the anarchy up there," he said slowly, clearly thinking hard. "Timeus must be acting on his own. But _why_?"

"From what he said, sounded like he jumped on the free will bandwagon," Alex answered, glancing in the unconscious cupid's direction then grimacing and looking away again.

Alex missed Cas's look of pure guilt at the comment about free will and what it meant: that Castiel held himself responsible at the root since _he_ was the one who'd started the war for choice and freedom in the first place. He redirected the conversation. "Who is the small boy?"

Alex chuckled at that comment. "That's Garth. A hunter friend. And believe it or not... a full-grown man." She looked back at Cas and her expression grew softer, slightly concerned. His energy was off. "You okay, Cas?" She worried all over again when she thought of the war, him fighting, and their time apart. "Everything all right up there?"

He looked at her sidelong. "I wouldn't say everything's all right. But I'm alive. And not past victory yet." He sounded haunted. He moved forward toward the cupid, kneeling down beside him. His demeanor troubled Alex, but she pushed it aside for the moment as Cas focused on the task at hand. "I need to wake him up and question him."

Cas put his hand against Timmy's head and Timmy's eyes snapped open then widened in stunned recognition. "Brother! Castiel!" A huge grin came over Timmy's face as he sat up and threw his meaty arms around Cas's shoulders in a tight hug which Cas grunted disapproval at. Timmy however was cuddling his head into Cas's shoulder, shutting his eyes, smiling to himself, and making a soft sigh that sounded like _mmm_.

Clearly aggravated, Cas stood up easily even as Timmy held on. Cas held the cupid at arms length and leveled him with a serious, impatient look. "Timeus, what is going on here? Explain yourself."

Looking like a scolded child, Timmy tried to appear in control and certain of himself. Unfortunately, he didn't quite manage. "First of all, it's _Timmy_ now, because…" he faltered, "reasons that I don't remember."

Approaching but not too much, Alex stooped modestly and carefully in the short dress to pick up her angel blade from where it had been thrown. Timmy looked at her and frowned, then made a face of gasping discovery as he looked at Cas then back to Alex again. "Wait… _waaaait._ Ohh!" He grabbed Cas in vast excitement, looking at Alex in utter delight. "That's her! That's _her!"_ He exclaimed. Alex was confused even as Cas looked down in what appeared to be mild embarrassment. "Wow. Wow wow wow _WOW!_ " Timmy yelled zealously, mouth open in a wide smile of jubilation.

"I'm _who_?" Alex asked, realizing that she was shrinking away just slightly from Timmy's crazed smiling face. Cas was holding him in place, but it didn't seem to matter. Wonder and awe and starstruck giddiness held the cupid in place.

"The one he fell in love with, of _course_! I see it now! I can see it!" Timmy replied in zany cadence, looking at Cas and then her again, seeing an invisible something between them. "It's the most uniquest match of all time, the most epic love story _I've_ ever heard! The other angels are turd munchers for saying the mean stuff they do about you two—I mean _so what_ if it's not normal or isn't allowed?! We cupids know it's not all bad." He got a dreamy look on his face. "Love isn't about following the _rules_ , it's about knowing who you belong with," he said knowingly, drawing an even deeper confused face from Alex. That was actually kind of beautiful. Timmy was still going, his expression dreamy again as he looked at her with a fond smile. "All of Heaven knows about who you are, the human Castiel loves, but no one said how pretty you were, in your shiny dress with your brown hair and sharp shoes… can I have your autograph, Alex Winchester?"

Alex wasn't exactly sure what to say to all that. "Uh…"

"Or a hug, let me hug you hello!" he said, and made to move, but Cas gripped him all the tighter.

" _No_ hugging," Castiel commanded gruffly. Timmy looked confused as to why. Cas was full of chagrin. "You're naked."

"I'm _always_ naked!" Timmy said proudly, not understanding even for a second.

"My point exactly," Cas said wearily, then stepped back, keeping himself between Timmy and Alex. "Timeus, enough with this. Answer my question. She told me you're interfering with couples without orders."

Timmy's expression went wan, then annoyed, and he gave Alex a dirty look like he was mad at being told on. He groaned loudly and rolled his eyes and could have been four-years-old for the way he was acting. "Yes, fine, okay?!" He began to rant in great animation and passion: "No one cares about love anymore! All these _couples_ being _meanies_ to each other, being horrible and rude to the person they used to love the mostest? What's right about _that_?! And all these _married_ couples who never see each other or spend time or go on dates with each other anymore! Why would you promise to be with someone forever then not work on making the relationship _nice_? I hate when love falls apart, I _hate_ it! These people I put into time out… they asked for it, they went back on their promises and the sacredness of the love they found—they were treating each other like _poo_ and fighting and acting _bad_! So I'm making it right. I'm making them remember why they love each other!" He took on a wide-eyed innocence in an attempt to sell it.

Cas and Alex glanced at each other in mutual uncertainty, neither sure how to respond. Alex spoke first and didn't say anything about his opinions because angering him or something wasn't smart. Finding out where these poor saps he'd kidnapped was priority. "Where'd you lock them up, Timmy?"

A smug smile came over his face. "Wouldn't _you_ like to know?" His eyes slid to the basement door tellingly and Alex called his bluff, moving her foot slightly as if she were about to take a step.

"The basement then, huh?" she asked.

Timmy face-palmed. " _Aaaauuughhh_. Fine, the basement!" he moaned, then quickly changed his face to assertive earnestness. "But they can't come out yet! None of them are in love again yet."

Alex scoffed. "Timmy, you can't just shove people into loving each other. If it's over, it's over."

Petulant, his chin wobbling with upset, Timmy stomped his foot down. " _No!_ Love is supposed to be until forever, I don't care what you say."

Alex tried a little bit more gentleness. "You can't force it, come on. Love doesn't always last. You're a cupid, shouldn't you know that?"

Timmy pulled a highly bitchy face. "I believe in true, lasting, eternal love, okay? So sue me! I believe when two people say they love each other, when they're meant to be together, they shouldn't ever let themselves fall _out_ of love!" He was heartfelt about it, almost teary-eyed at this point. "Just because things get hard and they don't always feel happy doesn't mean people should drop everything. I want love to _last._ " He looked at Cas with big pleading puppy dog eyes, then at Alex. His eyes locked on hers and he frowned a little, his face fell. "…You're having doubts," he suddenly accused in a soft surprised voice and looked at Cas in mounting horror. "About _him!_ "

Alex was shocked at Timmy's sudden proclamation and Cas's immediate startled, disconcerted look of _is that true_? "What? No I'm not!"

Timmy gaped as if he were shocked by audacity. "Yes you _are_!" he insisted, wide eyes staring at her in wounded disbelief. Timmy shook his head as if heartbroken and he appealed as sudden tears glittered in his eyes. "How _could_ you? Don't you know how much he loves you? It's all Heaven talks about some days and you're here on earth… _doubting_ him?!"

It was all Heaven talked about some days?

Cas was looking at Alex with a growing look of surprised hurt and Alex shook her head vehemently in denial, trying to sound flippant, trying to scoff off the cupid's words. "I don't know what he's talking about—Cas, he's _crazy._ " And it occurred to Alex she was so shaken up by the accusations... because they were somewhat true.

" _Psssh,_ please! I can _feel_ it!" Timmy replied indignantly, then pointed a finger at both of them in turn. "I should lock you both up, too!"

Castiel's face was a hard, indifferent, businesslike mask again. "I'm sorry Timeus. But for now, _you're_ the one who's going to be locked up."

Timmy looked shocked. "What?! Why?"

"This isn't allowed," Castiel told him firmly. "You can't just do whatever you want."

"But that's what your war is for, isn't it?!" Timmy asked, astounded. "So we can do what we want?"

Clear exasperation overcome Cas. "No, it's not that simple," he said with clear frustration that he tried to hide. "Free will is—" he paused, let out a heavy breath, and shook his head grumpily. "I don't have time to explain. And I have a feeling it would be lost on you, anyway." He gave Alex a brief look and put a hand on Timmy's shoulder. "I'll be right back."

The two angels disappeared and Alex stood in the sudden quiet (well, she could hear garbled music, fire alarms, and sprinklers in the background) feeling a little sick. Cas had looked so quietly heartbroken at Timmy's accusations of Alex's very real questions and doubts. She hadn't wanted for Cas to know about her inner conflict for that exact reason. She hadn't wanted to hurt or disappoint him, two things he clearly was. _Dammit._ She couldn't do anything right, not even love.

" _Ugggghhhh_ ," came a pathetic little moan on the floor behind her. Garth was stirring with a hand on his head as he sat up. "What'd I miss?"

Alex stretched a tight smile across her face and pushed away her deeper thoughts, compartmentalizing her inner struggle. She held a hand down to Garth and hauled his light frame up easily—starting to maybe get the hang of the heels she was in. "Well, Timmy's taken care of, on his way to Heaven prison—and the couples are all locked in that basement."

Garth looked impressed then unsure. "How—" he started to ask, then his eyes jumped to a spot over her shoulder and his eyes went wide. "Whoa."

Behind Alex, Cas had reappeared and he approached her side, his expression inscrutable. Garth almost looked like he was about to try and attack Cas (after all, kid had no clue who he was). Alex held out a staying hand before that could happen. "Garth, this is Cas." She paused heavily, not sure how to word it. "He's a friend."

Cas glanced at her sidelong and she guiltily met the glance with one of her own. Well, what was she _supposed_ to say?

" _The_ Cas?" Garth asked, oblivious to the tension there. "No way!"

"You've… heard of me?" Cas asked uncertainly. Alex was surprised, too.

"Well sure I have," Garth said affably. "Word gets around in the hunting community." He stretched his bony hand out for a handshake. "Nice to meet you, amigo," he said, shaking Cas's larger hand very firmly and pleasantly as he bowed his head dramatically. "Garth Fitzgerald the fifth. Hunter, chess champion, sharp cheese aficionado." Alex looked at Garth sidelong. He really was the weirdest.

"Castiel," the angel replied then paused, sounded uncertain about the next part. "Angel of the Lord."

"So balls," Garth said admiringly, his eyes a little dreamy. He then nodded his head toward the basement door. "What say we free some unhappy couples, huh?"

That's exactly what they did. Cas removed the basement door from its hinges easily (the door had been rusted shut; apparently the basement had been inaccessible for years and Timmy had teleported his victims in). Huddled in the basement with lots of empty french fry boxes and bad attitudes they found seven couples who were divided—men on one side of the room, women on another, except for the gay couple. One of the men had sided with the women. Apparently Timmy had seen TV commercials and thought that french fries were an acceptable nutrition source for humans. He'd fed them nothing but fries in huge quantities for the past two weeks. The people in the basement were all hungry, cranky, filthy, and definitely not in love with anything or anyone except the idea of escape. Alex found herself wondering how these people, who had once been coupled up and in love with each other, could take opposite sides of the room and glower hatefully at one another.

It was sad when love was broken, when what was once close and intimate and fond became harsh and disconnected and broken. When she thought that, Cas caught her eye and she looked away, guilty at the pain hiding in his eyes.

Cas kindly teleported all of the disgruntled people to the nearest emergency room and returned to Alex and Garth then helped them get out of the locked storeroom—which, as they learned, had been closed off completely from the nightclub. That's why Timmy had been able to keep the people in the basement without being noticed—the wall in front of the door to the storeroom had been rebuilt completely for who-knows-what reason (probably an attempt to duck a health code violation, Alex guessed). No one had even known about the basement.

Once they were back in the main area of the nightclub, Cas took one look at the ceiling and said the symbols there were Timmy's own surveillance system, so to speak. He then locked all the doorways into the club supernaturally to prevent firefighter or police presence. Cas stood in the middle of the wet dance floor and stretched a hand up, erasing the symbols bit by bit, his face a handsome mask of concentration. The lights still beamed down on the dance floor, casting a hot-pink glow around him, reflecting off the water pooled in places from the sprinklers going off. From the beams in the ceiling, water dripped in an uneven, unpredictable pattern. He was beautiful in that strange, unexpected setting.

Alex watched him, not sure if he would be angry with her for what Timmy said or disappointed. Disappointed was worse. Her nerves were shot because ever since Timmy said she doubted Castiel, Cas's eyes had been looking at her with dread and sadness alike. As a result, Alex felt small inside for her doubts, weak because she let the questions have power over her. Stupid because _Castiel loved her_ and _she knew that, dammit._ With Cas nearby, sending a glance to her in between his work, the only person she doubted at the moment was herself. Why hadn't anyone ever told her relationships could be so difficult and painful? Everything had seemed fine the last time they were together in that motel room, but then the time apart—not even two weeks—had eaten Alex alive. Was two weeks really all it took for her to lose faith in him? She wanted to smash her own face into a wall out of the bitterness she suddenly harbored for herself.

She remembered reading the predictable parts in romance novels where the couple didn't see eye to eye or one had doubts about the other—she'd read those parts of the stories and roll her eyes, complaining internally at the couple to just get over it and get back together already. Now she was _in_ that part of the story and it was so much worse and harder than imaginable. Love seemed so much easier on paper, when it was two imagined people in some made-up world far away.

"I was way off about him," Garth said admiringly. He stood beside Alex with his arms crossed as he watched Cas with fascination.

Taken out of her thoughts, Alex looked at Garth sidelong. "Huh?"

"Not the bad boy type who likes clubbing and yoga," Garth said, a smile playing on his lips. He looked at Alex knowingly. "You're into the tall, mysterious, dashingly trench-coated variety."

Yes. Yes she was. Alex looked at Cas again, seeing how close he was yet feeling the distance deeply. "Maybe I am," she replied softly, eyeing the angel who had married her in secret.

Garth chuckled to himself and Alex turned her gaze from Cas, fixing Garth with a questioning little look. She was curious about something. "How'd you get out of the cuffs back there, Garth?"

Garth threw his hands up in a humble shrug. "Bony wrists and double joints, Lexie, what can I say?" He put a hand on his hip and leaned casually, looking around the club with a fond smile. "Crazy hunt, right? Think we made a pretty good team back there."

Alex gave a good natured, short, and derisive laugh. "Best _dressed_ at least," she wisecracked sarcastically, eyeing his ridiculous getup. Garth however thought she was serious.

"Hells yeah, muchacho!" He replied, holding his hand up for a high-five which Alex couldn't leave him hanging for. She half-heartedly gave him his high-five, the best she could do at the time... she just wasn't in an elated mood like he was. "What about some _real_ music, huh?" Garth asked, ducking behind the DJ table and fiddling around with the complicated-looking console of knobs, dials, and slides.

"What, you know how to work that thing?" Alex asked in surprise.

Garth was pulling on the over-sized headphones. "Used to be a DJ," he replied and gave one of the discs a good _scritch-scratch_ for effect. "Worked my way through college spinnin' discs!" There was no end to things about Garth that were surprising. The hunter began fiddling with the playlist and Alex looked to Cas again, contemplating him. He looked like he was finishing up and a little anxious, Alex decided to go to him, maybe try and smooth things over.

Carefully, Alex walked to Cas through several little puddles across the huge dance floor, congratulating herself on the beginnings of being able to walk in these damn shoes. When the angel noticed her approach, he turned to face her straight on, watchful of her steps. Walking shouldn't have to be such a chore, she reflected, but was proud of herself for not falling—and just as she thought that, one of the heels turned out from under her and she stumbled badly, lost balance, and made a sound of surprise. Cas was suddenly five feet closer and had her in his arms, breaking her fall.

Surprised, Alex straightened slowly as she found her footing again. His face was hard to read and she tried to smile despite the sinking feeling in her stomach. "Can't walk in these damn shoes," she commented pitiably, trying to fill the awkward silence. She was standing again and Cas let go of her. His downcast gaze, his look of general hurt—Alex felt utterly devastated.

Cas didn't move far away, but his body language was different than before. Stiffer, closed off. Ashamed, almost. He didn't look at her when he spoke—instead he looked down to the side. "I'll be keeping a better eye out over the cherubim," he said heavily, avoiding the elephant in the room. "I knew some of them were restless, but I didn't know any had done as Timeus did." He shook his head and his features seemed so age-weary to Alex in that moment. "They aren't warriors. They're typically quite useless on the battlefield."

"No kidding," Alex said softly. Cas still wouldn't look at her.

The music abruptly changed from pulsing electronica trance to the familiar piano-intro of the Rod Stewart version of _I'll Stand By You_. Alex looked back at Garth, who gave a huge two thumbs up from the DJ booth, grinning and nodding like he was doing them a huge favor. "Oh _god_ ," Alex muttered, putting her face into her hand, embarrassed by the song choice and also how Garth was clearly trying to get them to dance with each other.

Cas followed her gaze to Garth, who was still flashing the thumbs up and a huge stupid grin. "Your friend seems... very peculiar."

Alex made a soft _pssh_ sound. "That's one word for him."

The cheesy, soft love ballad echoed through the empty club.

" _When the night falls on you, you don't know what to do—nothing you confess, could make me love you less. I'll stand by you."_

Cas frowned in confusion as he finally looked at Alex through veiled eyes. "…Why did he change the song?"

Alex shrugged. She was the one who couldn't quite look at him anymore. "I think he wants us to dance."

The tension between them was so great that it transcended their current conversation. Cas looked unsure. "I… don't think I dance."

"I don't think you do either," Alex said softly, and she was torn by utter love of him and feelings of self-loathing. Wordlessly, she drifted closer and put her arms around his middle. With the heels on, she was his height, more or less, and was able to rest her cheek against the curve of his shoulder. She felt his arms uncertainty and haltingly return the hug. For a moment, they stood there like that, embracing in mutual trepidation, each caught in their own worries. What the hell had happened? How did things always get turned upside down like this?

"You didn't tell me you would still go on hunts," Cas finally said, his low warm voice soft in her ear. "I thought you were going to stay at Bobby's."

His voice soothed her—he sounded more like himself at that moment. "Well I am, for the most part," she replied, head still on his shoulder. A rueful expression saddened her face further. "Took up residence in the attic, actually. But… couldn't resist the lure of a job, I guess. Feeling kinda restless." Restless was just the tip of the iceberg of the things she was feeling. But right now, that wasn't important. She drew back, arms still tucked around his torso. "And hey, I got to see you, right?" She tried for a smile, but the confused and wounded look in Cas's eyes made her falter.

"Why did he say that?" Cas asked abruptly, making Alex's stomach twist unpleasantly. "About you doubting?" He paused, and the way it bothered him was so apparent. "Cherubs are almost incapable of deceit. They're built much more simply than other angels."

Yeah, she'd definitely gotten that. His question begged to be answered and Alex tried to put it into words that wouldn't upset him further. "I… just miss you so much," she confessed honestly, nervously, her stomach tumbling around in distress. If she said this wrong or somehow made the pain in his eyes worse, she couldn't bear it. She tried to word herself carefully. "And it's hard, because…" she took a long pause. "Every part of my life feels uncertain right now, I guess. And… you're always gone." At the pained look on his face she rushed to tell him she wasn't outright complaining or trying to be utterly selfish. "And I know _why_ , don't feel bad about it—you can't be everywhere at once, you know? And keeping the apocalypse from restarting's important. Top priority. I know that. And I'm _proud_ of you for fighting." When she'd first met him, he'd had no causes he fought for, only orders he followed. "But knowing why you're away doesn't make it any easier." Her voice broke and wavered. "I _worry_ about you all the time."

He seemed both touched and even further saddened at the exact same time. "Thank you," he said, an unexpected response. His eyes were downcast again, weighted in burden. Alex studied him in growing concern.

"Cas—what is it?" Something was off about him, and new worries began to grow in her mind and heart.

"I worry too." His eyes found hers again. "That I won't be enough to win this war. That everything I fear will be realized. That everything I've done will have been in vain. And that you'll… tire of waiting for me."

That last part was devastating. She shook her head vehemently, meaning every word. " _No_. No, I won't," she insisted in a low, strong, resolved voice. Everything was suddenly wrong—the music, the wide-open cold feeling of the club, the bright lights, Garth nearby. "Can we… just get outta here?" she asked Cas softly. She saw confirmation in his eyes and turned to Garth, who was coming out from the booth. "Garth! We're heading out."

He smiled crookedly, nodding easily, throwing a thumb over his shoulder. "Yeah, I'm about to dip out the back."

Alex teetered her way over to him, Cas right behind her. "Thanks for an interesting day," she told Garth politely, distracted. "See you later?"

Garth grinned. "Of _course_! Someday maybe I get to meet those two crazy brothers of yours, huh?" He made an eager sort of face.

Alex shook her head at him, unable to do anything but smile. She really hoped he stayed alive. He was kinda special, in his own very oddball way. "Yeah, maybe."

Garth turned to Cas and clapped a hand onto his shoulder, giving him a serious look. "Take good care of this one, Cassie. She's special." Alex felt her eyebrows rising. ' _Cassie?'_ Garth held his arms out to the angel with a playful and friendly smile. "Bring it in, buddy." And with that, the gangly hunter hugged a very uncertain and perturbed looking Cas then he turned to Alex and enveloped her in a tight, thumping hug too. "It's been real, ya'll," he said, then raised two fingers to his temple in farewell, turning to head for the back entrance of the club.

Alex watched him go, hearing 'his jam' playing in her head briefly as he loped out in long strides. "Bye Garth."

Taking in a deep and steadying breath, Alex turned to face Cas again, who waited silently. Wordlessly, he reached out and touched her shoulder, instantly taking them to the quiet and comforting space of Bobby's attic. They stood near the window, beside the bed, and the sudden transition from noisy club to quiet attic was jarring.

The bedside lamp was on, casting a warm glow across the small, dark space. Outside, the night sky was the darkest black. Cas looked around the attic, and Alex found it strange, thrilling, and sad all at once that he was there again with her. The last time they'd been there together ran through her mind briefly.

Cas's eyes traversed the small space—the disorganized books, the unmade bed, her bag on the ground with clothes scattered all around it, the two boxes stacked as a nightstand beside the bed. There was a pen and a notepad there, an ancient Egyptian lore book too. "You said that you're… living here?"

Alex sat on the bed to take off the heels which were killing her feet by now. "Mm-hmm," she confirmed, almost nervous about whatever kind of conversation was about to take place. "Sorting the stacks, helping Bobby out."

She got one shoe off, then the other, wondering why Cas was being silent. Then he spoke. "You chose the attic," he uttered softly, startling and stilling her, his eyes studying her quietly as she looked up at him wordlessly. "Last time you were here, you took a room downstairs," he said. It was almost a question he was asking: _Did you choose the attic because of us?_

Sometimes when he knew things about her like that, Alex felt very much stripped of pretense. She was barefoot now and had her hands on either side of herself as she sat. "The attic has more meaning for me," she said softly, and she thought from the look in his eyes that he knew exactly what she meant. Watching Cas as he stood off by several feet broke her heart and Alex felt the silence and separation down to her bones. Her voice softened further. "I don't know why Timmy said what he did, Cas." His eyes shifted to hers and the space between them felt impossibly vast. She felt like she was lying, and he seemed to think she wasn't telling the entire truth, either… but he was deflated about it, not incensed.

"I don't want you to doubt me." His pained earnestness was crushing, as was the way he seemed to see through her to the root of the issue; the way he was forgiving her wordlessly. "Or what… what I feel about you." The things carried in the weight of his words were devastating and painful—and Alex felt lower than low for doubting him ever, at all, even once. He turned away to look out the window and Alex stood up. It was almost like he was trying to hide himself from her. "But I understand completely," Cas continued. He sounded as guilty as she felt. "I've wounded you." Alex wanted to cry because when he said that she knew _he understood._ "I've gone against my vows," he said, emotionally compromising her further. "I don't feel I can ever apologize enough."

"You don't _need_ to apologize anymore," Alex appealed, trying to be understand and gentle but firm despite her own emotional distress. She came to stand beside him and touched the back of his arm, peering up at the side of his face. Her chest was tight with emotional pain. "It's in the past now," she said, willing to put it all behind them, once and for all. "I don't doubt that you love me. Not at all." He looked up from where his eyes had been downcast, meeting her gaze. She abruptly thought that maybe he wasn't who she'd been doubting at all this whole time. "I... I think I doubt _myself_ ," she said, voice soft in epiphany.

Cas took in her dejected features and his own feelings of inadequacy were forgotten as he turned to face her straight on. "Why? I don't understand."

Embarrassed at herself and not totally sure, Alex shook her head, looking down. She wasn't exactly the poster-child for self-confidence and had always thought herself unworthy of Cas's love. Maybe that's where the self-doubt came from. "I don't understand either," she said, shaking her head again. "I'm just… bad at trusting lately, I guess," she murmured, ashamed. "And what happened this past year did something to me. To _us_."

He took a long, heavy pause. "I know."

Their eyes met and locked, and she was abruptly taken back to the many moments that had brought them together, cemented their bond, and knit them together forever. Love rose up in her powerfully, and that feeling was greater than any doubt or heartache she possessed. The time apart _sucked,_ but she had to let it stop getting to her. Cas needed her to be strong for him. He needed support and affirmation right now. He hadn't asked her for it outright because he either didn't know to or didn't want to impose. But now that she thought that, Alex felt conviction rising up inside, constricting her chest as her fighting spirit came alive. If there was anything worth fighting for out there, it was this— _them_. She reached her hand out just barely, brushed her fingers against his, then slipping her hand into his. "Even though bad things happened, I won't give up on this," she said, brave, renewed, determined not to let her doubts control her like that ever again even though it was scary. "Even though it's hard as hell. I promise. And I'm _sorry_." For hurting himl, for making him sad, for adding more burden to his breaking shoulders.

Cas appeared to be touched and he shook his head. "Don't be sorry," he said, softening. "I'm the one who should be sorry."

"No you're not," she insisted quietly, then let a sad, slow smile crook her mouth upwards on one side. They could probably stand there all night and say they were sorry and argue about who was sorrier, but that would get them nowhere. "How about we both stop being sorry and just get through this?" she asked faintly, hopeful despite her instinctual fear of being hurt again. "Together?"

His eyes softened and he took her into his arms then, embracing her with all the conviction he'd lacked before, holding her in a solid hug that melted anxiety. "Yes," he said, his deep voice reverberating through her body because of their proximity. He cradled her with familiar tenderness and Alex's eyes fell shut. Her heart, which had been beating fast in unease calmed. Relief swept through her like the incoming tide and she tightened her arms around him. And then Cas stiffened.

Alex drew back to look at him and his face showed deeply distressed thought. "What is it?"

He seemed reluctant. Afraid almost. "You realize the day Raphael gets a new vessel I'll have to… stay away again, don't you?" _No,_ she hadn't. 

"But what about that spell thing you did before in Pennsylvania to hide me from him?" she asked, sick at the thought of being separated like they'd been for that cursed silent year. 

Cas shook his head mournfully. "Weak, shoddy, ineffective." At the look on her face, Cas's features grew painfully sympathetic and longing at the same time. "I won't risk you, Alex. Raphael is too powerful, and if he got his hands on you…" Cas's jaw tightened and he shook his head, looking down, no doubt imagining a hundred horrible scenarios. "There is no telling the tortures he would make you face." He took hold of her hands sadly, sounded confused and lost about what he said next. "All because of the love he knows that I have for you."

Sometimes she felt guilty for what she meant to him when he said things like that.

"Look," Alex said waveringly, because she couldn't do that, she couldn't wallow in the dark possibilities of the future, she needed _hope_ and she needed to know there was light at the end of the tunnel—and she had a feeling Cas needed those things, too. "If he gets a vessel again, we know better now. You have a phone you can call me with to tell me. You could even mail a damn _letter_ to Bobby's—I'd _know_ what happened this time, I know you'd make sure." He seemed depressed at everything she said and Alex put a hand on his face, tried to bring him back from the abyss. " _Cas,"_ she pleaded, feeling his sadness like it were her own. "Don't look so sad, it's killing me."

His eyes met hers and shocking amounts of weariness swam in the crystal depths. "This war is _tearing_ me _apart_ , Alex," he confessed, and the vulnerability he showed was staggering. "The burdens on me are _impossible_. I want it to be over." He was afraid, he was stressed out beyond compare, he was carrying the weight of the world but he only had two hands.

How utterly powerless to help him she felt in that moment. " _Oh Cas_." She wanted it to be over, too. Alex moved her hand from his face to the back of his neck, trying to put reassurance into the way she touched him, looked at him, spoke to him. "It's gonna be okay," she insisted, putting assertiveness and determination in her voice. "We're gonna get through this. All of it."

Cas looked rueful—like he thought it was a nice thought, but he couldn't quite bring himself to believe it. "You have no way of knowing that," he said softly.

"I _do_ though," Alex replied stubbornly, because if she knew one thing, she knew Cas had it in him to win this war and that sometimes having someone believe in you could make the difference. "Look at me, Cas." He did. "Come Hell or high water, we're _getting through this_." She sealed the promise by leaning in and up with a brief, soft, careful kiss. His eyes closed at her touch and stayed closed even when she drew back, opening back up after a couple beats to look at her in a way that seemed pleading. He was doubting, she realized. That he had what it took to win the war, that he would make her happy, maybe even if she would still love him after everything. Maybe he was dreading Raphael finding a vessel and separating them all over again. But that moment wasn't now.

"We're together right now," she said softly, needing him. Their faces were close and the dimness of the attic made for a feeling of intimacy. "And we always will be, even when we're apart." She touched his face again, letting her fingers speak wordless affection to him. He leaned into her touch, seeming thirsty for it. "Just stay with me tonight?" She asked, a faint whisper. "As long as you can?" His eyes raised to hers and she kissed him again—a questioning kiss that asked if he would be with her. He answered falteringly, carefully, and Alex asked again by giving another lingering kiss, then another and another. At first, he was tentative, returning her kisses with hesitance and uncertainty, tortured indecisiveness. For a moment, Alex wondered if he would pull away and say he had to leave or that he couldn't do the thing that had damned her soul again. But then it was like a dam burst. He took hold of her with strong arms and hands then began to kiss her with great pent-up passion and frustration. 

They fell to each other all over again in that attic bed, committing the sweetest sacrilege in each other's arms. He made love to her like he would never see her again, like it was the last time, like she was his addiction and religion, his everything. And when the moment of ultimate ecstasy crashed over them, Cas dug his fingers into her back and hair so hard that it truly did hurt to the point of bruising and hair-pulling, but she said nothing about it, not wanting to upset him further. But to her, the way he lost slight control over himself enough to grab her that hard was testament to how truly distracted and emotionally compromised he was, how weighty of an impact the war in Heaven had on his tender conscience.

When it was over, they laid together and he held her close. Whispers drifted between them like ships in the night and the doubts the cupid had spoken of were nonexistent for Alex and Cas both. Certainty anchored them together again. Alex drifted off to sleep in the safety of his arms, feeling that they'd finally and truly made amends.

She woke in the morning alone, finding a note beside the bed. He'd left a single purple flower with it which made her smile. She recognized the flower—they grew wild at the end of Bobby's road. Castiel's handwriting was beautiful and strong, reminding her of the spidery and elegant handwriting she'd seen in civil war letters on a TV special one time.

_Alex —  
I'm being summoned away and simply cannot bear to wake you from your sleep. I'll return to your side when I can. _

Following those words was what looked like a sentence of Enochian. Alex studied the unfamiliar characters for a moment curiously, a warm feeling rising up in her—Cas had left her a secret message, a riddle to solve in his absence. He always surprised her with his romantic tendencies and these glimpses of his tender, sweet side. She folded his note up and kept it in her wallet, beginning to work on deciphering it in her spare time.

Thus began what Alex would recall as 'the attic months' in her mind at a later time. The months that were staggeringly perfect in comparison to the darkness that came after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What'd you think of the all-original hunt?! I had fun brainstorming this one. The rogue cupid, Timmy, was played (in my mind) by Chris Pratt (Andy Dwyer off of Parks and Rec!).


	63. Winchester Mystery House

" _We need ghost stories because we, in fact, are the ghosts._ _"  
_ \- Stephen King

* * *

**Two Weeks Later**

Alex was in Bobby's study, feet kicked up (shoes and all) onto his desk as she sat in his seat with a thick volume balanced against her thighs. Bobby and Rufus were a few cities over hunting a rugaru and Alex stayed behind to hold down the fort. Which, in more plain speech, meant answering the numerous fake phonelines Bobby ran: The FBI, CDC, federal marshal, health department, police. A very small group of hunters knew about and used these numbers as part of various covers. So far she'd only had to answer the phones twice. Still, it was pretty amazing what trust people placed in the voice of a stranger on the other end of the line.

She flipped to another page of the book she was studying and reached for more coffee. It was about twelve in the afternoon and she'd been reading since the early hours of the morning thanks to insomnia. Her neck was stiff, her eyes were tired, and her body was stiff from sitting there for so long. Also, this volume, _The Origin of Consciousness in the Breakdown of the Bicameral Mind,_ was just about as fun of a read as it sounded... and that was the thing about research. You had to be patient. Willing to sift through mountains of irrelevant and boring facts in order to find just _one_ relevant one. So far, Alex had scribbled one note that read: _this book sucks_. So… more bupkus on anything that would prove useful to the soulless Sam situation. _But_ there were still a couple hundred pages of the convoluted psychology crap to get through. Maybe she'd find something yet.

"Hello, _love_."

Alex flailed in surprise, spilling and dropping her coffee as she jumped up to stand at the out-of-nowhere voice right across from her. Crowley was standing on the other side of the desk, smirking lazily. _Dammit,_ how did he keep getting _in_ here? Amusement played in his cocky expression and Alex set her face hard.

"It's rude to come in without knocking," she said and threateningly snatched up her angel blade from where it had been set on the desk.

Crowley was as cool as rain, his hands in his overcoat pockets. "And it's also rude to throw knives," he returned mildly, referring to the last time he'd shown up and she'd tried to kill him. His smile widened in self-pleasure. "Looks like we're even. So why don't we let this one slide, eh? Or are you _really_ that eager to stick something of yours into me?" He waggled his eyebrows once.

Oh _please_. Alex rolled her eyes. "Har _har,_ " she commented, trying to sound aloof and unruffled. "What do you want."

Crowley craned his neck slightly, curiosity on his features as he peered down at the fallen book on the floor. "Goodness me, isn't that past your kindergarten reading level?" He had that smug, superior smile on his face again. "I see what you're doing, and it's sweet but ineffective, I'm afraid. Trying to find a loophole so you can get big baby Samantha off my hook. Sorry. Won't happen."

Alex _definitely_ wanted to stab him at this point and clenched her blade tighter, wishing he wasn't such a sly bastard—there was bound to be a Hellhound nearby. She raised her chin fractionally in defiance. "We'll see."

Crowley's mouth crooked up to one side and he paced toward the study window leisurely, hands clasped behind his back. Alex rounded the desk slowly, keeping calculated distance between herself and the demon. "Speaking of family…" he turned around and gave her an unsettling look over. "Can't help but notice the three amigos are… discombobulated. You here, them halfway across the country..."

Alex set the blade down with a loud crack onto Bobby's desk, frustrated. She crossed her arms. "And?"

" _And_ … why aren't you off hunting with Ape and Moose?" Crowley asked, his low voice wrapped in rough velvet. "I seem to recall that was part of our arrangement."

Realizing Crowley was here to try and get her to work for him too, her hackles raised even further. "Look, you already got two Winchesters," she said, expression dark. "Don't push your luck with me."

His eyes narrowed slightly and his cool facade grew testy, matching hers. "You don't _get_ it, do you darling?" he asked, approaching her again. She stood her ground. "I'm not asking you a favor. I'm _telling_ you." His face twisted. "Quit dicking around and get that bratty little ass of yours back on the road with your smarmy brothers and get me my sodding _monsters_!"

The outburst did nothing but intrigue her. Why was he so desperate for these big bads? He was invested in this and it showed. Alex studied him with coolness, feeling almost like _she_ had the upper hand. "What are you _up to_ , Crowley?" she asked in a quiet, sly way, holding her ground like his close proximity _didn't_ make her skin crawl.

"None'a your concern, pet, and I'll thank you not to ask me that again," he said in a hard, dark voice. He backed off a bit, picked up a brass owl paperweight off of Bobby's desk, and looked at the object with distaste then fixed her with a false smile as he put it back. "Tell me, whose idea was it to put you on the shelf again? Was it the overbearing big brother? Or the overprotective hubby?" He tutted his tongue regretfully. "I'm disappointed. You, letting those alpha male berks dictate your life, tell you you're too weak and small to hunt." A year ago, Alex would have lost her temper at the accusations because she had believed those things of herself. Now she knew exactly what she was capable of and didn't blink at his words. Crowley was just trying to manipulate her into working for him. He wasn't going to have any luck with _that_. But Crowley was still running his mouth and trying anyway. "Pathetic, really. Holed up here reading _books_. Whatcha going to do, _papercut_ me into giving Sam his soul back?"

Alex was almost enjoying this now, Crowley trying his damndest and still failing to unnerve her. "Are you done yet?" she asked, letting a cold, smug smile play on her lips. "I'm not working for you. Not now and not _ever._ "

Crowley's eyes glinted with cruel intent. "Mm. That so? Well. Wouldn't it be a shame if in my distress at your refusal I let it slip to a certain older brother about nuptials that took place last year…?" Alex's bravado faltered and Crowley saw it. His smile widened. "It can stay our little secret, darling, all you have to do is what I say." Alex ground her teeth together so tightly that she thought her bones might break. Crowley's eyebrow popped up as his smile flared upward on one side. "Dear me," Crowley purred. "I think she wants to stab me again."

Alex saw no point in trying to trick Crowley into thinking she didn't care about Dean finding out. "You tell him and I'll _kill_ you," she promised in a growl.

Crowley chuckled, finding her threat amusing. "Just imagine the look on that supermodel face of his when he realizes what his darling baby sister's kept from him all this time."

Freaking out internally about her oldest brother finding out from the wrongest person at the wrongest time, Alex used the only desperate little leverage she had in her pocket. "What if I told you I had a piece of information that might just save your saggy ass, Crowley?"

His eyebrows rose in faint surprise. "'Scuse me?"

Alex's voice trembled with furious assertiveness. "You agree never to say a damn thing to anyone ever about me and Cas _and_ you don't give me shit for taking the sidelines and I'll tell you what I know."

"Don't make me _laugh_ ," Crowley said, impatience playing in his eyes. "You couldn't possibly know anything I don't know."

Alex took that bet. "You got a high-rank red-haired demon girl in your Hell posse of yours?" The slightest instance of surprise showed in Crowley's eyes and he had no snarky remark for her, only the slightest frown. "I'll take that as a yes," Alex said, irritated that she was telling Crowley this at all. "Well, I have it on good authority that she's building a little army behind your back to kick you out of office."

Crowley's entire demeanor darkened dangerously. "And how is it, exactly, that you would know this?" he asked carefully.

"Heard it straight from the mouth of one of her asshole recruits," Alex answered, a wan smile stretching her lips tight as she remembered Glen with eyes black as night moments before he died. Crowley looked very unsure about believing her and Alex pointed out the obvious: "Would I _make this up_ , Crowley? I'm a little crazy, but come _on_ —I'm not stupid enough to lie to the King of Hell."

Crowley eyed her closely for a moment, clearly disliking this turn of events. "No, you're not, are you," he commented flatly, and she saw how genuine anger rippled across his features, tightening his jaw. "That _manky_ little _bint,_ _"_ he muttered, shaking his head with an oddly blank look on his face. He looked at Alex and appeared bereft of his usual airs. "And here I thought she and I would be maiming and torturing together for all eternity."

Alex didn't feel sorry for him. "I just did you a huge favor," she said balefully. "Now you keep your end and maybe I won't have my _husband_ come smite the shit out of your ass." She used the word 'husband' for emphasis and threat alike and using it out loud surprised her ( _was he really?_ ), stunned her ( _wow, he is_ ), empowered her ( _he_ _'_ _d do anything for me_ _—_ _including smite this dumbass_ ).

Crowley rolled his eyes at that, appearing to be over her completely and not at all impressed at the threat. He turned as if to go and then paused, giving Alex a serious, impatient look. "Word to the wise. _Don_ _'_ _t_ ever try and leverage anything over me again. This's a one time thing, littlest Winchester. You're lucky I tolerate you. Just 'cause you have that angel on your shoulder doesn't mean a demon like me can't drag you down."

He disappeared into thin air and Alex expelled a heavy, cynical breath. "Nice to see you too," she muttered, then took in a deep, shaken breath and looked around the study as if she were angry with the four walls.

She was struck by an urge and went around the house checking the little demon warding Bobby had in place. It was hard to completely ward a house without drawing all over the windows and walls, plus Crowley was the only demon who'd ever presented this problem of coming and going as he pleased, but still. She checked the salt lines on the windows and the traps concealed underneath welcome mats at the doors. Everything was in order. Which just frustrated and unsettled her further.

The house felt very lonely and quiet with just her there. Dean had called earlier to say hi and that he and Sam were investigating some goofy case over in some small town in Indiana—people were talking about alien abductions or something. It sort of sounded like fun and Alex was mildly down-in-the-dumps about missing it. Aside from that rogue cupid hunt two weeks ago, it had been boredom city around here. Bobby promised next hunt he caught wind of, they'd take together. So for now, it was nothing but reading and research and hitting mental walls and dabbling in trying to learn how to cook. Yeah— _learning how to cook_. She'd been struck by the thought late one night and been unable to shake the urge ever since. Poor Bobby. Maybe _that_ _'_ _s_ why he left and went with Rufus? So he didn't have to be a guinea pig for tasting all the things she had made: undercooked spaghetti and burned fried eggs and runny macaroni and cheese. But hey, it was all _technically_ edible...

Ever since Cas left last, she'd decided not to waste this time skulking around missing him. Of course she missed him, _duh_ , but when she realized she could work on acquiring the skills that had always eluded her, she decided to just start.

She hadn't seen Castiel since the night he'd left the note. Whenever she got anxious or worried about him, she thought of what he'd written in Enochian for her to decipher. Figuring it out had taken a couple days. She'd spent a couple late nights last week with books she painstakingly special-ordered over the internet and had overnighted to the house. Some scholars had somehow pieced together some Enochian alphabets and symbology over the years, mostly from bible times, and with those, she'd been able to translate his message.

_I will think of you ceaselessly until the hours return me to you once more._

When she first read it, tears had come to her eyes as she imagined his voice in her mind saying that to her. It was like a line out the world's most romantic damn poem or something and it was from _him_ to _her._ From her research into the language she learned that the flowery and formal phrasing he used was partly because Enochian existed as a more formal and simplified dialect. Either way, the words he'd left for her written in his mother tongue, disguised and secret and meant just for her seemed so meaningful and beautiful and she thought of them many times over: him, up there fighting a war and thinking of her.

She was struck by it all over and over again: his love for her and how real it was, how straight out of a dream or a fairytale. _That_ was why he deserved better than pop tarts and hot dogs and PB&J sandwiches. The runny mac and cheese definitely wouldn't do… _sigh._ Who know making food was such a pain in the ass? And could making good chicken alfredo ever really compete with _"_ _I will think of you ceaselessly until the hours return me to you once more_ _"_? Alex worried. What if she could never love or give him enough? He deserved so much more than she felt capable of giving sometimes. And what if he stayed an angel and didn't ever even _need_ food? A thought she was of two minds about.

Alex was checking the kitchen window salt lines when one of the phones rang. She realized it was Bobby's _house_ phone and frowned, shaken out of her thoughts of Castiel. Who would _that_ be? Bobby or Dean would have called her cell phone. She went to the kitchen table where the phone sat and scooped it up, answering in a neutral voice. "Yeah."

"Hello?!" came an almost shout at the other end. It sounded like a young male. "Is this Alex? We need _immediate assistance_!"

Caught off guard by the panicked person on the other end whose voice she didn't recognize, Alex frowned slowly, frozen. "…Who is this?"

"Harry!"

Her frown deepened, because that brought _no one_ to mind. "Harry _who_?"

"Harry _Spangler_!" At her unsure silence, the Harry guy continued to try and jog her mind. He spoke quickly, rapid fire, alarm filling his voice. "You know, Ghostfacers? Couple years back, the Morton House haunting?"

"Oh. _Oh…_ Harry _._ " Slight dismay rested in the way she said his name because she _did_ remember and it all came back very quickly: that group of certifiable college-age idiots with video cameras and the audacity to call themselves ghost hunters… she and her brothers had run into them a couple times and both times parted on mostly negative terms. The Ghostfacers were, in short, a giant pain in the butt. Suddenly more than a little averse to knowing who was on the other end, Alex was skeptical. "Wait. How…d you get this number?"

"Look, I don't have time for that right now!" Harry retorted, shouting into the phone full force. "We need you and your brothers' _help_!"

"Calm _down_ , Harry!" Alex said loudly, holding the phone away from her ear. "You sound like you're about to burst a blood vessel. Now what's going on?"

"Alex, yeah, Ed here," came a new voice. Alex remembered this guy—glasses, light hair, beard, super dorky. He too sounded pretty upset but unlike Harry, he was a little calmer. He started to ramble. "Okay, look. We're out here for a super cool paranormal gig in California, once-in-a-lifetime deal, right? It's this super haunted house, lots of weird legends about it and a few disappearances throughout the years, you know, your standard Ghostfacer appeal. Okay well the place usually isn't fully open to the public but some goofy convention's being held here so we pretended to be fans of whatever it is to get into the house and get some sick footage, right? But last night we got separated in the house and my sister Maggie's still in there and we can't find her _anywhere_ and the staff says we're nuts and the EMF's off the _charts_ and—"

"How long ago, Ed?" Alex interrupted. "How long ago'd she disappear?"

"Uh… well, we were lost in there until like ten minutes ago, so… nine hours?"

"You were lost in a house for nine _hours_?" Alex asked, not bothering to hide her tone (which suggested they were either _crazy_ or _morons_ ).

" _Yes!"_ Harry said, his deafening voice suddenly super close to the speaker again and passionate with alarm. "The house is friggin' _huge_ , okay? It has like a hundred rooms in it for Christsakes and it's haunted as _crap!_ We were there all _night_ getting footage and me and Ed and Spruce barely got out—this is bad, Alex, really really bad!"

Ed spoke again and Alex realized they must have her on speakerphone. "Look, we couldn't think of who else to call and Dean gave us this number whenever we first met, remember? Back when we were just filming our demo?"

Alex's eyebrows rose sky high. "Dean _volunteered_ this number to you?" What had he been _smoking_?

"It doesn't matter, now can you help us or not?" Ed asked impatiently and he almost sounded like he was holding a grudge. Then, suspicion confirmed: "Listen, after you and your dick brothers ruined all of our equipment _and_ the footage of the Morton House, you owe us one."

Alex was both amused and affronted. "Oh, I _owe_ you?"

"Come on, Alex! Ple-aaaase!" Harry's voice asked. "We're in way over our heads. Just bring those bodybuilder brothers of yours and help us—come on, come on, _pleaaaase_. We'll never bother you again. I swear it on Corbett's sweet, sweet memory."

Alex closed her eyes and let out a loud and gusty sigh of reluctance, then decided not to tell them that it was either her or nothing. There was really no reason to say no to the job unless she wanted to flat-out be a bitch. She knew how to forward landlines to a cellphone and didn't need to stay here to answer the lines. Plus, a hunt _would_ be a nice change of pace. But still… with the Ghostfacers? _Ugh._ "I'll catch the first flight I can," she said heavily, already halfway regretting her decision. "What's the name of the house?"

"The Winchester Mystery House," they said at the same time.

Alex's eyes snapped open in surprise. "The _what_?"

* * *

On the flight over, Alex pored over what she'd hurriedly printed off at Bobby's from the tourism website about the Winchester Mystery House, which she'd never heard of before. Grainy black and white photos showed a sprawling and bizarre Victorian-style mansion that was unlike any other house Alex had ever seen before. It almost looked like ten large houses had been pushed up against each other tightly. What she read was deeply fascinating.

_The Winchester Mystery house has its roots in deep personal tragedy. Sarah Winchester was the wealthy widow of William Wirt Winchester, the munitions baron who produced the Winchester repeating rifle—also known as the gun that won the West. After the deaths of both her husband and child, Sarah fell into a deep depression and consulted the help of a medium who explained that her misfortune was the result of the countless lives lost to the Winchester rifle—Sarah would bear the wrath of those spirits unless she took precautions. The remedy? Sarah was to make her surroundings attractive to kindly spirits who would in turn keep the evil spirits at bay. She was to build a house on which work would never cease. As long as she maintained continuous construction, she was told she would live forever. In 1884, Sarah moved to California and purchased an eight bedroom farmhouse and began the work that would never stop until the day she died._

_Twenty-two carpenters were hired and worked on the house day and night—Sarah refused to let the work cease even for a day lest the spirits be unhappy. For almost forty years the construction continued without stopping._ _S_ _arah believed that if the house was never finished, no ghost could settle into it and she would be safe from harm_ _._ _However, since the house was remodeled and added on to so many times, the result is eerie. Corridors snake through a maze of shadowy rooms, stairways rise only to end abruptly at ceilings. Doors open into walls, windows are set in solid walls where no sunlight will ever pass through. The mansion may be huge but there are only two mirrors in the whole place. This is because Sarah believed that ghosts were afraid of their own reflection. To further confuse vengeful spirits, Sarah picked a different bedroom to sleep in every night—it was easy to do, as the house has approximately a hundred and sixty rooms!_

_Strange tales surround the house. Stories of hauntings and stories of witchcraft and séances, stories about how Sarah insisted on privacy, planting a hedge of cypress around the land so that no one could see her estate. She was never to be looked upon without the veil she wore to obscure her face which further fueled rumors—some people said she wasn't a human or that she was a witch. Some said she would meet the ghost of her husband every midnight when the bell tower struck twelve. Sarah took many unanswered questions to her grave, and many believe her husband's spirit haunted her mind and drove her to insanity as she built the house._

_Many mysteries still surround this house and lore abounds. Was it madness that drove Sarah Winchester to build obsessively until the day she died? Was it something supernatural? Come see the mystery and beauty for yourself!_

Alex contemplated what she'd just read. Super interesting. It _was_ off of a tourism website so she wasn't sure how reliable the information was. They might have been playing up or down the ghost stuff. A couple other printouts she had from other websites claimed that as many as twelve people's disappearances in the last twenty years could be attributed to the Winchester Mystery House. Why had she never heard of this place before? Especially because of the name? She'd often wondered if they were related to the Winchester gun people but never bothered to research it much, especially since their extended family was zilch and she had no real way of doing family history stuff. Dad, Dean, Sam were it.

It wasn't worth worrying over or wondering too much and Alex let it go, looking out of the airplane window and down at the tiny world below. Unlike Dean, flying didn't phase her much. It was kinda cool, honestly, to be so high up like a bird and get to see the earth from such great distance. They were passing over a patchwork landscape currently—a series of fields she realized as she looked closer. Wow. The little slivering straight lines dividing some of the fields were _roads._ They were up so high that people weren't visible at all and cars looked like little pinpricks or fleas. Was that how Cas saw the world, Alex wondered? So very small?

She leaned her head against the window and stared at the wing of the plane with a faraway expression. How crazy that he'd looked at this vast world and seen _her_ , a little pinprick among pinpricks.

* * *

**Nine Hours Later  
San Jose, California  
6:36pm**

Even though she was a little tired from the flights and layovers, Alex got out of the taxi with relatively good energy—maybe because _Fox On The Run_ by Sweet had been on the taxicab radio and that song had always put her in a good mood. She shut the taxi door behind herself after paying and turned around, slinging her heavy backpack up over a shoulder. She squinted and put a hand up to shade her eyes from waning early evening sun.

Huge signs proclaimed _WINCHESTER MYSTERY HOUSE_ and smaller signs said things about tickets, admission, a gift shop, arrows pointed _this way for official parking_. Winchester rifle imagery decorated several signs. But Alex was staring through the wrought iron gates at the house itself. _Wow_. It gave off a super creepy vibe without explanation. It was colorful and pretty and well-kept, not like most haunted houses (dark, decrepit, falling apart). Verdant gardens with pathways curved around the front lawn and stone fountains with playful statues dotted the well-manicured area. The front door was ornate and beautiful, set on a grand columned porch. The house spoke of turn-of-the-century opulence. Alex could see a bell tower high above the bright red roofs of the massive house (she couldn't even _see_ where the house ended). The bell tower seemed ominous somehow and Alex contemplated it with a dark, curious gaze. The place _looked_ harmless enough, but the feeling she got from looking at it had the hairs on the back of her neck raised. After so long doing this—chasing ghosts and confronting the paranormal—she trusted her instincts. Something _was_ going on here. She re-slung her backpack onto her shoulders and looked at the signs for guidance… then noticed a small piece of printer paper that was taped to one of the official signs.

 _SuperNatural ConVention This Way!_ It proclaimed in swirly, cutesy, handwritten letters. There were hearts dotted around the girly font. _Hearts._

Gaping, Alex pulled the piece of paper off of where it had been taped and stared. _No… friggin'… way._ She remembered the books Chuck had written and felt her stomach turning over with nerves. This couldn't be the same thing, right? One way to find out. Alex followed the signs that pointed toward "The Winchester Ballroom" (available for rentals and events!). The huge mansion loomed on one side of her and a series of much more newly constructed buildings was on the other side. She found the Winchester Ballroom next to the gift shop and saw yet another handmade sign taped to the glass door.

The Winchester Room Hosts _SuperNatural: The ConVention! All weekend long!_

Why were there _explanation_ points after everything? Alex pushed the door open slowly and cautiously entered the ballroom, gawking around suspiciously as she traversed the small foyer. There were Carver Edlund books stacked up on a table with prices displayed plus posters of the book covers splattering the foyer walls. Beyond the small entrance area was the ballroom—which was basically just a big room with strangely patterned carpet and a fancy but low ceiling. The large space was filled with a series of tables and booths and at the end of the room a presentation area was set up with rows of chairs for an audience to sit in. There were a surprising amount of people present and they were all dressed kinda… _whoa_. Flannel and cargo jackets abounded, like to a freakish degree. Just then, a super short guy walked by wearing a leather jacket sort of like Dad's and Alex stared openly. _Son of a bitch_. She was further confounded when she saw a guy dressed _just_ like Cas walk by. Only he was fat and short with glasses and acne and was like eighteen.

… _Was Chuck behind this?_ Alex scoured the sea of people for him, in a daze. She saw more posters of the books on the walls and at the booths—posters where Sam looked like Fabio and Dean looked like a G.I. Joe reject and Alex looked like some sort of temptress character. She wandered aimlessly, moving slow as molasses, every new thing her eyes took in confounding her. A guy dressed all in black smiled at her as she walked by. "Allo, puppet," said the guy in an extremely poor rendition of Crowley's London accent. It didn't help that his voice was high and nasal either. "Fancy a cuppa tea?" Alex gaped back at him as she walked, not looking where she was going.

This was _nuts_ , people actually still _read_ these books _and_ dressed up like the "characters"? Alex walked into someone and came up short.

The small woman she'd bumped to was already apologizing absently. "Oh, sorry, I—" she stopped mid-sentence, her eyes widening in recognition. A look of delight overcame her face. "… _Alex?!_ " she asked, then grinned, clapping her hands together. "Oh wow! Yay!" She looked behind and around Alex expectantly, then back at her in slight confusion. "Where's Sam?"

Momentarily unsure, Alex tried to place this person. Short, perky looking, blondish… eyes that seemed a little crazy… oh. _Oh!_ Alex's mouth dropped open, remembering way back perhaps two years ago when this chick had showed up to deliver a message from Chuck. "Wait… _Becky_?" Alex asked, her eyebrows shooting high. Even as she asked, she noticed that the woman's name tag read _Becky Winchester_ in girlish handwriting (and hearts were dotted around it too).

"Yup, that's me!" Becky said, grinning with nervous energy and looking around them as if she expected to see something in particular. "So… where are your brothers?" She was irritatingly hopeful.

Distracted by the room and the shock of what the focus of the convention was, Alex shook her head, staring as a guy with bright yellow contacts in his eyes walked by. "N…not here. What _is_ this?"

Becky all but giggled for joy, clasping her hands as she looked around the room with bright and eager eyes. "Oh, just a little 'con' I put together for Supernatural!" She gave Alex a little side smile then shrugged her shoulders up as she grinned ear to ear dreamily. "My favorite thing." She sighed happily and looked at the room along with Alex. "I put my life savings into this and it's everything I ever dreamed."

Alex's eyes slid sidelong to Becky. Life savings, huh? "Way to dream big, Becky," she commented sort of glibly, and the sarcasm was lost on Becky.

"Yeah," she agreed, that dreamy look still on her face. "Too bad Chuck couldn't come." Becky leaned a little closer conspiratorially. "He's dropped off the map, _awkward_." She looked at Alex with poorly disguised eagerness. "Can you call Sam? Is he close? I'd… just really love to see him, say hi, catch up a little…?" Alex remembered Becky being into Sam before, too, and that's when she noticed a little button pinned on Becky's belt loop that said _I'm a Sam girl_ over a giant heart.

"He's halfway across the country Becky," Alex said bluntly, then threw in for good measure: "And _not_ interested."

Becky's face registered wide-eyed shock at Alex's brusque reply then in rapid succession a petulant scowl. Alex wasn't paying attention though—she was looking around the room again and having a hard time believing this. "You picked this place as the venue because of the name?" She looked at Becky once more. " _Winchester_ Mystery House?"

Becky's short-lived grudge seemed to be forgotten for the moment and she smiled with sparkle, appearing to be self-pleased. "Of course! I know the last name was never in the books but I couldn't resist. It's too perfect, right?" She was giddy and Alex wasn't sure how to take it. "Plus all the haunting legends and paranormal stuff… so _cool._ " Becky smiled blissfully, off in her own mind.

Alex had just noticed a circle of mostly females of all ages and builds who were all dressed eerily similarly to one another: in plaid, jeans, and work boots. Alex squinted. Wait a minute. Her mouth dropped open slightly. Were they supposed to be... _her_?

"Cosplayers," Becky said proudly, noticing Alex's look of bewilderment.

"Whaty-whats?" Alex asked, face wrinkling in confusion.

Becky gave her an mildly impatient shrug. "You _know_. They're _fans_ , dressed up as characters they _like…?_ "

"So… those people are dressed up as _me_?" Alex asked, because that just _couldn't_ be the case. Did that mean people _liked_ her? She looked down at herself and realized she was wearing pretty much exactly what the other girls were wearing—jeans, some work boots, a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up three-quarters of the way. Close to speechless, Alex tried to find words. "That's… why would they dress up as me?"

Becky shrugged, seeming disinterested and a touch annoyed. "Well you _are_ one of the only women leads in the series."

Alex noticed another Castiel cosplayer at that moment—tall and skinny with a huge adam's apple and sleepy features. He was crossing the room and waving at a Dean. Alex smiled to herself. Funny how the sight of a beige trench coat alone made her think of home and comfort. "There's a Cas…" she observed out loud, then stopped short when the Cas and Dean embraced each other pretty intensely. "… _Kissing_ a Dean. _Wow._ "

Becky was smiling, hands clasped and settled underneath her chin in adoration. " _Destiel,_ " she said fondly.

"…Who's that?" Alex asked, more confused by the second. She didn't remember ever meeting or hearing of anyone named Destiel. "Castiel's brother?"

Becky looked at Alex with an expression that suggested Alex needed to get a life. "No, silly _goose…_ it's the ship name. My O-T-P."

Each new term was making Alex's head spin. "Your _what_ now?"

Becky fixed her with a lecturing look. "You have a lot to learn, sweetie." She gave Alex a thin, patronizing smile. She was clearly over the exchange. "Why don't you look around, I have to get ready for the Wincest panel."

Alex remembered what _that_ was and her mouth dropped open as Becky sashayed away toward the stage area. That's when Alex noticed the little sign on a metal stand: an obviously fan-created drawing of what Alex guessed were Sam and Dean: they were in a passionate embrace and about to kiss, their hands on each other, taking each other's shirts off. The art was displayed on the metal stand and the word _WinCest_ was drawn in delicate script across the bottom of the image. The funniest reaction came over Alex: total amusement. Feeling trollish and almost giddy at the gross hilarity of it, Alex pulled out her phone and took a picture, almost dying of restrained laughter that made her nose snort.

She texted the picture to Dean with the following attached words: **Wow you and Sam put new meaning to the term brotherly love LOL!** She hit send, trying not to dissolve into giggles at the look she imagined on his face when he saw it. And that's when she noticed a much smaller fan art image of a tall huge man embracing a smaller woman passionately from behind as she leaned into him with a look of wanton desire on her face. Alex's smile dropped into a scandalized frown. _Twincest Lovers Unite 7pm_ it said underneath. Indignant, Alex snatched the printout off the stand without a second thought. Even as the revolted shock hit her as she tried to wrap her mind around the visual in front of her face, she saw the fanart on the next over metal stand: Staring into each other's eyes with vast amounts of what was supposed to be sexual tension and angst, a brunette man and woman whose identities were made clear by the accompanying text: _DeanLex Shippers Panel 9pm hosted by Kayla!_ With even more power than she'd put into the first grab, Alex snatched that up too, mouth open in an offended expression. After studying the posters for a couple seconds trying to find the joke or disclaimer, she gave up. Huffing with extreme displeasure, Alex crumpled both fanarts, stalked over to a nearby trashcan, and tossed them in with gusto. It was only funny when it didn't involve her, dammit.

Now where the hell were Ed and Harry so she could get out of this place?! She edged around the room slowly, feeling like she was in the twilight zone. Every little group of people she passed by was talking about things that were familiar to her—she kept catching words like rock salt, demons, possession, angels, Lucifer, Sam, Dean, Alex, Bobby, Cas, Impala, Stanford, Crowley, sigil, demon blade.

This—was— _weird_.

"Hey," said someone nearby. "Awesome Alex."

Alex turned to see a girl who was about half a foot shorter than she was. This girl was dressed similarly to Alex and even wore a silver whistle on a chain around her neck. Alex gaped. "Shoes are a little not-her though," the girl said, oblivious to Alex's wide-eyed expression.

Alex looked down at her shoes, mystified. "You… don't think Alex'd wear these?" she asked, not sure whether to be perplexed or amused as hell at what was happening.

"Well, she always wears _these,"_ the girl said, pointing at her own feet. Some rugged all-terrain hunting/hiking boots stared back up at Alex, who did indeed own a pair a lot like that. She'd just taken to these camel-colored Timberland boots more recently. The other girl smiled obligingly, sympathetically. "First time cosplaying?"

Alex looked up from underneath her eyelashes, not sure how to answer that. "Uh, yeah, something like that."

The cosplayer, who had the outfit right but that was about it, smiled in a friendly way. Braces showed. "New fan, huh? Come on over and meet the Alexes." She started off toward the little cluster of plaid-shirted girls. "I'm Becca by the way."

"Al…" Alex started to introduce herself without a second thought then faltered. "…ice. Alice."

Becca didn't notice the gaffe. "Nice to meet ya Alice. I've been cosplaying as Alex for years now," she said breezily, cutting through the sea of Sams, Deans, and Megs. "Mostly at home and on the internet, but still. _Man_ , I wish they'd make more books. I was dying to see where her story went."

Alex didn't even know where Chuck had stopped writing. "Where'd the books leave off?" she asked, trying to sound casual. She got a shocked _you're-a-crap-fan_ look from the Alex cosplayer. "I haven't finished them yet," Alex added quickly along with a dumb smile.

Appeased but also a little reluctant, the cosplayer paused. "You don't care about getting spoiled?"

Alex wasn't sure what the right answer was. She went with: "…No?"

Apparently that was the right answer. "Okay so they weren't even published in print, just on the internet, but trust me, it's Edlund and it's _canon_. _Total_ cliff hanger with like all the family and Cas going up against Lucifer and Michael. Everyone but Dean died but I mean, there's no _way_ that's the real, final ending. I don't accept it. I got an AU fanfic of my own about what might have happened, if you wanna check it out. It's called _Carry On My Wayward Children_. Twist on the Kansas song. Cool right?"

"Yeah… so cool," Alex replied awkwardly. In her mind, she kept thinking _this can't be real life._

"Heads up, Alexes!" Becca announced as they reached the cluster of Alex cosplayers. "I found another one of us." How strange—there were six people there seated in a circle holding punch glasses and lounging casually, all wearing similar outfits: boots, jeans, band t-shirts or tank tops with flannel shirts thrown over them. There were multiple ages and ethnicities represented, from a middle aged Asian woman to a college age Black woman with locs, and there was even a male Alex. One girl had bright blue hair, there was a curvy Alex with thick-rimmed glasses and ear gauges. Male Alex had hair that was swept down over one eye in a sort of emo or indie style and he was very thin and bitchy looking. She noticed how all the cosplayers wore silver rings on their index fingers like she used to and how they all had silver whistles on chains hanging over their shirts. _Wow._ She wasn't sure if this were humbling or creepy. All of the Alexes looked over the real Alex and a couple of them greeted her.

"'Sup Alex!" said one Alex, flashing a grin.

"Not bad," commented guy Alex, looking her outfit up and down. His eyes flickered to her feet and he tapped his chin in thought. "Interesting shoe choice."

"Yeah, uh, hi," Alex said slowly, not sure what she was getting in to. Becca motioned for her to sit down and Alex complied slowly, looking around nervously. This was the weirdest.

"So anyway, like I was saying," boy Alex said. "I feel like that meta really applies to like child Alex, you know, super vulnerable scared-of-the-world Alex, not modern day strong and empowered Alex."

"I disagree, Eddie," the Asian Alex said.

He rolled his eyes—he seemed really smug. "How so, Jing?"

Their continuing argument about Alex's "character development and growth" baffled Alex and intrigued her. Strangers, picking her life and mind apart for what, for _fun_? She was distracted from the discussion when her phone buzzed in her pocket. Alex pulled it out and saw she had a new series of texts from Dean. His typically disjointed and hard to read messages made her smile a little to herself.

**Holy shit that supposed 2 b me n sam? GROSS Destroy it**

**wrking job call l8r**

**also where r u?**

How many times had she asked him to please type words out fully? Would it _really_ kill him to try? If he had enough time to put a million question marks he could make time to write words out. _Loser._ She shook her head fondly, missing and loving her brother. Both of them, really. But especially Dean, who was still himself. She typed out a quick reply. **Long story! Tell you later. Be careful!**

Eddie and Jing were passionately discussing "Alex's relationship differences to either brother" as a couple other Alexes put in a comment here and there. Alex stared around without bothering to hide her gawking expression. If only they knew how different that was now, what with Sam soulless and all. Alex's phone was buzzing again—what _now_? A call being forwarded from one of Bobby's home phones.

Alex turned in her chair to face away as much as possible from the group of Alexes. "Willis," she answered in a clear, firm voice, trying not to be so loud as to interrupt the group discussion.

On the other end came the assertive tone of a man who sounded large-and-in-charge. " _Yeah, this is Deputy Remkus with the Idaho Police Department. I got some kid here, name'a Special Agent Garth Brooks wanting to look at my crime scene. He one of yours?"_

Alex's face did a double-take. Garth Brooks? Was that by chance Jenga-expert R&B loving Garth and a weak cover name? No way of knowing. She answered with the standard clipped, bored, and impatient tones that might belong to an FBI higher-up. "One of my finest agents, Deputy," she said with measured great apathy and slight annoyance. "Anything else I can do for you?"

There was clear confusion in the police officer's voice. "No, that's fine. Uh… thanks. Have a nice day."

Alex hung up, shaking her head. _Had_ to have been Garth. Picking a stupid cover name like _that_. Really? The famous country singer? As she turned back around, phone still in hand, she realized the Alexes had stopped talking and were looking at her.

"Nice touch, 'Alex'," said the blue-haired Alex with a grin.

Put on the spot, Alex tried not to fidget. "What was?" she asked, mystified and not liking everyone's eyes on her.

"Pulling a Bobby," replied blue hair. "I could totes see Alex being a Bobby someday."

"What, you mean crotchety and alone for the rest of her life surrounded by _books_?" Becca asked with a snort.

"I think she'd _like_ that!" Another Alex said. "I mean, girlfriend loves to read, and Sam and Dean won't always be around, so…?"

"No—oh no, no no. I'm gonna have to correct you right there," said another Alex, holding up a finger. "Alex ain't gonna be alone, we've been over this, okay? We _all_ know she had a not-so-secret admirer who was gonna romance the _hell_ outta her if the books didn't cut off where they did. Happily ever after was always endgame for those two."

"Not this again, Essence," Eddie groaned dramatically. "Do we have to do ship wars every _day_?"

"It's not _up_ for debate—Cas is _all_ about the Alex," Essence said with a confident smirk and an _I wash my hands of it_ gesture.

Alex sat there stock still as people argued about her private life willy nilly. A funny look was frozen on her face. Becca handed Alex a cup of punch from a bowl on the table they were gathered nearby. "Uh, thanks," Alex managed, finding this scene weirder and more surreal every second.

"There _is_ no canon proof for Calex," the curvy Alex was arguing. "It's all conjecture."

"Are you _kidding_ me right now, Laurie?" Jing cut in, and passion made her nostrils flare. "Castiel gave her her voice back, has always gone against the rules for her, has always, _always_ clearly had a closer connection to her. And hell- _oooo_? The crazy sex they kept having?!"

Alex almost choked on the punch she'd been sipping.

"Okay, one?" Laurie seemed indignant. "All that sex crap happened in the _unauthorized_ internet stuff. We don't know if that's for _sure_ Edlund—it might be fic, we don't know! If it wasn't published and authorized, it's not _canon,_ and none of Edlund's authorized stuff had any real Cas and Alex proof at _all_. Anyway, even if the internet books _are_ real, Cas could just be confused by his human hormones. He's just her guardian, guys, I _promise_ you it's platonic. Cas has feelings for _Dean_."

Alex sputtered in the punch she'd been trying to sip again. "Wait, _what_?" she asked.

"Yes, _thank you_!" Essence said, gesturing at Alex as if her point were proven.

"Listen to me, the guy pulled Dean out of _Hell,"_ Laurie argued. " _They're_ soul mates, not Calex."

"Don't give us _that!"_ Jing exclaimed with a fire that surprised Alex. These people were _really_ into the books. _"_ Cas and Alex got _married_ before the apocalypse for fuck's sake!"

Holy shit… _they KNEW?_ Alex set her punch down after nearly choking on it again. Chuck promised not to tell! "That's not _in the books_ , stop trying to sell your crackpot theories as canon!" Laurie argued vehemently, expression ugly.

Alex hung on every word, trying to figure out how much of her life, exactly, was out there for people to read about in detail.

"Okay so then why'd Edlund skip over saying what they did the rest of that entire _day_ they had on their own? Huh?" Jing asked, her tone filled with a lecturing quality.

Essence quickly added: "And why'd Alex's _ring_ disappear?"

Clearly feeling ganged up on, Laurie made a face and rolled her eyes. " _Please_ , Cas would never ever get married, that's _ridiculous_."

"Well he'd marry _her!_ " Jing argued explosively.

" _Alex_ wouldn't marry either, not Cas, not _anyone_ , you kidding me?" Eddie asked, suddenly putting himself into the argument and speaking with wan, bitter voice. " _So_ out of character oh my _godddd_. Why does Alex have to be the romantic interest of every single male in the series anyway, huh? Why can't she just be the strong _single_ female character? Everyone ships her with Cas, Crowley, Dean, Sam, Bobby, Ruby, Meg, Azazel, Jo… I'm tired of it! I ship Alex with _Alex._ Girlfriend doesn't need no one but herself running her life."

"Do you even _read_ the books?" Essence asked, turning on Eddie with a pissed expression. "She's the most romance-hungry character I've ever read before!"

"You're projecting again," Eddie said with an airy, dramatic scoff.

" _Whatever,_ Eddie," Essence said, flipping her hair and rolling her eyes. She fixed Alex with a pointed look. "What do _you_ think about the marriage conspiracy theory?" Alex frowned, caught off guard, pointed at herself questioning. "Yeah, _you_ ," Essence said, and it almost seemed like a threat: _support my viewpoint or die._

"Well..." Alex said, fidgeting under the stares, then figuring _why the hell not_. "I think she might… especially if he wouldn't stop asking."

There were scoffs and swoons alike at her words. "Yeah, like _that'd_ ever happen," Laurie said scornfully. "Anyway who'd marry them, you guys thought about _that_?"

"Crowley!" Jing said, a huge grin cracking her face.

" _Crowley_?" a shy-seeming Alex who hadn't spoken yet asked.

"Yeah, why not?" Jing asked optimistically.

The quiet, pale Alex seemed timid. "…Because they both _hate_ him?" she suggested.

Jing and Essence, apparently in league, huffed and rolled their eyes, getting ready to chew out the poor, shy cosplayer. " _Guys_ ," real Alex interjected, smiling and grimacing both out of disbelief. These total strangers were debating her personal life and it was extremely disconcerting. Plus, they didn't even _know_ they were arguing about real people. _That_ was the weird part. "Aren't these fictional _characters_ you're talking about? Maybe you should just calm down a minute."

"Oh don't _tell_ me to calm down," Essence said as she sat up straighter. "They're real to _me_. They're my _life_."

Jing looked let down and earnestly confused. "Don't tell me you don't read those books and don't see how perfect Cas and Alex are for each other," she said. "I mean, it's like the best O-T-P of all time."

There was that weird term again. Alex didn't ask what it meant, just shrugged and looked down, a soft smile playing on her lips. Some of these girls would probably flat-out faint if they knew the truth. And the other ones would riot. "I mean, yeah, I guess Cas and Alex together _would_ be nice," she said, sort of enjoying her own little secret.

"Oh god, another dumbass Calex shipper, fuck my life," Laurie muttered, throwing her hands up in the air then letting them slap down onto her legs.

Alex looked at her hesitantly. "Sorry. I just uh, could really see them being a thing I guess." The irony was how she knew, in the privacy of her own mind that she and Cas _were_ , to put it in apparent fangirl terms, canon.

"No _way._ Alex is a lesbian—has to be, I mean come on," Eddie grumbled. Alex's eyebrows shot up high and she had to stifle a laugh and expression of utter amusement. "What's so funny?" Eddie asked sulkily.

"A _lesbian_?" Alex asked, trying to stow her growing entertained smile.

"Yeah, if anything, she's gay for Anna," Laurie agreed. "I read a couple Anlex fics recently… honestly, pretty good."

"Oooh, send me the links later?" Blue-haired Alex asked even as Alex sat there and thought _nope_. Her and _Anna_? People _wrote_ this crap? She remembered the twincest poster and shuddered. There seemed to be no end to the people these fans were shoving her at.

As the Alexes carried on discussing things, their voices became droning indistinguishable sounds. Why were people fans of the book series at all? Living it was harsh, difficult, and devastating at times. It hadn't been easy or fun or glamorous. It had been hard as _hell_ and still was. And why were these people _dressed_ like her? Did they think she was some kind of heroine or something, someone they wanted to be? Alex didn't understand that because to herself, she was just a person who'd been born into a crazy life and been forced to become a fighter because of it.

There was a lull in the conversation and Alex was asking before she could stop herself: "So what, you guys think Alex is like... _cool_ or something?"

She got some weird looks even as Jing answered with marked enthusiasm. "Uh, hell _yeah_ I think she's cool! I mean, badass as hell, lives this crazy exciting life, kicks total ass, has a guardian angel, has smoking _hot_ brothers..."

The last part especially made Alex squint. "I dunno about _that,_ " she said. Sam and Dean were _not_ hot—huggable and handsome, sure, she _guessed_ , but she didn't even have the capacity to think of them as being quote unquote hot. _Ew_. Also, she knew how loud they farted and how much they snored—how _rank_ they got when sweaty, how nasty their feet were—and how they were total dorks and goofballs to embarrassing extents.

"I mean, you're dressed up as her too, right?" Becca asked, interrupting her thoughts. "So you must think she's pretty cool, right?"

Alex hid a smirk. "She's okay I guess."

"You're about as into this con as those lame Ghostfacer cosplayers," Eddie said, not bothering to hide his slight annoyance with her. But Alex made a mental bee-line for what he'd just said.

"Wait, who?" she asked intently. " _Where_?"

"Back in the corner like losers," Eddie said, gesturing lazily toward the very end of the room where a little round table had was nearly obscured completely by a room divider. Alex was already standing up and taking her backpack with, forgetting to excuse herself.

"Uh… bye?" Becca asked, but not loud enough to be heard.

"Worst Alex cosplayer I've ever seen," Eddie said, clasping his knee demurely and turning attention back to himself. "Totally wrong."

Alex was halfway to the table where three familiar-looking guys were bent over a video camcorder, watching the footage. They looked the same as Alex remembered. Harry: dark hair and a boyish face, Ed: glasses, beard, a little eccentric looking, Spruce: overweight and ruddy-cheeked.

Spruce was the one who noticed her first. "Alex!" he greeted, standing up and knocking his chair back. Alex looked at him reluctantly. _No. Please don't be into me still._ He'd followed her around with his camcorder like a puppy dog at the Morton House and tried so hard to flirt with her and impress her years ago (interestingly enough, the Ghostfacer thing had happened a few months after she'd gotten her voice back). Between Dean's rude encouragements to back off, Sam's somewhat amused eye rolls and comments about "never gonna happen, bro," _and_ Alex shoving his camera out of her face multiple times, Spruce hadn't gotten the hint. She looked away from him pointedly.

"Thank God you came," Harry said, standing up. He had the look of someone severely sleep deprived and hopped up on caffeine.

Alex shrugged off her backpack and sat down opposite of Harry, nodding tersely. "No problem."

Ed's face wrinkled in uncertainty and suspicion when he saw that no one followed her. "Wait… where's the beefcakes?"

Alex looked at him with the mildest of annoyance. "It's just me this time, boys."

Spruce was lifting a camcorder and speaking into it as he gazed at the little screen on the back of it. "And here is Alex," he narrated, "one of the best ghostfacers of all time, here to save the da—"

Alex shoved her hand into the camera, pushing it back. "Get that outta my face, Spruce," she said threateningly then turned her attention back to the skeptical Ed.

Spruce was still filming, smiling and murmuring: "She remembers my name…" That earned him the briefest side eye.

"So _you're_ gonna help—what, like last time?" Ed challenged. "Erasing our hard drives and footage?"

Alex raised her hands in mild self-defense. "Dean's idea, not mine," she said, then pulled a thoughtful face, reconsidering. "Okay, it was _partly_ mine."

"You're just a hater," Ed said, crossing his arms and looking at her in superiority.

"Ed, come on, don't piss her off," Harry side out of the side of his mouth, trying to be discreet… but Alex could hear him loud and clear. "We need her _help,_ remember?"

Ed and Harry glared daggers at each other and said nothing. Alex remembered that apparently Maggie (Ed's sister) was into Harry and there was some tension over that. In fact, maybe _that's_ why the two of them were scowling at each other like that. Either way, Alex didn't feel like waiting for them to put their big boy pants on. She sighed in annoyance before addressing them impatiently. "Look, you wanna sit here and argue about stuff or go find your sister?"

"My _adopted_ sister," Ed corrected automatically.

 _So?_ Why did that matter? "Still your sister," she said. Behind them, loud cheering sounded and Alex heard Becky's voice over the intercom say something cheerily about Wincest. Alex shook her head and put her face halfway into her hand. This day couldn't be real.

"Pretty weird con, right?" Spruce asked her, smiling nervously, hopefully. He was still pointing that damn camera at her and she gave him her best _fuck off_ glower.

"Yeah," Harry said, answering like Spruce had asked him the question. "It was funny. Some people kept telling us our costumes were good," Harry said then chuckled as if he didn't understand and was brushing it off. " _What_ costumes? Weirdos." Harry was wearing a home-made shirt that said _Ghostfacers_ in crooked hand-painted letters.

Alex straightened slightly, realizing they might be more daft than she thought. "…Do you guys get what this con is about?" she asked carefully. Surely they weren't _that_ dumb or blind.

"Some book about two brothers and their sister who like hunt paranormal stuff or something, I dunno," Harry said. "Seems lame."

Alex stared in disbelief.

" _But_ the people here have heard of us before somehow, so I approve," Ed said, trying to sound wise and interesting.

Harry gave a thought _huh_ sound as he looked at Alex. "I think you're dressed like one of the characters or something, see all the chicks over there in plaid?"

Alex felt her will to live in a world where such morons lived diminish. "Wow," she commented flatly. "Just the kinda crack observation I'd expect outta you guys."

"Thanks, Alex," Spruce said, beaming.

Harry kicked Spruce in the leg under the table. "She was insulting us, _dummy,"_ he said in a hard voice then fixed Alex with a studious look. "I just don't know _why…_ "

Not caring either way, Alex tried to refocus them. "Look, what gear do you guys have? I couldn't bring everything I normally do 'cause of the flight. I've got salt, a couple blades, a lighter, EMF meter, a flashlight… and M&Ms."

All three guys looked at each other with deep frowns. "Do ghosts like M&Ms?" Ed asked in all seriousness.

"No. _I_ do." She cracked a sarcastic grin, because otherwise, she'd have to facepalm to deal with this level of drivel. " _Now._ What do _you_ guys have?"

They looked nervous. "We have video cameras?" Harry said uncertainly. "Oh, and iron crowbars." He grinned and pulled one out of a zip-up duffel. Alex looked at it, grabbed it from him, inspecting it and sniffing it.

She set it down hard. "These are _steel._

The three of them looked at each other in mild embarrassment. "Ah," Harry said, then corrected himself. "Then we have video cameras."

"How are you three not _dead_ by now? _"_ Alex asked churlishly.

"Hey, we resent that!" Harry said indignantly.

"Shut up, Harry," Ed said, sighing tiredly. He handed Alex the camera that they'd been crowded around when she first arrived. "Look, here's the footage we got last night. See if you see anything."

Alex took the camera and Spruce hit the play button for her. Shaky footage showed dark corridors and Maggie leading the way with Harry and Ed sweeping hallways with flashlights. Spruce's voice was narrating and saying things about how cold it felt and how creepy it was. The video was dark, blurry, and hard to see what anything was. It shook suddenly and someone (Harry maybe) shouted "Whoa! Did you guys feel that?!"

The video ended abruptly there and Alex looked around questioningly. "I ran out of batteries right there," Spruce explained sheepishly.

Alex wanted to let her forehead fall to the table. They were the _worst._

* * *

About one irritating hour later (they had to wait for a majority of the staff to go home to avoid being caught), the unlikely little group was somewhere deep within the confusing interior of the Winchester Mystery House. No lights were on within the house as touring hours were over and the house didn't have electricity wired into most of it. Alex had jimmied the lock of a side entrance to get them inside—apparently the way the Ghostfacer team had gotten in last night was going on a tour and then hiding in a room together and waiting until dark to do their sleuthing.

Alex had to admit she wasn't fully prepared for the inside of the house. It was like a labyrinth and a maze, like a puzzle that had been crammed together forcefully. It felt endless and disjointed, bizarre and foreboding. There were endless hallways and places where you could go three or four different ways, there were spiraling staircases (some which ended in ceilings), there were stained glass windows set into solid walls, there were dead ends and doors. Some hallways were tight and claustrophobic, some were wide and drafty. It was cold inside too. Colder than she thought it should be, quieter than what seemed normal. The place had a strange feeling to it overall, a feeling like the walls themselves were watching you.

Her handmade EMF meter, made out of a voice recorder, was going nuts, spiking like crazy. Creeping along next to her with his weird head-camera on, Harry was skittish as he swept the dark area ahead with the beam of the torch attached to his head-cam. "So that's when we found the grand ballroom last night and that's where we got separated from Maggie," he whispered—Alex had just asked for more details on what happened last night.

"Separated how?" she asked, letting her flashlight illuminate yet another spiral staircase they passed. It stretched upwards into darkness. They kept on going past it.

"She was setting up some stuff in there and me and Harry found like a secret doorway into another room and went to check it out," Ed explained. He was on her other side and seemed more grim and determined than Harry, who was jumpy. "But when we went into _that_ room, the door slammed behind us and we couldn't find how to get back into where Maggie was."

"…So you couldn't figure out how to find your way back to a room _one room_ over?" Alex asked in disbelief, but at this point she really wouldn't put that past them.

"Um, _yes._ " Harry answered indignantly then paused. "I mean, uh, no." At Ed's chastising look, Harry defended himself. "I got confused!"

Ed rolled his eyes and refocused on Alex. "The house changes," he said. "Walls that weren't there a second ago are there, things you thought were there are suddenly not, stuff like that."

"Guys, people tour this house like every day of the year," Alex reminded. "Don't you think someone else would have noticed if that were really true?"

"I dunno how to explain it, okay?" Ed asked peevishly then glanced back over his shoulder. "You getting all this, Spruce?"

Behind them, filming silently, Spruce gave a thumbs up. "Yup."

They continued down another creepy hallway. Not all of the house was open to the public and Alex plus the Ghostfacers had strayed off the marked tour path and were, in a word… lost. Alex thought she had to be crazy or slipping, because she _swore_ they were going in circles but that wasn't possible. They hadn't turned around once, they were heading straight forward mostly, deeper into the house, yet they'd passed the same weird stained glass window that said _Peace Be_ three times… this was the third time she'd noticed it. Alex stopped at it and stared up at it then glanced at her watch which had a built in compass and didn't seem to be working. It said they were heading north in the house one second and then south the next. She hit it a couple times uselessly, apprehension filling her. This was definitely weird. Her stomach turned slightly and she wondered if that were possible for a _house_ to be possessed and to change at a whim, trapping and separating people. Usually there had to be a _huge_ driving force behind stuff like that, something more than a single spirit or a poltergeist. Maybe Sarah Winchester's ghost wasn't behind this. That had been Alex's going theory but now she wasn't so sure.

Ed and Harry had walked ahead but Spruce stopped when Alex did. "And here we see a weird, kinda ugly stained glass thingy," he narrated, letting the camera light sweep over the window Alex was looking at. He then pointed the camera at her, blinding her with the light. "So you doing anything after this, or…?" he asked, trying to flirt. The look Alex gave him could kill and she pushed the camera away roughly while wincing against the light then brushed past him. "Just asking," he said sheepishly.

That's when they both realized Harry and Ed were _gone_. "Harry?" Alex shined the flashlight down either end of the hall they'd been heading straight on. "Ed!" Beside her, Spruce looked like he'd seen a ghost.

"Where'd they go?" he asked, sidling up closer to her as if he wanted protection. Alex squinted into the darkness, then shut off her flashlight to see better. She saw nothing, heard nothing. No, wait—there was a soft sound. The shrill whisper of wind through cracks, but there was no wind to speak of. A shiver ran up her spine and she flicked her flashlight back on and turned to her left, where another hallway had stretched. She stood back in surprise when the blank face of a solid white wall glared down at her instead.

"…was that wall there before?" she asked with trepidation, voice lowering to a whisper as she questioned her sanity. "I _swear_ there was another hallway there before...!"

"I can't remember," Spruce whispered, then suddenly jumped away in horror, his head swiveling around in terror. "Oh god what's that sound?!" he shrieked, holding his camera out like a weapon.

It was a steady _bzzt bzzt bzzt_ that was currently giving the kid a heart attack _._ Alex pulled her cell out of her pocket with a wan flourish and gave him a tight little smile. "My _phone_."

Spruce froze. "Oh."

Alex shook her head and answered, seeing Dean's name displayed. She began to walk in the direction Harry and Ed had been headed. "Hey Dean, look now's—"

His shout was so loud it nearly broke her speaker. " _Funkytown! Poughkeepsie!" h_ e yelled breathlessly—the family safe words, code for _something is hella wrong_. Alex stopped dead in her steps, alarm shooting through her at the panic in his voice. _"UFO, UFO, close encounter!_ "

"What? Dean?! Hello?" she heard rustling and swishing and him grunting and panting like he was running for his life. "What's going on?!"

"Aliens!" he shouted, breathy and sounding crazy with panic. "Look, if they take me you just need to—" he was cut off and his voice was suddenly far away like he'd dropped the phone. He gave some sort of animalistic bellow. " _Come on, you bastards!_ " There was a loud screeching sound and then nothing and Alex stared into darkness in shock.

"Hello? Hello, Dean?" she asked, looking at her phone to see if they'd been disconnected. The call time counter was still running and she slammed the phone back to her face. "Dean! _DEAN!_ " Nothing. Breathless and panicking, not sure what to do, Alex ended the call and dialed Sam with shaky hands.

It rang like seven times before he finally answered. "Yeah." Her twin's familiar voice was lazy and short.

"Sam!"

"Hey Alex," he replied evenly, sounding like nothing much concerned him in the world right now.

"Where's Dean?" she demanded.

"Uh, abducted by aliens or something, not totally sure yet," he said, sounding mildly distracted.

" _What?!" s_ he exclaimed, both a reaction to his demeanor and statement. " _Aliens_?" There wasn't such thing and if there _were_ , no punkass green man was gonna take Dean.

"Yeah, just found his phone out here in a crop circle," Sam said with way too much calm and disinterest. "Super weird. I'm stumped."

" _Stumped_?" she repeated incredulously, fury making her shake. "Look, I don't _care_ that you don't care—you _find_ our brother _right now,_ do you hear me?!"

"Loud and clear, we got a good connection."

His response had her seeing red. "Okay listen to you me you soulless jackass," she growled, "if something happened to Dean and you didn't have his back, I will _feed_ you your own _entrails!_ "

Oddly enough, he laughed shortly. "Doesn't sound pleasant. Or possible." There was the sound of shifting, like he was moving the phone around. "Oop—gotta go."

There was an abrupt click on the other end and Alex's eyes went wide. _Oh I_ know _he didn't just hang up on me._ "Sam?" she asked. " _Sam_! Son of a _bitch_!" She looked down at the phone, which said _Call Ended_. She almost threw her phone at the nearest wall out of frustration and fear. Dean was in trouble and she was a thousand miles away, a caged animal—stuck in this crazy maze house with the three stooges. Okay, _focus._ Find Harry and Ed, find Maggie's little lost ass and then catch the soonest flight to Indiana and see what the fuck had happened to Dean.

" _So_ ," Spruce said awkwardly. He looked freaked out but had the camera pointed at her and the fucking video light was about to make her snap. "How are your brothers?"

Alex pointed the flash right right into his face. "How does it _sound,_ Einstein?" she brushed past him with renewed (if very shaken up) purpose. "Let's get this over with." She shook her head and gritted her teeth, thinking about emotionless and cold Sam. "I am gonna _kill_ him," she muttered.

Right behind her, Spruce tried to be smooth again. He was out of breath, chugging along to keep up to her. "I'll comfort you," he volunteered.

She stopped and held a finger up in his face. "Spruce, I _swear,_ " she snapped. For twenty minutes they wandered in the house searching for Harry and Ed and found _nothing_ , but passed the _Peace Be_ sign twice more. Alex smashed it with her flashlight the second time and shouted at Sarah to "quit being a _bitch!_ " Really, she was getting nervous but tried not to show it. Any way they turned, they ended up in the same places.

Just when Alex was getting desperate, she paused and squinted down a staircase they passed. She saw a flicker of movement somewhere on the floor below and focused on it. "Hey—" she whispered and hit Spruce in his soft chest with a floppy hand. "Look." They crept down the stairs cautiously, trying to see what the movement was from. Once on the ground floor of that level they saw that down yet another hallway, lights were swiveling around all over the walls and floor. Harry and Ed's voices were audible.

She never thought she'd be glad to see them, but here she was. Alex led the way, jogging toward them, flashlight swinging. "Hey!"

Harry and Ed looked excited about something, not even concerned about the separation. "Check it out! We think we found the ballroom," Harry shined his flashlight down the hallway, indicating a fancy scalloped door frame. The doors were closed.

"We've been looking for you for like twenty minutes!" Spruce said, voice filled with anxiety.

"Ha ha very funny," Harry said, heading toward the doors after Ed.

Alex stared. _Huh?_ Ed was hurrying toward the doors, shouting for his sister. " _Maggie! Maaaags!_ " he yanked the doors open dramatically and Maggie made a little sound like _eep_ as she whirled, brandishing a camcorder like a weapon.

"Oh my god you _guys_!" she said, relaxing as they all came into the dim ballroom. "I was about to start freaking out."

"What do you mean, _about_ to?" Ed asked, mystified.

"It's been like thirty whole minutes since you guys left!" Maggie said, a little put off by the guy's behavior. She then saw Alex and recognition dawned. "Hey… where'd _she_ come from?"

"You've been in here for more than half a day now," Alex said, to which clear surprise showed on Maggie's face.

"Whoa…" she said, then instead of freaking out she got stoked. "Super awesome!"

Alex looked around between the people she was with. " _Not_ super awesome," she said, because if there were time discrepancies, that meant something major. She looked around the smallish ballroom cautiously. "Something's going on in this house."

"No offense, but that's what we've been trying to tell you," Spruce said. What a smart ass.

Alex paid him no mind, because she had spotted something interesting: a small gathering of objects: fat candles that were set up and lit on the floor, a gong, some salt, a dish of water. "...Were you guys about to do a _séance_?" she asked incredulously.

"Yeah," Ed said like it was no big deal. "We do those now."

Alex didn't know how to react. "Again—how are _any_ of you still _alive_?" she asked rudely, glaring around the ballroom cagily.

Séances were not kid stuff—there was a lot of danger if you didn't know what you were doing. Was it her imagination or was this room even colder than the rest of the house? The ballroom was empty and stark despite the finery it boasted. There was a fancy large old pipe organ against one wall, an expensive chandelier hanging from the ceiling, beautiful carving on the walls. Fancy patterned hardwood floors gleamed under their feet in the dim dancing light from candles. On either side of the organ there were more stained glass panels. Alex looked at them oddly as she drifted closer, studying the words etched into glass. One of the window panes said _Wide_ _U_ _nclasp_ _The T_ _ables_ _O_ _f_ _Their Thoughts_ and the second one said _These Same Thoughts People This L_ _ittle_ _World._ The words made no sense.

Stumped and feeling the hairs on the back of her neck raising, Alex took a tiny step backwards. Something about this room just wasn't _right._ "Okay, how about we get out of here, huh?" she asked softly, turned around—and found the doorway they'd just come from was a _solid wall._

Everyone else noticed at the same time that she did. "Holy _shit!_ " Spruce yelped even as Ed let loose a blood curdling scream and Harry gasped and Maggie swore.

"There was a door there!" Harry was flipping out hardcore. " _A DOOR!_ "

"Well there's not anymore!" Alex thundered—she had short patience for when people flipped out under pressure. The sound of the bell tower striking midnight was loud and pervasive. It sounded like it was directly overhead and Alex frowned. _Midnight_? It was only like eight. She looked at her watch, The digital readout said _E:L?7_. _Awesome._ The house broke her watch. And around her, utter chaos continued.

Harry kept shouting about a door even as Maggie grabbed onto him and was crying about how she'd always loved him and they began to kiss passionately and awkwardly in between declarations of love—Spruce was running around the space in a tizzy and shaking every door that remained only to find them sealed and locked or false.

"We're gonna die in here!" Ed moaned. "Before we got a deal with a studio. Life is such a _bitch!_ " He looked at his sister kissing Harry and seemed to reach his limit. "And will you _FUCKING STOP KISSING MY SISTER!_ " He rushed Harry and grabbed him with a shout and the two of them began to fight senselessly. Maggie screaming to stop as they fell down and rolled around on the floor.

Spruce was banging on one of the doors and shouting the word "trapped, trapped!" over and over even as Ed tried to punch Harry and missed, cracked his fist against the wood floor instead. He howled loudly. Alex was about to lose her mind and she yanked Ed up off of Harry, wrestled him away. "Stop it and _shut up_ , all of you shut _up!" s_ he bellowed, done with everyone's shit. They all fell into shameful silence. Alex wet her lips in aggravation. "Have any of you seen _any_ apparitions while you've been in here?" she asked intensely, talking with her hands and using stiff angry gestures.

The Ghostfacer team looked at each other slowly.

"Uh… no."

"Not me."

"Nope."

"Negatory."

Alex took in a deep, steadying breath, wracking her brain for a theory—because once you had a theory and an idea of what you were up against you could use brainpower to get the upper hand. "So maybe the disappearances aren't because of a vengeful spirit in the form of a _person_ ," she said, thinking out loud. "Maybe it really is… the house itself."

Ed looked stunned. "How is that even possible?"

Alex shook her head. Spruce's video light was yet again blinding her. "Some inanimate objects become cursed and tied to people who were invested in them… is it so crazy to think a woman who built and rebuilt this place for almost forty years could be part of it somehow?" She looked at those strange glass panes again. "Huh. Maybe she's got it backwards. Thinks _she's_ the person and all the people wandering her house are the evil spirits. She was pretty hellbent on keeping ghosts confused before, right?" She thought back on everything she'd read on the printouts. "And with _groups_ of people, she's too scared to do much or interfere but when she can zero in on one or two people…" Alex was feeling like she was onto something. "She lures them deep into the house and keeps them trapped in parts of the house no one ever even sees… locks them away where they don't even realize how fast time's passing."

There was a heavy silence. What Alex didn't say was what everyone was thinking about: all those people who'd disappeared in this house over the years. Where were their bones? In rooms Sarah kept concealed?

Harry finally said: "This is some freaky ass shit."

"So what do we do?" Maggie asked nervously. "Salt and burn her bones?"

Alex shook her head. "I don't think that would work. If the _house_ is literally haunted…" she trailed off and Ed got where she was going.

"We gotta torch the whole _place,_ " he breathed. "Wow."

Harry made a face. "What _is_ it with you and your family and burning stuff down?"

Alex shrugged defensively. "Hey, don't question the tried and true."

The organ suddenly blared loudly, a shocking and off key sound that sent terror through the room's occupants. The Ghostbusters all screamed and shouted as the chandelier abruptly crashed to the floor—Alex narrowly avoiding being crushed by it.

" _I don't think she likes that idea!_ " Harry said.

Spruce was beating on one of the small side-doors uselessly even as Alex shoved him sideways and like she'd done a hundred times, kicked the door in—the trick to it was giving enough force to the weakest part of the door, which was usually the latch or knob. The door gave way and they escaped the ballroom even as the walls began to fall inward to crush them to death. Alex caught sight of the séance candles spilling over and saw how flames caught a fallen wall. Her single thought was _escape this hell house or burn alive_.

They ran like cattle, blind and channeled down hallway after hallway even as the house seemed to come to life around them—floorboards moving up to trip them, windows shattering as they passed, walls buckling inwards to attempt to crush them, railing reaching out to snatch them.

They reached a grand open room where a beautiful glass ceiling stretched. The glass shattered violently and rained downward. Not able to see, holding arms folded over her head, Alex tripped and stumbled, had to pause to catch her footing. She almost fell backward completely as the floor cracked under her feet. She managed to jump back even as Ed caught a falling Maggie—and with frightening speed, where there had been solid floor there was now a huge yawning gap spanning the entire room, a perilous several story drop. On the side opposite of Alex, the Ghostfacers stood in breathless horror. It was too far to jump and Alex looked at the them, waved an urgent hand at them. "Jump out a window if you have to, just get _out!_ " she commanded, and as the room shook even more, they were forced to separate.

Alex ran for her life in the opposite direction, not even sure where she was going, just trying to find a window that looked out to the outside world. All she found were hallways. She thought about dropping her heavy backpack to be able to move faster. Even as she thought that, she skidded around a corner and saw flames licking the walls. _Shit._ She about-faced and ran the other direction, freaking out, not thinking straight. There had to be a damn window _somewhere_ now where _was_ it? She turned another corner and came up to a solid wall, almost running full-speed into it. She whirled around and gasped as a piece of wood flew at her head. Ducking and stumble-running as the floor under her feet shivered malevolently, she banked a hard right when she saw a staircase leading downward. Not even bothering to run down the length of the spiral, she swung over the railing and narrowly made it to the floor below in an ungraceful lump. Beside her, the staircase collapsed toward her and not fast enough to avoid being hit, Alex was struck in the back of the head by flying debris. _Oh no._ She felt herself falling through the air downward as if in a dream as her vision went stretchy and gray. She saw how a grand wooden column began to fall and roll toward her. _Huh._ Delirious from head trauma, she went slack and passed out.

* * *

Alex awoke feeling panicked and unsure in a dark, warm place. Her eyes adjusted and she took in the interior of a huge, shadowy barn covered floor to ceiling in spray-painted traps, wards, and talismans from all over the world. She pushed herself up slowly from where she'd been laying and peered around in mild confusion as the panic faded. Was this… the place she's first seen Castiel? It _was_ —she recognized her own handiwork painted across several walls and she smiled to herself, feeling suddenly reminiscent. She forgot where she'd been before being here. Probably in bed asleep, she thought vaguely. She stood up, dusted off her hands.

Unexpectedly, she heard his voice somewhere behind her sound in soft greeting. "Hello, Alex."

She turned quickly in happy surprise, then almost fell down in the awe of something like _fear_ at what she saw. Castiel was standing in front of her… and _she could see his wings_. Clear as day and black as night, they spanned perhaps ten feet total—they were remarkable and so much larger than she thought possible, made of great gleaming black feathers that seemed to breathe and vibrate with absolute energy and life.

He saw how she looked at his wings with such astonished eyes and he turned to look behind himself, not understanding what she was looking at. "What is it?" he asked, concern tempering his voice. He looked back at her when he saw nothing behind him.

"W-wings," she stammered, still staring at them, drifting closer to him. "I see your _wings_." His eyebrows moved upwards in vast surprise. She looked at him questioningly, wondering how a dream could feel so vivid and real, so lifelike, so detailed. "I'm dreaming, right? Wow, looks so real though…" her hand was raising of its own accord, called to reach out and touch. Her fingers brushed against one of those magnificent electric velvet feathers and at the smoothness under her fingertips, her dreamy state suddenly broke and she yanked her hand back in shock. _Oh my god this is real._ "What's happening?" she asked, feeling clear and stunned all at once.

He seemed just as shocked as she was, mouth open slightly. "…How did you just do that?" he asked, looking at her hand and then where she'd touched him.

"I don't know!" she replied, a little freaked out, her astonished eyes traveling up the curve of one of the wings.

Castiel looked very confused and a bit worried as well, like he was grasping for an explanation. "I went to the attic a minute ago to find you and you weren't there so I sought you on the dream-plane."

"So I _am_ dreaming," she said softly, unable to look away from his the midnight black wingspan. He hadn't come to her in dreams for so long. Not since when they first met, actually.

Cas seemed uncertain about her statement about it being a dream. "I think yes," he said even as his face twisted in stern, apprehensive thought. "But why do you see my wings?" Realization dawned across his features. "Alex—I think you're unconscious," he said, and the beginnings of alarm colored his tone. "Why are you unconscious? Has someone hurt you?"

Alex looked around at the barn in discomfort, aware of how _warm_ it was. Cas sounded far away and she pressed a hand against her burning cheek. "Is it hot in here to you?" she asked, then coughed weakly as fire filled her lungs for no conceivable reason. She fanned herself, confused and unable to think about anything but how _hot_ it was _._ Her skin felt like it was burning. She noticed how the barn walls were catching fire and she thought to herself _huh, oh, that's why it's hot._

Cas saw the suddenly burning walls too and grabbed her by either arm, fully panicked, demanding her attention. "You need to wake up," he said intensely, his voice deep with commanding and urging. She looked at him strangely, in a trance, just wanting to go back to sleep. "Wake up and tell me where you _are,_ " he said. Alex protested weakly, feeling so hot that she wanted to die.

Castiel shook her abruptly. "Alex, concentrate, please! _Wake up!_ "

* * *

_Wake up!_

His voice echoed in her mind and Alex's entire world spun as pervasive heat assaulted her, as she came to. Acrid smoke stung and burned her throat and she let out a walloping cough as she opened her swimming eyes to a fiery world. The ceiling was fanned with flames and embers drifted down onto her. Panicking, Alex tried to sit up and realized her lower body was trapped by a fallen column. The dream flooded her mind and realizing she was totally stuck, panic set in more fully, she rasped out his name and no sooner had she said it than he was there, tossing the column off of her like it were a stick. He gathered her into his arms and held her tightly, standing up as he did so. Immediately, the heat felt less, in fact, she felt cool and soothed. She wondered if his wings were around her even then and deliriously imagined them wrapped around and over both of them like blankets. The smoke was choking her and she gagged, trying to see through it. She felt one of his hands tighten on her, pulling her face even further into the safety of his chest.

Outside of the Winchester Mystery House, the front doors flew open with a loud bang without being touched. Bystanders who had gathered outside at the fire and commotion all gaped as Cas carried Alex down the grand front steps of the house and away from the now-blazing structure.

Alex blinked through watering eyes, seeing that the sky was the softest dark orange (more evidence of time discrepancy—morning already?). A bunch of the people from the Supernatural convention were gathered in pajamas in the gardens, gawking. She saw still more trickling in from across the street where a motel was conveniently placed. The clear morning air made it easier to breathe and Alex shut her stinging eyes and just let Cas carry her as she tried to find an inhale that didn't taste and smell of heavy ash and smoke.

"Oh wow," Alex heard a female voice say nearby. "That is the _best_ Cas I've ever seen. Hot _damn_."

Another voice gushed: "If they made Supernatural into a movie, he'd definitely have to play Cas—holy crap, he's so _cuuuute_!"

"Oh my god, this is giving me _major_ Calex feels," someone else said and Alex heard the plastic fake sound of a cellphone camera picture being taken.

"Shut _up_ Jing, those people almost just died!" said another voice.

Alex didn't catch any more of what was said—Cas gently set her down to sit on the wide stone edge of one of the fountains off from the crowd and he crouched in front of her, looking her over, a hand resting on her arm. "Are you all right?" he asked, looking her over thoroughly, his face overworked with what could best be described as staunch worry and fear because it had been so close.

Their eyes met at last. "I am now," she said, then looked toward the quickly-catching house, suddenly realizing that there was another terrible issue at hand. She bolted up to sit straighter. "Cas, you gotta make sure there's no one else in there!" she said with sudden urgency, terror striking her heart at the thought of anyone being trapped and burned alive in that place.

Cas nodded and stood, looking at the house with a fierce expression that seemed to say he wouldn't fail in doing what she asked. "I'll be right back."

He disappeared and a couple of the girls who'd been watching Alex—Essence and Laurie—clutched at each other, gasping when they saw him disappear out of thin air. Ah, great. Alex's phone was buzzing in her pocket and she pulled it out with a shaking hand. The screen was heat damaged and some of the plastic had gone misshapen… but she could still read the ID and a thrill of hope and anxiety alike raced through her as she answered. " _Dean!?_ "

His familiar, grouchy voice washed relief over her. "Yeah, hey, so just thought you'd wanna know I am A-OK and back in the land of the living." The call connection was bad, probably because of the heat damage.

"But Sam said you got abducted—!" she said, a hand on her sooty head as she stared at the ground.

Dean gave a short, caustic laugh. "Ah, don't talk to me about Sam right now."

"What _happened_?" Alex asked, anxious to know details. " _Aliens_? Really?"

"I uh, really don't wanna talk about it just yet, okay?"

Worrying the bottom corner of her lip, Alex didn't press him. "Are you okay though?"

"Oh yeah, peachy," he said, brushing it off and forcing a chuckle. "Hey, what was that crazy picture about earlier? You trying to give me nightmares for the rest of my life or somethin'?"

Despite everything, a little grin made Alex's mouth crack up to the side. Firefighters were flooding the scene and loud sirens made it hard to hear. Alex shook her head, realizing that the funny stories from that day would have to wait. "I'll have to tell you later… in the middle of something." At his silence Alex hesitated. "Unless you need me?"

"Nah, it's okay," he said, sarcasm tinging his words. "I've got _Sam._ " Alex got the feeling Sam was in the same room as Dean and Dean was saying that more to Sam than he was to her. Still…

"Dean. Say the word and I'm back in," she said seriously. Hoping that he would.

He gave a gusty sigh and she could just see him pinching the bridge of his nose wearily. "Sweetheart, I want you as far away from this Crowley bullshit as possible, all right?" He sounded pretty damn done with his day. He paused heavily. "You don't need to worry yourself over me."

Alex scoffed. "Well too bad," she retorted, half playful, half serious. "I'll worry about you as much as I want."

" _Heh_ , that's actually kinda nice to hear someone say," Dean said. Again, she thought he was making a comment to Sam more than her. She heard the phone shift. "Hey, I'll talk to you later. Time for me to have a little talk with our little soulless friend here."

"All right," Alex said reluctantly. "Bye Dean."

"Bye Al. Be safe, will you?"

She smirked. "Nah."

"Ha _ha_ ," he commented, but she could hear the affection in his voice. "Bye."

She ended the call even as there was a sound of commotion—out of the front of the house came the very confused, sooty looking Ghostfacers. Castiel was behind them looking as stern and pinched as ever. Alex let out a breath of relief. Everything was all right. Dean safe and sound, Cas got everyone out. The house was burning out of control and with it, Sarah Winchester's ghostly spirit that was trapped in the very walls of the place. Even though firefighters were already on scene, Alex was pretty sure all they'd really be able to do was control the blaze, not extinguish it.

Speaking of, firefighters were beginning to push the little crowd back and Alex stood up, wincing a little—a muscle in her hip hurt pretty bad like she'd pulled it or something. Alex noticed Becky coming up to her. Sam's biggest fangirl wore cat pajamas and glasses; her hair was bedraggled, but her expression was awed.

"That's _Cas_?" she asked Alex, gaping at Castiel who was currently being told where to go by a firefighter—he looked a little annoyed by that, honestly. "The real Cas?"

"In the flesh," Alex confirmed. She heard how her own voice held a note of admiring to it without her even intending it.

"Wow!" Becky said, eyes bright. "Are the rumors true? Him and Dean…?"

 _Destiel._ Alex chortled internally and gave Becky a knowing look. "Yeah, super true. Dean's _real_ gay for Cas. Ask him about it next time you see him." Becky looked like all her wildest dreams had come true and Alex, ever the troll, suppressed her smile, patted the other woman on the shoulder. "I'll catch you later Becky."

Alex limped over to where the Ghostfacers had dumped all their equipment (they were crying and hugging each other, oblivious to the world). While they were distracted Alex took care of something, then looked for Cas. She worked her way through the little crowd of people, searching for his face. He was being accosted by fangirls and he was very confused. When he saw her, his eyes seemed to beg _save me._ Alex grabbed him by the arm and pulled him to the side. His skin was dusted lightly with the grayness of soot, and if possible, it made him more handsome than ever. "You okay?" she asked him softly, looking him over briefly, wanting to hug him but feeling like she shouldn't—not in front of all these people.

"Fine, thank you," he said, smiling just slightly at her inquiry before he turned to look at the house questioningly. "What was this place?" Around them, the onlookers were dissipating as firefighters told everyone to break it up, go home, let them do their job.

Alex looked at the burning house regretfully, her shoulder touching Cas's as they stood there together. Black smoke was rising up into the brightening sky. "Profitable, for one," she said, mostly to herself, then looked at Cas more fully. "This house was built by the widow of the Winchester rifle guy and she apparently thought if she built onto it forever she'd _live_ forever." Alex had to admit both to herself and out loud: "And well... I guess until now she sorta _did_." Sarah Winchester was finally going to pass on. The bell tower fell inward into the house with a sad groan and a clang.

Alex looked up and sidelong at Cas, glad his familiar presence was beside her. She remembered his wings and was intimidated and interested alike. "Cas, you'd make a pretty good hunter, you know that?"

He seemed to think that was an interesting idea and met her gaze with faint curiosity. "Do you think so?"

"Yeah," she said, smiling a little now. "Wouldn't mind having you along." Their eyes met again and she just wanted to be with _him_ now—enough with everything and everyone else. "Take me home?" she asked softly, reaching over and taking his hand. She then realized what she'd just called the attic: _home_.

"Hey, hey, hey!" Harry bounded over to them, interrupting the moment. "Thanks for helping us find Maggie." He pointed to the camcorder he held with an expression of elation. "This footage is gonna be worth so much more now that the place is a goner!"

Alex smiled in a veiled way, sidling a little closer into Cas. "Happy to help, guys."

Harry was abruptly staring at the camcorder with a falling expression, checking it with a failing expression. "Hey—where's the tape?" His eyes snapped up in shock, seeming to ask _how could you._ "Alex, where's the tape!"

Alex winked at him and squeezed Cas's hand. "Now, Cas," she said, and he understood and transported them away.

They were in the quiet and cozy attic again and Alex held up the stolen mini camcorder tape she'd snatched and hidden in her pocket… and then winced. "Ah, dammit, my hip," she groaned, then sat on the edge of the bed and hissed. Cas, still sooty, followed her closely, knelt in front of her.

"Pulled hip muscle and smoke poisoning," he said almost to himself as his eyes wandered her body in a strictly studious way. She watched him, stilled by his nearness. _God, she'd missed him._ He looked into her eyes. "Although I think we both know you've done the latter to yourself on occasion purposefully."

It took her a second, but then she understood that he was poking fun (in his own way) at her cigarette habit. "…I haven't smoked in awhile Cas," she said, cracking a grin at his unexpected joke. "Be proud of me." She let her fingers brush against his face, forgetting the joke and everything else and just feeling _so damn glad_ to see him again. Her smile faded into a more deeply affected, emotional expression. "It's really good to finally see you again."

"I feel the same." His eyes adored hers silently.

Without another moment's notice she reached out and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him close even as she wiggled forward to be close to him. She kissed him _hello and I missed you so much_ , not even caring that they were both a charred, ashy mess. She felt his hand on the side of her face and a familiar warm light came from him and into her, she felt how his thumb brushed against her cheek and she broke the kiss in surprise, now staring into a normal-looking Cas (no soot to be seen). Her throat felt normal again, her hip no longer ached, her skin and clothes were clean once more.

"Wow," Alex commented softly, because he'd never healed her while giving her a kiss before and it seemed so intimate and tender in a way she'd never imagined.

"Do you feel better?" He asked, still knelt in front of her with hands now resting loosely on her knees.

"Yeah," she said while nodding faintly. She didn't even mean about her physical state. Mid-morning South Dakota light filtered in through the window. Cas nodded and stood, pulling her to stand too. "Hey, while you're doing your magic angel stuff," Alex said, suddenly remembering and thinking she should ask before she forgot again, "can you take out my wisdom teeth?" Cas's face showed slight confusion and Alex explained: "You put them back in after Nandriel and they've really been hurting, I keep forgetting to mention it."

His face registered surprise. "I'm so sorry—I didn't know," he said, seeming abashed at himself. "I'll take care of it immediately."

With another light touch, he made it better and Alex grinned suddenly as the pressure in the back of her mouth disappeared. She put a hand against her jaw in pleasant surprise. "Damn. You would be the most _excellent_ dentist," she joked. "That was _so_ much better than the first time I got them out."

Cas was mildly shamefaced. "I'm very sorry about how hastily I healed you," he apologized guiltily. "I was rushed. I think I… 'reset' everything except the wards I burned onto your ribs."

Alex brushed it off. "It's okay. Don't worry about it." Although… she looked down at her hand. A dark scar used to cut across it but no longer did. "All my scars disappeared, you know," she said, thoughtful.

"…You were ashamed of your scars," Cas said, but it was a half-question, the beginning of the realization that maybe he'd made a mistake.

"Not all of them," Alex said mildly. "Some of them had memories and meaning to them. Like the one that was here," she said, indicating her smooth, unmarred palm. "Every time I saw it, I remembered the first time you hugged me." Their eyes met and her heart beat a little faster as she touched her own stomach through her shirt, tracing a now-gone slash. "The ones here. I remembered you kissing them." The first time they'd been together here in the attic more than a year ago.

Cas's eyebrows knit and furrowed inward and upward when he understood. "I didn't intend to take something meaningful from you," he said, and Alex touched his arm reassuringly.

"Hey, it's life. Shit happens. And I've already got new ones," she said, trying to make him feel better. Her last comment only made him look further averse and upset. "Cas, don't feel bad about it," she coaxed sadly. "Humans get scars. It's evidence of living."

His intense eyes held hers unwaveringly. "It's evidence of my absence." Her little cajoling smile faded. When he said things like that, it cut her to the core. He looked sad and she suddenly felt the same. He looked around the attic and drew in a heavy breath, his squinting frown searching for something. "How long has it been since I was last here?"

"Two weeks." Alex waited for him to finally look back at her. She saw how he looked tired in a way that transcended the physical and her heart hurt for him. "You okay?" She wished she knew a better way to ask about the war, his mind, his heart.

At her concern, his face softened. "Yes. I am okay." As quickly as he'd grown unworried, the weight returned. " _You_ almost weren't today." He worked his jaw in thought. "I'm going to post a stand-in guardian on you."

Alex's eyebrows raised faintly. "A what?"

"An angel I trust to watch over the house, see your comings and goings. Just to know where you are if you leave here." Alex made to protest but Cas shook his head, looking at her with a very human expression that seemed to ask her not to argue with him. "If you didn't wake up today—Alex, you would have burned _alive_." He let that very true statement settle onto her and Alex could say nothing. Yes. If he hadn't checked in on her when he had... she would be dead. The reality of it resounded with them both and for a moment, their eyes silently held. Cas then let out a regretful breath of air, seeming to be beating himself up. "I simply haven't been a good guardian to you ever since raising Dean from Hell. Before then all I _did_ was watch over you. But after this, the vessel… Heaven's demands began to endlessly tear me apart."

Alex squinted slightly. "Wait a minute… you literally watched me _all_ the time?" she asked, because she hadn't realized. "Not just… checked in here and there?" His face showed confusion and Alex felt suddenly, retroactively self-conscious. That'd be _super_ creepy if it had been anyone other than him. Oh Jesus, wait. "Did you ever see anything… uh, personal?" she asked, mortified because he _had_ to have if he'd done nothing but watch her.

Cas's expression remained serious. "I passed no judgement on you."

Alex fidgeted, feeling heat creep up her neck. She averted her gaze slightly, cleared her throat. "Well now I'm a little embarrassed," she said, letting a nervous breath of laughter escape. When she peeked up at Cas, he seemed to have some secret hidden in his eyes.

"Don't be," he said. "I understand now." He reached out, pushing his fingers through the hair beside her neck tentatively, letting his eyes flicker up to hers. His voice softened, grew huskier. "The magic of your touch."

Her mind exploded and went stupid when he said that. His fingers whispered against the skin of her neck and his eyes burned tenderly into hers, then he surprised her by leaning in and pressing a quiet kiss against the side of her face, letting his space invade hers. Her eyes fell closed and she held onto him. It was like being given water after wandering the desert endlessly: his touch, his closeness, his simple and quiet way. He drew back from her a little, hand resting against the side of her face. Alex wondered if it were possible for eyes to make love because that's what his were doing to hers. He leaned in to kiss her mouth but she held him away, just for a moment, because she had to tell him something.

"I figured out the message you left," she said softly, thinking of it all over again. _I will think of you ceaselessly until the hours return me to you once more. "_ And I learned something, too." She was probably going to butcher the pronunciation but she went ahead anyway: " _Olani hoath ol._ "

In response, his face showed surprise, affection. "...How strange to hear you speak my language," he momentarily replied in a deep, warm, entranced voice. His eyes showed the most gentle and tranquil things as he saw her anew. " _Olani hoath ol zod_ ," he replied, a whisper. _I love you too._

Which one of them leaned in for the kiss? It was impossible to tell. The way they'd missed each other and the distance they both felt led the affection into deep, fervent waters. In over their heads, Alex and Cas kissed with growing urgency, growing bodily closeness, growing need. And just as Cas was walking her backwards slowly toward the bed, arms circling around her waist, a sudden shift was felt and even before he pulled away from the kiss, Alex's stomach sank. His expression was filled with regret and distaste, his eyes were shut and his eyebrows screwed together as he bowed his head down. "I'm… being called away," he said, voice low with frustration.

Holding onto him breathlessly, completely blindsided, Alex shook her head. " _Now?_ "

His eyes met hers regretfully. "I'm afraid so."

She didn't let go of him. Childishly, she wanted to cry. "When can you come back?" she asked, voice a little tight with something close to panic, because that hadn't been enough time, not at all.

He shook his head, and the same frustration and anxiety she felt was written over him all over. "I don't know. I _never_ know." He looked upward with reluctance. "I'm sorry, Alex," he said, and so was she, but she didn't want him to leave and see her stricken as his last memory. So she made herself smile at him as his tense, conflicted eyes held hers. He took another step back and their hands slipped apart. The second his touch was lost, he disappeared and the attic was empty and quiet in the worst ways.

Fighting an awakened body and the need for him in every way possible, Alex let her forced smile fall and looked down, letting out a heavy, sad breath. It always came down to the goodbye. Always the goodbye.

* * *

**Fifteen Minutes Later**

Hot shower water cascaded over her and she looked down, letting it run off her head and drip down all around. She had a palm flat against the cheap plastic tub wall. She closed her eyes and tilted her neck either way, easing tension there. She didn't even _need_ a shower but she'd decided to out of frustration and a need to do something with herself, maybe calm down a little.

Her mind drifted to Cas, a few minutes ago—and her body was inspired to stoke a sweet internal fire at the memory of his touch and kiss. She breathed in and let out a deeply dissatisfied sigh, hating this current reality of being separated. It was hard not to get discouraged and feel defeated but _this was hard_ : being separated for weeks at a time and then given ten, fifteen minutes together only to be yanked apart again. She reminded herself that she wasn't the only one feeling that way and thought of Cas, needing her and wanting comfort from her and not being able to fully have it. He was clearly running himself ragged in the war upstairs and Alex wondered what he would do if in some alternative version of reality, he had to face it all without knowing he had someone waiting faithfully on him back on earth.

Alex set her jaw firmly, trying to ignore her own body which kept wracking her nerves with sexual frustration. Her nerves were still begging for the effect only Cas had on her and she considered trying to take care of the, ahem, _issue_ herself…

A soft noise outside the shower sent Alex's blood pounding with sudden adrenaline and she whipped her head up, unhooking the crowbar she had brought into the shower with her. She yanked the white shower curtain aside while holding it modestly to herself… only to see Cas standing there, his head tilted questioningly at the crowbar in her hand. "Geez, Cas, you startled me," Alex said, letting out a couple heavy, riled up breaths.

"…Why do you have a crow bar?" he asked, eyes thin with perplexed questioning.

"Uh… just in case?" She set it down outside of the tub awkwardly, leaning it between the wall and the tub. She then looked at Cas curiously, not sure if she should be worried at his reappearance. Was something wrong? "…I thought you had to leave."

He was still looking at the crowbar. "False alarm."

"You sure?" Alex asked, doubly surprised at his offhand use of slang.

"Yes," he said, studying her again before abruptly averting his eyes. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to invade your privacy."

It was sweet how he still gave such careful respect to her. She smiled a little. "I don't mind," she said, and his eyes raised to hers. Desire flared in her veins and made her bold, gave her an idea. "You… ever showered before, Cas?"

He didn't understand yet. "…No."

Alex wet her lips slowly. "You _want_ to?"

His eyebrows moved in together. "Now?" He clearly wasn't realizing what she implied. "But you're in there and I have no need of…" he began, then sudden understanding wrote itself across his face. " _Oh_. I see what you're asking of me."

Alex hid a smile and reached out for his hand. Water dripped down onto the floor between them. "Do you?" she asked softly, and she almost sounded coy to herself.

Cas's eyes seemed to grow darker and fuller as they flickered between hers. "I think so."

Alex let go of his hand and let her gaze stay on him a minute longer before she let her eyes tell him to come in with her when he was ready. She let go of the curtain and it fell between them again. Alex let out a nervous breath from a small circle she made with her lips. She was kind of surprised she'd just asked him into the shower with her, honestly. Even though she definitely wasn't a virgin anymore, he still made her so nervous and shy sometimes. On the other side of the curtain Alex heard the telltale sounds she recognized as Cas undressing—the swishing of the trench coat, the whisper of his tie, the clink of his belt, the thuds of his shoes.

Facing the shower head, Alex tried extra hard to fight the nerves bundling in her stomach. It was stupid to be so self conscious about being seen naked, wasn't it? Especially after they'd been together so many times and he'd seen and touched basically every inch of her body but… it was still exciting and terrifying alike. Once he was actually in there, she wouldn't be so nervous. She heard the shower curtain rustle and her heart rate picked up. She heard his feet, one at a time, softly thud against the floor of the shower behind her and she didn't turn around. Was this dumb? Was he going to think she was nothing but a sex-crazed maniac? Was he maybe upset that she wanted to have sex? Would he prefer conversation or some kind of date or something? What if like those girls said at the stupid convention he wasn't human and the hormones confused him? She thought of his wings that she'd seen earlier that day as irrational fears tumbled through her mind like a flurry of errant snow.

And then she felt his fingers gently skim against where his hand had bruised her two weeks ago during climax. His touch banished her thoughts completely and brought back a fluttering series of memories of him and her and intimacy. "Did I do this?" he asked, his voice soft with shock.

She frowned, turning her head a little. She couldn't see it. "Is it still there?" She was genuinely surprised. It must have been faint by now.

"Why didn't you tell me I did this?" He sounded faintly horrified.

"Bruises happen, Cas," she told him soothingly over her shoulder. "It's okay."

There was a pause. "I won't let it happen again," he promised and then came closer, hugging his arms around her gently and crossing them over her so that his hands rested modestly on her upper arms. She felt the strong, broad planes of his chest press into her back and she softened into him, taking hold of one of his hands and kissing the knuckles with strong, lingering lips. His closeness was comforting, the remedy for the distance that dominated their relationship right now.

"I know you won't," she answered, letting him know that it was all right. They both knew he was strong enough to snap her bones in half if the urge struck him—weren't accidents prone to happen? And bruises could happen with _anyone_ , angel or not.

Anyway, that's not what she focused on right then. He stood close, bare skin to bare skin—nothing was between them at all. "I miss you so very much," his voice—warm, sweet, husky—murmured in her ear.

Her chest constricted at the feeling she heard behind his words, sparks raced along every inch of her skin. "I miss _you_ ," she replied, and the shower head noise almost muffled her soft reply completely.

He dipped his head and his lips brushed a kiss against her neck. She sighed, contentedness and warmth rushing through her at his touch. She kissed his knuckle again, holding his hand close to her, suddenly content to just do this. Hold each other. She didn't even need anything else. His nose brushed her cheek. His free hand traced up and down against her upper arm softly. "Your skin feels different when it's wet," he observed innocently. And that's when Alex decided she _could_ go for more than just holding each other. But she decided to let him lead. She couldn't tell if he wanted sex or not. His fingers skimmed across her wet shoulder in slow curiosity, across the dip of her collarbone. He inhaled deeply and slowly through his nose, which still rested against her cheek. _Heaven help me, everything he does is insane._ His hand skimmed straight down over her middle—between her breasts, across her sternum, to the skin of her abdomen where he dragged digits left to right as rivulets of water poured down her body. His fingertips left trails of fire and heat across her wet skin, making the ever-familiar feeling of desire tighten her all over.

His touch seemed so exploratory and modest and Alex was confused—where was this going? What he did next told her: His hand pressed flat-palmed and splayed-finger to the top of her thigh, dragging upward and inward slowly, maddening her, exciting her. With a boldness and daring that she didn't recognize in him, he wordlessly let his fingers press against her between the legs, drawing a startled, approving little gasp out of her mouth even as his other hand moved and pressed palm-first to cup against one of her breasts. She found her back arching, head falling back to his shoulder as he let his thumb brush over her nipple purposefully. A little cry escaped her lips and he repeated the action and she could feel how he was the same as she was now: quickly becoming very aroused. Beside her ear, she could hear how his breathing had quickened and she reached up to entangle fingers in his hair then pull his head closer to hers so that their cheeks pressed. She felt how his heart thudded hard in his chest against her back, how his hand tightened lusciously on her breast. His hand dipped even lower between her legs and he plunged two fingers into her without warning. A little sound like " _oh!_ _"_ escaped her lips in erotic surprise even as he pressed a kiss to her jawline then held his slack mouth there, lips to her skin, forgetting to kiss as he concentrated on grinding his fingers in and out of her. He asked her in a heady whisper if she enjoyed that—and she nodded and said yes immediately, both a plea to continue and an exclamation of astonishment at how good it was. Helpless to do anything but, she pressed back into him, letting her wet skin rub him into the fullest arousal. A soft groan in the base of his throat sounded and he took the invitation, crushing his hips forward onto the softness of her behind even as his arm and hand tightened, pulling her against him hard. Suffering the most such divine torture on earth, Alex craned her neck back and up, wanting to kiss his mouth and he tried to meet her, but the angle was awkward and difficult.

She twisted, needing to taste the kisses of his mouth more than anything else and he removed his hand, letting her turn to face him and hold him. His hair was wet, stuck to his head, his eyes were worried and needy and he cupped her face in both hands. Alex met his waiting lips with hers, holding his face and kissing him with her entire body. Water sprayed over them like a warm rain shower and she slid her hands down to his hips then grasped him solidly by the ass, pulled him against her so that their pelvises were flush against one another's. A muffled little moan sounded from him and he turned them and crowded her against the wall of the shower.

Their mouths and tongues tangled with deep and maddening slowness as one of Cas's hands traversed from her face down between their bodies, pausing to touch and knead a breast before curving around her side—he sent more sparks racing up her spine as his hand dared to grasp the curve of her ass. His entire body leaned down a little as he took that same hand and surprised her when he lifted her leg slightly, pushed his fingers into her again from behind without warning. A soft, surprised moan was enticed from her lips—Cas was always so tentative and never just took her as he pleased, but today was different. He was hurried and frenzied overall, doing what he wanted to her without a second thought. As always, he seemed overcome to touch her where he was and let his fingers move in her even harder and faster, drawing her reactions out, heightening the frustration they both felt. Alex heard herself whispering words without any sensible pattern: _yes, no, please, ah, oh, shit._ Cas could apparently no longer find it within himself to simply move against the outside of her.

With sudden decisiveness his fingers pulled out and she was empty again, frustrated—but even as she thought that, he gripped the back of her thighs solidly and pulled her legs apart, lifting her up, his torso pressed to hers, her back sliding against the plastic shower shell. He stunned her with his brazen ferocity: Even as his mouth swallowed hers, he thrust into her with a single strong motion, making her world spin with pleasure. The kiss broke as they both gasped at the torturous, amazing feeling of him inside of her. Her fingers tightened in the hair at the back of his head as she remained dumbstruck and transfixed.

He moved his hands back, pulling her legs around his middle assertively, holding her against the shower wall with his weight alone. Her legs locked around his torso and then one of his hands stayed where it was, gripping her thigh and supporting her even as the other one tangled in her soaked hair. His thumb was on the hinge of her jaw as he drowned her in another kiss and began to drive her to the edge of blissful insanity with his body—she joined him in the struggle and triumph of moving against each other like waves crashing in the ocean and he let out an anxious sound at it. She had a single thought zip through her mind, leaving aftershocks of amazement and pleasure— _an angel is making love to me._ His wet chest slid repeatedly against hers and the steam made every inhale feel thick and substantial—he was in control and passionate, clearly making an effort not to be too physically hard on her, being gentle and holding back on his desirous passion. Still, she felt how hungry and desperate he was through the firm way his hands held her, the deep, fervent way he moved in her, the increasingly feverish groaning sounds he made when their mouths broke apart.

Her body began to tighten impossibly in anticipation, begging for the promised moment of release. Their eyes briefly communicated and he understood, strained focus tightening his features, making her grab hold of his shoulders for support. He kissed her again, sloppy and unchecked, noisy breaths coming in and out of his mouth and nose as she grabbed his face hard with both hands, trying to kiss him back even though her vocal chords were volunteering desperate and rising gasping pants. Burning pleasure was piling up and he was careening her toward the absolute brink of insanity. She needed it so bad she could scream. _Oh god oh god oh god._ She whimpered helplessly as he clutched at her hard, shaking, his kiss begging her to come so that he could let go too. His deep, anxious movements and his own rising distress thrust her to the point of no return and it clapped over her thunderously. Her body was out of her own control and she cried out into his mouth as she obeyed the pleasure, as she burst like a supernova in his arms, head falling back in ecstasy; she held on, seizing and quaking around him, loud sounds like sobs falling out of her mouth with wild abandon. Cas was with her—his fingers tightened in her hair and his body shuddered in the rhythm of sweet release, his face buried down in the crook of her neck as a long, masculine groan of satisfaction and relief broke from his lips, as he rocked against her a few final times, carrying them both on a riptide of bliss, extending the feeling of utter erotic delight, giving her every last inch of his affection, letting the end of the encounter fade out like a candle wick burns away—slowly, quietly, gracefully.

Relieved of every tension and burden and worry, Alex went slack in his strong arms, her head falling onto his water-spackled shoulder, her arms loosely circled around him. Her breaths were loud and awed by what he had just done to her and made her feel. He didn't move—he remained with his face turned into the side of her neck and she felt him blinking, breathing, regulating, his fingers loosening and beginning to trance sweet, tender sentiments against her skin. Still out of breath with her veins pulsing in pleasure and contentedness, she pressed a long kiss into the hinge of his scruffy jaw—a feeble way of telling him silently how she treasured him. Her eyes took in his drenched hair and she thought how it looked almost black wet like that. She thought of his wings and closed her eyes, breathing in tremulously. Water still streamed over them like rain.

* * *

They were curled up together in bed: hair wet, bodies naked, blankets covering them. It was silent, each of them thinking something different. Alex was especially quiet.

"Was I too rough?" Cas asked momentarily, apprehensively, his quiet question loud in the silent attic. "Or too… forward?"

Alex lifted her head from his chest to look at him. "No. You never have been, Cas." Her mouth turned upward at one side in a soft smile. "It's passion. And I feel it too."

"Then what is it?" he asked, proving himself more observant than she knew possible.

Her eyes flickered up to peer into his anxiously and she thought of him glowing with power when she'd seen him smite his enemies, she thought of how a single touch of his hand healed her every wound, she thought of those other-worldly midnight-black expanses bristling from his shoulder blades. "Seeing your wings today… it just reminded me." Her voice softened. It was hard to get her mind around it fully. "What you are."

They both understood what she meant. Even though he possessed a human body, he simply wasn't the same species as her. And their differences were quite staggering to contemplate. Cas's eyes were sad but full of conviction as they looked into hers. "What I am," he murmured, moving some hair back from the side of her face, "is the one who loves you."

Tension softened away a little. "I know," she whispered, her heart growing in size. But apprehension remained.

"I'm not human, Alex," Cas ventured in forlorn nature momentarily. He gently searched her gaze, both empathetic and apologetic. "Why do you think our relationship is and was forbidden?" He became resolute—rules be damned. "But none of that matters to me." Their hands found each other underneath blankets and fingers interlaced. Cas brushed patterns against her skin with his thumb as their silent, loaded gazes spoke for a long moment. "I've often thought of how you and I might never have met if it weren't for Dean going to Hell," the angel shared momentarily, somber and reflective. "How if not for the apocalypse, we might never have grown close. The circumstances that brought us together have never been ideal. In fact… they've been truly terrible."

Alex wet her lips slowly, trying to pluck up the courage to whisper this next dread-filled question aloud: "Was my soul damned to Hell because of us?"

Pain swam in his eyes. "I don't know." Cas resisted following the line of thought further. "But I changed it and as long as I live, you will _never_ go there."

His intensity didn't shake her and she shook her head in apathy. Maybe Hell was where she belonged. In fact, maybe she'd like it better. "In Heaven I was alone in darkness, in nothing. Hell would almost be better." Cas's face showed complete abject and aghast shock at her statement and she shrugged, feeling stupid and small. "At least when you feel pain you know you're still alive."

She'd seemed to have struck a nerve and Cas's face tightened. "Hell wouldn't just be pain—it would be everlasting _torment._ "

Alex remembered being in the darkness and confusion and madness of Heaven. "So would Heaven," she said, depressed. She was screwed either way.

"No," Cas said, holding her head tighter and surer, demanding her gaze. "I won't let it be torment."

Alex looked him in the eye, brows knitting together. "What do you mean?"

There was a long pause and his hand loosened, his fingers traced through her hair gently, sweetly. Alex cursed herself for the urge to touch him, kiss him in that moment. "You said that when an angel was with you, Heaven wasn't dark and empty." His thumb rested against the side of her face and sadness showed on his features. "So when the time comes, I'll stay at your side in Heaven for the rest of all time."

Her heart skipped a beat and her love for him soared even as she thought of how she didn't deserve that, his love was unreal—and maybe they were truly meant for each other in the most fucked up way possible. "You'd do that?" she asked, not sure if she wanted to cry from happiness or self-hatred. "Eternity in Heaven?"

His voice softened and caught. "I said forever, Alex," he said, and her eyes blinked against emotional tears at the tender severity in his voice—the near tears in his eyes. "And I meant it."

God help her, she would damn herself a thousand times for Cas and didn't even fully understand how she could do that to either of them. Castiel shifted so that his face was above her and not beside her and Alex knew the look in his eyes and her body and mind were both traitors, propelling her forward to receive the kiss he brushed to her lips, driving her to pull him close and accept his questioning touch. Alex couldn't resist him at all, not even for a second, even though the thought of what they were doing rested heavily on her all over again as Cas's mouth opened on hers, deepening the kiss and sending desire hurtling through her all over again. He was sweeter than Heaven and hotter than Hell, and if he was her damnation, then she gladly welcomed the gates of Hades.

She clung to him and pulled back from his all-consuming kiss, her eyes glassy with sudden tears as the stakes hit her all over again. As the impossible depth of her need for him alarmed her. "Don't lose this war, Cas," she begged, a feeble and frightened request.

Breathless, he contemplated her for a moment. Grim determination settled over his handsome face. "I won't." His voice softened and almost cracked. "No matter what it takes."

Oh if she'd only known the growing secrets he was keeping from her and that "no matter what it takes" meant it would take almost _everything_ and nearly destroy them both in the end…

But both of them were unaware of what the future held and would later count themselves fools for different reasons. That day, all they knew was the love they couldn't resist. They let passion sweep them away and they did the thing that had damned them both in the first place all over again, stacking their transgressions ever higher in willful ignorance.


	64. Breakfast at Balthazar's

" _I pulled down the heavens just to please you._ _"  
_ \- Smashing Pumpkins

* * *

**One Month Later  
Sioux Falls, South Dakota**

It had been over a month with no word from Cas. Thirty plus days of wondering, fretting, and laying awake in the dead of night listening for creaking floorboards or soft whispers of wings to alert her to his presence. But there was nothing. Life went on, either way: There had been a hunt with Bobby over in Wyoming three weeks ago and there had been a demon interrogation they put together (trying to see if they could snake-oil Crowley out of Sam's soul—looked like a no), then Alex had spent about a week up North trying to track down Jamie to no avail—the witch either didn't want to be found or was dead.

Other than doing those few tasks, the rest of Alex's life had been books. _Sorting_ books, _stacking_ books, _searching_ through books, _carrying_ books up and down the stairs, going to the library to _rent_ books, making _copies_ of books, scouring the internet for rare or hard to find books… nothing but fucking books. None of which had told of how to get a soul back into a body or how to loose a demon's hold over said soul. Still, Bobby and Alex kept searching. And searching. And _searching_. After two months of books and no Dean and Sam _plus_ an entire month with no word from Castiel, Alex was both listless and anxious, high-strung and lethargic at the same time.

On a lazy thunderstorm-ridden early July morning, Alex slouched in the attic bed and tried to stay awake as her eyes blinked with increasing slowness. She wore a jacket and her shoes and kept thinking about taking them off, but that would require getting up and _moving_. No thanks. Bobby was downstairs napping thanks to the monotony of reading and the steady whisper of rain kissed by intermittent grumbles of thunder. The text of the thick volume Alex had propped up on herself kept steadily toppling forward as she kept almost dozing off. _The Life on Earth, The Soul, and The Unshakable Bond Between_ was monotonous and the lull of the rain shower outside was calling Alex to dreams and sleep. Guilt was the only thing that made her refocus. _Dean and Sam are out there risking their asses to get Crowley his monsters_. Alex widened her eyes forcibly and blinked, willing her body to resist the call of sleep. _Concentrate,_ dammit.

Instead, her mind drifted to how Dean hadn't been calling every day like he was supposed to. He was calling every _few_ days and texting on the days he didn't call. Alex didn't push because even though she'd set that as a term (him calling every day), she heard the emotional exhaustion in her brother's voice when he _did_ call. Truthfully, Alex had no idea if she'd be able to keep this up much longer. Dean _needed_ her. She couldn't even imagine being on the road with apathetic Sam in the passenger seat. That had to be devastating and discouraging on a whole new level. Life was just a frustrating mess right now.

Glancing out the window briefly, Alex mulled over how Cas had told her he was going to post an angel over Bobby's house to watch her comings and goings. She wondered if he actually had, because she'd seen no signs of one at all. Honestly, the only angel she ever wanted near her was Castiel and it made her slightly uncomfortable to think about some unknown one watching. She guessed that she had to trust Cas's judgement on this one.

 _Please let this damn war be over soon so everything can just be okay again, at least in_ one _part of my life._

There was a thought she kept coming back to, over and over again: that she'd never really known what it meant to truly miss someone until Cas.

She'd missed Sam when he went to college. But that had been different.

She'd wanted to die from missing Dean when he'd gone to Hell. But that, also, was different.

Nothing quite compared to Cas's absence now. It wasn't that she was despairing or hopeless or thought that he would be gone forever. It was that until the day they could be together without separation, some part of her was wholly incomplete. That was what she was thinking as she drifted off sitting halfway up, book forgotten.

And just as she was fading into the blissful confines of a warm and cozy nap…

"Ugh, wake _up,_ will you?"

A voice she couldn't place right away—accented and annoyed and impatient—startled her out of that descent into sleep, jolting her upward to a flailing sit as her hand automatically grabbed for the blade she kept beside the bed. Nothing was there.

"Looking for this?"

Alex gaped at the intruder who leaned casually a few feet off. He had her angel's blade and was waggling it at her with a little coy smile. Sandy blond hair was tousled thoughtlessly over a weathered and roguish face. Alex realized she had seen him before. " _Balthazar_?!" she exclaimed, beside herself with surprise and confusion and suspicion. "What are you doing here?"

"Being bored to absolute absolute bloody _tears,_ that's what," he said flippantly. "Catch." He tossed her blade at her (she caught it just barely as she stood) and fixed her with an expectant gaze. "Are you _really_ going to spend _another_ day in bed with a book?" He huffed and rolled his eyes, pacing a few steps to the left as if he were feeling cagey. "I'm about to go sodding _mad,_ " he told her in no uncertain terms, pointing at her for emphasis.

Alex squinted at him questioningly. "... _You're_ the one he picked to watch me?"

Balthazar smirked, uncrossed his arms, and sauntered over her way. "I am. Good ole Cas is a little short on options these days, love."

Skeptical and letting him know with a threatening raise of her angel's blade that she wasn't exactly convinced, Alex narrowed her eyes. "I thought you weren't involved in the war."

He looked at the tip of the angel blade currently in his face. His eyes slid to hers frostily and he very grudgingly backed off, a cynical little smile on his face. "I _wasn't,_ " he said carelessly. "Now I _am_. Although suffice to say I didn't think I'd get stuck on _babysitting_ detail. At first, didn't know if it was punishment or privilege… but after a month of watching you do _nothing_ … definitely's got to be punishment. Don't tell me you're actually _content_ to sit around and read all day. What's he see in you, an encyclopedia of the boring?" He gave a frustrated sound and gave her a lecturing look. "Well. I've had it with sitting around and being stuck here in the rear end of South Dakota. We're going for _breakfast_. I know just the place."

* * *

**Café** **Les Deux Magots  
Paris, France**

_Beep beep!_ A car horn that sounded like a toy kept angrily jabbering amidst a sea of other city sounds. Alex found herself on the corner of a busy European street and overwhelmed by the sudden change in scenery, temperature, noise, and climate. A bright blue sky and afternoon sun were above and all around people bustled by, minding their business, checking their phones, hailing cabs. Huge buildings that must have been centuries old lined cobblestone streets, a big tour bus rumbled by and brakes squealed over the sound of laughter and conversation nearby. Disoriented, Alex gaped. Balthazar had taken them here without even touching her. Beside her, he cracked a huge grin at the surrounding city. " _Much_ better," he said, the picture of contentedness. "Oh— _might_ want to put your little paring knife away." He pushed the offending angel blade toward her and in a dumbstruck trance, Alex let it slide into her jacket where it was concealed from the public. _Geez, glad I was wearing_ pants _when he decided to spirit me away_ she thought offhandedly.

Not paying her much mind, the angel chuckled and manhandled Alex into a seat she hadn't even noticed at the table they'd appeared next to. Balthazar was squinting at his wristwatch as he settled in languidly across from her. "Right. Forgot about the time difference. _L_ _unch_ then."

"…Lunch?" Alex echoed blankly, gawking around with a sense of apprehension. She didn't really like just being spirited away without notice or permission with an angel she didn't know. _And_ to a clearly different country where she didn't speak a word of the language. Everywhere she looked, she saw what she recognized as French writing: _Les Deux Magots, Rue Saint-Benoit, C_ _ette_ _F_ _aç_ _on de Pont des Arts_ _, V_ _enir_ _é_ _tudier_ _à_ _É_ _cole_ _N_ _ationale_ _S_ _upé_ _rieure des Beaux-Arts_. It made her dizzy because she wasn't even sure how to _pronounce_ half of those words in her mind.

The café they were seating outside of was bustling and quaint, settled on a corner that boasted of Parisian old-world allure. All around them people were conversing with gusto. Wine glasses clinked and traffic honked to no particular tempo. Across the street there was a large tower stretching into the sky—it looked like a church out of the middle ages or something. The construction was amazing and intricate and it was clearly so _old_ yet had stood up to the test of time and weather. Alex had never, ever seen a city like this in America.

A waiter in a tuxedo seemed to appear out of nowhere, bending over the table abruptly to greet them with a nod as he filled two already-waiting glasses with water for them with a flourish. "Bonjour Messieurs dame—comment allez vous?" He asked pleasantly, and Alex stared. Say _what_? He produced two paper menus and smiled graciously even as Alex wondered why a simple waiter looked as though he were ready for a red carpet event. "Aujourd'hui nous avons en plat du jour un—"

The waiter began to hand the menus down but Balthazar waved them away and cut the waiter off, beginning to rattle off French comfortably as if he were fluent… which, actually, it seemed that he was. "Ce n'est pas la peine, nous avons déjà fait notre choix: nous voudrions un mille feuille de tomates et de chèvre frais, des escargots de bourgogne... et du saumon fumé avec des toasts s'il vous plaît. Je voudrais aussi une bouteille de votre cuvée spéciale de champagne Delamotte s'il vous plait."

It was perhaps a stupid thing to be impressed by, but Alex sat there flabbergasted at the waterfall of elegant language that had just poured out of Balthazar's mouth. The waiter nodded. "Bien sûr Monsieur, ça arrive tout de suite." With a graceful turn, the waiter moved away, heading into the restaurant interior. Alex gaped, because even the way the waiter guy _walked_ was fancy. Alex looked at Balthazar speechlessly.

"I hope you like champagne," he said, stretching his arm onto the chair beside himself and smirking at her as he crossed a leg over to rest ankle over knee in a rakish pose. His smirk only widened. "Oh stop looking at me like that," he coaxed playfully.

"Like _what_?" she asked broodingly.

"Like you don't trust me."

Alex gave him a thin look. "…I _don't_."

There was an airy little chuckle. "Cas trusted me enough to have me watch you, so what's the problem?"

Alex crossed her arms. "Angels and I don't have the best track records and I don't trust any of you," she said, seeing no reason to be anything but blunt. "He's the exception."

"I _did_ save your life a bit ago, remember that? Surely that's worth _something_ to you?" Balthazar's eyes almost sparkled with mischief as he forced her to think back to that night at the mansion when Cas had been unable to heal her and Balthazar had instead. He waggled his eyebrows. "I'm sure you can find it within yourself to make another exception."

The more playful he became, the more sullen she got. "Yeah, I don't think so," she replied flatly. She hadn't forgotten what Balthazar had done—but she hadn't forgotten what he _hadn't_ done, either. "You're one of the ones who was supposed to deliver a message to me. A message it really would have helped to have."

"Look, you have my apologies for that," he said, as if that settled the whole thing.

That was pretty damn rich. "Your _apologies_ ," she repeated stone-faced, because if this asshole had just delivered Cas's message to her like he'd been asked, Alex wouldn't have spent a year thinking Cas had abandoned her.

Balthazar blinked in mild confusion, like he didn't understand why an apology solved nothing. "Yes, of course."

Alex's eyes flickered to one of the empty wine glass that was set onto the table. "Throw that glass down," she said abruptly. Balthazar looked both bemused and intrigued. He hesitated in slight suspicion, then decided to play along. He picked up his glass of water, held it beside himself, then let go so that it dropped to the ground and shattered loudly. A few patrons gasped in surprise nearby. Alex was wan. "Huh. Maybe it's just me, but I think it's gonna take more than an apology to put that thing back together again."

Balthazar's eyebrows rose mildly as he understood her point. "Hm." He observed her thoughtfully then leaned closer to the table again, his eyes studying her with mild curiosity. "You _are_ intriguing, once you can get past the bad hair and unbecoming attitude."

Not in the mood for hanging out with a wise-ass angel, Alex started pushing her chair back. "You know what, this has been a blast, but think I'm done."

Her chair stopped as if it were suddenly glued to the floor. "No, no, please. Food hasn't even arrived yet," Balthazar said pleasantly, getting an irked frown from Alex. He looked at her in teasing lecturing jest. "And what, are you going to just _walk_ back across the Atlantic to that little dump you've been holed up in?" He chuckled, but at the increasingly foul look on her face, Balthazar's light mood turned to slight exasperation. "Come on, Alex! Don't be such a stick in the mud!" He sighed and looked around, indicating she do the same. "Look at this—bright blue sky, quaint little café, champagne, _me_ …?" Alex's eyes rolled. He just smiled. "Look, I just want to get to _know_ you a bit better. Humor me, darling."

A waiter came over at that moment and fussed around with the broken glass, glancing up at them with hooded irritation as he swept up the wet glass pieces with a little hand brush. Balthazar chuckled lightly and addressed the waiter. "Je suis désolé pour le verre cassé," he said, and even though Alex couldn't understand the words, his tone was sort of braggy and smug. "Cette fille a un sacré caractère! Vous devriez la voir au lit..." The waiter looked a touch amused at whatever Balthazar had just said, like he was privy to some inside joke. He glanced at Alex, hid a smile, and left.

Sharp eyes on Balthazar, Alex was of a one-track mind. "Why would you want to get to know me?"

The slightest instance of seriousness came forward in Balthazar's demeanor. "Look, I've been called flighty at best," he said. "But Cas is truly one of my favorite brothers. I worry about him and want to know he's making the right choices."

"Well you're a regular Mother Theresa, aren't you."

There was a mildly impatient sigh and Balthazar cast his gaze off into the street beyond. "Yes _yes_ , I know I've been selfish, but that doesn't mean I don't care about him." He looked back at her and there was a cast of suspicion in _his_ eyes now. "Nothing wrong with me being skeptical of you, is there? Truth be told, you don't have the best reputation in Heaven… I'm _not_ the only one who's ambivalent about what you're doing to him."

Alex's hard exterior was knocked down a couple pegs by the surprise and worry Balthazar's words inspired in her. " _Doing_ to him?"

Balthazar sounded as if he were talking to himself. "On the one hand, good for him, getting a good roll in the hay and that but… he's made the bizarre mistake of falling quite in _love_ with you to the point of near insanity, should you ask me." He was looking at her with sharp, studious eyes, as if he were trying to understand what Cas saw about her. "An angel who's interests aren't vested in Heaven or himself but instead a little speck on the map… it's peculiar and unsettling and I don't like it."

Alex stared, unsure of how to react. "…I'm _sorry_?" she asked, deferring to sarcasm in lieu of not really knowing how to take what he was saying.

Balthazar contemplated a passerby with vague disinterest. "Angel-human relationships always end badly, dear, without fail."

There was a bad feeling growing in the pit of her stomach at his dour statements, but she ignored it, feigning casual indifference. "First time for everything."

"That's certainly what _he's_ hoping," Balthazar said offhandedly, further setting Alex at deep unease. "Look," Balthazar continued conversationally. "Raphael's followers seem to think you're nothing but a two-bit abomination on legs, leading one of the host's most faithful astray, seducing a son of Heaven to lowly wretched humanity, etcetera etcetera… even most of _Cas's_ followers secretly don't quite like the idea of you. And then there's _me_." He paused, letting all that stuff sink in.

Hearing someone other than Dean talk about their relationship in such negative terms was shocking for Alex. She thought of Timmy, the rogue cupid who had mentioned that all the other angels said "mean things" about her and Cas, but she'd thought it was hyperbole or something. Was _everyone_ in Heaven against them being together? It sort of sounded that way… was that maybe one of the reasons Cas had seemed so depressed? Of course it was the war and the separation, but there was some other _something_ Cas wasn't telling her and this could very well be it. God, if he were trying to protect her from knowing that…

Balthazar wasn't done making his opinion known. "I find you overall mousy and generally uninspiring, but you _do_ have your moments I suppose and well _he_ thinks you're the best thing since Creation so there's _that_ ," he said as if commenting on something that he was only slightly interested in. He paused and his tone became more focused. "But you see… my brother's not _like_ the other angels. Never has been. In fact, I think that may be why you like him. But he's…" Balthazar didn't even seem to know how to word himself. "He's investing everything he has in you and setting himself up for quite a long fall should you… elect to drop him like he's hot."

Alex sat back in her seat a little, not even sure where to begin. "You think I'm gonna… let Cas down? Leave him?"

"It's what humans do," Balthazar said dispassionately. "Change their minds."

"And you've never changed _your_ mind?" Alex retorted doubtfully. Amusement twinkled in Balthazar's eyes and Alex rolled her eyes upwards. "Listen, it's nice that you're worried about him, I guess," she said, voice laced with cynicism and bitterness. "But if you _care_ so much about him, you would have stuck around and helped him, not run away."

There was that self-assured smirk again. "Don't get me wrong—I care about Cas but I care about _me_ more." He gestured as if he were brushing away an annoyance. "War's so unpredictable. Didn't feel like staking my life in it, always wanted to give earth a try anyway…" he trailed off, smiling easily.

"So, what, now that you think Cas is gonna win the war you're jumping on board?" Alex prompted, judging him harshly for it. There was nothing she despised more than a fair-weather friend.

Balthazar's face showed mild ruefulness. "Oh no. No no. Quite the opposite I'm afraid. Cas isn't doing so well, darling. Maybe he's trying to keep it from you to protect your precious feelings, I don't know or _care_ —but I re-enlisted because I saw my brother floundering quite spectacularly." Alex did _not_ know that. Cas was 'floundering'? Her chest tightened—since when? Helplessness alarm stretched and unfurled inside of her. She knew it was unstable up there but hearing in such black-and-white terms that Cas was struggling badly hit hard. Seeing her expression Balthazar's smile returned. He appeared to know that he now had her where he wanted her: thinking Balthazar might be an ally after all, not an enemy. "See?" he prompted, sitting back and stretching his arm across the chair beside himself again as if he were the king of the entire planet. "I'm not as bad as you thought. And _handsome_ to boot!"

"Your humble nature is what I love," she wisecracked with no shortage of insolence.

" _Ha!_ " Balthazar grinned, eyes wrinkling up at her catty sense of humor. "There it is. Delightful."

Not in the smiling mood, Alex narrowed her eyes. She reminded herself not to take everything Balthazar said at face value. She didn't trust him and didn't know why Cas would, either. This angel might be trying to take her for a fool, she didn't know if he were who he was saying he was or not. So, she attempted to dig deeper for answers. "Why would Cas trust you after what you did to us?" She remained unsure as to why Cas would post _Balthazar_ as a watcher over her. Maybe he really _was_ shorthanded.

Balthazar's smile was faraway and thoughtful, fond if self-serving. "My brother is forgiving in his heart above all else. Always willing to give a second chance. Some say that's his tragic flaw." He feigned a sudden epiphany of remembrance. " _Ah_ , and it didn't hurt that I gave him some of the Heavenly weapons he so desperately wanted…"

"Only some?"

There was a disarming little shrug. "Have to protect my interests, don't I? Keep a few in-pocket, just in case. Besides, _Hezion_ has the other half of them and without _all_ of the weapons, they're not much use to Cas anyway." Balthazar clasped his hands onto the table and gave a satisfied sigh as his eyes followed a few birds taking flight from the café sign. "Cas is paving new roads and I say about damn time," he proclaimed admiringly, then turned slightly pensive. "Never would have quite guessed _he'd_ be the one to blaze this trail although I suppose it's been a long time coming now that I think about it."

"…What do you mean?"

Balthazar leaned back in his seat again, eyes off to the side as he recalled. "There were always such issues with him… pitched a fit about flooding the earth back in the Noah's ark era, didn't want to kill the firstborns in Egypt, dug his heels in about destroying Jerusalem…"

Even though Balthazar was saying those things like they were something he could make fun of Cas for, it made Alex's heart swell and break to hear that about him. _Yes._ That sounded like the Castiel she knew and loved and had seen from the beginning. At his deepest core, he was kind and gentle and deeply protective of humanity. "Just didn't have the stomach for violence or smiting humans," Balthazar continued, sighing regretfully. "And _we_ all thought he was just mentally deficient or defective." He smiled to himself. "Maybe he was just a forward thinker all along."

Alex suddenly pictured Castiel sitting alone at a table in a bright white Heavenly cafeteria looking lonely while his angel brothers and sisters sneered at him from where they all sat together in cliches all around. Of course, it was a totally ridiculous mental image but still. Alex thought _no wonder I love him_. _He's always been abnormal and ridiculed among his own kind, just like me._

At that moment, the waiter returned with their food piled onto a serving tray. "Voici votre repas. Madame, Monsieur." The waiter set down three plates of food that looked like rabbit food. He popped open the champagne he carried with him and poured it into narrow flutes for Balthazar and Alex alike, then left the remainder of the bottle perched in ice for them to drink at leisure. "Bon appétit!" the waiter exclaimed and gave a little bow before leaving.

Alex stared at one of the plates in particular, aghast. "…Are those _snails_? You have _got_ to be kidding me." And besides that there were too many vegetables, and none of them were potatoes. Alex turned her nose up at Balthazar's offer of snails—he held the plate out to her, indicating she take one. " _Bleurgh,_ no thanks," she said. "Where are the french fries?"

" _French fries_?" He rolled his eyes. "Typical. Wouldn't know a good meal if it came and bit you in the perky little ass." He daintily picked up a snail shell with specialized tongs and then dug out the dark goopy meat part with a little two-prong fork. "Mm." He seemed to find the bite almost erotic. "Exquisite."

Face held in something like disgust, Alex couldn't look away from the display. "…Yeah," she muttered, thinking the exact opposite. "Awesome." She reached for her champagne flute and took a hesitant sip, not sure what to expect—she'd never had champagne before, only beer and cheap wines and hard liquors. The champagne was punchy and tart, bubbly and crisp and… _super good_. "Whoa," she commented and held the glass back to look in admiring surprise at the bubbles fizzling up through the light golden liquid. "This stuff's not half bad."

"At a hundred euros a bottle, it better not be," Balthazar replied cheekily. "Maybe your taste isn't as deplorable as I thought."

" _You're_ the one eating snails bro," Alex replied, sipping at her champagne again.

"And they're _delicious,_ " Balthazar said, putting another dark-brown blob into his mouth with the silly little snail fork.

Alex looked at him in mild curiosity, beginning to wonder. He seemed different from the other angels she'd encountered for several reasons (jaunty attitude, human demeanor) but even his clothing choices were curious. He wore a deeply v-necked shirt, some goofy _I'm so cool_ necklaces, rings on his fingers, a blazer style jacket, dark jeans. "So… what's up with your outfit?" she asked, drawing a questioning look from him. She shrugged. "Most angels I've seen are business casual bastards. You dress… normal. _Ish._ " She paused. Abruptly she remembered another angel who had displayed personal style and her mood sobered. "So did Gabriel, now that I think about it."

"Ah. _Gabe,_ " Balthazar said with a surprising note of regret. "Sad to hear of his passing. He and I _did_ so enjoy pranking and playing on occasion." There was an almost somber pause. "And you wondered why I avoided the war. Because of things like what happened to good ol' Gabriel." The angel cleared his throat and put that disarming smile back on his face. "Right, the outfit. Well, when I first possessed this bloke I had to figure out something and quick. Real religious bore, this one. Polos, khaki dress pants, polished shoes _… celibate_ … I had to change all _those_ nonsenses very quickly." His mouth turned upward even further as he pulled another snail up off the plate with his tongs and slurped it into his mouth enthusiastically, maybe enjoying her disgusted expression. "Mm, fabulous! Don't you want some?"

"Yeah, _no._ " she muttered, then cast an uncomfortable glance around.

"You never did answer me, did you." Curious at his suddenly genuine, open sounding question, Alex guardedly studied him. His eyes bored into hers. "What's to stop you from changing your mind about Cas and breaking his heart into absolute smithereens?"

The implication that she would 'change her mind' about Cas was absolutely alien to Alex. This wasn't some fling and it never had been. It was way too big to boil down into a simple sentence or two, and the best Alex could do was a very plaintive: "You don't just walk away from what we are."

Balthazar looked intrigued and mistrustful at the same time. "Hm. _Well then_. To love's eternal glory." He raised his flute of champagne her way and Alex wasn't sure if he could _be_ any more sarcastic.

* * *

**Evergreen, Missouri**

In an abandoned and drafty old prison, screams and howls of pain could be heard. Music to his ears, honestly.

Crowley dusted off his bloody hands and then wiped the remainder of the crude red business off onto the white apron he wore. The dead kitsune alpha laid at his feet, bound and stabbed through the heart with a rare dagger. Little bitch wouldn't say where Purgatory was… a running theme with the big bads lately. At least the process of trying to _find_ the place was fun. Crowley turned toward his table of cruel glinting torture instruments, smiling to himself… then came up short when he saw that he wasn't alone in his little house of horrors.

Well, it was about _time._ Crowley had summoned the bloke _ages_ ago. "Ah, Cas. It's been a little while," he greeted levelly, smiling pleasantly at the always-constipated looking Castiel. The angel in the trench coat said nothing, just looked off to the side of the old cell block where Crowley had set up shop. There was a crumbled, destroyed wall there—the very place Cas had hurled the King of Hell into a couple months back. The reason? Angel boy had found out that _Crowley_ was the one who told Alex about the Lucifer rumors and subsequently (unintentionally) gotten her, hmm, killed last year. Obviously, Cas hadn't been happy to hear that. In fact, Crowley had barely been able to weasel his way out of being decimated on the spot. Still, here he was today, and as cocky as ever.

To Cas's glance at the still-destroyed wall Crowley smirked slightly. "… _No_. Still _haven't_ fixed that. Billing you for repair costs, by the by." He tossed the bloody dagger he'd been holding down onto the metal tray where the rest of his favorite toys laid.

Cas was giving the demon a dead-inside glare. "What do you want, Crowley?" he asked with dark impatience. "I'm _busy_."

Always one to goad, Crowley couldn't resist. "Too busy for _me_? …And here I thought we'd be in love forever."

There was the slightest eye roll and Castiel came forward, using his size and height to intimidate Crowley. "I don't have time for your absurd jokes," he said lowly. He let a silence hang as his dangerously glinting eyes burned into Crowley's. "What is it that you need?"

"For you to untwist your knickers, for one," Crowley said, holding his ground and remaining outwardly aloof as always. He did, after all, have a very important point he needed to make about the newest pain in his ass: "The old ball and chain. I need you to get her to back off or we're going to have a problem." He strolled off a few steps, took off his bloody apron and folded it just so.

Cas's eyes crimped ever so slightly in mistrust and antipathy. "…What problem?"

"Your little human _pet_ and Bobby Singer are poking their noses where they don't belong," Crowley said matter-of-factly, setting the apron down and then beginning to roll down his dark sleeves from where they'd been shoved up halfway. "They interrogated one of my demons last week trying to figure out a way to steal Sammy's little soul from me," Crowley said, and Cas's face showed both understanding and dread. He tried to hide the latter. "They keep _digging_ and they find out I don't _own_ his soul," Crowley said languidly, which they both already knew. "They keep _prodding_ and everything we've so carefully put into motion comes crashing _down_. Do you see the problem now?"

There was a long tense silence and Cas, resigned and reluctant, obviously hated every second of even having to be in the same room with Crowley. Still, they both knew that Crowley had a point. "What would you have me do?" The angel asked grudgingly.

"Put your little desperate housewife back in the game," Crowley replied immediately. Cas's gaze was getting stormier by the second but Crowley kept going. "Get her back on the road with her brothers, good and distracted." The King of Hell smirked and sauntered over to Cas, tempting fate with what he said next. "All you've got to do is say the word and she'll obey." Smiling at his cleverness, Crowley made a mistake in giving his next little remark: "Not very much unlike a trained dog."

Crowley suddenly found himself seized with strong hands and yanked in close to Cas's furious face. "The next time you insult her to my face I will destroy more than a brick-and-mortar wall, Crowley," the angel growled forcefully, and Crowley couldn't entirely hide his surprise and fear at the sudden temper tantrum. Cas was getting more and more volatile, even _unhinged_ as the war carried on. Crowley realized he should probably be a little more careful about egging the fellow on. After the cloud-hopper had breathed down Crowley's neck for a couple of long seconds, he let him go with an unceremonious shove. Pointedly, Crowley straightened his dress shirt even as Cas lowered his chin. " _No_. I will not allow her 'back in the game.' Sam is dangerous. I don't want him anywhere near her right now."

The second he was out of Cas's grip, Crowley forgot himself and kept on with the assuming airs and superiority. "Right," he said in cool disdain. "And wouldn't want her to find out _you're_ the one who raised him wrong, would we?" He paused and let the guilt settle in over Cas, who looked down, forever ashamed of the fact that he'd raised the middle Winchester half-ass and soulless. Crowley chanced a step closer and got pushy. "Look, you want to win this war, don't you? You get a third hunter in on the gambit and you're sitting pretty. The faster we get these alphas, the quicker I find Purgatory. The quicker I find Purgatory, the sooner you get the super-powered souls therein and kick Raphael's holy-roller ass out for good. Case closed, all's fine and dandy, we all go on our merry way. So what's the problem?"

Cas shook his head stubbornly, further confounding the demon. "Alex stays where she is," he said darkly. His eyes held contempt for the demon. "It's bad enough that _I'm_ working for you. I won't let her work for you too."

Crowley rolled his eyes lightly. " _Really_ , you make me sound like such a villain, Cas," he said in a voice drenched in cynicism, and his quickly-growing anger prompted Crowley to get a bit sassy and loud. "Get your head in the _game_ , halo-brain. She's nowhere near stupid and she's going to figure it _out_ if you don't get her in line."

"Even if she does discover the truth—"

"What? She'll _forgive_ you? She'll _understand_?" Crowley lost his cool. "This is a bloody Winchester we're talking about! I don't care how good the sex is or how deluded you two are over each other, she'll turn tail and run to Dean the second she finds out you're in league with me!" The ringing silence was a stark contrast to his outburst and Crowley fixed the stony angel with a seriously admonishing look. "The bottom line is this: The Winchesters find out about our little arrangement and it's _over_. They discover our little tête-à-tête and they don't just put the brakes on the monster business Cas, they see you for what you really are… a liar in league with the King of Hell. You _really_ think the missus'll like knowing how you've hidden so much from her? You think that brother bear will tolerate her involvement with such a shady guy? They'll turn on you in one steaming second, my friend. Alex included… mark my words."

Cas clearly took it to heart but only clenched his jaw tighter. " _If_ she finds out, I'll explain," he said, but even he sounded doubtful about that. "She'll understand why I had to do this and why it must be carried to completion."

" _Please,_ " Crowley scoffed at Cas's naivety. He invaded Cas's space, trying to get the angel to wake up and listen to reason. "They find out and Purgatory might as well be Atlantis my fine feathered friend. They find out, they muck it all up, and then Raphael takes you to the slaughterhouse." He let a pause hang but Cas's stubborn expression remained. Crowley shook his head balefully, wishing he could toss the angel through a wall or two at the moment. "Tell you one thing, if your refusal to put Mrs. Castiel back into the game costs us this entire operation, I'll have your head," he said threateningly.

" _Will_ you?" Castiel asked. There was a surprising amount of brazenness to his tone, a coldness and sharpness in his eyes. "Your idle threats mean nothing to me," he said brusquely. "I tire of your attempts to control me."

Well, _that_ was insightful. Still. "Whatcha going to do, Cas?" Crowley asked playfully, knowing that Cas had no choice but to go along with this arrangement of theirs. "Torture and maim all these alphas in your spare time? Find Purgatory on your own while you fight that little war of yours on the side?" He smirked, his self-importance bleeding through. "You _need_ me, mate. Sad but true."

Cas seemed done at that point. "If you're done stroking your own ego, I'll take my leave." His penchant for sassy sarcasm was quite endearing, really. But Crowley was never one to let a visit end on someone else's terms.

He stopped Cas from leaving with a soft, knowing voice. "Before you go, riddle me this: do you even _know_ where your scrawny little spouse is right now?" Cas paused and the beginnings of suspicion, aimed at Crowley, showed. The demon's smile widened. "Hint hint: it's not where you think." Enjoying the angel's growing temper, Crowley milked it in his typical fashion. "Boredom does things to a girl," he said with a dramatic sigh, sauntering across the room in a lazy, disinterested fashion as Cas scowl deeper. "Really should put her back on the road where she won't be prone to run off across the globe on romantic getaways with _other_ angels," Crowley said, enjoying the power play.

Confusion and what almost looked like pain showed in the angel's stormy face even though he struggled to remain doubtful. "Explain. _Now._ "

Crowley didn't. "Go see for yourself," he said coyly. "Café _Les Deux Magots_. Paris, France." He smirked, because Cas looked like he were wondering how the hell Crowley would know this if it were true at all. Feigning humility, Crowley shrugged. "You're not the only one with eyes and ears out, darling. Send my love to your better half, will you?"

Castiel, stone-faced, disappeared without anything further.

Crowley blinked once. No goodbye? " _Rude._ "

* * *

**Café** **Les Deux Magots  
Paris, France**

Balthazar slapped down four hundred-euro paper bills nonchalantly even as Alex's eyes slid sidelong to the money. One, why did he already have European dollars with him? Two, _four hundred euros_? No _way_ this little bit of food and champagne had cost that much… maybe the angel was trying to show off or maybe he had no concept of how money worked.

"You sure you don't want any?" Balthazar asked suggestively, indicating the salmon on toast things as he nibbled on one of the last ones delicately.

Alex gave him a tight, sarcastic smile. "Oh no, please. I _couldn't._ "

Balthazar's eyeline was enticed away by a curvy blonde woman sashaying by in a dress that was much too small and tight and he turned slightly to ogle the sway of her hips. Seizing the brief window of opportunity, Alex's hand darted out and she palmed two of the euro bills discreetly, slipping them into her jacket pocket in about two seconds flat. She did it half for fun and half for the fact that _hey,_ money was money and the conversion rate would probably turn this into about a two hundred and eighty US dollars. Forget snails and salmon; think of all the pizzas and cupcakes that money could buy.

Apparently feeling very happy after leering at the passing Frenchwoman, Balthazar turned back to Alex, a shit-eating smile stretched across his face. The smile abruptly fell into a stunned expression as his eyes went up to look at something beside and behind Alex. She followed his gaze and nearly fell over. Right beside and behind her, standing there with a sternly confused look on his face: Castiel. \

Alex stood up so fast she knocked her chair back. "Cas!"

He only _glanced_ at her, and his deep scowl at Balthazar surprised Alex, cuing her into the fact that he was off. He seemed… _angry._ "Cas old chap! We were just talking about you," Balthazar said, laughing nervously.

"What are you doing, Balthazar?" Cas asked, and he only had wrathful eyes for the other angel. Alex withered internally at the tone in his voice. There was no doubt. Cas was _pissed._ But why? "What is the meaning of this?" he questioned balefully. He moved forward slightly so that Alex was behind one of his arms and shoulders… a protective gesture. Why?

Balthazar was standing up, holding his arms out in a shrug of simpering innocence. "Just a little lunch, that's all," he assured, smiling and trying to appease Cas, who didn't seem to want to be appeased.

Cas's eyes narrowed dangerously, his jaw was tight, his fists were clenched. "I gave you strict instructions, Balthazar…" he growled, and Alex was too shocked at his behavior to do anything—was she in danger? Why was he acting like this? Balthazar was harmless, wasn't he? Or had she misjudged?

Balthazar was backing off slightly, clearly nervous, clearly seeing the signs of an impending explosion. "I know you did, Cas old boy, but— _oof!_ "

In a shocking display of speed and aggression, Cas darted forward and knocked the table over that stood between himself and his brother to grab Balthazar by two fistfuls of clothing. "You have gone against what I've said for the last time!"

All around, the café patrons were disturbed and shocked, staring, leaning away even as Alex was protesting, "Hey, hey, stop!" Cas looked like he was about to fling Balthazar halfway across the city or slug him in the face.

Before either of those things could happen, the waiter barreled over out of nowhere, chattering indignantly in French, his face turning red as he held two hands out, indicating that Cas and Balthazar separate. "Excusez-moi messieurs! Les combats ne sont pas tolérés dans notre établissement!" Then in broken English: "No the fighting, _no no_!"

Castiel held Balthazar's gaze fiercely for a second more as a tense silence froze the entirety of nearby occupants. Seeming to realize (at least to some small extent) what he was doing, Cas glanced around at the stunned audience he had gained. He looked back at Balthazar then loosened his grip and let go with a little shove and stepped away. His grumpy expression was attesting to the fact that he did _not_ want to do anything less than kick Balthazar's ass at the moment. Nevertheless, he looked at the waiter begrudgingly. "Veuillez accepter mes excuses," he said crankily, shell-shocking Alex all over again. His deep sandpapery voice speaking French was pretty damn sexy, even if he _was_ acting sort of crazy.

"You speak French too?" she asked, a little dumbstruck by the day she was having so far.

 _Finally,_ he really looked at her. "I speak all languages," he replied tersely. Again, Alex was taken aback at his near-callousness. Confused, she wondered: had she done something wrong? Was he all right? Wait… he didn't think _her and Balthazar_ …?!

The waiter seemed unimpressed by Cas's apparent apology. In a tight voice, he addressed them all as he pointed to the street emphatically, shooed them away. "Je vais devoir vous demander de bien vouloir partir maintenant!"

Alex didn't need to speak the language. She understood what was being said: leave. _Now._

Regaining a bit of his calm swagger, Balthazar straightened his mussed blazer and nodded at the waiter jovially as he took the bottle of champagne from where it had rolled down onto the ground. It still had some liquid in it, miraculously. "Bien sûr, mes excuses monsieur," he said cheekily, raising the bottle in salute.

Cas, one hundred percent done with it all, gave Balthazar a bitchy side eye and grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, steering him down the busy sidewalk and into an alley. Alex followed in a daze. Even the alleys were pretty here. Cas let go of Balthazar roughly. Everything about him spoke of high agitation and mistrust. "What is going on here?" He demanded of the other angel.

Balthazar had his hands raised defensively but he still held the champagne bottle. "Look. Your girlfriend was driving me absolutely bloody bonkers and I decided to whisk her off for a little luncheon, that's all, come _off_ it Cas, will you?"

Cas stared at him long and hard, then looked to Alex. His expression softened marginally, but there was something in it that mystified Alex. Why did he look at her so strangely? He turned his hardening gaze back to Balthazar. "Step away," he told the other angel darkly, indicating further back in the alley. "Give us a moment."

Petulant and annoyed, Balthazar rolled his eyes but did as he was told. Cas waited until the other angel was an agreeable distance then he came to Alex. He didn't say hello or smile at her, he didn't look at her like he hadn't seen her in a month. He was angry and upset. "Why did he bring you here? What did he want with you?"

Alex was little stung by his attitude and coldness. "Hi, nice to see you too," she said, and even though it was a sarcastic comment, her sadness and confusion was impossible to disguise.

Cas's expression shifted and he looked immediately stricken by guilt and surprise. He faltered. "Yes, of course—I'm sorry," he apologized, and whatever crazy idea he had gotten in his head about Balthazar seemed to begin to fade away. His anger gave way to abashed earnestness. "It's very nice to see you, as always."

Alex stared at him, not able to get over his strange demeanor just a moment ago. "…Why are you acting so mad?" It seemed insane to even ask, but she couldn't think of another explanation. Still, he _couldn't_ be thinking that, could he? "Are you being... _jealous_ right now?" she asked, her voice suggesting _how could you_?

Her question seemed to render him confused and chastised alike and Alex saw that he _had_ been jealous or thought the worst of the situation and it broke her heart and made her feel terrible. She had messed up before with Glen, _sort_ of (entertaining the idea of being with him before the truth came out, allowing a kiss despite being committed to Cas). And maybe that's why Cas thought she might do the same again, contemplate taking another in his absence, but… _no._ No of course she wouldn't, especially not _now_ , didn't he know that? Apparently not from the way he was flipping out. "You really think I would…?" she trailed off, at a loss. What _did_ he think? That the idiotic angel with the champagne over there had seduced her in the last month or something? "Cas don't you _trust_ me?" It would really hurt her if he thought so little of her.

Cas's features working in shame as he clearly realized his error. "…Now that you ask me, I see how ludicrous that was of me to think." That was a tiny relief to her but _still_. He breathed out heavily and looked back at her. His bright blue eyes showed contrition to the highest degrees. "I'm sorry. It's just… _I_ should be the one to take you on dates, not… _Balthazar_."

The frustration and helplessness he felt was apparent and Alex sighed, rubbing her forehead with her hand halfheartedly. She agreed, but… "That was _not_ a date. It was… me watching Balthazar slurp _snails_ while he bitched about the war. Not my favorite thing." She softened at Cas's expression and slumped shoulders and she hesitated, tried to reassure him even though she felt like she was on emotionally shaky ground herself. "Trust me, I would have much rather have been with you than him. Any day of the week."

Castiel was quiet now and glanced off and down the alley where Balthazar leaned against a wall casually, taking a sip out of the champagne bottle. He stopped drinking to wave and make a smart-ass face when he saw Cas looking at him. "It's no big deal, really," Alex assured, drawing Cas's attention back to her. "I don't think he meant any harm. He showed up out of nowhere about an hour ago or less, said he was bored, dragged me here, tried to treat me to lunch."

He latched onto one word she'd used in particular, his expression becoming slightly foul again. " _Dragged_?"

"Er, metaphorically speaking," Alex quickly corrected. "Not literally." The look on Cas's face seemed to say: _Ah._ He seemed almost _disappointed,_ like he _wanted_ an excuse to kick Balthazar's ass. However, there wasn't one at least from Alex's perspective. "I'm fine, Cas. I mean, he tried to get me to eat _snails,_ but other than that, he's not too bad."

Cas shook his head, expression still cloudy. "This was his proving ground. He went against explicit orders. _Again."_ His eyes met her waiting gaze and Alex had the beginnings of epiphany. Cas had been trying to give Balthazar a second chance to prove himself after he failed to deliver the message he was supposed to deliver last year. The message that would have saved a lot of heartache on Alex's part. Cas must have really wanted to be able to trust his clearly-irresponsible brother but even this small act of defiance was unacceptable to him. Alex looked at him with growing understanding—it was hard when your siblings let your expectations down. Cas was frustrated not only with himself and the situation he was stuck in, but with the people he was forced to depend on. "I'm done giving him chances," Cas said with a heavy finality, looking toward the other angel again. "Wait here." She did.

"Ah, Cas," Balthazar said, standing a little straighter at his brother's approach. He held up the bottle, smiled airily. "Champagne?"

Cas's stony face didn't budge and he intruded upon Balthazar's personal space. "You were _not_ to appear to her or speak with her much less take her _out of the country,_ " he said intensely. "You were to stand outside the house and watch her comings and goings only." His face twisted in dismay and hurt. "You honor _nothing_ I ask of you, Balthazar. I placed _trust_ in you—why would you do this?"

"Aw come on Cas, live a little," Balthazar said, brushing it off and remaining casual in the face of his brother's admonishment. "You've worked up over nothing. She's bored stiff in that South Dakota attic! I was just giving her some fun while her boyfriend's off in the clouds. And I mean _you_ weren't taking her on dates, she _needed_ a bit of culture and champagne."

Cas's expression soured further. "It's not your _place_ to assume to know her needs," he said stiffly then narrowed his eyes in cool thought. "I think it's _you_ that wanted culture and champagne." Balthazar's face registered faint surprise at the insight. Cas wasn't done. "Alex would never choose that café as the location for a date," he said, asserting himself as the one who knew her better.

Balthazar teased him. "And you know this how? Take her on a lot of dates, do you? What's her favorite restaurant, Cas? What's the best place you've taken her, hmm?"

Castiel faltered briefly then returned to cold anger. "That's none of your concern," he said, sidestepping. "I told you to observe _only,_ Balthazar, I told you to only let your presence be known in the most dire of circumstances." Disappointment and chagrin made Cas shake his head at his brother. "I should have known you would be as impetuous as ever."

Balthazar accepted the criticism as if it were a great compliment: with spread arms and a disarming smile. "If nothing else, at least I'm predictable," he said then pointed a finger suddenly, indicating he was about to say something that was important. "And remember, I didn't _ditch_ her, right? Give me points for that at least. I made sure to follow your first rule to always know where she was." His eyes twinkled as a smile broadened his face. "Here with me in Paris, enjoying some _escargot_."

Cas sent a darting glance sidelong toward Alex. "She didn't enjoy the snails," he corrected grumpily.

Balthazar sighed, having had it with Cas's lack of reaction to his joking. "I _tried_ Cas, I did. I'm sorry. Look, you got me," he said, growing serious. "I'll give you the rest of the bloody weapons if you will just please, _please_ take me off babysitting duty. I can't do it Cas… it's driving me up the tossing _wall._ " Cas looked at Balthazar in hard silence. Balthazar wouldn't be trusted with the task of watching Alex again, but if he was so foolish to think that he would be, perhaps Cas could use that to his advantage. Growing riled underneath Cas's silent glower, Balthazar threw his hands up. "Fine. You win," he said. "I surrender. I'll go find Hez and the other half of the weapons, get them back from him, give you the rest of _mine_ too—just make someone _else_ keep tabs on your sweetie—I'm wasted on this."

Castiel's brow drew in slightly. "Keeping her safe will never be a waste."

"Right, no, not what I meant," Balthazar said quickly. "Of course not."

Tired and disgusted, Cas dismissed Balthazar bleakly. He didn't have much hope for the prospects of his brother actually doing as he said but was finished with Balthazar either way. "Go. Find Hezion. And don't return to me until you do."

There was an unspoken warning in Cas's command and Balthazar seemed to hear it. His cavalier attitude dropped surprisingly and he nodded. "I'll be in touch, Cas. Don't hesitate to call me should you need me." And without anything further, Balthazar disappeared.

Cas didn't move from where he stood for a long moment. He was feeling what he recognized as embarrassment. He should have _known_ Crowley was trying to sow discord and create dramatics, sending him here and saying what he had. Cas shouldn't have assumed his brother would attempt to take Alex for his own—Balthazar was impulsive and selfish, yes, but he was also shortsighted and obviously didn't recognize Alex for the rare jewel that she was. But most of all, he shouldn't have mistrusted _her_. Castiel was confused at his reaction which had seemed to come out of nowhere and been influenced by no logic or clear thought process at all. And truthfully he _was_ jealous and frustrated that someone other than himself had been free to spend time with her. That was what Castiel wanted the most: just to be with her. He had spent so long being stuck in Heaven and away from her that he _did_ maintain the fear that she would grow tired of waiting for him and move on, forget him, abandon him. Perhaps it was an unfounded fear, but he felt it all the same. Was that selfish? To fear losing her affection and devotion? He didn't know.

"Everything okay?" she asked, and he realized she had approached him. Her familiar face made him feel happiness and sadness at the same time, but sadness overwhelmed him more than anything else.

He answered honestly. "No. Not until this war is over."

Everything _wouldn't_ be okay until it had all ended. He thought of the things he was keeping from her and had to look away from her bright and worried hazel eyes briefly. She seemed mildly hesitant with him at the moment and Cas wondered if it was because time had passed. By his best guess, maybe a month or so had gone by for her. More sadness settled into his heart and then despair because _this_ _needed to end_. When her hand came to gently hold onto his arm Cas's guilt multiplied by a thousand. It felt wrong to deceive her, but what choice did he have? He wanted to protect her from the unseemly things in the world, even if some of those unseemly things were put into motion by _him_. She would understand when the war was won and Raphael was dead and they could be together and not fear the return of the apocalypse. She was currently looking at him with vast amounts of worry and he softened, touched at how she always did that: concerned herself over him. No one else did that. She loved him, and he was reminded of it all over again. Would she still love him if she knew…? He was afraid to discover the answer and resolved to work even harder to win this war so that he didn't have to keep being dishonest.

Cas thought back to Balthazar's questions about where the best place was that he'd taken her on a date—and it occurred to him that he _hadn't_ ever really purposefully taken her someplace. She'd always been the one to take him places. Simultaneously he realized that they were in Paris, France and that he could and _should_ spare some time to spend with her. It may have been irresponsible of him, but he was so harrowed by his weighty responsibilities that he felt if he didn't take a small leave of absence he would collapse in on himself like a dying star. And more than that, he desired nothing more than some time spent with Alex, the one he thought of ceaselessly, the one who made his hardships worthwhile. Cas looked at her softly as a pleasant idea came to him. "…Would you like to see the Eiffel tower?"

Alex reacted with a face like she wasn't sure she'd heard him correctly. "…What?"

Cas thought she would have understood what he was asking and he felt himself falter slightly. He pushed forward. "I am going to take you on a date," he said, thinking she would be excited by the idea.

Even more confusion showed on her pretty face. "A… date."

"Yes," he said slowly, losing confidence. "Unless… you don't want to."

"No, of course I want to, but… _now_?" She pointed upwards questioningly. "I mean…?"

Cas shook his head and held her gaze. "It can wait," he said, because it needed to. "Everything can wait."

Alex looked both surprised and touched by what he said and also hesitant to believe. "Really?"

He was struck all over again without warning by a surge of feelings—the kind that only she had ever inspired in him. His voice was softer and deeper when he replied. "Really."

The tenseness that had been between them was abruptly pushed aside as Alex's face went soft with a beautiful and relieved smile. She reached out to him, circled her arms around his middle and pulled herself close to him, pressing her cheek into his shoulder as she hugged him tightly. A rush of endorphins and reassurance came over Cas as his arms found their way around her and held her there to his chest. His eyes fell closed without prompt and he savored her there against him like that. On the Paris streets nearby, traffic noise continued. Alex pulled away after a moment, but not much, only enough to look up into his face. The questions and upsets that had been present in her demeanor seemed to have blown away like clouds and Cas was stilled by the thought of how fragile emotions and relationships could be. She'd been unsure and shaken only a moment ago, now was hopeful and warm towards him again.

He wanted to be clear with her on something just in case she was still doubtful though. "I do trust you," he said quietly, shame coloring his tone. How could he ever do anything but? He held her gaze, searching the depths. "With everything." Her lips parted a little—surprise. Why was she always surprised when he told her the things he carried inside? Perhaps love was never-ending discovery and epiphany… after all, he was always surprised at how there was no end or bottom to the feelings he associated with her. Fond, he deferred to her for direction. "Where would you like to go?" he asked, eager to hear her answer.

She shook her head, eyes bright and smile making them crinkle a little. "I don't care. Anywhere."

Cas wracked his brain for something she would like. He would show her the entire world someday, see her drink in every wonder small and large alike, but for now, he needed to choose just one thing. "The pyramids?" They were great feats of man-made innovation. No, she would like some wonder found in nature better. "The Cliffs of Dover?" he asked, then realized maybe those weren't right for a date. Didn't people go dine while courting? "Some restaurant, perhaps?" He remembered with a growing smile and slight excitement a restaurant he had personal familiarity with. "We could go to The Waffle House." He _then_ remembered how food cost money and he deflated slightly. "…I just realized I have no money."

A little smirk on her lips, Alex whipped out two pieces of paper money and made them snap twice as she showed them to him. "If they have Waffle Houses in Paris, we could eat there for a _month_ on this," she said, a certain note of playfulness to her voice.

Cas however had just thought of something else. Something better than the pyramids or the Cliffs of Dover or Waffle House. Something his Alex would love and delight in. He felt himself beginning to smile. "…I just had a better idea." He held his hand out to her. Intrigue played on her face and questions of _where? What?_ were in her eyes, but she didn't ask. She just put her hand into his and he spirited them away through space and time both.

* * *

**Troms** **ø** **, Norway**

Paris was gone in the blink of an eye and instead of sunny warm city life, they were suddenly plunged into frigid darkness, the dead of night. What the…? Alex shivered automatically, eyes adjusting weakly at first. She didn't let go of Cas's hand. They were standing on a mildly sloping snowy ridge in what looked like the dead of night and wintery wind blew in whistles across a landscape devoid of civilization. Alex could see snowy mountain fjords cutting across the horizon opposite of them and down below them laid a vast, slow moving river with… her eyes continued to adjust… faintly glowing green water.

_Glowing green water?_

It looked like a _reflection_ and Alex looked up, suddenly realizing what she was looking at—she took in a sharp breath, suddenly euphoric at the sight of the sky above. In the star-spackled black velvet the great northern lights twined through space magically like misty ribbons. Green at the moment, they were breathtaking, spanning over the entire sky, so vivid and surreal that it didn't look like it could be anything less than special effects. Thin pillowy cloud cover smudged the sky here and there and they reflected soft yellows and limes, adding to the majesty of the scene.

"Wow… holy _crap_ …" Alex exhaled. Her breath made little puffs in the crisp air. And then it got even better. Like a time-lapse, the lazy movement of the lights began to speed up and rush across the sky, vivid purple hazes snaking through the green tinged hot pink at the edges sometimes. Alex gaped, held onto Cas, stepping closer without realizing it. "How are you doing this?" she whispered, wonderstruck. She tore her gaze away from the sky and he was almost _smirking_ at her question, like he thought it was cute. "Oh yeah… angel," she said, grinning. Her nose was quickly growing numb and her jeans, shirt, and jacket weren't warm enough to stand this for long but the exhilarating display was too good to miss. She curled in towards Cas in pursuit of warmth, teeth chattering as she looked upward again; she was entranced but freezing—how was it so _cold_? It was July. "It's so cold," she said, and there was a mystified quality to her voice.

Cas put his arms around her, brought her against himself snuggly. He was warm, not shivering, and it made her less cold immediately. "The aurora borealis is only visible in the winter months," he explained. "This is sometime in January."

Wait… Alex looked up at the side of his face from where she huddled against him. "Jeez Cas— _time travel_?" she asked, taken aback.

He looked down at her and his eyes caught some of the northern lights off the water below. "I wanted you to see this," he said modestly in that plain but childlike way he had. He seemed timid almost, seeking her approval. "I thought you might like it."

He thought wrong. "I _love_ it," she corrected with a grin and looked upward where the green and purples danced together as clouds shot forward in wind patterns. Time moved triple speed around them and Alex suddenly felt giddy, high, punch drunk on gulps of crisp cold air, the insane light show mother nature was putting on, the millions of vivid, sharp stars above, Cas's closeness. This was so much better than seeing pictures of it in a book or videos on the internet… the northern lights were so much more amazing than she'd imagined, taking up the whole _damn sky_ —it was one of those experiences that almost put tears into her eyes as it thoroughly reminded her of how good life could be, how unshakable some things were. She felt peace welling inside of her in response to the wonders above. "God—I've never seen anything more beautiful in my damn _life,_ " she murmured in a choked voice.

"Neither have I," his husky, warm voice said beside her ear. Alex looked at him oddly, because he wasn't even looking at the sky. He was looking at her.

She rolled her eyes self-consciously, grinning and groaning at the same time. He meant _her._ " _Ughhh_."

Cas looked torn between confusion and innocence and even slight playfulness, maybe. "I'm merely stating fact."

In moments like that, Alex could have completely forgotten all the bad stuff surrounding them. " _Stop,_ " she told him teasingly, sliding her arms into his trench coat to hug his waist as she grinned up at him. She was the happiest she'd been in a month, dizzy and silly on endorphins and freezing her ass off but loving it.

His confusion doubled. "Stop?"

"Being so damn cute!" she said, chuckling now.

She wasn't sure if he were playing along or actually clueless. "…How do I stop being so damn cute?"

Breaking into laughter, Alex shoved him playfully. "Not like _that_!" He seemed confused as to her actions but had a hesitant smile on his face because _she_ was laughing. And on a whim, Alex bent and scooped up a handful of snow and packed it into a snowball with a single cuff of the hand then tossed it at him. It hit his lapel and broke back into powder. He looked down in confusion and she threw another, boisterous. It hit the top of his head, scattering snow throughout his dark hair. Cracking up, Alex watched him.

Mystified, Castiel looked up at her questioningly. "…Why are you throwing snow at me?" He seemed to withhold judgement until he knew if it were a good thing or not.

Alex fixed him with a coquettish gaze. "Why aren't _you_ throwing it _back_?" she challenged.

Cas's handsome brow furrowed deeply. He looked at the snow, at her, then his hand. "…You want me to launch frozen ice crystals at you?"

Alex was prepping another snowball in icy hands and giving him a friendly _you're dead_ look as she did. Surely he had seen this happen before in all his years watching humans. "It's called a _snowball fight_ Cas, and you're _losing_ right now."

He opened his mouth to protest and was promptly hit in the shoulder with another ball of snow. Alex gave him a challenging look, a big cheeky grin, and indicated the snow at his feet encouragingly. He hesitated. _Really?_ His expression seemed to ask. Oh yes— _really._ With extreme reluctance Cas bent and picked up some snow, awkwardly packed it into a pancake (not a ball) then looked at her, waited, then very gingerly tossed it at her, looking like he'd rather eat dirt. The snow hit the top and side of her thigh with no force or speed at all.

"…that all you got?" Alex asked, unimpressed and totally amused. She waggled her eyebrows daringly. Cas, still not sure about it, making a face the entire time grudgingly did it again, made a snow-pancake and tossed it at her with no gusto, seeming to be vastly unsure of the point of all of it— _so damn cute_. Alex sidestepped the snowball easily and made a faux-surprised face, egging him on teasingly even as she hurled another snowball at him without mercy like a baseball (she had after all grown up with two wild brothers… roughhousing was standard, a way to show love even).

If nothing else, Castiel was at least becoming hesitantly amused at her antics. "This is a a strange custom," he observed, clearly thinking about smiling even though he was still perplexed. His comment inspired her to laugh boisterously… he was so wonderfully weird and forever bewildered and she loved that for whatever damn reason. "Is it some kind of dominance display?"

Alex threw her head back and laughed loudly. Leave it to Cas to psychoanalyze a snowball fight. Getting more intoxicated by euphoria by the second (and the champagne she'd had earlier didn't hurt either) Alex began to circle him clumsily, lobbing snow at him helter-skelter as he just turned and watched her, his trademark shy grin growing as she circled closer and closer, daring him to 'get her' as she showered him with sloppy snowball after snowball. The knee-high deep snowbank concealed an uneven portion of the ground below and Alex's shoe caught on it. She pitched forward, tripping toward him mid-snowball launch. Cas very abruptly caught hold of her, bear hugging her around the waist with one arm as the other curved around just under her butt—he lifted her up high, stopping her from throwing the snowball she had in her hand and keeping her from falling at the same time.

She had shrieked in laughter when he grabbed her, but when he lifted her up and held her there with feet dangling above the ground, nothing seemed funny anymore. Her little snowy weapon forgotten, she stared at him breathlessly, forearms resting on his shoulders, her face suddenly directly above his, close enough that his warm breath hit her face when he breathed out. His eyes stayed on hers and the moment became more intense automatically—he was obviously more interested in something other than throwing snow at her. The snowball in Alex's hand dropped away as she took hold of him by the back of the head with both hands and pulled his face to hers for a kiss that seemed long overdue.

Even though her skin was cold and everything was beginning to feel numb and dead, his kiss made her feel warm inside, made her shiver in a way that wasn't from being cold—his strong, familiar arms tightened around her in a way that felt protective and secure, he kissed her with notes of relief, tenderness, and love alike. Abrupt snow flurries, maybe from the sky or just loosely swept up from the snowbanks, danced in the wind around them, kissing bare skin and catching in hair.

Entranced with each other as they came apart, Cas slowly set her down to stand on her feet again but didn't let go of her. They were both speechless for a moment, gaze holding. "You're every kind of magic I've ever heard of," Alex breathed out before she could stop herself.

It was just what she felt because _think about it:_ He was standing with her on a mountain a million miles from anywhere, the northern lights were on fire above their heads and he had taken her through time itself to show her that… but the things he could _do_ weren't where she saw the true wonder and magic. She saw miracles and marvels in his heart, his spirit, those eyes and the way they gazed upon her. His arms were still around her and she didn't want to let go—in fact, she hugged him suddenly, her chest tightening out of anticipated misery for the moment when he would inevitably have to leave again. She buried her face in him and her nose grazed his tie. "I've missed you every second of every hour of every day," she confessed in a stark murmur into the shoulder of his trench coat—it felt sort of pathetic to say that but it was the truth. She held on tight, one of her cold hands sliding up and grasping the warm back of his neck. She shivered and sniffed—it was cold as _balls_ out here.

Cas reached up and took that hand of hers in his, pulled it to rest between them as he held it. "It won't be much longer," he promised heavily, but she heard a wavering doubt and worry there. What if this took years? Could they really survive on stolen moments like this? It was like slowly starving to death. His hand turned hers over in his, rubbed her numbing skin lightly. She was distracted out of her thoughts. His tenderness always caught her off guard anew because sometimes she forgot that Cas was more than the stoic and awkward angel who wasn't sure how to even use a fork. She was privileged to know this side of him. Like right now. "Your hands are so cold," he said in mild surprise, voice just a murmur even as he raised her hand to his lips, kissed the icy space of her fingertips with warm lips: first the outsides, then the insides.

Pulling back to look at at his face as he sent sparks flying with those soft lips, Alex's eyes drank in the sight of his furrowed brow, his hand holding hers, his lips pressing a kiss to her fingertips so reverently and sweetly. It was funny… he was being so tender and innocent yet she was suddenly taken by the urge to do things to him that were unholy and carnal. Forget a date or more world traveling. She didn't want anything but them, alone, together, under sheets and as close as two people could get. "Take me home, Cas," she told him quietly, her voice thick and low and giving away her thoughts. His eyes swept up to hers, interest flaring in his eyes at the tone she used.

He did as she said and they were in the attic, in the current time again—July, afternoon. Outside, the lazy rain and thunder still gave concert.

Still holding each other, clothes steeped in arctic chill, hair full of a melting lace of snow, Alex kissed Cas again, one thing on her mind. She didn't bother being coy or initiating it slowly—the things she wanted to ask and talk to him about could wait—she crushed herself to him even as she let her mouth suck lightly on his lower lip mid-kiss. Cas, a little surprised at the forwardness, was left to keep up with her as she walked him backward, kissing his neck now and clutching at him, pushing his coat and pulling his tie sort of ineffectively (her numb hands felt very little).

As soon as they were close enough to the bed she pushed him down quite forcefully (and he allowed it, obviously). He laid on the bed with his feet still on the floor, his hands on either side of her waist and she paused for a moment to let herself just look at him—her hands braced against his shoulders. He looked up at her in rapt attention. "You seem very eager," he observed almost coyly.

She was, and she got slightly embarrassed at herself and how he just _looked_ at her. "I've missed you," she explained, three words that were the truest thing she knew. Her embarrassment faded when understanding showed in his eyes, then sudden hunger that matched her own. He pulled her down over him, craning upward to meet her with a kiss that consumed her, startled her with the passion behind it. He had missed her too.

In rising frenzy, Cas grabbed hold of her and pulled her against himself so that her legs came onto the bed on either side of his. In a single deft movement he flipped them over and pressed her down onto her back, his hand caressing the side of her face as his mouth conquered hers in the sweetest war ever waged. His hand traced lower, sneaking up her shirt to press against her abdomen then ribcage. His hand felt so good against her chilled and stinging skin… he paused, drawing back from the kiss, concerned. "You're so cold," he said.

She thought about flirtatiously saying "you can warm me up" but really, she thought she was at the sappy pun limit for the day. So instead she just pulled him closer and kissed him deeply, encouraging him to forget it and just continue. He did, breathing her in and stoking her internal fire expertly with every little wandering touch and soft sound his warm, sweet mouth let loose into hers.

One of his hands traced down, closer and closer to the zip of her jeans then suddenly swept down to cup her between the legs—a soft, strangled gasp of approval escaped her mouth. "You're not cold _here,_ " he murmured almost teasingly at his discovery of her already-blazing arousal.

"Shut _up_ ," she moaned, grinning as her eyes shut and he pressed another kiss into the side of her neck. Then his hand moved over her and her face screwed up into a silent cry of _yes_ as she clung to him tightly. He invaded her every sense and overloaded her pleasure circuits as he kept touching her and then looked down at her with dark, watchful eyes to see her reaction to what he did. Two could play at that game and Alex abruptly slid a hand down his body to touch him too. His face contorted at the softest graze of her fingers there, then he lost composure completely when she gripped firmly through his slacks. The most delicious groan broke from his lips, inciting further heat between them both and his mouth came to hers again, demanding and giving all at once as one hand cradled her face and the other one fumbled with her zipper—he _might_ have been having problems concentrating because of how she was touching him over his pants— _oops._

And then, he abruptly stopped everything and made a sound of frustration that was not sexual. Even before he said it, she could tell that he had just been called away. _No…_ she thought, devastated already, hoping she had it wrong. Cas looked at her regretfully, his lips soft and flushed from kissing her. "They're calling me."

 _Dammit dammit dammit_ was all she could think but willed herself to rise about disappointment. She nodded, accepting it even though she didn't want to. She grabbed the hand he had on her face and pressed a kiss into the palm, a silent promise and I love you. Apologies swam in his eyes and she wore a brave face even though she worried about him already and was irritated at the shortness of the time they'd had together. She held onto his hand tight for the moment, focusing on him and nothing else. "Be careful," she begged him, hating this so much. All of it.

Cas recognized her distress and his fingers gently traced against the side of her face. "This will not last forever, Alex," he said, speaking to both of their despair at their lot in life. "I won't let it."

She nodded, forced a little smile for him even though that was what she feared the most. "I know." She brushed a goodbye kiss up to his mouth, throat constricting as she did. When they came apart, his eyes killed her. She had to urge him to leave before she cried. " _Go,_ Cas."

And he did, leaving her laying on the bed with unbuttoned jeans and an emptiness that wasn't physical.

* * *

**Two Weeks Later  
Sioux Falls, South Dakota**

A gunshot cracked the air and Bobby lowered his smoking pistol, squinting into the distance. He'd missed and he gave a sigh, glancing at Alex. "Twenty bucks if _you_ can do it," he said crankily, taking a pull straight out of the whiskey bottle that he'd set onto the junker they stood beside.

"In my _sleep_ ," Alex returned cockily, sticking her cigarette back into her mouth and letting it hang out the corner as she took aim with her pistol for the empty can of creamed corn sitting on top of an old semi-truck hood. The pistol sounded and kicked and the empty can went flying as the bullet punched through. Swaggering almost, channeling her oldest brother unintentionally, Alex waggled her eyebrows at Bobby, took a drag of her cigarette, and blew smoke lazily, tucking her piece back into her jeans, acting like she was the most self-assured person in the universe.

Bobby shook his head, chagrinned and a little proud too. "I'll be damned kid, cleanin' me _out_. Must be those young eyes'a yours. I'm gettin' too old for this."

Alex, all show and good-natured pride in her work gave her uncle a sympathetic look as her cigarette perched between two fingers. "Bobby, we've talked about this," she said, for all appearances very earnest. And then came the teasing. "You will _never_ be too old for me to kick your ass at target practice."

The older man shot her a hooded, faintly amused look. "I remember when _I_ was the one with the better aim," he said fondly, accepting his defeat but trying to remind her that she hadn't always been better than him.

Feigning over-thoughtfulness, Alex tapped her chin. "When was that, again? I can't remember."

That earned her a mildly indignant look. "You watch it or you'll be sleepin' out here in the yard, kid," Bobby joked—she thought. He then chuckled, letting his serious face fall. He patted her shoulder with gruff affection then jerked his thumb back at the house, letting whatever soft and emotional stuff that had been present disappear in favor of his typical resigned demeanor. "I'm gonna go get a brew, want anything?"

Hmm. Did she want anything? _How about my brothers back and Castiel safe from harm and life back to normal again?_ Alex shook her head, squinting off into the salvage yard unseeingly. "Nah. I'm good."

Bobby's feet crunched away on the gravel and Alex flicked her cigarette away, eyeing it sidelong. Bad choice, yeah, but she was going stark raving looney here lately and the nicotine soothed her shot nerves. Dean hadn't called in a few days, was just texting still, no word from Cas, and Alex was getting _ridiculously_ sick of books. Bobby kept trying to convince her to be patient but that was a losing battle. She couldn't sit around like this much longer fruitlessly or she'd go nuts.

Well, the target practice had been fun while it lasted, she guessed, turning to follow Bobby back in. In her pocket, her phone suddenly went off and she pulled it out, stopped walking, the words on the screen startling her.

_Dean Calling._

Wow, he was actually _calling?_ Was something wrong? She picked up, anticipating his familiar rumbling voice _._ "Hey you," she said, cautious because what if something bad had happened?

She could hear ambient car-noise on the other end. "Hey, is this my long-lost sister?" he asked in playful confusion, and the jest set her at ease. Everything was fine.

A grin broke her face and she played right back. "It _is—_ what, you finally remembered how to dial my number?"

He chuckled. "Wonders never cease, right? Guess where Sam and I are."

Stumped, Alex said the first thing she thought of. "Uh… The Mall of America."

She could hear the smile on his voice. "Try one day's drive away from Bobby's and closing."

"And _closing_?!" she asked, suddenly insanely excited—was it over? Were they done catching Crowley monsters? She was gonna get to see her brothers again!? "Are you coming back like for good?!" She must have deafened him with her loud and jubilant exclamations.

"Whoa whoa, calm it down a little—" he said, obviously through a grin. He was laughing at her enthusiastic response, enjoying it. "It's just a visit, it's just a visit."

 _Dammit,_ she wanted it to have been for good _._ Oh well. She wasn't going to get down in the dumps that the big issue wasn't solved yet. She was elated at the news she'd just gotten, suddenly antsy and unable to imagine waiting a whole day for reunion. "I am gonna hug the _shit_ out of you, Dean Winchester," she told him in what could only be called a deeply fond threat.

There was an affectionate chuckle at the other end. "I'll hold you to that, Mouse."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my reader curlylapin for help with the French in this chapter!


	65. Calling All Angels

_"I need a hand to help build up some kind of hope inside of me."  
_ \- Train

* * *

Bobby Singer reclined in the study with a book as the hour approached seven in the evening. He glanced up skeptically as Alex banged around in the kitchen for what was the third or fourth hour now. _Lord don't let her burn the place down_. It smelled suspiciously _good_ in the house (only the faintest smell of burnt things was present which was a new one)… but Bobby was hesitant to believe it actually _was_ good after a couple months of trying the barely-edible things Alex had cobbled together. The girl was a pretty hopeless cook, but Bobby had just sucked it up and tried everything she made, supporting her strange and sudden interest in cooking. He even gave her one of Karen's pretty old gingham aprons when he realized she was serious. She was wearing the apron right now over her usual jeans and flannel and Bobby smiled, bittersweet. He sure did love that girl.

Yesterday she'd run into the house and looked like a kid on Christmas morning as she announced that her brothers were coming back and she needed to make things and go to the store to get stuff they liked—she'd been practically giddy and Bobby was pretty sure she hadn't slept at all last night. He didn't _know_ she ever got that excited and it was sorta odd, to be honest. She was usually one to project an inscrutable exterior, she was usually cautious to trust or be enthusiastic about anything. Bobby understood that. He was cut from the same cloth after all… coming from a life of disappointments and pains just did that to a person, making them inclined to take everything with a pound of salt. Well. _This_ was a whole new ball of yarn, Alex bustling around the house like a mother hen in preparation for her brothers' homecoming. There was an uncharacteristic spring in her step and a palatable anticipation as she constantly glanced at the clock and chewed her lip in between her other moments of all-out destroying the kitchen.

The place was a mess—pots and pans and mixing bowls everywhere, flour exploded onto the counter and down the side of a cabinet, apple peelings in a pile, used measuring cups and spoons haphazardly scattered on every available surface. An empty box of chopped frozen spinach was next to a container of sour cream with a spoon in it, mayonnaise was knocked onto its side and oozing out beside the stove, a jar that used to have artichoke hearts in it was now the soaking spot for used spatulas and spoons. For the past few hours Alex had been stressing herself out over making her brothers' favorite treats—apple pie (Dean) and spinach artichoke dip with some sorta froofy pita bread things (Sam). There were a lot of frustrated sounds and muttered swear words as Alex kept having to look up the terms in the cookbook she was using and get detailed instructions about what certain terms meant. It looked like she was finally reaching a stopping point though after her hours of labor. The pie was on top of the stove and cooling (it was lopsided and half the crust was burned on one side) and she bent to pull the dip out of the oven then muttered something cranky at it that ended in "you son of a bitch," before she set it down loudly next to the pie and turned the oven off. She stood back, dusted off her hands, and observed the mess she'd made. She made a tired, deflated sound like _whew_.

Red-faced, she turned around to look at Bobby. Her hair was in a thoughtless ponytail and frazzled wisps stuck out all around her hairline, flour and pieces of all kinds of food splattered her apron. "Holy _shit_ cooking is hard," she said, rubbing her forehead with the heel of her hand. "How do people _do_ this every single day? I'm _exhausted_." Just after she said that, like a squirrel, she suddenly went prone and tall as if she heard something—a smile suddenly popped onto her face and made her look young and childlike—and she tore out of the house without further ado. What, were the boys here or something?

Bobby looked out the window to see what she'd heard with those spry young ears of hers—sure enough, there was the Impala rolling to a stop and two familiar boys within. Dean was already getting out of the car and his face cracked a huge grin at the sight of his sister and it was the kind of smile that was Bobby hadn't seen on that face in a long, long time. Alex ran to her oldest brother and jumped on him, knocking him back a little as she locked arms around his neck. He lifted her off the ground into a tight bear hug and spin them around once, laughing. Bobby smiled to himself. It did him good to see them like that. The second the siblings drew apart, Alex punched her brother in the shoulder jokingly then ducked his attempt to ruffle her hair. She appeared to chide him playfully with a wagging finger and he made an innocent face, holding his hands up as if he were telling her something wasn't his fault. He indicated her apron with a mystified, amused expression then asked her something. She smacked him in the chest, scolding him through a grin and he smiled bigger. She hugged him again, this time with her arms around his middle, head tucked under his chin. He kissed the top of her head, patting her back and ruffling her hair for real that time when they pulled apart, messing it up good on top and then obviously enjoyed the way she batted him away.

Sam got out of the car leisurely and glanced their way without any flicker of interest or emotion—then said something short before heading into the house.

Dean and Alex both sobered and stood side by side, exchanging a tense glance. Bobby felt bad for them automatically. The previous happiness was gone from their faces. It was a damn shame what had happened to the middle Winchester. It was like Sam didn't even really _exist_ anymore. Alex and Dean began talking intently, it looked like she was questioning him in concern and Dean was shaking his head, shrugging with a pensive look on his face, glancing at Sam's retreating form. Alex nodded with an anxious expression and grasped his shoulder as if to reassure him. Dean apparently changed the subject or told her to forget it and smiled through his pain, gesturing toward the back of the car, probably wanting to bring some things in.

The door opened to the house then slammed shut. "Hey Bobby," Sam greeted automatically in passing and walked straight through the house, probably heading for the bathroom. Point proven. That wasn't the Sam that Bobby knew and loved. There was a moment of silence and Bobby listened to Sam's heavy footsteps fading then the sound of the bathroom door opening. Honestly, this version of Sam made him sad as hell while giving him the creeps. There was just something _wrong_ about him. Not sinister, but not quite safe either.

The door opened again, slamming and alerting Bobby to the fact that the other two Winchesters were inside now. "What's that _smell_?" Dean's deep voice asked from somewhere that Bobby couldn't see. "You burning a candle?"

"I made pie!" Alex said, sounding very pleased at her announcement.

They came into view, Dean's arm slung across Alex's shoulders as he stopped them between the study and the kitchen and looked at her in playful disbelief. " _You_ made _pie_."

" _Yes_ _…_ " she said emphatically, ducking out of his embrace and darting across the kitchen. She picked up the pie and showed it off with a proud expression, her grin big enough to split her face. "Even the crust!"

Dean chuckled, sounded both impressed and puckish. "I can see that!" he teased, because the pie was very messily put together, the crust wasn't evenly distributed in the pan, half of it was overly browned. It was easy to tell how the apple pieces she'd cut up were all kinds of different mismatched sizes underneath unevenly-spaced and crooked lattice.

Alex gave her brother a halfway serious challenging look at his teasing. "Don't sass me. I'll cut you." She put the pie down onto the kitchen table with a pleased grin.

"It's great, Al," Dean said, speaking genuinely now, setting down the grocery bag he'd been carrying. He clapped her on the shoulder and she seemed thrilled with the praise. "Didn't know you had it in you." He turned and looked over and saw Bobby and grinned, heading his way. Bobby stood up, a fond smile spreading across his face as he met the man he viewed as a son halfway. The two men embraced briefly in the study and then clapped each other on the shoulder. "You're a sight for sore eyes, Bobby," Dean said when they pulled back, and Bobby saw a certain level of relief there in the kid's bright green eyes.

"How you holdin' up?" he asked, scrutinizing the younger man's face for signs of well-being. Couldn't be easy living with soulless Sam.

Dean's expression hid more somber things and he shook his head slightly, ducking the question more or less. "More on that later," he said in a tone that suggested he wasn't doing so good. He shrugged his jacket off, clearly trying to do something to dodge Bobby's inquiring gaze.

"What are these for?" Alex asked from the kitchen, giving a distraction that Dean jumped on. She was poking through the bag her brother had brought in. She pulled out a clear plastic container of grocery-store cupcakes with white icing and confetti sprinkles plus a package of little cake candles.

"Late birthday thing," Dean said, sounding mildly sheepish. " _Super_ late birthday thing." He held his hands out plaintively. "I never stopped feeling bad about it, so…"

Alex was touched, like she was thinking _aww_ and _you shouldn't have_ at the same time.

Sam reappeared sans-jacket in a v-neck shirt. He saw the cupcakes. "Hey," he said, seemingly both to Alex and Bobby before he looked at Dean. "So, what, you wanna do the candle thing now or what?" He seemed both disinterested and assertive, an odd combination.

"Uh, sure," Dean said, clearly trying to stay outwardly positive and act like there was no problem despite his clear inward defeat at Sam's cold demeanor.

Sam glanced over at the stove where the pie was and walked that way to look it over. "Made Dean's favorite, huh? Looks burnt."

Alex ignored the blunt, useless comment and soldiered forward, trying to sound positive. "I made you your favorite thing too, Sam." She showed him the pan of green and cream colored swirly stuff. "Spinach artichoke dip…?" She looked hopeful but was obviously trying _not_ to look that way.

Sam barely glanced at it. "I don't really eat that anymore," he said, and losing interest he went and sat at the kitchen table.

Alex's face flickered and her jaw tightened just slightly. "Oh." A single word that carried vast and heavy disappointment.

Dean, ever watchful, didn't seem to like that. "I do!" He said and grabbed a very unevenly cut, overly-toasted pita bread wedge that Alex had made. He scooped it into the dip, acting extremely excited about it. "I eat it. _Love_ this stuff." The pita crunched loudly ( _too_ loudly, must have been burned to a crisp).

Alex was making a bit of a suspicious face at her brother. "…Since when?"

"Mmm," Dean said, but his nostrils were flared and he was clearly struggling with the taste. "So much spinach," he commented through a mouthful, grimacing. He redoubled his efforts to look like he was enjoying it, but it was painful to watch. Still, he complimented the food he obviously had no taste for. "This is the best ever."

" _Stop,_ " Alex said affectionately and took the rest of the pita out of his hand, tossing it toward the trash can. "You hate this stuff and you always have." But she was clearly cheered up by his attempt to make it better.

Bobby, trying not to impose much, grabbed a few brews from the fridge and passed them out—one for Dean, one for Sam, one for Alex, one for him. He leaned back against the counter and watched as Dean took two cupcakes out of the plastic clamshell container then plunked a candle into each confection with great focus. "One for the gigantic one," he muttered, pushing one over to where Sam sat. Alex was sitting down across from Sam and Dean pushed the other cupcake her way. "And one for the cute one."

Pleased and embarrassed at the same time Alex crossed her arms and looked up at Dean as a smile played awkwardly at the corners of her mouth. "If you sing to us, I swear to god…" she warned. However it didn't sound like she'd hate it _that_ much.

Dean chuckled. "Don't worry, don't worry," he said, then held out a finger, silently saying _wait a minute_. "But I _do_ have a little something for you." He reached into his back pocket, pulled out a sleek red and silver object and held it out to her with an almost lecturing expression. "New Swiss army knife since you're always losing 'em."

Alex accepted the knife, shaking her head ruefully through a smile she pressed away. It was both a gift and a brotherly reminder to stop losing the knives. "Thanks Dina," she said, then looked at her twin hesitantly, thinking of something and sobering because of it. "I, uh, didn't get you anything Sam, sorry."

Sam shook his head, barely invested at all—in fact he had been looking off out the window, not paying attention. "No skin off my back."

His demeanor made the mood increasingly heavy but Dean ignored it forcibly, pulling out his lighter and lighting the candles. He pointed at his brother and sister at the same time, businesslike. "All right, twins, make wishes."

Sam stifled an eye-roll and put his candle out between two fingers and sat back in his chair, folding his arms as Alex looked at Dean like she was wondering if he really wanted her to make a wish. His expectant look and _go on now_ gesture of the hand made her give up. She squeezed her eyes shut very tightly then blew her candle out and pulled it up out of the cupcake. She sucked the icing off the end of the candle before throwing it into the trash can from across the room. "What'd you do for your birthday this year, Dean?" she asked as he finally took a seat at the head of the smallish table. She picked her cupcake up and started peeling off the wrapper.

Dean glanced up in surprise then shrugged it off, scratching the back of his head as he pulled the pie she'd made closer for inspection. He didn't really want to think about that, because it reminded him of what he'd lost—Lisa and Ben. It still hurt, two months later, to be rejected like that. "Ah, had a few friends over at Lisa's, some dinner and games. Nothing too crazy." He paused, recalling. "Lisa bought me this weirdo thing called tears of mizu or something."

Sam smirked, eyes glinting. " _Tiramisu_ , Dean?"

Dean glanced over at his brother—everything Sam said and did these days irked his every last damn nerve. "Yeah, that." He crossed his arms, turning his attention back to his sister. "Didn't like it that much." It had been too fancy-schmancy and not sweet enough, too much weird cream custard stuff. What Dean liked best were sugary gobs of gooey fruit encased by buttery, fluffy pastry. _Pie_.

"Hm," Alex said, then plucked the candle out of Sam's cupcake and stuck it down into the middle of the apple pie then lit the candle with her lighter and spread her hands, surprising Dean. "Happy even more belated birthday to you, biggest brother," she said impishly, knowing that he always requested birthday pie in the past. "Your turn. Make a wish."

Dean looked at the pie, thinking back to Lisa's picture-perfect tiramisu thing that he hadn't liked. This ugly-ass pie that his sister had made just for him was the most perfect thing he'd ever seen and it made him emotional all of the sudden and he cleared his throat, covered his emotions, then blew the candle out in a single short puff. "I wish…" he said with great airs and a gruff voice, "that you wouldn't stick candles in this beautiful pie."

Alex wrinkled her nose at him, seeming to question his sanity. "You need glasses if you think that thing is beautiful," she said and passed the pie server his way. "Tell me how it is. Never made one before, so, uh…" She smiled nervously.

Three slices were made—one for Bobby, Dean, and Sam. Bobby poked at his suspiciously where he leaned against the counter. Sam and Dean both took bites at the same time as Alex nibbled at her cupcake and watched the boys with hidden anxiety—she clearly wanted them to like what she'd made.

Sam's face pinched in distaste. "This is—" he started.

" _So good_ ," Dean cut in loudly, sending a quick glare his brother's way before plastering a smile across his face in his sister's direction. "Fantastic. _Mmmm_."

Sam's expression seemed to question if Dean had lost his mind. The washing machine buzzer sounded over a couple rooms over and Alex responded sort of like a hound who'd just heard a fox—she sat up straight, abandoning her half-eaten cupcake and sticking an icing covered finger into her mouth. She threw a "be right back" over her shoulder as she hurried to answer the call of laundry.

The second she was out of earshot, Dean spit out his bite of pie with a sound like _puh_. "Holy shit, what'd she put _in_ there?" he asked in an almost whisper, dumbfounded because the pie _looked_ like pie, but it tasted bitter—not unbearably bad, but the crust was grainy and the filling part was sort of sour-ish.

"How about what she _didn't_ put in?" Sam asked, amused now, seeming to feel superior. "Sugar, I think."

"Hey, this is a lot better than the other stuff she's been making," Bobby said, sampling a forkful and seeming to find it surprisingly good.

Dean looked at Bobby with raised eyebrows. "Other stuff?" He asked, cluing in to what Bobby was saying. "You mean she's been cooking food for you regular or something?"

"Food's... _one_ word for it," Bobby said, a smile playing underneath his whiskers. "I'm tellin' you boys, it's freaky. Cooking, baking, cleaning… even folds her _laundry_."

Dean's eyebrows crawled further up his forehead. "Folds _laundry_?" he asked, then he cracked a grin because that was _weird._ "We sure that's Alex? You tested her?" He joked—Alex must be way more bored than she was letting on to resort to trying to cook and bake and fold laundry. "Invasion of the body snatchers, huh?"

"You boys are in for some interesting meals, that's for sure," Bobby said, then set his pie down. "How long you two figure on staying, anyway?"

The wrinkles around Dean's eyes softened as his smile fell. He didn't want to think about that, but he guessed he had to, huh? "A day or two. Not much longer. Gotta get back to work. Sooner we're done the better." Waking up every day and knowing he was working for the King of Hell was killing Dean Winchester. _Killing_ him. The current life he was living was basically Hell all over again: being with Sam who never slept, who had no empathy or love left in him. Sam who only had the drive to work and get jobs done. It was lonely and strange living with the brother he loved more than anything… because when he looked at Sam, Dean saw nothing left that made Sam _Sam_. It was hard not to get discouraged and feel like Sam was gone for good. It hurt, a constant dull ache that drove Dean to drink and wallow and feel the panic of helplessness. The only consolation was that Alex was safe and sound with Bobby. Dean was able to keep going and trying and fighting to get Sam back when he thought about her. He had to put the family back together. Had to.

Bobby looked up at the place behind Dean, a slightly startled look on his face. Dean noticed and turned, followed his gaze. Standing there with a stern look on his face was Cas. "Hello Dean, Sam, Bobby," the angel greeted, seeming to find their presence as surprising as they found his.

"What, you just pop in whenever you feel like it?" Dean asked, immediately a little cranky at Trench Coat's appearance. He hadn't laid eyes on Cas in a couple months but seeing him again his first thought was this: _oh look, it's the dude who's screwing my_ _sister. Ugh._ He should have known Captain Weirdo would show up. Dean wondered in suspicion how often he visited. It sounded like not a whole lot from the phone conversations he'd had with his sister but maybe she was hiding the facts from him. She always avoided the subject of Cas, like she was embarrassed by it. She definitely didn't like talking to Dean about the angel. He still didn't quite get it: What did Alex _see_ in this guy?

Cas's mildly concerned gaze was sweeping the kitchen and not finding what he was looking for. "Where is Alex?" he asked predictably, even as she suddenly rounded the corner with a laundry basket in her hands and came to a startled stop at the sight of his back.

"Behind you," Sam supplied blandly.

To Dean's surprise, when Cas turned around Alex dropped the laundry basket as a huge grin made her entire face smile—she threw her arms around him, hugging him with closed eyes and no hesitation, no care for who was watching. Dean felt even crankier. She looked just as happy to see feather-brain as she had been to see _him_. Dean inwardly critiqued Cas's awkward return hug as he sat back in his seat petulantly, watching them with a sullen stare. He'd made up his mind to be okay with them, but honestly, he still wasn't. His sister deserved the best and Cas was an oddity, a gamble, a risk.

"What're you doing here?" Alex asked Cas when she pulled away, slight concern tightening her features. Her hands remained on him, and his on her.

"I had some time and thought I'd visit," he told her. Dean noticed how his voice was much softer and relatable when he spoke to her. She smiled, seeming to find his visit extremely pleasing and for a second, they were off in la-la goo-goo land, staring at each other so sappily that Dean rolled his eyes and looked away. Cas looked back toward the kitchen, mild curiosity on his face as he took in the disaster area. "What happened to this kitchen?"

" _She_ did," Dean answered testily, shooting a side-eye at the angel and getting a _please, Dean, don't_ look from his sister.

"Have some pie, Cas," Sam said, getting a forkful out and extending the fork to Cas. "Alex made it."

Dean shot his brother a dark look. This version of Sam had a sort of cruel streak of humor. Cas accepted the fork unawares and took the bite of bitter pie. It was strange to see him eat—he did it so properly and hesitantly, his brow wrinkling in thought and perhaps distaste as he chewed with a furrowed brow. It was hard to tell what he thought of the food. Sam was watching closely, his eyes glittering as a little smirk curled his lips upward. "So what do you think?" he asked. Alex looked pretty interested in the answer, too.

Cas hesitated, uncertain. "Is this supposed to taste so—"

"Delicious?" Dean asked loudly, giving Cas _a go with me on this one_ look. He prompted him again: " _Awesome?_ " He got that Al had spent a long time making this and working on it and didn't want her to be crestfallen or disappointed.

Cas hesitated again, looking at Dean with eyes narrowed into questioning slits. Dean's look intensified— _compliment the damn pie, Cas_ —and Cas's squint deepened as he tried to understand what Dean was trying to tell him non-verbally. Alex, cluing in to something being weird, was also starting to squint, and looked at Cas questioningly. "As Dean says," Cas said very uncertainly, looking at her with a peculiar expression. "The pie tastes very 'delicious' and 'awesome.'"

Dean nodded in agreement, a huge thin smile pasted onto his face. Cas, uncomfortable and looking very clueless, just stood there as Alex made a face, seeming to wonder what the hell was going on. "They're l _ying_ to you," Sam announced, his smirk becoming a rakish grin. Clearly, he was enjoying the scene unfolding before him and felt like he was above it. "It's horrible. They hate it."

"Hate's a strong word," Dean defended even as Alex grabbed the fork from Cas and took a bite of Sam's pie then immediately made a face and spit it back out.

"…Guys!" she admonished, her face twisted. "This is the grossest thing I have _ever_ eaten!" She smacked Dean in the back of the head.

" _Ow!_ " He complained indignantly, flinching way after the fact. "What was that for?!"

She didn't answer. She was staring off into blank space with a funny expression on her face. " _Sugar_. I forgot the freaking _sugar_ , dammit." She threw the fork at the table and grabbed a sack of sugar from the disastrous, war-torn kitchen counter. She carried it over even as she dug her hand in. "Here." She grabbed a handful of the granular substance and plopped a huge amount on top of Dean's slice, then more on top of Sam's slice and more on Bobby's slice too. Mountains of white now sat on top of the slices of pie.

"…Well that's _one_ way to do it," Bobby commented mildly, looking at the little sugar hill on his piece of pie.

Dean patted the sugar down with his fork and swirled the pie around in the sugar that fell off, took a bite of sugared pie and shrugged, seeming mildly impressed. "Hm. Not bad," he said. "It's unique, I'll give you that." He smiled up at Alex from where he sat. "And hey, if nothing else, this is the first time anyone's ever made a pie just for me. Can't complain about that." He began to work on polishing it off. Sam didn't touch his. Instead he sat there looking vaguely impatient, like he had somewhere to be.

Cas, who'd been watching curiously, saw the candles and the cupcakes on the table and seemed to put two and two together. "What are you celebrating?" He was curious in that stern way he had.

"The twins' belated birthday by like two months," Dean replied through a huge, rude mouthful of pie. At the look of slight _uh oh, oops_ on the angel's face, Dean took the opportunity to one-up Cas. "What, didn't you get her anything?" he asked smugly. "Not even flowers or a card?"

Cas's eyes squinted. "A… card?" It sounded like he'd never heard of such a thing.

Dean scoffed. He shoveled in another mouthful of pie. It wasn't that bad with sugar all over it. "Yeah. It's what you do for birthdays." He glanced at Alex, who was off a few steps and against the kitchen counter, reluctantly contemplating the mess she'd made. She was clearly distracted by the thought of cleaning up. "Real Romeo you got over here," Dean said to her as he crammed another huge mouthful in. He'd demolished the slice in just a few bites.

In response to his passive-aggressiveness, she looked up and smiled Cas's way, unfazed by the would-be insult. "I know."

Dean didn't like the way Cas was smiling back at Alex or how they seemed to be having a silent conversation with their eyes. They were like lovesick puppies. "Ugh… couple of saps," he grumbled in complaint, then stood up with his empty plate in hand and pointed at Cas roughly. "You—kitchen duty with me."

The smile on his face was replaced with confusion again as he looked at Dean with puzzlement. "Pardon?"

Dean gestured at the messy kitchen with gusto. "This place ain't gonna clean itself."

Alex protested and tried to help, but Dean wouldn't let her—he insisted she "take it easy" while he and Cas took "care of business." Bobby and Sam retired to the study where Sam was content to look through gathered news clippings for potential jobs as Bobby switched the TV on. Alex sat at the kitchen table, took off her apron, and finished her cupcake as Dean gruffly taught Cas how to do dishes. Cas complained about the slipperiness of soap and dropped and broke a couple of plates before Dean got exasperated and made him dry dishes instead of wash them.

After a few minutes, Dean hollered for Sam to "get your ass in here and make yourself useful." Sam was put to work cleaning the stovetop and then sweeping—he did it with precision and calculation, keeping his head down and saying nothing. Alex tried to help _again_ and Dean again told her to let them do it. So she sat there and watched her family cleaning the kitchen together and for a minute she imagined that Sam was himself, that Dean wasn't working for Crowley, that Cas wasn't tied down to a war in Heaven. She imagined that this was a regular occasion, them getting together and eating and Dean and Cas arguing in mostly good nature about dish drying techniques. Cas kept doing it angel-style (magically) and Dean kept insisting that it was cheating. "Use the damn rag!" Really, he was just _jealous_ Alex thought, jealous that he didn't have superpowers. Either way… this was her favorite day in a long time. It felt so good to have all the ones she loved nearby.

Cas kept glancing back at her over his shoulder as he helped Dean, his eyes telling her that he was happy to see her but that he was also yearning for time with just her... but she kinda got the feeling that alone time wasn't in the cards for them today. Not with Dean and Sam here and wanting to visit. Well, Dean anyway. Sam couldn't have cared less and it was obvious. She gave a charged sigh and took a pull of beer, meeting another one of Cas's indescribable glances. Dean was currently rambling, telling them about the past two months. He'd been doing so on and off for about fifteen minutes as they cleaned the kitchen.

He suddenly paused his monologue. "Cas, quit screwin' around, wipe that side down," he instructed, apparently getting tired of the constant lulls in accomplishment Cas kept having. Dean even shot Alex a look that seemed to say _quit distracting him, will you_? Dean returned to telling them about the past couple months. "Anyway, and _then_ we caught this Lamia Alpha, _that_ was freakin' nuts, lemme tell ya… slippery bastard, almost didn't trap him at all." Dean crouched and wiped down the cabinet covered in flour as he looked up at Castiel. "What about you, Cas? How's the attic situation going?" Cas faltered and Alex felt like _oh no, he thinks Dean means_ our _attic_ —but when the confusion was apparent, Dean clarified. "The war upstairs."

Cas's gaze flickered to Alex for a brief second. "Oh. Of course. That attic." He regrouped. "It is very trying. Mentally and otherwise. Thank you for your concern, Dean. I appreciate it."

"Hey, what're friends for?" Dean replied somewhat automatically, tossing his dishrag into the sink. He missed the touched look on Cas's face at the word 'friends'. "Hey Al, wanna play chess?" Dean asked out of the blue, dusting off his hands. Alex looked at her brother uncertainly—chess? He grinned at her, adopting that devil-may-care attitude he hadn't really possessed in years.

"What, you feel like losing at something tonight?" she joked.

He grinned even bigger. "You're getting it backwards… _I'm_ the chess champ around these parts."

" _Sure_ you are," she retorted and pushed back in her chair to stand up. "I'll go find the set." Bobby had one in a closet somewhere. She headed down the hallway then heard Dean pull Cas aside.

"Got my eye on you, buddy," he said in a low, friendly-but-warning voice she wasn't supposed to have heard. Alex paused and shook her head, rueful. _Oh Dean, you never change, do you?_ She was poised to turn around and go back in there and tell Dean to back off. But she waited a second to see what Cas's reaction was.

Cas sounded unsure about what 'got my eye on you' even meant but replied in that endearing way he had: with gravelly uncertainty and stoic tones. "Uh… all right. 'Buddy.'"

Dean could be heard giving a heavy huff of air in response. Alex could visualize him pinching the bridge of his nose and shaking his head. Smiling a little to herself, Alex carried on further down the hallway in search of the old chess set.

The next hour plus was spent playing chess in the study. Sam didn't participate, he just vegged out on his laptop and ignored everyone. Bobby did join in, playing a couple rounds of chess and putting his two cents into the conversation here and there as he studied another volume afterward. Whiskey and beer were consumed in copious quantities (mostly by Dean) and Alex taught Cas the rules of chess. He took to it immediately, understanding the logic of it better than them and once he grasped the rules he became an instant champion—his penchant for being able to apparently calculate every possible outcome made him unbeatable. First he beat Alex, then he beat Bobby, then he beat Dean. He seemed pleased with himself and the constant weight of the war lifted from his shoulders as he very smugly (for Cas) claimed victory over Dean _three times over_. It was funny… the two of them actually got along when Dean wasn't reminding himself to be unhappy about Cas's interest in Alex.

Alex sat off with a beer in hand, feeling a pleasant buzz and happy feelings as she watched her brother and husband playing chess together. Guilt seeped in briefly as she thought of how Dean and Bobby and Sam didn't _know_. Cas looked up at that moment after announcing "checkmate, Dean." His eyes were soft on hers and made her abruptly long for privacy and quiet and his limbs tangled with hers. It had been two weeks since she'd seen or heard from him and she missed him in every possible way.

Whatever movie was playing droned on in the background and the woman was asking her lover to "talk dirty to me, baby." Alex blushed a little thanks to the alcohol and the sudden curiosity of what Cas's deep husky voice would sound like saying dirty things in her ear. She'd have to ask him to try that sometime… their eyes were locked currently and her lips lifted just slightly into a secretive smile. Mirroring her, his lips lifted at the corners just faintly and his eyes held a question in them.

Dean had been imposing himself and very immaturely wedging himself between Alex and Cas all night—they hadn't had a single moment alone. Alex wondered if she could get some alone time with Cas right _now_ —the looks he'd been giving her this whole time suggested he was wondering the same thing. Alex glanced at Dean— _okay, how to_ get _the alone time with Cas though_? Announcing "Cas and I are going to go have some alone time" would inspire her oldest brother to try and sabotage it or act a fool… and Alex would rather keep the peace, not rock the boat. She needed to figure out a discreet way to make this happen.

Dean was currently grumbling about losing to Cas and got up, headed to the kitchen for more whiskey. Realizing this could be their opportunity, Alex quickly picked up a sticky note from the desk she sat beside and scrawled _5 Minutes - Meet Me In The Attic_ and pulled the note off, palmed it, got up and sat across from Cas. She fiddled with the chess pieces with one hand and passed him the sticky underneath the card table with the other. Sam didn't notice, Bobby wasn't looking, and Dean had his head in the liquor cabinet.

Cas took the note and read it discreetly, looking at her and understood much quicker than she had expected. Even as he closed his fist around the note, he sat straighter and spoke loudly so that everyone would hear him. "I have to leave now," he said, but he looked at Alex as he said it with a gaze that was filled with anticipation. "Thank you for the pleasant evening."

He disappeared before anyone could say anything. "And I was just about to offer him some good stuff," Dean said, sauntering back into the study with more whiskey. Alex noticed the way he walked and realized he was pretty damn tipsy, maybe even more than tipsy. She hid another smile. "All right, rematch?" he asked her, because they'd played earlier and she'd beaten him (just barely though). He sat down where Cas had just been and took a huge pull of whiskey.

Alex felt bad about it but she lied. "I'm super tired, actually," she said, making a weary sound. "Think I'm gonna head up for the night."

"What? Come on, it's too early for that!" he protested, obviously disappointed.

Alex felt guilty, but she'd make it up to him tomorrow and spend time with him all day. Right now, Cas would be waiting on her. "Sorry Dean—we'll hang out all tomorrow, okay?" She got up and ruffled his hair and kissed the top of his head before heading out of the study.

"Night Bobby," she said, then glanced at her twin. "Sam."

"Night," Sam said without looking up from his laptop. Alex looked back at Dean semi-guiltily as he gave her a crestfallen little smile.

"Night, Al."

"Night Dean."

She did feel bad about this… Dean had been gone for two months and it was really early in the night... but Cas.

Alex made herself walk slowly to avoid giving away the fact that she was in a hurry to get to the attic. Her heart was beating a little faster and her stomach was fluttering because every step took her closer to him. She went down the hallway, up the main staircase, down the other hallway and toward the attic stairway. She opened the door to the attic stairs and the second she did, the overwhelming scent of flowers hit her nose. _What the_ _…_ _?_ She climbed the stairs slowly out of caution and when she came into the small space of her attic, she stopped, stunned. There were flowers everywhere. The lights weren't on but the rising moon illuminated the room enough that she could see arrangements were set onto every free surface, stacked onto boxes and piled on free spaces on the metal shelves. Even more arrangements crowded the floor. In the dead center of the smallish space, Cas stood with his arms slack at his sides. Alex's hand had been hovering at the light switch but she didn't turn it on when she saw him, because the way moonlight illuminated him was magical.

"Hello," he greeted and held out something small, rectangle, and flat to her as she went to him in a slight stupor. "I got you the card." _Huh? Wait._ Alex remembered how Dean had goaded him for not getting her a birthday card or flowers. Well, he'd clearly taken the advice to heart… holy shit. _How did he do all of this in two minutes flat?!_

Alex took the card and angled it toward the window where moonlight streamed in. She could see the card design more clearly: It was a teddy bear holding a balloon. She stifled a sudden laugh. Cas obviously hadn't noticed what the cursive words on the balloon said. _Happy Birthday, Son!_ She could just picture Cas standing in whatever store he'd found this in and grabbing the first one he saw, not even knowing how many different kinds of cards there were. He hadn't written anything inside of it either. "I love it," Alex said honestly, grinning at his mistake and the thought behind the gesture. She looked around the room again. There were flowers wherever she turned. "Did you bring me enough flowers?" she teased. There must have been a hundred arrangements littering the attic at _least._

"I don't know," he said, suddenly skeptical of himself and looking around in slight worry. "Did I?"

A soft, impish smile played on her face when she looked back at him. "I think so." She drifted over to an arrangement of some kind of huge rose-like flowers and sniffed. They smelled amazing.

Cas watched her and she could hear the affection in his thick voice. "I couldn't choose. They were all so beautiful and pleasing and I wanted you to have them all." He paused thoughtfully. "I'm sorry it's belated," he said regretfully. "Next year we will celebrate properly." Alex looked from the flowers to him.

"This is proper enough," she replied, voice softening to match his and she forgot her interest in the flowers, going to him like a magnet to a magnet, putting her arms under his to loosely circle him. She looked up at him, wondering if the buzz she felt was from the beers or from the happiness of being close to him again. "Just being with the people I love's enough for me."

His eyes were full of his heart. "I do love you," he said quietly. He reached for her and touched the side of her face with whispering fingertips as his gaze searched hers, saw into her, called her to him. In the dim and flower-filled attic as moonlight touched the floor and turned the two of them into silhouettes, Castiel kissed Alex soft and slow, sweet and warm, arms circling her and drawing her more closely to his solid form. Her arms snaked upwards, fingers going to twist into his thick hair, pulling him deeper into her kiss. He made her tipsy and drunk all at once, turned her into soft putty, set her on fire, made her feel hot and bothered and so ready for him in the span of seconds.

She let him turn her and cradle her and lay her down onto the bed and all she could think of and feel were good things as endorphins and pleasure pooled in her stomach and veins. She had one thought in her mind. _Finally_ _._ They were sideways on the bed—her legs still hung over the edge, feet brushing the floor as he stood between her legs, bent closely over her, his warmth seeping into her. He broke the kiss, cupping the back of her head as his lips found the hinge of her jaw and hollow of her throat. Her head arched back into the bed and her eyes fell closed as her arms wandered around his neck and shoulders. A soft little sound of pleasure escaped her lips as his mouth scorched her skin with electric bliss. "I've _missed_ you—" she breathed as he trailed warm, wet kisses along the side of her neck. She suddenly thought of the dirty talking and with her stomach flip-flopping, she decided to ask. It was dark, she felt safe to chance it and the pleasant buzz she had afforded her courage. She bit her lip. "Tell me what you want to do to me right now, Cas," she requested lowly, and he stopped what he was doing, drawing back to look at her face.

"…What I want to 'do to you'?" he repeated, staunchly confuse. Nevertheless, he answered her. "…I want to have intercourse with you," he said slowly, timidly, with growing uncertainty like he thought he'd done something wrong. "Was… that not clear?"

Biting back a giggle at the way he phrased himself, Alex tried to explain better and trailed a finger down the side of his neck. "No, I know _that_ … tell me the details."

Cas, clearly not getting it at all, took a moment, trying to think of what answer was right. He basically repeated himself, sounding more and more unsure every second. "I want to… have intercourse with you… on this bed." Further confused, he added, "If that's all right."

Again fighting off giggles that escaped out of her nose as little stuttering breaths, she pulled him closer and tried again to prompt it out of him. "How's it going to happen?" she asked, trying to be sexy and get him to play along. "What are you going to do to me?"

"Uh…" He studied her with a confounded, squinted expression. "Alex, are you feeling well? Have you forgotten how copulation works?"

She _did_ giggle then, pulling him close, trying to show him. She spoke right into his ear. "No… I want you to um… tell me what you want to do to me in detail." She pressed a whisper soft kiss just below his ear. "It's hot," she said shyly. "Try it? For me… _please?_ "

Obviously both perplexed and aroused, Cas consented uncertainly. "All right," he said, sounding uncharacteristically nervous. "If you really want me to." He paused, and he sounded stilted, unnatural. "I want… to kiss you," he said flatly, as if he were thinking things through in his mind scientifically and trying to remember a specific order of events. "I want to touch you." He quickly added, "With my hands." He sounded flustered and increasingly lacking in confidence, almost embarrassed by the things he was saying. "Then I'll, uh, I'll… _penetrate_ … uh…" he stopped, because she was shaking with smothered laughter. "…Alex, I really don't comprehend the significance of this exercise," he said, sounding faintly worried.

Deciding to lead by example, she kissed his neck languidly, letting lips, tongue, mouth, and teeth drag against his skin then suck inward—she nipped his earlobe and let her tongue sneak out to tease the skin there. "Do you like when I kiss you here?" she asked in a voice that was more soft and sensual than she knew it could be.

His breathing had shortened and his voice tightened. The discomfort fell away, his body wasn't stiff against hers, he felt more pliable. "Y… es…" he answered, strained, focused.

Enjoying the effect she had on him in the most salacious of ways, she let her lips go lower and she pulled at his collar to expose more skin so that her kisses trailed to his lower neck then his collar bone. "What about here?" she asked, other hand raking through his hair and pulling him closer. He replied in a failing voice with another _yes_. She sucked at the curve where his neck and shoulder met and he made a sound of surprise, breathing out softly, holding onto her tightly with one hand. Alex grabbed and moved his other hand from beside her on the bed to the curve of her bosom. His breathing hitched, her breathing hitched. "I want you so damn bad," she confessed in a tight, urgent voice as she pressed his hand to her chest harder, insisting that he grab her there. He groaned into the side of her neck and a hot breath hit the sensitive skin there—he tightened his hand on her breast and pulled back, looking down at her. His dark eyes caught moonlight reflecting off the floor.

"Allow me to show you what I wish to do to you instead of speaking about it," he whispered in a husky voice that sent electric shivers of anticipation through her entire body. _Yes please_ _._

Flushed over and suddenly feeling less dominant, especially when he rubbed a thumb across her nipple through her shirt and bra, her mouth fell open into a gasp that he silenced with an open-mouthed kiss. His timidness was gone and replaced by some feral and certain desire: He let his hands hook into the waistband of her jeans decisively and he basically yanked her down the bed toward him, putting her underneath him more fully as he pushed her shirt up to the top of her ribcage, exposing her torso. He grasped her by either side of the waist and held her, began to press kisses to her bare skin there, trailing his lips downward as his hands moved to roughly unbutton and unzip her jeans. His lips were trailing lower and lower, his hands were poising to pull her jeans down, he was beginning to move into a crouch and was pulling her even further down to him so that her legs were shifting open wider, his face was descending toward the juncture of her thighs, her nerve endings were screaming in delicious anticipation of what he was going to do. Her fingers tightened a little onto the back of his head as he drifted maddeningly lower. Alex was breathless with anticipation, her entire body straining for him—she was reduced to nothing but a raging inferno of impossible desire that needed quenching.

And then heavy footsteps coming up the stairs cut the encounter short. They froze, realizing they were about to have company. "Al! Alex! Al—lex," Dean's voice called lazily, his slow footsteps plodding up the steps even as Castiel and Alex looked at each other, frozen for the slightest instant. They both seemed to be thinking the same thing: _oh shit_. Alex yanked her shirt back down and Cas fumblingly re-zipped and buttoned her jeans at the same time as they stumbled up and away from the bed and into a less compromising position.

"Come on, little sister, it's too early for bed—I can understand not wanting to hang out with soulless dude," Dean said and flipped on the lights as he got to the top of the stairs, "but I mean your big broth—oh." He stopped, darkening when he saw Cas. " _You're_ here." He noticed the flowers and did a double take. "And so's the whole damn flower shop." He squinted Cas's way suspiciously, then looked at Alex carefully, seeing her disheveled clothes. "Uh _huh_ ," he commented wryly, then seemed to get a headache and temporarily forgot about everything else. He put a hand on his head. "Whew I'm drunker than I thought."

Alex looked at him nervously, embarrassed because of how just a few seconds ago she'd been underneath Cas. "I didn't know that even happened anymore," she muttered, self-consciously smoothing her hair. It was probably stupid to try and disguise evidence of the frisky nature of what she and Cas had just been doing. Dean obviously knew he'd interrupted them.

"Well… it _does_ still happen," he said crankily, pointing at her with his flask with a glare. Some of it sloshed out and Dean looked at Cas, who was contemplating Alex with clear longing, then shifted his gaze to aim at Dean with mild reproving. "What are you lookin' at, Mr. Wonderful?" Dean challenged. "I'm not leaving anytime soon so suck it." He smiled, catty and rude and cool.

Grumpy, Cas exhaled through his nose. "You're very unpleasant when intoxicated. More so than usual."

Dean's expression twisted. "Your _face_ is unpleasant," he retorted stupidly.

"Really good one Dean," Alex muttered.

Dean, who was always pretty unpredictable when hammered, just glanced at her sullenly and mumbled something like "…Stupid… stuff."

As much as she didn't want to send Cas away, Alex felt like Dean must need something and he was going to be petulant until she gave him some one-on-one. _Dammit._

"Cas, can you give us a couple minutes?" she asked grudgingly, looking at her angel regretfully.

He nodded, clearly sharing her feelings of reluctance but respecting her request all the same. "Of course." He disappeared.

Dean was mildly appeased when it was just the two of them again. He looked around at the flowers, batting at one. "So you and Cas… still a thing, huh?" He looked at her sidelong with hooded eyes.

"Still a thing," she confirmed. She tested his reaction gingerly with a half-truth. "It's… pretty serious Dean."

In response, he scoffed and kept pacing the edge of the attic while poking around at the various flowers like he was unimpressed. "Yeah, uh huh." He emptied the rest of his flask and hissed as it went down.

Deflating at his negative reaction, Alex didn't bother to hide her sadness. "Why do you have to be like that?" She was hurt that he was obviously not warming up to the idea of her and Cas as much as she wanted. How the hell would he ever deal with the fact that she and Cas were kind of in it together _forever_ _…_ _?_

Dean waved something invisible away with his hand flippantly. " _Ah_. Never mind. I've learned my lesson."

"What lesson's that?" She folded her arms.

He made a face. "Don't talk to Alex about Cas, do not pass go, do not collect a hundred dollars." Dean plucked a daisy out of an arrangement and stuck it behind his ear, giving her a deadpan look. "This make me look pretty?"

Shaking her head in chagrin Alex wasn't sure if she should be amused or mad. "Oh my god you're a fuckin' train wreck," she commented helplessly.

"Maybe I am," he replied somewhat seriously, then suddenly put a hand out as if to balance himself. The flower fell out from behind his ear. "This floor's uneven, need to fix it—son of a _bitch_."

Wow, he hadn't been this trashed in a long time. "It's not uneven," Alex retorted and went over, taking his arm and trying to move him to the bed to sit. Annoyed that he was up here and getting in the way and being a drunken mess, she tugged him toward the bed. "Come here and quit walking around before you fall down."

Not cooperating, he chuckled, seeming to find her actions amusing. "Gimme a hug, shortstack," he replied and promptly clobbered her with an embrace, smashing her face into his chest.

"I'm not short!" she protested into his burly chest, and he sighed, hugging her and swaying forward slightly. Alex made an irritated sound like _awwwgh_ and batted him away, pushing him toward the bed to sit down.

He collapsed down onto his back on the bed, suddenly giggling. "You remember the time when we were real little, we found some weed and tried it out in the salvage yard and Sam got so jacked up that he thought that there were cops hiding in the trees?"

She had forgotten about that, but the second he said it, she remembered. They must have been like thirteen or fourteen at the time, her and Sam. She grinned and forgot her grumpiness as the memories flooded her mind. Alex flopped down beside her brother on her stomach, propped up on her elbows. "Hey, what about _me?_ " She was starting to laugh as she remembered what she'd never been able to tell them outright. "I looked at you two and I was so high that you both had _mountains_ for _faces_."

Dean basically guffawed. "Mountains for faces," he chortled, probably trying to picture that. "Where do you come up with this stuff." He grinned at the ceiling. "We need to get Cas high," Dean said. "That shit would be _hilarious_."

Instead of agreeing, Alex suddenly remembered the Castiel in 2014 and sobered. She shivered slightly. They had so _narrowly_ avoided that future. If Cas didn't win the war, if Raphael put the apocalypse back on the road, could that future be the future again? She hadn't even wondered that before now. Her stomach sank slightly and she stared ahead blankly, fretting, remembering the broken man her Castiel had been in that version of the future. Dean was looking at her, taking in her pensive silence. "So I'm guessing no leads on getting Sam's soul back?" he asked after a second, maybe thinking that's what she was reflecting on.

Alex shook her head then studied her short fingernails grimly. "No. Nothing, nowhere. It's getting old." She let out a dissatisfied sigh. "I want back on the road."

Dean shook his head somberly, face gaunt, eyes searching the ceiling tensely. "Trust me, you don't. It fucking _blows._ Our brother's this cold, unfeeling asshole who never sleeps and doesn't give two craps about anything." Alex studied her brother's profile with growing pain and worry. Dean's jaw worked oddly as he thought. "Seeing him like that's… it's one of the worst things that I've ever seen." He glanced her way briefly, pain filling his eyes and he looked away again, shaking his head and rubbing his hand across his face tiredly. "I just love you guys so fucking much and…" his voice cracked. "It's falling apart." He sat up, abruptly mad at nothing and everything. He got up and walked away, putting his back to her.

He leaned a hand against a bookshelf that was filled with flowers, bent his head and began to confess what he probably wouldn't have if he'd been sober. His voice was shockingly weak and emotional and he was shuddering as he clearly tried not to flat out weep. "This is my whole life—this is all I have and it's going to _hell,_ it _hurts_ so fucking bad _,"_ he confessed in a stunning torrent of agony-riddled words that made Alex sit up, staring in worry. "Everyone left, Al—Lisa, Ben, Sam, _you_ —" he gave a soft chuckle like he was laughing at how pathetic he found himself. And as quickly as he'd laughed, he made a soft sound of distress, almost a sob. "It's tearing me _apart_. I can't do this anymore, I _can't._ I can't be everywhere and do everything, _god—_ " He had his face bowed down into his hand and Alex saw how his other hand tightened on the shelf until the knuckles were white. "I need him back, Al—I need my brother back, I need something from how things used to be or I won't fucking _make it._ "

Alex was behind him now, having gotten up to go to him. She was touching his shoulder carefully, trying to comfort him but doing so cautiously, because he had a tendency to snap after being emotionally vulnerable. Still, she chanced it. "Hey, _hey_ ," she said, refocusing him, not sure how to even speak to the scattered things he was saying. "You're not supposed to carry the whole world, Dean. That's not your job." He wouldn't look at her, just stared straight ahead of himself and struggled to keep his face still. "I want Sam back too, and we're gonna find a way, believe me. We'll _find_ a _way_. You know I've got your back, right? It's okay." She tried to hug him but he shook his head, held an arm out a little, rejecting her touch. A little deflated, Alex tried again. "Dean, lemme come back in with you guys, I don't care that—"

 _That_ got her his gaze finally, and it was wild and angry. He cut her off mid-sentence authoritatively. "No, _no._ That is _not_ gonna happen."

"But I'm going _crazy_ here and you need _help_ ," Alex said, getting a little pissed herself now. He was being stubborn for the sake of being stubborn.

"What I _need_ is more fucking booze," he retorted, turning and walking away to the middle of the room, fidgeting by scratching at his neck, rubbing his palm down over his mouth and chin, clenching and unclenching his fists at his sides. He didn't walk evenly and in all honesty he was reminding her of Dad right now, who would get angry and volatile when drunk. It always started with curse-filled verbal rants before it escalated into physical violence.

"You've had enough, D," she said wearily. She might have to call Cas back if Dean got too crazy. She hoped he wouldn't.

As quickly as he'd gotten huffy and riled up, her brother was defeated and depressed again. "I _have_ had enough. It's too much, Al. It's too much. The things I've done and seen, the man I am today, _none_ of it's what I wanted… I don't even _know_ what I wanted, but not _this._ " He looked like he wanted to punch something or throw something. "I'm a failure in every part of my goddamn life."

"Dean—" she started firmly, taking a step toward him.

"No, _no!_ " He said, face twisting into an ugly expression as he shrank back from her and raised his finger again at her. "Don't try and tell me it's okay or it'll all be okay! You crazy?! How the hell will it ever be okay?!" He was throwing his arms out and gesturing with angry gusto and Alex wasn't going for it anymore. "It won't!"

"Dean, _Dean!_ _"_ He needed to stop before he got himself worked up too bad. "You're not a failure— _ever_ —period." He shook his head, contemptuous like he thought he was the worst person alive and her attempts to say otherwise were an insult to him. "You're _allowed_ to make mistakes!" She insisted, wanting to shake him.

"Mistakes?" he repeated, seeming to think that was a mild way of putting it. "All I do is break things," he replied, brushing aside her attempts to get through to him.

That really hurt to hear. And damn, if she didn't feel the same. "You're not the one who got tricked into saying yes to Lucifer," she said without a thought—that was the thing that ate at her day and night and she had to carry that burden without ceasing. "Look what happened to Sam because of that." Her voice broke around Sam's name because she held herself a thousand percent accountable for her twin brother and when she actually let herself think about it, it broke her in two. He had saved her life by taking on Lucifer in her stead and it _killed_ her to think about how that had led to his death and his current condition of soullessness. She felt like she had done that. No one else. She had to force a cynical smile to keep from crying. "So if you wanna talk about people who break things…" She spread her arms out. Her lips thinned into a grimacing expression before she let her hands hit down at her sides with a loud, baleful slap. She'd never really talked about it out loud and it made her feel a hundred times shittier to put it out there, but now Dean knew and probably Cas, too. She had a sneaking suspicion he hadn't actually left but was nearby listening and watching.

Dean stared, surprised at what she'd just said, and then very quickly he got righteously angry. "Whoa—no," he almost growled. "Don't you do that crap."

"What, _you're_ the only one allowed to feel bad about yourself?" Alex challenged, then looked up, huffed, and rolled her eyes, trying to find composure. This was stupid and she was going to lose it if they talked about Sam anymore. She just couldn't right now, so she blinked a few tears back, wet her lips, shrugged and forced herself to be outwardly hard. "Look. We've both done things and failed each other and Sam too. Feeling shitty about it isn't the answer. Making it _right_ is what we need to focus on."

Dean scoffed, self-loathing clear in his expression. "Making it right," he repeated bleakly, once again turning to his inward thoughts. He looked down, shook his head regretfully, misery on his face again. " _Man_ if I could do last year over." He looked at her with suddenly pained eyes. "The stuff that happened to you. The demon blood, the…" he trailed off, a slightly alarmed expression in his eye. He hadn't meant to say that.

At the abrupt mention of the things she wanted to bury and forget forever, Alex stiffened and faltered, wanting to disappear. "I'd rather not think about that stuff anymore," she said tightly, looking away and hoping he'd take the hint.

He sounded just as torn apart as she felt. "Me either, but I still do."

He was worried. Still worried about all that and Alex took a deep breath to be brave enough to meet his harrowed, questioning gaze. "I'm okay." _Now don't ask me again._

Dean's eyes studied her as his brow tightened with uncertainty. "You promise?" he asked softly.

Alex gave him a small smile and shallow series of little nods. "Yeah."

He didn't look fully convinced but he let out a heavy breath and gathered her into his arms and hugged her tight, letting their argument roll off his back. He smelled like leather and whiskey and aftershave and his familiarity comforted her immediately. She imagined that if Dad had ever hugged her like a father was supposed to, this is what it'd be like: reassuring and filled with safety and affection that was familial, constant, unconditional. John Winchester had never hugged her, or not that she could remember. He'd put an arm around her and squeezed her shoulder a few times. But that was all.

Dean's big arms tightened around her a little. "Love you Al," he said quietly, in a voice that was tight with emotion. "I really do. Wish I'd been there for you this year. I promise when Sam's Sam again, we'll be a family again."

God, she wanted to be able to believe that, but she had so many worries inside preventing her from believing that things would ever fully be okay ever again. And guilt tore her apart inside over how she was keeping such a big thing in her life a secret from him. Tears sprung to her eyes and her stomach felt sick. The longer she put it off, the more scared she was to tell him at all. Alex pulled away, trying to hide her shamefaced feelings. She patted him on the arm and forced a brighter smile. Dean needed hope right now, not more things to stress him out or freak him out. "Sounds good."

Dean burped suddenly and grumbled, hitting himself in the chest with a fist and making a grossed out sound. After that, he looked at her again. "So, look… you and Cas," he said, gesturing around at all the flowers. "Where d'you see that going? Like, big picture."

His sudden question, the exact one she didn't want to answer, made her feel very small and nervous. "I uh… I dunno," she hedged, trying to appear nonchalant even as her heart hammered into her chest. _Liar. Liar. Liar._ "I could see us together for a long time I guess," she said, because that was true enough.

Dean was trying hard to be reasonable and Alex could tell. " _How_ long, though?" he pressed. "I mean… guy's a frickin' different species, might live forever—last time I checked you were mortal as they come. You really thought this through?"

April 29th, 2010 ran through her mind and then more guilt followed. "Yeah, I have," she answered, avoiding his gaze. He wouldn't stop with the skeptical narrow-eyed stare and Alex got flustered, defensive. " _What?"_

He put his hands up slightly as if in defensive surrender. "I'm not trying to be an asshole, I'm just trying to look out for you, I promise," he said, and his eyes narrowed again. He frickin' saw straight through her. She couldn't hide the fact that she really, really didn't want him to know something—and Dean's eyes squinted even further in slight worry. "…Something you aren't telling me?"

Panic froze her. And then the sound of angel's wings was heard. Right behind Dean, Cas stood. "Hello Dean," he said, effectively saving Alex from the question Dean had just asked.

Dean whirled, off balance. "Jesus, Cas—where'd you come from?"

A brief, unsure pause. "Well, initially I was created in the inmost parts of Heaven to—"

Dean shut his eyes briefly in a grasp for patience. " _Not_ what I meant, Cas," he said, then looked at Alex. "He kinda grows on you, doesn't he? …Like some kinda weird _fungus_." Dean chuckled at his own joke then reached out with his pointer finger and tapped Cas on the nose. "Boop."

Cas leaned back, uncertain of what had just happened, then looked at Alex questioningly. She shrugged behind Dean's back—she had no idea how to get rid of her very intoxicated and erratic big brother. Dean chuckled, a _heh heh_ that was almost smug. He saw the frustrated look passing between Alex and Cas. " _Nope._ I'm gonna stay here all night and make sure there's no funny buses," he said, then caught himself, frowning. " _Funny business_. Damn."

"You're so drunk," Alex muttered, shaking her head, humiliated and annoyed and a touch amused.

"I'm fine, I got this. I just… the bed," he said and pitched over that way, collapsing onto it in the dead center. He then belched abruptly, louder than before. "Ugh—tastes like regret and stomach acid," he complained and pushed a book off the bed peevishly as he rolled onto his side. "How many fucking books are up here anyway, god _damn_ …"

Alex looked at Cas sidelong and he seemed bemused at what was happening. Alex decided to kick Dean out point blank and went over to him, pulling on him by the shoulder. "Okay Dean, look—" she stopped, seeing how his eyes were shut and his mouth was gaping open slackly. "Dean." She shook him a little but he was limp, passed out, making a soft little snoring sound. She stood up, looking at him in disbelief. "Wow. Stay classy, Winchester." She shook her head and looked back at Cas with a wan expression. "He's stone cold _out_."

Cas stood on the other side of the bed and studied Dean. "He seems highly intoxicated."

Tired, Alex sat beside her brother—his head was halfway down the bed, not even close to the pillows or headboard. Alex reclined at the headboard and reached down and touched Dean's head affectionately, feeling a sad for her hurting sibling. "Yeah. He had a little too much."

Cas waited a moment then sat down as well, mimicking Alex's position—back leaned against the headboard, feet on the bed. Dean was a lump in between them and Alex looked over at Cas ruefully. "Not exactly how I pictured our time in bed together," she said softly.

In response, Cas reached out and put his hand over hers. On the pillows, their hands held. "It's not disagreeable to me," he said quietly.

Alex felt herself smiling. "Yeah, it's not all bad." Just being together. Wait. She suddenly looked down at Dean's head beside her leg, suspicious. "Zeppelin sucks," she said loudly. No response from Dean at all. "Turkey burgers," she said. Nothing. Then the best one she could think of. "Cas is touching my boobs." No reaction.

Well, _Cas_ reacted to that, looked at her with vast confusion. "I'm not…" he trailed off, eyes squinting into little slits and he looked at her chest, then his hand in hers.

Alex grinned his way. "I was seeing if he was pretending to be asleep," she explained.

Cas's confusion lessened slightly. "Oh." Dean snored softly.

"I'm glad you're here," Alex said, hunkering down a little, turning and facing him, laying on her side and propping her cheek into her hand, elbow on the pillow. "I've been worried about you."

Mimicking her again, Cas shifted too and laid on his side and used an elbow to support his upper half. He looked sad and made no reply, seeming to feel guilty that she worried about him. Their hands still held and Alex contemplated that sight, tracing random patterns with her fingertips across the backs of his fingers. "Were you here the whole time just now?" 

"Yes," was his soft, quiet answer. So, he knew. He'd heard the things she'd said. She could hear the heavy concern in his voice but she just kept looking at their hands, getting more and more upset. She broke things and she'd broken Sam as a result of her stupid actions and it was fucking depressing as fuck. Cas saw her getting distressed and his hand left hers to gently turn her chin up with his thumb and forefinger. "Alex," he consoled quietly, seeking her downcast gaze with a dipped chin. She made herself meet his waiting gaze and his eyes held vast amounts of empathy, sadness, and a certain sort of pleading for her to not blame herself for what happened. "It hurts me to see your pain," he told her softly, moving his hand to the side of her face instead of underneath her chin. Alex settled her cheek down onto the pillow and pulled Cas's hand closer to her face. She accidentally kicked Dean's ear with her knee as she shifted and he snorted before going still again.

The room was silent for a minute. "I miss Sam," she said in a hollow voice. "I miss him." He was downstairs and he wasn't _him_ and she missed him so much that she ached—and it was her fault and no one would ever convince her otherwise.

"I'm so sorry," Cas said heavily, as if he had some personal guilt in the matter.

"I just want him back, you know?" She shut her eyes for a minute, trying not to get too emotional. It wasn't fair. Sam had finally been coming to terms with himself—they had been friends again. He had been so brave and she loved him so much and now he was some robot-version of himself. Getting agitated, Alex suddenly sat up and whacked Dean in the side of the face with her shin in the process. _Oops_. He thankfully kept on sleeping. Alex sat against the headboard and hugged her arms around her knees, looking down towards her feet. Cas, still propped on his side, looked up at her silently, his features gaunt with quiet emotional distress. Alex looked at him and wished he could just magically fix everything. "You sure you don't know a way to steal a soul back from a demon?" she asked, because maybe he'd stumbled upon some solution or would remember something he'd forgotten.

Immediately, she saw the no in his eyes. "No. I don't know how to steal a soul back from a demon," he answered heavily.

Pain and frustration washed over her anew. "There has to be a way," she said, so tired of looking and not finding anything. Cas was sitting up now too. "There _has_ to be."

Cas contemplated her sidelong with vast apprehension. "What if there isn't?"

His question and the look in his eyes was like a sledgehammer to the stomach. "...Then I guess Sam and Dean earn it back how they have been," she said, stressed to the point of puking at the thought of possible outcomes. "Getting Crowley his monster daddies. And once Sam has it back… Crowley's a dead demon walking." Alex was trying not to think about the alternative: Sam possibly _never_ having a soul again if things went south and if Crowley screwed them over. And here was Alex's darkest fear: what if Crowley didn't even _have_ Sam's soul? 

In an unexpected move, Cas shifted closer and put his arm around Alex, pulling her closer to his side silently and sending a rush of comfort through her. He took her hand and pulled it close, kissing the knuckle of her middle finger, running his thumb across all of her knuckles afterward. Alex forgot her worries at Cas's silent comforts. It was going to be okay. Somehow. At least she had Cas. And Dean. And Bobby.

Cas continued to hold her hand, a silent _I'm here_. Alex contemplated his familiar face and expression and wondered what _his_ life was like up there with the war and everything. She wasn't the only one going through crap right now. Not knowing what his burdens were or being able to help him in any way was hard.

Cas had been vague earlier when Dean asked about the war, so Alex chanced asking again. He would tell her the truth. He always did. "Balthazar said that things aren't going good for you upstairs," she ventured cautiously. "Is that true?"

Cas was immediately a little less open. He seemed to be stressed underneath the surface, weary—not exactly afraid but not confident either. "No," he said, not looking her in the eyes. "Things are not going well."

Worry and fear closed around her heart and then _alarm_. She was so powerless that she wanted to scream. She held his hand tighter. "Isn't there _something_ I can do to help?" Maybe it was a stupid question but she wanted to do something. _Anything._ It felt incompatible with how she loved to do nothing to help. 

Fondness softened his expression as his eyes rested on her face. "This is my burden to bear, Alex, not yours."

"I'm here with you though," she said, refusing to accept that. "I promised you that whatever you faced, I would face too. You don't have to do this alone."

His hand tightened on hers. "I'm _not_ alone."

It warmed her heart to hear that, to know that he didn't feel like he was up against the entire world. She rested her cheek against his shoulder, savoring this time together and feeling a little relief, just a little. "You should know that I've put a new watcher on you," Castiel said presently. "Samandriel will not disturb you as Balthazar did. He is very loyal, not prone to disobedience. He remains outside of the house and will not disturb you or spy on you but _will_ follow you if you leave here, to ensure your safety."

Alex nodded understanding, still not loving the idea but figuring _oh well_. It obviously made Cas feel better. She thought back to what Balthazar had said about the other angels passing judgment on Castiel because of her and she sobered, staring into the knot of Cas's tie and letting a long moment of quiet pass. "Cas, do all the other angels think I'm bad news?"

Maybe he was surprised at the question or didn't understand it. "What?"

"Balthazar implied that you get a lot of shit because of me," Alex replied, still looking at his tie.

Cas was quiet for a moment. "If you mean that the angels disapprove of us… yes. Most of my brothers and sisters fail to see what I find so captivating and precious about humanity. About you." She _melted_ to hear him say that, leaning back and looked up into his crisp blue eyes that reinforced what he'd just said: they beheld her as wonderful and beloved. It struck her all over again and stunned her to be loved like that. "Some judge me for it, others misunderstand," he said, growing a little downcast as he looked at her with pain in his eyes—pain and fear at the thought that his love might endanger her. "Others still seek to use you as leverage over me… the price I pay for being so transparent in what I feel for you."

That's one of the things she loved about Cas though. That his love for her had demanded to be known, had reached out to her even before he'd had a human body in an act of selflessness and compassion: restoring her voice. She was sorry that he faced discrimination but that seemed to be a theme with their relationship—people didn't understand it. She smiled a little, brushing her fingers against his cheek, thinking of how crazy lucky she was. "Haven't you ever read love stories?" she questioned softly. "There's always risk and danger in the best ones."

He smiled back, affection hidden in every crinkle near his eyes. "I don't read love stories," he said huskily. "You're the one who does that."

"True," she replied, loving his cheekiness—she never knew when it would appear but it made her giddy every time it did. She studied him, growing warm with feelings of love and appreciation. "Ours is my favorite though."

He smiled a little, looking like he wanted to kiss her then, but he glanced down at Dean and seemed to think better of it. Chagrin rested in his expression and for a moment, they sat there in mutual frustration… Alex's mind wandered to possible escapes. Cas could poof them away to anywhere on earth, or poof Dean back downstairs easily. Cas however, for the moment, was becoming distracted, falling into somber reflection. What was he thinking about? He looked like he were about to ask something important. "Do you remember I once asked you how to know if a choice were right or not?" he asked slowly, looking at her with a very knitted brow and great amounts of trepidation. "I still don't know."

Something in his tone made her sit up, propping onto her elbow again. "I do remember. And I remember telling you that sometimes you just _won't_ know." She studied him with increasing apprehension—something was eating at him. "What it is, Cas?"

His eyes came up to hers, and the inscrutable emotions held inside those blue depths were impossible to fully comprehend. "Do you agree that the apocalypse should be stopped at all costs?"

Alex felt suspicious for some reason, unsure of where he was going with this. "Yeah… definitely." But why was he asking that?

The anxiety didn't budge from his demeanor. "So do I," he said. "But many in Heaven question my methods. Including myself."

Head canting to the side a little, Alex tried to read him. "What do you mean? What methods?"

He shook his head, appearing to want to avoid talking about it in depth. "Just… everything."

Studying him quietly for a moment, Alex decided not to press him. "I trust you," she said earnestly. "If anyone can do this, it's you." 

Mild relief showed on his tired features and gratitude shone in his eyes. He held her hand again. "Thank you, Alex. Your faith in me is very meaningful."

Dean made a snorting sound and moaned softly, mumbling "no, I said _bacon_ ," then went quiet again. Cas and Alex looked at him in tandem, silent for a minute. His mouth hung open and his arm was flopped across his stomach, legs twisted funny across the lower part of the bed. He didn't move or speak again.

Alex looked at Cas again, studying in depth, wondered where his wings were right now, imagining what they might look like if she could see them again. She tried to remember exactly what they had looked like and couldn't really remember the details. It was a mystery she had contemplated for the past couple of weeks and she looked to him for an answer while she was thinking about it. "Hey Cas, why could I see your wings in that dream?"

"It wasn't a dream—you were completely unconscious," he said, and he was thinking hard. "The human mind and soul are closest to the astral plane of existence most closely when unconscious. I think that is why you could perceive them."

Alex took a second, trying to translate what he'd just said into more easy to understand terms. "…So I have to be knocked out on my ass to see your wings?"

Cas looked at her and was that _amusement_ scattered among slight confusion? "That's… not how I phrased it."

"I know," she said, a crooked grin on her face.

" _Mrrfffgrr_." Dean suddenly twitched and one of his feet kicked erratically.

Cas looked at the other man with a lessening smile. "The noises he makes when he sleeps are very annoying."

After a lifetime of his and Sam's noisy snores and nonsensical sleep-talking, she somewhat agreed but still found a fond smile softening her face as Dean turned his head a little, making a face in his sleep. " _Nrrghuhwhhh?_ " he moaned softly. Oh, Dean.

Cas contemplated the oldest Winchester quietly and his voice was just a soft breath when he spoke next. "When can we tell him?" he asked Alex, looking at her anxiously. "About us? All of it."

It made her automatically terrified to think about that. Her stomach twisted and her heart clenched. "Not yet," she said, because she couldn't imagine a worse time to come out with it… while Dean was close to an all-out emotional break and Sam wasn't himself. They needed to wait until there were less problems and issues stacked against them then _very carefully_ sit Dean down and explain it and hope he didn't lose his mind. "When the war's over, when Sam's got his soul back maybe," she said aloud, avoiding Cas's gaze for the moment.

He observed her for a moment, trying to understand the hesitation in her voice. "You seem apprehensive."

"I'm... nervous about what he'll say," Alex admitted. And nervous wasn't quite the right word. If the family fell apart because Dean refused to accept her and Cas being married… she wouldn't be able to take that. And she already knew that Dean would be _so angry_ that she'd done what she had without even talking to him about it, he'd be hurt that she kept it from him and didn't let him be part of it. _What a mess_. Alex was scared shitless for the coming day when she'd have to come clean about it and face the music.

"Do you think he'll accept it?" Cas asked, pressing gently for more from her.

Alex looked at Dean's slack, snoozing face. "Hard to tell," she said darkly, wondering if she'd dug herself into an inescapable hole with this situation. "I hope he will."

Cas took her tense silence in for a couple seconds then took her hand again comfortingly, trying to draw her gaze. "I think perhaps he'll pass less judgment when he knows that I'm not a fleeting lover," he said, holding her gaze in his own—his eyes were warm and gentle. "That I'm committed to you as your husband."

Her heart caught and breath stuttered, she glanced at Dean nervously when Cas said that out loud. Sometimes she thought maybe it was all in her head—some romance-novel fantasy or daydream, what her relationship was to Cas. But, it wasn't. He was in on it with her and it was real. She melted again. _How is this even my real life?_ From the way he was looking at her with hungry and affectionate eyes, she thought he was getting ready to take them someplace and have his way with her… and then his expression abruptly changed. Annoyance and grudging came over his features, his mouth thinned and he looked upward in exasperation. "I'm being called away again." He let out a frustrated exhale through his nose and looked at Alex, then at Dean. "Do you want me to move him for you?" 

Disappointed but becoming accustomed to his sudden disappearances (plus grateful for the time they _had_ had), Alex shook her head, smiling softly and sadly. "Nah."

Cas nodded, looked at her with marked sadness. "I want to kiss you goodbye."

She smiled a little at that. "Okay." She leaned in to give him what he wanted but he shook his head, surprising her.

"Not here." He stood and held his hand out to her, beckoning her to come off the bed—she took his hand and scooted off the bed and to stand up in front of him. He readily kissed her in a way that felt like it was supposed to be a brief goodbye. But when Alex pulled back from the kiss, Cas did not.

His face followed hers, lips parting softly and the lower half of his face tilted in to hers again, nose brushing her cheek as his open mouth brushed and kissed hers in a slow, burning, deep way that surprised her very pleasantly. His hands came to twine through her hair and pull her face even further to his as he kissed her in a way that left her hot all over. One of his hands snuck down and pressed into the small of her back, pulling her against him fully as his mouth explored hers. She made the softest little whimper, fully aware that her brother was only a few feet away and that Cas was hot and heavy making out with her. Even as she thought that Cas pulled back, regretful and breathy, his thumb grazing her jawline as she resisted his loss, eyes heavy-lidded for a moment as if she were drugged—that's how his kiss made her feel. High as a kite. She opened her eyes to look into his, which were dark, dilated—his thumb dragged against her lower lip. "I want to traverse every part of your body with my mouth," he said in the softest sandpaper whisper, and Alex died a little. Now _that_ was sexy. And fucking _maddening._ Maybe he _would_ be good at dirty talk someday.

"Don't tell me stuff like that when you're about to leave," she whispered back, wanting so badly to selfishly beg him to stay and do what he had just told her he wanted to do—she'd throw Dean out the window if she had to, that's how desperate she was for Cas. But she didn't beg. She bit her tongue and stowed her frustrations and yearnings and touched his face, wondered how long it would be before she saw him again. "Be safe and come back soon," she said, heart breaking a little because the goodbyes never got easier. In fact, they hurt worse each time.

He looked unwilling to go, but they both knew he had to. "As soon as I'm able," he promised, squeezing her hand before he left.

The attic felt empty at the loss of his presence even though the space was stuffed to the gills with flowers and a long-lost brother snored in bed just a few feet away. Sadness ached within Alex and she stood there a couple minutes in the quiet, her harrowed thoughts at the forefront again. Dean smacked his mouth in his sleep and mumbled something incoherent, drawing her attention. His legs were hanging off the bed… _moron_. Alex sighed and walked around to the side of the bed he occupied and hooked her arms underneath his armpits, pulling his huge brawny shape upwards with a grunt and very little finesse until his head was on a pillow and his legs didn't hang off the bed uncomfortably.

She went to the other side of the bed and sat there with her feet on the bed again, looking at him sidelong. "No, no," he muttered, eyebrows knit together like he was in pain or distress. " _No_ ," he repeated. Alex reached over and took his hand and his tense face relaxed a little, he went quiet. She studied his face with trepidation. His breakdown earlier ran across her mind again. Tomorrow he'd wake up and say it was the alcohol talking, he'd say he was fine and that she didn't need to worry. But she didn't believe he _was_ fine. Ever since Hell he'd been different. And who wouldn't be? Alex worried. Was Dean going to snap under all this pressure? Should she insist about rejoining him? Cas wouldn't like that but… Alex didn't like the sidelines. Maybe she couldn't help Cas in Heaven but she sure as hell could help Dean on earth… Dean's hand twitched, suddenly tightening on hers in his sleep and she smiled a little. _Mr. Tough Stuff, aren't you?_

She was reminded of the days when she and Sam had been little. When there were loud storms Dean would sleep on the floor beside whatever bed she and Sammy shared so that Alex's arm could hang off the bed and hold his hand. Loud noises used to freak her out. And being able to reach down and know her big brother was there had always set her at ease. Made her braver. Wasn't it time to return the favor? Be there for the brother who had always been there for her? Dean had sacrificed so much over the years for her and Sam, but especially for her. It was unreal how much this guy cared about family and keeping it together, looking out for each other. Alex thought back to the day she'd dropped out of school—at fifteen it shouldn't have been legal but she'd done some pretty clever forgery and pulled it off without a hitch. At nineteen, Dean was still in high school at that time but endlessly languishing in the tenth grade. He'd clearly given up years before he actually dropped out—he'd always been several grades behind—but he just completely stopped trying one day. He stayed in school though. Not to learn or to graduate. To make sure someone always had Alex's back. He'd never _said_ that, but the day after she dropped out, he'd dropped out too. Sam of course had denounced them both as lazy and brainless then yelled at Dean for being a bad example, for being content to go nowhere fast. Alex hadn't agreed. She'd known all over again that her oldest brother was better than a superhero.

She still knew that. Dean snorted in his sleep and turned onto his side away from Alex, pulling his hand out of hers as he mumbled some word she didn't understand. Alex shook her head, sighed affectionately and got up and began to look for a spare blanket to put on him.

* * *

Castiel left Alex's side unhappily to respond to Balthazar's very untimely summons. He went from the attic to the place where Balthazar had hailed from: It was twilight in this place—the clear sky was a dark burnt orange and all around low desert stretched. A billboard that said _NOTHING_ in large block letters towered over a small, squat, yellow building. The decrepit parking lot that Castiel found himself standing in was overgrown and empty.

Balthazar stood beside Cas and put a cheeky grin on. "Well, I've found Hezion," he announced proudly, indicating the sad little building they stood nearby.

Hezion was hiding _here_? Castiel looked at the still, lifeless building and then his brother sidelong, skeptical. "And the weapons?"

Balthazar hesitated. And then without warning, Hezion appeared in front of the other two angels. Dark, striking features set into fair skin were a mask of hostility and mistrust.

"What are you doing here?" Hezion asked defensively, and Castiel's eyes glanced downward, seeing how the other angel's blade was clenched at his side.

"We could ask you the same," Castiel returned, letting his own blade slide into his hand as a silent answer to Hezion's stance. "We're here for the weapons."

Surprise rippled across Hezion's face. "The weapons?" he asked, as if he had forgotten about them completely.

Balthazar smiled smugly, arms crossed. "What did you _think_ we wanted, that tacky jacket you're wearing?"

A dark glance slid sidelong from Hezion to Balthazar. "I don't have them anymore."

"Pardon?" Balthazar asked, his smile falling.

Hezion said nothing. "Where are they?" Castiel pressed dangerously, because he _needed_ these weapons desperately to turn the ride of the war.

Hezion's jaw tightened. He was straightforward but distracted all at once. "I don't know. I hid them in the Mulu caves but someone must have found them. They're gone." 

Anger ran through Cas's veins. "You're lying," he accused in a dark voice.

Hezion shook his head, almost apathetic or disinterested. "I'm not. I would give them to you if I had them. I want _nothing_ to do with Heaven anymore. I want to be left out of it and left _alone._ "

"You took half of the heavenly weapons—and until we have them again, you will not be _left alone,_ " Castiel replied threateningly, angered at Hezion's gall.

Hezion shook his head. "I hope that you defeat Raphael, Castiel," he said, further confounding Cas. "You have my apologies for the things I've done. I was wrong about everything."

"…What sort of trick are you trying to pull?" Castiel asked, mystified. Hezion seemed different than Castiel remembered him ever being. He wasn't cocky and smug with an ever-present smirk. He seemed contrite and anxious, two things that didn't fit with his personality.

"Hello-ooo," called a female voice. They all turned to look at the owner of the voice.

About fifty feet away a young woman with tanned olive skin and raven hair leaned against the doorway to the little yellow building. Her appearance was wild and strange—she wore a flowing Middle-Eastern influenced dress, no shoes, and vivid powders smudged her arms and face in curious patterns. She had her head cocked deeply to the side and looked at them with interest, her eyes traversing their heads, seeing their halos.

"Oh my," Balthazar commented in surprise at the sight of her.

Castiel's mouth opened slightly in stunned epiphany as he looked at the young woman. He recognized her for who she was immediately and looked at Hezion for explanation. Hezion's face held panic in it when he saw that Castiel and Balthazar knew. "She doesn't remember and her Grace is gone," he stumbled out in a hurried and low voice to keep from being overheard. He held his hands out slightly, begging Castiel not to do or say anything to the young woman. "You can't tell her, it might destroy her mind—they cursed her before she fell and she remembers _nothing,_ not even who or what she is."

"Oh don't be _dramatic_ ," Balthazar said, scoffing and moving forward for the young woman.

Hezion blocked his way immediately, blade flashing ominously, shoulders heaving with passion and conviction. "Take one more step and I will _kill_ you where you stand," Hezion growled desperately. His hand turned white on the blade.

Balthazar looked at his brother in judgment, like he thought Hezion was pathetic and amusing. "…Little overprotective, aren't you?" he asked skeptically.

But Castiel suddenly understood everything he had always wondered about and looked at Hezion in a new, dawning light. "She doesn't remember," Hezion repeated, sounding very much afraid of what Balthazar and Castiel might do if they didn't believe him. "And I didn't either—they erased everything, _everything_. But when I found her a few months ago… I saw her and remembered."

"It was _you,_ " Castiel said, looking at Hezion in something almost like wonder.

Hezion looked at Castiel with a face full of despair. "Yes." He looked back at the young woman who watched from the doorway. "And she doesn't remember me at all," he said, sorrow filling his voice. "Not even a little bit."

* * *

_In the beginning God created_ _the heavens and the earth_ _. In the beginning God created the angels_ _—_ _S_ _eraphim,_ _C_ _herubim,_ _T_ _hrones,_ _Dominions, V_ _irtues,_ _P_ _owers_ _, Watchers_ _._ _But before these were created, the five archangels existed._

_Among the archangels, she was beloved of her brothers Michael, Lucifer, Raphael and Gabriel. The angel of wind and color, Genesis was a fierce beauty to behold, festooned with eight wings and feet of fire, a face that blazed with a golden aura in her true form. Some said she was God's favorite because of her smaller and more delicate beauty. Her brothers loved her and the lower order angels revered her when they were created. But none so much as Hezion._

_When God placed the first two human beings onto the earth, all of the angels gathered to watch this new chapter unfolding_ _…_ _but two angels were not present. Genesis and Hezion, having loved each other from afar for the billions of years went to the inmost parts of Heaven and confessed their feelings for one another secretly. They made plans to hide on the earth once enough humans populated the planet enough for them to go unnoticed and be safe from discovery. It wasn't long after this that God disappeared from Heaven altogether._

_A thousand years passed and the earth filled with human beings. Genesis and Hezion met again in secret at last, preparing to rip out their_ _Graces_ _and fall together. But Michael and Raphael discovered them and were deeply angry. The oldest of the archangel brothers, Michael, tore them apart from each other and imagining himself as the leader in their father's absence, Michael decreed that Genesis would have what she wanted: she would fall to earth and never know love or remember who she was. She would wander the earth and be born over and over again, die over and over again for the blasphemy of loving her brother. Hezion's punishment would be that he would not remember her face or name, that he would be forced to forget it all. And so it was carried out. Genesis was thrown to earth after Michael tore her_ _Grace_ _out of her and Hezion's mind was erased completely as he struggled with all of his might to escape, follow his lover, fall with her. But he did not have success. With the memory wipe he lost all semblance of the angel he had been. Instead of the former things, he pursued self-gain in a desperate attempt to fill the strange void he experienced, the constant feeling that something was off or wrong or missing. It would be thousands of years before he realized and remembered. And then the guilt would begin for the choices he'd made, the mistakes he had fallen victim to._

_The name Genesis was struck from the heavenly record. But some remembered and told the stories of the mysterious archangel who took her lower-order angel brother as a lover. Many believed it was a myth and legend. But it was not. And it was not over, even though Michael thought he had ended it for all time with his actions._

* * *

Castiel looked at Hezion in quiet wonder, questions scattering across his mind. "How did you find her?" he breathed, studying Genesis with intrigue. She stood off and watched with a dreamy, unaware look on her face. She had the halo of an archangel—fierce and fiery, grander than any other angel.

Hezion spoke in hushed tones. "I was hoping to find the missing archangel and deliver her to Raphael to cement my status in his ranks," he admitted shamefacedly. "I heard that you were searching for her and I thought…" he trailed off, loathing passing across his face. "All I cared about was my position in Heaven and serving whoever was on the winning side. And when I found her… I remembered who I am. Or I guess... who I _was._ " His face was etched in staunch worry. "She can't know who she is yet, I'm afraid it will break her." He glanced at Balthazar warily. "I thought we were safe here but it appears I was wrong. I am going to take her someplace where no one will ever find her, where I can protect her until the end of time."

Castiel looked at Hezion closely. "Does she… care for you?" he asked, wondering how Hezion would remember Genesis but Genesis would not remember Hezion. Surely if they had such a deep connection she would recall _something._ And even if she didn't remember him, perhaps she would have fallen in love all over again.

Hezion didn't look optimistic. Only more grim. "I don't know. I told her that I am her guardian angel, because she knew I was an angel right away. She believes she's a mystic or a prophetess." Hezion's sadness was easy to hear. Sadness and love. Castiel recognized the care in his brother's voice. "She's… lost. Confused. Not who she used to be. She calls herself Aura. She remembers nothing of who she is." 

Balthazar leaned in toward Cas slightly. "A word, Cas, if you don't mind. Shoo, Hez, will you?"

Hezion looked at Balthazar mistrustfully but backed off, going over to Genesis, who smiled up at him pleasantly, seeming childlike and diluted to Castiel. Hezion met her smile with a thin, forced, pained one of his own—full of wounded love. Cas was stricken: he was not the only angel in creation who had fallen into inescapable love. 

Balthazar took hold of Cas's arm, demanding his attention. "Cas, buddy, if the archangel is mentally damaged, this could work in our favor," he said, sounding mildly excited. "I know a few angels upstairs good at… ah, fiddling with things, directing mindsets. Do you know Naomi?" 

Cas narrowed his eyes. Did Balthazar mean he wanted to _reprogram_ Genesis to be a pawn? The thought of fighting a war of free will that way was morally abhorrent to Castiel. Additionally, when he looked at Hezion and Genesis, he saw himself and Alex. He saw how Hezion loved this angel even though she didn't know or remember him anymore. Cas found himself remembering when he had loved Alex in the beginning and she had looked at him with fear, mistrust, even hostility. He hadn't understood what he'd felt for her but it had been there all the same. Care, devotion, _love_. In the past, Castiel might have done whatever it took to achieve an end. But now, Castiel was different. Even though he was despairing to win the war, there were some lines he would _not_ cross. This was one of them.

He shook his head. "No." He looked at Balthazar grimly. "Leave them alone."

Shocked, Balthazar's eyebrows shot up. "What?"

"We will find the stolen weapons," Castiel said plainly. "Hezion and the archangel will be left out of this."

"You can't be serious…" Balthazar said, seeming to think Castiel was joking. When he saw that Cas _was_ serious, he got a little aggressive. "This is a programmable archangel and could turn the tide of the whole bloody war, forget the _weapons!_ "

Castiel's face darkened. "I said _no_ ," he repeated in a voice that reminded Balthazar of his place. At that moment, the familiar voice of his lieutenant sounded in his mind and Castiel glanced upwards, any hope for seeing Alex again that day diminished. "Rachel is calling us to the battlefields," he said, growing weary at the thought of more endless fighting. "Go, Balthazar."

Appearing indignant, Balthazar nevertheless did as he was asked and left.

Hezion came back over to Cas as Genesis stared at the sky with a vapid, mindless smile on her face. "Take her far from here, Hezion," Cas decreed heavily, hoping this was the right choice. "If she remembers who she is and is friendly to our cause… you know how to find me."

Surprise and gratitude and utter relief came over Hezion. "Thank you, Castiel," he said, not seeming able to believe the act of mercy. "I can never repay you for this." He paused, regarding Cas regretfully. "I'm sorry for the role I played in bringing any harm or trouble to the human you love." Cas said nothing, but inwardly he struggled. Everyone knew about him and Alex. _Everyone_. "I didn't know what I was doing. I have a lot of penance to pay." Hezion paused, his face filled with earnestness. "I will make it up to you someday, brother. I promise you."

Castiel heard Rachel calling more insistently and growing exasperated, he looked at his brother briefly. "Go now, Hezion," he commanded. And without anything further, Castiel returned to the war in Heaven, the place where he felt trapped and consumed and defeated. He would remain there for some time to come.

* * *

**Two Days Later**

Alex walked Dean out onto the front porch of Bobby's house. Her expression was pinched. "Got everything?"

Dean had a duffel slung across his shoulder. He nodded. "Yup." He stopped in the middle of the porch, turned and gave her a look of contrition at the way she glowered at him. "Hey. Don't look at me with those big sad eyes," he said, trying to get her to lighten up.

As a result, Alex got even more sullen. "What, you want me to look _happy?_ " She was foul-tempered. He was leaving with Sam after two days of visiting and he was _not_ letting her go with and she wanted to _strangle_ him. They'd fought about it last night and he'd _refused_ to hear her out. "I'm not supposed to be here sitting around," she grumbled, then crossed her arms, shifted her weight, and sighed. Dean had been insistent. Under no circumstances was he going to 'let her' work for Crowley. She scratched her ear, thinking out loud. "Think I might go look for Jamie some more."

Dean looked hesitant about that proclamation then like he was briefly considering changing his mind about her going along with him and Sam. But he settled on a thin smile and a well wish. "Just… be careful out there, Alex," he said, and hugged her tightly. "Really, _really_ careful, hear me?" 

She gave in and hugged him too, even though she was still very unhappy. "You too," she said grudgingly with an agreeing nod.

He pulled back, held her by both arms. "Won't be much longer," he promised.

She was cynical. "That's what everyone keeps saying."

"I mean how many more damn monsters can the King of Hell need?" Dean asked, cracking a grin despite how squicky he obviously felt about the job at hand. He turned to Bobby, who was waiting to say goodbye. The two men hugged briefly. "Take care of her Bobby," Dean said, re-hefting his duffel.

"Usually's the other way around," Bobby returned, sending Alex a fond glance. "You boys be safe."

They all looked to where Sam was: he waited in the car, engrossed in his phone screen, ignoring them all. Dean nodded at Bobby, sent Alex a pensive smile, then held a hand up in farewell. "Will do."

 _This is such bullshit,_ Alex thought as she watched the car rumble down the driveway then disappear. Every second that passed left her feeling more and more powerless and pained. She couldn't stay cooped up here—she was going to go nuts for real. She glanced at her Mustang where it sat, deliberating. Then deciding.

_Well, Samandriel or whatever your name is, hope you're up for a road trip._

Alex went inside to pack.


	66. Slow Burn

" _Take this nothingness from me._ _"  
_ \- RED

* * *

**Three Weeks Later  
Flint, Michigan  
3:40am**

What the _hell?_ Dean Winchester blinked a couple times, woozy, coming to and not remembering getting knocked out in the first place. It was _dark_ in here _…_ last he recalled, he and Sam had been hanging around in an abandoned old house while discussing (well, _arguing over_ ) the whole working-for-Crowley thing and where it was getting them: abso-freakin-lutely _nowhere_. Then Sam had disappeared when Dean had turned around… and sixth sense telling him something was off, Dean had crept through the abandoned house with his gun drawn. Someone must have gotten the jump on him from behind.

Son of a _bitch_ his head hurt! Dean stifled a pained groan as he looked up. Across from him, Sam was regaining consciousness too—he was tied to a chair just like Dean was and brothers faced each other, six feet between them. A man dressed in leather with a bald head stood in the corner of the dark and dilapidated room and watched them closely—his eyes were black as the night outside the ramshackle house they were in. Not in the mood for any of it, Dean let out a foul breath. Great, more freakin' demons. _Just_ what he'd wanted.

"What _now_?" he asked churlishly, sending a glare at stunt demon number two. Was this one of Crowley's henchmen or what?

Clicking footsteps sounded behind Dean. Someone was slowly waltzing into the room but he couldn't see who. Were those high heels? Sam's eyes narrowed as his eyes caught sight of the owner of the footsteps. "Well this _is_ a surprise," he commented darkly.

Dean craned his neck sideways and up, and the second he saw her, his blood curdled and pure hatred overcame him. "Evil _bitch_ _,_ " he muttered, clenching his jaw and straining against the ropes. She had two more shady looking demon henchmen with her. This was _not good._

"Keep sweet talking me this could go a whole new direction," Meg drawled through a self-assured smirk, leaning down beside him. Some of her hair trailed along his shoulder and touched his neck in a whisper before she straightened.

" _Meg_ ," Dean said, smiling coldly to keep from flying into a rage. "I've been _dying_ to see you again!" This was the demon who had killed Ellen and Jo and as such, Dean had the most brutal of revenge murders on the mind.

"Well, here I am, big boy," the demon replied, sashaying over to stand in front of him. She bit her lip and let a dark eyebrow arch up, voice dripping with suggestiveness. "So, what should we do now?"

"How about I rip you to shreds?" Dean suggested.

"Kinky, I like!" Meg returned lightly, enjoying the clear hatred in Dean's eyes. "A little Q and A first, if you don't mind. Where's your boss?"

Sam scoffed and huffed loud enough that Meg turned to look at him. "You think we work for somebody?" he asked scornfully.

"I happen to know for a _fact_ you've been juggling Crowley's orphans," Meg replied easily, undaunted. Sam and Dean exchanged a brief glance. Great, so that was public access info now? Dean wanted to punch a wall. "Now where is he?" Meg pressed.

"Don't know," Sam returned in perfect apathy. "Don't care."

Meg's outward facade wobbled a little—impatience made her get a little indignant. "You've been working his beat for _months,_ " she pointed out in a strained voice.

"Doesn't mean we get face time," Sam said blandly.

Meg was quiet for a long moment, her expression darkening. Then she smirked again and pointedly ignored Sam, came over to Dean, and stroked a hand down onto his shoulder before swinging a leg over him to straddle his lap. Repulsed, Dean tried not to show it because he hated for her to get the upper hand in any small way. "Where's he take all those _things_ you snatch up for him?" she asked him in a purr. "I bet you an all-day sucker that's where his majesty's holed up!" When Dean said nothing, just let a little _fuck you_ smile play on his lips, Meg's catty smile dropped and her voice deepened with displeasure. "Okay, officially over the foreplay." She pulled out a knife—the demon blade—and held it to Dean's neck hard. His smile fell. She spoke through gritted teeth. "Satisfy me or I please myself."

Sam laughed suddenly, a rich and confident sound that made Dean even more pissed off than he already was. "Something funny, Sam?" he asked, tense all over at the feeling of sharp, cool metal against his throat. One flick of the wrist and he was a dead man and Sam was just laughing it up?

"Yeah," Sam replied, looking at the female demon. " _Meg_."

"Really?" Dean challenged. "'Cause where I'm sitting—"

"Don't worry," Sam said, smiling in that sharp, chilling way he had now. "She can't do jack squat. She's totally _screwed._ "

"Sam, not helping!" Dean protested when Meg held the knife tighter against his throat. Her face worked against a fury Dean didn't understand.

Sam's smile held steady as he looked Meg over with a pleased glitter in his eyes. "Look at her, Dean. She's furious. If she could kill you, she'd've done it by now. She's _running_."

Meg's exterior showed anger and she slowly turned her head to look at Sam. " _Am_ I?"

"Judging by the level of flop sweat on all of you, yeah," Sam returned, cool and aloof. Meg stood slowly, no longer interested in Dean. "Which means you're running from Crowley," Sam continued, the picture of casual and conversational. "Which makes _sense_. Crowley would want to hunt down all the Lucifer loyalists now that he's the big man on campus."

Meg sauntered over his way, hips swaying with more show than necessary. "Okay, you know what…" she said lowly, voice filled with taunting and threatening tones.

Sam didn't bat an eye. He looked at the knife in her hand then back into her eyes. "What?" he challenged. "Go ahead. Kill me." He smiled at her, and the smile only grew wider and more triumphant as she stood there and did nothing but glare at him with a deepening scowl. "That's what I thought," he said, then his smug gaze cut to Dean. "She can't kill us. She needs us to get her to Crowley so she can stick that knife in his neck." Smirking now, reveling in his insight, Sam looked at Meg and raised his chin, narrowed his eyes. "How long exactly have you been looking for him, Meg?" He sounded like he was taunting her.

Meg was chilly and curt but trying to maintain her _who cares_ attitude. "Long enough, sweet cheeks."

"Huh, I bet," Sam commented, enjoying himself. Dean wasn't sure where this was going and fiddled against his ropes, glanced at the bald demon over in the corner and the one with locs that was a few feet off from Meg—there was another one behind Dean where he couldn't see, too. How were he and Sam gonna get out of this one? Even if she couldn't kill them, torture was a fair bet.

"So, you know what you gotta do now, right?" Sam continued, addressing Meg like _he_ was the one in control.

"What's that, Goldilocks?" Meg asked. She sounded like she wanted to strangle him.

Sam's reply was quiet and shocking: "Work with us."

Dean did a double take. Did he hear right? "Whoa, w-what?"

Sam ignored him and kept speaking to Meg. "We'll hand you Crowley with a _bow_ _,_ _"_ he said with no shortage of authority. "On one condition: we come with you and you help us wring a little something out of him before you hack him to bits."

Interested, Meg's head canted slightly to the side. "Wring _what_ out of him?"

"Doesn't matter," Sam said brusquely. "Question is, can you get us what we need?"

This was crazy. Sam had gone loco. "I apprenticed under Alastair in Hell just like your brother," Meg said proudly, and the reminder gave Dean a sickening jolt in the stomach. She smirked his way, playful and annoying as usual. "So Dean, can I make Crowley do whatever I want?"

Memories of the horrors he had inflicted on souls under Alastair came back and darkened every part of Dean. He remembered screams that begged for mercy that he refused to give. He remembered _why_ he'd finally broken… he'd still never told anyone the real and exact reason he finally took up the instruments of torture, because it was something no one needed to know but him. He pushed it from his mind. "Yeah," he said heavily and unwillingly, addressing Sam and not Meg. "She can."

"It's a deal then," Meg said, pleased again, and her lips slid open to reveal white teeth. " _Hugs_ and _puppies_ all around! You boys get to work on finding where Crow-Crow is and give me a ring when you find him, hm?"

Dean wouldn't look at her. He just stared straight ahead. Was Sam out of his soulless mind? "You gonna untie us?" he asked the demon in a low, tight voice. Because if she did… he'd take that knife from her and stab it into her quicker than she could say boo.

" _Please_ _…_ " she murmured, looking at him with eyes that suggested sensual things. "Don't pretend you don't enjoy it." She made a phone sign with her hand, held it up to her ear and mouthed 'call me' then chuckled slow and deep before leaving. Her footsteps clicked out of the room and he heard her pause at the doorway.

The silent bald demon looked at Sam and Dean intently, walking uncomfortably closer to Dean to give him a piercing glare _._ "…What, you gonna kiss me?" Dean asked insolently.

Somewhere near the doorway where Dean couldn't see, Meg gave a soft little laugh and called her demon mook away. "Come on."

The sounds of their steps faded then stopped completely as they disappeared into thin air from Dean's best guess. He stared at Sam hard. Even though he was mad enough to spit, he forced himself to be quiet for a few beats and stay calm because honestly, it was getting to the point where he didn't know _what_ Sam would do—ever. He didn't want to poke the bear by flying off the handle while tied up and weaponless—Dean wouldn't put anything past his brother anymore and he was subsequently reaching a breaking point with everything—the working for demons and getting nowhere, the soulless brother who had no empathy or heart, the sister who was off on her own and going stir-crazy… it was everything Dean hated, having the family divided like this. Being all on his _own_ like this.

Sam was looking down at the ropes that were around his chest, thinking deeply, not seeming to be bothered one way or another by what had just happened.

"Are you out of your damn mind?" Dean asked his brother with great amounts of restraint. Working with _Meg_ was even worse than working with Crowley.

His brother glanced at him with eyes that had no anything at all in them. "No. I just know how to play the game," Sam replied factually and stood up (he had to hunch over since he was tied to the chair) and then rammed backwards into the wall full force a couple times, breaking the wooden chair he was in completely to get free. Dean rolled his eyes, annoyed at the statement and actions alike. Sam let the pieces of chair fall off and subsequently shrugged the ropes off and over his shoulders—then stopped sort of suddenly. He was looking at the door in mild surprise, seeing someone there. Great. Meg was back. Dean turned his head toward her, temper flaring again.

"Okay, listen you little bitch, if you think—" he started, hearing her walk into the room more fully. And then she leaned, cross-armed, into his view and Dean balked, went wide-eyed. _Oops. Not Meg._ "…Alex?!"

His sister put an impish little smile on, eyeing his ropes. "Hi. Nice to see you too." She looked the same as she always did: messy hair, jeans, work boots, an old cargo jacket over her old gray _ARMY_ shirt.

Dumbstruck at her unexpected appearance, Dean found speaking difficult as he tried to understand. "How… where'd you come from?" he asked, freaking out because she'd come _thisclose_ to a solo run in with Meg and company. "How'd you find us?"

"I was in the neighborhood," she wisecracked, further mystifying Dean. She clomped a boot up to rest against the chair's arm and she pulled out her switchblade from an ankle holster. She let the blade flick open and put her foot back down. At the look on his face ( _how the hell did you find us, no really_ ), she paused. "Seriously, Dean?" she asked, sounding a little let down. "How long have we been doing this stuff? The GPS on your phone, dummy." _Ah. Of course. Oldest trick in the Winchester book._ Alex stood behind the chair and severed the ropes holding him to the chair with a few upward slices. "I was in state, wrapped up a hunt then looked around for Jamie awhile, figured I'd check in with you two before heading back to Bobby's." She glanced at Sam, who was standing back and observing without much of an expression on his face. Alex hugged a very shell-shocked Dean around the neck from behind briefly then ruffled his hair. "You didn't think I'd spend all this time not knowing where you two were at all times, did you?" she asked, then shoved him by the head slightly with roughhouse affection.

So she'd been keeping tabs on them this whole time…? Dean was double surprised— _he_ was supposed to be the one who did that kind of stuff. "You didn't tell me you were in Michigan," he accused, standing up and rubbing his left bicep where a rope had been cutting in uncomfortably. He thought she'd been at Bobby's this whole time—she hadn't _said_ she was or wasn't but he'd just assumed because whenever he'd asked what she was doing, she'd said research and reading and when he'd asked if she went to look for Jamie a couple weeks back she'd answered 'not yet' and changed the subject. He looked at his sister closely. She was kind of sneakier than he remembered her ever being before and it bugged him. _Whatever._ Too surprised and also knowing that complaining at her for it would do nothing but probably provoke a fight, he asked about Jamie instead. "So you find her or what?"

He saw the no before she even said it. "No. Nothing," Alex said, pensive. Her expression gave away the conflict she felt over not being able to locate her old hunting partner. "Looked for a whole week and a half. No leads, no anything. She's just gone."

"Damn," Dean commented, feeling the same. Where'd that girl drop off the face of the planet to? Maybe they'd never know. Despite himself, he worried about her, witch or not. She'd proven to be different than he thought. And he wondered about her more often than he'd ever admit. He pushed it out of his mind and remembered himself. "Well, good to see you anyway," he said, and looked at Alex carefully—she didn't look any worse for the wear—in fact, she was pretty bright-eyed and bushy tailed for the middle of the night. "You doing all right?"

She had a cute little smirk pop up onto her face. "Better than _you_ two," she said, looking over at Sam briefly then back to Dean. "Whose ass do I need to kick? Who tied you guys up?"

Dean wished it were a laughing matter. "Meg."

Alex's playful act immediately dropped in favor of shock. " _Meg?_ " Anger and slight fear rippled through her face. "What the hell was _she_ doing here?"

Dean sent a dark glance his brother's way. "Wanted to know where _Crowley_ was."

Alex glanced at Sam too, her eyebrows twisting in towards each other as she got more and more confused, suspicious, and uncertain. "And you guys would know that _how_?"

"Yeah, my thoughts exactly," Dean replied then gestured toward their brother with a choppy hand. "But _Sam_ here had the brilliant idea to work with Meg to get to Crowley." The reminder to self made him see red all over again, especially when Sam just stood there looking so fine about everything.

" _Work_ with _Meg_?" Alex repeated, sounding just as insulted by the idea as Dean felt. _Thank god,_ Dean thought. _Someone agrees with me._ Alex looked at Sam with no shortage of righteous anger and growing disgust. "You wanna work with a _demon_ again?" She copped an attitude in a millisecond flat. "What, you didn't learn your lesson the first time?"

"We're working with a demon _now,_ " Sam replied, not seeming to see the big deal, only seeming to dislike the verbal attacks.

"No, you're working _for_ one," Alex corrected vehemently.

"What's the difference?" Sam challenged. His tone was businesslike and cold. "I wanna screw over Crowley point blank, end of story _._ " Nonplussed at the looks his siblings were giving him, Sam shrugged him mouth downward briefly. "Meg can do things we can't. All we need to do is figure out _where_ Crowley is and then let Meg do her worst." He brushed past them, walking up toward the front of the house.

Dean couldn't believe what he was hearing and went after Sam without hesitation, his sister on his heels. "She _killed_ Ellen and Jo," he said loudly, trying to jog some kind of response from Sam. "She ripped Pastor Jim apart, she killed more innocent people than we could probably count!"

Sam stopped near the front door and turned around, seeming annoyed at Dean's comment. "I know. But you can't look at this emotionally, Dean."

"You're the one without emotions here, Sam!" Dean fired back, getting incensed—he had been there, he'd seen Jo laying there suffering and dying and _scared_ and now Sam just wanted to be best buddies with the demon who'd done that!?

Sam shrugged. "Like it or not, we need her."

"The hell we do!" Dean shot back. "That little bitch is gonna screw us over so fast—"

"Of course, which is why we'll screw her first," Sam said, finally getting a little riled up—but only because Dean and Alex didn't agree with him, apparently. "Meg and her little posse are dead the _second_ we're done with them."

His twin, who had been listening beside Dean with a cynical expression on her face, balked. "Are you _nuts_? They'll kill us the _second_ they get Crowley's location out of us, _if_ we can even find it."

"They won't try a thing," Sam said, regulated and calm again, calculating. The slightest hint of a smile tugged at his lips. "'Cause we're bringing insurance."

" _What_ insurance?" Alex demanded, getting more and more dumbfounded by the second.

Sam looked between both of his siblings, his eyes unreadable and distant. "I'll go get it. Gimme five minutes." He turned around and let the door slam behind him as he strode outside into the night.

Alex stared at the shut door, seeming both astounded and disappointed at the same time. " _Damn_ Dean," she commented, all she could say about her twin currently. "Working with Meg?" she mulled out loud, trying to understand. "Of his own free will?"

"Yeah," Dean muttered. "He's a real piece of work these days… but maybe he's right. Maybe this is the only real option we got left." He tightened his jaw and glanced toward where he'd dumped his stuff off earlier in the dilapidated kitchen. "I need a drink." He walked across creaky floor and dug around for his flask, glancing up at his sister who followed with distracted airs—arms crossed, head turned to look out the dusty window to watch whatever Sam was doing. Honestly, Dean felt so pissed that if Sam wandered off and never reappeared, he wouldn't care. _Of course you_ _'_ _d care. That_ _'_ _s your brother. Get it together._ Dean took a deep breath, let it out, then took a shot of whiskey from the flask. Better. That was a little better.

Contemplating his sister who he hadn't really talked to much lately—he'd been so busy catching monsters that he'd mostly texted her just to basically say _hi, still alive_ —he wondered how she really was right now during all of this. He got this weird feeling that she was acting okay for his benefit. Wasn't that _his_ job? Being the one who acted like everything was fine so no one fell apart? Damn if life wasn't upside-down-backwards these days. Dean scrubbed a hand down his face wearily—he couldn't find where the problems ended. All he wanted was the light at the end of the tunnel—was that too much to ask?

Changing the conversation topic (because the subject of Sam was one he didn't even want to think about currently), Dean moved to a subject he was only marginally more okay about. "So." He took another sip from the flask, let the burn set in as he hissed slightly. "How's your boyfriend these days?" He tried to act only half interested, but he was paying close attention to her reaction. His question seemed to startle her slightly and knock her onto shaky ground.

Alex sent him a quick little hooded glance. She tried to look inscrutable but Dean could see right through her: she was _sad_. "I… dunno how he is," she said uncertainly, her voice hollow. "Haven't heard from him in three weeks."

Few things made Dean Winchester feel worse than seeing his sister so clearly upset and sad. "What, he can't send a freakin' text message?" It was both a joke and an honest question, but the joke part fell flat the second he asked it.

She looked miserable: eyes downcast, mouth sort of pursed in conflict, eyebrows faintly pressed in together. She tried to sound unbothered by it, which was the saddest part. "He's just got so much going on."

Dean felt his heart go out to her and he was both angry with Cas and angry with himself at the same time. _Come on, Cas. Isn_ _'_ _t one of us constantly letting her down and being absent enough?_ Empathizing with his sister who was obviously tired of the present situation and very lonely too, Dean offered his flask—she probably needed it just as much as he did. She eyed it for a second then accepted and took a drink, handing it back as she wiped the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand. "Guess it doesn't help that your brothers are off in the great wide world while you sit around and twiddle your thumbs, huh?" Dean asked, feeling bad about having to abandon her for all these months. She said nothing, just put a little cynical smile on and visibly pushed away her more sad feelings. "Hey wait, you said you went on a hunt last week or something," Dean said, suddenly on a different mental train track. "With who, with Bobby?"

"Uh, no, with Garth again," Alex said, and the beginnings of a real smile played on her lips as she remembered something that amused her. "Remember I told you about him and that crazy ass cupid job I worked?" How could Dean forget? This Garth dude sounded like a walking joke. "Well, he called me a couple weeks back and said he was onto some kind of monster in the woods and he needed my help." She chuckled at that point, rueful as she shook her head and looked down. "Turns out the _monster_ was just _bears_ having really noisy sex…"

Dean was so surprised and amused that he almost spat out the whiskey he'd been taking a sip of. "…Smokey the bear was getting it on in the woods and this Garth guy thought it was a big bad?" He asked, eyebrows high as a grin widened his face. _I_ _'_ _ll be damned._ "That's not a hunt, Al, that's animal planet gold!"

"I know," she said, and Alex was back to being outwardly fine again, her tone fond. "He's… very _different._ And sweet, I dunno." She laughed soft and rueful. "Anyway, thought I went out there for no reason after it became clear that it was bears, not banshees. But then we realized one of the museums in town was haunted right before I was about to split. Your standard research-salt-burn thing."

Dean was still chortling about the animal thing. "Bears having sex," he said, shaking his head. That was hilarious. Alex rolled her eyes at him even as she tried to hide a smile. She knew _full well_ that his sense of humor was grade school.

"Hey—share," Alex said, making a _give it to me_ motion with her hand as she indicated the flask. He handed it over, still chuckling.

* * *

**Outside**

While Dean and Alex were inside and talking about bears and hunts, Sam walked out into the open road in front of the abandoned house. It was empty and no cars were in sight—just a few empty fields around, an old wooden fence rambling along the edge of the road. The night air was warm and muggy. Sam looked upwards, letting out a breath of air—this better work. If they didn't have this quote-unquote insurance, his little scheme probably wouldn't work.

This was a great opportunity—Dean and Alex couldn't convince him otherwise. An 'in' with Meg to get them to Crowley was the shortcut to the all-important soul Sam supposedly needed. It was funny though—without a soul Sam didn't need sleep, was a better hunter than he ever had been before, and enjoyed life more than he had in the past. It was because emotions didn't hinder him anymore. He was free and powerful because nothing had real hold over him, not really. Still, apparently this soul was important. Be that as it may, he was fed up with waiting for the damn thing and didn't agree with Dean's slow, subservient method of obtaining it. Now it was time for Sam to do things _his_ way: Smart, subtle, cunning.

Dean and Alex wouldn't like what he'd meant by 'insurance' but Sam couldn't have cared less. "Castiel, we need you," he said, squeezing his eyes shut in case that's what made a prayer legitimate. "It's important." He cracked open an eye—nothing, no one. No Cas. Impatience made cold anger flare, the only thing Sam ever really felt anymore besides apathy. _Come on, you winged asshole. If we don_ _'_ _t have you, this plan is a bust._ Sam thought for all of one second about the quickest way to get Cas to appear and then smiled, laughing softly to himself. Too easy. Why hadn't he thought of it before now? He knew what would make the angel come _running_. He put on a voice of concern and urgency and looked upwards again. "Cas, it's Alex. She's sick man, real bad, probably dying, I don't know if—"

"Where is she, Sam?" Sam turned around halfway through his sentence to see Cas standing there with a stupid worried look on his face. The angel was approaching Sam with alarm. "What's happened to her?"

Sam felt himself smiling. "Wow, Cas," he marveled, pretty pleased at how quick that worked and how gullible Cas was and therefore easy to manipulate. " _You_ are _whipped_."

Castiel didn't even seem to hear him. He was looking around then he spotted the Impala and the Mustang and looked at Sam in deeper panic. "Where is your sister?" he demanded, looking like he might grab Sam and shake him in a second. "What's wrong with her?"

" _Nothing,_ idiot," Sam said through a cold smile. "I was _lying_ to get you here."

Cas's face fell in confusion as he clearly struggled to understand what Sam had just told him. "So… she's not hurt?" he asked, eyes narrowing.

Sam thought Castiel should feel stupid for allowing himself to be that easily emotional over anything, let alone _her._ "No."

The angel's face darkened and tightened, becoming hostile when he realized Sam had fooled him. He turned and walked off a couple steps. "…I'm mid-battle, Sam—why did you trick me into coming to you?"

Sam's eyes narrowed into slits—like he _cared_. "First of all, I could give a rat's _ass_ about your little pissing match with Raphael," he said brusquely, setting the record straight.

Cas turned back to face Sam and looked almost surprised, and then increasingly offended. He was going to refuse Sam's demands, and Sam could already tell. "Listen to me, Sam—" the angel started in a voice like gravel.

"No, _you_ listen!" Sam demanded angrily, because he was over this angel's shit, his loyalty to Alex in contrast to his silence when Sam had called him all those times before during the prior year. "I don't care what you're dealing with up in Heaven—you _owe_ me and it's time to pay up. We need your help finding Crowley." Sam looked at the angel in no uncertain terms, letting his gaze be expectant and almost threatening.

Castiel looked taken aback. " _Crowley?_ " His jaw tightened and he shook his head, recomposed himself, then became gruff again. "Sam, I can't just leave the battlefields to—"

Sam cut him off again. "Listen, if you don't help us, I will hunt you down and _kill_ you," he promised, holding Cas's gaze in his own threateningly.

Cas's expression became almost amused and he came closer, undaunted by Sam's height and words. "Will you, _boy_?" A challenge. " _How_?"

Sam felt himself smiling again. How stupid _was_ this angel? "Really, Cas?" He asked quietly. "I _know_ you. I know your weak spot." He knew _precisely_ how to hurt and control and frighten this angel and it made Sam feel superior and amused.

"Meaning what?" Castiel asked, eyes narrowing further. Sam smirked all the more at Cas's confusion.

"…Meaning can you _really_ watch her twenty-four-seven, Cas?"

Cas _definitely_ got it that time, and Sam realized maybe he'd gone too far with the threat when he was abruptly grabbed and thrown like a sack of potatoes into the wooden fence lining the road there. Even as Sam was hitting the ground and groaning, Cas was in his face again, grabbing him by the front of the jacket. "If you ever threaten your sister's life again I will _obliterate_ you," Castiel snarled, his face inches from Sam's. He seemed livid as his eyes bored into Sam's and his voice lowered to a low growl. "I should put you back into the ground, Sam Winchester." Cas let go with a harsh shove and stood over Sam, who held a hand against the side of his face where there was a good cut and some blood.

"So then why don't you?"

Cas looked down at him with a strange expression almost like self-loathing. His anger lessened and became more akin to depression. "Because of a ridiculous notion which I believe you call hope." Cas's jaw squared and he looked away for a moment, contemplating something before he told Sam lowly: "Get up."

Sam did, then dusted off his hands and tempted fate. "So are you gonna help us or not?"

Cas's features twisted foully. "If you think that calling me here by lying and then subsequently threatening your sister's life would persuade me to—" he suddenly stopped, looking over Sam's shoulder and toward the house like he abruptly saw someone or something he hadn't expected to see.

Sam followed his gaze and he saw nothing there—just an old dark cabin with a sagging roof. "What?" he asked, looking back at Cas. Was the guy seeing things?

"Your sister is here with you?" Castiel asked in confusion and surprise, still staring at the same place.

"Yeah, how'd you know?" Could Cas see through walls or something?

Cas did not reply. Instead, he walked forward a few steps and kept looking at the same spot—his facial features almost suggested he were speaking with someone silently, but there was no one there in the place where Cas stared. And then Cas shook his head no and seemed to indicate that his imaginary friend should leave. Sam watched, mystified. This guy was cuckoo for coco puffs.

The angel turned back to Sam and he was stern. "I'll help you as best as I can," he said grudgingly. _Well, good._ "But _only_ because of who you are to Alex and Dean, and only because she is here," Cas said, like that would get some sort of reaction out of Sam.

The hunter scoffed, because he didn't care _why_. "Yeah whatever, come on."

* * *

Alex handed the flask back over to Dean—he was sitting in a slouch on a discarded plastic milk crate and she was sitting on an old coffee table across from him, leaning over her knees as she and her brother waited on Sam.

"Yeah so then I told Garth to—" she stopped mid-sentence when the front door opened and she saw who entered.

She shot to her feet as her heart jumped through her chest in surprise. Castiel! Their eyes met briefly and she hurt and healed all at once— _what was he doing here?_ She remained frozen and didn't go to him, because something seemed off to her immediately. Sam followed him in and Alex stared at Cas, dumbstruck, realizing what Sam had done. " _Cas_ is your 'insurance'?" she blurted incredulously, looking at her twin in utter shock and immediate disapproval. " _Sam_ …"

"I don't wanna _hear it,_ Alex," her twin snapped, testily holding a finger up to silence her.

"Hey, watch your tone, Sam," Dean corrected roughly, voice ringing with brotherly authority. He paused, noticing at the same time as Alex how there was some blood on the side of Sam's head. "What happened to you?"

Sam cleared his throat, eyes dodgy. He shrugged like it was no big deal. "Tripped and fell."

Dean paused, clearly not fully believing that. He decided to give his brother the benefit of the doubt, and instead looked at Castiel. "You wanna clean him up, Cas?"

Surprisingly, Cas did not take Dean's suggestion. "He'll live," he replied, two words that were said in a deep voice that sounded extremely grouchy. Alex looked at him questioningly. What was wrong? Cas looked upset about something. What had Sam said to him? Or maybe Castiel was upset that she wasn't at Bobby's. Or maybe things were going more badly than before for him upstairs. He didn't look hopeful and that worried her, bringing a thousand questions to mind.

"O…kay," Dean said slowly in response to Cas's refusal to heal Sam. He looked at Sam for explanation. "How'd you talk Cas into showing up, anyway?"

"Asked nicely," Sam answered glibly.

Dean looked between the two of them for a second. "Well, chivalry isn't dead," he said, adopting an uninspired and sarcastic joking tone.

Cas dodged Alex's concerned gaze and looked at Dean instead. "Someone please explain to me what is going on and what you hope to gain with my presence."

Dean, still very staunchly resistant to the idea, looked at his brother insolently for a second. "We need _help_ finding Crowley's evil _lair._ "

Cas's eyes crimped just a little in what looked like suspicion. "For what purpose?"

"We've got a friend in low places who's gonna force him to give my soul back," Sam said. "We're tired of working for a demon. So it ends now."

Still hesitant (and understandably so), Cas looked at Sam. "And what is it you would have me do in this plan of yours?"

"Help us find him," Sam said plainly.

"And tag-team with us to make sure Meg doesn't pull a fast one," Dean put in.

"Meg?" Cas seemed shocked. "Meg the _demon_?"

Dean was mildly embarrassed. "Yeah, I know."

"She's gonna see if she can rip my soul back out of Crowley's talons for me," Sam said with a shrug. "It's worth a shot."

Cas looked at Alex again and she could see that he was wondering why she was there and perhaps even mildly hurt, assuming she'd gone behind his back or something to rejoin her brothers. His eyes fell away and his jaw flexed. "This is not a prudent plan," he said in dark thoughtfulness.

Sam was just a touch amused. "Kinda past the time of prudence, Cas."

The smallest instance of anger showed and Cas's sharp eyes darted to Sam. "Crowley is very _dangerous._ "

"Yup," Sam replied apathetically. "We get that."

"If you 'got that' you wouldn't be attempting this," Cas replied accusingly. "I know that you three have a tendency to be reckless, but this is shocking even to me." His gaze glanced upon Alex then left her again.

"Look." Dean wet his lips, exhaling heavily. He had the look of a man who had exhausted himself and his options. "We just want his soul back. I hate it too, Cas, but I mean… I'm tired of working for Crowley, man. And maybe this'll work."

Cas took a pause—and what none of the Winchesters could know was that inwardly, the angel was realizing that he didn't need to continue to argue against this plan of theirs. After all, he could _pretend_ to try and locate Crowley and then lie and say he was unable. If he continued to argue to no end, they might see through him and suspect how he was attempting to hide things and cover over his own deceptions. So Castiel took care to appear properly grudging and not look his wife in the eye as he let a barefaced lie come forth from his lips. "I'll see if I can find his location." He paused, lamenting the way he had become and the things he had to do to keep his plans on track. "I'll be right back. I need a few things."

He disappeared for all of three seconds and reappeared in the middle of the old living room, right across from Alex, who jumped slightly. He had an arm full of stuff that he set down onto the coffee table—candles, a couple metal bowls, some assorted herbs and elements. He dumped it all down onto the coffee table without grace and looked at it all with a grim expression. "Do you have a map of the continental United States?" Alex almost felt like he were avoiding looking at her.

"Sammy?" Dean prompted. They had a bunch of roadmaps in the car and Sam was already on the way to get them.

"Yeah, be right back," he said, already heading out the door to go get the map from the car.

Cas was setting the big, squat candles that had fallen over upright and Alex did it without a second thought: began to help Cas right the candles—the two of them were on different sides of the coffee table and when she began to help him, he paused, looking up across at her with an unreadable expression. She paused too, candle in hand. For a second their gaze held and she wondered what emotion or pain that was resting in his darkish eyes. He reminded her of Dean: near a breaking point and struggling not to crumble underneath all the weight he so clearly carried. Stress and worry made her heart clench tight.

Dean cleared his throat at their tense silence and intense stare. He then jerked a thumb over his shoulder, muttered something about needing to get something from somewhere and then he backed off, sending a couple suspicious glances back at them as he went into another room of the house and shockingly, kindly gave them a moment. Alex was a little surprised at that, but wasn't gonna question it. She looked at Cas with poorly concealed worry. "Hi."

Cas's gaze faltered away from Alex's almost guiltily and he looked like he were searching for the right thing to say. "I'm sorry I haven't been to see you," he said in a weighted tone. "I've been trapped in battle without ceasing."

There was a lot of heartbreaking sadness and regret and worry in his voice—and the way he was clearly ashamed could have easily let the current inexplicable tenseness continue between them, but Alex refused to accept that. It had been too long since she'd seen him and when the next minute together was never a guarantee, she couldn't afford to err on the side of caution. She loved him, she missed him, she understood—and maybe he needed reminding of that. Wordlessly, Alex set the last candle upright with a loud clunk then rounded the coffee table, barreled into him and slipped her arms around his middle, hugging him fiercely, letting her face turn in towards him so that her forehead molded to the curve of his neck and shoulder. He was stiff against her for a second as if surprised, then he exhaled a breath and became pliable, receptive. He let his arms circle her, let his hand cup the back of her head to hold her to him in a way that silently attested to the fact that he missed her, too.

When at last she drew back, he was looking at her with a vexed expression that she found utterly troubling. Close together in the darkness of the abandoned house, he touched a hand to the edge of her face, brushing some strands of hair away from her cheek. His whisper-soft touch sent warmth fluttering over her like embers.

"Why are you with your brothers?" he asked in quiet concern, and Alex looked down a little, hearing how he did _not_ approve of it. She understood his worry because of the whole soulless Sam thing, but these were her _brothers_. And it was only a visit… she didn't plan to _stay_ on the road with them. Not unless maybe she changed her mind…

She tried to deflect and make light of it. "Thought it was time to catch up with the family."

Cas only looked further agonized. "Alex… it's not safe for you to be near Sam right now." He sounded absolutely sure about that and Alex immediately felt put off—she didn't want that to be true.

"Oh _come on_ , Cas," she said wearily, pulling away to herself frustration—she kept getting told it wasn't safe, that she couldn't come along to this, that, and the other and she was _really_ getting tired of it. This had been too much of her life. "You don't know that for sure." In her mind, she had rose-colored memories of the things Sam had done a few months ago. And she wasn't made out of glass. She'd lived a tough life and had earned her stripes. She could take the hits and risks and pains that came with hunting.

Castiel's expression was grim—he opened his mouth slightly to say something then changed his mind, drew in a breath, then heaved that breath back out. He sounded as exhausted and as _over it_ as she felt. He glanced toward toward the sound of Dean's pacing footsteps just beyond where they could see. "How long have you been with them?" he asked quietly, looking at her intently for the answer.

Mild annoyance flared—she knew he was just worried but damn. She answered, but sounded irritated when she did. "Fifteen minutes." His jaw worked in slight thought and Alex just _knew_ he was wondering how he could talk her into going back to Bobby's. But she wasn't ready to go—especially not if they were about to go up against Crowley. Dean and Sam would need all the extra help they could get and she wasn't going to let any of them shelve her—not even Cas. But, at the look of mild hurt and confusion in his eyes, she corrected her tone and spoke with more measure. "Cas," she explained more gently, "this is my _family_. I can only stay on the bench for so long. And this, what we're doing right now is about Sam's soul—something I have a lot of responsibility for—so I'm not going _anywhere._ Sorry."

He listened to her with a face full of resistance. When she said sorry, a surprising and defeated little smile appeared on his lips and he looked down, shaking his head ever so slightly. Castiel let out another breath, resigning himself. His eyes were chagrined and soft when they came up to hers again. "I find your stubbornness to be both frustrating and endearing." Alex felt pleasant surprise at his grudging acceptance and almost affectionate reaction to her insistence. She had to wonder if he were being agreeable because he was there with her where he could have eyes on Sam, though. He might change his tune if he got called back to Heaven and had to leave…

Speaking of, Sam re-entered the house with a rolled up map in hand. "Found it," he said, handing it over to Cas, who accepted the map and looked it over.

"Thank you."

Dean poked his head back in and casually re-entered the room, eyeing Alex and Cas curiously in turn. He watched as Cas spread the map out onto the table and began to sort the candles over it in a pattern then mix ingredients in the two metal bowls he'd brought. "How's that findy thingy comin', Cas?"

"I need matches," Cas said, distracted.

Dean dug into a pocket then held up a matchbook from a random motel. "These work?"

Cas's eyes darted up and he took them. "Yes." He lit the candles then said some words in Enochian, glancing at the Winchesters in an almost nervous way as they stood back and watched. Alex thought he seemed more afraid of Crowley than what made sense. Cas dropped a lit match into one of the metal bowls and the contents flared red-hot. Cas looked down at the map with a pinched expression, then up at them. He shook his head no. "It's not working. Crowley's hidden from me."

Dean nodded, pursed his lips in thought, looked down. "Well, looks like we're gonna have to try this the hard way."

"What's the hard way?" Castiel asked, expression darkening.

"Poking our noses where they don't belong," Dean said. "Samuel works for the S.O.B., right? We go see if he's got any clues laying around that little office of his."

Cas looked resistant. "It's only like thirty minutes from here but… you mind, Cas?" Dean asked.

There was a dark consideration in Cas's face. Then he conceded even though he didn't seem thrilled about it. "Let me check first to see if he's in there," Castiel disappeared. He reappeared two seconds later, looking unhappy. "His office is empty."

Dean was pulling out flashlights and tossing them—one for Sam, one for Alex. He held one out with a questioning glance to Cas, who gave him a look that seemed to say _come on Dean. Angel, remember?_

"All right, Scooby Gang," Dean said. "Let's go."

* * *

After Cas zapped them over to Samuel's dark and deserted office, the four of them set to work searching quietly for any clue as to Crowley's whereabouts. In the moonlit dimness, their flashlight beams criss-crossed and swept over the small space. Cas rifled through some loose papers set onto the desk, as Alex crouched in front of a filing cabinet and looked through the bottom-most drawer. Nearby, Sam searched through the bookshelf as Dean pulled every drawer in the room open and poked through the contents.

Sam paused, finding something odd in between two books. He picked it up and held it up into the light of his flashlight: it was a single strand of long, golden hair. He didn't remember anyone in the compound having long blonde hair… huh. Maybe Samuel had a hooker in here or something. He flicked the hair away, disinterested. He sauntered over to his sister and pointed his flashlight down at her. Looked like she was finishing going through the contents of the file cabinet. "Found anything?"

She squinted up into the beam of his flashlight, clearly annoyed at the bright light. "No. I mean, what file am I even looking for?" She stood and kicked the file cabinet shut. "'The King of Hell's secret monster stash'? I doubt Samuel's stupid enough to keep Crowley's locale on paper." Sam smirked, returning to the bookshelf.

Alex went to Cas's side, her shoulder brushing his as she held up her flashlight to look at what he was rifling through. A stack of papers. "What are these?"

"Maps," he replied, looking down and sidelong at her. "I'm not sure what the markings indicate." They were state maps printed off onto paper and there were circled cities and areas in each state.

"Maybe where granddaddy's found monsters before?" Alex guessed, looking back up at Cas. The moonlight outside lit his face a soft silver and she shivered slightly, forgetting what they were doing there. His eyes never seemed to stop astounding her. That, and the way they looked at her. The darkness and their closeness made her think of the attic, and the attic made her think of him and her doing naughty things…

A flashlight beam suddenly swept up to illuminate Cas and Alex. It was Dean, and he was annoyed. That's when the lights all came on. Everyone turned in surprise.

Samuel stood there with a raised pistol in hand—he'd slipped in from a second entrance to the office. Mild surprise showed when he saw who they were, then darkness clouded his features. He lowered the gun. "Can I help you?" he asked sarcastically, his eyes darting over all of them in turn. "What do you want?"

Well, crap. Busted. Dean stepped to him, clearly deciding to be straight up about why they were there. "We wanna know where Crowley is."

Samuel's eyes narrowed coldly in suspicion. "…Even if I knew, why would I tell you?"

Alex scoffed. _Please._ "You know where Crowley is," she declared. Samuel only glanced at her inscrutably.

"Samuel, I'm gonna get my soul back," Sam said, explaining the reason behind their questions.

"Who says you can get it back?" Samuel asked, looking confused at the idea of that.

Sam's response was immediate: "Me."

Sighing heavily and shaking his head, Samuel looked down. "Look, I'd like to help, but I'm sorry."

Dean's mouth twitched. "It's your grandson's _soul_."

Samuel's eyes snapped up and his voice raised. "I _can_ _'_ _t._ "

Anger was starting to light Dean up. "What is _wrong_ with you? What, do you _wanna_ work for Crowley? You _like_ being a bitch boy to the King of Hell?" Samuel's face was hard to read and when he continued to be silent, Dean turned and glanced at the angel standing beside his sister. "Cas, can you give the family a minute?" Cas nodded, met Alex's glance, then disappeared from her side. Dean was approaching Samuel and trying real hard to be calm and reasonable. "Look. We're your blood. If you don't wanna help us I can't make you. But I just gotta know _why_. What is Crowley holding over you? You owe us that."

Guilty, Samuel dodged their glances and bent over his desk then pulled a photograph out of a drawer, holding it out to Dean. Sam and Alex moved a little closer to see: it was a young woman with blonde hair that Alex instantly recognized.

"Mom?" Dean asked, staring at the photo in soft shock.

"He's gonna give her back to me." Samuel's heavy statement rendered the room silent for a short beat.

"What, Crowley said he'd, he'd bring her back from the dead?" Alex asked in disbelief.

Samuel looked at Dean and Alex in turn. "You two tell me you don't want her back."

Dean could seem to find no words but Alex blinked a couple times, stunned. "Like _this_?" she shook her head, deeply troubled. "Doesn't seem right."

"Sometimes right is just a point of view," Samuel said in a tight voice. He looked angry and his eyes flickered between Dean and Alex alike. "You know, the one difference between us: you know how to live without her."

Alex looked down, guilty. She didn't remember Mom and yeah, she _did_ know how to live without her. _Had_ to know how.

"Look, I know how you feel," Dean said, attempting to smooth things over.

"No, you don't," Samuel said, great sadness in his old features. He got slightly choked up. "She's my daughter and she's dead, and I can do something about it." His sadness gave way to anger there at the end.

"You really think Crowley is gonna make good here?" Dean challenged.

"He brought Sam back!" Samuel snapped. " _And_ me!"

"Yeah, to _use you_ to find _Purgatory,_ " Alex said, her voice rising to match his. She was mystified. "How stupid _are_ you? He'll turn on you the _second_ he's gotten what he wanted from you." Dean looked at Alex sidelong, obviously feeling like she was lobbing that accusation at him, too. Which, honestly, maybe she sort of was.

Samuel was stone-faced. "Well that's just a chance I have to take."

"Trust me, don't go down that road," Dean warned, full of cynicism and chagrin. "Quit while you're ahead, man. It's gonna go nowhere good." Dean got almost pleading in his appeal at that point. "Samuel, I know we've had our differences, but I'm your grandson and I'm _telling_ you that this is wrong for _so_ many reasons."

Samuel almost sneered. "You _hypocrite_."

"I'm asking you to learn from our mistakes!" Dean protested loudly, voice wavering with angry conviction and Alex heard every guilt he carried over the things he'd done and deals he'd made to protect his family, including what he was doing now. "Doing this, this is how the bad guy gets us every time! It's our Achilles' heel. _Apparently_ it runs in the family!" Slightly out of breath from his rant Dean relented for a second, then tried to extend a peace offering Samuel's way. "We will figure something else out. Okay?"

Samuel was shaking his head. In what seemed like a pretty desperate attempt, he looked at his granddaughter. "Tell me you don't want your mother back, Alex," he said steadily and appealingly, using her nickname and not her formal name for the first time he ever had. "You tell me you're _really_ okay with letting this opportunity fly in the wind."

Surprised he would put her on the spot like that, Alex's eyebrows rose slightly. It was a useless appeal—Alex wasn't on board with him _at all_ —but it _did_ make her feel pretty shitty to have to say it out loud. That she chose her brother over her mother. "She's not here," she said quietly. "Sam is."

"Unbelievable," Samuel assessed quietly, shaking his head and looking down his nose at Alex with mild disgust.

Dean tried again. "Come on, Samuel. _Please_."

Samuel shook his head, refusing with finality. "I'm sorry Dean, but—"

" _Fine_ _,_ " Dean snapped, turning his back on Samuel and pacing off a few steps, growing sharp and cold in his fury. "You bring her back." He turned around, standing beside his sister now. "But what are you gonna tell her? You gonna tell her you made a deal with a demon?" Dean's voice raised several decibels. "That you wouldn't help out her _sons_ and her _daughter_?!"

" _That_ _'_ _s enough!_ " Samuel bellowed, reaching a breaking point. He jabbed an accusing finger at Dean. "I'm not the only one around here making deals with demons and you'd be wise to remember that, Dean!" He breathed heavily even as Dean withered slightly. Samuel shook his head, backed off a little, threw his hands up, silently saying he was done. "Just get out."

Dean contemplated him for a second longer then gave up on the endeavor and walked toward the office door. He paused briefly at the door and looked back to try one last time. "You change your mind, we're staying at one-thirteen Old Oak over in Flint," he said, and gave his grandfather an earnest look. "Think about this, Samuel. Please."

* * *

Castiel took the Winchesters back to the abandoned house when Dean summoned him back. When they returned there, the three siblings debated how was best to find Crowley and Castiel remained quiet and gave no answers or advice unless he was asked outright. He feigned total ignorance and inability to help as, simultaneously, guilt made him feel heavy and weary. Dean and Alex set to work marking up maps and trying to figure out if there were patterns to where Crowley had gotten the Winchesters to deliver monsters to before. Sam was on his laptop and Castiel wasn't sure what for.

The house the Winchesters were squatting in had electricity still and as such, Dean switched on the outdated television set, telling Cas to sit down and watch it and quit distracting Alex. Cas hadn't _meant_ to distract her… he'd only stood there and watched her without ceasing and she'd looked and looked at him again and again as she and Dean worked on their maps. Dean apparently got tired of it and told Cas to sit down in the old armchair across from the TV and 'veg out,' whatever that meant.

Even as the television droned on, Cas found it uninspiring and watched Alex instead. She was sitting at the nearby table with a map spread out in front of her. A red marker hovered in her hand and an old lamp illuminated her face, which was currently tight in thoughtful concentration. Dean was next to her, and next to Dean was Sam. They were all deeply focused in their quest to find Crowley. Cas felt another twinge of guilt as he thought of how he was willingly keeping the truth from them. He knew _exactly_ where Crowley was. Someday he would explain everything to them and they would understand the dilemma he had faced, the price paid to keep everyone safe and the apocalypse from being restarted. But until then, none of them could know. Not even her. It made for a lonely and dark feeling and he _wanted_ to be forthcoming with her especially, but it wasn't a choice at this time. He had to bear the burden alone: the burden of knowing he was the one who was responsible for Sam being soulless and the Winchester family being torn apart. Castiel was afraid he would never be forgiven for this if he couldn't find a way to fix it. How _could_ he fix it? Even if he could somehow get Sam's soul back from the cage, it would be a beaten pulp.

This was truly all his fault and he mourned for his reckless decision last year. He thought he could bring Sam back to his whole self and that notion had been foolish, proud, and thoughtless. Thinking of it pained him and alarmed him, because his choices always seemed to backfire or self-destruct. And no one else bore responsibility for his actions except himself. What a great and terrible burden. His eyes drifted to Alex again from Sam.

Alex glanced up at that moment, eyes latching onto his and he felt a rush of guilt and love all at once. Especially when her mouth curved upwards slightly to one side in a secretive little smile just for him. Would she smile that way if she knew what he was keeping from her? He didn't know. She looked a little sad, a little bittersweet and he wished for quiet and solitude with her, time together that wouldn't abruptly come to a jarring end, time in which he could seek comfort and be comforted in return. She helped him forget everything, even himself. She looked at him like he was wise and trustworthy, two things he wasn't sure if he were at all.

At that moment, she did the strangest thing. Flicked her gaze to her left twice, fast. Did she want him to look that way? He saw nothing there and felt himself squinting in confusion. She did it again, trying to tell him something.

She stood up at that moment. "I'm gonna hit the woodline," she announced. Cas then understood. She was going to go outside and she wanted him to come see her there discreetly. Even as he understood her furtive little glances, Dean unwittingly sabotaged it.

"No need, milady," Dean said in a joking, cavalier tone, shifting some papers around. When Alex looked at him questioningly, he gestured vaguely with the hand holding paper. "The house's on well water. Bathroom's back there. Go crazy." He returned to studying the papers he held and Alex had a look of annoyance on her face. She looked at Cas sidelong, shrugged a little and shook her head, seemed to give up on the little plan. Alex muttered she'd be right back and her booted footsteps clomped heavily even as she disappeared through the doorway to the hallway. Cas listened to the fading sound and watched the place where he'd last seen her for a moment, then looked down at the plastic thing Dean had given him earlier.

This was called a remote and could apparently change what was on the television screen. The volume was very low, almost too low to hear, but Castiel had sharper senses than the humans did. Currently a black-and-white show was playing and a woman was drunkenly shouting about " _vita-meata-vegamin!_ " Cas pressed the channel-changing button Dean had shown him. The image changed to color. A different woman smiled as she stirred a pot of food on the stove and said something about adding oregano for the best flavor. She began to chop some vegetables with a sharp knife and talk about cutting techniques. Cas pushed the button to find something else. Now a gazelle was shown running through a field as a man's disembodied voice said "… _some are able to run at bursts as high as sixty miles per hour_ …" Cas pushed the button again and halted. Music that sounded lazy and sultry and overly-edited played as a man carrying a pizza box spoke to a very blonde woman in a bathrobe.

"Oh, but I didn't _order_ sausage," she giggled, leaning against the doorway into a house.

"Maybe not, but that's what I'm delivering, baby," the pizza man said, looking at the woman in a strange, wolfish way. "Can I… _come in_?"

"I mean the kids are asleep and babysitting is boring so why not?" she asked, sounded stilted and unnatural. She was smiling in a way that seemed inviting. Castiel noticed her face was overly painted and she had eyelashes that looked too black and thick to be real. "Come on in big boy," the woman purred.

The pizzaman abruptly tossed the pizza box aside and took hold of the babysitter passionately, kissing her with a hugely open mouth and lots of very breathy sounds. "Uh, yeah," he kept saying as the babysitter wasted no time in touching him and helping him undress. So they were lovers, this pizza man and babysitter. Castiel frowned, intrigued, because he had never witnessed sex in his human vessel before… only participated in it. He recognized that the encounter on the screen was heading that way and fast. The pizza man proceeded to tear the babysitter's robe off and then pulled off his own clothes—Castiel gaped at the woman's hairless body—was she deformed? Perhaps a strange disorder. She had hair on her _head_ after all _…_

The pizza man sat the naked babysitter on a kitchen counter and spread her legs then used his hand to give her pleasure as he touched his own sexual organ in concert. Castiel was dumbstruck. You could _do_ that? The woman keened, obviously reaching the height of pleasure as she screeched about how she was 'coming'—which Castiel understood to mean reaching climax and release. She jerked and arched and cursed quite a bit and then went slack.

Cas was surprised when the pizza man abruptly took the babysitter and threw her onto a couch and then began to make love to her so hard that their skin slapped—then the pizza man moved the babysitter's bent legs up very high so that her knees were almost touching her ears and Cas's head tilted to the side. Another thing he had never thought to do—what was the purpose of it? The woman was very loud and the man was grunting and saying things about his 'cock'—things such as "do you like it? Do you want it?" But Castiel saw no chicken anywhere and saw no reason that the babysitter would like or want some imaginary bird. However she expressed eagerness about it and said yeah every time he asked her about this chicken. The woman said something about what he was doing to her feline and Castiel was mystified all over again. There was no cat anywhere to be seen.

Cas was very surprised when the woman began to orgasm again. So soon? That was possible? Apparently yes. She was throwing her head back and talking about it in between repeated gasps of " _Oh yeah! Oh yeah!_ " Castiel found this woman's reaction to pleasure to be unappealing. He thought of Alex, who he had seen in the throes of absolute impassioned ecstasy. She was incomparable and beautiful to him that way, so impossible to describe, so perfect in the moment of release. This woman seemed false somehow, as if she were trying to make a show of it. Cas's eyes narrowed as he watched the lovers continue to mate. It was strange—their copulation _seemed_ very passionate but something was missing, however, he could not say what.

Cas was once again confounded: The pizza man turned the babysitter around and took her from behind as she stayed on all fours, panting and moaning loudly. Cas frowned—but the pizza man couldn't see his beloved babysitter's face or kiss her like that, could he? In fact, the pizza man stood on his knees as he continued to thrust into the babysitter, and the distance between them struck Castiel as being strange. Wasn't the purpose of lovemaking to be close to the person with whom you were copulating with? The babysitter began to yowl about how she was coming again and Castiel was beside himself. _Again?_ "It's very… complex," he said aloud, amazed at how many times the pizzaman was bringing this woman to ecstasy. His passion and love for her must be very great. In fact, watching them engaging in sexual relations was making Castiel, well... slightly aroused.

Dean barely glanced up. "Mm-hmm."

The pizza man began to slap the babysitter's rear over and over again and she cried out in little in protests like she was either enjoying it or given slight pain by it. Surprised, Castiel watched a moment longer, trying to understand. "If the pizza man truly loves this babysitter, why does he keep slapping her rear?" He then realized it may be some form of punishment. "Perhaps she's done something wrong." At that moment, the pizza man began to tell the babysitter she'd been a very bad girl. Cas wondered what she had done, even as he realized Dean and Sam were both looking at him with odd expressions.

"What the hell, Cas?!" Dean asked. "You're watching _porn_?"

The pizza man slapped the babysitter's rear so hard that it began to turn red on one cheek. "He shouldn't slap her that hard," Cas said in mild worry, focused on the screen and wondering why the babysitter seemed to like it.

"Okay, first of all: You don't watch porn in a room full of dudes," Dean said. "And second, you're don't _talk about it_. Just turn it off."

Cas just stared as yet again the woman began to scream yet again about how she was coming. Really, it seemed quite a feat and Cas thought of Alex. Could he do this same thing to her? He would like that very much if he could, and the thought seemed hot to the touch in his mind, warming him all over in a single flush. It had been a long time—or it _felt_ like it had been a very long time—since they had been together that way. He was very desirous of her and it struck him suddenly as the pizza man and babysitter continually moaned and groaned and carried on in the throes of pleasure.

Cas wanted Alex so _intensely_ all the sudden and he looked over the top of the television in the direction she'd walked a few moments ago. The last two times they'd attempted to be intimate it had fallen flat and had left him physically frustrated, and the frustration came surging back anew. He couldn't think of anything else. Unbidden he was imagining a barrage of images: her naked beneath him and flushed with pleasure, breathless in bliss, eyes dark and full and adoring of him. He could imagine her hot, sweat-damp skin pressed to his; he could conjure in his mind the beautiful sounds she'd make and the honeyed sweetness in her voice as she would breathe his name like a prayer… Cas suddenly frowned, looked down at himself, realizing he was fully aroused.

"Well, now he's got a boner," Dean commented in an exasperated mumble from over at the table.

There was a knock at the door and Sam and Dean both rose to answer it. Cas continued to stare at the place he'd last seen Alex. He heard Samuel speaking at the doorway but was so distracted that he couldn't bring himself to care—Sam and Dean could deal with whatever that man wanted. Cas stood up and moved himself out of the room and to the back of the house in the span of a second, looking for Alex, thinking about nothing else but the kiss of her mouth and the touch of her hands.

* * *

In the back of the house, Alex sat against the bathroom sink with folded arms as she waited unhappily. She checked her watch impatiently, again, giving herself a couple more minutes in here for appearance's sake. She didn't even have to _use_ the bathroom, she'd just been trying to get Cas one-on-one away from Sam and Dean.

Alex scrubbed her hand against her face. This was a crazy night to say the least. All she'd wanted to do was pop in on her bros and see how it was going, maybe stay with them a few days, possibly help out with a hunt or something… and now she was caught up in this crazy Crowley scheme that turned her stomach. Not only was _that_ a surprise but Cas was nearby which was killing her slowly. The last three weeks had been torture and now Cas was here again yet being so quiet and standoffish. It was sort of depressing… he didn't seem happy to see her, he seemed distracted and guilt-ridden. Not exactly the reunion she'd been imagining and envisioning for the past three weeks. _It_ _'_ _s not all about you, stop being like that. He_ _'_ _s stressed and under a lot of pressure and his world doesn_ _'_ _t revolve around you._

Still, she was disappointed after having spent the past three weeks imagining a passionate reunion: him showing up maybe in the middle of the night, waking her up and drawing her into his arms, kissing her with fire and touching her without hesitation, reassuring her that he hadn't forgotten her, that he wouldn't leave, that he knew how difficult this was for her and that he was going to make it up to her in every way he knew how. Those are the things she dreamt of both waking and sleeping. Stupid? Maybe. Unrealistic? Yeah.

Alex huffed and straightened, turning around to look in the mirror. Her hair was a _mess_ and she made a face at herself then raked a hand through the unmanageable mane—it did nothing, really, and she vaguely wondered how come all those chicks in magazines got long shiny pretty hair while she was stuck with this wavy disaster. She glanced at her watch again and figured that was long enough. She was too impatient to wait any longer anyway. Sighing tiredly, she opened the bathroom door—and was grabbed as soon as she did.

Cas had apparently been waiting for her. He took her by total surprise: invading her space and sweeping her up into his arms before she could even halfway react. He manhandled her like no one's business: he turned them, pushing her back into the dark room beside the bathroom and without so much as a word, he let his mouth crash against hers with blazing passion. He pressing into her fervently, a hand raking through her hair as his other hand demanded she press into him, too. Her back hit against the wall as he drowned her completely in his kiss. _Holy crap!_ Alex was stunned for a few seconds, floundering underneath him—what had gotten _into_ him?! He was kissing her like he was starved for her. Heat surged through Alex as he demanded she surrender to his deeply searching kiss. Quickly becoming pliable in his arms to his fervent touches, she let his mouth ravish hers because she was starving too and becoming just as impassioned as he was—she took his face in her hands and let out a soft sound as she returned the kiss with growing urgency and all of the conviction she'd saved up all this time apart. She'd misjudged him—he _was_ glad to see her and had missed her just as much as she'd missed him. He was clearly just as anxious for her as she was for him. And then her eyes flew open as she gasped. _Holy shit!_

His hand had descended down to grab her between her legs over her jeans. "Cas—!" she gasped in a strained whisper, shocked at how he was rubbing so knowingly. "What are you— _ah_ —doing?!"

He looked at her straight in the eye, sending sparks scattering through her stomach and lower too. The moonlight filtering in through the window near them made him look so damn sexy—his eyes smoldered, his expression seemed half wild. "I am desperate for the things only you know how to do to me," he breathed in a whisper that was intensely dark and thick and warm, filled with intention. He leaned close, his lips dragging at her jawline as his hand tightened on her below the belt. " _Let me give you release._ "

Holy shit! "Right _now?!_ " she asked in breathless flabbergast, even more shocked than before because Cas was being so uncharacteristically reckless and passionate—but it was _hot_ and her body was winning out over her mind.

"I feel that I can't wait any longer," was his deep breathy reply against her throat. _Yes, now._ Holy crap, she couldn't wait either.

She shuddered in erotic surprise, a _yes_ on the tip of her tongue but she still resisted slightly, nervously glancing at the doorway. "But my brothers—" she protested weakly. He hadn't stopped applying heavenly pressure between her legs or slowly and wetly kissing her neck and she didn't _want_ him to stop. Her eyes fluttered closed and her eyebrows screwed together as she was turned to putty underneath his warm mouth.

"Won't hear us," he murmured huskily against her neck, and his other hand slid up to cup her breast boldly through her shirt. Her head fell back and she let out a soft desperate exhalation of air. She grabbed at his hand uselessly, half encouraging him to continue feeling her up, half moving to stop him. She lost the battle against herself and just pulled his hand against her harder then sought his mouth with hers, kissing him deeply and hungrily. _Who cares. Just, who cares. I want this_. He kept touching her through her jeans with brazen urgency. She slid her hand down and grabbed him by the belt then pulled him closer hard, durving her hand around to pull him against her by the ass, helping him grind against one of her thighs. He whimpered ever so softly as his hand made her weak in the knees and rendered her a slack heap against the wall. They were uncoordinated and frenzied in the way they pushed against each other in that dark back room. Beautiful heat built and built, Alex was making soft and breathy noises— _mm_ 's and _ah_ 's and _nrgh_ 's and Cas broke their kiss. " _Shh_ …" he reminded, and she heard the honey-like pleasure dripping in his voice, pleasure that was there because he was making her feel so good.

" _Cas_ —" she whispered against his lips in breathless admiring arousal—he was exhilarating, like a high from another planet altogether.

He abruptly took her face in his free hand, holding her gaze intensely—his thumb was at the corner of her mouth and his eyebrows suddenly drew in together, making him look like he was very worried. "Say that you know I love you," he beseeched softly, and it sounded like he was begging her, like he was afraid.

Immediately feeling that something was wrong for him to say that, she froze, her expression beginning to mirror his. "Yes… of course I know that…" she replied slowly, confused. His worried dissipated and his face again filled with desire and passion and before she could question him further, he kissed her again, clenching his hand into her hair in a manner that seemed possessive and demanding in the best of ways—and whatever questions or doubts had plagued him were forgotten by them both. He pushed her shirt up, grabbing and thumbing her breast through her bra even as their mouths clashed thoughtlessly—a soft little moan sounded in the base of his throat—that sound was her siren's call, her ultimate bliss. His hand snaked around her middle and around to her back underneath her shirt and he pulled her close, his warm hand splayed against the curve of her spine—his other hand continued torturing and gratifying her between the thighs, picking up in intensity, like he couldn't stand the wait and was determined to get her off and _now_.

 _Oh my god,_ to be wanted with such obvious desperation, to be touched so frantically… Alex was high on bliss and exhilaration and mounting pleasure. This was so dirty and thrilling, so dangerous, and _so much_ _better_ than every fantasy she'd imagined during their separation. She moved her hand down to sneak in between their bodies and stroke him below the belt. He groaned lowly without meaning to, pushed into her hand with a little urgent sound, maybe tried to one-up her with what he did next: He roughly shoved his hand down into her jeans and made her stupor of ecstasy that much more insane when his fingers slid down and both soothed and stirred the ache he'd given her, then went down further and thrust into her deep.

She shuddered in astonished gratification, mouth gone slack against his even as he made a little sound of arousal and moved his other hand to grip her behind the head, make her look him in the eye—it was like he wanted to see what he did to her, read her emotions and feelings in the mirror of her eyes. His face was full of expectant and tense adoration, of heated fascination as his eyes briefly flickered between hers and then traversed her face. Seeming satisfied with what he saw there, he pulled her face to his and crushed his mouth to hers, kissed her searchingly and bruising.

So caught up in their more raunchy activities, Cas and Alex didn't hear that they the soft footsteps or realize that they had an audience.

"Hey hey _hey_!"

Jarred, they pulled apart, startled and caught. Dean was standing there in the doorway with an utterly shocked, traumatized look on his face. His voice had risen several pitches into a high, tight voice and it broke like a teenage boy's voice would. "What the _hell!?_ " he demanded, aghast and fumbling royally. He was turning red and gaping with the oddest, most uncomfortable expression ever. Cas and Alex were embarrassingly out of breath and Dean withered. "Y-you two pick right _now_ to… to… _that_?" he asked in that strange, high voice. "Really?! _Ugh!_ "

"…Uh…" Cas managed, looking at Alex with a sort of nervous, embarrassed expression. She glanced back at him, at a loss for words and actions—all she felt now was the most intense embarrassment she'd ever felt in her whole life, ever.

Dean's shocked embarrassment morphed into anger and he held a hand up to block his vision even as he turned away. "Pull your _shirt_ down!" His voice was much higher than normal.

Alex was red for real and yanking her shirt down back over her torso even as Cas became quite sheepish. "Dean—" Alex started, flustered but soldiering through.

Dean was totally squeamish about her in that moment and shook his head no. "Just don't say a damn thing," he said tersely and then stepped aside, motioned for her to walk through the door and hustle, too—he looked down at the floor haggardly having to make himself stay calm. "Go, _go_ ," he said, face twisted like he'd eaten something sour.

She said nothing and stalked through the door in a huff. Cas watched her go and then his eyes wavered underneath Dean's glare. "Dean…" the angel began. 

"Nope," Dean said, mouth in a thin line. " _No._ Not a damn _word_ , Cas."

Cas hesitated and frowned more deeply, opened his mouth slightly to speak anyway. Dean held a finger up, _daring_ Cas to go ahead and say something. Showing himself to be wise, Cas closed his mouth and said nothing. Disgusted and scarred for life, Dean had to walk out. Not what he had expected or wanted to see, holy _crap._ What the hell! He went up the dark hallway toward the front of the house, jamming a hard through his hair with caged energy. He had never been so embarrassed in his whole life.

Sam popped into the top of the hallway suddenly, close to the front door. He jerked a thumb toward it, oblivious to or ignoring Dean's disturbed demeanor. "Meg's outside."

"Oh well _good for her!_ " Dean exclaimed, brushing past his brother harshly.

Sam surveyed his brother with faint puzzlement. "…What's got _your_ g-string in a knot?"

"Everything!" Dean bellowed, stalking into the living room—where Cas stood with Alex. Dean came up short.

"Working with Meg is a bad idea, Dean," Cas said sternly. Alex avoided Dean's gaze, and instead rubbed the back of her neck.

"How did you…?" Dean began. For a minute, he forgot that Cas could just poof place to place like a damn Star Trek character.

Cas was of a one-track mind: Meg. "She's not trustworthy," he insisted, walking forward to Dean adamantly. "Her kind is an abomination."

"Oh _now_ you're all holier-than-thou, huh," Dean accused, disgusted and still way mortified. "Weren't you the one watching _porn_ a minute ago?!"

Alex's head tilted sideways and she looked at Cas with a funny little expression on her face as she came forward, too. "You were what?" she sounded faintly amused.

Cas's eyes narrowed slightly and he looked at Dean questioningly, then at Alex. "We're… not supposed to talk about it," he said in that deep rumbling voice Dean hated.

"Yeah so he decided to go back there and _make_ a porno instead!" Dean shouted at no one in particular. Of all things, Alex suddenly got a look on her face that could only be described as almost pleased, like she was beginning to think that her brother's reaction was funny. Indignant, Dean looked at Cas, that smug bastard. 

"Never mind Dean," Sam said, seeming to find something darkly amusing as he sauntered into the room from where he'd been observing at the doorway. "Cas, Alex: Samuel just showed up and gave us the location to Crowley's compound."

"Seriously? Huh, wow, old man came through," Alex commented in faint surprise and mild admiration.

However, Castiel's expression went cold with thunderstruck shock. "He _what_?"

"Yeah," Dean retorted, cutting a sharp glance in the angel's direction. "Happy freakin' birthday to us."

"What made Samuel change his mind?" Alex asked intently, seeming to be past her embarrassment for the time being. She was instead halfway suspicious.

"Said it was what Mom would have wanted," Dean said, reluctant to look at her fully. _He_ wasn't past his embarrassment. Alex looked a little surprised and then guilty about the Mom mention then said nothing else.

"Yeah, so let's go see about telling Meg how it's gonna be," Sam said, focused on the task at hand and already heading to the door.

"Are we sure we really need her?" Alex asked, uncertainty gathering. "I mean, this is Meg we're talking about. It's a _bad_ idea. Cas, couldn't _you_ get Crowley to spit Sam's soul up?"

Cas was silent and heavy, his gaze downcast and filled with avoidance. "No. I don't think I could."

Dean didn't want to discuss it anymore—it was time to just do this stupid thing. He grabbed Cas by the shoulder of the coat and manhandled him toward the door, grumbling the whole way, wanting some distance between the two hormone-ridden lovebirds. "Come on, Rico Suave." It was one thing to know your sister and an angel were screwing, but what he'd seen a minute ago brought Dean to a whole level of realization about how _real_ that fact was: Cas and Alex were fucking. Bigtime. The weirdest and most disturbing thing to Dean was how Cas (awkward, cardboard, normally-clueless Cas) _really_ looked like knew what he was doing back there when he had Alex against the wall. _Gross._

Outside the old house, Meg and her posse waited—four demons stood there in total, and Meg's smirking demeanor lit up when she saw the hunters and the angel coming down the creaking wooden stairs to her. Her eyes first went to Alex and she copped a flirty attitude. "Well if it isn't the prettiest Winchester," she drawled, looking Alex over with a lazy floating gaze. "It's been a little while. And look, you brought your sexy little boy toy…" her eyes flickered over to Cas and she looked him up and down appreciatively, got a bitchy expression and stony silence from Alex. One of Meg's eyebrows twitched as that shit-eating smirk widened—she seemed to enjoy Alex's reaction. "What, not gonna talk to me? My _feelings_ are hurt." Her eyes went back to Cas and her voice lowered into a deeper purr. "So, remember me? I sure remember _you_ , Clarence…"

Cas looked absolutely reviled by her. "Remind me why we are working with these detestable hellions," he muttered, glancing sidelong at Dean.

"Keep talking dirty," Meg encouraged, her smile growing and her voice lowering. "Makes my meatsuit all _dewy_." She bit her lip, eyed him inappropriately even as Alex scowled at the comment. "You _are_ a naughty boy, aren't you?" Meg asked, seeming to enjoy Cas's look of disapproval.

"Yeah you don't know the half of it," Dean muttered, butting in and refocusing the stupid conversation. "Look. We know where Crowley is."

"Great, do tell," Meg said, focusing on him now without enthusiasm.

"Yeah, tell you, so you can just leave us for dead," Sam said.

"You all have serious abandonment issues, you know that?" Meg replied sarcastically.

Alex scoffed. "So can you get through a sentence without being a stupid bitch or no?"

Meg smiled like she were pleasantly surprised. "Aw, look who can hold a grudge just like the rest of her wittle family," she baby-talked then shrugged her eyebrows up once. "Pretty cute when you're angry, Ariel…"

Ariel? There was no explanation for the nickname. Sam was impatient. "Cut the crap, you two," he said, then addressed Meg firmly. "We'll show you where Crowley is, alright? But we're all going together."

Meg's eyebrows went in slightly and she looked over the Winchesters and angel in amused skepticism. "What, I'm just supposed to _trust_ you?"

The bald-headed demon beside her glared daggers at Sam, murder clearly on the mind. Sam met the gaze with a hard one of his own. "No, you're not that stupid." Sam's eyes drifted low to where Meg had the demon blade tucked into her jeans—the _stolen_ demon blade. "Give me the knife for a minute," he said.

Meg's eyebrows rose fractionally. "No, I'm not that _stupid_ _,_ " she retorted.

Sam's face and voice were both deadly. "Do you want us to take you to Crowley or _not_?" he challenged. "The _knife._ "

Meg's little smile faltered then fell completely. She eyed Sam threateningly and didn't take her gaze off him for a second—she whipped the knife up, warning him silently with her dark eyes, then handed it over, seeming to feel pretty annoyed about having to do what he asked. Sam took the knife and looked it over mildly—then without warning lunged at the bald-headed demon beside Meg, killing him before anyone had finished reacting to the sudden flurry of movement. Sam whirled and held the knife out toward the other demons who had gone into defensive. "You saw him," Sam seethed, daring any of them to challenge him. His eyes were a little wild. "He was more interested in killing us than getting the job done. I just did all of us a _favor._ " Dean and Cas had both instinctively stepped to shield Alex when Sam had attacked the demons, and they looked at each other, irked when they bumped shoulders.

None of the remaining demons said anything or made any further moves. Sam backed up two steps and turned. "Hey!" Meg said, confidence wavering. "You just gonna keep that?"

Sam turned back, anger making his nostrils flare. "You took this from us," he said, yanking the knife up to show it to her. The demon blood on it glistened wetly. "I'm taking it _back._ " He glanced sidelong at his family and Cas. "We leave in thirty minutes." He turned his back on them and strode back toward the house.

Meg gave a tight, annoyed smile. "Fine. Smoke if you got 'em. See if I ever lend you anything ever again, Sammy." She gave Cas and then Alex suggestive looks then sent a little pursed-lips look at Dean. "See you kids soon." The demons disappeared without anything further leaving Dean, Cas, and Alex in the cricket-chorus filled night.

"Well." Alex sounded irritated. " _This_ should be fun." The door to the house slammed as Sam went inside. She looked like she was going to argue some more about this plan, but Cas, who was staring off into the distance with a strange, gaunt expression, spoke before she could.

"I have to, uh, speak with my lieutenant for a moment in Heaven," he said, glanced at Alex, then looked at Dean. "Do not leave your sister alone with Sam, Dean."

"Wha—" Dean started to ask, but Cas disappeared without any further explanation. Scoffing and crossing his arms, Dean glared. "Fine then." He looked at his sister, who looked as suddenly uncomfortable as he was. Wordlessly, Dean proceeded to ignore her out of embarrassment and went to the Impala, yanked the trunk open, and began to dig around in there aimlessly.

* * *

**Evergreen, Missouri**

Castiel did not need to speak to Rachel or go to Heaven… what he had just said to Dean had been a total lie.

He left the abandoned house and went directly to Crowley's prison—his heart was hammering uneasily, affected by his thoughts. Panic was setting in at what was happening and how out of control things were on the verge of spiraling into. He found the demon in the old lunchroom of the prison. Castiel was immediately set at even greater unease.

Broken tables were all pushed against one side of the cafeteria and decrepit baby cribs dotted the dim, trashed space—at least ten of them. Blood was splattered everywhere and there wasn't a sound to be heard. Crowley stood over a silent crib and looked up at Cas's arrival. The King of Hell wore his white apron and it was bloodstained. In his hand at his side a machete glinted. A sinister little smile curled the demon's lips upwards as his eyes lazily drifted over Castiel.

"Ah, Cas," he greeted, rounding the crib with a pleasant attitude in his posture and expression. "What brings your little feathered rump to see me today?"

"You know what," Cas said in a low voice, looking around at the carnage darkly. He was ashamed and horrified all over again to be associating with this demon, sickened that he had aligned himself with this abomination—yet he had was in too deep to turn back. Bracing himself against self-loathing, Cas warned Crowley even though he wanted nothing more than to kill him. "Samuel Campbell just gave away your location to the Winchesters and Meg."

"Yes," Crowley replied breezily, sauntering forward a bit as he wiped off one side of the bloody machete on his apron. He wasn't surprised in the least at Cas's news, which mystified him even further. "I know. Samuel told me."

Cas withered internally at what that meant. The Winchesters' own grandfather was betraying them? Leading them into a trap? "I'm making finger foods for their visit," Crowley continued offhandedly. He paused in his steps, pretending to be thoughtful. "Maybe some mimosas. Veal too I think…" he smiled darkly, suggestively, letting his eyes drift to a crib. "Baby shifters are so _tender_ and _juicy._ "

Cas's jaw tightened and hatred coursed through his veins. He would end this demon once and for all when he had the power of the Purgatory souls. But right now he needed to know what this villain had planned for the people he viewed as his family. "What are you planning, Crowley?" he demanded. "What are you _doing_?"

Crowley chuckled and set the machete down on a small stainless steel table nearby. "The boys have done good by me, brought me loads of monsters. _But_ they're getting quite impatient and as you and I both know, and I can't deliver what they're working for. Sam's soul is hanging out in the wind. They find _that_ out on their own, I'm as good as dead. _Not_ what I'm aiming for. But, it's all right. I've got Samuel under my thumb and his little crew, too. They'll keep getting me my monsters. _So_ —while I've enjoyed the ride—it's time to take care of the Winchesters before they become a problem."

"What are you saying?" Castiel growled, not liking the way this sounded.

"Allow me to quote a cinematic classic: _it_ _'_ _s a trap!_ " Crowley seemed vastly amused at himself then annoyed when Castiel only glared. "Oh get your wings out of your ass, will you? I'm not going to _kill_ them, I'm going to _trick_ them. For your sake, too, Cas, not mine. If it were up to me, I'd just kill them. Listen. This is how we do what I like to call a bit of classic misdirection."

Already frustrated and impatient, Castiel approached Crowley more closely and let his voice bear a tone of threatening command as he demanded true explanation. "Speak plain."

Crowley sighed gustily then began to pace around Cas in a slow circle as he gestured calmly with a hand here and there. "The Winchesters and the gang come here with your guidance and help… and then oh dear me, Samuel sends you blasting away—without their angel, the three stooges are captured by me and must fight for escape—an escape I'll allow them to make. They catch me unawares after said escape and confront me and demand whatever they will, I say no, they trap me and what have you, think they have me where they want me… then I regain the upper hand, you appear and save the day and kill me." At Cas's look of _really?_ Crowley gave him a look. "Not _really,_ Cas."

He snapped his fingers and he suddenly held an old, large burlap sack in his hand. "What is in that?" Castiel asked suspiciously.

"My bones," Crowley replied, a wicked smile playing on his face. "My _stand in_ bones, which _you_ will set on fire as they watch." His smile grew wider, cruel, conniving. "And the crowd… goes… wild. Crowley's dead, Winchester's get off my ass to kiss yours. Win, win, win."

Castiel's temper flared. "You're asking me to lie to their _faces._ "

Crowley looked up, seemingly in contemplative thought. "Um… _yes_." He chuckled. "What seems to be the problem?" That maddening, scheming smirk remained plastered across the demon's face. "Look, Mr. Morality. I told you this would take total commitment. And really, what's _one more_ lie to add to the heap you've made so far, hm?" He wiggled his eyebrows at Cas, whose guilt tripled. What a tangled web he was weaving. Crowley was right, but Castiel didn't want to admit it. In order to maintain the deception, he had to continue to deceive. But he didn't want to, and he couldn't continue it much longer—he was trapped and alone and afraid of the consequences of his lies. "Come on, Cas," Crowley coaxed at the angel's silence. "Don't be such a prude. You know what's at stake here." The demon's eyes glinted suggestively as his voice deepened a little—his eyes flitted over Cas's shoulders and chest briefly. "Can smell her sweet little scent all over that trench coat of yours… now, are you going to follow through or _not?_ "

Fists clenched at his side, Castiel gritted his teeth tighter. "It would seem that I have no choice," he muttered, wondering if there had been some way other than this one, some solution he'd overlooked. _Anything_ would be better than working in partnership with this evil demon.

"Ever the dramatic, aren't you?" Crowley asked, clearly pleased with himself. "Now, listen, Cas. It has to be good, our little mid-season finale. We need to sell this." He looked at Cas meaningfully and when Castiel realized what he meant—that in order for the Winchesters to believe the ruse they would be put in danger and perhaps even hurt.

Castiel bristled. "If you hurt her Crowley—if you hurt _any_ of them—" 

" _Relax_ , Cas," Crowley said, rolling his eyes. "I will hair nary a hair on their precious little heads."

So said the demon who had just ruthlessly slaughtered a nursery full of shifter babies. 

* * *

**Flint, Michigan**

Inside the dark house, Dean shuffled around sort of aimlessly, checking his watch. Cas had been gone for sixteen minutes. _Better hurry up and get your ass back here man._ What would happen if Cas bailed? They had one demon knife and Alex's angel blade against Crowley, Meg, and all the other mooks in between… as much as Dean was loathe to admit it, they needed Cas on this one. Handsy, horny Cas who apparently enjoyed watching porn and having ill-timed sexual encounters. 

"Hello Dean," came a sudden deep voice right behind him. Dean jumped and whirled. Cas was a few feet off with that familiar constipated expression on his face.

"Geez, Cas! Almost gave me a heart attack," Dean complained, looking Cas over with a quickly-returning scowl. "Where'd you go?"

"Matters concerning the war needed my attention," Cas said heavily, looking around with eyes narrowed into slits. "Where are Sam and Alex?"

Dean paced over to the kitchen counter and looked through the guns he had laid out there, selecting a shotgun. "He's in the bathroom, she's outside reorganizing the arsenal or something, I dunno." Cas went to the window to verify what Dean had said and watched Alex closely, expression softening as his eyes drifted over her openly. Dean glanced out and saw how she was bent far over as she reached for something far into the trunk—the way she was bent made her butt stick out prominently, and Cas seemed to be looking at said butt.

Dean gaped at the angel. "…Really Cas? Are you… _checking her out_?" He asked, mortified and slightly indignant. If it had been anyone other than Alex that Cas was gawking at Dean would have been proud. But that was his sister getting the moon-eyes from Cas. Dean felt incredibly uncomfortable and slammed the guns into his weapons bag harder than necessary. "Killing' me here, Cas," he muttered.

Cas looked away from the window and studied Dean for a second. Chagrin and mild, shared embarrassment drifted between them. "I'm sorry Dean, about what you saw me doing with your sister earlier," Cas said after a moment, eyes avoiding Dean's. "I know it upset you."

"Your _existence_ upsets me," Dean retorted thoughtlessly, sarcastic. Cas took him seriously though and it showed as hurt flashed across the angel's face. Dean regretted his choice of words, or at least the effect they had on the poor guy. Yeah, Dean was forever parked on the fence about Cas and Alex, but aside from that, he thought the guy was decent overall. Dean felt bad and swallowed his pride and grudgingly apologized even though he didn't want to. "Sorry. Didn't really mean that." He felt so much discomfort as he broached the reason why he was acting weird: "I'm just not supposed to see stuff like what I saw back there, okay? It's gross."

Mild confusion showed on Cas's features. "I don't find it gross." 

A short, derisive laugh escaped a very cynical Dean. "Obviously not."

Cas sighed, looking out the window. He seemed wistful, almost dreamy. "Your sister's body…" he began.

"Hey, whoa, _no!_ " Dean protested adamantly, flustered. Cas looked unsure about why Dean had cut him off and Dean, grim and a hundred percent done, held out a lecturing finger. "Cas… here's the quick four-one-one," he said, trying to stay even-toned. It didn't really work. "You do _not_ tell a guy how his sister turns you on unless you wanna get punched in the face!" 

Cas, as usual, looked like he had never heard such a thing but he _did_ seem to understand that he'd said the wrong thing at least. He was obviously trying to process it even as he spoke. "My apologies," he said, chastened. "I don't always know the right things to say." 

Dean snorted. " _Really_."

The other guy's frown deepened. "Yes, r—" he stopped short, understanding. "Sarcasm," he observed, seeming a little pleased with himself.

Dean suppressed an eye roll. "Someone get the kid a prize."

Again Cas seemed to understand the sarcasm, but this time he was mildly hurt by it. "I was only trying to apologize if what I did was offensive to you." He sounded like his feelings were hurt.

Dean glanced Cas's way. How did Cas always do that? Make Dean feel like he owed him an apology or explanation? "Yeah thanks," he mumbled.

Cas watched him a moment more, expression hard to read. Maybe sad. What, did the guy wanna be best friends for life or something? Dean didn't know about that—he was still trying to get used to Cas being Alex's boyfriend or whatever. Letting it go and trying to move past the chick flick stuff, Dean went back to the counter and checked his pistol for ammo again. Cas looked out the window for a brief moment. "Dean, can I ask you something?" he asked presently, appearing very anxious and serious.

"You're gonna anyway," Dean pointed out, then turned and looked at Cas, waiting. Seemed like it was going to be a serious, important question.

Castiel's expression was grim and he posed his deadly serious question to Dean: "What is the significance of a chicken during sexual intercourse?" 

Dean's eyes squinted in confusion. "…What?!"

"The pizza man kept asking the babysitter if she liked his cock but I saw no rooster anywhere and I'm very puzzled," Cas explained in utter severe sincerity. "And then the babysitter kept saying things about her pussy, but there was no cat to be seen. Why did she keep talking about this feline to the pizza man?"

"Okay, stop stop _stop_." Dean held a hand out, grimacing and a little cynically amused despite himself. Of all the things he had thought he'd be doing today, explaining sex slang to an _angel_ was not one of them. "Those words are _slang_ , Cas. For… you know. Man and woman parts."

Cas looked suspicious of that answer. "Surely penis and vagina are more fitting and universally understandable."

Dean's face went slack in exasperation. "Please stop. Please just stop." He shook his head, making an ungraceful comment. "Sex with you must be like having sex with the _dictionary_." 

"I wouldn't know," Cas answered automatically, taking Dean seriously, trying to be helpful. "Ask your sister."

Dean's face fell further _…_ _are you kidding me?_ He muttered " _oh my god_ " under his breath, imagining strangling Cas for that unwitting comment. Cas hadn't meant it smugly or anything but Dean's big brother hackles were definitely raised. He shook his head and turned his back on Cas, trying to refocus himself. "Remind me to sign you up for sex ed sometime soon," he muttered unhappily, because Dean did _not_ want to be the one forced to listen to all the awkward and mortifying things Cas wanted to know or talk about concerning this subject.

Cas sounded skeptical. "Who is Sex Ed? A friend of yours?"

At the point of face-palming, Dean wondered if he was allowed to just give up on life right then and there. "Just forget it, Casanova," he muttered and grabbed the old tin they used to make salt lines, checking the contents broodingly. It was full to the top of salt and he closed it then turned to the kitchen table where his bag was and set it in there with the rest of the stuff. "You know, Cas, you _could_ help," he said crankily. _Instead of standing there and talking about my sister_ _'_ _s body and asking TMI sex questions._

Cas made no move to help, only hesitated. "Dean… I'm ambivalent about what we're attempting," he said, as if this were a big secret he was revealing.

Dean looked at him for a second. "Well, breaking into monster Gitmo is not exactly a two-for-one in the champagne room," he said, brushing it off.

There was a weighted silence on Cas's part. "Allow me to be honest," he said, his expression becoming deeply vexed. "I'm not sure retrieving Sam's soul is wise."

Dean stopped what he was doing. "Wait, what?" He abandoned his task completely and rounded the table, demanding explanation in mounting trepidation. Cas looked like he knew something Dean didn't. " _Why?_ "

Again there was a lengthy, heavy silence in which Cas looked down, his features working in harrowed thought. "Sam's soul has been locked in the cage with Michael and Lucifer for more than a year," he said, looking at Dean fully. The unhidden worry on the angel's face grew as he spoke to Dean in soft, earnest trepidation. "And they have nothing to do but take their frustrations out on him down there. You understand? If we try to force that mutilated thing down Sam's gullet, we have no idea what will happen. It could be catastrophic."

Dean swallowed away the sick feeling, unwilling to let his true horror at this thought show: "You mean he dies."

"I mean he _doesn_ _'_ _t_ _,_ " Cas replied immediately. "Paralysis—insanity—psychic pain so profound that he's locked inside himself for the rest of his life." 

No. Those things couldn't happen. Not to Sammy. Dean struggled to understand. "…Why's this the first you're telling me about this?" he asked Castiel with an almost hurt tone to his voice. "Y-you couldn't have mentioned this before?"

Guilt flashed across Cas's face. "I didn't want to lessen your hope and…" his voice softened. "Your sister, she's…" Cas looked down and Dean watched the angel's face in rapt distress. "As we both know she believes this is ultimately her fault, Sam being like this. Because of what happened with Lucifer. I only thought that if she could have hope for the future things would be better. I… didn't want her to know she may never see the Sam she knew before." Dark things filled Cas's downcast eyes. "It would devastate her."

Dean was fully taken aback. At the care and worry and insight Cas showed, in the foresight, in the fact that Alex had apparently confided one of her deepest pains to the guy. At the fact that Cas thought Sam might never be himself again. Dean refused to accept that last part. "Look… I get you're worried about his soul," Dean said, fighting small panic. "But he's strong. He's a fighter. I went through Hell and hey, _I_ made it just fine."

Cas frowned, eyes coming up to Dean's intensely. "Both you and I know that is far from the truth, Dean." A simple sentence that whacked Dean over the head, rendering him unable to make reply. "And you weren't locked in a cage with Lucifer, the devil himself," Cas continued. Each thing he said made Dean more worried and alarmed. "I have concern over this," Cas continued. " _Valid_ concern. The more time that Sam's soul is in the cage, the less chance for survival."

"Why the hell didn't you tell me this before?" Dean asked, getting frantic inside. "I gotta get him outta there, Cas!"

"Dean…" Cas started, sounding like he was breaking bad news. Like he thought it was a lost cause.

"You're saying you don't know anything for sure," Dean cut him off, needing some hope here, a little ray of light to grasp onto. "I mean, he could be fine."

"He could be, yes..." Cas conceded inscrutably.

"Okay then," Dean said with finality. "Let's bank on that."

Cas however didn't let Dean have the final word. "I sincerely doubt he will be fine, Dean."

Getting mad for any and every reason, Dean's voice tightened. "Well, if he's not fine, then you _fix_ him."

"I wouldn't know where to begin," Cas replied, contrite but seeming to accept that this was the final verdict: Sam either soulless forever or a crippled, slobbering mess. No other solution.

"Then you figure it out, Cas!" Dean thundered intensely, stepping into Cas's space, trying to get a response. "If not for me, then for Alex at least, right?" Despair and fear were making his voice shaky. "Come on, I mean, Sam's a frigging replicant. He _needs_ his soul and I need my _brother_ and if I can't get him back…" he trailed off, thinking about that. Life without Sammy. Dean couldn't even begin to even fathom that and he sure as hell hadn't spent these past three months trying to get Sam back only to lose him. "Look, we get it back," he reiterated firmly, voice wavering with desperation. "And if there are _complications_ , then we will figure out a way to deal with those, too, okay?" He looked at Cas in a way that suggested _you better not argue with me again._

Cas sighed softly, shoulders sagging as he looked down. "Of course." Dean was a little surprised at the grudging agreement from the angel. But he wasn't gonna press his luck. The angel was on board, that was all that mattered. Dean turned around to head back to his packing. And then Cas spoke again. "Or we fail, and Sam suffers horrifically."

Dean paused, bad attitude making him scoff and huff as he turned around and leveled Cas with a pinched, accusing look. "You sound like you don't even _want_ him to have it back."

"Of course I do," Cas said, mildly indignant before becoming somber and reflective. "The way he is now is wrong and cannot continue. We both know that, Dean." Again, Dean was surprised at Cas, who had a penchant for being wise and intuitive in unexpected moments. Just like now. Cas considered something, wondering whether or not to share it with Dean. "He threatened Alex just today," he said quietly, seeming to be filled with antipathy and conflict over it. "Sam would never have done that before."

"He what? He threatened her?" Dean asked intensely, approaching Cas again with a dangerous tone. "Threatened her _how_?"

"He said that if I would not help you find Crowley, he would kill her," Cas replied, looking at Dean with a silent question in his eyes: _Can we let him live if he keeps making threats like that?_

Dean was beside himself, unable to believe it. His heart felt ripped. Betrayal of every kind came over him. "He _said_ that?"

Heavy footsteps sounded, and speak of the devil, Sam came out of hiding—he'd been just out of sight for apparently the whole time. "I wasn't serious," he said, blunt and apathetic. "Lighten up."

Dean saw red and snapped, barreling over to Sam and snatching him by the front of the shirt, shoving him into the wall behind him hard, making dust drift down from the force of impact. "Are you fucking kidding me?!" he demanded, enraged. "You're on real thin ice as it is—man, why am I even _trying_ with you anymore?!" He was incensed and totally taken aback at his brother and the things he was doing these days. "That's your _sister_ Sam!" He exclaimed, a certain note of pleading in his trembling shout.

Sam grabbed Dean's wrist hard, his face a cold mask of anger. "Get… your hands… _off_ me," he said, low and dark, maybe about to start a fight. That was when Dean realized Cas was right behind him, backing him up, silently warning Sam not to hurt his brother or start anything. And even though he wanted to punch Sam in the face, Dean let go with a hard shove. He wasn't worth it. Sam sent a dark glance at the angel and then his brother. "Look, Dean. Titles don't matter to me," he said brusquely. "Sister, brother, uncle, cousin, whatever. _I don_ _'_ _t care._ Just telling you like it is. But I won't kill her, understand? Even _I_ know that's taking it too far. Cas, I was just trying to get a rise out of you, okay?" Sam sounded annoyed.

A _rise?_ What, death threats were how Sam got under people's skin these days?! Death threats to their _sister_? Soulless or not, that was unbelievable. Cas was giving Sam a hard, baleful look. Dean suddenly realized why Sam had that blood on the side of his face and why Cas had refused to heal him earlier. Because that 'rise' had culminated in Cas apparently kicking Sam's ass. Unexpected pride welled up. _Damn straight, Cas._ Dean approved wholeheartedly and suddenly felt like Cas was all right by him. Still, as Dean gave his soulless brother the silent third-degree with his glare, a realization came over him. A horrible, _horrible_ realization.

The front door opened at that moment and Alex came in, walked into the kitchen, then saw the three men standing there glaring at each other. Her expression fell into skeptical suspicion. "Hey—" she paused in slight worry. "What's going on?"

Dean looked at his brother darkly. "Go outside and wait, Sam."

Wordless but with a bad attitude, Sam complied, brushing past Alex hard, slamming the door hard behind him. Clued in to something being wrong, she looked between Cas and Dean in concern. "…Everything okay?"

"Yeah," Dean said, sticking a little smile on his face, pretending things were a whole lot finer than they were. "You wanna double check my bag?" He feigned a little grin. "You know me, space case. See if I forgot anything?"

Clearly not buying it, she looked at Cas then Dean with a deepening squinty frown. "Yeah… sure," she said, eyes flickering over them suspiciously.

As she half-heartedly did as Dean asked over at the kitchen table, Dean pulled Cas away out of earshot and leaned in super close. That horrible realization he'd had? Here it was: "Cas… if I can't get his soul back and _soon_ …" Dean could barely bring himself to say it however whisper-soft. "I'll have to _kill_ him."

Cas looked sorrowful. "I know Dean."

"I don't think you do," Dean protested in that same strained whisper as he looked at Alex, made sure she wasn't listening. "Cas, I can _not_ kill Sam. I _can_ _'_ _t!_ "

Contemplating him with old, sad eyes, Cas took a long beat to reply. "If it comes to it, Dean… if that's the only option we have left…" Cas let out a regretful breath. "I'll do it so that you won't have to."

 _God._ Was that supposed to be comforting? Dean didn't know but his heart was broken right now beyond repair and Cas's offer made him feel worse. _Please, please let this getting-Sam_ _'_ _s-soul-back plan work. Please._ Dean looked down and shook his head, wanting to cry. This was insane. He never thought he'd see the day where he suddenly trusted Cas more than his own brother. "Don't tell her this stuff, Cas," he said, wanting to protect Alex from the pain he was feeling. "Just don't. It'd break her damn heart."

Cas had sympathy and understanding in his eyes. "I know, Dean."

Alex zipped Dean's bag closed, picked it up and clomped loudly their way, holding the bag out to Dean. "You forgot one thing."

Dean forced himself to look fine. "What's that?" he asked, accepting the bag from her.

"Your pretty pink hair-bows," she quipped, grinned, then patted him on the shoulder, seeming to sense he needed some reassurance. She was eyeing him and Cas with faintly questioning eyes as her grin faded. She definitely saw that something was amiss but she didn't ask about it. "We ready to head out?"

Dean's jaw tightened and he nodded, guessing it was time to get this shady thing done. "Yeah." He slung the bag over his shoulder and headed to the front door.

Alex and Cas stayed where they were. She was peering at him in mild concern, taking in his downcast eyes and the way he seemed so hesitant to follow after Dean. "You okay, Cas?" 

His eyebrows twitched inwards as he met her gaze. "Are you _sure_ about going along for this?" He was deeply reluctant for her to go. It showed in every facet of his expression and demeanor.

Smiling with a little ruefulness, Alex shrugged. "Come on. Do you really have to ask me that?"

Cas sighed ever so softly with resignation through his nose. "I'll take that as a yes," he said in fondly grudging affection—he touched the side of her face sweetly, sweeping a few stray hairs away from where they'd been pulled across her cheek. It looked like Cas might be about to lean in and kiss her.

"Hey, come on will ya?" At the door, Dean looked impatient and annoyed. "Hands where I can see 'em."

Annoyance came over Alex's face and she glared at her brother—then in an act of defiance seized Cas by the lapels and kissed him hard, startling him and Dean alike. She wrapped her arms tightly around Cas's neck, grabbed a handful of hair, and left Cas a little dazed when she pulled back from the kiss. Alex looked at a gaping Dean challengingly then gave a smug little _whatcha gonna do about it?_ smile. Cas, hair sticking out where she'd grabbed it, watched her with a puppy-dog look of total rapture.

As Alex breezed past Dean, heading outside, she muttered "world's biggest cockblock," at him.

"Cock means penis," Cas volunteered proudly as he followed her dreamily—trying to impress Alex with his knowledge of slang. She turned on a dime at the door and looked at him in surprise with a slack jaw. Her expression seemed to ask _did I hear you right?_

Dean shook his head with a thin expression and rolled his eyes, lamenting his reality. 

* * *

**Evergreen, Missouri**

An angel, some demons, and some hunters all walked into an abandoned old prison—not the beginning of a joke, either. 

Cas had zapped them all over to the location Samuel gave them and then let them in through a side door with no problems at all. Alex swept her flashlight down one of the filthy old cellblock halls—this was creepy as _fuck._ They kept passing cells that were occupied by monsters. Some were dead, some were still alive. The prison was silent and eerie overall, with no sign of Crowley anywhere. Feeling very unsettled, Alex glanced at Cas, who was walking beside her and looking around into the darkness with a very hard, cautious look on his face. What was it about Crowley that made him so nervous? Maybe he just felt what Alex did: a very strong sense that something was not right here…

They presently came to a hall in the prison that wasn't dark like the other ones—the blue buzzing lights were on. Meg sauntered over Alex's way, nudging her shoulder in to Alex's as she stopped to turn her flashlight off. "I've heard about you and Clarence, Ariel," Meg said, grinning and wrinkling her nose up like something was cute. "Just makes my little fluffy fairytale heart so warm and sparkly!"

Alex struggled not to hit Meg over the head with the flashlight she held. "Okay, why do you keep calling me Ariel?" she asked in a strained tone.

Meg rolled her eyes as she smiled with a gaping mouth. "Girl who's hot and heavy for a guy from another species, the whole voiceless curse…? Too easy." She bit her lip, looking Cas up and down unashamedly. "So tell me, he a freak in the sheets?"

Rolling her eyes with gusto, Alex turned and walked off, pulling Cas along with her. Meg and her two stunt demons followed. Sam and Dean walked ahead, peering into doorways on either side of the hallway. And then Cas stopped abruptly. "Wait…" he said, squinting like he heard something. He looked back from where they'd come and so did everyone else, trying to see what he heard.

"What is it?" Dean asked. And that's when they all heard: dogs barking and baying.

"Dammit," Meg breathed. "Here come the guards."

Dean's face was slack. "Hellhounds," he said even as the barks came closer and closer at impossible speed. "Go!" he shouted, yanking on his sister's arm and taking off at a run with everyone else close behind. They burst through a set of double doors even as Meg's two henchmen went down and were ripped to shreds on the dirty floor. Screams echoed as Sam and Dean wedged the doors shut with a stake Alex tossed out from the weapons bag.

Quickly, Sam poured a thick line of salt across the floor in front of the doors even as a slightly out of breath Dean let Meg have a dirty look. "I knew this was a trap."

"What do you want, a _cupcake_?" she sneered. 

"Relax, that should keep them out," Sam said, pointing at the salt line and wood jamming the doors shut. Alex peered through one of the blood-splattered windows, trying to catch sight of the invisible hellhounds—then jumped back with a gasp when the door jolted and a sharp barking noise sounded on the other side.

"Yeah right, not for long." Dean looked at Meg. "How many of them are there?"

She wiggled her eyebrows. "Lots. I'll be pulling for you… from Cleveland."

" _What?!_ _"_ Dean exclaimed.

Meg shrugged, smiling cooly. "I didn't know this was gonna happen. Bright side: them chewing up my meatsuit ought to buy you a few seconds. Seacrest out." Meg looked up and opened wide, preparing to desert the body she was possessing… and then nothing happened. Confusion showed on her face as she waited with a gaping mouth.

"What's the matter?" Alex asked, smirking now. "Can't get it up?"

Meg shut her mouth and looked back down, glared at Alex deeply.

"A spell, I think, from Crowley," Cas said. "Within these walls you're locked inside your body." He, too, had the faintest instance of a smirk on his lips. Meg's expression soured further.

Dean had a little smile out, too. "Karma's a bitch, bitch." Sam, deep in thought, pulled out the demon blade, looking at it intensely. "What are you doing, gonna slash at thin air until you hit something?" Dean asked his brother sarcastically.

Surprising everyone, Sam switched the blade so he was holding the sharp end—and he extended the handle to Meg. "You can see them. Take this. Hold them off. It's our best shot."

"Yeah it's our best shot," Meg said, grim. "At _Crowley._ Take it and go. You kill the smarmy dick. I'll hold off the dogs."

Alex scoffed. "And how the hell are you gonna—" she didn't get to finish her sentence. Meg reached over and seized Alex by the back of the head, cutting her off mid-sentence with a very unexpected open-mouthed kiss that included a lot of tongue. " _Mmff!_ " Alex protested, pushing Meg with two hands even as her brothers and Cas stared, too taken aback to do anything. Smiling as her eyes sparkled with mirth, Meg let go of Alex, who looked like she'd just been victimized. "…what the _hell_ , Meg?!" 

"Don't pretend you didn't like it, sugar lips," Meg said, waggling Alex's angel blade at her chidingly.

Alex glared and bristled. "Give that _back_ ," she warned, really pissed. That was _hers._

"Finders keepers," Meg drawled, walking backwards a little, teasing.

"Ugh, Cas, _really_?" Dean asked, and everyone looked to see what was… _oh god._

Cas looked down at himself in puzzlement. "I don't understand. I found the sight of a demon kissing my w… woman abhorrent," he said, catching himself. "But my body seems to like it." Yeah—he had a boner to prove it, too.

"Your _woman_?" Dean asked, then let it go in favor of something he found more disturbing at the moment: "Ugh, Cas, no one wants to hear your personal problems! Put that thing away!"

"…Why are you staring at other guy's wangs anyway, Dean?" Sam asked, seeming to be amused. "I didn't even notice until you pointed it out." Dean gave his brother a deadly glare. Nearby, Cas attempted to conceal his state of arousal, patting his erection upwards uncertainly, muttering a comment about how unwieldy it was. Dean made a sound of utter disgust and rolled his eyes, looking away. Alex watched with a frozen look of sheer _what the hell is happening?!_ on her face.

Meg wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. "Dean and Cas… now _that_ _'_ _s_ a sandwich I wouldn't mind being in the middle of," she purred.

"Yeah well dream on, princess," Dean retorted.

"Oh I _will,_ _"_ she said, grinning slyly. "But not now. Gotta go." she held up Alex's blade meaningfully.

"Hey, whoa—is that even gonna work on a hellhound?" Alex asked.

Meg shrugged. "Well, we're about to find out. Run." She winked at Alex before turning around to face the doors.

* * *

Cas led the Winchesters into a lower part of the prison, saying he thought he could sense Crowley there. It was darker there than anywhere else and the flashlights were necessary again. "Can't see _jack_ ," Dean complained as they walked down old concrete stairs.

" _Shut up_ ," Alex hissed, because he was being too loud. At that second, blinding light suddenly erupted from Cas and there was a horrible screeching sound—when the light died, Cas was just _gone._

Dean fell back slightly in surprise, clutching the handrail of the stairs. "Cas?!"

Alex however had caught a very shocking sight in the beam of her flashlight and she stared in utter betrayed fury at what she saw: Samuel. Standing beside a blood sigil. Dean saw him, too. " _You_ _?_ _"_ he asked, voice soft with disbelief. "You sold us out?!" Alex was to the bottom of the stairs, ready to lay her grandfather out when she was suddenly seized by strong hands even as her brothers were, too—"Damn you, Samuel!" Dean roared, fighting against the demon who'd appeared and grabbed him from behind.

From the doorway behind Samuel, Crowley slowly sauntered. "I have to say, best purchase I've made since Dick Cheney," he commented breezily. Samuel said nothing, just stood there with a stony expression.

"Hiya, Crowley," Dean greeted, half grinning half grimacing against the hold he was in. "How's tricks?"

Crowley chuckled and pinched one of Alex's cheeks roughly, then looked at Dean challengingly. "Ask your sister." Dean looked like he was going to explode from anger as he fought the grip the demon had on him uselessly. "Oh calm _down_ , Ape. I've been working. Big things. Alas, you'll be too _dead_ to participate."

"Really," Dean commented lowly, insolence tightening his features.

"Shame I have to do away with you three," Crowley said. "Rather enjoyed your indentured servitude." He smirked and looked at the demon holding Alex tight. "Lock the wonder twins up together, will you?" He looked at Dean smugly. "Put Captain Rageface in his own private suite."

The demons started to drag the Winchesters away. Dean's shouts echoed through the drafty old prison. "You're a dead man, Samuel! A dead man! You hear me?!"


	67. In Too Deep

" _You let me violate you,_ _desecrate you_ _, penetrate you;  
You let me complicate you_ _…_ _you help me get away from myself._ _"  
_ \- Nine Inch Nails

* * *

The three Winchesters were dragged back the way they'd come through Crowley's dilapidated prison and then through a cell block they hadn't explored. Dean was hurled into a cell separate from his brother and sister. The door clanged shut behind him with a loud sound and Dean cast his gaze around the small space as he shook with absolute fury. Un- _fucking_ -believable! Their own grandfather selling them out like this!

"Sam?! Alex!" he bellowed, pacing the small space of the cell he was in and craning to hear evidence of their proximity. He thought they had been stuck into a cell next to his, but the echoing sounds and thick walls made it hard to tell.

From nearby, he heard his sister give a blood-curdling scream instead of an affirmative response. "Oh my god _ohmygod_ ahh! _Ahh!_ Get away from me!"

Dean went frozen with shock and fear. Was Sam attacking her? Was she being tortured separately? Had the twins been locked up with a monster?! "What is it?" he asked in a panicking shout. He yanked on the locked door to his cell uselessly. "Alex! Sam! Alex, what is it?!" All he heard were sounds of scuffling nearby.

And then the response came. "The biggest _fucking_ _spider_!" Alex screamed. "Sam _get it away_ from me!"

Dean became exasperated. "Spider?!" he exclaimed, staring up at the wall in front of him with a funny look on his face. "Weren't you punching a _demon_ minute ago?"

She didn't reply. He heard her shoes shuffling against the cold concrete floor nearby. They sounded either next cell over or one cell down. "Sam, _kill it!_ " she whined.

Dean could just make out Sam's low, annoyed voice. "Fine, Jesus _Christ_ , Alex," Sam muttered. "Happy?" The deed must have been done.

Still, Alex's sarcasm reigned. "No!"

Of all the things to feel at that very moment... Dean was a touch amused. "You are a piece of work, Al," he said, more to himself than to her as he rubbed his face and wondered how many hairs had just turned gray from the fear she'd just put him through. "Tiny little thing you can step on. Yeah, _real_ scary."

The viewing latch on the solid metal door to the cell suddenly swung open, demanding Dean's attention. On the other side of the door Samuel stood and peered in at him. Dean's fury returned in a heartbeat to see the face of treachery staring back at him. "You want forgiveness, find a priest," he growled.

His grandfather had the nerve to look sorry. "I just want you to understand—" he started.

"Oh, _I understand_ ," Dean interrupted as he moved forward to confront Samuel through the open viewing. His blood had reached a boiling point and he wanted to _strangle_ the man on the other side of the prison door. "I understand that you're a _liar._ You talk about putting _blood_ first? You sound just like my dad, the difference is, he actually _did._ _"_

Samuel's temper surged to match Dean's. "I _am_ putting blood first!"

Disgust twisted Dean's features. "Oh gimme a break!"

" _Mary_ _'_ _s_ my blood!" Samuel shouted. "My _daughter_! Don't come at me like I sold you out, Dean, you sold out your own mother." His volume rose again. "It was her or Sam, and you chose _Sam_ , plain and simple."

"Oh that is such _crap_!" Dean fired back. "You wanna know what really happened? You chose a _demon_ over your own _gran_ _dkids_!"

That accusation made Samuel stand back slightly and look at Dean with reservation. The angry fire in his eyes died down to something more cool and measured. "See it how you want," he said. "I don't even know what Sam is. And you want me to protect him or something? You three are strangers." Dean scoffed at that comment. So much for family ties. Samuel was here to try and feel better about what he'd done, which was basically signing Dean and his siblings' death certificates. "No, really, tell me," Samuel continued, voice tempered with indignant insolence, "What _exactly_ are you supposed to be to me?"

"I'll tell you who I am," Dean said soft and low. "I'm the guy you pissed off for the last time. I'm the guy whose brother and sister are at the mercy of the King of Hell 'cause of _you._ I'm the guy you never wanna see again. 'Cause I'll make it out of here, trust me. And the next time you see me, I'll be there to _kill_ you."

Samuel was faintly sorrowful. "Don't think there's gonna be a next time, Dean."

Dean let his voice lower dangerously as his gaze bored into Samuel's. "Whatever gets you through the night." Samuel Campbell was a dead man. _A dead man._

Samuel studied him a moment longer than wordlessly shut the viewing window.

"Yeah, good talk," Dean muttered and turned his back on the door, sweeping the cell again with an incensed glare while he looked for any kind of weapon or way out. Nada. Nothing. Behind him, the door creaked and Dean turned as a frown came over his face. He halfway expected to see Samuel there… but instead he saw the two demons who'd dragged him into the cell in the first place. Before a sarcastic comment could make its way out of his mouth, he was seized by either arm.

A couple cells over, Alex and Sam heard their brother yelling. "Get off me! Get off me!" His shouts faded like he was being dragged further and further away. Alex pressed up against the door with her cheek against the cold metal as she tried to squint out the tiny crack in the viewing latch seam. She gave a frustrated sound and hit the side of her fist against the door helplessly as she straightened.

"See anything?" Sam asked. He hung back a few steps in the shadowed interior of the filthy cell.

"What do you think?!" She rounded on her brother with a vengeance. "I can't see _shit_!"

Overall, Sam was calm and collected but _did_ appear to be slightly agitated. Probably because he, like everyone else in the world, didn't like being held against his will. He scanned the cell, eyes squinting as his gaze swept the ceiling. Alex raked a hand through the hair on her scalp and she paced a couple steps in pure agitation. Samuel had banished Cas with a blood sigil and it would be a couple hours before he could return. Dean had just been dragged off who-knows-where by a couple of demons and she was trapped here with Soulless. And then of course, what about Meg? Who knows where _that_ piece of work was. So: weaponless, helpless, stuck. Forced to stand by and let Dean get tortured or killed. _Son of a bitch._

The little viewport opened just then and Alex whirled to see who it was. She was abruptly hopeful it would be Dean, having made escape. It wasn't. Samuel's blank face stared in at them and hatred welled up in Alex's chest immediately. "You _son_ of a _bitch!_ " she growled, stalking over to the door and hitting it hard with her palms, startling Samuel a little with the loud sound and sudden shake the action created. "If you just got my brother killed I'll rip your _heart_ out!"

Samuel's dark eyes contemplated her for a second and then drifted away back over to behind her shoulder as if he were disinterested in her. "No offense, Alexandra, but I'm here to talk to your brother, not you."

"Tough _shit,_ Grandpa!" she snapped, moving her face into his line of sight to make him look at her. "I don't care how much you want your daughter back! She's already dead, _we_ aren't! You _crazy_?!"

"Don't you talk about your mother that way," he said in a voice that wavered. "She _shouldn_ _'_ _t_ be dead."

"And my brothers and me _should be_?" Alex challenged brutally.

Samuel grew colder, more apathetic. "I can't look at it that way. Look, fact is I don't love you. Or Sam. Or Dean. I love _Mary_. I need her back. Sad it came to this, but nothing else except my daughter will make life bearable for me. Trust me, I've tried to get by without her, I've tried replacing her. But she's irreplaceable. This had to happen."

"What are you _talking_ about?" Alex asked, looking at her grandfather with a crazy expression. He sounded insane. "Crowley will _never_ make good on what he's promising you, Samuel! He's a _demon_! And even if he _does_ magically come through for you… you think my _mother_ will like the fact that you killed her three kids to get her back?"

Samuel's jaw tightened a little and he looked down. "She doesn't have to know that."

That chilled Alex—her grandpa was a sociopath. She might not have known much about her mother, but from an encounter of her own thanks to time travel, she knew that Mary Winchester was an incredibly perceptive woman. And Samuel was a dumbass to think he could ever get away with this stupid idea. She raised her chin and narrowed her eyes so that she looked down her nose at him. "So Crowley brought Sam back soulless and you back as a _brainless_ motherfucker, huh?"

"Young lady that's enough!" Samuel snapped, the fire of fury leaping up into his eyes. He crowded himself closer to the door to rant at her. "Ungrateful, _spoiled_ brat—you are nothing like your mother, _nothing_! You're just like that worthless father of yours!"

A derisive little smile came over Alex's face and her superior attitude clearly confused Samuel. "Let me out of this cell and say that to my face, old man," she said lowly. "I _am_ just like my dad. He was a _killer._ And so am I."

There was a short silence and then Samuel relented and smiled briefly while looking down. "You and Dean can threaten me all you want," he said, superiority glinting in his dark gaze as he looked back up at her. "But look which side of the prison door you're standing on."

That comment did her in. Her temper and helplessness got the better of her and through the small square window in the cell door, Alex spit in her grandfather's face. Shocked and angry, Samuel shrank back, wiping his face with the back of a jacket sleeve. He looked like he couldn't believe that had just happened, but when he saw spit come away on the sleeve of his jacket, he snapped. Something seemed to register in his mind and with a sound of anger he senselessly rushed the door, jamming his face right up at the edge of the viewport in a reaction that wasn't thought through, only meant to frighten. It didn't frighten. What he did was what Alex had been hoping for. She was ready and put all her strength and momentum into smashing the heel of her hand into his nose. She heard something crunch from the impact and as Samuel stumbled back, clutching at his suddenly profusely-bleeding nose.

"…You broke my nose," he muttered, dazed and confused as he pulled his hand back to look at the bleed smeared into the palm of his hand.

"Let me out of here and I'll break more than that, you bastard!" She gave him one final death glare then hit the door and marched further back into the cell. She couldn't look at him anymore because the fury he inspired made her feel like she was going to have a damn heart attack. Breaking his nose gave her very little satisfaction. The fact remained that she and her brothers were probably going to die here.

Samuel must have been a glutton for punishment because he came back to the viewport (keeping a safe distance though). He peered in at Sam, who stood back with a dark, unreadable expression. "Sam, look," their grandfather said wearily as he glanced Alex's way with apprehensiveness before he returned his gaze to Sam. "We hunted together for a whole damn year and I just want you to know even though—"

Scoffing, Sam cut him of coldly. "You can stop right there, Samuel, I don't wanna hear it." Anger made his tone harsh as he walked closer to his grandfather at a threatening gait. "I don't care what you have to say. You sold me out. You sold _us_ out." Samuel said nothing. It looked like maybe he was trying to find something else to say. Sam smiled darkly. "And I thought _I_ was supposed to be the soulless one."

"Go ahead and fuck off, you old bag," Alex suggested from further back in the cell.

Sam's stare was hard on their grandfather. "You heard her," he said. "Fuck off." Samuel's jaw went rigid and he slammed the viewing latch closed with a bang. Muffled footsteps retreated away from the cell and even as the sound faded, Sam turned around, focused once more. "I have an idea to get us out of here."

Alex had her arms folded and her hopes low. "Yeah, what?"

"Devil's trap."

"Oh okay, _sure_ ," Alex replied sarcastically. "You got your sidewalk chalk with you? Left mine at home."

Sam brushed past her and crouched down against the wall. "I got something even better." He shoved his jacket sleeve and shirt sleeve up, baring his entire forearm. Alex was shocked when he brought his bare arm to his mouth and opened wide, biting himself hard on the arm. Hard enough to draw blood. His expression was terrifyingly focused and malevolent.

"W-what are you doing?!" Alex asked in a suddenly high voice. She'd backed up involuntarily at the sight of him chewing himself open.

He paused, looking up at her. "Getting us something to draw with," he replied factually. His own blood dripped out of the edge of his mouth. He bit himself again, deeper, making a soft sound of pain as he did.

" _Damn_ ," Alex breathed, equal parts freaked out and impressed. She wouldn't have thought of that, at least not as fast as he did.

A small river of dark red blood welled up from the punctures Sam had inflicted on himself. "Okay, you gotta do this fast so I don't lose too much," he said.

"Me?" Alex asked, not following.

Sam glanced at the high ceiling. "I can't reach all the way up there," he said, waving her over curtly. "Hop on."

Even as she understood she was supposed to sit on his shoulders and finger paint the demon trap overhead, a wave of bittersweet nostalgia and pain came over her. Sam was waiting, crouched there, for her to get on. Man, she hadn't sat on his shoulders since they were really little. Piggyback rides had happened in recent years, but sitting on his shoulders hadn't. After hesitation she complied, swinging her legs over on either side of his head so that her feet dangled down in front of his torso. He stood up really slowly, using the wall for support. Once he was standing, he held her steady by both shins. Looking down for the briefest second at the top of her twin's head, Alex reminisced. "Like old times, huh."

He was walking them forward to the center of the cell and held his bloody arm up for her. "Just draw the trap, will you?"

It took a little longer than normal—having to direct Sam where to walk ("To your left. Okay, two steps right. Forward one? Back three. Okay, circle around and watch it, _watch it._ ") was challenging. The ceiling was barely in reach and she had to really stretch. She forgot she was working with Soulless a couple times. The times she lost balance and almost toppled off and he helped steady and catch her, she could have been with Sam again. _Her_ Sam. And when she remembered that she wasn't, it made her all the more determined to get them out of there to fight this crazy situation all the harder. They hurried as best they could with the trap and the second it was done, Sam ducked his head down and leaned forward. Alex jumped off and hurried to the cell door, beginning to pound on it. "Hey! Hey assholes! Let us outta here you black-eyed bitches!" She kept on shouting lewd challenges for a couple minutes before the door finally shuddered and opened.

Alex backpedaled fast to the rear of the cell where Sam waited. "Well, if it isn't the two demon blood junkies," said the taller demon, smirking. "You two have quite the reputation…" he sneered. "I'm not impressed." Neither of the demons noticed the trap and advanced on the Winchesters.

"What'd you do with our brother?" Sam asked as the demons slowly approached.

"Oh, you'll find out," said the other smirking demon. "You two are actually about to join him." That was the precise moment when they hit the edge of the trap and could walk no further. Confusion showed on their faces as they looked at each other… and then a drop of blood hit one on the top of the head and he looked up, seeing the demon trap.

Alex and Sam were already on their way out, skirting the edge of the trap and escaping through the open door, running the way they'd heard Dean get dragged ten minutes ago.

The twins hurried through cell blocks and presently heard sounds of a fight somewhere nearby. However, because of the echoing in the prison, it was hard to tell where the sounds originated from. "Dean?!" Alex shouted.

"This way!" Sam said, taking off down another rusted and dirt-scattered hallway. They could hear Dean shouting and fighting someplace close. Sam burst through a set of double doors with his sister right on his heels. They found themselves in a huge kitchen and on the floor, Dean was wrestling two hungry ghouls back.

Sam came up short, stopping to stare for a second then looking around to locate something that could be used as a weapon. Alex however took a flying leap and tackled one of the ghouls off of Dean. Even as they rolled around on the ground, she clutched at his hair, trying to get a grip so that she could inflict head trauma, but he ended up getting the upper hand, pinning her down. "Smaller than the other one," he said, eyeing her like she looked tasty. "But I never minded a little snack."

He leaned close, intent to eat her. " _Hey_!" Sam swung a metal pipe at the ghoul's head like a baseball bat, cracking the skull on impact. The ghoul fell off Alex, dead. Staring up at her twin in mild surprise, Alex watched as he turned his attention to their brother.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean was shouting as he struggled nearby underneath a ghoul. "Get off of me, _off of me!_ " Sam finished that one off too, knocking him off Dean and then stabbing the pipe down to crush the ghoul's skull completely. Just on her feet by then, Alex stared at Sam in more surprise. Everything Dean kept saying lately about how it was unsafe to be around Sam seemed untrue—he'd just saved both their lives for crying out loud.

Out of breath on the ground, Dean went limp in relief that the struggle was over. He shut his eyes for a second then reopened them with a sigh. He slowly stood up to join his siblings then looked down at the two dead ghouls and got a smug little smirk on his face. "Dinner… is _not_ served," he wisecracked. He got two eye rolls for _that_ groaner.

"Yeah great, Dean," Sam said. "Where's Meg?"

"How would I know that?" Dean asked, half indignant. "I was busy fighting off _ghouls!_ "

"Calm down you two," Alex said, motioning for the door tiredly. "Let's go back where we saw her last."

The Winchesters retraced their steps carefully and encountered no one along the way—no demons, no Meg, no Cas, no Samuel. It was almost _too_ quiet.

When they found the hallway where they'd been cut off by the Hellhounds, they found nothing but black blood splattering the halls. "Well she definitely did some damage," Dean muttered, crouching to finger some of the black blood pooling on the floor. That's when they heard a shrieking scream of pain from somewhere close.

* * *

Meg was tied down and stretched out naked to a torture chair. Leather bindings with devil's traps held her in place, making escape impossible. The demon possessing Christian Campbell smirked at her and sliced the jagged demon blade into the side of her thigh. She screamed in pain as he cut her slowly, maniacally. When he paused his work, Meg mouthed off. "You know, you're sticking that thing in all the wrong places."

"Really?" he purred. "You sure were squealing…"

"Knock yourself out," Meg returned, valiantly trying to sound nonplussed. "It's a host body. Some girl from Cheboygan, moved to LA to be an actress. It's probably not even the worst thing that ever happened to her."

"…Let's test that theory," the other demon replied softly, trailing the icy tip of the blade up her inner thigh and then plunging it into her completely. When Meg screamed, he just grinned sadistically and twisted the knife, furthering the blinding pain.

This is what the Winchesters walked into, and demon-on-demon torture or not, Meg or not, Dean and Alex were of one mind. Alex's angel blade was laid on the little table of torture instruments beside Christian. As Dean crept up quietly with Alex just behind, Meg caught sight of them and her shrieks of pain suddenly turned to shrieks of laughter.

Startled by the boisterous sound, Christian pulled the knife out, regarding Meg questioningly. "What are you laughing at?"

Alex tossed Dean the angel blade off the table. "Dean Winchester's behind you, meatsack," Meg murmured coyly even as Dean caught the blade. Dean stabbed an unwitting Christian in the back then kicked him off the blade dead.

Hanging back at the doorway Sam watched with an odd expression. He eyed Meg's naked and bloody body with distaste. "We should go. Hurry up."

Dean tossed Alex her blade and after she caught it, she wrinkled her nose at the demon blood on it, wiping it off on her jeans. Dean silently began to untie Meg's left wrist. Meg turned her head Alex's way, smiling saucily. "You came back for me, Ariel," she said in that playful, throaty voice of hers.

"I came back for _this,_ " Alex corrected, holding her blade up for emphasis and sticking it back into her jacket where it belonged. She grudgingly helped Dean untie Meg, who kept looking at Alex as a little smile played at her lips.

"Don't fall in love with me," Meg said in a voice dripping with deep self-pleasure at her imagined wit. Alex felt equal parts annoyed and embarrassed at smug demon eyeing her up right now. Locking lips with Meg and having her tongue shoved down her throat wasn't one of Alex's favorite things but Meg was apparently still thinking about it.

"I'll try not to," Alex retorted dryly. Dean rolled his eyes but said nothing. Sam however was smirking, seeming to find the exchange mildly amusing. Once all of the restraints were off, Meg's complete naked glory was on display and she sat up, seeming to enjoy the discomfort she created. She didn't cover herself or sit in a way that would be modest.

"So where's the hottie with the body?" Meg asked, apparently referring to Cas.

"Doesn't matter," Dean said, averting his gaze with a soured expression. "Put your clothes on."

"Where's the fun in that?" she asked, raising an eyebrow and staring at Dean brazenly.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Move it or lose it, Meg," he rumbled, hefting the demon blade again from where it had been dropped on the floor. He turned to check out the room more in depth. Alex recognized the look in her brother's eyes. He was forming a plan to carry out what they'd come here to do: get Crowley. Even as she thought that, he was eyeing the fire alarm pull near the doorway into the room. "All right. I got an idea."

* * *

In a prison that hadn't been used properly in years, the fire alarm sounded with startling abruptness. The high-pitched yowling carried through the entire compound but there was a point of origin and Crowley followed it to the old rec room. What he found there was a dead Christian and an abandoned torture chair. The fire alarm abruptly stopped screaming and Crowley turned to see Dean standing at the fire alarm. Surprise showed on the King of Hell's face. "You should be ghoul scat by now," he said, a convincingly confused frown on his face. That's when he was hit in the back of the head with a wrench.

Crowley went flying and fell down from the blow, stunned momentarily.

Sam held the offending wrench, Dean pulled the demon blade out, Alex already had her angel blade at her side. They silently watched as Crowley picked himself back up indignantly.

"Was that really necessary? I just had this dry-cleaned!" None of the Winchesters said anything. The little smiles that rested mostly in their cool eyes must have alerted the King of Hell to the fact that they had the upper hand—he looked upwards to the ceiling and stopped dusting his hands off as he saw how a spray-painted devil's trap was suspended over his head. Crowley's face pinched slightly in distaste when he realized he was stuck. "So. To what do I owe the reach-around?"

Meg sauntered out from where she'd been hidden and waiting. She came to stand in the gap between Sam and Alex. " _Crowley_ ," she greeted, utter delight on her Hellhound-blood splattered face.

Surprise showed on Crowley's face when he laid eyes on her. Just as fast as surprise showed, he hid it in favor of cool, casual pleasantry. "Whore," he returned.

Meg's smile wavered. "Okay, you know what…" she raised her hand and clenched her fingers in together, using her demonic powers to injure Crowley. The King of Hell's eyes went wide as he coughed up blood. Meg gave Dean a little slide of the eyes. "The best torturers never get their hands dirty," she said in a velvety little drawl. As Crowley stayed doubled over, Meg turned her attention back to him and became all business. "Sam wants a word with you."

Crowley gave another pathetic cough and began to straighten. He was red in the face and had the look of nervousness. "What can I do for you, Sam?" he asked, his voice rougher than normal from whatever Meg had just done.

"You know damn well," Sam said softly, dangerously. "I want my soul back."

Meg appeared slightly taken aback at the revelation. "And here I thought you just grew some balls, Sam," she taunted.

Sam ignored her in favor of glowering at Crowley. " _W_ _ell_?"

"No."

Crowley's short and simple reply pissed Alex off. She was having a crap day and all of her frustrations were making her feel volatile. "We're no _t asking_ you," she said venomously, taking a step forward. "We're _telling_ you."

Meg stepped up too, sending Alex a little flirty smile sidelong. "Actions speak louder than words, sweetie pie," she purred, then clenched her hand again, torturing Crowley without physically touching him once. Crowley fell to his knees, groaning in pain and spitting out blood, catching himself with both hands to keep from collapsing completely.

"My soul, _now,_ " Sam said, jabbing an impatient finger down roughly.

Crowley let loose a sound of frustration and pain alike. "I _can_ _'_ _t_ _,_ " he managed, looking up at Sam wretchedly. His face was beet red and a vein stuck out on his forehead.

"Can't or won't?" Sam demanded in increasing cold anger.

"I said 'can't.' I _meant_ 'can't,' you mop-headed lumberjack," Crowley grumbled. He was glaring viciously. "I was lucky to get _this_ much of you out." He pushed himself up from all fours to stand on his knees. Blood dripped down across the center of his lower lip as he continued to explain himself. "Going back in there for the sloppy bits? No way. I'm good, but _those_ two in there? Forget it."

Alex was enraged completely. "You fucking _liar!_ _" s_ he shouted, and Dean had to catch hold of her arms to stop her from mindlessly charging into the devil's trap.

"Guilty as charged, darling," Crowley conceded readily before looking back at Sam. "But that doesn't change anything. I'm telling you. Sam, why do you _want_ the thing back?" He looked legitimately stumped which was strange. "Satan's got one juicy source of entertainment in there. I'd swallow a rag off a bathhouse floor before I took that soul. Unless you _want_ to be a drooling mess."

Everyone was momentarily silent and stunned. "…Sam, I hate to say it, but he's right," Meg commented, frowning slightly like she was surprised at herself.

"Yeah, right," Sam said lowly, sounding done as he looked at Crowley with dark eyes. "I get it. Thanks." He glanced at Meg. "He's all yours."

"Whoa, what are you, crazy?" Dean gave his brother a dumbstruck look. "He's our only hope!"

"Dean, you heard him," Sam replied bluntly. "He can't get it. He's _useless_." He looked at the demon beside him. "Go crazy, Meg."

Meg made a face and wiggled her shoulders like she was thinking _oh boy_. She looked at Dean expectantly as she held out an eager hand and made a _gimme motion_. The oldest Winchester looked pretty annoyed about it but he handed over the demon blade grudgingly, giving Meg a challenging look as he did. She took it while smiling and then turned to look at Crowley in barely veiled excitement.

"Never thought the day I'd be jealous of Meg," Alex muttered, glaring at a very befuddled looking Crowley. She clenched her blade tighter at her side, wary of either demon trying something funny.

Meg paused at the edge of the devil's trap before entering and looked back at the Winchesters with narrowed eyes. "You'll let me back out… right?" Sam and Dean nodded, Alex just made a face.

Meg entered the devil's trap then stood over Crowley victoriously. He was still on his knees. Her voice was cruel and vengeful. "This is for Lucifer, you pompous little—"

Crowley's weakness suddenly disappeared—perhaps it had been an act, Alex thought briefly as the following happened: He seized Meg by the wrist and yanked her forward, kicked her in the ankle, got the knife, stood up, then rocketed the blade upward into the devil's trap, severing the hold it had on him.

In tandem all three of the Winchesters took a step backwards as the tables turned.

"That's better," Crowley commented lightly as he crossed the severed border of the devil's trap then raised his hands up. He waved them opposite directions offhandedly and on either side of Alex a brother went flying. Sam and Dean were pinned flat against opposite walls uselessly even as Alex whipped her blade up. She was too slow. She was yanked forward through the air at superhuman speeds. Her neck slammed into Crowley's waiting hand where he held her with bruising fingers and the force of impact jarred her, hurt, and knocked all the wind out of her. Her blade clattered to the floor as she stupidly listened to the wrong instinct and grabbed at his wrist with both hands in an effort to lessen his death-grip on her windpipe.

Behind Crowley, Meg shot back up to her feet and found herself at the end of the demon blade—Crowley had won. He looked back at Meg as he held a silent and struggling Alex with his other hand. "You don't know torture, you little _insect_ _,_ _"_ he told Meg in a sharp and smug voice. "Angel girl over here scares me more than you do." Was that a joke? Alex clawed at his hand, trying to toe her angel blade closer, squinting her eyes closed against the crushing pain of Crowley's iron grip.

A familiar sound came to Alex's ears just then and even as she realized it was Cas reappearing, she was let go of as Crowley and Meg both went flying backwards as if hit by a great blast of wind. Almost comically, Crowley rolled ass over head and came to a stop in a heap against a brick column about ten feet away. Alex fell backwards into the strong and familiar grip of Castiel—he got her by both arms and broke her fall firmly before Crowley had even stopped rolling.

Dean and Sam fell down at the same moment that Crowley hit the ground. The King of Hell scrambled up to his feet and his temporary smugness was gone as he realized he was now facing an angel and three very pissed off Winchesters. A nervous smile crossed his face as he took a step back, using the wall beside himself for balance. "Castiel, haven't seen you all season," he joked halfheartedly, eyeing the demon blade that he'd dropped. "You the cavalry now?"

Cas righted Alex and brushed past her, eyeing Crowley with cool temperature. "It would seem that I am." He stooped and took up the demon blade, eyeing it with the ghost of a smile.

"Ah come off it, Cas," Crowley simpered nervously as he eyed Cas and the demon blade. "You're all bark and no bite. Hear you're losing out to Raphael. The whole affair makes Vietnam look like a roller derby." Crowley craned his neck to the side a little to peer at something behind everyone else. "Hey, what's in the gift bag?"

Everyone looked to see what Crowley meant. A burlap sack rested on the ground behind everyone, close to where Cas had reappeared. Cas went to the bag and looked at Crowley with a dark expression in his eyes as he kicked a fold aside to reveal a human skull. " _You_ are."

Crowley's little smile fell. "Not possible."

Alex gaped too. How did Cas find those? Cas looked at Crowley dangerously. "You didn't hide your bones as well as you should have."

Crowley was furious underneath his outward mask and it showed. Still, he began to clap mockingly. "Cookie for you."

"Can you restore Sam's soul or not?" Cas asked sharply. Wait, had he been present for the conversation before Meg went into the demon trap? How did he know that Crowley said he couldn't restore the soul?

She didn't get an answer. Crowley eyed Sam and Dean, who looked ready to kill. "If I could help out in any _other_ way…" he offered pitifully.

" _Answer him!_ " Dean thundered.

Crowley faltered, nervousness making him look jumpy. "I can't." Why wasn't he running? Alex wondered that just before the next thing happened.

Cas was dark and foreboding at Crowley's declaration. "That settles it then." Without anything further, the angel held his hand out over the sack of bones and flames leapt out under his command, consuming the sack immediately. Crowley screamed and convulsed as he stumbled forward, flames engulfing him and burning his skin, clothes, bones all at once. In less than five seconds he was reduced into nothing but a pile of ash on the floor. It was shockingly fast and over before anyone even had the chance to fully process it.

Except perhaps Meg, who saw how she was completely outnumbered. With Crowley's spell gone, she disappeared into thin air. In a bit of a daze, Dean took the demon blade from Cas, who offered it his way. "Well, she's smart, I'll give her that," Dean said with mild chagrin. "I was gonna kill her, too."

"Not if I didn't beat you to it," Alex muttered, reeling from what had just happened. _Goodbye Crowley._ She thought she should feel better about him being wiped off the face of the earth.

"What, you'd kill your girlfriend?" Dean teased about Meg, drawing Alex back to the moment.

That earned him a _shut up, stupid_ look. She then turned her attention to Cas, who'd been blasted away painfully by her asshole grandfather not that long ago. He seemed a little disturbed by what had just happened—even though his face was stoic, she imagined herself good at reading him (or at least better than a strange would be). "You okay, Cas?" she asked. "How are you back so soon?"

He met her gaze with some hesitation. "Samuel's sigil, it wasn't entirely correct," Cas answered, then his eyes darted anyway almost guiltily as he answered Alex's first question. "I'm fine."

Dean and Sam were quiet and a little stunned, same as their sister. "How'd you find his bones?" Dean asked. He sounded sort of awed at Cas, who looked increasingly uncomfortable.

"I… tasked lesser angels to the matter," he replied as he turned slightly, giving the impression that he was restless. "It was a stroke of luck, finding the bones when they did." Cas let his gaze wander tensely over the dank room. "We should leave this place." He gave them no choice in the matter. Without touching any of them, he moved them all back to the outside of the prison where they'd first arrived earlier that night. The switch was startling, especially since it was dark outside still. Sunrise was still an hour or two away. They were all beside the Impala now and the dark prison was quiet beyond the chain link fence encasing it.

Dean was the first one to speak. He was adopting a briefly enthusiastic attitude as it sank in for them all again: Crowley was dead and gone. That was a small positive in the sea of negatives they were left with. "Well… good _bye_ Crowley!" he said, letting a little happily-disbelieving laugh escape before he turned to Cas with a grin. "That was straight up bad _ass_ , buddy." He clapped Castiel on the shoulder and Cas winced. That couldn't have possibly hurt him—Alex looked at the angel oddly. Did he feel guilty for killing Crowley or something?

"Please, Dean," Cas said heavily, avoiding looking at Dean. "I don't need the flattery."

The angel's lack of enthusiasm killed Dean's little smile off and the brief moment was lost. Dean got businesslike. He was a little embarrassed at himself. "Uh, okay, sorry," he said, backing off. "But… for real," Dean continued, more calmly and seriously than before. "Thanks Cas. If it hadn't been for you…"

Cas looked almost pained at the gratitude being expression. "Please, don't thank me for that," he said, eyes downcast.

" _Why_?" Dean asked, spreading his arms out and trying to knock some sense into Cas. "You just _killed_ the King of Hell! _And_ saved our asses. I mean it, Cas. Thanks."

Cas met Dean's gaze grudgingly. "You're welcome."

Something wasn't right here, and Dean silently studied Cas for two seconds, trying to figure out what. "What's wrong with you, Cas?" he asked, genuinely confused and a little worried. Alex was the same: standing there quietly with a deeply observant frown on her face as she watched Cas, who stood beside her.

Cas paused, his features terse. "Crowley was right. It's…" he looked upward briefly. "Not going well for me upstairs. Not at all."

Dean nodded grim understanding and offered assistance readily because Cas had just done them the biggest solid in existence. "Well do you need help? If there's anything we can do—"

"There isn't," Cas said firmly, looking at Dean with pained eyes. "I _wish_ circumstances were different." He looked agonized emotionally and his jaw tightened as he looked down. "I'd much rather be here."

"Yeah, we get that," Dean said sympathetically, seeing how Cas's gaze flickered to Alex and hers to him. "Loud and clear," he said, chuckling kind of ruefully. He heaved a sigh inside as he watched them for a couple seconds. They looked like people who loved each other and cared about each other and it was gross and puke-worthy and kind of ( _kind_ of) sweet. He'd never admit that last part aloud for the sake of pride. Cas really _was_ proving himself to be an okay guy these days. Like it or not, Dean was starting to accept Cas was going to be a fixture in the Winchester world. And maybe that fact wasn't as terrible as he'd thought it was once upon a time. Looking at Cas now Dean saw someone who had the weight of the world on his shoulders—and Dean knew what that was like. "Look, Cas, we know you got a steaming pile on your plate," he said, catching Cas's attention again. "It's not easy for any of us right now. There's no need for apologies. We're your friends."

Genuine relief, however faint, relaxed Cas's features a little. "Thank you Dean." Cas looked at Sam then—the middle Winchester had been silent and watchful with his hands stuck in his jacket pockets this entire time. He stood off a little bit from everyone else. "Listen, Sam, we'll find another way," Cas said to him.

Sam nodded vacantly in what appeared to be disinterest. "You really wanna help?" He nodded toward the prison. "Prison full of monsters. Can't just leave 'em, can't let 'em go."

Cas followed Sam's gaze and his face clouded over. He nodded briefly. "I understand." He looked at Alex, whose silence Dean found odd. Cas and spoke to her softly in that deep gravelly voice of his. "I'll be back in a moment." And he disappeared without anything further.

Sam leaned his clasped hands onto the Impala hood opposite of his siblings. "Well, looks we have our answer on _that._ _"_

"What, about your soul?" Dean asked, then shook his head, determined not to let it go. "No, he's right, we'll figure something else out."

Sam shook his head faintly, detached and unaffected. "No, we won't."

Alex tried to put in her opinion at that point. She sounded tired. "Look, there's gotta be someone else who'll know something or be able t—"

"There's not. You heard what Crowley said," Sam interrupted, looking at her with a hard gaze and then Dean. "And _I_ heard what _Cas_ said. Putting this thing back in would smash me to _bits_."

Confusion overtook Alex. "What?"

"Yeah," Sam said, glancing at her briefly. "Your boyfriend's holding out on you."

Predictably, Alex looked to Dean for explanation but he had another crisis to deal with: Sam. "Look," Dean said, voice toughening slightly in authority as he lectured his brother. "Cas said he didn't know for sure _what_ your soul would do to you once we get it back."

"Yeah well you know what?" Sam's voice was gathering volume and roughness, too. "When angels and demons agree on something, call me nuts, I pay attention!"

"You say this now?" Dean asked, feeling a little disillusioned. This is what they'd spent _months_ chasing and pursuing and now Sam just wanted to give up? "After we practically died trying to—"

"Exactly!" Sam cut him off brusquely. "We almost got ourselves _killed_. I mean, how many times do I risk my ass for this? Enough's enough, I don't think I _want_ it back." He paced off a few steps, seeming to contemplate walking off completely.

Dean did that thing oldest siblings did sometimes where he decided he knew what Sam was feeling more than Sam did. "You don't even know what you're saying," he said, because Sam—the _real_ Sam would never say any of this stuff.

Sam turned sharply and looked at Dean dead on, almost in warning. " _No_ , I'm saying something you don't like," he corrected rudely. "You obviously care, a lot, and that's great." Sam sounded like he couldn't have meant that any less, like he was annoyed with Dean's attempts to reason with him. "But I'm pretty sure I'm better off without it."

"You're wrong," Dean said, shaking his head hollowly. His stomach felt twisted with anxiety. "You are so _wrong_."

Sam scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Whatever, Dean." He turned and walked off into the darkness, footsteps crunching on the gravel road.

"Sam, don't walk away," Dean said, then raised his voice to a shout when Sam kept walking without a pause or backward glance. "Sam! _Sam_!" He took a second, telling himself not to, then made to march after his brother. Alex caught his arm to stop him.

"Just give him a couple minutes, Dean," she said in a weary voice. Dean almost told her to let go and let him go after Sam, because giving him a couple minutes to cool off was _real_ Sam stuff and soulless Sam wasn't like that, wouldn't calm down and listen to reason no matter _how_ long you gave him. But when she grabbed his arm, Dean let the pause linger and he changed his mind and didn't follow after Sam. He gave up—because he was too _tired_ to keep doing this shit.

The two of them watched Sam's hulking figure disappear off into the darkness for a long moment before Alex spoke up again in a quiet and worried voice. "Cas really said Sam's soul would… smash him to bits?"

Dean let out a quiet gust of weary breath. He didn't want her to know this because like Cas, he'd wanted at least _someone_ to have hope. But he wasn't gonna _lie_ to her about it either. "I mean, think about it," Dean said, looking down at a shoe. "He's had all that time down in the cage with Lucy and Mike… soul got kicked around in there. Might not be such a good idea to put it back in Sam. _If_ we figure out some way to get it out."

Alex's profile was tense and worried beyond her years as she stared off into the night with a tight jaw for a long, silent moment. "And Cas knew this all along?"

Dean shrugged mildly. "Said he didn't want you to worry about it."

Alex's mouth hardened momentarily. "That's kinda sweet," she said grumpily. "But it also kind of pisses me off." Dean smiled a little at that. She wasn't smiling. Frowning royally, she looked at Dean accusingly. "Why do you both _do_ that? Treat me like I can't handle the things you can?"

"Look, we're just trying to protect you," Dean defended, then realized maybe his honest answer was the wrong one.

"Oh, so it's a team effort now to hold out on me?"

Dean couldn't do this with her tonight, just couldn't. "Come on, Al," he mumbled tiredly, wanting to avoid a fight at all costs. "Don't be like that."

"I just want Sam to be okay and I'm his _sister_ , I should _know_ this kind of stuff!" she protested. "Do you know how much time I spend tearing myself apart inside over what's happened to him?" Dean took in her honest and guilty expression and it killed him, especially when her face twisted up into that pleading look she used to give him in younger years. The one she made when she needed him to tell her everything was going to be okay. "What if he's never the same again? _Ever_?" She looked like she could have cried at the question she was asking and Dean took her by both shoulders firmly to get her to listen.

"I'm gonna find a damn way, you hear me?" he asked in a focused voice as he tried to catch her downcast gaze. "I'll _find_ a way, I don't care how." He believed himself too as he spoke with such vehement determination.

Instead of looking relieved, she looked further disturbed as her eyes snapped up to his. "Don't say that," she said in a voice that was clearly scared. "Don't you even _think_ about doing the kind of crap you did before."

Dean realized what she'd inferred from his words and he was a little stricken that she'd worry about him making another soul deal. Shutting his eyes as he understood her fears, Dean pulled her into his arms and hugged her guiltily, kicking himself for not thinking more carefully about what he said to her. "Come on, trust me, I'm not going down that road again," he told her in a little voice. "You know that." He felt her nod stiffly and Dean let go. He felt pretty shitty overall and clearly so did she.

She cleared her throat and wiped underneath an eye, wouldn't look him directly. "Dean, if Cas isn't optimistic…" she said, then didn't finish the sentence. "I mean, he always knows this stuff."

Yeah, maybe Cas did, but Dean didn't care _what_ Cas knew or didn't know. Dean Winchester didn't give up—it didn't matter about the facts or the odds. It was about never, ever giving up on each other. It kind of seemed like Alex was getting close to giving up, so that's why he told her what he did next. "I'm not throwing in the towel yet and neither are you."

She looked at him with dejected and frustrated eyes then toward the prison restlessly. Crickets chirped pleasantly and Dean thought of how ironic that was. Castiel reappeared just then out of thin air, startling him a little. "I've done as you asked," he said grimly.

Dean nodded his earnest gratitude once he got over the momentary surprise. "Thanks Cas. Makes our day a whole helluva lot easier."

… _Now_ what, though? Dean saw how Alex and Cas were trying not to gaze at each other, but were failing. Saps. "You have to cut and run?" Dean asked the angel, trying to get his attention.

Cas seemed to remember Dean and paid attention to him again. "No. I don't have to return to Heaven yet." He frowned, noticing the missing Winchester. "Where has Sam gone to?"

Dean batted an invisible something away as he darkened. "Ah, little soulless twerp's being a drama queen again," he muttered, then forced a less bitchy tone. "I gotta go find him and talk him into getting in the car with me." Cas listened with that familiar stern and unreadable expression on his face. Dean glanced at Alex meaningfully as he questioned Cas. "Can you take her and her ride back to Bobby's?"

Just like Dean had privately predicted, Alex reacted badly. " _What_?" Her momentary surprise morphed into an indignant expression. "Dean, I don't _want_ to go back to Bobby's." Her tone was warning, like she was telling him he'd _better not_ make this decision for her.

Dean nodded his grave understanding but stuck by his guns even though he knew it was about to get a little ugly. "Look. I get that." He glanced at Cas, who knew what he knew—how Sam had threatened Alex's life to Cas's face just a couple hours ago. They had agreed not to tell her, not until they absolutely had to. "But Sam's not stable right now and not safe to be around."

Alex was _not_ having it. She looked at Cas and Dean like they were nuts. "You two act like he's out to kill me or something! Or even worse like I can't _defend_ myself!"

Tired and not in the mindset to fight with her, Dean was very blasé in his response to her. "We know you can, but Sam's not a safe bet right now."

"He saved our lives today!" Alex protested in desperation, sweeping an arm out for effect. " _Both_ of us!"

Dean looked at his sister meaningfully. He didn't want her to know that if he didn't figure something out soon he might have to kill Sam. "Go with me on this one," he coaxed, wishing he could make her understand without totally devastating her. More bitterness and anger showed on her face. "Look," Dean told her with utter seriousness. He was jaded and weary. "Your big brother _and_ your boyfriend may not agree all the time, but we both want you as far away from Sam as possible." Alex looked at Cas like she found that confounding and unthinkable before she looked back at Dean. "I just need to figure some stuff out, Al."

" _What_ stuff?!" she exploded, getting riled up because Dean wasn't budging. "Why are you leaving me out of the loop, Dean?" she accused. "That wasn't part of the deal! Did you not hear what I was saying to you two minutes ago?!"

Dean shook his head and gave her a tight little sad attempt at a smile. "Sorry, kiddo. I'll call you in a couple days, all right?" Alex was gonna be mad about this one, but Dean needed to go find Sam and deal with _that._ He looked at Cas, who seemed to understand this was coming. "Take her back to Bobby's, Cas."

Alex's mouth dropped open as her eyebrows slammed together in a deeply resisting expression. "De—" she started, but her brother disappeared from in front of her eyes and instead of Dean she was staring at the dark attic. Where her brother had been there was now a familiar ceiling-high bookshelf. She whirled, shocked and indignant. " _Cas_!" She couldn't believe him and was so mad she could have spit. "What, you just do whatever my brother tells you now?!" She trembled and pointed at the floor for emphasis with a deadly serious expression. "Take me back there _now_."

Cas's eyes seemed sad. He made no move to do what she said. "Alex, please understand," he said quietly, as if attempting to reason with her. He wasn't going to do what she said, and it was obvious. "Dean and I feel that it's not safe for you near Sam right now and that—"

"I don't _need_ you and my brother making decisions for me!" Alex almost shouted. Was he for real right now? Was he really going to _force_ her into doing what he and Dean so obviously wanted?

Brief frustration showed on his face. "Perhaps you _do_ need us making decisions for you if you would choose recklessness otherwise."

Her mouth dropped open again as her eyebrows shot up high. _Unbelievable!_ "What are you talking about?! My whole _life_ is reckless!" she protested. She ran a furious hand through her the hair on her scalp as she turned away in an attempt to gather herself because she hadn't been this mad in a long time. She couldn't handle what her life was right now—a shell of her former glory and the past few months had been ridiculous—besides helping on a couple hunts she'd accomplished _nothing_ and done _nothing_ and the men in her life trying to sideline her was _not acceptable_ any longer. Infuriated anew at the thought of Cas and Dean clearly conspiring to shut her away into so-called 'safety,' she turned back to Cas as she shook. "I'm not asking for the moon, I just want to help, to contribute, to do _something_ goddammit!" Her frustration was mounting to insane levels and she wanted to smack him across the face or cry or possibly both. "This is my _family_! Sam's not gonna hurt me, you and Dean are being _ridiculous_!"

"You don't know that Sam will not hurt you," Cas insisted earnestly, his voice raising just slightly. Despite his calmer reactions, Alex could see how he was trying to reign in some frustration with her. "Listen to me, Alex. I have reasons behind my actions," he told her in a forceful tone. "I understand your exasperation, but I have to ask you to please _trust_ me." His eyes appealed to her in a gentle way and his voice softened. "I am attempting to keep you _safe._ "

"You're not trying to keep me safe, you and Dean are trying to _control_ me!" she snapped. "If one more person tries to control me I'm gonna lose my damn mind, Cas," she seethed and then smacked a book off the stack of boxes she stood near. She was too mad to think about what she was saying and it came out of her like a furious volcanic eruption. "I'm a hunter! I'm a Winchester! And you're all acting like I'm made out of _glass_ , like I didn't spend the entire last _year_ on my own! I did just _fine_ without you and Dean there to _baby me_ or did you forget?!"

Abruptly crestfallen and hurt by her words, Cas was silent for a long beat in which Alex became unbearably regretful about what she'd just said. That had been out of line and she realized it as soon as she said it, but even more so as his face continued to grow more and more remorseful and sad. "No. I did not forget," he said quietly, looking down for a long moment at the reminder of their painful and silent separation. "I remember that every hour of every day."

His shoulders had slumped and his expression was deeply ashamed. Alex wanted to kick herself. She swallowed against a painful lump and her voice wavered a little. "Cas, I didn't mean—"

He uncharacteristically interrupted. "It is not my intention to make you feel coddled." He looked downward in deep frustration and clenched his jaw and Alex was ashamed of herself all over again even though she was still angry too. However, shame and anger couldn't win out over the thing she felt the most: frustration. Helplessness. The very strong desire to beat her head into a wall.

"Well how am I _supposed_ to feel?" Alex asked earnestly while looking at him in rising emotion. "I'm _frustrated_ , Cas!" Her voice was high and tight with the threat of tears. She refused to cry though and shook her head, looked down as her voice lowered to a rough and irritated whisper. "I'm so damn _frustrated._ "

It wasn't a good apology. It wasn't an apology at all. But she felt too scraped dry emotionally to even know how to say the right thing. Sam might be forever-soulless and Dean was pushing her away and she couldn't seem to hold it together for Cas… the men in her life imagined her weak and defenseless… everything sucked. And there was space between her and Cas. Too much space. Cas stood off about four feet, and those four feet seemed impossible to cross. Alex was too afraid of rejection. She just wanted to ask him to forget it all and just hold her.

Just earlier that night Cas had seemed endlessly in love with her and they'd been close, intimate, and passionate for however snatched a moment. It seemed a lifetime ago and she couldn't fathom it at the current moment with him standing off with his arms slack at his sides and eyes so hurt as they looked upon her.

"I know that you are frustrated," he said after a moment, clearly trying very hard to be respectful of her feelings. "But please. Try to understand…" he drifted a step closer, making her heart leap involuntarily. He was watching her closely, studying her reaction to his nearing presence. "I know that you are not made out of glass as you say. But…" he came another step closer and the love and worry in his eyes _killed_ her. "The thought of you being in danger without me there to protect you is…" his voice weakened, " _terrifying_ to me." His anxiety bled in to her and she tried to remember that she was still kinda mad at him. It was getting pretty difficult to do so though. He was close now and he appeared heartbroken as he touched the side of her head, let his thumb brush her cheek. Waves of physical comfort washed over her at his touch and she leaned into his hand without even realizing it. His eyes clung to hers. "If something more happens to you than what already has because of my absence, Alex… I couldn't bear it." He went silent for a long moment.

What Alex couldn't know was the source of the guilt and pain and fear in Cas at that moment was due to his increasing terror that his dishonesty and deception would be discovered before the right time, that his beloved Alex would reject him and tell him the truth he already suspected of himself: that he was no better than a demon. The greatest fear he possessed was her rejecting him for what he had done and the deal he had made. But he was in too deep and too far gone and was left _no choice_ but to continue forward. He was doing this for _her_ , for _them,_ for their future. He had no one to turn to except her yet he couldn't share his most painful and frightening burden with her. He had to carry it alone and he knew that. But because of the gnawing terror and the growing anxiety that she would revile him in the end, he was increasingly desperate to prove himself to her in whatever way he could. He _needed_ to be the man that she believed him to be. He wanted to bury himself in her and forget every other thing in existence, he wanted her to take him away from himself and the reality he had built. However illogical, however selfish, he wanted to seize her and release his frustrations and fears upon her. He felt caged within himself and out of control and terrified to lose her. A shell of who he was supposed to be.

Alex looked at Cas in heightening worry. He shook his head as his eyebrows pressed in closer and he put his other hand on the other side of her head as he studied her with his intense eyes that were full of years she couldn't even begin to grasp.

"You are the single-most driving force in my existence," he told her, making her stomach flip around. Every sentence he said became more unbearably intense and thrilling and terrifying. "You are the most important thing," he continued, tone softening to a fierce murmur. His husky voice carried burdens and worries she didn't understand. "Everything I'm doing is for you." He paused and pain hid in the depths of his azure gaze. " _Everything_." He sounded almost afraid at that point and he still held her face in his hands. His face was drifting closer and he looked hungry and desperate and anxious. "If I don't have you, I have nothing." He was almost scaring her at this point because everything he said was scaring _him_ —she could hear it in his voice. "I need you _safe,_ " he said in a voice that seemed more a plea than anything else. His voice softened even more and she could barely hear him. Why did he look so freaked out? "I… need _you_."

When he said he needed her, Alex felt the same, and all of the frustration—sexual and otherwise—made her volatile. _Fuck this conversation._ She didn't want words or painful discussions or any more of this howling insecurity. What she wanted was something much simpler. She wanted it rough and hard and _now_ and as such she acted on impulse and grabbed him, kissing him openly and passionately to convey her starvation. Fractionally surprised at the suddenness and intensity of her kiss, Cas still embraced her readily. He was much more gentle than she was and it made her mad—she wanted brutal and he was being tender. She decided to send the message more clearly. He let her turn him and shove him against the bookcase hard, hard enough that books fell down to the floor with loud thumps. He seemed to understand a little better and his arms tightened around her hard so that their bodies crushed against each other and their hips ground together. _Yes_ —a wretched and indistinct gasp of approval escaped her mouth. One of his hands tangled in the hair at the back of her head and fiery pleasure consumed her as his hot tongue nudged against hers. His touch chased away the bad feelings. Totally addicted to the effect he had on her, Alex kissed him all the more feverishly. _God, she_ _'_ _d missed him and this_ _—_ _she needed him so bad at the most basic level._

He matched her fervor increasingly, grabbing at her face and kissing her hard before shoving her jacket off her shoulders with both hands as she pushed at his coat and jacket in tandem. It was like a physical fight the jerky yanking way they grabbed and whipped their coats off each other. They crashed against each other anew and made out like there was no tomorrow, hot and heavy with hands all over each other as they got more and more frenzied and noisy. Cas reached up and ripped his own tie off sideways (quite literally ripped it, Alex heard the tearing sound) and she grabbed two fistfuls of his dress shirt and tore it open. Buttons went flying and skittering as Alex pressed both hands to his chest. Cas's hands were abruptly on either side of her waist underneath her shirt—he took control from her and whirled them a hundred and eighty degrees to shove her into the bookcase pretty vigorously. She cried out when her back collided with the wooden shelf—that would definitely leave a bruise. Cas stopped and pulled back, surprise and dismay showing on his face. "I'm sorry, I didn—"

Alex didn't want to hear it or be treated like a delicate flower and she let him know by yanking him back to her by the shirt with one hand and tugging at his belt buckle with the other. "Just _shut up_ and _fuck me_ , Cas," she growled against his lips, pissed off at the thought of him not doing exactly what she said.

So imagine her surprise when he obeyed her to the letter without a single protest. His expression darkened and he pushed her against the bookcase again, hard, suffocating her with a delicious kiss as he ripped her jeans at the zipper in his hurry. A surprised and appreciative gasp came out of Alex's mouth into his as he shoved her jeans and underwear down to her knees then stepped onto the middle part with his shoe, effectively smashing her pants down to her ankles. He batted her hand aside and single-handedly fumbled with his own zipper and pulled her hair with the other hand, his tongue creating more inferno in her veins as he continued to kiss her deeply and wildly. She held onto his arms with tight hands. Holy shit, he was actually doing what she said—and fast too. It had been awhile for them both, after all, and he was just as frustrated as her… obviously. She heard his belt clinking and the sound of his slacks swishing down and he still had his white dress-shirt halfway on; she still had her jeans and underwear around her ankles and shirt shoved up to her ribcage but Cas didn't seem to care and was set on giving her what she'd commanded of him not even fifteen seconds ago.

Alex whimpered in anxious expectation as he nudged her legs apart with a knee. Her fingers clawed into his arms hard in anticipation—she would die if he wasn't inside of her in the next second. Cas put one foot then the other into the gap made by her legs and the jeans at her ankles even as he yanked her up by the thighs with both hands, shoving her upwards along the bookshelf. The _second_ it became possible, he thrust himself inside of deeply and pulling her hips down flush to his—he gave a helpless sound of pleasure even as a deeply guttural cry escaped her lips. His fingers dug into her back tightly and she saw stars. She locked her arms around his neck and let her fingernails bite into the skin at the back of his neck as her body reveled in him. She was far gone, past the point of return, lost in physical bliss. It wasn't like usual. They didn't kiss each other. Instead, their faces turned in towards each other's necks and their hands tangled in each other's hair as their ragged breaths and distressed whimpers mixed together. Castiel did exactly what Alex had asked and fucked her against the bookshelf—urgent, fast, messy, hard, in a way that seemed to be alien of him. Too caught up in the fever to care, Alex hung on for dear life, vaguely noticing how his hand behind her back took the force of impact each time he slammed her against the bookshelf. More books tumbled off haphazardly as the entire shelf quaked and shivered. It sounded like the house was going to come down around them.

Cas was making the hottest sounds in the world: low and soft panting grunts. She felt each one that left his mouth against her neck in a hot breath and she held onto him harder, angry and desperate and so turned on. She crossed her legs more tightly behind him and pulled him even deeper with a vengeance like she was trying to win a battle. They both gave strangled sounds and Cas suddenly seized her by the face, his thumb at the corner of her mouth and she turned her head and sucked on the tip of that digit without thinking. Cas looked mystified and even more aroused than before, kissing her mouth with his thumb still stuck into the corner of her mouth then dragging wetly across her cheek. Alex pushed a hand against his chest, and when her palm smoothed over one of his nipples, she did what she'd never done before: pinched hard. Cas made a startled, strained sound and very pleased with the effect, Alex hummed against his mouth in what would have been a laugh… but that laugh turned into a cry as she began to feel the unmistakable ramping onset of climax. Stunned at how good it felt and how good it was about to get, she murmured his name in a pleading and tight voice as she grabbed onto him tight. He understood, seizing her at the back of the neck with one hand. His forehead knocked into hers, his nose smashed against hers as he thrust them both over the edge. They lost composure at the exact same instant and the small space of the attic was chaos of urgent gasps and heavy breathing and begging moans. The bookshelf shuddered underneath the last slowing movements Cas made.

Just like that, it was over and they were both staring breathlessly at each other with sort of surprised expressions. _Wow. Maybe we should argue more often_ _…_ and just when she thought it had gotten as good as it could get, he showed her it could get better. He leaned in then to kiss her mouth gently and sweetly and that time it was okay with her. Her thirst for more violent things was gone. Her eyes fell closed and she made the softest _mmm_ sound, kissing him back in the same way. When he pulled back and she opened her eyes back up to look at him with heavy-lidded eyes, the look on his face was strange—dark and hungry and predatory and Alex was faintly confused… especially when his hands went behind himself where her ankles were crossed and her jeans were bunched. There was a loud rip as he abruptly tore her jeans and underwear down the middle then pulled himself out of her without warning to lower her down off of him. She stood on wobbly legs, leaning against the shelves for support. A little blindsided at his sudden action and the loss of him inside, Alex was frowning in confusion. _Gee thanks for ruining one of the only good pair of jeans I have le_ _—_ _eft_ _…_ _ohh_ _…_

He very firmly took hold of the the side of her face and tilted her jaw to the side so that he could kiss her neck leisurely. In the afterglow, the touches felt heavenly on her sensitive skin and she forgot her ripped jeans, gently grasped his wrist as her eyes fluttered closed. _Okay then_ _…_ _this is nice._ She was pliable and soft to his lips and touches which were slow and left zings of pleasant feelings scattered across her skin. She sighed, tingling all over with satisfaction. She was content to just let Cas kiss her like that and kiss her he did: down her neck slowly and lazily. He kneaded a breast absently through her shirt as he did. Alex was forced to let out a soft moan when he did that. She was surprised at herself because she had _just_ been satisfied, yet him touching her like that made her faintly consider becoming aroused again. His lips left her neck and he pushed her shirt up further with both hands and trailed more kisses onto her bare stomach as he crouched a little to do so. Alex watched, still dazed and content from what had just happened a minute ago. Lazily, her fingers rested in his hair as she watched him press a slow kiss to a hipbone. Then he let some fingers graze down through the dark curls between her legs. _Wait_ _…_

Cas knelt in front of her and his face was very close to the space between her legs. He kissed the front of her thigh then moved inward slowly with careful and soft kisses. Alex watched in utter fixation, wondering what he was doing. It looked like he might be about to, um, go down on her, but he'd never done anything like that right after an orgasm. And she felt satisfied. He didn't need to do anything else. Still, he was wandering her bare thighs with his kisses, his fingers loosely against the backs of either knee. The touches were electric and pleasing and her body felt like it was in some sort of fog of blissful sensation. It was dark in the room and the slats of moonlight across the floor hid most of him from her—all she saw was part of his beautiful and intent face thanks to a strip of moonlight.

His eyes drifted up to hers at the moment when he brazenly let his mouth brush against the juncture of her legs. She gasped in anxiety and jumped slightly at the gentle touch of his lips to the very sensitive area. It was even more sensitive than usual because of the climax and she grabbed hold of his head. What was he doing?! Slowly and gently he pulled her closer to him by the backs of the legs, covering her with his warm mouth and drawing an anxiety-riddled groan from her as she bit her lip. _Cas, it doesn_ _'_ _t work like that, I don_ _'_ _t think I can just get off again right after I just did_ _…_ _!_ He pulled one of her legs up over his shoulder and gently grasped her by the butt and tilted her hips upward, giving himself more full access. She felt his soft tongue shyly nudge her. _Holy crap_ —a deeply anxious sound ripped out of her mouth and her head fell back even as she clenched the fabric of his shirt on his shoulder. It was so _so_ sensitive but felt amazing.

Castiel had never performed oral sex the way she'd seen it done in porn—guys used their mouths fast and hard like they were on a gung-ho mission. Cas did it his own way, a way she loved. It was exploratory and gentle and always felt amazing but she'd never gotten off on it before. She remained slack against the bookshelf, a hand clenched onto the shelf beside her for support. He continued his work and sent insane pleasure ricocheting through her from the epicenter of the tender place he was pleasuring so sweetly. This was the most intimate and deeply vulnerable thing for Alex, who found herself biting her lip again and watching him with quickening breath. It felt almost like she could get into this, maybe reach the peak again. His eyes flicked up to hers at that moment and she wanted to die from the heat that sent coursing through her. His hands skimmed up to rest on the lowest sides of her waist. Of their own accord, her hips moved against his face in an attempt to gain even more pressure and purchase. Even as she did that, Alex tried _not_ to do that again because she felt bashful about practically humping his face.

When she stopped herself purposefully and held her breath (because _Christ_ , the pressure was building again unbelievably), Cas seized her by a butt cheek and rocked her hips forward for her like she'd been doing. He closed his eyes and made a soft sound like he loved what was happening. _Ungh oh god._ Alex watched him with confounded amazement and noisy breathing as he made her hips move back and forth against his mouth—with the friction came increasing tight feelings of spiraling buildup. She had zero control at the moment and it was exhilarating and crazy… that plus the sight of his face buried between her legs like that? She surrendered to the effect, getting more and more lost in the build as his speed increased, as the incomparable pleasure made her weak. And she suddenly realized it really was going to happen again—and then it did.

With a desperate cry that was a bit shocked (it felt even more intense the second time it happened for her), she lurched and seized violently, bracing both hands onto his shoulders as she came on his mouth. She almost fell over as the orgasm made her lose control over herself in that brief moment—she caught herself with her forearms bracing onto his shoulders as he drew her ecstasy out and crushed her against his mouth. When it had finished, her forehead was resting against the top of his head and one leg was limp over his other shoulder where he'd placed it a minute ago. He looked up at her in what could only be adoration. He pressed a hand to the side of her face as if to support her weary neck—he studied her for a moment as she recovered, breathing heavily with a flushed face.

Amazed and wondering what the hell had possessed Cas to do that (but not minding, nope, not one bit), she wobbled as Cas moved her leg off his shoulder. Her legs were weak and shaky, not unlike a baby giraffe who had just been born. Cas stood, holding her steady the entire time. She looked into his eyes, trying to see what sort of madness had seized him to do that. "That was…" she breathed, shaking her head. She didn't know a word for it and looked at him questioningly, trying to figure him out. How did he _do_ that? She'd never had orgasms so close together. Still against the bookshelf, she felt like she might never move again. Cas leaned in and kissed her mouth wordlessly, a hand splaying into the curve of her spine to gently draw her close. She tasted herself on his tongue and lips and sighed softly as her body pulsed to the echoing rhythm of sweet release. Whatever she'd been frustrated about before was forgotten. She wanted to curl up into his arms and just be held now. Everything was right in the world.

And then as Cas pulled her closer still into his kiss, she felt a familiar blunt shape brush against her bare leg and she jumped a little, surprised when she realized that he was still _totally_ good to go for more. Alex's mouth dropped open slightly and her eyes flew open as Cas kissed her because she'd never thought about it before but he _was_ a superhuman angel… he could, erm, keep it up for hours if he wanted, probably. _Oh_ _…_ _my_ _…_ _god._ Even as she thought that, he silently took hold of her shirt with both hands and ripped straight down the middle, making her shirt hang off her like a cardigan. Before she could comment or protest, he tore her bra in half too between the cups and shoved them aside, pressing his warm bare chest up against hers as his mouth left wet kisses against her jawline.

 _Holy crap._ She groaned in almost worry, because this was crazy… _Are you serious right now Cas?_ He reached back and tore his own shirt off, too. His hands wandered her body, moving south, leaving trails of fire on her skin that made her shiver. He was pushing her against that bookcase dominantly, asserting his height and size over her and when he abruptly let a hand travel down between her legs, when he nudged two fingers inside of her, she gasped in utter shock. Her body was so ripe from the two apexes it had reached but the way he was running the show was turning her on again. "What's gotten _into_ you?!" she asked in a choked whisper, hanging onto him and not sure if she should be thrilled or freaked out.

His lips moved against her neck and his voice was black as night, hot as fire, husky and pleasure-addled. His fingers were plunging in and out of her at a sinful rhythm she didn't think he should know how to create. "You're the one with—"

She cut him off before he could continue and say she was the one with things inside of her. "No, I mean—" she started in a daze, but then his very prominent erection brushed the inside of her thigh—she didn't think he meant to make that happen, but the touch made her forget what she was going to say. Her voice was soft and tight and all she could focus on was how he was finger-fucking her—the wicked way he was doing it you'd think he was a _demon_ , not an angel. "Never mind, ah!" Her head was thrown back. Good _god_ she didn't know such a feeling existed. Her pleasure-filled nerve endings were worn out and throbbing but reaching for another release and she was dumbstruck that she could feel so sore and used up but still so increasingly famished for more, more, _more_. Cas's warm length brushed her leg again and since he was so clearly still aroused, Alex decided she should help out. Even as his hand worked between her legs, she reached down and wrapped her hand around him near the top, surprising him and causing him to make a soft sound. She began to move her hand up and down along his shaft, trying not to squeeze too hard because she had no idea how much was too much. Cas seemed to like it—he made an urgent little groan—he braced against the shelf with a hand; his lips were in the hair at the side of her head and Alex turned her head, seeking his mouth.

He kissed her readily, little moans escaping and encouraging her to grip a little tighter, move a little faster. When she did that, he increased his speed too, making her a hundred times more anxious as his hot breaths filled her mouth. It felt so good but she knew what would make it even better. " _More_ ," she begged anxiously against his mouth, and he understood, easing a third finger in. That increase in pressure caused her to lose ability to kiss him—she panted stupidly as her body sought release with renewed frenzy, but it seemed far away. There was no way she could get there again. Still, she tried, grinding down onto his fingers as she clumsily and absent-mindedly kept stroking him in her hand.

Like she'd done a moment ago, he made a request. " _Harder_ ," he murmured in her ear, his voice timid and bold at the same time. She flushed over with renewed wonder and pleasure and then did what he asked, fisting her hand around him more firmly. She was rewarded with a muffled sound of approval from the base of his throat. He was basically fucking her hand at that point, thrusting himself into her tight grip. The sounds he made seemed to indicate that he was about to get there. His free hand suddenly swooped down to her bare breast and he did what she'd done before. He pinched the nipple without gentleness and the sudden bite of painful pleasure set off a chain reaction. A shocked sound left her mouth as it barreled over her. It was all she could do not to break him in half as she came for the third time; she had to squeeze her eyes shut as sobbing noises came out of her mouth and her forehead hit the top of his shoulder. Her fingers clenched into the same shoulder hard, useless—she felt like she was falling off the edge of the earth. Cas pulled her body against him hard; his length and her hand smashed up against the front of her thigh. She felt how he repeatedly thrust up into her fist and heard him give a high-pitched shuddering sound of agonized bliss and then felt him come in a way she never had before—against the front of her thigh his release shot out hot and wet and she was astonished. He somehow managed to keep shoving his fingers into her that entire time—and he only stopped when she had clearly reached the end of her release.

Dumbstruck and drained and shocked at the entire encounter, she went limp all over. "Holy shit," she breathed, done. Totally done. Cas was looking down at her hand as his composure returned. Her hand had gone slack around him, but still held on loosely. The fingers were sticky from his orgasm and he saw that and immediately became embarrassed.

"I'm sorry," he said, voice deeply distressed. "I didn't mean to… get anything on you." He seemed very abashed at himself and angel that he was, he somehow banished it away completely. Her fingers abruptly bore no evidence of what had just happened to him. He looked at her in worry. Maybe he was wondering if that were too dirty, what had just happened.

"No… I don't care," she managed to tell him in her breathless voice. "It was actually kind of, uh, hot." She looked at him in admiration and near shyness—that was incredible, like something out of a different person's life. How had he just made her come _three times_? "That was… _insane,_ " she said and petted a hand at the side of his head affectionately, tiredly, grinning like an idiot.

His worry softened and his eyes held hers tenderly. He leaned in and kissed her more gently than she'd ever been kissed in her entire life and her knees buckled and her legs gave out without warning. A little surprised sound escaped her mouth even as Cas caught her and then picked her up so that one of his arms supported her back and her knees hung over his other arm. He kicked his shoes off then toed his pants off (huh, were those still there…?) and then free to walk he carried her to the bed and she could have laughed as she thought about it—he was totally naked and his wang was probably flopping around like a flag; her ripped jeans were at either ankle and torn down the middle, her shirt and bra hung off of her comically. She was too tired to care. She rested her cheek against his shoulder, shut her eyes, then sighed softly, inhaling his familiar scent. He wasn't an angel… he was a god. A sex god. She was exhausted and spent and happy. He dropped her down onto the bed with a surprising lack of gentleness and Alex frowned, opening her eyes, propping herself up on elbows in confusion. She looked up at him from where he'd put her—sideways on the bed, on her back. He was pulling her shoes and jeans off her legs hard and fast. Moonlight caught his face briefly and she saw it in his eyes before he even crawled over her. He was going to take her again.

 _Oh my god!_ …What for? Was he that insatiable? His warm skin brushed hers as he moved up the length of her body _._ He pulled her upward and then tugged her shirt and bra off of her with one hand, leaving her completely naked. Alex was speechless—she decided quickly that he must be either trying to make up for the lost time or was possibly testing boundaries or even didn't _know_ she wasn't like him and that every orgasm she had made it harder to get to another one. She was too sore and tender to be touched again at the moment and she flinched away from him with a little hiss of discomfort. He stopped, looking at her questioningly. Alex thought fast and competitive nature spiking, she pushed aside her physical exhaustion—you only live once—she decided two could play at this game. She was going to give him what he so obviously needed or wanted. She put a hand onto either of his shoulders and shoved him onto his back without finesse, putting herself on all fours over him dominantly. He seemed surprised and transfixed at the power grab and she focused all of her energy into kissing and nipping and sucking his neck as she smoothed her hands up and down his arms, his torso, his hips, his thighs—everywhere but where he was straining for her touch. She began to kiss her way down his body, pausing to suck and tongue one of his nipples and then gauge his reaction—he looked astonished, like he'd never thought of that. _Oh, Cas._ Love tightened her chest and filled her heart because he was one in a billion and he had chosen _her_. She kept going lower on his body with increasing excitement. He saw what she was going to do before she began and he tried to stop her, reaching down with both hands. "Alex, no, you know that I don't like how this position seems to demean—"

She grabbed his wrists with both hands, hard. "Cas." She stared up at him meaningfully. "I want to do this." He looked uncertain and she pinned his wrists down on either side him for a moment, daring him to challenge her again. He said nothing else but his entire body was taunt with worry. He moved to hold himself on his elbows and Alex wet her lips in vague anxiety. She had fantasized about this before and the one time she'd tried it (on their so-called honeymoon, forever ago) he'd panicked and stopped her. Not tonight. She moved to sprawl between his legs, holding herself up on elbows. Her breasts brushed against his thighs and his breath caught when they first touched him there. Alex hid her nervousness (she really had _no clue_ how to do this) and charged forward instead. She took hold of him by the base and slowly, gingerly let her mouth slide down over his tip. He breathed in through his teeth and went even more tense but submitted and let her experimentally begin to tongue and mouth him. She used her hand, too, squeezing and massaging, trying to see what did what to him. Very quickly he lost his composed demeanor and was reduced to grunts and groans and panting sounds and then gave a very surprised yelp when she traced fingers down the papery skin of his balls.

His hips were bucking to her mouth against his will and Alex took that as the sign that she was doing something right—pleasure flared in her stomach at his reactions to what she did… making him feel good was one of the most amazing things she'd ever experienced. He was puffing and growing visibly increasingly distressed and she sucked inward and accidentally made an unexpectedly loud wet squelch. Cas bucked and made a frantic little sound. She ran her clenched fist up and down his lower half at a quickening rhythm because she recognized the signs of an oncoming orgasm. As if he were reading her thoughts, he tried to stop her again. "Uh!—Alex, if you don't stop, I'm going t-to ejaculate into your m-outh," he stuttered, seeming very panicked at the thought.

She paused her work for a moment. "You're going to _come_ in my mouth," she corrected, voice even and low.

"Yes, that," he said, worried.

"I know," she said and his face flushed in disbelief and fascination and ferocity and she bent back over him and continued, her stomach flipping around in anticipation. She was kind of turned on again at the thought of what was about to happen. She felt one of his hands come to touch the side of her head in tenderness and desperation then his fingers tightened into her hair. Cas's entire body was gathering tenseness in preparation and he seemed nervous and frightened about this new territory but Alex felt all-powerful and it was fucking _hot_ to have control like this and when she cupped a hand to the smooth, tightening skin of his balls and squeezed very lightly he let out a soft gasp and his hips jerked of their own accord. He let out a surprised almost alarmed groan as he came in her mouth.

How intimate and surprising it was—she felt him pulse and contract in her mouth and she tasted something mild, salty, and thick—his hips were buckling in primal tremors beyond his control and he sounded like he was lost in absolute ecstatic wonder. When it was over his body relaxed, she heard him panting. Even as she swallowed him down and looked up at him, she felt herself flush—she was _definitely_ turned on by that and overtaken at how much she loved him… she couldn't imagine ever wanting this with anyone else.

He looked back at her with amazement and it looked like he'd fallen in love all over again too. "You astound me," he said in a soft and dazed voice and he cupped a hand against the back of her head, urging her to come to him and she did, crawling up the length of his body to kiss him. She felt warm and pleasant all over, aroused at what she'd just done. He pulled one her hands into his and drew her palm to his mouth, kissing it softly as he looked into her eyes. There were deep and lasting things swimming in the cobalt oceans looking back at her and Alex's heart clenched with deep emotions and longing—when could he stay? When would be the day when he didn't have to leave? She didn't know. He kissed lower on her palm then lower, then kissed the inside of her wrist. Each time his lips pressed to her skin, she felt adored and revered and if possible those simple touches meant more than anything else. He closed his eyes now, kissing just below her wrist then letting his nose rest against her wrist. He inhaled deeply and pulled her hand to the side of his face so that her palm pressed against his cheek. His eyes opened and looked into hers again and she couldn't resist him—or he couldn't resist her. It was hard to tell.

He kissed her deep, sweet, and slow, treasuring her and letting his arms envelope her. He hugged her close to him as he praised her mouth with sultry, languid kisses. What a beautiful existence she lived in that moment caught in the space of his arms. In a stupor and dream, she kissed him in the way he kissed her. Holding herself over him at all was exhausting and he seemed to notice how fatigued she was—he turned them and then let her lay down onto her back as they tangled together kissing drowsily. "You are so beautiful to me," Cas murmured against her lips. Her stomach jolted and she smiled against his mouth. His hand traced across her shoulder and down, fingertips light and sweet. She deepened their kiss, pulling his face closer to hers so that his nose smashed into her cheek. He made a soft little sound of urgency that she recognized and even as she thought _oh my god again?_ he shifted his hips upwards and nudged her legs further apart with his thighs and slid into her again, gently this time, causing her to groan.

"Oh, Cas—" she protested feebly. "I really don't think I can, not _again_ …" she said, wanting to cry from a new kind of frustration she didn't understand. Oh he felt amazing but she was so tired and it wasn't _possible_ …

"Let me love you once more," he begged in a strained, ardent whisper and when he asked like that, she couldn't say no. She just choked out a pitiful sound. She wondered if she could survive another round. He moved deeply and slowly, drawing out the encounter in a gentle, torturous way, giving her profound and reverberating pleasure as he filled her to capacity and triggered every nerve of pleasure in her body. This was Castiel as she knew and loved best: attentive, watchful, deeply soulful and there with her in every sense. He wasn't trying to be sexy and he wasn't obsessively attempting to get her off… he was silently speaking his love to her and it was so intense and real that she felt tears spring to her eyes. He had hands in the hair on either side of her head, he was gazing down at her in adoration and desperation. She grabbed hold of one of his wrists and groaned feebly, letting herself be a hundred percent present in the moment, just giving herself over.

As they made slow love to like that, as one minute turned into two and two into four, Cas's pace increased as his fervor grew… and as he became more and more anguished by rapture, as he became more and more anxious, she felt it rising in her again and she groaned in disbelief and hope alike. Her muscles screamed with fatigue, her body was sticky with sweat, she was _spent_ but the things he was doing to her had her clambering for more.

Her throat was dry from breathing so hard, her muscles were all trembling weakly, her heart was racing but the only thing she could focus on was him and trying to reach the promise of ecstasy one more time. She felt it suddenly—she was at the edge of getting there and a certain frantic alarm overcame her. Fingers biting into his back, she held on as tightly as possible, gasping and then quickly fisting a hand into the hair at the back of his head. "Don't stop," she breathed anxiously and then became irrationally panicked at the thought of _not_ getting there even as the onset of bliss built and built. He responded by moving faster and his hands tightened on her back. Her gasps were loud and she started to lose her mind because it was _right there_ and she needed it so bad. "Don't stop!" She pleaded louder, voice rising in pitch and volume alike and he seemed to feel the same—beginning to ravish her so hard that the bed creaked and squeaked and shifted around on the floor. Where was the end? Where was the crescendo? She kept hurtling forward to it and was sobbing frantically trying to find it and _oh god_ if it got any more intense she thought she might die—she heard herself saying his name frantically, begging him to get her there and he looked like he was exerting every last effort to please her and then _holy shit oh god_ she was screaming in total panic, " _Don_ _'_ _t stop!_ "

She heard him whisper her name to her like an agonized plea right before it hit. Never in her life had there ever been such a riptide of sheer mind-numbing bliss. It smashed into her like a brick wall and she heard someone screaming out and realized it was _her_ —she couldn't stop herself or control anything she did, she was a slave to the climax tearing her apart and wracking her body with violent ecstasy. She clenched and seized and writhed and on top of her, Cas was crumbling completely too, his orgasm seeming to match hers in intensity blow for blow. His eyes screwed shut and his eyebrows slammed together and he did something he had never done before: let loose a torrent of words in his mother tongue. Enochian poured forth out of his mouth recklessly in breathless groans and gasps against her neck and he almost ripped some hair clean out of her head as he cried out loudly in alarm and pleasure alike.

As it died down Alex wondered how they could both still be alive after that or how that could have been real at all. Cas finally went still and slack over her, his weight bearing down on her and filling her senses. Tears streamed out of her eyes and she laid there blinking, breathing, stunned in every facet imaginable. Her body was ringing with insurmountable wonder. 

Cas's face was buried in the side of her neck and his entire body was quivering, shaking. His heartbeat was thundering into her chest vigorously and he made the softest sound that could have been a sob or an exclamation of distress. " _I love you_ ," he choked out abruptly against her neck in a voice that was inexplicably alarmed. "Please believe that I love you."

Stilled and confused and alarmed in turn, Alex turned her head to look at him quickly. "Cas… I _know_ you do," she said softly and breathlessly, not understanding why he would say that and trying to see what was wrong. He looked so upset and filled with self-loathing and Alex didn't know why but it was terrible to behold. He pulled himself out of her and shook his head no, avoiding her gaze, beginning to pull himself away further… but Alex put a hand behind his head and drew him close to her again, wrapping her weak arms around him as she trembled and reeled. " _Shh,_ " she soothed, worried. He gave up in his half-hearted attempt to pull away and his arms circled her too, holding her tightly. Like he was afraid she would slip away. They held each other for a long moment and their heartbeats mingled, their breaths calmed. Without even looking at his face though, Alex could feel that he was still upset. She stroked a hand behind his head. "What's _wrong_?" she asked, getting more and more freaked out every second. "What is it? Tell me." What did he know that she didn't? What was making him act so weird?

He shook his head no again. "It's the war," he said in a tight, agonized voice. "It's being away from you. It's the things I have to do to to gain victory." 

"What things?" she asked, wishing she understood.

His jaw tightened and he grew very reluctant. "Things I don't wish to burden you with."

She caught his chin and gently made him look her in the eye. "I _love_ you," she told him with utmost conviction. "Your hardships are _not_ my burden."

His expression wavered and he looked like he was dying to share his heart with her. But he just said, "Thank you," with deep bittersweet gratitude. He changed the subject deftly, his eyes flickering back and forth between hers. "Are you… all right?" There it was… the Cas she knew. He was worried about what they'd just done and if he'd been too intense or something. 

"I don't know _what_ I am," she said, chuckling a little. She felt like Jello, like she had been beaten to a pulp and would never move again. But in a good way. Which made no sense but that's how she felt anyway. _Damn, Cas._ She was blown away by him all over again and had to know: "Where'd did you get all those ideas?" She didn't think he just came up with the idea to repeatedly ravish her to the point of insanity all on his own. "Why did you… so many times?"

He seemed a little confused, like he was wondering if he'd done something wrong. "…I learned that from the pizza man."

Her eyebrows rose slowly and a little smile grew. "The porno you watched." She gave a short little self-conscious laugh and sighed drowsily. She was _exhausted_ and that was funny _._ "Well you either need to watch porn more often or maybe never again… I don't think I can _walk_."

Cas looked deeply concerned at the last thing she said. "Do you need to walk somewhere?" He was plaintive. "I can assist you."

She grinned because of how what she said went over his head. "No," she said softly, shaking her head and touching the side of his face affectionately. "I wanna be here." _With you._ Everything that had just happened between them ran through her mind and she looked over at the bookshelf, realizing something. "That was kinda like our first time," she murmured, remembering a lifetime ago. Crazy what that had started. Well, not started. Continued. After all, she'd loved him a long time before it had become physical. She knew that now.

"I believe I have improved since then," Cas said, almost cheeky.

Alex looked back at him and felt like she must be glowing. "No complaints about any of it," she replied, biting a grin as she looked at him and simultaneously felt evidence of how naughty he'd been buzzing in her entire body. "You are a bad, _bad_ boy," she joked.

Cas frowned and squinted a little. "…Perhaps you should spank me."

A sound like _pffbt_ broke out of her mouth and she barked a laugh. " _What_?!" Where did he come up with this stuff?!

"Isn't that the custom?" he asked, confusion deepening.

" _Oh_. Let me guess… the pizza man?" Alex asked, chortling. She would need to explain sometime to Cas the difference between reality and porn. "Let's save spanking for later," she said teasingly, "Or never."

"Whatever you wish," he replied earnestly, and she loved him so much she could burst. She was compelled to kiss him then and she felt one thing very strongly in that kiss: deep aversion to the thought of him leaving as he always did. The humor faded and she became introspective. After they drifted apart, Cas shifted them onto their sides and Alex cuddled into him, head tucked underneath his chin, face against the warmth of his chest. She shut her eyes and tried not to get upset. But it didn't really work.

"I'm so selfish, Cas," she whispered after a moment of contemplating speaking the thought aloud.

His solid chest rumbled against her cheek. "How?"

She shook her head a little, morose. "Just… if I had it my way, I'd never let you leave ever again." She pulled back to look up at him with apprehensive eyes. He looked sad at her words. "Tell me this isn't going to last much longer," she begged. "I need it to be over."

He let out a slow breath through his nose. "So do I." Cas appeared so very emotionally agonized as his eyes went some distant place in his mind. "More than you can imagine."

Alex contemplated him for a long moment with great concern. She could see him but couldn't see into him. She was with him but there were places he wouldn't let her follow. It broke her heart that he was so determined to let the war be his sole burden but she knew pushing him and nagging him to involve her wouldn't work. So instead of badgering him, she took one of his hands into hers and brushed kisses against the knuckles. "Someday this is all gonna be just a bad memory," she told him, believing that. "The war, everything." That's what she held out hope for, too.

"Yes," he agreed in a thick voice and his hand moved in hers, bringing her hand to his lips to kiss her knuckles like she had done a moment before. He was doing it again… giving her those intense eyes that forever captivated her. "You have changed me forever, Alex Winchester," he told her quietly.

A little flustered at his deep intensity and unexplained declaration, she ducked her head down a little and met his gaze bashfully. "Ditto, Cas." Cas's face scrunched a little, and Alex could hear his inner question: _What does ditto mean?_ She smiled at him, blinking sleepily. "Me too, Cas."

She didn't mean to but she fell asleep there in his arms. Cas kissed her hair, knowing the exact four strands that were turning silver-gray from stress. He looked her over and held her close, wanting to praise every molecule that made her _her_ because every atom had all come together to form the best and most lovely that humanity could possibly offer. How was such a creation even possible? And how was it that she was his? He loved her emotionally, anatomically, scientifically, metaphysically and so, so entirely—he didn't know how to _not_ love her. He let his fingers slip into the gaps between hers and love burned in his chest like embers.

As he held her to his chest and she breathed soft, slow, steady, the sun rose outside and gradually cast a rosy glow into the attic. Cas watched this and was part of it in a way that felt new to him. In Heaven he had never cared for the markers of the passage of time—sunrise, sunset, days—they hadn't mattered in the grand scheme. They had seemed small and trivial. But as the sun rose outside and Alex slept on him trustingly, Cas thought about how he would like to learn the rhythm of days, weeks, months with her. He would like to measure his existence in sunrises and sunsets spent at her side.

He grieved for all the mornings she'd faced with him missing from her side. And he hoped for all the mornings in the future when he would be with her when she first opened her eyes to the light of a new day.


	68. Soul Searching

" _Desperate times require desperate measures._ _"  
_ \- Horatio Nelson

* * *

It was nine in the morning and Alex still slept deeply while nestled against Cas. His arms circled around her and he hadn't let go since she first fell asleep there beside him.

Sunlight warmed the attic and a clock could be heard ticking somewhere nearby, however, the sound Castiel was most transfixed upon and attentive to was the soft whisper of Alex's inhales and exhales. She was warm and soft in his arms, a summation of all the most beautiful textures and sights he knew in existence. His eyes journeyed her for the thousandth time to take her in. Her hair was evidence of the previous night's passion, knotted in places and tangled. Cas attempted to smooth it for her but he didn't know how exactly. He abandoned the attempt and instead looked at his fingers set against the dark brown of her hair. It was a color that seemed so like the rich earth when tilled for its bounty. His gaze went to her eyelashes fanning against creamy skin, skin that made him think of the subjects in Rembrandt paintings. His eyes drifted lower to her softly open pink lips and unbidden, he felt a gentle flush of heat at the memories stirred. She had done things to him with that mouth last night he never imagined possible or decent.

The fact that she had _wanted_ to do that and had sought his pleasure over her own astounded and enraptured him. How wondrous that love could transcend into physical expression the way it did between the two of them.

It seemed both a mystery and a miracle how he was here with her right now—how she had come to love him and how he had fallen in love with her, how fate had brought them together in the way that it had. She was a comfort and an assurance, she was the best thing he could conceive of. His gaze fondly wandered her sleeping face and then traveled down the swoop of her neck and across the freckles scattering the slopes of her shoulders then down further to the soft pink rosebud peaks crowning the swells of her breasts. He knew the gentle slope of her hips, the tawny muscles of her thighs, the bend of her knees, the high arch of her feet, the spaces between her fingers, the curve of her spine. He knew the way she felt from the inside out. Never had he been so worshipful of the human form until he had encountered hers. She was so exquisite. And she counted herself as _his_. Between her humble breasts the shining penny rested on its chain, drawing his eye. Cas's heart seemed to grow larger and more tender and aching in his chest as he contemplated the coin and everything it signified. And then after that burst of affection and gratitude, a slow and lurching feeling of guilt and trepidation began to darken him. 

The humans had a saying: playing with fire. Was that what he was doing? The creeping suspicions he tried not to feel about himself were forever on the edge of his mind, taunting him and shaking his confidence in himself. Perhaps the most difficult thing in all of this was waging the war alone and having no true confidant or supporter. Rachel was the closest thing he possessed to a confidant but she didn't understand him or even fully grasp the reason for the war—she was merely following his leadership, not fighting tooth and nail for free will and choice like he was. Castiel didn't even _want_ her to be the one he confided in. His sister angel looked down her nose at him and barely tolerated the love he had for Alex and as such, Castiel actively disliked Rachel. Especially because of all she'd done to thwart his relationship with Alex. But alas he had no other choice but to continue to employ Rachel as his lieutenant—there _was_ no one else to replace her, not with in his dwindling forces who lacked experience and ability.

'No other choice.' This was a phrase and a reality that continued to define his existence.

The pressure he had put onto himself was only increasing as time passed. He only went further and further into dark waters as he continued to pursue victory in this war. The partnership with Crowley, the search for Purgatory using the unwitting Winchester brothers… those things were bad enough, but the way Castiel had so brassily tricked the Winchester family into believing Crowley was dead and gone was the worst. It was _lying,_ it was _deceit_ , and last night as Castiel had made love to Alex he had _known_ that and remembered it and absolutely hated himself for it. As such he had obsessed with giving the one he loved repeated pleasure and bliss… this seemed to be the only thing he knew how to do right these days. But he'd gone to the point of excess he now realized—he'd exhausted her and even when he'd _known_ it was too much for her that last time, he'd done it anyway out of the lunacy of desperation. He'd needed to forget himself in her, he'd used her to feel marginally better about himself. He had been pathetically attempting to prove even to himself that he loved her. And did he? Was he fooling himself…? He sometimes thought that if he truly loved her, he wouldn't keep so much from her or _lie_. And yet the dishonesty only kept coming.

Last night she had saved him from himself for a brief interlude where his entire world had been her soft gasps and trusting eyes, her warm depth and her sweat-kissed skin. In the fever of the moment and in total dependence on each other, Castiel could have almost believed himself to be who _she_ believed he was: trustworthy and good. But the moments had come and gone and nothing had changed. He was the same deceiver he had been the day before.

_This is necessary. This is required. This has to be done._

He told himself these things over and over in an attempt to lessen the guilt. She would understand and forgive him, sympathize with him, thank him for all the pain he endured to keep her safe. Someday. He hoped someday soon.

His eyes swept down to her left hand where it rested loosely on the middle of his chest. He gently took it in his own and contemplated the sight. Hers was smaller than his and his convictions of protecting her forever swelled in him anew. If she were to die now, where would her soul go? The claim had been removed from the book of Hell but he hadn't been able to put it into Heaven's roster either. Not yet, not with Raphael and his supporters still in control. Castiel wouldn't risk an enemy laying a hand onto her eternal fate and thus it rested with him until Raphael's defeat. This was all for her, _everything_. All of the questionable things he was doing would pay off in the end. They _had_ to. What a crushing responsibility and overwhelming reality he endured.

Cas's eyes went skyward. He could hear his dwindling forces in Heaven discussing a siege they were planning to exact upon Daniel and his troops. There were whispers that Raphael would return soon, that the archangel was close to getting a new vessel. Cas hoped that wasn't true. If Raphael returned to full power before Castiel had obtained all the heavenly weapons… _this_ would be impossible. Time with her. Castiel studied his Alex's sleeping face again, tenderness and worry alike filling his heart. Could they survive another separation if they had to? He could soldier through if he had to (he thought), but could she? He didn't want that for them. There was already so little time that they had together. There was already so much distance dividing them.

As he heard Rachel and Ezekiel discussing more of the impending siege in Heaven, Cas realized he would probably be called away from earth soon. He felt familiar sadness and reluctance come over him but brushed it aside and turned his full attention to the woman in his arms. He leaned close to Alex and softly kissed the place where her eyebrow ended near her temple, letting his lips linger there for a moment as he breathed in her scent. His eyes shut of their own accord. He was very unwilling to leave her but knew the time was approaching. He should wake her to say goodbye. It would be difficult to disturb her from her blissful rest… she seemed so peaceful. But he couldn't bear the thought of not bidding her farewell. 

He opened his eyes and let his thumb rub across her hand. He then drew her hand to his mouth and gave a kiss to the knuckles there, hoping to ease her into waking. She began to stir when he touched the side of her face and said her name softly—she gave a little sound of confusion and protest and her relaxed body gained some tension as she began to wake. He felt himself smiling despite everything as she stirred. "Good morning," he greeted quietly as her eyes focused and her head lifted.

When she became more cognizant and less lost in the fog of sleepiness, when her eyes found his, a drowsy smile crossed her features. "You're still here," she commented softly, her hazel gaze studying him with pleased surprise. Her voice was rough from sleep. "Thought you'd be gone." He felt a pang of sorrow because she said that.

"I do have to leave very soon," he confirmed grimly. His reluctance at the prospect was impossible to fully disguise. "But I couldn't leave without saying goodbye to you."

With those words, he broke the moment. Her smile faded and the optimism he'd seen so briefly written in her features was lost. She nodded that she understood but he saw that she was upset—before he could say anything, she shifted and hugged his neck very tightly as he laid there. She turned her face into the crook of his neck and shoulder. Cas let his arms envelope her gingerly. He felt how her breathing became uneven, how her body shook a little… and then against his neck he felt something hot and wet. He was instantly dismayed. Was she _crying_? He pulled back and pushed her away enough that he could see her face. She _was_ crying and trying very hard not to.

"Please, don't cry," Cas entreated her urgently, panicking a little bit because he never knew how to help her when she cried. She shook her head and her already crumpled face pinched up further. She tried to turn her head away from him and hide her face. "What is it?" Cas asked, getting more and more worried. "Have I done this to you?" He took hold of her face and one of the rolling hot tears hit his thumb as her eyes finally looked into his. Was it last night? Was she upset with him?

"I'm just gonna miss you," she confessed miserably. "Like I always do." She ducked her face down and away again and it hurt him to see her like that. Her voice was a strained whisper and she tried to dash away some tears. She was starting to sound frustrated as her tears ebbed. "It sucks so bad when you leave."

He understood the sentiment so fully that it hurt him to think about the impending separation. "I know," he replied heavily, touching the side of her head uselessly.

"And I _don_ _'_ _t_ wanna stay here, Cas," she continued in mounting exasperation. She wasn't crying now, she was just agitated. "Not while Dean needs help, not while _Sam_ …" she let her voice trail off and her frustration gave way to a quiet and helpless sort of confused anger. "I miss my brothers—they need me. And I _hate_ being stuck in a corner. It's _bullshit_."

"Just a little longer," Cas reminded gently, hoping his words would prove true.

She was not happy with his reminder and her glance darted to his sullenly. "That's what everyone keeps saying," she mumbled and then sat up, holding the blankets to herself modestly in front. She turned and sat with her legs hanging off the side of the bed and Cas could see her bare back. He felt a horrifying jolt as he saw the bruises that had begun to form there.

He sat up slowly while staring with his breath stuck mid-throat. There was a long blotchy dark shape from where he'd slammed her up into the bookshelf and there were other bruises that appeared to have been left by his own hands. He touched a hand against one of those bruises and the shape and size matched perfectly. _He had hurt her in his mindless passion._ Horrified with himself, he brushed his fingers down to the biggest bruise and healed her even as pain gathered in his chest.

Cas struggled for something to say, a way to apologize or atone, to explain. "Last night…" he began then trailed off, unsure of what to say. Alex turned her head slightly his way and he could see her profile as well as her far-off expression. "Was it too much?" he asked, swallowing his dread. "If I was too extreme with you… I didn't mean…" he was beginning to feel fully ashamed of himself because he was starting to believe he _had_ been too intense. She wasn't answering his question and that seemed to confirm the worst for him. He looked down to the blankets bunched across his lap, deeply upset. He could do _nothing_ right. "Please forgive me."

His deeply dismayed tone brought her out of her stillness. "No, no," she said, present again. Whatever thoughts had been distracting her were forgotten. She turned back to him, tucked her legs beside herself on the bed, then touched his hand where it rested in his lap and curled her fingers around the edge of his palm. She became a little bashful underneath his worried gaze. "It was… Cas, the things you did…" she cleared her throat and touched her neck then her eyes met his furtively. Was that a blush creeping across her cheeks? Cas's worry faded in favor of curiosity. "All I can say is _damn,_ " she said in a voice that seemed both admiring and mildly disbelieving. "I uh, I didn't know you could make me do what you made me do last night." Her eyes were shying away from his again. She _was_ blushing, her cheeks and neck were flushed soft pink and Cas felt relieved—she was displaying signs of approval. " _But_ …"

His momentary relief froze internally. But?

She paused and her eyes peeked up into his with worried curiosity. "You've never been like that before," she said, looking at him closely, questioningly. "Why'd you go so crazy on me?"

Cas faltered. He didn't know how to answer her. He tried to be honest even though he avoided saying the total truth. His eyes dropped away from hers. "I was in a strange mindset."

He felt her curious gaze on him. "What mindset was that?"

He hesitated. "I feel afraid to lose you." And he was. "I wanted you to know that I love you." And he did. But that wasn't all of it. That wasn't even _half_ of the truth.

Alex's eyes were piercing and seemed to see him more fully than he would have liked—for a moment, he wondered if she would call his bluff and ask what he was _really_ keeping from her. But instead she contemplated him a moment longer then tried to explain something to him. He could see even before she opened her mouth to speak that she was going to try and make him understand something. "Sex isn't the only way I know you love me, Cas. You don't have to get me in bed to prove your feelings or screw me until I'm almost dead to show me you love me." When she said it like that (even though he understood it was a joking comment), he felt very stupid and embarrassed. She didn't know that and a mildly rueful smile hinted at the edge of her mouth. Her eyes were no longer shy on his at all. Instead they looked at him with great emotion. "I see how you feel every time you look at me." She sounded like she loved him greatly. Cas wished he could feel comforted, but instead he felt worse and more guilty. Alex's smile faded as she looked him over with concern. "Why do you keep coming back to this, Cas?" she asked, voice softening with apprehension. Her close, worried gaze made him uncomfortable—she was reading him now, searching for answers. "Why are you so afraid? Why do you think I don't know that you love me?" Her question demanded an answer and he felt himself become afraid very quickly.

_Because I_ _'_ _m doing things I shouldn_ _'_ _t be. Because I_ _'_ _m lying to your face. Because I_ _'_ _m willingly keeping important things from you. Because when you find out, what if you despise me?_

In a moment of cowardice, Cas hid behind the first excuse he could think of. "What the cupid said about your doubts concerning me," he lied. "I cannot get it out of my mind."

Her face fell and immediately Castiel regretted his words. How low of him to bring that up after they had put it behind them. Alex's face was slack—she believed him. "Oh." She nodded, trying very hard to swallow it bravely and accept his words. "That makes sense." She looked so hurt and Cas cursed himself but knew he couldn't take back what he'd said.

"You're not the only one with doubts, Alex," he said, trying to tell her _without_ telling her how he was struggling so much worse than she could possibly fathom. "All I feel anymore is doubt and fear." He thought maybe that would comfort her just a little.

Instead, she looked very pained. "About us, too?"

How could three words from her mouth invoke such a horrible feeling into his chest? Realizing his mistake in phrasing himself so vaguely, Cas let out a slightly frustrated breath and let his head hang as his eyes shut. What was he _doing_? He was not adept at comforting with words or conveying himself in any language much less English—he was digging himself into a deeper proverbial hole, he was making everything worse and worse. He began to let some of his true fears and feelings spill out of him. If he didn't release some worries, if he didn't share some honesty with her, he felt he would perish.

"Alex… if I do not win this war, you will be _destroyed,_ " he began, thus speaking aloud his cruelest fear and most harrowing thought, the thing that haunted him and terrified him without ceasing. "Hurled into Hell or tortured in Heaven for the rest of time." She listened, but he saw her trepidation. It was because of that expression etched into her face that he couldn't look at her anymore and he turned away, shifting himself so that his feet rested on the floor as his legs hung over the edge of the bed. He had a hand on his head and he was slumped, arms propped onto his knees. Everything was wrong. She had been _no one_ before he had taken interest in her and fallen in love with her. She had been _safe_ before him… now, her name was known to all of Heaven and probably Hell; who she was to him and what she meant was common knowledge. As such, Castiel was a curse on her life.

"The responsibility of your eternal fate rests with _me_ and me alone," he continued, voice tight with dismay. "I've made you a target and I've endangered you in every way possible." He felt misery searing in his chest. He loved her more than ever and the thought of doing all this only to possibly lose her in the end… it made him want to shrivel into nothing and die. "If what I've done damns you all over again…" he continued, "if everything I've done to try and correct my mistakes backfires…" he paused long and hard, gravely imagining himself in a world where she no longer existed. He saw himself in his mind's eye taking his blade and ending his own existence. "I won't be able to live with myself."

Behind him, her voice was soft with shock, almost as if she'd seen his thoughts of taking his own life. " _Cas_."

He lifted his head up and stared straight ahead of himself, every muscle in his face tense with distress. Didn't she understand how deeply he felt? It was too much. He didn't know what to do with all the emotions she made him feel and the worst part was how alone he was with his doubts, fears, and struggles. "I am supposed to take _care_ of you," he said, miserable. He heard her shifting around behind him, felt the bed moving like she was coming across it to him. "That's all I've ever wanted to do. I don't want to fail you."

She circled her arms around his middle from behind, pressing her warm bare body against his back, kissing the top of his shoulder and letting her face rest there. He shut his eyes, reveling in her touch and presence. "You never have and you never will," she said in that quiet, fierce way she had.

Oh he wanted to believe her. "But what if I do?" he asked, voice barely audible.

He felt her eyelashes blink and brush against his skin. "Then we'll figure it out."

Five words that washed comfort over his rigid nerves. Her hands pressed to his chest and slid downward, hugging him close and creating warm tingles that he associated with her alone. He relaxed into her touch then let himself be comforted by her—he would snap from the tension of stress otherwise. She seemed to know exactly how to soothe his ragged nerves, pressing whispery kisses to the top of his shoulder. "I love you, you know," she murmured, then nuzzled her nose down into the top of his shoulder, kissing him there again softly and slowly. His eyes were shut again and all of his bad feelings began to melt. _She loved him._ He clung to that and to the affection she showed even though he felt undeserving. Her mouth was kissing a little higher up, on the side of his neck, then the hinge of his jaw. Every touch of her lips made him feel alive all over again.

Her hands skimmed his sides and his arms then hugged him securely again, making him feel anchored. The softest and most contented sigh escaped him as he leaned back to her, relishing the feeling of her skin against his. Her nose grazed his cheek and a kiss pressed there afterward. She stood onto her knees and moved her arms to circle loosely around his neck from behind. Her breasts brushed against his back and her hair trailed across his shoulders as she nuzzled one of his ears—she was stirring him and warming him and when she leaned forward over his shoulder, Cas twisted a little, meeting her in a soft kiss. One of her hands caressed the side of his face as she deepened the kiss with burning slowness and tenderness. Things fluttered in the bottom of Cas's stomach with quickening heat. He was inclined toward her in every way possible and he didn't feel alone or as fearful when she showed him her love this way. How could kisses alone give him such feelings of security and confidence?

At the same moment they got the same idea and she began to move around from behind him to in front of him and he helped her, pulling her into his lap and kissing her deeply—he was aroused of course but he only wanted to kiss. He could kiss her for all eternity and wished he could. The sensation of her mouth and tongue melding with his caused his blood to thicken and his pulse to speed up further, made him dizzy and light and free.

Because they were both still naked, he brushed against the inside of her leg unintentionally. He pulled his hips back, trying to be modest and undemanding while still kissing her—he ached for her again (would he ever stop?) but didn't want to further push her physically—he wouldn't make that mistake again. So it quite shocked him when she shifted forward over him to let herself press over the tip of him enticingly. He softly protested and shut his eyes. She was teasing him.

And then he realized she didn't tease. She abruptly slid downward and took him fully, making his body shiver in sudden tremors of incomparable, hot pleasure. He gasped the second it happened and his eyes snapped wide open in shock—Alex was looking down at him as she held his face in her hands. She began to slowly and languidly move on him in a way that was meant to render him into a fool. He choked her name out dumbly, gazing up at her in awe, one of his hands grasping her wrist in his daze. What was she doing?

" _Shh_ ," she whispered shakily, leaning close and leaving a kiss on his forehead as she moved a hand behind his head to grab him by the hair gently. Cas obeyed and went silent as he looked up at her in a dumbstruck, slack-jawed rapture. She took him to a state of nirvana, exercising complete control over him. All the worries and fears he'd been consumed in fled his mind and he felt good, wonderful, amazing, loved. His entire body tightened up and hummed with rising pleasure as he very quickly hurtled to unmistakable heights under her spell. Becoming distressed and one-track in mind, Cas suddenly crushed her close, his face buried in her chest to muffle a soft cry. Her arms embraced his head, her fingers curled into his hair, the rhythm of her hips was beyond exquisite. " _Oh_ …" he heard himself groan out.

His eyes shut and he felt his body ramping up for release… the way she was stimulating him left no other conceivable option. He lifted his head when he felt its approach, desperate to see her face in his moment of ecstasy. He caught her eyes—she was breathing erratically and she saw how he was close and as such increased her speed. Without meaning to, the Enochian words for _oh help_ escaped his mouth and he felt the unmistakable terrifying wonder of release begin to take him. " _Uh_!" He heard himself grunt in alarm and awe alike as it crashed onto him like a tempest. He clung onto her and she helped him survive the blinding pleasure, she drew out the shuddering ecstasy, she took him to paradise and beyond, she stole every last ounce of him. When it was over, she had ruined him and rebuilt him alike. Castiel went slack against her, stunned by the beauty making his pulse throb to the echoing song of ecstasy. He would never become accustomed to this. He would never ever stop feeling so amazed by her and this.

Alex held him to her bosom gently as he regained composure and when he had recovered a little, he looked up at her questioningly, breathless. "… Did you not—?" he asked, seeing no signs of her having reached apex. He was confused because that had never happened before. 

She looked at him with utter fondness. "You can owe me," she said teasingly, brushing her nose against his and kissing him lightly. She saw the uncertain look on his face and became a little more earnest. "I wanted that to be for you."

"For me?" he asked, beginning to understand what she meant but feeling very surprised by it.

She looked very content despite not having reached the same heights he had. "For you," she repeated, touching his face with the backs of her soft fingers. He loved her more and more every day. He opened his mouth and told her that.

* * *

Castiel was dressed again and Alex was wrapped in a sheet, watching him. He shrugged his trench coat on and he turned back to her, straightening it. "Promise that you'll call to me if you need me," he said, then waited for her to nod. Here came the goodbye. There was a long pause between them both. Neither wanted it to be farewell. "I've had Samandriel bring your car back from Michigan and he is outside watching over you as before," Cas finally said, then approached her again.

The saddest smile came across her lips. "I'd rather _you_ do that."

His face mirrored hers and he reached out, taking her hands in his, brushing his thumbs across the backs her her fingers. "Soon." He hesitated and then leaned in, giving her a kiss. She protested when he tried to pull away, wrapping her arms around his neck, kissing him in a way that begged him not to go. They both knew he had to though. When their mouths came apart, he didn't let go of her. "You make it very difficult for me to leave you," he said softly.

Alex searched his eyes deeply. She had a million questions and didn't like how each time he disappeared then reappeared he seemed more and more stressed, more and more unstable. But she had no other choice but to accept this. "Be safe up there," she told him in a voice that didn't give away how conflicted she felt.

He gave a barely perceptible single nod, his eyes telling her how sad he was to leave And then he let go of her hands and disappeared. A slight wind rustled against her from his flight and she shut her eyes. This was the hardest part… goodbye. Always the goodbye.

When she opened her eyes again to heart-breakingly empty space, she surveyed the very trashed attic… her discarded and ripped up clothes, the bookshelf where most of the books had toppled out onto the floor, the crooked bed with the sheets torn half off and blankets thrown helter-skelter. Wincing, she sat down onto the bed and just processed and rested for a minute. She was very sore. She hadn't mentioned it to Cas and had been careful not to let him see because he'd seemed pretty upset already about it.

Well, he was upset about _everything_ and she hadn't known a way to really comfort him this morning except kiss him, hug him, then give him satisfaction again. Last night flooded her mind and insatiable, unstoppable Castiel made her both blushingly smile and scratch her head with vague worry. It had gotten to the point where he had almost freaked her out last night. She'd wondered if he was going to just fuck her into oblivion or what. She'd wondered if he'd lost his mind or was really _that_ horny. Then to hear him say this morning he'd only wanted to show her he loved her… it helped her understand. Cas was sweet like that and associated sex with love but maybe didn't understand that sex wasn't the same thing as love. Last night would definitely stand out in her mind as one of the best nights of her life, even if it _had_ been sort of crazy too. She let her mind revel in memories for a moment before she hit a sour note.

His words to her this morning about how he kept thinking of her doubts bothered her. Alex was guilt-stricken again. The cupid had said that a _month_ ago or more—they'd put that behind them, she thought. If Cas had been so worried and worked up about it, why had he kept it inside and not told her it was bothering him? He let it build up inside then went insane on her in the bedroom instead? The war must really be getting to him was all she could figure. She saw it in his stressed-out eyes, his tired shoulders, the grim way he held his mouth. Not being able to help him was the most frustrating thing in the world. She couldn't help Dean, or Sam, or Cas… and she stood up, getting irritated. She was trying hard not to explode from the frustration of doing nothing.

After a much needed shower Alex donned her only good pair of jeans remaining and threw on a t-shirt, then wandered downstairs in a distracted state. She was back to thinking about Dean and that dick move of sending her away without a choice. _Jerk._ When Dean did stuff like that to her (and Cas for that matter), it made so much frustrated anger build inside. They were telling her without words, in effect, that she was useless. Being protected was okay with her, but being locked away in a tower of safety? Being excluded continuously from the things her family was struggling with? That wasn't life. Not hers, anyway.

In the kitchen at the table, Bobby had a newspaper up over his face and he peered over it as Alex drifted in there in search of food. "Hey Bobby," she greeted offhandedly, still deep in thought. He seemed unsurprised to see her. "I'm back."

"So I gathered," he said, eyes on her from over the top of the paper. "You get any sleep last night?"

Alex picked up an apple from the fruit bowl and rubbed it clean on the leg of her jean, wondering who Granny Smith even was and why she had a fruit named after her. "Yeah, wh—" she stopped mid-sentence, apple hovering mid-air as she held it there. _Oh_ _…_ _my_ _…_ _god_ … she hadn't even thought about how loud they'd been last night or if Bobby were home or not or… _shit_. She turned around to face him even as she felt herself turning red. She was remembering exactly how loud Cas had gotten her last night and abruptly wanting to disappear from sight.

Bobby had this little smile making his whiskers twitch as he scanned the paper. "Thought someone was in a fight at first," he said, casually turning a page in the newspaper. "Ran up there with my gun." Alex was mortified, but Bobby seemed to have made peace with it and was almost _teasing_. "Just gimme a heads up next time 'fore you and Cas decide to throw down? Had to turn the TV all the way up to try and unhear what I was hearin'."

You didn't really want your family to know what you sounded like having sex—or at least Alex didn't—and her cheeks felt like they were about to burst into flame. "Sorry," she mumbled. _Geez._ Although… it _was_ sort of funny too… she pictured her uncle blasting the ridiculous reality shows he secretly loved while he covered his ears and looked utterly traumatized. She smashed her lips together to try not to smile or laugh at the mental images conjured.

Bobby's mustache twitched. "I need to repair any furniture?"

She made herself look him in the eye, and when she did, they both had the same reaction: they laughed. He chuckled richly (Bobby Singer was a reserved man and didn't cut loose much). She, on the other hand, let out a stifled snort which turned into a very boisterous laugh. Like a kid caught with her hand in the candy jar, she was abruptly realizing how hilarious it was and covering her mouth. Thank god for Bobby who wasn't making it any weirder than it could have been. "No," she finally said after she managed to compose herself and quit grinning like an idiot. "Not this time."

" _Hm._ " Bobby remained mildly amused. The look and head shake he was giving her seemed to say _oh you_. He relieved them both from the subject by glancing over at a big box he had open on the desk. "Got a new stack in from UPS today. You up for some readin'?"

Alex hesitated, letting her gaze drop to the apple in her hand. Her amusement faded into more serious thoughts. She had been thinking about something since Cas left. "I've actually got my own little project to work on today…" she explained offhandedly, feigning nonchalance.

Bobby flipped to another page in the newspaper. "Mysterious," he commented gruffly. His eyes flickered up to her briefly from underneath his ball cap. "Care to share with the class?"

"Ah, nothing exciting," Alex said, putting an easygoing smile on. "Don't wanna bore you." She took a crunching bite of her apple and turned to head out.

Bobby's voice stopped her. "Hey," he said, lowering the paper a little and giving her a meaningful look. "You tell that boyfriend a'yours if he ever messes up, he's gonna have _me_ to talk to." He sounded threatening but civil, something Bobby was good at. "And I don't got nice things to say to people who upset my girl."

Alex smiled, heart warming. Bobby was like the dad she'd never had. Always in her corner and ready to help whatever the need may have been. They'd been through a lot together and had such a simple, straightforward relationship. She appreciated him a lot more than she let on. "Okay, Uncle Bobby," she said, using the term she and her brothers had given him years and years ago. He smiled a little when she said that and she took another bite of her apple, pointing at the door with her other hand, indicating that she was about to leave.

"You gone?" he asked, shaking the paper out a little in front of himself.

"Yeah, I'll be back later," she said through a mouthful of apple, then kissed her hand and tossed the kiss his way—she used to do that a lot as a little kid.

Watchful as always, Bobby saw what she did and finished their tradition: he caught the kiss deftly and tucked it into the front of his pocket with a flourish, hiding a smile underneath his beard. Alex gave a little wave and headed out.

As Alex walked away and got to where Bobby could no longer see her face, her smile gave way to a very tense, focused expression. Her project was probably not one Bobby (or Dean or Cas… or maybe _anyone_ ) would approve of. But too bad. She was going to take matters into her own damn hands.

She had something very serious and pressing on her mind… Death.

* * *

**Lansing, Michigan**

Samuel Campbell metaphorically limped back to his compound from Crowley's prison with his tail between his legs. _I did what had to be done._ He didn't want to think about his grandchildren anymore. They were probably all dead and he couldn't take any of it back. He was now a step closer to having his daughter back. That was what mattered. That was what _had_ to matter.

His broken nose was killing him—thanks to his bitch of a granddaughter, every heartbeat made the entire area shoot with pain. Dried blood caked the space under his nostrils. It sucked. Most guys who got a broken nose had to wait the old fashioned way for it to heal. But Samuel had something most hunters didn't have. He pulled his van into the compound as he first got back and then kept driving to pull around the main building to the very back end of the jumble of structures.

A little shed you'd blink and miss was padlocked there and Samuel pulled to a stop beside it then got out and put in the combination to unlock the door. He went in to the dim space, slow and cautious.

Laying on a little cot shoved up against the wall, she was turned the opposite way. As he'd predicted, she was asleep. She slept most days because of all the repair work he'd made her do recently. Her long blonde hair was illuminated by the mid-morning morning sun coming in from the tiny square window in the wall above. She looked so much like Mary when he couldn't see her face. He pulled a chair up beside the bed and shook her shoulder. "Marie. Wake up." Sometimes he had to remind himself not to slip up and call her by her real name. Making her think her name was Marie had been Crowley's idea of a funny joke. Because it sounded like Mary. Samuel was still irked about that.

She woke up and raised herself up a little, turning her head to squint up at him in confusion. She was perhaps thirty years old but was currently haggard and pale. It made her look ten years older. Her watery ice-blue eyes flickered over his face and then spotted his injury. Mild dread passed over her face because she obviously knew what he was going to ask of her.

"Got a busted nose," he said.

"…I just healed you three days ago," she said hoarsely, sounding feeble and close to panic. "I, I don't know if I have it in me."

Samuel wasn't in the mood to coax but attempted it anyway. "Come on, for me? Your favorite uncle?"

She didn't want to do it and he could see that. But he'd promised she could leave the shed and start staying in the actual compound if she was a good girl. So without protest, she sat up slowly like an old woman would and braced herself as she faced him, nodding apprehensively. "I'll try." She then began her exhausting spellwork, chanting quiet Latin words from memory and holding a shaking hand at his face, channeling the spell to his broken nose. 

Samuel watched her and wondered if she would ever remember. He was cautious around her just in case. He knew she would become a very dangerous enemy given the right motivation. That's why he was very careful to contain her and keep the ruse going. This was a tricky line he was walking with "Marie"… better known as Jamie Ward.

It had started when Jamie had been gravely injured from reversing Alex's vampiric condition. Impressed with her abilities, Samuel had decided to do something quite underhanded that he knew Dean, Alex, and even Sam would not approve of. He had taken the still coma-ridden girl right out of her hospital room and lied to the Winchesters, telling them she disappeared. He intended to let her recover in secret at his compound. When she woke up, he planned to convince her to join him on the road, hunting and helping out. He didn't care if she were a witch—she was resourceful, especially being able to heal people like she could. Not many witches were gifted in healing. 

She'd been in a coma for a full two weeks before she finally came out of it. When she became lucid, Samuel attempted to talk her into joining him the old fashioned way. He'd managed to find out she had no family left to speak of. So, he'd tried to spin it like the Campbells would be her new family, like they'd give her a place to belong. She'd been too reserved to read and said to give her a couple days and that she'd think about it. Still too weak to go anywhere, mostly because Samuel was keeping the food he gave her drugged, she had no choice but to stay close. And then, proving herself too clever for her own good, she'd poked around when he wasn't watching and she'd figured out that her food was being drugged. Samuel only survived _that_ showdown thanks to Crowley who had "out of the goodness of his own heart" given Samuel an "in the meantime" gift of a doting blonde daughter-figure who would heal him and hunt with him. Crowley had put some sort of spell on Jamie that made her forget who she was and made her think she was someone named Marie Campbell, Samuel's distant niece. Crowley had made her docile and sort of dumb in comparison to who she'd been before which worked in Samuel's favor—but warned that Samuel needed to be careful not to trigger her memory, because the spell wasn't foolproof. That's why Samuel kept her locked up alone just in case.

He told Jamie that she was suffering from memory loss after a car crash to explain her seeming condition of amnesia. Samuel let the other Campbells on the compound think she was crazy. He claimed she was a wayward hunter he had found on his own somewhere, that a monster attack had done something to her brain, that she thought he was his uncle and he didn't know why. Leave her alone and just go along with whatever she says, he'd advised.

Thus he was able to keep the gambit going. Jamie healed him on demand when he got sick or hurt, therefore keeping him on the road and hunting monsters for Crowley faster than before. He was in a hurry to get his daughter back and Jamie was a means to an end. Just like everything else. When he looked at it that way, Samuel didn't feel guilty at all. Mary was worth everything. And it was sort of nice that he had this girl who looked similar to his daughter looking at him as an authority.

Jamie before had been a spitfire and too independent. She was better this way. As she finished healing his nose that day, she shuddered and hissed in pain and he had to catch her to keep her from collapsing forward. Some blood ran out of her nose, but his nose felt fine again. She grimaced. Every time she healed his injuries, it hurt her and drained her for a little while. That was too bad, Samuel thought. "That's my good girl," he said, smoothing her hair down affectionately at the side of her head and letting his eyes linger on the buttery length of hair she possessed. It was very remarkable how her shade of blonde so perfectly matched his Mary's. 

Oblivious to him, she looked at her hands as if drugged. "How did I even get these powers?" she asked, voice slurring a little. "Why can't I remember?"

"The accident messed your mind up, sweetheart," Samuel said, standing up. She had to catch herself on a weak hand to stay supported. He was heading out of the shed without a backwards glance. "You'll remember someday."

She blinked, blank-faced. She appeared close to the point of passing out. "I can't even remember the accident," she said, and there was a question in her weak, sandpapery voice. It was like she _knew_ she was being lied to but doubted her instincts. She looked at her bare feet (he didn't let her wear shoes… it was hard to run away with no shoes). "Why do I have these scars?" she asked, confused all over again. Samuel looked at her pale feet. Her toes were misshapen and scarred over and she had sharp bunions from displaced sesamoid bones. Samuel didn't know why and even if he did, he wouldn't have told her—Crowley had been very insistent that Samuel not jog her memory too much.

So Samuel stood at the door, looked back at her, and ignored the question. "Get some rest, Marie."

"Get some rest," she repeated, drone-like. Her face showed confusion and illness and fear. But Samuel shut the door on her. He'd have Gwen check on her in a couple hours.

* * *

**Two Days Later  
Sioux Falls, South Dakota**

Alex stared unhappily. This was what she was reduced to: Shopping for clothes and trying to decide which jean wash she liked best—dark or less dark. It didn't _matter._ None of this crap _mattered_. She grabbed four pairs in her size and headed up to the front of the store like a storm cloud. She stood in line to buy the jeans and her bad attitude made everyone around her eye her with nervousness and skepticism but she didn't bother to hide her sour disposition. 

She'd spent the past two days trying to summon Death—yeah, the horsemen—and had encountered zero luck. None of the summons worked or maybe the guy was flat out ignoring her. Could he do that under direct summons? She didn't know. All she had thought was that Death—the Reaper of Reapers—could either tell her how to spring Sam's soul out of the cage or even take care of the task himself. And not just Sam. Adam, too. 

The last three months of being sidelined were _really_ starting to get to her. Resentments and dissatisfaction were at an all time high, and the past two days of coming up against walls had her severely on edge. 

Alex stalked through the parking lot with her jeans in a plastic bag and as she walked, she pulled out her car keys. On the keyring was the little cupcake keychain Sam had given her right before everything went to shit. Like always, her chest tightened at the sight of that stupid, sweet little gift. She unlocked her car and threw the bags in almost angrily, contemplating throwing that keychain out completely because of how fucking _sad_ it made her.

She lamented and cursed her life at the same time _—_ because she had spent a whole year mourning her twin's loss only to discover he was alive, but then she'd discovered he wasn't _him_ and now she mourned him every day. Seeing Sam in person these days was like standing at his grave. A physical symbol of him stood there, but he was _gone_. For all intents and purposes, dead. 

As Alex drove back toward Bobby's her hand tightened on the wheel and her gaze grew dogged. The more days that passed the more desperate she felt. She had hid it away for the most part and brushed it aside over and over again, hoping _just one more day_ _of this_ —for endless amounts of days. 

Dean was screening her calls, Cas was away, Bobby's research was accomplishing nothing, and Jamie was probably dead. Sam was in _Hell_ and so was Adam—how could she just sit around and content herself to wait this situation out? Especially when it was her fault? Sam needed _help._ And Adam too, dammit. Something _had_ to be done, and call her crazy but monster-catching for Crowley might last for months more. Hearing that Sam's soul might be past salvation secondhand was eating at her in a major way, more than she'd thought at first. Stewing day and night over an increasing urgency to save the one she'd come into the world with had her contemplating all kinds of wild solutions. 

Sam didn't deserve what he'd been dealt, and it hurt her heart so much. She just wished so bad that her fucking stupid brothers had just let her die and take Lucifer with her last year. Why did Sam have to step in like he did? She carried such guilt over it and her stupid, _stupid_ decision to say yes. Since she'd found out that even if they could get Sam's soul back, it might destroy him... she hadn't been able to stop obsessing privately over urgency to get him back. She hadn't been able to shed the guilt she felt at her role in his demise. She had reached her limit, she guessed, and like an animal in a cage, she'd grown tired of laying around. Now she was pacing back and forth mentally without stopping, more and more wildly all the time. 

She'd spent so much of her life missing Sam. When he left for Stanford the divide had been made and her heart had been broken and she'd missed him but tried to pretend she didn't care. After the four years of separation and the reunification to find Dad, she and Sam had slowly mended the broken bridge between them, slowly rediscovering the trust and love they'd shared as kids. The memories of Sam that she had from childhood were rich and vast, everything from funny to touching to heartbreaking…

She remembered being really sick one time when they were four—Dean had gone to the store to steal medicine and Sam, worried over his wheezy and lethargic twin, had heated up some chicken noodle soup. He'd splashed half of it over the motel rug and not heated it up long enough but he had been so very determined about her having it. When he brought it over sloshing around in a bowl he'd been so deadly serious. "Al-ly-gator, I maded you soup. And I tooked out the sell-ree and care-its 'cause we dun like them."

It always used to be 'we.' We like this, we don't like that, we think that TV show is good, we wish you could give us some of your Funyuns please Dean, we want more blankets 'cause we're cold. For years, Sammy spoke up for her and told Dean and Dad how she felt, what she thought (he was sometimes right, but was sometimes just projecting his own thoughts onto her). It had been like that until he was ten or eleven maybe.

Alex remembered how Sam used to really like playing pirates and always insisted she had to be the mermaid he was saving and she would get really frustrated and push him down, steal his sword-stick from him and run away laughing silently at his whines—because didn't he know _she_ wanted to be the pirate captain?! Those were the guys who got to slash swords and drive the boats. Mermaids just swam around like fish. They had no weapons! Where was the fun in that?

"Waah-hhhahahahaaaaa," Sam wailed one time to Dean after the mermaid-pirate debacle happened again. "Alex isn't letting me be the pirate!"

"Why can't you _both_ be pirates?!" Dean asked from over the top of a comic book. He got very invested in his comics and didn't like it when he got interrupted.

"'Cause she's a _girl_ and _she_ _'_ _s_ supposed to be the mermaid princess," Sam answered matter-of-fact.

"If that's what girls are supposed to be, where's your tail, Samantha?" Dean retorted. He got tackled for that one.

Oh, those two brothers of hers. Always fighting, always trying to outdo each other. Always making her smile… or want to pull her hair out. It tended to go to one extreme or the other.

Because the three of them had grown up depending on each other so closely, because Dad had been so absent emotionally and often physically too in their childhood, the Winchester kids had some stories and experiences other siblings didn't. Like that awkward day when Alex started her first-ever period and not known what the hell it even _was_. Eleven years old, she'd tried to hold back her tears as she walked quick down the hallway after exiting the school bathroom. Trying to keep her wits around her and not sob (she was dying, after all, bleeding to death and not long for the world…) when she saw Sam at his locker, she'd lost it and run to him, sobbing. _Who will help him when his bad left shoulder gets stiff? Who will massage it out for him? Dean doesn_ _'_ _t like to and Dad never would!_ That had been her worry as she ran up to him and tugged on his arm, panicking and crying like the world was ending. She couldn't die, not yet. She needed to be kissed first and fall in love with a cute boy at _least!_

When Alex ran up to her twin in a tizzy he'd seen her face and dropped papers everywhere and gotten panicked right away, too (they used to do that a lot… resonate off each other) and asked what was wrong. _I_ _'_ _m dying!_ She had told him by squeezing his hand in morse code. _Bleeding and it won_ _'_ _t stop!_ He'd asked where from and when she pointed in complete mortification. Sam had looked absolutely horrified. Neither of them knew, at the time, what it meant. To them, it seemed like death was coming early for her. 

Sam hadn't done what most kids would. He didn't get an adult—at eleven, Dean was, on most days, still his hero. As such, Sam dragged an inconsolable Alex to the older kid's lockers. By the time it was all said and done and Dean set them straight about what was happening, Sam had cried harder than Alex had and freaked out more than _she_ did. They ditched school with Dean leading the way to the closest drug store to get 'women's supplies'—a term that had the twins mystified and scared.

Dean explained it to them, enjoying being the smart one, and they gaped. Sam had asked all the questions Alex wanted to know. _What if she doesn_ _'_ _t want this period thing? And this Aunt Flow you_ _'_ _re telling us about happens every single month? You can_ _'_ _t just shut it off? All women get them? Are you kidding us, Dean?_ Stunned silence had spanned after all the questions and then Sam had put his arm around Alex reassuringly. She was dazed by this revelation and the body horror of it all. She wasn't ready to be a woman or have periods—she hadn't even known they were a thing until that day. Sam's voice was still messed up from crying so much and his eyes were watery and red, but he sounded brave. "You're gonna be okay, Alex," he'd told her in a comforting and brotherly tone. "I'll still love you even if you _do_ turn into a woman." He said the word woman like it was a horrible condition.

Dean, walking on the other side of her, ruffled her hair and smiled at them, letting his arm drape over Sam's so they all walked together arm in arm. Sometimes Dean looked like a proud parent. After Sam comforted Alex like that, that had been one of those times.

Alex blinked and sniffed present day as she drove down the road—she couldn't stop remembering and thinking about her twin throughout the years. Even when Sam started to get distant—starting to dislike the Winchester lifestyle in earnest and rebel against the idea of being part of it forever—even when he started to become ashamed of his siblings and began to ignore them at school, even when he so clearly wanted out of his family… he'd had his moments. 

Alex remembered being an angry teenager and letting her rage out in acts of passive aggressive defiance. One time she'd been setting textbooks on fire in the bathroom and she caused a fire alarm to go off when she set a plastic trashcan on fire by mistake—panicking, she'd tried to put it out and set her own sleeve on fire instead.

Sam had been waiting however unhappily outside of the bathroom for her (new school and Dean insisted they stick together when he wasn't there). When the alarm sounded Sam rushed in smelling smoke… she was running around trying to put her flaming sleeve out. Sam slammed her to the ground and used his own jacket to save her from the flames, then beat the trash can out, too—then wordlessly took her burned flannel shirt from her and stuffed it into his backpack, hiding the evidence. She'd been so embarrassed of herself. He yanked his own t-shirt over his head for her to put on over her school-inappropriate tank top—all of this within thirty seconds or so, like he was on a mission. He zipped his jacket up all the way to hide that he was shirtless underneath and they got the hell out of there before the principle or teachers could discover them.

Sam didn't tell a soul and said nothing to her, just gave her this look like he was glad she was alive but she'd been hearing about it later. He'd walked around school all day in his zipped up jacket and had gotten teased about it but he said nothing, just berated the hell out of Alex later like his glance promised. Stuff like: _what were you thinking? You could have burned the whole place down! You could have been hurt! Don_ _'_ _t look at me like that_ _…_ _ugh. Fine. I won_ _'_ _t tell Dean. But those sad eyes won_ _'_ _t always work on me, Alex. Now quit setting fire to stuff, you hear me?_

Alex nodded agreement but had been burning stuff not even a week later much to Sam's chagrin.

Sam didn't _love_ the things his family did, he was pretty judgmental about the choices his siblings made sometimes, but he would always help them and save them when he could. 

Like last year. When he'd sacrificed his own life for hers.

Alex was crying now, tears sliding down her cheeks and blurring her vision as she tried not to think about Sammy anymore. But instead, she remembered him holding her tightly as they both sobbed over Dean's dead, Hellhound shredded body. She remembered him saying "we're gonna be okay, it's gonna be okay," to her as she cried so hard she wanted to vomit. Not even _he_ had believed what he said to her and they had both known that.

A sobbing noise came out of Alex's mouth and she swerved slightly, trying to keep the car on the road. Her tears were getting more and more pronounced. The memories kept coming.

Three years old they were huddled in a twin bed together as a storm carried on outside in the dead of night. Dad snored loudly one bed over. Sammy jumped with fright when thunder crashed. " _I_ _'_ _m scary_ ," he'd whispered. He meant he was scared. He curled into his silent twin who was sucking her thumb, wide-eyed awake and just as scared as he was.

At their feet, Dean's sleepy voice drifted up. "It's just angels bowling in the sky," he told them, then patted their legs comfortingly.

Twenty-four years old, Sam had broken down in private before Dean's death day. "What if we can't save him?" he'd asked and broken her heart because he looked three again. "I'm _scared_." She'd been just as scared as he was, especially because he didn't do that… he didn't _say_ that kind of stuff anymore.

Alex pictured that same brother in Hell, scared, alone, tortured, and she pulled the car over to the side of the road overcome with grief and terror. At last, after months of only allowing herself small moments of sadness over her brother, she grieved and wept loudly and miserably, hands clenched to the wheel and head hung slackly there to hit against her arms. _I have to do something. I have to do something!_

Everything she'd buried was coming out in an avalanche. 

Focusing on breathing in and out, Alex screwed her eyes shut, huffing and puffing in an attempt to get herself to stop. _Control yourself. It_ _'_ _s okay._

But it wasn't okay.

"Let's make a promise," Sammy said to her once. He had been maybe twelve at the time and in a deeply thoughtful mood. They were flopped on their stomachs in the grass and while she tied grass into knots, he stared out into distance with his face in his hand. "No matter what, we'll always save each other, okay?" He looked at her then and she had liked how that sounded and nodded. They sealed the deal with their secret handshake: a fist bump with a pinky promise integrated, then a single handshake afterward to seal the deal. It meant serious business, that handshake. 

She and Sam had not always kept that promise they made that day. In small ways and in big ways they had failed each other. And _now_...

Alex wept fully and her heart ached. The only thing she could think was _I wish I saved you, Sam. I'm so sorry I didn't._ Her face streamed with tears and the silence of the car filled with her hopeless sobs that did nothing. Growing angry with herself, Alex got out of the car, shaking from nerves. She slammed the door and glared around at the empty fields she was adjacent to. As a distraction or maybe in desperation, she went to the back of her car and rummaged through her trunk, not even sure what she was looking for. It was a mess back there. Weapons, bags, odds and ends were strewn all around without organization or neatness and Alex choked back another sob when she imagined Sam chiding her for it with good-natured exasperation. He had always been the neat freak while she and Dean lived like zoo animals.

When Alex found an oversized syringe she kept on hand for demon interrogation, she froze and then slowly drew it out, staring at the cylinder with caught breath. A saying came to mind: _Desperate times call for desperate measures._

Well, _this_ was a desperate time. And she was left no other options but desperate ones. With a very controversial idea springing into her mind and this syringe inspiring it, her heart skipped a beat. If it worked, it was actually kind of genius. If it didn't work, she was screwed. But you know, she was a make-it-work kind of person… and this was her brother on the line and nothing else was working and every day that passed was another he was in Hell and she refused to accept it any longer. Desperation made her a little crazy. 

She heard her twin's voice in her mind again. _"_ _Let_ _'_ _s make a promise. No matter what, we_ _'_ _ll always save each other, okay?_ _"_

He'd kept that promise to her when he took Lucifer out of her like he had. And now she needed to save him, too. With his words in mind, Alex got back in the car and headed back to town for the nearest pharmacy. It was time to stop listening to everyone telling her to be safe and stay out of the game. It was time to _act_. Dean and Cas could kiss her ass… and she meant that as lovingly as possible. 

She wasn't gonna _let_ Death keep ignoring her calls. 

* * *

**Thirty Minutes Later**

The Mustang was parked behind the pharmacy she'd just stolen medicine from and pacing beside her car, Alex was losing her nerve. Her stomach was churning and she steeled herself. This required total commitment and unflinching dedication. In her experience, the longer she waited, the less likely she would be to do it. She pictured Sam in her mind and told herself to just bite the bullet. This was for him and if she didn't do this, she'd always hate herself for it. This would work, could work, _had_ to work.

It was on the questionable side—but she'd made up her mind. She wet her lips and looked upward as her heart raced sickeningly. He was going to really hate her for this but… she couldn't think about that yet. "Cas? Cas I need to tal—"

In front of here where there'd been nothing, he appeared suddenly about ten feet away. "Alex." He looked around in stern curiosity, took in her expression, then became suspicious and concerned. "Is… everything all right?" His brows pushed together.

"No," she said, and when he took a step closer to her, she took a step back. " _Stay back,_ " she warned a little louder than necessary. He stopped, his concern doubling. "Look, if I died right here and now, could you bring me back to life?" Alex asked. "You still have that ability?"

He hesitated, clearly confounded. "Yes… what's wrong? You look—"

"You're _sure_ you could?" she pressed, urgent.

"Yes, but—" he stopped mid-sentence. Understanding washed over his features, then alarm and disbelief.

"Give me five minutes," she commanded, backing up as she saw how he was about to try and stop her. "You hear me? _Five minutes._ _"_ This wasn't her proudest moment but she had made up her mind. "I'm sorry you have to see this Cas."

Even as he was rushing forward to stop her and saying, "Alex, _no_!" she plunged the syringe she'd had in hand behind her back straight into her own chest, injecting herself with a lethally concentrated dose of potassium chloride—immediately her muscles tensed and cramped agonizingly and she heard herself crying out in pain. Her veins went blazing hot and she was staggering forward blindly as she suffered severe, immediate cardiac arrest. Cas caught her and she heard him saying things in a panic, she felt his strong hands holding her but they weren't strong enough. Her vision went black and her lungs seized up, her heart felt like it was exploding and imploding all at once. And then it was over.

* * *

Alex was outside of herself suddenly and watched Cas standing there with her limp body in his arms. She heard him asking her name in shock and fear, saw how he looked at her in staggered disbelief, in total devastation. Guilt crossed her again. She had to turn away because she couldn't watch him holding her corpse like that. She would make her sincere apologies later, but right now, she had to do what she'd come to do. 

Everything looked the same as it had a moment ago but she realized she couldn't feel temperature or breeze at all. Was she a ghost now? Was she a spirit? And where was the Reaper that was supposed to be here?

She saw no one and turned around in a small circle. There wasn't anyone there except Cas. And then behind her she heard an unfamiliar voice. 

"I was in the middle of sampling the most tasty falafel just now."

Alex turned around quickly to see a stranger: a gaunt, pale older man with dark, thinning hair and a receding hairline. He wore a suit and he leaned his back against her car and patted primly at the corner of his mouth with a fast-food napkin. Beside him rested a walking cane. "You couldn't have picked a better time to kill yourself?" he asked leisurely, not even looking at her. 

He wasn't a regular old Reaper and she knew it right away. A little awed for reasons she didn't even grasp, she faltered. "Are you… Death?"

"No, I'm a roadside assistance worker," he answered, deadpan. His eyes came to hers and challenged her, making her feel small and mortal. Her confidence faltered.

"I… thought I'd have to ask to speak to you," she said, taken aback and unsettled.

He was crumpling up the napkin with both hands, slow and measured. "Surprise," he retorted without passion then took his cane in a hand and stood straight, tossing the napkin down and crushing it with his shoe as he strolled forward slowly, vaguely inconvenienced. "First your brute brother has the gall to try and kill me and now _you_ kill yourself to speak with me. This had better be good, Miss Winchester." He had a soft accent and a very bland way about him but he commanded respect and made Alex nervous. 

Right. She braced herself and swallowed, trying to concentrate. Near to Death, Cas was holding her dead body and looked positively ill. He was unaware of Death and Alex's exchange. "I've got two brothers stuck down in Lucifer's cage," Alex said, doubting herself now. "Sam's body isn't down there, just his soul. _All_ of Adam is down there. I need to know if you can get them out. And what your price would be."

Death's eyebrows rose fractionally. "Price? You think that _you_ could ever possess something which _I_ would want?" His head tilted forward slightly and his dark, hollow eyes were stilling. "My dear girl, your reputation for being clever is nothing short of a sham." He paced off two steps, his cane swinging out before each step in a precise way. "I'm not interested in your family dramatics and I'll thank you to leave me out of them," he said, contemplating the distance thoughtfully. He paused then and rested two hands onto the top of his cane, looking toward Castiel with interest then inexplicably began to count down. "Three, two, one…"

Alex followed his gaze, looking at Cas in confusion and dread. Without explanation, the angel lurched and made a sound of pained surprise, clutched a hand at his chest. A brilliant, blazing light abruptly began to beam out from the vicinity of his heart even as he stumbled back and fell down onto his back—he seized in pain, eyes screwed shut and teeth gritted. Despite his pain, he was holding Alex's dead body to his chest with an arm. Even as he fell, Alex rushed to him, trying to touch him. "Oh my god! Cas!" Her hands went right through him and he didn't see her or respond at all. What was happening?! Why was he hurt?!

"Don't bother," Death said, sounding bored. "He can't hear you."

"What's happening to him?!" Alex asked, standing back in a panic. Did angels have heart attacks or something? He had a hand pressed against his heart and it looked like he was having trouble breathing. Was he somehow channeling her wound?!

"Didn't you pause to wonder why _I_ am here?" Death asked. "Why I didn't send a Johnny-on-the-spot Reaper in my stead? I had to see this in person. Your so-called husband has caused himself quite the conundrum." Alex was shell-shocked at his knowledge of her and Castiel and whipped her head to look at the horsemen. He contemplated her mildly. "What, did you think that you could fool Death, Alexandra?"

"W-what's wrong with him?" she asked, not caring about anything else. _Why did I do this? He needs me oh my god!_

"Many would argue _everything_ is wrong with him," Death replied casually, then dropped a bombshell on her: "However. _You_ _'_ _re_ doing that to him."

Alex felt even more alarm overtake her. "What?! I'm not doing anything!" she protested.

"Ah but you are," Death said and came two steps closer, his cane clicking against the concrete as he did. "People's souls belong to them; the claims to their souls are written in either the book of Heaven or the book of Hell. You, child, are not in either book. Because of _him_." 

_What? Oh Cas, what did you do_ _…_ _?!_

Beside Cas a young man appeared who Alex did not recognize—he wore a white-and-red striped shirt and a goofy red baseball cap. He looked like he couldn't have been more than twenty years old. He crouched at Cas's side, speaking to him urgently, trying to help him—Cas was shaking his head no in agony. Another person appeared too shortly after the boy did—a woman in her thirties with dark blonde hair and a business suit. She bent over Castiel too and Alex was helpless to do anything but watch Cas seemingly die in front of her eyes.

"He laid claim to your soul in a rather indecent way I'm afraid," Death continued in utter apathy, unaffected by the scene. "And now it's inside of him, tearing him apart. I doubt he knew this would happen."

"… _Inside_ of him?" Alex repeated, feeling sick and shocked and lost. _Cas, what have you done? The claim to my soul? What does that even mean? Why did you never tell me? Oh god_ _…_

"Yes. Dreadful business." Death was contemplating Cas's glowing chest with the mildest of interest. "It appears that the claim on your soul was transferred to an inanimate object. Dangerous idea… soul claims aren't supposed to be made tangible. Souls are supposed to go either up or down. Not to the inside of an angel's _chest_."

Alex remembered Cas telling her he'd removed her name from the book of Hell. But he didn't say he _took_ ownership of the soul claim and stuck it inside of himself! In his freaking literal _heart_! She was furious and terrified because he was dying by all appearances now and she couldn't do a _damn thing._

"God knows how long whatever little trinket has been in there but it would seem that it's fused into the vessel," Death continued. He seemed fascinated by it. "Now that your mortal soul has left your body and has attached itself to the claim he carries, I think it's safe to say he's realized what a bad idea it was."

Alex wanted to smash Death over the head for his apathy. "Why is it hurting him?!" she demanded, because it made no sense at all.

The two angels with Cas were trying to get Cas to speak to them, trying to help him, but Cas was groaning in greater and greater pain, his hand like a claw over his heart.

"Angels don't have souls," Death said. "They have spirits and they have Graces but they don't have souls and they're not _supposed_ to either. Carrying your claim around like that in his _heart_ organ no less was harmless enough with you alive. But with your soul wiggling around in there now I daresay it's killing him for one reason or another."

"But it's just a _soul_!" Alex protested in stark panic.

"An indistinguishable ball of pure energy and light shoved into an already over-taxed vessel and then concentrated into a very small object he's stuck inside his chest," Death corrected, blasé. "He's not a human. Your soul is trying to get out of him because it knows it doesn't belong in there. And when you _die_ , when you cease to hover in the void as you are right now, I suspect when your soul rips its way out he'll die too." 

_Oh no. No, no, no._ This had been a mistake, a stupid decision, the worst thing she'd ever done. And Cas was left to pay the price. Why hadn't Cas _told her_ this? "…What have I done?" she asked in a whisper. In trying to save her brother she'd killed Castiel and herself too. Regret and horror weren't big enough words.

"Made a very foolish mistake, I'm afraid," Death answered. He leveled her with a lecturing stare. "Life and death isn't a light switch. You can't just kill yourself because the mood strikes and expect to be back topside in time for tea." It was over, Alex realized with growing dismay. _Done_. Who knows where her soul would go when it had torn itself out of Cas and left him dead. And then Death surprised her. "However."

… _However?_

"You should count today as your lucky day, Miss Winchester," he said, and she felt the thrill of hope. "I don't feel like putting up with the ruckus your brick-headed brother would cause so I'm sending you back." Relief and disbelief alike flooded her and she could barely believe her luck. " _However._ It _won_ _'_ _t_ happen again," he warned. Death raised a hand and paused, glanced at Cas's writhing form. "Tell your angel to get that thing out of him." And then Death's fingers touched her forehead and they were ice cold. He left her with one last comment: " _Don_ _'_ _t_ bother me like this again."

* * *

Alex gasped and rocketed upwards, stunned and _alive_ and underneath her hands, Cas's solid chest heaved breathlessly… he looked as surprised as she was and he was fine again, no longer in pain or convulsing. They stared at each other for a moment and then Alex remembered the other angels, looking up at them with wide, wild eyes.

The woman looked cold and withdrawn, her eyes sharply taking Alex in without much mercy. The boy, whose shirt turned out to be a uniform for Wiener Hut, well he looked at her much differently. Like he was relieved to see she was okay almost. Wait… did she _know_ him? He looked really familiar. Never mind. She didn't care at the moment. Alex looked down at Cas, concerned and mad and relieved and just _everything._

"Cas, are you okay?" she begged urgently. 

He looked very gruff and he began to move to stand, helping her do the same. Once they were on their feet, Castiel looked at the other two angels with a terse expression. "Leave us, Rachel and Samandriel."

"But, Castiel—" Rachel protested.

His voice left no room for argument. "I said _leave_." Samandriel complied right away. Rachel waited a beat longer, glancing at Alex with clear apprehension, then left. The second the female angel disappeared, Castiel turned on Alex harshly, his expression startling. "…Have you _lost_ your _mind_?" His intensity was quite shocking.

Still, Alex help her own. "Have I lost _my_ mind?" She gestured at his chest. "You have claim to my soul stuck inside your freakin' chest and you never thought to even once _mention_ it?" She wasn't exactly happy about that—it seemed like he'd claimed _her_ like an object or a possession and she didn't like that _at all_. 

Cas was angry. No, he was _furious._ "You just _killed_ yourself in front of my eyes and you want to discuss _that_?" he asked, and his voice raised a little. "Alex, death is not a game!"

She had been set to apologize to him tearfully, beg his forgiveness, but the unexpected verbal attack from him made her catty and defensive and her hackles were up instead. "You know what? Neither is Sam's soul! I've stood by for three _months_ while Dean and you and whoever else tried to find a way—" she threw her hands wide, getting more and more upset under his death glare. "That's my _brother_. I had to do _something_ , Cas!"

"So you chose to _end your own life_ for a mere _chance_ to speak with Death?" Cas asked, indignant and fired up to the point that it shocked her. "You chanced everything on a _whim_? Alex, do you realize how _mindless_ your actions were just now? How _foolish_?" He looked mad enough to spit and it was so disconcerting. Yes, she _did_ realize how foolish and she was mortified, but she didn't admit that because of pride and how he was berating her. "You could have sought my help in arranging a meeting with him, you could have—"

"I could have done _a lot_ of crap but I did what I did," she said rudely, cutting him off in an attempt not to hear it any more about how bad she'd fucked up. "End of story, can't take it back, sorry." Trying to excuse her actions, she played the blame game. "Look, all you and Dean do is tell me to sit things out—I can't do that anymore!"

"So you do _this_?" He demanded instantly and came into her space more almost intimidatingly. "Alex, you _killed_ yourself, you ended your own life!" He was practically yelling at her and she withered. She wasn't used to being the object of his anger and she knew she deserved it but she couldn't handle any more guilt right now. "Did you not consider what that would do to me?" he asked, earnest and harrowed and wounded, growing less angry and more genuinely just dismayed. She couldn't look at him. "Did you give no thought to how that would make me feel? You were _dead_!"

He didn't have to keep reminding her. "Well I'm not now," she muttered, dodging his eyes and looking down.

"But you still _could be_."

"Well I'm _not_!" she snapped, turning red out of embarrassment as she glared at him. _Just stop, Cas! I get it!_

"By some miracle," he reminded her needlessly and she wanted to scream. He took a moment and calmed himself a little. "I did not know that would happen. That the claim would do that. I should have realized." Alex darkened at the mention of _that_ and he forced himself to be patient as he asked her the next question. "What happened? What did you learn from your very brainless decision to speak with Death by _dying_?"

"Nothing," she said, upset and withdrawing. "It was stupid, okay? Happy? I want my soul claim back, Cas. Take it out."

His reply was immediate and firm. "No."

Her mouth dropped open. _Excuse me?_ He did not just say that. "' _No'_?"

"I have to put it into the book of Heaven and until Raphael is defeated, I can't do that." He didn't sound anything but businesslike—he was talking to her like she was a stranger, almost. "I have to keep it here with me."

Whatever calm she'd had was gone. "The soul claim is supposed to be mine—you have _no right_ to keep it Cas! You're trying to control me again!" She exploded, "if I'm supposed to be in Hell, whatever!"

Shocked and indignant, Cas looked at her almost like he didn't know her. "How can you show so little regard for your future?"

" _Me_?" she asked. "What about _you_? You'll die if I die, Cas! And who knows where you'd end up! So _take it out_!"

His jaw tightened and he was inscrutable, stoic. "I'm afraid I still have to refuse."

Alex grabbed a fistful of his lapel and shoved a little, trying to shake reason into him. "You were just rolling around on the ground _dying_ because it's in there!" She pointed out in a high, uncontrolled voice as she let go of him with a jerk. She was getting ridiculously incensed. "It's not supposed to be in you—it'll kill you! Do you have a death wish or something?!"

Castiel's eyes narrowed and he was very measured. "So you are permitted to express concern over me living or dying but when I do the same you tell me that I am attempting to control you?" 

Mouth going into a thin, annoyed line, Alex crossed her arms. "Stop trying to be reasonable, dammit," she grumbled, hating how right he was. She huffed. "How long have you had it?"

He contemplated her for a moment then shook his head. "It doesn't matter."

" _Excuse_ me?" she asked, shocked at his refusal.

"Whatever answer I give, you'll flay me," he said in a hard voice. She didn't recognize him at all and felt betrayed. "I did what I had to do to save your soul from Hell and I will not apologize for it," he continued, and his lack of warmth made her see red. 

"Stop trying to _run my life_!" She shouted, arms flailing around herself in animated fury—he was trying to shut her away and keep her under his thumb and she was sick of it. 

Again he looked mystified and angry. "'Run your life'? Alex Winchester I am attempting to _protect_ you, I have given _everything_ for your sake and you hold me in contempt for it— _why_?" Silence. _Guilt._ Alex's fire faded as Cas's conviction grew. It made his voice emotional. "I have done everything I can do to keep you safe and yet you throw away your life as if it's _worthless_ ," he said, gesturing at the discarded syringe a few feet away. "As if you consider everything I have worked for to be meaningless!" He was deeply hurt, _shaken_ , and she saw it and shrank inside. She was so, so stupid. "You say that you trust me," he continued, voice tight and tense, hard to read. "So _trust me._ I am not attempting to run your life, I am attempting to _save_ it." 

Out of things to say, Alex looked down, hurting inside and feeling like utter shit. Why was this so confusing? She wanted to smack him and tell him to stop being a prick but also wanted to hug him and beg him to still love her, to tell her it was going to be okay and they'd get through it. But before anything else could be said, Cas looked upward, his surly expression bleeding into his voice. "I'm being summoned, I have to go."

 _What?_ She looked up and opened her mouth up to say something but it was too late. He was already gone—just like that, with no gentle look or touch, no reassurance of his affection. Her stomach dropped to her feet when she realized he'd just _left_ like that. 

Terrible doubt and fear clenched her heart. _What just happened?_

Cas had never, ever raised his voice at her like that. And he hadn't told her about the soul claim even once. It bothered her. It _should_ bother her, right? She didn't want him to _die_ because of her and she didn't like how he had taken ownership of something that was hers without talking to her about it at least. She trusted him—of course she trusted him. Or she _had_. Now she just felt knocked over and unsettled, confused. She didn't know what she knew anymore about anything. Alex sank to a crouch and put her face into a hand, unable to think straight. She wanted to cry about Sam, Cas, everything. No matter what she did she ran into walls and got nowhere.

After a moment she reached over to the syringe and grabbed it, throwing it in anger. It hit a dumpster with a little sound that didn't make her feel any better at all. 

_Congratulations, Alex. All you do is ruin everything and fuck things up worse than before._


	69. My Brother's Keeper

" _What is the point of having free will if one cannot occasionally spit in the eye of destiny?_ _"  
_ \- Jim Butcher

* * *

**The Next Day**

"I mean of all the screw-headed, crazy, _brainless_ stunts you've ever pulled, this has to be the most certifiable!" Dean raged at full volume. Unhappy about the third degree, Alex held her phone a good five inches away from her ear—that's how loudly her oldest brother was berating her through the phone. "I do all this crazy stuff to make sure you're safe then you waltz out one day and decide to _commit suicide_ for kicks?!"

Alex basically shouted her indignant response at the phone. "It wasn't for _kicks_ Dean, I _told you_!"

"Well then what _was_ it for, huh?!" Dean demanded, matching her ire blow for blow. Even though she couldn't see his face she could conjure it in her mind's eye and in that mental image he looked like he wanted to kill her all over again. Bitter, Alex gritted her teeth, shut her eyes, and inhaled sharply through her nose in an attempt to not explode. _Thanks, Cas, for going out of your way to tell Dean what I did._ Alex hadn't seen the angel since he'd disappeared after so harshly verbally blasting her yesterday. So, _what_ , he could find time to look Dean up and tattle on her but not come back and apologize or explain himself? Alex was hurt and annoyed and confused because he'd never been so mean to her, ever, and now it seemed like he was _avoiding_ her. She felt both guilty and mad as hell and was unsure about which one she was more justified in feeling. What a mess… and Dean's tirade on the other end of the line wasn't helping either. _  
_

"Are you trying to give me a heart attack or something?!" he continued harshly, refusing to let it go (they'd be on the phone for a couple minutes already and _all_ of the conversation had been Dean shredding his sister and Alex getting more and more frustrated as he refused to listen to her). "I mean Jesus Christ, Alex, do you even realize how much is on me right now?! Apparently not or you wouldn't have _done_ that shit!" He was getting even angrier and louder. "I just gotta wonder if you've lost your freaking mind or what, I mean who _does_ that? You're such a friggin' _idiot,_ you know that?!"

That comment did it and she was snapping back in an attempt to defend herself in some small way. "What, trying to _do something_ to _save our brother_?!" Her rising blood pressure approached outer space. " _You_ _'_ _re_ the one who sold your soul for him a few years ago, all I did was—"

" _Forget what I did!_ " he cut her off in a shout. "That doesn't matter anymore and you're sure as hell not gonna make what _you_ did okay bringing that shit up—life and death isn't a game! You _killed_ yourself and _Cas_ didn't think he could bring you back! Do you get that? Do you realize how friggin' _lucky_ you are to be above ground right now?!"

_Yeah, so lucky, Dean, so freaking lucky. I have everyone in my life pissed to high hell at me and telling me how much of a dumbass I am and refusing to see why I did what I did. You_ _'_ _re right. Yay. Lucky me!_

Dean was still ranting at her and it was becoming an angry rumbling blur she tuned out. "Do you realize _blah blah blah_!? You _blah blah blah_ , I can't believe _blah blah blah_ _—_ it takes some special kind of _blah blah blah_ to _blah blah blah_ _—_ you could have died for real, you could have _blah blah!_ "

"Look, I know it was the dumbass move of the year, all right?" Alex answered in a tight, harsh voice that threatened him to stop talking to her that way, _now_. "Cas already raked me over the coals about it and you're pissing me off, I _don_ _'_ _t wanna hear it_ anymore."

"You don't wanna _hear_ it anymore?" It sounded like he was thinking _how dare you_. As a result his rumbling voice raised again. "That's rich Al—you _offed yourself_! Without so much as a word to me! And you don't wanna 'hear it'? Princess, you're lucky I don't—"

Done with sitting there and getting pummeled verbally, about to say things she would really regret, Alex promptly hit the end call button with a great amount of force. "Frickin' _hate_ you sometimes!" she seethed vehemently at the phone, then to avoid the angry calls that would start again soon she yanked the back cover off her phone and violently pulled the battery out. Alex hurled it far out into the yard. Maturity points, zero. But it felt satisfying for a small moment anyway. _Take that, Dean. I pulled out a battery at you, what now?_ Then as she stared out into the yard where she'd thrown it, she got sullen. She'd have to go find the battery now.

The front door to the Singer house squeaked open behind her. "What'd the phone ever do to you?" Bobby ventured out onto the front porch with a mug of coffee and a vaguely skeptical look on his face. So he'd seen her very mature moment just then… _great_.

Quickly chastened in his paternal presence, Alex lost her fiery anger in favor of contrition. Bobby would find out sooner or later about what had happened yesterday. She should be the one to tell him… even though she didn't _want_ to tell him. Mostly because she was humiliated and _had_ been humiliated from the second she'd been resurrected. Her crackpot idea to talk to Death and get Sam and Adam back hadn't worked and to top it off, she'd almost gotten Cas killed in the process. It had been stupid as _fuck_ and Bobby would probably tell her as such (just like Cas had, just like Dean had). Honestly she wanted to crawl into a hole where no one would ever see her again. The thought of explaining what she'd done yesterday to her uncle was making her stomach churn sickeningly. But she'd rather tell him herself than him find out about it from someone else.

Remorseful and steeling herself for another storm of rage (but hoping for a listening ear and mercy), Alex reluctantly looked Bobby in the eye. "I need to tell you what I did yesterday."

* * *

**Two Days Later**

_Wham. Wham, wham!_ The punching bag shuddered underneath the relentless and rhythmic slams of her fists. Even though it was an exercise in releasing some _very_ huge frustrations, she channeled her angers and fears into deadly focus and didn't lose control. The swinging bag represented every confusion she didn't understand, every rude thing that had been said to her, every doubt she had in herself. _Wham! Wham!_ Out of breath and drenched in sweat, Alex caught and steadied the hanging punchbag with her wrapped hands. She bowed her head and shut her eyes, focused on regulating her sharp, short breaths. The basement was quiet. Overhead she could hear the dim drone of Bobby's TV. Her ears were pounding with blood. She shrugged up on one side, letting her sweat-trickled cheek wipe against her shoulder. It felt like the room was a thousand degrees. But it wasn't hot enough to sear away the thoughts that were burning her alive.

Three days since hearing from Cas. Two days since talking with Dean. T-minus one day to insanity for Alex.

Alex straightened with a snap and shoved the punching bag away hard, waited for it to swing back. What was frustrating— _wham!_ —was how she'd only been trying to do something useful— _wham!_ —and instead had only created more disaster— _wham! Wham!_ It seemed like this was her forte in life: Caring a lot and fucking things up further. Damned if she did, damned if she didn't. _Wham!_ She was _mad_ at Cas and Dean for being angry at her, _hurt_ that they didn't seem to understand the motivation and heart behind her dumb actions, _confused_ about Cas's absence (he'd found time to talk to Dean but not her… why?). _Wham!_ _Wham! Whamwhamwham!_ Alex hit the bag hard and fast, getting worked up and emotional as she continued to break herself down physically. She thought about everything she hated: Cas's dick behavior and abrupt disappearance. Sam as soulless as ever. Dean treating her like a child. The thought that maybe she _was_ a child. She slammed the bag with her fists a few times more in an effort to exhaust herself.

Barely able to breathe from the amount of exertion she was giving, Alex had to stop whaling on the bag and wait as she heaved gasping loud breaths. She steadied the bag again with both hands (or maybe she was steadying herself at that point). Her muscles screamed protests against her. Before coming down here to beat up the bag she'd run several miles out in the sweltering heat then done a hundred pushups and her body was worn out as hell but it didn't work… the pain and fatigue wasn't distracting her well enough from the questions that ate her alive: Should she have stood up for herself more with Cas? Or should she have backed down and agreed with what he said to avoid a bigger fight?

Was she really _so wrong_ to be so upset about him taking her soul claim like he had? It was hers, not his, and as she had seen, it would _kill him_ to keep it in him—if she died again he'd die too and that was _terrifying_. It made no sense that he would keep it knowing that. Why did he think it was okay to keep what he'd done from her, just take the soul claim and never even tell her about it? She had every right to be pissed about that—she knew she did. But the kicker was that what he'd done _wouldn_ _'_ _t have been so bad_ if he'd just handed her the soul claim back when she'd asked instead of acting like he was king of the universe.

His cold and almost unfeeling responses to her had been disturbing, out of character, and shocking for her to be on the receiving end of. That's what scared her, worried her, and made her have more trouble sleeping than usual. Her mind was wracked with worry every waking hour over what had happened. _Why won_ _'_ _t he give me what_ _'_ _s mine?_ It consumed her and backed her into a terrifying corner. It wasn't okay with her. It was a deal breaker. Just thinking that single thought shook her to her core. _A deal breaker? As in it_ _'_ _s over if you can_ _'_ _t change this?_ She didn't want to even have to think that, but she was. A lot. And maybe he was thinking something similar, maybe what she'd done was unforgivable to him—it had been hard to see any love in his eyes three days ago. In fact, all she'd seen was cold fury.

She replayed their argument and the biggest question she faced was this: _Is he going to leave me?_ It sort of felt like he already had.

After being left in huge ways by men who claimed to love her (Sam, Dad, even Dean), it was something she struggled with, it was something that defined her life… this terror of being alone and unwanted. She didn't want to feel that way… she wanted to be independent but at the same time lived in utter fear of being abandoned and left without anyone beside her. Thinking back to her year alone she had _hated_ that feeling so much. Hated the silent motel rooms and the lack of familiar faces and the always being by herself no matter where she went. When Jamie had shown up it had been just in time to save her from flat-out despair. Rueful, Alex thought maybe she _didn_ _'_ _t_ want to be as independent as she thought she did. Maybe after a lifetime of emotional co-dependence she'd never know how to get there… maybe Cas and Dean were bad for her when it came down to it. That was a gut-wrenching thought that made her stomach twist. She had a single thought she didn't want to admit: _I can_ _'_ _t live without them_. Not them, and not Sam either. But maybe she would have to.

It would be easier not to love at all, she thought wretchedly. Love caused so much pain and confusion and complication… to the extent that her chest ached currently. Her penny was sticking to her sweaty chest on its chain and the feeling of it set her at even deeper stormy, sickening unease. Not knowing what was going on with Cas _killed_ her.

She wanted to be able to trust Cas and had always thought she could, but his behavior made her question everything she'd ever felt about him—he must have just been upset at her death and not sure how to react, right? Why had he been so stony and unrecognizable? Her heart felt like it was cracking in two and she tried to remind herself of everything he'd ever done for her before, she tried to hope for the best and believe in him. _Please god let it just be the war getting to him, let it have been an off day for him, please let there be an explanation or an apology. Otherwise, I just don_ _'_ _t know_ _…_

Overhead she heard heavy footsteps. It sounded like they were coming toward the door. Sure enough, the basement door at the top of the stairs creaked open and Bobby's heavy, slow footfalls clomped down the stairs. Alex waited several beats then tiredly lifted her sagging head from where it had been resting against the punching bag. She squinted over at the foot of the stairs where he'd just stopped and then she had to stifle a shocked reaction.

 _Dean_ crossed his arms and shifted his weight. "Hey."

What was _he_ doing here?! Alex snapped to stand fully straight. She regarded her brother apprehensively as she covered up her surprise at his unexpected appearance. "…What are you doing here?"

His eyebrows rose faintly. "I need a _reason_ to be at Bobby's now?" His expression was cool and aloof.

So it was going to be like _that._ Alex stifled the urge to give an eye roll and her mouth pressed into a wan line as she turned away pointedly. She began to spiral off the boxing wraps from her hands with a little more gusto than necessary then slapped them down onto the cluttered workbench against the wall. When she turned around, she folded her arms and looked at him expectantly, refusing to speak first.

There was a short silence in which they both looked at each other with matching crossed arms and relatively antagonistic stares. Finally, Dean broke the silence. "So. Had a pretty interesting conversation with Death yesterday." His expression was cool.

"...What, that supposed to be some kind of joke?"

" _No_ ," he said, swaggering forward slowly while keeping his brawny arms crossed. "Unlike _some_ people in this room, I know how to think things through—and got myself a _round-trip_ visit to Death."

So he was gonna rub her stupidity in her face. "Oh well good for _you,_ " she retorted in a voice dripping with cynicism. She didn't even care what he was telling her—it was the way he was going about it that had her pissed.

"What'd you talk to _him_ for?" came a tenor voice from the top of the staircase. Sam was standing in the doorway. He leaned with a shoulder into the door frame.

Dean contemplated their brother with hooded eyes and Alex saw how Dean had apparently not told Sam about whatever he was going on about. "I wanted to find out about your soul."

Sam's eyes narrowed darkly. "You what?"

A realization hit Alex and her temper jumped up ten notches. Dean _wasn_ _'_ _t_ joking and her jaw dropped open indignantly. "You _stole_ my idea after giving me so much shit for it?!" she demanded. Incensed, she let her arms fly wide out on either side as she invited him to go screw himself. "Kiss my ass, Dean!" she shouted.

His face twisted up. "You kiss _my_ ass!"

Sam scoffed. "Quit flirting you two."

In unplanned unison Alex and Dean shot dirty looks at their brother and chorused, "Shut up, Sam!"

Bobby appeared next to Sam and he looked mildly irritated. "Kids, do I need to send you to your rooms?" He was grumpy but trying to cover it over with sarcasm. "Be civil." He gestured vaguely at Alex and Dean. "Ya'll come to the study, will ya?"

Dean and Alex cut dark glances at each other before Alex stalked ahead of him up the stairs, ignoring the pain and exhaustion her muscles complained of. Sam skulked around at the edge of the study while Bobby took a seat on the little couch at the window. Even before Dean had finished coming into the room he was throwing an accusing arm at his sister as he looked at Bobby closely. "She tell you how she fucking _killed_ herself?"

Bobby was unruffled. "Yeah. She did."

Dean looked like he had _not_ expected that and fumbled for a second, confused at his uncle's lack of reaction. "And what, you're, you're just _okay_ with that?"

"Look, we're all going through it right now Dean," Bobby said wearily. His tone was matter-of-fact but managed to be correcting in nature, too. "Way I see it, none'a us need to be diggin' claws in on each other. She and I spoke our peace on it and it's behind us. Suggest you let it go, too." He glanced at Alex, who was giving her brother a smug look, like _see? He_ _'_ _s on my side._ Bobby's gruff voice cut into the sibling rivalry: " _Both_ of you." The smile fell and Alex pursed her lips to the side as she looked down in chagrin. Bobby looked at Dean carefully, wanting to move past the squabble. "So how'd this little talking to go with Death?"

Dean wet his lips and shrugged tensely, strolled into the room. He wasn't good at holding still and fidgeted a lot as he answered. "He's a sly son of a bitch, I'll tell you that," he started ruefully. "I tried using his ring as leverage to get him to do what I wanted but uh, said he knew where I hid it and basically turned it all around on me… anyway, point is, he can get Sam's soul back."

 _What?_ Alex's mouth dropped open and her heart jammed into her throat in hopeful disbelief. Sam stood up straighter and he did _not_ look happy about what Dean had just said. "…And we _want_ that?" He got increasingly animated as he approached his brother. "I heard Cas and Crowley when they said that thing would either kill me or turn me to Jello, Dean!"

"I know, and I asked him about that," Dean said, trying to be patient in the face of Sam's outburst. "He said he can put up a wall."

A wall? What did that even mean? "What, he's a construction worker now?" Alex asked, getting suspicious.

"Ha ha very funny," Dean commented flatly, glancing at her before addressing Sam emphatically. "A wall—that, that, basically, you wouldn't remember Hell, so you'd be okay."

" _Really_?" Sam asked sharply, his tone suggesting he found that unbelievable.

"Really!" Dean insisted. It was obvious he wanted Sam to go for it.

"For good?" Sam asked. "Like, a cure?"

"No, it's not a cure. It…" Dean was getting a little flustered. "He said the Hell stuff could last a lifetime. But—"

"Playing pretty fast and loose with my life here, don't you think, Dean?" Sam asked insolently, walking off a few steps in agitation.

"I'm trying to save your life!" Dean said angrily.

Sam whirled to face his brother and his expression was pinched and aggressive. " _Please,_ " he scoffed. "I'm alive right now! I'm fine right _now_! Why tempt fate? This is _my_ life, _my_ soul. And it sure as hell isn't _your_ head that's gonna explode when this whole scheme of yours goes sideways!"

Dean was quiet for a minute, contemplating Sam in surprise and Alex had a very cynical thought… it hadn't been too long ago that she'd been arguing with someone about her soul like that. Ironic.

"No one's head is gonna explode, all right?" Dean said, calmer now, firm. "I won't let that happen, Sam."

"Sure you won't," Sam muttered with an eye roll.

"I _won_ _'_ _t!_ _"_ Dean insisted in righteous anger.

"Just curious," Bobby said, standing slowly and cutting into the argument, drawing everyone's attention. "I presume Death's not doing this out of the goodness of his heart. So what's your half of the deal?" In response to the question Dean got evasive and said nothing, casting around mentally for some sort of response. Bobby's eyes squinted up. "Sorry, I didn't get that."

"I have to wear the ring for a day," Dean said in a voice filled with resignation. "Twenty four hours without taking it off."

Alex immediately frowned at the statement… that sounded really, really fishy. She'd been silent and sullen and sitting on the edge of the desk with folded arms as she watched her family go at it. "What _for_?"

Dean sent a guarded glance her way. "Get his rocks off, I don't know. Doesn't matter. If it can get Sam's soul back, I'm doing it."

"And Adam?" Alex asked. "What about him?"

The room was quiet and Dean's answer wasn't going to be good. That much was clear from the look on his face. "He's… Death made me pick," Dean said, and again, he was evasive. Guilt made him look about ten years older. "Sam or Adam. I picked Sam."

Damn. What a choice to have to make. Momentarily softening toward her oldest brother and the obvious weight on his shoulders, Alex met his defeated eyes for a brief second. She saw that he knew how jacked up it was but that he stuck by his decision.

"What, and that's just it?" Bobby asked, voice colored by concern and disbelief.

"Unfortunately yeah," Dean said, and his tone suggested that was the end of it and he couldn't talk about it anymore. Alex could see that her brother was still halfway doubtful that Death would even make good on his end. But times were getting desperate, she guessed.

Sam didn't look touched or grateful or positive in the least. In fact, he was making a face like he was sick of his life and annoyed with everything. He made to leave the room and Dean spoke up. "Where you going?"

"I just need a minute to wrap my head around this," Sam answered, not bothering to turn and say that to them. Instead he said it while walking away.

When Sam was out of earshot Alex shook her head in deep thought as she stared into middle distance unseeingly. Why would Death make that offer? Why would he play ball with Dean and not with her? The whole thing felt shady, foreboding. "This doesn't seem smart, Dean."

"Oh, you wanna talk about _smart decisions_?" He asked sarcastically. "I'm all ears."

That comment caused her to whip her head sideways and give him a sharp look. "There's always strings attached, that's all I'm saying," she pretty much snapped. "You don't have to be such an asshole about it." She stood then and uncrossed her arms, approaching him with a lot of bad attitude. "See, the difference between me and you is even when I don't like the decisions you make, I don't beat the shit out of you for doing something I don't agree with. They're _your_ decisions. So go ahead, wear the damn ring and see what the catch is, I don't give a crap!"

She _did_ give a crap. She hoped to the god who'd left Heaven that this would work. She feared for Dean's life and for Sam's eternal fate. But she wasn't gonna say any of that at the moment.

Dean's mouth tightened and he said nothing to her, just pulled Death's ring out of his pocket and waggled it for emphasis. "I'll be back later," he said, then curled the ring into his palm and headed out after Sam. Maybe to talk to him… who knew. He paused and turned back to Bobby. Dean was authoritative and meaningful. "Bobby, don't let the twins be alone together," he commanded, earning a glare from his sister. He was already heading out after Sam, apparently not caring about how Alex was glaring at him.

"Who died and made _him_ king of the world?" she grumbled. The door shut out of eyesight, signaling his departure from the house.

Bobby sighed and pushed his cap back a little, crossed his arms, then shrugged. "Like I told you before, he's just freaked out at the thought'a you dyin'. Never seen a guy who loved or needed his family as much as he needs his. He's actin' a fool 'cause he's terrified to lose ya."

Bobby's words that were intended to encourage went right through her. "Yeah well he's a piece of work, that's all I can say," she muttered, then proceeded to rub her ragged, bitten fingernails against the insides of her palms in anxious energy. Bobby saw.

"Hang in there, sweetheart," he appealed wearily. "I know you're worried about him. And hey, maybe today's our lucky day, huh?" That faint optimism caught Alex's attention and she looked at her uncle in reluctant hopefulness. Bobby's beard hid a tiny, bittersweet smile. "That soulless Sasquatch brother of yours is lucky to have a brother and sister who care as much as you and Dean do," he said, then gave her shoulder a little squeeze. "He's not in the shape to tell ya that but I am." As much as she was trying not to feel better about anything (she wanted to stay mad, dammit), Alex felt her uncle's kindness getting to her and she smiled a little at the compliment. He smiled tiredly, squeezed again, then let go of her and headed for the kitchen. "I'll make us some coffee."

Bobby had been mad as hell when she told him about her little flirtation with death and suicide. And then after he said the predictable things like what were you thinking and have you lost your mind, he'd actually heard her out and listened to her. He'd been merciful on her when all was said and done, said he got it, said Sam was lucky to have a sister who'd chance Death for a chance to get him back. He did tell her she was awful dumb too, but he'd said that with a certain note of loving kindness only Bobby would be able to pull off. He'd hugged her sidelong (Bobby was always so awkward about affection) and then that had been that. If only Dean and Cas could take a page from him, life would be a lot better.

Alex's eyes drifted after Bobby who was fiddling with the coffeepot in the kitchen. Caffeine sounded good. And food too. Her blood sugar was low from all the physical insanity she'd put herself through that day. Her stomach grumbled quietly in hunger she hadn't really noticed. She sat back down against the desk, idly looking out at the waning daylight outside. There were some stacks sitting nearby that she'd promised to sort for Bobby but she was too tired now and didn't really want to. Maybe tomorrow. She really, _really_ needed to speak with Cas. That was weighing on her mind so fully but she was almost afraid to have this conversation with him. She dreaded where it would go and where it would leave them.

Heavy approaching footsteps alerted her that Sam was back and she peered up intently at him. He looked very unhappy. "Well, Dean put the ring on," he announced blandly as he came into the study.

Alex noticed how Bobby was watchful from the kitchen. "Don't sound so excited about it," she told Sam.

"I'm trusting him with this," he said tensely. " _Barely_. If he messes up…"

"He _won_ _'_ _t_ ," Bobby said, hovering close at the study entrance and watching Sam like a hawk.

Sam's eyes narrowed and he gave a soft little scoffing laugh as he glanced between Alex and Bobby. "So, this the part where you pull a gun on me and lock me in the panic room?"

"Do I have to?" Bobby returned evenly.

Sam's jaw flickered as it clenched. "No." He looked like he resented every single thing in existence at the moment.

Tension filled the air and awkward silence strained their ears.

Well, _this_ was awesome. In the kitchen, the coffee maker was groaning as it laboriously began to brew. Alex slapped her hands down onto her knees and made a face. " _So_. Anyone want PB and J?" she asked, heading for the kitchen.

"I'll take one," Bobby said, sitting at his desk and turning a page in the book he'd been studying.

"Sam?" Alex asked and he sighed with great inconvenienced airs, following her into the kitchen.

"Yeah, why not," he said, then reached up for the bread on top of the fridge as Alex was pulling the peanut butter out of a cabinet. He got the jelly out of the refrigerator and handed the items over with disinterest. He seemed distracted. Looking at his familiar face, his regal profile, his forever-floppy hair, Alex felt a wave of sadness come over her. How could you miss someone so much who was standing right beside you? When she wasn't looking straight into his eyes, she almost could have forgotten that he was soulless.

Currently, her twin brother was getting plates without being told. His expression seemed tense and deeply thoughtful. _He might be rude and blunt, but he_ _'_ _s not as bad as Dean says he is._ She felt that so strongly in that moment. "You okay?" she asked him in the same genuine gentleness that he'd shown her in times past. Sam looked at her sidelong sharply, in what looked like confusion. "…What?" Alex asked, getting confused too.

Sam shrugged his mouth downward, resumed what he'd been doing and pulled out a third plate. "Dean doesn't ask me that anymore," he replied offhandedly. "Who cares how the soulless guy feels, ya know?" He handed over the plates and wordlessly went to the kitchen table to sit down. Even the way he _sat_ seemed hurried and impatient. His face was unreadable.

"So… how are you, then?" Alex asked, waiting for his answer.

He gave a cynical, sarcastic smile. "Oh I'm _great._ "

"Same," Alex said, unsure how really to take him. He seemed like himself in some small glimpses, enough that she thought maybe he was still in there somewhere. However, his eyes weren't right. They were cold and lifeless, a testament to how lost Sam was to them all. Alex turned back to the counter, saddened and confused at how Sam was right there but missing. She thought of tenderhearted, sensitive Sam in Hell and shivered in horrified dismay. _I hope you can get him back, Dean_ _…_ _please, please._ As Alex slathered peanut butter thickly onto bread, her thoughts came out of her mouth into the air. "I miss you, Sam." Sad, pathetically sad words that she almost choked on.

"You mean the guy I used to be," was Sam's unaffected reply. "Seems like I'm the only one who could care less if we ever see him again or not."

Alex threw a little glance back over her shoulder. "Well. I'd like to see him again, personally," she said, voice sad and earnest. What she said had no visible effect on him and she returned to her peanut buttering after a beat. "I need someone to talk to right now," she said, wishing so badly that Sam was Sam. "You used to be the one I'd go to when Dean was being a shithead." She said that last part under her breath, to herself. But Sam heard.

"What, so you want like advice or something?" he asked. "Shoot. Why not."

With an uncaring invitation like that, she didn't feel like spilling her heart exactly, but… she needed a listening ear and Sam had always been good at that with her before. Bobby was listening and watching them close from the study but she didn't really care. She started rambling flatly to her twin as she opened the jelly jar. "Cas and I are in a fight. I think. I'm not totally sure, actually." She shook her head, grim when she thought about everything. "It sucks," she muttered, all of her stresses making her feel rigid physically and emotionally too. "He's being so weird lately. Doing stuff I never thought he'd do. Last time I saw him, he was _mad_ at me. And I get why, but why'd he have to be such a dick about it, you know?" She smeared jelly unseeingly onto white bread squares. "I wish I hadn't done what I did," she mumbled, then sighed gustily, realizing the irony. _I wish I hadn_ _'_ _t done what I did._ "That seems to be a running theme in my life." She glanced back at Sam, half expecting him to be looking at her in rapt, concerned attention. Instead, he was staring off out of the window with a listless expression. Was he even listening? "Sorry, am I boring you?" Alex asked a little sarcastically.

He came back from whatever little world he'd been in, seemed to remember her. "A little, yeah," he said, then when she got a slightly dismayed look on her face he shrugged. "Just being honest. Got other things on my mind."

Disappointed and hurt and telling herself she was an idiot for hoping he would respond to her, Alex smacked all the pieces of bread together into three sandwiches and then shoved a plate at him, avoiding looking at his eyes which probably weren't even looking into hers anyway. "Here," she said gruffly, then took Bobby's to him and went upstairs without even eating hers at all.

* * *

**Two Hours Later**

Sam Winchester knew he was several things: resourceful, smart, and most of all? Better off without the soul Dean and everyone else was obsessed with shoving back into him.

If there was a way to make sure that wimpy little touchy-feely soul never got in his way or held him back ever again, Sam was determined to find out. He didn't want the thing. Not now and not ever.

He completed the summoning ritual on the floor of an old warehouse not far from the Singer house. He'd left the house and said he was going for a drive to clear his head. Instead he'd come straight here and set up shop. He was short on time.

Chalk designs of Enochian values were drawn onto the old concrete floor, candles were lit in the correct pattern. All he had to do now was light the herbs in the bowl he had prepared and the angel he wanted an audience with would be forced to come. Sam struck a match and dropped it into the bowl as the final step. He stood to his full height from where he'd been crouched as flames leapt high then died out. No one appeared in the drafty building.

And then above his head, a voice sounded. "Sam… _Winchester_ ," Balthazar said in mild disdain. He stood up on a metal catwalk twenty feet high and looked very unhappy. He disappeared and Sam felt wind rush against the back of his neck. Turning around, he found himself face to face with a very suspicious looking angel. "This had better be good," Balthazar said, his tone distinctly warning, then the ghost of a cynical smile spread on his weathered face. "Here's one for the list of dumbest things ever: Summon the angel who wants to _kill_ you."

"Desperate times," Sam replied, brushing past the idle threat. "I need your help, Balthazar."

The sandy-haired angel's eyebrows rose in consideration. "Interesting…" he commented, strolling forward and past Sam leisurely as he gestured with a lazy hand. "Since last time we met, you wanted to—what was it? Oh, yes, yes—fry my wings 'extra crispy'?" He turned around and looked at Sam pointedly.

"Well, that was a misunderstanding," Sam said, trying to cover it up and brush it off somehow. He hadn't figured this guy would remember all that or care about it much.

"Some misunderstanding!" Balthazar snapped, looking at Sam with severe disapproval.

"I need some advice," Sam said, trying to get them off that topic. Maybe this had been a bad idea.

Balthazar looked put out. "Advice."

"Angel advice," Sam clarified.

"Well then, go ask your sister's boyfriend you ridiculous goon," Balthazar said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder and turning as if to leave.

" _Cas_ wouldn't help with this, trust me," Sam said loudly, trying to state his case before the angel could ditch. "I need to know if there's a spell or a weapon, anything that can keep a soul out— _forever_."

Piqued, Balthazar paused. "Ohh…" He was clearly intrigued, came a step or two closer with interest. "What's going on, Sam?"

Sam laid his cards out on the table. "It's for me."

" _Well_. The plot thickens," Balthazar was smiling a little, seeming to enjoy himself for a brief moment. "Where's your soul, Sam?" It was easy to see when the angel realized the answer to his own question. His smile fell in favor of a surprised look. "Good God, no. It's not still… it _is_."

"My brother found a way to put it back in me," Sam said. "I don't want it."

"No, you don't," Balthazar said with great certainty and again he paced forward past Sam as he thought aloud. "No, _no_ , 'cause Michael and Lucy are hate-banging it as we speak."

"Can you help me?" Sam asked, turning to follow the angel with his gaze.

Balthazar turned around, a smile plastered across his face. He shrugged helplessly, shook his head, let his hands clasp together in front of his torso after he'd shrugged. "Sorry. I'm not in the business of crossing Heaven's most unstable angel," he said.

Sam's eyes narrowed as he tried to figure out what that comment implied. "…So you're telling me the way to keep my soul out of my body has something to do with Cas?"

The angel's smile faltered slightly and then resumed with more cool falseness than before. "Ah. I've said enough already. If we're done, I've got things to do." He winked, smiled cheekily. "Good luck… you're going to need it, Sam." He disappeared without another word.

 _Dammit._ Sam clenched his fists uselessly. Alone and angry at being no closer to a solution than before, Sam wracked his brain for another person to help him or give him answers. And then, an idea came to him. A very annoying, stupid, desperate idea. And, well, like he'd said to Balthazar a minute ago, desperate times. This was about to get _real_ desperate. Sam moved his stuff over to another corner of the warehouse and started working on a summoning ritual for someone from _downstairs_ now. He didn't have the demon blade with him but sure as hell wished he did. It might have been nice to have a threat to hold over the head of the demon who he planned to summon.

About twenty minutes later he dropped another match into the bowl to complete the demon summons. In front of him, a familiar person appeared. She was short, clad in black leather and high heels with dark hair and an impish face. Meg looked shocked to see him and took a slow, drifting step back, clearly wondering where the hidden attackers were and what was going on. Her dark eyes looked at Sam in suspicious interest when she saw that they were apparently alone.

"Relax," Sam said, showing her his hands. It was irritating to have to go to this bitch for help but he had little other choice. "I don't wanna kill you," he told her. "I need your help."

Her dark eyebrows tensed in toward each other just slightly. "…My help?" she repeated, a slow devious smile creeping across her face after the confusion dissipated. Her twinkling eyes narrowed. "Ooh… _some_ one's desperate… color _me_ fascinated."

Her personality had always grated him and today was no different. He ignored her stupid comments and slow, irritating drawl. "You were right," he said, referring to when he'd seen her last and she'd insisted that he wouldn't want his mangled soul back from the cage. Her eyebrows rose as a coy smile played on her face. "My soul's a bad bet. Dean found a way to put it back in but I don't want it. Ever."

"Aw shucks, so you need _my_ help keeping it out for good huh?" she asked, putting a hand onto her own chest and then letting herself chuckle throatily as she approached him. She let shoulder brush his arm as she looked up at him with glittering eyes. "This must really burn your soulless balls," she murmured in a voice that was probably supposed to be seductive. She walked past him, head cocked to the side as she smiled vapidly around the warehouse.

Sam's patience was thin. "Can you help or not."

The demon turned around and looked at him with what could only be described as voracious, sultry glee. "Oh, I can help. I know just the trick to keep that _tortured little soul_ out of that muscular meatsuit of yours. But if you want my help, it'll _cost you_." Her voice went sing song on the words 'cost you'.

Sam's jaw clenched. "Name it."

She sauntered closer, _really_ closer, almost hips to hips. She languidly walked two fingers up from his navel to his chest, giggling lowly to herself as she did. Her eyes ate his toned physique up then slid up to meet his. Her voice was a low, honey purr and she nodded her head toward the wall they were a few feet away from then looked him in the eye. "You… me… that wall… _nothing else,_ " she said, wrinkling her nose up as she bit a grin.

Sam scoffed down at her. Was she serious? "You want me to have sex with you," he surmised. Was that a joke? She knew how much he despised her, maybe that was the point.

She shrugged a shoulder up toward her face, eyeing his chest and running a hand up one of his pectorals. "Seems like a good way to pass a Tuesday evening," she drawled. Her eyes flirted with his relentlessly and her voice deepened. "And besides, don't tell me you _really_ never thought about it."

No… he hadn't. Sam narrowed his eyes. He had lost count of the number of women he'd slept with this past year and it didn't really matter to him about adding another, demon or not. But, Meg didn't exactly do it for him. The idea of screwing her was as appealing as running his face across a cheese grater. Maybe he could trick her. "Tell me what I want to know first," he said. It was worth a try.

Meg just grinned really wide, seeing exactly what Sam was trying to do. " _Please,_ _"_ she murmured, then grabbed him and below the belt without any tact. "You gotta spill before I do, big boy." She laughed in a silky, throaty murmur, enjoying the annoyance on his face. "Those are my terms, now whaddya say we get down and dirty?"

Sam looked down at her unhappily and she continued to smile stupidly up at him. " _Fine_ ," he snapped, then started yanking his jacket off by the sleeves with insolent and jerky movements.

"Oh don't act like you hate it so much, Sammykins," she baby-talked then suddenly found herself grabbed roughly and slammed up against the wall with enough force to knock out a normal woman. Sam stared down at the demon with dark dislike and flared nostrils as he pinned her against the metal wall with iron-like hands—one hand was at her neck, half choking her. Meg seemed to like the abuse and an eyebrow arched up. "Ooh la la… mama _like_." She yanked him to her hard by the belt. And so it began.

After Sam made good on his end of the deal and left Meg a battered, bruised, bleeding, and happy mess (he had a fair amount of scratches and bruises, too from the encounter), he walked off, zipped his pants up, and yanked his t-shirt back on. It hadn't been as bad as he thought it would be.

"I'll tell you one thing," Meg said, smiling in salacious pleasure from where she slouched against the wall. Her skin was glowing with sweat, the smile stretched across her face was embarrassingly beaming. "They should call you _horse_ , not moose…" Sam shot her an eye roll and her grin grew. She sauntered over toward him, expression teasing. "How was it for you?"

Sam looked at her dead on, shrugged in an unimpressed way. "I've had better."

"Oh that's right," she said, ever the coy one. "I forgot Lucifer's been inside of you…"

"Shut up and keep your end," Sam said, then tossed her jacket at her from where it had been thrown. "And put some clothes on, I don't wanna see that anymore." She seemed to think that was funny and pointedly dropped the jacket, leaving her pale nudity on display. Sam was irked. "Tell me how to keep my soul out forever, _now,_ " he demanded.

"All business no pleasure makes Sam a dull boy…" she said coyly. At his threatening look she sighed, rolled her eyes, then snapped her fingers. She was clothed once more and annoyed that he had spoiled her fun. "If you wanna be soul-repellent on two legs, you gotta scar your vessel."

"How?"

She smirked flirtatiously. "You gotta do something so wrong and filthy and _twisted_ that a soul would never live in there ever again."

Sam smirked too. "I just fucked you, isn't that enough?"

Meg grinned, seeming to find the insult as a compliment. "Oh _you_ … always sweet talking me," she said, coming up to him and pressing into his chest as she gazed up into his eyes with dark, playful eyes. "I'm kinda starting to like you, Gigantor," she said, running a finger up his chest. Her lip was swollen and split from where Sam had backhanded her during sex, she had a black eye and scratches all over. Sam smirked again and poked a finger into her shoulder to push her away from himself, not interested in her closeness.

Meg sighed dramatically when he did that. " _No,_ _"_ she said, returning to business. "Making sweet demonic love to the likes of lil ole me isn't enough to scar a vessel… you should know that, does the name _Ruby_ ring any bells?" She winked before getting a little more serious. "What I'm talking about is a spell and it'll make aaaall your problems disappear. Trouble is, it's pretty specific." She made a thoughtful sound, canted her head to the side, and smiled at him roguishly. "Normally patricide would do the trick but your daddy's been dead for _years_ … so, how's _fratricide_ sound, Sammy?"

Sam frowned, trying to remember the specific meaning of that word. "Fratricide? You're saying I have to kill my brother or sister?"

Meg shrugged humbly, faking a very thoughtful, concerned look. "Eenie meanie miney moe… which pretty Winchester sibling has to go?" At Sam's thoughtful silence, she looked at him like she was judging him and it was funny for her. "Don't tell me you're feeling _sentimental_."

Sam let loose a soft huffing laugh. "Don't be ridiculous." He hadn't been feeling anything… just contemplating which of his siblings would be easier to kill. The answer was pretty glaringly obvious. He looked at Meg in complete focus. "Tell me what to do."

* * *

Alex pulled another box out of the little crawlspace in the attic with a grunt. Hunched over on her knees she gagged on dust as she dragged the last box out of the small space. She stood back and observed the dented old boxes. This was all _junk_ she'd been meaning to go through for awhile now. Bobby didn't throw much out, _ever_ , just stuck it in boxes and hoped for the best. Ever since taking up residence in the attic, sorting those boxes and getting rid of useless junk had been on her mental to-do list.

After making peanut butter sandwiches and being privy to Sam's jackass behavior she'd showered, tried to go to take a nap (tried for at least an hour, if not more), then had no luck falling asleep… mostly because she was worrying over her brothers and chewing her nails as she thought of Cas. So instead of laying there and torturing herself over stuff she couldn't control, she got up and tackled the crawlspace junk slowly. She'd gone through the front boxes for awhile then dragged the rest out just now to see what was in those.

Alex pulled open the boxes she'd just dragged out, finding old shoes, trinkets, broken knickknacks, Sam's army jacket from when he was eleven, some half burned candles that smelled like cinnamon, some really old house and gardening magazines from the eighties, a manual to a blender, a broken spatula. What the hell? Some of this stuff was worth keeping, but a broken spatula? Alex threw it into the junk box she was definitely tossing come morning. She threw in the candles, too. She didn't like the smell of fake cinnamon at _all_.

Alex crouched down and pulled the last unopened box over. It was pretty light. She unfolded the flaps and peered down into it. Inside there was a duffel bag wadded up and Alex pulled it out slowly, recognizing it as one of hers from the past. She'd forgotten about it until now. Below the duffel bag was something _else_ she recognized and she froze, heart jolting in surprise at the sight of it. Folded nicely in the bottom of the box, right where she'd left it and forgotten about it more than a year ago was a cream-colored lace dress. The one she'd smuggled into the house over a year ago after wearing it. She had totally forgot sticking it up here and the sight of it brought back a rush of memories and love and then pain at the thought of how up in the air stuff was.

She pulled out the dress slowly, remembering a time when she knew that she was loved beyond a shadow of a doubt.

* * *

Outside the Singer home as Alex rediscovered her wedding dress in the attic, Sam Winchester was creeping up to the house under the cover of darkness. He'd pulled up with the headlights off to conceal his arrival. He had a very specific plan he'd crafted and the first part involved blood. His _own_ blood. Sam cut himself open then drew the angel banishing sigil in blood on the back of Bobby's house. He pressed his hand down onto it and heard a faint blast of screeching wind somewhere nearby.

Sam smirked at his own cleverness. He'd figured Cas would be nearby or have another winged mook stationed close in his absence. Step one, done. He shrugged his bag of supplies off and plunked it down then fished out his crowbar, tested the weight, and looked into the lit window into the study.

Next step, incapacitate Bobby Singer.

* * *

Maybe it was sentimental of her, but Alex put her dress on, zipped it up awkwardly, and looked at herself in the dusty, full-length mirror in the attic. The looking glass was then cracked and her image was fragmented near the top. She turned and studied herself from several angles, currently looking over her own shoulder at the back of the dress. Barefoot with her hair loose and long around her shoulders and back, she looked carefree and younger, prettier. Alex smiled a little despite the bittersweet feelings.

Wearing the long-lost dress she remembered feeling like a teenager in love. She remembered feeling hope for the future despite believing the world was about to end. She remembered Cas being gentle and loving and so kind. She remembered being so scared of marrying him but feeling like if he was with her, they'd figure it out in the end. Well… her optimism had been cute but foolhardy.

She'd had her closeted, circling doubts for a year now in Cas's absence. The feelings of doubt had come and gone and wavered and waned and were at full cylinder right now after the fight they'd had three days ago. All she could do was picture his cold expression and his flat-out refusal to give her the soul claim. He'd seemed heartless as when she'd first met him. He'd been unrecognizable. As she stared at herself in that dress, her expression became tense and conflicted. _What happened to you, Cas? How do you just one-eighty like that?_

Downstairs there was a sound like furniture shifting and Alex frowned slightly. Huh. Was Bobby rearranging the study? She listened a minute longer but heard nothing else, then contemplated herself in the mirror again, searching herself for understanding she couldn't quite find. This piece of clothing represented a very fleeting time in her life when she'd been happy... and maybe—no, _probably_ _—_ delusional. There was too much uncertainty these days for her, too much waiting around. Too much being alone.

She sighed softly, reaching her arms up and over to start unzipping the dress. And then she paused, hearing a creak on the staircase. She froze and whirled, staring daggers at the dark doorway where the staircase was. Creaks had always set her fight-or-flight instinct to red alert and she listened intently. Another ominous creak sounded and Alex took a step back. There was definitely someone or something creeping up the stairs. Her gun was beside the bed and she darted over to it. The second she got it in her hand and turned around, she saw who it was creaking up the stairs.

Sam slunk in through the attic door. In his hand was a crowbar and in his eyes there was a wild, feral glint that froze her blood ice cold. Blood dripped out of one edge of his mouth, he had faint bruising on his cheek and a long scratch down the side of his face and neck. It looked like he'd been in a bad fight. _Bobby_. Her heart clenched in terror.

"Sam…?" she asked cautiously, trying not to give away her sudden spike in fear. He looked malevolent, dangerous, bent on something sinister.

His eyes swept over her dress and he smirked. " _You_ look nice," he said softly, and the tone in his voice sent terror up her spine. His fingers clenched and re-clenched on the crowbar and he took a step closer for her.

The gun went up and cocked with a sharp click even as Alex took a step back. "What'd you do to Bobby?" she demanded tremulously, fearful of the worst.

"You don't need to worry about him," Sam said, shifting another step closer. He was eyeing her up like he was seeing how much of a fight she'd put up, how easily he could take her down.

" _Stay back!_ " she warned in a breathy shout, backing up against the window, trapping herself. The crowbar, the terrifying look in his eye, all of it spoke of something terrible about to happen and she still couldn't quite believe it. She realized much too late that she should have listened to Dean and Cas about Sam. "What are you _doing_?!" she exclaimed in a tight, high voice, trying to find a sign of her brother in there.

Sam's lips curled up wickedly. His voice was the softest and most treacherous murmur and it was like he was reading her mind. "Dean and Cas were right." He was coming closer still, his hulking figure towering over her. "I'm not safe for you to be around."

 _Kill him, shoot him!_ Her instincts screamed. If it had been anyone else, she already would have. But that was her twin brother and she _couldn_ _'_ _t_. "Stop Sam, stop right there or I'll kill you!" she threatened in a frantic voice, trying to get him to back up from her.

He was undeterred. In fact, he seemed mildly amused. "You won't shoot me," he said lowly, letting his chest hit up at the end of the shaking gun. He was looking at her with eyes that were cold and heartless, triumphant. "You wouldn't hurt your precious Sam."

She tried to make herself pull the trigger but couldn't move a muscle, couldn't even summon the ability to hit him in the head or kick him. Panic incapacitated her. The frantic hope that Sam would remember himself had her frozen. And then Sam grabbed the gun, his steely fingers crushing hers and she fought him too late. He yanked the gun from her grasp easily and pistol-whipped her in the side of the head, rendering her into an unconscious heap.

She crumpled at his feet and Sam scoffed, throwing the pistol aside. "You should have shot me while you had the chance."

* * *

**Heaven**

Samandriel limped through the dimensions and to Heaven after being blasted away from the Singer house. Confused, hurt, jangled, he sought his older brother. He found Castiel with Ezekiel in the inner sanctum of Heaven, a place that looked like great open grassy plains. Samandriel could sense that many angels had just died at Castiel's hand. Death and destruction filled the air tangibly and the fields of grass was no longer lush, waist-high green. It was burnt black blades that dissolved into dust when Samandriel hurried through it.

" _Castiel!_ " he called out even as he ran up behind his older brothers.

The angel in the trench coat turned, a confused frown on his face at Samandriel's unexpected appearance. Ezekiel, dressed in a fitted suit, turned too. "Samandriel, what it is?" Ezekiel asked urgently. He was proud and ebony, youthful in stature but wise in the eyes. Measured, calm, and had always been deeply thoughtful and kind. Ezekiel's shrewd dark brown eyes observed how Samandriel had obviously been banished recently. Castiel looked depleted and harrowed, as if he had fought for a thousand years without end. When he saw what Ezekiel had (that Samandriel had been banished from his post by force and that he'd left Alex's side), Castiel's face fell in what looked like great fear. And without a single question or word, he evaporated out of thin air to go to earth.

Samandriel and Ezekiel made to follow their brother. But without warning, Daniel abruptly appeared before them, presenting a unique opportunity. Raphael's powerful right-hand angel was bloody and woozy, breathing heavily—one of his arms hung off oddly, torn at the socket. The vessel would need repair soon. In fact, he was vulnerable to attack or even defeat at the moment. Ezekiel saw that and tore his angel blade out to kill Castiel's current greatest opponent, but Daniel was too fast.

"You treacherous _leeches_ ," he seethed, furious over whatever had just happened in these fields. He raised his good hand and painfully sent Samandriel and Ezekiel tearing across Heaven.

* * *

Alex came to with a splitting headache tied roughly to a chair in Bobby's big, dark garage—the one adjacent to the house. What the hell…? As soon as she thought that, she remembered what had happened and her pulse rocketed in alarm. She strained at the ropes wildly and looked around as she began to breathe shallowly.

"Don't bother," Sam said, lackadaisical, pacing into sight from where he'd been standing behind her. "You'll never get out of them." He had a lighter and he was flicking it constantly like he was waiting for something and bored doing so. He paced in front of her and sent a chilling glance her way. What was he _doing_?

"Sam, this isn't you," she said. Her voice shook humiliatingly. He just scoffed and continued flicking the lighter. Alex looked down. Below her feet there was some kind of spell work drawn in bright white chalk. Off tied to another chair about ten feet away, Bobby was unconscious and slumped over. Alex's breaths were increasingly uneven and scared. She couldn't get out of the ties binding her. "Sam, what the _hell_ are you doing?" She asked, trying to control her voice's trembling gait. Her twin said nothing, just let his sharp eyes come to hers with foreboding. _Call Cas, Alex. Call him now or something bad is gonna happen here._

Even as she thought that, there was the soft whisper of angel's wings behind Sam, who turned around to look. When he did, Alex could see Cas was there—her heart leapt at the sight of him. His face was a mask of disbelief and fury directed at Sam. He seemed poised to attack.

Sam gave the softest little laugh. " _Cas_. Thought you might show up…"

The angel said nothing, just strode forward for Sam with murderous intent in his eyes. That's when Alex realized it was a trap. Her eyes shot wide and she opened her mouth to tell Cas to stop. But it was too late. Sam struck his lighter and dropped it, setting alight a ring of holy fire Castiel had just walked into unwittingly. The angel stopped with a lurch, horrified realization washing away his anger as he looked down at his feet which were an inch from blazing fire. "Had some magic angel oil left," Sam explained coldly, then turned away, strolling over to the tool table where a huge knife glinted.

Stuck and useless a mere five feet from Alex, Cas looked up slowly. Their eyes met and staunch horror flickered in his dark eyes. He took in her dress, her bare feet, the ropes around her. "Sam… what are you doing?" Cas asked, voice gone soft with terror.

"What I have to," Sam replied casually, examining the knife by holding it up to dim moonlight filtering in.

Cas's eyes drifted down to the spellwork on the floor underneath the chair and alarmed understanding crossed his features. He looked at Sam in shock. "You're going to scar your vessel."

"Yeah. I am," Sam said, slowly sauntering back over toward Cas and Alex.

"No!" Castiel shouted, startlingly forceful, his eyes hard and expression intense. The alarm in his voice alarmed Alex, too. "Sam, do _not_ do this…!" Castiel insisted in a thundering exclamation.

Sam glanced at him briefly. "If Dean shoves that soul back in me, there's no telling what would happen to me. I can't risk my ass on my sentimental brother's mission to put my soul back in. Sorry, Cas."

"Sam, what are you gonna do?" Alex asked in slow, quiet dread. What did he need her blood for?

"He is going to _kill_ you," Castiel told her in a trembling voice as he glared scathingly at Sam. _Kill?_ Alex's mouth dropped open and she looked at Sam in thunderstruck horror. Cas raised his voice to a deafening shout that made the entire room shake and rumble. " _Let me out of here_!"

Sam merely glanced his way, unimpressed as he came to stand beside his sister. "You wish," he muttered.

"Sam, no, please—" Alex said as he grabbed her by the back of the head and made her look up at him. Holy shit, he was actually going to do it—Sam's eyes were lifeless and cold, bent on murder. "Cas!" she cried helplessly as she fully realized what was about to happen.

Sam leaned close, his eyes flickering between hers curiously, like he was seeing something for the first time. "Have you ever noticed? Our eyes are the exact same color. Huh," he smiled then, almost rueful. "I mean, it's not like I _want_ to kill you, I remember really loving you before my soul got yanked out of me. I would have done anything for you before I was this way. But now, it's me or it's you. And it has to be me."

Castiel was at the edge of the circle of fire, seething, panicking, losing his mind. "Sam, I will _obliterate_ you for this!" he roared, but he sounded more afraid than anything else.

Sam smirked and loosened his hold on Alex's hair for just a second as he let his gaze go to the table where Alex's angel blade was. "I don't think so. Trust me, I thought this through, Cas." He shrugged, like to say _too bad I_ _'_ _m gonna have to kill you_. "Your mistake, falling in love with a human. Feelings and emotions are weakness."

Alex and Cas's eyes met for a terrifying second and the utter despairing panic in his face made her realize that it was over. _It was over._ They were both about to die. As such, the only thing Alex could do was let a choked whisper out. "Cas. I'm sorry, I'm _sorry_ _!_ " For everything, but mostly that they were dying on a sour note, that the last time they'd been together they'd been fighting. Cas's eyebrows were screwed up together, his mouth was parted open in dismay like he was searching for something to say to her but could find nothing in his distress. _Tell him you love him!_ Her heart begged.

And then her head was yanked back, she saw the glinting knife rise up high, she heard Castiel pleading in a rushed, higher voice that didn't even seem to belong to him: "Sam, _please_ —don't do this, I'm begging you!"

Sam held Alex's head back so that the entire front of her neck was exposed, he drew back with the knife held high to strike. Her throat was lodged with sickening adrenaline and she heard Castiel begging Sam for her life in the background buzz. _My Sam would never do this_ , she thought woodenly, in shock over what was happening. And then out of thin air, where nothing and no one had been a second ago, Dean appeared—Death's ring clattered to the floor even as he grabbed Sam's forearm brutally. " _Hey!_ "

Shocked, Sam turned his face toward Dean just in time to get sucker-punched across the face, hard enough for a knock out. The knife clattered down even as Sam's heavy body hit the ground. Breathless and staring at Alex in horror, Dean grabbed her by both shoulders. "You okay? Did he hurt you? Christ, oh my god—" he bent and crushed her, chair and all, to himself. She felt how his heart was beating like panicked thunder in his chest.

Alex blinked a few times, totally dumbfounded. It had been _seconds_ from being over. _Everything_. Stunned at what had just happened, barely able to process, Alex stared over Dean's shoulder at Cas, whose shocked, worried face was cast over with flickering orange in the light of the holy fire. Relief had flooded his gaunt face but he still looked just like she felt: horrified about what had just happened, astounded. He also looked more than ready to be the one holding her instead of Dean.

"Dean, get me out of these," Alex said urgently, finding her wits again. Dean let her go and complied, using the knife that had been supposed to kill her to cut her free. The second she was out, she jumped out of the chair, brushed past her brother and grabbed the fire extinguisher, putting out the holy fire—before she could even drop the canister, Cas was crossing the distance separating them and crushing her to himself in a relieved, emotional hug. Alex clamped her arms around him and dug her fingers in wherever she could catch hold of, relief making her sob out into the shoulder of his coat.

Dean stared a bit dumbly at the display. Cas looked up from where his head was bent over Alex and the men's tense gazes met, silently communicated their realization of how close that had just been. Neither said anything. Dean looked away. Against Cas, Alex shook from heavy, distressed breathing as she attempted to calm down. The angel returned his attention to her and held her more closely, cradling her head in a hand.

At the edge of the garage, about ten feet away, there was a groan. "…The hell?" Bobby asked, stirring woozily. Dean went over and helped the older hunter out of the ropes binding him. "What happened?" Bobby asked, looking at Dean in wounded confusion. "It hasn't been twenty-four hours—why're you back?"

Dean's terse expression held steady. "I'll explain later." He glanced at his sister, then the horsemen's ring on the floor. "But safe to say, I lost the wager." Everyone looked at the middle Winchester's unconscious form in realization. Dean said it out loud, grim as he stooped to snatch up the ring. "No soul for Sam." His eyes traveled over to Cas and Alex—he had his arms around her loosely as she leaned into him for support with a tear-streaked face. He noticed how Cas had healed the cut down the side of her face. He took in the dress she wore with a mild curious look that quickly turned dark. "Sam didn't make you wear that or something creepy, did he?" Dean questioned—Alex basically never wore dresses, and the white-ish color of that one seemed sort of ritualistic.

Alex looked a shade paler at his comment. "No, it's… I was just…" she shook her head, glancing at Cas who met her eyes with a similarly strange look on his face. Underneath Cas's intent gaze she got even more flustered and upset. "I just need a few minutes," she said, shaking her head and stepping back from Cas, running a hand up and down her forearm like she was cold or self-conscious.

Barefoot, she picked her way out of the garage. "Hey, be careful! Watch out for glass," Dean called after her. She went out of the garage without acknowledging him, heading out into the salvage yard. He couldn't blame her for being shaken up—Sam had killed her as Lucifer then tried to kill her again just now as himself (sorta). That was enough to shake anyone to their core. He'd need to go make sure she was okay in a few minutes, but in the meantime… he turned and looked at Bobby. "You wanna help me get Menendez locked down in the panic room?" he asked gruffly. Bobby was looking worse for the wear after getting knocked in the head—until Cas reached over and touched a hand to the man's forehead.

"Whoa…" Bobby commented, impressed and healed. Then as all of them suddenly found themselves in the panic room, Bobby balked again, eyes wide. " _Whoa!_ " He put his hands out slightly like he felt a little unsteady. He looked at Cas in grumpy awe. " _Warn_ me next time, will ya?"

Cas didn't seem to hear Bobby. "I'm going to go check on her," he said, his deep voice rough with worry. It was almost like he was talking to himself.

"Yeah, fine. I'll be out in a few minutes," Dean said, vaguely suspicious of the angel but too preoccupied with other things at the moment to give it too much attention. Cas had evaporated even before Dean had finished speaking.

* * *

Frogs sang distantly in the humid late-summer night air and the midnight sky was clear, allowing the full moon to wash the salvage yard white-hot silver. Outside of the garage, not even twenty seconds after she'd walked out claiming to need a minute, Alex heard the whisper of his wings a few feet off beside her. Her heart caught in her throat and she looked up and over at where the sound had come from. She'd hoped he'd come to her.

Under moonlight he seemed to glow… and the effect was truly angelic. Everything about him was the Castiel she loved and knew: the vast worry in his eyes, the intense and soulful gaze he held her under, the sag of his shoulders, the way his arms hung forgotten at his sides. He looked apologetic, desperate, agonized. Her heart overflowed with aching longing for his arms around her. She could think of no reason to hold herself back. Even as she made to go toward him, he was moving too and met her halfway, pulling her into his arms tightly. Relief washed over her again at staggering levels. "Oh my god, I thought I lost you," she managed in a strained whisper, squeezing her eyes shut against mental images of him in holy fire with Sam about to kill them both. Cas's hand was against the back of her head protectively and gently. His distressed, heightened breathing and the emphatic beating of his heart were her anchor.

" _No_ ," he said, voice just as soft and tight as hers was. It was easy to hear how his thoughts were the same as hers—disbelief at what had happened, gratitude to be alive, shock at how close it had been to flat out disaster. She opened her eyes against the shoulder of his trench coat and sniffed loudly from distress. His arms held her even closer. "You haven't lost me." Hearing him say that was exactly what she'd needed to hear and she shut her eyes again, stifling the urge to break down and cry. He pulled back and he almost looked like _he_ could have been crying from the mournful look on his face. "But have I lost _you_?" he asked, stunning her with the quiet fear in his eyes.

"…W-what do you mean?" She was worried all over again and confused at his meaning.

Her answer seemed to comfort him slightly, like he was glad she didn't know what he meant. Still, he seemed pretty bent out of shape. "I am so sorry, Alex," he said with deep, earnest regret. "About what happened when we were last together." The immediacy he spoke with made stunned amazement ripple through her. "I know that my thoughtless behavior was inappropriate. I owe you many apologies for what I said to you, the way I treated you."

Tears pricked her eyes in earnest because that was what she'd been dying to hear since their fight and she couldn't believe he was ready to apologize already without any prompting. Maybe he'd been thinking of it and torturing himself over it just like she had. He must have—his face said it all. That realization combined with the heartfelt way he looked at her was the greatest relief she could feel. She searched the depths of his sky-blue eyes, transfixed by him as she became furiously covetous. Her heart pounded hard in her chest. At her teary-eyed short-of-breath silence, Castiel faltered as he filled with greater contrition and worry. He traced his hand against the curve of her cheek. His expression became tighter with regret. "I can't even begin to apologize correctly for what—"

She interrupted him. Words had to wait. "Apologize later," she was saying in a husky whisper as she tilted her face up to his and wrapped her arms around his neck, needing his kiss more than anything ever.

He made the softest _mmff_ sound when their lips met—a sound that seemed distinctly surprised, relieved, and also yearning. Their kiss was tender and soft at first, then when Cas realized she wanted him, he let go of restraint. The kiss abruptly became desperate and passionate, bold and assertive. Alex grabbed Cas by a handful of shirt as his arms circled her closely—she pulled him with her as she clumsily walked backwards around the edge of the garage, out of view of the house. The kiss deepened openly and he turned her, crowded her forward until her back found the tin siding of the building. Blind to their surroundings, they kissed each other with wretched hunger and conviction put there by the fact that they'd almost just died. Cas held her closely, touched her urgently, pulling her against himself by the back, then the butt, then the head—he didn't need to as she kept pushing against him, pulling herself to him, grabbing him wherever she could.

Currents of soothing warmth raced through her body, making her half crazy with need. She needed him in the most basic way there was. He seemed to feel the same. He was already straining at his pants and making soft _mm_ -ing masculine sounds as his tongue sent jolts of electricity surging downward. She clutched his body against hers anxiously and couldn't remember any bad feelings she'd had toward him at all.

One of his hands skimmed down the side of her hip, then the side of her thigh, brushing a little at the hem of her dress. The ghostlike touch sent delicious shivers along her spine. His mouth moved to speak against hers. "You're just as beautiful as the day you first wore this," he whispered. Their secret lit her on even greater fire, the deep emotion in his husky voice was making her feverish. She reached for his belt buckle, needing him even more urgently.

He understood and his hands went down to the hem of her dress, fingers peeked in underneath as his hands dragged up her bare legs. The touch of his warm digits had her breathing raggedly against his mouth with labored concentration. Her dress began to ride up far as his hands went higher. Brazen, she was unzipping him and shoving his pants and boxers down haphazardly, he was lifting her up so that her back bumped up against the tin wall behind her—her dress was bunched up around her hips, he held her up against the metal wall easily and they both grabbed a hand simultaneously at the underwear blocking the way and shoved, pulled, yanking the fabric aside in tandem right before Cas pushed himself in deeply. Two breathy groans escaped at the exact same moment and their frenzied mood fell away for a breathless moment. They looked each other in the eye in stunned amazement, never seeming to be over how the other felt in that first moment of consummation.

Alex's fingers curled into his thick head of hair as her body reveled in how he felt to her. His full, vulnerable gaze made her weak. _Don_ _'_ _t leave me_ , she wanted to beg him out of desperation and fear. " _I love you_ ," she whispered instead, almost crying at herself when she faintly thought of how easily he swayed her, what a hold he had on her, how she was helpless putty in his hands.

At her proclamation his pleasure-anxious eyes grew incomparably tender. "There isn't a word vast enough in all existence to tell you what I feel for you," he murmured in a warm voice made out of honey and myrrh. He melted her. He ruined her. She made a soft sobbing sound from anxiety and need alike.

His weight held her against the wall and his hands came to cradle either side of her face and he leaned close, his hot, humid open mouth against hers—her hands slid to grip his wrists in anticipation, she tightened her grip, desperate for him to start. They both shuddered when he began to move. Cas swallowed her cries and panting gasps with another deep kiss. She whined and whimpered in dissatisfaction and pleasure, throwing a hand out behind herself to get better purchase against the rusted tin behind them. She pushed against him harder, creating more friction and pressure, causing them to both get even more frantic. The uncertainties and fears they both held propelled them into deeply passionate, messy, vehement loving making. Alex hooked her other arm around his neck and grabbing his head with a tight hand, frustrated and sated with every push and pull. The heavenly torment was agonizing and she needed more. "Cas, harder, _please_ —" she begged into his mouth. Promptly his hands slid down and around her, holding her to him in passionate affection as he pushed her fully against the tin wall which shivered loudly in response. He did as she asked and gave it to her harder.

At that point, they weren't kissing anymore, just panting into each others mouths as the erotic intensity grew more unbearable. Alex looked at Cas in the eye at the exact instant his gaze snapped upward—and when their eyes silently communicated wretched desire and deep thankfulness, one of his hands moved to grab the side of her face out of desperation and she clamped her hand down onto his wrist, lost forever under the spell he put on her. Deep, reckless pleasure was humming down low, he was thrusting molten bliss into her body and frantic euphoria began to gather and fill her to the point of bursting. "Cas, _oh_ —" she breathed out in an almost frightened whisper as she realized how she was about to be flung into the utter end of herself.

Recognizing the signs of what was happening, his movements became erratic and he let out a hard groan, pushing inside of her harder and deeper and more urgently. His hands crushed her against his body and Alex hung on, meeting him as best as she could in every furiously urgent movement. Her legs tightened around his middle and her mouth hung open in a silent gasp as he soared her to unmistakable, irreversible heights. A soft gasp of _ah_ sounded first, then a louder exclamation of _ah_ and then a loud raspy cry of _ah!_ as what Cas did tumbled her into a sea of ecstasy. She seized him hard with both arms, forgetting her efforts to push against him—all she could do was ride the wave and pray she would survive the thunderous pleasure. Cas rocked hard against her with a whimper, carrying her further into apex. He joined her, crumbling at the feet of utter euphoric bliss. He said her name anxiously, made an unintelligible noise, said " _oh_ ", and then cried her name out in a soft and frantic voice as he powerlessly spasmed against and deeply within her. They held onto one another for dear life as they surrendered everything to each other and to that moment between them. And then, as quickly and surprisingly at it had begun, it was finished.

Against the side of a garage, the angel and the human clung to each other tightly and breathed each others ragged breaths. Love and confusion and panic had caused them to seek comfort from each other like that and even though their physical need had now been satisfied, they still clutched to each other out of the remaining fear of loss.

Trembling from exertion, Cas and Alex struggled to regain composure. Their eyes met when Cas lifted his head off of her shoulder. Fear rested in his eyes as they scanned back and forth between hers. "What would I do without you?" he questioned wretchedly, seeming to genuinely fear the answer.

At a loss for words and still reeling from unspeakable ecstasy, Alex just shook her head and hugged his neck, burying her face in the top of his shoulder. She shut her eyes, exhausted and bereft and pleasure-addled. For a minute, he just held her, turning his head down and burying his nose in the side of her neck, pressing a soft kiss into her hair. Warmth and comfort drenched her all over again and she tightened her arms around him. When her heart rate had returned to a more normal pace and her mind was more cohesive, she lifted her head up slowly. Now came talking. And to be completely honest, she was terrified of having another fight.

When she loosened her legs from around his waist to signal the time for separation, he pulled himself out of her with a soft shudder and helped her stand again. When he carefully and delicately pulled her underwear back to where it had been and shifted her dress down modestly, she felt even more loved if it were possible. Her apprehension faded a little. As he straightened the hem of her dress, she returned the favor and with a suddenly sly, timid smile, she grabbed the waist of his pants in both hands and hoisted them to where they'd been before. She zipped him back up, buttoned the button, buckled the belt, and left him as she'd found him. When she finished, she looked up into his face—he was watching her with a touched expression. His lips were soft and pink from kissing, his eyes were very dilated. He caught her hand in his and for a minute, neither said anything.

The afterglow had her feeling pleasantly buzzed and she saw he too felt very relieved. He'd needed it too. But she also saw how he was clearly waiting for the inevitable discussion he knew she wanted to have… his face seemed a little anxious and timid. How did she even start this conversation? The one she'd been thinking about for the past three days. A thousand thoughts were competing to be said first. One thought won out over the rest though. "I thought I was gonna die, Cas," she told him in a disconsolate murmur as she looked him in the eye, in pain over the thought she was about to share with him. "I thought that was my last moment in there and all I could think about was you would be dying right with me."

Because of the soul claim. Cas's expression rippled with guilt and he looked down, let go of her hand, and went into deep, tense thought. A junked truck was nearby and the rusted tailgate was down. Cas turned and went over to it with heavy footsteps. He sat down and clasped his hands between his knees, looking down at the ground between his dangling feet. Alex followed by two steps then waited, not sure why he was so silent. Just when she was about to open her mouth and prompt him to speak, he finally did. "I held your dead body in my arms and couldn't bring you back," he said quietly, taking her back to his mindset three days ago. "I was _terrified_ , Alex." He hadn't been looking at her but he did then, peered up at her with a rigid, wrinkled forehead. His eyes cut her to her heart because he was so clearly telling the truth. "I spend all my hours these days living in terror of falling short. Of letting you down. Of losing this war. Of losing _you_."

His jaw clenched and he shook his head as he looked away from her, giving the appearance of great self-loathing. "I shouldn't have been so confrontational and brusque. So _callous_." As angry as she'd been in the days before she was the opposite now. Filled with empathy, hating to see him sad, she went to him and tried to comfort him. She stood between his knees and touched his face with her hand, trying to soothe wordlessly. He didn't look at her when she did that. Instead, he took the hand off his face and looked at it in dejection. There was a long pause and then his eyes flicked up to hers. "You are my _world_ and I was thoughtless toward you," he said in faint and regretful tones. His confession made her heart pitter-patter. "Can you ever forgive me?"

She swallowed a painful, emotionally dense lump away. Her faith in him was restored a hundred times over even though she had no clue if he'd give her what was hers or not. She almost wanted to just brush the entire thing aside to keep them both from pain. Almost. _One thing at a time._ She didn't bring the soul claim up yet. "I get it, Cas," she said—after all, she'd definitely flown off the handle at her brothers and even at Cas before in the heat of the moment. "I shouldn't have done what I did. It was stupid. _I_ was stupid. Killing myself on a gamble, I mean… yeah. You're right. So, _so_ stupid." Just thinking about it again made her shake her head and growl faintly in self-frustration as she looked down and shut her eyes in an effort not to get angry with herself.

Cas's hand tightened on hers a little. "You were trying to help your brother."

Her eyes opened up again in surprise to look into his. He sounded understanding and rueful at the same time. His attempt to support and reassure was touching and surprising. "Yeah. I was," she agreed grimly. But that didn't make it okay. It had been brainless and selfish. She had been motivated by a lot of things, but largely by the need to prove herself and prove everyone else wrong. "But it wasn't smart. And I _knew_ it would hurt you and I did it anyway. I'm sorry, too." Their eyes communicated quiet relief as they arrived at a small understanding. Cas forgave her. She saw it in his eyes and couldn't believe it. He obviously still didn't _like_ it and he was still agonized over it, but she saw how he was setting it aside and choosing to move past it.

The angel shifted a little and patted the spot beside where he sat on the tailgate. She remembered teaching him that forever ago and smiled a little, taking the invitation and sitting beside him closely. Their shoulders brushed. For a minute, they listened to the frogs chorusing out in the night.

"Why'd you tell Dean, though?" Alex asked presently, turning to look at his profile.

Cas hesitated. "I thought maybe he could offer me advice. I was very worried about you." He breathed in deeply and let it out as his eyes scanned middle distance in thought. "And then before I had time to come see you and speak to you about it personally…" he shook his head with a faraway, troubled gaze. "The war."

Alex nodded understanding through her own conflicted, guilty thoughts. The war. The war she'd never seen any part of that haunted his life. Pain clenched her heart. It wasn't fair, all that weight on his shoulders. She could empathize. After all, she'd grown up in a life that had threatened to break her back from the load it put on her. The only way she'd survived was two brothers who'd stood beside her and taken some of the burden onto themselves with their strong shoulders. Glancing at Cas sidelong, she swallowed in mild dread. There was something they still needed to get on the table and hash out. _Badly._ "We gotta talk about this soul claim thing," she said quietly, a little nervous about his reaction. If he flipped out on her, if he refused to listen, there would be a major, major problem. She hoped for the best, she went out on a limb. "Number one, not _telling_ me about it. That was wrong. Number two, refusing to let me have what's mine. Also wrong." She looked at him in gaunt reservation. "Do you get that?" _Please say you do._

Cas's harrowed eyes held hers for a long moment and then he heaved a gust of air out of his nose and looked down between his knees. "Yes," he said in monotone. _Thank god._ "I've thought about it. I should have told you about the soul claim. I thought I was protecting you. I thought I knew best and I didn't want you to be frightened." He seemed reluctant to discuss it, anxious to drop the subject. He turned his worried gaze to her again. "Let me keep it for you, Alex. Until I can put it into the book of Heaven."

" _No,_ _"_ she said immediately, firmly. "If I die, you'll die. And I won't let you die because of me." She swallowed in mild dread. "Will it hurt you to take it out?"

"The pain doesn't matter to me," he said gravely. Alex could see how he was upset at the thought of letting her soul claim out of his sight. Even as she thought that, his reluctant eyes flickered sidelong to hers. "I do not want to do this." He took a grudging, tense pause, then loosened his tie and began to unbutton his shirt. She studied his troubled profile. "But as you have said, it is yours."

Her heart skipped in disbelief. He was going to do what she'd asked. Cas pulled his shirt to the side, baring the left side of his chest. He looked down at himself and without any further ado he dug two fingers into his chest and into his heart, clenching his teeth and protesting in pain—Alex sat back, terrified at how he could tear into his own flesh so easily, alarmed to see and hear him in pain. Blood poured out of where his fingers had gone and he looked woozy for a beat. He worked his fingers around and then pulled out a small dark key. He laid his other hand over his heart, breathed out shudderingly, then when he pulled his hand away, the blood was gone and the skin was smooth. The blood was gone from the key, too. Like it had never been there at all.

"Are you okay?" Alex asked, staring in confounded disbelief, touching his arm and leaning in, trying to gauge his physical well-being.

"Fine," he answered, a little shaken up. He then held the key out to her with a very serious look on his face. "You'll need to hide it someplace safe and secret until I defeat Raphael and gain access to Heaven's throne room," he said. She reached up to take it and when her fingers grasped it, he didn't let go. He waited for her to look him in the eye. "Do _not_ lose this," he said intently.

"I won't." He must have done a lot to get it and she sure as hell knew he'd done a lot to try and keep it safe. He let go of it and she turned it over in her palm in uncertainty. It looked like a regular old key. Nothing magical or special about it. "This is _it_?" she asked, underwhelmed.

"Yes," Cas answered, expression tense and pinched. She missed the flash of discomfort in his eyes.

 _Huh._ Well, it seemed pretty unremarkable. After she studied the key again for a moment, she watched him button his shirt back up. Just like that, all the crap she'd been stressing herself over for the past three days was pretty much absolved. "Why'd you put it where you did?" she asked, finding it a little terrifying that he'd just stuck his fingers into his own heart.

Cas's face softened slightly and it made him look younger and boyish despite his age. He peered at her sidelong as he buttoned his last button, the softest hint of a rueful smile in his eyes. "It seemed somehow fitting, to carry part of you in my heart."

His comment made her seriousness crumble. She grinned stupidly, embarrassed and flattered all at once. "How can I stay mad at you when you say things like that?" she asked him a little teasingly.

His expression became mildly questioning, more serious. "Are you?" he asked. "Still angry with me, I mean?"

Alex shook her head, so thankful to have this behind her. "No," she said. Her voice softened meaningfully. "We're good." He looked as relieved as she felt and on impulse, she cuddled up into his side, looping an arm around his back and studying the key in her palm as she leaned her head to his shoulder. If Cas had refused to give her this, she didn't know what would happen. Thank god Cas had come to his senses after he had time to think about everything. She closed her fist around the key. She would bury it somewhere only she and Cas would know. Then when he won the war, he could transfer the claim to the book of Heaven like he kept saying.

A minute of quiet passed and they listened to the frogs singing. Then Cas shifted a little. "Why are you wearing… the dress?" he asked softly.

Shrugging a little self-consciously, Alex tucked some loose hair behind an ear. "Found it tonight, felt sentimental I guess." She thought back to a lifetime ago when she and Cas had been so unaware of the future ahead, so in love that it had hurt. "Seems like forever ago, doesn't it…" she ventured, thinking out loud. There was a short silence and her voice softened tellingly. "You still don't regret what we did?"

"How could I?" Cas asked, sounding surprised she would think he might. He took a thoughtful pause and sounded more dejected when he spoke again. "The only thing I have ever regretted is how I am not good enough for you."

If she had learned one thing about Cas, it was that he was deeply insecure about himself at the end of the day. Lifting her head up to look at him she caught his eyes. "You _are_ good enough for me," she said in a firm tone.

"No," he said heavily, staring out into the salvage yard again. He spoke in a slow pace. "I'm _not_. I'm gone constantly, I leave you wondering every time, I never take you places or give you things or spend enough time with you. I'm not good with words and I'm not good with knowing right from wrong." She wanted to protest again, but the things he said did sound true for the most part. Mostly the being gone a lot and leaving her alone and with questions. But hearing him say those things, knowing he thought about them… it made her feel warmer. And then he turned his head, looking her in the eye with conviction and worry. "I want to be a better husband to you."

Her stomach jumped unpleasantly and she got nervous and flustered, looking around the salvage yard with darting eyes. "Cas, don't use that word," she reprimanded in a terse murmur.

Cas frowned a little, head tilting to the side a little. "Why not?"

"Someone might _hear_ you," she whispered tensely.

His confusion faded in favor of hurt. "Would it truly be so terrible for them to know?" he asked, breaking her heart a little bit with his reaction to her paranoia.

"Well, no…" she said, trying to backpedal. Although, truthfully, she did feel like maybe it _would_ be terrible for them to find out. "It's just, it's just bad timing," she said, making up excuses. "Maybe after the Sam thing is worked out, after the war… maybe then." She realized her mistake. " _If_ the Sam thing gets worked out. Maybe it… maybe it won't." She got quiet for a second, deep in thought as her mind turned to her twin and how they had arrived at the deadest of ends. Despair flooded her at that thought and realization.

Cas's arm moved up a little behind her back, his hand grasped her arm in a half hug and he pulled her closer to his side. The gesture of reassurance didn't go unnoticed by her. It helped. Pushing thoughts of Sam away, Alex instead imagined her oldest brother's reaction to what she and Cas were keeping from everyone. "Dean isn't going to take it well, Cas," she murmured. " _Us_. He's just not." Getting distressed and not wanting to talk about it anymore, she forced a pinched little smile and pushed herself forward to stand up. "We should go inside before he comes looking."

* * *

Dean and Bobby stood back from where Sam was now securely tied down to the cot in the panic room. They'd taken their time to secure him. He was still unconscious and momentarily harmless. Dean shook his head grimly, fucking _beside himself_ at what had just happened and what had been so narrowly avoided. He'd watched Sam kill Alex once as Lucifer and nothing, _nothing_ would let him see her die again. Not on his watch.

"So, you gonna explain what I missed?" Bobby asked. "What happened with Death?"

Dean glanced his way dourly as more self-loathing and sadness rolled over him. "Well… I wore the ring," he said tiredly, crossing his arms and looking at Sam while he spoke. "I wore it awhile. At first it was easy. I just, you know, reaped people who had it comin'. A douchebag robber, then a heart attack waiting to happen." Dean paused, his stomach sinking a little. "And then there was a little girl. Twelve years old. So young. Couldn't let her die, Bobby. She reminded me of…" he trailed off, wetting his lips. "And the dad, I couldn't let him be alone. They were all each other had." Dean sighed in aggravation at himself. " _So_. I let a little girl live and set off a whole bunch of other deaths in the process. Got a nurse killed, then her husband got into a wreck I coulda stopped. I almost _did_ stop it, but I thought about Sam and I kept that damn ring on my finger. So I went back and... and I killed the little girl to make it stop." He quit speaking. The guilt and burden of doing all that was too much. When he'd taken the girl's life with a single touch and she'd been able to see him, stand outside of herself and realize what had happened, the little girl had looked at him in heartbreak and asked who would be with her dad now.

Dean hadn't known the answer to that question.

That little brown-haired girl had made him think of his own sister. That lonely dad who had no other family at all had made him think of _himself_. And when Tessa the reaper had said she knew why Dean had saved the girl ("she reminds you of your sister and you can't bear the thought of her dying."), Dean had shaken his head. "You're wrong," he'd said quietly, looking at the father with his daughter. "Everyone thinks I'm so selfless. But I'm not. I'm the most selfish person on the planet. I can't stand the thought of being alone. Of losing my family." He'd looked at that father and gotten emotional. "And I don't want that man to lose the one damn thing left that's giving him a reason to live."

Bobby was waiting for more and Dean cleared his throat, refocusing. "So, I reap the little girl. Problem solved. I'm good as gold, haven't taken the ring off. Won't get sentimental again. Sammy's soul isn't far off. Then Tessa tells me there's suddenly another person I gotta reap, someone who just got added to the list. She acted real surprised and beams me to your garage... where I see my brother about to kill my sister."

Horrified understanding passed over Bobby's face. "I had to pick," Dean said, staring unseeingly into the panic room. "Sam or Alex. My brother's soul or my sister's life." He'd made his choice and would never take it back, but he wished it could be different. His heart was breaking. Sam was lost forever, his soul was stuck in hell, and Dean was defeated, dismayed, and agonized. "So, now what? Death's the only guy I can think of to help out short of a demon and I am _not_ doing another soul deal. What's left?" He put his hand on his face and rubbed wretchedly, hopeless and needing help, needing an answer. "I can't keep doing this, Bobby. I mean, what am I gonna do, tie him up every time he tries to kill someone? And that's not gonna hold him. I mean, he's…"

A monster.

"Capable of anything," Bobby put in at Dean's silence.

Dean nodded grimly. That was also an appropriate descriptor. "Just… what am I supposed to do here?"

Bobby was as quiet and lost as Dean was. "I don't know."

Dean remembered how he and Cas had already talked about a final option and his heart shattered to think about actually going through with it. But Sam was dangerous. "Cas and I, we talked about, if the time came… if we had to…" Cold realization and heartbreak crossed Bobby's grizzled face. Dean was begging at this point for another option or some hope. "Say something, Bobby."

He didn't get any relief, only more confirmation that he had no options left. "What's there to say?" Bobby asked. "Can't let him keep doing this. Just can't."

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. He wanted to cry. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. "Maybe Dad was right all those years ago," he managed in a strained voice.

"'Bout what?"

Dean shook his head, looked at his brother's sleeping face. "Said if I couldn't save Sam... I'd have to kill him." And Dean didn't know how to save Sammy. Not at all.

Overhead, footsteps sounded and the stairs creaked under two pairs of feet. Dean and Bobby turned to see Cas and Alex coming down the wooden staircase. Dean looked at her dress again curiously.

"Hey," she said as she reached the bottom floor. She looked at Dean anxiously, obviously wanting good news which he had none of.

"Hey," he replied gruffly, trying to hide his more hopeless thoughts and mindset. He was also pretty unhappy with himself about being so intentionally douchey to her earlier… she'd almost died and the last thing he'd done before that had been to try and pick a fight with her.

He glanced at Cas. A typical stern squint was on the angel's face. "Sorry, was just about to come find you," Dean said, refocusing on his intent sister. "Got distracted. You okay?"

He'd never forget seeing Sam about to slash her throat open. She probably wouldn't ever forget it, either. "Yeah. Just… kinda shaken up I guess," she said.

The siblings' eyes met and both looked very sorry about everything. The situation at hand dissolved the adversity that had been between them and Dean reached out and hugged her again. She hugged him, too, tight. He'd almost lost her. And now he'd definitely lost Sam. Their brother was gone. For good.

Dean pulled back, trying not to show his despair. He patted his sister on the shoulder and made a wan smile stretch across his face. How did he even begin to explain this to her? How it was over?

She peered past him into the panic room. From the look on her face, Dean thought maybe she already knew somehow. "Is he… is he ever gonna be okay?" she asked in a soft, stark voice.

Dean couldn't try and soften or sweeten the bitter truth even for her. "I don't think so, kiddo," he told her sadly. Her eyes, the same color as Sam's, came to his in vulnerable, hurt questioning. _Why? Why couldn_ _'_ _t I save him? Why couldn_ _'_ _t I have saved them both?_ Dean was miserable.

Of all things, Alex then went past him and into the panic room. That's when he saw that the back of the white dress wasn't white like it had been whenever she walked out of the garage fifteen minutes ago—it now had rust or something smeared on the back. _What the_ —oh. _Oh my god._ Dean looked at Cas in disbelief and mild embarrassment. Cas wasn't looking at him—he was watching Alex in close hawkishness. _Well at least someone_ _'_ _s getting laid around here,_ Dean thought cantankerously. He crossed his arms again and looked into the panic room.

Sam was too tied down to do anything even if he were awake, but even so, Dean didn't like her being so close to him. Alex hovered over the cot, looking over her twin brother's unconscious countenance. She broke Dean's heart completely when she took and held one of Sam's hands in hers then brushed some hair off of his bloody forehead. She looked sad enough to cry, but she didn't.

Dean was fighting a painful welling rock in his throat. He couldn't kill Sam. He _couldn_ _'_ _t_. It would kill him and it would kill Alex to lose him. But hadn't they lost him already?

Cas came to stand beside him and his concerned gaze burned into the side of Dean's face. "You took off the ring to save her," he said quietly. The angel clearly understood what that implied and meant. "Thank you, Dean."

Dean glanced Cas's way barely, not totally able to meet the angel's eyes. "Yeah," he said in a gravel mutter. "Not the first time I've fucked things up to save her. Probably won't be the last. Worth it. But damn if it doesn't suck." Dean needed a minute to compose himself before he broke down completely. "Can you two watch her?" he asked, throwing a glance Bobby's way. "I need some air."

"Yes, of course," Cas answered even as Bobby nodded.

Dean went upstairs in search of alcohol and solitude. What he found instead was Death… and ironically enough, Death brought hope and an unexpected twist that Dean would be forever grateful for.

* * *

Alex looked down at Sam's peaceful face with a hurting heart. She didn't understand. He was cuffed to the cot so that when he woke, he couldn't attack them. Why did it always come back to this? Sam chained up somewhere and gone nuts? This time, there didn't seem to be a solution. Alex touched the side of his cheek, remembering better times. Happier times. Not _happy_ times. Just, happier.

Dean had been upstairs for awhile now and Alex had just been observing her twin with Cas nearby, ever watchful and sympathetic. At that moment Sam stirred without warning and groaned, blinking hard as he began to regain himself. Alex moved back a little and let go of him even as Cas moved forward slightly from where he'd been hanging back at the edge of the panic room.

Sam tried to sit up and found that he couldn't thanks to his restraints. His eyes flickered over Alex, then Cas, then found Bobby too who slouched in a lean in the panic room doorway.

" _So_ ," Sam said, realizing he was a prisoner. "This is the part where you lock me in the panic room." He sounded frustrated.

"Well, I didn't know there would be an audience for this," came a bland voice from behind them. Everyone turned to see a plain, stooped man with a hook nose and receding hairline standing there. He carried a black satchel with him and leaned on a walking cane.

"Death," Alex breathed in shock, recognizing him immediately. Dean's footsteps were clattering down the stairs and they heard him shouting.

Sam went tense with terror and his handcuffs rattled against the cot as he desperately pitched around on the cot in an effort to get away. "I've got something you've been missing, Sam," Death said leisurely, setting his walking cane down beside Sam.

"Get away from me!" Sam shouted even as Dean and Bobby appeared in the doorway with shocked expressions. "Don't. Don't!"

Death sat beside Sam and pulled the satchel open. Brilliant white-blue light blazed out from the soul inside. "Now, Sam, I'm going to put up a barrier inside your mind," Death said in a matter of fact voice, his dark eyes holding Sam's levelly.

"No, don't touch me," Sam protested, and he sounded like the real Sam—scared shitless, freaked out, emotionally compromised. He even looked at his older brother and then his sister as if for help.

"It might feel a little… _i_ _tchy_." Death looked at Sam with grimness. "Do me a favor. Don't scratch the wall. Trust me—you're not gonna like what happens."

" _Please_ ," Sam said, looking straight at Dean with helplessness on his face. "Don't do this."

Death reached into his bag and grasped Sam's soul into his fist, raising it out slowly, eyes sliding to Sam who panicked even more. "No, no!" he protested, looking at Dean and then Alex with huge, alarmed eyes. "You don't know! You don't know what'll happen to me! Dean, please! No. _No_. No, Alex! Cas! Bobby! Don't let him do this! No!" None of them moved, only watched in frozen horror as Death reached into Sam whose eyes went wide in agony. "Aaaaaugh!" His mouth stayed open in scream after scream as the soul was seared back into him painfully.

And then he went limp and still, blacking out as the soul's light disappeared from view.

"Sam?" Dean rushed to his brother then, grabbing him by the shoulders in worry. "Sammy?" He looked at Death for explanation. "What's happened to him?"

Death snapped the satchel closed and stood, giving Dean a challenging glance. "His soul is where it's supposed to be. He rests now. The future remains to be seen."

Dean swallowed tremulously. "T-thank you," he managed.

Death regarded him with a grave look. "Remember what I said, Dean. Keep… _digging_." The horseman's eyes slid to Cas. And then he disappeared without explanation.

"I thought he wasn't gonna get Sam's soul for us!" Alex said, aghast and shocked. "How did you… what changed his mind?" She was beside Dean and looking at him with dread like she thought he'd made a crazy deal.

"I dunno, he kept blabbing about souls, said something about being a detective," Dean said, distracted and looking to the angel. "Cas, can you, can you check him? Make sure it's in there? See if he's okay?"

"Of course," Castiel said, and began to roll up his sleeve. He paused, looked at them meaningfully. "You two may want to wait outside."

Dean and Alex exchanged a look. They really didn't want to, but they took Cas's suggestion and did anyway. Bobby followed and they closed the heavy door behind them. "I need hunter's helper," Bobby commented, shaking his head in confounded shock. "I'll get us all some." He trudged up the stairs. In the panic room, Sam could be heard making pained noises as Castiel performed a soul touch. When the angel came out of the panic room a minute or two later, he left the door open. They saw Sam was still unconscious on the cot.

Alex went to him wordlessly, urgently.

Cas and Dean watched her from outside. "Well?" Dean asked, daring to hope.

"His soul is in place," Cas said.

Relief swamped Dean. _Thank god._ "Is he okay? Like, physically? Will he wake up?"

Cas seemed mildly upset. "I'm not a human doctor, Dean."

"Well could you take a guess?"

Cas became decidedly hard and gruff. "Okay. Probably _not_." He stepped closer and kept his voice low in an effort to hide the conversation from Alex, who was sitting at Sam's side, holding his hand again, worry etched onto her youthful face. "I'm sorry, Dean, but I _warned_ you not to put that thing back inside him," Cas said, catching Dean off guard.

"Well what was I supposed to do?" Dean asked in genuine confusion. "You saw the crap he was doing, Cas."

"Yes, I did—but I don't know if this is going to be any better of a solution. Let me tell you what his soul felt like when I touched it." Cas's expression flickered in emphatic pain. "Like it had been skinned _alive_ , Dean. If the wall doesn't hold, your brother will suffer agony of the worst kind and in turn, so will you. So will _she_." His jaw clenched and he shook his head in disapproval as he looked into the panic room again. "If you wanted to kill your brother, you should have done it outright."

Cas knew how to hit Dean right where it hurt, apparently. Stunned into silence, Dean could make no reply.

* * *

**The Next Day  
Early Afternoon**

After Sam's soul was replaced and Cas told Dean what he did, the angel stuck around for maybe an hour more, sitting with Alex in the panic room for the entirety of the time. The two of them had a hushed conversation that Dean couldn't catch much of as he nervously came and went, praying for a sign or change in Sam's condition. Cas was called away in the middle of the night and Dean and Alex both fell asleep in the panic room near their brother. Dean sitting cross-armed in a chair on one side of Sam and Alex was on the other side, also in a chair. Instead of leaning back like Dean, she had her head on the bed beside Sam's waist. When Dean woke up in the morning, he saw how she was still holding his hand. How could she do that? Hold the hand that had tried to kill her?

All morning they watched Sam who showed no signs of waking. They un-cuffed him and set up a saline IV drip to keep him from getting dehydrated. Dean wandered restlessly, trying to find something, _anything_ to do. Bobby had some newspapers spread out on the study desk and Dean looked over them curiously. He could hear, very faintly, the sound of the broom at work on the back porch. Alex had dusted everything and vacuumed out of frustrated, worried boredom. Now she was sweeping the back porch like it was her job. Bobby was off in the bathroom and the house was quiet.

Dean circled around to the back of the desk and stood behind it to read the printout Bobby had been reading last. He scanned it and saw why. Last week a couple went up in a light two-person plane and crashed. The wreckage was found in the woods… and the pilot was found seventeen miles away, torn to shreds. The girl was gone without a trace. No body found. Huh. Definitely a little weird. Could be a job.

This is where Sam found his brother. After waking up from what felt like the worst night of sleep in his life, Sam wandered in a daze up from the basement of the Singer house, wondering how he got there. Everything was jumbled in his mind, mixed up and in soft-focus, hard to catch hold of. He felt panicked and disoriented, a little sick. Something was off.

When he came to the main floor of the familiar house and peered into the study, seeing his brother reading a piece of paper, he felt a pure relief he couldn't explain. "Dean?" he asked softly. When he asked his brother's name, it came flooding back—the cemetery, jumping into the cage, leaving everything behind. Dying and knowing it. Sacrificing himself and knowing he would never see the light of day ever again or the faces of the family he loved.

Dean's head snapped up and he looked at Sam with wide, shocked eyes. Emotion surged up in Sam who was already moving toward his big brother. "Sam?" Dean asked in a softly stunned voice, circling the desk that separated them.

Sam slammed his arms around Dean hard into a crushing embrace. He was breathing hard and fast, barely able to believe either of them were alive at all. When Sam pulled back, an amazed, relieved grin was on his face, making his dimples show. "Dean, I—" he paused, faltering. He remembered more without warning. The memories dumped out over his head like water out of a bucket. He remembered his sister underneath him and choking, gasping for air, struggling, fighting to stay alive, her hands grabbing onto his uselessly. _"Sam, please_ _…_ _!"_ she had rasped as his hands crushed the life out of her. Tears ran out of her eyes and down into her hair as she looked up at him in fear and pain. And then Sam remembered the worst moment of all. Sam looked at his hands in horror as he remembered the sickening feel and the crunching snap of her neck underneath those palms. He took her life—he'd ended it—he'd failed to save her even though he'd been fighting Satan tooth and nail. Sam was talking a staggering step back from Dean, horror making him half-blind. _She_ _'_ _s dead. I killed her. Oh no_ _—oh god_ _no please no._

"Sam?" Dean asked, trying to catch hold of him, whose fingers weakly clutched into the sleeves of his brother's shirt. He remembered killing Bobby and killing Cas, too, and his world spun, he thought he would pass out or die from the terror consuming him. _Oh no. No, no. I killed them all!_

Behind him, he heard the back door open and footsteps coming in. He turned around slowly in shell-shocked confusion even as he heard her familiar voice. "Hey, so we need to buy a new broom, this one's—" she froze the second she saw him. The broom clattered to the kitchen floor. The twins looked at each other in utter disbelief. "Oh my god. _Sam?_ " she breathed out in heartbreaking hope.

He didn't know how she was there or if this were a cruel dream. It didn't matter. Emotion surged up in him like a tempest. He strode over to her and swept his twin into the tightest hug in existence, making her feet dangle off the ground from the way he crammed her to his chest. He made breathy noises of disbelief, almost crying. He felt her squeezing him so hard he thought he would pop. And then he _was_ crying. "I thought… I thought you were dead," he choked out, one of his huge hands at the nape of her neck to hold her close to him. She felt real, she was breathing and shaking and digging fingers in so hard he'd have bruises. "I _killed_ you," he said, not understanding, just pulling back to look at her through flooded eyes to confirm she was really her. A warm hazel gaze that matched his stared back. Tears drowned her eyes too and Sam's face crumpled again. "I'm so _sorry,_ " he said in a pitiful voice.

She had tears in her eyes and a broken, amazed smile on her face. " _Sammy_ ," she said softly, not seeming to believe he was there. "It's really you?"

Her question sounded strange to him. Who else would it be? He set her down carefully but still held onto her by the upper arms, not understanding how this was possible. "How are you alive?" he asked, getting afraid of the answer. "How, how are you _here_? I felt you die, I felt it. I felt _me_ die. How am _I_ here?" A horrible thought came to him and he looked at his older brother in dread. "Dean… you didn't…"

Dean had come closer and had shining eyes. "No, I didn't do anything," he said, swallowing away some emotion. He put a reassuring, comforting firm hand on Sam's shoulder. "It was Cas. He brought her back."

"Cas is alive too?!" Sam exclaimed, overjoyed by the miraculous revelation.

"We all are," came another familiar voice. Bobby came into view from the hallway and Sam felt another thrilling jolt in his heart.

" _Bobby_." He went to his uncle and pulled him into a clapping, tight hug. Sam squeezed his eyes shut, crying for joy, overwhelmed completely. _I_ _'_ _m alive. We_ _'_ _re all alive. Everything_ _'_ _s gonna be fine now._


	70. Tabula Rasa

" _Hey, brother, there_ _'_ _s an endless road to rediscover._ _"  
_ \- Avicii

* * *

**Three Days Later**

Like she had for the past few days, Alex woke up early without an alarm. Similar to a kid on Christmas she stole downstairs quickly and quietly as to not wake anyone. She was eager to see what she knew she'd find in Bobby's study: Sam asleep on the couch, peaceful and quiet, _himself_.

Seeing him there again— _him_ —was indescribable and surreal.

Just a few days ago he'd been an apathetic and brusque Sam-shaped person who bore no resemblance to the real Sam Winchester. He'd been a flesh-and-blood ghost of who he'd been before. Now he was alive again in every sense of the word and when Alex peeked around the corner of the hallway into the study and saw him on the couch snoring, she smiled as her heart warmed all over again. Everything about him being back almost too good to be true. But it wasn't. It was _really_ Sam.

How surreal the first couple hours had been when he first woke up. When Sam realized he'd been gone a full year and said he remembered nothing after the cemetery, Dean had quickly taken control of the conversation and told Sam he had _just_ gotten back. Instead of telling Sam he'd been alive for a year without his soul, Dean swept it under the rug and gave Bobby and Alex looks that said not to contradict him.

Since then he'd taken both Bobby and Alex aside and insisted they say nothing to Sam of the year that had passed. He said if they jogged his memory or told him the truth, they risked breaking the wall Death had put into Sam's mind, the wall that protected him from the Hell memories and possible insanity therein. Not telling Sam what had happened was difficult especially for Bobby, who was very wary around Sam after the crowbar incident and the almost-killing-Alex incident. Maybe Alex should have been a little weirded out too being around the same guy who'd been about to slice her throat open a few days ago. But she was fine about Sam because one look into his eyes when she'd first seen him again told her irrefutably _that was Sam_. That saying, eyes are the windows to the soul? She believed that a hundred percent now.

It was hard to say if Sam was 'over' being soulless or not—and it was hard to say if the wall Death had put in his mind would hold or not. The middle Winchester was definitely a little worse for the wear. He was sleeping excessively (sixteen to eighteen hours a day by Alex's best guess) and eating Bobby out of house and home. Last night Alex had made him the spinach and artichoke dip she'd tried making before (hadn't screwed it up much this time, either). Sam ate it _all_ voraciously with some crackers and then complimented her up and down about it in the midst of his astounded elation that she had made something from scratch. "What'd you do with my kitchen klutz sister?" he'd joked. She'd felt proud of herself and very pleased with his reaction. Dean had smiled from where he was paging through a book in the study. Sam had then quizzed her about the process of making the dish and asked about when she'd picked up cooking, complimenting her several times more. The last time she'd tried to do something for him, he couldn't have cared less… the difference was night and day. What a difference a soul made, huh?

Things were looking up for the Winchesters. Alex thought that if Sam's mind-wall could hold and if Castiel could win the war upstairs, things would finally be _good_ … not just passable and not just acceptable but _good_. Golden. Perfect, even. The painful days and long waiting and sacrifices would all be worth it. Hope was filling her at painfully huge levels as she started to truly believe that the darker days were done in her life and the lives of those she loved. The light at the end of the tunnel was getting brighter and brighter… and as a result happiness was returning to her life, she was actually _excited_ for the future and what it would bring.

Alex watched her twin sleeping a couple seconds longer then turned around and headed into the kitchen to start some coffee. At the edge of her periphery her eye caught something so she looked, distracted. Then she almost yelped out loud in surprise. Standing at the back door and looking at her patiently through the glass window was the angel in the glaringly red striped uniform. Caught off guard (her hand had automatically reached for her belt where a weapon usually was), Alex faltered, frozen in mid-step. Samandriel, Cas had said his name was. She'd seen him on the day she killed herself. What was he doing here... and why was he visible? He stood at the door patiently and looked at her with an unassuming gaze like why _wouldn_ _'_ _t_ he be standing there. The oddest part of it all was how he had his hands up beside him at either shoulder—in each hand, a fistful of wildflowers pulled up at the roots.

After a couple more seconds of slack-jawed confusion, Alex went to the door and opened it slowly, looking at Samandriel with no idea of what to say. "Uh…"

"Hello," he greeted when she could find no more words. "I am Samandriel." He looked familiar, young, bright-eyed, and baby-faced. His garish uniform proclaimed that he worked at Wiener Hut. He smiled pleasantly at her when she was confounded and silent. He appeared eager to be liked. "I think Castiel has mentioned me to you."

Very skeptical, Alex's eyes flickered to the flowers and then back to Samandriel. "Um, yes, he has. Can I, uh, help you? What are you… doing with those?"

Samandriel remembered the flowers and looked at them briefly. He seemed mildly confused about them, too. "He told me to bring you flowers." He held them out to her and Alex faltered, unsure of what to do with uprooted flowers. "I have brought you flowers." Dirt was still crumbling off in bits from the full root systems he'd clearly yanked out of the ground. A slow and confused smile was spreading across her face despite her best efforts to stay shrewd.

Alex hesitated then cast around for something to put the flowers in or on so they didn't smear dirt all over. "Lemme just get a… like a plate, I dunno. Uh, come in, come in." She beckoned the flower-toting angel in then rooted around in the kitchen, pulling out a mixing bowl from under the sink. "Here," she said, and indicated he put the flowers there. He put the two fistfuls of flowers into the bowl and Alex had to crack a full grin. So, Samandriel seemed to be similar to Cas in the adorably clueless vein. "Thanks," she said, looking at the colorful variety of flowers that had probably been pulled up from along Bobby's driveway where they grew wild. Castiel had sent her flowers… that was sweet and heartwarming, unexpected for sure. She picked one flower up and twirled it, examining the white petals.

Samandriel was looking at her expectantly, slightly apprehensively. "Castiel also wanted me to express his love to you," he said, then paused and frowned uncertainly. "I… express his love to you."

In response to the bumbling sort of way he was conducting himself, Alex's grin took over her whole face. "Um, _thanks_ _…_ " she faltered, a little self-conscious and a _lot_ unsure of what to say back. She set the mixing bowl of loose flowers down onto the kitchen table and turned around to ask Samandriel about Cas's sudden urge to send flower-grams and declarations of love, but when she looked at him again she couldn't get over the growing feeling that she'd _seen_ him before. Maybe he had one of those faces. No… she really felt like she'd seen him before. Pondering, squinting, trying to figure it out, she came up with nothing.

"Sorry, you just look _so_ familiar," she said when Samandriel looked at her questioningly. And then it smacked her in the face. She _had_ seen him before! "Wait… _bug boy!_ " she exclaimed, remembering who she'd met five or six years ago on a job—he'd been fond of spiders and bugs and nearly gotten sucker punched when he tried to shove a big spider in her face for a laugh. "Matt… Matthew?" she asked, trying to remember more clearly. If you told her then that _that_ kid would end up being a vessel for an angel, she would have seriously doubted it. Her eyes fell to his name tag which said _Alfie_ in block letters. Her confidence in her memory faded slightly. "Why's the name tag say Alfie?"

Samandriel looked down at the name tag and then at her again. He seemed reluctant and sad to speak on the subject. "Matthew Pike ran away from his home at the age of seventeen and used an assumed identity. Alfonso Perozzi. 'Alfie.'" The angel sounded attached, bittersweet, and deeply sympathetic when he spoke of Matthew. Alex hadn't known Matthew too well but had sympathized with him because like her, he'd had issues with his controlling and emotionally devoid father.

"He was very unhappy until I came to him," Samandriel continued. "I've got him locked inside of a dream where he's a very successful and well-loved young musician. A rock star, I believe to use the slang term. He's happier this way. His life wasn't what he wanted. Now it is."

Alex contemplated Samandriel and Matthew at the same time, not sure how to feel about that. "You make it sound so neatly wrapped."

"Why wouldn't it be?" Samandriel asked earnestly. He had an exceedingly gentle and considerate way about him. "I won't always use this vessel. In time, Matthew _will_ return to his life." A soft, rueful smile crossed his face and he looked down in thought. "And I do hope he will be happier than he was before."

Huh. That was a nice thought. Maybe not all angels (with Cas being the exception, of course) were dicks. Samandriel was looking into the living room curiously. "Your brother," he said. "Is he recovering well?"

Alex followed his gaze. "Slowly," she conceded, then frowned slightly, looking back at Samandriel with narrowing eyes. "I thought you were watching me. Shouldn't you already know that?"

Samandriel shook his head very slightly, meeting her gaze honestly. "I watch the entrances and exits and follow you if you leave. I do not intrude upon your privacy or the privacy of your family. This is what Castiel has instructed of me."

"Oh." Alex nodded. "Gotcha." She glanced at the bowl of flowers again, her mind wandering back to its original question. "So… why the flowers and love confession? He's never done that before."

Samandriel looked at her with a mild curiosity in his eyes, like he was gauging her reaction and trying to see who she was, what she thought. "Castiel told me that he feels he has done a poor job of making sure you're cared for. He wanted you to have evidence of his thoughts for you, from my understanding."

A little smile grew on the edges of her mouth. _He_ _'_ _s worried about me. He wants me to know he_ _'_ _s thinking about me._ Alex contemplated the angel across from her for a couple seconds, her thoughts shifting gears. "Can I ask you something—Sam-handy-rail…" she managed poorly, then began to try to find a nickname. "Sam—" no that wouldn't work. "El? Andy? Andy."

He looked confused at her verbal experiments. She gave up on them. "I'm just wondering—I've heard that most of the angels sort of… disapprove of me and Cas." She paused and wet her lips. "What about you?"

The question seemed to faintly surprise him. Samandriel took a moment, giving the impression of great thoughtfulness. "When I first heard of Castiel's… _situation_ , I felt very taken aback. Unsure of what to think, to be truthful. Angels and humans have always been forbidden to be romantically involved. His actions and pursuit of you were viewed as utter blasphemy all across Heaven." His eyes traveled over the kitchen in pondering. "I had never stopped to wonder _why_ that rule existed before. I had never stopped to question why _love_ should ever be labeled blasphemy. Simply because the two who love are not alike? That doesn't seem right to me." He paused. "I have seen how Castiel loves you. And I do not find it blasphemous." He looked at her for input and she was quiet, surprised at his introspection and the tender way he spoke about things. "Many say that Castiel has lost his way," Samandriel said. "But I don't think so." He looked at Alex and the softest, most secretive smile came over his lips. "I think perhaps he is finding a new one."

Alex now understood why Castiel had set this kindhearted angel in charge of her and opened her mouth to reply to him. It was then that the sound of footsteps shuffling down staircase from upstairs sounded and Alex looked up, listening. That sounded like Dean. Huh, he was up early. She looked back at Samandriel—and he wasn't there anymore. Alex blinked a few times, glancing around for the angel. He had disappeared from completely.

Dean came into view then, rubbing an eye with the heel of his hand and grimacing dramatically against the morning light. His hair was epic levels of bad, sticking up all over, and because he was in his t-shirt and boxers, Alex could see his very bowed legs better than usual. "Morning, Bowlegs," she greeted, insulting him fondly and trying to transition from the unexpected angel visit to a more normal morning routine.

"'Sup, Baby Face?" he returned in a sleep-rough voice as he headed for the coffee maker. "How's Gigantor?"

Alex shrugged. "Still asleep."

Dean looked at his watch, impressed and slightly skeptical. "That makes like fifteen hours this round." He was half-asleep still, running a hand over his face then stretching with a sound of protest.

"Guess when you don't sleep for a year your body needs a little catch-up time," Alex said, looking at Sam for a long moment.

Her happy feelings wavered. How were they supposed to keep dodging the truth with Sam? The past couple of days had been tricky—Sam was a naturally curious person and he had wanted to know what they'd been up to, what had happened in the time he'd been gone, more about the way he'd been brought back. Dean had either given a vague answer then changed the subject or flat out lied and Alex, uncomfortable with lying, had dodged questions and even gone so far as to not spend too much time one-on-one with Sam for fear of not being able to answer one of his questions. As she thought of how shady and uncomfortable that made her feel, she looked at Dean anxiously. He was whacking the coffee maker on the side, trying to get it to turn on. She drifted closer, keeping her voice quiet. "Dean, are we _seriously_ not gonna tell him—"

Dean turned and cut her off with a hard look. It was surprising how fast he could go from groggy to commanding. "What, that he's been here the whole time? That he was hanging out the past twelve months with no soul? That he tried to _kill_ you?" He stopped there and heaved a weary sigh and rubbed his face in a hand, softening before readdressing her. "We've been over this. It'll just set him off and make him remember. Death said the wall's gotta hold if we want Sam to survive."

She knew all of that, he'd been over it with her, but she still didn't _like_ it. Not at all.

At her silence, Dean prompted her. "You want him to live, don't you?"

That question got him a slightly bitchy side-eye. "What kind of question is that, Dean?"

"Then there's your answer," Dean replied factually, leaving no room for argument. "We can't tell him stuff that'll trigger his memory, end of story."

"But Dean, he'll figure it out," Alex protested.

"Not if we don't give him clues to work with," Dean replied with a tone that used a certain level of warning. _Don_ _'_ _t tip him off,_ he was telling her. Alex got even more grudging and her older brother sighed in a way that said he empathized. "Look, I know it sucks," he said, trying to catch her gaze. "But if this is what it takes to keep Sam alive and well, we just gotta do it." Alex said nothing, just let a very disagreeable breath of air expel noisily out of her nose as she crossed her arms. Dean frowned, spotting the bowl of flowers on the table. He wandered over and poked at it. "What's up with this?"

A self-conscious, half-amused little laugh escaped Alex. Dean then looked at her for explanation and she shrugged, attempting a cute, innocent expression. "Cas apparently doesn't know about one-eight-hundred flowers."

Dean had a look on his face that was part amusement and part unimpressed annoyance. He picked up a flower and looked at the root system. "Ya think?"

* * *

**The Next Day**

"Give 'er here," Dean said, reaching out to take Alex's fully packed duffel from her. She handed it over and he tossed it into the trunk of the Impala and looked everything over once again. He was businesslike and quiet, hard to read.

Alex leaned in a little over the trunk, trying to get him to look at her. "So we're _really_ just heading out without him sight unseen?" she asked. It wasn't that she wasn't glad to be going on a hunt with Dean again, but it seemed sketchy to not even wake Sam up from his nap to say 'seeya later' or anything. Dean was acting sort of funny about the entire thing and he was avoiding talking about it much.

Dean moved her hand out of the way and closed the trunk. "Yeah, he needs his rest and this job needs working," he said, using a tone of forced casualness. "It's not that big of a deal. He'll understand. And we'll call him later."

"Call me from where?"

They both turned in surprise. Sam had just walked up from behind and was looking at them inquisitively. Dean and Alex exchanged a quick glance. "Uh, there's this thing in Oregon," Dean said.

Mild excitement crossed Sam's features. "Great! I'm in," he said, looking ready to go.

"Whoa, whoa," Dean said, hands raised slightly in protest. "You just got vertical."

"Exactly," Sam said, smiling a little, bright-eyed. He looked well-rested, eager, earnest. "I'm up. I'm good."

"Well, a few more days of crap cable and snooze buttons couldn't hurt," Dean suggested.

Sam immediately rolled his eyes in good nature, cracking a teasing little smile. "Right, 'cause that's what _you_ did when you got back from hell," he said, pausing for effect then shrugging appealingly. "Dean, I'm fine—might need a few more naps than usual, but I'm good."

Alex remained silent, trying not to look guilty or like she was hiding anything. She wanted Sam around but she didn't want to have to keep up with the lying. Dean had a slight look of constipation on his face because like her, he knew the close quarters would demand more conversations and Sam, ever the curious one, would be full of questions for them. Either way, Dean apparently decided to take their chances and let Sam come along. "Yeah, all right," he said, then cracked a little grin, shot it Alex's way then Sam's. "The three amigos ride again, huh?"

"More like the three stooges," Alex muttered. Sam laughed—which made an emotional little expression cross Alex;s face. Sam didn't see. He was already heading for the passenger seat of the Impala. While he got in, Alex shot Dean a tense look over the top of the car.

* * *

A couple hours down the road, no harm had been done yet. The sun had gone down and in the darkness of the car, Alex had to stifle a yawn against sleepiness.

Sam had expressed interest in the job they had picked up and was currently on his cell with a local police department in Portland, doing what Sam did best: research and information gathering. "You got it, officer. Thank you. You too." He hung up, turning to Dean. "So, get this—besides the crash, there were two other disappearances in town this week—last weekend, a college girl vanished from her apartment." He looked at Alex then. "Off of the seventeenth _floor._ Then, three days ago, another girl didn't make it home from school."

"These two chicks know each other?" Dean asked.

"No," Sam said, shaking his head and clearly wracking his brain for any clue that would help. "No connection. Just young and female, like the plane crash girl."

"What would disappear a girl out of the _sky_ , anyway?" Dean asked, frowning at the road ahead.

Sam shrugged his mouth downward. "Good question."

"Any other connections you could pick out?" Alex asked, mulling it over. Out of the _sky_ … so, something with wings?

Her twin shook his head. "Not so far." The car was quiet for a minute, fuzzy radio rock in the background. "So you two never even tried, huh?" Sam asked a little softer, alternating between glancing at his brother and sister.

Uh oh. Alex didn't think she liked where this was going. "Tried what?" Dean asked. He sounded a little hesitant, too.

Sam was pretty somber. "To go live a life… after what happened." He looked at Dean gently. "You _do_ remember you promised that, right?" His hazel gaze slid to Alex and gave her a silent lecture too. "Both of you."

"I didn't promise that," Alex protested, remembering his little 'go live your life' speech and how she'd just cried on him instead of promising anything. "Not _really_."

Sam gave her a good humored look. "Maybe not, but _he_ did." He gave Dean an expectant look.

Dean let out a gust of reluctant air. "Yeah, I remember."

Sam was careful to keep his tone easygoing and non-confrontational. "So why didn't you try?"

Dean sent him a quick glance. "What makes you think I didn't?"

"'Cause look at you," Sam said, then gestured around the car. "Look at this. You're exactly the same."

Dean's face darkened almost imperceptibly and a muscle clenched in his jaw. "Yeah, I dunno about that." Alex studied her fingernails, afraid that if she looked up Sam's questioning eyes would be on her. Dean cleared his throat, kept his eyes on the road. "I was with them for a year—Lisa and Ben."

"A _year_ ," Sam repeated, sounding very impressed and astounded. Dean nodded silently. Sam prompted him. "So then what?"

There was a lot of sadness and still-relevant hurt in Dean's eyes. "Didn't work out."

Sam was taking everything in stride, digesting what Dean said with tempered acceptance. But then a new thought seemed to occur to him. "So you and Alex just, what, _hung out_ with Lisa and Ben for a year? No hunting? Just normal life?" He scoffed through a smile that suggested he found _that_ even harder to believe than anything else… his siblings giving up hunting for that long.

The silence rang in Alex's ears and demanded to be filled, but she said nothing and kept looking at her fingernails, picking them now. He assumed that she and Dean had been together that whole year… how was she supposed to answer that?

"Well, _I_ did that," Dean reluctantly answered Sam. "Hung out with Lisa and Ben for a year." A confused frown came over Sam's face as he tried to figure out what his brother meant and where his sister had been—Alex could feel his inquisitive gaze on her but she didn't look up. "Went our separate ways, Sammy," Dean explained gruffly.

Sam appeared to be unable to wrap his head around what his brother had just said. "…Separate ways?" he repeated, almost like he'd misheard.

Dean shrugged, trying hard to appear flippant. "Yeah, she did her thing, I did mine. No big deal."

Sam's mouth was half open. "Wh—you're kidding me, right? No big _deal_?" He looked between his guarded and quiet siblings at a complete loss. "You two've never been apart longer than a few _days_ except for when Dean died." His vehement tone and scandalized expression got him no reply from either of his siblings and he looked at Alex, struggling to figure it out. "What'd you do? Go with Cas or something?"

Alex couldn't bite back knee-jerk cynicism. "Ha, _no_ ," she said, then looked Sam in the eye by accident. Sobering as the year from hell flashed across her mind, she tried to look outwardly unaffected. "I hunted."

Sam's aghast expression grew even more pronounced. "With _who_? With Bobby?"

"Nah." Alex looked sidelong out of the window, swallowing the sick feeling away. "Met some people, hunted with them." She could feel Sam's shocked gaze on her and she cleared her throat, attempted to sound apathetic. "It doesn't matter. Dean and I figured out we weren't too good together anymore with you gone so we just decided to try life separate."

Sam's eyes were keen and astute and flickered to Dean almost accusingly. "…Did you guys fight?" he asked, reading between the lines.

"It's not important, Sam," Dean said, taking over from Alex and cutting Sam's questions short. _Thank god._ "It's over, okay? We're all back together and everything's fine now. Let's not go digging in the crap from the past."

Sam looked uncertain and a little suspicious but after a couple beats nodded his reluctant agreement and respectfully let it go. "Yeah… okay."

Dean spotted something ahead and put his blinker on, proceeded to leave the topic behind them completely. "You guys hungry yet? I could go for some bar food."

* * *

**Two Hours Later**

As Dean chatted up a girl at the bar, a series of text messages began to come through on his phone. As he was in a noisy bar and very interested in flirting, he didn't hear his phone or see the messages.

**Cas at 8:26PM:**   
**Alex, please accept this icon as a symbol of my love for you… Please know that I miss you. Would you like to go on a date with me tonight?**

**Cas at 8:27PM:**   
**Dean, the heart was meant for your sister. I sent it to you by mistake. Please send it back so that I can send it to her instead.**

**Cas at 8:28PM:**   
**Dean, send the heart back please.**

**Cas at 8:30PM:**   
**Dean, are you there?**

**Cas at 8:32PM:**   
**Dean, why are you not responding?**

**Cas at 8:35PM:**   
**Dean, are you ignoring me?**

At 8:36 when the girl Dean had been talking to got pulled away by friends, Dean glanced at his phone. Six unread messages? He pulled them up and frowned at them. _What the_ _…_ _?_

In front of him there was suddenly someone very close to him and in his personal space. "Hello, Dean." Startled, Dean almost dropped his phone. Cas squinted at the cell's bright screen sternly. "I see you received my text messages."

"Yeah, just saw all four thousand of them now," Dean said, cranky and moving out of Cas's space. "You trying to crash my phone or something Cas?" He then glanced the first text Cas had sent—it had a bright pink emoticon of a heart in it.

"Please, I hope you don't misunderstand," Cas said with way too much seriousness for the situation. "The heart image was not meant for you. Send it back to me."

"Send it _back_?" Dean had to chuckle at that point. And he thought _he_ was bad with technology. Cas was like the grandpa of grandpas when it came to gadgets. "All right, Cas, look, the thing about emoti-whatsits—"

A woman in a hot mini dress interrupted, eyes on Cas. She leaned in across the bar, clearly very interested. "Hello, handsome," she said, eyeing him unashamedly, flirtatiously. "I like your trench coat."

Cas seemed thrown off. "Uh… thank you," he said with a suspicious look on his face.

The woman wet her lips very slowly. Dean was beside himself. _You got to be kidding me. I_ _'_ _ve been trying all night to land a chick and Cas attracts this one in the first thirty seconds of being here?_ The woman contemplated Cas boldly. "You here with someone tonight?"

Cas was very clearly confused and seemed to be thinking perhaps there was something wrong with the woman. He gestured at Dean. "I'm… with him."

Dean's expression dropped flat and he wanted to facepalm. The woman's expression fell too and she looked a little disappointed. "Oh… sorry." She left quickly and Dean was shaking his head in utter chagrin.

"That was a strange interaction," Cas commented thoughtfully, then looked around at the very full bar briefly before looking back at Dean. "Where are Sam and Alex?"

Dean paused. "Wait, you know about Sam being upright?"

"Yes, Samandriel told me," Cas said, and his eyes were soft, earnest. "I'm very glad to hear your brother is coherent and well."

Samandriel. "Ah. Right." Alex had told Dean about him. "Heaven's _babysitter_." Dean nodded over at the booth where Sam had fallen asleep sitting up. "Sam's over there, asleep as usual." Cas frowned slightly at Dean's 'asleep as usual' comment. "After not sleeping for a year, guess it wears a guy out. Alex is…" Dean looked over at the stage area of the bar where a live band was covering classic rock sort of badly. They were currently performing _Pour Some Sugar On Me._ " _There_." Dean pointed her out to Cas. She was extremely shit-faced and dancing very drunkenly to the music, hands up in the air as she sang along at the top of her lungs with a strained look of concentration on her face. Dean shook his head at the funny and sort of embarrassing sight. "Very happy. And very drunk." He paused, eyes narrowing as he noticed a clearly-toasted prep guy sidling up to her. "And very being hit on by a loser."

Cas too seemed to go tense. "Hit on?" he asked, his worried gaze on Alex. "I don't see someone striking her."

Dean gave Cas a look. " _Hit on_ , you know— _flirting with_ , Cas." He was annoyed and about to march over there and tell the guy pestering his sister to take a hike but then he realized maybe he should be helping Cas wise up. A little grudging about it, Dean grabbed Cas by the shoulder and pointed with his free hand. "Okay, listen Cas. If you're gonna be her boyfriend, part of the duties are telling skeezeballs to scram."

Cas was listening closely but didn't seem to comprehend what he'd just been told. "Telling _who_ to _what?_ _"_

"You see that idiot jock over there?" Dean asked. "He's trying to put the moves on your girlfriend so go up to him and tell him to get lost or else." Cas's eyes squinted up and he nodded understanding. Just as he made to move forward, Alex pushed the guy bothering her away easily—he was so drunk that he just fell backwards with a loud crash. Alex threw back her head, laughed, almost fell backwards, then returned to her very uncoordinated dancing. Dean and Cas, on threat patrol, both stayed right where they were, watching the guy on the floor. He didn't move—probably passed out. Dean shrugged, glanced at Cas. "Ah. Never mind."

Alex looked back then, waved to Dean and subsequently spotted Cas, getting this excited look on her face. She almost fell over completely as she lurched their way. "Caaaaaas!" she squealed as she got within earshot. Dean had forgotten just _how_ sloppy of a drunk she was when she got this wasted.

Cas's eyes crinkled around the edges as a whispery smile pulled his lips upward a little. "Hello, Ale _—_ _ooff_!"

She basically jumped on him and took him by surprise, kissing him with a loud sound effect as her hands smashed either side of his face inward. " _Mmmm-waaaah!_ " she smacked loudly when she pulled away and grinned at him. "Whatreyou do-oooing here?" she asked, her facial expression exaggerated out of drunkenness. She stumbled back and grabbed one of his hands and swung his arm around in time to the music. Poor Cas was completely at a loss for how to respond. "Isn't this music _great_?!" Alex yelled too loudly then suddenly stopped and fanned herself with both hands. "Oh my god it's so _hot_ in here, am I right?!" She looked at Dean with a stupid _agree with me_ expression.

"Do you… feel all right?" Cas asked in genuine concern.

Alex remembered Cas again and grinned widely with heavy-lidded eyes, abruptly hugging him tight, falling over herself sloppily and smiling drunkenly as she shut her eyes. "I miss you, _mmm_ , you're so nice and muscle-y…"

Dean watched Cas's face as the guy tried to figure out the right way to respond to Alex's behavior. She made a contended _mmmm_ sound and nuzzled her face repeatedly against Cas's shoulder as Dean cleared his throat self-consciously. "I'm just gonna…" he jerked a thumb over his shoulder awkwardly, backing up a few steps.

"Hey, I gotta go to the store and buy some stuff!" Alex announced suddenly as she shot backwards from the hug, wide-eyed and determined and falling over slightly as she pulled on Cas. "Come with me!"

Cas appeared very uncertain. "Uh, all right—"

Alex grinned at Dean and waved. "Seeya later Deancakes!"

Dean made a face. "… _Deancakes_?"

"Like _pancakes_ , but made out of _Deans_!" Alex exclaimed, laughing like she'd just made the most unbelievably clever joke on earth.

Dean shook his head and watched as Alex dragged Cas out of the bar. " _Yikes_."

* * *

Out in the cool night air of early September, Alex held one of Cas's hands in both of hers as they walked down a sidewalk. He was steady and straight while she weaved and wobbled and pitched unevenly without predictability. "I feel like I'm on a cloud of happiness, only the cloud is the _earth_ and happiness is _real_ ," she announced. Cas didn't follow her meaning. Her words were raspy and slurred.

"I think you are very drunk," Cas said in veiled worry, looking at her sidelong.

Even if she _was_ very intoxicated, she was very happy about it. "Ha! Buddy I passed drunk a million miles ago," she said, leaning into him heavily and grinning up at him sleepily. "I am _haaaammered_." A hiccup suddenly jolted her entire body and then she burped then made a not-so-happy sound. She frowned at the sidewalk ahead as Cas watched her every change of expression closely. "I'm starting to forget how much I drank. Uh, _regret_ how much I dank. But it's okay!" She was grinning again. "My brother's back and I'm with my _family_ and my angel's gonna win the war and _oop!_ _"_ She tripped forward and would have fallen if not for Cas. She pointed at the sidewalk they'd just passed over, her expression oddly expressive to a dramatic degree. "There was a crack there."

"Yes," Cas said, smiling a little because even though he found her less easy to understand this way, her antics struck him as amusing and interesting. "There was a crack there."

Alex sighed and as they walked further on in search of a convenience store, she laid her head onto his shoulder, managing to match his stride a bit more steadily. They passed a mattress place and a video rental store as they walked hand in hand. A few other people were out, too. Even as Cas was thinking of how this was nice, Alex spoke up, echoing his unspoken thoughts. "What if this was us every day?" Her voice was warm with intoxicated contentedness. "Just, out on walks, together, doing regular stuff…" she snorted a laugh. "Me, drunk as a _skunk._ "

Cas frowned slightly. "I don't think skunks imbibe alcohol."

For some reason, that comment made her laugh so hard that her eyes squeezed shut and her body pitched forward to double over—Cas again had to make sure she didn't fall and he caught her with both hands, letting her laugh into his chest. This was very strange. He was glad she was laughing, but it was still very strange. When she gasped to a stop and drew back, mouth open wide in a woozy grin, her eyes rested on his for a long moment then circled and zig-zagged his face. "You look so pretty I can't think straight," she murmured, and leaned forward to kiss him, tripping over nothing (maybe her own feet) and face-planted into his chest again. She began to laugh again, then when she straightened she was confused. "…What were we doing?"

Increasingly amused by proxy, Cas wasn't sure what to make of her. "Going to the store to… 'buy some stuff,'" he said, using the phrasing she'd used when they first left the bar.

"Yes, right!" She pulled on him urgently, motioning ahead vaguely. "Come on, quit stopping, Cas."

"I'm not the one who…" he began, then realized maybe pointing it out would serve no gain. So instead, he directed the conversation elsewhere. "Did you receive the flowers I instructed Samandriel to give to you?"

She beamed at him. "I did… thank you, Cas, he's funny. Really funny," she said, giggling a little then ducking her head to bop him on the shoulder affectionately. "I liked the flowers but if they'd been delivered by _you_ I'da liked it better."

Cas felt a little pained. "I would have liked to be the one to gave them to you, of course. But as you know—"

"The _war,_ _"_ she cut him off with a sigh. "I knowwww, _ugh_. When will it be _over_ Cas?" She frowned petulantly at the ground, kicking at a root growing out of the sidewalk. "Hate it so hard."

"I know," Cas said, trying to disguise some of his darker feelings and thoughts. "So do I."

It didn't seem to matter. She wasn't very observant in this state and didn't see him swallow back the guilt and worry. The only thing she noticed was a gas station convenience store sign ahead, lit in neon. She grabbed his arm for emphasis. She quickened the pace.

"What things do you need to purchase?" Cas asked as they neared the entrance.

" _Woman_ things," she said meaningfully.

Cas squinted. What were women things? Perfume? Lotions? Hair products? That didn't seem to fit. "You don't _buy_ women things," he protested. 

"Aw Cas, you so _funnyyyy_ ," she said, ruffling his hair affectionately and leading the way into the store.

The bell above the door tinkled pleasantly as they entered. Right near the door there was a little basket of small flashlights on display and curious, Cas stopped, picked one up. "I've never seen one this small," he said, turning over the genius invention in his hand with fascination.

Alex's mouth dropped open, her eyes went wide, she pointed at him. " _That_ _'_ _s what she said!_ " she exclaimed very loudly and enthusiastically, then burst into enthusiastic gale-force laughter again.

Cas looked at her in concern. "Who? That's what who said?" No one else was near them or had said anything. Alex didn't answer, she was giggling and traipsing down an aisle unevenly. Cas followed her in confusion. She squinted, pointing at the colorful boxes she was looking at with a thoughtful frown. "I need the kind with the not-cardboard…" she muttered, turned around to glance at the aisle contents opposite of the boxes she had been looking at. "Oooh, Skittles!" She drifted to the other side of the aisle.

Cas however was looking at the boxes she'd been looking at. One of them had been opened and some of the contents had spilled out—shiny plastic tubes that were candy apple green. Cas picked one up and looked at it studiously, trying to determine its use. "What is the purpose of these tubes?" he asked, then sniffed the one he held. Was it some kind of confectionery item? A candy product? It smelled like nothing. If it was a food item, it was probably flavorless.

Alex turned, saw him sniffing it, and her eyes went saucer wide. "Cas, noooo!" She lurched over and swept it out of his hand and waggled the tube at him. "These are _tampons_ … you know… for periods?"

Cas tried to follow, but he didn't. "What do these have to do with the menstruation cycle?" Alex handed him a box, turned it around, and let him see the diagram on the back. Cas studied it for a moment and was subsequently surprised. " _Oh_." He looked at the tube she was still holding, trying to understand it fully. So, the woman inserted this item and it blocked and absorbed the blood flow. But that was the same place that… other things were inserted. He was very confused. "Do they… _stimulate_ you?" he asked earnestly.

Alex snorted and stifled a laugh, then held up the tampon with a very playful expression on her face. "Do you _see_ how big this is? _No_." She bit her lip. "You know what stimulates me…?" She leaned closer coyly. "Your _angel blade_." She chuckled throatily. His mouth fell open slightly and at his confounded expression Alex made a sound like _pffffbt_ as she batted the air. "That was a euphagasm, Cas. Er, _euphemism_." She cleared her throat and turned her attention back to the boxes, sighing in slight discomfort. "Ye-eeeep, Aunt Flow's on her way, I can feel it."

"How?" Cas asked, curious and watchful of her.

She looked at him with a dramatically pitiful look on her face. "I'm really sore… here." Without notice she grabbed one of his hands, put it on one of her breasts, and squeezed twice. "Honk honk!"

The gas station cashier was looking at them oddly and Cas was growing a little flustered. "Uh… I don't think…" he started, self-conscious to be standing in public with his hand on her like that.

Alex let go and looked at him meaningfully. "I'm not on it _yet_ , though…"

Unsure of what she was trying to convey, Cas decided to try and get back to the subject of the text he'd been trying to send her earlier. "I have some money in my pockets," he said. "I was hoping to take you on some kind of date."

She didn't seem to have heard what he said. "You look so good right now…" she said, smiling dreamily.

"Thank you," Cas said, trying to keep the conversation centered. "Would you like to go to a restaurant, perhaps?"

She looked off as if she were imagining something pleasing. "The date I wanna go on is in _bed_."

Cas's eyes crimped up a little. "In bed? Do you mean at the mattress store we passed on the way here? What would we do there? Do many dates traditionally transpire at furniture stores?" 

Alex was laughing again, a hand against the shelf to support herself. " _Caaas_ …" she appealed. "I'm trying to get you to have _sex_ with me," she said, biting her lip and laughing in a messy, unmeasured way. "Drunk, happy sex," she then chuckled deep in her throat and reached out, taking him by the tie. " _Mhhmmhmm._ "

Cas's eyebrows rose fractionally and he felt mildly embarrassed at missing her meaning. "Oh."

She seemed very sure of what she wanted. "I'm too drunk to care if I'm embarrassing myself or not," she said, then looked at him with dark, sultry eyes. "Whatcha think?" She drifted a little closer, close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating from her body into his.

"Well... I _do_ believe that I still 'owe you,'" he said softly, taking her back to that morning in the attic where she'd given him pleasure and taken none for herself. 

At his words, her smile fell in favor of a ravenous gaze. "Wow, forget these," Alex said, tossing the box of tampons over her shoulder and jumping onto Cas, knocking him back into the rickety shelves behind them.

With a crash, products went scattering all over the shiny floor. When the gas station employee looked up at the sound of the ruckus, the man in the trench coat and the obviously drunk girl had vanished into thin air.

* * *

Sam yawned and shut the door of the car behind himself, heading straight for the motel room. He'd fallen asleep in the bar after eating. Why was he so _tired_? There seemed to be no telling. Dean shrugged it off. So Sam tried not to worry about it too much either. He stopped at the motel room door and realized he didn't have the key then waited on Dean, blinking sleepily the entire time. And that's when he heard a very peculiar sound from inside the motel room. His sister giggling then gasping against the unmistakably deep and low sound of Cas's voice. But Cas wasn't _talking_.

 _Holy shit._ Sam snapped fully awake, looking back at Dean who was approaching unawares. Panicking, Sam hurried forward to block his older brother's way. At the sudden roadblock, Dean looked at him impatiently and questioningly. Dean was tired, too. Sam scrambled for a fib. "I just remembered that I forgot… uh… the, my, uh… _burgers!_ _"_ He was overdoing it on the enthusiasm and tried to dial it down. "You want a burger? Let's go get some food."

Dean shook his head wearily then tried to move past him. "We just ate, come on man, I'm tired."

Sam stopped him again, getting more alarmed as they got closer to the motel room where Dean would start to hear those very, very awkward sex noises. "No, uh, wait—well uh, Alex texted me," Sam said. Dean waited, giving Sam a weird look. Sam said the first thing he could think of. "And, and, uh, she's sick in there."

Sam kicked himself the second he said that—wrong thing to say. Dean got worried. "Sick?" He made to move past Sam again and Sam stopped him again.

" _Sick_ … of us, I mean!" He hedged weakly. "She, she said she wanted some alone time." Dean wasn't buying it—in fact, he was now a thousand percent suspicious and Sam held his hands out to Dean in a placating way. He was just going to have to come out and tell the truth. "Okay, look Dean, Alex is a grown woman, right?" Sam asked, not sure how good this could go. 

Dean's eyes narrowed slightly. " _Right_ …"

Sam was deliberate and serious. "I need you to not freak out." He paused nervously, bracing himself. "She and Cas are… in there. _Together._ "

Instead of a look of utter shocked rage or disbelief, Dean looked like the air had been let out of his balloon. He was only _annoyed._ Sam was taken aback. Dean had thrown the hissy fit of the century when he'd seen Cas and Alex _kiss_ last he remembered. And now? Dean just threw a hand out and rolled his eyes as he made an exasperated face. " _Ugh_. Well… that's just _great_." He promptly turned around and headed back for the Impala.

"…Where are you going?" Sam asked, confused. Where was the rage and crazy reaction?

"Well I'm not just gonna stand on the _sidewalk_ while we wait," Dean retorted in a snap, then yanked his door open and got in. Sam followed, mystified. He must have missed a hell of a lot this past year.

They sat in the car for a few minutes silently then Sam shook his head, smiling down into his lap as it suddenly hit him. Beside him, Dean was peevish. "What's so funny?"

Sam shrugged, still smiling as he thought about it. "Just... she and I had to do this more than a few times. Twiddle our thumbs in the Impala while you and your flavor of the week went at it."

That got the smallest of smiles from Dean. "Huh. Yeah, I remember a couple times she and I had to wait on you, too." 

"Full circle," Sam commented. 

For a minute, they were quiet. "So what you think, we give them like fifteen minutes or what?" Dean asked. He was clearly ready to go to sleep.

Sam snorted. "Fifteen _minutes_? The guy's an angel. We might be out here all _night._ "

Dean looked like he'd never heard anything more eye-roll worthy. "You got your gun?"

Sam hesitated, suspicious. "Yeah… why?"

"I need you to shoot me," Dean retorted, then made a gun with his fingers. "Gun, mouth, _now._ "

"Right." Sam laughed. After a second he looked at his older brother curiously. Dean's openness to discussing and tolerating the subject was surprising—because Dean had been hellbent on Cas not even _kissing_ Alex and now they were sitting here in the car waiting for Cas and Alex to finish having sex. How times had changed and Sam was scratching his proverbial head. He needed to know what changed. "But, okay, seriously—you're being pretty, I dunno, calm right now. Why aren't you freaking out more about this?"

Dean scoffed. "Shut up."

"No, I'm serious, Dean," Sam said. "Last I remember, you were kind of a big time dick to Cas. You were dead set to make sure they never got together." He watched Dean closely. "What happened to change your mind? What'd I miss?"

"Ah. I dunno," Dean said, looking out of the windshield with a terse look on his face. "Things really got put in perspective, me and her living apart a year."

Sam was quiet for a minute, sobered by that thought. "Still can't believe that."

Dean's expression flickered. "Me either."

At his brother's continued silence, Sam gestured vaguely and faintly with his hands. "You two ever gonna tell me more about what happened, or…?"

Mild irritation showed in Dean's face and he sent Sam a clouded look. "I already told you everything, Sam."

Sam struggled against frustration—he didn't _want_ to start drama as soon as he was out of the ground and back from Hell but he had this _feeling_ that wouldn't go away. Like his siblings were keeping something from him. It didn't help that he couldn't really remember his time being possessed by Lucifer, either. It was all so garbled and mixed up in his mind. Everything felt garbled, but Sam chalked it up to everything that had happened. Still, he had noticed something that really bothered him and he wasn't gonna let it go. "Why you two giving me the silent treatment whenever I ask about the past year?" He asked earnestly, looking at his big brother in apprehension.

Dean pulled in a deep breath and looked down at his lap, taking a long moment to answer. "Just, uh—we fought, Sam. It was… the worst fight I ever had with her. I was stupid. Ran her off, gave her a kick outta the door when she went, basically." He smiled humorlessly and sent Sam a lifeless glance. "Sound like someone else you know?" Dad. He meant Dad. Sam softened a little and Dean threw a hand up as he spoke to the air in front of himself. "Anyway. She went off and did her own thing, I went and did mine. That's it. What more's there to say?"

Sam was quiet and thoughtful. "She hunted this past year, right?"

Dean's jaw tensed briefly. "Yeah, uh yeah, she did. With a couple other hunters who aren't around anymore." He cracked a self-deprecating smile. "And I lived with Lisa and Ben. Until I didn't. Real riveting stuff, right?"

Sam could sense a lot of pain around that subject and studied his brother's profile in concern. "What happened with Lisa, man?"

That question seemed to rub Dean the wrong way and shut him down. "Let's just say irreconcilable differences, huh, Sammy?" Dean glanced at his watch cagily then growled slightly under his breath. "Geez, it's only been like five minutes. We should just get another _room_." He folded his arms and hunkered down into his seat, thinking a minute. "Cas and Alex, man. The ship that won't sink, right?" It was almost like he was talking to himself. "I don't get it. He's weird." He looked at Sam for support. "He's _weird,_ right?"

Sam shrugged. "Uh… kinda, I guess. I dunno. But so is she. And so are _we,_ to be honest." He chuckled ruefully, rubbing his hand across his mouth briefly. "At least they've stuck together, you know? I mean if they've been together for like, what—more or less two years now—that's better than either of _us_ have ever done." The point he made clearly made Dean think for a second.

"Yeah, I guess," Dean answered, deep in self-examination. Without warning, he opened up to Sam with true, vast worry. "But… I mean am I _really_ so insane to be worried, Sam? I'm still not a hundred percent on him and her. I'm just not. He's not a human and doesn't really know how to be one… means well, yeah, but... I just get this feeling sometimes Sam. Like, just… a bad feeling."

Sam smiled a little. "I think that's called being a big brother, Dean," he reasoned. "It's natural to feel worried about your sister."

Dean looked unenthused. " _You_ don't seem to have an issue with them."

"I mean, I try and keep an open mind, I guess," Sam said, then thought for a minute. "I worry sometimes too," he admitted. "I worry a lot, actually—it's just what brothers do, you know? But every time I've seen them together, it seems like they just really get each other. And that's what Alex always needed. Someone who sees her for who she is and can just understand her without having to really try. For whatever reason, that's Cas." Sam quickly edited himself: "I'm not saying I don't see them having problems or issues, but who _doesn't_?"

Dean shook his head, frowning into middle distance. "I'm not talking about problems and issues. I'm talking about him being dangerous."

Sam was taken aback at that. "Cas? Dangerous?" Dean gave him a silent look and Sam scoffed through a confused expression. "This is _Cas_ you're talking about—he's been on our side since Lilith, since Lucifer. He gave everything for us. I mean, we've both seen the lengths he'll go to for her. Can you seriously ever imagine him hurting her? No way." Dean was quiet and grudgingly chastened. Sam gave his brother an understanding look. "I know I haven't even seen them together since before I, you know—died—but you should give them more credit, Dean. Both of them. I mean, we all had to start somewhere, right?"

Dean sent Sam a churlish look. "Yeah sure Doctor Phil."

Sam laughed again—same grumpy-old-man Dean. But the marked development and acceptance Dean was showing in this whole Cas and Alex area was pretty damn impressive. Sam was proud of him. "Dean, I gotta say—" he started.

Dean cut him off with a pointed look, already knowing where Sam was going. "Say you're proud of me and I'll punch you in the face."

Sam backed off, chuckling to himself, and held his hands up in mock surrender.

They waited an hour then Sam went to the motel room door very cautiously, edging closer and listening in trepidation. Dean watched and when Sam flinched, made a face, and hurried back to the car shaking his head, Dean threw his hands up, complaining about how long this could possibly last for. Thirty minutes later, Sam checked again and it was all-clear and silent that time, but when he came to the car, he stopped Dean from getting out. "Let's wait like fifteen more."

Dean, who was tired and ready to sleep, made a face. "What _for_?"

Sam looked slightly embarrassed. "They… might be cuddling."

Dean rolled his eyes and sighed with disgust as he propped an elbow up against the car windowsill and rubbed his face. "Such a dweeb, Sam."

After fifteen minutes more, they went and knocked on the door, cautiously entering a dark motel room. Alex was alone in there and sprawled on a bed wearing some of Dean's gym shorts and a backwards t-shirt. Dean tried to turn a light on but nothing happened.

"Happened to the lights?" he asked in a mutter, pulling a flashlight out and peering around. Every single light in the room had shattered. The TV was busted, too.

"Hmmm?" Alex asked, sitting up and looking around at nothing in particular with a vapid, dreamy look on her face.

"Yeah, _hi_ ," Dean said, switching off the flashlight and looking around—he could see okay because of bright moonlight. "He still here?"

Sam was giving Dean a skeptical look from a few steps off as he tugged his jacket off. Alex sighed and flopped back onto the bed and stared at the ceiling. "Mmmope. All gone." She sounded sad when she spoke next. "Had to go back to the _war_. Frickin' hate that thing."

Dean squinted at her through the darkness. "Shirt's backwards."

She was smirking. "Putting on clothes is _hard._ "

"Yeah, cry me a river," Dean retorted. "Okay, so which bed's safe to sleep on? Which one did you not… do stuff on?" He looked around the room nervously like he might catch a disease.

"Heh heh, this whole _room_ _'_ _s_ not safe," Alex said, then laughed.

Dean wasn't in the mood. "Not funny, Al!"

" _I_ _'_ _m_ lagging," she said, rolling over a couple times in an effort to stand up off the bed. "Laughinging…ing." She pushed herself up off the bed and reached for Dean, squeezing his cheek affectionately. "Oh you guys I love Cas so mu-uuuuuch… really. I'm galled you are nice now to him and me… and I loveyouguys… really a lot, okay? You know that? You beliebe me?"

"Did you drink more?" Dean asked, astounded she could stand at this point.

"Uh, no?" Alex said, clearly a lie. She fell towards Sam and then embraced him tightly. "Aw, Sammy…" she said, patting his back and rubbing her face against his chest affectionately. Sam was uncertain of the affection, half smiling and half frowning. "I'm glad you're not a fuckin' crazyass bastard anymore."

Sam's weirded out expression deepened. "Uh, what?"

"She's drunk, man," Dean said a little too forcefully. "Must be the booze talking." He caught Alex by the arm and pulled her away. "Come on, you should probably sleep now."

Alex grinned at Dean. "You wore Rhonda Hurley's pink panties and liked it, haaahahaha!"

Dean balked, then looked at Sam as if to prove his point. "Yeah, see, _that_ _'_ _s_ not true."

Sam had a smirk on his face. " _Really_."

Dean was indignant. "Yes, really!"

* * *

**The Next Day**   
**Portland, Oregon**

Once the Winchesters arrived to Portland they played FBI, questioned the missing girl Penny's sister—Penny was the one who had disappeared out of the airplane. After they did that, Dean had the twins set up shop in another motel room. Alex, nursing a hangover and a headache, stayed with Sam while Dean went to get burgers. Her hangover was, if nothing else, at least a good excuse for not having much to say to Sam.

Alex was trying to remember last night and could only remember parts. A few disjointed sexy memories of Cas remained—she definitely remembered him holding her afterwards and whispering sweet nothings, stroking her hair, kissing her forehead. She wished she hadn't gotten so drunk because she couldn't remember _what_ he'd said or what exactly they'd done. She strained her mind, remembering giggling nonstop and trying dirty talk and she thought it had probably turned out all wrong—had she said things to him about his 'angel blade'? She thought maybe she remembered going down on him too, but there was no telling what things were actual memories and what things were just imaginings of her mind. Alcohol had addled her brain and memories and _ughhhh_ her head hurt so bad.

"You okay over there?" Sam asked as she cradled her head in a hand.

"I'm never drinking ever again," she complained ruefully.

"Never heard _that_ one before," Sam teased, sending her a playful lopsided grin over the top of the laptop. She returned the smile, a little mortified at herself. Apparently it had been pretty epic last night, the things she'd done and said. 

The door to the motel opened and in came Dean. "Hey," Sam greeted as Dean carried in a bag of food and a drink carrier plus a bottle of Aspirin.

"What do you got?" Dean asked, setting the food down on the table where Sam was set up then tossing the Aspirin Alex's way. She caught the bottle as Dean pulled her drink out of the carrier.

"Uh… well, looks like those other two missing girls both baked _cookies_ for the _lord_ ," Sam said sort of skeptically.

Dean, handing Alex her soda, made a face and gave Sam a look. "What is that? _Code_?"

"No," Sam said, explaining patiently. "Church choir, bake sales, promise-ring clubs—the works. They were good girls. But Penny wasn't even a Christian, so—"

"I have another theory," Dean said, whipping out a book from his suit jacket. "Penny's diary.

Sam looked faintly shocked. "Did you… steal that from her _room_?"

Dean cracked a smile that seemed genuinely touched. "I love that you even asked me that," he said.

Sam frowned a little. "And why wouldn't I?"

Dean paused, caught, then shook his head. "No reason. So, girl-nappings. What if it's not about religion, what if it's about purity?"

"Purity?" Alex asked, immediately skeptical.

Dean looked at her and shrugged. "Yeah, you know. _Purity._ _"_

That was funny. "You sound like such an old fogey right now," she ribbed.

Sam was making a confused face. "You're saying you think they're all—"

"Virgins, Sam. _Virgins_."

Sam looked highly doubtful. "Penny was twenty-two," he said, and Dean sat down across from Sam, shrugging.

"Not everyone loses it when they're a teenager, Sam." 

Alex made a face. Nope. They sure didn't. 

Sam was a little uncomfortable. "Point taken but come on."

Dean pulled out the diary and paged through then read from it dramatically in a soft, sweet voice. "'I've decided I'm going to give Stan my most precious gift.'" He looked at Sam meaningfully.

Sam had a weird look on his face. "Wow, that sounded really creepy coming out of your mouth."

Dean didn't miss a beat and humbly inclined his head. "I think I delivered it."

Alex sat down at the third chair between the boys. "I think you _should_ give Stan your most precious gift, Dean," she said, giving him a snarky little smile.

Dean made sneering little fake laughing noises— _hee hee hee_ —then gave her a wan look. She only smiled a little bigger, pulling the bag of food over and digging around.

"Okay, let's say that's the profile," Sam said, going with the theory. "Who would want virgins?"

Dean seized the opportunity to be a wise-ass. "You got me. I prefer ladies with _experience_." He gave Sam a smile and an eyebrow waggle.

Sam, forever out to harsh Dean's mellow, just gave his brother a look. "Not what I meant, Dean."

"Okay, who would want virgins," Dean repeated, thinking over the question. "Uh, angels?" At that comment, Sam _and_ Alex both gave their brother _are you kidding right now_ looks. Dean was impressed at the display. "Wow, bitch face times two," he said, grinning at each of them in turn. "I've missed that."

* * *

The next day the Winchesters got a new lead when they caught wind of a girl who was attacked the previous night. The three of them went to see her in their FBI best. Melissa, hospitalized for deep clawed cuts across her back, claimed to have been attacked by something that looked like a giant bat. It took her solid gold promise ring—Dean came out and asked her if she should have been wearing the ring at all and she had been stunned then gotten incensed, saying: "Matt Barne didn't count!" 

As the three of them left the hospital, they tossed theories back and forth. "So, what, you think Bat-man tried to rape her?" Sam asked as they headed for the parking lot.

"Whoa, Sam, easy on that word," Dean said abruptly, looking at Sam like he'd just been personally offended.

Sam was confused. "What, rape?"

"Just—shut it," Dean said without explanation. Behind them, Alex's face said it all, but Sam didn't see. "Look, the monster or whatever rejected her because she was already dehymenated."

Sam made a face. "You think?"

"You got another theory?" Dean retorted.

"Not really," Sam said, admitting his brother's point. "So, what kind of monster likes virgins and gold?"

"P. Diddy?" Dean wisecracked.

"You know, it's comforting," Sam said.

"What's that?" Dean asked.

Sam had a smile playing on his lips. "I died for a year, came back, and you're _still_ not funny."

"Shut up," Dean replied, grinning. "I'm hilarious."

They arrived at the car and Sam caught sight of Alex's face as she opened the back door. He paused, frowning, alerted to the fact that something was bothering her. "You okay, Alex?" Sam asked.

The question caught Dean's attention too and he looked at their sister sharply over the top of the car.

The youngest Winchester just shook her head, shrugged, and brushed it off. "Yeah, fine."

Sam looked at Dean, who had this _look_ on his face like he knew something. Before Sam could study it any further, Dean wiped his face blank and was getting into the car.

* * *

A few hours later the Winchesters were working on a pretty solid theory: dragons. They hoarded gold and kidnapped virgins—so those two markers met the profile. Only issue was dragons weren't _real_ or not at least from any source they could find. Dean called Bobby up when Sam suggested dragons and Bobby had basically shot down the theory.

Sam had asked to see Dad's journal and Alex had handed it over. As Sam paged through, Dean was on the laptop and balefully scrolling through news sites. Alex was making a tedious pen-and-paper cross-reference compilation on all the information they had on the victims so far, searching for any other similarities or connections. So far, nothing.

Dean suddenly sighed and shut the laptop, studying Sam who was sitting on the corner of a bed, engrossed in the journal. "Dad never wrote anything about dragons," he said. "I promise. I'd remember if I read The Neverending Story in there."

Sam paused, frowning. He looked up with a mildly confused expression. "Hey, did we hunt a skinwalker lately? Like, before the apocalypse stuff happened?"

Dean hesitated and glanced at Alex briefly. She knew they _had_ hunted a skinwalker… a month or so ago when Sam had been soulless. Dean lied. "Doesn't ring a bell. Why?"

Sam looked mildly disappointed. "I don't know. Just… déjà vu or something," he said, then shook his head, forehead crinkling in thought. "Are you sure? I could have _sworn_ —"

"You got to remember, your eggs are still a little scrambled, right?" Dean pointed out, trying to sound nonchalant.

Sam didn't look convinced—he looked stressed out and confounded but he nodded, trying to brush aside his instincts. "All right. Yeah. Never mind."

Dean and Alex exchanged another dark glance. At that moment Dean's phone rang and he pulled it out, glanced at the screen, answered. "Hey, Bobby. What do you got?" There was a long pause. "Dr. Visyak, S.F.U. Got it. Thanks. All right. Great. Yeah. Bye." He hung up and stood.

"What was that?" Alex asked, watching curiously.

"A lead," Dean said, picking up some of his stuff—jacket, bag. "Maybe."

"Where you going?" she asked.

"San Fran to figure out how to kill these suckers. Bobby said this lady might be on the up-and-up with dragon stuff," Dean said, looking at her in a gauging way. "You two hang here, keep the research train rolling, figure out where they are, capiche?" He looked at her for confirmation and Alex nodded. That was fine with her. She couldn't run from answering Sam's questions forever. She'd have to get used to keeping things from him.

"Wait," Sam said, looking up from Dad's journal. "Did Bobby say where they like to park?"

"Nope," Dean said, shaking his head and shrugging.

"Great," Sam commented tiredly. "Back to the lore."

"Hey, two heads are better than one," Dean pointed out. "You two'll kill it in no time. Where's the lore say they live, anyway? Middle-Earth?"

Sam shook his head. "Caves."

Dean made a bit of a face. "You're such a nerd," he said, then turned and headed for the door.

"You're the one who just made the Tolkien reference," Alex said innocently.

" _Ooh_ —" Sam made a hissing sound. "Burn."

Dean paused at the door and looked back at them. "Well stick me in the fire and call me a marshmallow," he said, accepting the burn. His smile reached his eyes. "Call me if you need me, kids," he said, then left. After the door shut, the room was quiet again for a minute and Alex got up and returned to studying the map with photos Dean had pinned to the wall. Standing like that put her back to Sam. 

"He hasn't changed," Sam said after a minute.

She didn't pause or turn to look back at him, just agreed with him. "Not really."

There was a long pause. "You seem kinda different though."

That quiet observation stilled her and Alex took a second to try and make herself sound as casual as possible. "How so?"

"I dunno." Sam sounded pretty contemplative and concerned. "I mean, are you okay? Is… is something going on?"

Alex turned around and played it like she didn't know what he was talking about. "What would be going on?"

It was hard because he looked so very lost and confused and in need of answers and comfort. He could tell something was off. She knew he could. And he said so then, too. "Something just seems off… you, Dean, Bobby… it feels like there's something no one's telling me."

 _Can_ _'_ _t tell him. It might break the wall. It might destroy him._ Alex tried to find some kind of excuse that he'd believe. "I mean, it was a crazy year. A lot happened to us. And having you back is… overwhelming, kind of." Sam looked like he was considering becoming upset and Alex hurried to correct herself. "In a good way."

Sam closed Dad's journal slowly, purposefully, looked down at it with a tense jaw. "What aren't you telling me, Alex?" he asked, then looked at her plaintively.

Why did he have to be so insightful? "You're seeing something that's not there," she lied, trying to sound comforting. "If there was something you should know, I would tell you," she assured, dismayed at how easily the lies rolled off her tongue. "Let's just figure out this job, okay?"

Sam wasn't convinced and they both knew it but he let it go. "Yeah. So. Dragons." He stood up and came to stand beside her and look at the map on the wall. She joined him in studying it. "Where the hell would they be? Caves, but there's nothing around for miles." Sam squinted in thought. "You think the dragons swoop in on this town then take their victims twenty miles away, maybe?"

Alex acknowledged the theory with the shrug of a shoulder. "Possible. Or maybe caves are faux pax these days—maybe dragons use subway tunnels? Sewers, boarded up old buildings?"

Sam circled back to the table where some city blueprints they'd gotten yesterday were laid out. "No subway lines here," he said thoughtfully. "So it's sewers or maybe old buildings." He stared down hard at the blueprints then shook his head. "…Dean said you guys fought before you split up," he said. He wasn't going to be able to let it go, was he? Alex steeled her nerves. Sam was giving her the puppydog eyes. "What _happened_ this year?" he asked in a pained voice. "I _never_ thought you guys would break apart like that in a million years. I mean, I know me and you did, but—you and _Dean_?"

She could be honest about this, at least in part. Still, she considered her words carefully. "The thing about Dean is that as long as he's got you or me to hold onto, he'll never reach out for anything else." It was hard to know how to feel about that. On one hand, Dean deserved a real, normal life. On the other hand, he didn't seem to be cut out for it or to enjoy it when he had it. Alex shrugged, trying to explain without going into too much detail. "So, I dunno. I pushed him away. I thought he wanted a normal life. But maybe not."

"How long were you _alone_ out there?" Sam asked, voice soft and filled with the kind of care and concern she hadn't heard from him in a long, long time.

The year she'd struggled through flashed across her mind and the mostly unpleasant nature of it turned her stomach. "Awhile. Met some people. Some good. Some bad."

Sam was utterly bemused. "And Cas, he was with you, right?"

"No." Alex looked down. It still hurt to think about this even though it was over. "He disappeared without a word for a year, pretty much."

" _What_?" Sam looked like he hadn't heard right. "A _year_?"

"Yeah," Alex said, explaining factually—it was easier to do that than talk about feelings. "There's a war in Heaven now. Some angels are trying to restart the apocalypse and Cas wasn't about to let that happen. So… it's him against the last archangel. Raphael."

Sam was focused on something else. "And what, Cas couldn't tell you where he was that whole time?" he demanded sort of insolently, like he was pissed on her behalf. That was sweet and brought a sad smile to her face.

"No. The threats against me were too big, apparently. And the angels Cas sent with messages for me? They never delivered the messages. So, Cas thought I knew."

Sam took a couple seconds, thinking it through, processing. "Wow. That… _sucks._ " He nodded tensely, digesting, then he sought her gaze. "But obviously you two are… kosher now," he said, making a little bit of a face as he silently implied last night. Alex awkwardly smiled, shrugged. _Yup_. Sam looked at her with a mixture of doubtfulness and intense questioning. "He treats you right? Looks out for you?"

More than she could say, really. She nodded, self-conscious, fingers absently brushing against her penny out of nervous energy. "Yeah. He does." She cleared her throat and nodded her head toward the door. "Listen, I'm gonna go see about getting us some dinner and finding some better topography maps at the library or courthouse. Maybe there _are_ caves in Portland." She grinned, dismissing the more serious conversation.

Sam nodded agreeably. "You want me to come with?"

"Nah, it's all within walking distance. You stay here and keep digging," she said then paused. "Unless you _wanna_ come along?"

Sam hesitated then smiled, shook his head. "Yeah, you know, I might take a shower. You go ahead. Got your phone?"

She turned around at the door. "Always." She wished she could tell him how glad she was just for that question about her phone—he hadn't cared about her at all for a year and now he was making sure he could get in touch with her, asking her about Cas. She couldn't tell him any of it. Instead she just gave him a smile and then headed out the door.

When she left, Sam took a couple seconds. Something was wrong. He _knew_ something was off but they weren't telling him _what_. Instead of demanding an answer, he decided to get creative. He shut his eyes and blew out a nervous breath of air. "Castiel, um… I'm back. So, if you got a minute…" he opened his eyes, peeked around. Nothing. He looked behind himself, then heard the softest sound in the front of the room and quickly looked back. Cas stood there, just as Sam remembered: stern, trench-coat wearing, and deeply introspective looking.

"Sam," Cas greeted, his face softening. "It's so good to see you alive."

"Yeah," Sam said, remembering pretty clearly the moment when his hand had forced Alex's to drive an angel blade through Cas's heart. He swallowed, suddenly a little more emotional than he meant to be. "You too."

Of all the things to happen then, Sam hadn't expected this: Cas walked forward to Sam, his arms out in an attempt to _hug_ him. Panicking, Sam dodged the hug by sitting down. 

Rejected, Cas faltered, arms freezing momentarily.

Sam was embarrassed. "Um… look, I-I would hug you, but—"

Cas retracted his arms. "—it would be awkward," he supplied, seeming to understand.

Sam didn't think he _did._ Without meaning to, he was remembering what noises he'd heard Cas making last night however briefly _. Awkward_ wasn't quite a big enough word for it. "Sorry, man, just uh… um… was a crazy year, huh?"

"Frankly, I'm surprised that you survived," Cas said. He'd walked off a few steps to make Sam more comfortable. "I was begging Dean not to do it."

Do what? The deal with Death that Sam knew next to nothing about? Sam tried to look agreeable, like he knew exactly what Cas was talking about. "Yeah. No, I-I-I can understand that."

"You know it's a miracle it didn't kill you," Cas said grimly.

 _Jesus Christ, Dean, what did you do?_ Sam just nodded slowly, outwardly agreeable and inwardly getting more and more afraid of what he was about to find out. "Yeah. Yeah, it's a miracle, all right."

"So how does it feel?" Cas asked softly, looking at Sam inquisitively.

"…How does it feel?" Sam repeated, totally clueless as to what Cas was talking about.

Cas frowned deeply. "Well to have your soul back, of course," he said.

Sam's heart dropped and his stomach turned. _To have my soul back? But that means_ …

Sam had to force his horror away to act nonchalant. "Right," he said weakly. "Y-you mean 'cause I was walking around with no soul." He swallowed, not even sure what that meant. What did it even mean to be soulless? No wonder Dean and Alex were acting so weird around him.

Cas wanted to know 'how it felt' to have his soul back and Sam had no idea, but he needed answers. So, he pretended he already knew everything. "Uh... it feels really good, Cas. I'm real good. You know what? I'm—I'm just hazy on a few of the details, though, it got kinda jumbled and uh… um... you think maybe you could… walk me through?" Sam was lying before he could stop himself. He just _needed_ to know. "Dean and Alex said you'd explain it best and uh, I was just really hoping you had a few minutes to clear it up for me."

Compassion and deeply genuine care rested on Cas's face. "Of course, Sam," he said, seeming to be touched by the thought that Dean and Alex had both suggested he would be best for something. Sam hated that it was a lie, but what could he do? Cas's expression grew somber as he crossed the room to come closer to Sam. He sat on the bed near to Sam and leaned over his knees, clasped his hands together, and thought deeply for a moment as he looked down.

Sam swallowed his dread. It was like Cas about about to give him bad news, and Sam didn't know how bad it'd get—he hoped he was overreacting. He hoped it wasn't as bad as his instincts seemed to suspect. Cas looked Sam in the eye, serious and grave. "Well, Sam, I supposed the best place to begin is… the beginning."

* * *

When Alex got back to the motel an hour after she'd left, she breezed in, grocery store bag in hand. She plopped it down onto the table, distracted with her keys. "Hey Sam, you want some—" she stopped mid-sentence. Her twin was sitting on the end of one of the beds, leaned over his knees and staring at the floor between his feet with a miserable, sick expression on his face. Immediately knowing something was wrong, Alex stilled as her alarm level jumped a few notches. "What's wrong?" 

Sam shook his head, not looking at her. His face was working overtime, struggling hard. "I am… so, _so_ sorry," he said in a voice that was broken and just above a whisper. "For the things I did and _didn_ _'_ _t_ do this year."

 _Oh my god._ Alex stood there panicking, not sure what to do. Maybe he was talking about something else, something other than what she thought he was. "…What are you talking about, Sam?" she asked in cautious dread.

He looked up at her and the pain on his face was unmistakable. He looked heartbroken, guilty, confused. "We both know _exactly_ what I'm talking about," he said in a breathy whisper. His eyes glittered with tears.

 _How did he suddenly know?_ Alex took a couple steps closer. "You… remembered?" she asked carefully.

Sam let out a soft derisive laugh, sniffed, and dragged a hand down over his face. "Not really. I, uh, I called Cas while you were gone. Sorta… got the full story from him."

Swallowing, she felt herself getting physically woozy from the shock and fear. "How full?"

"All of it. _Everything._ " Her first thought was to comfort him and let him know it was okay and she attempted to approach him but Sam stood up, backed away from her. "How can you even _look_ at me?" he asked almost accusingly. "After I tried to _kill_ you? After I let you and Dean get turned to _vampires_? I mean, how can you even wanna be in the same _room_ with me?" 

_Oh Sam_ _—_ her carefully hidden emotions began to near the surface as he fell apart in front of her. "Because the guy that did those things wasn't _you,_ " she said, meaning ever word.

"But that _was_ me," he replied vehemently, dismayed. "I wasn't possessed, I wasn't brainwashed… it was _me_. Just, without empathy and without a soul."

Shaken up and getting worried about where this conversation would go or lead, Alex put her hands onto her forehead for a brief moment. "We're not supposed to _talk_ about this," she said, voice strained with worry. "Cas shouldn't have _told_ you." She made a soft sound of self-loathing, a soft growl in her throat. "But he didn't know that." Because she'd been too trashed to apparently talk about anything of importance to him last night.

"Why?" Sam asked, emotional and upset. "Why am I not supposed to know I was walking around for a _year_ without a _soul_?" 

"Because that whole year, your soul was in the cage being _flayed!_ _"_ Alex said, wetting her lips in frantic dismay as she tried to make him understand. "Death put a wall in your mind to protect you from the things you don't remember—and Dean said it could _kill_ you if you remember too much."

"Well, I'm fine," Sam said, not seeming too happy about the fact. "I still don't _remember_ anything. All I know is what Cas told me." He shut his eyes briefly, getting more upset, but at a quiet level, an unsettling level. "Alex…" he swallowed, opened his eyes, looked at her with the saddest, most anxious gaze he possessed. "Cas told me… he said…"

Her blood felt cold with dread. "…What?"

Sam shook his head again and his jaw worked, his voice was unsteady. "Y-you and the demon blood." Sledgehammer to the stomach, that reminder. But Sam wasn't done. His voice trembled with growing soft anger. "You and…" he shook his head with a certain cold fury in his eyes as his nostrils flared and his eyes burned into the floor. "I don't even wanna say his name."

The air evaporated out of the room and Alex fought to stay composed. She couldn't go through this again. "Don't," she said quietly, trying not to remember blond hair and cruel hands and harsh gray eyes. "Please."

Sam looked at her in utter horrified disbelief. "So it's _true_?" he asked, breaking her heart again with that look on his face.

Alex forced a shrug, hating this subject and wanting to forget it, erase it, never think of it ever again. "Yeah." She kept her voice tough but Sam was making it so _hard_ to stay emotionally solid at this point as he kept looking at her with such a wounded, sad expression. She tried to brush it off, she tried not to care anymore, even as emotion boiled under the surface. "It's over. It's okay."

Sam shook his head emphatically, twice, his jaw squared. "Someone _hurt_ my sister," he said in a voice that shook with the rawest and deepest emotion. "That will _never_ be okay." 

The way he said it broke her. " _Sam_ —" she choked out, trying to say something to make this whole thing stop, to make him stop looking at her like that. But it was like the incoming tide. No one could stop it.

When she broke down, Sam did too, just like when they were little kids and had resonated off each other, crying when the other cried, laughing when the other laughed. When she put her face in her hands to hide from him and cry in shame at herself, Sam pulled her close, held her tight, and didn't let go. "I'm sorry," he kept saying in a voice wracked with grief and guilt. "I'm so _sorry_."


	71. Date Night

" _Such a long time running. And I can't stop now._ _"  
_ \- Embrace

* * *

**Sioux Falls, South Dakota**

In the front of the Impala, passenger seat side as usual, Sam Winchester was deep in thought and not very aware of his surroundings. He'd been spacing out for most of the ride back because if he didn't stay quiet and retreat into his own headspace he was pretty sure he'd explode in a ball of helplessness and anger.

Imagine thinking you'd been dead in the ground for over a year. Imagine remembering nothing but the moment you died and the moment you woke… then imagine finding out for the year plus in between those two moments you'd been alive and doing unimaginable, horrific things. Imagine _still_ not being able to remember _any_ of what you'd done.

Sam didn't have to imagine that scenario. He was _in_ it.

Ever since Sam had fooled Cas into telling everything two days ago, the middle Winchester had been hit hard by guilt, confusion, disbelief, horror, and great emotional pain. How was he supposed to know how to react to finding out about all of this crap he did? All the crap that happened to his brother and sister? He didn't know. But the worst part hands down was finding out what his twin sister went through. The demon blood, being on her own, the fight with Dean—but out of everything that had happened there was one thing that devastated Sam the most.

What brother could ever be prepared to hear their sister was attacked like that?

And how was he supposed to live with himself knowing that he hadn't given a single crap about her when it happened? Sam didn't know how to perceive himself anymore. He couldn't imagine not caring about that and it was eating him alive.

He also couldn't imagine trying to kill Alex. But he knew he had.

She wasn't supposed to have gotten hurt. Not by him and not by anyone else. Maybe stupidly, Sam had brought up her attack to her after he found out and the look on her face had cracked his heart in half.

Two days ago he'd held her tight as she cried and he cried, too.

" _Are you okay?_ _" h_ _e asked her through tears and a voice laden with the deepest grief. He pulled back to look at her, try to see the truth about it._

_She had wet streaks down both cheeks but was ironically smiling bravely._ _"_ _Sam, I_ _'_ _m fine._ _"_

_Her words felt like a slap._ _"_ _How the hell can you be_ fine _?_ _"_ _he asked softly in a stricken voice, trying to understand. He was shaking his head blankly and looking her over so carefully, trying to see the damage done, as if it would have left a physical scar. But the only thing he saw was the weight in her eyes. The weight she tried to hide from him and sidestep, discredit. Sam put his hand against the side of her face to get her to look him in the eye so she could see how much he meant what he confessed yet again tearfully and emphatically:_ _"_ _I am so,_ so _sorry._ _"_ _That he couldn_ _'_ _t have been there for her. That he hadn_ _'_ _t kept her safe. That any of it had happened to her at all._

_His words obviously touched her deeply._ _"_ _I know, Sammy._ _"_

_Her use of his childhood pet name, the one only she and Dean were allowed to use_ _…_ _the gentle way she said it, like_ he _was the one who needed comforting_ _…_ _Sam had to cover his face with a hand as he wallowed in deep grief at everything flooding his mind at the moment._

Two days later and Sam was still completely aghast and reeling.

However, Dean didn't know that Sam knew what he knew. Sam had wanted it that way and made Alex _promise_ not to tell their brother about it until the hunt they'd been on was over and done. The logic was that Sam recognized the hunt was important and young girls' lives were on the line. There hadn't been time to deal with the fallout and wreckage of what Sam had discovered. That, and Sam was so _angry_ at Dean that he had to bite back his personal thoughts so he didn't commit homicide.

"Home sweet home," Dean said at that moment, chuckling to himself as the car slowed down and pulled into the familiar driveway of the Singer residence. Sam glanced at Dean sidelong darkly. There were some things he needed to say to his older brother and _soon._ He couldn't hold out much longer or keep this stuff inside. Dean's mostly cheerful demeanor was rubbing Sam every wrong way there was. He knew Dean was happy because he was himself again and not some soulless douchebag but Sam just couldn't get past some things. He couldn't share his brother's feelings of relief and contentedness with the weight of knowledge on his shoulders.

The car pulled around to park at the garage side of Bobby's house. No sooner had Dean turned the engine off than he was getting out and hauling out the bag of gold they'd taken from the dragon's sewer lair back in Portland. Sam watched his brother walking to the covered garage as he put some loose books he'd had out back into the bag between his feet.

Dean had gotten a dragon-sword from that professor Bobby knew and with the weapon that could kill a dragon in hand, the three Winchesters had tracked the dragons to the sewers. There they'd found the kidnapped virgins, piles of stolen gold, and a mysterious leather-bound tome in some language none of them recognized. After killing one of the dragons and missing their chance to kill the other one before he got away, the Winchesters had freed the girls, gotten them to safety, then called the case closed for the time being. It was all a blur to Sam who only had one thing on his mind currently.

He turned and hung an arm over the back of his seat to look at his twin. She was sitting in the back seat and still engrossed in the dragon's book they'd confiscated. When she didn't notice his patient, waiting gaze, Sam spoke up. "So can you make heads or tails on that thing?"

Alex glanced up at him briefly before a playful smile tugged on her mouth. "Is that a dragon joke, Sam? If I remember right those guys didn't have _tails_ …" at the bad pun Sam made a face and groan-laughed very reluctantly. She obviously knew it was bad too from the little self-deprecating smile on her face. "I think it's some kind of dawn-of-time Latin?" She shrugged with a grimacing, unsure expression as she looked down at the open page again skeptically. "Maybe? I dunno. Bobby might. I'm gonna go see what he thinks." She closed the volume carefully and scooted toward the door of the car to get out.

Sam wasn't getting out yet. "Yeah," he said, turning to look out the windshield at his brother. "Sounds good."

Dean had dumped out his little treasure trove of stolen gold onto the wooden table in the messy carport area just ahead. Sam contemplated him and watched as Alex said something to their brother and ruffled his hair fondly before ducking inside with the dragon book. Sam expelled a deep breath and decided now was probably the best opportunity he'd get for this. He got out of the car and approached his brother, a thousand conflicting emotions and thoughts getting to him.

Seated at the table and picking out a gold Rolex out of the pile, Dean had a shit-eating grin on his face. He glanced up at Sam's approach. "Hey—ask me what time it is," he said, then at Sam's pinched expression Dean's smile fell. He seemed annoyed at the bitch face and he studied the watch again closely to avoid looking at Sam. "Okay fine Sam, I'll bite," he muttered, then threw the watch down and folded his arms on the table, giving a facetious little expression up Sam's way. "What's your problem? Been acting like you've got PMS since Portland."

"The problem is that I know _everything,_ " Sam said, seeing no point in beating around the bush. Dean sat back slightly, his face gone slack. "The past year, the crap that happened, what I did…" Sam trailed off and let a humorless little excuse for a laugh escape. His stomach was churning from anxiety. "All of it, Dean."

Somber and a little pissed off as well, Dean looked down at the table unseeingly as his jaw tightened and clenched. "Who told?" he asked after a couple of tense seconds. "Was it Alex? Or was it Bobby."

Sam shook his head once, waiting for Dean to meet his waiting gaze. "It was Cas."

More disapproval washed over Dean's baleful features. "Dammit, Cas," he muttered. "Friggin' _child._ _"_

Sam's more angry feelings were quickly coming out of hiding. "No, he told me straight," he said in a tight voice. "He _answered_ me instead of _hiding_ or lying to me." At Dean's sharp scowl, Sam got more intense instead of backing down. "You should have _told me_ , Dean."

Without warning Dean stood up and rounded the table. Even though Dean was shorter than Sam he carried a lot of weighty authority in his stride, his posture, and his mannerisms. "No, Sam, you weren't supposed to know point blank! Death didn't just shove your soul back in, okay? He put up the great wall of Sam between you and the things that you don't remember and trust me when I say that the things you don't know could _kill_ you. That's not a joke."

Sam nodded dour understanding. "Yeah, I get that—Alex told me about the wall and the thing with Death—but Dean… I'm still on two legs," he said earnestly. "Finding out that stuff didn't _do_ anything to me. And Cas told me everything he knew. _Everything_ , Dean." As Sam thought about it, the helpless fury came out of him unbidden and translated into accusing. "Where the hell were you all year, man? You _sat around_ at Lisa's and settled for not having a damn _clue_ where our sister was?" Dean obviously hadn't expected that and his face went slack. "And as if that's not bad enough, she gets herself in a bad situation—the _worst_ situation—and you don't make sure that bastard is _dead_?" Sam demanded, shaking at the thought of what had happened. "You let him come back for _more_?" Seething with guilt and fury at the mere thought of it, Sam's voice raised to a shout. "If that had been me I wouldn't have _slept_ until I ripped his _heart_ out!"

Dean was the picture of dismay. "She—she said he was dead, Sam," he said in a voice that wasn't very strong at all. "I thought he was dead!"

Sam didn't care. "How the hell could you have risked that? Why wouldn't you make _sure_?" He was so angry that he couldn't see and so sad that he hadn't slept since finding out. "Cas said I knew what happened when I was soulless and didn't care but _shit_ , Dean, I do now!" He was beginning to lose control. "You couldn't have dropped whatever crap hunt we were on to make sure the guy who tried to _rape_ my sister was really dead?"

It looked like Dean had been punched in the stomach and was having a hard time getting a deep breath of air. "Sam—"

"You should've checked!" Sam shouted, abruptly grabbing Dean by the jacket and shaking him. "You should've made _sure_!"

"Well I didn't and I wish to god I had!" Dean exploded then shoved Sam away with shocking force and strength. Sam always forgot that even though Dean was smaller, he could still take Sam in a fight most days. "The whole time you've been gone has been one mistake after another and I regret the whole goddamn thing, Sam!" Dean shouted. "I _know_ I messed up, you think I don't know that?!" There was a short, breathless silence where they both stared at each other with similarly pained expressions. "What happened _happened_ and not a day goes by I don't wish I'd known or done something but I _can_ _'_ _t_ and that's it, so get off my case!" Dean shook his head, fighting emotion and looking away then dragging a hand down over his face to compose himself. "You give Cas the third degree about this, too, or did you save the guilt trip just for me?"

Sam shook his head and looked down briefly. For as angry as he felt, the sadness was even bigger. "I had some things to say to him, too." Things pretty similar to what he was saying to Dean right now, honestly. Only Sam had been shocked at the time when Cas told him—now he'd had time to stew about it and get angry. Sam remembered that Cas had looked just as heartbroken about it as Dean looked, if not more. Sam felt himself beginning to regret his harsher approach to this and he tried to explain himself. "Look. I'm sorry, Dean. You can't imagine how… how helpless I feel about all this. I can't imagine… I never wanted…" to find out that some guy hurt her bad enough to land her in the hospital. To see it in her eyes, the painful wound she still carried and deep fear she refused to acknowledge about it happening again, Sam wished so _fucking bad_ he had been there and able to prevent it from happening or stop it altogether. He had meant what he shouted at Dean a minute ago about ripping the guy's heart out. He would have. Without a second thought. No one messed with his sister. _No one._

Sam knew Dean felt the same and he relented from giving Dean the third degree about it. Obviously, the oldest Winchester had beaten himself up over it enough. "It was just my worst _nightmare_ finding out what she went through," Sam said. Dean nodded tensely, eyes down on the ground. "I just… I just feel like one of us should've been there for her," he continued earnestly, not sure if he should be grieved or furious that they hadn't been. "Cas included. And she was on her _own,_ she had to go through it alone and there was no one there to help her." His throat was tight and there was a hard lump he couldn't swallow away. "And she says it's fine and that it's over but how _can_ it be? That stuff _does_ things to people."

There was a short silence. "Well if he wasn't dead before, he is now Sam, trust me." Dean stared hard into far distance then glanced at Sam guilty. "Saw it with my own eyes."

Sam had to force a rueful smile onto his face to keep his face from crumpling into a more pained expression. He shook his head faintly. "He may be dead but what he _did_ … you can't kill that or wipe it off the board."

Dean shut his eyes, face working tiredly. "I know, Sam, I know. You don't have to tell me twice." He sounded so sad. When he looked at Sam again he looked extremely concerned and confused, a little disillusioned. "She… talked to you about it?"

"A little." Sam wet his lips and let out a weighted breath, sat down at the table and set his jaw as he thought for a minute. "Look. I'm sorry for blowing up at you, man. I guess we both got stuff we regret doing. And _not_ doing." Sam let his hands rest atop the table, loosely clasped, and he contemplated his fingers blankly. Those same fingers and hands had crushed Alex's windpipes and he _remembered_ that. He didn't remember anything else, not really, from his time being possessed by Lucifer. But he remembered that. What other things had he done with these hands during the year he hunted with Samuel Campbell like Cas said?

Sam looked up at his watchful and grim brother. "Dean, I gotta set things right. Or try, anyway. The crap I pulled… trying to kill Alex, letting you both get turned to vamps, who knows what else—I'm so, _so_ sorry."

Dean heaved a heavy sigh and slowly came to sit down across from Sam. He then gave Sam a very fervent, pointed gaze. "It wasn't you. RoboSam wasn't you."

Eyes on his hands again, Sam was very sober. "She said the same thing." Long pause. "You know, I kind of feel like I got slipped the worst mickey of all time…" He paused again, contemplating his reality. "And I woke up to find out that I had burnt the whole city down. And you can say it wasn't me, but… I'm the one with the zippo in my pocket, you know? So I'm not sure it's that cut and dry." Looking across the table at his very distressed big brother, Sam tried to say thank you, which was ironic considering how he'd just blasted Dean for what he was about to say thanks for. "I appreciate you trying to protect me," he said. "I really do and I get why you did what you did. But… I know now. And I gotta fix what I gotta fix and I have to make up for the ways I let you both down." Intent and assertive, Sam leveled Dean with a solicitous gaze. "So I need to know what I did. I need you to tell me the stuff Cas couldn't."

Dean didn't like the idea at all. "But you don't know how dangerous that could be," he protested.

Sam pushed. "What would you want if this were opposite and _you_ were the one who spent a year soulless?" He asked. Dean's face worked silently. "Right," Sam said. Dean couldn't argue with that. "Same thing."

"Sam…" Dean started heavily.

"Hey!" Alex's brown head of hair popped out of the the back door. Sam and Dean's somber expressions were quickly covered up by casual default expressions. Missing the more dark subject matter of the conversation, she was good-natured. "You two princesses wanna get your asses in here?" She jerked a thumb over her shoulder. "Bobby found something in the dragon book."

"Two seconds," Sam said, giving a smile that indicated everything was A-OK.

It was then that her sharper observational skills appeared. Giving them a slightly suspicious squint as she looked them over closely, Alex narrowed her eyes then opened her mouth slightly—then she reconsidered, shut her mouth, said nothing at all, and disappeared back into the house after giving them a certain look of warning… she could definitely tell something was going down. Sam was glad she hadn't asked though.

A crow called out in the junkyard and the brothers said nothing for a few seconds. Dean was looking down with his eyebrows pressed together in thought. When he said nothing further, Sam tried to catch his gaze. "Dean?" he asked intently, refusing to let his brother sidestep this one. "What about it? I need to know what you know."

Giving a disgusted, defeated sigh, Dean looked up and he was the picture of contemptuous. "Yeah Sam. Fine. I'll tell you what I know. Tonight, after I get some damn hunter's helper in my system." He stood up, signaling that he was done with the exchange.

Sam followed him to the back door where Dean unexpectedly stopped him by holding an arm out and blocking his step. "Do me a favor and don't bring it up to her again if you don't have to," he told Sam stiffly. "She doesn't wanna talk about it anymore."

Sam pulled a slightly bitchy face. "I _know_ , Dean."

He knew because after the initial breakdown, after he held his sister and they gotten the tears out of the way, she'd talked to him about it a little. Said how she had learned a lesson about trusting people, said how she thought she knew the guy but definitely didn't, would never have pegged her attacker as a rapist in a million years. She'd asked Sam to please, _please_ never bring it up again because it was something she didn't want to remember or think about ever again.

So, yeah. Dean didn't have to tell Sam twice not to bring it up again.

* * *

**Later That Day**

The afternoon waned. There wasn't much of a front yard to speak of at Bobby's but there was a huge side yard complete with un-mowed grass and a tree where a tire-swing used to hang off. The rope had rotted away years ago and the tire had rolled to a sad final resting place at the foot of said tree. The Winchesters had spent a lot of time on that tire swing in their younger years and had climbed the tree countless times.

Laying on her back in the soft and overgrown grass underneath that very tree, Alex peered up drowsily at the clear blue sky through the branches overhead.

"I mean, don't you ever just wanna leave all this behind?"

Alex turned her face slightly, almost bumping her head into Sam's in the process. She'd forgotten he was laying there beside her, he'd been so quiet for so long. "Hm?"

He sounded introspective, like he'd been thinking about it for the entire time he'd been so quiet. "The crazy crap we get ourselves in to, the soul deals and the soullessness and Heaven and Hell and… just _all_ of it." Sam was staring up at the sky in contemplation and Alex joined him in doing so. "We've hunted for _years_ and had so many close calls, lost so much. Almost seems like someone's trying to tell us something or like we're pushing our luck to stay in the game. I mean, haven't we served our time?" There was a short pause and Sam gave a soft little laugh, like he thought his own thoughts were laughable and sorry. "I want a _dog_. And a _girlfriend_. I even want a _mortgage_." He got stony and his smile fell. "And I shouldn't."

"…Why not?" Turning her head again, grass tickled Alex's cheek. She let her eyes study her twin brother's profile for a second. "If you really want those things, you should go get them." She wasn't being rude or sarcastic, and her sympathetic, open tone made Sam frown, turn his head to look at her.

"What, just drop hunting for suburbia?" he asked, face scrunched up in an expression that seemed to say _I don_ _'_ _t know about that_.

"You've been through Hell. Literally," Alex replied, looking at Sam's familiar face and seeing how his eyes carried the sorrow of a man much older than he was. She didn't know what the cage had been like, but she remembered Lucifer's essence clawing at her veins and defiling her atoms and leaving her cold as ice. She knew part of her brother's nightmare, understood some of the terror that had befallen him. Gentle, loving him so much and hoping maybe he _would_ walk away from hunting to be safe, she gave him an earnest little bittersweet smile. "No one would blame you for leaving this life." She realized she couldn't guarantee that. "Or, _I_ wouldn't blame you, anyway."

Sam looked back at the sky for a long moment and when he spoke again he sounded somber, young, unsure. Lost. "Just… don't you think we deserve normal? Peaceful?"

Her mouth pursed sideways slightly in thought. "Deserve is an interesting word," she murmured, garnering a sidelong questioning glance from her twin. At Sam's deepening frown, she steered back to his question. "I mean, yeah. In theory I want a normal life. But I'm not normal and I just don't know if I could ever fit in to a normal world completely." She sent him a little smile despite her surprisingly unexpected feelings on what she was saying. "You wouldn't have that problem, though. And you deserve to be happy, Sam. You saved the entire freaking world from the devil. Don't forget that."

Sam's expression showed slight surprise, like he _hadn_ _'_ _t_ really thought about that much. "I almost destroyed the world, though. If I hadn't gotten control back at the last minute—"

"But you _did._ " Her firm statement was backed up by a warning look that said _don_ _'_ _t even go there_.

Sam heeded the warning and he stared up at the sky quietly for a moment. "Maybe I wanna leave this life before I can do any more damage, you know? But I gotta make things right first. I just don't know _what_ I did."

"You'll have to ask Grandpa about _that_ one," Alex said cynically.

"Samuel." There was a soft little huff, a humorless laugh. "Yeah, Cas told me a little about that."

Her eyes slid sidelong to Sam. "He tell you Gramps is a frigging maniac too?"

Another cynical little exhale of air. "Yeah. I got the gist." Sam frowned deeply at the sky. "What I _don_ _'_ _t_ get is why would he want Mom alive so bad that he was willing to kill her three living kids to get her back."

It was Alex's turn to give a short cynical huff. "Delusion? Psychopathy? I dunno. Tell you what though, I don't ever wanna see him again. I'll do more than break his nose this time."

That comment earned her a surprised face. "You broke his _nose_?" Sam asked, an impressed little grin spreading over his face. "Cas didn't tell me that part."

Answering him with a silent little smile, Alex proceeded to look up at the sky again.

"Speaking of Cas…" Sam trailed off for a second and his probing gaze made the side of Alex's face itch. "Just curious, but like… how serious is it with you two these days?"

His question caught her a little off guard. She knew he was curious but he hadn't asked yet. She guessed she should have known it was coming and she thought a minute about that question and its answer. "Well… we…" honestly, she was considering telling Sammy everything. Letting her eyes flick to him sidelong, she tested the waters. Her heart raced with nervousness at what Sam was asking and how close she was to telling him everything. "Remember how you told me to go marry him?" That very neutrally toned question got a very sharp _what did you just say?_ look from Sam and Alex immediately chickened out and shrugged, pretending to be offhand by studying her nails then squinting up at the sky. "Uh… just… maybe someday I will."

Sam looked mildly relieved, like he'd thought something else and was glad he was wrong about his assumption. "It was the end of the world and I was dying…" he said, sounding almost like it was laughable how he'd told her to go marry him. "I said a lot of crazy stuff."

 _That_ caught Alex off guard. All this time she had thought Sam meant what he said. Had he not? He thought that was 'crazy stuff' now? Outwardly remaining playful even though inwardly she was coming into possession of a knotted up stomach, she made herself smirk. "Oh. So marrying him would be crazy?"

Sam turned his head fully to look at her. "What, you've actually _thought_ about it?" he asked in vast, hesitant surprise.

Self conscious and feeling too scrutinized to meet his gaze, Alex looked up into the tree branches above and was honest… but at a minimum that left a lot of truth out. "He's the only guy I've ever loved. Or ever will love."

Sam sounded cautioning and a little nervous, like he was trying to ret-con what he'd said so long ago. "Yeah, but… just 'cause you love someone doesn't mean you gotta _marry_ them. And just 'cause it's your first love doesn't mean it's the _one_." Alex frowned a little at her brother who got mildly defensive and backed off a bit. "Just saying."

She knew that stuff but hearing him say it to her was unsettling and made her feel unsure of herself. Still, she stuck by her guns and stood up for herself. "I know I'm not as experienced as maybe you or Dean with relationships," she said—Sam and Dean had been with lots of girls in all capacities and she'd only ever loved and been with one man her entire life. But for her, the one was enough. More than enough. She let her earnest, certain gaze bore into Sam's for a couple seconds. "But I know what love is."

Open and quiet, Sam said nothing in return, just listened and watched her. He looked faintly worried but didn't argue with her or say anything else. Alex looked back up again, wishing guilty secrets didn't gnaw at her day and night, wishing she knew exactly how she felt about the things she and Cas kept from everyone else. She knew one thing, anyway. "Me and Cas are in it for the long haul." That was the truth—or part of it, anyway.

There was a short, thoughtful silence. When Sam spoke up again, he sounded like he regretted his word choices. "Look, if you're happy, then I'm happy. I wasn't trying to say anything about him or step on your toes, I was just trying to, you know. Give you some big brother advice, I guess." Rueful, Sam glanced Alex's way with a self-deprecating smile. "Hey, at least I care one way or the other, right?"

Meeting his glance with her own, Alex sensed that he needed reassurance. "Right," she said, mouth curved to the side in a bittersweet smile. He'd been soulless for so long. Him caring wasn't something she would complain about. Poor guy felt so bad about it too but there was nothing to do but move forward. She hesitated—their arms laid at their sides in the grass, knuckles almost brushing. Decisively, she moved her hand and took his in hers and let their hands lay between them as she interlaced their fingers, squeezing tight. "Really missed you, Sam," she said in a failing voice. "Glad you're back."

He squeezed her hand back. He looked away, face working oddly. "Me too."

She didn't let go of his hand as she studied his profile for a minute. "Scared?"

His eyebrows moved in together slightly. "Of what?"

"The wall thing."

A muscle jumped slightly in his cheek and his eyes went back and forth in silent, tense thought. "A little. But I'd rather know and fall apart than just run away from what I did."

That was a very brave stand to take. Alex had to admit she was pretty terrified that if Sam really started to remember everything that things would go south… that she'd lose him all over again. She squeezed his hand a little tighter and tilted her head to his shoulder. They were quiet for a really long moment. An early fall breeze rustled across the yard and some birds sang somewhere nearby.

Out of nowhere (maybe trying to lighten the mood with some black humor or maybe just genuinely curious), Alex moved her head off his shoulder and asked her brother a question only he could answer or relate to. "So, from one ex-demon blood junkie to another, do you ever just see a demon and wanna stick a straw in them, drink them like Kool Aid?"

At the sudden wacky question, Sam turned his head to look at her and made a face like he wasn't sure if he heard her right—then he laughed, white teeth showing and dimples cutting into his cheeks. "Like _Kool Aid_?" he asked, that grin splitting his face in two and making him appear years younger and happier. Alex shrugged, baring her teeth in an overly cutesy wincing expression. Sam shook his head in amusement. "I never really thought of it in _those_ terms but… yeah." The sparkle of mirth in his eye lessened. He thought long and hard. "It doesn't really ever totally go away. The temptation."

That wasn't entirely reassuring. But he'd stayed clean from it for a long time now and _she_ hadn't really had any issues since detoxing. The only thing good about it was at least they could have each other to fall on and understand if problems came up again. Shaking her head, Alex squinted up at the sky again, thinking about the Kool Aid comment. "If I said that to anyone else they'd think I was a _psycho,_ " she murmured, picturing herself walking up to a demon and literally sticking a straw in. However, what had been funny a second ago to her was suddenly sobering and a little disturbing. Self conscious, Alex took her hand out of Sam's and studied her nails. "Maybe I am."

"Hey. Just 'cause you've done some freakish stuff doesn't mean you're a freak," Sam said gently, a wan smile on his face. "Take it from me."

Saying thanks with a quiet smile, Alex laid her arm across her stomach, eyes far away in thought. "You know, I wish I hadn't bitched at you like that about it before. I should have seen it for what it was. You needing some help to get by."

"Yeah, but I should have picked another solution. Not… _demon blood._ " Sam sighed heavily through his nose, staring off into space with a knit brow. "And I shouldn't have run off and left you like I did back then. I won't. Not again, not ever." He was looking at her again for effect. "Promise."

"Me either." Finding her lips upturned in a smile that came from a warm, comforted heart, Alex cleared a thick throat and put her hand in the air. "Secret handshake?"

Surprise showed on his face again as a little lopsided grin crooked his mouth up as he went to accept her invitation. It wasn't complicated or anything, it was just their little special thing, that fist bump with the pinky promise then the one single handshake to wrap it all up.

As they grinned stupidly at each other at their little inside joke, a gust of wind blew across the yard and tossed hair into Alex's face and she raked a hand through it, trying to get it out of her eyes and mouth. Sam was doing the same—brushing his ever-lengthening hair out of his face—and she grinned his way. "Needin' a haircut there, Samantha?"

" _Psh._ " He gave her a look that said _that_ wasn't gonna happen. "I like it."

"Just don't be surprised if you wake up one morning with it in braids," Alex warned jokingly—he laughed that off, but seriously… his hair was almost getting long enough to put in a ponytail or a man bun. She pictured that and chuckled to herself… she'd pay to see that, honestly.

After a couple minutes of companionable quiet, Sam sat up. "Hey, I'm getting hungry. Think I'm gonna head in, you coming?"

Shaking her head, Alex remained laying down. "Not yet. I'll be in after awhile."

Sam nodded, stood up, dusted off his hands, and headed in. Nappish, Alex listened to the sound of his muffled, fading footsteps swishing through the grass. Stifling her worries about him knowing everything and prodding at the wall in his mind, Alex tried to think about something else. Her lower stomach ached— _damn ovaries_. Sighing in annoyance, she looked up once again. Her gaze flickered around the blue expanse between the jagged, leafy tree branches above. Cas's eyes were bluer than any sky could ever hope to be.

She let her eyes fall closed and she breathed in deeply, listening to breeze rustling through the tree branches overhead. When would this war finally end and stop dragging him away from her? He was the final missing piece in her life, he was the empty place beside her in bed at night, the ache in her heart and the void in her arms during the lonely hours when she longed to hold and be held.

The thought of him returning to stay gave her patience when there was none left and the ability to hope even when she felt defeated over the separation. For him, she could endure. The reason why was simple. Like she had said to Sam a little earlier, she knew what love was.

Somewhere in between asleep and awake, Alex's mind continued to wander around from thought to thought at a lazy and slow pace. Most of the thoughts were of Castiel. Thoughts of him were warm, comforting, and intimate in a way that transcended the physical. But there was also a deep worry eating at the edges and a recurring fear that something would tear them further apart. She tried not to dwell on those.

Twenty minutes or more passed as she laid there and let her skin drink in dappled late-afternoon sunlight through the leaves above. When she heard a soft sound near her like angel's wings, she thought it was her sleepy imagination. And then he spoke. "Hello, Alex."

Startled and abruptly elated at that unmistakable, familiar voice, her eyes snapped open. Cas was standing beside her, looking down at her fondly. Unprepared for his unexpected appearance, Alex shot up onto her elbows, a relieved, disbelieving smile popping onto her face. " _Hi_ Cas," she breathed through her hopeful little grin.

He crouched down at her side, surprising her with the soft, fascinated look in his eyes. "What were you just thinking about?"

A demure little smile began to spread across her face and she ducked her head down slightly, coquettish without meaning to be. "You."

Pleasantly puzzled, Cas's eyes squinted at her even as a faint smile softened his mouth. He offered his hand to her to help her up. "And what sort of things were you thinking about me?"

She took his hand and let him haul her up to her feet where she immediately hugged him tightly, arms around his neck as her face buried in the familiar feel and smell of the trench coat. "How much I miss you," she murmured into his shoulder then neck as she hugged him tighter and shut her eyes. "And worry about you."

His face was turned in towards hers and his arms held her close, returning the embrace with every bit of fervency she felt. After a moment they pulled apart just enough to look at each other. The breeze caught some of Alex's hair and Cas's fingers traced across her cheek to sweep the hair out of her eyes and face. "I'm fine," he said, looking at her with soft eyes. "You don't need to worry."

Still, she did, and had to ask about what worried her right away. "How's everything upstairs?"

At the mention of the war, Cas's soft expression tightened a little. "As dire as ever." He looked down briefly. "I prefer not to discuss it, if that's all right with you."

Nodding tensely, Alex studied him carefully, still worried—in fact maybe a little more than before because of his reaction. "Yeah, okay," she said, refusing to push. "Understood."

Cas switched subjects with mild relief and his face was soft again, expression something like anticipatory. "I'm… actually here to take you on a social outing," he said with an awkward and stilted cadence, like he was nervous about her answer. "If you want."

 _Social outing_ _…_ _?_ She vaguely remembered he'd wanted to take her on a date the last time they'd been together but she'd been too drunk to even stand up straight. Grinning at the expression on his face as he waited for her answer, Alex's eyes crinkled up. "Of _course_ I want!" she said, pretty stoked at the thought of spending time with Cas. She didn't care where or what they'd do, but was still curious about what he was thinking. "Where did you have in mind?"

"Uh, I thought dinner," Cas said, his subtle nervousness still present. "Would you like that?"

"Yeah!" Alex suddenly frowned and looked down at her outfit. "Uh… should I change though?"

Befuddlement pinched Cas's features. "What's wrong with the garments you have on?"

"Nothing, just… I think some couples dress up to go out to eat…?" Alex said then directly after had a lightbulb moment. "Actually, never mind, I don't _have_ anything besides stuff like this." And by 'stuff like this' she meant jeans, scuffed boots, and an old AC/DC shirt with a flannel over it. She eyed Cas curiously. "How much money do you have in those pockets of yours, anyway?"

Cas dipped a hand into his right-hand pocket and pulled out a bunch of wadded up bills, frowning at them. "This much."

Alex took them from him and un-crumpled them then counted quickly. "Twenty-one big ones," she chuckled. "And I've got like a couple ones in my wallet…" she trailed off, thinking about where twenty-five dollars would be enough. "So, you know where this means we have to go, right?" She handed the money back to him, folded a lot neater than it had been.

Cas looked apprehensive as he took the money back. "…Where?"

"Biggerson's!" Alex cracked a wise-ass grin. "Where you can get food that's not that great at a price that's…" she made a face and got a little less animated, "well, that we can afford."

At the mention of Biggerson's, Cas became deeply thoughtful and contemplative. "I've heard this name before…"

Alex knew why and hid a self-conscious little smile as she coyly jogged his memory. "We uh… we're been to one before, actually. But… we were in the freezer…" Making out hot and heavy like there was no tomorrow under Famine's spell.

Alex saw the lightbulb go off his his eyes. " _Oh_." He smiled too, sort of bashful. His eyes had that edge of flirty interest to them as they looked into hers. "I remember."

"I _bet_ you do," she said in a voice that was a touch more brazen than she meant it to be.

Cas's head tilted to the side just slightly. His eyebrows worked in together, his eyes crimped up, his smile grew slowly. "Is that a flirtation?"

Alex abruptly grabbed him by the tie and yanked him into a brief kiss. She smiled against his lips then made an impish little face at him when she pulled away. " _That_ was."

Cas said nothing, just looked at her with a face that was the picture of quiet contentment. Alex slid her hand down his arm to take his hand and grasp securely. She indicated he walk with her to the house. "Should probably tell them where I'm going before we just zap off," she said. "Also, I need my jacket."

* * *

In the study, three men were hunkered down around Bobby's desk over several volumes. They shared quiet theories and passed around the whiskey, keeping a slow and steady stream of the amber liquid flowing. When the front door of the house opened and two sets of footsteps sounded, they all looked up in vague curiosity.

Cas wandered in, sans Alex—they could hear her jogging up the stairs overhead. Dean sat back in his chair slightly.

"Hey Cas," Sam greeted, sounding faintly surprised.

Cas nodded greeting, letting his gaze sweep over them all in turn. "Sam. Dean. Bobby."

Dean eyed Cas closely, wondering what was up. "Thought you'd come and hang out for awhile, huh?" he asked, then cracked a cocky grin. "You up for a rematch or what?"

"A rematch?" When Dean nodded to the chess board that was set aside on the top of some shelves, Cas understood and gave the man an almost patronizing, smug look. "Dean… you know that I will always beat you at chess."

Dean raised his eyebrows slightly as a smile continued to play on his lips. "Those sound like fightin' words, Cas."

"Perhaps later," Cas said factually, looking the room over and letting his eyes run across the stacks of books edging the room. "I am taking your sister out for dinner."

Not what Dean had been hoping for (he just felt better when he could keep an eye on them, okay?), he got a little cranky. Sam glanced at Dean briefly, a veiled smile on his face. He was obviously pleased for his sister. "That sounds nice, Cas."

"Yeah, bring me some pie," Dean quipped, bending back over the books.

"What kind?" Cas asked, getting a caught off guard look from Dean, who hadn't expected to be taken seriously.

"Uh…"

Sam smacked Dean on the arm. "Hey—don't turn your sister's date into a pie run."

Bobby, who typically favored watchful silence, piped up. "Hey Cas, while you're here, you heard of a 'mother of all'?" He peered up at the angel from under the brim of his cap.

Cas seemed mildly taken aback for a fraction of a second and then he quickly became stern and confused. "Uh… no. Who is that?"

Dean rolled his eyes. For a second he'd been hopeful there would have been a quick answer to this latest mystery they were unraveling. "You know for a guy who's been around since the dawn of time you don't know crap," he muttered.

That got him a pretty surprisingly sassy frown from the angel. "I'm not omniscient, Dean." Alex's steps sounded again overhead, clattering down the stairs quickly.

Leaning an arm against the desk in an easy, relaxed postured, Sam cracked a grin. "Don't listen to him, Cas," he said, pleasant and even keeled. "You two go have fun. Take your time."

Alex breezed into view, jacket on and face a little flushed from the stair-running. "Ready, Cas?" She smiled at him, trying to hold back her beaming smile.

Cas looked at her differently than Dean had ever seen the guy look at any _one_ or any _thing_ else. "I am."

"All right, no funny business and home by twelve," Dean said, getting looks from everyone in the room. " _What_? I'm kidding!" he defended.

…He was only sort of kidding.

Apparently nothing could ruin Alex's good mood. She gave a solitary little wave. "See you guys later," she said, already looking to Cas again. They took each others hands and exchanged a sappy little secretive smile before disappearing into thin air.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Make me wanna _barf,_ " he muttered lowly. They were turning into _that_ couple, the ones who were so sickeningly sugar-sweet and in love that they inspired everyone around them to vomit from annoyance.

His comment earned him a knowing look from his brother who was currently hiding a smile. "Jealous?" Sam asked which quickly got him a disgruntled Dean face. Sam shrugged mildly, already turning his attention back to the books. "Just saying. Maybe you act like that because you want what they have."

"Ooh Mr. Psychologist thinks he's so _smart,_ " Dean said in a condescending, grumpy voice as he flipped a page of the book in front of him.

…He _did_ still think about Lisa all the time and missed her. Or at least the idea of her. Honestly, he couldn't get over how fast she turned on him and dropped him like yesterday's news. It hurt. He had thought they were stronger than that or maybe, you know, she actually loved him enough to stick around through some of the more shitty stuff. Nope. Hadn't turned out that way.

So yeah. Maybe he _was_ a little jealous.

It was like damned if he did, damned if he didn't. No matter _where_ Dean Winchester was, he was never a hundred percent happy. He was always stuck looking at the grass on the other side and longing for something out of reach. Well, it didn't matter anymore. Lisa and him were over and his family was back together again at last. He knew where he belonged: Right here. With that in mind, he forcibly pushed the image of Lisa's face away. But he couldn't really push aside the gaping hole in his chest, the expanse of loneliness that was inexplicably growing bigger and bigger.

Whatever. He'd lived with it his whole life, he'd just deal.

* * *

**Biggerson** **'** **s  
Downtown Sioux Falls**

Hand in hand, Cas and Alex walked into the dining establishment called Biggerson's. The restaurant was bustling and most of the booths and tables were full. Mildly overwhelmed by all there was to see, Cas let Alex lead him in as he put a curious, sweeping gaze over everything. "It's… very colorful," he observed first. The bright yellow restaurant logo was plastered everywhere and the booths all had bright red seats. A patterned carpet in multiple colors was underfoot.

"Yup," Alex replied offhandedly, scouting for a place to sit. "I think I've been to like three million Biggerson's. And guess what? They all look _exactly_ the same." She found them a small square table with four chairs at it. Remembering a custom he had seen in many cultures, Cas eagerly put it into practice and pulled a chair out for her, waited for her to sit. She looked unsure at the gesture then sat, letting him push the chair back in for her.

He vaguely wished a booth had been available so they could sit side by side—the table she had found for them was too small to fit two chairs at one side. Cas sat on the side of the table to her right, the next best thing. No sooner had he taken his seat than a young, thin male server with a very enthusiastic smile appeared with shining, laminated menus.

"Hello folks, welcome to Biggeron's! I'm your server _Nate_ and your meal today is going to be _great_!" Castiel looked to Alex to know how to respond—she was just giving the man a slightly skeptical look. Perhaps it was the unbridled pep the server was exhibiting. "Menus!" he exclaimed with more enthusiasm than Castiel thought was necessary. "One for the young lady, one for…" he looked at Castiel a bit strangely. "You." He paused and looked at Alex and then Cas again, perhaps wondering about the obvious age difference between them. It was noticeable, Cas knew that… he looked nearly forty and Alex still looked early twenties even though she was approaching thirty. Their true age difference was much more shocking than whatever age difference their human appearances gave. The server charged forward despite his misgivings. " _So_ , our specials today are the triple stack burger with baconnaise! And we've also got an Asian won-ton taco trio—" he pretended to covertly whisper at that point, putting a hand to one side of his face, "and lemme tell ya it's _super_." He chuckled in a grating high pitch then put his hands on his hips. "So, what can I get you two to drink?" He looked at Cas first.

"I do not require a beverage," Cas said. The server, again, looked at him strangely, then looked at Alex.

She tore her eyes away from Cas—she'd been smiling at him. "Lemonade," she told the server.

"Okie dokes, I'll be right back with that."

As the young man sashayed away, Cas looked at Alex curiously. Lemonade? He had watched over for her for a long time and she'd never gotten that before… or not that he had observed. "Not beer?"

She shrugged mildly. "I dunno, felt like lemonade all the sudden. It was my favorite when I was little." A reminiscent smile tugged a corner of her mouth upwards. "You'll have to try some." Her head tilted to the side curiously. "Are you even gonna eat?"

He wouldn't have… but he reasoned that them eating together (a human bonding and social event) would please her. "I have no need of sustenance as you know but… I _do_ remember liking waffles."

As he had guessed, she liked that. He saw evidence of it in the way her smile reached her eyes, softening every part of her face. "I remember that too," she said. It was a good memory for her—he could tell. Her smile inspired one on his face too and he drank in the sight of her near to him and happy. Her hand rested on the table and he reached out and covered it with his own, remembering the days when he had liked waffles and been utterly powerless and needed pain medicine. He recalled the day he had woken up from his month-long coma and been reunited with her. At that time he had been all but human. In a strange twist she had saved his life from Zachariah and then taken on the role of protector and nurturer for him… making sure he had pain medicine, staying at his side. Those few days when he had been like her (or at least more than he was now) had been very pivotal and important for them. Thinking of that small window of happiness and togetherness they had shared, Cas let his thumb brush across her hand a few times. Her hazel eyes contemplated him quietly, her fingers slipped through his, and Cas wished to know every part of her heart and soul. In all the ages and in all the centuries that had come and gone, never had there been a more beautiful human being than her.

"I've really missed you," she told him quietly. "I know I say that constantly, but…" she trailed off and shrugged her shoulders faintly.

"I understand the sentiment," Cas assured her kindly and emphatically. In fact, he thought he might break sometimes from the feeling of separation and the longing for togetherness. He had never understood how missing someone could be so all consuming. It made their time together than much more precious and the time apart that much more agonizing. However, nothing could compare to the peace and calm of being with her currently and feeling her fingers tighten on his trustingly. In some moments, he was so very struck by the love that had grown between them that he couldn't quite believe it was real at all. The realization that it _was_ genuine left him in awe completely.

Alex considered him like he considered her, then became studious and she looked at their hands in growing tenseness. "Hey, Cas—did you not know about the wall in Sam's mind?"

He didn't understand the question. "Pardon?" Cas asked, confused and jolted out of the haze of good feelings. Her tone alerted him to the fact that something was amiss. "The what?"

Alex was looking at him somberly now and nodding. "Yeah. I guess Dean thought _I_ told you and I thought _Dean_ told you." The statement further mystified him. She saw that and took in a deep breath and began to explain to him. "Death put a wall in Sam's mind to like, block out the Hell stuff. He doesn't remember _any_ of the past year."

An ice-cold feeling of shock plunged into Cas's stomach. "But he said…"

"Yeah. He tricked you." She said that in a vaguely dismayed tone. "He figured out Dean and I weren't telling him something and… to figure out what, he tricked you."

For a few seconds that seemed to drag on for a long time, Cas fumbled for comprehension as he suddenly worried. He pulled his hand out of Alex's as his internal alarm grew. "Did what I said—is he all right?"

"So far so good," she said, then took him by the arm gently, attempting to reassure him and catch his gaze. "You didn't know."

"Now some of his reactions to what I told him make much more sense," Cas said grimly, looking down at the table and shutting his eyes. He believed humans had a term for how he felt right now… like _kicking_ himself. "I should have _known_ … he's too lucid and sound for there to be another explanation."

"Hey, what's done is done," Alex said, that same tone of comforting in her voice. She was looking at him in deep concern when he opened his eyes back up. "We should have told you."

Considering what he had just learned, Castiel was quiet for a long moment, frowning into middle distance. "A wall." He mulled that over.

"Y-you think it'll hold?" Alex asked, and the apprehensive worry in her voice caused him to turn his attention to her. The way she looked to him for reassurance softened him. She was very worried about her brother.

"It would take a great amount of pressure to break it, I think," he told her honestly, then took her hand again where it rested on her upper leg. "As long as you tread carefully… there's no reason to count him a lost cause."

His words visibly relaxed her and relieved her in some small way. "Thanks, Cas." She looked down toward where their hands clasped and rested against her thigh. She cleared her throat as her gaze darted to his timidly. "Hey, um, real quick, while I'm thinking about it: was I super ridiculous the other night? When we…?" She trailed off and prompted him with a facial gesture only.

Castiel understood. She was referring to their most recent sexual encounter. At the memory of it, a smile that could have been called coy snuck onto Cas's lips. "You… laughed most of the time," he said, recalling a barrage of images and memories that were both amusing and erotic. "And said some very nonsensical things."

"Yikes," she said, making a face that seemed to indicate she was embarrassed. "Sorry."

Frowning, Cas observed her closely. "You don't remember?"

"Nope, next to nothing," she said, even more mortified. "Maybe it's best if I don't. Sounds like I embarrassed myself."

Cas shook his head, not wanting her to feel embarrassed. "No. It was…" he trailed off, thinking of it again. It had been different than their other times together. "I laughed, too. Chuckled is a more accurate descriptor, really."

At that confession, Alex looked wistful and full of quiet yearning. "Wish I could remember better."

A wish that was within Castiel's ability to grant. "You can," he said, then since he was already touching her hand, he poured his memories from that night into her mind. He let her see it all… them arriving to the motel room and her kissing him as she stumbled backwards, pulling him by the tie… Cas protesting that he didn't want to do anything if she wasn't in the frame of mind to know what she was doing… Alex insisting she _knew_ what she was doing and it was him… then him beginning to give in when she said that. There had been a lot of laughing and silliness—a strange mix of sensual and goofy moments that were loving at their root but still a bit... strange to Cas. He did have to admit, he found the memories amusing. The word 'cute' was fitting.

When Cas let her see into his memory in the middle of Biggerson's during the dinner rush hour, Alex's eyes went wide and she became visibly flustered. " _Whoa_." Her cheeks went red as roses as she covered the lower half of her face with her hand. "Geez. _Awkward._ " She chuckled nervously and wet her lips. "I, uh, had no idea you could do that. Memory share, or whatever…"

"I'm an angel. I can do a lot of things," Cas said factually. "Why are you embarrassed?" he asked, growing fractionally worried at her fidgeting. "Was what we did not all right?"

Her hand was nervously touching the edge collar of her flannel shirt, twisting the fabric in anxiety. "I just acted so _stupid,_ _"_ she said, clearly mortified with herself.

"It was the alcohol," Cas reasoned, then corrected her. "And you were not stupid. You were uninhibited."

She considered his words, thought about it, and then an impish little smile began to grow on her face as her eyes, a little darker than before, looked into his knowingly. "Some of it _was_ pretty hot, huh?"

His smile echoed hers. "Some of it?"

She grinned and looked down, touching her hair nervously then moving it behind an ear. When she looked up, Cas decided to go to another subject and inquire on her current physical status, to express interest in her femininity. "So. How is your menstrual cycle affecting your moods?"

Alex's eyes widened. "Uh what?"

Cas lost confidence slightly. Her reaction to his question seemed to indicate he'd done something wrong. Perhaps she'd misheard him. "I've… heard that the cycle has negative effects on women's emotions."

She stared at him for a few beats. "And _that_ _'_ _s_ the conversation topic you pick…?" There was a strange smile spreading across her face. "Okay…"

"Is it not appropriate to inquire about your well-being and thought processes?" Cas asked innocently, truly not sure why she was making such an odd face.

His question seemed to confound her. "Wha—well, touché." She rubbed the back of her neck self-consciously, her gaze dodging his. "I just grew up around men and they acted like a period was the plague and was never to be mentioned if not necessary."

Further confused, Castiel thought about her statement for a moment. "The plague manifested itself in blackening of the extremities… and usually resulted in fatalities. I don't see the connection. Also, it was a highly infectious disease. The menstrual cycle is a natural occurrence in a healthy female body. Why should there be a stigma on the topic?"

"Well… when you put it like that… I dunno." She rested her hand in her chin and studied him for a minute with a faint smile. "You have this way of taking things I never thought twice about and, well. Making me think twice."

Her statement seemed profound and stirred him. With eyes that were soft and attentive, he gazed upon her and contemplated the depth at which he loved her. When he spoke, his tone was gentle. "You've made me reconsider many things, too."

The server re-appeared then, plunking a glass of lemonade down in front of Alex and disturbing the more emotionally quiet moment that had been transpiring. "Okie dokie folkies! Sorry that took me a second. Lemonade for the little lady." He whipped out a pad and a pen, appearing ready to take their orders. "Now, whatcha gonna have for dinner? Sir?" He looked at Cas expectantly.

"A waffle, please," Castiel said.

The server hesitated. "They're a breakfast item."

Cas squinted just slightly. "Yes." So they were. He knew that already.

"I mean we only serve them for _breakfast,_ " said the server. "At breakfast _time._ "

Oh. Cas frowned, looked at Alex in confusion, not entirely certain what to do. Out from within the inside pocket of Alex's jacket came an FBI badge and she opened it crisply, her expression bored and slightly threatening as she looked up at the server loftily. "You can make a special exception I'm sure," she said in a voice she had never spoken to Cas in. This voice was forceful and patronizing and he recognized it as the voice she usually used when she donned the guise of an FBI agent—he'd observed her doing that a few times when he'd watched over her in times past. She snapped the ID closed and nodded at Cas while keeping the server under her gaze. "For my partner here, right?"

The badge intimidated the server visibly. "Oh. Uh… yeah, yeah, I guess we can make a special exception," he said, then looked at Cas. "Just a waffle? Nothing else?"

"You make sure it has butter and syrup," Alex answered for Cas, still using the Agent voice. "Or we send it back and shut this place down just 'cause we feel like it." Cas watched how a bit of a smile played and hid on her lips. It was working too—the server looked petrified and swallowed nervously.

"O-okay, no problem. Uh, what would you like, miss? Er, Agent?"

Alex handed the two menus back. "Mac n' cheese."

"Sure, sure, yeah, the mac n' cheese platter?" The server was being overly helpful and attentive now. "What three sides?"

Alex shook her head once. "No. Just mac n' cheese. A plate or bowl of mac n' cheese. Nothing else."

The server looked irritated then and withheld a great deal of chagrin and annoyance. "All right. One _waffle_ and a _plate_ of macaroni and cheese," he said, then stalked off.

Alex chuckled, shaking her head at herself and watching the guy walk off. "He's mad."

Cas understood that, but didn't know the reason. "Why?"

"We didn't order much food," she explained. "servers, you know, they live off tips. The smaller the bill the less the tip unless the customer's feeling generous. We'll leave him a good tip for putting up with my trolling, huh?" Her grin turned into a curious expression. "Where'd you get that money, anyway?"

Cas hesitated, his eyes faltered away from hers. He knew the answer would disrupt the lighter mood. "Uh… I got it from Jimmy Novak's wallet. I never unfolded it to look inside until recently."

Just as he had predicted, she was startled—her expression fell a little and her smile faded. "Oh." It was an odd and awkward subject matter for them and Cas suspected always would be. Neither said anything about it for a second, then Alex cleared her throat. "So where's the wallet now?"

Cas looked down again. "I… threw it away. It made me feel strange, carrying that thing around." Alex watched him with a tense expression and Cas felt as though his face must look the same as hers did. "It… had pictures of his family in it." What a startling discovery that had been for Castiel to see a photo of Jimmy and his family. A stark reminder of the consequences of his actions, the outcome of Cas taking James Novak's body as his own. "I… feel sad sometimes," Castiel said quietly. "Knowing what I did to them. What I took." They were both quiet for a minute. The deep and hushed dismay resting on Alex's features made Cas feel guilty. "I'm sorry," he said regretfully. "I don't mean to be morose."

Coming out of her thoughts, she shook her head a little and focused her sights on him. "No, Cas, it's okay. If something bothers you, you should talk about it. Even if it is hard to think about."

Cas wasn't convinced. They were in a family environment where people were talking and laughing, enjoying themselves… and Cas didn't want to dampen Alex's spirits. She spent too much time being subjected to mental and emotional pressures her entire life let alone in recent times. He had desired to give her reprieve from that, actually. "It's gloomy subject material for this setting though," he protested in a melancholic voice. Weren't romantic dates supposed to be happy and carefree?

Her hand found his where it rested atop his leg and she was earnest. "I don't care. Whatever's on your mind is what I wanna hear about." When his expression remained uncertain, her smile took on a tone of ruefulness. "And I mean, who else would you talk to about this stuff?" Right after she asked, she seemed to come up with an idea of who. "I guess maybe some of your angel friends? Samandriel? Zion? Balthazar?"

Cas smiled—she remembered and knew the names of his closest angel acquaintances, even remembering Zion who had only been mentioned once. "They are good friends, yes," he said, considering his own thoughts on the matter. "But… it's strange. I would assume those of my own species would understand me best. But they don't." Some of them sympathized with him more than others, some of them tried to comprehend him, but none of them made Castiel feel understood. None of them seemed to share his thoughts or sentiments or convictions. It was a struggle to identify with his angel brothers and sisters… but there was one being in all of creation where that struggle wasn't present. That being was beside him and she was holding his hand and encouraging him to share his thoughts with her. No one else expressed such interest in him. No one else cared about him like she did and he valued her all the more for it. As such, borne of a deep-seated desire to know and love every single part of her, Castiel tightened his hand in hers and searched her eyes deeply. "I would like to know you better, Alex."

His out-of-the-blue proclamation caused her to become mildly confused. "What?"

Cas hesitated then removed his hand from hers to reach into his trench coat. This seemed like a good time to show her what he was carrying. "On the night when I tried to take you on a date and instead we, uh… were intimate, I had wanted to share this with you." He produced the paperback book he had been carrying around for a few days now.

She stared at the book cover with an open mouth and an odd expression. Two wedding bands of gold were interconnected and swirly script proclaimed _Two As One:_ _deepen_ _ing your knowledge and understanding of your spouse for greater intimacy through communication._

"Is… is that a _self-help_ book on marriage?" she asked doubtfully.

"I got it on sale at a place called Barnes and Noble," Castiel told her proudly. When she only looked more wary and uncomfortable, he became uncertain. "I thought… I thought I would like to deepen my knowledge and understanding of you for greater intimacy through communication," he explained, which was what the book cover claimed to help couples do. Surely it wasn't a negative thing to know each other better? When she only gaped at him, Cas gestured at the back cover and told her what it said. "The book is a series of questions 'designed to prompt deeper understanding and more meaningful connections in every day situations.'" Alex looked almost like she dreaded to hear more and Cas, thoroughly taken aback by her reaction, became worried. "What is it?"

"Um… nothing," she said, shaking her head and looking at the book as if she were suspicious of it and thought it might bite her.

Cas tried very hard to read her very subtle behaviors. "Is this incorrect? Do you… not want to?" Why was she so clearly averse to the book in his hand?

"No. Well." She looked at him almost fearfully. "Aren't those books for relationships that are like, in trouble or something? Like, failing?"

Taken aback, Cas looked at the book with a deep frown. "I… don't know. Are they?" He quickly became dismayed and embarrassed at himself and his continuing lack of cultural human knowledge on how to do the right things. "That's not what I was… I only wanted to enrich our relationship. Not imply it was in a state of decay." So distraught that she would think that, Cas tried to reassure her despite his own discomfort. "I am very happy with you. I only want to better what we have." He had been carrying around so much guilt over the ways he was failing her that he wanted to make special efforts to make it up to her. This had been one such attempt but now he thought he'd made a mistake.

Alex seemed relieved and mildly embarrassed, perhaps thinking she overreacted. "Sorry, I just saw it and thought… I dunno what I thought." Her eyes flickered from the book cover to his eyes back and forth a few times. "And when you put it that way, I mean… I guess we could try it. It's just a bunch of questions we ask and answer back and forth, right?"

Cas nodded slowly. "Correct."

Alex thought about it for a moment then made a face that Sam made a lot—shrugging her mouth downward very briefly as her eyebrows rose. "Okay. Why not? Doesn't sound so bad. Hit me."

Shocked, Cas thought surely he had misheard. The spanking had been bad enough. " _Hit_ you?"

Apparently finding him funny, a grin cracked her face and she looked down. "I mean _tell me_ ," she explained, her amused eyes flicking up and catching his. "Go for it."

"Oh." Really, humans had strange ways of saying things. Adding the slang term 'hit me' to his vernacular, Cas turned his attention to the book, growing mildly excited to see what would come of this interaction. Maybe this would turn out to be something she liked. He hoped so. "I'll choose a page at random," he said, and opened the book to a place near the middle. Alex watched him with a faintly worried expression but was silent and waited for him to go ahead. "This is from the Reminiscence chapter," he said, then selected the first question his eye fell upon. " _What did you want to be when you grew up?_ "

The question made Alex blink a couple times and she considered for a moment. "Huh. _Well_ … I didn't think about it much." A ghostly smile came over her face. " _But_ —when I was _really_ little I wanted to be a space gymnast. 'Cause I thought gymnasts looked cool and I liked space exploration… plus, no gravity would be cool for doing flips I thought, so… I just put the two together." A self-conscious little grin crooked her mouth to the side. "It's… not a real thing." Cas smiled a little, too—she seemed pleasantly surprised at herself as she continued to tell him about her younger thoughts. "When I was older, like twelve and on… I dunno. I didn't really have a career or anything in mind. I pictured the future and always saw myself with Dean doing whatever he did, sort of just following him around forever. He used to talk about opening a car shop and I thought I could be a mechanic if that happened… I'm good with car crap…" she shook her head and chuckled, fiddling with the silverware in front of her. "Riveting stuff, huh?" She looked at him in an increasingly studious way. "Does this question even apply to you? When you were a…" she didn't seem to know the right term, "a new angel, did you want to be something else? Did you aspire to be some higher-level angel… or…?"

Cas realized some of these questions wouldn't apply to him at all as she turned the question back on him. "No," he answered slowly, thinking back. He hadn't existed and then he simply had. There had been no childhood for him and no free will or dalliances into choices. Just existence and servitude from day one. "I was content with my role. I never questioned it or thought of questioning it." He remained quiet for a moment, remembering how his home had been once. The difference between then and now was very unsettling. "Heaven was so stable in the beginning," he murmured almost to himself. "It lived up to its name. I had pride in my place among the heavenly host." Disquieted, Cas became jaded as he glanced at her. "As you know, this has changed in recent times."

Sympathy colored her one word response. "Yeah."

Not wanting to think of the war or the creature it was turning him into, Cas looked to the book for another question. " _What hobbies do you wish we could do together?_ "

Alex frowned silently, seemed to be surprised and then unsure of how to answer. "I need to think about this one," she said after a few seconds. "You answer first."

Cas had to think, too. Hobbies… human pastimes… were something he hadn't tried much of. He had enjoyed chess with Dean and _Candy Land_ with Alex… and television was fascinating to him too. Then, it came to mind, something he had seen done by many humans and he had always found personally interesting. "Gardening always seemed like a pleasing pastime to me," he said. "Have you ever tried it?"

Alex made a sound that seemed to indicate that was a funny thing to ask. "No… never really in a place long enough to take care of it or put in the work. Plus I'd probably kill everything… I don't think I have a green thumb."

Cas frowned slightly and looked at both of her thumbs. "No, they're pink, like the rest of your fingers," he said, garnering a sudden grin from Alex. Perhaps what she'd said was a figure of speech. Cas didn't know. He was imagining the two of them partaking in gardening together, creating something out of soil and seeds and water, caring for it and watching it grow… and he felt very inclined to this idea. "Perhaps we can start a garden together someday," he said hopefully, thinking of how pleasing that would be.

She was receptive of the idea and her soft eyes carried very much love in them. "If you want to, we will."

"I think I would also like to play board games together," Cas said, wistful in recollection. "Do you remember Candy Land?"

Alex was smiling again. "Do I remember Candy Land," she repeated teasingly in a tone that seemed to playfully poke at him for thinking she wouldn't.

He smiled too. When she said nothing further, he prompted her carefully, reminding her, wanting to know her reply. "And your answer?"

"Oh." She paused, repeated the question slowly. "What hobbies would I like for us to do together…" she paused then became a little apprehensive, worried her bottom lip, scratched the curve of her neck absently. "Um… I… don't think I really even _have_ hobbies now that I really think about it." Doubtful, she began to list things. "I used to be into collecting old film cameras for a few years… I used to draw. I even used to write really angsty poems." Her expression was mildly frustrated. "This is all stuff I _used_ to do and it was all like solo stuff." It suddenly came to her. "Wait! I like cooking! Well. _Trying_ to cook. I'm getting a lot better. I think maybe cooking together would be fun. Or, _interesting_ at least." She grinned, maybe imagining amusing scenarios.

"I would like that," Castiel said earnestly. He would like doing anything with her, he thought. But he was curious about something she'd mentioned and glossed over. "You've written poems? I would like to read them."

Alex's eyes went wide and she shook her head very slowly. "No—no, no, _no_. They are _so_ bad."

Cas's head tilted to the side and he frowned slightly. How could they be bad? "I think if they were written by you, I'd enjoy them."

Alex seemed to think that was sweet but her answer was a resounding: " _No._ No one but me has read them and trust me… no one ever will." She chuckled and moved the conversation along. "How about the next question, Cas?"

Relenting—perhaps someday she would let him see her poetry—Cas agreed. "All right." He began to read the next question on a random page he turned to. " _How_ _'_ _s_ _—"_ he stopped and realized what the question was and hesitated as a slight bashfulness crept across him. _"_ _How_ _'_ _s our sex life for you?_ "

She pressed her mouth inwards briefly to hide a smile. "Okay, _this_ I know the answer to: two thumbs way, way up." She stuck her thumbs up for a couple seconds and grinned, a self-conscious little blush spreading up her neck which she rubbed with a hand as she propped her elbow onto the table. "What about you?"

Cas mimicked what she had just done very slowly. "I… also raise my thumbs." He hesitated, eyebrows moving up uncertainly. "That means I am highly enthused, correct?"

"Mm-hm," she confirmed, then bent across the table and surprised him with a sudden kiss, pulling his face to hers with a hand. She was grinning at him when she pulled away. "God, Cas, I love you so much you angelic goofball," she said, fondly ruffling his hair before snatching the book from him. "Give me that. Okay, random question…" she flipped through the book and selected the first question she saw. " _What hopes and dreams do you have for_ _…_ _our children?_ " She read it and then sat back and made a face, glanced up at him uncertainly. "Well _that_ doesn't apply. Oops."

Cas was quiet for a moment, stricken by a spark of anxious curiosity. "Do you wonder if perhaps it will someday?" Many marriages produced offspring… would theirs?

Her eyes flickered up to his. Curiosity and apprehension rested there in the brown-green orbs. "Would you want it to?" she asked softly.

Cas took a moment to reply, considering her question very carefully. "I think that—"

"All right, all _riiiiight_ ," Nate the server said, suddenly there again. "Food's here folks," he said, sliding a plate with a waffle and two mini containers of butter beside it in front of Cas. He then slid a bowl of orange pasta in front of Alex and set down a little silver pitcher of syrup. He clapped his hands together and gave a wan little smile. "Bon appétit." He disappeared again and Cas and Alex were left in silence. Neither of them prompted the other to continue with the question they had been asking a moment ago. In fact, for a minute, they dodged it.

Cas watched Alex stir through her macaroni with her fork. She let her gaze flicker up to him a few times. Cas reached for the syrup and began to drizzle it over the waffle methodically. Relaxing a little after a moment or so, Alex smiled at him. "I like this," she said, about to take her first bite.

Cas knew what she meant. Not the food, but being together. "So do I." Their eyes remained locked and Cas felt the need to fill the silence. "Another question?"

"…What about the other one?" Alex asked cautiously, food temporarily forgotten.

He feigned forgetfulness for reasons he didn't really understand. "Oh. Yes. The children one." He _hadn_ _'_ _t_ forgotten. "I… don't think I would make a good father."

Alex looked at him for a long moment and contemplated him with a certain light in her eyes Cas didn't recognize. "Well, we disagree there," she said, then took a bite of her pasta. Before Cas could reply, she turned her attention back to the book and read as she chewed. " _What_ _'_ _s your favorite thing about yourself?_ "

The question struck Castiel as an odd one. About _himself?_ "I've never thought about that. Um… my favorite thing about myself is you."

"Psh," Alex scoffed in good nature and then beamed at him. "No, you can't say _that_."

"Why?" Cas asked.

"Because that's not the _question_ ," she said playfully. "What's your favorite thing about _you_? It can't be me."

But… it was. Still, Cas tried to answer the way she seemed to want. "I find more things to dislike than like," he answered honestly, his mind going to the darker places and to all the things he loathed about himself currently. What could he answer this question with? He thought and finally found an answer. "I like that I have chosen to stand on my own two feet, to use the metaphor," he said. "I like that I have learned to think for myself." As soon as he said that, he reconsidered his words. Thinking for himself had led to some very unsavory actions. He let it go though in favor of asking the question of her. "And you? What's your favorite thing about yourself?"

She thought too, tapping her fork against the bowl. "Hm. It's definitely easier to come with a list of dislikes than likes, isn't it." She rubbed at her chin for a minute in consideration, not seeming to find an answer. Finally it came to her and she seemed satisfied with the answer she gave. "I think my favorite thing about me is my ability to hang in and survive. A lot of people might have cracked after living the life I have." She smiled then, secretive, her eyes coy on his. "Also… one of my favorite things about myself is my voice. I like how it sounds. And I really like the guy who gave it back to me." Cas felt himself smiling. Chuckling self-consciously, Alex stirred at her pasta. "You know the first day I got my voice back, or maybe it was the second day… I spent a couple hours just shouting out every cuss word I knew of and laughing like a deranged idiot?" She looked at him then, a sheepish smile working on her lips.

Cas's smile grew a little bigger. "I remember."

"Oh yeah." Her captivating gaze became tender on him. "You were there." She studied him a moment more then took a bite of her macaroni and Cas followed suit, cutting a bite-sized chunk of waffle off as Alex had taught him in the past. As Alex chewed, she leveled him with a curious look. "Hey, you haven't asked about what I did with the soul claim."

The sudden mention of the soul claim made Cas's stomach feel as if it dropped. He stopped mid waffle-slice. The soul claim, which she thought she was in possession of… was still inside of him, lodged deep in his beating heart where it had been all along. The fake one he had given to her so dramatically was buried in Bobby Singer's salvage yard and he knew this from Samandriel. He was sick with himself over the deception he had planned and executed despite inner feelings of uncertainty—he did it because her soul claim could _not_ fall into the wrong hands or all was lost and he _had_ to see it through to the end. Selfishly he didn't feel able to handle her being angry with him over it if he continued to refuse it to her. He was her guardian angel in his mind, still, and her safety was his greatest desire.

Still. He didn't feel justified knowing he had tricked her and lied to her face, manipulating her emotions that way. He didn't recognize himself sometimes, and that day had been one of them. Cas was utterly silent, regretting it and yet knowing there wasn't another approach he could have taken. _You could have told her the truth_. That still, small voice in him wracked him over with relentless guilt.

Alex, who had no idea—who trusted him and believed in him and hadn't questioned his ruse even once when he performed it in the salvage yard recently—looked at him expectantly, affectionately. "What, after making such a huge fuss over it, you aren't curious?"

Castiel supposed he had to continue in the lie he had committed himself to. "Of course I am," he said, attempting to look curious and not ill. He wished they didn't have to talk about it at all. He wanted to pretend he hadn't done it to make himself feel better. "Where did you bury it?"

Her expression faltered and the faintest look of near-suspicion crossed her face. "…I didn't say I buried it."

Struck by his mistake, Cas fumbled for an explanation. Instead of telling her the truth, that he had asked Samandriel what she had done with it, he lied, not even sure why. "Well—I… only assumed you would… it seems the safest place to put it. Did you not bury it?"

A look of understanding washed away the suspicion. "No… I did. Out back in the salvage yard."

"Good." Cas looked down at the food item in front of him, hand tightening on the fork and bending the metal slightly in the process. "Good." He had convinced himself at the time that it was the right thing to do—she would never have to know he had given her a fake, he would put the soul claim into the book of Heaven and her eternal fate would be secured and no harm would be done either way (or so he had thought). Now, the guilt he felt for violating her trust was tremendous. It was wrong to lie to others. It was wrong to deceive the woman he loved. And yet… here he was.

He _wasn_ _'_ _t_ trying to run her life as she had accused him, he was trying to _save_ it. He still wished she had understood and accepted that and let him do what had to be done. But she was stubborn until the end and he had known she wouldn't be happy until she had the soul claim. That's why he had substituted a falsehood. To throw her off the truth and appease her and yes, very selfishly keep her endeared to him. Oh, what a shadowy thing to do…

Castiel hadn't predicted how much fear it would inspire in him to keep this from her. If she knew… if she discovered what he'd done… he knew her anger and shock and worst of all heartbreak would be matchless. She couldn't know. Not now and not ever.

Keeping it inside of himself was risky for a different reason too. As they had discovered, it would slowly kill _him_ if she died—yet it seemed a fitting fate for him, that if she perished for all eternity he would perish too. Maybe, in part, he hoped her soul claim in his chest would drag him along with her into the afterlife, if she even had one at all. Without being written into Heaven or Hell, where would the soul go? Perhaps it would just shatter completely. That was why he _had_ to win this war and put the claim in its rightful place. To protect her everlasting fate. No one was as important as she was.

While Cas thought on these things and got more and more upset, Alex pushed the half-eaten bowl of pasta away from herself and sat back in her seat, making a face of discomfort and putting a hand on her lower stomach. " _Ughhh_."

Cas, recognizing the signs of distress and pain, came out of his thoughts and sat up a little straighter in worry. "What's wrong? What is it?"

She shook her head, subdued. "Just cramps."

Castiel knew that they were a part of the monthly cycle but even her most minor of discomforts was something he didn't like. "Can I help? Are you in very much pain?"

"Nah. Used to it. Just super annoying." She sighed discontentedly and began to stare longingly at the little table-top display that advertised a chocolate cake. "Need… chocolate."

A strong and almost mad desire to do something right for her seized Castiel who in turn grabbed a passing server by her arm, surprising her. "Server—bring my wife chocolate. _Immediately._ " He realized his urgent tone might not be appropriate for the social context. Also, the server was looking at his hand on her arm with an indignant expression. He let go of her and made himself speak more calmly. "…Please."

"Uh, sure," the server said, eyes flickering to Alex briefly then to Cas. "Like the brownie sundae or the—"

Cas was losing patience. "Chocolate in any form, _now_."

The server backed off a little, then scurried away to do as she'd been asked. Cas looked at Alex, who was looking at him in faint surprise. "You… used the 'W' word," she said, appearing to be a little nerve-wracked. What, wife? Castiel frowned a little, confused. He had noticed over time that she almost wanted to _avoid_ speaking about what they were and he wondered why. Somewhere in the deepest part of him he suspected that she was ashamed of their marriage or unsure of what she felt about it. She didn't seem to want _anyone_ to know. It saddened him but he also felt he deserved it… he was a shameful, low creature right now and he was so very aware of it.

"I'm… it's always weird when you say that," she said, eyes dodging his. "I'm not used to it." A smile came over her face as she visibly tried to sweep away that topic completely and change subjects. "Hey, and by the way, don't get too upset. I'm not gonna die from chocolate deprivation or something." Cas just touched her stomach with his hand, willing comfort and warmth to be hers. He couldn't erase cramps—only ease them. They were a necessary part of the cycle. At his touch, her anxiety melted away and she smiled at him, touched his hand with hers. "You are something else, you know that?"

Yes. And not in a good way. He looked away, trying to appear flattered but probably looking more guilty than anything else.

The server reappeared then with a chilled pie slice on a small plate. "Here ya go, slice of chocolate silk pie to the rescue," she said then beat a hasty retreat away from them.

Alex picked up her spoon and dug in. "Mm. Wow. Really good."

Cas looked at her anxiously—mostly because he felt so terrible for his deception. "Is that satisfactory?" he asked as she savored another spoonful of chocolatey pie. "I can have them bring more, or I could go get—"

She gave him a rather lecturing look. " _Cas_ —this is fine." She chuckled, licking the spoon. "Anyone ever tell you you're a worry wort?"

Her light, unsuspecting mood was the worst thing in the world for him. Lost in darker thoughts and deep feelings of utter self-loathing he shook his head in weary distraction. "No. No one has ever called me a wort of any kind before." He was quiet a moment, working on finally taking the bite of his waffle. It tasted as he remembered but he didn't feel any sort of enthusiasm about it. In an effort to fill the silence that felt so stark to him, he commented on the food. "This waffle is very tasty." He lacked exuberance and sounded depressed about it. He had no desire to eat more of it though and swallowed it dryly.

"You okay, Cas?" She cocked her head to the side briefly.

"I'm fine," he lied. He turned the conversation over to her instead of himself. "Do you feel any better?"

"Mm-yup," she said, smiling at the spoon she'd just taken a mouthful of pie from. "Chocolate is some kinda magic. I don't even know how this works but… mmm." She shoved another mouthful in. "I think it's all in my mind. Want some?" She offered a spoonful his way.

Alex looked so innocent and unaware, so unsuspecting as she tried to share her food with him. He thought of their relationship ever since it had begun—she hadn't trusted him when he first met her and he had wanted her to, and now she _did_ trust him and he didn't deserve that trust. Moved deeply on every level and not even remembering her offer of pie, he let his intense and meaningful gaze overwhelm her. "I hope you know I would do anything to protect you," he said, wanting to tell her the truth and knowing that if he did he might lose her completely. He was filled with terror for the future and doubt in himself and the conviction that what he was doing was wrong. But in the end he had to protect her at all costs, even if one of those costs was her being angry with him or even rejecting him completely. There was a painful lump in his throat. " _Anything_."

Mild confusion at the abrupt confession showed on her face, then as her eyes flickered back and forth between his, he saw that she knew something was very wrong. "What is it, Cas?" Her eyes traveled his face in an attempt to see into him.

He shook his head, avoided her gaze. "Nothing."

"It's not nothing." She looked at him thoroughly. "You've been acting so strange lately."

His heart hammered hard in nervous panic. "It's… the war," he said, trying to deflect. "You know how it has burdened me."

She abandoned the pie in favor of studying him tensely and taking his hand in both of hers. "Tell me. Tell me what's wrong. Let me help you somehow."

"No one can help me," he said, dodging her caring gaze. "But thankfully I can sense the culmination drawing near." That was the truth. "Raphael's followers are spread out thinner than before. And, well, so are my forces." He thought about the seemingly endless war and how it had waxed and waned and was reaching the apex which would determine _everything._ "It's no longer full-on battles up there. It's mostly guerilla warfare, so to speak. I don't know how or when it will end but I haven't done what I have and come as far as I have to lose now." He said that last part with a deadly grimness and looked at her hands cupping his. He wanted to pull his hand away because it felt like trickery.

Alex, beautiful and kind and unquestioning Alex, looked at him with concern he didn't know if he deserved. "And God? Still no word from him, or…?"

"No." Cas let his teeth tighten downward for a moment as he again avoided looking her in the eye. "He's been gone longer than I thought… perhaps since the creation of the world. It's very difficult to know how to feel about it."

Apologetic, Alex squeezed his hand lightly. "Sorry, Cas. I know that's hard on you."

He pulled his hand away after a second, unable to bear himself at the moment. "It's all right."

A moment more of quiet passed, in which Alex looked more and more doubtful of Cas's shift in behavior. She picked up the book again. "How about more out of here?" she asked, pushing forward with a forced upbeat tone and trying to make the best of their time together. "Okay, first one I point to…" she chose one at random and read it. " _Where do you see us in five years time?_ " She deflated, her attempt at being positive falling flat. "Geez. These are really hard."

It was Cas's turn to wonder why she appeared emotionally distraught. "Why do you look so anxious?"

She did what he knew she did when her feelings weren't very confident—shrugged a single shoulder up and made a face. "Thinking about the future always gets me sorta antsy," she confessed in a stilted way. "And, us in five years? I don't even know where we'll be two _weeks_ from now." Her voice was quietly fearful. "What if the war's still full speed ahead five years from now? What if you're always gone?"

Intense out of the desperation he managed to keep at bay most days, Castiel took her hand that rested atop the table in his with renewed conviction. All of the unseemly things and lies would end and become worth it when he defeated Raphael and secured Heaven and ensured Alex's eternal fate. He had come this far and would finish it and told her as much. "I promise you, Alex. I will _end_ this." His intensity stilled her. " _Soon_."

Appearing both hopeful that what he said was true and afraid at the absolute way he said it, she tried a smile. It looked more like a grimace. "…Don't say if it's the last thing you do," she counseled gently. It was also a plea, Cas realized. She was afraid of losing him. And she knew, on some level, how desperate he was getting. He had felt humbled and awed at her instinctive understanding of him earlier, but now he felt fearful of it. He didn't want her to see some things. _He_ didn't like to see some things about himself.

"I am _going_ to make it right," he promised fiercely, only able to think of everything he had worked for and the need to accomplish victory. Then he would leave behind his dark deeds and never tread in the shadows ever again.

Instead of comforting her, his intensely-spoken words seemed to upset her further, but she attempted to hide it by working her face and clearing her throat and trying to appear accepting of what he'd just said. And then she looked around as if trying to find a temporary escape. "I, uh, I gotta go to the bathroom."

Cas frowned a little. She seemed uneasy. "Should I come with you?"

She was in the middle of pushing her chair back and standing up. "Um… no?" She was faintly amused at his question. "If the server comes around, he can take my plate, I'm done."

"Of course."

Cas watched as she headed for the back of the restaurant and threw a glance at him before she disappeared into the small hallway where a sign that said _restrooms_ hung. Did she know? Why had his promise to finish this upset her? Cas looked around himself for the first time and took in the patrons surrounding them. Mostly families and couples dined. Usually, watching humans inspired pleasant feelings for him but currently nothing could make him feel better.

One table over and across from him, a girl of about nine years old turned around in her chair and looked at him curiously, letting her arm hang over the back of the chair. She sat with an older woman, presumably her mother, who was on the phone and not paying attention. The little girl had wild corkscrew-curly hair that stood out around her head like a cloud and bright, keen eyes that looked Castiel over thoroughly in fascination. "I like your long jacket," she said after a moment.

Cas looked down at himself. "Thank you. It's actually a trench coat."

The girl's mother, on her phone, batted her daughter's shoulder distractedly. "Hannah, don't bother him, turn around in your seat." She returned to her phone conversation about acupuncture, mostly oblivious to her surroundings.

The little girl, Hannah, was still looking at Cas thoroughly. Her eyes swept an arc to the left of him, then did the same to the right of him. "I always thought angel wings would be _white,_ " she said calmly, a quizzical frown on her young, freckled face. Castiel was startled. Only very special people could see angel's wings.

" _Hannah_ _,_ " her mother covered the mouthpiece of her phone and looked at the little girl meaningfully. "Eat your green beans." She returned to her phone-call. "Yes, yes, sounds great Martha. We'll see you then, buh-bye."

Hannah looked at her mother very sadly. "But I didn't _want_ green beans, Mama."

"There's a lot of things in life you won't want but will have to accept anyway, Hannah," her mother said.

"I know, Mama. But green beans are the _worst._ "

"Sorry darlin'," the woman said, giving her daughter a sympathetic but pointed look as she grabbed her purse. "Okay, I'm gonna go pay the bill, don't you leave this table. Eat those veggies."

Hannah sighed obediently. "Yes ma'am."

Her mother left and little Hannah shifted. Cas heard a metallic clanking sound. He craned his neck to see where the noise had come from. Then he saw and was saddened. On Hannah's small, frail legs (legs that were much smaller than they should have been) metal braces clamped ankle to thigh. Her legs were misshapen and bowed despite the braces and Castiel understood immediately as his eyes perceived what a human's eyes could not. Muscular dystrophy… a condition in which muscles weakened throughout the lifetime of a child and commonly stopped working altogether in adulthood. Next to Hannah little crutches were propped against her chair. She could walk. For now. But in adulthood she would be in a wheelchair. Castiel wondered if this child had ever run in her lifetime. He doubted it. Not with legs that were so curved. That thought saddened him again.

Hannah turned and looked at him again, using her arms to turn herself in her seat better. She seemed to find him fascinating and was looking at his wings again. Decisive, she grabbed her crutches and deftly hobbled over to him, eyes journeying his wingspan with great peaceful wonder. "Can other people not see?"

"No." Cas looked at this child closely, wondering.

"Hm." Her head canted to the side. "Why can _I_?"

Cas thought that was a very good question. "I'm not sure." He looked at her deformed legs which were so unlike what God had designed for human beings to have. "Have you always had to use crutches?"

She was still contemplating his wings. "Yup, gonna be in a wheelchair soon." She visibly made herself be cheerful about it. "Mama says I can have pink wheels though, so it's okay. And I got to walk for a few years, so we are happy about that." What tenacity and maturity this innocent child had. And what a tragedy that she should never know what it was like to walk without supports or labor, what a shame that she would never run, that she would become confined to a wheelchair. Only… Castiel knew he could change that. Easily. What reason stood against him doing just that?

At that moment, Alex reappeared at the table. Curious as to the company Cas had attracted, she looked at Cas questioningly then Hannah, who was apparently not shy. "Hello." Hannah smiled brightly and nodded at her plate one table over. "Can I interest you in some green beans?"

Alex hesitated, an uncertain smile on her face. "Um… no thanks?"

"You sure? They're really…" Hannah tried to sound enthusiastic, "um, green beany."

Alex pulled an apologetic wince as Cas stood up. "Sorry, they're just not my favorite."

Hannah sighed gustily and flopped down to sit in the chair Alex had been in before. "Yeah, me either, which is the problem."

Castiel crouched down to be eye level with Hannah, who balked and gaped at him, leaning in to study him closely and unashamedly. "Whoaaa. Your eyes are _really_ blue."

He had other things on his mind than the shade of his irises. Castiel had done many things wrong regretted much. But this child, today, could be healed. Today, he could be the angel he had been created to be. "Hannah." He touched her mid-shin and commanded her atoms and cells and molecules to bend to his will. Power filled his voice. "Stand up and walk."

The little girl's face fell and her voice dropped to a whisper the second he touched her, and when he told her to stand, she looked as if she didn't dare believe. "…What?" she asked in a whisper, looking down at her legs with growing shock and hope.

Castiel stood up and offered her his hand. Just a couple feet off, Alex was just as shocked as Hannah, who took Cas's hand and slowly stood, her little face showing disbelief that was becoming overjoyed. The braces on her legs fell off seemingly of their own accord. The metal bands and bars clattered to the ground as for what was the first time in her young life, Hannah stood on legs that were strong, straight, and healthy.

"Oh… _oh_!" she cried, staring at her legs, afraid to really believe it was real. She kicked a leg out into the air and looked at it with a dropped-open mouth and she wobbled and almost lost her balance and grabbed onto Cas's coat for support. Deciding it was real Hannah looked up at him in utter awe through eyes filling with amazed tears. "I saw your wings but… but… now I _know_ angels are real." She abruptly hugged him tightly around the waist. "Thankyouthankyou _thankyou_ trench coat angel man," she whispered fiercely. Abruptly she gave a shout of glee and tore away from Cas, _running_ and jumping and skipping across the restaurant laughing the entire time.

"Mama, Mama!" she shrieked, knocking over a chair in her zeal and garnering some annoyed looks in the process. "Look! _Look!_ _"_

At the counter where she was paying, Hannah's mother turned around with a confused look on her face. Castiel put all the money he possessed down onto the table as he watched Hannah and her suddenly sobbing, shocked mother. Hannah was pointing back at Cas and Alex as her mother became hysterical and began to shout things about "a miracle, a _miracle_!"

"We should go," Cas told Alex, who was looking at him with an indescribable expression of utter admiration and respect. "But first… Dean wanted some pie."

* * *

After snatching an entire apple pie, Cas and Alex returned to Bobby's. They hadn't been gone for very long and Dean, Sam, and Bobby were all surprised to see them back so soon. Once he spotted the pie though, Dean had been instantly in good spirits and suggested everyone have some. After he'd given takers a slice, he attacked the rest of the pie with a fork, not even bothering to get a plate. As they all settled in, somewhere along the way Dean mentioned how Cas was unbeatable at chess and Sam (the resident Winchester expert) decided to take that bet. A couple hours passed and found the little group sharing beers and surprisingly good company over chess and then poker and then Jenga. Dean kept jokingly accusing Cas of cheating with his 'angel stuff' at Jenga and Alex had defended Cas and said he was very good with his hands… then snorted at her own innuendo.

Now up in the attic and just the two of them again, Cas sat on the end of the bed and watched the old tube television Alex had elevated upwards by a couple feet onto a box. She was changing into some sweat pants behind him as he watched the black-and-white images on the screen with a fascinated little smile. "This Lucy character seems to get herself into very odd predicaments," he said as Alex shimmied into more comfortable sweat pants.

"Yup… she's pretty great," Alex agreed, glancing up at the woman on the screen who was stuffing chocolates into her mouth at an alarming rate. She'd seen pretty much every episode of _I Love Lucy_ in existence thanks to reruns on TV Land. Cas looked back at her and stood up, walked over, and wordlessly pulled her to him for a hug. The unexpected action sent a thrill of warmth through her and she melted, nestling to him. Sometimes she forgot they were as close and comfortable as they were and when she was reminded, it made her turn to mush. The weirdness Cas had shown earlier (his unexplained worries and strange behavior) was a fluke apparently. He was himself again. On TV, the laugh track sounded faintly. Warm in arms that held her steady and secure, Alex let out a soft breath feeling contended and okay in almost every way. "Today was just what I needed," she confessed in a whisper as to not break this serene moment. Having him there with her had set her at peace again.

His soft, deep voice reverberated in his chest against her ear, his hand stroked against the back of her head. "I'm glad."

Pulling back to look at him, Alex had a bittersweet smile on her face. His familiar features were so beautiful to her and she touched the side of his face in quiet adoration. "You gotta get this war won so days like today aren't the minority," she said, trying not to give away how deeply she despaired for that exact thing.

"I know," he answered, becoming a little more tense as he saw through her and probably felt the same way himself. "I think of that day often." Cas took one of her hands in his own and peered into her eyes in quiet concern. "How are your menstrual cramps? Do you need anything? Anything at all?"

It was kind of cute of him to worry about her like that and she chuckled lightly. "They're not bad," she said, then turned, sat on the bed, and pulled him along toward her. "I just want you to stay as long as you can."

"Of course," he replied, following her as she tugged on him and beckoned him to be near to her. She laid down—it was dim in the attic and she just wanted to be close to him in the darkness. He followed her there, shifting to lay on his side near her.

The TV was a dull drone in the background and she curled up against him then reached into his coat, searching for the book she had at first been dismayed to see. "More questions?" she asked, grinning a little.

A slow smile spread across Cas's face. "You like the book," he surmised as she found it and pulled it out.

She flipped through it randomly, glancing at him briefly, a smile trying to hide on her lips. He looked so very pleased with himself. "I didn't think I would, but I kinda do. Let's see. Hmm. Okay." She scanned the question before asking it this time. " _What has brought you the most joy recently?_ "

Cas didn't have to think about his answer. "You," was the single-word reply. His fingers came to trace down the side of her face as his eyes drank hers in. "Being with you. Thinking of you. Sometimes, when I can't conjure hope or when I'm in battle, the thought of you is what gets me through." The words touched her so deeply. "What about you?"

She didn't have to think about her answer either. "Seeing you heal that kid." Thinking of it again made her want to cry from emotion. Hannah's hair bouncing as she ran and skipped for probably the first time in her life was something Alex could never forget. "You changed her life forever. Just because you _could_ … just because you wanted to." What kind of magic was this angel laying beside her? He truly fit the term angel. "I think all angels should be like you," she said, meaning every word and looking at him with all the love she felt for him. "Kind. You have more heart than most people alive in the world."

Her compliment seemed to make him doubtful and his eyes fell away from hers. "That's very nice of you to say." Her hand rested on the book between them and he contemplated it then covered it with his own. "I often wonder why angels shouldn't go into the world and fix every broken thing. It's within our power to heal the sick and to perform many great miracles. Think of the suffering my brothers and sisters could end. If we weren't consumed by war, we could help mankind in ways we never have before." He seemed to feel very deeply on the matter. "In the past, miracles and healings weren't allowed except when commanded. I always wondered why."

His love of humanity and his willingness and vision to heal those in need of healing was one of the greatest things about him. Alex knew it was part of his character. After all, the voice she spoke with was something he'd given her out of personal compassion. Maybe he would change the whole world forever in time. He'd certainly changed _her_ whole world. "Well, maybe after the war that's what angels will do, huh?"

He considered it dubiously and spoke with faint sadness. "Perhaps. The other angels seem too caught up in the politics of paradise than the condition of humans. Not many of them are interested in much else other than following orders and maintaining the status quo. Many overlook the wonder of humanity. Many fail to see what's so special about your kind."

Curious about his thoughts, Alex let her eyes study his face in fascination. "And what would that be?"

"Everything. Humans are vessels of hope. And creation." His eyes raised to hers, he pulled her hand off of the book and to himself where his fingers caressed her hand lightly. "And love."

How was he even real? He was like a dream and even though she thought his face and body were absolutely gorgeous, his mind and heart were even more so. "I think your mind must be a very beautiful place, Castiel," she murmured softly, very much in awe of him at the moment. He was so much more than the man that he appeared to be. She thought of his wings, she thought of his powers and abilities and it crashed over her all over again. He was an _angel_. And she was… just Alex. Even though his love for her was apparent and pronounced and undeniable, she always still felt like it was too good to be true and one day she'd wake up and find out it had been a huge cosmic joke or something. Something she'd wondered recently popped out of her mouth before she could stop it. "Do you ever worry we won't know what to do when we're finally free to be together?" she asked anxiously. "What if this relationship only works because of all the separation?"

In response to the query, Cas looked abruptly confused. "What do you mean?"

"I mean… what if we don't actually like being together or something?" They had never been with each other for more than a few days at a time and what if the charm wore off or they realized they were deeply incompatible in some way they hadn't yet or… maybe she was way off base. Becoming confused at herself, she shook her head. "I don't know…"

"The thought seems quite absurd," Cas said factually, then quickly added more. "Not that I am trying to disrespect your thoughts, I only meant… I could never dislike being with you. You are my favorite person in all of the world. And there are currently over seven billion people on this planet."

Leave it to Captain Facts to romance her with statistics. It worked though. "Oh _you,_ " she murmured affectionately and then hugged him, grinning into his chest and wondering how the hell she got so lucky. Sighing as he held her, she looked down the length of their close bodies, letting her legs tangle with his. That's when she saw a small black fleck on her gray sweats and subsequently freaked out at epic proportions.

Kicking her legs and shrieking as she flailed backwards in an attempt to escape what she thought was a spider, Cas of course immediately freaked out too and sat up as she screamed "get it away!" as well as a few choice expletives.

"Alex, what is it?" Cas demanded while he looked around and held onto her tight as if he were shielding her from some big attacker.

"A _spider!_ " she panted, brushing at her sweatpants with shaking hands and looking around with frantic eyes as she searched for the small insidious dot. She was backed up against the headboard with Cas beside her. "I swear I saw one, Cas! _Auuugh,_ where'd it go?!" Her hands fluttered at her neck nervously.

Cas, calm and steady, peered at a spot on her sweatpants behind her knee and plucked something off then showed her. It was a black fuzzball. "This is not a spider."

Chagrined but very relieved, she relaxed and went slack against the headboard, half sitting. " _Oh_." Apologetic, her eyes darted to his ruefully. "Sorry."

Cas looked at her with veiled worry. "Why do you fear spiders so much?" His eyes were narrowed into shrewd slits. "It seems peculiar, as you regularly face monsters twice your size."

"It's dumb," she told him, embarrassed of herself. She knew spiders were smaller and easy to kill and couldn't 'get her' but she was so traumatized over them that she locked up every time she saw one. Cas was peering at her solicitously, waiting to hear, and she hesitated. "You really wanna know?"

He seemed to think that was a strange question. "I want to know everything about you."

Alex hesitated. She already knew he wasn't going to like it. She'd come to terms with this but Cas… he'd be mad. She slid back down to the bed and laid on her back, thinking about how to begin. Cas settled beside her on his side and looked as if he were becoming nervous about her answer.

Alex thought back to when she had been about seven maybe. "When I was little, Dad had us staying in some creepy cabin for a couple weeks. I woke up one night and this huge spider was crawling up my bare arm and I just freaked _out_ _—_ they'd always scared me a little but that was just terrifying. So, I started jumping around and accidentally kicked my dad in the head with my knee real hard when I did. We were in the same bed and Sam and Dean were in the other room sharing the other bed." Alex very clearly remembered her dad yelping and swearing as her knee cracked into his ear. He woke up angry, which was always just _great_. "He got pissed… and when he figured out it was a spider that had freaked me out, he took me outside in the middle of the night and said I just needed to get over it, face my fears, yada yada yada… then he locked me in the shed and said I had to stay in there thirty minutes with the spiders. Well… he forgot I was in there or fell back asleep, I dunno. I was in there all night and there were spiders were everywhere and dad never came to get me." And _that_ was why she was so freakishly scared of spiders. Just thinking about that shed made her feel anxious and tic-ridden. She could still feel them jumping on her and crawling on her, she could still remember how her sharp panting breaths sounded all night long.

Just like she had predicted, Cas had become stone faced at the revelation. "He was wrong to do that to you," he finally said in a low, rough voice that stowed a lot of cold anger.

"I know," Alex said, then tried to explain why she believed her dad had done that. "They did immersion therapy like that when he was in the Marines. Made people face their fears at really intense levels. But… that was for full grown adults. I was just a scared little kid who needed to be told it was gonna be okay." As if it might make things better, she tried to make her dad appear marginally less a villain. "He felt really bad about it in the morning."

Cas seemed to think that was rich and said nothing, only stewed silently.

Alex remembered crying in that silent pitch-black shed for hours, screaming silently for help, blowing on her whistle and trying to get someone to come help her please. The shed was too far from the house and no one heard. Only the spiders heard her. Early in the morning, dad had reappeared and had been disheveled, freaked out, had yanked the locked door open and picked her up and hugged her hard. _"_ _Oh baby, I_ _'_ _m so sorry! I_ _'_ _m so sorry, I fell asleep sweet girl, so sorry baby_ _…_ _Christ, you okay baby?_ _"_ Should she have smacked him in the face for leaving her there all night? Maybe so. But she had hugged his neck and sobbed silently and clung to him for the comfort he didn't usually give. Was it sad she remembered that moment as one of her best memories with Dad? When he messed up bad, he used to apologize and actually show emotion. But as she'd gotten older, he had gotten more and more withdrawn, more apathetic and angry at everything.

"He was trying to help," Alex said, echoing what he'd told her as he rocked her and tried to calm her down. But really. What dad _helped_ their kid that way? "Or I hope he was," she said, deeply sad at the thought of John Winchester and all the issues he'd left her with and subjected her to. "But now every time I see a spider I just remember being in that fucking shed. So…" she trailed off. That was the story of her and spiders. Like she'd said, it was dumb.

Cas was silent, clearly very incensed, and Alex said nothing. She had never told anyone about it before. Sam and Dean didn't even know. They just thought she was freakishly scared of spiders for no reason. They'd always made fun of her for it and rolled their eyes at her for it. She hadn't wanted to tell them. Dad had this way of making you feel like his mistakes should be covered up and hidden, like he was the victim even when he was the culprit.

Pushing some of his darker fury away in favor of focusing on her, Cas looked at her and pulled her a little closer to himself with a very grim and serious look on his face. "I will always keep you safe from spiders."

Smiling helplessly at how damn cute he was without meaning to be, she snuggled into his chest. She felt safe and right there with him. "Thanks, Cas. My hero."

There was a short silence. "I am very angry imagining him for subjecting you to that."

"I know," Alex said. For another long moment they were silent and surprisingly, as she thought about her father, a sudden intense pang of loss and emptiness hit her. "And despite it all, I miss my dad sometimes," she confessed, not even sure what to think. "Is that crazy? I wish… I just wish he would have been better. I wish he could have been the father we needed." She remembered a man who had been too focused on revenge. She remembered how sad and lonely and angry John Winchester was but how desperate he was to love and be loved. He didn't know how. She wished he had. She had lost her dad a long time before he died and that was what hurt the most and put tears in her eyes, made her shake her head at the unfairness of it all. "I just wanted him to tell me he loved me and that it was gonna be okay… not put a gun in my hand and tell me what a dark place the world was."

"I wish I knew what to say ," Cas said softly, obviously anguished over her pain. Almost like it were his own.

"I feel _sorry_ for him," Alex said, seeing her dad in her mind's eye. She didn't understand the man and didn't know why he had done the things he had. She loved him and despised him all at once. She grieved who he should have been. "I feel _sad_ for him. He wasn't supposed to be the way he did."

Her hand, holding onto one of Cas's lapels, was gently taken into Cas's hand and he slipped his fingers between hers, seeking her gaze. "I understand that there were extenuating circumstances," he told her. "But no one should hurt you or abuse you, Alex. Especially not the man pledged to protect and raise you."

That was true enough but it had still happened—what the hell could be done about it now? Getting too emotional about things she didn't want to confront, Alex tried a smile, then tried a little laugh. "Yeah well we both know about dads who didn't do it right, don't we?" she asked, trying to think what if had been like to be Castiel. "To exist all those years as an angel of God and put all your faith and identity into him only to find out he's ditched… I know _that_ had to suck."

Cas thought about it. "It did. And it does." He tested out the word she had just used: "Suck." He began to share his deep and intimate thoughts with her in a slow voice. "I expected very much from my father and have received only questions and disappointments. I reached out with waiting hands and was given nothing."

That made her so sad to hear, sadder than she thought she'd feel. Maybe he really _did_ identify with her daddy issues. More than she thought. "Do you still hope maybe God shows back up?" she chanced after a minute.

He sighed long and hard. "I don't know what I want." There was a long silence. "I just want to know _why_. Why he would leave. Why he would allow Heaven and earth to become so tarnished and disorderly. I trusted my father implicitly. I had faith. I thought revelation was from him. But all along it was Michael and Raphael who imagined themselves gods in their own right. It was a sham. We all believed simply because we were told."

Alex pulled back and let her head rest into the pillow there as she looked at him in fond admiration. Yes, this was a hard road for him (and for _them_ ), but it had crafted him into such a strong individual. She was proud of him for making a stand and fighting for justice and sticking with it even though it was harder than hard. "Who would have thought, when I first met you, how you'd turn into a revolutionary?" she asked, thinking back to when he'd been stoic and seemingly emotionless. "I remember when all you cared about or knew was obeying."

He looked at her somberly. "I was afraid. Of listening to my own instincts." He looked upwards, his expression unsettled. "Sometimes I still am."

There it was again. That unexplained insecurity and distant look of grudging he got sometimes. "Why?"

He hesitated, maybe choosing his words carefully. "I am not sure I know how to chose the right path sometimes," he confessed, shaking his head, staring off into the dark attic unseeingly. "I'm new at this. All of it. Everything."

"Well, you're not so bad for a newbie," she said in gentle teasing, trying to get him to cheer up however fractionally. It didn't work so she took his face in her hand and held his gaze meaningfully. "I trust your instincts, Cas. If you don't, I do. You're smart. You care. You're trustworthy."

Strangely, his expression seemed pained at her words. "You don't know the things I've done."

"Well then you could tell me…" she suggested, wishing he would and feeling slightly wary at the tone he used.

He loved her very much and his eyes told her as much. "Some things are too heavy for you to carry," he said, seeming to be resigned to whatever fate he had subjected himself to. "Allow me to do this for us."

Alex hesitated. Something felt wrong, but maybe it was just her wishing he would tell her everything he was going through. "Just promise to share some of that heaviness with me when it gets to be too much," she said earnestly, squeezing his hand tight. "I know you're an angel, but everyone has their limit."

"I promise," he said quietly, his eyes unreadable but touched. "Thank you for being so kind to me."

Why would he thank her for that? Smiling a little, she joked lightly. "Anytime, Cas." The book, which laid in the small space between them, called to her. "More questions?" She asked. She liked hearing his answers very much and it was a good distraction from the more somber, heavy subjects they kept finding themselves in. Finding a random question on a random page, she asked it. " _What are some of your favorite memories of us?_ _"_

Cas's expression softened as his eyes scanned over memories and met hers. "The first time I saw you," he replied, then his tone became more tender, more affected. "The first time you could see me, too. The first time you smiled at me." His hand still in hers stroked fingertips lightly across her palm and his eyes shifted back and forth between hers. "When you first laid your hand arm when I came to you in a dream. I didn't understand why I was so inclined to the touch of your hand." His touch sent little shivers up her spine and Cas grew more and more genuinely emotional. "Every memory of us is my favorite," he said, taking her hand firmly in his own and pulling it near to his heart.

His declarations of love were making her all the more emotional. "Stop, Cas, you're gonna make me lose it," she said, trying not to get misty-eyed.

"Lose what?" He asked, quickly becoming very concerned.

She shook her head, leaned in, and kissed him wordlessly, then looked him in the eye and let her gaze speak to him as she stayed close, a breath away. Stilled by her kiss, Cas's brilliant blue eyes searched hers then he inched closer as his gaze dropped to her lips briefly. His hand found her face and his nose brushed hers as his lips brushed to hers softly and sweetly for another kiss. Sighing at the feeling, Alex nestled her body closely to his and pulled him closer by the back of the neck, deepening the kiss without a second thought, needing to taste him and be tasted. His lips and mouth were so much more intoxicating than any other substance she'd ever experienced and as such, she became lost in him and the way he returned the kiss so deep and slow.

What a beautiful and warm world to exist in there with him in that bed. She couldn't get close enough to him or have enough of his kiss or touch. Her hands slid up to his neck then cupped his face, fingers dragging against the pleasantly rough stubble there. Her eyes fluttered open and she saw his eyes were half open too, watching her as their mouths explored the other's. She caught him doing that often… looking at her while they kissed. But, she guessed in order to have caught him doing that in the first place, she had to have been doing it too.

"I could kiss you forever, Cas," she murmured against his mouth, drowsy and drunken from the effect he left on her.

He traced two fingers down her cheek thoughtfully, pulling back a little and examining her tenderly. "Forever is a very long time."

Her mouth curved up to one side. "Mm-hm, I know," she said. "That's why I used that word." She craned for him, seeking another kiss, but Cas spoke, making her pause.

"You didn't answer the question," he said, and she realized she hadn't.

Biting away a cheeky smile, she shrugged. "You distracted me."

What was her favorite memory of Cas and herself? So many moments flooded her mind and it was impossible to pick. Everything from the very first time he had healed her and asked her to trust him to him taking her to see the northern lights competed for favorite. "So many…" she mulled, trying to pick one. She couldn't. And then she thought of the first time he had spoken aloud what she had known for awhile. "The first time you said you loved me," she said in just a whisper as she remembered thoroughly. It made her stomach flip around to recall the way he sounded saying that to her. That had been the day he had vowed the rest of his days to her alone and she was overwhelmed that could have actually happened. "The day we got married."

When she said that, Cas softened and became deeply touched, his eyes treasuring her. "How is it that you agreed to be mine?" he asked, seeming to be in awe over it anew.

Smiling again, letting a thumb stroke his cheek soft and slow, she shrugged. "Kinda made me fall in love with you," she joked.

Abruptly deep worry and pain filled his face and he got intense. _Beyond_ intense. "I never want to hurt you," he said with strange intensity. "I never want to be the source of your sadness."

Not suspecting him of anything but being under severe and mind-numbing stress from the war in Heaven (even though later she would beat herself up for not realizing his odd behavior for what it was), Alex attempted to comfort him. "Shh," she soothed quietly, brushing both her thumbs against his face. His anxiety made her anxious, too. "Stop worrying," she encouraged, and kissed just beside his mouth, then on his cheek. He closed his eyes, eyebrows moving in together as she lightly, slowly kissed and nuzzled his face all over. "Everything's gonna be okay," she told him. "Soon. I promise."

His eyes opened back up to look at her and Alex couldn't have guessed how wrong she was about what she'd just said. Leaning close to him and beckoning him to let her reassure him, she stroked a hand through his hair and looked into his eyes, loving him so completely and needing him to have hope so she could too. "Just kiss me a little longer."

Cas gave in and did as she asked, letting his strong arms pull her close as his eyes fell closed and their noses brushed. He took hold of her face and carefully he kissed her with smoldering affection, savoring her as if he thought he would have her forever, surrendering to the comfort her touch gave him.

In the proverbial distance, the storm gathered. Soon, it would break over their heads and devastate everything. But that night, ignorance was bliss. They turned their heads away from the horizon and did not heed the signs of approaching destruction.

* * *

**A Few Weeks Later**

In a crowded yacht party Heaven belonging to a very rich CEO, two angels were among the human apparitions—this was to hide themselves from Raphael's followers and their watchful eyes. A soft blue sky arced overhead and calm ocean waters lapped tranquilly as a pleasant, salty breeze sighed across the upper deck.

Leaned over a cocktail table with a drink in hand, the first angel was the picture of relaxed and jaunty. He gave his counterpart a subtly questioning look as he raised his glass to his own lips. "So, I'm supposing you've heard the rumors then?"

The angel opposite of him looked out of place—he stood stiff like a board, arms at his sides while a stern frown pinched his face. "…What rumors?" he asked cautiously, seeming vaguely uncertain and suspicious of what was being discussed.

"Well that Raphael's back of course," Balthazar replied casually, sipping his scotch. "Word is he's finally got his new vessel and's ready to play ball." There was a look of dawning utter dread and shock on Castiel's face. Balthazar knew why… they _both_ understood that Raphael's first task would be to track down and use the youngest Winchester against Cas who had, if you asked Balthazar, been very careless about the entire thing. Every bloody angel in Heaven knew about Cas's strange preoccupation and interest in the girl. As Cas's face got more and more panicked as realization set in, Balthazar held up a finger with a calm and knowing smile on his face. "Now now, before you get upset, hear me out." He set his scotch down and leaned forward over the tall cocktail table covertly. "I know _exactly_ how to get him off your ass and more importantly off the ass of your little lady friend."

Castiel's was still quite alarmed and as such, was ready to hear Balthazar's plan. "How?"

Balthazar grinned easily and spread his arms, as if the answer were obvious. "The other half of the weapons of course."

Dismayed and obviously disappointed at what had just been said, Cas set his jaw and looked sidelong in a caged way. "Which _Daniel_ has."

"For _now,_ " Balthazar corrected confidently. His coy smile was growing and one of his eyebrows was lifting just slightly. "I've got a way to steal the weapons away."

Cas appeared suspicious but was willing to hear Balthazar out. "Tell me."

"Dunno if you're going to like it…" Balthazar warned.

Impatient and not bothering to hide it, Castiel let his gaze bore into his brother's. "Just _tell me_ , Balthazar."

Balthazar smirked a bit as he fiddled with his scotch glass. "Ever heard of a battle tactic called a feint, Cas? It involves drawing the attention of the enemy to an area of battle where little or nothing is going on… at which time the offensive strategy can take place without much interruption." He looked at his brother pointedly, suggestively.

Cas's frown only deepened. "What are you saying?"

"We stage a distraction and send Raphael and company on a useless chase while _you_ get the weapons back," Balthazar said, then in false humility put his hands to himself. "With yours truly leading the way, of course."

Digesting the idea, Castiel was nodding intently, eyes down in thought. "This sounds promising." He peered at Balthazar in veiled hopefulness. "What distraction do you have in mind?"

Balthazar grew mildly hesitant. " _This_ is the part you're not going to like," he said, reluctant to say. He waited a couple more seconds then let came out with it. "It's the Winchesters."

Immediately, Cas's face showed complete aversion. " _No_." Intense and meaningful in a way that was borne out of protectiveness and affection, Castiel drew himself up to his full height. "They will _not_ be used in that way. It's too dangerous."

A bit irritated and impatient, Balthazar sighed loftily and looked around the scene around them. "Do you want to win the war or _not_ , Cassie?" Deeply abiding guilt showed on Cas's face. Balthazar jabbed an imperative finger down onto the table and he pressed his advantage. "Then _this_ is how. We _need_ those weapons and you know we do." Overhead, sea gulls swooped and gave squawking cries. When Cas said nothing, Balthazar continued in his efforts to convince him. "I've got it all thought out—I've _done_ my research I promise you, and yes, there's slight risk to the boys, but basically none to your little chérie." Balthazar chanced a roguish, self-assured grin. "It'll practically be a _vacation_ for them." He almost sounded like he was boasting. His more easygoing demeanor was _not_ matched by Castiel. Giving up on the more playful attempts, Balthazar became serious. "If this can give you the upper hand, why not risk it?"

Cas's eyes snapped up to Balthazar's balefully. "Because I don't want to risk them. Especially _her_."

Sighing chidingly, Balthazar gave his brother a patronizing look. "Cas, Cas, Cas… the time of wants is sadly past. The time of action is upon us. I can _personally_ guarantee her safety and assure you the reward will outweigh the risk." Not convinced, Castiel was stony and silent, his eyes piercing Balthazar's, testing and probing and clearly wondering if it were the right course of action. Balthazar was contrite—he knew he had wronged his brother in the past and _did_ want to atone. "Let me make up my faults to you once and for all," he requested earnestly. "Just say yes and the weapons are yours. I'll take care of the lying-to-their-faces part, you don't have to get your hands dirty. This will _work,_ Cas, I vow it to you on my existence." There was more uncertain, grudging silence from Castiel and Balthazar couldn't understand why his brother was so hesitant. "Cas, you _need_ these weapons."

A weary sigh whispered out of Cas's slightly parted lips. "I know that I do." Deep in thought, the angel in the trench coat thought for a terse moment, his dark brows pushing toward each other. "Balthazar, if any of them are harmed at all, especially Alex…" he trailed off, very loathe to continue onward.

Balthazar smiled cajolingly at his brother whose concern for the humans was unique. "Not a hair on their heads, Cas old boy." A muscle jumped in Cas's already-tight jaw. His struggle was marked and vast. Balthazar didn't see the issue or why Cas had to think about it. _Win the war_ by the simple act of dangling the Winchesters as bait. They'd be _fine,_ and even if they weren't, there were angels that could bring humans back from the dead (Cas included). What was the dilemma?

When Cas still said nothing, Balthazar prompted him. "Do you trust me or no?"

Cas's conflicted gaze slowly rose up to his brother's and he looked upset with himself and trapped, forced into a scenario he hated. However, he was also quite resigned. "Tell me what to do," he said heavily.

A slow, pleased smile spread across Balthazar's face and he reached out, clapping Cas once enthusiastically on the side of the arm. "Right choice, Cas."

* * *

**Later**

A violent downpour raged outside at night, beating the ground with relentless rain showers. Thunder shook the Singer house and lightning flickered here and there.

Dean sat at Bobby's desk hunched over in front of a laptop. When Sam strolled in with a couple thick volumes from the attic in hand, Dean glanced up and noticed he was alone—he hadn't been when he left a few minutes ago. "Where's Pipsqueak?"

"She'll be down in a minute, picking out a few more she thought might help," Sam said, setting down the stack with a thud and looking around curiously. "Where'd Bobby go?"

"Supply run," Dean answered.

Sam looked pretty impressed. "In _this_?"

"Yeah, man's a hero."

"What supplies could we possibly have needed that bad?" Sam asked, making a face.

Dean smirked up at his brother and gestured at his empty bottle. "We were officially out of hunter's helper."

Amused understanding came over Sam's face. "… _Ah_."

A particularly violent series of lightning flashes flickered abruptly, and with the lightning came a feeling in the air that caused both the Winchester boys to frown.

They both sensed it at the same time—they weren't alone. Dean spotted him first and shot out of his seat as Sam turned to look.

"Hello, boys," Balthazar said, shocking them both at his appearance and then the way he charged right into the study like he owned the place. "You've seen The Godfather, right?"

Cautious—this couldn't be good—Dean stood back, hairs on the back of his neck standing up straight. "Balthazar…"

"You know, the end, where Michael Corleone sends his men to kill his enemies in one big, bloody swoop?" Balthazar asked. He was mildly out of breath and began to poke around on the shelf behind the desk, pulling out a container of salt and paying no attention to the brothers.

" _Hey_ _._ " Dean said, trying to get the guy's attention.

"Dead sea brine…" Balthazar muttered to himself, reading the container in rapt attention. "Good, good, good…" he began to sprinkle salt into a bowl on Bobby's desk, turned his attention to Sam. "You know, Moe Greene gets it in the eye, and Don Cuneo gets it in the revolving door?"

Pissed, Dean stared at the angel who wasn't giving him the time of day. "I said _hey_."

Balthazar stopped what he was doing and looked at Dean in a very pretentious way. "You did. _Twice_. Good for you." He patted Dean on the arm with a facetious little smile. "Blood of lamb," he muttered, now casting his gaze around the study. "Blood of lamb…" he suddenly disappeared from in front of their eyes. In the kitchen, they heard him talking some more, lazily cataloging the contents of the fridge. "Beer, cold pizza… blood of lamb. _Yes!_ _"_ He turned and grinned at them stupidly, a red jar in hand which he held up victoriously. "Blood of lamb!"

Sam had to raise his voice to a shout over the din of the storm outside. "Why are you talking about The Godfather?"

Balthazar disappeared again and his voice sounded directly behind them. "Because we're in it," he said. The boys turned, growing more and more confused. " _Right_ now, tonight. And in the role of Michael Corleone, the archangel Raphael." He began to unscrew the lid of the jar of lamb's blood then paused, seeming to remember something. "Now where _is_ that sister of yours?"

Dean didn't like this at all and took a couple steps forward, demanding an explanation as Balthazar poured blood into the bowl. "Okay, _what_ the hell is going on here, harpsichord? You need to tell me right now or—"

"No, no, no, _no_ …" Balthazar was abruptly pulling out the drawers of the desk and searching through the contents, dumping everything onto the floor. "No, no, no, no!" He dumped another drawer out and abruptly became relieved. " _Yes_. Bone of a lesser saint." He held up a little specimen in a plastic baggie, smiling all the while. "This vertebra will do _very_ nicely. Your Mister Singer _does_ keep a beautiful pantry." He began to dig the vertebrae out.

"What's going on?" came a new voice. The loud storm had covered up the sound of Alex coming down the stairs. She stood in the entrance to the study with three books and a look of sheer confusion on her face. "Balthazar? What are _you_ doing here?"

Giving her a sarcastic little expression, Balthazar paused what he was doing. "Baking you a _cake._ What does it _look_ like I'm doing?"

He resumed crushing up the bone with his hand and Alex drifted closer cautiously, shooting her brothers questioning looks briefly. "Arts and crafts project I wasn't invited to?" she ventured.

" _So_ close," Balthazar retorted in a sassy tone, letting the crushed bone dust sift into the bowl. "No, I am here to protect you from Raphael—and I _don_ _'_ _t_ mean the teenage mutant ninja turtle." He began to stir up his weird mixture with a pestle.

" _What?_ " Alex asked, almost dropping the books at the mention of Raphael. Her face showed absolute dread. "H-he's back?"

Balthazar gave her a knowing look. "Oh yes."

"And what, he's after you?" Dean asked, trying to figure out what the hell was going on.

Balthazar looked at Dean with disdain. "Didn't you hear me just now you useless shelf decoration?" Startled at the comment, Dean made a disgruntled face. "Raphael is after us _all_." Balthazar mixed the bowl contents harder, faster. "You see, he's consolidated his strength. And now he's on the move."

"And where's Cas?" Sam asked carefully.

Balthazar was now hurrying over to the large window with his mixture. "Oh, Cassie? He is deep, _deep_ underground, running fast and hard, can't come to the phone at the moment." He caught sight of Alex and the chastising little look he gave her made both her brothers look at her. "Oh don't look so distraught," he told her. "I'm sure he'll be fine." He paused, let his eyes narrow slightly in consideration. " _Maybe_." Balthazar began to swirl two fingers around in the bowl of liquid he'd created. "Good old Raffy put out a hit list on every last Samaritan who might be of any importance to the angel in the trench coat. See, he wants to draw Cas out in the open." He inexplicably began to draw a strange symbol in blood on the pane of the window. "Makes sense, doesn't it? After all—Heaven knows how much Cas likes your sister, boys. You and me? Cas might not bat an eye. Her? Oh, he'll come _running_." He finished drawing and shook the blood off his hand. "Which is why I've got to hide you, and _now_."

"Hide us?" Sam asked, skeptical and suspicious, standing in the front of both his siblings sort of protectively. That's when the lights began to flicker and buzz. The Winchesters all looked up. That was _never_ a good sign.

"Ah." Balthazar seemed to share their sentiment. "That's all the time we have, children." He strode over and pulled his blazer aside and a large bloodstain in his lower chest became visible as he rooted around in the inner pocket of the jacket. "Where _is_ it?"

"Whoa," Dean commented at the sight of his injury. "What happened there?"

"Oh. Garish, I know," Balthazar said offhandedly, letting the blazer fall back into place. "You see, uncle Raffy sent one of his nastiest to handle me. I'm flattered, actually. And down a lung at the moment, but that's all right." He held out what he'd been looking for to Sam. "Here's for you." It was a key with some kind of tag attached.

Sam held it away from himself like it was diseased. "What am I supposed to do with this?" he asked doubtfully.

" _Run_ with it," Balthazar said, matter-of-fact. And then without warning, he went flying backwards for no conceivable reason and crashed with a loud thud into the wall. Startled, the Winchesters all took a step back and reacted in a split second—between her brothers, Alex dropped the books she'd been holding, a hand going for a weapon—Sam grabbed hold of her other arm and Dean had one of his arms in front of her to instinctively shield her.

A man with dark hair and a fierce, angry expression appeared in the kitchen and began to approach them with fatal intention etched into his features.

Scrambling to his feet and staring at the approaching angel, Balthazar breathed a name: "Virgil." Obviously panicking, Balthazar thrust his hands out at the Winchesters. A mighty gust of wind followed the movement. "I said _RUN_!" he shouted at deafening, ear-bursting volume.

At his command the three Winchesters went flying backwards into the window hard, shattering the pane of glass completely. What they found on the other side of that glass was a different world altogether…


	72. Pardon My French

" _There is no such thing as fiction. Just non-fiction written in the wrong parallel universe._ _"  
_ \- Unknown

* * *

 _Crash!_ The Winchesters collided with the solid glass of Bobby's window and flew through it out into the stormy night… so imagine Dean's confusion when instead of wet muddy ground he landed on a lumpy mattress and instead of riotous rain and thunder he heard someone shout out, " _Cut!_ " followed by a smattering of applause.

Dean was already shoving himself up to an unsteady crouch on the balance-defying mattress—in front of them, a small sea of people sat in chairs watching and nodding in approval. _What the hell? Where are we?_ Weird computery-looking equipment littered the area directly ahead—coils of electronic wires, sound equipment, weird carts stacked with camera looking things. _Dude… what the hell?_

Suddenly a guy thumped Dean on the ass. "Real good solid fall," the guy said as if proud. "Way to go." _Um, excuse me?_

"Jared, Jensen!" An old, fat white man with a bald head and a squawking voice raised a coffee cup at them from his perch behind some sound mixers ahead. "Outstanding! That was just great."

 _Who?_ Dean was totally lost. _What was just great? And why you touching my ass?_ Suddenly, right beside his ear, a guy in a hoodie with an ear piece held up a clapboard like in the movies. "'Supernatural' scene one echo, take one. Tail slate. Marker!" He clacked the thing down, jarring Dean anew. _Dude, what the hell?!_

He looked over at Sam, trying to see if his brother had any clue what had just happened to them—and then realized, wait… where's the other one? Sam got the same look on his face at the exact same instant as they both realized.

"A-Alex?" Dean asked aloud, looking behind them and around them in cautious alarm. A ringing bell sounded over the set as the brothers gaped around in search of their mysteriously missing sister.

"Where'd—where'd she go?" Sam asked in a low voice. He looked ready to attack at a moment's notice, but no one in the immediate vicinity was paying much attention to them or seemed to be posing any sort of threat.

"Did—did Balthazar not throw her in here with us?" Dean asked. Wherever 'here' was. _Dude… what the HELL!_

"I… I dunno." Sam was at a loss and confused. "She was right beside me."

Dean turned in a full circle as he backed off of the mattress, starting to feel sick and panicked at the loss of their sister. "Alex?" He asked in a low voice. Maybe she was just out of sight or had been thrown further than them. His voice raised as he tried to catch sight of her somewhere, _anywhere_. "Alex!"

A kid with a stoned expression, dark unwashed hair, and several-day stubble turned to them and looked like he misheard. "Um… yeah? What's up?" He was holding a clipboard and had some huge headphones around his neck.

Dean balked, suspicious. "Who the hell are _you_?"

The guy made a face. " _Alex_ …? Bigsby?"

Dean scowled, annoyed. "Wrong Alex."

The Bigsby guy rolled his eyes lightly, muttered something like "fucking _Ackles,_ " and walked off.

What _was_ this place? People in regular clothing milled around—the sounds of construction and hammering were audible from somewhere nearby. The ceiling was high as crap which made Dean think they were in some kind of warehouse. Lighting rigs, fans, ladders, and half-built walls were scattered all around. There were huge camera looking rigs, tracks, and even weirder than all of that was some kind of creepy replica of Bobby's study. Inside the study (which looked _exact_ ), two dudes with camera equipment were lounging around like they owned the place.

_What… the… hell?_

Sam shook his head, eyes darting all around the place in a shocked daze. "She's—she's not _here_ , Dean," he breathed blankly, obviously wondering what to do.

"Yeah and apparently neither are the mooks," Dean said, realizing that at least was a good sign. _Maybe._ But Alex missing _wasn't_ a good sign. "Where the hell did she go?" he asked, furtive and urgent and giving everyone who was in close vicinity the suspicious evil eye. "Where the hell are _we_?" This made no sense.

"I… I dunno," Sam said in a low whisper, joining Dean in canvasing the area quickly to access threats. "S-should we be killing anybody?"

All Dean saw was a bunch of people sitting around on their asses and he shrugged, hoping he was right. "D-doesn't look like it," he ventured.

"… _Running_?" Sam suggested, looking ready to do just that.

Dean had his hands out and upturned, frozen halfway in the air like he was in the middle of shrugging. "Run _where_?" And more importantly, they couldn't run and leave their sister behind. She _had_ to be somewhere close by. Dean bellowed for her again, garnering several curious glances when he did. " _Alex_!"

Alex Bigsby looked up from where he was fiddling with a camera mount. "Yeah?"

Dean made a face. "Not _you!_ "

Bigsby was vaguely insolent. "I'm the only Alex _here_ bro."

Sam stooped and picked up a piece of glass near their feet and held it up, wobbling it back and forth at Dean, who stared dumbly. "You seeing this?" Sam asked, watching the gel-like glass piece jiggle like jello.

"What is this, like a movie set or something?" Dean asked, even as he had an idea on how to find Alex. He dropped the movie set theory and scooped his phone out of his pocket, scrolling to the first number in his phone labelled simply _A_ and hit call. _No Signal_ his phone flashed over and over. Dean held it up in the air, frustrated. "What the… my phone doesn't work." He shoved his phone back into his pocket angrily. On a mission as his shock dissipated, Dean strode forward to the guy who had saluted them with coffee earlier. Sam followed closely and nervously. "Hey, _you_ ," Dean growled. "Yeah you. I need to find my sister, _now_."

The old man seemed slightly taken aback at the tone of voice and bold approach. "Who, Mackenzie?" At the double-take that Dean did at the question—just who the freakin' crap was 'Mackenzie'? The old man squinted at Dean. "You feeling okay Jensen?"

" _Jensen?_ " Sam and Dean asked in dumbstruck unison.

The old man just frowned in confusion, looking at them for explanation.

Sam was getting over his shock and starting to get urgent. "Look, never mind, _listen—_ we need to find our sister."

The guy looked between them in mounting confusion. " _Your_ sister, Jared? You mean Megan?" At the double-takes Sam and Dean gave him, the old man sighed and rolled his eyes, sitting back in his director-style chair and waving a hand like he was batting something away. "Okay, you know what? Whatever this goofy prank of yours is, I don't get it and I don't feel like it today, boys." Surly, he hauled himself out of his chair with a grunt. "Very funny, J-two. I'll see you tomorrow, kay?" He nodded to a guy who was beside him with a walkie-talkie. "Moving on."

"Moving on!" the guy shouted into the walkie-talkie, and the lights suddenly all changed with a loud metallic groan, becoming warm and bright instead of cool and dim. Sam and Dean blinked in surprise, confounded. "That's a wrap on Jared and Jensen!" The alarm sounds rang twice more and someone shouted something about all clear.

Totally clueless and confused, Sam looked at Dean. "All right, who the hell are—"

"Jared!" A young blonde woman appeared out of nowhere and took Sam by the arm, whisking him away. "Three minutes, okay? Great."

Dean, following closely in growing confused anger—who was Jared? He didn't like this at _all_. "Where are we _going_?" he whispered, then suddenly found himself assaulted by a young brunette woman.

"Jensen, there you are!" she cooed, coming out of nowhere and pushing him along, away from Sam and over in another direction. "Let's just get you in the chair…"

"'Chair'?" Dean repeated, finding himself in front of a lightbulb-bordered mirror. "No, I'm trying to find my sis…" he trailed off, shocked, "ter."

Photos of himself and Sam were taped to the mirror along the edges. Photos Dean _knew_ he had never taken. A lot of them were of his more brutal injuries, but with him making goofy faces. _What the hell!_ And then Dean saw one of Sam making a smoochy face in his FBI getup and Dean did a double-take and snatched the picture off the mirror, dumbstruck. _Sam? What the actual fuck are you doing?_ How did these people have these photos?

"Oh your sister? Mackenzie?" the woman asked conversationally, pulling wipes out of some little box on the little table below the mirror. "Haven't seen her, Jens. Did she visit again? Let's just get this makeup off your face, kay?" Without permission she grabbed his face and started rubbing his face with the little white cloth she had.

" _Makeup_?" Dean asked, giving her a look like she had to be crazy while pulling away from her death-grip. "I'm not wearing any ma—" the cloth she'd been wiping over his face had come away with tan, skin-colored substance and it made his eyes go wide. Dean gawked with horror at himself in the mirror. He could see it now when he looked close—he even had _eye_ makeup on. "Oh _crap_. I'm a painted whore!"

There was a brief, humoring laugh. "You always say the funniest stuff," the makeup artist said, trying to resume her actions. "Hold still please."

Dean wasn't having it. "Hey hey hey—I don't need that foofy crap all over my face, bad enough you put _makeup_ on me, quit touching me!" He clearly offended the makeup artist—and guess what, he didn't care. "You got a phone?"

She gave him a strange look and slowly nodded to the table, where some kind of fancy touch-screen phone was laying. "Um… yeah… you wanna use it or someth—" Dean had already snatched it up. "Okay then," she said, meek and thrown off.

Dean used the sleeve of his jacket (the much more manly solution) to scrub his face off as he dialed Alex's number in from memory and hit call. "Come on, come on…" he muttered.

He heard the other end pick up and his heart leapt. Thank god. And then suddenly it plummeted again. "Thanks for calling Lawrence Animal Hospital, how can I help you?" a man's voice asked.

Dean gaped at the phone, looked to make sure the number was right. It was. "…The hell?" he muttered, getting really, really worried. _What is happening right now?_

"…You okay Jensen?" The makeup artist was peering at him with an odd expression.

He shoved her phone back at her angrily. "Why do you keep calling me that?!"

"Um… 'cause it's your name." She looked more and more confused by the second.

"No it's not!" Dean retorted loudly, looking around at the insane asylum he and Sam had found themselves in. He was irritated at every little thing, especially the few people who had stopped to stare at his antics. "This is a bunch of craziness. _Craziness_!" He threw his hands up and stalked off.

Another makeup artist patted Jensen's makeup artist on the shoulder sympathetically. "Actors, right?"

* * *

"Trish Evian here with Jared Padalecki from TV's _Supernatural._ So, Jared, season six."

Sitting in a fold-out high chair, Sam was gaping around behind himself—a replica of the panic room was there and it looked _exactly_ like the panic room from Bobby's but it was kind of, you know, missing an entire wall and opened up into this warehouse sound-stage place. _Am I dreaming? This can't be real._

"Jared?" The interviewer woman waited and Sam made himself stop gawking. He turned back around toward her.

A huge video light glared into his face and he blinked against the nearly-blinding brightness. A guy stood next to the interviewer with a camera on his shoulder, filming Sam's every move. Standing off to the side, another dude held a boom mic rig over his head. The woman, Trish, seemed to be expectantly waiting for him to say something. "W-what?" Sam asked, not sure if there had been a question or not. He was stumped and feeling really nervous. He _hated_ being on camera or filmed in any way, shape, or form. 

"You beat the devil, lost your soul, and got it back again," she said pleasantly, listing off things not that many people knew—and as a result, Sam was pretty damn shocked. "So tell us, what's next for Sam Winchester?"

It was so overwhelming to Sam. _TV's 'Supernatural'? Season six? Jared Padalecki? What's next for Sam Winchester?_ Under intense pressure, Sam shook his head repeatedly, failing to come up with words. The camera was laughing at him, leering and daring him to say something dumb. "Look, I-I-I really don't—"

"Oh, and if you could include the question in your answer?" Trish smiled, very friendly and professional in the face of his weird behavior. "Thanks."

Sam swallowed, looking into the camera briefly then over at the mic guy. Well, might as well see what he could learn about what sort of Twilight zone this was. But first, he had to answer the question. He fumbled royally for some kind of intelligent answer, but he had no idea of what to say. "What's next for Sam Winchester is, uh… some stuff, and things, like, emotional stuff. Um, you know, like more of what has… been on the show… before? Twists and turns and uh, uh, plot stuff. Like you'd expect. Of a show. This show." Trish frowned slightly at his bumbling answer and glanced at her cameraman.

Sam fidgeted, feeling close to passing out. The camera was freaking him out and the video light was hot as crap, making him dizzy. What's next for Sam Winchester, the question had been. And he _was_ Sam. So, maybe he actually _could_ answer the question. "Um… Sam's trying to figure out how he feels about Dean lying to him and the all stuff he did when he was soulless," he answered honestly, turning a little red from the pressure. That camera was in his peripheral vision, mocking him. "And, um, he's still trying to process what happened to Alex."

Trish paused, looked like she'd misheard. "I'm sorry, to who?"

Sam paused, a confusing lightbulb going off in his mind. Wait. If Alex hadn't come here… if she wasn't beside them… if he'd just mentioned her and the interviewer looked like she didn't know who Alex was… maybe… maybe Alex wasn't _on_ this show? But that made no sense—because if this show was about their life, as it looked like it was, then where _the hell_ was Alex? Sam decided to find out what was going on. "Lemme ask you something. Trish." Sam tried to fish for information inconspicuously. "If you, uh, were to describe this, this show to me in like a sentence or two… um… what would you say it was mainly about?"

Slightly thrown off balance but going along with him, Trish answered, seeming to wonder if someone was playing a prank on her. "It's a show about two brothers who hunt evil and fight the paranormal." She paused, then added: "And now there's angels."

Sam sat back slightly in his chair. "Two brothers," he repeated, looking at her in thorough confusion. "Two brothers _only_."

"Yeah…" Trish frowned a little, not seeing where he was going with the questions. "Well there was the step-brother, Adam?"

So they knew about Adam but left out Alex? They had totally accurate replicas of Bobby's place and the panic room, they knew all Sam's dark secrets, but Alex was just… gone? "So… no sister?" Sam asked, beside himself with shock.

Trish looked completely stumped at his question. " _Sister?_ "

Even the cameraman and the sound guy were now giving Sam weird looks. "I'll take that as a no," he muttered, not sure what to do with this information. No Alex. Just him and Dean. "And this is season _six_?" he asked, more and more astonished by the second. "People actually watch a show about our lives?" He caught himself. " _Their—_ their lives."

Trish answered slowly, studying him closely. "A few… it's not a blockbuster or anything but it has a consistent fan base. You know that, Jared." At that moment Trish seemed to decide Sam was joking around and cracked a disarming smile. "Such a jokester. You mind if _I_ ask the questions now?"

Sam stood up, shaking his head. He saw Dean lurking nearby looking cagey and giving him the _let's go_ signal. "Um, actually, I feel sorta sick, mind if we do this later?" He was already brushing past her and heading for his brother.

The second Sam got to him, Dean smacked a photo into Sam's chest. "Dude, I was wearing _makeup,_ " he complained, sounding equal parts upset and insulted.

Sam took the picture and looked at it and was immediately flabbergasted. It was _him_ , but he was pretty sure it _wasn't_ —he was wearing an FBI suit and making a kissy face at the camera. "Oh god. What is this?" he asked, looking at Dean for an explanation.

"That's what I wanna know!" Dean hissed.

Sam rubbed a hand against the side of his face, looking at his fingers. On them, a chalky skin-colored residue. Shocked, he stared. "…I'm wearing makeup too."

Dean pointed at him meaningfully. "Use your sleeve." He took off, walking toward a huge set of Bobby's attic.

Sam rubbed his jacket sleeve on his face fast and shoved the humiliating photo into his jacket pocket, trying to refocus on what was happening to them. "Look, I think I know what this is," he said as he caught up to Dean. "It's a TV show."

"You think?" Dean wisecracked, vaguely gesturing around them sarcastically as he came to a stop. 

"Yeah. I mean, here—wherever 'here' is, this—this twilight zone Balthazar zapped us into. For whatever reason, our life is a TV show."

"Our life, huh?" Dean asked, chuckling wryly, feigning casual amusement. "Have you noticed, Sam, there's just one little, small, _tiny_ missing element…?" He dropped the little smile in favor of an indignant expression, as if it were Sam's fault. "Like, I don't know, our _sister_?!"

"Yeah, no, yeah, I noticed," Sam started.

"So if this show is based on our life, where the hell is _she_?" Dean demanded, looking around and throwing his hands out in freaked exasperation.

"Dude, I dunno," Sam said, managing his turbulent emotions a lot better than his brother. "I asked about her and the interviewer looked at me like I grew _horns._ "

"Well I tried calling her number and it was some _animal hospital_!" Dean fired back like it was a contest to see who could have experienced the most shocking moment concerning the situation.

They fell into silence for a moment, trying to figure it out—Sam tensely frowned down at the ground as Dean ran a hand over his mouth and shifted his weight around. "Do—do you think that guy Virgil got her?" Sam asked, not wanting to even go there but knowing it was a possibility.

Dean gave Sam a dark glare for suggesting that. "I swear she was right with me when we flew through that window, Sam!" he thundered lowly.

"No, I know, me too!" Sam protested, because it was obvious that Dean was silently holding Sam's calmer reaction against him. Sam was worried too, a _lot,_ just wasn't about to lose his head like Dean. And the third degree wasn't going to solve the mystery.

Dean was staring at the attic set and suddenly jabbed an angry finger at it. "That's her bag, Sam, _right there_ , on that damn bed. That's the same duffel bag she's used for like fifteen years so where the hell is _she_?" Dean, who wasn't good at holding still when he got upset, started to walk off blindly in search of an exit.

Sam followed, mulling it over hardcore, looking back at his sister's familiar bag tensely. A thought came to him and he caught up to his agitated brother. "Hey, all right, here's an idea. You ever heard of the multiverse theory?"

"And just what the hell is _that_ , Brainiac?" Dean asked in what was almost a sneer.

"It's like this hypothetical set of infinite possible universes that all exist at the same time but in different, I dunno, dimensions."

Dean stopped to make a point of giving Sam a churlish look. "Are you trying to put me to sleep? 'Cause it's working."

Faintly exasperated with his brother, Sam took a couple quick steps to catch up with Dean, who was already stalking off again. "No, listen—what if _this_ is one of those? And these Jared and Jensen guys are like, our parallel selves?"

Dean sent Sam a sidelong pinched frown. "Our _what_."

Sam didn't answer. "And maybe in _this_ universe, Alex doesn't exist for whatever reason," he theorized. "I mean, in this universe she doesn't exist on the _show_ , obviously. So maybe when we fell through into this universe, maybe she just landed back on the other side of the window at Bobby's 'cause she's like… incompatible or something."

"Oh well that's _real comforting_ , Sam," Dean snapped.

"I mean, it's an explanation," Sam ventured. He didn't like it either.

Dean stopped walking again to give Sam his best accusing, helpless rant. "Yeah, one that means she's back there with those winged dicks _alone_ with Raphael after her!"

Sam knew that. "Cas won't let her get hurt," he said, hoping that was true. "I don't think."

Dean shook his head, looked around the enormous set again. They were standing beside a hospital room set—the same hospital room they'd interrogated dragon-girl in just a few weeks ago. "Don't like this, Sam." He began to walk again.

"No, me either," Sam said, on his heels. "But listen, let's just keep our heads and figure out more and find out how to get _back._ "

"Yeah. Good." Dean stopped again abruptly, almost making Sam run smack into him. Whirling around, Dean gave his brother a pissy expression. "But seriously, why would anybody want to watch _our_ lives? Especially without Alex? I mean they kinda missed the whole point of our family if they cut her out, right? Who would watch a show about two idiot brothers and their million issues without the cute little sister factor? Who in their right mind would cut her out?! And _why_?!" 

"You got me there," Sam conceded, focused on calming Dean down so that they could work through this odd situation they had found themselves in. "Look, I'm not saying it makes sense. I'm just saying, we—we landed in some dimension where Alex isn't here, you're Jensen Ackles, and I'm something called a 'Jared Padalecki.'"

"So what, now you're _Polish_?" Dean rolled his eyes and walked off, finally finding a door. When he pushed it open, they found themselves outside in what looked to be the middle of day. It was chilly and overcast, but the good news was that Dean spotted a familiar sight.

The Impala was parked ahead next to a huge trailer. "Hey look, at least baby made it," Dean said, a grin relaxing his features. And then some guy rounded the car with a bucket in hand and began to fling mud artfully across the windshield.

Dean's smile fell and he was already moving forward. "Hey. _Hey_! What—" he stopped mid sentence when he saw five more Impalas in various states of condition lining the lot to his right. Two of the car bodies were severely junked and dented. Shocked beyond belief at what this day was delivering, Dean stared. "Is nothing sacred?" he asked in a barren, shocked voice. "First they erase baby girl and now they do _that_ to my baby?" he swallowed, reaching for Sam briefly. "I feel sick. I'm gonna be sick." He walked it off, trying to find where this nightmare of endless sets ended. He and Sam wandered through a maze of plywood-backed buildings, getting more and more lost.

"I wanna go home," Dean muttered, physical illness welling up in him as they walked past fake front-only buildings of actual towns they had been to recently. "This whole place is bad-touching me." It was like their reality was this universe's _joke_. He stopped and looked up at the sky, so frustrated he could have kicked something. "And where _the hell_ _is Alex_?" he shouted out loud, like the universe might hear him better if he got louder and angrier.

Sam, shook his head, scanning around in vague confusion as they stopped at the back of a set-dressing wall. "We gotta call Cas."

Dean realized holy crap, yes—good idea. And then immediately thought, well, maybe not. "Yeah— _i_ _f_ he's still alive." The brothers exchanged a brief look. They'd both heard Balthazar—Cas was in deep. Either way, worth a shot. Dean squeezed his eyes closed for effect. "Dear Castiel, who art maybe running his ass away from Heaven, we pray that you have your ears on. Can't find your girlfriend. Kinda freakin' out here. So… breaker breaker…"

He opened his eyes back up, looking at Sam hopefully. Did that work?

Off at the edge of his peripheral vision, through an open door into more parking lot, Dean glimpsed a flash of beige and turned to look. Cas! He was standing in a space that had been dressed to look like a street. The angel had his hands in pockets as he stared back at them in mild curiosity.

Dean took off at a jog, so glad to see the guy he could have hugged him. "Hey, Cas! Thank god, what is all this, huh?" he asked when they reached him. "W-w-what did Balthazar do to us?"

Cas squinted at each of them in turn, taking a couple beats to answer as if he were preparing himself. When he spoke, his voice sounded slightly wrong. "To keep you out of Virgil's reach, he's cast you into an alternate reality, a universe similar to ours in most respects yet dramatically different in others."

"Yeah, just like you said, Sam," Dean said in faint pride, smacking his brother on the chest briefly then trying to put it into his own terms, which turned out to be comic-book-esque. "Like—like bizarro earth, right?" he asked Cas. "Except instead of having bizarro Superman, we get this clown factory, this erased sister _freakshow_!"

That angry comment seemed to throw Cas slightly and confuse him a little. "Um…" he looked down, like he was trying to remember something. "Yeah, well… anyway, no time to explain. Do you have the key?"

Dean was insulted—Cas needed to get his priorities straight. "Forget the _key_ Cas, where the hell is Alex?"

Cas again seemed to be thrown off. "Um… A—" his eyes went down in thought and he jerked his head back and made a scrunchy face as he dropped his calm, stoic demeanor. "Okay, wait, who?" His voice also jumped up several notches in pitch.

Dean balked in sheer disbelief, his face going slack. "Did you just say ' _who_ '?"

" _Man_ …" Cas pulled some rolled up sheets of paper out of his pocket, his voice still higher in pitch, almost making him sound _normal_. "Did they put out new pages? Is that a new character? I don't see his name on here anywhere…"

Dean was insulted and realized this _couldn't_ be Cas. "He's not a him, he's a her, and she's our _sister!_ " he exclaimed indignantly.

The Cas impostor stopped paging through the stack in his hand and looked absolutely confounded, raising a single eyebrow and cocking his head to the side as he gave Dean a look like he was abso-friggin-lutely nuts. "…Uh what?"

Sam looked at the impostor in shock. "Is—is this some kind of joke, Cas?"

The impostor frowned right back, suspicious. "I, uh, dunno," he answered honestly, confused. "Is it?" He suddenly got a knowing look. "Wait… _wait."_ He abruptly grinned and shook a finger at them chidingly, smiling in a relaxed way that looked _so wrong_ on Cas's face. "Is this one of your famous J-two pranks?"

"Our _what_?" Sam asked, flummoxed.

"Give me that," Dean snapped, grabbing the script away from the impostor, or, in better terms, the actor. Reading quickly off the pages and finding that his theory was right, Dean got pissed. "These are _words_ on a _script_." The impostor was loosening his tie to take it off and Dean noticed then how the guy wore a thick silver wedding ring. That was the final proof for him that this guy wasn't the real Cas. Dean grabbed him by the wrist and pulled his hand up and showed Sam for effect, shaking the guy's hand around angrily. "This isn't Cas," he growled, dropping the guy's hand with a shove.

The Cas actor gave Dean a slightly weird look but shrugged it off, pleasant and seeming to be waiting for them to start acting normally. "So you guys wanna run lines, or…?"

"His name's Misha," Dean proclaimed the second he found Castiel's lines on the page. He looked at the actor in disbelief. That wasn't a real name—couldn't be. "' _Misha'_?" 

The actor was confused, and a smile that tried so hard to understand what was happening hovered. "...' _Jensen_ '?" he returned, trying to play along. 

At the same second, the brothers exchanged a sidelong glance—this was another dead end—then brushed past the actor. "Misha? _Jensen_? What's up with the names around here?" Dean asked, annoyed as crap as they walked off.

"You _guys_!" Misha shouted after them, chuckling pleasantly. "You really punked me! I'm totally gonna tweet this one!"

Dean and Sam again exchange a sidelong glance at _that_ one. "So, looks like our prayers aren't reaching Cas," Sam muttered, shaking his head as they put more and more distance between themselves and the actor who played Castiel. "Or the _real_ Cas."

"Yeah, seems like we're out of soul-phone range," Dean returned, equally grouchy. He looked up at the sky, face working in anger. "Balthazar, you bastard, I'm gonna rip your—"

Sam suddenly grabbed his arm to make him stop. "Hey look!" He motioned to a nearby trailer that was very nice and very large. "'J. Ackles.'" Sure enough, the door was labeled _J. Ackles._

Dean paused, realizing. "That's fake me!" he said, pointing to himself. He gestured at the trailer with both hands, making a wide arc. "This must be fake mine." He looked at Sam with mild excitement. "Dude, I own a trailer." They were both thinking the same thing and went into it, wide-eyed at how lavish and expensive it was. Dark wood accents and polished silvers made the place look super modern and lavish. At the end of the trailer a huge flat-screen TV was playing clips of what could only be the show—Dean and Sam were both on screen in suits, speaking seriously and frowning in thought.

A miniature remote-controlled helicopter covered in a tacky flame design sat smack dab on a display stand and was what first caught Dean's attention. "Dude, I have a _helicopter_!" he exclaimed, transfixed with the gadget immediately.

"Yeah but remember what you _don_ _'_ _t_ have. Your sister," Sam reminded grimly, then immediately after did a double take as he turned around and caught sight of a huge aquarium. "Whoa, whoa… all right, who puts a three hundred gallon aquarium in their trailer?"

Dean turned and stared at it in growing surprise. "Apparently Jensen Ackles." Who _was_ this guy?

"Huh, yeah." Sam spotted an open laptop on the little dining table nearby and quickly made for it then slid into a chair in front of it. "All right, here we go. Let's see what we can figure out." He pulled up a search engine on the internet and began typing. "Alex… Winchester…" he paused and made a face. "What the hell is this show called again? Paranormal?"

Dean was stooping to look at a pile of magazines on the coffee table in front of the TV. _Supernatural!_ _The magazine_ the cover proclaimed. On it, he and Sam were glaring seriously like they thought they were hot stuff or something. "Close. 'Supernatural,'" Dean answered, then scoffed. "How _original._ " He held up the magazine and let Sam see. "Just _look_ at these male modeling sons of bitches," he said. "Nice blue steel, Sam."

"I think I look kinda good," Sam said, cracking a grin then quickly wiping it away. Seemed wrong to smile at the current time. He returned to the laptop. "Okay. Alex… Winchester… Supernatural." He hit enter and began to look through the search results.

As Sam did that, Dean flipped through the magazine he had picked up. Glossy spreads were filled with familiar faces—Cas, Bobby, Ellen, Jo, Rufus, even Dad. The spreads showed real and recognizable moments out of Dean's life, but no Alex anywhere at all. But in _some_ photographs, it was almost like you could _tell_ she'd been removed—in some photos, there was a space between Sam and Dean where she'd been, or a space to the side of one of the brothers where she was supposed to be. Dean reached a spread about the apocalypse and saw himself, empty-armed, on his knees near the Impala near where Sam had just jumped in. She wasn't there. She wasn't _there_. "Dude, this is like the Twilight zone," Dean muttered, getting more and more mystified and disturbed. "She's _nowhere_." He heaved a deeply troubled sigh and tossed the magazine down, not liking this one bit but trying not to lose it completely. There was an explanation. Had to be one. He peered over at Sam. "Getting any hits?"

Sam glanced up at him, making a face. "Yeah, but they're weird."

Dean headed his way, curious. "Whatcha got?"

Sam's expression was hesitant. "…Fan fiction."

"Oh god." Dean stopped mid step, shuddering in aversion. "I remember that crap."

" _One_ fan fiction," Sam corrected, reading the screen closely as Dean cautiously sat down opposite of him. "Okay, so some author named River Winters—guessing that's a pen name—has written a nearly- _million_ word story about Alex Winchester, who is Sam and Dean's sister."

Dean's eyebrows were high on his head. "Almost a million words?" he scoffed. " _Some_ one has no life."

"Yeah, tell me about it," Sam agreed. "But I mean, other than this one story I don't really see anything else—there's a 'tumble-er' for her or something, but the website's down, so I can't see it… well, wait here's a page about Jo that came up on the search." He started to read from it. "' _In early drafts of the Supernatural_ _script, Jo_ _Harvelle was named_ _Alex_ _. The character was originally conceived as a love interest for Dean, but even the writers admitted that Jo came off more like a little_ _sister character._ _They changed the name and re-wrote the script accordingly_.'" Sam stopped reading with an odd expression on his face. "So that's… something?"

"Dude." Dean wrinkled his nose at the thought of them almost putting him with his own sister. "Gross." He spotted another laptop sitting nearby on the coffee table that he hadn't noticed before and got up to get it. "Hey, I'm gonna get in on this research thing."

For the next fifteen minutes the brothers scoured Supernatural websites in an effort to make sense of everything. Finally Dean sat back, exhausted and stumped. "Okay, everything else is the same in this crazy show as in our actual lives. _Basically_." He gestured at the screen. "Same big story lines, same hunts, just… no Al." Sam nodded, having found the same stuff. And nothing to do with anyone who had come into Dean and Sam's life through Alex—no mention of the Wards, the Winchester Mystery House was still standing (hadn't burned down in this universe), stuff like that. Dean shook his head blankly. "I don't get it. How could these, these show writers or whatever know all about our lives and not know about her?" Dean asked, because it was truly disturbing. Even more so than these people knowing about their lives was their sister being cut out of it like she'd never been there at all. It made him think about that guardian angel thing Cas had originally claimed on her. Did that have something to do with this? It was too eerie.

"I got an even better question for you," Sam said intently, leaning closer to Dean. "How does _one_ fan fiction author have the facts straight? I've been skimming the first four chapters of this story and… this is _so_ weird. I remember this stuff happening _exactly_ the way it's written here. Dean, _exactly._ " He was trying to make sense of it, face working hard in thought. "So how would this one person know the truth while the rest of this universe just… _forgot_ about her?"

"You got me." Dean rubbed his mouth in thought. "Maybe we go put the shakedown on this Winters River, huh?"

"River Winters," Sam corrected offhandedly.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Whatever. I mean what is she, a hippie?"

"Hippie or not, she knows about Alex," Sam said with a shrug. "And if you ask me, sounds more like a prophet or a psychic than a hippie."

"What, like Chuck?" Dean asked dubiously.

"Exactly."

Dean was thinking hard. "Where's this story dead-end?"

"Lemme pull up the last chapter published," Sam said and clicked a few times. "Chapter forty-four was the last one. About two weeks ago. Hm." He scrolled to the bottom of the page and skimmed. "Oh. Looks like, uh, this is me jumping into the pit." Somber, Sam scrolled down further, reading more. He then shrugged as if he had nothing good to report. "Says she's on hiatus while season six films."

"Huh." Dean thought then shrugged. "Well, maybe this chick knows what's going on with us right now, huh? She obviously knows more than the rest of these _saps!_ " he shouted 'saps' at the ceiling like he was berating this entire alternate universe. Sam made a face and scoffed laughingly. Dean pointed a commanding finger at his brother. "Find out where this writer chick's from. We gotta talk to her."

Sam hesitated. "How?"

"She's a fan of this terrible show we're on, right?" Dean asked, then threw his hands up slightly. "I dunno. Uh… use that."

Sam stared at his laptop screen hard, thinking. "Wait." He got that look in his eyes he got when he was struck by a solution. "I got it. Twitter."

Dean frowned. "What-er?"

"It's a social media thing, Grandpa," Sam wisecracked, getting a sardonic little expression from Dean in return. "Padalecki left himself logged in. I send out a Twitter…er? on his account and say River Winters has won a Supernatural prize pack in recognition for writing such a long story, please privately message the account with your home address for delivery…" he shrugged. "And then hopefully we have the address within a few hours."

Approving, Dean nodded. "Inspired. Creepy _serial killer_ inspired." That earned him a little look from Sam that prompted him to become defensive. "What?"

San was typing and glanced at Dean sullenly over the laptop screen. "Don't knock it if it works."

Dean ignored the comment and googled Jensen Ackles, curious to know about his parallel self. Interestingly enough, he learned that Jensen Ackles had a brother and a sister in real life. Huh. _So we have_ that _in common_ … curious, Dean googled Jarred Padaleskie—Google immediately suggested _did you mean Jared_ _Padalecki?_ —yeah, whatever Google. After doing more reading, Dean found that Jared was one of three kids as well—he had a brother and a sister, too. Huh. That was kinda spooky and coinky-dinky. Dean rubbed his chin in thought and clicked over to videos of Jensen Ackles acting reels. 

A video of an angsty blonde began to play. _"_ _If I didn't have cancer, and I wasn't married, and I had plenty of money... would you_ _—_ _would you want to run away with me?_ _" s_ he asked someone very emotionally. The camera cut away from her and then a dude who looked a _lot_ like Dean had at eighteen but with the wrong hair stared at the woman sadly.

" _Money?_ _"_ he asked, melodramatic and not convincing. Sad piano music played in the background. _"_ _What, you think I really care about money, Nicole? I care that you're healthy._ _"_

Sam looked up across the table at him, frowning curiously. "That voice sounds like _you_ ," he said, suspicious. Dean slammed the laptop shut.

"Don't like this universe, Sammy," Dean said, renewed with need to escape this place _now_. "We need to get out of this place."

"Yeah," Sam agreed. "No argument here."

"Look, I just had a thought," Dean said, realizing maybe he knew how to get back home. "If we can reverse Balthazar's spell... I watched every move." He grabbed a pad of paper off the coffee table and began to sketch. "We just, uh, get the ingredients right, get back to that same window, and… there's no place like home." He showed Sam the sigil Balthazar had drawn and that they could draw too.

Sam hesitated. "Yeah but what if Alex is here somewhere, just somewhere _else_?"

Dean faltered. "You think?"

"I mean it's a possibility…"

"But she could also be back in _our_ universe and needing help," Dean argued, very rationally upset at how he had no clue which one was was no way to know and that was the really stressful part. "Maybe this fan fiction chick will know," Dean muttered, raking a hand through his hair in annoyance. "It's a long shot but hopefully she replies to your twittery thing and doesn't live in Russia." He looked around the trailed tersely. "All I know is we gotta get outta this freakin' maxiverse, man."

"Multiverse," Sam corrected.

Dean sent him a dark glance. " _Nerd_." 

Sam settled back into his chair and gave Dean a cool look. "Yeah, make fun of how smart I am and how helpful my random knowledge is," he said sarcastically. "Makes you look _real good_."

Dean was taken aback for a second and then became prim. "Well that was just mean."

* * *

**Kilauea, Hawaii  
About Forty Minutes Ago**

_Crash!_ The Winchesters collided with the solid glass of Bobby's window and flew through it out into the stormy night… so imagine Alex's confusion when instead of wet ground she skidded onto hard, dry pavement as glass showered around her, cutting and scraping exposed skin as her palms and knees screamed against hard concrete.

 _Son of a bitch!_ She heard someone shouting nearby but she didn't recognize the voice. She stared at the concrete and felt the sun beating down on her. She looked around in a daze of confusion. This wasn't Bobby's yard. She pushed herself up on burning palms and looked to her left where Sam should have been. Nothing. Her pulse seized up. She looked to her right, where Dean had just been. No one. Her heart began to hammer. What happened to them? "Dean?" she asked in an urgent voice, looking around and trying to find any sign of either brother. "Sam?" She raised her head up, squinting against bright sunlight, trying to push herself up further. Her jarred nerves and shocked joints refused to cooperate and she groaned, rolled over onto her back.

"Astrid!? Ah miel, ce qui s'est passé? Oh mon dieu! Ici, permettez-moi de vous aider, vous êtes d'accord? Astrid? Pouvez-vous parler?"

A tall skinny lady with too much makeup on and garishly tan skin babbled at her in French, suddenly in her face from above. Alex pushed the stranger away, freaking out. "Get off me, off of me!" She flailed, trying to get away, trying to catch sight of either brother. "Dean! _SAM_!"

"Calmez-vous, ma chérie, juste _respirer_!" the woman insisted, confusing Alex even further.

"Hey, whoa, you all right Assy?" came a soft, concerned voice. Someone was crouching down beside her with the babbling Frenchwoman. "That was quite a crash."

Alex froze, squinted up at a very familiar looking guy. "Johnny _Depp_?" He was wearing the weirdest clothes too—piratey looking stuff—but he looked normal from the neck up. 

He chuckled lightly. "That's'm name, don't wear it out."

Alex blinked at him dumbly. _What_ _…_ _is happening?_

"Here Sam come, Astreed," the Frenchwoman said in badly broken English. Oh thank goodness, Sam…

Alex's relief was cut short as a young man who was clean-shaven and brown-headed and _not_ Sam suddenly appeared, falling to his knees beside her and looking at her with wild, shocked eyes. "You okay?!" he asked, touching her chin, looking at her scrapes with shock. "You're all cut up—what happened?"

She squirmed away from this stranger, trying to backpedal away from all these weirdos. "Hey, hey, don't touch me!" she snapped, shoving his gentle hand away. "You're not Sam!"

"Er… yes I am," he said, taken aback then holding his hands out in a calming gesture. "Astrid, it's okay. It's me. Sam. Claflin." Who? At the continuing lack of recognition, he tried again. "Your co-star?"

"Co-star?" she echoed, looking around wildly. There were a bunch of trailers and she could see some palm trees arcing over the roofs—there were some tropical looking flower bunches dotting the area too. Her face fell. Was this a _movie_ set? What was happening? "Where _am_ I?" she asked, getting scared.

"Hey, move back, move back! EMT!" A newcomer arrived: a slightly overweight guy with carrot-orange hair who carried a satchel of medical supplies. He was wearing a paramedic's uniform and was looking at Alex intently. "Astrid, can you tell me what happened? Did anyone see what happened? Did you fall?"

_Who is Astrid?_

"She just up and flew through the window, Nudge," Johnny Depp explained. "Never seen anything like it."

" _How_?" the EMT who was apparently called Nudge demanded.

"An angel did it," Alex muttered, pissed at Balthazar as she glared around at the nearby area vengefully. Where the hell were her brothers? She was angry and getting up very clumsily, calling for her angel all the while. "Cas! Cas, get me outta here!"

Everyone stared at her as she wavered to her feet. Nudge was trying to get her to calm down, holding her by the arms. "She must have hit her head hard," he said, then tried to pull Alex over to the trailer steps. "Come here and sit down."

"No, I'm _fine,_ " she insisted, although she wasn't. She'd just lost her brothers and Cas wasn't answering. "Cas!"

"She's lost her accent," Sam Claflin observed with a perplexed, worried look on his face. "And what's she _wearing_?" Alex made a face—she was wearing what she always wore!

"She also doesn't seem to recognize her personal assistant," Johnny Depp said, gesturing vaguely at the Frenchwoman who was wringing her hands anxiously.

"Hey, I can hear you, you know," Alex snapped, glaring at this Sam guy and then Johnny Depp. That's when she noticed all the pirates. There were like ten at least, some milling around but a bunch of them had stopped to stare at the scene she was creating.

"Astrid, how many fingers am I holding up?" Nudge asked, holding three fingers up super close.

She swiped at his hand to get it out of her face. "Okay, first of all, what kind of name is _Astrid_?" she asked peevishly, then leaned closer, furtive. "Second, why are there pirates everywhere?" Maybe she was hallucinating. That would make a lot more sense than this actually being _real_ …

Nudge took her wrist, pressed two fingers into the veins deeply. "Pulse seems normal… I think she's in shock though."

"Hands off, dude!" Alex yanked her wrist away, looking at everyone in turn—Claflin, Johnny, Nudge, nervous French lady. Her anger began to waver. "H-has anyone seen my brothers?" she asked, wetting her lips and getting really anxious. They were nowhere to be seen or heard. "Big guys, one's kinda surly and bow-legged, the other one's tall and has girl hair?"

Claflin looked stricken, like he feared for her life itself. "I think we need to call an ambulance…"

"No, no ambulance!" Alex insisted, then began to shout as loud as she could. "Sam! Dean!"

"I'm… I'm gonna go get the director," Claflin said, appearing to be really worried. He hurried off as Alex continued to bellow for her brothers.

"Dean?! _Sam_!" she paused, exasperated and beside herself. " _Cas_!" Where were they?!

"What, like those guys on Supernatural?" Nudge asked, giving her a really weird look.

Alex stopped, breathless and slightly flushed from screaming so loud. "Huh?"

"Sam and Dean Winchester from Supernatural? And Cas the badass nerd angel? Yeah, I'm a big fan." Nudge pulled out his cell phone and showed her the screensaver. Alex gawked. Sam and Dean were his phone background. They were blue-steeling it up in what looked like a professional photograph. "Favorite show," Nudge said even as Alex grabbed the phone from him and stared at her brothers. That was them, and underneath them big stylized letters proclaimed _SUPERNATURAL_. 

_What the crap is a Supernatural?_ Balthazar had said something about hiding them, right? What, had he separated them for some reason? Were Sam and Dean some kind of TV stars in this weirdo world she was suddenly in? She was apparently in some kind of movie… looking at Nudge with rising hope, Alex swallowed. "W-where do they film it?"

Nudge squinted one eye closed in thought, looked up with the other one. "Canada, I think."

"And where are we right now?"

Nudge hesitated, looking at her like he suspected she'd lost her mind. "Uh… Hawaii?"

Well, that wasn't close at all. Irritated, Alex shoved his phone back at him and barreled past, heading for the trailer she'd just smashed out of. " _Move_."

"Wait, you need medical attention," Nudge protested.

"No, I need to go to _Canada_ ," she retorted. Skinny French Lady babbled protests and questions in broken French-glish, following Alex into the trailer.

Inside the trailer was decorated simply and sweetly but Alex didn't really pause to gawk. She made a beeline for the purse sitting on the little cot bed there—she grabbed it and rifled through, taking quick inventory of what was inside. A wallet that had US dollars and euros, credit cards, an ID, a passport, some cigarettes (score!), a keychain with several keys and a USB drive attached, some gum, perfume (Alex tossed that away without looking to see where it went), lipstick (also tossed), a lighter, and an iPhone. Alex grabbed the passport out to look at it. When she flipped it open, she froze. Staring back at her, a photo of herself… and the name Astrid Bergès-Frisbey. The passport said _R_ _é_ _publique_ _F_ _ran_ _ç_ _aise_ and bore the flag of France. _Huh? What is this? Some kinda joke?_ Grabbing the iPhone out of the purse and turning it on, Alex saw more French.

"Why is everything in _French_?!" she asked aloud, flabbergasted at what was happening. The woman was still babbling at her in words she didn't understand and Alex waved her away in rising irritation. "I don't understand a word you're saying, lady!" she thundered, dialing Dean's number and hoping to god he answered.

"Hello, Daisy's Vegan Bakery!" a perky woman's voice answered on the other end.

Alex yanked the phone away from her ear, shocked. That was Dean's number all right, but a vegan bakery. _What kinda Twilight zone am I in?!_ She dialed Sam's number and got a disconnected tone. She paused—then realized oh yeah, Cas. She put his number in and got of all places, a _church_ in North Dakota. "Oh you have _got_ to be kidding me!" she shouted at the phone. Frustrated and a little panicked at the dead ends and unexplained circumstances, she threw the phone back into the purse, quickly putting together a game plan. Balthazar said he was hiding them before he'd thrown them through that window, and apparently he'd done that—put them into some strange reality or dimension and given them cover stories—brainwashed these people into thinking she, Sam, and Dean were actors or something. But she was _not_ okay being separated from her family. Not one bit. So, Canada it was then. And _now_.

"What are you doing, hon?" Johnny asked cautiously, coming into the trailer and watching her carefully. The Frenchwoman chattered hysterically and tried to grab the purse away from Alex.

" _Leaving_ ," Alex said evenly, batting the woman away in annoyance. She spotted a laptop and grabbed it too, tucking it under her arm vengefully.

"We're in the middle of filming!" Johnny protested. "Your big water tank scene's today!"

"My _what_?" Alex asked, looking up at him and becoming distracted when she saw all the photos lining the wall beside him. There were pictures of herself in a mermaid tail and nothing else—long hair covering her boobs just barely. In one picture, she smiled and posed with Jack Sparrow, giving a peace sign and a huge, dorky grin. Alex gaped and snatched the picture off the wall, realizing what this was. Johnny Depp, pirates… and as a result, she developed an extremely bad attitude. "Oh and this is _just_ what the world needs," she muttered. "Another fucking Pirates of the Caribbean movie— _one was enough_!" Johnny looked absolutely shocked and she marched right up to him with the laptop and the purse full of resources, expecting him to unblock the doorway. When he didn't, she looked at him dangerously. "Get _out_ of my _way._ " She was in no mood to be held up for even a second.

"Astrid, you're not in your right mind, obviously, come on dear, I think you might have a serious head injury—just stay here and calm down and we can— _oof!_ " He went down hard when she punched him square in the face. On the floor, he held his bleeding nose as the Frenchwoman shrieked and covered her mouth, jabbering hysterically. Johnny moaned, looked up at Alex in disbelief and pain. "Son of _Christ_ you punch like a man!"

Alex shook out her aching hand. "That wasn't even full power," she muttered, stepping over him and heading for the door. She paused then, looking down at him with a hopeful little cringe. "Really good job in Edward Scissorhands, by the way. I um, enjoy your work."

* * *

**Later  
Canada**

It was chilly as dusk settled over what Sam and Dean had realized was _Canada._ After trying to leave the set of _Supernatural_ in one of the Impalas (which ran like a friggin' _import_ , not a classic American muscle car), they were stopped by a crew member and ended up having to use a chauffeur guy to drive them around.

Either way, that River Winters chick had seen the Jared Padalecki tweet and responded pretty quickly. As luck (or bizarre fate) would have it, she lived in Canada not terribly far from the set. The boys were hoping she was at home. After all, the chauffeur had just driven them two full hours to the address River sent. They pulled up finally and peered out at the house, exchanged a silent look, then simultaneously started to get out of the SUV.

"I'll just wait here then?" the chauffeur asked.

Sam was the one who replied. "Yup, thanks Clint."

"It's Clif," he corrected.

"Oh, uh, right."

Shutting their doors in sync, Sam and Dean then approached the house cautiously. It looked pretty normal—single story, neat yard—it had a basketball goal beside the driveway, a little gray hatchback car was parked nearby, some flowers and wild rosemary were potted on the little porch area. "Okay so what if this chick is like a witch or something?" Dean asked, highly on edge and eyeing the bike they walked past like it might come alive and bite him.

"I don't think she is, Dean," Sam said, looking at the welcome mat and the fancy _W_ hanging on the door. "Just keep your eyes open." He knocked on the door sharply and stood back.

For a minute, they stood there and waited. And then a young woman in her mid-to-late twenties came to the door, distracted by a phone conversation she was in the middle of. "Yeah, I was thinking they won't find out for awhile about the marria—" she saw who they were and her jaw sagged open, her eyes went wide, and she almost dropped her phone, "—aaah, aah, aage…" Appearing to have lost the ability to breathe, she swallowed and in a weak voice spoke into the phone. "M-Melissa? Yeah, ah, I'm-I'm… gonna have to call… you back." She hung up and almost dropped her iPhone completely as she stared at them with a shocked, sort of happy expression on her face. She wore leggins, a hoodie, and thick-rimmed glasses. Her blondish hair was piled onto the top of her head messily and she wasn't wearing makeup—didn't look like she got out much.

"River Winters?" Sam asked doubtfully.

"Yeah…" she agreed hesitantly.

"Hi, we're—"

A dawning grin began to light her face. "Oh, I _know_ who you are!" she said, suddenly recovered from her shock and beaming instead. "Jared and Jensen!" She threw her arms out to indicate them, seeming to be beyond believing her luck. "From Supernatural! Wow!" She laughed out, then abruptly got very confused and nervous. "…Why are you at my house?"

Sam was intense and serious. "Actually, we're Sam and Dean."

River faltered, then she rolled her eyes and batted a hand, scoffing. "Very funny. Wait. Are you guys here to deliver the prize pack?! _Wow_! Wait, there's no cameras here are there?" She remembered her own appearance and did something weird with her eyelashes—put two fingers against them, like testing to see if there was anything on them.

Dean got surly. "There _is_ no prize pack, _move_."

He brushed past her rudely, making her jaw drop. "Hey! Wha—" she turned, following him cautiously in a daze into her own house and he rounded on her.

"How do you know what you know?" he thundered angrily.

River looked confused, then attempted a lighthearted, uncertain pun. "…School?"

Dean's face showed absolutely dead-in-the-eyes chagrin. "Oh, we got a _jokester_ , Sammy," he commented to his brother then stared hard at poor, clueless River. "I _mean_ how do you know about Alex Winchester?"

River was taken aback all over again. "Wh… H-how do _you_ know about her?" Her face was twisted up into a severely confused expression. She then gasped and clapped her hands over her mouth. "You guys _read my story_?" She was turning red and withering, making a face. "Aahh, embarrassing." She took her hands away and fidgeted with her hoodie self-consciously. "And what do you mean 'how do I know about her'? I, you know, _invented_ her."

"No, you _didn_ _'_ _t,_ " Dean fired back vehemently.

She frowned in confusion, peering at him in dumbfounded offense. "…I didn't?" She looked between the brothers in growing suspicion. "Okay, sorry, um—what's happening right now? Why are you guys in my house pretending to be Dean and Sam?" She then paused, a slow smile spreading across her face. "Wait. Is this some kind of J-two prank or something?"

Dean and Sam looked at each other, mystified. Dean then heaved a growling, annoyed breath. "We _really_ gotta find out what a J-two prank is, Sammy."

Sam spoke up and brought the more level-headed, rational approach. "Okay, sorry, what Dean's trying to say is that, first of all?" He motioned between himself and Dean meaningfully. "We're Sam and Dean. The _real_ Sam and Dean." That earned them a very skeptical look from the fan fiction author. "Second, Alex is real. We were just thrown into your universe by an angel from _our_ universe and we can't find her now."

River looked at them with a look on her face that seemed to say _you have got to be shitting me_. "And you're... _serious_ about this right now," she finally said slowly as she tried to figure them out. "Like, dead serious, no joking, mean every word."

" _Yes_." Sam's earnest expression matched his voice.

River squinted at them dubiously, then gave a little laugh, turned and walked toward the kitchen. "Okay… hold on a second."

The house had an open floor plan—living room, dining room, office, and kitchen were all in the same space. Sam glanced around briefly, seeing pictures dotting the walls, some dog toys, a tv and XBOX, and general evidence of family life. Not the home of a witch, he didn't think…

River was opening the refrigerator and rooting around for something. "What are you doing?" Sam asked hesitantly, looking to Dean who just shook his head, shrugged, rolled his eyes, and made a face.

The author pulled out a container labeled _Oikos_. "Looking at the expiration date on the yogurt I just ate because I must be hallucinating."

Dean gave Sam a disgusted look of utter irritation. "Of _course_ she eats _yogurt_. Told you. Hippie." Dean marched over and snatched the container of yogurt out of River's hand then threw it hard against a wall in an effort to intimidate. "Listen, kid, tell us how you know about her!"

He didn't achieve the desired effect. Instead, he pissed the author off. " _Hey_! Don't throw _yogurt_ in my _house_!" River exclaimed, indignant, staring at Dean like he was out of his mind. She put her hands on her hips with no shortage of attitude and gave him a look like he was about to get his ass kicked. "What's wrong with you?" Yogurt slid down the wall lazily.

"Sorry, sorry," Sam said, quickly moving over and trying to pacify. He turned to his brother, pissed. " _Cool it_ , Dean."

River abruptly snatched a roll of paper towels off the counter and some spray cleaning solution and shoved them into Dean's arms. "…What's this?" he asked, balking.

"They're called cleaning supplies, _Jensen_ ," she answered in clipped tones which quickly ramped up into forceful affect, "Now _use_ them!" Her expression was challenging and she had the distinct attitude of a sassy mama at that moment as she pointed her finger at Dean threateningly. "I don't care if you're the _Pope_ , you throw _food_ in my house you _better_ be ready to clean it up."

Dean looked like he was thinking about saying no but thought better of it and gave a disgusted sigh then began to wipe the yogurt off her kitchen wall insolently. "Look, we're Sam and Dean," Sam said, trying to be reasonable and trying to move this forward. They didn't have all the time in the world.

River wasn't much of a fangirl anymore, in fact, she looked ready to kick them out. "Sam and Dean aren't _real,_ " she said impatiently. "Are you guys on _drugs_?"

"We _are_ real!" Dean insisted, tossing the paper towels away into the trash can and thunking the cleaning spray down. "We can prove it!"

She folded her arms and looked at him testily. "Oh yeah? How?"

Dean didn't seem prepared for that one. "Uh… I dunno." He looked to his brother for help. "Sam?"

"Uh—ask us something only we would know," Sam said, using his hands vaguely as he thought out loud. "Ask us something you've written about or planned that only we would know."

"And hurry it up," Dean said unpleasantly. "We don't got all day, princess."

That earned him a little dark look from the author. "Well you've got the shitty attitude right, anyway, ' _Dean_ '," she commented, then seemed to figure _what the hell?_ She threw her hands out, a signal of irritable surrender. "Okay, fine, I'll bite," she muttered, seeming to think this was a ridiculous exercise. She thought a second, trying to come up with a question. "Okay. What's your sister's middle name?"

"Elizabeth," the boys answered in unintentional unison. 

River was startled at the immediate and correct answer, but then made herself brush it off. "Okay… so you've read chapter twenty," she said. "That doesn't prove anything. Um…" she thought some more, wracking her brain. "What'd you do for the twin's twenty-first birthday?"

Dean answered this one. "Sam was at Stanford. Me and Al got some booze and went to the park and just chilled."

River looked a bit shell-shocked to hear Dean say that then slowly shook her head again, frowning. "No, wait, that was in the story already too. Chapter… twenty-nine? Maybe? I can't remember my own stuff anymore. Wait. Waaaaaait." She smiled, almost a smirk, like she thought she had the perfect question. "I got it. Sit down, guys." She motioned to the couches and indicated they sit separately, facing each other. "Not beside each other. Opposite sides." Dean was looking irritated past belief but Sam gave him look that communicated _calm down, just take it easy_.

She bustled over to the little office nook in the living room and picked two sheets of paper out of the printer and two markers out of the cup beside the huge iMac computer on her desk. She handed them each a piece of paper and a marker. "What, is it time for arts and crafts?" Dean wisecracked as he took what she gave.

" _No_ …" River stood between them and looked at them assertively. "Write down the first thing Alex said when she got her voice back. The exact word or _words_ she said. I've never put this in the story and I've never told anyone else what it was." She seemed to think she had won. "So if you get this right... maybe, _maybe_ I'll believe you two." She muttered under her breath about a J-two prank going too far.

Sam and Dean exchanged a look and then both bent over the paper they'd been given, penning their answer to the author's question. They both remembered this, of course they did—there had been the initial pained groan of " _unf_!" when she had stubbed her toe that December day in 2007. Then there had been the wide-eyed stares they all gave each other as they realized that _she_ had made that sound. Dean had asked, "did you just…?" Even as Sam asked, "was that _you_?" Alex, gaping, painfully hopeful and terrified at once had made a strange sound like "uuuhhh?" then stuttered out the first word she had ever spoken in her entire life. Of course they remembered that. Of course they knew. 

"Got it?" River asked lackadaisically. The boys both nodded. "Okay, let's see." She motioned _come on_ tiredly, waiting to see what they had written. They showed their sheets of paper at the same moment. Dean's answer was written in his all-caps, bold handwriting; Sam's was written in narrow, smaller, more elegant handwriting. But the sheets of paper said the same single word: _Dean_.

The second she saw what they had written, River's eyes went wide as saucers and her hand drifted up in slow shock to open her dropping-open mouth.

"She was so shocked," Sam said fondly, looking down with a reminiscent little smile on his face.

"Yeah, we all were," Dean said, voice full of deep emotion. They were both remembering it like it were yesterday.

"No _way_ ," River breathed, a sort of scared expression on her face. "T-that was a, a lucky guess!" The fan fiction writer was trying to toughen up, asking them another question almost angrily like she didn't appreciate this prank. Instead, she was getting breathless and shaken up. "W-what date did she get it back?"

"December fifth, two-thousand-seven," Dean answered immediately, standing up and giving her a serious stare. River's eyes went even wider and she took a step back.

Sam stood up, too. "Her tattoo's here." He touched underneath his arm, over his rib cage.

"She _hates_ watermelon flavored stuff," Dean offered, walking closer.

"Sucked her thumb until she was four," Sam put in, also closing in on the shrinking author.

"Can hit a moving target from five hundred yards easy," Dean said proudly.

Sam chuckled. "Wanted to be Mr. T off the A-Team for a couple weird years there."

"Drools in her sleep and it's nasty." Sam gave Dean a slightly disapproving look for _that_ one. Dean seemed to agree that had been too much and apologized silently. Then both brothers looked at River, who had backed up against an armchair at the barrage of Alex facts. She looked absolutely stunned. Dean prompted her solemnly. "You believe us now?"

"But… but… how do you _know_ all that?" River asked in terrified confusion. "How could you possibly _know_ all that? Those were all just my headcanons!" Her face began to show amazement. "You mean…? She's—she's really real? She's _real_?" River began to hyperventilate almost and her hands flapped around her face nonsensically. "All this stuff I made up _isn_ _'_ _t made up_!? Holy fucking shit! Alex is _real_!? _YOU_ _'_ _RE_ real?!" She stared at Dean and looked like she was going to fall over. She smacked her hands to either cheek. "Oh my god oh my god and her first word was really your name? Holy shit _OH MY GOD_!" She abruptly had a hand over her heart, clenching a handful of hoodie as she wobbled on her feet slightly, giving a gasping cry sound like she was going to sob. At the boys' looks of confusion, she made another pathetic cry sound. "I'm sorry, I'm really emotional right now—y-you guys have a sister?" She was grinning like an idiot. "I mean, you seriously have a _SISTER_?! And she's Alex?! So perfect, oh god, y—" Her face suddenly went blank—the grin fell and in its place was a confused, suspicious expression. She narrowed her eyes into little slits. "…How do I know what I know?"

Dean threw his hands out, making a _no duh_ face. "That's what _we_ wanna know!"

River gasped again and put a hand over her mouth, overjoyed all over again. "Waaaait— _wait_. This means… Cas and Alex… and Alex and Cas… they're real too?" She looked at them with bright eyes and an expression full of disbelieving amazement. Her eyes were filling with overwhelmed happy _tears_ of all things. "And… in _love_?" She made a sound akin to a whale noise. "Most… epic… love… story… of all… time…!" Dean of course was rolling his eyes at this point even as River lost the ability to English. "Oh… my… GOD… hahaha, WOW!" River fell down sideways like she was drunk but managed to catch herself in the little armchair there. "I needa sit down," she said very factually, sounding like she was in mild shock.

"Whoa, are you okay?" Sam asked, moving closer uncertainly.

She was staring at the floor like a crazy person, grinning madly. "My OTP is real. I don't even know what my body is doing right now." She looked at Sam and Dean in vast amazement, grinning the entire time, then became sort of anxious. She had her hands clasped into her chest, was breathing with deeply emotional heaves. "It's all _real_? He was her guardian angel and gave her her voice back and, and… ohhh… the Vatican." Sam and Dean watched the author crack up completely and lose her mind, giggling and flushing and biting her own knuckle. "Oh my god, oh my _god_ —"

"What… happened at the Vatican?" Dean asked, confused and looking to Sam for answers.

River made a face and stifled an immature snort of laughter as she tried to be nonchalant. "Nothing, _nothing_ ," she said, then clutched the arm of her chair and looked at Sam in sudden frantic hope. "Wait… does Alex wear a penny necklace?"

Sam hesitated. "Yeah… says it's her lucky penny or something…"

"Are you _serious?!_!" River threw herself back into the chair, staring at the ceiling in a total daze. "I need a minute, wow." 

Sam and Dean exchanged weirded out looks—this chick had lost it. "Something we should know?" Sam asked.

River suddenly became intensely serious, sat up straight, and folded her hands in her lap, the picture of non-conspicuous. She said nothing, just shook her head no with overemphasized indifference. 

Dean and Sam exchanged a wry, semi-impatient look. "I'll tell you what we need to know," Dean said, moving them back to business. "How you know what you know."

River straightened her glasses by pushing them up her nose. "But I told you I don't know how I know what I… know." She looked unsure about using so many instances of the word 'know' in one sentence.

Sam, ever the patient one, sat down on the edge of the coffee table near her, clasped his hands between his knees as he leaned forward. "Just tell us everything about this story you're writing, River. Start at the beginning." Dean stood back and crossed his arms and put on his listening face.

River looked between them in a slight daze, seeming to have a hard time believing this. "Okay… well…" she shrugged, made a face like she had no idea what to say. "I started watching Supernatural a couple years ago. And, I mean… even in the pilot I was like, thinking there should be a sister, you know? It was just _missing_ a sister for me. And I don't even know why, but she never talked when I imagined her, she was mute. So like I kept watching the season and her name popped into my head and I never really tried to come up with any other name, it just appeared in my brain and I knew her name was Alex." River scratched her ear absently and toed at the carpet timidly. "Um, and when Cas appeared, I decided she was his love interest—and I started writing." She glanced at Dean, as if she already knew he was going to make a stink-face about _that_ revelation. "And then as I wrote the characters just… took on a life of their own. Seriously, half the stuff I came up with, I dunno where it came from. So… dunno what to tell you guys. I watch the show and imagine what would happen and then write it and… that's—that's it."

Dean and Sam were quiet for a minute, mystified. _  
_

"So… no dreams or visions?" Sam asked for clarification.

"Nope." River made an apologetic face. "No Chuck-visions, no psychic whatevers. Just… I thought I was imagining her in my mind." She said that anxiously, then chewed on her lower lip, said, "Hmm." She became thoughtful and tapped her chin with a finger. She had chipped mint polish on her short nails. "I must be magical," she concluded calmly, nodding and becoming deeply philosophical. "But do I write it 'cause it's true... or is it true 'cause I write it?" She sounded very uncertain about the answer and made weighing motions with her hands, thinking with a funny little expression on her face. "I really want it to be the first one. Otherwise I'm insanely evil," she said, giving a nervous _heh_ sound before she became sort of contrite and worried. "So much pain," she muttered, then began to bite a mint fingernail in a fog of vexed thought.

"Yeah well that seems to be the theme of our lives, wouldn't blame yourself," Dean muttered back.

After a couple seconds of mystified silence, Sam moved the conversation along. "Okay, River, so the reason we're here is because when we got angel-zapped onto the set of the show earlier today, no Alex anywhere to be seen. Do you have _any_ idea what could have happened to her?"

River frowned thoughtfully. "Wait… so like… you replaced Jensen and Jared or something?"

Sam nodded. "Exactly." 

"Ooh, well maybe Alex replaced her actress, too!" River said excitedly, then lost steam. "Well. _If_ the actress I picked is actually _your_ Alex, I mean." At the confused looks she got, River stood up. "I picked somehow to play her in my own mind I guess, someone who looked like what I envisioned and kinda looked related to Jensen and Jared. Er, Sam and Dean. You guys."

"Who is it?" Sam asked, even as River headed for the nearby iMac.

"Lemme show you." She plopped down in front of her shiny computer and woke it up as Sam and Dean followed to stand behind her. The screensaver of falling rain switched to a Photoshop screen she quickly minimized. Dean squinted—he swore that kind of looked like an image of Crowley kissing his sister.

"What was that?" he asked suspiciously, staring hard at the screen. It had been there so briefly he didn't know if he'd seen what he thought he saw.

"Nothing, nothing," River said, clearing her throat nervously. "Some… ad or something, I dunno, heh, internet." She opened a search engine tab and typed in _Astrid Berges-Frisbey_ , then showed Sam and Dean the image results. "Here. This her?"

"Yeah, that's her!" Sam exclaimed, enthusiasm perking his voice up but then he paused, made a face. "What is she _wearing_?" Image after image showed a young woman who looked exactly like Alex wearing weird outfits—fancy dresses, high heels, drapey tops and weird skirts, and a constantly vapid, dreamy smile. "Is that a _lizard_ tattoo?" Sam asked incredulously as he squinted at a full-length photo. 

"Astrid… Burger… Frisbee?" Dean asked, misreading and scoffing. "What is she, _French_?"

"Can you find out where this actress person is right now?" Sam asked.

"Already know," River said, sitting back in her swivel desk chair with a wise smile on her face. Sam and Dean stood back, expectant. "There was like a bunch of stuff on Twitter and Tumblr today about Astrid having an on-set freakout down in Hawaii. She up and disappeared after punching Johnny Depp in the face." She said that then suddenly frowned in thought, seemed to realize. "Oh."

Dean looked immediately proud and Sam had a little hidden smile on his face. "That's her," Dean said confidently.

River opened her mouth in a delighted half grin, half wowed expression. "You're right! Oh my gosh, you're right! What an Alex thing to do, huh?" she gushed, then grew self conscious at the weird looks from the Winchesters. "Sorry. I just kinda love her, 'cause up until a few minutes ago she was my character, not an actual _person._ But hey, good news, right?" She grinned at them widely and made finger guns at them. "She's obviously on her way to find you guys!" She jumped up and put her hands on her hips, giving them a solicitous look. "So you know what you gotta do, right?"

Dean frowned slightly. "What?"

"Stay on set or like at Jared's house here in Canada," River answered. "Places she'll know how to find you. She's smart—she'll figure out where you are and track you down. She's obviously already on her way, so…" she grinned again, eyes sparkling behind her glasses. "Just be findable, you know?" 

Sam had latched onto something she said. "I have a place here in Canada?"

River nodded once. "Yup."

Dean gave her a look. "Stalker."

The author didn't bat an eye, in fact, seemed to accept it as a compliment. "Hey, I'm just well informed."

"Like I said," Dean said. "Stalker." He nodded toward the door. "Sam."

"You're leaving?" River asked, sounding sort of surprised at the sudden exit.

"Got spell ingredients to somehow round up, princess," Dean answered curtly.

River skidded to a stop in front of him, holding up a hand that said stop. "Hey um wait. Hugs. I need hugs."

Dean scoffed, seeming to find that ridiculous. "Oh sweetheart I don't do hu—"

He was cut off by her enthusiastic, earnest hug. When it lasted several seconds, he grudgingly patted her back as she squeezed him hard. She pulled back and pointed a lecturing finger at him as she smiled. "Don't lie to me. You love hugs." She suddenly patted the side of his face and gave him a meaningful look. "Hey. Seriously though? You're a good person. And not everything bad that happens is your fault. You need to stop that."

Dean blinked twice at the unexpected and kindhearted proclamation then hardened his face and made himself look annoyed as he pulled away and brushed past. "Yeah thanks Doctor Phil."

" _Classic_ Dean," River said, grinning and shaking her head at his reaction, obviously loving it. 

Sam stood there in front of her and held his arms out slightly awkwardly. "I'll, uh, give you a hug," he said, much more agreeable than his brother was.

"Bring it in, Sammy," River said, hugging him and grinning. "You sweet, _sweet_ man, you." Sam pulled back and looked at her questioningly and she laughed nervously. "Hey, if you uh, when Alex shows up, I'd really love to meet her?"

"Look, sorry Riv," Dean said. "But the second we find her, it's vamoose for us." He paused in the doorway then turned back, giving her a slightly patronizing look. "Writing about our sad lives has gotta be depressing. Find a better hobby."

"Pssh." River made a face. "In your dreams."

"Seeya," Sam said, and shut the door behind himself. River ran to the door and peered out the little window beside it, watching as _Sam and Dean Winchester_ walked away from her house. Did that really just happen? She pinched herself hard on the arm and then yelped and rubbed the skin. "Ouch. Well. I think I need a drink." She paused. "But _first—_ "

She went onto Tumblr and posted: **ALEX IS REAL OMG! :)**

* * *

**The Next Day  
On the Set of Supernatural**

The window that Sam and Dean had entered the alternate dimension through had been reset and was no longer broken. All was quiet on the set. No one was around to see the red-hot symbol appear suddenly and begin to glow with increasing intensity.

Without warning, the glass shattered violently as two men blasted through and landed gracefully, poised like tigers.

They rose to their feet in tandem, straightening their suits and glancing around shrewdly. One of the men was tanned with a hook nose, greased black hair and a foul expression. The other was devastatingly handsome with steely eyes and a constant little smirk. "You find the key," Daniel told Virgil, his sharp eyes traveling the strange world they had found themselves in. "I'll find the girl."

Silently, Virgil nodded yes, and Raphael's henchmen parted ways.

* * *

**Meanwhile  
Somewhere Over America**

Onboard a nineteen-hour flight to Canada that was driving her absolutely nuts, Alex stared at the seat in front of herself. Her mind was _blown._ She'd just watched a mind-numbing amount of this television show _Supernatural_ on Astrid's laptop and was left asking herself what the hell was happening. If she didn't know better she would have thought this was a Gabriel thing. That's how looney it all was. 

Alex had used Astrid's credit cards to buy and download all five seasons of _Supernatural_ while she'd waited at the airport for a flight. Now she kind of wished she hadn't. The things she'd seen were emotionally jarring. A lot of bad memories had resurfaced and a lot of old pains suddenly were new again. It was weird enough seeing her brothers and dad on screen and watching moments of the past few years of their lives play out on TV but to watch it all happen with herself freakishly removed from it like she'd never been there at all? Trippy. And _upsetting_.

She had been erased seamlessly and completely. _Well_ , maybe not completely. She had found a couple small signs of herself: Noticed her duffel bag in the backgrounds of a couple scenes, seen how her whistle was on Dean's keychain if you looked closely. Caught sight of a few snatches of her handwriting on Dad's journal's pages in a few shots. But that was it. What kind of black magic mojo did it take to erase someone like that? The weirdest thing about watching the show was seeing how her brothers seemed fine without her, how the story remained the same without her in it. Alex had watched the first few episodes with major indignant fury, yelling "hey, Sam didn't do that, _I_ did you friggin' idiots!" and "dude, what?! NO! I was in this part! Are you _kidding_ me?!" But as she continued through, skimming episodes and getting into more painful territory, she'd become upset to watch Dean and Sam mourn Dad without her, see Sam watch Dean die on Tuesdays a thousand times without her there for him, see Dean make that soul deal for Sam. And then she'd seen Dean on the rack. 

_Christ_. She got to season four and realized Cas was about to appear and seeing him had made tears spring to her eyes. She'd called him several more times since being shoved into this alternate universe but he wasn't answering. Which either meant he was dead or not able to hear her. But he would _always_ hear her, right? She was so terrified that he was going to disappear on her again, leave her hanging without explanation again.

Since the airplane had WiFi, Alex had taken to surfing the internet after she couldn't watch any more _Supernatural_ episodes. First she found YouTube videos of Astrid Bergès-Frisbey and watched herself speaking French and moving her mouth in ways she had no idea how to actually move it. That was too weird and she stopped after a little bit then instead read a _Supernatural_ wiki for awhile and developed a real hate-on for the show creator Kripke, who apparently knew everything about their lives but decided to leave her out of the show. She then googled "Alex Winchester Supernatural" and found a very, very interesting few results. The first one had been a fan fiction called _Song Remains the Same_. Alex had skimmed it, read the first few chapters and then chosen a random chapter, thirty-one. When she read it she'd subsequently turned red as a beet when she realized her first time having sex was out there in horrifying detail for the entire world to see. Soon after Alex had discovered the Tumblr page for the story in question and had found where you could send the author a note. She submitted one immediately:

**How do you know what you know about Alex Winchester? Who told you? PS, please remove the sex scenes from this story, they are VERY PRIVATE!**

The only thing she liked about this universe? She could google 'Castiel' and see tons of pictures of him. His familiar features comforted her and she saved some pictures to a jump drive she'd found in Astrid's purse. That had given her an idea and Alex then searched "Destiel" and was reduced to laughter and tears as she found image after image of her brother and husband together in very compromising positions. She saved a bunch of those for future trolling and then searched 'Wincest' and laughed until her stomach hurt. She saved tons of those, too.

But now she was back to feeling majorly disappointed and confused, not to mention scared. What if she got to the _Supernatural_ set and instead of Sam and Dean she came face to face with these actor guys? Jared and Jensen? What if she was stuck here and Sam and Dean were in some other alternate reality? What if Cas never heard her prayers and Balthazar was killed by that Virgil guy and she and Cas were forever-separated by dimensions?

" _I_ _'_ _ll find you_ ," he had told her once. " _Somehow, no matter what, I_ _'_ _ll find you_."

She shut her eyes, focusing on that promise.

How strange to have watched Cas on that TV show and see him alone without her. She couldn't stop thinking about how her entire life was a TV show and she had been completely erased.

"Hello folks, we should be arriving to our destination in just a few hours now," came the pleasant voice over the plane intercom. "Sit back and enjoy!"

Sit back and enjoy. Yeah. _Right._

* * *

**That Night  
On the Set of Supernatural**

Sam and Dean had spent the day gathering whatever supplies they could to complete Balthazar's ritual (and had come into possession of a dead saint's bone thanks to next-day airmail and Jared Padalecki's credit card). They had then lurked around the _Supernatural_ set all day and waited for Alex to show. She still hadn't and they were both getting really worried and agitated. Add to that how they'd had a run-in with a mojo-less Virgil a few hours prior and then subsequently noticed the missing key Balthazar had given Sam. The brothers were both in bad moods, trying to locate the missing key on set.

They walked into the _Bobby Singer Study_ set, retracing their steps—they'd done some shameful excuse for 'acting' that day on this set and thought maybe they had dropped the key there.

"There you are, guys!" the producer said, startling them. He was sitting in Bobby's seat at Bobby's desk like he'd been waiting for them. "You got a minute?" The red-faced chunker with white hair and flabby jowls had come out of nowhere. It was a little spooky, to be honest.

"Actually, we're—we're looking for, uh—" Sam started.

"For that extra you tried to kill?" the producer asked knowingly. Virgil wasn't an _extra_ , he was a bad guy, and Dean and Sam looked at the director strangely. "So, is it money? Is this the kind of act that goes away if we can scare up some coverage on a raise?"

" _M_ _ore_ money?" Dean asked, scoffing. "You already pay these two jokers enough as it is."

"'Cause I'd like to think that over these years, we've grown closer," the producer continued, ignoring him for the most part, talking to them almost like they were kids. "That you don't think of me as 'Director Bob' or 'executive producer Bob Singer,' but as 'Uncle Bob.'"

"Wait... you're kidding," Sam said, growing indignant. "So, the character in the show, _Bobby Singer_ —"

"What kind of douchebag names a character after himself?" Dean asked, saying what Sam was thinking.

"Okay, guys, let's begin again," Bob said, and turned away slightly to heave his ass out of the chair.

Sam and Dean turned around to speak in hushed tones. "You know, I don't think Virgil would have shagged out of here without getting his mitts on that key," Dean muttered.

"Yeah," Sam said, patting his pockets for the millionth time like the key would magically just be there again. "Yeah, I agree."

Bob suddenly clapped them on the shoulders, making them turn. "Guys… look. You can't come to work on poppers and smuggle kidneys in from Mexico and make up your own lines as you go and keep complaining about a nonexistent sister character. Most importantly you _cannot_ make up your own lines! Good god, what about your careers?" 

Sam had clearly had enough. "You know what? _Screw_ our _careers_ , Bob!"

"What?!" Bob was completely stunned.

Sam shook a finger at Bob and then pointed at himself furiously. "And screw Kripke too!" He swept off in a huff.

"You heard my brother," Dean said frostily, getting a confused expression from the balding producer. "That's right, I said _brother_. 'Cause you know what, Bob? We're not actors. We're _hunters_. We're the _Winchesters_. Always have been, always will be. Sam, Dean, and yes, _Alex_ Winchester." Bob made a face (he was tired of hearing about this sister they'd been talking about all day). Dean got pissed. "Roll your eyes all you want, old man! She's important! She matters! I don't care if your stupid Crypt-Key creator guy wrote her out of our lives!" He calmed down and spoke slowly, measured. "Where we're from, people don't know who we are but you know what? We mattered in that world. In fact, we even saved a son of a bitch once or twice. And yeah, okay, here, maybe there's some—some fans who give a crap about this nonsense—"

"I wouldn't call it nonsense…" Bob protested.

"Yeah well, Bob Singer—if that even is your name—tell me this—what does it all mean?" Dean asked. "Our lives on screen for _entertainment_? I mean what is _wrong_ with you?"

For reasons unknown, the producer seemed encouraged. "Okay. This is good! I mean, we've all had our psychotic breaks, right? I can work with this. And by the way, Kripke's coming first thing tomorrow morning to talk to you boys. So, rest up, okay?" 

Sam suddenly barreled back in and grabbed his brother. "Dean. Virgil—I think he has the key."

Dean looked at Bob decisively. "We quit." Bob's jaw dropped. The brothers hurried off and Dean sent a middle finger sailing up high over his head. "Add in our sister, jackass!" he thundered, leaving a very confused Bob Singer behind.

"Great, so he's got the key," Dean muttered to Sam as they hurried through darkened sets. "What, you think he's heading back to the real world with it?"

"That's what I'd do," Sam said, worried.

"Crap. Cas is _screwed_ ," Dean muttered, anxiety making his stomach turn. "What the hell is taking Mouse so long, huh?" He jammed a hand through his hair in alarmed agitation. "We can't go back without her but we gotta get that damn key, Sam!"

"Maybe she went to my place," Sam suggested. They'd been to Jared Padalecki's mansion last night after meeting River. It had been, in a word, interesting. "Let's go there and wait. The flight times from Hawaii to here we figured out mean she's gonna be showing up soon unless something happened."

"Yeah but if we're at your place and she comes _here_ , to the set, we are _equally_ screwed," Dean said, trying to think. It came to him. "We split up. One of us waits here for her, one of us waits at your place."

Sam nodded, seeming to be a little comforted by this plan of action. "Yeah, good."

Dean clapped his brother on the shoulder, gave a sarcastic little chuckle. "Yup, you go see your demonic wife, I'll hang out here." He definitely got a Sam bitchface for the demonic wife comment.

* * *

**Outside, Twenty Minutes Later** **  
** **Supernatural Set**

Exhausted both emotionally and physically, Alex pulled out a last-ditch effort and scaled a chain-link fence along a back lot of the set of _Supernatural,_ desperate to find her big brothers. She'd long since ditched the laptop and everything she carried except money and an ID, preferring to travel light. On the way to set she had bought a big-ass Ka-Bar hunting knife and thigh-holster from a hunting goods store. Just in case. She'd left her angel blade at Bobby's back at home and didn't like being weaponless.

As she wandered discreetly through trailers, trying to find any sign of Sam and Dean, she heard a familiar-ish voice call, "'Night, little fella!"

…Was that _Cas_?

A burst of adrenaline propelled her into a jog and she ran around the end of a trailer toward where that voice had come from. She saw a familiar head of dark brown head just ahead. "Hey!" she called, trying to catch his attention as she ran up. "Hey, hey hey! Cas?"

He had stopped at her calls and was turning to look at her curiously as he held a phone out like he had been in the middle of typing something on it. Alex came to a stop, looking him over with an odd expression. It looked like Cas, but he was wearing the wrong things: Jeans, sneakers, an ugly blue knit snowflake zip-up sweater and some kind of new age shirt under it. He examined her up and down fully, sort of rudely. "…Sorry, do I know you?" he asked, a half smile on his face.

Disappointed—god, this was the worst—he must be the Cas actor—she couldn't remember his name from the wiki entries. "Uh… guess not," she said, sucking up major deflated feelings. She wearily charged ahead on the mission at hand. "I'm looking for Dea—uh, Jensen and Jared. Do you know where they are?"

He cracked a grin at her the likes Cas never had, and it was sort of creepy. "Ah, security'll let in just any pretty face these days, huh?" he asked, distinctly flirty. "You're not supposed to be here… but you know what, I'll let you have my autograph, okay?"

"Your _what_?" Alex asked, then scoffed royally, rolling her eyes. "Yeah, no, I'm _good_ buddy."

He seemed slightly surprised at her reaction. "Aw. You a J-two girl?" He gave her a dashing little smile. "How can I convince you over to the Cas side?" And then he winked. _Winked_.

Unable to believe this day, Alex's shoulders slumped and she rubbed her face tiredly with a hand. "Oh, I'm Team Cas, trust me."

"Smart girl." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder, opening the door to his little sedan. "Look, can't stay and chat, I got an early morning, gotta head out. Exit's that way, sweetheart!"

"No, I need to know where Sam and Dean—uh, Jensen and Jared are!" Alex protested.

The actor was closing his door already. "Sorry, gotta bounce!"

He started the car and pulled away, and that's when Alex saw—holy shit, there was a guy hiding in the back seat with a knife! "Hey! _Hey!_ " she called, trying to warn the actor who was already texting and driving, it looked like. _Crap._ He was speeding off fast, too _._

Alex looked around frantically for some kind of way to pursue. She spotted a motorcycle with _S. Roch_ _é_ painted on the side— _hey, French, that matches the theme of this bizarro reality I_ _'_ _m in_ —and without a second thought she ran over, jumped on, then gunned it to life, grumbling under her breath the whole time. "Friggin'… frackin'… stupid… _uggghh_." She was so annoyed with everything at the moment. She just wanted to find her damn brothers and now she had to go save this idiot actor.

* * *

Misha Collins had just been minding his own business, texting and driving and swerving a little when a stranger with a sharp weapon had suddenly sat up from the backseat and held him at knifepoint as he drove. "Oh god, _ahhhh_!" Misha screamed at the top of his lungs, almost running off the road when his hands flew up in shock.

" _Drive_ , idiot!" the man commanded in a thick accent, digging the cold knife into Misha's neck.

"Holy crap, who are you!?" Misha cried pathetically, face contorted in fear as he re-gripped the wheel and tried to do what he was told.

"Never mind, mortal," the man said insolently, then nodded. "There. Drive there, pull over." Misha did as the man asked, pulling over to the side of a dark abandoned building, shaking in fear. They'd done some location filming here before, actually. "Get out," the man commanded ominously. "Your blood will be used for the angels tonight."

" _What_?!" Misha yelped as he was forced out of his car at the end of a sharp knife. "A-are you one of those Cas-haters?! I'll quit the show, I'll quit I promise!" He had his hands up high as he groveled.

The knife came to pull sharply against his throat again. " _Silence_."

"Okay, okay, okay!" Misha blubbered, "Easy, easy!" He cried dramatically, realizing _oh god I_ _'_ _m about to die_ _…_ and then he heard the loud roar of a motorcycle—what? Misha and his assailant both turned to look just in time to see a young woman screech to an abrupt stop just a few feet away—she jumped off before the motorcycle had fully stopped and the momentum made the bike crash hard into the brick wall beside her. A small explosion of sparks went up behind her, lighting the area dramatically for a few seconds as a gust of wind caught her loose hair and blew wildly—she strode forward with a fierce expression on her delicately-featured face even as she whipped a huge, scary knife out from a thigh holster. Misha recognized her from a few minutes ago and he gaped. She looked like a movie action hero and Misha momentarily forgot there was a knife at his neck. " _Whoa_ …"

"Hey!" she shouted in a surprisingly strong voice at the guy holding Misha. "Get your hands off…" she paused, became uncertain, "that… actor guy!" 

The knife guy let go of Misha and shoved him down to cry in a heap against the car without protest. "What a dramatic entrance," the assailant commented mildly, clapping ironically. "Bravo. And this _is_ a pleasant surprise," he commented to the mysterious young woman. "The one Raphael is after… do you think, once we have you in our possession, Castiel will bow to the archangel's every whim? What a lucky chance of fate t—"

"Oh shut _up_ ," she said as if in annoyance and threw something at the guy—was that a glove?—Virgil ducked back, apparently not knowing what it was she'd thrown, only trying to get away a perceived threat. She used the fake-out to leap in and slash at him ferociously, but he caught hold of her wrist and made a slash of his own. She ducked it and with a loud grunt, she did some sort of move out of ultimate fighter movies that Misha had always thought were pretty cool—she used her weight and the momentum to throw the guy over her shoulder and onto the ground. He was already rolling and recovering, jumping up and lunging forward anew to attack.

Misha cowered against the side of the car, clutching himself in shock as the small-framed woman attacked the guy with the knife without a second thought, risking her life as if she did it every day. The two grappled fiercely and then…

"Augh!" She stumbled back, breathing hard. Misha was standing up now, clutching his car for support, watching in rapt attention. There was a cut on the side of her already-scraped up face, fresh blood in a slashing line on her cheek—but the assailant had a hand to his side and a shocked look on his face. Blood seeped out of his stomach area and seeing it, the woman's head moved back, a cool little triumphant expression played on her face. "Sure you wanna tangle with me, Desperado?" She waggled her knife at him with a taunting smile. "Mine's bigger."

The attacker looked at the blood on his hand, the knife in her grip and then abruptly fled into the night. The woman made to give pursuit, but Misha grabbed her hard by the wrist, panicked. "Whoa, whoa, whoa! You crazy!? He's twice your size! He'll _kill you_!" It was crazy he hadn't already!

Insulted, she made a highly disgusted face at him. "He couldn't kill me if he tried for a hundred years!" she snapped, then yanked on her arm. "Let go!" She was freaky strong and Misha started sobbing again. His tears made her go still. "Hey—what are you doing?" she asked, looking like she wanted to back away slowly.

"He almost killed me, he had his cold knife right _here_!" Misha whined, pointing at his neck.

"Okay, well he doesn't anymore, so snap out of it!" she commanded, watching him sob like a child. "For fuck's sake," she muttered. Misha just sobbed harder. The woman got very annoyed. "Oh _stop_ it." And when he didn't, she smacked him across the face. At the very least, the sobbing stopped. 

He gaped at her, gasped audibly for effect. "You _slapped_ me! This is the face adored by millions of fangirls!"

Alex raised her eyebrows at this crazy, crying actor who looked like Cas but was nothing like him. "Millions?" 

He lost a little confidence. "Thousands." At her hard stare, he got flustered. "At least hundreds, a few hundred, okay?"

Alex, annoyed Virgil had gotten away and still having no sign of her brothers, was getting desperate. "Okay, you know what, dude? I just saved your life. You owe me one." She grabbed him by the front of the sweater roughly, threateningly. "Take me to Sam and Dean, _now_."

He shrank away from her fearfully as she held tight. "What could you possibly need from them in the middle of the night?" he asked in a high-pitched squeak.

"Okay, _look,_ " she said, too tired to do anything but tell the truth. "I'm Alex. _Winchester._ Their sister."

His face promptly showed confusion. "…Is this some kinda role play thing?"

"Role play?" Alex was so over this day and let go of him with a shove, pointing a finger in his face rudely. "Okay, look—guy who plays Cas—"

"Misha," he said, moving her finger away with his hand. She froze a little at the touch. That was Cas's hand. She stared at his hand as it went down beside him again. "My name is Misha, and frankly I'm a little upset you didn't know that," he said sort of primly. "You said you were a Cas fan earlier."

"'Misha?'" she repeated doubtfully. "' _Misha_ '?" A completely exasperated sigh came out. "This is the weirdest day of my fucking life," she muttered, then chopped a hand through the air harshly. "Look, 'Misha.' You gotta take me to my brothers, now, _please_."

"Okay, not roleplaying?" Misha asked, trying to figure it out. "Fan fic? Cosplay? General delusion?"

Alex pointed at him with her knife, getting a wide-eyed gape in return. "Hey, if I have to threaten you with my knife, I will. Take me to them." She holstered the weapon. 

Misha nervously licked his lips, then frowned. "Wait. J and J _were_ both babbling on and on about some sister thing on set today, so wei—" he suddenly jumped and clutched onto her when a cat meowed nearby. "Ahhh!" He looked at the dark, still alleyway. "I… heard a sound," he said pathetically at the glower she was giving him.

"It was a _cat_." Alex shoved him away from her. "In the car, Fruitbasket. I'm driving, you're navigating."

A few minutes later on the freeway, Alex drove as Misha sat in his seat and quivered, crying and trying to hold it in, but failing miserably. Mildly touched because god, he looked so much like her Castiel, Alex let a sidelong glance rest on him for a couple seconds. "You don't have to cry. I saved your life back there. You're alive—that's good, right?"

"He had his _knife_ on me and now you're kidnapping me!" Misha cried in a voice that was warped by tears.

Alex rolled her eyes and shook her head. "I'm not kidnapping you, weirdo."

Misha sniffed and dabbed at his eyes. "At least if I'm going to be killed, it's by someone beautiful this time," he said, looking at her for a second then abruptly getting tearful again. "My life flashed in front of my eyes," he lamented dramatically. "And I didn't even send my last tweet!" He suddenly started to feel around on the floorboard for something. "That reminds me." He found what he'd been looking for—a mobile phone—and calmed down a lot, then began to type. "Just… had… hashtag close encounter… am fine… now riding around with crazy but pretty girl who… thinks she is… a Winchest—hey!" He gaped at Alex who had just grabbed his phone from him and tossed it over her shoulder and out the window. "That was my phone!"

"It's roadkill now, Sweatervest."

He sulked and hunkered down into his seat. "You could use my name, you know. It's Misha. Or did you forget?"

Irritated, she glanced at him harshly. "Misha… Jimmy… how many doppelgangers do you _have_?"

Misha hesitated. "What?"

"Nothing."

There was a long, uncomfortable pause and then Misha cleared his throat, then motioned at a sign ahead. "Get off here, this exit ahead." He worked his hands nervously in his lap then tried to make conversation. "So… are you on Twitter?"

"What is that, some kind of drug?" she muttered.

"Uh, no, it's a website. What century are you from?" Misha asked, seeming genuinely perplexed. Alex shrugged and made a face. "Twitter?" Misha asked, incredulous. "Where you post short thoughts and funny commentary on everyday life and people can see what's on your mind?"

"Oh, right, yeah. I've heard of that." On the news or something. She didn't use social media. That was Sam stuff. And what a stupid idea, anyway… Twitter? Why would she need that? "If I wanna tell someone my thoughts, I just _say_ it to them—why would I post it online like some freako? Why don't people just _talk_ to each other anymore?" She was ranting now. "I didn't always have the luxury."

Misha gave her a funny look. "Huh?"

"I used to be mute," she said, her foul mood making her ranty. "You know, silent? Couldn't speak?"

"Used to be?" he asked, not following.

"Well I'm obviously not anymore!" 

"Yeah, no, I can see that, but… I mean… I thought being mute, people were kinda… stuck that way."

She was silent for a beat. "Usually, yeah. But I guess I got lucky." Her bad mood suddenly became angst-ridden. _Oh Cas. You_ _'_ _re right beside me but you_ _'_ _re not at all._

"Interesting backstory," Misha commented. "How long did you work on it?" At the sharp look he got, he shrugged defensively. "This Winchester sister character you've invented, sorta intriguing I gotta say." He got nervous again. "Look, just promise me you're not gonna… cut Jensen and Jared up." 

_Bitch, please._ Alex gave him the stinkface of the century. "I wouldn't cut up my _brothers_."

Misha shrank back into his corner of the car. "Are you always this unfriendly?"

She felt a little bad and tried to behave herself. "You remind me of someone, okay?"

"Someone you _hate_ , apparently," he muttered. It was quiet again for a minute and she felt him stealing curious glances at her. He was getting that cocky attitude back he'd had when she first found him earlier tonight. "So. You married, 'Alex'?"

His question surprised her and she took a long time to answer, not sure what to say. She settled on, " _No_ …"

"Hesitated a long time before answering," he observed coyly. "You sure about that?" When she said nothing, he started prompting her. "Dating? Engaged? It's Complicated?" Her eyes slid to his challengingly, briefly, and he seemed intrigued. "Huh. Mysterious." He was grinning crookedly.

Alex's eyes fell to his left hand where a thick silver wedding band said he was indeed wed. "You're married," she muttered, thinking of Jimmy Novak and now Misha Collins. "You're _always_ married."

Misha looked at her like he hadn't heard right. "What?"

"Nothing."

There was another short silence. Then, "Turn here."


	73. Everybody Hates Kripke

" _No book worth its salt is meant to put you to sleep, it's meant to make you jump out of your bed in your underwear and run and beat the author's brains out._ _"  
_ \- Bohumil Hrabal

* * *

**Padalecki Residence  
Canada**

Misha Collins and Alex Winchester arrived to a mansion that was unspeakably lavish and elegant. A statue of a jaguar pawing at a marble orb stood in the immaculately landscaped front yard and a decorative water fountain babbled along the stone walkway to the front door. _Padalecki_ was declared in a carefully trimmed, shaped shrub against the house. As Alex wandered up gawking, Misha approached the front door like he'd been there before a hundred times. He walked funny—bouncy and bright, dorky. Not like Cas did with a slow, steady, humble stride.

He rang the bell as Alex drifted up, disconcerted at everything she was seeing. As she looked at the huge door they waited in front of, she suddenly _really_ doubted she was going to find her brothers at all. This was so _fancy_ _…_ they wouldn't know what to do with themselves in this kind of environment. She was probably about to find out she was all alone in this strange universe she'd found herself in…

After they waited for about twenty seconds, the hand-carved solid oak door swung open to reveal a familiar young woman with dark hair and pretty, distinct features. Alex's body went into sudden overdrive as horrified recognition came over her. _Ruby!_ Adrenaline going nuts, Alex reacted on gut instinct and she launched into an attack on the demon who had almost gotten her brother killed two years ago. Ruby was unprepared for the assault; she squeaked when Alex rushed her and slammed her into the wall of the foyer—Alex was already whipping out her knife to finish the job even as Misha began to screech and freak out, pull on her with fluttering hands. "Hey hey hey, don't kill Gen!"

Alex hesitated right before she'd been about to kill Ruby— _Gen_? Wait… wait. Shit. If Cas wasn't Cas but was Misha Collins, Ruby might not be Ruby either. She backed off slightly, realizing the fatal mistake she'd just been about to make.

Gen was slumped against her own foyer wall, eyes wide with shock as she clutched onto the crown molding there for dear life. "Who the hell is _this_ , Misha?" she demanded in a high-pitched, scared voice. Alex shrank away. Oops.

"Alex!? Oh my god!" a rich, tenor voice sounded nearby—one Alex knew—and she turned, flooded with relief. _Sam._ He was hurrying forward and crashing her into a tight, relieved, brief hug she accepted, knife and all. He pulled back to look at her with a huge grin on his face, which fell when he saw her scraped face and slashed cheek. Alex shook her head just slightly— _I_ _'_ _m fine._ Then Sam saw the knife she held and realized what was going on and became furtive and a little awkward. "It's okay, you don't need to stab anyone," he said, trying to joke around then indicating the very flabbergasted woman who still stood slack against the nearby wall. "This is my _wife_ , the _actress_ who played _Ruby._ " He said all that very carefully, trying to tell Alex what was going on.

Alex did a double take. "Your _wife?_ "

"Yeah, you know." Sam paused and gave her a meaningful look. "Because I'm Jared Padalecki."

 _Oh yeah._ Understanding, Alex nodded slowly, conspiratorially. "… _Right_."

"Um, _Jared_?" Gen was looking at Alex with no shortage of distaste as she recovered from her shock and became unfriendly. "Who _is_ this?"

Sam faltered, obviously not sure how to answer. "My… uh, _friend_. Alex."

That earned him a sassy look. "And do all your _friends_ show up in the middle of the night trying to _stab_ me?" Gen demanded snidely. "And are all your _friends_ young females who seem surprised to find out you're _married_?"

Sam looked annoyed but tried to be cool. "Just, uh, calm down Gen, I can explain." That got him a _you better!_ look from the Ruby lookalike.

Alex peered into the expensive-looking home, wondering where her other brother was—she saw no signs of anyone else. "Where's Dean?"

"On set waiting for you to show," Sam answered, then finally acknowledged Misha, who was standing off with a look of great confusion on his face. "See you met Misha."

"Yeah," Alex said, and after she gave Sam a certain look that communicated urgency, the twins began to move further into the house, trying to get some distance from their star-studded audience. "And long story, but guess what?" she said, speaking lowly. " _Virgil_ _'_ _s_ here."

"Oh, we know," Sam said, a grim little smile stretching his face as he and Alex came to a stop near the grand fireplace.

"You know?" Alex repeated, casting a furtive glance over at Misha and Gen, who were mystified near the doorway still. 

"Yup." Sam suddenly frowned. "Wait, how do you?" He then put two and two together and made a questioning expression as he pointed to his own cheek while looking at hers (slashed by a knife).

" _Yeah_." Alex made a slightly disgusted grimace, then shrugged humbly. "He's a little worse off than me though. Poked him pretty good, might slow him down."

Sam nodded tensely, but wanted to know something else. "You okay?"

A sudden bleating animal noise startled Alex and she went into a slightly guarded stance. That came from somewhere nearby. "What was that? A _donkey_?"

Sam shrugged sort of abashedly, gestured at a framed picture of a ridiculous looking animal on the fireplace mantle. "An alpaca, apparently." Alex looked at the picture with a strange expression. This got weirder and weirder. Abruptly remembering that she had something pretty weird of her own to share, Alex pulled out the picture of herself as a mermaid flashing a peace sign with Johnny Depp. She waggled it at Sam and gave him a look that said _top that._

Without missing a beat, Sam whipped out a photo of his own and gave her a trollish, wan smile. Alex craned her neck forward, making sure she was seeing what she thought she was seeing. The picture showed him in a suit with a hand on his hip as he made a kissy face at the camera—something Alex was pretty sure Sam would never do. She looked at her brother in dismay. "Dude, we have _got_ to get out of here."

Gen was grouchy and stalking over with suspicion in her every glance. She had her arms folded and if looks could kill, Alex would be dead. "Okay, can someone please just tell me what is going _on_?" 

"You and me both," Misha agreed, following her timidly.

Sam put on a really cajoling tone and flashed a disarming smile at his 'wife.' "Look, Gen, uh—sweetie… could you uh, go grab us some beers? Order a pizza or something?" 

"Pizza, Jared?" Gen asked in incredulous contempt, her arms unfolding slowly. "You want _pizza_ at a time like this?"

Sam put on the hopeful eyes. "Please?" He then gave her _The Look_. "Sweetie?"

Gen fell for it hook line and sinker—she softened, smiled a little, then looked at Alex and abruptly got suspicious again. "I got my eye on you," she said, pointing at Alex threateningly with a perfectly manicured fingernail. She whirled, hair bouncing as she marched off down a hallway toward the kitchen.

As her heels clicked off against the polished hardwood floor, Alex looked at her brother in severe disbelief that was hitting her all over again. " _Ruby_ , Sam?" Of all the cast members, _Ruby_? 

He shrugged sheepishly, not seeming to find as much issue with it as she did. "I mean, I could have done worse…"

"So you… actually _know_ this girl?" Misha asked Sam, butting into the conversation incredulously.

"No, never met her a day before in my life," Sam wisecracked sarcastically.

At the rude reply and sassy glare, Misha looked wounded. "Geez, what's with everyone tonight?"

Appearing done with everything and close to throwing a hissy fit, Sam leveled with the actor brusquely. "Look—this song and dance is exhausting. I'm Sam Winchester, okay? And _this_ is my _sister,_ Alex."

Misha let out a sudden laugh, grinned oddly, and decided to give up on being reasonable. "Okay, whatever you and Jensen are on, I need some too."

Sam rolled his eyes. "You know what, man? You should probably go home now."

Misha crossed his arms. "No way! Your 'sister' here? Threw my phone out the window. I have no idea how to get home from here without the GPS… which just so happens to be on my phone." He looked at Alex sulkily. She wasn't paying attention.

She had wandered over to the huge Andy Warhol style canvas art print of Sam making a ridiculous model face. "Wow Sam. So inspired," she said. "Nothing says home-sweet-home like a massive repeating image of your own face." She cracked an amused grin his way and Sam was up for poking fun at himself, apparently.

"I know, right? Check out the tanning bed."

Alex noticed it and became even more mirthfully incredulous. "What do I set it to for extra crispy?" she joked, then suddenly put a hand on her hair, remembering how her oily scalp was driving her nuts. "Okay, but seriously—if I don't get a shower and some clean clothes soon, I'm _actually_ gonna murder someone."

Misha shifted nervously, letting his glance dart to Sam. "She probably would, too."

"Uh, you might fit Gen's stuff," Sam said, then nodded toward the large, grandiose staircase. "Come on, I'll show you." When Misha began to follow them, Sam held out a commanding finger to him. "Stay here."

Annoyed, the actor did as he was told.

As Alex jogged up the stairs beside Sam, she dropped her voice to a low mutter only he could hear. "Okay. So—what the hell, right?" she asked. "What _is_ all this?"

"Apparently Balthazar cast us into an alternate dimension where our lives are a TV show," Sam answered as they reached the top of the stairs. He cut to the left and she followed down a huge hallway with tons of doors.

"No—I got that. And I also got that I'm kinda _missing_ from all of it," Alex said, then edited herself. "Except, ha, I found this one fan fiction that—"

Sam stopped abruptly to look at her in slight surprise. "Us too! _Song Remains the Same_?"

Alex's stomach turned. Oh no. Did they read it? "You found it too?" she asked, trying to sound as excited as he did. But all she could think about was all her private thoughts and feelings and _holy crap_ the sex scenes…

"We went and talked with the girl who _wrote_ it," Sam said, a funny little smile on his face. "Not a prophet. Just… knew about you somehow." He started off again, heading for the end of the hallway.

" _How_?" Alex asked, intrigued. How would someone know all those intimate details and personal thoughts without being a prophet? It was disturbing. 

"Don't know," Sam said, seeming to think it was too bad and he wished he _did_ know. "Probably _won_ _'_ _t_ know." He opened the door to what was the master bedroom and motioned for her to go in ahead of him. "I mean how's this _Kripke_ guy know what he knows, right?"

"R…ight." Alex faltered when she agreed because the master bedroom suite was enormous and drenched in lavish decor… a bearskin rug with the head still on was sprawled across the floor at the end of the massive bed which was unmade. But the thing that had stopped her in her tracks was _over_ the bed. Stretching over the entire head of the bed and up to the ceiling there was a ridiculously huge painting of Sam (well, Jared, she guessed) laying seductively on his side with nothing but sheets draped over his lower region (just barely). In the painting he smirked and stared straight into the viewers eyes.

Feeling violated, Alex held a hand out in front of her face, made a sound of protest, and looked away in utter grossed out surprise. "What _is_ that?" Not the context she'd been prepared to see Sam shirtless in, that was for sure!

Sam looked abruptly embarrassed like he forgot that was there. "Oh—sorry. I know," he said, looking at it weirdly. "Who would want that over their bed, right?" He went to a closet and began to look through stuff as Alex gawked around carefully. She could handle Wincest and Destiel, but larger-than-life sexy paintings of brothers flashing bedroom eyes? _No thanks_. Mercifully, the only other pictures in the room were lots of glamour shots of that Ruby-looking chick pouting and mouth-breathing in heavy makeup at the camera. Wait—no—there was one of Jared and Gen embracing, completely naked, clinging to each other and making faces meant to be angelic as they peered at the camera. _Oh my god, this is so not my day._

"So, you, um, you guys read that story?" Alex asked in an exaggerated casual voice, tearing her eyes away from the freakshow. Out of the corner of her eye, the Jared Padalecki painting smirked at her.

"Only had time for the first few chapters," Sam said, voice muffled from inside of the closet. "Why?"

Whew. "Nah, nothing. Heh."

Sam came back to her with an armful of clothes. "So here's some of her stuff, the jeans might be a little too short but everything else should fit. Shower's in there." He pointed at a far door. "Don't take long, we need to get back over Dean's way."

Suddenly forgetting everything, Alex hugged her brother instead of taking the clothes. He was familiar and safe to her in this world of weirdness. "God, Sam. I'm so glad I found you."

He chuckled softly. "Me too. We were pretty worried."

She took the pile of stuff from him slowly, worrying the inside of her mouth. "What if Cas isn't okay? What if—"

Sam cut her off comfortingly, catching her gaze. "Hey, don't think like that. He's fine, and we're gonna get you cleaned up, go find Dean, get our asses back home, okay?" He pointed at the bathroom and rushed her along in good nature, backing out of the room to leave her to it. "Now hurry it up, slowpoke!"

* * *

Fifteen minutes later Alex was clean and dressed in an outfit she usually wouldn't wear. The jeans were fine but the _Save The Whales_ t-shirt and the noisy, creaking black leather jacket weren't really her style. But at least they were clean and not bloody or torn up. She transferred all her stuff (money, jump drive, keys) over to the leather jacket and its pockets, strapped her knife back onto her thigh, then headed downstairs.

Sam and Gen were nowhere to be seen. Misha was sitting in the massive, high-ceiling living room with a bored, lonely expression on his blank face. As Alex quietly descended the stairs, she was struck by how much he looked like Cas to her in that quiet, somber state. It was startling and sad—the presence of Cas's physical body was a reminder of his total absence. How could he be there and not be there at all?

Misha glanced her way as she approached at a drift and for a second, she thought he _was_ Cas from that briefly serious, grim default expression on his face. Then she saw how his knee was bouncing up and down from nervous energy and he pursed his mouth oddly as if in discontent and she remembered who this guy was. She said the first thing that came to mind to keep a lofty, confident demeanor in the face of her inward emotions. "Lonely without your tweeter?" 

He seemed depressed when he corrected her and looked back down at his shoes. " _Twitter_."

Alex hesitated as she approached him by a couple steps more. "Sorry about tossing your phone out the window."

"It's cool," Misha answered in a sad, resigned voice. "Thanks for saving my life." He looked up at her thoughtfully. "I've been thinking about it. The clothes, the similarity, the Dean-style phone-throwing, the knife fighting… you _could_ be a Winchester if they were real. A sister might be an interesting addition, actually."

Alex didn't like being talked about like she wasn't real, like her whole life was just something a guy named Kripke had dreamed up for entertainment. "We _are_ real," she said with great conviction. "All that TV crap is _real_. And _I_ _'_ _m_ real." He was looking at her skeptically and she decided to just put it out there, was a little catty about it too. "Cas is real, too, and you know what? He's my…" she tried to think how to phrase it. "Romantic interest."

Misha immediately made a weird face, scoffing her off. "Cas? Romance? No." He said that then rethought it. " _Cas_?" He thought about it, face working hard. " _Romance_?"

"What's so crazy about that?" Alex asked, a little hurt because Castiel was one of the most passionate and romantic individuals in all of existence—how could anyone doubt that? 

Misha looked inconvenienced by her. "Look, all I'll say is that if Cas had a love interest, it'd be Dean, _obviously_. There's no need to add in some sister figure." A sudden, flirty smile popped onto his face. "Although if they added her in and you played her, can't say I'd mind."

"Destiel?" Alex asked, deadpan. Apparently, people were super into it in this universe and others. " _Really_?"

"Hey, in fan fiction anything's possible," Misha said, amused now, covert as he gave her a meaningful, suggestive look. At the look on Alex's face, Misha sat back slightly. "What? I'm just playing around." He scoffed. "It's no big deal, they're just characters."

Tired, Alex shook her head and crossed her arms, looking away in irritable fatigue. "Bro... you're talking about my life like it's all some kind of joke."

The actor appeared to give up and tiredly rubbed his face with both hands, muttering something about fangirls. He then laughed easily, chuckling richly, shaking his head in chagrin. Oh, that sound. It did something to her, and she tried not to let it. Misha saw her face and his smile fell. He became intrigued and looked at her very carefully, trying to decide something. "Okay, prove it," he challenged. "If you're real and with Cas and the whole show is someone's real life somehow, prove it."

Alex looked at him, stumped. "How?"

He shrugged, made his eyes go wide as he looked at her like it was her problem, not his. "You tell me." He obviously didn't believe her for a second.

"Dude, did you not see me save you from that rogue angel?!" Alex demanded, motioning to her knife.

"Role play," he reasoned calmly. "Or ultimate fighting training."

Alex scrambled for another answer. " _Sam_ knows who I am," she pointed out.

Misha seemed to think _nice try_. "Jared's gone coo-coo for cocoa puffs the past couple of days."

Alex huffed. There _was_ no way to prove it. And it wasn't even that proving it would change anything, she just wanted _someone_ to know and believe that she was real, dammit. She wasn't crazy, the _show_ was screwed up and had somehow left her out for whatever reason.

Looking at Misha sitting there and waiting expectantly, she was yet again struck by his twin-like similarity to Cas. Same exact features, down to the little tiny scar above his lip. Wait. Alex looked at him straight in the eye. She knew Cas's body… which was apparently the same as this guy's. She pointed her finger into her own pelvic region, indicating him with a nod. "You have a freckle right here." He sat back with an expression of startled disbelief. She then pointed to the topmost part of her thigh. "And a birthmark shaped kinda like a dinosaur right here."

Misha blinked twice, suddenly extremely suspicious. "How would you…?" he stood up, looking at her closely. "Who told you that stuff?"

A scream sounded from nearby and they both turned in surprise as Gen, sobbing with mascara running down her face, came running into the room. Misha was the one who asked first. "What is it?!"

"Sebastian's been stabbed to _death_!" she exclaimed through sobs. Sam was right behind her, trying to get her to calm down. "Oh god!" she shrieked nonsensically, batting Sam's attempts away.

Alex squinted. "Sebastian? The… lobster off of Little Mermaid?"

Misha looked at her oddly. "Sebastian was a crab."

Irritated, she glanced at him sidelong. "Same thing."

Misha looked extremely dubious. "No… it's _not_."

"Okay, Gen, would you calm down?!" Sam took her by the shoulders, trying to get an answer. " _Who_ is Sebastian?"

Gen stared at him like he'd lost his marbles. "What are you talking about? Sebastian _Roch_ _é_? He plays Balthazar on your stupid _show_?!" She shoved him away, wailing. "What is _wrong_ with you, Jared!?"

"Where was he stabbed?" Alex asked, immediately remembering that Dean was waiting on set—did he do the stabbing? Or was he in danger, too? 

The question seemed to insult Gen. "I dunno, like his neck or something?!" She noticed what Alex was wearing and gaped. "…Are those my _clothes_?"

"No, not where he was stabbed on his body, where as in like, _physical location_ ," Sam said intensely, demanding Gen's attention.

"O-on set," she replied, clearly lost.

"Come on," Sam said, motioning for Alex to come with him.

"You're _going_?" Gen asked, seeming to reach a breaking point. "And taking her with you?! You're freaks, you're _freaks_!" she screamed, then grabbed a decorative candle and lobbed it at Sam, who ducked. It hit the wall with a thud as Gen, absolutely beside herself with animated hysterics, began to berate him and back out of the house toward the front door. "Jared, that's it that's _it!_ I don't know what's gotten into you—I'm going to my mother's! This weird chick tries to _stab_ me and now she's wearing my _clothes_ , you and Jensen are _talking_ to each other, you're acting like you think you're actually _Sam Winchester_!? And, ha, the mind-blowing crazy _sex_ we had last night—!" Her tirade abruptly turned into a confused monologue. "Well. That was so much better than normal that I don't know what to say," she got indignant again and screamed all the louder, "but don't you _dare_ call me till you have your head on straight!" She whirled and yanked the door open, stormed out, and shut it behind her with a resounding slam.

Sam was turning red, clearly very uncomfortable. Alex shook her head ruefully then began contemplating Misha, who had a mode of transportation she needed to use. "So, Misha, feel like going for another drive?"

* * *

They arrived to the set of _Supernatural_ about twenty minutes later and were given entrance thanks to Misha and 'Jared'—Alex got a skeptical look or two but no one said anything. Misha pulled his dinky car over to where the commotion seemed to be, near the hair and makeup trailer. Police lights flashed in the dark and there was a sheet-covered body on a stretcher. A few crew members and official looking people scattered the area, standing around in upset worry. When Alex saw among them a very familiar person being interviewed by an officer, she jumped out of the car the second the car stopped. 

"All right, thanks Mr. Ackles, we'll be in touch," said an officer even as Alex barreled into her brother who was halfway through turning away from the policeman.

" _Dean!_ "

"Hey, oof— _hey_!" She could hear the huge relieved grin on his face and he grabbed her so he could look at her. "Ah geez, about _time_!" He saw her face and scoffed in good humor. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, glad to see you too, kiddo. No need for _tears_."

She hugged him again, hanging onto the best oldest brother in the world. "It's just really good to see you," she mumbled in an unsteady, emotional voice. She hadn't meant to get teary eyed, but it was just such a relief that he was here and Sam was here and they were _together_. Now all that was left to do was get _home._

"Hey you hold on too long we're gonna start to grow together like barnacles," he joked affectionately, taking her back to their childhood. He used to say that _all the time_ to her and Sam. Alex pulled back, sniffed, and composed herself. "' _Save the Whales'?"_ Dean asked, reading her shirt.

She laughed helplessly. "Long story."

That's when Dean spotted Sam and Misha. His expression dropped slightly. "Misha? Great." He looked less than enthused. "My favorite guy—dude never gets off his phone, always going on about some tweety something. I tell ya, Cas is starting to look good next to this dweeb."

Alex had to agree.

Sam strode over, hands in his jacket pockets as he cast a shrewd gaze around the scene. "Hey. So… what happened, Dean? Did you witness this murder or what?"

"Sorta, I—"

A loud, girly blubbering sound drew all the Winchesters' attention. Misha had his hands in front of his mouth and he was sobbing. "Hey! Stop crying," Alex said. It was embarrassing, the way he was standing there and sobbing. Have some self respect. 

"It's a dead _body!_ " Misha protested in a wail.

"You're about to be one too if you don't quit crying," she threatened in annoyance. This world didn't feel real to her and the dead body nearby affected her at about zero percent. 

Misha made a pathetic, petulant face, attempting to gain control over his emotions. "You this mean to Cas?"

He got no answer. Dean rolled his eyes at the antics and started to explain to his brother and sister. "So the actual crime scene's onset—this poor chump didn't stand a chance. I, uh, kinda fell asleep in a motel set—heh, oops—but next thing I knew, woke up to sounds of a struggle—this dude's dead and Virgil's using his blood to do some kinda inter-dimensional walkie-talkie crap. So the voice on the other end's saying how Virgil's gotta 'return tomorrow' at the place where he crossed over. And Raphael would 'reach through the window and take him and the key home.'"

"Wait, he has the key?" Alex asked. "The one Balthazar gave Sam before we got thrown here?"

"Yeah, but not for long," Dean replied.

"Okay, so good news is he's still stuck here, bad news is we gotta stop him from crossing back," Sam said, then looked at his brother in utter grimness. "Dean, if Virgil gets back with that key, Cas is dead and our world is toast."

"Then he is _not_ getting that key," Alex said firmly, protective hackles rearing their heads.

"Right. No. We stop him," Dean said. "It's three on one this time, right? And I mean how bad can an angel with no wings be?"

Alex pointed to the slash across her face. "This bad." Dean withered slightly and she batted him away. "Whatever, it'll be easy, three on one. Where was the place where he crossed over? Do we know?" She noticed at that moment how paparazzi and news crews were taking photographs from a distance and she immediately stepped back—what the hell? That was unsettling to just have a camera pointed at you when you didn't know it was.

"Probably where _we_ got thrown in," Dean said, jerking his thumb at the huge building they stood near. "Inside." He indicated they follow. Misha followed then at a distance, chewing his fingernails and making pathetic sounds every time he noticed blood drops on the ground.

Dean led them to the set of the attic which had yellow crime scene tape all over it and large blood splatters near a chalk-outline of a body. Just across from it was the set of the Singer study and he pointed to the window—the place they'd crossed over through. "Hm." Sam nodded thoughtfully. "Okay. So what, stay close, watch it?"

"Yeah, and work on the ritual so we can get our asses back on our own dime," Dean said, then grinned at Alex. "Got all the ingredients good to go."

Misha sat on a motel bed close by on a set of a crap motel. Alex wandered over as her brothers continued to discuss the ritual. "All right, Misha," she said, figuring he'd want to leave. "You wanna head out?"

"Uh, I still don't know how to get home without my GPS," he said, scratching his ear absently. "It's like all of three miles from here, too." He paused. "I'm bad with directions."

"So… you knew how to get to Jared Packadilli's how?" she asked, skeptical.

"Padalecki." Misha got a coy smile on his face and the paranoid, fearful demeanor fell away in favor of something like pride. "Uh… me and Jared and Genevieve sometimes… the three of us…" he looked at her with extreme suggestiveness. 

"Oh... my _god_." That's all Alex could manage. She was also sort of possessively jealous— _Cas in any shape or form only has sex with_ me...!

"Sorry." Misha shrugged mildly, getting his confidence back and with it a little bit of rakish swagger. "I'm all for sexual liberation and exploration." He paused, looked at her closely, that suggestiveness in his eyes again. "How about you?"

Was he really asking her what she thought he was? If so, which was worse: scared, jumpy Misha or sexually forward Misha? She was flustered and wished she hadn't tried to prove herself earlier by telling him about marks on his more private areas. "I'm monogamous. With _Castiel_."

"Who I sort of _am,_ " he pointed out much to her chagrin. At the look on her face, he held his hands up. "Just saying!" He appealed to her again with a certain note of sweet innocence. "You have to wonder, right? Same body, different man… what that'd be li—" he got scared at the darkening look on her face and he sat back further on the bed nervously. "Okay, okay… d-don't stab me." He seemed a little disappointed that she didn't immediately and eagerly accept his proposition but then nodded, smiled faintly to himself. "That's kinda sweet. He'd appreciate the fidelity, I bet. I always thought it'd have to be someone really unique to capture Cas's affections. He _would_ be the monogamous type, huh? The kind of guy who would only love one person for all his life."

That thoughtful comment tugged at her heartstrings and made her ache for Cas. The real Cas. And as such, she got mad at Misha for looking like him and sounding (sort of) like him. "Shut up, you're just trying to get in my pants."

He looked at her questioningly. "…Is it working?"

Her expression fell. "What did we _just_ go over?"

"Well I _look_ like Cas…" he said, flashing a cheeky grin.

Alex challenged that notion. "Not if I break your nose."

"You're so violent," he observed with a confused air. "Can't decide if I like it or not."

At that point, Alex rolled her eyes and walked away, rejoining Dean who had moved into the Bobby's study set.

"This is _so_ bizarre," she commented, touching one of the solid-wood door frame posts and finding it was cheap, painted plywood. "Where's Sam?"

"Bathroom," Dean answered, then leaned over the desk and looked over the stuff he had gathered there. "Bone of a saint, lamb's blood, dead sea salt…" he glanced out the window of the set at where Misha was peering their way from the motel room set across the way. Dean chuckled ruefully, glanced at Alex. "Think he likes you," he commented wryly. "Guess in _any_ universe Cas is gonna like you, huh?"

"Yeah. Well he's weird." There was a lump in her throat as she thought of Castiel, who was so much more than the face of Misha Collins or Jimmy Novak. "I'm worried about the real Cas," she said in a voice tight with anxiety. 

"I'm sure he's fine, Al," Dean said, picking up the salt container and squinting at one of the panels.

"I'm not," Alex said honestly. "The war's so hard on him right now and now with Raphael being back or whatever…"

Surprisingly, Dean was kind and looked her in the eye. "He's a good guy. He'll get through it."

Frowning slightly at the encouraging answer, Alex took a pause. "You think so?"

All business, Dean gave a singular nod as he returned attention to what he held. "Know so. Especially with you keepin' him honest." Dean set the salt down and turned around to put his back to her as he fiddled with a bowl distractedly. "So, uh, Sam said something to me a little while ago." He paused long and hard. "'Bout how you and Cas've been together for a couple years now. Got me thinking. You know me, relationships or whatever aren't my thing. They're too…" he said nothing, just gestured roughly with his hands. "It's easier to just, you know, play the field. Not get in too deep or whatever." Dean sounded embarrassed at himself and not sure what he was even trying to say. "So, I guess I'm trying to say good job or whatever for sticking with one guy. Even if it _is_ Cas." He turned around but dodged her gaze. "Gotta say he's not as bad as I used to think."

Alex was fighting a smile, looking at him closely, not sure if she believed this continued softening Dean was showing where Cas was concerned. "Wow. Character development," she teased affectionately. "Not just for TV shows anymore."

"Shuddup," Dean replied, then pointed at her significantly. "Don't think I won't still kick his ass if he ever hurts you. And by the way the dude needs a _serious_ lesson in cool. I mean, can you say _nerd_?"

"Takes one to know one," she suggested, then chuckled as she turned to sit against the desk and pick up a book. Dean scoffed audibly at the comment but said nothing else. Curiously, Alex flipped through the book she'd found only to find blank pages. It was a prop book. _Twilight zone. This is the twilight zone._

Sam reappeared, glancing around the set. "Hey. I miss anything?"

Dean shook his head once, distracted with the lamb's blood. "Nope."

Sam took a seat across from Alex and leaned his arms over his wide-spread knees, jiggling a leg in nervous anxiety as he sat there. He yawned loudly at one point then rolled his massive shoulders to ease tension. Alex watched him then looked at Dean, who was obviously deep in thought over the ritual. These two. Her brothers. And yet she felt like an impostor somehow after seeing their lives unfold without her. It was very strange and left her confused. It was very sad. Or maybe that was just her. 

"So, I saw the show," she ventured. Immediately, two gazes were on her. "So weird, right?" she asked, trying to be lighthearted, trying to give a little laugh. But her little smile fell and her little laugh failed hardcore. She looked at Dean in growing confusion and almost hurt. "I saw you go to Stanford to get Sam. And… I wasn't there." She looked at Sam. "I saw you guys find Dad." Alex shrugged, empty. "I wasn't there." She couldn't look at either of them now. It made no sense and it hurt. "I saw you all alone when Sam died, Dean." She looked at her twin brother through a pained, almost angry gaze. "I saw you and the demon blood, I wasn't _there._ _"_

"You _were_ there," Dean corrected. "For all that stuff. Who cares about this damn show? We know what's real, right?"

She didn't answer his question, just looked at him with all the agony she she said next shocked both of the boys. "I saw you on the rack, Dean."

Sam sat back slightly, stunned, looking to Dean to know how to react. "Oh my god."

Dean appeared to be shell-shocked. "…Why would you _watch_ that?" he asked in a soft, stark voice. He abruptly became very upset, maybe because he didn't want her to know what he'd been through or maybe because he just didn't want _anyone_ to see. "You weren't supposed to see that!" 

Alex was unaffected, deeply impacted by other things. "Well, I did."

"Jesus _Christ_ ," Dean muttered, putting a hand on his face.

" _Sorry_ ," she apologized, miserable. He looked at her broodingly, but she was very genuine and he obviously regretted his outburst. "I'm sorry," she repeated in a mutter.

She looked down, morose, and it was quiet for a long moment. "Guys, the show's the same." She stared at the ground hard, trying to understand, trying to process it. "Your lives both turned out _the same_. Nothing changed with me out of the picture—please, someone, help me understand." She threw her arms out in a sad little shrug as she started to get pitiful. "What's the point of me?"

" _Hey_." Sam's voice was surprisingly forceful, mad even. "Stop that." His curt command made her stare and he spoke to her with a lot of pointed, incensed emotion. "Maybe the _stories_ are sorta the same but, I mean—Dean and I aren't even the same _guys_ in this world. You're _important_. To us. To Cas, to Bobby…" he got mad and couldn't seem to think of anything else to say. "So _screw_ this stupid _show!_ _"_

Alex said nothing, just let her face work in deep thought as she considered what he said.

"I watched a few episodes, too," Dean added in after a second. He was still sort of grim but forcing it out of the way. "Couldn't stand to see those two chumps bitching and moaning at each other without the kick-ass baby sister to put them back in line. Forget the show. Who needs it." He was doing that thing where he put on a slight show in order to cheer his sister up. "The show sucks without you. Hear me? Sucks. Blows steaming chunks." He made a rumbling sound and used his hand for effect, making an explosion gesture from the vicinity of his mouth.

Alex tried to hide a smile, tried to roll her eyes. "You're so dumb."

"Hey, if the shoe fits." Dean came over and slung an arm around her, squeezed, ruffled her hair, and kissed the side of her head as she protested with an pleased ' _aaawwgh_.' He then handed her the bone that would need to be ground up to powder. "So you wanna start smashing up this dude's wrist bone or what?"

She accepted it, understanding that this was Dean trying to brush aside what she'd just admitted to seeing. "Love to." Dean abruptly picked up the demon blade off the desk and stabbed it into her stomach and she gasped, jumped back—then realized it was wobbly like Jello and rubber, fake. " _Hey_!" Dean was laughing at her reaction. "What the…" she exclaimed. He was jamming it into her side repeatedly now, trying to tickle her and she wiggled away, disgruntled. "Okay, could you stop stabbing me?" She got annoyed, fast, making a swipe for the knife he wouldn't stop jabbing at her. "Dean! Stop! Give—me— _that_!"

Sam was standing up and scoffing in slight amusement at them. "Hey you wanna quit stabbing your sister, Dean?"

"Not really," was the reply, because she was combusting in fits of ticklish laughter as he kept on poking. And then the tables turned; Alex seized the wobbling prop machete off the table and smacked Dean with it across the chest.

Misha Collins peered in from outside of the window with a perplexed look on his face as Dean and Alex got the same idea and attacked a reluctant and protesting Sam with their wobbly weapons. Lunatics. They were all stark raving _lunatics._ But he was kind of starting to believe they were who they said they were. Especially the pretty one.

* * *

Alex was outside of the Bobby's study set with a sawhorse and a hammer working on smashing up the wrist bone into powder. A few feet off, behind a window and some plywood walls out of earshot, Dean and Sam sat in Bobby's study talking together discreetly. "Like I said, Sam. Don't like this universe. Don't like how they screwed up the facts. Don't like how _anything_." Dean glared at the floor.

"Yeah, no, me either," Sam agreed lowly.

 _Wham, wham, wham._ They could hear their sister hard at work nearby.

Dean rubbed his palms together slowly, deep in thought. "You know that if we drop Virgil, get the key… if this ritual doesn't work, then this might be it." Sam looked at him questioningly. "We might be stuck here. Forever."

Sam shook his head just slightly and was firm. "No, we'll figure out a way back."

"Would it be so bad if we didn't, though?" Dean asked. At the look he got from his younger brother Dean was slightly defensive. "I'm just saying. No hell below us, above us only sky? And together at least, right? The three of us and no more demons, no more nightmare freakshow monsters?"

Sam looked vaguely accusing. "Dean, our _friends_ are back there. _Cas_ is back there. Weren't you just chewing out the producer about how this was all meaningless and how our lives actually meant something back there?"

Dean seemed uncertain. "Yeah but… the… the shit we go through, the sacrifices we make… is it really worth it?"

"Yes!" Sam replied immediately.

Dean shook his head and looked down. "Back home the hits have been coming since you and Al were six months old. You got to admit, being a, a bazillionare married to Ruby, being this superstar hunk all the chicks are crazy for… it's the whole package. It's no contest."

Sam sat back, took a moment to reply. "That's where we disagree. Forget fame and money and stardom. I couldn't care _less_ about all that, Dean. We're not even _brothers_ here, man." Sam pointed his finger down to the ground. "What matters to me is us. _Family._ Me, you, Alex—Bobby and Cas too." Dean had a proud, affectionate little expression on his face. Sam looked at him long and hard, seeming to be speaking to himself just as much as he was speaking to Dean. "We have a job to do back there. And I say we do it."

Dean nodded, deeply emotionally touched. "All right then. Let's get our crazy show back home."

* * *

Alex pounded at the bone over and over with the hammer. Really a mallet would have been better, but she hadn't been able to find one on set. She heard Misha walk up quietly—he'd gone missing for a few minutes there. "Huh," he said softly, commenting on something in thoughtfulness. "So, they actually do that."

"What?" she asked, not sure what he meant and not looking up from her work.

"Those two. Having those sappy emotional heart-to-hearts," he said. It sounded like he was looking toward where Sam and Dean were.

"Uh, yeah, guess they do," Alex answered distractedly, standing back and finally looking at him. And then she did a double-take. He'd changed clothes and was now in _costume_. He now looked _exactly_ like Cas. Well, Cas with a wedding ring on and hair gel spiking his hair a little higher than normal. "Why are you wearing that?" she asked, a little mad about it.

"Thought maybe you'd like it," he said, smiling with growing flirtation. She got even madder—she _did_ like it. That damn trench coat and cheap suit and backwards blue tie… they did things to her. Misha put his hands into the trench coat pockets and took an easy stance near her, making it that much worse. "So, sorry about the weird stuff earlier," he said breezily, probably enjoying the way she was squirming. 

She began to hammer the bone harder than before and made her face unreadable like stone. "Uh huh."

" _But_ the offer still stands," he said coyly, getting a very strong look from Alex. Misha smiled, gestured at himself with both hands in false modesty. "I mean—I _do_ look like this. And I _am_ in an open marriage."

"Well I'm _not_ ," Alex retorted, then hefted the hammer for effect, gave him a pointed look. "In an open marriage _or_ interested. So don't piss off the girl with the hammer."

"Duly noted," Misha said, enjoying her flustered demeanor. He then paused, getting a look of discovery on his face. "…Did you just imply that you're married?" He got an evil eye for that one and no reply. She hammered at the bone too hard. "You're having way too much fun with that, by the way." Misha observed, flinching backwards a little. "I know a better way to take out frustrations."

That comment made Alex toss the hammer down in exasperation. She walked off in pursuit of a damn mallet, there had to be one around this damn place somewhere… 

"I meant meditation!" Misha protested innocently, following her at an un-Caslike trot.

Alex rolled her eyes, ducking down a narrow space between two shadowy sets. Misha followed, cajoling her and trying to get her to 'quit being madface' at him. As Alex rounded a corner, she abruptly ran straight into a handsome young man in a dashingly tailored suit. His hands grabbed her tight at the arms even as recognition and fear rocketed through her—she _knew_ him immediately, remembering. His eyes were sharp and cunning, his smile was ominous. She had seen him in the days before the apocalypse—he'd held her captive along with Hezion and others the day Castiel nearly sacrificed his life for her. This was Daniel, one of Raphael's greatest allies and one of Cas's greatest enemies.

"Alex _Winchester_ ," Daniel said pleasantly, greeting her airily and with familiarity she despised. "Raphael is looking for you." 

She frowned, resisting his hold, realizing that his grip was strong but not superhuman in strength. Behind Alex, Misha gaped, seeming to realize things had just gotten bad. "Is—is this another bad guy?" he asked, shrinking back.

Daniel smirked the actor's way. "I see you've found Castiel's doppelganger." His chilly eyes came to rest on Alex's again and his devastatingly handsome features produced a small, sympathetic smile. "But he won't protect you." He smirked. "I'm afraid you lose, Miss Winchester. Now, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. Why don't you come along quietly?" 

Her eyebrows rose unwittingly. _Come along quietly?_ She was genuinely amused at this guy's assumptions. "You obviously haven't heard much about me." The knife strapped to her thigh was on her mind and she was tensing up, getting ready for some serious ass kicking. "And coming to a mojo-free zone?" She gave him a falsely sympathetic smile. "Your last mistake." The second she said that last word she pulled the element of surprise out, cracking her head against his to stun him into letting go. 

Daniel hadn't expected that and let go just like she knew he would—he stumbled back as she whipped the knife out up high and stabbed it down toward his chest—he caught her wrist just barely, stopping the knife with the point right between his eyes. Struggling—Daniel trying to force the blade away as she poured every ounce of strength into driving the blade down—they remained at an impasse. Alex abruptly took her other hand and slung her fist into his face repeatedly, bashing him relentlessly and badgering him backwards into a set wall which began to fall backwards and hit other ones, resulting in an effect like dominoes. His hold on her wrist yanked her forward to him where he tried to mimic what she'd done a second ago—crack his head on hers—but she ducked her head down and slammed her knee into his stomach hard. He yelped and let go of her wrist and the opportunity having arrived, Alex slammed her free hand into his throat, forcing him upward as she plummeted the blade straight into his chest. A shocked, silent gasp choked out of his mouth.

" _You_ lose," Alex growled, then kicked him off the blade.

Misha stared with saucer-wide eyes at Daniel, who crumpled down onto the floor in a lifeless heap. "You just—you just—the knife and the stabbing and—" he balked anew as Alex re-holstered her knife roughly and grabbed a very dead Daniel by the ankles and started to drag him to the closest set. A morgue, fittingly enough. "What are you doing?!"

"I don't have time to get rid of the body," Alex said, grunting with effort. "Gotta hide it."

Sam and Dean suddenly burst in from between sets, looking ready for a fight. "Hey hey hey, what happened?!" Sam asked, gaping at the dead body. 

Dean frowned intensely down at the dead guy then looked at Alex, in mild shock. "Who _is_ this guy?"

"Daniel, one of Raphael's bitches."

Misha watched as the Winchesters wordlessly, of one mind, stuck the dead guy into a slide-out compartment built into the set and shut him away in there. "So there were _two_ of them in here after us?!" Sam asked, confused.

Alex dusted off her hands while she made a face of high distaste. "One down, one to go." She kicked the sliding compartment closed even as a flurry of activity somewhere close by could be heard.

Sounded like some of the crew members were arriving and Dean checked his watch. "Six in the morning," he muttered. "If we have to do more acting, Sam, I swear to god…"

"Hey, hey, Misha! Jared, Jensen!" called a voice, causing them all to turn. A man in his mid-thirties with sandy blond hair and plain features jogged up. He was dressed in street clothes and looked exceedingly normal. "How's it going, Team Free Will?" he asked, enthusiastic and smiling widely, gesturing at the three of them. "So, got a call from the producers, thought I should come down and—" he trailed off abruptly when Alex walked out from behind her brothers. His smile fell and he suddenly looked like a man who knew his days were numbered. "Oh my god."

The Winchesters exchange a quick look. "What?" Dean asked.

Seeming speechless, the blond man looked at the three of them with great and terrified confusion. "…W-what are you doing in this universe?" he asked, getting three very sharp stares in return. The unnamed blond guy was shaking his head, looking at them in trepidation, holding a hand out as he thought out loud. "Okay. Okay, okay. _Now_ it makes sense. The, the phone calls and them saying you two went off the deep end…"

"Who _is_ this guy, Miska?" Dean asked impatiently.

He got an annoyed face from the actor, who was insulted about the name slip-up. " _Misha_."

Eye roll from Dean. "Yeah whatever."

The blond man seemed to resign himself to some kind of fate and he cautiously put his hand out for a handshake and introduce himself to the Winchesters. "Eric. Kripke."

Realization dawned at the exact same moment for the three of them—he was the damn _show creator_ _—_ they all reacted the same way: by grabbing at the guy by the collar furiously. "How do you know what you know about my family?!" Dean demanded, having the firmest grip.

"Are you _insane_?" Alex shouted.

Sam shook him. "Speak up, jackass!"

"Easy, easy, _please_!" Eric protested, trying to get away from the three angry siblings. They let go grudgingly but kept him under sharp, demanding gazes. Kripke shook his head, wet his lips, beside himself at what was happening. "I guess I should have known this was coming," he commented out loud, nodding vapidly. "I'm writing this episode called _The French Mistake_ and, wow—uh, never mind." He shook himself like he was coming out of a mental daze. The Winchesters were giving him threatening looks, telling him if he didn't confess how he knew what he knew, he was gonna die. "Look. I used to live in _your_ world, your universe," Kripke said, simpering slightly, trying to be likable and sympathetic. He spoke casually, glossing over everything like it was no big deal. "A, a couple things went wrong for me, I kinda 'sold my soul' a little bit in return for the ability to write really well, and uh… to get out of the whole 'paying up' thing, I called in a favor."

"A _favor_? To who?" Sam asked suspiciously.

Kripke dodged their eyes nervously. "Ah, it's not important." He grinned, casual again to cover his nerves. "Anyway he tossed me in here where there's no demons to collect on a soul deal. Smart, right?"

Dean was incensed. "No! Very very _stupid!_ "

Kripke deflated a little. "Anyway, the point is, I was what you might call a prophet back then in that universe. A scribe, no, a _mage_ —a soothsayer, if you will." He seemed unable to figure out _what_ he'd been or how quite to explain it to them and waved a hand, dismissing it. "Ah, forget it. Anyway, I thought the Winchester story would make good TV." 

Alex muttered something very rude under her breath, looking ready to hit Kripke in the face.

"Which you knew _how_?" Sam pressed.

"I told you!" Kripke answered earnestly. "I was a soothsayer. A prophet. A scribe. Whatever. I knew what I knew, and I knew a _lot._ " He sighed, contrite. "So, yes, fine. I stole your life as my source material." He got more nervous and looked at Alex with mild dread. "But I… kinda, sorta left you out. I, I just thought you slowed down the plot lines, that's all." Her mouth dropped open as Sam and Dean both made faces at the rude comment. "And I mean, I wanted it to be male-driven, you know? A modern day cowboy gunslinger thing, and I mean, there's no room for a _female_ in that, right?" Kripke said, looking to Sam and Dean stupidly for agreement. "Women, they just, just—"

"You wanna be _real_ careful with how you phrase yourself right now, pal," Dean said lowly. Sam and Alex were giving him death glares.

Kripke swallowed, looked like he wanted to back out of saying any more. But he had backed himself into a corner. "I, I have _problems_ with featuring consistent women characters, okay? I don't like to."

Sam scoffed in disgust. "That's just _sexist,_ man." 

"I left in the _whistle_!" Kripke protested like that made it better. "And I was gonna dedicate Jo as an Alex tribute by switching their names. Turned out to be too weird though." He made a face and looked at Alex with sympathy, then at Sam and Dean for support. "I'm _sorry_! I didn't want _any_ of them in it! I wanted it to be, you know, guy stuff, man TV! There was too much female drama otherwise! So, sue me, I wrote them _all_ out—Alex, Jamie, Molly—"

Dean paused, narrowed his eyes dangerously. "Wait, what about Jamie?"

Sam's brow scrunched. "Who's _Molly_?"

"...You'll find out eventually," Kripke muttered at Sam as he made a face that indicated he didn't even want to go there. He then turned his attention to Alex, who was smoldering angrily. "Look. If it's any consolation I _do_ regret not including you... sometimes." That was the last straw. Alex hauled back and punched him in the face, subsequently knocking him down onto the ground where he moaned. Alex made a sound of pain as she shook her hand and winced—too much punching had happened in the past twenty-four hours.

On the ground, Kripke groaned in a fit of pain, clutching his nose.

"Good one," Sam said to his sister, staring down at the show creator balefully.

"I'm next," Dean said, voice promising an ass kicking as he glared down at the writer, who was basically groveling and trying to crawl away.

"Y-you guys can't just beat up the creator!" Misha exclaimed in dismay. Having forgotten about him, the Winchesters all turned and gave him looks that said _oh yes we can_. And then there were the distinct popping sounds of gunshots nearby.

"Crap, _Virgil_ ," Dean muttered, and they all took off running toward the sound of gunfire.

"You're supposed to run _away_ from guns!" Misha protested uselessly.

Sam, Dean, and Alex found the source of shots quickly—in the middle of the sound stage, Virgil wielded two guns—a pistol in one hand and a sawed off shotgun in the other. He was gunning down running and screaming crew members without mercy.

"Go left," Dean commanded Sam in a terse whisper—Sam was already charging left to do what Dean said and as soon as he was out in the open, he made himself a target.

" _Hey_!"

Virgil whirled and raised his gun to fire on Sam, who was already lunging to the side to avoid being shot—glass shattered as a bullet hit the window Sam stood in front of not a second ago. Dean barreled into Virgil hard like a football lineman, taking him down with and running him straight into a plywood wall which gave weakly and fell into a motel room set. The guns Virgil had went skittering and the pistol slid into Alex's waiting hand as she lunged to scoop it up mid-motion. Dean was beating Virgil's face in and had the upper hand for a brief couple seconds until Virgil got a solid backhand in. Dean fell backwards from the force of the punch and into the motel room set, rolling over awkwardly against the sloping plywood as he tried to get up again and fight. Virgil stood up, took a step toward Dean, and the second he did, a cracking gunshot punched through the air.

Sam, who'd just burst through the motel set door, joined Dean in staring as Virgil fell over dead. Dean stood slowly, glancing at Alex and the smoking gun, saying nothing—he just turned Virgil's dead body over and dug around for the key as Alex picked her way into the set, watching anxiously to see if they found they key.

"Got it," Sam said, finding it inside of Virgil's jacket and palming it tightly.

"Did you guys just kill _another one_?" Misha asked incredulously, suddenly appearing to peer through the gap in the wall Dean had busted. Then the actor recognized Virgil as the guy who'd almost killed him. "Oh. _Him_. It's okay then, never mind, he can be dead." He then tilted his head in interest, looking at something behind them. "What's _that_?"

The three siblings turned to see what he meant—a familiar red symbol glowed red hot on the glass pane of the motel window and was getting bright and brighter. "Raphael—" Sam breathed. " _Run_!" Even as they made to escape they were yanked back into the window as if grabbed by an invisible hand. The glass shattered on impact.

Misha gaped as he heard them hit the ground on the other side of the window—he ran around the set exterior to the other side. There he found only Sam and Dean, groaning on the ground. "Sam! Dean! Alex?" Misha looked around for her and saw her nowhere.

"Whoa, whoa… _ow_ —where's the mattress, man?" Dean asked in a groan.

"Ohh, owwww, my _shoulder_ —" Sam complained, grabbing it and rubbing it with a face of pain. " _Shiiiiit_."

"W-where'd Alex go?" Misha asked, looking around wildly for the badass chick with the angelic face and the intriguing eyes. "Where'd she go?!" 

"Uh who?" Sam asked, standing up to his full, freakish height. "Where'd _who_ go?"

"Ah, Mish, always joking around," Dean chuckled, getting up too and looking at Sam. "Dude, I had the _weirdest_ dream. Like, I was actually me in the Supernatural world, all the characters were real and Balthazar locked me in a room with you and some hysterical French chick for three days. So _weird_." 

"Dude, I dreamed the exact same thing!" Sam exclaimed, then suddenly got annoyed. "Wow, can we even go two _minutes_ without you stealing my ideas, Ackles?"

Dean made a sneering face right back at Sam. "Oh, Mr. Star-of-the-Show, I'm so _sorry_." He rubbed his stomach. "Dude… those craft services burritos we ate must have been old."

Misha realized _oh_ _—_ _these guys aren_ _'_ _t Sam and Dean._ He deflated slightly as he realized they were J & J again.

Jared Padalecki scanned around, disoriented. "Man, what _time_ is it? What is even _happening_ right now?"

Jensen Ackles was staring into the motel set they'd just crashed out of. "Is that… a _dead guy_?"

"And is that _Kripke_?" Jared asked, spotting the bloody-nosed creator lurking nearby half crouched behind a set for protection. "Sweet!" 

Misha looked back at the dead body and then at Kripke kind of doubtfully. "Um… yeah. _So_. Weird couple of days, guys. You probably wouldn't believe me if I told you." He made an enthusiastic face. "But could I interest you two in helping me hide this corpse?"

And so (after some convincing), Misha Collins, Eric Kripke, Jensen Ackles, and Jared Padalecki hid the body of the angel Virgil who had been shot dead by Alex Winchester.

Kripke continued to secretly and deeply regret his choice to write the sister character out, especially as the show progressed onward. He continued to struggle with realistic ways to seamlessly write Alex out in the further seasons, especially seven and eight. He elected to keep the characters Jamie and Molly out of his future seasons—having already written out one major female he decided _what the hell_ , might as well axe the other two as well. He swore Misha to secrecy about the truth and about the Winchesters being real.

Misha agreed but from that point on began to take his role as Castiel a lot more seriously. He even snuck a coin on a necklace into season seven as a tribute to Alex and Cas after he stumbled onto a fan fiction called _Song Remains the Same_ (after her visit and the Kripke reveal, he scoured the internet for anything about this mysterious Winchester sister). In his own words: "I ship it. I ship it so hard." In an odd twist of fate, he sought out Astrid a year or two later, unable to get that beautiful face out of his mind. Currently, rumors of their affair pepper the odd tabloid from time to time.

Jared and Jensen went on thinking the guys they were portraying were just characters. They never knew about the sister, although from time to time they would ask questions about the scripts and story lines where Alex's presence had been removed and left the story cluttered, clumsy, and inconsistent.

River kept writing the story of Cas and Alex until it was complete. And everyone else in that universe, for the most part, didn't ever know about Alex Winchester. Just a select, special few—and you, my friend, are one of them. 

* * *

**Back in the Real World**

"Raphael— _run_!" Sam had commanded right before they were sucked back into the windowpane like dust bunnies into a vacuum.

The three Winchesters found themselves slamming face-down onto glass-littered pavement in the dark of night—in front of them, a tall, willowy, austere Black woman approached, her heels clicking evenly on the ground. She gazed down her nose at them as she sauntered forward.

" _Well,_ " she commented pleasantly. "Isn't _this_ a surprise…"

They were all pushing up to stand, disconcerted by the sudden change in environments. They were in an empty motel parking lot—a flickering neon sign buzzed nearby and the air was thick was damp chill. "Raphael?" Dean asked apprehensively as the woman approached. "Nice meatsuit." He leaned toward Sam and Alex who were standing stiffly next to him. " _Dude looks like a lady._ "

Apparently, Raphael didn't like that derogatory comment about his (her?) new look. She raised and squeezed her fist abruptly and with the motion came an explosion of cramping, hot pain in their stomachs. It was so painful that the three Winchesters fell right back down onto the ground again as excruciating pain crippled them and made them groan in anguish.

"Always with the sarcastic comments!" Alex complained through gritted teeth in Dean's direction.

" _Sorry_!" he moaned back, voice tight with pain.

Raphael looked at them coldly. "And where might Virgil be?" she asked, obviously expecting more than what she'd gotten. "Daniel?"

" _Dead_ ," Alex answered venomously, staring up at Raphael with nothing but hatred. This was the asshole angel who had kept herself and Cas apart for so long and was probably going to attempt to do so again.

Raphael raised a challenging eyebrow, understanding just who had killed her two allies. "Oh, you foolish _child_." She clenched her fist again then made a flinging motion. Alex jerked upwards, smashed up against the wall of the motel and then collapsed back down onto the ground with a cry of pain.

" _Hey_!" Dean thundered, scrambling up to unsteady feet and lurching toward Raphael stupidly, putting himself between his sister and the archangel.

Heaving with breathy exertion Sam grabbing his twin protectively, crouching with her on the ground.

"The _key_ _,_ " Raphael said, then spotted it on the ground where Sam had dropped it. She stooped and picked it up, contemplating it with an expression of victory.

At that moment Balthazar appeared near the motel dumpster and walked forward casually. "And _that_ will open you a locker at the Albany bus station," he said loftily, stopping about fifteen feet off and surprising everyone at his abrupt arrival.

Raphael's features tightened and she looked at the newcomer treacherously. 

"You see, I needed a modest decoy to make it more convincing," Balthazar said airily.

In return, he got a deadly glower. " _Give me_ the _weapons_."

"Sorry, darling," Balthazar said, obviously not feeling sorry at all. "They're gone. But the manners are a nice touch, appreciate that."

"They're _gone_?" Raphael repeated, voice soft with dangerous fury.

"Oh, I apologize, did I stutter?" Balthazar asked facetiously, then got downright rude. "I said, too—bloody— _late_. You see, they were so well-hidden and guarded that I needed to buy us some time to find them. So, I volunteered these two marmosets and their little fangirl for a game of fetch with Virgil." Balthazar looked at Sam and Dean pretentiously. "You three were such an adequate stick. _Thank you_." 

Raphael looked ready to start a fight. "You've made your last mistake, Balthazar."

"Oh, I've got a few more up my sleeve… _honey_."

An insolent, superior eyebrow arched up on Raphael beautiful, cold face. "Such as hand-delivering the one Castiel esteems right into my hand?" she asked. "Yes, I'd say you _do_ have more mistakes up your sleeve. This is one I have to commend, however."

She set her sights on Alex and began to approach, a glint in her eye that was unmistakably ominous—like bears, the brothers drew up in front of their sister, preparing to do anything to keep the archangel from touching her.

"You got that angel poker of yours?" Dean asked quietly out of the side of his mouth as Alex grabbed onto the back of his jacket and the arm of Sam's.

She shook her head, fearing that this was it for them all. "Negative."

Sam was breathing hard, chest heaving as Raphael approached. "Stay behind us."

Raphael's hand raised as she neared and the siblings tensed, stiffening as they prepared for more pain and probably death. And then a familiar, strong, deep voice stopped the archangel completely in her tracks.

" _Step away from them_ , Raphael." Castiel stood a few paces off and his gaze was beyond deadly. " _Now_. I have the weapons. Their power is with me." He was fierce and hard, expression brutal. Behind him, massive coal-black wing silhouettes showed as lightning struck suddenly. The air crackled with absolute power, and the Winchesters all stepped back slightly, surprised. 

Raphael immediately showed trepidation and she shrank away by a step or two. "Castiel."

He walked forward slowly with purpose, his furious gaze burning into Raphael. "If you don't want to die tonight, _back off_." The words carried promise of death should there be the slightest resistance, but Alex wondered if perhaps it was a bluff—wouldn't Cas kill the archangel if given the chance? She thought yes.

But Raphael, apparently, didn't want to take chances. She bought the bluff (it might have been the lethal venom resting in Cas's eyes that frightened her the most) and ran scared, disappearing into thin air. Cas finally looked at Alex in the eye and she was mildly taken aback at the stony, harsh way his gaze bored into her.

"Well, Cas…" Balthazar smiled at Cas easily, sauntering into his line of vision and blocking Cas from continuing to look at the Winchesters. "Now that you have your sword, _try_ not to die by it." Balthazar turned and indicated the Winchesters with a jaunty little smile. "Like I said. Not a hair on her head." He paused, noticed how scraped up Alex was. Balthazar reconsidered. "Ah. _Well_. She'll be all right." He clapped a very stiff Cas on the shoulder and disappeared into thin air.

Immediately, stony-faced, Cas strode over to the Winchesters. There was no warmth in him at all and he almost looked like he was going to attack them from the way he approached. They were all at a loss for words. "Cas, what the hell—" Sam started. There was no greeting of any kind. Cas clapped the brothers hard on shoulders and still holding onto them, Alex was dragged along as they were instantaneously transported back to Bobby's with no explanation.

Outside of the study, the storm raged. The window was broken. No Bobby to be seen. Had any time passed at all here since they were thrown into the alternate universe? Alex realized all her injuries were suddenly gone. But Cas hadn't even touched her! Mystified, she looked at him, trying to catch his gaze.

Cas let go of the boys and stepped back, turned around, purposefully avoiding looking at Alex, who was quickly becoming confused. "Wait, wait, y-you were in on this, using us a _diversion_?" Sam asked, getting mad fast.

Cas hesitated, still turned away. "It was Balthazar's plan. I… didn't know the specifics."

"That's not _comforting_ , Cas!" Dean said accusingly.

Cas turned back around, his expression pained and depressed. "When will I be able to make you _understand_?" he became uncharacteristically emotional. "If I lose against Raphael, we _all_ lose." His voice trembled audibly and he gave the impression of carefully controlled despair. His crystal blue eyes locked onto Alex's. " _Everything_."

"Yeah, Cas," Dean said, drawing Cas's gaze. "We know the stakes. That's about all you've told us!"

Nothing was said for a long moment—Cas just stared at Dean sadly then his eyes slid back to Alex's with what appeared to be deep shame. "I'm sorry about all this." His depression increased exponentially. "I'll explain when I can."

Was he about to leave? Alex found her feet. "Wait, C— _Cas_!" He had already disappeared. Left shocked at the abrupt departure, she stared. What was going _on_?

Dean shook his head wearily, threw a hand out in aggravation. "Well that's _rude_."

Sam walked up to the door frame of the study slowly as Dean and Alex reeled from the past couple days and Cas's behavior just then. Inexplicably, Sam began to smack his hand against the door frame. Then, it made sense. "Solid." He breathed out in relief. "It's real."

"Yeah." Dean looked around the room and glanced at the open, destroyed window where cold rain fell outside. "Yeah, _real,_ moldy, termite-eaten home sweet home." He smiled facetiously. "Chock full of monsters that wanna skin you. Oh, and, uh, we're _broke_ again."

Sam cracked a derisive smile. "Yeah. But, hey… at least we're talking."

"And at least I'm an actual _thing,_ " Alex muttered, heading for the stairs, shrugging off Genevieve Padalecki's creaky leather jacket.

"Where you going?" Dean asked.

"To bed, you mind?"

"Yeah love you too," he muttered.

" _Princess_ ," she mumbled.

She could hear Dean say one more thing as she left. "I tell you what, Sammy. Krikpe's a _dick_."

Outside, the storm was raging on at full volume. Trudging up the stairs with tired legs, Alex tried to think away the knots in her stomach. Why would Cas ever be okay risking them like that, using them as a supposed diversion? Was he really that desperate? It didn't make much sense. And then how he'd looked a minute ago—so stressed out and emotionally agonized, so _gone_ —it left Alex upset, too. Why did he just _leave_ so suddenly?

She might not find out for weeks. Or months. It was hard to know and she wanted to cry or scream from frustration. A small voice in the furthest place of her mind suddenly whispered _you shouldn_ _'_ _t trust him_. Horrified at that thought she hurled it away mentally—she only trusted four people in this world, and she only trusted two of them unfailingly. Dean and Sam. Cas and Bobby. And that was it. She had always been always hesitant to trust, it was in her character to mistrust, so when that little thought popped into her mind about Cas without warning it scared her. Why would she even _think_ that? _Cas was trustworthy._ Of course he was trustworthy. It was the time apart making her doubt, she thought. It was the stress that was getting to him that was unsettling them both. It was his erratic behavior and the weird things he said sometimes and that crazy night he'd fucked her senseless—and all of those out of character things were because the war was eating at him and making him desperate, afraid. She understood desperate and afraid, had done some pretty weird things because of those emotions, too.

At least, that's what she told herself.

She turned down the hall and climbed the attic stairs, glad that she was at the very least back somewhere familiar and real. She reached the top of the stairs and sent a vague glance around the dark space of her attic, then froze in surprise. Standing near the bed with his arms hanging at his sides and his head downcast, Castiel.

She was already moving toward him. "Cas! Wh—"

"I am _so sorry_ ," he said in a miserable voice, cutting her off and looking her with stark, fearful eyes. She stood in front of him and held him by either arm but he remained stiff like a board. "I didn't—I had no _idea_ of what would transpire." He sounded incredibly upset and began to ramble in mortified dismay, wouldn't look Alex in the eye. "I didn't want this, please, believe me—the plan was foolish, my hand was forced—and it was dangerous, _more_ than dangerous. Raphael—he almost stole you away, he almost took you forever—everything was _this close_ to being over completely, Alex, do you _understand_?" he looked at her with greatly increasing alarm. "Balthazar _promised_ that you wouldn't come to harm and I was a _fool_ to trust you with anyone but myself—even _I_ can't seem to keep you safe! So how could anyone else?!" His outburst was uncharacteristically emotional and angry. Exhausted, seeing the shock in her eyes at his fury, he sat down on the bed and hung his head, letting a hand come up to his forehead, lost in the task of beating himself up.

Alex sank with him down onto her knees in front of him, taking his face in her hands, trying to get him to look at her. He wouldn't. In fact, he turned his head from her slightly. "I risked your life, your brothers' lives—I did it _knowingly_. Am I losing my mind?" He sounded broken, confused, miserable. He was more upset than she'd ever seen him, or at least on a level she'd never witnessed.

Upset too, she tried to get him to focus, tried to soothe him back to some semblance of calm. "Cas— _Cas_." He shut his eyes at her touches and soft pleas. "Everyone's okay," she insisted, gentle and worried. "And, and you got your weapons, right? That's a good thing." She stroked her thumbs against of his cheeks, trying to bring him around. Explaining how he _had_ been wrong to use them that way would come later. "I'm _fine_. Everything's fine." He finally opened his eyes and his gaze slid up to meet hers.

Those eyes and the angel behind them made her heart jump. He was so alive and so real and she loved him so much she could break from the weight of it all. She wanted to help him oh _god_ she wanted to help him. The pleading tone in his eyes killed her. "I truly hate the circumstances I find myself in," he confessed, something she already knew. What she heard him convey beyond the words he said was _I don_ _'_ _t know what to do_.

Alex stood up wordlessly and wrapped her arms around his head tightly, kissed him against the forehead then held him there against herself. "I know."

For a minute, he did nothing, just sat there like a stone. And then her heart leapt all over again when his arms hesitantly moved and circled her, drawing her a little closer. He loosened in her arms and allowed himself to soften to her, he let her begin to comfort him. She stroked his hair and then kissed the top of his head slowly, sweetly. She smoothed fingers over the sides of his face as she drew back just enough to look at him. Cas looked uncertain about accepting the affection, perhaps thinking he didn't deserve it—but he looked hungry for it all the same. Outside, thunder rumbled loudly and lightning flickered. Rain pounded the roof loudly. But Alex was focused on the blue-eyed wonder in front of herself. Lighting lit his face for a moment, highlighting the strong features and familiar boyishly aged face. She found him beautiful in a way that transcended the physical. She wanted him to be all right, to know how loved he was. She took one of his hands and drew it to her mouth, letting his palm face her as she softly and slowly kissed the pad of his pointer finger, then his middle, then his ring, then his pinkie.

He watched her with an indescribable, vulnerable expression on his face and he seemed to be completely taken aback at her actions. "I love you more than I know what to do with," he told her quietly, as if it broke his heart. What she heard was _I need you_. Caught in a moment, hardly able to breathe at the intensity in his eyes, she just let her eyes rest on his. His hand moved to hover at the side of her face, fingertips just brushing the edge of her jawline. Those emotionally bare eyes flickered back and forth between hers and he fought some great inner batter with himself. "Let me kiss you," he entreated anxiously.

She leaned down to him, smiling ever so softly at his needless request. "Do you really have to ask?"

And then his hand was tangling in her hair, tugging her face toward him as his lips crushed to hers with surprising passion. It was a kiss that made the entire world crash at her feet, a kiss that launched her into sudden heights of heated desire—she was already opening her mouth to him and giving him access to do what he would. His readiness to claim her mouth with his made her give a soft whimper—he needed her and she answered that need readily. He pulled her closer and she sat to straddle his lap as he kissed her in a way that wasn't just with his mouth but with his body—and whatever he couldn't seem to speak aloud came through in this wretched, desperate embrace. _Oh, Cas._ She wished she could show him she was there for him. She supposed this would have to do.

She felt how he waved a hand up and out briefly—she heard the door lock at his gesture. As soon as he had safeguarded against unexpected intrusions, he broke the kiss, dipped his head down and trailed his lips against her collarbone as he pulled her shirt down and sideways, baring her shoulder. He grabbed that shoulder and pulled it into a fervent kiss from his mouth. "I can never seem to have enough of you," he murmured anxiously against the skin there. "I crave you so completely." He sounded upset about it too, and she didn't think he should be.

Driven mad at the words, identifying with the feeling of dissatisfaction, wanting to erase all his sadness, she kissed him again by dipping her head down and shoving her mouth to his, demanding he let her kiss him roughly, deeply. He groaned and she grabbed his hand, pulling it down to cup her chest through the t-shirt. There wasn't much she, one small human, could do for Castiel except show him how she felt—so show him she would. She pulled back from the kiss, already out of breath—she crossed her arms over herself and yanked her shirt over her head, bra and all, tossing them back haphazardly even as Cas's face registered surprised awe at the sight of her suddenly bared flesh. She leaned to him, pulling his head against her chest, silently telling him what to do. He complied with a soft sound, nuzzling a nipple as his mouth found the sensitive peak and his hot tongue nudged, tested, and sent sparks racing up her veins. A gentle hand at her back pulled her closer to him, making the swell of her breast smash against his face.

Watching him, she saw how his mind was turning from everything else in the world and how she was putting a spell of comfort and pleasure over him. His face shifted and he lavished her other breast with more erotic exploration. Her head fell back at the tickling, zinging sensations, she gasped out quietly. Outside, thunder cracked.

Without warning, Cas seized Alex and laid her down on the bed, put himself over her, kissing her deeply as she slid hands up and down his neck and jaw over and over again, pulling the heels of her feet against the bed to kick off her shoes. She felt his blazing hands everywhere, cupping and pressing at her breasts, skimming down her torso and ghosting over her crotch, grabbing at her thighs, curling into her hair, gripping her jaw, thumbing her cheek. He was lost and obedient to the call of desire, letting her consume him. She rolled sideways into him, laying on her side to face him as she pulled at his tie and made out with him heavily. He was wearing too many clothes. Between touches and petting and grinding, they fumbled with his layers uselessly, too focused on kissing to remove clothes with any efficiency. When he was finally naked from the waist up and shoeless, he pushed her down onto her back, crawling over her still wearing pants.

She was left to cling to him and blink in the lightning-peppered dark as he trailed wet, passionately messy kisses down her jawline and neck. A warm hand cradled the opposite side of her neck and as he descended lower and lower to love her bosom, stomach, the space between her hips, Alex protested. She wanted to make this about him and she knew he was about to make this all about her. "No, Cas, I want—" 

"Let me," he begged in his dark, husky voice. His hands were curled around the waistband of her jeans and his eyes were looking up into hers. "Please." How could she say no? She acquiesced, unable to turn him away. He pulled her jeans down and off, underwear too, leaving her body naked before him. He gazed down at her for a moment, eyes soft with adoring things as he leaned over her and let his gaze burn into hers. "I have never seen anything as beautiful as you," he murmured, kissing her mouth softly, sweetly. "And I have existed for all of time." She shuddered. His hand descended down low, chancing a touch to see the extent of her arousal. When his fingers came into contact, his nostrils flared and his breathing quickened a little, she suppressed a whimper—she was a melted ice cube in his molten hands.

Castiel slid down her body, his torso brushing over hers. Her veins sang in anticipation of what he was going to do, her body throbbed in frustration for his touch. He spread her legs with whispering pressure from the backs of his hands and he settled there at the juncture of her legs, pressing a light kiss into the inside of her left thigh, his hand trailing fingers along the inside of her right thigh. She watched him in breathless adoration. He turned his head inward, letting his nose graze her thigh as he kissed again, less soft. Her body flushed with more and more desire as he continued to trail his kiss lightly up her thigh, inward and upward. His hand crept up her other thigh to touch the top of her thigh and she watched how he closed his eyes to savor every touch—her heart burst to see him focused on something other than his own self loathing. Her heart burst because he so clearly loved and adored her—and it was the most precious thing.

As his lips moved closer and closer to where she ached, she became flustered and agitated. When he finally covered her with his hot, wet mouth, she let out a loud sound of shocked, tortured amazement. Her hips involuntarily shot up off the bed toward the touch of his tongue and she rocked hard against his face, the luscious pressure created at the friction making her see stars. She tried to stifle her reaction as a satisfied and frustrated cry escaped her lips. When she went prone, he stopped, looked up the length of her body at her with innocent curiosity on her face. "Why did you stop moving against me?" he asked, clearly recognizing she had benefited from the actions. "If it feels good to you, do it."

His simple suggestion made her speechless. He waited for her to respond verbally. "O-okay," she managed, shy and awkward about her own desires.

Cas bent over her again, his tongue and mouth making her gasp and close her eyes briefly. He encouraged her, pulling slightly on one of her thighs, and he pushed his face hard against her—and that was it, she caved in. The most frustratingly beautiful pressure in all the universe drove her to grind her hips up into his mouth. He gave an appreciative sound, encouraging her, setting her free to pursue unbelievable pleasure. He suddenly seized her thigh and pulled it up, shifting his defined shoulder under it to give himself more access and her greater control.

He suddenly and delicately sucked on the sensitive little button he had been tonguing and she gave a startled, pleasure-soaked cry. His eyes snapped up to hers, dark with passion, and her body was overtaken by a rush of ecstasy. He was setting her off and taking her into the wild unknown. Half-whimpers and unintelligible sounds gasped up out of her mouth and responding to her, obviously getting off on the sight of her like that, Cas abruptly pushed two fingers inside of her, making her cry out in absolutely blinding bliss. She groaned out his name in disbelief and he quickened his pace, thrusting his fingers in and out faster and she cried out in satisfaction. His mouth pushed against her as he made a muffled, lurid sound and Alex thought she was about to lose her godforsaken mind. _How the hell did he know how to do this to her?!_ She didn't know, but one of her own knees hit her own shoulder as she curled up into him, grabbed him by the back of the head, smashing him closer, moving fiercely against him. She didn't care anymore, neither did he, in fact, he just took it as a cue to be rougher.

When he smashed his face all the tighter against her, pleasure exploded in every part of her body, the epicenter underneath his mouth and around his fingers. Rendered deaf and blind to the world from the intensity, all she could think or feel was him as release made her cry out loudly for him, for more, for everything. He curled his fingers deeply inside of her so hard that her hips came up off the bed. Her fingernails dug crescents into his neck as the tempest surged through her and left aftershock after aftershock of mind-blowing ecstasy to shudder through her. His fingers, deep inside of her, beckoned her release to be as intense as it could be, coaxing every last bit of fierce pleasure of out her.

When she finally came down from her high in a fit of panting, noisy gasps, she lost all tension in her body and collapsed back to sprawl across the bed. She was trembling, drained, spent, thoroughly satisfied. "Holy _fucking_ shit," she breathed, blinking away stars as she stared unseeingly at nothing, amazed. She thought she would never care about anything ever again. "Pardon my French, but that was… god _damn_."

"None of what you just said was in French," Cas told her, voice dripping with dark honey. A soft _mm_ sound, a chuckle, escaped Alex at what he said and she gazed down at him, touching the side of his face. His fingers slowly pulled out of her and he dropped a reverent, soulful kiss onto her between the legs, making her whimper and flinch slightly. His eyes looked up to hers and they were amazed, entranced, earnest. "I love seeing you orgasm," he told her in an honest, whispering tone. "I love being the one who makes that happen to you." If she hadn't been blushing before, she was now as Cas looked up at her from between her legs and told her that. He stroked thoughtful fingers through the dark curling thatch of hair there, holding her gaze unabashedly as he spoke easily and earnestly on the subject matter. "I am amazed by it, the sight of you like that." He hesitated. "I'm embarrassing you."

"No," she said, because even though it was a little awkward, it was also so damn hot and amazing to hear him say that to her. She knew he meant it. He was shifting back up to lay beside her and she turned to him, curling into his arms, seeking his gaze. "Tell me everything."

He traced fingers through the hair at the side of her head as those constant eyes searched hers. "To hear you crying out for me…" he said, making her blush further, making her flush with pleasure all over again. "You cannot imagine what that sound does to me." 

"Oh, I think I can," she said, becoming coy and reaching down to brush her hand against him where he strained valiantly at his pants. She was tired, but after _that,_ she was even more determined to get him off. At her touch, he was suddenly spellbound, eyes falling shut as his mouth fell open. Her fingers were light through the fabric of his pants but he responded to every little movement she made. Fascinated, she watched how his face worked as she touched him so minimally.

"I love how it feels when you touch me," he whispered anxiously, turning her on all over again.

She pressed her palm against his length, rubbed. "Like this?" she whispered in a murmur that was sultry without trying.

He was clinging to her now, hanging onto every little thing she did. " _Yes_ —"

She bent her head, suckling hard on a nipple as she grabbed and squeezed him through his pants. He gasped at the erogenous combination. "Like _this_?" She received only a moan of her name from him in return as his hand came to cradle the back of her head. Moving to answer that severe need for satisfaction she heard in his voice, she pushed him down onto his back, hovered over him, then unbuttoned and yanked his pants down to mid-thigh, reducing him to a noisy mess as she used her mouth and hands to make him feel better than good. He writhed underneath her, watching her with an anxious expression as his breathing quickened more and more, as his body tightened more and more. Making him throb and shudder like that, feeling every twitch of his hips and quake that ran through his body as pleasure mounted was the most erotic thing to Alex. She sensed he was close and doubled her efforts to get him there.

Suddenly, he stopped her, startled her out of it, made her pull back. "No—Alex—not without you," he panted, his eyes begging her. "Please."

She drew back, touched at the request, wanting to give him everything. She hesitated, then said nothing, just pulled his pants the rest of the way off and then reached out for his hands. He took them and let her lead him up to sit on the bed, let her pull him forward so he stood on his knees to face her as she stood on her knees too. Their arms pulled each other close and their mouths found each other's, their torsos pressed flush against each others. His kiss made her ready all over again. Cas sat back down onto his heels even as Alex shifted forward, found him, and sank down slowly over him. The kiss broke as her mouth fell open in a gasp at the feeling of him inside of her. He, too, gave a soft, anxious sound of _ha_ as their union became total.

Their eyes met briefly and his hand grasped the back of her neck as their foreheads bowed together and she started to move on him slowly and agonizingly. He became wretched and tortured, closing his eyes and clinging to her, letting her be the one who paced them and called the shots. Resonating with him, comforting him, she was attentive and focused, kissing the side of his face tenderly, his forehead, his cheek. Instead of trying wildly to get him off, she settled into a place of making him feel loved. She kissed his jawline, his neck, the top of his shoulder. To feel his strong body trembling against hers, to feel his thundering heartbeat echoing through her limbs, to be the one who had reduced him to this—she couldn't fathom it. Overwhelmed with what she felt, she took his face in both hands and his pleasure-glazed eyes rose to look into hers.

The things staring back at her humbled her completely. "You love me?" she asked in a whisper, already knowing the answer, but wanting to hear it a thousand times more.

His answer was immediate as his hands grabbed her more tightly, as his eyes became terrifyingly earnest. "More than anything, _anything_."

Castiel's whispered profession of love left a wildfire in the pit of his stomach that ignited an untamed, barbaric urge to claim her in every way possible. Every fear that lived in him and gnawed at him was unleashed and became desperation to prove himself, desperation to show her the extent of his ceaseless affections, desperation to reach out and hold her soul itself to him.

Alex was surprised when Cas held her tightly and flipped her over, taking control, briefly ending their bodily union only to reestablish it with a deep thrust that made her see white-hot stars. "Cas, _ahhh,_ oh…!" she cried weakly, voice rasping in anxious bliss. The sudden outpouring of passion left her unable to breathe, scrambling her hands for some kind of purchase on his back as he settled over her and moved roughly inside of her. She arched her back up to smash her breasts against his chest and a wanton, begging sound fell from his mouth at the erotic contact. Her eyes clenched shut and her head arched back as her mouth fell wide open to take in panting breaths—the entirely of her thoughts focused on him pushing inside of her and making the desperate ache that much better and worse all at once. And then she felt him taking her by the back of the head firmly to forcibly turn her chin down and her face back toward him. 

"Open your eyes," he begged, hot breath hitting against her cheek. "I need to see you." His request made her shudder with surprise and she let her eyes snap open. Tortured glacial aquamarine stared back at her and Cas thrust into her again and again deeply, watching her and holding her face firmly in an anxious, tight hand. She grabbed his wrist hard, staring him in the eye. This time it was him who cried out as she lifted her hips to match his movements. She clenched her legs around his strong waist, lessening both of their composure, increasing both of their pleasures.

Incredibly tender despite his breathless passion, Cas took her face in his hand, steadying her and holding onto her at once. He was in wonder and awe, thinking of how her body seemed created to cradle and consume his, how her heart and soul called to him, how inestimable her worth was. Words fell from his lips in hushed, mindless adoration as his hand cradled the side of her face. "Alex… _beloved_ …"

A soft whimper almost like a laugh slipped out of her mouth as emotional pleasure peaked to hear him speak to her like that. Her hand softened on his wrist, her fingertips reached out to tenderly stroke his cheek in the midst of their blazing encounter. His eyes fluttered shut at the whispery touch and he turned his head, kissed the fingertips, took her hand and pressed a kiss to the center of her palm, then opened his eyes and looked into hers again. He let go of her hand and his hand abruptly snaked down between their bodies and she let out a shocked breath when he rubbed two fingers _there._ He pushed inside of her deeply, letting every stroke drive molten earth-shattering pleasure into her.

" _Ah_ … oh, _ssss_ , nngh," she grunted nonsensically in rising fever pitch, feeling like she would somehow die if he continued and die if he didn't. She was doomed and helpless, addicted to the erotic, soul-deep sensations he stirred in her. She moaned loudly, trying her hardest not to shut her eyes or look away as he brought her to the edge of that wild precipice. He pressed deep and hard and faster, relentless in his mission to ravish her and throw her to the wind. Just when she thought it was about to happen, he buried himself deeply and went still everywhere, leaving her to protest and writhe around underneath him. Their eyes locked and he was looking at her in a way she couldn't take, a way that was so open and bare that she wanted to cry. Thunder and lightning crashed outside and it was too much. " _Please_ , I _can't_ —" she begged, about to die from being left hanging.

At her plea he met her movements with his own again, furiously, desperately, creating a hungry rhythm that left them both in excruciating bliss and quickly had her approaching the edge again at even greater intensity. Her fingers dug into him bruisingly as she began to lose her mind. "Cas, _ngh!_ I'm… _ah_ —" her cry was so anxious and almost agonized that he rushed to soothe her.

His hands tightened on her, holding her steady. "I have you," he told her in a strained, breathless voice. She caught sight of those spellbinding blue eyes and she was doomed all over again—her body arced up into his with a spasm she couldn't control and she grabbed onto him as hard as she could, trying to not fall off the edge of the earth.

"Ah, _oh_!" Tumultuous pleasure began to rip through her like a thundering waterfall and Cas groaned out a wanton sound, followed her over the edge blindly, his hand suddenly moving to grab the back of her thigh as he ground his hips into hers even harder and faster, making her almost scream in pleasure at the shockwaves. He moaned and sobbed nonsensically against her neck, clinging to her for life itself as he came, as he cried out his defeat in her arms. How long did that mutual rapture last? It seemed an eternity. When it ended, they went slack together, every last instance of effort sapped away from powerful release. For a moment, they laid there in panting shock, holding on tight and recovering from what they had just done to each other. At the back of Alex's head, Cas's fingers tightened just a little as he continued to hold her close as his hot, sharp breaths hit the side of her head. Alex curled her forehead into the side of his neck, shaking and breathing hard. She was in a fog of contended, exhausted pleasure.

After a moment Cas collapsed into the sheets beside her. He held her closely to him, refusing to let them be any further apart than a few inches. He pressed a slow and steady kiss against her forehead, his fingers threading through the hair at the back of her head. She tilted her head back to look at him. Their hearts raced and her body was damp with sweat, some hair was plastered to her face. Yet he gazed at her like she was heart-stopping, like he had seen the light, like she was his salvation itself. "My beautiful one," he whispered, voice filled with vulnerable emotion as he looked upon her face fully and traced careful adoration with fingers along the side of her face, "there is nothing in all of creation I wouldn't do for you." His eyes were genuine, his presence was overwhelming, and she didn't know how to respond.

So instead she hugged herself to him, tucked her head under his chin and hung on, let herself be shaken and loved and overcome. "How are you real?" she whispered after a minute. Underneath her right hand, his heart pounded hard and fast. "How is any of this _real_?" Men like Castiel weren't _real_ and love stories like this _couldn't be possible_ —and no one loved anyone like Cas loved her—and yet here she was with a creature from Heaven who simultaneously made her feel like she was the only woman on the planet and like she was the queen of the entire universe. She drew back to look at him, making sure he was really there. He was, and she shook her head slightly, forever unsure of what she'd done to get him to look at her like that. "You're incredible."

The softest rueful smile tugged at his wide lips. His thumb and forefinger came to gently take her by the chin. "No. You."

She could find no words to say, no response. Her mind was blank, her body was drunk off of the effects of release. All that was left to do was press a simple, lingering kiss to his lips. "I love you so much," she confessed after, not sure why she felt afraid of what she felt.

His hand held hers, thumb gently rubbing her fingers over and over. His eyes were becoming tense again, tentative. "I hope you always do."

She searched his eyes, saw burdens and worries and she wished he would let her help. "What _is it_ , Cas?"

He withdrew slightly. Not physically, but his expression and eyes became guarded somehow. "I need for this war to be over, Alex." He looked down unseeingly and his voice was soft, barren. "You don't understand how urgently I need for it to be over."

No, she didn't understand. He wouldn't tell her. So, she tried to encourage the only way she knew. "Just a little longer, right?" With the weapons he'd just gotten it just _couldn't_ drag on much longer, right? Cas didn't say anything, just looked like he wanted to believe the idea of it being over soon. So, she tried to help him believe it because she needed to believe it, too. "Just a little longer." She tightened her fingers on his, dropping a little kiss onto the curve between his thumb and pointer finger. He seemed sad again and she hated it, deciding he should hear about the alternate universe out there. "So… you wanna hear a funny story?" she ventured.

He seemed to think that was an odd proposition but accepted, and Alex recounted the entire debacle—the actors, the pirates, Astrid, Alex not on Supernatural, Misha Collins, Virgil, Daniel… when Castiel learned she killed Daniel, he was all at once shocked, impressed, worried, and proud. He praised her once he digested the news and said she did what he had been trying to do for a long time now. That made her feel meaningful and important when she saw how it alleviated some stress for him—she could have jumped up and danced. She had taken down a major enemy of Cas's without entirely meaning to—! That had to count for something. Alex saved the whole Misha passively aggressively suggesting sex thing for last. Cas was understandably taken aback at the idea of a man who looked exactly like himself making suggestive comments to her.

After a short silence, he asked her about it, trying to make sure he'd understood correctly. "So this Misha Collins man. He expressed interest in you… sexually?"

"Pretty much."

Cas thought hard. "His body, his face, his voice were mine?"

"Yeah…" Alex trailed off, surprised. Did Cas wonder why she didn't accept the offer? Did he really think all that she cared about was his physical appearance? Yeah, Misha _looked_ like Cas. "But the stuff that matters wasn't yours."

Cas's eyebrows moved in together slightly. "And what is 'the stuff that matters'?"

She laid her hand down onto his chest where his rhythmic heartbeat could be felt. "Heart. Soul." Those were what she loved about Castiel. His appearance could never hold a candle to the strength of his character.

Cas looked saddened. "Of which I have neither."

Alex disagreed and caught his face with her hand. She kept his gaze, a gentle smile making her face soft. "Nothing ever can or will convince me you don't have a heart and soul, Castiel." He seemed to think that was a nice, if incorrect thought and said nothing, just pulled her to himself, held her close. They remained together that night as the storm raged outside loudly. Safe with each other, they were content to exist inside their own little world.

…Neither knew it then, but that night was a last time for them. Castiel had stretched himself too thin, had made too many lapses in judgement. And soon, every lie told, every secret kept, every mistake made would prove too much to keep inside.

They would each remember this night in the times to come and wish they could go back to this place in their relationship where they were so completely in love with each other. This place of trusting and giving. This place of utter belonging.

But some places are very hard to find your way back to in the darkest hours of the night. And some places you can never get back to at all.


	74. Keeping Up Appearances

" _I've been hurt and I've been scarred, but at least I know I'm alive._ _"  
_ \- Lifehouse

* * *

Outside of Bobby's house in bright midday, Sam held a hand out from where he was seated on a junked car, stopping his sister with a very pointed, grave look on his face. "I'm serious—only like a _centimeter._ "

Alex huffed and stood back, scissors hovering in a hand beside her. "You've already told me ten thousand times, Rapunzel," she said at his continued reminders. "I got it—now are you gonna let me do this or not?" She gave her brother a very impatient look and Sam relented grudgingly. "Such a baby," Alex muttered, leaning in to start. "Gonna start charging you for this if you keep being a diva about it." The scissors whispered _snip snip_ as she carefully trimmed the back of his hair with little point-cuts like they'd all learned so long ago.

Because they were on the road so much of their childhood, Dad used to cut their hair—it was clippers for the boys and two artlessly lopped-off inches from Alex's hair when it started to get hay-like on the ends. When Sam started complaining about the haircuts (he wanted to have a bowl cut like all the boys at school), Dad threw his hands up and said if they were so unhappy with the haircuts he provided, they could figure it out on their own. So, they had. One afternoon at the library and a hunt for books on DIY hair cutting later and they could all now cut hair decently. Funny enough, Dean's was the hardest to cut. The twins kept their hair more long and nondescript but Dean preferred shorter on the sides and longer on top. As such, he had learned to cut his own hair with clippers after the twins botched his hair one too many times back in the late eighties.

Sam started anxiously bouncing his knee up and down mid-snip and Alex knocked him in the side of the head with her hand. "Hold _still_ unless you wanna lose an ear."

His knee ceased to move. He had always, _always_ hated haircuts but every couple of months it would get uneven and start to look shaggy. Today, Alex had haircut duty while Dean worked on fixing the busted window to Bobby's study.

Twenty-four hours ago they'd been stuck in an alternate dimension. It was good to be home, to say the least, and it hadn't been for nothing either. It had gotten Cas access to those heavenly weapons he needed and it had also resulted in the deaths of two of Raphael's most important soldiers. The same as every time she thought of angels and Heaven, her mind inevitably drifted to Cas—thoughts of him were warm arms cocooning her, gentle husky whispers in her ear, tender kisses on skin and lips…

"Hey—you paying attention?" Sam's voice snapped her out of her daydreams. Because she was standing in front of him to cut his hair, her twin brother had caught sight of that la-la-land look on her face. Alex made herself focus.

"Yup. Definitely." She returned to her work.

The alternate universe hadn't just gotten Cas his weapons and two less enemies. It had gotten Alex a jump drive full of hilarious Wincest and Destiel pictures for pranking… so that wasn't so bad, right? Well… Dean and Sam were still a little pissed about Cas using them as bait but Alex thought no one could be as upset about it as Cas had been. He apologized again and again about it after lovemaking and Alex forgave and gently explained to him why it wasn't okay, even though she was pretty sure he'd known it wasn't okay all along. He gave another vague, depressed speech about how he had to do things he hated to save the things worth saving. That was when Alex made a quick decision and ruled out any more war talk that night.

Cas had stayed the whole night with her then left early in the morning very reluctantly. Already, she missed him.

" _I wish I could stay here with you. I wish so many things."_

_"Me too, Cas. Me too. Not much longer."_

'Not much longer' was currently her inner mantra, the thing she hung onto to get her through the separation.

Before Cas took his leave that morning, he said that he might be gone awhile—he said it was time to finish the war and press Raphael's stumble.

Naturally, Alex was worried, but maybe more than usual. After all, the closer a fight got to the end, the more risk was involved. Stressed in the back of her mind about Cas and other things too, she was jumping on anything and everything she could do to preoccupy herself. Like cutting Sammy's hair and helping Bobby with whatever he needed and maybe later today she'd go sort through one of his numerous tool boxes (they hadn't been organized in, well, probably ever). Anything to distract from the scarier parts of real life, please.

"Sure you don't need help with that, Dean?" Sam called suddenly, making Alex turn to look.

Dean was wearing work gloves and had his flannel shirt tied around his waist. Wearing an old t-shirt and a focused, tense expression, he was working up a sweat as he replaced the entire window that they'd busted last night, frame and all. At Sam's question, he glanced at them briefly. "It's a damn window, what would I need help with?"

"So _no_ then," Sam said, loud enough for only Alex to hear.

She studied Dean carefully for a second more before resuming Sam's haircut. "You think he's okay?"

They both knew what she was talking about. A week or so ago, while on a hunt, Ben had called Dean and claimed Lisa was in trouble. Dean had dropped the hunt and left the twins to manage it while he went to go 'rescue' Lisa. Turned out Lisa was seeing someone new, it was getting serious, and Ben hadn't wanted that. So, the Lisa wound had been ripped open all over again. Dean wasn't saying much about it, but it was pretty easy to see he was upset by it either way.

Sam contemplated Dean, too. "Do I think he's okay? I mean, after the rest of the crap he's been through, what could a _breakup_ do to him?"

"I dunno." Alex paused to look at Dean again. "We all have our shatter points."

Sam hesitated, seeming to deflate slightly. "True."

_Snip snip._

Alex paused again. "…He talked to you about it?"

"Psh." Sam scoffed, glanced at her like she was nuts. "If he was gonna talk to anyone about it, it'd be you."

Dean hadn't. And probably wouldn't. "I guess," she muttered. For some reason, the Lisa and Ben thing seemed to be an entirely closed subject. Turning her attention back to Sam, she held his face straight in her hands and squinted at both sides of his hair for comparison. He waited patiently, resigned to his fate of an awful haircut, it seemed. But he had nothing to worry about. She had gotten good at this over the years, and a tiny trim hadn't ever ruined anyone's hair yet. She set to work trimming the left side a little more, looking at Sam's face now and again, wondering if _he_ was okay. "How're _you_ doing, Sam?"

His eyes darted up to hers. She didn't have to specify what she meant… he already knew, and as a result, guilt became visible. "I'm… I dunno." Long silence. "I wanna know what I did, but back in Bristol, finding out all the stuff I did, those people I killed… I dunno. Maybe I _don_ _'_ _t._ What if I did stuff worse than what I did there?"

There was a huge possibility of that. Sam had collapsed and had a seizure after they wrapped up the job a few weeks back—he had remembered bits and pieces from his year of being soulless and it had put him through the ringer—and after that, Alex wasn't really keen on trying to go find answers. Not if it was going to render Sam into an seizing heap on the floor. That had been terrifying to say the least. "Can't change the past," she said, understanding that fact too well herself.

"Yeah." Sam frowned off into the salvage yard. "That's what keeps me up at night."

Somber because he was, she was quiet for a minute and the only sound was of some birds, the breeze, and then an exclamation from across the yard. The twins turned to look. "Alex, what the hell?!" Dean was striding over, cell phone in hand.

Realizing it was showtime, Alex made innocent, wide eyes. "What's wrong?"

He shoved his phone at her, showing her the background of the screen. " _This_."

"… Is that you and _Cas_?" Sam asked, craning his neck to see the somewhat erotic photo manipulation of Cas and Dean wrapped in each other's arms and about to kiss.

Alex managed to keep a straight face—she had snuck that picture onto his phone a couple hours ago. She pretended to be taken aback at the image. " _Dean!_ " she pretended to be hurt. "How could you?"

"Yeah _very funny_ ," he was the definition of disgruntled. "I know you did this." He shook the phone in frustration. "How do I change this? Sam, how do I change this?"

There was an amused little patronizing smile and chuckle from Sam. "Dean, you really need to learn how to do this stuff yourself."

"Do I look like I have time to learn this technology mumbo jumbo?!" Dean demanded, incensed. "Get it off of here!"

Sam sighed and held his hand out. "Here, gimme." In about ten seconds, he handed the phone back. "Better?"

Dean stared at his phone's wallpaper and then gave Sam a deeply exasperated look. "A pink _flower_? Really?"

"You didn't say what to change it _to_ ," Sam reasoned innocently, his prankster side showing.

Dean mumbled like an old man as he stalked off. "Hate you both so much."

"Maybe that was overkill," Alex said, looking at the back of Dean and feeling slightly bad (even as she hid a grin). He hadn't thought it was as funny as she'd predicted.

Sam was still grinning about it unashamedly. "Nah. That was a good one," he said, making her feel better because of his clear amusement. "Guessing you got that picture from TV land?"

"Mmm-hmm. And Sammy, I have so many more it's not even funny," she said calmly, then stood back, deciding she was finished. "Okay! Hair's done. Can you do mine? The ends feel like metal wires." She took some hair between her fingers and looked at the ends for effect.

Sam reached for the scissors. "Hand 'em here."

An hour later, as Alex washed some dishes and Dean put away the chips and bread from lunch, Sam opened up his laptop at the kitchen table then jumped in surprise when the screen lit up. Promptly, he gave his sister a look. " _Alex_." He turned the laptop around, a bitchy little expression on his face. The laptop wallpaper was a truly deplorably done photoshop job of the brothers embracing while very low-res, cloned orange flames circled the entire photo. She couldn't keep a straight face about it—she cracked up at the lunacy of it and Sam got even bitchier. "How old are you, _twelve_?"

"You two make a _lovely_ couple," she managed through a throat choked by laughter.

Dean rubbed his forehead in ruefulness. "Someone seriously needs to take away her technology privileges."

" _Guys_. I would never change your backgrounds to erotic incestual images!" Alex said, feigning an overly dramatic and earnest delivery to the very not-believable claim. "That doesn't sound like me at _all._ " She snickered, turned around, and returned to rinsing dishes.

At that moment, Bobby called for them from the study. "Hey, you three chuckleheads wanna get in here? Think I might have a line on mommy dearest."

That sobered Alex immediately—just as fast as she'd been laughing and ribbing her brothers (and maybe exacting revenge for pranks in the past), she was serious and focused, heading into the study.

Sam and Dean glanced at each other as she flicked her wet hands off and went to Bobby… they were both thinking the same thing: they owed their sister a prank and were in silent agreement to make good on the debt soon.

Dean was the last one into the study. His mind was in a weird place lately. What with everything that happened last week…

* * *

**A Week Ago  
Battle Creek, Michigan**

He had dropped _everything_ to respond to the worried call he got from Ben. _Something_ _'_ _s wrong with Mom, she won_ _'_ _t get out of bed, she stays locked in her room,_ Ben said. Alarmed, Dean had told his brother and sister about the call—it had come in the middle of a hunt. The twins insisted he go and see what was the matter, said they could handle the job. So, Dean hightailed it to Battle Creek and found that Ben had straight-up _lied_ to him. In fact, Dean had gotten to the Braeden residence just in time to find his ex-girlfriend dressed up and about to leave for a _date._

That moment was pretty awkward when they realized what Ben had done. Lisa invited Dean in regardless, uncomfortable and obviously upset with her son. She gave Dean a beer he didn't feel like drinking and she shrugged on a sweater over her pretty little dress to cover her bare arms. Arms that used to hug and hold onto Dean tightly. Nothing lasted forever, he reflected. He should have known it wouldn't last with her, either. And he shouldn't have felt so let down to learn she was going on dates, either. He hadn't been with anyone since her. Maybe he'd been hoping… hoping for something that obviously wasn't worth hoping for.

When Lisa handed him the beer, Dean sat at one of the kitchen bar stools casually, facing her where she stood near the nearby couch. He was upset, but hid it. "You wanna sit down?" It felt weird with her just standing around all cross-armed like that.

She threw him a brief, guarded glance. "Not so much."

Dean looked at the woman whose home he'd lived in, whose bed he'd shared, whose kid he'd loved as his own. She was more dressed up than she ever had for Dean—little black dress with a low neckline, expensive looking dangly earrings he hadn't seen before, hair in some kind of fancy updo with soft curls framing the sides of her face. He could have been wrong, but it looked like she'd had some kind of work done—lips were plumper than he remembered. All in all, she looked like she was really into this guy she was supposed to go on a date with.

It had only been a few months, hadn't it, since they broke up? No more than like half a year—how was she already moving on? It hurt. But he stowed that because he'd be damned if she knew he was in pain over this. "So, who's the guy?" he asked casually, wondering how far they'd been and how into him she was (a lot, it looked like) and if he was good with Ben.

"' _Who_ _'_ _s the guy_?'" she repeated, her attitude slightly sour. She shrugged, attempting to be offhand. She wasn't as good at hiding her true feelings as Dean was. "His name is Matt. He's a doctor."

"Oh, Dr. Matt. How _respectable_." He said it before he thought. He said it because he immediately felt inferior, like he'd been replaced by a better, newer edition. Like, what'd she even need _him_ for to begin with? He was a lowly day laborer high-school dropout with nothing to his name—just some degenerate freak of nature. He was pathetic and couldn't give Lisa the things she wanted—it suddenly felt like she'd been humoring him, and Dean was pissed at himself, at her, at everything. A rich doctor guy explained the nice dress and fancy earrings.

Her face clouded up when he made the comment. " _Really_? That's how this is gonna be?"

Dean regretted the stupid remark and his gaze fell to the unconsumed bottle of beer in his hands. He didn't know how to talk about this or what to say, but he suddenly wanted her back, maybe just as proof to himself that he was lovable in some small way. "Look, I-I—"

Lisa cut him off. "If you're here to argue and make rude comments about my personal life, I don't want you here at all."

Her sharp voice hit him hard, confused him, then quickly made him gruff. "Lees, Ben called me and said you were in _trouble._ I dropped everything and _ran_."

There was a hidden, faint scoff. "Nice to know you still care." Her cool tone shocked him even further.

"I _do_!" he replied defensively, because world be damned to hell if he wasn't invested in Lisa and Ben—he loved them both and she was acting like that year together meant nothing. He gave _everything_ here, sacrificing up his entire existence and investing every last thing he had into trying with Lisa—which hadn't been fucking easy all the time either. His earnest proclamation got him no reply. No glimmer of understanding or acceptance passed over her face whatsoever. They hadn't parted on the best terms, but her cold attitude wasn't what he'd expected—did she really hate him so much now? Stung, Dean looked at her in confusion. She gave him a look like he was her enemy. "What do you want from me?" he asked in a softened, hurt voice, really wanting to know the answer.

Her eyebrows rose. "What do I _want_ from you? Don't get it backwards, Dean. You're the one who showed up on _my_ doorstep tonight. I don't want anything from you. I'm not _asking_ for _anything_."

He replied without a thought, deeply upset. "Well then _ask_ for something!"

"Um…" came a new voice.

Lisa and Dean turned in unison to see Ben watching with a mildly traumatized, worried expression. "Go to your room!" they said in unison, not meaning to. Silently, skittishly, Ben took a couple steps back then did as he was told. His footsteps faded away on the stairs as he obeyed.

Dean set his beer down onto the kitchen bar counter behind him. He had no taste for food or drink. Lisa crossed her arms and came over slowly, her expression rocky. She sat down beside him slowly and took a couple moments to calm herself. "Listen. I wasn't prepared to see you today." She stared straight ahead, didn't look at him. "I can't 'ask for something.' It's not… we're not _together_ anymore, Dean." She looked at him sidelong, and to be so close to her, this woman who'd been the first real, lasting romantic relationship he'd had—to hear her rejecting him all over again reminded him why he never did this crap in the first place. It always ended with the goodbye, and it always hurt like a son of a bitch in the end when he tried. Lisa softened a little and he saw her sadness then. "We're not together and we can't be. Not how you live." Her vulnerable, honest answer made his stomach clench. "My phone rings sometimes and I think tiny chance it's you, bigger chance it's Sam or Alex calling to tell me you're dead."

" _L_ _ee_ _s_ …"

"No, don't." She was hardening again. "It's just... it's just I get to this place where I'm okay, and then you show up at our door. You keep doing that every time I think I'm never gonna see you again, then I see you again. I can't have this keep happening, understand? I'm trying to get _over_ you. What are you trying to do? What do you _want_ from us, Dean?"

Everything she said was like a sledgehammer beating him down into the ground. "Trying to get over me, huh?" he asked, a wry, dead smile on his face as he looked away. "You make it look so easy."

"Dean…"

"What _happened_?" he asked, letting himself be vulnerable for the slightest moment. "I thought… I thought maybe this could work." He had _wanted_ it to work, too. Maybe based on principle, but he had thought… well, he had thought a lot of stuff.

She took in a deep breath, shook her head, and shrugged. She'd given up, and Dean saw it. _He_ was the one that still had feelings. "It was a dream. We're not from the same worlds, Dean," she said, hurting him all over again. "It took me awhile to realize, but… you don't belong here. You _don_ _'_ _t_. I saw you fighting it every day. The urge to go out there, find your sister, go hunt things and save the world again. Honestly, I kind of wonder what took you so long to leave us now."

"Don't you say it like that, like I wasn't happy here," Dean said defensively, getting angry and throwing that feeling into words that didn't do his emotions justice. "Like I didn't put my damn _everything_ into this."

She looked at him sadly, like she felt sorry for him. "I know you did. And it was good while it lasted… for the most part." Yeah. Dean agreed. There had been some nights when they had fought, when Lisa had accused him of things, when Dean had drank too much and let loose some pretty devastating verbal swings. "But it doesn't matter. It can't matter. We're _over_." She was firm and businesslike, shooting down any hope he'd buried for reconciliation. "I know Ben doesn't like it, but he's just gonna have to accept it." Lisa looked at him meaningfully. "I need you to stop coming around. I need this to be over. I'm moving on, Dean. Because I have to."

He looked down at his hands, which were clasped and wringing between his knees. He should never have let himself love her at all and he should never have believed he of all people could be a man worth loving. "What happened to 'come when you can'?" he asked, broken inside.

Lisa's jaw tightened as she clearly, inwardly regretted that little deal they had tried before ultimately breaking up. "Ben needs a father," she said, crushing him again, making him feel his failure all over again. "Someone who isn't gonna come and go like you do. I wish things could be different."

No she _didn_ _'_ _t._ Silence rang in Dean's ears and he stared at the floor seeing nothing. He'd known it was over before. So why did this suck so bad all over again? He briefly, cynically thought of a song by Def Leppard. _Joe Elliott, you were right dude. Love bites._

Lisa touched his shoulder unexpectedly with a soft hand. "You'll find someone else, Dean."

The gentle touch set him off. He stood up to pull roughly away from her touch. That was the last thing he needed, someone feeling _sorry_ for him. "No, I won't," he said accusingly, insulted at the thought, offended at the way she could so easily tell him everything was going to be okay. "'Cause the life I live is hell, and the people in it always die and the only people who tolerate me are my family. And you know what? They only do that half of the time. So don't tell me that fucking _bull_." He turned away, ran a hand down over his mouth in an attempt to calm himself.

Lisa stood too. "Dean—"

He turned around sharply, chopping a hand out in an angry gesture. "You know what, don't _patronize_ me, Lisa!" Dean was brusque, cutting her off before she could say anything else that would leave him to despair inside. He was bitter, harsh, and rude. "I don't need you to say one more damn _word_ to me." A million things were on the tip of his tongue, words that would hurt her and make her cry and make her feel just as low and shitty as him. But he refrained from saying any of it. Instead, he was curt. "I'm gonna go talk to Ben. Let him know how it is. Then I'll do what you want and you won't ever see me again, all right?" He couldn't resist one final, cynical jab: "I hope you and your doctor friend are _real_ happy." Hurt showed in those big brown eyes of hers and Dean forced himself not to respond—he remained cold and stony because he was wounded too. Wordlessly he went upstairs where he talked to Ben and tried to explain it to the kid. It didn't go so well, but Dean tried. And then he then left the house without another word to Lisa.

And that was that.

Only, it wasn't. Dean would carry the pain and confusion with him for a while to come, he would feel more deeply aware of that hole in his chest. The hopes he'd suppressed about maybe reconciling with Lisa had proved to be useless and stupid and as a result _Dean_ felt useless and stupid. He decided that day that love was for chumps and he was never going to mess around with it again.

Ben's accusations rang in his mind: _you_ _'_ _re leaving your family_.

That's what tore him apart. As Dean drove away that night, thinking of Lisa and how much he'd cared about her, how much he _still_ cared even though he didn't want to, he told himself that he worked best as a solo flyer. He should have known Lisa and Ben were a bust idea to begin with—come on, what did he _think_ , he could actually have a _family_? Be a good boyfriend and dad? He should have known it would end this way. His fault for being optimistic. He should have _known_. No woman in her right _mind_ would stick around in this life Dean was resigned to—no woman in her right mind would want Dean for more than just a night or two of the only good thing he was able to offer. And that was okay. _I_ _'_ _m fine with casual sex here and there whenever I want it. I don_ _'_ _t need anything else. I_ _'_ _m fine with that. I_ _'_ _m fine._

Dean gripped the steering wheel tighter as shameful tears built up in his eyes and the quietest voice whispered _no you_ _'_ _re not_. _You_ _'_ _re a curse and a disease. No one wants you for keeps. And no one ever will._

* * *

**Present Day  
Sandusky, Ohio **

Two days after the haircuts, the pranks, and finding out that this 'Mother of All' character might be involved in a series of strange possession-like deaths, the Winchesters and Bobby Singer had caravanned over to Ohio hoping to pick up her trail. What they found were two men who had both worked at a cannery plant and both committed random acts of murder against friends, family, and co-workers after shifts at the cannery. Basically, none of it was good news and this 'Mother of All' who'd been mentioned in that book the Winchesters swiped off the dragons seemed to be making a splash. Although they had nothing to really go on with how to gank her, they were at the cannery anyway to see what they could find out. Anyway, it was probably going to turn out to be demons or ghosts behind the killings. That seemed more likely than anything else.

Parked inconspicuously around the back end of the large facility, the Impala glinted under dim moonlight. Dean hoisted his bag up and rounded the car to where Sam and Alex were getting their gear out and double checking their weapons bags. In a few minutes, Bobby and Rufus would be arriving. Apparently Rufus had caught wind of the same stuff the Winchesters had—Bobby'd run into him earlier in the day and was bringing him along for the fun.

Dean glanced at Sam and Alex as he reached the back of the car. "Got everything?" he asked super casual, eyeing his sister sidelong and exchanging a furtive little knowing glance with Sam.

She didn't notice the glance because she was so focused on rummaging through her bag and audibly calling out the contents as she touched each one. "EMF, pistols, ammo, zip ties, first aid, machete, salt, holy water—oh my _shit_!" she shrieked like she'd been stung and rapidly propelled back by a few steps, throwing the huge fake rubber spider that had been stuck in the bottom of the duffel. Their mission a success, Dean and Sam cracked up, high-fived, and subsequently got the most pissed off look from their sister imaginable. "Seriously?! _Really_?" She looked absolutely baleful and when she saw they were clearly co-conspirators, she got even more cantankerous. "Oh, you were _both_ in on this? Ha _ha_ , _very_ funny." She looked foreboding, mad as a bull. "You're both gonna regret this so hard."

Dean threw his hands up and wiggled his fingers. "Ooh, I'm so _scared._ "

"I know where you live," she threatened vaguely then pointed at Sam for effect as she gave him a pointed look that said he wasn't any safer than Dean was.

Her twin was stooping to grab the baseball-sized spider off the ground and he showed it to her under the guise of helpfulness—but it was pretty obvious that he was just goading her, waving it in her face like that and shoving it at her with a barely concealed smile on his face. "Look, it's not _real._ "

Traumatized, Alex scrunched her face up, held her hands out and backed up. "Get it _away from me_!" Her reaction was beginning to strike Dean as un-funny.

Sam chuckled, backing off his irritated sister and he tossed the rubber spider up into the air to catch it again playfully. Dean then snatched it from him, annoyed at Alex's too-serious reaction. "God, Al, you are the biggest baby about this crap," he muttered. He drew back and launched the spider with a hard throw that sent it sailing far away. He then looked at her sullenly, implying that she'd spoiled his fun. "Better?"

"You both suck," she said, disgruntled completely and turning a little red from embarrassment. She stalked back to the trunk and returned to checking her bag—just very, very cautiously this time and with lots of huffy frowns directed at her brothers.

Sam and Dean exchanged another glance and Sam shrugged faintly, Dean made a slight face. Revenge was supposed to be fun, dammit. He knew he should be happy—Sam had a soul and they were all alive—but life was a bucketload of crap these days and he woke up surly or depressed most days. He swallowed the more negative feelings to focus on the task at hand. Thank god for hunting. It took the edge off.

Headlights swept across them and the Winchesters turned. "Ah, finally," Dean said, pulling out his trademark easygoing, good-humored sarcasm. "The old men are here." He started off toward the parking car where he could see Bobby and Rufus vaguely in the dark. "Let's get this party started." Behind him, Sam and Alex fell into step.

Dean heard Alex shove Sam sideways. "Gonna cut your hair off in your sleep," she told him in a grouchy voice. He just chuckled.

Rufus and Bobby were exiting the car ahead at the same time and Rufus, ever the sarcastic one, was throwing a casual insult Bobby's way as the Winchesters approached. "I don't even know why they let you _have_ a driver's license," he said, his rich voice following the cadence of a relaxed southern drawl.

"Well, look what the cat dragged in," Dean said as they walked up, greeting the hunter fondly. It had been awhile and he didn't have to force a smile. "The man, the myth, the legend."

"Damn straight, ace," Rufus said with a roguish grin, reaching in for a firm handshake as he looked the three of them over. "How you kids doin' these days?"

Alex stuck her hand out for a shake, and you wouldn't have known she'd just been pranked a minute ago from her collected, playful demeanor. "Alive so far, you?"

Rufus clasped her hand firmly. "Oh, I do my best."

Sam had a broad smile on his face as he reached out for his turn to shake Rufus's hand. "It really is good to see you, Rufus."

"I can believe it!" Rufus made a face at Bobby as he shook Sam's hand. "It must get old dealing with this miserable cuss here all by yourself."

"Is it that obvious?" Sam asked, playing along.

Alex gave Sam and Rufus quick, lecturing looks. "Come on you two… easy on the old man, huh?" she smirked at Bobby, who was rolling his eyes.

"All right, we all pack a snack?" Dean nodded toward the building, ready to get a move on.

"And a sippy cup," Alex retorted, giving Dean a slightly pious look.

Oh, he was gonna pay for that spider prank. He could tell now. In response, he gave her a wan little smile that suggested she didn't have it in her. Maybe not the best idea to escalate, but Dean liked to have the last word. As such, he gave her that challenging look then turned and headed for the nearest door, ready to get a move on with the job. "Let's see what we can see."

The group of five broke in an employee entrance easily and cut the surveillance system wire just to be on the safe side. Once inside, they pulled out flashlights—the interior of the cannery was pitch black in the lower levels without the lights on. They found the lift and rode it up to the main level where moonlight lit the spooky, shadowy, too-quiet interior. Huge canning machinery was monster-like and ominous in the dark, its huge metal spokes and arms catching the light from the five separate flashlight beams. Their booted footsteps were the only sound besides the odd drip of water.

"Anybody see any demon dust anywhere?" Dean asked quietly as they moved through a larger, echoing portion of the place. He saw nothing out of the ordinary so far.

"Bupkis," Bobby replied, his leathery voice echoing slightly in the open space.

"Nada," Rufus put in.

"Me either," Sam said, then turned to his sister. "Any EMF?"

" _Nope_." She switched off the little whining device and stuck it back into her jacket pocket, screwing her little tactical flashlight onto her pistol. Sam had his out too, but Dean wasn't convinced weapons were necessary yet. His was still in his holster. This place was a dead end so far. But that didn't mean they wouldn't find something somewhere else.

"This way," Dean said, leading them down a hallway toward the employee break room, where the latest murder spree incident had transpired.

As they approached, they heard something metal fall over with a loud clang from inside the very room they were headed for. Immediately, five guns came up as the hunters took the defensive and peered ahead, crouching slightly. Through a set of metal-grate covered double doors, a slight figure came out and abruptly flailed back at all the flashlights and guns in her face.

"… _Gwen_?" Dean asked, shock making his voice soft when he recognized the girl at the doors as their distant cousin, Gwen Campbell. His gun lowered.

Just as surprised as everyone else, Gwen lowered her half-raised shotgun, gaping around at everyone in turn briefly. "Dean? What are you—"

Behind Gwen, distorted slightly by the metal grate doors, a tall, bald man came into view then stopped short when he saw them. The sight of Samuel Campbell made Dean's blood run cold—making him remember his promise of 'next time I see you, I'll be there to kill you.' Without hesitation, he strode forward past Gwen and shoved the door open, barreling down on his grandfather and raising his gun as Samuel reacted by stepping back as his hand went to his holster. "Welcome to next ti—"

So focused on the object of his hatred, Dean didn't see the attacker who rushed him from the side—he only got cut off mid-way through saying the word 'time' by a fist to the face. He heard someone shout at him to " _get back_!" even as he reeled from the walloping impact that had just smashed into his jaw.

" _Hey hey hey_!" Sam was shouting, restraining Dean's attacker even as Gwen raised a gun to cover Dean, and Alex raised a gun to cover Gwen. Samuel stood there, frozen, hands half out in self-protection.

Dean grabbed his jaw and shut his eyes in an attempt to control the pain. "Son of a…" he trailed off when he opened his eyes and saw who'd hit him. Fighting Sam's grip on her upper arms, looking nearly unrecognizable… " _Jamie_!?"

She abruptly stopped struggling, a puzzled look coming over her face. "…Who?" Her icy blue eyes had nothing but wild confusion in them. "What did you just call me?" She looked underfed, exhausted, and pale. Her eyes were dull and her skin looked mildly _gray,_ her blonde hair was limp and unbrushed _._ She had no weapon or holster on her person to be seen and her expression seemed vacant and paranoid, lacking the intensely intelligent, sharp quality that was usually there.

Beside Dean, Alex stood and stared at her friend as she kept her pistol trained on Gwen, who was staunchly confused with her shotgun still aimed at Dean. "W-what's happened to you?" Alex asked, shell-shocked at Jamie's deteriorated appearance.

Dean looked at Samuel, who was the last person who'd seen Jamie, who claimed she'd disappeared out of the hospital without a trace… and Dean immediately knew it had all been fucking _lies_. "What did you do, you bastard?!" he demanded, lunging forward and grabbing his grandfather by the jacket with one hand as he hit Samuel across the face with the end of his pistol mercilessly.

It was chaos, what happened next:

"Hey _hey_!" Gwen shouted, cocking her gun.

Alex's expression was deadly as she stared Gwen down, moving closer fast and sharp with her gun ready to fire, finger jumping to the trigger. " _Don_ _'_ _t._ " The distant cousins glowered at each other hard, neither backing off.

Bobby and Rufus rushed in even as the girls remained locked in a standoff—they pulled Samuel and Dean apart with great effort—Samuel had a bloody lip and jaw thanks to Dean. He was holding his hands out in a staying gesture as he panted and Rufus held him back. "It's not what it looks like, just calm down, everyone!"

"Okay, will someone tell me what's going on here?!" Gwen demanded, eyes wild with apprehensive confusion. "Samuel?"

"Okay, why don't we all just calm down and not shoot anyone, okay?" Rufus asked, looking at Gwen with the shotgun and Alex with the pistol. "You wanna lower that thing, sweetheart?" He looked at Gwen meaningfully. She was reluctant, but with Alex's pistol aimed at her head and Rufus's warning glare, she did as she was told. "Dean?" Rufus asked, looking at the seething Winchester. "You wanna explain? Who is this guy?"

Dean glared at Samuel with every ounce of hatred he had stored up for the bastard. Bobby was holding him tight by the arms, keeping him from killing Samuel Campbell right then and there. "Our two-bit no good grandfather, that's who!" He yanked out of Bobby's grip with a surly proclamation of, "get off me!"

Still being held by Sam, Jamie's face began to change—where there had been glazed over nothingness, there was dawning realization, followed by sharpness and perceptiveness—she blinked rapidly, looking shocked, dazed, then quickly angry. She abruptly began to struggle anew at Sam's hold as she glared at Samuel with hateful fire. "Oh you _son_ of a _bitch_ —what did you do to me?!" she was furious. "What did you _do_!?"

"Look, it wasn't my fault—you lost your memory!" Samuel shouted. "I was taking care of you!"

"Bullshit!" Jamie spat, giving Sam a run for his money as he attempted to hold her back. "Locking me in a shed and making me heal your any and every wound is _taking care_ of me?! Keeping me half-starved and brain-dead is _taking care_ of me? You're a fucking _liar_!"

At the shocked, angered stares he got from basically _everyone_ but especially Dean and Alex, Samuel became calm. Too calm. "Listen to me, she's still not well," he said, discounting the pretty huge accusations Jamie had just hurled. "She doesn't know who she is. Woke up and thought she was one of us. I'm telling the truth."

Jamie looked terrified they'd believe him and began to fight even harder. "He's lying, he's _lying_!"

Dean was cold as ice as he glared at Samuel. He didn't buy the crap his grandfather was attempting to peddle for one second. He was noticing how Samuel looked _younger_ —stronger than before, and Dean put two and two together. He knew that whenever Jamie did magic, she would get ill or weaken and so her feeble appearance now suddenly made sense. _Son of a bitch._ Dean and Samuel's stares were waging war with each other. "Oh don't you worry, sweetheart, I know he is," Dean growled, and Jamie's terror abated a little when she knew someone in the room believed her. "This is the guy who sold his own _grandkids_ up the river to the king of _Hell_ , after all," he spat, wondering where Samuel got off.

" _What_?" Gwen was beginning to look sick and full of dread. "Samuel, what the _hell_ is going on?"

Samuel wet his lips, no doubt thinking up another lie. Dean looked at Gwen with a brusque glower. "Don't listen to a word this psychotic asshole says, Gwen, you hear me?" He turned to his brother. Jamie had stopped struggling. She looked sickly and exhausted—and broken in ways beyond physical. "Sam, let her go."

Sam's brows creased in confusion. "But—"

"I said let her go!" Dean thundered. Sam hesitated then complied and released Jamie.

Alex immediately helped her stand by putting an arm under Jamie's and standing beside her. Dean gestured at Samuel with his gun, making everyone in the room flinch back in anticipation of a shot that didn't come. But it would. The man was as good as dead. "I'm gonna find out what exactly you did," Dean said in a hard, low voice, pointing with the gun at the floor for effect, "then you're gonna pay up for all the _shit_ you've pulled on me, my family, and _her_." Dean looked at Bobby in no uncertain terms. "He tries to leave, one of you put a bullet in his head, you hear me?"

Bobby nodded. He knew all about Samuel's treachery and did as Dean said. "Yeah." Under Bobby's gun with Rufus right behind him, Samuel was silent and his dark eyes glinted with malevolent intent. Jamie looked back at him as Alex and Dean escorted her out of the room and down the hall, out of earshot.

A grayish hand pressed to her own forehead, Jamie had trouble walking. " _Jesus_ —" she mumbled. When they got to the end of the hallway where a larger room began, Alex had her sit on a metallic storage bin.

"Just take a couple seconds, just breathe," Alex coached, looking the hunter over thoroughly. Dean stood back a little, blood pressure about to give him a heart attack. What the hell did Samuel _do_ to this girl? She looked anemic, starved, woozy, near death's door. And for what, to make Samuel's big boy boo boo's better? What a _bastard._ Dean was tempted to go back into that break room and blow his grandfather's brains out on principle currently. Instead, he dragged a hand down over his mouth and tried to control his boiling blood.

" _God_ , Jamie…" Alex looked stricken by her friend's appearance. "What _happened_?"

The blonde shook her head shallowly as she frowned at the floor. "I'm… trying to remember. It's all jumbled."

Alex straightened and stared down the hallway where they'd just come from. "Dean, I'm gonna kill him," she said in a dark, angry voice, "I'm gonna bash his _brains_ in."

"Not if I don't beat you to it," Dean muttered. Alex walked off a few steps then paced the same four feet over and over again in an attempt to get herself under control. Dean approached Jamie like he might have a child. Got down on her level and looked up at her tense, pale face. She looked like she'd been through hell and he felt so, so bad for her that he almost couldn't ask. But he had to know. "James, it's important." He paused. She stared down at her own knees, expression sick. "What do you remember? What'd he do? I'm gonna go in there and give him what's coming, but you gotta tell me what he did to you."

Jamie glanced up at him briefly—her striking, arctic eyes were the only part of her that Samuel hadn't fully drained or conquered, it seemed—then she looked down again. She seemed confused, muddled, and very frustrated about being both of those things. "I remember… the, the vampire stuff. Right?" Dean silently nodded, telling her yeah that was right. She nodded, thinking more. "Yeah, and then… waking up at Samuel's place. He… tried to talk me into hunting with them, I think? I was still weak, really weak." She sighed tiredly, glossing over the fact that she'd saved Alex's life, that she'd somehow cured Alex of the vampire gene and fucked herself up royally in the process. Jamie seemed to recall something disturbing. "He was drugging my food… I remember finding that and…" she trailed off blankly. "Then _what_?" she asked that almost to herself, began muttering. "Dark room, him making me heal him all the time. Sometimes taking me out on hunts now, like this one. And…" she trailed off, caught herself, a look of shock and horror on her face before she swallowed whatever she was about to confess, shut her mouth, and looked away. Her arms went around herself slightly and she pulled away from Dean, even though he wasn't even that close.

Dean stared, stomach dropped to the ground. Did she mean…? Surely no. Jamie had a deeply traumatized, confounded look on her face as she stared into far distance. "He… called me Marie. Why would he call me that?"

Dean's blood went utterly cold with incomparable fury and he didn't need to know any more—he was already feeling murderous, but what she'd just said had him seeing blinding, _raging_ red. "I'll kill him. I'll _kill him_!" He whipped out his gun so fast the air made a _whoosh_ sound. He strode to the hallway, then stopped completely and turned on a dime, his expression calm and strange, calculating— _chilling_. Alex, a few steps off, stopped pacing and looked at him curiously. Her eyes went wide as his gun raised to aim at her chest. "But first… I'll kill you two."

A crack of gunfire rang out; the bullet pinged off metal as Alex dodged being shot just _barely_ by leaping sideways—Dean's gun followed her, already taking aim again to kill. He was abruptly attacked by Jamie, who bear-hugged him and yanked him down to the ground with her as she gave a feeble grunt. Already twisting out of her grip and pistol whipping her across the face, Dean sat up, straddling her as she laid stunned under him on cold hard concrete. His gun moved to shoot her in the head and the hammer cocked loudly.

Another shot rung out a millisecond after Dean went flying sideways thanks to a football tackle from his sister, who sent him tumbling into the concrete ground. His gun went clattering away into the darkness. "Dean what are you doing?!" Alex demanded in a high, crazed voice even as he grabbed her, socked her in the jaw hard, and threw her off of himself. Running footsteps could be heard coming from down the hall. Dean, wild-eyed and clearly not himself, took two steps back and then fled, turning to run into the dark. He left his stunned sister to push herself halfway up, staring with a split lip and a traumatized expression. Her lip was numb, throbbing, and pain was beginning to pulse—the inside of her lip had cut on a tooth and he'd hit her so hard she felt around to see if teeth were cracked or missing.

On the floor there was a groan, and approaching fast was the sound of running feet. Alex remembered Jamie and her stunned state faded away. She shifted and crawled over to her friend. Blood blossomed out of the witch's shoulder and the wound looked terrible—immediately, Alex applied pressure, panicking. What had happened to Dean? Why did he attack like that? She tasted blood in her mouth and the smell of Jamie's blood was acrid in her nostrils.

" _Unghhhh_ _…_ " Jamie moaned, blinking and staring at the ceiling with a strained, tight expression on her face. "Your idiot brother _shot_ me!" she hissed through clenched teeth, writhing in pain as she shut her eyes hard and let out a pained protest and muttered some choice curse words.

Sam, breathless and shocked as he ran up, dropped down beside Alex. "What happened, _what happened_?!" With Sam were Rufus, Bobby, Gwen, and Samuel.

"Dean pulled his piece on us, no warning, n—no nothing." Alex said, shoving down hard on the seeping wound with both hands as Jamie made nonsensical little anguished sounds. "Like he was possessed, but—how could he be?!"

"D-did you see black eyes?!" Sam asked breathlessly.

"No—he's got the demon ward!"

Sam breathed in deep through his nose and looked around for Dean, who was nowhere in sight. " _Where_?" he asked in a hard, urgent voice, and Alex nodded in the direction Dean had gone. Sam immediately took off that way, the beam of his flashlight disappearing around a corner as he ran.

Bobby crouched down beside Alex, trying to get a look at the wound. The blood pooling underneath Jamie told him enough. "She's losin' blood, fast."

"Needs a hospital," Rufus said, crouching too as Gwen stood around nervously holding her gun.

Samuel rounded Jamie and stood over her, looking down with an unreadable, almost warning expression. Jamie's somewhat-clouded eyes caught sight of him and brief intensity came to life in the icy depths. It happened so fast it could have been two seconds: Jamie bared her teeth against the pain and snatched Alex's gun, point-blank rapid-fire shooting Samuel in the chest three times, her aim precise despite a shaking hand. Even as the bald man stumbled back with his mouth agape from utter shock a single, harsh word shook out of Jamie's mouth in a terrified, enraged scream: " _Retrorsum_!" Samuel blasted backward supernaturally, gagging on his own blood even as he hit the ground with a crack. Gwen was already running to assist her grandfather even as Bobby grabbed Jamie's wrist and the gun clattered away.

"Hold her down, she's possessed too!" Rufus commanded as he grabbed her wrists and smashed them to the ground to keep her from fighting her way up.

There seemed no need for that. The witch gave no fight whatsoever. "I'm not possessed," she said in a small, defeated voice. "Just... killing another monster." Her head fell back onto the ground and she let out a weak, tired sound as blood ran out of her nose and her eyes grew woozy—the magic use made her near dead by the looks of it. She coughed wetly, and it sounded like she had pneumonia.

"H-he's dead," Gwen said in quiet shock as she stood back from her grandfather's still form.

The sound of running footsteps caused everyone to look and raise their guns. It was Sam. "What happened?! I heard shots!" He came up short, seeing Samuel's body. Still applying hard pressure to the bleeding wound in Jamie's shoulder, Alex looked at her twin and shook her head no. Ask later.

"You see Dean?" Bobby asked.

There was a grim shake of the head. "No. Whatever got into those guys must have gotten into Dean. And maybe her, too." Sam nodded toward Jamie, obviously putting two and two together as he looked between the blonde hunter and Samuel's corpse.

"Guys, she needs the hospital!" Alex protested. 

"And what if she decides to shoot more people?" Bobby asked, sounding very unsure about letting Jamie leave the premises at all.

Alex tried to control her temper. "She _won_ _'_ _t_."

"You don't _know_ that," Bobby replied evenly, giving her a reasoning _calm down_ look.

"Bob, zip tie," Rufus commanded. Bobby pulled one of from the weapons bag he had slung over his body and tossed it over.

"Hey, hey, you don't need to do that," Alex protested even as Rufus squashed Jamie's wrists together and zip tied them tightly. Jamie seemed to be unaware of everything happening—she just laid there with a look of suffering on her face as she took deep, unsteady, labored breaths.

"You don't _know_ that, birdy," Rufus said gruffly, repeating what Bobby had said with a great level of warning—telling Alex to use her head, not her emotions. He raised his voice and looked at everyone authoritatively as he stood up. "No one leaves until we know if we're possessed or under the influence of whatever trigger-happy big bad's working this cannery, you got that?"

" _Rufus_!" Alex protested, stuck on the ground as she applied pressure to stop the bleeding. "This is my _friend_ —she's been shot and she's already in bad shape!"

"Look, I don't like it either, but thank god it's just a shoulder hit," Rufus said. "Plug the hole, stay in the break room, keep a gun on her. If she's possessed, we can't risk you leaving. We gotta find Dean and figure out what the hell's going on before we do _anything_."

"He's right," Sam said, obviously regretting the fact.

Outnumbered and flabbergasted, Alex stared around and saw no one else was taking her side.

"I'll stay with you," Bobby said to Alex. "Anyway, I got the first aid." He looked up at Sam, Rufus, and Gwen. She was staring at Samuel's dead body with a strange look on her face. "You three go find Dean, figure out what the hell happened here," Bobby said. Gwen didn't appear to hear him at all and Bobby prompted her. "Gwen?"

She jolted back from her daze then swallowed her personal feelings of confusion, sadness, and uncertainty. "Yeah. Yeah, I can do that."

"Sorry about your grandfather," Bobby said, ever the considerate one.

She shook her head once. "I'm just sorry I apparently didn't know what he was capable of," Gwen said, face hard and stony. She glanced at Jamie inscrutably.

"Locked and loaded?" Sam asked, indicating everyone get their weapons out. "Don't shoot my brother unless you literally have no other choice," he warned with deadly seriousness. Rufus and Gwen both nodded understanding.

"Sam be _careful,_ " Alex said, sick at the thought of Dean out there and possessed by some sort of vengeful spirit or whatever. Her mouth hurt from where he'd slugged her and she still couldn't believe he'd _done_ that.

"You too," Sam said grimly, then led the way off into the shadows of the cannery.

* * *

Bobby pulled back and examined his work. "All right, whatcha think?"

Jamie glanced down at the makeshift wound dressing Bobby had crafted out of paper towels and duct tape. "I'll live." Her voice was tight and strained as she fought a lot of pain. Her pale, desaturated skin was clammy with sweat. And she gave a grunt of pain as she shut her eyes and visibly fought agony.

She sat on the solid wooden lunch table that was shoved against the far wall of the break room. Leaned heavily against the wall with her legs splayed onto the table awkwardly, she looked broken and beaten, pained, feeble. Bobby pulled out a flask and offered it her way. "This might help a little." A look of cautious, mistrustful surprise passed over Jamie's face as she looked from the flask to Bobby questioningly. "Never hurts to have the good stuff on hand if you ask me," he said, shrugging modestly and holding it out further.

Jamie accepted cautiously, cradling the flask with her zip-tied hands, eyes on him like she thought he was tricking her. But he wasn't, and when she realized as much, she took a deep, long pull then hissed, nodding and letting her head fall back against the wall as she squeezed her eyes shut against the burn. A long, heavy exhale followed. "Thanks," she murmured once she'd swallowed it down, a mild note of relief in her voice. After a second, she looked at him with guarded, careful eyes as she handed the flask back. "Bobby, right?"

"Right." Bobby stood up, screwed the cap onto his flask, and set to work putting away the supplies. "I knew your uncle, you know that?"

Jamie looked up at Bobby with startled, vulnerable eyes. "What?" Her voice fell to a whisper—her pain around the subject was obvious. "No... I... I didn't."

"Good man," Bobby said, putting the duct tape roll back into his weapons bag. "May he rest in peace."

Jamie looked down, nodding her very morose agreement. Her eyes dodged away, glittering with telltale tears for all she'd been through, and she worked hard to put the proverbial mask of indifference back on.

Alex was pacing near the doors cagily and peering out every few seconds to see if anyone was returning. It had been about ten minutes and she'd been like that the whole time. On edge and highly riled up, she looked back at Bobby in agitation. "I mean, should we go move Samuel's body, or…?"

Bobby stopped what he was doing to give her a pointed look. "No, we're gonna stay right here. Not like he's goin' somewhere." Alex raked a hand through her hair and took in a deep, tense breath, on the verge of combusting. She was just like Dean, unable to hold still when she got really upset. "Hey, you wanna take it easy on the blood pressure over there, kiddo?" Bobby asked. "Too young for a heart attack."

"Sam and Dean are out there and Dean tried to _shoot_ me! He _hit_ me!" Alex exclaimed in a highly incensed tone. She wildly gestured to Jamie. "And he shot Jamie! What if he shoots Sam, too?"

Bobby set down the supplies he'd been gathering and approached her calmly, coaxing her away from the door then holding her by both upper arms. She deflated a little in ruefulness when he touched her. "Now, you listen. They'll find him," he said slowly, certainly, kindly. "Don't you lose your head, sweetheart. Stay calm for me, all right?" He patted her arm reassuringly and she took in a deep breath, letting it puff out of her as she nodded despite her misgivings. "Everything's gonna be just fine," Bobby said, then the ghost of an almost teasing smile played under his mustache. "You wanna wear my hat?"

That question made her glance up and forget everything for a minute.

When she'd been a girl, she'd used to steal his cap right off his head when he napped or when he was sitting down. She'd just snatch it off by the brim and plunk it onto her own head and revel in the fun of it. Kids—so weird. She didn't really know why she had been so obsessed with it, but she had. And Bobby, of course, had always humored her and let her wear it awhile every time she took it. Grinning a little despite herself, cheered up by that memory just like Bobby had intended, Alex shook her head through a soft chuckle. Chuckling back, Bobby patted her on the side of the face, his eyes soft and fond.

The sound of metal creaking dismissed the moment and they both turned—the doors were swinging open. In came Sam, Gwen, and Rufus and… " _Dean_?!"

He wasn't in restraints and he was very obviously himself again.

Dean saw his sister's split lip and wide-eyed expression and he stopped in his tracks. " _Shit_." He looked mildly sick and hesitated a few feet away from her as Gwen and Rufus walked past him. He swallowed, staring at her bloody lip for a long minute before looking into her eyes in disbelief. "T-they said I tried to shoot you?"

Alex cracked a forgiving smile in the face of Dean's horrified tone and expression. "Good thing you're a terrible shot, huh?" He wasn't a bad shot though—she was a fast mover.

"I'm so sorry, Al," he said miserably, and she shook her head. "Fuck, I _hit_ you." He looked torn up over it and she knew he was hating himself for it.

"Yeah well you hit like a little bitch," she said jokingly, getting a surprised smile from him at the playfully insulting comment. She hugged him wordlessly and he hugged her back tightly. When they pulled back, Alex looked to him for explanation, and Sam too, who stood nearby watchfully. "What happened?"

Dean looked uncomfortable. "The herpe from _hell._ "

Alex made a face. "Huh, the what?"

Rufus held out a huge brown sack. "Alex, Bobby—weapons in here."

Her hazel eyes darted to Rufus in mild suspicion. "What for?"

"Do it," Dean said with a heavy nod, letting her know it was okay. She hesitated, then trusted his judgment and unholstered her pistol and put it into the bag.

"The creature or whatever behind the murders," Sam explained when his brother was silent. "Apparently it's a _worm_. Crawls in the ear, controls the mind, has total control over the host."

Alex frowned deeply. That sounded gross. "Wait, like the Khan worm?"

Dean gestured to her emphatically as if he were thinking _yes! Exactly!_ "Dude, that's what I said!" he exclaimed, looking at Sam like he was thinking _see?_ Sam wasn't really into Trek like Dean and Alex had been.

"It was in Dean," Sam said, stating the kind-of-obvious and ignoring the look from his brother..

"Was…" Alex repeated, looking at Dean, who was scratching his ear with an uncomfortable expression on his face. "…so if it's not in you anymore, where is it now?" She glanced around nervously.

"Question of the hour," Rufus said, waiting on Bobby to surrender his gun too.

"And the reason you want our weapons," Bobby reasoned, sticking his revolver in the bag grudgingly. He shook his head in tense thought, then pulled his cell phone out. "I'll make a few calls, see if anyone else's heard of anything like this before."

"Me too," Rufus said, sticking the bag of weapons into a locker and using a padlock to keep the guns safely removed from the situation. "I got a few trees I can shake."

Gwen exited the room in some kind of huff that came out of nowhere as Bobby and Rufus began making calls.

Alex watched their cousin leave, perplexed. She looked at Sam and then Dean. "Should we…?"

Sam sighed in mild annoyance, turning to follow Gwen. "I'll get her."

"I'm coming with," Alex said firmly, and the twins went after their cousin. Dean almost followed but then changed his mind and drifted over towards the back of the room after a couple seconds of hesitation.

Silent, watchful, and wary, Jamie was sitting on a table against the wall with her legs on the table. Her jacket was off and he could see how Bobby had done what he could to patch the poor girl up. Blood splatters decorated her errantly, and guilt grew. Dean had zero memory of shooting her or attacking her (or Alex for that matter) but he could definitely see the evidence. Shame filled him just like it had when he'd seen his sister's split lip a minute ago. He'd almost killed them both—a terrifying thought. Thank god he'd only shot James in the shoulder.

At his approach, her veiled eyes glanced his way. Her color was terrible, her skin was sweaty, her body language was decrepit. She was obviously drained but somehow hanging in there and keeping her wits about her. "Hey," Dean greeted carefully. He wasn't sure what to say. _Sorry I shot you? Too bad I tried to kill you, are we cool?_ He settled on a half-joking question: "You uh, you think you'll survive?"

Mistrustful things contemplated him in confusion. "What, you care about what happens to a ' _goddamn witch_ '?" she challenged, and maybe it had been meant to be an acidic question, but it honestly just came off as wounded.

And with surprise, Dean realized she was holding onto his reaction from the day when he'd first realized what she was. But despite all his shit about witches and how much he hated them... he couldn't deny it and hadn't been able to since _The Black Rose_. She wasn't like the other ones Dean had encountered. He still didn't know how he felt about it per say, but he _did_ know that this woman had saved Alex's life sacrificially and that she'd saved _his_ life too when he was fanged up—she'd chosen mercy on him. And he still thought about that a lot. Thanks to her willingness to help the Winchesters out—which he had a suspicion came out of a kind heart underneath all the tough girl shtick—she'd been through some really unforgivable and horrific shit. Dean felt at fault, and witch or not—he couldn't deny it. He cared. And if that made him a fool, he guessed he was a fool.

"I had no idea he had you," he said, wetting his lips anxiously, wishing he'd had some kind of clue. "None. If I _had_ —" her expression was killing him and he had to take a second to make sure he could speak evenly. "That bastard would've died a long time ago."

She tried to disguise the emotion on her face but couldn't. She was touched. And near tears. Her eyes fell away to vapidly stare at her hands. She thought for a long beat. The answered softly. "Guess we both have pretty fucked up family members, huh."

Dean had to concede her point, quiet and forlorn as his mind went where hers was. "Sure do, James." He wanted to know how to make this right. He felt guilty by association but... how did you even begin to make amends in a situation like this? One thing was for damn sure: he understood, maybe, where her head had been at when she found out what Glen had done. And whatever blame Dean had put on her then, he didn't anymore. He had a lot of regrets. And he figured this was the least he could do. "I'm sorry," he said with earnest gruffness, and pulled his switchblade out, cutting her restraints off roughly without explanation.

Surprised, her eyes shot to his again as she instinctively pulled her hands to her chest and rubbed at her red-mark lined wrists. Neither said anything about the impromptu zip tie removal, and Dean was glad. Somehow Jamie managed to sidestep all the painful wreckage she was in the middle of and adopted a joking demeanor as she sat there shot, dehydrated, malnourished, and in pain. "Just, don't shoot me again, 'kay?" she teased darkly. "Puts a cramp in my whole day."

Taken aback pleasantly and feeling a little guilty for enjoying the humor of it, Dean wasn't sure how to respond. "Yeah, I'll uh, I'll try not to." She didn't want to talk about the heavy stuff—he got that. Neither did he, but... he couldn't stop thinking about how he left this woman alone at that hospital with Samuel. But how could he have known? He never would have suspected Samuel of working for Crowley, selling out his own grandkids, and using a witch to level himself up and cheat death. Dean shook his head, unable to keep on joking when he thought about it. He sat down on the bench attached to the table, facing away from her as he leaned over his knees. "One thing's for sure, I think I at least owe you a damn drink or two after all this," he said, rubbing his forehead as he bowed his shaking head.

Jamie sounded wistful. "A nice glass of Merlot _does_ sound nice…"

Dean whipped his head sideways to look at her. " _Merlot_?" He scoffed in amusement at her drink of choice. "You're so uppity, you know that?"

For a second, despite everything, she grinned and chuckled, maybe because that had been his go-to insult when they were teenagers. 'Uppity.' She'd been so triggered every time he called her that back then—now she just thought it was amusing and nostalgic, he guessed. But the smile on her face—making her look younger and even more beautiful—made him smile a little too. She had a fighter's spirit. She'd be alright.

The doors abruptly shot open and Gwen burst in, breathless. "Guys? Samuel's body is _gone._ "

"Gone?" Dean echoed, standing up fast. "What do you mean, _gone_?"

"I mean _gone!_ " Gwen said. Behind her, Sam and Alex appeared, too.

"It's true," Sam confirmed, his expression drawn and worried—Alex was heading for the lockers.

"So, what, you guys think the Khan worm's got him?" Bobby asked, hanging up mid-call. "Or that he survived all those bullets to the chest?"

"I'm going with the worm theory," Alex said, swinging a crowbar at the locker and breaking the lock keeping their weapons out of hand. "Guns, anyone?" She brought the bag over to the table and dumped everything out there. Everyone picked through and got their pieces back, double checking the mechanisms quickly.

"Maybe you have to shoot the host in the head," Dean ventured, checking his slide and smashing it back into place with a solid metal click. "I know I wouldn't mind putting a bullet or two into that bastard, myself." He glanced at Jamie, who was silent and difficult to read, holding a hand against her wound dressing as she sat slack against the wall still.

"He's probably gonna try and leave the cannery," Sam said. "We gotta stop him."

"Yeah," Dean said, then pointed at Alex as they prepared to head out. "You stay here with James."

"Dean—" she protested, getting exasperated and ready to argue with him.

"No arguing!" Dean told her in a voice that said he was done with the conversation and not in the mood to waste time debating her. He was already heading out, and Sam was following closely as Rufus and Bobby took up the rear. Gwen, being the slowest to check her weapon, was jogging to catch up.

Irritated, Alex did what Dean said but with a bad attitude. The door shut behind the hunters and Alex and Jamie were left in silence. Alex gritted her jaw tightly, stewing about being left behind and bossed around—Gwen, who was obviously the slowest and least experienced, should have been left to do the babysitting, not Alex.

Behind her, Jamie sounded full of chagrin. "You really don't need to watch me—I'll be okay. You should be out there, not in here babysitting."

Alex turned, realizing her reaction was sort of rude. Feeling regretful, she forced a wan little grimacing smile. "It's fine. Gotta make sure you don't bleed out on the floor, after all." Jamie made a semi-amused face and Alex holstered her gun, looked at her friend, then decided it was time to make the best of the circumstances. "If you didn't have to go and get _shot_ we might be out there and part of the fun, huh?"

Jamie played right back with a soldiering little smile, despite her lackluster appearance and visible pain. "My bad."

Alex's lightheartedness faltered. She got serious as she thought about it. "Thanks for that," she said in increasing sobriety, looking over her clammy, pale friend who was obviously in a lot of distress. "You saved my life. _Again_." Truth be told, Alex owed her life several times over to this woman.

"Ah, you saved mine a few times," Jamie replied, uncomfortable at the praise. "Figured I owed you."

That's when Alex fully realized that Jamie's wrists, still hanging in a slouch across her knees, weren't tied together. She faltered. "What happened to the zip ties?"

Jamie's eyes cut to Alex's. "Dean."

Alex's eyebrows rose faintly in surprise. " _Dean_?"

"I was surprised too," Jamie admitted in a tone that struck Alex as coming from a very real place. Maybe that's why the witch covered over with a joke afterward: "Probably felt bad for shooting me. Least he could do, you know?" She re-positioned herself slightly with a harsh grimace and a muffled groan of pain.

Alex watched the blonde sadly. It needed to be said. "I'm so sorry, Jamie." Jamie's eyes slunk to Alex's. Guilt, pain, and shame was etched onto her pretty features. Knowing Jamie and having hunted together as long as they did, Alex knew enough to understand that Jamie felt things really deeply—despite the very careful guard and defense mechanisms, it was obvious. Alex had always gotten the impression that the witch was someone who felt guilty for existing, and forever trying to make amends for the things in her past that haunted her. Either way, Alex was devastated, because _she_ was the one who ought to feel guilty—she was the one who needed to make amends somehow. It was her fault, by way of association, that this had happened to Jamie. "I should have tried harder to find you," she admitted in a thick voice. It was easy to blame herself, because all this time she'd decided Jamie had just disappeared, she'd been suffering at Samuel Campbell's sick and twisted hand. "I'm... just glad you're alive. And I'm really, really sorry."

Jamie listened, faint hopeful confusion showing. "You tried to find me?" she asked, as if that were not what she'd expected.

Alex nodded emphatically, frowning. "Of course." After what they'd been through together hunting all that time, forging friendship and partnership, why wouldn't she?

The witch nodded, touched and pained, forcing a little smile. "That means a lot," she said softly. Still, that guilty quality lingered.

Alex tried to figure it out. Did Jamie regret her choice to shoot Samuel? Did she think Alex was gonna hold that against her? Well, either way, she decided to be real about things. "Look, just so we're clear..." she ventured. "I would have shot him too." Unreadable ice blue eyes snapped to look into hazel ones. "I don't know who he was, exactly. But I know he wasn't good. And he was gonna die today either way for the crap he pulled on my family. So… no hard feelings."

Jamie softened. "Thanks, Al."

Smiling to herself because the witch had taken to using the same nickname Dean did, Alex contemplated the other woman thoughtfully.

And then Jamie suddenly gasped, shooting off the table in panic. "Look out!" No sooner had she said that then an empty barrel of some kind hit her, knocking her out.

Alex whirled and immediately took a step back in shock at what she saw. Bullets riddling his chest, Samuel bore down on her robotic and fast. Knife already in hand, Alex made a wild slash at him—a button from his jacket flew off and pinged against a nearby wall even as he grabbed her wrist, stabbing the blade into his torso for her. Shocked, stuck in place with a grip like titanium on her wrist, Alex stared fearfully into the lifeless eyes of her grandfather as he taunted her.

"You can't kill me," Samuel's voice said, deeper and somehow growling. "She wants you to know… _you_ _'_ _re all going to die_." His lips curled upward ominously and he seized her, throwing her sideways into the metal lockers hard.

* * *

"Hey, hey, wake up," a familiar tenor voice was saying, and there was a patting hand against the side of her face.

_Samuel—Khan worm—!_

Alex sat up, wide-eyed and panicking as she regained consciousness. She looked around in terror, but the room was quiet, everyone was there, and Samuel's motionless body was sitting slumped against a concrete column a few feet away.

"Hey hey hey, it's okay," Sam said, the one who was crouched with her. He tried to get her to calm down. "You're okay. You got knocked out."

She remembered being thrown against the lockers and realized one side of her face hurt bad from where she'd fallen. Her shoulders fell as she groaned in pain and squinted in confusion, a hand against her pounding head. "What happened?"

"Samuel came back from the dead thanks to that worm thing," Dean said—he and Bobby and Gwen had just sealed the door with duct tape.

"Other one's coming around," Rufus announced, crouched over Jamie's crumpled body which had been thrown to the other end of the room. Alex tried to figure out what happened and how long she'd been out… and also how Samuel was dead—again.

"And what, Samuel's double dead now?" she asked, staring at her lifeless grandfather's body in a suspicious daze. She started to stand up and Sam helped.

"Bobby threw him against that breaker box," Sam explained, indicating a nearby smashed electrical outlet. "I guess it was a live wire. It shorted, he went ape. Then that thing crawled out of his ear."

Alex froze, disliking that idea. "…and went where?"

Dean hesitated. "Uh…" he shrugged somewhat ruefully. "We don't know."

Alex was chagrined. " _Guys_."

"Yeah," Dean agreed. "Well, either it bailed or it's _in_ one of us."

 _In_ one of us? There were seven people in the room—Bobby, Gwen, Rufus, Sam, Dean, Alex, and Jamie. That was a lot of possible hosts. _Geez._

Rufus helped a woozy Jamie sit down on the bench. She looked absolutely done with the day she was having so far. "One way to find out which one our little friend's cozyin' up to," he said as he straightened. "Everyone check your hearers." He promptly stuck his fingers into his own ears.

Alex stared, not understanding. "What? Why?"

"Left black goo when it ditched outta me before," Dean explained, sticking his fingers in his ears, too. Everyone else followed suit.

"It might just be gone," Bobby suggested when a bunch of clean index fingers came out.

"No," Dean said, skeptical and thinking hard, looking over the room with high suspicion. "It might've wised up and covered its trail."

Sam was shrewd and deep in calculation. "All right, let's settle this… one hundred percent."

"How?" Dean asked.

Sam spotted something and with purpose, strode over to the little kitchenette. He unplugged the coffee maker from the wall and used his knife to slice the power cord near the back of the machine. He then stripped about two inches of the cable off the wire, leaving metal exposed. "If electricity made this worm thing bail before, chances are it will again," Sam said, plugging the now live wire into the wall. He touched the end of it to a metal chair and sparks flew and popped as electricity crackled. "Okay, we're live."

"I don't like where this is going," Alex muttered, looking at the cable with a very disgruntled expression.

"All right, who wants to go first?" Sam asked, holding up the live wire and looking around between everyone.

"Ladies first?" Jamie asked from where she slumped in a chair like an old woman.

Dean immediately made a face that suggested she was absurd. "Oh no no no, the bullet wound victim goes _last_ — I'm going first." He pulled his jacket off fast and yanked his sleeve up. "Hurry up before I change—" Sam touched the end of the wire to Dean's arm for three long seconds in which Dean went rigid and a high sound of pain came out. When Sam pulled the wire away after shocking his brother with electrical currents, there was a red burn mark left on Dean's forearm. "Son of a…" he wheezed, shaking his head and recovering. "Whew. Awesome." He reached out for the wire from Sam. "Here, you want me to—"

Sam held the cable against his own arm, sending electricity through himself for a good few seconds—then he yanked it away with a noisy gasp, taking a couple seconds to recompose himself as he recovered from the jolt. So, two down.

Alex held out her arm, bracing herself, resigned. If a worm crawled out of her ear she'd seriously puke. "Hit me." Sam did—the feeling of being buzzed all over with horrifying electric impulses burned her blood, her hair stood on end, and she thought she felt her heart stop. Then it was over and she doubled forward, face crunched in pain as she tried to find normal again. "Holy fucking— _owwie_." She groaned.

"'Owwie'?" Dean asked, mildly amused.

"Yes," she said, giving him a deadly glare. "Owwie."

"Your turn," Dean said, approaching his silent, reserved cousin. 

After Dean had shocked her too, Gwen grabbed her own arm hard. "Aah! Haaa… _damn_."

"Okay, five down, two to go," Dean said, looking between Rufus and Bobby. Rufus, closer to him, got the luck of the draw. "All right Rufus, Let's go."

The older hunter suddenly didn't seem cooperative and held his hands out and backed up a little, smiling nervously. "Uh, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa." He made a time-out symbol with his hands. "Uh, no, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I—"

"No passes, Rufus," Dean said loudly, giving Rufus a slightly warning look. "Come on."

Rufus still protested. "I got a damn pacemaker."

"Well you better hope it's a good one," Dean retorted.

"Since when do you got a pacemaker?" Bobby asked dubiously, looking at his friend with a frown.

Rufus seemed indignant at the question. "Since Bush Junior, term one. I'm down three toes, too, FYI. All right, come on. Just make it quick." Dean did, and when it was over, Rufus writhed, stomping a foot down a few times. "God! Damn it! _Damn it_!" he rasped.

"You okay?" Dean asked.

"No, I'm not okay!" Rufus retorted with annoyed anger. "Give me that!" He grabbed the cable from Dean and looked at Bobby—the last one left.

"Okay. All right, my turn." Bobby smiled even as he backed up a step. "Well, it ain't inside me, so go right ahead."

"All right, then just stand still, Bobby."

"Okay, sure," Bobby said, slinking back another step.

Rufus paused, narrowed his eyes. "I'll make this quick."

"No problem," Bobby said evenly.

"All right?" Rufus approached him again as Bobby sidled away. "Let's do this."

"Okay, uh, just a second, Rufus." Bobby held a hand up.

"Just a second nothing, whatever you are."

Bobby's face showed shock. "I'm Bobby!"

"Bobby my ass," Rufus said, staring hard.

Without warning, Bobby suddenly whipped his hunting knife out and lunged forward, stabbing Rufus in the heart.

"Bobby!" Sam shouted in horror even as Rufus fell back, dead.

" _Pulso_!" Jamie shouted with surprising ferocity, hand outstretched with rigid fingers at Bobby before Rufus could even hit the floor. And even as Khan-worm possessed Bobby went down unconsciously, Jamie weakly pitched sideways, her eyes abruptly clouded over.

Roughly, Dean caught her mid-fall, an expression of incredulous disbelief on his face. "Will you stop that?!" he demanded in a sort of high-pitched, aghast tone—because she was going to kill herself at this rate. She shrugged faintly, groggily. Dean helped her sit on the nearby table again, complaining in a mutter the entire time.

* * *

Ten minutes later, Bobby stirred. They had duct taped him to a chair and zip-tied his hands behind him and his feet to the chair legs. In short, he wasn't going anywhere.

As Bobby lifted his head, Dean stared the man who was like a father in the eye and didn't show emotion—he reminded himself who he was talking to. "Well, hey, there, you little herpe," he greeted, standing and taking the live wire with him, touching it to Bobby's neck. The man trembled and seized from pain, some black goo came out of his nose to streak through his mustache, and Dean pulled the wire away, staring the enemy in the eyes. Eyes that belonged to Bobby.

"Why do you keep talking about herpes?" Sam asked, pulling a suspicious, amused face.

"Something you need to share with the class?" Jamie added in from her seat, earning a brief evil eye from Dean—even if she was exhausted, she still had the damn jokes. Gwen was standing off the furthest with arms crossed as Alex stood near Dean and held herself apprehensively.

Dean looked between Sam and Jamie both with a face that said he had no idea how to react to what he'd just been asked. "I don't keep talking about… and no." He was flustered and disgruntled and glared at nothing. "Just shut up. Shut up." Dean bent and put his face in Bobby's. "Now, don't you even think about shagging ass out of here, 'cause we got every crack in this room sealed, plus a witch over there, so get comfy."

"I _am_ comfy," Bobby's voice said—only it was lower, gruffer, and somehow demonic sounding. His face was his own but the way he held his eyes wide and ominous was strange, unsettling. He let his head wobble around slowly as he spoke, a creepy effect. "Your witch seems kinda screwy, I wouldn't boast." He smirked as Jamie's only perceptible reaction was a slight clenching of her jaw. "And anyway, it's nice in here. And you love this guy, don'tcha? You really wanna kill me and take him with me? Haven't you lost enough pals today?"

"We'll do what we have to do," Dean said, playing the part of hard and uncaring hunter. "And we got some questions for you, so you can either play ball, or we could fry up a little shrimp on the barbie." He held up the wire threateningly.

"Ask." There was a small, creepy smile. "Been waiting for you to ask."

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?" Sam asked.

"It means I got nothing to hide," was the slow, smug reply.

Sam was cold, his eyes were narrowed. "What are you?"

"You haven't got a name for me yet," the worm said coyly using Bobby's voice as his own. "I'm _new_ around here. Eve—the Mother of All—she cooked me up herself." Dean held the cable to Bobby's neck again—for a long time, almost too long, causing Sam to tense as if he were about to stand, making Alex almost beg Dean to stop. At the last second, as Bobby's face turned red, Dean yanked the wire away.

"Who is she, this Eve _bitch_?" Dean demanded in a rising, angry voice.

"The Mother of all of us, and the end of all of _you_ ," Bobby growled. "By the time she's done, there'll be more creatures than humans. You'll live in pens. We'll serve up your young and call it veal."

"And what's your part in all of this?" Sam asked darkly. "How's jumping a few truckers gonna help?"

"You think I'm here to mess with a couple of cannery workers?" There was a smirk. "We _led_ you here."

" _Why_?" Alex asked in a hard voice.

Bobby's eyes came to stare straight into hers, but there was no Bobby to be seen in them whatsoever. "She has a message for you."

"Well don't leave us hanging," Alex said flatly. "What's the message?"

"You're all gonna die…" there was a soft, foreboding smile. "She's pissed. She's here. And it's gonna be nothing but pain for you from here on in."

"Yeah like we haven't heard _that_ one before," Alex muttered under her breath, exchanging a brief, disturbed glance with Sam.

Dean gave a cold, lifeless little smile. "Well, here's my response." He put the cable to Bobby's neck again and Bobby made sounds of pain, his face contorting—and Dean didn't stop.

"Dean." Sam stood, no longer able to just watch. "Dean!"

The oldest Winchester yanked the wire away from Bobby. Sam stood close to Dean, worried. "How much more do you think he can take?" he asked in a near-whisper. Standing very close, Alex was silent, but she stood like a rod and her face was frozen in an expression of terror at the sight of her uncle like that.

"You can't kill me," Bobby taunted, "not without taking him with me."

Sam and Dean exchanged a silent glance, communicating something without words. Sam nodded, then went and picked up the duct tape. "Well… we'll just have to do what Bobby would want us to do," Dean said, and that statement made his sister look at him with an expression that showed nothing but dread.

"Dean—" she protested softly.

He turned his head toward her, clenching his jaw. "Don't watch if you can't handle it. We gotta do this." Sam was already wrapping Bobby's mouth and ears shut with duct tape despite Bobby's protests.

"No way out now, slug-o!" Dean said, then at Sam's nod, he moved forward with the wire. "Bobby, hang on in there." He put the wire to Bobby's neck, and Sam couldn't watch, he turned away with an agonized expression and Alex did the same not even two seconds later. If they had been looking, they would have seen that Dean shut his eyes too as he held that wire to Bobby's neck and waited, letting the man quake and buzz with current after current of dangerous electricity. The tape over his mouth muffled screams of pain. And then Bobby slumped forward and went still. Dean yanked the wire back, staring with wide eyes.

"… _Bobby_?" Dean asked. No response.

The twins were turning back around, dread filling their faces. Gwen and Jamie, silently watching with dread, were frozen.

"I-Is he…?" Sam asked, darting forward to Bobby and peeling off the tape. He recoiled as out of one of Bobby's ears came a black parasitic worm. It fell out into a lifeless curl on the floor—and it didn't move. The worm was the least of their concerns. All three Winchesters were trying to get Bobby to respond.

"He's not breathing," Sam said anxiously, then shook the man hard, " _Bobby_!"

Nothing.

They stood back, horror settling over them as they looked at Bobby in disbelief and growing realization. And just when they thought it was over, their uncle suddenly opened his eyes wide, took in a loud gasp of air, and looked around with wild eyes. "Holy Moses… you kids tryin' to fry me sunny side up or what?" he asked, looking at them like he'd just been traumatized for life.

" _Bobby_." Alex hugged him tight around the neck—maybe too tight.

"Easy, easy!" Bobby said, wheezing. She loosened her grip and he managed a little humor. "I'd hug you back but I'm a little tied up at the moment." He looked around, noticing the missing person. "Hey, where's Rufus?"

The room grew quiet.

Dean was the one who told him.

* * *

**Later**

Thunder grumbled in the distance as the four hunters stood at the fresh grave.

"I gotta say, I never figured Rufus for the religious type," Dean said. What with the proper burial and all. He stood next to Bobby—on the other side of Bobby, Sam stood silent and pensive. Beside Dean, hands in her jacket pockets, Alex's expression was very similar to Sam's.

"Well, he didn't exactly keep kosher," Bobby said in sad fondness. "He always used to pull the old 'can't work on the Sabbath' card whenever we had to bury a body." He chuckled, bittersweet. "You know, I-I was just Joe mechanic. Then my wife got possessed… went nuts on me, tried to kill me. I stabbed her, and that didn't stop her. Next thing I knew, this guy comes busting in, soaks her with holy water, and sends that demon straight to hell so fast…" he sighed. "I'd have gone away for killing her. But... Rufus cleaned up everything. Taught me a thing or two about what's really out there. Pretty soon, we were ridin' together. Worked like that for years. Me, him, the road…" he sounded reminiscent but deeply sorrowful.

"So what happened?" Sam asked cautiously.

"We fell out bad." Bobby shook his head slightly, guilty. "It was Omaha. It was my fault. And he never let it go."

"Well, he should've," Dean replied immediately.

Bobby looked at him in deep sadness, like he thought that was a nice but unrealistic idea. "You don't know what I _did_ , Dean."

Dean's features pinched and he shrugged. "Doesn't matter."

Bobby looked beside himself with grief. "What do you mean, it doesn't—"

"I mean at the end of the day, you three are family," Dean said, but he was speaking in a gruff, unhappy tone. "Life's short, and ours are shorter than most. We gonna spend it wringing our hands?" He shrugged slightly, looking them all over thoroughly and grimly. "Something's gonna get us eventually, and when my guts get ripped out, just so you three know, we're _good_. Blanket apology for all the crap that anybody's done all the way around."

"Why you talking like that?" Alex asked, clearly disliking the morbid subject matter.

"'Cause today was a reminder that this life ends, and it ends _fast_ for chumps like us," Dean said, almost angry about it. He stared ahead, didn't look at her or anything else.

Sam was giving his brother a highly skeptical look. "Some of us pulled a lot of crap, Dean—you think a blanket apology is good enough?"

"Yeah," Dean said, difficult to read as he looked at the grave with hard eyes. "Clean slate."

Sam's face worked as he tried to understand and digest what his brother had just said. He didn't seem convinced at _all_ but nodded to appease Dean's bad mood. "Okay."

Bobby pulled the top off of the Johnny Walker Blue he had with him and poured some onto Rufus' grave, a last tribute. Dean watched a minute then took a step back and walked off. Sam took a second then followed him, leaving Bobby and Alex graveside.

"What is it, Dean?" Sam asked, making Dean stop halfway back to where the cars were parked. A lazy, misty rain was beginning and making the air cold, cloying.

Dean looked frustrated, sick, and at the end of some mental capacity. He threw out an errant hand in their sister's direction. " _What am I doing_ , Sam? Like, risking her day in and day out, letting her just walk right into danger with us…? It's stupid and it's going to get her _killed._ "

Sam was reasonable and demanded his brother's gaze. "Dean, she does what she wants. Like it or not, she's a hunter. She was raised that way, in vast majority by _you._ You can't just... un-hunter her. It's who she is. It's who we _all_ are. And, I mean, face it. We're _stuck_. Once you're in, you're all in. No escaping, even if you want to." At the look of sheer dismay on Dean's face, Sam gave a wan little smile. "Come on, Dean. She's got us. And she's got Cas. Her boyfriend can freaking raise people from the dead. I don't think you have as much to worry about as you think."

Dean shook his head, jaw clenched tight. "Doesn't matter. I'll worry about you two until the day I die, Sammy. And I just got this _feeling_ _…_ like… I dunno." He looked toward their sister for another long moment then shook his head. "Just forget it." On edge, he turned and marched back towards the Impala with his hands jammed into his pockets.

Leaned against the Impala as she gave them respectful distance, Jamie waited patiently with her arm in a sling. Her color was still pale and she had the look of someone with a terminal illness, but her bullet would wasn't gonna kill her anyway.

Sam looked at her skeptically—he only remembered meeting her when she was a scrawny teenager, and he had no real impressions of her from then except she'd been smart and awkward and high-strung and insecure. He knew he'd met her this past year while soulless but couldn't remember that. The only thing he could think about was that she was the sister of the guy who had… messed with Alex. As such, Sam didn't know if he liked her. True, he didn't know her beyond the past twenty-four hours. But that didn't matter. Sam stood by himself there in the graveyard and fell into thoughts by himself. Samuel, dead. Rufus, dead. Gwen taken off, saying she was going to go find the New York Campbells. She had ditched just as soon as she could—because she was shaken up and said she just had to go.

Sam wished he had gotten to talk to her and Samuel more—ask them about the past year and what he'd done and been like when soulless. But Gwen wouldn't talk to him, and Samuel… well, he was dead.

* * *

Back at the graveside, Bobby took a long pull of the liquor he'd just poured onto Rufus' grave. Alex put a hesitant hand onto Bobby's back as he stared at the grave with that guilty, torn look on his face. "He chose this life," she said after a long moment of trying to figure out what to say. "He knew the risks. This isn't on you."

"Wish I could say I felt like it wasn't," Bobby said, shaking his head grimly. "But if it's not on me, then who?"

Alex said nothing. She rubbed his back a little, then looped her arm through his, standing beside him silently. After a minute, Bobby looked up from the dirt below and moved his arm to put it around her. He squeezed a little, not looking at her. "You're alright, gal."

She had a little smile on her face as she glanced at his grizzled profile. "Not so bad yourself." Awkwardly, she leaned her head to his shoulder in something like a hug. "Glad you're okay, Bobby," she said softly, trying not to get too upset about it. "Thought we lost you for a second there."

"Ah you'd be fine without lil ole me," Bobby said in a thick voice, looking off into middle distance. His hand patted her and squeezed.

Alex shook her head just a little. " _False_." She was trying to joke around but her real feelings popped out of her before she could hold them in. "I already lost one dad. I don't wanna lose another."

Bobby wasn't one to get emotional or talk feelings. When she said that, his face worked a little, his hand squeezed her shoulder a little firmer, and he nodded, letting his eyes glance at hers briefly as a soft, touched smile hid behind his beard. "I'll try and stay alive then, how's that sound?" He asked it in a joking tone, but his voice was thick with unspoken emotion.

"Pretty good," she said, her voice tight too as she tried to smile away the lump in her throat and the sting in her eyes. She didn't like to think about losing him—losing _anyone_ she loved. She motioned for him to hand her the bottle of Johnny Walker Blue and she drank some after raising the bottle in salute to Rufus' grave.

After swallowing the burning mouthful, she handed the bottle back and put her hands into her jacket pockets. The misty rain that could hardly be called rain was making her skin damp and chilled—the overcast gray skies fit the mood.

Bobby was frowning and peering past her toward the Impala. "Hey, you recognize that fella over there in the trench coat?"

Huh? Alex quickly followed his gaze and saw a sight that, predictably, made her heart leap ten feet. Castiel was there with Dean and Jamie, and at the same moment, Dean was pointing Alex out to Cas, who looked her way. Her heart jumped again, her stomach flipped, and Alex immediately headed that way in a quick stride. She passed Sam, who was standing around by himself near some headstones in what looked like reflection and thought. He stayed there, oblivious to everything.

Cas walked a couple of steps to meet Alex as she neared. She was overtaken by a rush of elation to see him. "Cas! What are you— _oh_." She saw how Jamie looked completely better—healthy, rosy-cheeked, strong again—and Alex stopped short, looking at her brother as she understood why Cas was there. "Dean, you called Cas?" she asked, impressed and sort of touched.

"Yeah," Dean said neutrally, shrugging, glancing at Jamie sidelong. "Figured he could help out a little. I figured right." Jamie appeared humbled at the attention, contrite even.

Cas was studying her beat up face with deep concern. "Alex—your face—what's happened to you?" he asked, putting a hand to her cheek and letting a thumb graze the bruise where she'd hit the lockers.

Alex didn't say it was Dean who had done most of the damage Cas was so vexed over currently. Instead she just shrugged. "Day in the life." He'd healed her already with that single touch and Alex glanced at their audience—Jamie and Dean—then cleared her throat, took him by the hand, and led him away a safe distance to underneath a large oak tree.

Underneath the old tree they spoke quietly and Cas took Alex's hands in both of his, holding them between himself and Alex at torso level like some old-fashioned weirdo. Dean watched vaguely, then looked away with an eye-rolling scoff when his sister grabbed the guy by the lapels and kissed him.

"Cute couple," Jamie commented, watching Cas and Alex with the slightest little smile. Dean sent her a skeptical look. "What? His coat's cool." Jamie wiggled her fixed shoulder experimentally, not seeming to believe it, then held out and looked at a healthy, pink hand with a still-entranced expression. "Also his magical healing powers..."

She fell silent and slowly pulled off the sling that she didn't need anymore. Dean watched sidelong. "You feeling ship-shape again, then?" he asked, hoping.

Even she seemed surprised as she nodded yes. "Like new." Her guarded, curious eyes studied him, clearly wondering why he was being nice to her.

"Good." Dean offered a thin, glad smile, a little uncomfortable at the intensity of her eyes. Least he could do. What Samuel had done to her plus the vampire-healing thing she'd done for Alex had done more-than-likely irreversible damage to her… but Cas, as usual, had been able to fix the irreparable. Dean didn't feel _quite_ so bad now—James would live. And he had to hand it to Cas, who was pretty useful to have around. The guy wasn't so bad really.

Jamie contemplated the graveyard unseeingly for a moment, deliberating. Finally, she spoke, and he'd never heard her use such a soft, vulnerable tone before. "Thanks Dean."

Dean glanced at her and shrugged, crossing his arms and leaning his back against the car a few feet off from her. "I meant what I said. I kinda owe you and then some. More than a couple beers. Or, sorry, _Merlots_."

Jamie grinned at the Merlot jab, and joined him in leaning against the Impala with arms folded loosely. Stealing a glance, Dean examined her again briefly. She looked herself again. Healthy, sharp, vibrant—and yes, annoyingly pretty. She'd looked pretty when she was sick too, somehow. He rolled his eyes at himself. Jamie remained unaware of his thoughts, in thought as she looked across the graveyard with an expression of fierce contemplation. For a minute, neither said anything.

Then Jamie broke the silence. "You really wanna help?" she asked cautiously, sounding like she was being careful not to sound too hopeful. Dean looked at her sidelong, waiting and curious. "Illinois's maybe six hours from here. That's where my car was when…" her face darkened slightly, "everything happened. All my stuff's in it. Or _was_." She wet her lips and shrugged, obviously loathe to ask for help. "I… could use a little money if you can spare it. I just need enough to ride a bus or something. I'll pay you back when I have access to my money again."

Money? He could do that. But he wasn't gonna stick her on a bus. Not after she'd saved his sister twice, him once, and put her own life on the line multiple times for them. Dean contemplated her for a minute and wondered how she was gonna keep on doing this hunting thing on her own—she didn't have any family left that he knew of. He wanted to ask, but it wasn't his business. Even though she hadn't said it, he felt it: she was a loner, but she didn't want be. And he couldn't imagine what that felt like. He had Sam and Alex. Who did James have? "I'll do you one better," he told her, deciding right then and there. "We'll take you there and help you round up all your stuff. No reason you gotta track it all down by yourself."

Jamie blinked twice in surprise, then immediately began to reject the idea. "Wh—no, you don't have to do all that."

He replied with conviction. "Yeah. I do." Dean was serious and meaningful. "You saved my sister's _life_. My bastard grandfather messed you up. Hell, I asked you to kill me and you spared my sorry ass. And then as thanks, I fucking shoot you—the hell is _that_?" The two shared the tiniest smile over that before Dean sobered. "So yeah. This is the _least_ we can do to help you out." She opened her mouth to protest and Dean held out a warning finger, cutting her off with the first juvenile insult that came to mind. "Don't argue James—you look real ugly when you argue."

She shut her mouth and studied him with an amused yet perplexed expression. Like she was vaguely onto him. "Hm. _Charmer_."

He couldn't help it. "Oh yeah?" he asked, teasing her and sending a playful, coy smile her way despite himself, because he knew it would get under her skin. It did. 

" _Stop_." She scoffed at his attempt to be cute and hid her annoyed but entertained smile, trying really hard not to find him amusing. She rolled her eyes, folded her arms anew and looked off into the graveyard. Spirits relieved a little bit, Dean relaxed and joined her in watching the graveyard. Under the oak tree, Cas and Alex were still close and speaking, but Alex's expression was no longer happy. She looked like she was having to say goodbye. Bobby was still at Rufus' grave, and Sam was hanging back, seeing how everyone was in moments of their own.

Jamie abruptly spoke up with a very sober, sad, guilty voice. "Dean. About what my brother did…"

Dean bristled internally. "Your brother's not you," he said gruffly, staring hard into far distance. "He's dead now. And we don't ever have to talk about him again." It was as much a comment as it was a command. "In fact, let's not."

Jamie nodded once, conflicted about it but going with his stance on it either way. "Ten four." 

Alex approached alone, mildly deflated. The angel was gone. "Cas have to leave?" Dean asked as she got close.

She nodded once, pretending to be fine about it. "As usual."

"Well, we gotta hit the road anyway," Dean said. "Illinois or bust."

Alex frowned slightly. "What's in Illinois?"

Dean looked at Jamie to answer, putting her on the spot.

"All my stuff," the witch said, slightly abashed.

Alex paused and got this funny look on her face as she looked at Jamie, then Dean, then Jamie again. "Oh… _ah_. Well, I, uh—I was actually gonna ride back with Bobby," she said, jerking her thumb back at Bobby's Chevelle. She turned to Sam, who had just walked up to stand beside her. "Sam, you were gonna ride back with Bobby too, weren't you?" She nudged him slightly in the arm, giving him a meaningful look.

Sam hesitated, a faintly confused expression on his face. He looked at Dean, who was giving his sister a weird look like he was wondering _what are you doing?_ Sam looked at his twin again. "Uh… yeah," he said, slowly, looking at her with questioning eyes. "Yeah I was." He gave a falsely confident smile, even as he was obviously trying to figure out what was going on.

Dean narrowed his eyes suspiciously at his sister, who thumped him on the shoulder enthusiastically, playfully. "No more shooting Jamie, got it?"

"Har har," Dean grumbled. He was probably never gonna live it down.

A few minutes later, the Impala rumbled off. Sam and Alex stood there beside Bobby's Chevelle with their bags as they watched Dean drive Jamie away. Sam looked at his sister with an expression of amusement. "What are you, a _matchmaker_?" he asked, having figured it out.

Alex shrugged. "I think he likes her."

Sam scoffed. "Dean likes pretty much any cute face and pair of legs he _sees_."

"No, I mean I think he _likes_ her," Alex said meaningfully. "And she might like him too, maybe. So… why not? Maybe they hit it off. Maybe she helps him get over the whole Lisa thing." She contemplated a little more seriously, realizing in fullness how, actually, it might be a better match than she'd considered previously. "And I mean, think about it. She knows the life. They're from the same world."

Sam looked like he wasn't so fond of that idea. "Eh, I dunno."

"Oh ye of little faith." Alex patted him and cracked a little proud grin as she nodded toward the Chevelle. "Shotgun!"

* * *

**Bootbock, Kansas**

Cas left Alex at the graveyard and answered the summons he received. He found himself in a place he didn't recognize. It appeared to be an old laboratory of some kind—no—not a lab—he spotted the metal gurney meant for humans and saw the blood spatters. An experiment facility, perhaps? Or a medical compound? Behind him, he heard a low, familiar chuckle.

"Ah, _Castiel_. My favorite liar. It's been awhile. How's the wife? The brothers-in-law? I trust all's well with you?"

Castiel turned around to see a familiar, hated face smirking at him and in annoyance, he looked away. Instead, he let his stern gaze wander around the dilapidated surroundings. Crowley followed his gaze, an expression of fondness turning his lips upward. "Ah yes. My newest evil lair. Like it? Used to be a maximum security crazy house for the deeply mentally disturbed." He looked at Cas directly, playful. "I feel right at home."

His jovial lightheartedness made Castiel angry. Or, maybe what made him angry was the reminder of how deep in he was with the lies and deception. "What do you want, Crowley?"

"To have tea and biscuits, of course," the demon said casually, then took a few steps forward as faint annoyance began to play on his strong features. "What do you think, you cheap suit wearing nancy?" He looked at Cas expectantly. "I've heard _Mommy_ _'_ _s_ back." Castiel couldn't conceal his reaction and Crowley smiled with wicked pleasure. "Ah. I see you have too. Well. Then the reason I called you should be obvious."

Castiel said nothing, only able to think of how abominable this was to be meeting with Crowley in secret. The demon took his silence for ignorance.

"Are you really that thick, choir boy, or do you just enjoy making me explain the painfully obvious?" Crowley asked sarcastically. He spoke in a hard, pointed voice. "We need _Eve_ —she's got the four-one-one on how to find and open Purgatory—really, Cas, you make profound stupidity look so _attainable._ "

More and more, Cas wanted nothing to do with the seedy nature of these dealings and as such, found it difficult to want to cooperate with Crowley in the least. He was curt and hostile. "I'm fighting a _war_ in Heaven. I don't have any resources at my disposal right now, Crowley, _you_ _'_ _ll_ have to find her."

Crowley exploded in a fit of indignant, red-faced rage. "Oh _yank it out of your arse,_ halo!" The demon let the words echo and then composed himself, giving a cold smile as he looked at Cas with baleful, warning eyes. His slithering, silk voice grated on Castiel's every last nerve. "Do you recall, darling, the fifty thousand souls I loaned you way back when?" He exploded again into a booming shout. "I bought dinner, now _pay up_ and _put out_!" Coming closer to put himself toe-to-toe with the angel, Crowley stared Cas down testily. " _Find_ Eve, _bring_ her to me—think you can you handle that, pew-warmer? And don't worry, I'll take care of the torture, you don't need to worry about soiling your precious little princess hands. We get the bitch, I carve the location out of her, we crack open monster-land—you get your souls, I get mine, you kick Raphael out, I'm cemented as King of Hell, and 'they all live happily ever' after or some tripe like that." Crowley's dark eyes glinted as Castiel stared into them, seething with utter hatred. "Do we _understand_ each other?"

Castiel asserted dominance by stepping forward slightly and using his taller height over the demon. "Do not assume to command me like some foot soldier."

The triumphant smirk on Crowley's face was back. "Whatever you say, fluffers."

Angered, upset, deeply bitter about the choices he had made, Castiel ported himself away from that place. There had to be another way. Surely there was some solution to this problem of war that he could find. Castiel looked around and realized where he had taken himself to—the park. Their picnic table. The one where a lifetime ago they had thought the world was ending and he had asked her to give the rest of her days to him.

For the briefest moment as his eyes took in that picnic table and his mind went over the memories, he thought about going to his Alex and confessing everything to her, begging her forgiveness, begging her understanding, begging her for help and advice and support. But then he thought of how he had made his choices and now he couldn't undo what had been done. And certainly, more than anything else, he couldn't put the crushing weight he lived with onto Alex's shoulders—not even fractionally. She was innocent of this.

He put his hand into his trench coat pocket and found the familiar silver circle in the bottom of the pocket. The touch of cool metal reminded him of trusting hazel eyes and arms that held onto him tightly. His heart sank, his stomach turned with ill feelings.

He couldn't work for the King of Hell. He just _couldn_ _'_ _t_.

Backed into a corner, the rebel angel began to contemplate ways to escape what he had done and take matters into his own hands, ways to win the war without resorting to partnering with demons in the darkness.

* * *

**Three Days Later**

He found the angel he was looking for at some sort of social club. In a back room on a plush red couch, two giggling, scantily clad women crawled all over a man who was chuckling in low pleasure as he groped every curve and swell he could find.

Cas announced his presence as he always did: stoically. "Hello Balthazar."

The two women gasped and sat back as Balthazar blinked in surprise and quickly deflated. He managed a weary smile, either way. "Cas. You look…" he waved a hand at Cas a few times, trying to find the right word. "Constipated."

Castiel stared at his friend somberly as muffled music thumped from nearby. "I have a dilemma."

"So do I!" Balthazar said, indicating the women on either side of him. " _You_ , interrupting." When Cas said nothing, only frowned slightly, the playboy angel sighed reluctantly, stood up, and straightened himself. "Ladies, could you give us a moment?" He smiled charmingly and winked at one of them as they obliged while sending flirty smiles over their shoulders. The door closed behind the girls, leaving the two angels in the small lounge room alone.

"All right Cas." Balthazar said, resigning himself and crossing his arms as he prepared to hear his brother out. "What's so important, _hm_?"

Cas was grim. "I need you to do something for me."

"Sure, anything, Cas," Balthazar agreed readily, then edited himself playfully. "As long as I can have a few hours to pleasure the locals, of course." He smiled suggestively, but Cas didn't really react—unless mild annoyance counted.

"To beat Raphael, I need to take drastic action," Castiel said gravely as he paced a couple steps over. "I need more power."

A frown crossed the other angel's face. "But the weapons we just got—"

"Are useful." Cas stopped, drew a deep breath, and let it out tensely as he held his jaw tight then shook his head just once. "But he's an archangel, I'm just a seraph."

Balthazar smiled ruefully. "I wouldn't say _just._ "

Cas glanced at him briefly. "The point is, even with the weapons it's too big of a risk to go against Raphael. He's afraid right now and retreating since we came into possession of the weapons, but it won't last for long. He'll regroup."

Balthazar acknowledged the facts with a nod but then reminded Cas of something else. "Might be hard for him to do minus his two right-hand howler monkeys." He smiled solicitously. "I must say, that pretty little lady friend of yours is quite impressive—what with killing two of our biggest enemies in one day and all. Perhaps we should employ her, hm?" At the immediate look of severe disagreement on Castiel's face, Balthazar rolled his eyes. "I'm _joking_ , Cas. Sorry, by the way. About the whole Raphael-almost-getting-her thing. I didn't expect the Scooby Doo gang to find each other with five thousand miles between them in that little alternate dimension. Suppose I underestimated their tenacity. Hindsight, eh?"

Cas's face was tired and drawn and he seemed apathetic. "It's forgiven."

Confused, Balthazar frowned. " _Really_."

"I don't have _time_ to hold grudges right now," Castiel said, mildly frustrated.

"All right, well, I'm glad." Balthazar studied his brother carefully. "Now what is it you need me to do?"

There was no reply for a long, somber moment—Cas looked reluctant to say. "I need souls. Lots of them."

Balthazar stood a little straighter, thinking quickly, a bit surprised at himself. "Ah, yes, yes… why didn't I think of it before? The more souls, the more power." He mulled it over, then turned impish. "So what do you suggest…? I go on a little soul snatching mission? Genocide's a good option, I could sink Australia, perhaps?"

Castiel reacted with a sharp, angry look. "No, _no_. We need a way to get souls that doesn't involve the needless deaths of human beings."

"Well you can't have your cake and eat it too," Balthazar retorted, unsure how Cas thought he could come into possession of souls otherwise. An annoyed side glance came his way.

"I don't want _cake_ , Balthazar, please focus on the subject at hand." Cas paused, his stern features making his face look rigid and aged. "I've been thinking about this for some time now. If we could find a way to generate _new_ souls—perhaps by changing a major disaster in recent history—we could use the new souls for the war efforts."

Balthazar took a moment to try and understand what his brother was saying. "So you're saying save a bunch of mouth-breathers somewhere in earth history and use their souls once they die and reach good ole paradise?"

"Exactly."

"And, _what_?" Balthazar questioned impertinently. "You just want to sit around and kick dirt while all these new humans who otherwise wouldn't have existed grow old and die? Last I checked we were a bit crunched on time. We need the souls _now_ , correct?"

"We won't have to wait long." Castiel's eyebrows shrugged up briefly in an expression akin to self-loathing. "Fate will be upset by the change in cemented history and she'll begin to do the work for us."

Balthazar's eyebrows slowly rose. "…You mean by killing all the new souls that we generate and sending them upstairs. Well, that's _one_ way not to get your hands dirty." He was mildly taken aback at the idea and how crafty and underhanded it was. "Cas, I have to say—I _am_ surprised. This doesn't seem like you."

Cas didn't seem to think so either. He was touching a velvet tassel on the curtains draped against the walls and his features were like a rock. "The alternative is exponentially worse."

"And what's the alternative?" Balthazar asked, noticing how Cas almost seemed to be hiding something.

Castiel's eyes slunk to Balthazar's slowly. "Losing to Raphael, of course."

"Ah." Balthazar contemplated his brother a moment longer and decided not to ask any more questions—Cas seemed on the unstable side lately and anyway, the idea was a decent one. No need to push his luck. "Yes, of course. Well. No worries, Cas. We'll kick Raffy's ass yet, you mark my words. Now, about your soul-minting, I already have an idea of where, precisely, to get them. Should generate, oh, say fifty thousand souls or so for us for starters." A small smile played on his lips. "Does the phrase ' _I_ _'_ _m king of the world_ ' mean anything to you?"

Cas reacted with confusion. "…Should it?"

Cas never _had_ been one for keeping up with popular culture. "Never mind," Balthazar sighed, then clapped Cas on the shoulder with confidence and fondness. "Just leave it to me, Cas. You'll have your new souls faster than you can say 'draw me like one of your French girls.'"

Cas hesitated, brows moving in towards each other. "…I don't think I would ever say that."

Balthazar suppressed the urge to give a fed up groan. Why did he even try? " _Right_. Well." He straightened his blazer with a smart snap and gave a roguish little smile. "I'm off to go unsink the Titanic."


	75. Dust In The Wind

" _All my dreams pass before my eyes, a curiosity_ _…_ _nothing lasts forever but the earth and sky. Dust in the wind... all we are is dust in the wind._ _"  
_ \- Kansas

* * *

***** CONTENT TRIGGER WARNING: Suicide and Self-Harm mentioned *****

* * *

...On April 17th, 1912, Pier Nine in New York City welcomed the arrival of the _RMS Titanic_ without any complications. Two-thousand and twenty-three passengers disembarked the luxurious cruise liner amidst enthusiastic onlookers, laughter, and flashbulbs from newspaper cameras. It was heralded as a success and the ship would go on to sail the Atlantic many times without incident. Oh, how things changed with that narrowly avoided iceburg and the twist of fate brought about by angels…

* * *

**Present Day**

Sam and Dean walked out of Bobby Singer's home with packed bags and chastened expressions. It wasn't often that Bobby kicked them out, but today was one of those days. The older man was depressed about Rufus dying and wanted space, telling the boys to get lost and leave him alone. It was odd behavior from Bobby, but grief did odd things to people, Dean thought. It had sure done an odd thing or two to _him_ throughout the years.

At least he and Sam had a job to go get on and occupy themselves with if nothing else.

People were dying off fast in Pennsylvania and it looked sort of like a family curse, maybe—should be an interesting job to say the least. Dean tossed his bag into the backseat of the good ole two-door Mustang. Sam got into the car and had to struggle to cram his freakishly long legs in, as usual. When Dean got in and cranked the engine up, Sam had this look of deep concerned thought on his face. "You know, maybe we should wait 'til Ellen gets back."

"Dude, she just called from the road, said she'd be here in two shakes." Dean gave his brother a meaningful look. "You _really_ wanna sit around and smell him stew in his juices?"

"Yeah, not really," Sam conceded flatly then paused, scrunching up his face in something like deeply disconcerted confusion as a thought seemed to occur to him. "Hey, do you feel like we're _forgetting_ something?" He looked at Dean with this expression of confused bewilderment.

The question caused Dean to take a couple beats— _were_ they forgetting something? He was suddenly wondering the same thing. He looked around the car and sat back with a hand on the wheel, quickly becoming as mystified as Sam was. In his head, he went over everything. Bags, weapons, lead on a job, Sam in the passenger seat… that was it. "What would we have forgotten?" he asked, even though he now really felt like they _were_ forgetting something.

Sam seemed unsure about the answer, but was coming up with an uncomfortable blank. "Yeah. No. I dunno." He took one more second to think then visibly brushed it off. "Let's just go."

Dean thought a minute longer, trying to put his finger on the itch that was suddenly inside of his mind, but he couldn't. As such, he scoffed at was probably nothing. He put the car into drive and the Mustang pulled out of Bobby's. As they hit the road, Dean glanced into the rear view mirror, almost expecting to see someone in the reflection. He frowned at himself. _Who_? Who would be there in the back seat? He shook off the strange sense of déjà vu, figuring it was the the lack of sleep, and returned his eyes to the road ahead.

* * *

**Twenty Six Years Ago  
Blue Springs, Missouri**

The year was 1986. John Winchester glanced briefly at his kids as he drank straight out of the bottle. Ocean of Dreams Bourbon—John's favorite whiskey in all of existence. It got him drunker and more numb faster than anything else. The impossibly dark whiskey had been invented back in 1915 by new immigrants to America and was a mean, high alcohol content liquor… he didn't let himself have it too often because it often made him think very bad ideas were good ideas. But tonight, he needed it. His nerves were fried, the kids were getting on his every last strand of patience, and he was so damn frustrated with everything that he could barely function. The alcohol made it easier. But just barely.

He sat hunched over a little motel table at night as he obsessed over countless newspaper articles in search of _anything_ that he might connect to the paranormal or to his wife's death. It was like grasping at straws. He was coming up with infuriating blanks.

It had been two and a half years since that night when a fire and a monster had destroyed everything he loved. Since then, every day was more and more miserable for him. Every day it was a struggle not to put a gun in his mouth and end his existence.

The reason he kept going? Mary's memory and the need to avenge her. And his kids too, of course. He added that thought on automatically, guiltily. If he was being honest, the search for revenge was the biggest driving force of his existence. His kids made him feel nothing but guilt. They made him see nothing but his own failure. John was no fool, he knew how shitty their lives were turning out to be because of him and his procrastination, denial, and his messed up priorities. Dean wasn't even in school yet and should have been a year ago, Alex was going without any kind of therapy or assistance for her mutism. Sam was the only one John hadn't fucked up yet but he was sure the day would come. It felt too late to fix what he'd done and yet he knew it wasn't. But he still didn't step up to the plate.

They were good kids, too. They didn't deserve a useless, sad waste of space dad like him… this father who always sat in the back of the room being too overwhelmed by his fear and grief to parent. This father who only interacted with his children when he was angry with them… which was more and more often the more time went on. He looked at them and saw his own failures and shortcomings, he looked at them and hated himself for all number of reasons. He wished he could just love them right, he wished he could just let this monster hunt go. He'd tried a couple times. But he just couldn't. Life had lost all meaning except the hunt. John downed another swig of his poison of choice and felt the sting burning away everything—the feelings, the sadness, the pain.

At seven years old, Dean sat cross legged on the floor of the motel room as he held his little sister. Alex, tiny and three years old, was sitting in her big brother's lap and smashing Lego blocks together with great amounts of concentration on her little face. Sitting in front of Dean and facing his siblings, Sammy was constructing some kind of wall out of Lego.

"What're you building, Sammy?" Dean asked in that curious, kind big brother voice he used so often.

"Mo-tel," Sam replied in a sing-song voice.

John felt guilt at his son's proclamation. Most kids would build a _house_. The twins didn't probably even _know_ that families lived in houses. All they knew about were motels and the Mustang and always being on the move.

Alex abruptly made to snatch Sam's wall, trying to steal his pieces—in the process, the structure broke in half. "No no no, Allie—" Dean said, grabbing her arm even as Sam got mad and snatched his wall bits back. "Those are _Sammy_ _'_ _s_ pieces—we have to _share_."

"Broke my thiiiiiinnnnnng!" Sam wailed at his loudest volume, clutching two halves of a very easily-repaired block wall to himself in very sudden and ardent petulant anger. " _Broke it_ , Elks!" He couldn't pronounce 'Alex' yet.

Grated by the outburst—the tantrums from both the twins were at an all time high right now and he didn't even _know_ what he would do if _both_ of them were capable of making the noise that Sam was—John snapped at both of his sons in turn. " _Hey_ —no crying, young man!" he told Sam roughly. John stared hard at his oldest. "And Dean, for the last goddamn time: don't call her that." He said it more sharply than he needed to.

Contrite and mildly hurt by the tone his father had just used, Dean nodded and visibly swallowed his feelings away. "Yes sir. I forgot." Allie was what Mary wanted to call her. And John couldn't stand the reminder. The nickname was too sweet. Too soft. John hated it.

"Broked my thing," Sam said again, trembling dramatically with short, impassioned breaths. He hadn't paid much mind to his father's reprimand and was seething about his broken Lego wall.

"It's okay, you can rebuild it Sammy, here… lemme show you," Dean said, trying to pacify the situation.

But Sam was indignant and refused Dean's help. He stood up, clutching the two halves of his little wall hard. "Broke my _thiiiing_! Ahhh!" He threw his blocks at his sister's face in a fit of crazed toddler rage. Alex promptly got just as upset and jumped at her twin to pull his hair and smack him in the face with her hand. Sam went prone and screamed bloody murder. "Hitting me, _ahhhh_!" Dean tried to pull the two apart and Sam's screams only grew louder as he tried to hit his sister back.

John, unable to take one more second of the chaos, shot upwards to stand. " _Enough_!" he shouted. The room went silent. His children all looked at him with wide eyes at his loud, thundering tone—and John felt guilty for being so gruff. Sam's little fit of rage was over—he stared at John and then whimpered, inching toward Dean before he began to cry from fear as he clutched his big brother—his silent sister was clinging to Dean, too, and all three of them looked at John like he was scary. Ashamed of himself and his lack of self control, his inability to know how to talk to his kids or get them to calm down, John was miserable. "Jesus _Christ,_ " John commented to himself, jamming a hand through his hair and going back for more whiskey. Mary had been the better parent. Three kids was just way too much for one dad to handle.

He swallowed another flaming mouthful, trying to think, wishing for some sort of reprieve he knew he was never going to have. Mary was supposed to have been here with him for this. "Dad, they're just babies," Dean reminded nervously, cautiously. "T-they don't know—"

John whirled around, incensed. "I know that Dean, just everyone _be quiet_!"

His children, again, were visibly taken aback and frightened at his strong tone. John stared at those three beautiful, innocent kids and felt so much utter despair. He didn't know how to _do this_. This wasn't what he'd signed up for, and this wasn't what a kid needed either. Back when Dean was just a twinkle in Mary's eye, John had pictured the white-picket fence ideal: his loving and faithful wife at home… his children running to him and adoring him and seeing them as his hero…

And instead he'd ended up with _this_. A brutally murdered wife whose death had yet to be explained. Three kids who were more scared of him more than anything else. A life on the road in miserable setting after miserable setting. Never quite knowing where the money for the next meal would come from… often times choosing selfishly to get himself whiskey instead of real, good food for the kids.

John knew, he _knew_ that if someone saw the things he dragged these kids through, they would be taken away from him. And maybe they _should_ be taken away. Especially Alex, who needed things he didn't know how to give. He'd blamed himself for her mutism since Mary's death and he always thought if he found the thing that killed Mary he could save Alex somehow from what had happened to her. But the trail was cold. He was useless. And he was doing his kids more harm than good. Things were getting worse, not better. He was trapped in this life and had nowhere to go but deeper in. And what about them? What about _them_? The boys could hack it, but her…? Little mute Alex?

The whiskey he'd been nursing all night long burned in his stomach and inclined his mind to dark considerations. He looked at his boys and his girl and hated himself and wanted to _smash_ something.

"Shh, Sammy, it's okay," Dean was saying, trying to get Sam to calm down. He was holding onto both of his siblings despite his small form. "It's okay, Al. I got you. I'm right here, okay? _Mwah_." He kissed her noisily on the cheek and she hugged him around the neck strongly. "Ouch, Alex, not so hard, okay?" Dean chuckled, patting her back.

Most dads would probably see that sight and be proud. But to John, it broke his heart. Dean, a seven year old boy, was more of a parent than John was and it _killed_ him.

_I can_ _'_ _t do this anymore. I can_ _'_ _t._

He'd felt this way for awhile, but that night he felt it so strongly that it sent him into a state of panicked stupidity. Instead of taking some time to calm himself down and think, John took another huge pull of the liquor and lurched over to his children, reached for Alex, and picked her up. She didn't hug his neck like she did with Dean. She clutched her hands to herself and looked at him with a vexed expression, like a child might look at a person they weren't sure how they felt about. Maybe it was the strong smell of alcohol on him, but she was stiff in his arms and mistrustful.

If she had reached for him and hugged him, maybe he wouldn't have done what he did next.

In his drunken state, his emotions were very close to the surface and John looked his pretty baby girl's soft round cheeks and long dark lashes, the sweet curling baby hairs that framed her face, those impossibly large hazel eyes. He loved her so much he could burst. She needed better than this shit life in dirty motels with a drunken dad. She deserved more than he was apparently able to give. And all of it be damned if he didn't do the right thing for her while it was still possible.

John decided to do what he had thought of doing for a very, very long time now. "You want an ice cream, baby girl?" He asked kindly, so that her last memory of him would be a good one.

That question seemed to alarm the oldest one. "I-isn't it kinda late for ice cream, dad?" Dean asked, very keen even at seven. He knew something was up.

"No," John said, and for a moment he reconsidered—he doubted. Then he darkened and made himself follow through. "It's not. I'm taking your sister for a little walk to the gas station, boys." He turned to go out into the chilly night air, holding a confused Alex up high in his arms.

"We want ice cream toooo!" Sam said, jumping up to follow.

"No, just me and Alex," John said firmly.

"Dad, wait, her jacket!" Dean said, running with the little jacket. It was a boy's jacket. Alex wore mostly hand-me-downs and Sam's clothes. John had a hard time with bows and lace and pink, all things Mary had been so excited about. She had wanted a little girl so badly. And John didn't know what to _do_ with one.

He took the jacket and maneuvered Alex into it with a little trouble. Knowing that she was going somewhere, Alex clutched onto her dad and looked back at Dean, who was her security object—she reached for him with an expression of straining. Dean was worried and anxious, and he was visibly having to hold himself back from reaching out for his sister, too.

"Dad, are you sure? I… I don't think she feels like going…" Dean said uncertainly. He got no reply.

John's chest constricted. He told himself this was the right thing for his little daughter, the girl who was supposed to have been a princess and instead was an afterthought. In a rare gesture of fatherly affection, he leaned in and kissed his daughter on the head. Dean watched as his father carried his sister away from him and out of the motel, and in the years to come he would curse himself for not listening to his brotherly instincts, for not telling his dad _no, she can_ _'_ _t go with you, she has to stay here_. Just before the door closed, John could he heard asking a soft question. "We'll be right back, won't we, Alex?"

But Sam and Dean never saw their sister ever again.

Many hours later, a very worried Dean was still awake and making himself sick with concern. He was alternating between peering out of the motel room blinds and watching his sleeping brother. Sam was hugging a pillow to himself—he'd had problems falling asleep without his sister there. As much as the twins fought, the end of the day always came and they would curl up to each other without fail. But not that night.

Dean's little mind was harrowed—why did Dad take Alex for ice cream? Alone? Dad never separated them like that. And it had been so long— _too_ long. Dean wasn't used to being away from either of his siblings for more than a few minutes at a time. He had a pit of fear lodged in his stomach that wouldn't go away.

When his father's familiar shape finally approached on the sidewalk outside, Dean felt relief—but then just as fast as he felt relief, he felt fear. Dad wasn't carrying anyone, and no little Alex silhouette walked beside him. John Winchester came into the motel room alone and Dean's little face was slack, his eyes were wild with fear as he looked around for his sister. He didn't understand where she could be or what had happened and he looked at his father for explanation.

John shut the door loudly, his expression foul and stormy. His eyes were red like he'd been crying.

"Dad, w-w-where's Alex?" Dean asked breathlessly, little face scrunched up in too much worry for his age.

John stopped mid-step, staring stonily ahead of himself. "Gone."

Fear for the worst hit Dean like lightning and his voice wavered, going high and tight. That wasn't right. 'Gone' wasn't right. There was some kind of mistake. "What do you mean, gone…?" he asked, needing to be told it was okay, she was fine, everything was all right. But instead, Dean got some of the worst news of his life.

"I mean _gone_!" John shouted, brushing past his panicking son. His scent—strongly alcoholic—wafted past. "There was an _accident_ and she's _gone_ ," John reiterated in a slurring, angry voice. He looked back at his son darkly. " _Dead_ , Dean, you hear me?"

Dean looked like he was on the verge of passing out, like he barely had the strength to stand, like he couldn't believe his ears for even a second. "Dead?" he echoed in a soft whisper, and then his voice suddenly escalated into a scream. " _Dead_?!" He began to have a near panic attack, breathing in and out in shallow gasps as he looked around the room and gestured with frantic arms at Alex's things laying around. " _NO_! She was here! You had her with you!" Dean's voice was a shout. "She can't be gone! _No_!" When John just looked at his son with an unreadable gaze, Dean's demeanor turned to utter rage and he rushed his father and began to beat him in the legs with little fists. His voice screamed out of him so hard that his throat felt torn. "You _liar_! _Where is she_?! What did you _do to her_?! She's not _dead_!"

John seized Dean by the shoulders hard and held him away with fingers like steel. His breath was hot and sour the the stench of alcohol. "People die, Dean! Your mother, your sister—now _get away from me_!" He shoved a sobbing, screaming Dean hard—too hard—and Dean fell to the ground. John's dark expression fell in favor of shock and concern and he tried to help his son up. "I'm sorry Dean, buddy, I didn't mean—"

"She's just a _baby_!" Dean shouted, shoving his father away as tears glittered in his eyes. "Just a little, helpless _baby_!" His voice broke and he was choking on loud sobs. "How could you let her get hurt? How could you let my baby sister get _hurt_!?"

John stood back, set his jaw and looked away, eyes dark. His voice was low and emotionless when he spoke. "We're leaving this town and never coming back, get your stuff."

"You let my sister die!" Dean sobbed, jumping up and attacking his dad again and beating uselessly at John's stomach. "I hate you _I hate you_!"

"God _dammit_ Dean!" John roared, shoving his son away again, hard. Dean hit the dresser and huddled there in a quivering, tearful mess. He moaned his sister's name in despair as he smashed his face into his own hands and grieved. John didn't apologize that time for shoving. Instead he sank down at the foot of the bed and wept bitterly and brokenly in great choking sobs.

On the bed, awake and silent and clutching the covers to himself, Sam didn't understand what was happening. He only knew he'd woken up alone, without the familiar weight of his sister beside him. "Elks? Elks?" Sam asked over and over in a sad, scared voice. After a minute his big brother came to him and hugged him tighter than usual as their father cried at the foot of the bed.

If that family hadn't been broken before, it certainly was then.

For the next few months, life would be hellish for the boys as they struggled to cope with the loss of their sister. But in a few years, Sam forgot her. Or at least, he never remembered her how Dean did. After all, Alex was an off-limits topic. John did not allow them to speak of her, and the few times Dean accused his father of various things concerning their sister's death and unexplained, strange disappearance, his father made him regret it.

As the years went on, Dean would come to barely ever speak of his sister.

But every day of his life, he remembered her. And he wished he had never let her go out that door.

* * *

**Present Day  
Chester, Pennsylvania**

Sam rubbed at the little tinsel-like strand of gold he and Dean had found at the scene of a very bizarre crime earlier that day. It was the second little string of gold they'd found on the scene of a brutal, strange 'accidental' death and it was mystifying him completely.

Dean was paging through Dad's journal trying to find anything about gold. Or that's what he was _supposed_ to be doing. Instead, he was sitting on the edge of a motel room bed with the journal on a knee as he stared off into space.

"You okay?" Sam prompted, noticing his brother's strange, unwavering expression.

Dean was frowning deeply, seeming to wonder the same thing. "I can't…" he started, wet his lips, then shook his head. "Something's not right here." He took a second to think, then gestured at the gold thing with a 'forget it' motion. "I mean, with _us_." He peered at Sam as if he were wondering if he'd lost his mind. "Is it just me?"

Sam shook his head, just as disconcerted. In the car, at lunch, on the job, here at the motel room… Dean was right. Something was off. The room felt too big, the car felt too small, there was something not _right._ "No, I know, me too," Sam said, trying to figure it out and failing. "I feel… weird. Like—like something's missing and I can't figure out _what._ "

Dean seemed to feel the same. "…What would be missing though?" he asked, aggravated with the lack of answers.

Sam shrugged, frustrated too because he felt like he _knew_ what was missing, only when he tried to put his finger on it, the answer eluded him completely. "I dunno," he said, scratching the side of his head briefly. "It's kind of driving me nuts." He paused, thinking, trying to pinpoint when this weird feeling had started. That's when he noticed the connection. "Hey, is it just me, or did we start feeling like this about the same time this _job_ came up?"

Dean sat back slightly, letting his eyebrows shrug up. "Yeah, maybe." He thought a minute more, coming up with nothing, which obviously bothered him. He shook his head and gave up. "Lemme call Ellen and Bobby, see about any more leads on this gold string thingy." He stood up and dug his phone out. With it came a small wallet-sized photograph. It fluttered to the ground and Sam bent to pick it up for his brother.

In the wrinkled old faded photo, three small kids looked into the camera—on a motel room floor, Dean smiled and held onto the twins as Sam gaped at the camera and Alex looked off in boredom. The sight of the photo stilled Sam. "You… still keep this, huh?" he asked quietly, a little sobered by the sight of the picture he hadn't seen in forever and the sister he didn't really remember.

Dean took it back, his expression suddenly engulfed in emotional duress. "Yeah." His voice was soft, tense. "'Course I do." He carefully put the picture back into his pocket and Sam looked around the motel room, sad for a reason he couldn't name. _Where are you?_ He wondered. And then he frowned. Where was _who_?

* * *

**July 19, 2006**

John Winchester had his arm in a sling and his eyes on his twenty-three year old son who was walking off down the hospital hall. Sam's retreating form was incredibly lanky and tall and John wondered where his son had gotten that remarkable height from.

Unbidden, he wondered how tall his daughter would have been now. Like always, the thought of her made him go still inside.

It had been twenty years since he made one of the hardest choices he'd ever faced… taking his daughter out of this life and hopefully leaving her in a better one. He still thought about her every damn day of his life. But especially this one. His last.

Ambient hospital noises filled his ears and distracted him. Even though they were _all_ a little worse for the wear from the car accident they'd been in a couple days ago, John was just glad Dean and Sam were alive. Dean had been as good as dead until last night. To save him, John sacrificed the only thing he had left. He'd traded his soul to Azazel in exchange for Dean's life. And today was the day John had to pay up.

 _This is the last day of my life._ A strange thought to think.

Aware of his impending end, John accepted it. Hell was where he belonged, or at least he _felt_ that way—and at least he was dying doing something right for once. Saving Dean. As he contemplated the death that was so quickly coming his way, John thought of his daughter. What would she look like now? What kind of person would she have grown up to become? Would he recognize her if he saw her on the street? These thoughts made him somber and quiet. He remembered the last time he'd seen her. She hadn't known what was happening, she'd screamed and cried silently for him not to leave her. And still he had, even as tears drunkenly streamed down his face. He'd walked away and hadn't looked back. He saw her crying face countless nights. She haunted him and kept him awake, kept him wondering if he had done the right thing. He told himself he had, because he couldn't face the alternative.

Dean laid on the hospital bed, sore, tired, beaten to hell. He'd just been in the car crash of the century, after all—the doctors didn't seem to know how he was even _alive_ right now, but here he was by some miracle. He looked at his father, noticing that anguished way he stared off into far distance. "What is it, Dad?" he asked softly, and John came out of his trance.

Dad was in his fifties, but his eyes were wearier than that—he looked like a man who'd never known sleep or rest, like a man who'd been running too long and was tired, too tired to go on. Shocking Dean, John Winchester began to speak to him gently, kindly, emotionally. "You know… when you were a kid... I'd come home from a hunt, and after what I'd seen, I'd be... I'd be wrecked," he said softly, voice drenched in regret and pain. "And you, you'd come up to me and you—you'd put your hand on my shoulder and you'd look me in the eye and you'd…" John struggled against tears, which only stunned Dean further. "You'd say ' _It's okay, Dad_.'" He paused, and the way his eyes were glinting with tears had Dean transfixed in horror. Dad never talked like this. "You were a better dad than I ever was, to _both_ of them. Dean, I'm _sorry_."

Dean stared at his dad in quiet shock, especially at the sudden mention of _her_. They never spoke of her—it wasn't allowed.

John tried to smile through the tears but his smile was faltering. "You shouldn't have had to say that to me, I should have been saying that to you." Dean could have _cried_ —he'd been so hungry to hear these words his entire life and now that they were being said, he was afraid at why they were being said at all. "You know, I put—I put too much on your shoulders, I made you grow up too fast. You took care of Sammy, you—you took care of Alex while she was there, you took care of me. I should have been the one who took care of everyone. I wasn't. Dean... you were all the man I never was," John said, further stunning his son. "I just want you to know that I am _so_ proud of you."

Dean looked at John incredulously and faltered, his stomach clenched up in disbelief. "T-this really you talking?" he breathed in a shell-shocked voice. His dad had never done anything but tell him he was second best.

"Yeah, it's really me," John confirmed quietly. He hesitated, then went closer to his son.

Dean tried not to show how scared he was to hear his dad talking with such emotional vulnerability. "W-why are you saying this stuff, Dad?"

John looked at Dean through tear-filled eyes. "I want you to watch out for your brother, okay?"

"Yeah, Dad, y-you know I will," Dean said, voice shaking even though he was trying to be strong outwardly. "You're scaring me."

"Don't be scared, Dean. Just listen. I have to tell you some things." John leaned closer, growing serious, quiet, his voice low in a whisper. "You have to save Sammy. From himself, from what that demon did to him. And if you can't save him—Dean, you'll have to kill him." Dean drew back, eyes wide in shock.

 _Kill Sam?_ "Dad—I don't—" he almost pleaded, eyes wide, begging John for a reason, an explanation. "What are you _talking_ about? What did the demon _say_ to you?"

"Forget the demon, Dean," John said wearily, and Dean stared with an aghast face—the tone in his father's voice seemed to indicate there was more heaviness coming. How could there be more? "You—you remember that night when—when I told you your sister had an accident?"

Dean's expression went cold. How could Dad even ask that? Of course he remembered. He remembered that night every day, he blamed himself for not keeping his sister safe, he carried a picture of the three of them with him wherever he went. Dad's question made a lump of emotion choke him. "… _Yeah_ I remember."

Dad's dark eyes looked into his long and careful. "There _was_ no accident," John confessed, and suddenly there was no air in the room. "She didn't die."

The world had shattered that night when Dad said she died. And it shattered all over again when he said she _didn_ _'_ _t_.

The color drained from Dean's face and he fought the sudden feeling of numb shock overtaking his body. "… _What_?" Was she alive? What did Dad mean? Every sense Dean possessed was focused on his dad and finding out what the hell that meant. "W-what are you saying to me?" he asked in quickening urgency, a thousand half-thought-out explanations spinning through his mind. "W-what happened to her?"

John sat down on the edge of the bed beside Dean and answered with quiet caution and guilt. "I didn't want this life for her. She wouldn't have survived it, you _know_ she wouldn't have. No being so small, so vulnerable. So I put her somewhere better. Where a nice family could take her. Keep her safe." Slow horror began to crawl up Dean's spine. No—Dad… Dad _gave her away_? "I know it was the coward's way out, Son, but Dean—aren't you glad she wasn't part of this?" John gestured at them both—broken, beaten, hunted by demons. But Dean could make no reply— _no_! _No_ he wasn't glad! "Maybe someday you can go find her, see her," John said, attempting a sad little smile through tear-filled eyes. "Tell her I'm sorry it had to be like that, tell her I'm sorry for everything." Dean stared, absolutely confounded into silence. John managed a smile as a tear fell out of his eye and rolled down his face into his thick beard. "But at least she probably turned out a lot better than us three saps, huh?"

Dean was processing it, trying to figure it out and reason through everything he'd just been told, but he felt sluggish, every sense he owned had been flipped on its head and he was _reeling_. "S-she's been _alive_ this whole time and you kept it from me?" He felt so impossibly hurt. "From _Sam_?" It was crashing over his head like an outpouring of sudden, unexpected rain. "You lied to me, for _years_!" he accused, so appalled at the realization that he could barely function. John nodded, quietly confirming. Dean was absolutely beside himself and looking at his father in new, horrific light. "I—I… Sam and I were _devastated_ , we thought she died and it was… a _lie_? You _gave her up_? Dad… how _could_ you?"

John stood up and walked off a few steps, putting his back to Dean. "I _saved_ her from this life, Dean. I _saved_ her. I would do _anything_ for you kids. I lost sleep over this—I've struggled with it every day and night since I did what I did."

"Oh well how _difficult_ for you," Dean snapped, imagining what _Alex_ had gone through—she had just been three, a baby! The thought of her suddenly alone made him spiral into a pit of despair. Dean was fighting tears as he thought of her and how he remembered her: so tiny, always wanting to hold someone's hand, always wanting a hug from one of her brothers, scared of the dark, a thumbsucker, a tender little sweetheart who was attached to him and Sam twenty-four seven. And John had just carried her off into the night without a word, uprooting her from her life and leaving her fate to _luck_? Dean's blood was boiling and he couldn't even think—if he had known, he would have gone to find her _years_ ago. He was abruptly sick with fear for her. Where was she now? Was she okay? How hadn't he _known_ this _?_

"How _could_ you?" he asked again of his father, truly not understanding, so upset that the blood pressure monitor beside his bed was spiking and turning red. "Send your own kid off like that? Scared, alone, _mute_ —to _strangers_? She was just a baby, Dad! A _baby!_ She needed us and you just… what, dropped her off on a street somewhere, three years old!? How could you know if she was safe? How could you just _take_ her from us like that? How could you think that was _okay_? It _wasn_ _'_ _t_!" His voice was rising and getting louder and louder, more and more enraged. "She wasn't a goddamn goldfish, she was your _daughter_! You don't get to just, just _hand her off_! If you didn't want her to have this fucking life, you should have _left it all behind_!"

His fists balled up against his legs as he shook his head, gritted his teeth, and tried to control his temper. But he couldn't. He was mad enough to spit. "You—goddamn _coward!_ " He abruptly sat up and shoved the little cart of medical instruments that was beside the bed hard, knocking it over and sending metal instruments clattering to the floor loudly. His legs hung over the bed and his rage suddenly gave way to grief as he remembered the last time he saw his sister—reaching out for him with a look of fear on her face as Dad carried her away forever. She'd needed him and he'd failed her and how could Dad have done what he did? "I can't _believe_ you, I can't believe you!" Dean said, choking on his own tongue as he put his face into his hands, so upset he was almost in tears. John said nothing and Dean fought to regulate his heavy, sharp breaths. "Did… did you ever go check on her?" he finally asked, looking at his dad and not knowing what to think at all. "Do you even know where she _is_?"

Shame and guilt showed on John's face. "No, I—it was for the best, Dean," John insisted, and the look on his face seemed final. "We'll… we'll talk about this later, son."

"Like _hell_ we will!" Dean exploded, standing up even though his entire body was weak and ailing. At the moment, he hated his father. _Hated_. "I don't ever wanna see your face again, you hear me?" He meant it, at least in the heat of the moment. Dean was breaking, everything was crashing around him and his father was suddenly the villain. "I did everything you ever told me, _everything_ ," he accused, anger flaring like an inferno in his veins. "I trusted you, I _believed_ in you! And you did _that._ "

John was stricken, but didn't deny the claims or defend himself. "Dean—please. I know. I know all I ever did was make mistakes. But please... believe me. I loved you kids. I loved you the best I could." He had the nerve to look solicitous, like he wanted to be told it was forgiven. "I'm sorry my best wasn't good. But I did try. Please believe that."

Dean's fists were tight at his sides and he couldn't even speak to his father any longer without risking hitting him. He didn't want to hear excuses or 'I tried.' Because that couldn't change anything. And it was crap. "Get out," he growled at his dad. "Before I do something I regret."

John hesitated, looking at Dean one last time through a tight, pinched expression. Then he nodded and without any grand fanfare, left the room. And that was the last time Dean saw his dad alive.

At 10:41am that day in July of 2006, John Winchester was pronounced dead after being found on the floor in a random room of the hospital.

He died believing he'd saved his daughter… when in fact, he'd done the exact opposite.

* * *

**Two Days Later  
Jackson County DHS, Missouri**

Grieving the loss of their father amidst confused feelings and uncertainty, Dean and Sam gave their father a hunter's funeral before immediately going in search of the sister who they'd believed to be dead for twenty years. Dean led the search with a frenzied determination and an urgency that Sam had never seen before. The idea that she was alive out there somewhere was a candle in the wind for them both. Even though they had mixed feelings on their father, he had still been their father, and his death devastated them. The idea of finding Alex gave them something to put all their hopes into, and hope they did.

Using Dad's journal, they figured out the city they'd been in the night she disappeared back in 1986 and went to the Department of Family and Children Services in that city hoping they would be able to track Alex down somehow or get leads on her whereabouts.

"She would have been three years old when she showed up," Dean was saying to the sort of befuddled front desk worker. "It would have been nineteen eighty-six. She, she would have been mute, tiny. Here's a picture of her when she was like two."

He held out the little wallet photo he carried and the desk worker shook her head after squinting at it briefly. "I'm sorry, that case doesn't sound familiar—but I've only worked here for three years, so lemme ask—"

"Sam and Dean?"

The brothers turned to see a plump, dark-skinned Black woman in her fifties looking at them with an expression of dawning surprise. She was in a whimsical floral-print dress, had closely cropped natural hair, and wore beautiful statement earrings. She carried a stack of folders and was leaning into the lobby halfway from a door that went further back into the office section of the building.

The brothers glanced at each other then Dean replied to her. "Yeah…"

She nodded slowly, eyes going back and forth between them for a moment in thought. Then she walked out to greet them, seeming to be quite surprised and mildly guarded. "Marigold Tucker," she introduced. Then she gestured for them to follow her. "Please, this way." She escorted them further into the building and into her small office where pictures of kids of all ages and races dotted the area, as well as some of her own personal family photos.

"Please. Sit." She smiled ruefully as she took a seat at the desk across from them. " _Well_. I have to say, after all these years… I never thought I would see you two." She had a kindly face and the look of someone who cared a lot and didn't miss much.

Sam and Dean looked at each other briefly, confused. "I'm sorry, but I don't think we don't know you…" Sam said slowly. "How do you know us?"

Marigold had a quiet, sad look on her face and she hesitated, then turned in her office chair and bent to pull something out of the lowest drawer in her filing cabinet. "…She used to draw you and write your names," she said and Dean sat back in shock, suddenly understanding. "That's all she drew for years, in fact. Sam and Dean, and the black car." Marigold showed them a stack of childish drawings on construction paper which she pulled out of the filing cabinet.

In the top drawing, a girl with tears the size of bowling balls raining down from her face to the ground was on one side of the paper—her stick arms reached out to the other side of the paper on which there were two male figures. _Sam end Deen_ the picture said, and there was a very poorly drawn heart which was then crossed out in black. Dean looked at the drawing and set it back down with a tense, pained expression on his face. Alex had been waiting for them and they hadn't had a single fucking clue. Imagining his sister's pain, even though he hadn't seen her in twenty years, devastated him and made him feel _so much_. He could see another picture peeking out of the stack—it had a stick-figure man with a beard and many tears raining down his face. _Dad._

"I was the one who found Jane," Marigold explained gently, very aware of how affected the boys were. She studied them closely, shrewd. "I'm guessing you two… brothers? Her brothers? I can see the resemblance—especially you. You have her eyes." She nodded at Sam, looking his face over thoughtfully.

"I… I'm her twin," Sam said quietly. His color was pale. He seemed utterly shocked and touched that someone who had seen his twin sister's face was saying he looked like her.

Dean frowned at the name she'd used for Alex. "…Jane?"

"Oh—yes, she couldn't tell us her name, you know," Marigold said regretfully. "She was only two or three when she came to us and totally mute. We weren't even sure how old she was, to be honest. We called her Jane Doe. And when she was old enough to write her name… I guess maybe she didn't _remember_ her name. She never wrote it, anyway. Not ever. She… only wrote your names." Her dark eyes looked at them in sorrowful curiosity.

Dean's heart was a tight, knotted mess in his chest, beating pain into him relentlessly. "Her name was Alex," he said brokenly, looking at the drawing with a strained expression. "And my mom wanted to call her Allie." He saw nothing but a broken, ruined life staring him back in the face from the kiddy drawing and he cursed his father all over again. _How could you?_

"Y-you were her caseworker," Sam supposed, beginning to put together the pieces of the puzzle as his more emotional brother sat beside him and struggled to maintain composure. "She was in foster care."

"That's right," Marigold said. "Until she was about fifteen or so."

"But… I thought kids didn't age out until like _eighteen_ ," Sam said, his tone becoming worried. "Did—did she switch caseworkers?"

Marigold's hands were clasped on the desk and she looked at them sadly. Dean recognized the look of bad news coming. No. No. _No_.

_Tell me she_ _'_ _s fine. Tell me she was taken in by a nice family and grew up in a normal, painfully boring life. Tell me she works as a secretary and has a yappy little dog and a 401k, tell me she_ _'_ _s happy now and is adjusted to life. Tell me I get to see her again, tell me after losing her so long ago I get to hug her and see what she looks like smiling, tell me I get to say I_ _'_ _m sorry to her for all the years she waited to see me again. Please, please, please! Don_ _'_ _t tell me bad news. I can_ _'_ _t take any more bad news, not now. Not fucking now._

But Dean's inner pleas were not answered. "She… didn't age out," Marigold told them in utmost, telling gentleness. She was bracing them for the bad news, and Dean realized he wasn't breathing. "Your sister—Alex—I'm so sorry to have to tell you this. But she died. About fourteen or fifteen years ago now I guess."

Utterly defeated, Dean's shoulders sagged and he let out a grieved sobbing breath of air as he bowed his head to a hand. No. _No._

"I'm so sorry, boys," Marigold said in quiet, earnest sympathy.

There was a thick silence. Dean's heart was beating so loudly with agony in his chest that he thought he'd go deaf. He sat there and the world spun around him as sounds rang strangely and his veins turned to useless liquid. _Died. She died._

Sam's face was working oddly. He didn't know how to react—he'd thought she was dead for all of his memory, then been told she wasn't, now she was again. He wet his lips, brow working inwards as he tried to process. "Just—please tell us everything about her and what happened," he requested after a moment. Even though he was holding himself together more than Dean was, his voice wavered and the expression on his face made him look younger and more vulnerable than he actually was. " _Please_."

Marigold nodded, drew in a deep breath, thinking back. "You know, maybe it's because I was the one who found her all those years ago. But I always had a special place in my heart for that girl. I always saw the best in her when others could see nothing but the worst. She was placed in several homes for foster-adoption when she was younger, but she sabotaged each placement… she just refused to let people reach out to her." There was a heavy, sad pause. "She got worse over time. Jane—excuse me, _Alex,_ never applied herself in school, never made friends. She didn't learn to write well. She refused to sign. _Well_. The only sign she liked to make was the middle finger." She smiled bittersweetly as the brothers listened in deep emotional anguish. "Some people said she was feral, had mental disorders, was crazy." Marigold shook her head with sad certainty. "No. None of that. I just saw a hurt little girl who lost too much and had too little to begin with. Sadly, we see that a lot around here." Her eyes drifted down to the drawings on her desk that Alex had made. "So much got taken from that child. She didn't know what to do. Who would?"

Dean stood up, turned away, and ran a hand down over his face. Marigold looked up at him and then to Sam for a cue. "It's okay. Keep going," Sam said, even though his eyes were shining with the onset of tears.

Marigold did. "Well… let's see. She was living in a group home for highly troubled young women toward the end," the social worker explained quietly. "There had been problems for years—always was trying to run away, especially when she first came into care. And around ten she started to get into things no girl of her age should have been messing with—alcohol, self harm, drugs, stealing, promiscuity… she had to be moved to an institutional setting when things kept getting worse when she was fourteen or so. We still don't know where she got them, but… unfortunately, she purposefully overdosed on sleeping pills."

Dean let out another ragged, grieved breath of air as so much sadness filled his insides that he wanted to shatter. _Suicide_? He couldn't take this. He couldn't. He leaned against the wall with a hand, still facing away from the other two people in the room.

"W-was anyone with her?" Sam asked.

Marigold shook her head somberly. "She was found alone."

Dean was trying not to crumble, but mostly failing. "S-she leave a note?" Sam asked, grasping at straws.

"Well, in a way… but…" Marigold looked in the same folder she'd gotten Alex's drawings out of, fishing out a photograph. She hesitated to show it. "I'm afraid it wasn't much at all."

Dean turned around, distraught, needing to see what final message she left. It was a photo of a starkly and clinical bedroom. On the wall, crudely carved, was a sloppily written suicide note. _Fuck the world and everyone in it._

Dean took the photograph from Marigold, staring with half-blind eyes. He was trying to swallow everything he'd just been told, but he couldn't. This was a nightmare, this was unthinkable, he didn't _want this_ and yet it was what he was being given. All he could do was go through the motions like a robot, ask questions and get answers. Nothing could change what had happened, but he thought there should have been a way to take it all back and start over because _this wasn_ _'_ _t right_. "When?" he asked blankly. "When did she… when did she die? What date?" He wanted to know, because from here on out, they'd dedicate that day to her, they'd raise a glass to her memory and kill a few evil sons of bitches in her name.

Marigold rustled around in the folder, pulled out a certificate of death, read from it. "May the second, ninety-eight."

Dean and Sam looked at each other at the exact same moment in mutual shock and disbelief. May second was the twin's _birthday_. And the one in 1998 had been one Dean would _never_ forget. Sam either.

It had been around ten in the evening. Sam's fifteenth had been uneventful. Dad was gone on a hunt and the brothers were watching TV in a motel room. And then for no reason whatsoever Sam had suddenly sat up and clutched his chest, beginning to gasp as though he couldn't breathe, began to panic—he said he couldn't see, he said he was scared, he felt like he was dying. He'd been dizzy, lightheaded, short of breath, his heart had been racing at insane levels, he had spontaneously began to cry. Dean had rushed him to the emergency room, scared shitless. But the panic attack and breathing issues went away shortly after they got there. The doctors could find nothing wrong with him whatsoever. For two weeks afterward, Sam had been lethargic and quiet, deeply disturbed without knowing why or by what. There had never been another incident like that before and there never was again.

And now it made sense. Only, it didn't, not really. " _How_?" Sam asked Dean, staring up at his big brother for an explanation. They both saw the connection immediately—Alex dying and Sam _feeling_ like he was dying.

"I—I dunno," Dean said, hardly able to respond at all. "Twin stuff?" He'd never really believed it before… that twins were connected like that. But maybe they were. _Maybe they were._ Sam looked frightened and deeply stricken, mystified.

He shut his eyes briefly, realizing that when Sam had been having that inexplicable panic attack, Alex had been dying. Alone. Scared. With the mindset of _fuck the world and everyone in it._ He remembered a sweet little girl with wide doe-like eyes and a shy, sort of devilish smile, a penchant for getting into trouble and climbing on things, a love of cuddling, a love of being held by him. He'd wanted the best for her, he'd blamed himself all those years for her 'death' and now he blamed himself for the real thing. Dean opened his watering eyes and looked at Marigold. "Y-you got a picture of her?" _At least let me know what she grew up to look like_ _…_ _at least give us something to prove she existed past what we knew._

Marigold hesitated. "Just two." She pulled out two small, old photographs from the folder where she had everything of Alex's. "This is from her RYDC files." RYDC—aka, Juvenile Detention. It was a mugshot basically, and showed a young, pretty girl who looked thuggish and angry—a scar ran down the side of her face from a knife, her dark hair was bedraggled. Her chin was raised up in defiance, her hazel eyes were cold and staring into the camera hard as if to say _yeah, take my picture bitch_. But to Dean, she looked afraid and pained. And god help him, she _did_ look like Sam. She looked like _both_ of them. He took the picture in a daze. "And this one is from the group home she lived in back in ninety-seven," Marigold said, handing over a four-by-six photo. It was a picture of about ten girls lined up on some bleachers outside in some kind of park area. Most of them looked sullen and unkempt, unhappy, and uninterested. Alex stood off to herself at one end of the group and with arms crossed across her lanky body in a defensive stance. She looked into the camera with a ghostly, vacant, sullen expression. Sam was standing now too, peering at the pictures and trying to understand that this stranger in the photos was his twin sister.

Dean didn't bother to hide his emotions anymore, or maybe he just couldn't. Quiet tears were streaking his cheeks as he looked at the sister he hadn't know about. Two of the only three pictures of her in existence. "C-can I keep these please?" he asked Marigold, almost at the point of just breaking down in front of this stranger.

She inclined her head in a gracious nod. "Of course." Marigold's aura of peace and gentleness was helpful in that moment to the two floundering, shocked brothers. "You know, she was a very beautiful young woman," Marigold said, and there were great depths of kindness and thoughtfulness in her rich voice. "I always thought… she had so much potential." Marigold smiled in fond sadness at the pictures Dean held. "Seeing her give up on herself… it's been more than ten years. But every May second I think of her and I wonder." She hesitated. "I'm sorry, but if you don't mind me asking… what happened? Everyone always wondered where this pretty little white girl came from and what her story was. We found her in this building, see. Someone broke in and left her in here alone all night all those years ago. No explanation, no nothing. No one knew who she was, police had a case open on her for a year plus. When no one came forward to claim her, she became a ward of the state. Everyone always thought someone would come from her… and, well. I think she thought so too."

Dean shook his head in utter misery. She thought someone was coming for her. And no one ever had.

"Our dad," he said. "He thought… I dunno what he thought. Guess he didn't want her."

He looked down at this girl in the pictures and he wished to hell and back he had stopped this from happening. If she hadn't been taken away, maybe she wouldn't have ended up like the way she had. "I'll never forgive him for this," he said, mostly to himself. And he wouldn't. " _Ever._ We—we didn't even know until two days ago. We thought she died when she was three." Not that this lady needed to know that or not.

Marigold nodded tensely, looking at them carefully. When she spoke, she was cautious and open, honest. "She's buried not far from here, if you'd like to go visit. I… raised a little money around town, you know, and at church to get her a proper headstone and funeral because…" she trailed off, suddenly getting emotional. "Every child should be recognized," she said, voice wavering a little bit. "Every child should be _loved_. Even the ones who are determined as hell to be unlovable." She smiled sadly, and there were so many untold stories, pains, and triumphs shining in her deep brown eyes. "In fact, I think maybe those children are the ones who need love most of all."

Dean bowed his face into his hand as his shoulders shook—he couldn't help it, her words impacted him more than almost anything ever had. Someone had _been there_ for his sister and looked out for her as and laid her to final rest with respect and dignity. It was enough to move him to tears, this act of compassion Marigold Tucker gave without needing to… this kindness she had shown simply because she had _cared_.

* * *

Not long after, Sam and Dean stood in a quiet graveyard at Marigold's church in silence. Shaded by grand old oak trees, the headstones dotted a serene little plot of land. The one Sam and Dean stood in front of belonged to Alex, only no one had known her real name. Not even her.

_Jane Doe  
Entered Into Rest on May 2, 1998.  
Step softly, a dream lies buried here._

There were fresh flowers leaned against the marble, no doubt from Marigold, and Dean fought tears again, losing the battle. The compassion shown by a stranger, the reality that he was standing at his sister's final resting place, the thought of her being so hopeless and desperate that she would take her own life… he didn't know how he could cope with this. He was gonna make sure to do something for Marigold in return, somehow.

Beside him, Sam was silent and harrowed. A soft breeze blew across the land, rustling the quiet, reverent trees. Birds sang happily from branch to branch, and it didn't _fit,_ it wasn't _right_.

"She was here Sam, all those years, and she needed us and I _knew D_ ad's story was bullshit, why didn't I listen to my instincts?" Dean asked it in a hollow voice and went silent for a long moment. His face hurt from the strange, grieved expression he had been wearing for the past few days. "I could have _saved_ her. This didn't have to be the way it ended."

"You don't know that, Dean," was Sam's quiet, anxious reply.

"I _do_ know that," Dean replied immediately, vehemently, in a wavering voice driven by the passion of grief. "She wouldn't be in the ground if Dad hadn't sent her away."

There was another silence in which the breeze made tree branches dance in a great sigh of wind. For a minute, the brothers were silent. Then, Sam spoke. "You know, sometimes…" he stared at his sister's grave with an expression of grief that reminded Dean of when Jess had died. "I dunno. I feel like I'm missing something. Maybe it's that twin connection you hear about. I dunno. I barely _remember_ her. But what happened on our fifteenth birthday… it, it makes me think…" he swallowed and he suddenly sounded as stricken as Dean was. "Why didn't I know she was _out there_ , Dean?"

Dean shook his head, because he wanted to know the same thing. He felt like he should have sensed or known too. "I don't know," he said softly. He thought about the few memories he still had of Alex and he looked down at the silent headstone. "I wish you could remember her, Sam. I wish you _remembered_."

Sam nodded, fighting some internal battle with himself. "Me too." For a moment longer, the brothers were silent. Abruptly, Sam announced, "I'm—I need a minute," and quickly headed for the car. Dean didn't blame him, and was glad for the solitude, because he couldn't hold it in any longer.

Dean looked at his sister's gravestone, her only lasting impression upon the world. And it wasn't even the right _name_. She would fade into obscurity, and no one had ever really known her he didn't think. Least of all him. And that was the part that tore him apart the most.

He crouched down and touched two fingers to the gravestone, not even knowing why or what for. He wished he could have been fifteen years earlier and helped her see that she wasn't alone. Guilt ate him alive. "I wish I woulda known," Dean murmured to the slab of marble in the ground. "I'm so sorry. I'm so _sorry._ I didn't know. I didn't know he took you away. Why did I believe him? Why did I _believe_ him?" Dean bent his head and screwed his eyes up, letting the weeping tears come. He cursed the sky for being blue and the sun for shining bright, he cursed the world for being cruel, he cursed Dad for thinking this had been the right choice to make, he cursed the thing that had killed Mom and muted Alex, he renewed his vow, the vow Dad had been obsessed with: Find it, kill it, make it pay for the things it had done and the lives it had taken.

Back at the car, Sam was leaning heavily. Tears squeezed out of his eyes and he grieved his sister internally like he'd known and loved her just as much as Dean had. But he couldn't remember her. He couldn't _remember._ And now he'd never know.

* * *

**Present Day  
Chester, Pennsylvania**

Azazel was dead now, but his death hadn't changed much. It was supposed to have evened the score but all it had done was lay another miserable son of a bitch down. It didn't bring back a lost mother, a lost sister, or a lost father. It didn't erase the decades of chasing and fighting and struggling to get by.

It had been nearly six years for Sam and Dean since Dad had died and they had been to Alex's grave for that first time. They went once a year to visit the grave ever since, and now every May the second was cause for mourning and remembrance, not celebration.

They had lived their entire life without Alex practically, and as such maybe it should have been easy to continue on after they discovered the truth. But finding out what happened left a scar. A pain that never fully went away. However, they had come to accept it. Dean was the one who had struggled the hardest and longest. But even he stowed it for the most part. Still, Sam thought Dean hadn't forgiven himself for what happened. And maybe Dean never would.

They didn't talk about her much. Just like that very day when the picture of the three of them had fluttered out of Dean's wallet, they ignored it and didn't speak of it. Instead, they focused on what they always did: the job.

The accidental deaths and the strings of gold showing up everywhere were beginning to add up into a lead—it appeared that all the victims of these strange deaths were descendants of people who had traveled over to America in the early 1900s on some boat called the _Titanic_. Upon further research, the boys found a photo of the first mate—I.P. Freely—and his picture bore striking likeness to Balthazar. As in so striking that it _was_ him.

Determined to find out the angel's connection to the deaths and the Titanic, they set to work summoning him. They were both pretty suspicious of the guy. After all, he'd been selling chopped-up heavenly weapons not long ago in exchange for souls. He didn't seem to be the most savory guy in the bunch.

When Dean dropped the match into the bowl to complete the summoning spell, the lights in the motel room flickered and one popped completely. Behind them, a sudden gust of air prompted them to turn. "Boys, boys, boys." Balthazar sounded un-enthused. "What _ever_ can I do for you?"

"We need to talk," Dean said impatiently, giving the angel a warning little look.

"Oh, you seem _upset,_ Dean," Balthazar said, feigning concern. He had always shown a deep dislike for Dean for whatever reason.

Dean sneered briefly. "The hell with the _boat,_ Balthazar?"

"What _boat_?"

"The _Titanic_ ," Sam said in a hard, demanding voice.

Balthazar made a bit of a face like he was thinking _ah yes_ _—_ _that_. "Oh. Yeah… the Titanic." He rubbed two fingertips to his brow briefly in thought. "Yes, well, uh, it was meant to _sink_ _…_ and I saved it." He spread his arms humbly. The brothers looked at each other in confusion. Balthazar sighed and explained himself with an air of disinterest. "It was meant to bash into this iceberg thing and plunge into the briny deep with all this hoopla—and I _saved_ it." He ceased to speak and gave them an expectant look. "Anything else I can answer for you?"

"Yeah, _w_ _hy_?" Sam asked, mystified.

"Why _what_?" The angel asked impatiently.

"Why did you un-sink the ship?" Dean clarified testily.

Balthazar got dramatic. "Oh, because I _hated_ the movie!" He looked between them both as if in solicitation of support of his stance.

Dean narrowed his eyes. " _What_ movie?"

Balthazar pointed at Dean with a huge grin. "Exactly!" He laughed easily.

Dean was utterly confused. Sam's face crunched into a confused frown. "Wait, so you saved a cruise liner because—"

"Because that god-awful Celine Dion song made me want to smite myself!" Balthazar replied, as if _that_ settled it.

Sam's look of confusion intensified. "Who's… Celine Dion?"

"Oh, she's a destitute lounge singer somewhere in Quebec," Balthazar explained casually, "and let's keep it that way, please."

Again, the brothers exchanged an annoyed little glance. "Okay, I didn't think that was _possible_ ," Sam said, clearly disgruntled at Balthazar's attitude and action. "I thought you couldn't change history."

"Oh, haven't you noticed?" Balthazar gave a coy little shrug of the eyebrows. "There's no more rules, boys."

Sam looked at him in disbelief. "…Wow. The nerve on you. So you just, what, un-sunk a giant boat?"

"Oh come on!" Balthazar was slightly indignant and surprised. "I saved _people_! I thought you _loved_ that kind of thing."

"Yeah, but now those people and their kids and their kids' kids, they must have interacted with, with so many other people, changed so much _crap_ and now the descendants are all dying off!" Sam exclaimed. "You totally Butterfly-Effected history!"

" _And_?" Balthazar asked, not concerned about it either way. "I don't see the cause for fuss. You still averted the apocalypse, there're still archangels, up's up and down's down… everything's _basically_ the same. Unwad your panties, won't you? I expect some _small_ details have changed, however minimal—I haven't exactly flown round looking to see what's shifted around but it can't be _all_ bad like you're making it out to be." He adjusted his blazer, glanced around the room, and seemed to grow faintly curious. "Hm, by the by, where's that feisty little sister of yours?"

The brother's glares faded into surprise and their crossed arms loosened in shock. "What?" Sam asked. "How—how do you know about her?"

Balthazar took a pause, confused. "Pardon?"

"She _died_ when we were fifteen," Dean said angrily.

The angel was visibly taken aback and then he winced as he quickly seemed to figure it out in his own mind. "Ooh… _blimey._ Well. _That_ complicates things."

"What do you mean, it 'complicates things'?" Sam asked incredulously, ready to get angry.

There was a long pause, then a careful: "Well let's just say, before I un-sunk the ship… she was very much alive and well and, you know, not dead at all." Balthazar looked at the Winchester brothers' expressions and he smiled sarcastically. "I wish I could show you two a picture of how stupid you look with your mouths hanging open like that."

Dean's anger was returning. "Okay— _no_ ," he said, shaking his head and talking with a hand. "No. Our dad _abandoned_ our sister when she was three and she _died_ alone at fifteen—I swear to god, Balthazar, if you're making crap up to try and be funny—"

"Oh put a cork in it, will you?" Balthazar rolled his eyes at Dean dramatically. "Your sister grew up with you and was just fine and dandy and oh yes, very much involved with Cas until I un-sunk that little boat."

" _What_?" The brothers chorused in wide-eyed shock.

"With _Cas_?" Dean asked, seeming to find that idea utterly preposterous.

"Oh yes," Balthazar confirmed, then tapped his chin in thought, beginning to speak to himself. "This won't do, will it? He finds out and he'll go ballistic. Might as well go break the news so he doesn't find out the hard way and do something rash." He looked at the boys with a deeply chagrined, false smile on his face. "Wish me luck, won't you?"

"Wait, Ba—" the angel had already disappeared. Sam huffed in aggravation. "Dammit." He looked at Dean, who was silent and staring into nothing with a physically ill expression. Sam's anger faded. "What he said about… about her, that can't be true, Dean. Right?"

"I—I dunno." Dean looked at Sam in a strange mixture of hope and despair. "D-do you think that's why we've been feeling… weird?"

Sam wasn't sure. But it was the only thing that made some semblance of sense… still, he didn't know. He shook his head slowly, trying to put the pieces together. "Maybe…"

Dean was starting to hope against hope. Was she the missing piece? Was that the strange feeling he couldn't shake? Was this really what it felt like: a nightmare, a perversion of reality? Would he wake up tomorrow and find out this had all just been a crazy dream?

* * *

After Balthazar did a bit of fact checking, he went to go find Castiel with some quite unfortunate news. They met in a heaven that was a mountaintop covered by a thick blanket of fog. Here, they would not be seen or spied on. When Balthazar spotted Cas's familiar trench coat through the haze of grayish fog, he headed that way. "Hello Cas."

"Balthazar." For once, Cas didn't look as tense and drawn as usual. In fact, he almost seemed to be feeling optimistic. He was holding himself more confidently than before, he looked less burdened and wearied. "Fate has already begun to reap the souls you created," he told Balthazar, and he sounded glad about it.

So he _didn_ _'_ _t_ know about his little toy and her untimely, unplanned demise. Well. _That_ was awkward. Balthazar cleared his throat. "Yes, good, well—as glad as I am that the people you and I generated are being violently maimed and murdered… we have a bit of a problem."

Cas's expression changed slightly into the faintest frown. "What?"

"Your little twist of fate's resulted in… a few changes."

The frown deepened and suspicion darkened Cas's voice. "What changes?"

Balthazar spoke in an airy, casual voice and he shared what he'd learned, but started in easily, carefully. "Well, I went 'round to see just what, exactly, changed, you see. Took me a bit, but… well, Ellen and Jo Harvelle, for one, are still alive."

Castiel looked confused, as though he didn't know why Balthazar thought that was a problem. "That is… a pleasant surprise."

"Ah, yes, well—Alex Winchester… is _not_." He paused, watching how Cas's expression registered sudden intensity and dangerous confusion. "Alive," Balthazar clarified, a bit nervous.

Cas's expression became dark and foreboding. "…What do you mean?" he demanded, stepping closer, intimidating Balthazar without even meaning to.

"She, ah, she _died_ , Cas," Balthazar explained, backing up a step. "Fourteen years ago. I found the date and everything, went to see with my own eyes. Dead as a doornail, my friend."

Balthazar's information seemed to take several seconds to sink in. Cas appeared unable to even process it at all—it seemed unthinkable and incompatible to his mind. He blinked rapidly and looked down in a struggle to understand—he seemed to doubt it, scoff at the very idea, then he looked at Balthazar with an intense and demanding gaze. "Don't _lie_ to me," he accused, suddenly seeming vengeful. "She had a guardian angel her entire life—her death isn't conceivable."

Balthazar raised his hands in mild surrender. "Look, Cas, I don't know what to tell you. She's _dead._ "

Cas's eyes were confused, but slowly becoming filled with realization that Balthazar was telling the truth. "Take me there," he said falteringly, seeming to wrestle greatly with what to think. "Now."

Balthazar hesitated. "Oh, Cas, I don't think—"

Cas bristled and fury made his voice thunder—he seized Balthazar by two fistfuls of shirt. " _Take me there_ , Balthazar!"

And so Balthazar did.

* * *

**May 2, 1998**

Castiel's actions—un-sinking the Titanic, changing the past, reaping the souls—had all been done to give himself leverage over Crowley and a way to win the battle he had waged for what felt like an eternity now.

If he didn't win this war, Raphael won. If Raphael won, the apocalypse would come. And if the apocalypse came, most if not _all_ of the people on earth would perish. Including _her._ So, for Castiel, it seemed the lesser of two evils, it seemed the better way. And for five earth days, it had been _working._ He had even felt a rising hope and gladness as he saw that his plan was succeeding. The new souls he'd generated were slowly sifting into Heaven as Fate killed them. Castiel had known she would kill the people… in fact, he had regrettably _counted_ on it.

He had known some things would change here and there throughout history because of the alteration made, but he had been willing to sacrifice those things so that he wouldn't be indebted and enslaved to the King of Hell. Even though creating new human lives only to allow them to be destroyed once again was reprehensible, Cas had been prepared to do it so that he could take the souls and become more powerful—powerful enough to defeat an archangel. He was prepared to do nearly _anything_ for the cause. The war. But at his core, it was all for her. The one he loved past capacity or reason.

So when the two angels ported into a small, bare bedroom that was unremarkable and quiet, Castiel's heart clenched tight at what he saw. Carved into the wall crudely was the following message: _Fuck the world and everyone in it._

Underneath the wall on the floor, a small teenage girl slumped against the end of a tiny metal bed in a pathetic attempt to sit. She seemed in a state of shock, and Cas recognized her immediately. That was what stunned him and terrified him the most. It was Alex… but it also _wasn_ _'_ _t._

She had the same face, the same body, but both were younger than he had ever seen her with. She wasn't her full height yet, her features were less sharp and defined—she was smaller, thinner, built differently, not filled out. Her skin was pale and drawn, her face bore a long white scar. Her youthful features were haggard and gaunt in a way that they shouldn't have been, her eyes were glassy and fading away. Beside her was an empty bottle of pills, a butter knife she'd used to carve up the wall, and a flask of some kind of liquor. She was wheezing in and out slowly, shallowly, and her eyes were half-lidded. She was _dying_. Overtaken with horror, Cas went to her and dropped to kneel in front of her, taking a gentle hold of her as he was quickly lost in shocked grief. How was she dying? How did this happen? Samandriel had said Alex was fine at Bobby's, that she hadn't left in days—but somehow she was dying here in the year 1998?! Nandriel was supposed to have been her guardian—how was this transpiring? Cas fumbled for understanding and comprehension and could find none.

He could barely even _recognize_ the girl in his arms. Alex looked up at him in a drugged, dying stupor and her eyes held no recognition—those hazel depths that had gazed at him a thousand times before were foggy and sluggish, dull—they belonged to a stranger. Cas thought he felt his heart breaking as he held her small body in place, drawing her to him so that he cradled her against himself like a child. She _was_ a child. Only fifteen. Cas noticed a strange pattern on her forearm and gently took her wrist and pulled her arm up to look. In rows from wrist to inner elbow, she had long white, raised scars. His heart tightened miserably. Were these from _self-harm_? Cas looked at her again in silent agony. "Alex…" he breathed anxiously, holding her lolling head up with a hand. His heart raced, his veins burned with a feeling of shock and horror, his mind churned, he couldn't accept this as being real. _How did this happen to you?_

The use of her name rendered her face confused, but her features didn't or perhaps couldn't move much. Her eyes just looked into his with unknowing consternation. He thought if she had clarity and strength she might have fought him. But she had the look of someone who had given up to the pull of a strong current. She was _waiting_ to die. Why hadn't he _sensed_ this? Alex just looked at him in a drugged, dying stupor, seeming mildly confused but largely unaffected—her gaze was fading, drifting away.

"How did this _happen_?" Cas asked hollowly, realizing in horror that this Alex was not the Alex he knew at _all_ and that she was miserable, broken, beaten, ruined. Beyond repair. Beyond salvage. Beyond _bearing_ —he couldn't take it, he thought he would break too.

"Like dominoes, my friend," Balthazar said quietly, somberly. He stood further back, watching with a perplexed look on his face—he didn't understand the way Cas held this girl or why he cared so much. "One little change sets off a string of others. She grew up separate from the boys, it would seem. And now, somehow… _this_."

Castiel had banked _everything_ on this—the plan for the souls would afford him to escape from his partnership from Crowley, would gain him victory in the war. But at the sight of Alex like this he knew he couldn't go through with it—not even for a second. "We have to change it back," he declared, looking back at his brother urgently. He had to erase this and undo the damage done, _now._

Balthazar shrugged, smiling easily. "Oh, I don't know about all _that._ Why can't you just fix her? Save her from whatever overdose she's given herself just now, restore the voice, wait a few years so you're not a raging pedophile, then on with the show?"

Castiel was offended and incensed. "She's _broken_ , Balthazar! Can't you see? How could I ever fix…" he trailed off, looking at this girl who he loved more than anyone or anything and he _mourned_. There was no hope or love in her eyes, there was no bright curiosity or sweet girlish shyness, there was no brazen stubborn, insightful, and endearingly impish confidence. There was only pain and anguish and deep sorrow. He felt those things she was emanating and he wanted to weep from seeing how agonized and alone she was. There was no other choice. He had to set it right and change it back _now._

Balthazar didn't understand his brother's deep emotions for even a second. "Blimey, you're quite the sentimental, aren't you?"

Further riled, Castiel looked at his brother with deep accusation—he held Alex tighter to himself protectively and he spoke slowly and stiltedly in an effort to control himself. "This human girl—is the single most important thing in all of existence—that ever has been—or _ever will be_." He looked at Balthazar hard. "Now _go,_ re-sink the Titanic."

Balthazar's eyebrows shot up. "Just like that? W-what about the war, what about the souls and—"

"All of it be _damned_ , Balthazar!" Castiel all but shouted, losing his mind slightly in that moment. He heaved several deep, impassioned breaths as he clutched the small body of Alex to himself and felt how close she was to fading away forever. "If she's gone, none of this was worth anything!" His words reverberated in shocked air. " _Go_! Now!"

Chastened, Balthazar took a beat, nodded agreement, and disappeared into the past to do what Castiel had commanded.

Cas struggled to regulate his uneven, upset breathing and he looked back at Alex, who was laying slack in his arms, half-conscious. He touched her face, smoothed her hair. His hand trembled despite his best efforts. In a fading stupor, she looked at him in confusion. Her eyes slowly followed his hand as he trailed his fingertips against the side of her face. He saw how she was wondering who he was and why he was holding her like that, touching her so gently. "I'm so sorry," he whispered, stricken to the point of near-tears, so engulfed in grief that he could barely function. "I'm so sorry."

Their eyes met and her eyebrows moved in together slowly. _Who are you?_ She seemed to be wondering. His fingertips traced down the long, white scar down the side of his face. "You won't remember this," he promised her in a hoarse murmur. He loathed himself for causing this, for having any small part in this horrible outcome. "The pain. The loneliness. I'll take it from you, you won't have to remember." He wanted to beg her forgiveness, yet she had no idea who he was. "I'm so _sorry_."

Her eyes moved to traverse the area beyond his shoulder, going up and following an arc, and Cas froze, realizing she could see his wings in her lessening state of consciousness. Miracle of all miracles, her eyes took in his darkly feathered wingspan and the softest little ghost of a _smile_ came over her chapped lips—her tense features relaxed, she appeared more like herself, she looked younger and freer and more alive. His heart went out to her. His Alex. Did this version of her believe in angels, he wondered? Did she think he was there to take her to Heaven? Her fingers twitched as if she wanted to reach out to touch, feel, and contemplate the sight she had just discovered. But she was too weak. At that moment her shallow breathing became even more labored and her eyes abruptly became despaired and frightened, she looked into his eyes silently and her fingers weakly curled into his trench coat. With a deeply knit brow, Castiel let his wings settle down to wrap around her gently and he took her hand and held it to himself, leaning close and pressing his lips to her forehead in a kiss that lingered, a kiss she wouldn't understand but he had to give.

She was Jane Doe, another forgotten ward of the state. She had lived a horrible, pained, _lonely_ existence. She had fought against everyone who ever tried to love her and tame her, she had screamed internally for someone to hear her and come rescue her, to take her from this life she had never belonged in. She had raged and fought and tried to destroy herself. Hope had died a long time ago when they never came for her.

But there in that room as she laid dying, she suddenly felt a peace she had never known before. This stranger, this handsome man with angel's wings and eyes she swore she recognized and knew—he held her with so much care and gentleness, he kissed her forehead and her tired eyes fell closed in inexplicable relief. Soft feathers whispered against her and she was _safe._ She was left feeling beautiful things instead of agony. Her weak and unresponsive limbs sagged, her ear rested against the man in the trench coat's chest. She could hear his heart beating, and it was the last sound she ever heard. _Here you are_ _…_ _at last_ _…_ her soul itself breathed, knowing this man somehow in her last moment. She was home. She could finally, _finally_ rest.

And then everything faded to white and that timeline was erased and destroyed, a mere imagining and distant dream.

* * *

**Present Day  
Sioux Falls, South Dakota**

Dean Winchester woke up with a start in the front seat of the car and at nearly the same moment, Sam did too. Disoriented and confused, they both took a couple seconds to frown around at the car and each other. "What the…" Sam muttered, just as disconcerted as Dean felt. 

Dean stared at the steering wheel of the Impala. Wait. The _Impala!_ Everything rushed his mind and then at the exact same moment, the brothers got the same idea. With marked urgency and fear that the back seat would be empty, they twisted around to look.

There, asleep peacefully, their sister, like she'd never been gone at all. She was using her bent arm as a pillow and her mouth sagged open as she snored and drooled. Sam and Dean both let out soft little sighs of relief—then looked at each other in suspicion. "What?" They asked each other at the same moment, unsure why the other was twisting around in alarm to check on Alex.

Dean went first after Sam gave him a _well?_ look. "Nothing, I—I just had this… this _insane_ dream," he said, letting out a heavy whoosh of air as he stared out of the windshield in confusion. He still felt upset and weird from it, deeply unsettled. "Felt so _real,_ man."

Sam was mildly taken aback. "Yeah, me too—crazy dream, like, mentally _scarring_ ," he said, sounding just about as traumatized as Dean felt.

Alex smacked her mouth as sleep continued.

Dean scoffed and got out of the car in an attempt to escape the weird, _real_ feeling of that dream. Sam followed suit. "No _way_ was yours worse than mine," Dean told his brother across the top of the car, running a hand through his hair as he tried to tell himself to chill out, it was just a wacko dream. But it had felt so _real._ Why would he dream something so specific, so vivid, so detailed? It left him feeling violated almost. "I dreamed Dad got rid of Alex when she was three—"

Sam's expression showed stunned confusion. "—and she died when she was fifteen?" 

The brothers stared at each other briefly and Dean was confounded. "…How'd you know that?" he asked dubiously.

"That's what _I_ dreamed," Sam said, sounding worried and suspicious.

"No… that's what _I_ dreamed," Dean argued, getting worried too as he stared his brother down. "…Why're you having my dreams, dude?" 

Sam hesitated anxiously. "I… I dunno. Do you think—"

"What _time_ is it?" came a sleepy voice.

With hair that was sticking up at the back of her head from laying on it wrong, Alex was stiffly getting out of the back seat on Dean's side and stretching as she squinted groggily. She let out a squeak of surprise when Dean scooped her up into a really tight hug and didn't let go. Grumpy and confused, she flailed, resisting. "Hey, uggh, what…?" she trailed off and her vague annoyance faded away as Dean hugged her close like that like he hadn't seen her in years or like there had just been a close call. She hesitated then pushed back and studied Dean in slight worry. "You okay?" she asked, frowning a lot, seeming totally uncertain about why he seemed so glad to see her.

Dean cleared his throat against thick emotion—he'd felt like she was gone forever and now she wasn't. "Yeah, I'm—"

" _Ow_ , Sam!" Alex protested when Sam abruptly bear-hugged her too. She gave up, patting him cajolingly on the back as he squeezed her so tight she wheezed a little. "Jesus, who died?" she joked when he'd let go, looking at them both with a lopsided little grin. When they got hurt looks on their faces she fell into more seriousness and confusion. "…What's wrong with you two?" Slight fear grew in her eyes. "Did—did something happen?"

Sam found his voice first. "No, but did you, like, have any weird dreams or…?"

" _Dreams_?" she repeated skeptically, looking between her brothers in turn with staunch confusion. "No…?" She sounded really lost, and it was obvious she was aware something was getting to them both. "You guys okay?"

The brothers exchanged a brief look and both understood neither wanted to tell her about it, not even briefly. It was too insane and too painful, too much. "Fine, we're fine," Dean said, even though he had no idea what the fuck had just happened. He chalked it up to craziness and decided he didn't _wanna_ know. His brother was here, his sister was here—everything was normal. He'd have to ask Cas or Balthazar about it later, that was for sure though. But maybe it _had_ been just a dream. How could it be anything else?

Alex was frowning shrewdly at him, then Sam. "…You sure?" she prompted.

Dean let out a long, tense breath and nodded, realizing everything _was_ fine. "No. Yeah. Everything's great." He put an arm around her shoulder, then looked at Sam and gave his arm a little punch. "Everything's just like it's supposed to be." He realized he had everything in the world at that moment, and he felt pride and affection welling up in him. This was his _family_. No one else in the world like them, ever. "You know what?" he asked, realizing it had been too long since they just spent time together and did nothing. "I wanna just hang out with you two. Pop some corn, drink some booze, watch a movie, play some games, smoke a bowl, shoot some targets… whatever. Forget the research for a little while. Just… family time." 

Sam looked touched and his face worked to hide it—he nodded. "Yeah. Okay. Sounds good."

Alex was smiling faintly through her still-there suspicion. "Uh… okay…?"

They ambled inside, Alex sandwiched between her hovering brothers.

Castiel stood there invisibly and watched with wretched relief as the little family went into Bobby's home safe and sound. Things were as they had been before he attempted to change fate. The Winchesters could never know that _he_ was behind what had happened, what they would from here on out suppose to be a strange dream. But _he_ would know. And it tore at him. He wondered: _what am I becoming?_ He couldn't face these humans he cared about. Not so soon after holding a dying and miserable Alex in his arms. That had happened to her because of him. And even though she didn't remember it, he _did_. He wanted to go to her and hold her and tell her everything. But he held himself back. He was an angel working with a demon. If Alex knew… what would she say? He didn't want to know. 

Alex would remain slightly confused the rest of that day. When Dean randomly hugged her again in the middle of the kitchen and asked if she knew that he loved her, she didn't know why. When Sam suddenly got teary eyed for no reason and put his arm around her, squeezing hard, she didn't know why. When she flipped through the channels and _Titanic_ was on and Sam and Dean both demanded she turn it off, she didn't know why. She just thought they were being weird.

* * *

**That Night**

It was the dead silence of night. Alex woke abruptly and sat up in bed, looking around the room in disorientation. No one was there, but she thought she had heard him, or felt him maybe. A strange feeling settled in the pit of her stomach and she blinked into the dark shadows of the attic in confusion. "…Cas?" she asked in the quietest little whisper. There was no reply. "You there?" Silence. There was no one.

Only, there _was_. She just couldn't see him. Very close to her, Cas remained silent and invisible, too ashamed to go to her but needing to be close to her. He was too appalled at what he had caused to happen. He felt like he couldn't let her look into his eyes or she would see the monster he felt he was becoming.

So he remained in the dark, cloaked by the weakening shroud of secrets he hid behind, trapped in the shrinking world of lies he had created for himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has to be one of the most sadistic chapters I ever wrote…? It's up there with chapter 20! I got so depressed writing it. We always knew John considered giving Alex up but thanks to a strong whiskey invented by a Titanic passenger who would have otherwise died and never invented said liquor, John went through with the idea he toyed with. In SRS canon he didn't go through with the idea because he was able to hold back long enough til Alex was six—and when he told Bobby about his thoughts concerning letting her go at that time, he got his ass handed to him. Thanks Bobby.
> 
> This chapter/episode was quite different than the show, because on the show, Cas was going to let Fate keep killing those people so that he could use their souls. However, he was backed into a corner when Atropos said she and her sisters would kill Sam and Dean if Castiel didn't re-sink the Titanic and make history/fate right. It didn't get that far in this version of the episode for obvious reasons: Alex being involved changed everything. Cas realized what his actions had set into motion for the one he loves and seeing her ruined life and bitter end propelled him to set things back the way they were.


	76. Shadow of a Doubt

" _Darkness building on my mind still I keep it all inside._ _"  
_ \- Sacred Mother Tongue

* * *

**Lansing, Michigan**

Two flashlight beams skimmed over shadowed surfaces: a twin bed, a dresser, a locker-style closet, a nightstand stacked with books and journals.

"This place gives me the creeps," Dean muttered as he cautiously entered the makeshift bedroom.

Right behind him, Alex was similarly wary. "Can't imagine why…"

They were at the Campbell compound which was by all appearances completely deserted. Just a couple doors down Sam and Bobby were looking through Samuel's office space. Why? Because Sam said there was some kind of library hidden on the premises. The idea was if they could find this library, they might be able to find something more about this Eve character who was popping up and making trouble.

The last straw was a couple weeks ago when Eve sent that Khan worm and almost killed Bobby. She had the blood of Rufus Turner on her hands as well as a bunch of innocent regular Joes and as such, the Winchesters were hunting her down with intent to kill. But they needed more information… like where she was, how to track her, what could gank her. And so far they had zip, zero, zilch and oh yeah… _nada._ That's why they were here. They'd exhausted Bobby's resources to no avail trying to find anything about the mother, but Samuel, who'd had his hands in a few underhanded places, might have left some resources behind in his library. That was the hope, anyway.

Dean went over and opened up the locker to look for anything useful. Alex crouched to shine her flashlight under the bed. Sam said he remembered a trap door being 'somewhere' that led to a secret room where the library was. He just couldn't remember _where_. His memories were still pretty stark from his time being soulless and he didn't remember much. He said he could still barely remember being possessed by Lucifer. Alex saw no trap door under the bed and pushed on a knee to stand back up. She let her flashlight spotlight the books on Samuel's nightstand.

"Why you think the rest of the Campbells just disappeared?" she asked, picking a volume up and frowning at it dubiously. The entire place was a ghost town—a neat, orderly, well-supplied, ghost town. Why would people bug out without taking all these resources with them?

"Maybe there _weren_ _'_ _t_ any left after Gwen," Dean supposed. He was making a good bit of racket as he poked through the locker. "We won't know, now."

Alex set the book back, a little skeeved out about where they were—granddad or not, she had come to hate Samuel Campbell with a passion by now.

"Son of a _bitch_." Dean let out a disgusted breath of air and jiggled something at her that sounded like a tic-tac container. Alex turned to see. He was holding an orange pill bottle between his thumb and pointer and he had a wan expression on his face. " _Roofies_." He looked sickened and let the bottle crack back down onto the shelf he'd found it on. "You believe this motherfucker?"

Alex shook her head in disbelief as her stomach turned. Samuel had probably been using those to keep Jamie dumbed down, but Alex had a hunch that there was something supernatural involved too. After all, Jamie had been pretty brainwashed when they had found her with Samuel until her memory was jogged. As the subject of Jamie came up without being spoken aloud, Alex wondered. She knew Dean had spent a few days with her helping her find her car and weapons but… she didn't really know how it went. All she knew was Jamie had hit the road afterward and Dean hadn't said much about it either way. And now, being here at the Campbell compound, well, it really made her curious. Did Jamie maybe confide in Dean about whatever twisted shit went on here between herself and Samuel? One way to find out. Alex debated internally a couple beats. Then decided to ask. "Did Jamie say anything about… I dunno, anything?"

Dean stiffened slightly at the mention of her then gave a brief, curt shake of the head as he continued to look in the locker. "Nope."

 _Hmm_. Alex pawed through the nightstand drawer—lighter, pens, paper. Nothing of consequence. "So how'd you two leave it?" she asked her brother, trying to sound casual.

It didn't work. He got defensive and looked at her indignantly. "What do you mean, 'how'd we leave it'?" He was trying to hard to sound like he didn't care either way. "We found her car and stuff then she took off. After I bought her a couple beers and eats. You know. To say thanks or whatever."

Alex found herself smiling in the dark despite everything. She _had_ been right. She could hear it in the way Dean talked. "You like her, huh?"

The very idea seemed ludicrous to Dean. " _Pssh_." He scoffed with too much gusto. " _No_."

Alex chuckled and teased her brother. "Ooh you got it _bad_ …"

"I do not!" he insisted grumpily.

Alex was still chuckling. "You make it too easy, Dean," she said fondly, because he really did. Goading him was fun, but as she thought of Jamie's experience here, she became somber again. The witch might _act_ tough but was just as emotionally fucked up as the rest of them… and now it was worse thanks to Samuel. Alex was guilty and frankly a little worried. Jamie had no one—no family, no real friends. Only a small network of hunting acquaintances but no one to really turn to for anything besides job help. Not that Jamie would. She was the type to lone wolf it. "Wish she hadn't gotten mixed up in all of this," Alex murmured softly. It seemed like the family curse… get involved with the Winchesters, get screwed over in one way or another.

Dean took a moment to reply. "That makes two of us." He sounded pretty guilty too.

Alex shined her flashlight around the room as her thoughts deepened. "Her brother, our granddad… goes to show monsters aren't just the guys with claws." Dean turned his head to look at her tensely when she mentioned Glen so offhandedly. She was busy looking at the top of the dresser. On it, a framed photo of Samuel and his family—his wife and his daughter. She picked up the photo and contemplated it, trying to find a sign of her grandfather's true nature in that old, faded photograph. She couldn't see it, yet she knew it was there. "Honestly sometimes I think humans are the worst ones of all."

Dean shut the locker with a resounding metal clang. "I've said it before and I'll say it again." He headed over to her. "Demons, I get. People…? Who knows."

Alex set the photograph back down. "I'll drink to that," she agreed. Dean gave her a tight, cautious smile and then put his arm around her shoulder and gave it a squeeze. Alex looked at her brother sidelong, scoffing and smiling at the same time skeptically. "Dean—what's with all the random hugs lately?" For the past week or so her brothers had been _extremely_ huggy and reminiscent, and a little annoying honestly—jumpy, overprotective (insisting on accompanying her _everywhere_ , even to the grocery store), sort of sappy. "You're acting _weird_. You and Sam both."

Dean scoffed too, abruptly dropping the emotional tones in his expression. "You really gonna whine about us hugging you?" He let go and shoved her head lightly. " _Lame_." Alex chuckled at his typical macho man reaction.

From nearby they heard Sam give a muffled shout. "Guys! In here!"

Dean and Alex were already darting out the door. They found Bobby and Sam pushing the heavy oak desk in Samuel's office backwards. "Think we found it," Sam said, grunting a little as the desk scraped across the floor. "Samuel's secret stash."

Sure enough, a trapdoor had been hidden underneath the large desk. Sam unlatched it and pulled it open. "I'll be damned," Bobby breathed as they all looked into the small, dark square. The beginnings of a ladder was visible before darkness obscured the descending rungs from view. Bobby looked up and glanced between the Winchesters. "Must be some good stuff down in there if ya gotta go through so much trouble to get to it."

"Here's hoping," Sam agreed. They were all hesitating about going down into that dark, unknown space.

"Ladies first?" Dean joked, giving Alex a teasing little grin.

Yeah right. Without missing a beat she looked at her twin expectantly. "That means you're up first, Samantha."

Sam gave a prissy little expression like he was thinking _very funny guys._ Either way he carefully turned and headed down the ladder. He found and flipped on the lights in the small area as Dean followed then Alex and then Bobby.

"Huh. Welcome to the Campbell family library!" Sam commented, gawking around. It was a small, clammy space with old cement walls. Even though the lights were buzzing overhead, the space was still pretty dim. Dean's flashlight skimmed over a wall of old family photos—civil war era stuff. A table and chairs sat in the middle of the room and on all the walls there were low shelves filled with books. Alex spotted a cobweb in the corner of one of the shelves and shuddered mildly.

"So Samuel collected all this stuff, huh?" Dean asked, sweeping his flashlight over the shelves on the far wall. The room felt like a bomb shelter—lifeless and cold, confined.

"Yeah," Sam confirmed, letting his flashlight sweep the space as well. "Think a lot of it might be stolen from other hunters, too. Can't remember all the details."

"Wow." Dean turned to Bobby. "All right, well, what're we looking for?"

"Anything that'll put a run in the Octomom's stockings," Bobby replied. He sounded tired already and they hadn't even started. "Pick a row."

Alex pulled a slight face as she took in the amount of books. "We're gonna be here all night."

Dean sent a little wise-ass smile her way. "Good thing I packed the bedtime stories."

That got him a slightly irritated side-eye from Alex as she gingerly pulled a cobweb-free book off the shelf she was closest to. "You know, I think you could do standup." The way she said it sounded genuine, like a compliment. Dean chuckled (that stupid little _heh heh heh_ he did when he thought he'd hit the jackpot). And then Alex finished her sentence loftily as she cracked open the dusty volume in her hands. "…and I'd be in the front row to boo you off the stage."

Dean's grin dropped and he scoffed. "I'm hilarious!"

"Hilariously _awful_ ," Sam put in from nearby as he tried to hide a smile on his face. He got a peevish glance for the teasing comment.

"Kids, can we squabble later?" Bobby asked in weary impatience—he was forever irritated when they decided to kick it high school and see who could out-insult or out-annoy each other. "Get readin'."

Sam chuckled and answered for all of them. "Yes sir."

For about forty-five minutes they were all pretty silent and focused as they set to work dividing and conquering the stacks. Some were journals, some were library volumes, some were hand-written. None of them had anything about the mother of all or Eve, at least not that Alex found. She was in the middle of rubbing an eye in an attempt to keep herself from falling over asleep when Bobby spoke up.

"Bingo!" He waved a volume up in the air briefly. "Think I got something. Wanna gather round for story time, kids?" He sat down at the table and switched on the little reading lamp there and spread the book out, squinting at the pages. Dean and Alex joined one by one—Sam had already been sitting and reading. "You jokers ever heard anything about a Phoenix?" Bobby asked when they were all seated.

"River, Joaquin, or the giant flaming bird?" Dean asked.

"You forgot 'Harry Potter and the Order of'," Alex said. At the looks she got from her brothers she made a face. " _What_?"

" _Nerd_ ," Dean coughed. He got kicked in the ankle courtesy of his sister. "Ow!"

"Had that one coming," Sam commented to Dean, hiding his amusement poorly as he glanced up from the volume he was skimming.

Bobby was disgruntled at the time wasting. "I'm tryin' to _talk_ here, idjits, can ya pay attention for three seconds?" He gave them a parental, expectant look that told them to get in line quick. Then he summarized from the book in his hand. "It says here that the ashes of a Phoenix can burn 'the mother.'"

"Hm. Sounds like what we need," Alex said thoughtfully, craning her neck to peer at the archaic illustration Bobby was looking at.

"Yeah—so where do we get one?" Dean asked.

Bobby shrugged, made a bit of a face. "You got me. I thought it was a _myth._ _"_

There was a short silence. "Well I'll call the local _pet stores_ , see if they have any," Alex said churlishly, flipping her book closed haphazardly. That would be just their luck if the one thing that could kill Eve was extinct.

"Back to the books," Sam suggested, ever the dogged optimist. "There's gotta be something about a Phoenix in all these volumes _somewhere_."

"Yeah right," Dean muttered, grumpy about having to do so much reading and fact-finding. "Watch us read all these friggin' books and find nothing else at all."

"That's the spirit," Bobby commented flatly, sending Dean a little side glance.

They hit the books again and spent awhile more running into dead ends before Dean was the one who hit gold. "Guys." He sounded mildly excited. "Guys, guys, guys, guys, guys, check this out!" He slid into the chair at the table across from Sam. Bobby looked at Dean curiously and Alex turned halfway from where she stood at the shelf that was behind Sam. Dean began to read and he sounded pretty stoked. "' _March fifth_ _,_ _eighteen sixty-one. Sunrise, Wyoming. Gun killed a Phoenix today. Left a pile of smoldering ash._ '"

Sam looked intrigued. " _Really_. Whose gun?"

Dean was holding back a grin. "Colt's."

"Colt?" Sam asked. "Colt like—"

"Like _the_ Colt," Dean said. A grin was beginning to spread across his face and it made his eyes crinkle up. "From…" he held the book up that he had just read from to show them the cover. "… Samuel Colt's journal." The leather-bound book had a devil's trap on the cover and the inside page said it was the private journal of Samuel Colt.

"What?!" Sam grinned and his eyes were bright with sudden glee. "That's _his_?"

"For real?" Alex asked, also feeling pretty star-struck—she'd drifted over slowly, forgetting the book she'd been skimming.

Dean was more excited than he had been in a long time. " _Yeah_."

Sam fangirled. "Dude, _no_ _._ "

So did Dean. "Dude, _yes_."

Alex joined in. "Awesome!"

"Well lemme me see it," Sam said, grabbing for it across the table.

Dean sat back, keeping the journal to himself. "Get your own."

"Hey!" Alex made to grab. "Share!"

Dean yanked it out of reach again. "Make me!"

"Hey, hey, can we focus here, children?" Bobby asked with a long-suffering glance at each in turn. "Dean, what else did he say about the Phoenix? What's it look like? Has it got feathers?"

Dean looked at the journal entry again. "It just says 'Phoenix.'"

Bobby's frown deepened. "Did he say where he tracked it?"

Dean shrugged mildly. "No."

"Say anything else useful at _all_?"

Dean shook his head once. "Uh… negative."

Bobby all but rolled his eyes. "Well _I_ feel well equipped with knowledge, how about you chuckleheads?"

Sam rested his index finger against his lips as his thumb sat against his jaw. "Hm. Guess we just gotta find one of our own, whatever it is," he surmised.

"What if they're extinct?" Alex asked doubtfully. She let out a terse sigh and headed back to the shelf with her book. She'd been so excited for a minute there and wasn't anymore. "This is a dead end."

"Hey, how about some optimism, Eeyore?" Dean asked. He suddenly paused as he got a look on his face like he was thinking _ah ha!_ His demeanor took on mounting excitement. "I know where we can find one." He got three very intense, expectant looks. He spread his arms like the answer was obvious to him. "March fifth, eighteen sixty-one. Sunrise, Wyoming. We'll Star Trek four this bitch."

Bobby looked to Sam in confusion, who shrugged. Bobby shrugged too. "I only watched Deep Space Nine."

Dean looked at Bobby in disbelief then at Sam who appeared clueless, then at Alex who was scratching the side of her head and frowning where she stood off by a few feet. Severely disappointed, Dean scoffed. "It's like I don't even _know_ you guys anymore—" he gestured at his sister almost indignantly. "Alex, you remember, come _on,_ I know you do!"

She shrugged and made a face like she thought he was half-crazy. "Well yeah but I don't know what humpback _whales_ are gonna help with…?"

Dean gave her an incredulous, deadpan look. "Not the whale part, the _time travel_ part."

"Ohhh…" she smiled and pointed a finger at him knowingly. " _Now_ I see what you're getting at." She paused and then adopted a serious tone and got him back for the comment he made earlier about her being a nerd. "But I also need you to reevaluate who the real nerd in this room is."

"Yeah well _you_ _'_ _re_ the one who just knew the plot of a Star Trek movie," Sam pointed out in staged innocence.

She frowned his way. "Shuddup."

" _Focus_ , kids," Bobby said, more lost than anyone else. "What's _Star Trek_ have to do with getting us the Phoenix?"

"It's easy," Dean explained, getting intense and talking like it was the most logical plan he'd ever heard of. "We hop back in time, we join up with Samuel Colt, we hunt the Phoenix, and then we haul the ashes back home with us." He looked at Sam and Bobby like he was waiting for either of them to tell him how much of a genius he was.

" _Time travel_?" Bobby asked incredulously. " _That's_ a reasonable plan?"

"Yeah! I mean we got a guy who can swing it, right?" Dean asked, not deterred. In fact, he seemed excited. He stood up and leaned over the table, shutting his eyes. "Castiel," he said loudly, surprising Alex. That name alone made her heart beat a little faster. "The, uh, fate of the world is in the balance. So, come on down here." Dean let an eye pop open and he looked around. No one appeared. "Come on, Cas, 'I Dream of Jeannie' your ass down here pronto. Please." Again, nothing. Dean frowned and looked at Alex. "Okay, well, maybe if you're the one who—"

He stopped speaking when the soft whisper of angel's wings sounded nearby. Everyone turned to look. But instead of Castiel, a polished woman had appeared. Everyone was mildly surprised—she was tall, wore a business suit, and had long blonde hair that was clipped back halfway. "…Jeannie?" Dean asked once he found his voice. Alex darkened the second she saw the angel. She knew who she was and didn't like her at _all._

" _Rachel_ ," the angel corrected graciously. Her demeanor seemed pleasant enough, but Alex didn't buy it. "I understand you need some assistance?" she asked, looking from Dean to Sam with a forced smile that didn't reach her eyes. "How can I help you?"

Everyone in the room was mystified at her arrival paired with Cas's unexplained absence. "Well, uh, we kind of need to talk to the Big Kahuna…" Dean said, trying to be polite for the moment.

Rachel smiled, professional and unreadable but slightly off-putting. "I'm here on Castiel's behalf."

"…Where is he?" Sam asked, frowning faintly in worry and suspicion as he stared at the angel.

Rachel looked at him sharply even though that plastic smile held. " _Busy_ ," was her curt reply.

"With _what_?" Alex asked lowly, folding her arms.

Rachel looked at Alex directly and her eyes were cold and full of aversion. "Matters that do not concern you."

Indignant at the rude remark and the increasingly lofty attitude, Alex took a step closer as her arms loosened. "So he sent _you_?" she asked in sarcastic skepticism as her hands set onto her hips. No way. No _way._ He would have sent Balthazar or had Samandriel go un-invisible and deliver that message, right? Was Rachel screwing around? Had something happened to Cas?

Dean looked at the two women who were exchanging dagger stares. "I take it you two have met…?" he asked slowly.

Alex's face was cold and hard and she didn't take eyes off of Rachel. "A little." This was the angel who hadn't delivered Castiel's message to her last year. This was the angel who had _lied_ to Cas and said Alex had gotten the message and was waiting for him when in fact Alex had spent the year not knowing _where_ her angel was at all. She kind of despised Rachel with that in consideration… and obviously Rachel didn't like Alex either.

Dean hesitated, growing a little cautious about what was currently happening. He addressed Rachel with growing mistrust thanks to his sister's attitude. "Well listen, we've got a line on the mother of freaking _everything_ so—"

"I'm sure your issue's very important," Rachel interrupted, smiling again in false pleasantness as she swiveled her head to look at him. Her smile was pinched, clearly phony and patronizing. "But Castiel is currently commanding an _army_ , so—"

"So we get stuck with Miss Moneypenny," Dean muttered insolently.

Rachel's smile faded into a more unfriendly expression and her voice hardened a little. "So you need to learn your _place,_ " she corrected.

Dean's eyebrows shot up, Sam sat back in surprise, even Bobby looked shocked. "… _Excuse_ me?" Alex challenged. "Just who the _hell_ do you think you are?"

Rachel looked at her testily. "I'm his _friend_."

"What, and we're _not_?" Alex asked, shocked at this development and also pretty sure Cas didn't view Rachel as anything but a foot soldier and an asset—not a _friend_. Seriously, who did this moron think she was?

There was a deeply judgmental air to Rachel's demeanor when she replied. "I think you call him when you _need_ something."

Again, Alex was thunderstruck. "What are you, his _secretary_? His _mother_?" Her voice was getting harder and harder because Rachel was seriously starting to piss her the hell off. "And more importantly, why is this any of your business?"

"He's my _brother_." Rachel stepped a little closer to Alex, heightening the tensions in the room—Dean stiffened, Sam stood up slowly behind his sister, Alex's hand twitched as she thought of her angel blade. Rachel didn't notice. She was too busy trying to act like Cas was hers or something. "He's my concern, not yours," she said in a low, hostile voice. "You don't hold rights to him."

Alex's eyebrows moved in together as her eyes narrowed. This was bordering on absurd. "What, and you _do_?" Cas had never said much about Rachel, but this crazy cow was acting almost like a jealous girlfriend or something.

"He belongs to _Heaven_ , not to earth," the angel said accusingly. Her already confrontational tone was growing even more impassioned. "You've clouded his mind, you've perverted his judgement!"

Dean and Sam both looked at Alex in wordless confounded shock like they had no idea what to say to that and were a little nervous about how she would take the insults. Their sister inexplicably smiled to herself and looked down at the ground, _chuckling_. Rachel looked confused at the reaction. "Okay, you know what, _Rachel_?" Alex asked calmly. She let her tone drip superiority that would hit Rachel right where it hurt. Tilting her head back, she looked down her nose at the angel deliberately. "Don't come in here and act like _you_ get to say where he belongs and who he answers to." She realized that she had the upper hand as Rachel's expression grew more and more angry. Alex pressed the petty advantage. "He made his choice a long time ago, _bitch_ , and his choice was _me_."

Rachel's expression went cold with wrathful anger and she made to move forward. "You _petty,_ entitled little—"

Between the two women a new person appeared with a burst of wind—it was Castiel, and he was angry. "Rachel!" His sharp ringing voice stopped her short, his appearance seemed to shock her. "That's enough."

"C-Castiel." Rachel shrank back a step, abruptly nervous and simpering. "I—I was only—"

"Save your excuses Rachel." Castiel cut her off in a dark, baleful voice. His wrathful gaze burned into Rachel unhappily and his brow was knit together deeply. "I _told_ you not to come here." There was a long pause. Dean, Sam, and Bobby gaped at what had just happened as Castiel took a step closer to his subordinate and left no uncertainties about his stance. "You will not speak with disrespect to her. To _any_ of them. Do you understand?"

Rachel was cowed underneath Castiel's fierce glare. "…Yes." She was diminutive and chastened but clearly sullen. "I understand." Her eyes darted to Alex darkly. There was an accusing quality to the glower.

Castiel stepped in front of Alex, blocking her from view in a demand for Rachel's gaze. "Now _go_."

Rachel complied but unhappily. When she disappeared, Dean crossed his arms and set Cas with a pretty challenging look. " _Wow._ Friend of yours?"

Cas was no longer hostile. Instead he was abruptly contrite. "No, Dean. She's my lieutenant. She's... she can be abrasive at times, but she's committed to the cause." Cas turned halfway to look at Alex, who was quiet at his side now. "I apologize for her behavior. I came as quickly as I could."

Still taken aback at what had happened, Dean cast around for support of his reaction. "Just me or did she seem kinda… interested?"

Cas's eyes crimped up. "…In what?"

"In _you_." Dean looked at Cas suspiciously. "Seemed pretty possessive, kinda like at desperate housewife levels."

Castiel looked even more confused than ever. "She's not my…" he trailed off, frowning deeply and glancing at Alex then abandoning his sentence completely. "That's inconceivable," he assured Dean. "Her behavior is a result of her feelings about the war. About angelic code." Cas seemed weary of himself and the world in general. "She believes that my devotion and loyalty to your family is misplaced."

Sam gave a facetious little smile and nod. "Yeah, we kinda got that."

Mildly embarrassed by all appearances, Cas looked down briefly. "I apologize if she spoke to you out of turn." He looked at Alex again and touched her gently on the arm when he saw her half-pinched expression. His deep, rough voice softened when he spoke to her. "Are you all right?"

A little self-conscious with her brothers and uncle nearby and watching, Alex's eyes were timid to meet Castiel's steady ones. "I don't like her," she muttered. Maybe it was childish, but Alex felt worried now, a little skeptical and jealous—her heart rate was still elevated from the adrenaline that had accompanied that argument she and Rachel had been getting into. "Why did she come instead of you?"

Castiel was still contrite and his gaze fell somberly. "I was in the middle of laying battle plans. She must have intercepted the prayer Dean sent. I'm sorry for the delay. I had to finish what I was doing." He let go of Alex's arm and stood there looking miserable.

Surprisingly, Dean was the one who spoke up first. And he was even _nice_. "Buddy, don't worry about it—we understand," he said genuinely, giving Cas a little smile that said it was okay. "Thanks for coming."

Cas looked at Dean with surprise, appearing touched. "Of course, Dean." Feeling a little more sure of himself, the angel looked around the room. "Now what is it that you need?"

"Yeah, so… we found out we need the ashes of a Phoenix to gank this bitch mother of all," Dean explained. "Well, we found a Phoenix, which is where you come in." He paused, Cas's frown deepened. "The Phoenix is like a hundred and fifty years in the past. March fifth, eighteen sixty-one, somewhere in Sunrise, Wyoming."

"…You want to travel back in time," Cas surmised after a short pause.

Apparently Dean couldn't find it within himself to resist some snark. "No, we want to sit around and play _Bingo._ "

Castiel looked thoroughly confused. "What is Bi—" he suddenly realized. "You're being sarcastic."

Dean let that one slide. "So what do you think, Cas?" He wiggled his eyebrows, apparently pleased with whatever he was about to say. "Can we ride you like the Delorean?"

Sam made a weird, teasing face at Dean's reference. "Really sure you wanna phrase it that way, Dean?"

Dean scoffed sidelong at his brother. "Shut up."

Cas was contemplating tensely. "It's… an interesting idea. Travel to the past and use this Phoenix's ash to kill the mother." His jaw flexed briefly in a grave expression. "I'm not sure. I—I don't want to upset the balance of the timeline."

"The what?" Alex asked. He sounded strange to her. Guilty maybe.

Cas's eyes slid sidelong to look at her in a hooded way. "The timeline," he repeated. "Altering the past like that. It… could be dangerous." He sounded like he was very reluctant to even consider sending them… but hadn't he tried to change the past before with Dean? He'd had no issue with it then.

Dean smacked the angel on the shoulder in familiar horseplay. Cas seemed jarred by the shove and looked at Dean with a staunch frown. "Lighten up, Cas, we just gotta steal some ash from a Phoenix that already got shot," Dean said. "Nothing's gonna change."

Castiel thought about it for a couple more beats and even though he was reluctant, he conceded Dean's point. "I suppose you're right. If the ash is already there to begin with…" he trailed off and frowned deeply, letting his gaze flicker over the occupants of the room in turn. "Do you have any leads on Eve's location?"

Dean scratched the back of his neck, Alex made a face that said _nope_ , and Sam answered out loud: "We'll cross that bridge when we get to it."

"So… no," Cas surmised questioningly.

"Right." Sam hid a smile. "No."

Cas thought more then expelled a heavy breath of air and gave a single nod. "All right. I can send three of you. Any more than that and it gets complicated." He paused and looked around the room again in detail. "What is this place?"

"Campbell family library," Alex supplied.

"It's very small," Castiel observed then squinted at a shelf. "And I see spiderwebs." He looked at Alex in abrupt, serious concern. "Have you encountered any arachnids?"

A surprised, touched, _amused_ smile popped onto Alex's face and she tried to smash it away out of self-consciousness—Bobby was peering up at them from underneath his cap, Sam was smiling like he thought it was kinda cute, Dean was shaking his head with a semi-amused but mostly-annoyed expression on his face as he looked at the floor. "Uh, no," Alex answered, trying to be tough in front of her family who she _knew_ were all laughing at her silently. "All good on the spider front right now."

Cas nodded and that intense, soulful gaze of his burned into her briefly. He contemplated her eyes with an unrelenting, fierce nature… but was that hesitation and the beginnings of fear hiding in his eyes? Alex felt a sinking sensation and the awareness that something was amiss—and that's when his eyes darted from hers to look upward briefly. "I need to finish some things in Heaven—" he looked at Dean meaningfully and avoided meeting Alex's gaze. "Prepare for your journey back in time and I'll meet you back at Bobby's in a day or so to transport you."

Sam was suppressing a smile again. "Sounds good, Cas."

Cas acknowledged Sam with a nod then looked at Alex. His expression changed slightly to regretful and that same, strange quality still rested in the cobalt depths of his eyes. It mystified and worried Alex but she couldn't ask (not with so many extra ears present) and he didn't stay. "I'll see you later," Cas said to her quietly. _Don_ _'_ _t go,_ she wanted to reply. He backed away and then disappeared without anything further at all. When the space he'd occupied was suddenly empty and void, Alex fought off a nosedive of severe internal disappointment. It must not have shown outwardly… her brothers were already joking around poking fun.

"' _Prepare for your journey back in time_ ,'" Dean mimicked in a goofy, cartoonish voice.

"Oh, and are there any _spiders_ around I can rescue you from?" Sam joked, dimples cutting into his cheeks from his amusement.

At the teasing, Alex made a royally bitchy face and rolled her eyes insolently. "Shut _up_."

Her clear annoyance only made them grin bigger.

* * *

**The Next Day**

Cas went to where he always did—the attic—but instead of finding Alex there, he found Dean. The oldest Winchester had his back turned to Castiel as he rummaged through large boxes quietly and intently. Cas wondered what Dean was searching for. The attic was in a constant state of tightly-packed clutter… perhaps Dean was looking for old belongings, and perhaps he would be looking for awhile through all the semi-orderly chaos. The more important question was where was Alex? Even as Cas wondered that, Dean turned around. When he saw Cas he jerked in surprise and dropped the box he was holding. "Whoa, geez—!" His hand had gone to his own chest and now chopped through the air accusingly at Cas as he began to glare indignantly. "How many times I gotta tell you not to do that?"

"Do what?" Cas questioned, finding Dean's question inconvenient and slightly nonsensical. "Arrive to where you are?" At Cas's question, Dean made a churlish face and gave a hefty sigh as he rolled his eyes. It was a predictable reaction and not worthy of much attention. Frowning a little, the angel bypassed Dean's disgruntlement. "Where is Alex?"

"Bathroom," Dean said and heaved a semi-frustrated sigh as he turned to another box near him. He began to go through it with a focused expression as he looked for whatever it was he was trying to find. "So. We're almost ready to go but I'm trying to find some stuff I remembered I stashed up here first." He glanced up at Cas and gave a sudden excitable, troublemaker's grin. "Gotta look the part."

Castiel didn't reply to Dean. He was too busy thinking about something else. Dean said _we_. "So Alex _does_ plan to join you in this excursion."

"No actually," Dean replied, making a face at the broken plastic slinky he found. He tossed it backwards and kept digging. "Said seventy-nine was enough time travel for her. Bobby's going with us."

Cas tried not to let his relief show. "Oh." Truthfully he hadn't _wanted_ her to go. Not while he was far away and unable to go with her. And with everything that had happened recently due to a change in history… this entire thing made Castiel nervous and on edge. He hoped that even if the Winchesters _did_ succeed in finding the Phoenix ash in the past that Eve would remain elusive to them in the present. After all… he and Crowley needed her and had been trying to find her for as long as the Winchesters had… however, they hadn't been able to locate her yet. What if the Winchesters beat himself and the King of Hell to it? Cas was highly anxious thinking of that and all the things he had done in the dark, the deals he'd made, the secrets he'd kept. He didn't want them to know. He didn't want _anyone_ to know. But he especially didn't want _her_ to know.

" _Yes_!" Dean achieved success in his hunt, forcibly distracting Cas from his morose thoughts. The hunter pulled two wrinkled brown paper bags with handles out of the very bottom of the box and held them high on display as he smiled at Cas like he had won some great prize. The bags said _Wally_ _'_ _s Western World_.

The angel observed his friend's mannerisms with mild intrigue and confusion. "You seem… enthused."

"Dude, it's the wild west!" Dean said, grinning widely. "And I'm going there! Do you know how cool this is?"

Was that a rhetorical or earnest question? "Uh… no." He ventured. "How cool _is_ it, Dean?"

Dean abruptly set him with a look that implied impatient chagrin. " _Very_ cool, Cas. Like, _mondo_ -cool." He chuckled to himself as he pulled out what appeared to be a blanket from one of the bags. He looked at it in grinning approval, nodding. He then pulled out a small fringed vest that looked more Alex's size than Dean's. Cas wondered at this odd collection of textiles—they didn't look like things the Winchesters wore typically. Dean had sobered slightly at the sight of the vest and then he became completely serious as he gently tucked it back into the bag. "Hey Cas, while I got you alone… maybe you can help me figure something out."

Cas hesitated, a tinge of nervousness pitting itself in him. He already had a guess at what Dean wanted to know and it was something Castiel did _not_ want to face or confront. But to seem more innocent than he was, the angel pretended to be none the wiser. "Of course Dean. What is it?"

Dean set the bags down onto the top of a box beside him slowly and he gave the impression of reluctance to speak. When he did speak, it was slow and unsure, doubtful of himself. "Last week Sam and I… we had this freaky dream thing, or hallucination or… I dunno, _some_ thing." Cas stood there silently with a face like stone. They remembered. It was because in his distress, Cas had forgotten to erase their memories of that alternate reality. He had made certain to erase _hers_ right away but he hadn't erased theirs. Then they'd woken up and Cas had hesitated to interfere with their memories. Maybe he'd hoped they would write it off or leave it alone. But obviously it was still bothering Dean.

Dean proceeded to explain what had happened, not seeming to suspect Cas as being the culprit even for a moment. "We were _us_ and we were still _hunters_ but…" he trailed off and chuckled nervously. "It sounds so crazy, but a bunch of stuff was different in our lives and the _world._ You wanna know why? Because _Balthazar_ unsunk the _Titanic,_ you believe that?"

Cas felt mildly sick and made himself look faintly bemused. "How strange."

Dean shared the sentiment and he was speaking in a tone of disturbed hesitation. "Yeah, one word for it. Some pretty major things changed. Ellen and Jo were still alive, for example but…" the hunter's face pinched a little as he looked down with an unreadable expression. "Alex wasn't."

Cas remembered her: fifteen years old and frail, scarred by her own hand, fading away and dying as he held her. What a miserable liar's question Castiel asked next: "You're saying… she _died_?" He tried to sound appropriately shocked, confused, and taken aback, as if he didn't already know what Dean did.

Dean nodded grimly. "Yeah. Dude, it felt so _real,_ Cas. And it would have been weird enough if I had dreamed it by myself but Sam? …He dreamed it too." This was difficult for Cas—Dean looking at him in worry and trust, asking for answers Cas was too ashamed to give. "We both dreamed the _exact_ same thing, I mean down to every detail we compared. So… you got any idea what happened to us? You know anything about that?"

In a twisted and childish attempt to paint himself as blameless, Cas tried to appear even more confused. "Why would I?" Instead, he sounded mildly defensive.

Dean made a little bit of a face at Cas's tone and held his hands up in an implication of put-out surrender. "I dunno, sometimes you know this stuff! Don't have to get bitchy about it."

Cas hesitated. He didn't want to lie outright. So instead, he guiltily suggested a falsehood to his friend in an attempt to derail Dean from the line of questioning. "Perhaps it was a coincidence."

Dean scoffed. "Really? A _coincidence_ that we both had the same dream?"

Cas faltered, panicking internally even as outwardly he remained frowning and unreadable. "Well what other explanation can you think of?" Playing the fool was the only way out of the line of suspicion for him.

Frustrated, Dean's expression seemed to indicate that he was wondering if Castiel had lost part of his mind. "Dude, dunno if you've noticed but I live a pretty twisted life, I can think of like a _zillion_ explanations."

Cas realized that Dean was many things, but afraid was the dominant emotion… he was afraid that it had been real and could happen again. Cas thought of erasing Dean and Sam's memories of that alternate reality that he and Balthazar had created, but it felt wrong to do that so far after the fact. Tampering with minds was something he now knew was morally wrong. So, instead of erasing the memory and also lessening the trail of clues, Cas attempted to explain it away and continue playing the card of ignorance. "Well as far as I'm aware, nothing is wrong or has affected you or Sam supernaturally." He paused as Dean nodded slowly with a tense expression. Cas decided he could also try to blame Dean's love of substances, perhaps cast his thoughts into doubt. He made his voice utterly grim and low. "Were you and Sam under the influence of psychoactive drugs when you had this dream?"

Dean soured indignantly. "No, Cas, we were not _high_."

There was a slightly awkward pause. Cas felt uncomfortable but knew his question wasn't unreasonable. "It was a fair guess, Dean."

Dean did have to concede that fact. "Yeah, it was."

There was another short silence. "I'll keep my eyes and ears open and tell you if I find any information regarding this mystery," Castiel told Dean after a moment. He lied, to put it plain. It wasn't a 'mystery' why Dean and Sam had 'dreamed' what they had. Cas knew exactly what had happened and as such felt great pity and horror alike for the circumstances he found himself in and the unthinkable things he was doing. Still, he tried not to dwell on it. If he did, he would begin to hate himself. He tried to reassure the other man. "I wouldn't worry, Dean."

Dean made a soft sound like _psh_ as he shook his head ruefully. "All I know how to _do_ is worry. And you don't know how real it felt, how…" he trailed off and his face was stretched tight by all the memories.

Cas could secretly relate. "I'm sorry Dean," he said heavily, and he _was_ sorry. To have caused that pain even though most of it had been swept away to never exist at all. Dean remembered. Sam remembered. Cas remembered. And it hurt, it was _terrifying_. "It must have been heart-wrenching for you." Real emotion slipped into that statement.

There was mild surprise in Dean's expression as he looked at Cas with a certain type of appreciation and possibly even the beginnings of some kind of respect. That look on the hunter's face made Cas feel even lower than before. But Dean was none the wiser and was now obviously very grateful for Castiel's empathy and understanding. "Yeah," he said, then smiled tightly despite some remaining somberness. "Yeah, thanks Cas." Dean looked like it was difficult for him, but he still said it: "You're… an all right guy. Thanks for keeping an ear out."

There had been a day when Cas had wanted so badly for Dean to treat him with respect. And now when he did… Cas felt unworthy of it. A feeling of self-loathing sank deeply in his stomach. It had been tolerable and acceptable for some time, the need to deceive and work in the shadows. But now it was abhorrent and Castiel could barely stand himself. What would Dean think if he knew? How fast would he be to condemn Cas for what he'd done? Or would he, perhaps somehow, understand the impossible decisions the angel had been forced to make? Castiel wanted to believe they would _all_ understand and sympathize with him but he had a deep feeling of dread inside. _They won_ _'_ _t. None of them._

Dean was looking at Cas with crossed arms and a studious, sympathetic expression. "So uh, you think the war upstairs is gonna be over anytime soon?" he asked, apparently thinking Castiel was being silent because he was thinking of his heavenly duties.

Cas dodged the questioning gaze as his guilts and fears consumed him. "I don't know, Dean." Not soon enough, that was for certain. He wished he could see the end of these deep, dark hours that were warping him and dragging him down.

Footsteps could be heard coming up the attic stairs. Dean smiled sadly and patted Cas on the side of the shoulder encouragingly like he sometimes did to Sam and Alex. "Well just hang in there buddy."

The gesture was not lost on Cas, and the friendship Dean was offering, however slightly, touched him. "I'm attempting to," he said, trying not to appear as guilt-ridden as he was.

The footsteps on the stairs reached the top and Cas slowly turned to see her come in. He was almost _reluctant_ to see her. He'd never felt that way before and it worried him, confused him, pained him. But he was just so afraid that she might see straight through him, he was afraid of her knowing how he'd changed the past and had been ultimately responsible for her death in that alternate reality. He felt that every time they met surely _this_ time she would discover everything he was hiding, surely _this_ time she would catch him in a lie. He hated who he was becoming. He almost felt like he shouldn't be around her and it was the strangest, most disturbing feeling he had ever possessed.

Alex's familiar brown head of hair poked through the open attic doorway. Mild surprise and happiness showed on her face when she saw him there and then she hesitated at the doorway, clearly wondering what kind of moment she was coming into. She became faintly cautious. "Hi guys." She said 'guys' but she only had eyes for Castiel, who could only think of her at fifteen and dying in his arms.

"Welp, that's my cue." Dean grabbed up his bags and headed for the stairs.

Alex folded her arms and looked at the bags with a discerning, curious frown. "What _is_ that?" Dean briefly held a bag up wordlessly. When she saw the store logo on the bags a very peculiar look came over her face—she seemed to be thinking that she should have known. "You are _such_ a dork," she said, but it almost sounded like a compliment or a loving remark.

Dean cracked a grin at her before he departed. "Takes one to know one." He clopped down the stairs loudly with his bags and Alex and Cas were left alone.

Uncomfortable and not able to look at her very long without feeling terrible things, Cas instead looked down. He felt how his body was in a state of heightened anxiety. His stomach was queasy, his veins fluttered with sickening nerves, his palms felt damp, his throat felt dry. All because of what was happening in his _mind._ The floorboards creaked as she came a little closer and all of his anxieties intensified. Cas made himself look at her lest she suspect him further, but he felt like a miserable man and his thoughts on himself weighed on him more heavily than ever. The worst part of that moment for Cas was the worry on her face, the worry about _him_. "You okay, Cas?" she asked with heartfelt concern.

No. He was _not_ okay. He ached for all he had done, all he was going to do. He wanted to tell her so badly, he wanted to pour himself out at her feet and beg her forgiveness and understanding, her _help_. But no one could help him. Not now. He was too deep in and too far gone. He couldn't bear himself—how could _she?_ So he lied. "Of course I am," he said, trying to sound pleasant and unassuming. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Her eyebrows rose faintly and she seemed almost sad that he would ask that. "I can think of a few reasons."

Abruptly overwhelmed with dismay because he couldn't even _number_ the reasons he was not okay, Cas turned his back on her, trying to put himself together emotionally. He tried to change the subject, he tried to make her think the only thing bothering him so greatly was what he spoke on next. "I'm sorry about Rachel. She's… she can be petty."

He heard Alex very slowly coming up behind him. "Yeah… she seems just a little unfriendly." She was being forcibly light but she also sounded… wary? Skeptical? Worried, certainly. Worried about _him_. Cas shut his eyes for a brief second. She was right to worry. _What am I doing? This certainly can_ _'_ _t be the correct way to handle this. Lies, distractions, deceptions_ _…_

All of it was to keep his Alex safe. All of it was to save the world itself. He couldn't risk everything he'd set into motion falling apart or failing. He had to follow through. He had to see it to the end, no matter what he felt and no matter what he had to do. With that in mind, Cas tried to keep speaking about Rachel in an effort to cast suspicion off of himself, in an effort to give a reasonable excuse for his behavior. "The way she spoke to you was unacceptable," he said, which was very true. He was very angry with his lieutenant who had been missing since the confrontation at the Campbell library. "I'm frankly very close to demoting her." A piece of truth, finally. He _was_ close to telling Rachel to get out of his sight and stay out until she could accept his loyalty to and vested interest in Alex and the Winchesters. But he couldn't afford to lose any more allies, so he was 'stuck' with Rachel. "Unfortunately I have next to no one left at my side." He meant in Heaven. He meant in the war. But he felt her arms circle his middle from behind and she rested a cheek against his back.

"Well, you have _me_."

Her quiet statement touched him and devastated him all at once. "Yes." He looked down at where her hands hugged around him and instead of reassurance he felt a thick, dreadful sense of doubt. "I have you." The doubt wasn't in her, but in himself. He'd lost her briefly for that alternate timeline. And he still thought about that horrific future he'd glimpsed in 2014. Life and love were both precious and _frightening_ … because anything that could be had or held could also be lost and torn away. Including _her_. Angel or not, he faced so many internal fears. There were things he couldn't control or change, things he couldn't guarantee or know. One of his greatest fears was that he wouldn't be able to save her immortal soul once all was said and done. And Heaven help him, he had to. _Had to_. Slowly, he turned to her, allowing her to loosen her arms on him. When he came face to face with her and saw how deeply her eyes searched his, he felt the conflicting needs to both run away and also cling to her tighter. Overcome, he touched the side of her face and looked into her eyes in utter silence, wishing so much it hadn't come to this life of lies.

She was so beautiful to him, even when so clearly worried and confused. Her eyes were so vivid and startling on close inspection and made him think of creation itself. He bowed his forehead to hers as he let out a soft, anxious exhale through his nose and shut his eyes in anxiety—he just needed to feel her against him, hold her for a minute, rest with her like this. The way she leaned into him and softened into his embrace made his chest clench—she _trusted_ him even though she was so clearly aware that something was wrong. His hand moved to the back of her neck and he breathed her in, reminding himself why he was fighting this abominable war, why he was subjecting himself to the things he was. For this, for her, for _them_. He remembered her dying in his arms twice now… in 2014 and in 1998 and he held her tighter as his chest tightened painfully. She wouldn't die. He was going to make sure of it. In a silent promise and a deep yearning, he hesitantly tipped his chin forward fractionally to press his lips to hers in a simple, soft, quiet kiss that lingered—a kiss he felt guilty to give but helpless not to initiate. _I_ _'_ _ll save you_. For a moment, everything felt _right_ and as it should be and the touch of her lips made him feel less abominable for however long a moment. He felt her responding to his kiss, craning her neck forward to him to push her lips against his more fully and then brushing fingers against his cheek.

Warmth, comfort, belonging, thankfulness all washed over him and he knew he was loved and vastly so. Then he thought that he had perhaps cheated his way into this love she gave and he pulled away from the kiss, guilty all over again. Alex had taken hold of his lapel with a hand and was looking at him with questioning confusion. She was clearly made doubtful by his strange behavior, his unexplained actions and the way he held her. He had no words for her, no explanation, and that look in her gaze killed him inside. "Cas—?" she started very quietly and slowly.

He was afraid of what she'd ask and what she'd say. He didn't want to lie to her. As such he cut her off and stepped back jarringly, preventing her from saying anything else. "We should go downstairs," he said. Before she could protest, he moved them both to the entrance of the study instantly. She was startled by the sudden jolt but said nothing, just looked at him with an odd expression as she recovered from the surprise of being taken from one place to the next with no warning.

There was only one occupant in Bobby's office: Bobby. "Howdy," he said and tipped the cowboy hat he was wearing in their direction. He seemed unfazed by the sudden appearance. "The boys're getting dressed for the dance." He spread his arms slightly, indicating his outfit. "How do I look?"

"Uh… not bad." Alex said, visibly making herself focus on Bobby and not Cas. The older man wore his regular outfit: jeans, boots, a faded shirt with a rolled-up sleeve flannel over it. The only thing different was what was on his head. Alex squinted, a dawning amused smile on her face. "All you did was switch hats, huh?"

"A-yup." Bobby was busy pulling out assorted gold objects from a lock-box on the desk. "Can you get me that bag from the kitchen? Gotta pack us some currency for this shindig." Alex complied after another hooded glance at Cas. Bobby turned his attention to the angel. "Cas. Nice to see ya. Sure you don't wanna join us for this little rodeo?"

Alex brought in duffel bag and Cas's eyes watched her sidelong as he replied to Bobby. "No, thank you," he replied stiffly. "I can't at this time."

"All right, well don't ever say I didn't ask you nothin'," Bobby said in that muttering, weary way he had of speaking. Cas wasn't sure what that meant but made no reply. He was watching Alex stuffing gold items into the bag and trying to pinpoint where he could have made different and better choices. Even though he was about to send the Winchesters and Bobby back into the past, he was so aware that he could not go into his _own_ past and change the things he'd done. She kept glancing up at him and he saw her worry. Her skepticism.

Two sets of footsteps came down the stairs and Sam and Dean appeared dressed in very different clothing than usual. While Sam was visibly unhappy and attitude-ridden, Dean was swaggering. As they came into view, Alex stopped what she was doing and looked at her brothers with a taken aback expression. "Whoa. You… look…"

"Stupid," Sam said, throwing his arms out insolently and giving his sister a churlish look. "I look _stupid_."

"Uh _no_. _You_ _'_ _re_ not the one who looks stupid." She tilted her head at her oldest brother and made a face. "Dean, what are you _doing_?"

He strutted into the room and shot finger-guns at the sky as he chuckled, extremely pleased about his appearance. "Raise 'em high, pard-ner!"

"…You goin' to a _hoe down_?" Bobby asked Dean in skeptical entertainment.

Castiel wasn't sure about the material draped over Dean from neck to waist. "Is it—is it customary to wear a blanket?"

"It's a serape," Dean corrected, trying in vain to quench a grin. "And, yes. It's, uh…" at the strange looks he was getting from everyone in the room, Dean stopped mid-sentence. "Never mind. Let's just go." He glanced at the bag of gold. "What's this?"

"Where we're goin' they don't take Visa," Bobby wisecracked.

Dean smirked to himself and picked the bag up, tossing it at Sam. "Fair point." Sam caught the heavy bag and staggered a little underneath its weight.

"Don't spend it all in one place," Alex joked.

"I'll send you back to March fourth," Cas said, motioning for Bobby to join the brothers. "That should give you time to find this Phoenix creature and its ash. But before I do…" he looked at them seriously. "About your plan. You'll only have twenty-four hours."

"Wait, what?" Sam asked, confused.

Dean frowned a little, eyes narrowing. "Why?"

Castiel began to answer honestly. "Well, the answer to your question can best be expressed as a series of partial differential equations. Time in all factions works linearly, not alike a—"

"Whoa whoa whoa," Dean said, holding a hand up. "Don't bring the evil of math and science into this."

Bobby agreed. "Aim lower."

Frustrated about how to explain the details of it, Cas tried his best regardless. "The further back I send you, the harder it becomes to retrieve you," he said. "Twenty-four hours for you there is all I can risk. And it will be twenty-four hours here as well. If I don't pull you home within that time, you'll be lost."

There was a short silence. The brothers glanced at each other—then Sam shrugged. Dean seemed to decide it wasn't a big deal. "Well then, we better get you a _watch_ _,_ " he said jokingly. He turned to give his sister a pointed look. "Make sure he doesn't lose us, Al," he said, then looked back at the angel. "And make sure she's okay here alone, Cas." He was utterly serious about that one and it was clear from the look on his face.

Cas nodded once. "Of course."

Dean studied him a second longer then nodded back, adopting the cavalier attitude from before as he let a wide, crooked grin split his face. "All right, well… see ya at high noon tomorrow." He winked and clicked his tongue in his mouth cheekily and gave his sister a little smirk. "Yippee ki-yay."

She rolled her eyes even as she smiled ruefully. "Be careful, Three Amigos."

Cas reached out to touch them and then paused, giving Sam, Bobby, and Dean grim glances. "Do _not_ change history if you can avoid it."

"Got it, Cas," Sam said. Dean signed 'OK' with his hand and Bobby nodded once. Despite his better judgements, Cas touched the brothers then Bobby, sending them hurtling back in time to March of 1861. And so it was done.

Behind Cas, he heard the floor creak a little as Alex shifted her weight. He waited a long, painfully silent moment and she finally spoke up. "So… they're there?"

"Yes." Cas turned around and hid beneath a serious, stoic exterior. "You don't need to worry. They'll be fine."

His statement made her eyes narrow softly and her eyebrows work in toward each other faintly. "You sure about that? Kind of makes me nervous."

Filled with regret, Castiel touched the side of her face and studied her features as anguish tore at him inside. "I'm not sure of much anymore, Alex. But they'll be fine." Before she could continue to question him, he glanced upward and drew back. "I should return. Pray for me in twenty four hours. Samandriel is outside should you need immediate assistance."

"You can't stay?" The tone in her voice of mild hurt was not lost on him, nor the way she tried to hide a very deep disappointment.

He could have stayed if he truly wanted to. But he was a coward in that moment and a lie was already formed on his tongue. Hesitant to fully meet her gaze, Cas shook his head once. "I'm afraid not." He couldn't _face her_ right now.

She hesitated, then charged forward in cautious earnestness. "Cas, look, I'm starting to get the feeling that something's _really_ wrong… am I way off base?"

Bristling out of alarm at her insight and how close she seemed to seeing _everything_ , Castiel reacted more harshly than he meant to in an attempt to cover himself. "There is a _war_ in Heaven, Alex." His snapping tone startled them both and even Cas was shocked at himself. His temper had flared and he hadn't been able to control it. Subdued and sorry, he swallowed. He didn't know how to fix this quickly crumbling situation and as such, another lie came out of his mouth. "I… have to go."

She was hurt and confused but he saw how she believed him with the war being at the root of his behavior. "Okay." She flattened her mouth out and the disappointment on her face defeated him. "I'll just… wait here then."

He was hurting her, bewildering her, and causing her emotional turmoil. And with his guilt tripling with every second, Cas had to leave. Without saying goodbye, without anything further, he leapt through the dimensions, effectively running away from her and from facing himself.

Everything he'd done crushed down on him like the heaviest gravity known to man and he was consumed misery and thoughts of his shortcomings and misdeeds, his depravity, his cowardice. It all ran through his mind darkly: His deal with Crowley, him raising Sam wrong and lying about it, his possession of Alex's soul claim, the lies he'd told her about that. Tricking the Winchesters intentionally into thinking Crowley was dead, creating thousands of new human souls in an attempt to use them to his own gain… the terrible alternate reality he'd created instead. All he was trying to do was the _right thing_ , so why was he feeling more and more sickening doubt about his choices?

Every direction he turned, the walls were closing in. The prison he was building himself only sealed his fate further. Some dreadful crescendo was on its way and he felt it but ran from it, trying even harder to finish this terrible thing he had started. If he could just finish it, if he could just have it _end_ …

He _had_ to end it. The actions he'd taken _had_ to pay off or he wouldn't be able to live with himself. The worst part of it all was that he was beginning to truly doubt his victory in this war. So many angels had died, so much time had transpired. It felt hopeless and futile down the deepest part of himself, the place he thought a soul might be.

He contemplated the trust Alex put in him, the love she loved him with—and he knew that he didn't _deserve_ it. It felt more and more as if he were tricking her into loving him by keeping the secrets he kept. He _knew_ he shouldn't continue in the path he was on. And yet he still did. He was too afraid to confess it all, he was too afraid it would all collapse and break if he didn't see it through. He was too _afraid._

In irrationality and despair, he clung to that idea of Alex and himself together and happy someday after all this. She would understand his actions when he had found victory and succeeded in saving her. She would forgive him. He would never, ever lie to her again. They would be happy, it would be like that night they stole together after marrying. Quiet, safe, honest, true.

He would do anything to get them there again. _Anything_.

* * *

A vague amount of time passed for Castiel. One moment he was on the battlefield and discussing battle plans with Ezekiel, the next he was suddenly pulled from there and to a cold, empty warehouse. It was startling and unexplained, and Castiel was immediately on guard. He saw no one nearby and the large, industrial space seemed deserted. Who had done this? Who had forced him here? Crowley? He frowned deeply, scanning the dank place for lifeforms. And then behind him, he felt her arrival. He turned around even as she spoke up. "We need to talk."

It was Rachel, and Castiel was as close to indignant as he'd ever been. "You _summoned_ me here?" he asked in a hard, disbelieving voice. Forced summonings were not conducted by friends. And from the severe look on her face, he could see that this meeting could perhaps prove most unfortunate.

"Castiel, I've been hearing things," she said in a soft, measured, treacherous voice. Cas's chest constricted in a pang of panic. " _Seeing_ things," she continued with veiled, mistrustful eyes. "Things I find disturbing. Things that I didn't believe for a long time, but now… now I wonder. Just tell me if it's true."

Another pang of panic struck him. What did she know? What had she heard? About Crowley? About the souls? About his secret, forbidden marriage? "If _what's_ true?" Cas asked, staying on high guard.

"You know," she said without blinking. "Your _dirty little secret_."

Cas bristled defensively, immediately assuming that she meant his wife. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, but I do," she said softly, dangerously. She began to approach him and her tone was laced with deep judgmental piousness. "Leaving battles in the hands of others so you can assist _them_? _Her_? Changing _history_ to try and generate human _souls_ for your own purposes? Even _I_ find that deplorable, and I don't care about humans as much as you apparently do! And then the demon." Her expression was chilling. "The _King_ of _Hell_. Is it true?"

Confronted for the first time by a fellow angel about all of his unseemly actions, Castiel was stricken. How did she find out? He'd been so careful to cover his tracks. The only small mercy was that she didn't seem to know about what he'd done that April day in 2010 with Alex. He could only imagine Rachel's reaction to _that_ and he could only imagine the ridicule and disgust he would face from the entirety of Heaven should the secret marriage be discovered. He already faced enough disdain and scorn for his love of her as it was. Rachel was waiting with a masked anger for Cas's reply—she wanted to know if it was all true. And Castiel was too tired, too frustrated, too jaded to attempt a lie. "I have to defeat Raphael," he all but growled, not in the mood or mind to argue with his sister.

Mild disgust showed on the other angel's face. "Not this way, Castiel."

" _Rachel_ —you don't understand, I—"

"We put our faith in you, and look what you're turning into!" Her voice punched through the cold air loudly, echoing slightly in the huge, empty space they stood in. She let her statement hang for a moment to send guilt unfurling in Cas then she fixed him with an insolent expression as she shook her head. "Do you imagine yourself that different from _Lucifer_?" she questioned, shocking Cas all over again. "He was self-righteous, misguided, thought his way was right. He put his own _feelings_ above everything else. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I just described _you!_ " Her statement slammed into him like a wall of bricks. His every worst assumption about himself was true, and Rachel was confirming it. "Listen to reason, Castiel!" she exclaimed. "You aren't yourself anymore. Ever since _her_ you've been different, lesser, confused, _lost!_ I thought you were fighting this war for _us_ , for the _angels_." She sneered in disgust as she looked off, apparently too revolted to even look at him. "Not for some human _speck._ "

The insult inflamed him. His face was like a stone as anger coursed in his blood. "You will not call her that," he growled flatly, taking an intimidating step forward. Nothing upset him further than someone attempting to belittle the one he loved so fully.

Rachel stepped forward too, meeting his threat without care. "I'll call her what I like!" she retorted. "Alex Winchester has _corrupted_ you, she's perverted your viewpoint!" In both disbelief and superiority, Rachel raised her head and looked down her nose at Cas frostily. "I wonder, if it weren't for her, if you would even be _fighting_ this war. Perhaps Heaven would still be as it was before—peaceful, orderly—not ripping apart at the seams!"

Castiel had never felt as insulted as he was right then. "You're implying this is _her_ fault?" he demanded, incensed and incredulous. " _No_. _I_ started this war, _I_ will _end_ it!" His powerful, loud timbre echoed through the warehouse.

"By what means, brother?" she questioned softly.

His reply was immediate and severe, unforgiving. "By _any_ means _necessary_. Rachel, the apocalypse is imminent unless we do this, do you not _understand_?" He didn't comprehend her apathy, her utter lack of care for what was at stake. It could be the end of the _world_ should Raphael win, it could be the death of every human alive, it could be the extinction of the entire human race.

Rachel turned cynical. "Yes. I understand. Castiel. I understand that it isn't too late for you to stop living with your feet on earth in some hedonistic _fantasy_. You are a son of Heaven—start _acting_ like it!" Rachel was growing furious. " _Forget_ the human, Castiel! She's done nothing but sully you and lessen your greatness!"

Again, he stepped closer, his glare burning into her. " _No_." Cas's face was hard and his emotions were in turbulence. He felt the need to disprove what Rachel was saying. He hung onto the things he knew were good in himself, and most of those good things were connected intrinsically to Alex. She had not ruined him—she had built him up and given him things he had never had before in all of time: hope, love, peace, comfort, the sense of belonging. He had learned feelings and intimacy and beauty with her, she had given meaning to so many things he had never even comprehended or had hope of comprehending. She was everything to him, and he said as much. "She's made me who I am today." Because of her he was Heaven's patriot, a revolutionary, a commander who had gained infamy for his doggedness and tenacity. He had a cause to uphold, he had something worth fighting for. _Her_. Who had he been before Alex? Another angel among thousands. Just Castiel, the angel of Thursdays. The angel of Solitude. The Watcher.

Now he was trusted, wanted, important. Lover. Friend. Confidant. Husband.

When he said Alex had made him who he was, Rachel fumed and scoffed and began to tear him down. "What, _fallen_? An angel who would stoop to Hell itself to commit atrocities against his species and legacy? You're not the leader I thought you were! You've _tricked_ us all!" Her accusations all hit him hard and his doubts and fears came howling back. "And what's worse, you're at this human's every beck and call, you act as if she is the most important being in all of existence—she's _nothing_ , Castiel, another trivial human among billions! What has she _done_ to you? How has she deluded you like this?! You weren't meant to serve humanity, you were meant to lead armies and serve God, you're a _warrior_! So why do you let this insignificant speck control you?"

Temper molten hot at the continuous insults, Castiel gave Rachel a condemning glare. "Call her insignificant again and you will live to regret it," he threatened. He meant it, too. He had reached his limit of tolerance in all respects. Instead of appearing intimidated, Rachel became scornful. This was going nowhere and fast—Cas didn't think Rachel would ever understand why he felt the way he did. But he didn't stop trying to defend Alex and put whatever blame his sister saw onto his own shoulders. "She doesn't _control_ me," he said in a harsh, argumentative voice. "I do what I do because I love her."

Rachel appeared to have been stung at that word. " _Love_." Reviled, she sneered. "Are you really so stupid? Have you forgotten our brother Mariel? He loved too, or so he claimed… and because of it and that human he fawned over, all of Pompeii was destroyed and he still abides in prison to this day! He couldn't control what the disease of 'love' did to him. Can _you_?" The abhorrence twisting her features was growing more and more pronounced. "Castiel, your little preoccupation with the female Winchester was tolerable at best in the beginning but I can't continue stand by while you go down this dangerous, _foolish_ road." She gave her ultimatum: "I will not follow you or condone what you're doing anymore."

Castiel was embittered, sorrowful, resigned, and defeated all at once. Another of his own kind turning their back on him. It was nothing new, but it truly pained him by principle. "I'm sorry to hear you say that," he said stiffly. "But, I suppose this has been a long time coming." Perhaps he shouldn't have ever given her a second chance after her first betrayal—the failure to deliver his message to Alex last year. He couldn't change that. All he could do was tell her he would not bend to her will. "I am not abandoning Alex." His voice was almost menacing. "Now or _ever_. And as far as the things I am doing to win the war… I don't have a _choice_ _,_ Rachel." He was realizing at that moment that he couldn't let her go—she would tell everyone else about his deeds. He was going to have to kill her to keep her silent.

Rachel seemed to be realizing the fatal nature of the conversation at that exact same moment. "Then I'm sorry," she said. "But neither do I." She took a step back and smiled at him calmly. Too calmly. And then instead of drawing her weapon, she disappeared without explanation, leaving Cas to blink in utter shock. _Unbelievable! She fled like a coward!_ Cas stared, truly surprised she wouldn't fight him or face him. And then Castiel realized _oh no_ … she _hadn_ _'_ _t_ fled from him. She'd gone to his heart and soul itself to hurt him and kill him in a way nothing else could. Panicking, Castiel rushed to Bobby Singer's home where Alex had essentially been left all alone.

* * *

Alex glanced up from her book at the wall clock in Bobby's study for the millionth time. Just about three hours to go until the twenty-four hours were up. Alex gave a low, frustrated sigh. The Singer house was lonely and empty without Bobby shuffling around and grumbling about politics and reality TV, without Dean and Sam quibbling and getting in the way, without any other human being in it except herself. She was regretting her decision not to go with her brothers to the past now because… so _bored_.

Samandriel was supposedly outside, watching as usual. But she hadn't heard a peep from him since that time he brought flowers for her. Alex returned her attention to the book she was attempting to read. Pacing back and forth slowly because she was so tired of sitting, she probably looked half-crazy walking slow circles and back-and-forths across the study with her nose stuck in a book. She was distracted from her attempt to read by thoughts of Cas. He had been acting more and more oddly lately. She had the distinct feeling that he was avoiding telling her something. She couldn't imagine what though and wanted to believe she was just imagining stuff. Blaming her paranoia and overthinker mind, she tried not to dwell. He was under enormous stress. The war was impossibly difficult for him. That was all… she _hoped_.

Even as she thought that, a powerful blast of wind knocked into Alex and made her eyes blink rapidly against sudden dryness.

Before she could even register what was happening, Alex was seized brutally by the throat and shoved up against the wall hard enough to dent it—her book went flying to the ground even as she grabbed at her assailant blindingly, unable to find purchase for a brief moment. Her feet dangled above the ground and Rachel's cold, wrathful face was inches from Alex's. "I should have slain you when he told me to deliver that ludicrous message to you," she spat, easily holding Alex against the wall with one hand. "I should have _known_ you would be his downfall—the day he set eyes on you he was _ruined_!" Alex's feet kicked wildly as she tried to breathe and get away, but her windpipe was crushed under Rachel's iron grip. To no avail Alex fought to pry the fingers away as the angel kept ranting at her venomously. "Do you know the lengths he's fallen from grace for you? The _pains_ you've dragged him through, the _filth_ you've soiled him with?!" She whipped out her blade with her free hand and the wicked tip flashed ominously as she raised it high overhead. Alex felt close to asphyxiation as it was and woozily looking up at the point of the blade which was about to plunge into her skull and end her life.

Just when Alex thought it was all over, her attacker was ripped off her by an invisible force and thrown sideways like a rag doll. Rachel crashed sideways into the window of the study, shattering it when her lower half hit. She fell down onto the study floor but was already getting back up. She hadn't lost her grip on her weapon.

On the floor too and slack against the wall, gasping in lungfuls of air through a bruised windpipe, Alex clutched her own throat as she reeled. She looked up and saw that Castiel stood in the middle of the study and his blade was at his side, his expression was utterly murderous. He was glaring daggers at Rachel as he breathed fast and hard, as if he'd sprinted somewhere. "Stay— _away_ —from her." He stood between Alex and the other angel, blocking another attack.

Rachel was half-crazed with rage and she stared with wild eyes at Castiel as she stood back up. "You were supposed to be the chosen one! You were supposed to be God's favorite!" She was shrieking at that point and heaving with fury, almost spitting in anger. "But you're just as low as _they_ are! As wretched and hopeless, as twisted and as _evil_!" She let out a cry and thrust her hand into the air at Castiel, who suddenly went flying backwards into a bookshelf by invisible angelic powers. The wood cracked and groaned as he impacted, books spilled out and went sailing into the air as Rachel's gaze slid to Alex malevolently.

 _Oh shit._ Scrambling to stand and get away, Alex wasn't fast enough. Rachel strode forward and grabbed her up and whirled her around as Cas fumbled to his feet. Rachel held Alex's back against her chest hard, pressing the cold metal of her angel blade at her neck. Holding stock still, Alex stared wide-eyed at Cas. What was happening right now? What brought this on?!

Cas stopped short and held out a staying hand and his expression was utterly afraid. "Rachel— _please_ —don't hurt her."

A humorless laugh escaped the other angel. "Raphael is right—all of them are _right_ ," she replied scornfully _._ "You're _pathetic._ So _weak_." She almost seemed to be taunting him at that point. "Look at you. I could make you do anything right now with my blade at the neck of your precious little human _whore_."

Castiel's nostrils flared, his jaw clenched hard, he took a step forward as his knuckles turned white on the the hilt of his blade. When he did that, Rachel dug the length of the blade harder into Alex's neck and when Alex gave a wince and a sharp exhale, Cas stopped short as his rage rear-ended into terror. Alex made herself think smart and stay calm. Her throat hurt, she was reeling from the last thirty seconds or so, but she still had her wits about her. Then she realized… _wait a minute_. Inside her jacket, held in place by the sort of shoddy little system she'd sewn (badly) all by herself, her angel blade. It pointed backwards and rested along her side. So if she could get a little leverage and twist just right… she could possibly wound Rachel without much movement at all. Alex looked at Cas meaningfully, slowly, intensely, trying to convey a plan. She let her eyes go downward toward her blade. Cas knew she kept the weapon there. All Alex needed was an opportunity. A distraction. Her eyes then slid sidelong toward Rachel and then she let her eyes flick back at Castiel. Did he get her meaning?

His face registered brief questioning, then he seemed to think it through and he realized what she was silently telling him. He became deadly serious and stiffened just a little in preparation. He provided Alex the opportunity she needed and looked at the other angel with a hard expression that was half sick. Alex saw how scared he was of her getting hurt. His voice wavered. "Rachel… let her go. _Now_."

Rachel thought she'd won and spoke in a cool, triumphant voice. Her death grip lessened just a little on Alex. "I'm done taking orders from you, Castiel."

Even as she was saying that, Alex used the slight distraction to her advantage. With all of her strength, she threw her own weight back against Rachel and twisted, slamming her hand against the top of her own blade's hilt where it rested beside her ribcage, driving it through the back of her own jacket and into Rachel's torso by about three or four inches.

" _Ahh_!" Shocked and wounded, Rachel stumbled back with a hand against her glowing blue wound—Alex went sideways thanks to a hard shove. Her shoulder collided with hard wood as she stumbled down into a heap against the side of the desk. She looked up in time to see it happen: Rachel briefly forgot her weapon and it hung at her side limply while she stared down at the bleeding, glowing hole in her middle. Castiel had been ready and blindsided her with a killing blow, plunging his blade deep into her heart and holding it there. Rachel gasped and looked up at him in utter disbelief as her eyes began to burst white-hot blue. Her expression changed into a crying snarl even as she died. And then Cas frowned, letting out a strange breath, almost like he'd been hurt or surprised. He looked down at himself and Alex followed his gaze, mystified… and then she saw what had happened. Rachel had stabbed him just below the heart—not deep enough to kill, but deep. Even as he realized he'd been wounded badly, Rachel lost grip on her weapon, screaming and falling backwards into stillness to never move again. The room suddenly blazed so bright that Alex was temporarily blinded. When the light faded, spidery black wings were charred underneath Rachel's dead body across the study floor.

Cas staggered back a couple steps, dumbfounded as he pulled Rachel's blade out of himself. It clattered loudly to the floor. Alex was lurching to her feet in horror breathlessly. Rachel's blade had pierced to his Grace itself and blinding blue light shone out of where he'd been stabbed. Blood ran freely and he pressed a hand against himself, dazed, slack-jawed. He breathed heavily, he wheezed, he appeared close to passing out. " _Cas_ … oh my god, Cas!" The blue and the high-pitched ringing sound that accompanied the wound was terrifying Alex and she grabbed him by both arms in an attempt to steady him and bring him into more clarity. Her voice was rasping badly because of her bruised vocal chords but she didn't even notice, such was her alarm. "You're hurt!"

He wheezed shallowly, his eyes vacant and woozy and struggling to meet hers. "No, I'm…" his face abruptly went blank, his eyes fluttered closed, and he slumped forward onto her, unconscious.

He was heavier than she remembered him ever being and she abruptly strained not to collapse under his broad, slack body. " _Son of a bitch_ ," she wheezed, then fell backwards to the floor underneath his weight. He was completely limp on top of her and his full weight made it hard to breathe. Groaning and pushing at him and freaking out at every level, she managed to get him to roll sideways so he didn't suffocate or crush her. His head hit the floor with a loud crack and Alex swore loudly, floundering to get herself off the floor and crouched next to him. She checked his weak pulse, she looked at his wound, she wanted to be sick. "Cas? _Cas_?" He was breathing shallowly but was not responsive at all to her voice.

Behind her, she heard the sound of angel's wings. Panicking all over again she shot up to her feet and whirled as she whipped out her blade, preparing to fight off whatever henchmen Raphael had sent to the bitter, bloody end—she wasn't going to give up Castiel without fighting tooth and nail for him. But instead of an enemy, it was just the young, wide-eyed angel in the hot-dog stand uniform. "Miss Winchester?" he asked softly, looking from the blade to her in confusion. "I heard—oh my." He saw Castiel and Rachel on the floor and became deeply shocked. "What's happened here?"

Still pretty dazed over it herself, Alex shook her head, her bodily tension suddenly giving way to weak shoulders and shaking hands. The blade fell from a defensive stance in front of herself to dangle at her side. "Rachel, she, she just came in here and attacked me and… tried to kill me and… Cas killed her but she, she wounded him, he looks pretty bad off, I don't… I don't know what… to do." Alex stared down at Cas, who was dumped on the floor like a sack of potatoes. She was truly so beside herself at this sudden and shocking event, not to mention whenever Castiel got hurt it sent her into full-blown panic mode.

"Allow me to look," Samandriel said, then waited a moment for Alex's consent—the blade in her hand must have made him nervous. When she nodded urgently, he knelt on a knee beside Castiel and peered at the wound, touched it with two fingers, then shook his head in what appeared to be grim amazement. "Any deeper and I think he would have died."

A wave of terror ran through her like a current of jolting electricity. "Is… is he okay? Is he gonna be okay?" Alex asked urgently. When the angel didn't reply for two seconds, worry got the best of her. "Samandriel, _is he going to be okay_!"

Acknowledging her by looking at her, the angel in the goofy Wiener Hut hat nodded somberly. "I… I think so. But I'm not entirely certain, I'm not the most knowledgeable on these things." Samandriel looked at Cas's still face grimly. "He'll rest for some time, I believe. I'll move him off of the floor." In a feat of super-human strength, Samandriel scooped Castiel up and lifted him as if he weighed nothing then carried him toward the couch. Seeing what was happening, Alex hurried over and used a jacket-clad arm to brush the broken glass off of it.

"Call one of those medic angels, he told me about those, he _needs_ one," Alex said, watching helplessly as Samandriel stood back and left Cas laying slackly on the couch.

Deeply regretful, Samandriel shook his head. "I can't call a medic." At the look of shocked confusion on her face, Samandriel hesitated. "Perhaps Castiel hasn't told you. There aren't any _left._ None that support his cause, I mean. There's barely _anyone_ left."

Emotions of horror and sadness and alarm swimming to the surface, Alex shook her head blankly and knelt beside the couch, running a hand across Cas's sweaty forehead. He hadn't told her that. Now she thought she understood his strange behavior lately and her heart broke for the one she loved. "You're right. I—I didn't know that." The skin of his forehead felt odd to the touch. Cold and clammy. Looking up at Samandriel in deep worry, she appealed to him out of desperation. "Can't you heal him? Can't you _do_ something?"

Samandriel was very clearly sorry and even a bit embarrassed of himself. "No, I'm afraid I'm not powerful enough. I'm… a much lower angel than he is. Than most are. His vessel has to repair, the Grace has to restore itself. We can't do anything for him but keep the enemy from discovering what has transpired here." Locating a hunting knife on the desk, Samandriel picked it up and without ceremony slashed his own arm open so that blood flowed freely.

Sitting back slightly in shock, Alex watched with wide eyes. "What are you…?"

He had begun to finger-paint something onto the wall with his own blood. "It's a protection ward. To keep enemies away, to keep him safe and hidden." He finished the symbol after a few seconds and then looked at Alex and Cas apprehensively. "Stay with him. I'll be outside and I'll keep watch to see no other enemies get in. And I'll… I'll take her body from here." He bent and picked up Rachel. His face was sad as he looked at his fallen older sister.

"Why would Rachel do this?" Alex asked, feeling utterly betrayed and angered. Cas could die and she was so scared that he would. "I know she was a first-rate _bitch_ but… she tried to kill _him_ , not just _me_."

Samandriel hesitated. "Perhaps she…" he trailed off and he seemed reluctant to say. "There are rumors in Heaven, rumors spread by Raphael's side about Castiel. Perhaps she listened to them."

Alex frowned. She hadn't heard about that. " _What_ rumors?"

Samandriel shook his head and his expression was strange. "Rumors that couldn't possibly be true. I should go." Before Alex could ask anything further, Samandriel disappeared and took Rachel's body with him.

Alone with her unconscious angel, Alex looked at him in worry that was making her stomach twist in knots. She wasn't sure if she could do anything to help him. So, what, just wait and see? Was that really all she had left to do? She looked at his bleeding wound and pressed a hand to it, not caring at all about getting blood on herself. She studied his peaceful face—the dark lashes and handsome features, the relaxed brow. "Always getting yourself hurt over me," she murmured, brushing some hair back from his forehead. _Oh, Cas. Why didn_ _'_ _t you tell me you had almost no one left?_ He'd said vague things that could have been interpreted that way and today he had alluded to the fact that he had very little left in the way of close, trusted soldiers. But she hadn't known he was so close to depleted. Why wouldn't he tell her that?

She didn't know. And frankly at the moment she didn't care. She just wanted him to be okay. With nothing she could do to help except stay at his side, that's just what she did. Alex didn't move from where she was knelt beside the couch at all even when her knees got sore. She waited until the blood flow from his wound clotted and congealed and then she laid her head beside him and took one of his hands in hers, holding it against her cheek. Then she worried, worried, worried as she studied his face. She was very aware that he had to get Bobby, Dean, and Sam back and time was lessening. What if he didn't wake up in time to bring them back?

After more than two hours had passed, he woke up without warning. Alex was sitting there awkwardly on the floor beside the couch with her head resting against his shoulder. She ceaselessly stroked worried fingers against his hand as she listened to the silence and fretted. Then he suddenly tensed, inhaled sharply, and shifted. Alex sat back in surprise and hope even as Cas jolted upwards with an expression of disorientation on his face. He seemed in a state of panic, like he didn't know where he was or what had happened, and Alex attempted to get his attention, taking hold of his arms. "Hey, hey, you're all right, Cas, I gotcha!"

Breathless, he found her gaze and sat still, grimacing against some pain. He saw the burned wings on the floor of the room and his face showed confusion. "What… where did Rachel go?" he asked in a tight, pained voice.

"Samandriel took her," Alex said. She was more worried about something else and held him by the side of the face as she stood on her knees between his legs to be closer to him. "Are you okay?"

His eyes were downcast and not managing to meet hers. "I'm…" he winced and made a face, pressing a hand against where he'd been injured. He attempted to stand very briefly but with a grunt and pathetic cough he gave up and Alex pressed him back down to sit.

"Hey hey hey, don't push yourself Cas." He was hurt bad and Alex had no idea how to react. He sat there with slumped shoulders and horrible posture; he breathed heavily as his face showed him fighting to hide his pain. "Are you gonna be okay?" she asked, throat tight.

He nodded briefly, seeming not to care much about himself. "Yes, I'll heal." Relief flooded Alex. Cas looked at her through pained eyes and a miserable expression and he looked her over apprehensively, touching one of her arms lightly. "Are you all right?" he questioned anxiously. He then traced fingers against her throat where Rachel had so brutally grabbed. "Did she… _hurt_ you?"

Alex shook her head and fought a smile and tears at the same time. "No, I'll be fine." She hugged him impulsively and tightly around his neck. She buried her face there and shuddered in relief, so glad Cas wasn't going to die. It had been so _close,_ so very close. Cas's arms weakly circled her in return and his head rested by tilting toward hers. Safe and warm and held in this place of familiarity and love, Alex shook against emotion. The thought of losing him was simply _unbearable_. Her arms tightened around him and she tried to breathe steadily.

She felt him move slightly and his lips brushed against the hair at the topmost side of her head. "Why are you crying?" Cas asked gently, tender despite his own pain and distress.

She sniffed and pulled back, trying to show him that she wasn't _sobbing_ or anything, just overcome with emotion momentarily. "I—I was just scared for a second."

Apologetic and empathetic, Cas touched the side of her face. He beat her to wiping away the one tear that had escaped out onto a cheek. "I'm sorry she frightened you."

Alex cracked a surprised grin through teary eyes. His mistaken assumption was kind of cute. "No, I was scared because…" she brushed her fingers lightly against where his wound was and her smile fell as she remembered how it felt to see him with a blade in him. "For a minute, just a second, I thought you were _dead_." Her shining eyes raised to his and she didn't know how to explain how terrified that had left her.

Cas was utterly emotionally bereft and his shoulders sagged down further. "I'm so sorry, Alex. I shouldn't have ever given her a second chance. Forgive me." He looked down, expression miserable. "All I do is make mistakes."

As always, she tried to comfort him. Shifting up to sit on the couch close beside him, she was empathetic. "You couldn't have known, Cas."

He wasn't comforted—in fact he looked even more upset. "Perhaps not, but I knew she was untrustworthy as a whole," he muttered, shaking his head and still looking down. "That should have been enough." His eyes slid up to hers reluctantly. "And now I can't bring the boys back."

Alex's stomach dropped. "Wait… _what_?"

Cas was frowning deeply, still slumped over and by all appearances totally useless. "This injury… it's drained me badly," he rumbled.

Alex blinked fast, trying not to get alarmed. "Okay—well, you can just call in another angel to do it then, right? Samandriel's right outside, he could—"

"No, he's not powerful enough to do this," Cas said in grave chagrin. "Furthermore, _I_ need to be the one to bring them back. It's… complicated to explain."

"Cas, this is my _family_ we're talking about!" Alex sputtered as she stood up, starting to freak out at how resigned Cas seemed. She forcibly made herself calm down. "Okay—sorry—there has to be something to get you recharged… a spell— _something,_ right? I mean we can't just _leave_ them there…!"

Cas looked up at her with a strained expression on his face and it was clear that he was very, _very_ dismayed at the current course of events. Then he frowned more deeply and looked down and to the side in thought. "There is one thing that might work, but… it's extremely dangerous."

"What is it?" Alex asked urgently.

"No, it's… I couldn't," he said, seeming to change his mind completely. "It's not safe."

Alex looked at him in rapt concern. Was it something he'd have to bleed for? "What is it?" she asked again, desperate.

He hesitated to tell her, then he did. "It's… your soul."

Not what she had expected to hear. "My… _soul_?" she repeated, unsure what that could do or be used for. "What about it?"

Cas seemed slightly mortified. "I… I'd need you to let me touch it."

" _Touch_ it?" She'd seen him do a soul touch before to get information. " _Why_?"

He explained it to her with no shortage of visible discomfort. "The human soul—it's pure... energy. If I can siphon some of that off from yours, I-I might be able to bring Sam and Dean and Bobby back."

" _Might_?" she asked. This got worse and worse by the second.

"In all likelihood it would work but…" Cas turned his hands upwards in a weak shrug. "It might not."

Alex wet her lips, thinking hard. "And this is the _only_ thing that might work?"

"I'm afraid so."

"And you said it's extremely dangerous…?" That didn't make sense to her.

Cas hesitated but explained it to her slowly and clearly. He seemed very anxious about her reaction to the idea. "Yes, well… doing this is like… putting your hand in a nuclear reactor. I'd have to do it _very_ gingerly."

"Or…?"

He blinked twice and looked down, shook his head faintly as if he couldn't even believe he was considering this. "Or I could kill you."

" _Kill_ me?" Alex repeated. "But I saw you soul touch that Aaron kid and Sam too, _and_ my grandfather. Didn't seem so dangerous then…"

His eyes snapped up to meet hers grimly. "It was." _Holy shit._ Cas's jaw clenched and a muscle jerked in his cheek. "I'm… much more hesitant to do it to you than I would be anyone else."

A little blindsided, Alex took a minute to reply. "Well, I'm… I'm not seeing any other options here, Cas."

Cas's face showed utter distaste in the idea and a slight panic. "I know, but I don't want to chance it, Alex."

"You _have_ to," she said intently, getting panicked at the thought of never seeing her brothers ever again. "If this is the only way to get them back, you gotta do it."

She was right and they both knew it. Still, he resisted. "Alex, this will be _excruciating_ for you," he argued, obviously warring within himself at the thought of hurting her purposefully.

"I don't care." She was matter-of-fact and controlled, accepting of the consequences. It was mind over matter in her experience. She would _never_ let some pain stand between rescuing her family. "I can handle pain."

"I don't want you to _have_ to," he protested beseechingly. "It will drain you, Alex. Exhaust you, it could damage your nervous system, it could—"

"It doesn't _matter_ ," she insisted, cutting him off and looking at him in deep pleading. "I'll be okay. You'll be _careful_ … and I'll be _okay_."

Cas seemed to get that she wasn't going to stop insisting. "You're sure about this?" he asked in a heavy voice, his bright blue eyes staring into hers uncertainly.

" _Yes_ ," she replied immediately. "Now come on. Let's do it." _Before I lose the nerve._ He was really hyping it up to be bad.

He gave a soft and worried sigh. "All right." He pushed himself up to stand as if he were an elderly man, grunting and straining the entire time. When she moved to help him, he seemed embarrassed that he needed the help and he wouldn't look at her. "Sit down," he instructed quietly and she did on the edge of the couch. He began to look around the room for something he couldn't seem to find. "I… need to find something for you to bite down on."

"We don't have time for all that, let's get this over with." Alex gripped the couch on either side of herself with tight hands. Cas was appearing to have exhausted himself by standing and he shuffled closer to her to stand between her legs and he bent a little, put a heavy hand onto her shoulder for support. When he did nothing but look at her with an expression of pained dread, Alex gently took his free hand in both of hers and began to roll his sleeve up for him—she'd seen him do this before, after all. He seemed mournful when she did that.

"I do not want to do this," he said softly, brokenly, appealing to her one last time.

Softening and taking a moment to stop freaking out, she looked up into the angel's eyes. She trusted him. Still holding onto his hand, Alex pulled it close to her, palm first, and pressed a soft kiss there. "I know." She let go and nodded once, telling him to go ahead.

His hand on her shoulder gripped tightly to keep him from falling over. He moved his other hand to the topmost part of her stomach and his fingertips grazed lightly there. He hesitated, looked her in the eye. "You're _sure_?"

Even though she was scared of it—Cas just sticking his hand into her and touching her freaking _soul_ _—_ she put the fear out of her mind. She reached up and held tight to his hand on her shoulder, breathed out, then nodded, bracing herself for agony as she stared into his glacial eyes. "Do it."

What happened next neither of them saw coming.

He hesitated just a second longer, then took in a deep breath and did it. With a grimace that was more because of her oncoming pain rather than his, he pushed his hand forward into her. A scream ripped out of her mouth even as his fingers and then hand sank deeply into flesh and invaded her being in every way—it was like being burned alive from the inside out and she felt like her stomach was being ripped apart, like she was _dying_. And then without warning, it ceased. The intense agony faded away when everything that was him touched everything that was her, when his fingers brushed up against her soul itself. Later she would realize what happened was that even as Cas touched her soul, her soul reached back out and touched _him_ , seeing into everything he was.

In approximately thirty seconds, a vivid existence surged through Alex. She felt and saw everything Castiel had ever seen or felt as if it had all happened to _her_. For Alex, for a _moment_ , it was like she _was_ Castiel. It rushed through her like a flood, and this is what she remembered:

First, consciousness of being. _I am alive._ Then, knowledge of who he was: a son of God. A soldier of Heaven. An angel of the Lord. There was no emotion whatsoever, only understanding and acceptance. Around Castiel were thousands of other angels and Alex could feel them more than she could see them. They were indistinct shapes of light and they all seemed the same: powerful, peaceful, orderly. Heaven was glorious and pristine and everything was as it had been created to be. The universe exploded into being: stars and suns and moons, glorious cosmos, endless planets and celestial bodies.

And then the earth was created, the planet God had the greatest plans for. Out of nothing came everything but it was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the many waters. And then there was light—the sun blazed into existence and the earth began to take form. Vegetation sprung out of the ground, valleys were carved and mountains were formed as rains came and went and eroded, shaped, and softened stone and earth alike. How many centuries passed in what seemed to be seconds? Alex didn't know… all she knew was that Castiel watched with the rest of the angels and he felt nothing but duty and awareness. No wonder. No awe. Just a certain kind of detached reverence and understanding that creation was holy.

The earth was left to itself to grow, to cultivate new life through evolution.

And then, Castiel's first mistake. His first instance of curiosity. Castiel went to earth by himself—without orders, without being told, because he had glimpsed a very peculiar thing: a small gray fish that was different than the others. It had small nubby feet and it was heaving itself onto a shore, dragging itself toward the lush and wild jungle beyond. This sight, this unique creature defying its purpose in favor of walking on land and breathing air made him feel the beginnings of true amazement. And then Raphael appeared—he was a fierce archangel and his halo burned bright like magma, his wings were large and crackled with lightning, the color of his feathers was ever-changing as electricity hummed and sizzled. He was intimidating, and Castiel, much smaller and lesser in comparison, was startled.

"Don't step on that fish, Castiel," Raphael advised in a voice that conveyed itself through thunder in the clouded sky. "God has a special purpose for that one." Cas watched in fascination and puzzlement. _Special purpose._ "Some say this creature is the beginning of what will someday be the glory of all creation," Raphael said, but he was haughty and puffed up even then and put forth a scornful opinion. "I say that has yet to be seen. Now come away from this place, Castiel. The host awaits. And do not go someplace ever again without being told."

Castiel's response was immediate and obedient. "Of course, brother. My apologies." Even though he said that, he wondered: _But_ _…_ _why?_ That was the first question Castiel ever asked. He didn't voice it aloud because questioning commands and the word of God and the archangels was blasphemous.

Thousands of years passed with little happening for Castiel, who was tasked to watch Thursdays and to govern Solitude. He didn't stray from commands for a long time again, at least not that he recalled. He watched the first humans come into existence and his fascination and interest in them was deep and ever growing. He saw how humans had relationships with one another, how they shared fondness for each other and love, and he didn't understand how all of this worked. It was a foreign language to him, but one he found interesting to behold. The years waxed and waned and he did everything he was told. He fought in wars against Hell, he saw the exile of Lucifer, the loss of Gabriel, the banishment of Genesis. He saw Gadreel allow sin into the world, he saw Mariel the angel disobey by falling to damnation with a human woman. He observed the rise and fall of Rome, he saw humans grow, change, expand, learn, change more, adapt. He became endeared to humans and reverent of them. In time he came to think that they truly were what Raphael had said they would be: the glory of all creation. To him, they were special.

Castiel continued in his existence quietly and simply. He carried out the word of God, he watched, he went all but unnoticed in Heaven. And then one fateful day in 2004 changed it all. Castiel's name was put in among the angels who were tasked to carry out the Indian Ocean earthquake and tsunami. The death toll would be almost three hundred thousand human souls. Castiel was horrified and said no, he couldn't be part of destroying God's most precious creation. When he continually refused to be part of what he called a massacre, he was punished and put into prison for three human years.

When he was pulled out without explanation, he was told by Michael and Raphael that he was being given another chance thanks to his sister Nandriel's recent disobedience. He didn't understand what they meant by that, he only understood that he was being disciplined and given a second chance. He soon learned that even though he was a high-order Seraph he was being tasked as a guardian angel—it was considered a low duty among Heaven. For Seraph such as himself, the assignment was meant to shame him and humiliate him. "You will learn your place," they said to him. "You were given God's word and you scorned it. Now you will watch over this human for the duration of her life as punishment." Ashamed at himself for not following the word of his father but grateful for a second chance, Castiel vowed he would do what he had been told and earn back his honor.

There was no inkling in his mind about how his fate was sealed that day. With that task, everything changed. With that assignment, his life was made new. The human he was given task over was _her_. The moment he first saw her he was taken by a feeling of recognition. She was important and he _felt_ it without explanation. He watched over her day and night. Very quickly he became vested in her at a personal level. Her safety became his motivation and purpose. She intrigued him, this silent human with the bright soul.

She never even knew he was there. Not at first. Without a vessel, he could still manipulate matter as if he were a ghost, he had his powers but no way of manifesting himself so that her eyes could see him or her ears could hear. He saved her several times in very clever ways—he manipulated the weather once and struck a Wendigo that was chasing her family dead with lightning, he locked the door for her when she forgot to one night—why? Because a shady man followed her back from a bar while Sam and Dean stayed out—Cas then shattered all the glass of all the nearby cars, setting off the alarms to frighten the man away. He broke iron bars at a later date in a window to allow her escape when vampires caught her. He stayed with her and sometimes wished, just once, she could know he was there. But… why? What would that matter? He didn't know.

Castiel witnessed many moments she tried not to show her brothers: her deep grief and despair, her terror at Dean's coming death day, her deep loneliness and depression. Castiel thought perhaps he was wrong, but to him, the two of them were alike somehow. Some part of him resonated with some part of her. He wished he knew how to reach out and take her pains from her. She smiled sometimes, and when she smiled, he felt the greatest sense of peace of mind he had known. She should smile more, he thought.

One night he overheard her brothers lamenting how they had tried everything to get her the ability to speak again. As Alex slept Dean said, "I shoulda asked for her voice back too when I made that deal, huh Sammy?" There was a grief in that voice that made Castiel feel as though he were grieved, too.

More and more questions occurred to Castiel. These questions made him uncomfortable, they filled his mind without ceasing. Why should this human be made to suffer? Why should she be resigned to spending her life unable to communicate as humans had been designed to communicate? It was within the power of Heaven to fix and he found out that she had been _born_ with a voice only to have it taken by a demon at six months of age. Why couldn't Heaven restore her voice? Castiel asked Michael about it mere days after first seeing Alex for the first time and Michael waved it off apathetically, saying that some humans were defective and some weren't, this one was mute and so be it. Castiel had felt strange at that statement. She wasn't _defective_. None of them were, not to Castiel. Just because they weren't the same as most of the rest of their kind didn't make them less of value.

Still, all he saw was unnecessary pain and all he felt was the strong conviction that he should _do something._

It was the middle of the night on December the fifth of 2007 when Castiel crumbled and did what he had thought about doing since he first laid eyes on her. The last straw was when as her brothers laughed and commented raucously on a humorous television show together. Alex turned away and pretended to go to sleep. Instead, tears fell down her face because she couldn't participate with them—she couldn't speak to them and reply to their banter, she didn't even have the ability to laugh out loud. For Castiel, he couldn't stand by any longer and just watch—some part of him was broken for her to see her suffering so needlessly. He threw away his desire to please Heaven in favor of giving this young woman what she needed, wanted, and deserved. Beyond explanation, _nothing_ else had ever seemed as important for him.

He knew he would be punished. He knew this was forbidden. And none of it mattered to him at all. Whatever Heaven would do to him for the actions he was about to take, so be it.

When they all slept, Castiel changed all of their lives forever—even his own, though he didn't know how much so at the time. From Heaven itself he bridged the gap, reaching down and letting all the power he possessed heal her, restore her. She remained unaware, sleeping peacefully. Even though he touched her as an angel in his true form, he couldn't _feel_ her at all. He had no sense of touch and he was left wishing he could just once know what it was like to touch. Be touched. By her. He shouldn't think such things. When he had healed her and had finished, he looked upon her and wished another thing he shouldn't have wished: he wanted to see her human face. He could see her face indistinctly, but not fully. As an angel, he saw her soul more clearly than anything else. But he was curious to behold her with human eyes. He remembered thinking that just before he was snatched to Heaven where he faced the wrath of Raphael and Michael.

They demanded to know what he had done—Heaven had trembled when he healed the young woman and they berated him without mercy, telling him he had done something unthinkable by interfering with the natural order and healing a human without permission. Castiel didn't make excuses or deny what he had done. Instead, he defended his actions and insisted she was important and that it wasn't wrong of him to do what he had. In Heaven he bore physical form and Raphael struck him across the face, calling him a heretic. The archangels had said they wouldn't tolerate his audacity and that he was no longer fit to bear the esteemed title of Seraph. With that, Michael struck him down to his knees and Raphael pulled out his blade. Castiel thought he was to die. But instead, they each seized one of his magnificent wings and cut, tore, and ripped half of it away brutally. In a pain and shock he had never known, Castiel cried out but made no move to fight back. He allowed them to tear his wings to half their size. It was a barbaric act, merciless and cruel, the ultimate punishment an angel could receive. As the wings were ripped away mere shadows of the glory they had once been, Castiel became a Virtue instead of a Seraph. Many of his powers were gone, many of his abilities. But still he didn't fight. He suffered the consequences because he had known there would be a price to pay. Even as soft black bloody feathers floated down around him, Castiel received lashes and beatings. He didn't fight back, not even when he was nearly dead. When the archangels had finished with him, they told him to get out of their sight.

Bloodied, wounded, belittled, shamed, Castiel went back to where the Winchesters were. He could hear angels whispering to each other across Heaven—they whispered about him and spread rumors, increasing his shame a hundredfold.

Suffering from pain, humiliation, and great disgrace, the angel bore witness to Alex stubbing her toe and letting out a sound of irritation and pain then freezing as her mouth dropped open and her eyebrows slammed together. He saw her brothers both whip their heads in her direction. He saw them stare in shock. He heard one of them ask if _she_ had just made that noise. Breathless from disbelief, she asked their names, clapped hands over her mouth with eyes gone wide, then began to jabber and then hyperventilate. She cried and laughed at the same time. And her laugh, that _sound_ … despite what had just happened to him and the pain he was in… Castiel felt as though in some transcendental part of himself, he smiled.

In all of history he had never seen anything better than that moment. She was free. And he had done that.

And thus it was worth it to him—worth the pain, worth the way his brothers and sisters would judge him, worth the loss of his wings. She had what was hers, and he was satisfied.

Alex's new voice was a thing to behold and her use of it was clumsy at first but quickly grew. Castiel never regretted what he had done, especially not when he saw the happiness he had given to her. Especially not when he heard her laughing.

And then Dean died. The Hellhounds came for him and Alex was devastated, lost, broken apart inside and outside. She barely spoke and Castiel watched her fall apart and go into a shell of herself. One night she sat in a shed with a gun and he didn't know why. She just kept staring at the gun as if she was thinking about using it for something. But she didn't do anything with it after Bobby Singer came out and found her.

The call came shortly thereafter across Heaven: _Dean Winchester must be raised out of Hell._

Without a thought Castiel volunteered himself for the mission because he knew that Dean was the beloved brother of the human in his charge. Moreover, he would require a human vessel to do what needed to be done. The secret thought which flashed through his mind briefly: _Perhaps I can look on her with human eyes. Only once would satisfy me._ He thought he should be ashamed of himself for that desire.

He sought out a vessel. Jimmy Novak. And he began to beseech this man for use of his human body. Two months later, Dean Winchester was raised from Hell and Castiel was given a human vessel after Jimmy's consent. He walked stiff, new steps with feet clad in shoes into a warehouse built by human hands and for the first time, he laid eyes on Alex Winchester and truly _saw_ her. And seeing her once, he learned, would never be enough.

As time progressed, he was entrusted with other tasks again and his guardianship of Alex was pushed to the side then put to an end by Heaven's standards when things fell apart and Lucifer rose. But for Castiel, he would _always_ be her guardian. Forever.

Alex felt how he fell in love with her: slowly by intellect but fast in every other way. He loved her much before he realized it, he longed for her before he even knew what he longed for. Alex saw how they were drawn together. She saw their fights, the way she mistrusted him, the way he healed her and cared for her even when he knew he wasn't supposed to. She felt the love that burned inside of him like an inferno and needed physical expression. She felt what _he_ had felt during their first kiss, their second, their third… and it was like tasting something from paradise to feel his feelings like that. She saw their first time: accidental, honest, clueless and difficult but also perfect because it had been _them_. She could feel his emotions and passion as though they were her own and it was intense enough to knock her onto her back.

She saw everything that happened after that and before they stopped the apocalypse: Cas sacrificing himself for her then spending what felt like forever in the darkness of a coma. When he woke up, his first thought was of her. He was all but human and afraid, uncomfortable, out of his element. Then came the Croatoan virus, the impending end of the world, the question Castiel never asked directly: _Will you marry me?_ His thoughts and feelings for her were too vast to count, his love was too deep to measure, and Alex saw herself through his eyes: precious, fleeting, special, and worthy of everything he had to give and more.

And then more painful revelations came: Lucifer. Cas's horror when he saw the devil possessing her. Sam dying. Alex dying. Cas dying. And then Cas being resurrected back to life, and not just resurrected, but restored to the Seraph he had been before.

And then Alex saw Castiel raise Sam from the grave soulless. She saw Raphael threaten Castiel and assert himself as Cas's enemy. She saw him tell Cas should he ever visit Alex again, Raphael would be there to take her away and make her suffer for eternity. And then worst of all Alex saw Castiel and Crowley. _All_ of it. The plan about Purgatory, the deal that the King of Hell and the rebel angel would split the souls therein. She felt Cas's aversion to himself, his panic, the way he didn't know _what_ to do or where to turn. He was trapped. It began to blur together then and all she saw were snatches of things now. She saw Castiel take hold of her soul claim and put it into himself for safe keeping. She saw Cas and Crowley planning to burn the fake bones, she saw how Castiel tricked her with the fake soul claim, she saw how he went into the past to the night of the nursery fire to try and find her when Nandriel had taken her. She saw that Azazel muted her when she cried out as a six month old baby because Castiel startled her. She felt that Castiel blamed himself for her being mute for her first twenty-four years on earth. And more than that she felt his panic, his horror, the weight on his shoulders from the war, the secrets. It was soul-crushing, impossible to carry.

If he lost, he lost _everything._

With that final thought in her mind, the vision ended. The world faded back into existence. She heard someone moaning and screaming and came back to herself with a mind that was completely blank for a moment. Castiel had his hand inside of her and white-hot veins were crawling up his face, his eyes were squeezed closed, his mouth hung open as he let loose a sound that was almost erotic—then his eyes flew open and light brighter than the sun blazed out. His hand held on crushingly tight to her shoulder and she was grabbing at him anywhere she could find to hold as the pain and intensity and some inexplicable pleasure drowned her alive. Had anyone been right outside the room, they might have mistaken the sounds Alex and Cas made as those of a mutual, intense orgasm.

Something had been taken from Alex, something monumental, and she felt as though she would faint—and then it was over, he pulled his hand out of her and caught her against himself as he knelt in front of her and pulled her close with strong, renewed arms as they both trembled with ragged breaths. She sagged against him, half-sitting on the couch. "A-are you all right?" Castiel asked, pulling back and using a hand to turn her face up to his. "Alex? Can you speak?" She made no reply, just looked at him dumbly, her mind scattered and incoherent. "Are you hurt?" he asked urgently.

She didn't know what had just happened and it was all a puzzle box full of pieces in her mind. "That was… I saw… I saw everything you ever did, _felt_ everything," she mumbled, trying to remember it all, trying to find clarity again. Her mind felt like it was close to explosion from all the things she had just seen. "So much."

His face fell fearfully. "Everything?"

She was drained and felt like her muscles had turned to water. Her mind was reconstructing everything she'd just digested from beginning to end. She remembered Castiel in the beginning, she remembered him refusing to be part of the tsunami, and she was mystified, even a little scared at what she had seen so vividly. "W-what happened?" she asked faintly. It had felt so _real,_ the memories almost felt like her own. "Why could I see…?"

He shook his head, seeming just as confounded himself. "I don't know. I—I saw you, too. _Felt_ you, I don't… I don't know."

Alex was remembering more and more. Cas taking unbearable torture and punishment for her. Cas loving her so fully and truly. Tears came to her eyes as she remembered his screams as his wings were ripped apart. Her trembling hand grazed against the side of his face and she opened her mouth to say something about it. And then Alex suddenly remembered Crowley. And the soul claim. And Sam. And the lies. And tricks. And she abruptly went stock still in terror. Her hand hovered in the air beside Cas's face. _No. Oh my god, no._ "Wait. _Wait_." Her eyes were filling with tears, her expression showered utter disbelief and hurt, her hand slowly retracted to herself. "Cas… what are you _doing_?" she asked, and she was shrinking away from him, shaking her head, suddenly _fearful_ of him because he had lied, _consistently,_ tricked her and her family and it _couldn_ _'_ _t be true—_ it didn't matter his intentions, he was _lying_ to her—and to them all. She begged for some explanation even though she knew everything from the soul touch. Her heart began to jackhammer in her chest, her stomach was sick, she wanted to throw up, she needed to understand his choices, because even though she'd felt his thoughts, it was inconceivable and heartbreaking. " _What_ … are you _doing_?"

The look in her eyes of dawning horror terrified him—and he reacted like a pitiful, worthless coward. He did what he had promised to never do again. Motivated by panic, he touched the side of her head fast even as her eyes widened in shock. Before she could say anything or push him away or even fully realize what he was doing, Cas snatched those things out of her mind as if they were on fire, he flung them far away and erased all his connections to Crowley, all his recent wrongdoings. He considered erasing it _all_ _—_ everything that had just been revealed… but he didn't. And then he realized he should have, because this was even worse.

She was left remembering what he'd done to give her voice back, she was left remembering mostly good things. And because of that, she looked utterly in love with him. She relaxed now, leaning towards him again, and he was disgusted with himself. " _Cas_." Her voice broke with love, not with disbelieving devastation. "You… they clipped your wings. They _hurt_ you," she said, and she began to cry as she thought of it, her hands weakly holding his face in tenderness. "How could you _do_ that for me? You knew you'd be punished!" How could she look at him like that? How could she trust him? And how could he allow himself to keep violating her like this? The tricks, the lies… he would accept any punishment for her. Any pain. Any hardship. Any bitter end. But this was the far worse. He rejected her touch, turning his face away as his inner voice asked one question over and over again: _what have you done?_

"I'm… I'm not the hero you imagine me to be, Alex," he said, agonized at himself and at the point of miserable tears himself. His mind spun, his stomach was knotted, his reaction to what had just happened was _wrong._ He was a fool, a bastard, a wretch.

"I don't have to imagine. I _know,_ " she choked out affectionately. She then reached for him more fully, craning her neck for a kiss he was sickened to receive or give… but then she winced and withdrew, her face crumpled in pain and she held a hand against her stomach as the soul touch effects settled in. "Oh god it feels _horrible_ _…_ "

His heart broke all over again. She would be drained and lethargic and wracked with pain for some time to come and he could do next to nothing of it. Utterly wretched, Castiel swallowed through a thick throat. "I'm so sorry, Alex," he said in a thick, guilty voice. He touched two fingers to the side of her head and put her out of her misery. "Rest."

Her head lolled to the side and her eyes closed as she obeyed his command and lost consciousness, falling into a deep and painless sleep. Cas gently laid her down onto the couch and stood back as feelings of physical illness and panic and loathing overcame him more and more fully.

_What am I doing? What have I done?_

She believed he was a hero. When he knew that he was becoming the villain. Deep, intense despair overcame him and he shut his eyes against it, trying not to lose control of himself as he clenched his fists impossibly tight. Outside, the sky darkened and thunder rumbled. _What am I_ _DOING_ _?_ _! What have I DONE?!_ As his emotions surged to unmanageable levels and self-hatred clawed at him like a beast he couldn't tame, the glass panes in every room of the house burst and shattered completely.

Castiel's eyes snapped opened and he was shocked at himself. The darkness of the sky faded to blue again as he caught his breath and managed to get himself under control.

He shouldn't have ever been created. Not if he was going to do nothing but betray the ones he cared about, lie to the one he loved. He looked at Alex and felt as though he could never look her in the eye again. Not after doing what he had promised to never do again. _But, I_ _'_ _m protecting her. If she found out, she_ _'_ _d tell Sam and Dean and they might try to stop me. They might not understand. And I have to win this war. I have to do whatever it takes._

The timer on the desk buzzed loudly, and Castiel looked at it, vaguely startled. It read 0:00 and realizing it was time, the angel made himself focus. The soul touch had recharged him fully. Castiel reached back and pulled the boys back through time and space from then to now. And then where there had been no one before, there were abruptly three someones. Dean ran to an abrupt stop, almost coming right up into Cas, Sam smacked into the side of the doorjamb of the study, and Bobby was crouched on the floor.

Disoriented, the three of them stared at Castiel. "Please tell me that worked," Cas said in a stiff voice that disguised his distress very poorly.

"The hell happened here?" Bobby asked, gawking around at his study as he stood up. A shelf was broken, a wall was cracked, everything glass was broken, and angel wings were burnt across the floor. Bobby only seemed to hone in on one thing though. "The window's busted? _Again_?"

"All of the windows are." Cas replied flatly.

Sam looked at Cas carefully. "You okay?"

Cas gave him a brief, hooded glance. " _No_."

Dean looked around with a suspicious, careful expression. "What _happened_?"

The facts came out of him in a robotic monotone because his mind was elsewhere and he was so grieved that his only way of functioning was automated. "There was a fight. With Rachel. She wounded me. If it wasn't for Alex letting me touch her soul, you boys might be stuck in the past."

Dean looked taken aback and a little offended. " _Soul_ touch?"

Sam's voice rose slightly in growing protective concern and he pointed to his sister while staring hard at Cas. "Wait a minute, is she _napping_ or…" 

"She's injured," Cas supplied grimly, looking down the entire time. "From the soul touch. I… feel terrible about it. But she insisted. And saved your lives by doing so, too." Even as Sam and Dean both became indignant and opened their mouths to say something to Castiel, he cut off the opportunity. "I have to go," he said, running away again because he _couldn_ _'_ _t_ deal with everything that had just happened. "Tell her I'm sorry. Please."

"Wait, Cas—" Dean started. When the angel disappeared into thin air he threw his hands into the air out of frustration. "Friggin' _angels_."

Sam was already crouched beside his sister, checking her forehead for a temperature then feeling for her pulse. "She… she seems okay," he said. He still sounded worried though. "Guess she just needs some sleep."

Dean said nothing. He appeared highly disturbed.

"Hey, least we got what we went there for," Bobby muttered, holding up the little glass bottle he'd collected the Phoenix ash in. "No thanks to you two idjits. Hate to think what woulda happened if I hadn't been there."

"Come on Bobby, I totally _had that,_ " Dean complained.

"Mmhm, sure."

* * *

**That Night**

Curled up in bed on her side, Alex gazed off into the dark unseeingly. She had woken up a few hours ago to her brothers fussing over her and drilling her for details on what had happened in their absence, if she felt okay, why the hell had she been okay with a soul touch, etcetera, etcetera. She'd tiredly answered their questions for a few moments before telling them to screw off and let her rest. She still wasn't sure why all of the windows had burst in the house. Maybe that had happened during the soul touch? She couldn't remember. Either way, Dean, Sam, and Bobby had taped cardboard panels over the gaping broken windows for the time being. As such, the attic was darker than usual. No silver moonlight bathed the floor. It only snuck in through small cracks.

Her eyes adjusted to the velvet darkness as she laid there in bed and rest didn't come. She was still feeling the aftereffects of the soul touch—her body was sapped of strength and vigor, her head felt tired and spent. But she felt emotionally amazed, alive, in love, and so very deeply longing of Castiel. All she could think about was what had happened when Cas touched her soul. She finally knew the full extent of what he had done to save her and to give her voice back to her. It was understandable that he hadn't wanted her to know. It was shocking what had been done to him, what had been taken. Her chest tightened again as she thought of it. He'd gone through _agony_ for her. How could someone love another someone as much as he loved her? She wished so badly he would come to her that night and be with her. She wanted to be close to him more now than ever. 

After the inexplicable revelation given by the soul touch, she understood him more than she ever had, loved him more than she ever had. She had seen the centuries he'd existed, the things he'd watched, the feelings he'd felt. She had accessed those things and been part of them somehow. She was pretty sure that didn't happen during other soul touches—Cas had seemed pretty surprised by what happened and he'd said he saw her, too. Did he feel her life like she'd felt his? It was like being connected in a new, impossible way she had never heard of before and despite physical discomfort, her heart felt warm. She only wished the touch hadn't abruptly cut off when he'd been resurrected from death at the cemetery… past that she'd strangely seen nothing at all.

Missing him and frustrated with his absence, Alex gave a restless sigh and shifted, flopping around to lay on her other side. And then she gave a startled squeak and shot up to sit up against the headboard.

Cas sat at the edge of the bed near her in complete silence and his head was turned to look at her. How long had he been there?! She breathed out a shaky breath, triying to get her suddenly-racing heart to calm back down. "Cas! Oh my god, you startled me!" she exclaimed softly, a little embarrassed at herself. "How long have you been there?"

He said nothing for a long time. In the dark, she could barely see his face, but what she _could_ see was held gaunt by misery. When he spoke, it was soft and shocking. "Do you ever wonder… if this was a mistake for us?"

His question was not what she had expected. It hit her like a ton of bricks, shattering her internally, making the air in the room hard to breathe. "What?" she asked, thinking _no, certainly he can_ _'_ _t be asking what I think he_ _'_ _s asking._ "What are you talking about?" When he made no reply, she began to sit up to try to see him better. She tried not to panic before she even knew what he was talking about. "If _what_ was a mistake?"

"… _Everything_." His voice was quiet and haggard and scared the shit out of her. He wouldn't look at her and all she saw was his profile bowed low in contrition she didn't understand. "I've done nothing but harm you, I've done more harm than good."

Alex was confounded. "More _harm_ than _good_?" she repeated. "What are you _talking_ about?" she repeated, shifting and moving toward him and trying to touch his arm. "Cas, the things you did for me, what you gave me, what you _went through_ for me…" it choked her up again thinking of him suffering so much for a human who hadn't even known of his existence at the time.

Cas was non-responsive and guilt-ridden, still looking at his knees without emotion. "It was nothing."

Quickly after feeling insulted, Alex was indignant. "It wasn't nothing! They ripped your fucking wings apart, Cas! That's not _nothing_!"

He didn't react to her exclamation. He only seemed to sink further into depression. "You're just attempting to comfort me."

Appalled, Alex tried to form words through a gaping mouth. "Wha… should I _not_?" she questioned, truly confused at him. She hesitated then touched his shoulder in gentle appeal as she tried to reach out to him emotionally. "Cas, just—"

In an act that startled her completely, he yanked himself out of her touch and stood, whirled, then shouted at her. "I don't deserve your comfort!"

They were both shocked at his words, perhaps him more than her. Staring at him in utter vexation, Alex was beginning to get really worried and even a little scared. But she wasn't sure what _of_. "Why are you acting like this?" she asked, tossing her blankets off and standing up.

She only wore underwear and a t-shirt and Cas glanced at the bare lengths of her legs briefly before clenching his jaw and looking away. "It's… you wouldn't understand."

"Yeah, because you won't even give me the _chance,_ " she accused. She was at her limits of patience where that was concerned and all she knew was there better be a _damn_ good explanation for why he kept saying that she 'wouldn't understand' about whatever was making him so miserable and broken. "Look, Cas. I'm not _stupid_ ," she appealed, trying to get him to talk to her. "I know something's going on with you. You have _got_ to tell me what!" Her plea didn't fall on deaf ears.

Cas's eyes raised to hers in slow defeat and so much pain rested there that he could have been close to tears. He reached out and took her hands in his gently, gingerly. "Certain regrettable things are required of me," he said in a slow and heavy voice as he looked at their hands. "Things you wouldn't like. Things I can barely tolerate of myself." He swallowed and shuddered, abruptly putting his face into a hand and appearing to be fighting off tears. "Alex… I…" his voice broke like a boy's might. "You _don_ _'_ _t understand._ "

Seeing him like that broke her down too and she grabbed him tight in a hug because she didn't know what the hell else to do. "Tell me then," she whispered anxiously, holding him and trying to tell him she was there for him. "Help me understand." 

"It's… the thought of losing the war," he said. His voice was almost a whisper and it wavered. "The thought of losing you. I feel terror every day now. It is one of the worst sensations I know to exist." He was stiff in her arms and pulling away. "I feel sometimes as though… my mind is being lost to me. As though I don't know who I am anymore." Her hands were on either one of his arms and he wouldn't look at her even briefly. "I am worn down in every way possible. I question my every choice." His misery was palatable, horrifying, and Alex didn't know how to comfort him. "I feel as though I've failed you, Alex."

His words made her sadder than she'd been in a long time and she shook her head fiercely, trying to get him to look at her. "Cas, _no_." His eyes met hers and he said nothing. "You're fighting a war for the right thing," Alex continued, trying to break through to him. "You're keeping the _apocalypse_ from happening again. How is that failure?" her questions seemed to mildly appeal to him and he considered her words but didn't react. "It's gonna be hard, this path you had to choose," she continued. "It's gonna be difficult. But you're _not_ alone. I'm here. And I wish you would let me be here for you more." His look of pained distress continued. She was fierce and meaningful as she took hold of the side of his face, refusing to let him withdraw and resist affection. "I _love_ you Cas." And she did, so damn much she could barely hold it. He had given _everything_ and then some and it floored her. 

Maybe it was time to stop keeping secrets. Maybe it was time for her to give in to the wishes Cas had expressed time and time again. Maybe that would give him some optimism. She actually thought, _you know what? I want that. I think I finally do want that._ After witnessing and feeling his love for her, after becoming aware that the love story she was part of was the most epic romance she could comprehend of even existing, after seeing him let archangels rip his wings to shreds for her… she wanted to give him anything and everything he wanted, no matter what it was. Fuck whatever Dean or whoever else would say. "You know what?" she questioned softly, stroking the side of his face tenderly, trying to catch his downcast eyes with hers. "Cas, I wanna tell them. About us. _Everything_."

His eyes darted up to hers in surprise. And then instead of a reaction of happiness, he faltered, appearing to become anxious. He fumbled verbally. "I—I don't feel ready."

His answer was not what she had expected in the least. Alex was taken aback completely, shocked. "But you… I thought you wanted them to know," she said, trying to hide how hurt she immediately felt. "You… you always wanted to tell them."

"I… yes, I do," he managed regretfully. His eyes were on the floor again and he seemed to be grasping for replies to make to her. "But… I've reconsidered and I-I think it should be after the war. After… after my position has become less precarious." There was a long, horrible pause in which Alex felt like her world had been blown apart. Castiel was formal and stiff and clenching his jaw tightly as he looked away. "I hope you understand."

Alex swallowed. What was happening? A shift had taken place and it terrified her. "I… I _don_ _'_ _t_." 

There was a long, uncomfortable silence that seemed to kill them both a little bit. "I'm so sorry, Alex," Castiel told her in a voice weighted by things she didn't understand. "You deserve so much better than me."

That statement made _no_ sense to her. None. So Alex tried to believe the best of everything, she tried to put this past them one more time because she knew Cas—and his self-loathing was one of his greatest stumbling blocks. He needed to know she didn't think so lowly of him as he did. "There _is_ no one better." She touched his face and leaned in carefully to kiss him—if words couldn't reassure him, kissing could.

So when Cas held her away from himself with his hands, when he turned his head and held her back, rejecting the affection, Alex was utterly blindsided. He gave a flimsy excuse even as his face showed heartbreak. His eyes flickered and scurried away from hers even as he refused her advances. "No, I—I'm being summoned away, I—I can't."

Alex's mouth dropped open because she was almost _certain_ he wasn't telling the truth about being called away. " _Cas_ —"

But he was gone with a blast of wind, devastating and confusing her to the point of tears. In the empty, dark attic, Alex was left with a horrible feeling in the pit of her stomach… the shadow of a doubt that something was terribly, horribly wrong. Had she done something? Did he suddenly not love her anymore? What the _hell_ was going on? She was left alone with her vast feelings of despair.

She called Castiel several times and he didn't come.

A floor below his grieving sister, Sam awoke in the guest room from a nightmare that had him breathless and gasping in panic. Usually he would tell himself _it was just a dream._ Only, he didn't think it was just a dream that time. It was a memory, and as he thought about it, he remembered even more and laid there in growing panicked horror. Everything from his time being possessed was coming back to him inexplicably and powerfully. Lucifer taunting him and telling him of twisted plans Sam would _die_ to keep from reaching fruition. The visions Satan had given him of those plans. Sam was almost sick as the things he'd forgotten rushed into his mind.

And then Sam recalled something _else_ Lucifer had known about Alex that absolutely broke his heart in shock and dismay.

Sam laid there and tried to breathe steadily. His sister couldn't have known about the things Lucifer had planned but… he wondered… had _Alex_ known about the other thing he had just remembered having knowledge of? He didn't think so. Maybe she should never know. It would break her heart so fully.


	77. Mommy Dearest

" _I wanted so desperately to tell you to trust me, but I was lying anyway._ _"  
_ \- Beth Orton

* * *

"Hey. Earth to planet Alex."

 _Huh?_ Alex blinked a couple times and realized she had gone still and was staring into space uselessly. In one of her hands she had a hammer and in the other she had an open-ended shotgun shell full of Phoenix ash. Dean was looking at her with an expression that said he was mildly concerned about her space-out but also annoyed by it. "Pay attention," he told her gruffly, frowning as he scrutinized her. He indicated the shell she was holding. "You almost dropped that thing."

She looked and saw, yeah… she almost had. It was drifting to a forty-five degree angle. Correcting it quickly, she reprimanded herself silently. "Sorry," she mumbled, refocusing. She'd been lost in conflict about a certain trench coat wearing angel.

They sat in Bobby's basement at one of the cluttered work tables. In front of them were a variety of tools and gadgets used for the purpose of loading empty shotgun shells. Right now they were using Phoenix ash. There wasn't much of the ash to go around and they had to be careful and try to stretch it as far as it'd go. Alex returned to finishing the shell she was working on. Using the hammer to carefully tap the endpiece into place, she sealed the shell to prevent the ash from spilling out. Then she put that bullet with the other ones they were prepping.

Dean's sidelong glances kept coming, but Alex ignored them. He'd all but dragged her down here for this because he said she needed to quit being a loner. And that maybe she'd gotten out of window-fixing duty but she sure as crap wasn't getting out of shell-stuffing duty. Alex had complied, but not with the best attitude in the world. She had kind of been avoiding much interaction with the family for the past few days because she was so deeply upset. She didn't know how to feel or even what was _happening_. Her world had basically imploded into a bunch of puzzle pieces she had no idea how to put together.

Dean cleared his throat. "You still feeling weird?"

Alex cut a glance at him. He meant physically, because of the soul touch. Alex selected another empty shell and dodged his studious gaze. "Not really."

It had been a few days since that happened. She had spent those few days recovering from the draining physical effect that the soul touch had put on her... or at least that had been her _excuse_ for avoiding her brothers and uncle. The aftereffects weren't as bad as she had made them out to be—the pain and exhaustion were definitely real, but nothing she couldn't have soldiered through—she'd just _needed_ to withdraw into herself to try and stay emotionally steady. Sam and Dean had been upset that Alex was injured by the soul touch but they'd also been grateful to her for being the reason they made it out of the past. Both of them were still pretty unhappy with Cas for it and hadn't bothered to hide the fact. Dean was especially vocal about it (big surprise, right?). But Alex had made it clear that she had insisted Cas do what he'd done ("I mean, I saved your dumb asses, didn't I? Stop bringing Cas into it.").

 _Stop bringing Cas into it._ Ha. Kind of seemed hypocritical. _She_ couldn't go one waking minute without her thoughts going to him. It was all she could think about, like at obsessive amounts now: Cas showing up in the middle of the night and asking if they had been a mistake. Cas saying he wasn't ready to tell her family about them being married in secret when before he'd been eager to. Cas pulling away from her forcefully and almost _shouting_ at her. Cas rejecting her kiss and touch and then lying about having to leave. None of that was like him. All of it was out of character. The question was _why_? Why would he behave like that?

She didn't understand. She had seen him sacrifice the unthinkable for her, she had seen and felt his life like she never had before—hundreds of thousands of years of life rushed through her when Castiel touched her soul. All those centuries of existing, but she knew from firsthand experience that the first time Cas had ever felt alive was when he first saw her. She'd felt the depth and intensity and honesty with which he loved her and it had overpowered her. Because of what that soul touch had revealed, Alex had been ready to take her angel into her arms and make love to him for years… she'd felt in love with him all over again and stirred at the deepest levels.

So when he had appeared in the attic and behaved so erratically, when he cast such deep doubt into her and shook her emotions up then just _disappeared_ , she had felt thunderstruck by insecurity and dread. Something was very wrong. She'd known it then and she knew it now. Left in the dark both metaphorically and literally, Alex had called Cas several times that night, begging him to just come and tell her what the hell was going on. There was no response and at first Alex was confused and worried. Then after some time she became angry that he wouldn't respond and lobbed a few accusations at the ceiling to no avail. She promptly became worried again and even more so than before. She resorted to calling Samandriel, who appeared right away unlike Cas. He said he knew nothing except that Cas was 'busy' and would 'return when he can, I'm sure.'

Not exactly comforting. Add to that the sudden strange way Sam was abruptly acting: a couple times when she entered the room her twin brother had gotten up and left immediately like he didn't want to be close to her. When he _did_ stay in the same room, he kept giving her these looks like he felt physically sick and then he'd look away and swallow and appear to fight off a bout of dismay. Alex's inner instincts were blaring. Something was up with him too. First Cas, now Sam? When she'd asked Sam what his problem was, he said 'nothing' and brushed past her stiffly.

The lack of answers in every area was starting to piss her off and back her into a corner of severe, crippling worry. If something didn't give soon, she was going to explode.

So lost in her thoughts and unfocused on what she was doing, Alex knocked over the shell she had just filled and the Phoenix ash spilled out onto the back of her hand before the shell clattered to the floor. Dean jumped up, reacting like she was a toddler—snatching her hand away from the ash even though it was too late to avoid the spill. "Whoa whoa whoa! _Careful_!" he exclaimed, and his loud tone startled her more than anything else. He stared at her sooty hand and so did she—wasn't this stuff supposed to burn the mommy monster? It felt like nothing. "You okay?" Dean asked, staring with confusion and worry alike.

"Yeah, I'm…" Alex found her eyes going to look at the spilled ash that had been so carefully procured and she got pissed at herself for being clumsy and distracted. " _Shit_ , I'm sorry."

Dean was looking at her hand and rubbing at the soot with a confounded expression. He frowned at the black dust that came away on his fingertips. "The hell? Isn't this stuff supposed to burn the crap outta Eve? It burning you?"

"…No," Alex answered slowly, confused too. "Doesn't feel like anything."

Satisfied that she at least wasn't hurt, Dean let go of her hand and frustration set his jaw tightly as he looked at the spilled ash on the floor. "If the lore was wrong I'm gonna be _pissed_ ," he muttered threateningly in the direction of the spill. He started to salvage the ash—grabbing a little dust brush and a sheet of paper before he crouched to sweep it up carefully. Alex crouched to help but he glanced her way and gave her attitude. "Just don't, if you can't do it, _don_ _'_ _t_."

She sat back on her heels and looked at him sullenly, disliking his ugly tone. "I didn't wanna do this in the first place, Dean," she reminded in a pinched voice—he'd _forced_ her into this, basically.

He glanced up at her tersely and she could already tell he was about to be parental. "I know, but you've been acting super weird the past few days and I'm tired of it." _Oh well good for you._ Alex stood up and crossed her arms, petulant at his attitude. She was already emotionally ragged from worrying and debating herself on Cas, so Dean's lecturing tone made her feel even more threadbare. "You gotta get it together," he told her, standing up and tossing the brush down on the table with a loud clack, seeing her sullen expression but not caring for a second. " _Do_ something, quit feeling sorry for yourself." He began to funnel the ash into a shell silently.

"I'm not feeling _sorry_ for myself," Alex muttered bitterly.

She got an _oh please_ look from her brother and a sarcastic comment. "Nice try, but I've known you your whole life, remember? Think I know when you're throwing a pity party."

 _Ugh_. Alex was annoyed and upset and she plopped back into the seat near him, determined to show him she was _fine_ and _functioning_ and not feeling _sorry_ for herself. She began to slam around things on the table with a vengeance and for a couple seconds, Dean ignored her in aggravation and just let her do her thing. Then he stopped what he was doing and sighed tiredly, setting his tools down and sitting back in his chair. She could feel him looking at her but she ignored him pointedly. Then Dean reached out and gently stopped her by taking hold of her wrist. Whipping her head sideways to look at him accusingly in a silent _let go of me_ , Alex glared. But the look on his face stopped her. He had switched tracks—he seemed very knowing and concerned. "Something going on with you and Cas?"

Alex swallowed, shocked and dismayed alike. Was she really that obvious? She suddenly felt incredibly vulnerable with that single question. Dean could be really shortsighted sometimes. He could be a total asshole. But when he was kind, when he was caring, when he asked her that question with no motivation except to see if she was all right… it softened her right away and swept away her immature anger. Bullet shells forgotten, Alex was quietly upset as she answered Dean's question while looking down. Talking about it out loud was worse than she thought it would be. "I… dunno. He's… not quite himself. I think it's the stress of the war but… I dunno."

Dean nodded as he listened with a measured, shrewd expression on her face. He was surprisingly considerate as he patted her shoulder a couple times then squeezed for effect. "Well, he's got a whole lotta pressure on just two shoulders. It'd be weird if he was rainbows and popsicles. He'll be fine."

Not entirely sure if Cas _would_ be fine, Alex nodded tensely and looked down at the table in front of her then rubbed at the sooty residue still on the back of her hand distractedly. "Hope so." She was quiet a minute longer, glancing at Dean hesitantly. "I've… been calling him and he won't come." _What_ _'_ _s that mean?_ She just wanted _answers_ and even though she knew Dean had no way of actually knowing what was going on with Cas, she needed him to tell her it was gonna be okay. Dean had always been the one to tell her everything was gonna be okay. And she needed that now more than ever.

Dean was slightly dubious. "Must be busy," he said thoughtfully, then became lightly joking for her benefit. " _Better_ be busy. 'Cause _no one_ ignores my baby sister unless they want a kick in the ass courtesy of me." He made a cheesy sound effect and karate chopped the air once with cartoonish flair. What he'd been trying to do worked—Alex's anxious exterior cracked and gave way to a little grin. He was such a dork at heart. And he always did that—managed to make her smile even when she didn't want to. When her anxiety softened with that smile, Dean smiled a little too, commiserating with her. He sobered slightly after a couple beats then spoke to her intently and confidently, in a way that made her believe him for sure this time. "But for real. Watch him show up and apologize for two whole years about screening your calls. You know how he is. He wouldn't ignore you, Al. Not without a damn good reason. Even I know that. Okay?" He patted her on the shoulder again then turned back to filling the shells. "Tell you one thing, this ash crap better work, dammit," he muttered.

He was right. He wouldn't ignore her. Not _Cas_. There was going to be an explanation like there always was. Cas would come through and prove her doubts wrong and she'd feel crummy for mistrusting in the first place. Right? But… what _if_? Every little fear she'd always had—that Cas would eventually tire of her, that she'd do something to make him fall out of love with her, that the situation she was in was too good to be true—it all hounded her and didn't let her stay comforted for long at all. Depressed all over again not even ten seconds after Dean had made her feel a little better, Alex listlessly watched her brother filling the last shell.

Two heavy footfalls began to clomp down the staircase and Alex turned slightly to see Sam and Bobby coming down. Sam glanced at her briefly before letting his eyes dodge away. When he spoke, he addressed Dean. "Hey. How's it going?"

Dean let the ash funnel down into the last shell from the paper and he answered as he concentrated. "Five shells. That's how it's going." His disgruntlement was clear from the tone of voice he used.

Sam drew in a breath and tried to look on the bright side. He sounded discouraged too, though. "Well, you know, it's a hell of a lot more than what we had a couple days ago."

Dean wiped off his hands and turned around. "Maybe."

Bobby looked at Dean expectantly, crossing his arms. "…Meaning?"

"Meaning _space_ -case over here had herself a little mishap, and, uh, well, here, look." Dean took a pinch of ash from the bottom of the bowl and rubbed it onto his exposed forearm.

Sam's eyes widened in sudden alarm. " _Whoa_ —!" When nothing happened, his expression fell and he looked vastly confused.

"I mean this stuff is supposed to burn the _bejeezus_ out of Eve," Dean complained insolently, "doesn't even give us a _sunburn_."

There was a short silence. "Lore says it works," Bobby pointed out. But he sounded doubtful, too.

"Yeah and _that's_ always so reliable," Dean muttered.

As Dean got up and walked across the room, Sam tried to be optimistic. "Well, you know what? Maybe it's like, uh—maybe it's like iron or silver. You know? Hurts them, not us."

Dean was wiping off his forearm with a rag. "Maybe, but a fat lot of good it does us til we _find_ the bitch."

Bobby gave a weary exhale of air. "I'm looking. _Been_ looking. Trail's gone cold. I'm thinking… maybe it's time someone made a call." He paused then looked at Alex pointedly, who still sat at the work table in deep and distracted thought.

She hesitated, slowly coming out of another fog. Make a call? Oh. _To Cas._ Dumbly, she looked at her uncle. "What, me?"

Bobby was a touch amused. "Well he sure as hell ain't gonna come running with bells on if _I_ dial out." Alex felt like withering. _Well, he isn_ _'_ _t gonna come if I call, either, apparently_. At the subtle shift on her expression, Bobby's eyes narrowed slightly and he looked at her closely. "Somethin' the matter?"

 _This_ was why she had been avoiding these men for the most part the past few days. Those studious, caring frowns and Sam's weird, guarded expression… Alex wet her lips and tried to be nonplussed. She stood up and became businesslike. "Look, I'd call Cas, of course I would, but he's really busy up there right now and I just don't think he'd—" she stopped, shocked and staring at the space behind Dean, Sam, and Bobby with a stunned expression. She finished her sentence in a soft, hollow voice. "…show up."

The boys turned to see what she was staring at. Cas stood there stiffly with a pinched, serious expression on his face. He met Alex's startled gaze for a brief second or two then looked at Sam, glanced at Bobby, then Dean. "Hello everyone." He was acting like his appearance was expected, like nothing was wrong, but he avoided Alex's eye line and skipped pleasantries and didn't even greet her specifically. "Have you made any progress in locating Eve?"

Sam's shoulders slumped and Dean gave a soft, frustrated growl as Bobby gave a cynical chuckle. "Well we were gonna ask _you_ about that."

"We need your help finding her, Cas," Sam said.

Cas was unreadable, attempting to appear calm and indifferent but the way he wouldn't look Alex in the eye was pretty telling. But _why? Why won_ _'_ _t you look at me?_ Cas answered Sam, ignoring Alex's pleading gaze. "I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I'm not much help. Eve is hidden from me. She's hidden from all angels. I've tried to find her to no avail."

Dean was aggravated and made no attempt to hide it. " _Awesome,_ " he said in a rough voice that indicated it was anything but. He wet his lips and looked at Cas closely, approached the angel by a step or two. "But listen, while I got you here, your little soul-touching self too good for my little sister now or what?"

 _Oh my god, Dean_. Alex put a hand on her face, embarrassed at his timing. Cas appeared unsure of what Dean's question meant. That and a little shocked. "Pardon?"

Dean's tone was low and demanding. "Says you won't answer her calls."

Cas's eyes slid guiltily to Alex and he looked down quickly. "Oh. Um." His sandpapery voice, dark as night, grumbled out an excuse. "I apologize. I would have come if I could but I couldn't until now."

Staring at him hard, Dean narrowed his eyes further. "Sure about that, Cas?"

Abruptly bristling at the interrogation, Cas gave Dean a pointed, bitchy look. " _Yes_ , I'm sure, now can we please change the subject matter?"

" _Touchy_ ," Sam noted darkly. There was a slight note of hostility there that drew Alex's attention and she looked at her twin questioningly. She knew Sam wasn't thrilled with Cas for the soul touch, but really? Why so quietly _angry_? Sam's mouth working oddly and a faintly bitter expression rested on his face as he stared at Cas like he wanted to hit him. Alex was utterly flabbergasted. _What is up with all the men in my life right now?_

"Okay, so we basically got jack squat on finding this soccer mom from hell," Dean muttered, apparently deciding to let Cas off the hook for now.

Cas was grim and a little confused as he repeated what Dean had said. "Yes, uh, 'jack squat.'"

There was a short silence in which everyone wracked their brains for some kind of solution. "Hey, wait—what if we find an inside man?" Sam said slowly. "Something with claws… and sympathy?"

Dean balked. "What, like a _friendly_ monster?" His tone implied that was an outlandish idea.

"Yeah, I mean, I can think of a couple possibilities," Sam said.

Dean opened his mouth to protest but Alex held up a finger, shook her head. Her frustration made her tone short and slightly cynical. "No, wait a minute, wait a minute. I've got something much better and _safer_ than a reformed monster… if that's even a real thing."

"Okay, what?" Dean asked intently.

Alex shrugged mildly. She was watching Cas, who was grave and unreadable and standing too far away. "Well. Jamie used to do locating spells a lot when we were on hunts."

That suggestion earned quite the look from her twin. "A _witch_ ," Sam surmised incredulously. "You wanna on-purpose work with a _witch_." He looked at Dean for support, but Dean wasn't saying anything. In fact, Dean looked like he was in agreement.

"She's my friend, she's good at what she does, and she's trustworthy," Alex said, her tone lackluster. She didn't have the energy to conjure up an indignant attitude. She just knew it was an idea worth pursuing and said as much. "It's worth a shot. You got any other ideas?"

Dean nodded a few times as he thought it through more then replied. "Huh. Yeah. Okay. Why not. Worth a shot."

Sam looked at Dean, totally thunderstruck. "...You're just cool with bringing a witch on board? Who _are_ you?"

"Desperate, that's who I am," Dean replied offhandedly, making a face at his brother's expression. He hesitated, trying to appear self-assured. "And I mean, as far as witches go, as much as it pains me to admit it, she's not really that terrible, so…" he scratched the back of his neck and cleared his throat and looked at the angel. "Cas? Can you uh… go get her?"

The angel nodded once. "Of course." He disappeared out of thin air, leaving behind a stunned Sam, an unsettled Alex, and a suspiciously fidgety Dean—Alex glanced at him briefly. He was running a hand across the top of his hair to make it look a little nicer and he was standing up taller.

Castiel reappeared two seconds after he'd disappeared and with him, held by the upper arm, was a very surprised looking Jamie Ward. She had a toothbrush in her hand and her hair was in a ponytail. She wore dark jeans, leather boots, and an olive-green spaghetti-strap top that showed off strong shoulders and a pretty figure, as well as the intricate half-sleeve on one arm and various other little tattoos scattered around without pattern or predictability. It looked like she'd just gotten dressed and had been doing a bathroom routine. She stared at them with wide, surprised eyes. "Wha—t… the hell… is going on?"

Dean cracked a stupid grin at her. " _Morning_." He looked at the toothbrush in her hand and spoke to her on familiar, teasing terms. "Late night?"

Jamie was disconcerted but managed to remain poised after taking in a deep breath and assessing the situation. First, she gave Dean a prim look, then turned her attention to Cas. "You know, it's kinda rude to just yank someone from one place to another without a word." She smacked her toothbrush into his hand.

"My apologies," Cas said gravely, looking at the toothbrush studiously. He looked to Alex. "…What am I supposed to do with this?"

Despite everything, his simple question to warmed her heart a little. Cas: the warrior and all-powerful angel, not sure what to do with a toothbrush. She went to him however uncertainly. "Here." She reached out to take it for him. Their hands brushed and their eyes met and Alex asked him all the questions she had with her gaze. He made no reply, just looked away after the brief eye contact. "Sorry, J," Alex apologized to her friend with a thin smile.

Jamie was reserving judgment, but Alex's presence did seem to give her a little ease. "If you wanted to hang out you could have just called," she half-joked to her friend, then acknowledged the two men she knew least: "Bobby. Sam." Sam was taking a seat on the stairs and when Jamie said his name he acknowledged her with a pinched little excuse for a smile. Jamie looked to Dean and Alex for answers and crossed her arms. She wasn't hostile, but she wasn't overly friendly either. "Okay, the suspense is killing me," she deadpanned. "What's going on? Why the angel-napping?"

"Yeah, uh, sorry about that James," Dean said, and gave a self-conscious chuckle as he glanced over at Cas. "We're still working on our manners." Beside Cas, Alex gave her brother a rude look. _Really, Dean, don_ _'_ _t talk about him like he_ _'_ _s a toddler._ Jamie was waiting for Dean to explain for real—his little joke hadn't gotten a laugh. He cleared his throat and got serious. "We were kinda hoping you could help us with something. We, uh, we got some bullets that are gonna ice that Eve bitch. Problem is, we don't know where she _is_." Understanding came across Jamie's features as Dean grinned and winced simultaneously, a hopeful but almost simpering expression. Alex couldn't help but notice how nice he was being to her—polite even. "Think you can find her for us?"

The blonde looked at Cas with a curious frown. "Your angel friend can't help?"

"No." Cas shook his head shallowly. "She's warded against angels."

Jamie seemed to be a little surprised at that, then deeply thoughtful. Alex glanced at Sam, who was staring over at Cas with a hard look on his face. Sam felt her eyes and cut his eyes over at hers and his expression changed but remained unreadable. He looked down at his hands, which were clasped tight as he leaned over his knees.

"So whatcha think?" Dean was asking Jamie. "Wanna give it a shot?"

She contemplated him with a strange, doubtful expression for a minute, then visibly decided to throw her caution out the window. "Ah. What the hell," she said, giving in with weary resignation accompanied by a trolling grin. "I mean, I wasn't doing anything today anyway." Her expression dropped into something more studious. "But I'll need something Eve's touched. Or some part of her. You got that?"

"Uh…" Dean looked at Sam, who shrugged, then Alex, who shrugged too. Then it came to Dean, who snapped his fingers in mild excitement. "That worm thing. That work?"

Jamie pulled a frown. "You _kept_ that?"

Dean shrugged and put his hands up briefly with upturned palms, accepting her question as a compliment. "Nice to meet you. Dean Winchester, paranoid bastard."

"Weirdo, more like it," she said, but there was a distinctly teasing, flirty energy to the words.

Dean joked back readily. "I get that a lot." His reply got him a chuckle and grin from Jamie as she shook her head.

Sam cleared his throat loudly and pointedly from where he sat on the stairs. He gave Dean a particularly pushy look— _quit flirting_ , he was obviously thinking. Jamie saw the look too and got the message. Her tone became businesslike. "All right. The other things I'll need are a map of the US, crushed amber, feather of a crow, the tooth of a tiger… and some whiskey. Think you can swing all that?"

"…Is whiskey part of the spell?" Sam asked skeptically.

Jamie didn't miss a beat. "Nope."

Sam scoffed through a half smile that was probably more for the sake of being polite than anything else. " _Right_."

"I got some amber and the map, not the other stuff though," Bobby said.

"I can find the other required items," Cas said gruffly.

"And I got the hunter's helper," Dean said. He made to go upstairs and get her the requested liquor. He nudged at Sam with a foot. "Move your ass, Sammy." Grumbling, Sam got up and went upstairs too.

"This your place?" Jamie asked Bobby. She looked around curiously at the ramshackle collection of tools, weapons, and oddities littering the basement.

"It is," he confirmed. "If you think _this_ is messy, you oughta see the salvage yard."

As Jamie and Bobby exchanged nothing-conversation, Alex pulled Cas aside slightly, taking the opportunity to talk to him. She let her voice be hushed and furtive. "Is everything okay? I've been calling you and calling you."

Cas looked at her regretfully and his bright blue eyes were guilty to look into hers. "I know. I'm sorry. Everything's fine. Just… I was unable to answer." Alex opened her mouth up to ask him why he'd said what he did in the attic but he spoke before she could and stood straighter, appearing nervous and flighty. "I'll locate the other elements the witch needs," he said, backing away. "I'll return shortly." He disappeared immediately, shocking Alex. She stared at the space he'd just been in. It was starting to feel like he was _avoiding_ being alone with her.

"Yeah, me too," Jamie said, chuckling easily at Bobby. "What about you, Alex?"

No idea what was being asked and no care in the world to find out either, Alex muttered a reply. "Yeah, it's great." Bobby and Jamie frowned slightly at her nonsensical reply, but she didn't notice.

Dean came back down with whiskey and then he found the Khan worm—he'd put it in a plastic baggie and stuck it into the bottom of a box somewhere under lock and key. Bobby brought down spell supplies (bowls, candles, chalk). Sam cleared off a table for the map to be spread out on. Alex paced. Jamie and Dean took shots while Sam silently judged them. Then Alex demanded some too and drank a gulp straight out of the bottle.

When Cas reappeared, he brought the things Jamie had asked for and she began working on getting ready to do the spell. As she did, Cas stood with Dean. Not Alex. Even Bobby seemed to think it was strange and he gave Alex a couple questioning looks. Alex tried not to over analyze it. She tried not to notice the distance or Cas not looking at her but it was all she could think about.

She stared at Jamie unseeingly, not watching what happened. When a normal person did magic, they had to invoke the spell by chanting and using fire. For Jamie, that was optional—her _mind_ was the magic. She took the ingredients in her hand as she stood over the spread map. She closed her hand into a fist and softly murmured a command. " _U_ _sque ad pulverem_."

Jamie opened her hand back up and the ingredients had become a fine crushed powder. She blew the dust across the map and her eyes flared a brilliant unnatural blue as she cast the spell. The map began to catch fire on the table and in a second, all of it burned away except a small portion. Jamie grimaced slightly and shut her eyes briefly, exhaling heavily. "You okay?" Dean asked, a worry there that inspired questioning looks from Bobby and Sam. The oldest Winchester explained in a slightly huffy and defensive mutter. "Magic messes her up."

Jamie looked like she'd rather not discuss her well-being and was maybe even slightly embarrassed by Dean's concern. "I'm fine, calm down." She picked up and read the little piece of map that remained. She squinted at the little piece of paper. "Looks like she's somewhere in Grants Pass Oregon."

"You sure?" Sam asked.

He got a slightly skeptical glance. "The spell is good. Doesn't get more specific than a twenty mile radius, but I mean if this is that same 'mother of all' who's been behind half the crazy crap we've all been hunting this past year, then I mean… we get there, we should find a neon sign pointing us in her direction."

"Sounds good to me," Bobby said, nodding approval. "You kids up for a field trip? See if these bullets work?"

Dean looked at the angel in the room with a hopeful, solicitous expression. "Whatcha say, Cas? Care to beam us up?"

He took a couple seconds to answer then nodded yes. "Certainly. Eve must be eliminated."

Dean was studying Cas closely, noticing the angel's weird behavior all over again. But he said nothing about his visible skepticism and instead looked at the twins. "Sam, Alex, go get the bags out of the trunk and make sure all the stuff's in 'em, bring 'em here. Bobby, you got your gear?"

"I'll go get it."

Sam, Alex, and Bobby went up the stairs to do what Dean said, leaving Cas, Dean, and Jamie in the basement.

Dean glanced at Cas—he'd deal with him in a minute. For now, he had his sights set on Jamie. He cleared his throat and approached her, feeling a little awkward. She was pouring herself some more whiskey into a shot glass. By every appearance she was right at home, but he wasn't sure. He hadn't spoken with her since the bar in Illinois when they'd gone separate ways a few weeks ago. "We, uh, we good?" he asked her, attempting to disguise his apprehensive state.

Jamie looked at him questioningly, slight curiosity resting in her light blue eyes. She set down the whiskey bottle delicately and let her silence prompt him to clarify his meaning.

Dean lowered his voice slightly, trying to be discreet. "When you left, back at the bar… I… I was kidding about that. You know, with what I said."

Her eyebrows moved in together slightly in a pleasantly confused frown. "You're still on that?" Jamie shifted her weight, smiling awkwardly as she raised the whiskey shot to her lips. She gave him a look across the top of the glass that said she was surprised, and possibly pleased, that he was still thinking about that. See, the thing was… he'd kind of _sort of_ hit on her by accident at that bar in Illinois—well, okay fine. Not by accident. She'd been cool to hang out with, and obviously he thought she was hot—and there for a second, he'd forgotten about everything she'd just gone through. The vibe between them had been pretty flirty for those two days they spent tracking down her shit, and Dean had interpreted it as sexual tension. He must have been reading the signals wrong because in a moment of mindlessness across drinks in the bar, he'd pretty bluntly asked if she wanted to get out of there with him. She'd withered, become uncomfortable and awkward, then turned him down. Dean had quickly tried to play it off like he was joking and Jamie had rallied, acting cool, but she left shortly after that happened. And Dean had been kicking himself since. He had the worst timing. Jamie hadn't said so, but Dean still felt like something really bad happened to her at the hands of Samuel Campbell. So him hitting on her like that, in hindsight, seemed _extremely_ inconsiderate and dickish. He wished he could take it back.

But here she was taking a shot of whiskey and offering him some too. He hesitated. With some people (okay, _most_ people), he didn't care if he offended them or whatever. But Jamie… he'd kinda changed his mind about her. And witch or not, he owed her a lot and felt a degree of personal responsibility for what had happened to her where Samuel was concerned. He'd take her word on it, but he wanted to be a hundred percent they were cool: "You're _sure_."

" _Yeah_ I'm sure," she replied readily, staying playful and light. She handed him a shot in the glass she'd just used. "And you're making it awkward now." She offered a surprisingly dorky grin his way.

Her impishness was rubbing off on him slightly—he accepted the shot and contemplated it for a second with a self-conscious little grin on his face. "Yeah, I'm good at that," he joked. It was a little embarrassing to be turned down but whatever, he'd survive. He raised the glass slightly in her direction then down the hatch went the whiskey. Afterward, their gazes met with their fading grins and it became distinctly uncomfortable—her looking at him with this quiet consideration she tried to veil, him turning that shot glass between nervous energy fingers. After the eye contact became suddenly too intense or something, the same second they both chuckled and looked away, Jamie clearing her throat and rubbing the back of her neck, Dean stalking over in a fluster to pour himself just one more shot to deal with whatever the fuck this was. Cas watched in total silence, making everything even more awkward.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched her begin to study Bobby's many tools and doodads with interest. She was a hard book to read—which is maybe why he felt drawn in. After those two days hunting down her stuff together, he had a strong going theory that a lot of her demeanor was a front. He'd caught a million glances of her pain, her burden, and her deeper feelings about things. A softer, kinder, gentler side than he'd expected to see. And like it or not, Dean was left wanting to know more.

Alex's voice called down the stairs. "Hey, can I get a hand up here?"

Jamie went without a second's hesitation, maybe glad for an excuse to get away from Dean's awkward ass. As she jogged up the stairs, Dean definitely snuck a sidelong look and checked her butt out. He couldn't help it. He glimpsed more tattoos on what he could see of her back and the thought came before he could shut it down: he wouldn't mind seeing _all_ of her tattoos, and he wondered where exactly they might be. Irritated with himself, Dean pinched his expression and shook his head. Once she'd disappeared, Dean glanced in Cas's direction and saw how the angel was watching him closely with his head tilted to the side slightly. Dean to threw his hands out insolently, feeling caught. " _What_?"

"I was just observing how you display marked sexual attraction to the witch," Cas replied without hesitation.

Dean's face fell. "Well go observe someplace else, Cas. _Geez_." He turned his back on Cas and headed for the bullets. "And she's not 'the witch,' all right? She's got a name."

"Most people do," Cas answered. It was a factual response but somehow sassy coming from Cas.

Dean gathered up the Phoenix ash shells and shut the case carefully for transportation. At Cas's continued silence, Dean looked at him carefully. "You okay, man?"

Cas's eyes crimped up slightly. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Oh, _gosh,_ I dunno—pick a number!" Dean retorted, then sighed impatiently and gave Cas a pointed, important gaze. "Look, I know you got a war up there and whatever, but if Alex calls you, don't ignore her man."

Cas's expression was hard to pinpoint. It was almost angry or defensive. "Dean, I'm doing my best."

Dean's comeback was hard and rude. "Well your best _sucks._ "

Stung visibly, Cas was quiet and he looked down while taking a long pause. "You say very hurtful things sometimes."

His soft, wounded tone made Dean feel guilty and he huffed in aggravation and lobbed another accusation at Cas. "Well I'm not the one going around poking people's _souls_ and making them feel like _crap_ , am I, Cas? I mean, come on! She was in bed for _days_. You did that to her and didn't have to. Couldn't you have gone and stuck your hand in some criminal? A _prisoner?_ Or I dunno, someone in a lifelong coma?!"

Cas balked, obviously thunderstruck by the suggestions. "I… we didn't think of that. Dean. Please. I… I hate that I had to hurt her like that. I _despise_ it."

"Yeah uh huh. Great." Dean heaved a short, hard sigh. He couldn't change what happened and he doubted Cas would make the same mistake ever again. Impatient with Cas and his lack of intuition with some things, Dean was direct. "Look man. Just… it really gets to her, this you-not-answering-her thing. It really _upsets_ her. Send a text message, a freakin' smoke signal, I dunno. Just don't leave her down here wondering and miserable. She's a real pain in the ass when she's moping around over you." That last sentence was a joke… but also the truth. It was a sibling thing, honestly, to feel so annoyed with someone you loved so much.

Cas's eyes raised up and his expression showed anguish. "Miserable?" he asked, honing in one the word Dean had used to describe Alex's state of being.

"Yeah." Dean didn't mind making Cas feel guilty. Not after seeing how weird and quiet Alex had been for the past few days. He said the word again to drive his point home. " _Miserable_."

Just like he wanted, Cas was made even more guilty by those words. He appeared incapable of knowing how to process it and Dean wondered if something bigger than war was happening upstairs. Footsteps overhead clustered together and then began to descend the staircase and Cas looked up with a clenched jaw. Alex was behind Bobby with a bag slung over her shoulder. She looked at Cas and Cas looked away, his every feature burdened with weight unspeakable.

Jamie was now wearing one of Alex's cargo bomber jackets. Dean was slightly disappointed he couldn't see all her tatts anymore.

Bobby waited until everyone was downstairs and then gave an approvingnod. "All right, we ready for our little camping trip kids? Saddle up."

* * *

**Grants Pass, Oregon**

Near downtown on a sidewalk, six people appeared out of thin air. A pleasant town greeted them: well-kept streets, kids riding bikes in front of the fire station, church bells ringing gently in the background. It looked normal and boring and _fine_. As such, the six newcomers were all slightly taken aback.

"Well, I was expecting more Zombieland, less… _Pleasantville_." Dean looked at Jamie sidelong. "You sure she's here?"

"The spell worked," she said, but she was clearly a bit skeptical. "Eve or whoever made that worm thing is here… _some_ where."

"Yeah well just because it _looks_ quiet don't mean it _is_ , kids," Bobby said—he scanned around in high suspicion, like he expected one of the kids riding by on a bike to grow horns and attack.

"Well if she _is_ here I'm glad we've got Smitey McSmiterton on our squad," Dean said, glancing at Cas meaningfully. "And Sabrina the Teenage Witch, too." He gave Jamie a stupid little smirk then he clapped his hands together, turning more serious as he looked at the town again. "All right, where do we start?"

"I'm gonna need a computer." Bobby nodded across the street and down a half block at a corner diner. "There. I bet they have the wireless."

"Wifi, Bobby," Sam corrected.

"Whatever," Bobby muttered. He began to head that way.

"I bet they have more than wifi." Beginning to follow him with everyone else, Dean cracked a grin. "Guess who has two thumbs and could go for a burger?" He pointed at himself with two thumbs and chuckled like he was begin super clever. " _This_ guy." Sam rolled his eyes. Jamie gave him a half-amused, half-judgmental side eye.

Bringing up the rear, Alex took Cas by the hand and stopped him, hanging back a little as everyone else headed across the street. "Cas, can we just talk a second?" she asked furtively.

Cas was visibly cagey, glancing after everyone else with fidgety eyes. "Not yet, Alex, I—" he cut himself short and his tone became more stern as he looked at her without any discernible emotion. "The priority is finding Eve."

That struck Alex as strange. "Since when do you care about _Eve_?" The 'priority' was finding Eve but come on, didn't Alex's feelings matter? Weren't they a 'priority' to him? She _knew_ Cas could tell she was upset. He had always been so attentive to her, so gentle and sweet in every way—so why was he standing in front of her while she begged him for understanding like he wanted to back away from? Why was he looking at her like he dreaded to speak with her? She pleaded with him to make her understand. "Cas, this is _crazy,_ I have to talk to you, I've been driving myself _nuts_ the past few days and I just need you to—"

After listening to what she said with an increasing look of apprehension in his eyes, Cas cut her off completely. "Alex. _No_." Confused and hurt and so stumped, Alex stared in hurt disbelief. Cas softened slightly at the look on her face. He breathed out softly. His shoulders slumped and his eyes pleaded with her. "Not yet. Please. Just… not yet." He held himself stiffly again and glanced around the town as his voice hardened once more. "Time is of the essence here." He broke her heart all the more when he moved to begin walking away toward the diner without her, effectively pushing her emotions to the side.

She stood there alone, staring after the man she loved, the one she called her husband, the one she would never think would treat her this way. Her chest hurt from rejection and the fear of the end of everything, because the way he was acting… almost made her think he wasn't in love with her anymore. Every step he took from her was murdering her heart and she swallowed a vicious lump down. "Did I _do_ something?" she asked, and every impossible hurt she felt was audible in her stricken tone.

Her words stopped him in his steps and gave him a long pause. Cas turned very slowly to look back at her and the expression on his face _killed_ her inside. "You've done nothing." His three word reply was soft, tender, but laced with so much despair.

Alex went to him slowly, appealing to him. "Cas, _please_ , I—"

"Hey!" Dean called. Across the street he and Jamie were waiting on them. Bobby and Sam were almost at the diner. "You slowpokes comin'?"

Cas motioned for Alex to go ahead of himself and his eyes wouldn't meet hers. "They're waiting for us." And she was waiting for some damn answers, but she realized that for whatever reason, Cas maybe couldn't talk about it in front of the others. That was what she hoped, anyway. Alex and Cas walked across the street together but Cas didn't look at her, didn't hold her hand, and didn't even walk very close to her.

 _My god, what is going on? Did he not want me to see his life? Did the soul touch upset him? That_ _'_ _s when he started acting so strange_ _… or_ _maybe he didn_ _'_ _t like what he felt from me._ Alex swallowed another painful lump. That had to be it. Something about that soul touch had upset Cas. Alex remained stony and silent and slightly sullen as they entered the diner and were seated at a six-person booth. He shouldn't keep her in the dark like this… he shouldn't treat her like her feelings and worries and fears weren't 'priority.' She stewed over it internally, growing more and more angry and upset as she did.

Bobby, Dean, and Sam sat on one side of the booth and Cas and Alex sat on the other. Jamie ducked out to a nearby store to snatch up a newspaper while everyone else ordered food. Well, not everyone. Alex had no appetite and Cas, of course, didn't eat.

"You should eat something, shouldn't you?" he asked when the boys plates were set down.

"Not _hungry_." She purposefully didn't look at him sidelong. Bobby was using Sam's iPad and didn't really notice, but both of the brothers heard Alex's sharp tone and glanced up in wary curiosity—Sam over a predictable salad, Dean over an even more predictable burger and fries. There was an uncomfortable silence. Alex's face was a mask and Cas appeared to be continually deeply disturbed over something.

"All right," Bobby said, not paying attention to the conflict at hand. "I finally got the police database, no thanks to this thing." He waved the tablet up for emphasis. "I asked for a _computer_."

"It _is_ a computer," Sam said through a mouthful of lettuce.

Ever the sass master, Bobby gave him a look. "No, a computer has _buttons_."

"That has buttons," Dean said, popping a fry into his mouth. "I see at least two."

Bobby huffed. "Smartass."

"Anything on the database?" Sam asked, craning his neck a little and trying to see past Dean's head to Bobby's screen.

The older hunter shook his head. "Nickel and dime stuff, nothing weird." There was something about a meth lab on the screen. "Looks like a dead end."

Clicking footsteps and the rustling of newspapers sounded as Jamie reappeared and slid in beside Alex. She joined into the conversation easily without missing a beat as she smacked several local newspapers down onto the table. "Must be laying low. Hiding. Papers are a bust… nothing's happening here."

Dean frowned studiously as he chewed a huge bite of burger. "Can you narrow her location down any more than you did?"

Jamie shrugged mildly and pressed her mouth into a thin line. "If I could have, I would have."

" _Great_." Dean gave an irritated little eye roll in general at their situation. Then he quickly gave an indignant, " _hey_!" when Jamie snatched a fry off his plate and popped it into her mouth. "Get your own," he grumbled as she enjoyed his reaction and munched the fry with a twinkle in her eyes.

Cas looked around, turning a little in the booth. "I'll search the town," he said gravely. "Give me a moment."

Dean nodded and kept working on his burger as Sam speared several pieces of lettuce and tomato on the end of his fork. Alex looked at Cas oddly when he didn't disappear—he was just sitting there, staring into space blankly like he was waiting for something to happen. "Uh—Cas, you're still here," she said.

He was slightly confused, frowning as he looked down. "Yeah… I'm still here."

Dean prompted him to try again through a smacking mouthful of burger. "Okay, well you don't have to wait on _us_." Cas cleared his throat, shut his eyes, and strained. Nothing happened and he went nowhere. Dean watched him, unimpressed. "Well now it just looks like he's _pooping_."

Alex gave her brother a bitchy look for that comment. " _Dean_."

Cas opened his eyes again and he was very confused and a little distressed. "Something's wrong."

His tone worried Alex and she temporarily forgot her own upset. Dean's demeanor took a nosedive. "What, are you _stuck_?"

Cas was looking around in a slight daze. "I'm _blocked_." He seemed just as surprised by it as the rest of them. "I'm… powerless."

" _What_? How?" That made Alex nervous as crap. Who was powerful enough to pull one over like that on Cas?

"You're _joking_." Dean said. He sounded pretty displeased.

Cas shook his head slightly and he was staring hard at the table, trying to understand it himself. "Something in this town, is, uh, it's affecting me," he said. "I assume it's Eve."

Dean balked. "So wait, Mom's making you _limp_?"

He got another warning look from his sister. "Dean."

Cas, too, gave Dean something of a rueful look before he answered slowly and seriously. " _Figuratively_ , yes." He sat up a little straighter and glanced at Alex. " _Physically,_ I'm perfectly capable of—"

Dean held up a hand fast, making a face as he did. " _Whoa whoa whoa_. TMI, Cas. Come on. We've talked about this, man."

"You _did_ start it," Jamie put in demurely. Her reasonable reminder got her a bitchy little wry smile from Dean.

"What about you, Enchantra?" he challenged. "Still got your voodoo?"

Jamie set her eyes on his plate, put an elbow on the table, pointed at the fries, then one of them danced up into the air and into her waiting grasp. As Dean went wan, she popped it into her mouth. "Looks like," she answered through a mouthful and a maddening little smirk.

"I mean I could have ordered you some if I knew you were gonna steal them all," Dean complained, then gave an aggravated sigh and turned his attention back to the angel. "So then why are your batteries dead, Cas? How's Eve doing that to a friggin' _angel_?"

Cas shook his head again. "I don't know, but she is."

Dean, ever the tactful one, threw a hand out at Cas for cynical emphasis. "Well that's _great_ , because without your power, you're basically just a baby in a trench coat."

Cas was visibly hurt by that. Loyal to a fault, Alex threatened her brother in a low, fed up tone. She meant every word: "Dean, if you don't stop, I am going to _hit_ you." In fact, hitting someone would really feel great right now.

He gave her a smugly sarcastic little smile. "How you gonna hit me? You're stuck between babyman and Bewitched."

The corner of the witch's mouth pulled into a troublemaker's smile and she flicked her index finger out at Dean—an ice cube flew out of his glass of water and smacked him in the face, surprising him and making him sputter and sit back in surprise. Grinning at his confounded expression, Jamie looked at Alex and held her hand out for a high five. Alex slapped her hand down onto Jamie's then gave her brother a wry smile that said _see?_

Dean was to indignant and touchy and maybe a little embarrassed, too. "Hope that was worth it," he muttered at Jamie, who no doubt was suffering a headache or wave of fatigue at the double use of magic.

"Oh, it was," she assured him, earning an eye roll from Dean.

Bobby glanced up at them from over the iPad. "If you kids wanna schedule your playdate for later, I got something here, maybe. Had to go federal go to get it. Call went out from the local office to the CDC last night."

"About what?" Sam asked, chewing his food noisily.

"A Doctor Silver called in an illness he couldn't identify," Bobby said. "Patient's a twenty-five year old African-American. Name's Ed Bright." He showed them an enlarged state-file driver's license with Ed's photo on it—he was young and had his hair picked out in an afro style.

"Well _that's_ not much to go on," Dean commented blandly. "A mystery virus? Sounds pretty weak."

Bobby shrugged. "Well it's only lead, so…"

"So beggars can't be choosers, right?" Dean finished for him. He ate another fry and then crumpled up his napkin and threw it onto his plate. "I get it. All right, let's finish up. Me and Cas'll hit up the doc's office. Sam and Bobby, you two check out the doc's house. Girls, go check on this Ed guy, see if he's on the mend. And wear face masks just in case."

"All right, let's go Alex," Jamie said, seeing no reason to stick around and wait. She stole a final fry off Dean's plate to his chagrin and amusement both.

Alex noticed that Cas made absolutely no protest to the pairings and was apparently totally fine with not being at her side as they went their separate ways. Another thing that seemed totally out of character for him. Alex and Jamie headed off by foot to Ed Bright's apartment which wasn't even a half-mile away. Cas and Dean set off by foot for a few blocks over where the doctor's office was. And with every step of distance Alex put between herself and Cas she felt worse and worse.

_What is happening? Why is he being like this?_

* * *

Dean and Cas walked in stride down the sidewalk away from the diner. The doctor's office was just around the corner. With his hands in his jacket pockets and his gaze straight ahead, Dean was pretty focused. He wanted one less evil creature off the face of planet earth, especially this mommy monster. Apparently Cas wanted her gone, too. Enough to take a break from his attic war and whatever else. Dean glanced at him sidelong. The angel was stone-faced and unreadable, giving off some majorly weird vibes. "You sure you're okay, Cas?" Dean asked. At Cas's stern sidelong glance, Dean was up front. "Actin' pretty weird."

Cas squinted at the place in front of himself before answering. His face was pinched into a frown. "The pressures of the war are gargantuan," he said in a flat voice. He was silent for a few seconds, then when he spoke again he sounded a lot more emotional. A lot more worried and anguished. "I'm… finding functioning increasingly difficult." It sounded like a confession Cas really didn't want to make and his voice softened. "You can't imagine the pressure, Dean."

They rounded a corner and Dean glanced at his friend again. Cas sounded stressed out as hell. Dean knew what _that_ was like. But he didn't know how to help Cas out. War was war and war _sucked_ and Cas was just in over his head. Poor guy probably hadn't known how tough it'd be. Dean tried a joke to lighten the mood. "They make heavenly valium? Sounds like you could use some." At that moment, he saw a woman locking up the little office they were heading to and he grabbed Cas by the arm, suddenly realizing they needed to be quick. "Come on, hurry it up, wingless. They're closing up shop."

The woman looked like the office receptionist. She was just pulling the key out of the door when they got to her. "Excuse me. Hi, uh, is Doctor Silver in today?" Dean jerked a thumb back at Cas and said the first thing that popped into his mind. "My friend is, uh, very sick."

Cas took that as a cue to make something up. However, what he came up with was seriously not cool. "I have a, uh, painful burning sensation."

…Say _what_? Dean tried to hold his facial expression but couldn't stop himself from slowly looking at Cas sidelong. _You have_ got _to be kidding me._ The receptionist was unruffled by Cas's complaint—she must have heard crazy disease stories all the time. "Oh, well, the doctor's out. Sorry."

"Do you happen to know here he is?" Dean asked, refocusing.

She shook her head. "He hasn't called in. Not sure where he is." She glanced at Cas, then Dean again, then Cas once more, obviously jumping to a conclusion. "You… might want to find yourself some ointment." She smiled pleasantly and walked past them and away.

Great. She thought they were a couple. Dean could tell and it pissed him off. _Yeah right._ As soon as she was out of earshot, Dean leaned in close to Cas to hiss, " _Painful burning sensation_ , Cas? You better have been talking out of your ass just now." Last thing he needed was an angel with an STD banging his sister.

At the comment 'talking out of your ass' Cas's face registered confusion. "I wasn't talking out of my…" he trailed off and got sullen, seeming to realize it was a figure of speech and not literal. "Never mind."

Dean frowned deeply at the doctor's office where the _CLOSED_ sign hung in the window. He was back to focusing on the mission. "What kind of doctor calls the CDC and then goes AWOL the very next day?" he asked, starting to believe that maybe this _was_ a lead. "Let's have a look, shall we?"

He began to lead the way around to the back of the office where they would break in to investigate.

* * *

Over on the other side of town, Jamie and Alex walked down a neighborhood sidewalk silently and watchfully. Everything was picturesque and quaint. Nothing seemed off. But something definitely was. Jamie could feel it in the air.

"They always stick you on the crap end of the deal?" she asked conversationally, because Alex had been really quiet since they'd parted ways from the guys at the diner.

Alex glanced her way darkly. "Basically." She was tense all over and looked like she was on her way to life in prison from the look on her face.

"Well _that_ _'_ _s_ bullshit," Jamie commiserated. At Alex's lack of reaction and continued display of obvious distress, Jamie finally asked what she'd been wondering the entire time: "You okay? Seems like something's bothering you."

Alex's jaw clenched and she smiled caustically—she looked like she was grimacing, honestly. "I'm just tired," she said curtly, obviously trying to sidestep Jamie's concern. "It's no big deal."

"Uh huh." Jamie wasn't so sure about that. Normally she wouldn't pry—she never felt like anything was her business to involve herself in—but Alex really needed to get something off her chest. It was obvious. And Jamie was pretty sure she knew the problem, anyway. "I could sense some tension between you and tie-guy," she ventured, then cut her eyes sidelong. "And not the sexy kind."

Alex's nostrils flared slightly and she seemed irritated that Jamie had noticed that. She didn't reply for a couple seconds. "I'm just a little mad at him right now."

"Why's that?" Jamie knew next to nothing about this Cas guy except he was an angel and apparently he and Alex were a big-time thing—Dean had complained about them a couple times to her.

Alex shrugged at Jamie's question. "He's being weird," she said lowly, guarded but also flippant as she paid attention to where she was walking. "Not telling me something."

Jamie leapt to the first logical conclusion she knew _she_ would come to. "You think he's stepping out on you?"

That idea seemed to startle Alex, like she hadn't even considered that. Her gait stuttered and she frowned, looking at Jamie with a shocked expression. Then her face screwed up into an expression that suggested the idea was preposterous. "No— _no_. He would _never_ do that." And then the slightest doubt crept into her voice. "I don't think." She seemed to chide herself internally and became more forceful. "No. He definitely wouldn't."

Jamie gave her friend a sad little smile. She had felt that way once too. Had been so in love that she'd remained blind and stupidly missed a million signs she should have seen. She had put trust in a guy who had played her like a fiddle. In the end she'd paid the ultimate price for her foolishness, too—because of Jake she'd lost her soul, become a half-defective witch, and been cursed to head for a brutal, unstoppable death-day no one knew about. All because of a love that hadn't been real at all. Well, it had been real for _her._ "You have good instincts, Alex," Jamie told her friend, giving away nothing about her morose thoughts. "If it feels like something's wrong to you… find out what."

Alex was somber and anxious. "Trust me, I want to." She cleared her throat and sniffed loudly, attempting to appear casual. For a second they kept walking silently, side by side. Then Alex glanced at Jamie curiously. "So. Dean okay to you on that little road trip of yours?"

It was Jamie's turn to get slightly defensive and nervous. "Yeah." She made a face at Alex's sudden little knowing expression. " _What_?"

"You like him, huh?"

Jamie attempted not to bristle at the call out. She scoffed like that was a ridiculous assertion. " _No_. I mean no offense, but he's kind of insufferable," she replied, then admitted this next part without being able to stop herself: " _Cute_ , but insufferable."

Alex chuckled. "So you _do_ like him," she said, earning an exasperated huff.

"I'm not interested," Jamie insisted, getting flustered at the thought of Alex's intriguing, green-eyed brother. "And anyway, I like to keep things casual these days," she said, maybe trying too hard to explain herself.

"That's what he likes too," Alex said offhandedly, shrugging. "So why not?"

Jamie resisted immediately. "Nah."

It wasn't that she didn't find him attractive. Because she did, and it irked her. Dean felt too familiar, despite only interacting with him these few times as an adult. Honestly, she liked him too much. And that fucking irked her too —because he was everything she couldn't stand: egotistical, macho, judgy... and way too good looking. But he was also things she hadn't predicted: dorky, thoughtful... and kind too. There were all these glimpses of another side she was curious to know more about. A gentle side, a tender side. A vulnerable side. And Jamie shook her head at herself with exasperation at her silly thoughts.

She'd been the naive and moony little girl who dreamed of one man forever, a happy marriage, a bunch of kids, the white picket fence… but she'd ended up with a heart that was too afraid to love and a life that was ticking toward its end. After thirty-some years of heartrending loss after loss, Jamie Ward knew pain and didn't want to get close enough to anyone else to ever feel it again. And more than that, she didn't want to hurt anyone out of a selfish desire for companionship. She just wanted to be left alone and not take risks with her feelings anymore. And anyway: The Hellhounds would come for her. She was a bomb set to explode and leave pain in her wake when she died. So she couldn't selfishly involve herself with anyone in any kind of capacity. Too risky. But it _was_ lonely. And it had been for a long time. So yeah, Dean and his loaded glances and little smiles and solid build were tempting. But the answer was no. Because no matter what Jamie might have wanted in the most secret places of her heart... she had sat herself down after her asshole brother died and decided the rest of her days would be spent alone. Saving people and making the world a little safer, because that was the only thing left that gave her purpose and peace.

Everything else eventually just tore her to shreds. She wasn't allowed to be happy. The proof was her entire life. Dark, vague memories of Samuel Campbell surfaced again, making Jamie hurt for herself all over again. The things she'd endured and never asked for. Not for the first time, the witch reflected that monsters came in all shapes, sizes, and species.

"You okay, J?" Alex asked quietly, observing the pensive look on her gone-silent friend's face.

Stowing her shit expertly, Jamie sent a rueful smile sidelong. "Are any of us?" She meant it to be sarcastic, but it sounded soft and sad instead.

"No, like really," Alex insisted gently. "A lot happened to you recently."

The concern didn't go overlooked, and Jamie appreciated it more than she let on. Not for the first time, she hated herself for not knowing who Glen was until it was far too late. "Guess that makes two of us," she commented in pained reflection, then dug deep for a disarming little cynical grin so that the mood didn't go too depressive. "Trust me… I am all kinds of fucked up. And have been, basically my entire life. I just gave up a long time ago on ever being fine. I think that's the trick." She shrugged, half serious, half joking. "Just accepting how fucking horrible life is. Don't hope for anything better and you can't be disappointed."

Alex made a slight face. "Well _that_ _'_ _s_ uplifting."

Jamie however had stopped walking and was staring at the little house ahead, grabbing a hand onto Alex's arm. "Hey—isn't that Ed Sheridan?"

Sure enough, a very sick Ed Sheridan was stumbling into the nearby house up the stairs and puking his guts out viciously as he went.

Alex made a slightly repulsed sound then did a double take and pointed at one of the windows. "There he is again." Another Ed Sheridan was panting and glassy-eyed against the window, leaned into it for support as he coughed and hacked violently.

The women looked at each other with deep frowns. This job just got all _kinds_ of interesting.

* * *

Sam and Dean got to Ed's house at the same time in their respective borrowed rides. They parked across the street one behind the other and got out. Bobby and Cas followed suit.

"So we've got a missing doctor and an oozy patient, huh?" Dean asked his brother. He'd spoken with Sam over the phone and apparently Doctor Silver wasn't at home, either. And his entire family had disappeared, too.

"Yeah," Sam confirmed, glancing at the house across the street where Ed apparently lived. "Plot thickens." No kidding. Dean and Cas had found Ed Sheridan's gooey corpse out behind the doctor's office, hidden badly.

Alex and Jamie approached and from the looks on their faces, Dean could see something was up. His sister had called him a couple minutes ago and told him to move his ass over here stat and she hadn't explained why. "What was the big hurry, shortstop?" he asked as they arrived.

She ignored the nickname. "You said you found Ed's body, right?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah…"

Alex pointed to the open window. "Well… there he is. Undead. And we peeked in the windows and guess what? There's like _ten_ Eds in there."

"Most of them are dead or about to be," Jamie added.

Everyone watched as the Ed at the window shuddered and fell over. "So what… _shifters_?" Sam asked, sounding more and more confused.

Alex shrugged. "Whatever they are, they're all sick and they all look like this Ed dude."

Sam reached for his firearm. He checked the sights and the chamber. He was the picture of focus. "All right, Dean and me are gonna go in and find out what's what. You guys stay here and watch the doors, front and back. If something comes out, shoot it."

"Yeah," Dean said, grabbing the weapons back out of the backseat of the stolen car. "Best guess—silver bullets." He shoved the bag into Cas's arms.

The angel caught the bag awkwardly and looked at it grudgingly. "I'm fairly unpracticed with firearms."

"You know who whines?" Dean asked. " _Babies_." Dad used to say that. Dean gave the angel a wan smile and patted him sarcastically.

Alex was baleful at the continued rudeness toward her Castiel. "You know who's a jerk? You."

Dean gave her a superior little smile. "Good one, sparky." He pulled out his gun and glanced around furtively then nodded to Sam and the brothers started across the street, urgency quickening their steps.

Alex nodded at the house tiredly. "All right Bobby, you and Jamie can watch the front, Cas and I can cover the back." She started off but Cas didn't follow and Alex stopped two steps into the street, confused at his stillness. She shrugged, silently asking _are you coming or what?_

He didn't move and he looked at her reluctantly. "I'll… stay with Bobby."

Inexplicable anger surged in her veins—and Alex looked at him in sheer disbelief. "Okay, you know what?" She marched over to him and grabbed him by the wrist, already pulling him along with her. "Come here, _now_."

Bobby and Jamie glanced at each other. " _Yikes_ ," Jamie commented under her breath.

"Yeah…" Bobby watched them carefully, like a worried father might watch a daughter. "Trouble in paradise."

Alex pulled Cas with her in total silence to the side of the house where the back door was visible and they weren't in earshot of anyone else. Her pulse was racing sickeningly. "Okay, Cas. Are you trying to _avoid_ me?" she demanded in a low, hard voice. She was almost shaking at that point from the adrenaline that her distress was giving her.

He frowned as if confused by her question. "Of course not."

Alex felt slapped in the face. "Don't insult my intelligence!" she exclaimed, incensed all over again. "You've been avoiding me the last few times I've seen you… acting weird as hell and asking if you think we're a _mistake_ _…_?" Her voice caught on that word and gave away her deeply afraid state of mind. She lowered her tone and tried to calm herself down. "I'm freaking _out_ , can you just tell me what's going _on_ with you?"

Cas looked at her with those impossibly sad eyes and his front fell for just a moment. "I _wish_ …" he looked down and shook his head. His voice lowered to an almost whisper. "I wish things were different."

"What are you _talking_ about?" Alex asked. Her alarm was tripling at his tone—her nerves were fried, her mind was full of doubts and suspicions that ate her alive. "Why were you asking me if you thought we were a mistake? Why wouldn't you kiss me? Why won't you _look_ at me anymore?" He hadn't been looking at her then, either, but his eyes slowly raised to hers as if he could barely do so. Alex thought back to Jamie's question earlier and she felt like there was no air left in the universe. She couldn't ask this because she didn't want it to be the case, but what if? "Is… are you trying to tell me something? Is there s-someone else?"

His frown fell in favor of a completely shocked expression. " _What_?" he asked, seeming totally blindsided by her question. And then, quickly, he became hurt. "Alex, _no_. How can you even _ask_ me that?"

Was he serious? "Well what am I _supposed_ to think?"

Her question made his expression all the more pained. "Oh _Alex_." He looked as if he could cry and he hung his head, seeming to loathe himself and grieve his situation all at once. "I'm sorry. I'm so _sorry_." For _what_? She was stricken, waiting for some kind of explanation. But none came. Only more vague, miserable statements from him. "Please. Forgive me. I'm not… I'm not doing well right now. The things I've done, the mistakes I've made…"

Although they were close to each other, Alex felt worlds apart from him. "Cas, you're freaking me out," she choked in a whisper.

He heard the threat of tears in her voice and his eyes lifted to look into hers. Empathy filled his expression and his hand came to touch the side of her face, an unexpected action that she'd _needed_ so badly to feel—his skin against hers made her let out a shuddering, emotionally charged breath. His eyes carried a heartbreak she didn't understand. "There has never been nor will there ever be anyone else for me but you," he told her quietly. Her heart clenched in hope.

"Then why would you ask if we were a mistake, Cas?" she asked, _needing_ to know. " _Why_? Was it the soul touch? Did… did you see something you didn't like about me or something?"

His eyebrows worked slightly in confusion and dismay. "Of course not," he said, and his eyes flickered back and forth between hers. His thumb gently caressed the skin of her cheek and for just a brief moment, he was loving and _there_ and himself. The softest little bittersweet smile tugged his mouth upwards. "You are perfect to me. In every way." The softness that had come across him faded abruptly and his jaw clenched. His hand, which had been so tender against her face, began to slip away. "I am the one who is imperfect. Detestable."

His wrist pulled out of her grip. Detestable? That word, the way he said it… Alex swallowed a feeling of dread she didn't understand. "What have you done, Cas?" she asked quietly. His eyes snapped up to hers in fearfulness, like he thought she knew something he didn't want her to know. The vulnerability in his eyes strangely gave her hope—maybe he was going to open up to her and tell her. She prompted him with increasing vulnerability of her own. "What's got you so torn up? Just tell me, I can _help_ you."

For the briefest second, he considered it. And then he shook his head and stepped back from her, refusing her offers to help and hurting her all over again. "No." He looked away from her. "No one can help me."

He sounded so final, so done, so resigned. Alex stared at him in stunned disbelief. He nodded toward the front of the house. "Sam and Dean are coming out." He put a hand behind her back to guide her forward and his touch infuriated her. He was refusing her every solicitation for answers and attempting to cut her off and not tell her what was happening. As such, she jerked away from his hand angrily and gave him a hard look. _Don_ _'_ _t patronize me!_ As angry as she was, she was a hundred times more _hurt_ than anything else. He should trust her with whatever was wrong. He should open up to her—she'd given him _everything_. And he was giving her nothing.

Alex walked blindly back toward the front of the house, so upset she could have kicked or thrown something.

"I don't get it," Dean was saying as he jogged down the front stairs of the house. Sam was already standing at ground level and Bobby and Jamie had joined him. "What, a bunch of regular Joes wake up shifters? What the hell?"

"Shifters usually run in families," Bobby said, glancing at the vomit crusting the side of the stairs just as Dean noticed it and jumped away. "This looks like an infection. Nobody touched nothing?"

Dean made a face. "I am _bathing_ in Purell tonight."

Alex and Cas arrived to the little gathering at the bottom of the stairs and Alex pointedly stood beside Dean and gave Cas a baleful, wounded stare as Sam shared what they'd discovered. "So, all of the Eds in there are dead. But we talked to one before he kicked the bucket. He said they met a girl and that's when they all got sick."

"It's gotta be Eve," Dean said.

"Makes sense," Bobby said thoughtfully, nodding. "Mommy monster—make more."

"But did she intend to make them so… diseased?" Cas asked, frowning deeply. He glanced at Alex, who was unreadable.

"He's got a good point," Dean said. "I mean if she's gonna make a shifter army, why make one that's sick gooey and dying?"

"Add that to the pile of Crap That Don't Make Sense," Bobby said with a weary shrug. 

"Maybe she's experimenting," Jamie put in. 

"Not a bad theory," Dean said, mulling it all over with a disturbed frown. 

Sam let out a heavy sigh through his nose then glanced around for input. "So should we hit the bar?"

His innocent question got him a sudden, unexpected reaction from his sister. "The _bar_ Sam?" Alex snapped. "You want a drink _now_?" She looked like he had suggested she cut her own feet off and Sam wasn't the only one taken aback at her sudden outburst—everyone was looking at her oddly. Except Cas, who was looking at her in greatly ashamed reluctance.

"That's where Ed met Eve," Sam explained flatly, giving her a semi-challenging look.

Her face fell. "Oh." She cleared her throat and scratched at the side of her neck absently, trying to _not_ look embarrassed.

"Bar it is," Bobby said, but not before exchanging a quick look with Dean.

As the group made their way back to the cars, Dean fell into stride with his sister and he nudged her shoulder. "S'wrong with you?" he asked softly, concern coloring his voice.

She was hard and cold but clearly deeply upset. " _Nothing_."

* * *

Most bars were a little less… massacre-y. After breaking their way in through a locked door, the hunters and the angel found a very unexpected sight. Eve had _definitely_ been there, that was for sure. Dead, bloody bodies littered the area and the place was _trashed_ like there had been a huge fight. Had these people all _killed each other?_

The hunters drifted in slowly, gaping at the bloodbath. "Well, the Sheriff's a moot, but _still_ ," Bobby breathed. "You'd think he'd notice _this_ many missing folks."

Dean crouched down beside a body and using a cloth off the bar, he lifted the lip of the dead girl. In her mouth, vampire's fangs. "We got a vamp over here!" he called.

"You sure about that?" Jamie asked, crouching and lifting the body's arm. She'd spotted something else—a spike protruded from the wrist. She looked at Dean significantly and he looked at the fangs then the spike with growing astonishment.

"What the hell?" Dean asked, gaping. "What has teeth _and_ a spike?" 

"That sounds like a bad joke," Bobby quipped. He stood close to them and looked down at the corpse that made no sense.

"I wish," Dean said softly, standing up. "You seeing this? What, so Eve's making _hybrids_ now?"

"Looks like," Bobby answered grimly. Behind him, Cas was examining a dead body laid across the pool table and Sam was toeing a face-down corpse over. Alex had sullenly gone behind the bar and was… ah geez. Raiding the cash register with an attitude.

"Hey, what are you _doing_?" Dean asked, a little surprised at her.

"Mind your business," Alex muttered, not even looking up at him, just counting through bills.

Dean made a slightly indignant face, glanced at Cas, and then returned his gaze to Bobby. He'd talk to his cranky sister later. "Yeah, okay, but what's Eve want with the—" he paused, not sure what these hybrid monster-mashes were even called. "What do you call these?"

Bobby shrugged. "Well, congrats. You discovered it. You get to name it." He walked over a few steps to examine another body.

Dean thought for a second, then grinned. "Jefferson Starships." He was grinning wider, imagining himself funny. "Because they're _horrible_ —and hard to kill."

He looked around, waiting for everyone to recognize his genius. Sam was unimpressed, Alex was sullen behind the bar, Bobby didn't get it, and Cas of course didn't either. Jamie, however, gave him a little _you_ _'_ _re cute_ smile and nod. "I see what you did there."

" _Thank you_ ," Dean exclaimed, glad _someone_ got his genius. 

Sam, over it, was short. "Looks like the whole bar has been turned into these—"

"Jefferson Starships," Dean supplied.

" _Fine_." Sam looked around at the dead bodies with a terse expression. "But why are all the... Starships dead?"

"I can't say," Bobby said, "but looks like they all burned up."

"What do you mean, _burned up_?" Dean asked, looking at the bodies for burn marks.

"Like a high fever, like the flu," Bobby said.

Dean got a look on his face like _oh_. He glanced a Jamie who was crouched to look at a slumped young man's body at the end of the bar. "What the hell's going on here?" Dean asked, addressing no one in particular. "Does every monster in this town have the motaba virus?"

The front doors of the bar suddenly slammed open and the town sheriff entered with his gun raised high—two deputies were with him. "Hands where I can see 'em!" he shouted, startling everyone.

Crouched behind the bar and fiddling half-heartedly with the safe, Alex froze—hidden, no one saw her there. She heard Cas speak up. "Now, this is not what it looks like," his voice said somewhere nearby.

"Look, we're the Feds," Bobby put in.

"Yeah? Well Feds are not allowed to do this," said the sheriff. "Cuff 'em! Turn around." Alex could hear cuffs clicking closed and Sam huffing and Bobby muttering.

"Officer, we can explain—" Dean's voice said.

"Explain it in lockup, pal!"

"Easy, _easy_!" Dean complained.

Alex crouched there, frozen in place and silent, not sure if she wanted to get into a standoff with the cops or not—she couldn't just let them _take_ her guys! Her hand hovered over where her pistol was. And then Alex heard a soft little sound to her left. She looked—Jamie had somehow avoided being seen and had ducked down and was about seven feet down the bar, hidden as well. She held a finger up against her lips and shook her head no.

The sheriff and his officers were already escorting the hunters and the angel out and Dean was saying loudly about how the FBI wasn't going to be happy about this treatment of agents.

When the bar doors shut and they were gone, the girls cautiously stood. They were alone in the massacre once more. "Great. Now we have to bust them out of lockup," Alex muttered, her bad attitude making her surly.

Jamie shook her head no, way more on edge than Alex was. "Those cops weren't cops—we gotta go _now._ "

Alex faltered, thrown off. "…What?"

"Their eyes did funny stuff on the surveillance feed!" Jamie nodded at the tiny black and white TV that she'd found by accident when she hid. Alex looked at it dumbly as her old hunting partner grabbed her by an arm for emphasis, already pulling her along. "We need machetes and _now_. Those boys are in more trouble than they realize."

"Oh my god," Alex breathed, wishing she had been paying better attention. Every selfish petulant thought and feeling went out the window and all she could think of was the four people in the world she loved the most were at the hands of some very bad guys. 

* * *

"Listen, if we can make a _phone call_ , we can straighten this all out," Sam was saying urgently as they were brought in to the police station. They were walking through the office section toward the holding cells, hands cuffed behind their backs—Bobby, Cas, Dean, and Sam.

"Straighten out a _massacre_?" the sheriff asked sarcastically. "I'd like to see you try. And anyway, you boys aren't too long for this world." Sam glimpsed the security footage briefly as they walked past... and he saw that the sheriff's eyes were glowing on the video feed.

"What's that supposed t—" Dean started.

Before Dean could finish, Sam whirled and head-butted the sheriff, stunning him. "J-Jefferson Starships!" he shouted, warning the others as he reeled from the blow and wobbled backwards on his feet.

Immediately, Dean football tackled the Starship escorting himself by throwing a shoulder into his middle and ramming him into the nearby wall. The sheriff was recovering and snarling at Sam, who was off balance from the cuffs keeping his hands behind his back. Still, Sam managed to kick the sheriff hard in the face and keep him back a little longer. Bobby was thrown hard to the ground by one of the deputy Starships who then shoved and held a startled Cas against the wall. The Starship opened his mouth with a savage roar, preparing to either kill or turn the handcuffed angel.

" _Hey_!"

The Starship turned, confused… and then was cut down dead by a thwack of machete. Cas's trench coat was spattered with a shower of blood and he stared in slight shock at Alex, who had just cut off the Starship's head.

Even as Alex saved Cas's life, Dean crashed hard into a desk behind them and tumbled to the ground groaning, still cuffed. The Starship who had just thrown Dean down snarled with an inhuman sound and bared his bloody fangs—Bobby barreled into him with a yell, knocking the Starship down to the ground and saving Dean—and as the Starship tumbled down and regained his footing, he rose to his feet for the very last time. Jamie was waiting and the head went sailing off. She didn't pause—the body hit the floor as she was rushing to assist Sam.

Sam was yelling protest as the sheriff grabbed him and shoved him against a wall then opened wide, preparing to turn him into a Starship, too. Alex, who was slightly closer than Jamie, grabbed a solid metal paperweight off the desk and used it to bash the sheriff in the head full-force repeatedly and stun him—she couldn't cut his head off without hurting Sam, they were too close. Once the sheriff was stunned, Alex grabbed him and yanked him away from her brother without a plan of action. She unleashed a clumsy, hard right-hook across the sheriff's face. A normal man might have been knocked out from the speed she used, but the Starship was superhuman in strength. He stumbled backwards and turned a few degrees from the force of the hit—and got smacked in the face with sickening velocity by Jamie's machete. She used the flat side instead of the sharp end to stun him so bad that he fell down to the ground where he would stay.

Jamie stomped her foot down onto his throat, holding him there on the ground at the end of her machete. He stared up at her with bared teeth and an animalistic, wild expression. "My goodness, Sheriff, what pointy teeth you have," she crooned softly at her captive.

Breathing hard on the floor and walking on his knees, Dean was trying to stand up without the use of his arms. "We'll need silver cha—"

Even as he said that, Alex was tossing silver chains from her weapon bag to Jamie's waiting hand. She winked at Dean with a confident smirk. "Come on, Winchester, like I haven't roped myself a monster or two in my time before." She let her foot come off the sheriff's throat and when he immediately scrambled to get up, Jamie's voice was hard loud. " _I_ _mmobilis_." The sheriff smacked down to the floor, flat as a pancake. "Good boy," Jamie said sarcastically. A small trickle of blood ran out of her nose but she either didn't feel it or didn't care. She crouched over him and yanked his keys off his belt and tossed them to Alex so that she could un-cuff the guys. Jamie set to work chaining the Starship's wrists.

With the threats neutralized, Sam slumped against the wall where he'd fallen into a sit, Dean sagged against the desk where he was on his knees, Bobby grumbled about his knee where he laid on the floor. And then out of nowhere came a female Starship dressed as a deputy—she rushed Alex so fast and hard that Alex was knocked onto her back to the floor, completely blindsided by the attack. The keys went flying, her machete hit the ground with a clatter, and it all happened too fast to even see—Alex held the Starship at bay just barely—a spike shot out from the deputy's wrist and Alex was as good as dead—and then head of the Starship sailed off when a vicious slicing chop made the kill.

Cas stood over a shocked Alex, breathing heavily from adrenaline and anxiety. In his superhuman strength that remained, he had pulled his cuffs apart at the middle and grabbed the machete Alex dropped, moving faster than Dean or Sam or Bobby had managed. He shoved the Starship's body off of her and pulled her to stand in his arms, worry making his face tight. "Are you—" he began. He was cut off when Alex clamped her arms around him so tightly that his lungs were emptied of air. The two of them embraced tightly, wordlessly, genuinely, with eyes that screwed shut and hands that clenched hard into each other's clothing. Alex had her face buried into his chest and he crushed her close. Each of them was very reminded of how life shouldn't be taken for granted.

* * *

A few moments later the surviving Starship was chained to a chair in the police department's interrogation room. Jamie stood beside him, forcefully holding a cheap little thermometer into his mouth—she had his head shoved back so that he had no choice but to let her hold it there. It gave a series of little beeps and she took it out of his mouth and glanced at the readout. Bobby, who stood directly in front of the Starship, waited with a silver knife in hand. "Ninety-eight degrees," Jamie reported darkly.

No fever. Bobby narrowed his eyes at the Starship. "Well, I'll say this, you're the _healthiest_ specimen I've seen all day."

The Starship sheriff sneered. "I take my vitamins."

Outside the room through the observation mirror, Sam, Dean, and Alex watched closely. Cas stood in the open doorway and watched the interrogation. His coat was still spattered with bright red blood.

"So you wanna tell us what's going on here?" Bobby asked lowly, beginning to circle the Starship. "You boys are, uh, Eve's cleaning crew, is that it?" he asked, trying to figure the mystery out. "You come around to clean up the bodies? Make sure the word doesn't get out? That why you snatched up the doctor?"

The sheriff gave a soft chuckle. "You're _so_ wasting your time," he said breezily, smirking at Bobby. "You _stupid_ head of cattle."

A sudden noise from further back in the station made the Winchesters frown and look back. "More Starships," Dean said, already moving toward where the noise had sounded from. Cas looked at Sam questioningly even as Jamie poked her head out of the interrogation room.

"Stay here," Sam said intently, looking at Cas and Jamie in specific. He turned to follow Dean.

"Yeah _right,_ " Jamie retorted, already grabbing her machete and hurrying after them.

Alex made to go, too, but Cas's hand shot out to take her arm. "Don't." His single-word command startled her and made her look at him in surprise—Alex quickly looked in the direction her brothers and Jamie had disappeared to and almost went anyway, but Cas's hand was still around her wrist. His control grab rendered her momentarily too stunned to react.

"Now listen, I got ways to make you squeal, little monster man," Bobby was saying to the Starship. "You sure you wanna test me?" The only reply was a low, wicked chuckle. Bobby sighed. "All right, your choice."

The Starship began to scream protest as the silver knife dug into flesh. Cas let go even as Alex pulled her wrist away. She began to pace out of anxiety. She was listening hard for any sign that her brothers needed her. She glanced at Cas repeatedly. He seemed to be sinking further and further into a shut-down state that she barely recognized. She felt pulled in two different directions and neither one felt right. Her life felt like a waking nightmare and the stress was enough to make her want to break down. Every single new thing that happened involving Cas made Alex more and more confused and filled with sick dread. A few moments passed.

After a terrible scream, shrill laughter came out of the Starship without warning. "You _really_ think that's gonna make me talk?" he asked, apparently finding Bobby's attempts at torture hilarious.

Ever the patient one, Bobby was undeterred. " _Something_ will." He slashed the Starship across the face—a loud howl pierced the air. "And 'sides, I haven't gotten to use a knife in awhile. I might cut your face up all day."

"Do what you want, old man," the Starship spat. "I'm not telling you a damn thing!"

Dean's voice boomed out right before he re-entered. "Got a couple of hungry human boys here," he announced loudly. Alex turned to look—her oldest brother came back into the office area and behind him were two smaller figures—a preteen and a middle-schooler. Sam and Jamie were bringing up the rear. Dean motioned the kids forward, toward the corner of the office area with the coffee maker. There weren't any dead bodies over there. "C'mon guys."

"Who are _they_?" Alex asked Jamie quietly, who hung back a little bit.

"Doctor Silver's kids," she replied. There was a note of sadness in her voice. "Found them locked up and gagged back there… parents are dead, the Starships were gonna eat these kids next apparently."

Alex looked at the younger boy—he had huge sad eyes and was clearly very upset. " _Jesus_." They were just children.

Jamie nodded once, grim. "Yeah." She glanced back at the interrogation room. "How's _that_ going?"

"It's not," Alex muttered. Cas approached slowly, frowning studiously at Sam and Dean, who were speaking with the boys quietly about twenty feet off.

"So your Uncle's in Merritt?" Dean could be heard asking. "What's that, like fifteen miles outside of town?" The older boy nodded. He had his arm around his younger brother. "Okay," Dean said. "We'll get you there." 

Cas's face darkened and he approached Dean and Sam quickly. "Dean, can I have a word?" he asked quietly, then retreated about ten feet. Dean got up and followed Cas, who spoke to him in a hushed, hard voice. Alex and Jamie could hear the conversation because it took place pretty close to them. "We need to find Eve, _now_. I'm afraid she's going to begin infecting more towns."

Dean nodded, distracted. "Yeah, sure, but first me and Sam just gotta make a milk run."

There was a short, startled pause. "We need your help _here,_ " Cas said, seeming surprised at Dean.

The hunter made a flippant face. "Hold your water. We'll be back in a few." He turned to walk off.

"Dean, _Dean_ _!_ " Cas said softly. He stared in what looked like shocked disbelief at his friend who turned and waited impatiently. " _Millions_ of lives are at stake here, not just two—stay _focused_."

"Are you _kidding_?" Dean asked, indignant.

Cas seemed to think that was ridiculous. "No, are _you_? There's a _greater purpose_ here."

Jamie cleared her throat and attempted to diffuse the situation. "Dean, I can take the kids if you wanna stay here…"

Dean glanced at her then fixed Cas with a hard glare. "No, no, 'cause you know what, I-I'm getting a little sick and tired of the greater purposes, okay?" He frowned even deeper. "Have a little heart, Cas!"

"I can't _afford_ that, Dean!" Cas retorted emphatically. "The fate of the _entire world_ is in the balance!"

"Cas, you serious?" Sam asked rudely. He'd stood up and joined his brother. "They're _kids_ and they're _scared_ _—_ don't be such an asshole."

The rudeness shocked Alex. Cas looked at Sam in faint, confused surprise then let his face become hard. "Call me what you like, Sam, but the fact remains that our mission here is to find and destroy Eve, not play caretaker for children." It almost seemed like Cas was being argumentative just to prove a point now.

Sam scoffed through a cold, judgmental smile at the comment. " _Wow_. You are really a piece of work, aren't you Cas?"

"Sam, my point is that they can _wait_ ," Cas said. He sounded slightly desperate to have someone agree with him. "The urgent matter here is finding and stopping _Eve._ "

"Real hero, aren't you Cas?" Sam asked insolently, as if he had some kind of gripe against the angel. "The 'urgent matter' here is these kids feeling _safe_."

Dean had already decided they were going long before the argument even started. "We'll catch up," he said, giving Cas a rude glance and ending the argument on his terms. "Okay guys, let's go." Doctor Silver's boys complied, getting up out of their chairs. Dean, Sam, and Jamie all headed toward them.

Sam turned and looked over his shoulder at his silent sister who hadn't moved. "Alex, come on," he prompted in a hard voice.

"No." Cas replied immediately, startling everyone including Alex. "She's staying here with me."

Dean's eyebrows shot high, Jamie blinked twice and looked at Alex, Sam approached Cas by a step or two as his face darkened. "Oh really."

Cas didn't move. "Yes. Really."

Sam went a couple steps closer, his narrowing eyes daring Cas to piss him off. From the way he was standing and looming over the angel, it almost looked like he was threatening Cas. "Alex?" Sam gave her an extremely pushy look, demanding she do what he wanted her to do.

Put on the spot, Alex gaped at the arguing men—she didn't even know what the hell was happening. Cas again spoke for her, and his voice darkened as he almost growled at Sam. "I said, she's staying _here_."

Dean was getting mad now too, and marched forward to join Sam. "Hey, you don't get to say that for her," he said in a hard voice then looked at Alex, waiting for her to move toward him. When she didn't, he threw his hands out. "You coming or not?"

Sam, who was closer, grabbed her by the shoulder to pull her with him. The argument was making her mad, but the touch made her furious. "Don't touch me! _Any_ of you!" She yanked herself out of Sam's grip. The sudden action and her words seemed to really take Sam aback—abruptly his stony expression fell into a dismayed expression. Alex backed up and folded her arms and spoke in a tough voice. "I'm staying _here_."

Dean let out a huff and his face worked with impatient anger but he threw a hand into the air, giving up. "I don't have time for this right now." He clenched his jaw and spoke to the people who _were_ going with him. Sam, Jamie, and the boys. "Let's go."

When the door slammed behind them, Cas looked at his wife regretfully. Abruptly, his hard expression was replaced with an apologetic one. "Alex, I only wanted t—"

She shoved him away. "Don't talk to me!" She stormed away from him and down a dark hallway.

Bobby hung back in the doorway to the interrogation room. Cas met his terse gaze and then walked off into the annex next door to the office space. A few moments later Bobby wandered after Cas—he couldn't find Alex. He'd never been good at hide and seek with that girl… she wanted to hide, she knew how to stay hidden. Cas stood and stared out into the fallen night with a stony expression.

"They won't take long," Bobby said, trying to get the guy to ease up a little.

Cas acknowledged him with a slight turn of the head. "You don't know that," he replied flatly. "They may find more wayward _orphans_ along the way."

Bobby rolled his eyes at the attitude. "Oh now don't get _cute_."

"Right." Cas turned around, and he appeared miserable. " _Pardon me_ for highlighting their crippling and dangerous empathetic response with 'sarcasm.'" The angel heaved a disgusted sigh and shook his head. Bobby wondered if he was really upset about what he was acting upset about. Either way, Cas was stuck on it, apparently. "It was a bad idea, letting them go."

"Come on. You don't 'let' the Winchesters do squat. They do what they gotta. You know that. Anyway, we want Eve, we need coordinates. So we can stand here bellyaching or we can go poke that pig 'til he squeals. Thoughts?"

Cas just walked off. Bobby rolled his eyes and looked around for the bathroom. He had blood all over his hands and needed a sink before he tried again with the Starship.

When Cas re-entered the office space, a voice to his left succeeded in startling him. "' _Wayward orphans_ '?" Alex was leaned back-first against the wall with folded arms—she'd been listening to his entire conversation with Bobby and was straightening and standing up. "Do you even _hear_ yourself?" she demanded, coming to stand right in front of him. "What is _wrong_ with you, Cas?"

He looked down and was stoic. "Nothing."

" _Nothing_?" she repeated in heated incredulity. "Seriously, Cas? Stop _lying_ to me!" she was shouting at that point—every stored up anger blasting out of her like a hurricane. "I know something's wrong! Is it Raphael? Is someone holding something over your head?" When he didn't answer, her face twisted in anger all over again. "And by the way you don't _own_ me and you don't get to boss me around like you just did back there! This is _not_ okay with me anymore, Cas! I've tried to be understanding, I've tried to be patient, but this isn't fair and it isn't _right_ and you are _not_ acting like yourself!" She heaved several impassioned breaths and Cas's eyes raised to look into hers unreadably. He said nothing and Alex waited pointedly for him to speak. When he said nothing, she lost her temper again. " _Fine_. Don't tell me. Don't give me a fucking _clue_ what's going on! Leave me in the _dark!_ " She shoved him and he let her, she pushed past him and hit a file folder off the desk she stormed by. Paper fluttered everywhere and she disappeared in an upset huff into the annex.

Cas watched her go and sank into a chair there in the dark and put his head in his hands. His stiff outer demeanor faded. He thought he might cry from the grief and confusion and out-of-control terror he felt. Nothing made sense and the people he loved didn't understand what was happening to him. Nor did he. Why did no one else _see?_ That the war had to be won? That he could _not_ fail? That he had to keep her safe? Nothing was working for him. Everything was falling apart. In Heaven his forces were scattered and weak. On earth, he had done the unthinkable.

He was torturing himself with the knowledge of taking Alex's memories. He couldn't face her or look at her or tolerate himself. She wanted answers and the answers he had would just turn her away from him. _But look,_ he thought. _She is already turning away from me. Perhaps it_ _'_ _s inevitable. Perhaps I deserve this._

The sound of footsteps approached and Cas looked up, wanting it to be Alex—he resolved to talk to her, to tell her some part of the truth, to comfort her, to let her comfort him if she would. But it was Bobby. "Round two," the hunter muttered, brandishing the silver knife as he headed to the interrogation room.

Cas watched him and stood up slowly, making himself stop feeling. He shouldn't be pitying himself. He should be working toward getting Eve's location. With Eve, he and Crowley would be able to open Purgatory and then use all those souls for greater power. Power that could win the war once and for all. And Heaven help him, he had to have this end. He was so bone-weary. So used up and worn thin and made exhausted by the killing, the endless problems, the war.

It would never end. Sometimes he truly believed that. And what did he have to show for it? A crumbling relationship with his beloved. Her brothers angry at him and misunderstanding his every motivation. Impossible loneliness and despair. So many mistakes. And possibly the end of all things if he didn't achieve victory. The pressure was insurmountable. The odds were worse and worse. Cas was being stomped down into a corner he couldn't get out of. And the worst part was how he carried the responsibility all by himself.

"You know, she can see you right now," Cas could hear the Starship saying to Bobby. "And you're just making her mad."

"Then tell the bitch to come _get me_ ," Bobby retorted.

Decisively, Castiel approached the interrogation room with one thing on his mind. Finishing this. The war, everything. _Find Eve, open Purgatory, defeat Raphael._ He repeated this in his mind over and over. Bobby looked at Cas curiously when Cas entered the small interrogation room. "I need five minutes alone with him."

"What for?" Bobby asked. He then leaned closer. "Cas, your _batteries_ are dead."

Cas felt as if he were entirely dead inside, truth be told. "Five minutes," he said lowly. Even speaking took every effort and concentration.

Bobby shrugged. "All right, fine." He exited the room. Cas shut the door behind Bobby. But before the door was shut, Bobby caught the following exchange:

"Where's your _weapon_ , trench coat?"

"I _am_ the weapon."

* * *

Bobby leaned against one of the office desks with his hands in his jeans pockets. Alex lurked at the doorway into the annex, drawn in from wherever she'd been hiding by the screams of the Starship. "You okay, grasshopper?" Bobby asked her, trying to get her to stop paying so much attention to the sounds of torture.

Attention captured, Alex looked at her uncle and gave a short, honest answer. "No." Well, he'd known that much. She came and slowly sit-leaned beside him on the desk and jabbed her elbows into her knees, scrubbing her face in her hands. "Everyone's pushing me around and not telling me _shit_ and I'm…" she let out a heavy, charged breath and her lips made exasperated horse noises. "I wanna _punch_ something."

Bobby chuckled and jokingly offered himself as a punching bag. "Well, here I am, but can't say I'm looking forward to it."

That got him a tiny smile and the girl he'd come to think of as some kind of a daughter looked at him sidelong. She appeared too tired for her age and too harrowed for her own good, but a certain degree of gratitude rested in those hazel eyes of hers. "Thanks for never trying to force me into anything, Uncle Bobby."

"Look, those idjits do what they do 'cause they care," Bobby said, knowing she was mad at her overprotective brothers and her even more overprotective boyfriend. "Maybe they got a dumbass way of showin' it, but they just want you safe."

"Screw being safe," Alex muttered petulantly—she was pretty clearly pissed at her kin, but the attitude was a little over the top.

Bobby wouldn't listen to that nonsense and gave her a correcting look. "Hey. None'a that, now." Chastened, Alex went quiet. After a minute punctuated by the odd scream and the indistinct sound of Cas's low voice within the interrogation room, Bobby looked at Alex carefully. "Cas okay?"

Alex shrugged, trying to look like she didn't care. "Hell if I know." Her voice wobbled and her carefully hidden emotions burst to the surface. "He… won't talk to me." She shut her eyes and hung her head as she visibly fought a sudden flood of tears.

Bobby hated to see her like that and put a hand on her back, spoke to her softly. "Hey, come on now, don't break my heart." Shaking hard from trying not to sob, Alex put her face into Bobby's shoulder. He pulled her close with the arm that had already been at her back and patted comfortingly. He'd never been too good at comforting anyone, but he still tried because he really couldn't stand to see her tears. "It's not all that bad, is it?"

"It's the worst," was her broken, honest reply.

"Aw sweetheart," he said softly, wishing he knew what to say. Never was too good with words.

The door to the interrogation room opened, and when it did, Alex sat up and immediately stopped crying. Cas came out and he was wiping blood off of his hands with a rag. "Eve's at twenty-five Buckley Street," he said heavily. He sounded bland and dead inside. "You can call Sam and Dean." He saw Alex's tears and his apathetic expression wavered. She stood pointedly and left, going down the hallway that led to the cells. Cas watched her go and looked at Bobby. "Is… she all right?" he asked quietly.

Bobby peered at the angel carefully and crossed his arms. They both knew that Alex wasn't all right. Why bother asking? "Go apologize to that girl for whatever you did, Cas." There was a tone of warning in his voice. "I ain't happy when I see her cry."

Cas looked down and a muscle in his jaw clenched. "Neither am I, Bobby."

* * *

Cas found her at the back of the station. Through the room of holding cells, the emergency exit was propped open. Alex was sitting on the ground outside at the back of the building, against the air-conditioning unit that was out on some grass. She silently stared into space and her cheeks had tear streaks on them. But she was quiet and unreadable. Her knees were bent up and her arms each rested on a knee.

Cas stood beside her and waited for her to acknowledge him—tell him to go away, look up at him, anything. But she didn't. Just kept staring straight ahead. Finally he sat beside her gingerly. Not too close, but not too far either.

After a very long ten seconds, Alex glanced his way briefly. "So. How'd you get him to talk?" she asked. Her tone was neutral and careful.

"With methods I'm not proud of," Cas answered honestly and slowly. He looked at his hands, which had been covered in blood before he washed them with soap and water a minute ago. He could erase the evidence of the actions, but the blood had still been spilled. It struck him as being very poignant and morbid at once. "This war… has made me into someone I dislike," he confessed softly, staring ahead into the night. "The things I've had to do… the choices I've made… the blood on my hands…" he wished he had done things differently and taken a different path. "I feel as though it's all slowly killing me." That sentence got her to look at him. Her expression was pained, confused, hurt, desperate. "I… I know that you're upset with me," Cas said. The irony wasn't lost on him. "And believe me. You have every right to be."

Alex wasn't angry and fiery as she had been before. Instead, she was tired, lost, afraid. "We're supposed to be in a relationship," she said in a weak, faint voice. "We're… we're supposed to be _married_." She clenched her jaw and shut her eyes for a brief second. Castiel felt like his heart was cracking inside of his chest. "We're supposed to tell each other things. I just wanna know what's going _on_ ," Alex said, frustrated to no end and looking at him openly now. "I'm so goddamn worried about you that I can't sleep some nights… and you're trying to push me away!" Her eyes were filling with tears again and she looked away from him, obviously deeply angry and hurt but even more grieved than anything else. He had done that to her. "I don't _understand_."

Cas was so ashamed of himself. He had failed her in every way—deceiving her, tricking her, making her upset and hurt and confused. He didn't deserve her trust or love and yet he craved both so obscenely that he could explode from the intensity of it. Hopelessness made him morose and he just wanted her to know that however flawed, he loved her completely. "Alex…" he started, gently touching one of her hands with his, reaching out to her in a small way. "If… if something happens to me. If I perish, I want you to know—"

Her eyes widened and an expression horror tightened her features at the subject matter. "No. _No_." She was getting upset again, and fast. "Don't you even say that to me. _No_."

He looked at her and couldn't stop the surge of emotion that overtook him. He felt so small and incapable of saving her, and he _loved her_ enough to do anything on earth for her at all. If only he was half the man she deserved. He just wanted her to know that he'd tried. "If I should die in this war," he said steadily, "just please know that I loved you more than I knew how to hold. Everything I did was me trying to protect you best."

Alex sat there and looked at him in great quiet fearfulness. "Cas, you're _scaring me,_ " she whispered.

She was scared. And so was he. Nothing felt controllable anymore, everything was slipping out of his grasp, including her. His voice choked on his own vocal chords and something horrible happened to him. "I'm so _sorry._ " His eyes stung and flooded and his chest felt like it would crack in two. Grief overtook every part of him and a sound he didn't even mean to make escaped him. He realized it was a sob even as he buried his face in his hand. His shoulders quaked and his body betrayed him. Beside him, Alex was stunned and horrified and immediately moving to comfort him.

"Oh _Cas_." She wrapped her arms around his neck and he grabbed hold of her tightly with both hands, trying to hold onto her. He heard the shameful noises he made and grief controlled him, wouldn't let him go. Alex was holding him fast and strong, but she shook too. "Shh, it's okay, it's okay," she whispered. Her voice bore evidence of tears, too.

"No, no it's _not_ ," he replied. His voice was distorted strangely by what was happening to him. He felt her hand cradling the back of his head fiercely, he felt her kiss the side of his head long and hard and turned his face toward hers, not even thinking, just needing. His mouth found hers. Tasting her tears and his on their lips, Cas kissed her with grieved fury and a hunger borne out of desperation. Without hesitation, Alex grabbed his head in her hands and kissed him all the harder with a passion he let out a soft sound at. He cupped a hand to the back of her head to pull her closer and she let out a soft _mmf_ into his mouth as heat leapt to life between them. Tortured by her sweetness, her warmth, her spellbinding perfection, Cas let out a softly anxious moan of _ah_ into her open mouth. He felt a hot tear roll down his cheek and he shuddered and pulled away slightly, ashamed of himself and his emotional weakness—his body and mind were still producing tears he couldn't seem to stop. Alex pulled him closer and kept kissing him deeply—her expression was fiercely anxious and he saw how a fresh tear slid down her face even though her eyes were shut tight. He crumbled and resisted no more.

Coerced every atom in his body, Cas was pulling her close and gathering her into his arms and standing up lurchingly, shutting his eyes against the world so that all he could feel or think was _her_. He stumbled them back into the cellblock, blindly pulling the door to the outside closed behind them with a loud clang.

It was too dark to see once the door was closed. But they didn't need to see. Familiar with each others shapes, curves, edges, Cas and Alex somehow stumbled their way into an open cell and onto a small cot, pulling everything off of each other that would stand in the way of them being as close as they wanted to be.

Behind those iron bars they loved each other desperately and intensely, _quickly_ , the knowledge that they could be caught urging them on to take whatever comfort and reassurance they could get from one another. Afterward, they held each other close in the dark, breathless and trembling, tangled together in recovery.

Cas traced the curves of Alex's face in the dark, resting his forehead to hers. Her elevated heartbeat pulsed through him, her soft breaths were what his Heaven would be like, her arms around him were the place he never wanted to leave. He thought of who she was, then he thought of who _he_ was. "I don't deserve this," he whispered softly, brokenly.

"Of course you don't," Alex replied, thinking he meant the hardship of the war.

Cas didn't correct her… but he meant the love she gave him.

* * *

**Forty Minutes Later  
25 Buckley Street**

The address that Cas sliced out of the Starship was the diner where they had been earlier that day. Cas, Alex, Bobby and Jamie all waited outside of it and across the street with their weapons. Sam and Dean had gone in to 'draw out' Eve about two minutes ago. 

Alex and Cas exchanged a brief glance and with a certain degree of discretion, Alex reached over and took Cas's hand in hers. He squeezed gently.

She still had no answers. After the jail cell, they'd re-dressed just in time for Sam to find them. He hadn't seemed too pleased either to find them off alone in the dark together. He wasn't dumb and could put two and two together. His newfound strangely judgmental attitude toward Cas was mystifying Alex completely. He'd always been the one out of her two brothers who was more easygoing and accepting. But suddenly it almost seemed like _Dean_ was the more accepting. What the hell, right?

One thing was for sure. Once Eve was out of the picture, Alex and Cas were going to sit down and talk. She was determined to have a heart to heart and get to the bottom of his behavior. Although, she was honestly beginning to think it was him stressing out and not being able to handle the emotional weight of it all. It seemed like maybe he was putting too much pressure on himself. Maybe, Alex thought… maybe she had misjudged everything. Cas was new at emotions, after all. Maybe his odd behavior was just him not being able to cope well.

"You see that?" Jamie suddenly asked intensely, stiffening in hawk-like focus.

Alex looked up at the diner, frowning.

"Yeah, blinds just all shut," Bobby said lowly, suspiciously. Immediately assuming the worst, Alex made to move in—but Bobby's arm smacked out to stop her. "Wait, _wait._ Give 'em a minute. Don't run in hot-headed."

Alex glanced at the weapon duffel Bobby had. She was itching for her shotgun. About two or three more minutes passed in which nothing happened. It felt ominous and Alex needed to lay eyes on her brothers to feel better. "I don't like this," she muttered, staring at the diner across the street with a hard gaze.

"Something feels wrong," Castiel agreed quietly. And at that very moment, they realized why. There was a soft cry of distress and they all turned around to see that Jamie had just been knocked out cold. Five Starships stood there, and one of them held a gun right on Alex.

"Drop that bag of weapons, _now,_ " the one with the gun said to Bobby. He complied immediately but with great chagrin. "Mommy wants to see ya," the Starship said, cracking a grin and winking. "Think you might be in _trouble._ "

They were dragged into the diner, even Jamie, who was unconscious. The diner was full of people who _looked_ normal but couldn't be. They were all silently looking at one singular figure for direction. A woman dressed in a short yellow dress and white apron. And then Alex faltered. She _recognized_ that woman… as her mother, Mary Winchester.

Dean and Sam sat at the bar and when they saw who was being paraded in, they visibly stifled dismay. "Well, so much for your plan B," the woman said breezily, observing the newcomers with a triumphant, casual smile. _Eve_ , Alex realized. This was Eve. "An old drunk, a stupid young girl, a powerless angel, and the little witch who could. Sounds kinda like the premise for a pretty lame sitcom, doesn't it?"

The Starship who had dragged Jamie in tossed her down like a sack of flour and Dean sat up a little straighter, indignant at the treatment. "Hey! What'd you do to her?" he demanded.

"I'm not stupid, Dean," Eve said, smiling coyly. "I'm not bringing a powerful witch in here unless she's unplugged. Angel boy over here's useless. Her… not so much." Eve approached Castiel, who was being held tightly by a Starship. "Wondering why so flaccid? I'm _older_ than you, Castiel. I know what makes angels tick. Long as I'm around, consider yourself switched to the _off_ position."

Eve's eyes darted over to Alex. " _Now_. Alex, sweetie. Help me talk some _sense_ into your brothers."

Alex was understandably confounded. She standing in the same room with the mother she'd never really known, and it was upsetting. Dubious, Alex spoke to her brothers while staring at Eve. "…Why's she look like Mom?"

"Because she's a _bitch_ that's why," Dean growled at Eve.

Eve sighed softly and rolled her eyes with a slow, measured air. She turned to Sam and Dean and strolled down the length of the bar to speak with them. "Look, boys. I'm tired of my children being slaughtered," she said, leaning casually against the counter as if she owned the place. "I tried being nice and waiting it out but you know what? Mommy can only stand by and watch her babies get ripped to shreds for so long." She fixed Sam and Dean with a knowing smile. "Work for me, boys. It's a good deal. Bonus, I won't kill your little entourage."

"All right, look," Dean started in growing ire. "The last few months we've been working for an evil dick. We're not about to sign up for an evil bitch. We don't _work_ with demons. We don't _work_ with monsters. And if that means you gotta kill us, then kill us!"

"So dramatic, Dean," Eve said, not bothered by Dean's tone. In fact, she seemed amused. "I'm _surprised_ at you. Maybe I believe you'd let me kill you and the other two guys but… the girls too?" She was playing with Dean, teasing him, seeing how much she could goad him. "Is chivalry really dead?" She walked around the bar and looked down at Jamie's still form. "I could start with this one. Wouldn't feel a thing…"

Dean's glare intensified even as Eve touched Alex on the shoulder then brushed a hand down the hair at the side of her face in a motherly gesture. She smiled at her, studying her thoroughly. " _Or_ I could kill this one, see how loud I can make her scream…" at the bristling reactions that the brothers and Cas gave, Eve grinned. "Ooh. So, fan favorite right here. Good to know." She patted Alex on the face patronizingly. Alex grimaced at the touch. Eve turned from her and sauntered back down the employee-side of the bar, eyes on Dean. "So maybe I don't kill you all. Maybe I turn you. And you do what I want anyway."

Dean was unmovable. "Beat me with a wire hanger, answer's still no."

Eve gave a slightly impatient sigh and put her hands on her hips. "Dean, haven't you heard that mother knows best?" she asked, then got a slightly devious smile on her face. She looked at the other Winchester brother. "Sam, do you think he might listen to me if I'm a little… more…" her appearance began to change. " _This_?" Her blonde hair flew back from her face and began to darken rapidly, her features morphed, and instead of Mary Winchester, Alex Winchester stood there in the yellow dress and white apron. "The teen mom model," Eve explained innocently, using Alex's appearance and voice. She looked at Sam for reaction.

Sam looked ready to kill. Dean was livid. "Okay look lady, you're really startin' to piss me off!"

Suddenly, Eve was right behind Dean. She grabbed him hard by the shoulders where he sat and put her face next to his. Sam jumped up and immediately was restrained and pulled back by Starships. "Feeling's mutual, _Dean,_ " Eve whispered in Alex's voice. Her fingers traced down his neck, pulling his collar down slightly to expose more skin. " _Don_ _'_ _t_ … test me."

Everyone watched with bated breath. And then Dean did the inexplicable. " _Bite me_." She paused. And then Eve did as invited and swooped down and savagely bit him in the neck. Dean shouted in pain, eyes screwing shut as her teeth dug in.

"No!" Sam shouted, pulling with every ounce of strength he had at the grip his captors had him in.

"Dean!" Alex screamed, struggling valiantly.

And then Eve staggered back, coughing and clutching her chest as if in great pain. Everyone faltered, unsure what was happening. Dean had a hand against the bloody bite mark on his neck and he stumbled to his feet to look at her. "Phoenix ash," he explained, managing a triumphant grin through great pain. "One shell, one ounce of whisky. Down the hatch. Little musty on the afterburn."

Eve's face showed absolute distress, and even though it was Eve, Dean obviously had a hard time watching her in Alex's form. A light seared through Eve's chest and her form warbled between Alex, Mary, and then a young brunette girl with large, striking features. She choked, retching as dark liquid ran down her face and gagged up out of her mouth. "Get close to me, get close to me!" Cas said urgently to Alex—then when Eve fell over dead, chaos erupted. The Starships all attacked, screaming and snarling and clawing.

Alex heard Cas shouting and felt him grab her, smashing her face into his chest. " _Shut your eyes!_ " A light brighter than the sun erupted from his hand and the entire diner was engulfed in blazing celestial fury. Every monster fell over dead, and when the light faded, a car alarm was blaring outside. Alex looked around in a daze. Every Starship had burned out, blackened eyes. "Are you all right?" Cas was asking Alex.

She, however, had her sights set on Dean, who had slumped into a barstool and was holding a hand against his neck in great pain. "Dean!" she rushed to him, took hold of him. He looked like he was getting a little delirious. "Dean? Oh _no_ …"

"I think she turned me into a Jefferson Starship," Dean wheezed, eyes half shut against the pain. "Could you clear that up, Cas?" Castiel touched his shoulder and Dean was abruptly fine. A bit disconcerted about the sudden switch from blinding pain to total fineness, Dean blinked a couple times. "Whoa. Uh, thanks." He looked down at where Jamie was in a heap on the floor and went to her, crouching over her and smacking her in the face. "Hey. Hey, wake up!"

She came to, confused and slightly cross-eyed before she shook her head and made a face then sat up with Dean's help. She looked around at the dead bodies. "What… what happened?" she asked slowly.

Dean stood and offered her a hand up. "Tell ya later. We gotta go."

Cas had been staring down at Eve's body with a strange expression. He looked up at Dean's urgent tone. "Where?"

"The kid," Dean said gravely. "The little kid. He's one of 'em."

" _What_? Ryan?" Jamie asked, stunned.

"Yeah," Dean said, dodging everyone's stunned expressions. "Eve's final test or some crap like that."

Cas shook his head darkly. " _Unbelievable_ …"

"Yeah, I know Cas, you told me, all right," Dean sighed, obviously regretting a lot of choices made that day. "Let's just go."

* * *

What they found at the house where Dean and Sam had left the boys was another bloodbath. The uncle was dead on the floor and the boys were nowhere to be seen.

"So we kill the evil bitch and she _still_ wins," Dean said as he stared down at the dead body. He was filled with guilt. "I mean they could've turned half the _town_ by now." Beside him, Cas opened his mouth. Dean held a finger up, cutting him off. " _Don_ _'_ _t_ say it."

"Found 'em," Bobby called. Everyone went over to see that on the basement staircase, the little Starship boys were dead with bloody mouths. It was a sobering, sad sight.

"Oh no," Jamie said quietly. Two words that gave away a very tenderhearted disposition.

Sam bent down and touched a substance he noticed at the floorboard. "Sulfur," he said grimly. " _D_ _emons_ did this."

Standing in the back and unnoticed, Cas took in a short inhale of panicked breath. He had suspected that this would happen and he prepared to pretend to be surprised by what was about to be divulged. His stomach twisted unpleasantly and he glanced at Alex, who was about to be very surprised.

"The hell?" Dean was asking in a slightly higher voice than normal. "Why would _demons_ give a crap about monster tweens?"

"Maybe she was telling the truth," Sam suggested, standing back up and shaking his head tensely.

"The truth about what?" Cas asked convincingly.

Dean hesitated. "She said that Crowley's still kicking."

Alex did a double-take. " _What_?" she demanded, thinking surely she misheard. But her brothers' grim expressions suggested otherwise. "Crowley's alive? _How_?"

"But I burned his bones, how cou—?" Cas stopped mid-sentence, face screwed up in confusion. "Was she certain?"

"Sounded pretty sure," Dean confirmed. "According to her, Crowley's still waterboarding her kids somewhere."

"I… don't understand," Cas said slowly. He appeared extremely vexed and even a little sick. The way Alex felt. How could this be true?

"Well he _is_ a crafty son of a bitch," Dean suggested wearily.

"And I'm an _angel_ _,_ " Cas said in a hard voice. "I'll look into this immediately."

Without warning he disappeared, startling everyone present. Dean was the first to react. "Cas!" No response. "Let us know what you find out!" He shook his head ruefully.

Bobby and Sam exchanged a signifiant, sour look that prompted Dean to frown. "What?" he asked, following them back into the dark living room. " _What_?"

"Just… how did Crowley get away?" Bobby asked. He glanced at Alex reluctantly as she trailed in after Dean. "I mean… it's not like Cas to make mistakes like that."

"Cas makes mistakes," Alex defended immediately, not liking where this was going. She looked around for agreement. " _Everyone_ does. What, we're just gonna take this Eve bitch's word on this? Without any proof?"

"This _is_ proof." Sam was impatient. "Who _else_ would put out a hit on these kids, Alex?"

His tone grated her nerves to a raw nub. "Okay, _if_ Crowley is alive and that's a _big_ if, he _tricked_ Cas somehow," Alex argued, trying not to lose her mind and scream at everyone. She wasn't gonna believe Crowley was alive until she saw him with her own damn eyes.

Bobby hesitated. "Unless…"

"Unless _what_?" Dean asked, seeming just as appalled as his sister was.

"Unless he _didn_ _'_ _t_ ," Bobby said, grudging to even suggest it.

Alex felt shockingly betrayed, punched in the stomach. "Are you _serious_? You're suggesting… what, Cas is… _working with Crowley_? Why the hell would he do that? Are you out of your damn _mind_?" She got a _watch it_ look from Bobby for that comment.

"Bobby, this is _Cas_ we're talking about." Dean looked at Sam. "Do you believe this?" There was no answer. Dean faltered slightly. "Sam?"

Sam sighed and shook his head tiredly, ran a hand through his hair. "Look it's probably nothing, it's just... you know what? You're right. It's—it's probably nothing."

Angry with her twin, Alex didn't let it go. "No. _No_. Cas has done.. _everything_ for us," she insisted. "Everything!" She was impassioned and flustered and shaken up at what was happening. They were crazy to suggest this. Crazy! "He's, he's not like other people! He's _good._ How can you guys even suspect him of this for one _second_?"

She had unwittingly set Sam off. "Cas is _good?_ _"_ he asked, seemingly disgusted by the thought. "Do _you_ even believe what you're saying?"

Fed up with Sam and his passive aggressive weirdness and little snide comments, Alex decided enough was enough and she threw her hands up in adrenaline-packed insolence. "Okay Sam, just what the _fuck_ is your problem?"

"Hey hey hey," Dean held a hand up at the growing hostility between them. "You two calm it down or you're _both_ gonna regret it."

The twins were in a world of their own and didn't even acknowledge Dean. They drew in closer, facing each other down. "Cas isn't _smart,_ " Sam snapped vehemently. "He makes _mistakes._ Repeatedly. And I don't _trust_ him!"

"What are you even _talking_ about?!" Alex shouted, so mad she could spit. "He's saved our lives a million _times_ and come on, everyone makes mistakes—especially _you_!"

That might have been a little low. Sam's face clouded over. "Yeah, let's make this about me and how _screwed up_ I am like we always do!" he spat. "'Cause _you_ _'_ _re_ so _perfect._ "

Dean shoved himself between them physically, and he was _pissed_. "Hey, I said _stop_!" he shouted. The twins glared at each other like angry bulls and Dean stayed right where he was. "Look, first things first," he said in forced patience and calm. "We are gonna find out if Crowley's _alive_ , okay? And _then_ you two can beat each other's heads in with bricks to your hearts' content. But right now, you two _shut your mouths_ , you hear me? Not another damn _word._ " He pushed Alex toward the armchair in the room. "You, sit down." He turned and poked a finger hard into Sam's chest. "And you, outside!"

The twins stared at each other in silent fury for a second longer, then Sam stormed out and Alex plopped down into the chair like she was trying to destroy it. Dean scrubbed a hand across his face and walked off a few steps, muttering. " _Killin_ ' me."

Quiet in the doorframe that led to the hallway, Jamie watched Dean. She'd watched the entire exchange from there. "They always fight like that?" she asked when he was close enough that only they could hear.

Frazzled, Dean ran a hand through his hair. "No. I mean…" he let out a long sigh. "No. Not that _I_ _'_ _ve_ ever seen." He looked at his sister who was silent and stewing in the living room. "Something's going on with them," he muttered. "Both of them."

"What about you?" Jamie looked at Dean carefully. "You okay?"

The question seemed to surprise him then he shrugged, made a face, then scoffed it off. "Doesn't matter." He cleared his throat awkwardly and quickly changed the subject off of himself. "Look, I got a feeling things are gonna be pretty damn _awesome_ on the car ride home." And by awesome, he meant horrible. "You, uh, you might wanna head off separate back to wherever Cas snatched you from this morning." He hated to send her off like that but… oh well. He had no other real alternative. "Sorry." 

"No big deal," Jamie said, shrugging a shoulder up. "He _did_ just strand you guys without a ride, too."

"He likes to do that," Dean complained, then leaned against the other side of the doorframe beside her. He would much rather just hang out with Jamie for awhile longer, especially after having done exactly that for a couple days last month. "Why can't we go on another road trip, huh?" he joked. "Crappy takeout, you cheating at pool…"

Jamie cracked a grin, and Dean noticed once again how she looked really irritatingly beautiful when she did that. "I won fair and square and you know it," she replied playfully.

Dean found himself smiling a little despite everything—her smile was contagious. "Sure you did," he said, then stuck his hand out for a shake, because he didn't really know how else to leave it. "Thanks for everything, James. Not bad to have around in a pinch."

She shook his hand with a good, firm shake. "Anytime, Jacket." 

* * *

Castiel stood over the body of Eve at the diner he had just been at a few moments prior.

 _Now_ what would he do? The idea had been to take her alive. He'd handled this poorly and had been too distracted by Alex and his own personal woes to focus on capturing Eve for Crowley. And truthfully, his heart wasn't in this endeavor. He was so tired of the fighting that his stamina was dying down and his resolve was frayed. He just wanted it to be over and he was slipping, losing focus.

The outright lying was not sustainable or desirable to him at _all._ It had to end.

"Really, Cas?" came a smooth, dark voice. "This is getting ridiculous. How many times am I gonna have to clean up your messes?" Crowley sauntered over and looked down at Eve's dead body with distaste. "I can take the corpse but I wanted the real thing."

"How unfortunate for you," Cas muttered, sick with himself. If Alex could see him now… if _any_ of the Winchesters could…

Crowley lifted a single eyebrow challengingly. "I don't appreciate your _tone_ , wingsy."

"This is better than nothing else," Castiel said stiffly. "Do not call me again unless you have something of significance to discuss." With that, he ported himself away. He was too distraught to speak with the King of Hell any further. He was too distraught for _anything._ He ignored the battlefields and his responsibilities and instead went to a corner of Heaven, to a placid winter garden.

It was here that he would make his final and desperate plea to his father for help; it was here that he would try to justify his own actions to himself one last time. 

Little did he know that he was well on his way to destroying everything he had ever fought for and loved.


	78. Heavy is the Head that Wears the Crown

" _She had loved him for such a long time, she thought.  
How was it that she did now know him at all?_ _"  
_ \- Cassandra Clare

* * *

Castiel was hidden inside of a winter Heaven. Away from the war, away from the Winchesters, away from everything. He had escaped it all, for however short a period of time.

The only thing he could not escape? Himself.

He sat on a bench in solitude beside a mirror pond. Spring flowers grew inexplicably through a soft blanket of snow and the pretty little blooms dotting the frozen landscape made him think of _her_. Innocent and small beauty found in an unexpected place. Slowly, the angel drew a photo out of his pocket—he had kept this picture for what seemed forever now. This was her. His reason. His purpose. His love. His _everything_.

Love and misery welled up inside of him at the sight of her. His thumb traced across her image in hesitant affection. Could he just go find her now and whisk her away somewhere? Run and escape the hell he'd created for himself and the world in general? He was at the point where he couldn't face what he'd done or the coming consequences. As such, he wanted to elude the inevitable completely.

_How did this happen to me? To us?_

He already knew the answer.

 _It was me._ I _did this._

Castiel thought of how he'd taken her memories—it weighed on him without ceasing. He wished he could take that wretched knee-jerk reaction back. It was close to unforgivable—and he knew it.

He had promised never to do that again. He had promised _many_ things.

_Heaven help me. What am I becoming?_

_Lying. Stealing memories. Going behind her back and working with the King of Hell. Letting her think I_ _'_ _m someone else altogether. Promising her my undying devotion, pledging to always be at her side_ _…_ _I_ _'_ _m nothing but a miserable fraud._

He had heard a saying before: 'The truth shall set you free.' But in this case, the truth would condemn him and seal his fate. It would turn the ones he cared about against him. He wanted to believe his actions were justified—because if the things he had done _didn_ _'_ _t_ give him victory and _didn_ _'_ _t_ prove to be necessary, he would die of shame and guilt.

_Please. Let all this be worth it._

_Please. Don_ _'_ _t let me lose everything. Don_ _'_ _t let me lose her._

He thought that he could lose everything else, but if he lost _her_ he wouldn't be able to live.

There was no going back to the way he had been before; he couldn't even conceive of existing without her waiting for him, loving him, needing him, _wanting_ him. The thought of it all ending made him panic and reel from a sick feeling. She had become his home and his heart, his treasure among all creation.

_How could I have done this to her?_

He was no longer in control or confident of himself. He was ensnared in the web of lies he'd created, he was trapped there beyond rescue. Burying his head in a hand, Cas let out a shuddering breath as anxiety tore him apart. The worst part of all this? Alex still looked to him and _trusted_ him… but he saw how that trust was no longer automatic and intrinsic. She had to _make_ herself trust him now. She knew without knowing that something was happening to him. Slowly, the distance between them was widening. The secrets were eating away at what had once been so strong and pure between them. Could they ever go back to what they had been before?

_I only wanted to keep this darkness from her. I only wanted to save her and protect her. But at every turn my efforts do nothing but throw me deeper into the fire. She is further and further out of my reach._

His current emotional distress was so great that it was creating pain in his body all over, but especially in his chest. He wanted to look up to the sky and curse his absent father; he wanted to blame someone or something for what had happened. But he couldn't, because he wasn't that nearsighted or foolish.

 _I did this._ Me _. I created this mess._

_How do I rewind this hourglass? How can I fix what I_ _'_ _ve all but ruined? It_ _'_ _s all holding together with worn out threads. How much longer can everything keep from crumbling apart?_

He thought of what had brought him here to this point in his life, this place of life-or-death consequences and impossible responsibility and dark secrets. He thought of it all and he _anguished_. He thought he finally understood why angels were forbidden emotions and free will. It was too much. It had led him to a place he didn't know how to get out of.

Cas lifted his head and stared into far distance unseeingly. He thought back to simpler times. When he had been clueless to what was coming for him. When he had been content to be a small footnote in the larger story…

* * *

_Every story has a marked beginning. Mine begins thousands of years ago at the dawn of time itself. I was created, not born; created to be a warrior and messenger of God. My task was to watch over God's children, to carry out the purposes of my father; a father I never knew but always believed in. I was obedient, I was faithful, I never questioned my role or my father. Not until them. A little broken family of three seemingly small and insignificant human beings: two brothers and their sister. This is where my story changes. For the better or worse, I'm not entirely sure. However, I suspect it's for the worse._

_The Winchesters taught me about free will and choice, two things that were once foreign concepts to a being like me, an angel of the Lord. I was drawn to this idea of being free to make my own choices, of choosing my own fate_ _—_ _but now I realize freedom is a great and terrible burden. If I knew then what I know now, perhaps I would choose a different path. Perhaps I would take it all back. I don't know._

_If you told me a few years ago that I would be in the dilemma I am in now, I doubt I would have believed you. At that time, I couldn't have fathomed that I would be capable of the things I so clearly feel today: remorse, agony, confusion,_ _pa_ _i_ _n_ _… love. It's difficult to reconcile who I was with who I've become. I'm not sure that I like who I am, honestly._

_The centuries I lived through, the wars I saw waged, the rise and fall of kingdoms I've observed... none of it prepared me for being put into the body of a human man, for being thrust into the midst of emotions and feelings and the responsibility of being completely in charge of my own actions. Even after watching humans century after century, I had no idea how to be anything like one. Not at first._

_I've tried to make the right choices. I've tried to protect these fleeting and fragile human beings who have become so important to me_ _—_ _especially her, always her_ _—_ _but perhaps I've failed.  
_

_And of all the people I've failed, I've failed her the most._

_I think of all that_ _'_ _s brought me here. Every decision, every moment, every twist and turn of fate. I truly hesitate to use that word: Fate. I used to be a slave to it. Now I fight against it with every ounce of life I possess. I have to, because I refuse to accept the way things are_ _'_ _supposed_ _'_ _to turn out. Alex with no Heaven, the love between us damning her mortal soul for all eternity, the apocalypse restarting, Lucifer and Michael returning to battle each other and take half of the world with them in the fallout_ _…_ _none of this can happen._

_I know that I am fighting for the right things._

_But I don_ _'_ _t know if I am fighting the right_ way _. How can it be right if I am keeping it a secret?_

_I don_ _'_ _t know anything anymore. The things that I was once certain of no longer feel certain to me at all. The convictions I held are tired and weak, as am I. Where did I go wrong? What decision was the turning point? What was the mistake that set off the chain reaction? I can_ _'_ _t pinpoint it. Perhaps my entire existence was some mistake._

_Am I the flaw?_

_You know, I've been here for a very long time. And I remember many things. I remember being at a shoreline, watching a little grey fish heave itself up on the beach and an older brother saying,_ _'_ _don't step on that fish, Castiel. Big plans for that fish._ _'_ _I remember the Tower of Babel_ _…_ _a_ _ll_ _thirty-seven feet of it. I remember Cain and Abel_ _…_ _David and Goliath_ _…_ _Sampson and Delilah_ _…_ _Sodom and Gomorrah. I saw everything. But every part of history is nothing to me compared to the day I first saw her._

_I saw her and I knew that she was different. I saw her and I was changed without knowing how or why. I saw her and I belonged to her then and there. Who could have predicted what would unfold between us? Who could have known the heights and depths I would travel to protect and safeguard her? And who could have said how far I would fall in my quest to do the right thing?_

_I try not to regret this but_ _…_ _how can I be completely glad about what_ _'_ _s happened? I_ _'_ _ve been given great beauty but at such an ugly cost. I_ _'_ _ve been crowned with love_ _…_ _and yet that crown is tarnished by what I_ _'_ _ve willfully done. I am an angel who has drifted into the shadowlands. I don_ _'_ _t want to pull her down with me; I don_ _'_ _t want to wrong her in any way. And I think I have. No. I_ know _I have._

_She and I_ _…_ _we ripped up the ending and the rules and destiny_ _…_ _leaving nothing but freedom and choice._

_But what if I've made the wrong choice?_

_Everything happening right now is whispering to me and consuming my mind. I think I made a mistake. But it_ _'_ _s too late to go back. Am I doing the right thing? Am I on the right path? I_ _'_ _m afraid of what I_ _'_ _m becoming. I_ _'_ _m afraid of losing everything I hold dear. I_ _'_ _m afraid of what she_ _'_ _ll say when she finds out the things I_ _'_ _ve done, the choices I_ _'_ _ve made, the mistakes I set into motion. And yet there is no going back from it. I wish I had never done this at all. I fear I_ _'_ _ve destroyed everything._

_The thing that means the most to me in all of existence is a human of twenty-nine years with eyes like a sun-dappled garden. Her skin, her laughter, her love_ _…_ _her fragile and beautiful heart are what I fight for and count as most precious. I used to hope she would understand the unsavory things I_ _'_ _ve been forced to do. Now_ _…_ _I don_ _'_ _t think she will. I_ _'_ _ve gone too far and done too much and sinned against her in unforgivable ways._

_It_ _'_ _s so very strange. I know this is wrong, but I deny it even to myself. I fight to believe this is right, that_ I _am right. I_ _'_ _m left to feel as though I_ _'_ _m clinging onto a sinking ship. Even though I have a hold of something, as the waters rise_ _…_ _still I will drown._

* * *

Castiel straightened up a little from the slouch he was sitting in. He looked at the photo of her that was still in his hand. It trembled slightly and he tried to stiffen himself, be strong and steady. He put the photo back into his pocket and his finger brushed against a small, round metal shape. He faltered as his heart clenched… and then he drew out the silver ring Alex had given to him.

_Wherever you go, I will go. Whatever you face, I will face._

_For the better or for the worse in all circumstances, I take you as my own. For richer or for poorer. In sickness, and in health. From this day forward and for the rest of my days, I choose you._

Sadness welled up into his eyes and stung them, made him blink as his face contorted.

_Do you promise to love, honor, cherish and protect her, putting her above all others in your life?_

_Yes_. That was what he was trying to _do_. Protect her. Protect the entire _world_. But he had reached the end of the proverbial rope and he had hardly anything left to give. He crushed the ring in a fist and looked upward, utter despair welling out of him. He couldn't do this alone. He wasn't _made_ for this. He was going to destroy _everything_.

If he hadn't already.

"You have to _tell me_ ," he pleaded out loud, needing the father he had never known, needing _someone_. His voice broke from emotion. "You have to _give me_ … a _sign_." He heaved a few unsteady breaths as his eyes searched the silent heavens. "Because if you don't... I'm gonna—I'm gonna do whatever I... whatever I must."

No answer came. No help or rescue. He was alone in this. Swallowing the feeling of despair down as far as he could, Castiel stood up, clenching his ring as if his life depended on it. There was no one to depend on. It was _he_ who had to see this through to the end. It was he who had to save the entire world.

The story had not been written—the last pages had been torn up and thrown away, leaving Castiel to write the ending himself. But his hand was shaking, and the pages meant to bear the story were scattered all across the floor.

* * *

**Three Days Later**

_Tick tick, tick tick, tick tick._ The signal sounded as Dean made a left-hand turn. He glanced over at his passenger seat companion. Alex was slouching and sort of nestled with crossed arms into the corner of the seat and door. She stared ahead into the windshield with a distracted, deeply thoughtful frown on her face. In the dark, passing traffic lights made odd and brightly colored shadows arc across her face in an unpredictable rhythm. She was fiddling constantly with that 'lucky penny' necklace she always wore, rubbing it between two fingers as she stared into nothing.

The silence was killer and took Dean back to the time when it had just been the two of them, when she'd been mute and he'd been able to read her silences like a book, when he'd been able to know how she was feeling without hearing a word from her. This silence was worried. Tense. Upset.

"You hungry?" Dean asked after a couple more sideways glances at her. Her eyes slid toward him fractionally and she gave a half-hearted shrug, seeming completely apathetic to the question. Dean tried again after she made no real response. "I could go for a burger."

There was a low, quiet sigh. She hunkered down even more then gave him a disgruntled little side-eye. "You could _always_ go for a burger." Her complaint made him smile, however bittersweet.

"That's 'cause they're awesome," he replied, but his heart wasn't in the comment. He was pretty emotionally disturbed, too, just like her. Ever since finding out Crowley was alive a few days ago, the world might as well have been turned upside down.

Sam and Bobby were currently interrogating a demon at the Singer residence to try and get answers on if Crowley really _were_ alive or not. Alex and Dean had gone back to Crowley's prison where he'd set up shop months ago. There they'd looked at the place where Crowley supposedly died, hunting for clues or signs of foul play or trickery. They found nothing conclusive either way. It had basically been a waste of time. But… at least it had separated the twins. After that blowup back in Merritt, Sam had clamped his mouth shut and done his whole quiet anger routine while Alex had gone to giving Sam the evil eye and the silent treatment. It was ridiculous… they were pains in the ass to be around even when they were fighting _without_ words. It drove Dean _nuts_. The current situation reminded him of their later teenage years when Sam would get prim and act like he was above his own family and then Alex would get passive aggressive and do things to purposefully piss her twin off.

It was that same old story all over again, but this time Sam was just being _weird_. There was no telling what had set him off this time. Probably something dumb. Hopefully the two days apart from each other would do the trick. It better, or Dean was gonna shoot himself in the head. He couldn't deal with their petty crap on top of everything else. Whatever. He'd cross that bridge when he got to it. He cleared his throat and glanced at his sister again. Food was on his mind and he decided he'd see if she cared which burger chain they ended up going to—he knew she had to be hungry, she hadn't eaten since breakfast. "So do you care where?"

She opened her mouth to answer. But she never replied.

"Hello Alex. Dean."

They both jumped at the unexpected voice. Behind them in the center of the back seat Cas sat there quietly with a serious, squinty expression on his face.

" _Geez_ ," Dean exclaimed, then slapped a hand down on the wheel to channel his startled reaction. He glanced into the rear view with an irked expression as Alex gaped at Cas in surprise.

He looked at her first then glanced at Dean. His expression seemed measured and careful. "How are you both?" he asked.

Dean and Alex exchanged a brief, terse glance. They had already talked about this. If Cas showed up, they were gonna keep him out of the loop. Just for a little while. Alex of course had _hated_ that idea and Dean didn't blame her. But… safe side. As such, Dean put on a tight little smile and tried not to look suspicious. He really hadn't expected to see Cas, so he was a little thrown off. Either way, he managed not to look too jarred. "Yeah, I'm... we're fine," he said, answering for both of them. "We're good." He looked at Cas thoroughly in the rear view mirror. "How are _you_?"

That question made Cas's expression waver. "I'm…" the angel trailed off and shook his head once, letting his eyes squint again into an unreadable expression. "I just wanted to check in."

Alex had turned halfway in her seat and looked at Cas a bit longer with her eyes flickering around his face in tense curiosity. "How'd you know where we were?" she asked cautiously. Dean frowned a little. How _did_ Cas know right where they were?

Cas's face showed slight surprise, like he hadn't expected that to be asked of him. "Oh. Uh, ever since the soul touch I can… I can sense your location. I'm… not sure why." He glanced at Dean meekly, already knowing the older brother's reaction would be negative.

Alex's eyebrows raised slightly and she seemed unsure of how to take the news. She glanced at Dean too before returning her attention to Cas. "You… never told me that."

The angel was a little chagrined as he nodded his agreement with her statement. "It… slipped my mind."

"You can _sense_ her," Dean repeated, interrupting the intense gaze between Alex and Cas. He made a slight face, trying to get a read on how his sister felt about that little factoid. He couldn't tell. He knew how _he_ felt though. "That's… uh… _creepy_." He made a soft little air-laugh then thought better of commenting on that any further. He cleared his throat and decided to bite the bullet. Real casual, he asked about Crowley. "So, any word on, uh, Satan Junior being alive?"

Cas shook his head and his voice both deepened and sharpened. "I'm... looking, believe me," he said, glancing out of the window briefly in what appeared to be grim thought. "I just don't understand how Crowley could've tricked me."

"The same way he tricked _me,_ " Alex replied immediately, passionately. "He's good at that." Cas met her gaze with hesitant eyes.

"Yeah," Dean agreed somberly, eyes on the road ahead. "Can't trust that dick as far as you can throw him. I tell you what, if he _is_ up and kicking, then what _does_ matter is finding him, ripping his head off, and shoving it up his ass."

Bleak, Cas nodded once, eyes downcast. "I agree." He looked at Alex and Dean again, his hooded gaze alternating between them. "What about you? Have you found anything?"

Alex looked at Dean and a faint instance of her anger showed. _You lie to him,_ _'_ _cause I_ _'_ _m not gonna_ , her gaze seemed to suggest. So, Dean did. "Nah, nothing yet. And uh, you know, we got other stuff on our plate anyway." Cas's eyes crimped slightly. "You know," Dean explained, a little uncomfortable with lying to his friend's face. "Saving people. Hunting things. The family business. Or whatever." He switched hands on the wheel, giving the effect of nonchalance. "We'll figure out the Crowley crap later. Eve was probably lying, anyway."

"Yes," Cas agreed glumly. "Hopefully she was lying." He frowned a bit deeper then, glancing around the car. "Where's Sam?"

"Keeping busy," Dean replied, another lie rolling off his tongue automatically. "Tracking a Djinn in Omaha as we speak. Me 'n Al are heading out there right now to meet up with him." Total BS, of course.

Cas frowned slightly, curious. "He's on a hunt alone?"

"Nah," Dean replied, making himself sound slightly disinterested for effect. "Bobby's with him." That, at least, was true.

"Oh." Cas heaved a regretful breath and glanced out the window again, seeming cagey. "Well… I'd come if I could," he said, then fixed Alex with his most soulfully anxious look. His voice lowered, indicating that what he said next was especially meant for her. "Please be careful, will you?"

She smiled a little, obviously very enamored despite her emotional turmoil. "Yeah."

Overly touchy-feely earnest, Cas address Alex again. "I'm sorry I can't be with you."

Sensing that the angel was about to vamoose, Dean turned a little, looking at Cas in the eye briefly in between driving. "And Cas, you'll call, right?" he asked. He was worried about Cas, like really worried. The guy was in over his head and clearly stressed to hell and back. "If you get into any _real_ trouble?"

Cas nodded at Dean, then looked at Alex again, then reached up and laid his hand onto hers where it rested on the back of the seat. His gentle touch and hesitant, imploring gaze made Dean roll his eyes and look away. "Until we meet again," Cas told Alex quietly. And then he was gone.

Uncomfortable, Dean scoffed. "What century is this?" he asked sarcastically. "' _Until we meet again_ '?"

As she turned around to sit right in her seat again, Alex gave him a look that said her next words for her. "Shut up."

They were quiet for a minute then Dean decided he had to say what he thought. "You know… hate to say it, but he _is_ acting sorta guilty."

Immediately, Alex was denying it. "No he's not," she said, seeming indignant and a little overly defensive all at once.

"You seriously think that's normal behavior?" Dean challenged. "He's being weird as _fuck_."

Alex couldn't find an immediate response. "Look. He's under a lot of pressure. He's…" she wet her lips, appearing to grasp at straws. "He's been stressed out for a _really_ long time. That's all it is." Did she really believe that? He couldn't quite tell. But she was definitely worried about Cas too.

Dean shrugged his head to the side briefly and let out a soft breath. "Hope so," he said under his breath. She probably knew Cas the best out of anyone else, so he did have to take that into consideration. Time would tell what the hell was going on either way. Thinking back over the conversation again, Dean kept going back to one thing. "So he can _sense_ you." He wasn't sure if he should be backing away slowly or laughing. He settled on chuckling sort of uneasily. "That's just… all _kinds_ of Twilight creepy."

His comment caught her off guard. Alex made a face and attempted to scoff away a smile as she looked at him weirdly. "Did you actually _watch_ those movies, Dean?" she asked. "You sure know a lot about the plot for a guy who claims to hate that franchise…"

"Uh… Lisa made me do it," Dean said, not sure why he bothered with trying to excuse away the truth. His sister knew better than most that he _loved_ trashy melodrama and sappy soap opera romance and bad daytime TV. Grinning through his self-consciousness and the realization that he was extremely laughable as a human being, Dean threw a glance at his sister, then his face fell slowly. She was staring hard into the dashboard and messing with her penny necklace thing again. "…What?" Dean asked intently, recognizing her distress and foul, stewing mood.

She shook her head and set her jaw. "I don't like lying to Cas," she said lowly. "Sam and Bobby are _way off_ about this." She tossed a hand out for emphasis to show how irked it got her. "I mean, the _idea_ of Cas working with Crowley is so ridiculous that it makes me _mad_ they even _thought_ of it."

Dean nodded tensely. "I know."

"Really?" she asked, finally looking from the dash to him. "Then why are you going along with the duping-Cas-into-thinking-we're- _not-_ hunting-Crowley-down thing?"

Not in the mood for a fight, Dean gave her a _calm down_ side glance. "Just to be on the safe side, okay? I don't like it either. Trust me. He's the good guy here, I know that." Or he was ninety-eight percent sure, at least.

"If you 'know that' you wouldn't lie to him," Alex retorted.

Dean huffed and tightened his grip on the wheel. The road ahead was dark and he turned on the car's high beams. "Look. We're gonna figure out how Crowley tricked him and then go from there, all right?" Dean waited expectantly for her response. "This is just how it is for now, okay? I told you. I don't like this either. Believe me."

Alex let out a charged breath and rubbed fingertips against her forehead. She was the picture of harrowed. "Okay." She seemed to steel herself and she nodded, a little more forceful when she spoke this time. "Yeah. Fine, okay." A couple beats of silence passed and Alex studied Dean hesitantly. Her expression was becoming shrewd and much calmer as she accepted things for the time being. "Can I ask you something?"

Dean glanced sidelong, curious. "'Course."

She wasn't timid about her question, but she wasn't confident, either. "It's just, I'm kinda surprised _you_ _'_ _re_ the one who's on my side about trusting Cas," Alex said slowly, obviously trying to figure it out as she talked about it. "I mean… you don't even _like_ him half the time."

Dean made a face at her. "Okay, one? That's not a question. Two… I like Cas fine." At the look on his sister's face at _that_ comment, Dean gave a slightly sarcastic huff of air. Talking about this felt as natural and pleasant as pulling teeth out. "Okay, sure, he's… weird and nerdy and uncool as crap, and too old for you by a couple _zillion_ years but… out of everyone else on this godforsaken world... he's stuck by us time after time." All Dean could do was shrug resigned defeat. "In my book, that makes him a decent guy." More than decent, honestly, but Dean didn't like to admit that. He still wasn't completely on-board for Cas and Alex as a couple, but he was on the road to acceptance (or maybe just the road to admitting defeat).

But he meant what he said. After such a long life where almost everyone died bloody or turned out to be a bad guy… Cas was an exception to the rule. One of the small few. And sure, there had been a couple irrational moments when in a heated brother-rage Dean had tried to say all of it was Cas trying to get at Alex… but he knew that wasn't the case. Cas was just… _good_. Somehow the dude had become a fixture in their life without Dean even realizing. Like family, almost. Dean didn't really know how Sam and Bobby could be so readily doubtful. He got that it was hard to trust people in this life but this was _Cas_. And Crowley was a damn tricky son of a gun. Just because Cas got something wrong didn't mean he was automatically the bad guy. Right?

In deep thought at Dean's reply, Alex was staring off and rubbing that damn penny in between her fingers again. Abruptly annoyed by the tic, Dean frowned a little. "Cut that out, would you?" She used to constantly mess with her whistle necklace as well, and the constant fidgeting had driven him crazy then too. Alex quit, seeming a little surprised at herself, like she hadn't known what she was doing. "You ever gonna tell me the story behind that thing?" He'd asked about it a couple times before and she'd always said it was dumb, not to worry about it.

With an odd expression on her face, Alex faltered. "Uh… got it out of a gas station change jar," she said, shrugging and rubbing her neck as she looked off. "Scratched off a lottery card and won a few hundred with it. Lucky penny."

Dean cut a sidelong studious look at his sister. "Uh _huh_." He was slightly skeptical, but also not interested enough to ask more.

Alex suddenly jerked her thumb at the window and looked over her shoulder then looked at Dean questioningly. "…Burgers?"

Dean realized he'd just driven right past a place with a drive-thru. "Oh yeah," he said, a bit sheepish. "Forgot."

That earned him a _you_ _'_ _ve lost your mind_ look from his sister. " _You_ forgot about burgers? Someone alert the media."

Dean shook his head as he grinned in reluctance as he slowed down to turn the car around. "Shuddup."

* * *

Castiel left Dean and Alex and went to the old asylum Crowley had taken up residence in recently. With every step that Cas took into the room where he knew the demon would wait, guilt bore down more heavily on him. The only thing that made it possible for him to do this was the knowledge that what he had started he had to finish. It had taken him three days to work up the courage to face the Winchesters, and now that he had done that, it was time to confront Crowley as well.

The King of Hell glanced up in disinterest at Cas's entrance. He was wearing a bloody white apron as he prodded at Eve's corpse on the table. "Howdy, _partner_."

In no mood for the King of Hell's jokes, Cas was to-the-point and gruff. "What have you found?"

Crowley arched a challenging eyebrow at the angel. "Oh so _now_ you've got time to talk to me?" he asked, then drew back and wiped his bloody hands on his apron as he smiled thinly and picked up a long knife from the table. He examined the knife thoughtfully. " _Well_. She's dead as a tinned kipper and so's her brain. Shame, isn't it?" He looked down at Eve's body and he pulled a wistful face as Cas approached and looked, too. "This lovely little corpse right here was our way to open the door to Purgatory…" Crowley suddenly flew into a fit of rage. "When she was still _alive_!" He stabbed the knife down into her chest for effect as he shouted at Cas. "Single best chance to get over the rainbow, and you let the Winchesters _kill_ her!"

Cas looked at Crowley darkly. "It was unavoidable."

" _You_ screwed up, choirboy!" Crowley retorted immediately. He yanked out the bloody knife and waved it around as he talked, which was disconcerting. "You let the hounds mangle the pheasant, and now I am _up_ to my _elbows_ in it." He lowered his voice and waggled the knife at Castiel, who was becoming angry at the constant down-talking. "You're distracted, you're emotional, you're falling _apart_ and now _we_ _'_ _re_ paying the price."

Castiel met Crowley's animosity blow for blow, letting his face twist up as he spoke slowly and deeply, daring the demon to anger him further. " _I_ am holding up _my end_."

There was an almost sneering pause. "But is that _all_ you're holding?" Cas's eyes narrowed in confusion. "See… the stench of that Impala's all over your overcoat, Angel. I thought we'd agreed—no more nights out with the boys, no more visits to the desperate housewife."

Bristling at the demon's audacity, Castiel was curt. "We agreed on no such thing," he spat. "You don't have reign over the places I choose to go." Defensive over his own actions even though he felt no need to explain himself, he still did. "I spoke with Dean and Alex. I needed to _know_ what they know."

"About what?" Crowley asked, playing the fool. "About _me_ , maybe?" His volume suddenly rocketed to full blast. "'Cause I happen to have it on good authority that your little pets are currently trying to _hunt me down_!"

Cas faltered. He didn't understand. "But they said…"

"Oh, did they?" Crowley asked mockingly, enjoying Cas's confusion. "They _lied_ , sweetcheeks." He was wry and cynical. "Ironic, isn't it? Now, forgive me, but I think you might have a little conflict of interest here."

Realizing he was right, Castiel was alarmed. "They won't find you," he insisted, because he would make sure of it. If the Winchesters found Crowley, he had no doubt that the King of Hell wouldn't hesitate to harm them.

"Oh, really?" Crowley scoffed. "And _you_ _'_ _re_ going to make sure of that?"

Cas tightened his jaw. "Yes."

" _Please,_ " Crowley muttered. "You're too busy making googly eyes at the pretty one to even know what's going on half the time. She's why Eve's dead, I'm willing to bet."

Unwilling to continue discussing Alex with the King of Hell, Cas tried to change the subject. "What do you propose, Crowley?" he asked in a hard, impatient voice.

Crowley's suggested it immediately, with an almost innocent look on his face. "Kill them."

Shocked, Castiel's eyebrows slammed together. " _Kill_ my wife and her family?" he asked, then stepped closer to Crowley so that they were almost nose-to-nose. "Suggest such absurdity again and I'll kill _you._ "

Crowley rolled his eyes and waved a hand as he stepped away. "Oh they don't have to _stay_ dead. Just, six feet under 'til we're set here."

"What did I _just_ say to you?" Castiel asked, and he was serious. He was so mentally frayed that it wouldn't take much to send him into full-on madness. "I have them _handled_. Don't worry about them."

Genuine disgruntlement showed on the demon's face. "Don't _worry_ about—?" he began, taken aback. "What, like Lucifer didn't worry? Or Michael? Or Lilith or Alastair or Azazel or Daniel _didn't worry_?!" Red in the face, spittle flew as Crowley raged. "Am I the _only_ game piece on the board who doesn't underestimate those _denim-wrapped nightmares_?!"

This was dangerous ground. Crowley was right. The Winchester family could pose a huge threat to Crowley if they found him. Which they couldn't. _Wouldn_ _'_ _t._ At all costs, Castiel had to keep them separated now. _Another_ impossible task, another responsibility he couldn't fathom. He had too many things to do as it was. Internally, he wanted to run away. "Just find Purgatory," he snapped at the demon. "I don't care how. And stay _away_ from my family."

Crowley did a double take. "Your _family_?" He began to chuckle, a sound that grated on Castiel's every last nerve. "Oh Angel, you're barking mad." Crowley was triumphant now and swaggered toward the angel slowly. "They never saw you as one of their own, not really. And when they find out all the seedy little things you've done in the dark… believe you me, it's _all_ over." He smirked smugly and purred, his voice a soft and silky midnight. "Might want to treat your faithful partner a little better since I'm the only one who'll be left when the curtain's close."

Cas's eyes narrowed malevolently. "You assume too much," he muttered.

Crowley smiled wanly. "And _you_ _'_ _re_ delusional."

The angel disappeared and Crowley huffed, rolling his eyes. "Yes, lovely to see you too. Until next time. _Blimey_."

* * *

**Sioux Falls, South Dakota**   
**A Couple Hours Later**

When Dean and Alex finally made it back to Bobby's, it was well into the early hours of the morning. Tired from driving and discouraged overall, they entered a darkened house through the backdoor in the kitchen. In the study, a demon was chained up and bleeding and Bobby was standing over him with the demon blade. Sam came into the kitchen to greet Dean, who set down his duffel bag onto the floor.

"Hey," Dean acknowledged.

Sam glanced at their departing sister—she hadn't stopped walking, just threw a brief glance at Sam before she went down the hall and clomped up the steps while shouldering her duffel. Dean knew she was ready to sleep. So was he. Sam looked tired, too. "Hey."

Nodding toward the demon in the study, Dean crossed his arms. He'd sleep when he was dead. "He talking?"

"Keeps saying Crowley's gone," Sam replied with a weary shrug. "Won't say anything else. Pretty damn sure he's lying."

Dean gave his brother a look. "No _duh_. He's a demon." Sam made a face at the needless comment but Dean was already moving on. "So. Guess who popped in on me and Al a couple hours back?"

Sam's eyebrows rose up. Intuitive, he already knew. And he sounded immediately worried. His voice dropped conspiratorially. "What'd you tell him?"

"What's the ruckus?" Bobby asked, approaching from the study.

"No big deal," Dean said. He was irritated, still unable to believe they were treating Cas like the suspect in all this. "He just showed up in the car awhile ago wanting to know how we were doing."

"And you told him what?" Bobby asked intently.

Under the scrutiny of both their gazes, Dean threw his hands up briefly. " _Nothing_ , all right? Told him we were on some crap monster hunt. He doesn't know that we're getting close to Crowley." He really didn't get how these two were so damn suspicious. Was he nuts, or were they? "You know, he's our _friend_ ," Dean reminded them unhappily, "and we are _lying_ to him through our teeth."

"Dean—" Sam started.

"So he burned the wrong bones!" Dean said, cutting off whatever his brother had been about to say. "So Crowley _tricked_ him."

"He's an _angel_ _,_ " Bobby protested, like that simple fact made Cas guilty.

"He is the Balki Bartokomous of Heaven!" Dean retorted vehemently, trying to keep his voice down so Alex wouldn't get wind of the argument and get upset again. "He can _make_ a mistake—he's not omniscient! Never has been!"

Bobby was firm. "Look, nobody's saying nothing yet."

Slightly indignant, Dean fixed him with a challenging look. " _Aren_ _'_ _t_ you?" He looked at Sam, then Bobby, and his anger made his face made him insolent. "You think that Cas is in with Crowley." His face twisted. " _Crowley,_ guys?"

"Look, I'm just saying I don't _know_ ," Bobby said. Dean felt like he was being slapped in the face. "Now, look, I hate myself for even thinking it," Bobby continued. "But I _don't_ know. All signs point to a place I know we don't wanna look, but we gotta."

Sam finally spoke up. "Look, Dean, he's our friend, too, okay?" There it was again… that brief, derisive expression flickering across his face that he attempted to stifle. "Yeah, I got a couple bones to pick with him and I can't say he's on my best side right now but…" Sam shook his head, staring hard into the space near Dean's shoulder for a minute. He had a grimacing little expression on his face. "I don't _want_ this to be true, okay?" He looked at Dean in the eye. "I'm praying we're wrong here."

"But if we _ain_ _'_ _t_ …" Bobby said, "If there's a snowball of a snowball's chance here… that means we're dealing with a Superman who's gone dark side, a Superman who has his sights set on some pretty precious cargo."

Dean withered. He meant Alex, and Sam immediately knew what Bobby meant too. Sam's expression darkened and tightened and Dean felt sick, like all his worst fears might possibly be realized if Bobby were right. "Which means we've got to be cautious," the older hunter continued furtively, leaning in toward the boys, "we got to be _smart_ , and maybe stock up on some Kryptonite."

" _Kryptonite_?" The men turned, startled at her voice. Alex stood behind them with a hurt expression on her face. "Are you serious? _"_ She was looking at all of them like she'd been betrayed. Caught, the men said nothing, just stood there underneath her disbelieving stare. "This is _crazy!_ How can you even _think_ this about him?" she asked. "For one goddamn _second_? This is _Cas!_ Why would he _ever_ partner up with Crowley?" She got no answer, just silent reluctance. "He _wouldn_ _'_ _t,_ " she insisted tremulously. "We don't even know if Crowley's still _alive or not_ yet!"

"Well we're gonna find out," Sam said, and he wasn't very sympathetic. "And all signs point to yes."

Stumped, Alex looked at her twin pleadingly. "…Do you _want_ him to be the bad guy?"

"No." Sam's jaw tightened and he looked down. "Of course not."

Alex looked like she was thinking _yeah right_ to the hundredth power.

"Look, one problem at a time here," Bobby said, addressing all of them. "We got to find Crowley now, before the damn fool cracks open Purgatory." Gently, he took Alex by the side of the shoulder. "The big bads are all still being hunted and disappearin'… and it's not _us_ doin' the hunting. It's these demon hunters we've been hearin' about. Hate to say it, kiddo, but I think Crowley's still kickin'."

Alex's jaw tightened and she had the look of apprehensive confusion about her. She tried to appear solid and sure despite her obvious misgivings. "Maybe he is," she said stiffly. "But that _doesn_ _'_ _t_ mean Cas is involved." She pulled away from Bobby and retreated into the kitchen. "I won't believe that crap until he says it to me his damn self."

Invisible to everyone, hiding like the coward he knew he was, Castiel watched as Sam and Bobby returned to torturing the demon. Dean stood in the middle—halfway between them and Alex, who was biting a thumbnail and leaning her back against the kitchen counter, staring into nothing tensely.

Cas was guilty beyond belief as Dean visibly tried with every he had to remain loyal. The worst part was how Alex defended him at every turn and resisted believing that Cas could be involved.

A few moments later when the demon Bobby was torturing told them about Ellsworth… the demon in charge of all of Crowley's demon hunters… Castiel was forced to go there to cover his tracks and protect the Winchesters from finding evidence of Crowley's survival. Even as he smote those demons and then destroyed all the evidence that would lead them to Crowley, Castiel despaired at himself.

* * *

**The Next Day**

Alex poked around in the desk at the head of the house. Dean was looking at the living room in faint curiosity, opening drawers and looking behind furniture. Alex opened yet another desk drawer which only had a few pens and a stapler in it. She shut the drawer and looked over the phones lining the desk. None of them even had _fingerprints_ on them. This was weird.

"Anything?" her brother asked, glancing over from where he was looking under couch cushions lackadaisically.

Alex shrugged and shook her head. "Nothing. At _all_. Looks like someone cleaned house and bugged out."

"Crowley maybe," Dean supposed out loud, walking over to her with his shotgun in hand. "Or Red got a tip in somehow."

"But demons don't run and hide," Alex said, coming out from behind the desk. "They're all cocky bastards looking for a fight."

Dean made a face. "Don't I know it."

The demon they had been interrogating last night cracked and gave them this address and said this was the 'dispatcher's' headquarters. Apparently, if Crowley _were_ alive, this Ellsworth guy would have known. Trouble was… this house was pretty much empty and void of anything. A dead end.

From behind them and to the side, Sam approached out of a bedroom door. "Hey." He had his sawed-off casually propped over his shoulder and his face said he was feeling kind of clueless. "Place is clean."

Bobby shuffled in from the kitchen, eyeing the place suspiciously. "Yeah, but it's like 'Mr. _Clean_ ' clean, you know?" he asked, wrinkling his nose. "It's kind of OCD for your average demon." He nodded at the desk. "Find anything there?"

Sarcastic to the end, Alex smiled wanly. "Well if you guys need new _pens_ we're all set."

" _Mm_." Bobby seemed over the entire thing. "Great."

"So what now?" Sam asked, casting around for ideas.

"We'd call Cas," Dean said quietly. The mood immediately shifted. Sam's eyebrows rose and Bobby's eyes narrowed. Dean stood his ground, obviously sad that he had to. "This is _usually_ the point where we would call Cas for help."

Bobby wouldn't budge. "We talked about this," he said, his tone slightly pointed.

"Yeah, Dean," Sam agreed, seeming mildly fed up with his brother.

"No, _you_ talked. We listened." Dean glanced at Alex then laid it all on the line, but he was so tired that he couldn't summon angry fire. Instead, he sounded grieved. "This is _Cas_ , guys. I mean, when there was _no one_ … and we were stuck—and I mean _really_ stuck—he broke ranks. He has gone to the mat cut and bleeding for us so many freakin' times." His voice took on a certain note of beseeching that really got Sam and Bobby's attention. "He gave Alex her friggin' voice out of the goodness of his own little winged heart, he went against all of Heaven just to give us a _chance_ at Lucifer. This is _Cas_! Don't we owe him the benefit of the doubt at _least_?"

Bobby and Sam were silent and Dean was taken aback in disbelief that they _still_ would doubt. Alex was too. "What am I missing here?" she asked, heartbroken. "Cas wouldn't _ever_ do anything to betray us. He thinks of us as his _family._ Guys, he's _died_ for us—more than once. Am I really the only one who remembers that?"

Sam's mouth was in a thin line. "Look, you're too close to the situation to have an unbiased opinion on it, okay?"

"He's a _person_ , not a situation!" Alex burst out. "And you know what, it's _because_ I'm close to him that I know we can trust him!" She wet her lips and used her hands, frustration making her get louder. "Why would he _ever_ work with a demon? Why?! Ask yourselves that, really _ask_ yourselves that. Think about _all_ he's done for us and ask _why_ he would work _for_ or _with_ Crowley—" her voice broke like a teenage boy's briefly as she threw her hands up. "He _wouldn_ _'_ _t_!"

Sam and Bobby exchanged a brief, hooded look. Reluctant but also appearing vaguely convicted, Sam decided to give it a shot. "All right," he said, letting out a long, heavy puff of air. "Benefit of the doubt." He shrugged his mouth up then squeezed his eyes shut. "Castiel… this is really important, okay? Um… we really need to talk to you." He let an eye pop open and he looked around, then opened his other eye. No one had appeared.

A little louder than Sam had been, Dean tried too. "Castiel… come on in."

When no one appeared, the men looked at Alex. Put on the spot, she tried not to let her sudden jump in anxiety show. She gave it a shot too but more timidly because she was afraid he wouldn't answer her either. "Cas? You there?"

Silence. Nothing. No one.

They all looked around, but Cas didn't come. At the disturbing lack of answer, Dean visibly appeared a little shaken. "…Must be busy."

"That's all right. We are, too." Sam clapped Dean on the shoulder a couple times in a reassuring _it_ _'_ _ll get better_ gesture. "Come on." He headed for the front door.

"Back to square one," Bobby said tiredly as Dean walked off a few steps.

"Great," Dean said, turning around and throwing his arms out wide. "What's _that_ mean?"

"Well, we caught one hunter demon before," Bobby muttered. "We can do it again."

Sam turned around at the door, then suddenly went ramrod straight. " _Dean_!" His shouted warning was one second too late. Blindsided, Dean was tackled to the floor even as Alex was grabbed from behind and thrown sideways into the wall. The glass doors to the kitchen shattered as Bobby was pitched into them like a soccer ball. A table broke as Sam was body-slammed down into the center of it back-first, and Alex found a demon crouched over her as she laid on the floor groaning from a shock of sudden pain. "Don't worry, princess," the demon sneered, holding onto her by a fistful of her jacket. "You get to stay alive but can't say the same for your—"

He never finished his sentence. He was torn off of her like a ragdoll and slammed to the adjacent ground. Wood splintered as the floor cracked underneath the brutal force and speed of the attack. Castiel clapped his hand down onto the shocked demon's forehead and the adversary screamed as white-hot light burned him to death from the inside out in the span of two seconds.

Stunned and pushing herself up on her elbows, Alex watched Castiel unleash destruction onto the demons who had ambushed them—first the angel pulled one off Dean and killed that demon with a touch, tossing him aside dead even as he ported with a blast of wind across the room to save Bobby—three seconds later he was yanking the demon off of Sam and shoving him against a wall. When he let go, the demon fell over dead and Cas turned around, a little riled up emotionally by the looks of it. After the briefest pause he strode right past a dumbfounded Dean and a slowly-rising Sam.

Cas came to Alex and dropped to her side, taking hold of her with hands that had just brutally ended demons, and he was gentle. He carefully helped her stand stand while looking her over for injuries anxiously. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah," she said, so relieved to see him. She brushed her hand against the side of his face, convinced yet again of his goodness. "I am now." She leaned forward and went onto tiptoes, hugging his neck briefly and tightly. Her rock, her anchor, the absolute love of her life… Castiel was everything to her and thinking that made her hold him even tighter and closer. He hugged her back hesitantly, then fully, and for a second, everything was completely okay for her right there in his arms. When Alex she opened her eyes and looked over Cas's shoulder, she saw how Dean spat out a mouthful of blood. But he was chuckling.

"Better late than never, huh?" He walked over as Cas and Alex pulled out of the embrace. "Really good to see you, Cas."

Cas looked them over—Bobby was stumbling in from the kitchen, shaken up but otherwise fine. "Are all of you all right?" the angel asked somberly, his face scrunched into that familiar concerned frown.

"Yeah," Sam panted, a hand on his lower back as he slowly made his way to where everyone else was gathering. "I'd say so. Perfect timing, Cas."

Dean bared his teeth at Alex questioningly, pointing at his mouth. Knowing the drill Alex grabbed his chin and peered at his teeth, then let go and shook her head no. He still had all of his them. He closed his mouth and made a _hmm_ sound, tonguing his teeth in his mouth like he didn't completely believe her. Alex looked at Sam, who'd gotten thrown onto his back hard. He was still grimacing from pain.

"You sure you're okay?" Alex asked, temporarily forgetting everything the still-unexplained brother-sister spat they had both been in for the past few days.

"Yeah," Sam said, stifling a clearly pained look. Alex touched his upper arm and gave him a little hesitant expression that was almost a smile, but more of a silent _can we just be friends again please?_ Whenever he got hurt she lost the ability to care about whatever drama was between them at the moment. Sam seemed to share the sentiment—he pulled her to his side with one arm in a brief hug that was long overdue. She hugged his middle briefly and he kissed the top of her head then let go after squeezing her shoulder.

"I'm—I'm glad I found you when I did," Cas said. He looked almost contrite as he looked over the shaken hunters.

"Yeah," Bobby said, chuckling a little. "So're we."

Cas glanced at him guardedly before looking at Dean. "I come with news."

"Yeah?" Dean asked, getting interested. "What?"

Cas was somber and dead serious. "I… firmly believe Crowley is alive."

Dean's face relaxed into a little grin. "Yeah. You think, Kojak?" He looked back at Bobby, who was adjusting his cap. "Well, Bobby, what do we think about Cas saving our asses… _again_?"

A sheepish little smile was on the older hunter's grizzled face. "I think we owe you an apology."

Cas looked puzzled and he looked between the men questioningly. "…Why?"

"We've… been hunting Crowley and keeping it from you," Sam said. He sounded sincerely apologetic and genuine, even a little embarrassed.

Cas's frown deepened and Bobby explained. "We thought… you were working with him."

 _Well, not_ all _of us_ —but Alex didn't think shouting ' _hey, Dean and I believed in you and these suckers didn_ _'_ _t!_ ' would be very polite. She'd tell him later. It would still be kind of awful for him to think that she had doubted him too, though. Cas frowned even more, seeming surprised and mildly betrayed. "You thought _what_?" Oddly, he didn't look at Alex—he looked at everyone else.

"I know," Dean said, chuckling faintly. "It's crazy, right?"

Bobby tried to explain. "It's just that you torched the wrong bones and… ah. It doesn't matter. We were wrong."

Cas hesitated then walked forward a little to be closer to everyone, sighing softly. "You know… you could've just asked me." He still didn't look at Alex, who was currently standing between her brothers.

"We should have," Dean said, speaking mostly for Bobby and Sam but maybe speaking for himself, too. "We never should've doubted you. It's... I just hope you can forgive us."

Castiel appeared to be surprised at the request for forgiveness, then he thought deeply for a moment, looking down. A soft little smile pulled at his lips and he nodded as he looked at everyone in turn. "It's forgotten."

Dean was immensely relieved. "Thanks."

"Yeah," Sam echoed, appearing to have realized the error of his ways completely. "Thanks, Cas."

"It _is_ a little absurd, though," Cas said, smiling ruefully.

"I know, I know," Bobby mumbled, sighing softly.

And then Cas said something he shouldn't have known at all. He said it in an odd voice, as if he were imitating someone. "' _Superman, going to the dark side_.'" He smiled a little bigger, seeming genuinely relieved. "I'm still just Castiel."

… _What?_

Alarm bells began to blare in Alex's mind. Staring at him with a falling face and a horrifying sense of dismay, she tried to find a reason why Cas would know that. Bobby had said that about him last night in private. The only way Cas would know that was if… if he'd been _watching them_ without their knowledge.

At Cas's verbal slip, Dean's smile held, but it wasn't real anymore. "I guess we can put away the Kryptonite, right?" he asked carefully.

There was a nod and the smile remained. "Exactly." Sam and Bobby's expressions had frozen, too. They had all realized at the same time what Alex and Dean had. Cas finally looked at Alex, and that soft, sad smile reaching his eyes. Underneath his gaze, she struggled not to show how shocked she was. "I'm very glad you defended and believed in me, Alex."

 _Oh my god._ They hadn't told him _that_ either. For all he knew, she had doubted him along with everyone else. And internally as everything fell apart, she struggled to smile and nod. "Yeah," she managed even as she realized that this was very bad. On either side of her, she could feel how her brothers had gone stiff and inched just fractionally closer. _Don_ _'_ _t let him know that we know._ "Yeah, of course I did, Cas," she said, forcing a smile. "You know me." The smile felt more like a grimace and she wanted to be sick. What did this _mean_? It felt like her world was disintegrating, like everything she'd ever believed in and loved wasn't real.

Cas's frown was back and he looked at her in concern, obviously seeing something was the matter with her. "Alex, what is it?"

 _Shit_. "Um… my—my stomach hurts," she quickly lied, then forced a nervous little laugh that sounded more like a snivel. "Too much coffee earlier." She backed up a little, trying to find an excuse, trying to get away from him because she was _so freaked out_. "I just, I just need to sit down."

She went to the couch that was a few steps off and sank down onto it in a daze. Her blood pressure had dropped leaving her feeling woozy and almost in mild physical shock. Sam went with her and sat near her protectively, watchful of Cas, and she recognized that look on her brother's face. It was the one he wore when he thought shit was about to go down. Dean remained standing, and he was between Cas and Alex now, but Cas didn't realize that was what was happening.

"Can you get her some medicine?" Cas asked, peering at Alex in supreme concern. "Do you think the demon attack gave her a concussion? I can examine her and see if—"

"Nah, Cas, she's _fine_ ," Dean said, stopping Cas in his tracks lightly with an arm. Cas was surprised at being halted and Dean tried to explain it away as he forced a chuckle. "We'll, uh, we'll get her some medicine. But she probably just needs some air. Some space. It's just an upset stomach." He didn't move, and he kept his arm out, blocking Cas's way.

"Of course," Cas said. He relented uncertainly from his mission to go to Alex and stood there with a confused frown on his face.

"Don't worry, Cas, we got her," Sam said, and a believable smile was on his face. He patted his sister on the shoulder.

Cas seemed a little suspicious about what was actually going on but perhaps in his own mission to avoid being discovered as a liar, he didn't push the issue. "All right. Well, if… if you don't need me any further, I have some business to attend to." He paused questioningly and fixed Alex with a sympathetic gaze. "I'll try and come later." With that, he disappeared.

The house was left in a shocked silence.

"Oh my god," Alex whispered, looking at Sam first then Dean. _Please, someone tell me what the hell that meant!_

Bobby spoke up first, and he didn't sound too happy. "You three thinkin' what I am?"

"He's been _watching_ us," Sam said, his voice dark and hard and even a little scared.

Alex shook her head slowly, in a fog of confusion. "W-why would he do that?"

"I think you know why," Bobby replied somberly, shaking his head in what appeared to be dismay. "I think we _all_ do."

"But—no," Alex protested. " _No_ , there's another explanation. There's _got_ to be another explanation!"

Bobby shook his head and looked at her like he was sorry to break the news but he had no choice in the matter. "Al, honey… I don't think there _is_."

But… _no._ There _had_ to be! Why the hell would Cas ever work with Crowley? Why would he try and keep them from finding the demon? Why would he _spy_ on them? Her mind spun out of control and she barely noticed when Sam stood up from where he'd been sitting beside her. "We still got some holy oil in the trunk?"

Dumbfounded, Dean was slow to reply to his brother. "Wh— _yeah_ …"

Seeing where this was going, Alex suddenly stood up too with wide eyes. "Guys—!" she protested.

"Alex, we are _not_ risking our asses on this," Sam said, and he was urgent, decisive, assertive. "We interrogate him where he can't run away or hurt us. We're gonna get some damn answers."

"Hurt us—?" Alex asked, zoning in on that comment and balking completely. "He would never…!"

"We don't know _what_ Cas would and wouldn't do," Sam replied vehemently. "He might be watching us right _now_!"

That sent another horrible silence over the little group of four hunters. "I can't believe this," Dean mumbled blankly, shaking his head slowly and looking around the house with a hollow expression as he rubbed the back of his head. Finally, he seemed to decide he was going to go along with his brother's suggestion. "But just how the hell are we gonna get him into the circle?"

Sam looked at their sister and his jaw tightened. " _Her_."

* * *

Even as the Winchesters conspired to trap an unwitting and unaware Cas, the angel stormed into Crowley's compound like a tornado. The doors to the main room slammed open from the force of his anger as he strode forward.

"You sent _demons_ after them?"

Moving to meet Cas halfway across the room, Crowley was frosty and aloof. "You killed my hunters; why can't I kill _yours_?"

"You _know_ why," Cas growled, grabbing Crowley by the front of his shirt as he reached him. Without any grand fanfare the angel flung the demon sideways by twenty feet into a wall. The old tiles broke and cracked, sending white plaster powder flying through the air. "I told you—you weren't to touch _any_ of them!"

Coughing and wheezing as he ungracefully stood, Crowley staggered a step or two as he tried to find his center of gravity. "Bollocks," he muttered as he dusted himself off indignantly, giving Cas the evil eye as he recovered. "I'm not a frisbee, can you stop tossing me about like one?" At Cas's snarling expression, Crowley rolled his eyes. "Relax, would you? I was only going to have the _boys_ killed, I know better by now about your _precious_ little female Winchester."

Cas was right in Crowley's face again and he was yanking the demon to himself by a fistful of shirt. "You did what I explicitly told you _not_ to do," he growled. "Why shouldn't I kill you here and now?"

Crowley didn't flinch. "Because without me, _no Purgatory_ ," he replied smoothly, calling Cas's bluff. "And without Purgatory… _well_. You lose." He raised his eyebrows and smiled ever so wickedly as his voice went soft and almost sing-song. "You know I'm right…"

He _did_ know the demon was right and it infuriated him. Putting all his balefulness into his voice, Cas clenched the demon tighter. "They are _off_ limits, Crowley." He let go with a hard shove.

Crowley pressed his mouth into a resentful line and pointedly straightened his clothing. "I'll thank you kindly to stop putting wrinkles in my Sunday best," he snarked, fixing Cas with narrowed eyes. He was playful but he was also threatening. "That temper of yours is going to land you in _worlds_ of problems, buddy boy."

Cas's glare intensified dangerously. "Keep your opinions to yourself."

"Make me," Crowley retorted breezily, challenging Cas. Barely able to restrain his anger, Cas clenched his jaw all the tighter as Crowley's dark eyes examined him thoughtfully. "You know, I think even _you_ still believe it," he purred tauntingly. "The big lie—the one even poor little wifey's barely able to believe anymore. That the angel she's banging is the _good_ Cas, the _righteous_ Cas. As long as she and those flanneled brothers of hers still believe it, _you_ get to believe it too, eh?" He was smiling again, making Castiel see red. "Well, I got news for you, kitten. A whore is a whore is a whore—"

Castiel shoved him into yet another wall, hard, but this time Cas kept hold of the demon and stayed almost nose-to-nose with him. "Allow me to be direct," he growled venomously down on the demon. "If you touch a _hair_ on their heads, I will tear it _all_ down. Our arrangement— _everything_. I'm still an angel, and I _will_ bury you." Castiel was angry on every level imaginable and he meant every word. "Speak lowly of my wife again and I will smite you into the next century." He let go with a vicious shove and disappeared before his anger made him lose control.

* * *

Night had fallen, leaving Ellsworth's house without any light to speak of except the faint glow of the risen, silver moon. The circle of oil had been laid out inconspicuously in the center of the mostly barren living room. Sam had agreed to try and lure Cas across the house after Alex refused to be the one who baited him. Dean had taken her aside and asked if she needed to leave—said that if she couldn't be there for this, he would get that completely. But she stayed. She had to be here for this, even though she was positive it was going to be one of the worst (if not _the_ worst) days of her life. She clung to the slowly dying hope that it wouldn't be.

As the final preparations were made (mostly Dean taking a few shots to calm his nerves), Alex paced a slow back-and-forth near the front door of the house. Anxiety-riddled to her bones, she was trying to believe just a little longer that this was all some huge misunderstanding. She wanted to have hope that there was an explanation for this. But… everything Cas had said to her over the past few months was suddenly making horrifying sense…

_This war is tearing me apart, Alex. I want it to be over._

_Many in Heaven question my methods. Including myself._

_I truly hate the circumstances I find myself in._

_It_ _'_ _s the war. It_ _'_ _s being away from you. It_ _'_ _s the things I have to do to gain victory._

_Certain regrettable things are required of me. Things you wouldn_ _'_ _t like. Things I can barely tolerate of myself._

_There is nothing in all of creation I wouldn_ _'_ _t do for you._

_I feel sometimes as though I don_ _'_ _t know who I am anymore._

_I_ _'_ _m not the hero you believe me to be, Alex._

_I don_ _'_ _t deserve your comfort!_

_I_ _'_ _m not doing well right now. The things I_ _'_ _ve done, the mistakes I_ _'_ _ve made_ _…_

_I question my every choice._

_No one can help me._

_If I should perish, please know this. Everything I did was me trying to protect you best._

His words rang in her mind over and over and struck her as what they were: Him confessing without confessing that he had done things he was ashamed of. But she was in severe denial… Cas, her gentle and sweet and often-childlike lover would never intentionally keep such a huge secret from her. He wouldn't lie to her face like that and lead her on, he wouldn't violate her trust like that… she couldn't fathom it. But… if he _had_ lied to her without damn good reason… it changed everything. That was what terrified her. If he had lied, that said he didn't see her as a partner like she saw him. It said he was okay with taking advantage of her trust and love for his own selfish reasons. It said that everything she believed in wasn't true at all.

Scared to death that her entire world was about to be destroyed, Alex clung to wretched hope. She thought of all the things Cas had done for her that proved he loved her with everything he had. He was trustworthy… he had done so much for her and proved himself a hundred times. She wanted to believe in him, she wanted to believe _so bad._ But there was a sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach: Doubt. And so much of it.

_I_ _'_ _ll rip down the laws of nature if I have to. To keep you safe, to protect you._

He'd said that to her over two years ago in the attic. She thought of him holding her close with nothing between them but breath. She thought of the unspeakably tender way his fingers would trace against her face, she thought of the way his love-filled eyes would speak into hers, she thought of how her fingers fit into the spaces between his. Castiel was the angel who had given everything and more for her. She _knew_ him. How _could he_ be capable of what everyone else was accusing him of?

"Well… we ready?" Dean asked everyone. He sounded pretty reluctant to get the show going. Alex came out of her thoughts and realized she was biting her thumbnail ragged again.

"Let's just get this over with," Bobby said. He was as downtrodden as the rest of them. He took his place near Dean, sitting down onto the old coffee table. He had a glass of whiskey in one hand but the other hand was in his pocket, already holding onto his matchbook.

Sam glanced at his sister. He was in place at the far end of the house closest to Alex with a random book. He put his hand on her shoulder briefly, honing in on her sickened nervousness. "Hey. It's gonna be okay," he said to her, squeezing for effect and then patting a couple times before letting go.

 _No. It wasn_ _'_ _t going to be okay._ She already felt it in her bones. But she nodded stiffly.

Sam nodded at Dean that he was ready and everyone seemed to take in the same deep, apprehensive breath at the same time. "Showtime," Dean muttered, then cleared his throat. He bowed his head where he sat in a creaky old leather armchair. "Castiel, uh… we need you for a little powwow… so… come on down."

Immediately, there was a soft whisper of angel's wings. "Hello." Castiel stood near the desk, opposite of where Sam and Alex were.

Surprised that he'd appeared right away, none of them was able to find a comment except Bobby. "Oh, Johnny on the spot," he commented in put-on lightness.

"You're all still here," Cas said, frowning curiously.

"Yeah, we had to bury the bodies," Sam said.

In a performance even Alex found believable, Dean smiled and raised a shot in Cas's direction. "And we found a little whiskey. Thanks for coming."

"Of course," Cas replied, then looked to Alex. His frown softened. "Are you feeling better?"

His eyes made her stomach churn with nerves. "Fine," she said quietly, wishing he wouldn't look at her at all, wishing they weren't about to lure and trap him like he was the villain. Cas was so much more intuitive than he used to be—he picked up on her tone of voice, her single-word answer, her downcast eyes, her body language. His eyebrows moved together slightly as he tried to figure out what was wrong with her.

Focused on the awful task at hand, Sam indicated the book he was holding and pretended to be studying it offhandedly. "So, Cas," he said, shifting his weight nervously. "We, um—we have a new plan. We think we've finally figured out a way to track down Crowley."

Cas tilted his head slightly to the side in stern curiosity. "What is it?"

When Cas didn't move toward them as planned, Sam glanced at Dean and then Alex. _Come on_ , Sam's glance seemed to say to his sister. She felt Dean's eyes on her, too. Miserable with herself for what she was about to do, Alex sucked it up and abruptly hugged her arms around her stomach and doubled over as she made a sound like she was in severe pain. "Oh…! Ugh!"

Immediately Cas's face fell. He was already asking her name and moving across the house toward her and right into the trap they'd set even before she'd finished letting out the sound of distress.

Bobby stood up fast, striking the match he'd had waiting and dropping it on the floor as soon as Cas had crossed into the circle. The fire leapt up in a perfect sphere around the angel, sealing him in. Stopping dead in his tracks, Castiel looked at the fire in complete shock. Straightening and dropping her act, Alex looked at him with every ounce of grief she felt. His face was washed soft orange in the light and bore utter betrayed disbelief when he looked at her. "What are you doing?" he asked softly, looking at each of them in turn. For the briefest moment it looked like he wondered if the holy fire was some kind of accident—his confused, hurt expression indicated that he had no idea what had just happened and Alex felt like her heart had cracked in two. _How can this ever be undone?_ Cas looked at Alex again, further confused at how she was no longer doubled over. His face asked a silent question, straining mentally to understand. And then when he realized that she had willfully feigned illness to get him across the room and into the fire, it looked like he began to get it. For a moment, he looked like he was panicking internally. And then his voice hardened as he looked at Dean sharply. "What is the meaning of this?"

Dean stood up slowly and approached the circle of flames by a couple feet. "We gotta talk," he said calmly, quietly, and firmly.

"About _what_?" Cas asked, abruptly indignant, deeply upset, defensive. "Let me _go_!"

Dean's face was like a stone. "About Superman. And _Kryptonite_."

Cas blinked twice, seeming to realize his mistake. His anger faltered in place of something far worse. Guilt.

"How'd you know what I said?" Bobby asked quietly.

"How long you been watching us?" Sam questioned darkly, standing close to his sister and not bothering to hide the fact that he didn't trust Cas at all anymore.

"And _why_?" Alex asked softly, begging him with her eyes to tell her there was a _good reason_ for it. Cas said nothing, just swallowed, appearing at a complete loss for words.

"You know who spies on people, Cas?" Dean demanded gruffly. " _Spies_."

The angel held a hand out, bristling. "Okay, just _wait_. I—I don't even know what you _mean_." He was insistent and flustered, the picture of guilt.

"Don't play dumb," Sam said lowly.

Cas looked at him and opened his mouth to say something but nothing came out as he visibly struggled to come up with a response.

"How'd you know I defended you to them?" Alex asked. Her voice was soft, weak, wavering.

Faltering, Cas tried to sound confident. But he wouldn't hold her gaze. "I—I knew that you would, that's all."

"What about this demon crap hole?" Sam pressed mercilessly. "How is it so _next to godliness_ clean in here?"

"And how exactly did Crowley trick you with the wrong bones?" Bobby added on harshly.

Overwhelmed and harrowed, Cas was backed into a proverbial corner. "That is… hard to understand," he said, continuing to be vague and dodge away from straight answers. "It's hard to _explain_." He was the picture of someone who'd been caught, and they all knew it. "Just let me go, let me _out_ and I can—"

"You got to look at me, man," Dean said quietly, cutting Cas off. Cas did as Dean said and looked at him with hard, mistrustful eyes. "You got to level with me and tell me what's going on," Dean continued beseechingly. "Look me in the eye and _tell me_ you're not _working with Crowley_."

And the truth was said when Castiel said nothing at all. His expression wavered, fell, and he looked away in total guilt, confirming everything with his silence.

Looking like he'd been punched in the gut, Dean blinked several times as his voice went whisper-soft. "Son of a bitch."

" _What_?" Alex asked in a shell-shocked whisper. Her eyes pleaded with Cas. No. _No. Say something, Cas. Explain how this is a misunderstanding. You_ can't _be working with Crowley!_

"Just—just let me explain," Cas said, and that handful of words was a kick to Alex's stomach. _No_ _—_ _please, god, no._ Cas's voice shook, his demeanor was no longer angry. He was now afraid and anxious and trying to explain it all away.

"You're _in it_ with him?" Dean demanded, quickly becoming angry. "You and Crowley have been going after Purgatory _together_? You have, huh? _Why_?!"

"I did it to protect you, I did it to protect _all_ of you!" Cas insisted passionately, whirling in a half-circle to look at all of them in turn.

"Protect us _how_?" Sam asked in righteous anger. "By opening a hole into _monsterland_!?"

Cas fumbled, unable to answer. "He's right, Cas," Bobby said grimly. "One drop got through and it was Eve and you wanna break down the entire dam?"

"To get the souls," Cas insisted imperatively, regaining some fire and conviction. "I can _stop_ Raphael—" he turned quickly to look at Alex pleadingly. "You _know_ I have to stop him!" His gaze darted around to all of them in near-mania. " _Please,_ you have to trust me."

" _Trust_ you?!" Sam repeated, shocked at the idea. "How in the hell are we supposed to _trust_ you now?"

Cas stood there for a couple silent seconds, seeming to realize just how much he had screwed up. In a desperate and misplaced plea, he looked to the one he loved, the one who knew him best, the one who knew the most about the war in Heaven and the stakes at hand. "Alex?" he asked softly, despairingly. "Please. Surely you… surely you still trust me." Maybe even he knew that was an insane thing to hope for.

 _No._ In one day, in the span of a few moments, her entire world and view of him had been shattered. "How the hell could I?" she asked faintly, unable to believe what was happening. Tears were in her eyes and she felt like she'd been the world's biggest fool. "Do I even really _know_ you?"

Her question rendered him completely stricken and he looked like he had lost all the air in his lungs. "…How can you ask me that?" he asked quietly in a stunned voice filled with audible emotional pain. When she said nothing, just shook her head no, he started to get alarmed. "You _know_ me," he insisted forcibly.

She didn't think she did. "How long?" Alex asked him in a stiff voice. "How long have you been working with Crowley?"

Ashamed, Cas looked down and finally told her the truth. "Since… since I started the war."

Another gut-wrenching blow, one that stomped her heart impossibly further into the ground. "You've been working with the King of Hell this _whole time_?" she breathed in horror, too shocked to know how to process what that meant. "You've been lying to my face this _whole time_?" Her voice was catching on a painful lump in her throat and she couldn't handle this being true. And then a terrible thought occurred. Frozen, hoping he would tell her she was wrong, Alex's voice was a bare whisper. "...You didn't give me the soul claim did you?"

Dean and Sam looked at each other in confusion about what that question even meant.

Cas's timid eyes flickered away from Alex's, and that was answer enough. But he said it out loud too. "No," he confessed miserably. "I didn't. But Alex, I—"

"What the hell, Cas! I _trusted_ you!" she exploded at full raging volume, grieved and furious on a level she didn't know existed. Her words visibly affected Cas, whose mouth was open to say something. Words didn't come out. Alex was still going. "And all this time you've been _tricking_ me?! _Lying_ about _everything_?!"

Cas looked like he could cry, too, but kept trying to excuse himself in a thick, broken voice. "I… I didn't want to, but my hand was forced, please, you have to believe—"

High on the most painful and heartrending anger she'd ever known, Alex was barking back a retort before he had even finished speaking. " _Who_? Who held a gun to your head and made you _lie_ to me?" She was shaking from adrenaline. And then abruptly she wanted to mourn like someone had died. Because someone _had_. The Alex who so fully trusted and believed in Cas was gone, just like that. Ruined, she felt tears streaming down her cheeks and she looked at the one she had loved heart, soul, body, mind. Everything she had dreamed and hoped was a lie. A trick. He had taken the trust she gave him and abused it and it _broke_ her fucking _heart._ "I thought… I thought I could trust you," she accused tearfully. She had lost _everything_ in the span of moments and her heart ached from despair. "How _could_ you?" She hated him for doing this to her, hated herself for falling for it, hated how she still loved him right now at this damn moment.

Cas was devastated and bereft. He appeared to be realizing the full extent of his actions as she broke in front of him. "I… I don't know," he said softly. In his eyes, glimmering tears caught the light from the fire that entrapped him.

Alex felt close to a panic attack because she couldn't _breathe._ This was a mistake. This was all some horrible mistake. _How could I have been so blind? Why didn_ _'_ _t I see? I should have known! No one in this godforsaken life is trustworthy, no one!_ Crushed, Alex shook her head and backed up a couple steps, needing some support before she fell over. Sam was there, and he didn't need to be asked. He helped her stand, supporting her as they both looked at Cas with heartbroken, baleful eyes.

" _Please_ , I can explain—" Cas begged again. He was a broken record. His voice cracked and the tears in his eyes made it almost impossible for Alex to function.

But no explanation in the world would make it okay. "You're not who I thought you were," she said in a voice that was barely above a whisper. She wished to god he hadn't let her down like this—it hurt so bad she could barely breathe.

Her words did something to the angel. He began to visibly panic as he saw what was happening: He was losing her, right then and there. "Please—don't say that," Cas begged, and he came closer to the edge of the circle of fire, trying to be closer to her. Sam's hands tightened on Alex, like he thought Cas might get her somehow. "Alex, you _know_ me," Cas insisted brokenly, his heightened emotions making him seem frantic. "I've made mistakes, but I'm still _me_ _!_ "

"No," Alex managed, unable to even look at him anymore. "I don't know _who_ you are."

Confounded and panicked and horrified, Castiel tried to appeal to her and in impulsivity and impassioned desperation, he temporarily forgot that they were not alone. "I am the one who loves you! Who would do anything for you!" he all but shouted, desperate for her to listen to him, desperate to remind her of who he really was. "I am your _husband_!"

Alex's vision went tunnel and her stomach plummeted to her feet. _Oh god._ Her eyes darted to his in shock and dismay as her lungs forgot how to breathe and her limbs froze in horror. Cas's face fell as he realized his mistake. And the room was as silent as a tomb.

"… _What_?" Dean asked dangerously, like he thought he'd misheard. Bobby looked like he thought he hadn't heard right, Sam's face was twisted in total confusion. When no one said anything, Dean started to get upset, fast. "What's he talking about?" he demanded, looking at his sister even as he jabbed a finger at Cas. When Alex said nothing, Dean's color lessened. "What the _hell_ 's he talking about?!"

Alex just looked at her oldest brother and the stricken, guilty, resigned look on her face made Dean's expression go slack in absolute shock. For a second, all Dean did was look at her, then Cas, then her again, like he couldn't even fathom what he had just been told.

"…Is… is this some kind of joke?" Sam asked in a shell-shocked, confused voice. His grip on Alex had loosened from stunned disbelief. Alex's worst nightmare was unfolding and she wanted nothing more than to just run away. This couldn't be happening.

"Dean… Sam…" Cas appealed, trying to take the brunt of the brothers' reactions onto himself. They both stared at him with shocked eyes. "I… I didn't mean—I didn't want you to find out this way." The angel shut his eyes briefly and breathed out.

Dean's expression was utterly cold and then suddenly angry. "Are you kidd—no. _No_!" He abruptly strode over and grabbed Alex by the jacket near her shoulder blade, trying to get a straight answer. "You _married_ him?!"

Even though he was dazed, Sam reacted pretty fast. "Take it easy," he said, pushing Dean's hand away and giving his brother a forceful glare. _Don_ _'_ _t do that,_ his eyes warned. Crying because this was the worst timing in the entire world and she was humiliated and heartbroken, Alex hid her face in a hand as her shoulders shook. Stunned and taken aback, Dean stared at her. "When?" he asked.

"Dean, please—" Cas appealed from within the circle, obviously hating that Alex was upset and he was far away.

Dean ignored him. " _When,_ Alexandra?!" he demanded, using her full name to startling effect.

Feeling like she had just been caught in the biggest mistake of all time, Alex faltered. "A… a couple days before Stull—" she admitted tearfully, not able to keep looking him in the eye. She was quickly approaching hysterics inside of herself. "I wanted to tell you, I wanted to tell you all, I'm sorry!"

Dean did the math in his head and looked more and more staggered by the second. Betrayed, hurt, and incredulous, he realized how long that meant. "You have been _married_ for almost two _years_ and never fucking _told me_?" he asked in a gut-punched voice, horrified and enraged at the same time. And then his face went cold and suspicious as his eyes narrowed into slits. "Did you _know?_ About this Crowley crap?!"

Alex _did_ look at him then. Her tears abated out of knee-jerk shock. "Are you kidding m— _no_!"

"Well I'm finding it kinda hard to believe you right now!" Dean thundered, then turned around explosively and knocked a lamp off the table there hard enough to hurl it into the nearby wall.

"I didn't _know_!" Alex insisted through tears, getting more and more upset.

Sam held her close, trying to calm her down even though his face was a mask of unreadable, tense emotion. " _Hey,_ " he soothed even as he stared with hard eyes at the angel.

"Dean, she's innocent of this," Cas said desperately, trying to appeal to the angry man who looked pissed enough to kill. "She _did_ _—_ she found out what I was doing—but I took her memories of it."

 _My god._ "You _what_?" Alex breathed out. Each new confession was another knife in her back and she couldn't take any more.

"To protect you Alex, to protect us _all_!" Cas insisted, but it appeared like even he didn't believe his own words anymore.

"How the hell is that _protecting_ her?" Sam asked, incensed. His hold on Alex loosened again as his ire grew. "Messing with her _mind_ like that? That's covering your own ass!"

"Y-you promised," Alex choked out. "You _promised_ you'd never do that again." He had promised her a lot of things. And now she doubted every single one. "Have you _ever_ said anything true to me?"

His eyebrows pressed in together in an expression of agony. "Of _course_ I have," Cas said, devastated. "How can you _ask_ me that?"

Done, empty, totally and completely destroyed, Alex just shook her head. She had nothing left to say at all. Never before had she felt so hollowed out, so betrayed.

"Well. Anything _else_ you wanna share with the class while we're at it, Cas?" Bobby asked quietly. He had a pinched, disturbed expression on his face.

"I'm… I'm on _your side,_ " Cas appealed, looking at all of them again in rising alarm. "All of you!" When no one said anything, he looked at Sam and tried to plead his case. "Sam… I am the one who raised you from Perdition!"

Another shocked silence hit the room and the only sound was of the whispering flames locking Cas inside the circle of fire. "What?" Sam asked in disbelief, finding his voice after his jaw dropped. And then he made a disrespectful face. "Well, no offense… but you did a pretty piss-poor job of it." He suddenly thought of something and more shock showed. " _Wait_. Did you bring me back soulless… on _purpose_?"

The question appeared to break Cas's heart. "How could you _think_ that?"

"Well I'm thinking a lot of things right now, Cas!" Sam retorted heatedly. "Do you have any idea how many people _died_ because of you bringing me back wrong? I almost killed _her_ for fuck's sake!"

Dean, who had been pacing back and forth like a caged tiger, suddenly lost it. "You son of a bitch… I am going to _kill_ you!" He rushed at Cas nonsensically, no weapon even in his hand, just murder in his eyes.

Sam intercepted him and got rammed hard by his brother but managed to hold Dean back just barely. " _Calm down_!" he shouted, even though he wasn't too calm himself.

"Don't tell me to calm down!" Dean roared, yanking himself from Sam's grip and glowering first at him and then at the angel. "Sneakin' around with Crowley?" he demanded sharply, letting his glare burn into Cas. "Doing god _knows_ what behind our backs?! Making deals with the _devil_?" He was so angry he was shaking. "You were supposed to be one of the _good guys_ you bastard!"

"I _am_ one of the good guys— _l_ _isten_ to me!" Cas shouted, nearly matching Dean's volume. "Raphael will kill us all, he'll turn the world into a graveyard, he'll restart the _apocalypse_ —I have to defeat him or all is lost! I _had no choice_ in this!"

"No, you _had_ a choice!" Dean barked, stabbing a finger at the floor. "There is _always_ a choice, goddammit!"

Cas looked at Alex, his last hope for mercy and forgiveness. "Please, I can explain it," he begged, voice cracking with emotion. "All of it. I can make you understand, please, you have to give me a _chance_."

Her eyes raised to his slowly from where they had been down on the floor.

Dean was irate. "She doesn't have to give you a _damn_ thing!"

Cas's eyes begged her, but she said nothing. And then she slowly looked away. How could she give him a chance? She didn't think she had it in her, and that fact alone made her want to die.

"I'm so sorry," Cas managed in a choked voice, and he was speaking to her. "I thought… I thought I was doing the right thing." And then he abruptly lifted his head as if he'd heard something. His expression changed. Something was wrong. "It's too late now," he said, voice quickening. "I can't turn back now. I _can_ _'_ _t._ "

Then the Winchesters heard it, too. A whistling on the wind, a whispering sensation that they could feel tingling up their skin. Crowley was coming.

Bobby began to move, obviously thinking _oh shit_. Even though Dean looked mad enough to kill, true to his character, he hadn't given up on his friend completely. He backed up two steps. "Dammit, Cas, we can fix this!" he shouted as the wind began to rattle the house.

Sam was pulling a molasses-footed Alex with him, trying to usher her toward the door. "Dean, it's _not broken!_ " Cas replied in a near-shout. The wind was picking up and Cas looked at them all with rising fearfulness—they were all hesitating to leave. He had been their friend for such a long time. Outside the windows, a pillar of black smoke snaked. Catching sight of it, Cas's face showed utter fear. His eyes locked on Alex's. " _Run_ _._ " They all backed away slowly, and Cas's voice raised to a deafening shout. "You have to run _now_. _Run_!"

And so they ran.


	79. Long Road to Ruin

" _Love is when you risk your heart on the person in front of you_ _…  
_ _often, you lose the bet._ _"  
_ \- Unknown

* * *

***** CONTENT TRIGGER WARNING: Miscarriage *****

* * *

The car ride back to Bobby's? Utterly wordless. No one said _anything._ In the back of the Impala Alex struggled against herself, stifling uneven breaths that made her body convulse in a sporadic pattern. Sitting beside her, Bobby patted her knee a couple times but she remained unresponsive to the attempts at comfort. She stared out the window and avoided meeting anyone's gaze, accidental or not. Her body shook as she tried again and again to stifle the all-consuming heartbreak that was rampaging through her.

The tension in the vehicle was thick and miserable. Every passing moment only poured more and more emotional agony onto Alex's bleeding, wounded heart. All she could think of was the angel in the trench coat. _Is he okay right now? Why did we just leave him there like that? What if Crowley hurts him? How could he_ do _this to me? To us? To my family? He said he loved me. I thought he_ loved _me! It wasn_ _'_ _t supposed to end up like this! Was this all some cosmic joke? Has he lied about other things? Was it all some big trick? It can_ _'_ _t be_ _! ...Right?_

She'd stopped in the doorway of that house as they fled and she'd turned around at the last minute as wind whipped at her hair and clothes violently. Never ever, not in a thousand years would she forget the sight of Castiel trapped in that fire and at Crowley's mercy. His eyes, blue as sadness and gleaming with the hint of tears had silently pleaded for her to not give up on him. She'd forgotten everything and panicked, making to go to him to get him the hell out of that fiery prison… and then she'd been stopped by both brothers. She'd been whisked away and shoved into the car and left in a daze as tires squealed. Cas had remained entrapped and now with every second more and more distance was being put between them. It was strange. Alex never wanted to see him ever again and at the same time she needed him to be there with her right now. She needed him to hold her and tell her this horrible mess was going to be okay. _God._ How could she love him and despise him so much all at once? Never before had her heart ached the way it was aching now.

_How could you do this, Cas?_

She looked out the window again and dashed stinging tears off of her cheek almost angrily. Moments of their love story rushed through her mind and were no longer beautiful and sweet to her—now they were tarnished. Now they made her wonder at his sincerity. She thought of him touching her and looking at her like she was the most spellbindingly beautiful thing in all of creation. Her skin could feel his fingers whispering soft and amazed touches. She could feel him breathing against her and could hear his voice low and tender saying things she had thought at the time were too good to be true. Maybe they _were_ too good to be true. In that present moment, it felt like she had lost everything that had ever mattered in her life. Alex thought of how Cas had been so miserable in recent times and even cried just a few days ago before making furiously hungry love to her in a dark jail cell. She should have known. Somehow, she should have _known._ Her face crumpled pathetically and she smashed her lips together then shut her eyes against another wave of grief. Everything she had treasured so deeply in her heart was ruined completely.

She never would have suspected he was keeping such a devastating secret from her. She had trusted him too much. 'Had' being the operative word. Trust was shattered and gone. A memory. Her chest tightened painfully and she suppressed another round of body-wracking shudders.

Driving with a white-knuckled hand on the wheel, the oldest Winchester was silent on a whole different level. In the rear view mirror, Alex could see Dean's face was terse and mask-like. He had said nothing at all and never glanced back at her even once, but she knew the oncoming explosion was imminent. Sam's demeanor was dark and unreadable as he stewed within himself deeper and deeper. They _knew._ Both of them. _All_ of them, all of it. Alex was mortified and horrified at how it had all come out. It was the very worse time possible. _This wasn_ _'_ _t how I wanted them to find out._ And yet it had happened and now she was left alone to deal with the fallout.

She should have told them long ago.

She should have seen Cas's strange behavior for what it was.

She shouldn't have trusted and believed in him so unconditionally.

It broke her heart to even _think_ that.

But what she thought next was the real gutwrencher:

 _Maybe I never should have married Cas at all._ _Actually_ _…_ _no_ _'_ _maybe_ _'_ _about it. I shouldn_ _'_ _t have. Not if it was going to turn out like this. W_ _hat was I thinking?_

Maybe that impulsive and lovesick decision had been the biggest mistake she'd ever made. Right now, it felt like that. And then she remembered him looking at her with eyes made out of love as they held hands that April day in 2010 and promised the rest of forever to each other—they'd thought only a few days remained in their lives, they'd been in love so deep and naive. She had trusted him with everything she had and more, and he had been her entire _world_. He had been the magic in her life. And now? She didn't know.

 _God, Castiel_ _…_ _what am I supposed to do now?_ Lost and confused and struggling not to weep, Alex was stricken with a faint instance of panic when they finally pulled into the familiar salvage yard at Bobby's. Her ever-heightening anxiety level made her feel physically ill because she knew what was coming next. The wrath of her older brothers. The questions and the judgment and the anger. The car jerked to a stop and shut off. Dean got out immediately, slamming the door hard enough to jostle the entire car. He strode off into the dark night by a couple steps in an angry march and dragged a hand down across his mouth then put his hands on his hips and kept his back to the car as he very clearly struggled to contain himself. Sam got out too and he was like a dark, abysmal cloud. Alex followed suit, getting out of the car in a robotic way so that she wasn't left alone with her uncle. She couldn't talk to Bobby about it or she'd lose what little composure she had for sure.

Bobby got out last and he glanced around at the very fragmented Winchester family—Dean standing off away from the car, Alex huddled close to the Impala with crossed arms and slouched shoulders, Sam with folded arms and a scowl on the other side of the car. Clearing his throat, Bobby nodded toward the house. "I'm, uh, gonna go start angel-proofing, I guess." He obviously sensed the oncoming shit storm and kindly offered Alex a way out. "You wanna come with, sweetheart?" 

" _No_ ," Dean answered for her in a rude, forceful tone that said there was _not_ another option. He turned around and put his eyes on Alex in a hard way that made her look away. "She's staying right here."

Bobby gave him an _oh please_ look. "I think _she_ gets to decide that, not you."

" _Bobby_ _…_ " Dean warned. It sounded like he was going to start a fight.

Alex cut in however softly. "It's fine, Bobby."

He frowned in concern … _You sure?_ He asked her silently. She nodded heavily. Why delay the inevitable? She'd rather just get this over with and face the music. Bobby sighed and shook his head wearily, glancing at the stone-faced brothers with trepidation. "Yeah… _none_ 'a this is fine," he muttered, but went inside, reluctantly leaving the Winchesters to themselves.

Feeling very small and alone, Alex braced herself for whatever was about to come. To see both of her brothers looking at her with such harsh, upset stares told her this wasn't going to be pretty. Her heart thumped loudly in her ears, her stomach felt hollow and queasy, her veins were all shot and unpleasantly jittery. She thought about trying to explain herself, but her tongue was thick in her mouth and she couldn't think of words. She just felt so _guilty_ and stupid.

Dean was the first one to speak. His face was working very strangely, trying to squelch anger down and even some hurt. " _Well._ I don't even know what to say right now," he said, coming back over and keeping his face hard. "About any of this." A weak, cynical smile abruptly tightened his already gaunt face. "But let's start with the _obvious_ one. When were you gonna tell us?" He folded his arms and fixed her with a challenging, expectant look. " _Were_ you gonna tell us?" Honestly, she didn't even know anymore. At her guilty silence, Dean continued to press. "You didn't think we would wanna know?" His anger abruptly turned into an indignant, disappointed demeanor. "Getting married isn't some _joke_!" he exclaimed, unfolding his arms and letting them fly out in a wide gesture. "What the _hell_ were you _thinking_?"

Sam's face was hard and stony and he answered before his sister could. "She _wasn_ _'_ _t_." His accusation stung and Alex looked down, ashamed. Her neck and jawline were burning and her eyes were brimming with mortification as Sam rounded the car and berated her coldly. "You know why you didn't tell us? Why you were probably gonna keep making excuses to yourself why we shouldn't know?" He paused for gut-wrenching effect then pointed at the ground for emphasis. "Because it was _wrong_ and you _knew it_ and you knew we'd call you on your _crap_ when we found out!" He stopped to scoff, and for a brief moment his truly upset and betrayed feelings showed through a cold insult. "Maybe you two _are_ perfect for each other, huh? Turns out you're both serial _liars._ "

His words cut through her like a knife and Alex abruptly had to turn her head away, shut her eyes and clamp her mouth shut to suppress a noisy sob. " _Sam._ " Dean reprimanded, halfhearted. Maybe out of instinct, maybe because the words were bordering on cruel.

"Shut up, Dean!" Sam retorted hotly, gesturing at his sister repeatedly as he ranted at impassioned, loud lengths. "She went off and married a guy she barely knew, she hid it from everyone for almost two _years_ —that's delusional, _psychotic_ behavior! Cas is dangerous! We can't trust him!" Abruptly Sam looked at Alex and he was at his wit's end. "And now I kinda think we can't trust _you_!" He was shaking his head at her and looking at her like she was the biggest disappointment in the entire world. He wet his lips, driving in more knives of guilt as he continued. "You know, I used to fight with Dean and tell him he misjudged you and that you were more mature and capable than the way he treated you, but you know what? He was _right_." He knew right where to hit her, and it hurt. Sam was scornful and _not_ done. "Marrying the first guy who _looks_ at you? Saying vows to someone you obviously didn't even _know_ to begin with? You're like some stupid, reckless _teenager_! Grow up, Alex!"

Dean's voice was hard and loud. " _Sam_." He was giving his brother a look that said he better stop or else. "That's _enough_ , okay?"

Full of contempt and bad attitude, Sam fixed his brother with a hot glare. "Yeah no, don't worry, I'm _done,_ " he spat with a final sharp glance at his sister. He was already brushing past his brother to stalk off.

As Hurricane Sam stormed away, Alex sagged against where she stood, in effect sit-leaning against the car. She put her face in her hand and listened to Sam's crunching footsteps fade. His words echoed painfully in her mind and she had this horrible feeling that he was completely right. _Grow up, Alex._ Emotional pain welled up and wanted to cry its way out of her but she refused to break down like she wanted to. Instead she steeled herself and waited for Dean to rip into her too. But all she heard was him shift his weight slightly. Defensive and trying to cover up grief with anger, she let her hand slap down and she glared at him expectantly—she didn't want anyone to see exactly how upset she was, least of all Dean. "Well? _Where_ is it?"

He studied her with an unreadable and terse expression. "Where's what?" 

"Aren't you gonna tell me what a fucking idiot I am too?" she asked in sarcasm that was weakened by the threat of tears. She redoubled her effort to sound hard and apathetic and cynical. "Aren't you gonna yell and throw things?"

Dean forced some kind of tight, derisive smile as he looked at the ground. The smile was more of a grimace. "Don't tempt me." Uncomfortable silence spanned between them and Alex couldn't quite summon the fire to start a fight… even though she wanted it, almost. She'd rather he yell and scream at her than look at her with so much disappointment.

"So. You gonna tell me how exactly this thing happened?" Dean finally asked, making his tone of voice hard. "I mean, when the hell did you two even have time to run off and—" he stopped mid-sentence as it hit him. His face went slack with shocked realization as he made the connection. As he began to understand, his expression became betrayed. "You… you didn't lose Dad's ring, did you?" That soft, wounded question made Alex's mountainous guilt even more intense. She looked down and pressed her lips in together, slowly shaking her head no. His eyes abruptly fell to the little penny around her neck. He was visibly stricken as he figured it out. His whispery voice sounded almost _scared_ as he looked her dead in the eye with shocked eyes. "Son of a bitch, you really did marry him didn't you?"

That's when she realized Dean wasn't as mad as he was _hurt_ and trying _so hard_ not to show the extent of how burned he felt. And his wounded disbelief was far worse than anything else she'd expected. Trying not to choke on the lump in her throat, Alex shrugged wretchedly and looked at the ground through swimming eyes. Her voice was a weak whisper. Admitting it to him like this was more awful than she had ever imagined. "I mean, it's probably not legal, but… I… yeah. I did."

Dean's hurt expression only intensified. " _Jesus_ , Alex," he commented in a strained, gut-punched voice. There was a long pause in which he looked at her with utterly betrayed incredulity. "I can't believe you. Can't _believe_ you!" He looked like he'd been heartbroken. "How could you _do that_ without your family there? Without _me_ there? How could you do it _period_? I thought you were smarter than that!" He paused and the extent of his personal hurt showed in every way. "How could you do something that big and keep it a secret this whole damn time? Not even _tell_ me? Do you have any idea how much that _hurts_? I would never do anything like that to you or Sam, _ever!_ " He stared at her and let that sink in a second. And then he let out a short breath of humorless laughter and said the worst thing she had ever heard. "I guess it's hella stupid but I always thought if you got married I'd be the one who…" he trailed off and lost steam, becoming sad then scoffing in chagrin at himself. He didn't say what she already knew he'd been about to say. _Walked you down the aisle and gave you away_. She squeezed her eyes closed and fought her own feelings of despair at that thought. "Guess not," he muttered while he looked down and he stifled some greatly pained expression. "Cas should have asked me, man, he should have _talked_ to me." It was a comment addressed both to her and the universe in general. He looked like he either wanted to cry or punch something. He put his face in his hand and shook his head as he took a couple steps to the side to release nerve-wracked tension. "This is _so_ not right."

Everything he said did the opposite of what Sam had said. Sam's words had hurt and shamed. Dean's words shamed too… but moreover, they convicted her. Still, she tried to cling onto her reasons, she tried not to admit what she was already feeling: like it was all a childish, shortsighted mistake. "I t-thought the world was ending," she managed, "I thought I'd found someone, I thought we were all gonna _die_ … and I… I loved him _so much_ and he asked me and… I couldn't say _no_." Her excuses and reasons sounded so flimsy and ridiculous. Her composure was crumbling and she was beginning to cry. She covered her mouth with a hand as an ashamed sob escaped. It was beyond her control as the magnitude of her mistake crashed over her. "Oh my _god,_ " she managed in a choked, agonized whisper. "Sam's right. He's _right_. I'm stupid, I'm so fucking _stupid._ "

She didn't know Cas well enough, she shouldn't have trusted him so unequivocally—she'd been absolutely blinded by how in love she was. _Still_ was. This wasn't how she had envisioned her life turning out… a crumbled, obliterated shadow of the golden dream she'd had. She cried harder, at the point of hyperventilating—she doubled over at the waist and had a hand out to grip the car hood weakly for fear of falling down. Her other hand was over her mouth and face but that action wasn't doing a damn thing to hide or stifle her grief. She couldn't, she _couldn_ _'_ _t_. The car abruptly went down a little and she felt Dean pull her close with both arms as he sat beside her. Relieved and even more saddened all at once, she hung onto him and cried hard into his shoulder as he held on tight, one hand behind her head. "Hey hey _hey_ ," he said softly. "Hey. I got you, sweetheart." Her heart broke all over again because he didn't have to sit out there and comfort her. And she hadn't expected him to. But he did, and she loved him all the more for it. He was obviously still really upset, but he put that aside and held her closely and reassuringly. She could hear how he was resonating with her deep pain. "You're okay," he murmured like he had a thousand times before when she'd needed to hear that.

But she _wasn_ _'_ _t_ okay and nothing could convince her that she ever would be again. "I _trusted_ him Dean," she protested through agony. "With _everything_." Another pathetic sobbing sound escaped as she held onto her brother and bawled into his jacket shoulder. "He wasn't supposed to _do_ this," she choked. "It wasn't supposed to _be_ like this!" Her tears were mortifying her, the sadness was too raw, and it was _all her fault._ "I'm so fucking stupid, _stupid_."

"Stop that," he said with halfhearted sadness. She didn't see him blinking away the sheen of tears in his eyes. "What was that thing about a soul claim?" Dean asked after a couple seconds. "What did that mean?"

Alex stiffened. On instinct, she didn't want to tell Dean because it would make Cas look bad. Well… he already looked bad. So it would just make him look worse. "It… it's… stupid. Doesn't really matter." Of course it mattered. But she just couldn't deal with that right now. There were too many other things bugging her at the moment. She pulled back with a tear-streak face and looked at him for answers. "How could he work with Crowley, Dean? I thought I _knew_ him." Dean had always known what to do and he had always taken care of her and Sam. And right now, she had no idea how to function or deal with what was happening. Her husband wasn't who she thought. She didn't trust her own judgement anymore. "What the hell am I supposed to _do_?" she begged.

Dean looked at her sadly and then reached out and brushed at some tears on her cheek with the backs of his fingers. He held her gaze for a long, deadly serious moment and he was very pained for her. "Let me get you outta this, Al."

Her tears abated very suddenly and she hesitated, suspicious about what that meant. "What do you mean?"

"I mean whenever he gets his ass out of that holy fire, he's gonna come looking for you," Dean said with a certain note of severity. "And if you want him to get the hell out of your life… I'll take care of it."

Her stomach was in knots. "…What do you mean, you'll 'take care of it'?" She didn't like the sound of that.

Dean shrugged and his mouth was in a thin line. "I'll tell him how it is. And if he won't accept it…" his jaw tightened and he looked her in the eye. "Then I'll do what I have to do."

Holy shit. "Dean, no, _no!_ " Freaked out, Alex got upset all over again and became threatening. " _No_. If you _touch_ him, if you hurt him at _all_ _—_ _I swear_ _—"_

"Look, you love him, I get that, okay?" Dean interrupted, at his wit's end. "But Alex, use your damn _head_." He appealed desperately. "He _spied_ on us. He's working with _Crowley_. He lied to us all, _repeatedly_ , he _manipulated_ you! He's a dangerous, confused guy with too much power. It's the Anakin Skywalker Darth Vader thing all over again! We can't trust him. _You_ can't trust him!" He paused, waiting for her to agree. When she didn't, he got more vehement and desperate. "It has to be over!"

She almost thought so, too... but… it _couldn_ _'_ _t_ be over. Alex already knew that she would love Castiel until she died and then some. The hold he had on her wasn't something that could be undone. The threat of tears was returning and _fast_ as she realized how dire the situation had come. And to think she had really believed in a happily ever after…

In denial, wanting to just go back to a time before all this shit had ruined everything, she shook her head as even more tears filled her already-sore eyes. She just wanted to lie down and give up on everything, scream at the universe for what it had done to her. "No, _no_. Dean…" she all but whimpered, barely able to speak for the tears choking her.

"Look, I know how much it hurts to break up with someone, okay? I do." Dean grabbed her gently by the arm to get her attention. "He's my friend too—and up until a few hours ago I saw him as _family_ almost—but you're more important than he is and I'm just not seeing another _option_ here, Al. You gotta _end_ it! Or I will!"

Alex pulled away, scared and on the verge of getting angry. "What's that supposed to mean?!" She was fighting the tide and she knew it, but she still fought it all the same: Her own instincts, her own doubts, her own knowledge. "I _know_ him," she choked out, wishing she could convince even herself of that. "He's… he's not _bad_. He's _not_. He _can_ _'_ _t_ be. There's no one else who could… could ever…" she squeezed her eyes closed. There was no one else who could ever hold a candle to him at all. He was ultimate, everything, and final. Maybe that was the worst part of all. She loved him and probably would no matter _what_ he did. She wasn't just in love with him. She felt eternally connected to him, forever bound, cursed. He was why she could speak, he was why she was alive, he was her saving grace and her dooming fate. For better or for worse. Her voice wavered pathetically. She only knew one way to sum it all up: "Dean, I love him. I married him. He's... he's my husband."

Her brother stiffened. "Don't say that to me," he warned lowly, and she could hear the burgeoning anger in his voice. "Whatever you two did isn't real, you hear me?"

As regrettable as it was, it was real for her. Trying to be courageous, she drew in a deep, steadying breath. "I know you don't like it but—"

Dean abruptly stood up and she stopped mid-sentence at the jerky, angry way he shot to his feet. He walked off a few steps then abruptly whirled. "Sam's right—this is crazy, Alex, _crazy_!" he protested, then his face twisted up. "Married? _Married_? _Come on_! You two are playing _house_ at best like two damn _kids_ _—_ Cas isn't even a real _human_ —how the hell's he gonna give you what you need? How's he gonna _provide_ for you and do all the stuff a hus—" he stopped himself mid-word, refusing to say the word husband. He became cold again. "You're kidding yourselves, you know that right?" His words stung and Alex looked away. Dean was quickly becoming mean-spirited. "What watered-down _moron_ did you find to do that for you two, anyway?"

She almost didn't answer him because his attitude sucked, but she gritted her teeth and muttered the answer at him anyway. "Chuck."

Dean's jaw worked and he fought to keep his mouth shut. He finally spoke, and it was low, dangerous, upset. "You know what, we need to stop this conversation right now before I say things I really regret." He was done talking, abruptly too angry to even look at her. He turned away and put his back to her. "Go inside."

"Dean—" Alex protested, standing up.

He whirled on her furiously. "I said _go inside_!"

For a minute they just stared at each other—and then Alex set her jaw sullenly. With a mutter, she complied. "Fine." She went into the house and left him there all alone.

For a minute Dean just stood there by his car. When the door slammed behind his sister, his shoulders sagged and his show of anger dissipated. He walked over to the Impala, rested his elbows on the roof, put his head in his hands, and broke down into tears. A few seconds later he kicked the tire of the car out of frustration and anger and sadness then scrubbed his face with his hands as he leaned heavily. He had never been so blindsided or shocked in his entire life. How _could_ she? He was every emotion in the book, but mostly he was _hurt_ and shocked. Almost two years she'd been 'married'… and he hadn't had a damn clue. How fucking _dare_ Cas lay claim on her like that? It was sneaky and underhanded and _wrong_ and the worst part was how Dean had been so close to liking and accepting Cas within the past few months.

 _Joke_ _'_ _s on me,_ Dean thought sourly.

* * *

Samandriel had seen it all. He stood invisibly outside of the Singer home because he had been strictly forbidden from entering buildings with Alex unless there was immediate danger. But still, he had seen enough to put together what was happening. He watched the brothers confront their sister, he watched Sam leave angrily, he saw Dean and Alex talking about what had happened. Then he saw how Dean made Alex leave. After awhile Dean went inside too. Samandriel was very shocked indeed at what he had overheard. Was this all true? How _could_ it be?

Even as he wondered that, he felt his brother appear at his side.

"Hello Samandriel."

Samandriel stepped back slightly. "Castiel!" he exclaimed, trying to keep his more startled feelings hidden.

The older Seraph was wearing a dour expression and noticed Samandriel's strange reaction. His eyes narrowed. "What is it, Samandriel?"

Having known Castiel for centuries upon centuries, Samandriel had recognized how different his brother was becoming in recent times. He knew the war and its pressures had burdened him greatly. But he couldn't quite bring himself to believe the allegations against Castiel concerning the demon. That was too much and too far. He decided he should just ask. But he was inexplicably reluctant to do so. "Is… is it true?" he asked falteringly.

Castiel's eyes narrowed further and his guard intensified. "Is _what_ true?"

Samandriel hesitated, because it seemed so absurd, at least the first part. And yet he felt a strangely intuitive internal sense telling him to be cautious in this matter. "I heard them say that… that you were working with the King of Hell." Castiel's face tightened and Samandriel continued even more warily. "That… that you… entered into marriage with the human girl." It was inconceivable that an angel would somehow enter into that sort of union with a human being.

And yet his brother's eyes dodged away guiltily and he didn't answer about that. Instead, he admitted that the other thing. "I'm using the demon to my own end," Castiel said gruffly. At Samandriel's look of utter shock, Castiel explained further in a dark, tired voice. "It's not what you think, Samandriel. It's the souls from Purgatory. They'll give me enough power to stop Raphael. And I can't get to the souls without the demon's assistance. But I assure you. When he's exhausted his usefulness… I'll kill him."

More than just mildly alarmed, Samandriel looked at his older brother with wide eyes. "Castiel… brother… surely there's another way."

"There isn't," Castiel replied darkly, looking away. "I _tried._ "

"But this is _dangerous!_ _"_ Samandriel protested in deep concern. " _Unheard_ of!" When Castiel didn't react at all, his much younger brother tried again. "The kind of power needed… it wasn't meant for us! It will tear your _mind_ apart!"

Grim and evasive, Castiel looked at the house and clenched his jaw. "No. It won't."

But it most certainly would! Samandriel was dumbstruck. "And this demon, you think he won't be prepared for some kind of betrayal from you?" he questioned in rising animation. "What if _he_ is planning the same _thing_?"

Instead of being worried, Castiel was aggravated. "I've taken this into consideration, Samandriel," he said lowly. "I know what I'm doing."

Samandriel didn't think he _did_. "'Can a man carry fire next to his chest and not be burned'?" he quoted in sad appeal. It was holy scripture that was seared deeply into both of their minds.

Castiel visibly lost some morale and faltered for a moment before hardening himself. "I am not a man," he said tersely. "I am an _angel._ And I have to do this." Castiel appeared to be shutting down emotionally and in denial.

Samandriel hesitated, beginning to sense just _how_ desperate and reckless Castiel had become during the course of this war. "But Castiel—"

" _Enough_!" Castiel thundered, setting a fierce frown onto a surprised Samandriel. "Your job is to do what I _order_ you to do—nothing else." He stood over the younger angel intimidatingly and angrily attempted to justify himself. "I am commanding an _army._ I am leading a _revolution_. Certain unsavory things are necessary to gain victory."

Samandriel made no reply for a few long seconds. "I suppose you would know these things better than myself," he said faintly, even though he was very uncertain about his brother's reasoning. Samandriel hesitated then asked about the other thing he had overheard. "But you… you _wed_ the human?" he asked carefully, mystified completely at the purpose and meaning of it. "Surely you—"

" _Samandriel_." Castiel was gruff and distinctly warning. "Do _not_ ask me about that." He stared at him hard. " _No more questions._ " The look in Castiel's eyes made Samandriel feel a strange flicker of something that surprised him yet again: _fear_. He had never been _afraid_ of Castiel before… and now he was. What ends would his brother go to in this? What dark descent was he making? His aura which had always been so quiet and peaceful before was dark and stormy, unpredictable. Even his halo was less bright than it had been before. Was this what happened to angels when they cared and felt too much? 

Stepping away from Samandriel, Castiel looked toward the house again and squinted at it sternly. "They've put angel wards on the house," he observed stiffly, sidestepping more discussion of the war and what Samandriel had heard.

"Yes," the younger angel confirmed meekly, nervous to set his brother off again. "B-but I saw the girl purposefully smudge one as she went inside." He thought perhaps this was because she wanted Castiel to appear to her.

The news of _why_ the warding was ineffective made Castiel sadden visibly with an anxiousness he tried to hide. He began to speak out loud, but it seemed as if he were talking to himself. "I have to speak with Dean," he said with heavy regret and self-loathing. "I should have spoken with him a long time ago." He drew in a deep breath through his nose and stood a little taller, then looked at the younger angel with tense, regretful eyes. "Samandriel… forget what you know of this." His fingers abruptly touched to his brother's forehead and Samandriel's knowledge of the marriage and Cas's darker deeds was erased instantly.

As Castiel walked away a few steps in preparation to go into the house, he mourned himself. He didn't recognize himself anymore, but he was fighting so hard to believe he hadn't changed at all.

* * *

Sam was somewhere in the house, Bobby was in the basement, Alex had shut herself into the attic, and Dean was alone with his misery in the study. He sat on the couch in the dark and stared at the floor where ghoulishly misshapen shadows were made by the bright red angel wards covering the window behind him. It was a shame they even had to _use_ those. It was a shame his sister had hidden such a big thing in her life for so long. The entire damn _thing_ was a crying shame.

Married. She got _married_. Almost two years ago. And he'd had _no idea._

It all fit now that he thought about it though. That night she and Cas had been gone inexplicably while he was in Chicago getting Death's scythe. Dad's 'lost' wedding band. That stupid penny Alex wore without ceasing. The white dress she'd been in when soulless Sam almost killed her. _Christ_. Dean bowed his face into his hand and shook his head. The evidence was there but he still couldn't _believe_ this.

The more he thought about it, the sadder and madder and more frustrated he got. He wanted to shake his sister and hit Cas in the face. What was Alex thinking? Happily ever after with Captain Confusion? Growing old with an immortal and non-human guy? Getting _married_ without himself and Sam beside her? It made Dean's head spin. And Cas—what about him? Who did he think he was? Well, the answer was obvious because he'd shouted it at her from inside his little fire circle only a couple hours ago. _Husband._ That word made Dean see red. It might not have been so bad to find out about this 'marriage' if they hadn't just found out Cas was nine-to-fiving it for Crowley. Lying, sneaking around, keeping them in the dark? All to 'save' them? Yeah right.

Sure, Dean had lied to his family before to keep them safe but that had been different. Cas had _no right_ to do what he'd done. And Dean felt betrayed.

Confusion and hurt drowned him as he sat there alone in the dark. He was just starting to think about getting up to find some damn whiskey to dull the pain when lo and behold… Cas appeared right in front of him. Dean jumped to his feet as his heart rate skyrocketed.

Cas was somber and contrite and his face was shadowy in the low light. "Hello, Dean."

"How'd you get in here?!" Dean demanded angrily. Cas wasn't supposed to be able to get in here point blank.

"The angel-proofing," Cas said, then hesitated. He seemed very uncomfortable. "You… got a few things wrong."

"Yeah," Dean muttered to himself. " _Great_." He looked the angel up and down in threat-assessment. "What do you want, Cas?" He already thought he knew, and he was honestly surprised Cas was down here, not up in the attic trying to plead his ridiculous case to his 'wife.' 

"I… I think I owe you an explanation," Cas said quietly. "I want to apologize."

" _Oh_ ," Dean said curtly. That was so _rich_. "You want to _apologize_." He found a cynical little chuckle within himself but it couldn't cover up his cold anger for long. "What for? For raising Sam soulless? For working with the damn King of Hell? Or maybe for _marrying_ my _sister_ behind my fucking _back_!?" He was so enraged that steam could have come out of his ears. "Where do you get off, Cas?! Not only do you try and steal her away for yourself like that you selfish bastard, oh no, you have to trick her and treat her like she's, what, some _object_ that belongs to you? She's a person, Cas! And she's not _yours_!"

"I'm sorry, Dean," Cas said heavily, as if he were trying to be gentle for Dean's benefit. "But Alex _is_ my wife. I know it would have been preferable if I asked for her hand and if we had—"

Dean abruptly rushed Cas and tried to shove him. "You shut your damn mouth you son of a bitch!" Cas was as movable as a solid brick wall and it made Dean even madder. "She is _not_ and never _will be_ your _wife_!" The angel's face showed nothing but minor chagrin, like Dean's words were nothing but a small let down for him. "You're delusional, Cas!" Dean shouted, trying to shake Cas but failing at that, too. "You've lost fucking your mind!" And when Cas had the gall to look mildly annoyed by the insults, Dean Winchester lost his fucking temper. Too angry to see and too pissed to remember how this went, he hauled off and punched Cas in the face… and promptly broke his hand. "Son of a _bitch_ ," he wheezed, turning away halfway and cradling his hand as he doubled over. Pain shot through him from the cracked bones and he gritted his teeth tight. _Bad idea._

Cas looked at him sadly. "I had hoped you would react better than this," he said quietly, then touched Dean's shoulder.

Confused, Dean stopped mid-grimace. His hand didn't hurt at all and he straightened slowly and awkwardly. _Goddammit, Cas, trying to make it all better by fixing me._ He hardened his demeanor. "Yeah, where'd I leave my confetti and balloons?" he asked rudely. "Cas, you don't _get it._ You're not even capable of being in a relationship let alone…" he could barely bring himself to use this word, " _marriage_!"

The accusation made Cas lose a little confidence. "It… was our choice," he said after a moment, and he sounded like a little child who had been told something was a certain way and was confused when it wasn't. "We both wanted it." He hesitated, studying Dean carefully. "You're the one who taught me that freedom and free will—"

Incensed, Dean pointed at Cas with a harshly jabbing finger. "Don't try and twist my words!" he thundered—Cas actually thought he was in the _right_ about this? He'd taken whatever free-will crap he'd learned and was now using it to justify his shady actions? "You're a freakin' _child_ , you know that?" Dean accused. "Just because you can do _what_ you want doesn't mean that you get to do _whatever_ you want! What were you thinking? _Were_ you thinking?"

The angel's jaw was set grimly. The angrier Dean got, the more terse Cas got. "I know what I'm doing, Dean."

"Yeah? Do you? I call _bull_." Dean shook his head and was filled with loathing for everything in the world. Loathing and great sadness. His anger couldn't hold underneath the weight of that sadness. "Do you know what you _took_ from me?" he asked abruptly, voice breaking tellingly. His chest tightened and his eyes threatened to show exactly how upset he was about what Cas and Alex had done. Gone was the possibility of Dean walking her down the aisle, giving her away, dancing with her to a song just for them. He'd always known, in the back of his head, that song would be _Sweet Child O_ _'_ _Mine_. And now, those dreams he'd never really given any credence to were useless. They were stupid anyway, _stupid._ Just pipe dreams of a pathetic big brother who was confused about his role in his kid sister's life. He wasn't her dad. But he still felt like it half the time. Bitter and mournful, Dean shook his head and moved his mouth to cover over his lapse in composure. "You shoulda _asked_ me, man. You shoulda come and talked to me at _least_."

Cas's expression showed that he was sad too, but not on the levels Dean was. "And would you have given your blessing?" he asked knowingly.

Well… touché. Dean squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose in an effort to gather himself. This was one of the worst days of his life, hands down. "You know the sad part?" he asked, laughing softly. Because if he didn't laugh, he'd cry. "I was actually starting to _trust_ you, like _really_ trust you. To _like_ you. To even… _approve_ of you." He'd even felt like Cas could have been family recently. He'd willingly gone along with Cas and Alex as a couple and had been trying to give that a real, genuine chance. Now Dean regretted that _so_ hardcore. Angry with himself for believing Cas was a face-value kind of guy, Dean shook his head. "I mean, how could you, Cas? Take advantage of her like that? My romance-novel-reading kid sister fell for you hook line and sinker, huh? And here I was falling for your act, too."

Cas bristled visibly. "Dean, it's no _act_. Don't you _dare_ tell me I don't care."

Scoffing, Dean crossed his arms. "Oh so you show you care by making her to be some Helen of Troy?" he demanded. "You put her in danger and say you love her? You'll _protect_ her!? She needs to be protected _from_ you!" His words were hitting Cas and visibly affecting him. "Being with you makes her target numero uno everywhere, you get that right?" Dean asked, because he was starting to realize how true that was and how afraid he was for Alex to get put in the middle of the Heaven drama. Those were dangerous crossfires to be in and Cas was a selfish idiot if he was really willing to let her be endangered like that. "If you really loved her, you'd man up and walk your ass away from her _today_."

Cas's face registered incredulous offense. "How can you say I don't love her?" he asked in soft, growing anger. His face and voice darkened. "I would do _anything_ for her and I _am._ " He stepped forward in confrontational animosity. "Dean, I am defying _everything_ I ever stood for, I am doing the _unthinkable_ to keep her safe and to secure her eternal fate—Heaven itself is being _ripped apart_ because of how I feel, _I_ am being ripped apart!"

Dean didn't have it in him to empathize. "Oh don't try and act like _you_ _'_ _re_ the victim here, Cas," he muttered, rolling his eyes.

Very annoyed at Dean's reaction, Cas let out a short sharp breath of air as he looked away in an attempt to gather his temper. "You misunderstand me, Dean."

"Yeah, sure I do," Dean retorted. He took a second to regulate himself by dragging a hand down over his face. Silence stretched between the two of them and when he was calmer and had more of his mind about him, Dean set Cas with his sharpest and most skeptically probing gaze. "While I got you here, you wanna tell me what the hell she was going on about with that soul claim? What's that mean?"

Cas's face lost some of its cloudiness in favor of quiet and tense reflection. It took him a long moment to reply. "Up until last year… her name was in the book of Hell, Dean."

"What?" Shocked out of his mind, Dean faltered. "… _Why_?"

"I don't know," Cas replied with a grim shake of the head. "But it's no longer there. I removed it, Dean. As part of my… 'deal' with Crowley. He surrendered the claim to me." Understanding began to roll over Dean and he was confounded at the new revelation as Cas continued to explain. "Until I win this war, her soul claim… the thing that determines _where_ her immortal soul goes after this life… is with me. The moment I win the war, I'm putting her name into the book of Heaven." Dean gaped at Cas openly. He hadn't seen this one coming at all and he was abruptly wondering if he had it all wrong. Cas's motivations _weren_ _'_ _t_ totally idiotic. He was really doing this to save her? "She didn't want me to keep the claim for her," Cas continued, growing conflicted. "She wanted it herself. But it's far too dangerous. If it's lost… then so is she." He paused for deadly emphasis. "And I am unwilling to risk that." _Damn._ Dean was starting to figure it out just as Cas explained it: "So… I tricked her into thinking I gave her the soul claim. To avoid… conflict." Ashamed, Cas was looking down. "In hindsight, not one of my better decisions. I should have just been honest and refused her outright. But I…" there was a small instance of irony on the angel's face, "I didn't want her to be angry with me." He sighed ruefully. "And now all of you are. I am _truly_ just trying to protect you all. Do you understand that?" He looked at Dean with an openness and an anxiety that was hard to get away from.

"I didn't know that," Dean managed in a soft, stilted voice. "She… she never said anything about Hell or, or anything." Not a damn thing. Another huge thing she hadn't told him about. Dean didn't know what else to say but he was definitely struggling to stay angry at Cas which blew his mind. Now he was feeling… like he sort of _got it_. Why Cas had done what he had. But that still didn't make it right _._ The place where those actions were taking Cas couldn't come to fruition. Fumbling a little, Dean tried to reason with the angel. "Look, I mean—I, I get it Cas, but Alex aside, think about what you're _risking_ here, man," he paused, wracking his brain for the right way to say it. "I get that you gotta win the war but… Cas, this is _Purgatory_ we're talking about. Chock full of monsters who'll eat the whole _planet_ alive if something goes wrong. You have _any_ idea how dangerous this is?"

Cas's jaw tightened. "I know the risks full well."

Frustrated beyond compare, Dean threw a hand up. " _Do_ you?!" He rubbed the lower half of his face briefly in a gesture that came off as supremely harrowed. "Look." His hand slapped down. "I understand wanting to do freakin' anything to keep her safe. Hell, I've been there, but you _cannot_ do it this way. Trust me."

Cas zeroed in on Dean's purposefully vague statement. "What do you mean, Dean?" he questioned, eyes narrowing deeply as they studied the man's face in concern and confusion. "What is it?"

Dean didn't think he was that transparent and faltered, because no one knew about this. And that's how it was supposed to stay. "It doesn't matter," he dodged gruffly, looking away guiltily. "I did what I did and I can't take it back."

Cas's studious expression intensified and he was gentle as he pressed for answers. "What are you talking about, Dean?"

Dean gritted his teeth together. He had never spoken a word about this to anyone. Not Alex, Sam, Bobby, not anyone. And he had never planned to either… but maybe this could serve as a warning to Cas. Maybe this would help the angel see he had to stop while he was ahead. Dean didn't know. But he slowly started talking about it out loud for the very first time ever. "Look. I was on the rack in Hell. And I… I was fine with it. The pain, the suffering… I could handle that. I _deserved_ that. And they kept trying to get me off the rack to torture souls and I said no, _hell_ no." He became distracted at the memories and for a minute, he glazed over. His voice was soft and reminiscent in the worst of ways. "I could have said no forever, Cas. I could have held out on them for eternity squared." And he truly thought he could have. Dean darkened, remembering. "Then Alastair comes to me one day. Says he's found my sister and he's gonna kill her and drag her downstairs to torture her forever in front of me if I don't do what he says." Cas's deep frown began to soften in shock as he put two and two together. Dean tried a cynical chuckle. "What was I supposed to do, right? I wasn't gonna call that bluff. Not with her on the line. Couldn't even risk it for a second. So I came off the rack and tortured those souls to keep her safe." He paused, eyes falling downward in deep guilt. "And I started the _apocalypse_ by doing that."

The room was utterly silent for a moment. Cas's eyes flickered over Dean with veiled worry and disbelief. "Dean… I didn't know," he said quietly.

" _No one_ knows," Dean returned in a hard voice. "And no one _will._ " He was struggling not to break down, which meant he only made his voice and face tougher and tougher. "She's not gonna feel the kind of guilt I feel, Cas. _Ever._ I wouldn't wish that on anyone, you hear me?" It was too much and Dean couldn't keep up the tough guy act. He shut his eyes and shook his head, turning around as his voice broke briefly. "And I don't want you to do something you can never take back here either, Cas." He opened his eyes and stared at the ward-covered window. He steadied his emotions and focused on the task at hand. Talk Cas out of this utter bullshit plan.

"Dean, I…" the angel began.

Dean turned around, his fire returning out of desperation. "Listen to me—you're gonna fuck the whole _world_ up by opening Purgatory to do what, to save her and stop what I started? When there's a million _other_ ways to get the job done other than opening monsterland?" He let that statement hang in the air before driving his point home emphatically. "You're not backed into a corner like I was! _Think_ , Cas!"

Cas contemplated it for a moment then asked a slow, thoughtful question. "Knowing what you know now… would you have changed what you did in Hell?"

" _No,_ _"_ Dean replied immediately. _"_ _Hell_ no. Keeping her and Sammy safe is my _life_ , okay? But that's not the point, Cas—the, the point is… I get that you're trying to do the right thing, okay? I believe you on that count, all right? But you got to stop. _Now_." He wet his lips, trying to think of a way to get Cas back to the land of the sane. "There's gotta be another way, man. Let's kill Crowley and then take on Raphael together, pool our resources, find a way to take him down and kick him in the ass." Cas looked reluctant and as such, Dean doubled his appeal. "We're not in the corner here man, we got options! We can figure something out!" he protested against Cas's silence. "If you _love_ my sister _,_ do the right thing and drop this demon-deal crap _now_ , today."

Cas looked utterly pained and regretful. "I _can_ _'_ _t_. Dean, I can't. Believe me, I've tried to find other ways. I've failed more than you know. I need to do this." He shook his head and his eyes searched far distance off to his right tensely. "If I don't win this war… everything is lost."

"Yeah but winning the war like _this_?" Dean reasoned intensely. "Come _on,_ Cas!"

"I have no other way," Cas replied with grim finality.

Temper flaring and desperation setting in all over again, Dean looked at Cas like he was nuts. "Why are you so hellbent on being a moron!? Why won't you _listen_ to me?" he demanded, and he realized he had never cared quite this much about anyone on a personal level except family and a very small select few others. And in a moment of vulnerability Dean let Cas know that. "Look, next to the twins, you and Bobby are the closest things I have to family," he said, laying it all on the line. "You are like a _brother_ to me. A pain in the ass brother I am so _pissed_ at I could strangle with that damn tie around your neck, but a brother all the same." Cas looked startled, touched, and saddened all at once. "So if I'm asking you not to do something… don't do it! You gotta _trust_ me, man."

The look in Cas's eyes said it all. "I'm sorry Dean. But you have to trust _me._ I have to follow through on what I've started."

"Don't say that Cas," Dean said, hating where this had to go. "I can't let you crack Purgatory, man," he said, and it was a plead as much as it was a fact. "And if you're refusing to stop…" he knew if he said it aloud, he had to stick with it. "Then I'll have to do what I have to do to stop you."

Cas's face saddened. "You can't stop me, Dean," he said quietly, almost like he regretted that fact. "You're just a man. I'm an angel."

Bristling and hiding it, Dean held his ground and didn't let his growing fear show through. "Dunno, man or not, I've taken down some pretty big S.O.B.s." He raised his chin fractionally and let his eyes narrow. "And by now you know how I am about protecting my family."

Cas looked hurt. "You don't have to protect her from me. Don't you see? I would do _anything_ for her."

"Well so would I," Dean retorted flatly. "And I _have._ For her and Sam both. And I'm ready to do it all again too."

The angel shook his head and looked down with a grave expression. The room was utterly silent again. They were at a clear standstill. Dean wasn't backing down and Cas wasn't changing his mind. With finality that turned Dean's stomach, the angel closed the subject and said that he was going to keep going with his plan to open Purgatory. "I'm sorry, Dean."

Dean hardened his mouth into a line—so, this was how it was gonna be. "Well, I'm sorry, too, then," he said in a quiet, resigned voice.

It was Cas's choice. Dean had given him every chance and told him why it was so dangerous but the angel was insisting on going against everything right in the world. Dean couldn't abide it and Alex couldn't be part of this anymore with Cas. He made his voice strong and rough and he didn't let any of his regretful feelings show. He couldn't let his personal feelings or his care for Cas get in the way of what had to be done. "But before you go, know this," Dean started in a growling voice. "Come near my sister again and I will _end_ you." He approached the angel in a confrontational manner. "I don't care what good stuff you've done for her, for us… stay the hell away from my family. Drop Crowley and maybe we'll talk. But until then, I want you as far away from her as possible, you hear me?" Dean drew himself up to his full height and did the big brother thing. "She doesn't want you around anymore," he said, which was basically a lie. But Cas and Alex weren't good for each other and Dean was done with it. If she couldn't make the break, he was gonna make it for her. "You two… are _done._ Hear me?"

Cas's eyes took on a baleful quality and he said nothing. Just stared at Dean for a long few seconds then disappeared completely. Dean's shoulders sagged and just as he felt mild, sickened relief that _that_ was over, he realized… it probably wasn't. Son of a bitch. He headed across the room for the stairs, then abruptly came to a halt. Seated at the top of the stairs with a very grimly thoughtful look on his face… Sam. "Hey," he said softly.

Startled and dismayed, Dean hid it underneath a mask of annoyance. "How long you been there?" he asked gruffly.

Sam was quiet and sad and empathetic. "Long enough."

"Great," Dean muttered, expelling a breath and rubbing his forehead briefly. Just what he'd needed to make today even better. Now Sam knew about the Hell crap. Just _peachy_.

Sam stood up and the stairs creaked underneath his heavy mass as he came down by a few stairs. "Dean…" he started, and _no_ —Dean couldn't.

"Shut up," Dean said tersely, cutting off the touchy-feely crap before it could even start. "And _move_." He motioned brusquely for Sam's hulking figure to stop blocking the way up the stairs. "I gotta go make sure he's not up there with her."

Sam was giving him that worried puppy dog look and wouldn't budge. He hesitated, then patted Dean on the side of his shoulder like he was dismissing him. "Know what, I'll do it," he said gently. Dean made a _you_ _'_ _re crazy_ face at his brother—last person Alex would wanna see was Sam. After all, he'd gone volcanic on her just half an hour ago. Sam saw Dean's thoughts and spoke to them. "It's fine," he said heavily, and the way his eyes dodged away he seemed mildly regretful. "I'm fine now."

Dean was too tired to fight it. Whatever. He stood back and shook his head while staring around at the study blankly. "Glad _someone_ is."

Sam turned and headed upstairs.

* * *

Alex sat on the side of the bed in the quiet attic. Her mind was a riot and her heart was a war zone. In her hands a shiny penny on a chain winked up at her as it caught moonlight from the nearby window.

 _We can_ _'_ _t trust him._ You _can_ _'_ _t trust him! It has to be over!_

Dean's words echoed in her thoughts over and over again. She rubbed her thumb over the penny's surface, feeling the raised letters that spelled out _ONE CENT_ over and over again.

 _It has to be over._ She couldn't even entertain that thought and yet had no idea how on earth she could ever trust Cas again or continue on. The love she felt for him was wounded and limping. But it was still love. And the thought of him consumed her completely.

The softest sound of wings could be heard at that moment near to her and Alex stiffened. So he'd come. She didn't look up, just shut her eyes as emotions heightened at his close proximity.

"Hello Alex," he said in the softest and most careful voice. How could two words kill her like that? Pain crushed her heart and every bit of strength she'd been gathering here as she waited was lost without warning. Her face contorted as she quashed her feelings down. She heard him step a little closer. "Are… you all right?"

What a question to ask. "Am I all right," she repeated hollowly, shaking her head slightly in blank disbelief. She opened her eyes and looked over and up at him very slowly. He stood about six or seven feet away and was worried, looking at her with eyes that made it so hard to talk to him. "I defended you," she said softly, her sense of betrayal bleeding into her words. "I _believed_ in you."

If his words and expression were killing her, the effect was the same to him—he appeared to be physically pained at her statements. "I… I wanted to tell you," he said in a voice made higher in anxiety. He chanced a step closer. "So many times, I almost did."

"Oh well good for you," she said bitterly, looking down into her hands and trying to ignore the rock-like lump in her throat. "That makes this _all_ better."

That's when Cas saw what she held in her hands. A quality of fear made his voice become tight. "…What are you doing?" he asked in a whisper, staring at the penny he'd given her that spring day almost two years ago.

She shook her head, looking at him again with eyes that were flooding with tears. "I could ask you the same thing," she whispered in a wretched voice.

Castiel was alarmed and thrown off and it showed. "I am doing what I have to in order to stop the apocalypse, to save the human race, to save _you,_ " he insisted in rising emotional distress as he came closer by a couple of steps. "Raphael is too _powerful_ for me to take on as I am now—unless I have the souls from Purgatory as power, he _wins._ " Alex listened silently but said nothing. It sounded dangerous and close to insane and she just didn't understand why the hell he would keep this from her like he had. "Please believe me," he begged. "Keeping everything from you has been _torture_ for me."

A tight, cold little smile came over her face in response to that comment. "Well it's nice to know you're a little disturbed about keeping such a big secret from me," she muttered darkly, standing up and walking toward the window to put more space between them. "Means a _lot._ " She smacked the penny down onto the windowsill with angry fire and left it sitting there alone. _Jesus_. She still couldn't believe this was happening.

Cas shifted behind her and she heard him very cautiously coming closer. He appealed to her in a voice that beckoned her to drop everything and run to him, in a voice that was crushed and afraid and full of a begging anxiety she couldn't stand. " _Alex_ …"

She whirled and her eyes glittered with tears. "Don't think you can just look at me with those big sad eyes and say you regret it then everything's better!" she shouted. She was breathless and upset and when he saw _how_ upset, he attempted to go to her by instinct. She stepped back pointedly, keeping the distance between them. Stung, Cas stopped. He stared at her with this wounded expression, looked at the penny on the windowsill, then back at her. He looked so innocent, so confused about what he'd done and what was happening and Alex was so frustrated she could scream. "Cas, I understand having to do questionable things to get the right outcome!" she exclaimed tearfully. "I _do_! The unforgivable thing here is you _lying_ to me and hiding everything and tricking me and, god, taking my fucking _memories_ —? _Again_?" That was the final unforgivable, horrifying thing because he'd sworn never to do it again. She didn't think she knew him anymore and the way she looked at him conveyed that. "You _promised_ me," she whispered, then abruptly became so irate she could have kicked something. "You ruined _everything_!" she accused, so angry he'd done this to them. "How can I ever _trust you_ again?"

Cas's quiet horror doubled. "Alex, you can _trust me_ ," he insisted in deepening dismay, "I only want what's _best_ for you!"

She scoffed in deeply hurt cynicism because _no,_ she _couldn_ _'_ _t_ trust him—how could he even say that? "So all the underhanded shit you've done is what's ' _best for me_ '?"

Regretful, Cas was at a loss for a moment. "When all is said and done… _yes_." Even he seemed to realize how miserable his statement was. "I know my methods aren't appealing but… I _had no other way_. I exhausted every other avenue and option. Everything I've done has been _for you._ "

Hearing that made her cringe. "Well I didn't want this!" she choked out. 

Cas watched her and was deeply remorseful. "I should have told you," he said quietly after a heavy silence. "Long ago. I see that now. I should have… have trusted you with my burden. But I didn't want you to share in my misery." He peered at her with anxious, genuine eyes and Alex had to lean back against the window for support. The urge to go to him was so strong and absurd. "I suppose I also didn't want you to see me as what I suppose I truly am," Cas continued softly, his head beginning to bow in shame. "Wretched. _Low_." He was breaking her already shattered heart all over again and her instinct was to comfort him. She clamped her mouth shut and refused to. Instead she cursed herself. Cas continued to speak. "I… the soul claim. I tricked you because I wanted to avoid emotional fallout when you inevitably got angry if I wouldn't give it to you."

His reasoning was so hurtful and made her question him completely. Never mind that he was being honest… that was horrible of him. "Well good job avoiding the emotional fallout," she said bitterly, trying to protect herself by being harsh and defensive. "That worked out _great_." His face fell further and he didn't disagree. "How could you be so _selfish_?" Alex asked, because that action had been all about him and none about her. That wasn't the Cas she thought she knew and loved. She was so confused. "I thought I meant more to you than that."

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, eyes downcast on the ground. "It was a… a mistake. I'm… I'm new at this."

She bristled inside and out as her temper suddenly flared. "Don't you dare use that fucking excuse with me," she snapped. "You're _better_ than that! Or you're _supposed_ to be!" That was another low blow for her to have to try and swallow down. Cas was avoiding her gaze guilty. "And taking my memories?" she asked, getting closer and closer to crying. She couldn't _believe_ him. "What exactly happened there, huh?" she asked, trying to sound cold and angry instead of hurt and betrayed. "When was this?"

Coming face to face with what he'd done was making Cas more and more visibly depressed. "Not long ago at all," he confessed, eyes still having a hard time lifting up fully to hers. "The… the soul touch. You saw everything. And… I reacted like a coward."

Alex shook her head and looked away as her eyes brimmed with tears. She clenched her jaw tightly. " _Unbelievable._ " Cas seemed out of words and he moved toward her again, reaching out to touch her shoulder and Alex jerked away before he could. "Don't _touch_ me!" she snapped even as a tear ran down her cheek.

Mortified, Cas stood there with his hand frozen in mid air. "I was only trying to—"

She stared at him hard and mistrustful. " _Don_ _'_ _t_." She turned away and leaned against the window, putting a hand on the cold glass pane for support. This was a nightmare. A goddamn _nightmare._

Cas was quiet behind her for a long moment. "I knew it was wrong the second I did it," he finally confessed, and it almost sounded like he was in tears, too. "I made a _mistake_." She heard him more forward, closer to her, so close that the edge of his trench coat brushed the back of her leg. " _Please_ _—_ _forgive_ me."

She wanted to. So badly. Was that pathetic? She wanted to just erase the board so that things could be like they were before—she wanted to forget this mess and walk away from it and never have to think about it ever again. But she also knew things could _never_ be like they were before. The damage was done. And that thought broke her all over again. "How are we ever gonna get past this?" she asked in the softest pleading whisper. She sagged against the cold, hard window, fighting giving in to Cas's warm presence behind her. "I don't think I _can_."

Gently, one of his hands came to grasp her shoulder. She shut her eyes and a tear rolled down her cheek. His touch was like water in the desert, like life after death, like promise and hope and healing all in one. He touched her carefully, comfortingly, questioningly, despairingly. Opening her eyes, she turned her head and looked up at him sidelong. When another tear rolled down onto her cheek, he gently brushed it away with his thumb. His hand stayed on her face and his eyes silently searched hers— _please don_ _'_ _t say you can_ _'_ _t,_ his gaze seemed to beg. And she couldn't run away from him anymore. She turned to him, fingers taking hold of his coat tightly as she shuddered and hid her face in the front of his shoulder. He had already put his arms around her and was holding her close by the time her forehead hit trench coat fabric and his face was turned inward and down toward hers. His arms were tight around her, wordlessly speaking his fear of losing her and he wasn't breathing steadily—he was just as upset as she was. Maybe it was all some huge mistake like he said. He _was_ new at being a human, or like one anyway.

Needing to see him and try to understand what had happened, she she pulled back a little and looked up at him through teary vision. They were close. Noses almost brushing. With a sorrowful expression on his face, Cas gently moved his hand and swept the backs of his fingers against one of her tear-stained cheeks. How could she resist him when he touched her and looked at her like that? She couldn't.

Like magnets, they were helplessly drawn into each other's atmosphere and compelled to kiss each other softly, anxiously, briefly. That kiss was question they wordlessly asked each other as emotional agony made them mutually ragged and weak. Maybe they didn't find the answer they had been looking for in that first kiss because Cas's hands both came to hold either side of her face and he kissed her again in slowness and care and harrowing uncertainty. When his lips left hers by the space of an inch, she followed him and kissed him in a way that matched how he'd just kissed her. Their lips fell away from the other's only briefly before they kissed each other in rising distress. They were both out of words and close to emotional collapse and as such, these soft stolen kisses between them did not remain soft and weak and miserable. They became impassioned and despairing and heavy and mindless. Cas and Alex quickly grew breathless and noisy as they made out like there was no tomorrow. Maybe there wasn't. The fervor of it all—bodies molded tight, hands clutching desperately, mouths tangled together in passion—made Cas whimper quietly into her mouth and crush her even closer with tightening hands. And then Alex abruptly stopped them. "No, _no_ ," she said, pushing him away as her eyes refused to look into his. The physical high she got from him was a distraction and it didn't change what had happened. She said as much. "This doesn't _fix_ anything." But she sure as hell wished it did.

She walked away into the middle of the attic as she scrubbed her face with her hand. Being close to him was her downfall and she refused to let herself be taken advantage of any longer.

Cas stood by the window with crestfallen shoulders. "I'm sorry," he whispered. She could hear how he was beating himself up internally over everything and it killed her. He was getting more and more frustrated and it was audible. He obviously had no idea how to approach what was happening to them. Hell, neither did she. "Alex… I _love_ you," he pleaded, out of anything else to say. "You _know_ that I love you." When she said nothing and didn't turn around to face him, he became faintly panicked. "Don't you?"

Maybe he _thought_ he loved her. But would love really do what he had? Even as she was thinking about all the bad things he'd done, other things flooded her mind. The beautiful and selfless things he'd carried out not just for her but for her family… the unrestrained and pure way he'd loved her in less complicated times. She thought about the day he'd married her and she was near tears again. "I don't know _what_ to think," she admitted wretchedly, putting her face into a defeated hand.

Her words cut him to the quick. "How can you say that?" he asked in the softest and most injured voice he had ever spoken with. Physical pain washed over Alex at that tone and she stifled a sob into her hand—it tightened like a claw over the whole of her face and she squeezed even harder, trying to feel physical pain instead of emotional pain. "Nothing in all of _creation_ means what you mean to me."

It didn't work. She sobbed out loud and her shoulders shook when he said that. She believed him and it hurt her because to be loved so deeply and yet let down so hard… she couldn't understand it. "I just wish to god you had _told me_ , Cas," she managed miserably. "Were you _ever_ gonna tell me?"

"Yes," he replied immediately and earnestly. "Of _course_ I was."

She didn't know how to believe him on that count. She turned a little and looked at him sadly. "When?"

His eyes fell. "Once it was all over." He breathed out heavily as he fought away deep, visible sadness. He sounded so lost. "It made sense to me at the time and now I don't know…" He looked up again and studied her tear-soaked face, her red nose, her swollen eyes. He looked more and more pained at her distress. "I don't know," he repeated.

What was done was done. And they both knew that. In the silence, with so much distance between them, Alex felt like she was witnessing the end of something. The death of something beloved and beautiful. She faltered into a certain kind of hopelessness. No matter how much she loved him and wanted him, she couldn't allow what he had done. She couldn't forgive it or excuse it. It was too much. "Y-you should have told me in the beginning," she managed, thinking about how much could have changed if he hadn't insisted on lying to her for so long. He'd had every opportunity to tell her the truth and he hadn't until he'd been given no other choice. It broke her heart all over again and probably would forever. The day when they decided to get married bore down on her mind relentlessly and she didn't know if anyone had ever been as hurt as she was right now. "I thought you were different," she accused as the tears began again. "I thought I could trust you more than anyone else on _earth_ , and _now_ … _"_ Now she couldn't. This moment felt like every sad song she'd ever heard and every ending of every tragic love story she'd ever read. It was the end. Just like Dean said. It had to be over.

Cas seemed to realize where this was going and as such, began to respond with quickening desperation. "I'll make this right somehow," he promised in alarm, coming closer and trying to change her mind. "I'll do whatever you ask," he continued, taking hold of her by either arm. When she looked away and smashed her lips in together, Cas grew even more pleading. "Please, Alex, I am _begging_ you—! Find it within yourself to forgive me, I will _never_ make the same mistake again, _please._ "

She kept staring off to the side as her unblinking eyes filled with glassy tears. She dug deep and remained relatively blank. "I don't think you will either," she said softly, disassociating almost. "Because I don't think I can do this with you anymore, Cas."

Her words seemed to sock him in the stomach. Left breathless and at almost volume zero, Cas's hands loosened on her in disbelief. "… _What_?"

She pulled out of his arms and walked past him to the window, trying to stay outwardly hard. "Just leave," she said in a quiet and wavering voice. _Before I break down for real. Before I beg you to stay. Before I let my weakness take over. Before I change my mind._ Cas stood there in gaping, mystified horror. When he didn't leave and didn't even move, Alex snatched up the penny necklace from the sill and whirled on him. "I said _leave_!" she shouted, flinging the penny at him. He caught it just barely, not even sure what it was until he looked into the palm of his hand. When he saw what she had thrown, he looked up at her with the most speechlessly dismayed expression she had ever seen.

Before either of them could say anything more, the top stair creaked and Sam appeared. He didn't look surprised at all or confused about what was going on. In fact, he looked grim and determined and he set his sights on the angel as he entered. "Cas," he acknowledged lowly, threateningly. "How about you do what my sister asked you to do?" When Cas faltered and looked from Sam to Alex with severely reluctant bewilderment, Sam stepped into Cas's line of sight. " _Leave,_ " he commanded, standing between his sister and the angel protectively. Cas closed his fist around what had been thrown at him and after a moment more he wordlessly complied with an unreadable expression on his face.

When he disappeared, Sam drew in a deep breath, cast his gaze around carefully, then seemed satisfied that they were alone once more. He turned around and looked at Alex, who was withdrawn and upset and eyeing him dubiously. She had wanted Cas to go but she also hadn't at all. "How long were you out there?" she asked in a flat voice as she tried to smash down her feelings and hide herself from her twin.

Sam's mouth tightened in an almost sympathetic expression. "The whole thing."

The _whole thing_? Was nothing private or sacred around here anymore? Alex crossed her arms and sank down in defeat onto the bed as she struggled to channel all of the emotions she was feeling. She was _so_ not in good shape right now. What if he never came back? Was it really _was_ over? She wanted him to fight for her, she wanted him to prove himself, she wanted to be in his arms again. She wanted to punch him in the face, she wanted to kick his ass, she wanted to put her arms around his neck and cry forever, she wanted him to fuck off and never come around again, she wanted him to bring her the penny back and beg her forgiveness some more.

How could she want such contradicting things so strongly and all at once?

Sam wasn't leaving and Alex looked up at him again. For a second she'd almost forgotten that he was there. She made a face that asked a rude ' _what?_ _'_ She cracked off a curt question to him. "You here to bitch at me some more?"

He didn't return her sentiment of sarcasm and rudeness. "No," he said softly, then surprised her. "I came to say I'm sorry." He was pretty reluctant about it, but went for it anyway: "What I said… didn't need to be said like that. I blew up."

Guarded and mistrustful, Alex didn't respond to his empathetic demeanor, only gave him a mistrustful, resentful glance.

"I should have been more understanding," Sam continued hesitantly. Alex tried not to care either way, because she couldn't afford to let herself feel much more at this point or she would come apart. "I shouldn't have said all that stuff to you and I know that," Sam said quietly. He looked down and swallowed. His expression was pretty damn emotional and he tried a soft laugh to make himself sound less disturbed. "I'm just… really upset."

Looking away in embarrassment and rising emotional duress, Alex was terse and stood up fast, trying to bully him into leaving almost. "How you think _I_ feel?" she snapped rudely, then set her jaw tightly and crossed her arms, walking the length of the bed before she turned her back on her brother and slunk off a few steps. "Go away, Sam. I don't wanna talk to you. To _anyone_."

Sam contemplated her for a couple seconds then spoke in his gentlest tone of voice. "Call me crazy… but I don't think you should be alone right now."

She said nothing. Because she _couldn_ _'_ _t._ The dam was giving away and out came the realization that she had just _broken up with Cas_. She struggled to breathe for a couple seconds as it hit her. _Oh my god_. Her hands flew up to cover her face as she began to weep so much that she couldn't stand up straight anymore. Before she could fall to her knees or anything like that, she felt Sam turning her around and pulling her into a hug that effectively kept her on her feet. "Hey, _hey_ ," he soothed anxiously, patting her back and petting her hair and holding her steadily as she sobbed. She hung on and cried her fucking heart out. Clearly alarmed, Sam tried to calm her down. " _Hey_ ," he appealed softly. "It's gonna be okay."

"No it's not," she blubbered hysterically. "You were right, you were _right_." Alex struggled to breathe right as she cried so hard that she coughed and sobbed and gasped. Her nose ran and the skin around her eyes was beginning to feel raw. "Why am I so _stupid_?" 

Sam held her by both arms and tried to pull back and get her to look at him. "Alex, Alex, _stop,_ " he said urgently, getting really worried over her state. "Just breathe, just breathe."

With screwed-shut eyes and weak legs, she dug fingers into his arms and tried to do what he said. _In, out, in, out. Just breathe._ After a few seconds of that, Sam guided her over to the bed and sat down with her, putting his arm around her shoulder, waiting for her to calm down. He kept urging her to just breathe and after upwards of thirty seconds the more intense tears slowly abated but the grief remained. When she was quieted again, Sam finally spoke again with utmost brotherly gentleness. "You're _not_ stupid." He looked at her in deeply concerned earnestness and his arm, still around her, tightened. "You know, in this life most people get jaded and tired and stop believing in things." He managed to smile at her sadly. "You hoping for the best and believing in the idea of a future… that's not stupid. It's brave."

She didn't feel brave at all, but Sam's attempt was still kind and she recognized it as such. But she still couldn't understand how love had turned out to be the sharpest dagger of all. "Why is it like this?" she asked in a voice that was scratchy and hoarse. She looked to her slightly-older brother and felt like he was years wiser and smarter than her, like she was a dumb baby. "Why didn't anyone ever tell me how much it _hurts_?"

Sam rubbed her upper arm a couple times with somber encouragement. He looked down, maybe reflecting on his own pains that haunted him. "I dunno. No one told me, either." He looked at her sadly and squeezed her upper arm so lightly. "I'm sorry this had to happen to you, Al. I really am." He hardly ever called her that.

She sniffed a little, rubbed the raw end of her nose shamelessly as she tried to wrap her head around what had happened. "Sam, what was I _thinking_?" she asked, and she was asking it to herself more than anything else. She was trying to understand how she could have ever believed this would work forever and how she could have been such a grade-A fool. "Happily ever after? A normal life?" She managed the softest and most cynical little laugh-sound to cover up another little sob. " _Babies_?" She scoffed at herself through the pain because in her most secretive moments, she had daydreamed about starting a family with Cas. Maybe it was biologically ingrained, maybe it was her naive and idealistic side… but despite everything she had pictured Castiel as the father to her children. _Stupid_. How could she have ever even let herself entertain that thought for a _second_? She should have known her love life would crash and burn like everything else. "Yeah _right_." Sam had gone stiff beside her when she said 'babies' and was making a face she wasn't sure of, a face that abruptly made her worry, a face that momentarily made her forget herself. "…What?" she asked slowly, cautiously. He didn't say, he just faltered and began to look more and more uncomfortably distressed. His face drained of color and his eyes dodged around on the ground inexplicably. Alex started to get really weirded out. "Sam, _what_?"

Sam shook his head and tried too hard to look fine. He tried to shake it off, shrug it away. "N-nothing." He took his arm away from her and Alex squinted at him deeply. She'd known him since they were _conceived_. And he wasn't fooling anyone with the 'nothing' act.

"It's not nothing," she said skeptically, and the way Sam's face tightened confirmed it all over again. He looked suddenly flighty, like he wanted to escape. "What is it?" she asked, and he abruptly stood up.

"Look, I gotta… it's not…" he stood there and put a hand on his face, let out a shuddering breath. "I'm fine, it's fine, don't worry about it."

Alex stood too, getting more and more worried because the more he said the clearer it was that something was wrong with him. "What's _wrong_?"

Sam looked at her with the most pained eyes she had ever seen and he struggled a minute, obviously contemplating leaving. And then he didn't. Pale, drawn, and appearing years younger than his age of twenty-nine, he began to explain. "I, I didn't wanna tell you," he said softly, and Alex felt a small, growing ball of dread at the tone in his voice. "But… w-when Lucifer possessed you—afterward, when I took over he—he showed me…" Sam stopped mid-sentence and shut his eyes, breathed out through his nose. His eyebrows worked in together as he fought to explain to his increasingly frightened sister. "He knew stuff about you because… because he possessed you, you know? And, and I guess 'cause Cas was human back then—he… you two… you were… there was… there was…" he trailed off, unable to finish his sentence.

Alex frowned, not getting it at all. What the hell was Sam talking abou—

And then it hit her. Sam stiffening when she said the word 'babies.' There was a what? A _baby_? She stepped back slightly, eyes widening in disbelief. " _No there wasn_ _'_ _t_ ," she breathed out in horror. When he just looked at her in silent confirmation, she got even more terrified. _No._ He couldn't mean what she thought he meant.

Sam looked down, appearing to be regretting what he'd just told her. "You were only a, a couple days along," he said quietly in a voice wracked by pain. Alex stared as her mind spun. _A couple days along?_ That wasn't possible…! No! This wasn't happening right now! Sam kept talking and his voice sounded far away. "Lucifer threw it in my face, taunted me about it…" his voice cracked. "How she was dead the second he got his claws in you."

Alex looked up as a typhoon of pain hit her in every atom. "… _She_?" Her voice broke as that single word gave life and identity to a child she had never known had existed, however fractionally. She realized she was staggering backwards and collapsing to sit on the bed as she stared into space and forgot how to breathe. She shook her head blankly as she tried to make sense of this. " _No_." Her voice was the softest tear-choked whisper.

"I remembered last week," Sam explained miserably. He had quiet tears in his eyes now too. "Out of _nowhere_. I'm… I'm so sorry. I didn't wanna tell you. Maybe I shouldn't have." He looked at her and stayed where he was, pinched the bridge of his nose in an attempt to compose himself. "That's why I've been so mad at Cas, like… how could he let that _happen_ to you?"

Dreadful silence filled the room and Alex thought that she didn't know how to feel anymore. In a single day, her world had been absolutely fucking shattered to goddamn pieces. Physically numb as her heart beat hard enough in her chest to smash its way out, she struggled to hold onto the world by grabbing a fistful of bedspread. This had to be a joke. All of it. The entire thing. No, _no_ …

"I-I told you to leave," Sam said softly, and Alex looked up, dazed. What? Then she realized he wasn't talking to her.

Castiel was standing in the room again near Sam. From the way he looked at her, Alex knew he'd heard everything. She _needed him_ so bad. Forget everything else, she _needed_ him. She barely had the strength to move a limb and yet she tried to stand up and go to him. He was already halfway across the distance to her and falling into a kneel in front of her where she sat on the bed. She hugged his neck hard and broke down as his arms locked around her.

Sam hesitated, then did the respectful thing. "I'll... be at the bottom of the stairs," he said quietly, a warning to Cas and a reminder to Alex.

She was barely listening. Her brother was gone and his footsteps were fading but she was lost in a world of torment. She'd been _pregnant._ They had created a child and they had never even _known_ at all. "How, Cas?" she sobbed into the side of his neck. " _How_?" She hadn't even had her _period_ at that time.

"I… I don't know," he said softly. He sounded every bit as shell-shocked and grieved as she was. "I didn't know of this." His arms tightened on her and his head turned inward, he buried his face into the side of her neck. "I… I didn't _know_."

She had regretted her decision to say yes to Lucifer for every reason in the world before. But now, to find out the spark of life that had been created was snuffed out by doing that? She didn't know if she could live with herself now. Everything had changed in the span of one single day for her and she felt lost completely and forever. "Oh, Cas, I can't take this, I _can_ _'_ _t_." Her fingers dug into his coat as she wept. "It's _too much_."

* * *

At the foot of the stairs Sam Winchester sat and regretted what he had just told his sister. He had been determined not to let it slip, but in that moment he'd had to tell _someone_ what he'd been carrying. It haunted his dreams and his waking, it harrowed him without ceasing… he wished he hadn't remembered at all.

But he _did_ remember. The time Lucifer had possessed him and told him of his sickening plans for the new race of beings on planet earth. Sam couldn't unsee what he'd been about to do to his sister at Lucifer's hand—he couldn't forget that horror for a second. But then there was the other knowledge that the devil divulged. That Alex had been pregnant at the time of possession. Only a day or two along. And being the cruel creature that he was, Satan showed Sam the future that was supposed to befall Alex and Cas. He said that if Sam did his bidding, maybe he could 'pull a few strings' and get that future back on track.

In a blur of moments that felt real, Sam had seen his sister and Castiel with a dark-headed baby girl with brilliant blue eyes who turned into a boisterous toddler. He'd seen Cas in jeans and a flannel shirt lifting this toddler girl up above his head as she squealed with laughter and called him daddy. He'd seen her running to Alex laughing raucously. "Mommmmyyyy! Save me from da monster in closet! Chop him head off!" It must have been a game they played. Sam saw himself protesting in good humor as his niece pinned a ridiculous amount of bows into his hair. "Why it long if you not gonna put _bow_ _s_ in it?" she asked matter-of-factly. Sam watched this little girl become a pre-schooler and get in trouble for hitting a boy. "Unca-Dean tolded me to hit boys if dey talk mean me," she had said in her defense. Her uncle Dean gave her a thumbs up and an approving wink even as everyone else gave him a look of chagrin.

But that little girl would never exist now. The only existence she would ever have was in Sam's mind.

Sam bowed his head into his hand.

They had named her Lily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't drop many hints about the miscarriage and lost baby because no one knew it except Lucifer and then Sam, who forgot it by supernatural means. At the time when Alex conceived, Cas was powerless and couldn't sense that small spark of life. By the time he was returned to full power, it was too late and none of them knew.


	80. Taken

" _Am I alive or just a ghost? Haunted by my sorrows.  
Hope is slipping through my hands, gravity is taking hold."  
_\- RED

* * *

**...April 11, 2010  
** **(Almost Two Years Ago)**

In an unremarkable motel room in the mid-morning hour, a fallen angel and the woman he had secretly married the day before were lost in each other's arms. On the table nearby, the abandoned breakfast of vending machine snacks he had gotten for them a few minutes prior. Discarded at the edge of the bed, the towel she'd been wrapped in before they'd decided that breakfast would have to wait.

A moaned whisper of, " _Ah_ , Cas—" could be heard and then a whimper of pleasure. His dark head of hair was buried in the crook of her neck as he planted breathy kisses up and down against the curve of warm skin there. He held her to himself on that bed and made love to her in a way that reduced them both to a euphoric stupor. Hair still wet from the shower she'd just taken, Alex had her eyes shut to better savor every touch and movement—one of her hands was clenched into Cas's hair and her back was arched off the unmade bed as she gasped for him to keep going, _keep going_.

He pressed a hard, fervent kiss against her lips then groaned out a high, distressed " _ah_ " against her mouth, which had fallen open wide to gulp in gasping mouthfuls of air as the inevitable dam broke over them both. He murmured her name anxiously like he was having a holy experience, like he was worshiping her. To see how they held onto each other during that moment of euphoria and afterward was a visible testament to how deeply they loved and needed one another. It didn't even need saying at all but when it was all over and they were left trembling and thunderstruck, Castiel breathlessly drew back just enough to look his Alex in the eye and he told her what was already so obvious. " _Heavens_ I love you," he whispered, touching her face and looking at her with eyes that were adoring and amazed. A soft, exhausted laugh escaped her as a smile made her bright eyes crinkle up. She craned her neck forward and kissed him lingeringly. She loved him too.

As they laid together and recovered from the exhaustion of ecstasy, Cas turned them onto their sides and held her close—she nestled her face into the firm, warm skin of his chest and rested, breathing him in as his elevated heart rate echoed through her. After a moment he gently took one of her hands into his. He seemed to be in deep, reverent thought. "How can every time be so incredible?" he asked quietly, earnestly. His voice became mildly shy. "We've… done this seven times now and somehow each time seems better than the last."

She smiled into his skin, flushing over a little because she thought so, too. "You're keeping _track_?" she asked teasingly.

"How could I forget?" he countered softly, stroking a hand down the side of her head. She heard the reflective smile in his voice. _God_ … every day she was more in love with him. Hoping it would always be like this, she pulled back a little to smile at him and see his face. His hand remained at the side of her head and his eyes contemplated her with almost childlike wonder. "Before you, I would see humans engaging in coitus and I thought it seemed such a banal and repetitive activity," he said thoughtfully. The ghost of a smile tugged at his wide lips. His chin dipped down slightly and his eyes seemed knowing, coy. "Now… I see why people find it so appealing."

Smiling back too, feeling like it was a thrilling little secret that was only theirs, Alex had to agree. She'd spent so many years wondering about sex and being depressed that she didn't have it… she'd felt defective her entire life and the seemingly never-ending virgin status had only added to her stockpile of insecurities. But she would do it all over again and wait twenty-seven freakish years for Cas to come along and be the one she had that first moment with. It was so worth it and being with him was absolutely astounding in every way. He was still looking at her, but now he was getting that more serious, sappy look in his eyes. "I don't think I'll ever tire of copulating with you, no matter how many times it happens," he said softly, and it was meant to be a romantic sentiment but…

She couldn't help it—she busted out laughing at how he phrased it. After yesterday and last night and this morning she was rendered playful, uninhibited, and completely happy. "Don't call it ' _copulation_ ' you giant _dork_ ," she chided affectionately.

He was smiling too but slightly confused. "Then… what should I call it? … _Intercourse_?"

" _No_!" she laughed—that was even worse. "Call it… call it _sex._ " She paused and considered the other ways to say it. "Or fucking. Screwing. Getting down and dirty. _Doin'_ it." She said that last one with a note of immature glee and bit her lip, trying not to get silly. Cas seemed to find all those terms confusing and Alex sobered. "Making love?" she suggested quietly, then had to suppress another laugh because saying that out loud made her want to roll her eyes.

Cas's frown faded. "I like that one," he said, seeming pleased.

Grinning at him, Alex scrunched her nose a little. "Of _course_ you do."

Cas was faintly confused and amused at the same time because of her tone and expression. "What do you mean?"

"You're such a _sap_ ," she explained, but it wasn't an accusation or an insult. It was an admiration, a playful affection.

Cas's smile returned and it was knowing. "You like that about me." He was almost playful, too.

Alex grinned again and grabbed him around the neck, pushed him down onto his back and kissed him, catching him off guard in the most pleasant of ways. She smiled against his lips and then drew back just a little, touching the side of his face and letting her thumb brush his cheek as her eyes flickered back and forth between his. "I _love_ that about you."

* * *

**Present Day**

Nearly two years later found Castiel and Alex in a very different place altogether. They were laying on a bed together again… but things were so very different.

"I—I just don't understand _how_ ," Alex managed, and her voice was muffled because her face was buried in the front of Cas's coat. Her voice was cracked, rasping, and weakened from crying. "If I had known… oh _god,_ if I had known…" her fingers tightened as they clung to the fabric of his shirt and she quaked from the spasms of grief. His arms tightened a little around her.

"You _didn't_ know," Castiel consoled, but the words felt rude and pointless and he was so shocked and grief-stricken himself that he could barely speak. Still, he kept trying. "You _couldn't_ have known. _None_ of us could have." But… he felt like he should have sensed it somehow, angel powers or not, he should have felt or _known_ that she carried the beginning of a child inside of her. _Their_ child. Could any discovery be more horrific and saddening? To know that all this time a little life they had put into motion had been extinguished before even being recognized or acknowledged? It was a burden that cracked Castiel in half. He held Alex all the tighter, not knowing what to do or say. How could anyone ever be prepared to receive news like this?

Sam had dropped the bombshell a few moments ago and Castiel, who hadn't left like he'd been asked previously (remaining there and invisible instead), had been present when brother told sister that she had been pregnant at the time of possession. After Castiel made himself visible again, Sam left them to themselves. Cas went to Alex and the current state of their crumbling relationship was forgotten. They put it aside, especially Alex, who wouldn't even touch or look at Cas previously. One moment he had been fighting for her to stay with him and not end their relationship, the next they were grieving a lost baby who didn't even have a name.

In the moments that followed that horrible revelation, Alex became so physically exhausted by her tears and so bereaved that Cas laid them both down on the bed and there he held her tightly as his mind and heart raced sickeningly. He tried to calm her down even as he fought to grasp what had been brought to light. He felt as though it couldn't be true. Or maybe that was just a selfish desire. _It's too much, it's too horrible, it's too unthinkable. I don't want it to be true._

_If Alex hadn't said yes to Lucifer, I would be a father right now._

That single realization struck him as if with lightning and left him feeling hollow, strange, defeated, and lost. A _father_.

Without meaning to, Cas visualized a little toddling girl with dark hair like his and eyes like Alex's—this baby girl would be nearing her first birthday in present time had she lived. But she didn't exist anymore. She was gone. Everything her life would have been was now only a quiet thought and an unanswered question. The word 'tragedy' did not need explaining to Castiel. Not in the least. He now knew firsthand, and he despaired because it was too late to change it.

Even as Cas struggled to comprehend and come to terms, Alex shuddered and sobbed weakly against him. That sound drove him to excruciating emotional agony. How could he make this _better_? What were they supposed to _do_ now? How could anything ever be _all right_ ever again? Cas held her closer in the darkness, as if maybe being closer to each other could heal the feeling of being torn open and apart. "How could I have l-let this happen?" she stumbled out in between tears and uneven, sobbed breaths.

Cas felt another jolt of shock. She thought this was _her_ fault? Even as he realized why she would think that—saying yes to Lucifer had signed her own death certificate and that of the child they hadn't even known about—he was horrified. "Alex, don't blame yourself for this," he implored anxiously, beside himself to think that she would feel this way. "This isn't your _fault._ "

"Then whose is it?" She broke his heart all over again with that quiet question and the way she asked it.

"… _Mine_ ," Cas murmured wretchedly. How stupid and thoughtless and reckless had he been to not account for this or be responsible? "I should have realized it would have been a possibility that you could have been able to conceive when I lost my powers but… I didn't even think of it."

He felt her shaking her head 'no' against him and his hand tightened behind her head. "I'm the one who walked up to the devil and said yes," she whispered. There was a long silence. "I don't even know what to think or feel right now." Her tears were slowly lessening into a more blank demeanor. "How can this be _real_?"

He wondered the same thing. "I don't know," he answered, hating that he had no words to take away the pain or comfort her. Nothing could have prepared him to learn of this.

She shivered and sniffed for half of a minute, calming down as Cas gently kissed her forehead and then cradled her head in his hand, pressing his forehead against hers. They were both lost and he felt it, but the one saving grace was being able to hold her close. Perhaps her previous rejection of him would change. "W-what happens t-to babies that young?" she asked in the softest whisper. "When they—" her voice almost completely failed her. "When they die?"

That question made another wave of grief wash over him. Cas drew back a little and contemplated her with gentle, sad eyes. She was looking to him for hope, for answers, for comfort, for reassurance. He wasn't sure if the truth would help or harm her. "There's a garden hidden deep among the heavens," he said slowly, recalling that verdant and serene place, "where the flowers that bloom are all the young souls that were never born or who died when they were just infants." He paused heavily. In all of Heaven there had never been a more sad or beautiful place to him—such vivid life blooming in every color known to man, these flowers that scattered the landscape in all directions. A deep feeling of peace and sorrow rested there. All these souls who had never lived to their full potential or been given what he thought they should have had: a chance at life on earth. But now, having had experienced the brutality of life firsthand and having learned that pain and failure seemed inescapable… perhaps that was a better fate. To dwell quietly among the silent flowers for all eternity. "I've only seen it once," he murmured, and he realized that if he should go again, one single flower among the millions would belong to him. "I suppose she's there," he said, almost to himself. His voice was stark as he thought of this human being he had taken part in creating. "I _hope_ she's there."

Alex stiffened. There was another anguished sound from her as she clung onto his coat even tighter than before and buried her face in his chest because she was unable to face the world. "I killed Sam, I killed you, I killed _her,_ oh my _god_!"

Alarmed, Cas held his grieving wife more securely. "You... did what you thought was right," he said, trying very hard to comfort her. It was difficult, because he needed comforting too.

"And I was wrong!" she exclaimed tearfully, then pushed away, grabbing him by the forearms as they laid there. She looked desperate and urgent. "Cas, please—I am _begging_ you. Don't work with Crowley. Don't do this Purgatory thing. _Please_. Let's find some _other way_." Her face distorted. "H-haven't we lost enough?"

His heart was weighted down impossibly because she was so deeply grieved. He gently traced away wet hairs that were stuck to her cheek and the place underneath her eye. "We _have_ lost enough," he agreed quietly, and when he thought of all that had gone wrong for them he could have wept, too. "But we could lose _everything_." There was one small hope Cas was holding on to in that moment. That Alex would cling to him like he wanted to cling to her. That her previous statements about it being 'over' were just emotional overreactions and that they would remain together in the eleventh hour when he thought they needed each other the most. Cas tried to make her understand again. "Alex—I _have_ to do this. I've invested too much, I've gone too far, I have _no other choice_." Her face twisted up pleadingly and the tears that glittered unfallen in her eyes made him hurt. " _Please_. I'm asking you to trust me," Cas implored gently, laying it all on the line and once again begging for her to believe in him. Surely she would, because he had done everything for her, he had given _all_ , and she knew that. Or, she knew most. "I've tried other solutions, I've considered all avenues—this is the _only_ way."

Alex searched his eyes with her pained ones. "How _can it be_?"

Cas hesitated, then reached out and touched her forehead with soft fingertips. "Let me show you." When she realized what he was doing, she pulled away with a note of disgust on her face, but it was too late. He'd already put back the memories he took—and now she remembered it all. She blinked in surprise at the rush of new recollections, her pupils dilating a little wider. Her eyes fell down in thought as she silently processed what was suddenly in her mind again. Cas could have held his breath. Surely she would understand now. Now she remembered what he had stolen away after the soul touch, now she would retain memories of everything she had seen. _All_ of it. She would see his meeting with Crowley, his conflict and near-death at Raphael's hands, the impossible dilemma he was faced with: the apocalypse restarting, him never being able to see her again, her soul being damned, the world being devastated and possibly wiped out completely. She would see how he tried to undercut Crowley by creating all those new souls, she would see how that plan crashed and burned and how she died in that alternate timeline. She would know how deeply it pained him to keep everything from her, she would know his true motivation had always been to keep her safe.

At her extended silence and lack of reaction, Cas was more and more worried. Her face remained mostly expressionless. She was perhaps a little vexed, but he couldn't see her feelings otherwise. Then she suddenly sat up and turned away from him, letting her legs hang off the other edge of the bed. Cas pushed himself up with an arm, confused at her silence and sudden movement. And then, with a great deal of attitude, he heard her scoff. "Fuck it," she said forcefully. " _Let_ the world end, huh? Maybe the apocalypse is _supposed_ to happen, maybe the earth is supposed to die out and go to hell. Why fight it if it's _fate_ or whatever?" She sounded cynical and bitter. "I don't really care anymore."

Cas felt almost angry because what she said was an insult to all the things he'd done and the sacrifices made. "You don't mean that," he said, but it was a question and an admonishment at the same time.

"Like hell I don't!" she snapped, standing up and whirling to look at him where he sat on the bed. She was volatile and past her breaking point. "Hasn't this fight done enough _damage_?" she demanded in rising distress. "We walk away while we still can, while there's still something _left_!"

Cas stood too, and the bed separated them. "No," he said, shaking his head multiple times. "I _can't_ walk away. The fate of the entire _world_ hangs in the balance, _your_ fate hangs in the balance."

She threw her hands up briefly in a gesture of angry apathy. " _Who cares_?"

Getting more and more confounded at her behavior, Cas rounded the bed. " _I_ do," he said, his tone implying that she was shocking him. "And so do you." She looked away and shook her head, quashing away visible self-hatred. He knew her. She fought tooth and nail. She didn't give up easily. The only times he'd seen her give up before were when she felt completely alone and out of help. As such, Cas stayed himself then tried a gentler approach. "Don't give up," he pleaded, approaching until he was close enough to softly touch her arm. At his touch, she shut her eyes briefly and struggled. "Not now," Cas continued. "Not after everything."

Her glassy tear-soaked eyes opened and looked up into his. "But what's _left_?" she asked in a whisper that broke.

Cas swallowed, because his throat was malfunctioning and it felt as if some large object were stuck in it. " _Us_."

Her gaze fell and her jaw tightened. "I don't know about that."

The hope he'd been feeling was abruptly crushed again. He couldn't bear this horrible looming threat of the end of everything. Why, _why_ hadn't he had the foresight to tell her everything before this? He was not too ashamed to beg. He knew after everything he'd done he _had_ to. " _Alex_ …" he began, not sure how to say all he felt, not sure why she would reject him even after having the memories back. She knew his motivations and feelings now, didn't that explain everything? Couldn't she find it within herself to have mercy on his mistakes?

Alex pulled away from his hand and looked at him with eyes that were tortured by conflict. "Cas my whole _life_ has been about keeping bad stuff outta the world. Trying to put _down_ the kinda creatures you're about to let out into the general population, you know?" Her truly agonized feelings were showing and it killed him to know he was the reason why. "What you're doing goes against _everything_ I've ever stood for. And… I mean, I _can't_ do this with you. I _can't_. And that _kills_ me."

While he understood the logic of what she said, while he knew his plan of action was dangerous, he also knew that he loved her too much to fail. He _refused_ to fail. Shouldn't she know that about him? She had seen him through that soul touch, felt the essence of who he was, touched the inferno of devotion that burned for her and her alone. As such, he didn't understand. It cut him in a place he couldn't physically be cut. He only wanted her to believe in him. He _needed_ that. "You _know_ me," he insisted brokenly. His eyes held hers somberly, earnestly, anxiously. He knew that in the past, the Winchesters had all done shady things to get a certain outcome. How was he any different? "You _know_ that humanity and saving people and saving _you_ is what I value most. So please, have _faith_ in me. In this plan. I _need_ you to."

Alex was confounded. "Asking me to trust you after how much you lied? What you've done?"

Hurt because he kept expecting at least _her_ to see the good in him, to give him a chance, to empathize, Cas was growing frustrated. "Why don't _any_ of you—" he started in a voice that was tight and confrontational. He made himself stop and he calmed his temper. When he was less tense, he tried again. "Why don't you believe I can do this?"

With eyes that had seen into him in ways no one else had, she looked at him long and somber. "Do _you_ believe you can do this?"

A question he couldn't answer.

Castiel was silent because of that small shadow of a doubt that was always there in the back of his mind, telling him that every action and choice was the wrong one, every step he took was one step closer to destruction. Had anyone ever had such weight on their shoulders? Had anyone else ever known this burden? He hadn't been prepared for it. He hadn't been _ready._

Just out of arms reach, Alex hugged herself loosely and refused to look at him. "I think you need to leave now."

His heart felt like it clenched up inside of his chest. He watched her speechlessly for a moment and he couldn't comprehend why she would ask him to leave now of all times. "But you're upset," he protested softly.

"And I'll _be_ upset," she returned hollowly. "About all this. For a long time. Maybe forever."

Cas held himself stiffly. "I should stay with you," he said in wavering confidence. His voice caught and he wondered if this was what it felt like to be young, small, afraid of that large and looming unknown world. "I don't want to go."

Her face flickered. She was outwardly hard and he couldn't tell her real emotions. "Yeah well, you have your war to win, don't you? Give _Crowley_ a hug from me."

She turned away and he felt stung. That was his signal to leave, but he couldn't bring himself to go. It felt wrong. She was trying to make more distance between them and it felt like if he didn't bridge the gap now, the distance might never lessen again. She needed him right now, didn't she? "Alex," he said quietly, following her in timid uncertainty. "Don't push me away—not now." When she said and did nothing, he wracked his mind for a way to say what he felt. "Shouldn't a husband comfort his wife when she's—"

"Stop, _stop_!" she burst out, surprising him. She whirled as she said the words and her shoulders heaved up and down with unsteady emotion. "You and I are _not_ —" she used her hands to indicate she was out of words and had no way of putting it. And then she destroyed his world. "It's not real," she said, and he felt as though he'd been physically struck across the face.

"Not real?" he repeated dumbly, thinking surely he had misunderstood. She was talking about something else. Yes, she had given him his token back—the penny. Yes, she had told him she couldn't continue in the relationship at present. But to say it wasn't _real_ …? She couldn't be talking about the most important day that had ever existed. It was the realest thing to him, his anchor, his North star, his comfort in the hardest of moments.

"You, me, _us_ , what we _did—_ " she was attempting to be flippant through deep emotional distress and she was coming off as despairing and lost. "It's not _real_."

How was it that three small words could render him into a ruined man? How could she decide that, how could she _hurt_ him that much? Never in all of his existence had he felt more pain than he felt at that moment. The one he loved to his deepest depths had just torn into a part of him that had never been torn into before. For a wretched and bare silence, Cas couldn't even find it in himself to know how to react. "The, the vows we made—" he finally protested in a breaking voice.

"I said _stop_!" she insisted in a near shout. "I don't want to be married to a pathological liar, I don't want to be married to the villain, I don't want to be married at all! It was a joke, we were _kidding_ ourselves! I don't belong to anyone and I don't _want_ you here right now, so get the _fuck_ away from me and stay gone!"

Her words were like knives thrown into him repeatedly and he could have staggered away from the physical effect they put on him. _Stay gone?_ She didn't want to be married? Cas tried not to panic. Even though he was shot down every time he reached out to her, he tried again because he had promised forever, _everything_ , always, and his instincts told him she must need him as much as he needed her. "Surely right now we shouldn't separate or withdraw from each other," he chanced in rising emphatic desperation. "Surely now of all times we should…" he tried to think of a way to phrase it, "lean on each other?"

Her eyes came to him and she was cold. "I don't need anyone. Especially not _you_."

Castiel felt his stinging eyes blinking rapidly as an expression of hurt confusion made his face tight all over. Did she hate him? For everything he'd done to her? He didn't know if he could blame her if she did. The one who had caused all this was himself. That was the true tragedy. He could have prevented _all_ of this.

Was it truly over? "If I could go back in time…" he faltered when his voice refused to stay smooth and stable. He took a moment to gather himself and try to plead his case to her one last time. "I'd find a way to make this right." Oh, how he wished he could. "But all I have is what I've done." Realizing that perhaps there _was_ no undoing the damage done, Cas tried to be courageous even as he felt like some part of himself was suffering asphyxiation. He tried not to sink down into the feeling of powerless despair. He tried to be strong for them both. "I'm going to see this through for us, Alex," he promised, and he meant it. To his dying breath. She was worth it to him. Any heartache, any harm, even this heartache and harm that was being given from her hand to him. He looked at her and he loved her so much he ached physically. "And I will do _whatever it takes_ to earn your love back. And even if you don't…" he paused and swallowed, barely able to speak this thought aloud. "Even if you don't want me anymore, it doesn't matter. If you can never find it within yourself to love me again, it changes nothing for me." He felt his face working with emotional response to the words he was saying. "I will fight for you until the day I no longer exist." She said nothing but her eyes were shining more than they had a minute ago and her features were stiffer, like she was fighting to keep them in place and still. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the penny on the chain very slowly. He offered it out to her, wanting her to take it, begging her to take him back and forgive him even in the slightest. "This… this is yours."

She swallowed and he saw how a tear ran out of one of her full eyes. She looked off to the side past her shoulder and tried to disguise the tears in her voice. "I don't need that."

Cas stared a moment long then nodded acceptance even though he didn't _understand_. How could she just give up and push him away after everything they had been through and promised? He remembered her on their wedding day, so sweet and innocent and trusting of him, so willing to be his. And now this. Castiel approached her again, trying to appeal to her one last time, wanting her to know that his heart was in this and that he had done everything out of good intentions. "Alex—" he began, then a sudden searing pain overtook his entire nervous system. " _Augh_!" he cried out, doubling over and smashing a hand to his head, dropping the penny before he was abruptly forced out of the house completely.

Shocked when he disappeared and fizzled out like static from in front of her, Alex looked around in abrupt worry. "Cas?" At her feet, the penny on the chain glimmered in the moonlight it caught—he'd dropped it when he disappeared. What had just happened? Had one of her brothers banished Cas? She crouched down and picked up the penny on the chain, looking around for clues to what had happened. She didn't see anyone or hear anything, and there had been no burst of light or blast of wind. For a few seconds, she stayed there, crouched in the darkness in a dumb shock. Then her phone buzzed in her pocket at that second and she grabbed it then read while standing up.

**Cas at 3:29AM:  
It appears the angel wards have been corrected. I'm all right.**

She looked toward the window and went immediately, her heart pounding in anxiety. When she got there, she saw him. He stood with his phone hanging at his side as he looked up at her from the lawn below. Her shoulders sagged in relief and her hand lightly raised and fingertips pressed into the cold glass pane. Mind spinning, head light, heart heavy, Alex regretted everything she'd said to him but didn't know how to deal or where to go from here. Everything inside of her was trying to push him away where she couldn't be hurt any further because the pain was _unbearable_. She had imagined him to be her hero, a knight in white, a good and completely benevolent being who would never treat her as he had. Yeah, she got that his choices were limited and his fears were huge. But thinking he was protecting her by not telling her about what he was really doing this whole time? He'd been protecting _himself._ She almost felt sorry for him that respect, but mostly she was angry that he hadn't trusted her like she'd trusted him.

The _only_ other person on earth Alex had ever trusted more than Cas was Dean. In her experience, most people weren't dependable. She'd always held trust closely to herself and never gave it out freely. And then… along came Cas. He'd softened her hard heart without even trying, he'd stolen away her defenses. She'd believed in him completely. And look what she had to show for that belief: scattered pieces on the ground, a heart that had been smashed into the oblivion of pain. A lost child. A baby girl who would always be nothing but a mere possibility that was gone forever. Alex thought she had known guilt before today. But now, knowing she was responsible for endangering the little life that had been carried inside of her body, knowing she was why there was another flower in that heartbreaking garden Cas had told her about… she felt unfit to carry on living.

Alex stared out the window at Cas with tear-filled eyes and a heart that was heavy as mountains. He was the one her heart reached out for, he was the one her soul was restless without, he was the one who knew her in ways no one else did. He was the one she needed so fucking bad right now to deal with this grief and heartache. That's why it hurt so bad to know what he had done. She felt played and tricked and couldn't trust him like she had before. Why did he have to _choose_ to lie to her? That was a question she already knew the answer to because now she remembered the soul touch and had felt his motivations as if they were her own. But understanding and empathizing didn't take away the wound or make anything better. She wanted to scream and shake him, tell him he could have saved their entire relationship by letting her in on everything, by choosing to be forthcoming. But he'd made his choices. And now she had to make hers.

She loved him, even though he'd hurt her so bad and violated every instance of trust she'd placed in him. She _loved_ him, heart, soul, mind, body. But…

Dean's words to her earlier echoed in her mind.

_It has to be over!_

She didn't want it to be. But all she had left in her was bitterness and betrayed feelings and pain. And she felt like her brother was right.

After being hit over the head with painful revelations repeatedly all in one day, Alex was exhausted, emotionally frayed, and just wanted the entire world to go away and stop so that she could recover somehow. _Could_ she recover? She didn't know. Her phone buzzed again. Another text from Castiel.

**Cas at 3:30AM:  
** **Can you give me another chance? Alex, please. I am begging you. I will never lie to you again as long as I live. Please.**

Her heart clenched up. She read that message in her mind in his voice without meaning to. She looked up from the screen to him and she could have either cussed him out into the next century or flung her arms around him and never let go. She didn't _know_ , and she was blank inside. After considering and trying to figure out how the hell to phrase herself, she started several replies to him then deleted them. She finally sent the following:

**I don't know. I need some time to think about everything.**

That was the honest truth. She saw him look down at his phone when the message arrived. He read it then he looked back up at her and nodded somberly, a silent acknowledgement of his understanding. But he looked so anguished and emotionally lost and Alex felt guilty. _Who will be there for him? Who will comfort him right now?_

Alex could hear footsteps coming up the attic staircase and she glanced over, not sure who it would be. "Hey." It was Sam, and he seemed cautious, watchful. "Dean just fixed the angel wards. You all right?"

Alex looked out the window. Cas was no longer there. Distracted and trying to look fine, she ignored the question and just commented on their brother's absence instead. "What, he's too good to come up here or something?"

Sam hesitated. "Uh… I don't think he's in the best mood right now." Deflating because she was once again thinking of how she'd hurt her brothers and let them down so bad, Alex looked away, but Sam saw the expression on her face. He came over and hugged her even though she put up a flimsy resistance to the affection. "Hey, hey." He let out a miserable sigh and his voice softened and lowered. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have let it slip. It's… just been weighing on my mind so much lately, and after today, I just…" he trailed off, out of words.

"No," Alex said quietly. Even though she couldn't bear what she'd discovered, it would be wrong to go on and never know about it at all. Maybe Sam's timing was the worst in the world, but… "I needed to know that."

Sam didn't seem entirely convinced and drew back, giving her a tight smile through clear guilt he was feeling, then looked over her with sympathy. She knew she must look horrible—sleep deprived as always and red-eyed, puffy-faced, raw nose, all made even worse by her worn down demeanor. "It's late," he said, then squeezed a shoulder with a gentle grip. "You need some rest." He steered his drained sister to the bed.

"How could I sleep after today?" she asked, and she sounded very defeated and out of any semblance of energy or life. "After what we found out? After… after what you told me?" She sat down on the edge of the bed and looked up at her brother with flooding eyes. He looked guilty all over again but she wasn't blaming him. She was worrying about her other brother finding out. "Don't tell Dean, Sam. _Please_. He doesn't need any more reasons to hate Cas right now."

Sam's jaw tightened, maybe with annoyance that she was trying to protect Cas, maybe with pained empathy. Whatever he was thinking, he agreed somberly after a moment of consideration. "Yeah, I won't." He paused, seeming to be mildly uncomfortable. "I was—I was way outta line earlier tonight. All the stuff I said… about you and Cas…"

"Don't worry about it," she said flatly, feeling very apathetic at this point about all of that. "I know how you are." She couldn't even remember half of what he said, only remembered he'd stewed silently then blown up and stomped off then felt bad about it. She'd known Sam how long now? It was just how he processed, she reasoned absently. She had bigger and more weighty things on her mind than Sam's reaction to finding out about her sham of a 'marriage.'

Sam watched her in hooded concern as she stared off unseeingly into middle distance. "Alex, look, if you need to talk about it—"

Stiffening, Alex's voice went hard from panic. " _No_." She shook her head and set her jaw painfully. It was so hard to stay together at this point. "I don't wanna talk about it," she said, even though her insides were screaming to tell someone (anyone) the things she was feeling and how much she was hurting and how damn confused she was. She refused to open up. She shut herself down and pushed everything deep down into the growing darkness inside herself.

Sam hesitated, maybe sensing her true feelings. But respectfully he didn't push. Instead he nodded tersely. "Okay." He looked like he was thinking about backing off and leaving her to herself, but before he did, he offered a listening ear one more time. "If you change your mind…" he gave her a tight little smile, observed her a second longer, then nodded and let out a soft breath then retreated.

When he left, when his footsteps were no longer audible, when she was completely alone, she finally allowed herself the full breakdown. She cried in that bed until she was so exhausted she wanted to vomit, until every muscle in her body was useless and worn out. She didn't sleep at all for worrying over Cas and the path he was on, for grieving a child she had never imagined, for the lost innocence and beauty of the relationship she had been naive enough to imagine real, lasting, true, and perfect.

Everything had once seemed so hopeful. Everything had once shone with such brightness. Now she was heartbroken in darkness, wishing one of her brothers would see past her stubbornness and come comfort her despite the way she was pretending not to need it. But neither did. Only the attic bore witness to her grief. And she was alone.

* * *

**The Next Day**

Morning dawned and things went from bad to worse for the Winchester family, starting with Bobby's discovery that Cas had stolen a book when he came into the house (probably after he spoke with Dean and before he spoke to Alex). It was a journal belonging to one of the Campbell relatives. Because Bobby was a self-proclaimed 'paranoid bastard' he had made a copy of the journal and set to work trying to figure out why Cas would have taken that particular volume. When he discovered that one of the journal entries was about H.P. Lovecraft (an author whose work focused heavily on Purgatory lore and theories), he decided there must be something to it.

While Sam and Dean were present when this discovery was made, Alex hadn't come down from the attic even once. Still too angry with her to see her, Dean stayed downstairs when Sam took her some breakfast and checked on her. He reported back that she didn't eat and wouldn't say much. Dean made a rude comment or two about her 'husband' and got two wan looks from Bobby and Sam. Bobby said not to be cruel, Sam gave his brother a predictable bitchface and said he needed to take it easy.

And then, a couple hours into stone-faced research came the phone call from Ben. Panicking, the kid called Dean and said his mom Lisa and her boyfriend were being attacked as he spoke. The boyfriend was killed and Ben was knocked unconscious in the middle of the call. And who should come to the other end of the line as Dean listened with horror and asked " _Ben! Ben?_ " over and over again but _Crowley_. The King of Hell took them, telling Dean if he ever wanted to see them again to _back off_ and stay out of the way.

And then he made it even worse when he paused and said, "oh and by the _way_. Tell your _sister_ not to try and stop me, either. I figure she doesn't have a stake in the Braeden bunch so I took her friend, too. Only one I could find. Blonde, witchy, loads of gaudy tattoos? Come near me, try and stop me, they all get it. Couldn't find anyone Moose cares about, they're either all dead or _you_. But it's the thought that counts, right? Bye now."

Dean reacted immediately to Crowley's call, not about to sit there for a single second and let Lisa, Ben, or Jamie be held captive by demons. Alex reacted out of depression when they told her, lamenting how they always got people hurt and killed. Dean made a couple angry comments to her, his hurt feelings and intense need to rescue their friends making him thoughtless and rude. She bristled then yelled that she wanted no part of hunting or saving people ever again and Sam knew why. But after the door slammed, Dean just muttered that she was a fucking brat and selfish as hell and Cas could _have her_ if she was gonna be such a pain in the ass. Sam thought _if only he knew_. But he had promised not to tell.

* * *

**That Night**

Out in the salvage yard, Bobby set off to go do some research on H.P. Lovecraft after wishing the boys good luck. As his Chevelle puttered off into the darkness, Sam and Dean put the finishing touches onto the summoning ritual for Balthazar, who wouldn't answer their prayers.

"This is stupid, Sam," Dean said, repeating himself in burgeoning frustration. "He's not gonna _help us!_ "

Sam shot his brother an increasingly impatient side-eye. Both of his siblings were on edge now in different ways and he felt like the only sort of sane one. "Keep your head, huh?" He gave Dean a meaningful look that told him to calm down and stay present. He knew Dean was agitated and worried sick, but if they didn't handle his distress better, he'd get them in deeper trouble than before. "Beggars can't be choosers." Dean gave an eye roll at that comment and Sam huffed. "Do you know any _other_ angels who might be able to help?"

Dean cracked a painfully cynical and dead-in-the-eyes smile. " _Nope_. Fresh outta angel buddies."

"Right." Sam pulled out a matchbook, struck and lit the match, then dropped it into the waiting bowl. Sparks snapped and flew, flames shot up high then died. The floodlights dotting the nearby salvage yard flickered in the darkness, buzzing in and out. And then like clockwork—one, two, three—they burst and shattered, leaving the landscape in silvery, moonlit dimness.

"I'm sorry boys, do I _look_ like a man-servant to you?" Balthazar asked sarcastically. The Winchesters turned and saw the angel standing in a rakish pose on top of a nearby car. In his hand, a flute of some kind of champagne. On his face, an expression of veiled annoyance. " _No_? Then stop ringing for me, please!"

"This is _important,_ Balthazar," Dean said forcefully.

Short on patience, Balthazar corrected Dean quickly. "I was drinking seventy-five Dom out of a soprano's navel when you called. _That_ was important."

Sam frowned at the comment and the wine glass in the angel's hand. "…Aren't you supposed to be fighting a _war_?"

Balthazar smiled in near amusement. "Ah, doesn't suit me," he said in a lazy, slow cadence. "All the killing and constant possibility of _dying_ … I'd much rather be drinking and partaking in debauchery, so if you'll excuse me—"

"Crowley's alive."

Sam's curt statement garnered a couple of shocked blinks from the angel who quickly tried to look unfazed. "Wh—yes, yes of course he is," Balthazar said in exaggerated casual disinterest. He descended off the car he stood on with a single, graceful step. " _Everyone_ knows _that._ " He gestured loftily using his wine glass.

"Does everyone _also_ know that Cas is Crowley's butt-buddy, you smug little dick?" Dean challenged disrespectfully, approaching him in a confrontational slink.

"Excuse me?" the angel asked, frowning slightly.

"Handshake deal," Sam explained darkly. "Go halfsies on all the souls of Purgatory. He fill you in on _that_?"

"Well, yes, _yes_ ," Balthazar said after a stunned pause. "Yes, of course he did. Yes."

It was painfully obvious that the guy was lying out of his ass. "Oh, yes, of _course,_ " Sam said in a voice dripping with sarcasm. "We can read it all over your _face_."

Dean's expression was taut and harrowed. "Look, Crowley and Cas took some people who are very important to me."

"And I care about this because…?" Balthazar asked lackadaisically.

"Because maybe there is a shred of decency underneath this, this snarky, playboy _crap_." The angel said nothing, merely sipped his drink and considered Dean's statement. Dean tried again, and this time he let some earnestness bleed through. "They're _innocent_ and I'm asking for your _help._ And one of 'em's a _kid,_ man _._ Just a damn kid."

Balthazar hummed thoughtfully. "I see. _Well_ if you never ask, you'll never know, am I right?" He smiled wanly and his eyes crinkled up at the corners. Then he promptly disappeared, leaving Dean to fume indignantly.

"Son of a _bitch_!"

"Look, Dean," Sam chanced, tired of beating around the bush with his brother and getting nowhere. "Let's just call Cas. Maybe he doesn't know anything about this."

Dean turned to his brother with an ugly expression on his face. "Yeah, and maybe the the moon is made out of _cheese_. Sam, we are _not_ calling Cas."

"But Dean—"

"We're _not calling Cas_!" Dean insisted even louder.

Sam forcibly stowed his own temper to try and be considerate to his brother. He didn't feel like being pounded into the ground verbally or otherwise. "So what then?" he asked stiffly.

Dean darkened, clenched his jaw. "I think you know." Yeah. Sam _did_ know. Find some demons, torture them for information. That had been Dean's idea earlier which Sam had protested. At Sam's silence and clear disapproval, Dean leveled with his brother. "Look, Lisa and Ben are my _responsibility_ and enough _shit_ has happened to Jamie already because of us. We gotta make this right. However we have to." He looked so grim and determined that it unsettled Sam. Shaking his head as truly desperate emotions showed in his eyes, Dean let his true feelings show: Fear, doubt, desperation. "If any of them get hurt 'cause of me…" his voice caught and he toughened himself in an attempt to look less scared shitless. His voice roughened and his glare returned. "We gotta load up. Go find us some black-eyed bitches." He brushed past Sam, marching toward the Impala.

Sam was resigned to go with him, but was a little caught of guard. They were they just gonna _leave_ right _now?_ "What about Alex?" he asked. This was the kind of thing where they'd usually stick together as a family and face the issue the three of them. Maybe it would do her some good to get out of the attic. He wasn't really sure, honestly.

Dean stopped and turned, giving Sam an insolently challenging look. "What _about_ her?" he asked snidely. "Last thing I need's her moping around in the damn back seat and possibly even giving her little boyfriend the head's up about what we're doing." He glanced toward the house darkly, eyes cutting to the little attic window. For a split second, real emotion showed and he clearly thought twice about his cruel statement. Then he resolved himself and clouded over once again. "Get your stuff, Sam."

* * *

**The Next Day**

Sam paced an unfocused little circle back and forth in the salvage yard adjacent to the little workshop garage Bobby had built years back. "Huh, I see," he said into the phone, frowning in thought. The Lovecraft thing was starting to get interesting. "Well keep me posted, huh?"

"Will do," Bobby's voice replied on the other end of the line. There was a slight pause. "How's Dean?"

As if on cue, a scream of pain sounded from within the workshop behind Sam. Setting his jaw in a wan fashion, Sam sighed softly and stopped pacing. "About how you'd expect."

Another pause. "And Alex?"

Sam wasn't really sure. "Haven't seen her all day," he answered honestly. He was pretty worried about her.

"Poor kid," Bobby said, letting out a gusty sigh on the other end of the line. "When it rains it pours, don't it?"

Sam thought that was putting it lightly. "Something like that."

"All right, well I'll call when I got more on this Lovecraft mumbo jumbo," Bobby said, sounding pretty tired and over it.

"Okay," Sam said. "Bye Bobby. Thanks." He hung up and thought about this mess they were currently in. He hated that he'd been right to suspect Cas in this. He hated what was happening right now. He hated that he'd slipped up and told his sister that devastating news about the lost baby. He barely slept anymore without dreaming horrible nightmares about Lucifer and what he'd had planned for the new world order.

Sam quashed down the sick feeling when he thought about that. Above all else, no one would _ever_ know that. It was too disturbing and sadistic and terrifying, and Sam didn't _ever_ want his sister to feel the horror he felt. He didn't want Dean to look at him with disgust and suspicion. However, the more Sam thought about it, the more he was wondering if maybe Cas had a point with all this Purgatory crap. If it meant Lucifer never returned, if it meant Alex would never be in danger that way… maybe Sam agreed with it. Agreed was a strong word. But to him, it was the lesser of two evils. Only, he couldn't tell anyone that.

Behind him he heard the crunch of gravel. Someone was walking up behind him. But Dean was inside the garage. These steps were coming from the direction of the house. Sam turned and was surprised to see Alex out and about. She had showered and dressed in clean clothes, had her hands in her pockets and a serious, unreadable look on her face as she approached. "Hey…!" he greeted in surprise, wondering what was going on and if she was feeling better or what.

"Hey," she returned neutrally, then nodded toward the workshop. "Any luck?"

Sam's expression wavered. He had to give her the bad news. "Not so far." He thought about it for a second then remembered there was some light at the end of the tunnel. "Bobby's on a few leads though. Might have something. Too early to tell, really."

Alex nodded briefly, eyes still on the workshop. She was deep in thought and it showed. "You think Cas knew about this?" she asked finally. "You think he had something to do with taking our friends?"

That was the question of the year. Sam sobered even further. "Dunno. Hope not."

A chilling scream sounded from inside of the garage and then pleas for mercy. Dean's familiar voice could be heard shouting indistinctly and Alex shut her eyes, turning her head away slightly. "This is _crazy_."

Sam agreed. "We're gonna get through it though," he said, trying to reassure her even though he was pretty harrowed and not sure how they possibly could figure this one out.

His words seemed to do little but make her feel rueful and she scoffed cynically. "Maybe this is finally the time when we _won't_ get through it."

She turned and wandered over to a nearby rusted-out car and sat down in door hole—the door had fallen off years ago. She pulled out a cigarette and lit it up as Sam watched and disapproved. He made no comment on the bad habit. Just spoke to the real issue at hand. "Don't give up."

The cigarette dangled between her knees and she looked up at him with a disturbingly blank expression. "What would you do if you were me, Sam?"

"I wouldn't give up," he said, some authority and reprimanding in his tenor voice. He walked over toward her. "Not yet." She half rolled her eyes and took a long drag from her cigarette, blowing the smoke out to watch it flutter out and dissipate. "I _know_ you," Sam insisted, getting annoyed with her. "You're _strong_."

"Strong," she repeated, her tone implying that she was offended by that word. "My supposed husband is working for the King of Hell. I lost a fucking _child_. Cas is doing unthinkable shit, Dean won't talk to me, Bobby looks at me like I'm pitiful, you feel _sorry_ for me—" She stared up at him like it was his fault. "I'm broken in fucking _two_ , Sam! How am I supposed to just _stow_ this war zone inside of me?"

Sam crouched down in front of her. "Hey. No one said to stow it. You can't bury that kind of stuff or it'll eat you alive."

She shook her head and looked down, watching the end of the cigarette turning to ash. "Every time I turn around people are dying and getting hurt because of what I've done and who I am _._ And I'm tired of it." Her eyes looked up into his, begging him for an answer or a way out of the pain. "I've had enough," she confessed in a voice that was weak and tired. "I've _seen_ enough. I want it to end, I don't care anymore." One of her shaking hands reached up and covered her face, an ashamed gesture. "I have nothing _left._ "

Sam gently took the forgotten cigarette out of her limp fingers and dropped it, trying to get her to look at him by putting his hand on the side of her head. "You have me. And you have Dean. Bobby too. None of us is perfect but… isn't that something?"

She looked at him and she clearly didn't know how to feel. "Am I cursed, Sam?" she asked softly, breaking his heart with the way she asked that. "Is our family cursed?" It wasn't a please-feel-sorry-for-me. It was an honest question, one he'd wondered about himself before too. "Anything good we've ever had falls apart and gets ripped to shreds," she continued, and Sam couldn't disagree without feeling like he was being patronizing. A cynical, wounded smile appeared there at the edges of his twin's mouth. "Maybe it's for the best, huh? Now some kid I accidentally let happen doesn't have to exist in this hell on earth we live in. I'd be a shitty mom anyway. Maybe this was the universe's way of telling me that once and for all."

" _Alex,_ no, you'd be a—"

Mild panic flared in her hazel eyes which snapped to his and stared hard. "Stop, _stop_. Please don't. I can't fucking talk about this." She dashed away some tears with her fist and sniffed, gathering herself. "Shouldn't have brought it up." She sniffed again, louder and harder, then cleared her throat, straightened up, and was the picture of businesslike. It was disconcerting. "So. Anything else you remembered whenever you got your Lucifer memories back or whatever?" she asked, and he didn't know if she was being earnest or just trying to steer the conversation. "Any other bombshells you forgot to share?"

He swallowed and looked away, stood up, and shook his head no, lying. "Uh—no. Nope." He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to find something to tell her to fill the silence. "Just… it was cold in there. Dark."

"Yeah." She had a distant look in her eyes. "I remember."

Sometimes Sam forgot that she knew what it had been like too. No one else in the world but them and that Nick guy knew what it felt like to have the epitome of evil and cold ruthlessness inside of them. Sam wished she didn't have to know that. He wished that hadn't happened to her. He wished she hadn't said yes. He knew she wished that same thing, even more than before. Because of the baby girl who had lived and died for a mere whisper of a moment. "You were trying to save me." It was important that she remembered that. "You were trying to save the whole damn _world._ You didn't _know_." She said nothing, just looked off with a face that said that was a nice thought but it changed nothing. Sam didn't know what else to say and just drew in a deep breath, let it out, wishing he knew how to help her. He thought this was probably one of those 'time heals all wounds' kind of things. And he knew Alex well enough to see that she wanted space right now. He didn't know how else to appeal to her and he was so depressed himself, honestly, that he let it go. "I'm gonna go check on Dean."

He got no response from her and after waiting a couple beats, he walked off to go from one grieving and heartbroken sibling to the next.

Alex sat there and listened to a crow calling in the distance. It was a lonely and ominous sound. Her eyes drifted to the discarded cigarette a few feet off from her left foot. She wished she could escape herself and be someone else entirely. She had meant what she screamed at Dean last night or whenever the hell that was. She was done hunting. Couldn't do it anymore. Not after this. The demons, ghosts, monsters, angels… all of them could go to hell. She just wanted to crawl into a hole and die. Never have to feel ever again.

And to think she used to read romance novels. What a joke. Love was a knife, and she had been stabbed in the back.

There was a soft gust of wind nearby and Alex's hair shifted in response but she kept staring at her boots. Until she realized that wind wasn't part of the weather, but the arrival of an angel. "Hello Alex."

She looked up with startled eyes. Castiel stood there a few feet in front of her and he watched her sadly. Standing up immediately, she was guarded and looked at him suspiciously. "Did you know about this?" she asked immediately, not in the mood to waste time or energy. "About Lisa and Ben and Jamie being taken hostage? Were _you_ the one who took them?"

"What?" Cas asked, his face showing what appeared to be genuine confusion. Her questioned seemed to earnestly surprise him. " _Hostage_?" His eyebrows moved even further in towards each other. "Wh—no, of _course not._ This is the first I've heard of it."

Alex thought he seemed to be telling the truth, but she had thought that before too and been proved wrong. That realization hurt bad. "I don't whether you're telling the truth or not," she said in a murmur, then threw in a sarcastic comment to try and sound less devastated by that. "Sad day." The mild hurt that creased Cas's face was both a reward and a twinge of pain for her. Did he really not know what the King had done? Maybe not. She explained in a gruff voice. "Your little friend Crowley took them so my family wouldn't try to stop the two of you."

He was shaking his head, appearing to be absolutely astonished by the news and horrified that she thought he was involved. "I didn't _know,_ " he insisted. "I didn't approve this. You know I wouldn't."

"I don't know _what_ you would do and wouldn't do," she returned, wishing that weren't true. Again, Castiel was visibly hurt. Guilty, Alex tried to hide it underneath a mask-like face. "Fine. You didn't know. But now you _do_. So…"

He nodded tensely. "I'll look into it." He paused, his anxious expression and vexed eyes pleading with her silently. "I thought of you all night and day, I—"

Alex looked away, cutting him off because when he talked to her like that, she thought she might cave in. "Save my friend and Dean's… whatever they are," she said curtly, trying to hide her misgivings and uncertainties and the way she wanted to break down and be held by the one who had inflicted the pain. "And _maybe_ we'll talk then." She made herself look at him then.

Castiel's anguish was clear. "You look at me as if I'm the enemy," he observed in a soft voice rife in pain.

Alex's mouth hardened into a line to control her emotions. "Maybe you are."

Heartbroken, Cas's shoulders sagged slightly. "After everything I've done… how can you think that?"

There might as well have been a thousand uncrossable miles between them and Alex realized truly in that moment that she didn't know how to get back to him or if she wanted to either. "After everything you've done, how can I _not_ think that?"

Impossibly devastated, Cas's gaze faltered downward. His eyes had unshed tears in them and he looked like he was trying so hard to understand but couldn't. Without saying anything further, Castiel looked at her one final, unreadable time and then disappeared entirely.

 _Christ,_ she couldn't survive many more of these confrontations with Cas and come out standing up. Alex let out a shuddering breath and leaned against the car she stood near for support. Her world was spinning and she didn't know up from down anymore. With shaking hands Alex reached for another cigarette, needing something to take the edge off, _now._

* * *

While Alex was paid that visit from Cas, Sam went into the workshop cautiously. Dead demon bodies were discarded like old trash, littering a corner of the garage where Dean had set up shop. A new, still-living demon was tied to a chair in the center of a painted devil's trap on the grease-splattered concrete floor.

With the bloodstained demon blade in hand, Dean slowly rounded the demon in a circle. "Next customer," he commented lowly, sizing up the newest demon. He'd already gone through four who weren't talking and he was getting really anxious.

"Look, I don't know anything," the demon said. He was in the body of a balding middle aged guy.

"Yeah, we'll see." Dean walked over to the tool rack where a half-drank bottle of whiskey was waiting.

Sam hesitated, then approached his brother. "Dean."

Barely acknowledging him, Dean set down the whiskey and began to wipe off the knife. "Yeah."

"Look, man," Sam appealed in a voice that was under his breath for furtiveness. "You—you're running on what, uh, whisky and, and coffee and whatever else you're taking…"

Dean seemed disinterested in the observations. "Yeah, and?"

"And we're grasping at _straws_ here, man," Sam said, trying to be sensitive but also to reason with his brother. "I don't think we're gonna be able to _find_ them."

Dean did _not_ like that statement and looked at his brother with hard eyes. "We are _going_ to find them, you hear me?" The way he asked it was almost like he was about to push or hit Sam. Then he backed off a little. "Look, I kill enough of these demons, eventually one of 'em's gonna tell me where Crowley is. So we good?"

No. But Sam knew better than to push Dean to a breaking point. "Well look, you've been at it for a while, why don't you at least let me take over?" Dean looked like he wasn't gonna go for that and Sam tried again, using every reason he could drum up. "Dean, you need a break. And Alex is… she's really hurting. She really needs you right now." And she did. Dean was refusing to even be near her at present, basically.

That comment earned Sam a dark glare. "What she _needs_ is to get her head in the game!" Dean snapped, then gestured vaguely toward where the house would be. "She's boo-hooing it up about Cas and too bad but I don't have time to babysit the _sap hour_ right now, people's _lives_ are on the line!"

Sam was hurt in his sister's place and looked at his brother with disappointment. Why did he have to be like that? "You are one of the meanest people I've ever met, you know that?" he asked softly, his pained emotions showing.

Dean's face just hardened further. "Oh gosh, so sorry to hurt your precious _feelings_." He shoved something on the rack and a wrench clattered to the ground. "I don't have _time_ to care."

He brushed past, moving back toward the demon. Sam stopped him by grabbing his arm. " _Dean_."

Dean yanked his arm away. "Sam, _back off_." He was more upset than Sam had initially realized. "Lisa and Ben and _Jamie,_ wherever they are, that is a hundred percent on me," he said in a trembling voice. "And if they are _hurt_ …" he trailed off and the vulnerable emotion he had been showing was suddenly cut off. "I'll yell if I need you," he said stiffly, then his face pinched up. "Why don't you go back to the crybaby patrol?"

Sam's temper was boiling under the surface and his fists were clenched at his sides. "Christ, sometimes I wanna hit you, Dean."

"Well then why don't you." Dean made a rude face and challenged Sam silently, spreading his arms and inviting his brother to take a swing. When Sam only gave his brother a bitchy expression, Dean pulled a disrespectful and sneering little face. "That's what I thought." He turned his back on Sam and approached the waiting demon with a foul expression.

Fed up, Sam left the garage and shut the door behind him.

* * *

Meanwhile, Crowley looked up from a large textbook at Cas's arrival. "Sweetie. You look tense."

"You took people you shouldn't have," Cas said angrily, stalking into the demon's lair with an irate expression.

Smirking and swaggering, Crowley was airy. "Oh. _That_."

"I _told_ you—"

"Not to touch Sam and Dean and Mrs. Castiel," Crowley cut in. He seemed very pleased with himself. "And I've respected that. I'm merely exploiting the obvious loophole. As long as I have the woman and boy and the witch, your fop-coiffed little heroes will be scouring the earth for _them_ , therefore not you, and not me. Everybody wins."

Cas clenched his jaw. The fact that Crowley was acting in breech of their partnership more and more didn't escape him. "I don't like this plan," he muttered, his dismay at his quickly slipping grip making him rigid all over. Everything was going wrong for him, everything was crashing and burning. "You should've talked to me first."

"I'd rather ask forgiveness than permission," the demon replied, then chuckled throatily and paced off toward his shelves full of various jars of bloods.

"Where _are they_ , Crowley?" Castiel asked loudly, his voice laced with unspoken threats. He followed the demon and his fists were clenched at his sides. Crowley stopped and with great dramatic flair made a motion of zipping his lips and putting an invisible key into his coat pocket. Feeling like he had no control made Cas get even more shaky inside. He tried even harder to act as though his word had power. "You are not to harm them, do you understand me?"

Crowley's playful demeanor was suddenly replaced with chillingly dark warning. "You know what? You're all maxed out on putting humans out of bounds," he murmured, then his face twisted. "I'll do with them as I please. Want to stop me?" Spittle flew as his voice suddenly rocketed to a full-volume shout. " _Go find freaking Purgatory_!"

A sudden and blaring ringing sounded in Cas's head and he grimaced in surprise, put fingertips to his temple. Balthazar was summoning him. Why?

"Call on the bat-phone?" Crowley asked sardonically. "Never call during business hours, do they?"

Cas leveled the King of Hell with his most malevolent scowl. "I'll be back."

Crowley was already walking off flippantly. "Can't _wait_."

* * *

Cas responded to call that had been made of him and found Balthazar waiting for him somewhere deep within a verdant forest. He stood near a stream that cut through a clearing of large trees that loomed overhead. "Cas, Cas, Cas," the angel said slowly, turning to look at the angel in the trench coat. "So good of you to come."

"Balthazar." Cas was mildly dubious about what was going on. "Why'd you summon me here?"

The other angel answered the question with another one. "Can I ask you a direct question?"

"Of course."

"Are you in flagrante with the King of Hades?"

Cas paused, startled. How did Balthazar know about this? "That's preposterous," he said stiffly.

An easy, amused chuckle escaped Balthazar. "Always were such a terrible liar," he said ruefully. "So it's true. Alright then, _why_?"

Seeing little point in continuing to lie about it and also feeling too weary to summon the effort, Cas admitted to it with a heavy sigh. "It's a means to an end. Balthazar, you understand that."

"Oh, absolutely. But what's the end here exactly?"

Wasn't it obvious? "I need the souls and the power they contain." Cas felt as though he had repeated himself for a thousand years and that no one was listening or seeing his perspective. Balthazar probably wouldn't see his point of view either. "I have to win the war. Defeat Raphael. Stop the apocalypse." Cas was so tired of it all, so ready to be finished, so done with no one standing at his side. There was no hope left, but he told himself not to let feelings lead him. It had to be convictions now. "There are countless reasons why this fight has to be won."

Balthazar's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "And does a certain young lady who only shops in the flannel section happen to be one of those reasons?"

Cas stiffened at the mention of his Alex, who had hurt him so deeply that even the mention of her stung. He looked away, ashamed. "By now you know that's a foolish question to even pose to me."

" _Right._ " Balthazar peered at him skeptically. "And I can only assume that you'd be the vessel for this insane plan of yours, correct? Suck up all those souls into yourself? All that power?"

"It's the only way," Cas monotoned, not even sure why he was having this pointless conversation.

"The only way to _kill_ yourself, you mean," Balthazar said in rising emphasis. When there was no visible reaction from Cas, he stepped closer. "Cas old sport, are you quite sure you've thought about this?" he asked, voice softening with concern. "It's too much juice for you, for _anyone_ —best case scenario you explode, taking a substantial chunk of the _planet_ along with you."

Cas's stomach clenched but he didn't listen to the voice of doubt in his head. "That won't happen," he muttered. It couldn't.

"Sure, sure, of course," Balthazar said, retaining his trademark playful air to a certain degree. "But you _do_ know denial isn't just a river in Egypt, don't you?" His eyes flickered up and down Cas in questioning confusion and he became serious. "I know you're not this stupid, Cas. The risks you're taking with this..."

"I know the dangers, Balthazar," Cas interrupted. "It's this or utter decimation. It's what I believe is called an… acceptable risk. And besides, I'm too far in now. I can't stop."

Balthazar's eyes softened and sympathy rested there. "You can _always_ stop."

Could he? Perhaps. But if he stopped now, so much would be lost. And all the things he'd done that had ruined his relationship with Alex would have been in vain. Shouldn't they at least mean something in the end? He truly hoped, deep down, that in time she would find it in her heart to forgive him. "I appreciate your concern," Cas said, voice deep and far away in grave thought. "But the stakes are too high. I have to see this through." He was resigned to this fate, chained to it, committed to whatever bitter end.

Balthazar saw that and gave up visibly. "If you insist," he said in a voice that indicated mild displeasure and great chagrin.

"How did you hear about this, anyway?" Castiel questioned, wondering if perhaps his brothers and sisters across Heaven had discovered him somehow.

"Oh, your howler monkeys of course," Balthazar said, nixing the idea as soon as Cas considered it. "See they're just a touch worked up about that kidnapping business, you know?"

Castiel looked down, deep in thought and very troubled indeed. "I suppose they also told you about the marriage, then," he said in a weighted voice.

Balthazar paused, made a face. "What _marriage_?"

Castiel could have lied or sidestepped that question. But he didn't. "Mine."

Balthazar looked like that information did not compute inside of his mind. And then a grin cracked his face. "Oh you. Really had me going there for a second, Cas buddy." He was laughing, pointing and wagging a finger at Cas. When Cas just stood there and looked chagrined, Balthazar faltered and his laugh died off into an uncertain little sound. He hesitated. "You _are_ joking…?" Cas looked down slightly and Balthazar blinked twice. " _Not_ joking," he breathed. "Oh my." He took a few disgruntled seconds to find it within himself to respond. "This is… quite the plot twist," he managed after a second, then utter puzzled pity came over his face. "Oh Cas. Pardon the rude question, but have you lost your bloody mind?"

Cas hesitated. "I'm… not sure."

"You do know what marriage is, right? _Monogamy_." Balthazar said that word like it was a disease. "One vagina for the rest of your life—in theory anyway. Now why on earth would you do that to yourself?"

"Don't be crass, Balthazar," Castiel reprimanded, mildly embarrassed. "I know what marriage is."

"Oh, I don't think you do," Balthazar said softly, then wet his lips and tried to get his brother to listen. "Cas—your little fantasy aside, no single human being is worth what you're about to do," he said in building emphatic disbelief. "This… infatuation of yours has gone far enough, don't you think?" Appearing totally stumped, Balthazar stood back slightly. "What _is it_ about her that has you like this?"

Cas felt as though he were hollow inside. Like the sadness and heartbreak he was experiencing were killing him slowly. "She's everything to me," he said in a voice that was barely audible. "I want… I just want a life with her." He didn't think he would have that now. But maybe if he could have success, maybe if he could win this war, maybe if he could succeed in using Crowley to his own gain and defeating Raphael once and for all, she would see and understand. That was the hope he clung to and the motivation he couldn't let go of. "I need to know if you're with me, Balthazar."

Balthazar studied him quietly, carefully. "I am. But… what on earth would you do to me if I wasn't?" Castiel didn't answer. He only disappeared, leaving his brother to raise a dubious eyebrow. "Well _that's_ reassuring…"

* * *

In the darkness of the garage, Dean filled a syringe with blood and turned around to look at the demon that it was intended for. Bloodied and beaten and slumped in the chair, the guy stared at the syringe with an expression of fear. "I promise you, pal," Dean said in soft malevolence. "Only gets worse from here. Been at it a few hours now, you really wanna stay quiet? Start talking." Dean approached slowly, taking his time and walking slow for ominous effect. He didn't notice how his wet shoe rubbed away part of the devil's trap keeping the demon at bay. "Or I swear, I will rip your skin off, strip by strip. And then I'm gonna kill you." He leaned in close to the demon. "And then I'm gonna do it to the next demon. You hear me?"

"Yeah." Suddenly the demon's eyes snapped over black and Dean's bravado faltered. What the hell? "I hear you." Without warning, the demon telekinetically threw Dean hard across the space of the garage and into the side of Bobby's van. The window smashed from the force of impact and Dean fell to the floor in a daze of pain. Before he knew what was happening, the demon was there in his face, having broken his bonds easily. He lifted Dean up by the neck, choking him. "So you can stop _talking_ , you miserable _sack_."

Just as his vision was getting black around the edges and unconsciousness was approaching, help arrived. Castiel appeared behind the demon and clamped a hand down onto its head. Light seared out of the demon's face and he fell down dead. Gasping for air with a hand resting against his throat, Dean's initial reaction to seeing Cas was a rush of _thank god_. And then he remembered everything and animosity won over. "I didn't ask for your help," he said in a voice made tight from what had just happened.

Cas was hurt and crestfallen by the rude statement. "Well, regardless, you're welcome," he said in a morose tone.

"Why are you here?" Dean asked, then let his voice swim in sarcasm. "Your _wife_ doesn't wanna see you. And neither do I." He walked past Cas, brushing his shoulder into the angel's rudely as he did so. "I told you not to show your face around here anymore."

Cas turned to watch as Dean walked to the devil's trap and crouched to examine the smudged part. "I had no idea Crowley would take Lisa and Ben and the witch."

"Yeah _right_."

"You don't believe me," Cas said in a quiet, heartbroken way.

Dean looked back at the angel with cold humor playing on his face. "No. No I don't believe a word that's coming out of your damn mouth," he said, standing up and feeling so much hurt and anger that it threatened to claw him apart inside. He swallowed it down and stayed focused on the goal: Lisa, Ben, Jamie. "Where are they?"

Cas shook his head slightly, guiltily. "I don't know. But I'm going to find out."

" _Please,_ " Dean scoffed. Cas knew. Of course he knew! What was he playing at?

"I just saved your life, Dean," Cas pleaded quietly. "Isn't that worth something?" The puppy dog eyes he was giving were comparable to Sam's. "You said that we were like family. That you thought of me as a brother. Well I think that too. Shouldn't trust run both ways?"

Dean flattened his mouth into a thin line. Cas talking about trust was real rich. "Maybe it would have, but after what you've _done…_ Cas, I just _can't_."

Cas approached slowly and spoke with so much emotion that he could have been a broken human man. "Dean, I do everything that you ask. I always come when you call, and I am your _friend_. I love your sister with everything inside of me. I have destroyed Heaven itself for her sake, I have given all I possess and more. Despite your lack of faith in me, your unkindness in the face of all I've done, and now your threats, I just saved you, yet again. Has anyone but your closest kin ever done more for you?" He had a point, and Dean knew it. "All I ask is this one thing."

"Trust your plan to pop Purgatory?" Dean asked in disbelief.

"I've earned that, Dean."

Dean scoffed. He had some nerve saying that. "No. I can't trust you. Won't trust you. Not after the stuff you did behind my back."

Cas's wounded exasperation increased. "Dean, I married your sister because I intended t—"

Bristling, Dean held up a finger as his features snapped into a deep glare. "Don't you _even_ —" he started, then made himself take a second. " _No_. Not today. We are _not_ talking about that." As far as Dean was concerned, he was going to act like it never happened. He was going to deny it until the day he died. It wasn't real and it shouldn't have happened.

Cas's jaw clenched and he fought off some clear frustration. He let the topic go but with great loathing. He expelled a heavy breath out of his nose. "I came here to tell you that I will find Lisa and Ben and the witch and I will bring them back safely," he said in a monotone, then paused for effect. "Please Dean. Stand behind me, the one time I ask."

"You're asking me to _stand down_?" Dean asked, eyebrows raising up.

"Dean." Cas's imploring eyes were completely vulnerable. "Would I mislead you?"

"Yes, and you _did_!" Dean yelled. "You _have_! Not just with one thing, but a bunch! ' _Stand down_ '? That's the same damn ransom note that Crowley handed me, you know that, right?" He was seething. "Well no thanks. I'll find 'em myself. In fact, why don't you go back to Crowley and tell him that I said you can both _kiss my ass_." He turned around and walked off a couple steps, then turned around again and pointed at Cas with his index finger for emphasis. "And by the way, we ain't friends," he raged, trying to hurt Cas emotionally, trying to take back the way he'd felt about Cas and how he'd cared about him. "What I said about being brothers? Take it and shove it, 'cause I didn't mean it." Those were harsh words. Dean knew it and once they were out in the air, he regretted them a little. But what was done was done.

Cas looked like his world had been shattered but he said nothing, merely stood there in shocked hurt for a second and then he disappeared completely. Alone again, Dean shut his eyes and held his fist to his mouth. He was so upset over everything that had happened in the past couple of days that he hadn't slept, had endured constant stress heartburn, and was left feeling like everything had slipped out of his control. His head was pounding with a hunger headache and his stomach churned with adrenaline and despair.

He opened his eyes again and realized that he had completely exhausted his stockpile of demons. They were all dead. Lisa, Ben, and Jamie were out there somewhere and maybe being tortured or hurt. Reacting out of helpless rage, Dean grabbed and flung the chair the demon had been sitting in and it broke and sent tire parts clattering and rolling. That outburst accomplished nothing and Dean squeezed his eyes shut again, scrubbing a hand down over his face.

This was a waking nightmare.

* * *

An hour or so later, Alex was sitting out in the salvage yard on the hood of her car. She had her feet up on the hood and an arm thrown lazily around her knees. Dangling from in between her lips, another cigarette. She was basically chain smoking mindlessly, wrestling everything in her mind. She'd turned her phone off awhile ago after Cas kept texting and calling her. He'd left several awkward voicemails in which he asked her to forgive him, tried to explain things again (repeating himself, basically), waveringly declared his love. She hadn't been able to listen all the way through to any of the messages and had hit the off button when it got too intense.

She just needed to clear her mind now and get out from under his influence. She was trying to examine her love for him with a logical mind and a careful eye. Trying to dissect herself and pull everything apart and really understand how and when everything went wrong. Really, she'd been so hellbent on having a love story and trusting Cas that she'd overlooked some pretty telling things the past year. Did that make her stupid? What _was_ love, anyway? What was it inside of her that was so inclined to him, so drawn to him, so needy of him? The more she thought about it and tried to rationalize, the more lovesick and depressed she got. She went over the past few days in her mind over and over, saw his grief and pain and felt her own and nothing had ever been worse than this present dilemma and this unknown future.

A gust of wind rustled her hair and Alex looked up in surprise, straightening up from her startled reaction. It wasn't who she thought it was going to be.

"Hello _sweetie_." Balthazar stood there giving her a wry smile. He took in the look on her face and smirked. "Not the angel you expected to see then, I'm guessing." He hesitated for show, indicating the place on the hood adjacent to her. "May I?" He sat down against the hood, apparently not interested in her consent.

Side-eying him pretty intensely, Alex watched as he crossed his ankles leisurely and folded his arms jauntily. "What are you doing here?" she asked suspiciously, cigarette forgotten between two fingers.

"Oh, I'm here to offer my congratulations to the happy couple," he said with a certain note of derisiveness. He turned his head and looked at her with thinly veiled skepticism. "Cas told me. Everything." Withering a little inside, Alex outwardly just made a face like she didn't care. She took a long drag and filled her lungs with smoke, slowly let it out. "Look, I'm not here to weigh in or give my opinion, though for the record, you two are _batty_ ," Balthazar said, gesturing loosely with one of his hands. He sighed and became marginally more serious. "I'm here because I need you to do something for me. You've got to talk your little puppy out of this Purgatory rubbish before it's too late." He paused, looking at her carefully. Faint confusion showed. "You _do_ know how dangerous it is, don't you?"

There was a dark, uneasy feeling in her veins and her pulse picked up a little in anxiety. She fiddled with the cigarette nervously. "He doesn't tell me much." She looked at the angel sidelong, almost too afraid to ask. But she had to. "How dangerous?"

Balthazar chuckled and looked out into the yard then explained in an easygoing and light voice, as if he were commenting on the weather. "Well—Purgatory's full of millions of squicky clawed souls by my best guess. Souls that are much, _much_ too powerful for dear old Cas to contain without, oh, you know. Exploding into a thousand itty little bits." Alex sat frozen in rising horror. Balthazar turned his head to look at her and he was suddenly lethally serious. "Tell him not to do this."

Alex's teeth clenched together and she stared hard at the cigarette in her fingers. Smoke rose in lazy tendrils. "I did. He _won't_."

Balthazar frowned slightly. "How persuasive were you?" Alex gave him a very telling and challenging look, one that spoke volumes without saying anything. It was the kind of expressiveness she used to rely on back in her silent days. _I was very persuasive, you ass_. She'd fucking begged Cas and used the failed pregnancy as one of the reasons why he should cut ties and get out while he could. But he was determined to do this thing. _Christ_ , Cas. Balthazar seemed mildly taken aback and took a couple seconds to react. "Well, if he won't listen to _you_ we're buggered, aren't we?" he asked as if he were thinking aloud. He looked at her again dubiously. "And you're… not on his side?" he prompted. "Not ultimate fangirl anymore?"

Alex shrugged hollowly. "I don't know." She took another drag from her cigarette and puffed the smoke out in a long, slow gust.

"Hmm," Balthazar commented sarcastically. "Well _that's_ clear and uncomplicated."

He abruptly stood up then and looked down at the gravel beneath his feet, bent and picked up the biggest rock he could find. Alex hesitated and watched him nodding at the rock approvingly. "…What are you doing?" she asked, frowning deeply.

Balthazar gave her a cheeky grin and tossed the rock up then caught it again. "Going for a visit with your two Ken dolls." He then launched the rock into the closest angel ward covered window and disappeared from in front of Alex's eyes. She gaped at the broken glass, then stubbed out her cigarette and headed toward the house quickly.

* * *

In the dark kitchen, Sam poured himself another shot of whiskey. Normally he wouldn't, but… stressful times. The sound of glass breaking made him stand up straighter and turn around as his instincts flared. Standing there in the kitchen… Balthazar. "Drinking your feelings, Sam? I thought that was your brother's bag."

"How'd you get in here?" Sam asked, mentally cataloging where he thought his siblings were and where the nearest weapons might be. Just in case.

The angel chuckled. "Oh, I guess I just 'rock' like that," he said. Sam squinted. Was that supposed to be a joke? At the face Sam made, Balthazar's amusement ebbed. "No? Well, we need to talk."

Sam eyed him carefully. "Why?"

Balthazar sighed deeply. "Because—I know I'm gonna live to regret this—but I'm officially on your team. You _bastards_."

Sam wasn't convinced but said nothing except, "Wait here."

A few minutes later the Winchesters were all in the kitchen and Dean was the least convinced. "And we should believe you why?" he asked lowly, voice harsh with suspicion.

"Would you believe I had a shred of decency?"

Sam sat on the kitchen table with his arms folded. "No."

Balthazar feigned indignant shock. "Oh. That _hurts_." Sam raised his eyebrows, nonplussed. Balthazar dropped the act and rolled his eyes. "Okay, you're right. It's survival. You see, I asked Cas some questions and I disliked his answers. He seems awfully sure of himself for an angel who wants to swallow a million nuclear reactors. I mean, these things can get a bit Chernobyl, you know?" His face relaxed into an uneasy smile and he gestured at Alex, who was furthest back, leaned against the kitchen counter and looking vaguely sick. "Ah, I mean, we all know who the belle of the ball is here, don't we boys?" he asked. "And if _she_ can't talk Cas out of his evil scientist plan, who _can_?"

Sam wanted straight answers. "What're you saying, Balthazar?"

"I agree with you, all right?" Balthazar was exasperated. "Cas, Crowley… they can't do this. It's too dangerous. Frankly I think my brother must be slightly out of his _mind_ to attempt this at all, but…" his mouth shrugged downward in thought. "Well, maybe they're right."

"Who?" Dean asked in a hard, demanding voice.

"The angels," Balthazar said, as if that should have been obvious. "Most of them say he lost his marbles four years ago." The brothers frowned, not making the connection. Balthazar made it for them, looking at Alex pointedly. "You know… when he hit the un-mute button?" He shook his head, studying Alex with a certain kind of intrigue. "The things he does for you. I'll never understand it." He looked from Sam and Dean like he was looking for backup on his opinion. "She's not even that _pretty_."

Sam frowned. "Watch it."

Dean scowled. "Keep talkin', bozo," he challenged. "See where my foot ends up."

Balthazar looked at Dean and squinted. "Not sure if you're threatening me or making sexual advances. Either way… no thank you." If looks could have killed, Balthazar would have been struck dead by the glare Dean gave him for that. Balthazar sighed impatiently, disappointed no one thought him funny. "All right, all right, look. Whole reason why I'm here. I took the liberty of searching for your friends. Took a while. Crowley's a clever one."

Dean straightened up and his locked, crossed arms loosened. "You found them?" he asked, voice softening as hope rose on his face. "Are they all right?"

Balthazar hesitated. "The upside is yes, they're fine, and uh, the downside is _no_ , I can't get them for you."

"Why not?" Sam asked.

"Because Crowley's angel-proofed the whole bloody building. Didn't make any amateur mistakes like _you_ lot. I guess he doesn't trust Cas."

Sam's eyebrows shrugged up briefly in an expression of chagrin. "Can't find many people who do anymore."

"Okay, well get us as close as you can," Dean said, ready to go and _now._

"Sure," Balthazar agreed. "But then you're on your own."

Dean nodded. "No problem. Let's go."

Sam stood up, turned back to Alex. "All right, you sit tight here and we'll—"

"No," Dean suddenly said, making everyone look at him in confusion.

Sam looked like he had no idea what his brother was talking about. "'No'?"

"No," Dean repeated, then looked his sister dead in the eye and said it like his word was law. "Your _friend_ is on the line here. Jamie's there 'cause of _you._ Just 'cause you're down in the dumps doesn't mean you get to sit this one out, you hear me?"

Sam protested. "Dean, come on, she's not in any shape to—"

"Are _any_ of us?" Dean asked in rising ire. "Don't you think I feel like hell too?!" He let that question hang in silence for a second then pointed at Alex with a glare. "You don't get to sit around feeling sorry for yourself. No special treatment, no me feeling sorry for you, no sidelining! This is too important and too big and I don't care how you feel! You do the job, you save the person you got into this mess, and you get your head in the damn game. Dad taught us all better than that!"

Alex's face was dark and stormy. She stood up with measure, staring at Dean hard the whole time. "Yeah? Well you don't get to tell me what to do like he did," she said lowly. "You're not my drill sergeant and you fucking _remember_ that." She was hard to read past her anger, but there was some measure of grief hidden there beneath the cold fire. "I'm coming with you because you're right. Jamie's there because of me. But after this? I'm _done_ with this life." A muscle in her jaw jerked. "I'm serious."

Dean's face tightened. He made no comment pertaining to what she'd just said. He just threw a dark glance around the room then looked back at his sister. "Get your jacket."

* * *

**Twenty Minutes Later**

Dean stole through the darkness with the demon blade in hand. The old abandoned warehouse that Crowley had stashed his people in was damp and dim and crawling with demons. He'd killed five so far. He was getting closer to where the hostages were, he could sense it.

Sam and Alex weren't with him. They family had split up upon entering the massive and maze-like compound, and Dean was honestly too riled up to concern himself with them right now. He was hellbent on saving the woman he loved, the boy he saw himself as the father to, and, of course, James, who had become his friend too, not just Alex's. He paused, hearing movement in the next room over. Then he heard Lisa's voice say something indistinct, and he went into kill mode.

* * *

Upstairs on the main level, they walked through the darkness in careful tandem together. Sam had a shotgun pulled into his shoulder and it was trained on the ground for safety, but his muscles were ready to yank it up high and shoot at a second's notice. Beside him Alex had her blade out and held tightly in a well-practiced reverse grip. They were ready for whatever was waiting there in the inky shadows. They hadn't found anything at all since splitting up, and the quiet was almost _too_ quiet. They skirted along a wall and then froze at the same time, hearing a soft little sound, like a metal part off something had been jostled.

Turning around at the same time, they spotted the attacker at the exact same second. He was jumping down at them from a catwalk above. " _Sam_!" The twins pushed each other hard at the exact same instant, each trying to shove the other out of the way of danger, and the demon wielding a crowbar leapt down into the gap they'd just made by doing so. The twins made quick work of him. Not expecting to hit the ground, the demon lost his balance in the added momentum and was yanked up by Sam to be smashed in the face with the broad side of the shotgun, then stabbed to death by Alex's angel blade.

Sam shoved the corpse away and let it sag to fall on the ground. A little breathless, he looked around with darting, paranoid eyes. "Splitting up was a bad idea," he said softly even as Alex wiped the blade against the leg of her jeans and joined him in looking around with harrowed, suspicious eyes. Sam had a new urgency in his voice and he nodded back toward where they'd come from. "Come on." They hurried to find Dean. It wasn't hard. Once they reached the basement stairs, they could hear sounds of a fight and they broke into a run.

What they found when they burst into a small, drab room was not quite what they'd expected. Lisa Braeden was on the floor groaning and her temple was bleeding from a gash she appeared to have just sustained. Dean was crumpled against a far wall and wincing, trying to get up. The demon blade was nearby, discarded on the floor.

Not in restraints of any kind, Jamie and Ben stood together in the middle of the room, smiling calmly, chillingly. They looked up at the twins as if pleasantly surprised. "Oh, hello—here to join the fun?" Jamie asked, smiling in a way that didn't look like herself at all. Her jeans were slashed across one of the thighs inexplicably and blood ran out and down the leg of the fabric.

"More toys to play with," Ben commented, smiling the same way Jamie was. His youthful and boyish voice was too deep and too gleeful. He raised a hand. Sam shouted and went flying sideways even as Jamie waved a hand as if batting away an annoyance. Alex went crashing into a concrete wall where she hit shoulder first and crumpled down into a stunned heap.

"They're _possessed_ ," Dean groaned.

"No _shit_ , dumbass," Ben hissed, approaching Dean who had just gotten to his feet. The oldest Winchester stared down at the demon possessing Ben with a face full of horror. "So what now?" Ben taunted. "Stab me with your knife? Hit me in the face? What, you won't hurt the kid? That's cute. Especially since he stays up some nights wondering why you pushed him around that one time… you were okay with roughing him up then, what about now?" He laughed at Dean's dismay. "He wishes you were his dad, you know that? It's hilarious. Who would want _you_ as a father figure?"

"You shut your damn mouth," Alex growled from where she was picking herself back up. She began the exorcism chant and immediately, Ben lifted a hand and sent her flying back into a wall where she hit her head hard and passed out.

"Help him, Dean, oh my god, please!" Lisa sobbed. Jamie grabbed Lisa, yanking her to her feet, and put a knife to her throat as she held her and grinned sadistically. Lisa gave a few fearful choking sobs and Dean looked as though he were going to pass out at the impossible dilemma he was faced with.

"Please, don't hurt her, I'm _begging_ you," he managed, holding out a hand to stay the demon. Beside Dean, Sam had gotten up and was standing there cautiously, weaponless, not sure what to do.

"Love it when you beg me, baby," the demon wearing Jamie taunted, then bit her lip and dragged the knife across Lisa's skin hard enough to leave a white mark. Lisa shut her eyes and kept crying loudly, fearfully.

" _Ben_ …!" Lisa managed even as she gritted her teeth in pain at what Jamie was doing.

"Lady, cry all you want, but your kid is mine now," Ben said, smirking. His eyes snapped over black. "Get used to the view."

Dean swallowed. This was his worst nightmare. He was supposed to keep these innocent people safe, they were never supposed to get hurt because of him. Panicking, did the only thing he could think of. "L-let him go," he managed. "Take me instead."

Ben's face showed dramatic and touched emotion. " _Awww_!" He put a hand over his heart and made fun of Dean with the false, patronizing way he spoke. "My wittle black heart is melted by _love_!"

"It's _adorable_ ," Jamie chimed in, letting the knife she held trace lazy patterns against Lisa's neck.

"Why the hell are you possessing them?" Sam asked, voice trembling with anger and fear.

Jamie answered in a lazy and drawling voice. "Well, mostly for shit and giggles with the kid, but with _this_ one… kinda _had_ to. Can't have a witch on the loose and casting spells and messing everything up, can we?" She grinned, and her eyes were lifeless and malevolent. "And you wouldn't _believe_ the funhouse in her brain. My _god!_ Thirty-two years old and it's like a war veteran's mind in here. So much pain. I love it!" She laughed loudly and shrilly, enjoying the torment on Dean's face. "I could stay here forever."

Dean clenched his fists and stared at the demon. First things first. "Let Lisa go."

"Hm. _Okay_!" Jamie shoved with super human strength and Lisa cried out then hit against the nearby column and was knocked unconscious.

Dean had a small flask of holy water that he'd drawn out and using the distraction, he threw holy water into Jamie's face and she screamed, stumbling back as her face burned. Dean scooped up the demon blade and rushed her. Sam was thrown back and pinned in place by Ben when he tried to intervene and help his brother. Dean grabbed a wavering and stunned Jamie by the front of her jacket and shook the demon, hard. Her eyes were fully black and it alarmed Dean even further. "You get out of her, you black-eyed bitch!" he shouted, holding her at knife point.

For a minute, the demon did nothing, just got this questioning, knowing smile on her face. "Do it you coward," she goaded in a whisper, the increasingly twisted smile spreading across her face making her look absolutely insane. "Cut me open. _Hit me_!"

When Dean hesitated wretchedly and did nothing—this was _Jamie,_ he _couldn't_ —she drew back and hit him hard enough to make him spin and stumble back. He fell down onto all fours and Jamie kicked him hard in the side, making him groan and fall sideways, pant in pain. She stomped her heeled boot down onto his chest and looked down at him in superiority and intrigue. "You're a real piece of work, Winchester," she observed almost admiringly. Her eyes returned to normal, human appearance. "Won't touch me when I'm inside a body you know, but I bet if I was in a stranger's meatsuit you'd be singing a whole different song."

Dean thought he knew a song she might like. " _Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas_ —" he began, and Jamie's face showed abrupt rage. She crouched over him, grabbed him by the jacket collar, and punched him. His vision exploded with white-hot pain. Blind for a second, flailing, he kept talking. He heard Ben somewhere nearby groaning, the demon inside of him protesting the command to leave. " _Omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica_ —"

" _Stop that!_ " Jamie hissed, hitting him in the face again hard. He kept going through a mouthful of blood, and Jamie began to heave and writhe oddly. She stood and stumbled back as he kept on. Her back hit up against a table of tools and Dean stood shakily, his words his weapon. In the corner, Ben had fallen down and the demon was losing control over him. And just when Dean thought he was about to gain the upper hand, Jamie's hand found a long, rusted knife on the table and without warning, she raised it high and plunged it into her lower stomach.

Dean stopped mid-sentence and stared with wide, shocked eyes. _No._ Jamie yanked the knife out and challenged him silently. _Now what?_ her cruel expression seemed to ask. Dean felt like he'd been punched in the gut as he looked at the blood spot that bloomed on Jamie's torso. "You _bitch,_ " he breathed, horrified.

Jamie shrugged, tossed the knife away casually. "What? She's dead anyway, knife in her spleen or otherwise. Why not stop delaying the inevitable?" Dean's expression prompted Jamie to laugh. "What, you don't _know_? This little blonde _slut's_ counting down the days until the _Hellhounds_ come calling." _What?_ Gleeful, Jamie wiggled her eyebrows. "Sold her soul for the wrong guy and now there's hell to pay!" Dean stared, face gone slack. Oh no. Jamie nodded in pretend sympathy. "And she's so _scared_ , Dean," the demon said, and for a minute it could have actually been Jamie speaking. "So, so scared. So, so _alone_." She flashed a sudden grin and sauntered over, leaned in close, her voice dropping to a sensual whisper. "So imagine when you exorcise me and she wakes up covered in her own blood and bleeding out to a slow and painful death that _you_ caused." She clapped her hands together and rubbed vigorously. "Mm! I love sadistic endings!" She sauntering around the room and chuckled to herself, twirling a lock of blonde hair around a finger lazily. Ben had Sam stuck in place again and Dean looked around, realizing he was out of help and out of options. What the hell did he have left? He had to save who he could.

"Cat got your tongue?" Jamie asked, enjoying his dismay.

"You shut your damn mouth," he choked out, knowing that he was about to kill Jamie Ward purposefully.

There was another slow, long smirk at that remark and Jamie came back toward him. "You wish I _would_ , don't you?" she asked, then let her eyes drop to his chest and lower, leering at him leisurely in a way that made Dean uncomfortable. "Oh and while we're on awkward confessions…" Jamie stuck a finger into Dean's chest and trailed it downward slowly and enticingly, making Dean's muscles stiffen. "She likes you. Really really _likes_ you." The demon possessing her smirked and leaned close, her finger hitting the top of his pants and pausing. "Do you think your little Botox babe over there'll be jealous?" She leaned closer, her breath hitting Dean's lips, her nose grazing Dean's nose. Her finger traced even lower, down over the zip of his jeans. Her touch made Dean shut his eyes, look away, and clench his jaw. She chuckled throatily and then took a couple steps backwards. "You're pathetic."

He was, and he knew that. He steeled himself for what had to happen. "One thing I wanna know," Dean managed. Jamie looked expectant and pleased and waited for him to ask. Dean hesitated, not sure if he wanted the answer. "What did Samuel Campbell do to her?"

Jamie looked taken aback and mildly confused, like something wasn't compatible or she didn't understand the point of the question. "Wait. You actually _care_ about this pile of issues stapled together with blonde hair and too many tattoos?" Dean said nothing and Jamie's wicked smile was back. " _Well_. What that old man made her do is stuff they'd show on prime time news, sweetie."

Dean swallowed thickly, looking at the demon and only seeing Jamie. She didn't deserve what she'd gotten and he wished like hell she hadn't ever gotten involved with his family—all it had done was screw her over and fuck her up. And now he had to kill her by exorcising that demon and letting her die from the stab wound. Maybe dying this way would be better than being ripped to shreds by Hellhounds. But Hell would be the same, and that's where she was headed and he wouldn't wish that on _anyone_. But especially not her. He thought of an annoying bratty little teenage girl who had gotten upset when he stole M&Ms from a vending machine and who hid his jacket during school one day just to see how mad he'd get. He thought of the glimpses of a truly strong woman he'd seen recently and the pain he knew she carried—he carried the same and identified. And very last of all, he admitted to himself that despite how crazy it was—witch or not—the two of them might have had something under different circumstances. But unless there was some crazy miracle, Jamie Ward was already dead and all those possibilities and moments added up to nothing but death. He was just driving the nails into her coffin. And damn if it didn't always seem to end this way. Him, at fault for another innocent's death. "I'm so sorry, James," Dean managed in the softest whisper. And then he continued the exorcism in a forced voice, holding her gaze the entire time. " _Omnis congregatio et secta diabolica, ergo draco maledicte, ut ecclesiam tuam secura—_ "

Jamie faltered, coughed, gritted her teeth, and lost strength in her legs.

" _No_!" Sam shouted behind Dean, and he turned, confused about what Sam was protesting.

And then he saw and was horrified. Ben had the knife Jamie had tossed aside and it was plunged into his torso. The boy smiled up at Dean, whose world was shattered and whose voice was gone. "Keep going, Dean," Ben's taunted, and Dean _couldn't_. So Sam finished for him amidst Ben and Jamie's raging snarls of "no!" and "stop!"

" _Ut ecclesiam tuam secura, tibi facias libertate servire, te rogamus, audi nos._ "

Black smoke screamed out of both their mouths and they both collapsed at the same time. Dean ran to Ben, scooping his small teenage body up and holding him tight, slapping him lightly in the face. "Ben! _Ben_!" The kid was moaning in pain, his eyes were glassy and distant, and Dean pulled him closer, getting Ben's blood all over himself. "Stay with me! You stay with me goddammit!"

* * *

**Several Hours Later**

The hospital in St. Louis had two new stab wound patients who went into emergency surgery as soon as they were brought in. Despite the doctor's best efforts, the injuries sustained were fatal and both patients were put on life support. They would probably not survive the night.

Lisa Braeden paced the hall just outside of Ben's room, and she was a hysterical mess. Her child was laying in a coma and she had been told to alert family members to come say final goodbyes. He was covered in tubes and wires and hooked up to countless machines. He looked very small in that hospital bed. Still covered in blood and riddled with injuries of her own, Lisa was berating Dean, who took it silently, not denying anything she said. "My son is _dying_ because of you, _dying_! Because of the _mess_ you said would never touch us, because of who you _are_!" Out of breath, Lisa was wild with grief. "You said you'd protect us! You ruin _everything_ your goddamn hands touch! He's dying and it's _your fault!"_ She threw her hand out toward her child and looked at Dean through eyes glittering with angry, desperate tears. " _Fix him_!"

Dean wished to god he could. "I _can't_."

Lisa set her jaw and looked at him in clear hatred. She nodded and her face was screwed up hard. "Tell me how to sell my soul."

Panic and shock seized Dean's heart. "Lees, _no—_ " he started loudly and firmly because that would _never_ happen.

Lisa grabbed him in uncharacteristic volatile outburst. " _Tell me_! He is _not_ dying, do you hear me? I don't care _what_ I have to do!"

A sudden arrival cut her off. "Hello Dean. Lisa." Cas had walked up behind them. Not materialized out of thin air. Walked up like a normal person.

Dean stiffened. This was the guy who he blamed for what had happened, partly. "Cas now isn't a good time," he said curtly, trying to hide his distress and not doing the best job.

Cas's eyebrows moved in together a little like he was confused. "Your sister called me. I'm here to help." Dean saw Alex then. She was peering out of the doorway to Jamie's room just down the hall and watching with a focused, tense expression.

The angel proceeded into Ben's room and Lisa, who didn't really know who he was, followed closely, protective of her defenseless and dying son. "Who are you?" she demanded, then panicked as Cas laid a hand onto Ben's head. "What are you doing?"

Cas stood back and looked at her somberly. "Healing your son." She blinked a few times, looked at Dean, then back at Cas. "He's fine now," Cas said heavily, his eyes on Dean. "He'll wake soon." 

Lisa seemed doubtful and hopeful all at once and watched her son with a gaunt expression. "W-will he remember? Being possessed?"

Dean swallowed. That was the kind of stuff that could ruin a kid's life and mind, remembering that stuff. He looked at the angel cautiously, hopefully. "Cas… you… you think you can take care of that?" he asked.

Cas frowned in mild confusion. "You want me to wipe his memory of today?" 

Dean shook his head. He felt sick, but he knew this was the right thing. Or maybe it was the selfish thing. He didn't know anymore. "No," he murmured, looking at Ben and remembering so many moments that had made him happy and content. Ben looking up to him, respecting him, always wanting him around. "Not just today," Dean said through a tight throat. "I want you to take me out completely. Just… whitewash it all."

Castiel didn't bother to hide his surprise, but Lisa stared hard at Dean and then looked at Cas, who was apparently waiting for a second opinion. "Do it," she said in a low, gruff voice. And that was the stake in Dean's heart, the final rejection, the evidence of hatred. But he accepted it. By now, he should be used to broken dreams.

Cas hesitated, then did what he'd been asked, touching Ben's head again. "It's done," he said grimly, then drew back. Lisa sat down beside her son and stroked his hand, watching his face for any movement at all. Cas approached Dean and spoke in a soft voice meant only for them to hear. "Dean, I said I'm sorry and I meant it," he said. He had the demeanor about him of a man who hadn't slept in far too long and had been pushed way past his limits. Haggard, he glanced back at Ben and Lisa. "I didn't want this to happen. For what it's worth, I told you not to get involved."

Dean disliked that statement and grimaced a smile out. "Yeah, well, you know me," he said in a terse voice. Even though he was so angry at Cas and what had happened that he could spit, Cas had done the right thing and Dean forced himself to acknowledge that. If it weren't for Cas, Ben would be dead right now. "Thank you. For saving him. I wish this changed anything."

Cas's hurt gaze flickered around Dean's face. "Why doesn't it?"

"Can't go along with what you're doing, man," Dean said in a tough, untouched voice. "Just can't."

Nodding despite his clearly betrayed feelings, Cas accepted Dean's refusals. "And I cannot change my course of action. Very well. The line has been drawn in the sand, as the expression goes. If you change your mind, pray to me."

Dean stood straighter, caught Cas by the arm. "Wait. Jamie. She's… she's next door." And no better off than Ben had been.

"I already healed her," Cas said. "She'll be fine."

 _Thank god._ Dean nodded wordlessly, his shoulders sagging in relief. He should have said thank you, but he couldn't bring himself to say the words. A silent and tense moment spanned between the man and the angel, and then the angel walked off, no doubt to go pester Alex, but Dean was so tired and upset about Lisa and Ben that he couldn't summon any brotherly fire at the moment. He watched Cas go then looked back at Lisa, who was watching him with a hard, hateful expression.

She stood slowly, purposefully, and he could see how angry she was. "If I _ever_ see your face again after today," she began in a low and threatening tremble, "I will take the gun you gave me and _shoot_ you." Dean stood there with a broken heart and total understanding of where she was coming from. "Get out. _Now_."

And then there was a sharp inhale nearby and Ben stirred, eyes opening wide in surprise. He looked around with slightly panicked and dazed eyes. "Mom? W-what happened? Where are we?" he asked, sitting up and staring at all the tubes in his arms with confused fear.

Lisa sat with him, soothed him, rubbed his arm. "There was a car accident, honey," she lied. "You hit your head. Doctor says you have some kind of temporary amnesia."

Ben gaped at her and took in the multiple injuries she'd sustained. His young face twisted up in worry. "Are you okay?" he asked, forgetting his own condition. "You have so many cuts…!"

Lisa smiled and her eyes flooded with tears and she hugged him tightly. "I'm okay 'cause you're okay," she whispered, eyes shut tight.

Ben caught sight of Dean and looked at him without any trace of recognition. "Who's this guy?" he asked, and Lisa faltered.

"Detective Smith," Dean supplied, and he died slowly inside as he lied out of his ass to the kid who had, just once, accidentally called him 'dad' one night. "Just dropped by to ask a few questions for the traffic incident report," he said. "You, uh, you get to feeling better young man." His voice broke slightly and he wished he'd never darkened these people's doorstep. For their sake and also for his. "Take care of your mom."

Ben seemed to think he was a little weird and Lisa held her son tightly, looking at Dean levelly. "I meant what I said, Detective," she said in a civil voice. But her eyes were sharp and dangerous.

Dean pretended to be amused, but it fell pretty flat. "No worries, Miss Braeden. This is the last you'll see of me."

* * *

As Dean went into Jamie's room and shut himself in there with her still-unconscious self, Sam went to find them a car for the inevitable journey home. Balthazar had left them a few states over from the Impala, after all.

Alex sat in the mostly deserted hallway and Cas had sat down next to her a moment ago after healing Ben. He had his hands clasped between his knees and neither had said anything yet. When he finally spoke, his voice startled her. "I tried calling you." He frowned down at the floor in hurt confusion. "Texting you. I received no replies." He looked at her in questioning.

"I know." She was looking ahead of herself quietly. "I got your messages."

Cas visibly tried to decide what that meant. "You're… _ignoring_ me?"

Alex swallowed heavily, her mind on what Cas's friend had said to her a few hours ago. To her, there was something a little more important than their relationship right now. Cas's safety and life, as well as the fate of the freaking planet. "Balthazar said it's really dangerous."

Cas's face clouded over and darkened measurably, almost angrily. "You spoke with _him_ but you won't speak with me?"

Alex looked at him pointedly, challenging him to talk to her like that again. " _Yeah_." She paused. "You can't don't this, Cas. I won't let you."

"I've told you," Cas said, seeming tired of repeating himself. "I _have_ to defeat Raphael, and there is _no other conceivable way._ Why won't any of you believe me?" The angel was utterly confounded. He sat back a little and Alex saw how he was beginning to become indignant and mildly incensed the more times they had this conversation. He wasn't meek and sad and crestfallen anymore. He was frustrated and betrayed and angry. "I have begged you," he said in a low, rough voice. "I have pleaded with you and you won't _listen_ to me or give me a chance." For a moment, his anger lessened into wounded incredulity. "I don't understand how you can continue to doubt me after what I've done and the sacrifices I've made," he said, then "Alex, I just healed your friends. I gave you your voice, I defied Heaven, I was wounded and beaten and cut down, all for you. And I would do it again! I would do _whatever_ you would ask of me."

Alex had tears gathering in her eyes and she appealed to him one last time. He would do whatever she asked? She put that to the test and hoped to god he would come through. "Don't do what you're doing."

He faltered. "Except that." At the way she made a face like she should have known better, Cas's face became unreadable and gaunt. "I know what I'm doing, Alex."

No, he didn't. Or he did, and was okay with losing her over it. She stood up and made herself be inscrutable and flat. "Well whatever it is you're doing, you're doing it alone."

Cas stood too. "Alex—"

She turned on him angrily. "You don't get it Cas! You let me down so hard! You destroyed the trust I had in you! You strung me along, you _scammed_ me. You're endangering the entire planet to try and save me…?! I don't want innocent people paying the price for me living and breathing, okay? You had a _million_ chances to come clean and tell me instead of waiting for us to find out. And because of that… because of all of it…" she heard herself saying the words Dean had said to her a few days ago. "It _has to be over_." Digging deep for strength to follow through, she wished she could take it all back and undo the hurt that had befallen them both because of their ill-advised and failed love story. Her voice constricted with the threat of tears. "And I am so sorry it ended like this."

It would have been better if she had never met him or heard his name or known him at all. She turned and walked away from him before he could say anything else. Cas stood there with a stung expression, fighting feelings of anger and torment and disbelief and despair. He had told himself that even if she never reciprocated his feelings again he would understand. But now that she was actually acting that way and he realized he was _truly_ losing her, he couldn't accept that. He stewed silently, debating with himself in how to convince her, how to win her back, how to make her _see._ The greater the tension became between them, the more an inward obsession to prove himself grew.

* * *

Dean sat in the silent hospital room with an unconscious Jamie. He was in a chair near the bed and had his elbows on his knees, his face in his hands. Inside, he was drowning in an ocean of regrets, guilt, and shame. He often thought about what he'd do if he had the chance to do life over again. So much blood on his hands. So many hurt people and broken lives. He mentally added Lisa and Ben to that godforsaken pile that was constantly growing. He remembered when Lisa used to smile and run to him when she would see him, he remembered when Ben said he wanted to be like Dean when he grew up. And now Lisa hated him and Ben didn't remember. He was never gonna see them again. And goddamn, it fucking _hurt_. 

Jamie stirred just then, opening up her eyes, drawing in a deep, disoriented breath. Dean lifted his head up. "What the…" she muttered, disconcerted for the moment as she took in her IVs and hospital bracelet and then her silent, drawn companion. "W-what happened?" 

Dean tried not to show his actual state of mind. By now he was an expert at hiding true feelings, but today was hard. "Let's just say you've been touched by an angel," he joked badly. She sat up slowly and looked at him with a look like _huh?_ on her face. He sobered. "You remember what happened today?" 

Her light blue eyes scanned in thought as her brow remained knit. "Bits and pieces." Her eyes came up and rested on the huge shiner that was developing on the side of his face. She seemed to remember that her fist was the reason why that injury was there. "Did I… did I do that?" He shrugged and she cringed a little. "Sorry."

"Don't be," he said, because he could care less about a few physical injuries. "You hit like a champ."

Jamie regarded him uncertainly, then her expression shifted to concern. "Wait, I remember…" she trailed off. "Where's the kid and his mom? They okay?" 

At the mention of them Dean forced a little smile, trying not to alert her to the fact that everything was wrong. "They're… yeah. They're probably gone by now. Didn't like the hospital food."

Jamie saw straight through him though. Maybe she guessed what happened. Maybe he was just that transparent. Either way, she didn't join him in joking around. Instead she just looked at him in this soft, sad, empathetic way that said she understood, and was sorry.

Her eyes, despite being so quiet and understanding, were so intense that he almost got up and walked away to avoid how they made him feel. And then without thinking, he found himself mumbling at the floor. "They were my one shot at normal. And I fucked that up because of course I did." He breathed in heavy, lost in memories and guilt. "They almost _died_ 'cause of me." He looked up at Jamie. " _You_ almost died 'cause of me. And that kid, Ben, he felt like _my_ kid. And now... he doesn't even know who I am." Jamie's face registered confusion and Dean gestured vaguely then let a hand slap down onto his knee. "Cas wiped me outta his memories."

Jamie's lips parted softly in growing incredulity. "Why would he do that?"

Dean wished he hadn't started this conversation now. "'Cause I asked him to." Jamie's expression showed that she was thrown off. But Dean had other topics in mind. He peered up at her with a tense expression. "When were you gonna tell me?"

Jamie became more visibly apprehensive. A fraction mistrustful. "Tell you what?"

"About your soul deal." Her face fell and her color lessened. "The demon possessing you had a lot to say," he explained. 

She was perplexed and startled and maybe even offended at his question, shaking her head in vast confusion, swallowing nervously, cagily. "Why would I tell you about that?" she asked in a murmur made of confusion. 

The irrationality of his feelings made him more impulsive than normal. Inexplicably, he was angry at her. "What, you gonna act like you don't care? Like it's no big _deal_?" 

His tone turned her face to steel. Jamie's gaze silently challenged him for a long moment before she spoke low, cool, and measured. "The way I deal with my fate is mine to decide." At the scoffing look on Dean's face, she grew even more guarded and sharp. "Everyone has to die eventually, Dean—we're both adults here, I would've thought you got the concept of mortality by now." Her eyes fell away, her jaw clenched. 

Dean didn't for one second believe this was truly how she felt. Not for one fucking second. She was dodging. "How long you got?" he pressed. He knew that she knew the hours, seconds, days. 

But she stared straight into his eyes insolently and lied. "Don't remember." 

Dean expelled a heavy breath out of his nose. "Dammit, Jamie…" he complained, fed up with everything in the world at present. 

Mystified and conflicted, the blonde regarded him in total befuddled hesitation. "Why?" she asked, almost aggravated. "Why does this matter to you?"

He threw his hands up a little, unprepared to answer that. "Because… I dunno, maybe I can help you!" He wasn't entirely sure _why_ it mattered so much to him. 

"Help me?" she repeated, confusion doubling. He just held her gaze hard, letting his authenticity be known. And that seemed to quiet her a little. Set her off balance. She took a beat and some of her real emotions came out when she spoke again. "No one gets out of a soul deal. We both know that." There was a deep sadness there that Dean latched onto.

Yes he knew all about soul deals. However, he felt personally insulted and angry at her fake apathy. "You really gonna take it laying down like that?" 

Anger and defensive impatience began to build in her icy eyes and in her tone. "What _can_ I do, Dean? What are you suggesting, huh?" Her tone seemed to suggest it was absurd. " _Fight_ it?" 

"Yes!" Dean retorted. She looked at him like he'd lost his mind and he was so agitated because of everything that had happened that day that he began to get mean. He knew how to bully the truth out of people and it was second nature by now. "Do you _wanna_ die or something?" 

Jamie didn't react like he'd thought. She remained composed and strangely blasé. "Not really," she admitted evenly, wetting her lips slowly as she looked off into space with a tense expression. "But that doesn't change anything. And I've made my peace with what's gonna happen." Cracks began to show in the armor. "There's nothing here for me, Dean. I don't have a family—they're all dead and or psychopaths." She paused, and her expression flickered. "Maybe I'm one too. And I'd rather not live long enough to find that out." Dean softened a little—he'd never thought she might feel that way. She swallowed and it was visibly painful. Her eyes were starting to show the emotion he knew she felt. "The way I see it, I do what I can with the time I have left. And I don't sit around feeling sorry for myself." She looked at him then and he could tell she wanted that to be the end of the conversation. "Everyone dies. It's just a fact of life."

It sounded nice. But he didn't buy it for a second. " _Jamie_ …" Dean appealed, and her nostrils flared slightly.

She cut him off in a slightly harder voice. "Look—I know we connected a little when you took me back to my car, but this is none of your fucking business, okay?" Her tone wavered into something more vulnerable. "I appreciate you caring, but there's nothing you can _do_ , Dean. There's nothing _anyone_ can do. So leave it alone." Her eyes looked into his and he saw real emotion there, real desperation. "The last thing I need is _hope_." She paused, not for effect. She paused to keep herself together. She swallowed and kept insisting a lie was the truth. "I'm okay with what's gonna happen."

"That's not what that demon possessing you said," Dean said quietly.

Her eyes cut to his sharply. "Demons _lie_ ," she retorted in a voice that was close to a snap. "Leave me _alone_ about this, please, god _damn_." She began looking around for an escape at the monitor and her IVs—but before she could flee, Dean began a new approach.

He remembered all too well what she was going through. He'd been a walking tornado inside when his year ticked down and he'd needed someone to confide in. Who the hell did she have to lean on right now? No one. It made his heart hurt a little, thinking about what she must be going through. "I know what it's like," he said softly, and helplessly, she was drawn in to listen to what he said, hanging on his words while trying to look like she wasn't. "Waking up every day, knowing you got one less sunrise to go until it's all over. I know how you know _exactly_ how much time you got left. I know it consumes your every damn thought. I know you've looked and looked to try and find a way out, even though you say you haven't." Every single sentence he said seemed to make her eyes shinier and her expression more vulnerable. "Sold my soul too, dunno if you know that or not. Paid up, and somehow here I am. So maybe you're not a lost cause, huh?" 

She considered it for an agonized moment. Then she shut it down and shook her head no. "I know what I am. And lucky isn't it." She looked out the window, face a mask of pain.

It wasn't his business but he asked anyway. He couldn't stop himself—the demon had said she sold it for a guy. "Who'd you sell it for, James?"

A self-deprecating little smile pulled at the edge of her mouth. Eyes that were pained despite the smile plastered on her face traveled to look at him, shining bravely. "He wasn't worth it, let's just leave it at that." There were unspoken oceans of feelings he could hear veiled in her words. Compassion and empathy surged strong. 

Dean hesitated, then on instinct reached out and cautiously, carefully covered her hand with his. A silent gesture he wasn't really sure of but did anyway. She stiffened slightly but didn't move or reject the touch. In fact, the skin of his hand against the skin of hers seemed to break her down more than anything else had. For a minute, her features worked oddly as she looked at his hand on hers. Then vulnerable eyes raised to look into his. "What happened to you hating witches?" she whispered, hopeful and worried alike to hear his answer. 

Dean felt the tiniest sad smile on his face. How could he explain it, even to himself? "Met one who changed my mind," he settled on quietly. Saying it out loud felt more telling than it had felt in his mind, and for a minute, something invisible grew and shifted between them. 

And then Jamie answered what he wanted to know, surprising him completely. "Less than two years," she confessed quietly, then her eyes dropped away. "That's all I got left." Her face kept working hard to maintain composure, but her eyes were tellingly glistening and her voice grew thick. "So my life has to _matter_. It has to mean something. It has to fix some of the wrongs my family put out into the world." Dean felt respect and affection growing for her. Jamie tried not to show it, she didn't like attention or the spotlight but he saw it clearly: She had a heart of gold. "If I can do that… if I can make my time count…" she raised her chin bravely and put on a smile that was meant to be accepting and dignified. "Then I'll be glad to see those Hellhounds come."

It was a courageous thing to say. But he remembered snarls and claws and skin ripping off his bones—he remembered the fiery pit of Hell and all the nightmares that came with it. Imagining that happening to her made him feel sick and he shook his head no, his resistant feelings unmasked on his face. But Jamie nodded her head a silent resolute yes, and then hesitated... and turned her hand upward to hold his briefly, lacing fingers through tentatively. An action that surprised Dean and made his heart swell. Emotion she clearly warred against swam in her eyes, and Dean squeezed her hand gently, wishing... well, he didn't know what. She squeezed back, and the familiarity and openness of the moment was not lost on him. 

"I'm really sorry about Lisa and Ben, Dean," she offered quietly. Her thumb did the smallest little brush against his hand, so small he might have imagined it. 

Dean smiled in soft bittersweet sorrow, looking at his rough calloused hand holding her much nicer, fairer one. It would hurt awhile, he was sure. However, he'd survive. "It is what it is." He met her eyes again. "But thanks." 

She held his gaze. "I know what it's like to watch a dream collapse," she told him carefully, trying to offer him the same kindness he'd offered her. She was better at it than he'd been. "This life really sucks sometimes." 

Dean had to wonder what his siblings would think if they walked in and saw the two of them holding hands like that and he squeezed and let go, even though he didn't really want to. "It ain't for the weak of heart, I'll tell you that much." 

Jamie was soft. Tender almost. Her gaze studied him in a way it hadn't quite before. "Knowing someone else gets it _does_ help." And Dean nodded, pretty sure his gaze was doing the same thing hers was. Then he watched Jamie visibly realize she was being too vulnerable for her own liking. She cleared her throat, thinned her mouth into a wan smile, and set to work on unhooking herself from all the IVs that were now useless. 

* * *

Outside on the front steps of the hospital, Alex sat on the top stair and bit her fingernails. Her eyes were red from crying, but she'd made herself stop. Her thoughts were consumed with Cas and everything that had happened. To have loved so deeply meant a bitter end, she guessed. That stupid quote she'd read before 'it is better to have loved and lost than never loved at all' was bullshit. If she'd never loved, she could have saved herself so much pain and grief and this hole in her heart that was tearing her apart.

She had meant what she said to her brothers about quitting this life. She just didn't think she had it in her anymore or if her actions even _mattered._ She wanted a clean slate. Or maybe she just wanted anything but this hell she was living in.

Beside her, a pair of feet suddenly appeared and startled, Alex jumped up to stand. Cas stood there and he looked severe. In fact, the look on his face was so strange that Alex backed up a few steps toward the glass doors of the hospital. Her heart had rocketed upwards in alarm at his appearance and it wasn't slowing down. "Cas, what—"

"It's not over," he said in a fatal monotone. "I am going to prove myself to you." He stepped toward her.

Alex backed up again, red alarms blaring. The look on his face was alien, or from a time before he had felt many emotions. "What are you doing?" she asked, thinking surely she had him all wrong.

He shook his head with grim finality. "You've left me no choice, Alex." He stepped closer. "You're coming with me."

* * *

Dean and Sam were walking together up the main hall in quiet and tense conversation. Up ahead, they saw Alex with Cas through the glass doors of the hospital entrance. "Son of a bitch, he just won't _quit_ ," Dean muttered in vague annoyance, shaking his head and sighing deeply.

Sam was also a little peeved. "Yeah, needs to learn to take the hint alre—" both brothers came up short when they saw Cas abruptly step into Alex's space and grab her by the upper arm in what was clearly a forced touch. Without warning, the angel and Alex both disappeared out of sight. It was hard to say who broke into a run first, but Dean got to the door first and shoved it open, looked around the immediate area with wide and panicked eyes.

"Alex! Cas? Cas! _Alex_!" he shouted. No one was around, and the angel wasn't there. Neither was their sister.

"W-what just happened?!" Sam asked, turning in a quick circle as his face quickly became a mask of sickened alarm.

Dean's worst nightmare had been realized, and every fear they had ever said was irrational about Cas had just been proved otherwise. "H-he took her," Dean said, and it looked like he was about to have a panic attack. "He… he just _took_ her!"


	81. All Comes Crashing Down

" _Life is not a movie. Good guys lose. Everybody lies.  
And love does not conquer all._ _"  
_ \- Buddy Ackerman

* * *

"Son of a bitch, son of a _bitch_ —!"

Dean dragged his hand down across his mouth as he paced back and forth hard and fast and worried. His mind was spinning out of control as he kept picturing Cas disappearing out of thin air with Alex over and over again. He had never felt so powerless in all his life.

Underneath a stark, buzzing light in the hospital parking lot, Sam had his phone to his ear and was ramrod straight as he waited anxiously for the other end of the line to ring. Then his mouth flattened into a line and he yanked the phone away from his ear. "Her phone's off," he reported in a tight voice.

Dean stopped pacing right in front of his brother, his stomach turning again in the sickest dread he'd ever felt. "What is he doing, Sam?" he demanded anxiously. "What the hell is he _doing_?" Dean was past the point of anger and his chin was trembling as he imagined his sister trying to get away from Cas and having no one there to help her. What was the angel gonna _do_ with her? He jammed a hand through his hair as he stood there unable to think about anything but the look on Alex's face right as Cas had grabbed her. She had been _scared_. "Jesus _Christ_!" he exclaimed softly, about to have a mental breakdown. What if they never saw or heard from her again, what if they never got her back?

Sam was freaking out too, but somehow managed to keep himself together. He grabbed Dean by both upper arms and made his brother look him in the eye. "Calm down, just… we gotta _think,_ Dean."

"Think?" Dean repeated, at the point of a full freakout. "Think about _what_?! We got nothing Sam! We're five hundred miles from our stuff, the car, our weapons! And Cas could have taken her anywhere, fucking _anywhere_!" He began to feel lightheaded and woozy and he sounded like a lost, scared, stupid kid to himself. "I shouldn't have let her leave the house, Sam, this is all my _fault_ , I should have gotten my head out of my ass, this is _all my fault_ _—_ "

"Hey, _hey_ ," Sam gave Dean a severe, pointed look and his fingers tightened on Dean's arms. "Stay focused." He wet his lips and in typical Sam fashion he tried to keep an open mind. "Maybe—maybe this isn't what it looks like." That was a nice thought but—

"This is _exactly_ what it looks like, Sam!" Dean protested. His heart was beating so damn hard and fast that he thought he was in danger of a conniption. Brain almost short-circuiting because he was trying to figure out a way to get to his sister _now_ , Dean pulled out of his brother's hands and started shouting like a maniac at the sky. "Balthazar! Get down here you bastard, we need your help _now_!" No one appeared and Dean shouted even louder, getting a couple of concerned and weirded out looks from people nearby. "Cas took our sister, you hear me?!" A too-silent few seconds passed. " _Balthazar_!" No one came. Dean's voice caught in despair. "I am gonna _strangle_ him…!"

Sam suddenly got a deeply thoughtful look on his face like he was trying to remember something. "Wait, what was the name of that other one?" he asked urgently, and Dean had no idea what he was talking about. "The, the one Cas had watching the house!" Sam prompted, straining to recall specifics. "Samhand-something?"

Oh, _shit._ That's right. "Samandriel," Dean breathed. Alex had told them about him but they'd never met the guy. It was worth a shot, right? At this point, Dean would try _anything._ Dean looked upward and said the name louder. "Samandriel?" He had no idea if this angel was friend or foe, he just needed a way to find Cas and Alex _now._

In front of them, a surprisingly young looking guy appeared. He was wearing a striped red-and-white shirt and a cap that said _Wiener Hut_ on it. "Hello…" he greeted, seeming a little dubious about why he'd just been summoned.

Dean hadn't expected the uniform and took an uncertain pause. This… this couldn't be right, could it? "…Samandriel?"

"Yes. I'm Samandriel. What can I—" the angel stopped mid sentence when he found himself seized by Dean. Perplexed at the sudden movement, Samandriel frowned and looked at how Dean's hands were clenched into his shirt. "Is… this some kind of greeting?"

Dean tried to shake the angel to no real avail. "Your boss took our sister, _where is she_?!"

Samandriel seemed startled at the tone as well as the content of the sentence spoken. "…Excuse me?"

"Cas _kidnapped_ Alex," Sam explained intently, pulling on his brother and trying to get him to back off. " _Please_. You gotta help us."

Dean let go of Samandriel grudgingly as the angel frowned in thorough confusion. " _Kidnapped_ her? But… why would he do that?" He shook his head, mulling it over then quickly becoming regretful. "I'm sorry. I… I don't know where he is. Castiel removed me from my watcher duties yesterday without explanation. I _did_ notice that he was acting very… _oddly_ when he did so."

 _That_ little piece of information only made the brothers more filled with dread. "Well if you don't know where he is, _find out_!" Dean demanded in a thundering almost-yell.

The very young looking angel eyed Dean cautiously and considered the demand with great amounts of wary trepidation, then shook his head once. "I'm sorry," Samandriel said. "The only thing I can do for you is this."

Even as Dean opened his mouth to ask what 'this' meant, their scenery changed and the brothers found themselves standing in the salvage yard at Bobby's. "...Son of a bitch," Sam murmured, looking around the dark familiar landscape in disconcerted surprise. Samandriel wasn't anywhere to be seen, but they were now with all their tools, weapons, and, most importantly, their car. And that was definitely something.

Dean was staring at the Impala with a mask for a face as he thought hard and fast. "How much holy oil we got left, Sammy?"

Sam swallowed, grim at how real this had just gotten. Their eyes met and Sam's jaw tightened. "Enough."

Of the same mind, the brothers immediately and wordlessly set to work.

* * *

One second Alex stood outside of a hospital in St. Louis, the next she was in a dim and smallish room that looked like what used to be an office. The ramshackle space was derelict and obviously abandoned and _what the hell did he bring me here for?!_ Alex jerked her arm out of Cas's grip as her confusion wore off and she stepped back from him. In shock over what had just happened (and not even _sure_ what had just happened), she stared at him with wide eyes.

"Where the hell are we?" she breathed, too stunned and surprised to know how to react. "W-what is this?"

Cas was flat and emotionally absent, almost blank. "I am going to prove myself to you."

Chills were crawling up her spine at his tone, his face, everything. She didn't recognize him, almost. _This is wrong. Something is seriously wrong with him_. Genuine fear touched her and she swallowed thickly, realizing that fear was of _him_. "Take me back," she said softly, not able to speak loudly. Her voice trembled and she couldn't make it steady. " _Right now._ "

His answer was immediate and even. "No."

She balked at him as more fear and shock raced through her veins. " _No_?"

He drew in a deep breath, let it out through his nose, then touched her shoulder. She stiffened slightly at the touch, unsure of it. He noticed her reaction and his eyes softened and looked into hers with growing emotion. His touch was gentle, mournful, his voice was quiet and soft. "Wait here," he said, and he sounded much more like himself again, which confused her even more. "I'll explain later. I need you to trust me right now. I am taking care of everything."

He let go and disappeared just like that. "Wh—" Alex sputtered, looking into empty space instead of Cas's eyes. Blinking several times against her dumbfounded daze, Alex turned a circle then raised her voice to a shout. "Cas! Are you _crazy_!?" Her instincts were saying something was really wrong she had one thought: _get the hell out of whenever this is_. There was one exit from the room and Alex rushed to it, only to find it locked tight. _What, am I a_ prisoner _or something_? Stomach churning, her eyes raced up and around the door frame. She cursed under her breath because it was an inward-swinging door so kicking it down wouldn't work. She turned around and ran to the far end of the room, shoving the desk to the wall hard then climbing up on it to peer out of the small rectangle window that was almost at the ceiling. Even if she could have fit through the oddly small and high window, there were bars across it outside. Her stomach dropped. Bars, locked doors? _Oh my god, Cas, what is happening right now? What are you doing with me?_ This wasn't him. This couldn't have been his idea. Even as she jumped down off the desk onto a floor that was littered with debris that crunched underfoot, she pulled out her phone. The signal bar was grayed out and the words _No Service_ were displayed. "Oh _come on_!" She tried holding it higher, refusing to believe she was really as screwed over as it was beginning to appear.

"I _wondered_ why he destroyed all the cell towers in the area…" Alex turned around fast at the sound of _that_ voice. "Is it bring your spouse to work day?"

Utter hatred coursed through Alex's veins. " _You_."

Crowley's smug, widening smirk was accompanied by the slightest eyebrow raise. He held his hands out slightly at his sides as if presenting himself to her. " _Me_."

She saw red and reacted without a single thought. "This is all your fault you fucking _bastard_!" she screeched, then leapt at him and smashed her fist into his face with a wild and unrestrained sound of rage. She almost fell over from the sloppy momentum she threw into that hit, and Crowley definitely stumbled back.

Now a few feet further back than he'd been, the King of Hell held a hand against his jaw and stared at her balefully as she stood there and heaved breaths like an angered bull. His mouth moved downward into a disgruntled expression. "Yes, good to see you too, I've been fabulous thank you very much." He tested his jaw, eyeing her with clear annoyance. "Do you really have to be so _punchy_?"

 _Oh, don_ _'_ _t worry. I can do more than punch._ Whipping out her angel blade, she promised more than just a sore jaw. "I am going to _kill_ you," Alex seethed, lunging mindlessly. She found herself shoved up against the wall by invisible forces. Her blade went flying and clattered to a stop halfway across the room.

"Darling, get your _head_ out of your _ass,_ " Crowley said in forced evenness, his eyes glinting with impatience. "If you think _I_ _'_ _m_ the one to blame… you're dreaming." He raised a pointed finger to wag it at her briefly. "See I forced your little trench coat angel to do zilch. I provided our favorite halo an opportunity to get rich quick, he signed on without any qualms. I'm really not that bad." That smile she hated was returning. "He's the one who just kidnapped you, remember?" He made a brief motion with his hand and she was no longer stuck to the wall. Alex's face twisted in revulsion and she looked down at her angel's blade longingly. It was far out of reach. She despised Crowley so intensely. "Why's he brought you here, anyway?" Crowley asked, eyes narrowed to dangerously thoughtful slits as he sauntered a step or two closer. His gaze swept up and down her studiously. "Last I checked, he wanted me as far away from you as possible… so why the change in his tune, eh?"

That was a damn good question. Alex said nothing, but her anxiety began to return and her anger ebbed. _Sam, Dean, Bobby_ _…_ some _one_ _…_ _help. What am I supposed to do?_

At that moment, Cas reappeared and when he saw that there was now a demon with Alex, his already dark expression clouded over further. "Crowley." His features showed clear antipathy toward the demon and he stood in a way that seemed shielding—he blocked the space between Crowley and Alex by facing the King of Hell straight on. But strangely, he didn't demand to know what was going on. Instead, he spoke to Crowley about something else. "I have her. She's in the lab."

Pleased surprise flitted across the demon's face. "About _time_. Guess that's my cue then." Smiling wickedly, Crowley winked at Alex before he disappeared completely.

"Have _who_?" Alex asked, feeling more and more dread in the pit of her stomach. "Cas, _what_ is going _on_ here?!"

She wanted to believe there was some kind of explanation for what appeared to be kidnap, but as Cas turned around to look her in the eye, she saw how he was glazed-over and blank once more, a mere shell of himself. "Just wait here, Alex," he intoned heavily. "It won't be long now. You'll see."

He disappeared again. "No, Cas, wait—!" she protested uselessly. He didn't return, and she was absolutely confounded. _What_ wouldn't be long? Alex was left standing in that silent and small room with the full and total realization that she really was being held captive. No ifs, ands, or buts about it. Blood pressure rising like a siren wail, Alex tried to stay calm. But Cas had _locked her in here_ , premeditated even—! Crowley said he destroyed all the cell towers in the area. How long had he been planning this? Why would he _do_ this? What did he want her to see? _Oh, Cas, this is not right. What_ _'_ _s happening to you? You would never do this to me. Would you?_ In denial or maybe just too shocked to cope, Alex kept thinking that this _wasn_ _'_ _t_ him. This wasn't Castiel. He was gentle and heartfelt and emotionally timid, respectful and always so worried to do something wrong or hurtful, especially to her. Had the stress and the burden of the war finally cracked him? Or had she never known him at all? Her mind was spinning so fast that she put clenched her hands onto either side of her head in a useless attempt to calm down. Nothing made sense and everything was backwards from how it was supposed to be. _Calm down. Just think. Be smart. Get through this. One thing at a damn time, Alex._

That's when she realized she could hear screams echoing up from someplace within the same building. It sounded like a woman. Alex's hands slowly lowered in a dreamlike slow motion. Her spine crawled and her inner voice said get away from here _now_. No clue what was happening, no idea what had gotten into Cas or who that was screaming bloody murder somewhere nearby, Alex began to tear apart the room in search of a way to escape.

* * *

Castiel was in the middle of torturing the Purgatory creature called Eleanor—the one he had gone to great pains and lengths to track and capture—when he was summoned away forcibly. Disoriented, he found himself gone from Crowley's lab and instead face to face with Sam Winchester in Bobby Singer's salvage yard. Suspecting where Dean was, Cas glanced behind himself over his shoulder. Sure enough, the oldest Winchester waited silently a few feet off behind him. Both brothers had faces like stone and eyes sharper than knives. Temper flaring at the interruption and the forced summons, Cas was in no mood to be polite. "You two are beginning to grate on my nerves," he muttered lowly, even though he should have _guessed_ this might happen.

"Where is she?" Sam demanded, breathing heavily through his nose as he visibly tried to stay calm. "Where'd you take her?"

So. They were going to try a foolhardy rescue of a sister who needed no rescuing in the first place. "That is none of your concern," Castiel replied darkly. He disliked being treated as the enemy and he just wanted to be left _alone_ until his plans had been achieved. He grew impossibly weary of this tug-of-war.

"Like _hell_ it isn't!" Dean snapped. "Tell us where she is, _now_!" Cas slowly turned around fully to look at Dean, whose eyes immediately fell to Eleanor's blood spatters on the trench coat. His bravado faltered and quiet fear filled his eyes as his voice weakened. "…Whose blood is that?"

Cas was once again struck by feelings of betrayed trust. "Please, Dean," the angel said, his tone implying Dean was devastating him. And he was. How could he even _think_ what he was obviously thinking? "It belongs to a creature." Dean hid his relief underneath a glare and Cas let out a heavy breath through his nose. "Your sister is safe. With me. I just need you to be patient, wait a few more hours, then you'll all see."

"All see _what_?" Dean asked, at his wit's end and quickly losing his temper. "As long as she's with you, she ain't safe, now you give her back _right now_!"

Behind Cas, Sam was circling slowly, almost panther-like in his movements… as if he were getting ready to pounce. Cas's eyes slid sidelong toward Sam and his jaw clenched. " _No_." Dean looked like he could have breathed fire, but Castiel was no longer accommodating of the threats and bullying. "I tire of your demands and your animosity," he said, stepping forward slightly to confront Dean. " _Back off_. I won't ask again."

"Oh, you won't ask again?" Dean asked in a dangerously soft voice as he held his ground. "Or what? You gonna kill us? Take _us_ hostage, too?" His voice abruptly hardened and raised in volume to a near-shout. "You can't hold someone against their will, Cas! Especially not my damn _sister!_ "

Cas balked. "I'm not hold—" Flustered, the angel changed rails in the middle of his sentence. "She doesn't _know_ what she wants," he insisted in growing frustration. "She's _confused_. I have to show her that I'm doing the right _thing_."

"'The right thing'?" Sam repeated with a near-disgusted scoff. "The one who's confused here is _you!_ " He was eyeing Cas with hard eyes and a mouth drawn into a thin, flat line. "Come on, Cas, this isn't right! You're better than this! You need _help._ " Even though Sam was appealing to Cas, there was a strong note of warning and threat to every part of him: the way he stood, the way he spoke, the way he breathed. "It's not too late. We can _fix this_." There was an implied 'or else' that Sam did not speak aloud.

"Nothing requires _fixing,_ " Cas intoned in a low, impatient voice. His anger was growing and growing because no one understood him in the least or trusted him. "I'm _fine_."

Dean let out a disbelieving little scoff of a laugh. "You gotta be out of your damn _mind_ ," he said. "You are the furthest thing from _fine_ I've ever seen." He drew himself up and there was regret in his eyes, but more than that, grim determination. "Cas, I am _not_ gonna let you do this."

Cas was rueful. Did this mere man really believe he could stand in an angel's way? "You can't stop me, Dean."

And then Dean snatched out a gleaming silver angel blade from his jacket and held it at his side with an iron-tight grip. "My little angel poker says I can." Cas stared at the weapon with a shocked feeling of final betrayal. So, Dean had kept one of those. And now he was threatening Castiel's life (however uselessly) with it.

"You can't be serious," Cas said, looking at the other man in total disbelief.

Dean held the angel's gaze in utmost severity. "As a heart attack."

Inwardly defeated all over again and not sure how this could ever be fixed, Cas shook his head in weary frustration. He knew Dean Winchester was many things—brash, emotional, angry, full of bark and bite alike—but he hadn't thought it would come to this. "Dean, I won't fight you."

"Good," Dean said stiffly. "That'll make this a whole helluva lot easier." _Snap_. Cas looked toward the soft little sound in confusion and then it was too late. Sam had just lit a match and dropped it to the ground. Cas found himself standing in a circle of flame, too near to the edge and he backed up, self-preservation instincts propelling him. He hadn't anticipated this but instead of saddening Cas, it only angered him. His eyes darted from the licking flames to Dean, who marched the edge of the circle with the blade at his side and a harsh, authoritative glare on his face. "You picked the wrong brothers to piss off, Cas," he said in a low, deadly serious tone. "Now _where is she_?"

Cas's mouth moved to purse into a flat line. Enough with these thuggish tactics and threats. He had business to attend to, a world to save. The brothers were overreacting and wasting his _time_. The hour was dire and they were standing in the way of all his plans. "Let me out of here," the angel growled, eyes shifting from either brother and back. "I'm warning you."

Dean's expression darkened further and he used the angel blade as emphasis. "Pal, I'm the one doing the warning right now. You tell me where you took her and _maybe_ I let you walk."

When Cas only stared balefully, Sam lost his patience and exploded into a shout. " _Now,_ Cas!"

Cas lowered and slowed his voice for effect, turned around and stared at Sam with stony eyes. "I said _no_."

Behind him, he could hear Dean slowly rounding the circle to stand with his brother. Before he had made it all the way, Dean gave the slightest nod to Sam. And Cas was perplexed when Sam abruptly reached into his jacket and pulled out a gun. What could that possibly be for? Even as Castiel wondered that, Sam raised the pistol high and _shot_ the angel. A cracking sound cut through the air right before pain exploded in Cas's shoulder. Cas stumbled back and doubled over with a cry of shock as his hand went to clap over the bullet wound. Mystified, he gaped up at Sam, who looked absolutely baleful and even sickened as he lowered the gun slowly. "Holy oil," he explained in a tight voice. What, had they dredged the bullet in it? Dean looked on with an unreadable expression.

Cas grimaced and moaned against the pain. His arm didn't seem to be working and he was beside himself with surprise at what had just happened. Sam cocked the gun again and looked at the angel, swallowing slowly, the muzzle trained on Cas once more. His anxiety was clear. "I don't wanna shoot you, Cas," he said in earnest resolve. "I don't wanna _hurt_ you. I _don_ _'_ _t_. So tell us where you took her. _Now_." He was begging at that point, implying that if Castiel didn't do what he said he would kill him.

Cas looked at Dean, who was silent and deadly at his brother's side. That angel blade, sharp as death, glinted wickedly as it caught light from the holy fire. Incredulous in the worst of ways, Castiel looked at Sam and then Dean, not fathoming this moment. He was _on their side!_ He was doing this _for them!_ He was saving the _world!_ He had raised Dean from Hell, he had restored Alex's voice, he had resurrected Sam, he had defied Heaven and subjected himself to this terrible war all for them. And they truly thought he was the _villain_? "You said we were like brothers," the angel said, not understanding how they could do this to him.

Dean's jaw tightened. "That was before."

Gritting his teeth against pain, Cas stood a little straighter. His arm hung weakly at his side as blood trickled out from the bullet wound but he let go of his shoulder and braced himself physically and emotionally. He had to stop believing these men were his friends, because they clearly weren't. Sad at that thought, Cas shook his head blankly. "I wish it hadn't come to this," he said somberly, feeling so hurt inwardly that he wanted to give up on everything. But he couldn't. This had to be done. He was unsure of how the future would unfold past this or what the consequences of these actions would be, but he was not, as the humans said, a quitter. He could only hope that in time the Winchesters would comprehend his impossible dilemma and thank him for being willing to do what _ever_ was required to prevent the apocalypse from happening. Despite his personal feelings, despite his wavering emotions, he had to do the right thing.

 _You take the days as they come,_ Alex had told him once in a motel in nineteen seventy-nine when he had asked how to know how to make choices. _You do your best to do the right thing. Because trust me. You won_ _'_ _t always know._

This was one of the times he didn't know. But this path was all he had left and he needed it to be the right thing. He needed to prove himself. And most importantly, he needed to save Alex. He refused to let this go until he had done that. So he steeled himself for what he was about to do. He told himself it would be worth it in the very end. "Remember that I gave you _every_ chance," he told the boys grimly. "When this is all over, when I've saved your world and everyone in it, I will save Sam too, even though you insist on betraying and attempting to hurt me."

Sam and Dean's expressions both wavered with confusion. "…Save Sam from wh—"

Before Dean had finished asking, Cas made his move. Telekinetically, he grabbed and yanked a loose, old car door from nearby, slamming it down over the fire separating him from Sam—even as he strode across the metal, Cas knocked Dean down and away with another telekinetic blow and simultaneously sent Sam's pistol flying through the air and away. He'd moved too fast for either brother to react and before he could change his mind, Cas shoved his fingers to Sam's head, breaking the wall in his mind.

Immediately, Sam gave a cry of what sounded like pain and fell down holding his head with both hands, screaming through gritted teeth. Dean rushed to his brother immediately, his weapon forgotten. "Sam! _Sammy_!" He got no response, only guttural pained moans. "What did you do to him?!" Dean cried, holding his brother on the ground and looking up at Cas in horrified disbelief.

Cas stood and watched regretfully as Sam writhed and convulsed brainlessly in his brother's arms. "What you made me do," he answered flatly, even as he felt enormous guilt and self-loathing for what he had just done. He had never wanted to hurt this family in the slightest. Why had they made him do this? _No one forced my hand in this_. A sudden thought that he didn't like, because it implied that Castiel was the one in the wrong. He couldn't accept that. It had to be someone else's fault. Cas shut himself down further to feelings and thoughts and gave one final, somber statement before he left: "Do not test me again, Dean Winchester. I will fix him. But you need to _stand down._ "

Without another word, the angel left Dean there with a broken brother and a missing sister and no idea at all of what to do.

* * *

Cas returned to Crowley's compound and the first thing he did was he went to check on Alex. He found her in the old office room with her back to him. Unaware of his arrival, she was crouched down and looking through the drawers of the old desk, no doubt for some kind of weapon or object that might be used to pick a lock. Normally he would have admired her fighting spirit. But today, it was just evidence that she viewed him as the enemy, too. He'd asked her to trust him and clearly, she did not. Brokenhearted, Cas watched her for a couple seconds more. Then he spoke, his voice lifeless and void. "You can't get out. You really should stop trying."

Very startled, Alex shot to her feet and whirled, backing up against the desk. She was angry and afraid. He could see both of those emotions very clearly. And just when she opened her mouth to no doubt hurl an insult or a demand at him, her eyes caught the wound in his shoulder. Her expression fell and worry flitted across her features. "Oh my god, what happened to you?" Her wide eyes looked into his with vast amounts of puzzled concern. "A-are you okay?"

Normally the show of worry would have touched Castiel. But instead it reminded him of what Sam and Dean had done and anger flared underneath the surface. He looked down at his shoulder. "Your brother _shot me._ " He hesitated, then dug the bullet out with two fingers and then crushed it easily in his hand, tossing it aside with no shortage of insolence.

Alex gaped at the bullet with a horrified expression. " _Christ_."

"It's all right," Cas said stiffly, distracted by guilty and abhorrent thoughts of what he had done. "They won't interfere again."

His choice of words made her go still. "…What do you mean?" When he did not reply, Alex began to panic. "Cas—did you _hurt_ one of them? Did you do something?" Her eyes went to the bloodstain made by the place Sam had shot him.

"Everything's fine," Cas said, not wanting to tell her the details. And then he realized. _Lies. Deception. I can_ _'_ _t seem to stop._ Everything was _not_ fine. Yet he wanted her to believe it was to keep her from being even more angry with him. Crushed at himself and his lack of ability to be who he thought he was (honest, kind, good), Cas looked away and down.

Alex drew herself up a little, swallowed, and visibly steeled herself. "Okay. You know what?" Her voice wavered in confidence. "Enough is enough. L-let me _go_." When he said nothing, disbelief and anxiety etched her face. "You can't just _keep_ me here…!" Again, he said nothing. Why wouldn't she just give him a chance? He didn't know. She was asking to leave again. "Please, just take me to my brothers, _please_."

Cas shook his head grimly, wishing she would make this easier for him. "Not yet. I want you to see something."

Alex was alarmed. "See _what_?"

Cas's eyes were grave and his voice was even, paced, measured. "See that you're wrong about me. That you're _all_ wrong. I want you to see me take the final step to defeating Raphael. You told me that I should have included you in this before. So, now I am." In a way, he thought that maybe he could logic her back into loving and trusting him. In a way, he thought that perhaps all he had to do was correct what he'd done wrong before to earn back her good graces. But in a deeper part of himself, the truest and most honest place he possessed, he already knew it was too late and she would never feel the same about him. That was why he was in such deep denial. He quite literally couldn't handle the thought of her actually leaving him.

Alex was already shaking her head no slowly in growing speed at his declaration. "Cas, I want _no_ part of this," she said, face screwing up in an expression that seemed to appeal to him and imply he was crazy all at once. "Crowley? _Purgatory_ …?"

Disappointed on every level, Cas was quieted and miserable. "If you loved me, you would trust me in this." It was both an accusation and a demand.

Alex had an answer for him. "No." Her reply was immediate and impassioned, trembling as she continued on. "You're wrong. Love isn't stupid. It's not being _blind,_ it's not…" she searched for a way to word it, " _letting each other walk into a fire_! I'm not gonna BS you and tell you what you wanna hear, I'm gonna tell you the truth, like it or not! This is dangerous as hell and every instinct I have is telling me this is gonna backfire so bad. Cas, please. _Listen_ to me, this is _insane_! You're smarter than this, you're—"

" _Enough_ , Alex." He cut her off with a voice that was louder and harder than he meant for it to be. Regretting his lack of control, Cas tried to get a handle on himself. But he had truly reached his capacity for being told he was wrong. There was a limit, and he felt himself being stretched taut like a rubber band emotionally. Any tighter and he might snap into pieces. Maybe that showed on his face. Or maybe it was the way he had so gruffly interrupted her. Either way, what she said next gave him what he believed was called a 'reality check.'

"Cas." Her voice broke even though she was all but whispering. "You're _scaring_ me right now."

His feelings shifted immediately and the resentment and bitterness fell away as he saw her in gentle, familiar light. His Alex, the one he treasured above all else. And he was _frighting_ her? That confession from her lips ruined him—he'd seen it earlier, but to hear her say as much was terrible. "That was never my intention," he said, filled with a sadness he didn't know if he could survive. Had she, like her brothers, truly given up on him? Left with pieces on the ground, Cas struggled to know how to pick them back up. "I'm… I'm so sorry. I'm trying my best here."

For a moment, they were them. Alex reached out to him emotionally, chancing everything. "Cas. I am _begging_ you not to do this."

A soft, quiet pause. "And I am begging you to trust me," he returned in a pain-filled voice. He wished he could do what she wanted, he wished he could agree, but this was the only way. He understood her reservations about his methods but why in Heaven and on earth could she not understand that this was the lesser of two evils? The better of two disasters? This was an impasse. Because they both refused to move from their respective stances, her eyes began to shine and Cas's chest constricted. He couldn't take the sight of her upset like that. "Don't cry. Please." He chanced drifting a little closer to her, he chanced a gentle touch to the side of her face. His voice dropped to an earnest whisper and he told her the only thing that made sense to him anymore. "Alex, I _love_ you." Didn't she see that? Know that? Feel that? It hurt to put his feelings on the line and not know hers.

Her watery eyes looked into his and he saw how she struggled. He thought for just a moment she was going to nod and say she was going to trust him in this, that she loved him too—that was what his entire being longed for. But then her stubbornness and doubts won out and she abruptly became hard-faced and combative. She pushed his hand away by the wrist, hard. "Get _away_ from me. You are not allowed to _touch_ me, do you understand? Let me _out of here_!"

Let down all over again, Cas's feelings of hope dissipated into something darker. The bitterness reared back up with a vengeance and he lost his softness. "Not until you believe me."

Cynical and inauthentic, she faked a tight little smile. "Fine. I believe you."

Cas suppressed a feeling of resentment at her rude and curt attitude. "You have to mean it."

Alex looked at him sadly, like she didn't know him, like she was somehow above him. "You have lost your damn _mind_."

Another low blow. It seemed that everyone had told him this recently, that he had lost his mind. Disliking hearing that again, he almost glared at her. "And just what would you do in my situation?" he challenged.

For a few seconds, she could make no reply. Then she looked down and shook her head once and slowly. "Not this." She wet her lips and he recognized that she was thinking hard. "Look, you keep saying this is the only way but I mean—have you _really_ considered all the options? Why not lure Raphael into that alternate universe where angels were human and shoot him or knife fight him? Kill him how I killed Daniel and Virgil?" Cas blinked a couple times. He hadn't thought of that. But luring the archangel could prove impossible. Even as he was mulling that over, Alex was throwing out more suggestions. "Find a way to lock him in the cage with Michael and Lucifer, or, or find some spell that weaken an archangel, I don't know—! But Cas. This is dangerous not only for planet earth but for _you_. I don't want you to get _hurt_." Cas shook his head mildly, heaving a heavy breath and expelling it slowly. He had no reply for her and barely noticed her concern over him. This plan that he'd chanced everything on was so close to being realized. Purgatory was going to be cracked open that very night. He couldn't chance the fate of the world on a half-brewed tactic. Alex saw that and visibly disheartened, she contemplated him with growing sadness and confusion. "So you won't stop what you're doing. You're gonna keep going with this thing."

He had said as much repeatedly and he wished he could give her what she wanted, but this was a time that needs triumphed wants. "I've already told you that I am."

Hurt, disbelief, resentment, anger—all of those emotions flitted across Alex's face. Anger won out and burst out of her in a small explosion. "I have had it up to _here_ with you Castiel!" she shouted, and Cas was so very reminded of Dean in that moment because of the way her face moved, her voice thundered, even the way she held herself. But unlike Dean, she shouted that with helpless tears shining in her eyes. "Take me to my family. I am _not_ asking you!"

Wishing he had another way, Cas shook his head once, regretful. He couldn't look at her currently. "I'm sorry. Not yet." There had been a time when she had desired to spend time with him above all else. There had been a time when she believed in him with every fiber of her being. There had been a time when he wouldn't have ever taken her like he had. But he had never truly known desperation until now. When Alex saw that he was flatly refusing to take her to her family, she turned away from him pointedly and put her back to him. Cas's heart ached and for what felt like the thousandth time that day. "Please," he begged. "Don't forsake me. Not now. I need someone to believe in me. I need _you_ to believe in me." She said nothing at all and Cas felt his insides darken with some monstrous feeling he couldn't control. It felt ugly, it felt strong, it felt betrayed. At her continued and intentional silence, discontented anger ran through his veins in increasing measure. Because of that, he said something very thoughtless and selfish in a bullying attempt to make her reply to him. "You should speak to me. I gave you the ability after all."

She turned around, giving him a look that was reserved only for those who stepped over the line and deserved her wrath. "I don't owe you a damn _thing_ ," she growled. Abruptly, a derisive smile cooled her face. "You forgetting something, Cas? I saw everything in that soul touch." The smile was gone in favor of an expression of stone. "It's your fault I was mute to begin with."

Cas felt slapped across the face with the truth. He had neglected to realize she would have remembered that when he restored her memories last night. It was as though the final and impossibly painful straw had been added to the burden cracking Castiel's proverbial back and to see her looking at him as though he were someone she despised was too much. He left without another word, sickened and more focused than ever on doing the task that was set before him.

Robotic, Cas went to Crowley's side and continued to torture Eleanor for the way to open Purgatory. Even as he went through the motions, he felt as though he were standing beside himself and watching someone else at work. Around him, the world felt like it was coming down. His heart was cut open and bleeding out and he stacked stones around it to try and protect himself further from damage. He became an absolute machine, putting all his focus on to the task at hand, trying to forget that nearby the woman he loved and had promised to always honor and cherish was locked away like a prisoner.

* * *

**Three Hours Later  
Sioux Falls, South Dakota**

Dean was with his brother in the panic room, the one place in the house he felt could truly be angel-proofed after Balthazar broke in last night with a rock through the window. Sam was motionless on the cot and had been unresponsive for close to three hours now. Sitting nearby and asking Sam's name every few minutes, Dean was a mess. His knee jiggled up and down and his mind was racing doggedly. He'd done everything he could have done with the circumstances given. Called Bobby, called Jamie, called every damn hunter he could think of and asked them to keep their eyes out for anything that could be related to Cas and his whereabouts. Jamie had actually still been close enough to the hospital where everything happened that she u-turned and went back to see about trying to trace Cas off of his last known whereabouts. Unfortunately she called back with bad news of no success and Dean was left to stay at his brother's side and wonder what the hell Cas had done to him. Sam was breathing normally and his pulse was normal but he was completely zonked. He'd seized a few times without warning, unconscious the entire time. Dean was absolutely beside himself with worry. If Cas had done this to Sam, what was he going to do to Alex? And how the hell was Dean supposed to _find_ them?

Catching the sound of approaching footsteps, Dean sat up straight and fast. Relief surged through him as Bobby came into view and entered the panic room. The older hunter was clearly anxious. "I burned rubber," he said, his worried eyes on Sam. "How is he?"

Dean had gotten up the second Bobby stepped foot into the panic room. "Thank god you're here," he said, already grabbing his jacket up from where it had been mindlessly tossed earlier. As he slung it on, he was already thinking two steps ahead, barely even cognizant of his surroundings or Bobby's stumped expression. "You stay with him, I'm gonna go find my sister, if you need anything or if Sammy wakes up, call me and—"

"Whoa whoa whoa," Bobby stopped him lightly with two hands from exiting the panic room. "…You got any leads? You got any _clues_?"

Dean's urgency faltered. "Well no, but—" that didn't matter. Waiting around and doing nothing while his youngest sibling was in danger and in need of help was _not_ okay. "I can't just _sit here_ , Bobby! I've gotta do something! Sam's a vegetable and Al's out there somewhere with an angel headcase who went off the deep end from hell! I can't let this happen, I gotta find her!"

Bobby managed to keep his cool somehow. "I know. But don't lose your head. Not now." He was dire and focused to a strange, grim level Dean hardly recognized. And then he dropped the bombshell. "Dean, we got right at an _hour_ 'til they pop Purgatory. The twins are down for the count and you best not think about joining them, you hear me? I need you." Dean was gaping. An hour? _What_ …? Bobby explained. "Was gonna tell ya over the phone but you hung up on me, remember? Ell… she… she called me. Sounded real bad, I doubt she's still alive to be honest with ya from the way she sounded. Said an angel and demon got her, tortured her for info on how to open the door to Purgatory. Said she told 'em _everything_. Said they're doing a ritual on the full moon. That's soon, Dean. One hour from now soon."

" _Shit_ , Bobby! An _hour_?" His heart was racing and he thought he might have a heart attack. Everything was gone and broken and they only had a fucking _hour_ to work with?! Lost, alarmed, totally out of his element, Dean was left to grasp at straws and begin having a slight mental breakdown. "What… what the hell do we do? We got no line on Crowley, we got no line on Cas, Balthazar's MIA, Samandriel won't answer, Alex is god know's where—I mean, all we've got is Sam and he's in some kind of _coma_ or something!"

Bobby took him by the shoulders. " _Dean_." Calm down. Dean got that unspoken part of the sentence and obeyed, forcing himself to take a second and just breathe. He pinched the bridge of his nose as Bobby let go of him. "You know, this is exactly what Cas wants," his uncle said in gentle understanding. "For you to fall to pieces."

"Well good job Cas, you got me!" Dean shouted, half at Bobby, half at the universe.

Bobby was displeased. " _Hey_. It's not over 'til it's over. You hear me?" Fatherly, the older hunter lectured the younger one. "Don't give up. We keep calling angels, we see if we can maybe—"

"Hello, boyscouts." The two men turned in surprise at the accented voice. Balthazar stood there at the entrance of the panic room, and he was as playboy douchebag as ever. "You rang? I see you mudfish finally got the angel-proofing right." He pointed to Sam because he was unable to enter the panic room thanks to the warding. "How's Sleeping Beauty? You didn't steal any kisses, I trust?"

Dean saw red. "What the hell took you so long?" he demanded, approaching the angel fast. "I called you man, I called you a hundred million times!"

In a rare show of earnestness, Balthazar didn't crack a joke or make a snide remark. "Honestly? I was having second thoughts. About whether to help you or not." His eyes flickered to Bobby and then back to Dean. "I've heard that people who help the Winchesters have this nasty habit of dying. And well, personally… I like being alive."

Fed up and very aware that time was ticking away fast, Dean tried to make himself be patient. "Just—just _shut up,_ " he commanded, needing to know one thing and one thing only: "Are you gonna help us or not?"

Balthazar seemed to think better of his decision " _Well_ …" he sighed and pulled out a piece of paper and handed it over to Dean. Taking the scrap, Dean peered at it with confusion. An address in Kansas was written on it with messy handwriting and Dean's heart leapt. Was this…? He looked up at Balthazar for confirmation. Balthazar was nodding gravely. "Cas and Crowley are there. So's the other Wondertwin." Dean's already-jackhammering heart rate doubled as adrenaline began to surge and focus began to overcome him. "That's where the show gets started."

"Kansas," Dean said in a tight, authoritative voice as he looked down at the address once more. Bootbock, Kansas. It was several hundred miles from there but luckily they had a ride on the angel express. "Okay. Good. Yeah." Dean was beginning to feel determined again at deadly levels. _Take my sister and break my brother and see what the hell comes your way_. He stood straighter, felt stronger, and knew what to do again. "Alright, give us a minute to pack up and then zap us there."

That was when Balthazar started to back off. "Oh, no, no, no, no. I don't think so."

Dean bristled. " _Balthazar_ , you son of a bitch, if you don't—

"I'm betraying a _friend_ here," Balthazar said loudly and firmly. "A very powerful friend. We all are." His voice softened and Dean saw how the angel was truly afraid and wary of Cas. "So, I think I've stuck my neck out far enough already."

"No, no, hold on, listen to me!" Dean protested, at the point of shamelessly pleading. This was their _only shot._ "Cas has lost his mind, do you hear me! He freaking _took_ my _sister_ , and if he _hurts_ her, if something _happens_ … come on! Please! I am _begging_ you, Balthazar! I'll do anything you ask, you hear me? _Anything_. I gotta get to her, _now_." Balthazar was silent and reluctant but not heartless, and everything Dean said made him more and more reluctant. Dean tried every card he had. "Look what he did to Sam!" He threw an arm out at Sam's massive and stock-still form on the bed. Balthazar's eyes followed the gesture and Dean tried his last appeal. "Alex aside, Purgatory's getting cracked in t-minus an hour, so unless you get us there, _we can_ _'_ _t stop it!_ _"_

There was a long, somber pause in which Balthazar tensely weighed his options and then shook his head at himself like he couldn't believe what he was about to do. "All right, _fine_. I'll put you a mile or two out from the place, just to be on the safe side. And—" he groaned at himself like he was annoyed, rolled his eyes at the sky. " _Bloody hell_ —I'll try and get your little princess out too, all right?" He pointed at Dean like he was mad at him. "You had better be worth all this trouble. I don't even know why I'm helping you. I'm blaming the shipment of Grey Goose I drank to try and talk myself out of giving you that sodding address." Chagrined, he shook his head at himself again. "Get your things. We don't have all night."

* * *

Cas led a very sullen and stone-faced Alex through Crowley's compound and into the main laboratory. She followed him cautiously as he'd asked, and he was honestly surprised she hadn't tried to run yet. He'd told her it was time to see what he had brought her there to see, and that was all. In all honesty, he felt so far-removed from his ability to feel and to love that he was almost angry with her for being there, even though _he_ was the one who had demanded this and forced her to come.

Finally, she spoke up as they entered the large lab. "What _is_ this place?" Her eyes took in the gurneys, the blood splattered floor near the chair Eleanor had been tied to, the various old contraptions that were still in place from when this place had been a functioning establishment.

"It was a mental asylum," Cas answered stiffly.

Her gaunt face twitched with a sarcastic little expression. "Wow. _Irony_."

Cas frowned at her deeply. "What do you mean?" Was she implying yet again that he was insane?

Alex looked away and refused to tell him. "Nothing."

"Well well. If it isn't the lovebirds." Crowley sauntered in, and in his hand he held a jar of bright red blood. He offered it to Cas as Alex watched in baffled suspicion. Cas took the jar and looked it over carefully. "Your Purgatory power-shake, Monsieur," Crowley announced. "Half monster, half virgin." He winked at Alex then smiled in great self-pleasure at the angel and the hunter in turn. He clapped his hands together, apparently in a great mood. "So, we all set for couple's therapy, then? Still a few moments to spare before showtime…"

Cas was emotionless and let the jar of blood lower to his side as he looked the demon dead in the eye. "No. I'm renegotiating our terms."

Crowley's good mood faltered. "Is that so." His eyes narrowed just a bit. "What terms do you propose?"

Castiel told him in a quiet, dangerous, final voice. "You get nothing. Not one single soul."

Crowley seemed to think perhaps it was a joke. "…Can't help notice, seems a bit unfairly weighted." When there was no response, the demon began to get visibly upset as he realized the angel was serious. " _Castiel_. You wouldn't _dare_. I brought you this deal!"

"I'm not handing all that power to the king of Hell," Cas said factually, his voice laced with cold assertiveness. "I'm neither stupid nor wicked."

Crowley looked like he'd never heard such a load of crap. "Oh, I could make arguments for _both_ , my friend," he retorted, then shook his head. " _Unbelievable_. Have you forgotten that you're the _bottom_ in this relationship? Just because you get to play top with the wife doesn't mean I'm gonna lie down and take your load!"

Cas was unruffled, knowing he had the upper hand and almost enjoying it at this point. "Here are your options," he said lowly. "You either flee, or you die."

Crowley was indignant and in true disbelief. "We made a pact. Even _I_ don't break contracts like this!"

The angel didn't bat an eye. "Flee, or _die_."

Scoffing, the King of Hell's lip curled up at the edge into a contemptuous expression. " _Boy_ , just can't trust anyone these days," he muttered, then his eyes slid to Alex and darkened. "I were you, I'd watch your little pet's back a little more closely than before," he said to Cas, and then disappeared.

Cas turned to Alex, who looked mildly traumatized by what she'd just seen. "Ignore his threats," the angel told her. "He won't be alive much longer." He would see to that. He would see to a lot of things. He would prove himself over and over by acts of righteousness and penance, he would make it all up to Alex and her family. This, showing Alex his true intentions, was the beginning of that. "So now you see," he said, smiling slightly because at last, this war was about to end. At last, what he had wanted to do (kick Crowley out of the equation) had happened. "My plan all along."

Instead of looking proud and reassured, Alex looked close to horrified. "Cas…" she didn't seem to know what to say. "T-this is so _dangerous_. Why would you tell him that _now?_ What if he brings back more demons, what if—"

"He won't." Cas looked at the jar of blood in his hand and felt hope for the first time in what seemed an entire lifetime. He set it down onto the edge of a metal table and looked at Alex in, of all things, rising happiness. "All that's left is to conduct the ritual in a few moment's time. Then I will kill Raphael, I will put your soul claim into the book of Heaven, and we will finally be _free._ " No more war, no more threat over their heads, no more lies, no more danger, no more eternal damnation. Love abruptly surged up in him so strongly as he waited for her to slowly begin to smile and thank him for everything he had gone through for them, the load he'd shouldered on their behalf. "Alex…" he murmured, approaching her and smoothing his hand across the side of her beautiful face. She stared up at him and her expression wasn't what he'd expected, but he was sure she was a heartbeat away from realizing he had been right all along. "Do you see? Do you believe in me now? I did this all for you."

Her eyebrows moved in together slightly. "I didn't _want_ you to do this at all. Not like this." His smile and hope faltered into puzzled confusion. She pushed his hand away from her face and stepped back, stinging him painfully. "What's _happened_ to you? I don't _recognize_ you, I would never have believed you would do this insane shit, you need to _wake up_!" Her words were like knives digging into every part of him and he was angry and hurt that she shunned his heartfelt touch. As such, he followed her and forced himself into her space, putting his hand on her face harder than before, trying to get her to look at him, trying to draw her into his arms, and she pushed at him. " _Stop,_ _"_ she protested, and her rejection of him made him even more irate.

"I can't lose you," he insisted in growing anxiety and ire. "I _won_ _'_ _t_ lose you, I'll make you understand."

She struggled and protested against him but he refused to let go of her. "Cas, _get off_ me!" she screamed, and he was suddenly struck by what he was doing and let go so fast that she almost fell backwards.

Oh Father in Heaven, what was he doing? Cas looked at his scared and angry and defenseless wife who was practically cowering in front of him and looking at him with betrayed, hurt, shocked, _furious_ eyes. "I'm… I'm sorry. I don't…" he swallowed and for a moment, he realized he truly was past the point of no return, out of control and with no idea of what he was doing. He was to blame, he was in the wrong, he was responsible. But when he had that realization, it was too much and he _couldn_ _'_ _t face it_ so he tried to lob blame at someone else. Anyone else. And she was the closest one. He was suddenly seized by a bout of what felt like utter madness. "Why don't you _understand_?!" he asked, his trembling voice nearly a shout.

"What the hell _is there_ to understand?!" she yelled back, and her face crumpled. He saw how hard she was trying to stay strong, but her shaky voice gave it all away. "Take me home, so help me god, Castiel, I never want to see you again, _ever_ —please, if you ever loved me, if what you said was true once, just _let me go_."

Castiel looked at her and he couldn't fathom what she said. He had thought forever meant forever. He had believed their love would always last. How was it that something as simple as lies could have torn it all down? "I thought you would stand by my side," he murmured quietly, his heartbreak and bitterness audible. "I thought you would understand my circumstances." He hardened himself outwardly and let his voice be like stone as he decided that he was finished with trying to make her stay at his side. The pain he felt was so enormous that he thought a hundred strong men couldn't have carried it. He turned slightly, tightening his jaw. "If you are so determined to abandon me, I won't stop you from leaving."

He thought perhaps his words would somehow persuade her into caring about him or feeling empathy for his pain. And for a moment, she stood there and looked like she _was_ thinking about saying something, appealing to him one last time, but then she just flattened her mouth into a line and with a quickness and urgency that broke him all over again, she fled away from him, down the hallway and in search of an exit.

Cas's stony expression fell as he watched her go. Even after everything that had happened, he hadn't thought she would actually leave him. It felt as though his heart and soul were walking away from him, and every step she took tore more out of him.

A single word beat through his mind over and over again to the rhythm of his pulse. _Why_? _Why_? _Why_?

* * *

Alex got lost very fast in the dark old mental ward and couldn't find an exit and actually began to wonder if maybe Cas had sealed them all off completely or erased them or something. She kept looking behind herself for him and she never saw him, but she felt like he was following her invisibly. Maybe that was just paranoia though. Alex abruptly came to another dead end hallway and turned around with an angry whirl then fell to a crouch and put her head in both hands. _Fuck!_ Escape was proving to be a no go.

And then a thought came to her. She was actually _exactly_ where she needed to be. Cas said he was going to 'do the ritual' in a few minutes time, right? Opening Purgatory was too dangerous for her to allow. And despite everything, Alex was still terrified _for_ Cas. In fact, she was more terrified for him because of his erratic and out of character behavior—she wanted him to be okay, of course she did. She loved him, but… she just didn't understand what was happening. Still unsure what to make of it and feeling waves of panicked distress when she remembered his arms clamped around her too tightly, Alex swallowed thickly.

She shouldn't be trying to escape. She should be thinking smart and tactical even though this was quite possibly the most painful thing imaginable… working against Cas as if he were the enemy. But he was leaving her no other choice. _She_ was the one who might have the most chance of stopping this insane plan, and she hadn't realized _how_ before… not by convincing Cas through logic, because she had tried that over and over and it obviously wasn't working. The way to stop Cas was through trickery. Stomach sick, Alex realized she _had_ to do this now that she'd thought of it. Even having thought of it ashamed her to some extent. It made her feel like she was a horrible, awful person. But to save the world, sometimes you had to do monstrous things. Her plan was quickly forming in her mind. She would go back in there and lie to him, act apologetic and sorry, then seduce him to get him off his game. When he was distracted and not prepared for what she was planning, she would smash that jar of blood Crowley had delivered so that Purgatory couldn't be opened at all. She slowly straightened up then stood and took in a deep breath, terrified of this and wishing she didn't feel so alone. It was stupid, but in her mind's eye, she pictured happier times with her brothers, she conjured the feeling of their strong arms hugging her, she thought of the sound of them laughing. Maybe she would make them proud today by doing something right, finally making a real difference.

Just, why did it have to be through such horrible means? She didn't know where this would leave herself and Cas, she didn't know if he would ever forgive her for the deception. But honestly, she didn't know if she would ever forgive _him_ for any of what had happened either. It was almost fitting in a tragic way. _He tricked me. Now I_ _'_ _m going to trick him._

Resigned to her fate and mission, Alex tried to shut down her true emotions and not think. She walked back the way she'd come. The entire time, she didn't know if she could follow through with what she was planning. She didn't know if she could stand to let him touch her and kiss her. Would he even want to? Maybe not after… after they learned about the baby. She didn't know. But right now, she had access to a way to stop Cas from his dangerous, foolhardy plan and she was going to take it.

When she found the lab again, it was deserted and silent. On a little side table beside a larger bare steel table, the jar of blood. Cautious, believing it was too good to be true, Alex didn't run over and smash it like she wanted to. Instead, she carefully entered the room looking for her wayward angel. "…Cas?"

Behind her, the softest sound of wings. "I'm here." _Oh god._ She turned around, nervous and afraid and mildly queasy. He stood there with heavy shoulders and an impossibly sad expression on his face. His eyes flickered over her in mournful confusion. "I thought you were leaving."

Oh, Castiel. The one who had inspired so much love in her that she had been willing to do and give anything. The one who had taken that vast love and betrayed it to no end. The one who had the audacity to stand there and elicit the feeling of empathy and compassion from her even though she didn't want to feel those things. How could she love and fear and desire him all at the same time?

It was hard to keep looking him in the eye and she hoped her nervous, darting gaze would read as contrition. "I was gonna leave, but… I… I was wrong." She swallowed hard and forced herself to look him in the eye. "You're right. I should trust you." His eyebrows rose just fractionally like he was having problems believing what he'd heard. His gaunt expression softened into something like wretched hope and Alex began to feel worse and worse but forced herself to say things she wished she actually felt. "After everything you've done for me and my family… after everything you and I have been through. I can't just walk away. It's not over. It'll never be over." And honestly, when she said that, she felt it. Her voice broke and she didn't know _what_ was true for herself anymore except this: " _I love you_." She was in tears because she didn't _want_ to love him and thought she was pitiful for having such immovable and deep feelings for him despite what he'd done. And yet, not wanting to love him didn't do a damn thing about the ache her chest carried in his name. The hope against hope that he would abandon his crazy plan and just _come home_ and be himself again. She loved him, and it beat through her just like blood. For the rest of her life.

Her confession of love had Cas visibly affected. His eyes were shining with tears of amazed disbelief. Relieved beyond measure, he looked as though he had been given a second chance at life. "Do you really mean that?" he asked softly, chancing a drifting step closer.

Alex nodded, forcing a smile through her distress. "Yeah." She sniffed, feeling a tear run down her cheek. She was the lowest person in all of creation, leading Cas on like this. Yet somehow in a way, she wanted this moment to be genuine, she wanted to really feel what she was saying, and that confused her. She tried to stay focused on breaking him down, on making him believe her. "Can you forgive me?" she asked, voice cracking at her own disgusting thought process and the way she was manipulating him.

His response was immediate, heartfelt, and heartbreaking. "Yes. A thousand times, yes." He came closer and wiped a thumb across her cheek, dashing away a little river of grief and guilt from the skin there. "And… can you forgive _me_?" he asked, becoming deeply worried at his own question.

She couldn't fully lie her answer to that one and looked down. "I don't know." His hand remained on her face and his touch was getting to her, making her sadness all the greater. "I hope I can." She tried to look in his eyes again, then apologized for not being able to forgive him. "I'm sorry."

Cas shook his head and he was the gentle, kind, attentive Cas she knew and loved so deeply which made this all the more difficult. "No. I understand. What I've _done_ …"

Alex felt urgency pricking at her and she was so very aware of that jar of blood just a few steps behind her and to the right. She had to make this happen now, and as such, she cut him off. " _Later_." She took his face in her hands and let her voice drop in volume and strength to a soft whisper. "We'll talk later." She kissed him then, not sure of what the kiss would be like or if she could bring herself to participate in one at all. And then her lips touched his, and it was like coming home. A thousand beautiful moments and memories rushed her mind when their lips softly met and warmth flared in her stomach. The only man she had ever loved, the great and tragic love story she would most certainly go through again. Her stiff limbs softened toward him and the gentle, tentative kiss ended but as she pulled away, she found her hands were clenched into the lapels of his trench coat and he was looking at her with those beautiful, expressive blue eyes.

He was surprised at the kiss and his eyes went from her eyes to her lips and then back again in puzzlement. "What are you—" he began softly, then she kissed him again, ashamed of herself for using this method but needing to silence his questions and also wanting the physical pleasure and comfort it brought her. A fire began to kindle in her veins, warmth began to call her body closer to his and they slowly melded together, her arm snaking around his neck to pull him deeper into a kiss that became passionate and all-consuming. She didn't have to pretend, either. Alex began to walk backwards, pulling him with her toward the table and the cart where the object of her mission awaited. Her butt hit up against the ledge of the table. Cas's arms were gentle around her and he spoke against her mouth mid-kiss, his voice was low and husky and warm. "Are you sure?"

So he knew where this was going, too. She nodded yes, even as her insides screamed that she was doing something truly unforgivable. "I need this," she whispered, and the sad part was that she _did._ Just needed to be loved by him one final time, just needed to hang onto what was slipping out of her grasp a little longer, just needed to live in denial a few moments more. She heard herself say it and hated herself. "I need to know you love me." She didn't let herself think, she just wrapped an arm around his waist inside of the trench coat and pushed her hand down his pants then up his shirt in the back, pulling his body tight to hers with her hand pressed flat into taut, strong back muscles. She was left reveling in the feeling selfishly and her lips brushed his as she spoke in a mere agonized murmur. " _Show me_ , Cas."

In a dreamlike daze, totally unsuspecting of her, Cas threaded his fingers through the hair at the side of her face. "We don't have much time," he murmured thickly against her lips and kissed her deeply even as he pulled her up against him so that she had her legs wrapped around his hips.

"I know," she replied in a tight whisper, at the point of tears. He sat her on the edge of the steel table even as he pulled her against him by the ass, grinding his hips into hers.

She didn't have to forge her reaction to that. " _Oh_ —" her head fell back at the friction and he kissed the exposed skin of her throat with a warm, wet mouth. The heightened emotions were making him so impassioned and fervent and every touch of those lips against her skin was magic. Her eyes opened briefly and she looked down to her right where the jar of blood sat on the cart beside the table. It was right there within arms reach and she could have waved her arm out and destroyed it easily. But she didn't. Out of selfish need, she wrapped her arms around Cas's shoulders and held on, shutting her eyes, groaning out a soft little sound of encouragement even as her chest hurt from the pain of withheld tears. One of his hands tangled into the hair at the back of her head and clenched hard, pulling and making her moan out a half-protesting, half-pleasured sound. He made her head tilt down and his mouth abruptly crushed to hers. She kissed him with all the anger and passion she had saved up, both of her hands grabbing into his hair _hard_ and he pulled her against him again with spread legs, showing her that he was ready and desperate for her just as she was ready and desperate for him. She choked out his name in earnest, distressed for every reason imaginable as she shoved her hips forward hard at him to meet him in the middle. "Oh my god Cas, I _need you_ ," she choked out pathetically, betrayed by her body and mind but not even caring for the moment. Just _needing_.

Her words earned a deep groan from the back of his throat and without warning, he pushed her down onto the table so that she was laying there with him right over her. Her legs hung off the edge as he stood between her thighs. He pressed her down into that cold steel and let out a soft ' _ha_ ' of anxiety as she reached down between their bodies and began to unbuckle him with stumbling, frantic hands. He mimicked her immediately, both of his hands sweeping down to hurriedly undress her.

It was sick, the need for him, it was all-consuming and making her high. She fumbled with the button of his slacks and yanked down his zipper, pushed his pants away, at one point using her foot in the urgent fumble. He separated from her for a brief moment to pull her jeans down to the ankles and she yanked one of her feet out completely to hook around his waist as he pulled her down to the edge of the table and abruptly seized her body to his. He thrust into her so hard and deep that they were both momentarily shocked at the rough movement. Alex grabbed onto him tightly as he entered her, crying out her need and anxiety as he choked out a high-pitched sound of erotic torment against her shoulder.

"Please— _ung_ —" Alex begged stupidly, and he took an even stronger hold of her and ravished her on that cold steel table for all he was worth. Crying and begging him without using words, Alex clung to him with her arms and her legs as her mind was a lost cause that didn't know anything but him and what he was doing to her and filling her with. On that table, he made her feel alive and beautiful and she forgot, for a minute, all the tragedy looming over them. Over and over and over again Cas sent shockwaves of bliss and pleasureful agony ramming through her body. Soulful and focused on her, his face was a panting mask of concentration and their eyes met—love and relief and desire rested in those cobalt depths and she felt herself stifling a sob. He took her face in his hand, mistaking the sound of distress as peaking physical pleasure, and he moved harder, deeper, faster, more urgently, and she was left no choice in the matter at all. She lurched in his arms with a shocked cry and her body was not her own anymore. A slave to the pleasure that was abruptly making every atom explode, Alex hung onto her husband and in that moment, that's what he was to her. She forgot it all except them against the world, innocent to the future and hopeful for a happy ending. She held on, hands against his strong back as he gave the familiar sounds that meant he too was falling off the edge too. He released inside of her with a series of great shudders and quiet cries as he crushed her close in passionate affection. His open mouth dragged against her neck and his last lingering movements drew out her bliss. When they were both completely spent and slack, Alex opened her shut eyes and stared at the gray ceiling overhead as she held Cas to herself. Tears leaked out of the edges of her eyes, and she didn't know if they were tears of ecstasy or tears of grief.

The good feelings were fading and reality was setting in again even as Cas laid on her with his head on his shoulder. He was still buried deep inside, in the most intimate embrace they could share, and Alex put a hand on the back of his head and held him tighter, shut her eyes, and gathered herself. For a minute, they stayed like that. Then he lifted his head and looked at her with an awed, exhausted, deeply in love expression. Alex touched his face, treasuring and mourning this moment as their last. This moment was all in all a lie, but a lie she needed. "I can't regret this," she said quietly and honestly as tears rivuleted her face. "No matter how hard I try."

He didn't know what exactly she was saying, and assumed she meant that she was regretting 'changing her mind' about his plan. "I don't want you to regret it," he said quietly and earnestly. "I will spend the rest of my life apologizing to you for what I've done, atoning for the trespasses I've lodged against you. You just have to let me do this one thing."

She made no reply, because she was done speaking lies aloud to him. Instead, she craned her neck up to touch her forehead to his and she closed her eyes, wishing the good things could outweigh the bad, wishing that this falsehood was real, wishing she hadn't just betrayed Cas like that. So selfish. So greedy. Taking this last instance of physical pleasure from him, using him like that. He tilted his face and kissed her mouth softly, slowly. She returned the kiss as guilt ripped her apart inside. When he drew back, she opened her shining eyes and he stroked the backs of his fingers across her cheek. He would hate her if he knew her mind. He was _going_ to hate her in just a minute.

Cas was unaware. He dropped a tender kiss onto her forehead (sending more emotional pain and guilt ricocheting throughout her) and then slowly pulled himself out of her. She sat up onto her elbows as with a courtesy that made her feel even worse about everything, Cas put her foot through her underwear and jean leg and pulled her pants back up for her, leaving a soft kiss on the lowest part of her stomach after he buttoned and zipped her. He looked up at her then and the deeply sad look in his eyes startled her, blindsided her. He had kissed her there purposefully, and all the sudden she wondered if maybe she _should_ trust this plan to pop Purgatory. She didn't have time to second guess. She had to act.

Cas looked down and began to tuck his shirt back in, straighten and zip his slacks. Alex glanced at the jar of blood then cleared her throat. "Could you turn around?" she asked Cas, feigning embarrassment at his appearance.

He was a little taken aback at the odd request but complied after a falter. "Oh. Uh, yes."

He turned his back to her and Alex's heart was beating hard as a hammer. This was her chance. The jar was right there, and if she knocked it over, it if all went spilling down and scattering out, maybe everything Cas and Crowley had planned would come to ruin. Maybe she would save the world. Maybe Purgatory would stay shut. But… what if Cas was right? She hesitated for just a fraction of a second too long, and Cas was turning back around when she bit the bullet, stood up, and shoved the jar over to crash to the floor. Only, it never made it there. Cas moved through space and air with a blast of wind and was suddenly crouched on the ground that the jar had been headed for. His hands caught the jar and he was staring at Alex in complete mind-numbed shock. He gaped at her and then the jar, then looked back at her. Slowly, he stood, and he was no fool. He understood. "This was your intention all along?" he asked in a winded, betrayed tone.

She stood there and braced herself for utter fury. "I won't let you open Purgatory, Cas."

He took a moment to comprehend, and he was somewhere between absolutely furious and absolutely wounded. "Everything you said to me—? You were _lying_? You were _tricking_ me?" Disbelief made his face twist. "You… you seduced me for the sole purpose of trying to thwart my plans to _save you_?" When he put it like that, she _did_ sound pretty heartless, and as such, she looked away in guilt. "You would sabotage me like this? Betray my _trust_?"

She was struck by the irony of the situation. She'd been the one asking that question just a day or two ago. "Hurts, doesn't it?"

He didn't respond to that question. He was becoming more hurt over something else. "You made love to me and didn't _mean_ it?"

She looked up into his eyes and her pain echoed his. "I did mean it."

For a moment, she thought he was going to cry. And then his face darkened shockingly fast and he looked so angry she took a step back. "You're _lying_." His thundering accusation was the last thing she heard before she suddenly found herself back in that stupid office, transported without being touched at all. Dark shocked her eyes momentarily, then a feeling of rage followed as Alex realized she was left a prisoner again. _Dammit, Cas!_ But something was different now: Alex's fighting spirit had become defeated. Too shocked to know how to respond. _This can't be happening..._

And then from the shadows: " _Psst_."

Startled by the sound, Alex sat straight up, staring open-mouthed. Hidden in the shadows and peeking out just enough to be seen… " _Balthazar_?"

He was looking around like he expected to be caught any second and impatiently waved her over. "Yes, yes, come on, come on, enough with the pity parade." He chanced another glance to his right and then his left, watchful for company. Then he beamed a charming smile at her. "Fancy a lift?" Confounded and not sure what was happening, Alex hadn't moved. "Dean sent me." He cautiously walked over to her and offered her his hand. "Let's go, shall we?" Numbly, she took his hand and stood. Dean sent him? "By the by, have you any idea how loud you two are? If Casa Erotica ever needs extras, I know who to call." Balthazar got a typically flirty smile on his face and kissed her hand, chuckling against her skin. "Right then. We'll just…" he paused, then his expression fell. He squinted, cleared his throat, and strained mildly. Alex peered at him in confusion. Was he trying to move them and not finding himself able? Mildly embarrassed, Balthazar cracked a nervous, simpering grin. "Uh… sorry, I don't usually have this issue."

"Bet you say that to all the girls," Alex muttered, getting a playful scoff from the angel in turn.

And then, behind them, the sound of angel's wings. They turned in unison, hands coming apart as they did. Castiel stood there and he looked absolutely furious. Balthazar immediately tried to play off the clear escape attempt. "Ah. Cas! There you are! I was just, ah, checking in! _Love_ what you've done with the place. So… _grim_ and lifeless." At Cas's dead expression, Balthazar chanced a nervous chuckle and jerked a thumb at Alex. "I, um, I caught her trying to sneak out, the little brat. _So_. What say we all jus—"

Castiel abruptly appeared right in front of Balthazar and grabbed him by the jacket and shoved him into the wall so hard that the concrete cracked. "Enough _lies,_ " he snarled.

Balthazar groaned and winced but managed to keep up his joking demeanor through clear pain. "You seem tense, Cas. Perhaps a massage? I know a good spa in Shanghai—"

Cas shook his head with deadly balefulness resting in his eyes. "First Sam and Dean, and now this. My friends, they abandon me, plot against me, try to take what's mine. My wife works against me and denies all the good I've ever done for her then leaves me when I need her the most…" he stiffened and became even more quietly irate, "betrays me with the likes of _you_." His anger wavered and softened into blank-faced depression. "It's… difficult to understand."

Balthazar looked mildly mystified and looked at Alex for clarification. She had no idea what Cas meant, either. Surely he didn't think…?

"Come on, Cas, you're being a little over the top, don't you think?" Balthazar asked, wheedling and trying to get Cas to let go of him. It didn't seem to be working and perhaps sensing Cas's more volatile mindset at present, Balthazar sobered and glanced at Alex once more with veiled concern then looked back at Cas. "Look. While we get all this settled… why not let her out for a little walk, stretch the legs?" he suggested with another bad attempt at a cajoling smile.

Cas's demeanor sharpened and darkened again. "You would like that, wouldn't you? I _trusted_ you. I trusted you _all_. And now I know I can trust _no one._ " He let go of Balthazar with one hand and his angel blade slid out of his sleeve—he gripped it tight.

Balthazar and Alex saw it at the same time and even as Balthazar looked confused, Alex protested. "Cas, no!"

Her words seemed to do nothing except propel him into committing murder, and he plunged the blade into Balthazar's chest as he held him against the wall. " _Cas_ …" Balthazar choked out, shocked and betrayed, his eyes seeking his brother's and asking _why?_ A sudden scream tore out of his mouth as white light blazed brighter than the sun out of his vessel. Momentarily blinded, Alex stumbled backwards. She felt herself being grabbed by the arms and behind her back there was suddenly a cold wall.

They were back in the lab and Cas shoved her against the wall there then paced in front of her, appearing to have lost his mind. "You were with him, _weren_ _'_ _t you_?" he demanded. "That's why you knew about Purgatory, that's why he took you to Paris, that's why you have _betrayed_ me!"

Alex stared, frozen against the wall and totally shocked at the accusations flying out of Cas's mouth. " _What_?"

"You, and him, you were _with_ him!" Castiel shouted, and he suddenly came at her again, grabbing her by the arms and putting his face right in hers. "Don't lie to me, Alex, I _saw_ how he _looked_ at you—"

Utterly horrified because she realized Cas truly _had_ lost his mind, she tried to appeal to him all the same as she began to cry again from dismay and fear alike. "Cas… I would never!"

"I don't believe you, you're _lying,_ " he growled, and then he got this look in his eye that she would never forget. He became cold and resigned. "I'll discover the truth for myself."

She didn't know what he meant. And then she understood: Without warning or consent, he initiated a soul touch and shoved his hand hard into her stomach and it was excruciating, he was rough and out of control, he wasn't mindful of what he was doing, he was too angry to be delicate, and Alex sobbed protests of agony out in screams as she tried in vain to push his hand out. " _Augh_! Cas! No, stop, _please_ —!" Her screams rose in pitch into hysterical, agonized shrieks. And then she abruptly slumped forward onto him and went silent.

Cas became cognizant of his surroundings again and realized something was wrong when he couldn't feel her soul anymore. Confused, he drew his hand out of her as he came out of the daze of senseless fury. Alex was limp and Cas was left to realize that in his jealous rage, in his thoughtlessness... the unthinkable had occurred.

"…Alex?" he asked in a soft whisper. But he already knew. He had known the second he couldn't feel her soul anymore. "No," he protested in shocked softness, then louder and harder and more brokenly, " _no_!"

But his 'no' changed nothing. And immediately, none of it mattered anymore—Purgatory, Balthazar, Raphael, Heaven, Hell—his actions struck him like thunder and the madness he had succumbed to had done the damage once and for all. Castiel held her body to his and found himself on the floor, cradling her limply. "Alex, no, _no_ , please _no_ —" he tried to bring her back, he pressed fingers to her forehead again and again as her head flopped to the side lifelessly. Nothing happened and Cas let out a choking sob at himself as he begged repeatedly for her to come back. She did not.

_What have I done! God in Heaven, I have lost my mind!_

He had _broken_ her _soul_ itself in his roughness, he had _killed_ her. She was dead and no angel could ever bring her back. Loud, anguished sounds and sobs tore out of Castiel. He cradled his beloved on the floor and he knew, once and for all, that he had _not_ made the right choices. Because the right choices could never, ever have led here.

"I'm sorry!" he sobbed, because she had been right about everything. "I'm so sorry...!"

She had been right.

And now she was gone forever.


	82. Rest in Peace

" _If you have a sister and she dies, do you stop saying you are her brother?  
Or are you always her __brother, even when the other half of the equation is gone?_ _"  
_ \- Jodi Picoult

* * *

Alex Winchester sagged in Castiel's arms. Unresponsive, silent, dead. Her head lolled to the side and her slack limbs were profanely heavy and limp.

The angel cradled the body of the one he loved close to himself on the floor. With a badly shaking hand, he pushed his fingers to her forehead again even though it was futile and he knew it. " _Come back_ ," he begged and commanded all at once in a gaunt whisper that trembled with tears. When nothing happened he got even more desperate and pushed his digits to clammy skin harder. "Come back!"

Silence was his only reply. He gave a soft, cracked sound of dismay... because he already knew she would _never_ come back.

Reality crashed over him yet again and the horror of what he had done left him almost unable to function. As he stared at her through vision that was watery and agonized, he choked on the tightness of his own throat and two shaking fingers brushed against her cheek in a wretchedly tender touch. Her eyes were closed and she looked like she could have been sleeping, not like she had just been senselessly murdered.

_...Murdered._

He crumbled all over again.

_Father help me, what have I done!_

Outside, a storm had whipped up out of nowhere in response to the Seraph's out-of-control grief. Thunder and lightning tore the sky apart, rain poured from the heavens, the ground itself trembled as from an earthquake. Cas felt as though he could never stand up ever again, as though he couldn't even draw another breath because he was so devastated. His heart hammered a sick rhythm, his veins felt like they were melting, his chest ached and panged as if he'd been stabbed repeatedly, his lungs were made out of bricks, his eyes were flooding his face with tears that he didn't know how to stop.

_How did I let this happen?_

Castiel held Alex's still face in a hand and he saw the constellation of freckles across her beloved, familiar face—he had numbered those freckles many times before. His eyes fell to the full pink lips that had shown him what a kiss was. That mouth had spoken the words 'I love you' to him. Inside, he died. She never should have loved him—not even a little. In his arms, he held the one he had done everything to protect… and she was dead at his hand. This was the one human being in all of creation who meant _everything_ to him. And he had reduced her to nothing. He had committed the most abominable atrocity imaginable. He had _killed_ her.

Her screams echoed in his mind and he was horrified, he _hated_ himself, he _despised_ the monster he had become and wanted to claw his way out of who he was. Alex had been defenseless, he had been rough and thoughtless and angry and she had been crying out in pain at his hand and _heavens above,_ I _am the enemy... I am the one who did this!_

Dean had been right. The one Alex had needed protection from was _himself._

Castiel was gutted all over again. He was worse than the pit of Hell itself, he was more deplorable than anything else in all of existence. As the moment dragged on and he kept realizing over and over again that she was dead because of him, he despaired on every level.

His greatest fear realized. His worst nightmare come true.

 _Oh, Alex, I_ _'_ _m so sorry!_ Cas pulled her against himself and buried his face in the curve of her shoulder, supporting the back of her limp head with his hand. If he held her tighter or protested enough, it all might change "I'm _so sorry,_ " he gasped. "I—" and he could manage no more words. Castiel shuddered against his great weeping gasps. Outside, the storm's winds were hurricane gale and the rain was a flood across the land. The angel held his mortal love and he hoped beyond hope that her soul claim would begin trying to tear its way out his chest like it had before (because that would tell him that she was still there, that she still had life to her on the eternal level), but nothing happened at all. His heart drummed a steady sick beat and the claim that rested within was nothing but a mere key anymore because the soul associated with the claim had been shattered beyond repair.

Her soul was _broken_. There was no afterlife for her. He hadn't just killed her, he had _decimated_ her _,_ erased all of who she was. No angel could undo what he had done, no force in all of creation could put back together what he had obliterated. Horror struck him to the marrow of his bones. _What have I done?_ Cas held her even tighter, his noises of grief growing louder and more and more pronounced. _No_ _—_ _I can_ _'_ _t accept this!_ The blinding rage and grief that had driven him to such violent ends now compelled him into the lowest depths of despair. He wanted to be dead, too. And then, through her jacket, he felt something hard against him and when he realized what it was, he could only think one thing. Becoming still and breathless and quiet, he drew back and pulled out the angel blade she had there. Outside, the storm quieted. Castiel contemplated the weapon for a very long moment. This was what he deserved. The cold sharp end of this knife.

His entire existence rushed through his mind from beginning to end, and yet to him, his entire existence started with _her_. He heard her laughing for the first time out loud, saw her staring with awe at him as he walked to her under a shower of sparks, remembered how mistrustful she'd been at first, recalled the slow way that changed. He remembered the first time she smiled at him, he thought of sitting on a porch with her under stars and how she told him what she thought a real kiss was so long ago. He remembered how he had been so drawn to her, so fascinated, and never quite sure why. He remembered a pinky promise, a growing friendship, a deepening conviction, a building affection. He remembered abruptly wanting to kiss her and being _terrified_ of the alien urge. He remembered loving her even before he knew what it was. He heard her gasping for him the first time they had been together, remembered her looking up at him and saying she trusted him. He remembered her in a white dress. He remembered promising forever. He remembered her eyes so trusting and full of love, he remembered laying in her arms and believing in a future together somehow. And _now this._ Killed by the very hands she was being held by.

And Cas could only think one thing: If she didn't exist anymore, then neither could he. Not after doing this. What if he took that blade and plunged it into himself? What if they found him laying here with wings charred across concrete, Alex in his arms? Cas let his eyes linger on her face and he whispered what felt like his final words, choking miserably as he labored to get the sentence out at all. "I would never even have said hello… if I knew I would do this to you." Why couldn't words and feelings change the horrors that had befallen them?

He tightened his grip on the angel blade—and he looked up briefly as his mind spun dumbly. Then he thought of his grace. If he cut and ripped it out, he would be given a human soul. A soul which he could sell. And then he caught sight of the Purgatory blood and he forgot the thought of a soul deal. The angel blade lowered. _Wait_. All that power. All those souls. Maybe all _wasn_ _'_ _t_ lost. Wretched, desperate hope began to rise. Was he wrong to guess that maybe the spell to open Purgatory and take in the souls would give him the ability to reverse this? Just a few beats ago Cas had been so beside himself he hadn't been able to think a logical thought. But now… the angel blade clattered to the floor because it was a _chance_ and he was going to take it or die trying. Cas refocused on his Alex as he became breathless and shaky with a growing determination that made him dizzy. "I am going to save you," he promised in a harsh, wavering whisper as he pulled her close to him. He _had_ to. Her skin was growing cool and his terrible, unforgivable actions washed over him all over again. "I am going to _fix_ this." He pressed a long, heartbroken kiss to her forehead and squeezed his eyes shut, so miserable with himself that he could have died from anguish.

Just then he heard screams outside—the angels he had tasked with guarding the outside of the building. He could see demon smoke threading through the sky through the window outside. _Oh no._ Realizing what was happening, Cas very quickly laid Alex down onto the floor then he stood up fast—he needed to get to that blood _now_ _—_ and then it was too late.

Crowley had reappeared and he stood between Cas and the jar of blood. The King of Hell was staring past Cas at Alex's body with a very odd, slack expression on his face. He blinked twice. "…And what, _exactly_ , happened here?" he asked softly, carefully.

Cas stared at the demon with roiling emotions of anger, desperation, and despair. "Don't _touch_ her."

Crowley eyed Cas warily. "…Don't think I _need_ to, mate," he ventured, his brow furrowing as he tried to understand. "…Did _you_ do that?" Cas said nothing but his face worked to camouflage grief and guilt that weighed more than the earth itself. Crowley was visibly taken aback at the angel's silent confirmation. " _Well_." Crowley's eyes narrowed and he clearly didn't know what to think. "I'll be more damned than I am already. You're just full of surprises tonight."

A wreck, Cas clenched his teeth together hard. _I should have killed this vermin long ago_. Momentarily blaming the demon for everything, he ported himself from in front of Crowley to behind him, hand outstretched to smite. Crowley turned quickly, just in time for Cas's hand to clap to his forehead. And then nothing happened.

Crowley made a face as he stared up at Castiel's hand. "Sweaty _hands_ , mate." Cas drew his hand back and stared at it with a dumbfounded expression. _No! Why?_ "You can palm me all you want," Crowley purred, and some of his typical swagger was displayed again. "I'm safe and sound under the wing of my new partner." He gestured to his right. Cas followed the nod and then Raphael appeared in the space the demon indicated.

Castiel withered inside all over again. Things had just gone from horrible to worse. No wonder all those angels outside had just died. _Crowley_ hadn't done that. The archangel had.

"Hello, Castiel," Raphael greeted evenly, smiling in cool triumph. He was in a female vessel just as he had been last time Cas saw him. "I've been waiting for this moment for a _long_ time now." Raphael's eyes flickered around the room and she caught sight of then frowned at Alex's body, which was behind herself and Crowley. Very slowly and in vast puzzlement, the archangel looked back at Castiel who was frozen and fearful to have the archangel in such proximity to Alex—though there were no reason. No one could hurt her more than he had. "…Why have you killed the human?" Raphael questioned with deep suspicion.

Even his greatest enemy knew enough of his love for that very human to be mystified by Castiel's actions and it broke him all over again. "I-it was an accident," he said, eyes filling with more tears as he stared at her motionless form. He glanced at the blood, which was beside and behind him just slightly. He had to figure out a way to escape with the blood and do the ritual—if the archangel got this blood, it was all over. Trying to buy time as he attempted to formulate a plan mentally, Cas looked at Crowley and stalled through his riotous emotional state. "Why have you brought Raphael here? If you're thinking of aligning yourself with him, he will deceive and destroy you at the speed of thought."

Crowley chuckled lightly. "Oh, _really_? And look who I'm talking to. Castiel, the biggest liar in the garrison. Not keeping your end, killing the one airhead left who probably still liked you… you're not exactly the choir boy material you used to be." He smirked at Cas's pained reaction to his words. "'Sides, Raphael's not as bad as you say. I've found him— _her_ —them? To be really quite reasonable. Now. Move aside."

Cas swallowed, mind racing. There was no way out of this, was there? Still, he stubbornly refused. He couldn't allow the apocalypse to happen, he couldn't allow Raphael to win. " _No_."

That earned him a challenging, small smirk. "Castiel, you _really_ think I would let you open that door?" Raphael questioned patiently. He believed he had already won, and that much was clear. "Take in that much power? If anyone is going to be the new God… it's _me_."

"I won't allow it," Cas replied in a hard, shaking voice.

Raphael arched a lofty eyebrow up at him. "I hate to point out the obvious, but you're outnumbered here."

Cas looked at Crowley and perhaps his expression showed some sort of betrayed sentiment because Crowley shrugged. "Hey, this is your doing, mate. I'm merely grabbing the best offer on the table. Now, you have two options." He lowered his voice to mock Cas's words earlier. "'Flee, or _die_.'"

Castiel swallowed thickly, looking at the jar of blood and then at Alex. He would have never guessed it would end like this.

And then, just as he was about to invite them to put him out of his misery, he remembered. Earlier that night, when he had been making his preparations, however detestable—destroying cell phone towers so that Alex couldn't alert her brothers to where she was, posting angels on the building to ensure she couldn't escape and Crowley couldn't get back in—he had prepared a jar of fake blood should it come to this. That jar was hidden in a supply closet nearby. And remembering an old sleight of hand trick Gabriel used to play on his brothers and sisters, Cas realized maybe there was still a way.

Seizing his last opportunity and chance, Castiel gripped the jar of Purgatory blood and focused all his celestial intent upon it… then as he switched the objects, this jar for the fake one, he threw the jar to distract from what he had done and to hide the swap. Crowley caught the jar just as Cas disappeared.

None the wiser, the archangel and the King of Hell were left by themselves to think they had gained victory. "My brother the coward," Raphael commented mildly. "He has been running all this time. I should have known he would run again."

Crowley wasn't listening. He held the jar at his side and drifted a few steps closer to Alex and peered down at her in perplexed sadness. "Well, Mouse. Can't say I saw this one coming." He shook his head ruefully, eyes scanning over her lifeless body. "Guess you didn't either."

Behind him, Raphael was waiting. "Crowley. The ritual. Sentiment can come later."

Crowley scoffed deeply and turned around to show the archangel how revolting he found that accusation. "I don't have a sentimental bone in my body, darling." He sauntered over to a table nearby where a sheet of paper laid—on it, the summoning ritual and diagram that he and Cas had extracted by force from Eleanor earlier that night. "Now. Shall we?"

* * *

**About Thirty Minutes Ago**

Sam Winchester stumbled through a dream-scape. At first he had thought it was reality, but now he knew exactly what this was.

He had remembered everything: Summoning Cas, trying to get to his sister, getting attacked... and having the wall in his mind broken instead. Somewhere out there, right now, he was probably unconscious somewhere with Dean worried sick and Alex still being held hostage god-knows-where by Cas. That was why Sam was in such a hurry to get the hell _out of here_. His family _needed_ him. There was such a strange sense of _hurry hurry hurry_ in the pit of his stomach. He couldn't explain it. How long had he been trapped here inside of his own mind? He had no idea, but it felt like too long and he had a tangible growing sense of alarm, like something horrible was on the brink of happening.

He was stumbling through a maze of oddly disjointed memories, trying to find Bobby's house. His mind was a blaring wreck and just when he thought he had escaped one horrific recollection, he stumbled into another. He was remembering, in painful detail, his year of being soulless. All of it: the dead bodies and innocent victims, the women he'd fucked and ditched—some of them had been _married_ —and he remembered the one demon he'd slept with, too: Meg. As sickened as he felt, seeing and knowing the morally detestable things he'd done was just adding more fuel to the fire to escape. He refused to break down or give up. There was a way out and he was going to _find it_ then deal with the knowledge of what he'd done later.

Suddenly, he was in Bobby's house. Just like that. A second ago, he'd been on a dark road in the rain, so the abrupt shift to the dim, quiet, dry interior of the familiar home was jolting. That's when Sam noticed that there were cobwebs on everything, a thick layer of dust, and sheets draped over furniture like the house had been abandoned. His gun was already out and he lifted it higher, every muscle in his body taut with caution. He turned a dark corner and found himself in the study. Without knowing why, he knew like he was getting closer and closer to a point of importance. He swore he could hear and feel a heart beating that wasn't his own. That's when he saw a shadowy figure seated at a table in the kitchen ahead. The head was slumped over, a knife was beside whoever who was seated there. Even though shadows obscured his face, Sam recognized _himself_ and aimed the gun higher, readjusting his grip with a tense swallow. He had killed the soulless version of himself just minutes ago in this dream or vision or hallucination—whatever this was. So he was pretty wary of an attack from this one, too.

"Hello Sam," he heard his own voice say softly.

"Which one are you?" Sam demanded in a tight, low voice. He was ready to pull the trigger at a second's notice.

Slowly, his doppelganger looked up then rose to his full height, and when he stood, blueish moonlight illuminated his face. "Don't you know?" Bruises and lashes riddled his face, and his eyes were tortured, beaten, heavy. Blood streamed down his face, rendering him almost unrecognizable "I'm the one who remembers _Hell_." Sam felt a shock of horror shoot through him and then utter dread. "…I wish you hadn't come, Sam."

"I had to," Sam replied gruffly, holding his pistol steady, trying not be brave. "I'm here, right?" he asked, glancing around at the familiar house. "Out there in the real world, I'm at Bobby's, aren't I?"

"…How do you know?" his counterpart asked with slight confusion playing on pained features.

"This whole time, I've smelled nothing but Old Spice and whisky," Sam said, almost smiling because those smells were smells of comfort to him. But the smile didn't quite survive. Sam's reality refused to let him continue and the defeated, bloody guy in front of himself had him remembering how important it was to get out of this hellscape. "Figured if I could get back here, back to my body, I could... I don't know, I could snap out of it somehow."

"Maybe," his tortured duplicate said weakly. "But first… you have to go through me." His hollow eyes rose to Sam's. "Humpty Dumpty has to put himself back together again before he can wake up... and I'm the last piece."

"Which means..." Sam lowered his gun and slowly moved forward, watching himself with caution and empathy and pity all at once, "I have to know what you know."

The Sam who had seen Hell shook his head and clenched his jaw. He looked down, his nostrils flared, his hands clenched. "Trust me." His voice wavered to almost inaudible. "You don't wanna know what I do."

Sam hesitated, steeling himself. "You're right—but I still have to." He eyed the knife beside his doppelganger. The way he had remembered his year soulless was by killing the soulless version of himself. Was this how he was supposed to remember Hell, too?

His double was shaking his head without ceasing, looking Sam in the eye in despaired urgency. " _No_. Sam, you can't imagine the—the—" he ran out of words and his voice cracked. "Just stay here, go back, find that bartender, go find _Jess_ , but don't do this. I know you. You're not strong enough to live with what's been done to us, what we've _seen_."

Sam's stomach flipped sickeningly but outwardly, he remained dogged. "I can hack it. I _have_ to."

"Sam, listen to me," his lookalike appealed wretchedly. "You will _never_ be able to live, to survive." His eyebrows pushed in together and upward, making his forehead wrinkle deeply in an expression of utter grief and appeal. "You'll never be able to look at your sister the same way ever again."

Sam faltered momentarily. "What do you mean?" And then it made sense to him and he scoffed slightly, shook his head, and swallowed down those memories of what Lucifer had shown him. Those horrific visions of a future that would never, _ever_ happen. "I already know," he told his tortured clone stiffly. "I remember what Lucifer showed me. And I'm _dealing._ " That was one word for it. He hadn't told anyone and he never would.

There was the softest, most cynical little sound. "What you know is a drop in the _bucket_." Sam looked his mentally-destroyed self in the eye with growing dread and fear. "You haven't been locked in Hell with him," the other Sam continued, voice breaking with evidence of his emotional wasteland. His eyes held a thousand agonies. "You're not the one who—" he choked and let out a shuddering breath. "You haven't seen what I have. Sam, just _give up,_ " he begged. "Don't open this door. Your family is better off without you, _trust me_."

Sam squared his shoulders. "No." Whatever torture he was about to remember, whatever pain, he would have to just shoulder it. He refused to believe his family didn't need him. "I'm not leaving my brother alone out there. He needs me, my sister _needs_ me."

Defeated and sad, no fight left, the version of Sam who had been in Hell shook his head and hung it down. "No. She needs you as far away from her as possible. Forever. But I can see you've already made up your mind." He slowly rounded the table and then picked up the knife that was resting at the edge of it. Sam raised his gun again defensively but his double surprised him again with his lack of fire. "I'm not gonna fight you." He held the knife out for Sam to take, handle first. "But this is your last chance." Sam looked himself in the eyes and all he saw there was brokenness, ruin, self-hatred. "When all Hell breaks loose… when you become the nightmare Lucifer showed us… when you can't be in the same room with your sister without feeling like the monster that you are… don't say that I didn't warn you."

He continued to hold the knife out to Sam, and the knife was the choice. Take the knife and know Hell—return to the land of the living and maybe never be all right ever again. Walk away and leave the knife in the hand of his tortured self and never have to know the pain and reality that had happened in the cage. He could live here in a dream world forever. He could imagine whatever beautiful reality and nice life he wanted for himself.

Out of nowhere, he recalled being twelve years old and flopped on his stomach in the grass next to Alex who was picking blades and snapping them into smaller and smaller pieces out of boredom. He'd been in deep thought and had turned to her without any context and blurted out what he was thinking. _Let_ _'_ _s make a promise,_ he'd said. _No matter what, we_ _'_ _ll always save each other, okay?_ She had agreed after eyeing him oddly for a second, she'd given him that little mischievous, pleased smirk of hers, then they'd shaken on it, secret handshake style.

And then as the years carried on Sam had slowly begun to despise the family business and the life more and more. He had decided that he didn't want it for himself, that he needed to escape from it and have something normal, nice, quiet, safe. When he got dragged back in, his heart hadn't been in it like it was now.

He thought about all the times he'd let his brother and sister down. Abandoning Alex when Dean died and went to Hell… getting hooked on demon blood… dabbling with the enemy behind their backs… keeping secrets, lying, trusting Ruby before he had trusted his own flesh and blood… 

Mistake after mistake. 

But _this_ time? This time wasn't going to be like that.

Sam slowly lowered his gun and put it into the waistband of his jeans and took the knife from the Sam who had seen Hell. Come what may, he was getting out of this place and back to the real world where his family needed him. He didn't care about the consequences anymore. All he cared about was being there for the ones he loved most in the world.

"You're gonna regret this for the rest of your life, Sammy..." his tortured lookalike promised in a soft, agony-laced voice. He didn't fight or cower or attempt to get away. He just waited for the kill. Sam clenched the knife handle harder and forced himself to make his move. With a shout, he lunged at himself and stabbed the length of the blade into the chest of his doppelganger. He saw his own blood-streaked face crumple in pain and disbelief. With a cry, Sam's counterpart fell over and died on the floor.

A bright light shot out of the dead body and the light poured searingly into Sam… and with it came the torrent of memories from Hell.

* * *

Bobby was quickly putting weapons, holy water, and more into a bag as Dean hovered over Sam's still form. He was very hesitant to leave his brother's side, but he knew that they had to go. There wasn't much time until the eclipse and the ritual. They had to stop the show, they had to get Alex outta there, they had to talk some goddamn sense into Cas. And Dean didn't want to do any of that stuff without his brother, but it was looking like he had to. _Come on, Sammy. Wake up. Need you right now._

Bobby zipped the bag then lifted it, heading out of the panic room and into the basement. "Show time," he said, indicating Dean should follow. Outside the panic room, Balthazar waited to take them to where Crowley and Cas were.

"Gimme a second," Dean said, focused on his unresponsive brother. He pulled out a scrap of paper and quickly copied down the address of the place Balthazar had given them. He began to talk to his brother softly. "All right, this is where we're gonna be, Sam," he said, then tried to crack a smile and a joke. "You get your lazy ass out of bed and come and meet us. Sammy, _please_." There was no reply. Dean set the address next to his brother and then stood slowly. This felt _so_ wrong.

And then without warning, Sam started to seize and writhe on the table with his eyes still closed. Dean's heart clenched in fear. "Sam? Sammy?!" He grabbed his brother by the shoulders to try and steady him.

Sam's eyes suddenly snapped wide open and he woke with a huge gasp as though he'd been underwater for almost too long. He shot up to sit. "Dean!" he exclaimed, panting as though he'd just run ten miles.

Relieved and scared at the same time, Dean still held on. "Sammy!?" He grabbed his brother's face in a hand, trying to get him to focus—Sam's eyes were going back and forth like crazy like he didn't know where he was. "You okay? What _happened_?"

"I'm…" Sam's eyes focused on Dean and he gulped down a couple huge lungfuls of air and wet his lips, trying to calm down and center himself. "I'm… I'm fine, Dean," he said, but he didn't sound so sure about that. He suddenly gave a severe, loud groan of pain and clapped his hand to his own forehead, scaring Dean all over again.

"What is it? What's wrong?!" Dean demanded in rising panic.

Sam's teeth were gritted and his breathing was still labored, but he was pushing Dean away. "My head's just… a little fuzzy," Sam said in a weak, strained voice. He stood up in a lurch, unsteady and urgent, panicked. "We gotta _go_."

"Whoa, you don't look like you're in shape to go _anywhere_ —" Dean protested, standing too.

"Forget it, Dean!" Sam thundered, and it was like he knew something Dean didn't. "We have _got_ to go, _now_."

"Y-you sure you _can_?" Dean asked, dumbfounded.

Sam grabbed an angel blade from the table where Bobby had been packing up and just gave Dean a loaded, silent look as he staggered back over. "I'm not sure about _anything_ ," he said darkly, then stumbled his way out of the panic room while holding his head, leaving Dean to follow close on his heels.

From there, Balthazar transported the three men off by a couple miles out from where Cas and Crowley were, refusing to get them closer 'just in case.' Then the angel went to 'go see about getting the female version of Sam out of there.'

That was the last time Sam and Dean ever saw him. And little did they know as they hurried toward the address they'd been given, their sister was about to be killed at the hands of the one who had once been her sworn protector.

* * *

**Current Time**

The angel in the trench coat stood in front of the ritual he'd painted in blood in a randomly chosen old school gymnasium near to where Crowley and Raphael were no doubt doing the same—only with the wrong blood. Having memorized the summons already, Castiel was almost done saying them. Fear for the future and uncertainty at what would happen had him in a vice and if he had faith left, he would have prayed for rescue and help, for this to _please_ work.

He had been given no choice but to leave Alex's body behind with the King of Hell and Raphael. Castiel was panicking to get back to her, to protect her even in death from her enemies, from those who would hurt her. And then the most sickening thought of all came over him: _I hurt her. Me_.

If this worked—if he could put back together what he had broken—he would never chance hurting her again. He would do what Dean had commanded of him so many times before: go away and stay gone. With a heart that was weighted down with immeasurable guilt, Castiel recited the ritual and the last words of command poured out of his mouth.

" _Aperit fauces eius ad mundum nostrum, nunc, ianua magna aperta tandem_!"

His voice echoed in the large space. And at the last word, the wall before him broke open and blinding light shone forth and began to shoot out toward him. His last thoughts before those souls struck him were of how the road paved with good intentions had brought him here, to misery and ruin. That freedom was a length of rope he would just as soon hang himself with. And that he should have known, so very long ago, that there was a reason angels were forbidden to love humans. 

With a gasp, Cas was hit by the stream of light that was made up of souls. Millions and millions of them flooded him, overpowered him, cramming themselves into him until he thought he would burst. The blast made him fall down onto his back. And then it was dark again and he was no longer himself. He blinked a couple slow, measured times, frowning ever so slightly. The _power_. The _might_. It flowed through him, leaving nothing except calmness and even a sly sense of entitled pride.

Standing up slowly and certainly, the angel who was no longer an angel at all took in a deep breath as if he never had before, testing the feeling of oxygen in his lungs. _Fascinating_. He looked at his hand with interest, then made a fist before flexing his fingers out again. The same vessel, the same body... a new and better mindset. Nothing seemed to matter to him or worry him at all. He was in control and omniscient.

And he would have his vengeance.

* * *

Sam and Dean and Bobby were all soaking wet and had nearly blown away in the inexplicable storm that had come in from nowhere. Still they persevered—up ahead they could see an abandoned old building and Dean put extra speed into his steps. Then behind him, Sam doubled over, hands on his knees as he groaned loudly through clenched teeth and tried not to fall over.

Dean stopped and and hurried back to his brother as Bobby waited ahead. Sam had been struggling the entire two plus mile way and it seemed to just be getting worse and worse. "Listen baby brother, you are _not_ okay," Dean said, not sure if Sam should go any further or not. He could barely walk and function, how was he gonna be good in a fight? He could get hurt. It was beginning to become a risk Dean just couldn't take.

Sam shook his head and batted Dean away, trying to deny the problem was as bad as it was. "I just—it all keeps coming back, like a flood and I— _augh_!" He grabbed his head in both hands and gave a sobbing sound of pain which turned into a near-shout of frustration. He stomped a foot down hard onto the ground and puffed out a huge breath of air, trying to mind-over-matter his way out of whatever he was going through. He stood straight, but his expression was labored.

"Sam, if you can't do this—" Dean started, almost at the point of commanding Sam to stay behind.

"I can _do this_ , Dean!" Sam cut him off loudly, maybe trying to convince himself, too. He lurched forward, all the more determined. "Come on!"

Against his instincts, Dean allowed it.

The hunters got to the building and found multiple dead angels surrounding the place, which only worried them more. They went in with angel blades tight at their sides, unsure of what they were gonna find. As they broke into the building and moved through the dark shadowy hallways, they could hear a loud voice up ahead reciting Latin. Bobby checked every room they passed on the left, Dean checked every room they passed on the right. No sign of Al anywhere. No sign of Cas anywhere. And then Dean found the room where Balthazar laid dead, wings scarred onto the floor in black.

 _Oh no._ Urgency quickening his steps, Dean didn't even tell Bobby or Sam. Just kept going because if Balthazar was dead, that couldn't be good news.

 _"_ _Ianua magna Purgatorii, clausa est ob nos, lumine eius ab oculis nostris retento_ _,_ _"_ the voice droned, and by then Dean recognized the voice as they got closer. Crowley. _"_ _Sed nunc stamus ad limen huius ianuae magnae et demisse, fideliter, perhonorifice, paramus aperire eam. Creaturae terrificae_ _…"_

They crept even more quietly, hugging the walls on either side of the doorway that the voice was emanating from. Dean's adrenaline was going hardcore, making him feel buzzed almost. Sam was sweating profusely in attempts to keep quiet and stay standing, Bobby's grizzled face was a mask of severe concentration. Dean motioned with two chops of his hand at Bobby, then a quick point of the index finger at Sam— _follow after me quick and quiet_ —and then he led the way in through the cracked door.

Dean tip-toed through the doorway and out onto a small metal platform that had stairs attached which led into the large room below. In front of Dean below with their backs turned, Crowley and what looked like Raphael stood facing a large design drawn onto the wall in blood. No Cas, no Alex. Dean felt the mildest semblance of hope. Maybe Cas had gotten his head out of his ass? Maybe Alex had talked some sense into him? Maybe Balthazar died to help Cas and Alex get away? All he knew was that he had an angel blade in his hand and Raphael was right there. She… uh, he? Was going down.

" _Q_ _uarum ungulae et dentes, nunquam tetigerunt carnem humanam_ _,_ " Crowley droned on, unaware of the rude awakening he was about to get.

Dean drew his arm back and threw the knife for all he was worth, aiming for dead-center of Raphael's back. So imagine his surprise when Raphael stepped out of the way, caught the blade deftly without even looking, and looked back at him with a fierce, cold glare. Behind Dean, Sam and Bobby had drifted in. They all realized at the exact same time that they were _screwed._

Crowley rolled his eyes and heaved a sigh of disgust, then waved his hand. Bobby gave a sound of surprise as he was sent toppling down the stairs, then Dean felt himself grabbed and thrown over the railing and he flipped over mid-air, landing back-first onto a metal table. Pain exploded and ricocheted throughout his entire body from the hard impact. He rolled off that hard surface down onto the floor face-first, groaning painfully even as he heard Sam being tossed through the air to crash down nearby too. _Son of a bitch!_

"Bit busy, gentlemen," Crowley said pleasantly, enjoying their moans of pain. "Be with you in a moment."

Groaning and wincing and trying to lay eyes on Bobby and Sam, Dean gritted his teeth and looked to his side. And then he saw her. Alex was laying on her back just about seven feet off or so with a hand tossed out beside her head—her face was turned toward that hand. She had no injuries to speak of and Dean assumed she'd been thrown at the wall she was near and knocked out from impact. Son of a bitch, Cas let that happen to her? Dean dragged himself over, groaning pain the whole way. She needed to wake the fuck up so they could get out of there while the getting was still good. "Al," he grunted, getting close enough to shake her shoulder then smack her lightly in the face. " _Alex_. Wake up, we gotta—" and that's when he saw how her lips were bluish and drained of color, that's when he realized her skin didn't feel right to him. His face went slack as one single thought took over his entire brain. _No_. His fingers flew to a pulse point in her neck. There was nothing there. No soft little leaping beat. Only skin that was too cold. "Oh no," he breathed out as he realized. "No no." Shock hit him like a freight train and he pushed his fingers into her neck harder, furiously trying to find a pulse that wasn't there. "No no no _no no_!" he grabbed her in desperation and shock. "Alex! Wake up, you hear me?" Her body flopped sickeningly at the shake he gave her and his inner alarms screamed red alert. "Don't you do this, don't you _do this_!"

"… _Dean_?"

His name asked so softly and in such a fearful tone made Dean stop. _Oh god._ On his side nearby where he'd fallen, Sam was holding himself up on an arm and watching with an utterly horrified, shocked look on his face. He was asking a silent question to his brother: _Is she_ _…_ _?_

Dean was out of words. All he could do was hesitant then shake his head no and look down at his lifeless little sister in disbelief. No. She wasn't.

_How did this happen? How did this happen?!_

He gave up in that moment and lost his will to fight at all, pulling her completely limp body against his chest so that she wasn't laying on the ground and he held her tight, closed his eyes, and wept. He had treated her like _shit_ the past few days and his last words to her had been some curt, attitude-ridden comment. And now she was _dead?_ He refused to believe it and held her tighter. _You_ _'_ _re supposed to be okay! I was supposed to save you—please...! You can_ _'_ _t be gone. You can_ _'_ _t be dead!_

Dean was so blind and deaf to the world that he hadn't heard Sam move over to him, didn't notice until Sam had his arms around both Dean and Alex that Sam was crouched there with them at all. Sam's face crumpled and he gave a sound of heart-wrenching anguish, his fingers clenched at the back of his sister's head and he cried loudly in a way Dean had never heard before and hung his head until his forehead hit her shoulder.

"I-it's gonna be okay," Dean promised through a cracking voice, automatically trying to give his brother some kind of hope, trying to make it better, trying to be strong and know how to confront this. But the fact remained that they had just found their sister dead on the ground. And nothing was ever gonna be okay ever again. Alex had been _killed_ and maybe Cas had been too. Who had done this to her? Crowley? Raphael?

Even as the brothers huddled with their fallen sister and Bobby sat up nearby and stared at them in dawning realization, the demon was just finishing his chant. " _Aperit fauces eius ad mundum nostrum, nunc, ianua magna aperta tandem!_ " Crowley exclaimed and then waited with lofty, pleased expectancy. And then nothing happened. "Mm- _hmmm_." He paused, confused. "…Maybe I said it wrong."

"You said it perfectly," came a low, calm, familiar voice. "But unfortunately the finger paint you used wasn't quite right."

Dean's twisted up face went slack as he looked up, recognizing the voice immediately. _Cas_. But something about him was different. He glanced at Dean at that moment and no flicker of empathy or concern or even interest showed—only aloof and almost triumphant coolness—and Dean held Alex's body a little tighter by instinct.

Crowley's face darkened at the angel's words. "I _see_." He brushed a finger through the blood on the wall he stood by. "And we've been working with…" he stuck the tip of his finger into his mouth for a taste. "Dog blood. _Naturally_."

"Enough of these games, Castiel," Raphael said lowly. "Give us the _blood_."

A chillingly calm and composed smile spread across Cas's face and didn't reach his eyes. "You fool," he said softly, almost like he was enjoying himself. "The blood you desire is long gone." His smile grew and he seemed self-satisfied and boastful, two things Castiel never was. Dean watched with a rising sense of horror. What was wrong with him? "You can't imagine what it's like," the angel said, his eyes soft and reflective, pleased. "They're all inside me. Millions upon millions of souls."

Sam lifted his head up when Cas said that and with a dumbfounded, tear-stained face he joined Dean in staring with confounded terror. Cas had cracked Purgatory?

Apparently so. "Sounds sexy," Crowley said, then raised both eyebrows, his skittish and self-preservation instincts showing. "Exit stage Crowley." He disappeared without further notice.

The archangel, however, did not. With confusion, Raphael looked around as if not sure what was happening and Cas's chin lowered, his eyes darkened. "Now, what's the matter, Raphael?" he asked softly. "Somebody clip your wings?"

"Castiel, _please_ ," the archangel simpered. "You let the demon go, but not your own _brother_?"

The softest smile made Cas appear ominous. "And just why would I let you go?" he asked quietly and evenly. Raphael seemed to wither slightly. "I remember the punishments you inflicted upon me when you were the higher being." Raphael backed up a step fearfully. "The demon, I have plans for. _You_ on the other hand…" Cas raised his hand and snapped his fingers.

Without warning, Raphael exploded into chunks of bloody tissue, muscle, and bone and Sam jumped beside Dean, letting out a soft gasp of surprise. "Dean…" he whispered, and Dean already knew what he was gonna say. Cas had _lost it._ This was the _last_ place they needed to be. The only thing that Dean could think was maybe, _hopefully_ Cas had killed Raphael as revenge. The archangel must have killed Alex. And maybe now Cas would turn around and be himself again.

Cas did indeed turn to look at the boys but he was composed, soft, and eerie. "So, you see," he said, too pleasant for the circumstances. "All is well after all. I have accomplished the plan I set out to fulfill."

"And was my girl _dyin_ _'_ a part of that plan?" Bobby asked in a stricken voice, standing up finally.

Cas turned a brief, patronizing smile onto the older man. "Do not mourn her," he said, looking at Sam and Dean where they were together on the floor. "The girl is only sleeping."

Dean found his voice. "She's not sleeping, she's _dead_ , Cas!"

"Perhaps," Cas said thoughtfully. "For now."

Sam was absolutely wretchedly heartbroken, wearing his every emotion on his sleeve, struggling to function. "B-bring her back. _Please_."

Cas drew in a deep, slow breath and looked around the room slowly, taking his time to reply. "In time. But first. I saved you." He looked at the boys expectantly, that same strange, calm expression on his face. "Where is your gratitude?"

Dean swallowed. This did _not_ bode well. He was intensely aware that Cas was dangerous and off his rocker and capable of exploding people with the snap of his fingers. Dean barely even _recognized_ Cas. For the first time in his life he was one hundred percent scared of the guy. As such, his protective instincts were kicking in. He swallowed down his grief and pain and handed Alex to Sam and stood slowly, forcing his trembling limbs to be still. He had to get Sam and Alex and Bobby out of here safely. "T-thank you, Cas," he said, telling the angel what he wanted to hear. "For saving us." He didn't mean it though. He was hedging, buying time.

Cas nodded acceptance, that same creepy smile on his face. "You doubted me and fought against me, but I was right all along," he said, seeming _pleased_ with what he was saying.

"Okay, Cas, y-you were," Dean continued, watching Cas carefully and not seeing the angel he knew in there at all. "You were right. W-we're sorry, right Sam? Bobby?" He paused, not sure how the hell Cas could be so unaffected by Alex dead nearby. "Now p-please. Bring her back, man."

Cas's eyes fell to the twins—Sam on the floor holding his sister's body in a protective way, his young face appearing even younger because of his distress. Cas tilted his head to the side slightly, almost _fascinated_ at Alex's lack of life. "It's astounding, isn't it? How fragile you human beings are. How _mortal._ "

Dean felt like his insides were shriveling up with every creepy, weird, psychopathic thing Cas was saying. Cautious, wary, and very aware that this was a delicate situation his eyes slid down to the floor and he saw that one of the angel blades was there, within reach if he dove for it.

Nearby, Bobby was petrified. "Cas—buddy—let's just defuse you, okay?"

Cas turned his head smoothly and looked at Bobby with an unnerving gaze. "What do you mean?"

"Y-you're full of nuke. Millions of souls, right?" Bobby faltered, glancing at Dean nervously. "That can't be safe. You did what you needed, right? So, before the eclipse ends, let's get them souls back to where they belong."

A gentle, correcting smile spread across Cas's face. "Oh no, they belong with me," he said. "I'm not finished yet. Raphael had many followers, and I must…" he thought for the right word, and the word he chose seemed to please him. " _Punish_ them all severely. And… it's better this way." His eyes narrowed as his lips turned up at the corners. "Feelings. They don't burden me as they did before. I feel next to nothing. How refreshing."

Dean and Bobby exchanged a very meaningful side eye. _Refreshing?_ More like scary as shit. Dean was focused on one thing and one thing only. "Well okay, fine, but just… b-before you go have your revenge or whatever, bring her back first, _please._ " He was at the point of tearful begging and he tried real hard not to look as upset as he felt.

Mild impatience showed on Cas's face as his eyes cut to Dean's. "You should have faith in me, Dean. I will restore her when the time is right."

Swallowing, Dean tried to stay level-headed but _this was his sister_ and the time was _right now_. "I-I got all the faith in the world in you, man," he lied, trying to appease the guy, trying to get him to _bring Alex back_. "But, w-why isn't _now_ right? Come on. T-this isn't you. Why aren't you _upset_?"

Cas blinked once. "There is nothing to be upset over."

Dean had to bite down his temper, had to control himself better than he ever had before in his life. That was the most offensive, horrific, hurtful thing anyone could ever say to him. "Come on, Cas," he cajoled, trying to put a friendly smile on his face despite his growing inner anger. He was trying to fool the guy at this point, trying to play to his weaknesses and desires and emotions. "We're… we're your family, right? Can you do us a solid?"

Cas chuckled lowly, and the effect was entirely ominous and jarring. "Ah. I see what you're doing," he said, seeming amused. "You're trying to appeal to my sentimental side. Well, I'm afraid that won't work. You're not my family. You said as much to me, Dean. The only family I recognize is her. And… even _she_ betrayed me." Cas shook his head ruefully. Dean frowned in confusion. What was _that_ supposed to mean? "I am benevolent, though, and will show mercy upon her," Cas continued. "I will give her back the life I took."

The air disappeared from the room.

_Give her back the life he took?_

Dean blinked several times, going from calm and sort of level-headed to dangerous and dark in one second flat. " _What_?" he asked in a low, foreboding voice. " _You_? _You_ killed her?"

Cas sighed softly. "Yes. It _was_ an accident," he said, as if commenting on the weather.

Dean didn't care how or why or what or when or _anything_ _—_ he saw fucking _black_ and heard himself growling out a trembling, "You son of a bitch," before he lunged for the angel blade nearby and in one fell swoop, with a shout of fury, he sank the blade deep into Cas's chest.

And then nothing happened. Cas stared at Dean threateningly and Dean let go of the handle, shocked and disturbed. And then Castiel gripped the blade and pulled it out of himself. There was no blood on the blade or feeling in his eyes. He dropped the blade down to clatter onto the floor uselessly. "I thought you might do that," he said, seeming unaffected except for some mild annoyance. "The angel blade won't work because I'm not an angel anymore." Dean shrank back a step or two as Cas became darker somehow, absolutely terrifying. "I'm your new God. A better one. So you will bow down and profess your love unto me, your Lord. Or I shall destroy you."

Dean couldn't help it. Cas had killed his sister, broken his brother, and he wasn't about to go down onto his knees. Cas wanted to destroy him? He already had. "You go right ahead, you bastard," he growled.

Cas's eyes narrowed just slightly and his voice darkened. "You would be unwise to test me, boy."

"Dean!" Sam appealed, his voice panicky.

"Cas, come on, this isn't you!" Bobby pleaded.

Cas was matter-of-fact and calm while everyone else in the room was either dead or freaking out. "The Castiel you knew is gone."

Dean glared at him with deadly eyes. "Well, I had some problems with him and whoever _you_ are, I think I'm gonna have some problems with you too."

Another amused, cold smile played on Cas's face. "What a brave little ant you are. Would you really defy me even though you're completely powerless against me?"

Dean looked at the guy who used to be his friend and realized he didn't think there was any way on earth this really was Cas after all. Maybe when he took in those souls, he got possessed somehow. "Who are you?" he demanded lowly.

"I'm God," Cas answered evenly. "And if you stay in your place, you may live in my kingdom. If you rise up, I will strike you down. Now." He looked at Sam and took a step forward. "Give her to me."

Dean moved immediately to cut Cas off and the two men almost stood chest to chest when he did that. If this was the last thing he ever did, fine by him. Cas wouldn't _touch_ her if he had anything to do with it. He thought of Alex, trusting Cas and being so powerless up against his superpowered self and then being _killed_ by him. Dean's heart clenched up. "No. _Hell_ no."

Cas took a very purposefully long pause in which his eyes warned Dean. "I am giving you one final chance to be obedient," he said softly. "Now. Move aside and give her to me." 

Dean stood his ground stubbornly and let his voice be very low, slow, and pointed. "Not in a hundred million years you _dick_."

Displeased, Cas's nostrils flared slightly. "Very well. I should have guessed you would be difficult. You brought this on yourself." With something like annoyance, he twisted his hand in a quick little motion and Dean's neck jerked to the side. The oldest Winchester fell down in one single noiseless swan dive. He was dead before he even hit the ground.

" _No_!" Bobby shouted, and mindlessly rushed at Cas. Inconvenienced, Cas waved a hand again and Bobby fell down mid-step, every bit as dead as Dean was.

Shocked, Sam backed up against the wall, still sitting and clutching his sister, staring up at Cas in horror, blinking oddly, sweating profusely, crying and gasping and struggling to even stay conscious.

Cas stepped over Bobby as though he were nothing, heading toward the twins. "You're having trouble, aren't you Sam?" Cas asked faintly. "Seeing things? Remembering things? You forced my hand. And now you will live with the consequences of your actions."

"Y-you—you just k-killed my whole family," Sam managed, shock heavy in his voice as he scrambled to reason his way out of the unfolding horror. "C-Cas! _Please_! This doesn't have to be the path you choose! Y-you can change this!"

There was the slightest pious smile. "Yes. Of course I can. But I will not. Those who stand against me surely shall fall. Now." Castiel stood over Sam and looked down his nose at him. "Give her to me, Sam. I will not hesitate to strike you down. It would be a mercy, after what I've done to your mind. Do not tempt me, boy."

He paused for a very long moment, letting Sam decide, then he reached down and easily took Alex from her twin, who allowed it but looked up at Cas with trembling jaw and eyes full of hatred. "I am going to find you. I am going to _hunt you down_ ," he promised lowly. "And I am going to _kill_ you."

Castiel warned him with a mere glance. "Any such attempt will result in the same fate as your brother and uncle, Sam Winchester. So I hope for your sake this is the last you see me." He disappeared with Alex hanging like a rag doll in his arms, and Sam stumbled to his feet. His world was upside down.

" _No_ ," he said, screwing his eyes shut and holding his head. This had to be him hallucinating, dreaming, making horrific shit up in his mind. But when he opened his eyes back up, everything was the same. At his feet, his brother and uncle were both dead. Sam's hatred abruptly melted into desperation as his chest exploded with emotional pain and despair. "You can't just leave me here, you can't just take her!" he shouted out at the ceiling, stumbling back a step as if drunk. "You can't do this! Cas! _Cas_! This isn't you! _Cas_!" His shouts made him dizzy and weak. A trickle of hot blood ran out of his nose and his knees gave out as his vision went black with memories from the cage.

A sharp, biting sting in the palm of his hand made him cry out and he realized he'd fallen onto the floor and caught himself where a broken shard of glass rested. Bright red blood stared back at him and he clutched his bleeding hand, groaning in agony. His vision wavered between the real world and memories of Hell—he saw himself on fire, heard Lucifer taunting him, saw a hundred unspeakable things. He collapsed down and writhed on the floor, completely alone and unsure what was real and what was imagined.

* * *

**Heaven**

While Sam suffered on earth, Castiel slowly paced the throne room, his every step full of confidence, pomp, and pride. In the throne itself he had placed Alex's body. Raphael was dead and gone and the throne now belonged to him. Soon the entirety of the Host would bow down. And those who did not... would be dealt with.

"So, here we are at last," he mused aloud in a quiet voice that was full of triumph. "The kingdom of Heaven and its new God. And his…" he paused, searching for the right word as he looked back at the motionless girl. " _Queen_." Yes. That word seemed fitting.

He took a moment then continued on toward the grand book of Heaven which rested upon a solid gold pedestal that was displayed atop a raised marble platform. Cas slowly climbed the stairs, speaking as he went. "You said once you disliked this world. Well. I shall cleanse this earth of wickedness and sin. It will be the place it should be. Good, pleasing, orderly, _just_." He drew her claim out of his chest without breaking the skin of his vessel and frowned when he realized. It was a mere key with no soul claim associated. "Oh. Of course." He smiled to himself and laid the key down beside the book and went back to the human. He had to fix her first, he had to restore her soul. He ascended the throne where he had put her and surveyed her with vast interest for a moment. He knew he loved her, logically. But he felt little about it. _Strange_. What was special about her? He couldn't really remember or recall. All he knew was that he found her special. Not caring much either way, he laid his hand down onto her stomach and marveled at himself. Such power. Such _majesty_ dwelt in him. He called her back to life, he put her soul back together, and no one else in all of creation ever could have done that except him.

"Awake, Alexandra," he beckoned, welling with satisfaction and ego. "Walk in newness of life. For I am the Lord your God. And _you shall worship me_." He touched his fingers to the side of her head.

Her eyes snapped open and she gasped in a long, loud breath of air.


	83. Destroyer

" _Stars have died so that you may live._ _"  
_ \- Unknown

* * *

***** CONTENT TRIGGER WARNING: Sexual Assault(s) and Non-Consensual Situations ***  
**

* * *

In the beginning, when humanity was in its infancy, God created the brothers Behemoth and Leviathan—one to rule over the earth, one to rule over the sea. They were both fierce beasts in their own rights, but none was so great as Behemoth, who stalked the land in monstrous form. He towered above all other creatures and commanded fear, respect, and awe. Behemoth valued justice, purity, and righteousness of his own understanding and for some time, he was content to do what God had tasked him to do: govern in justice over humanity and punish small infractions as they arose. The humans worshiped him as a god—they called him Destroyer—and in attempts to appease him and stay his wrath, they gave him sacrifices of young animals, fruit and grain harvests, and virgins. He reveled in being loved and feared, and for some time he was happy with the status quo.

The Leviathan dwelt in the dark waters alone, cut off from the world and left to watch his brother from what felt like a distance. He swallowed down whole those who tempted fate by entering his kingdom and he was known as the monster in the deep. Very few people offered sacrifice to Leviathan—most fled the oceans and shores instead and Leviathan was furious that his brother was greater and more feared than he.

As humans grew in number, as they began to spread out across the land, Behemoth's reign became flimsier and flimsier. His worshipers began to forsake him and forget him and disregard his power as they built civilizations and became more intelligent. Growing angry and irrational at being ignored, Behemoth began to kill all those who did even the slightest wrong in his eyes and he was not sorry—he truly believed he should be revered and that his viewpoints were law. When it became too much, God locked him away.

At that time, the Leviathan thought he would take his chance and become the new deity that the humans worshiped. He disobeyed the command to remain in his watery confines and he instead began to steal his way into humans, using their bodies as his own, splitting himself into many beings as he did so. Leviathan consumed the flesh of people as food and was greedy. God grew angry with him and threw him into exile too.

The creator was disappointed. The brother beasts who were supposed to create order and enforce boundaries had become chaotic and self-serving and murderous. This is why God banished them to Purgatory where they would remain until the end of time, where they could no longer harm humans. In time, humans and history forgot these fierce monsters. Only two small verses remained in the Holy Bible reminding the world of the forgotten catastrophes God removed from existence…

_Behold the Behemoth. What strength he has, what power! He ranks first among the works of God, his Maker can only approach him with a_ _sword._ _Can anyone capture him?_

_And here is the sea, great and wide, which teems with creatures innumerable, living things both small and great. See the Leviathan: No one is so fierce that he dares to stir this creature_ _up._ _Surely death is in his jaws._

Behemoth and Leviathan were gone forever, a memory and a legend and something most people scoffed at as caveman lore. And then in the year 2012, a desperate and fallen angel did what was never supposed to be done: He cracked open the veil that separated Purgatory from earth and he let an innumerable amount of souls enter him, all for the purpose of saving the one he loved. Among those souls he absorbed? Two of the most powerful and dangerous beings of all time. Behemoth and Leviathan.

Inside this angel, a war began to wage. It was a blurred and confused struggle between three ancient beings—Angel, Behemoth, and Leviathan. Each wanted control and dominance over the other. Underneath the weight of millions of souls, the angel floundered and failed and tried again and again to regain control as Behemoth and Leviathan joined forces and quashed him down inside of himself. However, what they could not crush or diminish was the love and affection so deeply seared into the vessel Castiel had inhabited for so long. As such, they mistook his feelings and convictions for their own.

For the rest of his life, Castiel would blame himself for what those souls from Purgatory did through him... for the unthinkable things that were soon to befall the world and the woman he loved…

* * *

Darkness. And then sudden blinding light and the feeling of rocketing at some surface above.

Alex gasped a deep, panicked breath into shockingly empty lungs as her eyes snapped wide open. Automatically she shot up to sit, disoriented and freaking out and trying to push Cas away to stop him from the scorchingly painful soul touch. And then she realized that he wasn't touching her at all and she wasn't even where she'd been when that happened.

Confounded, Alex held onto the enormous chair she inexplicably found herself in and stared up at Cas, who stood watchful over her quietly with an odd smile on his face instead of the enraged glare that had been there before.

 _What just happened? Am I hallucinating?_ _Is this part of the soul touch? Am I unconscious or something?_

Last she remembered, Cas had been angrily pushing her against a wall and making insane accusations about her 'being with' Balthazar and _hurting_ her to the point of excruciation—now she was sitting in the center of a huge circular room that was ornate in every detail. The space boasted insanely tall gold-gilded windows evenly spaced into walls that glittered like diamond. Warm, ethereal light filled the room and overhead misty white vapor hung pleasantly, not unlike clouds. This room was clearly a haven, a place of peace and tranquility and majesty. But Alex did not feel at peace. In fact, she was terrified out of her mind without knowing entirely why.

Cas watched her silently, seeming almost... _pleased..._ despite her clear alarm. Her instincts made her shrink back even more from him. "W-what happened?" she asked, scanning around and trying to be discreet and quick. She realized there was no visible exit anywhere. Some amount of time had obviously passed, but she had no clue how much. "W-where are we?"

A thoughtful, pleasant expression rested on Castiel's face. "So you don't remember."

His voice had some ominous quality to it that she had never heard there before—it matched the almost sly way his eyes dwelt on her. Alex studied him with an increasingly hammering heart and sickening stomach. "R-remember… what?" she asked in a soft, scared voice. "Where are we? H-how long was I out?" She remembered his crazed, out-of-character actions what just seemed a moment ago and now he was just blank and tranquil? She didn't understand, and all of her inner alarms were blaring _danger, danger!_

He smiled to himself and looked off slightly. "Oh, you weren't _unconscious_ ," he said lightly, almost chuckling at her choice of phrasing. "You were…" he thought a moment, then said the next word in near amusement as he looked her in the eye again. "Dead."

Dumbfounded, Alex gaped. _Dead?_ He turned away from her and descended the polished stairs that led up to the chair she was in. He spoke as he languidly made his way down those steps. "It seems, in my anger, I killed you. However, as you can see, that is no longer an issue." He spoke about it all so offhandedly, with such detachment, and Alex stared at his retreating back while questioning her sanity. She _had_ to be dreaming. Cas wasn't acting right or even talking in his voice, what he was saying was _insane_ , this place didn't seem real, and she definitely hadn't _died_. Cas continued, growing more and more pleased with every sentence he spoke. "In fact… _nothing_ is an issue any longer. We have been given freedom, Alexandra." The use of her full name, which Castiel had never addressed her by before, made her skin crawl. "No…" he said, pausing to reconsider his words. "We were given nothing. We… _took_ it. So much _power_ _…_ " he marveled pridefully. Opposite of where Alex still sat frozen, Cas was climbing the few stairs of a raised marble platform on top of which an impossibly thick book was displayed on a solid gold stand. "Free will, _choice_ _…_ " Cas mused in that smooth, slow, unconcerned voice. "They led here. To Paradise."

He picked up a small key that had been laying beside the book and placed it onto a page then passed his hand over it. The key dissolved into blindingly bright light and then disappeared completely, soaking into the book somehow. Alex felt like her insides shifted slightly and she stared down at herself, even more freaked out than before. She attempted to stand, and it was then that she realized she felt wounded and sluggish. She sat again, feeling sick in a way that wasn't physical. Her muscles were tired, but some other part of herself felt cracked and hurt in a way she didn't recognize. Confused, she wrapped an arm around her stomach and looked at Cas, who turned back and smiled at her in that strange, small way. And she was _terrified_ because she didn't recognize him at all _._ "Now your soul is written into the book of Heaven," he said, then abruptly amended his statement with the softest chuckle. "Although, it's hardly even necessary anymore. I brought you back better than before."

Alex's horror was growing and growing. "...What do you mean?" she managed in a gaunt whisper. She couldn't speak loudly because she was petrified—nothing felt right. Was this actually happening? He'd _killed_ her with that soul touch? And now thought it was no big deal? Cas would do a lot of things (as she had found out in recent times), but she was pretty damn sure he would never chuckle about accidentally _killing_ her…!

He descended the platform that held the book, his stature and demeanor commanding respect and fear. It was strange and terrifying—he didn't even _walk_ like the Cas she knew, he didn't carry himself the same, his face was different even though it was exactly the same. And the eyes that had once been windows to a beautiful heart were now like cold, haughty hollows. "You will reign at my side forever as Queen of All," he said in soft assertiveness, his intense gaze boring into hers relentlessly as he approached again one step at a time. "The Bride of God. Among all humanity, you are surely the most blessed."

Too scared to know what to say or do, too weak to move or run, Alex just slumped in that chair—which she realized was a _throne_ —and she felt herself getting short of breath. It was crashing down on her with dizzying and sickening weight. _Oh, Cas, what have you done?_ As if he could read her mind, Cas smiled, a slow and smug smirk tugging his lips upward in an expression he had never made. The effect was disconcerting and appalling. "All the souls… they're with me now," he announced in a quiet gloating voice, and Alex's single thought was _oh no_. Cas drew himself up even taller, lost in hubris and self worship. "I'm capable of anything now. Nothing and no one will ever stand in my way again." He raised his chin and looked down at her loftily. "I am… much better than you remember me."

Alex looked up into those fierce blue eyes and recognized nothing about them. The way he was talking, his soulless eyes, the way his face and voice and even posture was different—Alex's fear abruptly wasn't just for herself. This _wasn_ _'_ _t_ Cas standing in front of her. It _couldn_ _'_ _t_ be. And that meant something had happened to him. He said he had the souls, did that mean they'd taken over? Was he possessed? Or _worse_?

"… _Who are you_?" she asked in a stark whisper, her eyes caged in his gaze.

He raised his chin just slightly, lips curling upwards. "I am the Lord your God. Since creation, I have walked this earth and dwelt in righteousness and glory. I am before and above all things, and greatly to be praised."

Sometimes, fear was hot and angry lava. But the fear Alex felt at that moment? It was bitter subzero ice, like glinting cold needles pinning her in place and slowly driving in toward her heart like murder. Her hands dug into the arms of the throne she sat on so tight that her knuckles lost color. "Where's Castiel?" she asked, meek and quiet and so afraid because _what if he were dead in there?_ "W-what did you do to him?"

Conversational and triumphant, Cas's face grew reminiscent. "Oh, he's still in here…" he said, patronizing in the way he addressed her. "Somewhere." He chuckled, a throaty and foreboding sound. "He _is_ me. And we are him, we are Behemoth and Leviathan and Vampire and so many more… but, as I said, I think you'll like me much better." His smile grew again as Alex shrank back more into the throne at all the bizarre and nonsensical things being said. It was like he was switching personalities, like he couldn't decide who he was. "Look at what I did for you, Alexandra. I became God. I am going to cleanse Heaven and earth of sin and wickedness in your name. I delivered you from eternal damnation and death. You should worship me for all I have done and will do." Cas's head tilted to the side in curiosity, and he looked at her like he was utterly fascinated. His eyes traveled her face, which was displaying all the signs of fear and dismay. "Do I frighten you, child?" he questioned, as if he found that thought sweet and endearing. He knelt down right in front of her, his piercing and watchful eyes making her continue to shrink back. But there was nowhere to go. She was trapped, weakened, and up against a so-called God. _Cas, where are you? Are you in there somewhere?_ Cas's hand touched her hand that was clawed into one of the arm rests of the chair and she remained frozen. His touch felt so familiar, but somehow completely alien too. It felt inappropriate, even though it was only the skin of his palm covering the back of her hand. "Do not be afraid," he said as if he was inwardly chuckling at her fear of him. "I am kind and generous, slow to anger. I would not harm you."

 _Kind and generous?_ Gaining some of herself back, getting a little fire in her veins, Alex abruptly yanked her hand away and decided being a scared wallflower wasn't going to cut it. "You _killed_ me," she spat, not sure who she was talking to at this point—batshit crazy Cas? Some insane monster with a god complex from Purgatory? She was kind of banking on the latter. In fact, she was really wondering if maybe Cas had secretly swallowed all those souls _before_ he went nuts and stuck his hand into her out of a fit of jealous rage.

"And then I _restored_ you," he corrected mildly, like an adult might correct a child. "Made you better. Set you onto the throne itself." His eyes beheld hers with a growing and unnerving intensity and interest. "It's strange," he murmured, eyes wandering her face with faint curiosity. "I look up to no one, yet I revere you. Is it because he did? The angel that once inhabited this body?" His eyes dropped down and in a lengthy, entitled way he let his gaze sweep her neck, collarbone, chest, shoulders in a manner that left Alex highly uncomfortable, frozen in fright. "I am not a man… yet I find I desire you in the way a man would desire a woman." Her stomach flipped and twisted as his hands came to rest on either of her jean-clad thighs. His eyes were darker than they had been before. His touch was light and his fingers slowly swept inward to skim the sensitive area of her inner thighs, inward and upward. "So small," he marveled, looking her over again. "So easy to break…" Alex's breath caught in her throat against feelings of confusion and fear—his fingertips were in a place that was inappropriate, but she didn't move away or struggle because she was so afraid of this stranger wearing the face and body of Castiel. He saw the expression on her face and a pleased smirk grew on his face. He pulled her forward to himself as his hands skimmed upward on either side of her waist. Her knees hit his chest and then as he pulled her closer still, her legs were forced to separate at the action. He was pleased with her breathless and wide-eyed fumbling silence and ran two fingers through her hair, tucking it behind her ear for her. "Make love to me, Alexandra," he commanded in a dark murmur, his hand grazing her shoulder and then drifting downward to ghost over the soft swell of her chest. Her breath caught in her throat out of panic. "Show me the extent your gratitude and affection…" his voice softened more as a hand trailed down again to brush against the crotch of her jeans, "and let me show you mine." He leaned in toward her neck.

She pushed him away weakly as his lips brushed against her neck, barely able to do so because her body felt so drained. " _No_."

Rejected, he lost the sultry air and his eyes narrowed. "…'No'?" he repeated in a soft, dangerous tone. He appeared to be quietly angered and he challenged her decision to push him away. "You would deny _me_? Your Lord and your God?" His eyes darkened with displeasure. "No one in all of creation will refuse me." That single sentence had her stock-still with terror. Alex knew that if he wanted to, he could do whatever he wanted to with her. She was too weak, he was too strong, and the way he was talking it sounded like that was exactly what was going to happen. But then he smiled again, as if he were touched by the thought of how kind he was. He was singing a different tune all of the sudden, jarring her completely. " _But_ _…_ for your sake, I will wait. We have eternity, after all. You will change your mind in time…" his voice softened and he reached out to trace two fingers down the skin of her neck and forward, down into the center of her chest. "Long to feel my touch as I long to feel yours…" his eyes rose and looked into hers and promised destruction, possession, and utter ruin.

Alex withered underneath his fingertips and the only thing she could think was that Cas, the Cas she had known and loved, was not the one touching her. This was someone else, some _thing_ else. Her throat caught and the terror she felt was manifesting itself in alarmed, despairing tears. "What have you done with my—" she faltered, her chest constricting. "W-with Castiel?"

"Don't worry about him," he said to her in a low, coaxing voice, fingers softly tracing the line of her collarbone. "Just submit to me. It's what he would want."

More and more skeeved out by the second, Alex tried to put on a brave, flippant face. "Yeah, sure, maybe later," she said in a weak attempt at sarcasm. She had never wanted to see one or both of her brothers so bad in her _entire_ life. Trying to fly casual, Alex used the only weapon she had in her arsenal: suggestion. Her one priority right now was escape—she'd figure out who had possessed Cas later and there would be _hell_ to pay. "But, uh, in the meantime, while you um, cleanse Heaven and whatever, just… just take me back to my brothers?"

There was another haughty smile. Cas stood again and took in a soft, thoughtful breath through his nose. "Broth _er_." The correction made her stomach flop uneasily. Broth _er_? Cas looked at her in vast apathy and her stumped, mentally anguished expression prompted him to explain himself. "You only have one now."

It hit her then like a fork of lightning and her entire body went numb. " _What_?" she asked in a voice just above a whisper.

"Dean challenged me," Cas said breezily, and there was an almost fond look on his face like he _enjoyed_ the memory. "And I warned him. But he would not listen."

 _What the hell did that mean?_ Alex couldn't breathe. _What—the hell—did that MEAN?!_ Cas just looked at her calmly.

"W-what did you do?" Alex asked, then found the strength to stand up and raise her voice several octaves. "What did you _do_?!"

Cas's face showed patronizing sympathy. "It's regretful it came to what it did. I know you were… _attached_ to him. _And_ to Bobby. But they were determined to stand in my way. And I had to make examples out of them." Her heart literally broke at that moment, because even though he didn't say it outright, she heard what he was saying. She stumbled back, catching herself awkwardly against an arm of the throne, covering a wretched, horrified sob with her hand. _No. No no no no no._ "Do not grieve them," Cas said softly, knowingly. "It's better this way."

Insulted and horrified on every level imaginable, Alex was struggling to see straight. "You _killed_ them?" she asked, and adrenaline was beginning to kick in, making her feel stronger and bigger and darker and so, _so_ furious. "You _killed_ my brother and my uncle?!"

Cas was nonplussed. "They left me no choice." He observed her stewing in wrathful grief and practically read her thoughts. "And now you are trying to think of a way to kill me. I assure you…" he smiled quietly, "there is none."

"Well I can try and find one!" she snapped, whipping out the knife she kept in her boot—it wasn't a special knife by any means, just a regular old switchblade, but she wasn't exactly thinking logically. She'd just found out her brother and uncle had been _murdered_. Two of the most important people in her entire universe—and Cas had been taken from her too somehow. She was enraged, grief-stricken, and given over to the madness of murder. But when she whipped out the knife, her weak body gave out and she fell back powerlessly onto her back and elbows from the burst of physical exertion she'd given. She tried to get up and she couldn't summon the strength at all and she gave a sudden howling sob of rage and sorrow alike, then threw the knife clumsily and feebly at Cas. It hit him sideways, ineffective and harmless, then clattered to the ground.

Cas laughed and it was the strangest, most horror-movie bad guy laugh she had ever heard. His voice changed slightly, becoming amused and enthusiastic, and he almost _jeered_ as he grinned at her with lifeless eyes. "You _are_ the spirited little thing, aren't you?" Inexplicably, a small trail of dark almost black blood ran down out of his nose. He looked down at the knife and shook his head fondly. "You're kinda completing me right now, Lex!"

Alex stared at this stranger wearing Cas's body and seethed, having a hard time breathing steadily. "Did you hurt Sam, too?" she demanded in a wavering voice. _Please, please let him be okay at the least. You took everything else_ _…_ _please let Sammy be all right._

"Now why would I do that?" the stranger asked playfully, being coy about the truth.

" _Just tell me my brother is okay_!" Alex screeched, on the verge of absolute insanity. Yelling took everything out of her and she could barely hold her head up at that point.

Cas's face was strangely animated and expressive and he pulled a face like he was considering her question and finding the answer hilarious. "No. Big brother is _not_ okay. Not at all. See, the Hell wall in his brain? … _Gone_. Cas busted it. Not the hero you thought he was, huh?" he grinned and chuckled, and the black blood from his nose dripped down into his own mouth.

Alex grunted and sat, pulling herself up on the arm of the throne using every bit of mind-over-matter strength that remained. She felt so weak and elderly, unable to stand without holding on to something. This was the most utterly unthinkable scenario she could have ever imagined, and knowing her entire family was gone or broken had her in the depths of dismay. "Cas— _please,_ " she said, trying to see past the enemy who was wearing the body and likeness of her angel. She tried to fight, she tried to believe Cas was still in there somewhere, still capable of saving them all and fixing what was broken. "Y-you're in there somewhere, I know you are! You can still fix this, you can change all of th—"

There was a long, rich laugh that sent chills curling up Alex's spine. "You're wasting your breath, cutie. He's one among _millions_ in here. Do you _really_ think he could rise above all that? Sure, the house is hardwired Cas-style and he's proving sorta stubborn, but give it some time and we'll do some… _renovations_ …" a smile that was nothing but wicked crept across his face. He suddenly seemed to have an idea and his eyes swept up and down: from boots to jeans to dirty t-shirt to worn out jacket. "Say, why don't we get you into something less… _euuch_?"

He snapped his fingers and Alex started. She was suddenly wearing a pristine, floor-length white dress she would never choose in a million years. The material was slippery and thin, the front was a low-dipping cut that exposed too much skin and the back was low too, starting at the small of her back. Alex felt so violated—the dress was the _only_ thing he had put on her. No shoes. No bra. No underwear.

"Now, don't you just look _yummy_?" Cas asked, only it wasn't Cas—and he was grinning at her and then biting his lip at the side. "Good enough to _eat_ …" he took hold of her and Alex struggled against him. "Gosh, he really liked you, so much _I_ _'_ _m_ starting to like you, is that weird? Maybe it's because I'm in his meatsuit, you think?" There was a laugh and he was touching her face, petting her.

She tried to push him away to no avail and panic was squeezing her in a tight fist, mind, body, and heart. "Now don't play coy, honey," he murmured silkily, and his hands _hurt_ as they forced her to remain near _._ Memories of another man trying to hold her down against her will flashed in front of her eyes and Alex knew she had no _chance_ in hell to hold Cas off if it came to that. The thought sent her mind screaming in shrill panic and she did the only thing she could think of.

"Cas— _Cas_ —Castiel!" she screamed, hoping against hope that he was still inside somewhere. Instead of a reply, there was a sickening laugh. And Alex realized with an aching chest and true sense of total panic, Cas was _not_ in there anymore at _all_. And then, just when she thought all hope was lost and that she was one hundred percent on her own in this horrible situation… she was proved wrong. The deranged and maniacal grin suddenly fell off Cas's face and his hands ceased to be vices on her—and suddenly it was _Cas_ looking at her with wild fear and panic in his wide eyes. She went still, recognizing him immediately. Almost in tears at the burgeoning frantic hope, Alex faltered, second guessing herself. "C… _Cas_?"

He abruptly shoved her away from himself and stumbled back, holding out a hand like he was trying to keep her from coming near. He grimaced, winced, seized, and doubled over as if from pain or a lot of exertion. "You—need to— _run_ —!" he managed in a tight, gutted voice. Alex stared in terror. How could she run? Cas looked up at her with a face twisted by pain and panic. "I can't—hold them back…! Alex, _now! RUN!_ " he doubled over again, groaning out in screaming agony.

Alex backed away a few feet, clinging with one hand to the throne as her eyes refused to tear away from Castiel. There _was_ nowhere to run! _What happened, Cas?!_ _Did_ you _kill my brothers, did_ you _kill me? Or was it these monster souls? Oh, Cas, how can we get them out of you?!_ Cas looked up at her again as he remained doubled over and his eyes were full of every kind of horror and despair and _pain_ … and then were suddenly squeezing shut as he groaned out then without much warning at all, Cas suddenly straightened and went blank-faced again. He was abruptly calm, serene, and lofty.

The first personality was back, the one who thought he was God, and Alex recognized that even before he spoke. "But you can't run, can you? Where would you flee to? How could you hide? My eyes see all. And there is work to be done. Now, come with me my Queen and watch your master bring in the new age of glory in Heaven and on earth." He smiled to himself, approaching her as she all but cowered against the side of the throne. "They shall call me Destroyer… Rebuilder… and _God_." He took hold of her despite her soft sound of protest and he stroked a hand against the back of her head, admiring her like she was a trophy—she was stiff in his arms, transfixed in terror, trying to see Cas in there. But she saw nothing recognizable. Only her doom. "And _you_ …" he murmured, touching her chin with the faintest brush of his thumb, "you will love me above all others."

And with those words, the worst part of Alex's life truly began. With those words, she watched herself slowly begin to disintegrate in front of her own eyes to be scattered in pieces on the wind.

* * *

Day one.

After leaving the throne room, Cas decimated Heaven, slaughtering hundreds of angels who had been loyal to Raphael. Without mercy, he walked among their corpses and pulled Alex along by the wrist, lecturing her on justice, mercy, and righteousness, saying how there was no father in Heaven to guide the masses. He referred to himself as 'Destroyer' again. Dead angels who had begged him for mercy and been given none stared up blankly as they walked past. Cas then took them to earth where he hunted down and brutally killed every straggler loyalist to Raphael one by one until he was satisfied that none were left who had opposed him. Blood splatters left the smallest red spray patterns across the innocent white of the dress Alex had been made to wear.

Day two.

Cas began to 'cleanse the face of the earth of wickedness' by 'giving justice' to 'those who would disobey the laws of Heaven.' Without taking any breaks whatsoever, he went from church to church killing pastors, preachers, deacons, ministers, and elders. On that day, Cas killed more than one hundred religious leaders as he made Alex watch in dismay. Alex saw how Cas doubled over oddly at one point and grabbed hold of a pew—his hand left burn marks, and he seemed vexed by it, concerned. Believing that if he had a weakness, she should try and find it, Alex tried to stay smart and unafraid. And she hoped that deep down, Cas was fighting his way out. She leaned into that hope, clinging to it. And because she couldn't abide murder of innocents, she attempted to foil his killing spree. She stood in his way once, saying he couldn't kill people and that he was petty, that murder was as wrong as lying (which he seemed to truly despise). Her bravery got her shoved aside and blood from the pastor she'd tried to save stained the hem of her dress. And as punishment for her 'disrespect,' Cas killed innocents—all the churchgoers present except the children. And overcome with terror once more, Alex quickly became meek and helpless for fear of more deaths at her hand. Cas continued to slaughter religious leaders and called them idolaters, bigots, liars, racists, and sinners as Alex stood by and felt wretched, powerless, and feeble. She could do nothing to save these people. Nothing at all. Their screams and their shocked eyes haunted her. The powerlessness and horror she felt was incomparable. The only comfort she could give herself was that by remaining silent, she spared the people surrounding Cas's main targets. But that was not much comfort at all.

Day three.

More of the same. Cas killed one hundred more religious leaders who did not meet with his standards and he made a distraught and sick Alex watch. She noticed how he had to catch himself from stumbling a few times, and each time he did, he left coal-black smoldering burns behind where his hand had been. The smallest, strangest little sore appeared below his left eye. Was he dying? Was he sick? She wasn't sure. Cas did not feed or care for Alex because he just didn't seem to think of it. Deeply afraid of this monster wearing Cas's body, she said nothing of her needs. But she was getting very ill from lack of sleep and sustenance. And then, while Cas was lecturing yet another soon-to-be-dead pastor, Alex ran. She got away and in an almost hallucinogenic trance from low blood sugar, hunger, and adrenaline, she stumbled to the nearest building she could find—a gas station. She hid in the bathroom there without a plan or a purpose. She only wanted to get _away_. She was faint and weary and mindless, breaking down mentally after the past couple days.

When Cas suddenly appeared and angrily reprimanded her for leaving his side and deserting him, she lied through exhausted tears saying she had run away because she needed food, water, and the bathroom—which _was_ true. But he seemed to care little about her state of well-being and began to pressure her sexually in that dingy bathroom instead, demanding she give herself to him. Some middle-aged police officer heard her protesting Cas's advances from outside. This nameless man came into the bathroom and got himself killed apathetically—and Alex would never, ever forget this man's face or how his attempt to help her had cost him his life. And when Alex was left to sob over this man's death and her role in it, Cas smirked. "See what your reluctance to submit has done?" he mocked. "He is dead because of you. Now _let me have you._ " She still resisted, and he unhappily let it go, saying perhaps if he met her 'lowly and cumbersome' needs better she would love him then. He dragged her to a nearby restaurant and demanded she be fed the finest foods. When the servers reacted poorly to a strange man coming in and demanding food immediately for 'the Bride of God,' when the manager said he didn't want trouble and told Cas to leave… Cas grew angry and killed the entire restaurant of people and lectured their dead bodies on sinfulness, gluttony, and how their lack of faith and love was their ultimate greatest sin. He monologued on how humans had never recognized his greatness but they would soon, and all would bow to him in time as they had before. He called himself Destroyer again and Alex was emotionally demolished.

Day four.

Cas tired of Alex's needs and constant grieved appeals. She begged for him to resurrect Dean and Bobby, she begged for him to fix Sam, she begged for Cas, the real Cas, to please help, to overcome the monsters possessing him. She begged him to let her go, to make it end. In annoyance, Cas abruptly took hold of her and threatened her, saying although she had his highest favor, that could change. He said if she kept being 'petulant' he would punish her very severely. He then took and left her in the wilderness somewhere, locked away into a fancy vacation lake house that was empty and secluded. She was trapped. He had used supernatural means to keep her prisoner. The windows did not break, the door would not be picked or destroyed. She languished there, contemplating killing herself to end this utter misery. There were no phones, but there was food, all canned and dry goods. She spent several days alone there, grieving her dead brother and uncle, her dead husband (she hadn't seen the true Cas since the throne room), her dead heart, her suffering twin brother. She began to lose track of the days. She slept little and felt like she was slowly dying. All she could think about was the life that had led up to this point. She remembered the years past. Dad, Dean, Sam. Their life on the road. She let those memories sustain her. She remembered the sun kissing the side of her face when she'd been small, Dean piggybacking her and chasing Sam the entire time. She remembered climbing trees and perching there and imagining she was a bird, she remembered loving days when the sky was clear, strong blue the best. She remembered big strong brothers with laughter she had loved the sound of, she remembered knowing Dad would have her back on a hunt, she remembered riding in the back of the Impala with Sam beside her and how he'd fall asleep with his giant snoring face too close and how annoyed it made her. She remembered Dean glancing back and grinning at her disgruntlement. Alex would have given anything to be that version of herself again.

And then the memories of Cas came to haunt her. Those memories tormented her and terrorized her. It had once been so sweet, so innocent. He had been so trustworthy and she never, ever would have believed this could happen. They hadn't known what laid ahead. And now to put it all in perspective and see how it had all ended like _this_... Alex couldn't bear it. She began to lose her mind alone in that utterly silent house. She wondered if she had become a ghost, haunting this unfamiliar place in such sadness eternal.

Day seven? Nine? Twelve?

Cas reappeared without warning, startling and scaring her—his face was increasingly blemished by growing strange bursting blood vessels. He took hold of her, embracing her as if in tenderness, saying he had been furthering his ministry across the world and that he had missed her very dearly and thought of her with every new glory he brought into the world. She resisted his touch and mentally broken down, feeling like a far cry from who she had been once, she begged Cas once again for rescue, she begged him to break through again, to please be strong enough to rise above the monsters inside. And that was when the second personality came out, the one who called her 'Lex' and he chuckled at her distress and called her 'real cute,' pushing her around a little and playing on her fears of being taken advantage of, then disappeared again for several hours more.

When he returned, he was the chilling, quiet, calm personality that called her 'Alexandra' and he had a look in his eyes she knew was bad news immediately. He took hold of her from behind when he got there, dipping his head down to inhale against the side of her neck. Again, he commanded that she have sex with him, worship him and please him, and he touched her in attempts to convince her to his proposition. Alex refused again, panicked at his touch. His anger made the cabin rumble and shake, but he said nothing and let her go and disappeared. He returned a few hours later, saying he had something to show her. He took her to a house where a deaf and blind child lived. He said to watch as he performed a kindness and a miracle, as he showed her evidence of his benevolence. He healed the child—giving him sight and hearing—then turned to Alex and said he would do miracles like this in her name to earn her love and devotion. He then took Alex away from there to what felt like the highest mountain in the world. They were above clouds, and other mountain peaks dotted the sea-like vapor all around.

Again, he propositioned her, demanding she let him have her, saying she should be humbled and grateful that he wanted her in that way. She refused but that time, he did not relent. Instead, he fumed, saying she was a fool to deny herself the pleasures a God could provide and he seized her with hard hands and pushed her down to sit on a rock atop that mountain, saying he was going to show her the error of her ways. Panicked and trapped with no way to get away from him, Alex refused, trying to push him away and trying to get him to stop. He looked her dead in the eye and with no emotion, only dark and controlling foreboding, promised he would decimate all the local villages in the area if she did not comply. She was given a great and sickening conundrum. If she caved in, if she let him do whatever he was about to do, people would live. But if she gave in, he would also know all he had to do was threaten people's lives to get her to do whatever he wanted. She didn't want him to have that power. But she had no choice. He already did.

So Alex gave in and forced herself to allow him to do whatever he would. Cas knelt in front of her and pushed her knees apart, sliding the now off-white and torn-in-places dress up to bunch around her waist. And what he did next was what Cas had done many times, but it was not the same: He began to pleasure her with his mouth and she cried. " _No_ …" she choked out softly at one point.

" _Yes_ ," he replied deeply. He was rougher and crueler than Cas had ever been. To get herself out of it all, Alex dug deep and faked an orgasm—the tears streaming down her face only added to effect. He seemed pleased with himself. He left her half laying on that rock and he stood above her, looking down on her with that cold smile on his face. For a minute, he just looked at her quivering in fear... enjoying her terror, it seemed. "Now you see my kindness and consideration," he finally said, then abruptly pulled her up and crushed her against himself, trailing fingertips down the side of her face in desire. "Let me have all of you for myself."

She couldn't. "N-no," she said weakly, knowing she really couldn't enforce her no. Tears streaked her face.

Cas's pleased expression twisted immediately to a seething, angered disbelief. "How can you refuse your God?!" he asked in a hard and dark voice. His fingers dug in so hard to her arms that she cried out miserable protest. She knew it was over. He was going to fuck her whether she agreed to it or not. And then, suddenly, he calmed and stepped away, becoming placid and unaffected. "We must rid the earth of more wickedness. _Then_ you will love me."

Choking on alarm at the thought of him killing more people, she immediately protested. "No, _please_ —the killing has to end!"

Her statement visibly angered him at a deep, cold level. "I will kill until every transgressor is blotted out of existence. And you shall not _dare_ to stand in my way or tell me I am wrong."

Without another word, he left her there on that mountaintop and did not reappear for almost twenty-four hours, by which time she had climbed down the jagged formation almost half way. She was barefoot, cold to the point of almost freezing, she cut her feet, her arms, her legs, she almost fell to her death several times. She was half-starved, dirty, thirsty, and exhausted. She just wanted it to be over. But she was trying to get off that mountain and to a phone to call her Sammy. Try and get back to him somehow. But before she could get off that mountain, Cas reappeared and he whisked her off, back to what was clearly America. He was prideful and lofty, pleased, taking no notice of her poor condition. "I have obliterated all arachnids from the face of your country," he said, "And I have cured every existing mute person on the face of the earth in your name. Does this please you, my lovely one?"

Alex was truly surprised at his words—the spiders she cared nothing about, but he had cured every mute person in existence? If that were true, she was in awe and almost touched. But she was also injured, crippled, felt near death, and _terrified_ of this person—this _murderer—_ standing in front of her. "Y-yes," she replied to him, because she so greatly feared what he would make her do if she did anything besides stroke his ego. "T-thank you."

"Good." He held her to himself and touched her face, looking at her with fond fascination, and she already knew what he was going to demand. "Now," he murmured. " _Make love to me_." He began to kiss her neck, but they were not soft kisses. He hurt her, he left bruising and possessive marks with his teeth.

Alex could have cried from defeat. She had no fight left in her. "I'm… I'm too tired," she hedged. "I need rest. _Please_." Lies began to pour of her mouth in a desperate attempt to protect herself. "You're so patient and k-kind," she said, forcing herself to look him in the eye and look like she meant what she said. "That's what I… that's what I love about you." Her heart broke, because those were Cas's eyes but he wasn't there. And she _hated_ this monster for taking everything from her, but what could she do? Nothing. Therein laid the defeat.

God—Destroyer—the monster—he smiled slowly, very satisfied with her words. He told her as much. "You please me greatly, Alexandra." She held her breath practically, hoping against hope he would have mercy and not force himself on her, at least not yet. She was given that relief when he smiled bigger, content. "I will give you some time. You _do_ look worn."

She _was_ worn. Starved, weak, tired, nerves shot to hell. But she didn't ask him for food, because she was afraid he would kill another restaurant full of people if she did. And as Cas's hand stroked her cheek, she _wanted_ to die and didn't know how it could possibly go on like this. It _couldn_ _'_ _t_ go on like this. It was a waking nightmare. She knew of no way to kill him or stop his reign of terror. Maybe the best way would be to kill herself. But… couldn't he just bring her back? That thought was nauseating. She had to _escape_ this. And her only thought was she _just wanted to see her one remaining brother_. She pictured Sam and wanted to run to his big strong familiar shape, she just wanted to let him hold her and she could go out of this world the way she had come in: beside him and with him.

Maybe Cas had been right, years ago, when they were first falling in love. He had tried to stop it before it ever started. He had tried to tell her. He had said angels and humans couldn't be together and he really seemed to believe it, yet he had proved unable to walk away—and Alex hadn't wanted him to, either. But now Alex almost wished she _had_. Because maybe it always ended in horror like this. A broken, used up human and an angel who couldn't be called that anymore. Any hope she felt for Castiel returning and conquering the souls that were puppeting him was fading. She mourned him every time she looked at him, and it broke her heart again each time to see that face she loved covered in profane red disease. It was physically manifesting, the corruption of these beasts inside of him. She chanced asking him about it after he insisted on destroying several movie studios in California for providing 'godless entertainment.' When he caught himself on the corner of a building to keep from falling, when she literally saw two new sores manifest on his cheekbone, Alex finally asked: "W-what's happening to you?"

He straightened, looked at her blankly with a ruddy red face. "What is it you mean?"

"Y-your face. Your hands." He looked at the back of his hand where small, puckered sores were dotting the once-healthy skin. He touched fingers to his cheek, frowning in confusion when his fingertips grazed rash-covered skin. And all Alex could think of was Cas, inside somewhere, suffering this hell along with her. "You're sick," she said, then her voice faltered as she imagined Castiel in agony somewhere inside of himself. "You're _killing_ him."

At the mention of Cas, Destroyer bristled. "Why is it you insist on loving a mere shadow? I am he, the one who is worthy of love and devotion. _Not_ Castiel. Not anyone else!" Angry, he ported them to a bathroom—perhaps a school or business bathroom, Alex didn't know—and he shoved her against a sink and who knows what he was about to do—and then he caught sight of himself in the mirror behind Alex and he stopped. He seemed surprised at the strange sores and bloody rash were spread across his cheeks. He backed away from Alex and covered his stomach with his own hands and frowned, then pulled his shirt open to look down at himself. What had once been smooth, tanned skin was covered in more of the same sores that marred his hands and face. And then, his stomach began to stretch as though someone were inside of him. Shapes of hands pushed against his skin, trying to get out, and Alex looked on in breathless horror. Cas looked up at her and his expression was shocked. " _No_ …" he said, and for a second, she thought she saw Cas—he was horrified, his bright blue eyes were familiar again, and she was standing up, trying to get to him. And then he was suddenly Destroyer again and she shrank away, afraid of him and terrified for Cas. "There is work yet to be done," he said in a stiff monotone. "Come with your master and see his works of justice upon the face of the earth."

She didn't want to go with him. But that didn't matter. He took them to a bustling little campaign office decorated in red white and blue where a woman was walking away from them, speaking to a reporter. "Yes, that's exactly why I'm running again," she was saying pleasantly. "To save my constituents from the godless policies of my opponents. Couldn't have said it better myself."

Castiel made a beeline for this woman, but a young man dressed in business casual attire cut him off. "Sir? Can I help you?" The boy looked back at Alex, who was slack against a wall, knowing what was going to happen next. Concern and slight fear showed in his face at her disturbing appearance (the dress was dirty, torn, and bloodied). "Is… is she all right?" the aide asked, then addressed her directly. "Ma'am? Are you all right?"

"Pay no mind to the girl," Cas's voice growled. "I'm here to see the Senator."

The uncertain aide took a small step backward, eyes flickering between Cas and Alex nervously. "Um… regarding?"

" _Abuse of power_."

The aide faltered. He clearly got that something was _way_ off about the entire situation. "Look, I… you both look sort of bad, can I call someone for you…? Or… or…" he trailed off.

And it was probably an exercise in futility, it was probably the last thing she'd ever do. But it just wasn't in her nature to keep standing by and letting this happen. At the point of hysterical inward lunacy, she made herself hold it together just a little longer. "You all have to run," Alex said, raising her voice high in panic as she stumbled toward the people and tried to put herself in Cas's path. "You have to run _now!_ "

Angry, Cas turned a glare on her. "Be _quiet_."

He moved his hand and she was flung sidelong to crash into a banner that declared _Leadership You Can Trust: Michelle Walker._ Workers who had only been giving curious, cautious looks jumped to their feet at the telekinetic show of powers and the aide's eyes were wide and afraid as Castiel bore down on him. "Wait… wait, I've seen you two on the news," he choked out softly, and on the floor where she'd landed in a heap, Alex vaguely wondered if Sam had seen the news, too. Would _this_ turn into a news story? She imagined it… woman in white dress found dead among political massacre. She almost hoped for that. _Let it end. I can_ _'_ _t do this anymore._ But she thought of Sam alone and grieving and she couldn't bear that thought either…

"I am not _petty_ _,_ _"_ Cas was saying, addressing no one in particular. "I'm punishing a politician who causes poverty and despair in my name. I _put_ your needs _first._ Don't you _understand_?" His voice was both foreboding and crazed. " _All of you_. I am a better God than my father. How can I make you _understand_?" He suddenly began to laugh manically, and Alex heard herself screaming for people to run again but it was too late. Cas set his sights on the first person who came into his field of vision… he clenched his fist and then opened it again and a woman in a business suit screamed as blood exploded out of her chest like she'd been ripped apart inside out—she fell over dead even as Cas set his sights onto a bald man in his forties and did the same.

 _No. No no no no._ Alex had seen too much of this. With the last strength she possessed, she pushed herself up off the ground. The earth pitched and rolled underneath her feet, her vision swam, her head pounded, her stomach churned. But she made herself walk. And just as Cas turned to smite the aide he had been speaking with, Alex jumped in front of him. Now, she stood between the rest of the living (and crying and scared) people in that office and the new self-proclaimed God. The petrified aide cowered behind her. "Get out of the way, Alexandra," Destroyer warned, obviously intensely angry that she was trying to stop him.

Alex could think of only one way to save these people. One way. "Let these people leave and, and…" she swallowed, terrified down to her bones. Her voice dropped to a scared whisper, "and you can have me."

Surprise showed. He paused, considering, his rage softening into contemplative interest. And then contented, he smiled. His eyes slid to the aide, and then to the others behind him. "Because of my great mercy, you are free. Go. Sin no more, children." Everyone ran out of the building and the aide paused at the door, looking back at Alex and understanding she was essentially sacrificing for them. His eyes said a silent and wretched thank you before he ran.

The building was silent once more and empty save for the bodies of the two people Cas had killed. He was observing her with that chilling pleased look on his face and he walk-pushed her forward until she could go no further—the conference table was there. He made her sit with another push and Alex's heart was hammering a sickening race inside of her chest. Panic was making her throat tight. This was really going to happen. "Y-you have to bring back Dean and Bobby and promise never to touch anyone I love ever again first," she said, trying to be firm and sound non-negotiable about it. Trying to talk herself into letting this happen.

Cas seemed vaguely amused by her. "I do not _have_ to do anything. But because it is _your_ request… I will agree to your terms." His voice softened and deepened. "But only after I am satisfied." She shuddered in revulsion as he stoked the back of his hand down the side of her face. She didn't understand how she could be so revolted by the hand she loved the touch of before. She looked into those eyes and even though they belonged to Castiel, she saw no sign of him there. _It_ _'_ _s just sex. You_ _'_ _ve had sex with him before, so many times. Just lay back and take it, don_ _'_ _t be such a fucking coward!_ She told herself this but it didn't change the fact that she did _not_ want it and she was terrified out of her mind. This may have been Cas's body, but it wasn't _him._

His fingers traced down the center of her chest, down her stomach, and he pushed her legs apart to stand between them. Her panic increased with every second and she could barely breathe at that point. "So unremarkable," he commented in fascination, looking at her face like she mystified him. "Yet we adore you. _Want_ you." He took hold of both straps of her dress and gently pushed them downward to slip off her shoulders. " _Why_?"

She caught the front of that slip-like dress against herself on instinct, unwilling in every part of herself to follow through. "Cas— _please_ —if you're in there…" she choked on a sob. " _Help me_."

A huge, crazy grin suddenly split his face and he tutted. "Ohhhh, Lex, help is such a _silly_ word. Now…" his hands gripped her waist and stood her up against him. He breathed down on her and his eyes were dark. " _Turn around_."

He whirled her with violent and startling force, shoving her down face-first onto the table, bending her over in front of himself. He held her down and every alarm screamed in her mind as she fought to get away from the sudden crushing hold put on her. "Cas no— _no_! Stop stop _stop_!" she screamed, panic shrill and hot in her veins.

"Scream all you want, sweetie, we're not done here yet," he whispered beside her ear, bending over her and using his weight to squash her against the hard table. His hand was near her face, she saw a metal letter opener and she took hold of it and stabbed it down into his hand with all she was worth, so hard it went into the table too. The surprise of it gave her the briefest opportunity and she scrambled out from underneath him and promptly fell back onto all fours on the floor. Cas was standing up and looking half-pleased, half-displeased as he pulled the letter opener out of his hand. "Oh well now _that_ wasn't nice," he said, languidly following her as she crawled away backwards and then found herself up against a desk and trapped again. Cas stood over her and openly chuckled at her nearly animalistic panic. "What is it they say about the thrill of the chase, again?" he asked, then swooped down and picked her up, throwing her to the opposite side of the room where she crashed down painfully on her back. "I don't know, but I'm getting tired of it, honeybuns!"

Protesting in pain, she tried to get away. But nothing worked, her body was spent, her back ached, and Cas was standing over her again. Thick black liquid ran out of his nose as he leered at her. "This better be pretty damn good, Lex, after how long you made us wait."

"No, _please_ ," she begged brokenly, softly, already knowing it didn't matter. And then he was on top of her, she was screaming and fighting and his hands were crushing tender skin, his knees were forcing her legs apart, he was biting her neck so hard blood was drawn—she heard his belt clinking and she was crying Cas's name and begging him _please please please help me_ —but there was no one and nothing for her. She was again in the most horrifying place she could ever be in: underneath a man who was trying to take from her what she didn't want to give. Only this time, it was a god who was about to violate her, not a mortal man. With Glen, she had a fighting chance. With this being, she had zero. And still, she fought, protesting with cries and screams that ripped her throat hoarse. He was heavy on her, she couldn't breathe, even his smell was wrong—

And at the last possible moment, or it felt like that, he suddenly stopped. Cas backpedaled with incredible speed, falling over onto his elbows from the speed he did so. His belt was unbuckled, his shirt had unbunched out of his pants. His tie was crooked, his coat hung off one shoulder. He stared at her with wide, panicked eyes as she held shaking arms and hands in front of herself in a feeble, useless attempt at self-defense where she huddled on the ground. "Oh, Alex, _no_ —" Cas said softly, voice breaking as he looked at her and then became aware of the blood on himself. "I—" His eyes were filling with tears of utter dismay. And her panicked heart squeezed in daring hope. "Did I… did I _hurt_ _…_ " he trailed off confused and disoriented and horrified.

Out of breath, hurt, scared, in tears, she stared at him through wavering vision, barely able to ask in out loud for fear of being wrong. "… _Cas_?"

But she wasn't wrong. It _was_ him. He was looking her over and finding new horrors wherever his eyes went—the bruises, cuts, the dirty and bloody-stained dress, the trauma in her eyes, the way she hugged her arms over herself and looked at him with wretched mistrust. "Oh Alex, _no_ —" he protested again weakly. "W-what have I done to you?" She could say nothing. She was in physical shock, traumatized at the deepest level, confused and anguished and past her breaking point. Cas staggered to his feet, panic and horror making him appear even more unsteady than he already was physically. "I have t-to get you _away_ from me," he said, holding hands against himself unconsciously. "I have to get them _out_." He caught himself on the edge of the table behind himself, and when his hand came away, he'd burned the table with a mere touch. He stared at his palm, then wiped away the black trail of goo from underneath his nose. He sobered a great deal, seeming to realize something at that moment.

Petrified and still on the ground, Alex was too afraid that Cas was going to disappear any second. She had no strength left in her, physical or mental or emotional. "They'll come back," she said through tears, knowing it was just a matter of time before Cas was replaced by a murderous beast from Purgatory again. "They'll come _back_."

Seeing her utter brokenness, Cas's heart visibly went out to her and for a second, he forgot himself. "No, no they won't." He crouched by her with the intention to hold her and help her up, but he scared her with his sudden action and he caused her to flinch away—she cowered against the side of a desk, sitting there and looking at him with wide, uncertain eyes. Shock and self-loathing rested in his eyes. His features worked hard to conceal his own distress. "I-it's all right," he said, holding himself back from her and feeling great amounts of grief about why she was afraid of him. "T-they won't come back. I have them for now. But I… I have t-to put the souls back b-before they can get out for good. Before I'm… before I'm gone."

Alex's face twisted up in dismay and she heard how scared he was, how destroyed he was too. He hadn't meant for this to happen. She knew that much, and she forgot everything. Just saw the one she loved in front of herself. "Oh, _Cas_ —" She reached out and grabbed his hand, which was rested on his own knee, and she held on for dear life, crying because now because he hadn't said it, but she knew. He was _dying_. And despite everything… despite being dragged around and abused, neglected, mistreated, molested, coerced… it hadn't been him that did those things. She clung to that fact and belief, but cried all the harder, because she _loved_ him and it wasn't right for it to end like this. Her tears were making _him_ cry again too and his fingers turned to lace through hers wretchedly, tightly. He hung onto her hand hard, looking like he wanted to bridge the gap between them but he didn't do so. He didn't touch her except to hold her hand. He just remained miserable and his tears were growing more and more pronounced. "I should have listened to you," he said, hanging his head. "I'm so _ashamed_." He groaned as if in pain and shut his eyes, then made himself refocus. "Can you, can you stand?" he asked, exerting himself to even speak at that point.

"I don't know," she answered honestly, watching him in pained fear. Was he going to die in front of her? Was he going to leave her at the hands of those monsters inside of himself?

As if he were reading her thoughts, he spoke to her fears. "I'm here. I won't let them touch you ever again." His free hand reached over and he laid it down onto her hand that was holding his other. With that touch, he healed every bruise, bite, scratch, and ache. The pain evaporated, even her all-consuming hunger and thirst disappeared. Her clothes were back—shoes, jeans, the t-shirt she'd been wearing. She wasn't sweaty and dirty anymore. Looking down at herself briefly, Alex's relief flooded her like a typhoon and she looked into those familiar crystal blue eyes. _Cas_. Sick, wretched, dying. Her Castiel, the one she had fought with and for, had loved beyond measure. And Alex suddenly moved to her knees and hugged the crouching angel hard around the neck hard, weeping bitterly for all that had happened to them both. His face turned inward to her neck and he abruptly broke down too, beginning to shake from tears, and she heard him sobbing—it was the worst sound she had ever heard in her entire life.

"The things I was doing," he managed. "What I let _happen_ to you…" he gave another greatly agonized sob, and she could feel hot tears against her neck. His arms enveloped her carefully. His hands were tentative and guilty as they held her. "I'm so, so _sorry_ —"

She held on tight as hell, thinking if she did, she could keep this Castiel here with her. Unlike him, she didn't hesitate to hold on tight. "Don't leave," she begged through tears of her own. "Please don't let them take you again!"

Cas shook his head and drew back. His bloody, rash-covered cheeks shone with tears. "Alex… I'm _dying_." Hearing him say it out loud killed her. The finality that rested in his expression, the agony at what he had done—it made it almost impossible for her to look at him or even function. "I-I don't have much time left," he said, wincing as if in pain. "We have to _hurry_."

" _Where_?" she asked, voice cracking.

"Back t-o… where we did the ritual," he said, and he tried to stand. He had trouble, and Alex, stronger than she had been before, was able to help him. She stood, guiding him with her, trying to do what she could with what she had been given. He was heavy, sagging badly, at death's door. "But first I n-need to… to resurrect Bobby and Dean," he said as they made it to their full heights.

Her heart leapt, twisted. " _Can_ you?" she asked urgently. He could barely stand, how was he supposed to bring two people back from the dead?

His eyes, full of vast guilty pain, met hers. "I _have_ to," he said, and his pain doubled as their gaze held. His voice faltered again as his brow twisted up into further agony. "Alex, I've failed you in _every way possible_ ," he lamented, barely able to speak past his emotions. "I'm so _sorry_. I can never make this right. I can never erase what I did to you. Your family. I am _sorry._ "

Alex couldn't. Her emotions were impossible and the thought of losing Cas again was unbearable. "Come on, Cas," she said, standing next to him and helping him remain on his feet. If she let herself feel everything she was going through, she thought she wouldn't be able to stand either. She stowed all the confused emotions she had about him and what had happened. Instead, she tried to keep them both focused on the task at hand, not anything else. "Let's just get past this and then worry about the 'I'm sorries' then, okay?"

Cas looked at her, and in his eyes, there was a finality and acceptance—perhaps even a _willingness_ to die. "I don't think there _is_ a 'past this,'" he said softly, and she knew what he meant. In fact, she felt the same. "How _can_ there be?"

Her chest and heart constricted and she thought of him standing across from her a spring day what felt like a lifetime ago and promising to love her until the end of his days. "I… I don't know," she answered in a voice made weak by sorrow.

How could two people love each other as much as they had and end up here? Broken, beaten, as good as dead? She would wonder this for a long, long time to come.


	84. The Resurrection and the Life

" _Love is not a victory march_ _…_ _it_ _'_ _s a cold and it_ _'_ _s a broken hallelujah._ _"  
_ \- Leonard Cohen

* * *

**A Little Over a Week Ago…**

The world spun around Sam and he didn't remember where he was or what had happened. He had no idea what was going on currently or where his family was. All he knew was that the house (it _was_ a house, right?) was burning down around him and maniacal laughter filled his ears so loudly that his vision swam.

_Have to get away. Have to get away!_

He staggered madly down a narrow hallway toward a far doorway where he could see daylight vaguely through tilting, blurring vision. His only thought was of _escape_. _Now_. One of his legs was dragging behind him uselessly—his thigh was gashed open for reasons he couldn't remember, his head was pounding, his left arm hung uselessly at his side, broken. He tasted blood in his mouth and he had this terrifying gut feeling that he was as good as dead. Behind him, he could hear pursuers and chains jingling, bones crunching. _Have to get AWAY!_ He was breathing so hard and fast that he was almost hyperventilating at that point. It felt like a waking nightmare and he knew there was no escape, Lucifer was right behind him… it was over.

At that very moment, his right hand inexplicably caught fire and he screamed as he fell to his knees in a heavy tumble. He beat his hand against the floor to try and put out the flames. But he didn't have success. Excruciating pain seared his skin as the fire crawled up his arm. It began to consume him all over and he flailed, shouting and screaming intelligible sounds of pain as he hurt his broken arm further with his clumsiness and floundering. The laughter continued and continued and Sam sobbed out a cry for help that sounded very much like his older brother's name. But he knew no help would come.

And then, without warning, it all disappeared. Hell was jarringly replaced by a quiet, ramshackle cabin. Sam was sitting against a wall on the floor of a hallway with his legs bent awkwardly and his lungs racing to try and breathe air in. Nothing was on fire, but his injuries—those _were_ real. His arm was broken at the elbow and hurt _so bad_ , his upper leg was cut open in a huge gash—everything ached in severe pain. He felt a stinging sensation on his forehead and touched fingers to the epicenter of the pain—blood came away on his fingertips. But… _why?_ He looked around in a daze of fearful confusion, momentarily not even knowing where he was or what was real and what wasn't real—where _was_ this? What was he _doing_ here? Where had all these injuries come from?

And then he remembered—it all came crashing down—and he covered his face in a hand as a soft sob came out. He remembered all of it. And as such, he slowly looked down the hallway from where he'd just come. He _remembered._

He remembered that Cas had disappeared with his dead sister in his arms, leaving Sam alone with the bodies of his brother and uncle. He remembered that despite his breakdown of grief and panic, he had managed to wander a few miles away from Crowley's laboratory to find a car to steal. He remembered that he had managed to drive that car back to the lab through his hallucinations and despair. He remembered that he had dragged and carried Dean and Bobby out of the building and then tried to drive back to Bobby's but had barely made it even thirty minutes before the visions and grief got too much to handle. He remembered that he had lost control of the car and crashed into a tree in the middle of nowhere, totaling the vehicle completely. He remembered thinking it was a wonder he wasn't dead after that accident, he had been surprised he walked away at all. And finally, he remembered carrying and dragging Bobby and Dean despite his crippling injuries to this cabin that had just-so-happened to be a mile from where he crashed. He remembered laying them down onto the bed in the back of the house. And as he remembered everything, Sam felt himself wishing he _had_ died in that car crash. Because if he had been killed, at least he would be like the rest of his family. 

Dean was dead. Bobby was dead. Alex was dead, or she had been the last time he saw her and held her… and Sam's sorrow defeated him all over again. He wept freely. He was _alone,_ he had lost _everyone_ who had ever mattered. Dean, Alex, Bobby, Dad, Mom, Jess… they were all dead and gone and all he wanted to know was _why am I still alive? Why can_ _'_ _t one of them be here above ground instead of me?_

But that wasn't how it had turned out.

He was the _only one left._

What a horrifying thought. What a terrifying reality. He had no one left. _No one_.

He had two choices remaining:

Choice one, he could give up and succumb to insanity and grief. That would be easier by far.

Or… choice two: he could figure this out. He could _fight_ it.

Sam Winchester was all in all a pretty reasonable guy. He knew when to give up and when to accept defeat. He knew when to put his hands up and walk away. This? This was _not_ one of those times. Not for him. He refused to accept the hand fate had dealt him and his family. And this refusal gave him the strength to go with choice two and _figure this the hell out._ He was injured and felt out of his mind, but he pushed both of those facts away and he gathered himself. It took all of his willpower and inner strength to do so, but he had decided that he was _not_ going to lay down and take any of this bullshit. He was going to _fix it_ , he didn't know _how_ , but he was _not willing_ to let this be the end of everything. Mom and Dad were long gone and so was Jess, but Alex could be rescued and she _would be_ if it was the last thing Sam ever did. Dean and Bobby could be saved somehow—again, if it was the last thing Sam ever did. A half-idea abruptly came to him at that moment. A slight chance. A possibility of a solution. And not really having a lot of choices, Sam decided to go for it. Shaking badly, he slowly got up to his feet, unsteady the entire time and having to bear all of his weight onto one leg. The thought of his brother and sister and uncle kept him going. He limped himself into the living room area of the small cabin where he'd dropped a supply bag. Dragging and carrying Dean and Bobby here separately had taken hours of painful labor and there had been visions and torment the whole way. His body protested his every movement, his cuts and scrapes stung as chilly winter air brushed him as he moved.

But he made himself keep going and doing. He tried not to think about how he could barely function at this point. He tried not to think about how he had literally _no idea_ how long it had been since Cas disappeared with Alex. It could have been a day or it could have been three for all he knew.

With his one good hand and arm, Sam dug through the supplies, grimacing and hurting the entire time. He got out the things needed, then started drawing the familiar design that would summon a demon, but when he was halfway through he realized he lacked the ingredients for the spell part of the summons and he got overwhelmed by renewed amounts of despair. Everything was at Bobby's—the car, their supplies, _everything_. He couldn't do this on his own, not like this. He was wounded, mentally frayed, inwardly broken… and just when he was about to give up and break down completely at the thought of somehow getting himself and the bodies the hundreds of miles back to Sioux Falls, he heard footsteps on the porch outside. Fear made him sit up ramrod straight. Someone was climbing the stairs. He fumbled for a weapon, assuming the worst and ready to _kill_ whatever enemy was about to walk through that door.

* * *

Jamie Ward cautiously climbed up the rickety old wooden stairs of the cabin, not sure if this were the right place or not. Sam had called her a few hours ago out of the blue, panicked and almost impossible to understand. None of her attempts to calm him down had worked and he'd spit out coordinates twice, begged her through an alarmed frantic voice to please come help him, then hung up on her and not answered when she tried to call him back. Dean and Alex hadn't picked up their phones either. Jamie had dropped everything, intuition telling her to travel quickly. Now that she was here though, she was wary. What _was_ this place? Was anyone even here? There were no cars outside. Had Sam given her the coordinates? This cabin was in the middle of _nowhere_ … and it didn't look like anyone was in it at all. _But_ , she was here. So, she was checking it out just to be on the safe side. She drifted onto the porch, wondering what the _hell_ was going on and tensed for an attack.

Last Jamie knew, that Cas guy had turned out to be working with Crowley and the Winchesters had been really torn up about it. She hadn't met Crowley personally but knew that he was the one who'd had her kidnapped and possessed, so she wasn't exactly thrilled to hear about the partnership either and knew Alex had to have taken it hard. She wondered if the call she got from Sam had something to do with that entire situation. It'd make sense for that to be the case. Her heeled patent leather boots made the porch floorboards creak as she carefully moved toward the screen door of the cabin. Opening it, she pushed open the rotting wood door and peered into the dimmer interior of the building. "…Sam?" she called carefully, letting her hand hover a little closer to where her gun was. Witch or not, she preferred real-world weapons to spells and magic (after all, guns and knives didn't make her sick or weak like magic did).

She took a single step into the cabin and heard the creak behind her just in time. Whirling fast, she _just_ managed to throw an arm up and block a wild knife attack from someone about a foot taller than her—she backpedaled fast and held her hands out defensively. "Sam Sam _SAM_!" she shouted, recognizing the guy who apparently didn't recognize her.

He faltered in his attack at the use of his name then stood there panting heavily, staring at her in something like disturbed horror. Recognition darted across his pale, clammy-looking face. "… _Jamie_?" he asked, seeming totally shocked at her appearance and then quickly dismayed that he'd tried to kill her.

"Uh, _yeah_!" Breathless and shaken up, she looked at him with guarded confusion and indignance too. Attacking an acquaintance you'd called and asked help from was sort of _rude_ …

"What… what are you doing here?" Sam asked falteringly, that knife still out where it could do damage.

Eyeing the wicked sharp tip carefully, Jamie became even more cautious and suspicious. "You _told_ me to come…" she said, looking at him carefully. Her face scrunched up into a discerning frown as a possibility presented itself to her in her mind. "…Don't you remember?"

Sam's eyebrows moved in further together. "N-no," he said, and his expression indicated that he was very, very confused, and if that wasn't enough, he was confused by his confusion.

Jamie looked him over thoroughly. He was sweaty, pale, and gaunt—gaunt in a way that seemed emotional more than physical. But physically he wasn't doing too well either. One of his arms was tied into a makeshift sling with a flannel shirt. His gray v-neck shirt was dirty and his hair looked unwashed. On his forehead there was a pretty good cut that was still bleeding in the center where the blood hadn't clotted—was it a head injury making him confused? "What's going on here, Sam?" she asked warily, eyeing him very closely the entire time.

He looked at the knife in his hand with an ill expression and then he let it clatter to the floor. He rubbed his forehead then protested softly in a quiet groan when he accidentally touched his forehead wound. He then squinted in confusion at the blood that came away on his hand, frowning at it like he really couldn't get a handle on himself mentally. "I… _called_ you?" He sounded so flabbergasted. 

Jamie was left to feel an impending sense of dread. Sam was _not_ doing good. 

Sam looked worried and even a little afraid. "I… I don't remember," he managed, swallowing down clear embarrassment and distraught feelings.

Jamie scrutinized Sam again. He had been in some kind of fight or accident… maybe. She quite couldn't tell. "What happened to you?" she asked urgently, and more importantly, why was he alone out here in some cabin with no one around? "Where's your family?"

That questioned triggered something in him. His expression tightened in pain and he looked away with a strange expression on his face. "My family," he repeated quietly, sounding very pained. Inexplicably he laughed softly, brokenly, then shook his head and put his hand on his face briefly, appearing to dissolve into sudden tears.

Seeing men cry had always alarmed Jamie—and the way Sam broke down without warning made her stomach clench. "What _happened_?" she pressed, filled with growing dread and impatience at being left in the dark. Sam made no reply, just shook his head and hardened his face then looked off blankly, staring towards the back of the house without explanation. When he continued to say nothing, Jamie tried again to get him to respond. "Hey, and is your _arm_ broken?" She looked over his multiple injuries. How did he get here? Where was his brother, his sister? "Sam—why haven't you gone to a _hospital_?" she asked, drifting a little closer. Her boot made the wooden floor creak loudly. Sam jumped and flinched at the sound in a way that made him appear traumatized. Jamie's uncertainty doubled and she didn't go closer. She was beginning to almost wonder if _drugs_ were involved. Maybe Sam was on something…?

"I—I don't need a hospital," Sam replied faintly, seeming lost in his own thoughts. "It, it doesn't _matter_." He abruptly got this crazed focused look on his face and turned around and crouched down, began to continue drawing a half-finished demon summons that was scrawled on the floor. His hand shook badly and some sweat dripped down off his forehead to splash down onto the dirty wood floor. It was cold in the cabin, but he looked like he was burning up with a fever.

He didn't need a hospital? Uh… " _Right_ …" Jamie said warily, watching him for a few beats. What exactly was her responsibility in this? Why had Sam called _her?_ Feeling like she should handle this situation very delicately and that she was obligated to do _something_ because he obviously needed help and no one _else_ was around, she slowly crouched down opposite of a pinch-faced Sam, watching him the entire time. After a minute of him drawing feverishly without acknowledging her, she tried again. "Sam… what are you _doing_?" she asked gently.

He didn't look at her. Just kept drawing. "Demon summons."

Well duh. Despite everything, Jamie smiled tightly a little to herself in irony because any hunter worth their salt knew what a demon summon looked like. "No, I know _that_ , but why?"

"Cas has Alex," Sam replied in a clipped, dark tone.

That foreboding feeling began to creep up again. "Has her? …What do you mean?"

Sam was struggling emotionally and his voice wavered, clueing Jamie in to the fact that something bad must have happened. "He _took_ her. He took _everyone_. I'm getting her back. I'm getting them _all_ back."

Jamie's eyes narrowed deeply as she tried to piece together what Sam was doing summoning a demon. "Back from where? And, what, with—with a _soul deal_?" She was kind of against those after having made one herself and had no idea what else Sam would want with a demon. Had he lost his freaking mind?

Sam's eyes snapped up to hers and he looked a little surprised. "No. _No_." Then he clearly realized he might not be _that_ against it. "N-not unless I have no other option," he said, then abruptly choked on a huge amount of emotion that came out of nowhere. "I don't even know if she's… if she's…" he trailed off and made a soft, distressed sound like he was suppressing a sob in the bottom of his throat.

Jamie was getting really anxious for some straight answers and some kind of solid idea of what was going on here. She knew where she could get some hard facts and didn't think Sam was it. "Okay Sam… _where_ _'_ _s Dean_?" she asked in forced patience. And then Sam's face went absolutely cold. He stopped drawing. His reaction immediately made Jamie feel something to the tune of _oh no_.

Sam's eyes gained some clarity and he looked back and forth over the floor with flickering eyes. "I… I remember now," he murmured. "Calling you." He swallowed slowly, still not looking at her. "I guess I…" he faltered and his voice weakened substantially. "I kinda skipped over the details on the phone, huh?" he asked. His voice softened to barely audible. And then he said what she hadn't expected to hear at all, ever. "Dean's…" his mouth struggled and worked on his face. "Dean's _dead_."

Those two words made her entire world go colorless in shock. Jamie blinked once, her face gone slack and expressionless. _No_. She'd just seen him a couple days ago. He wasn't _dead_ …! That wasn't _right_ … that dumbass jock wasn't supposed to be dead… Jamie didn't want to believe it—one of the only decent people left in the universe and he was _dead_? No. Sam had to be wrong!

But Sam was dead serious, and it got worse. "Bobby too," he said, making Jamie's horror increase all the more. "They're in the… the other room." He looked toward the back of the house again, and Jamie felt like she'd been struck by lightning.

" _Dead_?" she repeated stupidly, in a voice made soft by disbelief and abrupt emotion. Their _bodies_ were in there? And they were _dead?_

"It was… it was Cas," Sam said in a hollow voice, like remembering it was destroying him internally. "He killed them." He shut his eyes as he tried to keep from crying. "M-my sister too."

Jamie's eyes went wide as saucers. " _Wait_ —what?!" she could barely breathe. It felt like the ground had been ripped out from under her. "A-Alex is dead too?!"

Sam appeared lost and his voice was a soft, hollow whisper. "They're all dead."

_They_ _'_ _re all dead._

Three words that she understood but couldn't accept. Her shock was abruptly replaced by some kind of wild rage. " _No_ ," she said in a hard, correcting voice that lost its strength after saying that single word. "They can't be—they—"

Sam—tortured, agonized, destroyed Sam—looked at her and he seemed so out of energy. So drained. So exhausted. "They are," he said softly, as if he were speaking to himself. "I saw it. I saw everything." His blank expression abruptly began to work overtime to keep composure. "I watched them die. And I let him _take_ her." He let out a sob as his features crumpled. He hung his head and his huge shoulders shook as he tried to restrain himself. " _I let him take her._ "

Holy _shit_. Jamie's heart was hammering a sickening beat and she felt herself get a little woozy from the sudden outpouring of mental shock. "…Okay, you didn't tell me _any_ of this—!" she started, not even thinking, just reacting. She heard herself speaking out loud then clamped her mouth shut and took a second to try to reign in some very strong emotions—shock, grief, pain. "I mean, _shit_ , Sam!" she breathed out in a higher voice. She was shaken up and almost angry too, but mostly _confused_. She ran a hand through the hair at the side of her head then held it there as she tried to process and understand what she was being told. "Are, are you _joking_ right now?" she asked, staring at Sam with incredulous, dismayed eyes. " _Jacket man_ killed them?" That was so out of left field. That was so _crazy_. She hadn't met Cas many times, but… to find out he had killed the majority of the Winchester family? She found that almost impossible to believe.

Sam was nodding as tears gathered in his hazel eyes. Eyes so like his sister's. "He… he went nuts and he killed everyone." He began to weep again, his head in a hand as his other one hung limply in his makeshift cast. "My whole family and my brain, my mind, it's—!" He looked like he was going to fall over—he was still crouched over the demon summons, but his posture was slumped and weak. "I c-can't… do… this…! How am I s-supposed t-to do t-his?"

He was going to start hyperventilating if he didn't calm down. Seeing he needed help, and understanding she was now part of this situation like it or not, Jamie pushed her shock aside and went and crouched with him, gently took him by his good shoulder and demanded his attention with a serious, intentional gaze. "Hey, hey. Don't do that. You're okay. I'm with you. We're gonna figure it out somehow, all right?" She said that as much for his benefit as for hers. She wet her lips briefly—she had his attention and he was waiting in a grief-stricken silence for her to say more. "One thing at a time," she said, quickly trying to think of a way to diffuse him or distract him momentarily. It was tough because she was reeling too. But somehow she was able to focus. "Let's… let's stand up, okay?" She began to stand and guide him with her and he did as she said as if in a dream. She pulled him toward the nearby couch even as she made _herself_ calm down too. After a lifetime of shocking and upsetting moments, she'd learned pretty well how to disassociate from her own feelings and focus on self-preservation in the moments that left her reeling. As that part of her personality kicked in, she was able to think less about feelings and more about function. "Come on," she coaxed. "That's it. Just sit down. I know you're upset, but it sounds like we don't have any choice but to just face this. You gotta tell me what happened. I need to know what we're up against _._ "

Sam was very exhausted and she could tell that talking was the _last_ thing he wanted to do, but he nodded, visibly bracing himself. "Yeah," he agreed in a tight voice laced by unshed tears. "O-okay." And it took him a long time, but he did what she asked. Through pain, through grief, through confusion, he told her everything. How Cas had been working with Crowley and trying to open Purgatory. How Cas had taken Alex away against her will. How everything had quickly fallen apart from there. He told her how Cas had broken his mind and how Hell was flooding his brain and 'getting' to him. He explained how Cas was now some super powered demigod who could kill an archangel with the snap of his fingers. Jamie was absolutely confounded with every new detail he told her, and when he was finally finished, all he could do was shrug emptily. "So… that's… that's what happened." He clenched his jaw and looked down the hall toward the room where his brother and uncle were. He had a sort of crazy look in his eyes. "Them being dead is temporary. _Temporary._ " Jamie wasn't so sure about that, but she didn't say anything to negate what he'd just said. Sam suddenly looked at her with a wild kind of hope in his eyes. "Do you have some kinda spell that can, I dunno… preserve them or…" he trailed off and lost his enthusiasm as what he said struck him. " _Jesus,_ " he commented in a choked voice, growing markedly hopeless.

Jamie said nothing for a minute and just considered him with great amounts of pained empathy. Everything he'd told her was draining and horrifying to just _hear_ about—she couldn't imagine _going_ through it. Sam had lost everything including his mind and been through Hell, literal and figurative. It was a wonder he was still functioning. Jamie thought what he needed now more than anything else was hope—a reason to keep going, a belief that somehow there was a way through this. As such, Jamie decided she should go along with his request and try to help him to believe Dean and Bobby could come back. Maybe they could and maybe they couldn't, she didn't know. But she wasn't gonna try to figure that one out yet. She stood up and gave him a thin smile. "Lemme get my spellbook. I remember a freezing spell in there. Might work for now."

Sam watched her as she walked off a couple steps. "I'm really gonna owe you big time for this," he said, obviously feeling really bad about involving her.

She turned around halfway to consider him. He was miserable and guilty and her heart went out to him without her permission. Poor guy had just lost his entire family. "Don't worry about that right now," Jamie said, gracious in a sort of businesslike way. It wasn't her style to get too touchy feely and she got really uncomfortable when things got too emotional or deep. She made to turn around then paused, a thought coming to her. "Hey—when'd you eat last?"

Sam blinked a couple times, pulling a frown. "Uh… not… not in… I'm not sure." Jamie sucked a cheek in and chewed it in apprehensive thought. It really was a wonder he was alive at all right now. "I'm fine," he insisted, trying to look like he felt okay. "I'm the least of my worries. I just want them t-to not… _you know_." Rot away and decompose while he tried to figure out how to bring them back.

"Yeah," she said quietly, understanding and making no comment. She glanced toward the back of the house, expression veiled, then she disappeared out the door to go get things from her car. When she came back in, she tossed a bag of beef jerky his way. "Eat up, Sam."

He caught the bag just barely and looked at her with obvious ashamed gratitude. Jamie pretended not to see. She left him in the living room and in a dogged stride went with her spell book toward the back of the cabin. When she saw two pairs of booted feet on a bed through the doorway her stomach pitted itself in lead and her pace slowed. She hesitated before going in that room. She hated death. She hated reality. She hated _this._ Bobby she barely knew. But Dean…? He had become her sort-of-friend. No. _Friend_ friend. She thought about the way he'd touched her hand in the hospital a couple days ago. No man had touched her and then looked at her like that in a long, long time. Like he _cared_ , like he was really and genuinely concerned about her. And now here he was... dead. 

_Some things, you just can_ _'_ _t change._ There was power in acceptance—she'd learned that over the years. And so Jamie told herself to just accept this situation instead of fight it and grieve it. She took a deep breath and steeled herself then went into that room.

They were laid side by side on their backs, Bobby and Dean. Jamie gravitated to Dean, stricken to see him laying there pale, drained of color, and lifeless. His normally healthy olive-toned skin was chalky. His lips were blueish. His eyes were closed. Just a couple days ago he'd been at her side in the hospital after the demon had possessed her. Just a couple of days ago gotten her to talk about the thing she talked about no one with as apple-green eyes had made her feel seen in ways she wasn't used to. Just a couple days ago he'd reached over and touched her hand with his. Now she touched his, lightly, with just the pads of her fingertips. His skin was cold and stiff and her throat suddenly ached. She abruptly pulled her hand away, self-conscious and looking over her shoulder guardedly. 

Sam wasn't there—he was still in the living room. She was being paranoid.

Jamie set her spell book down on the space beside Dean and opened the thick pages and located the spell she remembered: a freezing spell. It would keep an object or person frozen for a few days at least. First, Jamie froze Bobby. A light, layer of frost-like white covered him after she passed her hand over him and said the correct words. She felt the magic bubble out of her like air and expel itself and it left her feeling tired and weakened and cold herself. And then it was time for Dean. She didn't have to touch him to do the spell. But her fingers were compelled to touch to cold skin of his temple and her thumb lightly brushed his face in something like a caress as she whispered the words to the spell. He had been something else. She knew that much. Looking at him made her hurt. Her eyes stung readily. She had _promised_ herself she wouldn't get close enough to anyone else to feel sad if they died because it _hurt_ and it hurt too _much_. But honestly, who was she kidding? She was definitely attached to Alex. And she really liked Dean more than she meant to or wanted. She was to the point of caring about Sam more than she meant to. Bobby seemed nice. None of them deserved this. And all of it hurt her more than she wanted to admit. _Fuck this world. Fuck dying and death.  
_

Jamie was still touching Dean's face and staring at him when she realized she wasn't alone. "Y-you okay?" Sam asked softly, startling her. She yanked her hand away from Dean and whirled to look at Sam, who was in the doorway and watching with a pained look on his face.

Jamie put on a face of utter calm and ignored his question. She snapped her spell book shut crisply instead and tried to sound unaffected. "That'll keep them frozen for a few days," she said. "And I can do the spell again if we haven't figured something out by then."

Sam was looking at her in veiled concern. "Your… your nose."

She brushed her fingers underneath her nose. Predictable blood came away and she could have guessed it was there already. The headache from magic was pounding in her head and she felt sick all over from spell work as usual. She shrugged it off. "It's nothing," she said, not wanting to talk about it or acknowledge it in the least. No other witch had ever had the issue she had and it made her embarrassed to call attention to her defect. She joined Sam at the door because she was ready to stop being in the room with the dead people. Sam didn't move though. Just stared at his frosty, dead brother and uncle. Jamie paused beside him, growing more considerate, then more confused, then grieved again. This felt too surreal and bad to be real life. Staring at Dean, he could have just been sleeping (and frostbitten too, she guessed). "When your buddy Cas did this—I mean— _why_? He seemed so… gentle. And awkward. And I thought he was your friend. I thought he was Alex's _boyfriend._ "

Sam's face twitched. "Yeah… so did we," he said darkly, staring at the corpses through agonized eyes. "He—he wasn't him. Like… he changed. It was like he was possessed maybe. I dunno."

Jamie mulled it over again, disturbed at her deepest levels. "Well all those souls he swallowed that you told me about… I mean, they have to be affecting him somehow, right?"

Sam's face was hard and dark, a mask to cover up his great helpless grief. "Yeah, probably."

Jamie studied his profile a second or two longer. He had a lot of anger in him. She understood though. When your family was taken away, it did things to you. She tried to switch mental tracks because that line of thought was going to take her nowhere. She glanced at the windows where she could see it was nearing dusk outside. "It's gonna be dark soon. I'm gonna see if I can strip some wire." She headed off down the hall to do that and Sam followed, limp-dragging a leg like a zombie.

"I'll help," he said, grunting from the effort of just walking.

Jamie turned around and gave him a lecturing almost motherly look. _"_ I don't think so _._ Sit on your ass and eat that jerky. If you're dead too you're not much help to your family."

Sam looked disappointed and relieved all at once, then guilty about his relief. Jamie attempted some humor for both their benefits—she nodded toward the old TV that was in the derelict living room. "I'll see if I can get you some cartoons, kiddo." That earned her the smallest obliging smile.

About thirty minutes later, things were going a lot better for Sam Winchester. Jamie got electricity (flickering and weak, but passable) going in the cabin. Sam's blood sugar was more stable thanks to the jerky and then the granola bars Jamie had dug out of her glove compartment. Water had been consumed and also used on rags to wipe Sam's grimy, clammy skin off. Jamie helped Sam make his shirt-sling a little snugger and functional and after some arguing, talked him into letting her stitch him up—the gashes on his hand and leg needed major work. Sam had tried not to accept her offer, saying he would do it and she didn't need to go to the trouble. Obviously, his protests didn't work and Jamie insisted. 

Getting sewn up was never fun or painless, and this time was no exception. Thankfully whiskey was helping to numb the pain, calm his nerves, and make him feel less off in the head. Where Sam had been hopeless and freaking out an hour ago, he was now starting to feel like things would get better. He _felt_ better and thought it seemed like he and Jamie could rally and somehow find a solution. He hoped he was right.

Sam watched Jamie as she sewed him shut. It hurt bad, but it was nothing he couldn't handle. Jamie was concentrating on the task at hand and didn't see Sam looking at her. He'd seen her before but he hadn't really looked at her like he was looking at that moment. Maybe it was the booze she'd given him, but he was thinking about and noticing just how pretty she was. Her helpfulness and no-nonsense attitude was attractive, and everything else about her was too, except maybe the tattoos—those weren't his thing—even as Sam was checking her out, he absently remembered the situation at hand and then abruptly wanted to hit himself with a wooden plank for such selfish, shallow, out-of-place thoughts. His brother and sister were _dead._ Bobby was _dead._ And he was admiring the scenery? Sam clenched his jaw and looked away from her.

The old TV was on and Sam reached over, picked up the remote, and changed the channel to try and distract himself. She'd gotten some channels to work, but the reception was pretty poor. Static buzzed loudly every time he pressed the up button. A soap opera—some sports recaps—a cooking show—news report _—_ _wait_. Sam sat up a lot straighter and went rigid.

"… _is currently mystifying authorities,_ " a young female reporter said. Behind her there was a stained glass display in what looked like a church—and the design in the middle was _Castiel_. Sam gaped at it, his heart racing as he watched in horrified, rapt attention. " _Witnesses say the man in the tan coat had a woman with him dressed in white_." Sam went absolutely cold and Jamie stopped stitching, turning her attention to the TV too. They both watched the news in utter stillness and silence. A young woman was being interviewed. " _The guy in the raincoat said he was God and that he was punishing liars or something, I mean_ _…_ _it was nuts! And, and the girl with him? She was real pretty, she seemed really scared of this guy, like super scared._ " Sam's stomach twisted and dropped. Was it Alex? She was alive? He hoped so much that she was but if she was, he was _so scared_ for her. " _I mean I don_ _'_ _t blame her, like, the guy killed the pastor without even touching him then grabbed the pew I was sitting in and his hand burned it. Burned it! I don_ _'_ _t know how it can be real._ Is _this real? Like is this some hoax? How_ _'_ _d he change the stained glass and put his picture in there instead of Christ? I mean_ _…_ _this is a prank, right?_ "

The interview cut off and went back to a serious-faced reporter. " _Bystanders are theorizing that the woman in the white dress was not an accomplice, but a captive. Authorities are encouraging anyone who has any information on either of these two people to call now. For channel two action news, I_ _'_ _m Kelly Patterson._ "

A report started on 'an amazing new weight loss find!' and Sam turned the TV off blankly. It was hitting him all over again. The woman in white—that had to be Alex. He felt sick enough to puke. _What are you doing to my sister, Cas? Dean, I need you alive to help me_ _—_ _I don_ _'_ _t know what to do!_

"So—she's… she's alive," Jamie surmised hesitantly. 

"Yeah alive but _captive,_ " Sam said, getting more and more upset the more he thought about it. "With a deranged _maniac_ who has God powers." Cas, who had been so cold and unrecognizable when Sam saw him last, so scary and creepy and lifeless and _not himself._ It was literally the worst and most unimaginable scenario for Sam. Guilt and terror alike poured over him relentlessly. _Good God, what is he going to_ do _to her? I shouldn_ _'_ _t have let him have her_ _…_ _I shouldn_ _'_ _t have handed her over_ _…_ _how the hell am I supposed to_ save _her?!_

Jamie saw Sam's mounting horror and quickly tried to reassure him. " _Hey_ ," she said firmly, drawing his gaze to hers. "Don't lose your head."

Her attempts only pissed him off more. "How can I not _lose my head_ right now?" he asked heatedly. He stood up abruptly, tearing the thread from the needle that she was holding when he did. But Sam didn't notice—it was the least of his worries. "I'm losing my damn _mind_ and my brother and uncle are both _dead_ and my sister needs _help,_ I don't know what to _do_!" He was shaking and breathing hard from the need to _do something_ and the knowledge that he was all but _helpless_. All he could think about was his sister, who he had always wanted to keep safe, who he had always hated this dangerous life for, who he had always tried to defend to the best of his ability. She _needed_ him, he was her one chance of rescue in the entire damn world. And he didn't know how to get to her or save her at all. It made his throat close up in panic, it made words spew out of his mouth nonstop. "There's no _figuring this out_ Jamie, he's all-powerful and thinks he's God and she's _scared_ , they said she's _scared_ and I gotta help her but _how can I_?!" He abruptly began to cry at the thought of his sister being dragged around by crazy, soul-filled Cas—Sam's mind was going to some dark places, assuming the utter worst for Alex. He had to _do something!_ As Sam's mind and heart raced and his already-impossible amounts of panic increased, his vision began to turn tunnel-like, slowly blackening around the edges and his ears grew tinny and muffled, the ground felt uneven underneath his then suddenly without warning, the world around him was imploding, fire was bursting out of every surface and wall around him, blistering heat began to choke the life out of him.

Even as he gasped and stumbled back in an attempt to escape the sudden inferno, he valiantly tried to remember it wasn't real but it _felt_ real and he panicked, forgot where he was, and went into an all-consuming terror. Unaware of his physical self, all Sam could see and feel was fire, death, agony. His skin was tearing off, chains slithered up from the ground and bit into his ankles as they began to crawl up and around his body like snakes to choke and imprison him—soft, chilling laughter echoed all around and Sam was screaming.

There were hands like talons suddenly gripping his arms. "Sam—Sam—Sam—" his name was being said or shouted over and over again in a twisted, Satanic voice… and then he realized it wasn't that kind of voice at all. " _Sam_!" Jamie was in front of him, or maybe she'd been there all along—Sam didn't know and he was confused because everything was suddenly normal and the fire of hell was just gone. Jamie looked freaked out as she held him by the arms. "You here with me?"

Bare, stark cabin. No chains, no devil, no everlasting flames. Sam tried to swallow down his shaken up, scared feelings. _It_ _'_ _s not real._ "Y-yeah," he managed, feeling very stupid and small and afraid of his own mind. _What just happened?_ Sam felt so out of his element, but out of stubbornness and fear alike, he tried not to acknowledge his how bad off he was. "I'm here."

"What _happened_?" Jamie asked in urgent, shaken concern.

Sam shook his head, avoiding her gaze. "N-nothing, I'm fine."

What a damn lie that was. They both knew it was BS, but Jamie didn't go and call him on it. Maybe she was scared of him, maybe she was sensitive to how humiliated and afraid Sam felt. Either way, all she did was try and help as best she could. "You gotta stay calm, Sam!" she insisted with urgency. "You got yourself into a _car wreck_ over this...! I can't stay calm for you, _you_ have to do this!"

She was right. Of course she was right. Unbidden, it hit Sam that he didn't even know why Jamie was there with him and willing to help at all. Who the hell _was_ Jamie? Sam barely knew her from a hole in the wall and Sam was so emotionally frayed and jumpy that he suddenly wondered if he should withhold trust from her or send her away—he didn't _know_ her, not like Alex and Dean had. In the past, trusting women who were helpful had turned out to be some of his greatest mistakes. Meg and Ruby, to name a couple. He felt so lost and he didn't want to accept help from someone else even though he needed it. He was so miserable he could have cried. He couldn't do this alone, and he knew it. "I don't even know why you're helping me," he said in a thick, soft voice. He felt so very lost and weak.

But Jamie didn't make him feel bad about his crippled state. She had this matter of fact way about her, this deeply calm and measured personality that he wasn't used to. He was used to tempers and yelling and passive aggressive jabs, he was used to impassioned, emotional antics from his family. Jamie wasn't like that. Her answer was matter-of-fact. "Your sister's my friend. So's your brother." She looked down a minute, and he saw a lot of unspoken things in her eyes. He could tell she was pretty upset about her current lot in life but she was managing it better than he was. "Friends are hard to come by these days, so… gotta try and keep the ones you have." She sounded cautious somehow even as she looked at him and gave him a tentative, truce of a smile. "Maybe make a new one along the way?"

Sam was too emotionally exhausted to say anything but, "yeah." He was too tired to say or feel anything else.

Jamie said nothing about his clear misgiving. Just looked at the demon summons on the floor and refocused on the job at hand. "So. You got the stuff for this spell?"

Sam was deflated. "I was kinda hoping _you_ did."

"No, no, I do." She nodded then, toward the front of the house where her car was parked outside. "I got you covered. But what exactly are we gonna try and get from a demon, anyway? What's your plan here?"

Sam looked at the demon summons and the devil's trap, and determination gave him a sudden second wind. His somewhat hare-brained plan made him stand a little taller and feel a little more capable. "We're not calling any random demon," he said in a deadly serious voice as he kept his eyes on the devil's trap. "I need to talk to the King of Hell."

Obviously mystified and slightly unenthused at the idea, Jamie took a second. "Okay… uh…" she sighed under her breath and shrugged, went along with it like she was thinking _what the hell_. "Whatever you say, boss."

* * *

About ten minutes later, it was time. "Ready?" Jamie asked, about to strike the match and complete the summons.

Sam nodded. He had his game face on despite his injuries and physical ailments. "Ready." He was _more_ than ready to be honest. Crowley always knew everything. And Sam was determined to find a way to track and kill Castiel if that's what had to happen.

"All right." Jamie looked and sounded dubious at best. "Here goes." She struck the match and dropped it into the spell bowl, completing the ritual and summoning the demon.

Where there had been no one a second before, Crowley appeared within the confines of the devil's trap Sam had drawn. The demon had his back to them and he was bent over a glass he was holding. It looked like he was pouring himself whiskey. However, the second he appeared, he looked up from his task, confused. He turned around, caught off guard. When he saw Sam, he got it and immediately became pissed. "No no _no_! _Come on_!"

"Don't act so surprised," Sam said, sweating bullets literally and figuratively and trying to look like he was large and in charge.

Crowley hadn't noticed yet—he was too caught up in his own problems. "My new boss is going to _kill_ me for even talking to you two," he complained. He abruptly frowned at Jamie in confusion and squinted. "Hold on—have we met, darling?" He eyed her closely, then a certain coy flirtatious quality made him smile. "You have a name?"

Cool as rain and matching him smirk for smirk, Jamie surprised Sam at her immediate, patronizing reply. "Nice to meet you," she deadpanned. "You can call me Warden, cuz you're my prisoner until I say otherwise." Crowley and Sam were both slightly surprised at her wisecrack, but Jamie was already switching topics and staying focused. "Now by the new boss… you mean the angel?"

Mildly unhappy that she wasn't visibly intimidated by him, Crowley was snippy. "Not an angel anymore, _sweetheart_." He paused, realization dawning. " _Hold on_ … you're the witch." A pompous, superior smile began to play on his face. "Ah yes. Had you kidnapped a few days ago, didn't I?"

Jamie said nothing, just maintained an inscrutable, slightly threatening cool stare. Sam didn't care about that topic at the moment. "So you're saying Cas is your _boss_?" he asked, his stomach turning over and over again because he'd been counting on Crowley to maybe have a one-up on Castiel. Maybe there _was_ no one-up. Was Cas all-powerful?

"He's _everybody's_ boss because he has super powers out the wazoo," Crowley said, and he sounded almost angry about it. "And just what do you think he's going to do if he finds out we've been conspiring?" He paused and became less angry. His eyes squinted. "…You _do_ you want to conspire, don't you?"

"No," Jamie retorted in a voice that dripped with sarcasm. "We want you to do an Irish jig."

Crowley spread his arms slightly and smirked cheekily. "I've been told I'm good on the dance floor. And… _other_ places." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Jamie again gave no reaction to his words. "Shut _up_ , Crowley," Sam said brusquely. His head was pounding and his patience was threadbare. He was so antsy to get a solution going. "We—we need a spell or a weapon to kill Cas," he said, words spilling out in a hurried, breathless tone. "Or, or a way to lock him up and stop him. So _spill._ "

Crowley gave Sam a challenging look. "Um… right. Keep dreaming, girl scout. Nothing can _kill_ him. Nothing can _stop_ him. Best bet is do what he wants and stay out of his way, unless you feel like losing your neck."

" _No_!" Sam shouted abruptly, losing his already-short temper and startling Jamie and Crowley in the process. "There has to be a way!"

A little perturbed at the volume and the shouting, Crowley gave Sam a wan look. "Sorry, are your ears full of fluff or are you just that stupid? He's _God._ Cut your losses and _hide_." He looked between his two captors in complete impatience and huffed. "Can I go now, or—"

"I said _no_!" Sam snapped. He was standing at his fullest height and his eyes were sharp as daggers. Even though he was shaking from illness and felt like he was burning out of his skin with fever, he was of one furious, rage-driven mind. Crowley wasn't about to tell him there was no way to defeat or stop Cas. And Sam told him as much. "He has my _sister, y_ ou aren't getting out of here until you give me something! And if I have to _take it out of you_ , I will!"

Unintimidated, Crowley's eyes narrowed and looked Sam over closely—the wounds, the sweaty skin, the general look of disheveled illness. "Not doing so good, are you Sam-bo?" he asked softly. Ever the arrogant one, the demon let a smug smile play on his face. "Lost your doublemint and what, playing _Dean_ now with the torture threats?"

That comment set Sam off even further. With startling speed, he whipped out his demon blade and darted across the space separating himself from the demon and he grabbed Crowley by his scruff and held the knife into Crowley's neck hard enough to draw blood. Gone stiff and wide-eyed, the demon stared in shock. Sam was crazed and felt slightly insane. His voice was low and growling and he breathed hot breath into Crowley's startled face, letting his voice promise a bitter end if the demon tempted him that way. "Don't you ever fucking mention them to me again or I will take this knife and end your pathetic, _miserable_ existence right here and now," he threatened in a shaky, lethal growl.

Crowley abruptly simpered and smiled cajolingly, clearly very nervous for his life. "Forget I said anything," he said, putting on a very overly friendly and non-threatening tone. Sam let go with a hard shove and stepped out of the demon trap, leaving Crowley there to wrack his brain and come up with a way to save his own ass. Jamie glanced at Sam sidelong as Crowley cleared his throat delicately in thought. "Uh, so. Solution. Uh… an exorcism, perhaps?"

"…An exorcism for _souls_?" Jamie asked sharply, doubtful.

"I mean, why not?" Crowley asked, shrugging with an air of indifference. "Maybe that's a thing. I don't know. Would probably take some substantial muscle to pull off, though…"

"You're just trying to weasel your way out of here," Sam accused, his anger and his mental illness making him darker and darker.

Crowley didn't deny it and shrugged, pulled a face. "Look. I'd love to help, I would. I don't like the guy calling the shots anymore than you do, all right? But… um… I'm not seeing any alternatives. Unless, of course, you wanted to make a trade…?" He lifted his eyebrows meaningfully, that suggestive smile playing on his face. "Maybe smooch on it for luck?"

Sam's face went cold even as Jamie replied immediately. " _No_."

The King of Hell looked at her challengingly. "And just who made you the boss, legs?"

Jamie didn't answer the question, just looked up at Sam with a very forceful, assertive expression. " _No one_ is making any soul deals, understand?"

Sam said nothing, just looked down and let his eyes dart to Crowley briefly. The demon sighed impatiently. "Then I'm afraid I can't help," he said, glib and masking his distaste with a false, wan smile. He indicated the demon trap around his feet. "Now… if you'll be so kind?"

"I don't think so," Sam said in an even, dangerous voice. He wasn't about to let Crowley leave, especially since he didn't believe the demon really had no tricks up his sleeve or answers to give. Maybe it was just denial about how bad the situation was but either way, Sam wasn't about to let him walk. "Until you make yourself useful, you're gonna be hanging out with us."

Nervousness flared in Crowley's demeanor and his eyes skirted the devil's trap encircling him, but he still tried to act like he had a say in the matter. "Okay, look, I like the odd-trio pairing comedy as much as the next guy," he joked forcibly, "but really, think I'll pass."

Jamie folded her arms and leveled him with a quiet, calm smile. "You don't _get_ to pass, Men's Wearhouse."

At the mention of the cheap suit company, Crowley's jaw dropped. "This is _Prada_!" he fumed indignantly, then immediately pointed a threatening finger at Sam and glared at him. "I don't like her, Moose."

"This conversation is over," Jamie said authoratatively. She made a little motion with her fingers in the demon's general direction. Crowley's eyes bulged as his suit went from beautiful velvety black to gaudy orange with huge red polka dots on it. Jamie shrugged at his gaping expression. "Abracadabra," she deadpanned, obviously enjoying the demon's silent flustered shock at his appearance.

Sam hadn't known he had it in him after everything that had happened recently, but he was abruptly _grinning_ at the ridiculous sight. The best part was Crowley's feet were in huge _clown shoes_. "I _never_!" the demon shouted, appalled at his magical outfit change. At the amused grins leering at him, Crowley became threatening. "You change it _now_ or—"

" _Shhhhh_ ," Jamie said, and suddenly Crowley wasn't able to speak. His wide eyes bulged even wider and Jamie winked at him then turned away and discreetly wiped at her nose, anticipating a trickle of blood that was already creeping out of her left nostril. Sam's good spirits immediately fell but Jamie's expression said not to worry and her sidelong glance said it was no big deal. "Totally worth it," she said just low enough for them to hear. "Now let's get our sharp-dressed friend into some restraints, shall we?"

* * *

Unfortunately, that moment with Crowley was the only bright spot that Sam had in the days that followed. He and Jamie set to work tracking Cas down with Crowley gagged, bound, and in the back seat of Jamie's Tahoe. Thanks to devil's trap handcuffs and a few spells, he was stuck in place and Sam continued to pressure him daily for assistance. Crowley continued to deny he had anything to give and Sam would gag him again and try again the next day.

Using the news, Sam and Jamie tried to anticipate where Cas would appear next or they tried to get to where he'd just been. Cas left a trail of devastation wherever he went. There were massacres of religious leaders, dead angels found all over the earth (the news outlets didn't know what to make of dead bodies found with wings burned into the ground beneath them), destroyed churches and religious headquarters. And then came an even odder occurrence: reports of people who had been mute their entire lives had suddenly found themselves with the ability to speak. Therapeutic programs saw a sudden rush of new patients who had never been able to make sounds who had suddenly gained normally functioning vocal chords. And then, seemingly not connected, the media began to report a mysterious disappearance of all spiders in the US. Worries were that if all the spiders _had_ disappeared, insect population would increase and famine and diseases could become a deadly issue.

Sam knew it was all connected to Cas somehow and he and Jamie tried their damndest to get to him. But every time they got near to where Cas had been, he'd move halfway across the country or the world. There was no predicting where Cas would go or what he would do. Still, the two hunters tried their hardest and best to anticipate the angel-turned-God and _kept_ trying without giving up. Slowly and grudgingly, Sam found himself coming to like and appreciate Jamie more and more. He had been dead set against her when he'd first met her in recent times because he knew who her brother was and what her brother had done to Alex. But after _this_ , it didn't matter who she was related to anymore. Sam saw who she was, and she was a good person. He couldn't argue with that fact after her true character was revealed to him. She was long-suffering, smart, patient, and dependable. And Sam didn't think he could have made it without her. He was a lot more grateful than he let on.

But other than the camaraderie and help Jamie brought, life was bad. Sam barely slept. He hallucinated Hell continuously. Meathooks, chains, physical agony, fire—it kept suddenly bleeding into real life and he'd forget that it wasn't real and panic, have a blind anxiety attack, and come to with Jamie shaking him out of it. It was humiliating and terrifying to not be able to tell what was real and what wasn't. After having recalled every horrible year spent in Hell with Lucifer torturing him continuously, Sam felt run over and emotionally agonized past capacity. Every part of his life was hell—the hallucinations, the reality that Dean and Bobby's frozen corpses were in Jamie's trunk, the fact that Alex was being dragged around by Cas in a white dress being made to do who-knows-what. Every time Sam saw her on the news or heard people talking about 'the woman in white' he wanted to break down and give up because nothing was working and he wasn't saving her and he didn't know if he'd be able to either. And that feeling of powerlessness combined with the desperate need to help her broke him. Tortured him. Defeated him. He began to drink like his brother did and he tried to escape his own mind to no avail. It was only a week or so that they had been hunting Cas, but it felt like an _eternity._

And then, one night in a motel room while Jamie was out getting something from the car, it went to a whole new level of unthinkably horrible.

Sam was scouring news articles online, trying to establish a pattern for Cas and figure out where he might appear next when he heard the door open. He looked up and over his laptop, expecting to see Jamie. And then he saw his _sister_ and his heart dropped and he gasped out loud and ran to her, knocking his chair over in the process. "Alex?!"

How and why didn't matter. All he knew was she had just walked in the door and he was crushing her to himself in a huge bear hug as he shut his eyes tight, shaking hard from sudden adrenaline. "Alex! Oh my god!" He realized she didn't hug him back at all and quickly pulled back and held her by the arms, trying to see if she was okay. And then he realized something was really, really wrong about her. Her expression was sort of coy and triumphant and she was wearing a strange outfit—a revealing black sparkling corset and a leather mini skirt, fishnet stockings, deep red lipstick, thick black eyeliner, spiky black heels. Wait. This… this wasn't her. "What—" he started, suddenly fearing the worst. "No," he breathed, recognizing this version of his sister and feeling _sick_ to see it again. She smiled at him like his protest was cute. He shrank back from her. "No," he said louder. _Please not this_. Remembering it had been bad enough, he didn't want to _live_ it. " _No_. You're not here. Y-you're in Hell."

 _Lucifer_ smiled using Alex's appearance. "You sure about that?" she whispered, crowding close to him and making Sam cringe. "You look kinda uncertain about that, kiddo." She looked up at him and smiled suggestively. "You miss me?"

"Get _away._ " He pushed her away and shook his head, squinted his eyes shut, tried to make it all go away. "Meat hooks... chains... _y_ _ou_. It's, it's not real. It's just my brain leaking memories from the cage 'cause of the wall breaking down." He repeated it over and over in his head. _This is just another hallucination._ "I'm _fine_. You're not _here_."

Lucifer feigned patronizing thoughtfulness and it was insulting to see that on Alex's face. "Hmm. That's very good, your little theory, big brother." She grinned at the way he was visibly stricken at the brother dig. " _But_ , it's _wrong_. Sam, this isn't you going guano." She winced as if in sympathy. "Everything _else_ is. From the second you sprung out of that lock box." She paused, pretended to be thinking. "Which, um, by the way… you _didn_ _'_ _t._ "

Sam's heart clenched. "T-that's impossible," he stammered breathlessly, but he was wondering if it were true at the same time.

There was a chilling, soft little laugh. "No… _e_ _scaping_ was impossible. I have to say, I think this is my best torture yet—make you believe that you're free and then yank the wool off of your eyes…? Make you lose your entire family? Watch you believe every second of it? Gold star for me." She sauntered closer as Sam backed up until the backs of his legs hit the bed. "You never left, Sam. You're still in the cage... with _me_." She indicated herself, then suddenly her appearance changed to that of Nick, the man who had played vessel to Lucifer first. "And me." And then, finally, his visage changed to none other than Sam. "And _me_."

Sam shrank back from himself, feeling his throat close up in panic. "No…"

Lucifer smiled easily using Sam's face, and dimples showed. "Say no all you want, doesn't change a thing, Sam."

And then his hand came and suddenly squeezed Sam by the front of the neck hard, cutting off his air supply. Fighting to stay mind over matter, Sam fought it tooth and nail. "You're not real!" he insisted, trying to pry strong fingers off his throat as he gasped for air. But it sure as hell _felt_ real. Sam was getting woozy as those fingers tightened and tightened. He was bending backwards over the bed slowly, losing the fight.

" _Right,_ " Lucifer said, smirking leeringly. "You think this fruit-bat _fever dream_ is reality?" Sam was now laying on the bed as Lucifer held him there easily and breathed down on him with snake-like hisses. "Sam, Sam, Sam. Some witch you don't know from a hole in the wall helps you out of the goodness of her own heart? You come back, I'm sorry, with no soul like some peppy American Psycho, till Saint Dean glues you back together again by buying you some magic amnesia? _Sam_. You're smarter than that. Come on." Sam's vision was going gray as Lucifer's hand clamped down harder still on his windpipe. He leaned closer still, whispering for chilling effect, his face right in Sam's. "You're real. I'm very real. Everything else… is what we call set dressing."

Barely audible, Sam managed to wheeze out a protest. "No, stop, _stop_ —"

"Stop? I'm just getting _started_. You're still in my cell. You're my bunkmate, buddy. You're my little bi-iiiitch, in every sense of the term. And guess what?" Lucifer's appearance changed back to Alex and she let go of his throat, smoothed her hands over his shoulders instead in a touch that felt _wrong_. "I wanna go over those plans for the future with you again…" there was a cruel smirk playing on her face at his horror.

Sam scrambled backwards on the bed, trying to escape the touches. "No, _no_!"

Lucifer smiled, not seeming worried that Sam had gotten away by a few feet. Alex sauntered over slowly around the corner of the bed. "Aww, being _coy_. So cute when you try and play hard to get," her voice purred and she bent over him, yanked him up by the shirt and grabbed his chin in her other hand with superhuman strength. He was being forced to look at her and the look in those eyes terrified him. "Come on, Sammy," she said, petting the side of his face. "Stop being a stick in the mud."

"Get off me!" he shouted, thrashing in the iron grip. "You're not her! You're not real!"

Lucifer just laughed, a screaming, banshee kind of laugh that seemed to distort in Sam's ears. He tried to get away and smacked her in the face hard a couple times with flailing arms. He heard her saying his name. "Sam. Sam." And then he realized it wasn't Lucifer leaning over him. It was someone with pale blue eyes and blonde hair. " _Sam_!" she shouted, shaking him out of it.

Sam was out of breath and disoriented. "Jamie?!" His eyes darted around wildly in search of anything from his hallucinations, but they were gone. _Is this real?_ He didn't know anymore. He couldn't differentiate. He heard Jamie ask him something and he looked at her dumbly, seeing how she was trying to help him but was afraid. There was an indistinct red line across one of her cheeks and he realized he'd smacked _her_ in the face during his hallucination and his stomach sank. Maybe she _should_ be afraid. Maybe _everyone_ should be afraid. He had felt Lucifer in him and seen the world destroyed through himself. Sam had seen terrible, unthinkable things done to his sister _by him_ for all those years in Hell and he was so briefly out of his mind that all he could do was stutter: "I—I—I'm _sorry_ —" then he abruptly pushed her aside and ran out of that motel room with no idea of where he was going except _away_. Where he couldn't hurt anyone else.

The next morning, he woke up in an alleyway with no memory of how he got there or what he had done the night before. He was several miles from where he'd been before and was left to feel afraid that what Lucifer said was true. That none of this was real. But wouldn't that be a _good_ thing? That would mean that his brother and sister were alive and that the agony he felt at their deaths and captivity was falsified. But it would also mean he was still in the cage. He didn't know _what_ to believe and he felt like nothing mattered anymore. In his heart of hearts, he believed that this hell where his family was dead was the real thing. He didn't even want to believe it. But somehow, he knew. This was the real thing. It had to be.

Sam found his way back to the motel and Jamie wasn't there—she must have been out on foot looking for him—and so Sam dragged Crowley into the motel room from her SUV and with renewed desperation and anger, demanded answers and help, a way to defeat Cas. When the demon insisted he had nothing even under very severe torture, Sam got a crazy dangerous idea. Desperate times called for desperate measures, and in a moment of lunacy, he did what he said he'd never do ever again because the only thought that he cared about anymore was _save Alex. Kill Castiel._

* * *

Jamie returned to the motel room after a several-hour on-foot search of the local area. No Sam to be found and she was worried, worn out, frazzled. This was insane. She was all out _exhausted_ from the past nine days and getting really apprehensive about continuing. She definitely agreed that Cas had to be stopped (he was leaving so many people dead who didn't need to be and causing so many problems that needed to end), but Sam was getting worse and worse and Jamie really felt like if he didn't get some kind of professional help soon, he might never be able to recover at all. It felt like fighting the tide, doing this with Sam—he wasn't in good enough shape to continue to rescue effort and he was going to destroy himself in the process. As much as Jamie wanted to help, she was out of her element here. She knew no spells to help Sam beyond how she'd helped already (speeding his broken arm up in the healing process, for one… he was almost all better now). She was out of ideas and out of her element and so _so_ tired.

She shuffled up the sidewalk to the motel glumly, deciding that if Sam didn't show up that day she would have to cut and run. Guilt immediately settled onto her at that thought. She didn't leave comrades out in the dark. That wasn't her style. How could she leave Sam _alone_? How could she just let him wander off half out of his mind and mentally unstable? She _couldn_ _'_ _t_. Even though she selfishly wanted to leave and be done with this, her deepest convictions stubbornly insisted _too bad_ _—_ she was in it a penny for a pound. No leaving allowed until a solution. And anyway, what _else_ did she have to do? Where would she go if she ditched Sam? Her life was a joke overall. Hunting was all she did or had. And hunting had lost its sparkle, its allure. This mattered with Sam. It mattered. But that didn't make it any less difficult.

As a kid, Jamie never would have imagined her life winding up the way it had. As a little girl, imagination and make-believe had been her escape and she remembered daydreaming of a golden, happy future: being a mommy and living a happy life with a family all of her own someday. She'd hid in the attic of her childhood home, pretended she was someone else, sang sweet little songs to her dolls as her mother raged downstairs in yet another fight with her father. She'd gotten pretty good at pretending she couldn't hear the domestic disturbances… the screaming, the shouting, the breaking glass, the crying, the foul words. When Erin had been alive, Jamie had made it her life to make sure her little sister saw and heard as little of all that as possible—it really upset little Erin's tender heart. Glen had never seemed affected either way by the fights—in fact, they almost interested him. Then Erin died and Jamie had been left to herself to ignore and sidestep all the violent emotionally abusive things that went on in her home. A home with pristine shining marble floors, beautiful artwork, expensive and lavish decorations. It was picture perfect and it was hell on earth. Emotionless, empty, loveless. Jamie didn't miss it one fucking bit, _ever._

As Jamie unlocked the motel room door, she thought of how she was _still_ good at pretending not to notice things that really, truly bothered her, even when they were right in her face screaming at full volume. Sometimes her ability to not react got her scared that she was fated to turn out like everyone else in her family: psychopathic, cruel, destructive, murderous. Sometimes, she was almost _glad_ she was going to die soon so that she never lived long enough to find out if she was a villain deep down. But most days, she just wanted to live, and to live that life she'd pictured: a simple life at home with children and a husband who loved her—just a happy, useless life of domestic bliss. It was such a _joke_ to want that stuff. Jamie knew that. It was a fantasy. No one had a beautiful or happy life in reality. No one she'd ever met, anyway. She pushed it all out of her mind unhappily and walked into the dank, musty motel room, tired and downtrodden, discouraged in every way.

She shut the door behind her, then promptly started in surprise when she saw Sam sitting on the bed. His face was _bloody_ and he was bent over his knees as if in thought or prayer. The room was thick with the heavy, metallic scent of blood. His hands were clasped together and he didn't acknowledge her when she came in. "W-what happened?!" Jamie asked, hurrying toward him for fear of injury then coming up short because her instincts suddenly raised red flags and told her to be careful. The blood was smeared mostly on his lower face, but she realized she couldn't see any actual wounds. And something about the way he sat so stonily was _wrong_.

"Crowley got away," Sam said quietly. Too quietly. Jamie stood back, cautious. How? How did Crowley get away? She saw lots of blood now that she was looking—dribbled onto the carpet, splattered on one end of the bed—and Jamie wondered—had Sam _killed_ Crowley? Sometimes Sam appeared to be like a scared little boy. Other times, Jamie thought she should be scared of him because there was this dark, dangerous glint he got in his eyes. In this moment? She felt afraid of him. He was too calm, too quiet, and the blood everywhere was sort of terrifying. "She needs help," Sam continued evenly, not looking at Jamie. He sounded reflective, glazed over. "So I… I did what might help. Because I can't take this anymore. Gotta do something. Gotta try it."

"Try _what_?" Jamie asked in a strained voice, stuck in place where she stood a few paces off.

Sam shook his head, appearing to be a rueful and resigned. "I thought if… if souls could maybe be exorcised, I could do it. Maybe. If I can take away his power, if I can make him an angel again… I can kill him." Sam looked up at Jamie then, and his eyes seemed darker than usual. "I used to be able to kill demons," he said softly, his expression something between worried and determined. "Maybe I can kill more than that."

Jamie tried to make heads or tails of him, but she had zero idea what Sam meant. "I'm sorry, I have no _clue_ what you're saying right now."

Sam's jaw clenched and his eyes fell from hers to stare blankly into middle distance. "I… I… the blood. Demon blood. It… it makes me stronger."

Jamie suddenly understood and her eyes bulged. "You _drank_ the King of Hell?"

Sam shrugged just barely. "A little."

"A _little_?!" she echoed incredulously. Well, today had just gotten a _lot_ more interesting… she'd heard of this before, people drinking demon's blood. And she was pretty frankly taken aback to hear what Sam was saying.

Sam was still quiet. "This is my only shot. Nothing can kill this guy—Cas or not, I dunno who he is. All I know is nothing can touch him. But—but maybe my curse, the abilities Azazel put into me… maybe they can finally do something _good_." He looked up at her, and those eyes held determined, broken pain Jamie couldn't fathom. She didn't understand what he was talking about, the name Azazel was new to her. She almost thought Sam was talking to himself at this point. "I don't care what it takes. I'm saving her. I'm saving my brother, my uncle, my sister. If it's the last thing I do." He shook his head and looked away, becoming teary-eyed. "My life wasn't supposed to _be_ like this." He was definitely talking to himself now. "I was supposed to be married to Jess and maybe I'd be a _dad_ by now… m-my mom shouldn't have died, my dad was supposed to live… my brother, my sister…" his face crumpled and contorted and he looked down at his hands, which Jamie could see had more demon blood on them as he unclasped them and observed the palms through his tears. "I can't let it end like this. I _won_ _'_ _t_. I'm n-not supposed to be the one who survives." _Oh Sam_. His words were killing her because she knew exactly how he felt and it was like he was saying exactly what she felt about her own life. He stood up slowly, then very dejectedly wiped his bloody palms on a towel he had beside him. For a minute, he was grim and hard and silent. Then he spoke to her without looking her way. "I'll understand if you don't wanna be around me after this. I'm… I'm a freak." He began to clean off his face.

That statement was an out. It was an invitation to go ahead and leave guilt-free. And Jamie barely considered it even though she was still pretty shaken up. After all, she knew about being a freak. About feeling guilty for surviving. About wanting to do something meaningful with a life that already felt over. About taking the curse put on you and trying to do something with it. In that moment, even though she was surprised, she felt passionately on Sam's side and didn't want him to be down on himself. Empathy was winning out. She didn't want him to feel _alone_ —she knew what being alone was like and couldn't leave him out in the wind. The big heart she tried to hide and cram down inside her own chest wouldn't let her walk away. "We've _all_ done some freaky shit to try and get a job done, Sam," she said, knowing that was true for her at least. "I'm not judging you."

Her words visibly shocked him and his eyes snapped to hers. "But I drank _demon blood._ "

She shrugged—yeah that was actually kind of freaky as shit, but she didn't have time to judge him for it at the moment. "And I like trashy reality TV," she half-joked. "We all have our dirty little secrets."

"…Seriously?" Sam asked, looking suddenly hopeful and relieved and so surprised she wasn't leaving and condemning him. That made it worth it for her. Him looking so touched. Jamie's heart, the one she wanted to stay put and not get attached to anyone else, felt like it was going out of her chest to him and she couldn't pull it back. After the past week plus with Sam, they had definitely become something like friends and honestly, in some moments, she'd felt like he could have been the brother Glen had never been for her. She'd always wanted Glen to be all the things Sam had proven to be: caring, loyal, genuine. Even though Sam was going through hell, even though he was barely standing on one emotional leg, he'd proven to be ten times the man and person Glen had been. Sam was literally willing to do _anything_ to save his family, and she saw that and could appreciate it, demon blood or not.

"I… I kinda get what you mean about being the survivor," she said, trying to help him understand she got the lengths Sam was willing to go to for his family and appreciated them even if they were unconventional and sort of iffy. In fact, she thought had their roles been reversed, she would do the same. Anything it took. "I'm the only one left of my family…" she murmured, thinking of Erin, the one she thought could have made it through and been okay, normal, and well-adjusted. "And I dunno… I always thought my little sister should have—that if I could have traded places with her with what happened, I would have. No questions asked. Because… she… she wasn't supposed to die." Jamie was the one talking to herself now, off in her own thoughts. Sam frowned slightly. He didn't know about Erin. Not many people did. That was a story for another time. With a self-conscious a-hem, Jamie refocused the conversation, a little embarrassed about how she'd just volunteered deeply personal stuff without thinking. "So you uh, you really think this demon blood thing could work?" It sounded dangerous. Jamie had never heard of people drinking demon blood and living for very long. It was basically like meth—she'd heard that you felt really good for a little while then the substance started killing you and destroying your life and body after you were good and addicted.

Sam shook his head blankly. "I dunno what _else_ could."

Hesitating, Jamie's voice softened cautiously. "What will it do to you? Like, long run?"

Sam's handsome face was tense and grim. "I dunno," he said, seeming chagrinned. "Haven't thought that far ahead."

Jamie was worried about him again. Wasn't it enough that he was losing his mind? He had to add possible drug-addiction to his plate? But she wasn't in a position to tell Sam what he could and couldn't put in his body. She resigned herself, for now, to just letting him do what he would. "Desperate times, right?"

A humorless, sad little smile struggled on Sam's face. "That's… putting it lightly." He looked at her with very vulnerable, open eyes, and he didn't mask his deeply emotional tone. "Gotta say, I'm kind of shocked you're still here. I mean, most people would have cut and run a _long_ time ago."

His expression made Jamie so uncomfortable. She kept the mood light by shrugging and pulling a face, trying to brush it off as nothing. " _Ah_ ," she said in a tone of exaggerated mildness, "Had a few free days on the calendar."

Sam's expression hadn't changed—he was looking at her like he appreciated her and was thankful, and she could barely handle it. "You're a _good person_ , Jamie," he said genuinely, and the way he said that made her chest clench up and emotions spike. "I, I mean it. Just… thank you. For everything. Don't think I could have made it without you, honestly." He looked a little embarrassed to admit that.

Jamie felt her neck burning hot. She _wasn_ _'_ _t_ a good person. His thank you was too much and she became curt and hard in an attempt to look less affected. "Yeah. It's no problem. I uh, gotta get something out of the car, okay?" She turned around and went right out the door, got into her car, and sat in the front seat of the Tahoe and held the wheel with both hands, just tried to breathe and focus. Her emotions were close to the surface and threatening to break free. Would a _good person_ have let her brother nearly rape the best friend she had, Alex? Would a _good person_ want to leave Sam and ditch this impossible, miserable hunt? Would a _good person_ deserve what Samuel Campbell did to her in the dark? Would a _good person_ deserve to be tricked and schemed into losing her soul, going to Hell, and dying alone? Would a _good person_ feel so dead and numb inside, so scared shitless, while acting like she had it together outwardly? Jamie knew what she was. She was a waste of space, not good enough. Her mother's words to her, said so many years ago, echoed in her mind and belittled her, shamed her, made her feel second, third, _fourth_ best.

Jamie looked up and forced her emotions down, sniffed and dabbed at her eyes, refusing to let that woman have more say in how she felt. She'd spent long enough living underneath her mother's fist. It was crazy how years after Caroline Ward's death, Jamie was still trying to escape that nagging, shaming voice. Forcing the thoughts away, Jamie's gaze accidentally went to the rearview mirror and she caught sight of Dean laid across the back seat, frosty and quiet and dead. She was surprised and saddened at the sight of him there, though she didn't know why. The frost was fading and she realized she needed to cast the spell again on him and Bobby both. Her chest twisted a little and the emotions she was trying to press down got stronger—she wished she knew a way to bring him back or change this. But maybe there _wasn_ _'_ _t_ a way. The silence crushed her and she sat back in her seat, slumping slightly as she thought, thought, _thought_. "I'm way outta my element here Dean," she said softly, shaking her head as her eyes traveled the space in front of herself unseeingly. "I don't feel right, telling Sam to stop. But the demon blood… seems dangerous. Would you let him do that? Christ. What am I supposed to do, huh?" She suddenly laughed at herself, tired and harrowed and realizing how far gone she was. "God," she muttered. "This is _insane_. And I'm in here talking to the _dead_ guy." She threw a hand out and let it slap down onto her leg and she stared out her window unseeingly, trying to dig deep and center herself, get mentally strong.

She thought about how she could have started up that car and driven away and never seen Sam ever again. Walked away from this situation and just done her own thing. That would be easier, not to care or worry about him and his family. But after a couple minutes, Jamie gathered herself and went back in. She'd been abandoned so many times that she couldn't stand to be the one who abandoned. Especially not Sam.

* * *

That same night, Sam and Jamie set to work trying to find a demon nest for Sam to get more demon blood from even as they tried to guess where Cas might show up next.

Sam tried every method that had ever worked in the past for establishing a pattern or a radius, but Cas's seemingly random reign of terror was appearing to be more and more certainly random… which meant there was little to no way of actually tracking him or predicting him. Either way, Sam was determined to find him somehow and he was determined to be ready for it too. He told Jamie that he needed to drain several demons and store their blood for drinking whenever they found Cas. He only hoped that the psychic powers the blood activated could do something, _anything_ against Cas once they found him. Jamie was obviously uncomfortable and uncertain about the entire thing, but she didn't argue. Sam didn't know if he appreciated her being respectful of his decision or if he wished she could go Dean-style on him and punch him in the face and tell him he was being a moron. Without his big brother there, Sam didn't feel as sure of himself or his choices. Jamie put trust into him, however wary. And that was different for Sam. His dad had never fully trusted him, his siblings hadn't either, or it had never _felt_ like that anyway.

After awhile of trying in vain to establish a pattern trace for Cas, Sam gave up and then Jamie told Sam she had to do the freezing spell on Bobby and Dean again because it was wearing out. To make the spell casting optimal, Sam hauled their bodies into the motel room under the cover of darkness and then unfortunately had another panic attack right after laying Bobby down beside Dean on the bed—but at this point, he almost _preferred_ the flames and pain to seeing Lucifer possessing a twisted, over-sexualized version of his sister.

When Jamie shook Sam out of his torment, he was exhausted and emotionally bereft and shaking from low blood sugar. Jamie saw that and went to get him a granola bar and then realized they were completely out of food. Almost as soon as she walked out of the motel room to go get some groceries, Sam's phone rang.

He was slumped in a cheap motel chair at the little kitchen table and his eyes slid to the phone. He didn't want to answer. He didn't care who it was. He just wanted _rest,_ and _sleep,_ and something _good_ in this hellhole of a life. But some sixth sense, some intuition told him to answer the call even though he didn't want to. Grudgingly, he picked up the phone and squinted at the readout. The incoming call was from a number he didn't recognize. He answered tiredly. "Hello?"

" _Sam_!"

 _That voice._ Sam sat up straight, his heart suddenly pumping a million miles an hour. "Alex!?"

He heard a shuddering breath on the other end, like she was almost crying. " _Yeah_."

Relief and terror alike ripped through Sam, who was on his feet and wasn't sure when he'd gotten there. "Oh my god, are you okay?! Did you get away? Where are you? Are you hurt?!"

He hung on anxiously for her answer, which was sort of forced. He could hear that she was suppressing great amounts of anxiety and upset feelings. "I'm—I'm okay," she said. Sam didn't buy it and felt like he could have jumped out of skin from the anxiousness he felt. "Cas is here with me, um, he's… he's not…" her voice weakened and Sam strained to hear her. "He's not doing good. But, he, he broke through and got control of himself again, so—I mean—I…"

She trailed off, leaving Sam confused and angry and scared. "Where are you?" he asked tersely. He imagined Cas hovering over her and Alex scared and small near him and Sam couldn't allow it for one _second_ longer. The threat of tears in her unstable voice was making every big brother hackle raise up and every instinct clamber to lay his eyes on her and verify that she was all right. "I'm coming to get you _right_ _now._ "

"No, no," Alex said, and she sounded tired, distracted, so harrowed. "We're coming to where you are. I just wanted to tell you he's not—he's not dangerous anymore. He's… he's gonna fix Dean and Bobby and then put the souls back into Purgatory, Sam, he's promised. Just don't hurt him, Sam, _please_."

Bristling immediately at the request, Sam bit back an enraged 'like hell' and instead made himself sound calm. "Yeah. No. I won't." But he _would_. For every time Sam had caught sight of Alex, blurry and grainy on the news in the background looking afraid and sick. For every fucked up thing Cas had done to the Winchester family. For every day that Cas had dragged Sam's sister around and kept her prisoner. And then Sam suddenly had a twisted, sickening thought hit him. What if Alex had been _willing_? What if Cas had brainwashed her? What if she had Stockholm syndrome? Sam didn't have more time to really think about it. In front of him, in the motel room, Cas and Alex appeared out of nowhere, and Sam was taken aback momentarily, frozen in place. His phone slowly fell from his ear in his hand as he stared agape, unable to believe it.

Cas was bloodied and looked near death—his face had strange marks all over it, rashes almost, his clothes were bloody and he leaned heavily onto Alex who was supporting him as best she could with a pained, emotionally haggard face. She was no longer in a white dress. She was in street clothes. She looked physically fine but emotionally at a breaking point, and Sam's heart shot straight up out of him in relief and anxiety alike as his eyes flooded completely.

Cas reached out and supported himself against the wall next to himself as brother and sister rushed to each other and into a fierce, hard embrace. She had been dead the last time he saw her, _dead_ and gone and Sam sobbed loudly from relief as he held her so tight he could have hurt her. But she was grabbing him just as tight and crying too. She was _alive_ and this was _her_ and Sam had never been so happy in all of his entire goddamn life. He heard a muffled "Sammy" from her voice—her face was buried in his chest—and he grabbed her by the back of the head, held her there hard as his arms tightened even more, unwilling to let go of her at all ever again.

Cas watched, a guilty and pained expression on his face as the twins cried loudly and held onto each other for a very long moment with eyes shut tight and arms clamped hard around each other. Both had thought they might never see each other again and it was very obvious from the embrace. Abruptly, Sam opened his eyes and took her by the arms, pulled back far enough to look her in the eyes. "You're _really_ okay?" he asked anxiously, eyes flickering all over her in an earnest search for anything even slightly wrong.

She looked just as worried about him as he was about her. "Yeah," she said, nodding a few tense times as she searched his eyes like he searched hers. "Are _you_?"

He almost laughed for joy at her question. "Forget me," he said, grinning through his tears and squishing her to his chest again tightly, so glad she was alive and here where he could keep her safe. Finally, _finally_. And with that single thought, he remembered Cas and looked up as he still held Alex. His smile fell and his happiness soured.

The beaten and disheveled angel (or whatever the hell he was) was sagging against a wall nearby and guiltily dodging Sam's gaze. Without warning, Sam suddenly felt that long-suppressed anger rush him internally—and every fury he had saved up suddenly burst out of him and he let go of Alex and abruptly rushed and attacked Cas, grabbing him by a fistful of shirt and cracking his fist into Castiel's face repeatedly, wildly, brutally, over and over and over again. His rage only grew more and more maniacal and Cas did nothing to fight him off. He accepted the blows and staggered underneath them woozily, falling back onto one of the beds as Sam hammered his fist into his face over and over, each blow payment for what had happened and what Cas had done. Sam felt someone pulling on him and in his fit of rage, he realized Alex was crying out protests, trying to pull him off of Cas. "Sam stop! _Stop_! Don't hurt him!" she screeched in panic.

Incredulous and angry, out of breath, Sam stopped to give his sister a riled up stare. "What, like he didn't hurt _you_? Hurt _Dean_?! Hurt _Bobby_?!" He thought his words would remind her of reality but all Alex did was shake her head no and look at Cas like she was worried to death.

Sam couldn't _believe_ her. She was _defending_ him, she wedged herself between Sam and Cas and was carefully trying to help Cas sit back up. With labored and shallow breaths, Cas managed to speak feebly despite his failing state. "I'm… going to fix it Sam. As best I can." The guy looked sorry enough to move mountains, but it did nothing for Sam except piss him off more. "I know what I've done is unforgivable."

"You're damn right it's unforgivable!" Sam snapped, so mad he could have killed Castiel right then and there. But he made himself take a deep breath then he did the only thing he could think of and grabbed Alex by the shoulder her her shirt and pulled her away from Cas, left the angel slumping in a sit on the bed.

Sam took his sister aside, to the further part of the room, and went from angry with her to desperate for answers and emotionally wretched. He could tell Alex was not okay, he could tell she'd been through hell, and he had to know how to protect her and how to make it better. "What did he do to you?" he asked in a low, urgent whisper. "Did he hurt you? _Tell me._ " Was mind control involved? Brainwashing? What had Cas _done_ to her?

Alex looked away toward Cas and shrugged her mouth downwards, trying to appear fine and looking like she was about to cry instead. "No. No, I'm—I'm fine."

Sam didn't believe that. "No you're _not,_ " he insisted, agonized. "You're _not fine._ What did he do? Alex, you can _tell me,_ " he pleaded.

She wouldn't look at her brother. "It… it wasn't him," she said faintly, and Sam's skin crawled, went cold, his stomach turned. "It was… it was the others."

"The others?" Sam asked, sick with alarm and fearing the worst about what these 'others' had done.

Alex watched Cas in what looked like worry. "Leviathan and Behemoth, I think." She sounded kind of automatic and robotic. "The souls from Purgatory." Her eyebrows were suddenly screwing up together and her expression indicated that she was trying not to lose composure. Her eyes were filling with tears. "Cas—Cas saved me, Sam. That's all you need to know."

Sam studied her in ill confusion. "Saved you from _what_?" She made no reply and Sam wet his lips, appealing to her desperately. "Alex—I'm your _brother_. You can tell me."

Alex's eyes met his and she was trying very hard to be strong. Sam could tell, and that's what hurt him even more. "Right now it's not important. Right now I _can_ _'_ _t_."

Sam's heart ached in his chest and he didn't want to know while he desperately wanted to know at the same time. On the bed, Cas watched silently with pained features as Sam became tender with his sister and hugged her again, shaking from adrenaline and shock and every emotion he was feeling at the moment. At least she was alive. They could pick up the pieces later. "I was so _worried_ about you," he said, his quiet voice trembling with the threat of tears. "I was so sick about where you were and if you were okay." He thought of Lucifer, of Hell, of the hundreds of appalling visions he'd remembered concerning Alex… and he felt guilt-stricken, dirty, low, miserable. He felt sudden revulsion for himself and couldn't hold her without feeling a creeping self-loathing and shame. His arms slackened around her and he thought maybe he shouldn't be anywhere near her. "You know I would never let anyone hurt you, right?" he asked, getting more and more upset. "I d-don't want you to get hurt, ever. Not by Cas, not by, by _me_ —not by _anyone_."

Alex was mildly taken aback by the severity he used and the way he mentioned himself. She squinted at him then put a hand onto his forehead then cheek, frowning deeply. "Sam, you're… you're burning up," she said softly, very worried. "What's happening with you? Are you sick?"

Sam shook his head several times over. Now he was the one dodging clear answers. "It doesn't matter," he said, brushing it aside and not wanting to even admit to how bad off he was. "I'm… I'm just glad you're okay. Everything else is just details."

Alex opened her mouth to argue with him probably, but she didn't get to speak. Cas's soft, unsteady voice interrupted them. "I'm—I'm sorry but—if we don't do this soon, I may become unable," he said, breathing heavily and looking at the twins with a labored expression.

He meant bring back Dean and Bobby. Sam's demeanor darkened predictably as he addressed Cas. "Then do it," he said stiffly, nodding at the bed where Dean and Bobby were laid. Alex hadn't noticed them there yet and when she did, she went still and her face showed absolute horror as her eyes went to Dean's dead body. A hand went to her mouth as her composure crumpled without anything further. Sam was so angry she had to see this and he put an arm around her tightly as she sobbed into her hand and ducked her face into his side to avoid looking at Dean and Bobby any longer. Cas was doing nothing and Sam's anger peaked. "Any day now Cas," he said in a hard, rude voice.

Cas hadn't moved toward the corpses. "I… I can't walk," he admitted, obviously ashamed.

Beside Sam, Alex wiped her face and in what in any other situation might have been bravery and strength she made to go to Cas and help him. _Oh hell no._ Sam immediately swiped his arm out, preventing his sister from going anywhere near Cas. " _Stay back,_ " he warned her.

Her eyes showed surprise and anxiety at his sudden brusque tone and demeanor. " _Sam_ —" she protested.

He didn't let her speak. " _No_. I don't want you near him ever again." Sam gave her no chance to argue with him. He went and yanked Cas roughly to his feet and manhandled him over to where Dean and Bobby laid silent and dead. As they moved, Sam felt Cas's hand close around his wrist and when he did that, Sam's every ache and pain was suddenly gone—and surprised, Sam looked at Cas, whose slightly disfigured face showed contrition, regret, and pain. "I… I can't… do anything more for you," the angel said quietly, his eyes genuine and begging for forgiveness. "Sam, I'm so sorry."

Gruff, Sam tried not to look like he cared either way about the gesture. Cas had broken his _mind_ _—_ fixing a few cuts and scrapes didn't make it right. Cas frowned at him, picking up on something, his eyes squinting up just slightly. "Have… have you been drinking _demon blood_?" he questioned softly.

A few feet away, Alex's face went slack, her mouth gaped open, and Sam dodged her horrified stare. Caught out, he swallowed and kept his face hard. "Yeah," he answered Cas, laying on the guilt trip. "To try and give me enough power to _kill_ you."

Cas's features were crestfallen and his shoulders slumped. He looked at the dead bodies before him, then his eyes scanned a vague, blank path ahead of himself as a sickened expression like grief made his face look jaded beyond compare. "Oh Sam," he said softly in a voice that was broken. "I… this is all my fault."

Sam felt a twinge of empathy without his own permission and squashed it down. Cas didn't deserve anything except to die at this point as far as Sam was concerned. It didn't matter how much he regretted it, dammit. This _was_ Cas's fault. He _should_ feel bad.

Cas bent and touched Bobby first, and the very faint layer of frost on him disappeared as his eyes snapped open and he gasped loudly and sat up with wide eyes, a hand flying to cover his heart as he looked around in confusion. "…Lord almighty, what'n tarnation just happened…?" he breathed, momentarily appearing to think he was dreaming.

"I'm so sorry, Bobby," Cas said somberly, then nodded at Sam, who roughly and rudely jerked Cas over to the other side of the bed where Dean laid.

Bobby tried to stand up and wobbled a little, sat back down. "Guess my sea legs need some work," he muttered, clearly very confused, especially when Alex barreled into him and hugged him tight. "This… this really happening?" he asked, confused and obviously unsure if it was too good to be true or not. He hugged her briefly, uncertainly, looking at her then Sam for answers. Alex was silent and tearful, looking at her dead brother in supreme worry and sickened hope.

"Fill you in later," Sam said tersely from the other side of the bed. Bobby and Alex watched as Cas reached down and touched Dean and called him back to life.

At the touch of Cas's hand, Dean's still chest suddenly rose as his eyes opened and he blinked at the ceiling several times, his expression working oddly as he caught sight of Cas and Sam in disoriented confusion. "What… what happened?" he asked slowly, seeming surprised to find himself alive and staring up at his brother and the angel. Sam said nothing—his face crumpled and he pulled Dean up into a sit and hugged the life out of him as Cas stumbled back and supported himself weakly against the bedside table.

"Whoa, whoa, _ouch_ ," Dean complained good naturedly at Sam's vice-like embrace, patting Sam on the back mildly in good sport. "Ease up little brother." He chuckled slightly and Sam let go, leaving Dean sitting on the edge of the bed and obviously in momentary amnesia about the current situation. Dean had his back to Bobby and Alex and sat on the edge of the bed facing Sam and Cas. He stood slowly, grunting. "Geez, what the hell?" he asked, discovering his very stiff and semi-atrophied limbs. And then he clearly remembered everything and his expression went cold and horrified and he looked at Cas with suddenly wide eyes. "Wait… _wait_. You—you _killed_ me! You killed…" he trailed off, unable to finish, then he saw that Sam and Cas were both looking over his shoulder. Dean turned around and looked where their gazes were. On Alex, who'd stood up and was watching him in disbelief and relief alike, like she was afraid it wasn't real at all and if she moved she'd break the moment. Dean's face went slack at the sight of her. " _Oh my god,_ " he uttered softly, too shocked to move for a minute. His voice was just above a whisper, he looked like he didn't know if he could believe her being there or not. "You real?" he breathed, eyebrows moving inward and upward in an expression of severely despairing hope.

Alex nodded, barely able to hold her emotions back. Her voice cracked as she replied through tears. "I'm real."

Dean stumbled over to her and grabbed her into a tight hug—he was abruptly choking out shuddering sobs as his fingers tangled haphazardly into her hair to pull her close to himself. Her forehead was against his neck and Dean's eyes were screwed shut against strong emotion and freely flowing tears. She was crying too, arms circled around his middle like a vice. "Thought I lost you," Dean choked out in a whisper, opening his eyes and staring at the far wall as he tried to compose himself. Alex shook her head no vehemently in the crook of his neck and Dean shut his eyes again, let out a long and shaky breath as he tried to calm down and center himself. He pulled back to look at her and verify she was real and alive and there—he took her tear-streaked face in both hands and studied her with an agonized expression. His face was tear-streaked too. He seemed to see what he was looking for and helplessly hugged her again, kissed the side of her head, said something about never letting her out of his sight ever again, and then gathered himself and turned on his hard, dominant, protective persona. He turned around, purposefully keeping Alex behind himself as he leveled Cas with a dangerous, sharp gaze. "Explain. _Now._ "

The angel looked like he might fall over any moment. "We—we don't have time," he said, obviously having trouble just speaking. "We have to get the souls out, _now_. I don't… I don't think I can hold them much longer."

* * *

A few moments later, Cas had taken them all to the now-abandoned lab where Crowley and Cas's headquarters had been. Alex tried to explain what was happening while Cas struggled with basic functioning and ended up having to sit on the floor leaned against a heavy old metal filing cabinet. Cas said with his little remaining strength he would create the eclipse needed and the Winchesters would draw the necessary sigil—the designs were still there, right where Crowley had left them on a metal table. From there, he would return the souls to Purgatory and fix what he had done.

Dean immediately thereafter separated his sister from Castiel—refused to even let them be in the same room together—he had Bobby take Alex down a hallway despite her many ( _many_ ) protests. Cas on the other hand hadn't protested the separation, just mourned it. He was in the very room where he'd killed Alex a week ago after all, and the memories stirred at this place made him sick. Accident or not, he couldn't bear himself or what he'd done to her. All he could do was remember it—the fit of lunacy that overtook him, the anger that drove him to violence, the shameful way he lost control over himself and created the biggest disaster and tragedy he could fathom. He _loved_ her _so much_ _…_ so how could he ever have done what he did? How could he have allowed what transpired? Castiel didn't understand, he couldn't make sense of it, he hated himself for the pain he had caused and the destruction he'd allowed.

He could hear Alex even now as Bobby walked her down the hallway and away—she was begging and protesting, not wanting to be taken away from Cas in his last moments. She sounded so upset and Cas's chest ached for her. He thought he had done enough to cause her trouble and that the sooner he was gone from her life, the better. And yet, his heart hurt more and more the farther she got from him. To hold her one last time, to breathe his last breath with her face as the last thing he ever saw…

"Where's the blood for the ritual, Cas?" Sam asked in a clipped, unfriendly tone, interrupting Cas's thoughts.

Coming out of his distractions, Cas tried to sit up a little more where he was sagging. "T-there's a jar on the bottom shelf, third over from the l-left," he said, nodding vaguely at a rickety metal shelving unit over at the edge of the room.

Sam nodded, already heading that way. "Got it."

Dean was nearby and he looked down at Cas with a pinched expression that was hard to read. Castiel couldn't tell if he were angry, sad, or perhaps both. When Sam got the jar, Dean spoke to him without taking his eyes off of Cas. "Start drawing, Sam. I'll be there in a sec." Dean sauntered a little closer to Cas. "You know, if you weren't dying already, I'd be in the front of the line to kill you," he said in a hard, forced tone.

Castiel nodded, accepting the harsh words without protest. Dean would be even more eager to kill him if he knew the details of what had happened and the things Alex had been subjected to for the past nine days. "I deserve that, Dean. I know I do." The angel's throat closed up a little as emotion controlled him and made him feel worthless, miserable, and defeated. He remembered fighting the souls inside of him so hard but not being able to break through soon enough—Alex had paid the price for that. Cas had been in a fever-dream inside of himself, not sure what direction was up or down, not sure what things were real or not, not sure if he'd been the one saying and doing things or if it had been the monsters from Purgatory. But in the end, he could only blame himself for what happened to her, the world, and so many people in it. "What I did was unforgivable," he said faintly, utterly miserable. "I'm sorry, Dean. For _everything_."

Dean smirked sarcastically, angrily. "Sorry doesn't help me, Cas. It doesn't fix a damn thing."

Cas nodded once, and even that action felt impossibly hard because of his physical weakness. "I understand that." He looked up into Dean's eyes and tried to make his earnestness known. "But I _do_ feel regret. In every atom of who I am. I hope you know I'm sincere."

Surprisingly, Dean considered him and softened, grew saddened and choked up. "Yeah. I believe you." The oldest Winchester seemed rueful of himself, but said nothing else. "Why'd you do it, man? I don't… I don't understand."

Cas felt void. Empty. "Neither do I," he said hollowly. He thought of what he'd done even before he'd been piloted by monsters. "I wish I could fix Sam," he said, regretting that cowardly and terrible action with every fiber of his being. "His mind and what I did to it. But I'm… I'm too weak." Castiel shut his eyes briefly to stop himself from crying. He felt so much, and it hurt. There was nothing but pain in his heart. Pain, regret, sorrow. How did human beings do this? The world was too much. The heart could feel things that were too large to contain. The ache never seemed to end.

Dean was again surprisingly _not_ hostile toward Cas. "We'll figure it out," he said flatly, like he was just too tired to even fight anymore. "We always do."

Cas looked at Dean and saw a man he respected and admired. How did Dean do this? Life was impossible, and Dean had seen more hard times than many yet he survived, he took care of those who were his, and he never admitted to defeat. He always seemed to do the right thing. He was truly the righteous man Heaven had seen him as. Castiel couldn't think of many good things at this point, but one good thing, one comfort was that Dean would be here to watch after Alex when Cas was gone. Castiel had always been so concerned with his own role of protector in her life, but perhaps Dean had always been the best guardian for her when all was said and done. After all, Dean had always insisted that Alex should have not been with Castiel. And after everything that had happened, Castiel finally agreed and saw that Dean had been entirely, totally right. If he had known what he would cause, he never would have gone near Alex at all. But, hadn't he known? He had seen those visions of 2014 where he had killed her. And suddenly, it dawned on Cas. He had shot her in the stomach in those visions. And a week ago, he had killed her when he reached into her stomach and chest. Maybe in any version of reality, he had been destined to be her destruction. That thought killed him internally and Cas wondered how he could ever have imagined, even for a moment, that he was good enough for her.

"Dean, when I'm gone…" Cas started, voice unsteady with emotion, " _please_. Promise me you'll… make sure she's all right."

Dean shook his head in chagrin and dragged a hand over his face like he didn't know how to react to Cas's statement. He took a few seconds to reply. "Got some nerve to say that to me, man," he said, cynically amused and bitter at the same time. "That's all I've ever _done_ , Cas. What have _you_ done to her?"

Cas's eyes fell away and his chest tightened impossibly with misery. "I know." He remembered her screaming underneath him as the souls inside of him had almost succeeded in doing the unthinkable. Castiel felt his eyes stinging but he made no effort to blink away the gathering tears. "You were right," he said softly, blankly, staring into space as the magnitude of what had happened to his Alex because of him washed over him anew. "All this time. I finally agree with you, Dean. I never should have pursued your sister. Not if it were going to end like this. I… I should have stayed away."

Maybe his genuine tone moved Dean. The hunter made no rude reply. He just sounded sad and took another couple seconds to reply. "Hindsight's twenty-twenty."

Cas looked at Dean in frustrated grief. "I don't understand that phrase."

Dean shrugged unenthusiastically. "Means looking back you can see things a whole lot clearer than when you were in the thick of it." He looked at Sam, who was partway finished with the large design drawn in blood.

Cas took a moment of silence and despite all of his convictions, despite how he had been so determined to step out of Alex's life with no grand fanfare, he realized he _couldn_ _'_ _t_ just do that. That she needed closure, _he_ needed closure. He needed to see her. Just once more. He needed to make whatever he could right with the time he had left. Cas mustered his courage, because he felt unworthy to ask what he was about to ask. Still, he soldiered forward because he was all too aware of how fleeting his time remaining was. "Can I… can I see her?" he asked quietly of Dean. He got an immediate sharp frown and he could see Dean was already thinking _no_. Sam had paused mid-blood stroke and was looking back at Cas and Dean with a hard expression. Castiel swallowed, completely despairing at the thought of never seeing her again. " _Please_. I have to apologize. I—I have to say goodbye."

Dean looked at Cas long and hard while Sam watched hawkishly. And shockingly, Dean gave Cas a slight chance. "Gimme _one_ good reason why I would ever let you see her again," he challenged, crossing his arms and waiting. 

Cas's gaze fell slowly and the depth of his grief echoed through him as he thought about what he wanted to tell Alex and give back to her. He drew in a deep breath and then looked back at Dean. "I have to… to give back something I never should have accepted."

Dean's frown deepened questioningly. When Cas told Dean what it specifically was he had to give back to her, Dean agreed to it despite Sam's vehement protests.

* * *

Bobby had Alex at the end of the hallway, and she was pacing back and forth as he blocked the way back to the room where Cas and her brothers were. She was at her wit's end and couldn't believe what was happening. In a slight level of shock, Alex suddenly stopped pacing mid step and set her uncle with a desperate, appealing look. "Bobby, he's dying. Come on. This is _crazy_. Let me see him, _please_."

Bobby was watching her with sad eyes and crossed arms. "That really the best idea?"

"I _love_ him!" Alex protested, not sure how the _hell_ any of them could deny her the right to see Cas one more time—he was _dying_ and they all _knew_ how she felt about him, and none of them even knew the extent of the horror she'd been through and yet they were acting like this? Alex was furious, trembling, forever at the point of tears—and it hurt because Cas had just watched her with sad eyes and let her go without a word. "I _have_ to see him one last time," she said, suddenly deciding she couldn't accept this. With a burst of speed, she made to dart past Bobby. He caught her, moving pretty quick and surprising her, stopping her by the arms and holding her in place while he set her with a warning look.

"Sorry, sweetheart," he said, and he sounded deeply sympathetic but firm and not about to change his mind. "Your brothers were pretty clear about keepin' you away. Can't say I'm too crazy about you seein' him either."

Alex pulled out of his hands and she was so hurt and betrayed by this that she could have cried. "If you knew Karen had been about to die, wouldn't you have wanted to talk to her?" she asked, and Bobby's face changed. "Just one more time?"

"Don't ask me that," Bobby said, getting sad and distant. "'Course I would."

"Then you understand," Alex argued desperately. "Bobby, _please_. I can't. If he dies… I _can_ _'_ _t_." Her voice broke and she didn't hide her severely vexed emotions from him. He _was_ dying. But she couldn't accept it. Not Cas. Not her Castiel. Not after everything. She just couldn't take another blow like that.

Bobby looked at her lecturingly, like he wouldn't accept that from her. "You can. And you _will._ Ain't no man, angel, or demon gonna bring my girl down. You're strong. Stronger than strong. And you got me and the boys backin' you up. So don't do that. Don't give up."

Not what she wanted to hear. And not the truth at all. Alex shook her head, and every horrible thing that had happened to her in the past week plus threatened to destroy her. Her vision blurred through tears and she admitted that she was all but defeated. "I've been through too much, Bobby," she whispered, barely able to speak. "There's only so much a person can take. I'm—I'm not made out of metal. I'm glass. And I'm two seconds away from cracking in half. Don't _tell_ me to be strong. _I_ _'_ _m not okay_. And I can't be strong anymore. I'm too tired. I've lost too much. I've made too many mistakes. And now he's… he's just gonna _die_?" She shut her eyes, miserable and alone and aching to hold Cas one more time despite everything. "I _need_ to see him."

"I'm sorry darlin'," Bobby apologized genuinely, his eyes very sad on her. "I don't know what to—"

"Hey." Dean was marching down the hall and his face was grim, guarded. Alex's heart leapt in fear and hope alike. What Dean said next sent her soaring. "He's asking for you." They didn't have to tell her twice—when Dean motioned for her to go ahead and go, Alex didn't question it. She brushed past her brother and uncle and rushed down the hall in a near run. She heard Dean mutter behind her to Bobby: "Trust me, if he so much as _breathes_ wrong…"

Alex practically skidded into the main room, and Cas was exactly where he'd been when she had been removed. He was sitting and leaning heavily against the metal filing cabinet at one of the edges of the room. When Cas saw her, his already pained expression grew even more pained. Sam was nearby and his expression was disgruntled and pissy, his eyes were sharp and watching everything very closely.

But Alex only had eyes for Cas, who only had eyes for her. She went right to him, dropped to her knees and hugged him tight, trying to be gentle as to not hurt him. Relief filled her even though it was very temporary. His shape and form was so familiar, but his breathing was so weak and shallow. She pulled back enough to see his face and their hands held onto each other. Cas looked at her with eyes that held worlds of pain and regret and Alex was left yet again to realize that he really _was_ nearing the end of his life. And as if he wanted to add insult to injury, he said as much. "Alex… I—I don't have long left," he began.

Those words did something immediate and strong to her. They terrified her, they made every part of her seize up and say _no_ , they made her want to grab onto him and command him to never say anything like that to her ever again. Trying desperately hard to be strong and not fall apart, Alex managed not to show the extent of her sadness. "Okay, you know what, don't give me the last day of your life speech," she said, trying to laugh softly at the end. It didn't quite work.

Castiel just looked sadder. "But it _is_ the last day of my life," he replied quietly, and Alex's hands tightened on his arms in a vain and childish attempt to hold onto composure. Cas soldiered on despite his obvious emotional turmoil—he could see her quickly disintegrating condition and it made him all the more upset. "And before I go, I—I need you to know I wish more than anything that I could take back what I've done. What I let _happen_." The weight in his voice at those words. The guilt, the excruciating shame. Alex felt horrible feelings make her shrink. He _had_ let awful things happen. There was no arguing with that. He touched one of her hands gently, rested his hand there on hers and his eyes pleaded with hers. "Promise me you'll survive this somehow," he said, and it was hitting Alex over and over again. He was telling her goodbye forever, and this really was the end. There was no do-over for him. This was _it_. "I need to know you'll be all right when I'm gone," he whispered. "That I haven't... haven't destroyed you."

What could she say to that? She didn't know how to be all right ever again point blank and all she could do was quietly choke out his name in a sob as the tears came. " _Cas_."

Cas's face crumpled as she broke down. "Don't cry, please," he beseeched, his hand coming to tremble against her cheek weakly. "Don't. Not because of me. Haven't I caused you enough sorrow?"

Yes, he had. She couldn't take anymore. Alex helped him hold his hand up against her cheek by covering his with her own. She felt so young and powerless and out of control and she had always imagined Cas would be invincible. _She_ was the mortal one. "I was supposed to be the one who died first," she whispered. "Not _you_." How could it just be over? She gave no permission for it to be over, and yet it was about to be. "W-where will you go?" Heaven? Hell? Purgatory? Nowhere?

Cas shook his head faintly. "No one knows where angels go when they die. Or if they go anywhere at all."

Choking on the emotion constricting her chest, Alex searched his eyes with hers. Castiel had allowed terrible things to happen to her. He had accidentally killed her in a fit of rage, he had broken her brother, he had murdered Dean and Bobby, he had probably been at fault for her mutism, he had lied to her for over a year and kept important things from her—but somehow, Alex thought none of it was truly his fault. She couldn't bear to believe he was a bad person. Misguided, yes. Mislead, yes. She believed that his goodness, his innocence, he naivety, his desire to protect her—that those things had been his undoing. And she couldn't bear to see how much he hated himself when she loved him so much. "I need you to know I forgive you," she said urgently through increasing tears, unwilling to let him die without knowing she loved him still and always would. " _Everything_. All of it."

Cas's face contorted in immediate protest even though he was clearly humbled and choked up. " _No_. Alex, I don't deserve forgiveness from anyone, least of all from you."

"That, that doesn't matter," she replied, touching his face and trying to hold onto him. He looked so sick, the red rashes and scabs profane across his handsome features. She wanted to take it all away, save him from this. " _Cas_. I just… I've lost enough. I can't lose you too." She begged him even though he couldn't do anything and they both knew it. "Don't go," she whispered, in tears at her pathetic, weak heart. "Don't leave me."

"Oh Alex," he said softly, wretchedly, and his eyes shone with tears too. "I can't control what's happening. This is the end for me. And even if I did survive… I see it now. I don't belong with you. I've done nothing but ruin your life and hurt you time and time again." Alex wanted to protest, but she could find no words for a minute. Castiel saw her inner denial about it and held her gaze in somber resignation. "You know it's true."

Maybe it was. And maybe she was a weak, stupid woman. But she only had one thing to say about it. "I wouldn't change it," she said, in a rasping, strained voice. "I _love_ you."

The words only made Castiel's sadness greater. "You shouldn't," he said, seeming very guilt-ridden. "After everything I've done. After what I've put you through. You should _despise_ me."

Alex shook her head. "I don't. I _can_ _'_ _t_." She held one of his hands in both of hers tightly, and couldn't understand how it could end like this. What had once been so innocent and sweet was crashing and burning to a bitter end she had never predicted. Alex could see no future past this, she couldn't imagine going on without him. He had filled up a space in her heart that had been empty before. He was about to be torn out of her life, and she thought that the place in her heart that was his would destroy her when he was no longer there.

Crying softly, Alex looked at his rash-covered hand that limply rested in hers. His other hand came to gently touch the side of her face with caution and care and tenderness and she shut her eyes, leaned into the touch. "Being loved by you was the best thing I have ever known," Castiel said softly, his voice strained by emotion, regret, and pain. She cried even harder at his words, recognizing the goodbye speech. "I wish… I wish it could have ended differently. I wish I had never hurt you. I wish I could have been all you deserve." He took his hand away and slowly, stiffly reached into his coat pocket, mystifying a bereft Alex. And then when he drew out Dad's silver wedding band—the ring she'd given Castiel—she understood and she shrank back slightly, briefly out of tears for shock. _No_. He was _not_ about to do what she thought he was about to do. Cas looked at her through somber misery. "I have to give this back to you," he said, making her feel like the world shattered into pieces all around her. "This should belong to someone else. Someone better. Someone who won't fail you like I have. I should never have presumed to… to do what I did."

Cas held the ring out and Alex refused to take it. She shook her head, almost angry. She wouldn't take it back. "Maybe it was stupid," she said, because she had critiqued herself hundreds of times for marrying him. "But _we_ did it. It was both of us. And I won't take it back. It's _yours_." _Like me._ I'm _yours. And I don_ _'_ _t want you to say otherwise._

Cas shook his head, seeming cowed and depressed. "I can't keep it, Alex," he said, holding it out with a shaking hand. She didn't take it. "I—I should never have even said hello," he murmured, looking into her eyes with a pained expression. "I blame myself for everything. Especially _her_." Alex's heart clenched, because she knew he meant the lost baby. "I'm so _sorry_." He took her hand and turned it palm-up, then put the ring into her hand and gently closed her fingers over the ring. Alex stared at her closer fist with a sick, crumpling face. She remembered the day she'd given this to him and didn't even recognize that silly, idealistic, lovesick girl she'd been. Everything she'd hoped for and believed in was crashing down and blowing up in her face. Yet again, she was realizing he really was about to be gone and she could do _nothing_ about it.

Defeated and blank and feeling panic at the edges of her mind, Alex couldn't crouch in front of him anymore. She collapsed to sit beside him weakly and she stared off into space as she struggled to understand. They had been through so much together and she had just wanted him there a little longer. It wasn't fair that she was going to be left here to pick up pieces alone without him. "How am I supposed t-to…" she looked up and to the side at him where he sat beside her, "to do this? Without you?"

Cas looked so very regretful and at fault, like he was blaming himself for everything. "I don't know," he said, slipping weak fingers into hers. He had promised to be with her forever, and now he was about to go. "I'm _sorry_." Their hands held between them and Cas held her gaze. He was struggling to breathe, and Alex couldn't bear to see that. She held his hand tighter, wanting to take some of his pain and help him somehow. "I loved you beyond reason or measure," he said in a thick, tearful voice. He sounded lost, confused, defeated. "But it wasn't enough. Not enough to stop all this from happening…"

"You loved me," she whispered back, not doubting that for a minute and momentarily unable to see or conceive of anything else. "That was enough." And for then, words couldn't speak what she needed him to know. She leaned close and closed the distance between them and gave him a last gentle, agonized kiss, a kiss she could barely give through the grief wracking her body. She gently used her free hand to cradle the side of his face. He returned her kiss with a twisted, conflicted expression on his face and his fingers tightened in hers. They were both in tears and neither knew what to say when the kiss ended.

They remained a breath's distance apart and Cas's eyes searched hers urgently. "Promise me, Alex," he asked softly, brokenly, one of his hands tracing fingers down the side of her cheek. "That you'll find someone else, when the time is right. That you'll move on."

She was already shaking her head no, insulted. How could he even _ask_ her that? "No," she said firmly even though her voice was failing her. "I won't promise that."

Through great sadness, a small and bittersweet smile broke on his face. "You are so stubborn," he said quietly, his eyes soft on hers. His smile wavered and emotion made his voice thick. He said it almost to himself, like he was realizing what a loss he was about to experience. "My Alex…"

Two words that defeated her. She _was_ his. It felt like in every way, whether she wanted it or not, she was forever chained to him in good ways and bad. How could she ever escape it? How could anyone else ever mean what he meant? How could anyone else ever matter like he did? They _couldn_ _'_ _t_ and that thought made her feel hopeless and sickened by love all at once _._ "I'd rather be alone for the rest of my life," she choked out miserably, not even sure how she felt about what she was saying. The tears kept coming beyond her control, making it hard to talk. "No one else will _ever_ _—_ " her chin trembled violently and her mouth was doing its own thing, making speaking almost impossible. "You're _everything_." She leaned into him and hugged him closely around the neck, shutting her eyes and wishing this wasn't real life. She had _married_ him. She had unknowingly carried his _offspring_ for however short a time. She loved him however wrong or right that was. And she didn't think she would ever, _ever_ stop. Not even the past horrific nine days could take what she felt away.

Cas was resonating off of her emotions and as such was disconsolate and trying his best to comfort her, but he was so ailed by sadness that all he could do was try not to break down himself. "I wish I'd told you," he said wretchedly through an unsteady voice as his arms tightened feebly around her. "I wish I hadn't kept it all from you."

They _both_ wished that. The things that might have changed if he hadn't kept everything from her or if she hadn't been so blindly trusting… the outcome could have been so different. And that was why they both mourned this so deeply. "I know," she whispered into his shoulder.

Cas's pulse was so faint—she could feel how weak it was in his neck against her forehead. "Your name is in the book of Heaven now," Cas mused softly. "At the very least I did that. But I—I don't know if what I put you through made it worth it." His face turned to her a little more and his already deep grief seemed to double. "I can't bear what I've done to you. I _deserve_ this death."

"Shh, _no,_ " Alex said, holding onto his neck even tighter. " _It wasn_ _'_ _t you who did those things_." Cas would never do the things Destroyer and Leviathan had. Starving her, neglecting her, abusing her, abandoning her, assaulting her. Cas was gentle, good, tender, always concerned for her wellbeing. Alex squeezed her eyes shut. "Remember our good times," she whispered, trying to do that herself.

"Our good times," he echoed faintly, sounding uncertain and so sad.

Footsteps were approaching, and Alex heard Dean speaking. "Come on, Al," he said softly, sensitive to the moment happening. "It's time."

Alex pulled away from Cas and looked up at Dean. "No, not yet—" she protested, panicking. She needed more time with him. He couldn't go, _not yet._

Dean looked mildly regretful and sickened and Alex realized he'd been watching them the entire time. She hadn't noticed anyone or anything else up until this point, but Sam had finished the symbol and was standing off with his arms crossed, Bobby was waiting with the spell in hand. All three men were watching them carefully, closely, with veiled and grim expressions. "We gotta do this _now,_ " Dean said, motioning for the angel. "Cas, you gotta stand up buddy." He reached down and hauled Cas to his feet as Alex stood slowly in a daze. She clutched the wedding ring in her hand hard enough that the metal would leave an impression later.

She tried to follow her brother and husband, but Sam cut her off and held her back by a few paces. Alex was too stunned to protest. She stared dumbly as Cas allowed Dean to guide him over to the sigil drawn in blood on the stark white wall nearby. "I'm so sorry, Dean," Cas apologized quietly. "So sorry."

Dean sighed heavily. "I know, Cas, I know." He patted Cas on the shoulder and backed off, nodded to the oldest hunter present. "Bobby, now." Dean joined his siblings, standing at Alex's side and putting a hand onto her shoulder—either to hold her in place or to comfort her. She didn't know. Her heart was hammering wildly, she wanted to vomit, she couldn't just stand here and watch Cas die. "It's gonna be okay, little sister," Dean's voice said softly somewhere nearby, "I promise." He didn't sound like he believed that fullheartedly and Alex definitely didn't. As Bobby began the incantation, Alex held onto one of her brothers by the jacket (she didn't even know which one) and watched Cas hawkishly, her entire body held stiff by tension she couldn't control. Dismay grew and grew, grief built and built. She had compared herself to glass a few moments ago and she felt like she was about to shatter into a thousand jagged pieces.

" _Ianua magna purgatorii, clausa est ob nos lumine eius ab oculis nostris retento sed nunc stamus ad limen huius ianuae magnae et demisse fideliter perhonorifice paramus aperire eam_."

Bobby's strong voice carried as he recited, and Cas swayed slightly, then his knees buckled and he abruptly sagged to the floor. Dean darted forward even as Sam held her back from helping. Dean caught Cas before he fell all of the way and he pulled him back to his feet, left him swaying unsteadily there again as Sam restrained Alex. Cas turned slightly, he looked over his shoulder at them, first at Dean, then at Sam, and finally at Alex. His mouth said nothing, but his eyes said everything. How sorry he was. How much he didn't want this as the ending. How deeply he loved her still.

" _Creaturae terrificae quarum ungulae et dentes_ ," Bobby continued. Alex couldn't. She couldn't let this happen. No coherent thought except _no_ was in her mind and she suddenly began to fight Sam's grip. Dean put an arm out, trying to get her to stop, and Alex only fought harder.

"Let me go," she demanded in a breathless panicked whisper. " _Let me go_!" Her brothers didn't and she began to sob like a maniac, trying weakly to tear away from them and get to Cas, whose face twisted in misery as he remained rooted on the spot and the final words of the spell were spoken.

" _N_ _unquam tetigerunt carnem eius ad mundum nostrum nunc ianua magna, aperta tandem!_ "

The wall with the sigil on it began to tear away in on itself as the blood became brilliant amber light. And suddenly Cas's back arched and his chest shot forward and light surged out of him and was sucked into that hole in the wall. It was blinding and the Winchesters ducked their faces away instinctually—Alex was sandwiched between her brothers and all she heard was wind, rumbling, and faint screams as the souls were pulled back to Purgatory. The entire room shook. And then, just like that, all noise ceased, the light was gone, and Cas fell to the floor in a heap.

Alex slipped out from between her brothers and tore over to him, reaching him first and pulling him over to lay on his back. His eyes were closed, he was unresponsive, and when she pushed shaking, anxious fingers to a pulsepoint, his skin was cold, still. He was _dead._

" _No no no_ ," she murmured softly as her world spun and her lungs refused to function. She shook him hard and he flailed limply. Alex heard herself screaming 'no, you son of a bitch, no!' at him. Hands were pulling her away, she heard her brothers and Bobby saying things, but she didn't even understand what was being said. All she could see was Cas, dead on the floor. All she could hear was the lack of his heart beating. All she could feel was despair in every part of herself.

And then without warning, Cas's eyes popped open, his rashes faded, he inhaled sharply and blinked in confusion. Everyone stared in disbelief. Alex was the first to speak. " _Cas_?!" she gasped, wild with hope and gone still from shock. Her brothers still held her back, but she wasn't fighting them anymore. She was too stunned.

Bobby dropped down and helped Cas sit, then stand. Very uncertainly, Cas looked around in confusion. "I'm… alive? I don't… I don't understand." He looked down at himself and looked at his hands—healthy, tan, rash and blemish free—and a small, hopeful smile began to break on his face. "I'm… I'm fine." He looked up and relieved, hopeful, he locked eyes with Alex. Another chance. It wasn't over. And then, just when they thought they were free and clear, Cas's expression dropped and terror crossed his face. "Oh no," he breathed.

"What?" Dean asked.

Cas suddenly pushed Bobby _hard_ away from himself, sending the older hunter stumbling toward the Winchesters. Cas was backing up fast, his features working so hard that his face became red. "You need to run now!" He abruptly doubled over and caught himself on the edge of a metal table. "I-I can't hold them back!" he shouted, then began to contort and groan as he strained. A vein popped out in his forehead and he looked at the hunters in sheer panicked, urgent terror. "They held on inside me. Dean, they're… _so strong._ " His eyes darted to Alex and his panic increased. "Get her away from me, _now_!

Alex shrank back, understanding to some small degree and _terrified._ "Oh no no no," she whispered, clutching onto her brothers.

"Leviathan!" Cas shouted in warning, doubled over and thrashed as if he were having a seizure. "I can't fight them. _Run_!"

Dean began to back up, his eyes locked on Cas in fear. "Run, run, run," he said, and just when they were about to make a break for it, Cas suddenly stood up straight and he was grinning maniacally.

"Too late!" he announced cheerfully.

" _Cas_?" Dean asked, and abruptly got grabbed and yanked forward.

Cas, who wasn't Cas at all, shrugged and his features worked in strange, sadistic animated glee. "Cas is—he's gone. He's _dead_. We run the show now!" He shoved Dean hard with super human strength and sent him flying painfully into a far wall. "Ah!" Cas exclaimed happily, grabbing Bobby without warning and tossing him aside like he was nothing. Even as Sam tried to pull Alex away and escape, he was grabbed and sent soaring through the air to crash into a table—and then Alex remained alone, all but cowering in front of him. Cas's eyes narrowed and he became mildly thoughtful. He did not make to grab her or hurt her. "The one we do not harm," he said softly, then reached out as he grinned and patted her cheek twice, hard.

Alex recoiled with a flinch at the touch. "Cas—come on—" she whispered, trying to see him in there, trying to get him to win control again over the monsters.

"Nope!" Cas replied, chortling. "It's all me, sweetcheeks!"

Dean was up again, hunched over and breathing hard, injured but already on his way to put himself between Cas and Alex. He barely got there before Cas—or whoever the hell it was—was anticipating his arrival and turning to meet him with another brutal shove. Dean knocked into a table of supplies and metal parts went clattering everywhere as Cas grinned at Dean's fall. Black veins crawled up his neck and crept across his face too like spiderwebs. Sam had grabbed Alex in the brief distraction and the twins hung onto each other nearby—Sam was backing them up to get away from Cas, who was momentarily distracted with his hand, which had the same black veins crawling all over it.

No one said anything for a long moment—it looked like Cas's body was giving out and the Leviathan possessing him were filling him past the breaking point. Black, thick liquid began to run down Cas's face, out of one of his eyes, out the corner of his mouth. He cast around a chilling gaze and seemed to decide to leave. "We'll be back," he said to Dean, but his voice was strange and it sounded like multiple voices were speaking. "For you." His eyes slid to Alex. "And for the girl."

Dean's face went cold. "Like _hell_ you will," he said, standing shakily from where he'd been thrown. Cas made no reply, just began to limp out of the compound as he left dripping trail of black goo behind. Bobby groaned, getting up slowly.

"Wh-what do we do?" Dean asked breathlessly.

Held against Sam tightly, Alex stared after Cas, who was disappearing down a dark hallway. For a couple minutes, she heard Bobby and Sam and Dean talking and quickly putting together a plan of action but she wasn't listening at all. She stared after where he'd disappeared to with a sick, twisting stomach. _Cas is gone. He_ _'_ _s dead,_ the Leviathan said. She couldn't accept that. Not for one damn _second._

"Can't just let him wander off, gotta make sure he don't attack any civs," Bobby was saying.

"Good point," Dean said. "All right, let's head out." He looked at Alex, who already saw that he was about to tell Sam stay here and keep her away—and in a moment of sheer insanity, Alex reacted at the gut-punch level and tore out of Sam's grip, elbowed him hard in the stomach so he couldn't grab her, and dashed after Cas.

Her only clear thought was that she had to save Cas. How? No clue. With what means? She had nothing. But it didn't matter. "Alex! Alex stop, _stop_!" Dean's voice shouted behind her, but she was running at a breakneck speed and following the trail of black drips, finding an open door where the trail led to the outside world—it was early in the morning and the sun was rising, coloring the world in a soft, dim light. The black goo wound unevenly down a gravel road and Alex didn't stop for even a second—she tore through dew-wet grass, catching sight of Cas's limping form ahead of herself by about a tenth of a mile—he was breaking a chain in a fence that sectioned off some kind of lake.

She screamed for him to stop but he walked lurchingly down into the water beyond that fence. By the time she got to the water's edge, he was almost up to his chest, and her screams did nothing—he didn't acknowledge her in the least—his head was matted with black goo and his hands were outstretched on either side of him and Alex could only think _the Leviathan are going to drown him!_

Just as she was about to jump into the water, strong arms suddenly and roughly clamped around her and yanked her back—she tumbled back as Dean fell backwards to the ground. He was out of breath and wasn't letting go for anything. Alex screamed and fought hard, losing her godforsaken mind completely, bashing Dean in the chin with the back of her head as she tried to get away and help Cas. Sam was there suddenly too, and it took both of them to hold her down.

Cas's head sank underneath the water and dark black seeped out from where he'd been, filling the lake completely and Alex sobbed, wept, thrashed. Her desperate need to get to Castiel made her like a wild animal. "He's in there!" she shouted hoarsely, kicking Sam in the shin hard as she fought brainlessly. "He's in there and he needs help, no, _no_!" She heard someone screaming at almost inhuman levels and didn't realize it was herself. "Let me _go_! Let me _go_!"

It took the three men to carry and manhandle her away from there, especially when his coat floated to the surface and washed ashore. Neither Sam or Dean had ever seen their sister like that before, ever. She didn't calm down, she didn't stop raging and freaking out. She actually got more and more unruly and her eyes were crazed, distant, glazed over. She responded to nothing, she appeared to have had a complete mental break. As they struggled with her and tried to get her to a nearby parking lot where they could steal a car, she drew stares from a group of campers who they passed in the woods nearby. Dean brushed by one of them, a scrawny male college student who was wet from swimming. He gawked at Alex openly as his ringlets dripped with water from the reservoir.

"Keep walking, pal!" Dean thundered as Alex continued to sob and carry on like a madwoman.

Far across the lake as Alex's screams echoed and grew fainter, the sounds could have been mistaken as sirens or maybe coyotes. There, walking the woods in a dreamlike state, a woman named Daphne Allen was on what she called a pilgrimage retreat, a spiritual reawakening she'd decided to go on all by herself. When she happened across a soaked, naked, confused man who had just hauled himself out of the lake and was clenching a single inexplicable object to himself, she knew her prayers had been answered. God had finally sent her husband to her. She'd dreamt of this moment—had premonitions—and here he was at last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About Alex forgiving Cas in this chapter. I know some readers in the past have been upset that Alex has been quick to give second chances. I understand that but you need to remember Cas was dying and she probably would never have said "I forgive you" otherwise because honestly, there's so many issues and hurts there that she still has to work through… alone, now. And as you can see, she's sort of in terrible shape. I see her willingness to give chances as a strength and pitfall at the same time. She told Cas that for his benefit more than as absolute truth. It's definitely not over with by any means and even though she said she forgave him, the things he did are not just gone or forgotten. Oh no. No no.


	85. Sunny Meadows

" _They keep me between these hollow walls._ _"  
_ \- Dream Theatre

* * *

Daphne Allen picked her way along the wooded trail and breathed in deeply—the early morning November air was crisp and invigorating and made her feel in-tune with her soul like nothing else really did. Her hiking boots crunched softly on leaves below and the only other sound was a few singing birds and a distant wailing sound that Daphne thought was a cougar or maybe a fire engine miles off. Other than that oddity, it was peaceful, quiet, and calm here in the arms of Mother Nature.

Although many of her friends had been worried about her little self-proclaimed 'pilgrimage retreat,' Daphne was very certain that this was the right thing for herself. She wasn't afraid of sleeping outside or camping by herself, and why should she be? God was watching over her. God had angels over her. These few days spent without the distractions of civilization were for spiritual renewal and inner reflection and she valued them very highly. Solitude and meditation were lost arts in modern society, but she mindfully practiced both.

At thirty-five years old, Daphne was not like most other women her age. She was unmarried without children, she was not an accomplished career-focused woman and she had no real desire to be. Daphne was a woman of strong faith and utmost belief. She saw God in everything and everyone, believed in love, peace, faithfulness, helping others. She lived a simple life and believed that all religions were true and equal, all roads led to the same God. She worked at a herbalist shop, believed in the healing powers within the mind, and spent her free time volunteering, seeking self-awareness, and practicing yoga.

Lost in her thoughts, as much of a daydreamer as she'd ever been, she didn't notice the signs that said to 'KEEP OUT' and she wandered past them to what she saw beyond: shimmering water. Water was something she was drawn to because of her dreams and visions. She'd dreamt the same dream for so long it seemed like forever: finding a man near water like this, a man who was meant to become her husband. She hadn't seen his face in the dreams, only knew he had dark hair and would be found by her someday, naked beside water and in need of help. She believed in these dreams and anxiously awaited the day when her dreams would come true. God had picked this mysterious man for her and Daphne trusted God. She was lonely, too, and yearned for the day she would have her life companion.

Daphne looked out across the lake, which she realized was manmade—she saw fencing on the far side to keep people out. _Why?_ She glanced around, and that's when she saw him. A naked, soaking-wet man who was huddled in confusion on the nearby bank, frowning as if he had no idea what was happening to him. He didn't see her. Daphne's heart leapt and she gaped openly at the sight of him—he looked hurt and disoriented, and it was _exactly_ how she'd seen it in her mind so many times before. "Oh!" she exclaimed, and he saw her then. Daphne stared—he was devastatingly handsome in a way she hadn't expected or foreseen. "Oh my. Are—are you all right?" she asked softly, breathless from surprise and a certain sort of excitement too. He had been put in her path just as it had been foretold to her!

He frowned and looked around vacantly, in a daze. When he spoke, his voice was deeper than she'd anticipated. "I'm… I'm… I don't know. I was… I was swimming, I think and… I can't remember." He was very puzzled, and his voice softened as he looked down in confusion. "Something bad happened."

Daphne noticed he was clutching something tightly in one of his fists and she couldn't tell what it was. "Whatcha got there?" she asked softly, trying to gauge him as she chanced going a little closer.

The man didn't seem to realize he'd been holding anything at all and he looked to his hand, opened it up, seemed confounded at what was there. "A… a penny," he said, frowning softly to himself. "On a chain. Is… is this mine?" he stroked a finger from his other hand across the surface of it curiously and Daphne eyed him openly. He had this innocence to him that she picked up right away on and loved. He was special. She knew it already and her heart went out to him.

But his state of amnesia was a little surprising. "Did you hit your head, maybe?" she chanced.

"I… I must have," the man replied softly, his voice a little tense with anxiety or fear as his eyes flickered back and forth in thought. "I… can't remember my name. Or what I was doing before this. Or _anything._ " He looked up fully into her eyes for the first time then, and the startlingly crisp cobalt made Daphne weak in the knees. Such intensity in those eyes, such mystery and depth. She was intrigued, already in love, and so enraptured by him that she couldn't come up with a reply. And then, from somewhere far across the lake, a louder high pitched scream wailed and the mysterious naked man immediately looked toward it, his features deepening with worry. "Did… did you hear that?" he asked, listening hard. "Does—does someone need help?"

Daphne only had eyes and ears for this wondrous, strange mystery of a man in front of herself. "Yes— _you_ do," she chided good-naturedly, then averted her eyes coquettishly. "And some clothes."

The nameless man looked down at himself and seemed to realize his state of nakedness. "Oh." Appearing mildly vexed and embarrassed, the man awkwardly tried to conceal himself. "I… I apologize."

Quite honestly, Daphne didn't entirely mind—his body was toned, muscular without being overbuilt, strong. His skin color was sun-kissed and looked warm, inviting of a touch. And he was… _anatomically_ stunning as well. "It's um… it's okay," she said, her heart flipping around inside of her chest as she tried not to blush or stare. He was beautiful, so much more than the visions had shown. "I'm… I'm Daphne." She smiled at this confused, lost, handsome man. Would he believe her if she said she knew they were fated to be married? Would he believe her if she told him she'd seen visions of this very moment? Instead of telling him right away, she settled on something more vague as to not frighten him. He was gazing across the lake with a worried frown on his face as the inexplicable wailing continued at hardly-audible levels—whatever animal or child was making that noise was getting farther away. Daphne gently vied for his attention and crouched to his level. "Do you believe in God?" she questioned softly.

The man paused and looked at her then frowned deeply and let his eyes drop in contemplation. Daphne drank in the way his face worked, the way his expression changed. "Yes," he said slowly, looking back to her. He seemed very guarded and cautious of her and she saw how uncomfortable he was with how naked he was. "Yes, I think I do."

Daphne's gentle smile was growing wider and she felt like she was glowing from the happiness growing inside of herself. "So do I." Soon, she would earn this man's trust and love. It didn't matter who he was to her… he was a child of God, and that was enough for her. "He tells me to help people."

The man studied her carefully, his features still very confused. "People like me?"

She nodded graciously, filled with compassion for this man. Her intuition told her he was gentle, kind, and very special. He seemed childlike in some inexplicable way to her and it attracted her to him, made her feel great empathy and care for him, a beautiful sense of responsibility to assist him and comfort him. "Yes. People like you." She gently touched the bare skin of his shoulder. He felt warm, firm, and he made her dizzy. It had been a long time since she had been with a man. He was obviously startled at her touch and he flinched away from her slightly as a frightened child might as his eyes looked into hers and wondered if she could be trusted or not. Trying to focus herself, Daphne was gentle and patient and motherly, indicating he stand and walk with her. "Come on. Let's get you dry and into some clothes before you get sick."

Castiel the angel, having forgotten who he was and what had happened, apprehensively let this strange woman with kind eyes lead him away from there by the hand. Away from his Alex, whose screams he'd heard echoing across the lake and did not recognize. Away from answers, away from where he belonged. He remembered nothing at all of who he was. All he had was a coin on a chain and the feeling that something very, very important was missing and that he was going the wrong way.

* * *

**…Four Weeks Later**

"Now, a psychotic break typically occurs when a person experiences an episode of acute primary psychosis," said a clinical male voice.

Alex blinked a couple times, jarred and confused. She came out of what felt like a complete mental fog, and the only thing she knew was that she had _no idea_ where she was or what was happening.

She was sitting in a stark office facing a middle-aged man at a desk. He wore an official looking white doctor's coat. It smelled like medical disinfectant in this place and even though there was a window letting in warm sunlight, the office felt cold, sterile, and immediately intimidating. The doctor was reading off of a clipboard to her and from the way he was talking, it sounded like he'd been talking for awhile… but she had _no recollection_ of anything prior to this very moment. She had never seen him before in her _life_. He kept reading languidly in a monotone as a pen lazily twirled between two fingers. "Psychosis, Miss Smith, refers to an abnormal condition of the mind, and is a generic psychiatric term for a mental state often described as involving a loss of contact with reality." He glanced over the rims of his glasses at her. "You with me so far?" _Miss Smith?_ Alex said nothing, just stared at him with an increasing feeling of anxiety growing in her stomach. Why was he telling her this? Where was she? _Sam? Dean?_ She looked around for them with her eyes only and they were not there. Only a watchful and serious nurse waited nearby against the wall. "Good," the doctor said, taking Alex's dumbfounded silence as confirmation. Her heart rate was increasing slowly as her anxiety rose. "Now, continuing. Many things can cause temporary psychosis such as the kind you've displayed while here with us." He flipped over a page on his clipboard.

What, _what_? 'Here with us'? Here _where_? And who was _us_? Alex was confused and afraid as her stomach churned harder and harder. She couldn't remember much of anything—the last thing she coherently remembered was killing Eve—but… hadn't that been a long time ago? Her mind felt insanely garbled and she knew it without knowing at all: _something is really, really wrong here_. She tightened her fingers into the arms of the chair she sat in, wondering if she should attack or run away or remain very still and quiet. _Where are my brothers? Where is Castiel?_

"So what _causes_ temporary psychosis or a mental break?" the doctor continued. He sounded vaguely bored, like he was reading off a to-do list. "Environmental triggers, such as losing a loved one, excessive stress, or the interaction of strong social demands with a pre-existing vulnerability of self." He waved his hand a few times errantly as he listed off his facts to lazily emphasis himself. "Other causes that have been identified include lack of sleep, fever, brain damage, physical trauma, PTSD, hypnosis, etcetera, etcetera. Now, there are many _misconceptions_ out there about what a psychotic break is, Miss Smith. It's simply when reality becomes unbearable, the mind temporarily breaks underneath the pressure." He paused and looked at her, waiting for her to respond.

All Alex could do was stare with an utterly confused, alarmed frown on her face. _Why the hell is he telling me all this? Where_ am _I?_ Her anxious eyes drifted to his desk where she caught a glimpse of a professional letterhead. Upside down, she read it. _Doctor J. Alan Schulz, M.D., Sunny Meadows Mental Health Center_. Her chest tightened as it began to dawn on her. _Oh_ _…_ _my_ _…_ _god_.

"Keep in mind, just because you've _suffered_ psychosis doesn't mean you're _psychotic_." The doctor's disinterested, slowly-spoken words kept coming and Alex sat there stupidly, feeling sluggish and numb both mentally and physically even though her heart was racing and her throat was closing up. " _Now_ , onto our next item. The term 'dissociation' describes a wide array of experiences from mild detachment from immediate surroundings to more severe detachment from physical and emotional experience—you've displayed both. In mild cases, dissociation can be regarded as a coping mechanism or a defense mechanism in seeking to master, minimize or tolerate stress—many people disassociate by daydreaming or what have you, and it's quite normal to see at low levels in many individuals lives, especially children, students, those with attention deficit disorder. However, in more severe cases disassociating ceases to be an acceptable coping mechanism when the individual cannot control what is happening to them or how _often_ they are disassociating—this is where you are right now Miss Smith."

 _Me? What?_ Alex felt like his words were almost a foreign language and she looked around behind herself in growing alarm. He _had_ to be talking to someone else. This was a joke or a bad dream or something— _psychosis_? Disassociation? The doctor droned on as Alex continued to grow more and more anxious and sick feeling. "Now, to our third diagnosis. _Panic attacks_ are periods of intense fear or apprehension. They usually begin abruptly, may reach a peak within ten to twenty minutes, but can continue for hours in some cases. Experiencing a panic attack has been said to be one of the most intensely frightening, upsetting, and uncomfortable experiences of a person's life and may take days to initially recover from as you yourself can attest to. Repeated panic attacks are considered a symptom of panic disorder."

Alex stared at him in vague horror as he looked at her then over those huge, coke-bottle glasses of his and apparently waited for her to speak. She felt like her mouth was made out of cotton. "I… I don't…" she stammered dumbly. Her tongue was heavy. Was she _drugged?_ "W-why are you telling me all of this?" she managed, ready to run at a moment's notice.

Gentle, patient, but somehow still clinically detached, the doctor set down the clipboard and folded his leathery hands across it as he looked at her evenly. "Because, Miss Smith, since you've been admitted here with us you've been displayed all three of the psychological conditions I've just described and one more we haven't even gotten to yet." He looked at her in deep observation. "…Do you not remember being admitted here?"

Alex _didn_ _'_ _t_ , and it terrified her. So she lied. "No, I, I remember," she said, swallowing thickly, thinking a million miles an hour and trying to piece together the puzzle she was presented with. The room was so hot and her head was light, her lungs couldn't seem to get enough air. "But… h-how long have I been here?"

The doctor seemed to see through her lie easily. "Hmm," he commented in response, saying nothing for a long moment as he sat back in his chair. "Two weeks, Miss Smith. And we've seen mild improvement but your panic attacks are still too frequent for our liking. And the disassociating is very beyond your own control, which we're working on. These things take time, but the medication should be curbing them." He turned slightly to the other person in the room. "Nurse, I think we might want to look at reevaluating her dosage."

Alex had only heard one thing out of everything he said. "Two _weeks_?" she repeated in a soft, terrified voice. "Where are my brothers, where is my h—?" she stopped short, confused and horrified as it began to flood her mind, the memories of what had happened—she remembered it all with startling, crippling suddenness. Cas working with Crowley, the lies and the breakup, learning about the lost baby, the way the shit had hit the fan, Cas killing her, the Purgatory souls, Sam broken, Dean and Bobby dead, Destroyer dragging her around the world and subjecting her to abuse and neglect… then nearly raping her using Castiel's body… and the panic overwhelmed her to the point that she couldn't breathe, she couldn't _see_ , and all she could think was _my brothers left me, they left me, why would they leave me?!_ "They wouldn't just leave me here," she wheezed, unable to breathe deeply or fully as she shot up to her feet and found herself canting sideways from dizziness. But the worst thing of all: "I can't remember—I can't _remember!_ " She caught herself on the edge of the desk with both hands to keep herself from falling. The nurse was near her, hovering carefully and ready to catch her fall at a moment's notice.

The doctor had stood up too. "You _can_ remember," he said firmly and clearly. "But as you told me yesterday, you don't _want_ to."

Backing away lurchingly from this stranger who kept talking like she knew him, Alex felt very much like a caged animal. "You have to let me out of here—" she rasped. "You have to let me see my brothers—!"

The doctor did not pursue her or present himself to her in any way that would be hostile or forceful. "Alex, we've talked about this," he said in a sensitive if patronizing way. "You signed yourself into this program of your own free will—your brothers were with you when you were admitted."

Alex's face fell. She didn't _remember_ that and she was abruptly _so afraid_ that she really had lost her mind. She backed up more, hitting up against a shelf and sending all kinds of knicknacks clattering to the floor. "You're lying, you're _lying!_ " she accused, her chest heaving from effort to breathe right. This wasn't real, it _couldn_ _'_ _t be_. And then she remembered the _lake_ _—_ Cas walking into deep, cold water as the Leviathans controlled his body yet again—and her heart seized up, she panicked and nothing else mattered—she had no sense of time or self, just a feeling like she would die if she couldn't get rid of some of the heart-stopping panic she felt. "He's drowning—he's _drowning_ and we didn't help him, oh no—no _no_ no—and the Leviathan—t-they got out! We have to stop them! Someone has to _stop them_!"

She made a break for the door and at this point the nurse moved into her way and stopped her—said something about calming down and 'taking deep breaths like we've practiced'—but Alex did _not_ calm down. Cas was drowning and her brothers were far away and she couldn't be in this place. She fought hard, screaming her mind-numbing internal terror out so loudly she thought she might pass out from the effort it took to make the noise altogether. A moment of chaos ensued, and two more nurses rushed in, one big and male and strong—and then Alex was held down and she felt a needle jab into a vein and her panicked noises and delirious shouts subsided into an ironically soft, tired laugh. Euphoria and calm and nothingness washed over her, and she felt herself smiling contentedly as every bad feeling melted away into numbness and quiet.

She didn't care about _anything_ anymore as the drugs shot through her bloodstream. She didn't know much, but she knew not caring was a blessed relief.

* * *

**A Few Weeks Ago…**

Two very tired brothers stood in the doorway of the darkened study and observed their finally-sleeping sister. She had been sitting silently on the couch all day and half of the night. Finally, _finally_ she had lost the fight and nodded off for the first time since Cas died… which had been _four full days ago_. Slumped and sprawled awkwardly with a leg hanging off the couch, she was hugging Cas's dirty, blood-stained trench coat in a wad to herself. The only thing that remained of him. She had refused to let go of it ever since she had gotten a hold of it.

Watchful of her and looking as beat up and sick as they felt, her brothers said nothing for a very long time. Sam had scratches on his face and a good bruise on his cheek, Dean had a busted lip and a black eye. Their wounds were from restraining her and pulling her back those four, fateful days ago. When Cas walked into that lake, something seemed to have completely broken inside of their sister. As the mindless panic had escalated and escalated, they'd ended up having to rush her to a hospital because she had clutched her chest and gasped she was having a heart attack, that she was dying, and for a little while, Sam and Dean really thought she _was_ going to die.

It turned out to have been a severe panic attack and she was given a prescription for anti-anxiety medication and the strong counsel to seek professional help. Dean of course had immediately condemned that suggestion—he was against 'looney bins' as he put it. There had been two more attacks since, each more terrifying than the last. Sam and Dean and Bobby were all completely beside themselves at her and they were sleep-deprived, on edge, and feeling half-insane themselves. When Alex wasn't having a panic attack, she spent the rest of the time being withdrawn and seemingly not mentally there, mostly unresponsive to the world around her.

In short, it was terrifying to see her like that. Sam and Dean were both _completely_ exhausted and out of their element, at the end of their ropes with what was happening.

"I've never seen her like this before," Dean finally murmured, and his voice was weary, tense, void of much hope. He leaned on one doorpost and Sam was opposite of him. Bobby's house was quiet and dark, lit only by dim moonlight from outside

"Me either." Sam sounded similarly lacking in hope. He glanced at his brother, who let out a ragged sigh and retreated into the kitchen as he rubbed his face tiredly. Sam watched him a second, not moving from where he leaned against the office doorpost. Dean started some coffee, apparently going to stay up the rest of the night to make sure Alex was all right. "So… what do we do?" Sam questioned quietly.

Dean was surly and threw a sharp little look at his brother. "What do you mean, what do we do?"

Just as tired and on edge as his brother, Sam didn't mask his annoyance at Dean's tone. "We can't keep this up," he said, because he knew he sure as hell couldn't with the shape _he_ was in. "I mean, we're not exactly experts on mental health, Dean," he pointed out curtly.

That earned him a pointed, rude look. "Oh, don't talk to me about mental _health_ , Sam." Dean slammed the coffee carafe into the coffee maker with more force than necessary.

Immediately defensive and insulted because he knew where his brother was going with this, Sam pressed his mouth into a thin line and unfolded his arms. " _Dean_ —"

"You're the one who decided to relapse on the _demon blood_ , Sam!" Dean hissed in a forceful whisper, wheeling and abandoning the coffee making. "You're the one tripping Hell's _Bells_ and seeing _Satan_ everywhere!"

Even more irritated and insulted than before, Sam was wan and caustic. "Yeah, I didn't _forget,_ Dean," he retorted, restraining himself to a soft, angry whisper as their sister slept nearby. "You don't have to throw it in my _face_ —I'm _fine_ as far as the demon blood goes, it's under control, I didn't drink enough to get hooked again… and I'm _handling_ the Lucifer thing. Just because I'm having trouble doesn't mean my viewpoint isn't _valid_!" When all he got was an immature eye roll from his brother, Sam swung an arm out toward their sister angrily. "I mean look at the _facts,_ Dean!" he exclaimed as loudly as he could while still keeping his voice low. "It's been four days since Cas died. She won't _eat_ , this is the first time she's _slept,_ she barely _says_ anything, she's still having panic attacks…" his anger abruptly gave way to earnestness and slight despair. "I'm _worried_."

Dean was the one who seemed insulted now. "What and I'm _not_?"

Sam wet his lips, reigning in a confrontational retort and a huffy reaction. Their exhaustion and hopelessness was pitting them against each other, and right now they needed to try and stick together instead of fall apart. "I just think if we don't get her professional help she could get _worse_ , and then what?"

Dean looked positively aghast. "' _Professional help_ '?" he repeated, then quickly became furious. "You know what those con artists would do, Sam? Pump her full of pills and dumb her down to a damn diagnosis on a sheet of paper then lock her away where she doesn't bother society. Yeah, you're right, that's _just_ what she needs!" He jabbed a finger toward her where she slept on the couch, trying to keep his voice down. "What she needs right now is _family._ You and me."

"Right, because _we_ have our shit together," Sam replied sarcastically. "What can _you_ give her that's gonna help, Dean?" he asked challengingly, becoming almost scathing as he continued. "'Cause I got _nothing_ and there's more to dealing with this stuff than with a _shot_ glass!"

Deans face became stony at that remark. "That's low, Sammy."

Mild regret showed even though Sam tried to appear unaffected. "Well now you know how _I_ feel," he said quietly, excusing his behavior with stone-for-stone psychology. He abandoned that train of thought and refocused the conversation because he was so tired he thought he might fall over and he didn't _want_ to fight anymore. "I'm trying to say, you and me—we're not poster kids for well-adjusted and our track record for actually _helping_ people is kind of _horrible_ —we get half the people we try and help _killed_ and I mean right now, look at us. I'm… I'm falling apart and barely managing, _you_ _'_ _re_ a mess—"

"I'm fine, Sam!" Dean interrupted roughly, momentarily raising his voice before remembering himself. His voice lowered back down to a harsh, hissing whisper. "I wake up, I do my job, I keep it together, and I'm _fine_ because I have to be!" He set his brother with a defiant glare. "What's _your_ excuse?"

Sam pulled an _oh-please_ face at his brother. "You're _not_ fine," he said, then softened as he thought about how scared Dean had to be. He wasn't admitting it (did he ever?), but Sam could tell. And he tried to be the bigger person, tried to reach out to him, tried to make his brother feel safe enough to be genuine. "Don't be like that, man. Don't shut out one of the few people left who cares about you. _None of us_ are okay right now. After what happened…? How _could_ we be?" Dean said nothing, just looked away and tightened his jaw. Sam waited, then when there was continued silence, he tried again to commiserate and connect with his brother. "This is my worst nightmare, Dean. All of it." His throat tightened as he thought about it. He was angry, so _angry_ at everything happening but more than that he was miserable and grieving. It was almost like Alex was just… gone. And Sam had always feared this life would destroy her. What were they supposed to do now? It felt too late. "You _know_ I've never wanted this life for her—I _always_ wanted her out of the hunting and the killing and the danger because I was so afraid of something like this happening." Guilty and still silent, Dean's eyes were on Alex's sleeping shape in the other room. Sam pointed at her and let his voice convey how strongly he felt on the subject matter. "What she's doing right now? It's _not_ normal grieving. It's _not_. After everything she's been through, it's a wonder she's not on a bridge somewhere ready to jump off."

Dean's eyes snapped back to Sam and he looked positively shocked, indignant, and _angry_ at that conclusion, like he couldn't _believe_ Sam would say that. But Sam knew some things that Dean didn't, like Alex learning about a miscarriage. It was serious with Alex and Sam knew _he_ had been almost mentally broken many times in his life. In all honesty, Sam had never known how Dean and Alex could hold it together like they did. He wasn't sure how much loss and trauma someone could take, but Alex had been subjected to devastating amounts in a very brief amount of time and Sam was ill at the thought of not helping her through the emotional shitstorm she'd been thrown into. But he didn't know _how_ to help her personally—he was so fucked up and seeing Lucifer regularly now, sometimes as Nick, sometimes as Alex, sometimes as himself… and it was the most horrific and isolating thing Sam had ever known. He had told Dean parts of it, but he was _ashamed_ of the things the Alex manifestation of Lucifer made him see and he couldn't bring himself to tell his brother about that. Sam swallowed thickly and looked at Dean in all seriousness, refocusing his thoughts onto his sister's dire condition. "So if you don't man up and let go of your stupid pride or whatever this is and get her some help, then _I_ will," he promised intensely, a little more confrontationally than he meant to phrase himself. "Because I will _never_ be able to live with myself if she needed what you were too proud to let her have."

Sam apparently set his brother off with that statement. "This isn't about _pride_ , what are you _talking_ about?!" Dean's face was twisting up in flabbergasted fury as he shook from how upset he was. "Don't you _dare_ imply I don't care or I don't see how bad this is! Do you really think I'm that damn _selfish_? You and Alex are my job, you're my _life,_ I keep you safe and alive and okay!"

"Well just in case you haven't noticed _neither_ of us is okay!" Sam retorted hotly before his eyebrows pressed into together into an earnest, pleading expression. "And you know what? You're not the savior of the world, Dean! You're just human like me, like her, like Bobby. You don't _have_ all the answers. No one does, and if you keep putting that _insane_ pressure on yourself the next thing you know _you_ _'_ _ll_ be the one losing your mind!" He was left mildly breathless from his impassioned appeal and his somewhat unstable emotions.

Dean's expression was dark and hard to read. "Okay, look," he said in a flat and authoritative tone. "Maybe I don't have all the answers, but I have _one_ and it's this: _No_. No psych wards, no crazy houses, _no_. Not now, not ever."

Sam's jaw tightened. "You need to be more open-minded."

"I'm open-minded as hell!" Dean retorted sourly.

"Right," Sam replied flatly. "Well, at least you're humble."

"Gimme a break," Dean muttered, shaking his head and walking off a few steps to cool down. He stood there with his back to Sam for several beats and then without warning, he turned around and his face was completely open and vulnerable and wretched, startling Sam. "I just—why would she love him, Sam?" he asked, voice wavering and breaking. " _Why_? Especially after what he _did_? I thought I _knew_ her, man. I thought she was smarter, I thought she was stronger." Dean looked almost near tears as he turned his face toward the window and tried to get control over his emotions. Sam felt for his brother, deeply, identified with him. "It's like Cas _destroyed_ her, Sam. Like he did something no one can ever fix and I just… this is _my fault_. How could I have allowed it? How could either of us have ever _allowed_ it?" He looked at Sam with eyes that were lost and full of defeat.

Sam shook his head, out of answers. "We didn't _know,_ " he said softly.

Dean, at his wit's end, gave a soft _pssh_ sound. "I knew it was a bad idea," he said with sick certainty, not taking even an ounce of comfort from what Sam had said. "I _always_ knew that. But I was trying to be the 'bigger person' and trying to 'be respectful.'" He emphasized those terms with a voice laced in utter distaste. "Buncha _bull_ shit. I should have known better."

Filled with empathy and sadness, Sam shook his head softly. "Dean, Alex was always gonna make her own choices," he said. "You couldn't control that any more than you could stop me from going away to college." Dean shut his eyes briefly and turned his head down at that sore subject. Even after all these years, Stanford still got to Dean. Sam soldiered on, feeling badly about bringing it up. "But why are we so surprised at who she chose?" he asked. "I mean, look at the life she lived. How she grew up. Dad taught us to follow orders, accept emotional abuse as the norm… she was raised to roll over and take things, to love people who controlled her. It… it makes sense that she'd gravitate to that, right?" He sighed softly as Dean's face held in a sickened, stunned expression, like he'd never thought of it like that before. Sam indicated himself and Dean vaguely. " _None_ of us have had any luck in the romance department. Seems like the Winchesters just don't win in that area." Dean looked miserable and ill as Sam let his eyes go toward the study again where Alex was. "I just wish we would have known what Cas was capable of," he said quietly, confusion bubbling up. He could never have predicted this and was so _confused_ about how it had all turned out. He also felt angry, bitter, disillusioned, _sad_. "I… I really actually thought he was good enough for her for awhile there. He… he really did love her in the beginning." And even when he'd last seen them together before Cas returned the souls to Purgatory, all Sam had seen from Cas was this wretched, despairing love in the angel's eyes. Sam didn't _understand._ He wanted to be furious, but all he could currently bring himself to feel was defeated.

Dean's face was like a mask. "You don't _kill_ people you love," he replied tightly, and there was so much anger and self-loathing beneath that mask. Shaking his head as he fought off a sick expression, Dean looked near tears again. "I wish I could go back in time, man. I'd find a way to keep all this from happening."

Sam knew Dean always held himself responsible for everything and wished he knew how to tell his brother some things just needed to be let go for his own good. "You can't fix everything, Dean," he counseled, already knowing Dean wouldn't even listen to that true statement.

Darkening and hardening, Dean's reply was typical. "Well, I can _try_."

Sam was saddened and frustrated by his brother's reaction even though he had predicted it. "Look," he sighed, so tired he could barely stand. "Past is in the past. What about what we have to work with now?" He softened his voice just a little more. "She's not gonna be able to hunt like this. She's _not._ You know that. So what's our game plan?" She needed help, reprieve, healing. How was she supposed to get that from one brother who was hallucinating the devil and the other one who was a hardheaded alcoholic? And what about the Leviathans? They had to lock them back up or kill them before they could just up and abandon hunting or whatever.

Dean looked like a war-torn, world weary man who hadn't slept his entire life. It seemed like one more thing on his shoulders would break him down completely. But he just took Sam's question in stride and thought a second, then began to spiel out a weary game plan. "We—we gank these Levi-a-whatsits—"

" _Leviathans,_ " Sam interjected tiredly.

Dean looked like he couldn't give two craps but he half-rolled his eyes and took the correction. "Leviathans—and then… I dunno." He let out a deep, stressed out breath and threw a loose hand up like he was out of ideas. "Take some time off hunting to get Al where she needs to be."

Sam considered. No mention of professional, clinical help for Alex, which he disliked. But he would just present that idea again to Dean at a later point. Or just take matters into his own hands if he had to. Sam avoided mentioning it and decided to point out the obvious. "Well that sounds good in theory but we don't know how long this Leviathan thing will _last,_ " he said. "Or how to kill them. _Or_ how many there were in there. Had to be a lot to make Cas's body explode or whatever." He didn't want to be negative, but he couldn't find many positives either. It felt too big for him, Dean, and Bobby. "I got a feeling this is gonna be a tough one," he said heavily, feeling the impossible weight and responsibility on his conscience. It always seemed to get darker and worse for him and his family. Where was the light at the end of the tunnel? It felt like no matter what they did, they just got sucked further down into a pit there was no escaping from.

"That's why this is priority one, Sam." Dean said it like this hunt was his one lot left in life. "You and me and whatever other hunters we can rally gotta take care of these goopey bastards pronto. Maybe James will help again, huh? I got a few others we can maybe call."

Sam glanced into the study again, worried as hell about what was going to happen in the foreseeable future. Part of him wanted to just take his sister somewhere that she could get real help _now,_ another part of him was afraid maybe Dean was right and Alex needed them more than anything else. Sam didn't _know_ and he was so afraid of making a mistake that would leave her mentally scarred or crippled forever. And honestly he was so mentally messed up himself… what if _he_ couldn't make it much longer either? What if the hallucinations and the self-doubt and the horrifying, incestuous visions the devil kept attacking him with got worse? Sam didn't think he could handle it. And yet, despite his own fears, he was even more fearful for his twin sister. "I just want her to be okay, Dean," he said, feeling younger and smaller than he was and so, _so_ helpless. "She's _catatonic_. Doesn't that _bother_ you?"

Dean smiled tightly, an expression that had no joy or happiness to it whatsoever, only pain. " _All_ of this bothers me," he said.

Sam straightened and swallowed a thick lump in his throat. He needed to try and sleep or he might crack in half too. It felt like not much else could be accomplished that night. And there would be nightmares. Unspeakable things he couldn't mention to anyone, ever. Trying not to think about that, Sam tiredly glanced his brother's way. "Gonna try and get some shut eye," he said. "You got this?"

Dean nodded tiredly. "Yeah. Get some rest, kiddo." Sam smiled ever-so-softly at that nickname. Sometimes, Dean didn't seem to remember that Sam was a full grown man. Sometimes, Sam forgot too. As he turned to shuffle out of the kitchen, Dean's voice stopped him. "Sammy." Sam turned, curious at the tone of voice Dean used. His brother seemed apologetic to some degree or almost embarrassed. "Sorry if I haven't said it already but… I know going through it alone—or, you know, without family—had to be hard." He looked at Sam and gave him a few little nods and approving, softer eyes. "You did us proud."

Warmed inside, feeling seen and appreciated for the first time in awhile, Sam felt himself smiling genuinely even through his worry and pain. "Thanks Dean."

Maybe Dean said this next thing for his own benefit: "We're gonna get through all this, little brother, you hear me?"

Sam nodded, feeling better because Dean telling him that always had a calming effect. And Sam honestly believed. "Yeah."

Dean waited until Sam's footsteps had faded away and he went into the study and leaned against the desk, studied Alex for a few minutes. Without someone watching him, Dean was finally free to despair, and despair he did. He felt more and more lost every day here lately. He was still in shock over what was happening and so, so _sad_. Sam was a mess, seeing Lucifer everywhere and barely sleeping, Alex was a broken shell of herself and didn't respond to _anything._ Dean blamed himself for all of it, he knew no way of fixing things, and he was at a complete dead end inside. How was one brother supposed to know how to fix all these problems with his siblings? How was one man supposed to stow such impossible baggage and hurts and fears to stay strong? "I'm tired, Al," he whispered into the darkness even though she slept. He put a hand on his face and wished he didn't have to be the strong one, wished he had some damn answers, wished he didn't feel so terrified. "I'm so _tired_. I take care of you two but who takes care of _me_?" He shuddered at himself and then got irrationally angry with his feelings and pushed his sadness down into the fire of fury. "Fucking _hell,_ where is the goddamn whiskey when you need it?" he raged in a coarse mutter, already heading to the kitchen to find his most necessary medication.

As he crankily fumbled around in the kitchen for alcohol, his sister stared up at the ceiling blankly. Alex had slept for maybe two minutes, then woken up again to the sound of her brothers arguing about what to do with her. She'd heard most of their conversation and as she stared into darkness now, she was overwhelmed with guilt, pain, and shame in a brief moment of clarity. Everything they had said had stabbed knives of pain into her already destroyed heart because it made her feel like she was burdening and hurting and wronging her brothers simply by feeling how she felt—her condition was making their lives harder and their problems all the more profound. And she was so terrified because she didn't know how to escape herself or get away from the things she was doing. _How do I stop?_ Alex tightened her arms around the lump of Cas's trench coat and her heart ached in her chest because she knew how pathetic she was and how _weak_. Silent, hot tears dripped out of her eyes.

_I don_ _'_ _t like who I am anymore._

_Why would they still love me or care? They should_ hate _me. They should tell me how stupid and foolish and selfish I am, how far gone. They should leave me, lock me away in a crazy house somewhere. I deserve to be left. I deserve to suffer. I don_ _'_ _t want to inconvenience them anymore. I don_ _'_ _t want to be another mess they have to clean up._

_When did this happen? When did I become such a revolting, intolerable human being?_

_I shouldn_ _'_ _t even be alive. Not if this is who I am._

Alex remembered herself as once being a girl who knew how to get through life. She remembered herself being smart, strong, good under pressure. And now, she was pitiful and had lost her grip. A shadow of who she'd been. She'd been cracked before Cas because of a lifetime of pressure, loss, pain, and trauma. Then Cas rebuilt her, gave her insurmountable hope for the future, softened her where she'd been hard and guarded. He'd taken her high and then suddenly disappeared, now she had crashed down under the weight of reality and was left a woman destroyed. It felt like she just couldn't go on with life anymore. Like she couldn't look her family in the eye without being miserable and knowing how inadequate she was, how much of a difficulty and a strain she added, how _stupid_ she was. Alex despaired at herself, at what had happened, and how she had _no idea_ of how to carry on or to cope.

How long had passed since Castiel walked into the lake? Alex didn't know, but even the word 'lake' made her throat tight with alarm. _I_ _'_ _m okay,_ she tried to soothe herself _. I_ _'_ _m not losing my mind. I_ _'_ _m fine._ But Alex knew she wasn't. She remembered the past few days very vaguely… she remembered coming in and out of clarity between going to this dark, blank nowhere inside of herself that was safe, distant, and hollow in a way that comforted her. She remembered being in a hospital and feeling like she was dying from a heart attack. She remembered Sam having a couple episodes of near panic of his very own. She remembered Bobby trying to talk to her and Alex hadn't heard a word he said. But mostly she remembered shutting herself off to the outside world. Sometimes on purpose, other times without even realizing it which was disturbing and scary. But at this particular moment, she was left feeling her feelings again and it was awful—it was like being covered in ants all over, and she couldn't shake off the emotions that were crawling over every inch of her or suffocating her to death. _I don_ _'_ _t want to feel._

But feel she did. She was filled with sorrow, she was angry, confused, hurt, torn in half, ripped apart. She didn't know herself or how she could feel what she did at all. So many conflicting, opposing thoughts warred inside of her mind, leaving her to be riddled by the crossfire. She hated herself so completely for loving the one who had broken Sam, who had killed Dean and Bobby and _her_. She hated herself because she knew those things happened to her family because of her when all was said and done. At the exact same time, Alex mourned Castiel's loss and refused to accept it… but she also thought _he deserved to die_. All at the same time. And all of those thoughts wrecked her so completely. She clenched his coat tighter, unable to despise him for long, even after he had done what he did.

_What is wrong with me?_

Wanting to blame someone besides herself for it all, Alex felt herself getting more and more physically riled up. Her breathing was getting more and more labored, her heart was beginning to speed up. She wanted to scream at and shake Castiel and demand to know how the hell he could ever even be capable of those atrocities, the things he had done to her and her family. But she would forever remain in the dark and left to guess. Because he was _dead_.

That thought made her throat constrict and she suppressed a sob valiantly. Her first love, however bitter. Her hopes and dreams had been tied to him. Her love and affection for him and her desire for him to be there with her even now flooded her heart and Alex shut her eyes tightly as her face twisted up in misery. _I love you and I don_ _'_ _t want to because it hurts and it_ _'_ _s wrong. How do I un-love you? You promised me the world and then left me and I hate you for leaving. You violated every trust I put in you, you hurt me and my family. You destroyed_ everything _. How the hell do I still want you here with me?_

Memories of him saturated her mind and increased all the pain she was feeling a hundredfold. She wanted him to be there with her so badly, wrong or right. She could conjure his voice in her mind, she could imagine him holding her, and it absolutely murdered her mind and heart to do that to herself. Was this what it was like to be a drug addict? Dependent and addicted to the thing that was slowly going to kill you?

Alex tried again to suppress a sob because she didn't want Dean to hear. She didn't want anyone to know how wretched and pitiful she was. She didn't want to bother her brother, she didn't want to be his burden. And then Alex began to think about her family—and she was taken back to those two weeks of knowing Dean and Bobby were dead and Sammy was by himself and Alex lost the ability to breathe. She was abruptly stricken by terror that she would lose them again—one or all—and Alex absolutely could _not_ take someone else leaving. Unbidden, she remembered Dean laying dead and stiff on a motel room bed a few days ago and Alex was utterly _petrified_ at the memory.

Her heart began to race at top speed as a sudden, suffocating feeling of panic and alarm gripped her tightly. She shot straight up, gasping for air like she was drowning. She threw Cas's coat away from herself, fell onto all fours to the floor and lost vision as another panic attack began. She heard Dean dropping things and rushing to her but she tried to push him away because she didn't want him to see her like that—she was scared to death of what was happening to her and didn't want anyone else to see. _No no no no_ she heard herself saying over and over again.

Sam and Bobby found them huddled on the floor together a couple minutes later. They were both woken from the noise of it. Dean was trying to get Alex to breathe and calm down. None of them slept that night after all.

* * *

**The Next Day**

It had been five days since Emmanuel had been found lakeside by Daphne.

Because he had no name, no recollection of who he was or what his name might be, Daphne suggested a few days ago that he find a name for himself that was suitable and of his choosing. At her suggestion, he had visited a baby name website and done just that. He selected Emmanuel—'God with us.' It seemed right to him even if not much else did.

Daphne was very understanding and very kind to let an unknown stranger with amnesia into her life and home. Sometimes, Emmanuel wondered if he should find it odd or unsettling that she was so willing and even eager to open her home to him. But he had other things he found worrying about himself…

For example, he never grew hungry or thirsty, but he ate and drank when Daphne did so that she would not be afraid or think he was defective (which, he wondered if he was). He never slept—ever— _at all_. He seemed to have no need of showers or personal hygiene. He wondered if perhaps that lake had done something to him or if he were some kind of government experiment. He shared none of these concerns with Daphne, who coincidently was the only human being he'd interacted with much for the past six days.

She gardened, she knit and practiced yoga, she worked at an herbalist shop (but had taken the past few days off to care for him). She enjoyed cooking for him, asking him many philosophical questions, and she spoke very often about her ideas on marriage and God. The purpose of those topics mystified Emmanuel, but he was too polite to question her.

Emmanuel sometimes caught sight of Daphne in the house with her back turned to him and he found himself feeling something strange. When all he saw was dark brown hair, something stirred in him. But then she would turn around and her face seemed wrong to him. Emmanuel couldn't say why he felt the way he did. He kept the penny he had been clutching when he dragged himself out of the lake close. When he grew anxious or confused, he slipped his hand into his pocket and held onto it. He wondered if he would ever remember who he was. Perhaps, as Daphne said, this could be God's path for him. A new slate. Although he wanted to know what he was. _Who_ he was.

At the current time late afternoon on the weekend, he and Daphne had walked to the nearby gas station to buy eggs—Daphne fussed that they wouldn't be 'free range' but lamented that there was no time to go to some place of whole foods. Emmanuel wasn't sure. He didn't feel in his element half the time, he almost felt like life and culture and everything she did was alien to him.

As Emmanuel waited for Daphne to buy the eggs at the counter, he glanced at the little television in half-interest. " _Scientists have no explanation for what astronomers can only describe as a surprise eclipse._ " Emmanuel was briefly intrigued. Daphne had no television at her house and she had told him she found news to be too evil and dark—she did not read papers or keep up with current world events. She had many books on mysticism and Buddhism, though.

Emmanuel browsed the candy aisle idly, not recognizing anything and wondering why. Perhaps he had been like Daphne in his past life… unwilling to eat anything that was not from Mother Earth's arms. And then he caught sight of a blue and white wrapped baked good and he felt a lurch of thrilling recognition and he immediately took hold of the crinkling plastic packet, staring as a smile grew on his face. "I… I like these!" he announced, breathless with excitement as he looked at Daphne, who had come to his side. She never went far. "I remember I like these!" He was elated because he had finally remembered something about himself. He _knew_ he had liked these. Loved, maybe.

Daphne looked at the confection with a slight cringe. "Well, you _shouldn_ _'_ _t_ ," she chided with a gentle smile, taking the Hostess Cupcakes from him. "There's more _chemicals_ in these than anything else, Emmanuel." He watched her put them back, disillusioned. _But_ _…_ _those_ _…_ _seem important._ She took his hand, gently pulling him after her. But Emmanuel couldn't take his eyes off those cupcakes because somehow they seemed very meaningful.

On the walk home, they took a different way and passed a small patch of yellow wildflowers. Without any reason whatsoever, Emmanuel stopped, stared, and his eyes flooded with tears as he stared at those flowers and inexplicable feelings welled inside. He had an urgent, deep feeling he couldn't describe. He… _loved_ these flowers. Loved them beyond understanding, felt deep sorrow at the sight of them, didn't understand _at all._

"What is it, Emmanuel?" Daphne asked, deeply worried at his sudden expression of lost, dazed emotion.

"These flowers," Emmanuel said, looking them over and not sure why he was reacting so strongly to them. Then he realized why. "They… they remind me of something." But what did they remind him of?

Daphne wanted to know the same thing. "Of what?" she asked in gentle concern.

He was so frustrated and confused that he couldn't bear it. "I… I don't _know._ "

Daphne sighed softly, smiling sympathetically and taking hold of his hand. "If they're upsetting you, come away," she urged, her tone meant to be soothing and comforting. But to Emmanuel, nothing could soothe or comfort him. Not while those sunny yellow flowers stared back at him. Emmanuel let her lead him away from there but he looked over his shoulder at those flowers several times as the feeling of urgency and despair deepened.

He thought of the yellow flowers and the cupcakes for the rest of that day and all through the night as he sat awake on the living room couch, trying to understand why he reacted like that. He held his penny, the one thing he knew belonged to him. He tried so hard to remember who he was… but no answer or explanation came.

* * *

Dean paused before he went out onto the porch. He had to prepare himself for this. He had to ready himself. With a deep breath in and then let out, he bit the bullet and toed the screen door open. He had a plate in one hand and a bottle of water in the other.

He approached his sister carefully. It had now been five days since Cas walked into the lake. And Dean didn't really want to admit to it or face it but… he _did_ recognize that Alex was getting worse, not better. Still, he tried valiantly to fight reality because he literally couldn't stand having to stick Alex in the looney bin or admit how bad the problem was. She was hunkered down on the porch steps off the house. She was wearing her old jacket of _his_ and it was oversized on her like it had always been. She stared into space with a slightly wrinkled brow and she didn't acknowledge his arrival.

Last night, Alex had thrown the trench coat away at the beginning of her panic attack and Dean had managed to get it away during the chaos, hide it in the trunk of his car. His logic had been out of sight, out of mind. Well… _no_. But when Dean went back to get it at Sam's frantic insistence because Alex had been going nuts, Dean found it had disappeared out of his trunk completely. Sam of course accused him of burning it or lying about not being able to find it. Dean had no _clue_ what happened to it and _wasn_ _'_ _t_ lying. He'd had no choice but to explain it to Alex, who looked like she'd lost her best friend all over again when he said the trench coat was gone.

In the early hours of the morning, she'd dragged out this ratty old jacket out and put it on and now she was completely silent. Had been all day. Still wouldn't eat. Dean was worried sick. Even now, as he sat beside her, she seemed as Sam had said, completely catatonic. Dean tried to be lighthearted even though he felt utterly hopeless. "Hey, Mouse, whatcha doing?"

No reply except the slightest lowering and shifting of her eyes toward him. Dean felt his heart breaking all over again but he tried to be positive for her sake. He lifted the plate slightly for emphasis. "Brought you a sandwich," he said, trying to sound enthusiastic. "Put all your favorite stuff on there and _no tomatoes_. Can't have tomatoes on there, they ruin everything, right?" He gave a little chuckle and it took a lot to do it. Alex said nothing, looked back ahead of herself, and Dean wanted to cry. "You _gotta_ eat, Al," he pleaded, dropping his easygoing demeanor. "Come on. Starving yourself isn't gonna change anything. All it's gonna do is hurt you and worry me and Sam and Bobby. Can you just take a bite?" Nothing. Dean was getting desperate. "I'll pay you…" he shifted, fished out his wallet, and counted out all the bills he had in there. "Ninety-seven big ones." No response at all. Dean wet his lips, trying everything he could think of. "Hell, I'll get you a pack of smokes and _light_ the damn things for you if you eat this thing," he said, gesturing at her with the plate again. She didn't look like she was getting any of what he was saying and Dean felt so worried he could have been close to vomiting. "Are you even _hearing_ me right now?" he asked, setting the plate down beside himself and staring at her profile in open, vast concern. She was glazed over, silent, and he had never seen her like this before, ever. She wasn't purposefully ignoring him, and that was what terrified him. " _Jesus,_ " he murmured tightly, trying to think _, think,_ trying to figure out a way to get her out of herself, out of the pits of despair. Was Sam right? Dean didn't believe in crazy-doctors. But he also didn't know how to face what was happening to his sister at all. How was he supposed to know what to do now? Everything that had happened was his worst nightmare and when he thought about how he could have _stopped this_ by listening to his intuitions about Cas all along, especially in the beginning… Dean wanted to hit something. Either that or put his hands up and give up on everything. Strap his looney toons siblings into a car and drive off a cliff.

He tried reaching out to her one more time, tried to get her to listen to him. "I get it, you know that?" He was gentle and tried to be very careful about how he worded himself. "Don't think I haven't wanted to give up and stop trying after some of the things I've seen and been through. And I probably _would_ have given up too if it weren't for you and Sammy. I need you to get through this, kiddo." He looked at her unmoving, blank profile a minute longer and there was no change at all. Almost at the point of tears, Dean resorted to letting his emotions out. It had been bad enough seeing her growing up isolated, alienated, feeling insecure about herself. Now she was cracking into pieces and dying in front of his eyes? It was too much for him. "I can't see you like this, Al," he confessed miserably. "I _can_ _'_ _t_. I need you to decide you'll be okay someday and start taking steps towards there. _Please_."

Finally, he saw that she heard him. Her eyes dropped to look at the ground and she said one single word, so soft he could barely hear. "Can't." But what he _did_ hear was so much pain in her voice.

Dean didn't know what else to do. He put an arm around her and pulled her into his side. "C'mere," he whispered, putting his other arm around her tightly to surround her in a side bear hug. And Dean expected her to begin to cry, to grab onto him and sob, but she was slack in his arms like a dead fish. She stared at nothing, her face was blank, and his hug seemed to do _nothing_ to her at all—it didn't anger her or comfort her, it didn't break through to her. And Dean was terrified because it was like she just wasn't _there_ anymore.

How could he get her back?

And the more terrifying question: what if he never could?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay guys, on a serious note, I am prepared for a lot of my readers to be very frustrated at this point with Alex and judge her. But you know what? I prefer for my characters to be real (aka, flawed, like an actual human being) than be 'strong' and two dimensional. Yeah, it is painful to see someone who was once so strong and resourceful break down and reach such a low and desperate, apathetic point. We all have our breaking points and ladies and gentlemen, you have just seen Alex reach hers. This is Alex's testing ground. She is dealing with so many issues that have been repressed her entire life and Castiel was the catalyst that made the dam break. So, hopefully everyone won't jump to call Alex weak and pathetic for what has happened to her and how she can't stand up under it and how she is going to struggle to cope in the next few chapters. Can you really imagine her just walking away from what she went through and just going on? She's lost people too many times, dealing with insane guilt and loss, and really quite hopeless and depressed. Hang in there guys. She is going through a valley right now and the best part of it will be seeing her come through it and learning to cope. But yeah, lots of pain ahead. SRS support group anyone?


	86. All Nightmare Long

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *** CONTENT TRIGGER WARNING: Suicide Attempt ***

" _All these nights are catching up to me. I just can't put insomnia to sleep._ _"  
_ \- Lifehouse

* * *

**Six Days After Castiel Walked Into The Lake…**

Richard Roman: billionaire businessman, one of the fifty most powerful men in America, owner of his own enterprise. Successful, influential, and… well, _dead_. In his own corporate office, the rich CEO's body sprawled on the floor. His glassy eyes stared lifelessly in shock at the ceiling above.

"Dick, Dick, _Dick_ _…_ " said a soft, humored voice. Expensive polished Stefano Bemer brand dress shoes sauntered lazily around Richard 'Dick' Roman's dead body. "You were a real go-getter, weren't you?" the voice continued. "That's what I like about you. Well… about _me._ " Standing over Dick Roman's corpse and chuckling was… Dick Roman. 

This right here was the best part about being a Leviathan. The ability to copy and transform into anything you had DNA access to—a mere touch was all it took. The Leviathan who stood over Dick Roman and _looked_ like Dick Roman chuckled. Masquerading as the illustrious and unfortunately-dead businessman had given him complete access to the CEO's personality, memories, abilities— _everything_. This successful human man's appearance was the perfect host and disguise for this specific Leviathan. Why? Because this Leviathan was Original. The first and primary, the one who had spawned his collective of all the others in ancient times. He was the king and ruler of his kind. The smartest, the fastest, the visionary, the one who was already planning domination over any and all other sentient beings in existence.

Original's species had _finally_ escaped Purgatory after what seemed to be a million years. All thanks to that bumbling angel who was now very dead and at the bottom of a lake somewhere. Original smiled to himself, so pleased with the circumstances he had found himself and his Lessers in. There were _millions_ of yummy humans just waiting to be gobbled up and subjugated, Behemoth had been sent back to Purgatory and wouldn't get in the way again, and maybe best of all, God seemed to be nowhere to be found. All signs pointed to yes. Leviathan could finally be what they were supposed to be: the ruling, superior species, free to hunt and feast upon humans, free to recreate the world as Original saw fit.

A professional-looking asian woman entered the room at a brisk stride and Original turned to eye her slyly. "...Did you eat the personal assistant?" he asked as she approached, a playfully sinister smile on his lips. 

She returned his coy smirk. "With hot sauce."

"Atta girl!" Original commended enthusiastically, chuckling easily. He looked down at his dead doppelganger and knelt down beside him. "Now, before we eat Dick…" there was a powerful ripping, squelching sound as Original tore one of the limbs off of the body he knelt over. He turned and smiled up at the woman. "Let's keep this arm of his. Just in case we need some of that delicious DNA again in the foreseeable future." He rose up to his feet and handed the arm over to his personal assistant, who took it with a gracious smile. The door to the office opened again and in came another Leviathan that Original recognized as part of the collective. "Well look who came out for buffet!" he commented, grinning widely. "Just in time, Lesser."

The other Leviathan—in the body of a beefy Latino man—was quieter and calmer than Original. "It's Edgar now," he corrected in a blasé tone. Original's eyes narrowed questioningly. 'Edgar' then explained. "With our consciousness scattered into different bodies and no longer connected as they once were, taking individual names will make this easier."

Original couldn't argue with that logic, but he also disliked the presumption this Lesser had used. However, he smiled and indicated himself as if he were making an introduction. "In that case… _Dick_." He looked at the other Leviathan present in the woman's body. "And what do we call you?"

"This one was called Susan."

Dick nodded, smiling as usual. "Uninspired," he commented pleasantly, his enthusiasm reaching false and irritating levels. " _I like it_!" He chuckled heartily, then indicated the body on the floor. "Well? Dig in, kids. And where's that hot sauce?" He grinned widely, and the smile didn't reach his eyes. It resulted in a creepy, inhuman quality.

After the Leviathan had consumed all of the human Dick Roman, they stood up and tidied themselves. Leviathan Dick Roman dabbed at the corner of his mouth delicately, wiping away some blood there. "Good _stuff_ ," he commented in that zany, forcefully enthusiastic voice. Dick could get used to this all-you-can-eat buffet way of life that he'd been enjoying since coming topside about a week ago. And, well, he had _plans_ to.

Dick clapped Edgar hard on the shoulder, gripping hard enough to break human bone if, indeed, Edgar had been human. "Well, this sure is _fun_ , isn't it Eddy?" he asked, grinning wide enough to crack his face in two. "Being above ground again is a real breath of fresh air, huh? The food supply is a lot bigger than it used to be, too, have you noticed? I think this is gonna be a profitable year, if you catch my drift." He chuckled again and winked, straightening the lapels of the suit he wore in a jaunty manner. Quite honestly, Dick could have eaten about five more humans right then and there to celebrate how everything was coming up roses for him at the moment. _But,_ before he got carried away, there were some things to be done and Lesser—er, _Edgar_ , had some tasks Dick needed taken care of, stat. Dick set Edgar with a smile that was pleasant but threatening. "Now, first things first. I want you to kill the Winchester boys. We all saw what they were capable of through that peppy little angel's memories, didn't we?" He gave Susan and Edgar pointedly playful looks and they obviously, silently agreed. "If the past is any prediction of the future, those jackasses in plaid are gonna be gunning for us," Dick continued. "And as pathetic and _human_ as they are… better to be safe than sorry and wipe them off the board. Just can't have them causing problems for us, now can we?"

"No sir." Edgar answered automatically. And then he hesitated, appearing to become very tentative and cautious, even a little worried as he frowned slightly. "What about… about _her_?" he asked, and Dick's smile fell because he knew who 'her' was. _All_ of the Leviathan knew. All of them had the same exact thoughts and feelings mixed into their own because of that damn angel and the living arrangements they had been forced into for the last few weeks. "We're supposed to keep her safe," Edgar said, sounding faintly confused. "Killing her is not allowed."

Dick mulled his dilemma over for a moment. "No, it's not, is it," he commented softly, smiling to himself again almost dreamily. Alex Winchester. His mind was filled with many fluffy, warm, deep thoughts about her… whether he wanted them there or not. Faintly, Dick despised those feelings and tried to shake them off. But they seemed to be inked in like a tattoo. There was no scrubbing them away. How the hell had the angel done that to Behemoth and Leviathan both? Dick wasn't sure. All he knew was that he felt a pull like no other toward this girl. That pull didn't belong to him, but it had been seared into him all the same. "Bring her to me," Dick said, starting to grin maniacally despite himself as he pictured the youngest Winchester. "I want her here with me. That perfect little hundred-and-twenty pound little drink of water… she's so precious I could just die!" He heard what he said and got irritated at himself, but he just kept grinning through his annoyance as a laugh harshly escaped out of his mouth. "Ah, dammit, there go the angel instincts again!"

That Castiel character _really_ had it bad for that little scrap of meat. Dick did _not_ like it. Humans were repulsive unless you put ranch dressing on them. And here he was thinking of this Alex Winchester and finding her perfect in every way and _day_ dreaming about her…? _No_. Those thoughts were the angel's feelings for her. Dick decided he would have to either kill this Alex girl or eat her up to solve the problem. And the moment he thought about killing her, he immediately thought _no! I protect her! She will never be hurt as long as I_ _'_ _m alive._

Dick blinked, frowning slightly in confusion. "Ho-ly _hell_ ," he chuckled, surprised and impressed and more than a little angry because he had _no control_ over that strong impulse inside of himself. None. This Castiel fruitcake was real lucky he'd kicked the bucket. "If he were still alive I'd kick his little cloud-prancing ass good for getting in our heads like that," Dick murmured mostly to himself. His mind was filled with thoughts about the girl—they felt consuming and they fought inside—Leviathan instincts versus the ghost of the angel's. "I don't know if I wanna pet her and smother her in kisses or if I wanna gobble her up with fries on the side!" He couldn't get a handle on what he thought or felt, all he knew was Edgar immediately looked disapproving about the 'gobble her up' comment and even Susan looked vaguely unhappy about it too. Dick had to laugh, because it truly was a ridiculous and unforeseen circumstance to be in. He grinned all the wider and clapped Edgar on the shoulder. "I'll figure it out when you bring her to me," he said. "Well what are you waiting for, champ? Go get 'em tiger! Oh, one more thing." He paused for effect, smiling the entire time but softening his voice to have a dangerous edge. "I'll kill you if you fail me." Edgar's face showed a ripple of fear. Dick winked facetiously. "Hugs and kisses." Edgar nodded and turned to leave. Dick stopped him before he got to far. "Oh, and keep an eye out for Least."

Edgar stopped and turned, then exchanged a brief, doubtful and slightly amused look with Susan before replying to Dick. "I doubt he made it through, sir."

Dick's good humored outward act gave way to a little of the fearful darkness and fury and murder he was made of on the inside. "That little defect _always_ makes it through."

Edgar's smile faded in place of trepidation. All Leviathan knew not to cross or anger Original, or as he was known now, Dick. "Yes sir. Of course." And with that, Edgar left to go do what he had been told.

* * *

**Sioux Falls, South Dakota**

A very defeated and forlorn Dean Winchester pulled open the door to Bobby's kitchen… alone. Alex was still outside on the porch steps with the untouched sandwich sitting next to her where he'd left it. No sign that she would eat it, either. She just hadn't responded to him in days—six of them. And when she wasn't having a full-blown panic attack, she was numb and silent and absent and _nothing_ seemed to really get through to her. It was impossibly painful and frightening for Dean to watch. She had been _strong_ through so much of her life, why was she suddenly just giving out now? As he mulled it over, he got more and more depressed.

Maybe this break had been a long time coming. Maybe everything had piled up and multiplied and this final event had been the straw that broke the camel's back. Alex had been through a shitty childhood, a shitty young adulthood… just a really shitty _life_ overall. There had been constant bullying, low self-esteem, no real relationships except her immediate family, no consistency except for mostly bad stuff, a dad who held her at arms' length emotionally and pushed her to points no kid should have been pushed to, a twin brother who had left her feeling abandoned and second best in the past, an oldest brother who had maybe done her more harm than good by keeping her in the life and believing that he could keep her safe from everything. There had been loss after loss after loss and more death and murder and pain than any one person was supposed to see or encounter… but before Cas, she'd been able to get through the nightmares somehow. This time was different. Cas had _done_ something to her. Wedged himself between Alex and her family, given her hopes and dreams and ideas about a future that would clearly never happen. Love was a bad idea. This entire scenario confirmed it all over again for Dean Winchester.

See, that was the thing. He really did believe Cas had loved Alex. Loved her to the point of insanity and madness and ruin. But loved her all the same. And there was no question that Alex had loved Cas. Too much and all-in, with every damn thing inside of herself she had. So now was it _really_ any wonder she was destroyed?

Dean still wished he'd _somehow_ found a way to keep Cas and Alex away from each other way back when it had just been starting. Maybe he'd still have his sister and not this seemingly empty shell. But the fact remained: Dean _couldn_ _'_ _t_ go back in time. All he had left to work with was what was left. A broken sibling and the other one who was teetering on the same edge. To Dean, this was his worst case scenario and he felt so _alone._ He had his own wounds and fears and battles he was fighting inside of himself… who was there to catch _his_ fall and help _him_ through the nightmares? This feeling scared the shit out of him. What if he couldn't hold it together for his family? What if he couldn't be as strong as he needed to be?

Dean's boots clomped in a way that sounded morose against the kitchen floor as he entered the room. Bobby glanced up from his work drying some dishes at the sink; Sam's eyes jumped up to Dean anxiously. "How'd operation sandwich go?" Bobby asked when Dean drifted in aimlessly without saying anything.

Tired and worried in a way that transcended the physical, Dean shook his head, barely able to look either of them in the eye. He was wooden and withdrawn, lost in his thoughts about his limping, floundering family. "It didn't."

The men were silent for a few tense beats. She had barely eaten anything in six days. And they couldn't exactly shove calories down her throat, could they? "Has to eat _sometime_..." Bobby said, but he was starting to sound as worried as Sam and Dean were. Sam stared out through the screen door at his sister's just-visible back. She didn't move. Sort of like a statue.

Dean was starting to think about some kind of nutrition IV-drip for her if she kept on eating like a freaking pigeon. As he wracked his harrowed mind for answers, he absently noticed how Sam had his phone held loosely in hand like he'd just been using it. "Someone call?" he asked, hoping the answer was no. _Please, no more problems or emergencies right now. I_ _'_ _m too tired for that._

Coming out of anxious contemplation of his twin, Sam switched his focus to Dean. Clearly, Sam was feeling just about as great as Dean was feeling, but he answered his brother's question readily and evenly despite himself. "Uh, yeah, someone called… and…"— _heavy sigh_ —"looks like we might have a _Leviathan_ sighting. Stockville North Kansas, most of a high school swim team got mangled to death in their locker room."

Dean narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms. Bobby, who Sam had apparently already filled in, volunteered more details. "Cops are saying it looks like some kind of wild animal attack, something the size of a linebacker."

Dean shrugged and made a bit of a face thanks to his deeply cynical mindset. "Well, sucks to be the swim team."

"It's a _lead_ , Dean," Sam pointed out.

The oldest Winchester looked at his brother sharply, starting to get the general idea. "Okay, okay, _slow down bucko_." Dean's voice was very quickly turning dominant and authoritative. "If you think you're going out on a _hunt_ —"

"No, I know," Sam cut in calmly. _Too_ calmly. What happened to his jumpy Satan-is-my-copilot nerves? "I'm not. But you _are_ , and Jamie's meeting you there." Dean's eyebrows rose fractionally then moved in together questioningly. _Huh?_ Sam held his phone up, a wan smile stretching his face. "Who you think gave me the head's up? She's on her way there now." A little taken aback at the way Sam was calling the shots, Dean stared dumbly at his brother. "Look," Sam continued earnestly. "Bobby's running the hub, I'm—I'm mostly _fifty-one-fiftied_ , Alex is down for the count… that leaves you to follow this thing up with Jamie."

Dean looked between Sam and Bobby almost indignantly because asking him to leave them in the thick of it was bitterly offensive and wrong to him… didn't they _get_ that? Apparently not, because they were both looking at him expectantly. "Okay Sam, you and your mini-me are both in the middle of friggin' psychotic _break_ _s,_ " Dean reminded his brother in a sharp, argumentative voice. "Jamie can handle some two-bit lead on her own."

Still composed and calm, Sam nodded his understanding. "I have no doubt that she could, but it's only a couple hours' drive, Dean, and it could be a Leviathan thing. And Jamie hasn't seen what we did, that… that black _goo_ crap." He paused and gave Dean the puppy dog eyes… the _I_ _'_ _m-so-confused_ face that always guilted Dean into listening and reconsidering. "Weren't you just telling me this was priority one last night?"

Fumbling defensively because he _had,_ Dean tried to backpedal. "Well, _yeah_ —" sending those Leviathan things back to the hellhole they'd come from was most important but… this felt too soon. Alex was in shambles, Sam was falling apart at the seams (even though he was trying damn hard to prove otherwise), Bobby had enough on his plate too. And that was why Dean was adamant. "But if you think I'm leaving you and Al _alone_ —"

"Hey, what am I, chopped brains on toast?" Bobby asked, forever sounding vaguely amused yet irritated at the same time. He was giving Dean a fatherly, lecturing look. "I can eyeball the kids. _G_ _o_. Work off some of those nerves on something useful and get some space from this. Won't nobody get mad at you for takin' a breather. And you can tell Miss Ward thanks for the help. _Again_." Dean blinked twice. Sam _and_ Bobby telling him to just take off?

Bobby sat down at the table with Sam who was pulling out his laptop. Dean stood there for a second and watched as the two of them proceeded to start to get to work and ignore him. Dean stared, waiting for someone to say something. When no one did, he threw his arms out shallowly. "I can't just _leave_ —" he protested in rising confusion.

"Yes you _can_ ," Sam replied, his hazel eyes snapping up to look into Dean's pointedly. "We gotta start somewhere. Who knows if we'll get another lead like this again." There was a brief, tense silence where the brothers' eyes remained locked in silent argument—and Sam's voice wavered almost imperceptibly when he spoke again and that strong facade flickered. "We _need you_ to do this for us."

'We'—'us'—as in the family. 'We' as in _me and Alex_. Dean felt himself responding to that request so deeply and immediately that his chest hurt. Never mind what he thought, felt, knew, wanted… never mind his own inner demons and struggles and pains. His brother and sister _needed_ him to be strong. So Dean made up his mind to be strong. Just one more time. For Sammy and Al, who deserved this, who _needed_ help, who he loved more than anyone or anything else. Pretending to be annoyed even though inside he was something like despairing and vulnerable, Dean made a face. " _Fine_." He pointed a finger at Sam warningly. "But if I come back and you try and pull a fast one, don't think I won't kick your Beautiful Mind ass."

Dean was talking about the looney bin and how Sam had sort of threatened to take Alex there if Dean wouldn't. Sam smiled ever so faintly, rueful of the way his brother had phrased himself and a little weary to reply. Still, he did. "It's a deal." Good. Because Dean meant it. If someone stuck her in one of those nuthouses, he would have a conniption.

He looked out the screen door one more time, his insides sinking again at the sight of an unmoved Alex. She still wore his old hand-me-down jacket from their teenage years, and it was still way too big on her and it still pulled at his heartstrings whenever she wore that damn thing. Like a magnet, Dean was slowly pulled to the screen door. If she didn't make it through this… if she didn't pull through… he would never stop blaming himself. "You two keep an eye on her," he said in a softer voice. "I mean it."

He heard a chair creak as Bobby got up. The older hunter came over and and grasped Dean reassuringly at the shoulder. "Don't you worry. We will."

Dean looked sidelong at the guy who'd been a father to him and his siblings and dropped his voice to the lowest volume he could without whispering. "And _you_ keep an eye on _him_." He let his eyes flick back to Sam.

Bobby squeezed Dean's shoulder and smiled thinly. He obviously got it and didn't need reminding. "Trust me, I'm gonna be watchin' _both_ of 'em."

* * *

**A Few Hours Later  
Sharky's Sports Bar - Stockville, Kansas**

Already wearing his FBI blues, Dean walked into the dark bar and pulled his shades off, looking around for the person he was supposed to meet here. He spotted her right away—she was sitting facing away from him, leaned over something on a bar-height table. He recognized her right away even though he couldn't see her face. One, the long blonde hair. Two, she was wearing typical FBI getup, but without her suit jacket to cover her arms, the short-sleeve blouse she was wearing showed a very familiar sleeve tattoo.

Dean was struck by a very curious little desire and he basically snuck up, wanting to see how easy she was to spook. When he saw she had a basket of half-finished cheese-smothered nachos set beside one of her elbows, he decided to announce his presence by nabbing one of those chips. _Heh heh._ He reached out and the _second_ his hand got close, the back of his hand suddenly stung thanks to a smart little slap. "Get your own," Jamie murmured, nonplussed and almost bored, glancing at him sidelong from whatever papers she was reading.

Dean was startled at her reflexes and her apparent ability to see behind herself—he held his hand to himself indignantly. He covered up his mild embarrassment at being caught with a sarcastic face. "You sprout eyes in the back of your head before or _after_ you went all Hogwarts?" he asked rounding the table to stand in across from her.

Jamie suppressed a coy little smile, shuffling her papers with an air of professionalism. Her eyes flicked up to him very briefly, effectively keeping Dean from seeing how she felt about seeing him again. "Hard to say exactly when," she replied breezily, "but I think it was sometime around when you got that _stick_ up your ass."

Her unexpected friendly insult made him chuckle briefly as he unbuttoned his suit jacket and settled himself in the chair across from her. "Well it is _nice_ to see you too, James," he commented wryly as he clasped his hands and gave her a thin smile over the table top.

She paused and her eyes hesitated to look up into his. "It is, though," she said, sounding a little awkward and stilted as she tried to appear distracted and only half interested in what she was saying. "Nice to see you." She cleared her throat, looked down and to the side and raised her eyebrows. "Last time I saw you… you were frosty and sort of _dead_ in the backseat of my car."

Dean grimaced slightly. "Yeah. Sorry about that."

Her eyes darted back to his and her eyebrows rose as a smile grew on her face. "Are you… _apologizing_ for being _dead_?"

Dean could see the dark humor in that one too. What a weird life they lived. "Guess I am."

Studying him quietly for a couple beats, Jamie kept the mood light. "Well then. Apology accepted." She gestured to the corner of the table, where several beers were clustered. Dean looked. A couple dark import beers (hers, obviously) sat there, and then he spotted a bottle of his personal favorite: Corona del Sol. She grabbed that one and handed it his way. Dean felt a surprised, confused little smile on his face. Was this a joke? It felt like a joke. She remembered his favorite and had it waiting for him? That was… kinda nice. Therefore, he was suspicious of _why_. Like she was reading his mind, she made a face at him. "Yes, I _remembered_ —because you like the most _terrible_ beer in all of existence." She took hold of her own brew of choice—Guinness Extra Stout—and cracked the top off using the table and a swift smack from her hand. She was judging him playfully on his drink of choice, and as her beer cap went rolling noisily onto the floor, she gave him a little grin. "It's unforgettable in the worst way imaginable."

So there wasn't a catch. She was just being nice (in her own way, which involved making fun at him at every available opportunity). Dean was getting coaxed into sharing her good mood and he mimicked her by smacking the bottle top off using the table edge. "Come on James," he teased, momentarily forgetting his depression. He could tell it still annoyed her when he called her James. So, he would call her that until the end of time, because he liked the way her nostrils flared slightly and she clearly had to suppress irritation when he used his butchy nickname for her. "This stuff is _gold_."

" _Fool_ _'_ _s_ gold," she returned without missing a beat. Their eyes held briefly across the table, and anyone passing would have definitely seen that moment for what it was: flirting. When Dean realized what was happening, he raised his bottle to his lips and looked away. He let out an crisp ' _ahh_ ' after a good long guzzle of his favorite pale ale then set the bottle down with a thunk.

"So, what we got?" he asked, gesturing to the neatly stacked papers she had in front of herself. He avoided looking her in the eye. His little crush or whatever was getting in the way of his goal. They had work to do.

She got focused pretty fast, rifling through the papers with a slow shrug that silently said she didn't have anything too solid yet. "911 calls and eyewitness accounts from the poor kids who found the bodies," she said, then quickly corrected herself. "Well— _lack_ of bodies. Just a few pieces left, from the looks of it. Sounds monster-y for sure." She smacked the papers down and jerked a thumb toward the exit of the bar as she plucked a nacho out of the basket between red-painted fingertips. "I was gonna head to the morgue after this but since you're here, figure we should go check out the scene of the crime, Agent Starsky." She winked, chewing enthusiastically with loud crunches and lots of jaw movement.

Dean felt himself smiling a little because she _looked_ like a lady and then you watched her eat and the ruse was blown. "You still got your badge, Agent Hutch?" he asked.

She gave him a look like his question for was ridiculous. "You _made_ it for me," she teased, pretending to be sentimental. "I could _never_ throw it away." Dean called her bluff with an eyebrow raise and Jamie chuckled. "Okay, fine, it's come in useful since then and I'm shit at forgery, so…"

Dean nodded, looking down to conceal his little smile. "Right, right."

Jamie took a couple seconds then pushed the basket of nachos toward him slightly and gave him a 'go ahead' thrust of the chin. "I know you want one," she said. He didn't wait around for her to change her mind. He grabbed a couple and ate those salty, cheesy crunchy pieces of goodness without hesitation. He was more of a french fry guy, but every now and again, nachos definitely didn't suck. Jamie sat back a little, folded her arms, and looked at him with keen eyes, like she was trying to figure something out. Just as Dean was about to ask through a mouthful of food what the problem was, she asked. "So… Sam said Alex isn't doing too good?" Dean's nacho enthusiasm faded. The food lost its flavor. And reality crashed back down on him as Jamie continued. "I know what happened, sort of. He said she had to go to the emergency room after what happened to the angel..."

Dean swallowed down his flavorless mouthful and avoided looking Jamie straight in the eye. She looked concerned, and honestly, if James knew how bad it was, she'd look a lot more worried than she already did. Dean's gaze became wooden and fixed on the table unseeingly. "Yeah, she's… not good at all." He fiddled with his own fingers, hesitant to say much about it. "Barely talks, I don't think she's _slept_ but maybe five hours in the past week, won't _eat_ _…_ " he trailed off and made no mention of her continued panic attacks or how Dean was worrying himself to a slow death over her and Sam. He dumbed it down. "I'm a little worried to be honest."

His companion seemed to intuitively sense some of the truth—she was sympathetic and careful when she replied. "Grief does things to people."

Dean scoffed through a forced smile as he looked off to his left. "Don't you and I know it," he muttered, then sat back in his seat with a frustrated sigh as he threw a hand up errantly. "Sam wants to lock her up in a _looney_ bin," he complained, expecting her to side with him.

But… Jamie didn't react how Dean would have liked (with an immediate condemning scoff or with a look of insulted surprise). She just studied him with shrewd eyes and a pinched, thoughtful frown. "What do you think? Is she really that bad off?"

"I don't believe in that stuff," Dean replied insolently. "That, that… mentally _ill_ personality disorder mumbo jumbo _crap_."

Of all things, Jamie's face displayed sympathy—like she felt bad for _Dean._ What she asked next so gently pissed him off. "Do you not believe in it… or do you not understand it?"

Well. If that wasn't the most patronizing question he'd been asked all day. Dean didn't bother masking his irritation or frustration. "Great, so you're on _Sam_ _'_ _s_ side."

"Didn't say that," Jamie replied evenly, not responding to his rude tone. She looked at him with eyes that said _listen to me_. "But I _do_ know mental illness is real. And I know people go through psychotic breaks and can come out the other side."

" _Yeah_?" Dean challenged, not wanting to hear it. "Like who?"

"Like me."

Dean's face fell slowly—he hadn't expected to hear that. Jamie picked at a spot on the table, watching her fingers. Her face was tense and hard to read, but her voice was soft and sort of vulnerable. "I was in a lot—" she glanced at him for added emphasis, "A _lot_ —of therapy after my sister died." Another bombshell for Dean. _What_ sister? "On anxiety medication, antidepressants… for a couple years after the accident," Jamie continued. _What_ accident? "I didn't know how to cope with the loss, especially right after it happened." She smiled ruefully, looking at him finally. "And the 'looney bin'? Saved my life." Dean _definitely_ didn't want to hear that. But Jamie wasn't done making him uncomfortable. "If Alex isn't sleeping or eating, that's a pretty big problem. Is she talking to you and Sam?"

Dean dodged that question _hard_ because he didn't want Jamie to be right and he didn't want her to know the exact ins and outs of how robotic and withdrawn Alex was. He ended Jamie's prying right then and there. "She'll be fine," he said gruffly. "Trust me. She doesn't need that place."

Jamie wisely let it go, for the moment anyway. Her ice-blue eyes were now examining _him_ unnervingly. "And what about you?" she questioned. " _You_ okay?" Her seemingly-caring question felt like a stinging slap to Dean. Like the worst thing he could imagine answering. Because the answer was _hell no_ but he couldn't say it out loud or he might never be able to get control back. At his silence, Jamie pressed, listing off reasons Dean might be just a little off track emotionally. "You were murdered, your sister's boyfriend went serial-killer, Sam's a mess and a half, those Leviathan things are out in the wind…" she trailed off, looking at him in actual concern. The unsaid part she left out: how _could_ you be okay?

Dean turned his beer bottle around to use up some nervous energy. He was angry at Jamie for asking him, honestly, and didn't appreciate her trying to get him to open up or whatever. "I don't have time for how I feel," he muttered brusquely, wishing for something stronger than some beer. He avoided her gaze because he seriously just wanted her to stop _looking_ at him like that. So he did the somewhat petty thing. He tried to turn it around on her. "How exactly are _you_ keeping _your_ marbles airtight, huh?" he asked. There was a slightly startled and then careful frown on her face. "You were babysitting my quack brother through what he says were the worst part of his Hallucifernations, not to mention the other _crap_ you've been through recently, and, oh yeah, your friggin' _soul_ deal." He threw that stuff in her face and yet there was barely a ripple in her demeanor. Only a cool blink which she used to look down at the table. Dean was stumped and actually began to wonder if maybe she _did_ have everything together and he was the weak one in this equation. "Does _anything_ get to you?" he asked with more incredulous confusion than he meant to use.

She smiled a tiny, wry smile, then she looked back up at him with steady eyes. "Not without my permission."

Dean scoffed a little, maybe out of jealousy, maybe because he didn't really believe her. "Must be nice," he wisecracked. How could things _not_ get to her? She wasn't a damn machine. She was a person just like him and he'd seen through her defenses a couple times. 

Maybe they were just a couple of dumb hardheaded assholes, him and James. Trying to just get through life and not let the world know how bad it sucked to be them and know what they knew, feel what they felt. Seemed like the most likely scenario, the more he thought about it. Either way, the fact remained that Dean owed Jamie a lot and he was being disrespectful. She was just expressing concern over Alex and giving her opinion over the mental health stuff. Dean knew that. James had been nothing but helpful. Sam had been _very_ clear about how Jamie had saved his life several times over as she helped him through his hallucinations, as she stayed with him even when most people would turn tail and run for the hills, as she stitched him up after the car crash and helped to magically heal his broken arm. She'd done what Dean hadn't been able to (being dead sort of prohibited a guy from doing much good). And for that, Dean had to reel himself in and let her know the depth of his gratitude. He let out a heavy sigh, sensing that he'd stung her slightly a minute ago even if she wasn't showing it outwardly. "I uh… thanks, though," he said, feeling awkward. His eyes dodged around the bar, looking everywhere but at her. "For doing what you did for my brother while I was gone. It uh, it means… it means a lot."

It meant more than 'a lot.' Sam was _everything_ to Dean. And for James to step in and help like she had… it meant the world. She wasn't even family. She was just a sort-of friend. An acquaintance. A big question mark in Dean's mind. He felt really guilty and angry with himself for not being there for Sam and he felt like Jamie had done his job for him. He wished she hadn't had to do that. He owed her and while he _was_ thankful, he also felt weird about it too.

Across from him, Jamie had a bittersweet smile on her face and her body language told him she felt a little awkward, too. "Didn't have any other plans that week," she joked, deflecting him as usual. Dean finally was able to look her in the eye. Smiling ruefully at the way she responded, he had to shake his head slightly. She was transparent as a brick. He'd even told her as much once. But Dean was glad she was downplaying it. She was helping make it less awkward, and he could appreciate that. And just when he was thinking about how she avoided deep, serious topics for the most part and how he liked that, she brought something up he hadn't expected at all. "So, you were dead for, what. Nine days?" She looked hesitant to ask. "Where'd you go?"

Shock struck him at her question and for a minute, he sat there dumbly, feeling like he was all out in the open. Where'd he _go_? "You're, uh… you're the only person who's asked me that," he finally replied, scratching the back of his neck self-consciously and already forming a lie as his answer: _I don_ _'_ _t remember_. And then, surprising even himself, he told the truth: "I went to Heaven."

Her lips parted open softly in surprise and Dean studied his hands, felt himself longing so hard it _hurt_ for that place again. There had been no pain, no problems, no endless self-loathing. He stared at the table, feeling so _guilty_ that he wanted to go back. Feeling sick with himself for thinking that for one damn second. But it had been everything he'd ever wanted. He'd been with his family, and everything had been okay. Dean's throat was tight with a lump he couldn't swallow away. He'd been trying not to think about it ever since coming back to life. "And honestly… I'd rather be there again because this down here is Hell all over again," he murmured starkly, lost in his own thoughts. While in Heaven, he hadn't worried about anything even once—not about Sammy, not about Al, not about Cas, not about Bobby. None of them. _Nothing._ And that was his greatest shame of all. Getting angry at himself and frustrated with the feelings he refused to talk about, Dean stood up abruptly and buttoned his suit jacket with more force than necessary. "So we gonna go see this crime scene or what?" He marched off like a dark storm cloud, not waiting for Jamie, just throwing a curt comment back at her over his shoulder. "Get a doggie bag."

Eyes following him, Jamie considered for a second, then decided to go along with what he said. "Aye aye, captain," she muttered under her breath. She popped one last nacho into her mouth, grabbed her jacket, and wished she hadn't pried into Dean's obvious wound. But she pushed that feeling aside, shrugged her jacket on, and followed Dean Winchester out of the bar.

* * *

**That Night**

Sam had been field stripping and reassembling his pistol repeatedly out of nervous energy for the past few hours in an attempt to distract himself and not snap in half mentally. Why? Because strolling back and forth in the study near to him and paging through a magazine leisurely was _Lucifer._ And he wouldn't stop _talking._ Like right now. He'd been going on and on about the most useless and banal things, and it was to the point that Sam was about to lose his freaking mind. "And I mean _really_ , if you think about the way this _economy_ is going, come _on_ , who's to say the housing market doesn't crash again!" Lucifer rambled animatedly, making Sam want to take the weapon he was reassembling and use it to blow someone's brains out.

 _It_ _'_ _s all in your head,_ he told himself. _Calm down. It_ _'_ _s not real. Just don_ _'_ _t listen to him._

But what if it _was_ real?

"Don't _even_ get me started on global warming," Lucifer continued. 

Sam struggled to ignore as the Nick version of Lucifer blabbed on and on in the background. It seemed like Sam's hallucinations usually happened when he was by himself, like right now. Bobby was with Alex somewhere upstairs and Dean of course was off investigating that lead with Jamie. However, the visions (if that's what they were) _had_ begun to bleed more and more steadily into moments that included other people. For example, earlier that day Sam had gone out to the porch and sat with his sister awhile, tried to talk to her, tried to get her to come out of her shell. And then Lucifer had shown up—the version who looked like Alex—and Sam had been so upset and riled up at what Lucifer said and did that he'd fled into the house shaken up and almost in tears. He'd hidden his state from Bobby and put himself back together in private, but he'd avoided his sister the rest of the day because of how traumatized he felt. If anyone knew the things he'd heard, seen, and been subjected to where she was concerned… Sam would die of shame and guilt.

At that moment, his phone began to ring. Sam jumped at the loud sound then eyed the device warily. It sat on the kitchen table harmlessly and Sam glanced around quickly—Lucifer was nowhere to be seen. _Whew_. Sam got up and hurried over to his ringing phone, reached for it then shrank away slightly—Lucifer was suddenly sitting there at the kitchen table with his feet propped up on the tabletop. Satan smiled with a twinkle in his eyes and mouthed ' _don_ _'_ _t mind me_ ' as he pointed to the magazine he still held. Sam scooped his phone up, eyeing his hallucination out of the side of his eyes. The phone screen said Dean was calling. Sam turned his back on the devil and tried to sound normal when he answered even though his heart was pounding hard and he was wondering if he had lost his godforsaken mind. "Yeah."

Sam could hear a lot of noise on the other end, which meant Dean was driving. "Well, we are _positive_ for ick," his brother's voice said. "Same kind of stuff that came out of Cas, and, uh, two of the swim kids were missing—they stole one of their parents' cars."

"You know, I _really_ think Prince William has found the right girl," Lucifer said in an overly-fond tone, distracting Sam. "What do you think?" When Sam glanced tensely at him sidelong, Lucifer feigned apologetic surprise. "Oh. I'm sorry. You're on the phone with Dean!" His face scrunched up into a wide, eerie grin. "Tell him I said hi. Oh hey, and make sure and ask about Jamie. Gosh, she is so, so _sweet_ isn't she?" he chuckled as Sam stared with a sickened expression.

"…Sam?" Dean asked. "You hear me?"

Shaken out of his reverie, Sam shut his eyes tight and tried to focus everything he had on the phone conversation. "Yeah, uh—sorry—" he rubbed his forehead in an attempt to get himself straight and block out Lucifer. "So do you think these, um, these Leviathan things just jump into people? Like Eve did?"

"I dunno, makes sense, right? That's what James was betting on."

Lucifer was humming a happy little tune and flicking magazine pages noisily in the background. Sam gritted his teeth together. "She doing okay?" he asked. He hadn't seen Jamie since before Dean had been resurrected and he was kind of surprised she hadn't disappeared or run off the first chance she got. "Since… I dunno, everything?"

"I think so," Dean replied vaguely. "I mean, kinda hard to say." He dropped the subject like it was hot. "Anyway, uh, state trooper's got surveillance cam on the kids about six hours old, of them gassing up just south of Dakota line, so I'm headed back your way. We'll track them from Bobby's."

Sam immediately felt nervous. With Satan messing up more and more moments for him, it was tough to feel up to a hunt of any kind. "Jamie's coming with?" he asked.

There was a loud snap and Sam jumped and whirled to look at Lucifer, who was blowing huge, popping bubblegum bubbles. He shrugged innocently and plucked a huge wad of pink gum from his mouth. " _Sorry_ —I have an oral fixation," he apologized in a theatrical whisper.

"Yeah, she's about twenty miles behind me give or take," Dean was saying even as Lucifer stuck his gum under the table with a gleefully deviant smile. Sam turned his back again, blocking out the devil completely as he walked out of the kitchen and into the study. He tried to pay attention to what his brother was saying. "She stopped by the morgue to eyeball the body parts that didn't get disappeared."

Distracted by Lucifer giggling over the 'worst dressed' part of his magazine ("can you _believe_ what she _wore_?"), Sam struggled to sound less overwhelmed than he was. "Huh," he managed thinly. " _Nice._ "

"Yeah, tell me about it," Dean replied sarcastically. "So, hey. How you doing?"

Sam pressed his mouth into a thin line briefly. He heard Lucifer following him with slow, sauntering footsteps and his skin crawled. He lied about how he was doing. "You know, uh, okay."

"Good." Sam heard Dean sigh softly. "And the kiddo?"

Not much good news there either, and Sam grew a little more somber. "She's… the same," Sam said, then caught himself. "Actually, I take that back. She ate half the sandwich you took her. So there's that."

Dean chuckled softly on the other end of the line. "Miracles _do_ happen," he commented, sounding relieved despite some still-present worry. "All right Sam. I'll be there soon. Hang in there buddy."

Sam nodded. He would be glad when Dean was back. "All right." They hung up.

"Aw, _Sammy_ ," came the voice Sam despised. It sounded like Lucifer was pouting. "Are you and Dean-bear worried about your baby sister? You don't have to worry about _her_!" If there was one thing Sam could _not_ handle, it was Satan talking about Alex, but that was exactly what was happening at the moment. "We have everything a-lllllll planned out." Sam's stomach churned and chills crawled up his spine and he shut his eyes tightly. _Not real._ _None of those things he_ _'_ _s shown me will happen to her. He_ _'_ _s locked in the cage, I_ _'_ _m above ground. She_ _'_ _s safe from him. This_ _—_ _is_ _—_ _NOT_ _—_ _real._ "Gosh, where'd she _get to_ , anyway?" Lucifer asked innocently. Sam clenched his jaw. _It_ _'_ _s in my head. It_ _'_ _s all in my head._ To add insult to injury, the devil began to laugh at Sam cruelly, enjoying his torment and his wavering sanity."Ignoring me's not gonna do _anything_ …" he said softly, voice abruptly rising in delighted zeal. "I have all night!" His voice raised as his enthusiasm grew. "All night! _ALL NIGHT_!"

Sam was so angry he wanted to burst out of his own skin. " _Stop it,_ " he growled, barely keeping himself from exploding in fury. His fists were clenched tight at his sides, so tight his phone casing cracked slightly in one hand.

"Oh, I'll never _stop_ , Sam," Lucifer replied coyly, grinning the whole time, mocking Sam's distress openly. "Never ever ever _ever_ never ever _EVER_!" He began to shriek with laughter that made Sam slap his hands over both of his ears and drop his phone to the floor. _No, no, no_ _—_ _I can_ _'_ _t take this anymore. Real or not, I can_ _'_ _t handle it if it stays like this._ His years in the cage made him sick and hopeless inside, and the thought that he might still be in there made him want to kill himself to _end this nightmare._

Stubborn as hell, Sam soldiered on and gathered himself, steeled himself outwardly, and proceeded to ignore Lucifer with everything he had as he hoped and prayed Dean wouldn't take long. And so on and so forth it went. Sam ignored the devil for what felt like hours. But when Lucifer grabbed the fire poker and began to swing it like a golf club some time later, Sam lost it and finally broke his furious silence. "Okay, if this is some _dream_ and you got power over it, why don't you just _end it_?" he demanded angrily, throwing his arms wide as if in challenge.

Lucifer leaned onto the fire poker leisurely, like it was a walking stick. " _End_ it?" he asked, as if the suggestion were hilarious and absurd. " _This_? You not knowing what's real, the paint slowly peeling off your walls?" He grinned at the look on Sam's face. "Come on, man, this is the sweet spot! Why would I _end_ it?! Not like we got HBO in the pit. All I got is you, floating over the coals with half a hope that you're gonna figure it all out and fix your poor, broken wittle family… well, I got news for you, kid. There's only one way to figure it out. It's up to you. It ends when you can't take it anymore. When you decide…" his smile was cold, ominous, and devilish. " _Curtain call_."

Blood gone cold, Sam shook his head no and looked away, trying to look tough and unaffected. Lucifer took a step closer and lowered his voice conspiratorially then put a hand to the side of his face like he was sharing a juicy secret. " _I think that_ _'_ _s maybe why we_ _'_ _re cleaning our guns_."

Sam bristled and glared daggers. "Shut up," he commanded, near his breaking point.

Lucifer grinned and put an arm out like he was inviting Sam to continue. "Make me."

Sam's voice raised to a deafening shout. "I said _shut up_!"

"…Hey, Sam." Stunned, Sam turned around fast—Bobby was standing there and giving him a guarded, cautious look. Sam looked back at where the devil had just been. Nothing and no one was there. His heart sank and he flushed with mortification. Bobby paused. "You, uh, having a little bag lady moment?"

Swallowing thickly, confused and feeling so _stupid_ , Sam had difficulty looking Bobby in the eye. "S-sorry." Bobby brushed it off and went to the refrigerator, got out two beers, and kindly handed one to Sam without a word. "Thanks," Sam mumbled, cracking it open and taking a long pull as he tried to figure himself out and get a handle on reality. He swallowed down the watery beer and then realized… wait. Bobby was alone. Sam immediately got a little worried and forgot his beer. "Where's Alex?"

Shaking his head once to tell Sam not to worry, Bobby gestured upward with his beer bottle and glanced up. "Attic." He shrugged morosely. "Figured she could use a little space. Ain't like she notices me there, either way. Think she might actually sleep, to be honest. She was just curled up on the bed, starin' at nothin'."

" _Jeez_ ," Sam muttered to himself, frayed at every level. Alex definitely withdrew sometimes, that was in her personality to just retreat into herself and shut out the world and take some time to regroup herself, but like _this_? She had never acted like this before and Sam couldn't get shake the feeling that she was silently crying out for help that he and Dean just couldn't give. And Sam was honestly desperate for help of his own too. He didn't know how much longer he could _do this_ and he didn't dare bring it up to Dean, who would freak out immediately and tell him to 'man up' and 'do his job' and 'stow it' among other things. _But what if I can_ _'_ _t?_ Sam's eyes flickered up a few times to the man who had always been straight with him, encouraged him, and been on his side no matter what. "Bobby… you know, after... _everything_ …" a million horrible memories raced across Sam's mind's eye, "All these years, all that we've been through… I—I just don't know if I have it _in me_ anymore." He looked at Bobby with pleading eyes. _Tell me I can do this. Or tell me I don_ _'_ _t have to. I need some relief._

"You beat the devil before, kid," Bobby pointed out.

Those words only made him feel fractionally better. "I know," Sam replied heavily, trying to downplay how deep his despair was, "but this time it's… it's kinda different." He took another drink, trying to wash away the lump in his throat. No one could understand what he'd been through. What he was _going through_ right now. And he didn't _want_ them to know. The nightmares he'd seen, the tortures he'd been through, the Hell he'd endured, the fear he carried for if Lucifer ever got out…

" _How_ _'_ _s_ it different?" Bobby asked, firm and corrective. "You're still _you_ , ain't ya? Strong, stubborn, a Winchester? You'll get a handle on this too. You _will._ " There was a gruff gentleness to him that reached out to Sam and comforted. And then, behind Bobby, Lucifer appeared, making Sam sick all over again. His growing good feelings suddenly evaporated completely. _Oh no._ The devil was studying his fire poker with faint interest as Bobby continued. "You're not in Hell anymore. You're here, with _us_." Lucifer shook his head no and looked Sam in the eye with a secretive smile playing on his lips. And then suddenly, violently, he stabbed Bobby in the back with the poker so hard that the front end protruded out of Bobby's chest. Unaffected… because it wasn't _real_ —Bobby looked at Sam questioningly, who was staring at the blood dripping out of his uncle's chest in dismay. "You hear me, Sam?" he asked, getting visibly worried. "…You all right?"

Sam nodded, stowing his horror and fear, hiding it away. Bobby didn't need to know he was seeing more crap. His family didn't need to know how nuts he was. "Y-yeah," he lied. "Just… just tired."

One of Bobby's landline phones rang suddenly and he glanced at the wall, seeming slightly surprised. "Oh. That's my local." Bobby sauntered over, and Sam gaped—Lucifer was gone as was the poker. How could it look and feel so real and not be real at all? Bobby didn't see how Sam was stumped and shocked alike. "Y'ello?" he answered. Sam heard a one-sided conversation that lasted maybe thirty seconds. When Bobby hung up, he looked chagrinned. "Well, either Sheriff Mills is having an ObamaCare-insured opium dream, or something's _eatin_ _'_ folks down at Sioux Falls General Hospital," he said. "She needs help, Sam." Bobby hesitated and studied Sam dubiously. "Look, can you hold down the fort for a couple hours while I wrangle this mess?" He seemed very hesitant to ask, but they both knew why Bobby had to go: "People are dyin'."

Sam tried to be nonchalant so Bobby wouldn't feel so unsure about heading out. "Yeah, _yeah_. Of course."

Bobby wasn't convinced. "You're _sure_?"

It was tough to have people doubt you and look at you like they thought you might be off your rocker. "Come on Bobby, it's not like I've gone totally cuckoo for cocoa puffs," Sam said, trying to believe that himself, trying a soft dismissing chuckle. "I'll be fine. You go. I'll—I'll watch the phones and let you know just exactly how much Alex _hasn_ _'_ _t_ eaten when you come back." He forced a thin, watery smile.

Bobby nodded tensely, making his decision grimly. "I won't be long." He grabbed his jacket and headed out without anything further.

Immediately after the door shut behind him, a low, soft voice spoke right into Sam's ear. "So, just you and me, huh?" Sam gasped and jumped, whirling and staggering backwards in alarm. Lucifer grinned at him then began to sing at the top of his lungs while spreading his arms wide. " _Reunited and it feeeeels so goo-ood_!" He laughed. "Come on Sam!" he shouted enthusiastically. "You're supposed to _sing along_!"

The lunacy persisted for what felt like forever—Lucifer wouldn't stop, wouldn't quit, wouldn't shut up. And then, without warning perhaps thirty minutes later, it all just went away and Sam was left alone in a completely silent house. After waiting a good ten minutes to make sure he _really had_ stopped hallucinating, he cautiously went upstairs and checked on his sister. She was miraculously fast asleep, curled up on the attic bed and hugging a pillow to herself with vice-like arms. Thanking God for the small mercy (if he even existed), Sam was set a little more at ease and went back downstairs. Restless and checking his watch constantly (Dean would be back soon), Sam decided to start timing himself as he loaded and unloaded his gun. It was an okay pastime, but mostly all it did was depress him. He was off his game and slow, clunky.

When he finally heard a car roll into the driveway and recognized the faint sound of the Impala engine, Sam was filled with relief. He stood up, a can of beer in hand as he walked toward the kitchen door. Dean got into the house fast, record fast. "Hey," he greeted as he pushed the door open, then spotted the beer in Sam's hand. "Oh, yeah. Good thinking." He took the can from Sam.

"Uh…"

Too late. Dean was taking a huge gulp of Sam's beer and walking past him. "So I, uh, I followed those swim kid Levia-whatever…"

" _Leviathans_ ," Sam corrected impatiently, anxiously. "To where?"

" _Here_ ," Dean said. "Well, back to town, and that ain't the good news." He took a sip of beer, leaving a worried Sam hanging. "It ain't just two of them, I don't think."

More than two? Not good. "Did you call Bobby?" Sam asked, feeling his heart pounding in anxiety. It seemed like these monsters were gonna make a move or something.

Dean was curt. "Yeah, he's working his own case, I gotta move and I need back-up and that means you and Al."

Sam did a double take. "Wait _what_?"

"I know, you're _bonkers_ and she's a _vegetable_ ," Dean said, chuckling and further stunning Sam with the unexpectedly insensitive comments. "But, luckily I just need you to keep the engine running and wait by the back door while you babysit little miss comatose. I already got her in the backseat of the car."

Sam balked. "Wait, wh—?" he stumbled verbally, frowned deeply. " _How_? She's in the attic."

Dean gave Sam a heavily lecturing look and chuckled patronizingly. "Weren't paying attention, were you Sammy? Your poor little batshit brain's more fried than you thought, buddy." He pointed toward the general direction of the road. "Found her out there wandering around like a lost puppy a few miles down the road." Sam's mouth dropped open and his eyes widened in shock as Dean shotgunned the rest of his beer.

"Oh my god!" Sam breathed, horrified. "I—she was _asleep_ —upstairs!" He suddenly doubted himself immensely. "I… I _think_." Was she not? Had he made that up in his own mind because he'd wanted her to be okay? 

"You're _seeing things_ , Sam," Dean said factually and brusquely, tossing his beer can at the trash lazily. "Who knows _what_ you saw." He brushed past Sam toward the door, leaving his brother speechless and confused. "You coming or what?"

Feeling strange, like something was wrong—Dean was acting _really_ weird—but second guessing himself because he was obviously a little out of his own mind currently—Sam agreed falteringly. "Wh—yeah, yeah."

"Just don't let Satan change my presets," Dean wisecracked, already halfway out the door. Sam stared after him for a second, hesitant to follow. _Something_ _'_ _s not right about this._ Sam contemplated that thought grimly and then pushed his instincts out of his own mind roughly. _Get over yourself, Sam._ He grabbed his gun and jacket, trying to hurry after his impatient, stressed out brother.

That wasn't Dean, of course. And Sam had no idea he hallucinated that entire exchange. As he would remember it, Dean drove him in the Impala to a fancy business building where he claimed several Leviathan waited. Alex was in the back seat silent but aware.

But that wasn't what happened. Sam drove himself in Bobby's van to an abandoned warehouse, and left Alex all alone in that house.

When the real Dean got back to Bobby's a scant ten minutes after Sam left, he entered the house expecting to find his family. When he found a seemingly-empty house—when he called their names and no one answered—he suddenly got ill as he assumed the worst. He just _knew_ that Sam talked Bobby into taking Alex to some quack-house behind Dean's back. Angry and upset and so glad he'd turned on Sam's phone GPS in secret because he'd suspected this might happen, Dean immediately left the house and broke every speed limit there was in a race to catch up to his brother. 

Twenty minutes later in the attic, Alex awoke to the smell of smoke. Absently, she thought, _huh, the house is on fire_. By the time a few shreds of clarity and sanity were afforded to her, she was completely trapped upstairs by the flames and near the point of passing out because of the heavy smoke. And that's when she saw Castiel.

* * *

Even as Bobby's house burned to the ground with Alex trapped inside, Sam was still in his hallucination and seeing false reality. In what he thought was the Impala, he, 'Dean,' and 'Alex' pulled up to a nice office building. Since it was night, the interior lights made it easy to see five people in business dress on the second floor gathered around a conference table.

Dean and Sam got out of the car and Dean frowned at the people in the building. "Ah, _dammit_ _,_ " he muttered. "There's five of 'em." He sighed and motioned for Sam to follow. "All right, come on."

Sam immediately felt uncomfortable. _Go in there?_ That seemed like a bad idea, especially since Alex was sitting in the back of the car with a faintly sinister little smile on her face for whatever reason. Must have been whatever mind-break she was going through, Sam figured. Either way he _definitely_ didn't think she should be alone and he didn't know if _he_ was in shape to go in there and try to do anything with those Leviathan things. "Are you sure?" he asked doubtfully. "What about Alex?"

Dean scoffed like that was a dumb question. "Dude, she'll be fine, stop worrying so much. And listen, when we get in there, you gotta keep it together."

Sam looked at the keys in his hand, startled when he felt them there. When had those gotten there? He tried not to look as mystified and confused as he felt. "Yeah, yeah, I–I will, I–"

"'Cause if you're seeing Lucifer, then you could be seeing all _kinds_ of crap, okay? You just don't know." Dean started walking off, leaving Sam to stare with a wounded expression.

"…How is this helping?" he asked, genuinely hurt.

Continuing in the rude, insensitive way he'd been displaying ever since getting back, Dean shrugged. "I'm just saying, Sam, you're out of control."

Sam followed his brother, jogging slightly to catch up. "I'm dealing with it the best I can," he defended, feeling attacked in every way. "Why are you being so _mean_?" Sam stopped walking pointedly, starting to get a little mad at his brother's attitude. "Are you _sure_ we should leave her Dean?" He was about to put his foot down. This was ridiculous.

Dean stopped and gave Sam a strange little look—narrowed eyes, slight smirk. Like he was on to something, like he knew something that was making him feel superior. "Seem pretty overly-concerned with your sister, there, Sammy," he commented, eyeing Sam closely. "Something I should know?"

Sam was indignant and shocked. "Like _what_?"

Dean lowered his voice, shrugged his eyebrows suggestively. "Sometimes, the way you look at her… I think maybe… maybe you got the _Flowers in the Attic_ thing going for her," he said. Sam withered, shocked at the implication. He'd heard of those books—they were all about _incest_ between a brother and sister. Sam opened his mouth to fight his brother tooth and nail and correct him firmly because that was _not true_ and _never would be_ and Lucifer was the twisted one, not Sam. But Dean was walking off and shaking his head. "You say you're dealing, but—" he laughed easily. "Sorry, that's just funny, I mean how can you _deal_?" He pulled open a glass door that said Morning Star Endeavors, Ltd. Sam followed at an angry march, ready to chew his brother's proverbial head off. "You think this is an _office building_ , right? Sorry. _Wrong._ "

Sam stumbled to a stop as he entered the building, forgetting his anger. They were not inside an office. They were inside a rundown old warehouse. He turned around to face his brother, shocked and a little afraid. "…Where the hell are we?"

Dean grinned leeringly, cruelly and shut the door with a loud metal clang. "Oh, you think I'm Dean! _Right_ …" he abruptly morphed into the Nick version of Lucifer, leaving Sam to breathe out softly in horror and drift backwards. "You poor, clueless son of a bitch," Lucifer lamented, chuckling softly.

It suddenly made sense. Maybe it should have relieved Sam. But he was _terrified._ This had felt so _real_ …! Was _anything_ real? "Stay the hell away from me," he threatened stiffly, then turned and marched away, barely able to contain himself or the things racing through his mind.

Lucifer's voice followed him and made him sick. "Your world is whatever I _want it to be_ , understand?"

Sam whirled and whipped his gun out, shot at where Lucifer had been, hitting nothing. " _Leave me alone_!"

" _Now_ we're getting there!" Sam turned around quickly, gun held high and heart hammering. Lucifer had reappeared there, casually standing with all his weight on one foot and his arms folded. "Pinocchio's seeing his _strings_." 

Sam hated him. _Hated._ " _Shut up_."

Satan did not shut up. "It's the big crescendo," he mocked.

"I said, s _hut up_!" Sam shouted, firing at the devil again. The gunshot echoed in the loud space and Sam panted, looking around crazily. Where was he? Where did he go?

Behind him, Lucifer reappeared uninjured and only mildly annoyed. "Want to point that gun at someone useful?" he asked cynically. When Sam turned around, Lucifer set him with an ugly, lofty look and pointed at Sam after making a circling motion with his finger. "Try your _face_." Sam wanted to shoot again, but he was realizing this weapon did _nothing_ against Lucifer. Feeling powerless and frustrated and _so so tired,_ Sam looked down and away as he struggled not to give up. He wanted to be _done._

Maybe seeing an opportunity, the devil, hallucination or not, proceeded to tear Sam down brick by brick with haughty, mocking words alone. "You're nothing but a danger and a curse and a blight on your family, Sam. They don't _love_ you, they don't _need_ you…! You have no friends, your family is a mess because of _you_ —I mean, your sister's little girl would still be alive if you'd said yes to me right away, you get that right? I'm not the bad guy here, _you_ are. That blood is on _your_ hands. I think that's why you were so mad at Castiel about the poor little miscarried baby… you wanted to blame someone other than _yourself._ Ha! That's low. That's so _petty._ " Sam's heart ached because _it was true._ He _did_ blame himself. For his sister's death at Lucifer's hand, for his niece's death, for _everything_.Lucifer kept on flaying Sam verbally, each word hammering Sam further and further into the ground. "Your stubborn, hardheaded _idiocy_ is the root cause of every problem in existence in your life and you know what? We're gonna get out of the cage, we're gonna put those plans for corporate takeover of the entire world _back_ on the rails, and this time you're gonna _like it_!" Sam held onto his gun with a shaking, sweaty hand and he tried not to show the emotion he was feeling: _despair_. He couldn't let that happen. At his shiny eyes and unsteady emotions, Lucifer rolled his eyes and put his hands onto his hips. "Geeeez, why did I have to have such a weak true vessel, huh? Wow, to look at you right now. _Pathetic_." He shook his head, dismissing Sam as pitiful. "I _know you,_ Sam," he said, seeming disappointed and patronizing at the same time. "You are a mistake, you make mistakes, your _name_ should _be_ mistake, because guess what?! You never do _anything_ right!" He drifted a little closer. "Want to know the truth? Want to skip to the last page of the book? You know where to aim… _cowboy_." Lucifer held a finger-gun to the underside of his own jaw and made a sound like he was pulling the trigger. Sam flinched. "Do what everyone else in your life wants to do. _End it._ Wipe your puny, pathetic, cowardly existence off the damn map!"

Sam was silent, stricken, beaten, and broken. He looked at the gun in his hand. His mind wasn't working right and Lucifer's words had hit him in his weakest, darkest places. _Maybe I should_. "Need some help, Sam?" Lucifer asked in a whisper, coming to stand right in front of Sam. His icy cold hands gripped Sam's and began to move the gun upward until the muzzle pressed against the underside of Sam's chin. "Do it," Lucifer whispered, his eyes boring into Sam's. " _Do it_!"

And then the warehouse door banged open loudly and startled, Sam let the gun drop away from his chin.

It was Dean. "Sam?" he called, then spotted him and began to head over immediately. "Sam!"

"Oh, _look_ ," Lucifer said, chuckling. He looked like Dean again, which only further confused Sam. "Another _me_ , here to join in on the fun…"

Dean, the newly come one, looked irritated and intense. He was marching toward Sam, who didn't trust his own eyes at all anymore. "Sam, what are you _doing_? Where the hell is our—"

Feeling backed into a corner and petrified, Sam pointed his gun at Dean. His brother (who was probably just another hallucination) came to an abrupt stop, shocked as his hands flew up. "Whoa, _whoa_!"

"I was _with you_ , Dean!" Sam accused in a voice that was thick with the threat of tears. _What was going on?! What was real?_

Dean still had his hands out and he looked freaked out and very confused, but he managed to stay calm under pressure. "O-okay—well… here I am."

" _No_ ," Sam protested miserably. "No, I don't, I…" he looked over at Lucifer, who was waiting silently nearby and looking like Nick again. Sam looked back at Dean and he didn't trust his eyes, ears, _anything_ anymore. "I can't know that for sure. You understand me?"

Dean looked more and more confused, and if this was another trick, it was a good one. This Dean actually acted like Dean. "Okay, now we're gonna have to start small…"

Sam was beside himself with confused misery. "I… I don't remember _driving_ here," he breathed, begging Dean silently to really be Dean, begging him to know how to fix this.

"Well that's because I drove," Lucifer said, then shrugged his mouth downwards briefly. "…You thought." He mock-whispered to Dean. " _Sam is very suggestible_."

Sam abruptly whirled to the side and opened fire on Lucifer, but there was nothing there. The shot cracked out like thunder and Dean jumped in shock, his hands reaching out again in a staying motion. "Whoa, _whoa_! _Sam_! This discussion does not require a weapons discharge!" he shouted, giving Sam a look like he was absolutely gone. Sam didn't know what to do—his eyes flickered from the gun to his brother ( _was_ that his brother?). Should he shoot him? Was that really his big brother? "Look at me," Dean pleaded, becoming gentler, approaching his brother slowly, carefully. "Come on. You don't know what's real? Look man, I've been to Hell. Okay? I know a thing or two about torture. Enough to know that it feels _different._ Than the pain of this—this regular, stupid, crappy _this_." He gestured around them vaguely.

Sam shook his head, refusing to fall for any more tricks but feeling like this _was_ Dean in front of him. But what if it wasn't? "No, no. How can you know that for _sure_?"

"Let me see your hand." Dean reached out and Sam looked down at the gun in his hand. What for? Dean shook his head. "No, no. The—the gimp hand! Let me see it!" Oh. That was his other hand.

"Smell _you_ , Florence Nightingale!" Lucifer said, and Sam looked back over his shoulder, startled at the re-appearance of his worst nightmare. His wounded hand was suddenly grabbed up by Dean, and Sam jumped in surprise.

" _Hey_. This is real," Dean said, showing Sam his own hand that was bound loosely in a white bandage wrap. This was where Sam had fallen down onto glass and cut himself—Jamie had stitched him shut and it was still healing—and Dean was adamant that Sam look at it. "Not a year ago, not in Hell, now. I was with you when you cut it, James sewed it up, and this is real! Look!" Dean squeezed Sam's wound hard and pain sprang into existence as he did. Flinching and trying to pull away feebly, Sam gasped. Dean grabbed the barrel of the gun Sam was holding with his other hand, making sure the weapon was not used again. Next to Dean, Lucifer flickered as pain shot through Sam thanks to Dean's fingers digging painfully into the stitches. Wait—was Dean right? This pain seemed to center him, however uncomfortably.

"We've done a lot more with pain," Lucifer said calmly, challenging Sam to think this discovery could give him any advantage whatsoever.

Sam took in a shallow breath and grimaced. It _hurt_ but he felt like his vision was unclouding, like his ears were opening back up to hearing again. "This is different," Dean insisted, pushing his thumb even harder into the center of Sam's palm, making Sam squeeze his eyes shut and clench his teeth. " _Right_?" Dean held on tighter and Sam shuddered. "Than the crap that's tearing at your walnut? _I_ _'_ _m_ different." Dean was gentle and firm at the same time, reassuring and seemingly real. "Right?"

Sam couldn't take the pain and pulled his hands away from Dean, who kept Sam's gun in the exchange. Staring at his hurt hand, Sam breathed in and out hard. Dean was right. This pain felt different than what he remembered as definitely being in the cage. "Y-yeah, I think so," he said, starting to feel hope.

"You sure about that, Sam, buddy?" Lucifer asked, trying to make Sam doubt himself.

Angry, Sam glared at the vision of the devil and pressed his own thumb into his stitched hard as Dean tried to catch his brother's gaze. "Sam? _Sam_."

Blood began to seep out, Sam pushed his wound so hard. Lucifer flickered again then nervously shook his head. "Doesn't mean anything."

"Hey." Dean demanded Sam's attention again. "I am your flesh-and-blood brother, okay? I'm the only one who can legitimately kick your ass in real time. You got away. You got you out, Sammy. Cas pulled you out, and I got you your soul back, and _this is real._ "

Deciding to believe, Sam nodded. " _Sammy_ _,_ " Lucifer began warningly. Sam pushed his thumb all the harder against his wound, determined to get control over this. Lucifer's voice was weakening, fading in volume. Urgency made the devil speak faster and harder. "Sammy, I'm the only one who can…"

And then he disappeared completely as Sam groaned in pain at the harm he was inflicting onto himself. "Believe in that!" Dean said in a strong, pleading voice. "Believe _me_ , okay? You gotta believe me. You gotta make it _stone_ number _one_ and _build_ on it. You understand?"

"Yeah," Sam managed, breathing heavily and nodding weakly. "Yeah, okay." Sam felt like he'd just been through the fight of his life and he was aghast, confused, tired, delirious almost. No more Lucifer though. He let out a relieved sob-like sound and reached for his brother and hugged him with his good arm, holding on for a good long minute as he calmed down with shut eyes. And then he realized something and pulled back fast, relief forgotten. " _Wait_ —Dean—if I came here alone… is—is Alex not out there?"

Dean's face fell a little into a wary, tense expression. "No… I thought she must be with Bobby." He started to look worried. "She's not?"

Sam swallowed, breathing heavily because of his once-again alarmed state of mind. "No, no, she's not—I—I left her at Bobby's, _alone_. I thought she was with me—I thought—" he stopped talking. The brothers looked at each other, Dean with a dawning expression of _oh no_ , Sam with an expression of that asked _what have I done_? " _Shit._ " What if she had another panic attack? What if those Leviathan things came and got her? A million horrible what-ifs ran across Sam's mind.

Obviously, Dean was of the same mind and he grabbed Sam by the jacket shoulder, already on the move toward the warehouse exit. "Let's go."

As they got into the car, Sam's phone rang. He answered as he shut the door hard behind himself. "Bobby, hey."

"The Sheriff was right," came Bobby's voice from the other end. Dean was already squealing out of the parking lot. "The hospital thing's definitely our kind of thing. I double-barreled one of the Leviathan guys in the morgue. Silver buckshot—no effect. Bled black _ooze_."

Sam clenched his teeth tight and shut his eyes. " _Great,_ _"_ he muttered, then opened his eyes back up. If they were at the hospital in Sioux Falls, who knows where else they might be. " _Hurry_ , Bobby. I… I kinda… had a bit of an issue and Alex is all alone at the house." There was a shocked pause on the other end. "I'm with Dean now, on our way back, but… just _hurry_."

Bobby asked no questions. "Ten four," the hunter replied grimly. "I'll meet you at the house. I ain't far. We'll regroup there."

"Be safe out there Bobby," Sam said, then hung up and stared at the road that was already racing by. His stomach was rioting against him, his heart was hammering a sickening beat in his chest. He should have known he was hallucinating, he should have trusted his instincts. "Drive faster, Dean."

The engine screamed as Dean accelerated on the open road. "You don't have to tell me twice," he muttered darkly, the picture of grim focus. There was a short silence in which Dean said nothing to Sam to admonish or shame him about what had happened, and Sam definitely noticed that and felt grateful. He tried calling Alex, but there was no answer. Anxious but resigned to waiting, Sam ground his teeth around in his mouth as he harrowed himself with worries and fears. "You heard them, right?" he finally asked, glancing at Dean tensely. "When they were in Cas? Said they'd be back for us. And for her."

" _Yeah_ I remember." Dean let out a heavy, unhappy breath out of his nose as he switched hands on the wheel. Sam watched his brother think hard for a long minute. He could tell something was going through his mind. "Something's been bugging me," Dean finally said. He took another good long pause, furrowing his brow into deeply unsure contemplation. "You said Cas dragged Alex around the whole time I was dead and he was God, right? Well was that _Cas,_ or was it the _Leviathan_?"

Sam shook his head, his face pinched into a tight expression at the conversation topic. "I don't think it was Cas." He was dark, sour, and bitter. "But I still hold him responsible." Sam pushed his thumb against his cut palm, and his nostrils flared against the sudden spark of pain. "And I still wish I had found a way to stop him."

"Hey." Dean sounded slightly correcting. "You tried." Sam scoffed, shaking his head no, and Dean got a little harder and angrier. "You tried damn hard," he said, daring Sam to disagree with him. "You did everything you could. I am _proud_ of you Sam." Normally Sam might have come to tears to hear his brother say that to him. But today, he felt ashamed. He was not someone or something to be proud of.

Bitter and confused feelings ran through Sam and he glanced at his brother, studied his profile in silence for a few beats. It had almost ended differently. Dean could still be dead and beyond hope of resurrection. Cas had fucked up in every way possible… but at least he had somehow broken back through and given Sam back his brother and sister, his uncle. Remembering the hell he'd lived through, Sam felt the threat of tears taking over again. He looked down into his own lap, his emotions betraying him. "I can't tell you how glad I am to have you back, Dean," he murmured, trying to sound stronger than he felt. "If you… you were still… I don't think I would make it."

Dean frowned and looked at Sam sidelong sharply. " _Hey._ " He was bristling at the suicidal implications. "You don't say that crap to me. You hang in there. I'm here. And we're doing this _together_. I'm not going _anywhere_."

Sam nodded, smiling tightly down into his lap. Typical Dean response. "Yeah." And Sam loved Dean. He loved him for his typical responses. And he was so damn glad this hardheaded, tough-on-the-outside, gooey-and-tenderhearted-on-the-inside guy was back again. Sam wouldn't take him for granted again, he decided.

Dean had gone quiet again, thoughtful. There was a brief silence. "Look, when we get back to Bobby's—" he searched for words for a minute, trying to be respectful. He sounded tired, and Sam felt guilty because he knew Dean was overwhelmed. "I just—these hallucinations, man…"

Sam cut him off. "It's okay, Dean, I'm good. No white rabbits." He laughed at himself softly, a derisive little sound. "I'm not seeing anything. I think the pain thing is gonna help." He rubbed his thumb against his palm again.

Dean looked vaguely encouraged. "Okay," he said, giving his brother a small smile. "Baby steps."

Sam returned the small smile. "Baby steps," he echoed. He had to get this together. If for no other reason, for Dean. Who shouldn't have to carry the weight of the world alone. The Impala streaked through the night like a bullet, carrying the silent and worried brothers closer and closer to their destination. About two minutes later as they were getting close to Bobby's, Sam wrinkled his nose up and frowned. "What's that _smell_?" It reminded him of campfire or something.

Dean seemed a little thrown off by it too. "Someone burning leaves?" he suggested.

"…At four in the morning?" Sam asked doubtfully.

"Yeah," Dean replied, sounding dubious. "Weird." It _was_ weird. And then they turned the corner and Bobby's house came into view, the brothers realized at the same time… that was _not_ the smell of burning leaves. "Oh _no_ …" Dean breathed. The car slowed in time to his gut-punched reaction.

Sam was lost for words as they came into plain view of the house. It had _burned_ to black, skeletal remains, and thick, dark smoke slowly rose up off the charred ruins. Dean slammed the car into park and didn't even remember to cut the engine off. He was too busy stumbling out of his car and trying to comprehend what he was seeing. "Oh no," he repeated softly, his eyes glued to the burnt remnants of the house. "Oh _no,_ " he repeated, then abruptly raised his voice to a deafening, fearful shout. " _Alex_!"

Sam was out too, and he stared around in speechless disbelieving panic, eyes darting all over the scene in shock. Dean continued to shout into the quiet night. "Al! _Alex_! … _Bobby_!" When there was no response, Dean pointed to the right, a silent _go_ to Sam, who obeyed immediately. Dean went left, and the brothers quickly circled the smoldering, smoking remains and met together on the opposite side of the house.

"Did you see them?!" Sam asked breathlessly.

Dean shook his head no, staring aghast at the burnt house. "No," he managed in a choked voice. Where the hell were they?

"Oh my god, Dean," Sam said in a voice that was rising with panic. "Were they… were they _in there_?"

Dean turned angrily on his brother. " _No_." He looked ready to snap in half, and his voice raised to a thundering, angry volume. "They were _not_ in there when this happened, you hear me?"

Sam was staring at the charred remains like he hadn't even heard. In a horrible trance, he swallowed slowly. "You… you don't think Alex did this, do you?" he asked. He sounded hollow and terrified at the same time.

"… _What_?" Dean asked, aghast at the question.

"She always _did_ like fire," Sam said softly, and his eyes flickered over the burned house with increased despair. "And whoever did this… knew what they were doing." He was breathing hard with a miserable expression, about to break down. "Dean, _this is my fault_ …"

Dean became abrasive. "No," he snapped. " _No_. We're _not_ going there, Sam," he commanded, pointing at his brother with a hard finger. "Now move out and we _find_ them. They are _here_ , somewhere, and we are going to _find_ them." Sam just stood there, looking like he didn't have it in him. Dean hardened his voice. " _Go_."

Sam took a couple seconds, his face working hard to control emotions. And then he nodded stiffly and did what he was told, began to wander the salvage yard at an unfocused, inconsistent gait. His shouts filled the night air. "Alex! _Bobby_!"

Dean stayed where he had been—standing at the front of the house—and he looked up at the still-visible A-frame of the attic. Had she been in there? Dean pulled out his phone with a shaking hand and called her phone, as pointless as that may have been. It went straight to voicemail, which made Dean's heart clench even tighter. He just _knew_ the phone had burned. And maybe her, too. The familiar message, the one she always recorded if she bothered to record one at all, played. " _You know what to do_." Her familiar voice, bored and businesslike on the message, made him want to break down. _Bee-eeeeep_. Dean hung up and stared at the house again. Inside, something collapsed and embers fluttered in the air in a zany, wind-blown pattern.

"Where _are_ _you_?" Dean asked softly, trying not to give up. But he felt it happening. If she had died in there, if she was _gone_ _…_ he wouldn't be able to take it. "If you are in there—" he whispered in a trembling voice. "If this was _you_ _…_ if you killed yourself over this… I'm gonna right behind you, you hear me? To kick your ass for doing that to me and Sam! _Christ_."

And then, somewhere nearby, he heard Sam shout. " _Dean_!" He turned, his chest clenching tight in sudden hope and fear alike. "I got her!"

Three words that took over his entire life. Relief flooded him and overcome with urgency, Dean sprinted. He found Sam holding a barely-conscious Alex on the ground in the salvage yard. She was sooty and coughing weakly, but she was _alive_ and looked unharmed. Dean dropped down beside Sam, taking hold of her along with his brother. "Hey hey hey—she okay?!" he examined her even as Sam nodded yes.

"Yeah, she was in the back seat of a _car_ , Dean, passed out."

Huh? Dean looked at his brother oddly. That seemed strange, and Sam seemed to think so too. Alex spoke then, her voice weak and rasping from the smoke. "No—I'm—it was… _someone_ …" she said, sounding urgent and confused. "Someone pulled me out… I think it was Cas…"

Dean felt his stomach drop. Oh god, now _she_ was hallucinating, too? Dean hoped it was just effects of the smoke, because if she went Sam-style with seeing things, he didn't know what he'd do. He was already pulling out his phone again. "We gotta call an ambulance," he said, distracted and worried and at his wit's end. "Looks like she inhaled a lot of smoke."

Alex abruptly tried to grab onto Dean and just barely caught hold of his jacket sleeve. "It was _Cas_ —" she insisted, tearful and confused and seeming almost drunk. "I saw him—his _coat_ …"

Not sure how else to reply, Dean nodded soothing even though inside he was stumbling and dizzy and bombarded from every angle. "I know, I know you did," he said, waiting for the damn 9-1-1 operator to pick up already.

"She's _delirious_ , Dean," Sam whispered, obviously very worried.

He knew she was. 9-1-1 answered and before the lady had even finished asking what the emergency was, Dean was barking out an order. "I need an ambulance to twenty-one ninety-four Singer Road _now_ , got a girl with smoke inhalation, there was a fire, _hurry_. Twenty-one ninety-four Singer Road!" Dean hung up and remained crouched with his siblings, holding Alex's head with a firm, reassuring grip. She was woozy and her grip on his sleeve fell away. "Hang on sweetheart, you're gonna be okay," he promised, hoping he was right.

" _Mmff_ …" she muttered, her glassy eyes sagging almost completely shut. Sam held her a little tighter, watching her for a few tense seconds as Dean checked her pulse and nodded stiffly that she was okay.

Sam looked at the smoking ruins that had been Bobby's home just an hour prior and his eyes were vastly worried. "You think Bobby was…?" he started.

"I'm gonna keep looking," Dean said firmly, standing up and looking around with a stony, determined expression. "We gotta find him, Sam. I am _not_ losing anyone else. _Not today_." He hesitated. "You got her?"

Sam nodded, pulling his sister a little closer to himself with both arms. "Yeah."

"Do not _move_ from this spot," Dean commanded intensely, then began to shout again. "Bobby! _Bobby_!"

Left with his barely-conscious twin, Sam supported the side of her head with one of his hands and tried to catch her barely-there gaze. Dean's footsteps crunched away on the gravel and Alex made a soft sound of pain and discomfort. Sam stroked the side of her head a few times. "You're gonna be okay, all right?" he whispered. "You and me both, we're gonna be okay." She heard him, and her face crumpled and she cried softly, weakly shook her head _no_. Sam's heart was overcome with tenderness and care and he shushed her gently, grieving right along with her. He knew how hopeless she felt. He recognized that feeling by the look on her face.

"My car," she croaked, and Sam frowned in confusion, then looked around. And then he spotted it—part of the house had collapsed down onto the front end of her Mustang, destroying it completely, pretty much. " _Lost everything_ ," she rasped faintly, shaking against him tearfully.

"Not everything," Sam insisted bravely, trying to convince himself, too.

Breathing shallowly and coughing again, Alex looked up at him with anxious, woozy eyes. "Bobby?" she asked, a single, worried question that made Sam's chest twist.

"He's fine," Sam lied softly, because he didn't think she could handle the idea that Bobby might be dead. He looked up, eyes filling with tears and his voice dropped to a whisper. " _He_ _'_ _s fine_." He very well might not be, though. And Sam didn't know how he would handle losing his second father.

Sam heard footsteps in front of him, and looked up, expecting to see Dean. And instead he saw a stranger. Starting slightly and immediately highly suspicious, Sam stood, holding his sister against himself the entire time.

The stranger was a man around forty who was built solidly and perhaps of Latino lineage. He was smiling softly. Never a good sign. Sam backed up slowly. "Well hello, Winchester," the man said. "Congratulations. Apparently you and your brother are competent enough to warrant annihilating. I'd take it as a compliment." Sam's blood was freezing cold because he realized _this must be a Leviathan._ The stranger's eyes dropped to Alex, who was barely maintaining consciousness. "But first, put her down. My boss wants her."

Protective and infuriated, Sam's face twisted up. "Well you can tell your boss to blow me!" he shouted, backing up more. _Dean. Where are you!?_

The man smirked, following steadily. "I'll give Dick the message."

Sam lost his bravado in place of confusion. "… _what_?"

The man ignored Sam's question and gestured toward Alex. "Give her to me. You needn't worry. Her safety is my top priority."

Sam clutched her all the tighter. "Oh, is that why you burned down the _house_ she was in?!"

Genuine shock showed on the Leviathan's face. "I… I didn't know," he said, seeming very disturbed. He looked at Alex in deeply apologetic remorse. "Please, forgive me, beloved."

Beloved? Sam made a face, double-taking with a reaction that was half horrified, half freaked out. "Okay, now that's just creepy," he said softly, unsure what the hell was going on here. In his arms, Alex had the faintest frown on her face and her mouth hung open in confusion.

"Hey!" came a loud, rough voice. " _Asshole_!"

The Leviathan turned toward Dean, who had a shotgun and used it—pumping a round off and blowing half of the guy's face off. His head jerked to the side from the force of the shot, but then the stranger straightened, looked at the black ooze on his hand, and his eyes snapped back up to Dean. He suddenly drew his head back and let his mouth yawn open widely. His face transformed in the blink of an eye into a monster's appearance. His mouth began a huge cavern that took up his entire face, his teeth were jagged and lined every inch of his mouth, a two-pronged tongue unfurled. It was like a war cry or something, and Sam and Dean both shrank back in revulsion and surprise.

Taking the advantage, the Leviathan knocked Dean's gun away, then grabbed Dean and threw him against a car so hard that the windshield shattered. There was a sickening snap and Dean shouted out in pain, clutched at his leg as he fell to the ground. He began to drag himself backward, and Sam, not knowing what else to do, set Alex down and rushed over to defend his brother. He was able to surprise the Leviathan, who stood over Dean—and Sam grabbed him, whirled him, punched him hard in the face. It was like punching a solid wall and Sam cried out in surprised pain as the Leviathan tumbled to the ground in front of him. Shaking his fist out and trying to find some kind of way to disable this guy— _guns don_ _'_ _t work, fist can_ _'_ _t take much more of that_ —Sam looked up and saw that there was a car held high in a hoist, right above where the Leviathan was.

The control to the hoist was near Dean, who looked like he was already thinking the same thing. "Dean, _now_!" Sam shouted urgently. He turned back around to throw another punch and make sure the Leviathan stayed put, but when he turned around, a crowbar struck him across the face hard enough to send him flying and to knock him unconscious.

Even as Sam was going down, Dean smashed his fist into the control to release the hoist and the car suspended in the air dropped down, squishing the Leviathan flat. Black ooze began to pool out from underneath the car.

Dean dragged himself over to Sam, who was unresponsive and had landed just a few feet from where he'd dumped Alex. She was on her side and looked unconscious. Dean got to his brother first. "Sam." He grabbed hold of Sam's shirt and shook a little, trying to jog his brother into consciousness. "Sammy?" He groaned in pain as indescribable and familiar pain shot through his leg. He recognized that horrible pain and was so angry he could have spit—he didn't have _time_ for broken bones! Not right now! He slapped his brother lightly in the face, trying to get him to pop awake. "Hey, come on now. Come on, I'm the one with the broken leg, you got to carry me. Sam!" He could hear sirens approaching. Alex was unconscious too, and Dean dragged himself over to her laboriously and shook her shoulder, so afraid she was dead. Last time he thought she was unconscious, she'd been dead on the floor, and it haunted him to remember that. She was alive, at least for now. Dean looked around, feeling like his entire world was being destroyed in front of his own eyes.

Bobby was gone. Dead. Sam was out of his mind, Alex was defeated, the house had burned… everything that could have gone wrong had. And it was too much to bear. Dean gave up. He bowed his head and hid his face, laid there and cried into the rough, gravelly ground, his fingers digging into the rubble there uselessly as his siblings laid on either side of him unconscious. Sirens screamed louder and louder.

* * *

A few minutes later, the Winchesters were all strapped onto stretchers and racing toward the hospital. Sam was unresponsive and out cold as a paramedic held his eyes open one by one and checked the pupils with a flashlight. He'd been hooked up to oxygen, just like his sister.

Head turned toward Sam, Dean was beside himself with worry. "Sam, stay with me, you hear?"

The paramedic spoke into his communicator. "Male, late twenties, head trauma. Signs of increasing intracranial pressure. Female, late twenties, smoke inhalation." Sam suddenly began to thrash back and forth in the stretcher unconsciously, clenching and seizing powerfully.

Terrified and trapped down in his own stretcher, Dean was powerless to do anything but watch. "Sam? Sammy?!"

"Yeah, he's seizing," the paramedic said into his communicator. "Copy that. We're just pulling into Sioux Falls."

More horror washed over him and Dean sat up as much as the straps would allow. "Sioux Falls?! Sioux Falls General? No, no, no. No, you gotta take us somewhere else, anywhere. _Please_."

The paramedic was doing something important looking with a syringe and glanced at Dean flippantly. "Yeah, okay, buddy."

Dean knocked his head against his pillow in distress. Fucking _hell_ this was one of the worst days he'd ever experienced! Beside him, Alex was mumbling through strangely vapid tears. Dean turned his head toward her, from one crisis to the next. "I'm not crazy… not crazy…" she muttered, frowning like she was fighting herself in her mind and losing the battle. "I saw him, _saw_ him, saw his coat…"

"I know you're not crazy, you hear me?" Dean craned his neck upward, trying to get her to look at him, trying to get her attention. She didn't respond to him and Dean raised his voice. "Just stay here, Alex, you hear me? _Stay here_!"

"…I hate here," she said quietly and blankly as she stared up at the ceiling with a strange expression.

"Alex." She was going into her off-mode again and he couldn't do anything to stop her. " _Alex_!" Dean shouted. But it was too late. She was gone, laying there like she was in a waking coma. Dean clenched his fists and knocked his head into the stretcher again, so hard he saw stars. "God _dammit_!"

* * *

The next thing Dean knew, he was under a bright light and his vision was doubled. _Am I drugged?_ He heard echoey, strange voices around him and some kind of beeping. He was still laying down. But he didn't think he was in the ambulance anymore. _Where are Sam and Alex? And who is touching me?_

"Three, two, one, set!" a voice said, and then suddenly, there was the most mind-numbing jolt of pain Dean had ever experienced in the vicinity of his right leg. He screamed and shot straight up to sit—he was immediately pushed back down onto the bed, and he began to get his bearings. A female doctor had just set his leg, and two nurses were holding Dean down. "Just relax," the doctor commanded.

"…Where am I?" Dean asked, voice slurring badly.

"You're at the hospital," she replied briskly.

"Which one?"

"Sioux Falls General."

 _Oh no._ A needle suddenly jabbed into Dean's arm thanks to one of the nurses and Dean tried to pull away weakly. "Where's my brother and my sister?" he asked, about to fall over even though he was laying down already. He fought the holds on him without much success as panic made him see spots. " _We got to go_."

The doctor looked at him firmly. "Your brother bashed his head quite seriously. He's gone up for an MRI. Your sister's been admitted to Laurelwood."

Dean gaped. "Laurelw—the _looney bin_!?"

"She was threatening suicide," the doctor announced factually. "We take that real seriously here, sir."

Suicide? The world was spinning around Dean, but he fought it valiantly. This place wasn't safe, Bobby said Leviathan were here, and he was _not_ gonna stand for this. "Okay, enough of this crap," Dean managed, fighting sluggish muscles. "I got to go." But his body wouldn't obey him, his eyes were as heavy as mountains, and he suddenly realized _oh hell. I_ _'_ _m about to pass out._

"You're not going anywhere on this leg, buddy," the doctor's voice said, beginning to fade out. "Relax."

The world began to blur again, and then it went dark completely.

* * *

Dean woke up laying flat in a small bed, and he was, for a brief moment, content and rested. And then as he began to look around and remember, when he spotted the plaque on the wall that said Sioux Falls General Hospital… he shut his eyes and groaned. "Oh, no, no, no," he muttered. He sat up, sore and drugged and feeling awful. He felt a weird pressure in his arm and looked at it, realized there was an IV there. And that he was wearing an ugly hospital gown and _nothing else._ He saw his clothes folded across from him and sitting on a small table there and grumpy, Dean yanked the IV out of his arm and pushed himself out of bed to stand—and promptly slid and fell down with a yell.

Dumped onto the floor, Dean stared at his leg, which was beyond use. It was wrapped in a foot-to-knee cast, restricting his movement completely. "… _What_?!" he protested softly, confused and dismayed. No no _no_ ….

At that moment, the door opened and in walked Bobby Singer, cleaned up, in FBI dress blues, and hatless. He had a FBI badge pinned to his suit jacket, and when he spotted Dean on the floor, he immediately became concerned. "You okay?" he asked, shutting the door behind himself.

Dean gaped, wondering if he were dreaming. "Bobby, you're alive," he managed.

"'Course I am," Bobby said, like he had no idea why Dean would think otherwise. "Why are you on the floor?"

"They gave me morphine," Dean mumbled, voice still slurring. "A _lot_." He peered up at Bobby in total confusion. "We thought you were _dead_. Where were you?"

Bobby was hauling him to his feet and helping him sit on the bed. "Not dead _yet._ _"_

The door opened again and Dean was double-shocked to see Jamie, also in FBI getup. She slipped in quickly, covertly, then took one look at him in the dressing gown with the cast and her eyebrows raised high. "What'd you go and break your leg for?" she asked.

Dean was slack-jawed and dumbstruck. "J—wh—what are you doing here?"

"Same thing Bobby is," she said. "Saving your busted up ass."

Dean frowned at Bobby woozily. So… they were working together. That was nice…? Bobby looked urgent. "We got to run," he said, grabbing Dean's clothes and putting them in his lap. "This place ain't safe. Where's the twins?"

Dean scratched his head, trying to process everything that was going on. "Uh… Sam's in for a head scan, I think…" he said, trying to remember. He sobered a great deal. "And they put Al in Laurelwood."

Bobby's eyebrows rose slightly. "Damn," he commented, obviously doing some quick math in his head. Laurelwood was near the hospital, but in a different building altogether. "All right, well first things first. We get the big one outta here, then go bust the little one outta Laurelwood. Meet me at the ambulance dock, stat. I'll find Sam."

Dean was confused and tired and the morphine was making his mind feel clouded. "Wait, where? Bobby, I'm a _gimp_."

Jamie grabbed the crutches that were leaned near the door and handed them to Bobby, who handed them to Dean with of all things, an impish, encouraging smile. "Hey. Jamie'll help you get your big boy pants on." He patted Dean on the cheek a few times and smiled at him, then headed out, closing the door behind himself.

Dean looked at the clothes in his lap and the crutches, not sure how to pull this off. Jamie folded her arms and gave him a challenging little look.

Starting to get some of his clarity back, Dean scoffed and began to clumsily get up using the crutches. "Yeah relax, I think I can put on my own clothes, _nurse,_ " he said, starting to head for what he soon realized was not the bathroom, but the closet.

"Bathroom's _that_ way," Jamie said, pointing to the other end of the room.

Dean blanched slightly, because walking away from her meant she'd get a view of his… um, _full moon_. They both knew that, but she wasn't averting her eyes or being delicate. "Well don't _look,_ " he complained.

She smiled softly and looked away.

* * *

A few minutes and a stolen ambulance later, a blonde woman, a man on crutches and a tall man with long hair and an obvious head injury stood at the receptionist's desk at Laurelwood. After arguing with the receptionist and getting nowhere— _visiting hours aren_ _'_ _t for three more hours, the patient can_ _'_ _t leave yet, yada yada yada_ —Dean had demanded to see the doctor on duty.

"Yeah, look, you got a patient in last night, Alex—uh, Smith," Dean was saying. Jamie hung back slightly in the middle of the lobby, watching for any perceived threats. Bobby was waiting in the ambulance, keeping the engines running. "We're her _brothers_ , and I am _telling you,_ we gotta go, _now_."

The doctor was a soft-spoken Indian man with dark skin and thick eyebrows. He had a quiet, composed, peaceful way about him from the way he stood with fingertips touched together to the way he spoke in a gentle, accented voice. "Unfortunately, Mr. Smith, the seventy-two hour hold is required because she was threatening suicide," he said patiently. "However, once the hold has been completed, I'd be happy to help her transition into your care." He paused. "I am actually going to recommend moving her to Sunny Meadows."

"…And just what the hell is _Sunny Meadows_?" Dean asked irritably.

The doctor eyed him thoughtfully, sizing him up. "It's a mental health hospital in Montana. I worked there several years ago. The facility has a much more diverse program than the one we have here." He smiled humbly, apologetically. "We're a simple operation here at Laurelwood, mostly we hold suicide threats for the required time then refer our patients to other facilities. And after evaluating your sister briefly, I have to say… you're probably looking at PTSD, panic disorder, possible mild psychosis… my opinion is that she needs services."

" _Services,_ " Dean repeated challengingly. Beside him, Sam looked taxed and sick but was listening hard.

"Therapy, medication, clinical monitoring, support and counseling," the doctor supplied readily.

Dean scoffed at the doctor. "Yeah, I bet you'd say that about anyone who looked at you funny to get a little extra cash on the paycheck, Doctor _Kapoor_." He read the doc's name tag sarcastically.

The doctor frowned slightly, barely bothered at all by Dean's rudeness. "I don't receive _bonuses_ for referring people to mental health services," he assured patiently, eyeing Dean closely and seeming to have decided he knew what Dean's problem was. "Mr… Smith, is it? There are some misconceptions in our society about mental health and mental institutions. They're not prisons and they're not filled with people who want to escape. Patients know they're ill for the most part and are seeking help to get well, just like with a physical ailment." He looked at Dean in all seriousness. "Your sister expressed to me vast hopelessness about knowing how to cope with the recent trauma she's been subjected to."

Dean was slightly taken aback. "She… she _talked_ to you?" he asked, because he had been trying all _week_ and she'd said all of ten words to him.

The doctor nodded somberly, sensitive to Dean's disbelief. "Yes. I'm very good at what I do, Mr. Smith." He smiled again, by all appearances kind and professional. "Anyway, you must remember, you're not the ones who will make this decision. She will. When I discharge her two days from now, it will be with referral papers for Sunny Meadows. I hope you two, her brothers, will do your job in encouraging her to be brave enough to seek this treatment. It would be very counterintuitive for you to attempt to discourage her from it. Admitting to having a problem and needing help is difficult for most individuals, nevermind those struggling mentally or psychologically. There's quite a lot of stigma in our society about the mentally ill and quite frankly, there shouldn't be." He paused for effect. "Please don't be part of the problem, gentlemen." He nodded a gracious farewell. "Good day to you." He left Dean blinking and slack-jawed and Sam deep in thought.

In a huff, Dean hobbled back toward where Jamie waited and Sam followed, sweating the whole way thanks to what was probably a good concussion. "Piece of friggin' work…" Dean muttered angrily. "If I wanted a lecture I'd go to _church_."

"No," Sam replied in a furtive voice as he glanced around. "He's _right_ Dean. And you know he is. Stop being such a jackass and just… just let Alex have this decision. Be supportive like the doctor said."

Dean stopped walking and gave his brother an angry glare as he leaned heavily onto his crutches. "What if we let her go to this… this Sunny Meadow place and she never leaves, Sam? What if she just goes in there and gives up and we lose her forever?"

Sam laughed weakly, seeming to have given up. "Do we really have control over this, Dean? Any of it?"

"Look," Dean said, grinding his teeth briefly. "Right now, we gotta break her outta here, before those Leviathan things figure out where we went."

Jamie came over to where they had stopped and she listened hard. "Okay, so diversion?" she asked, already catching onto the plan.

Dean smiled at her wanly, getting smart. "You got some kinda magical spell you can abracadabra?" he asked sarcastically. Jamie gave him a half-amused, half-insulted look, then glanced over her shoulder, walked a few feet to the wall there, and pulled the fire alarm. As the sirens began to blare loudly and the sprinklers began to go off overhead, she gave Dean a challenging little look. He was currently making a face because he was getting wet. "There's that, too," he muttered.

Jamie was walking past him, patting him on the shoulder. "I'll go get her, skippy," she said, already heading down the hallway. She went unnoticed thanks to the staff responding to the alarm.

Dean gritted his teeth and hated himself for what he was about to say, but he made himself say it, despite his pride, his fear, and his hatred of where this was going. "Sam, go to that quack's office and make those referral papers happen," he said. Sam looked vaguely surprised. Dean didn't have time for more discussion. " _Go_."

* * *

**Two Hours Later  
County Kitchen Café - Mitchell, South Dakota**

The Winchester three were seated at a booth in a random highway-side diner. They had gone and traded the ambulance for the Impala and Bobby's ride, then caravanned this way fast, wary of Leviathan the whole way. So far, so good. Bobby sat at a nearby table with Jamie and they were leaned over her laptop, googling Leviathan mythology and trying to learn anything they could about these big bads. Effectively on the run and out of all the resources they'd ever had before (Bobby's library, the panic room, so many family things that had burned away in boxes in that attic), the mood was somber and heavy.

Sam had a concussion, Dean had a broken leg, and of course, Alex was… she didn't even know. A fucking joke, if you asked her. She sat across from her brothers, still in Dean's huge jacket. It had always felt safe to her because it hid so much of herself. Same held today. She wore it to hide herself, to feel safe. She continually twisted the hospital bracelet that had been put on her and watched it absently. She could feel Sam and Dean's worried, tense stares on her and she was loathe to look at them and see their injuries, their pain, their concern. She wasn't sure, entirely, what had happened these past twenty-four hours or so. It felt like a huge, horrible blur. All she could think about was the attic burning all around her… and then catching sight of Cas's trench coat and being _picked up_ and _taken out_ of there. Who did that? It _was_ someone, right? She wasn't crazy! Was she? She twisted the bracelet again, a lump stuck in her throat. Maybe she _was_ crazy. She _felt_ crazy.

"So." Dean's voice startled her. " _Suicide_?"

Her stomach sank and she swallowed against a dry mouth. She had hoped this topic wouldn't come up. She vaguely remembered ranting about wanting to die as they had wheeled her into the hospital. "I didn't mean it," she said softly, not sure if she had or not. She just didn't want Dean to worry himself over her. She could sense how stressed he was, and she hated being part of the reason. "The smoke got to my brain."

Maybe that's why she thought she saw Cas? The smoke and how much she had gagged down as the fire began to destroy the little world she had existed in all of last year. Her attic. _Their_ attic. Now it was gone along with him. But then _how did I see his coat? I know it was there. Someone picked me up and got me out of there, and my face was up against one of those damn buttons I would recognize anywhere._

Across from her, Dean was bowing his head, resting his elbows on the table, and running his fingers through his hair in a gesture that seemed spent and harrowed. "I hate this," he announced glumly, and Alex finally looked at him through veiled eyes as guilt and bad feelings descended on her anew. Hated what? Her behavior? Her out-of-control reaction to everything that had happened? She didn't blame him and she was once again ashamed of herself and her lack of ability to soldier through. "Hate it," he repeated, then looked at her with a vastly emotional expression. "But I'm gonna try and stop being a stubborn bastard and listen to you. Is… is this what you need?" _Is_ what _what I need?_ Alex didn't know what he meant. He explained himself when she said nothing. "To go stay in some mental ward to get your marbles straight?"

Oh. Alex looked at him, then Sam, who was quiet and concerned and watchful. She was speechless and blank for a minute. _What do I_ need… _?_ _How about a redo of my entire life? How about we go back in time and erase my fucking existence so I don_ _'_ _t have to cause all this shit and feel all this pain, huh?_ Cynical, bitter, hopeless thoughts whirled through her mind, deepening her misery. What Alex wanted and needed was to stop inconveniencing and burdening the people she loved. She wanted to stop overhearing worried, tense exchanges about herself between her brothers and Bobby. She wanted to stop catching her brothers looking at her like they were killing themselves inside over her condition. She wanted to disappear. She wanted to hide. Because she _didn_ _'_ _t_ want anyone to see her suffer through this scary, unknown territory that was taking over her mind and heart. She didn't want her brothers to know how truly weak and hopeless she felt, how terrified she was of losing them too. Honestly, how much more loss could one person take? And what good was she going to do if she stayed with them? She was an inconvenience and a headache, a constant down. Sam and Dean didn't need any more pain or burden than they already had. And all those thoughts were why Alex nodded stiffly and tried to look stony. "Yeah. It's what I want."

Dean looked heartbroken, then started to try and talk her out of it. "We—the Leviathan are after us," he said intently, trying to convey how important it was she understood what he was saying. "It's not gonna be safe for us to stick around you too close if you're in one location. You get that, right?" Yeah. She did. And that's why she was gonna follow through on this and do what they couldn't: wipe herself off their to-do list. Remove herself from their responsibilities. They needed to be free of her. If _she_ couldn't get away from herself, at least they could. Dean watched her in silence and when she remained quiet and tense, he tried again. "Al, you don't _need_ pills and shrinks."

She looked into his eyes, having to force the action out of herself. "You don't know what I need, Dean," she managed in a tight voice. All she wanted was to cry and crawl into his lap like she had when she was little. But she wasn't little anymore, and she had to stop weighing him down. "I'm not as… as strong as you and Sam are." She wasn't strong at _all_ , and she could barely talk about how she felt without either beginning to fly into a panicked state or needing to shut down. "There's… there's just a part of me… I can't even comprehend what's happened," she whispered, her mind briefly paging over all the horrors that had happened. She hadn't been prepared for the things that she'd been put through. She was haunted by trauma she'd faced at Cas's hand, she was harrowed by grief at losing her brothers, her uncle… then Castiel, too. She didn't know how to control the panic attacks that kept her prisoner, she didn't know how to function for very long at all, and she felt like she just _couldn_ _'_ _t_ do this anymore. "I'm sorry," she said, looking down at her legs in shame. Her own thoughts made her furious and depressed all at once. "I know I've disappointed you."

Dean leaned forward over the table adamantly, almost angrily. "You do _not_ disappoint me," he replied immediately. "You have _never_ disappointed me."

He was trying to make her feel better, but… "We all know that's not true," she said flatly, remembering how she'd broken his heart by going and marrying Cas in secret, how she'd disappointed him time and time again, but that time being the greatest. She would never forget that look on his face that night.

Dean understood and softened remorsefully. "Well… that's in the past now, okay?" She didn't answer and Dean frowned, trying to get her to listen. "I am _proud_ of you."

She wanted to cry. She didn't deserve to hear that, and she couldn't believe he would be proud of her. Not after everything she had done and let happen. Sam spoke up, making her emotions that much more unstable. "I am too," he said earnestly, echoing Dean's sentiments. "Asking for help is a _strength,_ Alex. You're _not_ weak. If you need this, if this will get you through what you're going through, we're all for it. Both of us."

Alex looked up at them, starting to wonder if maybe… _maybe_ _…_ there could be a way out of this hell she'd found herself in. Dean and Sam were waiting for her response, and she was amazed to see Dean, especially, actually was for once in his life willing to let her go out of his grip enough to get help from someone other than himself. For a minute, she forgot about her plans to pluck herself off the Winchester map and relieve her brother's problem of having to deal with her. For a minute, she began to really think that maybe she could conquer this and maybe she could recover. "R-really?" she asked, and somewhere deep within herself, a small spark of hope came to life.

"Yeah," Sam confirmed, a kind smile briefly showing through his worry.

Alex looked at Dean, wanting to hear him say yes, too. He nodded grimly, hesitantly, looking reluctant but resigned."Yeah. If this is really— _really_ —what you want… you got it." He smiled for her benefit through his conflicting emotions. "Even got you some shiny referral papers to a place in Montana."

Without warning, a part of her wanted to suddenly say _no, please. Don_ _'_ _t leave me! I can_ _'_ _t do this without you!_ That was her default mode: clinging to men who she loved and needed. But then she remembered how Dean had died because of her, how Sam had been tricked into saying yes to Lucifer because of her. How Cas had gone insane and been willing to do _anything_ for her. Even the unthinkable. And Alex couldn't let anyone ever care about her that much ever again. It got people killed. It destroyed things. And she was a curse that had to be removed. A problem to be solved. She should have left a long, long time ago. "It is what I want," she said, giving little hint to what she was really thinking deep down inside.

Sam nodded a few times, folding his hands onto the table and studying her closely. "Then that's what's gonna happen," he said. "Dean and I are gonna hunt these Leviathans down, get them off the map. You're gonna be safe and not have to worry about anything." He paused, waiting for her to say something. She said nothing. "We'll be a phone call away if you ever need us. And Jamie and Bobby will check in on you as often as they can."

Dean, quieter and much more reluctant than Sam was, gave Alex a small, bittersweet smile. "Trust me, we won't drag our feet on this one, Al."

"We'll get through this," Sam said firmly. "The three of us. I promise."

Alex's eyes were filling with tears brought on by the intense emotions she felt. Guilt consumed her alive. She was abandoning them, she was giving up and laying down and admitting defeat. Dad would be furious at how weak she'd turned out to be. He would never let her hear the end of this… he could hear his angry voice in her mind, clear like a bell. _You_ _'_ _re walking out on your family!_ Alex looked at her two brothers and saw two of the most central and important cornerstones of her life. She knew them, and they knew her. The wars they'd fought together, the things they'd seen… the unspoken promise to always remain together and fight the good fight no matter what. And here she was, walking out. She had to remind herself: they would be better off without her there. And yet… "I love you guys," she whispered, and when she heard herself say it, she felt disgust. Who would want to be loved by _her?_

Unaware of her inner thoughts, Sam reached out and touched her hand gently with his. "We love you too," he said, and his eyes were too intense for her to look into.

"I know," she said, avoiding looking at anyone, wishing no one had ever loved her, ever.

Dean got up and indicated she get up too. "Well. Road trip to Montana?" She got up slowly and stiffly, and when he put an arm around her and kissed the side of her head, said it was gonna be okay, she wanted to shove him away and tell him he should just stop trying. She wasn't worth it and was tired. Done. Dead inside in a way she couldn't begin to explain.

* * *

**Present Day**   
**About Four Weeks After Cas Walked Into the Lake**

Daphne bustled around in her kitchen, tending to three different pots and pans as she prepared dinner. Emmanuel sat at the kitchen bar where he always did. Daphne said men shouldn't cook, but always asked him to join her as she prepared the meals. Meals he didn't _need_ , but politely never turned down. Her kindness was so generous that he felt bad to disappoint her. He had learned very quickly that she thrived on helping and nurturing. He didn't want to take that away from her.

She was currently going on and on about things that Emmanuel tried to pay attention to, but found difficult to concentrate on. "And Martha said the farmer's market needed a couple more stands, so I decided we'll go start one this Saturday together," she continued. "I mean, what am I supposed to do with all those cucumbers, anyway, you know? I'll just sell them!" She laughed easily, happily. Her greenhouse grew vegetables all year long and she spent a lot of time in there growing her own produce. "And I just love the farmer's market, you will too." She stirred the boiling pot of water and some kind of pasta as Emmanuel stared off into space, distracted by a deep, disturbing feeling. She noticed, and her good mood faded. "What is it, Emmanuel?" she asked, forgetting the spoon in her hand.

He looked at her and he once again felt that this was wrong somehow. He was confused. "I feel… I feel worried," he said, shaking his head slightly.

"About what?" Daphne asked, concern making her face twist.

About what he was always worried about. But he wasn't sure what that was. Emmanuel strained mentally to catch hold of his reasons for constant anxiety, but… he had nothing. "I'm not sure," he said, continually frustrated with this ever-present feeling. "Something… something important." What was he _forgetting_? He had been here with Daphne for a month now and it had gone from a 'temporary thing' as she put it to… well, permanent feeling. Daphne had bought him clothes, set up her guest bedroom as his own, and he often caught her looking at him with eyes that seemed to crave something more from him. He thought he knew what, but hoped he was mistaken. He didn't know if he reciprocated.

Daphne worked regular hours at the herbalist shop and Emmanuel was left to himself a great deal of the time. In his alone time he read a few of Daphne's new age books and tended to her greenhouse garden. He walked to the gas station sometimes, contemplated those cupcakes and tried to remember what they meant. They always made this feeling well inside of him that was almost too big to contain. He went to that yellow flower field sometimes by himself, too, and tried to remember. But he never did remember. Maybe he never would. He knew Daphne was growing more and more impatient with how he tried to remember. It was almost like she wanted him to just move on and accept this as his life now. Perhaps that was the appropriate thing to do. He wasn't sure.

"Well, it'll come to you," she said with a sigh, stirring another pot of sauce while watching him. "And if it doesn't, that's the universe's way of letting you know it wasn't meant to be. God always shows us the way, and— _aah_!" She screamed loudly and fell backwards onto the floor.

She somehow knocked one of the pans into the pot on the front burner, and the scalding water splashed down onto her bare legs (she was wearing some kind of stretchy, neon colored shorts), burning her legs raw red in an instant. "Daphne! Are you all right?" Emmanuel was with her in record time, in fact so fast that he didn't remember moving at all—she was on the floor, crying and whining, groaning and gasping in pain as she clutched him and he was left to panic slightly.

The burns were bad, and Emmanuel touched her leg with his hand, unsure of why he felt the inward conviction to do so. And when his hand touched her leg, suddenly, the burns disappeared on both of her legs and her gasping sobs turned into gasps of surprise. She stared at her suddenly-normal legs and fumbled for words. "What—did you—did you just… do that?!" she asked, staring up at him with wide, astonished eyes.

"I… I don't know how," he said, looking at one of his hands in confusion. He looked at her fearfully, certain that something was wrong with him and she would now tell him to leave. But the opposite happened. Underneath him, her eyes softened and drank his in. She said nothing, just looked at him like that, prompting him to swallow. "A-are you all right now?" he asked, feeling nervous and unsure about her gaze.

She nodded softly and refrained from speaking for a long, uncomfortable moment. And then… "I need you to carry me to the bedroom," she said quietly, and Emmanuel's heart skipped a beat. Was he misinterpreting her tone? Her eyes? Her body language? He wasn't sure, but not wanting to be rude or jump to a conclusion, he did what she asked, and avoided looking her in the eyes, tried not to notice how her arms circled his neck trustingly as he carried her. He set her down in the bedroom and she did not back away from him. She had her hands on his chest, resting against the soft cotton of the shirt he wore that said 'Earth is Art.' She had bought it for him, of course. "Emmanuel… you're special," she whispered, holding his gaze and making his heart rate increase. "I've always known you're special." Her hands moved lightly, invoking odd feelings in him. "God put you here to change lives. Do you believe that?"

He was so distracted by her hands and her close proximity. "I—I think so," he said, more and more confused at what was happening.

Daphne smiled softly, and Emmanuel thought the way she looked at him was the way women looked at men they loved. "He put me in your life for a reason, too," she said, then reached up and touched the side of his face carefully. His breath caught. "I care about you," she whispered, becoming so serious and vulnerable. "More than I've… I've ever cared about anyone."

Emmanuel wasn't sure how to reply. He tried to find words, but he couldn't.

Daphne backed away from him and looked at him hopefully, nervously. Then she gave him a soft smile. "Wait here."

* * *

**Meanwhile…**

Alex stared out the window to her left. She could see yellow flowers out there, lit up by the exterior lights perched along the landscaping outside of Sunny Meadows Mental Health Center. Yellow flowers made her think of Cas. And as always, thoughts of him left her broken internally. Or maybe that was just the way she was now, point blank.

"Do you remember?"

A male voice pulled her back from her internal world. Alex was momentarily disconcerted and looked at the source of the voice. "…What?"

Patiently, Doctor Schulz waited with steepled fingers. "You said you were trying to remember how you got here. So… do you?"

She let out a soft, haggard sigh. Alex Winchester was tired of doing this. Forgetting, remembering… going in and out of dissociative phases, panic attacks, numbness, confusion… trying half-heartedly in this shit called therapy… this entire thing felt like hell, and like she'd been here forever. And it had only been about three weeks. The doctor wanted to know if she remembered, and now she remembered enough. "Yeah, a little," she replied vaguely, apathetically. "But… I'm… I'm done for today if that's all right."

"Of course Miss Smith," he replied. "It's nearly lights-out anyway."

Alex's eyes rested longingly on the metal letter opener on his desk. She looked at that letter opener every time she came into this office and wanted it. And tonight, she decided she was going to take it finally. She feigned a calm, sweet smile and looked at the picture that Doctor Schulz kept on the shelf behind his desk for visitors to see. Her every word and expression was calculated and false. "Your family is very beautiful," she said, putting on the charm just enough to look genuine. "Your son looks just like you."

He fell for it hook, line, and sinker, turning a little in his swivel chair to smile fondly at the five-by-seven in the frame. Alex's plastic smile fell and she swiped the letter opener silently, quietly, and stuck it up her jacket sleeve in less than two seconds flat. "Thank you," the doctor was saying as he smiled at the photo of his family. He had a son and two daughters. "I'm very proud of them." He turned back around in his chair and Alex's fake smile returned. He smiled back. "We'll speak tomorrow, all right?"

"Tomorrow," she said pleasantly and stood up, exited the room. Her face went blank when she turned her back on him. There would be no tomorrow. She was tired of tomorrows, sick of reality, and could find nothing to hold onto worth staying for.

As she slouched back to her room, turning the letter opener with her fingers inside of her sleeve, she caught sight of _him_. That same guy she kept noticing. He was always lurking around in the hallways and in the lunchroom and rec room _watching_ her, maybe everyone. But it felt like he was watching _her._ His age was hard to pinpoint because he had a baby-faced appearance and slight build. He could have been eighteen or thirty for all she knew. Curly, disheveled dirty blond hair offset a delicate jaw and expressive, watchful eyes. He wore long red shorts, flip-flops, and a yellow hoodie that said _KSU_ on it—and he was looking at her very pointedly. So pointedly that Alex stopped dead in the hall and gave him her most bitchy and challenging look. She was tired of this guy's stares. "You got a problem?" she asked acridly, ready to pound him into the floor with her fists and then stab him with her letter opener.

A nervous smile came over his face with jarring suddenness. "I self harm and I'm bi-polar," he said in a voice that was boyish and sort of simpering. "That's two problems right off the bat." Alex rolled her eyes. _Great._ A wiseass. "Hi," he said. "Kyle." He paused and Alex started walking past him. He hesitated, then followed right on her heels. "Er, _I_ _'_ _m_ Kyle. I wasn't calling _you_ Kyle." Alex walked faster, annoyed, but he kept right up. "But my friends they uh, they call me Zip. I don't have a lot of friends but um, uh, it's a computer thing, nickname from freshmen year, it kinda stuck you know?" Alex stopped dead and looked at him with a very obviously short expression. He didn't seem to take the hint. "Anyway so uh I've seen you around—" he said. He stood about an inch shorter than her, and she was vaguely making a bet with herself about how fast she could have him K.O.'ed onto the floor. He rambled on, oblivious to her violent thoughts. "We were paired up in art therapy last week—do you remember?"

" _No_ ," she said, turned her back on him rudely and carrying on down the hallway.

He was overly nice and awkward and practically tripped over his own feet as he hurried to walk beside her. "Ah. Well, it's the medicine probably," he said, grinning breathily. "Makes ya a _liiiiittle_ loopy." He chuckled nervously. "And I've noticed they've been giving you a lot of it, too."

Bristling, Alex stopped abruptly and eyed him up and down warningly. "What, you _watching me_ or something?"

He looked insulted and confused. "Um…" His glaringly red shorts were an eyesore at the bottom of her periphery and she glared at them, then realized they weren't shorts at all. They were swim trunks. He was a freaking nutjob. This place was full of fucking _freaks._

Alex walked off again, done with the conversation and just wanting to be _alone_. Kyle followed again "Hey, wait, Alex!" he called, jogging and catching hold of her shoulder to try and slow her down. "Alex, right?" His touch made her see red and she whirled, grabbed his wrist, slammed him up against the wall and bent his wrist back hard—just a little further and it would break. He looked shocked, his face showed pain, and Alex shoved him hard, backed off.

"Leave me alone," she threatened in a growl. "Touch me again and I'll break your fucking _neck._ "

He stood there, severely cowed. "Sorry," he mumbled, looking embarrassed. "I was just… trying to be nice."

"Well go try _somewhere else_ , Chip!" she thundered, then began to storm off.

"Zip," he corrected sadly, then suddenly sounded cheerful and hopeful again. "See you tomorrow?" he called after her.

Alex looked back at him with an ugly expression. "Fuck _off_!"

He grinned nervously, uncertainty, waved awkwardly. "Okay! Fucking off. Bye…!"

One of the other residents, a textbook gothic-looking guy with long black hair that fell over his eyes (in which he wore purple contacts), looked at Kyle oddly as he slunk past. "You're so weird, man."

Kyle, or as his friends called him, Zip, tried to be cool and give a tough, clever comeback. What he came up with: " _You_ _'_ _re_ … weird… _man_." After dropping _that_ zinger, he muttered to himself and shook his head as he walked off, his flip flops noisy in the bare, stark halls of Sunny Meadows.

* * *

She always thought a mental institution would be like in the movies. Scary nurses with soulless eyes and creepy smiles. Straitjackets and doctors forcibly cramming bizarre horse-sized pills down your throat. Mentally ill people bent on escaping.

It wasn't like that at all. And it wasn't the answer she'd been looking for, either.

It was disappointingly normal and honestly more like an elderly home with lots of sedatives and therapy. And it wasn't working.

Alone in the small, functional, mostly-empty room she'd been assigned, Alex sat on her bed cross legged and looked at the letter opener. Moonlight made it glint up at her. She must have stared at that piece of metal for hours, going back and forth with herself and making sure she was sure. And she _was_ sure. Alex saw nothing left of value in herself anymore and more than anything she just wanted it all to stop. Trying was too hard, and she didn't want to do all the hard work it would take to pull herself out of the pit she'd been cast in to. She was _tired_ and her life had never exactly been sunshine and lollipops. She felt so guilty for existing, so exhausted from being torn to emotional and mental shreds. Just _done_. Cas had gotten her a Heaven. Why couldn't she cash in now? Living hurt too much.

When she dreamt, there were nightmares. When she was awake, she felt too much. When she disassociated and came back from that blank nowhere, she was terrified of how she remembered _nothing_ she had said or did during that period. Had she always been doomed to do this? Crumble apart and go insane?

She didn't know and it didn't matter. All she knew was that she didn't want to be a burden on her brothers, she didn't want to be who she was anymore. Disappointment in herself was the reigning emotion. She could picture Dad and could hear his voice in her head, telling her how much of a failure she was, how he had raised her to be strong, capable, independent. When in reality, he had conditioned her to be weak and dependent and set up for failure. She thought of the sum of her life moments that had brought her to this place and she decided again, for what felt like the thousandth time, that she wanted nothing to do with it anymore. Slowly and surely everyone else she cared about would die and leave. She wanted to die and leave before anyone else could, she wanted to get out and escape any more losses. After Cas, after the fucking turmoil he left her to deal with alone, she was too shattered to trust again and she was petrified of having more taken away. She had lost so much already. If she lost Sam and Dean again or Bobby, she wouldn't be able to cope. That's why she took that letter opener and studied the blunt end and decided to take her own life, to be in control one last time.

What happened next wasn't pretty. She had nothing to sharpen that vaguely-pointed letter opener with. So she had to work up her self-hatred to paramount levels, she had to let every horrific memory she'd ever stowed away come out. Finally, Alex drew back and stabbed herself in the wrist hard enough to puncture the skin and make herself sob out a stifled sound of pain she muffled into her own shoulder. And then she had to yank it out. The pain was unbearable, the blood loss was quick, and she tossed the letter opener away and laid down in bed limply, waited for it to be over.

 _I should have written my brothers a letter_ , she thought as she drifted off to what felt like sleep. _I_ _'_ _d tell them I_ _'_ _m proud of them and that their life will be so much better without me in it. I_ _'_ _d tell them they_ _'_ _re my heroes and always will be. I_ _'_ _d tell them I_ _'_ _m sorry if this seems selfish but I just couldn_ _'_ _t take anymore. At least now they have one less thing to carry around and be responsible for. They might have loved me, but in time, they_ _'_ _ll be okay. They_ _'_ _ll be better because they don_ _'_ _t have me dragging them down._

And then she thought about Cas and pain, _emotional_ pain, consumed her anew. He had done so much for her. Good and bad. All out of good intentions. And look how this had ended. With a dead angel who and a dying human, heartbroken girl. She imagined him holding her in those final moments in arms that were treacherous and heavenly all at once, she tried to remember how he sounded and felt, she pretended this final outcome was just a bad dream and she imagined that somewhere, she was about to wake up with him and discover it had all just been a nightmare. Hot, miserable tears welled up out of her shut eyes. _Remember our good times_.

She remembered _all_ of her good times. She remembered playing superheroes with her brothers and using motel sheets as capes, jumping off things and trying to fly. She remembered Sam always sharing his ice cream with her in the summertime when they were little. She remembered cannonballs in crappy motel swimming pools and trying to out-do Sam and Dean, make a bigger splash. It had never worked. She remembered Dean teaching her to drive and showing her how to wolf whistle and calling her 'kiddo' for years and years even after she had ceased to be one. She remembered Dad smiling at her and squeezing her shoulder and telling her "good job, baby" once about something. She didn't even remember what, just the effect those words had had on her. Those were her good times. And then she remembered the gentle, innocent first kiss an angel had given her. A kiss that sealed her fate and eventually destroyed her life… left her laying on a bed with a ribbon of red curling out of her wrist. Alex shuddered, turned her head, and watched herself bleed to death out onto stiff, cold white sheets.

How could something so beautiful end in such dark tragedy?

* * *

Even as Alex lay dying, the angel who had forgotten who he was waited alone in Daphne Allen's bedroom. He was agitated in a way he couldn't quite describe. At the moment, high anxiety ran through his mind and chest for no true reason. His nerves felt knotted up, he wanted to get up and pace to let off some nervous energy. It was almost like he felt a need to be somewhere else. But _where_? A feeling of severe panic and alarm was coming out of nowhere.

 _Help me,_ he thought he heard—no, _felt_ —someone say. But who?

He heard the bathroom door open, and he looked up, distracted out of his thoughts. Daphne stood there, and she was wearing soft, feminine lingerie that was deep purple and trimmed in lace. Stunned, Emmanuel gaped. She had soft curves and a womanly bosom, and he didn't have to wonder anymore. He now understood that his suspicious had been correct. That she wanted him.

"Hi," she murmured. Shyly, she lingered at the door—Emmanuel's heart began to race and his mouth felt dry. He didn't know what to say or do. He didn't move. He stayed rooted to the spot where he sat on Daphne's bed. Then slowly, Daphne came to him across the room, touched his shoulders, stood between his legs, waited a moment while studying his face, then sat down on him and initiated a slow, cautious, soft kiss upon his lips.


	87. Worst Case Scenario

" _The past is dead, the life I had is gone._ _"  
_ \- RED

* * *

In a quiet and dim bedroom, a lingerie-clad Daphne Allen had just sat down across Emmanuel's lap while facing him and slipping her legs onto either side of him. It was then that she gently initiated a soft, cautious kiss onto his lips. Her hands trailed across his shoulders then one gently snuck into the hair at the back of his head as her warm breath fanned out across his mouth. Her lips softly pressed against his once, twice, three times in soft, careful kisses, then parted open to deepen the kiss tentatively.

Emmanuel felt himself responding more and more to her touches and embrace… but responding _negatively_. Her kisses felt alien and strange to him, out of place, _wrong_. He sat there stiffly, unsure of what to do, because perhaps he owed this to her after intruding on her life, her home, her hospitality. But the second she tried to deepen the kiss, he couldn't let it continue. He reacted from a gut instinct that said _this is not right_ and abruptly pulled away, grabbing her wrists to stop her from touching him. He breathlessly stared at her, his heart racing in panic and dismay. She looked surprised and hurt when he rejected her kiss. Swallowing through a dry mouth and throat, Emmanuel stumbled verbally. "Daphne, _no_ —I, I _can_ _'_ _t_." He was confused and alarmed and his every instinct told him _no_ _—_ _no_ _—_ _NO_. The silence was deafening and awkward and Emmanuel felt very put on the spot, very vulnerable, very upset. When Daphne said nothing and just stared with an upset expression on her face, he had to fill the silence. "I—this feels very wrong to me," he said, voice wavering because of his sickeningly thundering heart.

Daphne was shrinking back from him, her eyes showing disappointment and embarrassment. "Do you not… am I not good enough?" she asked in a whisper, obviously feeling very self-conscious.

She had been so kind and welcoming to him, so _accommodating_ —which was why he felt guilty for telling her no and for upsetting her. He almost reconsidered out of mere politeness, but he _couldn_ _'_ _t_ because the thought of kissing her or being physically intimate with her beyond that was repulsive to him. He was semi ashamed of himself for his negative reaction. Was something _wrong_ with him? Or was it something else? And it wasn't because she wasn't attractive or appealing. He recognized that she was physically alluring to some extent, but he didn't connect with that or feel allured to her _at all._ Perhaps he was gay, he thought. Or even asexual. Or something else altogether. All he knew was that _he did not want this._ "Y-you're very beautiful," he assured quickly, flustered and trying to blame himself for the problem at hand, "But… I'm… I'm just not comfortable with this."

Daphne hesitated then nodded stiffly, her face betraying her hurt feelings. She got up off of him and grabbed a robe that was hanging off the end of the bed, put it on and covered herself up. She was looking down the entire time, seeming upset to the point of getting teary-eyed. "I thought…" she started, then shook her head. Her voice lowered to an ashamed whisper. "I'm sorry."

Feeling so bad—he _did_ care about her, this woman who had befriended and cared for him out of the goodness of her own heart—Emmanuel stood slowly, hesitant to approach her. He didn't like to see her sad, but at the same time, he thought if he tried to comfort her, she might misinterpret things. So he just stood there, unsure of what to do and hyper-aware of how tension-filled the silence was. He looked down, feeling embarrassed and confused and unsure of what he should say, if anything.

…He was _bothered_ by this, he did know that much. Daphne approaching him like that felt off to him somehow. He had known for some time of her attraction to him… it had been obvious in how she always found excuses to touch him or hold his hand, how she was always looking at him with burning, longing eyes. But… shouldn't they wait longer and see if his memory returned? Shouldn't _he_ want what she wanted too? He hadn't ever given her reason to think he wanted her in the same way and he'd hoped perhaps if he ignored and sidestepped her attraction to him, she would let go of it and forget it. But it seemed that the more time passed, the more Daphne longed for him.

As if she knew what he was thinking, Daphne's eyes flickered up to him a few nervous, mortified times. "I'm sorry, Emmanuel, I just—I just I have… _feelings,_ and I thought… I thought maybe you did too." She hugged an awkward arm around herself and the other one hung uselessly at her side.

He had feelings, but not feelings that were for her. He tried to explain himself without making her feel worse. He couldn't think of a way to explain it except to ask a question. "What if I'm… what if I'm married?" It was a logical, reasonable conclusion to make and wonder about. He was probably around thirty-eight or thirty-nine years of age… many men were married at that age. His greatest worry was that someone was out there looking for him, that he belonged somewhere and was going to make a horrible mistake with Daphne.

Her eyes flickered up to him in slight guilt at his question, but she defended herself and dismissed that notion. "You weren't wearing a ring when I found you…" She stood there awkwardly, fidgeting her bare feet on the carpet and looking down. "Married men usually wear a wedding ring."

"Well, what if I'm— _with_ someone?" Emmanuel asked, feeling frustrated because the point he was trying to make seemed lost on her. It just didn't seem right to do anything physical until they knew who he was. And maybe even then he wouldn't want to, either.

Daphne frowned a little and looked up at him, appearing very thoughtful and resigned. "I don't think you _are_ with someone." She hesitated strongly, seeming very unsure about saying what she said next. "Because—I've had _visions_ , Emmanuel."

"…Visions?" he asked, newly perplexed at this information. What did that mean?

"Yes." She sat down on the bed and picked at a spot on the robe near her knee. "I was waiting for the right time to tell you… I—I don't want you to think I'm crazy." She began to mumble to herself in an upset tone. "Everyone always thinks that, _judges_ me…" she steeled herself and thought a minute, sighed softly as a small, secretive smile began to pull at her lips. "But I know what I know. And I was chosen. I'm special." Her smile grew, her confidence returned as she looked at him. "And so are you. More special than I guessed." She meant because he'd healed her just a little while ago. She reached out and took his hand and held it gently, looked up into his eyes. He didn't pull away, but he was immediately uncomfortable again. "I foresaw our meeting," she said earnestly, intriguing and mystifying Emmanuel all at once. "And God told me… he told me you were gonna be someone very important to me." She wet her lips nervously, hopefully. "M-my husband." Emmanuel blinked a few times rapidly, so taken aback. _Husband_? She had foreseen it? He didn't know what to think of her confession. She looked mildly chagrinned and let go of his hand. "You think I'm crazy."

Emmanuel was cautiously trusting of her—he had no reason to think Daphne was _lying,_ and his instincts said she wasn't mentally unstable either… but… he had to admit, he was very startled and uncertain about what she had just told him. She was looking at him apprehensively, worried that he thought she was crazy. "No," he said, reassuring her with some amount of distraction and a slight lack of conviction. "I—I'm just—this is all very overwhelming for me." First he had come-to with no memories of his life before that moment in the lake… then he had discovered he didn't eat, sleep, or have other basic human functions… then he somehow instantly healed her physical injuries with a touch… now she said God had been part of this arrangement? He didn't understand, but nothing else quite seemed to make sense either. "I was able to heal you, Daphne," he said, processing it out loud and trying to think of how all these strange pieces of the puzzle could fit together. "Your legs were _burned_ and… with… with a mere _touch_ , I took away those injuries." How was it even _possible_?

She nodded and stood and her eyes were soft on him. "I know. It was a _miracle._ "

He barely heard her. Deep in thought with his eyes downcast, Emmanuel continued to think out loud. "What if I can do that again? What if I'm some kind of… of _healer_?" It suddenly began to make sense to him. He felt a certain degree of hope begin to grow inside. For the past month or so since crawling out of a lake naked, he'd been lost and despairing inside, searching for his reason for existing. He didn't think it was to putter around Daphne's home and tend to her garden and spend an inordinate amount of time restless and waiting for something that never came. Perhaps _this_ was the thing he'd been waiting for. "Maybe that's my purpose," he said, becoming a little more excited at the prospect of being a healer, a helper, a world-changer. "Maybe that's why God put me here." He looked at her, breathless and beginning to feel a sense of elation. It felt right to him, and not much had in recent times.

Daphne nodded, and he could see she was visibly restraining herself from touching him—she looked so happy, brimming with fondness and joy. "I think you're right," she said softly, smiling at him with great emotion. "You're supposed to _help_ people. And he put me in your path for a reason, maybe so that I can be _your_ helper." She couldn't resist. She laid a soft hand onto his chest, stood close to him, gazed up at him. Emmanuel became withdrawn, his slight smile fading. Daphne was about to say something important to her. He could tell. Her voice was a bare whisper, her eyes were completely vulnerable. "If… if I told you I loved you, what would you say in return?"

Her question struck a sense of panic into him again and he felt so put on the spot. What kind of answer was he supposed to give? He gave the only one he knew how. "I would say thank you, that's very kind."

Mild disappointment flickered across her face, then acceptance. She took it in stride, nodded understandingly, her hand touching his arm now and rubbing up and down a few times in a soothing manner. He listened to the sound of her hand making fabric swish and tried not to feel as repelled as he did. "We're just getting to know each other, Emmanuel," she said quietly, eyes searching his unnervingly. "It's okay to be scared. I'm scared too. But I'm here for you."

He felt his eyebrows working in toward each other. She spoke like her opinions and vision were the final authority, but Emmanuel couldn't shake this fear, this anxiety, this feeling. "But what if I have a family?" he asked, imagining a woman grieving for him, a woman he couldn't remember. "A wife? Children? What if someone is _looking_ for me?"

Daphne shook her head. "No one is."

"But how do you _know_?" he asked, confounded by her calm confident answer.

"I _feel_ it," she murmured reassuringly. "I _know_ it. Emmanuel… you have to trust me. God showed me those visions. And he knows more than you or I. He said _we_ were supposed to be together. He sent you to me." Everything she said rubbed him the wrong way, but he didn't know how to protest. She seemed so convicted and convinced. She seemed to know it as fact, doubt nothing. Seeing his misgivings, Daphne grew a twinge impatient. " _Think_ about it, Emmanuel. If I hadn't found you, if I hadn't taken you in—who _would_ have? A strange man with no memory? A man who isn't fully _human_?" Shocked, Emmanuel's face fell and Daphne looked at him steadily. "I know you don't sleep or need to eat," she told him quietly. "I know you aren't like me." Emmanuel was very shocked. Had she been _watching_ him? How did she know that? Was she going to send him away now? Out into a world he felt largely afraid of? Apparently not. She saw his fear and was compassionate, loving even. "Don't you _see_?" she asked, touching his face like a mother might a child. "I'm… I _understand_ you. I accept you. For what _ever_ you are, because God put this love inside of me for you."

Unsure, cornered, pressured, Emmanuel realized that tonight, Daphne had decided to give him an ultimatum. Without saying it, without putting it into full words, she was asking him to stop worrying about whoever he'd been before and trust her, bend to her wishes… or possibly be kicked out of her home altogether. That thought sent his chest into knots of anxiety. Where would he go? What would he do? Was it normal to feel so much fear about being alone in the world? Daphne smiled at him gently. "It's okay if you need more time," she said, soothingly. "But… whenever you're ready I want… I want you to move into this room with me." Emmanuel's eyes jumped back up to hers again, and he was afraid all over again. "Share the bed," she said, clarifying herself timidly. "W-we don't have to do anything but… I just want you near me, if that's okay."

It was a request he hadn't been prepared for, and now that she had asked it of him, he didn't know what to say. He had to admit… he'd rather be here with her, the person he knew, the routine he was growing used to, than be left out in the cold. But he had no desire to be close to her like that. She was looking up at him with love-filled eyes. "I've waited for you all my life, Emmanuel," she said. He swallowed thickly, looked away. The things she was saying were putting enormous amounts of pressure onto him, and he didn't feel equipped to know how to reply. He simply didn't _feel_ the same as she did… but if he said no, if he declined to lay in bed with her at night, would she make him leave? Daphne was peering at him in what looked like worry and care. "Say something?" she prompted, tone sweet.

Emmanuel looked into her eyes slowly. His fear of the unknown and his self-preservation instinct won out. So that is why he nodded once, softly. "I'll stay with you."

Four words he didn't want to say or follow through on. But he did.

He laid down quietly and let her do what she wanted. She cuddled into his side, said more things about fate and destiny and love and Emmanuel was more and more disheartened by her words by the minute. When she fell asleep, he was glad, and he felt guilty for being glad. He was awake all night just as he knew he would be. Daphne remained curled up on him as she slept deeply. He felt a sense of grief and pain as she laid there against him. The hours crawled by and Emmanuel could only think that she didn't feel _right._ His mind kept wandering to its own limits, trying to break through the wall that had been built to keep him in an amnesiac state. Sometimes when he glanced down at the woman at his side and caught sight of only a brown head of hair, his heart would leap up for a reason he couldn't decipher. Then he would see distinguishing facial features and the feeling of elation died away into that agonized feeling once more.

At the edge of his mind, he felt _so anxious,_ like he needed to go somewhere and do something, like someone was calling his name and like he was needed. This feeling was so constant—he'd felt like he was supposed to be somewhere else ever since he had woken up choking water at the bottom of a lake—but in nearly a month, he hadn't discovered where that place was or what that relentless call was. But that night especially, the feeling was intense. The most intense it had been. So intense, in fact, that as he stared up at the dark ceiling, tears gathered in his eyes as despair made his chest tight. He felt as though he were praying silently and wordlessly that night, calling out with the spirit inside of him to God above, interceding on someone's behalf. Whose, he did not know.

Castiel—who didn't remember that was his true name—couldn't remember his wife, his only love, his Alex. He didn't know what had happened to her, he didn't remember what he had done, he had no knowledge of his role played in devastating her life. His mind was empty of all he had been before. But in his pocket, that single object he had been found holding remained and he curled his fingers around it, wishing he knew what that penny on a chain meant.

When he eventually regained his memories, he would be so deeply horrified at himself for forgetting it all and not knowing what that coin was. But that night, he remained ignorant to the truth of the matter. He didn't know that at the very same moment, the one he had moved Heaven and earth for was nearly a thousand miles away, bleeding out alone in a bed as he laid beside the wrong woman. He didn't know the love of his life should have died that same night and _would_ have, had it not been for what he did when he had been playing God…

He didn't know.

* * *

**The Next Day**

Somewhere near the edge of consciousness, she could hear some beeping, some rustling, some indistinct voices. Evidence of something going on around her. But whatever it was, Alex didn't really catch hold of those sounds very well because she was so preoccupied internally. In what felt like a fever dream, she was with her dad and her brothers again, deep inside of an old memory. They say when you die, your life flashes before your eyes. Alex, having died twice and trying for a third and final time, was eighteen again in her mind and remembering the beginning of the end: Sam leaving. Or the circumstances that had pushed him to that point, anyway.

It had started normally enough. She, Sam, and Dean had all been on a job working late at night with Dad who had been across town, following one of the people they suspected as being a very dangerous werewolf. Sam, who had been slowly pulling away from the family and the life in general, made a mistake and fell asleep in the car while he was supposed to be conducting surveillance on the secondary suspect. Dean and Alex, who had gone to get food (which Dad would have been pissed about), had come back just in time for Dad to show up and find out that they had no idea where the suspect had gone to. Dean took the blame without missing a beat, lying and saying _he_ was the one who fell asleep and lost the lead. In the foulest of moods, John Winchester had ripped into his kids, berating them all for their 'endless bullshit' and all their 'selfish, lazy, entitled disrespect' of him. It shouldn't have been a big deal—they probably could have tracked down the missing werewolf easily, but Dad had insisted on taking that small hiccup and turning it into something _huge._ Maybe it was stress, maybe it was how Sam had been pulling away further and further from the life, maybe it was a million other things. But it had been _horrible_ and surprising, and it had taken the Winchesters by total surprise. Alex had started crying at the things said—and when Dad saw tears in her eyes, it had just made him all the angrier. He wasn't like most fathers. When his children cried, he didn't get concerned and tenderhearted. He got angry and accused them of being weak, of being babies. Alex hadn't cried in front of him in years. And it set him off further.

The twins stood behind their bigger brother as their father ranted mostly at Dean, but Dad's words had cut them _all_ down. Alex remembered them verbatim. Dad's harsh, angry, commanding voice was hard to forget, as was the look on his twisted, furious face. He had gone off completely, going down an embittered tangent that seemed to have little to do with what had actually happened. "There's a job, you _do_ it," he continued, barely pausing to take in a breath. "I give you a command, you _follow_ it. You know what we do and you know what this is, don't pretend you don't. We do what needs to be done and _you_ don't question _why._ You put the personal to the left; it doesn't matter who gets hurt, it doesn't matter what gets broke, if it's not the job, it _does_ _—_ _not_ _—_ _matter_. What we do, we don't have time to be _people_ _—_ what matters is taking down the enemy, you hear me?" Dad had looked at Alex then, seemingly disgusted with her. "You wanna cry about your feelings? Hm? Really? _Here_? Now? You don't get to _have_ feelings." His glare moved to Sam. "This is the _job._ We rush into battle, we're _soldiers_. You get hurt in the fight, you suck it up and hold it down and you don't _question_. You keep fighting until you got nothing left and then, when you're all used up—you _keep going_. You sacrifice everything normal people would have because you _have_ to, you go until you got nothing then you go _further_." Stewing, having cowed all three of his children, John Winchester let the silence hang for a second before he laid down one final, ugly proclamation. "You're all adults now, so either act like it and quit playing the bullshit kid games with me or get the hell out of this family. It's that _simple_." After dropping that bomb, he'd told them he was gonna finish the damn job himself then stormed off and left them by themselves.

Sam had left for Stanford not even a week after that incident.

The family fell apart from there even further—but honestly, had it ever really been together enough to fall apart? With the three siblings cut into a separate two and one, life changed completely. Dean and Alex were all but dismissed by their dad, who no longer traveled with them consistently. He treated them more like colleagues or partners than as his kids for awhile. Wounded pride, self-loathing, aversion, who knew why he kept his distance. But he did. He barely communicated with them except to tell them about jobs and hunts he needed help with, and he was always brusque and short when they saw him. But then, three years into that routine, he'd suddenly started coming around again and even staying with them again occasionally. He'd even tried (very awkwardly and standoffishly) a few times to connect with Alex, shocking her completely. She should have _known_ he was about to die in a year's time. And she should have remembered that fact she learned for later in life: when things looked up, when the going got good, when she felt hope for the future… look out. Things were about to crash and burn.

As messed up as Dad had been, as distant and as demanding and as hurtful, Alex still wished _so badly_ he had been in her life more. She still, to this dying day, wanted him to have been more than the man he turned out to be. She tried to see the good, she tried to understand why he was the way he was, she tried to believe he had done the things he had for the right reasons. And honestly, now, at the end of her existence… she understood. She had watched the love of her life die in front of her eyes. She had been subjected to insane horrors and pain for almost thirty years now. Who in their right mind would stick around just to get more guaranteed pain and heartache? Not her. It was over. She couldn't bear the scars that had been inflicted onto her. She didn't want to live with them, she wasn't going to stick around and wait to lose Sam, Dean, Bobby. She was out. She was done. It was over.

Only… she was pretty sure she was still alive. Pain radiated from her wrist and filled her entire body. She felt dehydrated and stiff, woozy, sore, dizzy, so sick. Her cotton-filled, stuffed-up ears caught a muffled female voice. Concentrating on it, Alex was able to pick up a conversation happening nearby.

"I don't understand," said the first person in a furtive low voice. "She should be _dead_. She shouldn't be _alive_ right now point blank."

"Chalk it up to a miracle?" a second voice suggested.

The first person sounded doubtful. "Or something _creepy_ …"

There was a light chuckle. "Come on, Gail. Not everything's from the Twilight Zone. There are anomalies. Or, as the church-goers call them, 'miracles'."

An audible scoff. "So this girl loses over fifty percent of the blood she's got… which, oh yeah, is _fatal_ … and somehow she's still alive? Did you _see_ the size of the hole she gouged in herself?! And I mean her organs don't shut down… she doesn't go into cardiac arrest… and she doesn't die from that insane amount of blood loss…? All that's _not_ X-Files stuff? She literally _can_ _'_ _t_ be alive right now—like, it's not scientifically _possible._ "

"Oh my _god_ , Gail. Somehow, she's alive. Yeah, it's weird, it's off the books, it's not really possible, but let's just call it a win and stop with the crazy conclusions, huh? I know you. You're about to start suggesting she's a robot or a government experiment or something."

"…You make me sound like a total wacko!" Gail protested. Then, a reluctant pause. "I mean, she could be one of those clones I read about on the conspiracy websites, they're genetically modified, maybe she don't even _need_ blood."

It sounded like the first person was pretty done with the conversation. "You _really_ need to get out more."

Alex was blinking woozily and trying to get her bearings, but her eyesight was blurred and doubled. She groaned without even realizing it, and the two nearby women were jolted out of their conversation and hurried over. Alex was vastly puzzled and dazed. Wait… were they talking about _her?_ Alex tried to move but found herself unable. "Where am I?" she croaked, seeing signs of a hospital around herself. She became cognizant of a needle in her arm and of the fact that she was laying down in a small hospital bed.

"Saint Patrick Hospital in Missoula," one of the nurses answered, checking the machine readout and glancing at Alex carefully. "Got here early this mornin' from Sunny Meadows after a resident found you. How you feelin', hon?"

So this wasn't Heaven or Hell. It was just more of the same. It hadn't worked. _I_ _'_ _m alive._ Alex let her head flop back down onto the pillow behind her head. " _Terrible_." Every part of her body rang with horrible, sore, searing pain. Her muscles protested every movement and every function she was capable of felt sluggish and labored.

"I bet," the nurse said sympathetically. "Well, we've got you on an IV drip and—" Alex abruptly began trying to roll out of bed but was fighting a losing battle. The nurse held her down gently by a shoulder, stopping the attempt before it really started. "Hey, take it easy. You lost a _lot_ of blood. More than anyone else I've ever heard of. We gave you an emergency transfer, but you're still going to feel pretty bad for awhile. Get comfortable, dear." She pulled out a clipboard from the end of the bed as Alex continued to look around dumbly. She felt tied down or something. The nurse was talking, and Alex struggled to concentrate and blink way doubled, blurring vision. "We have some emergency contacts on file for you… a Dean and Sam Smith?" Alex's clarity jumped up out of a sudden rush of fear and her eyes darted to the nurse. "You want me to notify them?"

There was only one answer for that question. "No. _No,_ " Alex said forcefully, unable to cope with imagining them knowing what she'd tried to do. She tried to sit up again and realized she was _strapped_ into the bed. She gaped down at the wrist restraints, noticing them for the first time. "…What the hell are _these_ for?!" she asked, flabbergasted.

Gail smiled wanly. "Well, when you try and _kill_ yourself, we have to make sure you won't do it again," she said, then her face softened in sympathy. She contemplated Alex for a second. "Is it really all that bad, sweetheart?"

Alex, morose and tired and not sure how she felt in the current moment except depressed as hell, only had one answer for that question. She stared at the ceiling and all she could think of or remember was Cas, walking into a lake. Her brothers off somewhere in hiding as Leviathan did god-knows-what to the world. And her, giving up and useless and laying down on the job, a total disappointment to herself and to her dad's legacy. Was it really all that bad? Her voice was a soft, pained murmur. "You have no idea."

Yes. It really was all that bad. The worst. Alex stared at the water-stained ceiling with unseeing eyes.

 _Why the hell am I still alive? They said I should be dead. I_ know _I should be dead. I made_ sure _of it_ _…_

And then it abruptly smacked her in the face like a brick. She realized why she was still alive after losing too much blood. Why she was still alive even though the nurses said it was impossible for her to be.

Anyone else _would_ have been dead. Anyone else wouldn't be on their way to the morgue.

But she wasn't 'anyone else.' She was the girl who an angel had fallen in love with and been driven to madness by. She was the girl who had been dragged around, killed, then resurrected by a confused, power-high monster inhabiting her husband's body. And when this creature had brought her back to life, he'd said something she hadn't understood. " _I brought you back better than before_." And Alex now realized with a sickened sense horror taking over her body what he must have meant by that. He had somehow made sure she wouldn't die, probably ever. He had broken the laws of nature and done something to her and made it so that she would go on living even if she was meant to die. He had taken away that choice from her, he had made sure she would live whether she wanted to or not. And that was the final, true horror for her. She had _no choice_ and there was no undoing this—was there?

Questions and doubts and the idea of the future began to overwhelm her as it sank in.

 _What does this mean? That I_ _'_ _m going to be alive, what,_ forever _?_

She could barely process that thought. What it truly meant began to dawn on her, leaving her feeling short of breath and struggling to comprehend her future.

 _If I can_ _'_ _t die, I_ _'_ _ll just live and live and live. But everyone else I know will die. I_ _'_ _ll be alone, forever. What if literally_ nothing _can kill me or end this misery called existence?_

Tears began to gather as her chest clenched tight and raced.

_Cas, how could you do this to me? How could you let this happen?!_

_I don_ _'_ _t_ want _to live!_

Alex despaired and began to weep loudly at the thought of being alive forever, of ending up without family, without friends, of enduring years and years of loneliness and solitude in a world she had never really loved or fit in with to begin with… how was she supposed to _do_ this? Walk through life alone, burdened, so scarred and destroyed by the years she'd been subjected to? Would the nightmares ever end? Would she ever wake up and not want her brothers like a child would want her parents? Would she ever be in a place where she wasn't consumed by the pain of wondering where her angel had gone to as his final resting place? Would she ever stop wondering if she could have somehow saved him from the bitter end that had befallen him? Would she ever stop feeling like a jagged broken piece of herself?

All she had wanted was for all the thoughts and feelings and guilts to be gone—she had wanted it all to end, which was why she tried to take her own life—and now she was aware that there was no escaping from herself or the things she couldn't stand. And that was too much to carry, too much to fathom. It was too _much_ and she was choking on her own alarm and seeing vibrating, dizzying stars as her throat closed up and breaths became almost impossible to take in.

_Alone. Forever. Every person I ever loved dead and gone and me here, whether I want to be or not._

Her thoughts sent her spiraling headlong into another violent panic attack that turned into something worse. The heart rate monitor she was hooked up to screamed as her pulse skyrocketed to insane, fatal levels. Nurses and doctors rushed in to respond to the patient who shouldn't have been alive at all.

Sam and Dean, holed up and hiding two hours away in an old hunting cabin belonging to Rufus Turner, didn't know how bad off their sister was. If they'd known, if they'd had even the slightest _clue_ of how suicidal and hopeless she really was, they would have found a way to get to her, stay with her and help her through it all. But they didn't know.

Castiel, a thousand miles away, was in a bed with a woman who wasn't his wife. Daphne was waking up and calling him Emmanuel and telling him good morning. And at the same moment, Alex Winchester was dying of stress-induced cardiac arrest alone and scared. But even though she should have died, she would live, because a power-crazed angel-turned-god had made it so she would _never_ stop breathing, functioning, living.

* * *

Christmas came and went, a hollow mockery of whatever grand holiday it was supposed to be. At Sunny Meadows, they hung up tacky worn out red, green, and gold decorations that looked like they were from the eighties. The staff put up a plastic tree with a winged angel on top. An unknown resident kicked the tree over and threw the angel across the room in the middle of the night. The tree recovered and was set back up the next day, but the angel figurine was ruined.

Three guesses who the culprit was.

January stretched out seemingly forever with a bleak, dead landscape and long, dark days. The empty and chilled season felt like Alex's own heart to her. The trees—once full of vibrant life and growth—were bare-branched and stark to look at, no longer soft and beautiful. The grass had thinned out and turned from happy green to a tired gray. The dirt was hard and cold, the frigid air stung if you breathed it in too deeply.

Life was strange for Alex… it was hollow, disjointed, drug-addled. There was Ativan for whenever she was too riled up or upset—it put her in a pleasant fog of forgetfulness and dumb tranquility, it made everything slow down and turn to a warm molasses. Then there was Oxycontin for the physical pain she'd been in after the suicide attempt—and she honestly didn't even need the pain management anymore, but she still took it, becoming dependent on the feeling of euphoria and happiness the pills gave her. The high got harder and harder to obtain and she started having to go outside of her prescription to get enough pills to feel good. Those were tough times, and when she looked back in the future, she'd see herself for what she really was: an addict. But at the time, she just felt like a lost kid who needed a band-aid. The thought of not getting that band-aid was the worst thing she could imagine. And it wasn't like addictions and major issues didn't run rampant in her family to begin with… she was kind of screwed from the get go.

Therapy and counseling at Sunny Meadows were both jokes to Alex. Some days she did give some effort to both when she felt like she had it in herself to try and get better. But that feeling was always short-lived and followed by immense guilt and exhaustion. Her mind conjured images and words from her loved ones, Dad mostly. He was her inner voice of shame and failure, the constant nagging reminder that she had failed and given up at the one thing she'd been raised to do: hunt. Save people. Be strong even when it wasn't possible.

But she was _tired_ of being strong and of fighting through her problems for the sake of others. She had never been good enough for her father, she had never been quite what he wanted. She was a disappointment, right? So now she _really_ was a disappointment. She was done pretending to be someone other than who she truly was. It was time to accept what Dad had always known: that Alex was a useless waste of space, that she only served to drag her family down, that she wasn't anyone worth loving or being around. She was weak, codependent, intrinsically flawed, and a bother.

When she managed to sleep, she had nightmares in which her brothers despised her completely and told her how pathetic they thought she was as she cried and begged for them to love her again please—it felt so real that some days she couldn't remember that those dreams _weren_ _'_ _t_ real. She had dreams where Cas was drowning at the bottom of a lake and reaching out for her and she wasn't able to get to him. She relived every pain and beauty he'd given her in dreamscapes, both waking and sleeping. She grieved his loss without ceasing, she wished for a different outcome, she furiously cursed God and fate and herself and Cas especially for everything that had happened. And yet…

Her heart and soul loved and missed him and mourned him with everything she had. Letting go seemed impossible. Not that she was _trying_ to let go _…_ she kept his ring with her, always in her pocket—it used to fit her index finger but it was a few sizes too big for her now. The only thing she could figure was that Castiel must have tried it on once and angelically, magically resized it to his own finger. A thought that killed her all over again… Cas, wanting to wear that damn ring. She imagined him wearing it and she imagined him holding her and she imagined that everything was okay. Then she would look around and see the blank walls of Sunny Meadows, she would recognize how alone she was, she would hug her own arms around herself because she was so starved for physical comfort. She would wonder what kind of freak longed for the angel who had killed her and then brought her back to live forever all alone.

He had done something irreversible to her, he had scarred her and left a mark she would bear forever. Who could have told her those spellbinding blue eyes and the entity behind them would ruin her forever? Who could have said the one who healed her and helped her would be the one who hurt her beyond compare? Alex still didn't understand how this could have happened to her. She didn't understand how Castiel—sweet, _tender,_ careful, loving Castiel—could have done what he did. It had happened and she _remembered_ but she still couldn't quite believe it. She grieved for what might have been if he had only told her the truth earlier, if he had trusted her and let her help him. But now they would never know.

He died in final sacrifice returning those souls. Souls he'd taken in to save her from what he'd done in the first place. His was another death that felt like her fault even if it wasn't.

And he didn't even have a _gravestone_. The man, the angel, what _ever_ he was… the one she had loved was just gone forever. Without true closure, without a funeral, without explanation. It wasn't _right._ Nothing remained of him to remember him by. He had lived and died and not owned a single worldly possession. Instead, he had left his marks and imprints on a heart and soul of a human girl. And those marks were eternal, but what about some kind of legacy in the corporeal world? There was none. He was a fire and a storm, he was fierce and gentle and so breathtaking. So it didn't feel right that he could disappear so entirely, leave _nothing_ behind for her to have or hold onto except a ring that she had given him in the first place. Surely there had to be more. But there wasn't.

His coat had disappeared out of the Impala. And his body had exploded or rotted at the bottom of a fucking _lake_. And that was the end of him, of his story. _Their_ story.

She would never hear his voice again. He would never smile at her again or hold her close and trace fingers through her hair as his tender, warm eyes spoke to hers without words. She would never have what she wanted most from him: more time. Instead, she would live out the rest of her days unable to die even though inside she felt dead already. It would be so much easier not to feel. That's why the drugs were so important to her. They killed her thoughts and emotions, dumbed them down, made them bearable.

Usually.

But there were days when she could do nothing _but_ feel and think. She reflected on her entire existence, trying to pinpoint where it all went wrong, trying to figure out why she would break now after everything. Back when she'd been in her early twenties, Alex had been okay. She'd sort of accepted her lot in life as Dean's sidekick. It had almost been stable and it hadn't been that bad, the two of them doing hunts and drifting around and meeting Dad for jobs here and there. Then Sam had come back into the mix and they had to learn to be a family again. Together, the three of them had fought against always-greatening odds and always-worsening circumstances. Each time their heads broke above water, another wave crashed down, practically drowning them. And then Castiel. The final undertow that dragged Alex down…

He had shown her what total happiness and euphoric love was, then taken it away and left her with nothing. _Nothing_. She couldn't face herself or her family or who she had failed to become. So she didn't.

When she wasn't high or numb from whatever pill she was currently on, Alex was left with nothing but sadness and a longing for the way things had once been. For awhile, she'd be glum and depressed, then anger and despair and helplessness would build up and make her volatile. That was usually when staff would jam her veins full of Ativan and put her in temporary solitary… which just meant she was stuck in her tiny room alone with a huge male nurse who watched her every move as she laid there in a glazed over stupor under the influence of the drug. She'd get straight again, her mind would come back to her, and it would begin all over again.

It was a vicious cycle, one she managed to hide from her family. Sam and Dean were off somewhere in hiding from the Leviathan, plus Dean had the broken leg, so he wasn't exactly mobile. They couldn't visit for fear of being seen and endangering Alex, either. But they called on the regular and Alex performed, made them think she was sad but doing better. What a lie. But she just didn't want them to be worried about her or how bad it was, how miserable she was, how desperately she just needed them to come see her and give her a hug, some encouragement. She didn't tell them. They had enough going on. So, thinking she was saving them the trouble, imagining herself some kind of brave heroine for keeping them in the dark like that, Alex told herself is was fine to lie to them.

However…

Jamie, who hadn't managed to get the Leviathans' interest, came in person a couple times to check on her and Alex wasn't sure if she was able to fool her very shrewd friend or not. In a classic deflection tactic, Alex always tried to turn the conversation around to Jamie so that Alex's wellbeing wasn't explored as thoroughly. What she found out was that Jamie was spending a lot of time with Dean and Sam, helping them out and doing small jobs with Bobby in the area. Jealousy was not what Alex had expected to feel. But she did. It felt like she'd been replaced. Maybe she _had_ been.

But it was nothing she hadn't brought onto herself, after all. So, she stowed that bitterness and that hurt she felt. Buried it under more pills and tried not to think about how unhappy she was with herself and how sick she was that some other girl, Jamie or not, was where she used to be.

This was just her life now. And she had to accept it. There was quite literally no other choice.

* * *

**Two Months After the Suicide Attempt…**

In early February on a foggy, overcast day, Alex was in the rec room at Sunny Meadows. A few other residents were there too, but things were quiet, boring even. The rec room was basically just a little bigger than the cafeteria—it had a pool table, a television, couches, a few tables, a bookshelf, some board games, a guitar with two broken strings, a fish tank with a few depressed tropical fish swimming around in the murky water. A few huge, old arcade game stations were pushed up together to block a hallway that led into the shut-down portion of Sunny Meadows that hadn't been renovated or used since the eighties or something—Alex had never paid much attention when it was discussed. A few big windows let some natural light into the room, but the space was still very bland and felt dank because of bare florescent lighting on the low ceilings.

Alex sat sort of hidden against the back of one of the couches, facing the wall where the bookshelf was. The arcade games were close, too. Pac Mac, Street Fighter, some shooting game too. She wasn't supposed to, but she was smoking a cigarette. As long as staff didn't catch her, she didn't care.

_Blump. Blump. Blump._

Beside her, the source of that constant noise, Zip sat with his back leaned on the couch and his knees bent up casually. He had a faded old tennis ball and was throwing it with one hand against the nearby wall, catching it as it bounced back down off the floor, then throwing it again in a steady, predictable pattern.

_Blump. Blump. Blump._

"They need to get the damn cable fixed," Alex complained sullenly, flicking cigarette ash onto the linoleum flooring carelessly. This was getting _old._ How long did it take to fix that stuff, anyway? It had been like a couple weeks at least. They'd gotten it fixed twice and it had gone right out again inexplicably. Without TV, Alex was going insane. Well… _more_ insane.

Zip glanced over at her with bright, playful eyes, pausing his endless wall ball. " _Surely_ there's more to life than Jerry Springer and reruns of The A-Team," he quipped, that forever almost-smile shyly playing on his lips. He used the tennis ball as he gestured at her. "Or are you really _that_ dependent on external sources of contrived entertainment to get you by?" He grinned with his trademark not-confident-but-still-hopeful demeanor and resumed bouncing the ball.

He was such a snarky little shit. "Shut up you asshole _,_ " Alex muttered, trying to hide her slight amusement. He had that forever-nervous and hyper-intellectual personality that made him awkward and insufferable… and endearing, it turned out. She didn't want to like him, but he'd grown on her the past couple months whether she had wanted him to or not. He was harmless, funny, and very sweet hearted in a neurotic, paranoid, jumpy way. _That_ and he wasn't threatening at _all_ —he was shorter than her by like an inch and weighed like all of a hundred-and-thirty pounds and didn't look like he'd ever picked up anything except maybe a computer hard drive. He was goofy and always the most anxious person in the room, he was persistent and kind of cool sometimes and a total dork. He'd taken a liking to her for whatever reason and sort of attached himself to her. He followed her around like a stray puppy. He was the one who had found her after the suicide attempt and alerted the staff. And she wouldn't go so far as to call them friends, but she knew they pretty much were.

She and Zip weren't the only young people there, but the residents were predominantly middle-aged at Sunny Meadows. There was Gothic Steve, who was schizophrenic and narcissistic. There was Sad Martha who cried all day long and missed her cats and had no family. She checked in and out of the center repeatedly. There was Fat Mark, who was trying to work through his alcoholism and losing his entire family in a car crash. There was Meth-head Dakota and Anxiety-Disorder Jordan and Bulimic Andi and OCD-controlled Jay. And there was PTSD Craig. He was a war vet. But he didn't seem old enough to be. It was a bunch of people who had admitted there was a problem and had committed themselves to getting help. Most seemed to make progress. But Alex stagnated. And Zip seemed the same… sort of resigned to being messed up in the head forever. He was doing what Alex was: using Sunny Meadows as a way to escape from the real world and all the responsibilities it held. Maybe that's why they took to each other. They were the same kind of person.

In the past couple months, Alex had learned a few things about Zip. He had been a successful and super-promising software and code writer in his senior year of college, he even had an internship with _Google_ lined up. And then, as he put it, he couldn't hold it together anymore and cracked, drowned completely under his stress and issues. Apparently he'd had problems for awhile but something about the internship or pressure from his family had sent him over the edge and he'd decided to check himself into Sunny Meadows to get some help. He seemed like a private person and he always hesitated when the topic turned to his personal life, and Alex understood. She never told him much either, or she tried not to. But apparently she would blab all kinds of things to him when she was drugged out. She couldn't remember telling him half the shit he knew about her and her family, but then again, she couldn't remember much point blank about the past couple months. It all blended together in a weird mish-mash collage of moments plucked out of obscurity.

_Blump. Blump. Blump._

Alex took a long drag off her cigarette and glanced at Zip very briefly sidelong as he kept throwing that damn ball one-handed. He'd finally stopped wearing the one same outfit of red swimming trunks and the _KSU_ hoodie—he'd worn those clothes for weeks, never changing at all. He blamed it on some ' _super fucked up neuroses I have, heh_.' But these days he was changing every day. Today he was in ratty jeans and a gray hoodie and a plain blue shirt. He was smoking a cigarette, too. He was the one who had brought her the cigarettes, actually. He liked to sneak off campus a lot and bring things back like cigarettes, booze, sometimes weed—all the things that weren't allowed at Sunny Meadows. Residents weren't really _supposed_ to leave without signing out and being cleared but Zip was surprisingly daring for a 'neurotic bastard.' That's what he called himself.

Zip was also the one who helped her get Kickers. That's what they called Oxycontin painkillers on the street. Alex was indebted to him in the worst, most shameful way. But he got her on a level that no one else could at the moment. He had never judged her, _ever,_ on her substance addiction or her usually rude behavior. And that was kind of nice. He never acted like she owed him anything. And that was also pretty cool.

Alex started a new cigarette after finishing her first and Zip noticed, watching her closely with that hesitant little smile hiding in his eyes and lips. She usually smoked one at a time. But today, she wanted two. And he commented on it. "So, is the extra smoke to cope with the added stress, or are you just really wanting to get lung cancer a little sooner?" Alex looked at him pointedly, questioningly, challengingly. And here she had just been thinking he never judged her. He seemed knowing and sympathetic. "It's been awhile since your brothers called you."

His insight startled her. It _had_ been awhile. Like a week, almost. And it _was_ gnawing at Alex. But, she knew that the boys weren't holed up in hiding anymore. They were hunting again and Dean was on two legs again. So Alex just hoped that was why she hadn't heard from them. A little grumpy from being seen through like that, she tried to scoff it off. "Whoopty-freaking-do, so they haven't called in a few days. I don't care."

Zip scoffed impishly. " _Psh_. Come on. I know you look forward to those calls. They're practically your reason for living." It was supposed to be a joke, but it sort of stung.

Alex stared at the cigarette smoldering between her fingers and she fought anger, annoyance, denial. She had no reason for living, except that she _had_ to. "They'll call when they can," she muttered cynically. "They're _busy_." Inside though, she wanted to cry and ask 'why haven't they called? Are they finally giving up on me? I'd give up on me too, though…' Like she did with Jamie, she turned the conversation around in an attempt to get herself out from under the magnifying glass. "So why don't _you_ ever get calls, huh?" she asked Zip sort of challengingly. "Or visits? Your family really hate you that much?"

His easygoing demeanor faltered a little. She'd touched a nerve. He took a few seconds, working his face in a thoughtful, cautious frown. "Let's just put it this way. My, um… my family doesn't want me around. I'm not good enough for them, you know?" He paused, looking off with a bittersweet thoughtful look on his face. "I guess I'm the quote-unquote black sheep of the family, if you will." He laughed softly, derisively, self-deprecatingly, seeming to have given up on himself somehow. "Then add in all my psychological shortcomings and mental complications and… yeah. They're probably _glad_ I'm gone. I don't actually care if they call or visit, honestly. In fact, they can fuck off if you ask me. Bunch of entitled, petty, sanctimonious nihilists with ego problems. I could write a book on the ironies and hypocrisies they perpetuate." He looked at her sidelong, and his young face, his expressive eyes, his captivating pale blue eyes held onto hers. His voice softened, and away went the clipped tone, the overdone verbosity. "But I'd rather be here with you."

Her eyes snapped to his. He did that sometimes. Out of the blue looked at her and got so intense then said something she hadn't expected. Something that made her sort of uncomfortable and aware that his interest in her wasn't just as a friend. She did what she always did when his little crush manifested. She got sarcastic and flippant. "A mentally unstable girl with multiple addictions," she wisecracked, trying to dodge the special attention. "Good for you, Zip."

He took her in stride and returned to making the ball thump against the wall continuously. "I don't think those things define you," he said simply. "We all have to find ways to cope."

Touched by his words and his forever-pleasant responses, Alex was left feeling bad about how rude she was with him sometimes. She was contrite and quiet as she toed her shoe at a scuff on the floor. "Yeah, well…"

He was too nice. What was the catch? In her experience, _everything_ came with a catch.

Attention from males made her completely uncomfortable these days. If they looked at her too long, if they seemed interested or too watchful, she got a panicked and freaked out feeling in the back of her mind. Being nearly raped twice did that to a girl. She remembered the attacks she'd been through without warning every few days, and it left her feeling terrified by the need to protect herself from that ever happening again. She almost always wore Dean's oversized jacket over whatever outfit she had on, hiding herself and her body unconsciously. She was hyper-vigilant and suspicious of everyone, she sometimes thought everyone was out to get her. She'd even brought it up in counseling a few times. She'd brought up a _lot_ of things in counseling that she didn't know how to cope with. But as soon as she put the facts out there and the doctor tried to get her to process, Alex would shut down and refuse to discuss it further.

For whatever reason, Zip had never intimidated her that way. He felt different to her. Pure, somehow. But his obvious interest in her still worried her sometimes. Made her want to back off and tell him it was never gonna happen, to go ahead and get lost. But he was kind of her only friend at the moment. _And_ he got drugs for her. So she kept her mouth shut and never said much of anything when his feelings were apparent.

"Residents!" came a loud, booming voice from somewhere close by. "It's time for art therapy."

"Oh _good_." Alex stubbed out her cigarette and hoped none of the smoke had been visible over the top of the couch. She smiled wanly. "Let's go draw ourselves as _trees_."

Zip grinned at her conspiratorially. "Hey, if you're feeling particularly rebellious, you could render your likeness in the form of a potted plant or perhaps even a growth of ivy if you _really_ feel like an anarchist."

Alex made a ridiculous face at him. Who _talked_ like that? "Wow, did you swallow the _dictionary_ this morning?" she asked, sarcastic and teasing at the same time. But mostly sarcastic. As usual, her attempts to make him stand off only made him chuckle. He shoved his cigarette butt underneath the couch to hide it and she did the same, then they went and joined the group.

A few minutes into the bullshit called art therapy, Alex got a phone call. It was Sam, and she could tell right away that something was wrong. He said he was on his way to see her and that Dean wasn't with him.

* * *

**Two Days Later**

In Doctor Schulz's office at Sunny Meadows, Dean flipped through a file drawer quickly, trying to be quiet. He glanced up and around continuously, convinced someone was about to catch him. Jamie said he'd have ten minutes tops, and he'd already used one minute up. She was out there causing some kind of distraction and keeping an eye out as he did something that was possibly a little underhanded… looked for his sister's confidential patient file. Alex didn't even know he was there yet, and she wasn't _gonna_ know until he'd figured out the deal with her. See, her phone calls were always sort of surface-level and short, and he couldn't shake the feeling that she wasn't telling him the full story. Sam had felt the same, and Jamie had too. So he was gonna do a little, uh, _research_ and see exactly what was going on.

The past couple months had been horrible for Dean. Stuck in some cabin with a jacked up leg, his sister on her own in a mental institution, his brother up to no good, Bobby and Jamie tackling Leviathan stuff… Dean hated sitting around and being useless, which was exactly what he'd been. He also hated not being there for his siblings, and he was _so_ unhappy with how things were unfolding right now for the most part. He wanted to grab his sister and insist she wasn't gonna stay here a minute longer and that was final. But he was trying to respect her wishes, even if they _were_ stupid and even if they made no sense to him. He didn't understand why she would want to be here at all, period, _ever._ He just wanted his family back together. He just wanted things back to how they used to be.

Dean finally located his sister's file and pulled it out, began to read the first page voraciously. He hadn't been sure what to expect, but he wasn't prepared for what he found.

_Sunny Meadows Mental Health Center  
File #45-800-76761  
Two Month Patient Evaluation for Alexandra _ _"_ _Alex" Smith  
Prepared by Doctor J. Alan Schulz, M.D._

_The patient was admitted November 21, 2012 to Sunny Meadows with referral papers from Laurelwood Mental Health Services in Sioux Falls, South Dakota._

_Miss Smith is a young woman in her late twenties exhibiting signs of PTSD, anxiety disorder, bi-polar tendencies, and mild psychosis. She had frequent panic attacks upon admission. Ativan was administered and psychotherapy was given and the attacks are less. I do not believe the patient has panic disorder, but that she was responding with a lack of coping mechanisms to severe trauma she endured in recent times. Her other diagnoses are being addressed in therapy and counseling._

_While on campus at Sunny Meadows, the patient has displayed depressive and catatonic behaviors as well as hyper-agitated and aggressive phases. The patient has engaged in silent vigils followed by violent outbursts, once attacking a resident for standing too close to her, another time destroying another_ _'_ _s personal property in a fit of anger. The patient utilizes belligerent verbal threats and acts of bullying as a means of self-defense. She attempts to sabotage most friendships and relationships that have been presented to her while here at the center. However, Miss Smith has developed a relationship of sorts with resident Kyle_ _"_ _Zip_ _"_ _Young. They are often seen together and seem to have formed some kind of bond over their similar issues. This is a positive circumstance that I have encouraged._

_Her sleeping patterns seem irregular and hyper-vigilant and she complains of all-consuming nightmares. She has been caught wandering the halls numerous times and staff report she complains of exhaustion regularly. Sleep aids have been administered accordingly. Evaluation at this time is that dosage may need to be increased as sleep is still not at an adequate level._

_Miss Smith may have some issues telling reality from fantasy. She has been known to talk about angels, demons, exorcisms, monsters,_ _"_ _Leviathan_ _"_ _and_ _"_ _Behemoth_ _"_ _as well as a variety of other fable/folklore creatures from American and Biblical legends and her involvement with said creatures. I have noted the patient oftentimes seems to want for me, her therapist, to believe she is more mentally unstable than she is. She expresses little concern about what others think of her more far-fetched beliefs in the supernatural, in fact she seems amused at times by my questions on the matter. I believe this is another controlling defense mechanism and her way of attempting to manipulate a situation to her own advantage so that she feels comfortable and in control instead of afraid and out of control._

_The name_ _'_ _Castiel_ _'_ _has come into therapy conversation quite a few times and I recognize that this figure or person, real or otherwise, is an important and triggering figure for Miss Smith. She claims that he was her husband, that her family disapproved, and that his untimely demise is what she blames for all of her problems. However, I have gathered that many factors are influencing the mental break she is experiencing and the behaviors she exhibits. Throughout our multiple therapy sessions, I have compiled a list of losses and traumas the patient has been subjected to._

_The traumas are as follows. Alex Smith states she was physically and emotionally abused by her father in her childhood and that his unforeseen death was without closure for her. She states that her mother died in a fire that burned her home to the ground when she was six months of age and that loss has followed her for her entire life. She claims to have spent twenty plus years mute and unable to speak, she stated that she was constantly bullied and ostracized by her peers in school for her disability. She states her life was not_ _'_ _normal_ _'_ _and that her childhood was not whole or healthy. She expresses that her two brothers, Sam and Dean, were the only two figures in her life who were there with any permanency and that Sam, her twin, left the family at age eighteen. This makes her eldest brother Dean the solitary figure she perceives to have never let her down. The patient expresses great guilt over her role in her family_ _'_ _s life and her indebtedness to continue in the family business (she would not say what sort of business the family owns). In my opinion, this guilt is unhealthy and detrimental to her personal growth._

_However, her childhood traumas are not her greatest. Perhaps her greatest source of emotional conflict is, again, Castiel. She states that his death (after a series of detrimental deceptions) was the final tipping point for her, as well as learning about a miscarriage she had in 2010. She states she only recently learned of this miscarriage and the news was a great source of grief and guilt for her._

_Vague statements about sexual assaults and other abuse have been made in counseling, but she refuses to delve any deeper into the matters. It is my professional opinion that Miss Smith is holding onto great trauma and refusing to face and/or process her feelings on many matters will only serve to worsen her condition._

_The patient attempted suicide in December by gouging a wrist. She was admitted to the local hospital for several days after nearly succeeding. Once she was re-admitted to the center, she was put onto suicide watch for two weeks. She has not made any more attempts and expresses that she will not try again._

_Miss Smith still does not give much concerted effort to the program at this time and shows little interest in improving. My recommendation at this time for her plan of action is more therapy and ideally, a breakthrough. The patient will make no progress until she decides to put in the effort needed to grow._

The file ended there. Dean held that piece of paper and stared at it with a dry mouth and a broken heart. His head was spinning, his stomach was churning. _Suicide_? She'd had a _miscarriage_?

How did a brother even begin to process hearing how bad off his sister was? How was he supposed to know what to do or feel? His phone buzzed and he pulled it out, in a daze. On the screen, a text from Jamie that simply said: _Time's up_.

 _Shit._ Forced into action, Dean shoved the file back where he'd found it, slammed the file cabinet shut, made it halfway across the room. Then the door opened and a slight, older man with leathery, wrinkled skin and a careworn face stopped short. He was holding a clipboard and looked startled to see Dean in his office. "E… excuse me, sir, what are you doing in here?" the doctor asked, frowning deeply.

Thinking quick, Dean said the first thing that came to mind. "Whoa, this isn't the _bathroom_!" Managing it despite his inner grief, he feigned confusion and amusement and walked out. But the second he was in the clear, his face dropped, his emotions were written right onto his face, and he wanted to cry. The words from that file raced through his mind over and over again, and all he could think was somehow this was his fault. He'd allowed this to happen to her.

At the top of the hall, Jamie waited. She was becoming a more and more familiar sight to him. She took one look at his face and knew. "What's wrong?" she asked softly as he got close, her eyebrows knitting inward as she looked at him closely and carefully.

Dean shook his head, tried to pull himself together. But all he could think about was how much pain his baby sister had to be in to want to kill herself. How he was a failure, a joke, and no one wanted him around. Alex didn't even care enough to let him know how she really felt, he had to find out from a damn file that she had attempted suicide. Sam thought Dean was a monster and didn't want to be around him anymore. What was wrong? " _Everything,_ " he managed, trying to give a soft laugh. But it sounded more like misery than anything else.

Jamie didn't ask for elaboration. Wordlessly, she touched his arm and hesitated, then cautiously hugged him. The first time she'd hugged anyone in a long, long time. Dean almost didn't accept the hug. And then he gave in and he let it happen, put his arms around her and held on tight, shut his eyes tight.

In his mind, he pictured Alex and Sam young, happy, carefree. It probably wasn't even a real memory.


	88. Nowhere Girl

" _You aren_ _'_ _t falling apart. You_ _'_ _re well beyond that. You_ _'_ _re just rattling along now._ _"  
_ \- Darrell Drake

* * *

At the edge of campus, smoking a cigarette in the afternoon chill. That's where Dean found Alex a few minutes later after calming himself down.

She was pacing slow and aimless all by herself in the bleak, monotone landscape. Dean could pick his sister out of a crowd easily even by the back of her head—always had been able to. But today, for a slight second, he almost didn't recognize her. She looked different to him even before he could see her face. He'd seen her sad, he'd seen her unhappy, he'd seen her defeated. Or at least he _thought_ he had. But this was something else or worse. Before she knew he was there, before she knew she had company, Dean glimpsed her without the protective walls for a brief second. She seemed dead and apathetic, yet still in deep pain. The contents of the file he'd just read echoed through his mind and hurt him on her behalf all over again. Why hadn't she told him how bad it was? How _deep_ she was wounded?

Alex noticed him then as he walked up and she was clearly startled at his unexpected appearance, immediately becoming guarded as she frowned deeply. Her cigarette hovered beside her face, temporarily forgotten. "What are _you_ doing here?" she asked, staring hard like she wasn't sure if it were him or not.

Her reaction to seeing him in person for the first time in a couple _months_ was a little disconcerting and unexpected. Dean took a couple startled seconds to know how to react, then he tried being forcibly lighthearted through his own misgivings. "I was, uh, in the neighborhood," he said, attempting a smile through his confusion and pain. It was tough, though, and didn't last long. Alex almost looked _unhappy_ to see him which was a hugely unexpected low blow combined with everything else. He had imagined their reunion differently than how it was actually unfolding. He'd imagined that she'd be excited to see him and hug him. And instead she was standing off and looking at him in something close to suspicion. Maybe it was just because he'd caught her off guard. Maybe he should have called to give her a head's up. This wasn't like her. Dean shrugged slightly, gesturing a little and chancing going a little closer as he tried to remain unaffected and casual for her sake. He kept his half-joking tone there, giving her an opportunity to stop being standoffish. "So you against hugs now, or…?"

She contemplated him a couple more seconds, growing reluctant. "No, you just… you surprised me." She sounded really tired and dull, like stringing together words was exhausting for her. "I didn't know you were coming." With dodgy eyes that almost seemed guilty, she stepped into his waiting hug, but it was a strange, half-hearted embrace and Dean could sense her aversion. She patted his back twice then pulled away, tucked her hair behind her ear tiredly and didn't look him in the eye, instead looked at the cigarette in between her fingers. Dean watched her close, getting more and more hurt by the second. His family, his anchor and only thing worth holding on to for him was pulling apart at the seams. As if she knew what he was thinking (or maybe she was thinking the same as him), Alex cleared her throat reluctantly and flicked some cigarette ash down with disinterest. "So _Sam_ visited a couple days ago…"

It was a question, not really a statement, and Dean understood the unspoken query: _Why aren_ _'_ _t you two together? What_ _'_ _s going on?_ That topic was top of the list on things Dean _didn_ _'_ _t_ want to talk about.

He and Sam had a _slight_ falling out a few days ago when Sam found out about what Dean did to that Kitsune named Amy. Well… 'slight falling out' wasn't really the way to put it. Sam had been so furious that he'd ditched completely after exploding in a harsh tirade. Dean was trying not to feel bad about what he did, trying not to second guess putting down a monster, Sam's friend or not. He was trying to believe he did the right thing. He didn't really want to mention the entire debacle it to Alex, as his instincts were that she'd side with her twin on this one. So he evaded the truth of the matter. "Yup, we're uh… dividing and conquering right now." …More like fighting and not speaking.

Alex saw that he was hiding something, and he saw that she saw it. "Uh _huh_." She looked at him a couple seconds longer in a wary, shrewd way then she sighed and shuffled a couple steps over to the bench that was nearby. Apparently she didn't have the energy or drive to try and get the truth out of him. Dean joined her in sitting, but not too close. Alex hunched over her knees, took another inhale and blew smoke out, watching it flutter into the thin, winter air. "He seems to be doing better," she said blandly of their brother, but Dean caught the mild worry and even slight jealousy she tried to hide in that apathetic tone.

Last she knew, Sam was hallucinating like crazy and having problems even functioning. Different story after the past few months. Somehow, the kid had found it in himself to find a way to control and rise above the hallucinations. He went from half-insane to almost freakishly well-adjusted, and Dean wasn't even entirely sure how. But he was definitely glad. "Yeah, he's got the Satan-is-my-copilot thing on lockdown," he said, then looked at his sister hard and sidelong. She either didn't feel his gaze or didn't want to look back at him. He waited a few seconds and she kept ignoring him. Uncomfortable, sad, hurt that Alex was being so unapproachable, Dean decided to try and give her a fair chance to come out and talk to him. He really wanted that. He really hoped she would let him be there for her now, because he was distraught over how absent he'd been the past few months. "So." He wasn't sure how to approach this subject matter. He settled for a general, if deeply concerned, question: "How you doin'?" Alex smirked ever so slightly at the ground in a self-deprecating way and Dean amended himself before she decided to be a smartass or to lie. "And don't say fine."

That smirk was still there. But it wasn't really smirk, it looked more like a grimace. A long pause. "I'm okay," she said in an infuriatingly glib tone that suggested that was all the answer she was going to give.

Dean was offended and angry, and as a result he spoke without thinking. "You are _not_ okay," he retorted. "I read your file." _That_ got her attention. _That_ woke her up. Alex's head whipped sideways as she looked at him with an expression of utter disbelieving anger, like she wasn't sure if he were telling the truth or not. "'Okay' is not the word for all that stuff in there," Dean said stiffly, already sensing the oncoming storm he'd just unleashed.

Alex shot to her feet, completely enraged. "What the _hell_ …!" she practically shouted, visibly shaking. "Are you for real? That's not _fair_ Dean!" Her pretty face twisted up into a defiant, furious expression. "To, to come in here and, and… ask me how I _am_ when you already read my damn _file_? What kind of _mind game_ is that? You can't do that! I don't want you to _know_ that stuff! I don't even know what's all in there, Jesus _Christ_! That shit is private! Who the hell do you think you _are_?"

Dean stood up too, trying to defend himself, matching her volume. "Your brother, your _very worried_ brother!"

The attitude she began to display put Sam's trademark bitchface to shame. "Oh that is so fucking _rich_ _…_ pretending you have my best interests in mind when all you wanna do is find more man pain for yourself so you can feel okay about how much you _drink!_ "

Dean blinked twice, shocked at the out-of-nowhere and seemingly very bitter jab. "Hey, wh—" he began to get pretty pissed, too. "That is _not_ why I read it!" He set his sister with a flabbergasted expression. " _Seriously_?"

"Yeah, seriously!" she fired back acidly, not giving an inch or faltering in the slightest. "You had no right, no fucking _right!_ " Disgust and disbelief made her shake her head at him. "How low can you be, huh?" She turned as if to walk away and rubbed a hand against her forehead, muttering foul words under her breath. She paused a couple steps off and didn't leave.

For a second, Dean stood there dumbly. He heaved a disgusted sigh, wishing he knew how to go through life without constantly fucking shit up. He was tired of the drama and of being the bad guy. "You know, maybe I shouldn't have read it," he said, talking to her back. "Maybe that was wrong." He took a beat because his emotions suddenly choked him when he thought about what that file had in it and how Alex was staying silent on all the things hurting her and defeating her, how she was rejecting help, support, and love from where it mattered most: family. "But would you have told me?" he prompted earnestly. "The, the stuff that's going on with you?" She stiffened visibly and Dean's voice broke. So much grief flooded him. "The _suicide attempt_?" He still couldn't believe it. That was his worst nightmare—he'd lost her and Sam a couple times over to horrific deaths and then she went and spit in the face of his love, his _efforts_ by trying to end her life again? It was unthinkably hurtful and it made no sense that she could be that hopeless, that grief stricken. Dean couldn't bring up the other thing he had found out about—the miscarriage. It was too much and he knew he shouldn't have found that out at all, that he _had_ overstepped bounds. Oh well, too late. He couldn't take it back. He was also pretty horrified that the file has said sexual assaults plural, like there had been more than the one with Glen—Dean hoped it was just a typo or something. Alex didn't turn around and he couldn't see her face, but he imagined she was struggling just like he was. "Breaking my _heart_ , Al," he murmured, meaning every word and not able to fully believe she would try and take her own life. "I'm supposed to be the one you tell this stuff to."

She whirled, startling him with the speed in which she moved. "I never signed a contract that said I had to tell you _shit,_ _"_ she spat, shocking him all over again. "You aren't entitled to know every fucking detail of my life, Dean!"

Slapped in the face and startled at the way she was lashing out, Dean was defensive and victimized. "I'm supposed to be your big brother, I'm supposed to _help_ you!" he protested.

She folded her arms across herself, shifted her weight defiantly, cigarette hovering between two fingers as a small trail of smoke blew sideways. Her suddenly cool and sarcastic mask was the final mystery for Dean. "You could help me by respecting my privacy for once in your damn life."

Damn. It never used to be like this—they had always known everything about each other growing up, the secrets had been few and far between. He felt like she might as well have been telling him she hated him and wanted nothing to do with him. Utterly stung, Dean wondered what the hell they were telling her at this crazy house. To give up on her family and keep everything a secret? To push away the few people in the world who you had left? "You used to let me in," he said uncertainly, not sure what had changed and almost at the point of tears because it felt like he had really lost her, like she'd slipped out of his fingers completely. "You used to tell me _everything_." She vaguely rolled her eyes, disrespecting him completely. Angry to be scorned like that, pissed she would roll her eyes at his pain, Dean turned accusatory and got a whole lot verbally tougher. "The Alex Winchester I know would never— _never_ give up like you have," he accused. No reaction from her except a single blink of the eyes. Dean's insides were boiling. "You keep saying I'm the one in the wrong here, but I have to learn from a damn piece of _paper_ that you tried to end your own life?" he demanded bluntly. His temperature was rising. "How fucking _selfish_ are you? Huh? Did you even stop to think what that would do to me? To _Sam_?" Dean came up short, suddenly wondering something truly upsetting. "…Does he know?" She said she'd seen Sam. What if she'd confided in him?

Alex gave her brother a sour look. " _Nope_ ," she said derisively. "He didn't go read a _file_ he had no business reading."

 _Oh my god._ He was never gonna hear the end of it. " _Alex._ Come on," Dean appealed wearily, irritably. "Gimme a friggin' break." He'd made a mistake, she didn't need to throw it in his face again and again. He got that she was mad at him. Loud and clear. She scoffed at him with a sound like _pssh_ and started to leave, turning and walking away. Immediately incensed—it wasn't over and she didn't get to run away from this and he would be damned if they left things this way—Dean's voice raised in anger and he followed her fast. "Don't walk off like a damn _child_!" he commanded, grabbing her by the shoulder.

She whipped around, and not even giving him a chance to react she shoved him in the chest so hard that he stumbled back a few steps. "I'm not the child here you bastard!" she practically screamed, and Dean gaped at her furious outburst. She was _so_ angry, like she'd been saving it up for a very long time. Her shoulders heaved with heavy, racing breaths, her nostrils were flared, her mouth was set into a thin, unforgiving line, she looked like a caged animal who had finally snapped. Her voice was low and wavered with the threat of total meltdown as she pointed at the ground with a stiff, jabbing finger. "I have put up with your crap for _years_ and I am not doing it anymore, do you understand?" She abruptly gave a soft, barking laugh and gestured flippantly with her cigarette as she stared at him through narrowed eyes. "You wanna know how I _feel,_ Dean?" she asked in a sarcastic, mean-spirited tone. "You wanna know what's 'going on' with me?" Her tough, angry facade faded a little, her eyes showed a flicker of the pain he'd seen when he first laid eyes on her today. "I don't see the point of life anymore."

She said that and then her eyes fell away and she shrugged as if to say she didn't know what to do with that information except to swallow it down and accept it, even though it was kind of sad even to herself. "I _don_ _'_ _t_." She took a second. "I've fought, I've given everything, I've lost it all, and I am _tired_ of this endless, hopeless _bullshit_. I don't want this and you know what? I don't need to take it anymore. I'm not obligated to you, or to the life, or to being what Dad wanted me to be. And I'm not gonna take it anymore. It's not what I want. Tired of it. _Tired_."

Dean stared, speechless. But… if she wasn't a hunter, what else would she be? What other life could she possibly see for herself except one spent wasting away here in crazy-land? Was that her _plan_? Dean felt horrified, like he had failed in every way. Cas had ruined everything. _Everything_ _—_ put Alex on some pedestal, filled her mind with fantasies, then left her brain dead and grief-stricken like nothing else ever had _._ Alex tapped her slowly-shortening cigarette hard, watching the ash fall in a little shower, oblivious to her brother. She was in deep, tense self-contemplation. "And I know what you're gonna say, but it's not just… it's not just Cas that made me walk away and give up." He heard how her voice caught around the angel's name. "It was Dad, it's the job, it's Mom, it's the years on the road and the ghosts and monsters, the angels and demons and all the damn pain I've had to live with for so long. For what? So I can be left in pieces?" She looked at him almost apathetically, but he saw the desperation hidden beneath the surface. She _hadn_ _'_ _t_ given up but she was pretending she had. There was the softest pained laugh when she saw Dean's silent, confused, wretched expression. "I'm not _like_ you and I can't hold it together," she said. "I don't want to anymore and there's no reason for me to keep trying. For once in my life, I am gonna stop letting a brother or a father dictate what I do. I'm doing what _I_ decide." The hopeless smirk was back. "And what I've decided is that I am gonna sit here and drug myself into a waking coma where I don't have to remember who I am or what I've seen or the people I love. This is my life. Not yours. So…" her mouth drew into a wan line and she looked off into the bleak distance. "There you go." She was trying to hold herself to a sarcastic tone. But she sounded and looked more depressed than anything else. "Aren't you _glad_ you asked?" She brushed past him and sat down on the bench again and hunched over her knees, put a hand on her forehead, seeming to push away a great amount of anxiety. One of her legs jiggled up and down, bouncing repeatedly, her jaw clenched tight.

Dean watched her and he was utterly clueless about what to say or do. Her monologue had left him confounded and gutted. The amount of _pain_ she was in, the bitterness he could sense in her… it was so hard for him to see. Immediately, he wanted to find a way to fix it, make her feel better, take away the pain. But he didn't know how. And the implications that he and Dad had played central roles in her ending up like this… it was awful. He had done more harm than good, he knew that and maybe had been hiding from admitting that to himself for a long time. He just didn't know where to go from this point. What hurt the most was that she didn't want to be with him or around him anymore. He'd spent the past few months in that cabin hoping that Alex's Sunny Meadows thing was like some phase or something. But he could clearly see, now, that Alex was at the point of what seemed like no return. This was real. It was legit. And he wasn't able to help like he used to be. She wouldn't _let_ him.

Dean remembered when she'd been younger, just a scrawny kid with teeth too big for her face and eyes that could portray novels in just a glance. She was his shadow, his sidekick, his girl. In those years he'd had all these dreams for her and Sam. He'd dreamed they would be well-adjusted, happy, grow up to live great lives and escape the nightmares Dean carried. But reality sang a different song. And it hurt. It _hurt_ so bad to know his brother and sister were in the same hopeless boat that he was in. He slowly sat down beside her on the bench, overwhelmed with where he found himself in life.

"You deserved better," Dean finally said in a weak, affected voice. And she did. In _everything_. A better family, a better dad, a better childhood, better luck with romance… but it didn't matter that she deserved the world. She had gotten _this._ This horrible, painful, endlessly depressing life, the same one Dean lived and drank himself to stupor to escape from. He needed her to know he wasn't trying to pry or nose into her business out of a need to control. His need was to _protect._ But he just didn't know _how_ half the time—life hadn't come with an instruction manual, he was making this shit up as he went along. But the pressure was too much. Was it any wonder he could barely stand up underneath it? He just wanted to be there for Sam and Alex, but they were both shoving him away and making him feel like the scum of the earth. Maybe that was his own doing. He didn't know anymore. "I wanted the best for you, you know?" he asked quietly, looking down at the cracked pavement between his booted feet. "For you and Sammy." That was the irony, though. He'd wanted the best for them and condemned them to the worst. A cynical, sad little smile crossed his face. No wonder they didn't want to be around him. He was pathetic and needy and they were better than he was. "And I dragged you both along with me through the hell 'cause I couldn't stand the thought of being alone." He swallowed thickly, joining her in staring off blankly into space. "Like right now."

Alex shut her eyes briefly when he said that, her features contorting just slightly. When she opened her eyes back up, they were glassy with tears. "I can't be that for you," she said in a voice just above a whisper. She didn't look at him. "I can't. Not now. Not anymore. I'm sorry."

"I know," he said in a faint, choked up voice. "And I'm not asking you to." He shouldn't have, ever. But that was on him. His weakness, his fear of being alone, his inability to let go of certain things. But it was time to stop clinging onto his siblings like they were his lifelines. He had to accept what was happening, because fighting it just drove the wedge farther in. He had to be the strong one and let Sam and Alex go. He had to be the man Dad raised him to be: responsibilities and loyalties first. Dean had never imagined it would end like this, though, with Alex effectively bowing out. _Sam_ was the independent one, the one who was more liable to come and go. Dean had a feeling Sam would come back, but he didn't even know anymore about his sister. That was what got him. Alex was supposed to have always been with Dean. He had counted on that selfishly. And now, the past few years had taught him that she simply wasn't a given. She wasn't an extension of himself or a commodity. She was so much more of a person than he had ever given her credit for and he sort of hated himself for thinking he knew everything about her, that he had it all on lockdown, that he could trust her to stay and fight with him come what may. All under the guise of protecting her, maybe he'd helped ensure this outcome she was in now. Dean looked at his sister sidelong, putting his heart on the line, hoping she could just give him one last thing. "Just… please." He didn't hold back on emotion. " _Promise_ me you won't do that again," he said, mentioning-without-mentioning her attempt at taking her own life. " _Please_. You get that bad off, call me and I will come here and we will _figure_ it _out_."

She looked touched for a second then inexplicably became cynically amused at his request, almost _laughing_. "Don't worry Dean. I'm not gonna _die_ anytime soon."

He didn't understand why she said it that way, but he didn't push his luck or ask what she meant. He was too tired and didn't want to start something again so he tried to _please god_ steer the conversation back to lighter, friendlier, better waters that wouldn't hurt as much. "Better not," he quipped half-heartedly, exhausted to his bones and unable to commit to sounding completely okay. "I'll kick your little chain-smoking ass."

She gave him the tiniest little smile and glance, then took one final drag off the almost-gone cigarette. "Yeah right." She threw it down and crushed it under her shoe, and they were quiet for a minute.

"I bet the food sucks here, huh," Dean asked, trying another joking comment.

"It's the worst," Alex confirmed blandly. She sounded like he did. Unable to commit to sounding okay.

Another short silence. "Anyone, uh, anyone here giving you any problems? I need to have any conversations with anyone?" Dean asked. He said it sort of teasingly, but he meant it.

Alex shook her head no and shrugged her mouth downward, her eyes far away. "Nah."

Dean nodded, watching her absently stare off into the distance and lightly scratch the skin of her inner wrist. "Good," he said softly. He wasn't sure if she even heard him. A long silence commenced in which Dean stared off into the nearby parking lot unseeingly. He was trying to imagine life from here on out. Leviathans on the loose, the hunter network dwindling down, Sam pissed, Alex removed from the situation, Bobby trying to rebuild, baby hidden away because those Leviathan jerks had made her famous… part of Dean wanted to be furious and tear into _both_ his siblings for putting things before the job. He needed _help_ and he'd expected them to be there for this. But laying into them was crap Dad would do. And maybe Dean was a special kind of patched-together person who was suited to this miserable existence. Maybe Sam would leave it, maybe Alex would remain defeated by it. James had been partnering with him recently here and there but Dean figured it was only a matter of time before she ditched him, too. _Why do I even do this?_ he wondered idly. He wondered what the best course of action would be. Maybe he should do what Alex was doing. Throw in the towel and get medicated until he didn't care anymore. _Easy way out_. Crappy food and screws-loose roommates and regular appointments with a mind-doctor? That sounded worse than actual Hell. Dean couldn't. No matter how he felt, he had to stay committed to the job and to getting rid of the big bads. No one _else_ was gonna. And the Leviathan weren't exactly gonna off themselves, were they? Dean frowned mildly, thinking of something. He peered at his sister sidelong. "So what'd you think about your America's Most Wanted brothers?" he asked, trying to joke around again but get a real answer at the same time.

She looked at him in confusion. "Huh?"

Dean got slightly confused, too. "Did you not see the news, or…?"

Alex looked totally unsure and a little impatient. "What are you talking about?"

"The man hunt?" Dean prompted. He saw no understanding flash across her face. That seemed odd. "Our doublemint twins?" Again, nothing. _Surely_ she had heard about it. It had been all over primetime, he and Sam were famous now in the worst way possible. But she looked totally clueless. Dean's face scrunched into a puzzled frown. "Sam not tell you? Those Leviathan assholes copied me and him and then went on a killing rampage. It was all over the news for the past couple weeks." So much so that Dean was in semi-hiding and not showing his face more than necessary. Like right now at Sunny Meadows. He'd snuck in a side door thanks to Jamie who _wasn_ _'_ _t_ currently infamous.

Alex looked mildly surprised at the news. " _Huh_. Our cable's been out the past couple weeks…"

"Oh." Well that seemed like a pretty interesting coincidence. "Wondered why you didn't call freaking out when we started gunning down civilians on television," he said, deciding it might bea good thing she didn't have to see that. In her volatile and emotional state, she might have really flipped out seeing the crap that aired on national television. What a mess. "We took 'em down," Dean continued, cutting a long story short. "Turns out those gooey bastards have a weakness. Borax."

Alex's face scrunched up doubtfully. "What-ax?"

"It's in a lot of cleaning products. Burns those suckers pretty bad. Chop off the head and keep it separate from the body and you're sitting pretty." Dean cleared his throat, losing a little of the momentary good mood he'd gained. Killing monsters was one of the only things he had left these days. "Just in case you need to know. Hopefully you won't."

"Sounds like you boys have had a fun past couple months," Alex commented unenthusiastically. It was hard to tell if she was jealous, unhappy about missing it, or just disinterested.

" _Fun_. Mm-hm." Dean chuckled forcibly. "Not the word I'd use for it, to be honest." Another long, empty silence stretched out between them and Dean could quite literally feel how hard his sister was working at holding him back. It sucked. This was so incredibly awkward right now and he really didn't know how to take her at the moment. It made him sad, frustrated, a little angry too. Trying to connect with her somehow, Dean fell back on a comfortable subject, one he thought might interest her or at least one he could get her perspective on. "Hey, you heard anything about the elderly home?" He got another 'what are you talking about?' look from her. "Golden Living Center," he clarified, gesturing vaguely to the south. "Nursing home down the street. Apparently a few old fogies have been disappearing outta there for the last few months. That and a few bodies have gone missing from the local morgue, too. Might be a job."

Alex looked mildly disgusted. "Right. A _job_." Her patience was markedly short. "Aren't you supposed to be figuring out a way to wipe our _Leviathan_ friends off the map?"

He'd been trying to be nice and her bitchy tone fried his very last nerve. Dean said it before he even thought: "Kinda hard to do when your brother and sister ain't helpin'." He regretted it the second it slipped out, especially when he got a very Sam-esque dirty look from Alex. "Sorry," he muttered, kicking himself. "Didn't mean it like that."

"How _did_ you mean it then?" she challenged, then gave an aggravated huff and looked away in an attempt to visibly make herself calm down. She rubbed her palms together for a minute, pressed her lips in, and gnawed the inside of her mouth. After a few seconds, she sounded a little calmer. Wouldn't look at him yet though. "Why are you and Sam fighting, anyway? I haven't seen him that mad in awhile."

"We're not fighting," Dean protested, sounding _too_ innocent and obvious.

Alex looked sidelong at him pointedly, her eyes suspicious and discerning. "He wouldn't say what happened either, but come on. I can tell when you two are having your periods at each other. What'd you do?"

Dean still believed he was justified, but telling her made him anxious. He hid his anxiousness underneath a strong, sure tone and tried to shrug it off so that he didn't look guilty. "I killed a monster he used to be friends with, a monster with a cute face and long legs and boobs. He didn't see what I did—that she was dangerous. So I had to do what he couldn't. And uh… he couldn't handle it when he found out." Alex didn't look convinced. Maybe she could see through him past his claims and to his conflicted emotions. "Don't look at me like that," he said defensively. "I did the job. He'll get over it."

Alex's attitude was horrible. "You sound like Dad." The way she said it was obviously meant to hurt and cut.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dean asked, voice rising in pitch defensively.

"Just what I _said_ ," she replied in an almost snap. She was being set off, getting more and more riled up again. Her body language was closed off and irritable, her expression was foul, her patience seemed non-existent. Her leg was bouncing so fast it was practically vibrating. One of her fingers nervously scratched a single spot on the back of her neck for no apparent reason.

Dean was at his wit's end with how this visit was going. "Look, do you not _want_ me here, or—?"

Alex shoved herself from the bench abruptly, looking extremely fidgety and ready for him to be gone. "You know, it was nice to see you, but your _girlfriend_ is probably waiting for you, so…"

The very negative way she mentioned Jamie definitely surprised Dean. "Okay, whoa." He went straight to the issue and didn't correct her on the 'girlfriend' dig. "What's with the attitude?"

Alex rolled her eyes and turned, began to walk away. "Oh don't tell me I have an _attitude_."

"Well then what are you being like that for?!" Dean asked, following her as he spread his arms wide in a flabbergasted gesture.

"Don't play choir boy," Alex muttered. "You know exactly what you did."

Dean moved to stand in front of her and stop her from walking. "I'm _sorry,_ okay?" She looked at him warningly, trying to decide if she was gonna push him out of her way or not. For a second, she heard him out, and Dean meant the apology that poured out: "I shouldn't have read your file. I'm _sorry._ I made a _mistake_." He was practically begging now. "I _get_ that. I wish I _hadn_ _'_ _t_. Geez, how many times do I have to say it?" He was speechless for a second at how unforgiving she was. "Can we just please be okay? It's bad enough _Sam_ _'_ _s_ so mad at me."

Rueful and almost patronizing, Alex set her brother with a look that asked _really?_ She wasn't quite as scornful as before though. "Are you seriously gonna act like it's _my_ fault I'm mad at you?" she asked, then sighed as if she were worn out all over again. "Don't be stupid. Apologize to Sam and stop acting like you're the boss of my life. Then maybe we'll talk." She moved past him, brushing past his shoulder with hers. Dean followed yet again.

"Al, come on, this is nuts!" he protested, hot on her heels. And then he was suddenly face-to-face with some young kid with unruly curly hair and a hoodie. Dean had to come up short not to run smack into him—he'd darted into Dean's path from where he'd been skulking nearby.

"Um, sorry, excuse me sir," the guy said, obviously nervous about what he was doing. And just who the hell was _this_? Some guy with a baby face who Dean hadn't ever seen before—he was short and practically half Dean's size, and it looked like he had a bad case of the scared-shitless. But, he was also not backing down from Dean's intimidating frown. "Sorry but um, uh—are you bothering her?" He asked. Dean's eyebrows rose. Alex had stopped retreating and had drifted back a couple steps, looking wary of a fight. The curly-headed kid kept talking. He had a high voice and an extremely awkward, fast, nervous cadence. "Because she, uh, she asked you to leave. I think." He fumbled onward and onward, seeming to embarrass himself in his attempts to clarify. "I overheard. Because I was nearby. Not because I was like eavesdropping or something. And it was—uh—you're, you're really loud, man, so I couldn't help but hear." His face was turning slightly red and he huffed in nerve-wracked self-consciousness then drew himself up a little and puffed out his barely-there chest. "Just uh… my point is, if you're bothering her or something, you should stop."

Dean glanced over this guy's shoulder at Alex, who looked slightly surprised and mildly touched at what was happening. She had a soft little chagrinned smile on her face. Dean abruptly wondered… was this guy the guy who had been mentioned in Alex's file? What was his name? Zap? Tag? Kip? He couldn't remember, but he was pretty sure this must be that guy.

Huh. Immediately suspicious but also taking the aggressive frown down a notch, Dean stuck his hand out for a shake. "Dean," he introduced himself, waiting for the guy to take his hand. He definitely had an ulterior motive for this. Mophead looked at his hand suspiciously, so Dean elaborated thinly. "I'm Alex's big brother."

"Oh." The kid looked like he suddenly got it, then he looked more and more embarrassed by the second. "Well in _that_ case…" a silly little dorky grin broke his mortified face. "Oops. Heh." He took Dean's hand and shook it. He was a dodgy little guy, he radiated uncertainty. "Pleasure to meet you, Dean."

Dean studied this guy closely with narrowed eyes. Already, he didn't like him. He crushed his hand a little tighter and wouldn't let go. "Yeah, such a pleasure," he wisecracked sarcastically as his crushing grip made the kid flinch and try to pull away. Dean didn't let go until he'd made a good just-in-case threat. He leaned in, smiling falsely the whole time—he needed to let this guy know Alex had guys looking out for her and that there would be consequences if there was ever anything shady. "And just so we're good here, I should let you know I own multiple shotguns."

Alex made a face like she was thinking he had to be kidding her and she came up to the two men quickly. " _Dean_." She pulled Dean's hand away by the wrist briskly, freeing her friend from Dean's deathgrip. She gave her brother an irritated glance then addressed her friend. "He's _joking_ , Zip."

Dean smiled and maintained eye contact with mophead, but his smile was a threat. "I am _not_ joking," he said pleasantly. "Multiple shotguns. And I never miss."

Zip held his hand to himself, cradling it almost, and he was trying to hide his confusion and intimidation about what was going on. "Uh—okay…?" He tried to laugh it off but he looked really unsure of how to respond. "That's… good for you. Heh." He chanced a timid, nervous smile, glancing sidelong at Alex several times for cues or something. "I um, don't own any shotguns. Duck Hunt, though. The Nintendo game. From like the eighties. It had this little plastic gun thing… yeah. Super cool." Realizing he was sounding dumber and dumber with every single thing he said, Zip rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously and tried to look really serious instead of overly eager. "Anyway."

Dean was looking at him with needle-sharp eyes. Jumpy, nervous, awkward, dorky, shifty… he didn't like those things in this guy, he didn't know how far off his rocker this idiot was, he didn't trust guys who had special interest in his sister. He was done trying to please people today, so he didn't care if he pissed off Alex with what he asked this Zip character next. "So what kinda crazy you got, kid?"

As predicted, Alex looked positively pissed at the rude question. " _Dean_."

"Relax, I'm just tryin' to get to know this guy," Dean retorted, leaving no room for arguments.

Zip smiled willingly. "It's okay," he said, looking at her and then at Dean. He shoved his hands into his jean pockets and shrugged, his expression open and earnest. "I'm an open book."

"Yeah?" Dean challenged. Everything was making him mad today. He crossed his arms. "So for starters, what the hell kinda name's Zip?"

Zip looked mildly offended, but was incredibly polite despite his misgivings. "Wh—my real name's Kyle, but Zip is like, you know, my cool nickname."

"Yeah, you're a real mover and shaker, aren't you?" Dean asked sarcastically.

Zip looked faintly hurt. "Are you always this obscenely friendly?" he asked, then cracked a sheepish little grin. "Must run in the family." He glanced at Alex fondly and she obviously knew he was talking about her, but instead of being pissed, she hid a smile and looked down coquettishly, appearing sort of girlish for a second. Dean gaped unhappily. Was he watching _flirting_ right now or…? Zip took in Dean's indignant expression. "Relax, dude," he said. "Take a chill pill. I can get you one. We have those here." His awkward timing and stupid joke and hopeful little expression made Dean want to punch him. Zip's smile faltered mightily at the oldest Winchester's death stare. "…That was a joke."

"Good one, chuckles _,_ " Dean muttered rudely. He didn't like this guy at all. He didn't want Alex around some mentally unstable moron who was obviously crushing on her. He didn't _like_ this at all. Dean had another thought that sort of surprised him: It was too soon after Cas for Alex to be moving on. Was this some kind of rebound? If so, why would she go for some skinny little weirdo in need of a haircut and social skills?

At Dean's comment, Alex had apparently had enough. "Go inside, Zip. Lemme say bye to my dumbass brother."

Zip looked hesitant to do what had been asked of him, but deferred to Alex's request with a nod and then a brief, wary glance at Dean. "Yeah… okay. See you inside."

As he walked off with a few backward glances at the brother and sister, Alex looked at Dean with a disgruntled little expression. "Would it _kill_ you to be polite?" she asked, and her bad attitude was back with a vengeance.

"I don't like him," Dean said bluntly. He glanced at Zip, who was disappearing into the building with a final worried backward glance.

Alex looked so annoyed. "You don't like _anyone,_ " she complained, then threw out a hand in exasperation. "He's frickin' _harmless._ You're paranoid."

Dean sobered a little, looked at her meaningfully. "Not like I don't have good reasons."

His meaning wasn't lost on her and the harsh exterior wavered for a second. "Trust me, I watch my back these days," she said quietly. Then, appearing self-conscious, she steeled herself again and continued to speak to him in a hard, straightforward voice. "Look. Whatever. You need to go. Visiting hours are about to be over."

"Don't be mad at me," Dean said, setting his pride aside as he recognized that she was done talking to him and he couldn't do a thing about it. "I'm just trying t—to look out for you," he said, voice taking on a pleading tone.

Her eyes were angry, bitter, foreboding, and hostile. "Well _don_ _'_ _t_."

And that was it. She walked off, he let her, and Dean left that place obscenely depressed about how it had gone. Depression turned into anger. And after an hour or two of tense silence, he picked a stupid fight with Jamie, said things he didn't need to say, ran her off, then got drunk alone in some motel room.

Alex went back into Sunny Meadows at the point of tears because she was so angry, so sad, so shaken up.

"Are you okay?" Zip would ask as she brushed past him in the hall roughly.

"Leave me _alone,_ " she would snap in reply.

She shut herself into her little blank, lifeless room and took Oxy from her hidden stash to try and forget the sadness. But when night came and she couldn't sleep and the idea of being alone and living forever came across her all over again, she cried for hours. She beat her pillow and broke her bed and then sat on the floor like a child having a temper tantrum. She didn't want anyone to know her pain and now Dean did, or at least part of it. She wasn't even sure what was in her file as she didn't remember what she'd said in therapy half the time. Around three in the morning, she went and broke into the doctor's office and found her file to see what Dean had discovered. When she read what he had, she wanted to die. All of that was _so_ private and Dean had no business reading that. _None._

Alex was left to feel terrified, alone, and out of control. She just needed someone or something to tell her it was all gonna be okay. But part of her knew it never would be. Her life wasn't what it used to be and she didn't know how to navigate these waters. So she drowned.

When Zip found her sitting on the floor in the doctor's office (he wandered the halls too, more than she did maybe), when he asked what was wrong and showed nothing but concern, she broke down and confided in him about how mad she was at Dean and what had happened with the file. He sat on the floor beside her and touched her hand and said it was gonna be okay. That she was more than a bunch of words on paper, that she was more than the bad things that had happened to her. He put an arm around her. And the way he looked at her reminded her of how Cas used to look at her and out of loneliness, out of desperation, she wanted to kiss him for a brief moment. He saw that—got nervous and brave—and very slowly leaned his face closer, watching her with bated breath the entire time. And at the last second, Alex turned her head away as her heart beat into the top of her throat.

Blue eyes and a once-in-a-lifetime love story haunted her every waking moment. And she _couldn_ _'_ _t._

* * *

**Colorado**

It was a Saturday in late February and Emmanuel was at the local farmers market with Daphne. Although the weather was still chilly this time of year, a lot of people in the community still came out to buy produce and handmade goods like jams, pies, ceramics, and artwork. It was a pleasant, interesting place to be.

Emmanuel had the sleeves of his fleece zip-up pushed up to his forearms as he added more potatoes to the little bin in Daphne's stand. Emmanuel glanced down at his hands as he sorted the potatoes and made sure they were arranged neatly. On his left hand, a silver wedding band gleamed back up at him and he paused, his good mood fading a little. Nearby, he could hear Daphne talking to a friend. "Have you met my husband?" she was asking. "His name is Emmanuel. He's right over there!"

Knowing he was expected to respond, Emmanuel looked up and raised a hand in a brief, polite wave. The woman Daphne was standing with looked mildly perplexed and uncertain but nodded kindly and smiled obligingly. Returning to his work, Emmanuel tried not to feel constantly unsettled.

They were married. Or that's what Daphne said, anyway. There had been no ceremony, no exchange of vows. Simply her giving him this ring one day after a very long talk full of leading questions about his beliefs on fate and love and marriage. She said that marriage was in the heart and that you were married to the person you were supposed to be married to since the dawn of time, that ceremonies were a waste of time, that she wanted to call him her husband because he _was._ He didn't completely understand, but after so long of no memories, Emmanuel had resigned himself to this life. And if being 'married' made her happy and pleased her, he supposed he owed it to her. They had still not been physically intimate, though. She had tried a couple more times to persuade him but each time Emmanuel had refused. He didn't think he would ever want her in that way. Emmanuel was content to let her call him husband and he even referred to her as wife (it made her so very happy), but in his heart, he didn't quite believe it and quite often he felt ashamed of himself for accepting the title of husband.

He still laid with her in bed most nights, but he dreaded it. He often created excuses to be late getting to bed or not go to bed at all. He got books from the library on carpentry and he found things to fix around the house. He also learned how to browse the internet and found plans to build a better greenhouse for her and he spent many long hours working on that. He also went to local hospitals on foot, sometimes walking hours to get to his destination. There, he used his healing powers to perform miracles and wonders. The sick were well, the lame walked, a blind girl was given sight, and his favorite one, the one he would always remember, he healed a newborn baby girl born without functional vocal chords. The look on her parents' faces when she had squalled loud and strong for the first time… he treasured these things.

Daphne doted on him, adored him, practically worshipped him—she was very rarely displeased with him. People came from nearby churches to be healed and she took him on a couple road trips to revivals that were a few hundred miles away. One of these revivals had been in Montana. What happened the night before the revival had been inexplicable. Emmanuel he had been in the motel with Daphne in bed as she slept and he had felt such _pain_ that it consumed him. He could focus on nothing else but that sense of pain. And then, suddenly, he was standing in the lawn of a place called Sunny Meadows. Disoriented and frightened to be instantaneously transported from one place to another, Emmanuel thought perhaps God had sent him here for a reason, that the pain had led him here. He cautiously approached the place and peered in the first window he passed. He saw a small, stark bedroom. Someone, a girl he thought, was sitting up in bed with her back turned to him. She had long, messy brown hair, and he was given pause. He didn't know why women with brown hair always caught his eye and made him _feel_ so much. He raised a hand to knock on her window, because something was compelling him to get her to notice him.

And then, his phone buzzed in his pocket and Emmanuel was spooked and retreated, answering Daphne's worried call. She had to drive and come get him, and he was an hour away from where he'd been. Emmanuel left the grounds of Sunny Meadows, unsure why he felt so strangely. He wanted to escape from there, almost. He couldn't handle the pain he sensed from the inside of that building. It was too much.

Other than that strange occurrence, Emmanuel's life had become predictable and he was accepting it slowly, always trying to brush his misgivings to the side. He focused on the tasks he could accomplish and the heavenly powers he had been entrusted with. And the potatoes he was tidying. There was a certain pleasingness to order. A calmness he latched onto.

At that moment, a little blur ran past, followed quickly by a mother with a baby on her hip. " _Alex_!"

Emmanuel looked up immediately, deeply startled. A young boy was splashing in mud puddles nearby and laughing happily. Some of the mud splashed onto the khaki pants Emmanuel wore. "Alex, _Alexander_ , stop that!" the mother chided. Emmanuel stared at her as if stricken dumb, he watched her shift her baby on her hip and grab her older son by the wrist. She appeared frazzled and overwhelmed and smiled apologetically at Emmanuel. "So sorry, sir," she said in embarrassment, noticing the mud that had gotten onto his pants. "We're working on paying attention to others."

Emmanuel had trouble replying. "It's… it's all right," he faltered. The woman was already bustling off, pulling her son named Alex by the hand and scolding him.

"Emmanuel, what is it?"

In a fog, he turned to see that Daphne was there, peering at him in concern. He was vastly confused. Right there, right _there_ in his reach was the answer he needed, but he couldn't find it and the feeling was utterly maddening, sickening even. "I… I don't feel well," he said, and she fussed over him, got him a chair, felt his forehead, got him water. He was mostly oblivious to her attention. He just sat there for the rest of the farmers market hours, trying to understand what had triggered him and incited that reaction.

Cupcakes. Yellow flowers. Black cars from the decades past. Children's board games. Women with brown hair. The name Alex.

It didn't add up, it didn't make sense. He often felt so hopeless and powerless that he wanted nothing more than to cry. When would these things finally make sense?

Perhaps they never would. Perhaps he would be forever haunted by this handful of things from the life he had lived before.

Perhaps Daphne was right. And maybe he should stop looking for answers altogether.

* * *

**Two Weeks Later**

"So, how's my girl, hmm?"

Bobby sat with Alex in the cafeteria of Sunny Meadows. It wasn't lunch time, so they were alone. He'd shown up for an impromptu visit and after a little awkward small talk, it was about to get heavy. Alex could sense it. His question didn't have a good answer, so she tried joking around even though she was, as usual, severely depressed.

"Mentally unstable. Socially unacceptable. The usual."

Bobby peered at her from under the worn out brim of his old ball cap. His careworn eyes seemed to see everything in a gentle, non-intimidating way. "How 'bout lonely? Scared? Sad?" he challenged softly, hitting the nail right on the head. Alex looked down and away, trying not to show her true feelings. Bobby remained steadfast. "It's okay to feel however you're feelin' right now. After all you been through, who wouldn't be a little beat up on the inside?"

It was so much worse than that. "I'm not beat up," she managed in a wavering voice, looking at the scuffed table instead of him. "I don't know how to _function_ anymore."

Full of empathy, Bobby nodded pained understanding. That was the thing about Bobby Singer. He'd never told Alex her feelings were wrong and he didn't shove opinions down her throat when she was sad. He'd always _listened_ and accepted her sadness, he didn't obsess over 'fixing' her and he never took her grief personally. She loved him a whole hell of a lot for that and always had. But even though she loved him, he wasn't the world's most accessible person and neither was she. They were half-open books around each other—he was a gruff man of few words, she was… well, she didn't know _what_ she was anymore. She was definitely feeling humiliated and low right now though for him to see her giving up and wasting away at Sunny Meadows. _He_ was still hanging in there and horrible shit had happened to _him_. What was her excuse? Alex felt second-best and stupid. She didn't like being visited in here by people she knew because it was another reminder of how far she'd fallen. Her prideful side wanted her family to think she was a lot more 'okay' than she actually was.

Bobby was studying her in that silent, caring way he had, like he was thinking about what he wanted to say to her. He was rough around the edges, but through the years, he'd had lots of moments with Alex that showed what a huge heart he had underneath his tough exterior. "Now you listen up," he said quietly, firmly, and his tone was specifically fatherly. "I never said too much to you about nothin' 'cause, well… you know me. I aim to stay away from sticky stuff like feelins and talkin' about 'em. I'd rather eat nails on toast for breakfast most days." That got the smallest little smile from Alex, and her attention. Her eyes flickered up to his. Today, he seemed to have decided to go there, to open up a little. "Normally, I wouldn't say much about your private affairs," he continued. "But I think you need to hear this." Alex began to dread what he was about to say because of how serious he was. "What happened with Cas… that ain't on you and never will be."

His words brought up a thousand pains instantly and she couldn't accept his words even for a second. She shook her head no, insulted almost. She didn't need anyone to try and baby her. "It _is_ on me," she said, then made a very real confession: "I… I don't know how to let it go." Alex felt herself breaking down, the walls weren't working. And while with Sam she'd played Sunny Meadows off, with Dean she'd ripped him a new one, with Bobby, she was left with no choice but to be honest with him and herself. "This is so embarrassing," she whispered, glancing around at the interior of Sunny Meadows. It felt like her final resting place. Like she'd already died and she was a useless ghost. "I hate it. Like… what's _wrong_ with me, you know?"

"Hey now," he reprimanded gently. "Quit that. Ain't _nothin_ _'_ wrong with you. Quite frankly I'm surprised you've hung in as long as you have. The crap I seen you shoulder…" he sighed. He'd walked with her through a lot of grief before. He'd been there for her in some of her darkest times. "We all got our limits," he said, and she knew that rang true for him, too. "Give it some time. You'll get through this."

It was nice of him to say that. But the part that made her tear up and crumble was he was _wrong._ "You don't understand, Bobby," she appealed, getting more and more upset. "I got nothing left in me. I'm all outta fight. I wanted something. A good life. And now I barely know how to get out of bed." She bowed her head into her hand, miserable forevermore and fighting tears. "I can't even comprehend everything that happened to me, my _family._ Life was okay and then Cas…" she trailed off, crying for real now, remembering a first kiss, a gentle embrace, a love like no other, a horrible twisted ending she never predicted. "I never had something so good happen, you know? I t-thought it could last, I loved him with everything I had, I didn't hold a-anything back. Mistake number one. I was all in, and it crashed and burned so fucking bad and now… I just…" she wiped at her face, trying to toughen up and stop crying over what could never change. She sniffed valiantly, trying to pull herself together. "I'm _done_ with getting hurt and losing people. I can't let it happen again, I can't take it, literally can't take it. I'm done with trying to help and making messes instead, I'm tired of being the screw up." She was rambling now, thinking about how she had always fucked everything up and dragged people down, how she was tired of being loved and cared about because it hurt too much when love ended and that person went away. She was tired of being the one who caused the problems, she was tired of not knowing what her role was in the family, she was tired of being the thing that slowed her brothers down and made them weaker. It had to stop. She had to stop it. "I've always dragged Dean and Sam down, I've always been in the way, and I… I just can't do that anymore."

Bobby looked utterly confounded, even a little insulted, and he took a second then shook his head as his mouth drew into a flat line and his eyes narrowed. "Your damn dad put that idea in your head, didn't he?" Bobby's sudden righteous anger made him pointed and firm, a little louder than before. "Well I am here to say that you and your brothers made me a better man and _none_ _'_ _a_ ya were a burden, especially you. I look at you and see the daughter I never had and you know what? I didn't _need_ a little girl. I had _you,_ and no one else could compare, _ever_! You even _know_ how much better you three made my life? You were a damn _joy_ , nothin' else—not a burden, not an inconvenience, not a responsibility, not somethin' I _dreaded_. So don't talk to me and tell me you're some kinda failure, 'cause way I see it, you're someone worth havin' around and always have been. You hear me?"

Touched to the deepest levels and warmed in a part of herself that had been icy and full of self-hatred, Alex couldn't find it in herself to do anything but nod _yes sir_ with eyes full of emotion. It was hard and sort of awkward, but she made herself say it after a few seconds of quiet: "I really do love you, Bobby." Her voice was affected and emotional and she was having problems looking him straight in the eye. But she meant it so much. "Don't know where I'd be without you."

Seeing her reaction to his words seemed to do something to him. He cleared his throat and blinked away something he might blame on allergies if she asked him about it. He was soft again, reminiscent. "Yeah, _yeah_ , love you too, shortstop," he said, smiling crookedly from under his beard and adjusting his cap then checking his watch with a weary sigh. "All right, enough of the Oprah hour. I'd stay, but I got Leviathan to kill." He set her with a slightly mischievous look. "You sure you don't wanna come with?"

Alex poked fun at herself again as she dabbed at the corner of an eye. "Think I'll stay here and wallow."

Bobby nodded understanding but gave her a knowing, calm, reassuring little smile. "You're gonna decide one day you've had enough of this. And I'll be waitin'. Don't say nobody never believed in you. You always got me, girl, you hear?"

"I hear."

Bobby nodded satisfaction and stood up, his chair scraping noisily across the floor. Alex stood too. "Now lemme kiss your head and go on. Burnin' daylight." Bobby came around the table and did what he said he was going to: he put an arm around her and kissed her head, jostled her by the shoulder very roughly and briefly. All Alex could think about was how Dad had never done that or half of what Bobby had done for her. She hugged her uncle briefly, tightly, shutting her eyes. His smell—aftershave and mothballs and a faint touch of whiskey—made her think of childhood. And he was one of the best parts. He pulled back and patted her on the shoulder awkwardly, looked her in the eye. "You change your mind, I wouldn't mind havin' you ride shotgun again. You know my number."

Alex managed a smile for him. "Maybe later, Bobby."

But there wouldn't be a later.

When Bobby left, Zip appeared out from behind a corner and asked, "was that your dad?"

Alex watched him walk out of the doors of Sunny Meadows. Bobby Singer: cantankerous old man in flannel who had owned a scrap metal and mechanic business for a good portion of his life. Wise, intelligent beyond belief, resourceful. Kind, quiet, unremarkable at a glance, but in the end, a hero in every right. Alex nodded, eyes on Bobby the whole time as she realized the answer to Zip's question. "Yeah," she said softly. "That's my dad."

Two weeks later, Jamie showed up at an ungodly hour and made an announcement that Alex would never forget: "It's Bobby. We gotta go. _Now_."

And the world would crash to pieces all over again.


	89. Dead Like Me

" _It's so much darker when a light goes out than it would have been if it had never shone at all_ _…"  
_ \- John Steinbeck

* * *

**1990**

"Hey, Bobby, where we going?"

Little Dean followed a much-taller Bobby Singer out into the leaf-scattered field that was adjacent to the nearby playground. He was a little confused at the sights and sounds surrounding the area: kids and families playing, laughing, relaxing, spending time together just because. At eleven years old, Dean Winchester had been told that he was too old for any of that stuff. Hot on the heels of the guy he'd always called 'Uncle Bobby,' he tried to catch up to the older man's longer stride. "Dad says we're supposed to practice with the double-barrel," he reminded in vague concern. He glanced at the duffel bag his uncle carried then back at the bustling park. "We can't shoot guns here, this is where people play."

Bobby stopped and smiled down at the child who was toeing the line between boy and young man. Matter of fact and pleasant and kind, he put a hand on Dean's shoulder. "Exactly, Dean. Today… we're gonna _play_." At the look of stumped protest gathering on Dean's face, Bobby was no-nonsense. "We're gonna skip the guns today," he said, a smile growing on his face. "Today…" he set the duffel down and unzipped it, withdrew a football. Dean's eyes widened just a little and a look of immediate joy crossed his face—then he quickly wiped it away in favor of a much more cautious expression. Bobby showed him the ball for effect. " _Today_ you're gonna throw the pigskin around just like a regular snot-nosed little jerk." He said that affectionately then backed up a few steps and sent the football sailing to Dean, who caught it with a look of conflict. He looked at the ball and it was obvious he _really_ wanted to play. But he looked up at Bobby cautiously and held onto the ball warily, turning it in his hands for a couple of thoughtful beats. "…Sam and Alex too?" he asked, making sure he wasn't the only one who would get this afternoon of forbidden fun.

Never a thought for himself, this one. Bobby smiled widely. "' _Course_!" he confirmed encouragingly, trying to inspire a mood of enthusiasm in Dean. "You'll be able to start your own little football team by the time I've learned ya'll three the ropes."

Dean was still holding the football with two hands. He considered the ball hesitantly. "Won't Dad be mad?" he asked, peering up at Bobby with those bright green potential-filled eyes.

Bobby felt a ripple of a sadness at that question. Dean was only eleven—the things John expected of him were close to impossible. Bobby crouched down to be more on Dean's level and he didn't show his truer feelings on the matter (anger, resentment, disapproval—John Winchester had some very messed up ideals if you asked him). He smiled reassuringly for Dean's benefit, letting Dean know that it was all okay. "One day'a doing some kid stuff won't kill ya, Dean. If he's got a problem with how we spent the afternoon, he can take that up with _me_ , all right?" He stood up and smiled over Dean's shoulder, catching sight of two similarly-sized figures nearby. "There they are! The wonder twins!"

Sam and Alex were coming out of the little nearby bathroom pavilion together. Sam took his role of big brother quite seriously at seven years old, even if he were only a minute or so older than his twin sister—he walked very closely to his sister and just as trained, was looking around their immediate area for perceived threats. He emulated Dean quite often and was very watchful of his sister at that age. The twins were real cute at seven years old—both built wiry and sort of scrawny in comparison to their more stocky older brother. Alex had long unruly dark brown hair that matched her father's hair color—little wild curling hairs framed her face in an unpredictable pattern. Sam's hair was lighter than hers but just as messy and hung in his eyes—sometimes Bobby though he was trying to hide behind that long hair. The twins both wore boys jeans and boys shoes and, you guessed it, boys shirts too. Alex was always in boy clothes because apparently John Winchester couldn't be bothered to get clothes that were made for her gender or something. Bobby had never really figured it out but it didn't seem to bother little Alex much, anyway. Maybe she preferred it that way. The twins were both a bit on the reserved side, especially Alex, who was mute and unable to speak. It was a good thing she had her two big brothers looking out for her. While her father was always oblivious to what she needed or how she felt, Sam and Dean always seemed to know what Alex needed and wanted, they spoke her silent language somehow.

The three of them were not your typical kids.

Dean was an old soul and a consummate 'good boy' who lived to please his father—he carried a lot of responsibility and worry that no kid his age should have to shoulder. He was always worrying over his brother and sister, sometimes to the point of obsession. Sam was probably the most normal of the three—he was very well-spoken for his age, optimistic, and typically helpful to others. Alex was a child who didn't seem to be a child at all: She had old-soul eyes like her brother Dean, and when she looked at you, it felt like being studied by someone who had seen a hundred sad lifetimes. All three of them had fiery little tempers, huge hearts, a lot of pain over their difficult childhood. They also all had enormous potential. Bobby loved them all more than he quite knew what to do with.

As the twins approached, Bobby nodded to Dean and patted him on the shoulder encouragingly, indicating he go ahead and throw the ball to his brother or sister. Dean tried to mask an eager smile. He seemed suddenly energized, biting his bottom lip and tossing the ball with all his strength—his jacket snapped smartly as he made the throw, sending the brown ball sailing through the air toward Sam. The twins stopped short, staring at the football strangely like they didn't know what to do. It landed just in front of them, at their feet. They both looked at Dean questioningly. They had heard their dad's instructions about shotgun practice. Even though they were small and underage, John had them training already.

"You were s'posed to _catch_ it, thing one and thing two," Bobby teased affectionately.

"We're playing _football_ , losers!" Dean shouted through elation.

The twins looked at each other like they were wondering _is he for real_? Deciding he was, Alex abruptly got a devilish little smile on her face—Sam saw what she was going to do and sprang into action while yelping a protest but he was too slow. Alex had darted forward, snatching the ball up. She had already started to run with it. " _He-eeey!_ " Sam complained through a grin, right behind her, pawing at her in an attempt to get the ball away.

Dean was running toward them too, and Sam abruptly decided he was on Alex's team. "Keep it away from Dean!" he shouted enthusiastically, laughing and trying to block his brother's way.

Dean dodged Sam and ran around him. Alex probably would have been squealing and laughing if she were able—a huge toothy grin split her face in two as she stood there holding the ball tight. She had gone still and was now sort of blocked from throwing—Dean stood between her and Sam, grinning breathlessly as he blocked her ability to pass the ball without taking a huge risk. "Gonna have to run it, Mouse," he teased. Everyone knew she was fast… but Dean was faster.

Bobby chuckled and motioned for Alex to try and throw it to him instead—he didn't know if she'd be able to make the longish-distance throw, but he encouraged her either way because it was a clear shot to him unlike to Sam. "Let's see what you got, shortstop," he called, holding his hands in a catching position. "Throw 'er here." Dean realized his window to get the ball was about to disappear and he made a run at his sister to grab the ball. Alex reacted fast and threw the ball to Bobby with her best attempt—she bent backward a little and unleashed the ball with an impressive grimace of concentration. Bobby jogged forward a couple steps and just barely caught the ball low. "Not bad!" he said, grinning her way. She was currently being spun around by Dean, who had grabbed her around the waist from behind and was holding her high as she laugh-protested silently and tried to elbow him in the face.

"Not bad for a _girl_!" Sam corrected enthusiastically, eager to have a turn too—he ran a little closer and held his hands out. "Throw it here Bobby!" Bobby tossed it gently and Sam caught it with a little squeak. He looked like he'd never done that before.

"Good job, tiger!" Bobby complimented through a proud grin. "You're a natural!"

Grinning toothily, Sam pointed at Dean, who dropped a dizzy Alex to the ground and backed up a few steps and held his hands out to catch the ball. "Watch this!" Sam shouted. "Raaaawr!" Sam launched the ball with no finesse into the air where it spiraled pretty impressively far—right over Dean's head.

"Whoa, good arm Sammy!" Dean cheered, laughing as he looked at how far the football had gone. "We'll all be pros soon!" Dean made to run after the football—then got tripped by Alex as payback, Bobby was sure. He chuckled to himself. This was the best afternoon he'd had in awhile. He could get used to having these hooligans around. He was in no hurry for John to turn back up.

The four of them played leisurely with no rules and no goals for nearly an hour. The kids loved it and caught on fast, couldn't get enough of it. Bobby showed them a few tricks—how to hold the ball, how to get it to spiral, the best ways to catch it. Sam was especially enthralled and said he wanted to be a football player when he grew up. Dean told him he was too small to do that, Sam got indignant then said he was going to be the biggest guy in the universe when he was twenty. Dean laughed at him, Sam got mad and attacked, Dean laughed even harder… Alex threw the football at them and hit them in the head while they wrestled around on the ground. Sam shouted an infuriated " _OW!_ " and Dean laughed all the harder as Sam realized he wasn't being wrestled as much as he was being restrained. Sam began to try and get away while turning red in the face from his shouts of protest.

Bobby refereed the little dispute and got the boys calmed down, taking a good five minutes to talk to them about when to quit hassling each other and why petty fights were beneath them and also a waste of time. When it was over, the boys kept going with football, but Alex had retreated to the edge of the field. She sat near a bench—not on it—and picked at the little flowers there and watched people with a shrewd, studious look on her young little face.

Bobby drifted over after a few minutes to see that she was tying the flowers together in a single strand. She sat cross-legged and Bobby noticed again how one of her shoes had been worn through the toe on the side, how her shirt was missing a couple buttons and was too short in the sleeves. Maybe he was jumping to conclusions, but he'd always felt like the kids were priority number two or three to John. Did that man not notice his daughter was in clothes that were falling apart? That his sons needed more than militaristic demands on them to grow into strong, well-balanced young men?

It wasn't really his place. But if it had been, Bobby knew he would have done anything in his power to give these kids the world.

"What's she doin', huh?" Bobby asked Alex in a kind voice, sitting on the bench near her so that he was close to her but not _too_ close. He'd noticed she didn't seem to like people being in her personal space much. She glanced up at him questioningly and he gestured to the long strand of flowers she was creating. "Is that a necklace you're makin'? Looks real pretty." She shook her head no with a deep frown and then held it across her body like some kind of strap—she motioned that it was going to go all the way around, shoulder to hip front and back. Bobby thought maybe for a purse or for a dress, but then he realized… this was John Winchester's daughter. His smile faded a little. "Oh. It's… a shotgun strap?" he asked dubiously. She nodded in a very content, matter of fact way and returned to her work. " _Naturally,_ " Bobby said, trying to sound pleasant despite the cynicism he was feeling. That man had his kids valuing the wrong things. Bobby wondered how the hell these kids would ever survive if John kept this crap up. Honestly, Bobby volunteered more and more to keep them because he really loved these damn rug rats and wanted the best for them. Was it presumptuous to think that _he_ could be the best for them…? Alex was peering up at him sidelong, and for a second, he wondered if she could hear thoughts. Sometimes he got that impression.

The sound of yelling caused Bobby to look up. Predictably, Sam and Dean were on the ground fighting over the football again. Sam was shouting his brother's name in exasperation ("De-eeeeaaaan! Ughhhh give me the _baaaall_!") and Dean was laughing at his brother's frustration, enjoying himself immensely. Bobby felt a smile on his face and shook his head fondly. They would probably always bicker like that. Hadn't he _just_ talked to them about not fighting over dumb stuff? _Idjits_. He never knew three grubby little kids could steal such a big part of his rusty old heart. He just couldn't get mad at them.

A little teary-eyed out of the blue, Bobby glanced down and saw how Alex was still watching him—she was pretty observant. He cleared his throat and attempted to look serious and grown up and _not_ emotional. "Those brothers of yours are somethin' else," he said. She contemplated him a moment longer then stood up as she tied the strand of flowers closed into a full circle—Bobby noticed how the circle seemed too small to be a shotgun strap, and when she came to him and put the little floral circle over his head, he realized she'd changed her mind and made it into what he'd thought it was at first—a necklace. He was surprised and unsure of what to say. "Oh… for me?" She nodded yes and Bobby smiled under his beard. Never thought he'd see the day when he'd proudly wear a flower necklace. But today was that day. He admired her handiwork, picking the necklace up from off his shirt and looking at it so she could see he was interested in what she'd done. "Innt that nice," he commented, then smiled at her and tweaked her cheek between his thumb and forefinger. She seemed insanely pleased that he liked it and she grinned bashfully, showing uneven teeth that were too big for her little face. She was the cutest thing in the world. Freckles, dimples, hopeful bright eyes that were unbelievably intelligent and clever. One of her feet kicked the ground and she held her hands behind her back as she swiveled back and forth in place from nervous, shy energy.

Bobby adjusted the necklace for effect and winked at her, patted her on the side of the shoulder. "Thanks, sweetheart. I ain't never felt fancier." He leaned closer conspiratorially and glanced at the boys, indicating she look too. "Hey, I got an idea. You wanna go team up with me? A little two-on-two game?" He gave his tone a sly spin. "We'll go easy on 'em at first then win the game when we got 'em where we want 'em." Alex grinned even bigger and nodded yes numerous times as her cheeks flushed a happy pink color—she loved that idea, just like he thought. What a sweetheart. Bobby raised his palm for a high five. "Up high." She bit her lip and gave him an enthusiastic five that made a loud slapping noise. Bobby grinned at her and ruffled her hair. "That's my girl." He paused and leveled her with a serious look. "Piggyback ride back to the boys?"

Bobby didn't know just how much he made that little girl's heart soar when he said things like that to her or when he treated her like she was someone's pride and joy. He didn't fully know how much he filled a father-shaped void that existed in her life. How his encouragement, steadfastness, and care throughout the years helped shape her into the young woman that she would grow into. But what Bobby _did_ know was he could say he'd had a little girl. Maybe she hadn't been his on paper or via biology or some mumbo-jumbo like that, but she had been his in ways no one could take away from him. He'd always remember how when she was little she would reach for his hand when they crossed the street—his heart burst every time. He'd always remember the time those kids all got chicken pox and she crawled into his lap pitifully and laid there curled into his chest, wanting him to soothe her—and he sure hated to see her sick, but cuddling that sweetheart was one of his best memories. One of the memories he treasured. One of the memories that stayed with him and replayed in his dying hours.

Most of his memories during his dying day were centered on those damn kids. Maybe that's because they had become his life, or at least a huge part of it. He remembered Sam and Dean and Alex invading his life and pissing him off and giving him grief and teaching him what love really was. He remembered the sum of years that felt golden and beautiful and precious as he reflected on them. He remembered Sam's science experiments that messed up many a floor, table, and rug at his house. He remembered Dean accidentally blowing a small crater in the salvage yard with some dynamite (" _I thought it was fireworks!_ "). Bobby remembered a constantly bare refrigerator and pantry, trips to get shoes that actually _fit,_ a kitchen that Dean _wrecked_ when he baked the twins the world's worst birthday cake. He remembered not enough sleep and ' _my stomach hurts_ ' and arguments about if Jackie Chan or Bruce Lee were a better fighter. He remembered pulling out splinters and showing Dean a trick or ten about mechanics and listening to more petty fights than any one man should have to listen to. He remembered life lessons and learning the meaning of patience and the day he realized he'd die for those kids in a heartbeat. Still would. Actually, kind of was.

He remembered the time little Alex gave him a kiddy drawing of himself standing out by the Salvage Yard—in this picture he had a huge head and a freakishly huge smile that stretched across half of his entire circle-face—his hat looked like a cinderblock, the cars behind him could hardly be called that. She had inscribed the picture _UNKL BOOBY_ with lots of lopsided hearts and he had accepted that drawing graciously, straight-faced, said " _thank you very much, darlin_ ', _this is real good,_ " and then went into his study and laughed until he cried. _Uncle Booby._ That damn drawing was still on his refrigerator years later when his home burned to the ground—the drawing was obscured by a calendar and a Chinese takeout menu and some magnets, but he never took it down. And you know what else? He left that crater Dean made out in the salvage yard. There were still stains on the floor of that house where Sam's experiments had left their marks. Because to Bobby, those things were the things that mattered. That drawing, the hole, the stains—they were constant reminders and evidence that he had kids who he loved, blood or not. In fact, some love, he thought, was stronger than blood.

* * *

**Present Day**   
**Hammonton Regional Hospital, New Jersey**

Almost at the point of tears, Dean stalked down the hospital hall in a flurry of upset, pained emotion.

 _What the hell!_ What kind of insensitive, brain-dead hospital-employed asshole would come up to him and ask if Bobby were an organ donor right _now_?! While Bobby was laying in there hooked up to a million machines that were keeping him alive? The assumption was that Bobby was going to die and Dean got that and _hated_ it. He shoved the door to the outside world open with enough force to make it bang loudly as he marched through. He shook out his injured fist, still too adrenaline-riddled to really feel the pain that would soon start to sear the knuckles that had punched a glass panel out of rage.

He literally couldn't handle everything being thrown at him right now. He couldn't handle the thought that Bobby was dying in that building behind him right now. He _refused_ to accept that as a possibility.

At least Sam was with him again… it was rocky between them at best because of Amelia the Kitsune (and then, of course, Sam's surprise 'marriage' to Becky…), but at least they had gotten past all their crap long enough to regroup a little. Just in time for _this_ horrible new nightmare… Dean swallowed down his shaky, upset feelings and checked his watch distractedly. _Where are they?_ He felt so anxious he wanted to jump out of his own skin. Dean paced a few steps to his left and dragged a hand down over his mouth, trying to prepare himself and get it together. Jamie should be close by now with his sister in tow. He had no idea what to expect. Last time he'd seen Alex, she'd completely rejected him and broken his heart. He didn't know how she would take Bobby's serious life-or-death condition and he was second-guessing her coming here at all now. What if she couldn't handle seeing him like this? Cas's death had sent her over the edge, what might Bobby's death do to her? Dean caught himself in that thought and immediately reacted inside. _He_ _'_ _s not dying_. _Not on my watch._

Dean turned and paced to the right, trying to walk off some of his jangled nerves. He had another thing gnawing at his mind: Last time he'd seen Jamie was when he'd copped a bad attitude, mouthed off, disrespected her verbally, and then ran her off as a result of his own pain and not knowing how to deal with it. He hadn't even talked to her since except to make a frantic please-pick-my-sister-up-and-bring-her-here call. Miraculously, she'd agreed to do that. But she had sounded less than thrilled to hear from Dean. The way she answered the phone when he called with a flat, " _what_?" had been all the reminder Dean needed that he'd messed up whatever friendship he'd had with her and probably burned that bridge. He seemed to be good at that lately… destroying the relationships that meant anything to him. Losing people.

 _Whatever. Just_ _…_ _whatever._ Dean shook his head and stopped thinking about it. His apprehensive gaze darted restlessly around the hospital parking lot in front of him, and he stopped mid-step when he noticed a shiny black car with night-dark tinted windows idling nearby. A sudden burst of hatred filled Dean. He _knew_ whose car that was without even a moment's hesitation. He _knew._ He marched down the stairs of the hospital entrance and went straight to the car. "Dick!" he thundered. "I know you're in there! Come on out—" he reached the car and pounded his fist heavily on the closed rear window of the car, "—you _dick_."

The window lowered a little with a mechanical groan. Sure enough, grinning leeringly at Dean was Dick Roman. The man who had shot Bobby and put him in this hospital. Every fiber of Dean's being was coursing with absolute hatred and he wished he knew a way to kill these sons of bitches… but he knew no way of killing them. Only of slowing them down and disabling them. "What, did you come here to finish the job?" Dean demanded loudly. "Kill me and my brother?"

Dick's smile widened lifelessly. "What can I say, I finish what I start, champ!" he boomed enthusiastically, that irritatingly false cheery tone making Dean's skin crawl and veins fill with lava. Behind him, he could hear a few bystanders getting interested—Dick Roman was famous, and people were noticing him.

Dean played that card for all it was worth. "Yeah well good luck ganking me with all these people around, _Dick Roman!_ " He said the name really loud to draw more attention. It worked. A couple nurses who were on break glanced over, another bystander began to film with a cell phone.

Dick didn't look shaken at all at Dean's attempts. In fact, he just looked more maddeningly smug and wicked. "Say, how's your sister these days?" he asked, causing Dean's temper and fear to flare at the same time. Dick teased him ruthlessly. " _Really_ been wanting to see her again… think you could set something up?"

"You listen to me you slimy two-bit jackass," Dean hissed, his finger pointing at Dick threateningly. "You so much as _look_ at her and I will _end_ you. She is off limits to you, to that Edgar douchebag, to all the other goopey _freak_ friends of yourswe've taken down!" He and Sam had noticed a pattern with the Leviathan: that they were all obsessed with Alex and finding her. And as far as Dean was concerned, that was _not_ gonna happen.

Chuckling and shaking his head, sighing as if Dean's behavior was adorable, Dick's eyes never blinked even once. "See that's where you're wrong, Dean," he said languidly. "You can't 'end' me. I'm forever. I don't die." His smile fell just a little and his eyes were suddenly filled with ominous promise. "That's _your_ job. And I'm going to see to it that you and that bad-haircut brother of yours are buffet grub soon enough, but…" he glanced around at the bystanders and seemed to admit mild defeat, or to at least decide he was better safe than sorry. His voice punched up a notch. "What say we do this thing later, Dean? Hmm?" A lifeless smile stretched his mouth across his pearly white teeth. "Maybe you should go check on that friend of yours. He can't be feeling too frisky right about now… I'm a very good shot."

Dean wanted to rip this guy's freaking spinal cord out of his body. "You son of a bitch, you listen to me," he spat, pointing at Dick again with a jabbing index finger. "We're coming for you, and I don't care if you think you can't be killed, I will _find_ a _way_."

A hearty laugh barked out of Dick's mouth. "Sure, _sure,_ " he said in maddening calm. "Whatever you say, Dean." He got a cold glint in his eye, a smirk pulled at his mouth, his voice softened. "But riddle me this. What's to stop me from going into that hospital right now and taking one of the doctor's appearances or even _your_ appearance and spiriting your sister away?" Shock struck Dean like lightning. "I know she's on her way here," Dick said in an almost sing-sing voice. Abruptly, he became dark and frightening. "And I _want_ her. I'm going to _get_ her. No one can stop me, especially not you. When I want something, I get it—end of story." His threatening tone gave way to more disconcertingly pleasant laughter. "I'm laughing because I win, no matter what, and I already have." He shook his head as if in fondness at Dean, who was steaming and shaking and petrified but not showing it. Nearby, Dean could hear an ambulance wailing loudly and approaching very quickly. Dick's lazy, entitled smile lounged around on his lips. "All I have to do is sit back, kick my heels up, and wait, because the day is coming wh—"

That ambulance sounded close—like it was reaching top speeds and not about to stop, and Dick and Dean looked at the same moment, confused. Dean saw what was about to happen and his instincts kicked in _just_ in time to save him from being killed. He jumped back even as the speeding ambulance smashed headlong into Dick Roman's shiny black Lincoln so hard and fast that the entire front end of the car crumpled. The car was slammed back by nearly twenty feet and into some parked cars there with a sickening metal crunch.

Fallen down onto the ground nearby with an arm thrown up over his head protectively, Dean winced as debris rained. The ambulance siren gave a couple sad sounding dying sounds and ceased to work at all. Dean pushed himself up and gaped at the wreck.

Around him, onlookers were freaking out, screaming, running to try and help.

"Oh my god!"

"Was that Dick Roman?!"

"What happened?!"

"Is everyone all right?!"

The chaos was immediate and pronounced as people swarmed the wreck. "Son of a _bitch_ …" Dean murmured, unsure of what had just happened. He saw black goo dripping down out of the ambulance driver's seat and into a storm drain. _What just happened?_ Dean stood up slowly, grimacing because his shoulder had taken a bad hit when he jumped out of the way. Dick Roman was nowhere to be seen. The only body present was of his driver, who apparently had been a human man. He was very, very dead.

For a minute or two, Dean watched dumbly and skirted the scene at a very wide berth, trying to figure out where Dick had gone and who had been driving the ambulance. The only clue was that black slime.

Shaken up and needing to verify that Sammy was okay, Dean hurried back inside. Were there more Leviathan around? How could you ever even _know_? Those shapeshifting bastards only had one weakness… was Dean supposed to just walk around with borax-infused soap and squirt every person he came into contact with? Dean walked at a march down toward where he'd last seen Sam. When he turned the corner, his gait paused for a second. He saw his brother (impossible to miss at that tall, imposing build). With Sam, appearing short even though she wasn't, a familiar figure with long blonde hair. No Alex to be seen, though. Dean hardened his face in an attempt to be unreadable as he approached the two of them.

"Hey," Sam greeted when Dean walked up.

"Hey," Dean replied gruffly, glancing at Jamie very briefly. Her body language had immediately changed at his approach—she folded her arms, her expression became mildly resentful and mistrustful. They must have arrived right when Dean was outside or something. His gaze guiltily dodged hers and he looked around for his sister, aware of how curt he was being. "Where is she?"

"With Bobby," Jamie replied. She sounded really tired and looked the same.

Dean followed the nod of her head—from where they stood, he could see that Alex was in Bobby's room with him, standing at his bedside and holding one of his hands in both of hers. Unconscious and in a coma, he looked like death warmed over. His head was wrapped in gauze and bandaging, he was hooked up to a million machines, he was pale and looked like an elderly man, not like the kickass hunter that he was. Dean watched his sister say something to their uncle and fight off strong emotion as she did it, he watched her touch shaky fingertips to the side of his face very faintly. His heart ached for so many reasons all at once. Nothing was in his control anymore, Dean reflected. _Nothing._ He had spent so many years being told by Dad that he had a job to do and that his life depended on doing the job. But Dad never said there would come a day when nothing Dean did would work. When he wouldn't be able to protect them at all from the pain of reality. When he wouldn't be able to save Bobby or stop the unthinkable from happening. There had always been a way to cheat fate before, why did now have to be different?

"They're—they're saying there was an accident outside?" Sam asked in a concerned voice. He was exhausted, same as Dean, and his tenor voice bore witness to the fact.

Dean was pulled out of his pain however marginally. "Yeah, I dunno what that was, it was crazy," he said—he didn't wanna talk about it yet. Not with Jamie there. He reluctantly looked at her, feeling too awkward to know exactly what to say. He settled on a general question asked in a hard tone. "Everything okay on the road?"

Guarded, tired, very clearly exhausted and disapproving of Dean's short attitude toward her, Jamie shrugged, eyes drifting to look down the hallway at Alex. "Well, she didn't say anything the whole ride, but yeah." Her ice blue eyes flicked back to Dean, unreadable. "Uneventful, if that's what you're asking."

She was still _way_ pissed at him—he could tell. But most girls _did_ get pissed when you called them what he had and said what he did. Quite honestly embarrassed at himself because hindsight was twenty-twenty, Dean just wanted her to go away so he didn't have to think about it anymore. "Well, you look, uh, pretty terrible," he said, then kicked himself immediately. He meant to say 'tired,' but she _did_ look terrible and it had just slipped out. She appeared sick almost (dark undereye circles, pale color). It didn't look like she had washed her hair in days or slept in just as long either. Sam made a bit of a face at Dean's blunt comment and Jamie looked pretty ready to kick him in the nuts, but Dean just decided _it is what it is_ and stuck with what he said—he'd make things worse if he kept talking. He motioned toward the little break room area nearby. "Get yourself some java," he suggested sort of forcefully. "They got some in that room right there."

Jamie looked like she'd rather punch him in the face, but she complied with a half eye-roll. "Yeah, _great_." She walked off and Dean made a face like she was the one who was out of line.

"Geez," Sam commented.

He got a perturbed glare from Dean. " _What_?"

"You two are just becoming more and more like the old married couple who hates each other."

Dean's mouth drew into a wan, unamused line and he crossed his arms, looked away. "Shut up Sam," he muttered, then leveled his brother with a correcting, sharp stare and leaned a little closer and lowered his voice to a harsh murmur. "Maybe quit cracking lame jokes and start _worrying_ because that accident outside was _Dick_ freaking _Roman_ getting hit with a damn _ambulance_."

Sam's face showed shock and then immediate worry. " _What_?" He glanced at Bobby's room at their sister, then looked back at Dean and became furtive. "What _happened_?"

Surly, frustrated, glancing around constantly for perceived threats, Dean was glib. "Let's just put it this way… I don't know how they're gonna twist _this_ one on the news. Dick gets hit with ambulance, disappears out of car, reappears a couple days later just fine? _That_ _'_ _s_ not suspicious." Dean huffed then shook his head and set his jaw, his worry intensifying as he looked at Sam meaningfully. "But he's got it bad for Al too, just like the others, so…" Sam's face immediately darkened, but he looked like he'd suspected as much. Dean realized just how stupid it was to bring Alex into the line of fire. "Dammit, maybe we shouldn't have brought her here," he muttered.

Sam seemed to consider that sentiment but he shook his head regretfully. "No. She deserves to be here if… if this is it."

Dean bristled immediately. "Don't say that to me," he snapped. "This is _not_ it." He turned and walked off a single step in anger then turned back around and threw his arms out for temper-riddled emphasis. "Sam—it's not _safe_ here, for _any_ of us," he said, worried about the other problem at hand. "We're sitting ducks!"

Calmer despite his harrowed and exhausted mood, Sam nodded weary understanding. "I know Dean," he said, trying to sound reasonable despite how anxious he was. "But we can't _leave_. Bobby needs us right now."

Dean glanced around them again with a watchful, hyper-vigilant stare. "Just keep your eyes peeled," he said stiffly. A needless thing to say, obviously. He dragged his palm across his face. _When was the last time I slept?_ He had no idea. He had more important things to worry about. He crossed his arms again and looked down the hall into Bobby's room. Alex had pulled a chair up close to the bed and didn't look like she was planning to move anytime soon. "What's the update?" he asked, unable to look away. Bobby could do this. He could _fight_ it. If anyone could, it was him.

"Swelling's down a little," Sam said. "They took him off sedation. Apparently, he—he started fighting his tube. So they pulled them out, and he's breathing on his own."

Dean perked up and fought off the urge to hope too much too soon. "That's good, right?" he asked, then realized he didn't know what that lingo really meant. "Is that good?"

"Yeah," Sam said, then quickly edited himself. "Well… doctor said best-case scenario."

Nodding slowly with gathering speed, Dean's mind was trying to race to put everything together so he could predict the outcome. "All right, so when they gonna take the bullet out?"

Sam looked reluctant to break the bad news. "Dean, t-they're not even—they're not even gonna try that, not yet."

His heart sank a little. "What does that mean?"

Sam looked down, distress pinching his face. "The word's 'abrading,' I think?"

Dean's mouth flattened into a thin line. " _English_."

"Cutting out the dead brain tissue," Sam said somberly.

Dean couldn't find words. _Dead brain tissue._ His heart was sinking further and his entire body felt ill. He vaguely heard some shoes clicking on the floor nearby—Jamie was back he realized as he turned slightly. She had a little foam coffee cup in one hand. Arms still crossed, Dean glanced at her briefly, perturbed at her reappearance. "You know a magic spell to make this all okay, Bewitched?" he asked. He got a _you_ _'_ _re being rude_ side eye from his brother.

Even though Jamie looked sick of Dean's crap, she said nothing about it and glanced down the hall at Bobby, her features somber and regretful. "There's a few spells that could help with the pain, but… if his brain is damaged…" she looked back at Dean and reminded him of what he already knew. "Dean, most of the spells I have access to are for supernatural stuff." Her mouth pushed to the side briefly in a suppressed expression of embarrassment. "And you already know my magic has been getting more and more…" she gestured a hand sort of awkwardly and dodged his gaze.

"Wonky," Dean supplied ruefully, a little apologetic and contrite now. His crappy attitude softened a little. "Yeah, I know." He'd been wondering (and worrying) about that off and on the past couple weeks since their fight, actually. For the past few months, Jamie had been experiencing what she described as 'power shortages.' She had been getting sick on and off and her magical abilities sometimes failed or only half-worked. Dean wondered if her Hellhound day was getting really close. She refused to tell him any details about it. Not that it was any of his business, but still. Was that why she looked so tired right now? Or was it just the hunter life?

Jamie looked like she was feeling pretty down on herself now that Dean was actually paying attention. "Sorry," she said, and Dean saw how her eyes held true sadness as they gazed down the hall at Bobby. "I'd help if I could."

Bobby was her friend, too. Dean softened more. He wasn't the only one hurting here and he nodded a little and allowed himself to be marginally earnest for a second. "I know you would," he told her, nodding slightly. She always did. Her eyes lifted to look into his for a brief moment. Her stare was intense and seemed almost vulnerable. She didn't look at him like that much and it startled Dean.

Sam seemed distracted and sent Jamie a brief, gaunt expression as he took Dean by the shoulder and began to steer him away, breaking the moment. "Sorry, I—uh, I just need to talk to my brother for a second," he said.

The brothers moved down the hall about ten paces, out of earshot. "What?" Dean asked, worried about what was clearly bothering his brother and curious about what the privacy was needed for. "Talk about what?"

Sam's face was filled with this greatly pained sadness. He took in a breath then let it out like he was bracing himself. "You know what."

Dean clouded over. "Sam," he said firmly. "No, we're not gonna have that conversation."

"Well, we _need_ to," Sam retorted in short patience.

"He's notgonna _die_ ," Dean said, his patience failing too.

Sam looked pissed. "He _might_."

" _Sam_."

"Dean, listen—we need to brace ourselves," Sam said urgently. "This is _real._ _"_

It felt like being backed into a corner and being slowly crushed. And Dean did _not_ like that feeling. "What do you wanna do, Sam?" he asked angrily. "You wanna hug and—and say we made it through it when Dad died?" Seeing red, his voice was rising in volume and roughness. "We've been through _enough_ , we've lost enough fathers in our lifetime, this isn't gonna happen, he's not gonna die!" Becoming accusing, Dean let a hand sweep out in Alex's general direction. "What do you think another death would do to her, huh?" he demanded in a harsh low voice, then had his hand chop back to indicate himself. "What do you think another death would do to _me_? Especially because it's B-" Dean's voice abruptly caught on a tight, rocky throat. His voice softened because he quite literally couldn't speak at full force anymore. "Especially because it's _Bobby_."

Empathetic at painful levels, Sam nodded slowly, his eyes silently asking Dean to please be reasonable and listen. "I know," he said earnestly. "But… it's not like we have control over this," he said quietly. He sounded near tears, too. He looked like he were searching for the right way to say it, and he used a careful, earnest tone. "People die, Dean."

He lost it. " _Not Bobby_!" Dean snapped, and he abruptly stormed away, knocking into Sam's shoulder when he did.

Exasperated and tired, Sam let out a deflated sigh and gave up, letting his brother stalk off. He wandered back to Jamie after throwing his hands up into the air out of frustration. He didn't know how to talk to his brother sometimes. And Dean didn't really want to talk about it. _Clearly_. Jamie was sitting in one of the chairs lining a portion of the hall and had her coffee sitting next to her, untouched. She looked up at Sam with a silent question in her eyes as he sat down beside her and took a second, giving a frustrated sigh and rubbing his forehead briefly. He glanced at her sidelong after a second. "Sorry about him," Sam apologized woodenly. He was tired of apologizing for Dean and his stupid, immature, self-centered, childish behavior. But he still did it. "You know how he is."

Jamie made a bit of a cynical face and looked off, nodding vacantly. "Yeah. I do." And then after perhaps three seconds, she abruptly stood up and surprised Sam when she headed off to, by the looks of it, impulsively follow Dean down the hall. Sam stared—he wasn't sure if she were brave or stupid to follow Hurricane Dean. He wasn't nice to be around when he was this level of upset. But Sam said nothing and returned to watching his sister and keeping an eye out for anything off or suspicious. Enemies could be anyone these days. And Sam was determined to do his part to keep the rest of his family safe while he still could. He was upset, too. But that didn't give him permission to storm off and stay in denial.

Maybe Jamie would have better luck talking to Dean. Sam scoffed to himself. _Yeah right._

* * *

Dean was pacing a short little stride, practically steaming at the ears. In the empty little break room, there was a small cheap table and two vending machines in the room plus a little coffee station for the hospital visitors to use. The room was small and stark, lit with buzzing florescent lights.

Jamie had no sooner entered the room than Dean began to rant seemingly to no one in particular. "It's just one bullet, he can survive that, it's just one goddamn bullet!" he raged, tearing back and forth in his frantic back-and-forth. He was agitated to clearly intense levels and it looked like he was going to give himself a heart attack if he kept it up. "If that bastard dies on me, I will burn this entire place to the ground!"

Jamie made a face and went forward then grabbed him by both arms, stopping him. " _Dean,_ " she said with no huge amount of patience, like she were talking to a kid who was testing her last nerve. "Look at me. Bobby's alive in there right now. He hasn't died. Not yet." Empathy showed through on her pretty features as she let go of him. "Don't give up."

Dean abruptly gave a soft, derisive chuckle and looked down, shaking his head as a cynical little smile placed on his lips.

"…What?" she asked warily.

"It's just funny," he said heartlessly, looking down on her coldly. " _You_ , preaching to me about giving up hope."

Jamie looked at him with a suddenly indignant, challenging expression, narrowing her eyes in what looked like disbelieving offended anger. He was acting the same way he had the last time they'd been in the same room together, and they both knew it. "… _Really_?" Jamie asked, voice tight. "I drive however many hundred of miles to bring Alex here after you were a total _dick_ to me? I come in here to try and talk to you when one of the most important people in your life is laying there dying and you say some shit like that to me?"

Dean's pride and grief made him stupid and stubborn. He pretended not to care about her at all and he shrugged apathetically. "Yup. Guess so."

Jamie's temper flared. "You're such a fucking child," she snapped, voice raising from bottled-up bitterness. "Stop trying to piss me off by being the world's biggest jackass and just admit you're scared!"

Dean's face twisted up into an ugly expression. " _Please,_ " he scoffed. "Nothing scares me."

Her attitude began to climb and she didn't bother hiding a very disgusted eye roll. "Oh _grow up_ , Dean! How about you tell someone what's going on and stop throwing punches at the people who _try_ with you? I don't need this! Why do I even _try_?"

Still acting big and bad, Dean shrugged. "You got me," he said, rudely turning his back on her in an effort to insult her further. "Leave," he suggested bluntly and uncaringly. "Door's right there. I won't stop you."

Fed up, Jamie stared at him a couple seconds more. "You're a fucking idiot," she said, then turned and began to leave.

But just as she got to the door, Dean's suddenly-soft voice stopped her. "Jamie."

The way he said her name made her stop on a dime and turn back around to look at him in confusion. He was standing facing one of the vending machines and he had his eyes closed, head bowed. After a few seconds he opened his eyes and stared at the vending machine. She could see his profile and it was tight with pain. He said nothing for a long moment, but Jamie didn't go—she just watched him and waited.

Finally, he spoke. "Sam thinks… Sam thinks this is it," he said faintly. Dean tried to explain, tried to wrap his own mind around how he was feeling. "You don't understand," he said blankly, still staring at the vending machine. "Can't lose him. I _cannot_ lose that man. I am one freakin' step away from going cracker jacks in the brain, I am _this_ close to calling it quits." He suddenly laughed, but it was a pained, joyless sound. He hit the vending machine with a fist and looked at Jamie like she mystified him and made him mad. "And you're in here trying to talk to me— _why_?" He sounded like he was accusing her of something. "You've done so much for me, my _family_ , why do I deserve that? Huh?" He was approaching her now. "Tell me why! I know what I am! A rude asshole who drinks too much and treats the people around him like shit and for the life of me, I can't figure out why I went to Heaven when I died last year." There seemed to be no point to what he was saying at the ever-increasing volume. "I don't belong there, I know where I belong!"

"Dean, stop it," Jamie said tiredly, exhausted with his behavior and his self-pity.

"You know, I wish it _would_ stop," he said. "All of this _crap_ , all the fighting, all the constant over-our-head battles we can't win. I'm tired of this, James!" He abruptly lost his wind and his gusto and his shoulders slumped a little. "Tired. Can't do it much longer." He shook his head and his mouth flattened into a thin line as he looked in the general direction Bobby was with a deeply worried expression. There was a wall there, but he looked all the same.

Jamie nodded her understanding but didn't try to kiss his ass or gloss over anything. "If we don't, who will?" she asked plainly. Dean hadn't wanted to hear that and shut his eyes, let a breath out of his nose. She watched him a minute and softened slightly. "I know you're tired," she said, and she clearly felt the same. She was quiet, but there was a fierceness to that quiet. "But you don't get to quit. And you can't act like this. What we do isn't a career choice. It's a death sentence. It's signing up to give it all away and fight as long as we can. Bobby knows that. So do you." Her eyes searched his and showed that she knew his pain very well and was dealing some herself. "I'm sorry Dean. I don't like it either. But people die. It's a given. And you need to be ready for that possibility."

Dean tried a halfhearted joke. "You really suck at making a guy feel better, you know that?"

Jamie gave him a very wan, chagrinned little smile. "I didn't come in here to make you feel better," she said. "I came in here to tell you that you gotta get it together."

He looked at her like she'd suggested the impossible. "How?" he asked. He knew he did, but he didn't know how to get there at all. "You know what he means to me."

Jamie shrugged sadly. "You can't save everyone, Dean."

* * *

Still seated in the hospital hallway, Sam was pressing his thumb hard into the scar on his hand, digging the digit in deeply to cause himself discomfort and pain. Lucifer flickered out and Sam was relieved. For a moment, the hallucination had distracted him out of watching his sister. That's when he realized she'd shuffled up to him and was sitting down beside him. "Hey," he greeted, a little surprised that she had left Bobby's side. Maybe the nurses told her to leave.

"Hey," she replied, eyeing how he was pushing his thumb into his palm. She looked pretty tired and drawn, slightly underweight and definitely very distressed. "What are you doing?" she asked, nodding at his hands.

A little embarrassed at himself, Sam tried to explain without showing his discomfort. "It's, uh, how I get rid of the… the hallucinations," he admitted, wishing there _weren_ _'_ _t_ hallucinations at all. "The pain, it helps." His sister—obviously very emotionally all over the place—nodded and looked off and down the hallway. Her hands worked nervously, her jaw clenched and unclenched. Her blank yet agonized expression got to Sam fast. "You okay?" he asked her. She shrugged and then shook her head no, and Sam's heart went out to her. "C'mere." He shifted a little closer to her and put his arm around her. To his surprise, she leaned against him and rested her head onto his shoulder, but her arm around him readily. He had sort of thought she was going to get angry at his attempt to comfort her. So when she accepted the gesture and hugged him like that, Sam was touched (and a little worried). He rubbed his hand against her jacket-clad arm a couple times, trying to think of some way to make her feel better. He couldn't think of any way of doing that. No words seemed right. And he didn't want to give her false hope either.

"So tired of losing people Sam," she said softly.

When she said that, he understood that she was expecting Bobby to die, too. Just like he was. Sam felt a pang of unbearable sadness hit him. "I know," he said. This was getting realer and realer. "Me too."

Alex was quiet a minute then shook her head slightly against his shoulder. "How are you still doing this?"

"I dunno," he confessed honestly. He wasn't sure if she meant life, the job, or what. But the answer was the same for everything: "One day at a time, I guess."

She abruptly pulled out of his side-embrace and in frustration raised her hands to be in front of her in emphasis. "He was fine," she said, her trembling voice bearing witness to the fact that she was very, very upset. "I saw him two weeks ago and he was _fine._ " Her hands slapped down onto her knees and she shook her head, put an elbow onto her knee and bowed her head into her hand.

"He might pull through," Sam said, but his heart wasn't in that statement. He doubted it very much. "He might be fine."

Alex looked at her shoes with this cynical, jaded little expression on her face. "Come on Sam," she murmured. "I know better than to hope anymore."

Her words hurt him, cut him just like Dean's did. "Don't be like that," he insisted, voice becoming faintly harsh. "Don't give up."

Alex was apathetic and sad in a disquieting way, shrugging as she looked up into middle distance in front of herself. "I gave up a long time ago."

Sam felt an instance of something like fear ripple through him at how blasé and lifeless she sounded. He tried to be firm. "Well Bobby deserves better," he said almost defensively. "Don't give up on him yet." His twin's eyes came sidelong to look into his doubtfully. Sam repeated himself meaningfully and pointedly. " _Don_ _'_ _t_." She said nothing and looked away, squeezed her hands between her knees and bobbed one leg constantly in nervous energy as she looked down the hall.

About half a minute of silence passed and Sam decided to try and lighten the mood, tried to tell Alex a little bit of what had been going on with him lately. His mind went into one of the only recent pleasant memories he had—this had happened shortly after he visited Alex a couple weeks back, actually. "So, I, uh, I met someone," he said, remembering a honey-haired girl who was tall and beautiful and had this refreshingly sweet shyness to her he had really been drawn to—her smile and voice were both stuck in his mind. His smile faded a little as he thought of _another_ woman. "And then got married to someone else the next day." At the completely confused look he got from Alex, Sam gave a nervous, short, breathy laugh. "Funny story." The look on her face said _explain. Now._ So, Sam did. "Yeah. Um… so do you remember Becky?" he asked self-consciously. Alex got this look of semi-dread on her face. And Sam began to recount the very odd story of how, thanks to magic and demons, he'd ended up married to Becky Rosen. It was funny but also mortifying and odd, but it definitely got Alex interested and something close to amused.

By the time Sam was finished telling her the story, she was smiling very slightly. "That's… that's pretty random. And insane."

"Tell me about it," Sam said, chuckling.

Alex thought a minute then frowned slightly. "So who was the someone you met who wasn't crazy-Becky?"

At the mention of _her,_ Sam felt a surge of schoolboy nerves and tried to hide his stupid little grin. "Yeah, um… yeah," he said, fumbling around for words as he scratched an ear. "Her name was Annaliese and she was, uh… really great." He felt self-conscious and stupid and couldn't stop smiling as he thought about her. "Like, _super_ smart, really beautiful, easy to talk to… I dunno, she was… like, I dunno." He tried to find the right word. "Special?" He laughed at himself self-consciously and realized he was rambling. "It sounds dumb but I just… let's just say I really wish I got her number." His smile was fading. "Or last name. Or any kind of way of finding her again." He'd been in Vegas for just the week, she'd been there just for the weekend, a bachelorette party or something… he'd probably never see her again. Sam saw Alex's sort of blank look and he was quickly chastened. Maybe telling her about this stuff and being so giddy was insensitive. He hadn't really been thinking that way, he'd just wanted to tell her about one of the single good things that had happened recently. Feeling immediately guilty, Sam cleared his throat and made himself get serious and forget the girl. "So," he said, hunching forward over his knees a little and studying her carefully. "When you gonna come back on the road with us?"

"I don't wanna be on the road," was her immediately and quiet reply. Her eyes went back and forth on the floor in front of her. "I have a room at Sunny Meadows. It's mine. Same bed, every night." She looked at Sam, who understood what she was saying: she had consistency there, something that wasn't really attainable on the road. His sister seemed mildly rueful, but she shrugged. "They serve food that isn't gas station crap. All the people there are kinda cool. A little messed up in the head, but… I dunno, so am I." She frowned slightly, looked at her hands absently. "I feel normal there, sort of." Alex appeared unsure of how to feel about that sentiment and she looked at Sam with a disturbed little frown on her face. "Is that weird?"

Sam shook his head no. "I just want you to be okay," he said in all sincerity even though it pained him to know she was having such a hard time. "Take as much time as you need." He paused and rubbed his palms together. The past few months had been rough, and Alex's absence had been very noticeable. However, there were the constant Lucifer hallucinations, and sometimes _she_ was the Lucifer he saw. Because of that, sometimes, he'd been glad Alex wasn't there on the road with them because it was so mortifying and disturbing. Her not being there with him and Dean had made him feel a little less ashamed about it. But he couldn't tell her that and he didn't want her to have to feel any of the horrible things he felt. He didn't want her to know the darkness he knew. "Just know we're hoping you come back someday," he said, looking at her with a brave little smile despite all the anxiety he was feeling. "It's just not the same without you in the back seat."

Alex was picking at a frayed thread on the knee of her jeans. "I dunno," she said glumly. "Hunting is…" she expelled a heavy breath and stared off into space. "It's the only thing I know how to do, but… nothing feels right anymore."

Sam nodded a few times, studying her profile somberly. "I know what you mean."

Alex felt his careful gaze and turned her head, studied him in return then a soft little smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, surprising Sam. And then she abruptly poked him in the side of the face. "I like your sideburns."

Sam smiled despite himself and touched fingers to one—they were something he was trying out. "Thanks."

Alex stroked the side of her face thoughtfully and frowned off into space thoughtfully. "Think I might grow some too."

Sam chuckled in earnest at the unexpected compliment and joke. Her sense of humor wasn't gone. That was something positive. It relieved him, because he had barely recognized her when he visited her at Sunny Meadows last. She had _always_ had a very marked sense of humor her entire life and when she didn't joke around or make faces or give purposefully deadpan reactions, he worried more.

At that moment a couple hospital staff, a doctor and a nurse it looked like, came out of Bobby's room at a brisk stride. "All right, Kendra," the doctor said briskly, marking up a clipboard as she went. "Keep the head of the bed up for transport. IV can run off the pump. Just run a TKVO but we'll have to wait for respiratory."

The nurse nodded understanding and then headed back to Bobby's room as the doctor waved over a couple other nurses. Sam stood up fast, watching the new development closely in concern. "Wait, wait, wait, wait," he said, catching the doctor's attention as he approached. Near him, Alex had drifted to her feet too and was standing there with a look of dread on her face. "What's happening?" Sam asked.

"He's showing signs of responsiveness," the doctor answered. "We're taking him up for surgery. If you want to see him, I'd squeeze in there quick."

Sam was already moving. "I'll get Dean," he said, hurrying down the hallway in search of their brother.

Alex went the opposite direction to Bobby's side. He didn't _look_ like he were showing signs of responsiveness. He was still laying in that tiny little hospital rolling bed with shut eyes and pale color. He was still hooked up to a bunch of machines and he had an oxygen mask on to help him breathe. Alex stood there at his side as a small flurry of nurses worked and did things she didn't understand or know about with all the nearby machines and contraptions. But her focus was on Bobby.

She put her hand on his then grasped gently, leaned down a little. "Hey old man," she whispered after a second. Her voice was tight and difficult to speak with. Tears were gathering in her eyes and she squeezed his hand a little tighter. "You look really stupid with that bandage on, so hurry up and get better, okay?" The only response was the steady _beep beep beep_ of the heart monitor. Bobby Singer. Paranoid old bastard with a million surprising skills and talents—could kill you a thousand ways and would probably be polite while he did so unless you pissed him off—gruff and bear-like on the outside, tenderhearted softie on the inside. He was important. He was special. He was irreplaceable. Alex slowly leaned down and kissed his cheek (she hadn't ever done that before) then drew back and looked at his familiar careworn face. She touched the side of his face and her fingers stroked through rough, grizzly beard. The oxygen mask he wore made her so sad and scared. She was overwhelmed with how much she loved this man and how deeply afraid she was that he wouldn't survive past today. She was stricken by how she had never told him how much he meant to her—how she'd never told him he was ten times the father to her than John had ever been. Maybe it was too late.

She held his hand closer and crouched down a little to be almost level with the rail lining the bed, her eyes scanning his face over and over again in a search for any sign that he was gonna make it. _Be okay, please. Just be okay. I have so much more I wanna do with you. I need to make it up to you, somehow, all the things you did for me throughout the years._ Through bleary, tear-garbled vision, her eyes took in his face and she decided to tell him what he meant to her once and for all. Hoping he could hear somewhere deep down in there, she pulled his hand close then kissed the back of his hand softly, eyes on his face the entire time. With her mouth just against his hand, Alex's voice was just a strained whisper so just he could hear. "If I could have picked a daddy… I would have picked you."

The room was silence except for _beep, beep, beep._ Her heart was pounding hard and aching inside of her chest, straining and needing him to respond, to wake up, to tell her to ' _quit that cryin_ _'_ _right now, sweetheart. Ain_ _'_ _t no need._ ' But he just laid there. Alex could hear Sam and Dean's heavy boots approaching nearby and she turned her head to look at them, let go of Bobby's hand—and then his fingers tightened in hers and she whipped her head to look at him in shock—he suddenly opened his eyes and looked around in a daze as he became fully conscious.

"Bobby?" she asked, freaking out, holding his hand tight again. "Bobby!" He seemed disoriented and urgent, looking around with rolling eyes and a strange expression on his face.

"Hey hey hey, is he awake?!" Sam double-timed to her side and Dean was right behind him.

"Bobby?" he asked, relieved and worried sick at the same time.

Bobby pulled Alex's hand to his chest and he yanked off his oxygen mask with his other hand as his mouth gaped open as little grunts came out—he was trying to say something but was wheezing and panting like he was having an asthma attack. "Don't talk, don't talk!" Dean commanded urgently, whirling around and looking for something in a tizzy. "A pen, gimme a pen—!" He grabbed the chart at the end of the bed clumsily and dropped it with a clatter even as he snatched the marker that had been attached to it. He put it into Bobby's right hand. "Here. Here, here, here."

Bobby held the pen weakly and pulled Alex's hand to himself palm up. He began to write on her hand with great labor as the Winchesters watched in stunned uncertainty. He wrote down the numbers 45489. When he was done, he let the pen drop and he relaxed. Everyone looked at the numbers briefly, mystified, then back at Bobby, who seemed satisfied. He was smiling at them tiredly, fondly, his soft eyes looking over every single one of them in turn. He squeezed Alex's fingers and looked at her with an unspeakably heartfelt gaze. She hung on breathlessly like her brothers did, because it seemed like he was about to say something important. He opened his mouth and wheezed out a few labored words in a very weak voice as his eyebrows raised in an expression of earnestness. "Woulda picked… you… too…" he said, each word a vast struggle. Her heart exploded inside of her and Alex squeezed his hand, nodding even as her face crumpled and eyes flooded. _I know. I know you would have. You proved that over and over again._ Bobby smiled for the last time as his voice rasped up out of him to say one final word that was thick with the kind of love a father has for his children. His eyes rested on Dean and Sam, his lips were turned up at the corners in a smile that was weightless, free, and tender. "… _Idjits_ _,_ " he murmured in that husky, gruff voice of his. His eyes crinkled a little as the smile rested in his eyes and made him look fine, happy, younger. All three Winchesters were momentarily stilled and finding themselves smiling back through it all. And then, Bobby's smile faded away into a slightly confused expression, his eyes lost their light, and his head sagged against his pillow as his eyes fell shut.

Without fanfare, an important life slipped away like so very many do: to the tune of a solid, unending beep and a flatline. Leaving more questions than answers, leaving behind three young people who would never quite recover from the loss of the man who they called uncle but viewed as father.

* * *

**A Few Days Later**

Outside, rain poured torrentially like a monsoon.

Alex still dripped from it—she'd come in from the rain and was soaked, sitting on the floor leaned against a plastic-covered couch. It was dark in here, she was alone, it was quiet except for the downpour outside. She hadn't bothered to dry off or remove any of her sopping wet clothes and she probably wouldn't anytime soon, either.

Nothing mattered. She didn't care at all. The only thing she could think about was Bobby, her brothers, and every other fucking loss she'd ever had to shoulder.

Sitting beside her, a bottle of whiskey she was nursing had temporarily been forgotten. She stared out of one of the windows. It was night, but one of the outdoor parking lot lights lit the rain. The weather felt like her insides. Relentless grief hammering down inescapably, drenching everything it touched. It seemed like it would never stop. Like night would last forever and the rain would drown her.

She'd been back at Sunny Meadows for a few hours now—checked herself back in and then snuck outside after hours and wandered outside smoking and drinking. That's when the rain abruptly started pouring and soaked her. She was now hidden away in the abandoned portion of the facility, the off-limits boarded up part, drinking a lot. It probably wasn't safe to do that because of the huge dose of Oxy she'd taken, but it wasn't like it'd kill her. Nothing would, after all. Still, she felt sick and drunkish, deeply depressed. Not even the painkillers or booze had done much for her. Nothing could take away the bad feelings and despair.

Someday, Sam and Dean would die too.

That was the worst and more pressing thought her mind was stuck on. She didn't want to love them anymore or care about them anymore… that way, it wouldn't hurt as much when they were gone. _You_ _'_ _re so fucking selfish and stupid_ … _do you even hear yourself right now?_ Alex took another huge burning drink of whiskey to try and make her internal critic stop. It didn't really work. Her mind was plagued by deep and continuous self-loathing she didn't know how to rise above.

She and her brothers had given Bobby a hunter's funeral and she was still struggling to cope and accept what had happened. The sight of her uncle burning to ash had been one of the worst moments of her entire life. When her brothers tried to comfort her as the fire raged, Alex had reacted poorly thanks to the beginnings of Oxy withdrawal and the devastating amount of grief she was feeling. She had screamed that it was their fault Bobby was dead and stormed off telling them to stay out of her life forever—she'd gone and found a pharmacy and broken in to steal herself some painkillers. She'd never forget sitting in one of the dark aisles of that closed store sobbing as she shoveled those damn little pills into her mouth and waited for them to work, to give her relief from the aches, the sickness, the sweaty shakes. She would never forget wondering what the hell she was doing to herself and to her family. But it felt too late and she didn't know what else to do. She was out of control and a victim, no longer a victor.

From there, she'd spent about thirty hours on a bus back to Sunny Meadows. She didn't know where else to go or what else to do. When she got back, she found out that Zip was gone—her only friend there. Apparently he'd checked out sometime after Jamie had come to get Alex.

Alone. She was _alone_. She wanted to be alone, but she was also so needy of a reminder that she wasn't alone. It was such a mess… here she was, trying to push away the only people she had left in the entire world. Sam and Dean's hurt at her behavior had been tough to swallow down and left her guilty. She simultaneously hoped they would never come see her again even as she wished they would walk in the door right now and tell her they weren't gonna leave no matter _how_ much of a bitch she was to them.

That was stupid to imagine. Stupid and not gonna happen. She had been horrible to them and they were probably finally going to give up on her like she'd given up on herself.

Alex sat there and drank more and remembered Bobby and wondered why she had never appreciated him as much as she did now. He was puffy vests and flannel shirts, engine-oil streaked arms and gruffly disgruntled wariness. He was dependable and loyal to a fault, he was grizzly-bear tenderness and pats on the back that silently said it was all gonna be all right. He was cantankerous and grumpy and sarcastic and funny and she hadn't expected him to ever leave. But now he was like so many others she had known: gone. Taken away too soon. Robbed of the rest of his life.

In times past Alex probably would have gone the route of revenge and anger and justice. She would have found the monster who killed Bobby and made him pay with agony, blood, and screams. But hopelessness had shackled her feet down and she wasn't fighting anymore. It was too much, she was too tired, it felt futile. She wanted to lay down and be done. But that just wasn't an option. She was stuck being alive. If you could call this crappy existence being 'alive.'

She put her hand into her pocket and pulled out Cas's wedding band, looked at it as it gleamed up at her from the palm of her hand. Her heart constricted. _Really wish you were here right now, Cas_. He would make this better. He would know what to do. Alex tried to remember what it felt like to be held by him, but she couldn't recall the specifics. It felt like she hadn't been touched or comforted in a lifetime. She shut her eyes and tried to conjure the feeling of being near Castiel, of being cradled and protected by his strong arms. But she had trouble even remembering his face.

A soft creaking startled her and Alex looked up fast, realizing simultaneously how drunk she was—her head felt like it was beside her and rolling around on the floor. Zip was peering at her from where he was slowly coming out of the shadows. "Hi," he said. He saw her confusion and how she was drawing back slightly as if she were afraid of a stranger. He stopped. "It's me," he said, waiting for her to recognize him. He wasn't wet like she was—he was in a typical hoodie and jeans that were a little too big for him.

Blank, Alex frowned at him. He wasn't supposed to be here anymore. "I thought you had checked out…" she said slowly.

He grinned in typical nervousness and shrugged. "Well, yeah but… I'm back," he said sort of hopefully. He was stiltedly playful. "My neuroses win again. Heh, ' _curses_ _'_ …!" he shook his fist playfully and awkwardly, not fully committing to his attempt at humor. Alex was too dead inside to respond at all and just looked back at her bottle of whiskey which she held loosely between her knees. Zip watched her in silence for a few seconds, his eyes darting around her and the cobweb-riddled abandoned wing in slightly confusion. "So uh, what are you uh… what are you doing?" he asked, trying to be conversational. But she could hear that he was a little worried. He came a little closer.

Alex answered honestly and direly. "I don't know."

He came closer still, his eyes very keen. "You're soaking _wet,_ " he observed, his voice taking on a concerned tone. "Won't you get sick?"

She shrugged shallowly. "Doesn't matter."

He made a little bit of a face like he disapproved of that statement. "Yes it does," he said, and began to wriggle and shrug out of his hoodie.

Seeing what he was doing, Alex protested halfheartedly. "No, don't—it's—" she let out an inconvenienced sigh as he put the clean, dry garment around her shoulders gingerly.

He sat down beside her and looked her over again—the whiskey bottle, her expression, her new levels of depression. His eyes, which were pale blue, looked dark black in the dim light. His gaze rested on her carefully and he was empathetic, sensitive, watching her closely, seeing everything. "What happened with you?" he asked her quietly and gently.

She opened her mouth to tell him it was none of his business and to leave her alone. And then, the truth came out instead. "My… someone very important to me died," she said softly. Those words hit her own ears and she still wasn't sure if she believed it or not. It didn't feel real. But saying it made it realer. Made it harder. Made her so much sadder.

Zip looked pained on her behalf, his boyish face showing sympathy and understanding. "I'm so sorry," he said faintly, being sensitive to her.

Alex nodded, still staring straight ahead at the window. Her eyes had tears in them that were rolling down onto her cheeks. She didn't understand this outcome at all and felt like a small child: Confused about why life had to be the way it was. "I loved him," she said, speaking to herself almost. "He was my dad, all those years, like… he did the things my dad should have done. And now he's gone. And I wish I'd spent more time with him. Talked to him more. Realized before it was too late." She looked down at the bottle of whiskey and she felt nothing but regret and failure. "I watched him burn away to nothing." That wasn't right. Bobby had turned to nothing but dust. His home was gone, everything he had built and made just went up in smoke. No friends and family remained, no true legacy. Just a discombobulated network of hunter friends who would soon realize that the hunting community had just lost one of its finest. Alex sniffed loudly and wiped at her nose, depressed about every single last thing. "Nothing feels like it matters anymore," she murmured starkly. Yet at the same time, she was guilt-tripped and stressed out because she knew Sam and Dean could use an extra hand now more than ever. But she could barely function on a daily basis… how was she supposed to help anyone? "I shouldn't be here," she lamented miserably, putting her head in her hand. She needed to do the _job_ and stop laying around feeling sorry for herself.

She felt Zip put a hesitant arm around her and pat-rub her shoulder uncertainly. "It's okay to be here," he said softly, and she finally really looked at him.

His eyes had this way of intimidating her to a small degree, of making her feel vulnerable and seen in ways only Cas had seen her. _Was_ it okay to be here? He seemed to really mean it and she felt like maybe she could believe him. His warmth beside her and his clear concern half-comforted her and half-unnerved her. It felt a little wrong to be touched by someone who wasn't family or who wasn't Castiel. But Zip somehow had gained a special place in her world the past few months. He had always listened to her, always been willing to stick up for her. He was a good friend—a better one than she'd had in a long time. They'd spent a lot of time together and she was pretty comfortable around him, pretty familiar with his quirky personality. He was irresistibly odd and funny—a good example was the one time a condom commercial had come on and he got this look of realization on his face. " _So_ that's _what the thing in my wallet is for_ ," he'd said. She had laughed because she thought he was joking. He'd made a face like he didn't know why she was laughing. She definitely loved his deadpan sense of humor and how cynical and self-deprecating he was. But there was another side to him, an innocent side. He wasn't like the other people she knew (jaded by the world, harrowed by the hunt, cursed). He was just normal, weird, a little mentally unstable—super uncoordinated and not athletic at all. Dorky, neurotic, jumpy. Honestly, he reminded her of Cas so much of the time with his oddities and his sweethearted personality. Sometimes he would ask questions Cas might have asked, sometimes he said things Cas had literally said to Alex before. That was why Alex currently didn't have the heart to reject Zip's arm around her shoulder. He reminded her of what she loved, and he was the only one there. She needed comfort right now, and his arm around her was better than nothing.

Outside, thunder rumbled deeply and ominously. Alex wondered where her family was and what they were doing. Again, guilt gnawed at her. "I feel so wrong about being here though," she said softly, worrying her bottom lip and trying to figure out what the hell to do with her life. It didn't feel entirely right to be asking Zip for advice, but she had no one else to ask. "What else do I have besides my brothers now, you know?"

Zip's dark eyes were intense and quiet just like his voice. "Me, maybe."

Alex stiffened a little and shook her head no. "You and I are _not_ like that, Zip," she said in a hard voice, leaning away from him slightly.

"I didn't mean—" he protested, seeming upset with himself and her immediate rejection of his venture. "We're… we're _friends,_ _"_ he said, but his feelings were obviously hurt and he had wanted her to be interested in him like he was so clearly interested in her. Still, he stuck with the 'friends' story. "I know that much. And I um, I care about you. You care about me." Alex looked at him doubtfully. He did that little hopeful, awkwardly nervous smile and shrugged a shoulder up, letting her know there wasn't any pressure. "It doesn't have to be anything else if you don't want it to be." She had seen how he looked at her. She wasn't stupid… he was interested in her, he'd tried to kiss her before. She knew it instinctually: he wanted her. She'd been trying to ignore that for awhile now.

She said nothing in return, just felt her face twisting up in tense thought. He was cute, he was sweet, he was nice, but she had no real interest. The same could be said for most things in life currently: she had no real interest. That, and no trust. Not after Glen, not after Cas and Destroyer. She couldn't love again and she didn't want to either. She wanted to lose the ability to feel completely. And she didn't understand why she was so incapable of getting back on her own two feet. "What is _wrong_ with me?" she asked in all honesty, staring out into space. "I'm stuck on pause. Like I think… like I think he's gonna come back." Blue eyes and a deep voice and a tan trench coat flashed through her mind and her throat tightened, her heart cracked. "Like I think after a commercial break the show comes back on." She thought of Bobby's burning flesh and bones on a pyre made out of firewood she had to help chop down. Sadness flooded her insides. "It's _not_."

Zip touched her left hand gently with his free hand, sending a rush of unexpected tingles through her at the faint touch. Startled, Alex was shaken out of her thoughts as she looked at his slender, smallish hand that was similar size to hers. "I know how it is to be all alone," he said, and his voice carried a weight that didn't seem possible of his young years. He sounded just like she felt, and she couldn't look away as he continued to talk because it seemed like he truly understood—she was desperate to be understood. "To feel like you have nothing and no one." Gone was his typical clumsy and neurotic speech pattern. He spoke softly, somberly and his eyes held onto hers. "I hate feeling that way. I don't want you to feel that way, either. It's the worst."

His tender tone was making her feel fuzzy and weird. "Yeah," she agreed in a near-whisper, frozen under his touch and a little short of breath at his close proximity. "It is." She wasn't sure if she wanted to get further away from him or closer.

He swallowed as slight nervousness showed. His eyes scanned back and forth between hers apprehensively. "Tonight, I can… I can help you not be alone."

Alex's pulse picked up as a rush of nervousness made her feel lightheaded. Her throat was dry and it felt like the air had evaporated from the room. "How?" she breathed, not sure if she wanted to know his answer.

There was a very long pause in which he looked at her intensely, deciding something. Finally, he spoke. "This," he said quietly, touching the side of her face with gentle fingers and studying her eyes, then her mouth as he leaned closer. She didn't turn away—she stayed still with held breath as he kissed her mouth softly and briefly, so sweetly. Like it was his first one, like he wasn't sure about how exactly to do it. The touch of his lips startled her body into an abrupt state of endorphin-riddled pleasantness. Her reaction startled her, because she had never felt attracted to Zip but her body was immediately interested in continuing… and she felt ashamed immediately and grieved. Because _Castiel_.

Her heart hammered and her stomach turned and she swallowed thickly, staring into his eyes uncertainly. Zip waited, hand still on her face, gauging her reaction to what he'd just done. He looked unsure, like he was waiting for her to make the next move. She didn't know what to do, so she did nothing at all, leaving it up to him. His dark, full eyes flickered from her eyes to her lips repeatedly. When she said and did nothing and didn't pull away, he leaned in close again and gave her another questioning kiss—softer this time, more open-mouthed, and he didn't pull away. More euphoric feelings surged up inside and after a couple seconds, Alex kissed him back tentatively as her eyes fell closed—she had forgotten what it felt like to be kissed, and even though it felt amazing and comforting at soaring-high levels, her heart twisted in pain because his mouth was different, his smell wasn't the same, his face was smaller than Cas's. Zip wasn't who she really wanted. But his kiss had her craving physical pleasure with every atom she possessed. The way he kissed her felt like he loved her, and that was what she wanted the most: to feel how Cas had made her feel again. Zip's hand touched the side of her face gently and carefully, thumb stroking a little across skin affectionately. He broke her with that touch. The grief, pain, the need for comfort all surged up in her and she melted into him like candle wax, let the kiss deepen as she reached up and pulled him closer by the back of the neck. She let herself pretend he was Cas, she shoved away the heavy pit in her stomach that said _don_ _'_ _t do this_. Her desire won out.

In a million years, she wouldn't have pictured this. But she was starved for love and reassurance and something like the heaven she had touched in times past. That was why Alex let him keep kissing her. His kisses became deeper and deeper, and the way he pulled her close brought back a time when Alex had been safe, loved, and cherished beyond compare. The buzz she was in from her whiskey binge erased inhibitions and muffled her inner conflicts, made it easier to forget herself and just be in the moment.

As Zip continued to coax her into a dream of beautiful feelings that she was so desperate to experience again, she grew more and more continually pliable, soft, and lost in feverishness. She just needed to feel alive again, and he was taking her there and she wanted to use him for that. An addict to the euphoria, she lost herself in kisses that meant very little except good physical feelings. As kisses grew intensely hot and heavy, they ceased to be enough and the touching began, then more and more and more.

The rain poured loudly outside and what happened next on the floor beside a plastic-covered couch was probably a mistake, but one she made all the same. She thought of Cas the entire time, tried to find him again, searched for him in the arms of someone else. He wasn't there. It wasn't the same. And she wasn't sure what she'd thought it would be. She shut her eyes tight against conflicted feelings as Zip gasped into the side of her neck and dug his fingers into the skin of her back, as the cold floor pressed into her shoulder blades. A single whisper escaped her mouth, a wretched word she breathed and lived and died for all over again: " _Cas_." But the man she was with was not him, the pale blue eyes that looked back at her in faint confusion and mild hurt didn't belong to the one she loved.

Alex shoved Zip away and then fled immediately without a single word. The reality of what had just happened sank in at devastating levels. And she felt all the emptier after that.

* * *

The shower was noisy and too hot, scalding her all over. But she stayed under the stream of water, trying to burn away every touch she had ever endured that she hadn't wanted, hadn't allowed, or now regretted.

_It_ _'_ _s not a big deal. I don_ _'_ _t care about it. It_ _'_ _s over now. It meant nothing._

But it did mean something and it wasn't over. She couldn't be apathetic about it like she wanted to.

Alex was in a vague state of shock as she replayed what had happened over and over again. She almost couldn't comprehend it or accept it as having happened because it was so out of left field for her. But it _had_ happened and her mind couldn't stop reliving it over and over. How it had felt good enough while it was happening; how it had served to distract her and give her some semblance of momentary comfort… but every pain she'd forgotten during the heat of the moment was back at even more intense levels and now with new guilts and confusions to add to the mix. She cried in that shower, tried to wash Zip away—his smell, the ghost of his touch on her skin, the sound of him, his weight on her, the feeling of the bare floor pressed up against her back.

_I just want Castiel. I just want him back. I just want this to be a bad dream._

_I just want Bobby alive and Sam and Dean okay again and me back to who I used to be._

_How do I get there?_

She asked herself that over and over again. But there wasn't a way back from the place she had found herself in.

_How did that even happen_ _…_ _?_

Alex was deeply confused because ever since the second rape attempt she'd endured at Destroyer's hand, she had thought she might never be able to have sex again—she'd had nightmares about being held down—she'd avoided being around big men she didn't know—she'd worn jackets that hid her body even when it was hot inside. So why all that and then tonight? She'd gone and fucked a mental patient on the floor while drunk with no real problem or anxiety, only a hunger and need that she was now ashamed of. She wanted to blame the drugs or the alcohol, she wanted to say they were the reason she'd gone and had what felt like a meaningless, stupid sexual encounter.

Every time with Cas had been earth-shattering, important, and so very unspeakably intimate. It felt like the final tragedy to no longer be able to say she'd only been with one man. It hurt because it cemented the fact that Cas was gone all over again. It made her realize anew that he was never coming back, that she would never see him or touch him or hear his voice ever again. That the kind of love and soul-to-soul intimacy she'd had with him wasn't attainable past this point. His loss was beyond what she could fathom.

Without Castiel, there was a terrible ripped void in her life. The irony was that _he_ was the one who had done the damage to begin with— _he_ was entirely at fault for ruining it all, for making the wrong choices and keeping secrets and building a scenario fated to crumble. It seemed to Alex that she was cursed either way, with Cas or without him… but she would truthfully rather have him, cursed or not.

Didn't matter what she wanted though. She was left with reality. And the reality was that she'd just gone and slept with a guy who she could barely scrape together feelings for—she'd had sex not out of love but out of desperation and a need to cope with her grief. It felt like she was spitting in the face of Cas's memory to so readily sleep with someone else, someone so vastly meaningless in comparison to her husband. That word stopped her mentally in her tracks. _Husband_. Grief poured over her all over again at what she'd done and what she'd lost.

Alex sat down in the shower and hugged her knees, let the water keep raining over her as she cried. She'd been happy, hopeful, so in love just a few months ago, anchored by the angel in the trench coat and loved beyond compare… to the point of obsession, it had turned out. And now she drifted aimlessly after he devastated her world and destroyed everything. Now she was the kind of girl who would just let any guy fuck her. Well, that wasn't true. Zip wasn't just anyone… and Alex had zero plans to have sex again, maybe ever. Not if it triggered all this grief and shame and confusion. She was so done with feeling sad and let down.

She shut her eyes and rested her cheek against her knee as she focused on breathing in and out and calming down. If she got much more worked up, she thought she'd have a panic attack. _You_ _'_ _re okay. You_ _'_ _re okay. You_ _'_ _re okay._ She imagined that Cas was close by watching over her… it was supposed to be for comfort, but that train of thought backfired quickly. What would he say if he knew what she'd just done? She could imagine his face, heartbreak in his intensely blue eyes because he knew she'd made a step in letting go of him. She tried to imagine he was still real and alive, that he still loved her and always would, that he could forgive her for letting another man do what only he had done.

Alex lifted her head and stared at the blank white-ish shower wall in front of herself. She couldn't stay here at Sunny Meadows anymore. Not with Zip around. She had to get away from him. Hopefully she would never have to see him again or have to look him in the eye. Mortified wasn't quite the word about everything that had happened, but especially one thing: She'd said Cas's name. You couldn't explain that away. And otherwise, Alex just didn't want to have to talk to Zip about it or acknowledge that it had even happened at all. She wanted to run away from reality.

Seemed like she was best at running away from things these days…

All she wanted was to get to a place where she wasn't a basketcase of hypocrisies. Where sex wasn't something she felt like she had to conquer and brave and be ashamed of all at once. Where her body wasn't a cage that imprisoned her and held her to addictions she could no longer control. Where she didn't live in fear every waking moment, where bad memories didn't own her and send her into panic attacks, where Dad's voice didn't beat her down inside, where she could recognize herself again.

She looked at the palm of her hand where the numbers Bobby had written were still semi-visible. _I should be trying to figure out what these mean with my brothers_. _Doing something about what Bobby did with his left efforts. Not sitting in a shower feeling sorry for myself._

Even though she felt a sense of duty and obligation to do just that, Alex still couldn't muster the willpower to actually do it. _Maybe I_ _'_ _ll just go live in the wilderness somewhere and get a dog and grow crap like Robinson Crusoe did. Or maybe I_ _'_ _ll find another mental health home where I can just watch TV for the rest of all time._

Either way, she couldn't sit in the shower forever.

Slowly, Alex got out and dried off and made plans to pack up and leave Sunny Meadows in her mind as she dressed. When she pulled her jeans up and buttoned them, that's when she realized something very important of hers was missing. Cas's ring, the one he'd given back to her just before dying, wasn't in her pocket where she always kept it. Immediately panicking as she tore apart the immediate area and then her room in a frantic search for the most important object she owned, Alex found it nowhere. She rushed back to where she and Zip had been and scoured the area ten times, getting more and more alarmed each time her search came up empty. She found nothing. She decided that Zip must have picked it up and she hurried to his room in as much quiet as she could (the halls were echoey and loud, especially at night). Alex dreaded seeing him after what had happened earlier. But when she knocked on his door, there was no answer. She promptly broke in and looked around for her ring. It wasn't on his dresser or windowsill. She began to pull drawers open and tossed aside socks, underwear, some towels. Nothing. Second drawer. Nothing. Third drawer. Nothing again.

She pulled the bottom drawer open expecting more of the same and then froze completely as she inhaled sharply enough to gasp. Her heart jammed into the top of her throat because she was staring at something very familiar and she was so shocked that for a moment she could do nothing— _she was looking at Cas_ _'_ _s trench coat_. It was folded up neatly and stored in Zip's bottom drawer. _Why_? How could this be _the_ coat? Why did Zip have this?! As if in a dream, Alex slowly took hold of it and pulled it out. It was definitely Cas's—it had black stains from the Leviathan all over it, just like she remembered. Her heart clenched and tightened and ached. _Oh, Cas_. She clenched the coat tighter, barely able to believe she had it in her hands—how was it a simple garment could inspire such overwhelmingly strong feelings in her? She heard a soft sound behind her and turned fast, crushing Cas's coat to herself protectively like a mother might hold an infant.

Zip stood in the doorway and his demeanor was contrite, quiet. He looked caught, guilty.

Suspicion and anger rocketed. "…Why the _hell_ do you have this?" Alex demanded in a shaking voice.

He was quiet for a couple seconds. "Took it," he answered quietly, his eyes raising up to look into hers slowly.

 _Took_ it?

But it disappeared from _Bobby_ _'_ _s._ Why and when would Zip have been there…?

And then Alex realized.

Wait.

_Wait._

Suddenly, a string of clues she had overlooked completely began to fall in line inside of her mind.

… Zip had checked in to Sunny Meadows _the same day she had_.

…He disappeared for weird amounts of inconsistent times and staff could never find him when he went MIA.

… The disappearances Dean had mentioned from the nearby elderly home and the morgue had started _when Zip had shown up in town_.

… He had checked out of Sunny Meadows when she left here to go see Bobby in his final hours, then he had checked back _in_ when she did, too.

… He _had this coat_ and had taken it from Bobby's—which was where she'd been pulled out of the burning house and had sworn the person who did it was wearing this coat.

… Zip had been wearing red swim trunks when she first met him and he hadn't taken them off for two weeks. Alex vaguely remembered seeing someone in red swimming trunks at the lake when she was having a breakdown after Cas walked in.

… _Had that been Zip?_

A sickening suspicion was overcoming Alex about who Zip really was.

He saw the dawning look of horror on her face and he quickly began to try and explain everything away, which only made her more certain that he was who she thought. "Listen, i-it's not what you think," he said, coming into the room and holding his hands out. "I can explain it all if you just listen—"

She was clutching Cas's coat and waited until he was close enough—and then she shoved him mid-sentence really hard into the cheap, light bed frame nearby hard enough that he was knocked sideways and the bed scraped across the floor. She ran out of the room, but he was already behind her, protesting and telling her to please, _wait_!

She ran to the rec room—it had the closest exit out of the building—but as she got there, she spotted an abandoned bucket of soapy mopping water against the wall. Remembering what Dean had said about Borax, Alex picked up the bucket with one hand and flung a good portion of the contents back at Zip—he stopped, flinched and held his hands and arms up, trying to keep the sudsy liquid from hitting him in the eyes and face. The water drenched him. He screamed in pain as his skin smoked off of his face.

Alex staggered back a little, horrified. No. _Oh my god, no._

Zip was groaning and holding his burning face with both hands as the skin slowly repaired itself. " _Augh_ —it _hurts,_ " he managed weakly. He sounded like he couldn't believe she would hurt him. And when he looked up at her with betrayed eyes, when his hands came away from his face for a second, unmistakable black goo dripped down from a hole that was closing in his cheek.

 _Holy_ _…_ _shit._ Sick enough to puke, Alex managed to stay on two feet somehow. He was a _Leviathan_ and she was beside herself. Clinging to the bucket with white knuckles and one hand, she stayed on the defensive. There was still some soapy water in the bottom and she was ready to throw it at him if he came any damn closer.

In genuine pain, he was hiding his face with one hand and holding the other one out defensively. "Alex, please, listen to me—" he begged, groaning and grimacing. "I'm, I'm not like the others. I'm _not_."

Even though she had no weapon on her, Alex made a threat in a cold, chillingly dark voice—this was the voice she reserved for enemies, for those who were as good as dead. "Give me one goddamn reason why I shouldn't chop your head off right now."

His features showed confusion and hurt at her words and tone. "I-I've kept you safe this entire time," he said, stumbling verbally in his normal awkward way as he straightened and held himself timidly. "I, I pulled you out of the burning house, I kept Dick Roman from getting you at the hospital, I've _killed_ so many of my kind to keep you safe—I'm not bad and I'm not trying t-to hurt you or lie to you, I just wanted to _protect_ you… because I… my feelings… for you…" he trailed off wretchedly at her increasing look of disgust. "Alex, please… you gotta believe me," he pleaded.

"Don't tell me what I have to do or not do," she replied icily.

Zip had the audacity to look heartbroken and then abruptly resigned. He nodded quietly, swallowing down obvious disappointment and embarrassment. "I knew if you knew what I was you would never love me," he said softly.

" _Love_ you?" Alex asked harshly, completely incredulous—did he think because they'd had sex…? Her temper suddenly hit magma-hot levels. "You son of a bitch! I never would have done _anything_ with you if I knew what you were!"

Hurt and slightly angered, Zip's voice raised for the first time she'd ever heard. "I didn't choose to be what I am!" he protested. "I don't _like_ what I am! I had no _choice_ in who I was created to be—" he threw his arms out appealingly. "Did _any_ of us?"

 _Unbelievable._ "What, so you killed the real Kyle so you could take over his life and pretend to be a human?!" Alex asked, sicker and sicker as she learned more and reality set in. "You had a choice _there_!"

Zip looked insulted. " _No_! I didn't kill him!" He wet his lips, getting agitated because she didn't believe him. "Kyle Young, the person I became, drowned in that lake the night before Castiel walked in. I found him there and I brought Kyle _back to life_ _…_ _!_ Sort of…" he was babbling on and on, trying to get her to listen to him. "I don't _like_ hurting people, Alex, I _hate_ it. I don't like having to _eat_ people or even animals, it's just not right to me." Alex was backing away from him with a very dangerous look on her face and Zip was losing his fire as he saw he wouldn't convince her that he wasn't all bad. But he still tried, however sadly now. "Mostly I eat other Leviathan and human food. Some old people here and there so I don't, you know… wither away into nothing and die." He looked vaguely sick. "I'm… I'm not proud of what I have to do to survive." His eyes looked into hers hopefully and hers remained hard and mistrustful. She couldn't _believe_ she'd had sex with him. Fucking _hell._ He looked at her for a minute longer then said a single word she didn't understand the meaning of. "Least."

"…What?"

"That's my name," he explained reluctantly. "My _real_ name. Least. I'm… I'm the reject of my kind, I guess you could say." His eyes seemed far away and he looked incredibly depressed. "Most of my existence I've been running away from Original." At the confused look on her face, Zip explained. "You know him as Dick Roman. I don't think I was supposed to exist, honestly. He made me by mistake and tried to erase me for however many thousand years. But I'm, heh, good at hiding I guess. And then we were set free out of Purgatory and I saw you and… _felt_ things and… just wanted a chance at something good and decent, a real life… maybe love…" he trailed off momentarily and gazed at her with renewed hope and earnestness. "Alex. I know this isn't ideal. I know you probably think I'm a monster, but—"

"Because you _are,_ " she spat, still clinging to that bucket of soapy water. Visibly stung, his eyebrows moved in together for a second. What did he think, that she would be _happy_ to learn he was one of the ones who had possessed Cas? "It's your fault he's dead," she said in a trembling voice. "You _killed_ him."

He shook his head faintly, seeming very sure about his stance. "He knew what he was doing when he summoned us from Purgatory," Zip said quietly. He sounded sad, which she didn't understand. "He knew the risks. He did it all to save you from what he did." Hearing someone talking about what had happened to Cas made wither up inside. "Alex… I… I'm all that's left of him," Zip said quietly, stepping just a little closer. Alex stiffened immediately but didn't splash him. "Do you realize that?" Zip was looking at her piercingly like Cas used to. "I'm Kyle and I'm Least and I'm Castiel, all at the same time. But I feel like the angel most of the time. I have his thoughts, his memories, his… his _feelings_." Alex's mouth was slowly parting open. She had _no idea_ , but it was beginning to make sense why he looked at her like he did, why he had been so attentive and soulful with her _…_ "I _am_ him, in a way. I… I remember everything." Zip was looking at her so emotionally. "Sometimes the memories of us feel so real that I…" he trailed off and Alex wanted to fucking _weep._ No wonder she had felt whatever connection to Zip and had readily gone to bed with him. She'd glimpsed some small part of Cas in him. Zip saw how she was getting upset and empathy made his face twist up. "Alex, beloved, I—"

Alex felt like she'd been slapped when he used that term of endearment with her. "Don't call me that!" she screeched, throwing the bucket at him in a fit of completely blindsided grief and rage. It hit him in the shoulder harmlessly even as she rushed him and shoved him hard into a table. "Don't you fucking _dare_ ever call me that! Only he calls me that!"

"I know." Zip looked hurt again but soldiered on, straightening from where he'd been pushed against the table. "And I… I could be him for you," he said softly.

Alex's stomach turned. "…What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Zip indicated himself briefly and looked down at himself. "I don't have to look like this. I could look like…" he looked back up at her and without any warning whatsoever, he morphed into a completely different person. A taller, bigger, trench-coat wearing person. A person with startlingly blue eyes and dark wild hair and a face Alex never thought she'd see again. Castiel. Stunned and so upset, she staggered back from Zip. "This," he said, and his voice had changed, too. Deep, husky, familiar. He looked and sounded exactly like Cas, and Alex was devastated and frozen, barely able to breathe.

"No, _stop_ ," she protested unevenly, eyes filling with tears.

Zip, looking and sounded exactly like her lost lover, just looked at her sadly. "I know, Alex. What he did to you. How you'll probably never die." He stepped a little closer and it was torture. "I'm eternal, too. And I can look like him. I can _be_ him."

She looked up into those eyes but even though his face was Cas's, she knew it wasn't him. Still, when his hand came to the side of her face to brush away some hair, she didn't move. She shut her eyes and suppressed a sound of dismay and yearning. Fingertips she never thought she would feel again. But it _wasn_ _'_ _t Cas._ How fucked up was this? Panic and alarm and hatred swelled inside of her and her eyes snapped open. "No one can be him but _him_ you bastard!" She shoved him away animalistically, snarling almost. "Don't _touch_ me!" He still looked like Castiel and she couldn't freaking _take_ it. In the place of anger was sudden hopeless devastation. "Please… I can't even look at you," she said hoarsely, near tears and looking away. "Take him away."

Zip did as asked, and he was once again shorter, smaller, a completely different physical manifestation. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you," he said, seemingly extremely uncomfortable and regretful. "I… thought you would want that. I know how much you loved him."

Alex clenched her jaw and set him with a gaze of stone. " _Love_ ," she corrected stiffly. "Not lov _ed._ " She was breathing hard, shoulders heaving up and down. She held her hand out and demanded he hand over what was hers. "Give me the ring. _Now._ "

He hesitated, then slowly withdrew Cas's ring from his pocket. "I didn't want to lie to you," he said, contemplating the ring anxiously. "But I just… I wanted you to… to love me. It's stupid. I know." He looked her in the eye and she snatched the ring away and turned to leave. She was absolutely ill inside and felt like she might pass out from the anxiety that was coursing through her veins. She clenched Cas's coat to herself and his ring in her hand and made a beeline for the exit.

"Wait—where are you going?" Zip asked, sounding worried and following her.

" _Leaving_."

"I'm coming with you," he insisted, hot on her heels.

"Like hell you are," she snapped.

He blocked her way out of the door, moving really fast and making her come up short. "Listen to me, Alex, you _can_ _'_ _t_ ," he said urgently. "It's not safe out there without me. My kind is out there—and they're all _looking_ for you. They've gotten close before. I have to keep you safe."

"Says who?" she retorted roughly. "I don't want you around, understand? I'm leaving." She tried to push past him but he grabbed her by the upper arms—she could feel it then—he was really, _really_ strong—his fingers were close to leaving bruises. A slight instance of fear ran through her.

"And what, going back to your brothers?" he asked, focused on one thing only. He seemed really upset. "They can't keep you safe, not forever Alex, not like I can!" He was vehement. "Dick won't stop until he has what he wants. And he wants _you_ but he's not like me. He'll _hurt_ you. Let me keep you safe, it's what Castiel would want."

"You don't know what he would want," she challenged tightly, stiff in his hands and wishing he would let go—the irony wasn't lost on her. Only an hour or two ago she'd been with him. And now his touch was the most repulsive thing on the planet.

"That's where you're wrong," he replied softly and knowingly. Alex's heart dropped. When would she ever have any such chance again to be with someone who carried a part of Cas inside? But she couldn't. And Zip was scaring her because he was holding her so tightly. He saw how his touch was unsettling her and his fingers loosened. "Don't be afraid of me," he said, seeming appalled that she was. "I would never hurt you."

She looked him straight in the eye, defiant and bitter. "That's what he said too."

Deflating, disappointed, Zip let go of her completely. "I'm sorry. I wish you had found out the truth in a better way."

"And I wish I hadn't been stupid enough to fall for all your fucking lies, but we can't always get what we want, can we?" she fired back defensively. Her words hurt him just like she'd wanted and Alex began to draw herself up to her full height. "You know what?" she asked, suddenly filled with purpose and courage that came out of nowhere. She felt like she was remembering herself as she stared down Zip, who she now viewed as the enemy. "I'm sad. I've had a shit year. _So what_. The world is still spinning and I'm done feeling sorry for myself and sitting around like I can't do something about things that need to be done." She stepped closer and put her face in his intimidatingly. "I am going to wipe every last one of your kind off the map. You've saved my life a couple times but I don't owe you fucking anything. I'd _run_ if I were you." She stared him down with a razorsharp gaze. "Now _move_."

Zip considered her for a second, appearing dismayed at where the exchange was ending. And then he moved, allowing her to leave. Alex left him with one parting threat: "Follow me and I'll _kill_ you."

She left that place and never returned.

* * *

**A Couple Hours Later**

Alex sat on the hood of her stolen car, feet on the bumper. The rain had let up and the storm front had blown over, leaving stars visible in the early-morning sky.

She hugged Cas's bunched up coat to herself. He had been real. This was evidence of that. She studied one of the buttons for a long moment and rubbed her thumb along the curve of it—a touch that had tenderness and longing and deep sadness in it. He had worn this, he had been defined by this, he had been _real_ and hers. They had shared a love story most people would have found too fantastic to be real. But fire and light had turned to dark. Love, a word that had seemed so pure, was now twisted and had a bitter aftertaste. He was supposed to have been good. And he hurt her worse than anyone else ever had.

Castiel was the empty chair beside her and the burned down attic, he was the silence surrounding her when her ears strained to hear the soft stirring of wings. He was her broken heart and the only one she could ever love. He was her curse and her gift—she wasn't sure which one he was more of.

_It_ _'_ _s better to have loved and lost than never loved at all._

She wasn't sure if she bought that bullshit.

In one of Alex's hands, between her middle and index finger, a cigarette burned slowly. She took a long drag and somberly let it out, watched it dissipate into the night air. Life was hard to understand.

She absently thought of Zip and another wave of devastating guilt washed over her. She thought that maybe sleeping with someone else was supposed to have fixed something or changed her perspective or set her free from Castiel's grip on her heart. But if anything that grip felt tighter. _Never again._ Or at least not for a long, long time. Not until it was with a man (or woman, even) that she loved and trusted. But would there ever be anyone besides Castiel? Could there be? She just didn't know. She really didn't think so. Her heart was spent and empty and forever in the possession of a dead angel.

So. Now what? Alex was at a proverbial crossroads. She could either continue to wallow around in self-pity and aimless depression… or she could make good on her threats to Zip. She could exact revenge on the monsters who had killed Bobby and hurt Cas and hurt her, too. She could pick herself up and fight to take her life back.

 _Jesus._ That sounded impossible and hard and painful. She preferred easy and pain free, especially after being so hurt and nearly destroyed by what had happened.

Her mind drifted into a memory from when she'd been staying with Bobby when Dean died and went to Hell. It had been a time of deep depression for her, comparable to now, but not quite as bad.

" _You know, kid, I see it two ways,_ _"_ _Bobby said in that patient, slow way he had of speaking._ _"_ _You can sit around and feel bad. Or you can pick yourself up and kick it in the ass._ _"_ _He smiled at her crookedly and she thought she saw his eyes twinkle at her._ _"_ _Now I dunno about you, but I think we outta get ourselves up and kick it in the ass while we still got good knees._ _"_

Alex smiled a little to herself, bittersweet. She still had good knees.

_Sit around and feel bad. Or pick myself up and kick it in the ass._

She'd fallen down a pretty long way. Picking herself up wasn't going to be easy. It would take exhausting amounts of work to try and get better, to try and find closure. But where there was a will, there was a way. She just had to decide what she wanted. What was a girl who'd found herself to be basically immortal to do? Sitting around and feeling like shit for the rest of time didn't sound good. Manning up and deciding to take this curse and use it to her advantage sounded more admirable.

Alex looked at the cigarette between her fingers and a sudden instance of distaste ran through her. _You know what? Fuck you_. In a sudden rush of decisiveness, Alex put Cas's coat down beside herself, stood up and threw the cigarette down with a finality she hadn't even known she had in her. Staring down at the lazy smoke ebbing out the end of that slender tube, Alex decided _no more bullshit_. She crushed the cigarette underneath the heel of her boot with a malicious, slow twist. That habit represented everything she despised in herself and every weakness she'd ever permitted herself to have. It was time to step up and stop crying about what had happened. This was _her_ life and if she was gonna live forever, it was going to count for something and not be a melodramatic wasteland. She was going to use her life to take down some enemies and right some wrongs, save some people who would otherwise go unsaved. She was gonna learn to let go of the past so it would stop holding her back from the future. In Bobby's words, she was going to kick it in the ass.

The thought of the man she loved as a father sent grief surging through her. _This one_ _'_ _s for you, Bobby._

She gathered Castiel's coat back into her arms and her resolve wavered slightly. _And for you, Cas. You didn_ _'_ _t know how this would all end for us. And you deserved better than what you got._

Alex put his coat into the car on the passenger side then stood up straight and tall, whipped her hair into a strict ponytail like she was getting ready to go into battle or something. And really, she was. This wouldn't be easy—she was trepidatious and knew it would take everything she had to stand up and face her inner demons. But she was going to do it. For the first time in her life, she was going to face a problem completely alone and somehow… she wasn't afraid of that this time.


	90. Carry On

" _You taught me the courage of stars before you left. How light carries on endlessly, even after death. With shortness of breath, you explained the infinite. How rare and beautiful it is to even exist._ _"  
_ \- Sleeping At Last

* * *

Dean pinned another printout to the wall of Rufus Turner's cabin and stood back to scowl at his work. Newspaper articles, magazine clippings, internet printouts, and maps marked up with sharpies littered the entire wall almost floor to ceiling. The main theme of the intel tacked to the wall was Dick Roman—Dean's number one target and one of the only things he could think about these days. Dick had to go. _Pronto_. And Dean was starting to get his drive back, his determination. That meant bad news for Dick.

It had been something over three weeks since Bobby died. Three weeks of the brothers holing themselves up and doing pretty much nothing except languishing in a lot of silence and booze. Time had evaporated without Dean even really noticing—it was all a blur of whiskey, fury directed at Dick Roman, and anguish about what had happened. Despite their mutual sorrow and general feeling of apathy as they grieved Bobby's loss, the brothers _had_ tried to figure out what those damn numbers were. The ones Bobby wrote down in his last moment. But they couldn't figure it out—the number remained a mystery. Sam had suggested once or twice that maybe the numbers weren't important or didn't mean anything. But Dean _knew_ they were something important. And he'd be damned if Bobby Singer's last act on this planet went in vain. Dean looked down at the yellow lined notepad he was holding.

_45489._

_45489._

_45489._

Five scrawled numbers that plagued Dean's every waking moment. They weren't a zip code, a password, a bank number, a lock combination. They were a complete and total mystery that was really starting to really piss Dean off. He searched the wall in front of him, just _knowing_ the answer was staring him in the face. _Come on, come on. What do you stupid sons-of-bitches numbers mean? Why did you leave these numbers, Bobby? What_ _'_ _s the connection? Am I just blind or what? What_ _—_ _do_ _—_ _these_ _—_ _mean?_

Behind Dean, Sam was moving something around and then opening the refrigerator… basically getting on Dean's nerves simply by being in the same room. He tried not to pay attention, but with his frayed nerves and mental exhaustion, it was hard not to let every single little thing get to him. Dean heard the familiar sound of a beer bottle hissing and popping as Sam cracked one open for himself. Shuffling footsteps came a little closer and Dean made a face at the wall. _Here we go._ He could sense it. Sam was about to say something. Dean wasn't in the mood.

Sure enough, sounding reluctant and a little meek, Sam spoke up. "Dean, you know, um... I wonder if—if we... I mean, should we be telling people?" Dean stiffened. "I mean, people he knew."

Dean turned around and completely ignored the question, pretended he hadn't heard—he had other more important things to worry about, anyway. "How long ago did I give Frank these numbers?" he asked imperatively, wracking his brain. Frank Devereaux, some whack job who was good at computers and more paranoid about government conspiracy than anyone Dean had ever met before. They had met him around when the Leviathan crap started and he'd proven to be an asset so far. But he was kind of hard to pin down or get a response from. "It's been a few weeks, right?" Dean was frustrated and close to throwing his notepad. "What is he nuts, or is he just being rude?" He turned back to look at the wall of papers yet again, hoping Sam would take the hint and shut up point blank.

"Probably both," Sam said. "Dean, I—I asked you a question."

Ignoring his brother's prompts because he didn't want to talk about _that_ _—_ he didn't want the death to be real, he didn't want to have to call people and console them about it—Dean turned back around and kept talking about Frank. "Unless of course something _happened_ to him…" he said, his tone cynical and short. "He can't get to the phone because a Leviathan ate his _face_."

"Yeah, also a possibility," Sam conceded tiredly. It was easy to tell how disappointed he was in Dean's reaction.

Dean didn't care. "We should go check on him," he said, waggling the pad of paper he held at Sam and giving him a pointed look. "And while we're at it, we need to find our damn sister. This has gone on too long, Sam, and I am sick of being in this cabin and not knowing where the hell she is or what she's doing or why she won't talk to us for more than five minutes at a time. I mean, it's crazy!"

Sam was staring at him unhappily. "Dean, do you want to call Bobby's people or not?"

Bristling, Dean set his brother with a glare. "Did you not hear what I just said, Sam?" he asked rudely. "Or is your head so far up your ass your ears quit working?"

That earned him an annoyed, weary sigh from Sam. "Don't be a _dick_ , Dean," he said flatly, looking like he'd expected as much from his brother but was really aggravated either way. "I'm just as worried as you are."

"Sure you are," Dean muttered.

"Why does it have to be a _contest_?" Sam asked, voice rising as he got exasperated and defensive.

Dean was shaking his head and pushing his mouth into a hard line as he tried to control his temper. He turned back around and tried to concentrate on his wall of research. "Just—just shut up Sam, stop hassling me about all this stuff."

" _Dean_ —" Sam protested.

 _Jesus Christ._ Dean whirled around angrily. "Why is it _our_ job to call people and tell them about Bobby?!" he demanded loudly.

Sam was giving him one of those sad, earnest, concerned looks. "…Because who _else_ is gonna do it?"

Dean wanted to punch Sam in the nose. "I'm not calling anybody," he retorted hotly. "If you want to, you go right ahead, princess." He jerked a thumb back at the wall behind himself. "I gotta pin more articles up here then call your dumbass twin sister and, you know, make sure she's still _alive_."

"Oh so now she's _my_ sister," Sam muttered, rolling his eyes and giving up on his brother and the bad attitude.

Dean ignored him and began to rearrange the papers on the wall with fiery, jerky movements. Besides a million other negative feelings floating around inside of him, he was pissed at Alex; he was confused and hurt by her behavior ever since Cas died. Shouldn't she be holding onto her family at this time? She wasn't. She had just ditched. She hadn't dropped off the grid completely, she wasn't completely AWOL, but she made it a whole lot harder to sleep at night. She checked in every couple days (mostly by texts), screening Dean's calls and instead calling when _she_ was ready to talk. She refused to tell him where she was except 'safe' and 'where I need to be,' whatever the hell _that_ meant. When he got belligerent and angry at her, she cut the conversation off completely. When he begged her to just please 'come home' she would tell him she wasn't ready yet. She wouldn't come to the cabin, she wouldn't agree to let them come see her, and it was the worst. Dean hated not even knowing where she was—she could have been in Timbuktu for all he knew. What if something happened to her or she needed help and they couldn't get to her in time? He went from wanting to shake her and yell at her to wanting to plead with her to just come back where he and Sam could keep her safe from all the gooheads out there. Leviathan were no joke. But she wasn't having it. And Dean had to accept it even if he _did_ hate it.

In his pocket, his phone buzzed suddenly. A sudden instance of hope kindled in his chest—was it Alex? Finally calling to say she was coming back? Dean pulled his phone out, unable to see the screen soon enough. He was disappointed when he saw the screen, but only mildly so. Instead of reading ' _A_ _'_ , the name ' _James_ _'_ and the little symbol that indicated a picture was attached were displayed on the screen. Dean opened the message with a frown, unsure of what James would be doing sending him a picture to him out of the blue—they _had_ texted back and forth the past few weeks as she resumed hunting out on the east coast where she had some contacts, but he hadn't heard from her in a few days. As the message loaded, he was anticipated a photo of something horrible—maybe a disfigured murdered person she'd found, maybe a part of a bloody hacked up monster she couldn't identify. Instead, he found himself looking at a cell phone snap shot of an overweight guy standing at the side of the road in a very ridiculous pie slice costume and bright red tights—the poor sap wearing this getup held a sign that said _Pies Pies Pies Oh My!_ Behind him was a building labeled "Bertha's Pies and More."

Dean pulled a face, suddenly amused, trying to figure out if he was seeing what he really thought he was seeing. Did she really just send him a random goofy ass picture…? Jamie had included the following message: **So if your current career doesn't work out, here's an idea… ;)  
**

So, no murders, no monsters…? Just a guy in a pie suit…? Just a silly text message? Pleasantly surprised at the sudden humor that had come out of nowhere and the fact that Jamie was thinking about him, Dean's foul mood was momentarily curtailed. A little smile grew on his face as he typed a slow reply that didn't give away his deeper, darker, more morose thoughts. **looks good bring me some! ha ha**

A few seconds later, she replied. **I'm in Alabama right now, lol kinda far. Heading your way though, got a leviathan lead in Kansas.**

Dean's smile faded in favor of an immediately concerned frown. He typed pretty fast, concentrating deeply. **What lead? Dont go alone if its levis…. u need backup?**

Her reply was fast. **I'm going alone AND wearing cheese just to make sure they can smell me a mile away.**

Dean made a face and rolled his eyes because he should have expected her snarky little ass to say something like that. **ha ha very funny. seriously by urself tho?**

**No, with Owen and his crew. Not sure if it's a legit lead yet either.**

Dean paused before writing a reply. Owen the Samoan. Apparently he was one of the hunters Jamie had networked with back in the day and she still hunted with him and his family from time to time. A little longingly, because he wanted to be part of some killing and maiming to relieve some stress, Dean's reply was worded carefully not to give away his desperation. **oh ok well lemme know if we can help. starting to go crazy here at cabin.**

A few seconds later, her reply showed up. **If you miss me just say so ;)**

Dean smiled as he took the opportunity to tease her (it was too easy). **I miss…..…... ur cooking**

Her reply was pretty much what he'd predicted. **lol dumbass. Gotta go ttyl.**

Dean's smile was still there but fading. He was more than a little worried about her. Had been for awhile. He wrote out one final text and almost didn't send it. Then he pushed _send_ before he could change his mind. **Be careful james**

No reply came and his heavy mood slowly descended back over him again until he was cloudy and grim once more. He couldn't completely pinpoint when Jamie had become part of his life like she had, but ever since Cas died, she'd been drifting in and out of his life more and more and somehow, despite a lot of head-butting, they were something like friends. Good friends. They'd had a few conversations that had been pretty fucking deep. The kinds of conversations he just didn't have with most people. She had become someone he worried about and thought about pretty consistently. Dean pocketed his silent phone and stared blankly at the wall of papers in front of himself. Maybe he should drop this Dick Roman thing and work his way up the food chain instead. Maybe he should call Jamie to ask specifics about whatever hunt this was. Get himself and Sam on board with her and just see where that took them.

Feeling a stare on his back, he turned and saw how Sam was looking at him skeptically. " _What_?" Dean demanded rudely.

Sam sounded judgmental. "Was that your _girlfriend_?" The bitchy tone earned Sam a wan, attitude-riddled look.

" _Not_ my girlfriend, Sam," Dean denied flatly, turning his back on his brother and returning his attention to his wall of research. "Don't you have some _phone calls_ to make?"

And that was how Sam and Dean continued on. Mostly at odds, letting their grief fester and come out in acts of passive aggressive hostility.

* * *

**Two Weeks Later**   
**Saint Paul Psychiatry and Mental Health Center**   
**Topeka, Kansas**

While the Winchester brothers slowly got themselves back on the road and resumed hunting, their sister was doing something very different.

Fighting hard was something Alex Winchester was very used to. She knew what it was like to get hurt, fall down, and survive by the skin of her teeth. She'd spent the better portion of her life fighting tooth and nail, being uncomfortable and being pushed past her limits. But the battle she had put herself into now was harder than anything else she had ever faced before. This kind of fighting was an entirely new experience.

After leaving Sunny Meadows and ditching Zip, Alex had decided it was time to once and for all get herself together on the inside. She knew that on her own, it wasn't possible—she wasn't sure how to be well-adjusted or how to deal with all the inescapable pain she was lugging around. She didn't know how to overcome herself and knew that something had to give. So she'd found a new clinic to check into. One in her home state. Once at Saint Paul's, she'd committed herself completely to the in-patient program and to intensive therapy even though it was uncomfortable and it felt embarrassing to need as much help as she did. But if she never tried, she would never know. With that in mind, Alex gave it everything and cooperated with the staff as close to a hundred percent as she could, hoping that it would all pay off in the end.

Therapy and counseling was exhausting and intense beyond belief, it was hard as hell and made her feel bare—she had to force herself to trust the process even though almost every day she could imagine Dean's look of 'are you batshit?' and his comments about how talking her feelings out to complete strangers was the opposite of helpful. _You don_ _'_ _t let strangers in, you depend on your family and that_ _'_ _s it_. But she was trying something new and going out on a limb, taking the risk and forcing herself to have faith it would work. She stuck with it and tried to only listen to _her_ inner voice. That voice told her to keep working hard at stripping off years and years of layered-on traumas and wounds. As time went on and the weeks passed, Alex found herself feeling stronger and more capable as her therapists worked with her and guided her through the stormy waters of her own mind and past. Over the weeks, Alex basically spilled her entire life story (with more than a few edits about the more unbelievable parts) and let her doctors know everything. It was something she never would have quite pictured herself doing in the past, but after having dragged herself around on her face for so many months and only feeling worse and worse, Alex basically figured 'what the hell?' and decided to give transparency a shot.

Even though her instincts were to never tell anyone anything, she told them about her childhood, her absent and abusive father, her brothers, her mother's death. She told them about her twenty-year plus mutism and her 'still unexplained' recovery from it. She told them about meeting a man named Castiel and how it tore her family and life apart in the end. She told them about Glen, she told them about the lost baby, she told them about Bobby dying and Cas dying (she said he committed suicide and drowned himself)… she told them that before he died Cas 'went bi-polar' and abused her and attempted to rape her. She told them _everything_ , spun so that it was more believable and didn't sound totally insane to people from a normal life.

The only thing she _didn_ _'_ _t_ tell them was about her painkiller addiction. To Alex, she was very paranoid about appearing completely pathetic, so she decided to try to win that battle on her own (maybe to prove to herself she was strong in some way still). She weaned herself down in dose, taking Oxy before therapy began so that her addiction wasn't obvious. At night came the nausea and vomiting, the illness, the aches and shakes, the profuse sweating, the cramps, the all-out misery. Tenacity and the sheer determination to change herself were what got her through the daily withdrawals. It was hellish in its own right, having to suffer such physical agony all night long and then open up emotionally and mentally during therapy and counseling for a better portion of the waking hours of the day. Some days, Alex wanted to quit and drop out and say 'good enough.' But she hung in with the five-week program and kept at it because she was dead set on seeing this through. As the weeks passed and her mule-headed stubbornness paid off, the withdrawals got better as she got herself to half of the dose she'd been taking before. That was encouraging for her, a small victory. A reason to keep going.

What _wasn_ _'_ _t_ encouraging was what the doctors had determined over the past few weeks. It was the same bad news as at Sunny Meadows, more or less. Alex had been diagnosed with dependent disorder and an inclination toward depressiveness, she was put into therapy for panic attacks (which she barely had anymore, but still). She'd been found to have an unsafe inclination towards impulse and addiction. They said she had PTSD and that she struggled with unhealthy feelings of inadequacy, guilt over situations out of her control, and had deeply dangerous levels of suppressed anger and resentment she was holding onto. Basically, she was a sad excuse for a person and felt like maybe she was damaged beyond repair. The doctors disagreed with her on those points.

It kind of sucked to take a hard, long, honest look at herself and how jacked up she was, but it was also necessary. Being aware of the problem ensured you could begin to address it (Doctor Ekwensi's words, not hers). Through the process and as every day marched by, Alex was given new challenges and epiphanies. It was painful, it left her raw, but it was working and she saw that it was, too.

However, she didn't know if five weeks was quite long enough to tackle all the darkness she carried. Today was supposed to be her final day, the day she was evaluated for release from the program. Alex knew from talking to the others at Saint Paul's that there was a test of some kind at the end of the five weeks. She wasn't sure _what_ but she was nervous about what the test might be. Earlier that week Doctor Ekwensi had told her to write letters to the men in her life—Sam, Dean, Bobby, and Cas in specific—and to write down everything, let out any apologies, bitternesses, grudges, bottled up feelings, things she had never told them but needed to say. The letters were for catharsis and she was supposed to burn them eventually to symbolically release all the feelings into the void. Was _that_ the test? She didn't know. The letters were due today and she was supposed to bring them with her. She had, but she only had three letters with her, not the four that had been requested. One for each brother and one for Bobby. She just hadn't been able to write the one to Cas. Each time she'd started, it had overwhelmed her and had felt so final that she hadn't been able to write more than a couple words.

She was left idly wondering why Dad hadn't been one of her letter-writing assignments. He'd been identified as a huge source of instability, anger, and conflict within hours of when therapy first began five weeks ago. She thought if she wasn't given an assignment to write him a letter today, she was going to anyway. There was so much she still needed to say to him, dead or not. The letters she'd written to her brothers and Bobby had left her feeling so relieved and _better_. It was encouraging. She felt like there might be hope for her after all. _Might._

Letters in her back pocket, Alex knocked on Doctor Ekwensi's office door—he was her primary therapist. He called for her to come in and smiled up at her from behind his desk as he put away some papers he'd been reading over. His office was bright and cheerful, cozy, welcoming. "Good morning, miss Alex." Doctor Howard Ekwensi was an affable and calming presence—he never seemed rushed or at a loss—he always had an answer, always had encouragement to give. His dark ebony skin was peppered in age spots, his smile was constant and always in his twinkling eyes; he had a smooth, rich voice. His hair was a little wild and turning white. He had a constantly quiet, measured, and wise presence.

"Morning Doctor Ekwensi," she returned, trying to appear less nerve-wracked than she actually was. She took her seat across from him like usual. Knowing what today was had her a little jittery. Some days she felt more self-conscious than others when she remembered where she was: a mental health clinic. Today she felt pretty uncomfortable about it and more out of place than normal.

The doctor looked her over in contemplation that was quiet and kind. "You look nervous."

"I am, a little," she said, smiling tightly. She always got a little paranoid he was going to see through her and call her on the painkillers, but he hadn't. Not yet. Hopefully not ever.

"Now no need to be _nervous_!" said a new voice—Alex turned a little, recognizing the exuberant voice. Saint Paul's lead psychologist: Doctor Alice Stokes was in her fifties and always wore colorful patterned dresses underneath her white doctor's coat—she was an assertive, joyful woman who struck the balance of professional, empathetic, and personable. "Today is a good today, we gonna see great things happen in this office today!" she announced enthusiastically as she bustled in, then winked at Alex as she sat down beside her in the vacant chair. At Alex's stumped look, she smiled playfully like it was a family get together, not a psychological evaluation. "Bet you wonderin' why I'm here."

Alex looked at Doctor Ekwensi questioningly and briefly before looking back at Doctor Stokes. "A _little_ …" she ventured cautiously.

"Doctor Stokes is going to assist us today," Doctor Ekwensi explained, his tone kind and reassuring without him even trying to sound that way. Alex nodded faltering understanding, even though she felt uncertain and a little skittish about what was going on. This was different. She usually met her two doctors separately. Doctor Ekwensi leaned across his desk and laced his fingers together and peered at her. "But before we get to today's exercise, did you write the letters?"

"I did," she confirmed a little nervously. "One to Sam, one to Dean, one to Bobby. It was, um, really hard. Harder than I thought." She wondered if he would be upset that she hadn't done four letters like she'd been asked. This would be the first time she hadn't delivered what her doctors had asked of her. "I haven't written the one to Castiel yet—" she hedged apologetically. "I started ten times, I _tried,_ but I just… I couldn't quite get there." It felt embarrassing now and Alex wished she had been able.

There was an unruffled nod. "I thought you might have trouble with that one," Doctor Ekwensi said, and he didn't seem surprised at all or upset in the least. In fact, he just seemed empathetic. "So many issues around him, so many." He remained steadfast and kind.

Alex nodded somberly. That was putting it mildly.

Doctor Ekwensi rested a finger against his cheek as he leaned an elbow onto his desk and studied her. "Before we begin, I wanted to ask you which letter surprised you the most once you had finished."

It was uncanny how Doc Ekwensi always knew things like that—when Alex had gotten the assignment, she hadn't thought it would be that big of a big deal. But then she'd sat down to actually write the letters. "The one to Sam," she admitted, thinking about it and getting a faraway look in her eye as she did. "I never realized… a lot of stuff, really, but…" she trailed off, looking at her doctor in the eye and getting worried. "I know we're supposed to burn the letters, but I think I'm gonna give him his. I really want him to have it… is that okay?"

"Of course. You may do whatever you wish with those letters," Doctor Ekwensi said graciously. "The purpose of that exercise was to let feelings out into the air and address them, give them a voice and then burn away the things that are not needed in your life. If you feel that you and Sam's relationship would benefit from the letter you wrote… by all means. He should have it."

"This means you plan to burn the ones you wrote to Dean? To Bobby?" Doctor Stokes asked, speaking up for the first time. She was very watchful and perceptive. And right.

"Yeah," Alex confirmed somberly. "The letter to Dean ended up being more for my benefit than for his… and the one to Bobby is just me saying goodbye, I guess." A pang of sadness welled inside. It was still a shock that he was gone. Would be for awhile. But she'd written down everything she had never gotten to speak aloud to him and felt a deeper sense of peace about things because of it. Same thing with Dean and Sam's letters. Dean's letter had ended up being nothing that would do him much good to read, not really. Half of it was bitterness and anger, after all. However, Sam's letter… he needed to read it. And he would. Soon. But currently, Alex had other things making her anxious. She worried her bottom lip briefly and looked between the doctors questioningly. "So, uh, what are we doing today?" she asked in a tone that attempted to sound nonplussed.

Doctor Ekwensi stood slowly and straightened his white doctor's coat as he gestured to the other doctor in the room. "Doctor Stokes and myself have spoken at length and feel it's time for you to confront one of the biggest roadblocks that's holding you back," he said, coming around from the back of his desk to stand in front of it and sit-lean casually. "One of the biggest sources of anger that we feel you haven't dealt with yet." Alex frowned shrewdly. Anger over losing Bobby? Anger at Cas? Anger at life in general? It turned out not to be any of those things. "Your father."

Her stomach plummeted to the ground and she blinked twice in confusion. "Wait, what?"

Doctor Stokes was nodding silently, supporting everything Doctor Ekwensi was saying.

"I am going to be John Winchester today, and you are going to tell me everything you ever wanted to tell him," the doctor said evenly, explaining it in a calm and measured tone as Alex's face continued to show surprise. "I'll respond to you as I think he might, based on what you've told us about him, and you and I will interact and you can apply all the things you've learned here to the discussion that follows. I'll attempt to draw out and trigger you so that your coping skills can be put to practice."

Alex gaped. They wanted her to… role play? There had been a little role play therapy before in a few of the group sessions she'd been part of with other patients, but she hadn't liked it and hadn't been comfortable with it. "You look a little frightened, miss Alex," Doctor Stokes observed, her tone indicating she wasn't expecting Alex's reaction.

"I'm, I'm just a little surprised," Alex said, resigning herself already to her fate. "U-unprepared." In the past, she would have immediately walked out of this or made an excuse. She would have scoffed and called it stupid, she would have discredited it immediately and refused to participate. But today, she just stayed in the chair. She swallowed her misgivings and prepared herself for a lot of embarrassment. If the doctors thought this was going to help… maybe it would. Maybe the immediate aversion she felt was a sign that she needed this. But she felt like she'd said: unprepared.

"That's where I feel you're incorrect," Doctor Stokes said with a knowing smile. "You _very_ prepared for this. The work we accomplished these past five weeks _shows_. I think you might be surprised how this goes. All you need to do is be open, honest, and candid. It won't be easy, but when has therapy ever been easy, hmm?"

Alex nodded even though she wanted to protest. She tried to look somber and serious on the outside. Inside, she was freaking out a little. This was going to be intense—she could tell from the looks on her doctors faces. Doctor Ekwensi motioned for her to stand up and Alex did slowly, noticing how her pulse was picking up from anxiety. _Breathe_. She inhaled deeply and steadily, controlling her panic through a grounding practice like she'd been taught in therapy. Doctor Stokes stood, too, and pulled the chairs back, making a bigger space to stand in front of the desk. What, were they expecting a fist fight to break out or something? Alex watched and tried to focus on calming her breathing. Dad was one of those triggering subjects for her. A huge question mark. A huge jumble of closeted feelings and emotions she had tried to just ignore for so long. She'd dealt with so much baggage during these five weeks but Dad had been a subject she always tried to sidestep because of how conflicted she was. _Jesus, they_ _'_ _re right,_ she realized.

"Are you ready?" Doctor Ekwensi asked gently, coming to stand in front of her.

Alex gave a soft, self-conscious laugh and shifted her weight. "Not really." Any way she stood or held herself felt incredibly awkward.

"You _are_ ready," Doctor Stokes said firmly, her belief in Alex a support beam. She stood nearby, between Alex and Doctor Ekwensi. "Now. Close your eyes a minute." Alex let out a charged breath and closed her eyes and waited. Her heart was beating faster as she waited for Doctor Stokes to speak again. She heard the quiet _tick-tick-tick_ of the office clock and it seemed incredibly loud. "I want you to imagine that Doctor Ekwensi is your dad," Doctor Stokes instructed. "Take your time. Now, open your eyes and look your dad in the eye and tell him: 'Dad, what I needed from you but didn't get was…'"

Alex opened her eyes and looked Doctor Ekwensi in the eyes. When her eyes locked onto his, it felt stunningly real, so real that her stomach began to churn. She tried to follow the instructions she'd been given. "Dad, what I needed from you…" she choked suddenly on a tight throat—those words did something to her, called a sudden burst of emotion and torment forward she hadn't expected. Both doctors were silent and waited for her to continue. Alex swallowed and breathed deep and tried again in a steadier voice—she was looking at Doctor Ekwensi in the eyes, but somehow it felt like he really was John Winchester. And Alex wasn't at a loss for words. She knew _exactly_ what to say. "Dad, what I needed from you but didn't get was… a father." Words began to pour out. They came easily—surprisingly easily—out of the place she had locked them away deep inside. "Someone to depend on. I needed you to be there for me, I needed someone to protect me and listen to me even though I couldn't talk, I needed you to be proud of me and to smile when you saw me and to care about my thoughts, my feelings. I needed you to do things for me and tell me I was important. But you _ignored_ me, you expected me to be like a machine or something, you never let me be a kid, you made me and Sam and Dean into soldiers for a cause that destroyed us and ruined our lives. You chose alcohol and your job over your kids."

Doctor Ekwensi shook his head, playing devil's advocate. "I didn't _choose_ alcohol, I was addicted to it, that was out of my control."

His words repelled her and made her expression twist in distaste. "That is _such_ bullshit," she snapped, getting worked up because Dad would say _exactly_ that. "You were supposed to be strong for us, I _know_ you could have kicked the habit if you really wanted to but you _wanted_ to drink and you wanted revenge so you ruined our lives over it and treated us like shit, you stole our childhoods, you hid from your problems and made it seem like it was _our_ fault somehow."

"Now just because I made some mistakes, that doesn't give you the right to accuse me of ruining you and your brothers' lives," he replied, his tone short to convey disapproval and anger—two things John had often spoken to her with. "I did the best I could with what I had—you're being ungrateful and trying to pass blame off so you can be the victim. I see what you've become, and it's not my fault, not at all—it's ridiculous of you to say that. _You_ chose your life—I've been dead and gone for years and you're an adult, stop kidding yourself." His words cut her deep and sounded true. "You're the one to blame for what's happened to you. All of it."

His words were like a slap, and her old instincts (to listen to him and swallow down his judgements) were still there. But she fought them; she shook her head adamantly and refused to let him make her feel like she was the problem. Maybe she was _a_ problem, but whose fault was that, really? "I'm _not_ to blame _._ You raised me to be a victim, to do what I was told and accept abuse, you taught me to live in fear and to trust no one—I was just a _kid_ and you put a gun in my hand and told me the world was full of monsters and demons—do you have any idea how fucked _up_ that was? You thought you were trying to make me strong and independent, but you made me paranoid, you isolated me, you kept me from learning to communicate and knowing how to cope with life, you made Dean so paranoid about keeping me and Sam safe that it turned into his lifelong obsession—he's _still_ not over that! I don't think he ever _will_ be!" Her voice was raising as her emotions surged high—the memories of years past felt fresh and as painful as they had been then. "You took away Sam's chance at a normal life, you made him feel like shit for wanting something good in his life, you took out all of your anger on me and Dean…" she was getting pretty riled up emotionally, her voice was high and her breath was short. "How is that _fair_? How is that _right?_ You dragged us through so much shit, and for _what_?"

"So you're saying I screwed up," he said almost accusingly. "That I damaged you?"

"Yeah, I am," she replied in a snap, feeling empowered, furious, and high. "Would it have killed you to _try_? I needed a _father._ Instead, I got you."

"I _was_ your father," he returned. "I never abandoned you, I never starved you, I took care of you well enough—you had it good. Are _you_ perfect? Do _you_ have it together? Are _you_ doing a good job? Why are you pointing fingers at me? You try to solve all your problems by being angry!"

Alex could have laughed from the miserable irony of it all—his words weren't cutting her down, they were just making her cynical. "Yeah, and just where do you think I got _that_ from?"

He paused a moment. "Almost thirty years old and you're still angry at the past? That I wasn't there? Isn't it time you grew up? This stuff is in the past, it should stay there, I don't have time for this."

Oh, he pushed every button when he said _that_ , and her temper skyrocketed. "Exactly, you don't have _time_ for me and you never _did_. Well, _make_ time, John! Talk to me like a man for once in your goddamn life, stop trying to put everything on me instead of yourself! I was just a kid and what you did was _wrong_! Accept your part in this!" She was mad enough to hit and had to hold herself back.

He was rising up to answer her anger with some of his own. "Do you know how hard it is?!" he demanded loudly. "How hard you were? How difficult it was to live the life we lived and drag around this little girl who had so many _problems_? Yes, I drank! Yes, I lost my temper sometimes! Who wouldn't?!" He pointed a finger at her—Alex had told her doctors about how John always wagged his finger at her and her brothers and how much it had always bothered her. "You should be grateful that I put up with you and your brothers for as long as I did. You have no right to be angry at me after I kept you safe and alive and out of trouble. You never starved, you always had clothes, you went to school until you messed _that_ up—you had it a whole lot better than you think you did. How _dare_ you accuse me of all this?"

"You're an _asshole!_ _"_ Alex raged, letting out every last thing she'd boxed up and not editing herself in the least. "When a man puts his hand on his kids, when he makes them do soldier crap from the time they're five years old, when he tells them that playing and doing kid stuff is bullshit and how they should be afraid of the dark… it's not right! That shit _hurt,_ it screwed me up for life, what you did still affects me and it always will—you can say you're not to blame in how I turned out but we both know what you did was _wrong_ and is _never_ gonna go away! I can be angry about it! I can be pissed! And you don't get to tell me how to feel anymore!"

There was a short silence. Alex felt like she'd won the argument in a small way, but she didn't feel good about it. She just felt _upset_ and pissed off and miserable. Wasn't this supposed to help? Why did she feel worse? Doctor Ekwensi was himself again for a moment instead of her father. "Now," he said steadily, intently, "what does this do for you, holding onto this anger?"

Alex shook her head. She felt run over and deflated like a balloon. "I don't know."

"What is it you're afraid of right now, Alex?" he pressed.

Alex looked at him again. Afraid of? She didn't feel afraid, she just felt defeated. She gave herself a minute and thought hard, trying to find fear. And then, it came to her and she realized she _was_ afraid. She opened her mouth and spoke to her dad again. "I'm scared I'm gonna end up like _you_ ," she said softly in epiphany. She was _terrified_ to end up angry, bitter, and obsessed with vengeance after losing the one she'd loved. She was halfway there, and it dawned on her horribly. After Cas died, she'd given into addictions and abandoned her family and let anger and grief have control. _Just like Dad._ Her voice softened to a mere whisper. "I'm scared I'm gonna be a victim the rest of my life." It seemed so close to coming true that she was momentarily too petrified to breathe correctly.

Doctor Ekwensi was gentle, firm, deliberate, still roleplaying John, but a much more tender version. "And just who gets to decide if you end up like me?" he asked, holding her gaze in a steady, reassuring way. "If you play the victim for the rest of your life? Sam? Dean? Me? Someone else?"

"No," Alex replied, her answer coming from hours of therapy. " _Me_. I make that decision." Even though she said the answer she knew they wanted to hear, she didn't _feel_ it. She felt lost, hurt, too tired to do much else. So many unresolved feelings were gnawing at her. Admitting defeat felt so much easier. This was so difficult, so miserable.

"Let it out, speak what's eating you," Doctor Stokes advised. She'd been watching carefully the entire time. "If you don't let it all out, it will keep poisoning your life. Tell your dad what you're thinking. Tell him everything here and now, once and for all."

Alex shook her head and shut her eyes. "I _can_ _'_ _t_ ," she whispered, hanging her head and putting a hand there onto her face. It was too hard. It was too painful. She just wanted to stop talking, stop feeling.

"Alex—you _can,_ _"_ Doctor Stokes insisted in a strong, assuring voice. "Take your dad's hands. Hold on tight. Look him in the eye, speak your peace. You deserve closure."

Alex opened her eyes and looked at Doctor Ekwensi—he held his hands out to her in welcome and she hesitated. Anger was easy to express. But the hurt and confusion she had left was gonna break her. But she took in a deep breath and remembered her promise to kick it in the ass. And if she had to kick _herself_ in the ass, if she had to defeat herself in order to survive… okay. Alex took the doctor's warm, dry hands in her sweaty ones. He waited for her to speak and she looked into his eyes, seeing John Winchester. A man she knew but also never had at all. The weight of her childhood and all the questions it had left her with was so much. "I shouldn't have been scared of you," she finally whispered. "Y-you were like a dark cloud most days and we had to tiptoe around you so we didn't piss you off. I felt like I was the reason why you were angry all the time, and maybe I was, I don't know. But I couldn't _help_ it—I was mute, and it wasn't my fault, it wasn't yours either. Why did you hold that against me, Dad?" Her heart broke, her eyes filled with tears, she would never be able to comprehend why she had been such a disappointment to her father by no fault of her own. "I'll never understand," she managed weakly, her tears starting to affect her voice. She had tried so hard for all those years to be good, to be better, to make him happy in any small way—and he'd never been pleased with her, there had always been this look in the corner of his eye like he was ashamed of her.

Alex tried to smile, but her face was contorting painfully as the agony manifested itself. "You know what the messed up part is?" she asked wretchedly. " _I still love you_." He nodded and held her hands a little tighter, encouraging her to continue. She let it all come out, even though it was agonizing to admit and had her crying from shame. "I still want you to come back and just put your arms around me and tell me you're proud of me, that I matter, and that I'm special," she said. "I feel so dumb asking for that, wanting that—" she shuddered and sniffed valiantly, blinking away watery vision. She saw her father in front of her, and he could have been so different. So good. She had seen his potential and knew he had seen it, too. That was the saddest part for her. Why did it have to be the way it had turned out? "I want you to have been the man I know you could have been, I want you to have been happy—why couldn't our family have been _happy_ , Dad?" She looked at him and knew that was a question she'd never know the answer to. "Why did it have to be so screwed up? _Why_? And you wanna know something else jacked up? I feel _stupid_ for asking for love, I feel like I should be ashamed of myself for wanting to be treated right, like, with basic dignity and respect. I shouldn't feel like that, Dad! Why would you _do that_ to a little girl?" It wasn't fair, it wasn't right, it made her want to fucking _weep_ on the ground.

"You're right," he said gently, surprising her. Her tears abated as she waited for him to explain. Right about what? "You shouldn't feel ashamed for wanting those things. I didn't mean to make you feel that way. I was afraid of parenting you and your brothers. I was selfish and I took the easy way out. I had it in my mind that I was doing the right thing. I did love you. Of course I did. Very much. But I didn't know how to tell you or show you, and so I let all of my own issues run the show. I let anger have the reigns, I didn't try hard enough to rise above the things that were eating me. I was hurt, and I turned around and hurt others to try and feel better. You deserved better than that. But I didn't try and go get help and I didn't give you what you deserved. I tried to do it on my own. I loved you the best I could with my addiction, my issues, the things my own childhood and life put me through but there's no excuse at the end of the day. I _was_ an asshole. I wasn't a good father. I wish I could take it all back or do it over." He held her gaze somberly. "Do you believe that?"

Alex swallowed and nodded, a little stunned at how real this felt. "Yes." And she did.

"Question is, will you forgive the past?" he asked. The tone he used was imperative and urgent. "Can you let go of the things I said and did so you can be free? Can you look me in the eye and tell me that you're done letting my voice rule your life? Will you choose to bury me and lay me to rest in your heart?" She didn't know. How could she know if she was ready for that? It felt like a question she had no way of answering. She'd held onto her anger at Dad for so long that it was part of her now—it felt scary to think about letting go of that. At her faltering silence, the doctor peered at her discerningly. "Do you _need_ something or someone to be angry at to survive, Alex?"

She thought about that question for a tense moment. _Did_ she need someone to be angry at? When she had found the answer, she shook her head. "No, I need someone to blame so _I_ don't feel like the failure."

"Alex, is it all right to fail in life? To let people down? To be less than perfect?"

"Yes," she answered automatically.

A slight pause. "Do you _really_ believe that?"

She wished she did. "I'm trying to," she answered truthfully.

He paused and then surprised her when he let go of her hands and took a closed-off stance in front of her. "Aren't you embarrassed that you broke down and had to go to this crazy house place to get help?" he asked, suddenly John Winchester again. "Do you know what I think of that? How disappointing it is to see you so weak and pathetic? I expected you to always be strong, to never stop fighting."

In the past, Alex would have bowed her head and silently accepted the condemnation. But today, she stood up straighter and bristled at his words. "I _am_ strong," she retorted in a surprisingly powerful, sure voice. "Because I can _admit_ to myself when it's too much, because I can cry and allow myself to feel my feelings, even the worst ones, the ones that you never let yourself feel. Do you have any idea how hard it is to rise above yourself? I don't think you do, because I know you Dad. And you tried to avoid the issue, you covered it up and ran away from it and blamed everyone else. I _am_ strong, because I looked my demons in the eye and I took them on, I beat their pathetic, _worthless_ asses into the ground! When did _you_ do that?" She stood there and breathed hard for a moment from the impassioned nature of her monologue. And then, she realized she _was_ ready to let this weight go. She looked at him and she became quieter, sadder. After almost thirty years of being alive, after losing him seven years ago, she had never truly realized that his hold on her was still so strong—and it wasn't because of him, but because of _her_. She'd chosen to cling onto so much and give him a power he had never asked for. Today, it was time to stop letting that be her life. She took in a deep breath and realized this was goodbye, for real. "Dad, I am finally _finally_ letting go of you," she said softly and slowly. "Of what you did. Of the mistakes you made. Of all the resentment I carry around, of all the baggage you put on me. It's over. I need to move on. I'm forgiving you. Not because what you did was okay or something. Because I'm a better person than you were. It's _easy_ to be angry and it's so goddamn hard to let go of anger. But you did what you did, now _I_ make my choices." Saying those things felt like an oath, a promise… an elegy.

The doctor looked as if he were proud of her. "And what are you choosing now for yourself?" he questioned.

Alex cast around for an honest answer. "T-to live life on _my_ terms," she said, saying the first thing that came to mind. "To get up and not feel guilty that I fell down."

When she said those things, she realized she was there. She was living life on her terms. She was picking herself back up and not beating herself up for falling down like she had. The therapy that had just taken place left her feeling like she'd just run a marathon. Her adrenaline was all over the place, her body felt drained, her mind was exhausted, her heart was pounding hard.

But she suddenly smiled through the tears that remained and realized that she felt _free_ for the first time in a long, long time _._ Completely healed? No. Totally fine? Probably never. But free? _Yes_.

* * *

A couple days later, Alex was at a little roadside park in Lawrence during the early evening hours. She had left Saint Paul's after Doctor Ekwensi and Stokes agreed she had made enough progress to graduate from the five-week program. She still had a lot of work to do and they encouraged her to continue in counseling, but she'd made big enough strides to get back to her life, they said. She felt like it was time.

After being discharged, she'd done the typical Winchester thing: stolen a car off a used car lot, stolen plates from somewhere else, and hit the road again. She was gonna rejoin her brothers soon (they didn't know yet though) and she was anxious, excited, nervous for that. She missed them a lot.

But before she gave hunting another shot, she had one more thing to do.

That's why she was at the park with a pen and a notepad. She sat at a picnic table in the shade and carefully wrote the letter she hadn't been able to before. She put everything into it. Everything.

_Castiel_ _—_

_I can_ _'_ _t even think your name in my mind without feeling sadness. I can_ _'_ _t write it without trouble. Even the blue sky, which I have to look at pretty much every day, makes me think about you. It_ _'_ _s been almost six months since you died but it still feels as painful as yesterday. I still wake up sometimes and forget you_ _'_ _re gone. I expect you to be there when I turn around sometimes_ _…_ _but you never are, and I have to learn to accept that for real. You_ _'_ _re gone. Really, really gone this time. I know that logically, but my heart struggles to fathom it. I ask myself_ _"_ _why_ _"_ _over and over again. There_ _'_ _s never an answer. Just the why. Who knew one single tiny word would take over my entire life?_

_I want to know_ _"_ _why_ _"_ _about a lot of things. I struggle with so many feelings over what happened. So much unthinkable crap happened in such a short amount of time and sometimes I think I_ _'_ _m still in shock or denial over it all. Finding out about the secrets you kept and the lies you told, finding out you took advantage of how much trust I put into you. I can_ _'_ _t believe you would do that to me. I still can_ _'_ _t. My days are constant hell as I remember the baby we lost, Destroyer and what he did to me through you, my inability to die now after what you or he did (maybe I_ _'_ _ll never know if it was you or him who made me allergic to dying). I often wish *I* had been the one who died instead of you because dealing with all of the feelings and grief over what happened feels so impossible most days._

_But I_ _'_ _m learning to cope. I_ _'_ _ve decided to take what could have ruined me and use it to get stronger. In order to do that, I have to let out all the things I_ _'_ _ve been keeping inside. So, here goes nothing._

_Castiel, I am so angry with you, I *hate* you for lying to me for so long about such important things. I_ _'_ _ve never felt as betrayed in my entire life. It was like having a hole punched through me by the hand I thought was protecting me. I still don_ _'_ _t understand how the hell you could have let it get so bad and never have told me anything at all about what was really going on with Crowley, Heaven, etc. I thought I was supposed to be your best friend, your partner. Your wife. And look what you did. You took on too much, you guaranteed a horrible, destructive end. You killed me. You got jealous over nothing and you *killed* me. Do you even get that? Because sometimes I_ _'_ _m still not sure it really happened. I don_ _'_ _t know how you could have ever done that to me. You were my protector. You were so invested in making sure I was safe, that no one would ever hurt me. Then *you* ended my life in a fit of jealous rage. It_ _'_ _s so confusing and disillusioning for me. I just don_ _'_ _t get it. But I guess maybe I_ _'_ _ve lived a life where the people who loved me did a lot of jacked up stuff, so maybe I should have expected it? Sam_ _'_ _s hands killed me when he was Lucifer, for example_ _…_

_You know, a part of me thinks that *couldn_ _'_ _t* have been you who hurt me and killed my brother and my uncle. Another part of me_ _…_ _the brokenhearted part of me_ _…_ _knows it was. That was the moment where all the stress and impossible burden you took on made you snap. Where everything you tried to do backfired. When you lost your mind completely and went over the edge. All because you thought you could do it all on your own. I wish to god you had told me. I wish it every single day. I thought you and I were closer than that, I thought you loved and respected me enough to be real with me._

_I told you I forgave you for everything the day you died, but honestly, I_ _'_ _m not sure if I do or not. You hurt me worse than anyone else ever has, and I have been *hurt* Cas. I often think that I was a total idiot to trust you as much as I did and to love you without holding back, I feel like I_ _'_ _m to blame for letting myself love you in the first place. But you know what? Despite feeling this way and hating you so passionately in some moments, I know I would do it all over again. How screwed up is that? I_ _'_ _m writing it down and shaking my head at myself but it_ _'_ _s true. I know that makes me sound like a dumbass (it also makes me question what the fuck kind of person I am), but being loved by you_ _…_ _knowing you_ _…_ _everything we had together was pinnacle, important. So beautiful. I can_ _'_ _t imagine my life without you in it. Even after the horror movie ending._

_Help me understand how I can feel so much hatred and love at the same time. I don_ _'_ _t know how it_ _'_ _s possible. Sometimes, I don_ _'_ _t think hatred is the right word. It feels more like this intensely angry, sad, screaming feeling. Like I_ _'_ _m in the dark and far out from the shore, trying to get someone, *anyone* to hear me. I don_ _'_ _t know. It probably doesn_ _'_ _t matter. I_ _'_ _ll figure it out eventually I guess. All I know is that even though you wronged me so much, I just wish I could have protected you from what happened and kept you safe somehow. I mean, I understand. I_ _'_ _ve done similar shit before: I_ _'_ _ve tried to do the right thing on my own and ended up making a bigger mess than what was there before. No one_ _'_ _s perfect, right? And I knew your heart. You were trying to do the right thing. You always did try to do the right thing_ _…_ _and god Cas that was why I loved you so much. It breaks my heart that the consequence and payment for your actions (which I KNOW were well-intentioned) turned out to be death. I blame myself, I blame you. I blame anyone and everyone._

_Cas, when you died, everything crashed down on me. All the stuff I was trying to stand up under became too much. I gave up on life for awhile. On myself, my family, on everything. I feel like I lost who I was for awhile. I_ _'_ _m slowly getting back to who I used to be. It_ _'_ _s not easy at all, but you_ _'_ _d be proud of me, I think. Honestly, I didn_ _'_ _t want to try. I wanted to lay down and just die_ _—_ _it got so bad that I tried killing myself one night, which is how I found out what you did to me. It hasn_ _'_ _t been pretty. I got addicted to painkillers, I self harmed. I_ _'_ _m getting better now. But_ _…_ _some days I still want to die because living feels like too much effort and pain._ _I_ _did therapy and it_ _'_ _s helping, but it_ _'_ _s hard. So, so hard. I often want to just sit down and cry and give up, continue abusing myself to no end_ _. But I_ _'_ _ve decided no. That_ _'_ _s not happening and it_ _'_ _s not allowed. After Bobby died, something changed and somehow I found the motivation to fight again. But it_ _'_ _s lonely. I miss you, I miss my family. I_ _'_ _m almost ready to go back to Sam and Dean, but I still think about the inevitable constantly. They_ _'_ _ll die someday (probably sooner than later) and I_ _'_ _ll be stuck alive and alone. No one should live forever, Cas. And I_ _'_ _m going to. Alone. Guess I just need to accept that. I don_ _'_ _t seem to have another choice._

_Do you remember the day you died? When you told me to find someone else and how I said I never would or could? I still believe that, but now I_ _'_ _ve gone and made a stupid mistake. It was one night, it was once, but it still happened. It was basically awful and I wish it hadn_ _'_ _t happened at all. I don_ _'_ _t think I would have done it at all if I hadn_ _'_ _t been so high and drunk and vulnerable. The only reason I was able to get anything from it was that I shut my eyes tight and imagined it was you. Looking back, I_ _'_ _m kicking myself over and over again. Especially since it turns out he was a fucking Leviathan_ _…_ _I feel tricked and dirty and violated, but what can you do? Guess you just can_ _'_ _t trust anyone these days. Either way, consider me a nun now. It wasn_ _'_ _t worth it for me._ _I_ _'_ _m not like my brothers or anyone else normal, I guess. To me, sex is something where if there_ _'_ _s not love involved it doesn_ _'_ _t mean anything and therefore I don_ _'_ _t want it. Had to learn that the hard way. Cas, I feel so guilty about it, like I cheated on you or spit in the face of what we were. I_ _'_ _m so sorry. Some people would probably say I_ _'_ _m a freak for feeling so much regret about it, but_ _…_ _I can_ _'_ _t help it. I love you. Only you. More than I can say or hold. And I am sorry. I can_ _'_ _t say it enough._

_I very often think about how things could have ended so differently for us. I imagine a good life together and I think we really could have had that. It hurts to think about what we lost. It hurts because you didn_ _'_ _t get to live long enough. It hurts that we lost a piece of us and never even knew it until far too late_ _—_ _I wish she hadn_ _'_ _t died. Our daughter. I wrote those two words and stared at them for five minutes. Our daughter. We had a daughter. And if she had survived somehow, then I would still have a part of you here with me, a living and breathing reminder that you were real and our love made something. But the only thing our love made was disaster and destruction. Maybe you were right all those years ago when you were so adamant about us not being together because you_ _'_ _d foreseen the future where I died because of our relationship. Maybe we were screwed from the get go. I don_ _'_ _t know, and not knowing is the greatest tragedy of all._

_The doctors at Saint Paul_ _'_ _s were very skeptical about how much I love you and how much I was willing to overlook concerning what you did to me. And the funny thing is they didn_ _'_ _t even know the full story and how much worse some parts were. Even if you were the one at fault for me being mute (I don_ _'_ _t think you were, I think Azazel would have done that if you were there or not), I need you to know I_ _'_ _ve made peace with it. I_ _'_ _ve accepted where I_ _'_ _ve ended up in life. I_ _'_ _m not angry about it anymore, about being mute. That was then and this is now. And I_ _'_ _ll always have what you gave me: a voice. A place in Heaven that maybe I can get to someday. Memories of a love I don_ _'_ _t know if I deserved. It doesn_ _'_ _t seem fair that I would get all these things and you walked into a lake and drowned. You were trying to save us. And you paid the price._

_Life isn_ _'_ _t fair. I wonder if you_ _'_ _d still be alive if we never fell in love. I would have never have pursued you at all if I knew then what I know now_ _…_ _I_ _'_ _d rather you were alive and well than dead and gone because of us. But I can_ _'_ _t change the past._

_I_ _'_ _m going to the lake tomorrow and I_ _'_ _m going to lay you to rest. I need closure. I need to be able to move on from this somehow and stop tearing myself apart inside over losing you. But, just because I want to move on, that doesn_ _'_ _t mean I_ _'_ _ll forget you. I never would or could. As long as I_ _'_ _m alive, you will be too in some small way. I love you, forever. I miss you always. I was never good enough for you, but you loved me anyway_ _…_ _thank you. For showing me magic and beauty, for making me believe in love._ _I hope if I can someday and somehow make it to the next life, you_ _'_ _ll be there too._

_Until then.  
Pinky promise.  
_— _Alex_

She sat back and wiped at her eyes and looked over the fruits of her labor. It had taken her a couple solid hours to think it through, write it down, and get through the process of writing this letter. The sun was setting and she was exhausted. As such, Alex didn't even bother driving to a motel. She got into her stolen car, hugged Cas's bunched up coat to herself, and slept restlessly. All night she dreamed that a man with dark hair was standing out under the stars and searching for her.

Several hundred miles away, an angel with no memories stood outside and watched the starry sky, in search of something he could not name. Daphne came out and found him and groggily asked what he was doing then told him to come back inside.

* * *

**Bootbock, Kansas**   
**The Next Day**

The water reservoir was quiet and picturesque—thick pine trees dotted the edge of it and reflected back in the slowly shimmering water. Alex stood in the same place she'd been the day Cas walked into that lake and had never come back out. She held his coat to herself, neatly folded up. No one else was around. A lone bird sang a song to the lingering, golden dusk. To Alex, the cheerful twittering sounded morose. The sparkling water seemed mournful. The beauty of nature seemed to mock her somehow.

She had put off coming here all day long. And before she came here, she had tried one last crazy thing that had occurred to her: Summoning Crowley and asking about a soul deal. She'd gotten a smirk and a, "not interested." So now… here she was. Truly at the end of the line.

This was the place he'd died. The place her eyes had seen him last.

She looked across the surface of the reservoir with a clenched heart. Being here was surreal in a painful way and it left her feeling incredibly sick with the sadness of finality. After her last session with Doctor Ekwensi, she thought this would be easier than this. But it was clearly going to be one of the hardest things she'd ever done.

He was no longer here or alive. It wasn't a bad dream. It was reality. And yet she still longed to catch a glimpse of him, some kind of sign. She wanted some reassurance that he still existed in some way, however small. Her heart yearned to know he went on past this life, that he was in a better place, that he had found eternity and was at peace somewhere better than here. Would she ever know where he was and if he somehow carried on? Or would she live and live and live and always wonder? Could her soul ever rest if she didn't know what had become of him? Or was she fated to be a living ghost, forever haunted by the memory of an angel who had walked the world in the body of a man?

The late-day sun warmed her skin pleasantly and soothingly—her arms and her face, the top of her head were all kissed by light and warmth. Alex closed her eyes and concentrated on that feeling and let it comfort her. Sometimes, sunlight convinced her that Castiel went on and existed still. His true form was light, after all, and she associated him with warmth, with light, with nature. With anything magnificent and breathtaking. She opened her eyes and took in the landscape once more. It was the beginning of spring now. April. Flowers were beginning to bloom, grass was turning green again. Life was returning to the earth. _I wish you were here to see it with me._

Alex looked down at his trench coat and swallowed away a sharp lump, trying to give herself courage and strength to do what she had come here to do. In the pocket of the coat, she'd very carefully put the letter she wrote and his ring. She was incredibly against the thought of letting all of these things go, especially his coat and the ring, but she didn't know any other way of being able to be free. This was probably the hardest thing she had ever done. She likened it to willfully cutting out her own heart or sawing off her feet. She didn't know if she could continue on without those things—they were part of her, and Castiel was part of her now, too. Always would be. She was crying quietly now, because she knew this moment had to happen. But every fiber of her being mourned so deeply and didn't _want_ it at all. This was her saying through actions that he had died, that he wasn't coming back, and that she was committing to moving on as much as she could. That she was laying him to rest and saying goodbye and closing a chapter of her life completely. Her heart resisted that idea while her mind said she needed to do this and set herself free.

Trying to summon courage, she steeled herself and drew in a deep breath, letting it out shakily. _It_ _'_ _s time_. She closed her eyes tight and buried her face in the fabric of the trench coat, kissing it briefly as her tears leaked into the cloth. _I love you. Always will_. A flurry of memories raced through her mind like sparks—seeing him walking toward her when he was a stranger and not knowing who he would become to her. A first smile. Eyes that captivated her forever. The memory of falling in love past what she had ever imagined. A first kiss. The way he had sounded when he first told her out loud that he loved her. His hands holding hers as he married her. The beautiful hope and excitement she'd carried for a future together, the belief that they would be together and share life and always love one another. The horrible let down when it all crashed and burned…

Alex opened her eyes again and looked up at the lake with a twisting, upset expression. It just didn't feel right that it could end like it had. How strange to feel so hollow inside. How wrong that this was how their story had ended. Even though Castiel had made so many awful mistakes, Alex would never wish ill things on him. Especially not this ending that he'd been given.

Words she'd written down for him echoed across her mind.

_As long as I_ _'_ _m alive, you will be too in some small way._

_I love you, forever. I miss you always._

_I hope if I can someday and somehow make it to the next life, you_ _'_ _ll be there too._

With these thoughts at the forefront of her mind and causing emotions to run high and intense, Alex made herself start moving before she changed her mind. One foot in front of the other, she propelled herself into motion. She stepped into the water, boots, jeans and all, and slowly moving forward. It was cold—the lake must be very deep to be so cold just a few steps in. Shivering briefly due to mental reasons more than physical, she held the coat tight to her chest, not allowing it to get wet or drag.

As she waded in deeper and deeper, she could only thing one thing: This was the water that had drowned him. Her feet were walking on the ground where his body had found its final resting place. Her grief felt like it would crush her down into the water and she stopped when she got to mid-thigh depth. Stomach turning and throat tight, Alex drew the coat away from herself to hold it in front of herself. This was all that was left of him. A thought that just didn't seem right at all. _I wish I could have saved you_. A tear dripped down and hit the beige fabric of his coat and her hands held it tighter but she refused to hug it again. Her heart raced and her mind told her to let go of the coat, to leave it there in the water and bury Castiel in her mind, let this be his funeral.

_You need to let go of what_ _'_ _s holding you back. You need to let go of him._

Her head spoke those thoughts and she tried to comply, she tried to lower the coat down into the water, but her heart said no. _No. Don_ _'_ _t you fucking dare. No._ She abruptly panicked and held the coat to herself tight once again, bowed her head down, inhaled shakily and shut her eyes. She had come here to close a door. She had come here to stop holding onto grief and pain and a dead angel who wasn't coming back.

But it was becoming apparent that she wasn't ready for this closure, or she wasn't willing. Would she ever be? Did she really need to part with these things that were his? Couldn't she just keep them?

There was a slight breeze across the lake and Alex opened her eyes, wishing that breeze was from wings black as night. But she was alone and ill with overwhelming emotion, standing in dark water, and nothing was different at all. Contemplating the trench coat with teary eyes, Alex wrestled with herself. She wanted to be strong and prove to herself that she had made progress. But it felt so incredibly wrong to think about putting that coat in the water and walking away, leaving the only part of Castiel she had behind forever.

She heard a deep voice speaking tender things to her, she remembered strong arms holding her, she recalled the conviction that she was loved and cared about and cherished completely. She imagined blue eyes that saw through to her soul itself, hands that carried her, healed her, cradled her. A mouth that had spoken things out of dreams to her and kissed her to life and death and every place between.

Alex stood there for a very, very long time, eyes going from the water before her to the coat she clung to. After a very long, silent debate within herself, she gave up. She just couldn't. It wasn't time yet. With a bittersweet expression on her face, she looked over the beloved garment as if it were Cas himself. "Not yet," she whispered. Alex's eyes fell closed and her voice dropped to bare volume as her eyebrows worked in towards each other. She was unsure how to feel about this. " _Not yet_."

She walked out of the lake and wondered if she had just proven that her therapy was worthless or what. But she didn't regret it, and she sat down on the shoreline and put on the trench coat—it dwarfed her. She sat there for a very long time remembering their good times. Times where it felt like they were just a boy and a girl discovering life and experiencing the rush of exhilaration called falling in love. The space beside her felt so empty. _Guess I_ _'_ _ll always notice his absence_.

She remembered feeling like this constantly before she'd known him. Like something was missing. Now that she knew _what_ was missing, it made life harder. More stark. Barer and less livable than before. But she was determined and committed to living, to taking this existence and making it matter, to controlling her destiny once and for all.

If she had known how numbered her moments with Castiel truly were, she thought she would have opened her eyes more when he kissed her, she would have memorized the feeling of him loving her better. She would have asked him more questions, she would have tried to spend more time with him somehow. She would have found a way to save him.

When it began to grow dark outside, she stood up and pulled in a deep breath. It was time to start being a person again. For real this time. It was time to call up the boys and see about doing what she knew how to do: hunt, knock some bad guys down a few notches. "All right, Cas," she said under her breath, standing tall and taking in a deep breath to give herself some strength as she shrugged off his coat and folded it carefully. "Let's go kick some Leviathan ass."

She headed to the car she'd parked nearby. Halfway there, she heard a twig snap and she turned toward the sound fast, her hand flying to where she had a water gun full of borax mixed with water tucked into her belt. She listened hard but didn't hear anything else—she only saw trees and overgrown grass, no signs of anyone there. After a minute, she dubiously decided it was nothing. Quite often here lately, she felt she was being followed. But if she _were_ , she had never spotted the person. She had a very high suspicion that it was Zip. She hadn't been kidding: she would kill him if she ever laid eyes on him again. Alex hoped she was just being paranoid, but she erred on the side of caution and took constant precautions in attempts to thwart anyone from being able to keep up with her.

The headlights of her stolen Jeep flashed to life and swept over the landscape as she turned around and headed off. Gravel sprayed and crunched as the rugged old engine roared.

From deep within the shadows where he was hidden, Zip watched and followed.


	91. Clowning Around

" _Children though can never have grown up feelings until they_ _'_ _ve been allowed to do the growing._ _"  
_ \- Fred Rogers

* * *

A little worse for the wear, Sam tiredly entered the motel room. He was in his FBI dress blues, just like his brother, who he found waiting inside. Dean was sitting at the kitchenette table in the tiki-themed room and pulling boxes of Chinese takeout from a brown paper bag.

As Sam came in, Dean glanced his way briefly. "Hey! So, what's the low down with trauma town?" He flashed a playfully-antagonizing grin at Sam, who pulled a wan face. In response to the face, Dean chuckled and smiled wider and returned to unbagging little white containers of food.

 _Very funny,_ Sam thought prissily. Dean knew— _knew_ —that Sam had issues with clowns and yet had sent him alone the past few hours to spend time at Plucky Pennywhistle's Magical Menagerie—aka _hell._ And now he was _laughing_ about it. Sam smacked a few of the placemats he'd taken from the joint down onto the table, right in front of his brother, who was immediately befuddled at the kiddie crayon creations. "…What the hell are these?" Dean asked through a confused frown.

"Kid therapy," Sam said, sauntering into the room and letting his tone show his skepticism. "Draw your worst nightmare, _poof_ _,_ Plucky fixes it." He started pulling off his suit jacket. "They hang those up on this big wall smack dab in the middle of Plucky's."

The kid's pizza-and-game chain was currently becoming central to the job the Winchester brothers were working here in Kansas. Mysterious, wacky deaths (the first by an octopus-vampire, apparently, the second by a stabbing that involved a horse and maybe a lance) had one thing in common: the people who had died so far were both parents of different, unrelated kids who'd gone to the same birthday party at Plucky's a few days prior.

"Well, can't argue with _this,_ " Dean said in an overly serious tone as he looked over the placemats Sam had set down. He tapped the top drawing. "Leprechauns are _deadly._ " Sam snorted, pulling at his tie to loosen it. Dean was in deep thought, however briefly. "Okay, so, that kid Kelly draws a monster, and then _that_ goes after her father?" he asked. His tone suggested he thought it was nuts, even for them. "That's what we're saying?"

"Well, here's the thing," Sam said, picking up his carton of food and a pair of chopsticks and retreating across the room to the other little table set up by the window. "Plucky's employees label those when they hang them on the wall so that you know which kid drew what. And guess which two were missing." He corrected himself as he sat down. "Well, name tag was there—but no placemat."

"Little Miss Octovamp," Dean guessed. The first death that had transpired.

"Yeah," Sam confirmed glumly. "And... Billy." The second death. "So... somehow, whatever he drew came to life and killed his dad, riding a horse." He poked at his beef lo mein unenthusiastically. It was harder and harder to summon an appetite these days.

" _Close_ , but no Seabiscuit, Sammy," Dean said, a knowing smile on his face. Sam frowned over at his brother questioningly. Dean was pulling a folded up piece of paper out of his suit jacket. "See, I went and had a little chat with Billy. And he drew me _this_."

Curious, Sam got up and went to Dean's side—his brother was unfolding the paper so Sam could see what was on it: drawn crudely, a very malevolent looking unicorn with a rainbow for a tail was impaling a person through the chest.

Sam did a bit of a double take at the violent image. "So… now unicorns are evil?" he asked incredulously.

Dean made a face. " _Yeah_. Obviously." He turned his attention to food, pulling a takeout container toward himself and grabbing chopsticks.

"Great," Sam muttered, deep in thought. "Well, now the question is, how did a _unicorn_ come off a sketch and kill Billy's dad?" He couldn't draw any conclusions about any monsters or creatures from those clues and it was frustrating. "How's any of this happening?"

Dean shrugged. He seemed pretty tired and not as into the job as he might have been in previous times. "Dude, all I know is I'm gonna chow mein down," he said, then waited for Sam to recognize his comedic genius. When Sam said nothing, Dean looked at him expectantly. "Get it? Chow down? Chow mein down?"

"Yeah," Sam said flatly, rolling his eyes lightly. "I get it, Dean. Ha ha." He turned around and went back to where his food waited.

"Tough crowd," Dean muttered, then rubbed his chopsticks together and dug in to his takeout.

A couple bites in, Sam's phone began to ring shrilly in his back pocket and he sighed in annoyance and shifted so he could fish it out. _Who the hell is it now?_ An unknown number was displayed on the readout and he frowned, considering whether or not to answer.

"Who's that?" Dean asked through a huge mouthful of food.

Sam glanced his way. "Dunno." He bit the bullet and pushed the answer key, held the phone to his ear after letting out a weary sigh. "Hello?"

The voice he heard on the other end sent an immediate shock through him. " _Hey, Sam_."

He sat up straighter as he dropped his chopsticks onto the table. "…Alex?"

Dean immediately stopped eating too and turned to stare at Sam with a frozen expression. " _Yeah, it_ _'_ _s me,_ " his sister's voice said on the other end of the line.

Immediately nervous that something was wrong or that something had happened, Sam tried to sound completely normal and unsurprised at her very out-of-the-blue call. "Uh… hey. Wh… what's up?" he asked, even as he wracked his brain for why she might be calling him. Usually she called Dean—but more usually than that, she texted. Was this a bad sign that she was calling him?

" _Ah, you know_ _…_ _nothing much,_ " she said noncommittally. Her voice sounded different to him than it had in recent times when he'd heard it. She sounded sort of… like herself again. " _Wondering where you guys are and what you_ _'_ _re doing_."

Sam's eyebrows shrugged up in surprise. So, just a casual chat…? Across the room, Dean was making a 'what's going on!?' face and throwing his hands out impatiently for an explanation. Sam waved him off and mouthed 'just wait' then spoke into the phone. "Um—well, funny story," he said in chagrin, his eyes sliding to the placemats near Dean. "One that involves Plucky Pennywhistle's."

There was a pause on the other end. " _Plucky Pennywhistle_ _'_ _s_ _…_ _the creepy ass kid place?_ _"_ He could hear her, of all things, grinning. _"_ _Where you cried about clowns?_ "

Sam pulled an indignant face and defended himself however lamely. "I didn't _cry,_ I was… uh… _concerned_."

He heard a soft little chuckle. " _You sobbed like a little girl._ "

Sam sat back in his chair, a half-amused smile playing on his face even as a quizzical frown moved his eyebrows together. "So did you call me to make fun of my very _real_ phobia, or…?" he trailed off, waiting for her to tell him what was going on.

Alex sounded a little more serious and even a little anxious. Her clipped, hard tone gave it away. " _No, actually_ _…_ _called to say I_ _'_ _m back in_."

Her words knocked him back a little. "…Back in?" he repeated, shocked to say the least. He'd figured she would come back eventually but… now? He looked across the room at Dean, whose expression showed that he was anxiously hanging onto every word and getting extremely hopeful but was also vastly confused.

" _Yeah. I_ _'_ _ve uh_ _…_ _gotten it together, I guess. I mean, as much as I can or whatever and um. Well, I_ _'_ _m ready to come back and help._ " Sam said nothing—he was fighting a sick pit in his stomach. It wasn't that he wanted Alex to stay away, it was just that… Lucifer. The hallucinations. The times when Lucifer _was_ Alex. Would having his sister around again trigger things and make the hallucinations worse? At his continued silence, Alex assumed he was reluctant for other reasons. She cleared her throat on the other end and attempted to sound apathetic. _"_ _If you guys want or uh, need me, you know._ "

Sam abruptly fumbled to reassure her. "Wh—yeah," he said, coming off a little too enthusiastic. " _Yeah_! That's, that's great. Sorry, I'm just a little distracted right now. But, yeah, Alex, that's, that's great. We, uh, we'd love to see you and, um, yeah." Dean looked like he couldn't believe it. Sam shut his eyes, trying to find words to say. His mind was whirling. "We're in Wichita Kansas if you wanna meet up with us. The Tiki Motel on Washington Street."

" _Oh wow, seriously_?" she asked, and he could hear the genuine surprise in her voice. " _Huh. I_ _'_ _m not far from Wichita at all. Guess I_ _'_ _ll see you soon. Like_ _…_ _couple hours soon._ "

A couple hours? Sam's eyebrows went up high—one minute he had been wondering about freakish unicorn deaths, the next he was trying to process that it was about to be three of them again instead of two. And she sounded so _normal._ "Cool—yeah, good," he said, distracted and half-there. His eyebrows knit in together into an expression of concern. He'd get used to it. He'd figure it out. He turned his thoughts to his sister, who would never know about the hellish, twisted, demented things he saw. "Drive safe," he told her, a bit stiffly.

He could picture her nodding once. " _Yup_. _Seeya soon._ " There was a muffled disconnecting sound, and the call was over. Sam lowered the phone slowly, feeling slightly dazed.

Dean was leaning toward Sam, his expression intent and puzzled and hopeful and a little upset all at once. "That was Al? She's _back in_?" He sounded like he couldn't quite believe it.

Sam was a little bit at a loss and put a hand out briefly to demonstrate how shellshocked he felt. "That's… that's what she said."

Dean began to grill him despite Sam's obvious cluelessness. "Just like that? How'd she sound? What'd she say? How come she changed her mind? Why'd she call _you_?"

Sam sent his brother an inconvenienced frown and held up a hand in a silent request for the inquiries to stop. "Dean, enough with the twenty questions," he said, deflecting and trying to figure out how he was going to deal with all of this. "She'll be here soon—then you can ask her and get the answer straight from the horse's mouth." Sam had other concerns on his mind, worries that wouldn't let him go. It was hard enough seeing Lucifer every now and again, but whenever it was Alex as Lucifer, it made him feel guilty and dirty and disgusted with himself. It was going to be even worse to have his _real_ sister in the room with the Lucifer version of herself climbing all over him and trying to break him mentally, trying to push him to the point of insanity. Sam pressed his thumb into the scar in the palm of his hand at the mere thought of Lucifer and the things he'd seen. Dean looked at him with a studious frown, shrewdly noticing what Sam tried to be discreet about. Sam sent Dean a churlish look. "You gonna 'chow mein down' or what?" he asked, wishing his brother wouldn't watch him so closely.

Dean made a face at the wisecrack. "Shut up." He was bouncing his knee up and down and in deep thought and didn't seem as interested in eating anymore. For a minute he just stared with a frown off into space, then he seemed to think of something and he pulled out his phone and checked it restlessly. He'd been doing that more and more—checking his phone consistently almost on a schedule, and it was un-Deanlike of him if you asked Sam. He knew why, he was pretty sure.

"You heard back from her yet?" Sam asked, testing his theory.

"From who?" Dean asked, a little too loudly and grumpily.

Sam gave his brother a catty look. As if there could _be_ anyone else. " _Dean_." He hated it when his brother played dumb. But apparently he had to spell it out. "From _Jamie._ "

Dean made a face like it didn't matter one way or the other to him. "Psh. No." He tossed his phone down haphazardly and shoveled an enormous mouthful of food into his mouth in an attempt to try and appear apathetic to the subject matter. A piece of food went flying out of his mouth as he spoke and chewed at the same time. "Not yet."

Sam eyed his brother closely. He didn't buy that I-don't-care crap for one second. A little exasperated, he made a face at his brother and crossed his arms, sat back in his seat a little more. "Are you two ever gonna like—I dunno…"

" _What,_ Sam?" Dean asked challengingly. "Ever gonna what?"

"I mean, you like her, right?" Sam asked, making a leading gesture with his hand. "So… what's stopping you?"

There was a short silence in which Dean's unfriendly gaze seemed to suggest Sam was really inconveniencing him at the moment. "Not my type," he finally replied, right after he took in another stupidly big mouthful of food.

Not his type? "Yeah, and Dawson's Creek is _Oscar_ material," Sam retorted sarcastically. That earned him a prissy glare. "Dude. I'm just saying."

Dean shook his head and focused on combing his chopsticks through the contents of the food container. "James and I ain't like that, Sammy," he mumbled finally, trying to close the subject.

Really? Because all they did was flirt and give each other long looks across rooms and joke around to the point of driving Sam insane— _that_ or they fought and bickered and picked at each other like an unhappy old married couple. The sexual tension between them was utterly ridiculous, the constant texting was driving him up the wall, and Sam wanted them to either piss or get off the pot. Maybe screw each other or whatever and get over their obvious mutual crush so that every time they were around each other wouldn't be so freaking annoying. With that in mind, for Dean to say they weren't 'like that' felt like a complete and utter lie. "Why?" Sam challenged.

Dean abruptly tossed down his chopsticks and then threw his hands into the air in exasperation. "She doesn't like me, okay!?"

Sam gave his brother an extremely dubious look. "Uh… _seriously_?" Jamie liked Dean. A lot. It was so fucking obvious even a blind person could have seen it.

"Yes, Sam, _seriously,_ " Dean insisted, getting flustered and averting his gaze. "It's not—she doesn't—just… just _let it go_ , man." He frowned suddenly and looked at Sam piercingly, moving to the offensive with dizzying speed. "You sure _you_ don't like her?"

Sam's mouth opened, shut, opened again. "Wh— _no_." Yes, he'd _had_ a little bit of a crush a few months back, but there was another girl stuck in Sam's mind now. The one he met in Las Vegas the day before all that crazy stuff with Becky—Annaliese. As far as _Jamie_ was concerned… "She's not my type," he said honestly. "But she _is_ a really cool girl."

"Well finally, we agree on something," Dean said sarcastically, then picked up his chopsticks and pointed them at Sam. "I'll just say it 'cause I'm pretty sure I get what you're trying to ask me. If you wanna hit that, by all means, be my guest."

That was kind of a rude way to talk. "Don't be crass, Dean," Sam muttered.

"Hey, you know me," Dean replied cynically, accepting the label churlishly. He looked at his phone and gave a frustrated expulsion of breath through his nose. "But for real, why hasn't she texted me back, Sam? Or called?" He sounded aggravated and worried, which made him petulant. "It's been like two days and she was on some crazy sounding hunt with 'Owen the Magnificent' who by the way I _don_ _'_ _t_ trust." He looked foul and the way he said that Owen guy's name sounded pretty full of animosity. "Don't like this," he muttered, eyeing his phone again.

Geez. Dean had it ridiculously bad for that girl. "She can take care of herself, Dean," Sam offered tiredly. "I wouldn't worry."

Dean mumbled something cantankerously under his breath in reply and slunk down in his chair sullenly. They ate in mostly silence after that, lost in their own thoughts.

Not even an hour later, the brothers picked up a police scanner report that another freakish death had struck the small town of Wichita, Kansas. And this time, the murder had taken place _at_ Plucky's.

* * *

**Plucky Pennywhistle's Magical Menagerie**

Sam stared at the freakish clown face that topped the overly-colorful building. He couldn't take his eyes off of it. Police and ambulance lights washed the dark night scene in continuously changing red and blue light. If possible, that made the clown imagery even _more_ freaky and garish. Sam had never liked clowns, ever. However, since watching _IT,_ the Stephen King miniseries that had aired in 1990, Sam had been downright _petrified_ of clowns. He just didn't get it: How could _anyone_ think clowns were cute or funny? The creepy leering painted-on faces and the frozen-forever grins that looked hungry for human flesh, the white gloved hands, the sinister music-box tunes he associated with them, the maniacal inhuman laughter, the bloodred noses…

Clowns… were… the _worst._

"Um… sir…?" came a voice, jolting him out of his thoughts. Sam blinked and looked at the source of the voice. The manager of Plucky's, the woman he'd been questioning was looking at him oddly. "Sir?"

Sam realized he'd gone off to la la land and he was embarrassed. "Oh—sorry, I was uh—uh—" _staring at the clown on your building because they terrify me more than anything else known to man_ _…_ _?_

The woman obviously thought he was weird, but she remained professional. Probably because she thought he was FBI. "So did you have any more questions for me, or…?" she trailed off doubtfully. Obviously, tonight had been hard for her after she found a dead, mangled body in the kiddy ball pit.

"Uh, no," Sam said, then pulled it together and used his professional tone and demeanor, too. "No more questions. That's all, ma'am. You have a good night. Thanks for your time." She nodded, glanced over at Dean who was with the EMTs, then walked off. A little mortified at himself—he killed demons and monsters and ghosts and didn't blink but a _clown_ freaked him out?—Sam headed over to his brother.

"Well?" Dean asked. He was standing beside the stretcher which had a bloody sheet covering the body underneath it.

"Manager found the body in the ball pit," Sam said, eyeing the stretcher grimly. "Blood everywhere."

"Cops have a theory?"

"Yeah, they think the ball washer did it," Sam replied.

"The what?" Dean asked.

Distracted, Sam repeated himself. "The ball washer."

Dean had a tiny little smile growing on his face. "The what?"

"The ball—" Sam stopped mid-sentence and made a face, held up his hands in frustration. Very funny, Dean. Joke about the dead guy. His brother chuckled heartily, enjoying Sam's chagrin.

Behind them, footsteps approached. "The what, again?" asked a familiar female voice.

The brothers turned fast at the familiar and very unexpected voice.

Standing there wearing a predictable jeans-boots-and-flannel outfit with a light cargo jacket to combat the night chill, police lights creating a halo of light behind her that made her appear a little on the fantastic side… their sister. She had a fond little crooked smile on her face and her hands were jammed into her jean pockets. 

Sam's eyebrows shot up as a faint smile pulled his mouth upward. "…Hey!" he greeted, his surprise making his voice a little breathier than normal.

"Well, look who it is," Dean greeted—he sounded beside himself.

"Heard about the murder on police scanner, figured you guys would be here," Alex supplied, then clapped her hands together once and glanced around at the crime scene studiously. " _So_. What we got?"

The brothers glanced at each other very briefly, unsure about this sudden reunion. She was just gonna dive back in headfirst? A police officer suddenly bustled over and prevented them from replying. "I'm sorry, ma'am, you can't be here—this is a crime scene," he said to Alex.

He got an immediately challenging look from her and a highly aggravated huff. "Of _course_ it's a crime scene," she snapped, turning out bitch-mode with startling rapidness. "Why the hell _else_ would I be here in the middle of the goddamn night?" The cop gaped at her tone and her body language. Pulling out an FBI badge with a flourish, she opened it so close to the cop's face that he had to back off a little to see it without going cross-eyed. "Special Agent Carrie Fisher," she said flatly, using the tone of voice that said she was busy, important, and not amused at his mistake. She snapped the badge shut and nodded toward Sam and Dean like they were very unimpressive to her. "Headquarters sent me down to make sure these two tenderfoots were dotting all the I's and crossing all the T's because of some _extremely_ shoddy paperwork." Her gaze cut to the boys, who looked as surprised as the cop was. "The bureau just doesn't play that game, _boys._ " She gave her brothers a very convincingly superior and lecturing look before her eyes snapped back to the officer loftily. "Now do you mind, _officer_? We have _work_ to do."

At a loss for words, intimidated, the officer who stood nearly a head taller than her was apologetic and embarrassed. He bought the show—he fell for it, hook, line, and sinker. "Oh, I—yes, of course, so sorry to disrupt, I thought—" her eyebrows shot up in a deadly silent challenge for him to keep going with that sentence and imply something about her appearance or gender. The cop gulped and wet his lips and decided to just apologize and run. "Sorry about that, Agent. Y-you three have a good night, just let me know if you need our assistance with anything." He backed off and gave them a wide berth, and the back of his neck was bright red.

As the cop scuttled away, Alex looked down and the smallest little trollish smile was playing on her lips. Sam had a little smile dawning on his face at the scene that had just unfolded and Dean had a confused, taken aback expression on his face that was slowly turning into a smile, too. Neither of them had expected to see that side of their sister ever again after seeing how burnt and broken she was before. Her eyes raised back up and looked at Dean first, then at Sam. Those hazel depths were sad below everything else and seemed older and quieter than before, but she looked strong, too. Resolute. Content somehow despite the bittersweet quality that rested in her demeanor.

With two words and a humble little shrug, Alex Winchester said what they were all thinking. "…I'm back."

* * *

About an hour later after poking around the scene of the crime and not finding much of anything, the Winchesters caravanned back to where the boys were staying. Sam and Dean were mutually taken aback at how their night was unfolding. Their sister seemed… okay. She'd examined Plucky's with them on the hunt for clues and it had basically been like old times. She had cracked a few jokes, seemed mentally sharp, and been extremely present and focused. A total one-eighty from the Alex who had seemed dead inside a few months ago. Sam and Dean had just watched closely for the most part and things had been very surface-level. They didn't question her—they both mutually and silently decided not to press the issue until they got back to the motel.

Which just so happened to be now.

Dean got her duffel for her out of the back of her stolen Jeep and Sam, ever the needlessly helpful one, took care of opening and closing her car door for her (she gave him an odd look for it, too). As they walked into the room and Dean flicked on the lights, he finally asked what he and Sam had both been wondering. "So, how do you go from, like… the way you were when we last saw you to…" he gestured at her vaguely from head to toe, " _this_."

She gave him a smile that was both playful and serene and played it close to her chest. "Therapy," she said, tossing her keys down like she was right at home. "Willpower. Watching Oprah everyday."

Her oldest brother's eyebrows slowly rose at her reply. "…And she's remembered how to make jokes, too," he commented. Dean was trying to match her playfulness, but he sounded skeptical at the same time.

She accepted his diagnosis with a difficult-to-read, impassive little smile. "Like riding a bicycle."

Sam shut the door as he came in and exchanged a silent tense look with his brother. Dean decided to cut the crap. "Seriously," he said, studying Alex hard with an intent, close frown. "We're worried about you."

She glanced at him briefly—she'd been giving the room a roaming once-over, taking in the tacky tiki decor theme—and she seemed to find his words mildly displeasing. "Well, thanks. But… the time when you had to worry about me is kinda over now, guys. I'm okay. Moving forward. Worked through some stuff, better person for it now." She sounded too automatic or something.

"Wow, so do you do yoga now too?" Dean quipped. There was some bitterness in his little joke though, and no one in the room missed it. He crossed his arms. "Where _were_ you this whole time?"

His sister considered him a couple seconds. "Like I said. In therapy." At Dean's look of _yeah right_ , Alex's expression held steadily. "I'm serious."

"Wow, really?" Sam asked. He seemed impressed and sensitive to her feelings. "That's great." He sounded incredibly earnest and heartfelt and his expression conveyed that he was very interested to know more.

"Therapy is _great_?" Dean repeated incredulously, sending Sam a _you_ _'_ _re crazy_ glance before setting their sister with a disbelieving stare. "What, where they stuff you full of happy pills and you talk about all your bad feelings and then go make art out of all your shiny tears?" He scoffed deeply. "That stuff is a _scam,_ Alex."

Sam looked offended on Alex's behalf, but she didn't look shocked. Just mildly disappointed. "Do you know how ignorant you sound right now?" she asked, and Dean had a turn to look taken aback. Alex shrugged, clearly not regretting her choice of words. "Just saying." She crossed her arms loosely and shifted her weight, giving the impression that she was pretty convicted and confident about what she was about to say. "Whether or not you believe in 'that stuff,' it worked for me. And until _you_ give it a try, I don't think you get to have an opinion on whether or not it's a scam." Her cool expression was serious and firm, a little grim. "I'm not here for you to judge me on how I got back on my own two feet again. I'm here to hunt with you guys again. To take care of some Leviathan assholes and to be part of the family again."

There was a sudden humorless smile on her brother's face. "Oh, part of the family," Dean repeated cynically, darkly.

"Dean…" Sam warned, and it looked like he was about to step in and defend Alex.

But she looked at her twin and shook her head. "It's okay Sam, I've got this." That simple statement surprised both of the boys. Alex aimed a steady gaze at her oldest brother. "Dean, I know you're pissed at me for leaving," she said evenly. There was the faintest hint of regret there. "I can't do anything about that except say I'm sorry for the hurt I know I caused you. I _had_ to grieve, and I had to be alone with it all, I had to just… figure it all out for myself, you know?" There was mild frustration in her voice. But a lot of resignation, too. "I had to take time so I could be strong enough to be here again. You can be mad about it, but if you give me constant shit, I won't stay." Dean looked like he was pretty upset at her wording and everything in general and like he was going to lecture her or guilt trip her. Just in case he wanted to call her bluff, Alex added in one final severe promise: "I'm serious. So, let's just try and move past it, all right?"

Dean looked between his two siblings and drew his mouth into a wan smile. Apparently, he felt ganged up on. But he didn't say anything about it. Instead, he gave a semi-sarcastic sounding, "Yeah, sure, that sounds _fantastic_ ," then stood up and headed out without a backward glance. "I'm gonna go get the booze outta the car."

He shut the door with a passive-aggressive slam and Alex, mouth drawn into a thin line, nodded silently and looked at the closed door as if she were thinking _so, still same old Dean_. Sam was quiet and apologetic and worried all at once. "He's… been drinking more. More than he ever has before." He paused heavily and grew even quieter. "Bobby… really got to him."

Alex nodded somberly, her eyes falling downward. "Me too."

Sam looked mildly sick, his eyes were far away with sadness. Obviously, he was the same. Wrecked by Bobby's loss. But he drew in a brave breath and visibly changed his thought process and offered her a small, bittersweet smile. "It's… it's good to see you, Alex," he said. There was some kind of hesitance to what he said, but he seemed to mean what he said either way. Alex noticed how he was pressing his thumb into his palm, but she didn't say anything about it. "Don't worry about him, you know how he is. He'll get over it. I'm just glad you're here again. It's always super weird when you're not with us."

A smile that was tinged with sadness crossed her face as her gaze turned to him. "Really missed you guys," she conceded. "But… it was worthwhile. Learned a lot about myself. Sucks to have to learn it the way I did, but…" she sighed softly and ran a hand through the hair at the side of her hand. "That's life, I guess." A sudden thought seemed to strike her and she snapped her fingers once. "Oh." She searched around inside of her jacket, reaching into an inner pocket there and digging around for something. "While I'm thinking about it…" Sam noticed her angel blade tucked there, catching the light and gleaming from where it was hidden in her jacket, but he made no mention of it. Alex produced an envelope. "I have something for you." She held the envelope out to him. Sam could see his name written in her recognizably elegant and firm penmanship.

Sam took it hesitantly, looking at her with uncertainty. "…What's this?" he asked slowly. Was he in trouble…? Was this some kind of bad news or something?

She was looking at the envelope, not his eyes. "It's just some things you need to know," she said. Was it his imagination, or did she sound a little nervous? "Don't, uh, don't mention it to Dean. I don't have one for him, so…" she cleared her throat. "I'd read it alone, too." She glanced into his eyes.

Sam's face showed his confusion and apprehension, but he nodded either way. "Yeah. Uh, gotcha. Thanks."

The door to the motel opened and Sam quickly put the envelope into his back pocket and cleared his throat as Dean came in with a half-gone bottle of whiskey. "Booze fairy's here, who wants some?" he asked, apparently trying to sweep his jerk attitude from a minute ago under the rug.

Alex shook her head. "Nah, I'm good."

Sam didn't feel like it either. "None for me, thanks."

Appearing a little more annoyed at their refusal, Dean pulled a face. "Lightweights," he muttered. "More for me."

As Dean began to pour himself some and Sam realized he was still in his jacket, Alex sat down on the end of one of the beds and looked at her brothers studiously. "So. Can you guys catch me up on the past… well… half year? The parts I missed?"

Midway through taking off his jacket, Sam paused briefly and glanced at Dean, who raised his now-full glass of whiskey his brother's way in a silent _go right ahead_. Sam shrugged his jacket off all the way and let it hang over the back of a chair and gave his waiting sister a consenting nod. "Sure," he confirmed, but he was already thinking of ways to downplay the parts that involved Lucifer.

Sam and Alex ended up sitting opposite each other on the beds in the motel room as Dean paced, drank, and mostly listened. Sam detailed the hunts they'd been on, the Leviathan crap they'd seen, the big picture stuff they were working on now (which was trying to find a way to figure out how to unseat and thwart the growing Leviathan population). The past year's highlights were all given: Sam told Alex about the ordeal with Osiris and his judgements on Dean, the crazy witch couple who tore a town apart and how Jamie helped with that job among others, the Turducken slammer crap, Frank Devereux, how Dean _almost_ became a monster-baby daddy when he _almost_ slept with an Amazon woman—apparently he changed his mind about the rendezvous at the last minute and some other poor sap ended up with a murderous daughter, but still. Sam skipped going into much detail about the Amy Pond murder or the animosity it had put between himself and Dean, he glossed over the Lucifer struggles, and he didn't mention how worried he and Dean had been over Alex… she knew that. Of course she knew. He didn't want to rub anything in her face or try to guilt trip her.

When he had finished bringing her up to speed, he very gently requested to know what her past few months had been like. Alex was ready to tell them, but was very glum when she explained it all. She told them about Sunny Meadows and not wanting to even try anymore, how she'd given up on herself and the world. She said Bobby's death and 'some other stuff' pushed her over the edge and made her want to seek real help finally. She said she went to a new place (Sam wondered why but didn't ask). She told them therapy was hard and had done a lot of good for her. It was easy to tell she'd changed, Sam thought. She had this quiet and jaded strength to her. She'd always been strong, but this was different— _she_ was different. Maybe the most notable difference was the deep sadness she radiated—she wasn't necessarily sullen or downright depressed, but there was a pensive quality to her that never went away, even when she smiled or chuckled. Dean seemed very skeptical of the entire thing—of her, of the five months she'd had while on her own—but he held back on more rude, thoughtless comments and just hovered like a storm cloud.

Alex didn't mention Cas by name, not once.

When the conversation wound down, Alex went to the bathroom and Dean lowered his voice to the quietest volume it could go before becoming a whisper. "You buying this, Sam?"

Emotionally exhausted by everything he'd just had to explain and then hear, Sam looked up at his brother from where he sat on the bed. "What do you mean?"

Dean's harsh, quiet tone was accompanied by a half-scowl as he threw a hand out for emphasis. "What, she's all _Beautiful Mind_ just a couple months ago and now she's magically back to Alex one-point-oh?" He frowned at the bathroom door for a long few seconds. His glare gave way to a more worried expression. "Just… keep an eye on her."

Sam nodded, concern making his young face appear older. "Yeah. Of course." He always would. The brothers exchanged a tense glance. They _both_ always would.

* * *

**The Next Morning**

When Sam woke up from a night of tossing and turning on the floor (he insisted Alex take his bed, he never slept well these days anyway and it was honestly starting to become a problem), he realized Dean was gone. He could hear the shower running and deduced that it was his sister in there because her stolen Jeep was still parked outside (whereas Dean's stolen Lincoln Continental was missing). Not too worried because Dean had probably just gone for food or coffee, Sam slowly padded around the room in his socks and boxers and faded v-neck shirt. He stretched, rubbed the heel of his hand into a tired eye, and yawned, ran a hand through his bed-head hair as he tried to wake up. Then he caught sight of his jeans, which he'd tossed on the floor last night. A little white line stuck out from the back pocket and Sam suddenly felt fully awake. He'd forgotten about that until now.

Curiosity burning through him, Sam crouched and pulled the letter out of the envelope trepidatiously and glanced at the bathroom. Shower was still going. He decided he was gonna read it and see what he'd done _now._ First, he stood and threaded his jeans on, maybe procrastinating slightly. He had gotten letters from her before, but not many. Mostly short notes. He knew her handwriting well, could pick it out immediately, it had been her voice for so many years. A voice she had chosen not to speak to him with for a long time… circa the Stanford years. Feeling a certain amount of dread, Sam sat on one of the beds and pulled the letter out of the envelope. The papery sliding sound seemed loud to him. Apprehensive about what this letter could possibly be about (Sam suffered a guilty conscience and always assumed that people were looking down on him as much as he looked down on himself), he made himself unfold the page and begin to read it with a sharp exhale. As he began to realize what the letter was, Sam's breathing quickened and his heart began to pound with emotion. 

_Dear Sam_ _—_

_I_ _'_ _m writing this letter to you as part of the treatment I_ _'_ _m in right now. My therapist told me to write letters to the most important people in my life and in these letters make apologies I_ _'_ _ve never made, let out bottled up emotions, and basically just express myself. Sounds really fun, right? (That was sarcasm.) It_ _'_ _s been hard_ _…_ _you_ _'_ _d think I wouldn_ _'_ _t have an issue writing with pen and paper especially considering it was my main way of communicating for so long in the past. But digging deep has been tough, and putting words down even tougher. I put off writing this letter to you for three days because of how difficult it was to face some things and write them down. It feels more real and permanent to see words on a page versus just having these thoughts floating around in my skull._

_Rambling now. Let me try not to do that. Okay, before I get into anything else, first I have to say I love you so so much. I haven_ _'_ _t let you know that enough and I_ _'_ _m sorry. You are one of the only people who has ever mattered to me, truly and deeply mattered. I know we_ _'_ _ve had our ups and downs through the years but none of that can ever overshadow what you mean to me or how important you are._ _My twin, my wombmate_ _, my first best friend_ _…_ _the one with the better hair (how is that even right? I_ _'_ _m supposed to have the prettier hair!). I remember being kids with you and how you were always at my side, always taking care of me and looking out for me. You were the glue that held me together so many times. When Dean couldn_ _'_ _t be there for us, I always knew you would be. You are a good person, Sam, an amazing big brother, and you have given so much for me. Thank you._

_So, here we go with the tough stuff. In recent times I realized some things I never thought about before. Like how I_ _'_ _ve spent a lot of my life being jealous of you and expecting you to be perfect/selfless (for my own fucked up reasons). I was jealous because out of all our family, you had the best shot at normal. I wanted to be normal so badly and it hurt me so deeply that I quite literally couldn_ _'_ _t be normal. So I resented you for wanting your own life and being capable of having it and even for labeling yourself as a freak when I knew out of all of us, I was the most freakish of all. I was angry that your world didn_ _'_ _t revolve around me and that I wasn_ _'_ _t your reason for existing. Stupid (and embarrassing), I know, but true. Anyway, when you left for Stanford, I was incredibly furious and hurt and it turned to bitterness. I carried that bitterness for so long and never fully forgave you or let it go. It_ _'_ _s really jacked up how much I blamed you for my own issues_ _…_ _and now I realize that I was the problem, not you. I should have been able to be happy for you and what you wanted. But I did what Dad did_ _…_ _held you to impossible standards and when you didn_ _'_ _t want to meet those standards, I gave you shit for it. Remember when we fought after Dean died? In my mind you were the one who caused that and I was the victim. I should have seen that situation for what it was. I was bitter, angry, and resentful toward you_ _…_ _why would you want to stay around someone who was constantly digging at you and making you feel worse?_

_It_ _'_ _s so crazy how time gives you all this perspective. I_ _'_ _m sorry, Sam, that I made you into the bad guy and treated you accordingly. You_ _'_ _ve never been anything but a hero. Loyal, kind, smart, supportive, reasonable. You are a better person than I could ever hope to be and I_ _'_ _m so proud of you for it. Basically, I owe you the world_ _'_ _s biggest apology. You weren_ _'_ _t wrong to try and live a normal life. You were brave to try and break away from what Dad chained us down to._

_I know you and I have made huge strides in the past couple years and have come to terms with a lot of things_ _…_ _but I am writing this letter to once and for all apologize. For passively aggressively shaming you all that time and for mistreating you in general. For judging you and expecting you to run your life to my standards. That wasn_ _'_ _t right of me and I_ _'_ _m really ashamed I ever thought it was. I_ _'_ _m asking you to please forgive me for that. You_ _'_ _re important to me and I hope you know I am completely sincere about this apology. Well_ _…_ _time to wrap up this letter before I get any more uncomfortable than I already am. Love you more than Dean loves pie, Samantha._

_Sincerely, your better half (that_ _'_ _s a twin joke)_ _…  
_ — _Alexander_

He read it twice, stunned at the letter and everything in it, almost too shocked to accept it as being real at all. Sam's eyes were filled with tears, his heart was tight and full in his chest, he felt as if he'd been hungry to hear those things from her for a lifetime but had never realized it before. His hand was covering his mouth and his eyebrows were knitting in together almost painfully as he read the last part one more time.

The shower stopped running and Sam quickly dashed his hand at his eyes and breathed out a sharp puff of air in an attempt to get it together. He folded the letter back up and put it into the envelope, still in a daze about what he'd just read. He was amazed and shocked at the touching, heartfelt, loving nature of that letter. She had never spelled stuff out like that to him before in such detail that was so thoughtful and considerate of his feelings.

Nearby, a female voice was speaking in a sultry voice and commentating on the letter. Sam's nostrils flared and he pressed his thumb into his palm, queasy as Lucifer giggled and cooed about his 'love letter' and tried to ruin the moment for him. The image flickered out and the voice stopped as pain and discomfort radiated out from his palm. He shut his eyes. _It_ _'_ _s not real. Just remember that. And it_ _'_ _s not you. Not you thinking or imagining this shit_. 

What _was_ real was this letter. Sam opened his eyes and looked at the plain white envelope. His heart was warm and he felt so undeserving of love from his sister of all people, but it was a lifeline for him in that moment.

Alex came into the room wearing jeans and a tank top. Her hair was wet and she had a towel and her dirty clothes wadded up with her. She was frowning in distraction, not really paying him much attention. "Hey Sam, do you guys have any extra—" she was unable to finish the sentence when she found herself crushed to her brother's solid chest in a tight hug. " _Mffph_ _…_?" Oops. Too tight. Sam loosened his grip sheepishly and looked down at Alex wordlessly. She was looking up at him in what looked to be a mixture of amusement, trepidation, and discernment. "So… you read the letter."

"Yeah," he confirmed, feeling a little embarrassed. "Um—Alex, just—" he cleared his throat and searched for the words.

She gave him a look. "Don't make it weird, Sam," she advised—she was definitely being playful, but there was an honesty to her joke, too.

He cracked a helpless grin. There she was. The no-chick-flick-moment Alex he knew and loved. She was a tough one to figure quite honestly… deeply emotional and an overanalyzer and a _consummate_ feeler—but she pretty often chose to act as if she didn't go that deep at all. He understood the need to self-protect. He got that about her. But just because she said no chick-flick stuff, didn't mean he couldn't say what he needed to say. Sam took in a breath and tried not to be too sappy about how he worded his gratitude. "This—it really meant a lot," he said, indicating the envelope in his hand. And it did, god it did. He swallowed and his face tensed into an earnest expression. "I forgave you a _long_ time ago for all that stuff—it's in the past. I hope you know that." He felt himself fighting off another bout of strong emotion and his fingers tightened on the envelope. "But this was… was really important to know. Just… thanks for sharing it with me."

His sister seemed humbled and emotional and nodded silently as she pressed her lips in together. She looked close to tears herself all of the sudden. Filled with empathy and the feeling of camaraderie and a new sort of closeness toward her, Sam hugged her again, tightly, and she hugged him back too—he was so grateful that Lucifer hadn't ruined this for him. Not yet. Maybe not ever. Sam refused, actually. _You can't take her away from me. You can_ _'_ _t make me want to run away from her like I have in the past._ His eyes closed and he struggled to maintain composure. He had almost lost her so many times, but this time—the breakdown, the mental hospital, the suicide attempt—it had felt so real and so scary and so _final_ —so now, to see her come back from that stronger for it but willing to admit she had a long way to go…? He was so proud and glad he could burst. _Everything is gonna be okay._

Alex hung on to her just-slightly older brother's huge frame—she could hear how his heart was thudding really fast in his chest and how he breathed a little unevenly as his emotions made him tearful. Alex shut her eyes and hugged him as tight as she could and was so _glad_ she was here, that she had followed through with all the therapy and painfully hard work of unpacking her emotions. Look where it had gotten her: to a place where she and Sam no longer had bitternesses and angers and a million other roadblocks wedged between them. That moment—that hug between them—was the final step for her in letting go of all those bad feelings she'd saved up over the years. It was Sam had forgiving her for all the childish bullshit she had subjected him to. It was Alex knowing things had changed. It was Sam getting closure he had always needed. It was something they had both needed for a long, long time.

The door opened abruptly and in walked Dean holding a drink carrier that held three gas station coffees. The tearful twins separated a little, immediately awkward and trying to appear less emotional than they were. Dean raised an eyebrow at the display then quickly became rude. "Did I miss the hug convention or something?" he asked moodily, then shut the door with his foot and came into the room like a dark cloud. "You girls wanna keep braiding each others' hair or are we gonna try and figure out which flavor of the week big bad's killing people in this town?" He plunked himself down at the windowside table and scowled at the laptop that was there, tapping the spacebar key impatiently in an attempt to wake up the screen. Jealousy really did have a funny way of manifesting.

* * *

Later that day, the two of them sat at a garishly red table at Plucky's and probably looked more like an unhappy married couple than anything else. Dean sat back in his seat crookedly and scowled around and drummed his fingers on the table impatiently as Alex sat still with an elbow on the tabletop and her jawline rested against her hand. She looked bored and a little glum, half glazed over.

Goofy cartoony music played overhead. Arcade game noise competed with the music—a headache-inducing chorus of dinging, clicking, cheesy looped sound bytes, and shrill tinny whoops. Kids ran wild all over the clown-covered establishment—there was screaming, laughing, whining, all of it seemingly to the point of mania. Around Dean and Alex at all the other red tables there were tons of soda-wired kids pestering their sleep-deprived parents. In short, it was chaos.

Sam was currently playing bad cop and pressing all the employees of Plucky's in a back room one at a time. Dean and Alex were there to tail the employees after Sam's rigorous questioning—the idea was that they could possibly determine guilt or involvement by the behavior exhibited by the suspects after the interviews.

Alex glanced across the table at her brother. He was checking his phone. _Again_. "Why do you keep doing that?" she asked. She found it uncharacteristic of him.

She got the briefest surly glance. "I can do what I want," he retorted, ducking her question and reminding her that he was pissed at her.

Alex said nothing and resisted rolling her eyes as she looked away. _Fine._

They were silent again until a kid ran by with a _huge_ rainbow slinky and for the first time, Dean perked up—he looked absolutely enthralled. "Dude… that slinky is _awesome,_ " he said, swiveling in his seat and spotting the prize counter. He was already getting up and leaving. "I gotta have one."

 _O_ _…_ _kay._ Alex stayed put and watched the door of the room Sam was interviewing in. Near to it, a little blond boy was crouched and trying to tie his shoe and getting continually frustrated when it wouldn't tie. He was just swirling the lace around and around the other one, what did he _think_ was gonna happen? A soft smile turned Alex's mouth upward just slightly. He kept trying the same failing method over and over and got more and more adorably aggravated. Dean suddenly plunked back down in front of Alex, jarring her out of the moment. He didn't have his very-desired slinky with him—he was empty-handed. "They don't take _cash_ here," he announced sourly. "Only tickets won through ' _hard work and determination._ '" He scoffed and made a face and sat back in his seat unhappily. "Buncha _crap_." His brief euphoria at the prospect of a slinky was apparently over with.

Alex set him with a suggestive shrug, not commiserating with him or stooping to his level of petulance. "We could pull the old bait and switch?" She suggested, trying to be helpful, trying to bridge the gap between them a little bit. "You distract, I swipe?"

He glanced at her and for the briefest second he looked reminiscent and like he might be about to soften—then he darkened, remembering he was mad at her. He looked away and shook his head stiffly, rejecting her offer. "Nah."

Alex studied the side of his face sadly. She knew Dean Winchester and this whole thing—the passive aggressive comments, the avoidance and the snide attitude, the little digs—those were all him having hurt feelings and trying to make her feel bad right along with him. But she wasn't gonna buy a ticket for that train. She cared about him and tried to look past how he was hurting her. "You okay, Dean?" she asked, gentle and earnest about her question.

He gave her a cool, almost haughty look and crossed his arms. "Why wouldn't I be okay?"

"I can think of a few reasons," she replied evenly as their gazes held. He was stubbornly holding out and determined to keep her at arms' length and she saw that clearly in his eyes. She tried to take the high road even though it was making her sadder and sadder—she just wanted her friend, her best friend, her Dean back. If he could just understand that she hurt, too, still did very much, and needed her family. She never would have imagined Dean would be further from her than Sam was. "I don't want you to be mad at me."

"And I didn't want you to disappear off of the face of the goddamn planet and leave us when we needed you the most!" he retorted hot and mean and _loud_. Around them, a few people were stared at his loud, crass exclamation. Alex tried not to show the automatic hurt she felt at his tone and words, but she couldn't. Dean saw it and the second he did, he obviously regretted the outburst and grew frustrated with himself and quickly apologetic. "Sorry— _sorry_." He let out a charged, regretful breath and rubbed a hand down his face, struggling. He looked tired, ragged, and near to his own breaking point. "I'm not trying to make you feel bad, I know you had to do what you had to do, I just—" his jaw clenched and he looked at the table with a wretched expression. "It's been _hard_. Ever since he died, it's… been hard."

Alex nodded faintly. "Yeah," she agreed softly, thinking of Bobby.

And then Dean clarified himself and sent a shocking feeling of sadness crashing over his sister. "Cas."

That name spoken aloud seemed to punch the air out of her and she struggled to say something to fill the ensuing terrible silence. "…Oh," she managed in a weakened voice. She guessed that _was_ when everything hit the fan. Sam's mind, Alex's breakdown, the Leviathans. Dean looked incredibly sad and Alex tried to appear busy picking at a spot on the table. "Um, yeah." Inside, she was struggling against the constant sadness she carried, the thought of Cas's coat folded up and hidden away in the bottom of her duffel, the knowledge that she was stuck alive from now until forever.

Dean mistook her silence and her suddenly avoidant gaze for the desire to be alone. Uncomfortable and guilty over his behavior, he silently considered for a minute then stood up, excusing himself from his sister's side. "I'm gonna go try and win some tickets with _hard work_ and _determination,_ " he wisecracked without much enthusiasm. He forced a grin that even come close to reaching his eyes. "Wish me luck, because I'm the laziest bastard I know."

He walked off and Alex tried not to feel the guilt she was abruptly drowning in. Dean's bitterness toward her was a tough pill to swallow and had her mind working itself into knots. _You abandoned your family. You hurt Dean. You probably hurt Sam, he_ _'_ _s just too nice to tell you how it is unlike your other brother. You missed so many hunts that they needed you on. You were selfish to act like the world revolved around you and your_ _'_ _therapy_ _'_ _and_ _'_ _breakthroughs_ _'_ _didn_ _'_ _t fix you, not entirely_ _—_ _you_ _'_ _re stupid as hell to think you can do this again_ _…_

Alex shut her eyes and focused on deep breathing and shutting down the negative thoughts. Refuse to think thoughts that will tear you down, Doctor Ekwensi had always told her.

"Are you a mommy?" came a high-pitched little kid voice, jolting Alex out of her thoughts.

Alex opened her eyes, finding the owner of the voice to be a little girl with curly brown hair and a curious gaze. Frowning— _is this kid talking to me?_ —Alex looked around briefly in confusion. Obviously, the kid _was_ talking to her. "What?"

"I said, are you a mommy?" the little girl repeated innocently, eyeing Alex with a lot of curiosity. "Where's your kid?"

Alex fumbled for words, completely blindsided by the question. "No I don't—I'm um… just sitting in here."

"Oh." The little girl blinked twice. And with nothing further, she ran off, her curls bouncing as her short legs carried her away.

Alex stared after that little girl and it felt like everything was sinking down around her—or maybe what was sinking was _her_.

_Are you a mommy?_

A question that unexpectedly cut through her like a knife.

 _I could have been one. I was_ going _to be one._

Alex wondered what kind of father Cas would have been and could picture him holding a small baby so gently and tenderly. Not just any small baby. _Their_ small baby.

The sounds of all the games, the kids shrieking, the overproduced kiddy music playing over the PA—it felt like too much, it was beginning to press down on her and suffocate her ability to breath. Alex got up from the table abruptly and removed herself from the room, finding a nearby quiet hallway where she focused on slow, deep, measured breathing as she leaned against the wall. She didn't see how Dean witnessed the whole scene or followed her. She didn't realize he was there at all until she heard his gentle, "Hey. You okay?"

Vaguely startled, Alex looked up at him and he peered back at her in concern. She tried to hide her distress, thinking he was going to berate her for it. "Sorry, I just—I still get overwhelmed sometimes," she said, trying to be strong. "By everything." It was hard though and she looked down as her face contorted against very powerful inner emotions.

Dean nodded, that tight expression of concern never lessening for even a second. "It's okay. Of course you do." He paused, then pulled her into a long overdue hug, the kind that said he was there, it was gonna be okay, and he had her. "Of course you do," he repeated in a fierce whisper, holding her close to him by the back of the head. She shut her eyes against his jacketed shoulder and stifled a sob. They were quiet for a long moment as brother comforted sister. Then he spoke again, his chest rumbling against hers as he continued to hold her tight. "You just tell me. When I'm being a dick. I promise, Al. I'm trying. It's hard for me too."

"I know," she replied, nodding hard and hugging him even tighter. A silent _I_ _'_ _m here for you. This family can be a family again_.

* * *

**That Night**

The day came and went and the Winchesters ended up having to divide and conquer—Sam took Alex's stolen Jeep to go tail one of the suspects while Dean and Alex checked out the sub-basement that one of the employees gave them a heads up about. Apparently some 'freaky shit' went down in said basement. They waited until after hours, then Dean and Alex went and checked it out. They found, among other things (like creepy broken clown figurines and lots of dusty canned goods and frozen pizzas) some witchy looking hexwork, and when all was said and done, the murderer. It turned out that the overly-cheerful and too-peppy front desk worker, Howard, had been taking the children's worst fear drawings and exacting revenge onto parents who he said 'deserved' the brutal deaths they got. However, as the Winchesters quickly discovered, he was misplacing his own childhood rage at his parents, who he blamed for his brother's drowning death.

Howard taunted Dean and Alex about sabotaging Sam—he told them that at that very moment, Sam would be facing his worst fear and then would be dying at the hand of it, too. You didn't have to say anything more—Dean killed Howard, severing the magic and saving Sam, who sounded pretty damn traumatized (but _alive_ ) over the phone when Alex called him in a panic to make sure he was still alive. He said he was on his way back and with that, the job was basically wrapped up. Dean and Alex waited for their brother at Plucky's in the parking lot and discussed, briefly, what the hell the cops would think of this one when they found Howard's body. Hopefully just a random shooting or something.

Things were better between the oldest and youngest Winchester now. That kind of happened when you hugged it out and then saved each other from certain death at the hands of a creeper like Howard. Still, they weren't talking too much. Alex had to sneak off and take a painkiller to calm her shot nerves at one point when the anxiety became too much. When she came back to the car, she found Dean smiling at his phone, engrossed with the screen, and then quickly snapping it shut and crossing his arms and acting like nothing was going on. Dean, ever the observant one, noticed Alex's suddenly-calmer state of mind and made a comment about how she went from paranoid puppy to a cool cucumber and she said it was deep breathing and a moment alone that had gotten her so zen. That was a lie—it was narcotics. But she didn't want him to know that she was struggling with substance abuse.

After about ten minutes of waiting around, Sam pulled up in the stolen Jeep and got out.

Alex had stood up straight at the car's approach, anxious to lay eyes on her brother. But when he got out of the car, she was given a befuddled pause halfway to him. Sam was _covered_ in metallic, rainbow-colored glitter. It was dusted through his hair, splattered across his front, and stuck to one of the bloodtrails trickling down the side of his head where he'd apparently taken a good hit. Dean stared, too, and Sam, obviously fine if not just a little worse for the wear, spread his arms wide and invited them to react.

"Go ahead," he said ruefully, glitter flashing and catching the parking lot lights as he moved. "Say it."

"…Did you roll around in the arts and crafts aisle?" Alex asked, and Dean began to laugh. Soft at first and then harder, then all out belly-busting.

"No, no, he got attacked by some PCP-crazed _strippers_ _,_ " Dean managed through genuine laughter that reached his eyes, that relaxed his face, that made him look genuinely happy. Sam looked down and smiled despite himself and Dean held a hand out like he was trying to make himself stop. "I'm sorry," he apologized through laughter.

Sam looked at his sister, whose mouth was forced shut and fidgeting around on her face as she tried not to laugh too. "Dude, one of them sprayed me with seltzer from his _flower,_ " Sam said, apparently seeing the dark humor in the situation and Dean laughed even louder, so hard that Sam made a bit of a face through his smile. Alex was giving Dean a weird look too—he seemed so overjoyed that it was bordering on bizarre.

Dean wheezed a little, trying to get it together. "I'm s— _whew_." He sighed, a happy little sound. "That's…" he took in a deep breath and cleared his throat then made himself be serious. "Sam... look, I'm sorry for... psychologically scarring you."

Sam took a second to reply, frowning studiously. "…Which time?"

"Shut up," Dean replied immediately. "Seriously. You know, me—me ditching you and Al at this place when we were kids, that was a dick move, especially since, you know, your whole clown thing—"

"You know what, man?" Sam shrugged his mouth downward, seeming at peace with the whole thing. "Honestly… getting my ass kicked by those juggalos tonight was, uh... it was therapeutic."

"You faced your fear!" Dean offered, and he sounded amused again.

"Exactly," Sam said, grinning widely and approaching his sister. "And now what else could a clown _possibly_ ever do to me? I feel _good_." He slung an arm around Alex and squeezed. "Therapy, right?" He cracked a conspiratorial grin at her. "Gimme a hug there, shortstack." He abruptly forced her face into his chest and rubbed so that her hair and cheek came away with a shit ton of glitter.

" _Hey_!" she protested indignantly, pushing herself away from him with a hand (which she then looked at and realized was glittery from doing so). She set him with a playfully warning look. "Oh, there _will_ be payback for this, Sam."

"Can't wait," he returned, still grinning, then went back to the Jeep, a finger in the air as if he were about to announce something. " _So_ , a little birdy told me someone had their eye on the prize booth and…" he reached into the open passenger-side window and pulled out a giant, brand new, still-in-plastic rainbow slinky and headed toward Dean, whose face abruptly looked like a kid's on Christmas morning.

" _No_!" he exclaimed in breathless disbelief and surprise.

" _Yes_ ," Sam confirmed.

Dean looked at Alex and pointed, dawning joy on his face. "You?"

She shrugged and spread her hands humbly. "Me."

"Oh birdy—you are speaking my _language_!" Dean exclaimed as Sam put the slinky into his hands. He gaped at the thing like it was the coolest thing he'd ever seen in his entire life. "Dude—Sam—you _win_ this?"

"We _earned_ that," Sam said with conviction as he rounded the other side of the car. Alex followed slowly, trying to rub away the glitter on her left palm—unfortunately, all that seemed to do was cover her right palm in glitter, too.

"Ha _ha_!" Dean whooped, examining his prize before remembering something. "Hey. I got you a little something, too, actually." He set the slinky onto the roof of the car then reached into the car for a clown doll, which he tossed across the car to Sam, who caught it and shuddered then made a face at his brother. "What?" Dean teased. "You said you were over it. You can think of it as a... clown phobia sobriety chip."

Sam looked like he'd never heard anything stupider in his entire life. Alex, near to Sam, decided she could help out with this one. "Gimme that."

She grabbed the clown by the feet and swung the doll hard against the nearby wall of Plucky's. The porcelain head smashed into a million pieces and Sam nodded once, hard. "Yup," he said approvingly. "Much better."

"High five," Alex suggested, and only after he'd high-fived her did he realize he had just given himself a palm speckled in glitter by doing so. He huffed at his hand then gave her a look as she smirked, well-pleased with herself for that one.

Dean began to laugh again as he took them in—glittery and disgruntled and play-fighting and _together again_. "You two need to douse yourselves in glitter more often, oh my god, it's _hilarious_."

The twins turned their attention to him and didn't seem to love how amused he was or how loud and unbridled his laughter was. Sam crossed his arms, giving the impression that he was masterminding something. "You thinking what I'm thinking?" he asked his sister while looking at their brother the whole time.

She nodded cooly, eyes on Dean the whole time as a little smile worked on her face. "Big brother better be careful or he might wake up with his favorite clothes covered in glitter glue someday."

Dean's eyebrows shot up high and he pointed a finger at them in turn. "You do that and I will make you _both_ ride in the back for the rest of your lives," he threatened noncommittally, easygoing and enjoying himself. He opened his door and shook his head, gave a laughing sigh once more. "Well, gang? Onto bigger and better?"

"Bigger and better," Sam confirmed, his dimples showing as his lips turned upward in a surprisingly contented smile.

They piled into the car—Sam beside Dean, Alex in the back—and Dean looked into the rearview then smiled over at Sam. "I missed this," he said.

Sam glanced at him and apparently it was the sap hour. "I think we all did," he said.

In the back, Alex pulled a face. "Oh my god girls, can we just go?"

"Hey, I thought you were into all that feelings crap now!" Dean protested.

"I'm into _burgers,_ _"_ she replied in a very factual tone. "Can we get some freaking food?"

Sam chuckled down at his lap as Dean nodded his very clear approval and made eye contact with his sister in the mirror. "I like the way you think, Al."

* * *

**Two Weeks Later  
Portland, Oregon**

Cursed objects. That was pretty run-of-the-mill for the Winchesters. But this job was beginning to feel like a little more than that for sure.

It had started gruesomely enough, with a pair of pointe ballet shoes that apparently _danced_ a ballerina to death. The Winchesters had tracked the cursed slippers to an antique store called _Out With the Old_ where the clueless son of the recently-deceased shop owner had pulled a bunch of cursed objects out of storage and sold them in an attempt to clean house. After painstakingly tracking down three other cursed objects (and not being able to stop one more senseless death from taking place) then returning the objects to their hex boxes where they would stop causing problems, the hunters thought the job was over. And then Dean and Alex had spoken with Scott (the deceased owner's son) and gotten more details about his mother's very recent death.

Dean and Alex exited _Out With the Old_ and the bell tinkled pleasantly as they entered the night. Sam was across town currently, so it was just the two of them. In their FBI clothes, they walked the deserted sidewalk together in deep, mutual thought over what they'd just learned. "So, this lady is holding out and _not_ selling the family business come hell or high water 'cause she's owned it for forty _years_ —then out of the blue changes her mind, signs on the dotted line, dies in a mysterious car crash the next _day_?" Dean surmised.

"Yeah, something else is going on here," Alex muttered grimly. It was easy to tell the mystery was bothering her just as much as it was bothering him.

They walked further in silence and Dean began to notice that almost every single business on the block had the same _SOLD!_ sign plastered in its window along with a real estate poster with the same smiling face on it. Dean's gait slowed as he became aware that this was a huge clue. "Hey… you seeing what I'm seeing?" he asked.

Alex had been watching the ground and looked up, took a few seconds to try and figure out what he was talking about. "A bunch of real estate signs," she said flatly, then it hit her too and she looked at him in surprise. "Oh. _Oh_."

" _Yeah,_ " he confirmed meaningfully even as he wondered what the hell it _meant._

Alex gave a thoughtful _hmm_. "Well I guess I know who we're going to see ne—next." Her voice did a weird thing at the end of the sentence and Dean frowned at her. She was staring at a Suzuki motorcycle that was parked along the road. It was sleek and modern and dark blue.

Dean didn't know why she was staring, but he immediately got vaguely worried that something was wrong from the look on her face. "What is it, Al?"

She came out of her little trance and abruptly looked nonplussed. "Nothing," she said, shrugging it off and walking onward.

Dean followed, guessing maybe she just loved Suzuki motorcycles or something…? Or hated them…? He couldn't tell from that weird stop-and-stare routine. Either way, she wasn't saying. And they had other things to do. "You know what, let's change outta this FBI crap and go get some coffee and free wifi, huh?" he asked, glancing at one of those real estate posters they passed. "See what we can see about this Joyce Bicklebee lady."

"Sounds _thrilling_ ," Alex replied sarcastically. Dean chuckled and put his arm around her briefly. That got him a little smile.

* * *

A little later, they sat in a local café together beside a huge floor-to-ceiling window. The sleepy street the café was on was dark and not much traffic passed. Brother and sister both had steaming mugs of coffee and focused expressions on their faces. Dean was on the phone with Frank Devereux and learning some pretty interesting things about Bicklebee Realty and the company that owned it. Alex was hunched over the laptop with a frown, engrossed in the screen. As soon Dean hung up the phone, Alex was quick to question him over the top of the laptop.

"What'd Frank say?"

Dean didn't answer. He motioned with a thrust of his chin at the road outside, where Sam was visible getting out of the truck he'd stolen to get across town. The job momentarily forgotten, Alex watched her lanky twin brother come inside at a tired, almost stumbling lope. He was _not_ doing good. Apparently his Lucifer hallucinations were out of control. He wasn't sleeping at all, he couldn't eat much, and he was even starting to appear sick physically. As she watched him, Alex's eye was drawn across the street, where she saw that same Suzuki bike she'd _been_ seeing everywhere she went. Her stomach jolted and her guard immediately went up. Always the bike, never the rider. _Where the hell are you, Zip? Watching me right now?_ It made her skin crawl to think about it. She hadn't told Sam and Dean about who he really was or what had happened. Maybe it was time. She didn't like this. Being stalked was kind of unsettling.

Sam arrived inside, distracting her from staring out the window. "Hey. How's it going?" he asked his siblings, dragging over a chair and plopping down into it with an exhausted, ragdoll effect.

"You okay?" Alex asked. He looked miserable and so _so_ tired.

"Eh… I'm here," Sam said, smiling feebly to mask his clear suffering.

Dean eyed Sam closely for a moment, evaluating him. Then he finally answered Alex's previous question while letting Sam know the deal, too. "I just got off the phone with Frank. Apparently, we have a bit of a Leviathan issue in this town."

"Wait, _Leviathan_?" Alex asked incredulously. "How you figure?"

Dean shrugged wanly. "Apparently we're lookin' at a big, old giant nesting doll of Dick, as far as property sales go."

Alex frowned and drew the first conclusion she could. "…The real estate lady?"

"Looks like."

Alex's frown deepened. "Okay, but _why_?"

"Hey, if I had all the answers, I'd be writing high school textbooks and quizzes," Dean joked. Sam was staring into Dean's shoulder with a totally absent expression. Dean waved a hand at him. No response. Dean snapped his fingers a few times. "Hey—you paying attention?"

"Yeah," Sam replied, making his eyes bulge and blinking rapidly then dragging a hand down his face as he tried to get with the program. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Sorry."

Dean gave a soft, aggravated sigh. "Okay, you know what? Enough with the insomnia crap. All right, Pacino? You need to crash. I'll keep working. You and Al find a motel and you get some sleep—she can drive you so you don't fall asleep at the friggin' wheel. Okay?"

Sam was totally devoid of energy. Speaking seemed to take a huge effort. "It doesn't matter what I do, Dean," he said quietly. "Lucifer will _not_ shut up."

"Even now?" Dean asked, eyebrows working in hard toward each other.

Sam shook his head once, his expression showing displeasure. "No-o _pe_." He popped the p at the end of nope, which resulted in him sounding extremely forlorn.

"Tried the hand thing?" Alex asked in growing worry.

Her voice seemed to make him flinch slightly. "Doesn't seem to work anymore," he said, avoiding looking at her.

"Okay, so we get you some _downers_ , some _sleeping_ pills," Dean suggested firmly, not about to be told there wasn't a solution.

Sam shook his head, the picture of defeat. "Don't think those will work, Dean. I'm stuck awake."

Exasperated, Dean made a face. "Sam, you can't stay awake forever, you—" he suddenly dead-ended in the middle of his sentence. "Okay, Al, what the _hell_ are you staring at out there?" Alex hadn't even realized she was staring at the Suzuki again. Dean saw it, too, and grew a little more suspicious. "Wait, isn't that the same bike we saw across town?" Alex shrugged like she didn't know. Now didn't seem like the best time for this discussion. Apparently Dean thought otherwise. He was giving her one of those _tell-me-or-else_ looks. "Something you need to tell us?" he asked. He watched her a second longer and concern began to come through. "Come on. What aren't you telling me?"

Alex decided to just go ahead and bite the bullet. "I'm pretty sure I know who that bike belongs to," she admitted grudgingly.

When she said nothing else, Dean fixed her with an expectant look. "Well don't keep us in suspense," he wisecracked. "Sam might fall asleep before you say it."

Alex wet her lips. "You… you guys remember Zip?"

"The prepubescent looking guy at Sunny Meadows?" Dean asked, scoffing slightly. "Yeah…"

Sam nodded. "Yeah, I remember seeing him lurking around," he confirmed tiredly.

"Well… I found out something about him," Alex said, taking her time wording it. "He's… a Leviathan."

Her brothers reacted the same way—their eyebrows flew up and their mouths gaped open and they leaned forward ever so slightly to look at her better. "You're sure?" Sam asked.

"Oh, trust me," Alex replied cynically.

"Was he one that whole time?" Dean asked. He sounded pretty shocked.

"Yeah."

"And what, you didn't gank him?" Dean asked in mild disbelief. "And now he's… _following_ you or something?" He gestured at the motorcycle and seemed to be getting kind of protective and pissed.

Alex fiddled with her cup of coffee and avoided her brothers' gazes. "Guy's kinda obsessed. Thinks he's gotta protect me, thinks he loves me. Might be because I… sorta, kinda, I dunno…" she cleared her throat and looked down further—she felt like disappearing, "um, you know, _slept_ … with him."

Dean's eyebrows jumped practically to his hairline and Sam looked like surely he'd heard wrong. "…You _screwed_ a Leviathan?!" Dean exclaimed, then abruptly threw his hands out. "Dude, are you ever gonna date a _human_ , or…?" Alex gave him a very done look and Dean shook his head, deciding he had reacted a little too strongly. "Never mind," he said, then shuddered slightly. " _Eeesh_."

"Well, in my defense I was pretty drunk and a little high and grieving Bobby and didn't _know_ he was a Leviathan, so…" Alex tried not to remember the specifics of that night. She grew morose. "It just kinda happened."

Sam looked a little stricken and deeply worried about her. "Wait a minute. Was there—he didn't— _make_ you?" he asked tensely.

"No," Alex replied, shaking her head and looking down, scratching her ear in awkward discomfort. "It was consensual." And it was stupid, worthless, and one of her biggest regrets.

Dean looked pretty beside himself. "Please _god_ tell me you used protection this time."

Alex felt like there was a bad taste in her mouth and she wanted to give him shit for acting like she wasn't a nearly-thirty year old woman… but she just shrugged and confirmed in a bland tone that Dean had nothing to worry about. "Yeah. We did."

Sam was giving Dean a pretty good _you_ _'_ _re an ass_ look despite his fatigue, then quickly refocusing on Alex. "When'd you find out what he was?"

Alex had to recognize the irony of it all. "Like… an hour later."

"Damn," Sam commented softly, commiserating with her.

Alex nodded, her mouth pressed down into a wan like. "Yeah. _Eeesh_." She pulled an extremely chagrinned face, obviously a little embarrassed. "Never again." She glanced at Dean, who had this funny look on his face. "What?"

He shook his head briefly. He almost looked sad. "Just… you're moving on."

Her throat caught because Dean recognized how huge of a step that had been in trying to leave Cas's memory behind and he sounded stunned by it, that she would move on to another guy so quickly. "Yeah," she said, thinking of Cas's coat. Of his ring in her pocket at that very moment. "Trying." Failing though. Her world was stuck on Cas, even if her life did go on. The only good thing was Cas never had to know. Being dead kinda meant you'd never have to know anything ever again.

There was a brief, tension-filled silence in which it looked like the brothers were silently arguing over who had to say something next. Dean apparently had to in the end. "Look," he started awkwardly. "You and Cas—"

Alex felt every single atom inside of herself flare up with immediate resistance to _that_ subject. "I don't wanna talk about him," she said, quickly cutting off the conversation completely. She wasn't sure if she ever would be able to talk about him for more than a sentence or two. Castiel was a deep and painful chasm inside of herself that felt bottomless and too raw to even think about breeching. "Can't. Not yet."

Dean nodded, sympathy and worry making his expression rigid. "No pressure, little sister," he said. "No pressure." He cleared his throat and nodded at the front of the restaurant where there was a glass display of confections and pastries. "Hey, they got some pretty badass desserts over there. Think I see cupcakes. You want one?"

The sugar-bribe was one he'd used a million times before—mostly when she was small—but the mention of cupcakes just made her feel a little further down. "Maybe it's dumb but I prefer the crappy two dollar Hostess kind," she said, remembering a morning nearly three years ago when her brand-new husband had brought those to her.

Not knowing her inner thoughts, Dean cracked a joke to try and lighten the mood. "Hey, at least you're a cheap date."

Alex let out a soft, short huff of a laugh. "Moron," she said. A loving and affectionate insult that Dean obviously took that way. She was kind of surprised he was being so understanding about Zip, to be honest.

He turned the conversation back to the business at hand. "All right, so everyone keep an eye out for this Ziploc guy and we gank him the first chance we get, right?" he said. Sam nodded through his half-asleep expression. Alex looked at Dean tentatively, and he frowned a little. " _Right,_ Alex?" She hesitated—she didn't know about killing him, he hadn't committed atrocities, not that she knew of… did he deserve to die just because of the species he happened to be? Dean looked like he was beginning to suspect something awful. "Don't tell me you have feelings for him."

Alex's reply was immediate and quiet. " _No_."

Sam's loudly ringing phone pierced the dubious silence and he ran a hand down his face as he answered in a sapped, drained voice. "Hey, Scott." He straightened and woke up a little—Dean and Alex could hear indistinct shouting from the other end of the line and Sam frowned deeply. "W-what's happening?" More shouting that sounded panicked and scared. Sam shut his eyes briefly and seemed reluctant, but nodded and expelled a heavy, tense breath out of his nose. "All right, hold tight. We're on our way." He hung up.

Dean was already shutting the laptop and getting ready to vamoose. "Lemme guess. He touched something he wasn't supposed to."

Sam made a _psh_ sound. "Of course he did."

* * *

About five minutes later, the three siblings rushed into _Out With the Old_ expecting to find Scott and the cursed mirror he'd called them in hysterics about—but instead, they found him tied, bound, and gagged to a chair in the dimly lit interior of the antique shop. To his left stood a clean-shaven man in a regrettable red suit jacket—this man's face was blank and his dark eyes had a stalkerish quality to them. To Scott's right stood a woman in her fifties—she was in a pencil skirt, a dress shirt, and a tailored women's red suit jacket. Alex recognized her immediately from the real estate signs she'd seen around town. This was Joyce Bicklebee—or at least the Leviathan version of her.

The woman smiled graciously as the Winchesters skidded to a halt, realizing far too late they'd been set up. With her hands on her hips, Joyce greeted them affably. "Sam and Dean! It is such a _pleasure_ to make your acquaintances!" She clapped her hands together gleefully as she spotted and recognized Alex, who stood between her brothers. "And you brought your _sister_!" She walked forward, her pumps thudding against the area rug. She looked delighted with herself. "Gosh, this is just really turning up roses for me, isn't it?" She had eyes just for Alex. "We all have memories of you, sweetie, but goodness me aren't you just a _treat_ in the flesh!"

The second the brothers had realized Leviathans (which they already knew to be unhealthily interested in their sister) were present, their hackles had raised high. Dean stood a little taller and put himself in front of his sister even before Joyce had finished speaking, demanding the Leviathan's attention. "Hey, how about you talk to _us_ , psycho real estate lady?" he growled.

"Leave our sister out of this," Sam added dangerously. Sleep-deprived or not, he still looked like he could murder.

Joyce continued to smile pleasantly and cast her gaze between the brothers. The Leviathan real estate agent was absolutely unruffled—and Alex knew that she and her brothers were absolutely unarmed. Or _practically_ unarmed, anyway. All she had was a squirt gun full of borax water and her angel blade to put a dent in these bastards—and two of these monsters put the Winchesters into the outnumbered category. Alex suddenly spotted a mop in a bucket full of soapy water nearby. Her stomach flopped. Was it too much to hope there was borax in there?

"Well _sure_ , boys," Joyce said in an overly helpful tone, unaware of Alex's formulating plan. "I mean, it's not gonna be a _long_ conversation, but—" she stopped and made a face like she was chiding herself. "Oh gosh, look at me. I'm being rude. Let me help you put names to the faces that'll be eating you. I'm Joyce, and this is my assistant, George." Her serial-killer looking partner, complete with creepy silent stare, was moving forward slowly toward them. Joyce's tone of false politeness continued. "Now, fellas, I'd offer to show you some properties but I'll be too busy to do that, seeing as I'm going to be picking you out of my teeth and then taking your cute little sister here to Dick Roman and cementing myself as his new best friend." She grinned, eyes sparkling. "What is it you humans say? Ah, yes. ' _Winning!_ _'"_ She giggled, and it was an absolutely grating sound. "What say we get started, hm?" Her smile evaporated and a suddenly terrifying expression of malice twisted her botoxed face. She reared her head back and her face transformed—a huge gaping mouth full of rows and rows of sharp teeth showed, and beside her, George did the same.

It happened so very fast. Joyce grabbed Dean and whirled him, threw him hard to disable and wound him. He crashed shoulder-first into a medium sized glass and wood bookcase. It shattered and broke, groaning forward to fall on top of him as he fell to the ground with a hard grunt of pain, clutching the shoulder he'd hit. As Dean went down, George attacked Sam who managed to grab a fire extinguisher off the wall he was beside and clock the Leviathan hard in the head, hard enough to stun. Joyce was grabbing Dean up to stand on his knees and commenting on how she wished she had her salt and pepper shakers with her.

The second the fight broke out, Alex made a dash for the mop and bucket she'd spotted. As Joyce opened wide to eat Dean, who couldn't break the superhuman hold on him, Alex grabbed the mop like a fighting staff and smacked Joyce in the face with a loud wet squelch thanks to the sopping wet mop. The Leviathan dropped Dean, screaming and tearing at her own face as skin fell away like she'd been burned by acid. She was momentarily blinded, and Sam, who had beat George into a briefly stunned stumble, swung the fire extinguisher like a bat and hit Joyce in the face, sending her arcing through the air with another furious scream.

Dean looked up at his sister as he panted and held his wounded shoulder with a grimace. Alex stood the mop at her side like it was a walking stick and smiled down at him briefly as she offered him a hand up. "Cleanup on aisle five," she quipped, then promptly got a _are you kidding me_ look from her brother for the bad joke. She pulled an apologetic face. "Sorry, it was the only thing I could think of."

Nearby, turning red with fury, the recovering Leviathan were standing together and looking like they had absolute murder on the brain. "You little _bitch!_ " Joyce accused in a growl—she bore down on Alex furiously and Dean shoved his sister behind himself and promptly got seized and thrown aside like a ragdoll—he crashed into another bookcase and hit the floor in a daze. Joyce grabbed Alex and shook her hard. "No one hits me in the face with a mop and lives to tell about it!" she roared, then shoved Alex backwards hard to crash into a glass display case where a bunch of old jewelry was on display. The steel rod that ran along the top of the outer edge of the display case impacted the back of Alex's head and when she went down, she stayed down. Joyce marched toward a disoriented, sprawled Alex, and even as Sam was slammed into a vintage writing desk and rendered down for the count thanks to George, there was an explosive crash, a sudden maelstrom of broken glass raining as someone or something completely shattered the storefront window. Before anyone could register what was happening, a small, lithe figure had rolled in and stood up, seized a thousand-pound armoire and the proceeded to launch it at Joyce like it weighed nothing at all. The heavy structure smashed into her with a crack and it forced her to go down. She screamed at the unexpected impact and was pinned underneath it briefly.

Alex stared through spinning vision at the person who had just burst in through the window. He had a young face, unkempt curly hair, a small physical build. The sight of him made her feel sick and shocked. It was Zip, and he looked _pissed_. George, who had just rendered Sam into a groaning mess on the floor, apparently recognized the other Leviathan and circled him slowly, giving Zip a wide berth. "Well, look who the cat dragged in!" he exclaimed, sounding angry and delighted at the same time. "Purgatory's weakest link!" He gave a sharp, biting laugh. "Kinda wish I didn't have to kill the loser who makes _me_ look competent."

Zip tilted his chin up just slightly and narrowed his eyes, an antagonizing little smile playing on his lips. His more high-pitched voice held a surprising note of command and superiority. "You couldn't catch me then, how do you think you can catch me now?"

That seemed to really piss the other Leviathan off. "Like _this_!" George yelled, and rushed his opponent.

Apparently, Zip had been waiting for that and used George's bloodthirst to his own advantage. As George leapt at him, Zip snatched the antique sword that was displayed on the counter he stood beside—George's eyes bulged as he realized his fatal mistake—a millisecond later, his head was sailing off his body thanks to a quick, brutal slice made by the old buccaneer sword Zip wielded. The body fell to the floor and Zip's eyes darted to Alex's. The sword lowered, his expression changed, he took a step toward her—and then Alex's mouth fell open as her eyes popped wide. "Behind you!"

Zip turned on a dime, his sword up high again. Joyce's attempt at a sneak attack failed completely as she found herself beheaded. Her body hit the floor beside George's and Zip looked around the room, breathing hard. Black splattered him and he stood there breathing heavily, appearing half shocked at what had just happened. And then he turned around, looked at Alex and swallowed, dropped the sword, disarming himself. "I told you it wasn't safe for you," he said, and that soft, caring voice made her feel something very strong. Hatred. She hated him. _Hated_ him. For being her friend all that time at Sunny Meadows, for tricking her, for looking so forlorn right now, for having sex with her, for following her and for saving her life just now. Her angry, mistrustful glare conveyed that to him and his expression showed confusion and hurt.

Across from Alex, Sam was slowly pushing himself up from the ground with a groan of concentration. He had taken a few hits and was grimacing hard but staring at Zip in shock and then looking at the Leviathan bodies on the floor. "Did you—did you just save our lives?"

Zip turned to Sam and gave him a somber look. "Yes, and it's not the first time either, Sam." He said that then turned back to Alex—she was pushing herself up to stand, albeit like an old lady thanks to the back and neck pain she was currently feeling—Zip approached her by a timid footstep as she leaned heavily onto the steel frame of the glass case she'd broken. "Are you all right?" he asked quietly.

"She's _fine,_ asshat," came a very decidedly unfriendly, gravelly voice. Dean was standing and holding his shoulder but still managing to point a threatening finger at Zip as he limped over to his sister's side. "And it's none of your damn concern."

She might have been a little shaken up and injured, but Alex was still Alex. And she was seeing red. She had promised to kill him if she ever saw him again, and she had every last intention of doing that. The mop bucket full of borax water was nearby and with a sudden leap, she grabbed it and flung the entire contents at him. He immediately cried out in pain and clutched his face. Alex shocked her brothers when she yanked out her angel blade and shoved Zip against the wall and held the length of the blade against his neck, seething and panting and… not killing him.

As his face smoked and dripped off in places from the painful borax douse he'd been given, his pained eyes raised to look into hers. He looked like a wounded, disillusioned puppy dog. Their bodies were close, he didn't struggle against her or try to fight her. In effect, he was going to let her kill him if she so chose. Her eyebrows worked in together, her emotions were going nuts, she was tangled inside of herself with painful amounts of anger, betrayal, confusion, hurt. He had been her friend, he had been there for her. The hunter in her wanted to kill him, but another part of her felt like this would be nothing but cold-blooded murder if she did.

"Alex." Sam's gentle, firm voice was right behind her and pulled her out of her thoughts. "I got this."

She didn't protest his offer. She backed up, breathing hard and shaking from sick adrenaline, running a hand through her hair as she tried to steady her racing heart. Sam had picked up the discarded sword and held Zip at the end of it.

Dean hobbled over to Scott, who had sat there the entire time with tape over his mouth and a shocked expression on his face. When Dean ripped the tape off his mouth, the thirty-something year old gasped in some deep breaths and looked around with crazy eyes. "Wh-what is even going _on_ right now?" he asked, voice high with fear.

" _Leviathan,_ " Sam said grimly, his hard eyes staring into Zip's the entire time.

Scott looked absolutely stumped. "L-le-what-athan?"

Alex's high-strung state of emotions caused her to give him a short, cynical, angry answer that hadn't even been asked of her. "Monsters are real, demons exist, ghosts fuck shit up all the time, and basically every terrifying urban legend you've ever heard of is true."

Scott looked even further confused. "Wh…ah?"

"Way to make him feel good about it, Alex," Dean muttered, cutting through the duct tape strapping Scott to the chair he was in.

Alex was staring at Zip again and she stood beside Sam, crossed her arms, gave him a deep scowl. "Give me _one_ reason why we shouldn't cut your head off right now."

Zip, at the end of a sword, looked entirely desolate and lonely. His voice was soft and despondent when he answered her. "Because I'm your friend."

Dean glanced over in aggravation. "Okay, hold up on the Hallmark hour," he said, his sour tone suggesting he was completely over Zip and his presence. He pulled Scott up by the shoulder and made the _move out_ motion by circling his finger around then jerking his thumb over his shoulder. "Scott, you gotta go. _Now_. Pack enough to get you by then _drive_ and never come back."

Scott, struggling to understand what was happening, looked absolutely resistant to that idea. "Okay, I get that these things mean business, you know, but I can't just, like, uproot my _life_!" he protested.

"Sure you can," Dean replied cynically—he wasn't paying much attention to Scott. He only had eyes for Zip, who he clearly loathed. "It's not as hard as you think. If you like being alive, don't look back till you get someplace where you don't speak the language."

Scott seemed to sense that none of the Winchesters had much interest in telling him more and he swallowed down his misgivings. "All right. I'm going. Thank you… I guess." He left the shop with a few sad backwards looks around the place that had always been in his family. And then he was gone.

Sam still held Zip at the end of the sword and Alex stood beside him with her arms still crossed tightly. Dean, recovering from his injuries, was able to walk much more normally as he swaggered over. His eyes were sharp and accusing as he approached Zip and stood on Sam's other side. "I knew you were shady the second I laid eyes on you, kid," he said in a low growl.

Zip's eyes darted over to Dean's. "So shady in fact that I just saved all three of your asses and have been _doing_ that for a pretty extended period of time now," he challenged. He had a way of speaking that gave the impression that he was on some kind of substance from the fidgety, nervous, fast gait his speech pattern took.

Dean didn't like Zip's reply. "Enough bullshit, _explain yourself_." He grabbed Zip by the front of his hooded jacket and shook him hard, hard enough that Zip's head cracked against the wall. "Why are you following her?!"

"I protect her," Zip answered through gritted teeth, and he obviously disliked Dean just as much as Dean disliked him. "Like I always have."

Dean let go with a shove, letting Sam's sword keep Zip in place. "Okay well riddle me this: why do you _care_ at all, huh? For whatever jacked-up reason the rest of your gooey dickhead family does? Or maybe it's because you _screwed_ her!"

Zip's face registered shock. "Don't talk about her like that," he said, immediately defensive at Dean's thoughtless comment. Dean's eyebrows shot up high in indignant surprise. Zip's jaw ticked as he struggled to not lose his temper. "The angel. His thoughts and feelings… they became our own. And forgive me if I'm wrong, but… I think I got the strongest dose." His eyes slowly, falteringly slid to look at Alex.

Dean looked like he had a bad taste in his mouth. "Well that's just…" he couldn't seem to find the word he was looking for.

"So, what?" Sam demanded uncertainly. "So now you're—you're on our side or something?"

Zip seemed earnest and heartfelt. "I always have been." He paused and attempted to explain himself. "I'm not like the others of my kind. They say it's because I'm defective. I think perhaps it's because… because I'm special." He chuckled just slightly. "Seems like an egotistical conclusion to jump to, or perhaps a naive one, but it's one I've reached all the same."

His intellectual way of phrasing himself seemed to really piss Dean off. "Forget the philosophy class!" he barked. "You are _just_ like the rest of your kind, and I'll tell you why… because you were _created_ to be an evil, bastard, _asshole_ monster—it's in your fucking DNA and I don't care what you say or what you think. You're the bad guy!" He was getting in Zip's face. "Now you tell us right now and maybe we don't cut your head off... what the hell is Dick Roman building in Wisconsin?" Zip looked confused and Dean mistook that for being caught out. "Yeah. That's right. We figured it out, and my friend Bobby Singer _died_ to find that out, too. So what's he building?"

"I'm sorry about your friend," Zip said, shaking his head evenly and ruefully. "I don't know—if I did, I would tell you. But I'm simply not in the loop. Him and all the others view me as the weakest link—they'd like to see me dead just as much as they'd like to see _you_ dead." He had the audacity to give a little smile and laugh as he stood there at the end of a sword and looked at Dean in a quizzical fashion. "You—you think it's just gonna stay like this? Petty little murders here and there under the radar? No. Trust me, _no._ Dick wants the entire world to be his, just like he always has. Whatever's in Wisconsin is part of his plan to subjugate the human race, I guarantee it. My advice is keep your heads down and stay out of his way. Let me protect you."

Dean scoffed deeply. " _You,_ protect us? No offense but you're out of your damn, hundred-pound mind." He got no response and when Zip remained distracted, he snapped a finger in Zip's face, demanding the Leviathan's gaze. " _Hey_ —stop looking at her," he thundered, making Zip look at him instead of his sister. "You're talking to _me_ right now."

Zip became cold and lofty and threatening. "Don't forget who you're talking to, Dean Winchester," he said quietly. "I could end your self-loathing riddled existence all in a heartbeat. I could gobble you down before Sam even knew what was happening." Chilling words that he said so casually. And then he gave a mild shrug and he became less ominous. "But I won't. I choose not to."

Dean looked at the scrawny little Leviathan and narrowed his eyes, considered something for a very long moment—looked at his silent, stony sister then exchanged a brief glance with his brother. And then Dean did something he hadn't predicted he would do. "You know what?" he asked Zip in a hard voice. "Call me crazy, but I'm gonna let you walk today. You saved our skin, killed your own kind… I'm gonna give you a chance to live. But you stay the hell away from us. Especially my sister, you understand?"

Zip's eyebrows moved in together slightly. "I… I don't know if I can do that."

Dean darkened and his voice grew intensely dangerous. "Well lemme make it easy for you. Next time I see you hanging around, expect your head to detach from your body. We clear?"

Zip swallowed down Dean's words then didn't reply at all. Instead, he looked at Alex pleadingly. "Please—just, just give me just a _chance_. I know I don't dese—"

Sam looked absolutely pissed and smacked Zip in the side of the face with the broad side of the sword, startling Zip out of his lovesick plea. "Hey, _idiot_ —leave her _alone_."

Alex rolled her eyes and walked off a little, shaking her head at the lunacy of it all. Sam and Dean backed off of Zip carefully, eyeing him the whole time. The surviving Leviathan gave a very hefty, regretful sigh and began to roll up his sleeves as he knelt over George's body. "…What are you doing?" Dean asked with a pinched expression.

There was a self-conscious shrug. "I'm gonna eat them." At the three disgusted stares he got from the Winchesters, Zip huffed. "I don't like it anymore than you do, but you got a better way to make them stay dead?" He waited for them to stop staring at him, and when they didn't, he grew mildly sheepish. "Please don't watch," he mumbled. "It's intensely embarrassing for me."

Dean practically sneered. "Oh gosh, sweetheart, we just wouldn't wanna _embarrass_ you, now would we?"

The Winchesters left him in peace after that and Zip made sure Joyce and George would never threaten them ever again. Depressed, Zip went outside to find his Suzuki had been demolished—the tires were slashed and the bike had been hit with a car, it looked like. No doubt thanks to Dean Winchester. Crestfallen, Zip wandered the streets of the city, trying to find them again. He didn't know what his purpose was if it wasn't to protect Alex Winchester.

* * *

**Five Days Later**   
**Lebanon, Indiana**

Sam hadn't slept since the showdown with Zip—first he tried sleeping pills, then sleeping in his own motel room, then going for an exhausting run, then reading a boring book on theology—none of it worked. Trying for a definitive solution, Dean had brought tons of liquor to the motel room where they had been staying and the siblings had gotten rip-roaring drunk. The idea had been Sam would _have_ to pass out. But Dean and Alex woke up the next morning with splitting headaches and no idea what happened the night before (Dean found himself passed out in front of the air conditioning unit with a pair of boxers on his head, Alex came to in the bathtub wearing a pair of Sam's huge boots). Also, no Sam. He was missing. His phone was there and so was the car. He had just… disappeared.

After a frantic search, they found out that a 'Sam Smith' had been admitted to the local hospital after being hit by a car. They were given no other information and double-timed it down to the hospital with no idea if he were even still alive or what. The on-duty doctor told them that Sam's injuries were pretty mild (sprained wrist, broken rib, some lacerations and cuts and minor scrapes). However, Sam had been admitted to the psychiatric ward because he was hallucinating so badly and so sleep-deprived that the doctors were concerned for his mental health. Apparently they had given Sam as many sleeping aids as humanly safe and he _still_ wasn't sleeping.

Either way, Dean and Alex hurried down the hospital hallway and to the room the doctor directed them to. They couldn't lay eyes on their brother soon enough—they were both sick with worry (and still pretty hungover, too, which only made things worse). They were beginning to realize how serious and deadly the situation had become, how maybe Sam hadn't been totally truthful about how bad off he was.

When they found his room, they could see in through the small viewing window on the outside of it. Sam was laying in bed and propped up on some pillows. He wore a white shirt and white linen pants. He looked absolutely wretched and exhausted and miserable. One of his wrists was bound and wrapped, the other had a hospital bracelet on it.

Wordlessly, Dean and Alex entered, suddenly quiet and cautious where they'd been hellbent and hurried before. Sam looked up as they entered and he looked faintly relieved to see them. "How you feeling?" Dean asked. There was a certain grimness to the question, because it was pretty damn obvious how Sam was feeling.

"Maybe you should cancel my UFC fight," Sam replied drearily, trying to smile. It looked more like he was in pain.

Alex looked at him and quite literally felt pain for him. " _Jesus,_ Sam," she breathed.

"I know," he said heavily, still trying to smile. "I look great, right?"

Dean sat down at the end of the bed very carefully, using his big brother voice. "Sam, we're gonna find you help."

Alex was dragging the chair from the little nearby desk over to sit closer to Sam up at the top of the bed. Sam exhaled and looked away from his siblings. "I don't think it's out there, Dean."

There was a slight frown. "We don't know that," Dean replied.

"We know better than most," Sam replied. His voice barely had any tone to it—it was so flat, so weary, so absent. "It's all snake oil. Last faith healer we hooked up with had a reaper on a leash, remember?"

Dean got mildly frustrated. "Yeah, Sam, I remember." He stood up and faced away in an effort to gather himself.

Alex tried, too. "Sam, there's other options out there, I mean…" she trailed off and couldn't come up with anything to say. Her chest was tight, her mind raced. There had to be something, _something_.

Sam smiled ever so slightly. "Can't think of anything, can you? I can't either. I mean, I'm just saying…"

"What?" Dean turned around, getting a little combative. "That you don't _want_ help?"

"No, I'm just saying…" Sam looked from his brother to his sister sadly and it sounded like he'd given up completely. "Don't do this to yourselves."

Dean stiffened. "Sam, if we don't find something—"

"Then I'll die," Sam supplied, cutting his brother off and leaving the room silent and shocked. "Dean… we knew this was coming."

"No," Dean said, refusing to accept it.

"When you put my soul back…"

"No," Dean repeated, shaking his head all the more.

"...Cas warned you about all the crap it would—"

" _Screw_ Cas!" Dean exclaimed, his face twisted and angry and hurt. "Quit being Dalai frickin' Yoda about this, okay?" He punched his own hand with his own fist. " _Get pissed_!"

Sam sighed long and hard. "I'm too tired," he said. "I'm just done with this, Dean. This is what happens when you throw a soul into Lucifer's dog bowl. And you think there's just gonna be some, some magical _cure_ out there?"

Dean looked utterly angry and sad, all at the same time. "I'm gonna find something," he retorted stiffly. "Don't you tell me I won't." And without anything further, he left the room in an upset huff.

Alex reached out for Sam's hand, touching him gently and reassuringly. "Sam…"

He flinched at her touch and immediately pulled his hand away, seeming incredibly uncomfortable at the gesture. Confused, Alex pulled her hand back halfway. Had she done something wrong? Sam saw her expression and his eyes glanced behind her a few times like he was seeing something there. "Can you… I'm sorry, please just, I can't—just don't touch me," he said feebly, and Alex nodded understanding even though she didn't understand at all. Sam looked embarrassed and upset and swallowed, let out a breath, then stared at the end of his bed bleakly for a minute as he thought about something. His eyes moved toward Alex but didn't look at her. "Cas _did_ warn Dean about this being an eventuality," he said quietly. "I mean… even though he broke my mind, I think it was gonna break eventually, you know?" His pained eyes rose to look into hers. "I'm just trying to tell you… it's okay. I've accepted this. There's consequences to everything. Especially what I did. I mean did any of us _really_ think I could take on Lucifer and jump in the pit and come _back_ from that without paying a price?" He saw how Alex was reacting with nothing but despair and guilt and Sam shook his head faintly. His eyes appealed to her gently. "Don't blame yourself, Alex. I would do it all over again. Lucifer's locked away. You're alive. I'm happy with that." He gave a soft, cynical laugh. "I think me dying is the least of everyone's problems."

"Don't you fucking tell me that," she told him in a trembling, low tone. "Don't give up. Dean and I are gonna _find_ a way."

Sam sighed again, seeming to find everything tiresome. He nodded a little. "But if you don't… just know I don't blame you." He smiled at her a little, and it was bittersweet. "Everyone has to die eventually, right?"

Alex's face worked oddly. "Yeah," she said softly, her mind in a deep, dark place. "Everyone has to die eventually." Her eyes met his again and her stubbornness reared its head as her voice hardened. "But you're not dying yet, Sammy. Not yet."

He didn't seem to hear her. His eyes were locked on a place over her shoulder and he had a growing expression of horror on his face. She looked, and there was nothing there at all.

* * *

**About Twenty-Four Hours Later**

The Impala carried two silent, worried people across hundreds of miles fast. Too fast to be legal. But Sam's life was on the line.

Dean gunned the Impala's engines for all they were worth. Alex fretted in the passenger seat. Why had Sam been so adamant about her leaving? She had tried to stay with him so he wouldn't be alone while Dean called a bunch of contacts and tried to find a healer, a shaman, someone who could help Sam. But Sam had lost it at one point and screamed for Alex to ' _get the fuck away from me_!' and ' _don_ _'_ _t you know I_ _'_ _m the villain_!?' and the doctors themselves had asked her to leave the premises as she seemed to trigger something in Sam that he couldn't handle.

She was so worried about her twin brother that it had her feeling physically sick. She'd taken more painkillers than usual but they couldn't numb her out of feeling scared shitless. What if Sam died? If he didn't sleep, he would die—it was science. Humans died if they didn't sleep.

Their only hope against Sam's demise was apparently some guy named Emmanuel. He lived out in Colorado with his wife and was reportedly a legitimate healer. One of Bobby's old hunting buddies swore on his grave to Dean that this Emmanuel character had healed him of blindness in his gimp eye. Alex just hoped this guy was the real deal and could _please god_ do something for Sammy. They were almost there to the address they'd tracked down. Maybe fifteen more minutes.

Another thing had Alex feeling glum and mournful. The date on her wristwatch. She had noticed halfway through the day. It was April 28th. As if he could sense her many thoughts that were begging to be spoken out loud, Dean glanced at her and shifted his hand on the wheel. "Awful quiet over there."

She glanced his direction and wondered if she should tell him what was on her mind besides Sam—Sammy was a given. But she doubted Dean knew or remembered what tomorrow was for her. She took in a deep breath and looked out the window at the passing scenery. It was sunny and pleasant outside, mocking the way her heart felt. Like a winter night—dark, cold, bare. "Tomorrow's April 29th," she said quietly. One of her hands was in her jeans pocket, fingers lightly caressing the ring she still carried. "Would have been three years."

Dean couldn't hide his surprise. "Oh." He cleared his throat and frowned a little, obviously unsure how to react to her talking about Cas, much less her marriage to him. "Wow. Uh… you okay?"

Ever since Plucky's, that moment in the hallway, Dean had been much more understanding about things. Not that she'd given him many opportunities, but seeing her near tears had softened him, apparently. That and the whole Zip thing. She would never forget how Dean looked so puzzled that she had been with someone besides Cas. She felt the same. Confused about how that had happened at all. Even Dean, who had kind of hated that relationship, apparently didn't understand her being able to leave it behind. "I just wish things hadn't turned out the way they did," Alex mused faintly, still staring out the window and trying to pinpoint for the thousandth time where it all went wrong. "He was a good person. He didn't deserve what happened to him."

She expected a scoff or a _psh_ or an unamused look. But instead, Dean just looked mildly pensive. "Probably not," he agreed in a similarly thoughtful, apprehensive tone. "Seems like most of the decent people out there who try end up royally screwed in the end, huh?"

Alex looked at Dean in confusion. "…He's a decent person now? I thought you hated him."

Dean glanced her way. "I hate what he _did_. I hate the choices he made. I hate that Sam's in the shape he's in 'cause of Cas." He shook his head, pressed his lips in, visibly tried to work through something. "I still can't even get it through my mind that he killed you, Al. I never thought he would so much as let you get a _paper cut_ and then I find you on the floor and you're not breathing and…" he trailed off, his expression pained. "He did that." Dean shook his head slowly. "He did some pretty terrible shit there at the end."

Alex couldn't disagree. "Haven't we all though?" she asked softly. "We steal, lie, cheat for a living. I can't count how many innocent people we've murdered because they were hosts to demons…" Dean looked absolutely shocked at her words but Alex just shrugged. It was a dark reality. One they didn't talk about much or ever. "None of us are exactly innocent, Dean."

Dean was silent for a minute. "You just wanna defend him," he finally said, but he wasn't being argumentative. He sounded pretty down. "Make it okay, what he did."

Alex shook her head. "No. It's never gonna be okay." She hesitated. "But, I _understand_ why he did what he did. At least parts of it. Just like I understand what Dad did." She didn't really know where she was going with what she was saying so she tried to sum it all up. "We all make mistakes."

Dean sounded dark. "Yeah, well, some worse than others."

"It's not a contest," Alex replied vapidly, staring out the window unseeingly. Her eyes flickered back and forth over trees, houses. She imagined all the normal lives lived in those houses. She would never know what a normal life was. Not now, not ever. "Life is one clusterfuck after the other and we were born and raised into that so I mean, I've come to expect it," she reflected flatly. "But Cas…" her voice caught around his name. "This was all so much for him. It was new, it was overwhelming. It was too much for him." Her chest felt tight because she just wanted to hold him one last time and protect him from the things that had spelled his death. She needed Dean to understand that Castiel wasn't _bad_ and that he wasn't _evil_ and that _yes_ he'd fucked up beyond belief but… it hadn't been entirely his fault, he wasn't the bad guy. "Something just broke inside of him. I didn't even recognize him that day. He changed. Got so angry at me. He… he thought I was with someone else, did you know that?"

She already knew he didn't—she'd never told Dean the details of Cas and how he'd ended up accidentally killing her. Dean gaped at her. "… _With_ someone else?" he questioned incredulously. "He was _jealous_? …What was he, nuts?" Obviously, even Dean knew what the angel had forgotten for a fatal moment that day: that Alex only had eyes for Castiel.

 _What was he, nuts?_ Dean had asked. The sad truth was, yes. "Yeah. He was." Alex remembered that moment and it was the worst thing she could think of or feel. Cas, so angry, so at his limit, so betrayed by her, so forgetful of his own strength. "He just got stuck on that thought and forced a soul touch because he wanted to know the truth and…" she looked down, swallowed a painful lump in her throat. "It was an accident."

" _Jesus,_ " Dean breathed. He was quiet a long moment. He didn't look as much angry as he looked confused, disillusioned, sick. It would appear that the half year since it all happened had given him some kind of new, somber perspective. He sighed quietly, seeming mournful. Sometimes Alex forgot Cas and Dean had been approaching a friendship and an understanding at the end until the shit hit the fan. "I guess you and I both know desperation does funny stuff to a guy."

"You mean Dad?" Alex asked, not sure if she were right or not.

"Yeah," he confirmed quietly, eyes faraway as he watched the road ahead. "You know… Cas did a lot of stuff for us. Saved me from Hell, gave you a voice, helped us fight Heaven, got himself kicked out of the halo club… we owed him. Still do. No doubt. Just don't get how the hell he could have ever thought working with _Crowley_ and keeping it from us was gonna do him any favors. Look where it got him, you know?"

She had the same thoughts every single fucking day. "He thought he could protect us," she said blankly. "He thought he could handle it alone."

Dean gave the softest, most pained laugh. "Sounds kinda like me, huh?" he asked, startling her. He shook his head, off in his own mind. He was incredibly grim. "This life ruins people. Tears you apart inside. Makes it impossible to see a reason for existing, some days. Sometimes I think…" he swallowed and his expression grew vastly more tense. "Maybe I'm next in line to go off the deep end and do a bunch of unthinkable shit to the people I love."

Alex pulled a face that said she was considering it but didn't find it very likely. "Not sure if Sam or me could have anything more unthinkable happen to us than what has already."

Dean sobered. "True."

She looked at him and prepared to ask him why he thought he was next in line—maybe try and help him talk through some feelings even though she was so exhausted emotionally. And just then, Dean's phone rang. He frowned, shifted, pulled his phone out of his pocket and quickly muttered " _crap, forgot,_ " before answering. Alex listened to the following one-sided conversation. "Hey James. No, no we found him—yeah, I forgot to call you back, sorry. Thanks for checking. Yeah. Been kinda freaking out. Uh—they don't know, he hasn't slept in like five, six days now. Yeah. No, no. We're only trying your magical witchy stuff if this Emmanuel guy doesn't work out. Don't want you down for the count unless it's last option. Mm-hm, some healer out in Colorado. Yeah, we hope so too. Oh, are you? Well maybe we can meet up once Sam's on his feet again. Still got some Leviathans to take down." He suddenly chuckled richly as a genuine smile made his eyes crinkle. "Ah, shut up, dork," he teased, apparently very amused about something she'd just said. At Alex's watchfulness, Dean cleared his throat and wiped the boyish smile off his face and attempted to look serious. "Yeah, yeah, I'll talk to you later. Yup. You too."

Alex had turned her head to casually look out the window at the passing scenery—and then she whipped her head back to gawk at someone they had just passed—a man with hair the color of Cas's was sitting with his back to them on a picnic table at the park they had just passed—he was sitting on _top_ of the table, with his feet on the bench part—just like Cas used to after Alex had shown him how. She swore he looked _exactly_ like him, from the back at least, and her heart was racing, her breathing had picked up. _Jesus, now I_ _'_ _m seeing things like Sam does. Christ. It was just a guy with brown hair, calm down._

"Al?" Dean asked, seeing her heightened state of distress. "What's up?"

She shook her head, trying to calm herself. "T-thought I saw something," she said, a little worried about her mental state. "It was nothing." She tried to chalk it up to stress and the thoughts about the anniversary tomorrow. She cleared her throat and tried to concentrate on real life. "So… you and Jamie."

Dean tried to look like he didn't know what she was talking about. "Me and Jamie what?"

"I mean…" Alex remembered, clearly, Sam detailing the recent hunts to her and how Dean had mysteriously turned down some hot chick for no good reason. Alex had a private theory she'd maintained, and decided now was as good a time as any to test that theory. "Why _else_ would you turn down some hot bar girl out of the blue?"

Dean knew what she was talking about, which sort of seemed to confirm it for her. "You mean the amazon chick?" _Bingo._ She hadn't said anything about _what_ girl—she knew Dean got approached a lot by hot bar girls. He shrugged, trying to play it off. "Maybe I have a second sense about these things."

Alex made a horse sound— _psh_. "Yeah, and maybe I'm a good _cook_." 

Her brother shot her a flustered look. "I just wasn't feeling it with that girl, is that really front page news? Sometimes it's there, sometimes it ain't." He apparently forgot to be sensitive because he felt put on the spot. "Speaking of, I gotta say, I'm curious. Leviathan versus angel, who wins _that_ award?"

Alex looked at him with no expression whatsoever. "Seriously?" she asked. Did he honestly just ask her who was a better fuck…?

Dean stuck with it, even if it _was_ a kind of insensitive question. "I mean, I'm curious."

Alex looked off and crossed her arms. "Angel. No contest." She glanced down at the map she had across her thighs, and her mind was very far away. "The house should be just ahead on the left."

Dean slowed the Impala and craned his neck to try and see the two-story home better as he parked on the street in front of it. The house was pretty run of the mill, but it _did_ have a really nice landscape. Apparently Emmanuel liked gardening. Or maybe that was the wife that had been mentioned. There were flowers everywhere. Alex noticed they were mostly yellow flowers. Her heart tugged. "Well, this it?" Dean asked dubiously. "Looks kinda… not what I was expecting." He shook his head and it was clear to see how worried he was about this panning out. "This feels like a long shot."

"Long shots have saved our asses before," Alex offered.

Dean considered that briefly. "Here's hoping." He offered her his fist. "Pound it." She touched her fist to his and they got out of the car.

They wandered up the stairs slowly, eyeing the immediate surroundings closely. Alex paused to touch a handmade-looking birdhouse that was stuck beside the railing and through the shrub there via a tall post. Something about the birdhouse made her smile briefly to herself. Whoever had made it had obviously put a lot of heart into it.

Dean had already knocked on the door and a forty-something man answered. Dean hesitated as Alex, hands in her jacket pockets, joined him. "Hi. Uh, is this, uh, Daphne Allen's house?" Dean asked. "I'm looking for Emmanuel."

"Well, you found him," the man replied pleasantly. "Daphne's resting. If you don't mind…?" he gestured for Dean to move aside.

Dean nodded. "Oh, yeah, sure."

Emmanuel stepped outside and closed the door behind himself, waiting for Dean to speak. Alex had expected someone less… soccer dad. Dean seemed a little surprised, too. "Um… So, I was hoping, uh…" he trailed off and suddenly stiffened. Then Alex saw what he'd seen.

Visible through a gap in the window curtains, there was a woman bound to a chair and gagged—she was struggling profusely. Emmanuel's eyes abruptly turned black and he seized Dean and whirled him, smashed him against the door, raised a hand as Alex, angel blade already out, had been about to stab him. She went flying back with devastating force and hit her head incredibly hard against the porch railing—so hard that her vision went white and her ears went muffled. Groaning in pained protest, she put a hand to the back of her head—pain exploded at the touch and her fingertips became warm and wet thanks to a good gash. Alex tried blinking repeatedly to get her clarity back. Dean—demon—her blade—she tried valiantly to push herself up. She heard the demon talking to Dean somewhere close and she tried to find them, but her vision was still white-hot and everything was crossing over everything else. "Sorry, buddy, but we can't have you two whisking off this Emmanuel guy. Whatever Emmanuel is, Crowley's gonna want him—a lot more than he wants the likes of _you_ these days. So…"

There was a sudden scream as the sound of metal plunging into flesh squelched. Struggling to push herself up onto an elbow, Alex caught sight of Dean through her wavering vision—he was kicking the dead demon off the demon blade and down the stairs of the porch. She relaxed a little, incredibly thankful Dean was okay. She thought it was odd he didn't immediately rush to her or even look at her, but he was staring down the stairs, past where she could see—a shrub cut off her vision. Woozy, she blinked a few more times and opened her mouth to ask Dean for a freaking hand and maybe a trip to the hospital.

And then, the moment that would change her life.

"What was that?" she heard someone ask. That voice made her veins freeze up because it sounded _so familiar_ , out of a dream. "…Who are you?" the voice asked again.

Dean seemed totally at a loss. All the response he could muster was a very stunned, " _uh_ …"

Alex thought she must have hit her head harder than she thought—that _voice._ And then footsteps began to sound up the stairs and the man who had been speaking came into view.

Alex's body was struck by emotional lightning, her breath was knocked out of her anew. Her mouth fell open into an expression of incredulous semi-horror and she lost the ability to function for a few short seconds.

Standing there in the flesh and staring at her with a strange, stunned, confused expression, wearing clothes she didn't recognize… the man she had dreamed of and mourned and, she thought, lost forever.

_Castiel._


	92. Do I Know You?

" _We're in a foreign eyes. Yet we have known each other all along._ _"  
_ \- Jonsi

* * *

**Three Minutes Ago**

Emmanuel sat on the park picnic table with his feet on the bench. He wasn't entirely sure why he was inclined to sit that way, but he always had been. Daphne told him to stop it every time she saw him sit that way—it wasn't proper, she said.

…Today had been a strange day (well, hadn't _all_ of them been strange?).

He held the penny on the chain in the palm of his hand and he was examining it for the thousandth time, searching the small copper circle for answers. He did this every day, quite honestly. Two fingertips brushed over the cool metal surface almost mournfully. _What are you? What do you mean?_ The inanimate object glinted back up at him as he contemplated it, and he was yet again given no answers, no memories, no clue of who he had been before that lake. A certain sense of restlessness had remained deep inside of him for a long time, maybe what seemed like forever, but today he felt wrong and anxious on a new level. Nothing seemed right at all and he kept looking over his shoulder expecting to find someone there—yet every time he looked, there was nothing and no one there at all.

He only wanted to know who he was. But that desire was coming to nothing. Was he relegated to accepting this life as his own? Accepting Daphne as his wife like she insisted she was? It had been nearly half a year he'd spent without memories or knowledge of who he was… perhaps this life really was his now. Even if he didn't truly want it. Perhaps his desires meant nothing and his reluctance to accept it all was witness to an inward selfishness and weakness of character.

A car passed by behind him and Emmanuel idly thought he should return home now—he had stalled long enough. It was Daphne's day off of work—she would want to spend time together. He had declined her earlier offers to drive him across town to where someone had needed healing. Emmanuel preferred walking, and deep down where he wouldn't admit it, he also preferred not being with Daphne and he tried to create as much time gone from home or busy as possible. He felt ashamed of himself for still feeling the way he did about her: disinterested, uncomfortable, hesitant. But he couldn't seem to help it, and he avoided her as much as possible. He was always looking for an excuse to busy himself with other things—healing the sick, gardening, building birdhouses, repairing things for the neighbors or around the house, spending time by himself in nature. It was a simple fact: no matter how hard he tried to be grateful to Daphne, he couldn't make himself love her (which was what he knew she wanted). She had tried a few more times to convince him to engage in sexual relations with her, but each time he had reacted even more strongly and negatively than before. It didn't feel right. He didn't think it ever would. He wanted her to stop pressuring him in that area.

With a deep inhale, Emmanuel decided he could not justify staying gone any longer and he got off the table and made his way back home. It was less than a block—he cut through a side street and a back yard and then wandered up the sidewalk toward Daphne's house. His pace slowed and stuttered briefly when he saw a classic old black car—a Chevrolet Impala—parked in front of the house. For reasons unknown, that car made his stomach jolt. He wondered if perhaps, before the memory loss, he had driven one of those…?

He continued up the sidewalk slowly, a feeling of utter apprehensiveness growing in the pit of his stomach as he neared the inexplicably familiar car. There was a feeling in him, an instinct that said something was amiss. And then he heard a crash, some gruffly spoken words, a woman crying out as if she were being harmed, a masculine shout of pain—he hurried to get closer. Just as he rounded the tall shrub that blocked his view of the front porch, a body crashed and rolled down the front steps, landing right at Emmanuel's feet. Shocked and momentarily breathless, Emmanuel stared down at the man who laid at his feet and who choked out a final last breath—his face was obscene and perverse and _not human_ at all—it was like something out of hell. But then the face faded away and in its place was a normal looking man's face. He was dead and staring unseeingly.

Emmanuel slowly looked up. At the top of the steps a thirty-something man stood with a bloody knife held at his side. This man looked brutal and strong and incredibly capable, but this man's fierce expression faded as he stared at Emmanuel with growing confusion and surprise. Normally, had he seen a stranger with a weapon, Emmanuel would have immediately assumed that the armed person was an enemy. For reasons he could not name, he didn't feel this man was an enemy.

"What was that?" Emmanuel asked, looking down again at the dead body that had borne the face of a monster. Had he been seeing things? The man at the top of the stairs seemed to be utterly speechless and Emmanuel began to fear for Daphne's safety. "Who are you?" he asked, his frown deepening and his anxiety tripling—his heart was beginning to ound quicker. What was this? What had happened here?

The man in question said nothing except a very uncertain, " _Uh_ …"

Unable to stay frozen any longer, Emmanuel climbed the steps quickly and the man backed up a little—it almost looked like this man with the knife who had just brutally murdered that creature was afraid of _him_ _—_ the meek healer who had never harmed anyone in his life.

Emmanuel reached the top of the steps.

And that was when he saw her.

Behind the man with the knife, a young woman was sprawled on the ground against the side railing of the porch. She was holding her head with an expression of pain and grunting out a sound of exertion as she held herself up on an elbow. She saw him at the exact same moment that he saw her. And life seemed to change forever.

Emmanuel was stunned into a stillness he didn't understand when their gazes locked. She reacted in tandem with him—her expression of pain immediately fell and was replaced by some kind of shellshocked disbelief. Emmanuel was momentarily captivated past knowing how to move or speak—all he could do was drink in the sight of her. She was incredibly beautiful, almost painfully so—he didn't think there could _be_ anyone more beautiful in the entire world and looking upon her made him feel staggered and thunderstruck. Who _was_ she? Her features were intriguing, youthful and innocent but wizened and jaded all at once, she had the sweetest smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose and the planes of her cheeks—her long, wavy hair was the exact color that always turned his head on the streets: rich, dark brown like espresso or fertile ground tilled in the springtime. But most of all, her eyes. Her _eyes._ He had never seen _eyes_ like hers. Vivid hazel depths that made him think of a quiet, verdant forest dappled by sunlight stared back at him—and Emmanuel couldn't look away from her, he couldn't escape the sudden spell he was under. All he knew was that he was absolutely confounded by this stranger; he was of the immediate conviction that she was someone incredibly important. And heavens, she was so _very_ beautiful…

Her head tilted to the side just slightly as she stared at him in aghast confusion. When she tilted her head, his eyes caught the sight of bright redblood smeared on the railing behind her and he realized she hadn't just _fallen_ in the chaos—she'd been attacked and had sustained a head injury. Deep concern like he had never experienced before seized him and made his expression twist as his heart did, too. "You're _hurt_ …" he said, and without thinking, he moved forward and reached down to touch her and heal her, to take away the pain and the damage done.

The second he moved toward her, the expression on her face changed—she suddenly seemed angry and wild and scared like a caged animal. Even as she yanked herself back from his approach and out from the possibility of him touching her, one of her hands raced into the back waistband of her jeans and out darted a colorful plastic water gun—he barely registered what it was before several spurting shots of lukewarm water hit him square in the face. Sputtering and staggering back a few steps at the ridiculous and unforeseen action, Emmanuel looked at her in confusion as droplets ran down his face—he tasted soap and his eyes stung a little from the strong mixture of cleaner and water. "Wh—?" he managed, feeling completely blindsided. Did she think he was going to _hurt_ her? And how would soapy water be an effective defense, anyway?

The young woman appeared entirely shocked that whatever she'd been trying to accomplish had failed. At the awkward ensuing silence, the man with her attempted to explain, speaking up for the first time. "S-sorry, man," he said falteringly in an unsure voice, motioning for Emmanuel to stay back and give the girl space. He wet his lips nervously, appearing to cast around for an explanation for the behavior. "She's… uh, she's… a, a germaphobe." He grinned nervously, like he was offering an olive branch and dreading the possibility of it being rejected.

Emmanuel wiped the grimy, sour taste of soap away from his mouth with the edge of his sleeve. He felt inexplicably slighted that she had attacked him, like he'd been slapped in the face. He didn't understand the logic behind the action, either. "I fail to see how this would… remove germs at all," he said in confusion, looking at the young woman in question. She looked more confused than before and close to tears even, but the man with her, maybe her boyfriend, was helping her stand up and was being very attentive to her. They seemed to be very familiar with the other and very close. A slight instance of distaste ran through Emmanuel, a dark feeling. He was surprised by it and a little afraid, too. As the stranger righted and helped the beautiful woman stand, Emmanuel remembered the dead man at the bottom of his stairs and looked that way as his stomach tightened. "What _was_ that thing?" he questioned again, growing anxious all over again. "Why was it here at my hou—" he found himself unable to finish his sentence when his gaze happened upon the window into the living room—through a gap in the curtains, he could see Daphne struggling against ropes and a gag. _Oh no_.

With thoughts of rescuing his caretaker on the brain, Emmanuel dashed into the house and left a very shocked Dean and Alex shaken on the porch. They stared after the man who looked like Cas, and neither could find words for a very long few seconds. "…Who _is_ that, Dean?" Alex finally asked in a trembling whisper. She stared at the man who looked, sounded, and _felt_ like Castiel to her, she could see him through the living room window as he knelt in front of Daphne and began to unknot the ropes around her legs with concentrated effort. Her throat closed up because it _couldn_ _'_ _t_ be him. It just couldn't! Her voice was growing high and tight. "Who the hell _is that_?"

Dean was still helping her stay standing. He sounded similarly shellshocked. "I… I dunno," he replied in an almost-whisper. Then, never one to lose his sense of humor even in the more dire of circumstances, he cracked a half joke. "Well, not a Leviathan, I mean, you crossed _that_ one off the list…"

Her breathing was growing faster and faster—she barely heard what Dean said. "I thought he was freaking _Zip_ _…_!" Alex protested in an upset, shaking voice—was that really the craziest conclusion to jump too!? Her mind was scrambling to find an explanation for what she had just seen. "A shifter? A ghoul? A demon?"

Dean was shaking his head slowly, staring at Cas's lookalike along with her and getting more and more distressed by deep thought. "Maybe but… maybe not, I mean the healing stuff, remember? If that's true, you know a monster or a demon who can do _that_? A-and this wouldn't be the first time Cas was supposed to be dead and wasn't… right?" They looked at each other with stumped expressions and then Dean seemed to remember something. "Hey—you okay? Hit your head pretty hard…"

He tried to examine her, but Alex yanked her head away from his attempt and batted at his hand in short-tempered annoyance. "Cut it out," she muttered. It hurt, her vision was a little messed up, her ears were ringing, but she would live.

Dean suppressed an eyeroll when she refused his help. He let out a frustrated breath and stared hard in through the window at Cas's doppelganger. When he spoke, it was in his _I have a plan_ tone. It was furtive, quiet, hurried. "Look, we go in there and try and get him to go with us to fix Sam. We don't trigger him—in case it's really Cas. He might still be full of nuke so… we gotta be careful here not to jog his memory." He looked back at his sister and concern made his intense expression soften. "Can you do this?"

Alex glared at him through her tumultuous sadness and confusion and distress. "Yes I can _do_ this," she snapped. She didn't need to be treated like a glass vase, and she didn't want him to expect her to break into pieces over this… although truthfully she felt cracked already.

He ignored the harsh tone. "Stay here. Gotta hide that body real quick." Dean jogged down the steps, glanced around for witnesses, then dragged the dead human who had been possessed by a demon into the yard and stashed the corpse under a shrub where no one would notice, at least not for awhile. Alex stayed where she was and stared in through the window to the house with a frozen expression on her face. Who _was_ that? The way he moved, the way he carried himself—every feature of his handsome, careworn face was familiar and brought her back to a time she had begun to forget. _Was_ that Castiel? She had felt this pull, deeper than heart, when his eyes had locked on hers. She _still_ felt it, watching him now. She didn't know which would be worse: for him to be alive and here for whatever reason, or for him to be dead and this lookalike to be just another cruel trick played by fate. _If you_ _'_ _ve been alive all this time, why didn_ _'_ _t you find me? I don_ _'_ _t understand_ _…_

"Come on," Dean's voice said near her, and she was jolted out of her brief reverie. He was heading into the house through the ajar door. Alex drifted in after Dean, feeling like she was in a nightmare or a dream, and she wasn't sure which.

The home was decorated simply and had various middle-eastern touches around—a hindu statue, a buddha, some Japanese scroll thing on a far wall… but Alex barely took any of it in. She was watching the man who looked like Castiel as he untied the woman Alex assumed was Daphne. The Cas lookalike wore gray pants, brown shoes, and a steely blue henley shirt underneath a navy blue zip up sweater. His hair was a little tamer than she remembered Cas's being. But other than that, he was a dead ringer for the angel in the trench coat. He had just finished untying and ungagging Daphne and he was helping her stand. "Did that creature hurt you?" he asked, and there was concern in his voice. Alex immediately felt a thousand-percent insulted and angered, especially when Daphne threw aside the ropes he'd loosened and stood, clasping his hands in hers and breathing hard and looking at him like she was worried and adoring of him.

"I'm okay," she said, and her voice was soft, high, feminine. She clung to him, and he didn't resist her touch. They looked like a _couple_. "But, Emmanuel... that man with the black eyes… he was looking for you. He wanted to _take_ you from me." The worry she felt was pretty obvious from her voice and expression. And then she reached up and _touched the side of his face_ gently and sweetly. Immediately, Alex felt a dark and twisted feeling, the most angry and hatred-filled instance of jealousy surge through her. She wanted to body slam Daphne to the ground and crack her jaw in half. Beside Alex, Dean gaped and then his eyes slid sidelong to his sister trepidatiously, like he was fearing what her reaction might be.

Castiel, Emmanuel, whoever the hell he was didn't show his reaction to Daphne's touch—he just held Daphne's gaze somberly, tensely. "Well, I'm here now," he told her, then exhaled softly and remembered there were others present. He took Daphne by the wrist and pulled her over with himself to where Dean and Alex stood. "I'm Emmanuel," he introduced, then held out his hand to Dean for a shake.

Dean hesitated, caught off guard by the entire thing and uncomfortable at what was unfolding. Nevertheless, he stuck his hand out and went along with it. "…Dean," he said awkwardly. "I'm... Dean." Emmanuel nodded and his gaze slid to Alex, a silent request for her name to be given. Dean faltered. "And this is my sister uh—um—" he cleared his throat and then gave her middle name instead of her first—she guessed as part of his _don_ _'_ _t-set-off-the-angel-bomb_ plan. "Elizabeth." Alex felt like something in her died. How was this even _happening_? Emmanuel seemed mildly surprised to hear that they were siblings, then a little relieved, almost—he offered his hand to her, too, and Alex shrank back a millimeter or two and looked him mistrustfully. Dean spoke up for her when she said nothing. "She, uh, doesn't like to shake hands."

Emmanuel frowned slightly. "Apologies," he said, his eyes searching Alex's deeply and unrelentingly. "Germaphobe. I… forgot." That husky, deep voice made her weak and confused. Their eyes held for what almost became an awkward amount of time—but to be looked at by that devastatingly, soul-crushing blue gaze again… Alex could have crumbled into pieces and she couldn't find herself able to look away. The only thing she could wonder was _why don_ _'_ _t you know who I am?_ If this truly were Castiel, he would _know_ her. Wouldn't he? Emmanuel finally tore his gaze away from her and looked at Dean instead—Daphne had noticed the long gaze between Emmanuel and Alex and looked vaguely darker for it. "Dean, Elizabeth," Emmanuel said grimly, "thank you for protecting my wife." When he said that, Daphne's darkness melted away and she smiled girlishly, gazing at Emmanuel with soft, big eyes.

_My wife._

He said those words, and they hit Alex and she remembered what she had forgotten. That Emmanuel was apparently married. That Daphne was the _wife_. And her brain suddenly put the two and two together that Cas _was_ Emmanuel. _But_ _…_ _but_ _…_

"…Your _wife_ ," Dean repeated darkly and slowly—he seemed to have forgotten too. He sounded vaguely pissed off and challenging, like it had better be a joke.

"Yes," Emmanuel replied vaguely, seeming disinterested in the subject completely.

Alex's eyes made a beeline for his left hand—sure enough, he was wearing a silver wedding band. And Daphne was wearing one too. Alex's throat seized up and she looked at Castiel in utter disbelief. How _could_ he? If this was really him—how _could_ he? How the _fuck_ could he marry someone else and leave Alex to die of agony and grief all by herself all those months?! How _COULD_ he?! Her heart raced and blood pounded deafeningly in her ears as her breathing began to pick up from distress. And then she realized anew what she hadn't before—that they were together, like in _all ways_ possible—that marriage meant more than just two people joining lives—and she wanted to die as she pictured Castiel making love to this woman and smiling tenderly at her and holding her in his arms and whispering that he loved her. Alex's heart felt like it had been crushed into nothing and all she could do was feel betrayed in every single way possible. That, and allow her mind to go some pretty horrible places: unbidden, she pictured Castiel fucking Daphne senseless on that chair over there, the nearby couch, then against that wall behind them… and she wanted to fall to her knees and sob. That or _murder_ someone. But even as she thought that, she was bashing herself internally for her hypocrisy. She'd screwed someone else too… but it had been once, it had been a mistake, and love had been zero part of it. She _never_ would marry anyone else, _ever._ This was devastating.

"Are… you all right?" Emmanuel asked, peering at Alex intently with a frown, startling her out of her dismayed reverie. When she said nothing and just looked around vaguely, dodging everyone's gazes in an attempt to not start crying, Emmanuel looked at Dean with growing uncertainty. "Is she all right? She… looks like she might be about to be ill."

"Um, she's just had a stomachache all day," Dean lied quickly, but his quick glance at her said he was worried too.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Emmanuel said, and his intense, inescapable gaze was on her again. She felt it and she met it, however difficultly. The concern that rested there across his familiar features was genuine and made her feel like this _had_ to be Castiel. He wanted to heal her. Just like he always had. What had happened to him? Why was he here? Did he have some kind of angel amnesia? Had he done a spell to himself to forget everything? She didn't know. He was still peering at her in concern, the kind of concern that seemed close to driving him to action. "No doubt your head injury has worsened your nausea," he said, worried, appealing eyes boring into hers. "Would you like me to—"

" _No,_ " Alex snapped, refusing his offer to heal her before it was even given. She couldn't let him touch her, she refused. The loud way she'd voiced herself had made him blink and appear taken aback. She softened her voice and shook her head, trying not to give everything away with her erratic behavior. "No." As a mumbled afterthought, she added, "Thank you."

Emmanuel was still mystified, but he nodded his acceptance of her refusal. He didn't understand why, obviously. But thankfully, other things were on his mind, too. His eyes drifted toward the door to his home. "That creature," Emmanuel was staring with a deepening frown. "I… I saw his face. His real face."

"Well yeah. He was a demon," Dean supplied, because he knew angels saw demons true faces.

Emmanuel looked stunned. "A demon walked the earth?" he breathed.

Dean's confusion deepened. "Dem _ons_ _,_ " he corrected. " _Whackloads_ of 'em." He stared at Emmanuel in deepening puzzlement. "You don't know about…?"

Apparently not. Castiel or Emmanuel was mulling it over in vast shock as if his entire world had just been shattered. And then his eyes were on hers again. Alex could see what he was wondering: _who are you?_ She was wondering the same… who this man who looked like her dead husband was. And if he might _be_ her dead husband. But how the _hell_ could he be…?

Beside Emmanuel, Daphne still looked up at him with a serene, dreamy smile. She was oblivious to the long look happening between her 'husband' and Alex—she couldn't seem to see anything besides Emmanuel. Daphne was just an inch or two shorter than Alex but she was built more curvaceously and solidly. She had shoulder length brown hair, greenish eyes, and seemed more than a little off in her own world—sure, Alex hadn't ever laid eyes on her before today, but some people, you just loathed right away. Daphne was one of them. "You saw the demon's true face," Daphne murmured tenderly at Emmanuel, drawing his gaze away from Alex's. She then looked at Dean and Alex with a demure smile. "Emmanuel has very special gifts." She said it like she owned him, like a mother might boast about her son.

Alex bristled inside. How dare that bitch stand there like that and have her hand resting on Castiel's chest, have that idiotic smile on her face, have that wedding ring on her finger? 'Very special gifts?' What the hell was that supposed to mean? "Like what, _princess_?" Alex asked abrasively. What she really meant was _I hate your fucking guts_.

Daphne was immediately surprised and offended at Alex's harsh tone. "Wh—" she blinked a few times and then forced a smile and kept talking in that sweet, polite tone, in effect giving Alex a chance to do the same. "Healing the sick, among other things." Alex stared at that woman with a look that basically said _you_ _'_ _re dead to me_. She had never, ever wanted to punch someone in the face as much as she did at that very moment.

Dean cleared his throat loudly, and Alex got the message: _don_ _'_ _t make this into something_. He tried to be polite even though he was obviously a little upset too. "Yeah. I-I've heard that about… uh, _Emmanuel_ ," he said, eyeing Daphne sharply then studying the other man in the room closely. "That you can heal people up."

Emmanuel looked mildly uncertain and hesitant to claim that yes, he could do that. "I seem to be able to help to a certain degree." He looked at Alex again plaintively. "As I said. I would be happy to help with the head injury. Although I'm sorry to say I don't think I can break an opiates addiction."

Alex's stomach dropped when he said that and her eyes widened—how did he know that?! And Christ, why did he have to air her dirty laundry like that with Dean there?! Dean, who didn't get it. Not at first. He made a face. "Who said anything about anyone having an opiates addiction?" he asked, nearly amused.

Emmanuel visibly realized his mistake when Dean said that and when he saw the look on Alex's face. It was such a Castiel-like mistake to make. "Oh," he said awkwardly, fumbling. "Um…"

Dean followed Emmanuel's gaze to his sister and it was clear on his face the moment he made the connection. His face fell in incredulous disbelief. Alex barely glanced at him, and it gave away her guilt. "That's not why we're here."

Shocked into silence, Dean continued to stare at her even as Emmanuel continued to look at Alex with growing concern and intense curiosity. His head tilted slightly to the side and his eyes flickered back and forth between hers a few times. "I'm sorry but… do I know you?" he asked softly. Her breath caught at his question and the way he asked it. "You seem very familiar… have we met before?"

A thousand intimate, meaningful, priceless memories of their time together flashed across her mind. 'Have we met before?' Alex swallowed a lump in her throat. _Don_ _'_ _t set him off. If he doesn_ _'_ _t remember, we have to keep it that way._ She shook her head and denied that they knew each other, and it was like pulling teeth. "Um… no," she said as heat and discomfort crept up her neck at his close gaze. "I d-don't think so." She looked away, fearing he'd see the truth in her eyes.

Emmanuel wasn't convinced and his confusion deepened. "I swear I've seen you before," he said quietly, obviously bothered by it and trying to wrack his mind for when, where, and how.

Alex tried to play it off and make it seem like he was imagining things. "I get that a lot. 'One of those faces'…"

He contemplated what she'd said then shook his head slowly, eyes locked on hers. "I have never seen a face anything like yours before," he said in a tone that was quietly admiring and deeply intense. Alex felt almost naked at that point, the way he looked at her had her totally bare. Essentially, he was saying she was unique, that she did _not_ have a face that could be common or mistaken for someone else—she almost thought he was saying she was beautiful. It sent shivers through her, it made Daphne's smile fade, it had Dean silent and apprehensive. Alex swallowed then grimaced as a wave of physical pain panged out from the cut she'd sustained on the back of her head. Emmanuel saw it and his expression changed in favor of worry. "I really should heal you," he said, coming a step closer to her. "You've gotten quite a concussion—it could be dangerous to your health."

"No no no no no," Alex said, backing away from him and holding her hands both up in a gesture of _don_ _'_ _t come any closer_. Her pulse had doubled and her breaths were short, shallow. She struggled not to look as alarmed as she was. "J-just don't touch me, all right?"

He stepped back. "My apologies," he said, disillusioned by her continued skittishness. At his side, Daphne was more and more decidedly unhappy about what was unfolding in her home. Emmanuel looked at Dean with a grim expression. "I'm sorry—Dean, right? Who is it you seek healing for if not for Elizabeth?"

Dean's face worked briefly to hide the extent of his sickened worry. "My brother." He wet his lips, eyes darting around apprehensively. "He's uh… he can't sleep. Has some kinda hallucinating thing going on. Al—" he caught himself and tried to correct himself. "Al- _lizibeth_ and I drove like a thousand miles and seventeen hours, so… uh, kinda hoping you can hop in the car with us and go." He paused and quickly began to try and convince Emmanuel before he could begin to hesitate. "We'll figure out a way to pay you or… or make it worth your while. Promise."

Emmanuel shook his head once. "Payment isn't necessary, I assure you. Helping people is enough."

Alex felt her heart clench. Helping people is enough. _Is that you, Castiel?_

At his side, clinging to one of his arms, Daphne protested in an overly sweet tone. "Emmanuel, you've been gone so much lately, though…" she began to look worried again, but so worried in fact that it seemed staged. "And what if more of those demons come?"

"They're after him, not _you,_ " Alex reminded, not bothering to hide her unfriendly tone.

Daphne turned her gaze to Alex and as if she could sense why Alex was acting that way (jealousy), she took on a certain catty level of coolness. "I'm his _wife_ ," she said with a hint of pride to her tone, and the statement was designed to antagonize and put Alex into her place. "They know they could use me to get to him."

Alex, the ticking time-bomb, gritted her jaw as she stabbed Daphne in her mind. Dean, vastly disapproving of Daphne as well, tried to get some idea of what was going on by posing a falsely politely-curious question. "How long you two been married, anyway?"

Daphne looked like she could start glowing and she looked up at Emmanuel with bright eyes. It was enough to make Alex want to vomit. "That's a question that's hard to answer…" Daphne said, her tone dripping with a reminiscent and loving quality that felt insulting and creepy.

"Oh? Why's that?" Dean challenged, trying to keep his tone civil.

Daphne smiled at Dean knowingly, and Alex thought she would love to wipe that damn expression off the other woman's face completely. "It's… a bit of an odd story, the way we met and fell in love…" Daphne squeezed Emmanuel's arm and looked up at him again solicitously, "but we think it's perfect, don't we, Emmanuel?"

His gaze was hesitant on hers, he looked uncomfortable with the question and her physical nearness. But he nodded once. "Yes, Daphne," he replied meekly, and his gaze was submissively downcast. And when Alex saw _that_ —him responding as if he were a trained dog, him obviously bending to this woman's manipulative ways… she couldn't stop herself from what she did next. Her temper made her snap. She saw red, she _hated_ this woman, and a rush of angry adrenaline sent her into vengeful action. She went from standing still and glaring death daggers to suddenly leaping across the distance separating herself from Daphne—with a shriek of brutal rage, she football tackled the other woman to the floor, cracking her fist into Daphne's nose on the way down with enough force to cause herself incredible pain, too. But that didn't matter—she was ready to beat that woman's face in until her fists were broken. However, the second they hit the floor and Alex drew back to start swinging, Dean was already yanking her off with shouts to _stop it_ and _take it easy_ —he pulled her back as she screamed protests.

Emmanuel had flown to Daphne's side and was holding her as she gasped in shock and pain alike, staring in disbelief at her attacker—she held a trembling hand to her broken nose as blood ran down from both nostrils. Emmanuel looked up at Alex in sheer, hurt disbelief as she struggled against Dean's hold. "Why did you strike my wife?" he asked, but he didn't sound angry—he just sounded mystified.

"She's not your wife!" Alex shrieked, red in the face as she struggled hard enough to break free of her brother's hold on her—when she did, she stood there heaving with messed hair, flushed cheeks, and a completely grieved expression twisting her face. "What is _wrong_ with you!?" she demanded in an hysterical, shrill voice. And then she turned and fled the house.

Behind, she left a stunned Emmanuel, an injured Daphne, and an awkward Dean.

Emmanuel was looking at Dean for some kind of explanation and Dean said the first thing that came to mind. "Yeah, uh, remember those opiates? Sorry. She's—she's a little off her rocker. Always spouting the crazy stuff. Just got outta the whacko ward, if you catch my drift." He chuckled nervously, sick to his stomach at what was happening and how jacked up this entire thing was. This was _just_ what she needed… what if she lost it again after getting it back together again?

Emmanuel—Castiel—whoever—was gazing out the open door where Alex had disappeared through. "I sense deep pain in her," was all he said, and he sounded like he was saddened by the fact.

In his arms, beginning to sob at sort of embarrassingly childish levels, his 'wife' despaired for him to pay her attention. "Emmanuel, it _hurts_!" she whined through her tears, covering her bleeding nose with both hands. "Take it away, please!"

He seemed to have forgotten her in favor of Alex for a few seconds and he quickly complied, touching her forehead with two fingers—just like Cas always had. Dean watched with baited breath, because this would prove it to him—this would say whether or not this guy really was Cas or not. "I'm sorry, Daphne," Emmanuel apologized as his fingers came away from her. Daphne's hands fell away from her nose—what had been bloody and crooked was repaired and normal. Dean watched as if in a dream. _Oh my god it really is him_. Daphne went from pathetic to darkly angry in two seconds flat, shockingly so. Dean watched as she stood up in a huff then yanked Cas after her by the wrist to the kitchen and out of earshot. Well, what she _thought_ was out of earshot. Dean snuck closer, trying to hear the conversation between them… but he glanced out of the front door. He really needed to go make sure Alex was okay.

He heard Daphne's voice, which had been so sweet and dainty before, suddenly becoming incredibly harsh and lecturing. "I don't want you to go with them."

Emmanuel's reply was simple and apologetic, if hesitant. "I have to."

Dean could quite literally _hear_ the incredulous look on Daphne's face when Emmanuel didn't go along with what she said. "… _What_?"

"I—I can't explain it," he said, and he sounded small, meek, uncertain. "But… I _have_ to."

There was a short, tense pause. And then a forceful, low, " _No._ " Daphne sounded incredibly intimidating and warning, almost like a mom scolding her child. "I _forbid_ it, Emmanuel." She said his name so harshly.

Dean was taken aback on Emmanuel's behalf at this woman's audacity and obvious disrespect to try and control him like that. Outside, Dean could hear something like a door slamming—he recognized it as the Impala and he looked toward the house's front door again. He was between two options—go in there and tell Daphne to back off, shut up, and get over it… or go check on his sister. "Daphne…" Emmanuel began quietly—and he sounded surprisingly disapproving, like he was about to stand up for himself. Dean began to edge out of the house at a tiptoe. His worry over Alex was triumphing currently, plus he just had this feeling that Emmanuel was gonna come with them whether his 'wife' wanted it or not.

Dean went out into the warm day outside and found Alex bent over the open trunk, tossing things out of her duffel bag like a mad woman—even Cas's coat which she _still_ kept went flying as she dug around with shaking hands and short breath. As Dean reached her, she continued to throw things out of the bag and ignore him. "I had cigarettes in here, I _had cigarettes in here_!" she insisted in an alarmed, riled up voice.

"Yeah, until I threw them out," Dean said cautiously.

Alex stood bolt upright and looked at him with a furious glare. "What the _fuck_ Dean?!" she shrieked, and from how fast she was breathing, Dean realized she needed to calm down before this went nuclear.

He grabbed her by either arm, trying to get her to see reason. "Al—pull it together, stop!" he hissed, trying to be furtive. Not like they needed to draw attention right now.

Her face was crumpling, confused, hurt. Her body abruptly slumped as if in defeat—the intense anger gave way to deep grief so quickly. "He married someone else," she managed as tears began to come, "he _married someone else_!" She could barely breathe and Dean started to get real worried.

"Breathe, whoa, breathe," he urged, steadying her by putting a hand to the side of her neck and turning her head so she looked at him. "Jesus, gonna give yourself a heart attack."

For whatever reason, that triggered her all over again. "I could stab myself through the heart and still live, leave me alone!" she shouted, then shoved him away.

Dean was beside himself. "What's that supposed to mean?!" he demanded, fed up with her behavior. "And what the hell was that about _opiates_ , huh?"

Alex gave him a look that _dared_ him to go there. "Look, you drink, I pop pills, and Sam eats salads and runs four miles ten times a week," she said, then her volume began to increase to hysterical levels again. "We all have to deal with it somehow, and I don't wanna _talk_ about it!"

She suddenly whirled and plopped down to the ground, leaning her back against the Impala's rear bumper. She began to cry hard, shivering and shaking with a hand on her head. _Christ, Alex_. He hurt on her behalf. He _hated_ to see her cry. Dean noticed then where blood was matting the back of her head. It didn't look that bad, but Cas had said it was a concussion— _god_. It was like the universe was never happy with the amount of problems on his shoulders. Dean watched her a second more and couldn't just let her cry alone. So he crouched down beside her, refusing to leave her. "Hey. Breathe," he coached gently and firmly as she hiccuped and made a sound that suggested she hated herself for reacting like this. "In and out, in and out." She nodded, breathed out shudderingly, and wiped at her face in a valiant attempt to get herself composed. Dean told her what she already knew: "Al, you gotta hold it together," he said, pleading with her to be strong and hold it in just a little longer. "Sammy needs this. Once we get there, once Cas does his angel mojo and fixes what he did, we can tell him the truth about who he is, you can kick his ass for marrying that dumb bimbo in there, then I'm right behind you for a turn, too." That last comment seemed to catch her attention the most. She looked at him with a tearstained face and a questioning expression, an almost hopeful light in those red eyes of hers. Dean gave her a sad little smile and patted her knee. "Nobody makes my little sister sad except me, okay?"

Alex sniffed and wiped at a cheek again. "You're a dumbass."

Dean shifted from his crouch and sat beside her, put an arm around her and squeezed reassuringly, looking at her the whole time. "Yeah and this dumbass is always gonna be here for you, Al."

"I know," she said softly, and ducked her head into the front curve of his shoulder, shuddering as she steadied her breathing. "I know."

"…Excuse me," came a new voice, startling the siblings. Emmanuel stood there beside the car and he watched them uncertainly. "Am I interrupting something?" He hesitated when Alex turned and hid her face from him, using her long hair as a shield. Dean hesitated, then pushed himself up from the street with his palms, dusting them off as he stood. Emmanuel looked at him briefly then Alex. "Is she all right?"

Dean took the man by the elbow and steered him away by a few steps toward the front of the car. This was going to be one awkward road trip, that was for sure. "Word to the wise," he said quietly so that only they could hear. Emmanuel listened intently to Dean's ever word. "She's going through a really hard time right now. I wouldn't talk to her much if I were you."

Emmanuel nodded slowly, his eyebrows working in toward each other. "I'll do my best not to make matters worse," he said.

Dean could have laughed bitterly from the irony of it. If only he knew. But all Dean could do was clap the guy on the back and draw his mouth into a wan, joyless smile. "Well, all right then. Let's head out, huh?"

Up on the porch, a very unhappy Daphne Allen watched the strangers in the black Impala leave and take her husband with them. Her arms were crossed, a scowl was on her face, and she stood there for all of three seconds before deciding she didn't like this at all so she wasn't going to stand for it, either.


	93. Revelation

" _I wore your promise on my finger for one year. I'll wear your name on my heart til I die._ _"  
_ \- Coco J. Ginger

* * *

Some moments in life seem too surreal to even be happening, too inexplicable to be true, and too unexpected for us to know how to confront them at all. This was one of those moments.

In the back seat of the Impala behind Dean, Alex sat in utter silence and tried to comprehend what was currently happening. In the front seat sat a man who looked like Castiel and very well might _be_ him. It had her completely wrecked inside, but somehow she was holding it together for now after that brief breakdown a few minutes prior. She searched his appearance for proof that it was him or that it wasn't him as she fought through a million conflicted feelings about what it would mean if it _were_ Castiel sitting there within arms reach. It meant he didn't remember her. It meant he'd married another woman. It meant she'd mourned his death all that time in vain. It meant her world no longer made any sense at all.

Her eyes constantly went to the back of Emmanuel's head and his profile as she studied him closely. It was all so familiar: his strong nose, the fierce brow, his sharp jawline, those beloved shaggy curls behind his ears, the slightly stern and thoughtful expression on his face… it _looked_ just like him. And more than that he _felt_ familiar. His presence and demeanor and the way he moved—he looked just like Cas, save for the outfit he wore. It made her chest ache so hard that she could have had heartburn.

All of three minutes into the seventeen hour trip they were embarking on, the Impala merged onto a rural highway and Dean cleared his throat and threw a hooded glance at the Cas lookalike. "So, Daphne—your wife," he began cautiously, trying to sound casual and polite. "How'd you two meet, huh?"

Alex's stomach, which had _just_ settled, suddenly began to churn again. She tried to look like she wasn't paying attention, but every atom of her body was suddenly put into straining to hear his answer. She knew what Dean was about to do. Root around for answers and clues as to who this guy was and where he'd come from—try and find out if he really were Cas.

Alex noticed out of the corner of her eye how Emmanuel looked a little grudging to discuss the answer to Dean's question. "She found me and cared for me," he answered vaguely, looking out of the window, maybe trying to silently say he didn't feel in the mood to talk.

Too bad. Dean had a comeback ready. "Found you and cared for you?" he repeated. "What, like a stray dog?"

Emmanuel turned his head toward Dean, picking up on the cynical tone and appearing all the more hesitant for it. "It's a… strange story," he said faintly. "You may not like it." He sounded reluctant and his nearly guilty eyes glanced sidelong and back at Alex, who was caught already looking at him. Her eyes quickly darted away as her pulse hammered so hard she had to breathe in deeply to not feel faint.

"Oh believe me, I'll _love_ it," Dean replied, not really succeeding in hiding his more bitter feelings. At the ensuing silence, he pressed. "What, you don't wanna say or something?"

Emmanuel glanced at Dean a couple more times, then towards Alex. Then inhaled. "A few months ago in Kansas, she was hiking by some water." Kansas. Water. The lake. Those details matched up with what had happened. Alex was on the edge of her seat, breathless, sick, confounded— _oh my god_. "She found me at the shoreline, drenched and confused, and…" he grew visibly uncomfortable, his eyes darting to Alex's, " _unclothed_." Alex was immediately all the more distressed. She'd had this crazy, farfetched, _wild_ hope that maybe their 'marriage' was sexless. But that revelation made her realize that she was ridiculous and juvenile to think that for a second. Emmanuel was still explaining his first encounter with Daphne. "I had no memory. I still don't." He attempted to sound less uncertain. "She said... God wanted her to find me."

" _God_?" Dean repeated incredulously, like Emmanuel was a real chump for believing anything of the sort. "And you bought that crap?"

Emmanuel didn't appear to know what to do or how to respond to the very blunt question. He didn't really answer the question at all when he spoke up. "Well… _she_ seemed very certain of what she believed."

"So you believed it, too?" Dean challenged. His underlying anger and frustration was audible. "And just, just _married_ her sight unseen? What if you already _were_ married?" Alex's eyes jumped up to the back of her brother's head in shock as he passively aggressively berated the man he believed to be Cas for what he had done: hurting Alex and letting her down on a whole new level. "I mean, you had _amnesia_ , did you really need to marry the first chick you saw?" Dean demanded roughly. "Or did you not care enough to try and find out who you were and who you might have left behind?"

_Who he left behind. Me._

Emmanuel looked like he was guilt-stricken by Dean's very brass interrogation and he confirmed as much when he replied. "That thought crossed my mind many times…" he admitted softly, and Alex's heart twisted. _This had to be him, oh god, it had to be. The things he was saying, the way he was, the feeling she got from him on a sixth sense level._ Her eyes stung. _How did I not know? That he was out there, alone, without memories?_ "I wondered if I had someone… a family, a wife," Emmanuel said heavily, contemplating the passing scenery and unwittingly making Alex's internal pain worse and worse. "But no one came looking for me." Those sadly-spoken words absolutely broke her heart and made her pain intensify yet again. _I didn_ _'_ _t know I should have been looking for you_ _…_ _if I had, nothing in Heaven or Hell or anywhere between would have stopped me from finding you._ She wanted to cry at the tragedy of this situation. And now he didn't remember. Even now, with her less than five feet away. He looked at her and _didn_ _'_ _t know her._ Emmanuel glanced down at his hand, contemplating his wedding band pensively. "And I wasn't wearing a ring when she found me."

"Still, you couldn't know for sure," Dean muttered sourly, his disapproval almost palpable.

"No," Emmanuel conceded grimly. "I _still_ don't know." He exhaled wearily and looked down at his hand again at the silver band circling his index finger. "But… I seemed to have little choice in the matter."

Very little choice in the matter. His choice of words had Alex's very close attention—she didn't like the way that sounded or what it might imply. Dean too was immediately suspicious and his eyes narrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?" he asked cautiously.

There was a brief, uncertain pause as Emmanuel searched for the right words. "Daphne is… very headstrong. Very willful. Very determined when she sets her mind to something." He quickly added to what he'd said, almost like he was afraid to say anything remotely negative about her. "And also very kind." Dean sent him a skeptical, hard glance. Emmanuel looked away guiltily but kept talking. "When I think about what she did for me… taking a strange man into her home without question, providing for me, helping me… I had to show my gratitude for what she did." Alex immediately felt a deep sense of alarm. _Had to show his gratitude?_ That statement and the heavy way he said it rubbed her the wrong way, worried her over what had happened to him all these months—surely he didn't mean Daphne pressured him into stuff…? Dread and something akin to horror filled her veins as Emmanuel continued. "She said we were meant to be together. In marriage. That God had brought me to her. And, well, I was living with her, we were sharing a bed, so… I thought it would be proper and honorable. After all, she _did_ save me."

Sharing a bed. Living together. How was she supposed to know how to process those things? Alex wanted to be sick at the thought of him with someone other than herself. Dean looked similar to how Alex felt—completely baffled and dismayed. "…You telling me you felt like you had to put out or _get_ out?" he asked dubiously.

Emmanuel frowned curiously and looked at Dean. "What does 'put out' mean?" he asked, clearly having no clue as to what the term meant. Then he abruptly looked like he might understand. "Sometimes I would put her laundry out on the clothesline, if that's what you mean."

Alex might have laughed at his confusion if the subject matter and what was being revealed weren't so awful. Had he been manipulated and coerced into having sex with Daphne then marrying her? Had she pressured him and used fear-tactics and you-owe-me mind games on him? When he didn't want it? Oh god, Alex had never felt so awful for someone in her entire life, she had never been so horrified on someone else's behalf. Or maybe he _had_ wanted it and was just explaining himself badly. Either way, it made her feel incredibly upset in a way that had her thinking she might never be able to be happy in her life ever again, not even for one lousy second.

Dean shook his head, disgusted. "Never mind," he muttered. For a minute, the only sound was the muffled roar of the car engines. Then Dean continued to try and get answers. Maybe for his own sake, maybe for Alex's… she didn't know. "So, you find yourself with some chick who brings home naked homeless guys with amnesia—which by the way is _insane,_ no offense—and she wants you to marry her… so you _marry_ her." Apparently Dean couldn't get over it—his obvious disapproval and anger over it was beginning to become telling, but he didn't bother hiding his true feelings. "Wow, you are a piece of work, man. How the hell did you even… I mean, did you get a fake ID or what?"

"Well, there was never a ceremony of any kind," Emmanuel admitted evenly, patient in the face of Dean's rudeness. Inside of Alex, a sudden feeling of hope tried to spring up. No ceremony? No vows? She tried to push it down so she wouldn't be crushed all over again inevitably. _Just wait and listen to what he says. Don_ _'_ _t get ahead of yourself._ Emmanuel sounded more and more uncertain about where the conversation was going. "We just… she gave me this ring and began referring to me as her husband," he said, deep in tense thought. "Um… I find it a bit odd, to be completely honest with you. She told me marriages are in the heart, not on paper. I can't say I feel the same as she does, but…" he trailed off as he realized how open and candid he was being. He quickly changed that and attempted to be veiled, guarded, inscrutable. "It's not important," he said, brushing it off and trying to close the subject. "She believes in destiny. In soulmates."

Dean glanced at him long and hard. "What about you? What do you believe in?"

Alex watched Emmanuel's face in the rear view mirror, watched as he met Dean's brief look with one of his own. He was obviously puzzled over the other man's insistence to continue discussing all of this. "I'm… not sure." He frowned at his lap for a long couple of seconds. "I… I think I believe in soulmates…" his eyes scanned back and forth in thought, then without warning snapped up to look at Alex's in the mirror—the waterblue depths startled her. She tried to look away fast enough to not be caught staring at him again, but it was too late.

"And Daphne's yours? She's your soulmate?" Dean pressed relentlessly. Alex tried not to gape at her brother or kick the back of his seat—he'd preached so hard to her about not triggering Cas and now was borderline giving _everything_ away. She didn't even get it: Dean hated them together, right? And yet here he was giving this guy hell for doing exactly what she thought Dean _wanted_ Cas to do: walk away, leave, get out of her life.

At the question asking whether or not his wife was his soulmate, Emmanuel looked up, straight ahead of himself with a slightly pinched expression—he was clearly growing irritated with Dean's line of questioning. "That's a very personal question, Dean," he said cryptically, voice a touch lower and darker than it had been before.

What did that mean? Yes? Or was that a no? Alex tried to find the answer to the greatest question in her life currently by looking at him closely, even though she sort of didn't want to know at all… did he _love_ Daphne? Treasure and cherish her the way he'd treasured and cherished Alex? Was it possible that the love she thought was so once-in-a-lifetime now belonged to this out-of-nowhere Daphne bitch? Why, _why_ did this woman get what Alex never had? Unbroken time with the man she loved, a home to share together. She thought it was so damn unfair—she and Cas had all this fragmented time together, never long at all, never consistent, never enough. And now to find out he'd been living quietly, all this time, with this bimbo God-crazy woman…? Alex didn't understand how the universe could be so unfair and so cruel.

"So who named you Emmanuel?" Dean asked, trying to lighten the conversation after Emmanuel's unspoken request to _back off_. Apparently silence wasn't good enough for Dean. "That was her, too?"

Emmanuel shook his head, distracted. "No. A website called BouncingBabyNames."

Dean hesitated, the smallest taken aback smile on his face at the unexpectedly humorous answer. He quickly pressed it away. "Huh. Well. Must be weird not knowing who you are."

There was a somber nod as Emmanuel scanned far distance with unseeing eyes. "Yes. It is. There are many questions I have about it all. I've had to come to terms with the possibility that I might never know. But I _do_ know I'm grateful Daphne was there to help me. I don't know what I would have done if she hadn't found me. I don't seem to be very adroit at some things."

"Like?" Dean prompted.

"Well… anything, really," Emmanuel said, appearing a little uncomfortable and sheepish. Another huge sign that pointed toward him being Castiel—Castiel who was clueless in so many areas of life. And then he brightened slightly, recalling something. "Well, perhaps I shouldn't say I'm good at nothing. I've learned some skills since she took me in. Like how to build birdhouses. And how to complete some repair tasks around the home. She also tells me I have a green thumb, which apparently means I'm talented in growing living things and tending to them." He grew mildly confused. "I fail to see why the color of my finger would have anything to do with that, though…" Alex stared at the side of his face, sick and stricken. He was just like Cas. She was really, truly, totally beginning to believe it, that he was her long lost Castiel. There were less and less explanations remaining. Who _else_ could he be?

"Right…" Dean commented awkwardly at the green thumb comment. He exhaled and tapped his fingers tensely on the steering wheel. He took a few seconds to gather his thoughts. "So, this is your new life. Colorado. Gardening. Weirdo hippie wife. Special healing powers. No idea who you were before." He paused heavily and sent the man beside him a look. "But I mean, what if you were some kind of... I dunno… bad guy? In whatever life you lived before?"

 _Jesus Christ,_ Dean. Alex was pretty sure if Dean kept this up Emmanuel or Castiel would definitely remember himself before they were even halfway to Sam. _But would that really be so horrible? To know for sure it_ _'_ _s him?_ Emmanuel looked genuinely startled by Dean's question, then he considered it with a deep frown. "I… don't _feel_ like a bad person," he said, then frowned more intensely Dean's way, becoming almost suspicious. "That's an odd thing to ask." Dean shrugged and said nothing, leaving Emmanuel to wonder. After an awkward silence, Emmanuel was the one who continued the conversation. "So, your brother…"

"Sam," Dean supplied curtly.

"Sam," Emmanuel repeated. "What's his diagnosis?"

"Well…" Dean cleared his throat lightly as a grim quality descended onto his face, "it's not exactly medical."

Emmanuel nodded once, slowly. "That should be fine. I can cure illness of a spiritual origin."

"Spiritual?" Dean asked doubtfully. "…Okay." He paused, darkening a little. "Well… someone _did_ this to him."

Emmanuel turned his head to Dean, his bright blue eyes contemplating the other man studiously. "You're angry," he said, clearly wondering what had happened.

"Well, yeah," Dean retorted, avoiding the other man's gaze completely. "Dude broke my brother's head and jacked a bunch of other shit up, to put it mildly." What a way to sum up everything Dean held against Cas.

"He betrayed you, this dude," Emmanuel said, showing himself to be intensely gifted in reading between the unspoken lines. "…He was your friend?"

Dean met the other man's piercing gaze in surprise then quickly looked away and clenched his jaw tight. "Yeah, well, he's gone now, so I don't see how it matters either way," he replied in a near-mutter.

"Did you kill him?" Emmanuel asked quietly, drawing a silent, quizzical frown from Dean. Emmanuel looked vaguely disturbed. "I sense that you kill a lot of people."

Dean let out a soft, cynical huff as he concentrated on the road ahead. "Well I'll tell ya this much—I _wanted_ to kill him at a certain point after what he did." He sounded tired and disillusioned now. "Honestly, I-I-I don't know if he _is_ dead. I just know that this whole thing couldn't be messier." He wasn't kidding. Alex had to agree. Never in all her life had she ever thought things would unfold like this or be more jumbled up, painful, more confusing and hard to understand. "He really made me regret ever trusting him in the first place," Dean mused quietly, sounding forlorn and lost and only half-cognizant that he had a listening audience. He stared at the road ahead with a pained expression on his face. "You know, I used to be able to just shake this stuff off, whatever it was. It might take me some time, but... I always could." Alex heard the pain in him and understood it all too well. "What Cas did… to me, to my family… I just can't get past it—I, I dunno why." Dean didn't even seem to realize he used Cas's name. But Alex heard it and froze, looking at Emmanuel as she waited for him to get a look of realization on his face.

But nothing happened. Emmanuel didn't react except to respond to Dean. "Well, it doesn't matter _why,_ " he said factually.

"Of course it _matters_ _,_ " Dean retorted, face twisting. It was almost like he _wanted_ to pick a fight at this point.

"No," Emmanuel said firmly, looking at the other man meaningfully. "You're not a machine, Dean. You're human." He took a moment and contemplated something, seeming to find it peculiar. "Your friend's name was Cas? That's an odd name." Alex watched him, not even realizing her face betrayed all of the agony she was feeling inside. _Is it not you? Are you not him?_ Emmanuel was thinking hard, and didn't see the way she looked at him. "He must have been quite powerful to have been able to mentally cripple your brother, this Cas. Was he some kind of warlock?"

Dean shook his head grimly. "He was an angel."

Emmanuel's frown returned, but it was quizzical and a touch amused. "Is that… a term of affection?" he asked, then suddenly looked like he knew _exactly_ what was going on—an almost sly expression crossed his face as his chin lowered. "…Was he more than a friend to you?"

Dean made a face at Emmanuel's very wrong assumption. "No, dude, _no_!" he said immediately, getting very irritated very fast with the mistake. "He was a literal _angel_." Annoyance was making Dean insolent and prissy. "Demons are real, so are angels," he said forcefully, then started complaining under his breath. " _Geez._ Like explaining things to a fucking _three_ year old…"

" _Dean_ …" Alex reprimanded, but she had a feeling it was too late to stop Dean from taking his grumpy and running with it. Still, she tried to shut him down. "Don't be an asshole."

Emmanuel looked at her squarely, gentle in the way he addressed her. "It's all right, Elizabeth," he said, sensing her distress and using the wrong name for her and making her feel smaller inside because of it. "I'm new to all this—angels, demons. I'm sure my ignorance is aggravating. And your brother is frustrated and very physically tired—his patience is short." He peered at Dean in concern, seeming to think of something. "When was the last time you slept?"

"Like three years ago!" Dean fired back in sharp retort. _Great._ Just like Alex had thought. She could tell. He was about to go off—and Emmanuel _was_ right. Alex didn't think Dean had slept in like two days now or something. "You're damn right I'm tired," he ranted. " _And_ hungry." He suddenly looked into the rearview and aimed all of his frustration at his sister. " _And_ pissed off that I'm surrounded by _liars_."

Alex looked at him in complete annoyed and disappointed puzzlement. _Really, Dean? You pick_ now _to bitch at me about this?_ "Just shut up," she muttered, looking away from him sullenly. His sense of timing was fan-fucking-tastic.

"No! I won't shut up!" he said, throwing a series of angry scowls into the rear view mirror. "You know what? Screw it. What the hell are you _doing_ , huh? Messing around with _pills_? How bad is it? What kind? How long? I mean, you got a death wish or what? Isn't our _life_ enough of a risk for you?"

 _God, just leave me alone you jackass!_ Alex scowled out the window and sat all the way back in her seat as she crossed her arms hard over herself in an attempt to deflect him. She was deeply embarrassed and ashamed of her addiction and wished so badly he hadn't found out at all—because she had _known_ his reaction would be like this. That he would make her real problem all about himself, that he wouldn't see it as evidence of her pain but instead see it as evidence of her weakness. "I'm not having this conversation with you right now, Dean," she said in forced calm, trying not to do what he wanted—argue and fight and throw verbal punches at each other.

She could hear the sneer on his voice even though she forced herself not to look at him. "Oh, miss big bad therapy, self-awareness, the power of healing from within…" he basically mocked, "and all along you're popping pills." He was foul and angry and hurtful. "What a freaking _joke._ " He put the turn signal on and slowed down, apparently headed for the gas station just ahead.

Alex said nothing (if she opened her mouth she'd say a bunch of shit she'd regret). Instead she tried to hide how incredibly wounded she felt by his verbal swings. But it was hard because he really knew where to hit her right where it hurt. Who gave him permission to be awful to the people he loved just because he was going through some hard feelings?

Emmanuel was looking at Dean hesitantly. "Forgive me but there doesn't seem to be a need to be rude to her," he said quietly, surprising Alex and drawing an incredulous stare from Dean at the unsolicited interjection. But Emmanuel didn't let the hard stare keep him from speaking. "She's hurting too, Dean," he said softly, a certain level of empathy and pain in his voice. "I can sense it. And your unkind words only served to make her pain worse." He looked at her again, and she swore his eyes cut through to her soul. His gentle protectiveness of her made her feel so incredibly vulnerable, his clear concern for her touched her so deeply. "You carry so much weight with you," he said to her, his eyes showing how that fact burdened him and puzzled him all at once. She swallowed through a thick throat—she was defenseless under that intense gaze of his. He seemed to sense he was making her uncomfortable and he backed off, glanced at Dean, who was pulling in to the gas station. "Both of you."

Dean slammed the car into park at the first space he found and gave Emmanuel a dirty look. "Spare me the gentle-hearted crap, man," he muttered through a scowl, then pursed his lips in annoyance and looked into the rear view mirror. "You want anything?" he asked brusquely. He sounded like she better _not_ want anything.

Alex shook her head just slightly and didn't look back at him. "No."

"Yeah," Dean muttered. " _Great_."

He got out with the keys and slammed the car door then marched toward the gas station in a way that conveyed that he was pissed off. _Good for you, Dean. Go ahead and be mad. Ugh. Drama queen._ Alex watched him and wished he would just grow the hell up. One second he could be so caring and thoughtful, the next a complete and total jackass. It was a ridiculous, confusing way to live. She wondered, not for the first time lately, what was going on with him. He was really having a hard time with everything, she thought. But he wouldn't completely admit to it. And heaven forbid you tried to reach out to him.

She suddenly realized that she and Emmanuel were alone in the car and when she realized that, her heart rate picked up as anxiety jumped up a couple levels. Discomfort immediately made her feel like everything was pressing down on her. _Just don_ _'_ _t look at him, don_ _'_ _t talk to him. Maybe he won_ _'_ _t talk to you either._ Silence made her ears ring. She tried to breathe very quietly in an attempt not to solicit a conversation with him—maybe he'd forget she was there at all if she was quiet enough. The thought of talking to him terrified her and made her feel like puking. What if he asked her things she couldn't answer? Or what if she couldn't keep a lid on the reality of the situation? It began to worry her to the point of dizziness.

 _Just don_ _'_ _t say anything to me. Don_ _'_ _t talk to me_. And then he did. "Your brother Dean seems very temperamental."

Her mouth was dry like cotton as she tried to answer him in a nonplussed voice—she almost felt like she couldn't remember the English language for a small moment as she made herself get it together and respond to him. "Yeah… that's… that's putting it lightly," she managed nervously.

Her eyes slunk over and up—she couldn't _not_ look at him, but it was terrifying somehow to lock eyes with him. She found him already looking at her across his shoulder. He noticed her distress right away and his features immediately bore witness to his genuine concern. He studied her face openly, his features twisting. "Are you… all right?" he asked in all innocence and earnestness.

Oh, the times that same deep voice had asked her that very question. The way he asked it to her now. Alex tried to pretend the only reason she was upset was her brother's rudeness. "We fight all the time," she said, trying to smile to excuse it all away. Her face felt like it was grimacing instead—her mind was at war inside of her, not sure how to feel or react to this moment. "It's fine," she lied. "I'm fine." Her eyes, which had fallen down to avoid his when she said the opposite of truth, raised slowly again to his. She wanted to know who he was, if he was the Castiel she had known, loved, lost. He was so close, and this trick of fate was so utterly obscene.

In the silence, with their eyes holding each others gaze like they were, Alex thought for a minute, they could have been themselves. Even if he didn't know who he was, he obviously was intrigued by her, drawn to her, and deeply observant to her and he looked at her like he used to—like he loved her and it confounded him completely. Not for the first time that day, Alex wondered how this was actually happening at all. And then he mistook her silence as an invitation to comment on her obvious pain. "Dean told me that you've had a hard time recently." His gaze was intent and empathetic on hers, he looked so sad and helpless. "I'm sorry to hear that." _You_ _'_ _re half of the reason why I_ _'_ _ve had that_ _'_ _hard time._ _'_ Alex tried her damn hardest to keep a poker face on, but when she turned her head away as she struggled inside. She was thinking of all her mistakes, all the fuck ups—a gashed open wrist, stolen pills, sex on a dirty floor with the wrong person, months of giving up on life completely like a coward. Emmanuel mistook her expression for one of physical pain. "Does your head hurt very badly?" he asked in increasing concern, craning his neck a little in an attempt to see her face.

 _My head?_ For a second, she was confused. Then she remembered. _Oh._ She'd actually forgotten about it. The constant pounding pain had been there this entire time, but she'd been so riled up and distracted by her emotional pain, she'd forgotten the physical pain. "It's fine," she said quietly, wishing she had either the courage to tell him the truth or the ability to get up and leave, escape this painful place she was currently in with him so close and yet so far away. She nervously wrung her hands in her lap, wishing the car didn't feel so small and stifling. She almost felt claustrophobic at that moment, and it was an alien feeling to her. A _bad_ feeling.

Emmanuel sensed she didn't want to be looked at and he tried sitting there in silence for a couple seconds, but his gaze kept darting back to her sidelong. "So do you… see demons often?" he asked after a few seconds of hesitant silence.

Alex shrugged, still avoiding his eyes. "Yeah." Her mind was other places—she didn't really want to, but she was remembering how three years minus one day ago she'd been standing opposite of this man and holding his hands in hers they'd been promising each other things they would never be able to fulfill. And it hurt, god it hurt. April 29th. Tomorrow was their anniversary, but now he was married to someone else, or at least _thought_ he was. She was beginning to feel very, very upset, to the point that she might lose it again.

Emmanuel was still on the demon thing, and talking about it out loud, currently unaware of her inner turmoils as he looked out of the front of the car in deep thought. "That's… it's very hard to believe," he said in quiet, fearful wonder. "Demons, here on earth. And angels, too…" he turned a very curious look onto her. "Have you ever met an angel?"

She felt slapped. That question was the cruelest and most sadistic thing she could imagine and it pushed her over the edge with startling suddenness. Had she ever met an _angel_? Her lungs suddenly felt like deflated balloons that refused to be blown up. _No. I can_ _'_ _t do this. I can_ _'_ _t sit here and keep talking with him in this tiny car, the roof is pushing down and the walls are all so close_ _—_ _it_ _'_ _s too hot, I can_ _'_ _t breathe, he needs to stop looking at me and asking me things_ _—_ _holy shit I_ _'_ _m gonna die if I stay in here. No. No no no._ She was already reaching for her door handle and trying to get out of the car as fast as humanly possible to escape the panic gripping her.

She stumbled out of the back seat and into the outside world where she barely saw or heard anything—just pinpointed a wooden bench on the grass next to where they were parked. She made a beeline for it, walking a few uneven steps and then pitching forward slightly. She caught herself then sat on the bench and clutched onto it hard with one hand and tried to breathe right, shutting her eyes and puffing in and out for a few seconds as she leaned heavily over her own knees. _Breathe. Just breathe._ She counted to ten with the slow breathing and when she was done, she opened her eyes, at the very least breathing better. Then she saw brown shoes in front of her and looked up in stunned disbelief. He'd followed her. He stood there looking alarmed and unsure of what to do—like he was holding himself back from steadying her. "Are you all right?" he asked, his expression showing deep worry. "Is it something I said? Is it your concussion?" He knelt down in front of her, his knee hitting hers when she did. She pulled back from the touch, upset all over again at it. He looked beside himself and intensely upset. She said nothing and looked away, breathing heavily against the threat of tears. She was honestly considering getting up and literally running away from him, but her dizziness said that was a bad idea and probably doomed to fail, too. At her lack of response, his distress only deepened. "I wish you would allow me to heal you," he said, and it sounded pleading. "I assure you—it's not painful in the least. It only takes a fraction of a second." He tried to catch her gaze, he tried to appeal to her. "You needn't be frightened. I would never hurt you."

If only he knew how ironic that statement was. That he would never hurt her. That, and he thought she was scared to feel physical pain. It was almost laughable—after the emotional shit she'd endured, physical pain was nothing. "Pain doesn't scare me," she said woodenly, looking away from him and wishing she could be stronger, wishing she could just let this roll off her shoulders. But he was her Achilles heel and he had this hold over her that rendered her completely vulnerable and weak and near to utter emotional ruin. "I just… I don't need your help," she murmured. She was deeply afraid that his touch would do things to her she couldn't escape. And that it would also prove, once and for all, that he was or wasn't Castiel. She didn't know if she _wanted_ to know.

Her statement seemed to sadden him. "Everyone needs help, eventually," he told her quietly. And then he reached out very carefully and so gently touched the top of her jeans-clad knee.

Alex stiffened and stopped breathing for a fraction of a second as her eyes flew up to his. She was so confused about that touch, and she saw that the hand he used was the one that bore his wedding ring. The warm weight of his large, familiar hand on her was too much. "Please don't touch me," she whispered, her voice barely audible and shaking with the threat of nearby tears.

Her agonized request affected him immediately. "I'm sorry," he said, already taking his hand away and appearing embarrassed at himself. She couldn't know it, but he hadn't thought that action through—he'd just done it without thinking, out of a need to comfort and reassure her. A need that was in him without him even knowing why.

He remained crouched there for a second then stood with a vexed expression. Even though Alex thought it was clear as water she was upset at his close proximity, he didn't leave. He hovered, seeming too concerned with her wellbeing to depart her side. And then, he falteringly asked to stay, motioning to the other end of the bench. "May I sit with you?" he asked timidly, uncertainly, like he was expecting to be rejected. Her heart clenched at the things his voice did to her. _Jesus._ Well, she figured she had to get used to being close to him. They were going to be in the car for a long, long time. So despite her misgivings, she acquiesced with a deep inhale and exhale, however grudgingly. He sat a safe, respectful distance from her.

After about twenty seconds, Alex had calmed down a little more and felt like she owed him an explanation, however feeble. "Sorry," she said, looking sidelong at his arm instead of his face. "Just… like Dean said. Hard time lately." She let her eyes flicker up and found his gaze waiting for her. How the _hell_ could a mere look make her feel so weak in the knees?

"There's no need for apologies," he said quietly, and she almost broke in half from the look in his eyes. There was a very long pause in which he studied her with more of that intense, almost pained concern. "Something bad happened to you, didn't it?" he asked, like he dreaded the answer but already knew. "The pain you carry," he said as his eyebrows bent in more and more towards each other. "It's tremendous."

Alex's eyes dodged his and she stared ahead of herself with a stiff jaw. "It's not really something I like to talk about," she said faintly. She wanted to, though—she wished she could move across the distance separating them and cry in his arms and tell him everything—she imagined he'd hold her and stroke her hair and tell her everything would be all right, _I_ _'_ _m here now_ , and every other stupid cliché in the book. But he wasn't _him_. He didn't know her from a stranger. And that's what made it so painful. For a moment more, they were quiet and looked out at the passing traffic together. Well, Alex did anyway—she looked at passing traffic in an attempt to appear focused on something.

Emmanuel watched her, his eyes traveling every detail of her face in a search for answers. He still felt like he knew her, had seen her before, and it was driving him to madness. He was also beginning to wonder if she was someone from his past life. It would explain the undeniable connection he felt toward her. But perhaps he was just imagining things. He tried to find out more about her and the life she lived. But he was careful, as he noticed she was easy to upset. "So, you and your brothers… I take it you're close?" he asked cautiously.

Startled out of her staring, Alex looked back at Emmanuel and considered him trepidatiously. "Yeah," she confirmed a bit nervously. She considered lying or making shit up, but truthfully? She almost _wanted_ to provoke him into remembering. To see if he would remember at all. "We um… we work together," she said slowly. "Hunting demons and monsters down. 'Saving the world.'"

The way she said the last part caught his interest. "You sound very cynical," he observed curiously.

"It burns you out after awhile I guess," she said, and it did. It never ended. It never stopped. No rest for the weary, or some crap like that. "I've been doing this shit since I was a kid," she reflected tensely, kicking at a pebble with the toe of her boot and watching absently. "I'm tired of it, sometimes. You lose so many people to the life."

There was a heavy silence. And then a quiet observation. "You're worried about your brother Sam." Alex's startled gaze was drawn to him. How did he know that? Or was it a guess? Was it him knowing her but not remembering that he knew? Emmanuel… maybe Castiel… seemed very serious about what he said next, almost severe. "I promise you, I'll do everything in my power to fix him, Elizabeth."

The way he said that. It was like speaking to a ghost. It was like having him back but not having him back at all. Her throat was tight, her chest ached, and she couldn't stand underneath his close gaze anymore. "I hope you can," she said quietly, sandwiching her hands between her knees and looking at them.

There was more silence and then Emmanuel hesitantly spoke up again. "I'm sorry, I hope this isn't a rude question, but can I ask how old you are? I can't quite tell."

Alex eyed him sidelong. "Almost thirty. Why?"

"You look much younger than that," he admitted, and Alex realized _oh my god. Is he_ _…_ _interested in me? Trying to figure out if I_ _'_ _m too young for him?_ Had he forgotten he was married, or what?

She felt a little uncomfortable but also slightly pleased. "Everyone always thinks I'm like ten years younger than I actually am," she said, averting her eyes from him almost bashfully. And then whatever good feelings she'd had dwindled as the cast her gaze sidelong and caught sight of the wedding band on his finger. She just didn't understand how Cas could ever have forgotten her or what they had shared. She didn't think she knew how to process him ever loving someone else in any way. It made her so incredibly sad inside and she asked a question she probably shouldn't have, but did anyway. "Do you love her?"

Emmanuel frowned slightly. "Who?"

"Your… your _wife_ ," Alex said, thinking it very odd he asked who. She also felt like saying the word 'wife' was like blasphemy when referring to someone other than herself.

Emmanuel looked a bit startled. "Oh," he said, and he became intensely awkward as he fumbled to answer her question. "I appreciate what she did for me… I… she's very kind and good, and I'm very grateful for everything she's given me…" he paused and he looked vaguely ill. "Husbands love their wives. And I am her husband, so…" he looked down at his ring and without warning about-faced and abandoned everything he'd been trying to convey. " _No,_ " he said softly, almost a whisper, and he stared at the ground. "I _don_ _'_ _t_ love her. I try to, because she wants me to. But it's just not inside of me. I can't find the ability no matter how hard I try." Alex looked at him and her emotions were so strong, her hope so vast, her relief so deep. Emmanuel, however, looked confused and his eyes met hers questioningly. "I've… never admitted that before. I… don't know why I'm telling you this."

She thought maybe— _maybe_ _—_ it was because it was like it had always been with herself and Cas. They'd always been able to talk to each other better than they had other people. She'd always kind of understood him from the get go, and he'd always been drawn to her and open with her on levels he wasn't open with others. She tried to help him understand that love wasn't something you could force. "Love's kinda crazy like that," she murmured, and she was talking about _them_. "Can't control who you fall for or _don_ _'_ _t_ fall for." She knew when it had come to Castiel, she'd tried not to fall for him, at least at first. But it had been out of her control. Still _was_ out of her control.

Emmanuel seemed very intrigued, if a little disappointed—was he jealous? "And who is it that you have you fallen for?" he asked, startling her. At the look on her face, he explained himself. "I assume you're speaking from experience."

She swallowed and had to admit he was right. "He's… not here anymore," she said, averting her eyes and remembering dark water, black plasma, and the trench coat in the back of the car. She was so confused, so lost. "He… he died."

Emmanuel nodded sympathetically, appearing pained on her behalf. "Your boyfriend."

Alex's jaw tightened as her voice softened and her eyes rose to his. "My husband." His eyebrows raised slightly in surprised confusion. And that was the moment that Alex decided Dean's plans could go take a long walk off a short pier. She decided to say everything and give Emmanuel a chance to remember because _she had to know_ if this person in front of her was Cas. She blurted out the truth with an abruptly racing heart in her chest. "It was Cas. I married him. In secret. When Dean and Sam found out… everything just crumbled around us, one thing led to another…" her voice softened as terrible memories played in her mind. "Now he's dead. At least… at least I'm pretty sure he is."

She had hoped he would somehow hear all of that and have a eureka moment. But the only reaction she got was a confused frown. "You married an _angel_?" he asked in faint disbelief. "And he betrayed your family? That… doesn't sound very angelic."

Alex was heartbroken at the lack of response and she felt like all that heartbreak was resting in her eyes as she gazed at him in a silent plead to _please_ _—_ _remember me! Remember_ us _!_ "You really don't remember anything?" she asked in a whispering, broken voice. How could he not? How _could he not_? "About who you were before?"

"No," he said unhappily. "I wish I did." Then he seemed to remember something. "Well, there _is_ something." He shifted and put his hand into the pocket of his zip up, searching around and then pulling out something small and shining. "I had this when I was found," he said, showing it to her. Her breath was knocked out of her because what he held was her definitive answer and she was immediately stricken senseless and shocked and unable to breathe. It was her penny on the chain, and she could find no words. Emmanuel—no, _Cas_ —was studying the object. "Daphne said I should throw it away but… I've kept it. What do you imagine it might mean?" he asked, then looked at her and saw how her eyes were flooding with tears. He became mildly alarmed and forgot the penny. "Why are you crying?"

"My—my head," she lied, trembling and shaking her head as she stood up and walked away from the bench, keeping her back to him when she stopped a few steps off. "That's all."

"Please," he said, and she heard how he stood up. "Allow me to heal your injury. I don't want you to be in pain."

She shook her head, fighting a complete breakdown. "It doesn't matter," she insisted, quashing down her tears as she wondered _what the hell to do_. "I get hurt all the time."

"But why should you suffer?" he asked in a faintly frustrated tone. He was coming closer and closer. "I could take it away," he all but begged. "Living in pain seems a bad choice if you could have it another way." He was closer now, just behind her and she shut her eyes tightly as she struggled. "Will you let me help you? _Please_ , Elizabeth."

 _My name is not Elizabeth._ Her eyes opened and so slowly, she turned around to face him. He was very close to her—god, he'd never been too good at personal space—and he was hanging onto every part of her distressed expression. _Castiel. How are you alive? And why did you forget me? How could you marry someone else?_ She searched his eyes silently as he waited for her to please give him permission to lay healing upon her. She was so close to crying and didn't think she could handle being touched by him, but she just nodded once in a silent go ahead.

He hesitant as if he were afraid to touch her at all or too stunned that she was going to let him. Slowly, his hand raised and instead of putting two fingers to her forehead like he did with everyone else, he cupped the side of her face with his hand. Oh and she crumbled, she barely noticed the pain disappear from her head.

Emmanuel couldn't explain it, but the second his skin touched to hers, he felt a vivid rush of something beyond explanation flash through him: a jumble of feelings and sensations and sounds too quick to catch. There was a laugh, ivory lace, a soft murmur, the feeling of being held, the memory of a gentle kiss on his lips—all of that darted through his mind when he touched and healed her. He drew back as if bitten, blinking at the unexpected feeling.

Alex watched as one moment he touched her and healed her and the next he suddenly pulled his hand away with widened eyes and a confused, upset expression. "What is it?" she asked, worried and hopeful all at once.

He shook his head, eyes never leaving hers. This feeling, this _woman_ … he had felt it all along and it was all beginning to come together in his mind. All these months his head turned when he saw women with brown hair like hers. He'd always noticed black muscle cars and that was what her brother drove. He'd noticed, in the trash on the passenger side, a crumpled up cupcake wrapper, the kind he'd been so transfixed by in every store he saw them in. And there was something else. The name of that boy he'd seen that one afternoon at a farmer's market. And maybe, he realized—maybe that name belonged to _her._ Was this girl standing in front of him his missing piece? Was his feeling of love at first sight towards her earlier today because he already loved her in some forgotten place deep inside? Was her reaction to the penny because she recognized it? Was it easy for him to talk to her because they knew each other? Was the pain he saw in her because of _him_?

"I… I don't think your name is really Elizabeth," he said in the softest, most cautious voice. Her eyes blinked and slowly widened. He swallowed deeply, and he meditated on the name that was fixed in his mind. "Are… are you Alex?" he asked just above a whisper, and the second he said that, her expression said it all. She was utterly confounded and her intensely emotional expression became even more so. She said nothing though, and Emmanuel was desperate for answers. "Who _are_ you?" he asked, voice wretched with anxiety and the need to know who she was to him, what it all meant. "Who am _I_?"

Her eyes were shining and she took a very long moment to reply. "You're…" she trailed off, her eyes flickering back and forth between his. Her voice softened further. "You're…" her voice seemed to give out and something about the look in her eyes suddenly sent a shocked revelation over him, a startling possibility.

It smacked him in the face and he wondered why he hadn't realized it sooner. "… _Am I Cas_?" he asked softly in something like absolute horror. The one she had married and clearly loved then lost, the angel—the _non human_ angel who Emmanuel was certain would never sleep or need to eat and who could heal the sick and injured. Just like him. He felt ill because he didn't see any other explanation now. It explained why she looked at him like that, why his touch upset her, why her brother was so quietly angry at him. Emmanuel couldn't even comprehend the staggering magnitude of it all. "Was I… _am_ I the one you lost?"

Elizabeth—Alex—held his gaze in hers for a long, silent moment and she looked completely devoid of the ability to speak. And then without warning she moved closer, invaded his space unexpectedly. Her nose brushed his, her hand cupped the side of her face even as her lips brushed and pressed against his in the gentlest, most mournful kiss—her thumb stroked against his cheek just once and his eyes fell closed, his eyebrows rose and pressed in together faintly, his every atom exploded in a sparkle of endorphins. _Yes._ He understood her sudden kiss to be _yes_ to his question, and even before it had started, the kiss was over and he was left stunned and warm and breathless by what she'd just done.

Alex didn't move far back—just a breath away so she could see his eyes—and she waited with bated breath for his reaction, her heart hammering into the top of her throat. Castiel looked confused but intrigued by what she had just done, and after his eyes scanned between hers for a scant few seconds, they fell to her lips and he drifted closer and held her face in his hand then kissed her back softly, slowly, hesitantly—tasting her innocently, asking a question to her with those warm lips. She had never felt such a mixture of sadness and hope and exhilaration and fear in her entire life. His slightest touch had her warm all over, had her feeling alive again. And then he suddenly pressed his mouth to hers hard, tangled his fingers into her hair and made a soft sound as he opened his mouth and began to kiss her with a passion that made her whimper in wretched relief as her mouth opened too. _He remembered her_ —he remembered _himself_ —he hadn't forgotten—she could feel it—and they sank into each other's arms deeply, holding close, arms circling and fingers clenching, bodies crushed tight. His fingers were curled into the hair at the nape of her neck, his other hand grabbed into a shoulder blade and pulled her close to him as he kissed her with a wildness she hadn't ever felt from him before. It was so intense that she gasped a few sobbing sounds into his mouth as the messy, mindless kiss continued—her hands couldn't find a place to stop, she wanted to touch him everywhere—his neck, face, shoulders, arms, back, sides, she grabbed at him and tried to pull him closer where he could never leave. Her back abruptly hit up against something and at that thudding sound, the spell was broken and Cas drew back, stunned, panting faintly.

They were against the side of the Impala—Cas was pinning her there by accident thanks to the heat of the moment. Alex's eyes were shining from tears at the intensity of what had just happened, her hands were clenched into his forearms, one of his hands was at the side of her face, frozen in place. They breathed heavily and stared at each other, remembering the outside world, remembering where they were. Alex's eyebrows moved in toward each other as she looked at Castiel. Those brilliant, soulful crystal eyes were locked on hers and there was a new depth there, a familiar light. It was Castiel, and he knew who he was. She understood that before he even opened his mouth and said her name.

It had been like a single small hole in a dam. The water—his memories—had been drawn to that little hole made by her kiss and the pressure had suddenly burst the dam completely, flooding him with memories, with knowledge of who he was and what he'd done… "Alex, I…" his voice was weak and upset, he looked like he had been stricken. "I… remember. I remember everything." His expression became even more vastly pained and guilty as his hand drifted down from her face to her shoulder. " _Everything_." And then he looked down at his left hand and his face contorted—that was the hand he had killed her with. And there was a gleaming silver band on the index finger. With a startling suddenness, he pulled away from her and yanked the ring off and stared at it in horrified disbelief before he dropped it to the ground like it was poisonous. _Ping, ping, ping._ It dropped down and rolled away. Against the Impala, slumped there almost, Alex watched as Cas shook his head and grew more and more upset. "I forgot everything, I don't know how, I… but I _forgot_. How could I forget you? Or what I _did_?" His features contorted with self-loathing, confusion, pain. "It's not—it's not what you think. She made me, I never—it wasn't real, I didn't consent to it, not really—" he was flustered and ashamed and appeared at the point of tears. "I… I didn't marry her. It was just, she made me feel like if I didn't agree to certain things, I would be thrown out on the streets and I was afraid, I was _intimidated_." His voice sounded choked and he was _definitely_ approaching tears. "It seems very foolish now. I'm very ashamed," he managed.

Alex left her slump at the car and went to him—she couldn't bear to see him like that. She steadied him, held his arms and even though she was in a shock, too, she coached him. "Just, just breathe and then you can tell m—"

" _What_ is going _on_ here?" cut in a hard, female voice. Alex and Cas turned in shock to see a furious, trembling Daphne standing there a few paces off. She looked mad enough to kill and she had her fists clenched at her sides. "Emmanuel? I tracked you by your phone here and find you… you _making out_ with a strange woman then throwing your _wedding band_ away!?" She was shaking hard from anger and had obviously seen _everything_. " _Explain yourself!_ "

Going from shocked to pissed in .2 seconds flat, Alex's protective nature flared. This fucking woman who had taken advantage of Cas was in for a rude awakening—already putting herself between Cas and Daphne like a bear, Alex quickly got into the other woman's face, making her step back and give way. "Okay, first?" Alex demanded, her voice harsh and loud and fast. "He doesn't have to explain a damn thing to the likes of you. _Step—off_." She punctuated those two words with two light shoves and she continued to follow Daphne's retreat. "Second? His name is Castiel. Third, he is _my_ husband and if I ever see your face again I will break it in half, do you hear me?!" she punctuated the third threat with a hard shove, the kind that Daphne had to scramble valiantly not to fall down from.

Even though she was shocked at the attack and shaken up, Daphne drew herself up and pointed a finger at Alex, trying to stand her ground. "Now just wait a minute, who are you to tel—"

Alex grabbed Daphne by the front of her shirt and whirled her, slamming her into the telephone pole they were right beside. "Bitch, I will _fuck you up_ ," she growled, and held Daphne there hard. "You took him home, made no effort to help him find out who he was, told him God wanted _you_ to find him? Locked him _away_ for yourself, took _advantage_ of how _trusting_ he is? He's a _person_ , how _dare_ you treat him like a means to your end, how dare you impose your bullshit on him?!" She was shaking from anger and Daphne looked scared for her life as Alex made her final threat. "I am only gonna say this once. Don't you— _ever_ —come around him or me again or I will fucking _annihilate_ you." Alex yanked Daphne away from the pole and shoved her away. "Now screw off before I scrape your eyes out of your face!"

Daphne looked traumatized and her eyes went to Castiel, who had drifted after Alex nervously. He looked at Daphne with trepidation but he stood a little taller, maybe a final act of defiance on his part. "You should leave before my wife, um… fucks you up," he said quietly as he stood at Alex's side. Shocked, appalled, realizing it was over and she was clearly in for the beatdown of the century if she didn't leave, Daphne backed up two steps then turned and fled, throwing backward glances over her shoulder. Alex watched her go, her scowl promising hell on earth should Daphne change her mind.

Once the woman was far enough away, Alex turned her attention back to Cas and held her hand out urgently. "Give me the phone she gave you," she said, and Cas did. The second she got her hands on it, Alex sent it hurling the the ground and into a hundred pieces. Daphne wouldn't ever be able to find him again. She stared at the pieces, trying to calm down. She couldn't think about the whole Daphne thing right now. She looked up at Castiel and didn't even know where to begin. "Cas… everything that happened…" she began.

His expression grew suddenly fearful. "No," he said, losing his bravado and backing up from her as something like panic overtook his face. "I can't. I _can't_." And without warning, he disappeared out of thin air.

Alex's stomach dropped to the ground. "Cas! _Cas_!" He didn't return and Alex turned in a fast circle. _Oh my god no, you can't just run off the second you remember who you are!_

"What the hell happened?" came a familiar voice—Dean was striding toward her. "Where'd he go?"

Alex raked an anxious hand through her hair and then shut her eyes briefly in an attempt to try and calm down. "He—he ran off."

Dean pulled an incredulous expression which quickly became pissed. "I'm gone ten minutes and you lose the only guy who can heal Sam?!"

"It's not—" she began, then froze as her eyes went wide. "Holy hell."

Sauntering up behind Dean was a familiar, short woman with impish features, glittering dark eyes, and a flirtatious smirk. "Missed you too, Ariel."

Even as Alex's hand went into her jacket for her blade and her body tensed up in preparation to attack, Dean's voice stopped her. "Hey hey hey!" He held out a hand and Alex remained frozen and completely mystified. "She's with me."

Alex looked at her brother like he had just spoken another language. "She's _with you_?"

"She's backup," Dean said stiffly.

"Backup?" Alex echoed. "What are you, _nuts_?"

Enjoying the show, Meg had her arms crossed and a pleased little smile on.

"Just listen, all right?" Dean asked impatiently. "She saved my life in there—I got jumped by three smokers and she kinda…" he got mildly embarrassed and mumbled the next three words, "saved my ass. Look, I spent the last ten _minutes_ deciding not to kill her 'cause she can help us spot the black-eyed mooks before they can get the jump on us, all right? Turns out more than that one random demon bastard at Daphne's are trying to get their hands on Emmanuel."

Alex sobered and grew quieter. "Castiel," she corrected. "It's Castiel."

"Oh, so _now_ you're a believer?" Dean wisecracked.

She looked at her brother with a very open, pensive expression. "He remembered."

His rudeness dropped away and his eyebrows slammed together. "What? … _How_?"

When Alex hesitated too long, Meg's smirk increased exponentially. "True love's kiss, I'm guessing," she drawled. At the look of complete annoyance that crossed Alex's face Meg grinned widely. "Oh boy!" she exclaimed in her usual slow, ambling, maddening tone. "Where's my gold star?"

"Lucky guess," Alex retorted in a mutter.

Dean looked so, so done. "You are _kidding_ me," he said, then made a face that showed the extent of his exasperation. "Well, you slipped him the tongue, he remembered and he ran. Great! Just fucking _awesome_!"

Alex wasn't really listening. She'd just realized something. "Calm down," she said absently, suddenly realizing it was all gonna be okay. She tried to figure out the fastest way to get there on foot. "I know where he went."

"How?" Dean asked sarcastically. "You got ESP now?"

"No," Alex said and looked her brother in the eye plaintively, ignoring his behavior. "I _know_ him. That's how I know where he is." She took a second and inhaled deeply, knowing she was going to have to have a very tough, painful conversation and that getting Cas to come with them might be a pretty huge task. "Give me a little while," she told her brother. "I have a feeling I'm gonna have to talk him into coming with us." She made to leave then shot a dark glance at the female demon. "And Meg."

"Hmm?"

"I'm watching you."

It was a threat, but Meg practically cooed. "Oh I'm _counting_ on it, sweetcheeks."

Alex rolled her eyes and set off to find Castiel. She hadn't gotten him back to lose him again. She had no idea how the hell they could get past half the stuff that they were gonna face, but she at least had to get him to heal Sam. Anything past that… she just didn't know.

She thought of the way he'd kissed her the entire time she retraced her steps back to the park they'd passed a mile back.


	94. Walls of Jericho

" _Oh your hands can heal, your hands can bruise._ _"  
_ \- The Civil Wars

* * *

Alex hoped and prayed that she wasn't wrong about this. She hurried her steps and tried to push away the weight of worry that was currently trying to crush her. _Please, please be where I think you'll be._ Glancing left then right, she jogged across the main road and headed for the park they'd passed just a few moments ago in the car. She had this feeling Cas would go there to escape, and she was banking everything on that feeling. In her jacket, concealed but constantly on her mind, was her angel blade. Dean said demons were out to get 'Emmanuel' and she was almost worried that Cas would _let_ himself be taken or get hurt out at this point. His sudden disappearance was upsetting to say the least but not out of character… Cas used to do nothing _but_ disappear when things got to be too much for him.

Still about three tenths of a mile out from her destination, Alex couldn't make out too much in the park or see him yet (if he were there at all). With every step, she was fighting off more and more growing major dread of the _what if._ What if she got there and he was nowhere to be found? What if he'd zapped as far away as possible, halfway across the world? What if he didn't come back? What if he hurt himself because of his distress? What if demons found him? Alex hung onto the hope that Cas wouldn't go very far away from her and that he wouldn't do anything foolish, she really felt like he wouldn't… but she _could_ be wrong about that… and if the demons had gotten to him first she might never have a way of knowing. And the thing that upset her the most: Cas knew Sam needed help. So he _couldn't_ stay gone. He _had_ to come back.

As the distance closed between her and the roadside park, she scanned it with frantic eyes in an effort to spot Castiel. The park had a few benches, three picnic tables, rusty old cookout grills, a worn out swing set and slide/climb structure beside an open area for ball games. There were a couple families and a good number of kids there but where was Cas? She didn't see him anywhere and as a result she began to feel incredibly alarmed. If he wasn't _here_ where _would_ he be? And then at that moment, she spotted him and stopped walking out of sheer, heart-stopping relief—she almost hadn't recognized him for a second because of the blue sweater. But it was him. Sitting on a flat wooden bench at the far edge of the park with his back turned to her and to the park, his head was hung and his shoulders were slumped and he faced the obviously abandoned and overgrown football field—yellow ragweed grew wild across the open area. Alex charged forward before he could spirit away again.

Blindly striding through a casual game of soccer between some middle schoolers and disrupting the entire thing, Alex made a beeline for the angel who had been _dead_ just an hour ago. She was breathless with the conviction that she had to get him to come back with her and convince him to stay, to help them… to not leave _her._ But, as she got closer and closer to him, she slowed to a barely-moving drift as caution and worry took over. He'd remembered _everything_. That had to be overwhelming, terrifying, sickening for him. Faltering in hesitation, Alex came to a complete stop behind him, a few paces off and to his left. If he knew she was there, he gave no sign of it.

This was where she needed to say something. What words would possibly reach out to him past the agony she knew he must be feeling? She was afraid to make him feel attacked. She knew he already felt lower than low—in the last moments they had shared before he had walked into the lake, his guilt and despair had been at all time highs over what he had done—and she couldn't blame him; she remembered the things that he had done—or at least what had been done _through_ him. She remembered it _very_ well.

Cas was probably reliving all of those horrors even now and Alex began to feel like the wind was puttering out of her sails. Would he even _talk_ to her? Would he disappear again if he knew she was there? And then he spoke, startling her. "Why am I alive?" he asked softly, his tone forlorn and ragged. Her heart twisted. He lifted his head a little and looked back over his shoulder at her, his startlingly blue eyes rendering her lungs a little less full than before. "I shouldn't be near you—I shouldn't _be_ here."

His stark emotional pain seeped into her, making her hurt along with him. "Cas—" she began slowly, chancing a step closer. He looked almost afraid at her growing proximity and she stopped short, staying a safe distance—but it confused her.

When he seemed assured that she wasn't going to come closer, he swallowed and his eyebrows worked tensely. Struggling to come to terms with it all and process it, Cas's tortured blue gaze stared into her eyes. "Alex… I lost _control,_ " he said, and his face was a mask of pain. He spoke slowly, his deep, husky voice filled with grief, horror, and even disbelief. "I _killed_ you, I killed Dean and Bobby." There was a leaden, heavy pause as he let it sink in and as he himself took it in. "I decimated Heaven, I massacred my brothers and sisters without mercy, I slaughtered the innocent here on earth…" it became too much and he bowed his head down in absolutely staggered shame. His voice was barely audible. "I became a monster, a _murderer._ I abused you. I _hurt_ you. I was about to—to _force_ myself onto you." He looked sick and his eyes slid back in her direction but he wouldn't look at her fully. "And what happened on the mountaintop…" his voice dropped to a mere, trembling whisper as she suddenly felt sick right along with him. " _I remember your screams_."

Those four words hit her like a thunderbolt and called to mind a moment she wanted to forget forever… when the monsters who had possessed Cas, one in particular, had held her down and forced a painful, sexual nightmare onto her with his mouth. It was so strange that the one she loved most of all had been the host to the monster who had scarred her the worst. At Alex's incredibly quieted demeanor, Cas looked at her with increased pain, obviously blaming and _hating_ himself for letting it happen to her. He had been there, too, just like her. But he hadn't been able to do a thing. "It… it wasn't you who did all of that stuff," she said, trying to be brave, trying not to let herself remember much of it. "It was… it was _him_." She couldn't say his name out loud: Destroyer. He had called himself that. She would never forget.

Cas didn't deny it, but he was obviously not comforted in the slightest. There was a long, stiff silence. "I… I sent him back to Purgatory," Cas finally said in a weak, distracted voice, telling her what she had already guessed—but truth be told it was a huge relief to know once and for all that he was gone and locked away. "But the Leviathan…" he trailed off, forgetting whatever he'd been about to say. "How could I have allowed any of what transpired? Why couldn't I break through until it was nearly too late?" He looked at her again, pleading with her silently to give him answers. She really didn't have any. All she had was pain. At her silence, his eyebrows pressed inward further. "I was trying to fix a mistake and then I made an even bigger one," he said, his voice thick and struggling to be steady. "I _deserved_ to _die_. I should never have walked out of that lake. So why am I still here?" He looked ahead of himself into middle distance and thought deeply for a very tense second. In that silence, Alex chanced going closer and she sat near him on the flat bench, but facing the opposite direction that he faced—this had them sitting side by side, hips lined up, but feet pointing opposite directions. Her nearness made his ill expression all the more ill. "The pain I caused, the ruin I left behind…" he murmured guiltily. "Nothing can ever fix what I did."

Alex stared hard at one of her knees, then looked at him sidelong. "Maybe not," she returned quietly. It was a very sobering, difficult subject. One she didn't know how to face, either. "But… I know at least _one_ thing you can make right."

His expression wavered slightly at what she implied. "Sam." His grief increased as he struggled for words. "What I did to him—I can't believe I could justify doing that, even for a moment." He looked very young and lost at that moment, very vulnerable and afraid. "I lost my mind," he murmured in a strained voice. "Lost it."

"Yeah," she confirmed quietly, sensitive to his distress. There was another silence between them in which happy shrieks from children playing punctuated their mutual misery. Alex looked at his profile—he looked so sick with himself. She thought it he were human, he might have vomited or wept once he was over the shock of it. Overwhelmed with compassion for him because she understood more than most people would about what monsters could make you do, she tried to comfort him. "Cas… you were basically _possessed_. You can't blame yourself for—"

His eyes snapped to hers. " _Of course_ I can blame myself," he interjected with a passion borne out of self-horror. His response startled her, because he was so incredibly grieved and she saw the full extent of it now. His eyes were shining with gathering tears. "I wasn't possessed when I broke the wall in Sam's mind—I wasn't possessed when I… when I took your life." He said those last few words in a weak voice and he shuddered, appalled at what he'd done all over again. He drew in a few sharp and shaking breaths as his gaze fell away to scan the ground in front of himself unseeingly. "Alex, those actions were _mine._ Don't excuse what I did, any of it. It all happened because of _me_ , maybe _I_ wasn't the one who slaughtered two hundred and sixty-two religious leaders, maybe _I_ wasn't the one who all but obliterated the Heavenly Host… but it happened _because_ of me. All of it." His face contorted and he looked as if he could cry freely. His voice was tight and he struggled to speak at all. "I thought I could save you, I thought I could do it all on my own and I _destroyed_ everything instead." His hand was near to hers and gripped the bench so tightly that it groaned underneath his superhuman strength. Alex reached out and put her hand on his and his grip relaxed, surprise broke his blind moment and he looked at her hand on his a moment before he pulled out of her touch completely. A little stung by his rejection, Alex watched as he languished in misery and met her hurt gaze with agonized, pleading eyes. "I blotted your _soul_ out of existence…" he reminded her painfully. "Do you realize that?"

"I'm not _excusing_ it, Castiel," she replied, her hurt translating into a harder tone. His word choice, asking what she 'realized' felt almost patronizing, and she didn't want him to think she was here to put a bandaid on his cut and then carry on like nothing had ever happened. She didn't _know_ if she could ever really forgive and forget all the lies he'd told or what had happened because of it all. "I don't need reminding of how terrible it got—I was _right there_." Their gaze held a minute and her anger faded in favor of quiet, echoing horror. They had both been there and hadn't had a choice but to get dragged through what Destroyer did. Her voice softened and quieted and her eyes fell away from his. "I… I still have nightmares about it."

Cas looked heartbroken all over again and she could feel his eyes on her. "I never wanted to be your nightmare," he said in a bare voice just above a whisper.

 _I know you didn't._ She abruptly felt too emotionally exhausted to speak, so she didn't—just kept her eyes off of his and took a moment to try and hold it all together. A light breeze ruffled through the trees as birds called back and forth. Kids laughed on the nearby playground. Swings creaked under the weight of joyful children as they pumped legs hard and fast to try and reach the sky. And nearby to all that exhilaration, a broken angel and a weary hunter could neither one understand how anyone could think the world was a happy place at all. Everything inside of Alex hurt so bad and felt so ruined, so unhappy, so exhausted and beyond repair.

"You were right to try and thwart my plans to open Purgatory," Cas said softly after a moment of thought, his voice laced with deep regret. "You knew better than I, it would seem. I truly wish I had known where my actions would lead. It seems I discovered for myself: the road to ruin is paved with good intentions." His tone darkened with a forlorn quality. "I never understood that saying until now." He sounded miserable to understand it at all. "Why was I brought back? I should be _dead._ "

She turned her head toward him, her reluctant eyes slowly sliding up toward his face. He wasn't looking at her. "Maybe you were brought back to try and make things right," she chanced.

"There isn't a _way_ to make things right," he monotoned, shoulders slumped down in defeat. "It's far too late."

Alex's temper flared. "It _is_ too late for some things but not everything," she said in a tone of reprimanding. When he said nothing, she glared at him, trying to convict him, light a fire under his ass, get him to _do something_ besides feel sorry for himself and try to run away. "You know what? You don't get to give up just because you feel like shit—I did that and it was hell and a half! And you don't get to act like you don't _owe it_ to us to at least _try_."

His guilty eyes raised to hers and the pain there softened her immediately. "…I'm afraid to try," he confessed in an almost whisper, and her heart broke for him immediately—her anger was swept away in favor of deeply abiding empathy. _Oh, Cas._ She understood that fear, oh god how she understood that fear. "Everything I touch…" he continued, "it crumbles into pieces. What if I only make things _worse_?"

She wanted so badly to touch him or hug him, to hold him and tell him it was going to be okay. But she stayed where she was and tried to reach out to him with words alone. "You _won't_."

His expression worked hard—he obviously wanted to believe her but was apprehensive to do so. "You don't know that," he protested faintly.

He looked so alone that it was really starting to kill her. She touched his forearm gently and carefully, drawing his gaze. "Look. I understand feeling like you just wanna bow out, trust me. But you _can't_. Please." _I did that and trust me… there is nothing for you there. Just a wasteland of despair and loneliness._

He visibly struggled with her statement and her touch—he looked ashamed that she would try to comfort him at all. "…How am I supposed to live with this guilt?" he asked slowly, his voice strained and faint. "Is that why I forgot everything? Because my mind couldn't take it?" His gaze searched hers in a deeply disconsolate way. "I was trying to save you," he whispered. "I was trying to do the right thing. I just wanted the war to be _over._ I was so tired of carrying it all on my own." They both knew he was telling the truth and that he'd taken on too much in his attempts to save everyone and keep her safe. His expression was wretched. "…Did I love you too much?"

Castiel had this innocence to him, this childlike way of sometimes understanding things. His question was honest, pain-filled, and so sad because it showed that endearingly naive side of him—but it wasn't cute in this instance. It was tragic. Alex shook her head slowly, at a loss. "I… I don't know," she whispered, unsure of the answer. She'd never thought that would be possible, to love someone too much. Maybe there _was_ a limit. If that limit brought you here, maybe the answer was yes.

Their gazes crossed and a sudden burst of absolutely surreal feelings capsized on her when those skyblue eyes met hers. It hit her all over again and for a minute, all of the horrible, high stakes were forgotten. Cas was _here_. He was alive, he was beside her and he was living, breathing, not lost forever like she'd believed—that knowledge left her absolutely amazed all over again and so emotional, in a state of sudden semi-shock. "I can barely believe I'm actually… talking to you again," she confessed in a soft, dreamlike voice, trying to find the crack in the moment or the proof that it wasn't real. Her emotions were totally haywire and conflicted inside of her, unsure of what direction to go or what to feel. "You were _dead_. You walked into that lake and never came out and… I mourned you. Still _was_ mourning you until like an hour ago." And now they were together. A mess and hurting and confused… but together. Was this really happening?

Cas swallowed down her words with difficulty. "I didn't know," he said softly, anguish making his facial features rigid as he looked down and away. "Almost six months I was living in Colorado." He looked confused past belief. "And not _once_ did I remember you or anything from my past life. I don't understand…"

She didn't either. It felt like Castiel had haunted her every waking and sleeping moment—and he hadn't thought of her or remembered her _once_. She wanted to be mad about it, but honestly, it only worried and hurt her. Memory loss usually meant brain damage or something, right? Alex internally lamented their bad luck and she wished so badly that _she_ had been the one Cas crawled out of the lake to find. Not that Daphne woman. "If I knew you were out there…" Alex began softly.

"I know," he supplied heavily when she trailed off. "You would have found me." What would have been romantic otherwise sounded like him loathing himself further.

"Of course I would have," she said, mourning the fact that he had somehow found himself with some other woman and let her call him 'husband.' She didn't know how to ever get over that—some other woman taking Cas to bed with her every night. It made her heart clench as she thought about it. "But I had no freaking idea," she whispered. She so very much wished she had. "And… and everything just… just fell apart." Her chest rang with pain as she thought about the last hellish six months of life and all the shameful ways she'd given up in.

Cas immediately noticed what she tried to hide and looked at her with intense, concerned quizzicalness. "What do you mean?" he asked, and the concern in his deep, husky voice made her _feel._

Alex tried to downplay it, tried to look unaffected. "It was all too much for me," she hedged. Couldn't this wait for later? She didn't really want him to know how badly his loss had affected her. Or the things she had done as she grieved…

Cas hadn't taken his discerning gaze off her for a second—he knew something was off and he didn't accept her attempts to dodge. "Alex… what happened?" he questioned gently, and his audible worry made it impossible for her to not tell him.

"It wasn't pretty," she admitted, and she felt so embarrassed she could have cried. Instead she tried to put on a stony face while she picked at a splinter on the bench. She attempted to sound foggy about what she in reality remembered with crystal clarity. "Full blown psychotic break, I guess."

Cas looked utterly thunderstruck by her confession and the wind was audibly knocked out of him. "Oh Alex…"

"I'm okay now," she said stiffly, shrugging it off and forcing a grimacing smile out towards the park instead of at him.

Cas didn't accept what she said for one second. "No, you're not," he denied. "I can sense it." Caught out, Alex's resolve faded as he continued to refuse to believe her. "I sensed it from the moment I first saw you today." Her eyes tried to look into his then fell away—how could he have ever loved her? She was so weak and flighty. _He deserves so much better than me. Than this_. Her hand was still between them on the bench and Alex almost jumped in surprise when she felt Cas falteringly reach over and cover hers in his. Their eyes met and even though he looked so apprehensive, he let fingers lace through hers slightly. And for him to reach out to her like that, in such a slight and tentative way… emotion went soaring up through her chest. "What _happened_ to you?" he appealed quietly, and she felt this huge lump in her chest even as she wondered how the hell she had lived without him all this time. She had somehow forgotten just how much he saw through her and understood her and pursued her even when she ran from him.

"Maybe I'm _not_ completely okay," Alex admitted in a whisper as she fought for composure and control. "But I'm a whole hell of a lot more okay than I _was._ "

Castiel didn't know the details and she was trying so hard not to reveal them, but it was obvious that he was sensing her inner turmoil and seeing it for what it was: huge, inescapable, and relentless. Empathy and concern filled his careworn face and after a moment of considering her and hesitating, he turned more toward her and reached for her, leaned to her, carefully pulled her to him in a tentative, careful hug. Stunned but already turning to him and putting her arms around him, too, Alex shut her eyes and breathed out sharply as she tried not to lose it. Oh to be held by him again—he felt gentle, strong, safe, familiar; he smelled like she remembered, he felt so _right_ —she crumbled and held on tight and then his arms tightened too—she whispered his name softly, tears breaking out of her as the reality of him overwhelmed her all over again. His hand cradled the back of her head as she turned her face into the crook of his neck and cried softly, grieving for everything that had gone so wrong and could never be taken back at all. They held each other for a long moment in an embrace of mutual pain and comfort. "I was so convinced, Alex," he finally whispered into her hair, his chest rumbling against hers. "That I could carry it all on my own. That I had to do it on my own." He drew back to look at her and saw the tear track on her cheek. He wiped it away with a thumb as his mournful expression held. "And look where that pride took us all," he murmured, voice tightening in distress. He was pulling away abruptly, appearing mildly panicked. "I should just go. I shouldn't be near you ever, at _all_."

Alex felt like her stomach dropped out of her body. He made to stand and she grabbed his wrist, not even letting him finish shifting forward to put weight onto his feet. " _No_. Don't you fucking dare," she said forcefully, voice trembling. He looked at her in faint surprise. "You don't _get_ to run away! You put me through too much to walk out on me now when you _just_ got back—you can't leave, not again, do you understand me? You screwed up, now we _fix it._ There isn't another option, Cas! What you did to my brother is _killing_ him and you might be the only person in the world who can help—I don't care if you feel like shit about us, about you and me, about what you _did_ … you _have_ to _do_ something!" She was left breathless from her impassioned speech and she finally let go of his wrist—as if her human strength could have kept him there at all.

Castiel was quieted, cowed, and he made no more attempts to move or stand. But he looked more upset than ever. "You're right but I… I just… how can we possibly… how is there a way past this? After what I did?" he asked softly. "How can you even bear to look me in the eye?" He swallowed thickly as he fought off more dismay. "I'm a _failure._ "

She shook her head no—she knew what it was like to feel that way. "Failing isn't failure until you give up," Alex said, quoting one of her mental care doctors word for word. She believed those words, too.

Castiel looked bittersweet, mildly touched by her words. "Your kindness regarding the matter is generous, if misplaced," he said quietly, thanking her in so many words for her care but telling her it wasn't going to do much good. It was pretty obvious that he was torturing himself mentally. His aqua gaze rose to hers. "Alex, did you forget?" he asked in heartbroken pensiveness. "I… I claimed another woman as my spouse."

Alex stiffened. Utter cold hatred for that woman ran through her veins. Daphne might have been nice for all she knew, but Alex _hated_ her on principle. "No," she said quietly, growing intensely upset all over again. "I didn't forget." She pictured Castiel kissing that woman, in _bed_ with that woman and she couldn't _take_ it.

Cas sounded rueful and embarrassed. "I didn't want to marry her, I didn't even _like_ her," he confessed.

"But that didn't stop you from being with her, did it," Alex said darkly. She was so hurt at the thought of Castiel sleeping with someone else. Even if she was just as guilty of it, she was so incredibly _hurt_ by that knowledge. And Cas would have been with Daphne multiple times, god, she didn't even want to _know_ how many. She'd been with someone else once. _Once._ And it had been meaningless.

Cas suddenly frowned, seeming to realize something at Alex's sullen demeanor and he rushed to explain. " _No_ —Alex, it wasn't like that with us. She and I, we never—we were never physically intimate, _ever_." Alex looked at him in sheer disbelief. What? Never intimate? He seemed completely genuine and very worried she wouldn't believe him. "Except for one kiss she initiated, I didn't _touch_ her. I _couldn't_ touch her. Even if I didn't remember you at the time… I was faithful to you." _Oh my god._ His choice of words, his earnestness, the realization that she'd been wrong—maybe she should have laughed from relief. But she could only feel one thing. Horrified. Alex's outward reaction of dismay was so immediate and obvious that Cas's face fell and worry grew. "What is it?" he asked, confused.

"…I wasn't." she managed just barely. _I wasn't faithful_. She tried to swallow but her throat was dry and thick. "I… I slept with someone else," she whispered, and _oh god_ the look on his face when she said that. Alex was utterly devastated by the way he became so abruptly horrified and hurt, confused, speechless. The tears were returning because Alex had regretted that one night stand ever since it had happened—but now she would give _anything_ to take it back and erase it. And with Cas looking at her like that after just telling her he had been _married_ and yet hadn't slept with anyone else… she felt like the lowest person alive. "I'm so _sorry_ —" she rasped through a tight throat.

Cas struggled for words as the pain on his face grew and grew—his eyes searched hers, silently begging for an explanation or assurance that he'd misunderstood. "You… you had sexual relations with someone who wasn't me?" he asked, and the hurt in his voice was too much for her.

" _Yes._ " She choked out the horrible truth in one word, torn to pieces inside.

He looked heartbroken completely, like he simply didn't know how to fathom she could do that. After he silently fought to find words for a second, his eyes took on a fearful quality. "And are you still…" he trailed off, and she realized she assumed she was _with_ someone else, like, in a relationship or something.

 _Oh my god no._ She rushed to correct him, to tell him the truth and hopefully ease the blow somehow. "It was only once, Cas," she said through the tears making her voice unsteady and high-pitched. " _Once_. I knew it was a mistake even while it was happening and I regret it so much more now than before, and _Jesus_ I regretted it before…"

How could she ever apologize enough? It felt like something she could never get over, something _he_ would never understand or get over. "I… I don't know what to say," he said quietly, and there were tears in his eyes, too—he struggled, and she thought he was going to say something about how hurt he was. And then instead, he asked about _her,_ he worried about _her,_ he made her sorrow even bigger when his heart was focused on _her_. "This person… they were respectful with you?" he asked softly, face rigid with concern.

Could her heart break any further? Cas should be furious, he should tell her she was easy and desperate, that she had ruined herself and that he hated her. And here he was asking if Zip had _respected_ her during sex…? Alex struggled to speak through the sadness flooding her face with tears. "I mean… physically yeah but…"

Even in his own pain, Cas's primary concern was for her. "But what?" he asked, watching her closely with ever-growing worry and anxiety.

Alex couldn't look at him anymore. "I, I just felt tricked when I found out who he really was… he lied to me about some pretty big stuff." She was being so vague about it, but Alex couldn't tell Cas the full truth. Not yet. Maybe not ever. The truth about how the guy she fucked on the floor for nothing but physical pleasure had been a _Leviathan_. She _never_ would have slept with Zip if she'd known who he really was. "It was kind of shady, honestly," Alex said, more and more ashamed. She wanted to crawl into a hole and die but she tried to excuse herself in some way or make it more understandable or more forgivable. "I mean the entire thing happened when I was wasted and high, right after Bobby died…"

More pained surprise showed on Cas's face. "Bobby is dead? Oh, Alex…" he trailed off and he watched as she stared at her knees with increasing emotional duress—she was about to fucking _lose_ it. And then, of all things, Cas reached for her and told her ever so softly, "come here." She was absolutely floored and so damn grateful to him in that moment—she didn't understand how he could be so good to her or look past his own hurt. She broke down as he pulled her to him until she was in his lap with her legs hanging over the edge of one of his—her face was buried in his chest and he held her fiercely and _comforted_ her about it all even though she thought he should be shaming her. His warmth enveloped her, soothed her, made her feel so much emotion. She clutched him hard and didn't know how she could ever have done what she did that night at Sunny Meadows. But she loved Cas more than ever for this moment, for him being there for her even after he'd learned she'd been with someone else. He overwhelmed her completely. As her tears quieted after a long minute or two, he was quiet and tense and sober. "Were you… taken advantage of?" he finally asked in a gentle, cautious, worried voice. Alex realized from the way that she'd put it with the reference to drunkenness that she could spin it that way easily.

She wanted to lie and say that she was so high and drunk she hadn't known what was happening—she wanted someone other than herself to take the blame, she was afraid that he might truly reject her once and for all if he knew the total truth. But despite all that, she shook her head no and told him straight. She wouldn't put more lies into this mess of a relationship. " _No,_ " she confessed miserably. "I knew what I was doing." Alex squeezed her eyes closed and grabbed a fistful of sweater and she began to lose composure again. She was so afraid he would be too hurt by this to ever recover, that he would decide she wasn't worthy of his love and it _terrified_ her. "I thought you were dead… I thought you were _dead!"_ She wept hard, her body wracked with sobs that were bitterly regretful. "I'm sorry, I'm so _sorry,_ I shouldn't have done that, shouldn't have _done that,_ " she blubbered, clutching him all the tighter. He didn't let go. No. He _held_ her as she cried about what she'd done, and his touch was gentle and steadfast in the face of her grief… _but,_ she could feel how wounded he was without even seeing his face.

She shuddered and hiccuped a couple times, suddenly too exhausted to cry. She contemplated herself as the tears ebbed off and she didn't know what to _do_ with herself. She understood, thanks to therapy, that all of her feelings were valid and she shouldn't try to shut them down before they had been processed and acknowledged. But these emotions were hard. And she would prefer it if she could have been less pitiful and less tearful. It felt like weakness to her. She thought, briefly, of how Castiel was her weak spot. At this point in time, it remained to be seen if he bettered or worsened her. Her head had many theories on him being someone that made her worse. But her heart only had one longing inside of itself. And that longing was for him.

When she finally looked up into his face, he was already looking into hers. The pain sketched there across his handsome face was so easy to see. Some hair had stuck to the side of her face thanks to the tears there and Cas gently traced fingers there, moving them away. It was something he did by instinct and without thought. "Did you—do you—love him?" he asked softly, dread filling his tone.

Did she _love_ someone who wasn't Cas? Alex shook her head no immediately, floored at his question, her eyebrows slamming together. _I could never_. " _No_. I love—" she stopped short, her heart catching in her throat because it almost seemed like to claim she loved him was a lie or an insult. Their eyes were locked and hope, misery, despair all colored her voice—she couldn't _not_ say it. " _You_."

Cas looked all at once relieved, pained, afraid, and uncertain. "How can you love me after what I did?" he asked faintly.

She didn't know how she could. She also didn't know how she _couldn't._ "I could ask you the same thing," she whispered. Then she realized the error in her assumption: she didn't _know_ if he still loved her. Maybe this revelation about her dalliance would erase everything he'd felt for her before. Maybe this wound would kill their relationship and end their marriage—god, if their marriage even existed anymore. Alex was so confused and her eyes peered into his, silently asking the most important question. _Do you? Still… love me?_

When she said she could ask him the same thing, Cas's expression wavered and his soft, soulful eyes continued to hold hers. He cupped the side of her face and sadly contemplated her eyes, her tear-tracked cheeks, her forlorn expression. Even though he was deeply hurt, she saw tenderness and warmth in his eyes. His thumb stroked across her cheek softly as he leaned down and helplessly captured her lips in a soft, slow, pained kiss that shocked her at first then quickly sent her soaring—he made white-hot sparks scream through her veins and unfurl down low with his softest touch and Alex grasped the side of his neck, craning her neck to deepen the kiss and be closer to him—their mouths opened and Alex made a soft sound of relief, circling her arms around him as closely as she could as he kissed her in a way that replied to her silent question. _Yes. Yes I still love you._

And then, just as she was almost brought to tears of relief, he pulled away and left her confused—he looked regretful and befuddled and he shook his head no and stood, pushing her off of his lap to sit in a daze on the bench as he retreated backwards from her. "I, I shouldn't have done that," he said.

Alex was already on her feet, hovering awkwardly, not sure why he said that. Because of Zip? Because of Destroyer? Why? "I mean, aren't we…" she trailed off and didn't finish asking her question. _Aren't we together? Aren't we married, still?_ She was too afraid he would say no, that they weren't still , she feebly pointed out what tomorrow marked. "Tomorrow's three years to the day for us."

He seemed to realize what he'd forgotten—Cas wasn't good with earthly things like dates, but he must have known today was April 28th because he nodded grimly after a second of surprise. "Yes," he said quietly. "And I called another woman my wife."

But he hadn't _known_. Alex tried to point out he wasn't the only one who had really fucked up. "And I slept with someone else," she whispered, pretty sure she knew she'd hurt him worse than she could ever undo. At this point it would almost feel _better_ if Cas had been with Daphne and had sex with her. It would make what Alex had done less horrific. And honestly, how the _hell_ had Cas lived and been close to that woman for half a year and _not_ been physical with her? Alex felt so incredibly unworthy of that devotion he'd had even in his amnesiac state and nearly _wanted_ him to have slipped up so that her mistake felt less damning. "Did you _really_ never sleep with her?" she asked softly. She was prepared to him to admit that yes, he had.

But he shook his head shallowly. "I never did," he answered honestly, looking at her with those spellbinding blues. "I never wanted her in that way. In fact… she repulsed me to some level." He looked bittersweet. "I suppose my subconscious knew it wouldn't be right."

Her heart was breaking all over again. "Then why didn't _mine_?" she asked, her chest tight with emotion and pain and confusion. He said nothing, only looked further saddened. Alex realized they could probably torture themselves with this painful subject all day and that her tears would probably never stop coming if they did. But she was forgetting something very important, and it was time to get to it. She took in a deep breath and let it out fast, trying to overcome her upset feelings. "Look, Cas," she said, forcibly making herself concentrate and not continue wallowing in grief—although this next subject had her really upset and scared, too. "Sam _needs_ help. He's dying. Wherever you and I stand, whatever else you need to work through… we just gotta put it aside and you have to help my brother—" she felt so put on the spot, like everything rested on his answer to this question. "I'm _begging_ you."

Cas nodded, acquiescing however apprehensively. "Of course I'll help Sam," he said quietly, sending relief through her like a tidal wave. "I'll do whatever I can to make it right." He regarded her trepidatiously. "As you've said. I owe it to you and your family to try."

He looked afraid, though. And she was too—about where this was going, about how they could ever get out of this tangled mess, about if Sam would survive, about if Cas would stay, about how she could possibly justify that if he did to herself and to her family… and she remembered, nearly three years ago to the day, when he had been falteringly asking her to marry him. She'd resisted, she'd tried to come up with every reason not to take the plunge. And as her excuses grew fewer and fewer, as his requests and reasonings and obvious love of her had become stronger and stronger… Alex had shaken her head and commented that he made it sound so simple. _The rest of our lives_ , he'd said. _Together_. _That_ is _simple._ Nothing had turned out to be simple though. And unfortunately, they had to learn the hard way that love did not conquer all. But Alex still hung onto the hope that as long as she and Cas could somehow stand together, they could make it through to the other side.

"We'll all get through this somehow," she said, trying to help them both be less afraid. He looked doubtful and reluctant, but nodded a silent yes. She didn't know if that was to appease her or if he agreed with her words—it looked like the former. An awkward silence stretched out between them and Alex cleared her throat uncertainly. She was expecting him to spirit them back to the car, but he was just standing there with a tense expression on his face. "So can you like zap us back, or…?" she trailed off.

Cas was grudging and self-conscious. "Ordinary I'd say yes but… I…" his eyes dodged hers guiltily, "I find myself hesitant to use my abilities unless there's no other option."

Oh. Alex realized why immediately and it made her sad. Because his angelic powers had done so much damage to others in the past. She thought it was perhaps a bit of an overreaction, but she didn't say that. He needed space and respect about that and it wasn't too far on foot. "So, walking then," she said quietly, not acknowledging that she knew about his worries and guilts.

But from the way he was looking at her in silent thankful relief, she knew he understood and heard what she didn't say. "Yes. Walking."

So, they walked. In tandem, with Alex leading slightly since she knew the way better after having already walked it—they skirted the park in silence and crossed the road without saying anything. Finally, when they were on the other side of the road, Alex realized she needed to give him a head's up about something so he didn't go all smitey. Although honestly, Alex wouldn't terribly mind seeing Meg dead… sighing heavily, she did the right thing. "Just so you know—Meg's back at the car. Dean found her in the store or something, said she saved his life when he got jumped and _apparently_ she's coming with us."

"What?" Cas looked and sounded just as enthused as Alex was. "… _Why_?"

"Yeah, I know," Alex muttered—she hadn't forgotten all the shit Meg had pulled on her family throughout the years and didn't know if one life-save made up for any of it. "Dean said she's 'backup.'" Cas was giving Alex a skeptical, confused sidelong look and Alex gave a soft, cynical laugh. "Trust me. The second I get a shot, I'm stabbing her in the spleen. I've had enough of working with demons for a lifetime."

She hadn't even meant to make a jab at him, but when she said that, she realized it sounded like that. She cut a worried glance at Cas, hoping he wouldn't take it that way. But he did. He appeared deep in bitter thought. "I truly did think I could out-manipulate Crowley," he murmured regretfully. "I truly thought I could be the hero. And instead I was the villain." Alex identified with that pain so immediately—she knew what it was like to try and do the right thing and instead make things all the worse. Cas had just done so on a much, _much_ larger scale. Beside her, frowning studiously, Cas was realizing something else and it obviously puzzled him. "How is it Dean hasn't attempted to kill me yet today? He's been surprisingly… civil."

Alex shrugged and pressed her mouth into a wan line. "Time's given him perspective, I guess," she mused neutrally. "Plus he'd be an _idiot_ to try and kill Sam's only lifeline." But Dean _did_ have his moments. The guy was a real moron sometimes. Maybe that was just the sister in her talking, but sometimes she thought Dean was the biggest dumbass in the world. She was already bracing herself for a real hissy fit once they got back to the car, but she hoped Dean would let it all slide and not pick a fight.

Cas was somber. "I don't blame him for being angry with me," he said quietly. "I don't blame him at all."

A car passed by fast, ruffling Alex's hair as she turned to look at Cas. They matched stride without meaning to, and she noticed that even as she contemplated how he looked so strange in the outfit he was in—he looked domesticated and vanilla, sort of preppy. Holy _shit_ he was so beautiful—she found every last thing about him so achingly attractive. Alex wondered if he ever became a human or if he ever decided to change clothes as an angel, what he'd wear. Honestly, he'd look good in anything, but she missed the trench coat. And then without warning, she abruptly pictured him in a plaid flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up his strong forearms. She wondered how flannel could seem so sexy, or what kind of woman got suddenly hot and bothered at the simple thought of her man wearing plaid. She then imagined herself taking that plaid _off_ of him and she got even more flustered with herself.

Cas caught her looking at him like that and was confused, not catching the meaning behind her gaze. "What is it?" he asked, worried.

She cleared her throat and fiddled with the hem of her shirt, then said the first thing that popped into her mind. "I saw one of the birdhouses you made. I liked it." It was a true statement—she'd noticed it next to Daphne's porch. There had been attention to detail and it had been made very thoughtfully and well. A bittersweet, fond smile softened Alex's face as she snuck a sidelong glance. "Who know you were so handy, huh?" She wished _they_ could share a home and he could build _her_ birdhouses, but she was pretty sure that was her fantasizing again.

Cas was chagrinned—mildly cheered by her compliment, then immediately a little more clouded. "I learned how to do some useful things in my attempts to avoid spending time with Daphne," he explained, going back into deep thought. His shame and self-consciousness over Daphne was audible. "It seems I should have known now, in hindsight. It was obvious, but I didn't see it even once. I _knew_ something was missing." He looked at her sidelong as they walked and she looked back, somber again because he was too. "It was you," he murmured. "And my family." Her chest clenched when he referred to her and the brothers as his family. She remembered when they had first met how he hadn't belonged or been accepted by his heavenly 'family'—she hurt for him now and just wanted him to be accepted somewhere. What if Sam and Dean never forgave him? Alex wondered what this would come to. If someday she would have to choose between her family and Castiel. _If_ she and Cas could ever work through the issues they had, anyway… she began to wonder if they would ever make love again. She wondered if it would be traumatic because of what happened with Destroyer. However, judging from the two mind-numbingly passionate kisses they'd shared today, she already knew her body wanted his again. But would she get triggered? Would that part of their relationship survive? And god, would Cas want _her?_ She thought maybe he wouldn't. Not after knowing she'd given it up to some other guy.

"So the past six months…" Cas said hesitantly, startling her out of her thoughts. "You've been hunting like before?"

"Uh… no," Alex said, getting a little nervous about telling him where she'd been. She scratched the back of her neck absently, avoiding his faze. "Just started back, actually. Like a month ago or something."

When she volunteered no more information, Cas hesitated, a slight instance of worry creeping into his voice. "…What were you doing before that?"

She set her jaw, feeling intensely vulnerable. "Feeling sorry for myself," she replied cryptically. When his worried stare didn't stop, she confessed the truth somewhat cynically. "I was in a mental hospital. Full mental break, remember?"

"…For the entire length of time?" Cas asked, obviously horrified that she'd been that badly off and for so long. Before she could answer, he asked more. "Sam and Dean were with you?"

Alex shook her head. "No. They were doing what we're all trying to do right now." She paused, then clarified. "Take care of the Leviathan problem."

He was visibly gutted. "The problem _I_ caused," he said, then looked down and his jaw clenched. "If it's the last thing I do, I'll fix it."

His words had immediate effect. Alex stopped walking and set him with a severe and scared look. " _Don't say that,_ " she commanded in a low, trembling voice. Cas had stopped when she did and he realized his choice of words ('if it's the last thing I do') were the wrong ones. He looked rueful but made no apology and said nothing, though. After an emotional couple of seconds, Alex began to walk again, but this time she was extremely upset and walking sort of fast in an attempt to stomp her feelings out of herself. The thought of Cas leaving _again_ was just too much. _All_ of it was too much. She had no idea where the two of them stood or if he still really did love her, Sam was a thousand miles away and if he didn't sleep soon he'd die, Dean was wanting to bring a demon along to the party… _this sucks. I hate my life, holy shit. Why the hell is everything so messed up?_

"I didn't mean to upset you," Cas said quietly, just behind her.

"Yeah well you _did_!" she said, whirling so fast and coming up so short that he almost ran smack into her. They were face to face, inches away from each other, and Alex's anger was giving away to despair. She felt so out of her element and her frantic distress prompted her to broach a subject she had planned to leave for later. "Cas, you gotta change what you did to me," she insisted imperatively, like her life depended on it. And it _did._

Cas's eyebrows moved in toward each other. "What do you mean?" he asked uncertainly.

She lost her bravado as she began to feel small, helpless, and scared. "I don't want to live forever," she said, a certain begging quality in her voice. "I'm not _supposed_ to."

Cas looked absolutely shocked, then very worried. "…How did you find out about that?" he questioned, because he obviously put two and two together: she found out when she was supposed to die but didn't.

Alex shook her head no stiffly, refusing to tell him about the suicide attempt. "Doesn't matter. Just fix it, please."

Cas's face showed deep anguish and he found replying difficult. "I—I don't have the power to remove what was done to you, Alex," he said, and her heart sank as he continued on in gloom. "I'm just an angel now. A miserable, sad excuse for one."

She hadn't even thought of that, and her small hope was now crushed again. "So I'm stuck being alive, what… forever?" Maybe some people would want to live forever, but not Alex Winchester. Like every good book, like every good story, life had to have an ending, too. To go on forever would be miserable and empty. Life had been so pain-filled for the past thirty years—she couldn't fathom more of the same for an eternity.

Cas was very reluctant at her question. "Well… no, not forever necessarily but…"

Alex waited. "…But what?"

He swallowed and his face was full of heartache. "The alternative… is that I would have to… to kill you using very painful and permanent means." His gaze grew less steady as his voice softened woefully. "And wasn't once enough?" Alex stared at him despondently, understanding his torment now. What a mess. Cas looked near tears again. "I wish none of this had ever happened."

So did she. So did _everyone._ But wishing wouldn't change anything. Bravely in the face of such vast uncertainty, Alex tried to accept it and take it in stride. "Well, the only thing we can do is work with what we have," she said, figuring she would just _deal with it later._

Cas bowed his head. "Meaning try to clean up the mess I made."

Alex was touched by compassion despite it all and reached out, cupped the side of his face, sought his gaze. Empathy made her softer. "I didn't say it like that."

He looked at her and put his hand over hers, his face full of promise and worry. "I'll find a way to fix it, Alex," he vowed. "Somehow. And this time… I won't try to do it all on my own."

* * *

When Alex and Cas made it back to where the Impala waited, they found Dean in a foul, impatient mood with Meg who was smirking and leaning with her arms crossed against the car. When Dean spotted the approaching couple, his unhappy expression darkened further and he eyed Cas suspiciously. However, he didn't march over to them or become confrontational. He stayed near the car and waited for them to get to him.

"Hello, Dean," Cas said quietly, stopping a few feet off from the other man. Beside the angel, obviously apprehensive about this meeting, Alex watched her brother closely.

Dean was calm. Too calm. "Cas," he greeted cooly, crossing his arms and narrowing his eyes at Cas deeply. "So. You remember, huh?"

Cas nodded. "Yes."

" _Everything_?" Dean prompted softly, chancing a small step closer.

"Everything," Cas confirmed dourly.

Dean considered the angel for a moment, his expression reserved and ominously quiet. Cas waited and looked like someone waiting for final judgment. "Then I think you might understand why I'm about to do what I'm about to do," Dean said, and in a millisecond, all the anger he'd stored up suddenly barreled out of him—Dean grabbed Cas by the front of the sweater and right-hooked him across the jaw as hard as he could, sending the angel falling backwards to the ground even as Alex shouted a protest to stop. Cas apparently allowed the hit and did what he'd never done before—let an attack by a human hurt him. Sprawled on the ground, blood ran out the side of his mouth where he'd been injured and Dean looked mildly surprised at the blood, then he grabbed Cas by the front of the shirt again, doubly angry. "Don't think I've forgiven or forgotten, you hear me?" he demanded.

Cas was contrite, guilty, and fully resigned to whatever fate Dean Winchester would deal him. "I wouldn't ask you to do either, Dean."

"Get off him!" Alex yelled, yanking on Dean's arm hard enough to unbalance her brother.

Dean sent her a sidelong scowl as he snapped his arm out of her grip and pointed a finger at Cas. "We are _not_ square," he thundered. "You are gonna come with us and fix what you did to my brother and then we'll see what I decide to do with you."

Alex glared daggers at her brother, looking ready to throw a punch or two herself. "Dean, _stop it_! Leave him _alone._ "

A muscle in Dean's jaw ticked as he sent her a cold, warning look. "Really don't need you telling me what to do right now, little sister," he said in a low voice. He got a _do you really want to fuck with me?_ look from her in response.

"Jerry Spring, eat your _heart_ out," Meg commented slyly through a smirk, watching the scene with what could only be called fond enjoyment.

Alex was helping Cas stand as the angel eyed the demon warily. "I fail to see why you've recruited the likes of _her_ kind to come along with us," he said to Dean, his distaste audible.

The demon winked at him saucily. "Tickled pink to see you too, Clarence," she said in a low, sultry voice.

Dean looked at Cas pointedly. "Well from where I'm sitting, sometimes demons ain't half as bad as the angels are," he said rudely. "Why don't you take _that_ and stick it in your peace pipe and smoke it, huh?" He abruptly grabbed his sister by the arm and began to steer her away. "I gotta talk to you. _Alone._ " When they were about twenty feet away, he stopped his angry marched and whirled, his voice an angry, low growl. "What are you doing?"

"What do you mean what am I doing?" she asked, just as pissed as he was. "What are _you_ doing?!"

Back at the car, Cas watched them with a worried expression—blood smeared next to his mouth from where Dean had hit him. "Look, I dunno what you're thinking right now," Dean said in a hurried, angry, commanding voice, "but you _cannot_ get it in your head that you're ever gonna be with him again. Not after what he did to you, to _us._ We are gonna get him to heal Sam and then I never wanna see him again so don't start getting cozy with your _murderer_." He made a face at her. "Or did you forget?"

"I forgot _nothing,"_ she snapped, bristling at Dean's attitude. "He also brought all of us _back_ , or did you forget that?"

"Like that makes it better!" Dean retorted sourly.

"I mean, it does a _little!"_ she protested—Dean was difficult to reason with when he was riled up, but she still tried. "I know you have a lot of beef with Cas, but I also know he's our _friend_ before anything else, not just my friend but _your_ friend. A friend who made a mistake that—"

"A 'mistake'?" Dean cut her off, appalled. "Oh my _god,_ listen to yourself! He fucked up _everything_! It's not _forgivable_!" He stared at her in an indignant, incredulous way. "Are you seriously just gonna let go of everything he did and… and, and what, _take him back_?"

Alex was flustered and had no answer ready for her very demanding brother. "It's not that simple—" she started, then let her staunch frustration surge out of her. "I don't _know_ what I'm gonna do, Dean!"

Her declaration made him visibly dejected and disappointment set in. Dean stared at her with growing sadness, then rubbed a hand across his face and turned away slightly, seeming to have reached his wit's end. "God I wish you didn't love him."

Sometimes, she wished that too. But she _did_ love him. And Alex tried to remind Dean that _he_ cared about Cas, too. She knew he did. "Remember how you were saying we still 'owed' him just a couple hours ago before we found out he was still _alive_?" Dean looked immediately caught and slightly guilty, like he was thinking _don't remind me about that_. "So at the very least, can you _please_ be civil?" She didn't think that was an impossible thing to ask—treating Cas like a slave or a tool or something was wrong and Dean _knew_ it. "If you ever cared about him even a little… don't keep beating him up. He knows what he did. He's beating himself up enough."

Dean glared at her, his momentary guilt evaporating. "I'll decide what's enough!" he snapped, hellbent on staying tough and stubborn and angry. "And he is _not_ my friend. Never _will be,_ either." He stalked off, leaving his sister behind and frustrated.

Marching back to the car, Dean made a beeline for Cas, who was hovering near the trunk. He'd been watching the conversation between brother and sister, no doubt worried for her safety or something which was so damn _rich_ now given what he'd _done_ to her. Dean confronted him immediately. "What you did—it didn't have to happen," he said harshly. "Point blank, it was a hundred percent avoidable. Do you get that?" Purgatory, Leviathan, all the shit between the two—all on Cas and all because he'd lied and kept secrets.

Cas looked like he bore the weight of the world on his shoulders. He didn't make excuses or try to sidestep it. "Yes."

Dean laid into him, because he wasn't satisfied. "The lying, the hiding… everything that happened with Purgatory, with my _family_ —that's on you. _No one else_." Dean could have laughed from the sickening irony of what he said next. "I was actually starting to like you and _trust you_ , man. I was getting to the point where I half- _approved_ of you and Alex together, where if you'd come to me and asked me about marrying her, I would have at least _thought_ about it instead of shutting you down sight unseen!" He let that sink in—Cas looked utterly destroyed. Dean hit him where it hurt. "And then everything came out and I lost all the trust and respect I ever had for you—and buddy lemme tell ya, it ain't ever coming back."

Cas swallowed somberly and he looked stung but he nodded grimly. "I understand. I betrayed you. It's, as you said, unforgivable." So he'd eavesdropped. Dean was pissed all over again. Cas looked into Dean's eyes and there was a pleading there for forgiveness despite everything. "I can never apologize enough or tell you how sorry I am. I had no clue it would end like it did or please believe me I would never have attempted to do it all on my own."

It was crazy how Cas got to Dean and how Dean really did have it in his heart to forgive the guy, at least about some things—this guy had been there for them through thick and thin and done more than Dean could ever repay—but he'd messed up, too. Royally. Stubborn and prideful and unwilling to be betrayed again and hurt again, Dean shook his head darkly. "This isn't over, Cas," he promised grimly. "You and I are gonna have one _hell_ of a conversation after Sam's back on his feet. But for now I'm just too pissed to think straight and I honestly don't wanna talk to you."

Cas nodded again, accepting the sentence of silent treatment Dean was handing him. "That's fine, Dean," he said lowly, voice rife with disappointment.

Dean looked at him a second longer then got fed up. "Hold on. I got something of yours." He yanked the trunk open, found Cas's stained trench coat, and shoved it at him without ceremony. " _Here_."

Cas took it slowly, seeming mystified and surprised and even a little touched. "You _kept_ this?"

"She did," Dean corrected stiffly, trying to sound harsh. "I'm tired of it taking up space in my trunk." He pinched his lips in a sour frown. "And you look hella stupid without it on." Without another word, he brushed past a very confused Cas, who frowned after Dean uncertainly.

"Uh… all right."

Nearby, Alex had watched it all and her eyes met Cas's. He hesitated, then put the coat on. She gave him a small smile as her heart warmed and burst.

Cas was back. She was so overwhelmed by that thought that she forgot how, still resting in the pocket of that coat, was the letter she'd written him as a final goodbye.

* * *

**An Hour Later**

The sun was setting golden on the horizon and the Impala's passengers were all silent. In the front, Dean drove with a face of stone and Cas sat in the passenger seat quietly, in deep thought. In the back, Alex sent regularly scheduled dirty looks at Meg. Dean had commanded silence after Meg had gotten on his last nerve ten minutes into the drive. No one had spoken since.

Meg, of course, was the one who eventually broke the silence. "So are we going for world's longest awkward silence or…?" she began, casting around for some support. When all she got were unfriendly glances she pulled a face. "O… _kay_. One big happy family." About twenty seconds passed and then apparently she just couldn't keep her trap shut. "Is it just me or is now a great time for the good old angel-demon-and-two-hunters walked into a bar joke?"

In unplanned unison, both Dean and Alex told her the same thing: "Shut up, Meg!"

Her eyebrows rose and she grinned slowly, amused. "Ooh, look whose time of the month it is—how'd you two get on the same cycle, anyway?"

"Remind me why she's here again?" Alex asked, cutting a scowl at Dean. "Cas can spot demons just as well as she can."

"Because if we run into a whole bunch of trouble, I need a red shirt," Dean retorted. Apparently, Meg got the Star Trek reference and how Dean basically said she was disposable.

"Hey!" Meg said, frowning slightly.

Dean didn't apologize. "At least I'm honest."

"Don't forget I saved your _life,_ flyboy," Meg retorted, a hint of danger on her low voice. "I'm trying to be a team player here."

" _Why_?" Alex demanded, arms crossed.

Meg sent her a flirty smile. "What, don't trust me?" she asked playfully.

"No," Alex replied immediately. "Never, ever, in a million years, _ever._ "

"Tell me how you _really_ feel, Cupcake," Meg said, rolling her eyes slightly. "Look, ever since the Lucifer thing, my kind thinks I'm a lying, evil, two-faced traitor. But spoiler alert… I'm a demon! It's kinda in the job description!" She looked around for someone, _anyone_ to be laughing along with her, but no one in the car was team Meg. Exasperated, Meg pursed her lips. "What I'm trying to say is I'm looking to survive and I don't exactly have too many butt buddies anymore, kay? And I'm just like you: huge hate-on for Crowley. Enemy of my enemy is my friend, right?" She looked Alex over appraisingly. "Gosh, Ariel, if looks could kill…" she said, sounding positively seductive. Alex rolled her eyes and looked away. There was more silence and Meg brought up the elephant in the room (well, car). "So, trouble in paradise for everyone's favorite power couple?" she asked loftily, that always-present smile playing on her lips. "I mean I'd guess _so_ since the guy was missing in action and apparently married to some other broad… gosh, I can only imagine how good the makeup sex will be… _quick question_ , are you two looking for a third player for this shindig or what?"

"Hey, you got a mute button?" Dean snapped, glancing back at her darkly.

She arched an eyebrow at him. "That joke seems in bad taste, champ," she noted calmly, nodding her head sideways at Alex once.

Dean withered. "Okay, you know what, comedy queen? I'm about to throw you out of the damn car."

Meg looked unimpressed. "Is it _naptime_?" she asked patronizingly, her voice dripping with sarcasm and false concern. "'Cause someone seems a wittle _gwumpy_ …"

Dean looked like he was about to burst a blood vessel. "Shove some salt in it, Meg!"

* * *

Apparently Dean _did_ need a nap. After more general stupidity and trolling from Meg, Dean got fed up and said he needed a few hours of sleep or he was going to go nuts, crash the car, and kill everyone. Alex hadn't slept in as long as _he_ hadn't slept and obviously no one _else_ was _ever_ gonna drive Baby so they checked into the first motel they happened upon and Dean promptly fell asleep while Alex tossed and turned. Meg was left outside to skulk around in the darkness and Cas was instructed to 'sit there' and 'don't move'—there being a chair beside the motel room door. Alex kept falling asleep from exhaustion only to wake up every ten minutes in groggy anxiety to check and see that Cas was still there. He was every time—silent and still, nothing but a shadowy silhouette there across the room. Then sometime before midnight, Alex woke up and Cas was _gone_.

She immediately sat up and whispered his name as a question—she got no reply. He wasn't there. The only sound was Dean's familiar wheezing snores. Alarmed, Alex got out of bed and shoved her feet back into shoes. She hadn't taken anything else off, but she _did_ slide her angel blade back into her jacket as she tiptoed across the room and peeked out the window at the parking lot. She didn't see anyone there and her alarm grew. Quiet as a mouse, she snuck out of the room and tried to lay eyes on Cas. He was nowhere to be found.

" _Boo_ ," came a soft, low female voice behind her. Alex whirled—Meg chuckled. "Come to join the party?" she wisecracked.

"Where's Cas?" Alex asked warningly, for a second suspecting Meg might have done something with him.

Crossing her arms and raising her chin as she smiled annoyingly, the demon took her time replying. "Said he's leaving forever and thanks for the memories," Meg replied silkily. At Alex's expression, Meg rolled her eyes. " _Relax_ , I'm kidding. He's over there being emo in the moonlight, where the hell _else_ would he be?" She motioned to a clearing nearby the motel—in it there was a single old tree and Cas stood near it, trench coat and all. Meg smiled at Alex unnervingly. " _You're_ here, aren't you? That's one puppy that'll never leave its owner."

"He's not a _puppy_ you bitch," Alex snapped, then brushed past Meg and headed for Cas.

"I just don't get _no_ respect," Meg commented through a self-satisfied smirk as Alex stalked away.

Silver moonlight illuminated the night landscape and Cas stood there with his back to Alex as he gazed up at the silver orb of light hung low in the sky. He spoke as she reached his side, and his gaze didn't leave the sky. "The moon," he murmured thoughtfully. "It's so bright and full. Peaceful. Content to just exist even as humanity and Heaven and Hell tear each other apart…"

Alex looked at his profile, confused and a little upset from waking up and finding him gone. "What are you doing out here?" she asked slowly. "I thought…"

"You thought I left," he said, finally looking at her. Those intense, soulful eyes seemed older and more burdened than ever. "No. I just… I found this in my pocket." Found _what?_ Alex looked at what he indicated, and then her heart went still. In his hand, the letter she'd written him. It was unfolded. He'd read it.

"Oh," she said faintly, suddenly finding herself with a racing heart and deep dread. "I forgot that was in there." There were things in there that Cas didn't know. Or _hadn't_ known.

"You tried to kill yourself," he said quietly, and she felt so small and self-conscious. She looked away in distress even as he caught her hand, guessing which one correctly as he pushed her sleeve up slightly. The scar she had from where she'd gashed herself open was there and Cas looked heartbroken by it—his thumb brushed over the scar tissue tremblingly, then his eyes looked into hers. _Why?_ his gaze asked her.

"It was too much pain," she whispered, remembering how defeated she'd been, how ready she'd been to stop feeling. "I felt too alone, too hopeless to know what to do." She shook her head, not sure how to convey it. "Just couldn't take it."

"I'm so sorry," Castiel said softly, his expression ill. "I'm… I'm guessing this is how you discovered your immortality." Alex nodded yes and Cas swallowed that down with difficulty. "Just so that it's clear… it wasn't myself that did that to you. It was Destroyer. I suppose my mind was so set on you always being safe and alive that it affected his and now…" his thumb again caressed the scar tissue mournfully. "I never would have guessed the way I loved you would become a weapon you were hurt by." He let go of her and they were both quiet for a few seconds. Crickets and frogs chorused in the night air.

What was she supposed to say now? Alex was out of replies. "If we knew then what we knew now, huh?" she asked, pitifully attempting lightheartedness in the very heavy moment. She hesitated. "Would you change it?"

His dark eyes snapped to hers. "I would change _everything_ ," he said, breaking her heart all over again. He shook his head briefly, sad and disillusioned. "All I ever wanted to do was protect you."

Her chest felt tight and it burned unpleasantly. "I know," she whispered, turning her face from him slightly to hide her pain.

She heard the paper of her letter rustle in his hand as he moved it slightly. "And the man you slept with," he said quietly. Her heart twisted wretchedly and she shut her eyes, already knowing what he was going to say. "He wasn't even a man." His voice dropped to a mere pained whisper. " _Leviathan_. Why didn't you tell me that?"

Alex felt _so_ uncomfortable and wished of all people, Cas didn't know this detail. "Because it's so goddamn embarrassing and I feel so… so gross about it. I don't… it makes me feel _dirty_. And stupid, and _used_." She stared at the grassy ground near her feet with a stony gaze. "I didn't want you to feel like it was your fault, either," she said soberly, feeling like she couldn't win for losing. "You always think everything is your fault."

Cas's reply was equally sober. "I'm the one who let them into this realm, aren't I?" Alex looked at him dejectedly. Yes, but… she was the one who'd taken her clothes off with one. It wasn't _his fault_ that had happened and it never would be. Cas looked loathe to ask, but he did anyway. "How long did you know him, before… it happened?"

Alex tried to remember even as she thought about how much she hated this subject matter. "Four months? Five months?" Alex could barely speak past the pain clenching her throat. "It… it meant nothing, Cas."

His eyes were full of hurt. "It doesn't mean nothing to me," he replied quietly, and Alex looked down and away, pressing her lips in together so she wouldn't cry. This was the worst part… seeing how much she'd hurt him. Cas sounded worried again. "I don't mean to make you feel ashamed," he said, and it sounded like he had drifted just a little closer.

"Already feel that way," she said stiffly, shrugging. She felt a hot tear spill out of her eye and down onto her cheek. She dashed it away angrily—she had no right to cry. "I just… I hate that I hurt you and now I can't ever do anything to erase what I did." She forcibly straightened and pushed her shoulders back, tried to face the music, tried to look at him again. "So do you see me as like, I dunno… an adulterer now or what?" What she was most desperate for was to know where they stood and if Cas still considered her to be his wife.

Cas mulled over her words as his eyes fell. He spoke slowly, his tone full of torment. "Imagining you with another man is… indescribably painful for me," he said, and her shoulders lost their posture, slumping and falling as he continued. "I know you thought I was dead…" he said, trying very hard to work through it as he spoke out loud. "And I know I told you to move on, but… seeing that you did… thinking of you in another man's arms… it _hurts._ "

He sounded so vulnerable, so innocent, so confused by his feelings. Alex impulsively moved to grab him by either arm. "I _didn't_ move on," she choked out, tears blurring her vision. "I _never—_ Cas, when he and I…" she struggled to talk about it even as he struggled to hear it. "The only reason it was any good at all was because I imagined he was _you_. Cas, I said your freaking _name_ without even thinking while we—while it was happening. And then I ran away and cried because maybe I knew somewhere deep down inside you were still alive and I had just ruined everything." They were so close physically, but Alex felt a million miles from him. "None of what I just told you makes it right but… just so you know. Not a day went by for me where I didn't feel how _gone_ you were. I _never_ stopped loving you." Her heart beat a sickening rhythm inside of her as she gazed into his wounded eyes and she saw how _she_ had put that pain there. "And now you're here again and I'm… I'm… you'd never want me again."

His voice was low, husky, and sent shivers through her. "That's where you're mistaken," he whispered, reaching up to caress the side of her face tenderly. Her heart was suddenly leaping and turning inside of her with breathless hope. His heartbreak was still there, but so was something else. "I've missed you so very much…" he murmured, making her head spin.

"Cas, I—" she began, then didn't know what to say at all.

He was studying her face with somber affection. "How is it you were ever mine at all?" he asked softly.

Alex's eyebrows moved inward slightly. "You're saying that like I'm not still yours."

Cas's eyes regarded hers with an unreadable intensity. "…Are you?"

"I always _have_ been," she insisted in a tearchoked voice, then kissed him. It was not gentle or timid. It was firm and it was assertive, it was her saying her heart was still in this and that she _burned_ for him. He responded in kind, kissing her back with a deeply distressed and needy hunger, he pulled her against himself fully and the familiar trench coat brushed against her as she was enveloped by him completely. Blind to the outside world, Cas stumbled her backwards until her back hit the tree—she whimpered and pushed against him hard, frantic for the fire of his touch and the reassurance it brought—his tongue brushed hers as their bodies tangled together, as one of his warm hands slid up her shirt and grasped her side then curved around and pressed against her back, pulling him harder against himself—she moaned her frustration and pleasure into his mouth even as he groaned softly in the base of his throat. Her hands slid down between their bodies and she reached for his belt buckle. And, incidentally, broke the spell.

Abruptly, Cas stopped and let go of her, left her cold and confused against the rough bark of that tree. "No—" he said, holding a hand out as if she might rush him. "I'm sorry, _no_. We can't do this, Alex. We _can't._ " He was a little out of breath and his coat was crooked on his shoulders, his expression was mildly alarmed—Alex stared at him in silent gaping confusion. _Why the hell not?_ She felt like she needed him and would _die_ if she didn't have him. "It's not that I don't want to—" he stumbled, "I do, very much so, but—we both know where this leads. And all I ever do is endanger you."

Alex shook her head, breathless. "You don't get to give up, Cas, I won't let you," she insisted weakly.

Cas was sober and reserved, becoming more and more resolute in his rejection of her. "I'm not giving up," he said grimly. "Not on fixing what I broke. But as far as you and I are concerned… I…" his grimness faded into angst. "I don't know."

Alex straightened to stand right and waited for him to change his mind. "Come on, Cas," she cajoled pleadingly. "If I can look past what you did, can't you forgive me, too?" Her watch beeped once just then, signaling the midnight hour. She looked at the display and realized what day it was with a quiet, sinking heart. "It's the twenty-ninth." Her eyes rose to his and he looked equally pained as she did. Three years ago to the day. _Do you love me now like you loved me then? Or is it all gone?_

Castiel drew in a deep, steadying breath. "Go back to the room, Alex," he said quietly, letting his gaze drop away. "I'll be there in a moment."

She was going to argue. " _Cas_ —" and mid-step toward him, she found herself back in the dark motel room and stumbling into a metal bedpost knee-first. She swore softly in the dark, squeezing her eyes shut against the unexpected pain. "Won't use your angel abilities my _ass,"_ she muttered. Her eyes slid to Dean, who was still fast asleep, a huge arm hanging over the edge of the bed—his mouth was open, his cheek was squished up because he laid on his stomach with his head turned on the pillow. Her eyes caught the shape of his phone on the bedside table beside him. And Alex, ever the schemer, got an idea.

* * *

When Cas re-entered the motel room, he found Dean in the dark, checking his weapon, apparently in a hurry. "Yo, I just got a nine-one-one text from um, a hunter friend," Dean said in an intense whisper, shoving his pistol into his back pocket as he grabbed his jacket and shrugged it on. "She's in trouble and it's not far. Al's asleep, and she needs the rest so you stay here and watch her but Cas—I'm warning you. No funny business."

"…No funny business," Cas echoed, not entirely sure what that meant.

Dean was apparently in too much of a hurry to bother with saying anything else—he gave Cas a nod and exited the motel room and wasted no time screeching out of the parking lot loudly. Cas noted that his departure seemed fortunately, coincidentally timed. Cas looked at Alex, who didn't even have her eyes closed anymore now that Dean was gone—but she was saying nothing. She was waiting on him. For a long moment, the dark room was entirely silent. Finally, Cas spoke. "You're not asleep," he observed quietly.

"No," she replied softly. "I'm not." When Cas didn't move, she looked a little let down. "Are you gonna stand over there all night?"

Cas's eyes could pick up her curves even with the motel blanket draped over most of her body. "I don't think I should be any closer to you," he said, trying very hard not to look at her.

"Why not?" she questioned.

Cas was aware of how quiet the room was, how close she was, how warm she would feel in his arms and how beautiful she was, how much he _wanted_ and _missed_ her. "You know why," he returned regretfully.

She hesitated, then tossed the blankets aside and got out of bed. He was mildly surprised to see that she had nothing but an oversized gray shirt on—white underwear peeked out and he saw a white bra strap on one shoulder where the huge head-hole of the shirt slouched. The shirt must have been one of her brother's, he thought. And it would be so very easy to take off of her…

Alex came to him and embraced him, her head tucked under his chin and turned sideways so her cheek rested against his chest. Her arms were tight around his middle and for a minute, he forgot his physical longings as he held the woman he loved to the point of pain, death, and eternity. "Do you hate me, Cas?" she asked softly, worry filling her voice.

His eyebrows slammed together. "I could never," he whispered, his arms enveloping her a little more.

Her arms squeezed his middle tighter. "I'm so sorry," she whispered back, and Cas cradled her head with a hand.

"No," he said faintly. "I am. You're innocent of this." She hadn't asked him to lie and sneak around and hide things. She hadn't created the tragic, brutal outcome of all his actions. And as he thought of some Leviathan in the body of a man making love to her as she thought of _him_ and believed him dead and gone forever… Cas could have died from anguish. He wanted to find this monster and destroy him, make him pay, wipe him from existence for taking any small advantage of Alex and her emotional pain and the vulnerability that came with it. Cas held his wife all the tighter, wishing he could undo the tragedy that had befallen them all. His _wife._ He shut his eyes, wishing he had known three years ago what he knew now.

"No one's innocent," Alex murmured against his chest. "Especially not _me_." He heard how upset she was, how depressed. "I wasn't good enough for you before, so what am I now?"

Cas drew back and looked at her in vast, pained confusion. "You're worried that _you're_ not good enough?" he asked. His eyebrows bent in toward each other slightly. "Do you really still want me?" he asked softly, feeling choked on his own throat. "After everything?"

Her hazel gaze was full of so many soul-deep things. "More than before," she confessed in the softest whisper. Her eyes searched back and forth between his apprehensively. "Does that make me completely fucked up?"

He was just as broken as she was—he needed her and had to have her even if it was wrong. He had to love her and be loved by her again, he had to show her that his affection still went deeper than any ocean on earth, that his devotion would never belong to anyone but her. That even though he was hurt, nothing could make him turn his back on her. "I want you, too," he whispered thickly, and that confession was the beginning of a wildfire.

Her eyes registered disbelieving relief even as he pulled her into his arms and his mouth found hers in a desperate kiss that very quickly became mindlessly passionate. She made no protest as he picked her up and blindly pinned her to the wall, knocking into an object as he did so. Things on the beside table fell off noisily but neither of them noticed—Alex was putting her legs around his middle tightly even as he pushed against her and threaded a hand through her hair, needing her closer. She was already pushing his trench coat off and then fumbling to try and take off the zip-up sweater—he broke the kiss for a second to yank it off himself over his head, and then he reclaimed her impatient lips with his own again as she ripped his button-down shirt and sent little plastic buttons flying. He yanked his arms out one at a time frantically, and he was left in his slacks and t-shirt. She fisted her hands into his shirt and pulled him close, kissing him with hot and wild abandon as one of his hands slipped under her shirt to feel her skin against his. She gasped at his touch, and he could feel how every inch of skin reacted to his every movement—he let his hand slide up her side and then around her back, then suddenly he was unhappy with how much clothing stood between them and he haphazardly _ripped_ the shirt off of her, leaving her in bra and underwear. She was already shoving his shirt up with both hands and he helped her yank it off himself then he kissed her again and pressed his bare chest to her torso, starved for the feeling of her against himself—she whined and ground her hips against his. A strangled sound came out of his mouth and he grabbed her by the back of the head, grinding his hips against hers in reply as he kissed her with all the passion he held for her.

Alex reached down between their bodies and made quick work of his belt, undoing it with a couple brutal yanks. She ripped his pants in her efforts—the button popped off right before she yanked the zipper down haphazardly. The loosened slacks fell down to his ankles and Cas managed to kicked out of his shoes and toe off his pants even as he held Alex to the wall and kissed her hard, deep, and possessive. Cas turned them and Alex suddenly found her back hitting the bed as Cas stayed with her, body to body, the entire way, his mouth wandering her neck and shoulder as a hand remained on the opposite side of her neck. Her eyes were closed and her mouth open in a relieved gasp as his lips and mouth left warm, wet touches across her skin. Cas closed his eyes, worshipping her body and tasting her skin and ready to bow down and profess devotion beyond devotion to her all over again—his wife, his beloved, his Alex—and suddenly, he was overcome with feelings of inadequacy and fear and he stopped, pulled back slightly, looked down at her apprehensively. Sprawled beneath him, she was the most beautiful thing in all of creation—her chest heaved with breathless arousal, her full lips were parted, her hair was spread around her like a halo.

She looked up at him in something like dread. "Don't stop," she whispered, hands on his bare arms and holding on tight. Like she thought he might disappear if she let go.

"I'm not," he whispered back, overcome at the sight of her, the feel of her—he was laid between her legs and he could feel the heat radiating from her into him through their thin, remaining clothing. "I just… you overwhelm me." He touched the side of her face, and he was overtaken by worry. "Does this not… not traumatize you?" he asked, because the last time he had been on top of her was when Destroyer had been possessing him.

Alex shook her head, and he believed her answer even before she spoke it aloud. "No. Because this is _you._ "

His heart felt like it burst. Still, he was so afraid to trigger something in her or frighten her. "Tell me if I need to stop," he begged, cupping the side of her face. "Tell me if it's at any point too much."

"I will," she promised, then craned upwards and kissed him on the side of the neck, clutching herself to him. Her mouth left him tantalized and in a haze of increasing pleasure as warmth and wetness traveled his neck to his jaw slowly. When their mouths met again in a deep, desperate kiss, Cas shifted his weight and pressed himself down onto her at the hips, receiving a strangled sound of bliss from her in return. He pulled her close and his hands searched for the bra clasp and he couldn't get it undone fast enough so he did what he knew was much easier: he ripped it. Alex suddenly grinned against his mouth, and his heart tightened and soared at the little laugh she gave—she smiled, too, set free in this moment with her. Oh, how he loved her every facet and part—he caressed the side of her face in silent testament to his adoration even as his other hand pulled her bra off and tossed it away.

He pressed his chest to hers as she arched up into him and his arms circled her to pull her against him fully—she was kissing him deeply, hands raking through his hair and sending tingles and shudders through him again and again. He felt as though they had never been parted at all to be with her like this again. Cas pulled one of his arms out from behind her and slid his hand up to cover one of her breasts and he tightened it after letting the palm run across the sensitive nipple—he didn't understand why that part of her body aroused him so much, but it did—the weight, the swell, the shape, the texture, the way she obviously loved being touched there. She whimpered in response to his touch, then again and louder when he dipped his head down and nudged his nose against her other breast, finding the nipple with his mouth and sucking, tonguing the delicate skin and reducing her into a pleasure-addled mess. Being with her like this was an experience that transcended everything he knew—tasting her, touching her, letting every part of his physical manifestation love and please her. It was Heaven.

Her skin was slightly salty in his mouth and he moaned softly in the base of his throat, grinding his hips down to hers even as she rubbed herself against him, too. Cas began to drag his mouth across her chest to the other side, and her hands both held the back of his head as she arched her body towards his mouth. His thumb rubbed against her nipple before his mouth captured the sensitive pebble he hadn't mouthed yet—Alex inhaled sharply and writhed at his touches, and he could tell she was incredibly aroused by his actions. One of her hands ran down his arm, his defined shoulder and tricep dip, the bicep bulge, then his forearm—she abruptly grabbed his wrist and pulled his palm her her mouth and kissed it long and tender. He looked up at her when she did that, touched and conflicted at how loving the gesture was. She kissed again, all over his palm, and her eyes spoke to his quietly, saying that she loved him. His hand abruptly tensed up as his fingertips reached out to touch the side of her face in the softest, sweetest touch. They were drawn together like magnets and he drifted up and kissed her again deeply, desperately. Their tongues exploring the others' mouths and stroked an inferno to life between them, an inferno that demanded to be sated. Her hand wandered his chest, his taut stomach, lower still, he broke the kiss and moaned softly when she touched him where he ached so hard for her.

Focused on her and not himself, Cas battled her hand aside and stroked two fingers down across the underwear between Alex's legs—she shuddered in response to the light touch. He kissed her neck wetly and sensually—she held his head with both hands and writhed helplessly as his hand slipped down into her underwear. They both let out soft sounds when he touched her skin to skin where she was so wet and wanting—he circled his fingers gently over her, caressing her carefully and intimately, drawing choked gasps of utterly tormented bliss from her mouth. He panted against her collarbone as the feeling of her against his fingers and the sounds she was making drove him to insanity of his own. Unable to be patient or go slow, Cas's hand shifted downward and he pushed two fingers deep into her—immediately, her hips tilted up to welcome the action and a wretched, aroused sound broke from his lips even as she gave a similar sound of tormented bliss. She felt _so amazing_ , she was obviously beyond ready for him and if he hadn't before he did now: he _needed_ to be _inside_ of her—he drew his head back and looked at her in the eye and saw that she was as desperate as he was—even as he moved his fingers in and out of her in the way he knew she loved, she was pushing at his boxers until they were mid-thigh and pulling on his ass, whining in the bottom of her throat at what his fingers did. One of her hands fisted tight around him and he groaned a response.

"Are you—" he started, barely able to think or use the English language. He just wanted her consent but words seemed too clunky for him even to remember how to form the most basic sentence. "Do you want—"

" _Yes_ holy _fuck,_ " she gasped out, understanding what he was asking. To hear how badly she needed him gave him a burst of absolute insatiable need. Cas abruptly pulled his fingers out and ripped her underwear off sideways as he kissed her mouth hard. He shifted himself and seized her body to his then took her as his own in one smooth, deep stroke—her indescribably wet heat enveloped him and rendered him absolutely useless. Alex arched upward and her fingers dug into his back as he completed her body with his. " _Ah_!" She gave a rasping cry against his groaning mouth as he got as close and as deep as he could get to her. Their hot breaths mingled between their open mouths, their eyes opened and met as their bodies stilled.

He couldn't move for a long moment—and as intensely as he'd needed to take her before, now he just wanted this to _last._ He felt her pulsing faintly with desire around him, but her eyes were becoming guilty and worried and tearful—he recognized that insecurity and fear in her eyes. Cas shook his head, grasped her tenderly by the side of the face and he spoke to her self-doubt and her obvious guilt over the other man. Her eyes shined up at him. "I love you, Alex Winchester— _I love you._ " And that was it. His voice broke the second time he said it and then he bent and kissed her before she could reply to him, his hand went to the back of her head, fingers tangling into hair. He made her whimper and cry out as he began to move in her slowly, deeply, soulfully, intensely. He stroked a fire to life in them both that hadn't existed in what felt like a lifetime—pleasure made his body grow tense and anxious and he could feel how hers was the same.

She felt amazing to him, beyond incredible—every small movement he made inside of her garnered a whimper, an impassioned inhale, a soft sound—the way she depended on him and reacted to him was indescribable and intoxicating. They moved together deeply and continuously, and Alex rolled them over a moment into the encounter, laying on top of him with her legs folded on either side of his hips—he was so deep inside of her in that position. His hands wandered her back, her ass, her legs as she moved on him and they kissed without ceasing—languidly, sensually, breathily. His breaths came shallow and fast as she captivated him so deeply. He would grab and pull on her gently, taking the movements deeper here and there, relishing the feeling of her skin against his. His eyes fluttered open between deep, slow kisses to drift over her face. Sometimes, she was looking at him too. Castiel was overcome at how he had almost lost her so many times over and how truly he loved and adored her—he would give anything for her, _anything_.

As the euphoria and pleasure grew, Cas's arms tightened more and more around her and he grew intensely dissatisfied, needing deeper, harder, faster—and he seized her and flipped them over, putting himself over her again and showing her the extent of his passion with how he moved. Beneath him, Alex was crying out her response to his deep, desperate thrusts and clinging to his body with hers, wordlessly begging him not to stop. They were consumed with each other past the physical and all they could do in the moment was show each other that fact with bodies and mouths. As their passion became more and more frantic and the pace they forged became harder and faster, they could no longer kiss well at all so they stopped trying.

His hot, sharp breaths hit the side of her face, the crook of her neck, the top of her shoulder, his quiet little moans and shallow pants were sending shivers and shudders through her as his intense pace made her veins crumble. She whispered his name tearfully, and she seemed afraid this wasn't real—he realized she was _crying_ and so he he kissed her hard and then let out a shuddering breath against her mouth as he began to cry too—it surprised him—but seeing her like that added to his emotions, his guilt and grief, his love for her, the thoughts of what he had done to her and what had _happened_ to her when he was gone… it caused him such intense feelings that flooded out of him as tears. His movements slowed and hers did too—Alex's fingers grazed his cheek, touching the tears there. " _Shh_ ," she soothed intensely, her hand clenching into the back of his hair tightly. He didn't know how to accept the fierceness and loyalty she loved him with, he didn't understand how she could let him this close again.

" _Alex_ …" he trembled against her, his voice faint and shaking. "I…" an inaudible sound followed and he held her tighter, buried his face in her shoulder and gave a helpless moan of tormented pleasure as she tightened her legs around his middle, helping him deeper. He dipped his head low and again lavished her breasts in wet, hot affection from his mouth as he gathered her to himself more fully and tried to silently say he was sorry, that he treasured her beyond words, that he would give her anything that was within his power to give. She let out a hiss of pleasure at the way he sucked delicate skin in between his teeth hungrily and one of her hands tightened almost painfully in his hair—strange how pain could feel like pleasure in that moment. Castiel kissed her mouth again hard and shifted his hips forward, finding new depths inside of her and causing her to arch beneath him as she gasped her approval. Even as raw emotion made his chest ache and eyes flood, Cas let his conviction pilot him and he began to make love to her hard and desperate, his senses intuitively telling him she wanted it like that.

The bed was creaking loudly and rocking under them, Alex was whining and panting and sounding more and more flustered. Cas was beginning to feel he was reaching the limit of exertion, like he couldn't continue much longer. Angel or not, some things were beyond his control. He gave a desperate sound as his forehead bowed to her chest—he was trying so hard to hang on for her sake. He heard the way she was getting more and more breathless, noisier and noisier as the tension built and rocketed her toward the inevitable precipice.

"Heaven help me," he whispered at the blinding, intense, terrifyingly pleasureful feelings that were gathering below his stomach, "Alex— _uh_ —"

"I love you, Cas, I love _you,_ " she whispered urgently, and he gave a soft cry and moved harder and faster, held her tighter. She suddenly clutched him hard. " _Oh_ ," she gasped in rising distress, her open mouth against the top of his head as it began. " _Oh,_ Cas, _ah_!"

He felt her body beginning to seize and contract around him and he gave one final desperate, relieved sound as her release triggered his own—his vision exploded as he cried out into the side of her neck and held onto her for life itself, thrusting himself in over and over in the final efforts to give her everything he had left. She sounded like she was crying from pain, he sounded like he was dying to himself—but he knew they were both experiencing the same thing: blindingly euphoric ecstasy. They moved together in deep, slowing ways to draw out the pleasure to its absolute end. Alex went limp first, collapsing downward a few seconds before Cas did, and she was trembling, she had tears on her face. Stunned by the echoing feelings of bliss, Cas held himself over her as he panted and pushed into her one last, lingering time—and spent, he drew closer and he held her tightly, refused to let go as they recovered together. His body, his mind, his everything was bound to her eternally and inescapably and he was overcome by what she did to him, what she made him _feel._ Her heart beat strong and fast against his chest and he thought of how he had blotted that very heart from existence and then in his efforts to bring her back, he'd brought a new reign of destruction with him. Oh, how it hurt to know the woman in his arms was who he should be furthest from. "I shouldn't be with you," he whispered despairingly, wishing he could make her understand or take away the damage that had been done. "I _shouldn't_. Don't you understand that?"

Underneath him, her arms around him—one gripping a shoulder, the other slipped down around his waist, Alex met his gaze with a quietly dismayed demeanor. "I understand a lot of things," she whispered back. "I… I _know_ we shouldn't be together… but I don't _understand_ it."

"I want you so much," he confessed even though he thought she probably knew that already. "But we… we can't do this. It's too—I did too much and I'm _so afraid_ to hurt you again." He touched two fingers to the tears staining her left cheek and his chest ached. "Perhaps I already have."

Alex looked like she was beginning to accept defeat. "I _love_ you," she whispered, a protest against what he was saying.

Cas's expression broke. He would give anything in all of creation to undo what he'd done. "And I love you, but… _Alex_ … this is cursed. What's between us is cursed." He thought of how he'd broken everything he had ever touched, how he had make fatal mistake after fatal mistake. " _I'm_ cursed. Love can't change that. No matter how much of it there is."

Alex's shining eyes flickered back and forth between his. "Y-you've decided that before you've given it a chance."

Castiel recognized that she was getting very upset. But he didn't know what else to say or how this could ever work or even, quite honestly, how she could love him after he'd done the unthinkable. He despised himself—why didn't she? "After what happened… I don't know how to live with myself," he said, attempting to explain himself. "I can't… it's… you deserve and need _better_ than me." And yet he felt absolutely opposed to the idea of her ever being with anyone else other than him.

Alex shook her head and set her face stubbornly through a pained expression. "Just shut up," she whispered, pulling him close and burying her face against his skin. " _Shut up_ and hold me."

So he did. They stayed in each other's arms for five minutes in silence, holding each other close in the dark. Perhaps fighting fate and the inevitable, perhaps trying to prolong a moment that had quite honestly been stolen. And then Alex's phone dinged, startling the lovers out of their cocoon. Cas glimpsed the screen as she checked the display.

**D. at 12:34am  
fuckin BUSTED….. u got 10 min b4 im back. i swear 2 god alex u both better have clothes on when i get there **

Alex let out an unhappy sigh and rolled her eyes, tossed the phone down onto the bedside table. "Dean's on the way back," she muttered, sitting up and looking around at all of her destroyed, ripped clothes littering the area.

"I noticed that he was called away at an oddly fortuitous time…" Cas said, curiosity coloring his tone as he pulled his boxers back on, taking her unspoken cue that it was time to dress.

Alex shrugged morosely, not moving from where she sat. "Yeah, well… old trick."

"I thought that might have been you," Cas said almost admiringly.

She was pulling a sheet against herself as she sat at the edge of the bed with her bare back facing him. "I don't want this to end," she said, her mind clearly on things other than her cleverness about tricking Dean away. "I just want _you._ "

Cas grew somber where he sat on the other side of the bed. This was difficult for him, and he didn't know how to explain his conflicted feelings on the matter. "I can't let you have me. I'm… I'm not a real person," he said. She looked insulted at that comment and Cas fought to explain himself. "Alex, as long as I am alive, I'll be in your life, but I just… it can't be what it was between us."

Unbearable hurt showed on her face. "What does that mean?" she asked, growing confused and pained. "You promised. You vowed. Now you're just… backing out?"

Cas floundered verbally. "It's… I wouldn't phrase it that way, but…" he tried to think of a way to explain it to her. He took his vows seriously and he knew he would never be able to bow out of her life completely unless it was beyond his control. _But,_ he was frightened that his love of her would burn her again, that his inability to handle strong emotions and feelings would lead to something like what had happened with the soul touch. "After I heal Sam I…" he trailed off, hesitant and thinking out loud. He wanted to give her what she needed in any small way, he wanted to assure her that he wouldn't be gone entirely. "I'll always watch over you, but… I think besides conjugal visits and help on cases, I should remove myself from your life."

Alex honed in on one thing he said and one thing only. " _Conjugal visits_?" she repeated incredulously, quickly getting angry. "Wh—are you saying we be… _friends with benefits_? Are you _kidding_ me?" She stood up, clutching the sheet to herself and looking at him in sheer, unadulterated disbelief. "Is that what you think of me?! That you can just fuck me now and then and I'll be fine? That all I want from you is your _body_?!"

Cas felt like he had made a very serious mistake and he tried to regain his footing. "Well, no, but…"

Alex looked absolutely enraged and hurt. "Cas! I wanted to have sex with you tonight because I love you and missed you and wanted to feel _close_ to you, because I wanted to be _with_ you—not because I'm some raging sexual deviant who can't control my hormones or something!"

Cas was taken aback. "I didn't say you were a raging—"

Her eyes were glinting with furious tears and she cut him off again. "And now you're telling me you're going to just forget everything we promised each other—you're gonna just pretend three years ago to the day _didn't happen_? You're just gonna walk away because you're scared and because bad stuff happened!? How is that fair to me?! Where the hell do you even get off—I don't even know what to—oh my _god,_ holy _shit—_ " she was stumbling around verbally, highly agitated. "I just—I've been alone all these months and mourning your death and now you're suddenly here again and you have sex with me and for a minute I think somehow we're gonna work through all the _shit_ that happened to us then you go and say it can only be _physical_ between us? That you can't be with me?" Her face twisted as her voice rose. "You're lying, you have to be lying, I can't accept this—didn't you read that fucking letter?! You are my _life_!"

"Well I shouldn't be!"

His nearly-shouted answer made the room go silent and still. Alex stared at him with huge, hurt eyes. Regretting his outburst, Castiel stood up and rounded the bed, approaching her pleadingly—he was upset just as she was, he was just as confused and hurt and unsure of how to handle what he'd been dealt. "Please, just try to understand—I am _terrified_ of hurting you. I don't know how to do this, no one ever prepared me for everything that's happened—I don't know _what_ to do!" She said nothing in return to his desperate statement—her chin was set, her eyes were glassy with tears, and hurt permeated every last detail of her face. Castiel was suddenly certain he'd broken the most important thing: her heart. " _Alex_ …" he appealed gently, taking a step toward her.

She stepped back and stared at him hard through a stung expression. She shook her head no, and what was so much worse than her previous anger was the pain in her eyes. "I wish I'd never met you," she whispered, crashing his world all over again. Her eyes held betrayal, bitterness, and intense pain as tears gathered there, but she visibly struggled not to reveal her feelings to him. "Love shouldn't hurt this much."

She backed up and sat down on the edge of the other bed, arms wrapped around her sheet-clad body. Castiel stood away from her and the sound of silence filled his ears as he realized, yet again, he'd hurt her beyond compare. She wouldn't look at him, and he did not blame her.


	95. Trading Spaces

" _I get up and pace the room, as if I can leave my guilt behind me. But it tracks me as I walk, an ugly shadow made by myself._ _"  
_ \- Rosamund Lupton

* * *

Dean was in the foulest, most pissed off of moods. He clenched the steering wheel tight enough that it creaked under his hand. His teeth groaned from the way he pushed them together in his mouth. The car engine whined protest as he gunned it to top speeds out of aggravated fury. Of all the _bullshit_ he'd ever been subjected to, _this_ topped it all.

It wasn't that he'd been woken up out of some very much-needed sleep in the middle of the night—that was normal. It wasn't that he'd dropped everything and raced across the miles the entire time worrying about something bad happening to someone he cared about—that was also normal. It was that the entire thing had been a dirty _trick_ schemed by of all people his _sister_ who, he could only assume, wanted to get rid of him long enough to get off with Cas. And of all the _ways_ to accomplish that goal, she had picked the one that was furthest below the belt.

When Dean had woken up to see the text on his screen from 'Jamie' that said **911 - DON'T CALL - just come asap - IN TROUBLE - HURRY** he hadn't questioned it for even a second. All he'd known was she was in trouble and he had to help. He'd taken the address she included and double-timed it that way, worried as crap because Jamie _never_ asked for help. But when he got to the suspiciously-close location that was only twenty minutes or so away from the motel room and then found nothing and no one, he scrolled through his contacts to call Jamie and then found _two_ 'James' contacts listed there. When he saw that, he immediately realized he'd been duped. But just to be sure, he called the first one, which just so happened to be the real Jamie. He woke her up and she was confused by his demands to know if she was okay and if she was in the same state he was in. She wasn't. Pissed off that he'd worried over nothing at all, furious that Alex would pull some shit like that, Dean basically snapped that he was glad Jamie was 'alive and stuff' and then hung up on her then headed straight back to the motel room, angry enough to spit.

Of all the dirty tricks. Of all the _selfish_ , immature moves. Sam was _dying_ and Alex sent him off on a wild goose chase that played with his feelings just so she could screw Cas in peace? The guy who had _killed her_ and _broken Sam_ and fucked up the entire _world_? Oh, there would be _hell_ to pay. As he closed the distance back to the motel room, a thousand berating insults formed in his mind. He was ready to put those two in their place and start some shit. However, when Dean realized at a stop light that he _really_ didn't feel like walking in on them in the middle of whatever freaky sexcapade they were definitely in the middle of, he fired off a quick, snide text to her and then changed her name from 'James' back to Alex and fumed again that he'd fallen for that trick.

Cas had some nerve, but damn if Alex didn't too. Dean wondered if they had conspired together and he didn't get why they couldn't have just zapped over to some other room if they really were _that_ desperate to fuck each other—why'd they have to involve him and worry him over James? That was so low. Also, Dean had thought Alex would have been classier than that to so quickly take Cas back with open arms. _Once an addict, always an addict_ he reasoned bitterly. And to think he'd been feeling _sorry_ for his sister and even for Cas marginally during the drive earlier. He'd been thinking about how hard it had to be for Alex to have lost Cas and just when she was finally getting stronger and more adjusted to suddenly find him still alive and _married_ to some bimbo… that was rough. Dean had also been contemplating how awful it had to be to suddenly get back a bunch of memories you'd forgotten and find yourself responsible for a ton of horrible, heartbreaking crap. He had kinda felt for Cas.

Well, any sympathy he'd had for either of them was _gone_. Dean pulled up to the motel and jerked to a stop then slammed the car into park, getting out of the car with a hearty, loud slam of the door. He stormed into the motel room, expecting to find a smirking Alex and a slyly triumphant angel. So, when he instead found his sister alone in the dim room, sitting on the bed fully dressed with slumped shoulders and eyes bloodshot red from crying, he abruptly lost all of his steam and froze in place when she looked at him reluctantly, like she was dreading what was next. He recognized that look in her eyes, the way she was looking at him: like she had been caught and was waiting for judgment and punishment. She used to look at _Dad_ like that. She looked so upset and he could tell she had cried herself to exhaustion—her eyes weren't just red, on closer inspection as he drifted a little closer, he saw they were puffy and red-rimmed like the tears had been so copious that they aggravated her skin. Immediately, his rage faded.

"…What happened?" he asked intently, not sure if he knew what was going on anymore—he looked around for Cas, losing his confidence and bravado and anger in the face of confusion. The angel was nowhere to be seen. "Where is he?"

Alex shrugged and her depressed tone came out in a cracked, weak whispery voice. Her eyes avoided his. "Outside somewhere… I don't know."

Unsure if he should still be pissed or what, Dean hesitated. He hadn't expected to find his sister obviously heartbroken and hurt, so it made it pretty hard to be mad. "…What the hell is going on here?" he asked cautiously, starting to fear something bad had happened while he was gone. "...You okay?"

She shook her head, refusing to look him in the eye again. She stood and motioned at the exit vaguely, her hand flopping like she was out of energy. "Can we just go?"

He ignored her attempt to sidestep the issue and he stopped her gently with both hands when she tried to walk past him. "Did he do something?" Dean demanded lowly, searching his sister for any sign of foul play, any sign that Cas had wronged her. "Do I need to knock the little tree topper down a few notches?"

Alex looked at him through a pained expression for a very brief couple seconds and it really killed him—something had obviously really gotten to her. "Haven't you punched him in the face enough for one day?" she asked, and her tone didn't really give anything away except her weariness.

"Debatable," Dean answered immediately, then set her with an ever-narrowing stare. "… _Have_ I?" He waited for her to let him know what was going on. _Just tell me what he did and I'll take care of it._

Alex brushed him aside feebly, defeated. "Let's just go, there's no way I can sleep now."

Dean stopped her again, more forcibly this time. "Did you guys fight or what?" She tried to pull out of his grip but he tightened his hands. He needed to know what the hell was going on and why she was acting like this. It set him on impatient edge. "Alex, _come on_."

"I hate this," she said, then suddenly yanked out of his grip and her voice raised to a cracking shout. "I hate this!" Dean stared as her brief outburst turned into more tears that made her eyes glint. "Nothing good ever lasts," she choked out, anger and grief making her voice thick with the onset of tears. "It's _ruined_. It's too fucked up. I _can't._ "

She was about to start bawling again—Dean could tell—but before she did, she barreled past him and out of the motel room, leaving Dean to remain clueless, exasperated, confused, and blindsided. He stared after her and spread his arms out in a gesture that indicated how he had absolutely no clue what she was talking about. "Okay… thanks for letting me know exactly what the issue is," Dean muttered, rolling his eyes to himself and complaining about her to himself. "Friggin' _baby_." He didn't know whether he wanted to shake her or comfort her. So he did neither. He exited the motel room—she was at the end of the car facing away, gripping the trunk with a hard hand.

Dean sent a scowl at Meg, who he noticed skulking a ways down the sidewalk and watching with a haughty smirk. She then pointed a long finger the opposite direction as her smile grew. Huh? He followed the direction of where she'd pointed and saw across the street how a man's silhouette could be made out leaning against a chest-height wooden fence—across the field the fence contained, there was a church illuminated in the dark night. Souring further, Dean headed that way.

Cas was gazing across the field at the church steeple with a forlorn expression on his face. He wore the trench coat over his other clothes, so he actually looked kind of like himself again. He had his arms resting on the top of the fence and his hands clasped loosely. His expression was somber and tense. He kind of had the appearance of a guy who was in the doghouse. At Dean's approach, he turned his head slightly and his eyes slid in his direction. "Are you here to strike me again?" he asked quietly.

"That an invitation?" Dean retorted, because right now he honestly wouldn't mind. He glared at Cas and demanded to know what was going on with Alex. "What'd you do?"

Cas sighed deeply, eyes going down to the ground as he began to list things off. "Opened Purgatory despite everyone's insistence that I shouldn't, decimated Heaven, let Leviathan into the population here on earth and subsequently—"

Dean rolled his eyes in exasperation and cut off the clueless angel. "No, _no_ —I know _that,_ I mean what'd you do to upset my baby sister in there?"

"Oh." Cas became more visibly downtrodden and his guilt grew. He hesitated to say and Dean's eyebrows jumped up in angry, expectant impatience as he pursed his lips slightly. The angel finally spoke, low and morose. "Essentially, I told her that we can no longer be together." He grew sheepish and his hands loosened to gesture just barely. "Um, after we—uh…" he trailed off, seeming reluctant to finish his sentence.

The second Dean understood, he got predictably disgusted. "Yeah, spare me the details," he muttered cynically. He was pissed all over again because that was hella _fucked up_ to screw a chick one last time and _then_ tell her it had to be over. Dean had done it a bunch of times but he had always found justification for it in his own mind. Now some guy was gonna do that shit to his sister? No wonder Alex was so upset. That was low.

Cas looked entirely regretful. "I… I didn't intend for tonight to happen at all," he said, and by all sounds of it he was being genuine. "And I wasn't thinking clearly because—"

"Okay, you know what?" Dean asked harshly, cutting Cas off before he got graphic. "Just _shut up_. You wanna live, you _shut your trap_." Dean had to really work not to attack Cas right then and there. He folded his arms tightly so the temptation to smash the angel in the face was less achievable. "So _that's_ why she's crying right now?" he asked in barely-concealed anger. "Because you broke up with her right after you _slept_ with her? …Do you even get how fucked up that is? Jesus _Christ,_ Cas!" Dean was _shaking_ he was so mad.

The angel looked gutted and he honed in on one thing as he stood, no longer leaning on the fence. "I don't want her to cry," he said softly, his voice distorting oddly. "Especially not because of me. It… it breaks my heart." He said those last few words in such a struggling way that he could have been about to cry himself—and he looked back at the motel in complete worry, his eyes magneting to Alex.

Dean resisted the way that small moment made him marginally little less angry with the angel. Had Cas even realized he said he had a heart? Dean had _definitely_ noticed that and it took him aback slightly—even if Cas was a moron in a lot of ways, he obviously did really care a lot. A _lot_. Sure had a way of showing it though. "Yeah well, it breaks mine too," he returned gruffly, trying to stay angry and trying to shame Cas about what he'd done. But what Cas said next made Dean realize maybe no one could make Cas feel more ashamed than he already did. It was obvious when he spoke how deeply he was broken up over it.

"After what I've done… I can't risk it, Dean. It's simply not right of me to be with her after what happened. I love her but…" he trailed off emptily. "Love doesn't seem to be enough." What weight was in those words. What grief and disillusioned soberness. "These feelings," Cas mused softly, emptily. "They're so confusing. I don't know what to do." He paused, his eyes on the ground as a pained expression held on his face. "I'm not good enough for her." Face tense with guilt, Cas looked at Dean. "I know you agree."

"Well… uh… no offense, but _yeah_ ," Dean said bluntly. "To be fair though, _no one_ 'll ever be good enough for her, Cas. An angel from Heaven, the prince of freakin' Paris, a regular dude from the Midwest… doesn't matter. None of them would ever be good enough."

"I don't think there's a prince of Paris, Dean," Cas said flatly, sounding depressed and distracted. His voice softened. "I don't know how to stop loving her, but all I ever seem to do is hurt her. How do I stop hurting her?"

Dean only knew one way. "You leave."

Cas immediately looked resistant to the idea as well as mildly alarmed. "But… I married her," he protested. "I vowed to stay by her side forever. I have to protect her, watch over her." At war inside of himself, Cas's eyebrows moved further and further together as he appeared to become more and more harrowed by uncertainty. "I can't abandon her. But… I can't stay with her, either." He looked like he could have cried from the desperation and the wretched confusion. "I'm trying to find a way. But this is an _impossible_ situation," he whispered. "Why is this happening to us?"

The way he said 'us' instead of 'me' touched Dean without warning and he felt a tug of sympathy for them again. Alex and Cas. Both so childlike and naive in such surprising, unexpected ways. Both obviously very in love with the other despite everything. It was a tragedy and a half that things had turned out the way they had. Even though he had a huge grudge against Cas, Dean couldn't find it inside of himself to be as mean as he had wanted to be. In fact, he found himself being surprisingly gentle with all things in consideration. "Look—chalk the whole 'marriage' thing up to a mutual mistake made by two dumb kids in love," he said, drawing another tortured, silent look from Cas. "Happens all the time. But as far as you staying around… I think we both know you can't have your cake and eat it too, Cas."

Cas looked vaguely sick and his eyes fell away as he looked into middle distance. "I don't want cake. I just want her to be all right," he said quietly in that ridiculously deep voice of his.

Dean ignored the mistake and looked at the angel pointedly. "If you want her to be all right then what you do is let me do what I do. Take care of her. She was fine before you came around and she'll be fine after awhile once you leave again. May take her awhile, but if you stay gone, she'll move past it and get her life back." Cas looked like he was about to protest and Dean held up a finger. "Look, I know one thing for sure. You can't stay around then try and be just _friends_. I may not be the sharpest knife in the drawer but… I know you two ain't ever gonna be good at the whole platonic thing. Freaking _bunnies_ …"

Cas's eyes crimped deeply. "Why are you comparing us to lepus curpaeums?" he asked, then just as soon as he asked, he seemed to make the connection. "Oh." Rueful and chagrinned, maybe a little ashamed, he looked down. "Never mind."

"Uh _huh_ ," Dean said, passively aggressively letting it be known that he wanted Cas to feel bad about it. He turned to the fence and let his arms rest on the top of it, clasping his hands loosely as he thought for a minute. Heaving a weighted sigh, Dean used a hand to gesture assertively as he talked. "Look. For now, just… keep your distance, man. And after you fix Sam… you leave." He looked at Cas sidelong. "Let her get on with life."

Cas considered Dean's statement with a somber expression but made no clear cut reply to it. "I'm so sorry about what I did to Sam," he murmured instead. "To _you._ To Bobby."

Dean abruptly remembered being killed then finding himself in Heaven. He still wondered how the hell he'd been sent there at all. Most hunters ended up downstairs from the sounds of things. "He's dead, you know," Dean said quietly, thinking of Bobby Singer, who was one of the only other humans Cas had really known or had a relationship with.

"Yes," Cas replied heavily. "Alex told me. Another loss I can count as my fault." Surprised, Dean looked at Cas, recognizing the guilt he heard in the angel's voice—he carried a lot of the same. Cas joined Dean in leaning his arms on the fence. "If I hadn't let out the Leviathan… Bobby would be fine."

It would have been easy enough to let Cas feel bad about that. But honestly, Dean couldn't let Cas carry that guilt, too. "That's not a hundred percent," he replied honestly, shaking his head. "He was a hunter. Every day's a gamble when you're in this life." For a minute, they were both silent. Dean sighed long and hard. Maybe it was how tired he was. Maybe it was the full moon. But Dean suddenly found himself nearly _commiserating_ with the angel beside him. "I get why you did it, Cas. Took in all those souls, risked everything. To save her. Am I right?"

There was a guilty nod. "Yes." A heavy sigh. "She tried to stop me. You all did, but… why didn't I _listen_?"

Dean was off in his own head, thinking of Sam who was suffering because of Cas. Thinking of Alex who was suffering because of Cas. Anyone _else_ who caused his family this much pain would get a kick in the ass or had the name Dad. And then there was Cas, the angel who kept reappearing and saving them while screwing them over simultaneously. It was a sad, seemingly unavoidable song and dance. Dean was so tired that all he could do was sigh softly out of his nose and stare at that church across the field. "You know… I'd do just about anything for Sam and Alex," he mused aloud. His chest hurt from the feeling and truth behind those words. He would, he had, and he probably would again. "Right or wrong, no matter what anyone said… to save them… I'd probably do whatever."

There was a long pause. Then a curious, cautious question. "Are you saying we're not that different, you and I?"

Dean frowned, looking at Cas sharply sidelong. "I didn't say that."

"You inferred it," Cas said, sounding mildly disappointed.

"Quit analyzing me," Dean complained. "I'm too tired to know what the hell I'm even saying."

There was another short, heavy silence. "Someday I would like to be your friend again, Dean," Cas said earnestly, looking at the other man sidelong with one of those completely open, emotional expressions on his face. The kind that made Dean hella uncomfortable.

A defensive ghost of a scowl crossed Dean's face. "Buddy, I just dunno if that's in the cards," he said, pushing away from the fence to stand instead.

Cas watched him, remaining leaned against the fence in quiet sadness. "I understand your reservations," he said, but it was hard to miss the defeat in his voice. "I'm not sure I deserve friendship after what I did." He stood up straight slowly and looked at Dean solicitously. "But just so you know. I truly do care about your family. And I want to make things right. I owe you at least that."

It would be so much easier to be pissed at Cas if he denied everything and lied or tried to make excuses for what happened. But instead he admitted it all and owned up to what he'd done. He kept on trying, even though it had to feel beyond depressing to even do that at all. Dean didn't want to admire anything about Cas in the least because it went against his prideful nature, but he had to admit that Cas was a lot more of a standup guy than he'd given credit for in the past. Keeping his poker face on, Dean raised his chin slightly and didn't let Cas know what he was thinking. "Yeah, well, that's why I came out here, actually," he said, focusing on business. "Every hour we wait, Sam's worse off—I am _not_ in the mood to drive however many damn hours with Meg yappin' in my ear— _and_ I don't feel like dealing with the awkwardness that is you and my sister, so…" he spread his hands and waited.

"…You want me to take us to the hospital in Indiana," Cas summarized after a short, confused silence. He looked reluctant to use his angelic abilities but he didn't offer protest. Instead he grudgingly swallowed down his reservations and nodded stiffly. "Of course. I'll transport us there."

First good news he'd had all night. "Good," Dean said gruffly, then motioned for Cas to hurry it up. "Come on." They crossed back over the road to the parking lot where the Impala waited. Alex had gotten a grip apparently—she had her arms crossed and a stony game-face on. Meg obviously sensed something was going on—she sauntered up to join them. As soon as they were to the car, Dean addressed his sister and the demon as Cas brought up the rear. "All right, so we're gonna—" abruptly, the scenery around them changed and they were no longer in a motel parking lot—instead, they were at the back entrance of the hospital in Indiana. Dean looked at Cas sort of incredulously. "Didn't even let me _finish,_ " he complained, a little startled at the sudden movement.

Cas, stern and confused as always, squinted and frowned at the other man. "…Should I take us back so you can finish?"

Dean let out a disgusted breath and rubbed his forehead. In that brief instance, Alex and Cas's eyes met—his eyes were guilty, hers were hurt.

"Well well well, what have we here?" Meg murmured. Her dark eyes skimmed the hospital entrance quickly. "Sulfur heads, everywhere o'clock."

Alex looked at Meg oddly. "Huh?"

" _Demons_ ," Cas breathed, looking at what Meg saw. Alex and Dean followed their gazes to where a bunch of hospital employees were loitering the area surrounding the hospital back entrance.

"… _All_ of them?" Dean asked, worry making his tone soft.

"No grass growing under _your_ feet," Meg observed in silky sarcasm.

"Why?" Alex asked, clearly thinking about Sam and worrying over him immediately. Her eyes were scanning the demons closely, mental wheels spinning already. "Why are there so many here?"

Meg arched an eyebrow loftily. "Best guess? They got the head's up that Sam _Winchester_ was in town and they're here to kill him, capture him, maim and torture him… or something equally heartwarming I'm sure." She smiled languidly.

"Then we gotta take them out, _now,_ before they do whatever the hell they're here to do," Alex said urgently, already reaching for her blade.

"Sounds like a plan, gang," Meg said throatily, eyeing Dean who was pulling out his demon blade, obviously on board for his sister's idea. "Anyone got a demon-poker they wanna share?" When all she got were disparaging looks, Meg feigned surprise. "No?"

"Get your own," Alex muttered, clenching her weapon a little tighter.

Not paying attention to the girls, Dean was eyeing the demons. "Looks like a fair fight," he murmured, counting them quickly. "What is that, like eight? That's two and a half for each of us." He paused significantly and threw a glance sideways. " _If_ Cas is up to helping."

"Of course I am," Cas confirmed. He sounded slightly insulted that Dean thought otherwise.

"You got the juice?" Dean asked doubtfully.

Cas looked further insulted. "I have more than enough… _juice,_ " he replied, then reconsidered. "I think. Either way, I'll do this myself. There's no need to involve yourselves." He drew in a deep breath, made to step forward, then a slender arm shot out to stop him. He halted and looked sidelong in slight surprise to see Alex stopping him with a firm shake of the head.

"No—eight's too many, even for you," she said firmly, leaving no room for argument. Even though she remained mostly inscrutable, her eyes gave away her worry. "They could rush you. We're going with you."

Dean watched the silent stare between his sister and the angel, then added in his own two cents. "Cas, you know this is kinda what we _do,_ right?"

"Well yes, but—"

"Then let's _go_ ," Alex said, already taking off and leading the way, leaving Cas to stare, taken aback for a second, before he quickly followed. Dean threw a glance back at Meg as they left. She huffed impatiently and hung back, weaponless and annoyed to be that way.

Cas caught up to Alex where the parking lot began and he did what she had a moment ago—held an arm in front of her to stop her from walking. Three demons approached them, while Dean, who flanked Cas and Alex, was heading toward another cluster that was noticing the oncoming fight.

Behind the three that were approaching Cas and Alex, two more were drawing close. "Hey… I _know_ you," the leading demon said to Cas as he got closer and realized who the angel was. "You're _dead_."

Castiel was grim. "It would appear you were wrong about that," he said quietly, then slapped a hand to the demon's forehead and blinding light burned out of the demon's eyes and mouth as he screamed, dying.

Madness erupted—Dean killed two demons brutally even as Cas smote two more in tandem. Alex knifed a fleeing demon in the back with her angel blade and even as she yanked the blade out of its back from where it had fallen on the ground, Cas sent a would-be attacker flying away from her and slamming into the concrete hospital wall—he ported himself into the demon's face and clapped his palm to the demon's face, sending it into nothingness as he wiped it from existence. Dean stood up from the eighth demon he'd just killed and he looked around slowly. "…That wasn't so bad," he commented breathily, wiping the bloody knife on his jeans thoughtlessly.

Castiel was squinting deeply, like he was listening to something. And then his face fell and horror passed over his features. " _Wait_ —oh no—" he breathed, then disappeared from in front of them.

Alex blinked twice, shocked. "…Cas?"

"The _hell_?" Dean muttered, then suddenly went flying sideways with a yell. A ninth demon who had appeared seemingly out of nowhere had sent him crashing into the side of the ambulance. Dean fell down, groaning hard and dazed to stillness.

Before she could even register the threat, Alex was knocked back and lost grip of her blade in the strong blow. Her back collided bruisingly with the hospital wall and Alex found herself being choked by strong, crushing hands. "Whatcha gonna do to me now without your little pocket knife, _bitch_?" the demon seethed, his face right in hers.

" _Hey_!" came a sudden, sharp shout. The demon turned his head to look in confusion, and Meg drove Alex's discarded angel blade into the other demon's skull. Light exploded and flickered crazily as the demon screamed. Meg yanked the blade out and the other demon fell down dead.

Breathing hard, gone slack against the wall, Alex looked at Meg in shock. Meg gave her a 'see?' look at held out the blade, handle first. Alex hesitated, looking at the blade and then Meg. She slowly reached out, took it… and then furiously grabbed Meg and slammed her against the wall, using her elbow and forearm to hold her in place as she poked the tip of the blade hard into Meg's throat.

Dean was getting up from where he'd fallen and stiffly making his way over, face screwed up in an expression of pained concentration. He held his own arm and watched his sister closely, drifting closer just in case. At the end of a knife that could end her existence, Meg looked incredulous. "Are you _serious_?!" Meg demanded, her eyes wide. "Look I like it against the wall as much as any other gal but you're pointing that thing at the wrong _part,_ Ariel."

Alex pushed the blade in harder, malice making her face hard. "Any last words?"

Meg gritted her teeth together in what appeared to be restrained cold anger. "Maybe instead of cutting my _throat_ you should be inside where Sam's currently being fried like _chicken,_ you ever think of that, princess?" Alex's hard face fell even as Dean, a few steps off, reacted similarly. Sam? Was that where Cas went? Oh no. Seeing Alex's thought process, Meg pulled a face. " _Yeah_ ," she confirmed sarcastically. "Might wanna step on it, Doublemint."

Without another word, Alex let go and she and Dean, of the same mind, rushed into the hospital. Meg straightened her jacket and stared after the Winchesters indignantly. "You're welcome for saving your _life_!" she shouted. She got a slamming door as a response.

Dean and Alex found themselves on one of the residential wings of the hospital, somewhere near to where Sam's room had been before. They turned a frantic corner and came to a sudden stop at the sight of Cas, carrying Sam's gigantic, woozy form like a child. Cas did not stagger under the enormity of Sam nor did he look like he was struggling in the least. He only looked gaunt and severe.

"What happened?!" Dean exclaimed breathlessly as both he and his sister stared in dismay at their brother, who looked sicker and paler and closer to death's door than ever.

"A demon had him," Cas said grimly, then motioned at an open door to an unoccupied room they were near. "In here." He led the way and as he laid Sam down onto the bed carefully and gingerly, he gave another command. "Close the door."

Although Sam was conscious, his glazed over, dead expression was frightening. His breathing was quick and shallow, his mouth hung open slightly—he had stubble, dark shadows under his eyes, a pallid color to his skin, bloodshot eyes, and the white hospital patient's uniform he wore made him look smaller and frailer than he actually was. His eyes stared at an empty chair beside the bed and he groaned faintly as if in miserable protest.

On the opposite side of the bed as Cas, Alex was leaning over her brother, touching his shoulder, trying to get him to respond—she blocked his stare, gently and anxiously trying to catch his attention. "Sam?" she asked in a shaky voice. "Can you hear me?"

His sluggish gaze wandered over to her, then his eyes widened and he jerked away from her with surprising energy the second he recognized her. "Get away, _get away_!" he bellowed, startling everyone in the room, pushing himself up against the headboard as he tried to distance himself from his shocked sister. "Don't touch me!"

Dean was already pulling Alex back and away from Sam, who looked like he was out of his mind and poised to do some harm. "Back up, back up, I don't think he knows who you are."

"I know exactly who she is!" Sam shouted, staring at his sister with eyes like a wild animal's. "The _devil_!"

"Jesus Christ, he is totally gone," Dean murmured in a pained voice, looking at Sam and seeing a man who was far gone and nearly unrecognizable. Dean looked at the angel in sick hope, faltering because he was so afraid this wouldn't work. "Cas?" he asked softly. "You gonna fix him or what?"

Castiel's jaw clenched and his eyes rose slow and guilty to Dean's. "I already tried." He became increasingly quiet and disheartened. "I… I can't."

The room became incredibly quiet when he said that. All hope that Dean had been holding onto suddenly seemed to slip away into nothingness. "…What the hell do you mean you can't?" he asked slowly, confusion and distress making him look ten years older than he actually was.

"I mean there's nothing left to rebuild," Cas said, and he looked absolutely beside himself with guilt and dismay.

"N-nothing left to rebuild?" Dean managed.

"It crumbled," Cas said heavily, obviously blaming himself. "The pieces got crushed to dust by whatever's happening inside his head right now."

Dean was thunderstruck and at a loss. "S-so you're saying there's nothing?" he asked in disbelief. "That, that he's gonna be like this until his candle blows out? That he's as good as dead?"

Cas was the picture of defeated misery. "I'm so sorry," he said quietly.

Beside Dean, Alex found her voice. "You can't let him die," she said, then stronger: "You _can't_." She looked at Sam, who had lost his fire and had his head slouched against the wall above the headboard of his bed—his breathing was shallow, his expression lifeless, he looked like an animal that was obviously dying. "Just, just look at him," Alex pled, "he's in so much pain—Cas, _please_." Her eyes begged him. "Don't let my brother die!"

Cas's heartbreak and sorrow increased when she put it that way but he shook his head helplessly as pain crumpled his face. "There isn't anything I c—" he suddenly seemed to have an epiphany. His face fell, he looked at Sam instead of Alex, a new light sprang up in his eyes. "Wait— _wait_. There _is_ something," he said intently, and from the sounds of it, he had a new, real hope. "I may be able to shift it."

"Shift what?" Dean asked.

"This madness, this brokenness, his pain," Castiel replied, still looking at Sam. The angel's intensity was growing as he focused on Sam and grew more and more certain of his plan. "Yes, I think I could—it would get Sam back on his feet, and as long as I carry it with me, he'll be free of it." He had been bending over Sam slightly as he said that, but he straightened and glanced at Alex, then Dean for input.

"And just what happens to you in this scenario?" Dean asked cautiously.

Cas's enthusiasm faded into a more somber demeanor. Tellingly, his eyes slid to Dean's sister. "All in all… I think it's better this way."

Alex stared at him with a gathering expression of dismay. She could hear something in his voice that she just didn't like. "What do you mean it's better this way?" she asked, fearing the worse. " _Cas_ …"

He was resigned but reluctant. "I'm not sure, but… I may not survive this."

"May not _survive_?" she repeated, suddenly horrified for entirely new reasons.

"I have no way of knowing what it will do to me," Castiel said softly. But he sounded like he was okay with that. Almost like he _wanted_ to suffer.

"Now just hold on a minute, Cas—" Dean started.

"No." Castiel cut him off gently, firmly, surprising both of the Winchesters with what he said next and the way in which he said it. "I don't want either of you to make this decision for me or try to find another alternative. We don't have time for that. Sam is in this bed because of _me_. I did this to him, now I have to fix it." His voice softened and his eyes found Alex's. "I've run from what I've done before and… I can't anymore. I _won't_." Confusion and fear was jumbling up in a huge ball that pitted itself deep in her stomach. What was he saying? Cas looked at Dean in a sad, earnest way. "You'll have your family back. As you were before I came into your lives." Cas let his eyes go back to Alex, and he was resolute, guilty, quietly emphatic. "I love you," he said plainly, factually, but a hint of pain colored his tone. He looked at Dean. "All three of you. I hope you know that, despite everything I did."

Dean looked taken aback, watching Cas in stumped silence as the angel approached Alex and studied her silent, worried, protesting face. She said nothing. Her heart was beating sickeningly fast, she sensed the goodbye of this moment and didn't understand how just twelve hours ago she had believed Castiel was dead. Fast forward to now and she was in new kinds of pain from everything that had happened in the past few hours. She didn't _understand_. His hand came to cup her cheek in tender hesitation—a touch that she thought she should despise. But she didn't. His eyes locked on hers deeply, pleading with hers quietly. "Remember me as who I was in the beginning," he entreated in a voice just above a whisper. "Before the war, before everything fell apart. When I was much worthier of the love you gave to me." _Remember you…? Where are you going? Why do you always leave?_ Her confused, scared eyes searched his. "I'm sorry," he whispered huskily. "For everything." His thumb stroked against her cheek, a mournful and loving touch, then he leaned in and pressed a long kiss to her forehead—an innocent, earnest, apologetic touch that made her eyes squeeze closed and her chest twist in pain. Her hand came up to clench into the lapel of his coat as he pressed that kiss to her skin. She wanted to protest, to throw her arms around him and tell him to stop yanking her around from one end of the spectrum to the other. To just stop messing with her emotions and promise her he was going to stay, fix what he'd done, and stop breaking her heart. But she couldn't bring herself to say a single damn thing because it wasn't even about her and Cas anymore. Sam's life was on the line. And maybe this was how it was supposed to be. Maybe they weren't supposed to be together. Maybe Cas was right. She didn't know anymore.

Cas drew back from her, a thousand regrets and sadnesses etched across his face. She thought her face probably looked the same. His hand fell away from her cheek and he took her hand that clenched into his coat and gently held it as his skyblue eyes silently held hers in a soulful, painful gaze. And then he let go.

Dean, who had watched uncomfortably, was obviously not the biggest fan of what he'd just seen. But he didn't comment on it or make a point to overemphasize his distaste.

Cas backed away from Alex, drew in a deep breath, then nodded to himself, maybe steeling himself. He turned and sat at Sam's side on the bed. Dean's scowling expression faded. "Cas, what are you _doing_?" he asked softly, and it was easy to hear how he wasn't entirely convinced about what was about to happen.

"What needs to be done," Castiel replied grimly, looking at Sam the whole time. He rolled his sleeve up to the forearm. "Now, Sam… this may hurt. And if I can't tell you again… I'm sorry I ever did this to you."

Sam stared at Cas without recognition, just fear, then flinched when Castiel put a hand on his head. Immediately, he seized and groaned in pain between gritted teeth as red light sprang to life beneath Cas's hand. He gasped and his eyes flew open—they were burning red. Up Cas's hand and arm, red veins of light traveled, then could be seen creeping up his neck until his eyes burned red, too. He began to tremble violently, but his hand remained on Sam's head until the red light sizzled out and died out. With a huge gasp of air, Sam looked around with wild, bright, sharp eyes and Cas's hand drew away as he stared at the ground in what appeared to be confusion.

"Sam?" Dean asked urgently, disbelief hurrying him to Sam's bedside.

"Dean?" Sam asked, sounding like himself again. He caught sight of his sister, too. She was standing near Cas. "Alex!" Then Sam recognized Cas and disbelief shook his features. "Cas? Cas, is that you?"

Cas looked at Sam in what appeared to be terror, then at Alex, who had crouched in front of him in concern and he abruptly shoved her away and stood, stumbling back to stand against the wall. "No— _no_!" he said, holding a hand out to anyone who would approach him. He looked from Alex, who was getting up off the floor where he'd made her tumble, to Sam in growing horror. "Why are you _her_?" he asked, then abruptly clutched two hands to his head and groaned in deep pain. "Oh—my head—" he managed.

Dean pulled Alex back from where she'd been—she didn't really protest. "Get away from him, he might hurt you," he said sharply, staring at the confounded, seemingly insane angel.

Still on the bed and in shock, Sam looked around with wide eyes at his brother and sister, then Cas, then back at his siblings again. "How is Cas here? I'm hallucinating again, aren't I?"

"No—you're not," Dean said, turning to his brother. "This is real, you're okay again."

Sam got out of bed slowly, like he was testing the water. But by all appearances, he was fine. He looked healthier, too, rested even. "So… Cas is _alive_?" he asked in dawning disbelief as he drifted over to join his siblings who all watched Cas. "And he just… just…"

"Took your crazy, yeah," Dean confirmed.

Castiel gritted his teeth and sank down against the wall to a crouch, his head in his hands. Alex couldn't just stand away and watch him in pain, she went to him and crouched with him, supporting him and helping hold him steady. Dean hovered close, ready to snatch her away at a second's notice. "Cas? Can you hear me?" she asked in a voice that was bare with worry.

Cas looked up into her face, appearing like a frightened, pained child. "No— _no_ —I'm—" he suddenly got a look on his face like he was going to pass out. And then he _did,_ his substantial and heavy weight proving too much for Alex to keep from falling over.

"Whoa whoa whoa—get him in the bed," Dean commanded, and he and Sam usurped Cas from Alex and carried him over and put him where Sam had just been. The angel was non-responsive, but when Dean checked his vitals, it wasn't bad news. Uncertain, Dean looked around for a second opinion. "He's breathing fine, so…"

"Well, doesn't look like _he's_ going anywhere anytime soon…" said a low, smirking voice behind them. Meg had appeared out of thin air and was watching the scene with crossed arms and a lofty, smug expression.

Stunned, Sam looked immediately defensive. "What the hell is _she_ doing here?!" he asked, looking absolutely shocked at how his siblings merely looked annoyed.

"Gosh, I've missed you too Sammy," Meg said sarcastically. "You never call me anymore."

"It's okay," Dean said flatly. "She's with us. I'll explain later."

"She's _with_ you?" Sam asked, then scrunched his face up into a squint. "Are you _sure_ I'm not still tripping?"

"You're fine, Sammy," Dean assured tiredly.

Alex looked ready to kill. "Dean, are we done with her or what?" she asked, eyes on the demon the entire time.

"Are you still on the murder thing, Ariel?" Meg asked, arching an eyebrow at Alex cooly. "Just what exactly does a girl gotta do to prove herself around here?"

"You can't prove yourself because you're a _demon,_ " Alex snapped, short on temper and upset to boot. It made her very short and sarcastic in the way she spoke. "You're evil. We kill evil. So… you see my dilemma."

Calm in the face of Alex's obvious duress, Meg's head canted to the side. "And do you see _your_ dilemma?"

"What are you talking about?" Dean demanded, coming closer to stand at his sister's side. He could sense that she was becoming volatile and knew his presence would help her calm down a little.

Meg's smile grew fractionally wider. "Who's staying here with our little winged friend to see if he ever wakes up, hmm? _You_ three? It could be awhile, trust me. And don't you have, gosh I dunno, a whole treasure-trove of Leviathans to go figure out how to kill?"

Alex's face twisted. "What, and you think we'd ask _you_ to stay here with him…?" She gave a short barking laugh. "Wow, so tell me, what's living in delusion like, Meg?" Her smile fell into a severe expression. " _I'm_ staying with him, don't be a moron."

It was Dean's turn to be shocked. "Whoa, no you're not," he said, giving his sister a look that said she had lost her mind.

"Well are _you_ gonna stay instead?" Alex asked. Dean's expression said _uh, no._

Sam, who had been at Cas's side and watching the angel in concern, looked over at his brother. "We can't just leave him here, Dean," he said, voice soft with worry. "Can we? Especially after he just, you know—fixed me. He didn't have to do that. But he did."

Dean was at a slight loss for words. "Well yeah, no but… but we can't bring him _with us_ either—everything on the planet's out for us… word gets out, we can't protect him. It'd be safer to leave him here where he can lay low."

"… _Alone_?" Alex asked challengingly, like Dean was suggesting the absolutely unthinkable.

Dean's patience was wearing thin and he shot her an inconvenienced side eye. "Well judging by his current state of _comatose_ , I don't think he'll exactly _notice_ if he doesn't have the pleasure of your _company_!"

Alex matched his bad attitude blow for blow. " _Demons_ were after Emmanuel—and if _Crowley_ finds out the angel who screwed him over is still _alive_ … Cas'll need someone _here_ who can have his back, _Dean_."

"Which could be me," Meg volunteered casually.

"When _Hell_ freezes over, Meg!" Alex retorted loudly, obviously close to losing her temper.

"Look—demons _won't_ find him," Dean argued in growing impatience. "Every demon who knows about Cas is _dead_." Meaning the ones they'd ganked outside the hospital. For that statement, Dean got a very animated look from his sister that implied he was nuts—then she looked at Meg for indication and effect.

Seeing the look aimed at her, Meg's mouth drew into a thin line and she became glib. "If I was gonna blow the whistle, I would have done it awhile ago, _kay_?" She looked at the three hunters in turn and frowned defensively. "Do you three honestly have to look at me like that?" Her antagonizing smile returned. "I mean, if we had a contest to see who'd killed more innocent people, pretty sure _you_ hypocrites would take home the giant stuffed teddy bear… so maybe we take it easy on the dirty looks, hm?"

Even though all three attempted not to react to what she said, all three _did_ appear mildly startled then guilty over the accusation. "So, say we actually let you walk," Alex said lowly, her eyes sharp on Meg. "What's to stop you from telling Crowley where Castiel is in exchange for weaseling your way back into his good graces?"

Meg looked like she was offended, then she quickly became condescending. "Listen to yourself, pipsqueak. Crowley is the _king_ of the double cross. How _stupid_ do you think I am, huh?" She was getting mad. "We _all_ hate Crowley and can agree staying _out_ of his way is the dandiest option, right?" She paused, and was surprisingly earnest. "I'm here to _help_. I've decided to stick with the winning team which is _clearly_ you three." Her glibness returned. "So sign me up for arts and crafts or put me on the drama team, I don't care what, I just wanna be in the gang."

"…Wow, this is almost funny," Dean commented, at the point where he was clearly internally laughing at Meg.

"We don't need or want your help," Alex reiterated icily. "Not now, not _ever_."

"That so?" Meg's eyes narrowed. "Not back at that convenience store where I saved Dean's ass? Not two minutes ago when I saved _yours_?" She looked at Alex pointedly.

She got three unfriendly stares in reply. "Do yourself a favor and walk away while we're all still in good moods," Dean said flatly.

Meg's mouth twitched as she struggled to control her anger. " _Fine,_ " she said, then disappeared into thin air.

The _second_ she disappeared, Dean turned on his sister. "Okay, first things first. You are _not_ staying here."

Alex was undeterred. "Dean. Someone has to, and it sure as hell wasn't gonna be _Meg._ "

"Al, he'll be _fine_ , we can tell the staff to call us if he wakes up!" Dean protested.

"No," Alex said firmly, obviously ready to tell Dean no all day long no matter _what_ he said. " _When_ he wakes up, _I_ wanna be here. Not halfway across the country, not a thousand miles away."

Dean stared at her with a growing expression of disgusted confusion. "Okay—sorry, but what the hell? What is _wrong_ with you?! Three seconds ago you hate the guy now you're gonna stay with him sight unseen?! You couldn't be bothered to be here for Sam, your _brother,_ when he was going through his shit a few months ago but now that it's _Cas_ you're gonna sing a different tune?"

Ouch.

" _Dean_ ," Sam chastised at the harsh comments. "Come on."

"Well it's _true_!" Dean defended before leveling their sister with a hard stare. "And what if he never wakes up, huh? How long you gonna wait around for the guy who ruined your life and _just broke up_ with you?"

Alex appeared quietly hurt by that statement. "That's not a fair thing to say."

"Well it may not be fair but it sure ain't something I _made up_ ," Dean fired back.

Alex became surprisingly fireless. She instead seemed resolute and weary, resigned, sorrowful. "Cas is family," she said. "More than anything else, he's _family._ And we don't leave family behind. He's not about to become the exception to that rule." Her brothers were both silent—Dean with raised eyebrows, Sam with a somber, intent expression. "Yes, he's messed up. But what he just did, saving Sam, switching roles with him—he didn't have to do that. He could have walked away but he chose to stay and do the right thing." Emotion showed in her eyes and she chanced pleading with her oldest brother earnestly. "Dean, he has _no one_ but us in the entire world. No one!" Dean's mild guilt was hard to see under the scowl on his face. Alex's mouth worked for a couple seconds. "Look. He's made it _exceedingly_ clear to me that we're over, okay? I get that and it's not why I'm staying. God, you make me sound so pathetic." Her conflicted emotions were obvious. "I don't honestly _want_ to stay right now, all right? I don't. I would rather try and pretend he never even existed at all, I would rather be as far away from him as possible. But we don't leave family behind, and… and even after everything, I still…" she trailed off and didn't finish her sentence even though everyone knew what she was going to say: _love him_. "So call me whatever names you want and insinuate whatever you want but… I can't let him be here alone—I won't abandon him, okay? And you're not gonna guilt me into changing my mind." She seemed genuine about the next part: "Sorry."

Dean shook his head, disapproving completely of the entire thing. "This is becoming such a damn pattern with you," he accused lowly, then got loud. "You can't just keep coming and going and coming and going! Either you're in or you're out, so which is it?"

"Dean, that's not fair to just put that on her—take it easy," Sam said, drawing an incredulous look from his brother.

" _Why_ , Sam? She's miserable with him but she's like, signing up for it! It's _absurd_!"

Sam hesitated, obviously loathe to fight or argue, but choosing to stick up for his sister either way. "I mean aren't all three of us signing up for misery?" he asked cautiously. "Choosing to hunt, choosing to do what we do?"

"That's different," Dean retorted.

"Is it?" Sam challenged quietly.

" _Yes_!" Dean exclaimed, getting angry at his brother's quiet, reasonable questions. He took in a deep breath and tried again with his sister. This time, he tried the guilt trip. "Alex, come on. Don't stay here and mope around more, didn't you _just_ get over that? We were a family again, we were _us_ and now… you're _walking out_ on that?"

Alex appeared disappointed. "Why do you have to put it like that?" she asked, obviously hurt and frustrated by the way he chose to phrase it. "I'm not walking out on you. I'm staying here to protect our _friend_."

Dean worked hard to keep in an insult in response to her statement and he shook his head, forced a cynical little smile. "You know what? I give up with this," he said brusquely. "Do what you want." He was pissed, and it was obvious. He was already heading out of the room. "Come on, Sam."

"Uh, gimme a couple minutes," Sam said, remaining where he was standing with an expression on his face that said he was anticipating getting some grief for his request.

For a second, it looked like Dean was going to turn around and start a fight with _both_ his siblings. Instead though, he decided against it. "Yeah, whatever," he muttered, throwing another dirty look at his sister before leaving and letting the door slam.

The twins were left alone, both shaken up. The room was quiet, a reflection of their stunned states of mind. Sam looked at his sister plaintively, then suddenly smiled ever so slightly. "Hey," he said softly.

"Hey," she echoed, automatically returning his smile with a tiny, bittersweet one of her own.

Wordlessly, they hugged each other, then Sam drew back and studied her face closely. "You okay?"

Her eyes flickered over to the bed where Cas was unconscious. They both knew she wasn't. "I guess." She peered up into Sam's eyes tensely. "You?"

"I am now," he said, seeming to still be in disbelief about it. "Not even sleepy anymore, Cas must have angel-magicked me better or something." He looked at Cas's still form on the bed and he looked guilty, confused, sad. "Can't believe he's alive—where's he _been_ this whole time?"

Alex was reluctant to recount the details. "Had amnesia. Dean can tell you all the horrible details later, okay?" she was trying to joke around, but it was obvious that she was having a tough time.

Sam nodded, obviously sensing there was some source of new pain for her there. "Okay."

Alex looked at Sam, barely able to believe he was just… _okay_ again. Walking, talking, seemingly totally normal. "You must have been seeing some pretty trippy shit, huh?" she asked him soberly. "You kept yelling that I was the devil."

Sam's expression wavered, he looked mildly stunned, then aftaid. "Uh, yeah," he answered, eyes dodging hers. "Some… some pretty trippy shit."

Alex caught on to the fact that he was concealing something. "You okay, Sam?" she asked gently, forever worried about him but even more so right now after all the crazy crap since Lucifer and Michael and the end of the world.

"Fine," he said, attempting to shrug off whatever was bothering him. "I'm… I'm just glad it's over with. And I just hope he'll be okay."

They looked at Castiel in tandem, each of them quiet and concerned. "Me too," Alex said quietly, deeply confused and upset. She had her brother back, but now Cas was maybe never coming back. She didn't know how to feel. In all honesty, she felt like she was in physical shock.

"Hey, so once Dean cools down… I'll talk to him about—" Sam gestured vaguely and he sounded darker, "all that."

In the midst of such an emotionally devastating day, Alex's heart warmed at her brother's perceptive kindness. She hugged him again, really tightly. "Thanks Sammy," she said, fighting a lump in her throat. She shut her eyes briefly, afraid she'd really gone and done it this time with Dean. He had a limit, as all people did. Maybe she wouldn't be allowed back in after this, after 'walking out' as he put it yet again. But she couldn't let Cas be unprotected. She couldn't leave him without a guardian when he was completely vulnerable like this. Sam's big brother shape comforted her for a second and she let out a heavy breath of relief— _Sam is okay. At least there's that_. One crisis averted, one more to go. Well, who was she kidding. There was always going to be a hundred other crises to avert. She drew back and looked up at her just-slightly-older brother then tweaked his chin, drawing a little surprised smile from him. "Do me a favor and stay alive out there, okay?" she joked.

He returned the gesture, tweaking her chin playfully in response. "You too," he said, but then his smile faded in favor of true, slight worry. "You're _sure_ about this?" he asked, second guessing leaving her there alone with a comatose angel. "I can stay too if you want. Dean's got other hunter friends he can call. If you want backup or just, you know, company…"

He was so sweet. "No," Alex said. She could hold her own, at least she thought she could. Maybe needed to prove to herself that she could. "You and Dean go save the world. I'll be here." He nodded, not appearing fully convinced that she was all right with being left alone. But he left and went with Dean.

Alex sat down on the hospital bed beside Cas and studied him a long time. What if he _did_ never wake up? Anxiety rolled over her like high tide and she reached out to put one of her hands on his gingerly. So much uncertainty. So much.

* * *

 **Meanwhile**  
SucroCorp Headquarters  
Tacoma, Washington

Edgar the Leviathan dragged a much smaller Leviathan into the CEO's office at SucroCorp. At the mahogany desk, a slyly smiling Dick Roman eyed the newcomer leeringly, watching how he stumbled to a stop when Edgar shoved him forward.

"Well hi there, fleck," Dick greeted enthusiastically, standing up and smiling patronizingly at Least—or as he was known now, Zip. The slight, young-looking Leviathan was a little out of breath, his clothing disheveled from what looked to have been a cute struggle he'd put up against Edgar's grip. "How's things?" Dick boomed, approaching the much weaker and less capable Leviathan at a leisurely stroll. "Gosh, it's been awhile," he commented smoothly, enjoying the clear anxiety that Zip was currently suffering from. "I can only _imagine_ what you've been up to these past few months…" Zip's face showed a ripple of fear—then he raised his chin defiantly even as Dick smiled wider and circled closer, not unlike a shark. "I heard you've been getting cozy with someone I'm trying to get on the books with!" he exclaimed, then stopped in front of Zip, still not entirely sure how this little failure in front of him had reportedly managed to get an 'in' with the Winchester girl. "And here I am trying to figure out _how_ a bottom-muncher like you pulled _that_ miracle off. What's the secret? Care to share?"

Zip's jaw was tight and his voice was low. "You know what?" he asked softly. "Why don't you go ahead and kill me so I don't have to listen to one more _second_ of your asinine, sophomoric _shit_?"

Dick grinned and patted Zip on the cheek twice. The other Leviathan flinched. "You'd like that wouldn't you, you sanctimonious little defect," Dick said pleasantly. "If I would just end your miserable half-existence. Do the entire universe a favor and clean up the embarrassingly pathetic little glitch in the system." He set the other Leviathan with a mocking smile and gaze. "What's it like, anyway? To be such a disgrace to your own kind, to be such a laughingstock no matter which realm you're in? Say, here's a winning idea! You should write a memoir—toilet paper is so passé these days—the pages of that volume would be just perfect to wipe crap all over. What do you think?"

Inexplicably, a haughty little smile played on Zip's plain, young face at the insult that had just been lobbed at him. "I think _you made me,_ you complacent, primitive cretin, so what do all my so-called failings say about _you_?"

Abruptly overcome with age-old anger, Dick seized Zip by the front of his hooded sweatshirt and yanked him close, seething. "You slimy, _mucky_ little _stain_ … I would like nothing better than to stick you in my mouth and chew you until you're fishpaste," he breathed. Abruptly, he shoved and sent Zip hurtling back into an all-glass cabinet of awards on display. With a huge crash, his body shattered the glass and Dick was grinning ear to ear as Zip groaned on the ground. "But hey—what can ya do? Sometimes patience is a virtue, am I right?" He sauntered over and looked down at Zip with a lazy smile on his face. "You know how to get something I want, Zippity-doo-da. And generous guy that I am, I'm prepared to let you live if you help me get it."

Zip panted on the ground. He wasn't as strong or indestructible as other Leviathan, and he took longer to regenerate and heal himself. As such, he was incredibly vulnerable there on the ground. Even so, he defied Dick immediately. "Go ahead and eat me, troglodyte scum," he spat. "I will _never_ tell you where she is."

"Gosh, that's cute," Dick commented, then abruptly darkened. " _Get up_ you microscopic little jerk-off." Zip complied slowly, spite and contempt making his face hard. Dick grinned at him. "We've spent, what… all of your existence doing the same old song and dance. You run and hide, I try and wipe the blight called _you_ off the map… and around and around we go. Well. I know you have to be tired of it, champ. All the other of our kind just as ready to see you gone as I am—gosh, it has to be just _exhausting_!" He chuckled contentedly, like it was a fond memory. Zip looked mildly haunted, even if he tried hard to hide it. "So, here are my terms," Dick said. "Bring her here or tell me where she is, I call of the dogs. Let you live in peace forever after. This is the part where most masterminds would offer a variety of ridiculous things to the pathetic chump they're trying to buy off—'you'll be my right-hand guy, you'll have power and influence'—you get the idea. That's how you know I'm serious about this." Dick waggled his eyebrows up once. "I'd never put the likes of _you_ in a position like that and we both know it." At Zip's stony, defiant silence, Dick's smile crept a little wider. "It's a good offer. You're a smart guy." He paused. "Well… let's be realistic: marginally intelligent. I'm giving you a month, kiddo. You don't deliver, you're dinner."

" _Fuck_ you," Zip retorted loudly, by all appearances already a thousand percent committed to doing the _opposite_ of what Dick said.

With a raunchy laugh, Dick clapped Zip on the shoulder. "All right! Good talk!" he exclaimed. His smile dropped away and his hand gripped Zip's shoulder at bone-crushing strength. "Now get out of my sight you repulsive, infinitesimal little crease."

And instead of having him exit the way he'd come in (manhandled by Edgar), Dick picked Zip up with one hand and tossed him through the floor-to-ceiling glass window to fly out of the several-story building, sending him to what would have been his death had he been human. Instead, Zip was left to pick himself up off the ground and limp away wounded, scared, and upset. He had lost the Winchesters some time ago and had been trying to find them since. Now, he wasn't sure if he _should_ find them because what if someone was following him? But the thought of _her_ made him desperate. He had to warn her, he had to convince her to come away with him. He had to convince her that he was so in love with her that it hurt.

With grand speeches that would convince her of his feelings and cares, Zip set to work all over again to find the Winchester family.


	96. Enemy of My Enemy

" _You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view._ _"  
_ \- Harper Lee

* * *

She laid beside him in the hospital bed as police lights from the outside world danced in through the window and across the dim, vague shapes of the bare, quiet room. Sam and Dean had left twenty minutes ago and it was sinking in: she had chosen to stay here with Cas—she had chosen to step out of the familiar and the known. The future was totally up in the air, and Cas was seemingly gone all over again. In effect… she was completely alone, watching over someone who was probably not coming back.

Castiel was alive, yes, but unresponsive. Eyes shut, breathing slow and barely perceptible, he laid on the bed flat on his back with limbs straight and stiff. Before he'd done what he had to fix Sam, he'd basically said a final goodbye. _Again._ Curled into his side, watching his face in the darkness, Alex was glad no one was there to see the pain she felt on her own face. _Love shouldn_ _'_ _t hurt this much_. That was one of the last things she'd truly said to him before he yet again disappeared from right in front of her eyes. She loved him for healing Sam and saving his life. But she also remembered that he was the one who had broken her brother in the first place.

The red and blue lights droned on and on from the outside world, illuminating Cas's unmoving face, putting Alex in a trance. She knew the police were out there because some poor sap had stumbled upon all of the dead demons she and her family had left scattered across the back of the hospital. Her family left a wake of crime scenes wherever they went—that was nothing new. But usually, they didn't stick around to see the cops try and clean up the mess they'd made. _I wonder if we_ _'_ _ve saved more people than we_ _'_ _ve killed. Is this even worth it at the end of the day?_

For as strong as she'd been feeling just yesterday, Alex felt like she was right back at the bottom of the abyss again. All she wanted was to stop feeling like the ground underneath her feet was about to be snatched away. Was that really too much to ask? Or did she need to accept that things were always, inevitably going to get worse and more painful for her? Was it some huge, divine test? Feelings of numbness and utter emotional fatigue made it hard for her to know how to react internally. It was so ironic, so like fate itself was out to sabotage her in every way imaginable… she remembered how Castiel and herself had been on a bed together three years ago, but how then had been so different than now…

* * *

**Three Years Ago**   
**April 30th, 2010**

Naked, flushed, and tired in the best of ways from lovemaking, Cas and Alex rested tangled closely together. Only a breath's distance apart, they were saying nothing of the brightening morning outside their motel room or the fact that they really needed to eat the breakfast Cas had brought and then head back to Bobby's to face reality. They were both trying to hold onto this warm, soft, close atmosphere they had created, this rare and precious instance in time when they were together and free to be that way. Yesterday was burning bright in both of their hearts and minds—the day they had married secretly in the face of the apocalypse. Cas traced fingers through Alex's still-damp hair from her earlier shower, his mouth resting against her forehead as she laid with him and stroked her thumb slowly and thoughtfully against the warm skin of his side where her hand rested. His breathing was deep and soothing to her, his physical closeness made her feel safer and more whole than she could remember feeling ever before in her entire life. And that feeling _terrified_ her because she recognized how easily it could be lost or taken from her.

Alex lifted her head and Cas drew back, she looked into his eyes—hazel meeting azure. "Just promise me something," she said in a whispered request that seemed to come out of nowhere.

Cas's reply was immediate, his eyes grew concerned. "Anything," his husky, deep murmur answered. There was a fierceness to him in the way he spoke to her, looked at her. Like he would die for her, give her the world, sacrifice anything.

She hesitated for a very long moment, her feelings of vulnerability making her almost too apprehensive to ask at all. But when his hand resting against her back drew her a little closer, when his thumb caressed the skin there reassuringly, she was given the courage to ask it. "Stay with me," she whispered, so afraid that he wouldn't. Not forever, even despite yesterday's vows and promises. "Even when it's hard. Even when we don't know what to do."

Castiel's features showed a confusion and tenderness all at once and his hand came to the side of her face as his eyes flickered back and forth between hers. "You are my anchor in this world, Alex," he murmured, sending warmth flushing her head to toe. "…How could I ever leave you?" His voice conveyed genuine puzzlement about how she could think that at all. He paused and studied her face with soft eyes which held all of the heart and soul he denied having at all. "Sometimes I think my entire existence has been leading up to this," he whispered. "To you." He contemplated her and he _loved_ her, and it was so obvious and clear to see—like a magnet, he was drawn to her and his nose brushed her cheek as he leaned in to give her a kiss, slow and reverent, his thumb caressed her cheek sweetly. He took over every sense she possessed when he did that—her entire world became the feel of his lips, the warmth of his mouth, the strength of his arms, the truth in his touch, the fire he created inside of her. When he drifted back, their eyes met in breathless silence—he didn't go far from her at all. He spoke, and he sounded so severely earnest, he looked so in love that it hurt. "I would wait all over again," he confessed. "I would wait ten thousand centuries, ten thousand millennia if it meant I would end up here with you."

Alex didn't know how to reply when he said such earth-shattering things. It was enough to bring anyone to their knees, it was enough to render her mind-boggled for the rest of her life that anyone, much less a creature from Heaven, could love her like Castiel did. "I just don't know what I ever did to make you fall in love with me," she said softly, choking slightly on the emotions lumping in her tight chest. Her eyes began to shine as they searched his. She felt very small in that moment. "I'm scared it's not real."

He touched his forehead to hers, his fingers traced the side of her face. His rough, deep voice rumbled into her when he spoke, that's how close they were. "It's real," he told her. And she had been left no choice on earth but to believe him, kiss him, and remain overwhelmed by her love for him.

* * *

That had been then. This was now. Alex reached down and gently took one of his hands and pulled it up into both of hers as she curled further into his side. It _had_ been real, what they had. It had been innocent, pure, untainted before all of the mistakes and betrayals, all of the lies and the suffering, all of the separations and situations that no one could erase from existence. The two of them seemed so young to herself back then. So, _so_ young, so bright-eyed and stupid and full of heartbreaking hope that would only crash and burn later.

Now they were hurt and broken beyond repair. They had done that to each other, hadn't they? Was it love at all, what they shared? Or was it addiction, was it fear of being alone, was it codependency? Asking herself those questions triggered a deeply emotional, distressed response. _No. I love him. He loved me. And it was too much for us to know how to handle. It was the kind of love that you read about in stories that destroys lives and burns cities and consumes the people involved. You read it and it seems so romantic, so breathtaking. You live it, and it isn_ _'_ _t the same at all. It_ _'_ _s heartbreaking. It keeps you up at night for all the wrong reasons._

She thought back over the years that had knit them together so inseparably and she contemplated what love really was. Was love how Cas made her _feel_? Was love good feelings and the fluttering heartbeat and the touch of fingertips against skin that craved more, always more? Or was it this? Staying at his side and protecting him even if he would never return at all? Was love what he fulfilled in her, what happiness he perpetuated in her heart, or was love standing at his side even if he never opened his eyes again Whatever love was, she just couldn't comprehend how it could leave her feeling so cut open and raw, so wounded. Why did it _hurt_ this much?

Her attachment to him had always become more and more painful as time went on, but she had always kept hanging on, believing it would get better, believing that the pain and hardship was just the sad part of the romance novel where the couple struggled against the odds until they were rewarded with their happily ever after. But for Cas and Alex, happily ever after never seemed to come. To believe that it would, even a little bit, was absurd, and Alex was quietly, sadly, finally accepting that. If her personal experience was anything to go off of, then life was just darkness and monsters and innocent people being ripped to shreds while no one did anything to save them. Well, no one but a tired and broken bunch of people called hunters. Hoping for happiness that lasted was just a setup for more heartache. Alex had _never_ felt a state of happiness that lasted or persevered—it was always taken away or broken to pieces. So why should now be different?

Alex thought about how she fallen back into Cas's arms so hard and fast today with hopes and dreams of finding the way they were, of overcoming all the brokenness they had fallen victim to, of being _them_ again. But they wouldn't be able to. She knew that now after Cas had said what he did, suggested what he had, made it so clear that he couldn't be with her anymore. It broke her heart, made her feel rejected and unloved, made her regret so much. And still… here she was. At his side, choosing to remain there. Maybe because she was realizing that the way she loved Cas was much, much more than what he did for her or how he could make her feel. Like she had said to her brothers: Castiel was family. And they didn't leave family behind. Not today. Not ever. Even if he had hurt her beyond compare emotionally, she loved him beyond romance and selfishness. Today she had realized that more than ever. But that realization felt very sad to her and she wanted to cry because she still loved him romantically. Very much so.

She tightened her hands on his and studied his familiar, painfully beautiful profile. Even as worries about the future plagued her mind, she echoed the sentiments they had vowed to each other on their wedding day what felt like so long ago. "I'm not leaving you," she whispered, and kissed his knuckle for a long two seconds. In her chest, her heart beat and ached and clenched. She was left hoping he would return, but resolving to stay even if he didn't. He'd protected her silently before she ever knew his name or face. Now, she would protect him even if he never woke up again. If he didn't improve or show signs of returning to consciousness in a few weeks, she would haul his comatose ass to the mountains where no one lived and find a safe place for him and just… go from there. Figure out what was next.

There was a sudden, ominously loud creak on the floor nearby. Awareness of danger immediate overtook Alex. Her quick reflexes propelled her into instinctual, defensive action—she whipped upwards off the bed and was yanking out her weapon even as she turned to face her attacker—but she wasn't fast enough, and the enemy had gotten far too close. Alex was hit across the face hard with a fist right after she made a sloppy, unaimed swipe with her blade. With brute force that she recognized as a telekinetic shove, she blindly went flying into the corner of the room and her blade clattered to the ground after it flew out of her hand. Her head hit the wall hard enough to dent the plaster and as the world spun and her ears rang, Alex looked up into the face of an unfamiliar black-eyed demon who looked thoroughly pleased with himself.

"Well well well, Crowley's gonna be _real_ happy with me when I bring him the two-timing angel who messed him up _and_ the bitch who used to suck our blood down like Kool Aid," he said, grinning wickedly. And then a blade tip suddenly thrust into him from behind and protruded out of his middle as he screamed in pained shock. His skeleton flickered white hot beneath his skin and clothing and he fell over dead to reveal a much smaller person standing behind him.

" _Yeah_ … don't think so bud," Meg said almost in boredom, then smiled down at Alex cooly as she twirled the borrowed angel blade lazily. " _Hi_. Me again." She cocked her head to the side and a triumphant nature showed in her features as she put a hand on her hip. Alex was scrambling up to stand and glare. "So… what was that about not needing my help a few minutes ago?"

"What the _hell_ are you still doing here?!" Alex spat, fighting a splitting headache from being thrown against a wall.

Meg made a face like she was thinking _duh_. "Saving your life— _again_." She smiled cynically and then hesitated, warned Alex silently with just a look, then she very cautiously extended the angel blade hilt-first toward the other woman. Alex didn't move forward to take her weapon back yet—just regarded the demon with a mistrustful scowl. "A thank you would be nice, or didn't Daddy teach you any _manners_?" Meg wisecracked blandly. When Alex's face darkened, the demon seemed vaguely amused. "…You gonna try and stab me again, princess?"

"Haven't _decided_ yet," Alex said gruffly, but snatched her weapon back all the same.

Meg had an eyebrow arched high as she watched Alex hawkishly. She stepped back, fending off a possible attack, hands raised in slight surrender—that move proved that she wasn't totally brain-dead. "Quick reminder, _sweetie_ , you'd be dead right now if I wasn't here, so…"

"What do you want, a cookie?!" Alex retorted with sarcasm strong enough to bend a spoon.

"Chocolate chip would be _great,_ " Meg replied in that lazy drawl of hers without missing a beat. Fed up, Alex warned her silently with a severe look and lifted her weapon just fractionally, sending the silent message that the demon better spill the beans or get sliced open if she didn't. Meg's pretense of playful, lofty indifference wavered and she became grudging, almost uncomfortable with what she said next. "Like I said before," she said through gritted teeth, trying to remain smug. "I'm looking for somewhere to shack up. I need _allies_."

Alex's eyebrows were up high. "So you pick the family who you've been fucking with for the past ten years to come crying to for help?" she asked, almost laughing in Meg's face at the preposterous and ludicrous mentality it just take for her to _actually_ think the Winchesters would ever want Meg the demon on their side. "What, you think I wanna make friendship bracelets with you and braid your hair after everything you've done to me and my family?"

Meg's jaw tightened slightly as her impatience visibly took a hit. "No, but I think you doing this whole watching-over-Sleeping-Beauty thing by yourself is a joke and a half," she replied tightly. "I could really float your boat if you'd actually, _you know_ , give me a chance."

Alex rolled her eyes, getting shorter and shorter on temper. "You know what? Stabbing you is sounding real good to me right now."

Instead of looking afraid, Meg looked mildly annoyed. "Okay so chew on _this_ a minute, Nero." The demon's eyes held a challenging gleam. "You apply for a job here so that your little lovesick presence isn't ridiculously suspicious, you have to pass a _drug screening_ ," she said, throwing Alex off balance and surprising her. "Can you do that, Courtney Love?" Meg asked smoothly, smugly. Alex's bravado wavered. Well… yeah. She could find a way to use urine or hair strands that weren't hers for that kind of test, but honestly she hadn't even _thought_ that far ahead about how to stay here with Cas and not draw attention. _Should_ she get a job here? What the hell kind of job could she feasibly get, anyway? If she was gonna be at Cas's side day and night, how exactly would that work with hospital staff interfering and trying to enforce visiting hours? She hadn't even considered the logistics. Meg saw Alex's lessening confidence and pressed it. "Or try this on for size, can you stay awake twenty-four-seven like, say, _I_ can? Fend off curious doctors and nurses in the midst of all your sad _sad_ lady-pain? And just who, exactly, watches Cas when you need to do human things like go to the store and catch the latest episode of Reno 911? Hell, what's your plan for in the morning once the lovely staff here comes in to their room to find some John Doe in their hospital with no paperwork or records of even being here?" She grinned slowly at Alex's total lack of answers. Her eyes sparkled with something meant to be alluring and seductive. "Baby, I'm your wingman," she said, low voice drenched with a pleased tone. "You _need_ me."

Extremely pissed off because Meg was kind of right and had tons of good points, Alex grabbed the demon by two fistfuls of jacket and shook her hard with gritted teeth before shoving her back roughly. "I will never _need_ a demon for anything!"

All she got was a raised eyebrow and a slight smirk. "Gosh, you always this excitable?" Meg asked, voice dripping with suggestive interest.

The demon was definitely under her skin, and Alex hated it and fought hard to act like the little comments and attitude didn't faze her. "Let's get one thing straight," she warned in a hard, foreboding tone, using her taller height to posture intimidatingly as she stared knives down at Meg. "You do what I say. You don't even _think_ about trying to double-cross me. You do _anything_ I don't like and I'm sticking this blade down your _throat_."

Meg's mouth made a little surprised 'O' and she feigned intense approval. "Ooh, that sounds _naughty._ _"_ When Alex was exasperated with the comment, Meg chuckled. "Come on, you walked right into that one!"

And that was how the new living arrangement began. With Alex wanting to stab _herself._

Meg of course never revealed how she'd completely orchestrated the 'rescue' that had just taken place, how she had schemed in order to win a small amount of Alex's trust and debt. She had tricked that demon who she just killed with Alex's blade. Approached him on the street and given him Alex's name and location then followed him so she could kill him and appear to be the hero. It worked. Meg was smart. And all she wanted, truly, was what she said: someone to be on her side. Someone to have her back. So if she had to cheat and trick her way there, so be it. There didn't seem to be another way, after all.

* * *

**Four Days Later**

Even though it kind of killed Alex, she partnered up with Meg. She justified it to herself as a necessary evil. She didn't _trust_ Meg and kept watching for the moment when the demon's hidden agenda would come to light. But all Alex saw was Meg being helpful and resourceful. First, Meg forged and filed paperwork for Cas that stated he'd been brought in during the confusion of the bloodbath that happened in the back of the hospital. While she did that, Alex drew a hidden devil's trap underneath Cas's bed so that if Meg decided to pull a fast one, she'd regret it real quick. Next, Meg got herself hired as a nurse at the hospital. Alex, however, had to take a less glamorous job: janitor. It wasn't a cover job, either. She literally had to clean, scrub, disinfect, and scour things for twelve hours every day. Things she didn't even want to look at, much less _touch._

Meg and Alex butted heads several times a day over a variety of things and Meg's personality got on Alex's every last nerve. The only reason she tolerated the demon at all were the reasons Meg pointed out: she never slept, she could spot demons, and she was less emotionally invested than Alex. It made her more reliable and stable than Alex was.

Working in a hospital had some very strong drawbacks for the hunter. The pharmacy tempted her. Its shelves were stocked with enough opiates to make any addict antsy and hungry for the high. And, of course, learning that Cas had close to no brain activity after a doctor examined him was devastating. They put him in all white hospital patient clothing and it made the situation even realer and worse to Alex. Meg found her crying in the cleaning supply closet on the second day and Alex had hit her in the face with a mop when she made a smart comment. Pills were sadly what Alex turned to in a moment of weakness, and all the progress she'd made weaning herself down in dose was pretty much thrown out the window.

At night, Meg played lookout and Alex crawled into bed beside Cas where she would fall into a deep, physically exhausted sleep. Every night she dreamed the same thing all night long: that he was awake beside her on the bed and holding her close. She tried to talk to him in these dreams because they felt very vivid and real, but he never spoke. Just held her as his soft eyes looked at her and his calloused fingertips traced against her hair and face sweetly. He kissed her tears when she cried and held her close comfortingly when the pain became too much for her. She never dreamed anything else.

Sam called her every day, but Dean was still giving her the silent treatment. According to Sam as of yesterday, they were currently on some hunt with Jamie and Garth. Alex felt a little guilty about not being there with them. During the day she scrubbed toilets and cleaned bedpans and mopped countless hallways. While doing so, Alex had a lot of time to think. All she thought about was how no matter what strides she made or strength she found, she always seemed to end up sad and alone again. She thought she really should have accepted it by now. But every time her world crashed, she was dismayed anew, like she actually expected things to get and _stay_ better or something.

As Alex cleaned the hospital cafeteria on a rainy afternoon, her phone buzzed in her pocket. She glanced around for anyone who might tell her off for using the phone during the job, then ducked into the empty hospital kitchen for privacy. "Hey, Sam."

"Hey," his familiar tenor voice greeted. In that single word, she heard chagrin and wondered why. "So, you looked at a calendar anytime recently?" he asked.

That was an odd way to start a conversation. "Huh? No, why?" She was already looking at her watch and squinting at the date. May the fifth. She suddenly realized why he asked that. Her eyebrows shot up high as she realized their birthday had come and gone and she hadn't even realized. "Oh. Wow." She paused, frowning suddenly at the epiphany. "Are we _thirty_?"

" _Yup_ , apparently," Sam said, chuckling ruefully.

Alex felt slighted and mildly amused at the same time. She had always thought thirty would feel monumental, like that was the year she'd finally feel grown up. And the day had come and gone without her even _noticing_. "Well _that_ was anticlimactic…"

"I know, tell me about it," Sam said, sounding similar to how she felt. "We've been so busy with this case I didn't even realize what _month_ it was, let alone our birthday…"

 _Thirty._ Alex sighed and leaned back against a stainless steel refrigerator. So many birthdays. Halfway to sixty. A wave of depression crashed over her. "Geez, I feel old."

"I know," Sam said, his voice slightly wistful. "We were eighteen just yesterday, you know?"

"We were, weren't we?" Alex asked, reminiscing with a bittersweet longing for simpler days. But had they _ever_ been simple?

"Yeah," Sam said, sounding faintly sad like her. "So, anyway—just wanted to call and say happy birthday when I realized. So, uh…" a brief, awkward pause, "Happy birthday."

Alex managed a faint chuckle. "Ditto, Sammy," she said, then realized she and Sam weren't the only ones who forgot. "So Dean forgot, too? Geez, we're all getting geriatric or something."

"Speak for yourself, grandma," Sam joked. "He's been distracted the past few days, guess you could say."

Distracted by the job or by Jamie? By his tone, it could go either way, but if Alex had to guess, she'd put her money on the blonde. "Yeah. I bet. Where is he, anyway?"

"Not totally sure," Sam answered, but he didn't sound worried. "Long story short, we were hunting this thing called a Shojo—a Japanese, well, _spirit_ spirit and—"

"Like, spirit as in alcohol?" Alex interrupted, highly intrigued.

"Yeah," Sam confirmed with a little laugh. "Had to be _drunk_ to see it. So, you know, Dean had to drink like a whole _fishtank_ worth of booze before he felt anything. It was pretty funny, honestly. What I remember, anyway—I uh, still feel pretty hungover." Alex gave a sympathetic sound. "But, yeah anyway, to answer your question… we're all super trashed and then I walk in on him and Jamie _making out_ like there's no tomorrow," he said with a chuckle. _Oh_. Alex saw where this was going. "And, uh, after we wrapped up the hunt they kinda disappeared. That was last night, so… two guesses what _he_ _'_ _s_ been up to for the last…" he paused to check his watch, she assumed, "twelve hours or so."

"Twelve _hours?_ _"_ Alex asked. That was a long time for Dean to disappear for… _those_ reasons. Alex felt a little unsure of how to respond. "Well… good for him, I guess." She'd always thought Jamie and Dean would make a good couple because she knew them both separately and saw their similarities and how they would compliment each other… but now she suddenly felt weird about it, faintly worried about where it would go and if it would get serious. No one else except Cassie way back in the day had made Alex feel like this. Afraid to be replaced. If Dean really fell for Jamie, like really really fell, Alex was afraid she'd no longer being Dean's number one girl. Her insides felt sort of hollow at that thought.

"Yeah, I mean about time if you ask me," Sam was saying, oblivious to Alex's conflicted thoughts. "Get it out of their systems or whatever." He didn't sound too fazed, so Alex tried not to be either. "So how about you? How are things over there? Any changes with Cas?"

Alex's heart sank further. "No. He's exactly where he was when you guys left, just like last time you asked."

Sam sounded sympathetic. "And Meg's still there?"

" _Yu_ -p," Alex replied, popping the 'p' in exasperation. "And still annoying as _shit._ She needs to bottle up snark and sell it—seriously, she's exhausting. Never stops with the sarcastic crap and everything can be turned into a sexual innuendo…"

"In- _your-_ end-o," Sam joked suddenly, catching his sister off guard with the throw back to middle school humor.

"…Oh my god, how _old_ are you?" Alex asked through the sudden grin he'd gotten out of her.

He sounded pleased with himself. "Thirty. We just talked about this, Alex."

Alex groaned through a laugh. "Shut _up,_ you're _not_ funny..."

He was chuckling, too. "Sorry, I'm sorry, you were trying to tell me some serious stuff. Keep going."

Alex tapped her fingers against the prep counter she was near. "Well, as much as Meg sucks, it _is_ good to have someone here who doesn't need to sleep. Someone who can spot a demon right off. I hate to admit it, but she _has_ been handy…" she glanced around furtively, always on the lookout for any sign of someone following her or watching her. "I don't know about the enemy of my enemy being a friend, but an enemy in the right place... can be useful."

"I'll drink to _that,_ " Sam said, then his voice took on a note of brotherly concern. "Just… stay careful, all right?"

"Trust me, I am," Alex assured him tiredly. She sighed softly, not really in the mood to talk about herself. "So, you're still good? No more Satan-vision or Hallucifer crap?"

Sam grew a touch more somber. "No. It's… it's completely gone. Since Cas fixed me… nothing. No visions, no nothing." He sounded quiet, scarred. "That was… it was the worst time of my life." He gave a nervous little forced laugh as he tried to sound less disturbed by it than he obviously was. "I'm just glad it's over."

"Me too," Alex said, for a minute so stilled at the thought of how close they had come to losing Sammy yet again. He was too young and had too beautiful of a strong, loyal spirit to die, to suffer, to go through what he'd gone through. He deserved better, and she loved him so much for how brave and selfless and tenacious he was.

At her short silence, Sam's concern returned. "You okay, though? I worry."

Alex forced a tight smile and made herself sound flippant. "Come on, Sam, I'm _fine_."

" _Yeah_ , and I'm the Queen of England," Sam wisecracked. Whatever he was about to say next was interrupted by the sound of some other male person close by saying something indistinct and excitable. "Oh, um… Garth wants to say h—" there was a scuffling sound, like someone had taken the phone right out of Sam's hand and the speaker was rubbing against something.

And then, a high, jovial voice that Alex definitely recognized. "Whassup, buddy!" Garth greeted enthusiastically, and she could _hear_ the face-splitting grin on his face.

"Uh, hi Garth," Alex said, jarred a little from the serious conversation with concerned Sam and the sudden cheerful person on the other end.

"Your brothers are pretty fly, I have _totes_ enjoyed the past few days with them," Garth said happily. "Dudes are a couple of standup guys, I'll tell ya that much."

Alex attempted to reply. "Wh—"

"They told me you were off somewhere takin' care of your fella, the trench coat dude," Garth rambled on. "I sure do hope he gets vertical soon, Lex-Mix."

"Um—" Alex wasn't sure if that was supposed to be a reference to Chex Mix or if Garth had just hit his head particularly hard sometime recently.

"Either way, just like I said last time we talked, you call me if you need anything, all right?"

"Ye—"

There was a loud exclamation that sounded like Dean to Alex. "Ooh _snap_!" Garth exclaimed, sounding further away from the phone. "Dean's back from his rendezvous, gotta go!" And he hung up on her without another word.

Alex balked slightly. "…Hello? …Garth?" Dead air. She made a face then glared slightly at the phone. "Fine," she muttered, "didn't wanna talk to you anyway."

* * *

Dean burst into the motel room with a broad grin on his face. " _Sammy,_ Garth-man!" he greeted in a very loud, very good-natured boom.

"Ooh _snap_!" Garth exclaimed into the phone. "Dean's back from his rendezvous, gotta go!"

Sam regarded his brother oddly, surprised at the sudden appearance and Dean's obvious good mood. It wasn't normal: the huge smile that was stretching Dean's whole face and making his eyes crinkle… Dean was… _beaming._ It made Sam immediately doubtful and skeptical. Dean was supposed to be grouchy and cantankerous and foul in the mornings (and, well, all of the time). "Where've _you_ been?" he asked slowly, looking Dean over for signs of witchcraft or something.

Dean just grinned all the wider as he came into the room. He clapped his brother on the shoulder with a huge amount of enthusiasm. "Sam, Sam, _Sam_ _…_ " he said fondly, chuckling and appearing like the cat who ate the canary. He looked wide awake and relaxed, content, _happy._

"How are you not hungover as _crap_?" Sam asked, mystified at Dean's amazingly (and uncharacteristic) good spirits.

Dean's grin widened yet again and there was a suggestive quality to his eyes. "Oh dude, I am, but I feel _way_ too good to care."

Garth was grinning too, nodding and appearing highly approving. "Last night must have been pretty damn sweet, huh?" he asked, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively, egging Dean on.

"Dude, you have no idea," Dean said, then gave Garth a brief, somewhat humble _you know it buddy_ look before he clapped both Sam and Garth on the shoulders and then shook them enthusiastically as if he were trying to shake some of his high spirits into them. "Who wants breakfast? I'm buying!"

"It's _lunch_ time," Sam pointed out unenthusiastically.

Apparently, Dean didn't care. "Come on guys, live a little!" he exclaimed, then smacked Sam on the cheek a couple times, his good mood refusing to be deflated in the least. "What's with the long face? I feel _good_! Let's go get some _eats_!" He gave a loud, boisterous 'ha _ha!_ ' and clapped Sam on the back hard enough to jostle him then headed toward to door, whistling a tune that sounded very much like _Caught Up In You_ by _38 Special._ A little flabbergasted, Sam watched his brother practically dance out of the motel room.

"He always this excited after he gets laid?" Garth asked, appearing amused and a little puzzled too.

Sam shook his head slowly, feeling a little suspicious. "No, but I think it's been a, uh, really long time, so… maybe that has something to do with it?"

Garth shrugged it off and grinned again. "All I know is I ain't _never_ turned down free food and I ain't about to start now!" He bounded after Dean and Sam sighed, grabbed his jacket, and followed them.

* * *

**One Week Later**

Tired and ragged from doing nothing but cleaning hospital surfaces all day, Alex returned to Cas's room to find Meg, feet propped up onto the desk near the bed. She was reading a celebrity gossip magazine and looked up in half interest when Alex entered. "Are all the shitters squeaky clean?" she asked, taunting amusement playing in her low, sultry voice.

Not in the mood—fighting off a case of the jitters as she tried to fend off the shakes, the nausea, and the general hell of needing a hit of Oxy, Alex was rude as usual. "Shut up."

A sly smile played on Meg's red lips. "You really got the _crappy_ end of the deal, didn't you, barbiedoll," she joked. Alex threw down her duffel bag with gusto, her mouth twisting on her face in an effort to contain her fury. "Aw, I think I _upset_ her…" Meg crooned in baby talk.

Alex abruptly seized the bedside table lamp and hurled it blindly at Meg, who leaned to the side cooly and let the lamp hit the wall beside her head. "Shut up Meg, just _shut up_!" she screeched, out of breath and shaking from the sick feeling possessing her body.

Meg lowered the magazine a little more and looked almost sympathetic. "How the _hell_ did you hide this from your brothers, anyway?" she asked. By now, she knew about Alex's addiction. Had made fun of it, joked about it, and generally been a total insensitive bitch about it.

"Trust me, it wasn't easy," Alex muttered, pacing a small circle and wiping her clammy forehead with her wrist. All she could think about was the pharmacy and breaking into it.

Meg stood and put her magazine down. In her nurses' scrubs, she looked the part she was playing. Almost. "Hey, if you need a night off to go puke in peace, I can swing it, sweetcheeks," she offered smirkingly.

Alex scowled at her. "I'm not going _anywhere_ ," she said, and sat down angrily on the low bench against the far wall.

"Suit yourself," Meg said, rolling her eyes.

Alex began to pull off her shoes. She glanced over at Cas and her anger softened a little, her jerky actions slowed. _I wish you were here. Really, really here. Even if you don_ _'_ _t want me anymore. You were still kind of my best friend..._

After a minute of contemplation, Meg inexplicably joined Alex on the bench as she got her left shoe off. When the demon got a dirty sidelong look, she feigned innocence. " _What_? Just admiring the scenery," she purred, letting her eyes wander Cas in a way that looked sort of filthy and made Alex's jaw clench. Then Meg smiled almost dreamily. "I can see his halo, you know…" Alex looked at Cas too, wondering what that looked like and feeling a small sense of loss that she couldn't see it. Meg made a face like she was touched to the soul itself and her voice took on an overly dramatic tone. "Little nightlight is so cute I wanna _die!_ "

"Go right ahead, then," Alex replied flatly, sitting back and crossing her arms across her chest tightly.

" _Ouch,_ " Meg said, hissing slightly like she'd been burned, then she chuckled, apparently not bothered at all. "So. I think everyone upstairs and downstairs knows about what he did," she said, eyes on Cas again almost admiringly. "Who he became. So why's he get a free pass, anyway? He's done things to your family I wouldn't even _dream_ of doing and he's supposed to be the angel here, not me."

That was an observation Alex could have lived without. "You wouldn't understand," she replied tightly.

"Why? Because I'm a _demon_?" Meg challenged cynically. "Because I have no thoughts, no _feelings_? Wrong." She smiled languidly and spoke in a singsong voice that made Alex want to shoot herself in the face. "I started off like _you_ , Ariel. Just a tiny little human who had _dreams_ and _hopes_ and _fluffy little ideas_ about her big bright future in this shiny, new world I found myself in." Her tone lost a little of its edge in favor of surprising darkness. "Didn't get much of a chance to try the whole 'living' thing though, what with being thrown alive into a fire when I was thirteen years old and all." Alex looked at her sidelong, frowning. Meg was smiling again, wrinkling her nose like something was really cute. "Warms your heart, doesn't it?" she asked, but Alex saw how Meg's expression held something besides the constant bullshit. She looked bitter.

Thrown into a fire. Alex followed her assumptions to the best guess. "What, were you a witch?" she asked doubtfully. "Salem witch trials?"

Meg looked vaguely impressed and then giggled like that was a good one. "Oh no. No no. Good try though, _gold star_ for effort." She smiled without showing teeth. "I'm much, much older than that. Like, _old testament_ old—but thanks to my face cream, you'd never know exactly how primeval I really am. Maybe it's Maybelline, huh?" Alex struggled against impatient annoyance—Meg never talked plain, _ever._ And it was irritating as _shit._ Seeing Alex's exasperation, Meg threw her a line. "Ever heard of Moloch? Ancient Ammonite god? Well, back in _my_ day they burned virgins and babies for kicks in his name and for sacrifices to protect crops and family honor and…" she rolled her eyes as if she were insanely disinterested. "Yada yada yada, I'm boring _myself_. I'll just tell you what, sweet cheeks, if the bible got one thing right, it's the bloody part." Her smile wavered, her eyes went off into the distance, her expression held strangely in that half-smile that began to look more like a pained mask. "My dad's the one who tossed me into the flames—and the rest of my family watched me burn to death right in front of them." Her smile was gone completely. "They let that happen to me." Alex watched Meg and for a minute, she didn't see Meg the demon anymore. She just saw a being who felt pain, and it mystified her, it startled her, it screwed with her preconceived notions.

And then Meg suddenly became Meg again. "And so I haunted the _shit_ out of them, and _jinkies_ was it fun!" she exclaimed. "I killed every last one of those pagan assholes for what they did to me. But that wasn't enough—I killed all the priests in the temple and all the worshippers who sacrificed their kids, too. Then I killed the entire village—well, the ones who didn't 'flee my wrath' or whatever. Baby, I made them all _burn._ " Again, a glimpse into who Meg used to be slipped through as she became glazed over slightly. "And that's why I went to Hell. Because I took revenge on people who didn't deserve to live. Because I killed murdering bastards for what they did." Meg stared off into nothing, her eyebrows working in just slightly in an expression of genuine confusion. "I didn't do anything to deserve that," she murmured. "And they burned me alive. I still don't know how anyone could do that, and I'm a demon. I live and breathe evil. And I don't understand."

That was one of the saddest and most horrific things Alex had ever heard. She was silent for a long moment, thunderstruck by this revelation and the pain behind it, the weight. Were all demons like that? Alex had thought demons were made out of people like Hitler, Stalin, and Genghis Khan. Was that not right? Beside herself and fighting a throbbing headache and sweaty palms, Alex had a moment of what she would soon view as weakness and sentiment. "I'm... sorry that happened to you, Meg," she offered, because it was truly terrible and in that moment she really did have pity on her.

When she said that, Meg sent Alex a suddenly flirtatious look and bumped her shoulder into Alex's. "Gosh, you sure know how to warm a girl's loins!"

Face sagging, Alex leaned away, so done with it all. "Please stop."

Her demon companion lowered her voice to a suggestive whisper. "Come on, Cas wouldn't mind if you did a little experimenting… maybe he'd even join us if he ever woke up, hmm?" Meg bit her lip and waggled her eyebrows up once. When Alex just gave a heavy disgusted huff, Meg chuckled throatily. "Does it get under your britches? Knowing you could end up like me someday? Spend enough time in Hell with a personality like yours and you might just be the next Meg…"

Alex was tired. In need of substance. And she said the truth without even thinking. "Yeah, well, you have to be able to _die_ to go to Hell, so."

"Come again?" Meg asked, severely interested. "Oooh, plot twist! Did Clarence _do_ something to you? I _thought_ you smelled kinda immortal. Either that or you were using a new perfume. Who am I kidding, you've never worn perfume in your _life_." She looked genuinely surprised. "Damn." Then a huge grin split her face in half. "Well! This just means we can be BFFs forever."

Alex put a hand to her pounding forehead. "Oh joy."

"Aw, come on Ariel," Meg pouted. "We're not that different, you and me. Daddy issues out the wazoo, family thinks you're a failure, you find yourself on the outside after you picked _angel_ to side with… oh, and we're both _painfully_ good looking, don't forget that." She winked.

Alex looked at the demon in utter confounded horror. "Oh Meg, we are _nothing_ alike," she said.

"Sorry, cupcake, but you're living in complete denial," Meg replied breezily. "Hey, skip ahead a few chapters, see where your loyalty to an angel leaves you." She spread her hands and indicated herself cynically. "Right where it's left me. With nowhere left to go but to for help except the people who hate your guts and wanna kill you." When Alex said nothing and just confirmed her hatred with an evil eye, Meg looked vaguely _vaguely_ crestfallen. "Hey, I may be the spawn of Satan to you, but newsflash: I still have feelings."

"Yeah well go make a scrapbook about them, because I don't care," Alex retorted brusquely, giving Meg a harsh glare. Maybe Meg had once been a human, but she wasn't anymore. And maybe becoming a demon hadn't been entirely her fault, but Alex still believed that angel, demon, or human… they all had control over their own actions in the end. The choice to be good or to be evil. And Meg had murdered, possessed, ruined, destroyed countless people and done close to nothing to redeem herself. She showed no true remorse, and she wasn't trustworthy. Alex wasn't gonna forget that anytime soon.

Meg looked hurt but covered it up with a cool, tight expression. She stood up and made to exit the room, then paused at the door as she made a face. "Oh, gee, I _forgot_ ," she said in a voice that said she hadn't forgotten anything at all. "The urinals on the east wing all need to be cleaned before you're done for the day. Wanna get on that one, _sweetheart_?" And then she left.

Alex sighed in frustration and drifted over to Cas's side, looked at his still face. Bent and kissed his forehead softly, smoothed his hair a little. Questioned her sanity for the millionth time. Then went to go clean more disgusting crap like she had done all day long before this.

* * *

**One Week Later**   
**Neighbor, Michigan**

Most sixteen year olds heave a great sigh and perhaps an ' _ugh_ ' of distaste when asked about the SATs. Not Kevin Tran. He would be more likely to utter a squeak of nerve-wracked terror if you mentioned that exam to him. The Scholastic Assessment Test, better known as the SAT, was his entire future on a plate. It was the difference between getting into Princeton or being relegated to the unthinkable— _community college._

Sixteen and in advanced placement, Kevin was currently stressing himself to the point of gray hairs over college entry essays, SAT test scores, student loan assistance, and the wonderful world of higher education. He had plans, and these plans _had_ to succeed _to the letter_ or he was convinced that he would be the world's youngest heart attack victim.

Kevin expected the absolute best from himself. He did not go easy on himself or believe in 'taking it easy' or 'trying his best.' His only goal in life was complete and total success. As far as grades went, only A+ would do. He refused to miss school even if he was ill for fear of not having perfect attendance. He studied for every test as if his life depended on it. He played cello, piano, and was on the debate team. He was also a member of a variety of clubs: chess, math, and the Asian Society club. Basically, he slept very little and demanded absolute perfection in everything he did. Every second of every minute of every hour was planned for maximum efficiency. If he had down time, he didn't know what to do with himself and he would become overly anxious at all the time he was wasting. Although he was always exhausted and overwhelmed, if he wasn't constantly _doing doing doing_ he felt like a failure. Accomplishments and goals and excellence were what he obsessed over and what gave him purpose and comfort.

The way he lived left little time for a social life of any kind, but somehow, he had landed a girlfriend. She was one of his only friends, quite honestly. Maybe his _only_ friend if he really thought about it. Channing was very similar to him. They had met in Asian Society and bonded over their mutual obsession with perfection and achievement and education. She had very traditional Vietnamese parents who had rigid expectations of her. Channing was very focused, disciplined, and studied harder than anyone Kevin knew. She was just as concerned with academic excellence and achievement as Kevin was. He liked that. Kevin was planning to kiss her soon, but he hadn't found a way to schedule it yet. Also, he was very afraid to kiss someone. He never had before.

Kevin never _would_ kiss Channing but he didn't know that yet.

To him, that Sunday evening was just a regular Sunday evening. He was practicing cello and he was expecting a call from Channing after he ended his practice in exactly four minutes and seven seconds from then (he liked things to be scheduled down to the most minuet detail, if you haven't noticed yet). After he spoke to her for the allotted time, he would start on his college entry exam. That was another source of stress for him. For all his time and planning put into the future, he couldn't think of a single thing to actually say for himself. But it wasn't time for that yet. Right now was cello practice.

Blissfully (as blissfully as a paranoid Type-A person with frequent anxiety could be), Kevin drew deep, soulful notes out of his cello as the bow skimmed across the strings and his perfectly placed, quickly moving fingers crafted the notes for Bach's Cello Suite in G major. He missed a note halfway into the song and his nostrils flared in abrupt anger as the bow screeched across the strings. He'd _ruined_ it. With a deep, frustrated breath he began all over again because anything less than complete perfection was unacceptable to him.

Ah, the things he would very soon ruefully shake his head at. That Sunday, in just a few moments, things changed forever. He would go from sweating over education to fearing for his life. From running for student council to running for his life. He would soon be thrown into a life of chaos, angels, demons, violence, and bloodshed. But for the moment, Kevin just kept getting frustrated at himself over minor, unnoticeable mistakes he made while playing the cello.

* * *

**About Ten Minutes Later**   
**Lebanon, Indiana**

It was early evening and Meg was sitting with her feet propped up lazily on the desk as Alex sat beside Cas in bed and sharpened her hunting knife slowly. _Thwick, thwick, thwick._ She ran the edge of her knife against the blade sharpener slowly, deliberately, remembering how she used to fall asleep as a little girl to the sound of Dad doing this exact same thing.

"How often do you sharpen _Cas_ _'_ _s_ blade?" Meg teased, a ridiculous little smirk playing on her lips.

Alex's gaze flickered up to Meg briefly and she didn't make a reply. She'd discovered it was best just to ignore all the dumbass stuff the demon spouted. It was weird, but she was getting used to this arrangement and found herself almost enjoying Meg's company in the odd moment or two when she forgot how much she hated her. Cas's condition was completely the same. That plan about taking him to the mountains was starting to sound like the next step. Alex pictured herself as an elderly woman shuffling around a lonesome cabin, checking in on the boyishly handsome forever-sleeping angel she kept in her bedroom. Alex thought about how she used to like tragic love stories until she became the center of one.

Without warning, there was a building-shaking huge clap of thunder outside and lightning so bright and startling that Alex sat up straighter and stared out the window as her heart leapt. Geez. That seemed close to here and out of nowhere.

And then she realized Cas was sitting bolt upright next to her.

Her knife and sharpening stone fell out of her hands. Alex almost fell off the bed. " _Cas_?!" she asked, shocked beyond belief, hardly daring to move. He turned his head toward her with odd slowness, appearing to be almost emotionless. Growing a little fearful, Alex shrank back a little. "C-Cas? Can you hear me?"

He saw her then, his eyes curiously took in her face. Then a slow, warm smile spread across his face and he looked suddenly bashful. He opened his mouth, and out came, "Wow… you're pretty."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, a sidenote. Meg is a tough one to write for me because everything she says is always dripping with sarcasm and weird references to all kinds of all-over-the-place things. But hopefully I did her justice. I wanted to create a backstory for her and remind people that even villains were once potential good guys. And people aren't just born evil, for the most part. Circumstance, pain, and anger craft that in the heart. Also, becoming a demon would do it too I guess.


	97. Crazy Train

" _I don_ _'_ _t suffer from insanity, I enjoy every minute of it!_ _"  
_ \- Sherrilyn Kenyon

* * *

Only a moment ago, he'd been in a coma and dead to the world. Then one lightning-strike and thunder-crack later, he was sitting up, smiling dreamily at Alex, and proclaiming as if in total awe: "Wow… you're pretty."

Alex and Meg both reacted at the exact same time in the exact same way to the unexpected comment. They drew back slightly as confusion made their faces twist, and then they chorused unintentionally: " _What_?"

Cas, who had only had eyes for Alex up until that moment, saw Meg and he appeared vaguely startled at her presence. "Oh gracious," he commented mildly, then gave Alex a pointed, conspiratorial look as he leaned closer and spoke to her furtively. "She, however, is _not_ pretty _._ She has a face like a demon." He paused and his eyes narrowed slightly as he studied Meg. "Wait. She _is_ a demon." He paused again then began to grin widely, something he hadn't really done before. The effect was odd and made Alex feel even more unsure. "Oh, and I'm an _angel,_ _"_ he commented softly to himself, then looked behind himself left and right, as if he were looking at his wings. "Yes, of course, how could I forget?" he muttered, apparently pleasantly surprised. On the bedside table, the lamp knocked over and Cas immediately looked guilty like a child would—he froze and looked at Alex as if he were expecting to be chastised. "Oopsie."

… _Oopsie?_ Alex gaped at Cas unabashedly. Had he just knocked something over with one of his wings? But more to the point… _OOPSIE_? That word wasn't in his vocabulary! Something was clearly wrong with Cas. She didn't even think about it, she just did what was deeply ingrained into herself—she pressed the palm of her hand to his forehead, feeling for a fever, forgetting for a brief moment that he wasn't human. "Cas—you feel okay?" she asked, voice dredged in worry.

He grinned again, eyes flickering up to her hand against his forehead—apparently something was funny. "You tell me," he said. Was that a _joke_? He abruptly giggled, a low, sandpapery sound that shocked Alex all over again. Cas didn't _giggle_ …!

Alex sat back a little then looked back over her shoulder at Meg, who shrugged and pulled a face. "Don't look at _me._ He's _your_ unicorn not mine." The demon appeared just as stumped as the hunter was.

Alex looked back at Cas, who was watching her every move with soft eyes that suggested he was having a sappy, gooey moment in his heart. Last time he'd been conscious, he'd been guilty, sad, defeated—and now he was apparently in la-la land. Was this more of the angel amnesia? Like when he thought he was some guy named Emmanuel? "Cas, do you remember what happened?" she asked cautiously, pretty sure her heart would break if he didn't know her again or if he forgot everything for a second time. But she had to ask—she had to know. "Do you… do you know who I am?" she asked, sick inside at the thought of him being a stranger to her once more.

However, his answer was immediate and serene. "Yes, of course I know who you are," he said. "You're—" he abruptly glimpsed what was folded up on the bedside table over Alex's shoulder and he stopped mid-sentence. "My trench coat!" he exclaimed, lighting up and abruptly disappearing out of thin air from off the bed—he had ported himself all of two or three feet to stand beside the bed, and he was taking the coat up in his hands. Disoriented, Alex watched him in confusion. "It's like seeing an old friend again," he said, engrossed in the garment he held in his hands. Alex had washed it as best as she could, but bloodstains still remained faintly across the tan coat. "So many memories…" he murmured softly, rubbing his fingers across the fabric. "Some good. Some very, very bad." He deflated mildly for a second, looking more like himself.

"Cas… what's _wrong_ with you?" Alex asked in deep concern, getting up off the bed to stand near him.

"Oh, nothing," he said brightly, turning to face her better as he shrugged the coat on over his all-white hospital outfit. He straightened the sleeves as he talked. "I heard the most delightful pinging noise just now and—" he looked up, his eyes met hers, and he stopped mid-sentence again. A vapid smile spread across his lips and his head canted to the side. "What was I saying? I have utterly forgotten what you asked me." His eyes traveled her face, contentedness resting across his features, like everything he saw made him happy. "You are every masterpiece created," he proclaimed reverently, that smile never fading. "No—no—much better than that," he said. Behind Alex, Meg made a grossed out, exasperated sound. Cas, however, had spotted something and seemed very immediately enthralled. "Oh. _Oh_ …" he reached out and gingerly plucked a loose hair from the shoulder of Alex's shirt. Completely confused, Alex looked to see what he was doing. He drew the fallen hair away from her and looked at it like it was an amazing treasure. "Look what I found," he murmured happily.

Alex gawked at him uncertainly as he happily contemplated his find. "Um… Cas…?"

He smiled at her and his eyes practically sparkled. "I'm going to weave your fallen hairs together and make something special," he announced, and Alex's jaw basically dropped wide open. _Am I tripping? Am I high right now?_ Cas was yet again admiring the strand of hair he'd found, and Alex literally reached over and pinched the skin of her own arm hard. _Ouch_. Nope. Not asleep having a wacky dream.

" _Well_." Meg said, standing up and coming to stand near Alex with folded arms. Cas wasn't paying attention—he was smoothing Alex's strand of hair between his thumb and forefinger with great interest and fascination. " _Apparently_ boytoy's gone _looney tunes_."

It was looking that way, but… Alex tried again. "Cas, hey, look at me."

He did immediately. "Happily," he said dreamily, his gaze full-on and intense in a moonish way. "I could do so all day."

Meg hid a smirk as Alex's distress grew. "W-why are you acting so weird?" Alex asked, her worry growing with every passing second. "Is—is Sam's crazy stuff doing this to you?"

Cas looked almost drugged, his smiling stupor was so great. "Oh yes, I think so," he said breezily, then saw something on her and became excited. He reached out and plucked another loose hair off the sleeve of her shirt. His excitement abruptly became a studious frown. "I'll need more hairs than this, two isn't nearly enough…"

Alex was getting a little impatient (and dismayed) so she grabbed him by his forearms. "Cas, _focus_ , okay?" She immediately gained his attention and he looked mildly apprehensive about the way in which she was gripping him. His eyes regarded her with growing mild dread. Alex swore he seemed like a child caught doing something wrong. She loosened her grip on him then let go completely, trying not to do anything that would upset him—even as she swallowed down a pit of distress because the Cas standing in front of her felt wrong, she steeled herself and made herself focus. "Do you remember hallucinating before you went comatose?" she asked, because she was pretty sure he'd been seeing all kinds of trippy Lucifer shit in the moments before he had gone in his coma.

"Uh…" he shook his head and looked away from her keen gaze. "I don't think about bad things anymore," he said, sounding vaguely upset. "And that… was _bad_." He glanced back at her then abruptly brightened. "Ah ha!" he exclaimed in sudden animation, and snatched another loose hair from where it had fallen onto her other shoulder as a content smile made his face soft.

"Cas… stop doing that!" Alex exclaimed, starting to get sincerely freaked out at his really weird behavior. He didn't hear her—or he ignored her—he had all three strands of hair together and was engrossed in running his thumb and forefinger down their length repeatedly. "Do you know who I am?" Alex repeated in ever-increasing doubt that made her throat tight. "Do you know who _you_ are?"

Cas frowned quizzically, smiling at the same time, his eyes going upward as he inhaled deeply—he didn't appear to have heard a single thing she said. "Do either of you _smell_ that?" he asked, very enthused about something. "It's amazing!" He suddenly disappeared from in front of them.

"Smell _what_?" Alex asked, flabbergasted and looking around wildly. No Cas anywhere to be seen—her blood-pressure was skyrocketing through the roof. "Where the _hell_ did he go?!"

"Calm down, Barbie," Meg said, forever calm and judgmental. "He probably went to the garden or the kitchen if he smells something." She paused to consider something less pleasant. "Or… maybe to the pisser. But let's hope he doesn't think human urine and excrement smells amazing. Wouldn't put it past the little hair-thief though. He's like the naked guy at the rave, am I right?" Meg was a touch entertained, which pissed Alex off.

She tossed an irritated, short-tempered glare at the demon as she brushed by. "Shut up, Meg, we gotta find him."

First stop, kitchen. No Castiel. Second stop, the little flower garden that was near the hospice wing. Even though it was night time, the area was illuminated sparingly by landscaping lighting. Cas, in his hospital uniform and trench coat, was standing at a zinnia bush and had a bright orange bloom cupped in his hand as he admired it in complete captivation. Relieved that Cas hadn't disappeared to Bulgaria or something, Alex hurried over to him. "Isn't it amazing?" he asked gently and happily, even as his flustered companion came to a stop near him. "Life, growth, beauty. Right next to a place where people come to die."

A little taken aback at his casual reference to hospice, Alex said nothing, and Meg, drifting up behind Alex, took the opportunity to make a comment. "Geez Louise, kinda morbid, isn't he?"

Cas completely ignored Meg and produced a white daisy from his other hand and offered it to a dubious, taken aback Alex. "I picked this for you," he told her hopefully, coming off like a schoolboy with a crush. "The prettiest one for the prettiest one." She hesitated then took it slowly and uncertainly as he stood there and his love-filled eyes drank her in and his little smile became more and more sappy. "My beautiful bride of three years…" he murmured adoringly.

When he said that, a weight lifted off her shoulders. He _did_ know who she was. Alex's heart seemed to unclench a little from where it had been held tight. Even though high anxiety remained, relief flooded her at the same time.

"…Your _bride_?" Meg asked as she pulled a ridiculously confused face as she apparently decided that Cas was more insane than she'd initially thought. Alex realized… _oh yeah_. Meg still didn't know that little detail about them.

"Be quiet, demon, I am attempting to romance my wife," Cas said offhandedly, never once looking away from Alex.

Meg's face suggested she was beside herself and starting to wonder if Castiel was for real. Her thick eyebrows shot up high as she looked at Alex expectantly. " _Wife_?"

Her bottled up annoyance with the demon came out in a surge of temper. "Not _now_ Meg!" Alex snapped, turning slightly and thwacking the demon across the chest by throwing her arm out.

" _Ow_!" Meg protested indignantly.

"Oh that didn't _hurt!_ " Alex retorted peevishly, sounding like a ten year old.

"Don't like fighting," Cas said, backing up and eyeing them with extreme trepidation. And suddenly, his attention was grabbed as something small flew by his face. "Oh, a honeybee!" His face looked years younger and softer. "Where do you think he's going?" Cas began to wander after the bee toward the far side of the garden. "Why is this creature out at this time of night?" he asked, apparently to himself. "So curious. Isn't he the most amazing thing you've ever seen?" He paused and gave Alex a little look and smile over his shoulder. "Well, next to you of course." He crouched and watched the bee doing whatever the bee was doing inside a low patch of flowers. "Did you know that honeybees represent only a small fraction of the roughly twenty thousand known species of bees?" he asked, seeming intrigued by the fact himself. "Simply astounding." He abruptly frowned curiously. "But… what do we even _need_ that many species of bees for…?"

Alex followed him at a safe distance, trying to pace herself and remain calm in the face of his odd, unsettling rambling. "Cas, I need you to focus, please—"

He smiled off at nothing contentedly. "I can _smell_ the life here, the molecules and atoms are just bursting with possibility," he continued, sounding incredibly tranquil and fulfilled. "Everything is buzzing." He paused and frowned slightly. "Or maybe that's just the bees." He turned his ear downward, like he was listening to the ground.

"Cas—"

"I think it would be nice to be a honeybee, don't you?" he asked, not looking at her as he stood up slowly. He was watching the garden with bright eyes. "Besides the ability to make honey, I could also create beeswax by secreting it from a series of glands which, of course, I would have were I in fact a honeybee," he said as if he were talking about the most normal, everyday stuff on earth. Alex listened with growing incredulous despair. "Also, pollination would be a marvelous occurrence to be part of, don't you think?" Cas rambled on and on, sounding crazier and crazier and so _calm_ about it. "But of course there would be the all-nectar diet, would I even like that? I don't know how nectar tastes. Hmm… where can I try some nectar?"

His verbal nonsense was mind-boggling. " _Cas_!" Alex nearly screeched, grabbing him and shaking a little. "Snap out of it!"

He looked like he'd been slapped across the face. "Don't like yelling," he said meekly, then disappeared out of her grip and was, yet again, gone and nowhere to be seen. Alex threw her empty hands up in frustration and let out a groan of distress at herself. Shit. _This was nuts_ _—_ _completely nuts!_ She wasn't exactly angry, she was just freaked out and tired as crap, hungry, confused, and Cas was… _this._ She had expected him to either _never_ wake up or to wake up with a broken, tortured emotional shell. And he was… flighty and daydreaming about turning into a honeybee? Call her crazy, but she hadn't predicted _that._ Alex realized she maybe had been too loud and too confrontational a minute ago and shut her eyes, breathed in and out to try and calm herself down. _Okay. Just calm down and focus. Find Cas, try and figure out exactly how far gone he is, then go from there. And get a grip on yourself, geez._ She let out a charged breath through a small, pursed mouth then opened her eyes and turned around, harrowed by everything she was currently, suddenly faced with.

"Good job scaring off the little lunatic," Meg said, watching a few feet off in lofty indifference with her signature arched eyebrow. Her mouth twitched as her sparkling eyes narrowed. "So just when the hell did the first angel-human marriage take place and why wasn't I invited?" she asked, half-entertained and half-suspicious.

" _No one_ was invited," Alex muttered tersely, walking past Meg and back towards the hospital, on the lookout for Cas.

Meg followed her inside, welcome or not. "Well you're just _full_ of surprises, Ariel," she commented, apparently very amused at the revelation. "I bet that was helluva honeymoon, hm? Your brothers know about how you're Mrs. Nutty-Bar or are we keeping this little blessed union on the down low?"

"They _know_ , Meg," Alex replied flatly, craning her neck around as they walked down a quiet, dim hallway. She wasn't in the mood for Meg (was she ever?). But the demon stuck by her side like a leech.

"And while we're on the subject just _why_ aren't we calling our favorite plaid-wearing heroes yet…?" Meg asked, her voice falsely pleasant and chipper.

Alex stopped and gave the demon a harsh look that told her to back off. "Because _I_ need to figure out what's wrong with him first—and why he just suddenly woke up out of the blue," she snapped, irritated a little at the mention of her brothers. "I don't need them for every last thing, Meg." With that proclamation, she turned on her heel.

"Geez, did I touch a nerve?" Meg asked sarcastically as Alex stalked away.

* * *

After checking his room (empty), the bathrooms (no Cas), the dayroom (nope), the garden again (nada), Alex was thoroughly upset. And just when she was feeling like _oh god he_ _'_ _s really gone this time_ she abruptly stopped and sniffed in the hallway adjacent to the cafeteria. What was _that_? She swore she smelled something good cooking, but it was way past meal time and the kitchen was empty. Or it was _supposed_ to be. She stole through the empty, dark cafeteria, picking up on sounds of things being moved around in the kitchen, and then the sound of humming—that low hum sounded like it could have been him. It smelled really good, whatever was being cooked. Cautiously, she stuck her head into the kitchen and sure enough, there he was. Cas was busy and content at a stainless steel countertop, ladling out some sort of batter from a mixing bowl into a waffle-maker. On the counter, there was evidence that he'd made the batter he was now spooning out. There was a flour sack, some milk, a measuring cup, empty egg shells, sugar, vanilla extract, and baking soda. There were two waffles already made, cooked, and waiting on a plate. That low, pitch-imperfect voice of his was absently, cheerfully humming the tune of what she was pretty sure was the _I Love Lucy_ theme song—a show he'd watched with her once in the attic.

"…Cas?" she asked, edging into the kitchen slowly, trying not to scare him off again.

He looked completely fine and unruffled. "I know that you're hungry, so I am making waffles," he announced pleasantly, smiling briefly at her like he'd expected her presence and like he didn't see how distressed she was. "I've seen it done many times before and I know how much you like breakfast foods," he said, shutting the waffle iron to begin the cooking process. He smiled absently at her. "Did you know the great eighteenth century lover Casanova recommended eating fifty oysters for breakfast? Oysters are supposed to be an aphrodisiac." He paused significantly, eyes narrowing slightly. "I don't think waffles are."

A little lost for words, Alex tried very hard not to stutter over her own misgivings. Even his _face_ moved differently, his speech patterns were different. "Yeah… no… they're not," she said, incredibly overwhelmed by his strange behavior and constant disappearances and the weird things he kept talking about. Her shoulders sagged from fatigue and she let out a heavy, tired breath as she rubbed her forehead briefly with fingertips. "Okay, first of all, can you please stop disappearing without warning? It's really stressing me out."

Cas smiled sympathetically. "You look like you need a hug," he said in a kind tone, and came over and promptly hugged her with gentle arms. He leaned his head down against hers affectionately, holding her close, confusing her more. He felt physically the same as he always had: solid, certain, strong, warm, reassuring. Safe. And just when Alex's body relaxed a little into the embrace, he chuckled in his throat and drew back—he had picked up another fallen hair of hers in between his fingers. _Oh my god are you kidding me?_ He glanced at her dismayed expression and finally became interested in her emotional state. "Why do you look sad?" he asked in innocent earnestness, which only broke Alex's heart further. Didn't he know?

"Because… I think something's really wrong with you," she managed in a voice barely above a whisper, searching his crystal blue eyes for some sign of him in there.

Instead of looking worried, Cas looked at her playfully. "I'm with you," he said brightly. "How could there be anything wrong with me?" He smiled encouragingly, then abruptly reached out and tapped her on the nose with his finger, proclaiming, " _Boop_!"

Alex was left blinking in stunned silence as he retreated to the countertop and busied himself slathering the waffles on a plate with whipped butter. Alex put uncertain fingers to her nose. Had he really just booped her? And was he really buttering waffles right now? He was. It was weird—weirder than weird—to see him do that. He then produced a brown bottle and poured syrup on in excess, just the way _she_ always did when she ate waffles. Alex tried to keep the conversation at hand going. Something was wrong with him, this was all too bizarre. "I mean… bees?" she asked cautiously, wanting a sign that there was something stable and real left in the angel she'd known for nearly five years now. "Nectar? …Collecting my _hair_?"

Cas's lips were upturned pleasantly, he drew in a deep, happy breath as if he were outside in fresh, exhilarating air. "Isn't it wonderful?" he asked, ignoring her question—he possibly hadn't even heard it, that's how vapid his expression was. "Rare. Beautiful. The fact that we exist at all. And that waffles have been invented." He set the plate of waffles swimming in syrup at the end of the counter where a bar stool waited. "How long was I unconscious?" he asked, digging out a fork from a drawer and examining it for perfection before he set it beside the plate for her.

His real question gave her a small rush of hope. "A… a few weeks…" Alex said, watching him in what felt like sickened fascination. She would have loved this, _loved it_ if he were more… you know… mentally all there. She'd daydreamed of Cas being domestic with her in the past. And now he was and it wasn't quite what she'd pictured.

"I felt you near me the entire time," Cas said, looking like himself for a brief moment—thoughtful, deep, observant. "I'm glad I wasn't alone." Those few simple words did something—touched her deeply and made her feel like _yes,_ she had done the right thing to stay with him. At the look on her face, he frowned a little, appearing disappointed and vaguely wounded. "You still look sad," he said, then abruptly a lightbulb went off in his head—he lit up like a Christmas tree. "I know!" He pulled out a brightly colored canister from under the countertop. He gave her a sly, conspiratorial smile. "Sprinkles make everything better." … _what_? Alex watched him dump nearly half of said sprinkles onto her waffles and she was frozen, remembering how she had said that _exact_ phrase ('sprinkles make everything better') to one of her brothers just a month or two after getting her voice back. Castiel was parroting her. He stood back and with childlike anticipation and expectancy, he waited for her to eat what he'd made.

Not of the heart to not even sample the waffles he'd cooked for her, Alex tried to stow her increasingly sinking stomach and she sat down, looked at what he'd created for her. And she wanted to cry because she felt like she had gotten him back so briefly only to see him lost once more. Trying not to dwell on her emotional duress, she picked up the fork and mechanically went through the motions of cutting off a little waffle wedge. She stuck it into her mouth and chewed woodenly. It was the best damn waffle she'd ever tasted and yet she could barely swallow it down at all because she was so upset. "It's… they're good," she said faintly, and Cas beamed, which made it harder for her to say the next part. "My… my appetite's not really here though, sorry." He looked confused. Alex tried to do what she'd come here to do. "I wanted to ask you about why you're awake now."

"Because I am no longer unconscious," he replied factually, then gestured at the plate in front of her. "You're hungry," he reminded. "Please, partake."

"I, I just can't _eat_ right now, okay?" Alex said, and her tight tone made Cas appear to withdraw slightly. Alex wet her lips and tried to sound less stressed out and more gentle. "You, you said you _heard_ something that woke you up, right?" she asked as Cas switched off the waffle maker and plucked out another perfectly fluffy, golden-brown waffle.

He set it onto another plate with care and love, apparently very pleased with what he'd made. "Yes, I still don't know what it was and quite honestly—" he looked up abruptly, like he'd heard something. "Wait. Do you hear that?" he asked softly, a grin beginning to grow on his face.

Alex strained to hear what he meant, but she heard nothing. "Hear _what_?" she asked, standing up in anticipation of him about to disappear again.

He grinned at her, and it reached his eyes. " _Music_."

Abruptly, they were no longer in the kitchen but in the dayroom—the area where patients and visitors alike came to spend time doing whatever recreational things their little hearts desired. There were couches, a few tables, a pool table, board games and cards, some toys for children, magazines and books, a television, and a stereo with a variety of old CDs stacked high. Sure enough, music was playing, but it was so quiet Alex could barely hear it _now_ let alone when they'd been in the cafeteria a hallway or two away.

Cas bent and turned it up slowly—it was some kind of oldies, doo-wop by the sounds of it, and whatever song was playing was about to be over. Cas turned and looked at Alex shyly. "We've… never danced together, you and I," he said hopefully. "Not really. Not even on… the day when we should have," he said, then came to her and hesitatingly put his arm around her waist and then took her hand. "Is it like this?" he asked softly, his eyes looking into hers.

The next song began to play—piano, male harmonies, a slow drum beat. It sounded familiar. Alex felt a little breathless at Cas's sudden closeness and intensity—his touch always made her dumbstruck. "I d-dunno," Alex said nervously, a little surprised to find herself in this situation so abruptly. "I—I guess."

Cas, barely hiding his giddiness at what was happening, grinned and giggle-chuckled deep in his throat. He began to lead the way in a very endearingly awkward dance that Alex was basically an unwitting victim to. Just the two of them in a dim dayroom: an unsure Alex, a looney tunes Cas. And a song that Alex recognized from _Back the the Future_ when the men began to sing.

_Oh, whoa-ah-oh-oh_ _—  
Earth angel, earth angel  
Will you be mine?  
My darling dear, love you all the time  
I'm just a fool_ _, a fool in love with you_ _…_

Cas stepped on her feet a few times and exclaimed 'whoops!' and 'oopsie' and then once, with a giggle 'my apologies,' as the song crooned onward. He watched her with very open gazes that unnerved her slightly and made her slightly uncomfortable. But she went along with it and was just glad no one was there to see their ridiculous attempt.

_Earth angel, earth angel  
The one I adore  
Love you forever and ever more  
I'm just a fool_ _, a fool in love with you-ou-ou_ _…_

"Uh, sorry," Alex apologized, stepping on his foot when she thought he was going to move backward but instead he moved forward.

He didn't seem to even notice. "These lyrics seem oddly appropriate, do they not?" Cas observed serenely, smiling at her like he loved her with his entire heart.

This had to be more of the more surreal, strange moments in her life. A few minutes ago she'd been pining for Cas's return as he laid in a coma on the bed. And now… here he was, dancing with her to a song that seemed ironic given the circumstances. The last time Cas had been in his right mind, he'd been basically saying it was over between them, that it wouldn't work and that he was walking away. She hadn't understood then, she didn't understand now, and she thought there was more to that conversation—but they had never gotten the chance to finish it. Confused and forlorn, Alex buried her face in his shoulder and pulled her hand out of his to circle both arms around his waist. Her heart hurt with uncertainty and confusion. Would he always be like this? Kind of off and dumbed down? But at least he wasn't running away from her…

_Earth angel, earth angel  
Please be mine  
My darling dear, love you all the time  
I'm just a fool_ _, a fool in love with you-ou-ou_ _…_

The music continued but Alex drew back and looked at Cas, trying to find an answer to all the questions she had. He was studying her somberly, seriously, and one of his hands came to touch her face sweetly. Entranced by him, seeing a glimpse of who he was inside, Alex's breath caught. He looked like he might kiss her. And she was crazy enough to maybe let him. And then, like he was reading her mind, he became apologetic. "I'm sorry, but I don't kiss you anymore," he said, drawing back and taking her hand and kissing the knuckles chivalrously. "Not on the mouth." He let go of her hand and looked down. "Kissing makes things bad."

 _Earth Angel_ played softly as it neared the end of the track and Alex looked at her husband in dire confusion and pain—he was looking around the room in vast interest, ignoring her again. She saw him, but it was like a huge chunk of him was missing. Like he was just… _broken_. "Cas, what's happening to you?" she asked in a hurt murmur as he walked away to look through the board games that were loosely stored in a large bin near the tables. "I don't… I don't recognize you."

"Isn't photosynthesis an amazing process?" he asked, shaking his head in awed reverence. "When I think about the _design_ necessary to convert light to energy… I'm mesmerized." He paused thoughtfully, fascinated by his own thoughts. "I can feel the vibrations of the universe right here," he murmured softly, as if to himself. "I wish you could hear it, Alex, it's so grand—and, _admittedly_ , strange." That was the first time he'd used her actual name since waking, and it startled her. Cas was off in his own little world though, and didn't notice her surprise at all. "What exactly is doing the vibrating?" he asked, digging through the games leisurely. "Perhaps we'll never know." He paused, then a grin split his face. "Look what I found!" he said, pulling out a beat up Candy Land box. "We should play this right away."

He sat down at the nearest table and began to take everything out in a blissful, cheery way. Alex felt even further devastated. "You… wanna play board games?" she asked. Did he not remember the world they were living in or the stakes they were faced with? "There's… there's Leviathan out there," she reminded him. "There's _demons_ hunting us down."

"And there's a demon standing in the doorway, but I don't let it bother me," Cas said casually—Alex turned quickly. It was just Meg. How long had she been there? "This is a different life now for us, beloved," Cas said calmly, like that was that. He gestured at the board game pieces. "Now, what color would you like to be?"

" _Cas_ —" Alex was getting really riled up but she sat down across from Cas in an attempt to make eye contact and maybe get through to the newly birdbrained angel. "We can't sit here for the rest of time and play _games._ "

Cas looked innocent and completely unaware of her meaning. "Cards then," he said, and there was suddenly a deck in his hands and he was dealing the cards languidly, just like he'd learned years ago. "I remember when you and Sam showed me how to play poker," he said, picking up the cards he'd dealt himself and looking through them to see what hand he had. A secretive smile crossed his lips and his suddenly-coy eyes snapped up to look into hers. "That was the same day that you and I lost our virginity to each other," he said, then set down five cards proudly as Alex balked, very aware of how close Meg was standing. "Full house," he announced in self-satisfaction. When Alex just stared at him without taking the cards he'd dealt, Cas's head tilted to the side. "Do you feel unwell?" he questioned.

Did she feel unwell? She'd spent the past few weeks with a snarky-ass demon, estranged from her oldest brother and depressed about life all over again. The world was full of Leviathans and worse and Cas was awake again but only of the mental capacity to want to play games? "I… I can't sit here and play cards with you," she said, brokenhearted completely, disappointed and spiraling into an inner pit of despair. "Are you kidding me?"

Cas frowned, not seeming too concerned. He eyed the cards. "Why not? The set seems to be in order…"

Hurt, Alex didn't think she should have to explain why not. "Because Sam and Dean need our _help_."

Cas immediately declined. "Oh no, I don't like to get involved with problematic things anymore," he said matter-of-factly. "It doesn't ever end nicely for me or who I love." He sat back and smiled at Alex with a moony, fanciful expression. "Did you know, until the nineteen-sixties, the only reliable pregnancy test was to inject a woman's urine into a female African clawed frog? If the woman was pregnant, the frog would ovulate within twelve hours."

Alex stared at him, dumbfounded. "…What's _that_ got to do with anything?" she asked, voice climbing a little in pitch from growing frustration.

"I thought you would find that fact interesting," Cas replied, deadpan. He peered at her curiously. "Are you going to play?"

She wanted to _throw_ something. But instead, Alex tried a different approach: cutting to the chase and bringing up something she really needed to get some answers to. She paced herself and leaned over the table, trying to tell him with body language and facial expression that she _needed_ him to focus, to answer her, to give her _something._ "Cas, last time we talked, we fought," she said, remembering how horrible it had felt to hear him say what he had and basically reject her after he had made her feel alive and loved after such a long separation. "You said things that—that I'm still not over. Do you know what I'm talking about? Do you remember that?"

Cas looked at her long and quiet, then opened his mouth… and did nothing to help her remaining questions whatsoever. "Did you know female kangaroos have three vaginas?" he asked, apparently puzzled and a little amused at the fact. "For the life of me, I can't fathom what for." He made a face, smiling through a look of determination, switching from one topic to the next disconcertingly. "I think I should learn to play an instrument," he said, sounding incredibly enthusiastic about that idea. "I would write love songs for you."

Alex let out a disappointed, disillusioned puff of air and pushed out of the chair she'd been in and walked off to stand at the nearby window, a few feet away where she could gather her thoughts and not yell at Cas. For all she knew, he had zero control over himself and maybe what she was trying to say to him got lost in translation. Maybe it wasn't his fault he couldn't seem to hear what she said and asked. But god, this was frustrating and painful. And she didn't really care about kangaroo vaginas, to be honest.

Behind her, fabric swished, indicating someone's approach. Meg's low, throaty voice sounded as she came to stand and lean near the window where Alex could see her. "Look, Ariel, clearly, he's off his rocker. Whatever Sam-sanity he took, it's getting to him." Meg's voice lowered a little more. "And come on, we talked about this being a possibility, remember?" Yeah. On a couple late nights Meg had goaded Alex into a few conversations about what might happen to Cas if he ever awoke again. Meg looked vaguely sympathetic about Alex's clear state of emotional trauma. "Strap in, sweetie, I don't think we're in Kansas anymore."

The two women turned to look at Cas, who was sitting at the table with his hands clasped in his lap, looking off unseeingly with a little smile on his face like he was daydreaming about something pleasant. Without looking at the girls, Cas spoke. "We made love in a rainstorm once, Alex and I," he said wistfully, his voice rich with pleasantry and recollection. Alex's expression fell into something that silently seemed to ask _are you fucking kidding me?_ His smile grew and he looked down, then over their way, looking like the cat that ate the canary. "I'm thinking about that right now."

Meg was thoroughly amused at Alex's misfortune. "Oh boy. Isn't your hubby _charming_ ," she purred. Cas was wandering off and he sat down on one of the couches and began to page through a National Geographic magazine with great interest. Meg watched him hawkishly and spoke to Alex as she did so. "Call your brothers, see if they can hotrod it over here, kay? Then we decide what to do with Beautiful Mind over there." She bopped Alex's shoulder with hers. "Buck up, Broomstick. I'll keep tabs on our little tree topper." She wrinkled her nose at Alex and winked. "Say hi to Sammy for me." She sashayed off to stand a little closer to Cas, who ignored her in favor of a glossy spread about Africa.

Alex retreated a little for call privacy and hovered at the doorway to the dayroom, scrolling through her contacts. She wasn't gonna like call and beg her brothers to come save her or something, but they definitely _should_ know Cas was awake. Alex got fed up fast—Sam's name was gone off her contact list. Meg had been in her phone again, she was pretty sure of it. She went to her text messages and sure enough, found her most recent threaded conversation with Sam. Only, his name had been changed (again) to 'the tall one.' Which probably meant Dean's name was now 'the short one.' When did Meg keep _doing_ that crap? Alex swore next time, she was sleeping with her phone under her pillow.

Alex fired off a quick text to Sam, because she didn't want to call him crying for help or interrupt anything her brothers had going on.

**Hey, where are you guys? Cas is awake and something's wrong with him**

Not even fifteen seconds later, Sam called her. Alex was immediately heart-warmed that he was calling instead of texting. He kind of had a sense about these things, though. Sam had kind of been her saving grace lately—keeping her apprised of everything going on with stuff on their end, checking on her wellbeing pretty much daily, making sure she didn't feel left out in the cold or out of the loop, commiserating with her about Meg. She answered the phone softly, watching Cas out of the corner of her eye. "Hey Sam."

"Hey—" his familiar tenor voice said. He sounded surprised and optimistic. "Cas is _awake_?"

She answered cautiously, eyes sliding to her bonkers angel in the dayroom. "Yeah…"

"Wow, when'd _that_ happen?" Sam asked, and she could hear the intrigued frown on his face.

Alex scratched her head and checked her watch then put her hand on her hip, nervous energy making her a little restless. "Uh—half an hour ago, maybe?"

There was a pause that seemed distinctly startled. "Half an hour," Sam repeated. "Huh, okay—you said something's wrong with him? What, hallucinations?"

That was a reasonable conclusion to jump to. Alex watched Cas, who was turning his magazine around in a circle, looking at the pages of his magazine upside down and sideways with a neck twisted far to the side. "No—he's… he's like two fries short of a happy meal," Alex said, trying not to be audibly upset. "Like, I dunno what to tell you, he's um—he's just not _right._ "

Sam picked up on her emotional state like he always did. "You okay?" he asked, and the care there really meant a lot to Alex. She tried to force a laugh, but it came out weird, like a sad huffing sound. Before she had a chance to reply, Sam spoke again. "Yeah, you know what? Dean and I aren't far. We'll double time it your way, all right?"

"Wh—n— _no_ , you don't have to if you're in the middle of something," Alex said quickly, upset at the thought of them dropping something important for her sake but also really _really_ hoping they _would_ come either way.

"No, we just wrapped this one up," Sam assured her. "I was honestly wanting to come see you anyway, and we got something we need Cas to take a look at, so…" he trailed off, sounding concerned on her behalf. "Hang in there, Alex, okay?" he encouraged, then paused. "Love you, all right?"

Ever since she'd given him that letter, they'd been closer. And he'd said the 'love you' thing a few more times than what was normal. Her heart tugged and Alex rolled her eyes against a real emotional reaction and tried to turn it into a joke. "Yeah, love you too, _dork_ ," she said in a thick voice, and heard him chuckle before they both ended the call. She sniffed and breathed out a puff of air, trying to get a handle on herself. She was so, _so_ glad she'd get to see them again. Especially Sam. Dean hadn't talked to her in like a month now, ever since he'd stormed out of this hospital angry with her for staying behind. She kind of dreaded seeing him to be honest… it sucked when they fought. And she felt incredibly slighted by his silent treatment lately. It hurt.

Alex pocketed her phone and headed back into the room. "Eat your heart out, Hallmark," Meg drawled as Alex neared—apparently she'd been eavesdropping.

"Shut up, Meg," Alex muttered. Meg took the evil eye as a cue and she backed off to lurk in the doorway again. Alex sat down near to Cas gingerly. "Hey, Cas?"

He was smiling at a magazine spread. "If mankind could draw with total accuracy, no one would ever travel this world to appreciate its majesty," he said, then abruptly conceded that there was a problem with what he'd just said. "Of course, the modern invention of the photograph negates what I just said but…" he looked up and gave her a quizzical frown, switching topics abruptly. "Why is Meg here?"

There was no short answer for that. "She's been helping me, sorta," Alex said grudgingly.

"Oh, that's nice," Cas commented. "Unexpected, but nice. I trust your judgement." He continued peering at the magazine, holding it sideways.

Alex watched him a second. "Sam and Dean are on their way, okay?" she asked, hoping to get some kind of reply from him. "We're gonna… figure out how to unfry your brain." She hesitated, doubtful. "Maybe."

Cas smiled to himself. "All actions have consequences, isn't it grand, the laws of the universe?" He looked at her, appearing tranquil. "Life is funny. And by funny, I mean strange, of course. Well, and sometimes funny in a literal sense. Like when gorillas urinate on each other out of spite. Have you ever seen it? Very amusing, even I have to admit." He stood up and drifted over to the games again, leaving Alex to watch him in a mournful state.

"Are you for real with this?" she asked quietly, slowly standing as she gazed at him sadly. "Where's the Castiel I know?"

He smiled and indicated himself with both hands. "I'm right here!" he said, then held up a finger like he was about to say something. "Now, the most important question." He bent and pulled out a colorful box out of the game stack. "What's Parcheesi?"

Alex could have wept. And Cas saw that and abruptly lowered the game and became downtrodden. "I'm… not like I used to be," he said, sounding pained and lost. "My mind, it's… I can't get my own hands around it." He held the Parcheesi box with both hands and looked down at it blankly. "You should leave me, Alex," he said quietly. "I'm bad."

Something about that small moment where his vulnerability and pain and mental incapacity really showed itself grabbed her tight and Alex shook her head fiercely. " _No,_ " she said, going over to him and hugging him tight, box and all. "I'm not leaving you." Not after everything they had been through. Not with the way she loved him. No way in hell.

He abruptly dropped the box so that he could put his arms around her, too. Pieces went rolling everywhere onto the floor when the box fell open, but neither of them did anything about it. "You're nice," Cas murmured into her hair. "So, so nice." She could hear him smiling. "I feel inspired," he announced with sudden brightness and he drew back, looked around with animated eyes. "Where is some paper?"

"Paper for what?" Alex asked slowly, jarred out of a brief moment of comfort.

"For the things inside of me," Cas replied as if that settled it.

Alex's face scrunched up slightly. "Uh… _okay._ _"_ She motioned at the sign in sheet at the entrance of the room. _"_ Over there?" Cas bumbled off, eyes set on scrap paper.

Meg gave him a wide berth and joined Alex, who sat down at a table again and put her head in her hands. "They're on the way," she said, probably needlessly.

"Good," Meg murmured. "Maybe Tweedledum and Tweedledee will know what to do with him, 'cause I sure as hell don't." She watched Alex, who watched Cas. "What's wrong with _you_?" the demon questioned flippantly.

Alex couldn't summon any fire to make a rude retort. She was too sad about what had happened to the one she loved. "He's broken."

"And?" Meg prompted, a slow smile spreading across her face. "So are you." She smirked lazily. "It's one of the things I like about you, Cupcake. All that thorny pain and heart of darkness melodrama. Now you two are like the box set." She paused and then gave Alex a playfully lecturing look. "You're actually _surprised_ he's not A-plus on the mental health scale? We all know what he did. Everything has a price, Ariel…" When Alex said nothing, Meg flirted with the possibilities as dark amusement played in her voice. "So you gonna bail now? Hit the highway and find a better, less broken-down angel for yourself? Or maybe you could try someone from downstairs on for size."

"Why is everything such a huge _joke_ with you?" Alex asked, disgusted and annoyed with Meg's constant apathy.

"Because _life_ is a joke," Meg replied calmly. "And the saps living it are the punch lines." She spread her hands and sat back in the chair like she was queen of the world. "Sooner you accept that, the better."

"Good, so I can be like you," Alex retorted. "A cynical bitch."

"Oh, you're not a cynical bitch already?" Meg asked sweetly, then pursed her lips and made an overly thoughtful face. "Yeah, maybe you're not. Mopey, sorry-for-herself, spoiled little baby bitch." She smiled smugly, pleased with the look she'd gotten onto Alex's face. "That dress fits a little better, doesn't it, sweetie?"

"I'd exorcise your ass right here and now if I had more energy," Alex threatened flatly.

Meg just smiled and wiggled her eyebrows once, appearing very pleased with the statement. "Love you too, babe."

Cas was shuffling back over to Alex, and in his hand he held a scrap of paper. He held it out to her with hopeful eyes. "I made something for you," he said meekly, then held it out further. Alex took it uncertainly, then realized he'd written something in his strong, elegant handwriting on the back. She realized, as she read it, that it was an untitled poem.

_No forest can ever be as deep or  
as lush as the eyes of my beloved.  
I am drawn to her  
like a bee to a flower.  
I land softly, lest I tarnish the innocent petal._

She looked up at him in impressed surprise after she had read it—Cas could write poetry? He stood there with his hands clasped behind his back, a nervous expression on his face. "It's about you," he said. "And me. I'm the bee, and you're the flower. It's a metaphor." He paused, and explained further needlessly. "About how much I love you. Which is very, very much." He looked like he was bracing himself for a possible letdown. "Do you… like it?"

"Yeah—" she said, not sure what to say. No one had given her poetry before. "Yeah, it's… it's really good, Cas. I… I love it." He smiled as if in relief and his hands unclasped from behind his back. On a whim, she reached out and grasped his hand where it hung at his side gently. "Thanks."

"I will write a hundred thousand poems for you," he said intensely, then cocked his head to the side as he studied her. "You seem very tired," he said, and touched her head gently, an unexpected contact. "Would you like to me to cuddle you to sleep?"

Uh… Alex remembered Meg was watching when there was a loud snort of amusement. Meg's smirk was very pronounced. "Well don't let _me_ get in your way," she said.

Alex opened her mouth to say something, but then she and Cas were in his hospital room again in the dark and he was busy turning down the bedding. "I love cuddling with you," he said casually as he smoothed the sheets with care. "Even the word itself sounds cozy." He turned around to face Alex, who had a sinking stomach again. He just didn't seem like himself, and it was so hard to see him in this odd behavior. "Words are interesting, aren't they?" he asked contentedly, then proceeded to say a few he apparently found to be that way. "Coconut. Poppycock. Bungalow. Diaphanous." He paused, seeing the look on Alex's face, and he was a little surprised. "You're sad," he observed, growing that way himself. "Please don't be sad, I don't like it when you're sad."

"I'm really glad you're awake, Cas," she said honestly. "But… I don't know how to take you like this."

"I'm still me," he said softly, coming close to her and running his hand down the side of her face then through her hair. For a minute, he transfixed her. Then he abruptly grinned and his hand went low and he smacked her on the butt lightly, giggling when he did so.

" _Hey_!" she half-protested, thrown off by the very un-Cas-like behavior.

"Booty," he said, grinning the entire time.

"… _Booty_?" she echoed incredulously, not sure what the hell was going on.

"It's a funny word," he explained then grabbed her by hers and pulled her close again. "And yours is so nice…" he said, his hand definitely not being shy about groping a handful of hers. And then before she could even register what was happening, he suddenly let go and his smile fell away as if he'd been stung. "But I don't touch you anymore," he said, a self-flailing quiet in his tone as he drew back by a couple steps and looked down, hanging his head and appearing uncomfortable with himself. "It's bad. I'm bad."

"You're not bad," Alex counseled, following his distance slightly.

Cas was all business again, and he grabbed a pillow off the bed and fluffed it roughly like Dean sometimes did. Another thing he must have observed watching the Winchester family for all the time he had. "You should sleep," he said, his tone even and professional and not acknowledging the previous moment of despair at all. "I can sense your exhaustion."

True that, but going to sleep at a time like this was insane. "Yeah, _no_ …" Alex shook her head, still a little beside herself at the butt grab from a moment ago. "I'm _definitely_ not going to sleep, Cas."

He perked up a little and abandoned his pillow efforts. "Back to the dayroom, then!" He said, then grew a little quieter and became adorably hopeful. "I… want to play all of the games there with my best friend," he said softly, stiltedly. Alex's heart fluttered in her chest. He meant _her,_ and it got to her fast _. Best friend._ Maybe other women would be offended if the man who they counted as their lover called them that. But it touched her and struck her as one of the most beautiful things he could say. She wasn't even entirely sure why, but maybe it was reassurance that even if they couldn't be what they were before, they would always be friends— _best_ friends. She could live with that, maybe. His eyes drank her in and he appeared to be contemplating her the way she was contemplating him. "You are the most beautiful woman on the planet," he said softly. "Have I mentioned it yet?"

A helpless little smile tugged at her lips and she tried to hide it. Maybe they _couldn_ _'_ _t_ just be best friends. He said she was beautiful often, but she still didn't know what he meant: She looked in the mirror and saw a haggard girl with a face that was too long and features that were too sharp, hair that was too messy and dry, a personality that was lacking in a lot of areas. "You need to get your eyes checked, Cas," she joked.

Cas didn't get the joke. "My eyes work exceptionally well, I assure you."

He wasn't totally gone or lost. Cas's very doltish sense of humor—one of the things she loved so much—was still there. His love of her was still there, in some strange way. He was different, yeah, but he was alive. He wasn't torn apart inside like Sam had been. Maybe this was the best case scenario. Not ideal, no, but… as long as he would be okay somehow, she promised herself she would be, too. "Do me a favor." Alex slipped her hand into his and looked up at him thoroughly. "Can we _walk_ to the dayroom instead of angelwing it?"

He covered her hand with his other one, so that both his hands enveloped her one. "I will walk with you to the ends of the earth," he replied in a quiet fierceness that came out of nowhere.

Alex hesitated, that same little smile growing on her face despite her best tries to squash it away. "Um… the dayroom is fine, for now," she said, remembering when she had just met Cas and his strange ways had endeared her to him and made her fall in love with him. She felt similarly at that exact moment in time.

He smiled too because she did and for a minute, it felt like they were them again. Cas's smile fell away into a more severe expression that made him look like himself again. "I think anyone else would have left me a long time ago," he murmured, his eyes searching hers deeply and reverently. "I will belong to you until the last breath escapes my lungs. And then even after that." Rendered speechless at the declaration, Alex stared at him dumbly, attempting to find a reply. But then he was pulling her out of the room by the hand, that glazed over, happy look on his face again. "Did you know a boar can have an orgasm that lasts for fifteen entire minutes?" he asked. "Can you even imagine if I was the same?"

They walked down the hallway hand in hand, and Alex's very unsure, "uh…" echoed in the stark space.

* * *

**About Six Hours Later  
3:21am**

First, they played Candy Land, then Parcheesi, then chess, then checkers. In the middle of a third match in checkers, Castiel abruptly insisted on visiting the gardens to make Alex, his 'queen,' a flower crown of all things. As he twisted and tied flower stems together, he quoted awkwardly from Song of Songs, aka the raciest book in the bible. Alex wasn't sure if she should laugh at him or melt away from embarrassment by proxy. When her stomach kept rumbling loudly, they returned to the kitchen and Cas made fresh waffles and she actually ate them that time (they were freakishly good, too, and she called him Chef Castiel, which he got confused about). When she had eaten, they cleaned up the mess that had been left behind. During the entire time spent together, there were the constant weird animal facts, strange nonsensical comments that came out of nowhere, and a general avoidance from him from any subjects of real importance unless _he_ brought them up. Oh, and he still wouldn't stop picking up her stray, fallen hairs. He hugged her at random a few times, praising her continuously, touching her shoulder, her head, her back whenever the opportunity arose. Then, he stood behind her while she washed some dishes and he got very, very close and breathed down her neck while he touched her arms and said in a very smoldering voice that she was 'so sexy.' He abruptly got upset with himself and disappeared. Alex found him after another long search in the tiny little hospital library where no sooner had she walked in than he read the following passage aloud to her out of _Jane Eyre_ :

" _I have for the first time found what I can truly love_ _–_ _I have found you. You are my sympathy_ _–_ _my better self_ _–_ _my good angel_ _–_ _I am bound to you with a strong attachment. I think you good, gifted, lovely: a fervent, a solemn passion is conceived in my heart; it leans to you, draws you to my centre and spring of life, wraps my existence about you_ _–_ _and, kindling in pure, powerful flame, fuses you and me in one._ _"_

He then requested to please watch _I Love Lucy_ and dragged her to the dayroom without anything further. Alex fell asleep there on the couch against him as they watched the old show and she didn't notice when he ported them back to his room. She drifted in and out of consciousness, because he was talking to her nonstop as she laid half-asleep against his chest and he held her there firmly.

"It's so peculiar," he mused currently, on a tangent about his existence. He had been talking forever, mostly about things of no importance. This, though, actually meant something so Alex tried to stay awake. "Thinking back to who I was in the beginning, all I've seen and know," he murmured, his deep voice rumbling through her. "Adam and Eve, the flood, the tower of Babel. Everything they wrote about in the Old Testament, and more. And then of course what they left out."

"Like what?" Alex asked sleepily out of the corner of her mouth. Her eyes were too heavy to keep open but she was trying not to nod off completely. He felt so nice beside her.

Cas began to rattle off things that didn't answer her question, not really. "The Wisdom of Solomon, Baruch, Judith, the Epistle of Jeremiah, Bel and the Dragon, Prayer of Manasseh, Prayer of Azariah to name a few," he said, then sighed thoughtfully. "Things get forgotten. Lost in translation. Lost in time. Time is very vast."

"Yeah…" Alex replied in a muffled voice, barely conscious, barely cognizant of what he'd just said at all. His heart beat under her ear, his chin moved against her forehead, telling her that he was turning his head to look at her. It took all of her willpower, but she forced her eyes open so she could see him.

He was gazing at her already, and his arms, which were both around her, drew her a little closer. "I could hold you like this forever," he said softly, studying her for a very long moment. His face inched forward fractionally, like he was about to kiss her—and then he seemed to slap himself internally and he drew back sort of joltingly and his voice became louder. "Did you know butterflies can taste with their feet?" he asked, jarring her a little. "I still don't know what the use of that feature is." He paused and listened hard, then looked toward the door. "Oh. We're about to have company."

"We're what?" Alex asked, then was unceremoniously dropped as Cas disappeared from the bed—he was now standing by the window and he peered out curiously. Alex sat up a little grouchily and rubbed an eye with the heel of her hand, trying to wake herself up. She usually had the opposite problem—sleeping was difficult because of the Oxy addiction and insomnia was more normal than anything else, but today she'd had a kind of big hit around dinner time and it had made her feel increasingly zombied for whatever reason. She didn't like to admit it to herself, but she was losing ground in that battle. She needed to get a grip on it, stat. Tonight felt like a weird trance to her, drugs or not.

There was a noise at the doorway into the room and Alex protested and squinted as Meg flipped on the lights to the room. _Too bright_. Sam and Dean's big, familiar figures were there behind the demon, and Alex's stomach flipped in surprise to actually see them standing there in person after about a month of separation. "Hey guys!" she exclaimed in breathless surprise, her voice scratchy from sleep as she jumped out of bed.

A dimply grin cracked her twin's face and Sam came over and greeted her with a big hug then he looked her over with a little smile. "Hey."

Dean didn't give her a death glare or a pointedly cold shoulder, but he didn't give her a hug or a greeting, either—he just gave her a brief, neutrally acknowledging look before frowning over at Cas curiously. "Hey, Cas." He looked like he wasn't totally thrilled about being here and wasn't looking forward to seeing how bad off Cas was or wasn't.

Cas turned from the window. "Hello, Dean." No reply, just a wary look. Cas looked at the tallest one. "Sam."

Sam smiled a little, obviously pretty surprised to see Cas in apparently decent condition. "Hey, Castiel."

"Look at you, walkin' and talkin,'" Dean said cautiously even as Cas approached the brothers by a few steps. Oddly enough, Dean's face showed some beginning hints of relief. "That's—that's great, right?" He looked over at Alex skeptically for a second opinion and she said nothing, because she was pretty sure Dean would find out shortly.

Sure enough, Cas smiled slightly, then for no apparent reason, he pointed at Dean, paused significantly, then lowered his chin slightly. "Pull my finger."

Dean looked positively confounded. "W…hat?"

"My finger," Cas reiterated calmly. "Pull it."

Dean and Sam, in perfect unison, turned to look at Alex sidelong for explanation or maybe a go-ahead. She shrugged and made an _I don_ _'_ _t know_ face. Their guess was as good as hers. Dean hesitated unwillingly then raised his hand, let it hover near Cas's, then bit the bullet and gripped then pulled Cas's finger. The light fixture above shattered and the room was plunged into darkness again as glass scattered across the floor. And then, Cas _laughed_.

"Um… _okay_. BRB," Meg said, and disappeared out of the room.

Cas was still chuckling, but he was the only one. When no one else seemed to get whatever joke he was amused by, he explained, a grin still on his face. "Just like when we first met!" he said to Dean, then he paused. "And, um, also at the Vatican," he said, his eyes slyly drifting to Alex as a secretive, coy smile tugged at his wide lips. Her eyes bulged slightly.

"The Vatican?" Sam asked intently, frowning in extreme interest. "Wait, you mean to tell me that was _you_ who broke all the priceless, antique stained-glass windows in their library a few years ago, Cas?" Alex gaped at Sam in horror—how did he know that?! He shrugged in mild defensiveness at her look. "It was on the news, unsolved mystery of the year, you don't remember?" he asked, mistaking her mortification for confusion.

"Oh, she remembers," Cas said serenely, helpfully. "She helped me do it."

The _look_ that came over Sam's face at that comment. Alex's eyes flew to Cas as her jaw dropped open at his lack of discretion. Dean was scoffing, having missed the insinuation completely. "What, you guys decided to go throw _rocks_ through windows in Italy for kicks or something?" he asked, his tone suggesting he thought they were totally lame.

" _Dean_ ," Sam said, obviously feeling awkward—he was just a tad more intuitive than his older brother—he remembered the shattered TV and lights in the motel room that one time that Cas and Alex had been together shortly after his soul had been replaced, and he got Cas's implication about glass-breaking very clearly. He made a face like he was telling his brother to really rethink his statement.

A look of chagrinned realization dawned on Dean's face as he made the connection, too. "…Oh my god."

Just in case it wasn't clear: "It was because of sex," Castiel proclaimed proudly and needlessly.

Alex's face collapsed into her palm as she became entirely _done_ with the moment unfolding in the hospital room. She muttered something incoherent.

"Yeah—uh—we got it," Sam assured Cas awkwardly.

"Say no more," Dean put in, appearing just about as done as his sister was. "Like, seriously. Don't say anything else."

"It was a very beautiful moment," Cas said earnestly, disobeying Dean's commandment.

Alex had never wanted to disappear out of the air as much as she wanted to right then. "Cas, stop," she said in red-faced exasperation. " _Stop!_ They don't need to hear about your beautiful moment!"

"Our beautiful moment," Cas corrected sincerely, looking at her in an affectionate, appreciative way.

" _Ungmuffblug_ ," Alex muttered despondently, dragging a hand across her reddened face.

"Dude…" Dean complained, throwing a hand up, clearly pretty embarrassed himself.

"Hey," Sam comforted Alex however awkwardly, putting an arm around her and squeezing her shoulder lightly as she shook her head and kept her face covered momentarily.

Meg returned at that moment with a spare lamp and plugged it in. As she did, Alex crossed her arms and stood apart from Sam, trying to look more independent. "No more sideshow tricks, Clarence, 'kay?" Meg asked, then turned on the lamp, and the room was dimly illuminated again. "Let there be light," the demon wisecracked.

Cas was off in his own little world. "This could be dangerous," he noted, looking at the broken glass littering the floor. He waved his hand in a dreamy way, and all the glass disappeared instantly.

Dean, forcing himself to get over the awkwardness of the previous moment, tried to regain control of the situation. "Okay, just—just hang on, Cas, _focus_ , okay?"

"You remember who you are, right?" Sam asked intently, sitting down on the edge of the bed and leaning over a knee as he watched Cas closely. Alex noticed he had a backpack with him and he set it down beside himself. "What you are."

"Yes. Of course," Cas said, then suddenly brightened. "Oh! Outside today, in the garden, I followed a honeybee. I saw the route of flowers. It's all right there, the whole plan. There's nothing to add!"

"…You might wanna add a little Thorazine," Sam said, frowning and looking over at Alex, who stood off a few steps.

"He's been like this since he woke up," she said, dour again. She'd felt sort of okay about him in the past six hours, but now with other people present, she was starting to feel not-so-confident.

Cas was smiling at her like a lovesick puppy. "Will you look at her?" he asked, full of admiration. "How is it possible for a woman to be as incredible as she is?"

Dean looked like he would rather eat his own shoe than stand in that room and listen to what Cas was yammering on about. Sam, forever the peacemaker, smiled tightly. "We'll uh, we'll let you know when we find out," he said, playing along.

Cas sighed, eyes still all for Alex. "I could make love to her for years and it still wouldn't be enough…" he said dreamily, instantly taking the awkward factor in the room to a solid eleven.

" _Dude_!" Dean protested immediately, looking completely traumatized. "We're right _here,_ can you not say that kind of stuff?! Jesus _Christ!_ "

"Yeah, just… just save it for the private moments," Sam counseled uncomfortably.

Alex was red in the face and had her lips drawn thinly across her face and clamped closed as she tried very valiantly not to die from embarrassment.

"Whatever you wish," Cas replied to the boys, his eyes still on Alex and his head tilted to the side as he marveled at her with gentle eyes.

Dean sat down in a chair beside the bed and put his head in his hands and apparently decided he had nothing else to say for the moment. Sam cleared his throat and clapped his hands together, signaling that he was taking charge and leaving the awkward behind. "Okay! _So_!" he stood up. "Cas, you woke up just a few hours ago, right?"

"Yes," Cas replied pleasantly. "I heard a ' _ping_!' that pierced me, and, well, you wouldn't have heard it unless you were an angel at the time. Which, of course, you weren't."

"Well, a few hours ago is when we opened this," Sam said, then handed over the backpack in which Alex could see what appeared to be a large, flat stone with strange symbols scratched into it.

Castiel smiled down at the object fondly, drawing it out of the bag and letting the bag fall to the floor. "Oh. Of _course_ _…_ now I understand."

"Understand what?" Alex prompted, craning her neck a little as she tried to get a better look at their pet rock or whatever it was. "What _is_ that thing, guys?"

Cas abruptly chuckled, smiling bashfully to himself. "It makes sense now," he said, studying the stone fondly.

Dean stood up, sounding a little short on patience. He had his arms crossed. "What? _What_ makes sense?"

"If someone was going to free the Word from the vault of the earth, it _would_ end up being you two," Cas said, and it sounded like a compliment. "Oh, I love you guys," he abruptly declared, and he suddenly looped his arms around both of the Winchester brother's necks into a hug. "Not as much as I love your sister, of course," he reminded, squeezing them tight.

"Oh, _u_ _ck_ ," Dean complained, chagrinned and patting Cas grudgingly in an attempt to escape the embrace. "Okay. All right. Okay." Sam was patting too.

"My _family_ ," Cas said proudly, drawing back and holding Dean by the upper arm briefly before he let go. "My brothers in law." His face fell abruptly and he looked very worried indeed. "Well, uh… I don't mean to bring up a subject of dissent," he said nervously.

"Yeah, uh…" Sam spoke instead of Dean, who looked ready to kick something. "You—you said something about 'The Word,'" he said, indicating the stone again. "Is that what's written on there?"

Cas blinked, innocent and wide-eyed and dead-set on avoiding answering questions, it seemed. "Did you know that a cat's penis is sharply barbed along its shaft?" he asked, then raised his eyebrows meaningfully. "I know for a _fact_ the females were not consulted about that." He contemplated his words for a second as everyone else in the room exchanged weirded out looks. "I can only assume a sharp penis would not be pleasant for the female during penetration," Cas supposed, then looked at Alex for support. "Can you imagine if _my_ penis were barbed, Alex? I highly doubt you would find my penis enjoyable during sexual congress if it were pointy and sharp."

Dean looked like he was going to be emotionally scarred for the rest of all time. "Dude… Cas… can you please stop using the word penis?" he asked, sounding a little like he had given up on life completely.

"Would you prefer the term 'sexual organ'?" Cas asked, the picture of innocent inquisitiveness and helpfulness.

Dean practically facepalmed. "Oh my god, someone make him _stop_ —" he muttered, then flung his hand out and made a face. "Cas, please, we're losing ground out there, okay? We need your _help_ , not your weird dick facts!"

Cas, however, was looking at Alex expectantly, waiting for her to answer his original question. She said nothing for a long moment—her expression silently asked _really?_ Cas's features became more and more longing of an answer and totally chagrinned and defeated, Alex heaved a sigh and answered despite her strong desire to leave the subject matter behind. "No, Cas, I wouldn't like it if your…" she made a face like she was being emotionally tortured, " _penis_ … was barbed, okay?"

He nodded studiously, seeming to have suspected as much. "That's what I thought," he said, then looked at the stone again, turning around to better view it with window light. "Oh. This is the handwriting of Metatron," he said softly, his back turned to them.

" _Metatron_?" Sam asked, growing abruptly indignant and short on patience and close to fed up with Cas's strange ramblings. "You saying a _Transformer_ wrote that?!"

"No," Dean corrected his sadly misinformed brother immediately. "That's Me- _ga_ -tron."

Sam was utterly beside himself. "…What?"

"The Transformer," Dean clarified. "It's Megatron."

Sam was even further confounded. " _What_?!"

" _Sam_!" Alex exclaimed in exasperation.

He looked ever more confused and slightly defensive. "What!"

She smacked him on the arm. "Stop being an _idiot_!"

"Me _ta_ tron," Cas said evenly, turning around. "He's an angel. He's the scribe of God. He took down dictation when creation was being formed. I never did meet him. I wonder what he's like…" he smiled and chuckled airily to himself.

"So… that's the Word of God?" Sam asked, eyebrows high.

"One of them, yes."

"There's more than one?" Alex asked, garnering Cas's attention once more. "Like the Ten Commandments? Was that one of these Word of God thingies?"

Cas looked at her as if she had hung the moon itself and he forgot the subject at hand. "I need to write more poems in your honor," he said in a blissful tone. "You're so beautiful, I think I could speak on the subject forever."

"How about the subject of what this thing says, Cas?" Sam prompted a tad forcefully.

Cas's enthusiasm faded slightly. "Far less interesting," he said, then looked at the stone again. "Uh… 'tree'?" He looked at his captive audience, not too bothered by his apparent inability to decipher the ancient writing on the stone. "'Horse'? 'Fiddler crab'? I can't read it. It wasn't meant for angels." He paused and smiled. "Did you know the name Alexandra means defender of mankind? It's fitting of our leading lady, isn't it? So brave and selfless, and always getting back up when she falls down." He looked extremely proud of her.

For once, one of his unsolicited comments wasn't embarrassing or inappropriate. In fact, it was kinda… _nice_. "Thanks, Cas," Alex said, humbled and a little flattered. She quickly cleared her throat and looked at her brothers for answers, trying to stay focused. "Where'd you guys get that thing, anyway?"

"We got it from Dick," Sam said, then rephrased himself. "Stole it, actually. Apparently all his shady deals the past few months—underwriting secret university department projects, pouring money into digs—has all been about this tablet. So, whatever it is… it's important to Leviathan."

"Okay, this all sounds _bad_ ," Meg muttered, no longer content to stand by and idly watch. "What are you two jackasses doing with the Word of God?" She uncrossed her arms and made for Cas from further across the room. "Let me see that thing."

"Back… _off_ , Meg," Dean said, stepping up a little to confront her.

Stopped a few steps back, dark eyes glittering unhappily, Meg's nostrils flared. "Come on, it's my ass, too," she said.

" _Back off,_ " Dean growled, clearly ready to fight about it.

"Dammit, enough of this 'demons are second-class citizens' shit!" Meg exclaimed, voice raising to a hearty shout.

"Don't like conflict," Cas announced factually, then abruptly disappeared. The stone tablet he'd been holding plummeted to the floor, breaking into three huge chunks.

Sam stared at the broken pieces in mild shock. "Uh…!"

"What the hell was _that_?!" Dean demanded, very unhappy.

"You heard him," Meg said, her voice oozing with a triumphant, sarcastic tone. "He doesn't like _conflict_."

"He probably went to the dayroom again," Alex said tiredly, meeting Dean's impatient stare. "He doesn't like conflict and doesn't seem to have any answers for the tough questions, but… he really seems to like board games."

Dean's expression was sour and tired and impatient. "You show me where this dayroom thing is," he said to her gruffly, already heading out of the room. "Sam, will you please pick up the _Word of God_?"

Alex followed Dean out and watched as he marched down the hall to her left. She cleared her throat loudly. "Other way, Dean." He stopped, paused, then turned around and headed back her way, saying nothing, just foul tempered and stony like she'd predicted. Alex led the way toward the dayroom and glanced her brother's way a couple times. He was obviously still angry at her. "So you're still not talking to me?" she finally asked about ten seconds of silence in.

"Coulda used your help here recently, that's all," Dean replied flatly, his tone suggesting that he wasn't very interested in talking to her today, either.

"I've _been_ helping," Alex pointed out.

"What, babysitting a brain-fried angel?" Dean challenged insolently.

Alex quit walking. "What is this, national be-an-asshole day?" she asked, pissed off. "I've _been helping._ You don't have to be such a _dick_." Silence and an eyeroll from him for her comments. Feeling a little petty, Alex decided to push one of his buttons. "How's _Jamie_?"

That two word question had immediate effect. "What the hell's _that_ supposed to mean?" he asked defensively, obviously on guard immediately.

"I talk to Sam sometimes," Alex replied cooly, folding her arms and waiting for Dean's explanation.

He looked like he had never been part of a stupider, more annoying conversation. "Oh my god…" he muttered, then abruptly got flustered. "You two need to get over it, I'm a grown ass man, I can do what I want and it's none of your business!"

"Wow… _good_ for _you_ ," Alex replied in a sharp, slow tone, incredibly impressed with his level of hypocrisy—how could he tell her that and still assume to try and run _her_ life? That was a subject for another day. "Sam says you've snuck off the past two hunts and left him hanging," she said, repeating what her twin had told her on a recent phonecall.

Dean looked like he'd been set up, blinking as his eyes went wide in complete shock. "Left him ha—I didn't leave him _hanging,_ he just spent a night or two alone without me there to tuck him in and read him bedtime stories!" he retorted, then gestured at her with a rude, flippant hand. "First him now you? I _deserve_ something good in my life right now, don't try and take that away from me!" There was a brief, charged silence in which the siblings maybe realized they understood that about each other and couldn't really blame the other for trying to find happiness wherever they could. Dean took a second and then tried to explain it. "I'm—this past year has been complete, hopeless _shit_ and J—" he stopped himself from saying her name. "That girl is one of the only bright spots left for me, are you really gonna try and make me feel bad about it?"

" _Yes,_ _"_ she said, feeling vindictive and like she deserved to make a dig at him after all the crap he'd put her through with Cas and even right now, giving her the silent treatment this past month. "Because you're being a _moron_."

"Whatever, Alex," Dean muttered, and resumed walking again, rudely leaving her behind.

Alex caught up to him and led the way down another hallway, her face like stone. "She was my friend first and if you fuck this up, I'll kick you in the nuts," she threatened stiffly.

Dean gave her a weird look and stopped walking. "What's that supposed to mean?"

What was there to interpret? Alex gave him a bitchface that might have rivaled Sam's best. "My foot. Your junk. Lots of pain."

A little chagrinned, Dean sighed. "No not _that_ , I meant—" he drew in a breath and expelled it again tiredly. "Look. You don't have to worry. I'm not looking to do anything that'll mess her up. I like her, okay? A lot." He paused and looked off, his features softening and showing that he wasn't sure how he felt about what he felt. "Like… a _lot_ a lot."

Intuitive to him in ways no one else might ever be, Alex studied him closely, frowning deeply. "But?"

Dean appeared hesitant and a little sad even if he tried to cover it up with a more flippant tone. "Let's just say she isn't into the idea of longterm stuff. Or, well, like—she _can_ _'_ _t_ be into it." He chuckled briefly out of the side of his mouth in a huff of air and he sounded slightly hollow. "And I mean, I'd be crazy to think I could… that we could… have you _seen_ the life we live and what happens to the people we l—" he caught himself, "that we care about?" Alex stared at him, sort of aghast. Had he almost said 'love'? He kept going, giving her no chance to ask. "The only thing that lasts in this life is family, _period,_ " he said, basically implying there was no need for him to ever try and hang onto anyone else. Then he decided to turn the conversation back around to her and Cas, a predictable defense mechanism. "And your weird, unhealthy, insane thing with Cas I guess. _That_ crazy train just won't get off the _rails_." He sounded so bitter about it.

Alex wanted to try. She wanted to be able to meet in the middle. But her brother made it so freaking hard. "You don't make it easy, do you?" she asked, bitter herself.

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say. "Oh, like you've always made it easy for me," he retorted, face twisting as he scowled at her.

And in that moment, Alex felt despised, hated, sidelined, _horrible._ Unloved by one of the people she loved most in the world. The senseless fighting and hurtful crap they'd subjected each other to so childishly was painful and unnecessary, but now Alex didn't know how to fix what had been broken between them. She just wanted Dean back—her big brother, the one who had chased away nightmares and held her hand when she was scared and put bandaids on her bruises just to make her feel marginally better when he couldn't do anything else. Tears were welling up in her eyes from the stress of the day and the uncertainty of the future. Cas, bonkers. Dean, cold and done with her. Sam, great, but Alex was sure she'd find a way to mess _that_ up someday too. "I hate fighting with you," she whispered abruptly, looking away and down, trying not to get out of emotional control. Her eyebrows worked in together as she struggled. "I'm just trying to do the right thing," she said, and she was and it was _so hard_ when Dean was giving no support to her at all. "You and Sam are _not_ the only people in my life who matter. Cas _matters_ to me—you _know_ he does." How else could she explain it? It wasn't fair of Dean to try and get her to stop loving Cas. She _couldn_ _'_ _t._ She looked at her brother, prepared to see him glaring at her. But instead… he looked heartbroken right along with her and deeply affected by her vulnerable moment.

"Yeah, I know he does," Dean said quietly, sounding pretty sad about the fact. "Trust me, I know." He shifted his weight, watching her glumly as he heaved a sigh. "I hate fighting with you, too," he said, then pushed aside some visible misgivings and resentment and he closed the distance between them and hugged her tight. It was a brief hug, a shaky offer of truce, and when Dean drew back, he made sure she knew that. "Look. I am the way I am. I don't know how to be any other guy. I drink too much, I say whatever the hell pops into my mind, I ain't happy if it's not me running the show. You know how I am, what I'm like. You can't expect me to wanna jump over the moon for joy when you decide to stay with the so-called angel who ganked you. Don't get that look on your face. I sure as hell won't forget about that anytime soon. I don't get how you wanna put yourself in some potentially dangerous situation by choice."

"We're _hunters,_ " Alex pointed out. "Our whole _lives_ are dangerous situations." Dean looked mildly annoyed that she had a good point. A tense silence held between them for a couple beats. "You don't have to be happy about me and Cas or whatever the hell this is but… shoving me out of your life and disowning me?" she asked, letting her very strong inner fears and pains show.

Dean looked utterly shocked. "I wasn't—I wasn't _disowning_ you," he said, his tone gutted and stunned. "Al, I'd _never_ do that—come on, you know that. Right?" When she said nothing, Dean seemed to realize just how deeply his silent treatment had hurt her. "Sorry. I didn't… I wasn't thinking like that."

Alex felt even worse though instead of better and shrugged shallowly, avoiding his gaze. "I mean… I've done it to _you_ , I guess I deserved it," she said, realizing she was a huge-ass hypocrite, too. A total loser. Such a joke.

Dean hugged her again, but this time, it felt genuine, like he'd really wanted to do it for himself, not just for her, and Alex hugged him back, comforted by his familiarity. He squeezed, then let go, patted her on the shoulder, nodded at her, and she nodded too. A quiet truce held between them as they wordlessly continued down the hall—not at a hundred percent in their sibling relationship, but not as at odds as they had been a minute ago. "So, uh—if you talk to Sam, you know about Bobby, right?" Dean asked after a minute, making Alex's stomach clench.

"Yeah," she said, highly trepidatious. She'd forgotten about this briefly tonight after everything that had happened. She slowed to a stop, because the dayroom was just a door away. Alex swallowed thickly, looking at Dean. "Is he… he with you right now?" she asked tensely.

Dean nodded somberly, and drew out Bobby's old, beat up flask. Her heart jumped at the sight of that object. "Right here," he said softly, and Alex had no words. No words on earth. Sam had told her, but it was so hard to believe that Bobby hadn't passed on through the veil. That he had become a spirit. That he was tethered to this object. That Sam and Dean had spoken to him after he died, that he had become what he had hunted. Seeing the look on his sister's face, Dean nodded, completely understanding the thoughts she was currently crushed by. "I know," he said, then pocketed the flask again.

"Just when you think things couldn't get more complicated," Alex said, her mind spinning. She led the way to the dayroom, too overwhelmed to talk about Bobby or think about what would happen to him eventually. She nodded toward where Cas sat at a table in the dayroom. "He's right there," she said, and then stopped Dean with a gentle, worried touch of the hand. "Take it easy, Dean. He's really spookable right now."

"Gotcha," he said, then went into the room. Alex hovered at the door, worry plastered across her youthful face as Dean approached Cas slowly and cautiously. "Cas?" he asked carefully, looking at the guy closely.

"Hello, Dean," Cas said. He had his hands clasped in his lap. The table he sat at had some games piled on one end. "I thought a game would be nice right now," he said pleasantly.

Dean paused, hesitating, glancing back at Alex, who watched closely. "Yeah, uh… do you realize you just broke God's Word back there?" he asked, testing the waters.

Cas was neutral. "I've broken a lot of things," he said quietly. "By now, you probably should expect it of me."

Geez. Dean hesitated then decided _the hell with it_ and sat down opposite of the angel. "It's Sam's thing, isn't it?" Cas did not answer—just smiled vapidly, watching Dean with a kind of creepy gaze. "You taking on his… his cage-match scars," Dean continued. "That's what broke your bank, right? Turned you into this—this—even weirder version of you."

A small, slow grin showed on Cas's face. "Well, it took... everything to get me here."

"To get you where?" Dean asked, face twisting in impatient confusion. "What are you _talking about,_ man?"

"Reality," Cas replied candidly, looking around the room as he breathed in a deep, content breath. "Existence. ' _This our mortal life_ ,' to borrow from Dante."

Dean didn't follow. "Huh?"

"Dean…" Cas intoned calmly, peacefully, giving the impression that he was about to say something of importance. "I know you want different answers."

"You're not _giving_ me answers, Cas," Dean said, his tone much rougher and more assertive than Cas's. "Buddy, I get it. You're one sandwich short of a picnic, but what I really want is for you to button up your coat and help us take down Leviathans—the Leviathans that _you_ put here."

The angel reacted to _that._ "Don't like them," Cas said darkly, his jaw clenching as he looked away.

"Well goddamn, I don't either, trust me!" Dean insisted emphatically, leaning over the table for emphasis. When Cas said nothing and didn't look back at him, Dean sat back slightly, his anger making him short. "You remember what you _did_?" Cas contemplated Dean thoughtfully, that infuriatingly little smile on his face as Dean watched him pick up the board game that was on top of the stack. Cas showed Dean the front of the box. It was the game _Sorry!_

Dean stared incredulously, then Cas shook the box and the board and pieces appeared on the table, set up and ready to play. Cas set the box aside. "Do you want to go first?" Cas asked, by all appearances playful and friendly.

Dean _hated_ board games. But he gritted his teeth and dug in. " _Sure_ , Cas," he said, forcing himself to be patient. "I'll go first." He glanced up at his sister who still watched. She was biting her thumbnail and watching as Dean picked up a card from the deck to see what move he was supposed to make.

Cas turned and followed Dean's brief gaze, and smiled as he gaze at Alex. "She's so pretty," he said quietly. He turned back to Dean and looked at him significantly "Sometimes I forget _how_ pretty and look over and she takes my breath away." He paused, lifting a _Sorry!_ card out of the deck to take his turn. "Metaphorically, of course. The sight of your sister doesn't asphyxiate me."

Dean watched Cas move a piece, so done with this day. "Glad you cleared that one up for me, Cas," he said, picking up another card and glancing at it apathetically.

"I remember so much, Dean," Cas said wistfully, moving one of his pieces leisurely then gesturing for Dean to pick another card. "The dawn of time. The creation of the world. The first steps of evolution." He rambled on and on, alienating Dean further and further. "I remember it like it was yesterday. You know, we weren't sure at first which monkeys were gonna make it. No offense, but I was backing the Neanderthals because their poetry was... just _amazing_. It's in perfect tune with the spheres." Dean looked at Cas like he was nuts. "But in the end, it was you—the homo sapiens sapiens. You guys ate the apple, invented pants. It led to everything." He paused and looked at Dean, then back over his shoulder at Alex. "It led to her. The center of my universe. The breath in my lungs."

Dean picked up a card with more gusto than necessary. Much more of _this_ subject matter and Cas would be back to revealing uncomfortable hookup details again. "Okay, Romeo, you're—you're kinda making me uncomfortable here," he said, pulling a face. "Can we do poetry corner later? We gotta find this Metatron guy. Is he still alive? Any idea where we can find him?"

Cas winced, pointing at the board. "I'm sorry. I—I think you have to go back to start."

Dean looked at the angel incredulously. He was totally for real, and Dean was getting real annoyed real quick. He took the piece Cas had pointed to and moved it back to start, setting it down hard. "This is _important_ _,_ " he said, trying to keep his cool.

"Yes, I know, pick up the card," Cas said, then motioned for Dean to choose another card.

Dean did, but he was really starting to lose his patience for this. He read his card, slammed it down, moved the damn piece two spaces, then looked at Cas pointedly, his tone suggesting that Cas really needed to start cooperating. "I think Metatron could stop a lot of bad," he said. "You understand that?"

"Bad…" Cas repeated almost fondly. "What an interesting concept. Bad isn't a point of view. Some people say it is but I see now that things are very black and white. There is good. And there is bad." He picked up a _Sorry!_ card and held it out as if to make a point. "We live in a _sorry_ universe, Dean. It's engineered to create conflict, it's made so that any choice you make is the wrong one. I mean, why should I prosper from... your misfortune?" He moved a game piece onto Dean's space, then moved Dean's piece back to start, and he looked mildly regretful about doing so. "But these are the rules. I didn't make them."

Dean was really starting to see red as he thought about everything Cas had done and now how the angel so conveniently wanted to just shirk responsibility for what he'd caused to happen. "You made _some_ of them," Dean insisted tightly. "When you tried to become _God_ , when you cut that hole into that wall and thought you could handle it all on your own, when you thought secrets and lies were kosher."

"Dean…" Cas said, and Dean thought he was about to say something important. And then the angel leaned forward and very somberly said… "it's your move."

Dean lost it. He snapped, pounded his fist on the table hard and knocked the board and game pieces and cards in a flurry to the floor. "Forget the damn game!" he shouted. Cas flinched and drew his shoulders up near his ears, he bowed his head down like a child who had just been yelled at.

" _Dean_." His sister had come a few steps into the room and was warning him, telling him to calm it down or she was going to intervene.

Dean regulated himself a little, regretting the outburst. "Forget the game, Cas," he repeated, softer this time.

The angel looked at him, and by all appearances, he was very sincere. "I'm sorry, Dean."

"No," Dean replied, his voice breaking a little with emotion. "You're _playing_ 'Sorry!' Man up, Cas!" he exclaimed. "You can't just do what you did then walk away and pretend it never happened! It _happened_! To me, to her, to my family! To you! Do you not remember, or do you not care? Come on, man, don't BS me."

Cas looked down, considering for a second, then he nodded and sighed. "If you don't want to play the game, Dean, I understand," he said, and stood up, leaving Dean to watch him with an aghast expression. "I'll put it away." Cas began to slowly, carefully gather the pieces and cards off the floor and ignore Dean while doing so.

Dean got up after a few stumped seconds and retreated to where his sister stood. She looked pretty sad. "Is he for real?" Dean asked, and they both watched the angel tidy up the mess the hunter had made.

"I don't know," she murmured, and it was easy to hear how hopeless she felt. "I think so."

"So what, he's… he's just gonna be cuckoo for cocoa puffs for the rest of his existence?" Dean asked, not sure how that would affect things.

Alex shrugged, her eyes still on Cas. "I mean… I don't know." She paused and looked at Dean fully. "This thing was _killing_ Sam." Her eyes went back to the angel. "And it… took Cas. Or, took part of him. He's like a big kid. A big kid who wants to avoid the elephant in the room."

Cas plucked a shiny blue piece off the floor and smiled at it. "Did you know an elephant is pregnant for twenty-two months?" he asked them. "It's the longest pregnancy of any land animal. I imagine it's very miserable for the mother to be gestating for such a lengthy amount of time."

Alex watched him with eyes that betrayed her inner pain. She tried a smile, but it was easy to see how sad she was. "He's just full of animal facts these days," she said softly, brokenly, trying to make a joking comment about her clear, inner pain.

"Yeah I'm starting to get that," Dean replied quietly, and true empathy came over his face. This had to be a damn tough pill to swallow. "Sorry, Al," he said. And he was. Mostly that she was having to feel so much pain on top of pain on top of pain.

She nodded stiffly. "I've lost him so many times," she whispered. "It's like some cruel joke." She paused, her eyes falling downward. "And I'm the punchline." She swallowed down the sour note she was tasting and went to Cas and crouched down, helped him pick up the game. Dean watched them with folded arms, noticing how Cas gave Alex a soft little smile when she crouched to help him. Even now, Cas seemed to react and respond better to her than anyone else. He guessed it figured.

Castiel abruptly stopped picking up cards as he looked upward, a strange, wondrous expression on his face. Alex stopped too, a handful of cards forgotten in her hand. "Cas? What is it?"

A little smile was growing on his face. "Sam," he said, his eyes brightening. "He's talking to _angels_." And without another word, he disappeared from sight alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be honest… I was TOTALLY INTIMIDATED to write crazy Cas! I watched his episodes on SPN and knew I had to delve into it a bit deeper with where he is in SRS vs where he was in SPN at the time. It turned out to be very fun once I got going (even if it's sorta sad, too, he's still Cas, just much… crazier and more childlike and simpler, more surface level). And I had fun learning animal facts for this chapter… I made up none of them, guys!


	98. Prophet Margins

_"Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans."_  
\- Allen Saunders

* * *

**A Few Minutes Ago…**

Dean and Alex exited together to go find Cas, leaving just Meg and Sam in the dim hospital room alone.

Sam silently knelt down and began to pick up the three broken pieces of the stone tablet that Castiel had dropped and broken into pieces. He ignored Meg's presence completely.

The demon stood over him, arms crossed. "So what are you guys caught up in now, hm?" she asked, voice smooth and dark as usual. Sam said nothing, and Meg's face tightened faintly. "I deserve to know, Sam." He pointedly said nothing and continued to ignore her. An impatient little expression twitched on Meg's face. " _Silent treatment_ ," she observed thinly. "'Kay, _great,_ thanks for that." When he still said nothing more, only put the last piece of stone into the backpack, Meg heaved an inconvenienced sigh and walked to the door of the room. She paused there and got an idea then began to smile. " _Gosh_ ," she said in a tone dripping with false sweetness. "I wonder what your brother and sister would think about what the two of us did without clothes on back in the day, don't _you_?"

 _That_ got his attention. Sam looked up at her with a traumatized expression on his handsome young face. Meg's smirk grew, she wiggled her eyebrows at him, then began to walk down the hallway knowing the hunter would take the bait and indulge her in a conversation. Sure enough, his hurried footsteps chased her.

"Wait, Meg! Where are you going?" he demanded as she turned around to smirk at him haughtily. He looked extremely embarrassed and desperate, flustered too. "You are _not_ gonna tell anyone about that," he insisted with a threatening point of his finger at her. "I was soulless at the time. I would have probably screwed anything that _moved_."

"Gosh, how sweet Sammy," Meg deadpanned sarcastically, then sighed lengthily. "Don't worry, I'm not spilling the beans to your precious little siblings about our little tryst, _kay_?"

Sam looked at her mistrustfully, his eyes narrowing. "…Why not? What's your angle?"

"Goes a little something like _regret_ , Moose Man," she said airily, and surprised confusion filtered across his face in response. Meg smiled, a note of reminiscence in her eyes and voice. "I mean, obviously our little naked workout sesh was nice and all and now I know for _real_ you're a loaded gun downtown, Sammy, but… wasn't right of me to do that to your sweet, tight little soulless ass, was it?" She smiled at him coyly.

He looked extremely suspicious. "What, so now you're suddenly miss morals and values?" he asked, his sharp gaze keen on her.

"If I have to be," she returned leisurely. At the abrupt laugh and scoff he gave to her response, Meg's eyebrows rose slowly. "What, demons can't grow and change?" she challenged cooly.

Sam looked like he'd sooner believe pigs could fly. "Don't make me _laugh_."

"Why not?" Meg teased, sauntering a step closer. "I like your _dimples._ _"_ She grinned at him and enjoyed the obvious irritation he showed at her flirting. Her nose wrinkled up like she thought something was really cute. "They're so damn _kissable_!"

Sam set his mouth in a thin, unamused line. And then, a soft, muffled sound somewhere behind him cut the moment off. Sam turned around, going into hunter-mode immediately—he was already hurrying back to the hospital room where the noise seemed to have come from, Meg close behind him. The room was exactly how they left it… except the backpack Sam had left behind with the stone tablet? _Gone_.

"…What the hell?" Sam breathed. Outside, a shadowy, short figure abruptly hurried by the window, clutching a bag. _The_ bag. Sam's mouth dropped open and his eyes widened as panic set in. "Hey—hey hey hey, someone's got the thingy!" he exclaimed, then took off, Meg behind him.

"Word of God, get your facts straight," she muttered, right behind him. Sam sprinted out of a side exit and into the night after the short figure of what looked to be a young, dark-haired girl.

" _Hey_!" Sam roared, and the person with the tablet looked back over his shoulder with huge, scared eyes. It wasn't a girl—it was a teenage asian boy, and he took off _fast_ when he saw Sam's huge figure bearing down on him. The kid could _run,_ and he began to zig zag as he let loose audible sounds of dismay. "Hey!" Sam shouted, running full speed and almost falling over his own legs when the kid abruptly zagged to the right.

"No, stop!" the kid shouted, just out of Sam's reach as he raced on flying legs through the dark hospital grounds. "Leave me alone!" He dodged to the left right as Sam almost caught him. " _Aah_!"

Despite his best attempts, he ran straight into Meg's outstretched arm and went down hard. On his back, stunned, breathless to the point of wheezing, the kid laid there and clutched the bag with the stone in it hard, his face showing panic and fear. "Not a demon or a chomper… what the hell are you?" Meg asked, looking down at him in dark suspicion.

Stuttering in his winded, nearly hyperventilating state, the boy managed a reply. "I'm a... K-Kevin Tran," he wheezed, voice high-pitched with terror. It looked like he was in tears or about to be. "I'm in advanced placement, p-p-please don't kill me," he begged, his dark eyes flying back and forth from Meg to Sam in staunch alarm.

Out of breath and winded himself, Sam stared down at the kid who'd just given him a run for his money. "I'm not gonna kill you," he panted and hauled Kevin to his feet. The kid was built short, slight. He wore some kind of suit looking thing, dress clothes, and his jet black hair was long, especially in the back where it touched the collar of his shirt. He had huge eyes that were currently showing an obviously petrified state of mind—Sam tried to take the bag from him and all he got was a stifled sob sound and no bag. The kid wouldn't _let go_ and Sam tried again, flabbergasted.

"I'm sorry," Kevin apologized shakily, and Sam yanked multiple times, confounded by how strong the tiny guy seemed to be. His efforts only succeeded in shaking Kevin violently and making him give a couple of despairing squeaks. "I-I'm sorry, I, I don't, I don't know why, but I can't let go of this," Kevin insisted, mouth quivering.

Meg and Sam exchanged a look. Both were pretty stumped. Forever-suspicious of anyone he didn't know, Sam turned a narrow-eyed stare onto the kid. "Who are you?" he asked lowly. "Why are you here?"

Cowering and holding the bag for dear life, the kid shook his head, obviously desperate to be believed. "I t-told you. Kevin Tran. I-I'm just a _student,_ " he said, and Sam looked him over carefully, trying to decide if it was an act or what. "I don't know why I'm here, I can't remember how I g-got here," Kevin continued. His expression was vaguely ill and he looked down at the bag he held, his face abruptly showing shock. "Or when I picked this up," he said. He began to breathe harder, puffing like a racehorse. "Am I on drugs?" he asked, staring at the ground in growing dismay. "Did someone slip me a roofie?"

"And the plot thickens…" Meg observed, seeming mildly amused by it. "He's just a _kid_ , Sammy."

A kid who was quickly approaching panic-attack levels. " _Breathe_ , Kevin," Sam counseled grudgingly, not sure what was going on. He tried once more to remove the bag from the kid's clamped arms to no avail—Kevin only shut his eyes and whimpered at the jostling. No other choice, Sam heaved a short huff. "Okay, let's just get back inside and figure this out," he said, and began to steer Kevin that way. Meg walked alongside.

Kevin looked back and forth with flighty eyes at the people on either side of him, waiting a good ten seconds before asking his nervous, breathy question. "W-who _are_ you guys?"

Sam glanced his way. "Long story," he said flatly. "I'm Sam. That's Meg."

Meg gave him a wink that he flinched away from. "Pleasure," she drawled.

Kevin's breathing kicked up a notch again and he stared at the space in front of himself unseeingly as Sam guided him back into the hospital and toward Cas's room. "Is this real life? This… this can't be real."

"Famous last words," Meg murmured through a smirk.

The entered the room the bag had been taken from and Sam maneuvered Kevin over to the bed. "Sit down," he commanded, and Kevin complied, still holding the bag. Dragging a hand down over his mouth, Sam took a second and watched Kevin with a close frown.

Kevin looked back at Sam, childlike dread on his face. "W-what's going on?" he asked, nervousness making his voice soft and faint.

"That's what I want you to tell _me_ ," Sam said, frowning at the bag. "Why can't you let go of it?"

He didn't know, and it was clear from one look in his eyes that he was clueless. "All I know is, this is—it's for me," Kevin said shakily. "I'm supposed to keep it."

"But you don't know what it is," Sam asked, only it was barely even a question. It was more of a statement. Kevin shook his head no, confirming Sam's suspicions. After a second of deliberation, Sam looked at Kevin hard. "Open it."

Kevin hesitated, then did as he was told, unzipping the bag slowly and gingerly drawing out one piece of tablet, then another. His face was puzzled as he regarded the jagged pieces. He slowly, hesitantly turned the one in his left hand and then put it next to the one in his right, holding the broken pieces close where they had been shattered apart. And as the stone touched stone, there was a flare of warm light along the crack and the stone was knit back together where it had been broken. Kevin's eyes widened and he swallowed, vaguely panicked. His eyes shot up to Sam, who was just as shocked as Kevin was. "W-what was that?" he asked, breathless.

"… _How did you do that_?" Sam asked, his tone tempered by the beginnings of amazement and worry alike. Meg, too, was amazed and rounded the bed to stand near Sam.

Kevin's eyebrows were crawling up his forehead as he got more and more freaked out. "I—I dunno."

"It's okay," Sam told him, making his tone more reassuring and less stunned. He paused. "Can you do it again?" He gestured to the bag where the third and final piece waited.

"But I didn't _do_ anything," Kevin insisted, then picked up the third piece. "All I did was put it like this and—" again, when he held the pieces together, they fused back together, and the stone was repaired, like it had never been broken at all. Kevin looked absolutely confounded and stared up at Sam. "Is this some kind of trick someone's playing on me? Where's the hidden camera?"

Sam shook his head, intrigued and apprehensive all at the same time about this boy and what the hell he was. "There's no camera, Kevin."

"Curiouser and curiouser…" Meg commented lowly, sarcasm flirting in her tone as always.

Kevin fell silent and looked at the stone, his fingers brushing over the carved in symbols briefly. He relaxed somewhat, studying the words and then frowning slightly and squinting. "It's… writing," he said, then frowned deeper. "What's 'Leviathan'?"

Sam's eyebrows rose. "Wait, what?" he asked intently. "You can read it? Is that what it says?"

"Yeah," Kevin murmured, eyes locked on the tablet. "I… I kinda can read it. It hurts a little. Like looking through somebody else's glasses, but I think it... it's about Leviathan, how it came to be and… ' _God locked him up far away_?' Like in jail... because they're so powerful and bad… they're…" he stopped reading and looked up, a new realization on his face. "They're real, aren't they?" he breathed.

Sam was grim. "Yeah, Kevin. They—they are. And they're here." Kevin began to get upset again at _that_ little factoid. "Does it say anything about how to kill them? 'Cause that's—that's kind of been a problem."

Kevin's hands were shaking as they held the tablet, and from the way his voice trembled, it was pretty obvious that he was having problems not crying. "I don't know. It's not like reading reading. It—it's hard to focus on it too long…"

At that moment, Meg's eyes went completely black and the lights in the room flickered. "Sam," she murmured. "Something's up."

Kevin glanced up at Meg, and abruptly screamed. " _Aah_!" He backpedaled on the bed, freaking out and screaming some more, even as Meg's eyes returned to normal.

"Kevin, hey, hey, hey. Kevin," Sam attempted to quiet him down.

"Your girlfriend has black eyes!" Kevin shouted, hugging the tablet to himself hard.

Sam's face went completely wan. "She's not my—"

Abruptly, the lightbulb shattered and the room fell into darkness as a new presence could viscerally be felt. Sam whirled. A woman in a business suit with blonde hair and pretty features had appeared. She looked very angry, especially when she laid eyes on Meg. "Demon," she spat, and flicked her hand, telepathically sending Meg flying back into the nearby wall. The woman's eyes went to Sam, and recognition showed. "And _you_ ," she said, seeming cynical and bitter. "A demon whore and a Winchester... _again._ " Whoever she was, she was obviously a threat. Sam edged toward Kevin protectively, and the woman's face showed utter fury. "Step away from the prophet!"

Sam's mouth dropped open and he looked at the only person she could mean. On the bed, Kevin, wide-eyed and afraid, stared. "Who… me?"

"Sole keeper of the word on earth, we are here to take you," the woman announced, an air of importance in her voice.

"What?!" Kevin exclaimed, then screamed as another man appeared close by to the woman.

"Kill the demon and her lover," the woman said to the new arrival.

Sam made a face. _Oh come on._ "Hey, just because the one time—"

Meg, who was getting up from where she'd been shoved into the wall, was similarly disgruntled. "That's not how it—we're not—" The man held out his hand as he approached her as if he were about to smite her. Without warning, Meg whipped out a shining silvery blade and slashed at him with it defensively—he cried out in surprise and fell back, cupping his palm, which glowed with white-blue light. Sam swallowed. They were _angels._

"Where did you get that?!" the female angel demanded, bearing down on Meg angrily.

A sound of wings came, and everyone in the room turned to see a pleasant looking Castiel, who gazed around at the hostile situation with a vapid, friendly smile on his face.

The male angel who had been injured looked as though he had seen a ghost. "… _Castiel_?"

A childlike grin grew on Cas's face. "Hi."

The other angel smiled, his face showing genuine surprise and affection. "You're _alive_?"

Castiel grinned all the wider and ducked his head down in a humble shrug as he spread his arms briefly.

The female angel did not look as happy to see him. "How?" she asked, face slack in shock. "You were supposed to be _dead._ _"_

"Well… it would appear that I'm not," Cas said, his tone and expression playful. As she walked over to him, an unhappy expression on his face, Cas's smile fell a little. "Hello, Hester."

"You smote thousands in Heaven," she accused, looking at him mistrustfully as she drifted closer and closer. "You gave a big, scary speech, then you were gone." Her face twisted and she suddenly shouted. "What the hell was _that_?!"

"Rude, for one thing," Cas replied, appearing appropriately regretful.

"… _Rude_?" Hester repeated in disbelief.

"Where have you been?" the other male angel asked, much more concerned and empathetic than Hester was.

And then at the doorway, there was a commotion as Alex skidded into view, breathless and disheveled from running—her angel blade was clenched in her hand and her expression was sort of fierce. She wasted no time in rushing into the room and pulling Cas back from Hester, whose stance was clearly threatening.

"What's going on here?" she asked, her guarded eyes flickering over everyone in the room and resting on Kevin's quietly whimpering, huddled figure for a beat longer than everyone else.

Cas smiled at her and touched her shoulder affectionately. "Everything's fine, I'm just catching up with, with some old friends!" He grinned over at Hester, who looked like she'd never heard anything more ridiculous. Cas returned his gaze to Alex. "But it's very nice of you to come to my aide… you're so nice to me, _gosh_." He abruptly noticed a loose hair stuck to her shirt along the upper chest and forgot everything else, reached for it. "Ooh, another hair for my project…"

"Stop that!" Alex said, smacking his hand away. Cas looked surprised and stung.

Hester looked at Alex with narrowed eyes and clear distaste. "I remember you," she said icily, then raised her voice to speak to the other angel in the room. "He's been with _her,_ Inias _._ His disgusting little human _whore_."

Indignant, Alex made a face. "… _Excuse_ me?"

Cas, smiling the entire time, chuckled and looked at Hester in over politeness. "Um, pardon, but I'm afraid you just insulted my wife. That was a very rude thing to say. Apologize immediately, please."

Hester's sour eyes flickered to Cas. "Your _wife._ " she repeated with disdain and disbelief. "Castiel… the madness has gone on long _enough,_ " she insisted, voice rising with emotion. "You want me to _apologize_ to you? After what you _did_? After the ways this _human_ and her family have influenced your mind to perversity and lowness and blasphemy?!"

Cas looked like he had trouble following everything she said and he wasn't sure what answer she wanted. "Um… yes?" he asked, innocent and wide-eyed.

"I will not!" Hester thundered. "I want you to _explain_ yourself!"

Sadness abruptly showed on Cas's face. "Oh, Hester, Inias… I... I know you want something— _answers_." He scrambled for words, looking more and more unsure and lost every second. "I... I wish it could be that simple… but… I'm afraid I just don't—" his face worked hard in a thoughtful frown before he became overly helpful and increasingly animated. "There are still many things I can teach you. I can offer, um, well, _perspective!_ And perhaps a demonstration of what _not_ to do." He grinned self-consciously. "Oops." He abruptly seemed to get a bright idea. "Oh, here!" Cas pointed his finger at her and waited, smiling. "Pull my finger." When all Hester did was look at him strangely, Cas began to lose confidence. "Uh… uh... the demon will—will get another lightbulb, and I'll—I'll blow it out again and, well, this time, it'll be _funny_ and—and we'll all look back and laugh because it was such an adorable moment." He waited hopefully, an expression of slight fear resting on his face.

Hester looked like she had heard enough. "…You're _insane_."

When the angel advanced on Cas, Alex's angel blade shot up, tip-first, even as she pushed Cas back and stood between him and Hester. " _Don_ _'_ _t,_ " she warned, deadly.

Nearby, Sam was stiff as a board, holding his breath, eyeing Meg's angel blade and trying to calculate how fast he could get to it even as Hester sneered. "Like _you_ could knife fight an angel."

"She doesn't have to," came a new voice. Everyone looked to see Dean with a severe expression in the doorway. "Heads up, Sunshine." He slammed his hand to the wall just outside the room, and when he did, the room went white hot with light too bright to bear and loud pained shrieks echoed as the angels were all sent flying away.

Alex's hand lowered from in front of her eyes as her blade drifted downward—the angel she'd been threatening was gone and she was vaguely stunned. Cas was gone too, and the look on her face said it all. "You're _welcome,_ " Dean muttered gruffly as he sauntered into the room. "All angels blown back to their corners. We got three, four hours tops."

His sister stared at his cut-open palm where blood dripped, her expression mystified and slightly riled. "How did you even have time t—"

" _What's happening_?!" Kevin abruptly shouted, shaking on the bed like a terrified puppy. He panted with whimpering sounds, his arms clenching the tablet harder than necessary as he looked around the room occupants with wild, crazed eyes. "WHAT'S— _HAPPENING_?!"

Dean looked at Kevin with a slight frown, standing back fractionally like he might catch something. "What is that?"

"It's, uh... Kevin Tran," Sam supplied a little awkwardly. "He's, uh, in advanced placement."

Alex watched the kid huffing and puffing as he stared at his own feet. "Looks more like he's in _shock,_ " she said, then attempted to catch his eyes. "You okay, kid?"

"No!" Kevin shrieked. "No, no, _no_! I'm not okay! What—is— _happening_?!" he demanded at a full-tilt scream. All three Winchesters stood back slightly because of his ear-splitting volume. Kevin took a couple seconds to pant hard. "Someone please explain why people are appearing and disappearing out of thin air and why she has black eyes and why that one guy's hand glowed and why I can't let go of this huge rock full of scary writing!" he rambled frantically.

"Wait, what?" Dean's eyebrows slammed together as his gaze rocketed to Sam. "Can't let go of the rock?"

"The angels called him a prophet, said they were here to take him away," Sam explained with an ill-informed shrug.

Dean looked vaguely sick, his voice softening a little. "Oh my god, how old is he, like seventeen?"

" _Sixteen_!" Kevin exclaimed tremulously, agitated to the point of collapse. "I'm sixteen and in school and I shouldn't be here!" His face went slack, like he was realizing just how bizarre the circumstances he was in were. "I… I need to get outta here!" He jumped out of bed, crazed—and was immediately stopped by someone who had nearly a foot of height on him.

Sam gently manhandled him back down into a sitting position on the bed. "Sit down, Kevin. _Breathe_."

Kevin did, but breathing seemed to be a huge, laborious effort for him. "Sorry, Kevin… right?" Alex chanced, eyeing him carefully. He seemed like he was on a delicate ledge of a mental break or at the very least passing out. But his huge, scared eyes raised to look into hers. He looked so _young_. So afraid. And Alex really didn't know what to say to him except the truth. "If angels are after you, the last place you wanna be is out there on your own."

More fear flared in his eyes. "W-who _are_ you people?!" Kevin asked, face twisting in distress. "What's _going on_?!"

Dean rubbed his forehead tiredly with his clean hand, appearing fed up. "Well, Sam, I'm fresh outta explanations one-oh-one, wanna give the kid a rundown of reality in all it's shitty glory? I went last time." Alex eyed Dean and his dripping, bloody palm then turned and began to dig through a drawer as Sam did as he'd been asked.

Sam sat beside Kevin and put on his explaining expression and tone. "Okay, Kevin, look. I'm gonna shoot straight with you, so… strap in. The… the supernatural is real. Ghosts, monsters, angels, demons, pretty much all of the stuff you thought was made up is real. And, uh, apparently, God's real too." Kevin's face suggested that was lunacy. Sam acknowledged that. "Yeah. I know, trust me. But that piece of stone you're holding onto is like, his Word or something, okay? And _apparently_ , Leviathan want it. They're monsters, pretty bad ones—they eat people and can shape-shift and—" Sam stopped abruptly when sheer terror began to grow on Kevin's youthful face. "Yeah, too much. Uh, sorry." Sam cleared his throat. "My family here, we hunt monsters, we help keep the world a little safer. That's my brother Dean, my sister Alex." He gestured to his brother and sister—Alex was currently wrapping Dean's bloody palm but paused to throw up a wan smile and a hand in acknowledgement. Sam paused and grudgingly recognized the other person in the room. "And that's… _Meg_. The demon."

Kevin's eyebrows moved in towards each other. "W-wait, aren't demons bad?" he asked, his eyes nervously flickering to Meg and then the Winchesters. "Why are you friends with one?"

"Good question," Dean muttered, sending Meg an ugly look.

"Hey. I mean… tough times," Sam said heavily, then smiled tightly. "And 'friend' is a really generous way of putting it."

Meg, as usual, had a snarky comment in her back pocket. "Love you too, Sammykins."

Kevin was a little calmer now than he'd been earlier, but still struggling hard to understand. "I'm sorry, so, these—these Leviathans—these monsters are real? They got out of… of Purgatory like this thing says? And angels are real? Like the kind w-with _wings_?"

Sam nodded, then made a face when he realized his yes wasn't total. "Yeah, they're real, but no... no wings. No anything."

"No, they have wings," his sister corrected, a sidelong glance darting his way as she threw away some bandage packaging. "You just can't see them on this, um, plane of existence."

Kevin looked at her with intrigued confusion, like he wasn't sure what to believe anymore.

"I'll tell you what they _don_ _'_ _t_ have," Dean volunteered, sauntering across the room like he owned the place before he leaned against the window and half-sat in the windowsill to face Kevin and Sam. "No junk. _Junkless_."

That earned him a disgruntled, drawn look from Alex who stood across the room still. "They have junk, _moron_."

A cold smile grew on Dean's face and he made a sarcastic comment meant to shut her up. "Oh gosh, well then why don't you tell us more since you're such an _expert_?"

A challenging little expression rested on his sister's face, and she surprised everyone when she replied to Dean spitefully. "Huge, _glorious_ junk, sippy straw."

Dean balked at her unexpected comment, Sam sputtered on nothing. Meg let out a guffaw of laughter. "Sippy straw, huh, Dean? Good to know."

Embarrassed, Dean's voice was harder than usual. "Shut up, Meg."

Kevin hesitated, his eyes darting around the room and gauging the tension that was so obvious between the family and their demon companion. "Um…" he swallowed, wet his lips, then tried to return the conversation to less awkward waters. "So, the… the people in business suits in here just now were _angels_? They… they didn't look like angels to me."

Dean folded his arms and set his face. "Just forget the angels, Kevin—you can read the chicken scratch on the God rock, huh?"

Kevin's face showed puzzlement. "Uh…"

"The God rock that is magically back in one _piece_ , I see," Dean said, frowning hard at the magically-repaired stone. "Is there some sort of a 'how to punch Dick' recipe in there somewhere?"

Kevin's eyes narrowed in confusion. "I-I don't know what you're saying, but it seems kind of like an 'in case of emergency' note—I would need some time to, uh, you know, read all of it, it's kinda hard to look at," he said faintly, looking down into his lap. "What did they mean by 'prophet,' anyway?" He looked up at them with nervous eyes. "I… I don't think I wanna be a prophet."

"No," Dean replied grimly. "You don't at all."

Immediate signs of fear showed. "Why?" Kevin asked, then when they took to long to reply, he asked again in a higher voice. " _Why_?"

"Let's just say they tend to… _disappear,_ " Sam said delicately.

Kevin abruptly began to freak out again. "Oh no—no, _no_ —" he whined, quickly approaching hyperventilation again. "My life is ruined! Why is this happening?!"

"Whoa, calm down," Sam said. "We talked about this: _breathe_."

Dean looked at Meg and Alex in turn. "You girls got any downers in this place?"

"She's got some in her underwear drawer, Mr. America," Meg retorted. "Now listen, enough pointless yakking. We gotta start running and _hiding_. Or do you want to tangle with those wing nuts _twice_?"

Dean's eyebrows rose. "I'm sorry, did you just say 'we'?"

"I'm on the angels' radar now," Meg replied evenly. "You think I don't need a little safety in numbers?"

Cynically amused, Dean crossed his arms and looked at her with laughing eyes. "Safety in numbers? With _us_? You're barking up the wrong tree, short stuff. Get lost."

Meg reacted strongly, showing more emotion than usual. "What the _hell,_ Dean!" she exclaimed, her voice conveying a dangerous element. "I have risked my _ass_ for you and your stupid family and this is the thanks I get?"

"Dean," Alex said, her tone suggesting he was making a mistake. "We _do_ owe her. You know we do. And besides that, it might be smart not to piss her off. Demon, remember?"

Meg smiled, pleased even though still obviously pissed. " _Thank you_ , Ariel."

A sound of grated frustration came out of Dean's mouth and he stood up, walked off a few steps, then turned around and pointed at Meg commandingly. "You are on _thin_ ice, Meg. I'll let you tag along for now, but you do _anything_ I don't like and it's vamoose, got it?"

Her smirk was back. "Loud and clear, G.I. Joe."

That got her an impatient, dark look from Dean who quickly barked out the plan. "All right we'll head to Rufus's cabin where we can settle in good and protected," he said. "Kid can do his book report there." He looked at his sister briefly, his tone hard to read. "Get your stuff."

It was all in a single duffel bag underneath the bag, and although she disliked his bossy tone, she got it and slung it over her shoulder. On the bed, Kevin shrank slightly at Dean's words. "Book report?"

"Yeah," Dean replied. "We need you to translate that thing—Spark's Notes ain't gonna cut it."

Kevin protested. "But—but—I have school! And cello practice! I gotta call my mom, she's probably worried sick, I can't just—"

Dean became deadly serious, almost sympathetic. "No. You listen to me. You keep your mom and the people you love as far outta this as you can," he said, leveling Kevin with an incredibly intense look. "School, whatever else—all that stuff isn't you anymore. Whatever your deal is, whatever the hell pulled you to this rock… prophet, whatever, I don't know—you're in now, kid. And there ain't no getting out."

Kevin's mouth worked like a dying fish's, opening and closing as his wide eyes darted around in a fruitless search for support. "But… but… I…" Sam hauled him to his feet and the feeble, miserable protests continued, becoming more and more defeated with every word. "It's not… I can't just… this isn't…"

"Come on, Kevin," Alex coached, hoisting her duffel over one shoulder and standing on Kevin's other side, helping Sam guide him out of the room. "One foot in front of the other." He let out a miserable weepy sound and she patted him awkwardly on the back a couple times.

"I don't like today," he lamented.

Walking up ahead, Dean spoke without looking back. "No one likes a complainer, Kevin."

* * *

About twenty minutes later, a demon, three hunters, and a prophet raced through the night in an old stolen SUV, headed for Montana. Upon request, Kevin was recounting the details the best he could about how he'd found himself supernaturally glued to the tablet Sam and Dean had found.

"And that's it," he concluded, heaving a tired, traumatized sigh. He was sitting in the back seat on the driver's side, Alex was next to him and Meg was next to her, passenger side. "The lightning stuff hit me like I said, I blacked out, got in the car I guess… I dunno. Drove like on autopilot. Don't remember any of it except the one phone call." He was rueful and quiet, somber. "And now I'm best friends with an ancient slab of rock." It sounded like he had a lump in his throat. "I was supposed to be taking the SATs…"

" _Bleck_ ," Dean volunteered heartily. "Be thankful you got outta _that_ one."

Sam ignored his brother's comment and nodded tensely to himself, deep in thought about what Kevin had said. "And you said you never had anything else like this happen to you before."

Kevin was miserable and it showed. "The craziest thing that's ever happened in my life before this was the time when they misspelled my name in the school newspaper," he said glumly, then at Alex's expectant, curious sidelong look, he explained in a glum voice. "Kevin Train." He paused. "All the kids kept saying 'choo choo' to me in the halls." Dean chuckled lightly, but Kevin looked like he was slowly crumbling inside—his breathing was speeding up again. " _Hurrngh_ _—_ " he grunted, clenching his fists and gritting his teeth as his eyes flew back and forth between his knees unseeingly.

"Kevin…" Alex warned, but it was too late. He was starting to panic again.

"My life... my future… my girlfriend... my mom's car!" He huffed and puffed hard, escalating fast. "My grades, my reputation, my homework—!"

"Just breathe, little guy," Dean said tiredly. "No one cares about homework in the real world, trust me."

Alex began to dig around in her duffel as Kevin continued to freak out. "Am I gonna be stuck to this rock forever? How can someone even _exist_ with a huge stone stuck to them!?" He suddenly got this utterly horrified look on his face as his voice raised to a flustered shriek. "How will I even go to the _bathroom_!?"

Dean made a face like he hadn't thought about that even as Sam frowned deeply. And then Dean's realization led to _another_ realization. "Not it," he said quickly, and Sam gave him a bitchy side eye.

"I volunteer as tribute," Meg said through a typical smirk, watching like a gleeful spectator.

Kevin was making sobby whimpering sounds in between wheezing hard breaths and Alex turned toward him. "Hey, I'm sure we'll figure it out, okay? We figure everything out sooner or later." She held up a pudding cup with the spoon already in it, and Kevin stared at it like it was an alien. "Pudding cup?" she asked innocently.

Kevin looked at the snack, then Alex, then the snack, visibly calming down and deescalating slightly. "I—I _am_ kinda hungry," he said, then took it hesitantly. "Thanks." Five minutes later, he was smiling vaguely at nothing and totally relaxed thanks to the downers Alex had snuck into the pudding he'd eaten unsuspectingly. "I don't know what I was so worried about…" he murmured, then abruptly conked out, his head lolling on his shoulder.

"Dude, you gotta share whatever you put in there," Dean said, glancing at Kevin in the rearview.

Alex ignored his comment. "He'll probably sleep for a couple hours now," she said, watching his now-peaceful face with something similar to ruefulness. He was so young and so clearly unprepared for this. His appearance said privileged, intelligent, and totally unfit for a life on the road. "Poor kid. Advanced placement, huh?"

"Not anymore," Sam said quietly, making the car atmosphere a little heavier. "Prophet," he muttered after a minute. "I mean, isn't he too _young_ for that?"

Dean scoffed audibly. "Since when has _God_ or whoever cared about whose life he screws with?"

"True," Sam acknowledged morosely. There was a brief silence and he glanced at Alex then Dean, hesitating before he asked. "You two good?" He'd noticed they were at least _talking_ but after the month of Dean giving her the silent treatment, they were _all_ fully aware that the rift between brother and sister was still there and had been widening for some time now.

Dean kept his eyes on the road and pulled a false little smile. "We're _fine_ , aren't we, Al."

Her eyes were sidelong and looking out the window. "Peachy."

Sam shook his head. " _Right_."

* * *

**A Few Hours Later**

The car was quiet, the only consistent sound that of the whining engine and the old car chassis squeaking protest when they hit bump in the road. Stuck between a demon and a prophet, Alex was slouched down in her seat, trying to stay awake. If she fell asleep, she'd either end up leaning on Meg (which Alex refused to have happen) or Kevin (awkward and also just _no_ ). So she sat there with her arms crossed and stared ahead unseeingly, worrying about Cas blown away to whatever corner of the earth while being childlike and out of his mind. Would he be okay? Would he be able to find them again? Everything had been so fast-paced since Cas woke up earlier that very night. She hadn't even had a chance to process everything. She was still in vague shock about all of it. But the strongest thing she currently felt was worry. And not just about Castiel.

Glancing out the window, Alex's eyes barely saw the dark landscape out there. The sun was going to rise soon bringing another day. What kind of day would it be? Probably a shitty one. Alex's eyes went to the back of Dean's head a few times and she wondered if the two of them would ever even be friends again. Apparently, staying with Cas had been the last straw, the thing Dean decided was Alex choosing him over her family. It hadn't been that at all, but his behavior and cold shoulder had forced that to be reality, at least between her and him. While Dean had chosen to cut her off, Sam was still beside her through the situation and had heard her out on the subjects of Cas and her inner struggles with the family dynamic. Her twin had his own opinions and misgivings, but he still gave her what Dean just didn't seem able: unconditional respect and understanding.

Alex kept wondering if it were all her fault—if she'd pushed Dean over the edge with all the times she'd let him down and burned him by running away, leaving, staying gone, going against his wishes, doing the opposite of what he said. He sure made her _feel_ that way… like if she changed this or that or the other that he'd accept her and allow her to be part of the family. It really hurt her that he was punishing her like he was for deciding to stay with Cas. And she wasn't even _with_ Cas, not in the way Dean kept implying… she didn't think. She had just been watching out for him, protecting him while he was vulnerable. Now… she didn't know. Cas didn't seem of the mental capacity to be in any kind of relationship, and even though she loved him, even though he kept bringing up the fact that they were married, she felt lost and confused, like someone had put a Cas-lookalike in his place. Like the real angel she loved had been stolen away piece by piece then watered down until he was nothing like himself anymore.

He might always be the way he was now… full of weird useless facts and clueless to things he had built his life on before. It didn't feel right to Alex to try and be romantic with him in the least, even if he asked for it—Cas had been clear with her before he slipped into his coma. He said they couldn't be together anymore, and Alex was pretty sure he meant it, as fucking unfair as it had been of him to say that to her. It would be shady and wrong to take advantage of his more simple state now, but it wouldn't be the same, either. Cas just wasn't Cas anymore, and she'd known it right away when he sat up in that bed and told her she was pretty. _How many times have I lost him now? I can_ _'_ _t even remember_ _…_ there was a certain numbness she was beginning to feel, a certain feeling of being alone and misunderstood. It was the worst. And there was that quiet voice deep inside that said she shouldn't _want_ anything to do with Cas at all after what he'd done. She saw herself in her minds eye like a weak, wounded animal crawling after the person who kept kicking her and telling her to leave.

 _It_ _'_ _s not like that,_ she told herself, and then immediately afterward her mind replied _yes it is._ And she didn't know which voice was right.

Beside Alex, Kevin stirred and came out of his sleep and he looked confused about where he was for a brief moment. "What…" he began, then remembered and sagged. " _Oh_." Sober and scared but trying to stay blank-faced and outwardly strong, Kevin sat up marginally straighter. "I fell asleep?"

"Yup," Dean confirmed.

Kevin appeared vaguely ill. "I feel funny."

Without any warning whatsoever, there was a whoosh of wind, a huge sudden weight crammed beside and on Alex, and she was basically shoved right up against Meg as Castiel materialized between her and Kevin, cramming himself into the back seat where only three people were supposed to fit. Kevin clutched at the tablet as he gasped in a deep, terrified breath and screamed. " _Aah_!"

Squished together uncomfortably, Meg and Alex pushed at each other, trying to reclaim some personal space. Well, mostly Alex pushed. Meg just looked inconvenienced. "Geez, could you maybe give some heads up next time, Batman?" the demon complained.

"You're on my everything," Alex grunted, because Cas was heavy and her hip, side, and upper legs all had some part of him crushing her. But she definitely _was_ glad he was okay and here, even if he was half-sitting on her and smooshing her into Meg's bony little body.

Cas was serene and appeared completely untraumatized by the angel banishing ordeal. "It _is_ very cramped right here, isn't it?" he asked, then craned his neck to look at Meg and smile at her. She looked confused and suspicious of him, then when his smile widened, Alex suddenly collapsed into the passenger-side door as Meg disappeared from beside her.

"Hey!" Meg protested indignantly, and everyone looked at her gapingly—she had been moved without her permission to the back of the car with all the bags.

Cas just smiled, off in his own world and now seated between Alex and Kevin comfortably. "That's better," he said.

Dean chuckled, for once approving of something the angel had done. "Good one, Cas."

He recognized the approval and Cas beamed. "Thank you, Dean."

"Wait," Dean said, quickly darkening. "How the hell'd you find us?"

Cas was dreamy. "Oh, because of my connection to your sister, of course," he said, his eyes adoringly drinking Alex in. "Now that I remember who I am, I remember the connection."

"… _what_ connection?" Sam asked, frowning and looking around the car's passengers for explanation.

Cas looked at Sam fondly. "It was established when you and Dean were in the past hunting that Phoenix and I touched her soul." His smile fell and he appeared to be mildly shocked at himself, then quickly sickened. "Don't like to think about touching her soul," he murmured staunchly.

Yeah, her either. Alex touched his arm, trying to gauge his wellbeing after the angel-banishing. "Are you okay?" she asked, and he was happy-go-lucky once more, disconcertingly so.

"Of course," he said, smiling at her with over-fondness. "It was only excruciating for an hour or two."

Balking slightly at his casual tone about severe pain, she wasn't sure how to respond. "Uh… _oh_." Alex cleared her throat and glanced Kevin's severely disconcerted expression. "Well… Kevin… this is Castiel."

Kevin stared. "Hello, Kevin," Cas greeted seriously.

Mouselike, Kevin still cowered against the car door. "Uh—hi," he managed breathily. "I remember you from… from back at the hospital," he said nervously. "You're… you're one of the angels?"

Very slowly and deliberately, Cas raised his hand, pointed a finger… then touched Kevin on the nose. "Boop." Kevin blinked rapidly, confused at the touch. Cas was already moving onto other matters, looking to his right. "Alex, are you hurt?"

"Fine, Cas," she said, touched and trying not to show it. That was very like him to worry over her.

"Did you know possums are only pregnant for sixteen days?" he asked for no reason whatsoever. "Isn't that fascinating? And convenient?" Displaying the same wide-eyed innocence he'd been showing the rest of that day, Cas touched the side of her face, no qualms about being affectionate to her in front of everyone. "I was very despaired to be torn away from you like that," he said as if telling her what the weather was like. "I composed a love poem for you in my mind during the time apart."

A little put on the spot with so many people staring and giving them weird looks, Alex fidgeted. "Um… thanks?"

Cas took her hand and produced a sharpie out of nowhere. "I'll write it down on your hand," he said brightly, then took her hand then began to leisurely write onto the back of it without anything further. Sam was turned around slightly in his seat, meeting Alex's stumped gaze with one of his own. She shrugged slightly as if to say she had no idea what was happening, either. _Just go with it_.

Kevin watched for a couple beats, then spoke up in nervous curiosity as his dark eyes flickered between Alex and Cas. "You… you two are married?" he asked, then at the sort of warning look he got from Alex, Kevin swallowed. "I heard him say it back there with the other angels."

"That is correct," Cas said factually, still writing on Alex's hand. "We've been through much together, my wife and I…" he trailed off and looked into her eyes, his expression sappy and contented. Alex, however, was uncertain and awkward, uncomfortable.

"Oh my _god,_ _"_ Dean muttered in the front seat, letting his disgust and annoyance toward the subject matter to be clearly heard.

"It's the subject of major antipathy, Kevin," Cas explained breezily, his serene focus back on what he was writing so slowly. "Dean doesn't like me. I suppose I can't blame him after everything. Among other things, Alex and I, well, we eloped secretly because I felt very guilty for having so much sex with her." He smiled to himself as he drew odd stares from everyone else, especially Alex, whose face said _please stop talking_. The angel looked at Kevin meaningfully, blissfully unaware of everyone's stares. "I also married her because I love her beyond comprehension, but I doubt anyone wants to hear more about that." He paused and cast around for a willing listener, suddenly looking eager. "Although I would be happy to speak on the subject if anyone would like."

Sam hid the tiniest uncertain smile, but Dean looked _so_ done. "Yeah count me out, Romeo."

Cas wasn't bothered in the least. "That's all right," he said in perfect happiness, "I'll explore the subject thoroughly in detail with the countless number of poems I plan to compose in her honor." He made that proclamation then showed Alex her own hand where he'd written down a short poem.

_You are the sinew holding me together  
remaining forever in the place I have found  
beneath the skin of my chest. _

It was startlingly beautiful and heart-tugging—a strange contrast to his current weird animal facts and desire to play kid's games—it seemed like something old Cas (the one who had been in his right mind and had known what was going on) would say or feel. It spoke of a deep love, the deep love she remembered so very well. Her eyes chanced a look into his, and even in the dark, those brilliant blue eyes were crystal-bright and striking, enough to make her pine for the old days on the spot and confuse her even further. "I hope you like it..."

Feeling everyone's eyes on her—Meg's mocking, Sam's worrying, Dean's judging, Kevin's so uncertain, Cas so expectant, Alex fidgeted. "It's great," she said, a little embarrassed at the attention and Cas's unpredictable antics.

Dean gave a short-tempered sigh. "Cas, quit writing flowery crap and being an awkward loser—tell me what happened back there. Who were those guys?"

Cas smiled at Dean, his eyes gently traveling the other man's profile. "Ah, Dean, you have freckles just like your sister…" he said wistfully, then looked at Sam and made a face like he regretted the news he had to deliver. "Sam, you seem to have missed out on that genetic trait."

"Cas, the _angels,_ " Dean pressed.

"They're from the garrison— _my_ old garrison," Cas answered, his tone friendly and unhurried. "Looks like Hester's taken over." He sat back and spoke to Kevin, who looked very unsure of what to think of Castiel. "We were assigned to watch the earth in centuries past, before I was guardian to the most precious thing in all creation," he said, turning his love-stricken smile over to Alex. Cas then sighed lengthily and looked off into middle distance. "Often, the watching with the garrison was boring. I mean, think about it, all we did was _watch._ Your _wars_ were very boring and your _politics_ were very boring and all the sex—you know, the repetition and predictability—very boring." He paused and tried to hide a very naughty little smile. "I don't find it boring anymore, though," he said, and as if for effect, he touched Alex's upper thigh with a hand that slid inwards and he gave her a bedroom look—she jumped at the touch, surprised. But, as soon as he had touched her, practically, it was like he remembered he'd told himself not to do that, and he pulled his hand away fast then looked back at Dean, uncertain and a little out of sorts. "Anyway, I was, uh... I was their captain." He then smiled off at nothing, forgetting his previous upset. "Isn't that _strange_?"

"Cas, why are they pissed at us now?" Sam asked.

Cas was looking at Alex with warm eyes that seemed to glow with ideas about the future. "You know, I was thinking when we someday have a home together, I really want to grow a flower garden," he said in childlike enthusiasm, making her a shade sadder—a home together someday? "Peonies, daisies, mums…" he suddenly trailed off and became very somber and quiet. "Lilies." Her heart squeezed in her chest as she suddenly became _incredibly_ sad.

"Cas, don't make me pull this car over!" Dean exclaimed, his voice hard and impatient—he had no clue the understanding or the remembrance of loss that had just passed between the angel and his sister. "Why are angels after us?"

Cas looked at Dean uncertainly, like a child scolded. "Are you angry? Why are you angry?"

Dean corrected his tone. "No, I-I'm…" he reigned in his aggravation and forced himself to speak calmly. "Just please, can we just stay on target?"

"There is no reason for anger," Cas said, his tone tranquil again and even a little superior. "And while we're on the subject of dissent, I especially dislike it when I hear you speak to your sister in anger, just FYI." He paused. "Like you did back at the hospital before you and I played our game. Oh, and FYI means for your information, Dean."

Dean threw a pissy glance back in the rearview. "I know what FYI means, Cas, and FYI, I wanna know why the angels _attacked_ us back there!"

"Oh, yes," Cas said, sounding a little bored with the subject matter. "Well, they're only following protocol. If the Word of God is revealed, a _keeper_ of the Word will awaken, like _this_ hot potato right here." He touched Kevin's nose again, repeatedly, tapping it over and over.

Kevin smacked Cas's hand away, shrinking against the door to try and escape the angel's insistent touching. "Please stop that."

Undeterred, Cas turned and touched Alex's nose instead with a single, dainty tap as a broad grin spread over his face. "Noses are so interesting, aren't they?" he asked, then tapped Alex's nose once more, making her wince and turn her head away slightly. "I like yours," he said, then tapped it again, giggling, not seeming to notice her attempts to elude his efforts. "Boop!"

Alex batted his hand away. " _Cas_."

With both of his seat-side companions unwilling to be booped, Cas grudgingly refocused and answered Dean's question. "Anyway, garrison code dictates you take the keeper to the desert to learn the Word away from men if my memory serves…" he got a thoughtful, pleasant look on his face and suddenly became very enthusiastic. " _Man_ , does anyone else want a _burger_ right now?"

It was so weird to hear him talk like that. "The literal desert, Cas?" Alex asked, trying to keep him on track.

"Hm, good question," Cas said casually. "Most deserts are hostile to human life and he'd die within twenty-four hours from exposure in a literal desert… so really, whose idea was _that?_ "

Kevin looked stricken by the idea of being taken to a desert to die. "Oh god…"

"What kind of sense does that make?" Dean asked, frowning at the road ahead. "Take the prophet into the desert? He has to tell us what's on that thing so that we can _use_ it."

There was a playful shrug. "That's God and his shiny red apples," Cas said, as if he hadn't the slightest and it didn't bother him much, either.

"…I can't live in the desert!" Kevin protested loudly, vehemently. "I-I'm applying to Princeton!"

"I wish you the best of luck, Kevin Tran," Cas said sincerely. "May your application be a success."

He then tried to boop Kevin on the nose again, but Kevin ducked the attempt with an exasperated cry of, " _Stop_ already!"

Cas just chuckled, thoroughly amused. "He's very cute, I like this one."

"You know what?" Dean asked in a hard, resolved voice. "Screw the garrison, they ain't getting the rock and they ain't getting the kid. We need them both to cream Dick!"

Kevin looked traumatized. "To do _what_?"

Dean paused, not seeming to see the issue.

"I mean you gotta realize how that sounded to someone who doesn't know what you're talking about," Alex pointed out in a deadpanning voice. Dean's face made it seem like he did an internal double take and he became a little uncomfortable. "Dick is a _person,_ "Alex explained to an overly scared looking Kevin. "Well… a Leviathan." Kevin relaxed slightly. _Slightly_.

"If you want the Word, Dean, you'll have to duck Hester and her soldiers," Cas said evenly, unaffected by the awkwardness in the car. "They'll keep pursuing you until they have it, I'm afraid…" he was abruptly distracted by a hand-painted sign on the side of the road that pointed to a currently-closed farmer's stand. "Ooh, boiled peanuts, those sound interesting," he said, then got intensely thoughtful. "What _else_ could you boil? Berries? Pumpkins? Logs? Chairs? The possibilities seem endless. But you'd need a very large pot for the water to boil some of those things… and what would you even _do_ with a boiled _chair_ …?" His eyes were crimped as he squinted into nothing, mulling over his incredibly odd questions.

"Uh… you're in our corner, right, Cas?" Sam asked uncertainly as he graciously chose to ignore Cas's ludicrous ramblings. "With ducking this Hester angel and her garrison?"

Cas immediately smiled in a nervous, denying way. "Oh no, I don't fight anymore," he said, eyes downward. "I watch the bees and make waffles for my wife." He put an arm around her abruptly and squeezed her to his side, chuckling and planting a loud, smoochy kiss with a proclamation of " _mwah_!" onto her cheek as she protested faintly. At Sam's look of incredulous uncertainty, Cas hurried to reassure him. "But, I am, of course, at your side and happy to provide help in any way I can," he said, leaning forward and releasing Alex. "Cleaning perhaps, cooking, and, ooh, I could start a honeybee hive!" He paused, lighting up further. "Oh, and I brought board games!" He twisted and pulled out _Candy Land_ , _Twister_ , and _Sorry!_ from where Meg was crammed. He grinned at the boxes then looked around the car fondly. "We can play these together. Gosh, I _love_ you guys!" He quickly, pleasantly corrected himself. "Well, except Meg, she's an abomination, of course."

"You're not looking so holy from where I'm sitting, altar boy," Meg returned darkly.

And the car fell into brief silence, with all the occupants on different pages. Meg disgruntled, Alex confused and upset, Cas totally bonkers, Kevin freaked to the point of illness, Sam worried sick, Dean unhappy as crap. "Well this is awesome," he muttered, switching hands on the wheel and rubbing his forehead. "Only like twenty more hours of this nonsense to go, kids." He glanced the angel's way. "Cas, you wanna just angel-zap us to where we're going so we can save the hassle?"

"No, not really," Cas said, smiling down at the _Candy Land_ box and tracing one of the characters with his finger. "The joy is in the journey, Dean."

At the bizarre looks he got for that one, Alex explained sort of sheepishly: "It was on a preview for Oprah that we saw."

"Oh _good,_ " Dean wisecracked. "I _love_ Oprah."

* * *

**Forty-Five Minutes Later**

The sun rose on what looked like it would be a clear, pleasant day. Dean stopped for gas and grab-what-you-can breakfast at a Gas-n-Sip. He stayed outside and made a phonecall (who knows who to) while Alex, Cas, Sam, and Meg all went into the convenience store. Kevin had fallen asleep again, exhausted from the chaos of the day. Alex was holed up in the single-room bathroom, taking a minute to just have _silence_. How did Kevin even manage to fall asleep with all the nonstop rambling Cas had done and the snarky biting comments Meg made and the rude reprimands Dean had thrown in here and there, the constant urges to take it down a notch from Sam? Alex wished she could sleep, but she was way too on edge and the car had been much too noisy and uncomfortable for her to do so.

Leaning against the dilapidated bathroom sink, she glanced down into the bathroom trash can where the empty orange prescription pill bottle she'd tossed in there stared up at her. Those pills were starting to become her only friend, the only one she trusted to take away all the crap and the pain. She was running out of options these days: Cas wasn't all there and had his own issues, Dean would probably condemn her for her inner pain, it would break Sam's heart to hear her admit how bad things were.

Well. She probably needed to go ahead and bite the bullet, go get back to the road trip from hell. With a weary sigh, Alex turned around and then abruptly inhaled a sharp gasp as a taller figure suddenly appeared _right_ in her face. "What the…!" she exclaimed, a hand over her heart. It was only Castiel, but still.

Cas held a paperback book—the cover read _Captain Corelli_ _'_ _s Mandolin_ —and he had it open, seemed incredibly excited about something. "Look, Alex, while you were in here urinating and metabolizing pain killers, I found the most beautiful book!" he announced excitably, grinning widely and missing her flattening, disgruntled expression. "Listen to this," he encouraged, then began to read aloud in a heartfelt, tranquil tone, his features working in uncharacteristic expressiveness. "' _Love is a temporary madness, it erupts like volcanoes and then subsides. And when it subsides, you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether your roots have so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part. Because this is what love is. Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not the promulgation of promises of eternal passion, it is not the desire to mate every second minute of the day, it is not lying awake at night imagining that he is kissing every cranny of your body. No, don't blush, I am telling you some truths. That is just being in love, which any fool can do. Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away, and this is both an art and a fortunate accident. Your mother and I had it, we had roots that grew towards each other underground, and when all the pretty blossom had fallen from our branches we found that we were one tree and not two_.'" He stopped and sighed in marked satisfaction, then he looked at her and tilted his head to the side, observing her with eyes full of love. "Isn't that simply _wonderful_? It makes me think of us."

"That… that _is_ really beautiful, Cas," she admitted, a little taken aback at the sudden romantic content of her bathroom moment.

Cas became a little coy and his voice lowered and became huskier. "Although, I have to disagree with this passage in one area: I _do_ desire to mate every second of the day." He giggled lowly and leaned toward her, touching the side of her face and taking joy from her closeness and warmth, running his thumb across her cheek as she looked up at him with wide, taken aback eyes. And then even before she'd had a chance to open her mouth to say something, his face fell and he became fearful and guilty—he let go of her and stepped back to increase the distance between them. "But we don't do that anymore," he said, drifting back a few steps further as his guilt-ridden eyes dodged hers. "It's bad," he said, voice becoming soft and tearful. "I'm bad." Alex hesitated, unsure of what to say—and then he held the book up and grinned hugely, jarring Alex as he bounced from one emotion to the next. "I'll go put the book back now! See you out there!" he announced, and then was gone just like he'd come.

 _Could my life get any weirder_ _…_ _?_ Alex just didn't know. She took a couple seconds then exited the bathroom and Cas, on the other side of the gas station at the little bookshelf there, waved to her happily. She waved back a little falteringly, noticing some normal people were giving Cas strange looks. A little protective of him, Alex went over to him, eyeing anyone who was side-eying Cas. These days, she suspected everyone of being a demon or a Leviathan. Cas had another book now—a children's book. It was called _The Monster At The End Of This Book_. A furry blue cartoon muppet, Grover, waved on the cover and smiled. Cas was looking at the cover thoughtfully at Alex's approach. "This reminds me of us, too," he said quietly when she got to him. He didn't look at her. "I was the monster at the end of our book." Alex's mouth dropped open a little. And then before she said anything, Cas perked up and looked at her with an expression of innocent interest, dodging any topic of real substance. "What would you like to have for breakfast? I saw cupcakes over there, oh, and hot dogs!" he leaned closer and whispered furtively, like he was afraid a gas station employee might hear and be offended. "They are _not_ made out of real dog, I don't know if that's of importance or not to you."

Alex stared at him for a second, trying to see if he was for real or not. He seemed deadly serious, and she was both at her wit's end and incredibly sad at the same time. "Uh—Cas, hot dogs are never made out of dogs," she told him, then paused. "If they _are_ , _that_ _'_ _s_ when I wanna know," she said, but Cas was wandering off down a nearby aisle, not listening to her, greatly interested in all the boxes and products there. She watched him go, wondering if this was what it was like to have an ADHD child.

Castiel abruptly snatched something up and then held it high and grinned at her. "Alex, I found tampons!" he announced very loudly, shaking the box for effect. He lowered it and became reminiscent. "I remember these…" he said, beginning to chuckle at the box as Alex marched over and snatched it away and smacked it back onto the shelf.

He was already spotting something else. "Oh look, pornographic magazines… should we get one for Dean?" he asked, already making a beeline for them. Everyone in the entire store was staring at him.

" _Ca-aaas_!" Alex moaned, following after him and trying to get him to pay attention.

"He really likes this one," Cas said, plucking up a _Busty Asian Beauties_ and opening it to a random page. His eyes bulged in shock, then he looked confused and victimized and he immediately slammed the magazine shut and looked at Alex with a strange expression. "There are very graphic depictions of intercourse in there," he told her in a weak voice.

Alex took the magazine from him and nodded, frazzled. It might have been funny another day. Not that one. "I know, Cas, that's kinda the point of them." She slapped it back at the magazine rack and grabbed Cas's hand, pulled him along with her. "Let's just go, okay?"

They walked by a young couple with their children as Alex rushed them out of the store, and Cas picked _that_ moment to comment very audibly what on he must have seen in the magazine pages. "I just don't understand the appeal of anal penetration, do you?"


	99. Cabin Fever

_"Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you."  
_ \- Friedrich Nietzsche

* * *

After the stop at Gas-n-Sip and Cas's peek into the porn magazine, the road trip got even more bizarre. While a very traumatized Kevin clutched his tablet with wide eyes and looked more and more emotionally-violated, Cas proceeded to question Dean and Sam on the appeal of anal penetration, and then he pestered Alex for her thoughts on it, too. She turned red and deflected, obviously wanting to disappear into thin air. Meg was more than happy to volunteer her opinions, but no one wanted to hear that. Kevin made a comment about "how can this guy be an angel?!" and Meg laughed loudly. Dean and Sam both basically told Cas after he didn't get the hint to _please freaking stop asking about it,_ and then Cas gave a long spiel about how vaginal penetration was so amazing and pleasurable that he didn't see a need for anything additional (cue Alex getting redder as her brothers got more and more uncomfortable), however, he then proceeded to give a "but I don't do that anymore," speech about sex in which he sounded regretful and even apologized to Alex, saying he was sorry he couldn't fulfill his "husbandly duties" to her anymore because he _did_ know how much she enjoyed "sexual encounters" with him. Dean was fed up and red-faced and told the angel to just shut up or get out and he threw several disgusted, annoyed glances back at Cas and Alex both.

Cas agreed to shut up… however, he immediately began going on and on about honeybee facts and what kinds of things honey was good for, chattering on and on like a child. Dean lost it and yelled when he couldn't take it anymore, Cas became quiet and cowed, and the car fell into tense silence. In the middle of this silence, Cas turned to Alex and took her hand and proclaimed gently, "I love you more than bees love honey. I love you more than anyone loves anything."

Meg snorted and Alex, tired as crap from a sleepless night, a little humiliated from all the sex talk in front of her brothers, nodded wearily. She wasn't really able to take him seriously or look him in the eye. She was getting more and more depressed by the way he was, more and more _sad_. It was settling in that Cas wasn't going to ever be himself again. That she'd really lost him somewhere along the way. She wasn't sure what to do or where to go from there. It was a lot to try and process and handle.

So, Alex withdrew and stared out the window, trying to figure out the future. It was all so overwhelming. And she was so _tired._ After awhile, her eyes began to sag closed and the noises and voices around her faded into a muted, incoherent buzzing sound as exhaustion and depression claimed her then coaxed her into a very-needed sleep. Cas smiled at her and watched her and then commented aloud on how adorable she was when she was asleep. A few hours passed, and then Cas decided to go join her.

* * *

Alex was vaguely aware that she was dreaming, and that was good enough for her. She didn't need to know anything else; nothing else concerned her at that moment because the dream was good—pleasant, comforting, a little hot, honestly. She was on the attic bed in this dream and wrapped up in Cas, and they had been kissing each other deeply for what seemed like years and years with no intention of stopping. He was naked and clothed at the same time, which wouldn't make sense in the real world, but in the dream world it did. Without being told, Alex knew this was them before everything had fallen apart—this was him when he'd been _him_. Rolling over languidly, stuck together like magnets, they kissed and kissed and kissed and she sighed contentedly, pulling him closer because he just felt so, so good… so warm, so familiar, so nice…

And then, nearby, someone who sounded _very much_ like Cas spoke up. "Is that really what I look like from behind?"

Disoriented and startled, Alex and dream-Cas broke apart like caught lovers to stare at the source of the voice. And that was when Alex realized this was a very odd dream indeed. Near the bed, Cas was watching himself and Alex in curiosity. Double-checking—yes, there was a Cas on top of her _and_ a Cas a few feet away, too, she frowned. "…Why are there two of you?" she asked slowly. "That's… that's new…" she got a little nervous about what kind of bizarre places this dream might go. "I don't know how I feel about this."

"There's only me," the standing Cas said, and as if on cue, dream-Cas dissolved into nothingness in Alex's arms, leaving her alone and cold in the bed. Disgruntled, Alex tugged a handful of blanket against herself even though she was clothed. Upon closer inspection of the intruder, Alex realized the remaining Castiel wore white pants and a white shirt underneath his trench coat. _Oh. Wait._ Was this actual-Cas? "Did you know a female ferret will die if she doesn't have sex in a year?" he asked pleasantly, and Alex realized what was going on. She must have fallen asleep in the car and crazy, bumbling, strange-fact-filled Cas was just popping into her dream-world for whatever reason.

"Cas, what are you doing in my dream?" she asked tiredly, a little upset to be robbed of her nice fantasy and to be reminded of reality.

"I missed you," he answered sweetly, smiling at her in a way that made her feel guilty for not feeling totally the same. He began looking around at the vague, dreamy, glowy scenery surrounding the area. "This is the attic, isn't it?" he asked, his voice soft with pleasant surprise. " _Our_ attic." He paused. "I miss this place." His statement stilled her and saddened her, took her back to a time that was gone now. He walked around the bed, touching the wooden bedposts with interest, his eyes on the knob his finger brushed. "You're very sexually frustrated right now," he said factually.

"Wh—no I'm _not,_ " she protested immediately, although she definitely was because of the dream she'd been so enraptured by.

"Your tone indicates embarrassment and defensiveness," Cas observed mildly.

Sputtering a little, Alex got _more_ defensive. "No it doesn't!"

Cas gave her a somewhat coy glance. "Now you're just being stubborn," he said flirtatiously, then bent and picked up a volume off the floor. "Look, a book about wraiths!" he exclaimed, opening it only to quizzically frown. "It's empty."

"Hadn't read that one yet," Alex said, sobering a little further as she thought of the burned down house so much of her life had taken place in. The attic that had been a haven for them was now ash and ruin, much like everything else. "Now I never will."

Cas set the book down onto the stack of boxes beside the bed thoughtfully, his eyes on the volume the entire time. "Did you know the amygdala, the part of the human brain triggering fear and anxiety, shuts down when women have an orgasm?" His eyes slid to hers and the way they regarded her was a little unnerving. He seemed almost suggestive, and it was disconcerting especially when paired with what he kept talking about and referencing.

"Oh, that's… you're just full of sex facts, aren't you?" Alex asked, a little flustered. She tried to put the attention onto him. "You sure _you_ _'_ _re_ not the sexually frustrated one?" He was, after all, the one who couldn't stop talking about it in the car a little while ago.

"That is of not of import," he said in a tranquil tone, then adopted an overly-helpful tone and facial expression. "I know other things too," he insisted, then spouted yet another strange fact he must have picked up along the way. "Ketchup was used as a medicine in the eighteen hundreds to treat diarrhea, among other things."

Alex's face fell marginally in chagrin as her nose wrinkled slightly. "Maybe you should stick with the sex facts, they're a little less… eugh."

He apparently took that statement as an invitation. Cas sat down on the bed, turned towards her, and his growing nearness made Alex immediately nervous and self-conscious. His voice grew low, husky, suggestive, his eyes looked at her thoroughly. "Did you know a sperm whale isn't actually made out of sperm?" he murmured ever so softly, and the way he asked he could have been trying to seduce her. But the question was outright ridiculous.

Mimicking his murmur helplessly as the moment got more intense, Alex's gaze held his even as a slightly-confused smile spread on her face—was that an actual question? "Yeah, Cas, I did know that."

"I thought so," he said, voice softening even further as he slid into bed with her to lay near beside her. "It's basically common knowledge, and you're very smart."

"Thank… you...?" she managed, and he caught her hand, held it in his as he settled very close to her. They were facing each other, and Cas was in her personal space. "What are you doing?" Alex asked, worried about what was happening. The tone of his voice, the look in his eyes… it all suggested one thing.

Cas's expression softened with regret. "I can't kiss you anymore," he said quietly, sadly. "Not on the mouth." His thumb brushed over her knuckles. "But I can… assist you in other ways."

Alex stiffened. " _Assist_ me? What is this, a doctor's office?" She was shaking her head no. Whatever he was talking about, he wasn't in his right mind and maybe she wasn't either. "Cas, I don't think we should—"

"All I desire is to hold your hand," he said innocently, then moved his hand so their palms pressed and fingers lined up. His eyes affectionately skimmed over the sight of their hands touching like that and Alex's muscles relaxed slowly as she studied his face, trying to find the steadfast angel that must be somewhere beneath this crumbled facade she'd been left with. But Cas was listless and vapid, the lights were on but no one was home. Not like he used to be, anyway. He was innocent and childlike now, simpler.

And then, Cas glanced into her eyes with a surprisingly dark, fiery gaze and curled his fingers through the spaces of hers and downward. The soft touch made endorphins explode and tingles race across her skin—she felt the brush of his fingers there against the sides of her fingers, but she felt his touch somewhere else too, somewhere very surprising, somewhere that made her eyes shoot open wide and her mouth drop open. "What are you t— _ah_ —" he brushed two fingers across the center of her hand then softly pressed inward on the skin of her palm, and Alex inhaled sharply as her eyes widened further. His touches on her hand were translating to much lower on her body, between her legs to be exact. "H-how are you doing that?" she asked, stunned and suddenly very, very at his mercy.

"I'm an angel," he answered in a dark, low voice. "I can do lots of things." His thumb pressed and dragged down across her palm, inspiring another sinful burst of pleasure down low, a burst of pleasure that promised a finish she craved. His voice was softer than soft, his eyes watchful and tender. "Do you like it?"

Blindsided at the sensations he was heightening just with soft little brushes of his fingertips against the palm of her hand, Alex tried to stay composed, but his fingers kept caressing and the English language left her mind as pleasure circuits overloaded. "It's—ah, ha- _ha_ …"

"You _do_ like it," he whispered, eyes brightening, then his thumb circled inward, making her burn in the best of ways—he became intensely earnest as he continued to lightly trace salacious little patterns onto only the skin of her hand. Powerlessly, she waited for what touch would be next as she looked at Cas in a stricken way and tried not to give in to what he was doing. Part of her said _no, stop_. _He doesn_ _'_ _t know what he_ _'_ _s doing._ But it was very, very clear he knew _exactly_ what he was doing. She squeezed her eyes closed and gasped out softly as she became lost in his innocent touches that were making her body do unholy things. "I just want you to be happy, to be satisfied…" he whispered, his free hand sweeping across the hair at the side of her head to cradle her increasingly breathless form. "I just want to do _one_ thing right…" he murmured hopefully. She was half in a daze, clutching onto his trench coat with her free hand as she tried to bite away a moan. " _Shh_ …" Cas murmured, watching her with soft, adoring eyes as his thumb continued to caress a warm circle against the skin of her hand, making her crumble. "Not too loudly."

"W-why?" she asked breathlessly as two fingers swept down the length of her hand and made her shiver.

"They can hear you in the car," he answered, making her pulse pick up even more. " _Quietly,_ " he whispered, then pulled her closer to himself, drawing her into a secret only they knew, an encounter only they could share.

And still, Alex tried to protest—it was hard because she was beginning to wonder if this Cas was really Cas at all, or just another dream her mind was coming up with. Whoever he was, he was making her feel incredible. Trying to concentrate, a feeble objection fell from her lips. "I don't think this is a good ide— _oh_!" his fingers were pressing, stroking, circling the palm her of hand increasingly harder than before—her mouth was open in a silent gasp as her eyebrows slammed together.

Castiel ducked his head down into the crook of her neck, breathing on the sensitive skin there then kissing her there slow and maddening as he got her hotter and hotter, his fingers on her hand making her get closer and closer to the edge of everything. His mouth wandered to her shoulder which was suddenly bare and he pulled her close to him and kissed a sensual trail down her arm and to her hand—and then he kissed the palm of her hand as his fingers remained there; he combined the pressure of lips, fingers, and then a nudge of his tongue. "C— _oh_ _…_!" It flooded her like a monsoon and she had no say in the matter: he had finished her, he had her in his control, and it was too late. His eyes snapped up to look right into hers and she stifled a sound as her body reached the peak, as without even being touched below the belt once she was suddenly shooting skyward, clutching him and forcefully suppressing the loud cries she wanted to give.

Relief, pleasure, and good feelings cradled her as she came down off the high and breathless, she stared at Cas, who had a crooked, devilish little smile on his face. "I just made you reach orgasm," he whispered, like it was some great secret he couldn't stand to keep to himself. Confused about how to feel towards what had just happened, Alex opened her mouth to reply. And then…

Something invisible hit her in the face and she flailed, sputtering. The attic suddenly became noonday bright and the sound of a car engine hit her ears but had been there all along, and the bed she was on was suddenly not a bed, but the back seat of a car. "Al, yo, _Alex_! Wake up!" Disoriented, groggy, Alex blinked dumbly, protesting with a groan as her eyes chanced upon an empty fast food cup at her feet. Was that what had hit her in the face…? Dumbstruck by consciousness and fatigue, Alex blearily looked toward the source of the voice. Dean, in the driver's seat, was surly. "You having a nightmare or something?" he asked, but it wasn't a caring question. He sounded annoyed. "Loud as hell," he muttered.

"Uh…" Alex looked at Cas, who sat beside her and had this shit-eating smile on his face, this I-just-got-away-with-something look to him that made her wither. "Yeah," she confirmed weakly, mortified that she'd apparently been sitting here moaning in her sleep. "A nightmare."

"Sounded _horrific_ ," Meg commented cheekily from the back. She leaned over the back seats and smirked at Alex knowingly. Glowering at the demon, Alex tried to get a handle on herself as Cas giggled and tried to contain his apparent delight.

"What's so funny?" Dean demanded, his tone short.

Cas looked like a child who had gotten away with something sneaky. "I don't think I should say, Dean," he said coyly, looking at Alex coquettishly. Flustered, she looked away and clasped her hands together, pressed them in between her knees. How had he _done_ that to her by just touching her _hand_?

Dean gave an aggravated grunt in the front seat, oblivious to reality (thankfully). "You know," he said gruffly to Cas, "anytime you wanna get over your 'joy in the journey' crap and angel-rail us over to the cabin, that'd be grea— _shit_!" Dean slammed on the brakes to keep from driving straight into the side of the cabin as the scenery abruptly changed from a long, open highway to an old cabin in the middle of nowhere surrounded by woods. The car jerked and jolted as the speed at which they stopped took effect, and Kevin, of course, screamed his fright in a high-pitched, piercing wail. Cas was the only one who didn't go stiff or wide-eyed at the close call. Dean was incredulous, looking at how near he'd been to crashing the SUV into Rufus's old hunting cabin. "Well give me some warning next time!" he exclaimed, looking back at Cas with an upset expression.

Still suppressing his delight over his naughtier actions, Cas was trying to hide a self-pleased smile. "My bad," he said, not seeming to find anything wrong with what had just happened.

Dean did a double take. "' _Your bad_ '?"

"We should set to work warding right away," Cas said, ignoring Dean's question. He turned and looked at Alex, his eyes holding that same secretive quality to them. His voice went a little lower. "Do you need help walking in, Alex?"

She balked, wondering why he was so dead set on embarrassing her. "Why would I need help walking in?!" she asked defensively, then shoved the door open and exited the car, slamming the door behind herself.

Cas smiled after her dreamily, not really seeming to realize she was upset. Sighing like a lovelorn schoolboy, he shook his head lovingly. "She's such a perfect creation, isn't she?" he asked, looking around the car for someone to agree with him.

"God, Cas, you're such a mess," Sam commented, somewhere between sympathetic and fed up.

* * *

It was around one in the afternoon that they arrived to Rufus's old hunting cabin. While Cas and Sam warded the house upstairs and Meg dug around for a beer, Alex trailed behind Dean, joining him in carrying some bags down into the basement of the old cabin she'd never been to before. This was where Sam and Dean had been holing up a lot in recent times since Bobby's was gone. Kevin nervously followed Dean and Alex as he'd been told. "Well, I'm sure you're pretty hungry, so once we get settled in upstairs, we'll get some lunch going," Dean said as he plodded down the creaky old wooden stairs into the basement. Right behind him, his sister was wry.

"Hope you like hot pockets and frozen burritos," Alex muttered flatly in Kevin's direction. Five-star dining just wasn't gonna happen in these parts.

"…I'm vegan," Kevin replied weakly behind her.

" _Vegan_?" Alex turned to him mid-stair, gauging him closely, disbelievingly. Vegan seemed like a bad word to her. "You're kidding."

He looked vaguely ill and a little frightened of what she might say if he told the truth. "Um, no," he said feebly. "I'm not kidding."

Alex felt her face growing doubtful as her feelings of tiredness grew. "Well… _that_ might get interesting," she said, then turned and continued down the stairs, her boots loud on the old wooden beams. She was actively avoiding Cas for the moment, at least until she figured out where she stood with him or how she felt. She was almost at the point of telling him it had to be over, that he was clearly not mentally capable of being in a relationship. That she'd always be in his corner and ready to go to bat for him, but the romance aspect of it was just too problematic for her with him like this. She wondered how he would react to that. She almost imagined he might cry and beg like a child would, and that thought burdened her heavily. She felt vaguely guilty about what had happened in the dream, what he had done to her. Above all, she really, _really_ didn't want anyone else to know about it. That was some sketchy stuff right there.

Alex reached the floor level of the basement. It was a small, dank space that was half-underground. It had a tiny back door and small, dirty window that let in a little daylight. It was full of things hunters used and needed: weapons, chains, restraints, tools. The wooden table in the center of the tiny space was cluttered with knives of various kinds, salt containers, handcuffs, a coil of heavy solid-iron chain. Dean was already clearing a corner of the table off for Kevin to work at. The prophet had stopped at the foot of the stairs as he took in the area. "…This looks like a sex-torture dungeon," he said, and when Dean gave him a weird look as he picked up and moved a scythe, Kevin's distress increased. "Is this a sex-torture dungeon?"

Dean seemed nothing but mildly chagrinned and irritated by the question. "No, this is _not_ a sex-torture dungeon."

Unable to help herself, Alex gave Kevin a little mischievous look. "It's the regular kind."

His eyes widened. "W… what?"

She laughed a little despite herself. "I'm _kidding_ , Kevin, _relax._ "

"How am I supposed to relax?" he asked, eyeing the weapons trepidatiously and chancing a couple hesitant steps closer to the table as he swallowed noisily. "Do… do you guys kill people?"

"Only when we have to," Dean answered, short on patience and tired of Kevin's questions. "Get over here. Sit down and read, would you?"

* * *

Sam stood back and looked over the hiding wards that he and Cas had drawn onto the windows of the cabin. Everything looked right to him, and that was about as good as it would get. He let out a tense sigh. "All right," he said, setting down the little jar of red paint he'd been using onto the kitchen table. "Done deal." He gave the angel who was nearby a tight smile. "Thanks Cas."

"Any time, Sam," Cas replied, seeming incredibly happy to have helped. The angel had picked up a blown glass deer figurine that sat in the windowsill he was near and was examining it with a lot of interest.

Sam watched the guy silently for a couple seconds, then sat down at the kitchen table slowly. Although Cas was sort of amusing this way, it was also deeply disturbing to watch him go from a fierce warrior to a bumbling fool. Alex had said very little about it either way, but Sam could sense the stress she was feeling and could understand her feeling that way a hundred percent. He couldn't imagine loving someone and then having everything happen that had happened with Cas. The Crowley betrayal last year, the god thing and everything that went with that, the 'death' that didn't turn out to be a death after all, Cas's memory loss, then his coma, now the insanity. Sam was honestly wondering how Alex was holding herself together at all at this point. He'd been her listening ear for a change the past month because of Dean's cold shoulder and even though they'd had a _lot_ of long, late night phone conversations in which they both got pretty real with each other, Sam sensed she was still holding some things back and inside.

He had struggled with the idea of Cas and Alex and he had ever since he found out about their little secret marriage. He'd always been wary of them together, but he'd also tried to believe the best. After all, he saw how they loved each other and how happy they were together. In a life like theirs, Sam thought happiness had to count for something. And then, the bomb dropped about their secret. He'd been so _angry_ at Alex for deciding to get married without input from him and Dean. He'd seen nothing but a huge, childish mistake on both of their parts. But now, that was in the past. What was done had been done. In present day, he had misgivings about them because of much worse and darker things than an apocalypse-inspired elopement. It was tragic the way that Cas and Alex couldn't seem to let each other go or fade out of each other's lives. Sam was pretty sure they'd be better off separate, but fate kept bringing them back together. It seemed inescapable. And worse still, Sam wasn't sure how to feel anymore. Now that he and Alex had come to some peace about things, now that she'd explained to him so much more about the relationship and her jumbled up feelings for Cas, Sam found himself similarly confused like she was. It had been easier to harbor ill will toward the angel when he hadn't had as many facts and insight into what led Cas down the dark road he'd found himself on. The hardest pill to swallow was the truth: Cas _wasn_ _'_ _t_ a twisted villain who was easy to hate because of how evil he was. He wasn't evil at all. He was just a naive, well-intentioned guy who tried to do right over and over and made everything worse each time. The irony was that Cas's heart was in the right place but his fears about failing had caused him to do just that.

And now, to top it off, Sam felt to blame for Cas's current condition. It wasn't that he'd forgotten Cas was the one who _broke_ the wall in his mind last year. It was the knowledge that Death had implied the wall would break eventually. So the way Sam had been there near what was supposed to have been the end of his life—sleepless and constantly, horrifically assaulted by non-stop hallucinations of Lucifer—that would have someday been Sam's fate. If not for Cas. Sam knew it. Cas had saved his _life_.

"You seem troubled," Cas said nearby, startling Sam out of his reverie. The angel shuffled over and took a seat across from Sam, the chair groaning woodenly as he sat. However, he was squinting through one eye at the underside of the deer. "Of course, that's a primary aspect of your personality, so I sometimes ignore it."

A little taken aback at the casually stated odd comment, Sam tried to find an answer. "… _Okay_." There was a small silence and Cas finally looked at Sam, apparently wanting an answer to why Sam was troubled. "Um… I guess right now I'm just wondering about you." To put it mildly.

Cas seemed fascinated. "What about me?" he asked, sounding pleasantly intrigued. And then, getting an idea, his expression began to show a shrewdly fond expression. "If I'm trustworthy?"

Sam was quite honestly surprised at the introspection given Cas's previous conversation attempts about anal sex and honeybees. Maybe Cas wasn't as far gone as he'd thought. "No, it's actually not that," Sam admitted seriously. "Call me crazy, but... I still believe you're on our side. Especially after you fixed me, Cas. No one made you do that, you know?" Cas's expression showed absolute, emotionally affected attentiveness to what Sam was saying. "You knew what it would do to you and you still did it."

The angel tried to brush it off. "Well it was only fair, wasn't it?" he asked, looking around the small, dark cabin interior as if he were distracted. "I dealt the blow that broke your wall. And I did it out of anger and fear." He paused and looked at Sam meaningfully, his eyebrows high for effect, like he was about to share some wisdom. "I don't get angry anymore, Sam, it's bad to get angry."

Sam understood why Cas would think that, especially given his currently-childlike way of approaching things, but he still tried to correct the angel. "Well—no, it's not bad to get angry," he said intently. "It's bad to let anger _control_ you and your life. Everyone's gonna be angry about something sometime, Cas."

A slow, surprised smile was spreading across Cas's face. "Are you _worried_ about me, Sam?" he asked, his tone indicating that he couldn't believe it. He seemed incredibly pleased at the gesture. "That's so nice of you."

Sam couldn't smile back. "Well, yeah, I mean… I think I was done for there near the end," he said, looking at the only other person alive who knew what it was like to live through the hell he had. "I couldn't take it, you know? And now _you_ _'_ _ve_ got the hell I was living and… I can tell you're just not the same, Cas, we all can. I know how much it is to carry." He paused, concern tightening his face as the question he dreaded to ask begged to be asked. "Do you see Lucifer?"

He waited with baited breath, because it was his secret, his wretched hidden shame that Lucifer hadn't always appeared as Nick. That sometimes, Lucifer had been Alex, and Lucifer as Alex had done things that would mentally scar any brother. Things Sam tried to forget.

Cas was serious and somber. "I did at first, I think," he said, frowning off as he thought about it. "I barely remember. It was confusing. I think it was a projection of yours, sort of an aftertaste. Now I more see... well, _everything_." He smiled to himself, then at Sam. "It's funny. I was—I was done for, too." He shook his head faintly, looked down at the palms of his hands. "The weight of all my mistakes, all those lives and souls lost, all the damage done." His smile was gone, he looked like a man remembering himself. "I... I couldn't take it, either." The ghost of who Cas used to be flitted across his eyes, then disappeared. A soft smile that didn't seem to belong in the moment began to pull his lips upwards. "I was _lost_ until I took on your pain, Sam. I didn't know what to do or how to continue on at all, then I was given new purpose. Salvation, in a way. It's strange to think that that helped, but…" he shrugged his hands out, a humble gesture that seemed un-Cas-like, " _well_ , here we are."

Sam contemplated Cas sadly. Maybe Cas meant that because his mind was now broken, he didn't have to carry the weight of his own mistakes anymore. Sam could understand that, and he'd felt the same before. But it didn't make any of this easier to take. "It's been a… a really crazy ride, huh?" he asked, a soft, bittersweet little smile on his face through his more conflicted emotions. "I've thought about it a lot and, you know what, I was really mad at you for a long time, Cas. Blamed you for a lot, hated you even." He let out a sharp little huff of air as Cas frowned curiously, tilted his head to the side. "But I've… I've had time to really think it all through, and I've talked to my sister a lot here recently about everything. I guess she's shed some light on some of what happened between you two for me." Sam wet his lips and attempted not to start rambling. He looked at Cas pointedly, meaningfully, and he was empathetic. "The point is, I've made mistakes, too. _Big_ mistakes. Demon blood, lies, secrets, manipulating my family, hurting my brother and sister time and time again. All 'cause I thought I knew better. Sound familiar?" Sam waited for Cas to respond, but all Cas did was squint slightly. Sam took his observations to the next level. "And I almost _killed_ her, remember?"

Castiel looked vaguely chastising of Sam. "Oh yes. I remember."

"I _would_ have if Dean hadn't stopped me," Sam said, remembering standing over Alex with a knife when he was soulless, Cas trapped nearby and unable to help her. Sam had been so close to doing the unthinkable. Cas had _done_ the unthinkable. It didn't really make them even or alike, but it was an example of how sometimes, some things were just beyond controlling past a certain point.

"It's all right, Sam," Cas said reassuringly. "No one will ever kill her now. She'll never die."

Sam was mildly disheartened. Cas was just not home mentally—half of the things that came out of his mouth were nonsense. "…Right, Cas." He sat back in his chair and wondered if anything he was saying was getting through at all. "Look, what I'm trying to say here is I know you never did anything but try to help us. I realize that, Cas, and I believe it now." He paused grimly, remembering very dark times."Fact is, you don't deserve a second chance with her. But honestly, I haven't always deserved the forgiveness my family's given _me._ " Cas looked at him silently, and he was listening. But was it getting _through_? "We're gonna help you get better, okay?" Sam was deadly serious. "No matter what it takes. And then… we'll go from there."

Cas's eyebrows moved in together slightly. "What do you mean, 'better'?" he asked, then grinned, white teeth showing. It was an odd effect. "I like being like this! Nothing is as heavy as it used to be." He smiled serenely and leaned back in his chair, relaxing into a vague slouch as he laced his fingers together and rested his hands across his stomach.

Sam sighed softly, disheartened and giving up for the time being.

"Is there a television here?" Cas asked abruptly, perking up at his sudden idea. "Those Three Stooges are quite the funny guys, aren't they?" Smiling conspiratorially, Cas leaned toward Sam as if he were about to make a clever comment. "Moe reminds me of Dean, always grumpy and yelling about something."

* * *

Alex sat on the floor and looked through the protein bars she had in her duffel bag. After searching the big freezer in the basement corner for food options for Kevin, she'd found all of zero vegan options. The beef jerky and protein bar stash she had in her bag was the last resort. Obviously, the jerky didn't make the cut. She finished reading the last ingredient label on the few bars she had in there and then gave a frustrated sound. "Okay, _that_ _'_ _s_ not vegan either," she muttered and looked up toward Kevin, who sat at the table hunched over the tablet with a notepad to write the translation on. "Maybe I can get you some grass and twigs from outside…?" she half-joked. Why would anyone _choose_ to be a vegan? She had no clue. Seemed like a slow, miserable way to die. Because bacon. And pepperoni. And of course, her favorite: cheese of any kind. "How's it going, anyway?" she asked Kevin cautiously, noticing how his face was set and terse, how he looked kind of sick, how he wasn't writing anything at all.

Kevin stared at the tablet. He'd only been translating for about ten minutes, but he looked emotionally exhausted and internally despair-riddled. "It's…" he let out a long shaky breath and his pen clattered down as he suddenly began to breath harder and harder. " _It_ _'_ _s_ …" he abruptly stood up and pulled at his shirt collar as he began to hyperventilate hardcore.

Half-asleep in a chair with his feet propped onto another one, Dean spoke without even opening his eyes. " _Kevin_ …"

"This is all too much," Kevin panted, clutching the table with both hands. "What's happened to my life?! I'm just a kid from Michigan! I didn't want to be a Word-keeper!"

Dean reluctantly opened his eyes and tore himself out of his chair. "Looks like we're brown-baggin' it," he said, grabbing an empty liquor-store bag from the table.

"Was it something I said?" Alex asked, still sitting cross-legged on the floor as she held an unwrapped protein bar. Kevin had been fine until she said something.

Kevin was frantic and upset as he leaned over the table. "I'm not prepared to factor the supernatural into my"—Dean stuck the paper bag to Kevin's mouth—" _world view_!"

Dean looked inconvenienced. "Okay, there we go," he said. He patted Kevin on the back a couple times impatiently. "That's it. That's it. Just breathe. Take it easy." He sounded rehearsed, exhausted, and Alex suddenly wondered when her brother had slept last. She had no idea, only knew he was in a pretty foul mood.

Kevin breathed in and out a few times into the bag, then got control and Dean backed off a few steps, leaned his hands onto the table and watched Kevin in what looked like both annoyance and sympathy. "I—I just wanna be the first Asian-American President of the United States," Kevin said tearfully, looking at Dean like he wanted some kind of answer, some reassurance. Comfort.

But Dean shook his head, jaded and cynical. He looked years older than he actually was. "I don't know, man. What can I say? You've been _chosen_." He said that sarcastically, like it was a bad thing. And it was. He made sure Kevin knew it too. "Chosen sucks. Believe me. There's no use asking 'why me,'" he said blandly, "'cause the angels—they don't _care_." He looked at Alex then, still speaking to Kevin, but looking her dead in the eye. "I think maybe they just don't have the _equipment_ to care." It felt like a verbal slap aimed at her. Dean shrugged, looking off with a contemptuous expression before Alex could react. "Seems like when they try, it just breaks them apart into little brain-dead pieces," he said, and Alex bristled as she realized he _was_ talking to her. And then he had the audacity to act like this had all been for Kevin to know, that Alex had nothing to do with what he'd just said. "All the angels end up doing is ruining whatever poor saps lives they touch, Kevin."

Standing up defensively, Alex set her brother with a hard look. "If you have something to say to me, say it to _me,_ " she said icily, not appreciating the passive aggressive digs.

Alex's demand seemed to unleash a locked-up vault of opinions Dean had been saving for her. "Look, I got every right to feel the way I feel and to think what I think," he said lowly, leashing his cold anger and measuring himself, coming off sharp and short. "I _never_ wanted you and Cas together. _Ever_. I had a bad feeling and that bad feeling turned out to be right on _every_ count. But you went against all the warnings I gave you and the way I tried to put an end to it and look what happened to you, to this family!" Dean apparently was holding it all against her, especially the past month. His face twisted as his fury heightened. "And you're _still_ with him? Still think he's a decent _guy_? He's a nutjob, a dead-end, he's _useless_! When are you gonna get it?"

Offended, Alex's blood began to boil. "Well Jesus Christ, if you hate him so much, if he's so useless, why's he here with us right now?"

"He's a means to an end!" Dean snapped.

"He's a _person_!" Alex insisted with a voice full of insulted disbelief.

"A 'person' who I will never, _ever_ forgive for what he's done to me and mine!" Dean retorted in a thundering tone. "Before he came around, you were _totally_ different, Alex! What's happened to you, huh? I don't even _know_ you anymore, and you know what? I don't think I _wanna_ know you anymore, either!" He said that and the room went utterly silent. The _hurt_ he inflicted with that single sentence was irreparable and Alex stood there in silent, wounded shock as Dean saw the effect of his words. He tried to justify himself, tried to make it seem like his hurtful words were just what she had coming after her choices. "Look, I have tried my _damndest_ to get on board with him, with you, with all the bullshit you've put me through the past few years but I can't do it anymore," he said. "I am a _reasonable_ guy, but this is just _too much_ for me!"

Although Alex had sensed Dean was bitter with her, she was quite honestly blindsided at the apparent levels. "What are you saying, just drop him off somewhere and forget about him?" she asked, thinking if she phrased it that way surely Dean would realize what a tool he was being.

Apparently not. "Does that really sound so crazy?" he asked defensively.

After a short, stunned silence, Alex's voice rose as she got angrier and angrier. "Are you fucking _kidding_ me? Cas _loves_ you, he loves Sam and me, he loves this family, he's made mistakes but who hasn't?! He needs help right now, have you _seen_ him? We can't just abandon him, even if he's looney bin— _especially_ if he's looney bin!" She was breathless and so upset she could barely see, and the way Dean was looking at her was making everything worse. Anger she hadn't even known she felt was boiling underneath her surface. "Like, what the fuck, Dean? Is this even about him?" she demanded spitefully. "Because I'm _really_ getting the feeling you're just butthurt at _me_!"

"You watch your mouth," he snapped, shocking her and mystifying her all over again at the parently correction. "Of course it's about him! It's _always_ been about him! Every _single_ problem starts and ends with _Cas_!"

"No, this is about _you_!" she nearly shouted, and her impassioned anger made her animated, sharp, fiery. "You just want me all to yourself where I can make you feel like the good big brother again, where you'll have a devoted little brain-dead sister who worships the ground you walk on and follows you anywhere, no matter what!" She became stony. "Well I'm sorry but I _grew up._ "

"Oh my god, are you serious?" Dean asked, appearing disgusted and judgmental of her. "Don't make this about us, this is about _you_ and the way you are _helplessly_ in _love_ with your murderer like some pathetic, abused woman! It's not normal! It's not _healthy_!" He stood back and spread his arms, raised his eyebrows. "And now _I_ _'_ _m_ the bad guy?!" His face darkened into a furious glare as he used his finger to point around for emphasis. "It's not bad enough he _killed_ you, dragged you around and hurt you, snuck around and married you behind my back—he _turned you against me_!"

There was a short, tense silence in which Dean was angry and stormy and Alex was increasingly sad and brokenhearted.

"No," she said quietly. " _You_ did that." His face flickered, showed stunned disbelief, like he didn't understand how she could think that. And therein was the tragedy. That he really _couldn_ _'_ _t_ see how his actions had done what they had. He couldn't accept any part of the rift between them. He was passively aggressively cruel, he was entitled and overbearing, he was an emotional bully in disguise as a caring big brother… and Alex didn't know if he'd always been like that or if she was just seeing it clearer now because of current circumstances. "Dean—what's going on with you?" she asked, desperate to get back the big brother who cared and who hugged her and meant it, who loved her without a price-tag or selfish expectations. "You're drinking more than I've ever seen you drink before, you give me the silent treatment for a _month_ , you make me feel guilty about everything I do or _don_ _'_ _t_ do…" she trailed off, and she wanted to cry because he was so frustrating to her, she couldn't win for losing, nothing she did seemed to work, he seemed ready to fight with her every time they spoke these days, she was exhausted by attempts to reach out. He said she and Cas weren't healthy—well, Dean's attempts at a domineering relationship with her weren't healthy, either. "I'm tired of fighting with you," she said in rising dismay, "I'm tired of you walking all over me!"

His eyebrows rose and she realized she'd said the wrong thing. " _I_ _'_ _m_ walking all over _you_?" he asked in disbelief, his eyebrows slamming together as he became indignant. "I have been here for you _without fail_ for my entire goddamn life, do you even _know_ the things I gave up so I could protect you and keep you safe?!"

A thought that had been resting inside of her for a very long time came shouting out of her without censorship of any sort. " _I never asked you to do that_!"

If his words had cut her before, her words cut him visibly. The silence between them was strained and thick. Dean looked so devastated and hurt at her comment—he shook his head, pulled a tight, humorless little grimacing smile as he nodded and swallowed down her shouted comment. And then he said something he would always, always regret and she would never be able to forget. "You know sometimes, I wish you'd never gotten your voice back at all," he muttered sourly, and it was like a sledgehammer hit her in the stomach. "That's when everything started changing."

She stood there a few feet off from him and felt like she'd been stabbed in the fucking _heart_ and she began to breathe so hard she almost hyperventilated. It was like he had destroyed her entire world and heart with those words, like he had taken a precious trust she'd given to him and smashed it against a wall on purpose and it made her _furious_ , it made her eyes flood with tears, it made her heart sink to her shoes. "How the hell can you say that shit to me?!" She demanded, then anger surged over her like high tide, making her teeth clench. Propelled forward by her temper, Alex marched up to Dean and slapped him in the face _hard,_ hard enough that his head turned to the side from the force of the loud smack. He could have blocked the attempt, but he hadn't, he had let her slap him, like he had expected her to do that or something. And that made Alex even angrier. The second he turned his face back toward her, she punched him so hard that her hand broke, so hard that he fell back to the ground and stared up at her with a bloody cheek. The levels of adrenaline running through her were too high for her to even really notice the pain in her hand. "What's _wrong_ with you!?" she screeched, betrayed. Brainlessly, she snatched up the pile of chain on the table and threw it at him where he was sprawled on the floor. He curled up defensively, holding hands out to avoid being hit in the face. " _I hate you!_ " Alex screamed, then ran out and up the stairs, distraught.

Kevin stared, traumatized and silent at the table, having bore witness to the entire, wretched thing. He said nothing though, maybe because he was afraid to get punched eventually, too. On the floor, the left side of Dean's entire face was pounding in pain. He slowly pushed himself up, a little shocked at what had just happened. Just as he found his feet and stared around the room like a guy in a trance, Kevin shrank a little at the table, staring at the place behind Dean. "Uh… who's that?" he asked, clutching the tablet to himself like a safety object.

Dean turned around and his heart jumped. The back door into the basement was open, and standing there was a very familiar person. He had no idea when she'd appeared there, but from the look on her face, she had heard enough of the fight that had just happened. "J-James—what—what are you doing here?" Dean asked, taken aback at her appearance.

Jamie gave him a testy look as she came into the room, shoes clicking on the floor. "You called me to come ward the house, remember?"

A little confounded at the moment, Dean found speaking difficult. "Yeah—no, I—I forgot," he said softly, his mind other places.

"I thought you were still like fifteen hours out," she said, clearly a little confused and maybe even a little suspicious.

"Cas, uh—he zapped us over," Dean supplied faintly. The pain in his cheek was killing him, as was the look on Alex's face and the words from her mouth: _I hate you!_

"Forget it," Jamie said. "I need to talk to you." She glanced at Kevin. " _Alone_." She grabbed Dean's wrist and began to pull him toward the back door. Outside was thickly wooded and birds called a midday song. There was a tiny back patio area and a crumbling stone path that wound around to the front of the cabin. Once Jamie had tugged Dean far enough away from the basement door to be out of earshot, she let go of him, turned around with crossed arms, and gave him a very hard to read look. Dean stood there, embarrassed, knowing she had just heard him say some pretty foul shit to his sister. "So I put you in a few good wards against all the basic bad guys." She didn't look very friendly right now. "You're welcome."

Dean couldn't manage much enthusiasm in the face of his bad feelings. "Thanks." He eyed her with slight dread. "How, uh, how much of that did you hear?"

Jamie was hard to read still, but definitely not happy. "Enough."

Slowly, Dean met her gaze. He didn't want Jamie to know how fucked up and dark he was, but she kind of knew that about him already. They'd been through a good bit the past, what, half year or so since the Leviathan thing had become an issue. This girl had seen some pretty ugly stuff from him in the past and had even been the target of his foul temper before, but he didn't want to own up to what had just happened in the cabin. _He_ couldn't believe he'd said it and had regretted it immediately. Suddenly so exhausted, Dean sank down onto a huge fallen tree nearby and put his face into his hands. " _Jesus_ , what is _wrong_ with me?"

A second passed, then he felt Jamie sit next to him. "I mean, if you want my honest opinion, we'll be here all night."

He would have laughed any other time at her wiseass comment. But today, Dean looked up and into the woods across his knees and despaired at his life. "Such a goddamn mess," he muttered. What freaked him out the most was how he didn't know how to get control over himself or the things he said.

Jamie was silent beside him, but she seemed to agree. It was all a huge, horrible, irreparable mess. He wanted to cry. Dean struggled to understand his own feelings and actions. Alex's accusations about him wanting her all to himself bothered him. That wasn't it. Was it? He didn't want to be that messed up or that selfish. He needed to blame Cas for everything, he needed to hate the angel for tearing his family apart and stealing his sister away, turning her against him. How else could he possibly put it?

"What's going on with you?" Jamie asked, her voice surprisingly empathetic and soft compared to how brusque she'd been just a couple seconds ago.

Dean stared off into space, barely aware of anything. "I don't want her with him, Jamie," he confessed brokenly. "I _don_ _'_ _t_." It felt like all their problems would disappear if Cas was gone. But maybe Dean was being unrealistic. He just didn't know anymore.

There was a long silence. "It's not really your choice though, is it?" she asked, a rhetorical reminder that no, it wasn't. And Dean hated that she was right.

He bowed his head down into a hand again as he tried so, so hard to get himself together and not flat out cry about his frustrations and exhaustion and feelings of abandonment. He was so lost at this point, he had done damage he knew he couldn't take back, and if Alex hadn't wanted to leave the family business before, she probably for sure would now. All because he couldn't control his big, stupid mouth. " _Motherfucker_ …" he choked.

A gentle, still hand came to touch Dean's back. An offering of kindness. A touch he didn't deserve, a touch that triggered more fears in him than anything else. Dean wondered how long it'd be until he had fucked things up with Jamie, too, how long it would be until she was the one screaming she hated him. It never lasted. Not with Cassie, not with Lisa, not with Jo, who it never had even started with at all. And _this,_ this up-in-the-air thing he and Jamie had stumbled into, he wanted to last more than anything else, to be honest. So he was extra afraid of it ending, he was extra afraid to do the wrong thing and get left yet again the owner of a broken heart. Dean wouldn't look at Jamie, but he felt her studying the side of his face. "Look," she said softly, her hand still against his shoulder. "I know you're under a lot of stress. I know how much you have on your shoulders." Dean let out an uncomfortable exhale through his nose. He told her things he didn't tell other people, and the past month there had been some pretty intense pillow talk. Dean had complained a lot about Alex in particular, and Jamie had listened. "But… that shit you said to Alex... that was out of line."

Dean looked down and let out a soft laugh of air. "I know it was fucked up, okay? And that's why I said it," he confessed as much to himself as to her. Jamie didn't let go of him and Dean began to really struggle. "I'm a fucking _joke_. What is _wrong_ with me, like—what _the hell_ is wrong with me?" He looked at her, into her sharp, watchful ice-blue eyes, and he felt like he was hopeless, defeated, already doomed to failure, so why try at all? He was past repair, he was too far gone. "I can't control it, this, this anger, this fear, all this stuff eating me alive," he said. It was too big for him. He had no control, no sense of direction, no lasting peace anymore, no love for himself except in small, fleeting moments that didn't last. "I feel alone, you know?" And stupid for saying all this shit out loud, too.

Jamie's eyebrows moved in toward each other. "You're _not_ ," she said, and unless it was a trick of the light, he thought she looked mildly hurt. "You know you're not."

He couldn't stand to see that he'd hurt her feelings and Dean pushed himself up to stand and he walked a few steps off. "Yeah well I'm sure hellbent to make sure I end up that way," he said darkly. "Push away every last damn person I care about." It might be better to just remove himself from the equation, to just stop trying. It was too hard to live life and go on like this.

Dean heard how she stood up behind him. "You're not the only fucked up person in the world, Dean." She almost sounded aggravated at him.

He turned around and looked at her. "You're perfect, don't even try and say you're not," he said, halfway joking, halfway serious—because he knew she was inferring that she wasn't perfect either. Yeah, she had flaws. But she was so much better of a person than he was. Pretty, smart, hilarious, badass Jamie who was no-nonsense and could hit like a linebacker but had a surprisingly gentle and sensitive side that he was learning about more and more. She cared deeply about things, she wasn't as jaded and cynical as she tried to act, he'd seen her cry. She was a tough cookie to crack because she had brick walls surrounding her heart… she had commitment issues out the wazoo and a nearly-debilitating fear of intimacy. And yet here they were, tiptoeing into deeper and deeper water together. Jamie was damaged like him, and maybe that's what drew him to her. Still, he didn't get why she was even putting up with his bullshit at this very moment. "Why's a girl like you stick around a guy like me, anyway?" he asked softly, his eyes flickering around her face. He hoped for an honest answer, but he also didn't know if he could take it, either.

"The sex," she joked immediately, deadpan. "I only want you for your body." He cracked a little grin and looked down, warming pleasantly. One thing was for sure, they didn't have problems _there._ Somehow, even though she'd resisted for what felt like forever, even though he'd tried to deny his own feelings and desires, about a month ago Jamie and Dean had finally decided _screw it_ and then hadn't even made it to the bed. Instead, they'd ended up together on the floor of a motel room as they frantically gave in to a year or more of mutual sexual tension and frustration. And maybe Jamie had been trying to get over him by fucking him with that first time, but it hadn't worked if that had been her plan. Dean still remembered the way she said his name the second time he'd taken her that same night and he'd known she had real feelings from the way her voice had sounded. He'd known he wasn't the only one. Since then, they hadn't really put a name to it, and Dean knew if he tried to broach that subject, she'd get spooked. So imagine his surprise when after a soft, thoughtful silence, Jamie dropped the joking tone and got vulnerable, came closer to him and looked into his eyes without a guard. "…I think we both know why, right?" She whispered, inspiring a hopeful, soft feeling in Dean's chest.

He thought about how scared she had to be to say that and he thought he might know why, too. Needing to so bad, he leaned a little closer even as she was reaching up and grasping the back of his neck, kissing him softly, erasing all of his bad feelings for a minute, compelling him to become gentle. He put his arms around her and pulled her close as the kiss got deep, as mouths opened and softly searched the other. Any two people could kiss. Dean had kissed a lot of women. But there was something to kissing _this_ one that was different. Maybe it was the way she kissed him, maybe it was the way he felt about her. He wasn't sure, but he could kiss her forever. He could kiss her and only her the rest of his life and be just fine… just as he had that thought, she withdrew a little and pressed her lips together as she looked down, trying to squash away a coy little smile.

Her eyes flickered up to his, and he loved how she looked so carefree and slightly naughty after he'd kissed her. It was funny. A couple years ago if you'd told him he would be into a witch, he would have laughed in your face. Now… well, he had it pretty bad. "I miss you," he confessed soft and earnest, because to him Jamie represented a safe haven away from places where old bitternesses were the walls holding the house together. But when he said he missed her, her face fell slightly. Dean could quite literally see her thought process and predicted she was thinking something like 'you'll miss me a lot more when I'm dead.' He knew because she'd told him in so many words: she was terrified of him feeling too much for her because the day was coming when she'd die. Like she'd put it to him late one night as they had been tangled up breathlessly together, she didn't want anyone to feel the pain of her loss when she died, she didn't want to leave any broken hearts because hers had been so broken in the past. She wouldn't die, and Dean had told her that. As soon as this Leviathan thing was put to bed, Dean was of one mind: hunting down the asshole demon Jake who had tricked Jamie. Then getting her the hell out of the deal she'd been tricked into. Seeing Jamie get so visibly scared, Dean's heart went out to her. "Hey," he said softly, gently touching her along the jawline with his thumb and forefinger. "None of that." He looked at her intently. "You remember what I promised?" Jamie nodded reluctantly, her eyes hesitating to meet his. "I'm a man of my word," Dean said seriously. He'd told her point blank she wasn't going to die. Not on his watch. And he planned to follow through.

Abruptly, Jamie was giving him a crooked, cute little smile—she ran a finger down his bicep and her eyes looked into his playfully. "Well, ' _man of your word_ ,'" she teased, "they seen your new tattoo yet?"

Typical, her changing the subject. "Jesus Christ, _no,_ " he said, shaking his head in chagrin at the thought of the tattoo he'd managed to hide for the past month or so from Sam. He thought back to the wild night he and Jamie had where he hadn't been the only one who got inked while totally trashed. A crooked grin pulled his mouth upwards. "Wouldn't mind seeing _yours_ again though…" he said, tone becoming a little suggestive as his hand slid down over her ass and curved to touch her inner thigh from behind where he knew _that_ little gem was permanently etched into perfect, soft skin…

Jamie was playfully indignant and shoved him away. " _Dean._ " One of her eyebrows was a little higher than the other. " _Priorities._ Go apologize to your sister before I punch you in the face, too."

He nodded somberly, his playfulness fading. "You gonna stick around?"

Regret showed on her face. "Wish I could stay but I need to get back. Owen and company need me on this job. I shouldn't have even made this detour, but… you know." The unspoken thing that went with 'you know' was _I_ _'_ _ll always help you out whenever I can._

"Yeah," he said. He would do the same for her. Suddenly hit with a pang of longing so intense it was painful, Dean's voice got husky. "Seriously. When can I see you again?" he asked, wanting her so bad in that moment. "You're like the only sane thing I got going for me these days."

She looked like she totally understood and was very sad to have to leave at all. "Soon," she murmured, and closed the distance between them with a brief, soft kiss that didn't last long enough. "Sorry I can't stay."

Dean studied her with deep intensity. "That's just how it goes sometimes I guess," he murmured back, leaning in and kissing her again, taking her into his arms as the overtly tender kiss burned them both in the best of ways.

Just when Dean tried to deepen the kiss, Jamie pushed him back, grinning at him. "Quit _stalling_ ," she said, but she didn't seem _that_ concerned about him doing that.

"Make me," he replied in a voice just over a whisper, kissing her again—she accepted the kiss with a little chuckle, one of her hands clenching into his hair as he kissed her so sweet and slow.

Then abruptly, she made a sound of frustration and regret and broke the kiss. "I have to _go,_ " she groaned, smacking him on the shoulder lightly even as she grinned through an expression of dissatisfaction. Dean just smiled at her with soft eyes and kiss-soft lips. She was something else. Jamie studied him for a couple seconds, her smile fading into a much more intense expression, then she went onto tiptoes, took his face in both hands, and softly kissed his cheek just beside where he'd been hit and the skin was broken. Her hands stayed on his face a couple seconds longer, thumbs stroking across his skin like he was special and meant something to her. Their eyes met, and for whatever reason, he reached up and grasped one of her wrists, his thumb brushing lightly against her hand as their eyes held. Then Jamie let go and gave him a businesslike nod. "Inside," she said, pointing at the cabin for effect. " _Apologize_. Make me proud." And then, as goodbye, she smacked his ass like football players do.

Dean grinned as she jogged off and hurried up the little pathway back toward the front of the cabin. When she got to the top of the slight hill there, she turned back and gave him a grin, made the phone symbol with her hands, mouthed 'call me', then was gone.

When she disappeared from sight, as usual, his lifted spirits began to come back down to earth and Dean looked at the cabin in dread. He was halfway tempted to just go after Jamie and try to escape the consequences of his actions. But that wasn't who he was.

He took in a huge breath and steeled himself, shut his eyes, breathed out, then made himself start walking back into the cabin.

If Alex never forgave him for what he'd said, he couldn't say he'd be surprised. But he hoped. He hoped so hard.


	100. Murphy's Law

" _It's decidedly bizarre when the Worst Thing happens and you find yourself still conscious, still breathing._ _"  
_ \- Elisa Albert

* * *

Cas was sitting on the couch opposite of the tiny old television in Rufus's hunting cabin. Poor cable reception was picking up a black-and-white episode of _Gilligan_ _'_ _s Island_ which the angel watched in rapt fascination.

Sam sat at the kitchen table listlessly, half-watching Cas and half-watching the TV screen in between other thoughts that competed for his attention. He was preoccupied and anxious (what else was new?). He was beginning to think of going to the basement to check on Dean, Alex, and Kevin and see if they were making any progress with the tablet. Or he could go check on Meg, who'd wandered off to who-knows-where. _Probably should look into that._ Just as he idly contemplated that idea, his ears caught what sounded like a muffled bellow behind the noisy chatter of the characters on the television. Going tense, Sam squinted and frowned, listening hard for any sign that something was up. For a second, he heard nothing and was just about to decide he had been hearing things… and then for _sure_ he heard a female voice screaming something incoherent. Even as Sam's instincts went red-alert at the realization that something must be wrong, even as he stood up like a bolt of lightning, footsteps pounded up the stairs and then Alex burst into the room. She was red-faced, absolutely furious and breathless, looking like she could punch something or break down crying—he wasn't sure which.

Sam stood back slightly because he was taken aback at her crazed appearance _._ "What's wrong?" he asked intently.

Alex didn't look at Sam. She didn't look at anyone. "I fucking _hate_ him, _hate_ him!" she shouted. Cas looked over at her in vaguely concerned interest from his perch on the couch, Sam blinked twice, his eyebrows knitting together further. What the hell had he missed in the last thirty minutes or so? Apparently something big. "I can't do this anymore, I won't live with someone who thinks he can boss me around and judge my every last move and abuse my emotions all day long!" Alex screeched as she literally _shook_ from unrestrained anger. " _I had enough of that shit with Dad_!"

She was about to get inconsolable. Sam held out his hands toward her stayingly, a little out of his element because she was so unhinged and he wasn't really sure why yet. "Hey, whoa whoa whoa, just—just calm down," he counseled, fearing she'd hurt herself or something if she didn't deescalate.

"I _can_ _'_ _t calm down_!" she shouted even louder, voice cracking and screeching like a teenage boy's voice might. "He is the most selfish, arrogant, rude, _horrible_ person I have ever _met_!"

Although he realized something big had to have happened to make her scream this stuff, Sam was currently just focused on getting her to calm down and take it easy. "Hey—whoa—" he insisted carefully, firmly taking her by the upper arms and trying to be calm so she would calm down too. He expected her to wrench away from him and maybe sock him in the stomach and scream at him to leave her alone. So when she gave a horrible sobbing noise and launched herself _at_ Sam and hugged her arms around him like a vice, when she buried her face in his chest and began to cry at top volume Sam was appallingly mystified and even more worried than before. His arms cautiously circled around his sister as she wailed pathetically against him like a brokenhearted woman. "What… what _happened_?" he asked, getting more and more worried. Alex shook her head 'no' against Sam's chest, refusing to say. Sam's brotherly concern got more and more pronounced, because he couldn't figure out what would make her this distraught—Dean must have said something really messed up, and Sam was already getting pissed at his brother for whatever he'd said if it had his twin this upset. "What'd he _say_ to you?"

"It's me," Cas said somberly, and he stood up. Behind him, _Gilligan_ _'_ _s Island_ still played, a canned laugh-track droning on over the characters' melodramatic dialogue. "They were arguing about me." The angel paused, looking at Sam and Alex sadly. Then, his face went from pensive to abruptly very thoughtful and bright, like he'd had a wonderful idea pop into his mind. "I think I should plant a garden in the front of the house facing northeast, it would receive good sunlight and be ideal for a rosebush among other things, what do you two think?"

Sam gave the angel a look that said it all. "I think we can discuss botany some other time, Cas!" he exclaimed, voice a little high-pitched in disbelief. The angel was so gone it wasn't even funny. Alex was standing here crying and Cas wanted to talk about _garden plans_?

Cas was chastened again. "Oh, my apologies. I should be comforting her, too." He didn't move at all though. He only got more serious and grim, even a little guilty as he stood off and let Sam be the only one who did the comforting. "But… I'm the one who caused the problem in the first place so it seems perhaps I should keep my distance."

Alex abruptly got fired up by what Cas had said, forgetting her tears as she stood upright and yanked out of Sam's gentle hug. "No—no you're _not_ the problem!" she insisted in Cas's direction, using a voice that was hard as stone. "The problem is downstairs—" she stabbed a finger downward for effect, "—and he's six feet two hundred pounds of _booze_ and emotional _bullshit_ and I am done, _done_." Her brief flareup of anger gave way to true sadness, and as such, Alex tried extra hard to cover it up with that rock-hard voice. "He doesn't have to like this or us or even _me_ , but he isn't the judge and jury of the entire world, he's not my boss or my dad, he's _not_ the only person whose feelings matter, he doesn't have to be such a _dick_!" She gave a sudden sob that visibly affected her entire body and she covered her mouth and turned away from Sam, utterly distraught. It was like her world had been shattered or something, that's how beside herself she was in that moment. Sam watched her powerlessly, unsure how to help her, unsure what had happened. "How could he _say_ that to me?" she asked almost to herself, voice rasping from the effect of tears.

"Alex, what'd he say?" Sam asked again in anxious gentleness, dreading to know what words could have gotten Alex so worked up but needing to know either way.

She whirled around and looked at Sam like she was angry at him for asking. Her eyes glittered with tears. " _That he wished I never got my voice back_!"

He never would have predicted she would say _that._ It was like being slapped in the face when you least expected it. Alex said that and for a second, Sam quite literally couldn't believe it. He thought he misheard, he thought there had to be some kind of mistake. "… _What_?" he asked, but her face stayed the exact same, and Sam felt like his blood was draining out of his face. His first thought was there was no way Dean would _ever_ say that, but apparently he had. "Alex… he couldn't have meant that," Sam managed, shocked and hurt on her behalf and struggling to understand.

"I don't care what he _meant_ , he still said it!" she exclaimed, hurt written on every facet of her face. At Sam's stunned silence, she abruptly gave up and turned and clomped away into the kitchen, which was just off the small main room. It was the most private area around besides the tiny bedroom in the back of the house.

Cas trailed after her. "Did you know that—" he began in an innocent, inquisitive tone.

Alex whirled. "I don't care!" she shrieked. "I don't care about kangaroo vaginas or pig orgasms or how long an elephant is pregnant for or how many nerve endings are where doing what! I don't _care,_ Cas!" She heaved in a few breaths as her expression revealed her frustration and growing inability to control her oncoming grief. "So _stop_ it!"

Cas looked physically smaller and very shaken at her reprimand, then appropriately apologetic. "I'm sorry to have caused so much strife in your family. It was never my intention to be such a source of grief," he said quietly, meeting her gaze with his and for a moment that look gave her hope that he was of the mind to comfort her and talk with her about real things that actually mattered. And then he brightened and began to ramble excitedly, dashing her hopes. "I know! I'll make a romantic dinner for you, that will fix everything!" he exclaimed, then began to open the tiny old cabinets in the kitchen, looking for items excitedly as Alex gaped at him in crestfallen confusion. "Candles, wine, spaghetti and meatballs, a red checkered tablecloth—I wonder if I could get a violinist to serenade you," Cas rambled to himself, focused on his frenzied, hare-brained search through the cabinets. He stopped, looked at her with an eager grin. "Oh, or _I_ could learn to play!" Abruptly, he frowned. "Where could I get a violin on such short notice, though?" His confusion gave way to another grin as he stared off dreamily at nothing. "Well, I _am_ an angel, I'm sure I could find one _some_ where…" he trailed off and lost confidence, when he saw the look on her face. "Oh. You don't look like you like that idea." He stood there awkwardly, away from her, and wracked his brain for a solution to her problem. "Um—a foot massage? Or a trip to someplace you'd like to visit for nostalgia's sake? A hug?"

Alex gave up. Her face crumpled, she slid down to sit with her back against the cabinet in a defeated slump and she looked at her right hand, which was trembling and red and pulsing with pain if she moved it at all. Cas was missing the point by a landslide. She was suffering in her heart and her soul—and he wanted to give her a teddy bear and a balloon and call it a day. "I broke my hand," she whispered, and began to cry her defeated misery aloud as she bowed her head down and cradled the hurt hand to herself. "I hit him and I broke my hand."

Never, ever had she ever thought Dean would wish such a horrible thing on her. Not after all the days he'd spent wiping childhood tears and sharing her pain at being isolated and mute. Not after all the times he'd said he would do anything to find her a way to talk. It hurt that he'd say that he wished she never got her voice back, but more than anything, it made her so _angry_ because of the selfishness and thoughtlessness behind the words, the presumption of lost ownership or something. Dean knew what saying that would do to her emotionally and he'd said it anyway. Did he _really_ think she only existed to meet his needs or something? She was her _own_ person. Her own broken, messy, confused person who made mistakes. Her own mistakes, mistakes he had no business trying to run or micromanage. Today, she felt like her world was shattered when her big brother basically implied that he cared more about what she could do for him than whether or not she was freed from the chains she'd been bound by so long. That _hurt_. It was like the ultimate betrayal. It felt like all the love she'd ever had for Dean had been a trick. Like her view of him was forever-shifted and things would never be the same between them. She shuddered as tears became more pronounced. She felt so alone in that moment, so misunderstood, so very hurt and lost.

And then Cas sat down next to her very slowly, abruptly sensitive to her emotions like he used to be. Awkward and slow, he put his arm around her loosely, a hand on her shoulder. Alex stiffened, not sure about accepting affection even though she really needed it in that moment. Then Cas gently took her injured hand in his and when he did, he was able to see some white scar tissue on the inside of her wrist. "Scars," he murmured as Alex sniffed tearfully and watched him doubtfully. His thumb mournfully brushed over the marred skin. "Scars I put there." He gently touched the back of her hand, healing her, relieving the pain, fixing the broken bone. His eyes looked up into hers and there were entire galaxies inside those bright blue eyes of his. "The human body has two hundred and six bones in it," he said somberly. "I want all of yours to be happy. If bones can be happy, anyway. Can bones be happy?"

It would have been a cute question another day, maybe. But nothing had any light to it in that moment for Alex. She pulled her hand back to herself and rested both hands on her pulled-up knees. "How can bones be happy if I'm not?" she asked softly, staring off ahead of herself with a frozen, pained expression.

Cas was quiet for a second and he studied the side of her face. "It makes me very sad that you're sad," he said, sounding pained by association. There was a very long pause in which Alex continued to stare out at nothing and Cas looked at her in vexed silence. Then he chanced a slow, uncertain question. "Would you like me to throw your brother through a wall or something?" Alex looked up from her knees then turned her head slowly to look at Cas, who appeared to be second guessing his question. "That didn't sound like such a good idea once I said it out loud," he said lowly. He then reached over and tried to hold her hand, but she pulled it away and to herself mistrustfully. After the dream with the hand sex thing, she was wary and suspicious, guarded. Cas looked hurt at her rejection of his touch, and for a moment he thought silently, trying to piece together why she spurned his touch. "Was what I did earlier… was that wrong?" he asked slowly, a deep frown on his face. "In the dream?"

"I don't know _what_ it was," Alex said, avoiding his gaze. "It was _weird_." She paused, feeling awkward and embarrassed about having to say this. And also confused, because she hadn't ever predicted a day when she wouldn't want Cas's touch. But it wasn't right. Nothing about that encounter felt okay to her in any way, and she couldn't let him think she wanted sexual favors from him. Not with his mind like this. "I need… I need you to not touch me again like that," she said in the softest voice. "Unless I ask you to… _don_ _'_ _t_."

Appearing sickened with himself and alarmed, Cas tried to find words and quickly nodded. "Of course," he said. It was easy to hear how embarrassed he was. "I'm—I'm sorry. I thought… I thought I was…"

"I know," she said, wanting to leave it behind and pretend it hadn't happened. "Just… not again."

"No," he said immediately, his face tense with dismay. "I won't." He abruptly shot to his feet, a manic expression on his face as he attempted to change the subject and right his wrong. "I know! I'll learn how to make cupcakes!" he said, a mad gleam in his eye as he began to formulate his plan aloud in a spastic, zealous voice. "Just for you, any kind you want, with icing, and, and sprinkles and whatever else you put on cupcakes, you'll have it. Nothing but the best for the one I love, the _best._ " He began to turn in a circle and look for things like a madman. "A cookbook—" he muttered, then disappeared and reappeared with a huge baking recipe book. "An apron—" he muttered, then disappeared and reappeared a few feet off with a pink, flowered apron on over his outfit. "And of course I'll need the other necessary—" disappeared, reappeared, dumped an armful of stuff down "—tools." He began to paw through his pile of things. "A whisk, a _whisk_ …" he said to himself.

And that was the next few minutes of Alex's life. Cas whipping up a cupcake batter and studiously ignoring her in a bumbling way as she sat on the floor and stewed over everything. She was torn between rage and heartbreak. At Dean, at Cas for being a bumbling shell of himself, and finally at _herself_ because she was always ready to blame herself most in any given situation even if she didn't deserve it. But mostly, she was angry with her brother. So when he slunk into the main room quietly with guilty eyes, when he dodged Sam's dirty look and headed for Alex and Cas, her blood boiled and she stood up, stone-faced.

Sam drifted after his brother with arms crossed, his eyes narrowed as he hung back at a safe distance, watching closely. Cas was just putting the cupcake batter into the oven in the kitchen. Dean gave the angel an odd look but otherwise ignored the cupcake thing and looked at his sister instead. "Hey," he greeted reluctantly. She had her arms crossed and an expression of contempt on her face and she pointedly did _not_ look at him. "Listen, just—I'm sorry. Al, I shouldn't have said what I said," he said. Well _that_ was putting it mildly. Her eyes glanced at him briefly and sharply. Dean looked like he was really having a hard time. "I was outta line, okay?" he asked, like that solved that. His eyes faltered away. "Especially with—you know."

Alex said nothing and looked away, clenching her jaw so a muscle jumped in her cheek.

Cas, at the oven in his little pink apron, looked back with a coy smile on his face. "It's funny, isn't it? Funny meaning ironic," he said, walking over a little to stand near Alex's side while looking at Dean. "How Dean is becoming the person he most dearly wished _not_ to be." He paused at Dean's look of confusion and annoyance. "I'm referring to your father, John Winchester, of course."

Dean was visibly taken aback but quickly covered up with a glower. "Dude, I'm not interested in your opinion. Get back in the kitchen."

Cas was quiet a second, his expression showing that he was a little reluctant to cause any upset, but that he was resigned to the fact that he had to say what he had to say. "You upset my wife, Dean," he said in a pleasant enough tone. "I'm sorry, but I think this has gone on long enough."

Aggravated, Dean's voice became a tense growl. "Stop _calling_ her that, Cas."

Cas glanced at Alex, who was glaring absolute daggers at Dean in silence. "I, um… I don't think she wants to talk to you, Dean," Cas said. As the tension-filled stare held between the brother and sister, Cas tried to play peacemaker. "Let's play Monopoly, doesn't that sound like fun? A bonding experience, a pleasant thing to pass the time?"

Dean's face finally revealed some real emotions. "Alex, come on," he pled earnestly. "I'm _sorry_."

Alex snapped internally. All the thoughts that had been simmering in hurt and anger propelled her to try and hurt her brother like he'd hurt her. "I don't care _what_ you are," she said in a trembling, hard voice. "If it weren't for Sam, I'd be fucking _gone_ right now, do you understand? I would take my broken, brain-dead angel and you would _never_ see me again!" Dean looked exactly like she wanted him to look: affronted, guilty, hurt, shocked. "Cas has done unforgivable things to me, but he's _never_ done what you have, he's never treated me like I'm his _property_ , he's never wished I would be less of a person, that I would live crippled and isolated just for his own personal, selfish feelings—that was _you!_ " The accusation she practically screamed had Dean looking unbelievably hurt and convicted, but Alex wasn't done. She was remembering every time her brother had tried to run her life and how she'd let him treat her like a whipping post and she wanted to tear into him for once, let him be the one who got verbally pummeled. Especially after what he'd said to her today. "You want me to stop putting up with men who abuse me and control me, right?" she asked sharp and hard. "Well, _good_. Because as far as I can see, you're first place winner in _that_ category!" Dean withered, and Alex delivered the final blow, unable to see from how angry and hurt she was. "Cas should have left you in Hell, you bastard!"

And as soon as she let _that_ bomb drop on him, as soon as the gut-wrenching hurt showed on his already-wounded face, Alex stormed past Dean with a shove, knocking him into the corner of the the countertop where utensils clattered down onto the floor noisily. Dean stared after his sister with a dumbstruck, shocked expression—he visibly couldn't believe she would say that to him. The front door of the cabin slammed as she exited the house. Cas hesitated, then still wearing his apron, disappeared in the blink of an eye. This left the two brothers. Sam was giving Dean a look that made the oldest Winchester get defensive to cover up his shaken emotions. " _What,_ Sam?"

"What's your fucking problem, Dean?" Sam asked, not bothering to beat around the bush and not going easy on his brother. "You wish she never got her _voice_ back?" When Dean didn't deny it, when all he did was silently confirm it with a slight change of expression, Sam got even more angry. "That is the _single_ most screwed up thing you could ever have said to her!" he said, voice rising. "What were you _thinking_?"

Dean's mouth flattened and he shrugged, eyes avoiding Sam's. "Guess I wasn't." He brushed past his brother, heading into the main room in an attempt to end the conversation.

Sam turned with him, incredulous. "That's it? That's all you got? ' _Guess I wasn_ _'_ _t_ '?"

Dean whirled, angry and hostile. "Leave me alone, Sam!"

"No!" Sam fired back. "I won't let you _talk_ to her like that!"

Dean was wry. "Well it's kinda too late, don't you think? And what about what _she_ just said to _me_?" he challenged. "What about that, Sam?"

Sam shook his head, fed up and taking a second to wet his lips and think things through. "Look," he said, speaking in a measured voice despite his obvious anger. "I'm gonna give you some time to cool off and come back to your senses from whatever the hell your problem is right now. I'm gonna let you get it together and then we'll talk about where to go from here, okay? But frankly, as far as I'm concerned, if you're gonna be constantly antagonizing everyone and bullying our little sister around like that, I'm taking her and we're out of here, Dean. You're out of _control,_ man, and you know it. This isn't your first offense! I dunno what it is, but you're just like in this downward spiral this year and I can't just stand by anymore and not do something. The booze, the bloodlust, the rage you keep inside—it's gotta _stop_."

"You don't think I know that?" Dean demanded in a hard, furious voice. "Sorry, Sam, but my problems come last! They have to, I'm too busy saving the world to care about myself!" Dean turned again to walk away.

Sam didn't let it end there. "Well if you don't _start_ caring, you're gonna end up dead on the side of the road somewhere!"

Dean turned around, amused in a cold way. "What is that, a threat?"

Sam's face showed contemptuous irritation. "Shut up, you know what I'm saying." Dean said nothing, just smirked like a jackass. "You gotta get the reigns again man," Sam said pleadingly. "I want my brother back."

There was a false smile and Dean spread his arms and let them smack down to his sides. "Well, you're lookin' at him."

"No." Sam shook his head, incredibly sad now. "I don't know _who_ I'm looking at anymore."

Rolling his eyes to cover over deeper emotions, Dean looked like he'd had quite enough for the day. "Get over yourself, Sam," he muttered, then suddenly frowned as he looked around the small cabin. "Hey—where the hell is Meg?"

Sam hesitated. "…She wasn't with you?"

Dean shook his head no and the brothers had to put aside their bickering to deal with their latest discovery.

* * *

Outside, it was mid-day and pleasant, decidedly cool for the month of June. Birds twittered gaily in the woods around the cabin, and Alex _hated_ it. If the weather had been better suited her mood it would have been raining hard and furious, there would be no escaping the tornado of hail and skin-ripping wind. But it was nice out. And she wanted to scream.

The youngest Winchester didn't even know where she was going, the only place she wanted to be was _away_ —so she stomped down the driveway which was about five more miles of dirt until it let out to another gravel road. Cas suddenly appeared, blocking her way. She came up short, a little startled out of her pissy march. He was wearing the pink patterened apron, had some flour dusting part of his jaw and the side of his nose—but his expression was sad and cautious. "You're angry."

His two gentle words made her even angrier. "No shit I'm angry!" she snapped, her anger and despair launching her into more hysterical rambling that came from repressed feelings that she had avoided, crushed down, and tried not to feel at all. "I don't need to be in love with you!" she shouted, and Cas visibly took a hit from hearing those words. "I don't need to look at you right now and want you to hold me and tell me it's gonna be okay! I don't need it!" she shrieked. "I _hate_ myself for getting so attached to you, to _anyone_! All any of you ever end up doing is _hurting_ me and I'm so _tired_ of it! I hate myself for being unable to get over you, for always forgiving my brothers, for always forgiving _you_ , for caring either way about anyone, for always giving everyone a second, third, fourth chance!" Her anger was crumbling into the abyss of sadness that made up her insides. "I went through all that therapy and thought I had changed but look! I'm the same, my life's the same, everything's the _same—_ and _fuck this_!" Alex redoubled her efforts to be outwardly hard when she began to get upset to the point of tears. "At least anger makes sense, at least anger is something I understand! I'd rather be angry than be _hurt,_ so just leave me alone!"

She tried to push past him, but he stopped her with gentle hands. "But you _are_ hurt," he said quietly. "Dean's hurt, too."

Alex bristled. "Well good for him," she retorted hotly. "I don't _care_."

Cas smiled faintly, like he was in on some grand secret. "That's not true," he said, apparently not on board with her BS for even a second. Cas inhaled and looked around in satisfaction. "Do you smell that? Fresh air. It has such a crisp sort of feeling to it, doesn't it." He gazed at their immediate surroundings with a fond little smile on his face. "Isn't it peculiar to think we're standing on a mass of matter flying around the sun at a velocity of sixty-six thousand miles an hour? Just a blip in the universe. And yet, the dew on a blade of grass. The call of the birds in the trees. How can those things be as small as they truly are? They feel big to me. Grand, beautiful." His calm wonder and awe about such beautiful if misplaced sentiments brought her down from her agitated levels, his observations about being a blip in the universe made her think for a second about what she should and shouldn't be angry about with that in consideration. Her feelings ruled her entire world so often. Maybe they shouldn't. "Your ill feelings toward Dean," Cas said slowly, his eyes scanning a nearby tree thoughtfully. "I understand them. You're in deep, profound pain because of everything happening, but you're not the only one. Your brother is in more pain than I think he chooses to say. Of course, inevitably, his pain comes out in other ways. Ways designed to draw others into his pain with him and make them feel as miserable as he is. He's a very complex man," he said, smiling fondly to himself at the thought of Dean before he grew a little more somber. "Your tumultuous childhood has left him very confused, and well, I think it's left you confused, too." Alex gaped at Cas faintly. He caught the look and smiled wider. "What? Just because my mind is a little on the soupy side, doesn't mean I'm not still me," he said in a voice that suggested he was surprised she could think anything to the contrary. "The angel who loves you and is so, so sorry about what he did. What he said. The sadness he put into your eyes." Cas tilted his head to the side, bittersweet as he looked into her eyes thoroughly. "My best friend," he said of her in admiring sadness. "My intrepid companion. You deserve so much better than the hand you were dealt." He spoke about it so evenly, like it was something he had moved past, like it was a sad story but _oh well_. And then, showing that he'd been listening earlier, he did what she said she'd wanted and reassured her. "It's… 'gonna be okay,'" he said, using the phrasing she'd used and then pulling her into a hug that was timid and careful and uncertain.

Alex stood against him with her arms hanging at her sides as she stared blankly across his shoulder. Her heart hurt and her trust felt so damaged. She was beginning to think the only person she could trust was herself, but even that was a stretch. "Hoping is the thing that kills me," she said in a whisper after a moment. Hoping Dean would change and stop subjecting her to the manipulation and control and guilt trips. Hoping that Cas would be Cas again someday. Hoping there was an end to all the bullshit she was constantly drowning in.

"Hm." Cas tilted his head against hers as he hugged her. Alex's eyes shut as her eyebrows knit together—she didn't know what to do. Half of her wanted to accept the affection, the other half wanted to push him away. "I think hope is the most important thing," he said low and soft, then drew back and smiled, suddenly brightening. "And also board games! Can we play Candy Land? I think it might cheer us up."

That comment made Alex depressed all over again. And she could think of only one place to turn. "I need a hit, I can't even function right now," she muttered, then headed for the car where her bag still waited. Cas hung back reluctantly, downcast at her statement and appearing uncertain whether or not he should say something or not. He ended up saying nothing and letting her take a second hit of Oxy that day. When she was done, she sat down on the bumper of the old SUV and stared at the ground with an expression of pain and heartache, regret, confusion. Cas approached her slowly then sat with her, but left a good distance between them. Alex realized in that moment how they were so broken. As a unit, as individuals. She wasn't who she used to be just as much as Cas wasn't who he used to be either.

"Did you really mean what you said?" he asked after a moment. "That I should have left Dean in Hell?"

His question was like a knife. Alex couldn't believe she'd said that to Dean and she wished she could take it back. "Of _course_ not," she whispered, wishing to god she knew a way to get a hold of herself—she remembered Dean ripped to shreds on the floor and breathing his last, she remembered months of heartache and unbearable loss. Her brother might deserve a lot of things, but Hell was not one of them. Not now, not ever. "I was just trying to hurt him like he's hurt me," she managed, then bowed her head down and stifled a sound as tears came. Blindly, she reached over and grabbed Cas's hand, which had been resting on the bumper. She grabbed his hand so hard that her knuckles went white. He shifted closer to her and turned his hand upward into hers, holding her hand tightly as she held his. "I can't keep doing this, Cas," she said, voice wretched and rough from tears. "I _can_ _'_ _t_." But she didn't know how to get back to who she used to be. How was she supposed to live forever and exist in this miserable, shattered state? That was the question that haunted her life now.

"I love you, even if I'm not good at it," Cas said to her softly, sounding unsure of how to console her. "I promise I won't go away." He paused then edited himself quickly. "Unless you want me to, that is."

"No," she said, shaking her head and holding onto his hand tightly as she looked down into her lap and tried to stop crying. "Don't go away."

They sat there a little longer, holding hands across the bumper as Alex got herself together. And then the cabin door opened and Sam came out, appearing to be worried. "Hey, guys—get in, quick," he said, seeming urgent. "Meg's missing."

Understanding, Alex stood, but did _not_ want to be in the top level of the cabin with Dean. She took in a deep breath, cleared her throat, and pushed everything aside, compartmentalizing out of necessity. "I'll go watch Kevin," she said. Sam nodded, and Alex glanced at her companion—maybe it was lazy or even cowardly, but she didn't want to walk through the house and have to see Dean. "Cas?"

He smiled at her dreamily. "Did you know a chameleon's tongue can be as long as its body?"

Deflated, Alex tried not to get angry at him. Anyway, she was too emotionally drained now to be angry. "Just take me to the basement, please."

Cas did, immediately, and at their appearance, Kevin's pen dropped to the floor as he started with a huge jump in the chair he sat in. "Ahh!" He clutched a hand to his heart as his other hand gripped the tablet.

"Relax, it's just me," Alex said tiredly.

Kevin looked at Cas mistrustfully, who smiled serenely at the prophet and walked over and tapped him on the nose. " _Boop_."

"Will you make him stop doing that?!" Kevin demanded, looking at Alex pointedly.

"Cas, _quit_ ," she pleaded, fed up with his weird antics. She made a 'shoo' motion with her hand. "Go upstairs and help Sam and Dean with whatever the hell they're doing."

Cas grinned. "Okie dokie," he said, then disappeared. _Okie dokie?_ Alex let out a heavy breath and shook her head to herself. A yearlong nap would be nice about now… anything to escape this crazy reality she'd found herself in.

Kevin breathed out heavily as he tried to calm his jangled nerves. He glanced at Alex out of the corner of his eye and it was easy to tell he felt awkward. She knew why and decided to apologize halfheartedly. "Sorry you had to see that back there," she said, avoiding looking at him too closely. "The uh, screaming match." That was a little embarrassing to have this stranger at the front row for her and Dean's little run-in.

"It's okay," Kevin said meekly, and with a few more uncertain glances at her, he began translating the tablet onto note paper again.

Looking for something to occupy her mind, Alex rounded the table slowly and peered at his work. "How's it going?"

She saw about half a page of neat handwriting on the page and it looked like a history of the Leviathan, at least what he had down so far. "It's all right, I guess," Kevin replied. He sounded pretty nervous to have her standing over his shoulder so Alex backed off and went to the sink, got a glass out, and poured some water. "Some pretty freaky stuff in here," Kevin offered timidly after a second. Alex gave a soft mm-hmm and set down the water for him. He looked at her cautiously.

"It's well-water, don't worry about it," she said. He was nervous about every last thing. She guessed he had every reason to be. The kid seemed pretty sheltered.

"T-thanks," he said, then cautiously sipped the water, his expression full of misgivings. After a second and he didn't die from poisoning or whatever he thought was wrong with the water, Kevin glanced across the glass of water at Alex. She was taking a seat across from him, busying herself with field stripping and cleaning her pistol. "What'd Dean mean?" Kevin asked after a second. He looked from the gun to her with timid eyes. "About… your voice?"

Alex's eyes snapped up from metal components to guardedly curious brown eyes across the table. She didn't like to talk about this part of her life, but no amount of disliking it could make it go away. Averting her eyes, Alex talked about it factually, trying to include none of her own emotions on the matter. "I was mute growing up. Until six years ago."

Kevin's eyes registered surprise, confusion, and further curiosity as well as the recognition that it was a closed subject. "Oh. That… that must have been hard," he offered feebly, saying nothing more of it and bending back over the tablet. He became sullen and glanced back over at her momentarily. "You're just down here to babysit me, right? Make sure I don't run away."

Alex paused her work and looked at him carefully, trying to figure out his angle in asking that question. They both knew he wasn't an idiot, and only an idiot or someone truly desperate would run away from this cabin. "You know how far out we are," she said, eyeing him closely. "Twelve miles from civilization of any kind, out in the middle of the woods, which are probably full of bears and mountain lions. You know all that, because you're a super smart kid. You wouldn't run away."

Maybe he just wanted some sympathy. "I don't know which would be worse," he muttered, his eyes staring unseeingly into the tablet. "Being killed by a wild animal or by a Leviathan."

"How about _neither_?" Alex suggested, the smallest little smile lifting her mouth up to one side. He was cute.

Kevin's mouth twitched into a nervous little smile that wasn't very long-lived. He focused back on the tablet for all of ten seconds before his nostrils flared as some apparently-shocking thought hit him. "Is… is the boogeyman real?" he asked, his eyes jumping to Alex's in worry.

She felt kind a tug of fondness and even protectiveness at that question. "Nah," she said, pulling the slide out of her pistol with a loud metallic _thwick_. "But honestly, if he _were_ , he'd be vanilla compared to the _other_ stuff out there that goes bump in the night." She realized after she said it how that wasn't as reassuring as she'd tried to make it.

Kevin looked emotionally scarred. "I don't like this," he lamented. "I just wanna live in a world where the scariest thing is writing a college admission essay."

That sure would be better than Leviathans and wraiths and ghosts and demons... smiling to herself at the idea, Alex ruefully rubbed at the guide rod of her gun with a cloth. "Hey, just think how easy that'll be after this, right?"

Kevin was quiet. "Yeah, I guess." He watched how she cleaned the pistol quickly, efficiently, like she'd done it a thousand times (she _had_ ). "Did you go to college?"

She snorted without meaning to at the question. At his look of confusion, she explained cynically. "I dropped out of _high school._ Quit caring sometime around twelve or thirteen I guess, quit trying not long after that. Forget _college_." At the look of horror on Kevin's face, Alex frowned slightly. "What?"

At a loss for words and reaction, he shook his head blankly. "I just… education is everything to me."

Other people who said that might get an eye roll from Alex because of the presumption and prissy nature she associated with people interested in high education. But Kevin had this genuineness to him and his interest in education seemed born out of some natural intelligence, not a desire to be better than others. Her answer to him was quiet, sad even. "I never lived in that world, Kevin." She didn't understand the sentiment of education being important. She had needed to know how to shoot straight and fight dirty. Not write essays and get good grades. Kevin was from a totally different planet than Alex was, practically. But, all she knew about him really was what she gathered from his appearance, demeanor, and the little he'd said so far about his life. "You got a family, right?" she asked, trying to remember. The past day or so was a huge jumble in her mind.

Kevin answered somberly. There was a protective veiled nature to the way he spoke about his mother. "I have my mom." His eyes surveyed Alex cautiously, like he was wondering if she wanted to know out of genuine curiosity or for some ulterior motivation. He shrugged and looked away, trying to play it off. "That's it. No siblings. No dad." A slight pause. Kevin shrugged a little, looking down idly. He sounded fractionally sadder and sort of confused when he spoke up next. "He died when I was just a baby. I never really knew him."

Well. That was one thing they had in common. "My mom died when I was a baby. I don't remember her, either."

Kevin's dark eyes looked into hers, wondering. "How'd she die?"

Alex was somber. "Demon killed her."

"Oh." Kevin looked a little more ashen than before. "M-my dad died in a car accident." He frowned deeply, staring at the tabletop hard as he struggled. "I can't believe all this time… and I never knew all this stuff was real." Vaguely sick, Kevin looked up at her hopelessly. "Do you think I can still… still do everything I was planning to do with my life?"

He wanted to be told there was a chance. A sliver of hope. Some silver lining to all of this craziness he'd just been thrown into. But Alex didn't put herself in the business of false hope. Especially not for a kid who deserved to hear the truth so he could start trying to swallow it down. "I dunno," she said sympathetically. "Being a prophet sounds like a lifetime kind of thing." The look that crossed Kevin's face made her smile sadly in an effort to ease the blow. "Sorry. I just… I wouldn't get your hopes up too high."

Subdued, Kevin went silent and went back to work on the tablet. But his expression was tense, and he was obviously deep in thought about his future and how torn up he was not to have it anymore. At least not the future he'd dreamed of. About five minutes later, a huge crash startled them both. Clutching the tablet to himself, Kevin was already out of breath in panic. " _What was that_!?" he demanded in a loud, scared whisper.

Already standing up, gone tense, Alex shook her head a couple times and held up a finger, calling for silence and listening for any more clues. A female voice she didn't really recognize could be heard. Was that Meg? Come back with demons to pull some kind of stunt, maybe? Alex was just wondering that when a man in a business suit appeared out of thin air beside Kevin, startling both Alex and Kevin alike. "Prophet, you are coming with me," he said, placing his hands onto Kevin's shoulders.

"No don't!" Kevin yelped. "Alex, help me!" he cried, right before he was taken.

Blade already in hand, Alex tore up the stairs to where she could hear some kind of altercation happening. She burst into the ground level of the cabin where the female angel from earlier—Hester—glowered at Dean and Sam and Cas. Three other male angels in business suits stood nearby, and the one with long hair that had been in the mental ward earlier held a trembling, petrified Kevin. Inias, Castiel had called him.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, back off!" Dean was shouting. "We're actually trying to clean up one of your angel's _messes_!" he said, voice hard and angry (what else was new?). " _You know that._ "

Hester's eyes slid to Alex, whose new arrival seemed to anger her further. "Ah, Castiel's human _whore,_ _"_ she muttered contemptuously. "I should have known you wouldn't be far."

"Hey!" Dean snapped before anyone else could say anything else. "You don't call her that!"

"It's what she _is_ ," Hester said coldly. Dean, who had been his sister's worst enemy a minute ago, looked ready to kill on her behalf.

"Hester, _please_ ," Castiel said, vying for his angel sister's attention in an attempt to take the situation down a notch. "I already asked you very politely not to call her that. I'm entreating you very sincerely once more: don't make me ask again. Now, Dean, he's… he's right. They're only trying to help someone who is beyond forgiveness, they're only trying to clean up a mess someone else made. An _angel_ brought the Leviathan back into this world, and—and these… these people begged him." He paused, guilt-ridden and self-horrified and trying to hide it. "They _begged_ him not to do it." His eyes were downcast and gaunt in quality, his mouth working oddly. "And yet still he did the unthinkable."

"Look, just give us some time, okay?" Dean asked, short on patience and snide because of it. "We will take _care_ of your prophet."

"Why should we give you or your family anything?" Hester asked in a snap, appearing disgusted by the sight of him. "After everything you have taken from us? The very _touch_ of you corrupts!"

Kevin was breathing hard and frightened just a few feet off from Alex, and she felt like if someone didn't do something soon, Hester was going to snap. His plea for her to help rang in her mind, and Alex tried her best. "All we need is a few more minutes so we can learn how to kill the Leviathan," she said to the angel, trying to be reasonable and trying to stall. She knew angels didn't want Leviathan in the world any more than they did. And with a few minutes, maybe they could run again with Cas, maybe they could disappear off of this psycho-angel's radar. "Can't you give us that at least?"

Hester's haughty and hate-filled stare came to rest on Alex. Her features twisted with distain. "We have given you enough, _child_ , you have taken from Heaven with greedy hands and look what you've done! Because of you, Castiel is lost!" Her shouted accusations abruptly ended and she became cold and deadly. Her eyes locked with Alex's, and there was no mistaking the hostility there or what the angel intended to do with Alex. "For that, you're going to _pay_." The angel moved forward toward Alex, who thought _you know what? I wouldn_ _'_ _t mind killing someone today._ Her hand tightened on the blade even as Sam and Dean both closed in on their sister instinctively.

Castiel moved directly into Hester's path—not really with a stance of aggression, but he wasn't going to stand by and let Alex get attacked, either. "Hester," he said chidingly, trying to be pleasant and non-confrontational. "No. You are not to touch her."

"I will touch who I please!" the other angel snarled.

"No—I'm sorry," Cas said firmly, getting a little more serious and less hospitable. "Not her. I don't fight anymore, but… if you give me occasion, if you threaten her safety, my hand will be forced."

"Fine," Hester growled. "I think I'll hurt _you_ instead." Lightning fast, her hand darted out to seize Castiel's neck and she whirled him around, let go, and backhanded him so hard that he whirled before he fell to the ground in a heap.

It was hard to say which Winchester moved first to try and help Cas, but they were all three stopped by angels before they could help Cas. "Let me go! _Get off me_!" Alex fought hard but uselessly against one of their powerful grips. She was helpless to watch Hester beat Castiel's face in. " _Stop it_!"

"No more madness!" Hester shouted, grabbing Cas by his collar and hitting him hard when she yanked him to his knees. "No more promises!" Another vicious punch that made Cas's face turn sideways. "No more new gods!" She hit him again and again, harder each time. Blood ran out of Castiel's nose and he coughed weakly even as Hester's fist cracked into his face again. He didn't fight back—he seemed to accept that he deserved it. "No more blasphemy! No more _abominations_!" And then Hester pulled out her angel blade and held it high.

"No, _no_!" Alex screamed, fighting harder against the angel holding her in place.

Inias, who had been holding onto Kevin, rushed forward to grab Hester's arm, preventing her from killing Castiel on the spot. "Hester! No! _Please_! There's so few of us left…"

Annoyed, Hester turned a disbelieving stare onto Inias… then hit him hard in the face with the hand that held the blade. He fell down, and Hester stared down at Cas, who was on his knees. "You wanted free will," she said, and drew the blade back far to make the kill. "Now _I'm_ making the choices."

And then she screamed as a blade plunged into her from begin. Light burned in the cabin as Hester died—and when everyone could see again, everyone was shocked to see Castiel's rescuer. Meg stood there with an angel blade. " _What_?" she asked, frowning as if she had no idea why anyone was giving her the looks they were. "Someone had to." A slight smirk bent her lips. "Can't have my OTP getting messed up anytime soon, now can I?" She patted a dazed Castiel on the cheek.

"Your _what_?" Dean asked.

Meg looked around at all the stunned, silent bystanders. "Well don't everyone thank me at once," she said sarcastically, then waggled her angel blade at the other halos in the room suspiciously. "Any of you other wingnuts wanna tango?"

"No," Inias answered after exchanging a brief glance with the other angels in the room. "No, I don't believe so. We want harmony. Peace."

"Well kumbaya," Meg murmured with a wink. She sent Alex a little smirk, then without another word, she disappeared.

Alex rushed to Cas the second her captor let go. He was getting to his feet with a grunt. "I'm fine," he said, smiling moonishly at her and the worried look on her face. " _Gosh_ you're pretty," he murmured admiringly, woozy-eyed and half-drunk from being hit so hard. Alex hugged him hard, so hard, breathless and shaking because he'd almost been killed in front of her eyes. He'd almost been brutally murdered as she watched. Over Cas's shoulder, Dean looked at her with an odd expression as he circled the room. Alex looked away from him, and practically broke Castiel's neck with the vigor she hugged him. Maybe he wasn't who he used to be, who she _wanted_ him to be… and maybe things weren't what they once were between them. She loved this angel, in a way she didn't totally understand anymore, and she really didn't want to lose him. This close call had really cemented that for her.

The angels removed Hester's body from the cabin, Kevin was allowed to finish his translation of the tablet, and Castiel was fine. Dean went in search of Meg, which might have actually been an excuse to get away from Alex—they were both embarrassed, angry, hurt, and clearly didn't want to be around the other. Inias turned out to be much more reasonable than Hester, and he offered to do what Cas and Sam suggested—take Kevin home and watch him there until further notice. It was agreed that Heaven's laws were no longer as cut-and-dry as before. Inias showed himself to be open-minded to that. And it was also revealed that he had fought alongside Castiel in the war against Raphael and remembered Cas as he used to be. He didn't comment on Cas's current condition, which seemed odd. At one point, Inias regarded Alex with a look of slight awe and commented on how her name was known across the celestial planes and how she most assuredly was a special creation. Cas made some lovey-dovey comments about that, Alex was uncomfortable.

"I'm um, I'm done," Kevin finally announced, then stood nervously, looking around the room in earnest, scared hope. "I get to go home now, right?"

"Yes, Kevin Tran," Cas said, smiling at him fondly. " _Home_." He reached out and booped Kevin on the nose.

"Oh come _on_ ," Kevin muttered, giving Cas the side eye as he frowned and hugged the tablet to himself more closely.

"These are strange times," Inias murmured, smiling to himself and looking around the cabin with a bittersweet look on his face.

"I think they always have been," Castiel returned thoughtfully.

"I wish you'd come with us, brother," Inias said earnestly, looking at Cas in genuine respect.

Smiling to himself as if he were thinking of a fond memory, Cas chuckled and put his hands into his coat pockets. "Oh, I'm not part of the garrison anymore, Inias. I'm sorry. My place is here. I belong with my wife." He smiled over at Alex, who sat at the table near Sam. "I'm going to plant a garden for her," Cas said, his soft eyes on her the entire time. "And write poems. And listen to the magic of the honeybees." He looked at Inias with a self-satisfied, eager little smile. "Doesn't all of that sound so _pleasant_?"

"Thanks, Kevin," Sam said, having glanced over the translation Kevin had handed to him. "Not a lot of people could have handled this."

"Are you ready, Kevin Tran?" Inias asked.

"To get out of here?" Kevin asked, grinning with nervous energy. "No offense guys, but _yes._ "

Inias beckoned the other silent male angels over. "Take the keeper to his home," he instructed solemnly. "We will watch over him there." He turned to look at Castiel one more time. "Take care, brother. Look after each other."

Alex gave Kevin a small, brave smile. "You ever need anything, call us Kevin."

"Yeah," he said, cracking a genuine grin at her for the first time. "If I need a huge scary knife, I know who to call." And without anything further, they disappeared sight unseen.

Alex looked at the spot where they'd just been, a little worried. "He'll be okay, right Cas?" she asked. Dick wanted that tablet still. As long as Kevin had it and Dick was around, it would be a risk.

"Oh yes, why wouldn't he be?" Cas asked, nonplussed, then moved onto the next subject breezily. "Unfortunately, your cupcakes are burned," he said regretfully, which was when Alex realized his flowery apron was gone and she _did_ smell burnt something in the air. "I'm so sorry, Alex. I'll make you another batch immediately."

"No, you don't have to—" she protested.

But he was already in the kitchen. "Yes, yes I do!" he called. "I promised, after all. And I know how much you love those confections. Only the best for my sweetheart!"

Sam gave his sister a sympathetic look because she looked so vexed and he squeezed her shoulder silently, giving her a look that said everything without him speaking a single word aloud. Alex propped her elbows onto the table and scrubbed her face in her hands a few times as she listened to Cas banging pans and utensils around in the kitchen.

"At least he's happy," Sam offered after a minute.

_Well I_ _'_ _m not._

The door to the cabin opened and in came Dean, whose glanced dodged away from Alex's guiltily. "Couldn't find Meg anywhere," he said gruffly, trying to sound fine and dandy.

"I'm sure she's lurking somewhere nearby," Alex muttered, picking at a splinter on the table and not really speaking to Dean directly at all. "She loves lurking."

There was a tense pause. "Kevin gone?" Dean asked.

"Yeah, the angels took him home," Sam said, distracted by reading what Kevin had written down—apparently he was onto something, because he got excitable. "Hey, hey, I got something." He wet his lips and sat up straighter, getting that look he got when he was onto something big. "Get this, guys: ' _Leviathan cannot be slain but by a bone of a righteous mortal washed in the three bloods of the fallen_.'"

Too tired to be very serious, Alex rubbed her forehead. "'The fallen'? Like, as in I've fallen and I can't get up?"

Sam gave her a half amused half befuddled glance. "Uh, don't think so. It says we need to start with… oh. The blood of a fallen angel." He looked up from the page and at Alex, then Dean, because they all knew what that meant.

Cas, in his apron again, appeared with no warning before them, startling them mildly. "Well, I certainty can't think of a more accurate description of myself," he said pleasantly, smiling at them fondly. "You three know me." He produced a small vial filled with dark red liquid. "Always happy to bleed for the Winchesters." He handed the bottle to Dean and smiled wider.

Sam hesitated, then asked what they all wanted to know. "So… what're you gonna do now, Cas? Since you're… not wanting to get in the ring and fight with us this time?"

Cas gave Sam a look like he was chiding him slightly. "First, I'm going to finish the cupcakes I promised," he said, like Sam should already know that. "Then I'm going to plant a garden out front. With herbs and flowers and maybe some vegetables, and oh, a honeybee hive too! Won't that be wonderful?" He grinned around vapidly, excited about his future as a gardener. Then he disappeared back into the kitchen.

Dean heaved a heavy sigh, set the vial of blood down onto the table and glanced out toward the front of the house like he was anxious to get away. "And on _that_ note, I am going to town to get a _drink,_ " he said, leaving no room for argument. "I'll be back later."

Neither of his siblings stopped him because honestly, they both knew some space might do them all good right now. After the door shut, Sam glanced after their departed brother, chagrinned. "Two guesses where he's _really_ going," he muttered, and Alex gave him a sidelong look. "Rhymes with Amy," Sam supplied, then said nothing further on the matter, just indicated the notebook Kevin had left behind of tablet translation. "Wanna help me read through this stuff?"

She nodded agreement even though she was tired and cranky and needed sleep. "All right."

Sam paused, put down the notebook momentarily. "Hey." He turned toward her in the chair, leaned toward her, put a big hand on her knee and patted a couple times. "Listen. I promise. It's all gonna be okay somehow."

"Is it?" she asked with the softest derisive laugh. "Cas is baking cupcakes and dancing in flower seeds and Dean is a fucking _tool_."

"What else is new?" Sam asked, then took what he said into account. "Besides the Cas being really into flowers thing." His tiny smile faded into a serious expression. "I'm with you, all right? You're not alone here."

That was everything she'd needed to hear and she leaned forward, hugged her burly brother tightly. "Thanks, Sammy," she whispered. For a few minutes, research waited and Sam consoled his sister. Then Cas produced cupcakes (which were depressingly good) and disappeared out to begin gardening. The twins settled into research and trying to theorize about the rest of the Leviathan tablet. After awhile, Alex migrated to the couch. And then she fell asleep and Sam, knowing how zonked she was, let her sleep. About four hours in, she woke up with a jolt and was mad at him for letting her sleep and he good-naturedly told her to get over it. Dean still wasn't back but Sam didn't seem _too_ concerned. Just vaguely rueful. Finally, after coffee and peeking out the window at Cas and his little in-the-works garden, Alex shut herself into the bathroom and took a much-needed shower.

* * *

The cabin had lousy water pressure and the hot-water was more like lukewarm, but it was better than nothing. Trying to get done quickly, she rinsed out her shampoo and made a sound of distaste when some of it got into her eyes and stung. Once it was all out, Alex turned around away from the showerhead then abruptly squeaked in surprise when she realized she wasn't alone. Covering herself pretty badly with crossed arms, she gaped at Cas. "What are you doing in here?!" she demanded. He was completely naked and his expression showed exuberance.

"There's the most adorable inchworm I befriended outside, come see!" he entreated, reaching for her eagerly.

She ducked his hand—was he seriously about to take her outside with both of them butt naked?! "I'm kinda _busy_ _…_ _!_ " she protested in wide-eyed disbelief.

Cas's enthusiasm was slightly curbed. "Oh. Of course." He stood there silently for two whole seconds and he frowned slowly, trying very hard to guess. "…How about now?"

 _Really?_ "Still showering, Cas."

He tilted his head to the side and frowned as he looked her up and down as he noticed how she held herself. "Why are you covering yourself like that?"

"Why are you _naked_?" she retorted.

"Because clothing isn't supposed to be worn in this area of the bathroom," he stated factually, then let his eyes wander her body again lengthily as if he were just now noticing her state of soaked nakedness. "You're… very appealing," he said in a voice that became husky. "We should find a bed of flowers to make love in, wouldn't that… wouldn't that be amazing?" Alex blanched and withered under his gaze. Cas looked like a man who was stupid-levels in love. "If I had a flower for every time I thought of you, I could walk through my garden forever," he said wistfully, his eyes wandering her appreciatively. And then he looked down at himself and pulled a face that indicated he was surprised and embarrassed. "Oops!" He looked at her with a flinching expression like he was anticipating a lecture. "I seem to have an erection." Oh Christ. Yes. He certainly did. They stood there a second, Alex silent and awkward and Cas uncertain with a huge boner. And then he chuckled nervously and hedged back a step from her. "I'll… be outside." He disappeared, and there was a knock at the door that startled Alex all over again.

" _What_?!" she demanded in a near-shriek.

Sam's muffled, worried voice sounded through the old wood. "…Everything all right in there?"

"It's fine," Alex said, disgruntled by and done with this entire thing. "Cas was just trying to show me his inchworm."

There was a pause. "…that a euphemism?" It sounded like he had a little I'm-so-funny grin on his face.

Alex cut a sharp look at the door. " _No_ , Sam."

Another pause. "Okay. I'll be out here if… anything."

She sighed gustily and took a couple more minutes in the shower, then got out and wrapped in a towel after rubbing her hair damp first. She got dressed, and halfway into buttoning up her flannel over a tank top, she glimpsed Dean's jacket in the mirror. It was hung over the hook behind the door. And peeking out from a pocket was the silvery corner of a very familiar old flask.

Staring at it in the mirror, Alex felt a prickle against the back of her neck and the stories Sam and Dean had relayed to her about seeing Bobby recently flooded her mind. And that's when the bathroom got colder. Alex breathed out and her own breath created a vapor cloud even as the mirror began to freeze over. Alex turned fast when she caught a reflection in the mirror.

Standing there with a fond smile on his ashen face was a very familiar and long-lost man. "I kept my eyes shut, don't worry," he said jokingly in that familiar drawl.

Alex was too shocked to react very well at all. "Bobby…!"

His mouth curved up, making his beard move. "Hiya sweetheart," he greeted in a voice rich with affection. His eyes shone at her, and she was speechless.

"You… you…" she fumbled.

"I know," he said with a little wink. "I make Brad Pitt look like chewed up dog food." He looked ghostly, which fit since he _was_ a ghost. But he was still him despite the paperwhite skin, and he was smiling at her with eyes that held a lot of emotion. "It's been too long. Sure am glad to see you again."

"Yeah," she said, smiling too through some pain. "M-me too. I didn't think I would."

"Well, here I am in all my pale-skinned glory," he said, indicating himself with slightly spread hands at his sides.

Alex couldn't beat around the bush with him. She had to know. "Why'd you stay, Bobby?"

He shrugged and a little ruefulness showed. "Couldn't see leavin' you idjits behind without someone reasonable around." He smiled crookedly. "Don't look so worried, I feel great. Stronger than ever, in fact. If I could just get this appearin'-when-I-want thing down, I'd be set. I overheard all that with the Kevin kid, and I mighta read a little over you n' Sam's shoulders. So, listen, while I'm here, I've been thinking on the weapon that'll screw Dick."

A little surprised but figuring it wouldn't hurt to hear him out, Alex nodded. "Okay… I'm listening."

"The kid said that the only way to kill Leviathan is with a bone washed in the three bloods of the fallen," Bobby said. "One of the blood's got to be from a human as light and good as the Leviathan are hungry and dark."

"Yeah, that's what really gets me…" Alex trailed off. She and Sam had talked that one over and over. "I don't think someone like that _exists_. Not that I've ever met, anyway."

"So we leave that for last. The rest is doable, and doable now. You've already got the fallen angel blood thanks for your crackpot halo. Next up is blood from the ruler of fallen humanity. Now, the best I can tell, that's _Crowley_."

"Right, that's what Sam and I thought."

"Numero _tres_ is the father of fallen _beasts_ _…_ which means you got to bleed an alpha."

Alex hesitated. "Yeah but they're all dead. I mean, every one Sam and Dean found got stuck in Crowley's monster prison then Cas dropped the atom bomb, so…"

At her less than enthusiastic reply, Bobby's face flickered with unhappiness. "Well, then, make this Cas's problem, too."

Yikes. "Uh… he's busy _gardening_ right now and crafting baked goods," Alex said, glancing out the window and catching sight of Cas out there and totally naked, digging with a shovel happily. Good grief.

Bobby was of one mind, and he was getting irrationally angry. "Then _Crowley_! This is _important!_ _"_ The mirror behind Alex cracked and she jumped, a little frightened. "Sorry. I'm… new to this whole ghosty thing," he said quietly, a little ashamed and upset at the look on Alex's face. "Don't worry, sweetheart, it's fine. Just a cracked mirror." He smiled thinly, like he knew there was something wrong but he didn't want to admit it. "Just got a little carried away."

Wetting her lips, Alex nodded, trying to shrug it off. "Okay. So we'll—I guess summon Crowley and see if there's any alphas left out in the big wide world."

"I got faith in you kids," Bobby said, giving her a smile like he used to. "We been through worse. Remember the apocalypse?"

Alex chuckled ruefully, scratching the side of her neck absently. "Trying not to."

"Where's Dean, anyway?" Bobby asked, finally noticing how the jacket and its owner were not united at the moment.

"With Jamie," Alex said neutrally.

Bobby had a sly little smile on his face. "You seen his new tattoo yet?"

Alex made a face of staunch confusion. " _What_ new tattoo?"

There was the faintest chuckle. "Oh, you'll see. Give him hell from me for that one, all right?" There was a pause and Bobby got a look of annoyance on his face. "No— _hell_ _—_ aw, _balls!_ _"_ And then Bobby flickered out and did not reappear.

* * *

**Meanwhile**

Dean's stolen SUV trundled along the dirt road back to Rufus's cabin. Only a couple more miles to go until he was back now. It had been about five or six hours since he'd left and he was in a different mindset than when he'd left.

For a few hours he'd basically run off and forgotten most of his problems in favor of this new thing he was caught up in with Jamie. He probably shouldn't have told her it was a life-or-death situation to get her to meet him in town, but he _had_ because he'd been desperate and afraid she wouldn't come otherwise, and then he was really guilty about it when she showed up at the motel where he said to meet him. She'd been all worried and "what's happening?! What's wrong?!" and he'd sat in the car as she stood at the window and he told her he didn't know what was wrong, but that he was the problem. Then somewhere between "tell me what's wrong," and "I don't know, but I can't do this anymore," they ended up in a motel room against a wall and then in bed where pent up feelings and frustrations on both sides made it rough, frantic, and passionate in a way beyond explanation. And when that part was over, two people who came off as very outwardly harsh sometimes to the outside world held each other in a tenderness that might have surprised some people. And Dean, who had been so very hurt that day by his sister and had _done_ some hurting too, broke down and cried about it in Jamie's arms.

How long did they lay there and talk and talk and _talk_? He didn't know, but the closer he and James got emotionally, the harder it was for him to leave her at all. She consoled him and comforted him, was shockingly gentle and sweet with him in those moments. She made him feel better about everything, made him feel like someone worth something. Made him feel like maybe he could have a chance with her at something real. The way she was with him—not just in bed (which was pretty damn awesome, she was hot as hell), but in moments when she let herself be vulnerable and honest with him, when she dropped the act and was her truest self—Dean felt one certain thing for her. A thing that was wedged in his heart. He was completely resigned to save her from those hellhounds because of that. Basically however he had to, he was gonna make it happen and save her.

After awhile of being tangled up together in the motel room in their own little cocoon of soft conversation, they both got hungry and went to a barbecue place but Jamie apparently couldn't stand the smell of cooking meat and insisted on leaving—Dean ribbed her for that one and they got drive-thru takeout instead and then sat on the hood of the SUV and ate together, playing footsie. Jamie threw a french fry at him, he kissed her and she pushed him off the hood. It was like they were stupid teenagers in love. Neither of them knew that was the last time they'd see each other for a long, long time. And when they went back to the motel room and were together again, but that time was slow and they took their time until they were exhausted completely.

Thinking back to that very encounter as a dreamy little smile plastered itself on his face, Dean jolted a little when his phone went off loudly. He was mildly annoyed to be taken out of his happy little fog until he saw the called ID. And then the smile was back. "Hey you," he answered, trying to sound friendly but not _too_ affectionate.

"Hey yourself," her familiar voice came, and he could hear the little smile on her voice. "You, um, you left your pocket knife here… found it under the bed. Must have fallen out when we…" she trailed off and he could hear the little grin spreading on her face.

"Yeah," he said, grinning himself then thinking fast. "Why don't you keep it for me awhile? Gives me a good excuse to come see you again."

He heard her give a playful scoff. "Do you really _need_ an excuse, Winchester?"

"You tell me," he replied, flirting just as hard as she was. There was a pause and Dean sensed she was thinking something. He frowned slightly, wondering what it was. He was always waiting for her to drop the bomb that it had to stop between them or that she didn't want anything else to do with him. "What?" he asked cautiously when her silence dragged out.

She heaved a huge sigh like she was about to admit something she didn't want to. "I miss you already, _dammit,_ " she admitted like it was some huge, awkward thing she was loathe to claim.

Dean grinned, flushing over in pleasant surprise. " _Well well well_ …" he said, and the tone of his voice made her give a little laugh.

"Shut _up_!" she moaned, and he thought she probably had a hand on her face. He could hear her grin and wished he could see it, too.

"She _misses_ me," he chuckled, having a field day with her admission and her cute little reaction to his goading. "Someone alert the media, the news is gonna have a _field_ day with this."

"You're the _wooorst_ ," she complained, but there was a lot of implication in her tone that he might actually be the best. He shook his head, still smiling widely as he drove nice and easy around a curve in the road. When he first re-met Jamie, she'd played it so badass and cool, but he knew things about her now. Like how she was actually a huge dork and how she wore a retainer at night to keep her teeth straight and how she had a huge appreciation for James Taylor music (but didn't like people to know because it spoiled her bad-girl rep or something). He knew she snorted sometimes if she laughed too hard and that she loved puns and was intensely thoughtful and caring even though she tried to cover it up with sarcasm and a businesslike demeanor. Dean's mind glanced over their whirlwind thing—the past six months of hunting together on and off, the fateful night when they gave in to what they both really and truly wanted, the time they'd shared since then. _Today_. He wanted her to be his girl, he wanted to be her man. That feeling overwhelmed him so much all of the sudden and he felt almost scared by it. "James?" he asked softly, his heart beating a little faster than before.

Something in his tone made her hesitate, made her voice soften too. "…Yeah?"

And then a huge shape hit the front of the car and Dean yelled as he reacted by stomping on the brakes. The car came to a jolting halt. _Cas_ was sprawled on the hood of the car and bees covered him like a garment. "Holy _shit!_ _"_ Dean blinked and gaped, then remembered the phone. Cas saw Dean and waved pleasantly, grinning. "I'll—I'll call you back, sweetheart," Dean said into the phone, not believing what he was seeing. "Uh—angel covered in bees on my car."

" _Huh_?"

"Tell you later," he promised, then hung up and put his hands up in disbelief, leaned sideways a little to yell out the window. "Jesus Christ, Cas! What the hell!?"

"Hello, Dean!" Cas greeted happily, then rolled off the hood spryly and stood by the car even as Dean got out and slammed his door. Then realized there was nothing _underneath_ those bees blanketing Cas.

"Where the hell are your _clothes_?!" he demanded, totally taken aback at the three-ring circus Cas was currently subjecting him to.

Cas smiled pleasantly even as Dean made a disturbed face. "Oh, I haven't put them back on since I was in the shower with your sister." Dean balked. _Excuse me?_ "Anyway, it turns out clothing inhibits my communication with the bees," Cas added knowingly.

Should he really have expected anything less than total insanity from Cas right now? Dean shook his head slowly and repeatedly, edging back a little from Cas and his bee buddies. "I have seen some damn creepy stuff in my day, but this pretty much takes the cake," he muttered as Cas smiled down at his arm where bees buzzed and crawled. "Can you please put some _clothes_ on, man?!" Dean asked, aghast. Castiel complied—he was suddenly was wearing his clothes again, and all of his bee friends flew off in a formation back toward the cabin, which was still a couple miles off. Just glad Cas wasn't x-rated anymore, Dean jammed a hand through his hair. " _Thank_ you."

Cas ignored the thanks. "How was your copulation with the witch?" he asked, matter-of-fact, making Dean double-take and then frown. "You were gone for over five hours and you seem physically tired now, so I imagine your encounter was successful," Cas explained dreamily.

Wan, done, annoyed, Dean used a hand for emphasis. "Come on, man, how many times do I have to tell you her name for you to quit calling her 'the witch'?"

Cas did not answer. He went ramrod stiff as if he heard something, and he frowned deeply and intently, looking like himself for a minute. He sniffed the air, then turned to look up the road in the direction of the cabin. "Do you smell that?" he asked, then his voice went utterly dark and low. " _Leviathan_." And he disappeared out of thin air, leaving Dean with a sinking stomach and the conviction that he had to race back to the cabin. _Oh no. Oh no._

* * *

**A Few Moments Ago…**

Alex exited the bathroom and as she did, Sam was coming up from the basement. "You got a second?" he asked. "I found something interesting online."

She nodded, but headed for the front door. "Hold on, I'm gonna go get Cas."

Sam made a face like he was wondering what _for_ because, well… Cas was kinda out there these days. But he didn't say anything but a slightly doubtful, "Okay."

Alex went outside and realized right away that Cas wasn't where he'd been before. The area in the front yard where he had begun to dig around in was abandoned. There was a shovel, a hoe, and a metal wide-tooth rake all neatly lined up beside a rectangular patch of upturned earth. Alex stopped there and looked around, trying to figure out where he would have gone to. "Cas?"

No reply.

She heaved a sigh and looked around again, trying to figure out where she would go if she were a crazy angel. There was a worn out gravel-and-dirt road, lots of trees, and a shed. That was about it. Alex headed for the nearby shed. Maybe Cas was around back of it or inside of it. The old structure was tin and had a broken down old Ford pickup beside it. Dirt was in the bed of the truck and weeds grew there among broken pots, beer bottles, and old crumpled up cans of soda. Alex picked her way around the truck and circled around the shed, craning her neck as she tried to locate Cas. Where _was_ that crazy kid?

She felt an unwelcome presence behind her just a second too late. Even as she whirled around, a hand clamped down onto her mouth to stifle a cry of alarm even as the weight of a body slammed her against the side of the shed, pinning her there. With startled eyes and racing breath, Alex stared with utter shock into a face she had never wanted to see again.

The only thought in her head when she saw those pale blue eyes looking at her? _Oh no._

" _Don_ _'_ _t scream_ ," Zip whispered, and then cautiously, slowly took his hand away from her mouth.


	101. The Rise of Dick

" _I think you have to pay for love with bitter tears._ _"  
_ \- Edith Piaf

* * *

His hand pushed against her mouth bruisingly, the back of her head ached against the hard tin shed, and he stood way too close—his weight and his other hand were preventing either of her arms from movement, trapping her in silence and stillness. Even though Zip was an inch or two shorter than Alex, he was _strong_ and he'd managed to make sure she had no way at all of getting any kind of jump on him whatsoever. Her blood pounded hard in her own ears and her hammering pulse matched her racing breath as her petrified eyes stared into a face she thought she never had to look into again. A youthful almost-teenage countenance was in front of her, and he was just as she remembered: owner of a head full of unkempt sandy brown curls and pale blue eyes set in a plain, clean-shaven face. He still wore jeans that were slightly too-long and a hoodie that was a little too big on him. Oddly enough, Zip's expression wasn't foul or hostile despite how he'd all but attacked her just now. To the contrary, he looked _worried_ and then when he knew she'd recognized him, his hand softened on her mouth. " _Don_ _'_ _t scream,_ " he whispered, then slowly took his hand away.

Alex responded by writhing viciously against his hold as she got her wits back. "What the _hell_ are you doing here?!" she demanded, a sound of frustration and anger escaping as she found that he was _way_ too strong to break free from. The tin shivered as she fought his grip. "Let _go of me_!"

He didn't. His baby-young face showed desperation and his voice matched—he sounded urgent, like it was life or death, and his hands only tightened further on her arms. "I know you don't want to see me and I know you said you'd kill me if you ever saw me again but Alex, it's not _safe_ for you here, okay?" He paused for effect, his expression over the top with an earnest pleading quality. He continued to beseech her. "If I could trace your brothers to this cabin that means _they can too._ Dick _wants_ you, he won't stop until he has you, and I don't know what he'll do when he does!"

Alex winced and groaned from exertion as she tried to yank out of his steely grip."You're _crazy_ , lemme _go_!"

Zip's face descended into a dark expression. "I'm not _crazy_! I'm not the one mooning around planting a _garden_ and dancing with _bees_ while the entire fucking Leviathan population is out there to get my woman!" Alex went still, looking at Zip with a slightly-horrified expression. He had been watching them? He'd been watching _Cas_? Suddenly, Zip seemed a lot more threatening to her. He was dead serious and right in her face, his hot breath hitting her face as he spoke. "Look, I am here to tell you this: Dick Roman is _seriously_ gunning for you. Like, won't _stop_ until he gets you. So let me help you, _please_!"

"Help me?" Alex asked, her tone implying that was unthinkable. He _was_ crazy. She didn't want his help now or ever and being this close to him was a horrible reminder of how much closer they'd been once.

He looked astonished by her reaction to him. "Yes! Let me protect you!"

"… _Protect_ me?!" she echoed in growing incredulousness. She struggled again valiantly, getting intensely angry when he didn't let go of her. "I want you to get _away_ from me!"

Zip's hands tightened on her painfully as sudden intense anger flared in his eyes. "I'm not the _enemy_ , why don't you fucking _see_ that?!" he demanded, shaking her once so hard that her head knocked against the tin behind her. "I've only ever helped you and loved you! Stop holding what I am against me!" He sounded deranged and obsessed, and Alex found herself wishing so hard she hadn't been stupid enough to assume Zip was gone for good. _I am so screwed_ _…_

And right at that moment a familiar person appeared behind Zip and the second he did, he seized the Leviathan and yanked him off of Alex in a blur of motion. Thrown aside like a ragdoll, Zip smashed into the old rusted truck nearby with a huge crash where he was momentarily incapacitated. A little shocked, Alex blinked rapidly as Cas quickly came to her, his touch so much gentler and more careful than Zip's had been. There was a sickened and worried expression on the angel's face. "Are you hurt?" he asked, searching for any sign that she was.

Breathless, her voice was faint. "I'm… I'm okay," she managed, looking at him and seeing Cas as himself for what felt like the first time in forever. His expression was fierce and dark, he looked like he was present and mentally sharp. She was astounded and taken aback. As his attention turned to the Leviathan, his expression became even more stormy and devastating. There was none of the crazy, distracted, silly Castiel there in that moment. He was _him_.

Groaning a little, Zip was standing and pulling himself out of the wreckage Cas had thrown him into. One of his arms reformed itself as black goo dripped out. At the same time, a huge gouge in his leg filled back in. He was on his feet again and Cas moved forward a little, putting himself between the Leviathan and Alex protectively. Cas looked at Zip with utter contempt and hatred. His low, furious voice shook as he made it crystal clear. "You are never to touch her again, _boy_ , do you hear me?"

"… _Boy_?" Zip challenged, his tone colored by disdain. He stepped forward, not intimidated. "I'm older than _you_."

"That's debatable," Cas growled. At his sides, his fists were clenched tight.

Zip's eyes dropped to Cas's fists and then of all things, the slightest smirk crossed his face as his eyes raised back to Castiel's face. "Don't you have some _gardening_ to do, bee man?" he asked cooly.

Cas responded by moving forward more until he and Zip were only a few feet apart. He ignored the goading and drew the line in the sand. "I know who you are," the angel said in a voice laced with utter loathing. "You _seduced_ my wife when she was grieving; you took _advantage_ of her." There was an unspoken promise of vengeance in Cas's dark tone.

Zip obviously didn't like Castiel any better than Castiel liked him. Disgust twisted his face. "Took advantage? _Seduced_?" he echoed, then got this little look in his eye that really asked for it. "What we did…" he raised his chin a little and looked at Castiel with an air of triumph. "Trust me. She _wanted_ it. And I made sure she _got_ it."

If Zip had been inviting a fight, he certainly got it. Apparently, Castiel wasn't as much of a pacifist as he'd been claiming he was lately. Apparently, when it came to certain things, he was still very willing to go to battle. The _second_ Zip said Alex had 'wanted it and got it,' Cas's face became utterly consumed by rage and he grabbed Zip by his shirt, hitting him across the face so hard that a huge gooey black hole appeared in the Leviathan's cheek. Zip blindly grabbed a hold of Cas by the coat as he received the hit and the two of them went down to the ground, trading brutal blows. The second Zip got the slightest upper hand, the second he was on top, he slammed his hand into Cas's stomach, pushing it in hard until the angel screamed bloody murder, his eyes clenching shut in agony. "Did you forget?" Zip asked, straining as he pushed his hand further and further in, killing Cas slowly as he did. "Leviathans… can kill… _anything,_ " he hissed. "Even _angels_."

Not today. Alex had desperately begun to look around for any weapon the second Cas and Zip had started to fight—her jacket was inside and she was unarmed—she swiped up the first thing she saw: a shovel with a rotting wooden handle. She hit Zip with it hard, attempting to stun him and then chop his head off. But the swing was clumsy and she misjudged the impact and lost her balance even as Zip pushed her back hard in needless self defense, sending her stumbling backwards to fall to the ground.

At that second, Sam ran around the corner, his expression confused. He must have heard the commotion and the crash, because he had his hand hovering at his belt. The second he saw what was happening, his face went slack with realization. " _Hey_!" He reached for his gun, the only weapon he had on him, but Zip was too fast and rushed him even as Sam got the gun out, football tackling him into the shed, which collapsed partially and pinned Sam in place by the leg as a pained yell tore out of the hunter.

Even as that was going down, the stolen SUV pulled up fast and hard with a spray of gravel and Dean, machete already in hand, got out about ten yards off. He had his murder face on and his sights set on the Leviathan. Zip turned and left Sam trapped in the collapsed shed debris then leisurely walked to meet Dean as though nothing concerned him in the slightest.

Alex was up after being knocked down and she was torn between who to go to—Cas was on the ground to her right writhing in pain and Sam was stuck to her left, groaning in pain with his leg under a metal beam that had fallen down from the shed frame. In a split-second decision, Alex rushed to her brother, who was in more dire condition than Castiel was. Her boots made tin groan as she dug her feet in and bent down to grab the beam with two hands. She hauled the beam upward with gritted teeth even as Sam pushed it up with a loud, pained grunt. He scooted backwards and pulled his leg free and cried out as he did. "Think it's broken," he wheezed out between sharp, short breaths. His leg was twisted weirdly. It was _definitely_ broken.

Even as Sam discovered he couldn't walk, Dean was bearing down on Zip, his machete held with white knuckles. The second he was close enough, he took a brutal, deadly swing at Zip, who was inexplicably just _standing_ there waiting almost as if in boredom. When Dean swung, Zip abruptly ducked, dodging the swipe made for his neck and he caught the blade in his hand, suffering a blow that almost severed the limb completely—but he didn't miss a beat. His other hand came up to seize the blade hard and he caught the hunter completely off guard when he used the machete against Dean—swinging it hard and fast with Dean still holding on. Like Dean weighed nothing, Zip catapulted him into the air by letting go mid-swing. Dean soared through the air and hit a huge old oak tree about ten feet up, then crashed to the ground in a stunned heap. He didn't move once he landed.

Zip turned around to face Alex again. He'd incapacitated two humans and an angel, and Alex stood before him weaponless and terrified. The only one he hadn't critically injured. Breathing hard, Zip approached her, a wild gleam in his eyes. "You know why we were locked away into Purgatory, right?" he asked, and he seemed angry and also proud. "Because we can kill angels. We can kill _anything_." Zip walked a little closer. On the ground near Alex, Cas had a hand on his torso and his every breath was accompanied by a pained wheezing sound. He was trying to push himself up, but Zip had obviously wounded him. "Whatever Leviathans you've gotten the jump on before was pure, unmitigated _luck,_ understand?" Zip said to Alex, then looked down at Cas with a spine-chilling fascination. "I could kill him right now. Do you understand that?" His pale eyes came up to hers, and there was an angry, slighted, wounded fire in there, especially when she edged closer to Cas protectively. "Even though I'm the weakest of my kind, I could kill this useless brain-dead angel you love so much and I could kill your brothers then take you with me and make you do whatever I wanted because I am stronger than all of you! _All_ of you!" Red-faced, he looked like the villain who'd lost his mind and was about to destroy an entire city. And then his expression softened, the fire in his eyes faded. Sadness became the predominant emotion on his face. "But I won't. I couldn't. The thought of hurting you or causing you pain is the worst thing concievable to me. And I don't want to be the bad guy." He waited for her to respond, but she only stood before him with a tense expression and without moving a muscle. She was trying to figure out how to fight him or catch him off guard. No borax. No weapon at all. Behind Zip, Dean was stirring, dragging himself on the ground really slowly. He looked injured, his face a mask of determined pain, but he had his machete in hand and a mission in his eyes. Alex swallowed hard. Stall. _Stall_. "Doesn't that make you feel something for me?" Zip asked, eyebrows moving in towards each other in hurt confusion. He was unaware of Dean's slow approach. " _Anything_?" When she said nothing, Zip began to gain back his indignant fire. "Why would you _sleep_ with me, why would you _give_ yourself to me if you didn't feel at least _some_ thing?"

It was like something out of her worst nightmare to have Zip here, nevermind him bringing this all up in front of Castiel. She could have tricked Zip or played him at this point to buy time and perhaps mercy too, but the thought of pretending to have feelings for him was so disgustingly unbearable to her that she found the sharp truth shooting out of her instead. "That was a _mistake,_ " she said tremulously in a hard voice. "I feel _nothing_ for you. I never did, and I never _will_."

The Leviathan's face registered emotional pain and betrayal, like he had put all his hopes into her feeling any small thing for him. Then he swept a hand out toward Cas. "He's gone! He's _lost_!" he raged. "And not only him but your _family_ doesn't want you around; if they did they would never have left you at Sunny Meadows! I protected you, I did _all_ of their jobs, I kept you safe, _me!_ I never abandoned you even once, I did everything for you! Why would you want to stay here with the brothers who left you behind and the angel who's in pieces on the floor?! I can give you whatever you want! Money, a home, _things_ , I can become any man or woman in the world you desire! You don't have to love me, not at first, you just need to give me a _chance_. Alex, come on, we were _friends_ … you _know_ me!"

Alex felt real fear in that moment because he was so utterly fanatical that he came off as rabid and crazed. "You're _insane,_ " she whispered, not sure what she'd done to make him act like this.

Zip followed her retreat. On the ground, Cas was groaning and on his side, supporting himself with an arm as he breathed laboriously—he watched Zip and Alex hawkishly even through his strained expression. "You don't understand all these _feelings_ he put in me," Zip said in a low, growling voice, his eyes locked onto Alex. "They won't go away or be quiet, they rule my _life_ and I _need_ you!"

Finally close enough and communicating with Alex with his gaze alone, Dean was still on the ground but he tossed his machete to her, and she lunged and caught it, shocking Zip, who lost his air of confidence when he found himself at the end of the sharp blade. "You need to leave," Alex warned in a trembling low voice. " _Now_."

His eyes, so vulnerable and full of misunderstanding and confusion, went from the blade to her. "You _wouldn_ _'_ _t_ …" he murmured softly, but he didn't sound so sure.

Zip was right. She wouldn't. He had been her friend for months before she found out who and what he was and even though she didn't want to believe it, she already knew that he was genuine in that respect. He had been her source of comfort, albeit the wrong one, on a stormy night not that long ago, and that had been real, he had been kind, he hadn't forced that—she'd done it of free will. She didn't have feelings for him, or at least not many. But he was right. She _couldn_ _'_ _t_ bring herself to kill him in cold blood. She tried to bluff and with a yell she slashed the blade across his chest, drawing sickening black goo at the action—then she held the machete like she was ready to do more if he didn't leave. On the ground, panting and in pain from an apparent leg injury, Dean was aghast when she did nothing more. "Al, what are you _doing_?! _Kill him_!"

She heard the command, but she couldn't move. Zip stared down in disbelief at the damage she'd done, for a second so shocked that he didn't react at all. And then he abruptly snapped as his furious eyes darted up to hers. "You're just like everyone else in this godforsaken world!" he screamed, then snarled and shocked everyone when he attacked Alex and shoved her backwards hard. His unchecked superhuman strength sent her ramming back toward the shed frame… and straight into old rusted rod that poked out haphazardly.

There was a sickening sound of flesh bursting open.

And Alex suddenly smelled the unmistakable tang of blood.

Silence overtook the scene as everyone stared in horror. Alex looked down at herself slowly, trying to locate the reason why there was a burning, agonizing hole of pain in the center of her chest. For a minute, nothing made sense to her. A smallish metal rod that was slick with dark red blood protruded out of her chest by about twelve inches and she stared at it, her mind slow to comprehend that she'd just been impaled. Breathing was nearly impossible—the pain was deafening and crippling—and for a minute she could only think _I_ _'_ _m going to die. I_ _'_ _m dying. Oh my god._ And then, as her dazed eyes found Cas's, she remembered. _No. I won_ _'_ _t die. I_ _'_ _ll live in pain and heal slowly and this is gonna be just like when I tried to kill myself at the mental hospital._ The pain and the thought of walking around with a huge gaping wound in her chest and back for however long became something that pissed her off. " _Ughh_ …" she complained through the agony, getting madder and madder as it sank in mentally and she realized how out of practice she was when it came to fighting. This was her fault. "Are you kidding me?!" she grimaced, trying not to move. It _hurt so bad._ A wretched groan came out of her mouth as she shut her eyes against the quickly-intensifying levels of pain that were crashing over her.

Sam and Dean were both staring at her from where they were stuck on the ground nearby, nearly-identical expressions of utter horror on their faces and that's what she first saw when she cracked her eyes open slightly. "I'm fine," she assured them in a raspy, winded voice—but they didn't understand, were both shellshocked, they both thought they were looking at their sister's last moments. "Son of a _bitch_!" she seethed, choking as she tried to take in a deep breath.

"I'm sorry—" Zip managed, wide-eyed and stunned at what he had done to her. He knew about what Cas had done to her, but he seemed self-horrified at what had happened either way. "I'm so _sorry_ —"

Cas was up, and he had stumbled over to Alex despite his own injuries. He stood in front of her as he leveled the shocked Leviathan with a furious glare. "Get—away—from her," he growled, his shoulders heaving up and down as he breathed hard. A soft little cry of pain from Alex caused Cas to turn and his face morphed into that of extreme concern.

"Get—me off—of here—" she wheezed pitifully, begging him, her hands weakly reaching for him. The levels of pain were so high that passing out was beginning to feel like an option. The shock and adrenaline was wearing off and leaving her more miserable with every passing second. Cas took her hands in his and gently, slowly pulled her forward, his expression twisted. Oh, the pain when he did that. Alex shut her eyes and gritted her teeth against cries of absolute torment as the metal rod made mind-numbing agony scream through her entire nervous system. Cas looked completely sickened at her pain, like it was hurting him just as much as it was hurting her. It was _so much pain_ and her limbs gave out completely as he wrapped an arm around her back and pulled her toward him. She collapsed into his arms as he pulled her the last couple inches off of the rod. Cas, weakened from whatever Zip had done to him, collapsed down to his knees but kept his hold of her, one of his hands now against the bleeding exit wound in her chest, the other at her back at the entry point. Unbearable agony pulsed to the beat of her heart, and warm, sticky blood oozed out of her at an alarming rate.

"I can't heal you yet," Cas managed, his face conveying his utter despair at having to see her suffer. "He wounded me too badly…" Half-cognizant, Alex stared up at Cas's face in a daze. She barely understood the words he said, and her vision was blackening around the edges. She fought against passing out.

Standing back and watching how the angel held the fallen hunter, Zip had a strange, jealous look on his face. "You're _pathetic_ ," the Leviathan accused of the angel, but his voice wavered and sounded defeated, blank, dazed. "You're broken. You're _nothing._ And… she's choosing you." He stared at Cas, completely mystified, then appealed to Alex one last time, his voice rising in pitch and volume alike as his desperation grew. "He can't give you anything, he can't _do_ anything for you! He's a lost cause!"

Crippled by pain, Alex was stiff in Cas's arms and nearing delirium. "Maybe he is," she managed to reply in a faint voice. She held a hand uselessly to Cas's on her chest, trying to stop the blood flow, trying to press away some pain. Her fingers curled into the spaces between his. Her voice was barely audible then. "But he's _my_ lost cause."

Zip stumbled back a few steps, his face contorting as he became nearly tearful. "You'll be sorry you did this to me," he said, sounding as if he were about to become hysterical. "I promise you'll be _sorry_!" And he turned and ran, his footsteps crashing loudly against fallen leaves.

Alex shuddered then began to cry uselessly because the pain was so much—the most she had ever felt in her entire life. "It hurts, shit it _hurts_ …" she managed in a cracking voice.

"I'm so sorry," he answered in a whispering voice that cracked a little, too.

Sam, panting and sweating nearby with his useless leg off to the side beside him, was frantic. "Cas, _hurry_ , heal her, she's bleeding out!"

Cas looked Sam's way guiltily, much calmer and more resigned than what currently made sense to the middle Winchester. "Your sister can't die, Sam."

Dean was propped onto his arms with one of his hips bearing all his weight. "What?" He'd been watching in utter frozen horror. "Wait," he said, struggling to understand why Alex wasn't already dead. " _Wait_." He grasped for understanding, his face showing how he had no idea what was going on or how to process what he'd just been told. "You mean… like, _ever_?" he asked softly.

"Correct," Cas said heavily. "Never."

Alex's soft, pained crying continued and Dean looked like he couldn't handle it. "Cas, come on man, _do something_!" he insisted desperately, unable to bear the sight of his sister covered in blood and in pain.

Cas shut his eyes and concentrated hard, healing himself the best he could and enabling himself to be capable of healing humans again. Then he touched a hand to the place below Alex's collarbone, and the flesh knit itself back together, the pain faded, and she gasped in a deep breath as she was abruptly completely fine again. The blood was gone, but tear tracks remained on her cheeks. One of Cas's familiar hands came to cup the side of her face and he wiped away the tear, his expression strange and hurt as he looked at her. Cas then got up, helping Alex stand and then he left her on shaky legs and went to Dean, healing him of a broken and dislocated hip.

Dean pushed himself up to stand the second he was able and he brushed past Castiel then was crushing his sister into a hug the second he was close enough. " _Jesus,_ " he whispered in a choked up voice, holding her hard and close. He was shaking and rattled emotionally and he took a few seconds to hold her then he stood back and held her by both arms, looked her in the face. He said nothing, just nodded, his eyebrows furrowing together as his face bore an inscrutable expression. And then he looked off in the direction Zip had gone and his expression grew stormy as he let go of Alex. Sam, who was standing up after Cas healed him, seemed a little stunned by everything that had just happened. He looked around at the collapsed shed, his fixed siblings, and Cas in a bit of a daze. Dean was already grabbing his discarded machete off the ground. "Sam, get a machete and we're gonna hunt that bastard down and detach his head from his body," he said in a hard, commanding voice, motioning for the SUV. " _Now_." Shaking himself out of his shock, Sam obeyed, jogging over to the car to get a weapon. The brothers armed themselves and headed out immediately, intent on tracking down and killing Zip.

Alex and Cas were left behind, and Cas grew incredibly quiet. His expression was dazed and after he asked if Alex was all right and received a yes, he drifted over to the SUV without explanation then held a hand out and braced himself there against the hood. Alex followed cautiously. He seemed hurt and confused, withdrawn.

"Are you okay, Cas?" she asked, standing beside him and peering at the side of his face. Zip had been close to killing him sight unseen. Was he still in pain? She felt completely fine, which was kind of disconcerting.

There was a very long silence and Alex nearly asked again because she thought Cas hadn't heard her. And then, his reply was very stilling. "I never wanted to know what he looked like," he said faintly, and Alex's heart did a painful jump of realization. Castiel sounded very chastened and morose. "He was shorter than I thought he'd be." He looked up, and then at her sidelong, his expression pinched and wretched. "What kind of lover was he to you?"

His question mortified her—the question felt spiteful at a passive aggressive level but Cas sounded so depressed that Alex wasn't sure if he meant it that way or if she was just overly sensitive about it. Either way, his question was so unbelievably uncomfortable and mortifying that she looked away in embarrassment. "Cas, that's… don't make me think about that." Her neck burned and conflicted feelings rattled around inside of her.

There was another hollow silence between them. "He touched you," Cas said blankly, softly, staring off across the hood into the woods unseeingly. "He touched you like I used to. You wanted him to. I don't understand." The angel sounded so lost and confused and his simple, childlike hurt at the entire thing was heartbreaking.

She didn't really understand, either. It had made so much sense in the moment when it happened, when she'd been caught up in getting whatever good feelings she could to drown out her grief. "It shouldn't have ever happened," she said faintly, and the memory of Zip on top of her flashed through her mind unbidden. She tried to shut it away, she tried not to think about it or hear the sounds he made, the sounds _she_ _'_ _d_ made. It felt so wrong, like unfaithfulness now. But she hadn't known. "I wish it _hadn_ _'_ _t,_ Cas. I'm _sorry_." That was all she could say or do at this point. And really, she was sorry about so much about life in general and how it had turned out. There were more regrets left for her than anything else. Zip was something she wanted to forget about and never think about again.

Cas looked over at her slowly, reluctantly, his face a mask of deep emotional pain. For a minute, there was nothing said at all. And then without warning, his eyes darkened and suddenly he seized her into his arms and all but slammed her down onto her back against the hood as he pressed himself to her torso-to-torso, his hands ripping her flannel shirt apart at the middle, sending buttons flying and leaving her in the flimsy white camisole shirt that was underneath. His warm hands were on her waist, burning through the thin fabric of her shirt, his face was close to hers, his gaze was intent on her face, his eyes dropping to her lips, he stood between her legs closely, his weight pinning her against the hood. Shocked and also a little turned on at the grab and the intensity in his eyes, Alex stared up at him breathlessly. She had told him not to touch her unless she requested it—she had told him this _today_ _—_ had he forgotten? Or was he purposefully ignoring what she'd said? One of his hands crept upwards until his fingers brushed her ribcage. He stopped before he went any higher or took the encounter further. "Tell me to touch you," he beseeched in a husky, dark whisper. He _hadn_ _'_ _t_ forgotten.

Alex swallowed, and took a very long three seconds to reply. "No." A single, whispered word that maybe surprised them both.

Stung, Cas took a couple seconds then removed his hands from her and slowly stood back, his expression showing how confused and hurt he was. As Alex sat up awkwardly and slid down to stand from where he'd pinned her, Cas's contrite eyes met hers. "You don't love me anymore, do you?" he asked softly. He sounded like he could cry.

Overwhelmed with compassion, she felt the deeply abiding care that beat on in her heart of hearts forever in his name and wondered how the hell he could think that. "Of course I do," she said, going to him then taking his face into her hands. " _Of course I do_."

His eyes rose to look into hers, then he took her hands away from his face and thoroughly depressed, he stared at them. "It's all my fault," he whispered in a choked voice. "I ruined _everything._ You _shouldn_ _'_ _t_ love me, why would I think you would still love me? It's absurd, after what I did. I'm a failure. I'm what he said. _Broken_." He let go of her hands and stepped back away from her, blinking rapidly and staring at the ground as he valiantly tried to maintain composure. "I just… I need to be near flowers," he said, sounding vaguely panicked and like he might begin to cry at any moment. "And birds, and bees, and pretty things. Somewhere I can't feel this sadness, this deep, never-ending abyss that exists inside of me." He paused, fighting internal pain visibly. "I don't know what my feelings are doing. All I can think about is him with you and it makes me want to regurgitate and cry and lay down forever and never get back up." Jarringly, he began to grin for no reason, but the grin wasn't genuine, it looked more like a nervous, self-conscious grimace. Then he began to ramble. "You know what? I think we should forget him. I'm going to learn about honey, how to make it, how to harvest and process it, and I'll bottle and sell it, I'll call it Sweet Alexandra's, and we'll be happy in a house of our own and everything will be fine and nothing will ever be sad ever again, you won't need another lover because you'll love me again and I can make you happy on my own, because I'll grow a garden and build things for you and give you children, as many as you want, and I think there's something about a white picket fence too and a canine, but first I need to learn about honey, _honey_." He turned around in a small circle, looking for something in deep focus, ignoring Alex completely.

Watching him with a stumped expression, Alex was befuddled at his nonsensical rambling and unpredictable behavior. "Cas, what—"

Her question went unanswered and unfinished. Castiel disappeared into thin air and did not return.

* * *

After waiting a few minutes for Cas to come back, Alex realized he wasn't planning on returning and she barricaded herself back in Rufus's hunting cabin. First, she armed herself with borax in a pump-action squirt gun and she strapped a machete on and made sure all the ways into the cabin were locked except the front door. Then, she threw out her ripped flannel shirt which wasn't much use without the buttons and would probably draw a lot of questions and attention if her brothers saw it. She kept thinking about that strange, intense moment when Cas had made that move on her and pushed her down onto the hood of the car and ripped the shirt open. She was beginning to wonder if he were capable of rising above his mental impairment but just chose _not_ to, especially because when she'd rejected him he'd all but immediately retreated into his looney tunes persona.

Alex waited anxiously for anyone to return. The sun set and she got nervous when Sam and Dean didn't reappear and Cas didn't show. It was almost forty minutes she waited before a creak on the porch made her sit bolt upright where she'd slumped tiredly. She shot to her feet when the door opened. Dean walked in, but Alex didn't think it hurt to be sure. She fired borax at him straight in the face and he came up short, eyes squeezed closed and lips smacking sourly. "… _Yum_ ," he commented curtly, then rubbed at his eyes with the back of his sleeve and gave her a squinty look. " _Not_ Leviathans, Al." The brothers came in, the sound of their heavy footsteps comforting against the wood floor because of how silent it had been without them there. Dean set down his machete tiredly on the table. "Well, that little _punk_ is fast, I'll give him that."

Alex waited for the good news that Zip was dead. But it didn't come. "Couldn't find him," Sam supplied grimly, letting his machete clatter down on top of Dean's. "But don't worry." He headed for Alex and hugged her, seeing the anxiety in her eyes. "Now we know he's out there, we'll watch our backs extra careful." He squeezed her arms as he let her go from the hug and he gave her a quick, tight little smile that sympathized with her. He looked as tired and as harrowed as she felt.

Dean frowned around the cabin. "…Where's Cas?"

Alex shrugged shallowly, not really caring to go into detail. "Got weird and left. You know. He's just…" she made a 'crazy' sign beside her head with a finger and avoided the very intense, watchful gazes she was currently being subjected to.

"You okay?" Dean asked, his eyes piercing and his question refusing to go unanswered. He softened just a little. "We—we thought you were _dead_ for a couple seconds today." Alex looked into her brother's eyes grudgingly. He was trying to sound calm and okay about it, but she saw that he was having a tough time with everything and that he was deeply upset. They were still sort of fighting, basically, and Alex felt weird about how to conduct herself around her oldest brother.

"What'd he _do_ you?" Sam asked in earnest worry when she said nothing.

She shrugged a single shoulder up as she rubbed her own forearm self-consciously. "Made it where I can't die even if I should." Rueful and deeply upset, preferring to ignore it and not have to think about it, Alex had a hard time elaborating and walked a thoughtless, slow little path around the cabin. "Cas can't change it back. I asked him to, but Destroyer did it and I guess he was more powerful or something." She paused then clarified. "Destroyer was… one of the Purgatory monsters that, you know. Possessed him." She pulled a false smile to offset her genuine despair about the subject matter. She tried to sweep it under the rug. "Looks like I'm stuck on alive for now, boys."

They didn't smile back. Dean looked positively ill and Sam could obviously see right through her. "We'll figure this out, Alex," her twin reassured in deadly serious promise. "We will."

"Yeah but first things first: we gotta get outta here," Dean said, glancing around the dark cabin. "Call me crazy but I don't think any of us'll sleep well with Alex's crazy ex-boyfriend out there peeking in the windows." Sam gave Dean a look that said to shut it. "What?!" Dean asked indignantly.

* * *

About an hour later, the Winchesters were packed up and had moved out from Rufus's. They'd switched cars again to duck anyone following them and were pulling up to a place they very often found themselves: a rundown hole-in-the-wall motel that promised to be just as gross on the inside as it was on the outside. Sam went to go check them in, leaving Dean and Alex alone in the stolen orange Plymouth. For a minute, it was totally quiet in the darkness. Dean was in the driver's seat and Alex was in the back as usual, absently chewing the inside of her mouth. The silence was broken as her brother turned slightly and the fabric of his leather jacket creaked. "Why didn't you write me a letter?" he asked, and his voice was really soft and even a little pained, like he'd been wanting to ask forever but had only just summoned the courage.

Eyes snapping up to him at the out-of-the-blue question, Alex's eyebrows moved in together slightly in genuine surprise. "…What?" Her first reaction was that he had to be talking about something other than what she thought he was. But it turned out he wasn't.

Dean was looking out of the windshield, not her. "Found Sam's the other day when I was trying to find a bottle opener," he said in a half-sad tone. "You sure had some nice things to say to him." He sounded forlorn, she realized. A little wounded and jilted. "No wonder you two have been best buddies here lately."

How could Dean go from one hour telling her he wished she never got her voice back to wanting her to reassure him? Alex was tired and his question, however genuine and sad, made her even more tired. Plus, she was still so deeply hurt at what he'd said to her earlier that night—it literally put a wall between them, a wall she didn't want to knock down or scale just yet. "I _did_ write one, but… a lot of it was only gonna upset you, so…" she trailed off and picked at her thumbnail. "Seemed pointless to give it to you." Quite honestly, she just wanted to sleep this day off and ignore the world for awhile because her emotions were frayed to threadbare levels and nevermind Dean's emotional crisis, what about _hers_?

He was thoughtful and quiet, taking a couple seconds to speak again. "Guess I just feel like somewhere along the way I stopped being important to you," he admitted very slowly, making her feel guilty because he would _always_ be important. "And that doesn't feel right," he continued. "You're my little sister. So much of my life was about you and Sammy. Maybe it shouldn't have been, but… it was." He let a gusty sigh out and fiddled with the wheel of the parked car absently. Alex watched him furtively out of the side of her eyes. "Look, I know I'm jacked up. I know that. You got every right to be mad at me for what happened. What I said. You be mad at me however long you need, okay?" He surprised her when a rueful little self-deprecating smile crossed his face—his eyes vaguely wandered the side of the motel. "I deserve that," he said firmly. "I'll take it." And with that he glanced at her, then looked away, leaving Alex dubious. She opened her mouth to reply, not even sure what she was going to say yet, but Dean was getting out of the car. "Help me carry this stuff in, will you?" he asked. Sam was approaching with a room key and apparently Dean wanted to leave the conversation as-is.

"Two-oh-one," Sam said, motioning a few doors down to their room. Alex silently took what Dean handed her and he was all business as they settled into the room. After they had plunked bags down and Dean had cracked open a beer, Sam set up his laptop and motioned for them to come over. "So guys, check it out." One of them leaned over either of Sam's shoulders. "Found this earlier before everything went sideways. It's big." He read off the news website in a wan tone. "' _Roman acquires SucroCorp_."

"What's SucroCorp?" Dean asked, frowning hard and sitting down beside Sam with his brew.

"They make food additives, namely high-fructose corn syrup," Sam said somberly. "That crap is in—well, it's in just about _everything_ —soda, sauces, bread…"

Dean's face fell slightly. "…Don't say pie."

Sam's answer was immediate. " _Definitely_ pie."

Looking like a kid who'd just been told Santa wasn't real, Dean was stricken. "No…" he said softly.

Alex, who sat down on Sam's other side, raked a hand across her scalp and let out a weary breath. "Okay. So, why? What are the Leviathans doing with a corn syrup company?"

"Whatever they want," Sam said grimly, looking at her sidelong for effect.

"So… total takeover of the food supply, pretty much," Alex surmised dubiously. Damn. That was huge and _bad._ Only the hippies would escape.

Sam didn't look any more excited about it than she was. "Exactly."

"It's the rise of Dick," Dean quipped, fishing for laughs. When the twins both gave him little _shut up_ frowns, his smile faded. " _What_? Come on, that was funny!"

" _Dean,_ " Sam lectured, trying to stay on track. "This takes them way past their restaurant crap they pulled—this puts them in every grocery store in America, in Gas-n-Sips, vending machines… any food with the syrup in it, they can lace with… whatever they feel like." He paused. "Which, two guesses, is the same mind-melting stuff they were putting in those turducken sandwiches. This is _bad._ "

"Okay, well—so we gotta stop them," Dean said like it was that simple. "Like, yesterday."

"Yeah but short of going Al Qaeda on their trucks and plants, what can we actually do about it?" Sam asked doubtfully, his frustration mounting. "There's too many Leviathan out there for the three of us to do a, _psh_ , corporate takedown."

Without warning, the laptop slammed shut with a loud snap and all three Winchesters sat back in their seats, jumping in surprise. Dean was the first one to realize. "…Bobby?" he asked slowly.

Alex withered slightly. "Oh. Right." She had forgotten, but she guessed that was him trying to remind her. "Um… Bobby and I had a little conversation a little earlier, back at the cabin."

Dean's eyebrows shot up high. "Wait, you _saw_ him?"

"Loud and clear," she confirmed. Her brothers looked absolutely shocked that she hadn't said anything sooner.

"When?!" Dean asked, wide-eyed.

"Today. You left your jacket in the bathroom, flask was in there, and… well, anyway, he had some ideas on the weapon and the spell. It's sounding like the only way to stop this Leviathan thing is gonna be to, how did the tablet put it?" She looked at her twin for specifics.

"' _Cut off the head and the body will flounder_ '," Sam supplied, quoting from the translation Kevin had given them. He pulled the notebook out of a nearby bag and opened it, studying it with a thoughtful frown.

"Okay, so what were Bobby's ideas?" Dean asked, leaning over the table and peering at his sister intently.

Alex crossed her arms and sat back in her chair, realizing there wasn't going to be sleep tonight. "Well… the first one involves a guy whose name starts with a ' _C_ ' and ends with _we hate his guts_."

"Cas?" Dean asked.

That earned him a totally done look from his sister. " _Crowley_ , Dean. Crowley."

"Oh. Yeah. Sorry."

* * *

About ten minutes later in the middle of room 201, Dean let his blood drip down into a metal bowl that they'd set onto the little table there. Chalk summons were scrawled across the wood and the required ingredients were all present in the bowl. "That's enough," Sam said, nodding to his brother, who grimaced and squeezed his fist closed to stop the blood flow even as he reached out to Alex, who had a piece of gauze waiting.

"Can't say I'm looking forward to this," Dean muttered, shoving the gauze into his fist.

"Would be weird if you were," Sam commented, pulling out his book of matches and looking around for agreement. Dean nodded. He was ready. Arms folded, Alex lingered behind her brothers slightly but nodded, too. "Here goes everything," Sam muttered, and let out a tense puff of air. " _Et ad congregandum eos coram me_ ," he recited, then struck a match and dropped it into the bowl to complete the summons. Flames rose up high then flared out and when they did, the softest, darkest chuckle could be heard.

The Winchesters turned to see a familiar face that they hadn't seen in quite some time. Crowley, smarmy and haughty, smirked at them from near the ends of one of the motel beds. "Hello, children," he purred in greeting, his devilishly dark voice every bit as oily as Alex remembered. He was dressed immaculately in an all-black suit, looking exactly the same as ever—cocky and unruffled. "Seems like I haven't seen you since last season," he teased. "What _can_ I do for you?"

"You can tell us what you think about Leviathan," Dean said in a hard voice, sauntering forward by a step to establish himself as the primary communicator.

Completely at ease, Crowley's eyes traveled upward in mock pondering. "Squicky little bottom-feeding chumps. Hate 'em. Why?"

"Because we know how to wipe their fearless leader off the playing field," Dean replied. "You want in on that action?"

"Oh, you don't say. Well color me intrigued," Crowley said, giving away nothing. He sauntered over to the bed where Sam had moved and laid the translation out. The demon peered down at one of the pages in vague interest. "I don't suppose _this_ is your little cheat-sheet for how to blow Dick…" he paused, "off the game board, hmm?" he asked, then looked up at the three unfriendly hunters with a playful smile. "Well don't just stand there with those idiotic looks on your faces. Obviously you need something from yours truly. Why _else_ would you bother me? So what, exactly, are you trying to get me to hand over?"

"All right Crowley, look," Sam said, his tenor voice forceful and impatient. "We can gank Dick once and for all. And once we do _that_ , the rest of the Leviathan won't be as hard to kill, either."

Crowley gave a lofty sigh. " _Bored_ , Moose. Get to the finale."

"We need your _blood_ to create the weapon to slice Dick up," Dean said, his voice growing more gruff as he got impatient.

A slow, knowing smile grew on the demon's face. "Ah. There it is."

"Yeah," Dean retorted. "There it is. So you gonna give us the blood or not?" Dean paused threateningly. "Or do we need to take it out of you?"

"Now now, Dean," Crowley chided mockingly. "I'm happy to give you my bodily fluids any time of course." He smirked at the look that crossed Dean's face. "But not quite yet. I'm all for chopping Dick, but I can't have you running around with a vial of my blood in the meantime now, can I? You know the sheer number of nefarious spells my enemies can use that blood for?"

Alex, who'd been silent and stone faced until then, was very wan. "Trust me, we'd love to use your blood to do any number of nefarious things to you, but right now the priority's Dick," she deadpanned, then nodded her head forward expectantly. "So…"

"Sorry, love," Crowley said, giving her a special little smile. "Sounds kinky, but I don't put out without a candlelit meal first."

"Just _shut up,_ " Dean said, thoroughly irritated. "If you won't give us the goods now, then _when_?"

" _Last_ _,_ " Crowley murmured in that dark velvet voice. "After you've got all the other components. Most difficult, the angel part, I'm assuming. Given your role in their little apocalypse and your sister's seedy little… whatever the hell it was with the one in the trench coat, I can't imagine the choirboys upstairs are wetting their vestments to do you—what's the word?—a solid." He paused pointedly and looked at Alex closely. "Unless, of course, you have an angel up your sleeve…?"

She had never fought harder to keep her poker face on. "I still have some connections upstairs, Crowley. We'll _get_ the blood." If he knew Castiel was alive, she was pretty sure he wouldn't stop until he killed the angel.

"Yeah," Sam echoed his sister's sentiments and tried to close the subject for their own protection. "Don't worry about that. We just need _you_ to be _ready_ next time we call."

"Can do," Crowley said affably then paused, growing marginally more ominous. "By the by, heard it from a friend who heard it from a friend that _Meg_ was with you lot just a day or two ago. Now, that couldn't possibly be true, could it? That traitorous _whore,_ the one I so despise and want to see tortured for all eternity was with _you_?" He looked around at them and no one replied. Mildly irritated, Crowley's eyes narrowed. "So, you won't say either. Seems to follow the pattern. I can't get _her_ to talk yet either, you see, but she will soon enough."

"What?" Alex's arms dropped out of where she'd had them crossed as her face fell. "You have Meg?"

Crowley pulled a surprised face at her reaction. "Don't tell me there's some kind of _bromance_ going on here I don't know about," he said, then feigned hurt. "Blimey, I thought if you ever decided to friend it up with one of my kind it'd be _me_ , Mouse." He chuckled like he was enjoying his own inside joke. He suddenly stopped and held up a finger in concentration. "Oh, before I go, here's a tip for my favorite plaid-wearing trio. I have it on good authority there's one alpha still among us…" he trailed off and smiled coyly.

"What?" Dean asked, his voice hard with surprise and suspicion. " _Whose_ authority?"

Crowley looked at Dean, faintly testy. " _Mine_. Wily character, that alpha vampire. Somehow made good on a prison break before Cas went nuclear on the place… but got away all the same."

"And you know this _how_?" Dean challenged, his eyes narrowed in doubtfulness.

"Keep your friends close, your enemies, blah blah," Crowley sighed, waving the question off in boredom. "Needless to say, I keep tabs. He moves around quite a bit. But I have an inkling I know where to start the Easter-egg hunt." He grinned widely and wiggled his eyebrows. "Happy trails." And then he disappeared.

"Okay," Dean muttered, then raised his voice to a shout. " _Where_ , jackass?!"

"Oh _shit!_ " Alex gasped, jumping back from the table which had just caught fire beside her.

"Hoople, North Dakota…?" Sam asked incredulously as the flames died out to reveal words burned into the wood.

Disgruntled, Dean made a face. "Piece of paper would have worked…"

"Don't like this," Alex muttered, staring hard at the words that had been burned into the table.

"What's to like?" Dean asked sort of flippantly. "But hey. Soon enough Dick'll be dead on the floor."

"Yeah and what if this is a _trap_?" she asked. This was Crowley after all. And she _didn_ _'_ _t_ trust him.

"Eyes wide open," Dean said with a helpless shrug, basically saying he acknowledged that as a possibility. He raised an arm and sniffed his own armpit and made a sound of revulsion. "Okay. Before we go, I gotta take a shower man."

"But we just _got_ here," Alex complained, not loving the idea of heading out right away. She wanted to sleep _please god_ and in a bed if that wasn't too much to ask. Utter exhaustion had her pretty desperate to stay in one place for at least eight hours, if not more.

Dean grabbed his duffel bag and slung it over his shoulder, heading to the bathroom. "You got five minutes, make it count," he said, shooting down her request as he shut the door behind himself.

Alex sat down on one of the beds muttering and then scrubbed her face with her hands. She might as well go get in the car and sleep there. When she absently looked over at Sam, she wasn't expecting to see the trollish little expression that was there on his face. "We're not going _anywhere_ ," he said knowingly, and his voice had a distinctly playfulness to it that wasn't there very often, like he was up to no good and was already enjoying the coming reaction. "You need some rest. I got this."

Five minutes later, Dean walked out of the bathroom shirtless with a towel wrapped around his waist and an annoyed expression on his face. "Okay, very funny guys, where are my _clothes_?" he asked peevishly. Sam had taken all of his things and hidden them, and Dean had _never_ liked it when either of his siblings had pulled that stunt.

But neither of his siblings answered. Sam and Alex stared at him, squinting at his left arm, the bicep to be exact, where there was something new they had never seen. Dean remembered and a hand shot up to clap over the tattoo as his face dropped. But it was too late. "… Is that… is that what I _think_ it is?" Sam asked, a disbelieving grin growing on his face.

Dean sighed in aggravation and after a couple of seconds gave up his attempts to hide the tattoo, probably realizing it was an exercise in futility. "Okay, _look_ in my defense, we were _really_ drunk and it must have seemed like a good idea at the time," he muttered indignantly. Surly, he crossed his arms and waited for them to comment, obviously already knowing he was going to hear it.

Alex gaped at what was permanently inked onto Dean's big upper arm. It was one of those cliché red hearts with a ribbon scrolled across it. And inside the scroll was a name that had Sam laughing so hard he was bending forward slightly and tearing up. "'James'?" Sam asked, and laughed even harder "' _James_ '? And the… the heart and, and _everything?_ " He was laughing harder than he had in a long time. "You look like a _cartoon_ character!"

Dean's mouth was drawn into a thin line and in chagrin he looked down at his arm, then an amused smile of his own popped up, softening his embarrassment and he gave them a look. "You guys should see the one _she_ got," he said, sounding distinctly self-pleased.

Sam's eyebrows were high, his grin was cracking his face in half. "Does it have _your_ name on it?"

Dean had a naughty little expression on that confirmed the answer was yes... then he suddenly seemed to think of something and sobered up fast. "You didn't hear it from me, okay?"

"What, so are you guys like… a thing now?" Alex asked, unsure of how to react.

Dean was given serious pause at that question. "I mean… no." Pause, slight frown. "I don't think so. But, maybe, sorta." He shook his head. "I'm not sure." He glared slightly, ducking any more of the question. "Where's my _stuff,_ guys?"

Sam gave Dean a highly pointed look but the amusement was still there, which only made Dean more surly. "You can only have it if we get to sleep here tonight, Mr. Tattoo," he said.

"Fine, _whatever_ ," Dean agreed, totally exasperated.

Sam picked up Dean's duffel from where he'd stuck it under a bed and he tossed it to his brother. Dean caught it and Sam was thoroughly entertained, chuckling again as he looked at the tattoo on Dean's arm. Dean grabbed a pair of boxers and gave the customary, "it's about to get full frontal" warning just before he dropped the towel and pulled his boxers on. "Decent," he muttered once he was such, then pulled on a gray undershirt.

Sam's amusement had faded, like he was remembering something. "What about her soul deal though?" he asked.

 _What_? Alex's head snapped up as her eyebrows slammed together. Dean looked caught and quieted. "Uh. Alex didn't know about that," he said, and Sam realized his mistake.

" _Soul deal_?" Alex repeated, and she was totally devastated, looking between her brothers in the hopes that it was a joke. But they weren't laughing. "… _Jamie_? Since when, _why_?"

Dean's expression became hard to read. "The why is a long story, and it ain't mine to tell," he said tersely, like he knew it all and had a lot of unhappy feelings about it. Alex was even further taken aback—Dean and Jamie had to be a _lot_ closer than she had thought. "The when, I, uh… I don't know," he admitted reluctantly. "Best I can figure it was in two-thousand six or seven maybe. I got no idea when her time's up. She won't say." He sounded distinctly hurt and worried. "But I get the feeling it's only a year or two out now." He paused heavily, and from the look on his face, Alex could tell he was about to say something he'd thought about for a long time. "Once we button up this Leviathan thing, I'm actually, uh, gonna take some time off and see about tracking down the demons who were involved, see what I can do to, you know. Call it off." He cleared his throat, uncomfortable as he scratched behind his ear. When neither of his siblings reprimanded him for saying he was going to pursue something on his own, he seemed to gather small courage. "It was a bullshit deal, a total setup," he said. "Any two-bit demon would be an idiot not to agree. As far as I'm concerned, she doesn't owe anyone anything and I'm gonna settle the score, get her off the hook. And maybe tear a son-of-a-bitch or two in half while I'm at it."

His siblings were both pretty shocked at his words and what he was saying he was going to do. That was the kind of stuff they only did for family, this was the kind of challenge that was fueled by obviously serious feelings and care. Sam and Alex exchanged a look, each realizing how much Dean must actually care about this girl. Sam spoke up first. "Dean, _how_? We couldn't get you out of the deal, so how will you get _her_ out?"

Dean shook his head with a set jaw. "I'll figure it out," he said, and he sounded pretty damn sure about that. "Trust me. I'll find a way."

"I had _no_ idea," Alex said softly, a little horrified that she'd traveled and hunted with Jamie for the better part of a year and had never picked up on the fact that Jamie was a dead woman walking. Had there been signs? Should Alex have picked up on clues?

"She's good at that," Dean said ruefully, his tone faintly fond in a bittersweet way. "Keeping things close to the cuff." He seemed to remember his siblings were there and he toughened up. "But, you know. This past half year or whatever, I dunno. We just… got close I guess." He paused, his eyes far away. "Can't see letting this happen to her. It's like, I dunno. She doesn't have anyone else in her corner. Just me."

Even though he'd taken a seat across from Alex on the other bed and was close by, Dean seemed a very far distance away and it sort of hurt to hear him talking about another girl like that. Like he'd do anything for her and was gonna fight with everything he had for her survival. Alex wondered when this had happened—when they had grown up and gone their separate ways—because it seemed like just yesterday it had been just him and her and the road and a whistle around her neck and Dad calling now and then and Sam at Stanford. And now _this._ Alex was left to realize that even though she felt cautiously glad that her brother had found someone she felt more disturbingly jealous of Jamie even if she didn't want to feel that way. She remembered feeling that same way with Cassie too back in the day. Alex even suspected Dean had _ended_ things with Cassie because of her unhappiness with another female getting so much of her brother's attention. _God, we are so screwed up_ … Alex looked at Dean today—sitting there in his boxers and wrinkled shirt with wet hair that stood up in all directions—and she thought that maybe she wasn't as different from him as she'd thought. She'd in theory wanted him to have someone and had even played a part in trying to set the two of them up, but now that Jamie and Dean were a thing, it made her feel slighted and she wondered if she was now second-most important to her brother. Wasn't that the way it was supposed to be, though? Alex thought it over, troubled by her own mind. Maybe she was every bit as selfish as Dean was. Maybe even more.

Oblivious to her, Sam was nodding and taking Dean's words in stride. "I'm sure she's glad you're there for her, Dean," he said earnestly, always willing to be optimistic. He thought a second. "This could be _good_ , actually," he said, getting more invested in the idea as he talked about it. "Someone you can maybe… I dunno, have some _normal_ kind of future with." At the semi-dirty look he got from Dean, Sam spread his hands briefly. "What? Do you honestly think we can just do this until we're old and gray?"

" _No_ ," Dean answered immediately, cynically. "I think we die young in a blaze of gunfire and violence. That's kind of a given, isn't it?"

Alex looked at her two mortal brothers and her throat caught. "Not for everyone," she whispered. They looked at her and no one knew what to say.

* * *

**The Next Day  
Hoople, North Dakota  
Gas-n-Sip**

Alex perused the snack aisle of the convenience store without much interest. What she _really_ wanted was chicken alfredo, the kind you could get at Biggerson's with lots of sauce and bacon bits. Gas station food was so _eugh_ after a lifetime of freeze-dried and canned and processed and frozen fare. Cup-O-Noodles or Ramen noodles were basically her only choice here. Both sounded terrible.

They Winchesters had gotten up early at the motel and then driven the fifteen-ish hours from Whitefish here to Hoople. Dinner was next on the agenda and then they'd set to work tracking down the alpha and getting his blood for the Dick-killing spell. Alex had called Cas a couple times but he wasn't showing, so that was… annoying. Frustrating. Mystifying. Worrying. Alex thought it was strange he wouldn't come to her calls, but chalked it up to him being so upset about the Zip thing.

Other than that, things were okay. She and Dean were still kind of weird and not talking much, but at least they weren't ripping each other's throats out. But he was all business and that was hard to take. He hadn't said anything else about Jamie and she and Sam hadn't asked.

Approaching quickly beside her, two big, tall figures could be seen on her periphery. Turning a little, Alex saw that they were who she thought. "Hey," Sam said. Their approach struck her as distinctly mission-filled and she frowned slightly.

"What?" she asked, wondering if something were wrong.

"We left Bobby in the car where his happy little ears can't _hear_ ," Dean explained, making a drinking motion with his hand even as Sam jumped straight into questions.

"Did he seem angry when you saw him the other day?"

Feeling slightly ambushed, Alex took a second to reply. "Well… _yeah_ _…"_ she thought back to it somberly. "He cracked the mirror and yelled." Hesitating, she grew even more morose because it was such a heavy thing she was about to reveal. "And you know that rush of cold you can feel sometimes around really pissed ghosts before they do some murder?" Her brothers both knew precisely what she was referring to. "It… it was exactly like that."

"Damn," Dean commented tensely, sending Sam a worried glance. "He's getting worse, man."

Sam's eyes narrowed in discernment as he questioned Alex further. "Was he showing signs of fatigue, like—like fritzing?"

Alex shook her head, reluctant to tell the truth because of how dark it was. "No, he looked totally fine, no fritzing at all, except he doesn't seem to have much control over when he shows up and when he poofs away." She clenched her jaw briefly, knowing what that meant. "But from what he said, sounded like he's… he's getting better at it."

There was a short silence because they all knew what that meant. "That's what I was afraid of," Sam said softly. "The stronger he gets, the angrier he gets and the more action he sees, the closer he comes to going full vengeful spirit." There was a horrible silence in which all three of the Winchesters bore sickened expression. "That's reality," Sam said heavily, his face twisting in concern and earnestness. "We need to talk about what we're going to do with him."

" _Do_ with him?" Dean asked, frowning abruptly at his brother. "Three weeks ago, you were—you were talking how this could work. And now—now you want to go Kevorkian on his ass?"

"I'm just saying that the lore doesn't have a single real-life example of Casper the Friendly Ghost," Sam protested. "It's all basically poltergeists until a hunter comes along and… we know the rest."

"Yeah, well, the lore _sucks_ _,_ _"_ Dean muttered, crabby.

Sam kept going on and on, making points they all knew. "I'm talking pure hatred, Dean. No humanity left—that's where he's headed, we all know that. It starts with a broken mirror and it builds up to possessing and _killing_ people. I mean, Bobby could burn this friggin' building down if he got mad enough. Look, if he goes off the rails—"

"I know, Sam," Dean said, impatient and on edge. "I _know_." He was a little sour, but he turned to Alex, maybe in an attempt to ditch the more uncomfortable subject matter. "You okay with this? I mean seeing him had to be sorta… I dunno, intense."

"It's fine," she said stiffly, avoiding eye contact.

Dean looked like he was thinking about rolling his eyes. "O… _kay_." He sighed out of his nose and glanced around cagily, then narrowed his eyes, noticing something. His voice lowered furtively. "Hey."

Sam looked at Dean oddly. "What?"

Dean nodded, indicating the twins look. "Check out that guy over there. He seem a little… out of it to you?"

They looked. A man stood at the condiment counter and was pumping mustard over his hot dog slowly and methodically. Mustard spilled over the edge of the dog but he kept going and going, his eyes glazed over as he kept pumping and pumping slowly. "I-I don't know," Sam replied lowly. "Maybe?"

Dean began to canvas the place for anything else odd, then nodded toward the refrigerated beverage section where a gray-haired woman stood and stared unmovingly into the selection. "What about Paula Deen over here?" he prompted quietly.

Sam was getting more and more intrigued and worried. "Yeah, they—they look like, uh…"

The hot dog guy was still pumping mustard onto his hot dog and bright yellow liquid dripped onto the floor. Another man was slurping a slushy as the machine filled his jumbo cup up—the mixture overflowed from the full cup and down onto the floor and the man's shoes but he gave no reaction whatsoever, just kept drinking dumbly as bright red slush pooled onto his feet and down the front of the machine. "Way too many downers?" Alex suggested in cautious confusion.

"Or like those Turducken people," Sam said, then gave Alex a knowing look. "Remember how I told you about Dean and the sandwich? _Yeah_." He suddenly seemed to realize something. "It's _starting_." He picked up a random can from a nearby shelf and read the ingredients quickly. "It's the _corn syrup_ _,_ _"_ he said, shaking the can he held for emphasis as his expression went cold. "Everything in the store is _laced_ with it."

Dean seemed to grow paler. "… _Everything_?" he asked, and began to frantically check ingredients of his favorite things. He became alarmed when he found that nothing he liked was free of the substance the Leviathans had tainted. "Hey, man, I'm gonna go into toxic shock, okay?" He was growing panicked. "I-I... I need my road food!"

"That's what Roman is _banking_ on," Sam replied, picking up another can and frowning at it hard.

"Hey. Hey." Dean held up a pie in a plastic container. "This one says 'natural.' Th-th-that means it's safe! Right?"

Sam took the pie from him and put it back on the shelf. "I hate to break it to you, but corn syrup _is_ natural, technically."

"Well then what the hell are we supposed to _eat_?!" Dean asked, voice tight in semi-panic.

Sam pulled a face like Dean was kind of dumb. "Fruit? Vegetables? Water?"

Dean looked like he had been completely betrayed. "… oh no. _No._ There has to be something else," he protested weakly.

Alex held up a long rectangular shape in a white wrapper and read the cover. "All-natural granola, honey, and flax bar with seaweed protein. No fillers, pesticides, or high fructose corn syrup."

"Seaweed?!" Dean asked as if he had never heard of anything worse in his life. " _Ugh!_ _"_ he threw his hands up high in the air. "Why!"

* * *

Dean stalked out of the convenience store alone with his phone to his ear as he waited impatiently for the other end to pick up. His brother and sister were still inside, trying to find things that was safe to eat. Jamie's end of the line picked up and Dean was talking before she could say anything. "Hey, so don't eat anything with high fruity something syrup in it," he said gruffly, marching over to the stolen car angrily.

There was a long pause at the other end. "…High fructose corn syrup?" she asked slowly. He could hear the confusion on her face.

"Yeah, _that,_ " he said, so mad he could have spit.

"Why?"

"Those Leviathan _bastards,_ that's why," he said, completely beside himself that this was happening. Visions of juicy burgers covered in cheese and ketchup with salty french fries and chips and soda and candy danced through his head and all he could think of was _carrots_ and _lima beans_ and _plain chicken with nothing on it._ Please god no, this was a nightmare. "Apparently all I can eat now is like bananas and sugar-free granola," he fumed, "like… you _kidding_ me?! This has gone too far!" He let out a frustrated sigh and waited for her to commiserate and joke around with him. When there was only silence, he paused, wondering if their phone call had been cut short. "James?"

"Yeah, that's really terrible Dean," she said, and that's when he realized something was _wrong_. Her tone was weird, she sounded forced and distracted, upset in some small, hidden way. "No corn syrup, got it."

He stopped walking completely. "What's wrong?" he asked, his ears straining to hear her reply.

She paused tellingly. "Nothing's wrong." Yeah right. He could tell something was wrong—she sounded _weird_.

"What is it?" he asked, then frowned deeply off into traffic. He tried to go the lighthearted route, knowing she often responded best to sarcasm and ill-placed humor. "Someone mess with my girl? Do I need to kick someone's ass? "

She laughed weakly, and it almost could have been a shudder. "Maybe _mine_ …" she said cryptically, making him frown abruptly.

"Yours?" he asked, seriously confused and also getting really worried at her uncharacteristically weak voice and shaky-sounding emotions. He dropped the comedy hour. "Jamie—seriously—what is it?"

She sounded like she was having to gather courage. "J-just promise not to freak out," she said, and he barely recognized her voice right now. She sounded scared and distraught, two things she barely ever was.

"Why would I freak out?" he asked, becoming filled with dread. She was quiet again and Dean's heart was beating faster and faster as he waited for whatever horrible news she was about to give him. A million things spun through his mind: her death day was a few hours away, or maybe she had discovered she had cancer, or perhaps she'd done something horrible that she thought was unforgivable, or maybe she was leaving the country and breaking up with him—even though you kind of had to _be_ with someone to break up with them. Dean waited on pins and needles, worrying himself sicker and sicker at every millisecond that passed. "Come on, Jamie, you're starting to make me nervous," he pled softly, trying to sound less freaked than he felt.

And then she answered him and said the last thing in the world he had ever expected to hear. "Dean." She paused and her voice dropped to a mere whisper. "I… I think I might be pregnant."


	102. Behind Enemy Lines

" _Life is like a steering wheel, it only takes one small move to change your entire direction._ _"  
_ \- Kellie Elmore

* * *

Outside of a pretty nondescript gas station in Hoople, North Dakota, a man stood near his car with a shellshocked look on his face and a cell phone pressed to his ear. The confession he had just heard had completely blindsided him. The words that had just been said on the other line had him staring without breathing into space with a dumbstruck look on his face. " _Dean_." His name spoken cautiously with such anxiousness. And then the long, awful pause followed by the quietly whispered words that caused the entire world to crash down at Dean's feet as he got the surprise of a lifetime. " _I… I think I might be pregnant_."

_I think I might be pregnant._

_I think I might be pregnant._

_I think I might be pregnant._

Those six words echoed in his mind and were absolutely incompatible with his ears and brain which both struggled to comprehend—he kept repeating her words to himself in his head, trying to find the meaning. Pregnant? _Pregnant_? No. That wasn't possible. Right? For a minute, nothing made sense to him—he thought he must have misheard her or that she was trying to pull his leg, or maybe 'pregnant' was a new slang term for something he didn't know about yet. He fumbled royally to respond as his thunderstruck silence stretched out, but English became the biggest struggle he'd ever known. "P-pregnant?" he managed to repeat in a winded voice, the word like thick, chunky molasses in his mouth. How? When? Surely she didn't mean _pregnant_ pregnant. "W-with… with a _baby_?"

His dumbfounded question got a pretty disgruntled answer. "No, with a _burrito,_ _"_ she retorted in frustration, quickly becoming exasperated. "Yes with a baby!"

A baby? Like, a little human being? Like, a _kid_?! Dean was beside himself. "With _me_?" he faltered. "I mean, _mine_?"

Wrong question to ask. "I haven't been with anyone besides you in like six _months_!" she exclaimed, obviously upset at the implication and also at the fact that she'd _told_ him as much in a moment of vulnerability recently.

Shaking his head and squeezing his eyes closed because of his own stupidity, Dean rubbed his forehead. "No, yeah, no, I knew that, right, um—" he opened his eyes back up, his face wrinkled in anxiety as he blinked over and over again fast, staring into space as everything in his mind and body went haywire at what he'd just been told. "I'm not… I don't…" he stuttered, stumbling around and around internally, a million questions filling his mind past capacity. He'd seen her just _yesterday_ and everything had seemed _fine_ and now she was freaking out and saying she might be pregnant? Dean was pretty sure she wouldn't get symptoms overnight and _dude_ they'd used _protection_ and just what the _hell_ was actually going on here? Dean was overwhelmed and shut his eyes again, chopped a hand out in the air as he tried to calm down. This could be nothing, it could be a false alarm. He needed some facts before he went full freakout. "Okay, can you just explain how come you think… why you might be…" it was really tough to use the 'P' word. So he didn't use it at all. "Like, help me understand what's going on here." He put a nervous little breathy laugh at the end of that sentence in an attempt to sound less petrified than he actually was.

There was a bracing sniff and a deep breath on the other end of the line and Jamie began to explain in a voice that sounded forcibly brave and yet scared shitless at the same time. "Okay, so, so Owen…" she started shakily, "he and the crew, we were all going to breakfast at some stupid diner place this morning and like the smell in there was so horrible that I got sick from it… I thought I was just like, I dunno, getting the flu or something but I mentioned to Owen how it was weird that I felt so sick a couple other times out of nowhere like that recently and he… he asked if maybe I was… if I might be pregnant." She paused and breathed out shakily. "I hadn't even—I hadn't even _thought_ about that being a possibility, and then he says that and suddenly, you know, it kind of makes sense. Like I _have_ been feeling bad like for a couple weeks now and getting tired a lot easier and nauseated for no reason. I just thought it was road food catching up with me and old age and stress, you know?" She tried a laugh, but it was feeble and faltering. Her voice was getting weaker and more and more upset even as Dean felt himself getting more and more stunned as what she said pointed one direction. "Also I think my period might be late but I can't even remember at this point and I'm just… I'm just freaking _out._ " She was quiet as Dean slowly sank down on weak legs to sit on the curb adjacent to his stolen car. Could this seriously be happening? His biggest problem in the world a minute ago had been no more pie for the foreseeable future. And now… he might be responsible for creating a new little life. Now, he might be a _dad._ "Dean?" Jamie asked nervously, worry making her tone tense. "You still there?"

He'd forgotten about words for a second. "Yeah, I—I just don't—I mean, we used protection, right!?" He was aghast and in denial about this even being possible.

She sounded hesitant and slightly embarrassed. "Yeah but there was… the first night we were together, that, I guess the second time when we didn't really have, uh… and I mean I thought you… _you know_ … in time but… maybe not?" _Oh shit. That was right._ "And that same night I don't even remember if we used anything that last time we—in the car like… we were both so blitzed. I _think_ we did, but what if we didn't?" She paused in her rambling, and her anxiety and fear was almost visceral to him even though he was hundreds of miles away from her. Voice cracking as it lost all power, Jamie sounded utterly distraught. "Dean, what the hell am I gonna do if this is like… if this is really happening?" she asked, and he thought she was close to tears.

That's when he got his wits back and snapped out of his daze and realized as shocked and alarmed as he was feeling, it had to be twenty times worse for her. " _Hey_ ," he soothed, becoming much more focused and capable when he concentrated on her instead of himself. "Hey, listen to me. First of all, you're okay. All right?" He paused and she sniffed, making no reply. And then a horrible thought struck him and terrified him anew, making his voice drop to a faint volume. "James—w-when is your time up?" he asked urgently. " _When_?"

She was quiet for a very long few seconds and he was left hanging. Dean thought for the slightest instance that she _still_ wasn't going to tell him what he had asked and asked and asked to know. When she did speak up, she still didn't get specific, but she told him more than she ever had before. "I have a little over a year to go," she said, and she sounded devoid, ragged. Hopeless.

Dean felt like the weight of the world was on his shoulders in that moment and he propped an elbow on his knee, covered his face halfway with his hand. " _Jesus_ …" he commented in the mildest of relief but also in staunch despair. He couldn't take the thought of the hounds coming for her or the thought of her going through what he'd experienced. The only reason he could feel any relief at all was because if she _was_ pregnant, if her time had been up _before_ she was due to give birth, Dean wouldn't have been able to _handle_ the thought of a tiny little life he was responsible for being cursed to Hell and death before life even truly began. So thank _god_ for that. And then out of nowhere Dean wondered if it would be a boy or a girl if this was really happening. _Holy crap._ This was crazy, _crazy._ A minute ago he'd been upset about no road food. And now he was wondering if he was a father and if Jamie was a mother and what they would do about this if it turned out to be true and if this kid would have eyes like her or eyes like his. Would they stay together and have this kid together, be a family? Or would Dean fail in saving her from the soul deal like he'd promised and become John Winchester all over again? A hunter who lost the woman he loved, a man dragging his offspring around through this freakshow nightmare? It was earth-shattering and Dean only knew one thing. "I wish to god I was with you right now," he murmured starkly, feeling the distance between them and knowing it would all be so much better if he had her in his arms where he could hold her safe and sound. It was actually killing him to have this conversation so far apart, and he couldn't imagine how it was making her feel if he felt so sick inside at all the unknowns.

She sounded similarly shaken, like all she wanted was the hug he couldn't give. "I'm freaking out so bad, Dean," she said, tone colored by real, understandable petrification.

"I know, sweetheart, I know," he said heavily, face rigid as he glanced around restlessly. "M-me too." He paused and realized that she'd figured this out in the morning. And here it was around six in the evening. Mildly hurt, Dean's next question was cautious. "Why didn't you call me when you… when you first realized this might be happening?"

Her quiet answer came slowly and it was easy to tell she had a hard time admitting the truth. "…Because I was terrified you'd hang up on me and never wanna see me again."

Stricken, Dean's face said it all and then his words followed suit. "James. _Jamie_." He couldn't find how to say it, and when he finally did, he sounded incredibly offended even to himself. "Are you _kidding_ me? You know me better than that. After everything, after—this past month, especially? You know how I feel about you, right?" He wet his lips, awkward and desperate for her to get it. He'd spelled it out for her as best he could without being totally black and white. He'd shown her how he felt the best he knew how, especially in bed where he knew how to speak without words best—but Jamie was so damaged and didn't trust easily and he knew she was just waiting for him to turn out to be another mistake, another demon in disguise. She was waiting for his feelings to turn out to be a sham. And they _weren_ _'_ _t._ They were the opposite of that. "I mean… I _seriously_ care about you," he said in a slightly choked voice because she needed to believe it now more than ever and he was upset that she didn't trust him. "And I'm not—I'm not just gonna like disappear on you if… if this is real, okay? You _know_ I wouldn't." He wanted her to say she _did_ know that. But there was a long, totally empty silence and Dean thought for a second that she'd hung up or been disconnected. Frowning slightly, he listened harder. "You there?"

"I—I'm here," she answered just barely, and then he heard it loud and clear: she was crying and trying to hide the fact, too.

His heart twisted painfully and he shut his eyes. _She shouldn_ _'_ _t be alone right now._ He should be there with her. But he was sitting at a gas station pump however hundred miles away from her. "Please, don't cry…" he said softly and helplessly. It killed him to hear how upset she was and it killed him that he couldn't do anything to really help her.

She was trying not to cry, but her efforts weren't strong enough. "It's too much," she said, beginning to sound mildly frantic. "I can't _handle_ this, Dean, I _can_ _'_ _t!_ "

"Hey, hey," he calmed. "Breathe, sweet girl. Breathe."

There was an unexpected, soft laugh through her tears. "Told you not to _call_ me that," she said, and he could hear the helpless-if-exasperated little grin on her voice.

He smiled a little too, looking down at the ground and remembering when he'd first called her that and had gotten the _look_. "Yeah you did, didn't you," he murmured, remembering how he'd made a point to call her that a few more times just to annoy her. She was so cute when she got pissed at him. Becoming a little playful despite the heavy situation, Dean pointed out a glaring fact she seemed to have forgotten. "But you also tried to get me to stop calling you James and look how _that_ worked out."

"Goddammit..." she bemoaned ruefully, "You're right."

Dean's smile faded slowly and reluctantly, he piloted the conversation back to serious waters. "All right, look. Y-you need to get a test and find out for sure what—what the deal is before we get too worried about this whole thing, okay?" He paused then was cautiously optimistic. "Could be a false alarm, right? Maybe?"

"Yeah, could be," she said, but she sounded hesitant to get her hope up. "I um, I already have a test. Just bought it." Dean realized at that moment how hard he was sweating—his palms were warm and clammy, underneath his arms was pouring like he had just run a few miles. He had no idea what the rest of his life would look like if this turned out to be really happening. Jamie's voice was a whispery protest. "But I don't wanna take it, Dean. I just… it sounds so stupid but I don't wanna _know_ if I am or not _._ " She paused and her voice broke again. "I can't—I _can_ _'_ _t_ have a kid. I have one foot in the grave, and even if I didn't, I'm not—I'm not _ready_ for this."

Sobered to his deepest level, Dean looked off into middle distance. "Are either of us?" he asked, and he heard how she went silent when he said 'us.' But like he said. He wasn't walking out on her if it turned out to be for real. And this was an 'us' thing in his book, plain and simple. And honestly, the more he thought about it, he wouldn't be devastated if she took the test and it was positive. In fact, he almost thought he would feel the opposite of devastated. Dean stood back up slowly, trying to think hard about how to get to her soon and help her through this. "Where are you?"

She sounded mystified and dubious when she answered. "Near Boise… why?"

"Okay, look. We're… we're headed to Washington state. As soon as we have this weapon to kill Dick with we're headed out that way and we could—I could meet you or something and I can, um, you know. Be there when you take the test." He paused awkwardly. "If you want. We could find out, you know." He paused again, really feeling like he was about to get shut down, but he had to put it out there either way. "Together."

He kind of expected her to suddenly turn cold and say that she was gonna take care of this herself because Jamie regularly refused offers of help and tried to do things on her own. So imagine Dean's surprise when instead of shutting him down, she sounded floored and touched. "…You would do that?"

"I mean, if this is happening…" Dean tried to think of how to say it right. "We… we made it happen together, you know?" He went quiet and wondered what her face was doing at that moment. He wished he could see her. "So… yeah. I guess I just think we should do this part together too, if, uh, if you want that."

Jamie sounded apologetic and embarrassed. It sounded odd on her. "I know it's really stupid that I can't take it by myself."

Dean didn't think so, and more than that, he actually and earnestly _wanted_ to be there for that moment, either way it went. " _James_. It's not stupid. It's a really big deal." Without warning, he had a sudden vision of the two of them with a little blonde toddler and they looked unbelievably happy in his mind's eye. Like a little family. Like people who'd found each other in the world and created something amazing, something hopeful, a totally new person that could have so much more than they ever had. Dean swallowed away a tight throat and spoke softly for fear of a breaking voice. "Maybe the biggest deal ever." He glanced over at the convenience store when he saw movement in the corner of his eye. Two familiar figures were approaching: Sam's tall hulking figure beside his eight-inches-shorter sister. They were carrying a couple grocery bags, no doubt full of plain fruit and disgusting sugar-free granola bars. Dean straightened up and wiped his face clear of expression, lowered his voice and turned a little for privacy. "Look, I—I gotta go, the twins are coming." He didn't really want them knowing about this whole thing point blank at least not until _he_ knew more. Dean paused earnestly. "I promise, Jamie. As _soon_ as we are done here, I'm gonna come find you and we'll figure this out together, okay?" She didn't reply and he prompted her again. " _Okay_?"

He heard her draw in a deep breath. "Okay."

Dean wondered if she were wondering if he would follow through on that promise; if he might be lying to her. Dean fought himself very hard at that moment because he wanted to tell her something _so bad_. It was almost painful, the urge to speak those three huge words he had been carrying for what felt like a long time now. It felt right to say them here at a time when James needed to know what he felt and how serious he was about not going away. He _wanted_ to tell her, to put it out there in plain language. But he couldn't do that over the phone, not the first time he told her—he wanted to look her in the eye when he told her because it was terrifying to put that out there… so maybe he hoped if he said it face to face, she'd believe it more readily and see the truth in his eyes. Dean swallowed the words back and tried to smile a little. "Bye, Jamie," he said softly, feeling those three words burning in his chest. But he said three different ones instead. "See you soon."

He heard the fleeting, apprehensive smile on her face. He wondered what she was thinking. But all she said was, "Bye Dean."

As Dean hung up and turned around to face his approaching siblings, Sam was looking at him closely from across the top of the car. "Everything okay?" he asked, eyes squinted slightly.

"Psh." Dean scoffed defensively, probably overdoing his attempts to look flippant. " _Yeah_. Why wouldn't it be?"

Sam's brow furrowed further and his eyes flicked up and down his brother suspiciously. "…You look weird."

Withering a little at Sam's intuition and observation, Dean said the first thing he could think of. "Your _face_ looks weird," he retorted, pulling open the driver's side door and getting in with a bunch of jerky, brisk movements.

Sam and Alex exchanged a brief, dubious glance before getting into the car. The rest of that day and the next, Dean was on edge and neither of the twins could figure out why. There was a lot of finger tapping, constant glancing at his watch and phone, lots of barked insistence to hurry things up and get the job done, move it along. They thought it was the road food thing. The vegetables and the fruit and the lack of pie. He didn't tell them about Jamie's call. He just tried to get the job done as quick as possible so he could get to his girl.

* * *

**The Next Day  
Missoula, Montana**

Alex plunked down the heavy bags she'd been saddled with onto the motel room bed. Nearby, the girl who they had rescued last night from the vampire lair in Hoople drifted in meekly, her hands twisting together nervously where she had them clasped. Eyeing the modestly-dressed brunette teenager out of the side of her eye, Alex pitied her pretty hardcore. Apparently the alpha vampire had kidnapped this girl when she was just a child and used her as a blood source. Her name was Emily and she said she was one of his 'special ones'—a virgin, her blood a delicacy. She had been isolated from society for years and was very timid, quiet, and jumpy. It was beyond sick what she'd been used for and even if their Hoople endeavor had turned up alpha-less, at least they'd rescued this girl. The plan was to reunite her with her mother just as soon as they tracked down the alpha.

Emily was proving to be a valuable resource—she had known about one of the alpha's secret retreats and guided them here to Missoula to some kind of old monastery on the outskirts of town. She said the alpha would be in there for sure. So now the Winchesters were regrouping here at the motel room and leaving Emily behind where she'd be a safe distance from the action. That, and Sam was insistent that Bobby's flask and his associated ghost be left behind where he couldn't get heightened by violence and chaos. It was probably a good idea. But Alex couldn't stop thinking about how Bobby was realistically fated to becoming a vengeful spirit no matter _what_ they did. They could only slow that process down for so long. Even though the ghost _was_ Bobby, he was motivated by anger and was growing increasingly hostile. It was like losing him twice over and it was incredibly sobering and difficult.

Sam turned on the TV for Emily as Dean selected a few weapons and repacked them into a single duffel. The last thing he selected was a huge syringe full of human blood. Usually dead man's blood was the only thing you could kill a vamp with besides a good beheading. But as they'd discovered last night at the vampire compound, apparently humans who were eating corn syrup laced foods were poisoning the vampires who fed on them. Following that lead, Sam and Dean had basically just stuck a needle into the first corn syrup stoner they'd seen in town. The guy had been so out of it he probably would have let them do _anything_. Alex had tested that theory by dumping his slushy over his head after Sam and Dean drew his blood. The guy had blinked slowly and said " _h-eeey_ …" then forgotten what he was doing and just sat there and stared and asked if she was related to Hermione Granger.

"All right, Sam, here we go," Dean said, holding up the syringe of stone-guy's blood for effect. "Ten CC's of vamptonite." At the strange look Sam gave him, Dean shrugged it off. "It's a thing." He stuck the capped syringe into the bag and gave the room a once over, looking ready to go.

Alex crossed her arms and approached her brothers as Emily watched some celebrity gossip program curiously. "Okay, so what's the plan?" she asked.

Sam and Dean gave each other this little look. A look that suddenly told Alex there was something going on that she didn't know about. "Gosh, it's been awhile since you've had some girl time, right Al?" Dean asked, grinning and patting her on the shoulder roughly, cajolingly.

 _Girl time?_ Alex gaped at him with raised eyebrows and a heightening sense of suspicion. " _Huh_?"

And then she realized that her brothers had apparently decided between themselves that she wasn't going with them. "We'll be gone like two hours tops," Dean said decisively, his tone not leaving space for argument. And then he threw in a little sarcastic comment for good measure. "Call Cas, maybe he'll come whip you up something in his Easy Bake oven."

"Emily needs someone to watch her," Sam put in earnestly, trying to give Alex a sense of importance.

"What, watch her watch _TMZ_?" Alex challenged in an angry whisper, indignant at the patronization.

"It'll be fun," Dean said in impatience. "You two can do all that female stuff, what, like curl your hair and paint your toes and talk about, I dunno, your feelings and your favorite kinds of lotion." He pulled out the Bobby flask and walked it toward the safe, not bothering to try to sound invested. "It'll be _great._ "

"Are you serious?" Alex asked Sam in a harsh whisper so Emily couldn't overhear. The TV's volume made that plausible. " _Babysitting_?"

Her twin's face was reluctant and cautious and his voice was quiet, too. "Alex, look, we weren't gonna mention it but—you... you've kinda lost your edge lately."

Alex stood back slightly in hurt disbelief. Lost her edge? "You guys have been _talking_ about me?"

Sam held his hands out slightly in a calming, appealing way. "Look, no offense, okay?" He winced a little, obviously trying to be careful how he worded himself. "But… the stint at Sunny Meadows, the time off the playing field, the… the drugs?" Alex withered a little, embarrassed about the elephant in the room that they never really talked about. Sam was somber and completely earnest. "It's affecting you. It'll be safer if you stay here."

As Dean returned from locking Bobby's flask into the motel safe near the door, Alex didn't bother trying to keep her volume low. She was pissed. "I can fight, I know how, I've done it my whole _life_!"

Dean was drawn and resigned. "You're _rusty_ , Al. And in this line of work, rusty gets you killed." He paused cynically and threw a hand out for wry commentary. "Granted, Cas mumbo-jumbo magicked you where you're freaky immortal or whatever but I think it'll be better all around if you stay here where you don't get one of _us_ killed." Alex felt herself pale in color as she realized they meant it would be safer for _them_ not safer for _her_ if she stayed behind. Truly wordless, she had no reply. Was she really that rusty? Did they really not want her to go because they thought she'd trip them up like some… some amateur? Maybe she really was a liability, after all. Dean was continuing onward, already heading for the door. "We gotta go. Time's wasting, I don't have forever."

"What's a Kardashian?" Emily asked from her perch on the bed. She was squinting at the television in complete confusion.

"No one knows," Alex replied flatly, watching her brothers head out with an inscrutable, tight expression on her face.

"All right," Sam said, pausing and giving a small, tense smile. "We'll be back as soon as we can. Hang tight, girls."

Dean opened the door only to have the handle wrench itself out of his hand and slam itself shut. Emily jumped, startled and scared at the loud noise. "Uh… it was the wind," Dean said with a nervous chuckle, gaining an uncertain nod from the teenager in return. Then under his breath, he muttered. "Chill out, Bobby. We'll be back soon. Alex'll keep you company, _sheesh_." He opened the door again without incident and headed out, Sam exiting first. The last thing Sam saw was Alex's pinched expression and hurt eyes. He felt bad about it, but it was the truth that he'd told her. No more, no less.

"Why's he keep _doing_ that crap?" Dean complained, marching down the hall and quickly gaining the lead.

Sam wasn't sure, but he was vaguely worried. "You don't think Bobby'll do anything, do you?" he asked, walking fast to keep up with his hurried brother. He rounded the corner too fast without looking and bumped into the cleaning lady and her cart. "Oh, sorry!" he apologized, then sidled sideways to pass her.

"I dunno," Dean muttered as soon as they were out of the maid's earshot. "I don't get why he's being pissy point _blank_ unless he's picking up on Al's PMS or something."

That was unnecessary. " _Dean._ " Sam huffed, then stopped Dean forcibly in the motel hallway because he was really feeling like something was bothering his brother. "You okay, man? Acting kinda weird here lately. Something up?" He thought maybe it was the whole Alex fight thing, but it could be something else, too.

Dean practically glared. "Dude, lay off. I just wanna get this job _done_ so I can get onto more important things." He brushed past Sam, who was mystified and jogged to catch up with Dean.

"What's more important than ganking _Dick_?" Sam asked in disbelief, beginning to think there was something specific Dean had in mind. But Dean just threw an unreadable glance his brother's way and didn't reply.

* * *

Meanwhile, unknown to the Winchesters, the wily little Leviathan they thought they had lost a day or so ago was not lost at all. Having the luxury of being able to look like anyone he touched even slightly (the brush of a hand against skin, the touch of his fingertip to a fallen hair) made watching much easier. He had taken on several different appearances as he followed the Winchesters by car, motorcycle, and even semi-truck for the past day or so. But if he were being honest, he preferred the appearance and memory and personality of Kyle Young, also known as Zip. It matched Least the best, the skin and mind of that young man felt the most true to his internal personality.

Zip watched the Winchester brothers exit the motel without the girls that they had gone in with. From his seat in an old Ford Bronco, the Leviathan didn't draw any attention whatsoever. The brothers were headed somewhere important from the looks of their brisk stride. The Leviathan's eyes slid from the brothers to the crack in the curtains of their room. He saw Alex moving around the room and a pang of longing and betrayal pulled at him. Why? _Why?_

For all of time, since he was created by accident (the half-complete one, the weakest link, the runt), Least, or as he preferred to call himself now, Zip, had existed for one reason. To _survive._ He had been on the run for his entire life in the dark shadows of Purgatory and the only one he had ever been able to depend on was himself. There had been nothing and no one who had ever taken pity or mercy on him but he had always had an unshakable longing inside to find a way out of the maze and be someone and something better. He'd wanted to have some higher purpose. Some meaning. So when the angel called forth all those souls from Purgatory, when he'd been one of them, when he'd been sucked into that human vessel and drowned in the angel's thoughts and emotions, when a beautiful human face with hazel eyes and a shy, secretive little smile had been stamped onto Zip's mind forever, he'd felt a sense of purpose for the first time. She was someone who needed protecting and preserving, she was someone worthy of love. _His_ love. He had found her and he had made it his mission to be her watcher and her friend; he had been in love with her from the start and so desperate that she might see in him what he saw in her.

Even though he had no human heart, he had a seat of emotions inside of himself and his feelings _were_ real even if they didn't stem from an organ which beat blood through a body. Alex Winchester was the one he'd loved without a choice at first then loved because he knew nothing else, then loved because of how she made him feel. He watched her now though and the love he had once felt was twisting into something darker and much more disturbing. It felt like hatred and jealousy and he was so _hurt_ that his visions of being with her had been crushed. He thought the angel would pale in comparison to him and what he could offer. After all, he'd never betrayed and lied to her like the angel had. He'd never killed her in a fit of jealous rage. Well, until yesterday he supposed glumly. _Maybe I_ _'_ _m not better than him. Maybe I_ _'_ _m what they say. The reject, the failure_. Zip pined away as he remembered being part of that human girl in a way he had never been part of anyone else. He had loved her so much it hurt and now it enraged him. He wanted her to himself and she wasn't interested at all. Even now that the angel was a pitifully broken version of himself, she still chose him and Zip didn't understand.

He thought of how amazed he'd been when they had been on the floor that rainy night with nothing between them except skin. He'd thought he knew what love was for a moment then when she'd let him that close. The feeling of being with her… he would never forget that. At that time, he'd thought she felt the same as him. After all, sex equalled love, didn't it? That's what the angel's feelings had told Zip. But now he realized the way she wouldn't look into his eyes during the act and the way she kept hiding her face and shutting her eyes had been a clue. A clue that even that night when he'd been in her arms and she'd been his, she hadn't been his. Not really. She'd _used_ him. He was beginning to realize that now.

That fact _destroyed_ what Zip felt for her. Now he was scorned and betrayed and what hurt him the most was how she didn't seem to care about his pain in any small way. How was that _fair_ after what they had been through together? He _deserved_ her to reciprocate; he'd given her protection, he'd killed his own kind for her, he'd subjected himself to human food and habits at Sunny Meadows, he'd gotten her the drugs she needed, he'd done anything she needed or wanted, he'd basically _lived_ for her. Nothing else whatsoever had mattered to him. It was like the angel's feelings he'd been steeped in had gone sour, skewing even further from fervency and love into the dark waters of obsession.

Alex had been the pinnacle of everything. But now the mere sight of her made him feel his every inadequacy and every self-doubt. She was no longer his shining future but a representation of his continually stupid existence. With bitterness filling his every atom, Zip decided Dick Roman could _have_ her.

* * *

Alex sat on one bed and Emily sat on the other. The teenager glanced over at Alex and a thin, nervous smile briefly stretched her face before she went back to watching the television. Alex was inwardly berating herself for slipping and getting rusty and wasn't too focused on Emily or entertaining her or talking to her. The more she thought about it, her brothers were right. Ever since last year basically she'd been getting more and more out of practice, more and more unhinged. _This has to change_. She knew it had to. She had to get so much together it wasn't even funny.

 _I wish Cas were here,_ she thought absently. And then she thought about what he'd probably be saying and doing—trying to garden in the dirt patch beside the motel and chasing bees in the parking lot—and she thought maybe she didn't wish Cas was there.

"Hey, um… have you got any more apples?" Emily asked shyly, stirring Alex out of her thoughts. "I really liked those."

Alex got up slowly and went to the space beside the door where Sam had left the backpack that had some food in it. She bent over and looked for more apples… and then was abruptly hit in the head with an empty coffee carafe so hard she blacked out. The glass shattered on impact and left shards scattered everywhere, some with blood smeared bright red onto them.

Emily stood over the unconscious hunter and smiled softly to herself then bent down and dug Alex's phone out of her pocket and put in a number. A few seconds later, her smile grew. "Hi, daddy," she cooed girlishly. "No, I'm close by. Sending you a _present_." She traipsed out of the room cheerfully, leaving Alex out cold on the floor. The silent observer in the room was angry. _Beyond_ angry. And as such, his surroundings surrendered to his made out of glass shattered and the window blew out as the ghost who watched seethed and tried to focus himself to full power and follow the bitch who'd just hit his sweetheart in the head.

But what happened next in that room made Bobby even angrier.

* * *

**Four Hours Later**

"Look, I _told_ you," Alex muttered cantankerously. She sat on the corner of one of the beds as Sam inspected her head for injuries and Dean stood in front of her with crossed arms and an intense expression. "Kid knocks me out cold and when I wake up, the room's trashed, the flask is gone, and I'm up shit creek without a paddle. Bitch took my phone. What was I supposed to _do_? Smoke signals?"

Dean was incredulous and looked at her like she'd blown a brain-fuse. "Find a pay phone? Use the front desk?" He thrust a hand out at the phone on the bedside table, beside himself at her lack of initiative. "Use _that_ phone?"

Alex just gave him a prissy look and made no reply.

"Well, I don't see any cuts or bruises at all…" Sam said doubtfully, drawing back from her with a studious frown. "Are you sure she hit you with the carafe?"

Alex pointed to the shattered glass from the object in question. "Luck of the Irish," she supposed sarcastically.

"We're English descent," Sam pointed out.

"Figure of speech dude," Alex said in a bitchy tone then stood up and started to stroll out of the room. "I'm gonna go smoke a cigarette."

The brothers both looked surprised. "Wait," Dean said, frowning hard. "You still do that?"

Alex stopped in the doorway and looked backward with a sarcastic little smile. "Get to know me. Might be fun." And with _that_ little gem, she disappeared and shut the door hard behind herself.

Dean looked like there was a foul taste in his mouth. "Geez, rare form," he complained.

"I mean to be fair getting hit in the head always makes _me_ grumpy," Sam offered skeptically.

"Whatever," Dean said, more important things on his mind. "We got the alpha blood so what say we let chimney girl have her smoke break while we go to the nunnery and get this bone we need?"

Sam chuckled uncertainly—he'd mentioned that idea on the car ride back after they'd successfully gotten the alpha to hand over some of his blood. "You really think that's a good idea?" Sam asked hesitantly. "I mean, it's kinda out there, it might not work."

"You got any _other_ ideas?" Dean prompted impatiently. "Let's just get this done, Sam. I mean this crypt is close to here and I got no other earthly clue where we could find the right kind of bone so… why not?" He pointed out the obvious. "We got the alpha blood, the angel blood, Crowley's raincheck… we just need to get _boned_."

Sam's face fell at the bad joke. "Just stop."

* * *

The brothers went outside to find Alex not smoking but just skulking around like a weirdo and when they told her where they were going, she asked if they wanted her to stay behind and babysit their duffel bags. The answer was no. They packed up and all piled into the stolen SUV and then drove the three hours to the nunnery crypt. Under the cover of darkness they broke in and stole a bone of one Sister Mary Constant who, according to Sam's research, was a beacon of purity and humble goodness in her life. With the bone in their possession, they found the closest motel and checked in and began to get ready to summon Crowley again. His blood was the final ingredient they needed to make the weapon.

While Sam and Dean studiously worked on the demon summons, their sister disappeared without saying where she was going. Chalking it up to her 'PMS,' Dean didn't make too much of it. He was completely focused on ganking Dick and too overwhelmed to deal with her attitude apparently. Sam however kept glancing over his shoulder at the motel door and window, obviously worried.

In record time, Dean completed the summons and motioned for Sam to get ready. He dropped the lit match into the bowl, recited the Latin… and… nothing. The boys looked around in silence for a couple seconds. No Crowley anywhere to be seen.

Dean flipped his hands up in a brief gesture of expectation. "He trying to make a grand entrance or…?"

Similarly confused, Sam looked around suspiciously. "…Dunno."

"Son of a bitch," Dean muttered. "He's standing us up!" He abruptly looked up at the ceiling and shouted. "Come on! I don't got all day! Some of us have _things_ to _do_ you bastard!"

"Well, we summoned him," Sam said evenly, motioning toward the table with the bowl, the drawings, the candles. "Doesn't he kind of _have_ to—"

"Crowley wants to screw you, he'll screw you," Dean interrupted sourly, then stalked off a few steps cagily in what looked like an attempt to calm down.

"Or... he _can't_ come 'cause something went wrong?" Sam suggested hesitantly.

"Well that would be just _great_ if that were the case," Dean wisecracked, brooding over to the window and staring out with a glare on his face. He must have seen Alex, because his next question was about her. "She seem off to you?" he asked in a demanding tone, jerking a thumb at the window.

Sam shrugged. "She's just still pissed at you. And maybe at everything in general, especially us not wanting her to go to the alpha's lair. Took it kinda hard."

Dean thought about that for a second and looked out the window again with a terse expression. "No, it's something else. She's been weird ever since vampire girl clocked her."

Sam appeared somber as he approached his brother. "I think it may just be she's upset about Cas, to be honest with you."

At that moment, the soft sound of angel's wings could be heard and the brothers turned to see a cheerful, smiling Cas standing in the motel room. "Hello Dean. Sam. I heard you say my name and I thought I'd come say hi." He held up a small plastic baggie filled with an amber substance in it. "I have harvested honey, isn't it amazing?" He looked at the bag lovingly, and the brothers were both taken aback.

"…Cas," Dean managed. "W-where the hell have you been? Where'd you go?"

Cas gently set the honey down on the table and got an intensely thoughtful look on his face. "Well, Dean, I've been thinking," he said seriously, like he was about to say something very important. And then he said _this:_ "Monkeys are so clever, and they're sensible in that they leave the skins on the bananas that they eat. Is it really necessary to test cosmetics on them? I mean, how important is lipstick to you, Dean?"

Dean blinked a couple times, deflated. "…Not very."

Not appearing to hear the answer, Castiel looked around the room in mild curiosity. "Where's your sister? I need to talk with her. Not about monkeys, though. Much more morose subject matter such as how I've realized our relationship will never work, I'm afraid." He wrinkled his nose. "What is that _smell_?"

"She'll be back in a minute," Dean said slowly, a little taken aback at Cas's words. "What's _what_ smell?"

Cas picked up the bone of the nun they'd stolen and sniffed it then smiled to himself. "Mm," he said thoughtfully. "Sister Mary Constant. Good choice."

Sam and Dean exchanged a quick glance and then Sam tried again to get answers out of the angels. "Where've you been, Cas?"

Cas became mildly contrite and set the bone down carefully. "Well, when I left after your sister refused my advances, I wanted to forget everything and just observe the flowers." He abruptly made a face. "And fruit. Flowers come first, obviously. But… I heard nothing from them."

Awkward silence. "You heard nothing from who?" Sam asked, face pinched up in bemusement. "The flowers?"

"No, no. The garrison."

Again, the brothers exchanged a tense look. Sam again spoke first. "Did… did something _happen_?"

"Well finally the silence was deafening, so I went to look…" Cas sheepishly bent his head down. "I didn't really want to, I'd rather avoid all reality for the time being to be quite honest, but I went. To the home of the prophet just now." He sighed heavily. "They're gone. The entire garrison—dead. If there's anyone left at all, they're in hiding."

"Um, I'm sorry—" Dean approached Cas with a hard face, "but if the angels are dead, where's Kevin?"

Cas got a look on his face like he had just thought of something. "I could steal them from their cages, the monkeys, but where would I put them all?"

"Hey!" Dean clapped his hands once and raised his voice. " _Focus_ _!_ Is Kevin alive?"

Markedly uncomfortable and even a little upset, Cas spoke louder, too, and he sounded scared. "I don't want to fight," he said, his eyes flickering around nervously between Dean's gaze and the floor. "Don't like fighting. Don't like conflict or pain or unhappiness of any kind so please—I'm imploring you. Don't ask me to get involved in anything that isn't beekeeping or gardening or poetry." He sounded vaguely panicked.

Dean realized the angel would bail if he didn't calm down so he fought very hard to control himself. "Okay, look—" he forced a smile and spoke _very_ calmly. "We're _worried_. Just tell us where Kevin is please, Cas."

That worked. "They took him," Cas said quietly. "To that SucroCorp place I think. It was warded against angels which I found strange, so I couldn't see into the building or enter it either and I'm afraid I don't know if he's alive, but… it's in your hands now." He smiled as if he were greatly relieved, then wandered over to the nearby bed and began to go through the clothes Dean had dumped out all over the bedspread—of all things, the angel began to match socks.

"Wait. Hold on a freakin' minute. Are you serious?" Dean asked incredulously. "The kid needs our help, your buddies didn't do their job to protect him and you're just gonna… _fold clothes_?"

Cas picked up a pair of black boxers and looked at it oddly. "Is this your underwear, Dean?"

Dean marched over and snatched them away. "Give me _those._ Answer the question, Cas!"

"I only make things worse when I'm involved," the angel said, avoiding Dean's piercing gaze and pulling a pair of jeans out of the pile and folding them just so. "Why would you want my help considering my track record? You don't need me. _You_ _'_ _ll_ rescue Kevin because you're the heroes of this story and then we'll all celebrate and I can make everyone dinner, whatever they like best, and oh! We can have pie for dessert, I know just the kind!" He paused abruptly and looked around with an odd expression. "What _is_ that _smell_?"

At that second, the motel room door opened and Alex walked in, her gait lazy and imprudent. Then she saw Cas and stopped short, her eyes going super wide. She almost looked like she was about to run away, and in an inexplicable act, Castiel's face went cold and he charged her and grabbed her and slammed her into the wall so hard that plaster flew and cracked. The brothers of course assumed Castiel had lost his mind and immediately lunged at Cas and tried to pull him off of their sister. "Cas _stop_!" Dean shouted, uselessly pulling on Cas.

" _This is not your sister_!" the angel exclaimed loudly, his voice shaking with authority. He looked at Alex, who was simply smirking underneath his grip. She'd just broken a wall but looked totally unaffected, and the brothers realized that and drew back slightly. "Looks like her, but isn't her," Cas said, looking at the woman he was pinning to the wall dangerously. "Doesn't have the soul, doesn't have the right _smell_." Cas clenched her clothing all the tighter and leveled her with a furious glare. "Where is she? What did you do with my—with Alex Winchester?"

The impostor just smiled wolfishly, taking her time to reply. "Don't _you_ look handsome today, Cas?" she purred, then her eyes took on a seductive gleam. "Gosh, I just love it when you put me up against the wall…"

Visibly disturbed, Castiel's grip loosened and then gave out completely as he stepped away and retreated backwards by a couple steps. And then Sam, who'd found a spare supply of borax in a quick search, tossed it at his sister's lookalike—and she screamed as the soapy water drenched her. Skin sizzled and smoked off her face.

The brothers were wide-eyed and beside themselves, thunderstruck. "Oh my god," Sam breathed as it settled in: Alex had been taken and replaced.

" _Damn_ , Sammy," the Leviathan said as Alex's face dripped off partway thanks to the borax. "After all we've been through. That _stings_."

Dean was absolutely pissed and grabbed her by the jacket. " _Who are you_!?"

She made no attempts to do anything at all when he shook her. "A messenger," she said. Her face was normal again, but some black goo had dripped out onto her clothing, making for a garish sight. "Dick's _waiting_ for you to come visit." Her sly smile grew. "And he has your precious little sister, too."

That goading was enough to make Dean snap. "Where?" he demanded, then shook her hard. " _Where_ , you asshole?!"

She seemed amused by the abuse. "It's not a _secret_ , Dean, you don't need to rattle me around like a _maraca_. SucroCorp headquarters. Come any time." She wiggled her eyebrows up once suggestively. "Dress for dinner. The boss is expecting you."

"Well you can tell your boss to _eat me_!" Dean shouted thoughtlessly.

Alex's eyes narrowed as she obviously contemplated his stupidity. "That's… the basic plan."

Dean let go with a hard shove and a mouth pushed into a thin line. The room got quiet and the Leviathan waited expectantly. "Well?" she prompted playfully. "Aren't you gonna try to chop my head off or something?"

Dean blinked a couple times, taken aback, then his eyes went sidelong to his brother, who immediately refused. "Don't look at me," he said. "No way."

"Well _I_ _'_ _m_ not doing it!" Dean protested, then looked at Cas, who was the same as Sam.

"I couldn't possibly," the angel said, slightly sickened.

"Wow, you three are total chumps," the Alex impostor said, shaking her head and making a face. And then without warning there was a sound of something swishing and a machete sliced through the air and then thunked into the wall—and consequently into the space between the Leviathan's head and shoulders.

Shocked and scarred, the men turned to see who had thrown the weapon and beheaded the Leviathan.

"Hello, _boys_ ," Crowley said, wiping his hands together in wan, bored accomplishment. "Just doing what I knew you couldn't." He turned a very unhappy gaze onto the angel. "Well well well. Castiel. When last we spoke, you—well, enslaved me. I'm confused. Why aren't you _dead_?"

Traumatized at what he'd just seen happen to a woman who looked exactly like his wife Castiel was extremely torn up emotionally. "I… don't know."

"Well, do you _want_ to be? 'Cause I can _help with that_ ," he said, then turned his anger onto Dean and Sam. "Unbelievable! I came here to _help_ you and I find out you've been lying to me, harboring an angel, and not just _any_ angel—the one angel I most want to crush between my _teeth_!"

Dean wasn't in the mood. "You shut up, Crowley!" he thundered. "I don't have time for this! We need your blood, _now!_ Those gooey bastards have Alex!"

Crowley took a beat, narrowed his eyes. "And you think I care about that _why_...?"

"Just hand over the blood!" Dean demanded, and out came the demon blade. " _Now_."

Castiel stepped in front of Dean marginally and attempted to take things down a notch. "Please, Crowley, we'd—very much appreciate it if you would help us with this."

"Oh goodness, how _polite_ of you," Crowley said snidely. "So tell me, buddy, what's the upstairs crowd think of you these days? After you mucked it all up and went nuclear on Saint Peter's pearly gates and all that?"

"Well, I'm still, uh, honing my communication strategy," Cas said, becoming nervous and childlike. "I haven't even been back to Heaven. I-I keep thinking there are no _insects_ up there, but here we have... trillions. You know, they're making honey and silk and... miracles, really."

Beside himself, Crowley stared hard for a second. "…What are you talking about?"

"Um, preferring insects to angels, I guess," Cas said, then grabbed the bag of honey he'd brought earlier. "Here. I can offer a token of goodwill. It's honey. I-I collected it myself. I can get you more if you help us." He paused and at Crowley's look of utterly confounded confusion, Cas tried one more time. "It's extremely delicious."

"You're off your rocker," Crowley said, then looked around at the boys for confirmation. "He's off his rocker—is that it?" A slow little smile spread across his face. "Karma's a bitch, isn't it?"

Dean was losing patience. "Look, did you come here to donkey-punch your old grudges or to help us cream Dick? _Pick a battle_ and make it snappy—and oh yeah, remember who has the demon blade, _pal_."

"Such an ape," Crowley muttered at him. "Well, I'm vexed. I'd like to do both. But where's the fun in clobbering a ball of wet fur?" He eyed Cas in mild disappointment. "Text me when Sparkles here retrieves his marbles, I suppose. Meanwhile…" he dug a hang into his inner jacket pocket and produced a small vial of blood. "A _prezzie_."

Sam looked doubtful. "…Really? Just boxed-up and ready to go?"

"I'm a model of efficiency," Crowley replied breezily.

"Is that right?" Sam challenged. "Then why were you _late_?"

"Dick had me in a devil trap. He's not an idiot. He knows what you two are after, obviously." He motioned back at the head and body of the Leviathan that was nearby. "Exhibit A, gentlemen. I daresay he's quite expecting you. How _did_ the invasion of the bodysnatchers happen, by the way? I thought you three never let each other out of your sights or some nonsense like that."

Sam straightened as his arms uncrossed. " _Wait_. Did you see Alex when you were there?"

"Yes in fact I did," Crowley returned casually, then made a brushing off motion. "Relax, she's _fine_." He paused and reevaluated his statement. "Well, fine's not really the word, but she's _alive._ That's something, isn't it?"

"Son of a _bitch_ ," Dean muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose in an attempt to control himself.

"That's why it was warded against angels…" Castiel breathed in soft horror.

Sam was the only one who was able to respond to Crowley. "Why did Dick have you there?" he demanded in a hard voice. "What'd he _want_?"

"He offered me a fair deal in exchange for giving you the wrong blood." He indicated the vial he still held. "It's demon, but is it mine?" He paused, then smiled leisurely. "It's my blood. Real deal."

"And why should we trust you?" Dean asked, his jaw working overtime as it clenched and unclenched.

"Good god, _don_ _'_ _t_ _!_ " Crowley exclaimed in exasperation. "Never trust _anyone_. A lesson I learned from my last business partner." His eyes slunk to Cas meaningfully, then he approached Dean and smacked the vial of blood to the hunter's chest and looked at him meaningfully. "Now. _Don_ _'_ _t_ mess this up. Tell sis I said hi."

Dean's hand moved up to take the vial even as Crowley disappeared. Left alone and stunned momentarily, the three of them were silent for a long three seconds. Then Dean curled his fingers around the vial decisively and nodded. "Okay. All right. Let's make this weapon and then go get our girl."

"Yes," Cas said, nodding with his face like a mask. "You make the weapon and go save our girl. I'll be here, tidying up."

Dean's eyebrows rose. "… _Tidying up_? Cas. Um. We could use your help here, I mean—"

"I can't help," Cas said sharply, backing up a little. "You understand? I _can't_. I destroyed... _everything_ , and I will destroy everything again."

Dean and Sam exchanged a brief, tense glance. "So you're just gonna sit this one out," Dean surmised darkly.

Castiel was cowed and obviously humiliated. "You make me sound so cowardly," he said softly, staring at the ground. "I—I remember what I did, Dean. What I allowed to happen. I broke it all and I'm not going t-to risk breaking anything again, especially not _her_." His eyes rose bravely. "You and your brother, you're the ones who can save your sister. I can't save anyone. Can we please just leave it at that?"

Dean shook his head. "No." His voice hardened. "No, we can't. We can't leave it. You let these friggin' things in. They _took_ my _sister._ " No real response except the angel's eyes dropping away from his. Dean went closer, getting desperate for a reaction. "Cas! They _have_ your _wife,_ man!" Cas's eyes snapped up to Dean, and even Sam was taken aback. Dean punched his palm for affect. " _Get pissed_! The Cas I know would already be at the doors, tearing 'em down to get her out! So why are you just standing here and feeling sorry for yourself?!"

Cas's expression broke. "Because Dean, look what happened last time I tried to save her!" His low voice trembled and he made no attempt to cover it up. "It was more than I knew how to handle and I _killed_ her and then I destroyed Heaven and wiped out countless innocents on earth. The _spiders_ , Dean… if it wasn't for scientists migrating arachnids in from other continents to combat my mistake there, I could also hold myself accountable for several species of lizards and birds extinction. But even worse than that, the _people_ I murdered. Don't you see it, Dean? I'm cursed. I'm bad luck, the _worst_. I'm assured destruction. _No one_ should want my help. I should _die._ "

"Okay. Whoa. Whoa whoa whoa. Stop right there." Dean wet his lips, not sure how to condense everything into a few sentences, not sure how to convince Cas to man up and fix his mistakes and _help_ them. "You're scared to mess up again. I get it, Cas, I've been there. Don't you think I've been there?" Cas knew. Cas _knew_ Dean's history, his shortcomings, his mistakes. And Dean knew the same of Cas. Very well. He'd spent so much time holding shit against this guy and wishing they'd never crossed paths. And yet there seemed to be no getting rid of him, and Dean needed his help one more time. "But you know what? Bottom of the ninth, and you're the only guy left on the bench... sorry, but I'd rather have you in our corner, cursed or not. You messed up big last time, I'm not saying you didn't. But that was when you decided to do it all on your own. This time we're right here with you. Sam and me, we're on board with wherever this flight ends up so we expect you to be too, all right?" Cas was softened and intrigued by that and Dean kept going, giving it all he had. "This is something, some _one_ worth risking it for, Cas! We need your _help_. You don't get to walk away from this one; I won't let you! And anyway, nut up, all right? We're _all_ cursed. I seem like good luck to you?" His impassioned rant had Cas smiling moonishly as his eyes softly stared into Dean's. A little grossed out, Dean gave him a weird look. " _What_?"

"Well, I don't want to make you uncomfortable…" Cas said, and those words _definitely_ made Dean uncomfortable, "but I detect a note of forgiveness. A small one."

Dean pushed his mouth into a cranky line. "…Don't push it, man."

Cas nodded seriously and thought a minute in faint worry. "All right. You've convinced me. Let's save her. The three of us." He stood up straight and looked like he was bracing himself. "I promise you, I'll do my very best."


	103. Sister Sister

" _One thing I_ _'_ _ve learnt about humans: you can_ _'_ _t judge their strength by the size of their actions, but by the devotion of an act, no matter how small._ _"  
_ \- Dianna Hardy

* * *

**A Few Moments Ago**

Alex became cognizant slowly, her hearing the first sense to return. There were blurred male voices speaking nearby and she remembered looking for apples for that Emily girl last before...

Wait, what _happened?_

As consciousness grew, she began to feel a dull pain in her head which quickly became a splitting headache that was threatening to tear her skull in half. She groaned and tried to move a hand to press it against her forehead, then found her arms were stuck to her sides and would not move. She tried to open her mouth and found her lips sealed in place. Immediately, her breathing quickened in alarm from the knowledge that something was very wrong. As her eyes opened and the world tilted sickeningly, Alex realized she wasn't laying down like she'd thought. Completely disoriented, she realized that she was sitting up on an all-white couch and her arms were duct-taped to her sides, her ankles were bound the same way, and her mouth was taped shut too as her head lolled onto her shoulder. Slowly, she lifted her head with a sore neck and saw that she was _definitely_ no longer in the drab motel room she'd been in before. Now, she was in some bright and sleekly appointed office space with modern art pieces dotting the white and gray interior. Her heart began to beat faster and faster. Nearby the sources of the two male voices lounged in expensive looking chairs and when she saw the men, she recognized them and withered immediately.

"Ah! Look who's finally up!" Dick Roman boomed, grinning at her with sly eyes. " _Sleeping beauty_."

Crowley turned slightly to glance at her over his shoulder. He held a glass tumbler of some dark amber liquid and he smiled slightly at her and raised the glass. "Hello darling," he said. "You look breathtaking as always." His sarcastic smirk and lazy air of entitlement made her skin crawl with foreboding. "But you'll have to just hang on a tic. The big boys are in a business meeting." He turned back to Dick, who was all business.

"Anyway, back to the arrangement," the Leviathan said, leaning forward intently. "America's ours, Canada's yours. Your sales team stays off my turf—period. That's not up for negotiation. We need America. They're so… _fat_." The way he said that word was stomach-turning and hungry, like he was salivating at the thought.

"And in exchange?" the King of Hell asked. He sounded cautious. "I do what?"

Dick reached into his immaculately tailored suit pocket with a flourish and produced a small glass vial of thick red blood. "Here we have the blood of one sadly unimpressive demon in New Jersey," Dick said, a wicked smile playing on his mouth. "All I ask is that you give it to Frick and Frack, tell them it's yours, stand back, and let them come to me." He handed the vial to Crowley and then glanced at Alex. "As soon as they find out what I have of theirs, they're set to come running, and with no time to double-check the blood's authenticity… well, let's just say it ends badly for the boys while I'm sitting pretty."

There was a long pause and Crowley eyed the vial of blood for a moment. "I can't deny I long to see those two digested once and for all…" he admitted in a murmur. Behind Crowley, unable to do anything but stiffen and clench her fists, Alex watched helplessly, praying to god Crowley wouldn't do this. Sam and Dean would walk right into a trap and Dick would _obliterate_ them. "You have a deal," Crowley murmured, and Alex was terrified as he pocketed the vial. "I suppose you want it in writing?"

"I don't kiss on the mouth," Dick said through a devilish little smile.

"Good news for Miss Winchester, I suppose," Crowley said silkily, wiggling his eyebrows just once. "Well, never fear. I just so happen to have a standard rider…" he fished around inside his suit jacket and produced an ancient-looking parchment scroll, "right here." With a graceful flick of the wrist, the scroll unfurled down and onto the floor. It was probably about six or seven feet long all in all and Dick looked positively unenthused at the length document. "I _do_ so like this part," Crowley commented softly, a playful gleam in his eye. "Don't you? One might call the fine print torture. _I_ prefer to call it foreplay." His sinful smile grew, and Dick returned the smile in kind.

The next two hours were spent in total silence on Alex's part as she sat there on the white leather couch bound and gagged; forced to listen to the Leviathan and the demon go back and forth over little technical details of the contract deal they were entering into together. If nothing else, she paid close attention in the hopes she would be able to escape and foil their dastardly plans somehow. At one point, Dick came over to Alex and sat beside her and put an arm around her casually like they were a couple and played with the ends of her hair while she sat there stiffly, trying to lean away from him. Crowley made a comment about how the Leviathan was embarrassing himself and Dick got up and left Alex alone for the remainder of the time.

Dick's office had a solid glass wall that looked out to an adjacent hallway, and from time to time, people who Alex could only assume were other Leviathan stopped and gawked at her. Sometimes one at a time, and sometimes a few stopped and stared curiously or even longingly at her. The more time that passed, the more desperate Alex was to escape, but there was no conceivable way out of her current confines. Finally, the negotiations between Dick and Crowley seemed to be drawing to a close. When at last they were ready to sign and _did_ sign, they stood and shook hands then Crowley straightened his suit smartly after he pocketed the scroll. "Well. Guess I'm off to go bait the boys. They've been summoning me for the past ten minutes or so, actually. Should be fun." He glanced over at Alex then at Dick, reading between the lines. "I'll leave you two to yourselves. Remember to establish a safe word, children." And with that, the demon was gone.

Funny. Alex never would have thought she'd see the day when she had wanted Crowley to stay and not leave. But he was gone, and she was left completely alone with the _last_ creature she wanted to be alone with.

"Whew, was that hellish or what?" Dick asked jauntily, coming over to Alex and turning the chair that was nearest her around so he could sit in it across from her. He clasped his hands and leaned over his knees, his eyes wandering her hungrily as she sat there facing him powerlessly. "You know, I've been waiting for this day a long time," he said in his smooth, ominous tone. An abrupt grin cracked his face. "You sure are hard to get a handle on, kiddo!" He patted her knee and squeezed, seeming to find her attempts to not look afraid cute. "Now, I know what you're thinking. What a handsome guy! I know. I'm irresistible. But _try_ , all right?" He winked and stood up, sauntered behind the couch languidly and let his hand skim the back of the couch. "Gosh, last time we were in the same room together I was wearing the angel and in serious competition for the driver's seat," he commented thoughtfully. "Now I have you all to myself." He bent down to whisper into her ear from behind. "I think they're jealous, don't you?" She looked at the glass wall where several Leviathan had gathered and were watching her curiously. In the very back, a very short, small one lurked. Zip. Alex's veins boiled with hatred as she realized he must have something to do with this. And then her rage was forgotten in favor of repulsion as Dick's lips brushed her ear and his tone turned seductive. "I could just _eat you up_ …" he whispered, then inhaled her scent deeply, making her grimace and crane away from him as panic set in.

He chuckled and stood back, circled back around to stand in front of the couch. His hands were in his pockets and he stood in a casual stance, looking at her fondly for a minute or two before he sauntered over to his desk and took a wicked looking knife up off the polished glass surface. He looked at the sharp tip of it thoughtfully as he made his way back over to her. _Oh my god he_ _'_ _s gonna cut me into pieces and eat me for dinner._ He sat down across from her again and reached down, pulling her feet into his lap. She tried to pull them away and he didn't let her. "You know, one of the bimbos the real Roman used to screw? She liked to call him D," he said, then took the knife and began to cut her feet off. And then she realized he wasn't cutting her feet off, he was sawing the duct tape off, freeing her ankles from behind stuck together. One of his hands rested on her ankle, then slowly skimmed up her shin, her knee, her thigh as his bedroom voice and eyes made her squirm backward into the couch. "Come on, Lexyloo. Just admit it. _You want the D_." He grinned, eyes crinkling at her and he reached for her face. She jerked her face away from his hand, but his fingers found what they were looking for—the strip of tape keeping her from speaking. He ripped it off thoughtlessly and pain screamed at the action, but Alex remained totally silent and hid her reaction, just staring back at him in defiance. Dick smiled at her lengthily, eyes observing her wolfishly, then he stood and pulled her up to stand too. Her arms were still taped to her sides and he stood so that her calves pushed into the couch. The effect was the feeling of being trapped.

"What's so special about you, huh?" he asked, his eyes questioning and amused all at once. "All I see are a hundred and twenty pounds of insecurity and drug addiction. But that angel, he sure had the hots for you didn't he? So much in fact that I do too. Whether I want to or not. I'm your biggest fan." He paused, lowering his chin. When Alex made no reply, only clenched her jaw tighter, Dick wiggled his eyebrows up once. "You always this silent, or are we doing a throwback to your younger years?" She had never wanted to stab anyone as much as she wanted to stab him, and her obvious anger made Dick laugh. "Aw gosh, she doesn't wanna talk to me. My _feelings_ are hurt." He stepped a little closer, uncomfortably so, and his hand pulled her close at the waist. He was incredibly strong. "It's okay," he murmured against the side of her face as she valiantly tried to bend away from him. "I think what we're gonna do doesn't involve much talking…" his hand went lower, past the small of her back and to somewhere much less appropriate, and when she made a sound of disgust and protest, he laughed and let go of her. She almost fell backwards onto the couch because of how hard she'd been struggling his grip and the sudden release he'd given her. "But that'll have to come later, 'cause first I have to kill your brothers. They've caused so many _issues_ for me like you wouldn't believe," he said ruefully, then abruptly hollered. "Susan!"

One of the Leviathans who had been standing outside the room and watching entered at a brisk pace. She was an Asian woman dressed in business attire and wearing a bluetooth headset. Dick pushed Alex toward her like she was some commodity he didn't want at the moment. "Put her with the kid until the suite's ready," he said, then paused. "Oh, and…" he reached over and plucked a hair out of Alex's head, startling her with the action and the sharp little needle of pain when he pulled. He smiled at the dark strand he now held between a thumb and a forefinger. "We want to be ready for the boys when they come," he said, mystifying and horrifying Alex at once. _What are you going to do to my brothers?_

Susan's icy hand closed around Alex's forearm. "Yes sir." She began to steer Alex out of the office and down the hall. When Alex passed Zip, who tried to hide himself behind other Leviathan, she gave him the death stare of a lifetime.

* * *

Susan escorted Alex down several hallways and then all but tossed her into an internal office with no windows—another male Leviathan stood guard outside of it and exchanged a cryptic glance with Susan as he opened the door to let her in. "Wait here," Susan said, then left, the door locking behind her. Arms still taped to her sides thanks to plenty of duct tape, Alex body-slammed the door and kicked it in frustration and made a screeching sound of helpless, frustrated rage.

"…A-Alex?" a timid, shocked voice asked, and Alex turned, startled, searching for the source of the tiny voice. She found it quickly.

Hiding under the desk was a slight Asian boy with shaggy hair and petrified features. He was peeking up and out at her with an expression that said he barely believe what was happening. Alex's mouth dropped open. " _Kevin_!? W-what are you doing here?!"

He crawled out from under the desk. He looked exhausted and shaken up and he was wearing the same outfit she'd seen him in a couple days ago. "T-the Leviathans got me, they killed the angels and made me translate the tablet for them," he explained in a shaky voice. "I-I tried to say no, but they said they'd kill my mom. I'm sorry, I didn't want to translate it but I couldn't let them hurt her!" He swallowed and his huge eyes were hopeful. "Are you here to save me?"

Alex's face fell at his question. "Yeah, that's why I'm taped up like a friggin' _mummy,_ " she wisecracked.

Kevin faltered. "Should I… the tape?" he asked hesitantly. At the look on her face, he realized yes, he should, and began to peel it off in layers and tear at it as best he could. After a bit of a struggle, Alex was freed and immediately rushed to the desk in the room. She opened and closed the drawers in a frenzied search for some kind of weapon or lock pick. All the drawers were empty or had only paper in them. Alex yanked the landline phone off the hook and listened for a dial tone, desperate to call her brothers and warn them, but there was no dial tone at the end of the line. She muttered a swear word and tossed the phone down. "I already looked," Kevin said dourly. "There's nothing we can use and no way out. It's hopeless."

Hopeless? Alex took quick inventory of the small office, looking around at it in detail for the first time. She slowly began to gain some semblance of hope. There was a flat screen TV on the wall, a VCR, DVD player, an Xbox, a couch, a chrome sphere statuette thing on a solid-wood console, a potted plant, some pens at the desk… Alex frowned to herself, realizing this was almost too good to be true. "Nothing we can use?" she repeated, realizing that they could probably use _everything._ "Dude, this room's like an _arsenal_. How stupid _are_ they?" She began to formulate a plan in her mind on the fly and as such, her tone got intense. "All right, Kevin. We're getting the hell out of here."

Kevin's face paled. "How? T-the door's locked and there's a guy standing guard."

"Yeah, and you and me are gonna take him down," Alex said, picking up the sphere statue thing and testing its weight, her mind preoccupied with how to pull this off with what they had in the room.

"M-me?" Kevin squeaked, turning red in alarm. "But, I don't know how to fight!"

Alex shot him a serious look. "Then I hope you're a quick learner." She nodded at the game console by the TV. "Now get me that Xbox controller and make it snappy."

* * *

A lone Leviathan in the visage of a male stood outside of the room where the prophet and the Winchester girl were being held. Everything was quiet and fine. And then without warning, a cry that the Leviathan recognized as Alex's voice: "Ahh! _Help me_!"

Without thinking twice, the guard rushed in, throwing the locked door open. He ran in by about two steps, only thinking to help the girl as his angelically brainwashed instincts compelled him to do. Instead of finding the girl, he found a seemingly-empty office—then there was a cry of rage made by a cracking teenage voice. The prophet jumped up from where he'd been crouched behind the desk and clobbered the Leviathan in the face as hard as he could with the metal statue, stunning him. Kevin swung and hit so hard that he fell down onto the ground after miscalculating. At the same moment, Alex, who had waited behind the door, lunged out and looped the Xbox cord around the Leviathan's neck and with one end of the cord in either hand, she yanked the cord into a circle as tight as humanly possible, planting a foot onto the Leviathan's back to get more leverage as she strained with every ounce of power she possessed. " _Pull_!" she shouted through clenched teeth, and Kevin grabbed the Leviathan's feet, pulled the Leviathan one way as hard as he could as Alex pulled the other way, closing the cord tighter and tighter. Leviathans were strong, but their human forms weren't invincible. After all, their insides were liquid goo. You could probably decapitate one with a spatula if you hit hard enough. And with that principle in mind, Alex hoped for the best and got it, too. As she and Kevin pulled with combined strength and the cord squeezed tighter and tighter, it became inevitable. The Leviathan's head popped off when Alex gave one final devastating yank. The head went flying and hit the ground near Kevin's shoulder even as the body fell sideways.

" _Aah_!" Kevin cried out, quickly squirming away from the head. Black goo oozed out and the prophet's face bore witness to how disgusting he found the entire thing. "Oh _gross_ _…_ " he muttered, face frozen in an expression of utter revulsion. He clenched his hands to his torso protectively.

Already pulling him up, Alex had no time to be disgusted. " _Come on,_ " she urged intensely, pulling him along with her. Seconds mattered in situations like this. She paused them at the doorway, looking left and right before she nodded to their right, indicating they move and move _fast_. They hurried quietly down the hallway and made it to a corner. Holding up a finger, Alex slowed and then crept the last couple of feet and peeked around the corner to see if it was clear. What she saw there made her heart stand still.

About ten Leviathan were in that hallway up ahead, and they were all _perfect copies_ of Alex. They wore what she was wearing right then and stood the way she stood, had her voice too. One of them seemed to be in charge. "Now, the brothers will be here soon, so make sure to spread yourselves out well and use this disguise to your advantage." The leading Leviathan cracked a grin at one of the others and patted her on the face. "Alex, we sure are good looking huh?" There were a few chuckles, all in her voice, and Alex shrank back, wide-eyed and traumatized. _What the hell is going on here?_

Alex turned around, about to tell Kevin they needed to air-vent this bitch—and then almost fell over in shock. Kevin was held firmly in place by a Leviathan that looked exactly like Alex, and there was another Alex clone beside that one. The one that stood behind Kevin had a hand clamped over his mouth. He was breathing hard and heavy, terrified. "Hey, good looking," that Leviathan greeted Alex teasingly.

The other one sauntered forward and Alex heard her own voice make the next threat as a real pistol came out. "Try and escape again… and we kill the kid," she said, then held the muzzle to the side of his head and whispered, " _Boom_ ," making Kevin jump and shake and whimper as he shut his eyes in fright. Both of the Leviathans laughed at his reaction as the real Alex kicked herself for not going left instead of right. Grinding her teeth together and hating this impossible situation, Alex stared daggers at her doppelgangers.

The Leviathan with a gun grabbed Alex by the arm with bone-crushing strength and with the threat of Kevin's demise in mind, she did not resist. "You're coming with me," the Leviathan said, and began to pull her along. "The suite's ready."

Kevin was dragged the opposite direction—he looked at her silently, pleadingly, but she could do nothing. She couldn't risk them killing him over a stupid move. Alex was taken to the top level of the building via elevator and thrown into a fancy apartment-looking suite with a bedroom visible off the main room and a huge pop-art style painting of Alex's own face across the wall of the living room. Chilled, she stared, but not so much as when the Leviathan who was her total twin went over to a closet and plucked out a white dress _exactly_ like the one Destroyer had made her wear. "Wear this. Dick wants you to look like you did in the good old days." There was a wink, and then Alex was locked inside the suite by herself holding the dress that she'd worn during her worst nightmare.

* * *

**Meanwhile**   
**Outside the SucroCorp Perimeter**

He squinted through binoculars at the multi-story building that was SucroCorp. It was an expensive and beautiful business building with an all-glass front that showed pristine offices. The place _looked_ pleasant enough to the uninformed passerby. But Sam Winchester knew it was one of the most dangerous places in the world. He lowered the binoculars and looked over at his brother, who stood beside him. "Nothing. No extra guards, no lookouts—if they're expecting us, they want us to walk in without a problem."

"That's what I don't like," Dean muttered, frowning hard at the building with his arms crossed.

They stood on a hilltop of a city park that was half a mile or so away from SucroCorp—that way they wouldn't be spotted. But it appeared like no one was looking for them. Like the messenger Leviathan had said: they were _expected_.

"So what, we try and sneak in? Or go in guns blazing? Walk in and hit up the receptionist?" Sam asked doubtfully. "What's the right plan of action here?"

"Best thing would be to poof right into the middle of the dead center of the Death Star, might buy us some time," Dean muttered, then turned slightly and looked across his shoulder. "You said it was warded against angels, right Cas?" Dean asked.

Silent with his hands in his pockets and a terse look on his face, the absent-minded angel nodded. He stood slightly behind at to the side of the brothers. "That's correct. I can't get in there or even see anything right now."

The brothers exchanged a brief, tense glance. The unpredictable angel had alternated between being helpful and being a time-wasting roadblock as Sam and Dean made the weapon and prepared for this last minute whirlwind rescue mission. It was sad, honestly, because in the past Castiel would have been the first one knocking down the gates to get to Alex back. And now he was hesitant, skittish, and unsure about helping at all. Even the woman he loved more than anyone else. Sam guessed he couldn't totally blame him for being afraid of failing again, but come on. This wasn't just anyone Dick had gotten his hands on. He looked into the binoculars again and scanned the parking lot of SucroCorp again for anything that might give them some insight into the Leviathans plans, some idea of what approach to take. And then he saw a young Hispanic woman in a pink maid's uniform getting out of a beat up old pickup truck. In her hand she held a machete, but that wasn't the most shocking part. Sam _recognized her._ "Dean, _Dean,_ " Sam exclaimed in a voice made breathless by surprise. "That's the maid! The maid from our motel!"

"What?"

Sam shoved the binoculars at his brother, who took them and looked, then seemed to get it when he saw the machete. "Wait, you don't think—"

Yes. Sam _did_ think. When they had gotten back to the motel room and Alex claimed the flask was just gone, they'd thought that Emily girl took it or something. And now… Sam realized it was much worse. That maid in the parking lot was ghost-possessed, and not just by _any_ ghost. "It's Bobby," Sam said in a hard, grim voice. He had worried about this, he had _known_ something like this was bound to happen, but it was absolutely terrifying and horrifying that it had. "Cas, get him _now_ before he gets that woman killed, _"_ he commanded, and Cas complied without missing a beat.

Half a mile off, the maid came up short when a man in a trench coat appeared in front of her and touched her on the shoulder. The next instant, a gust of wind came with the appearance of Cas with Bobby in tow. "What the _blazes_ …?" The maid's face registered surprise at the interruption and she looked around angrily, realizing what had happened. "Hey! No— _no_ , I was almost there, you idjits ain't gonna stop me from taking care of business!" It was strange to hear Bobby's vocal cadence and verbage out of a female mouth, but it was even stranger when she shoved Cas away from herself with a furious expression and charged forward, straight back at SucroCorp with the machete flashing at her side.

Sam, who was closer, got in the way and stopped Bobby with two hands on either of the maid's arms. "Bobby, _stop_ , what are you _doing_?" he asked in a voice high-pitched with concern.

There was a shout of rage and Sam went flying sideways when Bobby grabbed and threw him sideways into a nearby telephone pole. When Sam landed in a disoriented heap after hitting his head, the maid stood over him with clenched fists and frost crawled across the ground and outward from where she stood as anger burned bitter cold. "You better _back off_ 'less you're gonna help me, boys!" Bobby thundered using the maid's voice. Apparently too angry to think straight, he began to bear down on Sam with murder in his eyes.

"Whoa whoa whoa!" Dean exclaimed, jumping into Bobby's path and holding a hand out as he got between his brother and his uncle's vengeful spirit. " _Calm down_! We're on the same team here, Bobby! Snap out of it!"

The maid's face faltered and her eyes cleared, the frost on the ground began to thaw. Slight surprise and then embarrassment showed. "S-sorry, kid. I got carried away," he apologized, then looked at Sam in veiled worry. "Keep forgetting my own strength. You all right?"

"Y-yeah," Sam said. Cas helped Sam up and touched him on the head, healing him and taking away the gash he'd sustained in his cheek from a protruding nail in the telephone pole.

Dean tried to be calm and reasonable, but he was visibly shaken. "Bobby, come on, let this lady go before you get her _killed_ or before you kill _with_ her!"

Immediately, there was defiance. " _No_. Not before things are set right." The maid's face looked frenzied, her eyes were wild. "Look, I drove all day and night after those Leviathan bastards swooped in and took Alex and I ain't fixin' to stop until she's outta there and the dick named Dick who killed me's dead, you hear me?"

Dean was grim. "No, yeah, we kinda have the same basic plan, Bobby."

" _Come on_ ," Sam appealed cautiously and carefully. " _Bobby_ , use your head. This maid has _nothing_ to do with any of this and you take her in there, she's likely to get _killed_."

That earned a reluctant glance, but Bobby made no reply. Dean's tone became heavily warning in nature. "Don't make us pull you out of her, Bobby," he said, because they would. He held out a hand and made a 'give it here' motion at the maid. "Gimme the flask." She stared at him grudgingly and Dean's tone turned nearly threatening. " _Bobby_ _…_ "

There was an eye roll. " _Fine_ ," the maid's voice said, and she reached into her cardigan pocket and pulled out the familiar flask. She handed it over to Dean and sighed regretfully. "Well, it was fun while it lasted, Marta." And then Bobby's ghost stepped out of the maid and her face went from chagrinned to terrified as he did. She staggered back, wide-eyed and breathless, staring at the three men and the ghost in sheer horror.

"Oh my god! Where am I? What's… what's happening? Who are you people?!"

Cas volunteered without being asked or told. "I'll take her back to her motel," he said, and stepped up to her grimly. She shrank away from him, but not in time. He touched her shoulder and they disappeared. He reappeared alone two seconds later. "It's done," he said.

"Thanks, Cas," Dean said. He was obviously relieved the angel was there even if a few screws were loose.

Bobby's ghostly image was pale in color and had a look of general anger about him that wasn't what the brothers were familiar with, he looked mostly like himself otherwise. Definitely pissy and annoyed to have been stopped like he had. "Well now that I'm good'n incorporeal, what's you _jackasses_ ' plan to get the girl and gank Dick?" he asked, then set a stern warning upon them. "And don't even _think_ of leaving my ass behind this time. I mean it."

"We need to get inside so we can start this surprise party the right way, but we can't get inside without drawing attention unless Cas zaps us in under the radar," Dean supplied heavily.

"But it's warded against angels," Sam added grimly. "So that's not really an option."

"Wait, I think I have an idea," Cas said, and everyone looked at him expectantly. "We can find a house big enough for all of us and move in together. That would be nice, I think." At the crestfallen, chagrinned eye rolls and fallen faces he got from the boys, Cas looked like his memory was jogged. "Oh, and my idea about today is… um, Bobby." He looked at the ghost curiously. "Could you perhaps go inside and break the angel wards? Then I could transport us all inside without detection."

Sam and Dean exchanged a brief look that conveyed slightly-impressed surprise. Bobby nodded. "Yeah. I got it, but you'll have to get me closer to the building to do that." He nodded at Dean. "Me meaning the flask." His eyes narrowed cautiously as he looked at Dean hard. "You won't take me off the playing field once you boys are inside?"

Dean shook his head no. "You'll be in my pocket nice and safe." He pointed at Bobby warningly. "But just remember who the enemies are, Bobby. No more throwing the good guys around, capiche?"

Bobby rolled his eyes at Dean. "Just shut up, I'll be _fine_." The ghost looked at Cas. "Well? We gonna break these ward things or what?" Cas nodded and took the flask from Dean's offering hand then disappeared. Bobby's ghost flickered out in tandem, leaving the brothers alone for the moment.

They looked at SucroCorp for a couple seconds, then Dean folded his arms and with a deep frown on his face, he let out a tense sigh through his nose. Then he looked at Sam sidelong. "You think I got enough time to make a phone call?" he asked, voice curiously distressed.

Sam balked. A phone call? He gave his brother a crazy look. " _Now_? What could be so important you need to call someone on the _phone_ right now?"

Dean hesitated to answer then looked off ahead of himself with an unreadable expression. "You might be surprised."

Sam waited expectantly. "…I'm all ears."

"I just… this might get hairy in here," Dean reflected somberly, playing his cards close to the chest and telling Sam nothing specific. "Maybe we won't walk out, you know?"

Sam frowned. "Dean, we'll walk out."

There was a brief, hooded sidelong glance. "Yeah, well if I _don_ _'_ _t_ _…_ "

Sam, ever the insightful one, narrowed his eyes. "This got something to do with Jamie?"

Dean laughed nervously, a soft breathy sound because Sam knew him so well. "Yeah, so, awkward story. Uh… so about a month ago, we—"

Abruptly, Castiel reappeared with the flask, interrupting the conversation that had been about to take place. "We're in," he said, and handed the flask to Dean then abruptly clapped a hand onto either of the brother's shoulders. "Did you boys know if all the blood vessels in your body were laid end to end, they would reach about sixty thousand miles?" At the confused silence he received, Cas's voice lowered. "Let's go."

The three men disappeared out of thin air and then reappeared in the belly of the proverbial beast.

* * *

Alex used a corkscrew wine bottle opener in a desperate attempt to pick the lock that was keeping her in Dick's fancy suite. She'd already ripped the dress up with her bare hands and torn down the painting of her face in an act of panicked rebellion. The corkscrew wasn't working and she was getting really agitated and began to kick the door at its weakest point, right near the knob. It wouldn't budge. " _Come on_!" she screamed, kicking again for good measure.

"That's not gonna work," came a dejected voice from behind her. Alex whirled to see a young man with curly hair and a sad, plain face. Withering a little and realizing she had no weapon to slice his smarmy head off, Alex grabbed the nearest thing—a glass vase with roses in it off the doorside table—and launched it at him. He didn't duck or even attempt to. The vase hit him on the side of the face and shattered on impact. He didn't react at all even as his cut-open skin slowly seeped back together or as his hair dripped water down across his tormented face. "I thought I wanted you here," he said softly, sadly, staring at her with inscrutable eyes. "I thought I wanted you to be hurt and betrayed like I was and I thought I wouldn't care what they did with you but… _heh_ ," he scratched his ear and looked away in uncomfortable chagrin, "turns out I was mildly mislead in that regard." Zip hesitated then looked at her with a very uncertain, embarrassed expression. "Um. I… think I may have overdone it."

"… _Overdone it_?" she repeated incredulously. She began to breathe harder as he came a couple steps closer. Last time she'd seen him, he had done some pretty substantial damage not only to her but to her family and her angel. "Just leave me alone!"

"Alex, I'm _sorry,_ " he pleaded, and tried to reach out to touch her arm.

"Don't touch me!" she insisted thunderously, sliding sideways on the wall to avoid his touch. "Don't you get it?! I don't want you _around_ me! Ever! At all! _The end_!"

Zip let out a defeated breath and seemed too tired to try appealing to her further. He rubbed a hand against his forehead briefly before he gestured with it uselessly. "Just… just shut up and let me rescue you, will you?"

Not what she'd been expecting to hear, and it caused her to falter. "…What?"

Zip didn't stand there and make obsessive romantic pleas or deranged claims about love and what was owed him. "I changed my mind, okay?" He shook his head and clenched his jaw, appearing to be a little uncertain about how to convey himself to her. "And I'm not gonna let him do whatever the hell he's planning to do to you, okay? I know that much. And besides that—listen to me, my species is about to decimate the _entire_ human population of this country."

Alex stared at him hard and untrustingly. "You think I don't know that already?"

"Well, I've been finding out a whole lot today now that they're letting me around and…" he swallowed, full of discomfort at her needled stare. "I don't want it to happen, all right?" Zip asked, then looked at her plainly. "I'm drawing a line in the sand and standing on a side. So just tell me what to do and how to help and I'll do it."

Totally suspicious of him, not trusting him for the slightest second, Alex eyed him carefully. "… _Why_? What's your angle?"

He shrugged and made a face, looking down at his beat up Converse shoes. "My angle is… I dunno. It's the right thing to do?" He looked up and gave her a tight, self-conscious smile.

Alex looked the Leviathan up and down dubiously. She didn't know, but this might be her only chance to get out of here. Her main priority was currently to warn her brothers so they didn't walk straight into a deathtrap. So… she was desperate. "You really are insane, you know that?" she asked, because if he _was_ for real, he was kind of nuts. Maybe she attracted a type, huh?

A rueful little smile crooked Zip's mouth up to the side and the way he looked at her was affectionate and bittersweet. "Yeah, well. I've been called worse." He nodded at the door and got businesslike. "Come on. I know the way out."

Alex halted him before he opened the door. "One condition. You gotta get my buddy Kevin out of here too."

Zip's eyes narrowed as he thought. "The prophet kid? Yeah. I saw him earlier. Okay. I know where he is. I'll get him and then—"

"Oh _no_ ," Alex cut him off with no shortage of sass. "I'm going with you."

Zip looked like he should have known that would be her response. "So stubborn," he sighed, then easily ripped the door off its hinges and gestured for her to go right ahead.

"Yeah right. After you," Alex said lowly, not trusting him for one freaking second and not caring if he knew or not.

" _Alrighty_ then," he said, flustered and slightly indignant.

* * *

Meanwhile, Sam, Dean, and Cas had just ported into the security room of SucroCorp. A few black-and-white monitors showed cycling feeds of the place. And sitting in vague boredom watching the feeds, turning around to look at them in confusion…

"…Alex?" Dean asked, then was abruptly seized by the throat. " _Not Alex_!" he wheezed just before he was thrown into a wall where a shelf of VHS tapes stood. The tapes went clattering all over the floor even as Dean groaned and the Leviathan copy of his sister turned on Sam, who had a look of utter dread. His sister bore down on him and Sam didn't do a damn thing, only shrank back—and then the Leviathan impostor went flying sideways invisibly where she crashed the opposite wall. "Good one Bobby," Dean managed tightly through a groan. The Leviathan got up onto all fours and seethed, again headed for Sam. Black liquid ran out of her nostrils, and she looked like she was really gonna murder him.

"Oh no, ah, sorry—" Sam said, wincing and grimacing as he clenched his machete tighter and braced himself. The reason why? Well, let's just say he was having some issues with chopping the head off someone who looked like his sister. But he did it anyway at the last second and made a sound of surprise and disgust as the head went rolling. Cas stood nearby, his expression a copy of Sam's. "W-why was…?" Sam asked, then froze, catching better sight of the monitor console. "Holy _shit._ Dean. Come look at this." On the multiple security-feed screens, they could see that there were multiple Alexs and Dicks wandering SucroCorp. In fact, _most_ figures on the monitor were either Alex or Dick.

"Son of a bitch…" Dean breathed, a ' _why_?' on the tip of his tongue.

"It's very clever," Cas observed grimly. "Meant to confuse and disorient you in any attempts to kill the real Dick Roman or rescue your actual sister." He shook his head once, appearing appropriately distressed about it.

"…Well how are we supposed to know which one's the real Alex?!" Dean asked in rising frustration, turning on Cas. "And which one's the real Dick?!"

Cas's answer was calm and immediate. "Me," he said sensibly. "I can see who is human and who is Leviathan, and more than that I'll be able to tell who the true Original is."

Dean shook a finger at Cas as a tiny smile grew. "See, I knew we brought you along for a reason." He looked back at the monitor where several copies of his sister went about their business. His smile faded. "I'll give him one thing, that son of a bitch is smart," he muttered, shaking his head as his eyebrows worked into a stressed expression. "And super twisted." He glanced over at the Leviathan body nearby that looked like his sister.

"Oh no, I don't think so. They're horrible copies," Cas said sort of blankly.

Sam looked at Cas oddly. "...They look just like her."

"Yes, well, I can see things you can't, Sam," the angel said, then grew suddenly regretful, dropping the dreamy look on his face. It was like he'd suddenly realized what was going on, like it suddenly resounded with him and hit him, the weight of what was happening. Mildly sickened as it sank in, his face fell. "None of this would be happening if it weren't for me," he said, backing up a step as he looked down to the floor and his eyebrows pushed in toward each other. "I'm sorry, it just—I just don't feel capable of facing what I've done…" he was beginning to back out, and it was obvious.

Dean resisted letting out a sigh of aggravation. He tried to cajole even through anger that he felt immediately. "Cas. Buddy. Come on."

"No, I—I think I should go, I should just let you two—well, three—handle this." Castiel's face, which was that of a late-thirties man, showed a childlike fear and the effect was odd, stilling. "I'll just make things worse," he said, and his voice shook with true fear.

In what could have been a scene out of Dean's teenage years when he'd had to reassure and support both his brother and sister in their times of doubt and fear, Dean counseled Cas with tough love. "Look at me," he commanded gruffly. "Now listen. You're gonna stick in this with us. You're gonna _face_ what you did and kick it in the ass, all right? Because I'll be damned if my sister is in love with a headcase _and_ a coward. Are you a coward, Cas?" He let the question hang and the angel's pained expression showed inner conflict. "Buddy, running away from a problem ain't ever gonna solve it, you hear me? Now we are taking down Dick Roman _today_ and you're gonna be part of that. In fact, you'll _thank_ me for holding you to the fire when you help button up what you started in the first place."

Cas searched Dean's eyes uncertainly and he was not confident. "Are—are you sure?"

" _Yes_. Now quit waffling around and get with the program. This is _time sensitive_ , Cas. _Christ_."

Cas tilted his head to the side in somber thought. "I like waffles."

Dean let out a noisy sigh. Was that _really_ the only takeaway the guy got from what he'd just said? Cas was just a few marbles short of a set and there was no getting around that fact. Tiredly, Dean gestured at his brother as he pinched the bridge of his own nose. "Sam, go find Kevin. Me and Space Case'll go find Waldo."

"I thought we were looking for Alex and Dick Roman," Cas said, confused.

Sam gave Dean a sympathetic little smile. "On it." He cracked open the door, peeked around, then slipped out.

"You see the real deal on any of these screens?" Dean asked, and motioned for Cas to scan the security feeds.

"No, I don't," he said after a minute. "She… she must be frightened to be here." His voice wavered as his emotions got the best of him.

"Come on, Beautiful Mind, look close," Dean prompted, because crazy-Cas might miss a detail. He didn't know.

At the 'Beautiful Mind' reference, Cas looked at Dean with a touched expression. "Thank you, Dean. That's a kind compliment."

Oh my _god_. " _Focus_ , Brainiac," Dean said in short patience, then remembered Cas had another one-up when it came to the search for the actual Alex. "Wait. Can't you soul-sense her or whatever?"

Cas's eyes wandered the screens unseeingly, and his conflicted emotions were very clear. "I know she's nearby, but I can't tell exactly where." He looked down, guilt-ridden and sick. "…Why did I leave her side, Dean? Well, it's because I was hurt and confused and it was an emotionally impulsive decision on my part. She wouldn't have been taken if I hadn't gone to the flowers and the bees." He looked at the oldest Winchester with a face like he might cry. "You're right, Dean. Running away from a problem won't solve it." His voice was a bare, afraid whisper. "It's… it's very difficult to have free will."

Dean clapped Cas on the shoulder hard, trying to help the guy rustle up some bravado. "Yeah well, in the end it's worth it," he muttered, mind on other things like ganking the big bad and saving his sister. And, of course, constantly on his mind now, the thought of Jamie and if she was okay right now and if she was pregnant with his child or not. Either way, he wanted to get to her like _now._ Dean led the way out of the room, a man on a mission. "Now come on. Let's get Dick."

* * *

After going through a maze of upstairs hallways and rooms, Zip and Alex got off of the elevator and a long, empty hallway stretched out in front of them. Recognizing this area of the building and pretty sure she knew the exit, Alex cast a sidelong look at Zip, who was unaware of her plans.

"Okay, so Kevin should be—" he started, but never finished. As they walked by a glass-top table, Alex seized what might be her only opportunity and in a sudden burst of movement and adrenaline, she smash-dropped her bent elbow into the center of the table, breaking the glass and giving herself a bad bruise in the process. It didn't matter. She saw what she needed: a huge shard had broken off. Even as she snatched it up, cutting her hand in the process, Zip looked at her, innocent and confused at her actions. "What are you—"

She whirled with the piece of glass and a sickening slicing sound cut the air as Alex used the oversized shard to behead Zip. He fell backwards with a dull thud and she shook hard and stared down at him with a sick stomach. His head hadn't completely severed from his neck and shocked eyes stared up at her. With a clenching chest, Alex looked down at the one who'd been her friend through those awful months at Sunny Meadows and she regretted it but didn't know what else to do. Backing away slowly, overcome with self-horror even though she thought it was the right thing to do, she shook her head over and over. "Sorry, Zip, but I just can't take any chances on you anymore," she whispered, dropping the piece of glass and fleeing the scene, heading toward where she remembered being held with Kevin.

She rounded a corner and ran straight into a huge, hard shape and fell backwards onto her butt. She stared up in shock at the familiar giant in front of her. " _Sam_?!" And then she found herself with a faceful of soapy water and she sputtered in surprise. " _Pffbt_ …!" Blinking against the stinging in her eyes, she grimaced at the taste in her mouth. " _Bleugh!"_

Sam dropped the plastic bucket he'd been holding as his face registered complete relief when the borax did nothing. "Oh my god, it's _you,_ " he said, and yanked her to her feet and promptly crushed her in a hug that left her barely able to breathe.

" _Mffbttt,_ Sam!"

"Sorry, sorry," he apologized, winded and worried but relieved as he let go of her. Alex then saw how Kevin hovered nervously behind her brother, holding a machete she recognized as Sam's.

"Y-you found Kevin!" she said, starting to smile because suddenly things were beginning to look up. Breathless, she looked around for her other brother. "Where's Dean?"

"With Cas, somewhere in here looking for Dick," Sam said.

"Cas is here?" Alex asked, her stomach plummeting. This was dangerous for him, especially in his current mindset.

"Well, when he found out you were here…" Sam said, then gave her a tight smile.

"Guys, the _lab_ ," Kevin said urgently, looking around frantically like he thought they'd be discovered any second.

"The lab?" Alex asked, looking at her brother for explanation.

"Yeah, I'll explain on the way," Sam said, urgent and focused. "But, basically, we gotta blow it up. Now come on and stay close."

* * *

One floor down from where Sam and Alex had just found each other, Cas nodded after he peered around a corner at another copy of Dick. "That's him, Dean."

Eyebrows rising up, Dean blinked a couple times. "You're sure?" he asked, heart rate picking up slightly.

The angel nodded, grim. "Yes. One hundred percent."

Well then, showtime. Dean nodded tersely a couple times and the plan he and Sam had formulated back in the motel went through his mind again. Only Dean was suddenly compelled to make a last-minute change. "Okay. All right." He reached into his jacket, into his right-hand pocket where the real weapon they'd forged was stashed. In his left-hand pocket, a dummy that was going to serve as the distraction. Dean drew in a deep breath—this was a big deal and he almost didn't do it—but then he held out the real weapon to Cas and waited.

The angel was utterly shocked. "What—what are you doing?" he asked.

"You heard the plan, right?" Dean asked. "Understood it?"

Faltering with eyes that went from the bone to Dean over and over again, Cas confirmed that he had. "Yes, but—I, I don't understand."

Dean gave the angel a look of the utmost meaning. "This is me giving you a chance to prove yourself and make it right," he said, and Cas's face showed more confounded surprise. "I think you need that." Dean made it crystal clear: "But Cas, you have _got_ to do this and do it _right._ Don't mess this up. Can you do this?"

Cas was very affected by the gesture that Dean was showing him and he nodded and took the bone, growing touched to the point of teary-eyed crap. "Yes. I can do it, Dean," he said, then unexpectedly clasped a hand to Dean behind his neck, gripping tightly and smiling at Dean through his emotional state. "Thank you. Thank you so much."

Dean made a face, pulling away from the touch. "Eugh, _stop,_ " he complained uncomfortably. "Else I'm gonna think you're gay."

Cas paused, confused at the negative tone. "I'm… not a homosexual. I thought you would know that by now. And anyway, I don't know any reason why that should ever be something negative either."

Dean withered and made a sour face. "Just shut up, dude." He unsheathed his machete and drew in a deep breath. "Let's do this."

In the lab, Dick and his lab technician assistant had their backs turned to the angel and the hunter. Dick had a little creamer cup in hand and was admiring it. "You know, I think this might end up the slickest little genocide in history," he commented, and the smirk on his voice was audible.

"Thank you, sir," his assistant said, busy and distracted by packing creamers into boxes. He didn't even hear Dean and Cas sneak up on him.

"Just sayin'. I smell 'promotion.'" Dick gulped down the little cup of creamer and once he'd finished, he let loose a hiss of satisfaction. Dean chose that moment to behead the assistant in one smooth stroke. Dick turned around with a mystified frown on his face then looked at his dead assistant and the puddle of black that was oozing out of him. "Little abrupt... but okay."

Dean sheathed his machete slowly, giving Dick the death stare. But the Leviathan was beginning to smile as he eyed Cas. "Well! Look who came to visit! Castiel. Good to see you again." He leaned closer with his head, like he was being furtive. "Thanks for the ride into paradise and the introduction to the hot babe." He winked.

Castiel visibly bristled, falling prey to the button-pushing. " _Where is she_?"

"In my bed right about now, sweetcheeks," Dick replied, enjoying Cas's distress. "Waiting for the D."

"Okay you can just shut up now," Dean growled, and pulled out the ploy bone slowly. Beside him, Cas was standing stiffly as his inner rage clearly grew. _Just stay cool, Cas. Stay cool._

Dick feigned surprise as he saw the weapon. "Oh, good on you! Pulling _that_ together. A _plus_!"

Dean raised his eyebrows and played Dick's game. "Oh, you don't think this'll work, do you? You trust that demon?"

"Do _you_?" Dick countered, smiling wolfishly. "You sure I'm even _me_ , Dean?"

"No," Dean replied. "But _he_ is."

Dick's eyes slid to Castiel, whose face was devastating and promised destruction. "You shouldn't be here," the angel growled, and to Dean, he sounded like himself in that moment. "I'm going to make sure you go back to the place I pulled you out of."

There was a low, lazy chuckle. "Oh, are you, loverboy. You sure this isn't just a desperate attempt to prove yourself? 'Cause take it from me, you never can. The little lady's moved onto bigger and better. And sorry, but I don't have a return to sender option."

Dean pulled a smirk and clenched the bone tighter. "Today you do," he growled, then took a small, sliding step forward.

Darkening, Dick grew hostile and his eyes flickered to the bone in the slightest show of nervousness. "This meeting's _over_ _,_ " he said icily, then let his eyes slink to Cas. Apparently he couldn't find it within himself to resist antagonizing the angel. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go bang the angel's wife's brains out and then eat her for dinner."

Wrong thing to say. Castiel snapped and lunged at Dick in a rage. He was grabbed easily and then flung back into the wall behind himself. Dean used the distraction Cas had created to lung forward and stab the bone into Dick's chest as the Leviathan turned back around—Dean didn't need to summon motivation either, he was seeing absolute red. _No one_ was gonna hurt his sister anymore. She'd been through enough goddamn pain for a lifetime. Dean twisted the bone, savoring Dick's shouted gasp of pain and surprise. Dean let go and stepped back when the bone was good and buried, and Dick realized nothing had happened to him and gained back his confidence and slowly pulled the bone out. It was slimy with black goo and Dick took it in both hands and broke it in half, thinking he'd won.

"Did you _really_ think you could bone me?" he asked.

"Honestly?" Dean asked cooly. Behind Dick, Cas had gotten to his feet silently and had drawn out the real weapon. " _Yes_." A look of confusion passed of the Leviathan's face even as Cas yanked Dick's head back and plunged the jagged blood-soaked bone sideways into his neck. Dick went prone and began to scream, a gargling noise. " _Surprise_ , motherfucker," Dean growled. Furious, Dick writhed in place and his face transformed into a huge gaping mouth that took up his entire head—long pointed teeth lined the dark abyss and a forked tongue protruded, slithering around wildly for a second.

At that same moment, Sam and Alex and Kevin burst into the lab, wide-eyed and coming to a stop just inside the door as they realized what they had just come in to.

Dick's face returned to normal, to a human appearance. Black oozed out of his nostrils, and an inexplicably triumphant gleam rested in his eyes. And that was when Dean realized he couldn't move whatsoever. His feet were stuck in place. "C-Cas, why can't I move?" he asked in a weak voice.

Cas didn't reply. He was looking at Alex, and clearly he was stuck in place just like Dean was. She seemed to recognize the look in his eye and without a thought for herself, she moved forward to try and help. " _No_!" Cas said, his startlingly loud voice making her stop in her tracks. "Get back!" Waves of dark, electric energy began to pulsate from Dick's body in time with a thumping, accelerating heartbeat that shook the entire room, and with each speeding beat, an ominous energy buzzed in the room, making the air crackle and fizz. Alex hadn't moved—in fact, she was looking between her brother and the angel with crazy eyes, like she was going to attempt to rush over to either of them. "Get back," Cas insisted, his wild eyes on Alex. His voice rose and rose in desperation like he knew what was coming. "Get back! Alex, get _away_!" A jarring, ghoulish smile spread across Dick's face and he began to _laugh_ as the heartbeat sped up faster and faster. Sam lunged forward and snatched his sister back hard at the last minute, throwing her at Kevin. Anticipating what was about to happen, he flung an arm up to cover his face and protect Kevin and Alex even as the heartbeat stopped and left the room in total, unnatural silence. The air thinned and the air pressure dropped right before Dick exploded in a shower of inkblack ooze.

Stunned completely, Sam turned around, arm still hovering shelteringly over Kevin and Alex. They saw it at the same time.

Dick was gone.

And so were Dean and Cas.

The only thing left was Bobby's flask, which had fallen to the floor.


	104. Corporate Takedown

" _How far should a person go in the name of true love?_ _"  
_ \- Nicholas Sparks

* * *

He could feel the darkness before he even opened his eyes. It permeated in a way all his senses were aware of, it crushed him downward and turned his stomach.

And then somewhere above him, a dark, deep voice spoke. " _Wake up_." Dean's eyes snapped open at the familiar voice and the sudden realization that he wasn't sleeping or dreaming. Above him spidery silhouettes of tree branches crisscrossed jaggedly against an unpleasantly dark purple night sky. Dean stirred then sat up, his danger senses beginning to spark to life. He could just make out dead leaves scattered across the cold ground he'd been laying on, and all around there were bare, skeletal trees spreading as far as he could see in the darkness. The air was cold and cloying, felt ominous and weighty in his lungs and against his skin. Dean turned while sitting to look at the source of the voice. It was Castiel. The angel was standing up nearby and his eyes had a certain sharpness and focus to them that Dean hadn't seen there since… well, not for what seemed a long, long time. As Dean got to his feet warily, Cas spoke quietly and urgently, his eyes casting around the wooded darkness furtively. "We need to get out of here," he said, and from his tone, he was deadly serious.

Out of here? Where was here? Dean looked around but didn't recognize anything and it made zero sense to him. "Where are we?" he asked cautiously. A minute ago they'd been in a shiny manmade lab with artificial lighting, chrome steel tables and shelves full of chemical mixtures. Now they were in something that looked like the wilderness in the dead of winter. But it was spring, right? Eyes darting around the surroundings as his heart rate picked up, Dean realized something was very wrong with this picture. "Last I remember, we ganked Dick," he said, wondering if they'd time-jumped or been teleported to the backwoods of Canada or something.

"And where would _he_ go in death?" Cas prompted intently. Again, Dean noticed how the long-lost authority and grimness carried in Cas's voice and demeanor.

Okay, where would Dick go when he died. Dean blinked twice when he realized what Cas was implying. His stomach dropped as the horror started. "Wait." Oh no. "Are you telling me…?"

"Yes, Dean," Cas confirmed, glancing around with watchful, suspicious eyes. "Every soul here is a monster." Terrifyingly close, there was the sudden sound of rustling in the trees. Cas's voice lowered and he inched closer to Dean. But not like he was afraid. Like he was protecting. Getting freaked, Dean edged closer to the angel, because he could feel it now. There were eyes everywhere, and monsters beyond number in close proximity. "This is where they come to prey upon each other for all eternity," Cas told him in the softest voice. "If I were you, I'd get out your machete."

Dean did no such thing. He was too shellshocked. "W-we're in Purgatory?" he asked, alarm skyrocketing. No. No! He couldn't be here, he had to get back to his brother and his sister and Jamie! Panic set in. "How do we get _out_?!" he demanded in a frenzied whisper.

"Out?" Cas asked, seeming to find the question regrettable. "Dean… I don't think that's a possibility. I'm afraid we're much more likely to be ripped to shreds."

As if on cue, there was a hissing sound and a rustling behind them and Dean whirled, his heart racing. In the trees, obscured by night, he could make out two hulking shadows of huge beasts. These beasts had glowing blood red eyes that were watching him. Dean immediately began to back up slowly, alarms screaming in his mind. "Cas, I think we better—" he started in a whisper, then stopped short. Cas was no longer at his side. Dean looked around for him with wide eyes. " _Cas_?" he hissed.

But the angel was not there. Dean's heart plummeted as he heard rustling sounds of huge, unknown enemies stalking closer. A slow, horrible realization came over him. He was going to be crushed like a minnow by the proverbial sharks out there. He was gonna be _obliterated_ by whatever hellspawn this place had to offer. So, this was what it felt like to know you were about to die. But he'd be _damned_ if he went down without a good fight. Dean whipped out his machete as his blood thundered in his ears to the beat of his jackhammering heart. A thousand thoughts shot through his mind all at once, but most of all he thought of Sam, who would have to take care of the family now (could he do it?). He thought of Alex, who he'd never gotten a chance to make things right with (god, he wished he had). And he thought of Jamie and his chest hurt as he thought of her never getting the promised call from him and being pregnant alone (if she was at all). Dean despaired. _I have to find a way out of here_. A low, wet snarling growl sounded somewhere to his left and he whirled toward it, backing up slowly because he couldn't see the source of the sound. Behind him, a soft hiss and more rustling. Dean whirled again, his heart rate doubling and tripling in rapid succession. He was _alone_. Alone in the place that promised to rip him to shreds—alone and surrounded by bloodthirsty monsters on all sides—alone and _petrified_ , out of his element, outnumbered completely. Cas had _abandoned_ him. After all that talk about running away and how it was bullshit, Cas had run away _again_ and now Dean was a dead man walking because of it. _Son of a_ —

"I'm right here Dean." Dean whirled again, breathing hard, his heart slamming up into his throat in shock. Cas was behind him, and had a severe look on his face Dean would never forget. It was like the angel knew just how bad things were about to get. "We need to _run._ " He grabbed Dean by the shoulder of his jacket and Dean let himself get dragged along blindly. The fallen angel and the righteous man fled into the unknown darkness of Purgatory as all around them, monsters howled and gnashed teeth and snarled promises of death.

Back in the realm of earth in a totally dimension altogether, Jamie Ward waited for the phone call that never came and Alex Winchester was about to discover she was essentially all on her own against staggering, impossible odds.

* * *

Sheltered by Sam's hulking form as a typhoon of exploding black ooze splattered the entirety of the lab, Alex and Kevin both huddled for a brief second until Sam began to straighten and look back over his shoulder at where Dick had stood with Dean and Cas on either side just a second ago. But now, _no one_ was there. Only Bobby's flask remained and it was fallen to the floor, rocking slightly from momentum. Black spatters laced the lab all over and the air was still, eerily so.

Already drifting forward in shocked silence, Alex looked around dumbly, because Dean and Cas… they had _just_ been there. She crouched and picked up Bobby's flask, shellshocked. "W-what the hell?" she asked, standing up slowly, in a total daze. "Where'd they _go_?"

Behind her, Sam gave a soft sound of pain and something knocked over just before glass shattered in a sparkle of sound. Even as Alex turned around to see what was happening, Kevin was stating the obvious in a high-pitched, scared voice. "A-Alex? Something's—something's wrong with Sam!"

And something _was_. Sam had fallen over backwards and knocked over a table-full of beakers and chemicals in the process, he had this look in his eye as he stared into space with horror, seeming to see something that no one else could. He was floundering backwards on his hands, getting palmfuls of glass as he did. "Sam? _Sammy_!" Alex rushed to him and dropped to a crouch in front of him as she tried to get him to stop injuring himself. His eyes came to hers and he _freaked_ out.

"No no no," he said in a breathless, rushed voice, then louder, almost scarily so. He fought away from her like she was the devil incarnate. "No! You're gone! You _left_! Get out of my head!" Sheer, rising terror had him in a shouting fit as he kicked at her, backpedaling away as hard as he could. "Cas took you! Get away from me! _No_!" He abruptly went prone, arching his back and shutting his eyes as he arched his back and screamed through gritted teeth like he was in agonizing pain. He took his hands, which had glass shards in the palms, and slammed them to either side of his head then screamed all the louder.

Following him and getting sharp shards of glass in her knees as she did, Alex caught his wrists hard and yanked his hands away from his face forcibly. He'd cut himself pretty badly on both sides and he was groaning through clenched teeth, keeping his eyes shut. "Sam! Sam what's wrong?!"

His eyes opened and cold fear rippled across his face at the sight of her face. He shoved her away hard. "Don't _touch me_!" he shouted. "You're the devil!" His eyes dropped to his leg and he freaked out like he saw something on himself. He began to beat at his own leg like it was on fire, screaming in horror as he did.

Alex was on her feet after being shoved back—she charged up to her brother and slapped him in the face and shook him by the shoulders. "Sam! _Snap out of it_!" she shouted, because she was going to have to knock him out if he didn't get a handle on himself.

It seemed to work—Sam was traumatized and he shrank into the boxes of creamer he was sagged against. There he whimpered, shaking like he was cold, and it was a petrifying sight to see a grown man huddling on the floor. "My head, _my head_ … I see him…" he moaned, burying his face in his glass-riddled hands and scratching himself in the process.

"Sam, _stop,_ you're hurting yourself!" Alex pleaded, crouching and yanking his hands away again. His palms were bloody and riddled by tiny, cruel slivers of glass.

"Alex, we gotta get outta here!" Kevin hedged, looking around in paranoia. "T-the chompers'll be back any second!"

"Not to worry, Kevster," came a calm, silken voice nearby. Alex whipped her head sideways, knowing that voice. It was the one and only Crowley, and he had a smug little smile on his face. "You're safe and sound," he told Kevin. "Moose and Mouse, however…" he looked at the twins. Alex crouched with her brother, who was breathing laboriously and sweating, struggling to stay in the least rational. "Well let's just say I _won_ _'_ _t_ be placing bets on them in the bloodbath that's soon to follow." Alex stood slowly and balefully, knowing, just _knowing_ that Crowley had something to do with what had happened here. The demon smirked, continuing onward in his monologue. "See, these Levis were quite enamored with you before, Miss Winchester, but now that their daddy's been boned, _well_. I think they'll blame you and _my my_ we all know what a scorned lover's vengeance can look like, don't we." He sauntered forward a couple steps, his hands in his black coat pockets. "I _do_ have a small army of demons outside waiting to cleanup the leftovers you don't manage to take down in what I'm sure will be quite a valiant effort," he said, mystifying her and filling her with foreboding all the same. "I think I'll pop some corn. Might get entertaining, what with Sam's…" he paused and watched as Sam groaned in agony and spasmed a few times. "Whatever the hell that is."

"Crowley, what the _hell_ just happened?" Alex demanded. "Where are my brother and my angel?!"

There was a single wiggle of the eyebrows. "Mm, I'd say a one-way ticket to Purgatory for all who were unfortunate enough to be in range of the exploding Dick." He chuckled at his joke and then patronized her unapologetically. "Sorry for your loss, darling. Big brother and wayward hubby _aren_ _'_ _t_ coming back this time." Alex's face began to fall as Crowley looked upward in feigned thought. "They're… oh, what's the word…" his dark eyes came back to hers and his voice was sharp, making the words he spoke next almost viscerally slice into her heart. " _Dead_." He shrugged. "Gone. Dearly departed. And Sam's… well, looks like he's gone crackers to me." Crowley made a slight face as Sam struggled onto all fours and tried to stand but turned red from the effort and let out a sobbing sound and a soft protest as well. "That's just…" Crowley said, seeming revolted at Sam's weakness. He didn't finish his sentence. "Anyway, onto more pressing matters." His eyes slunk from Alex to the short teenage boy behind her. "Kevin. You're coming with me."

Bristling, Alex was incensed. " _No,_ " she spat. "Leave this kid _out_ of it."

Crowley smiled lazily and snapped his fingers, unperturbed. Two demons appeared on either side of Kevin, who jumped and cried out his surprise. "Sorry, sweetie. Prophet's mine."

Helpless, weaponless, powerless, Alex's voice rose and cracked from desperation. "Okay you listen to me, you can't _have_ him, Crowley!"

An amused, challenging expression played on the King of Hell's sly features. "You gonna stop me then, darling?" he asked, knowing full-well that she had nothing to stop him with at all. "You and what _army_? Look, leave well enough alone for your own good. Dick's dead, you saved the world! Call it a day, go home and put your feet up and tell yourself 'job well done.' That is _if_ you get out of here alive, of course. Sure, might have lost a brother or two and an angel and, mmm, a crabby old man you called uncle along the way but that's just business isn't it." He became mildly more serious. "Remember, I helped you lot gank the bugger in the first place." He pulled a face that implied he was owed something. "So I want one little prophet. Fair's fair. I'm taking him." He snapped his fingers again and the demons disappeared with Kevin in tow. Absolutely beside herself at how the people surrounding her were dropping like flies, Alex stood in front of the demon and it began to sink in. Dean and Castiel were dead. Sam was crazy again—maybe when Cas exploded, the shifted insanity had reverted back to him. Kevin had been taken. It was so much. _Too_ much. Crowley looked vaguely sympathetic, but there was no telling if it were genuine or not. "Sorry, Mouse. Wish I could help. You certainly got a lot on your plate right now. It looks like you are well and truly... on your own." He chuckled and nodded toward the lab exit. "Those chompers Kevin was afraid of? They'll be here very soon, darling. I'm afraid you're very outnumbered." He sighed, bittersweet. "And so the Winchester melodrama ends once and for all." He'd already decided Sam and Alex would die, and she paled, swallowing hard. Sam had a machete. Sam had a _machete_ and that was it. Crowley winked at her. "It's been fun, princess. Oh, and by the way… Dick installed a panic switch for whatever reason and I'm about to go push it 'cause I don't want this creamer getting out into the general populace. Need as many meatsuits as possible, after all. So, everything's smithereens in, what, I think three minutes from now? Tootles."

He disappeared out of thin air, and Alex was left alone with Sam. "Crowley! _Crowley_!" There was no response and Alex cursed her circumstances. "Son of a _bitch!_ _"_ she snapped, angry and grieved and afraid all at once. She rushed to Sam, panicking because they had to escape while they still could. "Sam?" he resisted her touch and grimaced, turning his head away from her. At that moment alarms began to blare loudly across the loudspeakers and emergency red lights washed the lab in a color like blood.

" _Evacuate the premises immediately_ ," came a calm robotic female voice.

Shit, _shit!_ Alex pulled on her brother, who was suffering profound, obvious pain. He wasn't standing up, he just looked sick and wounded."You need to pull it together!" she insisted in a voice rising with despair, "We gotta fight our way outta here!"

Sam shook his head, gulping for air with valiant effort. "No, I c-can't—" he said and with a sharp cry of pain he unsheathed his machete and pushed it at her. "Just leave me, get outta here, take this and go," he said, panting and looking at her through a mask of pain she hadn't seen on his face since his Lucifer hallucinations. "I can—y-you can use me as a distraction and save yourself," he said.

Alex felt like she'd been slapped, and her reaction was to get pissed. "Are you kidding me?!" She grunted and grabbed him, trying to pull him up. "Get on your feet, I am _not_ leaving you!" she shouted, trying to be heard over the ear-piercing volume of the emergency alarms.

"Alex, I can't, I _can_ _'_ _t_!" Sam insisted, breathless and terrified. "He's everywhere, he's _you_ , and the fire, oh the fire, _ahhh_ —" He shut his eyes. " _Not real, not real,_ " he muttered to himself, his youthful features working hard. "I'll just slow you down," he insisted, looking at her pleadingly. "You gotta go without me!"

Alex grabbed him by his jacket and shook him hard. "Samuel Henry Winchester you fucking listen to me! Get up and _walk_ your ass out of here!" she shouted in a cracking voice. His defeated eyes looked into hers and she yanked at his incredibly heavy form uselessly. "I can't carry you, you _have_ to _walk_!" She shook him again, gritting her teeth as her chest and throat constricted mightily. If he didn't comply, she literally would be unable to move him, and the thought of that had her in the cold fist of mind-numbing panic. "I am not losing three of the most important people in my life on the same day now _get up_ goddammit!" she shouted in rising despair. "If you don't get up I am staying right here and we'll _both_ die!" He shook his head faintly no, and when he still didn't move, Alex hauled off and slapped him in the face. " _GET—UP_!" Shocked and briefly awakened out of his haze, Sam blinked with a slightly ajar mouth. " _Now_!" Alex screamed hoarsley.

And he began to move. Alex pulled on him and he struggled to his feet, swaying mightily, looking around the room with wild eyes. "I see him everywhere, oh god!"

"He's not there, it's just me," Alex said in a shaking voice, under the crook of his arm to help him stay on his feet. "It's just you and me and we're getting out of here," she said, throwing everything she had into convincing herself of that as well as him. Her nerves were screaming, her limbs were trembling. The fear was overwhelming. But she focused on Sam. "Just walk, just keep walking, one foot in front of the other, there you go—come on—" They stumbled out of the lab as quickly as they could and down a hallway that was washed in red. "This way, this way!" she said, piloting them in the direction of the front of the building where surely to god there would be a exit. Sam's steps were uneven and he kept pitching around in jerky motions, making it difficult to move with any efficiency whatsoever.

They rounded a corner and Alex came to an abrupt skidding halt and Sam nearly fell over. About twenty Leviathans who all looked like either Alex or Dick were ahead, and they turned to look at the twins.

" _Shit_ , nope, other way," Alex muttered tensely, then turned around and stopped abruptly. More Leviathans, all either Dick or Alex, were crowding into that hall where they'd just come from, effectively trapping the twins in the corner. Alex backed them into said corner. There had to be at least forty or of them altogether and Sam was at the point of passing out. Alex set him against a wall and he promptly slid down it and breathed loudly, barely able to tell what was going on from the look on his face. He kept blinking hard like something was clouding his vision. Alex stood in front of him, her stance open to both hallways, her machete gripped tight. "Okay, Sam, okay," she said in a tight, high voice as she backed up slightly to her disoriented brother and looked back and forth between the two approaching threats. "I-it's not that many," she said, trying to sound confident even though she was pretty sure the two of them were dead. _Dead_ fifty times over. "Just like… fifty to one," she said, voice rising in frantic quality. "Those are good odds, right?" They were terrible odds, but she couldn't stand for Sam to be any more terrified than he already was. "Bobby, you with me?" she asked, remembering the flask in her pocket. In answer, an office door slammed nearby. "Okay, so _two_ to fifty," she muttered, marginally relieved. _Marginally._ "That's… that's not _worse_."

But as the Leviathan closed in, her resolve began to crumble in favor of fear. There was _no way_ they were getting out of here. No _way_.

"All right, I got the ones to the left, you get the ones on the right," said a deep tenor voice to her right and she jumped, startled, whirling at the unexpected appearance of… someone she didn't know.

Where there had been nothing and no one a heartbeat ago, a tall young man who couldn't be any older than twenty-five stood. For a split second, Alex thought he was _Cas_ because he had a similar build, if a few inches taller, same hair style and color, and _very_ similar facial features—down to the unreal-blue eyes and clefted jaw and strong eyebrows. The resemblance was in fact so striking that she stared and gaped at him openly—was this Jimmy Novak's much younger brother or something? Whoever he was, he was dressed in an outfit that Sam or Dean might have in their closet: dark jeans, steel-toed boots, a gray henley and a dark green cargo jacket. He had a visible self-assurance to his posture and a strong, youthful gleam in his eye; he wore this jaunty, crooked grin on his face at her expression of confounded befuddlement. In his hand he held a very beautiful gunmetal bolo-style machete. He was a hunter. Had to be. But maybe not.

Alex narrowed her gaze at him sharply. "…And just who the hell are _you_?"

The stranger contemplated, like he hadn't thought she'd ask that, then he gave her a conspiratorial look like it was some huge secret. "You'll see," he said cryptically, then whirled the machete gracefully for effect and looked at the Leviathan that were drifting closer. He nodded at them then he looked back at her with a smile playing on his mouth. "Right now, I think we have more _important_ things to do." He grinned, and he was so handsome and dashing that she had trouble not feeling immediately like he _had_ to be a good guy. "Shall we?" he asked, then went to work, attacking the Leviathans to the left just like he'd said—and Alex watched, dumbfounded. The stranger killed the first Leviathan he encountered—a copy of Dick—and instead of the head rolling off the body, the entire Leviathan exploded in thick puff of black dust when he was beheaded. Alex blinked. Then remembered the tablet: _Cut off the head and the body will flounder._ So… now that Dick Roman was dead, Leviathans weren't unkillable bastards? Alrighty then. Good enough for her. As the alarms screamed overhead and Sam sagged against the wall uselessly behind her, Alex went to work fighting for her life. Around her, Leviathans went flying left and right, no doubt thanks to Bobby. They smashed into walls and flew into the ceiling as her invisible ghost partner watched her back and helped her raise a little hell.

Nearby, the mysterious stranger almost looked like he was dancing through the crowd of Leviathan who were all attempting to grab him, hit him, eat him. He dodged their touches and sliced heads like it was just another Thursday to him, like it was a walk in the park in between brutal, powerful blows from his machete. He had no trouble, and seemed to have eyes in the back of his head. Alex however struggled, beheading Leviathan after Leviathan. The dust they exploded into was thick and stung her eyes, it made her gag and gasp, she felt like she was fighting blind, slashing at the thick black cloud and hoping for the best. She put about fifteen down before she heard her brother in clear distress, screaming.

Alex whirled to see that he was being held by the neck by a Leviathan copy of herself. A wide mouth with teeth was gaping open, about to bite Sam's head off. _Oh no._ Even though she knew she was too far away to get to him in time, she ran. And then a small, shorter figure dashed in from seemingly nowhere out of the cloud of black dust and yanked the Leviathan off of Sam, who hit his head on the floor when he fell. Sam did not move again. Alex froze, watching none other than Zip grapple with his own kind and then with a loud, desperate shout, he whipped out a machete he'd had hidden in his hoodie and finished his attacker off. Panting heavily, he looked at Alex, who was dumbfounded. "I _killed_ you!" she protested.

He pointed to his head, sort of prim. "Our _heads_ grow back," he said, then abruptly whirled as another Alex copy attacked him. "Or they _used_ to!" he shouted, struggling against his attacker. He glanced at Alex, then his eyes shot open wide even as he held off his own kind. "Behind you!"

She turned fast and ducked just in time, avoiding being eaten alive on the spot. She kicked the Leviathan in the torso and used its stumble as her way in. With a slash of her blade, that Leviathan exploded into another thick poof of ashy dust. Overhead, the calm female robot voice announced something that made Alex freak out even more than ever. " _Final. Warning. One minute remaining until facility destruction._ "

Covered in what looked like soot but grinning widely, the tall nameless hunter who looked like Cas called over to her. "Hey, so do you guys think we should go or what!?" he asked, then laughedmerrily and picked up then threw a Leviathan with what appeared to be superhuman strength. That Leviathan crashed into a few others, knocking them over like bowling pins or dominoes. "Hole in one!" he cheered.

A little appalled, Alex gave the stranger an indignant look. " _Hey_! This isn't playtime!" she snapped, ignoring the wrong game reference he'd made. "We gotta get out of here!"

"Sorry m—" his eyes went really wide and his smile disappeared like he'd caught himself about to say something wrong. " _Ma_ _'_ _am_."

A few Leviathan remained nearby, and Zip was at a standoff with them, holding his machete out and daring one of them to mess with him. None of them did. Alex tugged on Sam, who was too heavy for her to lift or even drag effectively—but she had to _get him out_. He looked awful—cut up face, grimy gray color from sooty ash drifting over onto him, and her heart hurt. _Please be okay, Sammy_. The stranger came over and shooed Alex away then picked Sam up like he weighed nothing and put him over his shoulder then stood up easily from his crouch. Alex was pretty convinced this guy wasn't even a human at this point. He couldn't be. The alarms continued to scream overhead, urging them to get out while they still could.

"This way!" Zip said, then took off at a run down the hall. He slashed at a Dick copy as he ran past one, and the black dust exploded across Alex's side as she stayed in stride with the strange man who carried Sam's unconscious form. They ran through another hallway and then into the reception area, which was huge and grand and deserted. Maybe for dramatics or maybe because the doors were locked and he knew better, Zip picked up a marble coffee table and flung it through the all-glass wall that looked into the parking lot, and he waited for Alex and company, urging them to be fast in scrambling out the ground-level window.

They ran out into the parking lot, and Alex, who had kept a rough running estimate of the time they had left, realized it was about to get a whole lot hotter and she shoved the man carrying Sam sideways against a pickup truck with a shout of " _get down_!" Zip followed, falling into Alex clumsily. No sooner had they ducked behind the vehicle than the blast tore through the air. A small sonic boom deafened them all as the ground shook and glass flew like sideways rain, scattering across the pavement as a blinding heat wave rippled out and made the air shimmer. Car alarms went off, a strange chorus of beeps and wails that didn't stop. And then it was over.

The stranger grunted and set Sam down gently to sit unconscious against one of the truck tires. Alex checked Sam's pulse, which was normal, and she smoothed her hand against the side of his face, deeply worried about him to the point of sickness. "You okay?" the stranger asked her, looking her over carefully.

She looked at him. His face was dusty gray and his piercing blue eyes reminded her of another pair she knew. "F-fine…" she said, a little dumbstruck to tell the truth. He nodded and stood up, checked out the damage done over the bed of the truck.

Zip, still clenching his machete and silent with a drawn face, stood up from where he'd been crouching. "Gonna see if any got out," he said tersely, then disappeared.

Alex stood slowly and looked at the building that had just blown up. It was on fire now and even though it wasn't utterly obliterated, the explosion would have done enough to destroy all that creamer Kevin had mentioned. And hopefully the explosion killed the majority of Leviathan scum that had leaked out of Purgatory and into the human population, too.

The stranger shook his head, seemingly amazed at the explosion. "Damn," he commented through a grin that made his eyes light up. "That was bad _ass._ " He suddenly seemed contrite and glanced at her in veiled worry. "Uh. Sorry."

Apologies for his very G-rated swearing didn't interest her. "W-who the hell taught you to fight like that?" Alex asked, impressed and wary all at once, trying to figure out who he was and where he'd come from.

His eyes faltered into a more vulnerable, hesitant expression and he looked down at a hand, brushing at his blackened palm with his own thumb. "The best." His eyes flicked back up to hers, and Alex could swear... she knew him somehow.

Softening into curiosity still tempered by caution, she eyed him closely. "You got a name?"

The stranger was hesitant as he looked at her with slightly squinted up eyes. "Look, I'm not even supposed to be here…"

"Who _are_ you?" she pressed. "Angel? Demon?"

A cheeky little grin made his mouth curve up to one side and he looked down, amused for reasons she remained in the dark about. "None of the above," he said in cryptic playfulness, then his shockingly blue eyes looked into hers and his smile faded. "Look, I can't stay. I just… just thought it might be better if you went through the next few months with _out_ the broken arm."

Alex's puzzled feeling grew, even as the feeling kept growing that this person was something very, very significant. "...What broken arm?"

He smiled, shrugged his hands out, carefree and playful and seemingly satisfied with himself. " _Exactly_."

Gosh. He just… something about those incredibly blue eyes and facial features. Even the way his face moved reminded her of Cas, if a much more animated and self-assured version. Stilled, Alex searched his eyes deeply. "Do I _know_ you?" she breathed, convinced that she did but had forgotten him somehow or, maybe... hadn't met him yet.

He said nothing, but his face softened and some faintly sad quality settled in his eyes. He smiled at her without words, and Alex understood without being told. Felt his answer. _Yes_. He looked down and fished out a scrap of old yellowed paper from his pocket. "Here," he said, handing it to her.

Alex took it slowly and opened it. On it, words she couldn't read in some ancient language were written in spidery black ink underneath a sketch of a huge, bare tree. Beside the tree there was a round object drawn with a strange symbol inscribed onto it. "…What is this?" she asked, looking at him for explanation.

"The main reason I came back here," he replied, looking at her seriously. "Something that's gonna come in really handy for you real soon." He smiled again, and he seemed fond, familial, and knowing of her. "I think you'll know when to use it."

It was starting to drive her crazy. "Okay, seriously." She looked at him hard. "Who are you? Tell me."

"Sorry," he said, wincing sympathetically as he looked around briefly. "I can't say. My dad would kick my _ass_ for this little stunt. He says time travel is something we shouldn't mess with but… well." There was that grin again, this time accompanied with a roguish shrug. "Every once in awhile, I like to bend the rules a little."

Nearby, Sam groaned and Alex turned to look at him. He was blinking and becoming conscious, waking back up. Thank god. Alex turned back to look at the stranger. But he was gone. Nowhere to be seen. She looked around for him, disconcerted. But he had seemingly vanished out of thin air. Thrown off and mystified, intruiged, and struck by the possible significance of what had just happened, Alex had no choice but to get back to business. She stashed the piece of paper into her jacket pocket and decided it was time to get the hell outta dodge. She'd had enough crazy shit happen for one day. "Come on, Sammy," she said, groaning a little as she helped him stand.

He stood with great effort, moaning the entire time. He was obviously woozy and injured, maybe more mentally than anything else though. "Who was that?" he asked in a mumble. "Looked like Cas."

"Don't know," she answered honestly, but she would spend many hours later questioning exactly that. "Can you walk?"

He gave her this heartbreakingly defeated look, a soft, broken smile. "My body is on fire," he said softly. "Walking is… _no_."

Alex dug deep and decided she was gonna get him out of here even if it _killed_ her. She pulled his arm over her shoulder and put herself into the crook of his arm and then looped an arm around his waist. "Come on, we're gonna go get that car over there," she said, nodding at the Honda Accord a few rows down. She knew how to jumpstart older cars best since they had wires easily accessible under steering wheels, and that Honda was the only old car she saw in the parking lot full of fancy, new cars.

"O-okay," Sam said weakly, and he tried his best, but he was falling over and Alex could barely support his heavy self.

"Need a hand?" came a familiar voice. Alex looked at Zip, who stood nearby and looked at her sadly. His machete was stuck through his belt. "Or do you wanna cut my head off again?"

Alex breathed hard as she struggled to stand under Sam's weight. Zip had saved her brother's life back in there. He'd saved her life, too. She didn't really trust him per-say. But she also couldn't see killing him again, at least not today. "I'll pass on the cutting your head off thing," she said gruffly, and he said nothing, just went to Sam's other side and helped her walk his huge, two-hundred-pound-plus frame to the old Honda. All the windows in all the cars had shattered, so it was easy to unlock the car and get in it. Just as they managed to shove Sam's woozy self into the back seat, Sam's phone began to ring. Heart jumping, Alex hesitated, then scooped it out of his pocket with some effort. Maybe she'd been half crazy to think the name she would see was going to be Dean or even Cas. Instead, the caller ID said _J. Ward_.

Alex stared at the name and almost didn't answer. But it could be important. "Jamie," she greeted cautiously. "Hey."

Zip watched a few feet off, his expression shrewd. Jamie's voice sounded surprised on the other end of the line. "…Alex? Hey." There was a long pause that felt incredibly awkward. Alex stared at the building she had just run from and it was all sinking in anew. Gone. Dead. _Dead_. "Look, I'm sorry, but I was—I'm trying to get a hold of Dean," Jamie said, but Alex barely heard her as she relieved the moment when Dick had exploded and Dean and Cas disappeared. _Died_. "I-it's kind of urgent."

Blank, maybe saying it to herself more than anyone else, Alex's voice was barely audible. "Dean's dead."

There was a long silence, then a severely confused, anxious, "… _What_?"

"He's _dead,_ " she repeated, louder. "Th-they're both _dead_." Her voice caught and she dropped the phone completely, took a couple staggering steps forward, then caught herself against the side of the car and began to break down as it really hit her for real. Both of them taken away at the most unthinkable time when she was on unsteady ground with them. The fights, the misunderstandings, the hurts they had dealt each other, the unfinished business. Well, now it was finished whether she liked it or not. Pain ripped her apart inside as realization crashed over her again and again and she thought of two men she held as most beloved who were now lost forever. How many times could a heart break before it turned to dust?

Zip gently placed the fallen phone, which he'd turned off, onto the top of the car beside her. He put a hand onto her back. She shuddered and pulled away, wiped at her face. He was looking at her grimly when she turned a semi-glare onto him. "You let me live. Thank you." He paused, then worked his eyebrows inward. "They're _not_ dead. The angel and your brother. Not really, anyway."

Not dead? Alex's tears stopped immediately thanks to a rush of hope. "What?" she could see it in his eyes: he _knew_ something. "Where are they?" she asked urgently, fully prepared to slice it out of him if she had to.

His answer was somber and dark. "Purgatory." Her blood went cold in shock. He hesitated, then seemed to think better of what he'd told her. "I'm sorry, but they're _not_ coming back. There are very few ways out."

"But there _are_ ways," she responded immediately, because 'few ways' meant there were ways. And Alex, owner of one passed-out brother in the backseat, a ghost uncle whose spirit was tied to the flask in her pocket, and a Purgatory-bound husband and brother… well, let's just say she was _not_ of the mind to leave them there. "How do I get there?" she demanded, a little out of her mind at the moment.

Zip eyed her oddly. "Uh… you _don_ _'_ _t_."

"Like _hell_ I don't," she fired back, pressing into Zip's space threateningly. "If they got in, then so can I! And if there are ways out, you're not leaving until you tell me!"

Zip shook his head, backing up a step from her. "I can't go back there. I _won_ _'_ _t_." His voice shook. "It's… the worst place you can imagine. The darkness is there even in daylight. And even when you die, you come back. It's nothing but an endless massacre. Empty. Cold. Black and white."

Alex managed a sharp, derisive laugh. "…And you think, for one _second_ , that I would leave them there?" she asked, incredulous and terrified all at once. He said nothing and Alex prompted him forcefully. "You said you wanted to help. So _help!_ "

Zip looked at her for a long, reluctant moment, then let out a tensely held breath. "If you can find the portal piece, I'll consider it."

Alex made a confused face. "The what?"

"The portal piece. It's supposed to be in the Garden of Eden," he said, making Alex's eyebrows rise. "Somewhere on Earth. God hid it there, according to old legends." He gestured in flippant, half-convinced uncertainty. "Apparently, if you have it you can activate a portal from Purgatory at the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. It's this big ass tree like smack dab center of the place, can't miss it." He drew his mouth up doubtfully to one side. "No one knows what the piece looks like or if it's even real, or where the Garden of Eden even _is_ , but… yeah. That would be the only way out unless the stories about the human portal are true, which, you know. Probably wouldn't work on _him_." Zip's dislike of Cas was still a thing, then. But he let out another weary breath and grudgingly continued. "So, if you can find that… I'll tell you how to get in. Maybe."

It sounded like a tall order. Find the Garden of Eden and then some kind of relic that no one knew about? "How would I know what the piece is if no one knows what it looks like?" she asked, feeling like she was gonna fail before she even tried.

"Exactly," Zip said, seeming to find it impossibly hopeless. "I mean, I think I'd recognize it if I saw it, maybe. Because old things, things from the time when God was here… they have a certain energy to them." He shrugged, scratched his ear, crossed his arms. It was like he wanted her to give up on the idea.

And then Alex remembered the piece of paper that strange hunter he given her. "Wait. Wait." She pulled it out and then unfolded it, showing him the sketch. "Is this the tree?" she asked.

Zip frowned at the paper in surprise. "…Yeah, I think so," he said, then looked at her in vast apprehensive interest. "...Where'd you get this?"

She ignored the question and tapped the writing she didn't recognize as any language she'd seen before. "Can you read that?"

Zip could, and she knew he could. He hesitated, then looked at her grimly. "Yeah. It says ' _the way out._ '"

Her heart jumped. Alex looked at the paper one more time and the circle with the symbol on it. That had to be a drawing of the piece. So all she had to do was find the Garden of Eden and track down this bitch. _Thank you, Cas lookalike, whoever you are..._

Alex pocketed the piece of paper and decided right then and there that today was the start of a new chapter. She had made her mind up basically the second Zip said they weren't dead that she was gonna _do something_ about that. Basically, whatever it took. But she decided something else, too. She was gonna save Sam from whatever was happening to him and she was gonna find Kevin. And while she was at it, she was gonna see what she could do about, Bobby, too. Then, Purgatory better get ready because she didn't plan to pull any punches. In fact, she was beginning to feel so pissed and filled with righteous fury that she pitied the jackass who would stand in her way. The time for moping around and regretting everything was _over._ Gone was the day when she would just sit by and cry about the shit life kept handing her. She was tired of getting run over and being a punching bag in life and she was ready to be the one who delivered the punches instead. Alex swiped Sam's phone from the top of the car and shoved it at Zip, her adrenaline at an all time high. "This is your phone now," she said, her voice commanding and unforgiving. "Do _not_ lose it. I will _call you_ when I have the damn piece and you will _tell me_ how to get into Purgatory, all right? I don't care how long it takes and I don't care what I have to do." She held up a warning finger. "If you disappear on me, if you pull anything, Purgatory will be a fluffy little daydream compared to the hell I give you." She gave him an incredibly ugly look. "Now get the fuck outta here."

" _Geez_ …" Zip muttered, pocketing the phone sullenly. "What'd I ever do to you?"

He got quite the look for that one.

* * *

**Meanwhile**   
**Boise, Idaho**

"He's _dead._ Th-they're both _dead_."

The call ended and stunned, no longer able to stand, Jamie sat down slowly, not seeing anything in front of herself. Dead? How? When? No. Not Dean...! He was supposed to survive. He was supposed to outlive her at the very _least._ Jamie's blank, horrified gaze dropped down to what she held in her hands. The test she'd just taken. She was supposed to have waited for Dean but then she'd second guessed herself and gotten antsy and panicked. And now this.

Jamie's entire world was crumbling around her anew. Dean was dead. And she was holding a pregnancy test that had a little blue plus sign in the result window. _Positive_. Barely able to breathe as she struggled to comprehend what was happening, Jamie clenched that test tight in her hand and balled her fist up to her chest, which was hurting so badly she thought she was going to have a heart attack. _What am I gonna do? What the hell am I gonna do?_ The tears came, and she cursed herself, she despaired over how to face this alone and what to do with her promised death day marching ever closer.

* * *

**Six Days Later**   
**Lakewood, Washington**   
**Western State Hospital**

Alex was in a place that had become too familiar as of late. A mental ward. But this time, not for herself or for Cas. For Sam again. He couldn't sleep—it was like it had been before but worse. He hadn't slept even once since Dean and Cas had been sucked away to Purgatory. And he just _wasn_ _'_ _t_ doing good at all.

Sam laid in bed nearby and he jumped every few seconds as if a loud noise was bothering him. Alex watched, her face pained as she saw how he endured his never-ending torture. Yesterday, he'd stopped responding to her completely. He didn't seem to see or hear anything she said or did—the hospital staff couldn't get him to respond, either. He ate nothing and drank nothing as of two days ago—they were having to feed him with a tube. His color was pale, his eyes had dark bags underneath them, he had grown a thick stubble beard, and his shoulders slumped all the time. He did not smile at all, ever. He muttered things about Lucifer and 'his plans' and 'have to stop them' and 'can't let him do that to us' and he had insisted frequently in the days when he'd been able to converse that Alex had to get away from him. He wouldn't say why. He was not the same Sam she knew and loved. He was jumpy and haunted, traumatized, internally ragged, and at death's door. Soon, he would die if he didn't sleep. Alex didn't have time to criss-cross the country and visit shamans and witches and medicine healers, although she doubted any of them could do anything for him. Cas had been pretty certain before that nothing would ever truly remove Sam's insanity. Only shift it.

Speaking of Cas. Every single day that passed was another day Dean and Castiel were trapped in Purgatory. Was Cas still loose a few screws? Was Dean okay down there? Would a human survive multiple kills in a place made for monsters? Would an angel? She didn't know. But she _had to get them out_. She was the only one left who could do a single damn thing and it was in her hands. It was time to man up. Or woman up. Whatever. She thought of Castiel the last time she had laid eyes on him. He'd been yelling at her to get back. Get away. He'd known she would be sucked in with them if she'd gone any closer. _I hope you_ _'_ _re safe. I hope you and Dean can keep each other safe. I hope I see you again_. She stared at the table she'd set up in Sam's room. It contained a demon summons. Nothing fancy. But the thought of why she was summoning this specific demon was the clincher. She contemplated it again. Did she really want to do this?

Alex looked at Bobby's flask, which she'd packed into an oversized ziploc bag full of salt for his own good. He wasn't able to do anything with all that sodium around him. She sighed and winced, shifting her arm slightly in the sling it was in. Oh, yeah, her arm _was_ broken. Despite what that Cas-looking guy had said he 'came back to change,' Alex had sustained the break after Bobby, in a fit of completely irrational rage over losing Dean, crashed the car as she tried to get herself and her loopy brother to a motel room. That's when she decided Bobby needed to be subdued for his own good until she could figure out what the hell to do with him. She still wasn't sure. But she had an idea. A wild idea that might not work, but… hey. It was worth a shot. But most important; first and foremost… Sam. She looked over at her twin brother, who was breathing hard through his nose and staring at the ceiling, then wincing repeatedly and thrashing his head back and forth, muttering protests of " _please, no, no, don_ _'_ _t_ _…_ "

Unable to see him suffer any longer, completely done with having to stand by powerlessly as he went through agony, Alex stood up from the chair she'd been sitting in, picked up the pack of matches, and decided _time_ _'_ _s up. I_ _'_ _m doing this._ She struck a match and dropped it into the bowl and recited the Latin lowly, telling herself to just do it. She'd thought it through and had it all set in her mind. And now came the hard part: following through.

The flames leapt up and died, and across from her, who should appear but the King of Hell. His mouth was in a wan, unimpressed line. "Ah yes. Heard you survived." He sighed as if he were disappointed.

"Shut up Crowley," Alex said, no interest in his banter. "We have business do."

His eyebrows rose. " _We_ have business to do? Darling, whatever do you mean?" He offered her a sympathetic little smile. "I'm afraid I've no interest." Alex glanced upward and Crowley did too. A huge devil's trap was painted on the ceiling and Crowley's face fell. "Of course," he muttered.

" _You_ are not leaving this room until I have what I _want_ ," Alex said in a measured, dark voice. She walked a few slow steps outside of the circle.

"Which _is_ _…_?" Crowley prompted impatiently.

Her eyes snapped over to his. "Very specific."

"My goodness." Crowley chuckled deep in his throat, smiling devilishly. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you were about to peddle your _soul_ to me."

Alex looked at him unnervingly without blinking. "That's _exactly_ what I'm about to do."


	105. Deal Or No Deal

" _The mildest, drowsiest sister has been known to turn tiger if her sibling is in trouble._ _"  
_ \- Clara Ortega

* * *

The year had been 1988.

Five years old and dressed as Superman (well, wearing a sheet tied around his neck like a cape, anyway), Sam Winchester was in a heap on the ground in front of a shed, sobbing and clutching his left arm. "Owww, _oww_! Augh, Dean, it _hurts_!" he howled, tears streaming down his little face.

His big brother tossed aside his Batman mask, the one his sister had painstakingly cut out of paper then colored black with a marker. "Hey hey hey, buddy, don't move okay? It could be broken!" Dean said, his young face wrinkled up in worry as he crouched with his brother on the leafy ground. Sam wailed a little louder when his sister, distraught by her twin's crying, took his hurt arm in an effort to look at it for signs of injury. There weren't any, not outwardly anyway, but Sam's shriek of pain at her touch made Dean pull her hand off their brother as her eyes bulged wide—she was further upset that she'd hurt him. "Gentle, Al, _gentle_ , it's okay," Dean consoled. But Alex began to cry too, upset at what was happening. Her entire little face was colored lime-green with a highlighter, lips and all (Dean had caught Sam helping her 'become the Hulk' just before they decided to jump off the shed and pretend to fly), so it was a bit of a strange sight to see. Dad would definitely kill all three of them when he found out the hijinks they'd gotten up to and the injury Sam had sustained. But he wasn't around at that time, and so Dean stepped up to the crisis. In doing so, he seemed godlike to the twins. He stayed calm, hid his own panic, and was firm about what to do. He took a bike that was there at the old house they were squatting in and put Sam on the handlebars and had Alex hang onto his back piggyback style. To this very day, she still remembered how that sour, chemically highlighter tasted in her mouth from where Sam had missed when he colored her face. She still remembered how his sheet-cape had flapped back at her on that bike ride. She still remembered how Dean had distracted them as he pedaled along with a story he made up on the spot of how Batman took the Hulk and Superman on an adventure to the hospital to defeat True Evil.

That was the kind of big brother Dean had always been—thoughtless for himself when his brother or sister were in trouble, willing to do whatever it took to get them better and make them feel safe. How hard would it have had to been for a nine-year-old boy to pedal that bike almost three full miles to the local hospital with the weight of both his siblings on him? At the time, a mere five years old, Alex hadn't wondered about that. Her big brother Dean was cool and big—he was invincible and all-powerful; he knew everything and could do grown-up stuff she and Sam couldn't even dream of. He never needed help with anything and nothing was too hard for him. He was brave and strong, stronger than her and Sam put together.

These days, she knew all too well how Dean wasn't invincible at all, not even a little.

He had been the backbone that held the family together. When Sam left for Stanford and when Dad gave up on the family as a whole, Dean hadn't let his grief defeat him. Instead, he stood up taller and stayed at Alex's side, loyal to a fault, family first no matter even if family had become just a brother and a sister. When he died after his soul deal came due, the family had fallen apart without him—Sam and Alex had gone their separate ways and endured their own personal hells without Dean to anchor them. When Sam jumped into the cage, Dean had been there for Alex and had been willing to keep the family going—but she had run away, trying to give him what she thought he wanted and deserved: a much less broken family. She still regretted that decision. And even more, she regretted how things had been between them when he was ripped away yet again six days ago when he and Cas had sent Dick back to where he belonged.

The thought of Cas twisted her chest. _Oh, Cas._ The way he'd been taken from her time and time again with each time being more painful and unthinkable than the last… it was the cruelest joke fate had ever played. The thought of him was so heavy, so sad, so depressing. He was lost to her, and honestly, he _had_ been for what felt like a long time now. Ever since he walked into that lake, his returns had been false teases—even though he'd turned out to have been alive again, it wasn't the same. And then he took on Sam's insanity and it had been like the lights were on and no one was home. He'd been there but he also wasn't there at all. Now he was gone again, snatched away completely after delivering the killing blow to the evil he'd brought into the world in the first place. In a book, it would have sounded tragic and beautiful that the hero had sacrificed and redeemed himself. To Alex, it was utterly unfair and heartbreaking.

It all left her here, with every person she loved in the world taken away from her. Bobby was on the verge of becoming a vengeful spirit, Dean and Castiel were trapped in some dimension out of her reach, and Sam was _dying_ slowly in front of her eyes. She was alone, with a broken arm and no place to turn.

For the past six days she'd stayed at Sam's side as he crumbled into a nearly-unrecognizable state. She'd wracked her mind for solutions, fixes, and hope of any kind. Jamie wasn't answering her phone, Garth was in Timbuktu (no, he was _seriously_ in Timbuktu hunting a Rugaru—it sounded like a joke but was apparently not), Alex's other calls to hunter contacts in search of healers or help for Sam had turned up totally fruitless. What _else_ could she do except what she was planning to do here tonight? Who _else_ could she trust to find a solution? It was _all_ on her. She was the _only_ one who could do anything to save the ones she loved. So _dammit_ she was gonna do whatever it took because if she didn't, _no one_ would. In the past, she'd been through a lot of craziness and impossible situations. She'd been all over the place in how she reacted to things but mostly, she'd let others do the heavy lifting while she supported and provided the backup— _or_ she'd done rash, half-thought through things in the hopes of a good outcome. Today, she was up against a wall with only one viable option left. She had told herself she'd never do this, but she couldn't— _wouldn't_ —stand by and let Sam die. There were no fixes she knew of for him short of getting an angel to take on his pain. So, she was about to do something she'd been considering in depth for the past six days since Sam's hallucinations had returned. She understood the risks, the implications, and the fact that Crowley had refused her the last time she'd tried this. But today, she refused to take no for an answer. Not with Sammy wasting away at such a young age, not with Dean and Cas trapped somewhere without help, not with Bobby stuck between dimensions. And Kevin—she had to find a way to save that kid, too. Basically, she had work to do, and this asshole King of Hell was going to help her get shit done.

That's why Crowley currently stood before her now in the hospital room where Sam laid sleeplessly in a waking coma—that's why as Sam stared up at the ceiling blankly with a face as a mask of pain, the demon was chuckling and commenting airily on why Alex had called him there.

"My goodness. If I didn't know better, I'd think you were about to peddle your _soul_ to me," he was saying.

Alex's answer was immediate and flat. "That's _exactly_ what I'm about to do."

The demon's smile faltered in favor of a confused frown. Crowley stared at her hard and narrowed his eyes deeply. "…Come again? …Are you yanking my sack?" He looked something like indignant and inconvenienced. "You want to try and sell me your soul? … _Again_?" A falsely sympathetic smile abruptly broke across his face. "Alex, _sweetie,_ don't you remember last time you tried this? Answers the same. _No_." He paused, his needly eyes flickering over her in dark fascination. "Although I _am_ curious what you wanted. Is it the angel again or something less painfully predictable?"

Alex shook her head once, her features set hard and uncompromising. Maybe she didn't look very foreboding with an arm in a sling and all that but she felt severe enough to kill with a stare alone. " _Sam_. He needs help now or he's gonna die. So _you_ are gonna make his brain, his _mind_ like it was before the wall, before that soulless crap. You're gonna fix him once and for all. No more hallucinations, no more Lucifer, no more of whatever the _hell_ this is doing this to him."

Crowley was wan, his eyes sliding briefly to Sam, who groaned in faint pain and shivered, curling up on the bed into a fetal position. "Ah, so touching, a sister's love for her ridiculously-oversized brother," he muttered, obviously finding her pathetic. "You lot make me want to _gag_. Answer's still no."

Her heart beat fast and furious. "You don't get to say no and I'm not _done,_ " Alex snapped, her tone inspiring a genuinely taken aback look from the demon. But when she spoke again, the surprise on his face doubled: "Bobby Singer. You're gonna bring him back."

After taking a couple flabbergasted seconds, Crowley looked at her darkly. "Well, I'm a bit _insulted._ " He narrowed his eyes at her sharply, like he was having a hard time believing her demands. "You know soul deals aren't an all-you-can-eat buffet, right? You know you get _one thing_ , don't you?"

"Oh gee, _really_?" Alex cracked back.

An eyebrow arched just slightly. "Would you look at the sass on you," Crowley commented in a murmur, and even though he was trying to play it like he didn't care and had no reaction, Alex could see that he was getting irritated in earnest. His eyes went up to the large painted devil's trap on the ceiling that kept him stuck in that room. "Do you think if you keep me in time-out long enough I'll change my mind?" he asked snidely. "Are you stupid, or are you deranged?" When she said nothing, he leveled with her. "Look, Alexandra dearest. We go way back. We're, what's the word, BFFs. Which is why you'll believe me when I say that even if I _wanted_ to, I can't _take_ your soul."

"Bullshit," she replied flatly.

"Language," he corrected teasingly. "All right then, if you really want the truth… I don't _want_ it. It's too…" he gestured at her with both hands clumsily as he tried to come up with a way of putting it. "Cut-and-pasty." She gave him a weird look and he tried again. "Too cobbled together after what Cas did to it back in the day. It's... lost its value," he explained apathetically, "where I'm concerned anyway."

Alex nodded that she'd heard him as she worked her jaw slightly. She had been afraid he'd say that, because that meant she had to do something _really_ drastic to get him to deal. "I thought you might say that. Which is why I have more than just my soul on the table."

Crowley frowned slightly, then got a knowing, flirtatious glint in his eyes. "Don't tell me you're gonna offer me a roll in the hay," he murmured, then eyed her thoughtfully, biting half of his bottom lip just slightly as his suggestive eyes slid upwards over her body. "Or _do_ say that. Could be interesting."

Alex was like cardboard. "I'll _work_ for you."

He looked mildly taken aback and mystified. " _Work_ for me?" His face became very doubtful and he eyed her broken arm. "In _that_ condition? Also, tell me, did you forget the part where I have hundreds of doltish minions who do my every last bidding?"

"And did you forget who I am or what I can do?" she countered, banking everything on this and trying to up-sell herself even though she knew it really was a long shot. But with her brother sweating and exhausted and sick behind her, she tried her best to get Crowley to bite. "Did you forget your little peons used to be scared of me? The demon blood girl? I've done more with less, and you know it."

"Hm." A slow smiled played on Crowley's face. "Interesting proposition, I'll give you that. Might be entertaining at the very least to have you on the payroll. God knows there's nothing good on TV these days." He chuckled and threw her a cheeky grin. "And yet alas. Still not interested." He put his hands into the pockets of his slacks and strolled aimlessly around the space he was confined to. Alex felt her insides screaming at her—she was striking out with this royally, and that meant losing Sam and she was at the point of getting down on her knees and _begging_ Crowley and saying if a 'roll in the hay' was what it took, she'd do it to save her brother. And then the demon continued speaking. "I do have one final curiosity though," he said, eyeing her with fond curiosity. "Riddle me this. Why wouldn't you throw in the fates of good old Ape and Halo while you're making ridiculous requests?"

Thoroughly aggravated with his refusals and her lack of remaining options, Alex was short on temper. "Because I can do _that_ myself. I don't need you for that. I'm getting them out."

Mild surprise flickered across Crowley's face and he stopped walking. "Oh are you. Out of _Purgatory_." When she said nothing at his doubtfulness, his smugness faded and his interest increased. "How'll you get there?"

"I have a way."

"Oh do you." He hesitated, growing much more interested as he sauntered a little closer. "…And how'll you get out once you've gotten in?"

Suspicious of his sudden interest, Alex narrowed her eyes, sensing that maybe this could be an 'in' with the demon. "…Why?" she asked, cautious and hopeful.

Crowley considered her for a moment before replying. "I recently learned of an… object of interest I very much want to have," he said, keeping himself vague. "…Guess where it is." He smiled as she understood his implication, and he swept his arms out accommodatingly, giving the impression pleasantry. "Well, Miss Winchester. You're in luck. I think I've changed my mind!" She swallowed deeply, mildly shellshocked that he was going to deal with her after all. It became very real to her in that moment, and her confidence took a hit as the risks played in her mind again, frightening her. What if her secret—the immortality—didn't turn out to be a safeguard like she hoped it would? "Here's how it'll go," Crowley said, laying out his terms as Alex struggled internally. "Sell me your little patchwork soul… work for me _six_ months starting today, torturing and maiming and what have you… get me this object I so desire from Purgatory (I'll give you adequate time to get yourself there and back again)… and then and _only then_ after you've ticked all the boxes does Sam walk."

Alex's eyebrows slammed together. "He's dying _now,_ jackass! He doesn't _have_ six months! He doesn't even have six _days!_ "

Crowley was utterly calm in the face of her explosion. "Didn't let me finish," he commented mildly. "As a gesture of solidarity, I'll give him _nice_ hallucinations. Cute fluffy ones with puppies and kittens and whatever else his little plaid-patterned heart desires." At the look of utter confusion and dislike on Alex's face, Crowley shrugged. "Call me a head-case, but if you're anything like your hubby you're a double-cross and a half. I don't _trust_ you, or _anyone_ for that matter. A demon has to protect his interests, after all. Sam will live, and if you make good on your end, he'll be all the man we remember him to be. Isn't that what you want?"

Yes. It was. Alex hesitated. "And Bobby?"

Crowley was mildly aggravated at her question. " _No_. You ask too much, Mouse."

"It's _not_ too much," she argued. "Work with me here Crowley, this is my fucking _soul_ we're talking about here—glued together or not, it's still a _soul_!"

Crowley studied her for a second, looking past her agitated exterior. "You seem a touch cavalier about this whole thing, don't you. Is it that you're that desperate to save Moose, or that you think you can pull one over on me? Because _that_ would be a dangerous assumption to make, darling." His eyes glittered darkly and he stepped as close as the devil's trap would let him step to her. His voice lowered to a gravelly velvet murmur. "Are you still willing to deal even if I tell you your whole immortal stint means diddly squat once the deed's done?" He saw the surprise widen her eyes and he shrugged as if in sympathy. "Soul deal trumps all, I'm afraid. Even what an unhinged angel-turned-god did to you. Play ball with me and it's bye-bye to that immortal nonsense once and for all." Thoroughly shocked and caught out that Crowley _knew_ about that and was going to play it against her, Alex was stuck in silence. Honestly, she'd thought the immortality thing would keep her from having to pay up—although now, she didn't know why she had assumed that. Soul deals were basically the most powerful magic known in the universe—she should have known the hounds could kill what no one or nothing else could. "Tell you what," Crowley said at her stiff silence. "Do a good job, go above and beyond when you work for me… _maybe_ Bobby finds himself a real boy again."

Alex looked at Crowley with pain clenching her chest. "All I get's a 'maybe'?" she asked.

The demon was half-playful half-genuine. "It's more than anyone else gets, love."

Alex took in a deep breath and thought it through. What was to think through, though? "So Sam lives if I do this," she surmised, already knowing that this was going to happen. That she was going to say yes and trade her life for his. Because she'd never be able to live with herself if she went the selfish, scared route and let Sam die. It just wasn't within her to be capable of.

Crowley nodded obligingly. "And he's back to his irritatingly moosey self once you've completed the twelve-step plan." He abruptly raised a finger as if he'd thought of something. " _Oh_ , forgot to mention. You'll have ten days once you've gotten back from Purgatory to the realm of Earth again before my pups come howling your name."

Alex balked. "Ten _days_?" she repeated, thunderstruck. Most people got ten _years_.

Crowley was dark and dangerous. "I'm doing you a favor here, Mouse, be glad I didn't say ten _minutes._ " A smirk played across his devilish features as he watched her process and think it over with a stark expression. "Decisions, decisions…" he commented, then lowered his chin and voice at the same time. "So. What's it going to be?"

Alex hated him so much in that moment and yet he was the only way to get anything done. Her worst enemy was her greatest asset. The irony was killer—she'd been so horrified and angry with Cas for dealing with this monster, and yet here she was about to do the same damn thing. Alex yanked out her pistol and cocked it furiously, pointed it at the ceiling (they were on the top level of the hospital), and shot a hole into one of the solid lines of the devil's trap, setting Crowley free. " _Yes,_ " she spat, shoving the gun back into her waistband and staring at the demon maliciously.

"Dramatic," Crowley commented offhandedly, not ruffled one bit by her actions. His eyes were gobbling her up. " _Well_. Only one thing left to do…" his dark gaze traveled her face lengthily, his eyes resting on her lips as his smile became a shade more sinful. "Can't say I mind this part," he murmured, enjoying the look on her face as he waited smugly. "Give us a kiss, love."

Refusing to let him have the satisfaction of intimidating her, Alex strode forward and grabbed him by the back of the neck with her good hand then pushed her lips to his hard and unfeelingly, meaning only to stay there for a second. And then his hand clamped down at the back of her head and refused to let her leave the kiss and in fact only pulled her against his mouth harder. As she tried to pull away, he only went with her and wrapped an arm around her back to hold her in place—it hurt her broken arm to be crushed that closely together. When she tried to protest, he tilted his head sideways and let his tongue dive into her mouth artlessly as he chuckled in the deepest part of his throat. He tasted spicy and boozy, like cigars and bourbon, and she fought the kiss with a protest of " _mmfff_!" When that didn't work, she bit his tongue ruthlessly and he was startled enough to let go of her—she shoved hard with her working hand, separating herself from him as she spat out the blood she tasted, fear roiling in her veins as she worried about if that small taste of demon's blood would affect her.

"Well aren't _you_ saucy," Crowley commented, dashing away the blood that was creased in the side of his mouth. He looked sort of _approving_ of the bite she'd given him much to her dismay. "Cas _is_ the lucky one, isn't he?"

"Shut up you idiot!" Alex exclaimed, riled up and humiliated and admittedly a little flushed too. He sauntered closer to her breathless frame and then dragged a finger down the side of her face then tapped her lips with his finger, his eyes devouring hers as his ever-present smirk taunted her. She smacked his hand away indignantly and his smile only grew.

"Kitten, you and I are going to have _fun,_ " he promised in that midnight black voice of his. "But first things first. As promised, brother bear needs some relief from his ailments." Crowley lazily sauntered a couple steps to the end of Sam's bed and then snapped his fingers once. "Sweet dreams, Moose." Sam's vapid gaze and pained expression faded and his head nodded to the side as he fell into the mercy of sleep after six days of not being able to rest at all. His face relaxed of all tension and Alex could have cried from relief.

She went to her brother's side and crouched there at the bed and smoothed his greasy, unkempt hair away from his face a few times over. He looked a lot younger and so innocent when he was asleep, and her heart which had been held so tightly for the past few days breathed a little easier. He was going to be okay if she did what she had to. And she was going to make sure she _did_. "The dog…" he mumbled barely audibly. _What dog?_ Sam sighed gustily, deeply asleep. Nice hallucinations, Crowley had said. She prayed she and Crowley had the same idea of 'nice' but kind of thought they didn't. Sam liked dogs. She hoped he was in a dream where he had a dog and no problems whatsoever.

 _Hang on, big brother._ Alex leaned close and kissed Sam's clammy forehead, shutting her eyes and praying Crowley didn't betray her. "You're gonna be okay," she promised her brother in a whisper, her mouth against his skin. She was going to make good on her end and then Sam would be okay.

"Oh enough with the Lifetime movie," Crowley said, rolling his eyes. He rounded the bed and held his hand out to her, demanding what was due. "Let's get to work, shall we?" Alex didn't like the gleam in his eye or the darkness in his voice. But she took the hand of her enemy and with her mind focused on the end goal, she closed her fingers tight. But she was afraid. So afraid.

* * *

**Two Weeks Later**

A young woman with her arm in a sling who hadn't showered or changed clothes in a few days from the looks of it slunk into a motel room under the cover of darkness, wary of onlookers. Maybe because of the dark blood spattering her torn clothing, maybe because she had a very conspicuous red bruise on her face that would get questions asked. She looked like what she was: a drifted, a loner, a drug-addict who hadn't slept in far too long. She had a backpack slung over her shoulder and a huge, heavy duffel bag in hand and that was it. There was a tiredness across her features that made her look years older than she was.

She flicked the lights on in the motel room that was so much the same as all the others she'd ever been in. Dingy, musty, soulless. Alex tossed down her bags apathetically onto the floor and sat down on the closest bed, scrubbed her face in her hand then looked around the interior longingly. The room was so quiet and empty. No brothers there bugging her about moving her stuff or competing for who got the bathroom first. No rock-paper-scissors to see who got a bed and who had a sleeping bag on the floor (but usually, two of them ended up sharing a bed because they couldn't stand to let the others sleep on the floor). She hated the silence so much, hated the feeling of being so alone.

Alex was currently tracking down a demon named Alvin for Crowley. A traitor who'd eluded him for several years now apparently. That's what all the blood was, and the bruise forming under Alex's eye. From a demon she'd captured, tortured, then killed for information in her search. It wouldn't be much longer and she'd have Alvin and hand his ass over to Crowley. Then he'd hand her another job, she was sure. Six months of this. She could barely fathom it, but she kept the end goal in mind: Sam well. Dean and Cas out of Purgatory. Her life sacrificed for something meaningful. Wasn't that more than some people had?

Alex had checked on Sam multiple times over the phone. Apparently, he'd slept for more than a day straight after she left and was still out of his mind, but now pleasantly so. He was up and about and the mental hospital staff said he was really doing great. He was eating and drinking on his own again, sleeping regularly, and generally happy from their reports. But… _apparently_ he thought he was dating a woman named Amelia and he thought he had a dog or she had a dog or something like that. They said Sam had no understanding of where he actually was (a mental ward) and that his delusions were full blown. Alex was very burdened to hear that he was out of his mind but at least he was having good hallucinations like Crowley said. It was a small plus, but it _was_ a plus. Six months to go and then she could focus on Purgatory and get Sam back to his regularly scheduled self after finding whatever 'object' Crowley wanted her to get. He hadn't told her what it even was yet. Said he would after the six months was over. Her mind spun because of what would happen after the six months of indentured servitude was over. She would have to find the portal piece Zip had mentioned and to do _that_ she had to find the Garden of Eden then after _that_ she had to find Zip again and get him to tell her how the hell to even get _in_ to Purgatory—the thought of everything she was trying to carry out overwhelmed her completely. _One thing at a time._

She looked down at her hand that wasn't tucked into a sling. It had blood on it. Her other arm was in a hard, extra-tough plaster cast that was heavy and clumsy. She wondered about that kid who'd shown up, the one who looked like Cas and thought he was saving her from a broken arm. _Nice try, whoever you were_. Although she had suspicions on his identity, thinking of it too long made her feel too much. Wonder too much.

In a haze of autonomy, Alex got up and showered (broken arm held out of the shower so her cast didn't get ruined). She changed clothes, threw out the bloodstained ones, scrubbed her boots hard to remove the sticky blood off the dark brown material and laces. Broke down and cried in the middle of doing so because she didn't think she could _do this_ and was so scared that she would let everyone down and see Sam die after she failed. Stopped herself from freaking out because failure wasn't an option. She thought of Dean who really needed her to come through for him for once in her goddamn life—he'd saved her so many times, it was time to return the favor, She thought of Cas and languished in conflicted, confused feelings, remembering the sum of their time together and how it had unraveled at the end. Her heart ached for him as he'd once been: alive, sweet, hers. In the time before everything had been so utterly ruined.

How would she tell him (and Dean and Sam for that matter) when she saw him again that she had sold her soul? It wasn't that she regretted it, because she knew what was being bought with that price—but she knew Sam would blame himself and be guilty that she'd done it to save him. She knew Dean and Cas would both be utterly beside themselves when she told them what she'd done. She sort of didn't think either of them would ever forgive her, to be honest.

That was a bridge she'd cross when she got to it. For now, she had something _else_ to confront that she'd been either avoiding or unable to get to because of how ragged Crowley was running her. She tied her damp hair back into an uneven, crooked ponytail with her one hand and then fished out the salt-packed bag with Bobby's flask in it. Her throat caught and chest hurt—she'd put him away like this the day he crashed the car. It was for everyone's own safety. But she couldn't just leave him packed in salt forever.

So she pulled the flask out of the thick snow-white salt with a quickening heart and then set it down on top of the TV. She got her solid-iron fire poker out of her duffel bag and sat down with it across a knee as she watched the flask apprehensively. She'd faced so many ghosts in her day. This one was by far the hardest one to confront. A few minutes of nothing passed. And then the temperature in the room began to dip and the feeling of pricking on the back of her neck made her sit up straighter. Her fingers tightened around the fire iron as she looked around for him and stood, turning in a slow circle. "Bobby?" She could see her own breath when she asked his name.

He flickered into visibility nearby, just in front of the TV, and he looked a little disoriented. "What the hell'd you _do_ to me?" he asked grumpily. "Felt like I was stuck in a shoebox under the bed for the past ten _decades_!" He paused, seeing what she held at her side. "What's with the fire iron?"

She was very careful in how she replied because she knew it didn't take a lot to set him off these days. "Um, it's… a precaution."

He took a second to realize why, then his expression fell. "Oh." He looked stung but understanding, guiltily so. "Guess that makes sense." Much more morose, he eyed her injury. The one he'd caused. "…How's the arm?"

"I'll live."

Bobby's grizzled, pale face bore self-loathing and the beginnings of inner despair. "Sweetheart… I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, you gotta believe me—"

"I know," she said, cutting him off and not looking him the eye very well. "It's not your fault, Bobby. Not really."

"Right," he said softly, darkly, becoming similarly withdrawn like she was. "That's just what ghosts turn into. I really bet the farm I could outsmart the damn inevitable."

Alex smiled in a tender bitterness, managing to look him in the eye finally. "I think me and my brothers did too."

Bobby sighed heavily. "It's just good ole denial, s'all. Seems like something we're all good at. Must be a family trait." He squinted then, noticing her tired face and bruised cheek. "You all right? Look kinda off."

She remained vague. "Not getting much sleep these days, that's all."

Bobby nodded, then something else hit him, causing him to become a little riled up. "Wait. _Wait._ Dean," he said, voice speeding up as he thought. "Cas—Sam, too." He looked at her in confusion, apparently not even remembering what had happened to them.

"Yeah," she confirmed somberly. "Dean and Cas are in Purgatory, Bobby."

" _Purgatory_?" he repeated, his face working as memories flooded him visibly. "Wait. _Wait_. Yeah." His face became baleful. "I remember now," he growled. "I _remember._ " The TV behind him cracked in the center and Alex jumped slightly.

"Hey, hey, calm down," she said warningly, and he held up a hand like he already knew that and was doing so. He shut his eyes, took a second, then let his hand down and made a face like ' _see? I got it_.' Alex waited a second then continued. "I'm gonna get them out. I know how, I just gotta do the legwork."

" _Alone_?" Bobby asked, his immediate frown a little too intense for her liking. "What about Sam? Where's he got to?"

Alex hesitated to tell the whole truth because she had a feeling it would set Bobby off further. "He's okay. He's okay now. But he's not going with me, because—"

Bobby lost it. "Your brother ain't gonna help you!?" he demanded thunderously, and the TV shattered completely, the bathroom door slammed, the curtains to the motel room rattled along the rod they hung from. "What the hell kinda game is he trying to pull!? You let me at him, I'll kick his selfish, overgrown ass!"

"Bobby!" Alex yelled, desperately trying to get her seething uncle's attention. "He _can_ _'_ _t_ help me!" It was horrifying how quick to irrational anger he was.

Bobby saw what he was doing and tried to calm down, but he looked like he was having an extremely difficult time. "Sorry— _sorry_. I can't—it's getting harder to control this mess," he said, breathing in and out hard as he tried to get himself together. "Why didn't you idjits just burn me straight off?"

That sounded like a fair question, but… "What would _you_ have done?" she asked earnestly, a little at her wit's end. It wasn't that cut and dry. She hesitated again, then ventured forth cautiously. "Bobby. If, if I could figure out a way to bring you back, like for real… you'd want that, right?"

He sighed wearily. "Hell, I dunno. I'm _tired_." He shrugged his eyebrows up as he looked off in thought. "But havin' a few more years with my kids is a real nice idea." He smiled at her from under his beard, then abruptly frowned. "Why? …You ain't getting any crazy ideas, are you?"

"No," she lied. "No crazy ideas."

He nodded, then looked around the room, especially at the TV he'd destroyed in anger. He took a long moment to consider what he said next. "Look. I—I can't exist like this, Al. All I wanna do is bust somethin' up or hurt someone, maybe even you. I'm just _mad_ all the time and feel like I can't hold back much longer. It's—it's like I ain't even gonna be _me_ for much longer." He came a little closer, but he was clearly afraid to be _too_ close to her. "I damn near killed you, crashing that car like that. Every little thing gets under my skin, makes me wanna go homicidal. I stay here much longer, I'm gonna murder some poor sap. I can _feel_ it." Their eyes held for a long moment—his anxious and pleading for help, hers full of denial and dread. And then Bobby asked what she knew he would. "I hate it, kiddo, but I gotta ask you to do somethin' for me."

Alex shut her eyes and her face contorted. "Bobby, I _can_ _'_ _t,_ " she protested weakly, already knowing what he was asking.

"You _gotta,_ " he beseeched gently, a desperation in his careworn eyes. She looked at him wretchedly and he gave her a sad gaze that she'd never forget. "Look… I'm _done_. I just need to get to wherever's next for me. Stayin' here's a bad idea. We both know that. Wish I could stay and help you out, you _know_ I do, but I think I might do more harm than good." His grim expression tightened and his eyes glanced at her arm. "Hell, maybe I already have."

She wanted to say no. That she was going to pack him in salt and keep him in her back pocket for the rest of her life. That he couldn't leave until she was ready if ever at all. But that wasn't her call to make. If she tried to control the situation to her own perspective instead of hearing his desires out, who did that make her like? Alex swallowed, her eyes shining with tears. And yet she managed to summon a smile because she didn't want their last moment together to be anything but brave. She would let his last sight be her standing up straight, being the woman he'd helped her become. "I'm gonna miss you," she said in a tear-laced voice. "And those stupid baked beans you heated up every day for us and the endless books you made me read... the way you were always grumpy in the mornings. And the rest of the day too, I guess."

His expression mirrored hers and a brokenhearted smile rested under his rough beard. "Yeah," he agreed softly, his voice thick with emotion that almost prohibited him from speaking steadily at all. "Funny, innt. Even though those were bad times, they were good too, huh?"

"Yeah," she managed. "They were." Sniffing and clearing her throat to get herself together, she wet her lips and looked down. "I guess I knew it right away, when I heard you'd hung on that… that it'd end like this because it always does. Because it has to." She looked back up at him, having a hard time. "But that doesn't make this any easier."

He nodded his agreement, voice soft as a lullaby. "I know it don't." He took a second then gave her that look. The one that was reserved for when he was about to give her a lecture for her own good, a lecture to let her know what was what. "All right now look. You're gonna do us all proud. I know you are." He smiled at her sadly and the weight of all the years between them was comforting, tangible, real, something she could take with her forever. "Just do what I always told you," he counseled. "Stay sharp. Always know what's behind you. Sleep with one eye open. Don't trust no one further than you can throw 'em." He gave her one last encouraging smile that was dampened by bittersweet sorrow. "You get those boys home."

She nodded, swallowing thickly. "I will," she promised, and then followed his gaze—he was looking at her lighter that had fallen out of the backpack. She understood and picked it up with a twisting heart, then looked at him again. Did he _really_ want this?

Bobby nodded somberly. "And when it's your time... _go_." She nodded a yes, fighting off deep emotions and the many tears she wanted to shed. If only he knew how soon that would be. "I love you a whole truckload, you hear me?" he asked, voice shaking a little as her fight to keep her eyes dry failed. "I'm _damn_ proud of you. And like I said." He hesitated and his eyes glinted with emotion as his voice softened. "Woulda picked you too."

She nodded, shuddering out a shaky breath as her eyes stung. She wished he was there and real enough to touch and hug. But he was an echo, a shadow, a specter. Without anything further, Alex took the flask tying Bobby's spirit to that realm and set it in the motel sink. She let it burn there and watched the image of her uncle drift away into sparks and dust. The last thing she saw of him was a ghostly smile on his face.

* * *

**Six Months Later**

Near a thin, rocky stream that cut crookedly through desolate, lifeless land, two men crouched.

The first wore a torn and frayed trench coat that had once been rich and buttery beige. It was now so dirty and faded that the color was barely noticeable at all. The all-white hospital outfit he wore underneath was now foul gray—rips and holes and stains marred both garments all over. His dark hair clung to his head and where he'd been clean-shaven before, a full beard had grown. His skin was smudged in dirt and ash. Only his crystal blue eyes had retained brilliance.

Beside him, his companion sharpened his wicked looking blade against a rock as his shrewd and watchful gaze darted over the nearby land in between strokes. His jacket which had once been beautiful rust red was faded, filthy, and scuffed all over. His face was streaked in blood—not his own. "Hey, how's that arm?" Dean asked the man beside him.

Cas glanced his way and looked at the injury in question—his left arm had been slashed seven days prior. "Functional, but the pain is still very acute," the angel replied factually.

Dean was wry. "Sucks to be low on the battery power, huh?"

"Everything _about_ this place sucks," Cas returned, using Dean's slang grimly and making the hunter chuckle abruptly at the unexpected comment. At his laughter, Cas looked at Dean with a deep, confused frown. "…Did I use the term incorrectly?"

Dean shook his head, a little smile still on his face. "Nope, it just sounds pretty funny when you say it, that's all." Cas accepted the answer in the usual Cas way: with a face that looked like he was struggling with severe constipation. Dean finished sharpening his blade and stood, eyeing the tree line all around once more. Here in Purgatory, the enemies never really stopped coming. So he was suspicious when they were given rest from attacks. Dean glanced at Cas, who still crouched at the water's edge, holding a small square paper object. For so long now he'd heard Cas claiming ' _I_ _'_ _m an angel, I_ _'_ _m a warrior, blah blah blah_ —' and then these past six months, he'd _seen_ how true that was.

Dean grunted as he sat down on a rock a few feet from Cas. He was tired, but not in a sleepy way—they didn't eat or sleep here, but he always felt hungry and tired. Part of the curse of Purgatory, he guessed. The land was endless and bleak, it was easy to get lost, and the few times they'd been separated had been the absolute worst—Dean had no idea what he would do if he'd gotten stuck in here alone. He'd probably be dead or worse. The two of them were trying to find the way out—really _any_ way out, but so far, _nothing._ "I dunno, man, I'm starting to think this portal's either a myth or a trap," he commented offhandedly, shaking his head because they'd been looking for four _months_ now ever since one of the vampires they'd killed had taunted them about it. "I mean, wouldn't we have found it by now? How big can this place _be_?"

Cas was in deep thought and sort of distracted, and therefore he didn't really give Dean much attention when he replied. "Colossal, Dean. Possibly even infinite, or close to infinite."

 _Geez_. "Way to be an optimist there, Cas," Dean retorted wanly.

"That was sarcasm," Cas noted, still not paying much attention to Dean. Dean knew why. Cas was engrossed in the small paper object he was holding. "I miss her," the angel said softly, his voice very heavy and sad.

Dean watched his friend a couple beats. "I know, Cas," he conceded, then let out a bittersweet chuckle. "Hey, just be glad you even _got_ a picture of your girl."

Cas looked up and over at him. "Yes. Thank you very much, again, for letting me carry this."

"Yeah," Dean answered, and he was the distracted one now. "You got it." He'd let Cas 'borrow' the picture of Sam and Alex he kept in his wallet—they were like twenty-three years old or so in the picture, so it wasn't recent, but still. It really seemed to mean a lot to the guy. Cas looked at it every chance he got. And he also wore Alex's penny necklace under his shirt which apparently had been in his pocket for awhile now. Strung beside the penny, Dad's old wedding band hung too. Cas was of a one track mind now that he had his marbles back, it would seem. But Dean was thinking of something else though as his eyes searched the heavy, gray sky. It was so weird… there were never birds or animals of any kind. Only beasts and monsters. His heart tugged and ached as he thought about how long it had been that they had been trapped here. "It's been six _months_ , man," he finally said, voice low in volume and high in anxiety. It was a helpless feeling.

Cas put his picture away into his pocket and stood. "You're worried," he observed. _Thank you, Captain Obvious._ The angel came and sat beside Dean and leaned over his knees, watchful of the woods across the stream. "She'll be in her third trimester, if she is indeed with child," he said, knowing exactly what Dean was anxious about.

Dean swallowed, staring off into nothing as the thing that consumed his every waking thought harrowed him anew. "That's what kills me." He could feel Cas's tense gaze on the side of his face. "Not knowing. Not knowing about _her,_ about if Sam and Al got out, if the Leviathans died when Dick did… what happened to Bobby. Might _never_ know the way this thing's going." Was Sam doing a good job keeping the family together? Was Alex so sad about what happened to them that she was in a mental institution again? And Jamie. The last time he'd talked to her haunted and tortured him. He hoped she was okay and it destroyed him to think of her out there and pregnant and alone and scared and thinking he was dead or worse. "If she's… she's really having my kid, I just—she shouldn't be _alone_ , man."

Cas nodded slowly, and he seemed to agree. Dean shook his head in mild, rueful disbelief because he was baring his soul more and more often to Cas. Who would have thought there would come a day when the two of them were sitting together and talking about this kinda stuff, huh? It still felt a little weird when Dean thought about it. The first few days here had been the hardest and most tense. Those days were the ones where Dean had been torn between needing Cas's help and remembering all the things he held against him. Stress had been high, Dean had picked verbal fights, Cas had been defensive sometimes and guilt-ridden others. They'd ended up settling it the good old fashioned way about a week in when they got so sick of each other's shit that they couldn't stand it anymore: by hitting each other until they were black and blue. Then as they sat beside each other and wheezed from pain and Cas cried (literally _cried_ from the guilt Dean had made him feel), Dean had shaken his head and through ragged breath said, 'man, I'm tired of fighting with you like this, I really am, can we just _stop_?' and then they'd had this Brokeback Mountain heart to heart that Dean would never want anyone to know about ever. It had ended like this:

" _I just_ _—_ _you gotta understand, Cas. That_ _'_ _s my little sister. I had to look out for her from the beginning, she was always so little and I was always so scared someone would hurt her or take her away and we wouldn_ _'_ _t even know b-because she couldn_ _'_ _t make a noise. I would have_ died _for her. I_ still _would. I can_ _'_ _t even_ tell you _how important she is to me._ _"_

 _The angel had tears in his eyes._ _"_ _Dean_ _—"_ _he_ _'_ _d managed._ _"_ _If anyone knows how you feel, it_ _'_ _s_ me _._ _"_

Dean Winchester had walked away from that very lengthy conversation viewing Cas in different light. He hesitated to say it because he still had some misgivings, but… he was starting to trust this guy again. After six months in the trenches with only each other as backup, Cas had earned that several times over whether Dean wanted it or not. "We'll get out, Dean," Cas reassured quietly, stirring the hunter out of his thoughts. "If not by our own merits, by those of your brother and sister. I highly doubt they would leave us in here. They'll find a way to summon us out or send a message, maybe."

Dean let out a little _heh_ sound. "That's a cute idea, Cas, but I doubt it." He sighed long and hard, mind going a little darker. "I dunno. Al might _wanna_ leave me to rot in here after all that shit I kicked up at the end. Probably hates my guts." He would _hate_ someone who said what he did to her. He still couldn't believe himself for the whole 'I wish you never got your voice back' statement.

Cas gave Dean a look that suggested he should shut up. "She loves you, Dean," he insisted in his ridiculously low voice. "Very much. She would never leave you here. Neither would Sam."

There was a lump in Dean's throat as he thought of his siblings and how much they meant to him. "I love those kids so damn much," he whispered, then shook his head at how pathetic he was. "Sure have a way of showing it though, huh." He thought a minute, contemplating how ironic it was that he felt so clear-headed and at peace here sometimes even though he was itching to get out. "Is it crazy to say this place has… I dunno, opened my eyes in some ways?" he asked. "I was so weighed down back there, so, I dunno, jacked up. Something was always tearing me apart and I was always letting someone down or messing something up. Out here, just you and me and all the clawed freaks out there… it's simple. Hunt and be hunted. Kill or be killed. Survive. Slash your way to the top. You're not ever really gonna win, but damn does it feel good to try."

Cas was squinty and frowny. "…That mindset seems mildly disturbing."

Dean scoffed and made a _psh_ sound. "Have you met me? 'Mildly Disturbing' is my middle name."

Suspicion and confusion made Cas's frown all the deeper. "…No it isn't," he said, then seemed to get that it was a joke and his frown gave way to a disgruntled expression before he sighed and looked out across the stream again. "If you like it here—if things feel good to you—simpler—why do you also want to leave?" he asked. "It seems contradictory."

Dean mulled it over a minute, a little hesitant to answer. "I—I dunno," he admitted, trying to find why. "I guess part of me thinks maybe I deserve to be here? This is what I'm good at, raise your hand if you agree. No, don't actually raise you hand, Cas." He sighed gustily. "But… what's the _point_ of it?" There was no progression, no goal. Only more of the same forever. And as messed up as the real world could get, as complicated… Dean missed it and thought maybe, given another chance, he might be better at it. "Out there, it's the same thing as in here: kill or be killed. But there's a whole lot more in between those two realities. Family. Hopes. Dreams." He smiled wistfully. " _Food_. I miss _burgers_ something fierce _._ " He paused, the smile fading. "Plus, I made someone a promise." Time was ticking away with him stuck here. And the Hellhounds, they were gonna come if he didn't find a way to stop them...

Cas was silent for a minute, obviously thinking about something hard. "You know Dean, I think if I had come here alone, if I had killed Dick myself and left you behind on Earth, I would never be able to want to leave this place."

Dean waited for an explanation, mystified. "Uh… why?"

"It's simple." Cas shrugged mildly. "Because I deserve to be here. This is proper punishment for the sins I've committed and the wrongs I perpetuated, the lies I told." He looked at his hands which were clasped between his knees. "But being with you here… fighting at your side… receiving your friendship and forgiveness… I feel as though I can rise above the mistakes I made." He looked at Dean sidelong, anxious. "Is that… is that absurd of me?"

Another chick-flick moment courtesy of teddybear Cas. Dean shook his head, a little chagrinned at himself and Cas, who he'd learned was the world's most sensitive guy. He had kind of realized, bit by bit, why his sister must love this guy. He was a puppy and a lion all at once. "You know what?" he asked. "No. It's not absurd."

A soft little secretive smile crooked Cas's mouth and he looked down at the ground fondly. "It's strange, isn't it? I find it strange, anyway."

Dean waited. "What?"

"How you and I are… friends now," Cas said. "After everything… sometimes I thought you would always hate me."

Dean looked away, a little uncomfortable—so he pulled a breathy little grin and let out a chuckle. "Hate's a pretty strong word," he said, trying to avoid the stark truth. "I mean I hated stuff you _did_. And there were definitely a few days there where I hated _you_ , but…" he trailed off. "I dunno. I guess I know you always tried. And I've told you this before: good on you for trying to fix your mess even when your brain was in pieces. That takes some balls." He clapped Cas on the shoulder once. "And hey, I think I know you pretty well now after this time in here. You've had my back every single time, you've stuck at it even when I know you wanted to give up. That counts for something in my book."

Cas looked touched and pleased and opened his mouth to say something—then suddenly sat up straighter, his eyes squinting into the trees ahead where there had been the softest snap of a twig. " _Dean_ ," he said, already standing. His voice had lowered to the tone Dean recognized: imminent danger.

"I heard it too." Dean was already standing, too, his blade at the ready. The angel and the hunter continued onward together, in search of a way out but only finding more of the same: enemies, battles, and blood.

* * *

Six months had taken Alex Winchester from the girl with the broken arm and the sad face to the girl who got things done. Like what she was doing right now: dragging a demon she'd hex-bound and gagged into Crowley's swamp-side Louisiana mansion. It had been a dark six months that Alex was eager to put behind herself, and today was the final day. Sam was the same in the mental hospital—hallucinating continuously about an Amelia girl and now some guy named Don too according to the hospital staff. But not for much longer. Alex was _this much_ closer to succeeding. It felt like the worst and hardest was behind her, it was beginning to feel like she was actually going to make this happen.

One thing she hadn't accounted for was Kevin apparently had gotten away from Crowley about three weeks into his captivity and Alex of course was the first to get accused of breaking him out—but she had no _idea_ what had happened to him and Crowley had only been satisfied with her honest answer after he'd tortured her for a week just to 'make sure.' Alex was still pissed about that but someday she'd get even with Crowley and pay him back for all his shit. Alex just hoped Kevin was okay out there wherever he was. Her plan had initially been to wait until she'd gotten Sam fixed and then go after Kevin or send Sam in her stead. But now it was out of her hands, she guessed.

Striding into Crowley's place like she owned it, she dragged the demon Portia by the hair and then tossed her at Crowley, who was relaxing with a glass of bourbon and some sort of torture-device catalogue. "Ah, _lovely,_ " Crowley said, uncrossing his legs leisurely and setting down his magazine as he stood from his leather armchair. He snapped his fingers and two of his henchmen appeared. "Take our darling Portia to the torture chambers and, well, I'm sure you know the rest." He waved his hand impatiently and they disappeared with a wide-eyed, struggling Portia. Crowley turned to Alex with that smirky, cocky expression he so often wore. "I must say. You've been a _joy_ to work with."

If there was one thing she couldn't stand at all, it was Crowley's stupid sarcasm. She was so sick of it now that she wanted to rip her own ears off. "Yeah, well whatever, by my count this is the _last_ day of our agreement," she said, because she couldn't be free of him and his tasks soon enough, " _so_ —"

"Oh no, not so fast Mouse," he chided, chuckling all the while and then checking his watch for effect. "You still have, oh, six hours until midnight which is when the six months is _truly_ finished." Alex blanched. Was he _serious_? "And, well, I have one last little project for you. Let's call this your final test, shall we?" He beckoned her with a nod of the head to follow him. He carried his tumbler of dark alcohol the entire time as they went through the house into the basement. "This little demon you're about to meet refuses to break, you see," he said, leading her down a dark hallway. "And I need her to _talk_." He paused at a doorway. "I want to know where the crypts are. Find out."

Alex waited for more information. "What _crypts_?" she asked, not bothering to hide her impatient tone.

"Doesn't matter. She knows. Get it out of her, and if you can't, make sure she's a more lot more cut up than when you first saw her, hm?" Crowley winked and patted her on the face, his expression conveying a coyness she didn't like. "Atta girl. I'll leave you to it." He opened the door for her with a gentlemanly flourish and Alex walked in with a dark glance at him before she did. He shut the door behind her.

The room was dimly lit and beside the door, a cart of torture instruments sat glinting in the low light. In the center of the room, there was a bare table like they might have at a police station for interrogations, and someone sat at it. Demon hexes preventing the obviously-female demon from escaping littered the room. Alex couldn't see who it was and didn't think she recognized her. She squinted as she drifted closer. Coppery blonde hair tumbled down like a lion's mane and the prisoner slowly looked up. A round face that was bruised and battered and _familiar_ looked back at Alex, who stopped mid-step in shock. A slow smile spread across the demon's familiar face. "Well _hi_ , Ariel."


	106. Hell Hath No Fury

" _Fire can destroy or purify, strengthen or weaken, all depending on the nature of the material being burned.  
Pain has the same effects on the human soul, and for the same reasons._ _"  
_ \- Lance Conrad

* * *

Alex had captured and tortured and killed countless demons for Crowley in the past six months. She thought she had the routine down; she thought she was home free. It was about to be over. And then on the _last_ freaking day of this entire thing, that bastard had to pull the most underhanded stunt in the world.

"Well _hi_ , Ariel," Meg said, tilting her head to the side as a smile slid across her lips slowly. "And just what do I owe the pleasure of your company?"

Alex was struck into silence from shock. She had known much earlier that Crowley had captured Meg… but had assumed Meg would be dead long ago—that Crowley would have killed her straight off. Well, she wasn't dead, but she didn't look far from it either. Meg looked _terrible_. Her badly-dyed blonde hair was like a bird's nest all around her swollen, bruised face. Blood was dried in a trickle down the side of her head and her bare arms were crosshatched by multiple bleeding gashes, lines, gouges. The tank top she wore was ripped and blood-splattered, one of her ears had been cut off at the lobe, she had the word 'bitch' carved jaggedly into the skin across her collarbones. She was handcuffed in demon-hex confines and seated at the table that was in the center of the dimly-lit room. The space smelled of blood. Demon blood. Alex swallowed, faintly sick at the aroma and totally unsure of how to process finding herself face-to-face with the demon who had helped her in recent times. Meg's smile wavered a little as Alex's eyes slid uncertainly to the table of torture instruments nearby. " _Oh,_ " Meg murmured, covering over what sounded like genuine surprise with sarcasm. "I get it. You're here to cut me up a little more." She smirked lazily, her scabbed face ghoulish in low light. "Yeah, I've heard about your little adventures with Crowley the past few months," she commented with an insolent flair. She leaned forward, face twisting slightly. "So, on a scale of one to a jillion, how do you like being the King of Hell's _bitch_?" she asked, voice weighted with dark humor and bitterness alike.

"So, _you_ haven't changed," Alex observed wanly, markedly reluctant to do what Crowley had told her to do.

One of Meg's eyebrows shot up. "I beg to differ, Princess," she retorted, and her acrid emotions came through in her tone, her jilted feelings were obvious. "Ya know, it's funny. I've sat here in the dark while they twisted knives into me and I thought maybe you'd show up to _save_ my ass, not _ream_ it some more. Well _shame on me_." Meg was trying to look angry, but there was hurt written in her dark eyes. Alex tried not to appear guilty or feel guilty… but she did on both counts. Meg wasn't cookie cutter evil anymore to Alex—she was a gray figure in her mind. Meg knew that and appealed to it in near-desperation. "I might not be your family or your angel but _come on_! Do I really deserve to rot in here after everything I did for you?!"

Alex contemplated the demon tensely for a long moment. Her hand was forced. It didn't matter what Meg deserved or didn't deserve. "You shouldn't have gotten caught," she said quietly after a minute, regret making her grim and artless. "I'm sorry. There wasn't anything I could do, Meg." Alex went to the table of torture instruments and looked at all those wicked objects with a turning stomach. This was awful and necessary. "Still isn't."

Meg was wounded and silent for a stung beat. Then she scoffed. "If my name was Sam or Dean or Castiel, it'd be a whole different story," she muttered, then plastered a false smile across her face. " _Well_?" She waited, trying to look like she didn't care. "Hit me with your best shot. At least you're prettier than the last demon who cut into me. Makes the agony a teeny _weeny_ less unbearable. But hey, why don't you start with my _back_? Seems fitting." The demon's dark eyes glittered balefully at Alex, who had just selected a jagged silver knife.

"I don't _want_ to do this, Meg," Alex said, staring at the glinting weapon and swallowing slowly as she tried to get herself in the mindset to do this. "Okay? I don't. You know I don't." A confession that took a lot to say aloud. "But it's Sam's life on the line."

Meg's face changed to accommodate a slight, confused frown. "What's going on with the little flannel-wearer?" she asked. So she didn't know. Alex hesitated to say and Meg got indignant and hurt all over again and she spoke through gritted teeth. "Come on, gimme _something._ I'm on your side, you know I am, dammit!"

That was probably one of the hardest things to hear. Alex looked at Meg and drifted a couple steps closer, knife in hand. Things could have been different if Meg hadn't got caught. If Alex hadn't been roped into working for Crowley. But she had. So… the what ifs didn't matter. "Sam was hallucinating again. With the stuff that made Cas go crazy. I still don't know why."

Meg rolled her eyes. "Well, _duh_." She was all show again, theatrical and cool and amused. The only thing that gave away her nervousness was the brief glance at the knife Alex held. "Cas and Dean went for a little gaycation down to Purgatory, right?" At the narrow-eyed frown Alex gave, Meg smirked. "Word travels fast on the demonic grapevine, I heard _that_ much about the latest Winchester family drama." She sighed and explained her opinion on what was happening with Sam. "Sammy's cray-cray that was all up in your little hubby's brain couldn't follow him to a different dimension for whatever reason and so _poof_! It went right back to Sammykins where it came from to begin with." Meg's little saucy act began to fade in favor of a growingly genuine look. "Sorry, girlscout. Must suck the big one to be doing this on your own. You wanna get me outta these cuffs?" She smiled hopefully through her injuries. "We can bromance it up again, you and me, go get our boys back, make some memories along the way…"

Alex found it within herself to laugh ever so softly—it wasn't cynical, it was rueful. "After six months of working for the King of Hell… having Nurse Masters as my backup _does_ sound kinda nice actually," she admitted. Then her smile fell and reality put her in a corner. "But I can't risk Sam. I _can_ _'_ _t_." She wouldn't do _anything_ to jeopardize his wellbeing at this point. "If I piss Crowley off… I'm signing my brother's death certificate." _And_ she hadn't forgotten that Crowley said he might bring Bobby back if she gave gold star efforts. She was banking everything on this entire horrible contract labor and soul deal thing. It better pay off.

Meg's expression faded back into bitterness when she realized Alex was choosing family over sorta-friend. But, she also looked like she really shouldn't have thought otherwise. "Right," she murmured tightly. "Anything for Moosechester." She nodded stiffly. "Guess I shoulda seen _that_ one coming." Defiance was setting in and Meg raised her chin and looked at Alex through sharp, rebellious eyes. "Well make it look good, Cupcake. 'Cause those crypts and their location your _boss_ wants? Crowley's _never_ getting them. Ever. Not even with your cute little self attempting to carve them outta my every nook and cranny." As Alex approached, weapon in hand, Meg's face began to show true emotion. She tried not to let it be seen. "You're more like your oldest brother than anyone thought, huh?" she asked softly, her smug smile faltering.

" _Shut up_ , Meg," Alex whispered, unable to summon fire because of how terrible this was about to get.

"Why, so you can pretend I'm someone else?" Meg crooned defiantly. "Would that make you feel better about what you're about to do, pookie?"

Not much would. Alex circled around behind Meg, slowly and leisurely, taking her time. Then without warning, she grabbed a handful of coppery blonde hair and yanked Meg's head back as she leaned low to put her mouth near the demon's ear. "Make this easy for yourself. Tell me where the crypts are," she demanded dangerously, her knife at Meg's neck.

There was a dark chuckle. "Love it when you talk dirty to me, Ariel," came the predictably seductive reply.

And so it began. Meg's screams began to echo through the basement as Alex went to work in her final, wretched task.

* * *

**Two Months Later**   
**Purgatory**

"Dean, just let me look at it—" Cas implored, but Dean jerked away from his friend's touch, unwilling to be examined. He pressed a hand to the bleeding gash across his torso that he'd sustained a moment ago in the scuffle they'd barely survived.

"I'm fine, I'm _fine_ , Cas, don't touch me!" he barked, annoyed and angered and gritting his bloody teeth together in severe frustration as he batted Cas's worried self away. It was like the injury had inconvenienced Dean more than anything else. "I don't have time for this shit, I don't have _time_!" he raged loudly—too loudly. "We've been gone eight fucking _months_ and we are _no_ closer to getting out than we ever were!"

Nearby, standing in a wide stance with a brutal-looking weapon at his side, a solidly-built man with hushed blue eyes and a thick, neatly kept beard shot a glance at Dean. He wore a battered old black wool pea coat and a vaguely warning expression. "Keep it down, hothead, you gon' get us _all_ killed," he said, his soft voice dripping with a syrupy New Orleans accent.

Dean whirled and shot a dirty look his way as he held a hand to his bloody middle. "No one asked for your opinion, Vampira!"

Quiet and calm as Dean was loud and riled up, Benny the vampire's gaze narrowed slightly and he glanced around furtively. "I'm just sayin', you gotta keep the volume a little lower 'less you wantin' more of those Leviathan friendlies to drop on by."

Dean marched over the vampire's way, his frustrations all coming out of him in a helpless rush of anger. "You know what?! Let 'em come; those jackasses showing up and screwing us over's the only thing around I can depend on!"

There was a soft chuckle and a faint smile on the vampire's face which belied his ruefulness. "You know _why_ , Dean," he said knowingly, and his forever-secretive eyes darted over to the nearby angel. "Told you before. You and your angel friend're askin' for all _kinds_ 'a trouble in these here parts—'specially him. He's a magnet if I ever seen one. 'Specially when he uses those big boy smitey powers of his…"

Dean's expression was brutal and full of warning and his voice dropped in octave because he so disliked the vampire's insinuation. "I don't care _what_ he is—he ain't going _nowhere_."

Benny's expression twitched and he exhaled in measured irritation as he looked off to the side. "Sure, sure," he acknowledged quietly in his thickly accented drawl. "I know." His eyes slid back to Dean and they had a faintly insolent gleam to them. "You done told me a hundred times over already."

Dean's eyebrows shot up. "Yeah?" he challenged, stepping into Benny's space. You wouldn't have even known he was injured at this point. "You getting sick of it? 'Cause I'll tell you what _I_ _'_ _m_ getting sick of." He used his blade to gesture and even tap Benny on the chest in a way meant to intimidate. "All this escape hatch talk and how you said you could find it and yet here we are, one month later after you show up—and no damn escape hatch!"

Benny's eyes glinted challengingly. "You sayin' you got nothin' to show for the likes'a me hangin' around?" he asked softly, almost menacingly. "Why Dean, I'd like to think differently. I recall _savin_ _'_ your hide and that shiny angel's hide, too. And not just once neither." The vampire took his index finger and touched the tip of the blade that was on his chest then pushed it away delicately and pointedly, a cool, warning smile on his face. "So kindly curtail the accusations, friend. We'll _find_ the hatch but you gotta be patient, cher. Purgatory's a big place. Might take some _time_."

"I don't _have_ time!" Dean shouted, losing it completely because of everything that was riding on his shoulders. "I got a girl out there waiting for me to show up and I don't _have time_ , do you hear me?!" He stalked off a few steps in a furious march then doubled over and let out a sound of pain as his injury caught up with him. He smashed his hand to the wound again and turned around to Benny, a little breathless from the pain he was feeling. "And what if this thing isn't even legit, huh?!" he demanded, refusing to acknowledge his injury. "Then where's that leave us?"

Cas, the voice of reason, was quiet and grim, watchful of the hurt hunter. "Dean, getting angry won't solve the problem," he reasoned gently.

Dean's jaw worked hard as he silently acknowledged he knew that his friend was right. "Yeah well I don't like this, I don't fuckin' like it," he muttered, straightening and hardening himself outwardly.

"It's for real, compadre," Benny assured leisurely. "They promised."

Dean scoffed and pulled a face at _that_ revelation. "Oh, 'they'? Well, _that's_ comforting."

"Well, even if it _does_ exist…" Cas began.

"Broken record, my fine feathered friend," Benny said, shooting Cas a veiled side glance.

Dean sat down on a fallen log, exhausted and beat down in every way. "Yeah, please don't start on that crap again, Cas," he said, taking a minute to check out the gash on his torso. It wasn't as bad as it felt. The bleeding was already stopping, so that was good. Too bad Cas couldn't heal in this damn place. He still had his angel mojo but it came and went and as they'd discovered, any use of his powers drew bad guys like moths to a flame. That's why Cas carried and fought with a jaggedly edged jungle-style machete they'd procured from a Wendigo in their first few days here. Cas was actually a pretty badass swordsman, truth be told.

Benny looked at Dean and Cas, then surveyed the surrounding area doubtfully. "I don't mean to break up your special lil' moment, fellas, but you two really wanna stick around here much longer?" he asked, getting an irritated look from Dean who just wanted to _rest_ for a few damn hours. "We should get a move on…"

Dean knew the vampire was right and grunted against the pain as he stood, unwilling to show the full extent of his inner despair and outward injuries. It was pretty bad. He had a pulled hip muscle, bruised ribs and a concussion, and a variety of cuts and gashes decorating him all over. But he wasn't about to admit defeat or give up. Cas wasn't either, though Dean knew the angel was discouraged and floundering just like he was.

As the three set off into the endless woods of Purgatory that looked so alike no matter where you went, Dean fought to hide his limp. Beside him, Cas was bloodstained, filthy, and looking as exhausted as Dean felt. For a few moments, the three of them traveled in silence, and then Cas spoke up like he'd been reflecting for a long while on what he was about to say. "Dean, we should just be prepared," he said, and Dean already know what the angel was gonna bring up because he'd brought it up quite a few times ever since they'd met Benny who promised to help them find this so-called portal in exchange for a way out. Dean didn't plan to follow through on that agreement—he'd be damned if he let a freaking vampire out into the world. He killed those sons of bitches for a living and worked to _protect_ people from them. So this one was as good as dead the second Dean had gotten his use out of him. Although after a month of him being around, Dean had to admit the guy was handy in a pinch. A good fighter. And seemingly trustworthy to some extent. But Dean reminded himself not to trust anyone. Especially not a monster.

Cas was still talking as Dean thought idly. "Even _if_ the portal is real and even _if_ we can find it, I can honestly think of no reason why an angel could pass through," he said, and Dean hardened his face, not wanting to hear it. "That and the risk of crossing Purgatory with a Seraph—the vampire is right. It's… less than strategic," Cas continued abysmally. "I have a price on my head, especially since we killed Destroyer." Castiel shook his head deeply and Dean grew a shade more somber at the mention of the monster known as Behemoth. Shortly after the six month mark here in Purgatory, the two of them had happened upon Destroyer, one of the beasts that had possessed Castiel back on earth. More than twenty feet tall, he was probably the most feared creature in the entirety of Purgatory. When Castiel realized what that massive monster with a mouthful of fangs and feet the size of massive tree trunks was—the angel had basically risked his every ounce of life and limb in a show of furious vengeance Dean had never seen and possibly didn't fully understand. Cas had done some kind of angel magic with his own blood and blown part of Purgatory off the freakin' _map_ with the spell he used to obliterate Destroyer. There was a crater there now, and Cas _still_ wasn't recovered from that encounter. He was _still_ weakened and tired and slower two full months later. Dean had honestly thought Cas was gonna _die_ for a few days there and it had been pretty terrifying. Which was another reason why Benny's appearance and offer of help had been sort of impossible to refuse. Without his wingman at full battery power, Dean was in _need_ of the help—protecting the wounded angel _and_ his back on his own had been getting really tough. Cas was still talking even as those thoughts flew through Dean's mind briefly. "It's just… you two might be a great deal safer without me drawing these creatures to our every trail."

Dean stopped walking and gave Cas a look he had given his brother and sister a million times when they were saying something completely stupid. " _No_ , Cas, you hear me? No. You aren't going out there alone, capiche?" he tried to get the angel to rally. "And you're not giving up hope about getting out, either. Come on, man, just because the rumor says it's a human portal doesn't mean we can't get you out."

Cas only looked fractionally more depressed. "You don't know that Dean."

A few steps ahead, Benny had stopped to watch the exchange judgmentally. He seemed to intrinsically dislike Castiel and all the pity parties the angel liked to throw.

"So let's talk hypothetics," Dean said gruffly, his blood-smeared face intent as he tried to get Cas to understand and think about what it would look like if he made it back to the land of the living minus one angel. "I get myself outta this hellhole and show up topside without you—how you think Al would take that?" The mention of her, as always, visibly affected Castiel. "What the hell would I even _tell_ her, huh? I saw her fall _apart_ the last time you left, Cas. I ain't going back without you. No way in hell." Dean shook his head, mostly because he couldn't believe the day had come when he was the one trying to reunite the angel to his sister—he used to make it his life's work to break them up. But the past eight months… those had changed things. "Look, I may not have liked you two together, but I've decided the only thing I dislike more is you two saps _apart_." Cas's expression flickered with some unnamable emotion.

Benny chuckled in commentary. "Sounds high voltage," he commented slyly.

Dean threw a brief, weighted glance his way. "You got no idea." He looked back at Cas commandingly—the angel still looked reluctant. "So stow the doubt, Cas. You're coming. That's final. I'm not leaving you behind, especially not after how hard I've fought to keep your ass alive. Nobody gets left behind. Especially not you. We're gonna shove your ass back through the eye of that needle if it kills all three of us."

"Whoa, whoa, now don't sign me up for that one, chief," Benny protested mildly. "Don't really feel like dying again. Once was enough."

Dean shot the vampire a look—this bloodsucker was either a hundred percent in or a hundred percent out as far as he was concerned. "You're welcome to leave _anytime_ , Fangs McGee," he said tersely.

Impatient with the constant digs, Benny looked off, clearly ready to keep moving. "You boys sure know how to make a guy feel welcome, I tell you that much," he muttered, then hefted his dangerous-looking weapon for good measure as he scanned the nearby trees for enemies.

Dean nodded and made to move out but Cas caught him by the shoulder, deadly serious. "Dean, I'm just saying…" he trailed off, and his grimy, bearded face showed deep amounts of earnestness. "…if it doesn't work... thank you for everything. I'm grateful for our time here together, ironically enough." He paused, that unintentionally sappy nature of his coming through pretty heavily. "I think we needed it."

Well. How did you reply to that, especially with another dude watching? Speaking of… Benny was giving them a look that made Dean sour defensively. " _Shut up_ ," Dean snapped at the vampire.

There was a soft chuckle. "Didn't say a thing, hombre," the vampire murmured, his voice distinctly teasing. "But you _sure_ you two have ladies back yonder? Seems like to me…" he trailed off suggestively.

Dean stared at the vampire hard, daring him to finish that damn sentence. "Seems like _what,_ pal?"

Benny grinned lazily, his blue eyes crinkling up at the edges as he enjoyed Dean's disgruntlement. "Nothin', boys," he said, his amusement irking the hunter deeply. "Nothin'."

Cas, confused as always, squinted his eyes deeply. "…Is he implying something?" he asked suspiciously, then looked at Dean for explanation. "What is he implying, Dean?"

Dean, thoroughly done, clapped the angel on the shoulder and shook his head. "Don't worry about it, Cas," he muttered, already heading forward and gritting teeth against the countless pains in his body. "Let's just keep moving, all right?"

And keep moving they did. It was the only thing you could do in that place. Hunt or be hunted. Kill or be killed. Keep moving or die standing still.

* * *

**Meanwhile  
Tebriz, Iran**

When she had thought of Iran in the past, she'd pictured endless sandy deserts filled with third-world nomad living—tents, desolation, camels maybe, and lots of people in turbans with no idea what the Internet was. Well, there were camels and turbans, but Iran wasn't like her preconceived notions at all. The city of Tebriz was modern and beautiful, settled in the Quru River valley—lush mountains marched along the horizon behind beautiful skyscrapers and infrastructure. Beautiful deserts tapered off away from the more verdant lands that rested along where rivers fed the earth. It was a beautiful city for sure. Oh, and they definitely knew what the Internet was.

But Alex was no longer in the city of Tebriz. Today, she was backpacking through the Balcans, a nearby maze of brilliantly orange mountains with strange, twisting tunnels and huge, tall paths cut through them by time. It reminded Alex of something from Indiana Jones. This place was utterly surreal, especially to someone who had only seen the landscapes of North America up close and personal. Alex hoisted her backpack again to redistribute the heavy weight and she continued onward behind the man ahead who led a tired donkey along through the rocky tunnel. Her boots made soft noises against the sand-dusted stone beneath her feet.

It had taken her about two full months to get to this point—falsify a passport, figure out where the Garden of Eden might be, figure out how to _find_ what no one else ever had… there was a lot of speculation out there that said the Garden could be in the mountains near Tebriz but no one had ever found it before. There was a rumor that _these_ mountains in particular had a passage that people went into and never returned from. That's where she was going now, of course, with the aid of a guide. _It_ _'_ _s like, danger? Yes, sign me up, take me there!_ Story of her life. It had been hard to find a guide willing to take her to the place, but she'd found a guy, finally, who was willing for the right price. So, here she was.

After finishing her work for Crowley (and leaving Meg a bleeding mess on the floor as the grand finale), Alex had immediately jumped into this Garden of Eden thing like her life depended on it. She had become a creature of autonomy, sleeping, eating, drinking, and working on finding this place—the only things that ruled her life were the obsession to save her boys and the addiction to painkillers she still fought. Nothing else mattered to her except making this happen. She'd been in Iran for nearly two weeks now and had been exploring Tebriz's mountains day and night in the search for the Garden. Her muscles were sore and tired, she'd lost five pounds from all the physical demand, she was _beyond_ sleep deprived. Needless to say, she was fucking determined to find this Garden and the portal piece Zip had said would be there. _Everything_ depended on it—Sam's life, Dean's life, Cas's life, maybe Bobby's too. If Alex didn't get the mysterious portal piece, Zip refused to tell her how to get in to Purgatory. And even if she forced Zip at knifepoint to tell her how to get in, she wasn't sure if she could get anyone _out_ without this object. So, she had to _find_ it.

A mild sigh of wind whipped through the breezeway made by the curving paths they walked along and some strands of Alex's dark brown hair danced around her face for a minute. Wind always made her think of Cas, and her heart abruptly ached out of nowhere at the thought of him. Blue eyes, strong arms, tan trench coat. Deep voice, gentle feelings, old hurts. It all welled up in her like a symphony, each of her senses remembering him and preserving him in memory alone. Trying not to dwell on the thought of him because the pain was too great to hold in her two hands, Alex set her face harder and walked a little faster. Ahead, her guide Faraz paused and dashed some sweat away from his deeply-tanned leathery old forehead—the part of his forehead that wasn't covered up by a brilliant blue turban. He was a withered-up looking old man who was going blind and had a white, wiry beard—even though he was elderly, he moved like a peaceful stream, smoothly and evenly, sure on his feet and remarkably strong. His face was wizened; time had carved out wrinkles that bore witness to how often he smiled—his eyes had permanent crinkles around them. He said something in Persian and gestured ahead, looking at Alex expectantly. He barely spoke any English, which was why Samirah was there.

Samirah was a young Persian college student who wore a modest black hijab. She was incredibly polite and kind and accommodating and very interested in the quest to find the Garden which was why she had agreed to translate and travel with them a few times now. "He says this is the place," Samirah said, gesturing up ahead to where Faraz stood. "But too dangerous. He will not go further. You can see for yourself why."

Alex went forward and saw that, yes, indeed she could. Solid ground in the narrow path they followed gave way to a rapidly-descending crag that got smaller and steeper as far as the eye could see before it veered off to the left and into shadowy darkness. It looked like if you weren't careful you'd fall and roll down the little tunnel. Probably to death or worse if the Indiana Jones movies were anything to go by. _Hmm._ "Well… no risk, no reward." Alex took off her backpack decisively, figuring what the hell. She hadn't come this far to turn around now. She rolled up her sleeves, armed herself, and pulled her hair back into a tight ponytail, a woman on a mission.

Faraz began to jabber incessantly, obviously shocked and appalled that Alex was about to go down there. Samirah translated quickly. "He says you should not go in, people who go in they do not come out—" she paused, listening to Faraz continue in a frenzy for a second. "You can attempt to hire a man to do it for you, he suggests."

Oddly enough, that comment immediately struck Alex as humorous. If only this guy knew the things she'd done and monsters she'd faced. "Tell him I can do anything any man can," she said, grinning sloppily despite the fact that she was about to risk life and limb. "And tell him _I_ _'_ _ll be back_."

* * *

**Later**   
**Purgatory**

Three men stood in a circle, their backs to one another as they looked around, eyes wildly searching for more attackers. But all their attackers had been eliminated. All three men were breathless and harrowed with their bloodied weapons at their sides. Scattered around at their feet, the dead bodies of a pack of Rugarus that had just given them a damn good run for their money. Cas was the first to speak and probably the best one to ask—he had better and sharper senses than Dean and Benny combined. "Well, I think we're clear for the moment," he said, breaking off from the circle and slowly walking to stand by a Rugaru corpse. He peered down at it with a grimly curious frown. "It _does_ present a curious curl in the metaphysics, doesn't it?" He looked up at Dean. "If you murder a monster in monster heaven…" his eyes fell back down at the body, "where does it go?"

Although Dean had wondered the exact same thing, Benny scoffed. He and Cas did _not_ like each other, and the more time they spent together, the more childlike the spats between them became. Case in point: "This crazy uncle's _really_ been your wingman all these months in here, Dean?" the vampire asked, a comment made more to instigate Cas than anything else.

It worked. Cas's expression went all dark and pissy and he confronted Benny as if it were some huge, serious matter. "I am _not_ your uncle," he said snidely. When he got a half eye roll from Benny, Cas's cranky response got that much more pronounced. "I have no _possible_ relationship to your sibling offspring and I'm not the Winchesters uncle, either—frankly, that would be disturbing as I'm married to the youngest of their family. I don't _approve_ of incest."

Benny was _so_ unimpressed. "Now you kidding me…" he muttered as if to himself, and his eye roll was audible.

Dean wanted to stick a knife into his own skull—it was like this every day _all_ day ever since they'd added Benny to the mix. "You two are killing me!" Dean complained, tired of hearing it.

"Dean, do we _really_ require this creature's assistance?" Cas asked petulantly, staring at Benny balefully the entire time. "I find his company grating."

"Now you know how _I_ feel," Dean retorted. "You're _both_ annoying the crap outta me!" At his limit, he stalked off by about twenty feet and sat on a boulder to get some damn peace and quiet so he didn't commit murder. He set his blade down with a metallic clack beside himself and ran his hands across his dirty face as a thousand worries warred within him. Sam. Alex. Jamie. And… maybe a much smaller human being, too.

Were they _really_ going to be stuck here forever? Why hadn't Sam or Alex gotten them out yet? Was there not a way? Dean was beginning to despair and fear they had been abandoned and left to die in here. Whenever he felt that fear creeping up on him, he immediately chided himself, _knowing_ his brother and sister wouldn't stop until they found him. But it couldn't come soon enough. _Damn_ it couldn't come soon enough. Dean rubbed his hands together and blood, dirt, grime all rubbed off in disgusting clumps. For awhile he'd enjoyed this life, almost. It had felt pure in a way he hadn't experienced. No dependence on alcohol, food, sleep, whatever else. Just killing and hunting and dominating the food chain. He'd been a lot more hopeful that rescue was on the way or that they'd stumble onto a way out. But now, he was getting antsy and wanted _out._ He needed to be back topside with his family. He needed to know what had happened to Jamie. Not knowing _killed_ him. _Killed._

Sensing Dean's distress, Castiel—filthy, greasy, tired Castiel—came over hesitantly then sat beside him on the rock then shared the silence for a long couple beats. They both stared off ahead of themselves. Finally, Cas spoke. "Are you all right, Dean?"

It was a pretty dumb question, honestly, but nice at least Dean guessed. "No, Cas. No, I am not all right." Nothing _about_ this was all right. It got harder and harder to find any kind of hope anymore for anything other than this: Purgatory, forevermore. The endless fucking woods and the cold thin air that scraped your lungs dry, the never-ending bloodthirsty monsters and beasts, the nights that lasted for weeks at a time, the days that were too dim to be called days, the constant taste of blood in your mouth, the inbred desire for sleep and food and the curse of not needing either thing at all… the deals with the devil you had to make. Dean's eyes drifted to Benny, who was whistling softly and pacing a slow, sure back-and-forth off aways. "We could ditch him if you really want," Dean offered softly to Cas. Honestly, Dean didn't think this portal thing was legit. And if it was, maybe he and the angel could find it on their own.

Cas didn't consider it long—grudgingly, he admitted what they both knew. "It would be unwise to send away the one ally we have." Yeah. The extra blade definitely helped, especially since Dean and Cas were so banged up from the past eight months. Dean felt the angel looking at him sidelong with an earnest and concerned expression. "I'm sure she's fine, Dean."

 _Dammit, Cas, get outta my head. Or am I just that obvious?_ He considered side stepping the issue completely. They hadn't talked about Jamie in awhile. So that's why Dean _couldn_ _'_ _t_ sidestep it. He was busting at the seams to air his doubts and fears and thoughts. "You sure about that?" he asked quietly. "'Cause by my count she's probably… if there's…" he swallowed hard. "It's been about nine months since the night when it probably happened." He remembered the kiss that started it all and unleashed the floodgates. He remembered stumbling around in the dark with her in some crappy motel and swearing a lot as he and James had given in and gone all the way. Multiple times. Had they made a baby that day? It still shellshocked him to think about it. Him, and her. Creating a new little life together by accident in what Dean counted as maybe the best night of his life. Beside him, Cas was silent and thoughtful. Dean tried to put it in a way Cas might understand. "How would you feel, if, if Al was out there and… and having your kid and you couldn't be with her during that?" he asked.

Cas responded like Dean had expected. With faint surprise and then apprehensive studiousness as he thought it over. "I suppose I would feel very anxious. More than I am now. There would be nothing I wouldn't do to get back to her." He paused, then pointed out what he thought was the difference in the equation. "But I love Alex very much, in ways that… I myself can't even fathom sometimes. There's an ache inside when we're apart, an ache that never leaves." He paused, and that ache he described was audible. "I miss her so much." Cas turned his gaze onto Dean. "Do you—feel this way about the wi—" he caught himself, remembering Dean disliked when he called her 'the witch.' "About Jamie Ward?"

Cas was basically asking if Dean loved her, and Dean shied away from that question pretty hardcore. He knew the answer of course, but that wasn't for Cas to know. He tried to put it in terms that the angel would get. "James… she's… she's different," he said. And she was. She was the pain in his chest and the worry in his heart; she was inspiration for small smiles in a man who didn't smile much anymore. "She… I guess kinda sticks with me in a way I could never unstick." He remembered how as teenagers he thought she was so lame and annoying—then meeting her again he'd liked her a lot, _then_ he found out she was a witch and had been so _mad_ about liking her. Turned out even the witch thing couldn't keep him from liking her after all though. She was this beautiful, broken woman and he'd been unknowingly screwed from their very first meeting way back in the 90s. Back then all he'd seen was some knock-kneed, pimple-ridden girl with a giraffe neck and braces and a snobby personality. And she was gonna become one of the most important people in his life somehow along the way. Dean thought of how she let him see her in ways she never let others see her and it got him every time. She'd _trusted_ him and he'd wanted to be there for her and he was so sick with worry every day over if she was okay or not and if she knew where he was or not. "I just, thinking of her doing this alone without me…" he murmured, half to himself, "I should be there helping, she shouldn't be on her own. She was scared, man, she was _scared_." About the possibility of being pregnant. About Dean hanging up on her and disappearing. And that was what had happened. It killed him. "And every single day I'm here is like…" Dean faltered as the question he strung himself out over came to the surface. "Am I a father, Cas? Like… do I have a _son_? A, a daughter? If I do—if James really was—you know—then… then Jamie's not the only one who needs me right now."

Cas nodded slightly, listening to Dean and taking a moment to reply. They'd had a few of these deep, tough conversations the past few months. More than a few. That tended to happen when you were with someone twenty-four-seven and running for your lives and trying to keep hope about returning to the world you knew. It was surprising, actually, how insightful Cas could be. How understanding. Dean hadn't really seen that before about the angel. Maybe because he'd been so determined to resent him. "How would that work, Dean?" Cas asked slowly, not trying to be combative, just honestly curious and concerned. "Hunting… it doesn't seem like a safe life for a child, let alone a newborn, and you and the wi—excuse me, Jamie Ward are both hunters."

Dean shook his head once. He knew that. He'd thought about it. "Cross that bridge when I come to it," he said, then let his eyes lift to the forever-gray sky overhead. " _If_ I ever get out of here." He resumed staring straight ahead, knowing one thing for damn sure. "But you can bet your ass on the fact that if I had a kid, if I _am_ a dad, I would do anything for that little rugrat. _Anything_." A brief, self-deprecating smile crossed his face. "You think I'm crazy about Sam and Alex? You ain't seen nothin'."

Cas was quiet a moment, then asked a very surprising question indeed. "What about Benjamin Braeden?"

Although the question wasn't expected, Dean's answer came pretty quickly and factually once he got over the surprise factor. "Wasn't mine. Not by blood anyway." He looked down at his dirty hands again, sad at the loss of Lisa and Ben even though he knew it was for the best. They would always be part of his life, even if it had been a mistake… and there were some good memories there. Mostly centered around Ben, to be honest. "Still loved him like my own, but… he was some other guy's kid." Dean glanced at Cas sidelong. "I checked. DNA tests are pretty easy these days and… had to know. Didn't really believe Lisa, to be honest. Maybe I wanted him to be… but, he wasn't mine."

"I know," Cas replied offhandedly. Dean looked at him oddly. He _knew_? Cas shrugged mildly, his explanation simple and foreseeable: "I'm an angel."

"All right, Castiel, angel of the Lord and walking, talking paternity test," Dean said, not sure whether to be amused or chagrinned. "Great." All this baby talk had Dean's mind turning to a pretty sensitive question. Last time he'd brought this up Cas had shut down pretty fast and gotten upset, requested not to talk about it. But Dean took a chance and asked. Just… very carefully. Because he really couldn't help himself and felt like he _had_ to know. "Did—did you know?" he asked, looking at Cas with an extremely concerned expression. "When… when Al was…" he trailed off, his chest tight.

Cas's face when this subject came up. The look was unforgettable and he became very quiet and somber, haunted almost. "No," he said softly after a very long, difficult pause. "I didn't know." He looked off into the woods, his features set tensely in a regretful, mournful expression. "I was devoid of angelic ability at the time. If I had known… well, I think we may be alike in that respect, Dean. I would have done anything in Heaven, Hell, or in between to protect... the life I had part in creating." His voice caught and weakened. "Now… i-it's… it's too late." The weight of the pain Cas carried was audible and sobering, making Dean sorry he asked. "It's a terrible feeling. One of the worst ones I've ever experienced." Castiel looked down, his face a map of pain. "I don't think I would have been a good father, Dean." He looked self-pitying and miserable, lost. "I wasn't a good anything else. I'm… a terrible friend and a poor excuse for an angel. I don't even deserve the term husband anymore. If I ever did at all." Before Dean could reply (although he wasn't sure _what_ to say in return), Cas decided to shut down the topic at hand, change the subject, and hit Dean over the head with a pretty unexpected question. "So. Will you marry Jamie Ward if she is indeed the mother of your child?"

Dean gaped and his mouth worked like a dying fish's as he tried to find a response. "Wha—well—I mean, I kinda doubt she'd _go_ for that, Cas…" he managed. He'd never once thought about that, ever.

Cas smiled faintly, almost ruefully. "Perhaps you don't know her as well as you think, Dean. The few times I've seen her, I've sensed…" he paused and thought a moment for the right words, "a strong desire for belonging and stability."

Although Dean kind of knew that already about her, he was pretty quickly felt discouraged to hear it out loud. "Stability," he repeated blankly. "Yeah, that's… not me." He was dependable, but not stable. There was a pretty big difference. It felt disheartening somehow. A reminder of his inadequacies and shortcomings and how he felt incapable of being what anyone needed or wanted. "I'm barely boyfriend material let alone… whatever else." He tried to laugh derisively. "Not like you, Cas. Mr. Morality or whatever…"

Cas smiled softly, an action tinged by regret and sadness. "I would hardly call myself that." He sighed softly, deep in thought as his eyes scanned the ominously quiet woods before them. "You'll see her again, Dean. I'll make sure of it. If it's the last thing I do." His heavy tone and depressed demeanor inspired one reaction.

Dean made a face. "Quit talking like you're never getting out of here, dude. You got a girl to get back to just like me."

Ashamed, Cas's face and voice both showed great, heartbroken grief. "She wouldn't want me anymore, Dean," he said faintly. "It's been nothing but failure after failure on my part."

"Oh _come on_ , man," Dean protested—they had been around this circuit like a hundred times before here in Purgatory and Cas went from eagerly wanting to get back to earth to being depressed over his past actions and reluctant to even try. "You got your shit together now, you're past the crap that turned you into Bizarro Cas." Dean waited for a reply and none came, so he prompted the angel a little loudly. "I mean, you gave me your _word_ , remember?"

Cas remembered. Of course he did. The day he and Dean had hit each other black and blue, they'd hashed out every last damn thing that had been putting a wedge between him. Dean had basically said that if Cas gave him his _word_ on his life, his father god, his holy halo, whatever else—that Dean would give Cas a clean slate. Cas had said he didn't deserve that, Dean had yelled _'_ _fuck what you deserve! I_ _'_ _m giving you a second chance now take it you asshole!_ ' Really sweet, touching stuff, right? But Cas had promised. Given his word. That he would live up to Dean giving him this second chance. "I remember," Cas confirmed.

Dean nodded stiffly. "So, we're good. We shook on it. We are _good_." Being here in the land of monsters and sleeplessness, fighting with Cas at his side… it had changed things for Dean. Given him too much time to think, given him a lot of insight into who Castiel the angel was, given him a lot of time to think over his _own_ actions and stuff, too. "Like I said before." Dean looked at Cas sidelong. Squinty, weird, nerdy Cas who his sister loved and had picked and wasn't gonna walk away from. "She's made her choice and it's you. I get that now, and I'm—I'm okay with stepping back and letting you two take the steering wheel on this." He raised his hands briefly in a mock gesture of surrender. "Hey, it's your ship to sail, not mine."

Castiel was deep in distressed thought. He barely responded to Dean. "Her choice _used_ to be me," he said quietly. "Now… I don't know." He let a long silence stretch out before he spoke again. "I think we'll always love each other, Dean. I _know_ I'll always love her. But the pain of it all and the things I've done, the ways I've damaged her heart over and over… it might be too much for her." You could hear how much he loved her and how afraid he was to hurt her again in any small way. "I'm afraid to fail again, Dean. I couldn't bear it if I disappointed her or hurt her again, I couldn't." Defeated and forlorn, Cas gave one final, dismal observation: "Love is so complicated. So painful."

The guy needed one thing, obviously: a hug. But Dean had a short list of people in the world he would hug, and Cas wasn't one of them. So he decided to end the sad train and get them back to focusing on doing what they _could_ do currently. Being down in the dumps wasn't gonna get either of them back to their ladies. "Well, way I see it, you gotta figure all that out between the two of yourselves," he counseled. "Which is gonna _happen_ when we get outta here." He thumped Cas hard on the back twice and stood up, taking his weapon with him as he did. He tried to lighten the mood with a dip into playfulness. "What do you think, Uncle Cas?"

Cas remained seated on the rock with a deeply quizzical frown on his grimy face. "…Are you saying that as a reference back to the vampire's comment, or because you're implying I'm your brother in spirit and therefore the uncle to the child you might have with Jamie Ward?" he asked, eyes squinting deeply.

"Good question, Brainiac," Dean said, remaining mysterious and chuckling a little at Cas's phrasing. Refocusing immediately when he heard the telltale _snap!_ of a cracking limb nearby, he turned fast. Benny still lurked nearby in the trees, and he was looking toward the cracking noise, too, his weapon at the ready as he carefully snuck closer to the source of the noise. Dean felt Cas come to his side. The angel's machete was already out and his gameface was on. There was another rustling in the trees and Dean gripped his weapon tighter, already knowing they were about to go another round. "Well, here we go again," he muttered, shaking his head. The nightmare never ended. Never stopped. That was the only guarantee in this place.

* * *

**Later  
New Orleans International Airport**

Some adventures were too unbelievable to be real. But to the girl who had been mute for twenty plus years then been able to speak with no problem, to the girl who killed ghosts and hunted monsters for a living, to the girl who walked with angels and worked for demons… discovering the Garden of Eden was actually a pretty humble, reasonable accomplishment in her mind.

As Flight 576 taxied in after touching down, the passengers around Alex were restlessly preparing to disembark. But she was looking down at the small object she cupped in her hands. There was a soft smile on her face because she had _done_ it. Despite everything against her, she had _done it._ She had scaled down into that crag in the Balcan mountains and over the bones of the hundreds of people who had died there before—she had stood plastered against solid stone, her feet barely fitting along a couple-inch ledge that overlooked a hundred-foot drop. She had looked down at the skeletons of those who had fallen from where she carefully edged with a heart beating out of her chest. She had crammed herself into the tiny, dark tunnel that came after that and crawled for what felt like miles in total darkness as rock pressed down at her and reminded her that she would be trapped for the rest of eternity in this place if she got stuck. She had emerged from that tunnel into the most lush and vibrant oasis she had ever seen, at the center of which a huge tree grew. The Tree of Life, if the legends were true. The Garden wasn't very large—it almost looked as though God had taken the mountains and formed them around and over the original Garden, blocking it in and downsizing it so that no one could ever enter it or see it again. It was completely enclosed by stone—a huge dome of solid rock arching above the entirety of the place. Light glowed from the plants inexplicably, especially the tree which had to be at least a hundred feet high. Alex had gone to that tree, her weapon out because she had read in the bible that an angel with a flaming sword guarded this place. But she met no one and found wings scarred across the large, gnarled roots of the Tree of Life. Someone else had killed the Garden's keeper, probably long ago. But what she searched for, what she had risked life and limb for hadn't been taken. She found it lodged into the trunk of the tree of life: a small, red stone with a white symbol branded onto it. A symbol that looked like a tree almost, one that matched the piece of paper Alex had gotten from the mysterious stranger who helped her fight out of SucroCorp. So, knowing she had found the portal piece, Alex used her angel blade to wedge the stone out, and when she did, Eden began to crumble all around her…

As she sat in an air conditioned airplane that was coming to a stop at an airport gate, Alex looked out at the bleak, boring scenery out of the window she sat next to. It was so surreal to have stood at the foot of the Tree of Life and narrowly escaped being buried with Eden as it collapsed inward. She had run faster than she ever had in her life and jumped further as chunks of ground fell away from under her feet. Indiana Jones? He would have been proud. She had overcome impossible odds and escaped just _barely_ and now was sitting in rows of seating like she was as normal and bored as the rest of the people on the flight. She closed her hand around the stone in her hand tightly and pocketed it. She was home free as soon as she got off this plane. She was gonna get her boys back. A mild instance of hopefulness and happiness welled in her heart at that thought, even though she knew she'd only have ten days with them once they were topside again. It was sort of fitting, really, a bittersweet ending to the book called Alex Winchester. She was going to save them after they'd had to save _her_ so many times. She was finally going to make good on her life and use it for something that really mattered. She wasn't going to be stuck alive and immortal forever, her brothers would live and she would die knowing she'd done the right thing. But ten days wasn't long enough. How could she ever explain that to Dean, Cas, and Sam? The hardest thing in all of this was Cas. She'd lost him so many times and knew how deep his heart went. It would hurt him like it had hurt her when he'd died. She worried if he would be able to take it.

That is, if he wasn't dead already. Purgatory didn't sound like a friendly place. Worries over her brother and her angel made her sick inside as usual and she refused to think about it. The mission first. Worrying wouldn't do anything but slow her down at this point.

When Alex got off Flight 576 and found the Impala where she'd left it in paid parking at the airport, the first thing she did was get her phone out and call Sam's old number—she'd given the corresponding phone to Zip, and he was her way in to Purgatory. And even though the trip to Iran had exhausted her, she wasn't about to stop now. She had to finish strong and make every day matter. After all, every day could be the difference between her boys making it or not. She expected to hear the Leviathan's voice on the other end of her phone when the other line picked up. So when a male voice she didn't immediately recognize answered and asked hello she faltered. "Uh—who the hell is _this_?" she asked, starting to get mad fast. If Zip had tried to pull something…

"Um… it's _Kevin_ ," came the unsure, cautious reply. "Who's _this_?"

Alex balked immediately because she recognized his voice the second he identified himself. " _Kevin_?" she repeated, relief and awed surprise making her jaw drop. " _Advanced placement prophet_ Kevin?" At his confused silence, she realized she maybe needed to identify herself. "This is Alex. _Winchester._ _"_

Kevin's surprise was audible and he sounded like the breath had been knocked out of him. "…Alex? Oh my god, where have you been? Are you okay?"

"Are _you_?" she asked urgently, because she'd been worrying about him and wondering regularly about him. Then she did a mental double take because this didn't make sense. "Wait. What are you doing with Sam's old phone?"

"Kyle left it here while he went to the store."

Alex's eyes bulged. " _Kyle_?"

Kevin sounded less certain. "Yeah, Kyle Young…?" he asked slowly, doubtfully. "Friend of yours, a hunter…?" Alex listened with a completely shell-shocked expression on her face. Kyle Young was Zip's 'real' name. But what was he doing with Kevin and why did Kevin think 'Kyle' was their friend and a hunter? She was immediately suspicious and even a little afraid Kevin was being played or maybe even in unknowing captivity. Kevin, however, had other things he was wondering about—he sounded less worried now and more angry. "What _happened_ to you guys? You just disappeared—I had to escape from Crowley all by myself and then I couldn't get in touch with you or Sam or Dean, only with Kyle."

Alex felt a little mindfucked at the moment and decided this was a conversation that had to be had in person. "Look, I'll explain it all to you when I see you, all right? Where are you?"

* * *

**The Next Day  
The Daily Grind Coffee and Tea Shop  
Fairfield, Iowa**

Kevin refused to give her his actual location and gave her the address of a coffee shop instead, saying he would rather meet in public. That was Alex's first indication that Kevin had changed. She sat and waited at an outdoor table like he'd told her on the phone, rolling her eyes as she checked her watch impatiently. _Okay, James Bond, where are you?_ She crossed her arms and suspiciously watched people pass on the sidewalk. And then she saw him. Kevin stood across the street and he had changed more than Alex thought. Last she'd seen him he was shaggy-haired and dressed in formal clothing. Now he had shortly-shorn hair underneath a baseball cap (she guessed because he was trying to be inconspicuous). He wore a dark hoodie over a plain t-shirt and he looked a lot more wearied. She guessed he would have to be, fighting for survival on his own. 

He crossed the street at the crosswalk (what a rebel, right?) just up from the coffee shop then approached her doubtfully, eyeing her like he wasn't sure if she was the real thing or not. "Well _you_ look different," Alex said as he sat down gingerly, watchfully across from her at the tiny outdoor table. And that's when he whipped out a water gun and squirted her in the face with soapy water. Alex sputtered and spat. "Hey!" She reeled back in her chair in surprise. "Dude, I just drove like fourteen hours and I'm tired and I'm _human_ and I'm _me_!"

Kevin wasn't the little mousy guy he'd been before—he leaned over the table and basically glared at her. "Then why haven't I heard from you in… what, eight, nine _months_ now?" 

"I had plans to bust you out. And then you _did_ bust out." She studied him uncertainly, wondering what exactly had transpired over the past however many months. "I honestly figured you probably were hiding from people like me." Hunters. People in The Life. She had to amend herself with mild chagrin. "That, and, well. I've been pretty busy." 

"Your brothers been busy, too?" Kevin asked, clearly resentful about it. "I mean, I could have used some _help_!"

Alex was full of genuine remorse. Poor kid having to tread these deep waters by himself. She sighed and rested an elbow onto the table, rubbing her forehead briefly. "I'm sorry, I was definitely going to track you down as soon as I was done with some stuff I had to take ca—" she sputtered again and fell back in her chair as Kevin abruptly flung water at her from a flask he'd had in his pocket. She threw her hands up in disbelief as water dripped down her face. "Really?! _Holy water_?"

Kevin looked mildly sorry about it, but he shrugged helplessly. "Can you blame me for being paranoid?"

"Guess not," she muttered, realizing he was actually being pretty smart. Even if she was going to be wet for awhile. Alex shook off her hands and wiped her face on the back of her sleeve, eyeing Kevin closely. He still looked young and petrified, but tougher, too. Look at him being so cautious and street-smart. She felt like he'd come into his own somehow and it was bittersweet. "You really embraced the life, huh?" she asked, a little sad because she remembered him wanting to go to college and pursue this huge, important, normal life. And here he was in obvious hiding and fear, assuming everyone was the enemy. 

"I've had to," Kevin said, somber and quiet, his dark, expressive eyes flickering over her face hesitantly. "Sorry. About the water. I… just had to be sure." He looked around briefly, evidence of his paranoia. "Everyone's after me. If it hadn't been for Kyle… he's helped me a lot. And all his family died recently, too, so… it was just me and him trying to keep each other alive."

Alex couldn't quite believe the irony here and at the mention of Zip, she got more than a little cynical. "So, you check to see if _I_ _'_ _m_ a Leviathan, but not _him_?" Kevin's face showed immediate confusion and Alex lost it—did he _really_ not know? "Kyle, aka _Zip_ , is a _Leviathan_ , Kevin!" she exclaimed. "How do you not know that?! Didn't you see him at SucroCorp?"

Kevin looked like he'd been punched in the stomach. "N-no," he said, his color draining. "What? A Leviathan?"

Alex was pretty to the point. "Oh yeah. Born and raised."

"He's not a—no _way_ —!" Kevin protested, obviously trying to understand his rocking world.

Alex remembered the moment she'd found out, too. "Trust me. He _is_. So… run away or cut his head off. Don't trust him—he'll screw you over and then stab you in the back." She realized she was getting way ahead of herself and calmed it down slightly. " _But_ before you do anything too drastic I kind of… need his help, so uh…"

Kevin blinked once, his boyish features showing total sick confusion. "T-this makes no sense."

A young man in his late teens abruptly sidled out from behind a huge potted bush nearby and he plopped down and sat between Alex and Kevin at another side of the table, his hands in his hoodie pockets and his posture terrible as he slouched in the seat. He gave Alex a wan smile. "You know, it's rude to talk about people behind their backs," he said.

She blinked at him and gave him a rude look, not recognizing him. "…And who are _you_ supposed to be?"

He looked nineteen or twenty and faintly insolent. He was blond and unkempt, his matted hair looked like he'd stood in the beach wind for an hour then patted it back down and decided he couldn't bothered to fix it.. "It's _me_ ," he said, and then Alex realized with dawning dismay… oh yeah. Leviathan could change appearances.

"… _Zip_?"

The name made him visibly uncomfortable. "It's Kyle now." He pointed to his changed appearance, a smartass little expression on his features. "New face, fresh start." Near him, Kevin was leaning away from the Leviathan, his hand around his watergun full of borax water.

"You're so full of _shit_ ," Alex muttered, wanting to jump out of her chair and strangle him. But she kept calm forcibly because information was power and beating people's brains in could come later. "So, what, you wanted the prophet for yourself? What's your angle?" 

Zip, Kyle, whoever he was looked offended. "There _is_ no angle." He looked at Kevin and was obviously upset to see the mistrust on Kevin's face. "I needed a friend. He called the phone you gave me and… he needed a friend too." Zip leaned forward, trying to appear earnest. "I _swear,_ Alex, I'm different. I'm a hunter now. I'm gonna make a good life for myself, I'm gonna try and fix my mistakes. W-we've even been hunting Leviathan together here and there, Kevin and me."

Absolute aghast surprise made her raise her eyebrows, then Alex let out a derisive little laugh. "Well _that_ is irony if I've ever heard it." She made eye contact with Kevin, who looked like he felt akin to the world's biggest idiot. "Kevin, first rule of hunting." She was gently firm and rueful. "Know who you're hunting with."

Kevin obviously had gotten that and he was pretty beside himself. "You lied to me," he said in a softly shocked voice, like he couldn't quite believe what was happening. "This _whole time_."

Alex watched Zip's face betray his inner feelings of regret and guilt. "Yeah, 'cause I know exactly how it goes when people know what I really am," he muttered, looking away. His eyes held vast pain that didn't fit with his young face.

"You could have _told_ me," Kevin said sharply.

There was a self-deprecating scoff. "And lose the only friend I had?" Zip asked. "That happened to me before." He looked down, hanging his head practically.

His melodrama didn't interest Alex. "Look, before you disappear or throw a fit, you owe me how to get into Purgatory," she said, leaning toward him threateningly over the table.

He looked up, studying her cautiously. "You got the piece?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

Alex pulled out her cell phone and showed him a picture of the stone as she gave him a challenging look. Zip's dark brown eyes flickered to her questioningly. "Not _with_ me, because I'm not _stupid_ ," she said thinly, almost _amused_ at how dumb he must think she was. "You think I'd let a Leviathan who knows how to get into that place have the way _out_ of Purgatory?" He could release _all_ the monsters back into the world for all she knew.

Zip's offended disbelief grew into hurt. "When are you gonna _get it_?" He asked, voice sharp with quiet anger. "I'm not—" he took a deep breath and abandoned his previous sentence. "I'm _trying_." He looked between Alex and Kevin, trying to find sympathy and understanding. "I just need someone to believe I'm not the bad guy here, 'cause I'm _not_."

Alex crossed her arms and gave him a long look even as Kevin remained silent and brooding. "Talk is cheap," Alex said. "Now out with it. Purgatory. How do I get in."

Zip tapped his fingers all at once on the table idly, eyeing them as he did so. "Getting _in_ isn't the problem," he said somberly, then his dark eyes snapped up to hers. "Staying alive is."

* * *

**Two Weeks Later**   
**Maine's 100 Mile Wilderness**

A young woman traveled alone into the heart of the utter wild with little else besides weapons and a backpack put over one shoulder. She looked severe and determined and ready for battle, intimidating. The few hikers she had encountered had all made quick work to get out of her way. At her thigh, a machete was strapped and in her belt a large hunting knife gleamed. Hidden in her jacket there was an angel blade and slung over a shoulder, a modern crossbow—a silent and effective way to kill any variety of fanged and clawed baddies without having to get too close for comfort. Combat boots reached up to mid calf and her hair was pulled back tightly from her head into a ponytail. She'd backpacked into the uninhabited and uncharted for two days now, and was finally reaching her final destination. Zip's instructions, the crude map he was able to piece together from legend, said that a traveler would find a perfect circle clearing when heading Northwards in these woods. And Alex had just found that clearing. This had to be it. It really _was_ a huge, perfect circle. Nothing at all grew in the dirt surrounded by trees all around. It was a blank canvas, an unnatural and peculiar place.

With a quickening heart rate and the growing worry that she would go to Purgatory and find her brother and husband dead, Alex crouched down in the center of that circle of trees and began to draw the spell in the dirt with the tip of her machete. There was no time to consider that this wouldn't work. Cas and Dean would be _alive,_ she knew they would. She referenced the symbol Zip had drawn for her frequently as she worked, and finished the huge, several-feet-across symbol in less than thirty minutes. Next step: she took out one of the vials of Leviathan ooze that Zip had given her and wrinkled her nose just slightly at the black sludge. Zip didn't know, but the original amount he'd given her? She'd divided it into thirds. Just in case. She let the first third of ooze pour down into the center of the symbol she'd drawn in the ground like he'd told her to do. The final step was to light a match and let it light the ooze up. She struck the fire and watched the flame drop to her feet then blaze to life. This was it. She took out her machete once more, gripped it with white knuckles. " _Hinc animam meam ad purgatorium,_ " she said, speaking the words the Leviathan had told her would send her to the realm beyond.

With that simple incantation, black energy burst out from the symbol and the ground was snatched away as the sky went to nothing. Alex was plunged into the darkness and the unknown.


	107. Ad Purgatorium

" _I thought that this must be what purgatory was like. Can't go forward. Can't go back. Awaiting some official judgment._ _"  
_ \- Megan Miranda

* * *

She hit the ground feet first and there was a body-jolting shockwave that rippled through her entire nervous system from the impact. Alex almost lost her balance completely from the unexpected plunge, but found her center of gravity again thanks to a low crouch as she breathed hard and squinted around to see where her feet had found purchase. Solid, hard-packed ground. She cast a quick glance around as she cautiously stood on aching legs and turned in a quick circle, rapidly realizing that she had been hurled across the dimensions and into the bottom of a huge, deep crater. It was dark out; the middle of night. On all sides of her she could just make out a gently sloping angle of dirt that led upwards to thickly wooded scenery beyond. It was very cold in this place and the air felt thin and heavy all at once. There was no sound or wind or anything else that indicated life of any kind which made for an eerie, pulse-increasing atmosphere. A sense of danger pricked the back of her neck.

Alex began to move immediately because she was a fish in a barrel at the bottom of this crater. She chose a direction at random and checked to see that all of her weapons were still on her as she moved stealthily, practically run-crawling up the angled embankment—her machete was still held in hand, crossbow was still over her shoulder, and her hunting knife's familiar weight was resting safely at the back of her belt. Her long ponytail hit her own face a couple times as she stumbled upwards in the dark. Some sixth sense inside was urging her to hurry because she felt on instinct that there was immediate danger nearby. Unfortunately, she was running straight _into_ it and didn't know. She made it to the ground level and froze at the cusp of the crater—waiting for her on its haunches, seething growling low breaths through bared teeth was something out of a horror movie, she barely glimpsed it before it launched itself at her: it was something her size, a short-furred baboon-like monster with glowing red eyes and fanged teeth that dripped some kind of venom or drool.

She didn't even have a chance to flinch or gasp when she saw it—it leaped at her with a horrible gnarling noise and they tumbled back down into the crater where she was sure this creature planned to kill and eat her. Vicious snapping snarls were right in her face as she fought the monster back with nothing but her own strength and her own two hands—the world went around in circles as they rolled down the embankment locked in combat. She had lost grip of her machete and her crossbow had fallen off and currently her hands were both jammed against stiff fur as she struggled to hold back certain death—she used one of her hands to hold the thing back by the neck and the other to pin one of its arms, and when they rolled onto the ground at the bottom of the crater, she slammed her knee into its side once, twice, three times, a battlecry of rage screaming up her throat. _I didn_ _'_ _t come this far to get taken out right away!_

The beast writhed rabidly, snorting and growling furiously as a clawed hand left a bloody slash against the side of her face. Alex howled her pain even as she snapped her face away from the scratching claws and took a chance, letting go with one hand and beating the side of the monkey's skull with her fist repeatedly as she kept her deathgrip on its neck and clenched as tight as she could, hoping to crush a windpipe. Sensing an opportunity, Alex roared and in one adrenaline-fueled motion flipped her attacker over with another brutal knee-bash, freeing herself for a split second and giving herself the opportunity to yank her hunting knife out of its holster. With a vicious thrust that almost didn't make it at all as the creature lunged upwards at her, the knife sank deeply into the attacker's throat and a horrible screaming noise gargled out of the bizarre monster's mouth. Its body lost tension underneath her as she straddled its collapsing form. Alex pushed harder on the hilt, teeth gritted and breath gone as she grunted hard and made sure that thing would fucking _die_ when she was done with it _._ It whined pathetically and Alex yanked the knife out of flesh hard, standing up and over her opponent on shaky legs as red eyes faded out and the monster perished.

 _Christ._ Alex touched wobbling fingers to her stinging cheek. What _was_ that thing? She had no idea, but it looked feral and terrifying even laying there dead at her feet. _That was close. Too close._ Wincing, Alex realized she could already feel bruises forming from the fall back into the crater—her arms, her legs, a knee, a spot on her back all protested and pinged in pain. Half amazed that she was still alive at all and very aware that she needed to move _now_ , Alex cast around in the dark for her things and made quick, frenzied work of gathering everything back as she kept throwing backward glances around.

She ignored her pain and focused on getting to the ground level again with all her weapons. As she reached the top of the crater and the barren woods beyond she shifted her backpack onto both shoulders so it wouldn't come off and she switched from machete to crossbow, holding it tight and high as she crept forward and looked in all directions for any other signs of danger, training the sights on all possible places an enemy could be hiding. She'd rather shoot any kind of threat than knife fight it up close and in the dark after _that_ little tussle.

Her breathing calmed down after a few seconds and no other threats emerged. That freaky monkey from the pits of _hell_ had apparently been a lone wanderer. So, this was Purgatory. It was surprisingly dull and monotonous looking. She heard nothing and saw nothing—there were just trees and trees and more trees, no signs of any more enemies or any _thing_ else besides drab woods in all directions. The loudest sounds were her slowly-moving whisper-soft footsteps and the thunder of her own heart in her ears. She crept forward into the trees, mindful of every last thing: her grip on her weapon, the loudness of her footfalls, her immediate surroundings and the dangers that might lurk behind any number of nearby trees. Ears straining to hear any indication of someone nearby, Alex exercised extreme caution and swallowed down the fear she felt… but Zip's Purgatory pep talk replayed in her mind over and over; his cautionary tales and wisdom gained from personal experience making her adrenaline surge even higher.

" _It_ _'_ _s dangerous. There might be a monster behind every tree or there might not be anyone else for a hundred miles. You never know. You might go days without seeing anyone. That_ _'_ _s when you have to be the most paranoid._ _"_

She continued forward into the woods and away from the crater, wishing she didn't have to do this alone—without someone watching her back, things could go sour quickly. And the nice little welcome she'd gotten from that baboon looking guy had really jarred her despite how she knew better than to expect an easy ride.

" _You have to be fast. You have to be good. Every single soul in there is out for blood._ Your _blood._ _"_

Alex came upon a good sized tree with a low enough branch and quickly slung her crossbow over her shoulder and leapt up, catching the limb and pulling herself up with gritted teeth. If nothing else, working for Crowley had put her through the paces and she was stronger and sharper than ever. She'd _had_ to be with all that demon hunting. But here and now in this place, she reminded herself that she wasn't so much the hunter as the hunt _ed_. Zip had been pretty damn clear about _that_ part in his dire warnings.

" _You won_ _'_ _t need food and you won_ _'_ _t need water. You_ _'_ _ll need speed. You_ _'_ _ll need eyes in the back of your head. You_ _'_ _ll need_ luck _. Purgatory isn_ _'_ _t for humans. If your brother and the angel are dead in there_ _…_ _don_ _'_ _t be surprised._ _"_

She drug herself up the tree and to its highest point where she could see further. The entire way up, Zip's words echoed darkly across her thoughts. _If your brother and the angel are dead in there_ _…_ _don_ _'_ _t be surprised._ She refused to believe they were dead or to even acknowledge it as being possible even though she knew it was more than possible—it was _probable_. _Yes_ , it had been nine or so months and _yes_ this was a dangerous place and _yes_ the odds weren't in the boys' favor… but there was a _chance,_ there was a sliver of hope that they had fought and survived and were out there in these woods somewhere. That was the hope she was building her entire world on. She _had_ to get to her big brother and to the other half of her heart and soul. She had to get them out and see them safe. She would do it or die trying.

Even though it was night, the sky wasn't pitch black in this strange land. It was dark grey and as she scaled the tree and rose to the top of the treeline, she could see the endless jagged treetops forming a perverse lace edge all along the horizon. And then to one direction, she saw what she had been hoping to see. A huge tree that dwarfed all the others and rose above them in a crooked, strange mess of limbs that reached out into the sky. The tree of the knowledge of good and evil. The dead center of Purgatory. And she wasn't _that_ far from it, maybe a half a day's walk. That was the way out of this place if you had the portal piece. Which she _did_ … it was in her pocket and promised to get them out when the time was right.

But… her heart sank as she looked around in a three-hundred and sixty degree survey of Purgatory. The trees didn't end. _Anywhere_. They went on possibly forever, as far as the eye could see. _How am I supposed to find them?_ If _they_ _'_ _re even still alive? I_ _'_ _m not the best tracker and they could be_ anywhere _out there_ _…_

Every atom that was Alex remained desperate to lay eyes on two of the most important men in her life. But she was forced to remember that she wasn't just here for Dean and Cas… she had to find Crowley's desired object. Without it, Sam wouldn't recover because of the deal she'd made. Alex shut her eyes and breathed steadily, overwhelmed. She had come this far and done this much already to mess it up now. _I can do this. Just don_ _'_ _t jump the gun. One step at a time. It_ _'_ _s all on me so I gotta be careful to do this right._

She opened her eyes back up and searched the darkness all around, all the endless miles of danger and potential death. It was humbling and terrifying all at once to realize what she was in that moment: one small human against all of Purgatory in search of two of the most precious things in the universe. Despite that knowledge and how petrified she truly was inside, Alex summoned courage and refused to let fear control her. She put two faces in her mind and concentrated on them and the love she felt for them. _If you_ _'_ _re out there, I_ _'_ _ll find you. If it takes me a thousand years, I_ _'_ _ll find you._

She didn't notice when her hand errantly went up to touch her penny necklace—it was something she did mindlessly when she was anxious, a habit she'd barely noticed forming ever since she had begun wearing it nearly three years ago. And then her fingers found nothing but empty skin and she remembered, once again, that she had lost it months ago when Cas disappeared and that her fingers were ghosts, seeking something that was gone. She hoped her heart was not the same.

* * *

**Meanwhile**

Castiel realized that he was doing it again—absently touching the penny and ring he had begun to wear around his neck during the time here in Purgatory. Beneath his shirt they rested against his skin and close to his heart. It seemed a fitting place for those objects that represented the best thing about his existence. He took his hand away from the familiar little shape of them, but nothing could take away the dull, constant ache of loneliness and yearning he carried in her name.

_Where are you right now? Are you all right without me? Are you better off without me beside you? Do you miss me like I miss you? Do you think of me like I think of you?_

He thought of her sadly and without ceasing. He saw her brother every day and Dean reminded him of her painfully. Same freckly complexion, same stubborn attitude. He worried about her and pained himself continually over how she was, _where_ she was. If she was safe. If he would see her again. And _if_ he saw her again, how she would look at him now. He could remember his time of insanity and he had developed very embarrassed, rueful feelings about it all—he had been truly out of his mind and could remember how stressed and grieved she had been made by his bumbling, unpredictable condition. He likened their relationship during that time almost to adult caregiver and child. And he was sorry it had become like that. He was sorry he had become a surface-level version of himself that had been obsessed with flowers and bees and collecting her fallen hairs. It had made sense at the time, but at the time he'd also been _psychotic_ , so…

He felt almost _guilty_ that she had still cared for and loved him through his mindlessness. He was amazed that she had still somehow found it within herself to stay with him and have patience with him even when he was doing nothing but rambling on and on about gardening and honeybees and all the useless facts he had gathered over the millennia. She had still _loved_ him then, even if it had been a different sort of love… and that stuck in his mind as something warm, something special, something sacred. She hadn't walked away or taken away her friendship from him; she had been at his side faithfully even though his condition had obviously grieved and frustrated her. However, she hadn't wanted him like she used to and that had hurt and confused him. He thought he grasped why now after mulling it over so much, though. Their connection hadn't been the same as before— _he_ hadn't been the same—and after the pain of their six-month separation and his 'marriage' to Daphne, after they had reunited in a passionate, impulsive tangle and then Cas's guilt over everything had reared its ugly head head—his attempts to do the 'right thing' and remove himself from her life had wounded her deeply and left her feeling obvious betrayal. He realized now more than ever how confused and exhausted she must be over the emotional hardships he had given to her. He couldn't fault her either.

Purgatory had given him an abundance of time to think over everything in detail; the entire duration of their relationship, the good and the bad alike. The innocent beginning, how he'd loved her before he even knew the emotion. A first kiss that he couldn't take back even though he had tried… and how no matter what either of them did, they remained tangled together in something they couldn't escape from. It wasn't that he _wanted_ to escape from it, either. She was his _life_. In fact, he hoped and dreamed of nothing but seeing her again—yet he was afraid she would have given up on him now. After everything that had happened to them after the war in Heaven and his endless lists of mistakes, it was a mess he didn't know how to fix. He thought she would not want him again, ever. He couldn't truly blame her. The things he had subjected her to were more bad than good: He had disappointed her. Abandoned her. Betrayed her. Hurt her over and over again. Promised forever then failed again and again and even tried to go back on his word, practically. It was shameful. He thought he should be all the more determined now to keep his distance and never risk hurting her physically or emotionally ever again. And yet, this time with Dean had somehow given him hope once more for a future together. It was ironic to say the least that the man who had stood against the relationship for so long had been the one who told Cas to 'just sack up and see it through, you self-pitying jackass. My sister deserves better than that.'

…Dean had a strange way of expressing care, to put it mildly.

There was also another thing that stood between Cas and Alex, a thing Castiel still dwelled on and pained himself over. The other man. The Leviathan who had seduced and used her. It still gave the angel so much pain to think of his Alex allowing someone else into her arms and into the most physically intimate embrace there was. He understood that she had needed and wanted comfort, he understood she had believed he was dead and that she had been grieving himself and Bobby as well, he understood she had been under the influence of substances and that the Leviathan had used those circumstances to his own ends. But _understanding_ didn't make it any less painful. To Castiel, sexual relations were so much more than physical interaction or something pleasureful to pass the time with. It was touching and knowing Alex at her deepest parts, it was giving her everything he had: trust, love, affection, devotion, tenderness. It was trusting each other and finding fulfillment in the love they shared, it was a transcendence of everything he felt for her put into the physical. It was a promise and a vow, it was a testament to his heart's convictions. It was making love and it was holy, sacred, _theirs_. Something that they had only known with each other. And now… that was different. That had changed. It had brought Castiel to tears when he thought of it on occasion: his wife so alone and bereaved that she would let someone love her body the way he always had. And even though his personal pain was great, he knew hers was greater. Her regret was so deep, her shame so wide. He had seen it in her eyes and felt broken on her behalf when she had wept about her mistake and admitted to him some of the sordid details. He wished he knew how to take it away, he wished he knew how to protect her from what he had in effect caused to begin with… he wished he could erase the pain and tell her he understood and had forgiven her to the best of his ability. He supposed before he could ever hope to do that, first he would have to get out of this place and then hope she was maybe willing to give their relationship another chance. And those two things probably would not happen.

Cas again touched his fingers to the weight there beneath the dirty hospital shirt he wore and the ache doubled in his chest, the one that had been born out of the pain of separation. _I miss you. I miss you. I miss you_. A thought that drummed along with every beat of his heart. He truly didn't think he would leave this place ever again—he believed he would be trapped here forever. The moment they had been hurled into Purgatory, he had known his fate was more than likely sealed. The only thing he could do was make sure Dean got back to his family. Anyway, Castiel was fairly certain that after he had died and left Alex so many times and doomed her to such confusion about where they stood, she might actually be _relieved_ that he wasn't returning. He didn't know. He _loved_ her. He _always_ would. And there would forevermore be the wish lodged in the deepest part of him that things hadn't ended like this.

He would have given anything to see her face just once more. To hold her against himself and feel evidence of her strength and life beating through her chest and into his. To breathe her in and see her eyes one last time. To tell her he loved her and maybe hear she loved him, too. He felt like if he was given that, he could face his punishment of eternity here in Purgatory.

But he didn't think he would lay eyes on her ever again.

* * *

**One Week Later**

Dean was tired. No, Dean was _exhausted_. He was sick of this place: the never-ending supply of monsters that wanted to eat him for lunch, the endless wasteland of woods, the sleeplessness, the constant fighting for his life and for the lives of Cas and Benny. He was starting to really and truly lose hope. It had been almost _ten months_ now that they'd been stuck here and he was fading out in every sense. He was ready to be _done_ with this, he wanted to get _out,_ and honestly only two things were really keeping him going anymore: one, Cas. Dean couldn't check out and die off and leave his wingman to fend for himself out here. No way in hell, not after Cas had his back like he had. Two, the thought of seeing his brother and sister and James again. _Especially_ James. His throat caught when he thought about her. Guilt and grief alike wracked him. She'd been alone this entire time and he'd promised to be with her and he _hadn_ _'_ _t_ been. He wondered where she was right now. He wondered if she was holding a small, fragile human being in her arms, a new little life they had made together. Maybe he would never know. Not unless he got the hell outta here.

The weary hunter looked up and glanced around with slow, jaded eyes. It was daylight but that meant nothing. Here in Purgatory, color was faded and grim, stripped of any semblance of vibrance or life. Every last thing was drab and dingy, lifeless and gray in cast. The sunlight was never strong or bright or cheering at all. It was like an eternally overcast day; the entirety of this hellhole was shrouded by inescapable depression. Dean hated it.

Cas and Benny were nearby just over the gently-sloping ridge Dean had just descended from. They were out of his sight and hearing for the moment. Their petty, childlike arguments had pissed him off and his ever-present grief had propelled him into seeking a moment alone so he could get himself together. He just needed a break; he needed some sort of hope to keep him going because he couldn't keep on like this much longer. He was trying but he just _couldn_ _'_ _t_. A heavy breath escaped worn out lungs and Dean bowed his face into his hand, pinching the bridge of his nose and then rubbing his palm across the upper half of his face in attempts to relieve some tension and stress. And then, there was a soft, ominous noise behind him and Dean's self-pitying thoughts immediately dropped out of his mind in favor of _oh shit_. He'd dropped his defenses and not paid attention for a few precious seconds, and he was probably as good as dead; still he whirled around to try and meet his attacker. But his distraction had proven to be his downfall. He was body-slammed to the ground because he was too slow. His blade went clattering away and he found himself pinned down by a vampire with locs who laughed as fangs shot down over teeth in preparation to feed.

And instead of fighting, Dean shut his eyes tight and looked away in an intense wince, bracing himself for the pain and most likely the kill. But then, nothing happened. Well, no biting and blood sucking, anyway. There was a swoosh, the sound of flesh being intersected by metal, and the sound of a head hitting someplace nearby. Dean opened his stunned eyes and stared up at his savior, expecting to see Benny or Cas. But instead he saw a tall, athletically built girl with long hair put into a ponytail; a girl who was covered in grime and dirt and blood splatters and holding a machete, a girl he never thought he would see again in his life. She kicked the vampire's body off of him with a booted foot, her expression severe from the effort she'd just expended. The look of battlerage faded as their eyes met and instead, a choked up emotional expression tensed her features. "Hi, Dean." Her voice sort of caught on his name.

He was frozen in place, half horrified and half amazed, barely able to believe his eyes for a second. She wore a tank top and the color was indeterminate because of how dingy it was; her arms looked stronger than he remembered them being in a long time; she had a crossbow strapped across her back, a machete holster at her thigh, and he recognized her but… _how_? "…A- _Alex_?" he breathed, too shocked to know how to react or how to even _think_. Was he seeing things? Hallucinating? Maybe that vamp had killed him and this was his last vision.

She stood over him like a skyscraper, impossibly tall and heroic as she had the audacity to crack a sloppy grin at him. She held her hand down to him and made a 'get up' motion, waiting for him to grab her hand. "You just gonna lay there all day, lazybones?" she teased, and his heart punched through his chest at the joke because it really hit him. She was there, like she was _really_ really there.

"Oh my _god_ ," he managed, grabbing her hand. She helped him up and the second he was able, brother slammed sister into a crushing hug, out of breath and losing composure fast. He tightened his arms around her even more and squeezed his eyes shut, crumbling apart, so happy and affected that he found himself crying. She hugged him back, machete and all with equal fierceness, and he heard her laugh ever-so-softly, a relieved and exhausted sound. Her fingers clenched into the back of his neck hard and he mimicked her, fingers digging into the back of her head carelessly as he buried his face in the top of her shoulder and took a long, unsteady breath. He remembered one of their last interactions together had been painful and derogatory and how he had insulted and hurt and pushed her away. Dean hugged her all the harder, overcome completely with relief. And then he grabbed her arms and pushed away from her enough to look at her again and verify that she was _really_ there because he suspected it was too good to be true. But she _was_ there. Her face was all scratched up and dirty and she basically looked like she'd been through the ringer, but she also had this composure to her that struck him completely. Tears gleamed in her eyes but she was smiling and okay, in control of her emotions, apparently very glad to see him too. But… "W-what are you _doing_ here?" he asked, voice gone tight and soft from surprise and emotion alike.

"What kind of question is that?" she asked tenderly, her shining eyes glinting at him as she grinned through wavering emotions. " _Some_ one had to get your stupid ass outta here."

He couldn't help it. He grinned at the dumb comment and the way she said it. _Grinned_. For what felt like the first time in forever. And then he hugged her again, amazed and of the conviction that he was never gonna do anything to upset her ever again. As dead as he had felt a minute ago, he felt like he was suddenly given new purpose. He was laughing weakly through his growing relief and amazement. A million questions competed to be asked first, then he realized one was much more important than all the others. "Wait." He moved back again, frowning abruptly. " _Wait_. Where's _Sam_?" He looked around for their taller brother but didn't see him anywhere. Was he somewhere nearby? Had they gotten separated when they came here to Purgatory?

Alex grew hesitant. "He's uh, he's not here," she said, then at the look on Dean's face she hurried to reassure him, squeezing one of his forearms for effect. "But everything's fine. He's… he's running things topside."

Later, Dean would realize he should have recognized that as a nervous, impulsively told lie. But in the moment, he just accepted what she said. Wherever Sam was, Dean left it alone for a minute. He was too amazed that after nearly a year, his _sister_ was standing there in front of him. Without warning, his inner pains and fears that he'd carried so long made him suddenly choke on his own voice. "Oh my god, I feel like I haven't seen you in a million _years,_ " he confessed, his eyes brimming with happiness and conflict at the same time. He faltered, wetting his lips apprehensively and letting out a nervous little laugh. "I thought after… after what I said, m-maybe you'd left me to rot in here."

Alex's face slowly fell into a quietly severe expression when he said that and she shook her head twice, deliberately as her face screwed up. "Don't you say that," she said. Then more firmly: "Don't you _think_ that." Mild hurt confusion and then staunch conviction crossed her face as she spoke again. "Nothing you ever say or do will _ever_ make it where I won't save you if you need saving," she told him, eyebrows working inward and upward at the centermost part. He believed her. She sounded so severe and final about it. "You're my _brother._ _"_ A long pause as her voice almost gave out completely, as she nearly started to cry. "And I would _die_ for you." Wordless and touched to his core, Dean couldn't respond except to nod tensely as he fought a working face. Alex managed a courageous smile despite her glittering eyes in an attempt to lighten the mood a little bit. "I don't care _what_ bullshit you said to me," she said, knowing exactly why he thought what he did. "I got your back." 

He nodded again, his features working hard as he tried to keep it together. "It _was_ bullshit," he whispered, unable to speak any louder than that.

Alex nodded her understanding as emotions began to get the best of her. She hugged her familiar, safe, and solid brother again. For the first time in ten months, she felt all right again for a few seconds. And then she swallowed a hard lump in her throat and stood back, dashed away the few tears that had fallen. She was bracing herself for the worst because she'd found Dean alone. The all right feeling began to fade as she prepared herself for the bad news she knew must be coming. "W-where's Cas?" she asked, trying not to sound as petrified as she felt. If he was dead… if he'd died in here… she wouldn't know how to go on. Her voice lowered and faltered further because she felt like he _must_ be. But still, she didn't want to believe it. "Is he… did he…"

Dean opened his mouth to reply to her, but the sound of a snapping twig cut him off. Alex's eyes whipped to the ridge where the sound had come from. And everything crashed down around her when she saw that it wasn't another vampire or a monster standing there. It was _him_. Her heart slammed up into her throat as it skipped a beat and rendered her unable to breathe. The world seemed to fade out as her hands fell away from Dean.

The angel stood there in his filthy, torn-up trench coat with a jagged, blood-stained machete held at his side and a slack, awestruck look on his features—the expression on his face was nearly beyond description. He was gazing at her in a trance of disbelief, and she was the same. Unable to move or breathe or function at all for a few heartbeats, hardly daring to believe it was really him. He was almost unrecognizable. His face was grimy and smeared by dirt, his hair was matted to his head, he'd grown a thick, wild beard. But it _was_ him. And she had never seen anything better in all of her life. Her voice caught in her throat as she said his name so softly. " _Cas?_ " She said that and it broke their frozen stances. The machete he held dropped to the ground and it was hard to say who ran first, but they met halfway and crashed into each others arms hard, Alex sobbing out her relief as his arms slammed around her.

She could never have predicted the way that moment would make her feel. For so long she had existed alone and been about nothing but a mission, but at Cas's embrace she remembered who she had once been: beloved of an angel. _This_ angel. She was treasured and adored and part of something out of a love story. She _belonged._ It all crashed back over her at the power of a thousand percent. The way she loved him and who he was to her. She cried harder, completely overwhelmed, shaking hard, not daring to let go of him for even a second. He was the same, making noises like he was crying too which only made her sob harder and hold tighter. Her arms were crisscrossed behind his head and her fingers were clenched into his hair as one of his hands gripped the back of her head and kept her close. He shook against her as his arms held her then he picked her up just a little as his face buried in the side of her neck then her shoulder, he set her back down and they remained there for a long moment, holding each other hard, calming down slowly as their racing hearts slowed.

When they pulled apart just enough to see the other, their eyes met and it didn't matter who was watching or what had happened or anything else. They were of the same mind and before either had a chance to second guess the decision, they both moved close again to crash their lips together in a long, fervent kiss. It was the first time they'd kissed since before Cas took Sam's insanity—a _year_ _—_ Cas's hands cupped her face in desperate tenderness and it showed on both of their faces just how much the kiss meant to them. She had forgotten what the touch of his lips did to her, how his presence made her feel, where his touch and love took her to. And now, she _remembered_. That kiss lasted both a lifetime and only a snatched couple of seconds before it was over. Foreheads touched and rested as they drew back and their eyes remained closed for a couple heartbeats. Cas gently brushed some errant hairs off the side of her face with the softest fingertips and she opened her eyes to look into his. Brilliant blue not even Purgatory could dull. His kiss had taken her breath away—she was dizzy and high and beside herself. He looked the same. "I… I thought I would never see you again," he whispered in a choked voice.

Her hands slid to touch his face on either side—his expression was soul crushing and he had tear tracks sliding down into his dark beard. "I know," she replied in the same whispering volume, every bit as emotional as he was. "I thought the same thing." She rubbed her thumbs through his wiry, rough beard, grinning suddenly despite it all. "Nice shag carpeting, Cas."

A smile echoed on his face—his eyes softened and crinkled a little. He caught one of her hands in his. His hand felt warm, rough, heavy, and his fingers closed around hers—he pressed a kiss into her palm gently then kissed her lingeringly on the forehead, gentle and sweet and so earnest, so thankful as his fingers stroked down once at the back of her head. Alex shut her eyes and fingers curled into his coat as the softest sound of whimpering gratitude caught in her throat. She thought of how she had lost him so many times. But right now, in his arms like this, as he bent down and gently angled his face so that his nose brushed the side of hers just before he kissed her again… he was found. And she was found, too.


	108. Exit Strategy

" _We're reeling through an endless fall. We are the ever-living ghost of what once was._ _"  
_ \- Band of Horses

* * *

The angel and the hunter were tangled in an embrace that had been a very long time coming. An embrace they both had probably doubted would ever happen. And they were kissing. _Again._

"All right, _all right_ ," Dean complained in uncomfortable but good nature, trying not to watch what was, admittedly, sorta-touching. "Get a room," he joked awkwardly. Cas and Alex sheepishly stopped at his comment but didn't pull away very far from each other. Instead they hugged each other tightly again, faces buried in each others shoulders and necks, arms wrapped around each other hard. It was easy to see how overcome they were to be with each other again. To even know the other was still alive.

Dean watched how they held each other like that and it sank in completely. He'd known that in theory that he was done hating them together but _seeing_ them together again made it realer and more concrete: He really _was_ done with the impulse to tear them apart. It was so obvious how much they cared about each other and how deep their feelings went, it was clear that this thing between them was not ever going to end. And maybe, in a world so dark and fucked up and loveless and transitory… those two picking each other and holding on like they did... well, it had to count for something at the very least. After all the months in here, after getting to know Cas all over again and being given so much time to think things through… after contemplating himself and his life and his siblings in ways he never had before and regretting the way he had handled so much in the past… Dean was surprised at how he felt… so _okay_ with this. It still made him feel bittersweet and a little sad, because it meant his sister was grown up and that their childhood was behind them but… Dean's face showed his inner feelings in a tired, soft little smile. Because when it came down to it, he felt a small spark of happiness for Alex and for them. And that was something he could never fake or force himself to feel.

Alex hadn't noticed or seen him yet, but Benny had drifted down from the ridge a moment after Cas's appearance and was standing near to Dean and watching the couple embrace with a dubiously amused expression on his face. When Cas and Alex drew apart enough to look at each other and exchange another tearful smile and wipe the others' tears away, the raggedy vampire scoffed. "Well, now I just feel _left out,_ " he teased in his soft, heavily-accented drawl. That got Alex's attention and she looked over at him, immediately becoming hard outwardly where she'd been soft a second prior. Benny smiled slightly, secretively, in a way no one would really like to be smiled at. " _Enchanté_ , little lady," he said, and there was a vaguely sinister quality to the greeting. Cas clouded over and glanced at the vampire in a decidedly unfriendly way.

Alex's face gave away her suspicion and her eyes narrowed deeply, briefly flickering to Dean questioningly and then landing and staying on Benny sharply. "Who's this?"

"Charmed, I'm sure," was his cryptic, baiting reply. His eyes twinkled at her as he apparently enjoyed her mistrust.

"Benny. The, uh, vampire," Dean supplied, and at the shocked look on his sister's face, he shrugged and chalked it up with mild chagrin to what it was. "Desperate times."

Her eyebrows were frozen in place, raised doubtfully as she eyed Benny closely. "You don't say…"

Dean gave Benny a pointed, warning look. Alex might be petite and less than half of Benny's brawn but Dean knew it firsthand: screwing with her didn't end well. The vampire should get the hint from how armed she was, but he seemed mostly _entertained_ by her so far. Could be a mistake on his part. Dean wasn't the only one giving Benny the evil eye… Cas was joining the oldest Winchester in staring sharply at the vampire.

The angel still held Alex gently by an upper arm and he turned his eyes back to her. His face softened, his eyebrows worked in towards each other and then upwards. "What are you _doing_ here?" he asked, his voice tight with concern. She turned her attention back to him and her face softened as he continued to look at her in vast worry. "How are you here at all?"

That question struck her as being almost laughable. "You _really_ thought I wouldn't come get you two idiots?" she asked fondly, a wearily joyful smile stretched across her dirt-smeared face.

Cas understood the joke. He mirrored her smile sadly for a couple beats before something occurred to him. His eyes squinted a little and the questions began again. "Where is Sam?"

Alex hesitated briefly and her shifting eyes gave away, to some small degree, that she wasn't being entirely truthful about the matter. "Not here."

Cas's eyebrows shot up high as he realized what that meant. "…You came here _alone_?"

Her veiled eyes moved up to meet his. There was fractional hurt there from always being made to feel like she needed protecting. "Yeah."

Cas looked at her with increasing concern. "How long, exactly, have you been here?"

"A week." She held up a finger at him at this point, warningly, because it was obvious he didn't like that. "Don't say shit to me about it, either."

The angel complied with her, but shook his head, face tensed up underneath the scruffy beard and the dirty skin. "If I had known you were here..." he said softly and slowly, torn up about her being close for seven full days without him knowing, "if I had _sensed_ it at all…"

She smiled a little through a tense expression and nodded that she understood what he was getting at. She reached up and affectionately smoothed his beard down on one side of his face where it was particularly unruly and unkempt. The tenseness in her smile softened away as their eyes held. His face relaxed a little as she touched him. "It's okay," she assured him, and she sounded fractionally more confident. "I'm here now and we're getting the _hell_ out."

Cas frowned in confusion and his head tilted to the side just slightly as his eyes went narrow. "…How?"

Alex bent down and reached into her tall boot leg, then pulled a rock out of where it had been wedged tightly against her ankle. The rock was rounded and smoothed and had some kind of strange design seemingly burned into it. She held that little object up and wiggled it in her hand for effect. "This."

Benny whistled lowly, and for a minute his constant swaggering coy act went out the window. "That what I think it is?" he asked, sounding and looking _severely_ interested.

"…Why?" Dean asked the vamp, pretty interested because Benny looked so caught off guard by the stone Alex held. "What do you think that is? 'Cause from where I'm standing, it looks like some kinda rock someone scribbled on in arts and crafts."

Benny gave Dean a deadly look and pointed at the stone with a single stocky finger. " _That_ is a way outta here that ain't made up or a maybe," he said. " _That_ is a surefire ticket outta this maze."

The hunter blinked twice, not sure if he was getting his leg pulled or not. "A rock?" he asked, totally stumped. Just to make sure he wasn't missing something: "A freakin' _rock_?"

"Tha's right, cowboy," Benny confirmed in his buttery accent, then took a step toward Alex as if to more closely examine the rock. She immediately took a defensive posture and stepped back, clearly not trusting him whatsoever. At the exact same time, Cas gave a warning look to tell the vampire to stay away and he even stood a little bigger, drawing his shoulders up as his face darkened. Benny stopped his approach when he saw how unwelcome he was. "Easy, _easy_ ," he said, abruptly chuckling in mild disbelief. "Ya'll gettin' worked up over nothin'." His smirk fell as his eyes glanced to the stone again. "But where _did_ you get that pretty piece, cher?" he asked quietly, his ice blue eyes flickering up to Alex slyly.

She didn't like him. You could tell by the thin mouth, the slightly flared nostrils, the impatient twitch at the corner of her lips. Nevertheless, she opened her mouth to reply (who knows if it was going to be a serious reply or not). And then…

"Wait," Cas said in a low, urgent voice, suddenly looking upwards and tensing like he could hear something. His hand had shot out to brush Alex's wrist like he was thinking of grabbing it. He squinted into the sky, listening hard, every muscle in his body rigidly still. Everyone joined him in staring at the sky but they saw nothing. However… a sense of danger pricked the backs of their necks. " _Wait_." Cas repeated in a whisper and he listened, waited, strained to hear. Then he got this look in his eye like he already knew it was over but they had to try anyway. His wide eyes snapped to Dean. " _Leviathan_!" he shouted, and his hand closed around Alex's wrist, he began to pull her at a run in no specifically meaningful direction. But it was too late.

A handful of Leviathan dropped like bombs out of the sky into piles of black that immediately morphed upwards from the ground into human likenesses, and one such Leviathan dropped right into Cas's path. Cas had dropped his machete when he saw Alex earlier and he was weaponless save for his celestial abilities (which would only draw more monsters if used). The black gob of ooze began to rapidly rise up and take form in front of the angel, who'd stopped dead in his tracks then yanked Alex to the left and began to flee that way, only to dead-end into another Leviathan that dropped from the sky and began to morph. It would never finish that process. Alex's machete flashed out of the thigh holster she wore and she sliced off the head the _second_ it had formed with a brutal cry. Cas stared at her with an open mouth. Maybe in awe or maybe in surprise.

" _What_?" she asked as she breathed hard from adrenaline. "I don't like wasting time dicking around. Er—no pun intended." Her eyes darted over his shoulder and went wide. "Cas!"

Too late again. The Leviathan who had blocked their path before was right behind the angel and grabbed him then threw him aside like a piece of trash into a nearby tree—apparently its interest was in Alex. "We _heard_ you were here," the Leviathan said in a ominously deep voice, stalking toward her with a smirk on its face. "So nice of you to visit…"

Alex was indignant about what had just happened—Cas had hit the ground hard and was disoriented and injured in a heap twenty feet off. She gave her blood-stained machete a vicious whirl as she set her sights onto her would-be attacker. She abruptly bent over and charged forward like a linebacker with a shout, knocking the monster back and over pretty easily even though it was much stronger than her. The element of surprise tended to do afford that advantage. Even as it toppled back, she reared back and hacked clumsily with her machete—not quite making the necessary kill blow, instead sinking the blade into the Leviathan's face. It laughed even as it grabbed her and slammed her around and down onto her back.

And then its head flew off before she even had a chance to do anything else. Dean stood above her with his machete and an intense expression. He reached for her hand, making a 'come on' motion with his hand even as he kicked the Leviathan off of her with his boot. "You okay?" he asked, grabbing her arm and hauling her up when she tried clumsily to get to her feet herself.

"Shut up," she retorted tersely, brushing him off as soon as she was standing in what was probably embarrassment.

Dean made a face and rolled his eyes halfway. "I'll take that as a yes," he muttered. Then he froze, seeing it at the same time that Alex did: two Leviathan had rushed Castiel. He was weaponless and a primary target because of that—one of the Leviathan held down the angel's hands so he couldn't move and the other one had its mouth open wide to devour him. And then from nowhere, Benny leapt in with a machete in each hand. He crossed his blades in a flashing X, decapitating both Leviathan and saving the angel from certain, close death. It had happened in the span of just a few terrifying seconds.

" _Cas_!" Alex was already running to him, her voice shrill and scared. "Are you okay?!" She helped him get out from under the bodies that had gone slack over him, shoving one off with shaking hands and then grabbing him by the shoulders.

He looked up at her with a strange expression, like he couldn't believe that had just happened. "I—I'm fine," he said, even though he was a little dazed. Relief wasn't quite a big enough word to describe the look on her face when she realized he was, indeed, fine. Alex helped him stand and kept her hands on him, breathing hard from the distress she was battling.

Nearby, the resident vampire stood with all his weight in one foot, resulting in a swaggering posture. "Don't say I never did nothin' for ya," Benny said to them both, smiling easily and enjoying the way he'd just saved the day. Alex and Cas both shot him brief, distracted frowns. He then offered over one of his machetes—which turned out to be the one Cas had dropped. "Lose somethin'?" he asked.

The angel's jaw clenched. "Thank you," Cas said, but he sounded distinctly grumpy about it and took the machete back with a little more attitude than necessary. He turned to his companion and his demeanor immediately, predictably changed entirely to tender and concerned as he looked at her. "Are you hurt, Alex?" he asked softly, searching her for any sign of injury.

She shook her head no—and they abruptly hugged tightly, relief making the embrace emotional.

"Baby Jesus in a manger, you two gon' do this every _time_?" Benny asked, apparently highly annoyed. "Ain't no one never asked _me_ if I was all right. Never you mind a damn _hug._ "

Cas was absolutely foul and _done_ as far as Benny was concerned—he pulled out of the hug with a rude look on his face. "Be silent, vampire, I'm in no mood for your nonsense."

Benny's eyebrows raised as an expression that hovered between amused and hostile came over his face. "Oh, _you_ _'_ _re_ in no mood for _my_ nonsense? I just _saved_ your _hide_!"

"I could have handled it," Cas retorted sullenly.

"That so?" The vampire's face twisted challengingly. "All right. Lemme tell you something, flyboy—"

Dean wedged himself into the brewing confrontation. "Guys, _guys_ , can we just—" he held his hands out for indignant, impatient emphasis because he was at the end of his ropes. "Get _along_ for five freaking _minutes_?!" He turned to Alex complainingly and then gestured at Cas and Benny in turn. "You see what I've had to deal with in here?!"

She gave him a tiny, trollish smile, enjoying his anguish as sisters often do. "Sucks to be you."

Dean was already turning his focus to scanning the area warily. The woods around were silent, but that didn't mean a damn thing around here. He made the 'let's go' signal. "Come on, we gotta move out before anyone else decides to crash the party."

They did so without anything further, Benny taking lead silently. Dean obviously didn't like that and shouldered him out of the way. Benny silently took the immature power grab with an eye roll and then cast a look back over his shoulder at Alex who walked closely with Cas—the angel and the hunter were exchanging a series of tense and weighty glances, wishing to talk to each other but not really having the chance with so with any semblance of privacy. However, being close to each other was enough for the time being—their hands brushed a few times, and whenever that happened, they'd catch each other's eye and smile a little then look away as the smile gave way to doubts and worries. Alex was especially apprehensive—yes, Cas had greeted her an emotion and passion that had sent her heart soaring… but she was still worried he'd go cold again and back off if given the chance. Alex carefully controlled her walk as they continued forward—no one had noticed her slight limp yet. Benny might have—his eyes flickered down the length of her legs just then and narrowed, then he looked back at her. She didn't like this guy. He seemed shady as hell and she disliked that sly way he looked at everyone.

"Never answered my question, sweetheart," Benny drawled leisurely. "Where'd you get that shiny stone of yours?"

Alex didn't mind letting her real feelings be known. "First of all, call me sweetheart again and I'll chop your damn head off."

He chuckled slow and steady, unruffled by the threat. "Straightforward. I like it."

"Don't hassle her, Benjamin," Cas warned sourly. Alex hid a smile at the way he was defending her and she looked at him sidelong—all at once she saw the emotionally young and naive angel she'd fallen in love with and a rugged, time-tempered man. Love ached in her chest at the same time that enormous pain did. She knew that when she got them all out, the Hellhounds would come calling.

Benny's nostrils flared at Cas calling him but the proper name. "Quit callin' me that already, would you?"

"It's your _name,_ " Cas challenged primly, one of his eyebrows almost imperceptibly twitching upward.

Alex interjected loudly in an effort to stop another petty argument. "I got it from the Garden of Eden."

"Wait, like, the _Garden of Eden_ Garden of Eden?" Dean asked incredulously, looking at her from over his shoulder.

Alex shot Dean a look. "No, the one in _Portland_."

After giving her a brief exasperated look, Dean tried to figure it out. "Okay, sure—so the Garden of Eden's real. 'Course it is." He sounded fed up. "So how'd you find it when no one else ever has?"

"It was lost a long time ago, and it was supposed to be guarded by a fierce angel too," Cas added, his frown and tone conveying his postdated concern. He peered at Alex anxiously, waiting for more information.

"Well, it _was_ lost," Alex explained, the scenery from the Garden running through her mind. "But hidden might be a better word. It wasn't easy to get there. Whoever had been guarding it was already dead when I got there."

Dean made a face and turned around, held up a hand, quit walking for a second. "Okay okay okay. Let's just back up a second. How does this tiny little rock from the freaking Garden of _Eden_ get us outta here, anyway?"

Benny piped up without being asked. "You know the big tree in the middle'a this here place, chief?"

"Well _yeah,_ " Dean retorted sarcastically. "Kinda hard to miss _that_ freakshow."

Benny pointed at Alex for effect. "That little rock's supposed to activate a portal out if you take it to the tree."

Dean was beginning to get legitimately hopeful. "…You mean we _can_ actually get out? No joke?"

"Yeah, if legend ain't bogus. And I daresay it ain't." Benny glanced upward at the typical skeletal cross-crossing tree branches overhead. "I'd say we're a two day walk from there, give or take." He looked back down and gave each of them a coy glance. "But I gotta warn ya'll. The closer we get to that portal with the rock, the more monsters'll sense it and come runnin'."

There was a short, heavy pause where brief glances were exchanged between all. "Nothing we can't handle," Dean decided, obviously ready to take their chances. "We're getting _outta_ this nightmare if it's the last thing we do."

"Well all right then, gang," Benny said, and continued forward. "Let's get goin'."

Dean hung back, and instead of trying to out-lead Benny again he stayed on Alex's side, effectively keeping Alex sandwiched between himself and Cas as they continued forward into the drab, dead landscape of Purgatory. He got visibly nervous, scratching his ear and glancing around with a weird expression on his face as he plucked up courage. "Okay, listen, I know you're tired of the twenty-questions but, uh… I gotta know," he said, wetting his lips and visibly quashing down a hopeful and apprehensive expression. "You, you seen James lately?" Alex looked at Dean sidelong even as he abruptly peppered her with questions before she was even given a chance to answer the first. "How is she? She okay? You talked to her? Kept up with her? She with Sam? Is that why he didn't come? I mean that would make sense if—"

Alex held out a hand to say stop. "Whoa, slow down Dean," she said, unsure if she should be amused or confused. "I haven't seen her since… well, since SucroCorp, actually. She's kind of dropped off the face of the earth. I can't get a hold of her. Tried a couple times. Why?"

Dean looked pale and he quit walking completely. "You _tried_ to get hold of her?"

Alex and Cas stopped walking when Dean did. Peering at her brother in rising concern, Alex nodded a little. "A couple times, yeah…" she confirmed, then at the look on his face she got legitimately worried. "What? What is it?" A sudden thought came to her and she paled too. She had been so busy that she had barely thought about anything but the things that were directly in front of herself. "Do you think… the, the soul deal…?" she asked, voice a fraction softer.

Dean looked at Alex wordlessly. And then Cas spilled the beans innocently and bluntly. "Dean believes she may be pregnant with his child."

Alex's eyes went frisbee-wide and her head whipped around. She gaped at Cas as her jaw dropped. " _What_?"

Dean, chagrinned at his friend's tactlessness, threw a tired hand up then palmed his own forehead as he muttered and shook his head. "Cas, man… come on."

Alex's head swiveled back slowly to her brother's direction and her wide eyes and shocked face held steady, but a new and predominant emotion showed, too. Concern. "Dean… _seriously_? Is that true?"

Her brother looked mildly taken aback that her reaction wasn't rage or accusations. "I—I dunno for sure," he said, voice gone all weak. "I had hoped _you_ would." It was easy to see how disappointed and nerve-wracked he was now because Alex hadn't heard from her. He was visibly trying to figure out what that _meant._ And there was no way he could know. He could only speculate.

Shaking her head and at a small loss for words, Alex blinked a few times, her mind trying to comprehend what she'd just learned. "I—I haven't talked to her. I haven't _seen_ her. I don't _know_." She thought about it a couple more seconds—what it meant, how shocking it was to hear out of the blue, how torn up Dean had to be over not knowing. How _guilty_ he had to feel. How guilty _she_ suddenly felt for not making a point to find Jamie. Alex summed it all up in one tense word. "Whoa."

Dean swallowed thickly and nodded, trying to keep himself together outwardly. "Tell me about it." He let out a long, worried sigh and avoided eye contact. Poor guy was the picture of sickened, overwhelmed, and stressed out.

"Hey," Alex said softly, grasping his shoulder firmly and drawing his gaze. She tried to encourage him even though it was pretty hard to be encouraged in a place like this. "One thing at a time, right?"

He remained silent for a long moment, his face tight and worried as his worried green eyes studied hers. Then he took a deep breath. "One thing at a time," he repeated, nodding for a long minute then casting a glance at Cas.

Cas seemed to take the glance as a prompt and grasped Dean's other shoulder, then hesitated when Dean looked confused and a little put off by the touch. Cas began to frown and his hand loosened. "The social cues seemed to indicate that I should…" he trailed off, thoroughly confusing himself and Dean and Alex too. He let go, eyes almost shut he was squinting so hard.

Dean chuckled a little, shaking his head at Cas. "You get used to him," he said to Alex in faux furtiveness, and there was almost a fondness there. Alex heard that and frowned hard, probably thinking she was misjudging it. But Dean was already switching tracks. "Come on, we can't keep stopping." He patted Alex on the back, indicating she move it along.

They continued on, Alex suspiciously looking between Cas and Dean and noticing how they related to each other now. It was definitely different than how they used to. Dean didn't throw constantly disapproving barbed looks at the angel. Their body language was much more relaxed and familial with each other, now that she was looking. _So weird_. Well at least the time together hadn't driven them further apart…? Alex cleared her throat after a minute and ducked under a tree branch even as Cas hurried to push it up and move it out of her path. "Sorry it took me so long to get here," she said, wondering how the hell they'd survived let alone without losing their minds being here for ten whole _months_. She'd barely managed the seven days she'd been here. "Turns out getting in's kinda hard without Dick."

Up ahead, the vampire turned and walked backwards for a couple beats. "The mouth on _you_!" he commented mildly, an obscene smile playing on his lips and twinkling in his eyes.

Alex shot him a thin look, almost said something, then didn't.

Dean threw her a tense glance. "How'd you get in here anyway if you weren't standing too close to exploding Dick?"

His phrasing earned him a little snide look. "A spell." She hesitated, then explained. Alex felt embarrassed heat creeping up her neck as she let some truth come out. "Zip, he uh, gave me the spell, then gave me the ingredient needed." While Cas looked stunned and mildly dismayed at the mention of the Leviathan, Dean looked outraged. " _What_?" Alex asked her brother defensively.

"That little douchebag's still _alive_?" Dean gave her an almost warning look. "Please tell me you ganked him as soon as he gave you the way in here."

Alex pressed her lips in together. She _could_ tell him that. But that would be a lie, and honestly, she was already telling enough lies as it was. "Uh… no."

Dean's eyebrows slammed together. He was pissed. " _Why_?!"

She really didn't care what Dean thought—she cared much more about what Cas thought—and his silent, tense-faced reaction was impossible for her to read. She worried her lip briefly, trying to explain it without sounding like she did it out of feelings for Zip or something, because it _wasn_ _'_ _t_ because of that. "It's… I dunno. I thought he deserved another chance. He saved me, helped save Sam—"

"Yeah and I remember him trying to _kill_ us all, too!" Dean interrupted.

"I _know_ ," Alex said, her patience slipping. "But I wasn't gonna turn around and _murder_ the dude right after he helped, okay?" Sarcasm began to come out, her favorite fallback. "When we get topside, feel free to try and kill the guy who helped us get out of here. Be my freaking _guest._ " Dean rolled his eyes and shut up about it, letting it go even though he obviously didn't approve at all. Alex looked sidelong at Cas, who was walking beside her and studying the ground with a tense expression on his face. Swallowing hard, wishing she knew what he was thinking, Alex decided to just put it out there. Her voice was soft and low and betrayed how worried she was about his thoughts. "It has nothing to do with any kind of feelings, if that's what you're…" she trailed off.

"No," he said softly, glancing at her briefly. "I wasn't thinking that." So what _was_ he thinking? His eyes held some clear hurt and Alex wished _so bad_ they could just have some time to talk through all the crap that was between them; all the crumbled dreams they'd shared; all the broken pieces laying scattered at their feet. She would have given anything for closure and a chance to explain everything, to talk all the shit that had happened on both sides through. The biggest question looming in her mind currently was _what now?_ It was a dumb question to ask herself because she already knew what was days left to live. Ten days left to write the ending of the book that was her life. But Cas didn't need to know that yet. Neither did Dean. Alex put it out of her own mind, too.

"Hey, are we even headed the right direction?" Dean asked crabbily, totally unaware of his nearby sister's inner battle and secrets.

"It's this way, daddy-o," Benny replied breezily.

Alex looked doubtfully in the vampire's direction. "How do you know?" she asked. For all they knew, he could be leading them into a trap. But then again, she had no idea Dean and Cas had been teamed up with this guy.

"You been in here s'long as I have, you develop a general sense'a these things," Benny answered, his tone distinctly challenging even though he maintained a neutral outward appearance. "Tree's this'a way."

He kept on, but Alex caught her brother by the arm and held him back a little. "He trustworthy?" she asked quietly. She trusted Dean's opinion when it came to this stuff. He had good instincts and there was no doubt in her mind that being here had sharpened him and honed his hunting skills.

Dean shrugged, noncommittal and undecided. "Well he ain't double-crossed us yet."

" _Yet_ ," she repeated dourly, staring at the vampire's back as he continued to trek through the woods ahead.

Dean kept walking and Alex followed, Cas trailing after her silently. "And maybe he won't," Dean suggested, sounding pretty unsure and even uninterested either way. "Seems decent. For a vamp." He managed a brief expression akin to a rueful smile. "And hey. Extra blade doesn't hurt in a place like this. Especially if your little magical stone is gonna draw more big bads." He paused and winced a little, like what he was about to say was sure to piss Alex off. "I uh, also kinda said we'd help him get out if he helped _us_ … so…"

Alex gaped at Dean as they walked side by side. "You can't be serious." They were gonna let a vampire out? They kind of made their life _killing_ little shits like Benny.

He shrugged with his hands, expression very drawn and conflicted. "I haven't decided yet if I'm gonna keep my word on that, to be honest." He sighed long and hard. He sounded so tired. His face screwed up in a curious expression and he switched subjects. "Hey, how come it took ten months for you to get here? Or did you explain that already?"

"No, not really…" she hedged, guiltily swallowing down her secrets: working for Crowley, Sam's depressing insanity and hallucinations… Alex wanted to protect Dean from those things for the time being. She didn't want any more hopelessness or worry given to him right now. So she exaggerated about what had taken so long. "I had to find this portal piece thing and the Garden, and it took a long time to do that stuff, and there were other hunts I got roped into, um, yeah, so." She scratched her neck absently, trying to look occupied and flippant.

" _Please_ tell me Sam helped with that at least," Dean said. "I mean what is he _doing_ not being in here with you? Something more important happening up there or what? Or did you guys like… fight again?" He sounded so broken up about that possibility.

"No, _no._ We… just couldn't both come," Alex said. She could have told the truth here, but she didn't want to see Dean any more defeated than he already was. She would tell him _everything_ when Sam was fixed and in his right mind again. She would explain it all to her brothers and hope that Sam would forgive her for selling her soul for him. It was so ironic and she'd thought about it many times… how Dean had sold his soul to save Sammy and a few years later, she did the exact same thing. The more she thought about it, heaviness sank down on her. Her brothers would both be so upset, so devastated, so sick. Cas would be… _beyond_ upset. He had done everything in his power to keep her out of Hell and now she'd signed herself up for it. She dreaded the moment of truth, honestly. To hear what her men would say and to see the looks in their eyes when she explained it. Avoiding those thoughts for now, Alex remembered she was talking to Dean and he was wanting to know why Sam wasn't there with her.

She cleared her throat and tried to remember what she'd been saying. How Sam couldn't come. In her pocket, hidden from sight, a metal lump dug into her upper thigh with every step she took—it was the object Crowley had sent her here for. Cleopatra's amulet or some crap like that. Alex had tracked it down day four of being here and almost died procuring it from Mark Antony who was, spoiler alert, actually an ancient vampire who haunted Purgatory in a search for his long-lost Cleopatra (who Crowley said was a permanent guest in Hell). Waiting for more explanation in stride beside her, Dean gave her an expectant look and Alex shook herself out of her thoughts. "But, yeah, uh, Sam—he's really looking forward to us coming back." Lies. He was in la-la land and thought he was dating a girl named Amelia and had a dog, too. Alex put false optimism in her voice. "He wanted to be the one to come, actually," she lied, kicking herself internally for taking it further than it needed to go. But she had to keep lying to cover the initial lie. "Only one person could, could come," she said, trying to make it seem feasible and not suspicious. "Because of the spell." Dean was mildly wary—picking up on her odd behavior and skittish eyes. So Alex tried to close the subject because she really didn't want him to call her bluff. "Sam's gonna be fine," she said firmly. "We're gonna get out of this and go see him and it'll be us three and… everything's gonna be okay again." For however short a time, that statement _would_ be true. They would get out of here and be reunited and all right again until she explained everything.

Dean contemplated her words wearily, mulling everything over for a second then looking around at the harsh, endless wasteland that stretched out around them. "Believe it when I see it, little sister," he said gustily, then abruptly hugged her sidelong with an arm around her shoulder as they walked. "Glad you're here, even if I also kinda _hate_ that you're here," he said, a bittersweet smile on his face. He squeezed her a little closer. "You okay other than whatever crap you had to deal with to get here?"

She blinked a couple times then lied again. "Yeah, I mean, I—I've been too busy to really think about how I am, I guess." Yeah right. Reality screamed down on her in every waking hour. She was terrified to die, she was depressed, alone, scared… but right now being with Dean and Cas she could feel normal again. Just for now. She glanced back at Cas, who followed a few steps back. He looked so different with that beard and the discolored trench coat, the slumping shoulders. He looked defeated and weary and it made Alex so _sad._ What would it do to him to know about her soul deal? He felt her gaze and glanced up into her eyes and he gave her the smallest hint of a tired, sad smile.

Dean, still walking with his arm around Alex, drew her attention back with a question. "Hey, you still…?" he made a little motion with his free hand that was supposed to be his hand shaking a pill bottle.

Alex felt immediately ashamed. But she didn't lie about _that_. "Yeah," she admitted. That was one thing good about Purgatory. No drugs. No addictions. Only survival.

Dean heaved a charged sigh out of his nose. "We get out, that's gotta stop," he said grimly.

She nodded, agreeable in a sheepish way. "No, I know. I agree." She grinned weakly. Dying kind of made _everything_ stop after all. "You promise to drink less, I promise to get un-addicted. If that's even a real thing."

Dean squeezed her shoulder again and then let go, nodding as he squinted off into the woods. "It's a deal, Al. Think I can swing it. I mean, I haven't had a drop in like ten months. But to be fair I also haven't had _food_ or sleep or anything else basic and human, so…" he paused, gaze far away. "Beside the point." He abruptly remembered Cas and glanced back at the silent, thoughtful angel, then back at his sister, seeming to realize something. "Hey, you know what? I'll let you two have a little space. Catch up or whatever." He waited for Cas to get close then patted the angel on the shoulder once and left his sister gaping as he quickened his stride to catch up with Benny, who was about twenty paces ahead.

"He'll let us have a little _space_?" Alex asked, waiting for Dean to turn around and say 'just kidding!' or something. But that didn't happen. "Who _is_ that?"

In stride beside her, Cas was quiet and in deep thought. "It's your brother," he said factually.

Her deep frown slackened at his typical comment. _Oh, Cas_. She almost could have laughed. "No, I know. Just… that seems kind of bizarre of him," she said, looking at Cas for explanation. But he was just quiet and tense, distracted. The last few times she'd seen Cas he'd been nutso with a capital N—she'd spent the past ten months wondering if she'd find him the same way when she found him again or if he'd be himself again. He was clearly the latter. In fact, he seemed to be a much more depressed and defeated version of his real self now. She couldn't blame him after being in this place for so long. She hesitated and then tested the waters. "So. Not crazy about honeybees anymore…?" she asked as they walked slowly, trying to be light and joking.

Cas was rueful, a slightly embarrassed, wan smile briefly showing. "They _are_ fascinating creatures… but, no. I'm myself once again." He avoided her steady sidelong gaze out of self-consciousness. "I'm very sorry about that," he said, eyes glancing her direction fleetingly a few times and giving away how uncomfortable he felt about that part of his past. "I know I was… unruly. And strange. And full of nonsense." He let out a heavy, gusty sigh and looked around at the trees above and around them in grim thoughtfulness. "But I assure you, I had no control over it. Not really. When we were pulled into this place, all of the pain and insanity I had been carrying evaporated. I'm…" he shrugged a little and looked at the dirty palms of his hands a bit blankly, "me again."

"Yeah. I could tell," she said quietly, uncertain about where his mind was. Deep thought, obviously. But deep thought about what? He was quiet and focused on the ground in front of himself as he walked and Alex tried to let him know, to a small degree, how freaking glad she was to just be beside him again. "It… it's nice to see you again, Cas," she chanced in a shaky voice, wishing she knew how to reach out to him.

Her words shook him out of his depressive trance and he finally looked at her, softening and coming back from wherever faraway place he'd been in his mind. "It's more than nice to see you," he said, the softest smile pulling at his lips and touching her to the heart itself. "I've _missed_ you." His fingers reached out and brushed against hers as they walked, then those fingers laced through hers in a tentative, shy gesture that warmed her heart and soul and made her stomach flip in surprise. Her fingers returned the gesture and hope rose inside at what his sweet touch might mean. For a minute, Cas's eyebrows worked tensely as they kept on. "Are you… how _are_ you?" he finally asked, a little frustrated with how much he wanted to ask and where to even begin.

Alex gave him a little smile and tightened her fingers through his. "Better than I have been in awhile."

He was doubtful. "You're in Purgatory," he said, like she needed reminding of the fact.

"Yup, got that," she said, chuckling to herself a little despite everything. At the look on his face, she explained herself: "You're here. Dean is too." Understanding crossed his handsome face and for a minute, he rendered her dumbstruck and it really hit her. After so long apart, she was with him again. His hand was holding hers. His eyes were looking into hers. Abruptly, emotion made her waver. "I've been working to get here to you guys for what feels like _forever_ ," she said, the long nights and dead ends and seemingly-impossible odds carding through her mind rapidly. "Didn't know if I'd find you alive or dead." It had really torn her apart. The great unknown and the possibility of losing everything. The utter loneliness and the responsibility of saving everyone. But it was paying off. She had really done it. She held his hand harder unconsciously.

Cas softened considerably more at her confession and he grasped her hand more firmly. "Well, we're alive," he said, then admitted that it was pretty miraculous to say the least. "If just barely so." He looked at her sidelong and their eyes met again and he shook his head, both worried and amazed that she was beside him. "I can't believe you're actually here," he said, eyes looking at her in that adoring, pained way he had a way of doing. "You're even more beautiful than I remember…" he said, sounding completely in love.

She was _filthy_ —her matted hair was in a gross sweaty ponytail, her skin was ashy looking from dryness and a sheen of dirt, she felt like the bags under her eyes should have their own zip code. And he was calling her beautiful. "Like _this_?" she asked dubiously, touched at his words but also wondering if maybe he still _was_ crazy.

"Like anything," he said simply, and he sounded so genuine about that. Alex smiled a sheepish and knowing smile while shaking her head slightly. This was the Cas she remembered and knew, the Cas she had fallen in love with and said vows to. And then he let go of her hand and her smile fell immediately. Was it something she said? She looked at him sidelong and from the steady, studious look on his face she knew he was about to take their conversation to deeper places. Her chest tightened and she braced herself for the worst and nervously laced her hands together to fidget in front of herself. This was what she had been waiting for, and negative feelings made her feel small and scared and _sick_ at the thought of what he might be about to say next. Cas scanned the woods absently through a tense expression. "Being here… I've had ample time to think," he said. She got even more worried about what he was about to say when he said that. "I've been waiting for a chance to speak with you alone and now that the chance is here, I must confess, I feel…" he searched for the right word for an agonizing silence, "apprehensive."

Alex wet her lips cautiously. "Why?" She tried to sound a lot less scared than she felt. Then she attempted a joke that was actually an honest question. "Gonna try and break up with me again?" She didn't think she could take that crap again.

He turned his head and looked at her directly and firmly—he looked a little surprised at her question, then in rapid succession ashamed. "No. Absolutely not." He shook his head, his shame growing visibly because of the exchange she was referring to. "I'm—that was _wrong_ of me, Alex. I'm so sorry. I felt very confused at the time about everything and somehow it… it seemed to be the right thing to do but Dean says that it very much wasn't."

Alex's eyebrows rose. "Wait…" she wasn't sure if she understood. "You talked to _Dean_ about that?"

Cas nodded once. "At length." He quickly followed that statement up. "With the more, uh, private moments kept private, of course." Well _that_ was a small relief, she guessed… Cas had a thoughtful and sincerely appreciative softness to his eyes as he looked off into the woods unseeingly. "I've talked to him about a lot of things while we've been here. And he's talked to me, too." Alex's already-high eyebrows rose even further and Cas had a small, rueful smile she didn't understand on his face when he saw that look on her face. "I know what you must be thinking," he said, seeming so mature and wizened to her in that moment. "But… your brother is a good man. And he seems to have, I don't know. Come to terms with some things. As have I."

Totally confused and still waiting for the bad news, Alex faltered. "What things?"

Cas thought a moment about how to word himself. "Well, Dean I think has… forgiven me. Maybe not fully, but I wouldn't ever expect him to." He heaved out a tense sigh. "Nor do I think I would _want_ him to. But his forgiveness… it's enabled me to forgive myself, a little. Or at least face what I've done instead of run away from it." Cas's face was haunted by ghosts of the past and the very real, disturbing things that had happened. As he trudged onward with her at his side awaiting more, the angel's face showed a guilt-ridden pain she recognized well. And then he slowly and heavily began to talk about the circumstances that had nearly destroyed _everything_. "Alex, the man I became because of the war, the secrets I kept, the lies I told… the place those things took me… it was all entirely my fault. Those were my choices and they were… _beyond_ wrong." A bitter smile that was more of a grimace of cynical pain crossed his face—a very human expression she had never seen there before. "I should have recognized that lying to the one I love most in all of creation was never the right thing to do. But I didn't listen to my instincts that whispered I was transgressing. And look where my pride and sins led." He stopped walking completely and faced her, his eyes downcast and shoulders sagging. "Part of me still thinks I should die for what I did. That you and your brothers should… _crucify_ me." He slowly raised his head and looked into her eyes. He was accepting his faults in the situation for the most part without his typical attitude of self-pity. "I went against everything I ever promised and vowed. It's unforgivable."

Alex contemplated him for a long moment with an anguished expression on her face. He made it so hard to hold anything against him. Because he truly meant what he said. She believed him. And his statement about it all being unforgivable? "Yeah, maybe it is," she admitted quietly. Then reached out for his hand falteringly, afraid he'd reject her touch. "But…" she couldn't think of any other way to say it. "Here I am."

He let her gently take hold of his fingers and his eyes held oceans of feelings, thoughts, and heart. "I know," he managed in a bare whisper. His eyes flickered back and forth between hers and she didn't miss the gratitude and disbelief and love that rested in his brilliant, heartwrenching blues at her presence. He took in a bracing breath and continued forward in words. "Alex… please, believe me. I didn't mean to hurt you when I…" his eyes lost their strong, steady gaze as his face contorted and eyes fell, "w-when I did what I did." He grew close to tears as he continued forward, his jaw clenched, pain nearly ripped his features apart as he wrenched unspeakable things out of himself and made himself talk about what he'd done. "I certainly never meant t-to… _kill_ you." He was winded and beside himself with grief as they both remembered. "I would never…" he abruptly stopped and let out a soft, defeated sound that could have been a laugh or a beginning of a sob. "It's terribly ironic to say I would never when I _did_ ," he murmured painfully, eyes on the ground as he thought about it with an ill expression. "In that terrible moment… I forgot my strength, I forgot your fragility, I forgot… _everything_ except the pain." His thumb brushed over her knuckles so faintly. Ashamed to his core, he managed to look her in the eye again. "I was so _angry._ I wasn't myself. Or if I was, I—I don't want to be the angel who did that to you _._ " His voice caught in his throat and his face abruptly pinched into a confused, wounded frown as he questioned himself. _"_ And why? _Why_ was I angry? Because of my own stubborn foolish pride. Because I thought everyone had betrayed me. And _I_ was the one who betrayed _you_. If I had any right to be angry with _anyone_ it was with myself." He clenched his jaw as he tried to keep composure. "I'm so _sorry._ I can never stop apologizing to you for what I did and what happened." His eyes begged her to believe what he was saying. But he didn't need to beg her to believe. She already did and had understood the accidental nature of what had happened for a long, long time. But Cas was so guilty about it. He wouldn't stop explaining the depths of his despair. "If I could go back, I would tell you everything from the start," he said in defeated earnestness. " _Everything_. I would trust you with all the things that I tried to shoulder on my own. I wouldn't lie to you. I wouldn't _use_ you. I wouldn't be so selfish, I wouldn't destroy everything. Especially… especially not _us_." He looked down at their hands, which still held loosely.

Alex was left to reply, and she wasn't sure how to. There was so much to say and so much to work through. Cas seemed to think the worst thing he'd done was kill her. And honestly, for her, that _wasn_ _'_ _t_ the worst thing. When she finally spoke, it was with a quiet, broken voice. "Y-you broke my trust in ways I don't think anyone else ever has," she confirmed, tone hollow. She'd _trusted_ him in ways she never trusted anyone before. With her family it had been ingrained in her since birth to trust them and lean on them. With Cas, it had been largely a choice. She'd handed her heart over to him willingly, believing he would never hurt or betray her. And then he had done just that. Her eyes began to gather tears until there was a painful sheen there. She still couldn't believe he would keep what he had from her. It still seemed unthinkable to her. "The thing that hurts the most out of everything is the _lying_ ," she said, trying to get him to understand. "It wasn't once, and it wasn't a few times. It was over and over again, it was… you _tricked_ me and I just… why would someone who loved someone else _do_ that to them, you know?" Cas, miserable, nodded and accepted her words. He was more and more ashamed with every passing second. But Alex had to finish her point. "You didn't trust me with the truth and… and I thought we were… more than that. _Better_ than that. I never thought you would do that to me." That was the greatest tragedy of all, for her. His soul-deep regret was visible, as was his understanding that nothing could ever undo his actions or restore her trust to what it had been before. And yet, Alex loved him and still looked at him and saw a good man. A good man who had made mistakes and thought he was doing the right thing. That's why a sad helpless smile was on her face. "And with _anyone_ else I would beat their dumb ass up for doing that to me and then never talk to them again," she said. "With anyone else I would never trust them again even a little bit. But with _you_ …" she trailed off, not sure how to put it. Not sure how to explain the way her heart forever belonged to him. Not sure how to understand how much she wanted him despite everything. She could only chalk it up to her feelings. Stupid, endless, fiercely deep-rooted, unconditional love. "You just aren't _like_ everyone else," she whispered, searching his pained eyes with hers and confessing her innermost feelings without a second thought in a stark whisper. "Maybe I shouldn't, but all I wanna do is forgive you and try again, is that crazy?"

Cas looked like he'd been given the hope of a lifetime and he wasn't sure how to process it. "I—I want the same thing," he said urgently, clearly trying to reign himself in, swallowing hard and appearing to be highly anxious for her to throw her arms around him and give him a second chance. He visibly held himself back from kissing her or embracing her. Instead he kissed her with gentle, heartfelt words and eyes that were beyond wretchedly tender. "I would give _anything_ for that."

Hope was a cruel thing to give to a man who was about to be widowed. Alex remembered reality and abruptly realized she was only stringing Cas along if she acted like they could have a future together. Impossible grief crashed over her and she turned her face away from him, trying to maintain control. "I… I don't know," she whispered, blinking her eyes hard and fast as her features worked hard to maintain composure. "I—I just don't know." Oh god she wanted to tell him. She wanted to confess how scared she was and how far in she'd gotten herself. She wanted him to be bigger and stronger than she was and for him to take the nightmare away, to save her and to shelter her. But she stood there and was a fortress that he was not allowed inside of. And he thought it was all because she wasn't sure how she felt about him or if she could forgive what he'd done. His hope was dashed, his sadness written onto his beautiful face. But he nodded and accepted her declaration of uncertainty.

"I understand," he said faintly, and Alex abruptly had to walk off, following after Dean and Benny, who'd stopped and waited when Cas and Alex had stopped.

Tears and pain were clenching her body in a vice, trying to control her. She refused and fought her emotional side hard. _Do not break down. Don_ _'_ _t_. Alex walked ahead of Cas but it was difficult to walk quickly and hide the knee injury. It hurt every time she took a step but she soldiered through the pain. It couldn't compare to her emotional pain and it barely served to distract her, either. In walking faster she was trying to avoid having to look at Cas as she gathered himself, and Cas of course being a gentle and noninvasive personality at heart, waited in silence a few moments before he spoke again. Dean and Benny remained about twenty or thirty yards ahead, which in effect kept Cas and Alex's conversation private. "I killed him, you know," Cas said when her face was much more controlled and she appeared much less upset. She shot him a questioning look because she didn't know who he meant. He clarified and chills went down her back. "Destroyer." That name still inspired a fear that could never be erased and her stride faltered. "I found him here and I… _desecrated_ him," Cas said, his voice taking on a dark edge as he explained what he'd done. "For what he did to you. For what he did to the world. I can never make things right or erase the damage, but at the very least, he's _gone._ He can never touch you again."

If Cas was trying to comfort her… it worked, however fractionally. Some part of her could breathe a little easier knowing that one of the most cruel and destructive monsters to have ever have existed was no longer even in existence. It was another reminder of how good Castiel was. _Good_. Love swelled inside and it hurt her so bad to feel so much. Alex glanced at Cas, who looked guilty. Like he'd had something to do with what that monster had accomplished through his body. "It was possession, Cas," she reminded gently. "You didn't do those things."

He nodded tensely and a muscle ticked in his strong jaw. "I know."

Alex stopped walking, taking Cas by an arm gently. "Do you?" She asked. After all this time, he was still struggling to accept that as a fact. And it _was_ a fact. She couldn't stand to see him killing himself over it.

Cas looked miserable. "Don't pity me," he said, looking down and away. "I don't deserve that."

Alex said it before she thought it through. Her voice was fierce and correcting. "I _love_ you." His eyes flew up to hers. "I'm allowed to hate that bad things have happened to you."

Her words affected him deeply and he looked close to an emotional break. "I love you too," he said softly, breaking her heart anew with the deep feelings behind his words. "And I was the _reason_ bad things happened to you. Tell me how that makes sense."

God, it was true but… she was almost _angry_ at him for continuing to bring it up. She took a second to breathe her temper out and then she was ruefully sarcastic. What else was there to be? "A lot of bad things have happened to me. It's kinda to be expected at this point. It's just my life, basically. Bad shit, every day of the week."

Cas just looked sadder and sadder. "Don't excuse what I did."

She shook her head, dead serious. "Trust me. I'm not. I'm just…" she took a second and tried to figure out how the hell to explain it once and for all. She dropped the sarcasm in favor of honesty. "I'm just I'm choosing to believe you _really_ didn't know any better. I'm choosing to believe you really thought it was the right thing, all the mistakes you made. I mean Jesus Christ, I've made similar mistakes—I've lied and kept things from the people I loved because I thought it'd save them in the long run." She quickly edited herself. "Don't get me wrong, the stunts I've pulled have never been _near_ as big of a scale as yours, but… I would be a gigantic hypocrite if I couldn't… I guess empathize with what happened at least and see it from your perspective." And she really did empathize. She always had. She believed the best of him even when she'd seen him at his worst and everyone else had tagged him as the bad guy and a cause that should be given up on. She'd been labelled weak and stupid and pathetic for her devotion to him but it hadn't mattered. Love had always given her empathy and a willingness to give second, third, and fourth chances. As she looked at him now, even, all she could do was _feel_ for him and wish for the ability to help make him feel better. "And I _know_ you, Cas," she said, tone becoming gentler. "You've already guilt-tripped yourself into the next century for everything that happened. I really don't need to join you in beating yourself up." And she didn't want to, either. She swallowed thickly, voice catching. "I'm… I'm just glad you're still alive."

Cas's sad smile mirrored hers. He was obviously touched deeply. "I've… been very worried about you," he confessed, which was no surprise. "I'm glad you're alive, too." His expression fell slightly. "Although I suppose you always will be, with what I've done."

His mention of her immortality thing made her stiffen. "…Right." If Crowley wasn't lying, Cas was very wrong indeed.

But he didn't know. And he was looking at her in hesitant hopefulness. "With eternity, I'm sure we… we can find a way through," he said, his gaze appealing to her and asking her for another chance—it took everything she had not to break in half on the spot. "If… if that's what you want." She was pretty sure the look on her face was making him think she didn't want it. But that look was there because she _did_ want it and _couldn_ _'_ _t have it_. Cas's dark brows worked in together. "What is it?" he asked softly, then an idea seemed to occur after he studied her upset face for a moment longer. "Is it about… _him_?" he asked. Alex chilled at the mention of Zip. Guilt as usual swallowed her whole and the shameful, dark thing she'd done at the height of desperate loneliness and grief made her world all the more hopeless. Why did he have to bring that up? Cas gently touched her shoulder and then her face, startling her. "Don't emotionally lash yourself about it, Alex," he said softly. " _Don_ _'_ _t_."

Her eyebrows worked in together. "How?" she choked out, cursing herself for the mistake. Not only had it meant nothing, but she felt like she destroyed something beautiful—she'd slept with someone other than Cas, and she was of the convicted opinion that she didn't _belong_ with anyone but Cas. And yet she'd thrown that away for momentary comfort that hadn't lasted or even been that comforting at all.

Cas's hand tightened just a little and tilted her face back up as he shook his head firmly and authoritatively. His expression showed understanding and empathy through some pain. "You thought I was _dead_ ," he said, then raised his eyebrows slightly. "What were you supposed to do, remain celibate for the rest of your life?"

Alex's response was gut-punch—she was almost _mad_ at him for being reasonable. " _Yes_!" Her exclamation was her true feelings but when she said that, she got confused and her face fell into a muddled expression and she cast around for a more well-formed opinion. "I… I dunno! You didn't even _remember_ me and somehow knew not to do that." Her face was tensed into a grim expression as she thought about how her instincts _had_ whispered not to let Zip even kiss her. But she'd pushed past those instincts because of grief, anger, confusion, and desperation. "I mean… maybe I _did_ know," she mused miserably as her voice got softer and softer. "It felt wrong, but… I still did it." And she would never understand that. She would never forgive herself.

But apparently she was in the minority there. Cas, in tune with her personal pain, floored her when he spoke again so tenderly and said words that she had never expected to hear. "Alex, I forgive you." _What_? Alex's eyes snapped to his. "Completely," he added somberly, then explained why after a long pause where he wet his lips and tried to condense everything his mind was thinking into a few words: "It was a hurtful discovery for me to know what happened and I felt deeply wounded by it but…" he shook his head, not dwelling on his own feelings, "I want to put this behind us. Whatever our future entails… he is not a part of it."

Alex's mouth was open in a slight gape. "You're just… you're just over it?" she asked, not understanding. Cas seemed so well-balanced to her all the sudden, so much more grown than she remembered last. Was it all this time with Dean? When had this happened? How had Cas made peace with what still kept her awake at night?

Cas was bittersweet. "How can I hold your mistakes against you when they're so very small in comparison to mine?"

True, but… "My mistakes feel pretty big to me," she said dourly, looking down, too humiliated to look at him.

In a show of affection, Cas's hand stroked down against the side of her head. "I think we're alike," he observed softly and sadly. "Beating ourselves up, as you put it."

Her eyes rose to look at him helplessly. He surprised her. He humbled her. She was reminded again of how much she loved him and why. Because in all the world, there was no one else like him—a person so deep and heartfelt, so innocent and naive yet strong and fierce. She felt herself _smiling_ despite so many hard feelings she was fighting inside. "Maybe we should stop it, huh?" she joked faintly.

"I think so," he said, serious about it and weary, it seemed, of dragging himself through the ringer. His eyes suddenly grew a little brighter and younger, more happy as he thought of something. "Perhaps we should…" he hesitated then held out his hand and Alex's heart did a somersault and emotion jumped from her feet out of her head when he closed all his fingers down except his pinky finger. He held that finger out to her in a gesture she had taught to him so long ago. He waited for her to hook her pinky through, in his own stilted words: "to 'seal the deal.'"

Alex looked from his pinky to his face. To look at him now, he was barely recognizable. Gray-skinned, bearded, and without his trademark suit and tie. Worn down, harrowed, burdened. But the offer of a pinky promise and Alex was left remembering an angel she'd just been getting to know more than five years ago now. She remembered a car ride and a spilled cupcake, the pinky promise she'd shown him. She remembered falling in love with him one steady day at a time and not knowing that was what was happening to her. Not really. They had been so young then, it seemed. So different than they were now. But… maybe not. Maybe they _weren_ _'_ _t_ as different now as she kept thinking. Alex curled her pinky through his and took a second as her mouth worked oddly on her face. "No more beating ourselves up," she promised in a conflicted whisper, then added: " _Much_." They let go and Alex's face stayed soft and reflective as she reminisced about what felt like brighter days. "It's been so long since we did that. I'd… sorta forgotten."

Cas, the love of her life a thousand times over, smiled back however sadly. His voice was thick with memories, too. "I didn't." He glanced over at Dean and Benny who were again waiting about thirty yards off, their stances vaguely impatient. And obviously knowing they needed to move on and wrap things up, Cas reached out and took Alex's hand in his and laid it all on the line, put it all out there. "I love you, Alex. With all that I am. Beyond any force in the universe. You… you make me want to try again, even though my mistakes should have propelled you to walk away from me a long time ago." His thumb brushed over her knuckles sweetly as his heartfelt words made it harder and harder for her. "Whatever you decide, whatever you want for us to be in the future… husband and wife or just… just friends with a very complicated history… or even if you want us to be strangers… I will respect that until my last breath." His eyes were devastatingly intense and Alex realized she wasn't even breathing—she was holding air in her lungs as she hung onto his every word. "But, I _do_ want to have a chance to show you that I've learned my lesson, if you'll give it to me," Cas said. "I want to try again, I want to give you _everything_ , I still want to be your h—" he caught himself like he was about to say something wrong, "t-to be yours. I will do _whatever_ you ask of me, I will atone myself to you in whatever way you deem appropriate. I will wait a hundred or a thousand years for you if that's what you want." Alex stared at him through swimming eyes and a pained expression. A single, hot tear fell down her cheek and Cas watched it then stopped it with his thumb, sad because of her sadness as he wiped away the streak. He paused and then reached into his shirt collar and pulled on something. Alex frowned slightly, noticing what she hadn't before: He was wearing a chain, a necklace… and when the end contents that hung on it slipped out, when he showed her what they were, she almost lost it for real. Her penny. His ring. He wore them kind of like the 2014 Castiel had worn things, and her stomach felt like it dropped out of her body when she saw these things. Cas was looking at her with eyes that _killed_ her inside. "I want to still… I want for these to mean what they meant nearly four years ago now," he said, voice full of vulnerability as he basically said _I still want to be your husband. I want another chance at this and at us if you_ _'_ _ll give it to me._

Alex pulled her hand back and looked away, too overwhelmed to even speak. It was everything her heart had longed for and it was too late. "I n-need time to decide," she said, shaken up and stricken because it _couldn_ _'_ _t_ happen and the answer _had_ to be no because she had _no time left_. Her mind spun and her voice was failing completely thanks to a tear-tight throat. "I j-just need some time," she said, trying not to break his heart along with hers. One broken heart between them was enough. "We should catch up with them," she said tersely, already on the move in an effort to avoid falling apart in front of him.

Cas sounded very concerned at her sudden shut-down reaction but he agreed readily and followed. "Of course." They said nothing else as they worked to get back to Benny and Dean—Cas watched Alex with constant worried glances as he obviously wondered what she was thinking and feeling. He couldn't have guessed the truth. He thought she was struggling with how she felt about him, not that she was trying to deal with the fact that she was basically dying.

After a couple of hours with not much more conversation between the group of survivors, Benny shook his head and glanced around darkly. "You know, fellas… I dunno if this is such a good idea," he said, turning around and stopping, folding his arms. "I can feel it. Closer we get, the more monsters are gon' get drawn in."

"I thought you wanted to ditch this bitch—now you're gonna chicken out?" Dean asked incredulously.

Benny shrugged offhandedly. "Hey, I value bein' alive, that's all."

"Well what's the Plan B?" Dean asked combatively. "Keep looking for this supposed escape hatch of yours we couldn't find? Or, oh, this is a good one: give up and stay stuck! Psh. Yeah right. No _thanks._ " He was cagey and ready to _go._ "I say we take our chances." He brushed past Benny harshly.

"I'm just sayin'," Benny said in all seriousness, still very calm and reasonable. He turned toward the retreater and Dean stopped, turned, and listened however unwillingly. "I can tell ya how this is gon' go down. The creepy crawlies let us close to the tree and let us crack that door wide open then they jump us and take the express train outta here into your neck'a the woods." Everyone was listening to Benny now and _highly_ concerned.

"…And you just _now_ wanna bring this up?" Dean asked peevishly.

"'Least I brought it up at all, Dean," Benny said, slight exasperation showing then _severe_ exasperation rearing its head. "When the hell you gon' start givin' me some damn respect? When you gon' quit actin' like I'm the bad guy?" Dean said nothing but the look on his face was grudgingly apologetic (or at least regretful) enough that Benny let it go. "I just think… one'a us might have to stay behind to guard the way out. Make sure none'a my neighbors get a hold'a that rock."

"… _What_? Stay _behin_ —" Dean's face showed utterly shocked disbelief then anger. "All right. Just—just hold on a friggin' _second_." He took a couple of tense, stressed seconds to try to sum up what Benny was saying. "So you're saying someone needs to stay _here_ and make sure no other freakshow locals get through to my hometown."

Benny nodded once, elegantly. "Right on, brother."

Dean was highly disgruntled and on edge. "Oh come on, we can all get through!"

Benny challenged that idea in a measured tone. "Two slow, mortal humans against however-many super-powered super-speed monsters who are salivatin' for a way out…?" He looked like he pitied Dean almost. "Come on Dean, you're ain't dumb; why you talkin' like you are?"

"Because no one gets left behind!" Dean thundered in outrage. "I don't care _what_ we gotta do!"

And then a quiet, gravelly low voice spoke up. "Dean. He's probably right." Cas was utterly grim, drawing the growingly stunned stares of both Winchesters. "The risk of what could get out into the human population… are you willing to risk that?" the angel asked. He looked bothered that he hadn't already considered what Benny was saying. "I'm not willing to risk that. The Leviathan and Behemoth—a mere two entities—escaped and look what they did. Imagine if hundreds or _thousands_ got out."

Dean looked around the small group and as it dawned on him he lost some color. "But that means…"

"Yes," Cas confirmed. Alex, not having caught on yet, was dumbstruck into dread-filled silence. And then Cas spelled it out. "The humans go," the angel said to Benny as if that were the final word, and he ignored the wide-eyed shocked looks he got from both Winchesters. "Alex and Dean, they leave this place."

Alex was beside herself. "What? _Cas_ —" she began, voice trembling.

He turned to her with a gentle but firm, sick resignation on his face and in his voice. "It has to be me who stays behind," he said, and although he was final about it, he was clearly torn to shreds at what it meant for them. "You know it does."

She shook her head no repeatedly in a daze of horror. "N-no, there… there has to be another way!" she protested in rising panic. She couldn't let Cas stay in this nightmare alone. Couldn't!

"There _ain_ _'_ _t_ another way," Benny interjected evenly, and Alex wanted to wring his fucking neck for being so calm. "If _any_ of us get out I'll be surprised. Angel's right." Benny shrugged slightly. "He's gotta stay." Then he surprised everyone when he heaved a self-disbelieving sigh. "And, hell, I do too. Make sure you two crazy mouth breathers get back to where you go." He chuckled ruefully and shook his head at everyone's looks. "Guess it was all a pipe dream, gang. But hey. 'Least I gots a good story now to tell to all my friends." He paused, mouth twitching in another damn smile. "Oh yeah. I ain't got none'a those."

Alex ignored the vampire, pleading with the angel instead. "Cas, listen to me, no way in _hell_ are you gonna—"

A sudden long series of howls _way_ too close for comfort sounded, cutting the conversation off completely as everyone went tense at the realization that danger was very, very near.

"Werewolves," Dean breathed grimly, his machete already out.

"Aw _shit,_ " Benny muttered in annoyance, looking like he was thinking _great. Just great._

"Four of them I think," Cas said, abruptly in battle-mode as he squinted hard and drew out his machete and protectively stood near Alex. "I think they've surrounded us." He looked like he was beginning to kick himself mentally for not realizing sooner. "I wasn't _focusing,_ " he muttered, angry with himself.

"Cas, buddy, you're fine, just keep your head on your shoulders, all right?" Dean said, earning a brief and gaping stare from his sister. It was bizarre to see her brother actively encouraging the angel and doing something to build him up instead of tear him down. She didn't have a chance to think about it more. The wolves attacked them, rushing in from four directions as the hunters clustered close and faced outward, weapons clenched tight. In the earthly realm, werewolves were humanoid, only having additions of fangs, claws, and animal eyes when they turned. But here in Purgatory, they devolved over time into the likeness the word 'werewolf' conjures: tall, beastly wolf-like bodies and faces, crushing in power and speed. They were fierce and deadly opponents, and they were hungry for blood.

The scuffle that ensued was close and dangerous—and Alex, thrown off by what had just transpired before the attack, found herself on the ground with a slashed knee as the other three in her group finished off the werewolves. She grabbed her injured knee hard, eyes screwed shut as she fought a long, horrible groan of pain. It was the same knee she'd twisted a few days ago. There was no _way_ she could walk on it now, and that fact sent fear and dismay skittering through her like leaves on an autumn sidewalk. At least she'd done some damage to two of the wolves before she got taken down like a damn sap.

While Benny and Dean double-teamed the last remaining wolf, Cas turned, breathless, and ran over to Alex, dropping to his knees by her. "Oh, Alex! You're _hurt_ —" he looked at her ripped-at-the-knee jeans and the gash there and he had one immediate gut reaction. "I'll heal you," he said, reaching out to do just that.

Dean, who was standing back with racing breath over the werewolf he'd just taken down, freaked out. "No, Cas, _whoa_! Remember the last time you healed _me_? Ten Wendigo bastards showed up!"

Cas looked at Dean with an expression that was equal parts indignant and angry.

Benny wiped the side of his face where blood had splattered and glanced down at the dead werewolves they'd made quick work of. "He's right, amigo. The bandaid'll only bring the beasties."

Cas obviously couldn't stand the thought of not healing Alex immediately but he had to listen to the others and the good points they were making. His hand retreated and his expression showed how upset he was. Alex tried to put on a brave, strong face. "It's okay, Cas, just some pain," she said. "I can't move as fast, but…" she tried to push herself up and couldn't hold back a surprised yelp of pain. The cut was deep and her knee felt like the twisted tendon had gotten further twisted. She probably couldn't move at _all._

Face drawn and pale, Cas was sickened at her sound of pain. "I'll carry you."

She tried to resist out of pride and stubbornness and a little embarrassment, too. "No, Cas, you don't have t—"

" _I_ _'_ _ll carry you,_ " he insisted in a hard voice, picking her up without another word and without another chance for her to protest. His strong arms held her easily and feeling pathetic for losing the function of walking, Alex held back an frustrated, angry fit. Nearby, Dean's concerned expression just made it worse. She set her face hard and avoided everyone's gazes.

Benny waved them onward. "Come on, ya'll, let's get outta here." He led the way and for a moment, everyone was silent and tense, watchful for more enemies. But it remained silent. They came to a wide, shallow stream and crossed over it, turning and heading up along the banks of it. "Tree's gettin' closer," Benny announced, eyeing their surroundings carefully. They were definitely getting closer to the center of Purgatory. Trees were bigger, taller, and thicker in this place. "Think it's closer than I thought at first." For a few more minutes, no one said anything. The only sound was of the low, growling stream.

And then Cas turned his head toward Alex, who he carried so gently and closely. "Does it hurt very much?" he asked in vast worry, glancing at her knee.

It did, but who cares. She'd been trying to hold it together. But his question, however unrelated to her thoughts, was too much. "You can't stay behind," she whispered, finally letting her eyes meet his. "Cas, you _can_ _'_ _t_."

His face was rigid with regret and guilt, his eyes showed pain. "I _have_ to. I _cannot_ let those creatures back into the world. The first time I unleashed them was bad enough." His arms which so securely held her, seemed to tighten as if to hold onto her just a little longer. "It seems that fate is determined to see us apart, doesn't it?" he asked quietly. A question that broke her fucking heart.

It _did_ seem that way. "I'll stay here with you," Alex managed to choke out softly. If she could. If she didn't have to go finish buying Sam's freedom and life back with her own. She would stay with him _forever,_ no matter what.

Cas shook his head, even though a soft, heartbroken smile rested on his face at her offer. "No," he murmured. "You know I won't let you do that."

If it was any other way, there would _be_ not letting her. She would fucking _stay_ and too bad what he said or 'allowed _._ _'_ But things weren't like that. And she was quickly getting so, so, _so_ upset. "Cas, you—you don't understand what I did to get here and get you you out," she whispered, _begging_ him to please somehow find a way to not stay here and let her efforts go in vain. She _loved_ him so damn much. She couldn't bear to know he was going to be stuck in here forever. She'd focused on her mission of saving everyone and making sure they were okay. And he wasn't going to be.

"I can't let those things into the world again," he said quietly, and she knew he was right, which was why it was so fucking distressing. "We _just_ got rid of them. I have to do this. It's my responsibility." She shut her eyes against his words. He was _right_. And she didn't want him to be. And all this after he'd given her that speech about wanting a future together. How heartbroken was he right now? Maybe someplace close to how heartbroken _she_ was. Cas's hands tightened on her as he attempted to comfort her. "If I can somehow, someday find another way out to you, I will," he promised in a tone tinged by pain and grief.

And all her efforts to fight a breakdown were defeated and Alex began to _weep,_ face buried in Cas's shoulder, her body wracking with miserable sob after miserable sob. It wasn't right. It wasn't fair, she couldn't take this. He didn't deserve to be here. But what other solution was there?

"Shh, _shh_." Cas pressed a kiss into her greasy hair and she cried even harder.

"This is the stupidest fucking… shit… ever!" she sobbed unevenly, her arms a vice around his neck as she quaked against a grief that took over her entire body and mind.

"I would have to agree with you," Cas said sadly. And she wanted to laugh at his statement, which only made her cry harder.

Nearby, Benny and Dean watched uncomfortably and sadly. Well, Benny looked uncomfortable. Dean looked sad. They'd stopped walking as a group when Alex started crying. Near to where they stood, a huge fallen tree intersected the drab woods. Benny eyed Cas, who was comforting Alex as best he could. He shot Dean a look. "Aye, brother. I think we oughta give them some alone time for a spell, whaddayou say, brother?"

The hunter shot the vampire a frown. "…You think it's safe?" Dean asked warily.

Benny seemed a mite amused. "In here? Never. But… for now…" he looked around with sharp eyes that missed nothing, "yeah."

Dean hesitated, eyeing his sister and the angel for a long second as he contemplated it. And then in a pretty big gesture he probably wouldn't have given before, he gave Cas and Alex something they very much needed. Alone time. A chance to say goodbye on their terms. He grasped Cas's arm and then rubbed Alex's shaking shoulder a couple times as she continued to hide her face in Cas. "We'll be close," Dean told Cas. He paused. "But not _too_ close. If you get… what I'm…" awkward and flustered and not sure his statement was even relevant, Dean drew his mouth into a thin line as he departed. "Never mind."

As Benny and Dean retreated, Cas carefully set Alex down to sit onto the fallen tree—it was a big tree and was about the height of a standard couch, making it a good place for Alex to rest. Cas stood in front of her but Alex didn't look at him. Just bowed her head down in defeat. Cas watched her a moment, his face wrenched into an expression that showed how very upset he was, too. Upset and yet resigned to his fate. He knelt onto a knee in front of her, trying to be gentle and sympathetic even though he couldn't change anything. He waited a moment, then tried to explain what she already knew—why he had to be the one to stay. "Dean might be a father," he said softly, and Alex's sad, reddened eyes finally looked into his. Cas gently touched her hand which rested on her upper leg. "He _has_ to go back. You… you _can_ _'_ _t_ stay here. I won't allow it. You know I never would. Not as your guardian angel and… and not as anything else either." His voice caught a little as what he was saying caught up to his emotions. "You _have_ to go back."

Her features wavered between getting more upset and holding steady. She would have argued, cried, pled, _begged_ in the past for him to come with her but… if he came back with her now, if he had to see her go to Hell and if he knew what she'd done… it would destroy him. Maybe, in some bizarre and sick way, this was better. "I know," she whispered in agreement she couldn't believe she was giving. "But… I… it's just not _fair,_ " she choked out, grabbing his hand tightly with both of hers. "I don't _want_ this for you," she said, fresh tears spilling out of her eyes as her heart broke for him and this dark, lonely fate. "Eternity down here? Alone? _Forever_?"

Despite how sad he was, he managed a pained smile as his free hand touched and held to her jawline. "I _won_ _'_ _t_ be alone," he said firmly, and the way he was being the bigger person and the way he was rising above his own sadness to reassure her made it even harder. He was so damn beautiful and wonderful and she felt like she was falling in love with him all over again here and now. "Not if I can keep the memories I have of us and of you." That broke her all over again and Alex's shoulders fell as one of her hands came up to cover her own face. A miserable series of sobs escaped. "Please, don't cry…" he whispered, already leaning forward and pulling her into an awkward hug where she sat with knees on either side of him as he cradled her close against the tree.

She had her arms around his shoulders and fingers holding tightly into dirty trench coat fabric. "It's kind of hard not to when you've lost the love of your life several times over and you're gonna lose him again," she whispered in a stark, tear-ruined voice.

His voice, next to her ear, sounded very similar to hers. "I _wish_ there were another way," he confessed, and she heard how much he didn't want this, either.

She sniffed a couple times against a running nose as she shut her eyes shut so tight that her eyeballs hurt. "I don't _understand,_ Cas," she said, voice high and tight and unrecognizable.

One of his hands gently cradled the back of her head, comforting her. "I don't either."

For a minute, they just held each other and Alex kept her arms around him tighter and tight as she relished him. His touch. His warmth. His solidness. She thought about how far they had come and all the complicated things that were between them juxtaposed against a day in April four years ago when they'd thought love could be enough. "If we could have had a chance, a real _chance_ …" she whispered into the side of his neck, mourning the life they had never gotten to live. "I wish we could have had that. I think we could have been happy in another lifetime, maybe. Really, really _happy_."

Cas drew back and looked at her with the ghost of a grieved smile on his face. "That's a very endearing thought," he said, tracing tears away from her gray cheeks. "I'd like to think the same." His eyes grew more open and vulnerable. "I often think about what it could have been like," he confessed. "I… I imagine us having a home together. More time with each other." His smile grew sadder, his voice grew softer. "Children, maybe."

Children, maybe. She nodded through a valiantly-struggling expression because she understood. She had wanted _everything_ with him and they were ending up with nothing. She knew they were about to be separated again, but at least this time they knew it. And she could say goodbye, she could make sure he knew. She took his hand and pulled it up, rested and pressed it palm-down to the place just above her left-hand breast where her heart beat strong and fast. "I don't care where I am or where you are," she whispered fiercely with the last bit of composure she had left. "You just need to know you will _always_ have this. Only you. _No one else_."

His reaction was immediate, his fingers curled into her a little as if he were trying to bridge the gap between them. "You _are_ my heart," he whispered in a voice made tight by pain and sadness. And in reply she kissed him with tears on her face because there weren't words left. His arms gently enveloped her, his lips were sweet on hers, comforting, beautiful. Once they kissed, then twice, then three times, soft and slow and tender and so heartbroken each time. His forehead rested against hers when they pulled apart the last time.

He bent his head down to the ripped hole in her jeans at her knee and softly pressed a kiss there, his hand gently supporting the back of her knee. "I'm sorry you're in pain," he said, and his eyes were shining when they glanced up to hers. "I would take it away if I could." He squeezed his eyes closed and kissed the bare, tender skin near the gash again with lingering lips as his expression showed distress and guilt and struggle.

"It's okay," she managed, and bent over, grabbed his bowed head in her hands and kissed the crown of his head softly, her fingers digging into his dirty hair. She squeezed her eyes closed and breathed there a moment, nose buried in his hair until he raised his head and looked into her eyes. Who initiated it? Impossible to say. Their faces were drawn together like magnets, their noses brushed and lips touched again but this time his mouth was soft and open, seeking deeper exploration of hers. She gave him that privilege, breathless at the effect of his kiss. His hands rested against her, the lightest touches of his fingers and thumbs against her jean-clad thighs driving her crazy and sending sparks shooting up her veins as a warmth only he inspired flooded her body. His rough beard rubbed against her cheeks, the skin around her mouth as his tongue asked to know all the warmth of her mouth. Her fingers twined into the thick hair at the back and sides of his head as they softened into each other more and more, as the kiss became deeper and more heady and turned into slow, burning making out. It had been so long since her body had been a vessel of beauty and pleasure and not destruction and pain. He felt close and familiar, she _loved_ him so much and wanted him so much, too…

His hands went to her sides, thumbs just above the belt of her jeans, and the way his hands kept tightening a little to pull her closer to his body and then loosening and tightening again was driving her _crazy_. Apparently, she wasn't the only one starting to lose their goddamn mind. Cas was growing breathless and noisy from the passionate way they were kissing each other—little moans in the base of his throat kept sneaking out. Her knees, even the injured one, were tight on his sides and her arms and hands made sure he remained closely pressed against her as he knelt between her legs, and he was already very, very aroused like she was—it was quite easy to tell, being so closely crushed together like that. His hand came up to cup the side of her face and he left her mouth to nuzzle the curve of her neck, his husky voice dark and hot against her neck as he left wet trails against the skin there. "I… I need to make love to you," he begged, kissing and mouthing the side of her neck sensually, in a drug-like stupor—and she was immediately, dizzyingly turned on all over again at his request. "One last time, just once more, _please_ …"

 _Here? Now?_ "Cas— _ah_ —" she gasped when his mouth sent a particularly heady rush of arousal through her. She put a hand on his, wanting him to continue and wanting him to stop—they were in _Purgatory_ and Dean was nearby and it was too _risky_ … but she wanted to so _bad_ and one other thought was in the back of her mind: that mysterious time traveling stranger. She wasn't completely daft or stupid. She had a deep instinct about who he could be. And she wondered if this, the last time she could ever possibly be with Cas, was somehow when that young man came into existence. She didn't understand the ins and outs with her ten day deal or anything or how it was even _possible_ , but she didn't really see any other explanation and she shockingly beside herself with the sudden, strong desire to have Cas's child, to have a piece of him to hang on to. His mouth on her skin distracted her mightily from her thoughts. "This is _dangerous_ …" she protested feebly even as she tilted her head so that he could continue to kiss her up the neck. Her mind was saying no, her heart and body and soul were screaming _yes, please!_ _Don_ _'_ _t ever stop!_

His nose brushed her ear, his breath and voice were closer than close. "And when has that ever stopped us before?" he asked. It was a serious question but it was also almost a challenge and it fucking _turned her on_ so much more. He drew back and his eyes seduced her and beckoned her, longed for her silently. She was totally doomed by him—it was already over. "I haven't forgotten," he said, trailing his fingers down her kiss-damp neck and toward her collarbone. "You need to tell me to touch you," he whispered, desperately waiting for her to tell him.

He already had touched her, he already _was_ touching her but she got the general gist of what he was asking permission for and was powerlessly throwing caution to the wind because she needed him one last time. " _Touch me_ ," she whispered back, and he swallowed her mouth readily in a crushing kiss and pulled her torso against him as he abruptly stood up, holding her easily against him. One of her legs wrapped around his middle as her injured one hung more awkwardly—Cas was moving them, walking and stumbling around and over the tree trunk to the other side of it and then lowering them down to the ground beside it—the trunk became a small semblance of privacy, blocking them from Dean and Benny's view if they were to approach. Cas was careful not to let her injured knee scrape against the ground or hit the tree trunk as he laid between her legs and kissed her demandingly and passionately, in ways that matched all the desperate and heartfelt things he'd said to her earlier—he scrambled up to his knees and pulled her shirt off between hungry kisses even as she pushed at his coat, frenzied to undress him and have him, almost fighting him to undress him faster and first. Cas tossed his trench coat aside when he was able and Alex was pushing his shirt up his lean torso as he unclasped her bra and slid it off of her—she yanked his shirt off his head, and it made his hair stick up funnily—he looked like a homeless mountainman and it was somehow so adorable that Alex felt herself smiling at him despite everything as she held a hand against the side of his face and found pause amidst their passion. Also, his chain with their wedding symbols glinted, and he looked so damn manly that her breath caught.

He was looking down at her with a soft, love-forlorn look on his face. "You are Heaven," he breathed, a hand against the side of her face. "In every single way." He bent his head and kissed her dirty shoulder, one of his hands now against her back to pull her close to him as the penny and ring dragged against her skin. Their bare chests touched and she gasped softly, totally caught up in the physical sensations he inspired in her. As she turned her head to watch him kissing her skin more closely, Alex noticed how one of his arms had a huge black-and-blue bruise on the taunt curve of his bicep and she gently craned her neck up and kissed the hurt skin. He couldn't use his powers freely here without drawing attention. She'd learned that much. And she saw more and more evidence of it as she took in his body. Scratches, bruises, cuts marred his ashy-colored skin. She touched each one she saw with gentle skimming fingers, noticing how he was just like her: dirty everywhere, even underneath clothes. Purgatory did that—snuck in and desolated everything. Cas was kneeling and shuffling back a little, gently pulling her jeans and underwear off at the same time, one leg at a time, being especially careful with her injured leg. They couldn't take forever with this; they couldn't waste time and risk their lives any more than they already were by indulging in languid foreplay. It had to be quick and _now_.

That's why Cas was undressing her so fast. But being naked and outside and dirty all over had Alex feeling self conscious, especially since Cas felt far away kneeling between her legs. He pulled her boots off then got her jeans off a leg at a time… but when she was left naked he didn't crawl back up the length of her body. Instead, he bowed his head down and kissed her knee again, peppering the area in sweet, sensual kisses. Then he began slowly upward along the dirt-smeared skin of her thigh, laying down on the ground between her legs and Alex knew what he was about to do. Inner alarms went off and she held her legs close together. "Cas—I'm _dirty_ —" she protested, even though she simultaneously wished she hadn't said a damn thing. She was beyond dirty, honestly. She was _filthy_ , probably repulsively so.

"It doesn't matter," he murmured hotly against her thigh, his rough beard scratching the soft skin there and making her shiver and shudder and whimper. "I need to _taste_ you." Words that made her mouth drop open and veins buzz. Cas paused the second he said such a dirty thing, suddenly losing his bravado and beginning to outwardly wonder if he'd gone too far or been too brazen. "If… if that's all right," he said, appearing sick at the chance that he had maybe gone too far.

He hadn't. All he'd done was make her more terrifyingly turned on. "Y…eah…" she managed doubtfully, rendered a little meek by the intensity of what he was asking as he peered up at her from between dirty legs. "It's… it's all right."

That was all the permission he needed. His hand pushed against one of her thighs to spread her and he dove mouth first to the place he so clearly longed to taste. "Ah!" she rasped, head thrown back as his mouth found her most sensitive area and laid erogenous touch after erogenous touch onto her. One of his hands slipped underneath a butt cheek and pulled her even closer to himself, increasing the pressure and making her lose her mind more and more with startling quickness. She mumbled desperate, incoherent approval as he made her see white-hot stars. She sat up a little and her hand reached out and fisted into his hair as her other arm dug into the cold ground at the elbow—Purgatory had inspired a carnality in Castiel that seemed new and animalistic and was so damn hot that Alex could barely function.

Cas was making _mmff mmff_ sounds against her like it was the most pleasureful thing he had ever participated in, which of course only made her heart race faster and stomach zing with increasing intensity as he rendered her nerves tighter and tighter with electric pleasure. He made her feel indescribably beautiful and wanted and so _hot_ even though she was a grimy mess. Never _ever_ would she have ever predicted a man could love her and want her the way he did, and as her chest and stomach heaved from impassioned breaths, as she watched his dark head moving between her legs, her eyes abruptly pricked with tears. _I want him forever_. But all they had was now. His nose kept smashing up against her and his beard scratched, tickled, scraped against very sensitive skin as his clever tongue and honeysweet mouth made her go half blind in delirious pleasure—the sadness was an afterthought as frustrated bliss ruled the moment. She panted stupidly, trying to concentrate, trying to both stay quiet and focus on the sensations at the same time. Her fingers dug harder into his hair, holding on tightly as her other hand leveraged her weight and kept her sitting up halfway. Cas's voice rumbled, vibrating into her from the lowest and most naughty place. "You _taste_ so…" he growled out, his words hot against her. He couldn't seem to find the word for how she tasted to him but the implication was clear. _Good. Better than good._ He made a primal grunting sound of approval as he continued his work with increasing fervor.

For him to say that was ridiculously hot and Alex felt herself losing all strength suddenly as the intensity compromised every facility she had when paired with how he'd picked up the pace. His eyes flickered up to look at her and _that_ was one of the most intimate and intense and _hottest_ things. It did things to her. "Oh, Cas, I'm— _haaaah_ —" she whimpered, and in response to her half-confession of oncoming orgasm, Cas shoved three fingers into her unexpectedly and let out a frantic sounding moan because he was so aroused to see _her_ so aroused. She could have _screamed_ at the feeling his fingers gave her and she abruptly clapped both of her hands onto her mouth, muffling a loud series of desperate cries as Cas devastated her in the best and most beautiful way—her body writhed like she was having a seizure—she bucked underneath his mouth and he held her steady with both hands on her hips as he ravished her like that. The pleasure was unforgettable and world-shattering, the feeling of his mouth and tongue and hands, fingers, breath, scraggly beard—she kept her hands tight on her mouth as tears squeezed out from her eyes thanks to the intensity and then it was suddenly all over. Her body went slack and Cas, breathless, gazed up at her like he had just seen the creation of the world itself.

Her hands fell away from her mouth and she laid there stupidly, panting and recovering, her entire body overtaken by the sweetest feeling of pleasure. Her brain didn't even work anymore… _damn_. Cas raised himself up a little, his eyes teary. "You're so _beautiful_ ," he whispered in a choked up voice, fingers brushing down against the skin his mouth had just given pleasure to. She shivered at the gentle touch and Cas began to press slow, tortured kisses against her body as he slowly drifted upward to her waiting arms. His mouth kissed her hips, her stomach, her ribcage, his fingers drifted over the skin in close proximity to his kisses. He paused to pay more attention with his hands and lips to her breasts, drawing soft little sounds from her as he nipped, nudged, kissed, tongued, sucked so gently. His arms wrapped around her and circled her close to his body and she let him hold her like that, accepted every last affection he gave. He was savoring her and it showed. Even though she felt such satisfaction from his touches and his kisses, the thought that this could never happen again had her hands stumbling down the warm skin of his chest and stomach to the stretchy waistband of the once-white hospital pants he wore. She just had to have him once more, had to feel him inside of her body, had to see and feel and make him come. Her hands pushed at the waistband of his pants and he assisted her, tugging at them with one hand and then awkwardly, quickly maneuvering himself out of them. As he settled back down over her, she kissed the curve of his strong shoulder hard, tasting salt and ash and dirt on his skin. He studied her face a moment as she looked up into his eyes and he traced some stray hairs back from her face—her ponytail had come loose to one side.

She wanted to tell him everything. She wanted to tell him every last damn thing. But she said nothing. She just gripped one of his wrists tightly as he spread her legs wider with his knees then shifted his hips down and forward, finding her and nudging up against her—a touch that her body went into overdrive at. Her fingers curled into his skin more deeply in anticipation as their gazes clung closely. He pushed in as he watched her face, which registered pleasure and tense anticipation—his face became blissed and stunned as he slid completely into wet, tight heat. Her back arched up off the ground in response and her hips softly pressed up into his as her mouth remained open in a silent gasp of pleasure. He cried out her name softly when he could go no further, like he was asking for help.

She had every inch of him she could take and it was… "God _damn,_ " she whispered just barely—she hadn't forgotten him, but it had been so long and she was so ripe inside that she was stunned at the feeling. "You feel so _good_ …" she whimpered, wanting to cry all the sudden as she remembered for the hundredth time about how this was about to be at an end.

He kissed her softly, and he looked beside himself. He was thinking the same things she was. "I never want us to part," he confessed brokenly.

"We don't have to yet," she reminded, but she was just as broken as he was. She smoothed a hand down the side of his face, loving him beyond anything she had ever known before and grieving how it was ending. " _We don_ _'_ _t have to yet._ "

He bent and kissed her deeper than deep, his mouth gently demanding to know all of hers. Her arms treasured him against her and her touches were gentle, sweet, caring against his back, arms, and shoulders. Slow, _torturously_ slow, he moved inside of her against the swollen and tender flesh that was growing anxious. So sensitive, she swore she could feel more now than ever before—the way he would slide deeply in and fill her to bursting point then roll his hips forward so that his length and girth applied pressure to every last place inside of her—then he would draw back and leave her desperate to be filled again before pushing back in and breaking the pleasure circuits she possessed. Over and over again. Sharing each others short breaths as they kissed and panted through the torture of bliss, dirty bodies totally invested in the moment they were sharing, Cas and Alex's eyes would drift open between and during kisses to see the other.

As Cas made Alex feel like the most beautiful and perfect woman alive, she gasped out softly. "You're—" she began, then let out an incoherent sound of utter admiration and arousal. She couldn't think of a word.

"Inside of you," he whispered, like he was finishing her sentence for her.

It struck her as funny and she abruptly laughed so softly. "Oh, _are_ you?" she asked— _thank you, Captain Obvious_ —and then her grin fell away as his hips drove forward again and her insides were stretched to the brim with beautiful pressure. " _Ahh_ … _shit_ , Cas," she swore in panting appreciation. She was about to go insane completely. It felt so _good_ —he was giving her everything he had and investing everything in giving her pleasure before himself and her eyes pricked with tears again. How had she ever deserved such a lover like him? She wanted to stay here in his arms forever but she was very aware of where they were and that every second they spent doing this could spell disaster if they were attacked. She didn't want it to end, but… "Cas… _nggh_ —w-we have to make this happen," she reminded breathlessly as he continued to make the most beautiful and torturously slow love to her. "Sooner rather than later, _ahh_ …"

He stopped then and looked at her, and the look on his face said what he whispered next. "I—I just don't want it to be over." She understood that he meant. Not just sex. _Everything_.

Her eyes flooded with tears and she nodded. "I know." Her arms tightened around him and she craned her neck up to push her forehead to his. " _I know_."

He tilted and angled his face to hers, giving her one last sweet, small kiss. And then, he shifted them slightly, wedging himself deeper into her. "Hold on to me," he whispered. She already was, but she held on tighter as his arms held her even closer—she wrapped her non-injured leg around his middle as he let out a sound that was a half-growl and half-whimper as he began to move himself in her again—but this time was hard and fast, so hard and fast so that skin slapped. Keeping quiet was the struggle as his actions very rapidly caused intensity to build as her body responded. Cas groaned soft and low, gritting his teeth as he fought himself hard. "This— _uh_ —" Cas panted incoherently, then confessed his inability brokenly. "I _can_ _'_ _t_ —!"

Alex couldn't reply, could only cry out softly and hold onto him tighter, waiting for him to lose composure and come, but he didn't—he had his eyes screwed shut and he wasn't going to stop or give in until she had come, too. Which, to be honest… she felt it. The tightening tremors of pleasure began to build and stack onto each other, promising one final peak of ecstasy. As her body began to tense and the feeling continued to build, Alex shut her eyes tight and her eyebrows slammed together as a fear grew that she wouldn't be able to get there because _holy shit I need it_. All she could do was hold on at that point because it was all about to shatter and her mind didn't even know if it could comprehend what was about to happen. Cas, totally attentive to her even at the height of his own frantic need, tightened his hands on her and drove impossibly harder and faster, whimpering and panting sharply against her skin in the sweat-soaked work to take them to rapture—she stifled a cry. _Christ!_ It kept getting more and more impossibly intense, leaving her frenzied for the promised flood. She heard herself breathing out moans and she tried to muffle them for many reasons, ducking her mouth down and burying her face into the crook of Cas's neck. " _Oh_ —" she gasped softly despite her best efforts to remain silent. "Oh, _oh_!" Her body surrendered to him completely. Her fingers clenched into his hair hard and her body lurched underneath his in a familiar, ecstasy-driven pattern as wonder and rapture took ownership. In his arms on the ground of Purgatory, she died a small death.

Eyes closed and face burying in her shoulder, Cas gave a helpless, intense cry he muffled into the skin of her shoulder as her release triggered his—and it was powerful. He sounded amazed and scared all at once as it began for him; his fingers dug into her skin, his hot breath hit her skin as he groaned out fierce, all-consuming satisfaction in her arms and ravished her with strong hips and helpless undulations. His body shivered and shuddered and spasmed against and inside of hers, giving over everything he had as they remained lost in the rapture they had created together.

Finally, both spent and exhausted and drained, they went still, resting together close and breathless as echoes of bliss pulsed in racing veins. Cas cradled her close to himself and stayed deep inside as their thundering hearts matched in beat. On Alex's chest, the penny and ring on their chain rested and Cas's hand slid up her forearm and into her hand, palm to palm. Their fingers closed and held tight then he pulled her hand up to his mouth and kissed the skin there then let his eyes meet hers. It was hard to say whose expression was more pained as they both clearly thought about it: they were about to be torn apart again forever. Alex held his hand tighter as her eyes began to ache and burn. " _I love you_ ," she whispered, wishing there were a way to show him how much. Nothing felt big enough. Not words, not kisses, not sex.

"And I love you," he returned readily, speaking just as softly and sadly as she did. His eyes were filled with tears, regrets, pain, love. All at once. "I always have," he whispered, barely audible at all. "And I always will." His fingers traced down the side of her face. "From wherever I am to wherever you are," he promised. She nodded bravely, trying not to cry again, trying to be strong for both their sakes. Then he shifted and pulled the chain off of his neck and carefully placed it in her hand, ring and penny first. Alex frowned slightly, not sure why. "Just… take these," he whispered. "And remember me. Know that nothing has changed for me."

Her voice caught in her throat and she revealed her innermost feelings when she clenched her hand around the objects and told him the truth—that she'd never stopped seeing him as her husband. "Me either," she said, voice cracking. "Nothing at all, _ever_." He let out a shaky, tearful breath when she said that, like it was what he had been hanging on for and needing to hear. And Alex reached for him, wrapped her arms around him and she began to cry, burying her face in his neck. "This isn't fair," she sobbed. " _It_ _'_ _s just not fair_."

Cas turned his face toward her, cradled the back of her head in a hand, and he began to cry, too.


	109. Out of Darkness and Ash

" _And once the storm is over, you won_ _'_ _t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won_ _'_ _t even be sure whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm, you won_ _'_ _t be the same person who walked in. That_ _'_ _s what this storm_ _'_ _s all about._ "  
\- Haruki Murakami

* * *

They were very quiet as they re-dressed quickly and discreetly beside the fallen tree trunk they'd just had sex behind.

Cas helped a dodgy-eyed Alex back into her underwear and jeans, taking care not to cause much discomfort to her gashed knee as he did so. She then sat up and shimmied into her bra quickly, nervousness in her features and body language. In her hand, the ring and penny on their chain remained clenched tightly as she yanked the tank top Cas handed to her back over herself one-handedly. Tear-tracks were stained onto her face thanks to the dirty surface of the skin there. The expression that remained locked onto her face… well, Cas almost thought she was _upset_ about what they had just done. Why would she be upset about it? He couldn't quite tell _what_ she was upset about, but it worried him. He re-dressed himself, watching as she pushed herself up to sit on the log and then pulled her socks out of her boots. She stared hard at her socks as she straightened them out and shook little debris from them. He understood that she was sad about saying goodbye, but he couldn't really tell if she was upset about more than that. It hurt. Everything about this situation _hurt_.

She re-holstered her tossed-aside machete and hunting knife and then looked around glumly at everything but him. Cas got to the part where his trench coat was the last item left to put back on. The coat was so dirty that he barely recognized it. He almost thought about not putting it back on at all, but it would be strange not to wear it. His body didn't feel weighted correctly without it. So he put it back on and then sat down beside Alex tentatively. He noted how she stiffened a little and avoided looking at him. "Is—is something wrong?" he asked softly, deeply worried about her and the way she was being now.

She set her socks down and looked over at him very slowly and reluctantly. Her face was very pained and tense, then he saw what he had missed before: While he had re-dressed, she had taken his wedding band off of the chain. She was now passing it back to him and pressing it into his hand. "You need to keep this," she said in a voice that was breaking and broken at the same time. "It belongs to you." And then she looked away, breathing oddly and trying to keep her face inscrutable.

There was an odd pain in the vicinity of his chest and throat. Castiel remained outwardly composed for her sake. When he had cried into her neck right after they made love a few moments ago, it had made her cry harder. She had even told him she couldn't 'stand it' when he cried. That was why he was trying now to be strong. For her sake. "Thank you," he said evenly, accepting the ring with a tense expression on his face. "I will." He paused long and hard, fighting the intensity of his own emotions. It still felt like there was so much they needed to say to each other. So much he needed her to know, even though he also didn't even know where to begin. He had said everything. Showed everything. Given everything. But the thought of being here without her forever… the thought of being cursed to loneliness and desolation here for eternity… it was difficult. It wouldn't have been as difficult if he didn't have someone on the other side who needed him. And who he needed, too. He looked down at the ring in his hand then closed his hand around it, pocketed it. He had promised to be with her forever, and he wouldn't be. He had been assigned to be her guardian forever, and now he couldn't be. He _needed_ to know she was safe and well but after today, he would never lay eyes on her again. His chest constricted. He peered at her profile, wishing she would look at him. But she seemed determined not to. Perhaps the pain was too much for her as it was nearly too much for her. "Alex, I…" he started quietly.

She abruptly looked down, seeming panicked at the prospect of a conversation. "I um, I need to wash my feet," she said in a tight, high voice, looking down at said body part. "They're disgusting." She snatched her socks and boots up without further ado then stood with all her weight on one leg and began to hobble-hop-limp toward the nearby shallow stream at a pace that almost seemed like she was trying to _escape_.

Alarmed and confused, Cas stood up too, not sure whether to follow or stay. "Do you need my help?" he asked, holding himself back from running after her and scooping her up. H

But Alex kept going and made a motion at him that clearly indicated she did _not_ want him to follow. "I can do it myself!"

A disgruntled frown crossed Cas's face. He drifted a few steps after her then did as she said and stayed behind. Was it something he'd said? She was so stubborn. One of the things that so endeared her to him.

After a minute, Cas turned to his right, sensing and hearing Dean's approach. Benny hung back, his blade resting jauntily on his shoulder. The two men had been out of sight, obscured somewhere behind all those thick trees in the distance. As he approached, Dean had his face in a hard expression that seemed to be purposefully unreadable. "You two good?" he asked Cas, then jerked a thumb backwards. "We gotta move out."

Cas stared at Alex and shook his head idly. "She's… washing her feet." He indicated her and Dean craned his neck and nodded.

Dean nodded, a soft little understanding smile breaking his face. "Always _did_ do that," he commented in a reminiscent tone. She was out of earshot, which made his comment even more touching. "That girl has _never_ liked having dirty feet, Cas. Can't tell you how many times I'd see her sticking a dirty old foot in the motel sink at the end of the day. Sam and I used to make fun of her for it constantly. Looked hilarious, especially before she got tall."

Cas nodded faintly, unable to truly connect with what Dean was saying. What he was thinking about was something a little more worrisome to him. "Did you…" he looked at Dean and squinted his eyes deeply, " _hear_ anything?" He had tried to be quiet and he knew Alex had, too, but… passion made it difficult to control some facilities at times.

Dean's face did something very odd and he immediately shook his head and made his mouth into a thin line. "Nope," he said, shaking his head still. Too many times. " _Nope_. Nothing, not a damn thing."

Cas would have accepted Dean's words as the truth a few years ago and let that be that. But now, having had so much experience with humans and emotions and the intricacies of communication, he recognized that Dean was saying 'no' just to be polite and to avoid an uncomfortable social situation. Chagrinned at himself, Castiel's expression was apologetic and a little embarrassed. "I'm sorry, it wasn't my intention to…" _be overheard in the middle of a very impassioned sexual encounter with your sister_. Cas didn't finish his sentence or say what he'd been about to say. Somehow, he thought that would only make things worse. Instead, he commented on what was already so painfully obvious. "Well… this is highly awkward."

Shockingly, all Dean did was let a helpless little laugh fly. "Hey, I get it." Cas gave his friend a confused look and Dean explained. "Trust me, if my girl were here and I thought I might not ever see her again… yeah. I get it." He quickly added an important point: "It's gross, don't get me wrong, but… whatever. Let's have that be the end of it, kay?" He was markedly uncomfortable about it and Cas felt the same.

"All right," he agreed. It was so strange to him that Dean had come full circle like this. After all, the first time he had glimpsed Cas even _kissing_ Alex Dean had practically threatened the angel with death. There had been a day when Castiel thought the oldest Winchester would despise him forever. And now… thanks to this endless wasteland of nightmares… things had changed. Cas gave his friend a slight, bittersweet smile as he thought about it. "Well Dean, it looks as though our time together is coming to a close."

Dean gave his friend a sidelong glance and crossed his arms. "We don't know that yet. Might still be able to get you out, Cas, if we're fast." He glanced over at Benny, and Castiel already knew what the hunter was thinking: let the vampire take the fall while the rest of them escaped.

But Cas did not trust the vampire. And it wasn't that simple, either. "Dean," he said tiredly but firmly. "I _am_ going to stay here to make only you and Alex escape. I refuse to allow any of the monsters here out into the world—the damage they could do… it's unspeakable. It's my fault we're even here to begin with. It's my fault the Leviathan got out at all. This is my responsibility and I accept it. These are the consequences of my actions." He meant that completely. And he didn't _want_ to stay here, but… his decisions in the past now dictated his present. His gaze returned to his wife's back—she was pulling her socks back on slowly. Love swelled in every part of himself and he thought he could cry again if he thought about the impending separation too much. "Believe me, I would very much like to return home with you, Dean," he said quietly. "But I can't. I'm afraid this is the end." He let out a soft, forlorn sigh out of his nose and looked at Dean. The tiny little smile on Dean's face confused Cas. "What?" he asked, wondering if he'd missed a social cue. He tended to do that frequently.

But that wasn't why Dean had a little smile playing on his face. "You just called earth home."

Castiel's eyebrows rose slowly. "I did, didn't I," he murmured. He hadn't even thought before he called it that or noticed that he had at all. And when he thought about _why_ he had called it that, his gaze was pulled back to the girl at the water's edge. "Well, wherever she is… that feels like home to me," he said softly. His chest ached—his entire body hurt when he thought of what was soon to happen. He wished there were a way to both own up to his actions and to return with her. Never leave her side. But in other ways, he was thinking that perhaps this was fate, destiny, God—whoever and whatever—acting in divine intervention to separate them. He still thought, in the deepest parts of himself, that he had stolen a human girl away from her destiny. That he had imposed himself where he shouldn't have. That fate was attempting to correct his error. Perhaps Alex would find a way to live a normal life someday, he mused. All he wanted was to know she could somehow be happy and safe. If he could know that, he could somehow make it through this. He could take what time he had been blessed to have her and be content with that. He looked at Dean pleadingly. "Promise me you'll take care of her, Dean. Make sure she's safe. Look after her for me." He hesitated then added on another part he felt was necessary: "Hold whatever future suitors to the same rigorous standards you gave me." She was so beautiful and special—someone would soon be vying for her hand again. And even though his selfish side wanted her for himself forever, Castiel didn't want her to be lonely. For one of them to be lonely was enough. In time he thought she would forget him and move on. He would carry them forward into forever and treasure what little time they had been privileged to have.

Dean made a face. "Future suitors? Yeah _right._ " He clapped a hand down onto the angel's shoulder and squeezed for the duration of what he said next. "Cas. Listen. You don't get out today, we're coming back for you."

"No, Dean—the risks involved—"

"Listen, man," Dean said, a little exasperated. "You've served your time, all right? Enough with the guilt and woe-is-me crap. This is the part where you get your ass up and you try again. We're the Winchesters. Heaven, Hell, Purgatory… none of those places can hold us, okay? We don't leave our own behind. _Ever_. Just not our style. So, like I was saying. You don't get out today, you just know I'm heading up the rescue mission." He paused and then corrected himself with a little grin. "Well, I'll probably be second in command if your…" he had a bit of a hard time saying this next part and had to work a little to get it out of his mouth, "your…" he had to shut his eyes and chop his hand out into the air, "your _wife_ has anything to say about it." He made a face like he'd eaten something he didn't like. "God, that will _never_ be normal to say," he muttered. Then he saw the utterly touched look on Cas's face. " _What_?" Dean asked, then abruptly became prissy and gruff—and a little flustered. "Shuddup." He threw a hand out, apparently having given up on being the tough guy. "Look, Cas. If nothing else, this hellhole puts stuff in perspective. And being in the trenches with you, keeping each other alive…" he paused, awkward. "It—" he shook his head and sighed his discomfort. "You never let me down even once. You had my back every single time even when I was a heartless asshole to you. You're good people, Cas. I haven't found many folks who actually stick with it when shit gets real. But you did. And that's something to me." He let his eyes slide over to his sister, who was pulling her boots on slowly out of earshot at the water's edge. "And about you and Al…" Dean sighed his defeat. "Dude, I dunno. You two found each other in this screwed up, crazy world and maybe I still have my reservations but… she loves you. And you love her. Like, really really love her." For Dean to acknowledge that as truth, for him to recognize the truth and say it and _mean it_ , too… Castiel was beside himself with emotion. Dean gave a semi-playful shrug as he kept the moment light. "I never thought anyone could ever care about her more than I did but… well, you're in decent competition with me at least." He abruptly gave Cas a deadly serious warning with a pointed finger. "You ever hurt her again though and I'll murder your ass in two seconds flat."

Cas felt himself smiling a little. "I know," he said, then grasped Dean's shoulder. "You're a good man, Dean. You've surprised me. Taught me many things."

Dean looked a little unwelcoming of the long touch but he nodded and smiled stiffly. "Yeah, well. No big deal."

Cas kept his hand on the hunter. "I hope it's all right Dean but I've come to think of us as brothers," he said earnestly as Dean's eyes flickered to his hand on his shoulder a few times. "I'm very thankful for you and your friendship." He held Dean's gaze sincerely, thinking nothing of it.

Dean brushed Cas's hand off of himself and shrank away. "Okay, now it's just getting too sappy for me," he muttered, and began to walk off.

Cas frowned. He followed Dean at a distance, who approached his sister. She was sitting at the water's edge with a mostly blank expression. "Heya, Hobbles. Ready to head out?"

She was quiet and deflated. "If we have to."

Dean looked at her gashed knee, which was easily visible through the huge tear in the knee of her jeans. He made a face. "That does _not_ look good."

She stood on her own, unevenly and jerkily, her expression a little off-putting. "Well surprisingly it feels _great,_ " she said. Dean rolled his eyes and Cas squinted. "Sarcasm, Cas," she explained halfheartedly, avoiding looking at him.

"That's what I thought," he said, then approached her and picked her up easily. She didn't resist, but he sensed how frustrated she was to be injured to the point she was. She didn't like needing help. But he wanted to help her as much as he could for this last, small time. And, too—holding her would never be something he disliked. He hadn't been given enough chances to hold her. Not at all. He studied her, breathed in her scent. Around her neck, the penny flashed as it caught the light. Cas saw it—Alex saw how he saw it—and she abruptly put a hand to his bearded jawline and kissed him softly. His heart leapt and he returned the kiss with all the gentleness that it had been given to him with.

And to think he had wondered why humans kissed at all for so many thousands of years as he'd watched from Heaven above. He'd found it a useless and silly looking action. And now, with her—well, he could have kissed her all day. Forever. There was something magical and intoxicating about it, there was something comforting and exhilarating and intimate and reassuring about it all at once. When the kiss ended as softly as it had begun, Alex pressed her forehead against his and her hand remained at the back of his neck where it had snuck to. Her eyes were shut. Cas whispered that he loved her and she nodded, eyebrows working in towards each other.

"Hey, lovebirds—come on, geez," Dean complained loudly at the PDA. He had walked off in Benny's direction and was waiting on them to stop kissing and cuddling. "I need a noodle to whack you with."

What a strange thing to say. Distracted from the more intimate moment, Cas looked Dean's way and began to follow after him, carrying Alex easily. "A… spaghetti noodle?" Cas asked, mystified and trying to picture what that would do or why Dean would ever suggest such a thing.

"No, a pool noodle," Alex said, smiling a little despite her very sad mindset.

A 'pool noodle'? Castiel wondered if perhaps they were joking with him. His eyes were squinted into slits. "What… is a pool noodle?"

"How I taught the twins to _swim,_ that's what," Dean said, his back to them as he crashed through the woods.

"Not so loud, amigo," Benny chided him. "Gon' have everyone n' their grandma knowin' we're comin' a mile away." Grumbling because he hated being corrected, Dean took more care to walk more quietly. For about twenty minutes, they walked in silence and followed the stream into the heart of Purgatory. They met no one. It was eerily silent. The calm before the storm.

When Alex laid her head onto Cas's shoulder, his heart burst again. He remembered so _clearly_ a time when she had looked at him and seen a stranger—that day in the warehouse when she had first seen him. When he had first seen her with human eyes. That day had changed their lives forever. He remembered that time as the time when she hadn't trusted him, when she had jerked away from his touches and edged away from his physical proximity. And now… now she laid her head on his shoulder and sought him for comfort and love. Kissed his mouth with hers. Gave her body over to him and received his into hers. They had gone from strangers to sharing the deepest and most profound bond he had ever known. Love. Marriage. Eternal devotion he couldn't even fathom. And as he held her and carried her through Purgatory, he held the keen awareness that every step took them closer to the end of this. He turned his head down towards hers, trying to see her better. "Are you all right?" he inquired, voice laced with sorrowful tenderness.

Her eyes flicked up to his—every step he took rocked her around back and forth in a steady rhythm. "That's a stupid question," she said softly and wryly. "No offense." She hesitated, worried the inner corner of her lip, and looked at him again. "Is there… anything different about me?" she asked. Something about the tone of voice she used caused him pause.

"What do you mean?" he asked, studying her closely. It seemed to worry her a lot, this question she'd just asked.

When he didn't seem to know what she was asking or why, she shook her head. "Nothing." She stared at his opposite shoulder and her blank, hollow voice fit the expression on her face. "I'm… just having a really hard time believing this is the end." Those spellbinding hazel eyes of hers looked back up into his, silently asking him for a promise. Some hope. She needed reassurance and he couldn't find it within himself not to respond to that need.

"Perhaps it isn't," he returned, even though he thought this finally was. The end. The final goodbye.

She saw right through him. Crumbled into pieces because she didn't believe he had hope of seeing her again. "I can't _do this_ , Cas!" she protested in an emotional whisper. "I can't leave you here, it goes against everything I feel and believe!" When he just looked at her with grim pain and regret, she appeared hurt. "How am I supposed to just leave you here? _How_?"

He shook his head faintly, so sorry to be responsible for the grief in her eyes. "You know you can't stay. Not here. And I can't go with you."

Those were the plain facts. The black and white reality. She knew it. He knew it. But that didn't make it any less painful. He wanted to cling to what Dean had said—that somehow, they could find a way to get him out eventually. But he wasn't sure if it would work. He didn't want to give her false hope.

There was a soft whistle just then ahead. Benny was signaling them and peeking through some trees. As Cas and Alex neared, he grinned. "We done found the promised land, ya'll." He looked at Alex. "Hope you got your magical rock ready, honey."

* * *

Dead center of Purgatory was marked by a gigantic tree that was as big as a house in girth. It stretched high into the sky with wayward and crooked branches that reached over the rest of the tree line. That was the way out, if you had the stone. Nearby, about a quarter of a mile out and hidden in a thick cluster of trees, a vampire, an angel, and two hunters were about to make a mad dash for the tree. No monsters had appeared for a suspiciously long time. Benny had said earlier about how the stone would attract them—how he predicted they'd hold off on attacks until the portal was actually open.

Alex held the stone tighter than she had ever held anything else and her heart hammered its way out of her chest, practically. Dean and Benny were doing a weapons check. Cas was pulling his machete out—Alex stood by herself with all her weight on her good leg as she fought sheer panic and stared at the tree. This didn't feel right. But she didn't know what else to _do_. In her jeans pocket was the amulet Crowley required as final payment to save Sam. She had to get it to him so that Sam would finally be free of his hallucinations. A million half-baked plans flew through her mind. Ways to save Cas, ways to save Sam, ways to thwart Crowley. None of them had substance. All of them fell flat. Was this really _it_?

She suddenly felt eyes on her, and she turned. Standing nearby, looking at her as light filtered in from behind him in an angelic effect, Cas stood tall. He was as beautiful to her in that moment as he'd ever been. Even with a filthy trench coat and dirty skin that nearly matched his dark beard. She broke a little because his heart was so clearly written on his face. And then he came to her and he said what his eyes were already saying to her: "I love you, Alex Winchester." There was a severity to the words. A steadfast promise. An undying devotion in the deep, husky voice.

She looked up at him and there were no words for what she felt. "I love you too," she said weakly, settling for those words that were pale shadows of what her heart and soul carried in his name. Cas bent and kissed her for what was the last time. Long, slow, bittersweet. When he pulled away, her eyes were flooded. She had so much to say to him that she couldn't find any words at all. Cas gave her the smallest smile and touched her chin, holding it between his thumb and curled index finger. His eyes—she tried to memorize those brilliant blue galaxies. Because of him, she would have a little of Heaven with her always. Even in Hell.

Unaware of her thoughts, Castiel let go and stroked a hand down the back of her head. He then let go of her and turned to Dean to bid his friend farewell. "Dean. I love you as well." He paused and squinted a little. "But in a different way." He squinted a little more. "Obviously."

Dean made a face, especially at the amused little look Benny was giving him.

Alex took hold of the side of his face with one hand, took his hand with her other hand. "Stay safe," she instructed him urgently, taking advantage of this last moment. " _Please_ , stay safe. Find a way out. _Promise me._ " Even if when he got out she was dead and gone, at least he would have another chance at life. She just wanted to know he was going to be okay.

Completely oblivious to her reality—the soul deal, the ticking time bomb, all the painful secrets she was keeping—Cas nodded in all sincerity and gripped her hand securely. "If I can, I will. And I'll return to you."

Benny let out a disgusted sigh nearby. "Good Lord, ya'll, this is killin' me, you two done yet?"

Cas threw the vampire an annoyed side glance. And then on a whim, Alex almost opened her mouth and said, 'Cas, I sold my soul to Crowley.' But she kept her mouth squeezed shut and refused to open her mouth again. She knew if she told him the situation, he would drop _everything_ and rip his way out of Purgatory to try and save her. But what could he even do about it, really? Kill Crowley? Kill every demon that existed? Destroy Hell? Pull her out once she'd been thrown in? She remembered when he'd saved Dean it had taken a full 'garrison,' whatever that was—he hadn't done it on his own and had implied that would have been impossible to. Alex knew it was inevitable. She was going to have to pay up. And she refused to watch the one she loved suffer and kill himself over rescuing her from something she couldn't be rescued from. So she didn't tell him. Her only consolation prize was that if he stayed in Purgatory forever, he would live in ignorant bliss and believe that she was alive and well.

Nearby, Dean was clapping the angel on the shoulder briefly, telling him, in his own way, that he loved him too. "Cas. You're all right by me, buddy." He looked around at his companions and the nodded toward the way out. "Now let's bust outta this bitch."

* * *

**Maine's 100-Mile Wilderness**

In a perfect circle clearing on a foggy day in Maine's 100-mile wilderness, three people suddenly were spat out onto the ground from nowhere—they went rolling in different directions.

The smallest one leapt to her feet before she even stopped rolling, an animalistic rage propelling her to tackle the one dressed mostly in black—even with a gimp knee, she was fast and spry with all that adrenaline surging through her veins. "What the hell did you do?! What did you _do_?!" Alex screamed, shaking Benny senselessly.

"I got us _out_ , princess!" he shouted, shoving her away. But she had too tight a hold on him and it didn't work.

"Hey hey _hey_!" Dean yelled, trying to break them up.

"He could have gotten out!" Alex screamed, hitting Benny in the face so hard that blood ran out of his nose. "He could have gotten out you _bastard_! I am going to _kill_ you!"

And then she suddenly found herself whirled around and at the point of her own machete. Benny held her against him, her back to his chest, the sharp end of her machete against her neck. Shocked at how fast he'd done that, Alex went totally still. A flick of his wrist and she was dead—well, headless at least, which sounded pretty inconvenient. In front of her, Dean, face gone slack and hands up high, made no move at all. For a minute, there was utter silence as a silent hostage negotiation took place. "Now, why would I kill my friend's sister, hmm?" Benny asked, turning his mouth toward Alex's ear. Dean was frozen in place but Alex saw how furious he was, how his fingers twitched near his own machete handle. Benny was watchful though, and Dean didn't risk it. "This was all just a misunderstanding, right?" Benny drawled softly. "I don't want no trouble here. Just wanna be on my way."

"You weren't supposed to _come through_!" Alex seethed—he'd said he was going to back Cas up and stay behind—Dean and Alex were the only ones who were supposed to get out. They're rushed in close to the tree—Alex had found the little hollow where the stone went as the boys fought off Leviathan, Wendigo, werewolves, vampires, a hundred other monsters. And then when the portal had burst open, the vamp had snatched the stone and shoved Alex and Dean through as he dove after, stone in hand, leaving Cas behind and defenseless and on his own as the portal sealed shut. It was a cowardly, bitch move and Alex was seeing _red._ She was ready to _murder_ but instead she might be about to be murdered instead.

Benny chuckled helplessly. "I'm sorry, cher, but what's done's _done_ ," he said simply of his betrayal. He then loosened the machete's pressure on her neck. "Now, take it easy, sugar, 'less I decide to err on the side of self defense." He snatched the machete away and shoved her at her brother hard, so hard that they fell to the ground together—Alex landed on her injured knee and a yelp of pain escaped. Benny stood over them and he looked almost regretful at what had transpired. "Control the girl, Dean," he said, getting a deadly glare from the oldest Winchester. Dean rose to his feet slowly, and the murderous gleam in his eye was unmistakable. Benny, however, let an eyebrow raise as a smile played beneath his neat beard. " _What_? You gonna kill the guy who saved your ass a million times in there?" he taunted.

"You just held my little sister at knife point," Dean replied, his tone like ice and his knuckles white on his machete. "What do _you_ think?"

Benny chuckled. "I think you ain't got the—"

He didn't finish the sentence. Dean Winchester sliced his head off in a brutal attack that happened nearly too fast to even _see_. The vampire's head went flying and his body fell over with a dull sound even as Alex began to go hysterical, looking around the scene in a panic. "Dean, we have to go back, _we have to go back_! He's alone! Oh my god, he's _alone_! Why did we leave him like that, why did we do that?!"

Dean, covered in blood and grime and utter filth, crouched down to his sister's level and grabbed her by both upper arms. "Al, get a hold of yourself!" he shouted, shaking her slightly until she was just crying instead of hyperventilating. "Cas knew what he was signing up for, okay? He knew." Not the most comforting words in the world. Alex's face crumpled again as another wave of tears began. "He'll be okay in there for a little while longer, all right? I've seen him in there. He's good, he'll figure it out, I _promise_ , he'll hold on until we get back to him!"

Alex's tears suddenly abated. "W-what do you mean?"

Dean looked at his greasy-haired, dirty-faced, injured sister and gave her a little disbelieving smile. "You honestly think I was ever gonna leave him in there permanently? No way in hell. We'll get him back, you hear me? We will. But we need numbers to make that happen. We need Sam—and you on two legs and whatever other hunters we can get on this. We'll get your angel back, all right? I promise."

She looked too worried to be relieved. "He might be dead by the time we get back in there," she said, shaking her head.

Dean understood her worries, but on the flipside, they were both completely beat to hell. "Alex, look at us. We'd get iced the second we went down there and you know it. You can't even friggin' _walk_." There was a weird howling sound nearby and Dean's head snapped up. "Shit, there _wolves_ here?" he asked, then rolled his eyes like he might have known. He grabbed his sister by her wrist, hauling her to her feet where she stood wobblingly on one leg. "The bad times never end if your last name's Winchester," Dean muttered, then presented her with his back and pulled her arm, trying to get her to hop on piggyback style. "Get on up here." She climbed on, exhausted and still in tears because she felt like she was betraying Castiel in the worst of ways. Dean hefted her up, her arms both under a knee as she pushed her face silently into the back of one of his shoulders. "Which friggin' way's a _road_?" he asked.

"Go W-West," Alex managed. "I left the Impala and s-some supplies at a motel at the closest town." If they even made it that far. Could Dean really carry a hundred and thirty pounds for ten miles?

He put an upbeat voice on for her benefit. "Hey, I ever told you you're awesome?" He hefted her again and set out through the woods. "Hold on, kiddo, let's get us outta here."

* * *

**Several Hours Later  
Greenville, Maine**

Dean must have been super human—this wasn't the first time Alex thought this about her big brother. He carried Alex for ten miles without a single verbal complaint even though she _knew_ his back had to be killing him from the extra weight, especially in the final stretch as they finally reached civilization. The entire time she killed herself inside over Cas. She couldn't _believe_ herself—couldn't believe she'd agreed with leaving him behind, didn't understand how she could have gone along with it. She tortured herself with thoughts of him getting hurt and she wished _so badly_ that she had told him 'fuck the monsters and screw responsibility' and then dragged him back here to earth with them. But she hadn't.

Brother and sister got to the motel Alex had left the Impala at—Dean fawned over his baby for a little too long and then checked them into a room, insisted Alex shower first. When she got out she found that he'd spread a bunch of first aid stuff out on the bed. As she hobbled out of the bathroom in a pair of Sam's gym shorts (with the waistband drawstring tied as tight as it would go—they went past her knees they were _so big_ on her) and a Zeppelin shirt that used to be Dean's, she was glad again that she'd had the foresight to leave the Impala fully stocked with their stuff.

Dean was on the phone and it sounded like he was nearing the end of his conversation. "Yeah, thanks Owen. Later." He hung up and motioned Alex over—even though he was still filthy, he was in pretty decent spirits. "Alllllright kiddo, come on over. I got us some of the good stuff." Alex limped over and sat down on the bed and he sat beside her, pulled her injured knee up to rest on his dirty jean leg. He swiped an alcohol pad over the gash mercilessly and she hissed. "Aww come on you little weenie," he teased examined the wound more closely. "Don't think this sucker needs stitches, actually. Now that it's clean, looks like it'll heal on the regular." He was dirty everywhere except his hands, which he'd washed until they were a different color than his arms. He applied ointment to her like he had a million other times.

Alex watched, feeling blank inside and too shocked at everything that had happened to know what to do. "I could do this, Dean," she protested finally, because he really didn't need to bandaid her. She was totally capable.

He scoffed playfully. "Come on. Lemme take care of you." So she did. He wrapped and taped her knee securely. The outer wound would heal well enough, she already knew that. But the bone or kneecap or maybe a tendon had been pulled or dislocated. It hurt so bad.

She tried not to focus on it and instead looked at her brother cautiously. "So, you… you find anything out?" she chanced, knowing who he'd been on the phone with and why. She didn't have to try and picture Dean as a dad. She already knew he would be a great one.

Alex didn't have to specify what she was asking about about. Dean got a little subdued at her question. "Jamie's numbers are all disconnected," he said, a little disheartened. "None of 'em worked. _But,_ I talked to Owen. He says last he heard she went back 'home,' wherever that is."

Alex actually knew where that was. "New Hampshire," she supplied blandly. Dean looked like he'd just been given a lifeline. "We went there once, like, her town. Not the house. She didn't wanna go there." Alex tried to remember the name of the town. "Uh… Gil… Gilmore? Gifford? _Gilford_. Yeah. It was Gilford. Super rich town full of snobs. You'd love it." Sarcasm, of course. Halfhearted, but sarcasm.

Dean was thinking hard. She could tell because of how his eyes squinted and moved back and forth super fast. "New Hampshire. That's not far from here, either." He cracked a hopeful grin and she could tell he was getting nervous and excited. "You up for a road trip before we go get Sammy?"

Alex hesitated very strongly and her eyes went to the motel window. "I… I don't know. Cas, he's…" she shook her head. Around her neck, the penny she was wearing again was resting and causing her heart to ache. "You don't understand. I can't just _leave_ him there." It felt so wrong. He needed her and she needed him.

Dean wasn't suggesting that they were. "We find James. We find Sam. Then we go get Cas. I promise." He paused and then frowned. "Hey, where's Sam, anyway? Never gave me the details."

Alex actively avoided giving him those details. Not yet. Instead she pulled a face. "You _reek,_ Dean, _ugh_ —" She gave him a very serious face. "If you don't take a shower now, I'm gonna go find some Febreze and dump it on your head."

He didn't notice her sidestep of the Sam question. It probably helped to remind him of how disgustingly dirty he was. It couldn't be comfortable to be that caked in filth. "You know, that doesn't sound like the worst idea in the world," he said, then grabbed his duffel and headed to the bathroom.

And the second he shut the door, Alex put her shoes on, got up and quickly snuck out of the room.

* * *

Behind the motel, Alex hurried through the demon summons, hobbling around like an old woman in a breathless hurry to do this before Dean got finished with his shower. When the summons were complete, the flame lit and the spell cast, Crowley appeared as expected. He looked pleased to see her, too. "Well well well. If it isn't my favorite pet."

"Call me that again and I'll cut your nuts off," Alex hissed.

He arched a dark, flirtatious eyebrow at her. "I'd like to see you try, darling." He paused, taking in her appearance. She'd put on her black combat boots. Paired with Sam's tent-like gym shorts and Dean's old band shirt, the damp hair and her wrapped knee, she probably looked like a homeless person. "What _are_ you wearing?" he asked. At the sour smile she gave him, he let the question slide for another one. "Have something for me?" He sauntered closer.

She pulled the amulet out—the thing he'd wanted from Purgatory. It was intricate and had a center stone of what looked like opal. Alex handed it over cautiously, her veins humming with dread. "What's it do?" she asked, because she just _knew_ he wanted it for nefarious purposes. Maybe it unlocked the Egyptian underworld or could be used to summon Egyptian gods, or—

"What do you mean, what's it _do_?" Crowley asked, amusement clear on his face. "Sweetie, I'm a _collector._ "

Alex stared at him balefully. Really? He just liked sparkly shit? She was so beyond done with him. "Whatever," she muttered, hating every last part of this. "I did what you asked. I worked for you, I got you the damn necklace, and you have my soul. So I think it's high time you pay up. _Fix_ _—_ _my_ _—_ _brother._ "

Crowley contemplated her in dark entertainment. "So _bossy._ " Alex stared at him, her face stiff. Hell yeah she was bossy. She'd visited Sam a few times over the months when she'd been able. He was in Washington and had been since SucroCorp—he was totally _crackers_ in the head. Thought he was working at a motel and living with a woman named Amelia. It had killed Alex to see her brother so lost in delusion. He literally had _no idea_ what was going on. Crowley had insisted that those hallucinations were better than the alternative, which had caused so much mental trauma that Sam hadn't even been able to sleep—yeah, he seemed sorta happy even if he was insane, but still. It wasn't right. Alex wanted her big brother to be _normal_ again and to be _himself._ Crowley chuckled, raised his hand, snapped his fingers once and then slid his hand back into his jacket pocket. "Thank you for your cooperation. Sam's fine now. _Well_ , I imagine he'll be a little _confused_ , but hey. That's your problem now."

"What about Bobby?" Alex asked. At the look on Crowley's face, she began to protest before he could even say anything. "You _said_ if—"

"Sweetheart, I say a lot of things," he purred. "I'm a _demon_." He swaggered closer, smiling unnervingly at her the entire time. "Enjoy your last ten days above ground, Mouse. Can't wait to spend more quality time with you in the land down under." He wiggled his eyebrows at her and promptly disappeared.

Chilled to her bones—ten _days_ _—_ Alex focused on the present moment and pulled her cell phone out, scrolled through speed dial for the mental hospital where Sam had been staying this entire time. She couldn't think about what happened in ten days. First things first. Confirming that Sam was Sam again. When the hospital answered, her words rushed out of her in anxious nerves. "I need to talk to Sam Smith, room two-oh-two."

There was a slight pause. And then, "I'm sorry ma'am but he was checked out a day or two ago."

 _Checked out?_ Alex stared into nothing. "… _What_?" She hadn't done that! Had _Crowley_? "Well… w-where is he?"

The pleasant voice at the other end was chipper. "I'm sorry ma'am, I don't know. As I said, he was checked out. Is there anything else I can help you with today?"

* * *

When Dean got out of the shower (which he definitely spent an obscene amount of time in—probably like forty-five minutes), he was feeling extremely good. And then, as usual, it all crashed and burned.

He exited the bathroom in a plain navy shirt and jeans, a speed stick in his hand. "Yo, Alex, you got any deodorant I can borrow? This kind burns my friggin' pits." He paused. The room seemed empty and he frowned. "Al?" It was then that he saw a note laying on the bed, and it was in her handwriting: _I have gone back to Purgatory for Castiel. Do not follow me._ His heart _dropped._

_Oh shit Alex, what are you doing?_

He immediately did a brief inspection of the room before he did anything else. He noticed how her shoes were by the door like they'd been kicked off—she'd either left for Purgatory without shoes or bought new ones. Nothing else. Nada. What the hell?! Completely alarmed, Dean did the exact opposite of the note and yanked shoes and a jacket on and he _flew._ Driving the car until he couldn't drive it further then going on foot, retracing his steps to where he and Alex had emerged from in the 100-Mile wilderness, but he found no signs of her at all and waited there overnight, worrying himself sick in the darkness. When she never showed, he figured that somehow she'd gotten in and beaten him back. Maybe a motorcycle? An angel friend? How could she _travel_ that fast with a messed up leg? He didn't get it, didn't know the spell to get into Purgatory, didn't have any ingredients either. He was at a completely dead end. When he realized he could literally do _nothing,_ he spoke solitary words to the silent woods around him. "Cas, buddy, don't let me down. You find her. You two get the hell outta there."

And with nothing else he could possibly do immediately, Dean moved onto the next crisis: tracking down Sam and finding out if Jamie was even still _alive_.

* * *

**Lakewood, Washington  
Best Western Motel**

Sam's eyes opened.

Almost immediately, his face went from relaxed and expressionless to slow, dawning confusion. For a brief second, he failed to realize what the beige, water-stained ceiling above him even _was_. His head felt foggy and sluggish, like he'd overslept by several hours, and his vision took a few seconds to gain its depth perception. _Am I hung over?_

As he slowly gathered his wits, he realized he was laying flat on his back in the middle of a neatly made motel bed. He couldn't remember anything about what he'd been doing before he fell asleep—all he knew was it felt like he had been asleep for a long, long time. _Too_ long. He squinted his eyes shut in a grimace as he groaned out a sound of mild discomfort: It all rushed into his mind abruptly, reminding him of the past year he'd had. Dean dying. Separating from Alex for reasons he didn't recall. Hitting the dog. Meeting Amelia. Struggling through a sometimes rocky, sometimes picture perfect relationship with her. Meeting her disapproving father Stan who had reminded him so much of his _own_ dad. Sam remembered Amelia's long-lost husband Don resurfacing—he'd been thought dead. And… and then… Sam remembered everything ending like it always did for him. In bitter loss and crushed dreams and sour disappointment. Amelia had ended things with him and now…

Depressed. Sam was so, so depressed. He remembered that now, he felt it in his bones. Maybe he _was_ hung over.

He sat up slowly and put his feet onto the carpeted flooring, noticing vaguely how he wore shoes. Usually he didn't get in bed with shoes on. _Weird_. He looked around the room, noting that it was completely empty. None of his stuff was there. All he seemed to have on his person was his wallet and… oh. In his pocket, his phone began to buzz. He pulled the phone out, recognizing the dinky little plastic mobile as one of his backup of his backups. Actually, this might have been _Dean_ _'_ _s_ old phone. He couldn't completely remember. The number displayed on the screen was unrecognized and he almost didn't answer, but something inside compelled him to. "H… Hello?" he asked cautiously, standing slowly as he continued to wake up and come to full consciousness.

There was a brief, disbelieving silence on the other end. Then a voice that made Sam's heart stop altogether. "Sam?" a gruff, low voice asked. "Sammy?"

Mouth open and eyes wide, Sam's voice lost all power because of how shocked he was. "… _Dean_?!"

There was the shortest little chuckle, a familiar sound that made Sam's chest quiver and clench. "That's my name, don't wear it out."

"Wh—" Sam blinked rapidly, totally confounded at what was happening. "No, you—you're—" he protested, thinking he'd lost his mind for real this time.

"Nope, I'm not," Dean cut him off. "I'm back."

Sam was beside himself. _Back?_ His mind couldn't even process the word, let alone the concept behind it. "Back from _where_?" he asked. "Y-you were _dead_!" He stopped then, face falling and paling at the same time. "Am I… am I dreaming?" he asked softly, then pinched himself hard on the arm. _Ouch._

"No, sunshine, you're not dreaming," Dean said. That's when Sam noticed a distinctively unhappy tone to his brother's voice. "I wasn't _dead_ , Sam, I was in Purgatory."

Sam's mouth gaped and he began to panic inwardly at the implications. "…You were in _Purgatory_?"

"Yup," Dean confirmed in a short, tight voice. "Apparently, stand too close to exploding _Dick_ and you get a one-way ticket to monsterland."

Sam felt like his world had been destroyed. "You've been in Purgatory for this whole _year_?" he asked, mind racing as he tried to figure out how he wouldn't have known that, why Alex never mentioned it the few times she called him, why he had never _thought_ of that as being a possibility.

"Well more like ten months, but _sure_ ," Dean said, and Sam could hear more and more clearly how angry his brother was. "Let's call it a year. And what have _you_ been up to for the past ten months, Sam? Not helping our sister, I've gathered _that_ much."

"…Helping our sister?" Sam asked dumbly, not having a single clue what his brother was talking about. "With what?"

"… With _what_?" Dean echoed, clearly incredulous and pissed. "Man, you really jumped ship, didn't you?" He began to very angrily tell Sam 'with what' in a near-shout. "With figuring out where me and Cas were! With finding a way in! With getting us a way _out_!" Sam heard a door slam through the cell phone speaker—maybe it was the Impala's door—and then he could hear a vague walking sound, like Dean was pacing angrily on gravel or something. "The way she talked, sounded like you knew what was going on but I'm starting to get the feeling that you just… just _went MIA on her_!" Dean accused.

Sam tried so hard to remember, but it was like he'd shut it all out or forgotten it on purpose. What he _did_ remember was trying to live a normal life with Amelia and not making much of an effort to reconnect with his sister. In disbelief with himself, not even sure how this could have happened, Sam was quieted and guilt-ridden. "Well… yeah. I, I guess I kinda did…" he said softly and uncertainly, completely vexed at himself.

"What the _hell_ , Sam?" Dean demanded, voice breaking in frustration. He sounded ready to hit something. "You better have a damn good explanation for this!"

Sam tried to find one, but he had to answer honestly. "I—I'm not sure I _do,_ " he replied in a tight, high voice that faltered as he tried to genuinely convey his confusion on the matter. "It's… it's all kinda blurry, to be honest with you." That wasn't good enough for Dean, whose raging disapproval and fury was audible even in silence. Sam shook his head faintly as his heart sank. "I'm not sure myself about why I… and what happened… to me where I would ever… not try to help… I don't…" he trailed off stupidly, realizing how lame it sounded and how brain-dead he was coming off as. But he seriously couldn't _remember_ a valid, real reason for his decisions and actions.

"Dude, are you _high_?" Dean asked insolently.

Sam's face scrunched up immediately. "No!"

"Then why you talking like you don't know what's been going on this whole time?" Dean challenged loudly. "Why you acting like you just fell off the turnip truck?! Come on, man!"

Sam was beginning to feel badgered and as a result, he got flustered. "Look, Dean, you _died_ and, and next thing I remember is…" he thought hard, trying to connect the dots, but he couldn't find the dots. All he remembered… "Is hitting a dog," he said slowly, frowning hard. He seriously only remembered Dean and Cas disappearing in front of his eyes and then… hitting a dog. And up until today, he'd never really been bothered by that strange fact. He wracked his brain: Had he and Alex fought? Did he like, suppress the memory of Dean's death and whatever had happened afterward? Was it PTSD or something that had erased his memories?

"The hell you _talking_ about?" Dean asked, sounding more and more shellshocked by the second. "A _dog_? What have you been _doing_ all this time, _pet sitting_?"

Sam ran a hand through his hair and shut his eyes, trying to take a deep breath and calm himself. Thinking took tremendous effort. He thought over the past year. It felt disjointed and hazy, sort of two-dimensional. "Uh… odd jobs? Drifting around?" It sounded embarrassing and pathetic now, but he remembered really enjoying it at the time. "Just… just trying to find something normal, I guess." That had always been his internal fantasy, after all: a normal life with a sweet girl. A dog, a house, no more nightmares.

There was a very long, judgmental silence on the other end of the line, then a darkly-toned question. "Is there a chick? Is that what this is?"

Sam's jaw clenched and his nostrils flared. He was totally caught. Dean knew him pretty well. "Look, yeah, there was a girl but—"

"Are you _serious_?!" Dean exclaimed, cutting Sam off completely. "Y-you dropped your family for some _chick_?! You let our sister risk her _life_ and limb so you could… could get _laid_?" It sounded so terrible when Dean put it like that. "Alex needed _help_ , Sam! She barely _survived_!"

Sam had never felt worse in his life or more blindsided—the guilt was soul crushing. "I—I didn't know, Dean," he insisted, throat closing and eyes beginning to glaze with tears. "I… I didn't _know_! Is, is she okay? Is… is Cas?"

"You know what, _save it_ Sam, I am too pissed to even _see_ straight right now," Dean ranted, ignoring his brother's questions. "I can't fucking _believe_ you!"

Swallowing hard, Sam tried to make his brother understand what he barely understood himself. "Look all I know is—Alex didn't _want_ me around. I remember trying to call her and she would never answer or if she did she just…" he trailed off and remembered long phone calls where his sister had expressed her disappointment of him at hurtful lengths. He wasn't even sure how, but she'd found out about the Lucifer thing (maybe he had told her when Dean died?). She had told him repeatedly how sick and twisted and perverted he was for hallucinating what he had about her. Sam didn't blame her. He deserved her hatred and understood that she didn't want to be around him anymore. He had honestly thought maybe they just couldn't be brother and sister like they had been before. "She just told me everything I'd ever done wrong," he continued faintly, barely hearing his own voice because he was lost in his own mind and in how ashamed he was. "Over and over again."

"Yeah well maybe that's 'cause you _bailed_ on her _again_ for the second freaking time in her life, maybe it's 'cause you left her to get me and Cas out all by _herself_!" Dean thundered.

Another wave of impossibly heavy guilt crashed over Sam. He wasn't sure what the third-degree was going to do now, so he tried to look on the bright side; he tried to get his brother to stop beating him over the head with the past. "Well, you're all out now though, right? Th-that's something."

Dean paused significantly, and Sam's heart tightened a little at that small silence. Something was wrong, and he knew it before Dean even said anything. "No. It's only me. She got out but Cas didn't and… she went back in after him."

Sam's internal alarm bells went off immediately. " _What_?" he asked, terror climbing internally. He didn't even have to think about how to react: " _Alone_? Well we have to get her! _And_ Cas!"

Dean was cynical and flat in the face of Sam's urgency. "Oh _now_ you're ready to go play hero, huh? That's _hilarious,_ just fuckin' _hysterical_ , Sam." Hurt at his brother's tone and words, Sam fought emotion as Dean continued. "Well I hope you know where Kevin or that bastard Zip is, 'cause those two are my only leads at the moment and no one knows where they are. Can't get into Purgatory without a spell and guess what? I don't _have_ it." Sam felt his insides sinking. He was smart and got the implication: Kevin and Zip must have access to this spell. Sam thought hard—hadn't Kevin been kidnapped by Crowley or something? As he was thinking, Dean was turning the conversation back to Sam-bashing. "I don't _get_ you, man. Is this your M.O.? The second I'm outta the picture you decide you're not gonna be there for your family? You just run off and try to live some normal life and forget who you are, forget _us_?" Dean wasn't just rubbing salt in Sam's wounds, he was dumping buckets of acid. "You really are a quitter, aren't you?" he asked, hitting Sam where it hurt and driving the knife in all the way. "You turned tail on the family, you left us hanging in the wind."

As much as Sam wanted to deny it and argue… it was true. And he knew it. Didn't _understand_ it, but… "Yeah. I… I did," he said, owning up to his actions miserably. His heart was broken and he didn't know a single way to explain it to Dean, let alone himself. "It made sense at the time but now it's… I… I don't know."

His contrition was met with hellacious fury. "I sold my _soul_ for you!" Dean shouted. "Do you remember that, Sam? I traded my _life_ for _yours_! I spent _years_ in Hell for you and went through torture you couldn't possibly imagine, I have spent the better part of my _entire life_ being there for you and seeing you through all the crap that's come our way—I gave _everything_!" There was a long, breathless pause and Dean's hurt was audible. "And you just… _gave up_? You just left our sister totally by herself for no good goddamn reason except you wanted 'normal'? My brother, the Sam I know, would _never_ abandon us like that, would _never_ leave his sister without backup like that!" Sam wanted to cry. He wanted to _weep_ at what he'd done. He'd abandoned his sister… _again_ … and didn't even really remember _why_. He'd ignored the outside world and put his head in the sand and failed his family. _Again_. All the good things he'd ever done seemed shallow and stupid because he felt like he'd been outed; like his true character had been revealed. He was a coward. A quitter. _Selfish_. And he had never despaired at himself more than he did right then. "Guess I don't know you, huh," Dean said coldly, making Sam's emotional torment all the worse. "You must have gotten hit in the head with a stupid brick or something. Or maybe, _ooh_ , maybe the _devil_ made you do it, Sammy!" That last cruel, sarcastic statement made Sam's blood run cold with utterly hurt anger.

"You don't have to be _mean_ ," he managed brokenly, wondering in what universe it was okay to take this kind of abuse from your brother. But then again, in what universe was it right to abandon your family like he had? Sam tried one last time to appeal to his brother. There wasn't anything they could do now except move forward. Fighting about the past wasn't going to do them any favors. And Sam was willing to try again, to make up for his wrongs. "Look—I don't know what to tell you," he said, trying to speak evenly through a failing voice. "I'm… I'm _sorry,_ I didn't realize that you were still alive or in Purgatory or… or _anything._ I had no _idea_ what was going on. Honestly, this past year is a blur, a total _blur._ _"_ That wasn't an excuse, and he felt stupid for saying it. He wet his lips, blaming himself more and more. "But y-you're back now, so… if Alex and Cas are in trouble… I'm in."

His heartfelt offer of help was met with what sounded like annoyed hostility. "That's great, Sam. Just friggin' _great_. You know what?" Dean's voice lowered another notch and became even more unfriendly. "I don't need your help with this. You just go enjoy your _normal life_ , all right?" There was an abrupt click on the other end.

Startled, Sam gaped into the air as he strained his ear against the phone. Surely Dean hadn't just ended the call. "Dean—Dean?" No reply. Sam looked at the phone screen, which confirmed that his brother had just hung up on him. Taken aback and feeling like he'd been slapped in the face, Sam slowly lowered the phone and in a zombielike daze, he stared around the motel room. Nothing made sense at all to him. _What the hell was I thinking?_ His brain felt muddy and stupid and he couldn't understand himself or why he'd dropped his life so readily. Something felt highly _wrong_ to him. Or maybe that was just his guilt catching up with him.

In a shocked trance, Sam scrolled through his phone, thinking of calling Amelia even though they'd broken up. But her name wasn't even in his phone. Sam frowned, growing even more lost. _Did I delete her number after we broke up?_ He couldn't remember. His mind was in shambles. More confused than he had ever been in his entire life, Sam sat down slowly on the bed and the ringing silence around him was another reminder that he was completely and utterly alone. That he had burned his bridges and disappointed everyone. Especially himself. He began to cry all the sudden, and that ashamed him even more.

All he wanted was his family, even though Dean had just used him as a verbal punching bag and Alex despised him. He just wanted his _family._

* * *

**Gilford, New Hampshire**

After Dean hung up on Sam, he fought off the urge to hit up a bar and get angry drunk. That was old-Dean. He had to be different now. And he had to find his girl. So that's what he did. He put Sam out of his mind, he tried to kill the constant worry over Cas and Alex in Purgatory and he concentrated on what he _could_ do. He feared that it was too late. But he still had to try.

Because Alex gave him the name of the town Jamie had grown up in, finding the Ward residence wasn't too hard once he found the little city. After all, the Ward family had caused an uproar in the community—more than fifteen years ago, yes, but people still remembered the rich, privileged family that had ended up on the six o'clock news. The socialite mother who'd had a psychotic break and murdered her husband then tried to kill her own children. Jamie and Glen. Dean still couldn't quite believe that—he'd heard it of course, but hearing it from other people's mouths was surreal. Being in the strangely insulated, wealthy community James had grown up in for the first half of her childhood was another oddity. It left him realizing what different worlds they were from. He knew that, _duh_ he knew that, but sometimes he forgot she had all that stuff in her past. The private school education, the nannies and tutors, the money and the privilege and the social status. He knew she'd hated it though, and honestly he couldn't blame her. It was all so soulless. No wonder she'd embraced hunting when it had come into her life. It was the total opposite of this. It was freedom and rebellion against this cage of aristocracy.

It was night when he arrived and found the home—it was famous in the community of Gilford because it had been shut up for so long and because of the murder that had taken place inside. One guy had even told Dean it was haunted, which made Dean chuckle cynically. He'd decide that for himself. The house—well, _mansion_ —was gated and had a privacy wall around it and a huge wrought-iron gate with a swirly letter _W_ on the front. It was in a ridiculously upscale neighborhood on some ritzy lake that boasted a huge, expensive golf club and a yacht marina. It was the kind of place Dean _didn_ _'_ _t_ belong in and never would. It made him feel a little skeevy, to be honest—driving past all those multi-million dollar homes and the assuredly-snobby people who were inside of them. He hated those people without even knowing them, then wondered if he was jealous. Money would be nice. Hell, so would a place to lay his head. It didn't need to be a mansion. It could just be a nice little house in the suburbs. He caught himself thinking that and had a small moment of _what the hell are you thinking?_ He shook himself out of those thoughts.

Once Dean had parked the Impala somewhere inconspicuous and jumped the fence, he landed feet-first in a lawn that hadn't been mowed or cut in over fifteen years. He stared at the house with a gaping expression. _Holy shit._ This place was seriously ritzy. He'd been able to tell that even before he scaled the wall but now… damn. It looked like a place off of one of those TV shows about the homes of the rich and famous. Squinting around into the moonlit scenery, Dean could see the old horse stables that were on the gentle sloping pasture to the left of the home—the stunning lake view that was probably even more beautiful in daylight. He rounded the huge house slowly, picking his way through grass that was almost to his knees. And then he saw a faint glow in one of the upstairs windows and his heart practically jumped into the sky. Was that her? What she in there? A hundred scenarios filled his mind and he was both hopeful and scared shitless. It was about to get _real._

Urgent and hurried and getting nervous excitement, Dean broke in through one of the back doors and tiptoed through a dusty drawing room. Everything was covered in white sheets, and the sheets weren't white anymore—the dust had turned everything into a mothy gray color. A lot of the rooms he passed were emptied out or had abandoned boxes stacked high. It was like a ghost town. And the musty, stale smell bore witness to the fact that the place hadn't been lived in for a long, long time. Even with the state of decay the place was falling in to, the home was obviously multi-million or at least had been when it was first built. Floors were polished granite and marble, the ceilings were high and all carved, riveted, moulded in various expensive ways; the doors to even _closets_ were even bigger and grander than regular household doors.

He found the main staircase which curved leisurely up an elaborately carved wall. He was quiet, just in case it _wasn_ _'_ _t_ Jamie at the source of the glowing window. As he carefully ascended the grand stairs, he realized that he could hear some kind of music playing—was that… _Sarah McLachlan_? Something about " _in the arms of the angels, fly away from here_ _…_ " Dean made a face. Dude, no way that was Jamie. She didn't listen to that kind of stuff.

He crept onward to the source of the sound, down a hallway that was lined with expensive looking paintings. He could see a slat of light glowing out from an open door halfway down the hallway and that's where the music was coming from. Careful to be quiet and with a hand near his weapon just in case, Dean peeked around the corner and quickly became confused. He wasn't entirely sure what he'd just walked in on.

The room was really big and painted a pale, irritating pink—a ballet-themed wallpaper was plastered across the lower half of the room underneath a cream-colored chair rail moulding. The sheets covering things had been torn off and thrown onto the floor—a shelf full of trophies had been destroyed and then the trophies had been thrown at the walls (you could tell because of all the dented plaster). An expensive mahogany study desk had been thrown onto its side and beat with its own drawer—and the bed that was covered by a sheer pink draping had a chair thrown into it—the bed was kind of collapsed and the draping ripped.

And the one who had done that damage? Was off in her own little world as Sarah McLachlan sang sadly via an old CD player plugged in near the doorway.

Jamie was laying flat on the floor and staring with a weird expression and glazed eyes up at the ceiling. She was in the middle of the room on a circular pink rug and she wore some kind of cream-colored lace nightie that was, well… totally see through. She had _nothing_ on underneath. Dean immediately noted the stomach (not pregnant) and then in quick succession, the red heels she wore. He wasn't sure why she was dressed like that or what she was doing, either. A shit-ton of candles were lit all around her—the source of the light. But the weird thing was, the flames weren't on the wicks. They were all dancing around in the air like little floating ghosts in front of Jamie, whose raised hand conducted the flames lazily into weird little patterns that sort of matched the morose music playing. But she wasn't even watching the dancing orbs of light. She was just staring into space, unaware of everything. Dean didn't like that look on her face, he immediately _really_ didn't like that look on her face. Beside her on one side, a jumbo bottle of wine that was nearing empty. She was drunk. On her other side, just being touched by her fingertips, Dean saw the glint of metal and craned his neck to see what it was. His blood chilled. A pistol.

He didn't want to jump to any conclusions, but he wasn't sure what else to assume from the bizarre display. And where was… where was the…? His eyes looked around for any sign of a newborn. A crib, a monitor, a diaper bag. But he saw nothing. Swallowing down an ominous feeling, Dean cleared his throat tentatively, hoping he didn't startle her (or get shot). But for whatever reason, she didn't hear him. Just kept staring at the ceiling as her hand idly twisted around and directed the floating flames in nonsensical little sad patterns.

Dean bent and hit the stop button on the CD player. That did it. That got her attention. Jamie started and shot up to sit—the flames shot back to their wicks as she looked at him in vast, uninhibited confusion. She was _definitely_ drunk. And so beautiful reclining on her side and staring at him with a dumbfounded look on that face of hers. The soft candlelight was incredibly flattering, the lacy sheer nightie that left nothing to the imagination looked so good on her curvy, tattooed body… he helplessly devoured her: the long tousled blonde hair, her severe and beautiful features, her strong arms, the swell of her breasts beneath that thin layer of lace, the V between her legs… he forgot everything for a minute, captivated by her. His apple-green eyes looked into her ice blue ones. "Hey, James," he said softly, smiling a little despite everything. He'd found her. After so long apart, here she was. Jamie stared at him with a totally lost expression and he felt uncharacteristically put on the spot by how hot she was. So, he cracked a lame, whispered joke. "Anyone ever tell you not to play with fire?"

She squinted mightily at him, like she didn't believe her own eyes. " _D_ _—_ _Dean_?" she asked, then looked at the wine bottle and flicked herself in the side of the head with a finger and looked at him again like she expected him to disappear.

He smiled a little more and came a couple steps into the room, approaching her carefully because he understood it was a shock. "You're not seeing things," he assured, amused at her expression. "It's really me."

The odd face she'd been making fell as she began to consider him seriously. "Y-your sister said you were _dead_ …" she protested softly.

Dean let a shrug say that was halfway true. "Yeah, I sorta was. But… I'm back."

Jamie got to her feet clumsily, turning her heel awkwardly thanks to her intoxicated state. She stumbled over to him where he caught her by the forearms. She stared at his face like she was trying to figure it out, she used two hands to steady herself against his arms as she looked into his face. Dean realized he'd forgotten just how pretty she was and he couldn't help but smile again, an action he felt to his soul. She was still _alive._ She was _here._ She seemed to be thinking the same thing—an amazed, emotion expression broke on her face. She abruptly sobbed out and threw her arms around his neck and laugh-cried in his ear. "You _asshole_!" she exclaimed, a happiness in her voice that had him grinning as he hugged her back. "I thought you were dead, oh my _god_!" She pulled back, and her heart was in her eyes—which were suddenly so much brighter and alive—but then her smile fell into slight suspicion. "Where _were_ you?"

"Purgatory."

Her face registered utter disbelief and horror like that was the last thing she'd thought. " _Purgatory_?" she asked, voice softening and sobering.

"Yeah," Dean said, rueful at best. "Not a good vacation spot, if I'm being honest. But long story short, Al got me out." He kept looking downward because, well—he could see everything and she was so damn hot—and having trouble concentrating, he shrugged off his jacket and offered it over to her a little sheepishly. "You, uh, you wanna wear this?" he asked, then when she didn't really react, he put it around her shoulders.

In a trance, she pulled the jacket around herself as she stared at nothing in blank horror. "I—I had no _idea,_ " she whispered, eyes left and right rapidly as she got visibly emotional—it moved Dean to see her like that. "Oh my _god_ … I'm so sorry, I would have… I would have done something if I knew," she said, looking at him in such deep upset that he didn't care at all and forgave her immediately.

"It's okay," he said, and hugged her again, shuddered almost as he held her close. Part of him was noticing how her all-but-bare breasts felt against him. But more of him was starting to worry about everything and wonder if he'd been mistaken for all this time. She hugged him back, nestling her head into the space between his neck and shoulder. And Dean closed his eyes, as a part of him that had been broken was healed. For a moment, they stayed there. Then Dean caught a glance of the firearm on the floor again, and was wracked with unanswered questions. He pulled back and looked at her seriously, needing to know what was happening tonight and just in general. "What's… what's going on with you?" he asked, then very apprehensively began to ask about baby he thought he'd helped make. "Where's… where's the…"

Her face fell and her guard went up as she understood what he was asking about. She shook her head no and looked down, stepping back from him. Didn't look at him when she spoke next. "It was a false alarm, Dean," she said, voice a little harder than it had been before.

Not what he'd expected to hear. He felt dumb. "F-false alarm?" he asked, not understanding.

"Yeah," she said, businesslike and veiled. "I was freaking out over nothing, just the flu and a late period. Sorry."

It was like being splashed with ice cold water. He'd spent the past ten months believing one-hundred percent that she _had_ been pregnant. He'd felt it like deeper than deep—he'd _known_ it and been doing shit like worrying about how to make it as a family together, pondering how to pay for college, thinking about how to phase himself out of hunting if need be. And… it was all a false alarm? He didn't believe her, and not just because of his own feelings. Her tone and body language said she was hiding something, and even her body—which he'd seen enough times to know this—looked a little different. A little more filled out in some places or something, he wasn't quite sure how to say it. His bullshit meter was going way, way off. "The flu and a late period?" he repeated, then chanced a boldfaced lie to try and really test her. "Owen says he _saw_ you like from a distance a few months back and that you were… were _pregnant,_ so… are you lying to me right now or does he really need to start wearing glasses?" Owen had said no such thing to Dean. And if Jamie was telling the truth, she'd probably call him on that lie right away. But…

Jamie looked like she'd been gutted and caught. Her eyes fell away guiltily and her entire demeanor changed. There was a long, horrible pause. "T-there isn't a baby, Dean," she said softly, clenching his jacket around her tighter as her voice wavered. "There _was_ , and now there _isn_ _'_ _t_ , okay?" Her jaw tightened and her expression struggled as she looked off to the side, avoiding his eyes. "And that's just the way it went."

Dean stared at her with a heart that was made of lead and had sunk completely. His voice was a fearful whisper. "Jamie, what the hell do you mean?"

She abruptly looked away and upward, her eyes glazed with tears. He hung on in awful silence for her to tell him what was going on. And when she did, it all made sense. "I miscarried, all right? And—" she squeezed her eyes shut and began to cry despite her best efforts. "You can't imagine how painful—h-how _horrible_ —" she shuddered and tried her best to control her face, but it just didn't work.

Dean was stuck in place, utterly shocked and grieved and sad. "L-Listen, you can't blame yourself," he managed, understanding immediately her thought process.

Her reply was immediate and bitter as she scoffed and tried to school her expression into something more controlled. "Watch me."

He knew about guilt-tripping yourself over stuff you couldn't control, and he reached out to gently touch her shoulder. "Jamie—"

She pulled away from his touch sharply, her face a hardened mask of pain. "Can we not, Dean?" Her reddened eyes flickered over to him and guilt made them falter away. "It's… I just can't talk about it," she said, voice cracking through her attempts to remain composed. "Especially not with you."

He swallowed painfully, looking at her and blaming himself for this. "I'm so _sorry_." What else could he possibly say? Everything felt beyond his control and he blamed himself, predictably, for not being at her side. He blamed himself for getting her pregnant in the first place. He should have said no that one time they'd had sex unprotected—he should have insisted on waiting until they got protection. It had only been their second time together—he'd run out of condoms—and he'd thought pulling out would keep them safe from getting pregnant. But… apparently he'd been wrong. The woman he loved was in unspeakable pain and he had put a little life into motion and now that life was no longer there at all. It was one of the worst moments of his existence. "I wish I'd been here with you," he said softly, a feeble offering and heartfelt notion.

Jamie was obviously affected by his words but she said nothing. Dean drifted closer to her carefully—saw how she eyed him cautiously when he did that. But she didn't move away. She let him get close. He chanced a touch—running his fingers through the hair at the side of her face and then resting his hand at her jawline. "You okay?" he asked intently, already knowing she wasn't.

Those icy blue eyes looked into his with untold pain. "I was gonna… I was gonna be a mother," she whispered, sounding lost about that. "And now I'm… I'm not." Her delicate little eyebrows moved in together hard as she looked down and breathed in and out a few times laboriously. "But I mean, I would have died when she was just a few months old anyway, so… I don't know."

Dean's heart _fell_ —a single word had broken him forever. " _She_?"

Jamie realized that she'd let a very painful detail slip. Her face fell along with his and their pain was mutual.

Dean barely felt his own body right then—his senses were too shocked to know how to function. Ears were muddled and throat was tight, muscles felt like water, mind was just a pile of pain and confusion and the question _why?_ repeated over and over again inside of him. His arms slowly closed around Jamie as he felt her shudder into his chest. As much as this hurt him, it had to hurt her worse. "It's okay," he whispered, but it wasn't. "It's okay," he repeated, because maybe if he said that enough it would become true. But his world had just fallen apart and he didn't know how to react or what to feel. "It's gonna be okay," he murmured painfully, trying to focus on her instead of himself. He couldn't stand it when she cried—he'd only seen her do so like two times. It _killed_ him to see her lose it, and he knew she hated to be seen like that. So he held her tighter and kissed the side of her head and a million worries haunted and harrowed him. She calmed after a few minutes, but even when she stopped crying… she didn't pull away. Just turned her cheek against his chest and kept her arms locked around him. After she sniffled a few times, Dean chanced a question. "Why'd you come back here, James?" he asked, gaze wandering the ridiculously lavish details of the bedroom. "Thought you hated this place."

Long pause. "I do hate it," she confirmed, voice soft against his chest. "Should have gotten rid of it a long time ago. I'd rather burn it to the ground but…" another sniffle and a halfhearted shrug. "I came back here to finally sell it. It's just been shut up for years and years while I procrastinated." Dean listened, but inside, he was frowning. Selling it? What for? What was the money for? She could have sold it years ago. So why _now_? "Sold it a couple days ago at like a quarter of it's original worth, so… I dunno, I guess I decided to come here and hate it one more time."

That was what Dean was most unhappy about. He was pretty sure he knew what was going on here. What she had been planning to do before he showed back up. He drew back to look her in the eye and see her face when she answered him. "Yeah. I got that," he said sort of darkly, then looked over at the discarded pistol on the floor. "Is that what that was for?" This whole thing felt like a suicide to him.

Surprised at his bluntness and then quickly defensive, Jamie turned cold. "Don't be an idiot," she muttered, pulling away from his grip and crossing her arms.

"I'm not," Dean said, his temper rising. "I think maybe _you_ _'_ _re_ being one."

Jamie looked at him indignantly, arms still crossed. She took a long second to reply, and when she spoke, her anger was cold and short. "And what, exactly, would be idiotic about being in control for once in my goddamn life? About having some fucking _say so_ in what happens next?" she asked, beginning to lose her temper completely. "I've been abused, tricked, raped, cursed; I lost our baby; everyone I ever loved at all died or left! I didn't get to have any control over any of that shit! I need something in my life I decide, even if it's the way I _die_!"

Dean was quiet and subdued. He knew all of that—all of the things she'd just listed. Even the rape. He'd known for awhile now ever since an awkward, accidental heart-to-heart they'd had on a couch while a shitty soap opera had played in the background. He remembered that moment so clearly when she'd talked about being raped by Samuel Campbell like it was only something of slight annoyance. He'd known then what he knew now: she had been pretending to feel nothing about it when in reality it had almost destroyed her life. And now she was taking everything bad that had ever happened to her and letting it have control. She was giving up completely. Dean's heart was in his throat and his eyes hurt because he wanted better for her—and he wanted her to be okay. He wanted her to stick around. "James… I'm not too late, am I?" he asked, voice catching on her name. "I _meant_ what I said. About trying to help you. Please tell me it's not too late, please tell me you got some time left, _please_."

She didn't say. For all he knew, the hounds could be coming for her tonight. Maybe that's why she was doing this. "Dean, there's no return policy here," she said quietly. "You can't do _anything_ about it and the closer it gets, the more I just… just give up. Don't waste your time."

He felt like he'd been stung. "Waste my _time_?" he repeated incredulously. Didn't this girl—didn't she _get it?_

She turned her head away, trying to be factual and detached but having issues after his question and the tone he'd used. "You didn't figure out a loophole when it was _your_ soul on the line," she reminded, trying to use reason and logic. Dean only got more pissed.

"That was _different_." He stared at her hard. "How much time you got left?" He needed to know.

Jamie didn't answer. " _How_?" she asked, voice laced with challenging distrust and almost anger. "How is this time different?"

Dean answered angrily before he even thought about it. "Because it's _you_!" He said that and they were both taken aback, but especially Jamie, whose face was frozen in a strange expression. Dean took a second then tried to explain himself. Admittedly, he was sort of gruff about it. "Look, I'm not good with words and feelings crap and… and all that but…" his gruffness gave way to a certain softness she inspired in him. There was a long, wretched pause in which he felt his heart beating out of his damn chest. His voice was soft. He couldn't say it in the right words, but he had to try. "You matter. To me. A whole damn lot. All right?" He tried to tell her one more time without saying the words he couldn't bring himself to say. "You know, Purgatory was… was dark and hopeless and dirty, it was horrible. Like one long nightmare that never ended. You know what kept me going? You know what I told myself I was coming back to when I got out? You know whose face I saw when I told myself I couldn't keep going?"

Jamie's eyes were shining, her jaw was stiff, she was breathing in and out of her nose with increasing labor. Her voice trembled hard. "Dean, _stop..._ " she begged.

"No," he whispered, looking at her fully and telling her. "It was you. I pictured _you_."

She looked like she had been stripped of every last defense. A tear ran down her cheek. "Why would you picture a dead girl?" she whispered back.

He was meaningful and severe. "Because you're not dead, and if I have anything to do with it, you _won_ _'_ _t_ be." The look in her eye, the way he saw how she was going to protest made Dean get desperate. "Let me, James. Let me _try_!" He stared at her with emotional rawness.

She considered too briefly. Then shook her head. "It means a lot that you wanna try. But Dean... I don't see a way out. And I'm not getting my hopes up." She hung her head and talked about life like it was all a huge joke. "It's over. And it sucked. A lot of it really sucked." She looked over at him with a bittersweet smile that she couldn't hold. "You're one of the only good things that ever happened to me," she said, pain growing more and more pronounced on her beautiful face. "And I don't want you t-to keep trying to save someone who can't be saved." Her voice almost failed completely. "I don't want you to have to mourn me like I mourned you."

 _Oh my god, Jamie._ His heart broke on the spot. "Don't," he commanded. "Don't you do that." He almost lectured her at that point: "Do you know who I am? I am Dean freakin' Winchester. Been to Hell and back, broke ground in Purgatory. Died a couple times, saved the world from the apocalypse. You think I can't get my girlfriend out of one little soul deal?"

Her eyes jumped up to his, a flicker of surprise there. Of all things, a tiny little smile showed on her face, breaking through all the doubt and fear that was etched there. She eyed him with veiled eyes but the smile twitched, like she was feeling a sudden flush of flattery. "Since when am I your girlfriend?" she asked, and that good old teasing tone of hers that he loved was even present when she said that.

Dean grinned crookedly at her, remembering exactly why he liked her so much. For a million reasons and for no reason at all, too. He just did. And as far as her question… "I have your name tattooed on my damn arm, don't I?" he teased, then his eyes drifted down low to where her thighs met. His voice dropped and got a little huskier. "And you have my name on your…" he looked back up at her and she was obviously rueful but amused, too. Those damn tattoos they'd gotten together… a dumb little inside joke they shared. Hers was definitely more embarrassing than his was. Dean's smile fell a little as the intensity of his feelings suddenly caught up with him. This girl had a hold on him that scared him, almost. "I mean, we're kind of a thing, don't you think?" he asked, trying to stay joking and light. She was getting more and more closed off again though in response to that question. And Dean knew why. She wanted him not to care about her so it wouldn't hurt. But that wasn't gonna happen. " _Jamie,_ " he appealed, using her real name to get her attention. "We're doing this. We're gonna re-write the ending."

Jamie was hard to read—fearful maybe. Afraid to believe him? Afraid to try? She shook her head shallowly, her voice just a murmur. "I don't get you, Dean. Why you don't give up or leave."

He smiled bittersweetly at her, hesitating to say the fullness of his feelings. So he tried a smile that was tinged by deep emotion. "Guess for whatever reason you're stuck with me, huh." But what he meant—his true feelings—she seemed to hear. Something unspoken was communicated between two pairs of vulnerable eyes when he said that, and somehow the distance between them grew less until they were only a breath away from each other. Dean's hands came to touch either side of her face, catching on strands of whiteblonde hair as he studied her face and let thumbs stroke a soft, silent message. For a long moment, only their eyes spoke, then at the same instant, the both of them leaned in close to share a soft, lingering kiss that conveyed everything they refused to say. Gentleness, care, affection, love. And when they pulled apart by a breath, Dean's voice was huskier. "Come on. I think it's time to ditch this ghost town."


	110. No Man's Land

" _Empty spaces fill me up with holes. Distant faces with no place left to go_ _…_ _I am swimming in an ocean all alone._ "  
\- Backstreet Boys

* * *

**Nearly Two Weeks Later**

Dean threw his jacket down angrily as he stormed into another predictably derelict motel room. No one came with him or waited for him. He was alone. And that's what had him so fired up.

The oldest Winchester wasted no time in expressing his furious frustration—the _second_ after he slammed the door behind himself, he snatched up and then threw the motel phone that was sitting innocently on the kitchenette table. The plastic object cracked loudly against ugly flowered wallpaper before landing in broken pieces onto water-stained carpet. The sound of it hitting the wall abruptly jarred him out of his mania and Dean stared at that phone in a sudden crestfallen hopelessness—he breathed hard for a minute, raking a hand through his short hair in an attempt to calm the fuck down.

Everything was _sideways_ for him right now. Sideways and _screwed_. A couple weeks ago he'd emerged from Purgatory and felt uncharacteristically optimistic. Like he _had this_ and could handle it. He'd been overjoyed at the thought of seeing Sam, of finding Jamie and the baby he thought they had made, of getting Cas out of Purgatory and finding a new normal—see, after monsterland, planet earth was so much brighter than it had been before. And then all his hopes and dreams had all gone to shit in a second: Alex disappeared back into Purgatory after inexplicably leaving behind an oddly formally worded note. Then there had been the heartbreaking, unbelievable phone call to his brother during which he had discovered Sam was basically a quitter and a traitor. Then Dean had stumbled into Jamie's childhood home and found her about to kill herself. So, yeah. Dreams, crushed.

Now it was two weeks later and things still weren't really going his way. Scratch that: _nothing_ was going right _at all_. The final letdown: while at breakfast this morning, he and James had fought over something stupid, she had blown a fuse at him and said she was done with his attitude then dumped her orange juice all over him on purpose before storming off and disappearing. She had just now sent him a text telling him she was done with him and to go back to his life and leave her out of it. The hurt and confusion and anger inspired by that text message? Had just resulted in a broken motel phone. _And_ a broken heart. But who cared about _that_?

Dean sank down to sit on the end of one of the motel room beds. The room was offensively quiet and empty, so silent that his chest hurt and anxiety grew inside. He stared at the TV that was off and blank in front of him.

… _Now what?_ _What is even_ happening _right now?_

He didn't know.

Dean was worthless without a mission to be part of and a role to fill. He was drifting internally, panicking a little because he was so powerless against the huge odds stacked against him. Alex and Cas missing and beyond his reach, Sam an ass, Jamie _gone_ after, you know… breaking up with him or whatever that was. He knew she was scared shitless and that fear was making her self protect and run away. But his feelings were deeply hurt and he wasn't sure if she would be back or not. She was so hot and cold lately, so volatile. Not really herself… and he knew that she was acting like that because she was getting more and more terrified with each passing hour. Dean's biggest fear was that maybe today was the day. He wondered that every day—he'd wake up and look over at her and wonder _is today the day the Hellhounds are gonna come for her_? And he had never known because she refused to say.

He'd woken up beside her every day for the past couple weeks as they'd lived in this weird bubble existence of avoiding reality… which was funny because they were hunting Jake the demon the entire time and that demon was the most bitter symbol of reality there _was_ for Jamie. In the better moments it had been just the two of them and the Impala and the open road as Dean had headed up the get-James-out-of-going-to-Hell thing. Although there was a lot lying underneath the surface between them—questions, doubts, suspicions—just being near her gave him a sense of happiness that was few and far between for him in most respects. Even though there was a new heaviness there because of the lost child and everything else that was screwed up in their lives… even though they clashed and fought like an old married couple half the time… he found himself a little deeper in every day as far as his feelings for her were concerned.

Dysfunctional was probably the best way to describe them most days. But with two people as broken as they were, it was a wonder they functioned at all. Jamie didn't admit it using the English language, but Dean knew. He saw it sometimes. Felt it sometimes. She had a lot of deep feelings for him, too. They might have been _confused_ feelings, but they were still feelings. He heard it in how she said his name in the heat of the moment and how she held onto him and the way she curled into him afterwards and didn't want to separate. If he were to have said anything about it, if he had called to light how she obviously liked to be close to him, she would have jerked away and smacked him, probably. But he never said anything. Just held her and hoped he could save the life that laid in his arms.

But maybe he couldn't. Because maybe now she wouldn't _let_ him.

No one could ever say he hadn't tried, though.

Two weeks ago had found Dean powerless to get back into Purgatory to help Alex and Cas and too angry to even want to _see_ Sam. So Dean had done the one thing he _could_ do: found James and then thrown himself into hunting down Jake—the demon who had tricked her into the soul deal. It had taken the better part of a week and a half to find the bastard, but once they found him, Dean had pulled out his best torturing skills in efforts to extract information and cooperation out of the demonic asshole. Long story short, none of it had worked. Demands for the deal to be called off had been laughed at, Dean's varying threats had fallen on cocky ears, and poor Jamie had put on the I-couldn't-give-a-damn face whenever she was present with the demon but it was obvious that he got under her skin _bad_ and was incredibly intimidated by him. Jake had enjoyed it, taunting her and Dean alike with his firsthand knowledge of her habits and life, her body, how she was during sex… all that predictable stuff. He'd gloated over how in love Jamie had been with him and how it had all been a meaningless game for him. Dean had killed him brutally after the comments got to be too much and pissed him off too bad. And then Dean had watched Jamie sink down to a crouch on the floor and put her hands in her face as Jake's blood pooled on the ground. It was a moment that would forever stick in his mind… the inability to do anything to take away what she was feeling. And the realization that maybe he really couldn't change her fate or do what he'd promised.

Later on, Jamie was blank and hollow. She said it was okay and that she'd accepted her fate, which only served to piss Dean off. He insisted she fight for her life, she told him she didn't need him telling her what to do, he disagreed and said _some_ one needed to tell her what to do if she was going to be 'that way' about it. She got incredibly cold and distant after that—obviously angry and frustrated with him (the guy who was trying to save her ass). That was yesterday. Now she was gone and he knew she didn't want to be followed but… Dean wasn't like Jamie. He wanted to fight for her until it was too late. And then maybe even more past that. But the fight had him feeling hurt and he wasn't sure anymore about how to do this. Or if he _could_ do this.

He was realizing more and more that he wasn't sure if he could _trust_ James. He knew she was loyal and smart and committed, but she was such a private person when it came down to it and so goddamn unwilling to receive help or trust him with anything. Maybe he felt like that because he wasn't sure if he believed her about the miscarriage claims. Some sense in him just said she wasn't telling the truth. His deepest inner suspicion was that she'd had an abortion. And when he thought about that, he wasn't sure how to feel at all. He just wanted to know the truth and wanted to know once and for all if she were being honest with him or not. Dean hoped he was wrong about his doubts. But honestly he'd probably never know for sure. What he _did_ know was the girl he cared about was in genuine pain. And scared to die. She covered up her terror with a bad attitude or a blank face. And Dean understood.

He let his elbows rest on his knees as his hands clasped and his head bowed down, he closed his eyes. For a minute, he just breathed and calmed his racing mind. He was distracted and upset about everything else in his life—his siblings, Cas, even killing Benny. It all haunted him and refused to give his mind rest. What was he gonna do about all this? He'd promised to save Jamie and the clock was running out. He had a sister in _Purgatory_ and a brother who… geez. He didn't know about anymore. Dean opened his closed eyes and looked upward. "Cas?" he asked softly. "You out there?" As usual, it felt stupid to talk out loud when no one was there, but he was desperate. "Listen man. I don't know if my signal's coming through to you in monsterland or not. Just… _please_. Take care of my little sister, okay?" He went quiet for a long, heavy couple of seconds. "Hurry up and get both of you topside so I can stop killing myself about this, okay?" He paused then added a disclaimer in case Cas, ever the literal one, _was_ hearing him. " _Metaphorically_ killing myself."

The silence rang in his ears as he sat there, perhaps foolishly waiting for a reply. He jumped when in what felt like exceptional volume, his phone began to ring. For the smallest fraction of seconds, he got a wild hope in the pit of his stomach that it was going to be Jamie. But when he pulled the phone out, the screen said different. _Sam Calling_.

Souring bitterly inside, Dean contemplated answering the phone at all. He and his brother had spoken a couple times here and there the past couple weeks, enough to know what was going on with each other, but things were tense. And they hadn't even _seen_ each other since Dean had gotten back. It had been like five days since he'd talked to Sam at all… wounded pride aside, Dean knew he should answer. It might be important. But he was very gruff when he did pick up. "Hey, Sam."

His brother's familiar voice greeted him warily. "Hey." In that single spoken word, Dean heard a million things: Sam's reluctance, guilt, shame, reservations, embarrassment, his willingness to atone. "Look, I know I said I wouldn't bother you again or whatever but I actually have something this time."

Dean stood up, needing to move around to channel his jangled emotions. "Yeah?" he asked warily. "What's that."

"Well… Kevin." Sam paused then explained who he meant kind of needlessly. "Tran. I found him. He's out in the car I've been driving around. And he's not doing so good."

Dean could have guessed that much. "Of _course_ he's not doing good, he's the 'chosen one' or whatever—when's _that_ been a trip to Disneyland?" He paused the unconscious pacing he caught himself in. "Where's the little prophet been, anyway?"

"In Iowa, just like Alex said," Sam said, then paused before asking about his sister and Cas anxiously. "Any word from them?"

Dean's face held in a gaunt expression. "Nope." The tension between the brothers was sad and felt wrong to him. But he was angry with Sam and didn't foresee himself getting over it any time soon either. "If there _had_ been, I would have told you," he said in a clipped tone. He wanted to get to the point of the conversation. "Now what about Kevin?"

Sam let out a dark sigh as he explained. " _Well,_ Crowley had him for a good couple months after everything went down at SucroCorp last year and—long story short—he was using Kevin to translate another Word of God."

Dean's eyes widened fractionally as his interest was abruptly _very_ highly peaked. "Wait… like another Leviathan tablet thing?" he asked, becoming vaguely worried at the thought of what that meant. "I thought the chompers were the only ones who got one of those."

"Nope," Sam replied grimly. " _Apparently,_ there's a demon tablet. And Crowley found it."

" _Crap,_ " Dean breathed, wondering what the hell was even _on_ a demon tablet and what Crowley might be doing with it. "That's bad. Seriously bad." He paused, suddenly unsure. "Right? It's bad?"

Sam's somber expression was audible through the phone. "If Crowley gets his hands on it again, yeah."

Dean was listening hard, glaring into space intently. This felt important and big, but in very bad ways. "Why's he want it? What's in there?"

"Well _apparently_ it has information on where some Hellgates are and how to open them— _but_ _—_ it also has the recipe on how to _close_ Hellgates, too. Like, permanently."

"Whoa." Dean stared and blinked at nothing, digesting this information with a stunned expression and airless lungs. That sounded… _huge_. Like, grand finale huge. Slowly and carefully because he wasn't sure if he understood, he tried to summarize what he thought he was being told. "So… we could lock demons into Hell… like… for _good_? And never have to see one ever again?"

"From the sounds of it… I think so, yeah. Kevin's got the tablet hidden somewhere safe and he didn't have enough time while he was on the run to read it completely. So we're gonna go find it and finish translating it and see what we can see." Sam paused and tried not to sound too nervous. "So, uh—I was wondering— _hoping_ —maybe you'd be on board for this one. Could use the backup if nothing else."

"Yeah," Dean said, momentarily on a high as he thought of a world without demons, without Crowley, without the constant problems presented by their interference. "Yeah!" Despite himself, he was grinning because the significance of closing Hell was not lost on him. "Dude, this is the best news I've had all week!"

Dean could hear the cautious smile spreading on his brother's voice. "Thought you might think that. After all… no access to Hell, no Hellhounds. No Hellhounds… no one to collect on soul deals."

A little touched because Sam had known what he was thinking before he had even remotely said anything about it, Dean was sobered. He was supposed to be mad at his brother, but it was hard when Sammy said things like that. "Y-yeah. Exactly."

There was a long and awkward pause in which Dean wondered why Sam was the way he was. He didn't understand how someone could apparently care as much as Sam did and yet walk away from it all so apathetically at other times. After the pause because decidedly uncomfortable, Sam chanced a faltering question about Jamie. "So uh… you two doing all right?"

Dean darkened and grew more pessimistic. "Not really." He glanced around the empty motel room and reality sank through him again. "Don't think she'll be along with me for this one, Sam." He didn't really want to talk about it. Like, _at all_. It hurt too much and got to him too bad. So instead of talking about it or thinking about it, he was gonna see what he could do with this demon tablet and go from there. Maybe he could save Jamie from that soul deal and this Hellgate thing then find her and deliver the good news. _If_ she didn't do something stupid first and _if_ her time didn't come due before he'd found the solution. Dean bent to collect his thrown jacket off the floor. "I'm gonna hit the road now," he said into the phone. "Send me an address, all right?"

Sam's response was simple and to the point, just like everything between the brothers currently. "Will do."

* * *

**One Week Later  
Whitefish, Montana**

Under powder blue skies, Dean cruised down the road with one hand on the wheel and the other resting on his thigh. He was headed back to the good old hunting cabin that used to belong to Rufus Turner where Sam was doing what Sam did best: research. The brothers had spent the past week in a whirlwind that had left them with less than they started with (which hadn't been much to begin with, really). Classic rock played at a low volume—but he wasn't really listening to it. Thin trees tall and straight as buildings were thick on either side of the twisting road that wound slowly through the Montana wilderness. The effect of those tall limbs made Dean feel mildly claustrophobic, but he chalked his nerves and caginess up to his current life circumstances.

He dug his phone out and dialed Jamie's last working number and waited for the endless ringing that would follow—he did this every day, multiple times, basically badgering her with calls and texts she never replied to. But instead of ringing, a startling error tune played in his ear. " _We_ _'_ _re sorry. The number you have dialed has been disconnected._ _"_

Dean was pissed and scared all at once. "Mother _fucker_ ," he swore, throwing his phone into the empty passenger seat. Was it disconnected because she was tired of his constant calls, or was it disconnected because she was dead? Kicking himself a million times for losing her to begin with, Dean clenched the steering wheel tighter until the material groaned a little under his frustrated squeezes. He was so mad at her he could have smashed something but also so freaked out that she wasn't okay. It was hard to find his middle ground when it came to her these days. And without a way of finding her, he was left to wonder and kill himself over the what ifs.

As the nondescript pine trees kept scrolling past outside the windows, Dean glared at the road ahead. He hated everything, currently.

Dean and Sam had reunited a week ago (grudgingly and awkwardly at best) in an attempt to recover the demon tablet Kevin had stolen and hidden from Crowley. Although Kevin had been willing to show the boys where the stone was, he had first insisted that they check on his mother. Maybe it was because Crowley had used Kevin's ex-girlfriend Channing and then killed her right in front of Kevin. Either way, Kevin wouldn't budge until he knew his mom was safe. And, guess what? She wasn't. In suburbia, an unwitting Linda Tran was in mourning over his missing son and totally unaware that demons were watching her twenty-four-seven. After rescuing her from the danger she hadn't even known she was in and giving her the hard and fast facts about the supernatural and Kevin's role in it all, the Winchesters took her along with them to find the tablet Kevin had stashed. Unfortunately, the train-station locker Kevin's brilliant self decided to hide the tablet in had been ransacked. After painstakingly tracking the tablet to a pawn shop and finding that it had already been sold, it looked like they had hit a dead end.

And then not even five minutes after that, a weird guy approached them on the street and invited them to an auction where all kinds of paranormal and mystical goods were being sold. It was like something out of a joke: demons, angels, and monsters had all been in attendance. And Crowley, too. Of all things, that cocky bastard had approached Dean and demanded to know where the hell Alex was. Said something about her trying to give him the shaft. Dean _still_ didn't know what that smarmy bastard was talking about. Long story short, the King of Hell pulled some bullshit at the auction and stole the tablet before he disappeared into thin air. The boys turned their backs for all of one minute and then the _Trans_ disappeared too—apparently deciding they would be safer on their own.

Frustrated and out of things to do, the brothers decided to regroup and look for signs of demonic activity. The thought was that they could hopefully get a lead on Crowley and get the tablet back before it was too late. They still didn't even really know what the guy _wanted_ with the tablet other than to safeguard himself against Hell getting closed. Dean thought it probably went deeper and more malicious than that. He was worried as crap that maybe there was something on that tablet that would spell disaster for them. After all, pretty much every new day seemed to spell disaster for the Winchesters.

_When are we gonna catch a break?_

Dean thought that and then abruptly, cynically shook his head. The days of breaks were gone. Things just got darker, worse, and more fucking hopeless. That was just life.

A flash of movement in the distance caught his eye and distracted him out of his thoughts. What was someone doing all the way out here in the middle of nowhere…? A lone figure was walking up the road ahead, his or her back turned to Dean. _Huh, that kinda looks like Cas_ _'_ _s coat if it were super dirty._ In fact, the closer he got to the slowly walking figure, the deeper Dean frowned. Shortish brown hair, awkward gait, hunched over shoulders. Damn, that really could be Cas. As he passed the walker, Dean's heart almost stopped as he caught a glimpse of a painfully familiar bearded face. _Wait, that_ is _Cas!_ Dean slammed the car to a stop in the middle of the road and yanked the rearview to a new angle as he stared into the mirror at the place where Cas had just been—his heart was banging around in his chest from a surge of shocked adrenaline. But what he saw in the rearview was… nothing. No one.

… _What?_

That wasn't right! Mystified and slightly ill because he _knew_ what he'd seen, Dean got out of the car and looked around dumbly. There was nobody around and no _signs_ of anyone either. But Cas had been right _there!_ Refusing to believe he was seeing things, Dean wandered over to the side of the road and peered around and then into the woods, his expression held tight out of confusion and anxiety. "Cas?" he called. And then, just in case: "Alex?"

No reply came. No one was there. And Dean wondered if he was finally losing his damn mind after all these years of living insanity.

* * *

Ten minutes later, a dazed and confused Dean Winchester wandered into Rufus' cabin with the six pack of beer and brown bag of dry goods. Sam was at the table and hunched over his laptop. He threw a brief glance back at his brother. "Hey."

Dean found speaking to be a little more difficult than usual because he was so busy questioning his mental capacities. "Hey," he replied, his tone giving away his inner uncertainty. He stood right where he was for a long minute, contemplating just how far gone he might be. That _really_ looked like Cas, and it had been vivid, crystal clear. It had looked _real._ So why hadn't there been anyone there when Dean had stopped the car? It made no sense. Unless maybe he was losing his mind.

When Dean didn't move more or do anything else, Sam glanced back at him again, this time with a closer gaze. "You okay?" he asked. "You look like you've seen—" Sam stopped himself mid-sentence ruefully. "Well I was gonna say ' _you look like you've seen a ghost,_ ' but you'd probably be stoked if that happened."

Dean didn't respond to his brother's hesitant joking. He was too disturbed at himself. Instead, he set the beers down beside Sam and nodded at the computer screen. He'd rather not let his brother know how possibly insane he was. "Find anything?"

Sam, who was being especially meek and compliant lately (his attempt to try and excuse all his wrongdoings the past year no doubt), shrugged and pulled an anxious expression as he looked at his laptop again. A young boy's face was on the display. "Well, this kid went missing from a preschool in Kansas. And at the same time he vanished, a surprise tornado hit, lasted maybe twenty seconds, then, uh... shazam! Back to perfect weather."

Dean cracked open a beer as he replayed his car ride and Cas's appearance in his mind again. "Hm," he commented, only half hearing his brother. "Weird."

Sam was on a roll though—in full-on information deliver mode. "And get this, _similar_ wackiness has happened over the past few weeks in other places—uh, Tulsa, a bus driver vanishes and a river gets overrun with frogs. New Mexico—a mailman disappears, the earth splits open. There's a few others, too." He looked at a stony-faced Dean. "Might be connected."

Taking a second to digest what he'd paid marginal attention to, Dean couldn't quite get focused. "Sounds kinda biblical, though, what with the frogger stuff," he mused. "Angels, maybe?" Even the words 'angels' made him think of Cas and worry.

Sam shrugged his mouth downward briefly in consideration. He was unaware of his brother's inner thoughts. "Maybe. _Or_ demons. Hard to tell. Either way, this stuff was no joke and I think it's a safe bet that whoever's doing it is a major player. Wouldn't put this stuff past Crowley." He paused and stared in tense thoughtfulness at the laptop screen as he clicked through to another tab. On that page, Dean saw an article with 'missing persons' in the title. Sam tapped his fingers softly against the wood surface of the table beside his computer. "The weird part is though… these folks have nothing in common—no religious affiliations, different hometowns, all ages. The only thing they seem to have in common is that they're just… _gone._ " When Dean said nothing and only stared off into space with his opened but not-tasted beer in his hand, Sam turned in his chair to more fully peer at his brother. "Hey. You paying attention?"

Dean tried to snap out of it. "Uh yeah. Yeah." He sipped at his beer to buy himself a second to think. The beer was all but tasteless. He swallowed down the watery, lukewarm brew and posed another question to his brother, a question he was pretty interested in finding out the answer to. "Find anything on the chompers?"

Sam shook his head no grimly, growing markedly somber at the mention of Leviathan. "The only way we had to find Zip was Kevin, and he's gone, so…"

"Yeah," Dean cut him off brusquely. "I see your point." He wasn't in the mood to talk about things of actual consequence with Sam. "So we on this disappeared person thing or what?"

Sam hesitated. "I mean, I think we should be. Don't you? Might have something to do with Crowley and the tablet."

Dean glanced at the screen again. Kansas. A little wry, he gave Sam a smile that wasn't really a smile. "There's no place like home, right?" He wasn't really in the mindset to do it and his constant thoughts about Jamie, Cas, and Alex all made him a liability. He was doing this demon tablet thing mostly for James. But if she was gone already, if she was dead or worse, maybe he was wasting his time. Maybe he should be helping his sister and friend. He was, in a word, torn.

Later in the car as they headed to Kansas, the boys were completely silent.

For Dean, he was trying to avoid talking to Sam much at _all_ here lately. It got to him too bad and set him off too easily. Keeping it short, sweet, and all business was the only thing that would see them through at this point. Blaming his brother for things being the way that they were was just easier right now. Dean liked to think that if Sam had actually manned up and not _left_ Alex on her own all last year, maybe they wouldn't even _be_ in this boat right now. If she'd had backup and a wingman, if Sam had come to Purgatory with her to get them out… maybe they'd all be here together right now. But Sam had picked a dog and a girl over his family. And that was unforgivable to Dean.

He felt Sam studying him sidelong and completely irritated by the fact, he threw his brother a _screw off_ glance. Sam did the opposite of that. "…You okay Dean?" he asked in that gentle, earnest tone of his. When Dean clenched his jaw and flared his nostrils while refusing to look back at him, Sam tentatively continued. "I mean ever since we've been together again, you barely talk about anything and you have this look in your eyes like…"

Dean sent his brother a sharp, challenging look. "Like _what,_ Sam?"

Although it was like climbing down into a cage with a rabid Rottweiler who hadn't been fed in a week, Sam still tried to reach out to his brother. "Like you need to talk to someone about everything that's going on in your head."

The sarcastic reply that dripped with bitterness was out before Dean could stop himself. "And what, I should talk to _you_ about all this supposed stuff?"

Angry and hurt, Sam's reply was a little loud and a lot indignant. " _Yes_!" Dean scoffed as Sam continued onward in his wounded exclamation. "I'm still your brother, Dean!" He lost his bravado as Dean remained outwardly hostile and apathetic. "I… I care about you, I wanna help you if I can." But even as Sam said that, he seemed to realize that his brother wasn't going to _let_ him help.

"Yeah well you could have helped me last _year,_ Sam," Dean muttered gruffly, driving the dark nail of guilt in deep. Sam deserved to feel terrible about walking away from his family all for some chick and a 'normal life.' And the more he thought about it, the more Dean realized he was kind of doing the same thing right now. And that was something he couldn't do. Sit around and wait for his family. They needed help, _pronto_. "Look, I can't do this with you," he said, dark and hard and making his mind up then and there. "I'm giving this job _two days_ and that's _it_. After that, I'm tracking Kevin down and using him to figure out where that Zip guy is. You can come along or you can screw off… I don't care." Of course he cared. But he would never admit to it. Not right now. Purgatory had to be priority one right now. Purgatory and getting his sister and his friend _out._ He thought that if he didn't get them out soon the survivor's guilt was gonna have him in the looney bin for sure. He once again thought of the sight of Cas walking on that road. Shaking his head, Dean tightened his jaw. "I can't sit around knowing what Cas and Alex are up against down there. They need _help_ , Sam. And I'm not gonna make the same mistake my brother made. I'm not leaving my own out in the wind. I don't do that shit."

Sam said nothing in reply. He was stony and quiet, and utter hurt rested on his youthful face.

* * *

**One Day Later  
Salina, Kansas**

It was the middle of the night and Dean couldn't sleep. It wasn't the nearly-lethal amounts of coffee he'd been drinking to stay sharp and it wasn't the Red Bull he'd chugged in place of a beer and it wasn't the crazy loud thunderstorm outside the motel room. All those things might have had _something_ to do with it but it was more the general unease and sick feeling he got from being so at odds with Sam. Dean hated it but couldn't find it in himself to even be civil to his brother even if he wanted to be. He was so goddamn angry and jilted and _frustrated_ and Sam was the perfect target for all his bad feelings. What made it worse was how Sam didn't call Dean on his bullshit. He just took the verbal abuse and disrespect because he obviously felt he deserved it.

So, Dean sat awake in bed inside of the motel room of the day and tried to distract himself. He had the laptop open and balanced on his upper legs as he read and re-read all the missing persons cases that they were trying to string together. He and Sam had dressed up as FBI agents earlier that day and gone to see the last person who had seen the missing preschooler. She said all she remembered was taking him to the bathroom and then blacking out. She's awoken to no kid and the smell of sulphur. Demons. This wasn't good, but at least they knew who was most likely behind the disappearances.

Dean sighed softly and then fiddled with his phone, checking the screen on the foolish hope that he'd have a missed call or a text from someone of importance. But there was only a blank screen. No one and nothing.

A particularly jolting flash of lightning made Dean's stomach jump and he looked out the window, wondering if a tornado was brewing. And his heart stopped when lightning flickered again, illuminating the window and showing a solitary, trench-coated figure standing there and staring into the room. _Cas_. Sitting up higher really fast as his chest spasmed in shock, Dean stared hard at the darkened window—lightning flickered again and _there was no one there_. Already closing the laptop and tossing it aside, Dean went to the window, dismayed. Nothing. _No one._ He put a hand on either side of the window frame and leaned forward, looking left and right as far as he could see into the dim, rainy night. All he saw was an empty parking lot and a torrential downpour. This couldn't be happening. It looked so _real_ _…_ _!_

Behind him, the sound of stirring alerted him that Sam had woken up. "Dean?" came his sleepy voice. Who knew how Sam did it, but his ultra-sharp senses, even in drowsiness, didn't fail him. He saw that something was up. "What's going on? You all right?" He sat up in bed and moved his covers aside, squinting at his brother in the dark.

Feeling exceptionally scared because he didn't know if he trusted his own eyes anymore, Dean was quiet. "I-I don't know," he managed at bare volume, searching the darkness outside for a sign that he wasn't delusional. "I… I just saw something."

Sam stood up slowly, obviously getting really worried at his brothers strange expression and odd tone. "What do you mean?" he asked, wandering over in his t-shirt and gym shorts and looking out through the window along with Dean. "Saw what?"

Swallowing hard, Dean shook his head. He could have said nothing. But he forgot his dedication to closing Sam out. "It… it looked like Cas," he said, feeling helpless and freaked. He gestured blankly. "Right _there_." Sam hesitated, and Dean could literally hear Sam's thoughts about him: _he_ _'_ _s crazy, he_ _'_ _s lost it, sign him up for the crazy house!_ Defensive immediately even though Sam hadn't even said anything, Dean got a little louder. "I saw him Sam, I _saw_ him!" _Wow. I even_ sound _totally bonkers._ Dean quieted a little, not understanding as he stared out into the rainy night in a befuddled daze. "And I, I saw him earlier, too. On the road w-when I was driving."

Sam was gentle and worried and sympathetic, almost like how someone would be to a child who had woken up afraid about a monster in their closet. "Dean… there's no one there."

And then an unmistakably deep, husky voice spoke behind them. "That's because I'm right here."

Whirling in unison at the unexpected third party in the room, Sam and Dean gaped with wide-eyes. In the flesh, not an hallucination or a mirage, _Castiel_. He was soaking wet as rainwater dripped off him and he was still fully bearded and filthy like he'd been for the whole time in Purgatory. He looked miserable, unhealthy, emotionally defeated. He greeted them in exhausted, grim civility. "Hello Dean. Sam."

Dean's mouth hung open, he stared in complete disbelief. He barely dared believe it. " _Cas_?!"

Sam stared too, a little beside himself as he took the angel's appearance in. "You look… _terrible_." And Cas did. Terrible might have been an understatement, actually.

But terrible or not, he was _there._ Dean approached his friend, a growing expression of sheer furious relief growing on his face in the form of an incredulous, hesitant grin. "This really you, man?"

Dead in the eyes and totally bland in tone, Cas nodded once, having difficulty meeting his friend's gaze. "Yes. It's really me."

There was a whoop of laughter from Dean, who grabbed and hugged Cas hard, slapping him on the back heartily before suddenly stopping as his face fell and he realized someone was missing. He pulled back, his brows working in toward each other. "Wait, where's Alex?" he asked. At the extremely telling look on Cas's face, both brothers grew incredibly dread-filled. "Cas?" Dean asked in a voice he tried to keep steady. "…Where's our _sister_?"

The angel's eyes fell downward and the single word he uttered was soft and broken and earthshattering. "Gone."

Dean blinked twice, not understanding that word in the least even as Sam's eyebrows slammed together and a look of sheer _oh no_ took over his entire face. Cas turned away, putting his back to the boys as he walked off a couple steps. "…okay, _gone_?" Dean repeated in a hard tone that demanded explanation _now._ Cas couldn't mean _gone._

And then Cas turned around and his eyes were shining, his face was a mask of pain. "She's _dead_ , Dean." Both of the brothers lost the ability to breathe as the angel told them what made no sense and never would. "Your sister… is _dead_."


	111. Missing Persons

" _She is the sunlight_ _…_ _and the sun is gone._ "  
\- Trading Yesterday

* * *

Rain poured loudly outside the motel room where three men stood. Two stared at the third in speechless, horrified shock. Sam and Dean had just been told the worst and most shocking news; news that they both couldn't even begin to understand.

Dean found his voice first, but just barely so. "What do you mean _dead_?" he asked, his trembling tone indicating that he didn't—couldn't— _wouldn_ _'_ _t_ believe it. Like the thought of that being anything less than a sick joke or a misunderstanding would make him throw up. There was no reply and Dean asked again, a little firmer and steady this time. "What do you mean our _sister_ is _dead_?" When Cas said nothing and his face only continued to show utter heartwrenching pain that confirmed the worst, Dean's voice cracked and he leapt headfirst into the first stage of grief: denial. "She _can_ _'_ _t_ die, you made it where she can't die!" he protested.

Quiet and guilty and appearing shellshocked himself, Cas didn't look at his friend. "I know that," he said faintly, and the mildest confusion showed on his face. "And… I can't explain it." He looked at Dean finally, his blue eyes grim and filled with emotional agony. "But she's _dead_ , Dean." His voice wavered and caught, sounded like it might give out completely from the difficulty in speaking those words aloud. "S-she died in Purgatory." It all seemed too much for the angel: he began to turn around to hide his face again.

Abrupt angry panic flared at Cas's resigned words. "Well bring her back!" Dean shouted, but his fury was tempered by deeply abiding and panicked fear. In fact, that fear drove him to grab the angel by the front of his filthy trench coat with both hands and shake hard, preventing him from turning his back on the brothers. "Bring her back Cas!"

"Dean I _can_ _'_ _t_!" The angel shouted his reply with a jarring loss of composure, shocking both brothers with the desperation and alarm that made the angel look so haggard and nearly unrecognizable. "She's _gone_!"

That word— _gone_ —was a word neither Sam or Dean knew how to take. And maybe Cas didn't either. The angel stood there pathetically as Dean hung onto the lapels and stared at him in total horror. Cas was breathing hard like he was having trouble doing so at all; so hard that his shoulders shuddered—and his face had an expression on it like he was near tears. It was _terrifying_ to see him so emotional. Terrifying and convincing that he was telling the truth. The angel's face twisted up and crumpled all at once; he began to speak in a voice thick with tears as the brothers listened on in horror. "And she's not just dead but… I can't sense her _soul_ anymore, it's—it's like before when I accidentally—" he let out a horrible noisy sobbing sound and looked around in horrible confusion and lost misery. He looked similar to a shock victim, one who was questioning his own sanity and who was having problems with functioning at any level at all. "It's… it's all garbled, I can't remember parts—" he murmured through a tight voice, then shook his head and raised his teary eyes to look at Dean, who'd let go and was standing there with a body that didn't remember how to breathe. "She's _gone._ Completely and irrevocably _gone._ " The silence was utterly horrible and painful and as it stretched onward, Castiel feebly tried to fill it with explanations. "S-she came back to Purgatory for me but… something was wrong and I knew it right away. She was sick. Very sick." _Sick_? Dean hung on to Cas's every word in a horrified trance and he imagined his baby sister who had pretty much always been healthy as a horse and strong and a fighter… he imagined her sick like the time after she'd been possessed by Lucifer and it broke his fucking _heart_. He couldn't take the thought of her hurting or in torment or sick like that. Cas looked similar to how Dean felt as he finished telling a story that really told nothing at all. "And I tried to get us out but she just… faded away in front of me." His voice was as hollow as his eyes were.

It was impossible to understand. " _Sick_?" Dean echoed faintly, feeling like he could be sick himself. "Y-you can't get sick in Purgatory!" he protested.

"I know that," Cas whispered, and that fact seemed to torment him completely. "But I know what I saw. What happened to her." His choked, failing voice caught again as his eyes stared off into the distance, scanning over memories. "She withered away into nothing." The pain grew more and more pronounced on his face. "She died as I held her in my arms…" he abruptly trailed off and collapsed to sit on the edge of the bed he stood near. He bowed his face into his hand and gave a horrible sobbing sound of grief.

The brothers stared at the defeated angel with expressions of mutual grief, heartbreak, and shock. And then Sam, winded and gutted with eyes full of gathering tears, began to breathe heavily. Like he did when he was trying not to cry but it was already too late. "T-this is my fault," he managed in a cracking, thick voice that barely worked at all. " _All my fault_."

Cas's shoulders shook as he smothered down choked sobs. Sam sat down slowly in a daze at the kitchenette table. And Dean stood still in place, his face showing the extent of his torn, destroyed emotions. "T-this isn't right," he murmured unevenly, still too shocked to break down or lose it. "H-how can she just be _dead_?" he asked, unable to swallow this pill. It didn't make sense; he couldn't _accept_ it. He looked at Cas, who had gotten some momentary hold of himself—but shining ribbons made by tears had stained his face and run down into his scraggly beard. "And h-how the hell did you get _out_?" Dean asked him falteringly, voice a little high from the emotions he was currently channeling. "T-the portal?"

Exhausted and emotionally bereft, Cas's reply was flat and lifeless. "I… have no idea how I got out." … _What?_ Dean gaped dumbly. Cas's face flickered as he stared into nothing. "I remember endlessly running and hiding from Leviathan, and… trying t-to keep her body safe." His voice dropped in volume as he fought himself. "I suppose I needed to protect her in some way even though… it was too late." Words that made both of the brothers fight harder to keep composed. Especially Sam, whose youthful face was screwed up and whose hazel eyes were overflowing with tears. "And then it was all torn away and I was on the side of the road in Kansas. And... that was it." Dean waited, wracked by dismay. That _couldn_ _'_ _t_ be it. Cas seemed to feel the same: he was slumped and devoid of anything that resembled life or internal fire. He looked like a walking ghost. A ruined man. He came only slightly out of his grief to turn his heavy gaze onto Dean. "I've been trying to reach out, but for whatever reason, I wasn't at full power until just a moment ago." He grew quieter. "When I realized I was on earth again, I just had to tell you. I had to find you boys and let you know."

Dean was out of answers, out of everything. His sister, dead. _Dead_. Dead? The world and everything in it no longer interested him at all. He couldn't fathom facing another day and knowing that he was alive and his baby sister wasn't. How was it _fair_? How was it _right_? How could he have spent so long working to keep her safe and then lose her like this? She'd been fine. _Fine_! And now she had passed away and he hadn't even _known_ _…_ _?_ It was like he had just had an epiphany of the worst and darkest kind. "What's the point of this?" he asked aloud suddenly, speaking from the place of grief that had so quickly been sliced open. " _Any_ of it?" He looked around for someone to agree with him, someone to _explain._ "Why are we _doing_ this?" he asked, not even sure what he was asking about. He got louder and louder, more volatile. He wasn't sure if he was going to cry or if he was going to punch something. "I could have stopped this from happening!" he shouted at no one and nothing in particular. "I could have _stopped_ it!" The downpour of rain outside felt so appropriate in that moment. That torrential mass pummeling the earth was so very like the grief raining down over Dean in that moment.

Castiel barely reacted at all. He only stared blankly at the area ahead of himself as he slouched over his knees. "I don't think so, Dean." His deep voice was only a sad whisper. "I tried to save her. I tried to get us out. I tried so _hard_." His face crumpled anew and he hung his head, covered his features with a hand again. "It didn't work. And now I… I don't think I want to live anymore."

Startled and even more plagued than before when his friend said that, Dean shook his head, hardening his voice through his pain. "Cas, man… don't say that."

Cas looked up at Dean in agonized questioning, like a child who was truly clueless on how to deal with the feelings he was facing. Tears flooded his tired, worldweary face. "How am I supposed to go on without her in the world?" he asked softly, and the question and the way he asked it—both were heartbreaking. Dean didn't know an answer. Sam's quiet weeping sounds he was trying so hard to muffle provided the backdrop for Cas's final, broken sentiment. "She was _everything,_ Dean. Now there's _nothing_." He said that—he obviously _felt_ it to his core—and without warning the angel began to weep loudly and brokenly, in a way Dean had never heard before. It was awful in every way imaginable.

After a stunned moment in which he realized he couldn't feel his legs, Dean slowly and gingerly sat down on the end of the other bed and he wanted to be sick, to fall over, to pass out, to die himself. He heard Cas crying somewhere beyond the sound of the blood in his own ears and he stared at the ground with an expression of absolutely confounded heartache and loss. So that was it. But he still fought to understand. She was gone? _Dead_? He didn't comprehend it even for a second and as it rolled over him—as it really sank in—he began to suddenly cry. He tried _so hard_ to hide it, to stop his tears, to not weep like he wanted to. Because he thought somewhere deep down if he didn't grieve her, she wasn't really dead. _Not her. She should be here above ground, not me._ He fought to get a hold of himself and find something to do about the boat they were in. "There… there has to be something we can do," he managed between sharp, uneven breaths and he looked at his angel friend despairingly. This was Cas—the angel who had pulled Dean out of _Hell_ and became a _god_ to save his sister. 'Impossible' wasn't in this guy's vocabulary when it came to Alex Winchester, right?

Cas opened his mouth as if he were going to reply with something to give Dean hope. Then he hesitated a second and the look on his face changed. He went wooden, somber, and flatline again. "There isn't. Believe me. I've already considered everything."

The worst news Dean had ever heard. Lost and dazed by this news and the denial he felt, he stared at nothing as tears ran out of his stinging eyes. The helplessness he felt was the heaviest weight in the universe, and nothing would ever relieve that. At the kitchenette table, Sam opened up his laptop and pulled out his notepad, cleared his throat and sniffed and set his face doggedly after dashing at a cheek with a hard, brusque hand. Dean looked at him, a glare beginning to form. What the _hell_ was he doing? Immediately angry and incredibly so, he stared in disbelief. "Sam, what the _fuck_?" he asked in a condemning, furious tone. "…Are you seriously doing _research_ right now?"

A muscle in Sam's jaw jerked as he stared hard at the pen in his hand and not at his brother. "I just need something to focus on, and these missing people still need our help," he said lowly. "We can still do something to save them so I'm—"

Dean stood up to his feet, completely pissed and seeing red. "Okay so why the _hell_ do you even care about saving _strangers_ when you didn't give a shit either way about your own _family_?!"

There was a chill that overcame Sam in every facet when Dean said that. Sam still stared at the pen in his hand. He spoke low and measured, with incredible amounts of self-restraint, but it was easy to hear that he was _angry_. "Dean, I did. I _do_. No one can say I don't love my family."

"I can!" Dean shouted in retort at full blast. " _I_ can say it because you _abandoned_ us!" Sam literally flinched at the accusations; at the things his brother was holding against him. "Pick a time; 'cause it wasn't just once! You don't _care_ and you never _did_!" Dean thrust his arms out at Sam in an angry, jerky gesture to demonstrate his point. "You just found out Alex _died_ and you're trying to find _leads_!?"

Sam lost it and shot to his feet, knocking the chair he'd been sitting in over and dropping the pen as he abruptly stood at his full hulking height; seething and crying at the same time. "I _care_ , Dean!" he shouted. "I care so fucking much that if I don't find a way to get out of my own mind I will break in _half_!" He stood there heaving with fast breaths, his face showing nothing but raw misery. His eyes were full of tears and his voice began to waver as he lost ability to regulate himself—anger gave away to a broken grief. "I just found out my little sister _died_ —the one I have been with since before I was even _in_ this godforsaken world; the one I shared _everything_ with… are you really gonna say I don't _care_!?" Spittle flew as Sam's vehemence turned to righteous, wounded anger again. "This is _my fault_! _I know that_! If I hadn't sat around being a selfish bastard all last year she'd probably _be here_ right now! And I'll never _forgive_ myself for that! _Ever_!" He was shaking and the tears in his eyes were now all over his face, making it shine wetly. "Dean, you're not the only one in pain here!" Sam yelled, pain marring his expression as he both begged for his brother to understand and berated him for not doing so. "But you can't see past all your own _shit_ enough to even see me as a human being anymore! She's not just your sister, she's mine too! And if you ever imply I loved her less than you did I'll break your damn _nose_!" With that final thundering threat, Sam turned and fled the motel and into the rain with nothing—no jacket, no shoes. Just his t-shirt, gym shorts, his socks.

Suddenly contrite, Dean went to the door and gave a halfhearted, "Sam… Sam!" But Sam had disappeared into the pouring, rainy darkness. Slowly, Dean shut the door, unsure and quiet. The motel room was dark and silent. A tomb of mourning.

After a moment of Dean standing at the closed door and staring as he tried to breathe past the knife in his chest, Cas spoke up in the quietest voice. "…Where is Jamie Ward?" he asked.

Dean scoffed, keeping his emotions bottled up inside. "Who knows, man," he muttered harshly, putting on the gruff voice. "Right now I just need you to leave me _alone_."

Cas looked incredibly sad at those words—he didn't seem to want to be alone—but he nodded once. "Whatever you wish, Dean."

There was the soft sound of angel's wings and when Dean looked back, Cas was gone. And when he knew he was alone, Dean sagged against the wall and he let it all out. He began to cry loudly, hitting the doorframe with his fist a few times as he let himself feel everything, accept the news, and realize that his sister was never coming back.

Later on when he got himself together a little and wearily drifted back into the room, he would glance out of the window and realize Cas hadn't gone far at all—that the angel was sitting leaned on the hood of the Impala in the rain, letting it pour over him and soak him to the bone as he stared at the ground unmovingly for most of the night.

* * *

**The Next Morning**

In the waning light, Sam hunched over his laptop with a zombie-like gaze as he stared with an exhausted expression at the screen. Nearby, Cas watched TV—well, Sam had turned it on and Cas idly glanced at the set now and again from where he sat slump-shouldered on the bed. Cartoons played, the animated chatter and goofy sound effects a strange contrast to the dark and somber mood. Dean was not there.

When the rain stopped around four in the morning Sam had returned to the motel room and in his characteristic kindness and thoughtfulness, he invited Cas inside after insisting wearily that the angel should not just sit out there soaking wet alone. Dean was gruff and short with them both but said Sam was right and they needed to save the missing people and then deal with their 'personal stuff' afterward. Apparently, the topic of Alex was now off the table and not to be discussed. Sam understood that much and to be quite honest, he couldn't bear to talk about it either. So he had gone along with Dean's silent command and said nothing of their sister. Dean then insisted Cas clean himself up, paced around for a little while, then said he was going to get them some breakfast. Sam wasn't sure how he could think of food at a time like this, but he didn't argue or protest. In fact, he could barely look at or talk to his brother. Half out of guilt—his brother's words about how he abandoned his family felt true—and half out of hurt—he didn't understand why Dean would beat him down so relentlessly and be so _mean_. He knew his brother and knew what he was like so it wasn't _shocking,_ but it still hurt to be at the receiving end of the verbal lashes. Deserved or not, Sam would have been so grateful for a night's mercy as far as that was concerned. But apparently that was too much to ask…

Sam glanced over at Cas, who was still watching the TV screen sadly. At least he _looked_ like himself again, Sam mused halfheartedly. After Dean said to get cleaned up, Cas had disappeared for a moment into the bathroom then re-emerged looking like he always had before. The beard, the film of dirt, even the hospital pajamas were gone. Castiel wore the suit, the backwards tie, the trench coat. His hair was combed and neat; his skin looked a healthier shade. But even though he'd made himself presentable again and even looked younger, nothing could erase the heaviness in his demeanor. As Cas watched the cartoon like it were funeral coverage, Sam realized why he looked so sad about the animated show playing on channel eight. "This one was her favorite, right, Sam?" he asked faintly, then looked at Sam plaintively.

A ache unlike anything else squeezed at the heart in Sam's chest as he realized that Cas was watching that cartoon and only thinking of its connection to Alex. "Y-yeah," he confirmed, taken aback at how hard it was to talk about. He glanced at the screen where a cat and a mouse were up to their regular shenanigans. "Tom and Jerry." Of all things, the saddest and most bittersweet smile came over Sam's face. That had always been her favorite cartoon growing up—well, that and Transformers. "I still think she liked it so much because her nickname was Mouse," he said softly, reflecting sadly on Alex and remembering her as a silent, big-eyed, knock-kneed little girl who was always climbing trees and breaking things and wanting to do whatever he and Dean were doing. His smile wavered and fell and died out completely. _Mouse_. His throat closed up a little more as he thought about it again. _She_ _'_ _s dead. Gone._

Cas's eyes fell fractionally to the space below the TV. His stern, plain features were gaunt and beyond sad. "I like that nickname," he said softly, watching the mouse run across the screen gleefully as the cat yowled, his foot stuck in the floor. Whimsical, goofy music played on the cheap television speakers.

Sam wasn't sure how, but those four words Cas had just spoken held more love and loss in them than anything else he'd ever heard before in his life and it made the lump in his throat even bigger and more difficult to speak through. "I do too," he managed, thinking of the sister who went by that nickname. He thought of the girl who had the best smile and knew all of his secrets and who pretty much _defined_ the word 'loyal.' She knew how to hold a grudge but was always willing to give a second chance to the ones she cared about—even him, even after everything. She was a deep thinker and a quick study and a good person to have on your side. He thought of her curious nature and the intrepid spirit of survival she had grown into, the way she had been his best friend in childhood and again in recent years, too. And now she was _gone_ and she had probably died thinking he didn't care. And that couldn't be further from the truth. Tears pricked his eyes again and Sam tried not to let them gather. He had cried until he was physically sick last night and he was _exhausted_ and bereaved. He couldn't let himself cry more. He had to focus on the job at hand. But still… he wondered. He had to know. He looked at Cas and swallowed thickly. He was almost scared of the answer to his question. "Cas, d-did she say anything about me? Before…"

Cas returned Sam's barren gaze with one of his own. "No." He paused, then frowned slightly like he was giving deeper consideration to the question. "I don't think so."

That statement struck Sam as immediately strange—internally, he did a double-take. "…You don't _think_ so?" he asked, wondering if he were missing something.

Cas thought for a moment, like he was trying to figure it out, too. "My memories are very garbled," he finally supplied, dodging Sam's gaze. "I think I've blocked most of it out."

Sam relented and sat back slightly in the creaking motel chair he sat in. He understood that. "Yeah," he murmured, thinking of Amelia and that whole jumbled ten months he barely remembered. "I get that." Sam's gaze slid to the whiskey beside his laptop. He contemplated that object for a long moment before he reached for it again and drank straight out of the bottle. The burning liquid he didn't often drink seared his throat and made his tense veins relax a little. _Hunter_ _'_ _s helper_ , he thought wryly. Usually he tried to make himself do something healthy and productive to deal with hard situations. But going for a run or trying meditation wasn't going to give him a quick fix this time. Neither was this booze, but it was better at dulling the pain than anything else at the moment.

Although Cas had refrained from making any comment until now (he'd only given long, tense side glances the other times Sam had guzzled from the bottle like a damn alcoholic), this time the angel hesitated then chanced a concerned, tentative question. "Isn't it a little early for that, Sam?"

It wasn't even eight o'clock in the morning. But Sam set the whiskey down grimly and meant his answer. "Not today." Cas said nothing else, and neither did Sam.

A couple minutes later, Dean walked in with an unreadable expression and a fast food bag with a cartoony laughing omelet design on it. "Hey," Sam greeted cautiously, glancing at his watch inconspicuously out of habit. It was then that he realized Dean had been gone over an _hour_ to get this one bag of food. "Took you long enough."

Just as short and bland as Sam was, Dean threw the bag down at his brother and shrugged his jacket off. "Yeah well they were short-staffed and I walked there. So you do the math." The smell of hash browns and greasy fast food sausage wafted out of the bag of food, and the smell turned Sam's stomach. He wasn't hungry and couldn't eat. Dean apparently wasn't hungry either as the bag of food proceeded to go completely untouched. But the brothers didn't acknowledge the heaviness between them. It was business as usual and no discussion of reality. Their current mission trumped everything: Save these missing people and then deal with 'personal stuff.' Sam tried to turn his heart and brain off. Dean gestured at the laptop and studiously avoided meeting Sam's flickering, sidelong gaze. "So. What's the latest with all this?"

Sam gave a tired shrug and threw his hands up briefly because he was at a dead end. "Well… nothing. It's like it all stopped. No more freak disappearances linked to any freak natural events."

Dean reached over Sam's shoulder from behind and took the whiskey bottle, helped himself to a good long swig. "So how many missing people we got, like seven?" he asked after he'd hissed a reaction to the burn of the booze.

"Yeah," Sam said, looking down at the notes he'd jotted. Absently, he began to read off their first names. "Luigi, Justin, Aaron, Maria—"

"—Maria, Dennis, Krista, Sven," Castiel monotoned nearby, staring at the TV screen with dead eyes as he finished the list for Sam without being asked.

Sam and Dean both looked at the angel in surprise and confusion. "…How did you know those are the names?" Sam questioned slowly.

Cas stood up and shut the television off. "Those names are all names of the prophets," he said, sadly touching the fake rose in the cheap vase that was on top of the TV.

" _Prophets_?" Dean asked incredulously.

"Yes," Cas said, his focus still on the silk flower and not on the boys. "Angels instinctively know the names of every prophet—past, present, and future." His fingertips stroked the fake flower sorrowfully.

"So… this list is the name of every prophet that exists?" Dean asked, picking up Sam's notepad and waggling it.

"Yes, well, until the next generation is born," Cas said, distracted and looking at the floor now in tired sorrow. "Well, and Kevin Tran, of course. The other seven are possible future prophets since only one can exist at a time."

Mind working quickly to piece together what he knew with the addition of this new information, Sam realized that presented an inconsistency. "Then how is _Kevin_ a prophet if _Chuck_ is a prophet?" he asked.

That question made the angel's expression flicker. "I'm not sure what happened to Chuck, but…" Cas looked even sadder. "He must be dead." Glum, Cas stared at the floor. He sounded winded. "I liked Chuck."

Dean's expression showed that he felt for Cas, and Sam felt a twinge of something he hadn't expected: jealousy. "Me too, except the publishing our lives for profit thing," Dean said, commiserating with the angel in a way that almost seemed comforting. Sam looked at his brother in disbelief—Dean was gonna treat Cas better than him in this situation? What kind of sense did _that_ make? Dean looked back at the list of prophets, missing his brother's hurt expression. "So, the next prophet comes off the bench if Kevin goes down?"

"Exactly," Cas confirmed weightily. "And they have no idea who they are, of course."

Dean nodded, frowning hard as Sam tried to continually ignore his personal feelings and focus on the mystery at hand. "So… Crowley kidnaps the whole bunch," Sam said stiffly, wishing Dean would do something— _anything_ —to show he wasn't going to hate him forever. "As what, insurance?"

"Dunno, but, he's getting desperate," Dean commented wryly, still refusing to look Sam in the eye.

"Explains all the weird phenomena, though," Sam admitted ruefully, feeling worse and worse every passing minute. "Lower-level demons nabbing heavy-duty cargo."

Castiel was frowning hard, mulling something over in his mind. "How did Crowley get the names of the prophets? He would have had to gotten that information from an _angel._ " He looked at Sam and Dean as the beginnings of deep worry and mystification caused him to squint.

"So, what… a double agent halo?" Dean asked uncertainly, like he could think of no other explanation.

Cas didn't seem to consider that option for very long. "Or the names were forcibly _dragged_ out of an angel," he said lowly, then shook his head, clenched his jaw, and his voice descended into an angry growl. "I would very much like to kill Crowley right now."

"Story of my life," Dean said, maybe trying to lighten the mood. Which, of course, wasn't going to happen.

Sam's phone suddenly began to ring and he gave a sigh and picked it up—the number wasn't recognized. "Hello?" he asked tiredly, then sat up a little straighter as his eyes shot open wide. " _Mrs. Tran_? Where the hell have you—" there was a long pause as he listened. " _What_?" He listened hard for a minute then stood up and looked at Dean and Cas with an urgent, worried gaze. "Crowley's got Kevin."

* * *

**Two Hours Later  
Mile Marker 96, Nebraska**

The boys had double-timed to a halfway meeting point with Linda Tran, Kevin Tran's mother. They were currently waiting, pulled off to the side of a rural highway in beside some thickly overgrown weeds. On the way there, Sam gave the quick information to Cas about how they'd saved Mrs. Tran from demons how she and Kevin had run off afterward and disappeared and now, somehow, gotten into more trouble than they'd been in before.

Tapping his fingers impatiently on the windowsill of his car, Dean looked around cagily and restlessly. "Where the hell _is_ she?" he asked.

"She'll be here," Sam insisted, deeply distracted.

Something about his tone made Dean look at Sam sharply. Maybe it was the look on Sam's face, maybe it was just the urge to pick a fight. Either way, Dean got rude. " _What_ , Sam?"

Sam fumbled around a little, unsure how to broach the subject or if he should try at all. In the back seat, Cas was silent and stony, but it was easy to tell how torn up he was inside. Sam felt the same way and knew Dean felt like that too. So, he tried to start a dialogue about it, because he was slowly dying inside. "Shouldn't we… talk about this?" he asked hesitantly. "About what happened?"

" _No,_ " Dean replied immediately, roughly, his glare aimed out ahead of himself. "Like I said, job first, then personal stuff."

Feeling belittled and rejected, Sam let his forlorn gaze drift to his window. He didn't know how to compartmentalize like that. Not about _this_. "I don't think it works like that," he said softly, brokenly.

A muscle jumped in Dean's jaw. "It _has to_ , Sam."

And they said nothing more.

A few minutes later, a white Lexus sedan pulled up next to them, parking carelessly and crookedly in the weeds beside them. No sooner had the car jerked to a stop than out came the driver: a short, petite Asian woman with a neatly bobbed hair style. Even as the boys were getting out of the car to greet her, she was getting in Sam's face without meaning to, motherly concern making her a little animated. "You can do this, can't you? You can get him back?" she demanded frantically, seeming to have forgotten about personal space or saying hello or anything else like that.

"Whoa, whoa, Mrs. Tran, calm down," Sam counseled, holding her back a little bit. "We'll do our best."

"How did Crowley find you?" Dean asked from across the top of the Impala. He was rounding the car slowly as Cas stood on the other side of the car and said nothing.

Mrs. Tran abruptly gave an impetuous shrug and an eye roll, like she was annoyed. "Oh, I hired a _witch_ , and she ratted us _out_."

"…A witch?" Sam asked, astonished. "Why'd you hire a _witch_?"

Mrs. Tran looked put-out. "To make _demon bombs_ , of course!"

Sam suppressed a rude remark and a flat out eye roll. "Well you hired the wrong one," he said thinly. The only decent witch he'd ever met that he could remember was Jamie Ward.

"Who's this guy?" Mrs. Tran asked, indicating Cas with a dubious thrust of her chin.

"It's Cas," Sam explained.

Mrs. Tran's face changed into something near reverence. " _Oh_." She eyed Cas in interest, curiosity, and slight nervousness. "Heard of you."

Cas looked like even the mildest show of attention given to him was uncomfortable.. Dean stayed on point, drawing Mrs. Tran's gaze to him instead. "You have any idea where Crowley took Kevin?" he asked.

A slightly naughty smile suddenly appeared on Mrs. Tran's face. "No. But…" she sauntered back around her vehicle and unlocked the trunk of her car with a sassy little push of a button. "... _this_ guy might." She lifted the trunk open to show a bound demon—on the inside of the trunk lid there was a devil's trap.

Impressed at her resourcefulness, Sam couldn't hold back the slightest surprised smile. "Wow, way to go Mrs. Tran!"

She looked pleased with herself. "Told you boys," she replied. "Just 'cause I'm old doesn't mean I can't screw some shit up— _especially_ if you mess with my son."

Looking all too eager to do someone some bodily harm, Dean withdrew the demon blade from his jacket as he stared down the demon in the trunk. "Buddy, it's your unlucky day," he muttered. "Let's talk."

* * *

As Dean tortured a screaming demon in the trunk of Mrs. Tran's car and Mrs. Tran kept lookout to the west, Sam and Cas kept lookout to the east. The angel said nothing—just frowned off into the distance in pained sadness. When he couldn't keep from asking any longer, Sam finally spoke up. "You okay, Cas?" he asked gently.

"No," Cas replied in that low, flat voice of his. He glanced sidelong at Sam. "And you're not either." Somewhere nearby, Dean's rumbling voice shouted something at the demon. "And neither is he," Cas said, glancing back toward the car.

Sam nodded stiffly, not sure what to say or how to begin even talking about how he was feeling at the moment. His entire painful life spun through his mind and he wondered why it only got worse. When were they gonna get a break? Maybe never. Maybe they were asking for it doing what they did. "I sometimes wonder how we're even still functional at this point," he mused quietly after a long pause. And maybe they weren't functional. Dean was a bloodthirsty and closed-off headcase. Sam was… well, he didn't even know where to start with his own crap. And all because of this hunting life and the high price you paid to live it. "First my mom," he murmured. "Then Jess. Then my dad a-and Adam. Then Bobby and a hundred others." His throat tightened as he thought of the freshest loss, the most painful one. "Now my sister." It wasn't _fair_ and his vision began to swim, his voice began to fail. "I'm so tired of this life taking the people I love, Cas." He stared off at the empty rural highway in disconsolate emotion. "Maybe that's why I walked away all the times I have before… because I couldn't take reality." Cas was giving him a confused expression and Sam realized… Cas didn't seem to know. "Dean didn't tell you?" he asked, embarrassed about it but not about to try and avoid the subject. Cas deserved to hear the truth. "Thought you knew. I—I left again." It was incredibly difficult to admit that. Having Dean hate him was bad enough. Now Cas would, too. "I just… went off and did my own thing and left my sister to save you guys alone this past year." Saying it out loud felt so _wrong_ and so _horrible_. The guilt was unimaginable.

Cas looked mystified at the information, but he didn't just listen to Sam's words. He also listened to Sam's hurt tone of voice. "Why, Sam?" he asked, and his voice, so full of confusion and a touch of disappointment, was even worse than Dean's shouted condemnations. Cas was willing to hear the reason, was willing to take Sam's admission with a grain of salt.

Sam tried to give a wretched laugh because otherwise he'd cry. He didn't deserve the olive branch. "I don't know. A girl? A dog? A break from living a waking nightmare every day?" He shook his head and stared off into middle distance unseeingly. "It's kind of like I can't even remember my own reasons for what I did."

Cas gave a long, tensely thoughtful silence. "It's strange. But I understand what you mean, Sam." And he said nothing more of the matter. Didn't berate or judge Sam or lecture him on how bad and hopeless he was. Just stood there with him in their mutual pain for a long moment. The demon's screams kept echoing in between Dean's shouts and demands and threats. Cas looked more and more sickened as the moment dragged on. But when he spoke, Sam realized it was for another reason. "I keep expecting her to be here," he said in a soft, rough whisper. "Standing near you or Dean or sitting in the back of the car. And she never is." Cas had this heartbreaking childlike way about him, but never had it ever been more heartbreaking than this moment. The angel—the ancient being who had seen so much more than any human ever had or would looked at Sam in grief-stricken appeal. "Will it always be like this, Sam?" he asked, begging in between the lines for some reassurance or hope, some kind of comfort for the pain he was in.

The urge to lie—to say it would get better and be nothing but a bad dream someday—the urge to give Cas some words to soothe his agony was really overwhelming. But Sam had to be honest. "In time, yeah, the sharper pain fades away," he said, speaking from his own experience. "But… you always feel the void." He thought of Mom, Dad, Jess, the others. And now Alex. He felt a huge hole in him, a hole that burned and ached inside of him and made him want to give up on everything. His jaw tightened and his eyebrows tensed harder. "And some voids just eat away at you until there's nothing left."

Cas seemed to have anticipated that much and nodded, accepting his fate of everlasting grief with a quiet, broken dignity. "I think this will be one of those voids," he murmured quietly, emptily. And Sam shut his eyes briefly because he couldn't bear what had happened. Couldn't bear it at all.

* * *

**Later  
Atlantic, Iowa**

Dean got the Crowley's location out of the demon in Mrs. Tran's trunk in a matter of an hour and Castiel ported them, cars and all, to a backroad in Iowa. After Sam regretfully handcuffed Kevin's mom to the steering wheel of her car (she would only be a liability after all), the boys and Cas proceeded into the abandoned-looking factory that Crowley was inside of. After getting inside of the compound they split up—Sam went on his own to try and find the kidnapped prophets and Dean and Cas stuck together. It was quiet inside the warehouse. Too quiet.

It was a maze of dark hallways and catwalks, old rusted structures and machinery. For awhile, neither Dean nor Cas said anything. Then as they passed through dilapidated a loading dock, Cas got a certain glint in his eyes. "We're very near Kevin," he said lowly, suddenly taking the lead from Dean. "I can sense him." He gestured to Dean, pointing ahead to where a huge metal door was chained shut from the outside. Cas strode ahead, making for the door.

But Dean paused and did not follow. His eyes slid to the side because the back of his neck was prickling, alerting him to a presence. _Ah, crap_. The hunter turned quickly, finding himself face to face with a demon. _Well, here goes nothing._ Dean reared back, demon blade already in hand, but the demon yanked him forward telepathically, sidestepped him, and sent him flying overhead to crash into a bunch of hanging chains on the far wall.

The demon stretched out a hand toward Castiel, sending him skidding back a little bit as if he were being blown back by a strong wind. Looking labored, Cas powered through the telekinetic shove with a good deal of effort before he clapped a hand onto the demon's head, smiting him. The second the demon fell over, so did Cas—barely managing to catch himself sideways on the wall next to himself where he sagged and panted.

Hurrying over and holding his own side where he'd sustained a pretty good bruise, Dean steadied Cas with a hand against the angel's shoulder. "What the hell's going on?" he asked, taken aback at Cas's weakened state appearance. "You're not all the way back, are you?"

Cas looked at Dean, breathing heavily through an open mouth. "No. I'm not." He seemed to be angered by it and abruptly stood then brushed past Dean's hand and unevenly resumed walking toward the door. "I'll be fine."

"You sure?" Dean asked, following closely.

"Be quiet, Dean," Cas snapped, startling Dean. Cas was never rude like that. The angel indicated the door they stood in front of. "Kevin's in here. Can you get in?"

Letting go of his misgivings, Dean fumbled around in his pocket for the lockpick he had with him and with shaky hands in the dark he tried to pick the lock. Unfortunately, this had never been his speciality. "It's not working," he complained, getting frustrated in a matter of ten seconds when he couldn't get the delicate work done. "Shit, this is what the twins are good at, dammit," he muttered, then remembered that one of them was no longer there in the world at all. He stopped trying to pick the lock and stared at it, suddenly the owner of a heart that was burning like acid in his chest.

"Dean, I'm going in," Cas said in a severe, final tone.

Turning around in a mild panic, Dean protested. "Cas, no, don't be stupid, you're not strong enough."

Castiel was unmoved and grave. "I won't let Kevin die." And without anything further, he disappeared from in front of Dean's eyes.

* * *

In a dark room that was locked from the outside, preventing Kevin from escaping, the King of Hell had finally succeeding in making the prophet do what he wanted. Kevin had just finished reading most of the tablet to Crowley and in it, the existence of _more_ tablets was revealed. That was what was most interesting to Crowley who had a thoughtful finger on his cheek. "So. There are more tablets," he murmured to himself. "More than Leviathan and Demon." He grinned cheekily. "Curiouser and _curiouser_ … whaddya say, Kev? Gotta catch 'em all."

Exhausted and injured—Crowley had cut off his pinky during the torture—Kevin was slightly delirious from blood loss. "Is that… a Pokémon reference?"

There was a sound of fluttering wings and Kevin looked up, startled by the sight of Castiel, the angel. Alex's boyfriend or husband, depending on who you asked. Hope suddenly surged up in Kevin. _I_ _'_ _m being rescued! Alex is back!_ She was the only Winchester who had ever really looked out for him. Kevin's heart was racing as Crowley, always seeming totally at ease, acknowledged the cloudy-expressioned angel lightly. "Castiel!" he exclaimed. "Fresh from Purgatory I take it. Wish you'd called first."

The angel said his name with a dark tone that was full of clear hatred. "Crowley."

"And which Castiel is it this time?" Crowley asked, sounding genuinely curious and amused at the same time. "I'm never sure. Madman or megalomaniac?" He suddenly held up a single finger as if he was thinking of something. "By the by, I need to touch base with your darling little wife, any idea where that little minx has gotten off to?" Cas snapped, abruptly disappearing and reappearing to the place that was right in Crowley's face—and he immediately seized the demon and threw him brutally into the nearby wall—the metal wall groaned and dented from the impact. Holding a hand to his head and stumbling as if drunk when he stood up, Crowley looked offended. "Good god, mate, you trying to bring this whole place down?!" he shouted.

The angel was seething quietly. "Speak of her again and I will _end_ you," he warned, then began to make his way toward Kevin, who stood up, almost in tears from the relief he felt. "Kevin is coming with me."

" _Blimey,_ the manners on you," Crowley muttered, straightening his suit and then abruptly porting over to stand between Cas and Kevin. "And, also: I think not." The angel came up short when his path to Kevin was blocked. "The prophet's playing on _my_ team now." Smirking a little even though it was obvious that he was royally pissed off, Crowley pretended to be polite—at least at first. "Now I'm sorry for any inconvenience to your bipolarity, Fluffers, but your wife, aka employee of the month _owes_ me and I plan to _collect_ , so tell me where she _is_!" The shout echoed as Castiel proceeded to look utterly clueless.

"What do you mean, employee of the month?"

Crowley was sultry and triumphant. "You'll have to ask her about that one, mate."

Cas's expression wavered. "And how exactly am I supposed to ask her, Crowley, if she is _dead_?"

Kevin gaped at the angel, his heart sinking in his chest. _Dead?_ Crowley blinked once, a confused frown creasing his face. "…Dead?" he asked delicately, saying the word as if he found it sour and repulsive. He looked as if someone were joking with him. "Oh no, there must be some mistake."

Never had there been a day when Kevin thought he would feel the same as Crowley. He looked at the angel with a dumbstruck expression. Was she really…? It seemed to be true. "Enough of your cruel jokes," Cas snapped, his hard voice covering up truly pained emotions. "I'm taking the boy with me. And I'm in no mood for your opposition." Castiel's blade dropped into his hand from up his sleeve and to make his stance clearly known, he lifted the gleaming object upward, holding it at the ready.

Crowley's eyebrow quivered in amusement as he held up an empty hand and an angel blade of his own materialized. "Well that's too bad, _buddy_ ," Crowley murmured in a tone laced with sardonic pleasure. Kevin stood up and backed up a few paces—it was about to get bad. He could tell. The demon eyed the angel without much interest as Cas slowly approached and then circled at a safe distance, letting the glass table with the tablet on it stand between him and Crowley. "You look like hell, and I should know," Crowley taunted, obviously doubting that the angel could take him in a fight. "You're not up for this." Apparently, he was. Castiel lowered his chin and let his grace consume him and burn out of him in rage. His eyes became blue and lit from within, burning bright—so bright that Kevin had to squint, so bright that the dim room became brighter than noon at a beach. At the show of power, Crowley's voice got louder. "Maybe you can get it up, but you can't keep it up!" he growled. The high hum of grace intensified as shadows of Castiel's enormous unfurling wings appeared on the wall behind him and grew larger, larger, and larger. Kevin cowered on the ground in amazement and fear alike at the sight of the angel like that. Crowley's confidence was shaken. "You're _bluffing_!" he shouted, but he didn't sound so sure.

Voice low and dark as midnight, Cas was deadly and quiet in comparison to how frightening his physical appearance was. Light blazed out from him and Kevin swore his skin was beginning to burn like he was standing too close to a fire. "Do you really want to take that chance?" Castiel growled. His piercing and glowing blue eyes drilled into the King of Hell and promised wrath of the most severe kind. "I have nothing left to lose, Crowley. And if the saying is correct, that makes me _dangerous_." He stretched out his hand toward Crowley, intent on killing the demon. In the same moment, Crowley reached out for the tablet—anticipating the movement, Cas's hand suddenly smashed downward and shattered the tablet and glass surface alike. Kevin had to shut his eyes as he fell backwards—he _felt_ a surge of insane power and heat then suddenly the room was plunged back into darkness.

Kevin opened his confused eyes and as they readjusted to the dimness, he heard Dean bursting in somewhere nearby—he saw Cas laying in the floor and groaning in pain—he saw that one half of the tablet was gone—and Crowley was, too.

* * *

After Dean helped a very weakened Cas limp out of the warehouse, after he and Sam got all the prophets out and called the police then went back to where Mrs. Tran was still handcuffed to the car, Dean let Sam handle the Trans. He pulled Cas along with him angrily to the Impala then he pointed at the distant warehouse with a stiff, shaking finger. "That was a bonehead move back there," he accused. "You could have gotten yourself _killed_! Why didn't you wait for me?" When Cas said nothing and just looked mildly vexed, Dean realized maybe that's what Cas had hoped would happen and his eyes widened. "Did you _want_ to get killed?" he demanded incredulously.

Cas merely glanced at him like he felt scolded. "To be frank, I see very little reason to go on living, Dean."

Those words had to weigh at least a thousand pounds. There was no feel-sorry-for-me element to the statement. Only Cas being a man who had truly lost what he held as everything. A surge of sadness and understanding and pain came over Dean. He totally got that feeling. But he also didn't approve of Cas doing that shit. "What do you think she would say about that?" he asked, knowing the effect that question would have.

The angel looked startled and then deeply guilty. He turned and sagged to sit back-first against the trunk of the Impala like it was too heavy for him to stand under. "I… doubt she would be happy to hear it," he admitted.

" _Exactly,_ " Dean retorted, like he'd won a contest or something. Cas only looked further depressed and Dean gave a frustrated sigh at himself—he wasn't doing well himself and his feelings were just all over the damn place. He knew he wasn't really helping much or being a good support to either Sam or Cas, but he didn't know how to be in his own pain and also help others through theirs. "Look man—I… I lost my sister. Don't make me lose you too." Cas looked at Dean in confused questioning, like he couldn't believe Dean would say that and wasn't sure why he would, either. Uncomfortable, Dean gritted his teeth and tried to stay tough and factual. "What we went through back there in monsterland… I _trust_ you, man. More than I trust _Sam_ at this point. My own _brother_." And that was the sad truth of the matter. The entire past day, ever since learning that Alex was dead and gone, Dean had been thinking one thing—that if he threw in the towel, that would be a slap in the face to his sister's memory. She would want them to use the time she'd bought them for something worthwhile. So he was gonna do that and hang onto that as his motivation for continuing onward. "Let's make something right," he urged, trying to get Cas to feel the same way. "Let's do something that matters. Get the other half of this freakin' tablet and close the Hellgates before we call it a day, right?"

Cas considered Dean's earnest appeal for a long, grim moment. "Only if you promise you'll try to forgive Sam," he said, and at Dean's stunned _say what?_ expression, Cas explained himself in a way that made perfect, damning sense. "You lost one sibling, Dean. Can you afford to let your bitterness destroy what little is left?"

There was one word that Dean could use to describe how he felt in that moment: convicted. Also, kinda speechless. He sighed ruefully, looking down for a minute as he shook his head hollowly. He then joined Cas in leaning back-first against the trunk of the Impala. This weird, awkward, surprisingly philosophical angel. "You drive me crazy sometimes, Cas," he said, looking off at Sam as he interacted with the Trans. "What with all your sense-making and rational thinking and good points." Next to the shorter two, Sam looked even more freakishly tall than usual. Dean looked at his brother long and hard and the bitterness he felt inside toward Sam wasn't something he could just erase or brush away. Dean's tone darkened. "But I don't know if I can forgive him. He failed me. He failed _her_. He betrayed everything I thought he would stand for."

For a moment, Cas contemplated Dean's reply. "Perhaps so, but… if Alex taught me anything, it's that second chances aren't always given because the person deserves them. In fact, sometimes the most meaningful second chances are given to people who should never be forgiven at all." Dean stared at the angel sidelong. Cas was talking about himself and it was stilling. Cas wasn't done being reflective and somber. "If she could see the two of you at odds like you are… I think it would break her heart," he said softly. "She loved you two very much. I'd go so far as to say you were her world."

His chest tightened. A flash of emotion-driven sounds, images, and sensations filled Dean's mind: long brown hair whipping back at him when he pushed a gleeful Alex on swings as a kid—the sun got in his eyes as she flew higher and higher, grinning the entire time, laughing silently in jubilation. He could smell her fruity-scented colored marker set filling the car during long drives. He could taste cheap dollar-store cake frosting—she'd bought a tub of icing for him for his fourteenth birthday and stuck a used candle (a stolen candle from another kid's birthday party) into it because she couldn't pay for an entire cake. He felt cold nipping at him as he remembered making snow angels in one inch of pathetic snow with the twins—he remembered how Alex got really sick from being out in the cold. Dean's throat was tight and his voice was hoarse as he thought of how he and Sam had tried to make chicken noodle soup from scratch and failed miserably but she'd still given them the thumbs up and then stuck her feet up, grinning and red-faced with a fever while trying to give thumbs up with her toes, too. _Goofball._ Dean had freaked out at the time when her bare feet snuck out from under the blanket. _'_ _Why aren_ _'_ _t you wearing socks?!_ _'_ And now his eyes filled with tears all the faster. They were _her_ world? "Well, she was definitely ours." A simple statement that said it all. And now there was just Sam and Dean left. They only had each other now. What kind of bizarre, wrong reality was this? Dean sniffed and blinked, trying to get control of himself. He realized he needed to do what Cas said. He needed to give his brother a chance and try to overcome what was between them. He didn't know if he _could_ , but he'd try, and right then, that was the best he could do. "I'll try and work things out with Sam," he managed tightly, knowing that if he said it out loud he would have to stick with it more.

"Good," Cas said quietly, then fell into deep thought. "It mystifies me," he murmured presently. "What force pulled me out of there and why." The angel stared miserably at his shoes. "I would have stayed there. I _should_ have stayed, too. It was a fitting punishment for me… being cursed to wander alone in the land of monsters in penance for what I've done, the things I let happen…" he trailed off and was silent for a very long moment. "Dean, if not for me, she never would have gone back there. She wouldn't have become ill. She would still be _alive_."

Dean shook his head and clenched his teeth against the torn up emotions he felt inside. "Cas… just stop," he said. " _Stop_. Blaming yourself won't do a damn thing. Trust me, I've spent most of my life blaming myself for all kinds of shit. And it never changed anything." He briefly thought of Jamie and more pain cracked his bleeding heart.

"I will always blame myself, Dean," Cas said plainly. "Until the end of everything." His eyebrows furrowed together in a confused, pained expression. "I was her guardian angel. And in the end… she saved me instead of me saving her. How does that make logical sense?"

It was pretty damn ironic when Cas put it that way. "I don't know. But… don't let it go to waste." Dean shrugged slightly, out of other responses and blank inside. "That's the only thing getting me through this right now. Knowing that I gotta do right by her, not just lay down and give up. She fought hard to get us out, so… I'm gonna do something that counts with what she did for us." He looked sidelong at Cas. "I owe her that much. And so do you."

Cas said nothing, only nodded every so slightly even though his expression showed internal battles. Sam approached finally, leaving the Trans to themselves aways off. Cas remained quiet and emotional, but Dean toughened his features at his brother's approach. "Hey guys," Sam greeted.

Dean stood up and Cas echoed his actions. "Hey."

"Well, I made some calls and _Garth_ is gonna lay low with the Trans while we try and track down the other piece of the tablet." Sam paused and then looked at Cas, who had a strange, faraway look in his eyes—he wasn't paying attention it didn't look like. "You're with us on this one, right, Cas? Could use your help, transporting the Trans for one." The angel said nothing, stared off into space as if he were hearing something else entirely. Sam waited a second, then waved a hand in front of the angel's face. "Uh, Cas? you okay?"

Snapping back to the conversation, appearing a little jolted, Cas's eyes jumped back and forth between Dean and then Sam. "I'm—I'm fine," he said uncertainly, his eyes deep with grief and confusion. "And, yes, I'm with you—if that's all right."

Sam offered the angel a sad, empathetic smile. "Of course it is, Cas."

Touched, Cas's face softened. "Thank you, Sam. You have a very kind heart. It reminds me of…" he caught himself and the gentle, whisper-quiet smile he'd had on his face fell away. He glanced over at the Trans. "I'm going to give you two a minute and see about fixing Kevin's severed finger and taking him and his mother to Garth."

Dean looked at Cas in slight surprise. "Wait, you know Garth?"

"Yes," Cas said, his eyes going faraway and into a memory that must have been painful from the look on his face. "He worked his way through college 'spinning discs,'" he said gravely, then looked down as his face contorted. He then got a hold of himself and walked off, heading for the Trans.

Sam was confused at the 'spinning discs' comment. "Uh… _okay_."

Gathering himself and using all of the inner strength he had, Dean braced himself and forced the words out of him. "Look, Sam… I'm sorry."

Sam's face fell—he looked both hopeful and scared shitless to talk about it. "I—I know," he said softly, abruptly incredibly vulnerable. "Me too." For what, he didn't say. He just looked off and around for a second, his face showing his inner struggle of not knowing what exactly to say. "I—I just wish to god she could have skipped the Winchester curse, you know? I would give anything for that. _Anything_." He hesitated and became a little anxious—his eyes showed that he was grudging to say what he was about to say. "In fact, I uh… I tried to fix it."

Dean's eyebrows slowly drifted inwards in dread. "Sam…" he started warningly.

But it was worse than he thought. "Last night I… I went out and found a crossroads."

Dean's heart slammed into the top of his throat in alarm. " _Sam_ …!" he exclaimed in a breathless, scared voice.

Rueful and even ashamed, Sam shook his head, brushing off his brother's panicked reaction. "Don't get worried, Dean. The red-eyed bitch gave me a look like I was from Planet Zorlon and told me to get lost."

Dean was only a little relieved, then rubbed his forehead with his hand before he nodded stiffly, wan. " _Well_ … I did the same thing."

It was Sam's turn to be shocked and beside himself. " _What_?! Dean!"

With a shrug, Dean put his hands up briefly. "This morning when I got breakfast and said they were short-staffed. I did the same damn thing you did." Sam gaped and Dean shook his head repeatedly, his face a mask of regret. "I would have sold it in a flat Texas second. But that two-bit crossroads asshole laughed in my damn face." He looked off blankly, searching the distance for something he couldn't find. His voice softened and became more raw. "She really is gone. No re-dos. No takebacks. No loopholes." He paused long and hard. "Guess this is how normal people feel when they lose someone."

Sam hesitated to reply. "Did we though?"

Dean was immediately suspicious. "What do you mean?"

"Something just feels... _weird_ here," Sam said, shaking his head and lowering his voice conspiratorially. "Cas. How did he get out? And if people don't get sick and die in Purgatory, why did Alex? And why would the demons refuse us _both_? You I get since you already sold it the once, but me…? Perfectly good soul, unless maybe the cage did something to it, I dunno… I just…"

"You think… you think Cas is lying about her being dead?" Dean questioned, trying to understand what Sam was getting at.

"No," Sam said immediately. "Not lying. I just… something's _off_ , right? Maybe he got confused or tricked, maybe he has angel amnesia, maybe she's still in Purgatory and she pushed him out and the portal did something to his brain and she couldn't come through for some reason?"

Dean looked at his little brother sadly. Sam was really reaching. Really trying to find some hope. "I'd like to believe that, Sam," he said honestly. "But… if he says he can't sense her anymore, I really think that means… that she's…" he choked a little on his own voice. "He always could sense her before. Even when we were in Purgatory, he said he could feel her soul or some sappy creepshow stuff like that. And do you see how torn up he is?" Dean knew why Sam didn't want to accept it. For the same reason he didn't. But there really seemed to be no way around it this time. "Look, I wanna believe we could go to Purgatory and find her there and it all be some huge mixup too, but… it's not. I can feel it." Sam looked like his world had been crushed all over again and Dean got that. "But we still got one mystery to solve. Fact of the matter is, someone or some _thing_ got him out of there unless, I dunno, angel grief causes inter dimensional teleportation."

Sam was silent for a long moment, thinking it all over for a good long minute. He finally gave a sad little air laugh. "Maybe I'm just in denial, huh?" he asked, and that's when Dean saw how his eyes were shining. "Dean… I know I made some choices that you think are unforgivable. Hell, _I_ think what I did was unforgivable. But… but I need another chance. I'm not like that. You know I'm not. All I ever _wanted_ was for you and Alex to be safe and happy. I never wanted to let either of you down. I never want you to say I wouldn't give anything for this family. For you. For her. Because I'd give _everything_. I know I'm a failure. I know I'm not half the man you expected me to be. I'm not half the man _I_ expected me to be. And I'm not asking you to forgive me right now. Maybe someday you can. Maybe someday _I_ can forgive me, too. I just want… I wanna be brothers again. I want us to make this work."

Cas's statement about second chances floated around in Dean's mind as he looked at his brother with a new compassion. "Me too," he said softly. He felt a tug of remorse and pain in his chest. "I know I'm hard on you Sam. I try not to be."

Sam was teary-eyed and in pain but gave a brave, teasing smile. "Try harder," he said.

It was supposed to be a half-joke but really, it was how Sam felt and they both knew it. "I know," Dean said, nodding and hating himself for always hurting and pushing away the ones he loved. "I know. I will."

Sam sniffed and tried to stay composed. "I'll try too," he said. And Dean looked at his brother and didn't understand how in any universe this Sam— _his_ Sam—could have ever walked away like he had. But Dean was going to try to forgive him. He was gonna _try_.

Dean gave his brother a hesitant, sad smile. "Sounds like a plan, Sammy," he said softly, using the nickname that came from a very tenderhearted place. Sam noticed and nodded, fighting himself harder. It was funny. Sam was thirty. But he looked like a damn kid who needed to be told it was gonna be okay. And for that moment, his walls were torn down and Dean impulsively did what he should have done a long time ago. Pulled Sammy into a big bear hug. "C'mere," he said, and locked his arms around Sam. The brothers hugged for the first time since Dean had come back from Purgatory. And Sam—taller, heavier, bigger than Dean—cried into his brother's shoulder as Dean promised that it was gonna be okay.


	112. Consign Me Not to Darkness

" _Without you in my arms, I feel an emptiness in my soul. I find myself searching the crowds for your face_ _—_ _I know it's an impossibility, but I cannot help myself._ "  
\- Nicholas Sparks

* * *

**The Next Day**

An angel in a trench coat stood alone on a foggy morning outside of a steepled building. With eyes empty and hands that were emptier still, he faced the little church and remained unmoving for what was turning into hours. The lights inside the building glowed through the glass windows like beacons in the morning chill, warmly promising hope and comfort that Castiel felt sure wasn't possible to obtain. What could ever alleviate the pain he felt; the despair that filled his every waking moment? The only sunshine in his life—she had been snuffed out forever.

Cas's mournful gaze slid to the nearby church billboard for what must have been the hundredth time. _See Us Inside About Grief Counseling_. His eyes went to the church again and he fought himself on whether or not to go inside and seek help. Something inside of him kept saying _no. No, Castiel_.

Some unknown force kept him rooted to the spot even though his wounded emotions begged him to find a way to lessen the pain that was slowly destroying his heart and mind. Grief. It ate him alive. It was every moment of every day. It was the weight on his shoulders and the shadow that had taken over his entire world.

Grief was a name, Alex—a girl who was loved beyond the description of words; a girl who was utterly _gone_. Grief was the thought of her smile and her laugh and the trust that had rested in the depths of her hazel eyes—it was the sound of his name from her lips—it was the comfort of her arms around him. Those were all things he would never have back ever again. And that was the cold reality. Not for the first time and certainly not for the last, Castiel thought about the very worst thing in all of existence: _she_ _'_ _s gone_. And it didn't make sense. In _every possible way,_ it didn't make sense. Nothing was bright anymore. Nothing gave him hope and everything made him feel worse. He wasn't sure why he was still even _alive_ at this point. He quite literally _could not_ carry the feeling that her loss had inspired in him. His heart and mind were being ripped apart painfully, slowly, endlessly and he couldn't take it much longer. Each moment, each tick of the clock keeping time of the universe only served to dishearten and destroy the angel further. What was left for him if not her? Guilt and grief and confusion were drowning him anew and the knowledge that this was his fault plagued him.

In a flash of disconnected, blurry memories, he recalled her returning to Purgatory for him but she'd been oddly and inexplicably sick. Pale, weak, slow, feeble. _Why?_ He questioned that and then suddenly felt he shouldn't question it. In fact, questioning that fact was _bad_.

_Accept what you_ _'_ _re told. Stop questioning everything, Castiel. I_ _'_ _ve told you what_ _'_ _s at stake if you don_ _'_ _t obey._

Left in a daze, Cas remembered the way Alex had rapidly gone downhill and gotten sicker and sicker in the endless wasteland of Purgatory. It had ended without real warning. They had been trying to fight their way out of that hellscape one moment, then he'd been holding her on the ground as she died in his arms the next. He remembered fingers clutching him and the sound of her lungs failing as her eyes showed wild panic. And he could do nothing. "You have to serve Heaven," she had told him with her last breaths as he begged her not to die. "For me, Castiel. _Promise me_." Cas faltered internally as he remembered that… why would she say that to him? It didn't make sense. Alex had never cared about Heaven before. And she had never told Castiel where to place his allegiances. She had always wanted him to choose for himself. And she didn't call him Castiel. Not often.

… _Something is wrong here,_ he thought _. Very, very wrong._

_No. Everything is fine._

The conflicting voices in his mind only served to upset him further. Everything was _not_ fine and never _would_ be, but for reasons he couldn't remember and didn't know, Castiel accepted his lot in life and agreed to stop questioning everything. _Serve Heaven and maybe she lives, Castiel_. Eyes filling with tears as he thought of the woman he loved to the point of a dull ache in his chest, Castiel tightened his jaw and felt his breathing quicken as he tried to regulate his wavering emotions. He wanted to weep for all the helplessness and confusion he felt. But what good would that do?

Footsteps sounded behind him, a soft tap-tap slowly ambling up the sidewalk. A small, hunched over elderly gentleman stopped there near Cas and seeing his despondency this man hesitated, then offered a greeting. "Hello young man," he said, and his kindly faded blue eyes were genuine, concerned, and curious. "Is something wrong?" the man asked. His voice rasped weakly, all the vibrancy taken away by the years he'd lived. "Can I help you?"

Castiel felt like he might break completely at the offer of help from a stranger. The older man had a name tag on that identified him as a church deacon. Cas was completely humbled and vulnerable in that moment because he needed hope and help so badly. "I—I'm not sure," he began uncertainly. "I—" And then there was a flash of sterile white, a severe warning, a jumping sensation in his heart. _Walk away_. _Go back to the Winchesters_. Becoming withdrawn and grim, Cas shook his head and backed away from the elderly man. "Never mind," he said, and then walked away as he had been told… but he didn't _remember_ being told. He only remembered knowing he had to obey because the stakes were so high. And then, two seconds later, he didn't even remember knowing _that._

* * *

**Gas-n-Sip  
Red Oak, Iowa**

After calling Dean using the phone the boys had gotten him yesterday, Cas reunited with them in Iowa. They were on the move again even though they had no job lined up. Perhaps it was out of the need to do something and occupy themselves—the need to fill their time with something other than thinking, dwelling, and hurting. Whatever it was, Cas didn't ask. Speaking took an energy he didn't possess. So, while Sam fueled the car up and stared off into the distance sightlessly, as Dean wandered around the convenience store looking for breakfast with a stony expression, Cas followed him aimlessly, eyeing the aisles and their contents with melancholy half-interest and growing sadness. Every last thing he saw in that place reminded him of what was lost. The candies, the packaged snack foods—his eyes searched for and went to her favorites and his heart ached and ached and _ached_. Every time he saw something he recognized, the ache got worse and the pain twisted his insides more deeply. And then he came to a section of the aisle that had items marked 'feminine hygiene' and he abruptly crumbled because it was all too much. He remembered when she had needed some of these items and had taken him with her to get them—she'd been drunk and laughing and making jokes with him and looking at him with eyes full of life, promise, affection. Castiel picked up a box of tampons very slowly and stared at it like he had never beheld anything more heart-wrenching.

He remembered how in love he'd been, back then.

How in love he was still.

How in love he always would be.

It _broke_ him. And in the middle of the gas station convenience store, the angel began to cry under the weight of all the impossible feelings he was consumed by. Immediately, he drew stares, but he didn't notice. He used his free hand to support himself against the shelf as his mind spun and his heart wrenched and every last nerve he possessed was numbed and seared alike by pain. And then he sensed someone close looking at him and through swimming vision, he pathetically looked over to see who was gawking. A gas station employee—a late-teens girl with thick-rimmed glasses and messy hair and a lip ring stared at him dumbly. " _Dude._ " She gaped, her expression hovering between weirded out and very concerned. "…You okay?"

The way the girl looked at him made him remember that it wasn't socially acceptable in America to cry in public. With every ounce of control he had, he made himself stop. He glanced around and sniffed, seeing other patrons and their odd, uncomfortable stares. Near the coffee bar, Dean was watching him, too. But he only looked like he commiserated with the weeping. Then Dean looked away, dodging his friend's teary gaze. Castiel refocused on the person who had asked him if he was okay. His eyes went to the girl's name tag. It said _Hello, My Name is Fran_. What a question Fran was posing to him. What a sad state of reality he found himself in. Was he okay? He shook his head no, embarrassed and avoiding her gaze completely as he brushed pitifully at his wet cheeks. "No," he replied in a low, sad murmur. This next part was said more to himself than to her. "And I don't think I'll ever be okay ever again." He looked at the box of tampons he still held. Perhaps it wasn't the most eloquent symbol nor the most appropriate. But it was an unrelenting reminder of his loss. Important to him, somehow. As was everything concerning her. His expression wavered as he looked at that box.

Although this gas station employee was a total stranger, she eyed Cas a couple beats longer and took in his obvious distress then cautiously, uncertainly showed him some grace. "Hey, uh, take the tampons, man. No charge, all right?" Confused, Cas looked at her more closely. It was then that he realized she had no idea of what was plaguing him but she was nevertheless trying to do something kind for him. She obviously sensed how deep down his sorrow went and his heart unclenched, just a little. Fran's eyes went to the tampons and then back to Cas, and she gave him a tight, unsure smile. "Um, hopefully things can get better for you soon?" she asked, her tone a little shy and nervous and awkward.

Startled and humbled by the small act of kindness and the words of encouragement, Cas finally really _looked_ at this human being. Some people, he could see more of than others. Francine Pasquerelli was one who was easy to see into for him. Outwardly she was unremarkable and easy to pass over. She looked on the sullen side, maybe even rebellious thanks to the lip ring. But what Cas saw was more than the average person could: Fran was a young, single mother who was going to school online to get a degree and make a better life for herself and her son. She worked herself ragged here at the gas station, sacrificed everything she had once had in a personal life, and never complained about it… even if she wanted to. Her parents had disowned her for getting pregnant so young—the bills were sky high, the state assistance wasn't enough, she had the painful beginnings of young-onset rheumatoid arthritis, her anxiety disorder made everything difficult, and Fran basically had very few people on her side. She was tired, depressed, worn out, felt like she was up against an impossible world, but she was also _determined_. She loved her son, Joey, more than anything, and her goal in life was to leave the world a little better than she had found it. Joey gave her the drive to be better every day and to help others who needed help. And all of that was inspirational to Cas and left him feeling thunderstruck. " _Thank you_ ," he said, saying the words with every ounce of earnestness he felt. He suddenly felt like he should be helping _her._

Fran nodded once, obviously feeling awkward and uncomfortable under his intense, unwavering gaze. " _Yup_. Don't um, mention it." She mumbled those last few words then poked at some items on the nearby shelf, trying to look like she had official business there, then she scurried off and back to the safety of the checkout counter.

Cas watched her go. It was amazing, really. Human beings and their willingness to help others even when they themselves were facing such dire straits. Maybe he should be the same. Perhaps people out there like Fran… perhaps he could help them in some way. Maybe that could be his purpose now. It would bring honor to Alex. It would 'do right by her' as Dean had said yesterday. And in that moment, he made his decision. Cas set the box of tampons back onto the shelf and wandered up the aisle, his eyes landing on the newspaper. An idea came to him and he picked up the newspaper and looked over at Fran who was already watching him. "Can I have this instead?" he asked.

She eyed him a couple seconds and shrugged although she appeared to be questioning herself at that point. "Uh sure, whatever you want, buddy."

He marveled at the tenacity of the human spirit because he knew even at that very moment Fran was battling physical pain and fatigue. "You're very kind, Francine," Cas observed quietly, startling her at the use of her full name. She looked down at her name tag like she was checking to see if it read differently than she recalled. By the time she looked up, the angel in the trench coat was right there near her and touching her hand on the countertop.

"Hey, what—!" she began, flustered.

Cas had already taken his hand off hers. "I don't think you'll have problems with the arthritis anymore," he said, his expression secretive and knowing but tainted by the sadness that followed him everywhere now. Without anything further, he turned and headed out of the store with his newspaper. Fran watched him walk out and then looked at her hand and flexed it with a dumbstruck look on her face. The stiffness and constant dull ache was gone. _How?!_ She looked after the retreating man's form and she was speechless.

A surly looking young man with green eyes and devastatingly good looks rapped on the counter rudely, demanding her attention and distracting her. "Hey, lady, any day now," he said, indicating the two coffees he was waiting to pay for.

* * *

Sam leaned against the back of the Impala as he nodded and held the cell phone to his ear. "Right, yeah," he said, distracted and barely listening to the animated voice on the other end. "No, just, uh—just call us whenever you find something." He quickly added in an important reminder: "Something _legit_ , not just, you know… um, more of the same stuff you've been calling about." Wrong thing to say. A couple seconds later, he was backpedaling and kicking himself mentally as Mrs. Tran squawked indignantly in his ear. "No, _no_ , of course not—no, no, I'm not trying to be rude—" Dean finally reappeared from inside the gas station store, coffees in hand and a stony mask for a face. Sam watched him idly as he approached. "Yeah. Yeah, 'course. Right. No, I—I, uh…" Dean shoved a cup of coffee at Sam when he got there and Sam took the opportunity to duck the phone call. "Yeah, hey, you know what? Uh, Dean's here. He _really_ wants to talk to you." Sam handed the phone over and mouthed 'Mrs. Tran.' It had only been about twelve hours since they had gotten the Trans situated and she had already called like five times to report in with basically nothing to report at all.

Looking utterly done with Sam's palm off, Dean took the phone and put on a falsely chipper tone. "Mrs. Tran, yeah, _hi_ , uh—" he pushed the end call button and threw the phone back at Sam abruptly. "Tunnel," he explained sarcastically. "So, what's going on in Tran-land?"

Sam gave a heavy sigh. "Same thing as the _other_ ten times she called. Kevin's having trouble reading their half of the tablet. Nothing about boarding up Hell from what he _can_ make of it."

Dean was grim. "Yeah. _Awesome_." He took a sip of his drink and apparently the taste of it launched him more deeply into depression. "Dude this coffee sucks," he complained flatly. He looked like he had never had a worse day in all his life. Something told Sam it wasn't the coffee that had his brother looking so morose.

Ever since finding out about Alex… what had happened to her… each day seemed worse and sadder than the last. "It's better than nothing," Sam offered with a hollow shrug, eyeing his own coffee and feeling aversion to the thought of drinking it. They didn't talk about her. Dean in particular refused. That left Sam to the wiles of his own mind where the feeling, the _instinct_ carried on that she wasn't really dead. He didn't want to believe she was dead, it just didn't _feel_ right, but he logically knew he probably should believe it. After all, Cas wouldn't lie, and if he were convinced, shouldn't Sam be convinced, too? But there was a faint sense in the back of Sam's mind and heart that kept bugging him and saying that if there was even a chance she might still be out there—he should find out. But Dean refused to hear it. So for now, Sam left it alone and wrote off his own feelings as that of grief and denial.

Seeming to sense that Sam's thoughts were on their sister, Dean physically distanced himself from his brother, ambling down toward where Cas leaned at the front of the Impala with a newspaper. The angel was reading it in stern focus and did not look up at Dean's approach. "What's the word, Cas?" Dean asked in a forcibly casual tone.

"It's a shortened version of my name," Cas mumbled in reply, his frown still aimed at the paper.

Dean looked a little perturbed by the typical comment from the literally-minded angel. "Yes," he sighed. "Yes it _is_. I meant what's the word on the Word? Any, uh, tablet chatter on angel radio?"

Cas glanced at Dean almost grudgingly. "I… don't know," he said lowly. "I turned that off."

Sam's interest was piqued even as he wondered why. "You can do that?"

"Yes, it's a simple matter of blocking out certain subsonic frequencies," Cas supplied stiffly. "I could draw you a diagram if you want."

Dean looked short on patience. "No, that's—we're good. Why'd you flip the switch?"

Cas hesitated, looking ill-prepared to answer the question for a beat before the emotion on his face was wiped away. He answered blandly as he folded up the newspaper delicately. "Because it's a direct link to Heaven. And I don't want anything to do with that place anymore."

Visibly surprised, Dean considered his answer for a second before accepting it. "Uh. _Okay_." He eyed the angel in confused discernment and shared a brief glance with Sam. Weird. "So what now?"

Cas took in a deep, slow breath and thought a second before replying. "Well, we look for signs of Crowley and wait for him to hopefully reappear with the other half of the tablet. And in the meantime…" he looked down, becoming almost contrite or rueful _._ "I've decided that I need to help people. That I need to… to _save_ people." His jaw tightened. "Carry on your sister's legacy in a way and, as you said, make what she did for us count." His sad eyes met Dean's and then Sam's. He drew his shoulders a little higher and tried to look more confident, more hopeful. "So… I'm gonna become a hunter."

Sam's eyebrows rose faintly—he had _not_ expected _that_. " _Really,_ " he commented in slight doubtfulness. He didn't know if Cas had the stomach or the mindset for it—but he guessed if losing a loved one was the starting block for hunting, Cas met the prerequisite.

"Yes," Cas said, then indicated the paper he had folded up. "And to start off, I found us a case. Oklahoma City—a man's heart jumped ten feet out of his chest. That sounds like our kind of thing, right?"

Dean looked pleasantly surprised and glanced at his brother. Mildly impressed, Sam nodded. "Yeah, it does," he said, and could literally see his brother's thought process: a job. A distraction. Something to do. People to save. A place to hide from his own feelings. Sam felt the same way.

And maybe Cas did too. "Good," the angel said, and nodded a goodbye before turning away. "I'll see you there."

Dean was already following him and grabbing him by the shoulder to turn him back around. "Wait wait wait, Cas, Cas! If you want to play cowboys and bloodsuckers, that's fine. But you're gonna stick with us, okay? None of this zapping around crap, capiche? You wanna be part of the team, you're in the car."

Cas looked severely disappointed. "I find car rides irksome and depressing," he muttered, eyeing the Impala loathingly.

"Dude, that's what being a human is all _about_ ," Dean retorted. "A million things pissing you off and or depressing you all day long." He paused at scrutinized Cas closely, more somberly. "Anyway, I don't think you should be alone right now." The two of them exchanged a significant look—Cas was guilty, Dean was sympathetic. "Saw you in there crying over girl stuff, buddy." Sam frowned in confusion at that statement. Crying over girl stuff?

Peevishly, Cas conceded Dean's point. "I suppose you're right." With a hefty sigh, Cas agreed. "I'll ride with you, then." Dean nodded and began to round the car, heading for the driver's seat with his coffee still in hand. Cas slowly headed to the passenger side door. "Can I, uh, at least ride in the front seat?" he ventured.

" _No_!" Dean and Sam said in unison even as Sam shouldered past Cas for his spot in the vehicle.

Dean started the engine and glanced back as the angel got into the back seat. Cas had an odd look on his face and he was looking at the seat with an intense, sad stare. "Yo," Dean said. "Earth to Cas."

The angel didn't look up. Merely placed a hand down onto the seat beside himself sadly. "This is where she sat," he murmured.

Sam and Dean were both momentarily speechless, stilled and startled by Cas's observation and the out-of-the-blue reminder. The atmosphere of heavy grief returned with the angel's observation. Similarly quieted and troubled, the brothers exchanged a brief, guilty glance. Perhaps they were not mourning as publicly or as intentionally as they should have. It was like they were just trying to forget her and save themselves the pain. And Cas was in the gas station crying over girl stuff and sitting in the back seat and touching it with a reverent, sad hand as he allowed himself to grieve her and think about her. "Yeah," Dean finally managed. "Yeah it is where she sat."

Sam glanced back at Cas, similarly guilty like Dean was. "Still want the front seat?" he asked.

Cas shook his head once, not meeting either gaze. "No," he said quietly, his voice carrying a hundred unspoken sorrows. "I want to sit here." Where she used to sit.

Dean took in a deep breath and tried to get a hold of himself because it was hard in moments like that. "Fair enough," he said in a stiff, gravelly voice. He put the car in drive and they hit the road. Dean did not turn on the music. Nothing was said for a very long time—thirty minutes or more. But all three men were deep in thought, each of them lost in worries, fears, doubts, guilts. And sadness. So much sadness.

Sighing in veiled frustration, Cas took his eyes off the passing scenery about forty-five minutes in to the journey. "I don't know how you do this all the time," he complained.

Dean shrugged a shoulder up faintly. "You get used to it, Cas."

"You _never_ get used to it," Sam countered with wry humor.

A couple long seconds passed in which the constant background noise of the highway and the flying asphalt was punctuated by the rhythmic squeaking of the car body. Dean, who kept glancing back at Cas as if he were trying to decide something, finally spoke up. "Tell ya what, Cas. You can do a quick little field trip for me if you're up to it. Might break up your boring Tuesday commute."

Curious, Castiel frowned. "What is the errand?"

Dean cleared his throat and became self-conscious. "I uh, I want you to check on James, if you can," he said. At the surprised look he got from Sam, Dean was mildly defensive. "Just—just make sure she's… you know. Still, I dunno, _alive_. Haven't heard from her in awhile and it kinda blows huge chunks."

Cas squinted at the colloquialism but made no comment about it. Instead he readily agreed to do what his friend had asked of him. "Of course, Dean. I'll be back momentarily."

And then the angel disappeared into thin air, leaving the brothers together in the car with an empty back seat.

* * *

**Tilton, New Hampshire**

It only took Castiel two nanoseconds to locate Jamie Ward as she was not hidden from angels nor warded against anything. He found her sitting in a scenic city park that was bustling with parents and small children. Jamie wore a long sleeved black hoodie with the hood pulled up to obscure her features and she sat on a park bench removed from everyone else. She sat leaned over her knees, concentration making her features sharp. She was watching a nearby birthday party taking place at an adjacent picnic table and she was watching so closely that she didn't even notice when Castiel appeared beside her just a few feet away. Cas followed her gaze and with a quizzical expression on his face, he looked over the scene for what she was looking at so intently. He saw a cake that said ' _Happy 1st Birthday Marley_!' on the the center of the picnic table. There were balloons tied to everything and small screaming children running around the immediate area like hyper animals—tired parents loitered the area and commiserated with each other with mere looks. A fussy one-year-old wore a 'birthday girl' outfit and continually strained forward in her mother's lap trying to get to the untouched cake on the picnic table.

But none of that was what Jamie was watching. Instead, Jamie was very focused on one particular family that was attending the party, a family of three—a small, meek, kind looking man with round glasses and his smiling, petite wife who held a tiny baby—the baby was perhaps a month old or so and wrapped in pink blankets. In a conversation with an older lady, the couple was practically beaming and nodding together graciously as this woman fawned over their infant. After attempting to discern why Jamie was watching that family unit so closely, Cas could fathom no reason why and decided to announce his presence by simply asking. "Why are you watching that family?"

His deep voice made her jump and Jamie fell sideways, nearly tumbling off the bench as she stared at him with wide, pale eyes. "Jesus _Christ_!" she hissed, clutching a hand to her heart as she managed to stay put on the bench and not fall down.

"No… I'm Castiel," he corrected, wondering if she did not remember him. "We've met before."

Flustered and disconcerted, Jamie was visibly agitated and stood up like it was a confrontation. "I know who you _are_. What are you _doing_ here?!" The second she asked that defensive question, her face fell and she clearly realized why he was there. "Dean sent you," she said softly. She looked almost guilty about it, emotional pain flashing across her strong features. Her anger left in place of uncertainty.

"Yes," Castiel confirmed. "He's… worried."

That moment of openness she had shown was lost as Jamie put up an outer act of sarcasm. "How sweet," she muttered, then clenched her jaw and gave Castiel a reason for what she was doing at the park: "I'm working a case." She sat down again and crossed her arms over her upper body as she began to work very hard at _not_ watching the family she'd been watching.

Narrowing his eyes for a couple of silent beats, the angel took in her expression, the way her fingers nervously twitched around without stopping, the slight flare of her nostrils. And he did not believe her. "I sense deception," he said, studying her closely. Her outward signs of nervousness, however small and disguised, did not escape him. "You're not telling the truth," he pressed. She glared at him, daring him to keep accusing her of lying. And then Cas looked where she did not want him to: at the family she'd been watching. He eyed the baby that was being so gently cradled by the mother and he frowned deeply, trying to understand why Jamie would be obsessively watching that child—and then suddenly, it dawned over him so incredulously that he felt his face go soft and his eyebrows raise up. He looked back at Jamie, whose face was being held gaunt in dread. And he knew it was true before he even asked. "You didn't miscarry Dean's child, did you?" he asked quietly, and he was utterly stunned at this revelation. Jamie looked _so guilty_ and so caught, but he could also see how she was planning to deny it. So he gave her a gentle look and encouraged her not to lie. "Jamie, I _am_ an angel," he reminded gently.

She said nothing for a long moment. Her eyes were becoming red as she held back tears she obviously wanted to cry. And then she admitted everything with slouched shoulders and a voice that had lost all confidence and all guard. "Fine. _No_. I didn't miscarry. I—I had the baby, okay? Almost three months ago." Jamie's red eyes flickered downward and pain she tried to hide flitted across her face. "S-she was a little early." At Cas's expression of concern and misunderstanding, Jamie explained in a voice that attempted to sound sure. "I thought Dean was _dead,_ Castiel. And I knew my time was running down. What was I _supposed_ to do? I… I just wanted her to have a good, normal life." She looked back at the happy couple who was holding her baby and her voice wavered and weakened. "So I went to an agency. Found a couple who couldn't get pregnant. They wanted to adopt a baby and had been on a waiting list for years…" She watched the family with a longing Cas knew and recognized. She looked like she felt like an outsider, a reject, like she could never belong in the scenario happening just fifty feet away but she wanted to so badly. "They're so _boring,_ _"_ she whispered in a forlorn tone. Like she had never seen anything more desirable or unattainable in her entire life. "So _normal_. So _nice_." Swallowing and taking a second to steady herself, Jamie clenched her jaw against the obvious urge to admit defeat. "She's theirs now." She sounded blank inside.

Castiel hesitated and then gingerly sat down beside Jamie, taking a moment to let her collect herself. She said this child belonged to those people now… "And yet here you are," he murmured softly, commenting without words on how he recognized that she hadn't let go in the least.

Jamie said nothing for a long moment. "It just—it feels _wrong_ not to be near her," she whispered, voice cracking as she looked down and fought hard not to lose it. "I never even got to hold her."

Castiel looked at her sidelong, hurting on her behalf with this revelation. Jamie had always come across as such a hard, shrewd person to him before. But now he saw a defeated woman who had lost everything and was in the pits of despair. He saw utter vulnerability and self-loathing and pain so pervasive it was a wonder she could carry herself at all anymore. "Why didn't you tell Dean the truth?" he asked gently after a moment. Surely if the two of them could _share_ this burden somehow.

Another wave of guilt rolled over her face and she obviously was fighting herself on how she felt about her answer. "Because this would _kill_ him like it's killing me," she finally said, then looked at her daughter in a way only a mother can. The love and the pain warred on her face and neither won. "That little girl needs to have a safe life. A _good_ life. And with me and Dean…?" A rueful, self-loathing expression passed over Jamie's face. "She'd never have a single fucking chance. I can't risk him pulling something or trying to take her back from them or something. She's safe here. _Safe_. It's the hardest thing in the world but—I really think this is where she belongs." Tears spilled onto her cheeks and she looked down, clearly ashamed of herself. Perhaps she thought she was abandoning this child.

"Jamie…" Cas began, his voice thick with apprehensiveness and sympathy.

She looked at him directly, her eyes abruptly severe and desperate. "You _cannot_ tell Dean about this," she said, cutting him off. " _Please_ , Castiel. I know we're not friends and we don't know each other… but I'm not too proud to beg about this. All I want is for my daughter to be _safe_. To have something _stable_. To get a real chance at life, to have a clean slate…" she faltered in pain. "The things Dean and I never had." A soft, bitter smile crossed her lips as she allowed herself a moment to indulge in the what ifs. "Dean would be the best dad," she said softly. "I know that. He would be _incredible._ " The smile fell away. "But he's too far into this life. He can't get out. And I _refuse_ for her to be in this even a little bit. And me, I'm… I'm _dead_. Even if I _weren_ _'_ _t_ … even if my time wasn't about to be up, I'm a curse. I'd only destroy that kid's life." She really believed that, Cas realized. And she looked at the couple holding her daughter and looked both pained and grateful. "Bill and Caroline are good people. She's in the right place. I believe that." She looked down and absently worked her fingers together. Tears ran down her cheeks silently. "I think I can die a little easier knowing that."

Castiel was silent for a long moment. He recognized how she was trying to share how she felt with him and also thinking he couldn't relate or understand her dilemma. But, he could in a way. He could very much so, in fact. "I was going to be a father once," he murmured, watching a dark haired little girl with pigtails playing nearby.

Genuine surprise showed and Jamie's pale eyes studied him closely. "With Alex?" she guessed cautiously after a couple beats.

"Yes," he said, remembering finding out and how devastating it had been to know they had lost the little life that their love had created. "But… something happened." He didn't have to go into further detail—his tone said it all, and Jamie nodded somberly, understanding. "I can only imagine the responsibility and love you feel toward your child," Castiel continued hesitantly. "But… I don't want to lie to Dean." He had spent enough time deceiving his friend in the past. And if Dean ever found out about this and knew Cas had kept it from him… it would be unforgivable.

"I don't wanna lie to him either, but my priority is _her,_ _"_ Jamie said, and her tone indicated that there was no other option. "She's what matters the most. And I hate to say it but Dean's a loose cannon. I love the guy, I do, but—" she said that so assertively it was like she hadn't even heard herself speak and her face went slack when she realized she'd said 'love.' Attempting to save face, Jamie quickly tried to move on but she was obviously uncomfortable. "I—I, I… don't know what he'd do if he found out about her. I—I can't jeopardize her safety and I _won_ _'_ _t_." She paused and softened, became concerned about something. "That and I don't want him to feel this pain." She said that and then smiled through the devastation. A strange, sad expression. "I just want him go on with his life and not have to feel the guilt and shame and pain. He's had enough happen to him, hasn't he?" So she was trying to protect Dean from emotional pain. Castiel understood that instinct, and it made deciding what to do even harder. She obviously cared about Dean even if she tried to set herself apart as an untouchable island.

The angel let his eyes drift to the family and the child. He couldn't see very well for all the swaddling, but he could see fair blonde hair and a button nose and eyes that were unmistakable green. Just like her father's. "What is her name?" he questioned after a heavy moment's pause.

Immediately, Jamie was visibly affected and it took her a long moment to reply. "They named her Rose," she finally said softly. "My middle name." She tried to laugh to cover up her quickly unraveling emotions. "They wanted to 'pay tribute' to me," she said, and her voice broke and tears fell. "So many people just want the birthmother out of the picture forever and don't even want her to exist. T-they're so fucking _nice._ " Almost angrily, Jamie swiped at her cheeks.

What a tragedy it was. Castiel did understand her feelings on this matter and the complications that were present. "I'm very sorry, Jamie Ward," he said heavily. He did not envy her sad situation in the least.

Watching her daughter with worried eyes, Jamie hesitated. "Can you… can you check on her, Castiel? Time to time?" She looked at him, her eyes silently begging. "Just… make sure she's okay here and there?"

Castiel was deeply reluctant. "I think Dean should be the one who—"

"No," she said immediately and sharply. "I told you _no_. I am _not_ adding another impossible responsibility to that man's life. It would be too much for him." She swallowed hard, losing the harder edge for a moment. "And if he knew about her, Dean might do to _her_ what his dad did to _him_."

Although a little startled by that presumption, Cas couldn't outright disparage the idea. "Maybe he wouldn't," he ventured, hopeful that Dean would be able to do what John Winchester hadn't. Quit the life, put his children first, break the cycle of loss and pain and emotional neglect.

But Jamie shook her head, mind made up even though it obviously agonized her. "Can't risk it. Dean doesn't ever find out about her, _period_. She stays here away from hunting, away from monsters, nightmares, curses; away from her real parents. The only thing I've ever done for the people I love is get them killed or hurt. I won't allow her to be on that list. And I'll be gone soon anyway. She never even has to know the heartache she came from."

Torn, Cas couldn't help but protest again. "Dean is a _father_ , he should _know_."

" _Castiel,_ " Jamie implored, her voice breaking. "You don't think I feel the same way? I almost told him a million times. I want him to know, I do. I _know_ how fucked up this is to never tell him." She choked on her own voice. "But he _can_ _'_ _t_ know, _ever_." Jamie looked over towards Rose, then back at Cas. "For her. _Please_. Promise me."

Grim, Cas watched Rose being rocked lovingly by her adoptive mother and saw how Jamie watched in heartbrokenness. And with a deep, long inhale, he nodded once. "I won't tell him," he agreed heavily.

Miserable relief flooded Jamie's face and she looked like she might weep. " _Thank you,_ " she whispered.

They were quiet a moment longer. "Do you plan to stay near Rose until the end?" Cas finally asked. It was morbid, he supposed.

"Yeah," she confirmed quietly. "I'm… just basically waiting, now." She swallowed hard and hesitated, eyeing Cas sidelong. Her voice softened. "Is—is Dean okay?"

He heard many things in her voice about him. Doubts, fears, insecurities, care, worry. Cas shook his head, his eyes going into the distance unseeingly. "Not really." He looked down, sick to his stomach. "I suppose you don't know yet. Alex is dead."

Jamie's face lost color and registered immediate dismayed shock. " _What_?!"

"Yes," Castiel said and stood up, solemn and grim. "It seems the only guarantee in this life is death," he reflected gravely, feeling a strange disconnect between his feelings and the words he spoke. His regretful gaze went to the witch. "I'm sorry, Jamie Ward. If I could, I would help you. But a soul deal must be paid."

She was poised even in her pain and shock. "I know," she said. She stood, too, watching Cas in anxious, dread-filled grief. "H-how did she die? What happened?"

Pain exploded anew in Cas's heart as he thought of the one he loved dying in his arms. "Needlessly," he said gruffly, avoiding looking into Jamie's eyes. He would give _anything_ to have Alex back. Anything to save her. But nothing could do that. He'd had his chance and it was gone. Becoming internally wrecked, Castiel hid behind a mask and a flat tone. "Now if you'll excuse me. I need to go." He paused. "But I know Dean would feel great relief if you would call him."

To his surprise, Jamie nodded her agreement. "I will," she promised, perhaps spurred to make communication by the knowledge that Dean was suffering. "I _should_ have." Sorrowful, she looked down as she processed everything she'd just been told.

He understood to a degree. He had hidden things before and in the end it had given him nothing but regret. So he offered a parting piece of wisdom that he had learned the hardest way in the world. "If you want my advice… the truth is always the better option. But I respect that this is your decision and your child," he said. "And I will not tell him. I leave that up to you." It sounded so final, the words he spoke next: "Goodbye, Jamie Ward."

And when she opened her mouth to reply to him, he had already disappeared.

* * *

When Cas reappeared in the Impala, Sam and Dean started slightly. When the angel said nothing, Dean looked increasingly nervous. "Well?" he prompted, glancing back repeatedly using the rear view mirror. Obviously, he feared the worst.

Avoiding his friend's gaze, Cas stared out the window and made his face tough and inscrutable. "She's alive, Dean."

The hunter in the driver's seat let out a soft breath as relief made his shoulders relax just a little. "Good. Yeah," he said, obviously having feared the worst. "So… what was she doing? Where was she?" he peered into the rear view mirror and then abruptly frowned and shook his head and refocused on the road. "No, you know what? None of my business," he muttered gruffly. That was a surprising thing for Dean to say. He was quiet for a long couple seconds and then he couldn't help himself from asking more. "She—she look okay at least?" he asked, voice laced with worry.

"No," Cas answered honestly, hoping his friend wouldn't ask him much more. "Sad."

The oldest Winchester looked personally hurt by that word and then confused. "Why won't that girl _call_ me?" he asked no one in particular. Beside him, his brother looked sorry for him. In the back seat, Cas was eaten up with guilt.

And in the front seat, Dean didn't know that a thousand miles away there was a baby girl who had his eyes.


	113. Hunteri Heroici

" _Heroes are made by the paths they choose, not the powers they are graced with._ "  
\- Brodi Ashton

* * *

Not even a full two minutes after Cas reappeared in the Impala, Dean's phone rang. He didn't seem to recognize the number but he answered nonetheless in a tired, wan tone. He probably thought it was going to be Mrs. Tran again. "Hello?" His face abruptly registered intense shock not even a second later and his voice shot up a couple octaves. "… _James_?" Cas and Sam both looked at Dean, who was suddenly panicking a little. "Hey! Uh—yeah, no, I can talk, I can talk," he said, words stumbling out of him like a waterfall as he slammed on the brakes and jerked the car over to the side of the road and to a dead stop. "Just hold on a second—" No sooner had he said that than he got out of the car, shut the door, and walked off ahead of the car in a hurry for privacy.

Left alone, Sam and Cas shared a weighted silence for a moment. Sam watched his brother pace back and forth a dozen paces in front of the car and he wondered what he and Jamie were talking about. Dean had definitely had her on his mind lately and had been kicking himself for 'running her off' as he put it. Maybe this would give him closure. Or maybe Jamie wanted back in. Wondering if maybe they were about to add a fourth person to this ragtag group of theirs, Sam glanced back at Cas, who was staring with a very odd, tense expression at Dean. Hesitating, Sam wondered whether or not he should say anything at all. But concern for his friend won out. "You okay, Cas?" he prompted carefully. He knew Cas wasn't.

Castiel's tortured blue gaze glanced at him briefly before falling away guiltily. "Everyone needs to stop asking me that," he muttered evasively, setting his gaze on the window beside himself. "I'm fine."

A little stung and wondering privately if Cas blamed him in some way for everything that had happened to Alex, Sam nodded stiffly and accepted that Cas didn't want to talk to him. Feeling very alone with his very overwhelming grief and pain, Sam was forced to swallow it down and remain lost in his own sadness and confusion. He again wondered why both he and Dean were turned down when they attempted to sell their souls for her. He wondered why Cas wasn't ripping apart Heaven and earth to find a way to bring her back. He wondered how Dean could be so… _fine._ Fine wasn't the word. But after initially finding out and actually showing emotion about their sister's death, Dean had withdrawn and compartmentalized and shut down. And Cas was trying to do the same thing. It hurt. It didn't seem right. But who was Sam to judge how someone else handled their grief?

He missed Amelia abruptly. She'd been a comforting presence, or at least a haven from the storm. Most of the time. There had been pain, too… especially toward the end. Sam got more and more dismal as he thought about her. He'd thought he found someone. Finally, _finally_ found someone. But now there was only the empty, lonely feeling again. Funny thing—he'd tried calling her a couple days back (bad impulse decision, maybe) but the Amelia Richardson he found in the online phonebook for Kermit, Texas was an elderly woman. He guessed maybe his Amelia wasn't listed in the phonebook. Why had he erased her number from his phone? He didn't even remember doing that.

* * *

**That Evening  
Oklahoma City PD**

After Dean got off the phone with Jamie, he got back into the car and started driving again like nothing had happened. When Sam asked about the phone call, Dean just said she called to check in and say hi and that she wasn't going to be meeting up with them. He didn't volunteer any more information and obviously didn't want to talk about it—but he had spent about fifteen or twenty minutes on the phone with her and there was clearly more to the story. However, Dean closed the subject and Sam let it go albeit a little jealously—Dean had talked to _her_ on that single phone call more than he'd talked to Sam in the past few _days_.

One six hour car ride later and the boys were kicking off their investigation into a strange local death like they very often did: dressed in their FBI blues. There was an odd comfort in that familiar old routine of theirs. It made things easier somehow to assume different identities and disassociate from who they really were and what they were really going through. With Cas tagging along, they got in to see the body in the morgue like they always did: by flashing their badges and keeping it all business.

A female detective escorted them in to where a body was lying on a stainless steel table covered in a sheet. "Coroner said his heart was ejected from his body," she explained in a detached, lofty professional tone. "Got some air, too—they found it in a _sandbox_." She paused and then explained the sandbox comment. "It went down at the local park, but I'm sure that information was on your initial report."

"Right, of course it was. Any idea what happened to him, Detective?" Sam questioned, digging for more information.

Without missing a beat, the wan detective shot Sam a look. "A lot of people are thinking drugs, Agent Nash—an _assload_ of drugs." Well, at least she was honest.

Cas shook his head and spoke to Dean furtively. "There are no narcotics in that man's system… his molecules are all wrong."

Speaking a little louder to cover up Cas's mumbling, Sam competed for the detective's attention. "But you don't think that, huh?"

"Well, never seen an eightball do _this,_ " the detective said, then pulled back the sheet covering the corpse. Dead center of the dead man's chest there was a cookie-cutter heart-shaped hole.

" _Wow_ ," Sam managed, his eyebrows up high as he exchanged a glance with Dean. He hadn't seen anything quite like that before. "Yeah no, me either. And uh, who called this in, again?"

"Friend of his named… Olivia Knopple," the detective said, flipping through her case file on the matter. "She saw the whole thing." Her phone began to ring and she briskly pulled it out and looked at the called ID. "Ah, crap. I have to take this. Here's everything we got." She handed over the case file. "Knock yourself out."

"Thanks," Sam said.

Dean stopped the detective. "Listen, you see anything weird, anything out of the box, you give us a call," he said, handing over a business card.

Eyeing the card skeptically then Cas, the detective smirked. "Whatever you say, _Scully_." She put the phone to her ear and headed out of the room. "Detective Glass. On my way."

As Sam flipped through the file with a studious frown on his face, Castiel eyed the corpse closely, drifting a little closer as Dean did, too. "I can't sense any EMF or sulfur," the angel said, drawing a couple of dubious looks from the Winchesters. It was odd to hear him saying what they usually did. He was really trying to prove himself and be helpful. Cas squinted and leaned closer to the victim. "Mr. Freleng's arterial health is, uh, excellent." He leaned down over the dead body and sniffed. "Hm. He _did_ recently suffer from a…" he frowned and snuffed again "...mild, uh…" his frown deepened. "What _is_ that?" It suddenly came to him and he stood up straight. "…Bladder infection."

"Cas, stop smelling the _dead guy_ ," Dean said, a little on the done side.

"Why?" Cas asked in all innocent honestly. "Now I know everything about this man. So we can –"

"Do you know he was having an _affair_?" Sam interrupted, looking at the angel from over the top of the file he was reading.

Cas looked shocked and then confused. "What?"

"Yup," Sam said, nodding grimly. "According to Olivia Knopple, the two of them would meet at the park every Thursday at twelve forty-five, walk to the Moonlight Diner where she always ordered a Caesar salad, dressing on the side. They would chat about everything, and she'd be back on the road by one thirty." He gave Cas a significant look.

"…You don't think she's telling the truth," Cas surmised, although he obviously wasn't sure why.

"Nope," Dean said, already on board with his brother. "Too much detail. Sounds rehearsed."

"Plus, we drove past the Moonlight Diner on the way into town," Sam said. "It's attached to the Moonlight _M_ _otel_. So… _obviously_ … it was more than salads and good conversation between Greg and, uh—" he looked at the file again, "Olivia."

Dean was already formulating the scenario that led to this man's death. "Okay, so, let's say that, uh, Gary here's on the prowl, but he's playing it safe because…" he lifted Gary's left hand up—there was a wedding band on the ring finger. "...dude's _married_. Doesn't want anyone to see his ride parked out in front of a by-the-hour fleabag."

"So he stashes his car at the park across the street, meets Olivia there," Sam added.

"His wife probably found out about it and it broke her heart," Dean continued.

"So she breaks _his_ ," Sam finished, eyeing the corpse grimly. "Sounds witchy."

"Yes it does," Dean agreed flatly then sighed in reluctance. "Well, I think we know who we're visiting next." He yanked the sheet back over the dead body unevenly and headed out without anything further, leaving Cas staring at the table in quiet confusion.

Sam was just about to follow his brother when Cas's voice made him pause. "Unfaithfulness," the angel muttered faintly, like the word itself appalled him. "This man, going against his vows to his wife… it's unimaginable. In a thousand years, I would _never_ —" he stopped talking abruptly, catching himself in mid-sentence. He looked up at Sam, whose heartbreak was written all over his face. And then without another word, an emotionally barren Castiel turned and followed Dean out of the room.

* * *

**Thirty Minutes Later**

"I–I don't understand," Mrs. Freling said. She wore black to symbolize her mourning and she sat at her kitchen table as Dean leaned on the chair back opposite her. "Gary had a _heart attack_. Why would the FBI—"

"The parks are government property," Dean said, cutting off the questions before they started. "Like we said. We just got a few questions for you."

Visibly upset but willing to cooperate, the young widow nodded her dismayed consent. Her home was nice—new construction and full of expensive-looking furniture and decor. Even though she was grieving, she had taken the time earlier that day to curl her hair, apply makeup, and dress nicely. All things the Winchesters noticed immediately and filed away in their minds for later. Watching at a respectful distance, Cas was silent and stern as Sam sauntered forward, taking his brother's cue. He usually did this part. "Mrs. Freling—is there any way Gary might have had secrets?" he asked gently. "Something maybe he was hiding?"

Mrs. Freling's sad expression became confused and a little offended. " _Hiding_?" she repeated. "Like what?"

Just then there was a soft knock at the door and the sound of someone letting themselves in. "Deb?" came a soft call. Mrs. Freling stood up as a young woman with long straight blondish hair walked in carrying a casserole.

"Olivia!" Mrs. Freling exclaimed, and the two of them embraced like dear friends and began crying.

Dean did a double take. "…As in _mistress_ Olivia?" he asked lowly to Cas.

"This is… awkward," the angel observed, an expression of slight chagrin on his face.

The two women parted but Mrs. Freling had an arm around Olivia, who was still crying softly. "I'm sorry," she apologized to Dean. "What did you think Gary was hiding?"

Ever the tactful one, Castiel pointed directly at Olivia. "That he was sleeping with _her_."

Sam and Dean both looked at Cas like they were thinking _really?_ even as Mrs. Freling's arm fell away from Olivia, who had become entirely red and embarrassed. And then Mrs. Freling shocked them all. "…I know," she said with a heavy sigh.

An uncertain silence held for a couple of awkward beats. "You _know._ " Sam repeated.

Albeit a little uncomfortably, Mrs. Freling explained. "Gary and I—we… had an _arrangement_ _,_ _"_ she said delicately, looking at Olivia for support—the younger woman nodded, but her cheeks still burned red. "He was seeing Olivia, and I was spending some… _time_ … with our neighbor Pete."

Dean and Sam's eyebrows were both high up as they realized this was some kind of open marriage deal.

But Cas looked like he had never heard anything more heartbreaking in his life. "I'm—I'm sorry," he said, addressing Mrs. Freling and seeming confused like he must have misunderstood what she meant. "You… you were _married_ to each other? One of the most sacred relationship bonds there is and you both… sought love in the form of intimacy outside of the other?" Markedly more uncomfortable at his intense questions and tone, the disbelief and the hurt he was speaking with, Mrs. Freling withered a little. "I… I don't understand," Cas said earnestly. "Why would you want to take a man other than your husband to bed? Didn't that—that hurt him? Didn't it hurt _you_?"

Side-eyeing Cas loudly, it was hard to say if Sam and Dean or the two women in the room were more uncomfortable or put on the spot. Olivia cleared her throat and looked for any excuse at all to escape the current situation. "I'll, uh—I'll put this in the kitchen," she said with a nervous grin and laugh, indicating the casserole she still carried.

Also looking for a reason to get away from Cas, Mrs. Freling sprung at the opportunity. "I'll help!" And the two women fled the room, leaving the men to themselves.

They had barely left before Dean was getting on to Cas verbally. "Cas, man, dial down the Oprah guilt trip stuff!"

"I don't know who that is," Cas said blandly, and he seemed very morose. "But this woman… I think it's safe to say she's not a witch."

"Psh, yeah," Dean agreed flippantly. "Just the best wife _ever_."

Cas looked at Dean as if he had been deeply wounded. "That is an incorrect statement."

Realizing how thoughtless his comment was, Dean's face fell. "Sorry, Cas. I didn't mean—"

Cas shook his head, cutting his friend off. "I know."

It seemed like every time they turned a corner, the topic of Alex came up. Pain on pain on play repeating. Sam cleared his throat quietly after the silence became unbearable. "Okay, so if it wasn't witchcraft, what killed her husband?"

Dean made a face, thoroughly exhausted and emotionally drained. "Dude, who gives a fuck?" he muttered.

Cas looked similarly disheartened. "…I thought _we_ did," he said.

Dean brushed past him. "I just want to get out of this freaking _suit_ , man."

* * *

**Later**

Too bad for Dean they got called out by Detective Glass right as they left the Freling residence. Downtown a man had committed suicide by walking off the top of a tall building, but the odd thing was that he had apparently hovered in the air twenty stories up for a solid ten seconds before he plunged to his death. At least ten witnesses had seen it. When Dean commented that these deaths were sort of cartoony and 'Bugs Bunny' in nature, Castiel had been confused and asked if they were hunting a rabbit insect hybrid. So, now while the boys slaved over research and tried to figure out what sort of supernatural force was behind these looney deaths, Cas watched cartoons in a sort of research of his own. Dean had suggested it, saying that Cas needed to know what a damn cartoon was and no one had lived their life until they had seen Looney Tunes a few times.

Sitting on the bed in front of the TV, Cas watched cartoons with a studious expression, like he was analyzing them. When the show ended, he turned off the TV using the remote like he'd been shown and he was quiet. "Well?" Dean asked offhandedly, glancing up from the pages that were currently making his eyes cross. "What'd you think?"

Deeply thoughtful, Cas contemplated the floor for a few seconds. "I think I understand…" he said grimly. "The bird represents God. And coyote is man, endlessly chasing the divine, yet never able to catch him." He looked entirely down in the dumps about it. "You said it was supposed to be hilarious but… it just depresses me further."

Sam offered Cas an understanding, sympathetic smile. "Grief tends to do that, Cas," he said. "Anything and everything makes you sad. Even stuff that's supposed to make you smile."

Dean sighed and threw a hand up and quit leaning over Dad's journal. He was at his wit's end. "Well. I got no idea what we're hunting," he said wearily, giving up for the time being. "Maybe it's a Tulpa. Maybe it's some—some crazy god who watched too much Robot Chicken." He sighed and let his lips pffbt-pffbt in frustration.

Sam seemed the same—he was doing internet research and looked pretty out of answers himself. "Yeah, I dunno, Dean," he muttered.

Dean slapped Dad's journal shut. "All right, well, I'm gonna call it." He was tired and ready to get some shut-eye and stop thinking for a few hours. He glanced over at Cas, who was poking through one of their duffel bags curiously. That's when Dean realized this could get awkward fast. "Uh… so, there's two beds and three guys," he said then tried to joke around about it. "Houston, we have a problem."

"There's no problem, Dean," Cas said plainly. "I don't sleep." He hesitated and then in heartbreaking earnestness, he offered the only thing he could. "I'll… watch over you both."

Dean swallowed down an immediate _hell no_. He didn't need a babysitter and no offense but being watched while sleeping was creepy unless it was by a hot chick. And actually… even then it was still a little creepy. Sam however accepted Cas's offer on principle. "Thanks, Cas," he said, even though he obviously thought it was a little weird, too. "We appreciate it."

"Well yeah _but_ —" Dean began in protest.

Cas was standing up, holding a hand to his temple and grimacing almost. Was something hurting him? Dean's protest was forgotten. "Something's coming across the police band," Cas muttered, frowning deeply.

"Wait, you can _hear_ that?" Sam asked in mild awe.

"It's all waves," Cas said in slight irritation, holding up a hand as if to say _be quiet_. He shut his eyes and listened a couple seconds longer and then opened his eyes and looked at the boys. "A bank has been robbed. It… sounds looney."

* * *

**Later That Night**

After meeting Detective Glass at the bank crime scene where a one-ton anvil had dropped out of nowhere and crushed the security guard into a bloody pulp, the Winchesters _definitely_ agreed it was another looney mystery. Add to that how there were two huge black circles painted on the walls of the bank and no signs of forced entry whatsoever and the plot was really beginning to thicken. Sam had asked the detective if he could take a look at her files concerning other recent robberies which had taken place and been similar to this one (the black hole robber, they were calling him). Detective Glass took him with herself to the station, which left Dean and Cas to scope out the crime scene. They didn't find anything else really and headed back to the motel after coming up blank.

The car ride was silent. Dean put on some music low in the background to try and cover up the silence. But Cas had something on his mind and after five minutes of no talking, he finally asked his most somber and heartbroken question out of the blue. "Why don't we talk about her, Dean?"

If Dean was startled by the question, he didn't show it. He just tightened his jaw and kept his eyes on the road, staying outwardly unaffected. "Because right now ain't the time."

Castiel looked at his friend sidelong with defeated and confused eyes. "Why not?" His forlorn tone was gut-wrenching.

"Because I _can_ _'_ _t_." Dean's voice had gotten a whole lot more forceful. And then he took a second and made himself be less harsh. "I just—I just can't, Cas."

The angel was silent for a long moment and eyes old as centuries searched the dark, passing scenery. "I _miss_ her, Dean," he finally said, his voice catching on a choked throat.

Dean's hand was so hard on the wheel that his knuckles were white. "Yeah Cas," he managed, over-focusing on driving and looking occupied. "I do too."

Cas spoke of her like she was the most important thing to him in all of existence—like he would never recover from her loss at all. "She was my best _friend_ ," he whispered, his eyes glassy and tearful and staring into nothing, his eyebrows furrowed and bent upward in pain. "My… my _everything._ "

Dean's face wavered and emotion began to show through the mask he was trying to wear. And he finally looked over at the angel as he let himself be real for a second. "Cas man, there's gotta be something you can do," he managed through a weak voice. " _Come on_. You're a freakin' _angel,_ you pulled me outta _Hell_ _—_ wrack your brain, there's _gotta_ be a way to—"

Without warning, Castiel was wooden and glazed over almost like a switch had been flipped. "No," he said in a steady low voice. He even sat differently and there was something inherently unrecognizable about him. "There is nothing." He was unaffected and inscrutable. "You're right Dean. We should not speak of her." And then he turned his head away and looked out the window, refusing to acknowledge Dean for the rest of the car ride.

* * *

Once they were back to the motel room, Dean proceeded to pull Sam's laptop out and try a few searches of his own. Maybe Sam had missed something, he reasoned. So tired he could barely keep his eyes open, Dean made himself read about Tulpas even as he dreamed of sleep and rest and brighter, happier days. _Yeah right_. Dean scrolled downward with glazed eyes and barely read the article he'd pulled up.

"Your father... beautiful handwriting," Cas said quietly, and Dean looked over at the angel who looked more like himself again. He was sitting on the further bed and paging gently through Dad's journal with a soft look on his face. "Almost as beautiful as your sister's," he said, obviously happening upon a page she had written. Cas stopped paging through—he was looking at the journal with a warm expression on his face that was tainted by the whispers of pain. "Have you seen this drawing of me?" he asked softly, then showed Dean a page that the hunter was very familiar with. The angel entry. Alex had put it together back in, what, 2007? 2008? Wow, that seemed like forever ago. A lifetime ago. Sketched beautifully in rich black ink beneath the spidery 'Angels' title she'd penned, a moody drawing of Castiel.

"Yup," Dean confirmed, struck by reminiscence of better times. Funny that 'better times' for him meant the apocalypse. "That was back in the day, huh? When she thought you were just another creeper in a trench coat."

Cas's fingers traced over the sketch of himself as the softest and most bittersweet smile lifted his mouth. "It's so strange," he said in a voice thick with love and reflection. "How two people can start off as strangers and end up…" he trailed off and didn't finish his sentence because his fondness had taken a sharp turn into despair. He tried to soldier through it and not show his emotional duress. "The detail is remarkable," he said, trying to sound less sad. He continued onward and looked at other sketches and drawings she'd marked into the book. "The artistry. She was very skilled."

Dean watched Cas with the journal and a wave of sadness and nostalgia and longing pulled at his heart all at once. "Yeah," he said softly, remembering Alex and all the sketchbooks she'd torn through in the years on the road. "She took after Dad like that. He was a pretty talented artist, actually." Dean cracked a little smile. "Sam and I are crap, heh." They were lucky if they got stick figures down on the paper. "But… I mean, to be fair, she had a lot of time to practice. I think drawing was her way of talking before she could talk, you know?" He smiled to himself sadly, full of warm memories and happy times that had been so real once. And then his smile faded, reality washed over him again, and he remembered that she was dead and there was nothing he could do about it. That thought was so fucking terrifying and awful that he couldn't even begin to face it, so he shoved it away and just kept doing what he had been doing: pretending she was somewhere else. Just gone for awhile. And as long as Dean had other things to do with his time and focus on, he would be okay. Finding the other half of the tablet was first and foremost in his mind right now. Talking to James today had been something that spurred him onward again. She was still alive but sounded pretty depressed and said she couldn't meet up with him yet like he wanted to. Her reason? 'I just… I just _can_ _'_ _t_. I'm so sorry.' He didn't understand. Wished they could just be in the same place. A hug would change his life right about now. But he guessed that his feelings for her just weren't reciprocated. Or maybe she was trying to protect him. He didn't know and it was just another thing dragging him down into the dumps, currently.

Switching his focus to something else, Dean eyed Cas closely. He couldn't help but worry. A lot. Cas was off. Yes, he was grieving and sad, but something about him was just not quite _right_. The deeply emotional outbursts that kept being followed by emotionless robot-Cas were bizarre. Hopefully it was nothing, but Dean wasn't entirely sure. "How you feeling, Cas?" he ventured, closely watching the angel page through the journal.

"I'm fine," Cas answered automatically.

Dean leveled him with a _that_ _'_ _s bullshit_ look. "And I'm the King of England."

"Dean, I'm _fine_ _,_ _"_ Cas insisted, looking at Dean surprisingly hard in the eyes for emphasis—he was sending a very clear message: _back off_. "We have work to focus on. Don't worry yourself on my account."

"Who are you, _me_?" Dean retorted moodily. "You wanted to talk, so let's _talk_." All he got was a brief and grudging glance but he charged forward anyway. "Look, there's something bothering me. Don't get me wrong. I'm—I'm happy you're back. I am. But it's just… I've been thinking about this whole mysterious-resurrection thing—it always has one mother of a downside."

Interest caught, Cas looked at Dean with a slight dread. "What are you saying?"

"That we need to figure out who or what brought you back," Dean said. "I mean, you know just suddenly being topside is hella freaky, right? That doesn't just _happen_. You don't just get disappeared outta Purgatory without a reason." He lost some of his gusto because of the next part he had to say. "Especially after—after Alex shows up sick. People don't get _sick_ in Purgatory—so… so what's that all about?"

Cas closed the journal, his expression showing wretchedness. "I don't know how or why. But I know what I saw. And I'm telling you the truth. About everything. I don't know how I got out." He looked at Dean with pleading eyes.

"I know," Dean said honestly. "I believe you. I don't think you're lying, if that's what you're trying to say."

That obviously meant a lot to the angel. "Thank you," he said softly, then took a couple of tensely thoughtful seconds. "So. How do you propose we find out the circumstances of my removal from Purgatory?"

"Maybe you take a trip upstairs," Dean suggested.

Cas looked like Dean had suggested something absurd. "…to _Heaven_?"

"Yeah, poke around, see if the God squad can't tell us how you got out," Dean said. "Check and see if, I dunno, any of your buddies can do something about the… the sister situation." Saying that was like pulling teeth.

Avoiding Dean's gaze, Cas stared at one of his own knees. "No."

Confused at the unwillingness, Dean tried to appeal to his friend. "Look, man, I–I hate those flying-ass monkeys just as much as you do, but if there's even a _chance_ that, that she could—"

" _Dean_!" Cas explained in surprising forcefulness. "I said no!" And visibly upset, the angel looked away.

So it was like that, then. Dean closed the laptop and walked over to Cas, a man on a mission. He sat across from Cas on the other bed and gave the angel every ounce of his attention. He wasn't gonna let it go until he knew what was going on. "Talk to me," he said firmly and waited, leaving Cas no choice but to engage with him.

Castiel, the picture of self-loathing and guilt and misery, finally began to explain his odd behavior and his anti-Heaven attitude. "Dean, I... when I was... _bad._.. and I had all those things—the… the _Leviathans._.. writhing inside me... I caused a lot of suffering on earth, but I _devastated_ Heaven. I vaporized thousands of my own kind, and I–I–I can't go back."

"'Cause if you do, the angels will kill you," Dean supposed grimly.

"No," Cas replied plainly. "Because if I see what Heaven's become—what I—what I made of it... and most importantly the one person who's _missing_ from it… I'm afraid I might kill myself." A little startled, Dean's mouth fell open as Cas continued. "And at this point that seems like the best idea to me, if I'm being honest," he said quietly, still holding the journal in his hands. His eyes went to it and his voice lost strength. "Being here without her is like existing without lungs," he managed just above a whisper. "It's not possible, and yet somehow here I am." His face worked hard as he shook his head. "This is all _wrong_." Cas got more and more upset. "I don't think I can do this after all. Hunting, trying to pass myself off as a hero. I'm _nothing_. And I'm certainly not a hero. Not in the least." He suddenly stood up fast in deep dismay, and the journal he'd been holding fell to the floor. Pages and loose leafs scattered out in a mess when it hit the ground.

Cas looked down in a breathless daze of grief at the mess he'd made… and then with a frown he slowly bent and took hold of one piece of paper that caught his attention. As his pained eyes read whatever was on that page, Dean silently began to clean up the mess the angel had made. He squatted as he put the journal back together and gathered the loose pages. He frowned as he came across one, then _two_ things he'd never seen before. He found a remarkably detailed pen drawing of the Impala done in mostly crosshatch, an unfinished charcoal sketch of a man in a jacket walking away (it looked like Dad, actually), and a goofy, cartoony colored drawing of Sam with antlers and the caption 'Happy Birthday, Sam! No wonder they call you Moose.' It was dated a few years ago. He also found a water-stained 4x6 of the twins from their early teen years (Sam carrying Alex piggyback style as she put on an overly-bored face and he pretended she was too heavy for him). He hadn't seen that picture in _forever_ but remembered it instantly when he saw it. He'd taken it, after all. Confused, Dean looked at the journal. Was there some kind of secret pocket or flap in the journal where Alex had some hidden items?

"I'm s-sorry," Cas said, and Dean looked up, realizing something was very wrong from the tone in the angel's voice. Cas was clutching the piece of paper he had picked up and he was shaking— _crying_. "I c-can't do this," he said, backing up even as Dean stood. "I need… I need… I need to get away from here. I have to change this. I can't _do_ this anymore, it's not _right_."

It sounded dire and maybe morbid, too. "Wait, Cas—!" Dean protested, trying to stop him. But it was too late. The angel disappeared into thin air. "Son of a _bitch_." Dean let out a frustrated sound and jammed a hand through his hair. There was literally no telling where Cas had gone or what had been on that paper to drive him to suddenly leave. And because of what the angel had admitted to him just moments ago, Dean was of the mindset that Cas's life was on the line. "Don't kill yourself, Cas!" he shouted at the ceiling. "You hear me?! We can get _through_ this, dammit!"

* * *

**Tipsy** **'** **s Liquor World  
Littleton, CO**

He wasn't going to kill himself. But he _was_ going to do something he knew he shouldn't do. And before he did that, he had to get drunk—wasted, as Dean might say. He had to numb this pain and stop feeling so much. The last time he had been under alcohol's influence was years ago. At the Vatican. With her. And Cas stifled another sob as he stumbled down a dark aisle full of booze in the closed alcohol shop. In his hand, he clung to the paper from John Winchester's journal. In Alex's hand writing on a wrinkled, worn piece of paper, a poem she had written. Even though it would cause nothing but more pain, he stopped mid-aisle, leaning with one hand for support as he read it again, trying to be close to her the only way that was left: by seeing the words her hand had left on a page, by reading her thoughts. Thoughts about _him_.

_Lonely  
the only word I knew.  
The song of silence  
_ _on repeat_ _my_ _entire life.  
An ache in my bones,  
a stone in my heart,  
a_ _mark on my soul.  
My curse. My fate.  
And then you._

_My harsh edge met  
your sweetest curiosity.  
You felt the slice  
o_ _f my bitterness,  
and yet you stayed._

_My anchor.  
My prayer. _

_Everything I have is yours.  
Always.  
_ _You are my greatest friend,  
my deepest love,  
m_ _y_ _endless_ _dream,  
m_ _y beautiful angel._

It was dated April of 2010, which meant it had to have been written right before they were married. Castiel was in tears, clutching that piece of paper like it was the only thing worth holding onto in the world. He was overwhelmed completely by grief, guilt, and agony—she had loved him and look where he had gotten her. She had thought the world of him and he had let her perish. In fact, it might have been his fault. _Of course it_ _'_ _s your fault_. Stifling teary noises, Cas decided _consequences be damned_. He folded the paper up with trembling hands and put it into his pocket then began to semi-frantically take in the many options in front of him. Vodka, tequila, whiskey, bourbon. Which one would work the fastest and last the longest?

He was going to travel back in time. He was going to change it all. He didn't even know what point he would choose to return to, but he was going to find a way to _change_ this. All of it. And he didn't care if the universe were ripped in half or who might die when he altered fate like that. It _didn_ _'_ _t matter_. Alex Winchester would live even if it killed him and others. And if time travel didn't work, he would rip out his Grace and take the human soul given to him and trade it for her life. And if that didn't work either— _yes_ —then he _would_ kill himself. Because living without her and living with the knowledge that he had failed so completely was beyond him. He couldn't fathom it. He was nothing but a curse on her life.

Needing to forget, to feel less, to quench the pain, Cas reached out and grabbed a huge bottle of vodka.

And then, a nearby but unfamiliar voice stopped him.

"Bad idea."

It wasn't an unpleasant or hostile tone, in fact, it was gently corrective and kind in nature. Startled out of his tearfulness, Cas turned to see the source of that voice. A young man he did not recognize stood close, a few paces away. The stranger was early to mid twenties, just slightly taller than Cas. He wore dark jeans, rugged work boots, and a faded shirt underneath a heavy zip-up hooded jacket. Standing with a posture that suggested he was confident and at ease, his expression showed that he was mentally sharp but also, perhaps, a little bit of trouble or a bit of a jokester. Cas stared, his face falling into an expression of gaping confusion. Was it just him or did this boy—young man—look remarkably similar to… _himself?_ Same tousled hair style. Similar facial features, same clefted chin, same body build. Unmistakably vivid blue eyes. His skin was fairer than Cas's and his features softer, his eyes a little bigger, his hair color a little lighter. But the resemblance was remarkable. At Cas's dumbfounded stare, the stranger smiled obligingly albeit slightly sadly—he saw Cas's shining cheeks. "Hi," he said in a deep, steady voice that almost could have been fond.

Becoming guarded—this stranger must be an enemy—Cas all but glared and held himself confrontationally. "…Who are you?" he demanded, his eyes drilling into the young man harshly. A thousand possible explanations for who he might be and what sort of harm he intended flitted through Cas's mind. "Why are you here?"

The stranger didn't seem very affected at all by Cas's reaction. In fact, he was mildly and ruefully _amused_ by Cas's tone and questions. Walking closer at an ambling gait, the stranger gave the angel a small smile. He seemed unnervingly perceptive and assured, and Castiel did not like that. "I'm… here to talk you off the ledge, guess you could say," the young man said, taking the bottle of booze right from Cas's hand. Staring at the gall of this person, Castiel's face was scrunched into a disgruntled frown as the stranger turned the bottle to look at the label and then made a face like he was glad he'd intervened when he did. " _Eugh_. Yeah uh this brand _sucks_ , don't waste your time," he advised. Without anything further, he tossed the bottle over his shoulder haphazardly, letting it crash onto the floor and spill everywhere. The sharp, cloying scent of alcohol hit Cas's nose as he stared incredulously at the impertinent stranger in front of him. The young man had switched facial expressions—he now looked focused and empathetic, solemn. "Listen, I know what you're thinking about doing," he intoned gravely. "And I have a message for you."

In no mood for trickery—of the high opinion that Crowley was somehow behind this—Castiel abruptly seized the young man by the front of his jacket, whirled him, and slammed him into the shelf of alcohol. Bottles went clattering and smashing to the floor. " _Who are you_?!" Cas demanded loudly, _angrily_.

Appearing only mildly offended at the attack, the stranger held his hands up in a gesture of peacefulness. "Hey, _easy_!" he protested, making no moves to defend himself, instead... Cas balked. Was this boy... _laughing?_

Shaking him, Cas leveled him with his most furious glare. " _Who sent you?_ Was it Crowley?"

The question made the stranger scoffed in a way that was both dismissive and entertained. Somehow, this boy didn't seem bothered that at any moment Castiel could obliterate him completely. "No, _Crowley_ didn't send me," he said, then looked the angel in the eye plainly and said something that made Cas freeze in place. " _You_ did."

Cas's tight hands loosened as his glare fell into a confused expression. "…Pardon?"

The boy commiserated in a maddeningly cheeky way. "I know, right?" he asked. Conversational to a strange degree when you considered that he had super-human strength hands clutching him tightly, the stranger grinned like he was sharing a joking moment with a friend. " _Trust me_ , I thought you cracked your head too when you sent me here." He glanced down at Cas's hands significantly. "Now uh if you don't mind…?" He waited, his crystalline blue eyes darting up to Cas's. While Castiel was stilled, and had to admit there was... _something_ here to this somehow, he didn't let go. The young man sighed lengthily and reached down. With shocking ease, he pried Cas's hands away, stunning the angel anew.

He tried to resist the boy's grip, but he found the seeming-mortal to be vastly stronger than himself. And Castiel was _strong._ Stronger than strong. Staring in awe at the unassuming young man who looked so very much like him, Castiel found that his voice was soft and stunned as a new possibility began to come to him. As he looked at this person much more closely. "Not an angel and not a demon," he breathed, looking the young man over very closely indeed. And not human either, even though he appeared to be. "What are you...? How are you so strong?"

There was a roguish sparkle to the stranger's eyes and he half-grinned, half-smirked. "I eat my wheaties."

Castiel squinted, abruptly disconcerted. "…What are these wheaties you speak of?"

The young man almost rolled his eyes. " _Oh come on_ , Da—" He abruptly cut himself off. " _Dude_." His mouth was in a thin line. " _Wheaties_. The breakfast cereal?" He squinted briefly in thought, studying Cas quietly, then he muttered almost to himself: "I guess this is before you started eating, isn't it..."

"Before I... what?" Cas felt his head tilting to the side slightly as he contemplated this stranger with a growing sense of dawning wonder. But if his beginnings of this theory were true… that meant…

A crash sounded nearby and several bottles of alcohol went rolling somewhere behind the stranger. A soft swearword sounded and the young man turned at the sound, his expression abruptly showing concern. Cas peered past him and saw the source of the crash. Hiding in the shadows there was a teenage girl with long, dark hair. When the light caught her features, Castiel went still completely. For a heartbeat, he thought it was Alex. She was tall and petite, she wore a thigh holster where a very interesting blade was strapped. In jeans, boots, and a flannel shirt with a cargo jacket, she almost could have _been_ Alex if you only glanced at her. Whoever she was, she was currently frozen and wincing as bottles rolled around her feet near where she'd knocked into. "… _Oops_ ," she said in grimacing apology, looking embarrassed at her stumble. Castiel stared, entranced, mystified, awestruck. Her eyes were the same as the other stranger: bright blue.

The male stranger, seeing that she wasn't hurt, became mildly annoyed. " _Good one_ Captain Klutz. What happened to being quiet and watching?"

"It's dark in here!" she defended, giving him a catty look. "And not _all_ of us have super powered laser night vision."

Rolling his eyes faintly, the young man folded his arms. "Yeah, I forgot, not like you _remind_ me all the time," he muttered.

A little beside himself at the strangeness of the current moment, Cas stared at the girl then looked at the boy for explanation. "Who is this?" he asked.

The boy smirked her way briefly. "She's here to keep me outta trouble. Well, to _try_ to keep me out of trouble." He chuckled and shook his head. "You always try and send her with me on jobs and it never works, but hey. Your sense of optimism is commendable."

But Cas just stared, taking in this boy's face, his mannerisms, his companion. "… W-why do you look so much like me?" he asked, in a slight daze. "And why does she look so much like—"

"Good question," the girl interrupted, her tone surprisingly on the assertive side—she came forward and gave her brother a sharp side eye like she was silently chastising him before she refocused on Cas and became softer, her eyes looking at him questioningly. "But, here's a better one. What are you doing in this _dump_?" She sounded concerned for some reason.

Cas felt a little ashamed about the truth. "I'm… here to get wasted," he muttered, phrasing it in the way the Winchesters would.

At his declaration, the girl looked like she had never heard anything more bizarre. "Wh—" Her eyes stayed on Cas as she spoke out of the side of her mouth to the boy, who looked a little thrown off: "He left out _that_ detail..."

Still working on his theory privately with a thumping heart, Castiel looked at them both carefully. Surely it couldn't be what he thought. But maybe it could be. "You… you said _I_ sent you?" And the more he thought about it, who else _could_ they be? "I take it I know you," he said slowly. "Both of you."

The young man quashed an amused smile. " _Ju-uuust_ a little bit." Was that... sarcasm?

Castiel swallowed as his heart sped up further. "…W-what year are you from?"

The brother and sister—it's clear that's what they were—looked at each other silently, obviously trading some sort of wordless communication before the brother began to speak. "Okay so this is what I'm supposed to tell you, and sorry if it's really fast but we're on a time crunch: Things aren't what they seem right now. Under _no circumstances_ are you to use time travel right now—just keep your head down and _wait_." There was a small stretch of silence.

"You left out the last part," the stranger's sister said under her breath.

The boy seemed to remember. "Oh yeah," he said with mild chagrin, sending a brief thankful look her way. He got a tiny, longsuffering smile from her before he fixed Castiel with another long gaze. "You told me to tell yourself that, uh..." he seemed a little confused and curious about this part: "She's not dead."

It was like there was no air in his lungs. "Who isn't?" Cas breathed, daring to hope.

The boy shrugged, studying Cas closely. "Dunno. You said you'd know what I'm talking about." He sighed in brief frustration, seeming to let go of his curiosity. "You guys never tell me the full details on stuff." He cracked a sudden grin, showing a broad, handsome smile. "It's funny though, huh? Me, time traveling back here to tell you _not_ to time travel."

Funny? Castiel couldn't find the humor in it. Irony he could identify, he supposed. The quiet sister was watching him with her keen, startlingly blue eyes. "Promise not to do it," she said softly and intently. "The time travel."

His heart was thumping so hard he thought it might burst out of him. "Why should I promise anything?" he asked softly, confused. Hope ached painfully inside of him.

"You said you'd say that," the young man said, then gestured with his hand a few times as he spoke, indicating that there was a list that went on forever. "Because something about time discrepancies blah blah blah and black hole whatever and fabric being ripped apart in the universe or—yeah, I dunno, I always space out when you start to lecture me with your science professor stuff, sorry."

In a literal state of mind, Cas missed the fact that the young man wasn't being literal. "I'm… not an educator, I assure you."

The young man's eyebrows raised up as an amused smile grew. " _There_ he is," he said.

Cas was befuddled. "There _who_ is?"

Of all things, a rich, genuine laugh bubbled up and the young man's grin lit up the entire room and crinkled his eyes as he shook his head. "Didn't think it was possible for you to be any less cool than I already thought," he said, but it didn't seem like an insult, it almost seemed... like a fond observation. "Makes me wonder how the _hell_ you got Mom to fall in love with you." Cas's face went slack. The young man realized his slip the second he'd said it and he went stiff. "Ah shit."

His sister gave him a look that seemed to indicate she was absolutely floored by his stupidity. "CJ!" she admonished, then groaned. "I _told_ them not to put you in charge of this!"

"Well, it's a legitimate _question_!" he defended, then gave her a very pointed look. "And you just said my _name_ , dude—Dad told you not to say my name _or_ yours." Startled, clearly mentally backtracking and realizing he was right, the unnamed girl took a long, uncomfortable beat before she drew her mouth into an apologetically grim line and muttered a swear word under her breath. Cas just stared with an open mouth and a confused expression as the young man, apparently named CJ, gave Cas a playful look and leaned closer by a fraction as he indicated his sister. "Her name's Fred, for future reference." He got a look like an iron spike for _that_ comment. CJ chuckled at how easy it was to goad her.

"That's _not_ my name," she muttered, more to Cas than anyone else.

But Cas had only heard and latched onto one thing: "...Who is your mother?" he asked faintly, daring to hope, needing to know. " _Please_."

CJ became more serious. A little bittersweet. "Look, uh… I mean I think it's pretty obvious by now, and we were supposed to, you know, be mysterious." Nervousness shimmered across his face. "I don't wanna mess up the space-time whatever by saying the wrong thing or giving you too much information, okay?" He drew himself up a little taller and despite a sudden turn toward regretfulness—he made it clear that the interaction was nearing its end. "We gotta go. You got the message, our deed here is done." He nudged his sister with a shoulder. "Come on." He retreated a few steps.

But she didn't go with him. "Wait." She came a little closer to Cas, a bit cautiously and tentatively. Cas was unable to look away from her. The resemblance she bore to Alex was heartbreaking. She wet her lips, trying to find words to say, but nothing came out. Searching her blue eyes that were so much like his, Cas saw a quiet fierceness to her, a steadfast quality. Wordlessly, the girl hesitantly let her hand reach out toward him—as if asking a question. Without a thought, Castiel answered in kind, his fingers reaching forward to brush hers. Sentiment surged, he felt a connection to her, and it was unmistakable. He felt it somewhere he couldn't explain. He knew who they _both_ were, without question. Castiel's fingers fell away from the girl's as breath seemed to escape his lungs. But his eyes remained locked on hers. There was a keenness to this girl, an undeniable brightness and intelligence. She seemed to be putting the pieces together. "Is... do you think it's _her_ that's dead?" she asked, seeming genuinely confused and even fearful. She looked young, maybe in her early teens—and a myriad of questions about what she knew and didn't know, who she was at this point in her life flashed across Cas's mind. He didn't know how he could feel such tenderness and love for someone who was a stranger, but he did. Both of them. And now he knew it was _his_ time not to say too much. Silent and watchful, CJ came back a bit closer, suddenly behaving very differently: where there had been lightness and a more cavalier approach, he was now intent and interested, even apprehensive. Under the two worried gazes, Cas thought quickly.

"I think that's a question for me... in a different time," he said slowly, still absolutely confounded at what was happening. Feeling so much emotion he thought perhaps he could burst into pieces.

CJ nodded and exhaled heavily, accepting it however reluctantly. The two men's eyes met, and unguarded worry was in the younger's expression. He hesitated. Then seemed to throw some caution to the wind. His voice was a scant whisper. "Be brave, Dad," he said with surprising vulnerability. _Dad_. Castiel's heart melted into overwhelmed emotion, and his eyes filled with the feelings he couldn't hold.

He heard himself exhale. "I, I don't understand this," he said breathlessly, wondering if that was what it was like to dream. "Am... I already drunk?"

CJ pressed a smile away as his eyes crimped as the girl—Fred?—chuckled fondly way at him. CJ couldn't keep his head from shaking as a fond, rueful smile grew. "You wish, old man." There was a certain tenderness to the words. A tenderness that Castiel felt too.

It truly was a moment beyond words. With a welling chest, Cas looked at his son and daughter. His _son_ and his _daughter_. Never before had such emotion been inside of his heart—the kind of feelings that would burst him completely. His eyes began to sting with tears that sprung to life out of the huge emotions he felt.

A beeping sound emanated from CJ's wrist. He looked at his watch and seemed to have a realization. "We can't stay any longer." With a regretful look at Cas, CJ hesitated and then reached out and offered his hand for a shake. "So, I guess… seeya around." He sounded bittersweet.

Slowly, in a dreamlike state. Cas reached out and gripped his son's hand. His _son._ He had a strong, firm, solid handshake, but surprising emotion showed in the young man's eyes—like maybe the intensity of the moment and what it meant to Cas was getting to him, too. "See you around," Cas repeated quietly, wondering what CJ stood for and what kind of father he would be to this young man in the future. It was so unspeakably surreal to Cas. So important. So life-changing. And then they let go.

Fred—no, not Fred—whatever her true name was, hung back and gave Castiel a soft, knowing smile. Still reeling, Cas memorized their faces as an amazed, dumbfounded smile grew. CJ gave Cas a knowing, almost sly look as he reached out and touched his sister's shoulder—and then without warning and without a sound, the two of them disappeared. _How did he do that?  
_

In the dark and alone, all Cas could hear was the sound of his own breathing.

Overcome by so many emotions and feelings, Cas felt a smile coming over his face despite the tears in his eyes. Had that… had that just _happened_? Somehow… he didn't understand _how_ … Alex would be back. She _had_ to be. The visit that had just occurred proved that. And they would have children. _Children_. It was all too much for him—it gave him a burst of hope so intense and contagious that he could have laughed, cried, collapsed. And suddenly of one mind and mission, Cas forgot everything else. Determined to find out where his wife was and how to get her back, Castiel prepared to go to Heaven, the place he had been avoiding for reasons he didn't remember. And then for even more reasons unknown, that desire and determination to go to Heaven was abruptly erased and he found himself thinking _no_ _—_ _I will not go there_. Not sure of why he felt that but knowing that if he went to Heaven _bad things_ would happen, Cas instead stared around at the abundance of alcohol around him and he suddenly forgot what had happened.

He reached for a bottle of alcohol—he had come here to drink right?—but something in him said no. He would disappoint someone if he drank that. So he took his hand away and stared hard at the broken bottle on the floor nearby. Had he done that? Why couldn't he remember…? He suddenly realized that he couldn't remember the past fifteen minutes at _all_. It was _gone_ from his mind—a blank space. After standing there for thirty more minutes, Cas could still recall nothing but knew he had decided not to time travel and not to rip out his grace. Something told him to wait. Bide his time. _But why?_ He wasn't sure. And inside, he felt broken. Something was wrong. Missing. Unfixable. And that made him sadder and sadder still.

* * *

About forty-five minutes after he'd left, Cas reappeared into the motel room he'd left Dean in. Sam had returned and the boys were in solemn conversation at the table. At Castiel's reappearance, they stood up in unison, appearing concerned. "Hello, boys," he greeted, and he thought he had something to tell them—but he couldn't remember _what_.

"Cas!" Dean said, eyeing him closely with a worried and relieved expression. "You okay?"

"Yes," the angel replied evenly. "I just needed to…" abruptly, he stopped mid-sentence and frowned. Just needed to what? A voice in his mind that he didn't recognize echoed and then disappeared. _Don_ _'_ _t talk about anything but the job. Act like everything_ _'_ _s normal or you know what I_ _'_ _ll do_. Without understanding why he was obeying that voice without question, Castiel's tone lost emotion and became factual. "I feel better now, thank you."

Sam and Dean both reacted with slight narrowing of the eyes when Cas became so wooden. "…You sure?" Dean prompted doubtfully, scrutinizing Cas closely with a frown. "'Cause when you left here, you were kinda… I dunno, like super upset." To say the least.

As if he were rehearsing lines, Cas spoke blandly, disconnected from what he was saying. "I took some time. I got myself together. I would prefer not to talk about it." Very sure something was incredibly wrong but not sure what, afraid that he was losing his mind ( _again_ ), Castiel fell into deeply troubled silence. He didn't understand why he felt so disjointed inside.

Sam contemplated him a couple beats longer, glanced at Dean, then decided it had to be business as usual and that Cas's odd behavior was just a manifestation of grief. "Well, we got a new problem to figure out," he said, his tone indicating that Cas had some part in helping do just that.

"Yup, got a lead. We're going to the local retirement home to see what we can see," Dean said, then offered the smallest rueful smile Cas's way. "Could use your help, Agent Stills."

Cas nodded, barely there at all. "Of course." His mind was somewhere else. But _where_ … he wasn't sure.


	114. In Plain Sight

" _Grudges are for those who insist that they are owed something; forgiveness, however, is for those who are substantial enough to move on._ "  
\- Criss Jami

* * *

It was late at night and the brothers were in a dim motel room. They sat on the ends of separate double beds and were mostly silent. Both had their own bottle of hunter's helper—it was cheaper than therapy, Sam thought wryly.

Cas was gone for now—the looney job they'd worked with the angel was wrapped up—and that was just about all the thought Sam could manage to give to the past day or two. Partially because he was tipsy, but mostly because his brain circuits were so overloaded and frazzled with more important things. The booze was taking the edge off and helping him feel more numb to the pain he had inside, but he was still too hyper vigilant to relax. That's why the job Cas had found them had been nice while it lasted (in a sort of morbid way, Sam guessed)—at the very least, it had distracted from all the thoughts clamoring so loudly in his head. But now with the hunt finished… it left two brothers and one very loudly empty space in the motel room. And as he felt the void her absence made, Sam took another sip from his bottle of whiskey to try and deal. But truthfully, he didn't want to forget or become numb or even _accept_ it. And he was getting more and more unhappy with sitting here uselessly and mourning a sister he wasn't sure was dead at all…

Dean raised his bottle of whiskey Sam's way, acknowledging him for the first time in about ten minutes. "To all the sons of bitches we've saved," he offered in jaded salute. He hesitated before drinking. "And all the ones we didn't." He put the bottle to his lips and tipped it way back, taking more than a swig—basically chugging. Two or three huge gulps at a time. _Jesus, Dean._ The oldest Winchester wasn't saying much and was putting up a tough guy front, but Sam could tell his brother was just as deep in grief as he was.

Sam eyed him sidelong hesitantly, noticing the way Dean swayed a little even while sitting. "Did you… start drinking before I did?" he asked skeptically and cautiously.

Suspicious, Dean's face darkened. "Why?"

Sam was careful not to set his brother off. "Because you seem sorta… _drunk_." And that didn't happen too often.

The hilariously grumpy old-man face that Dean pulled caused a sudden and ill-timed grin to split Sam's face. "Shut up, Princess, I can hold my liquor and we all know it," Dean muttered, and he suddenly got _very_ annoyed when he saw his brother's face. "And stop _smiling_ , dammit!" He looked away from Sam in foul temper. "Hate your face right now," he muttered, and by all appearances, he really did hate it.

Sam was only amused at Dean's comments—what brother didn't enjoy irritating their sibling on occasion? "Why?" he prompted, expecting a funny reply that they could joke about when Dean was sober again—some kind of dig on Sam's dimples or maybe how 'lame-o' he looked when he smiled.

But he got a very different, much darker reply than he expected. "'Cause you look like her when you do that."

Dean's flat answer took all the air out of the room and snatched the smile right off of Sam's face. He swallowed deeply, feeling sudden hollowness down to his veins and further past that, too. He had caught sight of himself in the mirror a couple times recently and stopped, noticing the things about his face that were so like his sister's. Same jaw—same nose—same lip shape—same exact eye color. And when they smiled wide—same dimples, same crinkly eyes. "Dean—" Sam began, his voice full of pain and hesitance.

He was met with a proverbial solid brick wall. "Don't even start with the bleeding heart crap, Sam." Dean said forcefully, then stood up and unevenly walked to where he had a couple extra bottles of booze waiting—his bottle of whiskey appeared to be drained. "I don't wanna hear it. Just lemme drink my brains out."

Sam didn't want to get wasted to the point of no return like his brother did. He wanted to _do something_ and stop acting like it was all over. He was tired of Dean shutting him down. "Just hear me out on this, will you?" Sam asked, broaching the subject he'd tried to a couple times already. "I'm _serious_ , Dean," he said, speaking to his brother's turned back. He couldn't totally explain it, but… "I—I think she might still be alive."

Dean, brand new full bottle of whiskey in hand, turned and smiled coldly and cynically. "Spidey senses tingling?" he asked mockingly.

The irreverent tone bothered Sam of course but he tried to ignore it. Dean was drunk and Dean was also _Dean._ Rude sarcasm was to be expected when he was dealing with a lot and when he was grieving. "I dunno, yeah—call it twin sense, call it intuition, but I know how I feel and I really think we should—"

" _What_?" Dean challenged in a tone that dripped with hostility and mocking. "Drop everything and go find our missing family member?" He scoffed openly. "Yeah, because _that_ sounds like something you'd do. Really in character, Sam."

Sam was immediately and deeply stung. He faltered and lost the fire he'd been speaking with. After a wounded silence, Sam could only summon a hurt, "That's low, Dean."

"Oh, is it?" Dean didn't seem to care that he'd upset Sam. "So's leaving your own _brother_ in Purgatory alone for ten fuckin' months and not even lifting a goddamn _finger_ to help your sister get to him!" He gestured angrily with his whiskey bottle. Amber liquid sloshed out wildly onto the floor. " _That_ _'_ _s_ low, Sammy, okay?"

He hadn't picked a good time to broach the topic. But Sam didn't do the smart thing and end the conversation. He was desperate for his brother to listen—enough that he shouldered the hurt and put it aside and managed to keep going. "Look, if, if we can just put that behind us, just long enough for us to be _sure_ about this, then I'm fine with you holding that against me forever, okay?" Sam asked in frustration. "But I can't stand by anymore when I know she might be out there and—"

In a flash of uncontrollable rage, Dean threw the whiskey at the wall and there was a startlingly loud shattering splash. " _She_ _'_ _s not_!" he shouted, his face a mask of drunken fury and absolutely undiluted anger. "She's _dead_ , Sam! _Dead_! Get it through your fucking _brain_!"

Appalled and confused, Sam stood his ground. " _No!_ _"_ he replied in a loud, earnest voice. He wasn't going to let his brother intimidate him and he didn't think Dean was even acting logically anymore. He pointed out the facts. "I didn't see it, neither did _you_ , and I don't believe it! I _won_ _'_ _t_ believe it, and I don't know why I'm the only one here who feels that way!"

Dean looked totally disgusted. "Because you're a fucking _idiot_ , that's why!"

Aghast, Sam threw his hands wide. "Since when do we just lay down and accept it when someone _dies_?" he asked, lost at his brother's uncharacteristic behavior.

Dean gave Sam an insolent look. "Oh gosh, lemme think… Mom, Dad, Bobby, Ellen, Jo, Adam? And like a _billion_ others?" he asked icily. "They're all _dead_ and _we can_ _'_ _t change it._ So go ahead and add Alex to the list, buddy, 'cause she ain't coming back either." He turned around and stalked unevenly along the bedside in an attempt to channel his fury. Sam stood back and watched him without knowing how to react. It was almost like Dean was trying to prove a _point_ —he wasn't truly engaging with Sam or listening to what Sam was saying, and the things Dean was saying didn't make _sense_. So, Sam tried harder.

"But what if Cas is _wrong_?" he pressed, desperate for Dean to listen. But Dean just looked… _annoyed._ Sam wondered if maybe there'd been some kind of brainwashing in Purgatory at this point and if Dean was even in his right mind anymore. "Where's my brother, the one who sold his soul and would do literally anything for his own?!" he asked, trying to button-push Dean into responding.

Dean's cold anger showed and he looked Sam square in the eye and stopped pacing. "Oh, I'm right here. Where were _you_?" he asked lowly. All of the resentment and boxed-up anger Dean had been holding inside was showing in his eyes and on his face and it suddenly made sense. This was all about Dean's anger at Sam. "Sure woulda been nice if you'd cared like this before when we actually _needed_ you, Sam." Dean's face twisted again and his voice rose to full volume. "Then maybe we wouldn't even be having this stupid fucking _conversation_!"

"Dean—"

" _It_ _'_ _s your fault she died_!" Dean roared, red-faced and at full volume, and Sam was struck silent and still as those words drove a knife into his heart. Once he said it, Dean looked a little startled with himself, then quickly and pridefully covered over that emotion with a hard face. "If you'd been with us, Cas could've gotten out and she wouldn't have even had a reason to go back in there like she did."

Sam shook his head faintly. He couldn't take it if that was true. If he was the reason Alex died. "Y-you don't know that for sure," he protested feebly, beginning to question everything his instincts kept telling him.

"That how you sleep at night?" Dean asked coldly, sauntering around the edge of the bed with a pissed expression on his face. "That what you tell yourself when the guilt starts whispering in your ear?" He came closer to Sam, who was now in a place of utter vulnerability. His big brother used that against him and hit him with everything he had. "I'll tell you what I _do_ know. You didn't help her. You didn't do a damn _thing_. And I'll never forgive you for leaving her alone when she needed you! I forgave that shit once but not again! First _Ruby_ , then some chick named _Amelia_? You're a real piece of work aren't you, Sam? I disappear and you turn tail then go chase some useless piece of ass and forget you even have a family. And now your sister is dead because you couldn't keep it in your pants!"

His brother's words seemed true and damning and Sam felt like he had no defenses left at all. "It—it wasn't like that," he said weakly, feeling a painful swelling lump in his throat.

"Oh, so what _was_ it like, Saint Sam?"

It took everything Sam had not to punch Dean right in the face. Composing himself and trying to be the bigger person, Sam spoke in a tight voice that came off as defensive. "Yes. It _was_ selfish. It _was_ irresponsible." And as he thought about this next part, he began to lose his edge and started to doubt himself again. "I should have helped Alex find you," he managed as guilt crashed over him for the millionth time. "I should have stayed with her. I… I know that." And he _still_ couldn't fathom for the life of him why he'd left her side at all.

Dean was still cold as ice. "Well good for you, I'm so glad you _know that._ "

Losing his temper, Sam tried to go back to his original point. "Just listen to me for one goddamn second Dean and stop being such a _child_! This crap between us can wait—right now we should be getting our asses into Purgatory and finding out for _ourselves_ what the hell actually _happened_ to her! She might still _be_ there! Why won't you _listen_ to me? Cas could be mistaken, or, or _confused_!"

Dean was unaffected and looked like he even pitied Sam a little, which was all the more infuriating. "You are in so much denial right now, aren't you?" he asked softly, patronizingly. "Can't even see past your own BS to the facts." He sounded one hundred percent sure of himself when he spoke next. "That's the one thing Cas would _never_ get 'confused' about. Her. And you know what? I _trust_ Cas. After ten friggin' _months_ in monsterland... I know who I can trust! And it sure as hell ain't _you_!"

That was the final comment that confirmed everything Sam was thinking privately. Dean didn't trust him anymore. And why should he? Completely defeated with eyes that stung from emotional pain, Sam shook his head once, out of words. Dean was right, sort of. Cas had been there for him and Sam had been… with Amelia. And now she was gone and didn't want him, either. _No one_ wanted him. Sam felt run over, defeated, and burned. "Why am I even here with you right now if that's how you feel?" he asked in heartbroken quietness. "Why are we even doing this at all, huh?" A long, weighted pause. "Y-you'd rather be with Cas or with Jamie or, or _Kevin_ —with _pretty much anyone_ but me, right?" The look on Dean's face said everything and it broke Sam's fucking heart. The tears came and his shoulders fell. "I know I messed up," he managed in a voice that was barely there at all. "But I'm _trying_ and you won't give me a _chance_!"

Dean looked angry still but he couldn't hide that Sam's reaction was making him sad, too. There was a long pause. "Do you _deserve_ a chance?" he asked.

Sam swallowed. No, he wouldn't give _himself_ one if the roles were reversed he didn't think, but… he was left despairing for his big brother to come through and tell him it was okay and they'd work it out like they always did. "Maybe not, but I mean…" Sam couldn't find the words. The way Dean was looking at him killed him. And he thought maybe this time he'd screwed up too much to be forgiven, ever. And that was _terrifying_. "Is it really like that?" he asked, so beyond hurt. When Dean said nothing, Sam began to beg. "Come on, man. I'm your _brother_. We've been through so much together, Dean. Don't let my stupid mistake destroy that!"

Dean shook his head and almost rolled his eyes—he looked offended or something. "Oh so it's all on _me_ now, huh? Ball's in my court? I just have to swallow down what you did and be fine with it and come to terms with it in my own little heart, right, 'cause you feel _sad_ about it now? I'm supposed to forgive you and stick a band-aid on it and sing kumbaya and act like the choice _you_ made didn't destroy our _family_?" Dean's jaw tightened and the final judgment was visible in his eyes. "Get over yourself." He brushed past Sam roughly, hitting his shoulder against his brother's. "Sam, I love you and you're my brother but I'm done acting like I can even stand being in the same _room_ with you."

Sam turned, his eyes full of tears. "I wouldn't choose it again, Dean, please believe me," he said, struggling to speak at all. "I learned my lesson. That it's too late for me and I'll never have anyone like that and I need to stop thinking I can be normal. I can't. I get it now. _Dean._ I'm nothing but a failure and a screwup and I wish to _God_ I could take it all back. But I can't. All I can do is accept it and keep trying and make it up to you somehow." He took in a deep, shaky breath and waited for Dean to turn around and relent and stop beating him up for what he couldn't change. "But only if you say you're not giving up on me."

But Dean didn't turn around. He was cold, final, and _done_. "Too late for that," he said darkly. "I gave up on you a long time ago, Sammy." And without another word, Dean grabbed his keys and his duffel bag.

When a very emotional Sam moved into the way to stop him from leaving and driving drunk, Dean threatened to hit him. When Sam refused, Dean made good on his threat and knocked him out cold. When Sam woke up on the motel room floor, his brother was gone, the Impala too, and Dean wouldn't answer his phone. Not knowing if Dean were alive or dead, Sam swallowed all the misery and bitterness and hurt and he did what he needed to do: he began to look for Zip, who he knew had the way into Purgatory. With or without Dean, he was going to follow the feeling he had inside. He'd find out for _himself_ what had happened to his sister. Or he'd die trying.

* * *

**Three Days Later  
Whitefish, Montana**

His eyeballs were on _fire_ in his skull—his head pounded like someone was hitting him in the temple repeatedly with a wrought-iron mallet—his throat was parched, his eyelids felt crusted shut, and his muscles were all lazy bastards who protested his slightest movement. He never wanted to move ever again and he didn't know if he could, either. But for some reason, Dean made himself stir and slowly force open up his aching eyes. And then he jumped and yelled in surprise and the action sent several beer and liquor bottles flying off the couch that he was reclined on. "Damn it, Cas!" Dean swore, glaring up at the blank-faced angel who was standing there silently and watching him sleep. "How many times I gotta tell you—it's just creepy!" A dirty and drunken mess, Dean sat up too fast and the world tilted even as his monster-sized headache intensified by the power of a million horrible suns. " _Ugh_ …" he groaned, putting a hand on his head and another on his churning stomach. He felt _awful._

Cas looked constipated and slightly confused, as per usual. "…Have you been drinking?" he asked, that stupid-low voice of his getting under Dean's skin immediately.

"When _haven_ _'_ _t_ I been drinking?" was the churlish retort. "Public service announcement: my life _sucks_!" That's why Rufus's cabin—Dean's choice of location to crash and get smashed—was littered in _way_ too many empty bottles and cans. That's why Dean's phone was dead and forgotten and probably still in the car. That's why he hadn't moved from the couch in like three days now. Just booze, bad TV, and frozen burritos. No wonder he felt like a walking trash can. Fully aware of how pathetic he was and how bad he must look, Dean was a little beyond caring. That's how terrible his body felt. Rubbing his forehead and trying to willpower away the splitting headache, Dean looked up at Cas, who was doubled until the hunter blinked multiple times. "Okay now why are you here watching me sleep?" he asked grumpily. "Your name Edward Cullen or something?"

The angel's eyes squinted up. "No… it's… Castiel." _Jesus Christ, Cas. Pop culture much?_ Cas appeared to write Dean's comment off as something he didn't need to worry about and he let it go. "Dean, I need your help. The angel Samandriel… he's been taken."

 _Great. You need help. And I wanna stay here and rot and forget my entire freaking life_. Still, Dean wracked his brain tiredly, wincing against the pulsing pain in his eardrums. "Sam-and-ruh—" he paused, suddenly remembering the angel in the goofy fast food uniform who had approached him at that weird-ass auction last week. "Wait you mean Alfie, the wiener-on-a-stick kid?"

Again, Cas looked unsure about Dean's choice of words. "I… suppose you could call him that. But uh—yes. I, uh—I heard his distress call this morning."

"On what, angel radio?" Dean rubbed the side of his head and groaned out a sound of complaint—it was too early for all of this. "I thought you shut that crap down." He caught sight of his wristwatch then and realized it was four in the afternoon. "God, my _head_ …"

Dean was too busy dealing with his hangover to notice how shifty Cas's eyes were at the question about angel radio. "Well, my penance… it's, uh, going well, and I thought it was time to turn it back on," Cas hedged. "I've, uh... been helping people for the last few days, Dean."

"Well, good for you," Dean replied sarcastically, because he had _not_ been doing anything of the sort. " _I_ have been _drinking_. You got a magic angel cure for a hangover?" At the look on Cas's face, Dean huffed and stood up lurchingly, casting around for his duffel bag—his throbbing headache got even worse. "I'll take that as a no." He suppressed a sound of discomfort as his stiff muscles protested his hobbling movement. "All right. So, who snatched Heaven's most adorable angel?" he asked, trying to sound a lot tougher than he was currently feeling. He kicked aside a couple empty beer cans as he found his duffel.

"Crowley."

That name alone pissed him off. "Of course," Dean muttered darkly, bending ungracefully and digging around in his bag to find a bottle of painkillers. "Any idea why?" He found the aspirin and straightened with all the virility and spryness of a ninety-year-old man.

"None," Castiel intoned passionlessly. "But it's safe to say it's a sinister reason and we need to get him away from Crowley. I have a bad feeling about all of this."

Dean paused as he painstakingly counted out pills into his hand—vision was doubled again. He began to look at Cas closely, or as closely as he could manage in his sorry state. He was just realizing how the angel was acting a _lot_ like he used to act way back in the day. Unemotional, cardboard-esque. And that didn't seem totally right. Dean had spent almost a year with this guy in monsterland and Cas had been emotional—sometimes to the point of being annoying. And now he was what, Robo-Cas again? A little wary as his muddled senses warned him that something was off, Dean hesitated. "Hey… you okay Cas?" he asked, peering at the angel.

Cas didn't even bat an eye. "Yes, of course, why wouldn't I be?"

Well, he could think of a few reasons why. But maybe Cas was taking a page from the book of Dean Winchester and burying everything under work and missions and the 'I'm fine' lie. Either way, Dean gave him the benefit of the doubt—his raging headache was making everything less fun and he was probably overthinking it. "Never mind," he said, deciding it wasn't anything. "What else you got on wiener boy?"

Cas's face showed confused disapproval at the nickname but he didn't comment on it. "Samandriel is being held in the general vicinity of Hastings, Nebraska."

"General vicinity?" Dean repeated, getting preemptively annoyed—he didn't feel like tracking someone down, _ughhh_. "That's all you got?"

"Yes, which is why I need your help." Cas looked severely reluctant. "It seems this is gonna involve... talking to people."

Dean didn't know whether to laugh or to scoff. "Come on, Cas, I thought you were a hunter now."

With downcast eyes that made him look mildly ashamed, Cas nodded slightly. "Well... I thought so, too, but... It seems I—I lack a certain—" he suddenly looked very far away and sad—his voice changed a little, too. "It was easier when she was here," he said softly, and the way his voice had gotten all thick it almost sounded like he could have been in tears.

The sudden mention of Alex was startling and uncomfortable. Dean felt how his teeth automatically clenched tight and how his entire nervous system got stressed at the offhand mention of his sister. He'd been drinking all this booze to _stop_ thinking about her and Sam and all the shit he couldn't control or change. "Yeah. Well." He spoke stiffly and tried to brush past it all. It was so painful that he literally _couldn_ _'_ _t_ go there. So he focused on Cas and decided to throw himself into this job and rescuing Sam-han— _Alfie_. "I got your back," Dean told Cas. "I mean I owe you one. More like owe you a _hundred,_ but yeah. Let's start small." Dean downed the pills he'd been holding that whole time and he swallowed them without water, making noises of discomfort as they crammed down his esophagus.

Cas took those couple of seconds to look around the cabin. "Where's Sam?" he asked.

 _Not_ something he wanted to talk about. "Sam's gone," Dean said flatly. "We'll find Alfie ourselves."

"…Gone where?" Cas pressed, becoming concerned.

He was defensive even though Cas's question was innocent enough. "We _fought_ , okay? Think you being around was keeping us civil, but once you peaced out we… I dunno, couldn't hang in there. Or I couldn't, anyway. So we went separate ways." Dean turned around, signaling that he was done talking about that.

But Cas's slightly-disappointed tone made guilt wash all over him. " _Dean_."

Dean turned around sharply. "Look, I know, Cas." That he'd promised to try and work things out with Sam, that he'd said he'd try. "I _know_. But right now, I can't deal with him or with _anything_. Obviously." Dean motioned around the cabin and all the evidence of self-pitying squalor he'd been living in. Then he turned around again and fished for his laptop. "That poor sap still thinks his sister's alive," he muttered, shaking his head grimly and wishing he could believe that, too. "I tried to tell him but he wouldn't listen."

If he'd been where he could see Cas's face, he would have seen a slight panic flare up in the angel's eyes as a moment of clarity and urgency broke through the angel's robotic state. "Dean, she _is_."

Heart lodging in his throat, Dean turned around fast, his pulse going like a jackhammer. " _What_?" he asked, wide-eyed and breathless.

But Cas was standing there with a dead look on his face and blank eyes. "I'm sorry, what I meant to say she _is_ …. very dearly missed." Dean's face worked oddly—that was a hell of a mistake to make and for a second, it had sounded like… like…

"I'm _tired_ Dean," Cas said heavily, excusing himself and what he'd just said and confusing Dean further. Cas didn't _look_ sorry about it. Just… factual. "And I'm grieving. Sometimes I say things and don't finish them. I apologize. I didn't mean for my verbal gaffe to upset you." And just like that, cold and without emotion, Cas gestured to the laptop, indicating they carry on with what they were doing. "Samandriel."

Totally shaken up and suddenly having to fight tears, Dean swallowed hard and refused to let himself cry. "Right," he said gruffly, kicking himself for being so ready to get hopeful again. Hope _hurt_. "O-okay." He put the laptop down onto the table gingerly, his mind a thousand places all at once. "Uh, you make us some java so I can kick this hangover to the curb, will you?"

"Of course," Cas monotoned. He made his way for the small cabin kitchen. And that was when Dean started really keeping an eye on Cas and wondering if maybe— _maybe_ —Sam had been right. Because for a minute, Dean could have sworn Cas was saying Alex was still alive.

* * *

The next few hours progressed quickly—using the internet, Dean found some signs of angelic disturbances around Hastings (a bush caught fire and exploded among other things) and then Cas beamed them to the city, Impala and all, and without further ado, the two men started looking around for signs of Crowley while using the burning bush as the epicenter of their search. Dean insisted on driving for this part—but he was starting to get tired of it two hours later as he pulled the car up to a chain link fence and stared at the dilapidated building beyond it. "Wow, will you look at that?" he asked cynically. "Our ninth abandoned factory. Ain't that America?" Some homeless guys were clustered at a graffitied wall around a fire in a metal trash can and Dean's restless, sobering mind was getting a little too much for him. He threw a glance at his passenger seat companion. "Hey, what do you say this doesn't pan out, we head back to that beer-and-bacon happy hour about a mile back, huh? You ever tried bacon, Cas? That stuff is like _crack_."

Cas looked stricken and his eyes fell away from the warehouse. "Yes, Alex gave me some a few years ago," he said, the first mention of her since he'd first shown up. "We had bacon. And waffles. And coffee." No one had ever sounded sadder about breakfast than Cas did right then.

Dean reached for the gear shift, once again jolted by reality and made all the more outwardly harsh for it. "So maybe no happy hour," he muttered, because if bacon was some kind of trigger for Cas… no thank you.

Cas's hand shot out to grip Dean's wrist as he stared at the warehouse hard. "Dean, wait—those derelicts, they're demons. I can see their true faces."

Dean grabbed the beat up binoculars from between the seats and took a gander for himself. Four, no—five guys at least. Shaking his head and lowering the binoculars, Dean set his jaw hard. "Crowley's got that many hell monkeys outside, he's got to have at least double inside."

"And angel warding," Cas said grimly. "I can feel it."

"Well, you, me, and a demon knife probably ain't gonna cut it," Dean began doubtfully.

Cas nodded somberly. "Okay," he said. "I'll go get Sam."

" _No_ _,_ " Dean said, shoving the binoculars back where he'd gotten them. That was _not_ what he meant. "We don't need _Sam_."

"But you just said—"

Dean gave Cas a warning look that said very clearly how much he _did not_ want to go that route. Sam only made Dean feel worse about everything right now and to be honest, the things he'd said to Sam (the things he remembered saying, anyway) were the kind of things you couldn't take back or make better. Currently in the mindset of avoiding reality at all cost, Dean kept his tough-guy act up. "Look, if Sam wanted in, he'd be here, okay? I got a better idea."

* * *

**The Fizzles** **'** **Folly  
Warsaw, Missouri**

Dean and Castiel appeared together in a small and dingy space—a dilapidated houseboat that was cluttered and dank and _small_. Pages full of symbols and notes and scratched out text with question marks were stuck to almost every square inch of space near the hunched-over figure at the small table nearby. The surface of that table was messy with open reference books and notepads. With his dark head bowed over a broken tablet half, Kevin Tran looked tired even before they could see his face.

When they appeared behind him, Kevin's head raised as if he'd heard their appearance. "Slow read?" Dean asked, hoping they wouldn't give the kid a heart attack.

Kevin turned in his seat, not appearing startled at their appearance in the least. His face was exhausted and he was obviously sleep deprived and maybe even a little sick. "The slowest," he replied, deadpan. Dean's eyebrows rose a little. Kid was a totally different person than the Kevin Tran he'd first met. 

Noticing that the houseboat was incredibly quiet—no goofy Garth loping around anywhere to be seen or heard—Dean narrowed his eyes slightly. "Where's Garth?"

Kevin had turned back around and bent back over the tablet, apparently not interested in Cas and Dean's unexplained appearance. "Supply run?" he asked artlessly. "I don't know. Sort of lost track of when he comes and goes."

"And your mom?" Dean prompted.

Kevin turned around with an impatient flare of anger in his expression. "You guys need help with something?" he asked defensively. "I'm working here."

Surprised at the brush off, Dean was momentarily rendered speechless. "You look horrible," Cas observed flatly—his first words to Kevin.

"Yeah." Kevin looked pretty done with the world. " _Thanks_."

"He's right," Dean said, eyeing the prophet and wondering if something was wrong. "You okay, Kevin?"

"Fine," the young man said tiredly, then gestured around at all the evidence of his tablet work. "I'm just... in the middle of this."

Dean nodded, eyes traveling the numerous pages stuck to everything. "And? Any luck?"

"Interpreting half a demon tablet?" Kevin asked like he thought the question was ridiculous. "No. I got nothing. Give me some time though, geez."

Dean moved forward and patted him on the shoulder bracingly. "All right, well, buck up, 'cause we need some more of that demon T-N-T stuff you made before like ASAP."

Kevin's mouth dropped open a little. "You used it all?" he asked in disbelief.

Dean shrugged. "Yeah, so let's whip up another batch."

"Whip up another batch? Yeah, _s_ _ure_ _,_ _"_ Kevin retorted in rising anger. "All we need is West Bank witch hazel, skull of Egyptian calf, the tail of some random-ass newt that may or may not be _extinct_ —"

"All right, all right, I get it—" Dean said, holding his hands up in mock-surrender. "Ingredients are hard to come by, huh?"

Moody and short-tempered, Kevin looked ready to kick something. "That's just the first _three_ ingredients."

Dean looked at Cas, who he was pretty sure could take care of it. Just like he'd thought, Cas nodded. "Give me the list," he said to Kevin. "I'll get what we need."

Kevin didn't look enthusiastic, but he did what Cas said. After jotting down the list and handing it to Cas with a cynical 'good luck,' Kevin returned to bending over the tablet. Cas disappeared to get the items for demon bombs and Dean was left in the silent houseboat with a cranky prophet. After poking around Garth's weird little home for a couple minutes, he approached Kevin again. "Hey," he said. "Where _i_ _s_ your mom? For real."

Kevin glanced up fleetingly at Dean. "Somewhere safe."

He put two and two together. "…You kicked your mom to the curb?" Dean asked in slight disbelief. The Trans were tight like braids… why would they separate after just reuniting?

Kevin was somber. "She was too distracting. I couldn't focus. The angels said I had to go to the desert to learn the word of God, all right? So…" he spread his hands and he was the picture of unhappiness as he stared at all the chaos he was surrounded by. "This is my desert."

"Yeah, but… your mom's your mom," Dean said. He would have given anything to have had his around.

Kevin was glum. "I can't enjoy a world I need to save, Dean," he said heavily. "I can enjoy it when this is all over with. For right now... there's nothing more important than this."

Dean watched Kevin with a growing sense of sadness. "Spoken like a true hunter," he replied, trying to disguise his sadder feelings. Poor kid used to have dreams of college and becoming president. And now he looked like he'd given up on everything. Kevin obviously knew that his life as he'd imagined it before was over before it had even started. It was kind of like Sam and Alex all over again. Sam wanting to be a lawyer—that dream had been snatched away. Alex wanting a normal life with Cas (she'd never said it, but Dean had known)—that would never happen. Because of _this._ Hunting. Saving people. It came with the highest pricetag Dean knew of. And without the people he loved near him, Dean didn't really know what reasons he had left to continue on this path at all.

Nearby, Kevin was silent and his face was clouded for a long moment, but he'd stopped reading the tablet. He stared blankly at the tabletop. "I don't want my mom to get hurt because of me," he said finally. "Because of who I am." His dark eyes looked up at Dean and there was a deep, profound pain and fear there. A shadowed quality that would never go away. "You were right when you first told me not to even go back and see her," Kevin said, becoming more and more quietly upset. "You were right."

"Maybe not," Dean said, trying to boost some morale and lessen the overall depression in the room. "Maybe keeping family close is what's best, huh?"

"Yeah?" Kevin challenged knowingly, sitting back in his seat almost defiantly. "So where's Sam?"

 _Busted_. Dean was wan at the reminder. "Not here," he said stiffly, then turned and walked off a couple steps. He wondered where Sammy was and if he was okay. He guessed he'd _always_ wonder that. He still couldn't understand why Sam would ever abandon and betray the family like he had. _I thought I knew him._ Was it temporary insanity? Did Sam deserve another chance? He was sure acting like he wanted one…

In the dead of the silence, Kevin suddenly spoke up, his voice soft and sad. "Just so you know, I tried to talk Alex into letting me go with her into Purgatory and help get you guys." Dean turned around, his throat tight and his face taut with a pained expression. He hadn't forgotten what his sister had told him about helping this kid out while he and Cas were gone. Kevin looked rueful and regretful and a little ashamed. "But she wouldn't _let_ me. Said I was too young and not a good enough fighter and she wasn't gonna be responsible for me getting hurt. That my job was word keeper, not front lines." His face darkened bitterly. "And now... she's dead." He looked around with a hard expression sketched onto his face. "It just gets under your skin. People you maybe could have saved." He looked at Dean finally. "That's why I have to do this and do it without distraction. I wanna make this world a safer place and I can't rest until I do. More people aren't gonna die because I didn't do my job."

Dean was confused. Did Kevin think it was his fault, somehow? Or was that just hunter's guilt? He didn't know, and honestly, he was too messed up himself to try and ask about it. If he took a chance and let himself be real, he would crack apart for real. So he cleared his throat, nodded that he'd heard, then looked around and changed the subject. "Got any eats?"

Appearing a little disappointed that his confession was getting no response, Kevin shrugged apathetically and gestured with a lazy, uncaring hand in the general direction of the kitchen area. "I dunno, look in there."

* * *

Dean tipped the bag of chips up and let the rest of the greasy crumbs in the bottom slide into his mouth and he tossed the wrapped haphazardly in the general direction of the trashcan as he chewed loudly and smacked his hands against each other to try and dust off the oily residue left on his palms. God he loved junk food. If he didn't spend so much time running and fighting and forgetting meals, he'd probably be the four-hundred-pound guy forever parked on the couch with a barrel of Cheetos.

As Dean amused himself with stupid thoughts that cost him no feeling except faint amusement, there was the sound of angel's wings behind him and Cas's familiar low voice. "I got what we need."

Dean turned around, eager to get on with the weapon making and demon killing. "About…" his face fell when he saw who the angel had brought, "…time." _Sam_ was standing next to Cas and he had a look on his face like he was just _bracing_ himself for Dean's reaction. Which was to immediately get mad and bruqsue. "What's _he_ doing here?"

Sam had a reply prepared. "Don't worry, Dean," he said flatly, his expression guarded. "Once we save Alfie, I'm out."

Dean's eyebrows rose. "Oh, once ' _we_ ' save Alfie," he repeated cooly. "Don't hurt yourself, Sam. Cas and I can handle it like we always have."

A muscle in Sam's jaw jerked. "Not according to Cas."

Dean looked at the angel with hard eyes. "I told you we didn't need him."

Cas looked like he'd expected as much and it was annoying the ever living fuck out of him. "We need _everything_ , Dean," he replied forcefully. "And I need both of you, as you say… to _stow your crap_. Can you do that?" He looked at them both in turn, obviously very unhappy with the rift. Then in vastly grouchy annoyance, he set his mouth in a thin line. "Wait here. I'm going to get one more person."

" _Who_?" Dean asked, but the angel had already vanished. "Dammit, Cas…" he muttered, then shot his brother an unfriendly glance.

Kevin leaned forward and looked through the bag of ingredients Cas had set down onto the table. "Wow," the prophet said, pawing through the items inside the burlap sack. "He actually got everything."

Dean folded his arms and glared at Kevin. "So you can build those bombs now, right?" he asked, in a pushy mood because he was so pissed that Cas had brought Sam into this.

He got a petulant look. " _No_ …" Kevin said like the question was idiotic. "A _witch_ needs to put them together."

Dean's face fell. He hadn't known that part. They'd cross that bridge when they got to it, he guessed. "Maybe Cas can do it," he said, then eyed Sam sidelong. Uncomfortable and stiff, Sam was already looking at Dean. "Where you been for the last three days?" Dean asked in a gruff voice. He tried to sound like he didn't care, but of course hd did.

Sam's reply was even and quiet. "Hunting down Zip."

Dean, who hadn't spent enough time worrying about his brother or what he would have been doing all this time, did a double take. "Sam— _whoa_ —what for?"

Sam was severe and unfriendly. "You know what for," he replied, and he was cold and distant to a point that Dean guessed was deserved. "I _told_ you," his brother said firmly. "I'm not letting this rest until I know for sure." He paused and softened then offered something that surprised Dean. "And if you wanna come along with me… you're more than welcome." A long look passed between the brothers. "Otherwise, after this, you never have to see me again. Up to you." Not knowing what to say because he was so guilty of hurting his brother, Dean said nothing at all. He'd told Sam to get over himself when they fought. But maybe Sam wasn't the one who needed to get over himself.

And then Kevin spoke up, distracting the brothers. "Did you say… _Zip_?" he asked. He had stopped what he was doing and was staring up at them oddly, his pencil frozen in mid-word.

"Yeah, why?" Sam asked, making a quick intuitive jump. "You seen him?"

Sure enough, Kevin nodded slowly and awkwardly. "Uh… yeah. He shows up wherever I am. Follows me around ever since I got away from Crowley. Brings food I like and stuff. I dunno, it's weird." Kevin definitely looked uncomfortable. "He's been here like twice so far."

Dean's eyebrows were sky high. "You got to be kidding me. First that little punk stalks—" he stopped short of saying her name. "And now _Kevin_?"

Sam looked mildly murderous. "Maybe I can help you with your stalker problem, Kevin."

Kevin actually didn't look too comforted by that offer. "Are you guys gonna kill him?" he asked, nervous eyes going between Sam and Dean both.

"That depends," Sam said darkly.

Kevin said nothing else—went back to translating the tablet. But he looked a lot less at ease than he'd been before. Sam and Dean took up opposite ends of the room. Sam standing and leaning with crossed arms against a wall, Dean sitting in a chair and twiddling his thumbs and picking at a scab on his wrist. About five minutes later, the sound of angel's wings alerted them to Cas's return. And with him…

"James!" Dean managed as he stood up so fast he knocked his chair over.

Jamie was beside Cas and she looked… pretty bad. She wore jeans and sneakers, a wrinkled black hoodie, and her hair didn't look like it had been washed in a few days. Maybe she'd lost weight, too—she didn't look as strong as before. She wore no makeup to speak of, had chipped and bitten fingernail polish and tired eyes. All in all, she appeared to be falling apart. Dean was immediately worried and already drifting closer to her. She looked at him with a nearly _wary_ expression before her eyes darted around and avoided really looking into his. "Cas said you guys needed a witch," she explained woodenly, apparently not wanting to say hello like Dean did.

Kevin shot up to his feet with wide eyes and he backed away. "She's a _witch_?!" Apparently he'd had a bad experience with them.

Jamie eyed him doubtfully and it wasn't clear if she was offended or chagrinned. "Relax, kid, it's not _contagious_."

Dean gestured at Kevin and then at James. "Kevin Tran, Jamie Ward. My—uh..." he stopped short of saying girlfriend and looked at her questioningly with narrowed eyes, realizing maybe that wasn't the case anymore. The look on her face was too unclear for him to know _what_ she was anymore. Then she looked away and left him hanging and Dean was suddenly very self conscious.

"I'm sorry, but time is of the essence," Cas said, cutting short the awkward moment.

"Just show me where the stuff is and the instructions, if you have them," Jamie said, and she was obviously glad to have something to do that didn't involve talking to Dean. A little hurt, he watched as she proceeded to set up the stuff and asked for bowls and a pestle and a hammer and a few other things. Kevin got what he had as Dean hovered close to James. She studiously ignored him and Dean waited for her to say something or look at him, but neither of those things happened. He cleared his throat, trying to get her attention. Nothing. "Hey, so—" he began. She stopped what she was doing and her eyes slid toward him. "…We good?" he asked, not sure why she was acting like this. She'd been weird ever since he got back from Purgatory, yeah—and she was kind of a hot-or-cold kind of person either way—but his senses just kept telling him something was going on with her that he didn't know about.

Her eyes finally looked into his and she was completely unreadable to him. "I'm here, aren't I?" she asked, her tone elusive and neutral.

Well, _that_ answered _nothing._ Dean searched her eyes for truth, but her walls were up and he couldn't see into her like he sometimes could. When he compared this moment against others they'd had, he was confused and disillusioned and frustrated. He had been in moments with this girl where she'd been real with him and open, honest, even vulnerable. He didn't get it. "Still mad at me?" he asked, not sure how else to get at what was wrong with her. Last time they'd been in the same room she'd been crazy upset, so maybe she was still upset. It hadn't been _that_ long since that little tiff they'd had...

But she didn't seem upset anymore. Today, she was reserved, demure, and playing her cards close to her chest which kinda stung. At his question, a little pained smile flashed across her face and she looked back down at her tableful of ingredients. "Always," she said. It was a joke and it was a way of avoiding really engaging in conversation with him. But Dean heard one thing in her voice. She was _sad_.

He watched her as she worked and knew why she was sad. He looked at Kevin, praying that the kid could get something off that demon tablet that could help him save this girl. Even if she didn't want to be saved or even if she didn't believe she could be saved, he _needed_ to save her. Needed to save _someone._ Lost in his thoughts, he totally missed the way Jamie looked at him sidelong, just once, with the guiltiest look on her face. And then she wiped it away, pinched her face up into an expression of concentration, and focused on the task at hand.

* * *

Under the cover of night, the Impala crept to a halt outside of the warehouse perimeter, far enough away that they wouldn't draw attention. Out of the car, four hunters came—Dean, Sam, Jamie, and Castiel. In the darkness ahead, the warehouse where Crowley held Samandriel loomed behind a chain-link fence. "So, there will probably be four main points of warding," Castiel told them as they studied the quiet looking building. "North, south, east, and west—and four Enochian symbols, like this…" he produced a sharpie marker from nowhere and took Sam's wrist then drew a star-like symbol onto his hand, "…that you need to destroy before I can enter."

Dean nodded, face terse. "Okay, so we go in, take care of the hell mooks, and you extract the angel?"

Cas nodded confirmation. "Yes." His guilty, sad eyes slid to Dean's. "After killing so many… I need to save at least this one." A heavy statement that made Dean look away.

"Sounds like a plan," Sam said softly and grimly—he was sensitive to Cas's emotional turmoil.

Cas looked at Sam and then reached into his trench coat and produced his angel blade then handed it toward him, hilt-first. "Here, Sam. This kills demons as well as angels. Take it."

Hesitant to do so but awed at the gesture, Sam nodded and took it after a beat of contemplation. "Thanks, Cas."

Dean nodded his readiness, pulling out the demon blade. "Okay," he said. "Let's do this thing." He turned to Jamie, who was silent and pensive, frowning at the warehouse with sharp eyes. "Ready for those demon bombs, Sabrina."

At the witch joke, she shot him a sidelong look. "I'm not staying out _here_ , dumbass. You and Sam needed all the backup you could get, right?" She brushed past him with a royal attitude that, no lie… kinda turned him on.

His voice was a notch deeper and huskier as he followed after her. "Well then, after you, bosslady."

Sam looked vaguely disapproving but said nothing, just gave Cas a parting nod as he followed after Dean and Jamie. "Dean, be _careful,_ " Cas said in an urgent, low voice, following them by a few footsteps and then hanging back. "Call me the second you've destroyed the fourth symbol."

And then Cas waited. After a moment, he looked at the Impala and thought about the girl who used to ride in the back seat.

_Focus, Castiel. Stop that._

The inner voice he did not recognize, realize, or even remember commanded it and he turned his head away in obedience without fully realizing. Left feeling strange and slightly ill, Castiel stood in darkness and felt once again that something was _wrong._

* * *

Sam and Dean knew each other like the backs of their own hands when it came to this kind of situation. They moved through the warehouse from shadow to shadow, Dean leading and giving hand signals that sometimes weren't even necessary—Sam already knew what to do and where to go and vice versa with Dean. They anticipated each others' movements like they always had. With Jamie right on their heels, they covered all four corners of the warehouse, taking about seven minutes in total to void the sigils blocking Castiel from entering. Jamie gave them a very interesting benefit—she cast a silence spell on their footsteps, earning approval and pleasant surprise from both the brothers. As they traversed the huge warehouse, they could hear screams. Samandriel was here, and Crowley was torturing him and they moved all the faster for that fact.

It had looked like the hunters were going to get the jump on the demons and not even alert them to their presence, but at the last moment, some demons found the destroyed angel sigils as the hunters were destroying the fourth and final one. When about ten demons rushed the group of three, those demon bombs came in plenty handy but they did have a pretty hard kick. Unfortunately, in the scuffle after throwing two bombs out, Jamie didn't duck fast enough and Dean wasn't quick enough to get her—she flew back hard against a wall and hit her head then fell to the ground in a heap and went still.

The heat was still sizzling through the air acridly as Dean hurried over to her and turned her over to check her. "Dammit, James," he muttered, a little worried and a little mad, too. That was a rookie mistake she'd just made. Her mind just wasn't here. "She's out cold." But would be okay from what he could tell. He looked up and his voice took on a cagey edge. "All right, anytime now, Cas," he said, alerting the angel that he was free to come in now and get Samandriel the hell _out_ of here.

Cas appeared, but he was breathing laboriously. "Cas! Hey!" Sam gripped him by the arm. "You okay?"

Obviously not okay, Cas shook his head clumsily. "It… must be the sigils," he managed unevenly. "I'm not… at full power." The angel looked _horrible_ and shaky, like even standing up was hard for him. How was he supposed to get Alfie out of here if he was in such bad shape?

Dean looked around—various sigils were scattered across the warehouse interior and he knew there were more down the hallway to the left. "Sam, help me muss this crud," he said.

Cas apparently didn't want to go that route. " _N_ _o_! There's no time. Samandriel won't last much longer!" As if to prove that point, the screams coming from close by intensified.

Dean jiggled the nearby door handle—if he was right, Samandriel was in the room that was behind the solid old wood door. "Door's bolted shut from the inside!" he said, snatching up a fallen slim pipe from nearby and wedging it into the crack between the door and the frame. He gritted his teeth and shouted a groan as he used all of his strength to accomplish… pretty much nothing.

Sam handed Cas his blade back fast and rushed over to help his brother, who had started launching the full weight of his body against the solid wood door repeatedly.

Cas staggered backwards and covered his ears with his hands abruptly, like something was hurting him or something was too loud. "Cas! Come on, man!" Dean yelled as he and Sam continued to try and break down the door.

But Cas did not assist them. Samandriel's screams continued to rise in pitch and agony and Castiel only backed further away from Sam and Dean. He didn't seem to hear or see anything that was happening in front of him—and then he shrank down and cowered against the opposite wall, his face a mask of shock and fear and horror as he clutched his blade and stared into nothing with terrified eyes. "No," he protested in a scared voice that didn't seem characteristic of him at all, "What—are you doing—to her?!" He shrank further and further into a little pathetic heap. "Stop— _stop_ —"

Sam stopped and looked back at the angel with wide, worried eyes. He'd heard the word her. "Cas?"

Dean, continuously throwing himself at the door, was getting nowhere. " _Sam_!" he shouted. " _Help me_!"

And then there was a soft, low female's voice. " _D_ _irumpe_." A single word said with dangerous amounts of power that crackled through the air and caused immediate effect. A gust of wind came from nowhere and the shut door shattered apart completely in an explosion of splinters and wood chunks. Dean and Sam gaped at the source of the magic. Standing there with a hand outstretched and a slack face, Jamie managed to stay on two feet for only one second before she wobbled and then fell over onto the floor, completely sapped from the spell she'd just cast.

Dean hesitated and it was clear he was about to go to her. Sam grabbed him by the arm, dragging him forward. "Dean, _Alfie_!" And the brothers hurried into the room together.

Crowley was not there. Samandriel's screams had stopped. But they saw him—sitting nearby and slumped over, bloody, bound like an animal. Near to the angel, a demon in a white lab coat snatched up a knife from his table of torture tools and attacked Dean even as a second demon in a dark jacket jumped on Sam from where he'd been crouched and hidden. Castiel staggered in, making a beeline for Samandriel in the chaos.

Dean flew into a glass pane even as Sam ran backwards into a nearby brick wall, stunning the demon who was choking him from behind long enough that he got free and could sucker punch his assailant in the face.

Cas got to Samandriel, who was barely conscious and strapped to a chair, bound in place with a strange metal torture device that was screwed into his head with multiple small metal parts. With shaking fingers, Cas loosened the screws on Samandriel's head as nearby, Dean kneed the lab-coat wearing demon repeatedly in the stomach and then shoved him away. Castiel continued to pull out screws and prongs as fast as he could. There was blood everywhere. But Samandriel was still alive. Maybe just barely so. But he was still _alive._ Cas looked down at the prong he had just extracted and stopped for a moment. Why did it look so familiar? He didn't know. He pulled the rest out with increased urgency as nearby, Dean knocked down then jumped on top of the demon he was fighting and raised his knife for the kill—leaving his own throat exposed. The demon grabbed him by the neck and they struggled.

Sam kicked the demon in the dark jacket into the table littered in torture implements—the demon swiped one and rushed him. Castiel got the last metal piece out and removed the circlet of metal from Samandriel's head. The younger angel opened his eyes and stared dumbly at Castiel—he looked relieved, hurt, shocked all at once.

Dean hit the demon he was grappling with hard in the forearm, breaking the chokehold even as Sam, not doing so well and without a demon killing weapon, got hit in the face hard enough to get a busted lip. "Sammy!" Dean shouted, and that one word told Sam what to do. Even as Dean scrambled up to his feet, Sam managed one last good lunge and grabbed the demon he was fighting and turned him then _flung_ the demon at his brother—who was waiting with his blade. With a sick thunk of flesh being impaled, the demon collided with the blade and screamed as his skeleton flickered. Yanking the knife out and shoving the body away, Dean shoved a knee down into the lab coat demon's chest and held his knife at the ready.

"Wait, _wait_!" the demon begged.

"Yeah right," Dean snapped, and plunged the knife down into the demon's chest. Even as his skeleton flickered and he screamed, Dean glared over at the angels. What were they waiting for? "Cas! _Go_!"

* * *

Castiel ported himself and Samandriel out of that place and to the Impala. There, he held the smaller angel up—the younger angel was bleeding profusely and didn't seem able to stand on his own.

Samandriel looked up at his older brother in a daze of confusion. Castiel could only imagine what had been done to him in there. "It's okay," Cas assured, bursting with relief and something like happiness. He'd done it. He'd saved one. "You're safe now," he said comfortingly. "I'm taking you home."

Instead of relief, Samandriel looked frightened. " _Home_?" he asked. Inexplicably, the panic in his eyes returned. "No, you can't take me back there, Castiel!"

Was Samandriel confused? Disoriented? "Why not?" Cas asked, completely confused.

"You don't _understand_ ," Samandriel said, breathing heavily and speaking fast in a voice that was deadly and severe. "I told Crowley things—things he shouldn't have known. He got to our coding, our _secrets_ —secrets I didn't even know we had!"

Castiel was more and more blindsided by the second. "What _secrets_?"

"Heaven's tablet!" Samandriel said, his panic only getting more and more pronounced. Again, Castiel had no idea what his brother was speaking about. "Things Naomi will _kill_ me for allowing out into the open!"

Castiel's face scrunched into a deep frown. Truly, he was beginning to think Samandriel was delirious and spouting nonsense. "Who's Naomi?" he asked.

Samandriel's face showed utter shock. "Who's—?" he began incredulously, then began to speak in utter urgency as his bloody hands gripped Castiel on either forearm like vices. "Listen to me, listen to me _closely._ I've been there. I know! They're _controlling_ us!" Further confused, Cas could only stare. Who? What did Samandriel mean? And then Cas's heart seemed to stop altogether at Samandriel's next impassioned declaration: "Castiel, they have your _wife_!" At the look of sheer terror and cluelessness that overcame Castiel's face, Samandriel became dazed and quietly shocked. "Y-you don't know, do you?" he asked, transfixed in horror. His voice lost the forceful quality it had possessed before. "You don't remember. _Any_ of it. S-she made you forget." Eyes falling away from Castiel's, Samandriel's face betrayed his deep fear. "It's so much worse than I thought," he breathed, almost speaking to himself at that point.

Cas was overcome by a certain sense of sick panic—he couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't comprehend anything. "What do you mean?" he asked in rising alarm, grabbing and shaking Samandriel. "Who made me forg— _who has Alex_?!"

And then, the voice in his head gave him a new command.

_Kill him!_

_No, I can_ _'_ _t!_

_This is a direct order, Castiel_ _! Kill him_ _or I kill her!_

And without warning, without even knowing what he was doing or why, Cas let his blade come out of his sleeve and without a word, he plunged the glinting tip into Samandriel's chest deeply. Light and Grace burned out of his chest and Samandriel gasped a horrible airless sound in pain, too raw from his torture to summon a scream. Shocked and betrayed, the younger angel's eyes slowly lifted to stare up at Cas in utter dismay… and Samandriel's innocent eyes were full of tears. And then he collapsed, dead. Castiel stared down at Samandriel, who he held up against the car, and he could not breathe.

_What have I done?!_

And then, Castiel was not on earth at all anymore. He was in a clinically clean office space that was full of artificial lighting and sleek silver embellishments. He was clean, seated, and not sure what was happening at all. Momentarily forgetting everything, too confused to know what was happening, Castiel stared at the other person in the room. She was a tall caucasian woman in her forties dressed in a tailored business suit. Her brown hair was clipped up elegantly and a fringe of bangs swept across her forehead at an angle. She had a pleasant face—but immediately, Castiel did not like her.

He looked around, gauging the immediate area for danger as his fingers dug into the armrests of the chair he sat in. He noticed that his fingers did not feel texture very well and that he still smelled blood in his nose. "W-where am I?" he asked, remembering Samandriel with increasing distress. "W-what did I just do?" He felt dizzy, sluggish, _wrong_.

The woman said nothing, just looked at him with an expression that could be called cold and displeased. And then he remembered, at least one thing. "Naomi," he breathed. He had been here before, hadn't he? He knew this woman, or at least he thought he did. He knew her _name_ somehow… his mind felt so _jumbled_ and he realized there was a physical sensation of pain behind one of his eyes. Why, he didn't know. "What did I just do?" he repeated, voice trembling. He'd murdered an innocent, helpless angel in cold blood and for no reason whatsoever! _I_ _'_ _m still crazy. The Leviathan damaged me forever. I_ _'_ _m broken, ruined!_

"You killed a _traitor_ ," Naomi said in a brisk, firm voice. "And as to your question about where you are… you're in Heaven. Well. Your mind is, anyway."

Confused and disjointed, Castiel tried to figure out what was happening by speaking aloud. "Samandriel... I… I was trying to _save_ him," he said, broken inside over what his hands had just done. "I killed him, _why_?"

Naomi's face showed contempt. "Samandriel was _broken_ _,_ _"_ she said sharply. "He revealed the existence of what I would _die_ to protect—what _any_ of us would die to protect. The angel tablet, Castiel. And now Crowley _knows_."

Castiel stared at her in total disbelief. "I just murdered one of my brother angels because… you _told_ me to?" He remembered hearing her voice compel him to do so now, but it made no sense. He had no allegiance to this angel. His days of mindless obedience were gone. In denial, he shook his head and pushed himself up to stand. "No, I don't mindlessly serve Heaven anymore, especially if Heaven is killing its _own_." He made for the doorway of the room.

Naomi studied him cooly. "Weren't you the one who wiped out thousands of our kind not even two years ago, Castiel?" she asked softly, freezing him in his steps. "You're lucky I'm giving you this opportunity at all."

Castiel turned around slowly, filled with dread although he couldn't quite remember why. "What… opportunity?" he asked.

She let out a soft sigh of inconvenienced impatience, as if she were tired of this exchange. Castiel didn't remember how many times it had happened in the past week or so, but Naomi did. "Have you forgotten what I have of yours?" she asked softly, then produced something out of her suit jacket pocket that made Castiel's heart catch. A penny on a silver chain.

Immediately bristling and shrinking all at once, Castiel went toward her, his heart hammering so hard he thought his chest cavity might break. "Where did you get that?!" he demanded.

"Where do you _think_?" she returned evenly.

 _Oh no._ In a moment of madness, Castiel rushed at Naomi, intending to attack and subdue her and then demand answers—but when he rushed into her space, he stopped short and his hands did nothing. His body refused to obey what he wanted to do, and she smiled at him in veiled amusement. Castiel was left to grasp at straws in his mind. _How is she controlling me like this?!_

"Castiel," she said in false fondness. "Must we _really_ do this every time?" she asked. " _Remember_. What you've agreed to. What our arrangement is." And as he looked into her haunting blue eyes, he did remember. He remembered it all.

* * *

_About a week and a half ago, he_ _'_ _d been in Purgatory. Alone. Barely surviving. But content to know that Alex had escaped this place safely. And then without warning, he was snatched out of that gray land of endless trees and fangs and claws. He was abruptly in a pristine office area, and a female angel he did not know was seated in front of him at a glass desk. She smiled welcomingly at him even though he was filthy from Purgatory and sitting in a white chair across from her that would no longer be white once he stood._ _"_ _Hello, Castiel._ _"_

_He_ _'_ _d been confused by the sudden jarring change he_ _'_ _d endured._ _"_ _Where am I?_ _"_ _he_ _'_ _d asked, worried._

_The woman looked mildly sympathetic and surprised._ _"_ _You don't know? You're_ home _, Castiel_ _,_ _"_ _she_ _'_ _d told him in a soothing voice. But he didn_ _'_ _t miss the element of haughtiness her tone carried. The slightly patronizing way her eyes glinted at him._ _"_ _A place many would say you don_ _'_ _t deserve to be. But, I think you can provide great use to me which is why I elected to bring you here._ _"_ _Confused, Castiel listened as she explained._ _"_ _My name is Naomi. We rescued you. An incursion of angels, which cost us many lives._ _"_

_His initial reaction had been to feel touched. And then, he was afraid._ _"_ _But why?_ _"_ _he asked. Perhaps the angels wanted revenge._ _"_ _After what I did._ _"_

_However, Naomi didn_ _'_ _t seem to want him dead. She leaned forward over her hands and smiled calmly at him, never showing teeth._ _"_ _Because of your unique position. Your_ _…_ connections _. I have a task for you._ _"_

_Understanding now that she wanted something from him, Castiel immediately began to refuse and very firmly so. He had someone waiting for him on earth._ _"_ _No, I don_ _'_ _t think so._ _"_ _He stood up._

_Pleasant as a spring day, Naomi merely watched him, a serene smile on her face as her hands remained clasped on her polished glass desk._ _"_ _You haven_ _'_ _t even heard what I_ _'_ _m proposing._ _"_

_Trying to be polite because he_ did _appreciate what they had done, he explained himself_ _—_ _he was in such a hurry to go to Alex._ _"_ _I apologize, but it doesn_ _'_ _t matter_ what _the task is. I need to get back to Alex Winchester, my w_ _—"_ _he stopped short, remembering how many angels looked down on him for that._

_Naomi nodded obligingly and he saw her swallow down some distaste behind the appearance of hospitality._ _"_ _Your wife. Yes, I know._ _"_ _She breathed in through her nose, but the way she did it showed Castiel that she was becoming angry with him._ _"_ _I thought you might say that. Refuse to do what I asked. Based on your past behaviors and actions, I_ _'_ _ve gathered that you are quite the strong-willed one. Very interested in your own gain, and not the gain of Heaven._ _"_ _She stood up in a slow measured way and then rounded the desk at a gait that showed how in charge she was. How superior._ _"_ _Castiel. Allow me to give you this final chance to work for me of your own free will,_ _"_ _she said, leaning against the front of her desk and continuing to look at him with eyes that were falsely kind._ _"_ _All I want is for you to monitor the prophet, the Winchesters, and report back to me with your findings._ _"_

_Castiel hesitated._ _"_ _Why?_ _"_

_Naomi_ _'_ _s smile held._ _"_ _It_ _'_ _s not your concern._ _"_

_He shook his head. He was incredibly wary of this_ _—_ _her_ _—_ _all of it. His danger sense was blaring. But he remained firm._ _"_ _No. I won_ _'_ _t be a spy for an angel I_ _'_ _ve never heard of who exists in a part of Heaven I_ _'_ _ve never even seen before._ _"_ _Castiel was beginning to feel that this was a trap of some kind. A sinister undertone he couldn_ _'_ _t completely quash was eating at him inside._

_Naomi_ _'_ _s eye twitched_ _—_ _the only giveaway of her annoyance with him._ _"_ _Very well,_ _"_ _she said, and then gestured at the doorway and then walked toward it._ _"_ _Come with me._ _"_

_She led Castiel to another room where two other angels waited_ _—_ _both silent and male with sharp, watchful eyes. In the center of the room, there was an empty chair that seemed to be medical in style. Beside it, some sort of tool of torture rested on a small, sleek table._ _"_ _What_ _'_ _s going on here?_ _"_ _Castiel asked, realizing that Naomi was going to attempt to do something to him. And in that moment, he realized that he was unable to port away. Naomi somehow had him stuck here._

" _Sit in the chair, Castiel,_ _"_ _Naomi said pleasantly, sauntering up to him and smiling even though she already seemed to know his answer._

" _No,_ _"_ _he said, eyeing either other angel in the room. He wasn_ _'_ _t sure if he could fight three at once, especially since he felt substantially weakened currently._

_Naomi looked at him for a long moment._ _"_ _Very well._ _"_ _She turned her head and looked at the door on the opposite end of the room._ _"_ _Hagar!_ _"_ _she called._

_The door opened, and into the room came another angel. This one female and small with delicate features and a serious face. She was leading someone with her by a hand and Castiel_ _'_ _s heart absolutely dropped out of him._ _"_ _Alex!_ _"_ _he cried, immediately making to go to her. The two male angels moved in and stopped him, held him back._

_Castiel struggled, but to no avail. And then he realized that Alex was not herself. She let Hagar lead her into the room by the hand like a small child might. She walked with a strange, clumsy gait as her feet shuffled, her usually keen expressive face had no expression on it whatsoever. And then she just stood there at Hagar_ _'_ _s side with a vacant look on her face_ _—_ _in fact, upon closer examination, she seemed drugged. Muddled and in some kind of stupor. Cas stared at her in rising horror as her dulled eyes met his. There was no recognition in those hazel depths whatsoever and he reached out with his angelic senses to test and see if it were really her_ _—_ _he recognized the faint, dulled feeling of her soul which he always had been able to sense since the first time he_ _'_ _d ever touched it_ _—_ _it was her_ _—_ _but she was utterly blank nonreactive. She just stood there and she didn_ _'_ _t know him and Cas_ _'_ _s heart broke, his veins surged with an incredible need to get to her and protect her, get her away from these angels._ _"_ _What have you done to her?!_ _"_ _he asked, horrified and looking at Naomi in new light._

_Naomi was looking at Alex in vague interest, like someone might look at a museum display_ _—_ _only because it was there and you were supposed to look at it._ _"_ _She doesn_ _'_ _t remember you,_ _"_ _she said softly, dangerously,_ _"_ _and she won_ _'_ _t until this is all over._ _"_ _Mouth falling open as he realized how terrible this was, how trapped he was, Castiel stared at Naomi who was now looking at him in both interest and distaste._ _"_ _The day when an angel values a mortal over Heaven,_ _"_ _she commented softly._ _"_ _I_ _'_ _m sad to see it come to this but I_ am _reasonable, Castiel. In the face of your choices which many would consider blasphemies, I_ _'_ _m giving you another chance to be who you were created to be. You will get her back_ _—_ if _you want her_ _—_ _when you_ _'_ _ve finished the work I have for you. And if you refuse_ _…"_ _Naomi_ _'_ _s gaze slid to Alex._ _"_ _Well. She means nothing to me whatsoever._ _"_

_Castiel struggled to breathe and looked at the human being he loved most in the world._ _"_ _Alex,_ _"_ _he beseeched, his voice carrying every ounce of alarm he carried in her name. She didn_ _'_ _t even seem to know her name._ _"_ _Are you all right? Have they hurt you?_ _"_

_Alex looked at him oddly, like she wasn_ _'_ _t sure who she was. She opened her mouth, nothing came out, and confused, she looked down and touched fingers to her throat. Cas stared at her in complete panic and dismay_ _—_ _it was like his body was falling away from his insides, like his heart was turning to acid in his chest._ _"_ _What have you done to her?_ _"_ _he breathed. He didn_ _'_ _t believe this could be happening. It was too unthinkable. And yet it was. His voice began to tremble with anger._ _"_ _Why doesn_ _'_ _t she speak?_ _"_

_Naomi looked at him in a way that warned him to be careful in how he addressed her._ _"_ _She was very_ _…_ belligerent _when she realized what was happening here and what my plans for you were. She attacked me and others and caused problems. I conduct a peaceful operation here. So, I took measures she forced me to take. I refuse to have the atmosphere that I_ _'_ _ve so painstakingly created here ruined._ _"_ _Warningly, Naomi made sure Castiel knew how serious she was._ _"_ _And now you_ _'_ _ve forced my hand as well. Remember, I offered you a choice. I know how fond you are of those._ _"_ _A cruel joke about his past and what had led him here. Naomi_ _'_ _s heels clicked closer._ _"_ _I have taken her memories, her ability to speak. I will not hesitate to take her life if you do not do as I ask you. But first, before I do that, I will cause her great physical torment as you stand by and watch._ _"_ _Castiel looked into this angel_ _'_ _s eyes and he believed her immediately. He saw that she was someone he should not cross or betray. He knew it immediately and he wondered why he had never heard of her before. Despairing because he didn_ _'_ _t know how he could get himself and Alex out of this, he was stuck listening to Naomi, who was still speaking and promising terrible things._ _"_ _Don_ _'_ _t let it come to that, Castiel. I leave this decision in your hands. And just so that you can rest assured that I am_ not _bluffing_ _…_ _"_ _Naomi walked over and grabbed Alex_ _'_ _s hand and shoved her jacket up her arm as she took out her angel blade. Alex just watched dumbly and peacefully as Castiel struggled against the hold the angels had on him as he shouted things that changed nothing about what happened next. Naomi took her blade and carved a deep gash into Alex_ _'_ _s arm_ _—_ _and the human girl who had been so compliant and nonreactive up until then suddenly seized and tried to pull away as her mouth opened in a silent scream of pain._

" _Stop, no, stop!_ _"_ _Castiel begged, his voice high pitched from panic and desperation. Naomi paused her work and looked at him expectantly. Shaking as he watched Alex cry and clutch her arm to herself in childlike confusion and fear, he swallowed._ _"_ _I_ _'_ _ll do whatever you ask, just don_ _'_ _t hurt her._ _"_

_Naomi looked at the seat in the room, indicating it with a nod._ _"_ _Sit in the chair._ _"_

_Castiel sat in the chair._

* * *

After he sat in that chair, Naomi had implanted what she called an inhibitor into the back of his eye. That was how she was maintaining her connection with him like this between Heaven and Earth. That's why he kept forgetting everything. He thought Naomi must have put one into Alex, too, for her to have forgotten everything. That or she had wiped the memories completely… a thought that made his heart sink. Even if he saved her and pulled her from captivity, if the memories had been erased, he didn't know a way to put them back. Not fully. His anger was beginning to win out—how _dare_ someone do that to Alex and hold her here in stasis of the mind and body? It was violation and he wouldn't stand for it. "Give her _back_ to me," he growled, and his voice carried the promise of death if obedience wasn't given.

He stood up from the chair he was seated in, and he was ready to kill her with his bare hands. Naomi didn't appear bothered. "This is only a psychic link, Castiel," she explained offhandedly, strolling a few steps off and leaning against the desk with folded arms. Cool and triumphant but also clearly unhappy with Castiel, Naomi waited for him to respond. He didn't because he was so furious and helpless. "You can't hurt me, even though I see you want to," Naomi said, but she was grim, not taunting of him. "Now listen. What just happened on earth just now was necessary. If the demon tablet can seal demons into Hell, what do you think the angel tablet could do to us? Your mission is to find and protect this tablet at all costs. Now that Crowley knows, we must find it before the demons do. I cannot emphasize enough the weight of this and the importance of what I am telling you to do."

But Castiel could only think of one thing. One precious, important, irreplaceable thing. "My wife has _nothing_ to do with this," he said, emotions suddenly getting the best of him. "Please, her brothers are _mourning_ her, _I_ _'_ _m_ mourning her—this isn't _right_!" He could have wept for the hopelessness he felt. He didn't know if Naomi would _ever_ let her go—after all, for Alex, Castiel would do _anything_. And Naomi knew that. Still, Cas pleaded on the slightest chance that the other angel would show mercy. "Let her go. _Please_ , let her go. I'll do whatever you ask if you just let her go."

Naomi's mouth twitched in annoyance. "Enough about the girl, Castiel. You're deluding yourself. It's pathetic." She made herself speak patiently, even though she clearly wasn't feeling that way at all. "As I said before. I'll give her back to you at the end of all this _if_ you cooperate and keep doing what I need you to do. And honestly, it shouldn't be like this. You're an _angel_. Act like it."

A certain degree of coldness struck Castiel at those words. He didn't take kindly to being told who he was. He knew who he was, and it wasn't indentured servant to Heaven. His voice carried a dark and dangerous edge to it. "Yes. I _am_ an angel. But I'm also her protector and her friend," he said in a voice that got stormier and stormier. "Her _husband_ , and if you think I place Heaven over her… you're sorely _mistaken._ "

Naomi's anger was easy to see—his defiance and rebellion had her face gone cold. "Enough of this blasphemy."

And just like that, Castiel found himself on earth again and cradling Samandriel's body. Tears leaked out of his eyes. "I'm so sorry," he whispered. And he had forgotten everything that just happened. _Everything_.

Close by, Castiel could hear the sound of the Winchesters returning. Sam was in the lead, his long legs carrying him at a jog as Dean, supporting a weakened Jamie, followed as fast as he could. "Cas!" Sam skidded to a half a few feet off, taking in the blood-soaked angels and the way Cas huddled over a clearly-dead Samandriel beside the Impala. "What the hell _happened_?"

_You tell the Winchesters that Samandriel had been compromised._

Cas lifted his hanging head slowly, staring at nothing. "He was compromised."

_He came at you, and you acted in self-defense._

Slowly standing, Cas still stared into nothing. "He came at me. I killed him in self-defense."

_Say you must return his body to Heaven, and then bring him to me._

Cas opened his mouth to say those words even as Jamie, leaning hard against Dean, narrowed her eyes in concern. "Your eye…" she said, staring in slight dread at Castiel's righthand eye. "It's… _bleeding_." Sam and Dean were staring in the same way. _My eye?_ There _was_ a warm trickle beneath his right eye and the angel brushed fingers against it. What came away was not tears—it was _blood_.

Even as he wondered idly what was happening to him, Castiel spoke the words he was fed from Naomi, even though he didn't even know he was being given lines at all. "My vessel must have been damaged in the melee," he said in a voice that was dead and lifeless. "I have to go. Samandriel's remains belong in Heaven."

Dean's face showed utter confusion. " _Heaven_? I thought you said you couldn't go back th—"

And then in a flash of impulsivity, in a brief moment of panic, Cas was able to break free from the control that was over him. "I _lied_!" he exclaimed, suddenly and jarringly emotional and alarmed. "Dean, _listen_ , you have to—"

Castiel found himself in Heaven again and Naomi was in his face, seething. She held him by his lapels. "Attempt to tell the Winchesters about what's happening again and I will _destroy_ her as you watch, Castiel!" she shouted, and he believed her and was horrified at himself for risking it at all. "Do you _doubt_ me?!" She let go with a shove. " _Now bring Samandriel here_! I need to see just how far Crowley dug into him. Do you _understand_?"

Overcome with how dire this situation was and how possibly inescapable it was, too, Cas nodded a yes. "I understand," he replied in a faint, sickened voice even as he tried, _strained_ to sense Alex and get even the vaguest idea of how close or far she was from that very room. But then he was back on earth and avoiding looking at anyone, bending and scooping up Samandriel and he did not remember that Alex was still alive.

"Cas, wait!" Dean shouted. But Castiel did not. He left without a word, upsettingly blank-faced and apathetic, taking Samandriel with him with no further explanation. " _Cas_!" Dean shouted into the night air, beside himself. "What the _hell_?!" He asked in an aghast tone and then looked at Sam, who was grim and somehow much less shocked about this than Dean was.

In fact, Sam looked like he'd only had the worst confirmed. "You believe me _now_?" he asked intently, and pointed to the place where Cas had just been standing. His young face was gaunt, severe, and sure. "Something's _wrong_ with him," Sam insisted intensely. "Really _wrong_. Someone's messing with him or maybe he's still crazy like he was before; maybe he's still got Leviathan inside of him, I dunno." Dean, blindsided and stunned, was left to watch Sam be the man with the plan. "We gotta find Zip. We gotta get into Purgatory. Something _happened_ there, I _know_ it. Trust me on this, Dean. For all we know, Alex could still be _alive_."

That was the worst thought of all. What if she _was_? What if Sam was _right_? What if Dean's pride and refusal to hear his brother had consequences neither of them could control? Cas had been back for about a week now—a _week_ —and what if Alex was still out there? Still in Purgatory like Sam theorized? Dean wanted to die of the regret and panic that was crashing over him as everything Sam had fought him about and insisted on charged through his mind again. This _entire time_ Dean had been discounting Sam's intuition because of his own hurt feelings and grudges—it had been petty, it had been prideful, and now Dean was left to realize Sam had a _point_ and Cas _wasn_ _'_ _t_ solid like Dean had thought. Today had proved it several times over, but with the Samandriel thing being the most damning. Something was very wrong with the angel. That much was clear. "Yeah, Sam," Dean breathed, horrified at himself and this development. "M-maybe you're right." He stared at the place where Cas had been and he was _worried_. Worried about Cas, who he _knew_ very well after all that time in Purgatory. This wasn't Cas and Dean should have realized that a long time ago. Did someone have him on a leash? Is that why Cas had gotten out of Purgatory? Some big-bad yank him out in exchange for favors? What was _happening_ here? He didn't know, but he'd sure as hell find out. Starting _now._

Leaning on him heavily, Jamie shifted a little. "I'll come with you guys," she said, drawing a surprised look from him. "If that's okay," she added quickly. "I can help you find this Zip guy." A soft, veiled smile showed on tight lips. "Witch, remember? Got a few tricks up my sleeve." Poor girl looked exhausted—she'd just done some major casting, which always made her feel bad.

"We gotta get you some chicken noodle soup first," he joked fondly. His arm still looped under her arm for support, Dean squeezed gently and then impulsively kissed the side of her face near her temple. She closed her eyes tight, as if trying not to cry.

* * *

**One Week Later**

Dean kicked his foot into the motel room trash can in frustration.

"I just can't believe he got _away_ like that," Sam complained, sighing and sitting on the end of the motel room bed as he tossed his duffel bag down.

" _I_ can," Dean muttered, shaking his head and rolling his eyes. "Clever bastard, morphing into a scrawny little _kid_ to slip out of those damn ropes. I turn my back for one _second_ and all that painstaking work— _poof_ —out the window." He checked his watch irritably. James said she needed five minutes to run across the street to the gas station. He was constantly thinking she would disappear when he least expected it. Made a guy paranoid.

Sam nodded for a minute, his face showing how tired and disappointed he was. "We'll find him again, Dean."

"What, so he can just tell us the same thing?" Dean asked in bad temper. He hated that stupid Leviathan for being so oily and douchey and hated him for being another dead end. "We can't _force_ him to tell us the spell. Even James' truth spell thing didn't work on him. Sure, we can steal some of Ziploc's… _plasma_ … stuff, but without the spell, it's useless. So unless you got another Dick Roman laying around you can ride into Purgatory…"

Sam knew that, of course. But stubborn and determined, he set his jaw. "I'm not giving up on this until we're _sure,_ " he said lowly. At the look Dean was giving him, he frowned. "What?"

Dean hesitated. "Just… Dad spent years and _years_ doing what we're doing now." Chasing a ghost that could never return. He couldn't believe he was saying it, but… "Isn't it time to stop?"

Sam's face tightened slightly. "Mom was _dead._ Alex might _not_ be."

Dean shook his head a few times, sobering and saddening all at once. "I dunno why you're so convinced. Sam, Purgatory's nothing but fangs and teeth and claws. With backup, maybe you got a chance. But just her, alone in there?" His jaw tightened and his heart clenched. He couldn't stand to think of her dying in there. "Even if Cas _was_ wrong and she got left behind somehow and she wasn't dead… she is now." Sam looked up at Dean in heartbroken pain.

And then the closet door of the motel room burst open and a slender, lithe dark-haired man in a navy suit tumbled out of the small space like he'd just run full speed and jumped. He landed in a graceful crouch and stared at them like they stared at him: in completely baffled shock. And then, he asked a question neither saw coming: "Which one of you is John Winchester?"

* * *

That was how they met their grandfather, Henry Winchester.

And only a couple days later, this was how they said goodbye.

In a graveyard in the dead of night, in a forgotten plot of land not far from Lawrence Kansas.

Sam hammered a cross grave marker down into the ground as Dean stood back and watched with an unreadable look on his face—further back, giving the brothers some space, Jamie waited and watched too. Sam gave a couple more strong blows and stood back, observed his work. _H. Winchester_ was carved crudely into the simple wooden cross which stuck into bare, unremarkable earth. A quiet, understated tomb for the man who Dad had always been so angry at and never really spoken about. And this was perhaps the greatest tragedy there was: that John Winchester had spent his life believing his father, the man who was now buried beneath this ground, had left him. When the fact of the matter was, Henry had time-traveled into the future to protect what he called 'everything.' A small box holding a key to a place he said the demons and 'the villains of this world' could never, ever be allowed to find.

Henry had traveled fifty-eight years into his future, overshooting in the heat of the moment as he tried to escape the demon who pursued him. When he'd burst into the motel room to find a very surprised Sam and Dean, he had been trying to reach his son John. Instead, he'd found his _grand_ sons. And after the demon Abaddon followed him through the closet door and revealed herself to be a much more dangerous breed of demon than what was normal (she was immune to the demon blade), Sam and Dean and Jamie too were dragged into the mess. To make a long story short, Henry claimed to be part of a secret society called the Men of Letters—scholars and scientists and brilliant minds all dedicated to cultivating an extensive knowledge store on everything supernatural and arcane and paranormal in nature. Henry was shocked to learn that his grandsons were hunters and that his granddaughter had been one, too. He expressed anger at the brothers for 'allowing' their sister to ever be part of the 'brutish' life of hunting. When he saw a picture of Alex, he'd been momentarily beside himself and said that he was stunned—she looked so much like his wife Millie. Among other things, Henry had been repeatedly flabbergasted by Jamie's tattooed appearance and her 'uncouth' demeanor—when he realized she was a witch he'd nearly killed her on the spot which Dean had been _very_ unhappy about. They'd come to an understanding afterward, though, and Henry had even said perhaps his opinions on witches was not fully formed yet. He had a strange, prim way with words.

Sam and Dean were still in shock about the Men of Letters thing. It seemed the more they learned of their past, the greater indications there were that this was, in fact, their destiny. In their attempts to help Henry, they found themselves continuously pursued by Abaddon. In the vessel of a very striking red-head with cherry lips, she was your typical demon fare when it came to personality: too cocky for her own good. But it turned out as they delved deeper in that she wasn't 'just' a demon or even a super-powered demon. She was one of the first—a Knight of Hell. Ancient and thought to be killed by the archangels, these Knights of Hell were the most dangerous demons there were and she was, apparently, the lone survivor. When things came to a head and Sam got captured by her to be used as a bargaining chip (she wanted the key Henry had to this supposed bunker that was located in Kansas), Henry devised a clever plan and he etched a devil's trap onto a bullet which Dean shot Abaddon with. Even though the plan was brilliant and executed almost seamlessly, Henry was killed by Abaddon at the last moment and he died in Sam and Dean's arms. This meant he could never return to 1958 or the son he'd left behind. Just four years old. And John Winchester would grow up thinking his dad hadn't cared and had 'run off.' When that couldn't be further from the truth.

Dean looked at that cross Sam had just hammered into the ground with blank eyes. Dad would never know. And Henry was yet _another_ Winchester taken away before their time. When would it stop? Sam joined Dean finally and the brothers were silent for a moment, side by side. Tall inky shadows in the chilly night air. The moon wasn't very bright that night.

If nothing else, these past few days with Henry had brought the two of them closer and forced them to really _remember_ what they were: brothers. Two young men who were descendants of greatness, whose lineage wasn't just hit-and-miss randomness like they'd thought before.

An owl hooted nearby, a sound that seemed distinctly forlorn.

"I get it now," Sam said softly, his voice thick with reflectiveness.

Dean toward toward him slightly. "Hm?"

"What Cupid said about Heaven busting ass to get Mom and Dad together," Sam said, taking Dean back by several years. "The Winchesters and the Campbells—the brains and the brawn." Yeah. The Men of Letters—Henry wasn't the only Winchester who'd been in the society—and hunters. Mary and her family had been in that game for who knows how long. Put those two together—Men of Letters plus hunters—and you got Dean, Sam, and Alex Winchester. Well… you _used_ to, anyway.

Dean's chest hurt. "Well, I'm glad _you_ see it," he said quietly, staring at that cross as his heart burned darkly inside. "All I see in our family tree is a whole lot of _dead_." He vaguely remembered Mom's screams, the sick heat of fire, the way his arms had barely been able to carry the twins out of that burning house. He remembered Dad, dead on the floor and eyes glazed over. He remembered Adam and Bobby and Alex and _they were all dead_. He didn't know how to understand it, but understand it or not, they weren't here anymore. And there wasn't a way to change that.

Sam said nothing for a long couple of beats. Then he tried to see the good in the situation. "'Least we still got each other, right?"

The brothers shared a cryptic sidelong glance. _Yeah, for now_ , Dean thought grimly. "Right," he said aloud, thinking that his cynicism would only serve to make Sam sadder. He hesitated, then pulled out the photograph he'd been holding onto. "Hey, I, uh... found this in Henry's wallet." He handed over a little old yellowed photograph of Henry with a young boy. He had his arm around the boy, and the boy was smiling widely and holding a baseball bat.

Sam took the picture and looked at it with a bittersweet expression on his face. "Dad looks happy." He handed the picture back, growing a shade more somber as he looked at the grave-marker again.

Dean studied the photograph and he felt a soft, sad smile on his face. Dad as a kid. He'd never get over how weird that was. "Kind of makes you wish he knew the truth, huh?" he mused aloud. "I mean, all those years thinking his old man ditched when the poor son of a bitch really came here and saved our bacon." Dean put the photo back in his pocket, shaking his head the entire time. "Freaking _time-travel_ , man."

Sam was staring ahead unseeingly, obviously thinking hard about something. "You think it would have made a difference?"

When he gave no indication of what he meant, Dean turned his head toward his brother slightly. "What?"

"Dad," Sam said. "If he'd had his own father around."

Immediately getting a little defensive, Dean frowned. "What, in how he raised us? Sammy, he did the best he could." This wasn't easy. And they could have had it a lot worse.

"I know that. I—I do," Sam quickly supplied, then hesitated. "I just meant… maybe _everything_ would be different if that one thing changed."

Dean fell silent. He had to wonder. If in some alternate universe his family was all alive and well and clueless about how bad it ended here in this one. "Well, it didn't," he said, not in the mood for whats ifs and coulda beens. "And this is what we got." Two brothers left standing. Everyone else gone.

Sam was quiet. He'd been very depressed since the Zip thing hadn't panned out. "Yeah," he said softly, then took out of his pocket the small wooden box with the aquarian star etched on it. Dean looked at it sidelong. There was something for them to actually have hope in. Maybe. But he was reluctant to get too excited about the idea.

"What're the chances that place is still standing?" he asked, knowing Sam was thinking what he was. About finding this bunker place. This supposed largest collection of supernatural knowledge in the world. That sure as hell would come in handy right now.

Sam shrugged very shallowly, his eyes on the box. "A chance we've gotta take, I guess. I mean, we _are_ legacies, right?" He looked at Dean. Henry had said that about them and Dean had rolled his eyes.

He still felt that way about this secret society mumbo jumbo. "Forget the legacy crap," he said, scoffing mildly. "He said this bunker place has serious info stores. Maybe we find something there to give us an edge up with all the crap we got going on right now." Like the demon tablet. Like how to get into Purgatory. Like how to save someone from a soul deal. He turned slightly and cast a glance over his shoulder. In the misty shadows, Jamie was silent and watchful and hard to read.

Sam didn't look so enthused. "Yeah. Maybe."

Dean sighed and looked over the land with veiled eyes as a sudden feeling hit him as he thought about books and research and lore. "I miss _Bobby,_ man."

He was a little surprised at the sudden mention—Sam smiled tightly at the ground. "Yeah. Yeah. Same here."

Dean thought of puffy 80s vests and a whiskey stained beard and constant bellyaching about anything and everything. Stern no-nonsense advice that was never really asked for. A brilliant mind you'd never expect him to have if you passed him on the street. Bobby Singer was one of the most loyal people on the face of the planet. And one of the most resourceful, too. "Dude had a book for _everything,_ " Dean reflected fondly. And in the midst of that fondness, he felt pain, too. Son of a bitch really had a good life all in all. It had meant something. But it could have been a little longer if you asked Dean.

The brothers were quiet for a moment, remembering Bobby together with their hands in their pockets and their eyes on the silent cross nearby. And then Sam looked sidelong at his brother. "Dean?" He sounded really worried. "We gonna be okay?"

Dean took a moment to reply. Things were rocky between them right now. Better than they had been before, but still not too good. "We gotta be," Dean finally said, his voice stiff and forced.

Sam gave a soft little laugh. "No we _don_ _'_ _t_ ," he said earnestly. "Families go their separate ways all the time. For a million reasons."

Maybe they did. Maybe in the recent past he'd even wanted that. But after Henry, after Cas's disappearance and the letdown there, Dean knew one thing. He looked Sam dead in the eye. "Well, I don't wanna go separate ways." He took his hand out of his pocket and clapped Sam on the shoulder wordlessly, unable and unwilling to say much more on the matter.

Sam nodded, and his eyes glinted in the dark with emotion. He picked up the hammer from where he'd set it. "I'll… I'll go put this back in the car." He glanced at Jamie, then back at Dean, like he knew they had things to say to each other. Then he grasped Dean's shoulder firmly with a strong hand for silent support and then he left, passing James on the way.

Sam's heavy footsteps faded, crashing through the underbrush and back through the woods to where the Impala waited. Dean stood there alone graveside, his hands still in his jacket pockets. A long moment passed and nothing changed. A soft wind stirred the overgrown grasses that tufted the clearing. Owls hooted sleepily. And then finally, he heard her coming up behind him. He turned his head just slightly as she stopped beside him. She mirrored him: hands in her jacket pockets. Her profile was intense and somber as she looked out at the graveyard. "Hey," she said, then sort of hesitantly turned her head and looked at him. "I'd ask if you were okay but…"

Yeah. They both knew he wasn't. Hell, that none of them were. But… "You can still ask," he said quietly.

She considered him a second with those unpredictable ice-blue eyes of hers. He didn't know where they stood entirely or what was going on in her mind about him. She'd acted like they were nothing but friends most days, avoiding touching him or being close to him or speaking to him much. He'd tried to talk to her; she shut him down or avoid it. He tried to hug or kiss her; she'd flat out reject him by turning away. But just last week, on their way to rendezvous with Sam as they'd hunted down Zip, she'd turned to him out of nowhere and told him to pull the car over then climbed on top of him and proceeded to fuck him senseless on the side of the road… then she said nothing afterward, just buckled back in and asked 'are we gonna go or not?' Dean knew it wasn't exactly normal, this thing they had going. That she might win runner up for most emotional issues (he won first place, he knew that much). But he couldn't help it. He loved this girl. Best he knew how to, anyway. "You okay?" she finally asked in a soft, worried voice. He melted a little.

"Not really," he said truthfully, then gave her a tiny smile. "But at least you're here." And then of all things, her hand came out and gently touched the back of his arm then stayed there, like she was silently saying yes, she was there. For Jamie, that touch meant a lot. Dean watched her face and saw how she was fighting a lot of things inside. And being here, standing in a graveyard with her had him thinking about dark things. His eyes scanned this final resting ground and his heart twisted in his chest. "So much death, James," he said, choked up a little because he was really starting to get scared. "Don't want you to be next."

Her hand fell away from his arm and she sighed in mild disgust, over it like she was every time he brought this up. "Stop it, Dean." And just like that, the moment was ruined.

" _Why_?" he challenged, offended by her reaction. "This tablet I'm trying to find, the stuff Kevin's working on—we could _board up Hell_. You could stay above ground. Keep this party going a few more years. Don't you want that?"

What a strange, pained look there was on her face right then. "You're dreaming, Dean," she said softly.

"I'm not though," he insisted. "It's a possibility. Like, legit. I'm not giving up yet." He could out-stubborn the best of them, even her. He studied the side of her face long and hard. "You ever gonna tell me how long you got left?"

She turned on the I'm-fine persona that he so hated, giving him a little smile that said she wasn't gonna say a damn thing. "What would the fun in that be?"

Dean wanted to groan in frustration. "You drive me fucking _nuts_ , James," he complained, wanting to kick something over or shake her to make her listen to him and stop being that way. "This bunker place, it's supposed to have resources. You heard Henry. Maybe there's something there that can _help_ this thing." She shook her head no, but he saw how she was thinking about it, contemplating believing him. " _Come with us_ ," he said, sensing that she would get cold feet and disappear again soon if he didn't convince her to stay with him somehow. She was always so cagey now, like she wanted to be somewhere else. But he didn't know where the hell else she would wanna be. "You don't have to stay once we're there if you don't want to or if I get too much for you to take again," he promised, a little desperate. Almost embarrassingly so. "But… it'd be nice having you around for awhile." He turned to her, bending his head a little to try and catch her gaze as his hand gently took hold of her upper arm. "Lemme _help_ you."

He saw it then: she was weakening emotionally at his gentle pleas. She tried to keep up the charade, but her smile was marred by pain and her eyes looked like they would cry soon. "Can we just… stop trying to act like we can change what's gonna happen?" she asked, trying to laugh softly through her deep fear. "Can we just… drink a lot of booze and have meaningless sex and watch shitty TV and not think about it?"

Dean grinned despite himself. "Meaningless, huh?" he asked softly, calling her bluff with the look on his face and the way he asked that. They both knew it wasn't meaningless. Or he did, at least. In his entire life, there had never been such insane, soul-shattering sex. _Ever_. If she was a drug, he was definitely addicted. But, this was about more than sex. "You can do whatever you want," he said, meaning that completely. "But I'm trying to save my girl. So I'm not gonna lay around anymore and feel sorry for myself or feel sorry for you. I'm gonna get things done." And that had to be the way it went. He was Dean Winchester. And he had to do what he did best as long as he was in the land of the living. And what he did best was hunting. Saving people. Or trying to, anyway.

Jamie was silent, contemplating his offer. Her eyes looked very far away, he wondered if she'd even heard him. And then she shocked him with the quiet, trembling question she asked next: "Would you ever want kids, Dean?"

It was such an out-of-the-blue question he hadn't been prepared for that he said the first thing that came to mind: "God no." At the look on her face, he tried to rephrase himself. "I—I mean, just—this life ain't for kids. Exhibit A, my childhood." He paused, realizing she maybe needed closure about the… the miscarriage. It was hard to talk about this and he was honestly shocked she had opened the subject—she had told him very severely that it was off limits. And now, she wanted to know if he'd ever want kids. In an ideal world, yes. But this wasn't an ideal world. "But I mean, if—if you'd had the baby, if you wanted me to be, uh, _involved,_ we'd figure it out."

Cautious, wary, her face tense, Jamie swallowed. "How?"

He had thought about it so much in Purgatory that he could have told her the twenty-point plan. But he tried to sound much more casual about it. He tried to convey himself as offhand because if she knew exactly how emotionally attached he'd gotten to the idea of being a dad, of Jamie being his badass baby-momma… he thought she might not like it. "Guess I'd have to figure out how to bow outta this gig, for starters."

Listening with hawklike attention, Jamie was totally focused and yet also worried. "And we'd do what?"

Dean laughed nervously to cover over his more truly hurt feelings. He'd dreamed about this and then the dream had been shattered. So it was hard to say without getting upset. He tried to sound amused and jokey. "Get a house, boring jobs? Argue over which way the toilet paper goes?" He moved his hands like he was miming a sign or a banner. "Live the American dream: staying together for the kids."

Jamie had a sad, wounded smile on her face and a pain in her eyes he thought he understood. Maybe she'd dreamed the same things he had. She looked down at his hands and reached out, held one in both of hers, looked at her thumbs stroking over his calloused skin for a quiet moment. "Maybe we wouldn't stay together just for them," she said in the lowest, softest volume.

When she said stuff like that, he couldn't breathe. He knew he wasn't alone in feeling how he felt. And with a lump in his throat, with the fear that if he moved he'd mess up this moment, Dean swallowed and knew he had to point out the obvious. "Yeah, well, there's no kid so… where's that leave us?"

Her eyes looked up into his. "In a seriously fucked up relationship."

Dean felt himself smiling crookedly, one half of his lips pulling up to the side. "I don't think we're so bad," he said and couldn't help himself: he touched the side of her face, rubbed his thumb against her soft cheek.

His touch seemed to upset her—she turned away from his hand and let go of him. "You wouldn't say that if you knew."

Mystified about why it always had to go like this, Dean waited for her to explain. "Knew _what_?"

She shook her head and looked down at her feet, kicked at a pebble. "How I really am."

Dean was at his wit's end. "How you really _are_?" he repeated, so simultaneously frustrated and in love with her that he could have screamed. His affection and care won out and he tried to make her understand, but he was also angry, so his voice was kind of hard. " _James_ … sweetheart, you are looking at one of the most fucked up people in the _universe_. I know how you feel. _Trust_ me I do." Her guilty eyes looked up into his and he set her with his most intensely meaningful stare. "I know you look in the mirror and hate what you see, blame yourself for all the unthinkable shit that's happened in your life, hold it all inside and have for years. I know it's too much for one damn person to handle, I _know_. And I know how you know it's too late to let it all out… that if you do, you'll just break apart. I know you pretend you're just this cold hard _bitch_ that no one can touch but in reality? You're just this scared kid who has no clue what to do with everything you feel and think." Jamie looked every bit as called out as she truly was. But Dean wasn't done. "I know you feel alone every goddamn minute of every goddamn _day_ even if there's a million people around. You're too proud to admit how fucking terrified you are, but what scares you the most isn't being dead." He set his jaw, and saying this next part was hard because this was what scared _him_ the most. "It's being as bad as you think you are and then _alone_ when everyone figures you out." With those words, he broke her. Maybe that's what he had meant to do, he thought as she looked away and her features contorted and a hand flew up to cover her face. Because people who were broken let you comfort them and stopped trying to push you away. A little guilty for pushing her emotionally like that, Dean pulled her close as she shook, trying to cry quietly. He stroked a hand down the back of her head before he bowed his head and spoke into her hair. "Lemme take care of you," he whispered, hoping that she would stay and give him something to live for and something to make his days a little less terrible. "For once in your life let someone _look out_ for you. And let that person be me."

She didn't say anything, but her arms clamped around him and she didn't let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next 2.5 chapters are Sam-centric chapters — important to the overall plot of SRS and a nice little break from all the angst (maybe). So breathe deep, consign yourself to wait on Alex's return (which of course is coming!), and enjoy :)


	115. The Librarian

" _She is too fond of books, and it has addled her brain._ _"  
_\- Louisa May Alcott

* * *

**Topeka, Kansas**

Beneath bike pedals, pavement whizzed by until it was nothing but a gray blur, but that still wasn't fast enough for Molly Ziegler. She was late and she knew it and nothing could _change_ that she was late, but she was fighting fate anyway out of desperation; risking life and limb with how fast she was going. It just _figured_ that she'd forgotten her bike helmet as she'd rushed out of the class that had gone late… and now she was a mess and a half as she tried to get herself to work on time. In a flash of morbid musing, Molly imagined herself losing control of her bike and wiping out on the pavement and being immortalized as a dead pancake girl who was sadly deceased because she'd forgotten her helmet and planned her day all wrong. At her funeral, everyone would shake their heads in disappointment because of how she had once been so on-time and put-together until grad school had just proved too much for her to handle.

At that exact moment, she heard the sound she had been silently begging _not_ to hear. Her wristwatch chirped, signaling the top of the hour. When she heard that innocent little beep, her already tight stomach plunged into itself with sheer terror. _No, no, no! Now I_ _'_ _m late for real! AGAIN!_

Being late was one of the things she hated most in life. One thing she irrevocably _could not stand_ , and yet here she was, late to work for the _third_ time in two _weeks_. It was making her _sick_. Class had run late again, and she could currently concieve of no bigger problem in life than this.

Molly practically crashed her bike into the rack in front of the Shawnee County Library and swung off in an ungraceful stumble, her shaking hands fumbling with the bike lock. She could usually lock it in two seconds easily, but her flustered, breathless state had rendered her incapable of doing _anything_ correctly at the current moment. You'd think she had just been through a traumatic event from the look on her face, but it was only being fractionally late that had her in a tizzy. However, for Molly, being late (or even being almost-late) _was_ a traumatic event—it meant she wasn't in control and that she didn't have things organized. It meant that she was a mess. And she really didn't want to be a mess and she really was doing her best with her hectic lifestyle and _why won_ _'_ _t this thing lock?!_

Increasingly agitated, Molly struggled with the lock a couple seconds more and offered up silent prayers and curses to the lock-gods then _finally_ got it to cooperate. The _second_ she got the bike lock to snap shut, she took off at an embarrassingly full run toward the front doors of the library… and promptly lost one of her ballet flats. She turned in a dizzy whirl and snatched the shoe back up, hopping awkwardly and trying to shove her foot into her shoe as she skip-hop-jumped toward the shining glass doors of the library. _Must_ _—_ _not_ _—_ _be_ _—_ _any_ _—_ _later_ _—_ _than_ _—_ _I_ _—_ _already_ _—_ _am!_ Keeping her balance was hard and she had to hold onto her very heavy backpack because one of the straps was torn. Hop hop hop. _Why won_ _'_ _t my foot go in this frickety frack shoe?!_

"Hiya Molly!" came a cheerful woman's voice.

A very discombobulated Molly turned mid-hop, trying not to stop because she didn't want to get caught up in a conversation or something. Supremely anxiety-ridden and paranoid about being seen as rude, she gave a quick wave with her shoe and then a polite response to the library patron she recognized—Laura Feeley who checked out books on gardening and chatted to Molly sometimes about her herb garden and hydrangea bush. "Hi Miss Laura!" she called, trying to summon a polite smile even as— _wham!_ —Molly miscalculated how fast she was going and ran headlong right into the solid glass door. With a startled squeak, she fell down onto her butt hard.

Completely and totally humiliated with low blood sugar, burning cheeks, shaking hands and legs, Molly knew she must look totally ridiculous and pathetic and she therefore wanted to die or disappear… whichever would be more convenient and quick, please. But neither one happened and Miss Laura fussed over her (which only made it worse) and then insisted on helping her up (Molly really wished she hadn't) and then started to try and joke around (which only was making her more and more _late_ but Molly didn't know how to escape from the conversation).

 _Finally_ after an eternity of perhaps thirty seconds, Molly was able to hedge away from the horrendously embarrassing moment and back out and smile and nod and laugh nervously enough that Miss Laura gave the "well, I'll let you go hon!" and Molly was free to hurry into the library with her hot-mess self.

She rushed inside, thoroughly embarrassed and dreading the head librarian's reaction—she sort of hoped that he'd see her obvious disgruntlement and take pity and not write her up for being late. Her honey-blonde hair was lopsided in the ponytail it was in, she was out of breath and red-faced, her shoe still wasn't on her foot, one of her backpack straps was ripped (thanks to a clumsy encounter with the bathroom door at college today), she'd spilled coffee on her khaki slacks in her last class, and she had slept past her alarm this morning which meant she was wearing no makeup whatsoever. In short, Molly felt like a walking talking accident. It was one of those days she just really wanted to _start over._ But now that she was in her haven—the library—she thought it _had_ to get better… right?

But… Mr. Jones was not fun to work with. And today, he was on shift until closing time. As usual, he stood at the circulation desk like he was the king of the domain and God Of The Library. Roger Jones was of average height, average build, average appearance (bald, doughy, very pale) and yet he seemed to think he was the absolute cream of the crop. He was highly educated and real smug about it, too. Calm, quiet, and a little snobbish as per usual, he looked up as Molly rushed in like a deranged lunatic. "Hm," he commented, one eyebrow raised a little higher than the other as his dark eyes meaningfully glanced at the clock and then her again. "Tardy again, Miss Ziegler." He frowned slightly, seeing her bare foot. "Is there some kind of new trend going on with the young people concerning wearing only one shoe at a time?" The way he asked dripped in disdain and she knew it wasn't a genuine question.

Out of breath and completely mortified, Molly stopped and awkwardly shoved her size-ten foot into the ballet flat then smoothed her hair uselessly. She knew he was judging her for looking so unkempt and she kind of wanted to cry about it—her already feeble self-esteem was on its last leg. She tried to explain herself, but words and thoughts currently escaped her and rushed out in an incoherent jumble. "S-sorry Mr. Jones—I, the alarm clock, it—and I didn't _hear_ —so I was late for everything a-and then my bike and oh my _coffee_ , it spilled everywhere, and oh then my _backpack_ just—" she gestured at it and mimed explosions with her hands, forgetting the word for what had happened to her backpack, "and the, my last class ran late and I _tried_ to get here on time, I really did, I'm so sorry…" she trailed off in total defeated humiliation. _God, I sound so pathetic_ _…_ _I can_ _'_ _t even put together a decent sentence out loud._

"Of course you tried to be on time," Mr. Jones said with a supremely false smile, and she didn't know if he actually meant it (he never sounded earnestly nice, like ever) or if he was being patronizing. Either way, she got the feeling she always did: that he didn't like her and thought she was an idiot. Which made her feel even smaller than she did already. Still, she slunk around the desk dutifully with her broken backpack and fried nerves. Mr. Jones was typing away at the main circulation desk as she entered the employees' area. "Window washers came by earlier today," he said mildly. "The doors are so clean you can't even _see_ them." So he'd seen her fall. Flushing with horrible heat of embarrassment—and a little resentment—Molly wanted to find somewhere to hide and die as she simultaneously wondered why he would be so passively aggressively mean to her. Didn't he see how bad of a day she was having? And he _knew_ how sensitive and weird she was… yet he made comments to her all the time that hurt her feelings and made her feel awkward. Still typing haughtily and not looking at her, Mr. Jones nodded vaguely with his head toward the carts lined up behind him. "I have some returns waiting for you," he said, and from the looks of it, no one else had done returns _all day_. "They've been scanned in but they need to be sorted and shelved. Get settled in now so Georgina can leave."

Georgina: the idiot undergrad who Mr. Jones thought hung the moon.

Molly glanced darkly at Georgina, who was currently sitting at the secondary desk behind the main desk scrolling through her phone like a lump and not paying attention to anything. That girl _never_ did any actual work. She basically got paid to sit around and do homework and help a few people check out books here and there. She didn't sort books right, shelved things wrong, and basically didn't give two flying flips about the library code of honor. Well, that wasn't really a thing, but still. Very aware of the injustice being served to her, Molly swallowed it down and accepted it because far be it from her to ever speak out of line and get in trouble. "Yes sir," she said meekly, wondering if she was going to get fired. She was always wondering that though. She was forever-paranoid about all the reasons people might find to want her gone.

_Someday, I_ _'_ _ll be head librarian of my own library. And it'll be a safe space for everyone, especially anyone shy or different._ _  
_

As she daydreamed of a library of her own and books and pages and the smell of paper, Molly dutifully went to the breakroom in the back and put her things away—her lunch container, the heavy backpack—she took her little purse out of her backpack and moved it to the bathroom lockers for safekeeping. While there, she really quickly tried to get the coffee stain out of her pants by scrubbing at it with a wet paper towel, but she only made the stain look worse. She ended up untucking the pale clover-green button-up she was wearing and letting its long length cover up most of the stain (the untucked shirt made her look all the sloppier, but it was either _sloppy_ or _I peed myself_ ). After that she attempted to re-clip her long bangs to the side and smooth her hair but it was really beyond hope. The twenty-four-year-old let out an exasperated sigh through a thin mouth, resulting in horse sounds. When she looked crappy, she felt crappy too. Staring into the bathroom mirror, she _swore_ she wouldn't sleep past her alarm and let something like this happen again. She looked every bit the disaster she was. With a dutiful sigh, Molly brushed it off and accepted her fate and went back to the main circulation desk and set to work sorting all the returns. They went by call number so that when you wheeled the cart out to the main floor, you could go shelf by shelf in a nice, orderly way. Molly loved order and organization and so this was actually soothing for her. But that's just because she was weird. Everyone else complained about this task.

Molly sorted the books quickly and wondered about the people who had checked these particular volumes out. She thought you could tell a lot about people by what they read. As she continued, her tired and sleep-deprived mind began to wander and her efficiency dwindled. When she picked up a recipe book to sort, it set off an entire inner dialogue. _Hmm. The Lucretia Borgia Cookbook: Favorite Recipes of Infamous People. Well_ that _sounds like an interesting read. What do you do if you find out your favorite food was also Hitler_ _'_ _s favorite? I mean it_ _'_ _s not like food can turn you evil. Well, maybe that_ _'_ _s debatable. I should look online to see what other people think about that. That reminds me_ _…_ _I really need to go to the grocery store. Do I even have carrots right now_ _…_ _? I_ _'_ _m low on quinoa, for sure. Ugh, I_ _'_ _m falling apart, I need to plan better. Do I have time to go tonight after I get off work? Nine o_ _'_ _clock is so far away, especially when Mr. Jones is working. Hmm, I need to see if he_ _'_ _s made the work schedule for next week yet_ _…_ _oh geez! Holy cow, I almost forgot I need to study for that test that_ _'_ _s on Thursday. I need to put a reminder on my phone. That_ _'_ _s like five days away, I can_ _'_ _t believe I haven_ _'_ _t started studying yet_ _. I need to get it together. But what I_ really _need a vacation_ _…_ _like, seriously. I_ _'_ _m so tired of essays and schoolwork and professors and work. I just need a good solid week of sleep and no one bothering me about anything. Can they just give me this degree already? Maybe I should take Mom up on the constant nagging to visit. It might be nice to be back home for awhile. But_ _…_ _that would mean I have to be around them. I_ _'_ _d rather be on Tumblr._

"Molly."

_Okay, okay, okay. Stop getting off track, Molly. You were making your plans for tonight. So, grocery store_ _—_ _studying_ _—_ _no internet because I_ _'_ _ll get stuck on there forever_ _—_ _then reading. I don_ _'_ _t know if I wanna read that Draco and Hermione story that finally updated this morning or To The Lighthouse again_ _…_ _or maybe the Bukowski novel I found at the thrift store yesterday_ _…_ _okay well now this is just stressing me out. I might not even have time to read honestly_ _—o_ _h frick, it_ _'_ _s Saturday which means it_ _'_ _s clean-the-bathroom day. Did I buy more bleach? I can't remember. Maybe I should get more at the store when I go. I hope Mr. Jones doesn_ _'_ _t have us stay late again_ _…_ _it_ _'_ _s not that I don_ _'_ _t like being here but my life is crumbling and I just need some extra time to put it back together again_ _…_

"Molly…"

 _After this semester, I swear, I am never taking that many classes and hours ever again. Forget graduating quicker_ _…_ _I can_ _'_ _t keep up with everything. I'm losing it. Gosh I hope Mr. Jones gives me a day off next week. I need to watch Doctor Who again before I explode._ _But honestly, now that I think about it, I watch too much Netflix. I need to get out and get a life_ … _lol, who am I kidding? That sounds like the worst. I like Netflix. It doesn_ _'_ _t judge me and I don_ _'_ _t have to have a conversation with it either. It_ _'_ _s almost as good as books and tea and nice, quiet evenings at home alone_ _…_

"Miss _Ziegler_."

Molly blinked rapidly and frowned, becoming cognizant of her surroundings once more. She found herself behind the circulation desk, standing beside the returns cart and doing… nothing. She was still holding that weird recipe book in her hands and Mr. Roger Jones was looking at her in impatient expectation. Oh no. She'd done it again. Molly tried to put an alert, earnest expression onto her face even though her anxiety had suddenly increased by the power of twelve. "Yes, Mr. Jones?"

He was very prim with her. "Less staring into space, more sorting the returns, _thank you._ "

She smiled nervously, an automatic response. "Sorry, sorry." She started sorting again, focusing on staying present even though inside, she was kicking herself and annoyed. _I apologize too much._

And she really did. Even though Molly had written lengthy posts online in feminism groups about how it was perpetuation of chauvinism for women to apologize for everything in a postmodern day and age, she found herself automatically offering a 'sorry!' about a hundred times a day. For bumping into someone, for taking too long to move forward in a line, for coughing or sneezing in public, for not moving out of someone's way, for needing to ask an employee a question about where something was located in a store. Molly was so unhappy about that quality she possessed but she also couldn't seem to _stop._ It was frustrating because she didn't believe in what she did, but she did it anyway and couldn't seem to stop. She was glad that her friends (acquaintances and classmates, really) had little to no idea about her more liberal stance on things… because she felt like they'd label her a hypocrite or lame for believing what she did and not really living what she believed. She was so quiet that they'd probably be very shocked to learn about how deep her opinions went. And she wished she knew how to be the kind of girl she admired… but it was hard for her. Scary. Even going to the _grocery store_ overwhelmed her. So how was a very opinionated girl with social anxiety supposed to find the balance? She hadn't figured it out yet and possibly never would.

It was difficult to be Molly Ziegler. Only a few people had ever really 'gotten' her. Those people were her dad, her best friend Markus who was gay and socially inept just like her, and… _maybe_ , one other guy she'd only met once... whose name she wouldn't even let herself think because of all the feelings surrounding _him_. Neither of the two boyfriends she'd ever had really seemed to understand her, which was probably why she was single and unhappy. David, her college boyfriend, was probably the best she could ever do, but she'd broken up with him (again) recently because he just felt so… _blah_ to her. These days, he kept sending her FarmVille requests on Facebook and texting her 'I miss you' whenever he was horny. Or that was her guess, anyway. He was, hands down, the _worst_ in bed. He was the roll over and fall asleep type. He'd never been too interested in how it was for her—it wasn't that he was a jerk, but he was really awkward and weird like her and never communicated with her or tried to anticipate her needs. But besides the sex things… she didn't like spending time with him or the sound of his voice or the way he liked to knowledge-brag. His teeth were weird and he always sounded like he had a cold and he had this way of looking at people like he thought they were kind of 'less' than he was. He was kind of stuck up and lazy and entitled when Molly thought about it. But what if he was the only guy who was ever gonna be interested in her?

Time would tell, she guessed.

Saturday evening continued on and Molly calmed down as she settled into the library routine of shelving books, checking out patrons, tidying things, and being in the lull of familiar routine. Around eight forty that night, twenty minutes until they were going to close the library, an old Jewish man with white hair and a shuffling gait approached the desk. Molly recognized him immediately. He was becoming an increasingly familiar sight around the library and had been coming every night for the past week or so. Dressed sharply, he had an old-world air about him… maybe it was the snappy black hat he wore or the round wire glasses perched on his nose, but he looked like he'd walked out of the pages of some World War Two novel. As Molly worked on labeling some new books they'd gotten in at the secondary desk behind the main counter, Mr. Jones, who stood at the main counter, put a polite strain on his voice. "Well, well... it's so late, Rabbi Bass. I thought maybe you weren't coming today."

Rabbi Bass had a bright-eyed, crazed look to him. "Sree _times_ I had to transfer zee bus lines to lose him today!" he exclaimed in his heavily accented voice.

Molly peeked up at him as she worked—every night, he said something along the same lines. Mr. Jones kept that fake smile plastered across his face. "Right—your sinister friend."

The rabbi didn't beat around the bush. "You don't believe me I'm being followed," he said in chagrin, then shrugged it off. "Nobody ever does." He leaned across the desk and Mr. Jones backed up a little as if he thought he might catch something. "You know vat you should do? Bring out zee tall girl with the face like sunshine, I like her better than you."

Molly looked down to hide her smile. The rabbi was very nice to her in a grandfatherly way and Mr. Jones was forever-annoyed by that fact. "I can assure you, Rabbi Bass, I'm the head librarian here and I'm _perfectly_ capable of assisting you."

With a smile that looked as false as Mr. Jones, the rabbi said something in Yiddish. " _ʼ_ _Y_ _k h_ _ʼá_ _p_ _̄_ _n_ _ʼ_ _a qlyyn qynd qyqs_ _ʼ_ _yr_ _ʼ_ _yn dy qys_ _,_ " he said snidely, and Molly had the distinct feeling he was saying something rude to Mr. Jones—and she thought she heard words similar to 'child' and 'kick.' The old man pulled out the notebook he had tucked under his arm and proceeded onward as if nothing had been said at all. He read from his notes over shining wire-rimmed glasses. "So, yes, I would like to seeing, uh… manuscript F through D one-sirteen from zee Holtzinger estate."

Mr. Jones smiled tightly and patronizingly. "Oh, my. You're going to catalogue that whole collection for us, aren't you?"

The rabbi didn't bother with pleasantries anymore and let his face drop expressionlessly, showing his annoyance with the way the librarian was talking to him. "If I have to."

Mr. Jones swept a hand out to his right, that same fake smile on his face the entire time. "Go have a seat in the reading area, sir, we'll have that brought right out to you."

"Sank you," the rabbi said peevishly and went on his way.

Mr. Jones looked straight at Molly. "Manuscript F-D one-thirteen from the Holtzinger estate," he said, and she understood he wanted her to do it. She hurried with the label she was trying to affix to another book spine, but the label was sticky and she was suddenly having problems getting it not to stick to _itself_. Impatient and self-important, Mr. Jones sent her a look as he pulled a pile of returns toward himself as another patron came to the desk. " _Today_ , Molly."

With shaking fingers, she stuck the sticker onto the book spine crookedly, flustered with herself. "Sorry," she said, then immediately kicked herself for saying sorry. _Dammit._

After finding FD113 in the special collections section that was not publicly shelved, she wheeled the book out on a cart. These books were stored in airtight plastic bins because they were typically bound in leathers that would decompose in sun and humidity. She found the rabbi waiting at the table and he held his hat in his hands which twitched nervously. He was already wearing the special gloves required of patrons who wanted to look through this specific collection and he looked very eager to see the contents of the bin she was bringing him. "Here's your volume Mr. Bass," she said mindlessly as she set the bin onto the table. She caught her mistake and corrected it quickly. "Err, sorry, _Rabbi_ Bass."

He chuckled and smiled at her indulgently. "Call me vhatever you like, songbird," he said, shaking an approving finger at her. "Because _you_ I _like_." His eyes slid to where the circulation desk was. Mr. Jones' bald head was just visible and Rabbi Bass' expression darkened. "I svear to Got, how do you _stand_ zat prick?"

The unashamed comment made Molly smile but she quickly tried to disguise it and smash it away. "You um, I guess you get used to him after awhile," she said with a shrug, trying to remain neutral. "He's not that bad."

Tutting, Rabbi Bass tutted as if he were enjoying an amusement. "She is so pretty, but a terrible liar."

Molly fidgeted, a little self-conscious. "Yes, well… I'll… leave you to your reading." She sidled off, thinking about that word. _Pretty_. She didn't really feel pretty, especially not today… but here and there, people had told her they envied her because she was so tall and 'statuesque' and sometimes they'd say she was pretty, too. But Molly had always felt inordinately awkward despite anything anyone said. She was one inch shy of being six feet tall, built like a pole (no real curves to speak of), and personally thought she looked like a stick-figure. Being so tall and thin, people stared at her (which she _hated_ ) or said she should be a model (and she _hated_ being in front of any kind of camera, ever), or asked if she played basketball (no… she would much rather be reading, thank you). Whenever she examined her own face, she thought she was okay. She did, however, like her hair. It was very long and wavy, and a pretty natural blondish color.

But otherwise, she wasn't like her only brother Arno who was self-assured and comfortable no matter where he went. She wasn't like her hospitable and warm mother who never met a stranger. She was… weird. Uncomfortable most of the time. Never able to relax unless she was totally alone in her own space. Always anxious or worried about something. Obsessed with details and timeframes and symmetry. But Dad always told her 'weird works, _Molly-liebling_. Weird is good.' He was a comforting and solid presence in her life… he was what he called 'German-import.' He'd come to America when he was in his twenties on a soccer scholarship, met Mom, and never left. Molly had learned her love of books from him—he was a collector and had read her books every night before bed when she was small; he even wrote Mom sappy poetry for their anniversary every year and read it to her (loudly in public). He was weird and embraced it. But Molly wasn't there yet. Maybe someday. _Weird is good,_ she reminded herself.

And then a book smacked down loudly onto the counter in front of her and she jumped and gasped, her heart going through the _roof_. "Zis book—we need to protect it!" the rabbi said urgently.

Totally startled, out of breath from the sheer terror being startled like that had created, Molly stuttered as she held a hand over her heart. "Wh— _I_ _'_ _m sor_ —protect it from what?"

As if the answer were the most obvious thing in the world, Rabbi Bass got even more urgent. "Zee agents of evil who pursue it!" he exclaimed.

… Molly literally had _no clue_ what to say in reply. Mr. Jones was suddenly beside her and using his _is there a problem here?_ tone. "Rabbi Bass—"

But the rabbi wasn't listening. "This thing zey put on me— _he_ _'_ _s too close_!" he insisted. "We must protect it! I can't take zis ledger with me!"

The librarian gave the rabbi a weird look. "Of course you can't," Mr Jones said. "It's part of the _special reference_ section, where it will be perfectly safe."

"Oh." The rabbi stood back slightly and his alarm suddenly became replaced by quietness and collected calm. "Oh. Well, I still have ten minutes, yes?"

Mr. Jones was prim. " _Eight_ minutes... before all materials must be returned to the main desk."

The rabbi smiled pleasantly, but it did not reach his eyes. "ʼ _Y_ _k h_ _ʼá_ _p_ _̄_ _n zyy b_ _ʼ_ _a_ _ẕʼá_ _ln_ _ʼ_ _yr gwt_ _ẕ_ _w h_ _ʼ_ _altn_ _ʼ_ _az z_ _ş_ _wq_ _ʼ_ _arwyp dyyn t_ _ʼá_ _k_ _ʻ_ _s_." Molly gaped as the old man walked off. She didn't speak Yiddish of course but she recognized enough words to understand that Rabbi Bass had said something about a bug living up Mr. Jones'… well… _ass._

The head librarian leaned toward Molly slightly. "You speak German, right? What'd he say?"

She didn't correct him—that hadn't been German and any dolt with a brain would have known that because the phonetics were all wrong. But she was sort of enjoying the brief moment of being smarter than Mr. Jones. "How nice he thinks our library is," she said, a serene little smile playing on her face as she thoroughly relished her inside joke.

Mr. Jones scoffed in the direction of the rabbi's retreating form. "Psh. Well, I'll be glad when that batty old geezer stops showing up and imposing his crazy on us," he muttered.

The very next day, Molly would hear about how that nice old man left the library that night and then for reasons unknown _caught fire_ at a local sports bar. His death was shrouded in mystery and the talk of the town, but Molly was left feeling incredibly sad and shocked about his passing. She hadn't ever really known anyone who had died. And she had liked that odd old man.

* * *

**Three Days Later**

Molly squinted and coughed as in a flimsy attempt to stop breathing dust, she shielded her mouth and nose with a hand. But it didn't really do much… the shelves underneath the circulation desk were _filthy._ They'd been lined with reference materials and some employee handbooks and other odds and ends, but Mr. Jones had decided Molly needed something extra to do and instructed her to move all those books and then dust thoroughly. And boy, there was a _lot_ of dust behind where those books used to be. She had to crawl halfway into the deep cave-like underbelly of the circulation desk to even reach the deepest parts of the shelves. And that was where she was on what she thought was just another regular Tuesday afternoon. But what that Tuesday turned out to be was the day her life changed _forever_.

She continued to clean and gripe internally about why this was _her_ job and not Mr. Jones'. He probably thought her doing this menial Cinderella-type task was the default option because of archetypal gender roles but she'd really like to see _him_ on his hands and knees dusting something for once. But oh god she'd never say that to him, yikes. She heard Mr. Jones greet a patron overhead. "Yes, can I help you sir."

"Hi." A deep, rich male voice that made Molly's eyes shoot open wide. She stopped what she was doing, freezing as all the blood in her body drained immediately to her toes. _No way. Was that_ _…_ _?_ Overhead, he kept speaking. "My name is Sam Winchester and I was a research associate of Rabbi B—"

Molly reacted before she could stop herself—by straightening up fast out of surprise. But she forgot how far under the desk she was and— _thunk_! " _Ow!_ " She hit her head hard enough to make her vision swim and she quickly withered with mortification as she pressed a hand to the top of her aching head. _Oh god please let no one have heard that._

She stayed there, crouched down and stock still, holding her breath and hoping Sam would go away. But Mr. Jones was staring down at her from where he stood over and beside her. "Miss Ziegler, what _is_ going on down there?" he asked, looking at her like she'd lost her mind as she held a hand to her head and winced. And not sure what else to do, Molly very slowly stood up, her heart fluttering like a hummingbird. And when she saw Sam, she could have fainted. There he was in the flesh, looking just as stunned to see her as she was to see him. And he was just like she remembered: tall, built, and _so painfully_ handsome with his chocolate brown hair, hazel eyes, piercing features, petal lips, chiseled jaw… he was wearing dark jeans and a sweater vest and a beautiful blazer, like a hot young professor… and she stood in horrible contrast to him (covered in dust bunnies and in one of her least favorite tops). She felt so inferior she couldn't even begin to fathom what was happening at all. Sam's eyes were a little wide and his mouth hung open slightly—like he had never been more surprised in all his life. "…A- _Annaliese_?" he asked in sheer disbelief.

 _This can_ _'_ _t be happening._ Her neck and cheeks burned with embarrassment and she reached out to steady her very nervous self on the edge of the desk and alas she missed, knocking over an open box of paperclips which all dumped out noisily all over the floor. Further embarrassed, she wilted and burned redder than a tomato. _Oh my god._ "Um… it's actually _Molly,_ " she corrected feebly in a voice that was barely audible. _Is this what it feels like to have a heart attack?_ Racing heart, watery limbs, dizzy lightheadedness, sick stomach… and Sam was just staring at her with this thunderstruck, gaping look on his face.

Mr. Jones was looking between them with narrowed eyes. "…Do you two know each other?"

Sam and Molly gave the same false answer at the same time: "No!"

Unconvinced, Mr. Jones seemed to write it off as nonsense he didn't have time for and he looked at Sam impatiently. "You were saying?"

Sam continued after a couple beats, but he was no longer self-assured and confident. He kept looking at Molly, who wasn't sure if she should stand there or run away or just save everyone the trouble and launch herself into outer space. So she settled on standing there like an unsure moron. Sam struggled to speak and focus. "I'm, uh, the, the, research—um, associate of, uh, R-Rabbi Bass," he said, obviously shaken up and highly distracted at Molly's appearance. "I'm, uh, trying to complete his last paper for the—you know, uh, our publication. I'd just like to… um, review what he was after here…?" Those soulful hazel eyes of his glanced into Molly's again and her stomach flipped and she looked away. _I want to puke on everything._

Mr. Jones smiled wanly at Sam. "Well, that would be quite a _lot_ of material," he said airily. "The rabbi was here open to close for almost a week."

" _Oh_." Sam hesitated, his glance flickering to Molly a couple more times. "Um, okay. How about just the stuff he was looking at... you know, the day he, uh... caught fire?"

Mr. Jones looked distinctly uncomfortable and chagrinned. " _Does_ shorten the list a bit." He turned to his dumfounded assistant. "Molly, go get the manuscript for the gentleman. Sir, if you'll have a seat in our reading area." When neither Sam or Molly moved (just stood there and stared at each other in mutual awkwardness), the librarian cleared his throat impatiently. "Are we going to do this _today_ , or…?" He made a shoo motion at Molly, who remembered herself and then quickly scampered off. Sam watched her go and Mr. Jones eyed him doubtfully. "The reading area is over _there,_ Mr. Winchester."

Sam watched Molly's retreating form, and it was obvious he didn't really have as much interest in the research as he had when he first walked in here. "Right," he said, distracted and troubled and anxious. "Yeah, thanks."

* * *

**…A Year and a Half Ago  
Las Vegas, Nevada**

_It was like someone had taken Molly_ _'_ _s list of things she hated most in the world and decided to roll them all into one. Never in a million years would she have predicted she_ _'_ _d end up here in Las Vegas at a loud bar as she sat at a table full of drunk girls while wearing the most inappropriate outfit she_ _'_ _d ever worn in her life._

_Miserable and sober and the only one at the table that way, Molly tried to look like she was having a good time but she was so terribly unhappy and out of place that she wanted to cry. When Kate, a classmate and fellow English major, had asked her to please be a bridesmaid after one of her other ones fell through, Molly hadn_ _'_ _t really known how to say no. And when Kate had insisted on having her bachelorette party in Vegas, Molly hadn_ _'_ _t been able to find an excuse not to go. And when the girls had taken one look at the modest floral-print dress Molly had been_ planning _to wear tonight, she hadn_ _'_ _t been able to stop them from re-dressing her until they were satisfied that she_ _'_ _looked right._ _'_ _If looking right meant looking like a stripper, than Molly guessed she looked_ great. _With an ultra-short creaky leather mini skirt, a plunging halter top, and enough makeup to cover an entire elephant, Molly had never felt so self-conscious or on-display in her entire life. So much skin was showing, and they_ _'_ _d pulled her hair back into a sleek ponytail which meant her neck felt naked, too. When she_ _'_ _d seen herself in the mirror, she_ _'_ _d blanched because she looked so much older than her actual age of twenty-three. Oh, and also nothing like herself. But the other girls_ _—_ _Kate and her other nine bridesmaids_ _—_ _had oohed and ahhed and laughed and not been interested in Molly_ _'_ _s obvious discomfort._

 _That had been hours ago and Molly just wanted to go to_ sleep _and put this weekend from hell behind herself. She was the only one in the bachelorette party who wasn_ _'_ _t blitzed (Molly didn_ _'_ _t drink at all) which made for even more awkwardness on her end. She didn_ _'_ _t fit in with these girls at_ all _and no one was really talking to her (she_ _'_ _d been okay with that mostly, it was just the principle of the thing). And then about ten minutes ago, Kate (so trashed and loud) had declared Molly was going to have a one night stand because she never had before. After feeling violated that her private life was being so flippantly aired, Molly had been relegated to listening to all the other drunk girls carry on about how one night stands were a rite of passage and what a prude she was and how she needed to do it_ _'_ _just once in her life.' To make matters worse, they were scoping on guys in the bar and trying to find her a guy to go bang. Molly wanted to die, especially because all the guys in this place looked gross and seedy and jocky, things Molly hated. She would never in a million years find a man of substance in a place like this._

_At the constant badgering, Molly was honestly at the point of thinking about calling a cab and leaving on her own, but the thought of finding her way around outside freaked her out. She was from a small town_ _—_ _this huge city had her petrified. She didn't know how to get around on her own in this type of place.  
_

" _Oh_ _…_ _my_ _…_ _god,_ _"_ _Annie said dramatically_ _—_ _one of the only bridesmaids whose name Molly remembered. She had a hungry look on her face._ _"_ _Check out that_ hottie _at twelve o_ _'_ _clock!_ _"_

 _Molly reluctantly looked, sure she was about to see another shady overgroomed douchebag looking guy. But she was pleasantly surprised. Seated at the bar and not paying attention to anything going on was a tall looking very broad-shouldered guy who appeared to be in his late-twenties. He was clean-shaven and had longish hair, sideburns, a face like a super-model, and an air of solemn thoughtfulness to him that Molly had to admit was immediately intriguing. He looked kind of like_ her _actually_ _…_ _like he didn_ _'_ _t really want to be where he was and like he was feeling out of place. He didn_ _'_ _t seem to be with anyone and he had a beer in hand that was forgotten. He was even dressed differently than everyone else there_ _—_ _jeans, work boots, a plaid shirt and a worn-in cargo jacket. He looked_ _…_ _authentic. Approachable. Molly stared at him despite herself.  
_

_Beside Molly, Annie was practically panting as she stared at long-hair-guy._ _"_ _Oh my god, can you imagine grabbing that_ hair _?_ _"_ _she asked, touching herself on the shoulders as she slouched in her seat drunkenly._ _"_ _He looks like a greek god_ _…_ _I bet he_ _'_ _s super built under all those layers_ _…"_ _she made a purring noise,_ _"_ _animal_ _…_ _!_ _"_ _she exclaimed, then giggled maniacally._

_Uncomfortable with the objectification, Molly made a slight face and hoped they would just stop. But Kate elbowed her in the side, making her jump._ _"_ _Go and just talk to him, Molly-moo! What_ _'_ _s the harm?!_ _"_ _The nickname Molly-moo made her even more annoyed but Molly just smiled tightly, trying to be calm and mature._

_She shook her head, feeling sick because she wasn_ _'_ _t exactly the best with peer pressure or standing up for herself._ _"No,_ _I really don_ _'_ _t want to,_ _"_ _she hedged uncertainly._

" _But you look_ super _pretty tonight!_ _"_ _Kate cajoled._ _"_ _Come onnnn! It_ _'_ _ll be_ fun _! Do it before you_ _'_ _re like me and tied down to one guy for the rest of your life!_ _"_

_Molly was scandalized_ _—_ _Kate was about to get married, should she really feel that way?_ _"_ _What part about sex with a stranger is fun?_ _"_ _Molly asked uncomfortably because to her it sounded awesome in fiction but terrifying and dangerous in real life._

"Every _part!_ _"_ _Annie replied with a raucous laugh. The other girls at the table laughed too, and Molly felt embarrassed again because she understood that she was being laughed at._ _Did people ever stop being bullies, she wondered? She hadn_ _'_ _t stepped foot in high school in years and yet this is what that felt like._

 _Molly looked back at long-hair-guy and was startled when she saw he was looking across the club back at her. And then with a sort of wan smile like he felt her pain, he gave her a little smile and brief raise of the chin_ _. Terrified, Molly froze, then tried to smile back. Hot with embarrassment, she shrank back_ _into her seat and trying to look occupied, she fidgeted with a napkin on the table as her ears burned. It was so unspeakably awkward for her to be noticed by the opposite sex. Well by anyone really, but especially in this environment? Molly wondered for the hundredth time what she had been thinking when she agreed to be Kate_ _'_ _s bridesmaid._ I just wanna be at home. With my books. And my cat. I hate this music and I hate this outfit and I don't belong here at all. Why did I say I'd be in this stupid wedding?

" _Hey! Hot plaid guy is into you!_ _"_ _Kate said, catching the little smile the guy had given._ _"_ _Why don't you go say hi?"_

_Molly started to lose her cool._ _"_ _Guys, I don_ _'_ _t want to_ _—_ _to get with some random guy!_ _"_ _she insisted almost angrily. As soon as she got mad, she covered it over with an obliging smile. She hated confrontation so much and didn_ _'_ _t like animosity and was automatically embarrassed for speaking her mind so abruptly._

_No one at the table seemed to care._ _"_ _Just go sit at the bar, Molly, oh my god, stop being such a wet rag,_ _"_ _Kate complained._ _"_ _Just say hi, it's not even a big deal! Where things go from there are up to you._ _"_ _She turned sing-song._ _"_ _What happens in Vegas_ _…_ _!_ _"_ _When all Molly did was make a face to express her discomfort, Kate got exasperated and a little disgusted._ _"_ _Live a little, my god Molly, it_ _'_ _s just sex_ _…"_ _She probably wouldn_ _'_ _t have said it if she hadn_ _'_ _t been drinking:_ _"_ _No wonder you_ _'_ _ve only had two boyfriends your whole life._ _"_

_Stung, abruptly almost in tears, Molly sat there with a stabbed heart._

" _Aw don_ _'_ _t listen to the bitter hag over here,_ _"_ _Annie laughed._ _"_ _Just go for it; be free!_ _"_ _Annie_ _'_ _s very helpful and cheerful tone was absolutely infuriating, but not as much as what she said next:_ _"_ _And if you get your anxiety stuff, just stop thinking about it._ _"_

 _Just stop_ _'_ _thinking about it_ _'_ _? Clearly these people had no idea what it was like to be stuck inside of yourself and trapped in your own mind, unable to speak for paralyzing fear and unable to function like a normal person. Insulted, Molly gritted her teeth in her mouth and because she was truly at her wit_ _'_ _s end, she let her inner thoughts fly out in a bitter, sarcastic jibe._ _"_ _Wow! I never thought about it that way,_ _"_ _she said tightly in a voice that dripped with genuine disdain, and the shocked look on Annie_ _'_ _s face was actually kind of awesome._ _"_ _Thanks,_ _"_ _Molly said in complete cynicism._ _"_ _All of my years battling anxiety are all solved; you should write a_ book _!_ _"_ _She stood up fast, knocking her chair back_ _—_ _she was shaking all over, she was so agitated and hot with righteous anger._ _"_ _You can call it 'Useless Bullshit That Helps No One'!"_

 _And with her blood pounding in her ears and her heart going a million miles an hour, Molly stalked off, her cheeks burning even though she kind of felt triumphant. And sick. And good. And horrible. All at the same time._ I can't believe I said that. Oh my god. They'll leave me here in Vegas and I'll never get home. _I can_ _'_ _t believe I actually said that_ _…_ _! Wow that was awesome. And awful._

 _Molly went to the bar because she had no idea where to go or how to stand or what to do, and the bar was something to at least lean against. There she gathered herself and deep breathed, counting herself calm and wondering if one of the girls would come and apologize to her or something. No one came and Molly realized_ _—_ crap _—_ hot plaid guy with the long hair is somewhere close to here _. She glanced down the length of the bar very carefully, trying not to look too conspicuous. He was about five seats down and he felt her glance_ _—_ _their eyes met again and he gave her the tiniest little smile. Molly_ _'_ _s stomach dropped and her eyes went wide as she yanked them back to look at the bar. Her heart began to thump around like a maniac once more._ No, no no no—just don't look at him again. He might come over here if you keep looking at him. _Molly clasped her hands tightly on the bar top then fiddled with her skirt because it was too short and she felt like everyone could see everything._

 _Across from her, a man with a rag stopped._ _"_ _Get you something?_ _"_ _the bar tender asked and Molly immediately shook her head no very enthusiastically, which got her a skeptical look._ _"_ _Suit yourself._ _"_ _Music thumped loudly._ God, I don't belong here… _she wondered if it were too late to resign as a bridesmaid. She felt someone slide in beside her just then and half expected it to be one of the girls. So when it was a short slightly pudgy guy with slicked back dark hair and a greasy smile, she shrank back._

_He was grinning at her with an oily smile._ _"_ _Hey babe, enjoying yourself? You come here often?_ _"_ _he asked in a voice that was supposed to be smooth and alluring._

_Repulsed and mortified, Molly answered the only way she could. In a breathy nervous voice and with honesty._ _"_ _Well I_ _—_ _I_ _'_ _m not even from Vegas and I think this sort of establishment is quite frankly the underbelly of society, so_ _…_ _no._ _"_

_He chuckled easily, eyeing her without any decency whatsoever._ _"_ _Fancy words, you a college girl or somethin_ _'_ _?_ _"_

_Molly wasn_ _'_ _t sure why that was a flirtation and bristled a little because it felt distinctly insulting somehow._ _"_ Yes _, actually._ _"_ _She eyed the moron talking her up doubtfully_ _. He probably thought Twilight was literature._

" _I_ like _me some college girls,_ _"_ _he drawled leisurely, grinning at her like that was supposed to be some kind of come on._

_Molly wanted to escape this interaction but had no idea how to_ _._ _"_ _Uh... okay_ _,_ _"_ _she mumbled, turning away from him a good bit so maybe he_ _'_ _d get the message._

_He didn_ _'_ _t. Instead he leaned against the bar, getting too close to her._ _"_ _Relax, gorgeous. You look tense. What_ _'_ _s your drink?_ _"_

" _I don_ _'_ _t need one thanks,_ _"_ _she said, edging away from him. She decided the next best thing to do would be just walk away. So she did that and headed for the bathrooms where he couldn_ _'_ _t follow._

 _He_ did _follow her though, along the back wall, coaxing her as she tried to walk faster toward the bathroom sign._ _"Hey wait, don't be shy!_ _Come on, sweetheart, I wasn't tryin' to run you off like that._ _"_ _He chuckled and then had the nerve to cut her off, standing in front of her. Molly could smell the heavy liquor on his breath. Drunk. He was totally drunk. "Lemme buy you a drink, quit playing hard to get," he continued, trying to be charming._

_"I said no," Molly reminded, her voice growing surprisingly more assertive, even to herself. S_ _he dodged to the side and walked past him, praying that he would take the hint._

_Still, he followed._ _"_ _Hey come on beautiful,_ _"_ _he goaded and caught her by the wrist, pulling her to a stop and making her turn toward him. Her inner alarms screamed and she pictured herself dead in a back alley after having been assaulted._ I never should have come to Vegas...

_But then_ _Molly suddenly found herself behind a much taller, bigger person who was put himself between herself and her stalker._ _"_ _There a problem here?_ _"_ _It was long-hair-guy and he had a deep, assertive voice_ _—_ _he sounded distinctly unhappy. He was taller than she_ _'_ _d thought and bigger, too. Like_ _…_ _wrestler big. Or bodyguard big._

_Molly gaped at him even as her slick-haired suitor did too._ _"_ _Whoa whoa whoa._ Bro _._ _"_ _The creeper scoffed through a nervous laugh and made a_ _'_ _get lost_ _'_ _motion with his hand._ _"_ _Go play knight in shining armor somewhere else._ _"_

 _Tall guy_ _'_ _s reply was immediate and cool._ _"_ _Sure, as long as_ you _go play douchebag loser somewhere else first._ _"_ _Molly gaped as awe struck her: wow. Who was this guy? Whoever he was, he had apparently sensed Molly_ _'_ _s dilemma and was making it his business to help._ _"_ _Quit bothering her, man._ _"_

_Obviously threatened, the oily-haired guy began to posture._ _"_ _Oh wow, morality police huh? Nothin_ _'_ _wrong here, just a guy talking to a girl._ _"_

_Plaid-shirt-dude didn_ _'_ _t budge._ _"_ _Yeah I don_ _'_ _t think so. She obviously isn_ _'_ _t into you. Get lost._ _"_

_Grossness raised his eyebrows a little, trying to be threatening. He looked like he wanted to fight._ _"_ _What_ _'_ _s a city boy like you gonna do about it, huh?_ _"_

_Long-hair-guy stood his ground and didn_ _'_ _t resort to any of the thuggish nonsense._ _"_ _You wanna find out?_ _"_ _he asked evenly, and there wasn_ _'_ _t even the slightest hint of fear or intimidation in his voice. Just cool, plain confidence. Maybe even a little amusement. Molly was starstruck. He was_ _kind of... amazing._

_The oil slick scoffed, his shifty eyes beginning to glance around for a way out_ _—_ _and then he made a_ _'_ _good riddance_ _'_ _motion at Molly as he brushed past the tall guy hard._ _"Bah._ _Keep 'er, she_ _'_ _s too skinny anyway._ _"_

_Ouch. That one hurt_ _—_ _her physique was one of the things she was most self-conscious about and as in awe as she_ _'_ _d been a second ago, she was suddenly feeling torn down and totally embarrassed. She looked with very ashamed eyes at her savior, who turned around to face her. His expression was no longer severe and warning. Instead, he looked concerned and_ nice _and very observant_ _—_ _his eyes, a beautiful hazel-ish color, looked all around her face in clear worry._ _"_ _You okay?_ _"_ _he asked._

_A little taken aback at what had just happened and his question, Molly managed a nod. She just wanted to disappear._ _"_ _Y-yeah._ _"_

_Seeing her wounded self-confidence, tall guy gave her an earnest look._ _"_ _Hey, that guy was an asshole,_ _"_ _he said in a tone that boosted her morale however fractionally. Molly looked up into his eyes with less and less difficulty. He hesitated then offered a little smile._ _"For whatever it's worth,_ _I think you look great._ _"_

_Really? Her hurt feelings suddenly felt a whole lot better and she flushed warm with a feeling that wasn_ _'_ _t embarrassment._ _"_ _Oh. Um_ _…_ _thanks._ _"  
_

_He held out his hand for a shake._ _"_ _I_ _'_ _m Sam._ _"_

_She hesitated, then took that hand. It was big, warm, a little rough._ _"_ _M_ _—"_ _she stopped herself quickly and then out of nervousness and paranoia, she told him her middle name instead._ _"_ _Annaliese._ _"_ _Just in case._

_Sam had a slight smile on his face even as confusion crossed his handsome features._ _"_ _Mannaliese?_ _"_

_Sometimes, people questioned your verbal gaffes and the way they did made you feel like they were insulting you or implying you were dumb. But the way Sam had just asked, he seemed to think she was kind of cute and it made her feel good. She couldn_ _'_ _t help it: she grinned self-consciously and looked down_ _._ _"_ _Annalise._ _"_

_Sam nodded._ _"_ _That_ _'_ _s really pretty,_ _"_ _he said in a very genuine, friendly tone, and Molly flushed again._

" _T-thank you,_ _"_ _she said, and couldn_ _'_ _t think of anything else to say at all._ _"_ _Uh, thank you._ _"_

_Sam hesitated._ _"_ _You sure you_ _'_ _re okay? Look kinda shaken up._ _"_

_Molly remembered how little she was wearing, at least compared to what she normally wore._ _"_ _Sorry, I_ _'_ _m_ _…_ _being here is..._ _"_ _she cast around for words, trying to look less uncomfortable than she actually felt._ _"_ _It_ _'_ _s_ _…_ _it_ _'_ _s just not really my_ _scene._ _"_

_Sam nodded, looking around with a jaded look in his eyes._ _"_ _Me either honestly._ _"_

_Molly hesitated, half out of interest and half out of hesitation_ _—_ _she didn_ _'_ _t want to come across as rude, questioning him. So she tried to sound really neutral._ _"_ _Then why are you here if you don_ _'_ _t like it?_ _"_

_Sam looked distinctly sad and lonely, and Molly was even more drawn to him for that._ _"_ _Just_ _…_ _tired of being in a room alone, I guess,_ _"_ _he said, then pepped himself up._ _"_ _Buy you a drink? We can commiserate._ _"_

_He looked kind of hopeful and he had just done her a huge favor and gosh he was handsome_ _…_ _that plus commiserate was a good word. She had to wonder if he was for real. Gorgeous, nice, and seemingly intelligent? She didn_ _'_ _t even drink but out of burning curiosity to get to know this Sam guy better, she accepted in her typical graceful fashion:_ _"_ _Uh_ _… yeah_ _. Okay. Sure. Cool._ _"_ _She glanced at the table full of bachelorettes nearby and they were all grinning and giving her the thumbs up and making lewd gestures (all except Annie, who looked pissed still) and Molly immediately frowned and looked away. Sam noticed._

" _Friends of yours?_ _"_ _he asked, and he seemed mildly amused by the rowdy bunch of girls._

 _Molly wouldn_ _'_ _t really call them that. The correct answer was no_ _—_ _she didn_ _'_ _t really_ have _friends. But in the interest of seeming appealing in case she maybe_ _—_ _possibly_ _—_ _perhaps decided to, you know_ _…_ _try the one night stand thing_ _…_ _she nodded._ _"_ _Yes. Friends of mine._ _"_

* * *

**Present Day**

What had happened in Vegas with Sam replayed in her mind as Molly got the manuscript out for him and worried about every last thing. Would he bring up what had… happened between them? Was this going to be weird? Oh god who was she kidding, it _was_ weird. And on the same hand, she'd spent so much time regretting that she had left without getting his number and without telling him her real name… maybe this was a good thing? Oh again, again: who was she kidding?

As Molly wheeled the manuscript out in its bin on top of the book cart, she thought she was going to die of a stroke. When she saw Sam sitting at the reading table ahead, her panic doubled, tripled, and she began to sweat and shake. He was watching her with an uncertain puppy-dog look in his eyes, like he was wondering about her and anxious to talk to her and she _really didn_ _'_ _t want that_ so she avoided eye contact and when he stood up as she neared she shoved the cart in his direction and muttered, "Here you go," then tried to escape.

But his voice stopped her. "Your name's Molly?" he asked, and he sounded mildly wounded. She stopped and managed to look into his eyes fleetingly. His handsome face was screwed up into mildly hurt confusion. "Why'd you tell me Annaliese?"

Her throat was so dry and no amount of swallowing seemed to help. She had to take a few good long seconds to formulate words in her mind. "B-because I was so nervous?" she asked, trying to laugh it off. But she failed miserably when she looked at his face and her eyes rested on his lips and mouth. She remembered very explicitly what that mouth of his could do and it made her turn redder and get more squeamish. "I told you," she managed in a barely audible voice. "I don't do…" she swallowed again and wet her lips and tried to say it but she couldn't. " _That_."

Sam's mouth tilted up to the side in what looked like fondness. "I remember."

 _Akjdshfkjdshf_. So a year and a half later he _still_ did this to her—turned her into an even more useless version of herself. Made her into pudding with just a look or a soft couple of words. Trying not to remember the more X-rated details of the night she still barely believed she'd had with the guy standing in front of her, she attempted to focus on facts and make Sam understand why she'd lied about her name. "It wasn't a _total_ lie," she offered feebly, scratching her neck because she felt like she looked stupid if her hands weren't doing something. "Annaliese is, is my middle name." She became mildly rueful. "I wasn't even creative enough to come up with a fake name like, like I dunno. Roxy or Angel."

Sam did that thing where his amusement at her words translated as affection. "Roxy or _Angel_?"

Molly withered a little, giving a weak little laugh. "See?" she asked. Feeling dumber than dumb, she began to back off again. "I'll… leave you with your book."

Sam looked mildly panicked and held out a hand slightly, his voice carrying a slight note of despair. "Hey, wait." Molly did wait, but she was bracing herself for something terrible. But Sam just fumbled around verbally like she always did, like he was a little nervous about what he was saying. "Uh—sorry I just… it's always… I've wondered about you." Her stomach jumped and her heart clenched. He had? "Ever since…" he trailed off significantly and a flash of mental images went through her mind: strong bare arms. The way he sounded when he was breathing hard. His hands and, um, other parts all over her. She gulped hard and he looked similarly awkward. " _You know_ ," he said, thankfully not naming it and making her more distressed than she already was. "And why you left like you did."

Molly looked at him and was honestly shocked that he seemed bothered about how she'd slipped out in the middle of the night. "I mean it would have been _awkward_ ," she managed, but she wasn't so sure now. "…Right?"

Sam took a second. "Maybe." His intense eyes held a sort of hope to them that she didn't know how to take. "Maybe not."

Molly fidgeted with her arms and changed the subject because this was just… too much. She looked at the bin where the manuscript was kept. "Is this FBI stuff?" she asked, thinking that it had to be. Why else would he show up and pretend to be the rabbi's research assistant? Unless he'd had a career change, maybe.

Sam looked a little surprised at the question then chagrinned. "Oh. Yeah uh—I'm… undercover," he said in a distinctly uncomfortable tone. "So… if you could keep things on the down low, that'd be great."

Awed at him all over again, Molly nodded with wide eyes. "Yeah, I can. Wow." It was like a real life dime-store novel. The handsome, mysterious FBI agent and the quiet, odd librarian and their one night of indescribable, breathtaking passion. _Heilige_ _s_ _cheisse_ _, Molly. You need to stop._ She cleared her throat and made herself stop being internally pathetic. "I heard about how Rabbi Bass died," she said, and that immediately shifted her mood and thoughts. "He… kept saying someone was following him." She stared out of the side of her eyes at nothing and felt her eyes suddenly stinging with tears. He had sat right in that chair, poor old man. And now he was just _gone_. "It's so sad," she whispered, wondering if he'd left a family behind and how they took his death and why the world was such an unfair place to begin with.

Sam appeared to be a little surprised at her emotional turn. "Did you know him?" he asked gently.

Molly swiped one of her hands underneath each eye quickly, trying to appear nonplussed. "Not really. Why?"

Sam looked a little touched. "You just seem… really sad."

Molly blinked once, not understanding. "He _died_. That's— _sad,_ isn't it?"

Sam looked kind of surprised by her simple statement. "True," he admitted, but the dubious sort of tone he used made Molly's eyebrows knit together.

"You don't think so?"

Sam hesitated. "Well, a _lot_ of people die," he said. "And of course that's sad. I guess sometimes I just… get sort of numb to it."

Molly nodded faintly, eyeing him sidelong which was the safest way to look at someone. She guessed that being in the FBI he probably saw a lot of things… things people like her couldn't imagine. "Are you gonna find who did this to him?" she asked softly, a little lump in her throat because the poor rabbi couldn't have just caught fire. This wasn't a book or a movie. There was a logical explanation and an assuredly sinister person behind the death.

Sam smiled a little, seeming again touched at her thought process. "Yeah. We are."

Molly tried to smile too but she was just _out_ of social energy. "Good, well, um…" she hedged away, trying to make up an excuse. "I need to get back to the desk." She continued to back up. "Just lemme know if you…" she was interrupted mid-sentence when she backed into another cart hard. Almost falling, she barely managed to keep her balance as everything on it knocked over. Turning red she acted like it hadn't happened at all. " _Need anything,_ " she squeaked then gave a nervous laugh and turned, walked right into Georgina and almost fell over again. And then really and truly ready to disappear, Molly fled to the privacy of the bathroom and left Sam to stare after her.


	116. What Happens In Vegas

" _It's not denial. I'm just selective about the reality I accept._ _"  
_ \- Bill Watters

* * *

… _Of all the libraries in all the world, why did he have to walk into mine?_

Huddled on top of a toilet (not her most dignified moment), Molly was hiding—feet pulled up and knees hugged to her chest in case someone came in looking for her. If they saw no feet, they'd leave. That was the plan, anyway. She wanted to cease existing for all the flustered embarrassment she was currently battling. Sam from Vegas. _SAM FROM VEGAS._ It blared through her mind over and over again, rendering her a mess. Nice, considerate, smart, funny, kind, hot… sexy… _strong_ _…_ ahem, _passionate_ … she remembered him, oh yes. How could she ever _forget_? She'd done things with him that she had never done before and didn't think she ever would do again. Not because she didn't want to but because she doubted she'd ever meet anyone as sexually... incredible... as Sam. Her anxiety level kept climbing and climbing.

Sometimes she thought she made up that impossible night. Sometimes she imagined she was a little broken in the brain simply because she still didn't understand why anyone like him would _ever_ be interested in a dorky, clumsy, self-conscious, awkward person such as herself. She had no idea what was wrong with Sam or why he had decided on her that night, but she couldn't face him again. Just couldn't. She wanted to melt into butter and drip down into a vent and never have to see the light of day ever again. _I wasn_ _'_ _t ready for this to happen today! Or ever!_ It was so unfair of the universe to pull this on her. Sam had been just a safe memory in the privacy of her own mind. He was absolutely real now. And _in her library_. And worse still, he'd seen her for who she really was: not a leather-clad makeup-drenched hooker-boot wearing Vegas girl. A boring librarian. She'd told him a little about herself that night, obviously—he knew she was into books and probably got the general idea that she was different than her appearance could lead someone to believe—but yeah, this chance re-encounter today had to be humiliating for Sam… seeing the bookish wallflower he'd spent the night with. The bookish wallflower who ran away in the middle of the night without a word...

She chewed her nails anxiously. This was _not_ how she'd pictured running into Sam again. And believe you me, she had pictured it, just not in realistic terms. Over and over again, she had imagined tall, handsome, emotionally available Sam showing up out of the blue and _him_ being the one who was surprised to see _her_. In these fantasies, her makeup had been perfect and her glossy hair had been blowing in the wind and she'd been wearing her favorite navy dress and she'd been confident, put-together, and even awe-inducing. In reality, she had hair that hadn't been washed in two days in a ponytail, her long bangs were clipped to the side with a schoolgirl-looking barrette, she was wearing a dowdy tan knee-length skirt, socks yanked to her knees, penny loafers and her least favorite green sweater (it itched and the sleeves were too long). In contrast, Sam looked like he'd stepped out of some fancy men's catalogue.

With a boiling stomach full of acid, Molly checked her wristwatch and decided thirty minutes would probably be enough time—he would probably be gone by then—and then and _only_ then she'd venture out to save what little face she had left. If Mr. Jones decided to fire her for disappearing on the job, she wouldn't fight it. That was how much she refused to face the music: she was okay with getting fired, which was one of her worst and most panic-inducing nightmares. As she waited with ears that winced at any sound nearby at all (she was _convinced_ someone would come in the bathroom and drag her out), she remembered the most un-Molly night of her life that had ever been and probably ever would be…

* * *

**A Year and a Half Ago  
Las Vegas, Nevada** _  
_

_In a noisy, dark bar on the strip in Vegas, two people sat at the quietest booth toward the back_ _…_ _but it still wasn_ _'_ _t really that quiet._

_Music thumped and lights blared in changing patterns and colors, and it was hard to see really well, so_ _…_ _was it any wonder there had been an accident? Either way, Molly wanted to implode. She was pink like a rose petal, muttering under her breath._ _"_ _B_ _l_ _ö_ _d_ _,_ _bescheuert_ _,_ _d_ _ä_ _mlich_ _…"_ _Stress tended to make her revert to her safe language, the one she knew she could say anything in and hardly ever be understood. The reason Molly was muttering frantically auf Deutsch? Across the table from her, Sam was blotting away the last of the beer she_ _'_ _d knocked over all across his lap._ _"_ _I_ _'_ _m sorry, I_ _'_ _m so sorry_ _…_ _"_ _she said over and over again in a quiet but frantic tone. She was kicking herself inside for the typical disaster. She always had been incredibly clumsy and accident-prone and when it affected her, she was able to muddle through_ _—_ _but when her clumsiness affected other people negatively, she couldn_ _'_ _t really take it._

_Sam didn_ _'_ _t seem bothered by it, in fact, he was nice enough to try and make her feel better._ _"_ _Hey, we_ _'_ _ve all knocked over a beer or two in our day, it_ _'_ _s seriously no big deal._ _"_ _He_ _'_ _d been trying to say the same thing for the past minute_ _…_ _ever since she spilled the drink onto him and couldn_ _'_ _t stop apologizing repeatedly._

_Molly was rigid and didn_ _'_ _t believe him_ _—_ _it_ was _a big deal, to her anyway, and socially unforgivable._ _"_ _It got all over your_ pants _…_ _!_ _"_ _she pointed out. Like he didn_ _'_ _t know that, though. He was probably cursing her internally and trying to figure out a way to get away from her and to someone more normal and fun to be around._

_But outwardly, he just gave her a smile_ _—_ _and it was a smile that could probably break hearts_ _—_ _beautiful white teeth, the hint of dimples cutting into his cheeks. His eyes kind of lit up and softened as he flashed that smile her way._ _"_ _Hey. Don_ _'_ _t sweat it._ _"_ _He had a gentle voice even though it was strong, and he had this calming, peacemaking sort of aura._ _"_ _Not the worst thing that_ _'_ _s happened to me lately,_ _"_ _he assured in a voice that was steady and even a touch amused._ _"_ _Really, it_ _'_ _s fine._ _"_

_Molly shook her head because she could only imagine how_ she'd _feel if a drink got spilled on her. The skin of her face burned and her throat squeezed and her breath was uneven._ _She was paused on the edge of the booth. One push upward and she could stand, walk away, then leave (but oh my god, the thought of walking away with him watching her seemed so terrifying and uncomfortable). But his genuine expression, his warm eyes,_ _it all enticed her to stay. However, just to be sure, because she was very doubtful and self-conscious, she hesitated._ _"_ _You're sure?_ _"_ _He could probably talk to any girl in here_ _…_

_Sam nodded immediately, still smiling at her in a way that made crushing on him very easy._ _"_ _Yeah. Really._ _"_ _He abruptly got playful._ _"_ _And if talking to you means I get a couple more brews on me, hey. Bring it on._ _"_ _He was hard not to smile at._ _"_ _I_ _'_ _ll muddle through._ _"_ _He looked at the beer she had spilled and not even sipped out of._ _"_ _You want me to get you another one?_ _"_

_Molly_ _'_ _s eyes dodged away. She_ _'_ _d accepted his offer of a drink because she_ _'_ _d been so nervous to leave the wrong impression and come off as a limp noodle._ _"_ _No um_ _…_ _they actually don_ _'_ _t have the kind I like here,_ _"_ _she hedged._

_Sam didn_ _'_ _t let it go_ _—_ _he seemed very intent to accommodate her._ _"_ _What kind do you like?_ _"_

_Under pressure, Molly wracked her brain in silent panic._ _"_ _I like um_ _…"_ _but honestly, she couldn_ _'_ _t think of a single brand._ _"_ _Well, I actually, uh..." she sighed, giving up and deciding to be honest. "I don't like beer."_ _  
_

_Sam didn_ _'_ _t sit back and scoff at her or raise his eyebrows in sudden disdain. Instead, he didn_ _'_ _t look phased at all._ _"_ _Oh!_ _"_ _It didn_ _'_ _t sound like it bothered him either way. He was entirely pleasant and reassuring._ _"_ _You should_ _'_ _ve said so._ _Wine? Cocktail?_ _"_

 _Argh, he was trying to be so generous and the truth was she had zero interest in alcohol and was very uncomfortable to admit how much of a boring person she was._ _"_ _I uh,_ _I don_ _'_ _t really drink often,_ _"_ _she said slowly, then made a face._ _"_ _Or, um, well,_ ever, _so_ _…"_

 _Sam understood and the funny thing was_ he _looked mildly embarrassed_ _—_ _like he should have figured it out himself already._ _"_ _Oh! Oh. Okay. No problem._ _"_

_Molly waited for him to throw in a derogatory comment that implied or outrightly said how bizarre it was that she abstained—because that's all she'd gotten from this bridesmaids trip from hell so far. But he didn_ _'_ _t, and Molly was confused._ _"_ _You don_ _'_ _t_ _…_ _think that_ _'_ _s weird?_ _"_ _she asked hesitantly._

_Sam shrugged a little and glanced at his own beer, maybe wondering if him drinking it made her uncomfortable._ _"_ _It_ _'_ _s_ different _, I_ _'_ _ll give you that_ _…"_ _he answered honestly and diplomatically._ _"_ _But weird? Nah. That_ _'_ _s your choice. And really, alcohol is pretty terrible for the human body, so_ _…_ _good for you, honestly._ _"_ _More than pleasantly surprised, liking him more and more, Molly found herself smiling and relaxing a little more, enjoying how unjudged she felt._

_Sam_ _'_ _s crooked little smile stayed on his face, and he gracefully ushered the conversation along._ _"_ _Okay, so before that beer decided to go sideways, we were talking about how we_ _'_ _re from the same state._ _"_

_Ah yes. They had figured out they hailed from the same state but Molly had no idea what to say about it at the moment._ _"_ _Yeah, good old Kansas..._ _"_ _  
_

" _Small world,_ _"_ _Sam said conversationally and took a sip of his beer. He looked so relaxed and at ease, so comfortable with himself, and Molly longed to be that way—instead, she was sitting there aware of every single inch of skin that was exposed and how awkward she felt in her own body. She wondered how people did that: carried themselves so confidently and remained comfortable in their own skin. It was a mystery she never thought she_ _'_ _d solve._ _"_ _So, you liking Vegas so far?_ _"_ _Sam asked._

_Molly answered honestly before she thought about it too much._ _"_ _It's... okay I guess._ _"_ _Sam_ _'_ _s eyebrows rose slightly as a tiny smile hovered on his face. Molly stumbled verbally, trying to explain herself and not come off as a complainer._ _"_ _I mean it_ _'_ _s just_ _—_ _so loud, too many people_ _…" she trailed off, realizing she sounded like an old lady. Sam_ _just shrugged his mouth downward briefly—indicating he was listening. Molly scratched her ear and cleared her throat, letting herself think for a minute._ _"_ _The desert looks really amazing, the terrain when we flew in just_ _…" she smiled a little, thinking of the incredible rocky tapestry of desert and mountain. "It looked incredible. S_ _unrise somewhere out there would probably be beautiful..._ _"_

_Sam nodded at her desert comment like he knew from personal experience._ _"_ _It totally is. You need to check it out for sure._ _"_ _He took another sip of beer, which meant it was her turn to talk._

_Molly messed around with her fingernails._ _"_ _Yeah,_ _"_ _she murmured, starting to worry._ What do I say now? _She was starting to get in a tizzy when Sam took care of the problem._

" _So, anyway. Kansas alums,_ _"_ _he said, going back to where they_ _'_ _d been when she spilled the beer._ _"_ _I was born in Lawrence, you?_ _"_

_Molly was genuinely startled and gaped slightly. That was one of the biggest coincidences she_ _'_ _d ever imagined._ _"…_ _Lawrence,_ _"_ _she answered softly, wondering if there was some cosmic significance there._

_Sam looked similarly surprised and took a couple seconds to reply_ _—_ _he blinked a few times before he did._ _"_ _Really._ _"_

" _Yeah._ _"_ _Really._

_The two of them sat there and barely knew each other, but that felt like it meant something that they were from the same small Kansas town. Or maybe Molly was impressionable and had read too many metaphor-riddled novels. Was it just her or did Sam look like he thought it was significant, too?_ _"_ _Small world,_ _"_ _he said again softly, and his eyes matched his voice. Thoughtful, serious, curious, contemplative. Wow. He was stunningly handsome. She_ _'_ _d noticed before, of course, but_ _…_ _wow,_ _erstaunlich_ _…_ _he was just drop-dead gorgeous and seemed to have so much going on inside his mind and head. He cleared his throat, wet his lips, and put a studious look on his face._ _"_ _So uh, what kind of stuff are you into, Annaliese?_ _"_

_Him using her wrong name reminded her of the reality of the situation. This wasn_ _'_ _t real. Not totally. A little deflated, she stalled. She should maybe have seen that question coming but for some reason it totally struck her dumb. What_ was _she into? She was drawing a blank due to how on-the-spot she kept making herself feel._ _"Well._ _Um. Netflix?_ _"_ _she chanced._ _"_ _And I really like cats, animals_ _…_ _"_ _Sam just smiled, and it had a soothing effect on her—even if it seemed like he was partially amused by her awkwardness._ _Starting to slowly get more comfortable, she could think clearer._ _"I used to really like gardening, back in the day. And, um, I did volleyball in high school and undergrad, I really kind of miss that actually. And w_ _ell_ _… my biggest hobby is probably_ _reading. I really, really love books._ _" It always felt a mite embarrassing to say that to people, because the majority of folks were not bookish like that._

_But Sam looked interested. And he sounded intruiged._ _"_ _What kind of books?_ _"_

_Molly hesitated. Sam seemed smart enough, but she decided to say a book that most people knew just to keep things relatable._ _"_ _Lord of the Rings?_ _"_

_Sam lit up._ _"_ _I love those books!_ _"_ _he said, and the way he was so immediately animated, Molly was quite stunned. Not what she'd expected. He grinned at her reaction._ _"_ _No,_ seriously, _me and my sister were like_ obsessed _with the trilogy growing up. Our big brother teased us about it all the time._ _"_ _He leaned across the table, giving the impression that he was about to share a hilarious story._ _"_ _In college, I wrote_ all _my papers for English one on Tolkien. No joke. Every_ single _one. The professor thought it was the only book I_ _'_ _d ever read._ _"_ _He pulled a face._ _"_ _When you know, I_ _'_ _ve read, like, three books at least._ _"_

 _Molly abruptly got confused_ _—_ _only three books? What kind of person had only read three boo_ _—_ _and then from the trollish smile hiding on his face she realized he was joking, and a sudden laugh escaped._ _"_ _O-_ oh _!_ _"_ _She couldn't help it—she was grinning through a genuine laugh._ _"_ _Three whole books?_ _"_ _He_ _'_ _d gotten her good. He seemed to like her reaction, grinning right back at her._ _"_ _So, what_ _'_ _s_ your _favorite book then, out of those three?_ _" Molly teased, surprised at how easily the comment came to her._

 _As she waited for his answer, she tried not to be too judgmental. If he said a Tom Clancy novel or something, she might have to get up and walk away._ _"_ _Hmm. That_ _'_ _s tough. Maybe it_ _'_ _s stupid but The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. I dunno, takes me back to childhood, you know? The roots of America that not everyone talks about or remembers—there's a certain darkness there that intruiged me. Oh, and gosh, Brave New World—I really love a good dystopian read._ _"_ _Molly felt her eyebrows up high._ Impressive _._ _"_ _What_ _'_ _s your favorite?_ _"_

_That was like asking a foodie to pick one favorite food. Molly thought hard, because it was incredibly difficult to pick just one. For a minute she forgot everything and thought about her favorite stories._ _"_ _The Great Gatsby if I have to choose_ _…"_ _she said slowly, thinking of all the metaphors in that novel and how much she loved a good cautionary tale and a heart-ripping love story._ _"_ _But I really like everything Margaret Atwood ever wrote, too. And Harry Potter, duh,_ _" she joked without thinking._ _That had been her entire childhood_ _—_ _wizards and Hogwarts and The Boy Who Lived. A self-conscious little smile stretched across her lips because she_ _'_ _d just put Atwood and Rowling into the same sentence together and it struck her as funny._ _"_ _Same vein, you know?_ _"_

_Sam kept up with her and then proved that he was well-read._ _"_ _Yeah, totally,_ _"_ _he said, joking around._ _"_ _Oryx and Crake, those are Harry Potter characters right?_ _"_

_The Atwood reference made her so incredibly happy._ _"_ _Yeah, they were in Harry Potter and the Handmaid_ _'_ _s Tale,_ _"_ _Molly said, joking right back as the thrill of having a real, easy, and enjoyable conversation made her smile all the wider._

" _Oof, Handmaid's Tale_ _"_ _Sam said, wincing_ _._ _"_ _That was a heavy one._ _"_

_More and more impressed with this Sam guy, Molly was forgetting herself in favor of the conversation._ _"_ _You_ _'_ _ve read it?_ _"_

_Sam grinned but it was a heavy smile, weighted by a little bittersweet quality._ _"_ _I_ _'_ _m not kidding. I read a_ lot _growing up. My dad traveled for work so_ _…_ _lots of long road trips._ _"_ _He chuckled._ _"_ _I read anything I could get my hands on or anything I could steal from my sister. Seriously, I read the encyclopedia like ten times._ _"_

 _Molly thought she was the only kid who had ever done that._ _"_ _I read it like twenty!_ _"_ _She exclaimed, amazed at these similarities. She had never met someone like this Sam guy and quite honestly, she was starting to wonder if he was The One. She quickly checked herself: just because he had read some books she had read and he was easy to talk to and they were from the same town didn't mean all that._ _However, she took this assessment in stride and stopped fixating on her internal world. "_ _So. Where_ _'_ _d you go to college?_ _"_ _she asked, proud of herself again for asking another question._

_Sam grew fractionally more veiled._ _"_ _Stanford, actually._ _"_

_Feeling starstruck by him once more_ _—_ _Stanford was no joke_ _—_ _Molly again wondered if he were for real._ _"_ _Whoa. That_ _'_ _s_ _…"_ _Amazing. Inspiring. Kind of intimidating. She frowned curiously, making a logical jump because of how well-read he was._ _"So y_ _ou studied English?_ _"_

_Sam had a sad little smile on his face and he looked at his beer, not her._ _"_ _Pre-law, actually. I was pre-law._ _"_

_Molly instinctively noticed that he seemed a little uncomfortable. But she asked before she convinced herself otherwise._ _"…'_ _Was'?_ _"_

_A little rueful, maybe, Sam nodded and cleared his throat._ _"_ _Yeah, I decided to_ _…_ _pursue another career, I guess._ _"_ _At the curious look on her face, Sam hesitated then told her._ _"_ _FBI._ _"_

_Molly_ _'_ _s eyes widened and her voice dropped._ _"…_ _FBI?_ _"_ _she whispered, like if she spoke more loudly about it the Bad Guys might come out of nowhere and get Sam._ _"_ _Wow_ _…"_ _Sam looked sort of uncomfortable about her reaction. But Molly was caught up in imagining. She could honestly picture it. He had that mysterious air to him and a quiet kind of sadness she couldn_ _'_ _t really put her finger on. Like he lived a lonely life of duty and work. She imagined him as a secret agent fighting crime and she swallowed, totally intrigued to the point of forgetting herself momentarily._ _"_ _You_ _…_ _you ever killed anyone?_ _"_

_A brief smile at the way she asked made Sam_ _'_ _s mouth waver, then he shook his head._ _"_ _Can_ _'_ _t say. Against policy._ _"_ _He paused._ _"_ _What about you?_ _"_

_Molly balked as her jaw dropped._ _"_ _No, I_ _'_ _ve definitely never killed anyone!_ _"_

_Sam_ _'_ _s face broke with a grin._ _"_ _No,_ no _—"_ _he laughed and it was a rich, beautiful sound._ _"_ _I mean what do you_ do _?_ _"_

" _Oh_ _—_ _!_ _"_ _It was odd. Molly didn_ _'_ _t get totally humiliated inside when she made that mistake or when Sam laughed. She understood that he wasn_ _'_ _t making fun of her and it was an honest mistake and even funny in hindsight. Of course he didn_ _'_ _t think she had killed people. A little self-conscious again but getting less and less neurotic as their conversation continued, she considered lying and making up some fabulous career for this Annaliese character she was portraying to him. But she didn_ _'_ _t want to lie to him (she liked him too much and she found herself wanting him to like the real_ her _…_ _) so she told him the boring truth._ _"_ _I_ _'_ _m a library assistant and a grad student._ _"_

_Sam nodded._ _"_ _Huh! Yeah, that fits. I can see you doing that. Sounds nice._ _"_

_Molly felt more and more at ease, smiling now without even realizing._ _"_ _It's not so bad."_

_Sam nodded._ _"_ _I love the library. Always have._ _"_

_More points for him. So many more points._ _"_ _Me too,_ _"_ _she said, beaming a little bit as she thought about her haven._ _"_ _It_ _'_ _s_ _…_ _really quiet there, and everything_ _'_ _s so organized_ _…_ _I like the labels and call numbers and_ _…"_ _she trailed off and lost her bravado as she heard herself out loud._

" _What?_ _"_

 _Molly made a face._ _"_ _I_ _'_ _m boring_ myself _right now._ _"_

 _Sam had a reflective, bittersweet smile on his face and he didn_ _'_ _t look bored._ _"_ _Life in the_ _…_ _the field. As an FBI agent_ _—_ _is uh_ _…_ _let_ _'_ _s just say nonstop. I can appreciate the simple things. I_ miss _the simple things. I miss boring. Don_ _'_ _t take it for granted. Sometimes I wish I could live the boring life again._ _"_

_Molly nodded, thoughtful. Honestly, she kind of preferred boring but everyone else seemed to dislike that about her. She loved adventure and mystery and near-death experiences and emotional pain_ _…_ _as long as it was in the pages of a book. B_ _ut in real life, she liked for things to be quiet and nice and mundane. Molly contemplated Sam for a minute._ _"_ _So_ _…_ _why_ _'_ _d you decide to go FBI?_ _"_ _she asked, genuinely interested in the answer._

_Sam_ _'_ _s face tensed as he frowned at his beer bottle in deep thought._ _"_ _Uh_ _—_ _wanted to help people. And I know what you_ _'_ _re thinking_ _…_ _I could have helped people being a lawyer, too. But_ _…_ _well_ _…_ _the bureau, it_ _'_ _s_ _…_ _it_ _'_ _s actually a family thing. My dad, my brother, my sister_ _…_ _all agents. So_ _…"_

_Molly_ _'_ _s eyebrows rose faintly._ _"_ _Wow, that seems sort of_ _…"_ _unbelievable? A little unheard of? She said another, more neutral word out loud:_ _"_ _Unique._ _"_ _She reserved judgments and chose to believe him even if it sounded a little off._

_Sam looked a little uncomfortable._ _"_ _Yeah and uh_ _…_ _I guess I just was meant to do it too._ _"_ _He smiled at her and turned the conversation back to her._ _"_ _So you gonna be a library assistant forever or you got bigger and better plans?_ _"_

_Molly fiddled with a scratch on the table, again feeling put on the spot._ _"_ _Um_ _…_ _I wanna be a legitimate librarian someday actually. Getting my master_ _'_ _s in library science, so_ _…_ _in a year or two I can maybe_ _…_ _you know. Do that._ _"_ _She quite honestly didn_ _'_ _t like to think about the future in concrete terms because it was so overwhelming. Living on her own,_ _taking care of Adult Things_ _…_ _it made her so anxious sometimes._ _"_ _I don_ _'_ _t really have any other plans though,_ _"_ _she said, musing out loud to a man who was basically a stranger._ _"_ _I mean I guess I_ _'_ _ll figure it out, I dunno_ _…"_ _her blank gaze had been off in the distance but as she realized that she was spilling her stupid, boring worries to an accomplished, focused, Fully Adult FBI agent who obviously couldn_ _'_ _t commiserate with her, she got embarrassed and decided she answered the question wrong._ _"_ _Sorry._ _"_

_He seemed sympathetic and insightful even in silence._ _"_ _Hey, don_ _'_ _t apologize. It_ _'_ _s totally okay to not have things figured out._ _"_ _The fact that he_ _'_ _d heard what she was saying and understood the point she was trying to get across made her stomach jump again and drew her eyes to his again._ _"_ _And to be honest with you, I haven_ _'_ _t met many people who actually know where they_ _'_ _re going in life. You_ _'_ _ll be okay._ _"_ _T_ _he way he said it, she could honestly believe it._

_Captivated by him and simultaneously sure it must be a trick, Molly said her next sentence sort of despondently._ _"_ _You are so_ _…_ nice _._ _"_

_He smiled humbly and cracked a joke._ _"_ _I try, milady._ _"_

_But Molly didn_ _'_ _t believe it._ _"_ _Is this your good deed of the day?_ _"_ _she asked. In no universe would a guy like this ever really like a girl like her or go out of his way to be kind to her. Something was missing._ _"_ _Make the awkward girl who clearly doesn_ _'_ _t belong in the bar feel better?_ _"_

_Sam looked a little confused by the question._ _"_ _My good deed of the day?_ _"_ _he repeated, and that intensely deep, empathetic look remained on his face as he took a couple seconds to muster up a reply._ _"_ _You_ _'_ _re not the only one who_ _'_ _s ever felt out of place, you know,_ _"_ _he said._ _"_ _Growing up_ _…_ _I, I felt like a freak._ _"_ _With a chagrinned expression and little shrug, he admitted something she found hard to believe:_ _"_ _Still do._ _"_

_Molly wasn_ _'_ _t sure what to say._ _S_ _he finally managed,_ _"_ You? _"_

" _Yeah me,_ _"_ _Sam replied._ _"_ _Why_ _'_ _s that so hard to believe?_ _"_

_Molly hesitated._ _"_ _I mean, because you look so_ _…_ _normal. And put together. Like you have no problems._ _"_

_Sam_ _'_ _s rueful smile was back. "So do you." Molly blinked a couple times, surprised. Sam shrugged._ _"_ _Appearances can be deceiving. Most of the time I feel like a lost kid._ _"_

_A statement that made her heart pinch for him._ Why would he tell a stranger that? _She didn't know, but he seemed earnest, and vulberable_ _._ _"_ _That_ _'_ _s how I feel_ all _the time,_ _"_ _she admitted quietly, deciding to make herself a little vulnerable, too. Their eyes met briefly. And they understood each other and Molly knew they did. How, she wasn_ _'_ _t sure of_ _…_ _he really did_ look _like he had it together. He had confidence and charisma and was obviously quick on his feet mentally_ _…_ _the opposite of her_ _…_ _and yet she saw her inner feelings reflected back at her from those striking hazel eyes. That had to be the longest she_ _'_ _d ever looked anyone in the eye without looking away. And in that moment, Molly wondered if this was what falling in love felt like._

_Sam_ _'_ _s eyes narrowed just slightly in fascinated curiosity._ _"_ _Sorry if it_ _'_ _s a rude question but_ _…_ _how old are you?_ _"_ _he asked quietly._ _"_ _It_ _'_ _s hard to tell._ _"_

_She lied without thinking, because he seemed a little older—maybe his late twenties. "I'm, uh, twenty seven." She smiled, trying to look confident. "You?"_

_Sam ended up being older than she thought._ _"_ _Thirty. Well, in like a month or so anyway._ _"_

_"Well. Happy early birthday," she said, suddenly deciding to cheers an imaginary beer against his real one—a derpy little action borne out of her more silly side. He laughed a little, looked down, but then when he looked back at her, it made her feel odd and smile fade._ _"_ _What?_ _"_

" _Just, didn_ _'_ _t think I_ _'_ _d meet someone like you tonight,_ _"_ _he said, and the look in his eyes made her feel smaller._

_Molly swallowed, suddenly a little short of breath._ _"_ _Someone like me?_ _"_

" _Yeah, you_ _'_ _re_ _…"_ _he looked at her like he was trying to decide on the word._ _"I dunno, r_ _eal._ _" He gave a soft little laugh. "It's refreshing."  
_

_It was another nerve-wracking, thrilling compliment._ _Something she didn't know how to respond to. All she could do was feel immensely flattered and softened. She wanted to know more, and managed a demure, "...Real?"  
_

_Sam thought for a minute_ _._ _"_ _I guess most people I meet these days are really, I dunno. Hard. And sort of jaded by life. You_ _'_ _re_ _…" he got a shade more shy, "_ _you_ _'_ _re uh, really sweet._ _"_ _He paused, a little flustered in the cutest of ways._ _"_ _I like it._ _"_

_Molly wondered how red, exactly, her jawline and ears were turned._ _"_ _Thanks,_ _"_ _she mumbled through a smile she couldn't press away, thinking she owed him a compliment back._ _"_ _You_ _'_ _re_ _…"_ _my dream man? So hot you could be on TV? Beautiful? Making me reconsider my morals right now? She was flustered over what to say and settled for,_ _"Refreshing too. And... I,_ _I really like your hair._ _"_

_He was so obviously aware that she liked him too_ _—_ _she could tell by the way he looked at smiled at her, but he didn_ _'_ _t make it any worse for her or call attention to the fact. He just let his eyes flirt with hers._ _"_ _Thanks._ _"_ _He eyed the top of her head for a second._ _"_ _I like yours too._ _"_

" _Oh geez,_ _"_ _Molly quickly said, because it didn't look anything like it normally would._ _"Yeah I wasn't too sure about it. T_ _hey straightened it and put several gallons of some kind of hair product I_ _'_ _ve never heard of in there._ _"_

" _Your friends over there?_ _"_ _Sam asked, glancing across the club at the increasingly-rowdy bachelorette bunch Molly was very happy to currently be away from._

"' _Friends' is a stretch,_ _"_ _she said honestly with a twinge of sadness. "I'm here for a bachelorette party—had a couple English classes with the bride and then one of her bridesmaids backed out so_ _…_ _I_ _'_ _m_ _the replacement. It_ _'_ _s okay though,_ _"_ _she hurried to add._ _"_ _Always wanted to go to a wedding._ _"_

_Sam looked surprised._ _"_ _You_ _'_ _ve never been to a wedding before?_ _"_

_Molly tried not to look any kind of way and shrugged._ _"_ _I don_ _'_ _t have that many friends I guess._ _"_ _She wanted, ideally, to have lots of friends and to be well-liked and relevant among her peers. But whenever she_ did _seem to manage friends, they exhausted her and weren_ _'_ _t fun to be around and didn_ _'_ _t get Molly_ _'_ _s personality or introverted nature whatsoever. She only had one friend when it came down to it: Markus. He was gay, awkward, and socially inept just like her. And a Whovian._

_Sam surprised her when he nodded._ _"_ _Me either,_ _"_ _he said, distracted by his beer again._ _"_ _Just my family, mostly._ _"_

_Molly hesitated. She heard the same sort of sadness in his voice that she felt inside._ _"_ _You said a sister, right?_ _"_

" _Right, and a brother. Parents are gone now._ _"_

_Her heart immediately went out to him and hurt for him._ _"_ _Oh. I_ _'_ _m so sorry_ _…"_ _She felt so bad for him without knowing the details. How awful. She hated to hear about sad things like that._

_He skipped over the subject, sidestepping it._ _"_ _You? Got any siblings?_ _"_

_Sensitive to the fact that he was obviously broken up about his parents still, Molly nodded yes._ _"_ _Yeah, my brother Arno. He_ _'_ _s older than me. Psychologist._ _"_

_Sam looked impressed._ _"_ _Wow, big time._ _"_

" _Yeah,_ he _thinks so,_ _"_ _Molly said, joking again without really thinking about it._

_Sam cracked a smile_ _—_ _mission accomplished_ _—_ _and Molly_ _'_ _s heart definitely melted a little._ _"_ _Sounds like we have something else in common,_ _"_ _Sam said._ _"_ _My brother constantly acts like he_ _'_ _s king of the world._ _"_ _Molly chuckled_ _and_ _Sam echoed, making her a few shades more comfortable without even trying._ _"_ _So I know you said you were born in Lawrence, but I keep hearing like_ _…_ _I dunno, a little accent,_ _"_ _he said, asking about it without a question._

" _Oh._ _"_ _Molly got a little self-conscious again. She didn_ _'_ _t even notice it most days but others did_ _…_ _she had the softest Germanic lilt to certain words, sometimes more than others. Her father still had a very strong German accent and she_ _'_ _d picked it up when she was small._ _"_ _Yeah. Well, my mom spoke English to me all the time and my dad spoke German so_ _…_ _I learned both at once and sometimes I guess you can tell, huh_ _._ _"_

_Sam nodded._ _"_ _That_ _'_ _s pretty cool._ _"_ _He grinned sheepishly._ _"_ _I took Spanish in college and uh_ _—_ _let_ _'_ _s just say it didn_ _'_ _t stick too well._ _"_ _He laughed._ _"_ _Basically all I remember is_ _'_ _d_ _ó_ _nde est_ _á_ _el ba_ _ñ_ _o?_ _'"_

_Molly hesitated._ _"_ _What_ _'_ _s that mean?_ _"_

_Sam laughed, his eyes crinkling up further._ _"_ _Where_ _'_ _s the bathroom._ _"_ _She laughed too and then said that was a very important question to be able to ask_ _. Then, f_ _or maybe an hour longer, they sat there and talked with increasing comfortability (on Molly_ _'_ _s end especially). About books, TV shows, high school, society, all kinds of random things_ _—_ _even politics a little bit. Molly found herself completely at ease at a certain point, not overthinking at all after awhile. The ums and uhs faded away more and more. It was easy, and it made sense to be there with him. Sam was open-minded, incredibly smart, and no matter what the conversation topic was, his focus was completely on her and what they were discussing. She had never felt quite as listened to or paid attention to before, and while it was a little nerve-wracking at first, it was also incredibly nice and refreshing.  
_

_And then at a certain point, Sam suddenly looked at Molly and asked a sudden question that made her stomach hurtle into outer space._ _"_ _Hey_ _—_ _you wanna get outta here?_ _"_ _She must have looked shocked—was he asking to go hook up?—because Sam quickly edited himself: "and go for a walk?"_

_She felt slightly disappointed, then managed to smile nervously. "Oh. Yes! Yeah. Um." She worked hard to compose herself and look calm and at ease. "That'd be great."_

_He started to get out of the booth,_ _offering her a hand to help her scoot out of the booth. She hesitated, and then took his hand, met his eyes, and left that club with the hottest guy there._

* * *

**Present Day**

When Molly finally emerged out of the bathroom with lots of careful, furtive glances around to make sure Sam was no longer around and it was safe to come out—she breathed a sigh of both relief and disappointment. Part of her sort of had hoped he would be waiting anxiously for her like a lovesick puppy. But he was gone. Fantasy shattered. Oh well. She guessed she was a dummy for thinking he was interested in her past that one night in Vegas. She slunk back into the circulation area and dutifully began to check in some books that were stacked beside the scanner. And then as she lifted the first book up to the barcode laser reader, she dropped it with the softest alarmed gasp. Because Sam was sitting in the small waiting area near the door with clasped hands and elbows leaned over his knees and he had just caught sight of her.

_Oh no._

Her panic returned so quickly she could have fallen over from the adrenaline. _How did I not see him there?!_ He stood up and walked over to her and it took thirty million years and yet no time at all and she was frozen in place, helpless to do anything but stand there behind the counter and wait for him to come up and heaven forbid, _talk_ to her. She noticed everything about him as he approached: his long legs and beautiful shoes and debonaire sweater vest and scholarly-looking jacket and amazing hair and broad shoulders and striking face and keen eyes…

She realized she was holding her breath as he got to the counter. "Hey," he said, and she didn't know what to say back. He seemed sort of… concerned.

She took way too long to speak her three word reply and when she did, her voice was weak and trembly. "You're still here."

"Yeah," he said softly, eyeing Mr. Jones who was nearby and watchful. "I waited. You…" he lowered his voice just a little more, "you _do_ remember me, right?"

What kind of crazy question was _that_?! Molly was flustered and very aware of how close Mr. Jones was. " _Yeah_ I remember you," she said sort of tersely, humiliated completely because the last real time she'd seen Sam had been, _you know_ … and as such, she cleared her throat and subtly tugged at her sweater collar, feeling a little warm.

Sam contemplated her intently. "How much longer you working today?" he asked.

Molly withered as devastating hope rose. "Uh—wh—um—" did he want to… see her later?

Sam's face was soft with an amused expression. "It's not an essay question," he said, looking at her like she was the only person in the room. "What time you get off?"

She took a deep breath and managed, in a steadier voice, almost challengingly: "Nine."

Sam nodded and hesitated. "Do you wanna… I dunno, get some coffee with me?" He looked almost doubtful, like he thought she'd say no.

"Coffee," she echoed dumbly, surprised at what he was asking.

He suddenly grinned outright, eyes crinkling, dimples showing… and she remembered he'd smiled at her like that several times in Vegas. It had the same heart-shattering effect now as it did then. "You know, the brown liquid you drink out of a ceramic cup?" He joked, then got a little more serious, and he even seemed a bit nervous. "I just… I mean, I'd love to catch up. Somewhere…" he glanced at Mr. Jones, who was still watching with disapproval. " _Else_."

She wanted to. _Yes_ , she wanted to and even though she was utterly terrified about it, she told herself to be brave like Hermione and just _go for it._ Because she'd spent so much time thinking about Sam from Vegas and wishing she'd stayed until morning. Quite honestly, he'd taken the spot in her mind for What A Man Should Be and no one else had ever come close to being as desirable as he'd been to her all this time. Not even Ryan Gosling. "Yeah. Sure, catch up. That'd be grood." She pulled up short, appalled with herself. "I-I was trying to say great," she said. "And good. At the same time." She laughed weakly. That 'heh' sound was like a sad animal squawking its last dying sound out.

Still looking at her with soft eyes, Sam pulled a scrap piece of paper toward himself and produced a pen out of his pocket. "Lemme give you my number," he said, jotting it down and then looking her in the eye with an impish smile playing on his lips. "Is the Caribou on Main 'grood' for you?"

She swore she fell in love with him all over again when he said that. "Yeah," she said, softly. "It's grood." She took the paper with his number and couldn't stop the grin on her face, even when she bit her lip to try and play it more cool. "I'll text you when I get off," she said, her heart going thousands of miles per hour in her chest.

Sam smiled a little then slid his hands into his pockets. "Great. I'll see you in a little bit." He hesitated again, then said her real, actual, legit name. "Molly."

Hearing him say her real name made her excited and nervous and silly all at the same time. She could barely see for the fireworks exploding in her insides. Somehow, she managed to sound sane with her reply. "Okay, Sam."

With that, Sam left and Molly watched his tall, huge self leave and she tried to figure it out. Did he actually really like her?

Beside her, the librarian sidled up and gave her a semi-annoyed look. "Jesus Christ, that was painful," Roger muttered. "How'd you get a good looking guy like _that_ interested in you, anyway? There something about you I don't know?" Actually yes, but Molly said nothing. Instead, given wings of bravery by the encounter, she gave him a very cool, serene look. Mr. Jones did not like that, and immediately gave a false smile. "I hate to be a damper but unfortunately we have that new shipment that needs to be completed before you can go _anywhere_ _…_ " he said, wincing in false sympathy.

With a sinking heart, Molly looked at the three huge boxes, then the clock, then Sam's number on a sheet of paper. And she realized that this date (or whatever it was) couldn't even happen if she didn't do some next-to _impossible_ amounts of work in the next two hours.

* * *

**A Year and a Half Ago  
Las Vegas, Nevada**

_Molly and Sam walked along the sidewalk side by side, and she had her arms crossed in a very useless attempt to get a little warmer. With the chilly night air and the skimpy outfit_ _, she was kind of freezing, but trying very hard to look at ease and comfortable._

_However, Sam wasn_ _'_ _t fooled._ _"_ _You cold?_ _"_ _he asked._

_Molly tried to look nonplussed. She hated when people worried about her because it seemed like they were inconveniencing themselves if they had to help her with anything._ _"_ _No, it_ _'_ _s nice out here,_ _"_ _she lied, then briefly indicated her outfit._ _"_ _This is_ _—_ _it_ _'_ _s warmer than it looks._ _"_ _As if to mock her, a light breeze hit her and she shivered powerlessly as gooseflesh sprang to life on her arms._

_Sam made a face._ _"_ _Yeah right. You_ _'_ _re freezing._ _"_ _He shrugged his jacket off and despite her protests, he put it around her shoulders._ _  
_

_Loathe to accept it even though oh my gosh it was the sweetest thing ever, Molly bumbled._ _"_ _Thanks._ _"_ _It was warm from his body heat and smelled sort of like old leather and some kind of masculine cologne and she was immediately so much more warm. And then noticing how he was practically busting out of his long-sleeved plaid shirt she stared, gawking at his huge shoulders and arms._ _"_ _You must work out_ _,_ _"_ _she blurted, then cursed herself._

_Sam laughed easily and shoved his hands into his jeans pockets, and in effect made himself look even more appealing without even knowing it._ _"_ _It_ _'_ _s my job_ _…_ _keeps me in shape. And I like to try and run, lift, you know, stuff like that. Eat healthy._ _"_ _He chuckled at her terminology._ _"_ _My brother likes to give me hell for it, actually._ _"_

_Molly smiled softly, genuinely._ _"_ _That_ _…_ _that sounds nice._ _"_ _She put her arms through the jacket arms_ _—_ _the sleeves were a little long on her, which was rare._

" _It sounds nice that he gives me hell?_ _"_ _Sam asked, a dubious little grin on his face._

_Realizing it made no sense if she didn_ _'_ _t explain, Molly tried to._ _Coming off wrong was what she hated most and yet did best._ _"_ _Well I mean, my brother was twelve when I was born so we didn_ _'_ _t really have much time together, you know? I feel like an only child, I guess. He never gave me hell because he wasn_ _'_ _t really there much. We aren_ _'_ _t really that close. It sounds like you guys are close._ _"_

_Sam had a bittersweet little smile on his face._ _"_ _Yeah well me and my family are close. But we definitely don_ _'_ _t always get along._ _"_

" _You_ _'_ _re the oldest?_ _"_ _Molly asked timidly, because he seemed like an oldest. Measured, calm, shrewd._

_Sam shook his head immediately._ _"_ _No. No. I_ _'_ _m the middle. Well, I mean, my sister and I are twins, so it_ _'_ _s sort of debatable. But, I was born a minute before she was, so_ _…_ _I got that bragging right which she hates._ _"_ _He smiled to himself._

_Molly resisted the urge to fangirl again, but she didn_ _'_ _t quite manage._ _"_ _Twins, that_ _'_ _s so cool!_ _"_ _she exclaimed, because she had always been fascinated by twins in movies, TV, and real life whenever she_ _'_ _d happened to see a pair in public. Sam looked a little skeptical of her reaction and she tried her best to sound serious and grown up._ _"_ _Do twins really have that mind connection thing?_ _"_ _she asked._

_Sam made a doubtful sound._ _"_ _I think that_ _'_ _s an old wives tale. Honestly me and my sister we_ _…_ _clashed a lot. But sometimes, yeah. I could just look at her and know what she was thinking and vice versa._ _"_

_Molly smiled a little again._ _"_ _That sounds really nice._ _"_ _She daydreamed for a minute about having a sibling and what that would have really been like. She loved Arno of course. But he lived in a different state and she only saw him on Thanksgiving and Christmas now. She thought if she_ _'_ _d had a twin, they would live together and be oddballs and understand each other even when no one else did._

_At that moment, she and Sam passed by an unruly group of young, seemingly inebriated men_ _—_ _one of which wolf-whistled and jeered at Molly and made a comment about her legs. Immediately scared, Molly was a little surprised when Sam made a face of obvious displeasure then put his arm around her in a silent_ I'm here _._ _"_ _Hey. No worries,_ _"_ _he said, obviously honing in on her spike of fear._ _"_ _No one_ _'_ _s gonna mess with you while I_ _'_ _m around._ _"_

_She believed him and felt safe immediately when he said that. They left the jeering group behind and Sam didn_ _'_ _t take his arm off her shoulder and she didn_ _'_ _t pull away either. She looked up at the side of his face and marveled at how comfortable she was with him after such a short time. It wasn_ _'_ _t normal of her at all. But normal or not, he had her feeling incredibly at ease, so much that she wasn_ _'_ _t spending the entire time obsessing over herself and how she was coming off. She was genuinely interested in him and feeling like they were maybe kindred in spirit. Like she didn_ _'_ _t have to worry as much around him as she did around other people. In an act of bravery, she put her arm around his waist to see how it felt and what he might do. He just smiled a little to himself and glanced her way. Thrilled with the way the night was now going, Molly relaxed another level, daring to believe she could be just as 'normal' as everyone else she ever knew._ _"_ _So, we know that I_ _'_ _m here for a bachelorette party..._ _"_ _she said._ _"_ _What about you? FBI business?_ _"_

_He shook his head._ _"_ _Vacation, guess you could call it. Me and my brother and sister, we used to come here once a year. But uh_ _…_ _had to take some time away from my brother here lately. Been fighting with him. And my sister actually had to check into rehab recently, so_ _…"_

_Immediately worried about him because he sounded extremely weighted by it, Molly didn_ _'_ _t know what to say._ _"_ _Oh._ _"_

" _Yeah, you don_ _'_ _t live the life we live without some pretty major consequences,_ _"_ _he said, then stopped walking. They were overlooking an amazing hotel that had a huge, lit up water fountain display in front of it. The water shot high into the air, waving back and forth to music._ _"The_ _Bellagio fountains,_ _"_ _he said. They leaned against the railing there, watching the water for a moment—the current song was Power of Love by Celine Dion. A cold vapor mist shimmered over them every few seconds from the water._

_Molly snuggled deeper into Sam's jacket, thinking about Sam's words and listening to the song. How surreal to be in a strange city with this not-so-strange man. He was close to her, close enough that she could feel his warmth at her side. And she liked it._ _They looked at each other in accidental tandem at the moment when Celine sang, "Cuz I'm your lady, and you are my man! Whenever you reach for me, I'll do whatever I can." And_ _Sam suddenly grinned kind of goofy like he had an idea, and held out his hand like he wanted to dance, and without even stopping to think, just feeling open and silly, Molly took his hand. In a moment that didn't seem like it was really her life, they danced around holding hands and missing steps and being uncoordinated, ending with Molly almost falling and Sam catching her as they both laughed. She was clutching onto him, their faces were close. Her smile faded, and she felt a little suspicious again as she searched those gentle hazel eyes. "Are you really like this?" she asked softly._

_Sam's voice was soft too._ _"_ _Like what?_ _"_

" _So_ _…"_ _she tried to come up with the right word. They hadn't let go of each other, and she didn't mind being so close either._ _"_ Nice _._ _"_

_With a humble little smile, he shrugged._ _"_ _This is me._ _"_

_Molly swallowed, and maybe it was Vegas, maybe it was the bravery Celine's song gave her, but Molly said how she felt._ _"_ _I like you_ _Sam."_

_He was looking at her like no other person had ever looked at her._ _"_ _I like you too,_ _"_ _he said quietly._ _And he felt really close and the moment was suddenly incredibly intimate and she wanted to kiss him but she never kissed a guy until she knew his parents and had gotten a look at his SAT scores_ _…_

_Another gust of wind came and with it, Molly_ _'_ _s ponytail went into a wild little flurry and part of it smacked her across the face and then stuck to her bottom lip. Sam looked at those strands of hair and hesitated._ _"_ _You got a_ _…"_ _he said, then carefully let two fingers drift across her cheek to pull the hairs away. Feeling the most vulnerable and alive and panicked as she had felt in her entire life, Molly stared at him breathlessly. That single little touch had given her feelings she didn_ _'_ _t even know what to do with, and Sam was looking at her with an intent gaze she couldn_ _'_ _t escape from. His fingers were at her jawline and even though her heart was hammering out of her chest because she was so scared and exhilarated, she started it: moving forward a little, then he did too.  
_

_Molly_ _'_ _s stomach jumped out of her body when he leaned close and those soft lips touched hers. She_ _'_ _d kissed two other guys before in her life, so maybe she wasn_ _'_ _t the best judge of this but_ _—_ _Sam_ _'_ _s kiss immediately felt like romance and falling in love and insane, electric chemistry. He kissed her briefly and gently, an exploratory and longing sort of touch she had to have more of. He drew back just a little, enough that their eyes caught for a second, then he kissed her again and again, each time a little more certainly as Molly responded and reciprocated. She melted. For once in her life, she didn_ _'_ _t feel like she didn_ _'_ _t know what to do; she didn_ _'_ _t feel clueless. Her arms settled around his neck even as he gently pulled her closer against him. He felt so incredibly right and_ good _and his kiss felt organic_ _—_ _no awkwardness at all or anything like it. Just amazing chemistry the likes of which she had never, ever had before. They kissed each other like two people who were in love and had been for awhile_ _—_ _gentle, sweet, sensual, slow, innocent and Molly felt hotter and hotter and more and more crazy as he coaxed her to more and more softness in his arms. And then Sam_ _'_ _s mouth parted open and his warm tongue touched hers and Molly let out the softest sound as her brain exploded. She forgot everything. That she was in public, that he was a stranger, that she was supposed to be awkward and weird and stiff. She lost herself in that kiss and did what she never had done before: made out in public. It was slow and deep and wet, it was natural and heady and so hot. He felt strong against her and safe, big. The way he held her and touched her_ _—_ _his attractiveness, his enigmatic aura_ _—_ _the way her body was in overdrive and already begging for him_ _—_ _the thought that she could get away with this because she was in a different city and he didn_ _'_ _t know her real name_ _—_ _the realization that she would be so angry with herself if she didn_ _'_ _t do this_ _—_ _the need to do something crazy for once in her life_ _—_ _it all gave her the bravery to do something she never imagined she would ever do. Breathless, she pulled back and murmured in an unintentionally husky voice against his mouth._ _"_ _I never do this._ _"_

_He sounded similarly drunken from the kiss_ _—_ _his voice was a little rough._ _"_ _Do what?_ _"_

" _Like, I seriously never_ _—_ ever _—_ _do this,_ _"_ _she said, repeating herself._ _She made herself be brave like her favorite heroines._ _"_ _Can we_ _…_ _do you wanna_ _…_ _go_ _…_ _somewhere?_ _"_

_It was Sam's turn to look shocked. "Really?" he asked, breathy and visibly hungry for what she was hungry for too_ _._ _"_ _You sure?_ _"_

_She said yes, and didn't look back._

_On that night, Molly didn_ _'_ _t know how Sam looked at her and saw all he_ _'_ _d loved and lost_ _—_ _how her sweetness and innocence concerning the darkness of the world gave him the kind of feelings he_ _'_ _d only had for one other girl in his entire life. How to him, she was a piece of the normal life that had been torn from him. He felt corrupted by demons, by Lucifer, by his godforsaken experience. And yet here was a girl who looked at him and saw him for who he_ _'_ _d once been: just a good, decent, everyday guy who was trying his best and had promise in life. He wanted to be that guy again so badly sometimes. And that night, he got to be._

_Sam took her to where he was staying_ _—_ _and what happened there that night would stick in Molly_ _'_ _s mind forever as the height of her sexual experience._

_Sam dropped the hotel room key from excited nervousness as he tried to get them inside the hotel room as soon as possible_ _—_ _they kissed their way into the room blindly, bumping into a table and knocking things over carelessly as he shoved his jacket off of her. Molly was thrilled at herself and what was happening yet also terrified but too addicted to the feeling to run away. He kissed her against a wall and it was the kind of kiss that he used his entire body to give_ _. When his shirt came off, she thought she might faint_ _—_ _she glimpsed a tattoo, strong muscles, and a ridiculously toned stomach. She didn_ _'_ _t have time to get cold feet when she realized how hot he really was and how blah she thought she was_ _—_ _he picked her up so that her legs were around his middle, kissed her wildly as he stumbled them across the room, then he threw her down sideways across the bed and crawled over her. H_ _e pushed her skirt up and yanked her underwear down then_ _used his mouth to show her what oral sex was_ really _supposed to be like for a woman and Molly Ziegler, who had always been quiet during sex save for a few sharp intakes of breath and a grunt here and there when it felt weird_ _—_ _couldn_ _'_ _t help it. Andrew hadn_ _'_ _t ever done anything like this for her and David had only attempted it twice and hadn_ _'_ _t been into it. But Sam was_ _mind-blowing. He got her to make sounds she had only heard in porn before. She got brave and wild and a part of her that had only existed in her mind was suddenly existing in real life. She grabbed his hair and had no room left in her mind for neuroses. Sam knew what to do, god he knew what to do_ _—_ _so much so that he barely spent two minutes on her down there before she was gasping from shock as an intense orgasm_ _—_ _the first one she_ _'_ _d ever had that wasn_ _'_ _t from self-pleasure_ _—_ _hit her hard. She stunned herself with a torrent of gasped exclamations she couldn_ _'_ _t seem to quash._

_And as she laid there panting and dazed, Sam looked up at her, obviously liking her very strong reaction to what he_ _'_ _d done._ _"_ _Damn,_ _"_ _he whispered, a word of admiration._ _"_ _Was that_ _…_ _German?_ _"_

_She blushed, looking down at him shirtless in jeans sprawled between her trembling legs._ _"_ _Um_ _…_ _yeah_ _…"_

_His eyes seemed dark._ _"_ _Say something else,_ _"_ _he whispered, an indescribably sexy request._

_And looking down at that man, feeling very enamored because of what he_ _'_ _d just gotten her to do_ _…_ _Molly said something very naughty indeed:_ _"_ _I_ _ch werde dich so hart rannehmen, dass du Sterne siehst_ _,_ _"_ _she whispered, the dirtiest thing she_ _'_ _d ever said and no one but her knew it._

_Sam had no clue she_ _'_ _d just told him she was going to take him so hard he_ _'_ _d see stars._ _"_ _Wow, that_ _'_ _s beautifu_ _—"_ _he began. But she cut him off when she abruptly sat up, grabbed him, practically threw him down onto his back and yanked at his belt as she bit the skin just above his waistband so abruptly that he jumped and shuddered a gasp. He looked totally shocked at her, and she was a little shocked at herself, too. It was like an animal she_ _'_ _d always kept caged for fear of judgement had been unleashed. Sam made a much louder sound when she yanked his pants down and did for him what he_ _'_ _d just done for her without hesitation._

_In a million years she never would have imagined she could have been doing that. Sex with a stranger in a motel room in a city she didn_ _'_ _t know. But she did. She couldn_ _'_ _t fathom how thrilling it would be nor how freeing it was. It was a form of catharsis she had never anticipated having and she got high off it almost as her preconceived notions of herself fell away and she made the hottest man she_ _'_ _d ever seen in her life moan and shake and pant. At a certain point when her actions were getting him close to the point of no return, he took control back and grabbed her, flipped her over, asked her once more if it was okay_ _—_ _and when she said yes, he shattered her world, showing her what she_ _'_ _d been missing all these years. The degree of passion and intensity he gave her on that bed was incomparable. The way he whispered breathy adorations against her neck and ear as she writhed_ _—_ _things like_ _'_ _you_ _'_ _re so good,_ _'_ _and_ _'_ _god you feel incredible_ _'_ _, and_ _'_ _holy shit your body is amazing,_ _'—_ _she basically thought she had died and gone to heaven. It was the kind of sex she imagined soul mates would have_ _—_ _they felt in sync. It was excruciatingly good at every point. He was so giving and considerate of her and my god, he lasted so long she was beginning to wonder if he was capable of orgasm at all. He touched and mouthed almost every part of her body like he couldn_ _'_ _t get enough of her, he tortured her and made her want to beg, he brought her to a second release that left her dizzy and confounded_ _—_ _then he took his time and got her worked up for a third time and that last time was so shocking, so good, so amazing._ _That was when h_ _e finally allowed himself to fall of the edge with her_ _…_ _and she was amazed. The sounds he made, the way he held her like she was everything to him in that moment, the feeling of his sweat-damp skin against hers. It would stick in her mind forever and remain incomparable._

_In that moment, she felt that she was in love with him_ _…_ _or would be_ _…_ _or could be_ _…_ _or possibly already was. She didn_ _'_ _t even know him. But as they laid in each other_ _'_ _s arms and breathed heavily in recovery, Molly knew he had left a mark on her she could never remove._

* * *

**Present Day**

It was nearly ten at night and Molly was still working on labeling the new, stupid books. She was getting a little hot and bothered remembering that night in Vegas again, and equally frustrated at herself and Mr. Jones for this menial task that had prevented her from seeing Sam again. Although, she _was_ sort of glad she had a excuse not to see him again because ah geez, it was so awkward for her…

She'd texted Sam a few minutes before nine after re-writing the text like five times so that it sounded right giving her apologies for not being able to make it for coffee. He texted back and said it was okay, something had come up with his work too and she hadn't heard from him since. Disappointed even if she was also glad, Molly realized maybe it was for the best… she was pretty embarrassed because _my god_ she had been so intimate with him and so uninhibited in his arms and he'd seen her in ways no one else ever had… and once the heat of the moment had faded and her sensibilities returned she had felt a little weird about what happened. Mostly because she didn't know if she could reconcile that crazy sexually-free side she'd discovered that night with her quiet, proper, anxiety-riddled self. She had spent so much time since that night wondering who that uninhibited, free woman was, and how to be her again.

Around ten twenty, Molly finally finished the books and then got her backpack and shrugged it on—she'd sewn the strap and it looked very raggedy, but it functioned again—and she tiredly went around making sure things were in order as she tried not to think about how she was supposed to open the library early in the morning and would be short on sleep tonight. Mr. Jones had already left so the library felt a bit creepy with most of the main lights off. When Molly went to switch off the lights in the special collections room as one of her last tasks, she paused because she was suddenly struck by a curiosity. What was so special about that book that the late Rabbi Bass and FBI Agent Sam had wanted to look at? She found the FD-113 bin and pulled it off the shelf, opened it, and abruptly had a mini heart-attack. Instead of a weathered old book, there was a book from general circulation in there _. The Explorer_ _'_ _s Guide to North American Birds_. Molly nearly hit the roof. Did that mean one of the invaluable items from the Holtzinger estate was stolen or gone?! She had no clue and realized she hadn't checked the volume before letting Sam have access to this… and hadn't checked it when the rabbi had finished with it either…

Realizing _she_ could be blamed for this and rightly so, Molly made herself be calm and and checked the call number on the bird book— _QL 673_ —and decided to return this book to where it went at least and _then_ have her conniption. In the dark library that felt decidedly spooky without anyone else in it, Molly went up the stairs quietly. She felt weird, like she was being watched. That same feeling she used to get when she hung her feet over the edge of the bed at night—like some monster was going to grab her.

 _No such thing as monster,_ she reminded herself.

She wandered down the silent, rows of books, noting how ominous they felt to her at night like this, then found the place where the bird book went… and simultaneously frowned. In its place, a huge, unlabeled leather-bound book. She switched the books out and opened the leather tome. It was written by hand in strong penmanship—and it was entirely in German. She read the title on the first place with a deeply furrowed brow. _Experiments Conducted by the Thule Society_.

… The _who_? She had never heard of such a thing. Well, at least the volume wasn't lost like she had thought.

A sudden sound of voices somewhere downstairs startled her—she whirled in a panic, her breathing suddenly shooting to a shallow and fast rhythm as she clutched the book against herself. Had someone broken in?! Was this a robbery?! Men. It was definitely men, a few of them, and she thought she heard a woman's voice, too. _Okay, well just stay here and be quiet and you won_ _'_ _t get hurt._ Then a sound that made fear strike her through the heart—footsteps hurrying up the stairs. Toward her. Molly immediately began to move to hide, swinging her backpack off and shoving the heavy leather book into her already back-breakingly heavy rucksack. She hid in the shadows at the far end of the shelves, shrinking back against the wall as those footsteps drew closer and closer. Terrified and at the point of passing out, Molly tried not to breathe at all because it seemed so _loud_ and whoever it was would hear her _._

And then the person with the heavy footsteps came into view and Molly's eyes shot open wide. It was _Sam_ , and he had a focused look on his face. He had changed clothes—plaid shirt and cargo jacket—and he went to the exact spot she'd just gotten the leather book from. He seemed confused when he saw the bird book there, hesitating and frowning, then looking around. And then there was the softest little sound like something whistling through the air and Sam cried out like he'd been hurt as he clutched at his own throat and pulled out a _dart_ and stumbled back toward where he'd come from. Frozen in silence in the shadows, Molly couldn't say or do anything. _What is happening?!_

And then a loud voice from somewhere nearby spoke up, startling Sam. "I owe you thanks." Molly clutched her bookbag for dear life, realizing that this must be some sort of FBI showdown. A man with a German accent and some kind of blowdart instrument sauntered out of the shadows further up to stand over Sam. "The rabbi got me this far, but you... took me all the way. Now, where is the ledger?"

Sam was half-collapsed against the shelf, not far from Molly at all, and he looked like he was not doing so good. "Go to _hell_ ," Sam wheezed.

"You first, my friend," the German man said, approaching him leisurely with a confident smile. "I have, after all, just _poisoned_ you… but I am willing to change your fate if you tell me where the ledger is."

Poisoned him?

_POISONED HIM?_

Molly was scared, yes, but suddenly she was more angry than anything else. _You don_ _'_ _t poison people in my library!_ She didn't know what possessed her. Or how exactly she got the guts to do it. Or where the idea even came from. But she did it before she had a chance to think. She snatched a thick hardback off the shelf near where she stood, shaking the entire time with rage and fear both. " _Hey_!" she shouted. The German man frowned in her direction, noticing her even as she threw that book at him like a baseball—Dad had always loved playing catch with her, and it paid off in that moment when the heavy book hit the enemy straight in the face and knocked him back slightly against the shelf.

Sam stumbled to his feet and grabbed the guy and managed a woozy, ineffectual punch before he fell back onto the floor, groaning in pain. Molly stood there, clutching her backpack and regretting everything. The German man bore down on Molly with a terrifying expression and she was like a cornered animal. " _Give me the ledg_ —" he began, but couldn't finish when she used her bookbag as a weapon and smashed him _hard_ across the face with it as she gave a freaked out shriek.

Despite a pale face and shallow breath, Sam was lurching to his feet and he stumbled her way then grabbed her hand even as the stunned German man began to right himself.

"Run, run—Molly, run!" he gasped, limping and blinking hard and pulling her along the shelves as he caught himself again and again with a hand against the rows. Molly stared at him as he struggled through the darkness at a terrifying gait. His neck was garish purple, his skin was turning white, and he looked like he was dying.

"Your _neck_!" she gasped, totally alarmed and aware that the man who had done that to him was behind them somewhere.

Sam held onto her tighter, hurrying them along at a staggering pace. "C-come on, I'm— _ungh_ —" Sam sagged and Molly had to sort of catch him—she barely managed to stand up as he leaned against her. His eyes rolled back into his head. " _Downstairs_ ," he managed to gasp, using every last ounce of strength to somehow put one foot in front of the other and lurch them that way.

Behind them, the German man was on his feet and in pursuit.


	117. Reality Check

" _Bran thought about it. 'Can a man still be brave if he's afraid?'  
'That is the only time a man _can _be brave,' his father told him._ _"  
-_ George R.R. Martin

* * *

**A Year and a Half** **Ago**

_Sam had only gone to that bar to escape his quiet hotel room and the sadness he couldn_ _'_ _t seem to outrun._

_He hadn_ _'_ _t intended to talk to a soul or to trouble anyone. His plan had been to get a drink and just try and feel less alone._

_...And then he_ _'_ _d seen this tall, leggy girl with the sweet face. She was painfully out-of-place, and it had been easy for him to see. Even though she_ looked _the part of Vegas girl dressed in the all-black shiny leather getup, Sam had immediately seen past the shield. Maybe it was so many years of reading people, maybe he just identified with her because that wasn_ _'_ _t really his scene either_ _…_ _but he_ _'_ _d run off the loser trying to bother her, they_ _'_ _d struck up a talk, the attraction had been mutual, the connection had been there, one thing led to another_ _…_ _and now here they were: In his hotel room, tangled together and breathless, having just gone all the way._

_He didn_ _'_ _t do this much and was quite honestly pretty surprised at himself and even more surprised at her_ _—_ _he hadn_ _'_ _t figured her for the type who would go for hooking up with a guy just a couple hours after meeting him. He halfway suspected that maybe he was the exception to what was normal for her_ _—_ _and that made him think he might be different. Special, even. Not a bad way to feel._

_Either way, Annaliese and himself were both sweaty and tired and feeling extremely good at the moment. Sam looked down at her where she laid in his arms_ _—_ _and she was messy-haired, flushed, breathless, with a shy and secretive expression on her face. She was worn out, blissfully so_ _. He felt the exact same way. He rolled off of her finally but they stayed close, laying on their sides facing each other, arms loosely wrapped. Neither of them said anything_ _…_ _but it was a silence that was comfortable.  
_

_It had been awhile for Sam since he_ _'_ _d been with someone_ _—_ _and even longer since it had meant something. With Ruby, it had always been about dominance and anger and frustration. It had always felt sickeningly wrong and dark and twisted which had been part of the appeal_ _—_ _but he'd always felt like total shit afterwards. Sam didn_ _'_ _t even count (or like to think about) the string of women he_ _'_ _d been with when he had been soulless. That hadn_ _'_ _t been him who slept with those women_ _…_ _not really. The last girl who had really meant something had been Madison_ _…_ _and that had been what felt like a lifetime ago. This with Annaliese_ _…_ _this had been more important than maybe he even realized at the time. She had reminded him that he hadn_ _'_ _t entirely lost who he was. That he still had some level of redemptive quality to himself. That someone like this girl would still want to be with him. That he could still give someone happiness and that he could be left feeling amazed and amazing. He felt like a_ person _for the first time in a long time, and that feeling itself was irreplaceable for him_ _. But the constant guilt tempered his flush of positive feelings: He wasn_ _'_ _t the guy Annaliese thought he was and he didn_ _'_ _t think she_ _'_ _d look at him in the way she was if she knew what kind of person he really was. But for that moment, he just clung to the way she gazed at him and he let himself feel okay for once in his life because he needed it so badly._ _He chanced a smile at her and his voice stayed whisper-soft._ _"_ _You okay?_ _"_

 _It took her a couple of seconds to reply at all. She nodded ever so slightly, and she had the most heartbreakingly sweet vulnerability to her that Sam just couldn_ _'_ _t get over._ _"_ _Yeah,_ _"_ _she whispered back, but she looked really dazed._ _"_ _I_ _'_ _m_ _…" she suddenly grinned and was so fucking beautiful. Flushing all over again she giggled, unable to come up with words._

_Sam felt himself grinning lopsidedly back, and it was like puppy love._ _He couldn_ _'_ _t help it_ _—_ _he was sort of in awe of what had happened between them also. Of how this shy and stuttering girl had turned into a little bit of a wild woman in bed_ _. Wild, but submissive at the same time and looking to him to call the shots, two things Sam really liked._ _"_ _You were_ _…_ _so good,_ _"_ _he breathed out honestly._ _"_ _Amazing._ _"_

_The compliments visibly embarrassed her and pleased her at the same time. Her eyes slid away from him as she tried hard to censor her smile. Sam watched her face, unable to look away. Of all the places to meet a girl like this_ _—_ _Vegas? It was ironic but it was also incredibly encouraging because he_ _'_ _d spent so_ long _thinking the kind of girl he liked wasn_ _'_ _t even real. That Jess had been the last of her kind. Not that Annaliese was exactly like Jess or something_ _—_ _Jess had been confident and extremely well-adjusted_ _. Annaliese wasn_ _'_ _t like that_ _—_ _she was obviously a little bumbling and paranoid, but she had this kindhearted, pure nature to her below her neuroses. And that was what Sam was drawn in to. He could tell that once she felt safe, she would be a different person altogether._ _Their conversation at the bar floated through his mind again. She was intelligent, attractive, humble, unassuming, nerdy, real... every bit the type of girl Sam thought maybe he could see himself with long term. If his life had been a normal one._

 _Just then, Annaliese_ _'_ _s little smile fell. Her face changed and she looked slightly sick, like she_ _'_ _d thought of something all of the sudden._ _"_ _Wait. Are_ _…_ _are you a_ _…_ _a_ hooker _?_ _"_ _she whispered in dread._

 _Sam_ _'_ _s eyebrows shot up his forehead. Was she_ _…_ _joking?_ _"_ _…_ What _?_ _"_ _he asked, gaping at her. She looked dead serious. Sam was pretty flabbergasted but after thinking about it for a couple seconds, he could see her angle. Vegas_ _—_ _sin city_ _—_ _some guy swooping in out of the blue to assist this nervous girl who clearly felt self-conscious and out of place_ _—_ _then mind-blowing sex. Sam wasn_ _'_ _t sure if he should laugh or be offended that she thought he was maybe a gigolo._ _"_ _Uh_ _…_ no _. Not a male prostitute,_ _"_ _he said in doubtful humor. He looked at her with growing near-concern._ _"_ _You really find it that hard to believe I_ _'_ _d wanna be with you?_ _"_

 _She had said she didn_ _'_ _t ever do_ _'_ _this._ _'_ _But still. Did she really think the only reason he_ _'_ _d want to be with her was because he was looking for a paycheck? Did she not see how beautiful she was?_ _"_ _Y-you_ _'_ _re just so..._ hot," _she mumbled, her eyes falling away from his. It was Sam's turn to feel put on the spot and flattered._

 _"I dunno about that," he said, scoffing off the compliment to her surprise. "But look at you._ _You're... gorgeous,_ _"_ _he said earnestly, once again feeling a surge of flutters and shyness. A pleased, bashful little smile showed on her face._ _"_ _And smart," Sam continued. "Interesting._ _"_ _The self-conscious smile began to play on his lips._ _"_ _And really damn sexy. I mean_ _…_ _" he gave her a significant look._ _Demure without trying to be, she cast her eyes downward and bit her lip just slightly as she fidgeted and blushed her pleasure at his comments_ _—_ _and that little action had all of Sam_ _'_ _s focus for a few seconds. She had this innocence to her that made him want to protect her. From dangers like_ himself _. It kind of terrified him to think about his track record and what had happened to every girl he_ _'_ _d ever cared about. Those worries had flashed through his mind before they_ _'_ _d even kissed, but_ _…_ _Sam had somewhat selfishly needed what he_ _'_ _d found here with Annaliese. Warmth, acceptance, connection, understanding, release. To touch and be touched. To feel like part of something close to love just for a little while. Guilty over his more selfish musing, Sam hesitated, then asked her if it had been as good for her as it had for him._ _"_ _Did you_ _…_ _like everything?_ _"_ _he asked, even though he was pretty sure she had._ _"_ _Was it good?_ _"_

 _Annaliese looked like she was about to turn into a tomato, but she smiled the entire time._ _"_ _Didn_ _'_ _t you hear the_ sounds _I made?_ _"_ _she whispered cheekily.  
_

 _Sam felt his self-confidence surge again._ _"_ Everyone _heard them,_ _"_ _he teased because she had been really loud at a couple points._

_At first, she didn_ _'_ _t realize it was a joke_ _…_ _her eyes popped a little wider—then when he laughed, she softened and realized, then joined in with a rueful laugh of her own. Sam_ _was so used to people who were hardened and double-edged and cut-throat. And Annaliese was the total opposite. A cute little jumpy mouse_ _. That skittish quality in her made him want to keep her safe but tease her all at the same time._

_After a moment, Sam_ _saw how she looked at his left pectoral muscle a few times._ _"_ _What_ _'_ _s your tattoo?_ _"_ _she finally asked, curiosity faintly coloring her tone._

_The anti-demon possession ward. A mark that defined his entire life. The truth about who he was and how dark he got inside. Sam_ _'_ _s happiness quickly ebbed and he lied._ _"_ _It_ _'_ _s_ _…_ _a band,_ _"_ _he fibbed, feeling uncomfortable._ _"_ _Obscure college band logo from college._ _"_

_Annaliese looked doubtful, like she personally couldn_ _'_ _t imagine ever liking a musician enough to get their logo tattooed on her body._ _"_ _You must really like their music_ _…"_

_"You could say that," Sam chuckled self consciously._

_"It looks almost pagan or Satanic in design," Annaliese commented thoughtfully, touching it with soft fingertips._

_Sam's stomach sank a bit, and he looked for a way to shift the subject. "Hey, what's that?" he asked, pretending to notice something around her belly button. When she looked, he booped her nose, which made her start, then laugh.  
_

_They grinned at each other and her smile was seriously the best. Struck by a bittersweet pang, Sam realized that at that current moment—just for right then—it almost felt like they were a couple. Just joking around and sharing a laugh and being content to be with each other. Sam couldn_ _'_ _t_ remember _the last time he_ _'_ _d felt normal or the last time someone had smiled at him like that, but here with her, he felt like he could have been the Sam he used to be. He traced his hand up her arm and wanted to make sure she never regretted him._ _Those shy, guarded eyes of hers met his and the smallest, most coquettish smile appeared. He just wanted to feel her against him all night. A warm body, a brief escape from himself and his life, something beautiful in the midst of his painful existence. Hoping she would let him, he leaned in again, searching her eyes. She melted against him bonelessly, and their lips met again for a kiss that was chaste, sweet, and lingering.  
_

_For the rest of that night, they forgot their individual problems and needless to say didn_ _'_ _t get much sleep._

_But when Sam got up to go to the bathroom in the dead of night, she slipped out. And when he returned to an empty room and vacant bed, his heart fell completely. Maybe out of stupidity, he went down the hall looking for her in case she_ _'_ _d just stepped out for whatever reason. And Becky Rosen, tricky wench that she was, was waiting for him there with a love potion and intentions of marriage. That is another story entirely._

_However, Sam would spend quite a lot of time afterwards thinking about, remembering, and wondering about Annaliese. It hurt a little, because there'd just been this spark to their interactions he hadn't felt in a lifetime. But he knew it was kidding himself to hope or wonder too much._

_H_ _e knew he would probably never see her again._

_But then_ _…_ _when he least expected to_ _…_ _he did._

* * *

**Present Day**

Fast forward a year and a half after Vegas. Nothing much had changed for Annaliese (more commonly known as Molly), who was predictable and self-admittedly pretty boring. But Sam had been through Hell. _Literally._ Lucifer hallucinations almost destroyed his existence as they had crippled him and reduced him to a shell. Bobby died and life spiraled further into darker and darker shadows. Then Purgatory. Alex's subsequent death. And Sam's utter failure to stand by his family and come through for them. Because of everything that had happened, Sam was not doing well at all. He was depressed, guilty, and beaten down; left questioning himself at the deepest levels because of his choice to sit life out in favor of being with Amelia and a dog. He still laid awake night after night trying to remember his reasons and motivations. But that time of his life felt dreamlike and foggy.

After Dean came back, Sam had thrown himself into a desperate and fruitless effort to get back into Purgatory and find Alex, who he couldn't accept as being dead. Maybe it was just the wretched guilt that had left him incapable of swallowing reality down. But now, several weeks later, he no longer could truly believe she still lived. There seemed to be no way into Purgatory (Zip had proved to be a dead end) and Dean insisted that even if she _had_ been alive in there… she wouldn't still be. It just wasn't possible to survive in there alone for long. So, Sam forced himself to stop hanging all his hopes on the sliver of a chance that his twin might still be out there. He accepted reality in all its agonizing cruelty and unfair, heart-wrenching glory and he resigned himself to do what he could do to save people. He felt like he owed a debt to the world and to his sister's memory. Dean of course reminded him constantly of the fact while he dealt with his own issues. And so life carried on, but it wasn't like it had been before. It was missing a certain person who shared Sam's eye color and birthday.

After meeting their grandfather a couple weeks back, the brothers (plus Jamie) had gone and found the Men of Letters bunker and in it, a wealth of knowledge. A treasure trove of collected information on all kinds of supernatural lore. That place was utterly astounding. It was huge and fortified against all kinds of paranormal threats, stocked with everything needed for human survival. Basically it was like a bomb shelter for hunters and it had more secrets and hidden features to it than was possible to catalog. Sam thought that if Alex had been with them, he would have been _ecstatic_ to find that place. Geeking out and doing cartwheels up and down the hallways. But instead, he just felt so… _sad_. He just wished she'd made it and could have been there too. Because he saw the bunker for what it was becoming: their home. And what was home without their sister? Hauntingly empty and sort of meaningless. A constant reminder of what was lost. For Sam, anyway.

Dean had claimed a bedroom and set it up as his own, decorating with some family pictures and weapons. Jamie stayed with him in that room and at any given time her lacy underwear and bras might be littering surfaces and floors. Dean loved that, of course. Sam had taken up residence in a bedroom a couple doors down from Dean but hadn't done anything in the way of making it his own. Across the hall from where the brothers had settled in there was the room that Sam knew Alex would have picked. It had a small skylight over the bed and a built-in book shelf and a small bathroom of its own. He knew she would have taken that room the first time he saw it, and every time Sam passed the door to that room, he wished his sister was alive and could be her typical slob self in that little space. She'd never had a place of her own or a home. Sometimes when Sam found her stuff mixed in with his (one of her old paperbacks, a pocketknife, one of her old band t-shirts), he took it and put it in that room neatly. Somehow, it felt like he was visiting a graveside whenever he went into that room.

The brothers didn't discuss their sister. Sam spent a lot of time feeling too afraid to broach the subject. Dean's constant passive aggressive comments that implied Sam's disloyalty and weakness of character were hurtful enough for him. He guessed that it was too painful for Dean to open up about and he understood. So, her loss haunted them and they never spoke about that heavy cloud hanging over both their heads. They mourned on their own and in silence, and it only made the pain worse.

Dean had been filling his time, surprisingly, with voracious reading. He parked himself with stacks of books in the library of the bunker and read and read and read. His motivation was Jamie and getting her out of her soul deal and he had no problem talking about how he was bound and determined to see that happen. He had a 'do or die' mentality about it and it seemed half-possible. There was a huge amount of demon lore on the shelves of the bunker, some things they'd never heard about before. So, Dean plowed through the pages and Sam did his best to help out as an effort to distract himself and maybe earn back some of his brother's good graces. Jamie was a different story though—she didn't seem too present even though she was there at the bunker all the time with them. She was completely doubtful and wary about Dean's dedication to getting her out of her deal. Sam sensed that there was a lot going on underneath the surface with her. She had this tormented far-away look in her eyes sometimes and Sam had even come across her crying alone in the bunker a couple times. It was bizarre because she had such a poker-face and didn't seem the emotional type. Each time Sam found her like that, she'd snapped something like "tell Dean about this and I'll kill you," then stormed off. He chalked it up to her hopelessness about getting out of the deal and honored her wishes and never told Dean about it. However, one time Sam and Jamie were at the local store together while Dean stayed in and read. With no warning whatsoever, Jamie broke down and cried after passing an end-aisle diaper display. Sam didn't make the connection, but much later on, he'd remember that and realize why.

Anyway. Sam had always gotten an earful from Dean about how he was a 'nerd' and a 'bookworm' but even _Sam_ was tired of all the reading and research after about a week. And with stir-crazy Jamie trying to find any excuse to get out of the bunker, when they heard about the rabbi bursting into flame just a couple towns over from where they were, Sam and James jumped on the opportunity… and _Dean_ was the only one who had dragged his feet about going. Since starting their investigation, they'd uncovered some sort of Nazi necromancer conspiracy and, oh yeah… Sam had unwittingly run into _Molly_ of all people which had knocked him off balance for sure. He'd asked her to coffee just for some closure… or maybe because he needed to know if they still had something… but then that plan had fallen through because she got stuck at work and he got tangled up in the ever-complicating hunt. It wasn't in the cards, Sam had reasoned. He should leave well-enough alone. Yet here they were together again, just not the way he'd wanted.

They raced through the dark library.

Sam was about to pass out as he clutched a hand to his injured neck and Molly was tucked underneath one of his arms, struggling to help him move. Behind them somewhere in the shadows, one of the Nazi necromancers pursued. Dizzy and close to unconsciousness thanks to the poison-spell dart that had sunk into his neck only a couple of moments ago, Sam had to dig deep and use every ounce of willpower to try and stay conscious long enough to get help. Especially because it wasn't just his life on the line now.

They crashed into the side of the staircase and on wobbling legs, Sam began stumbling downward. He probably would have fallen if it wasn't for Molly holding onto him so tight. She was being dragged along but also keeping him from collapsing. Just barely, though. " _Help_!" Sam gasped. The world was going dark and he couldn't see much, but he saw Dean shoot up to his feet from where he'd been idly sitting at the bottom of the stairs. Beyond him, Aaron Bass (the deceased rabbi's grandson), his golem, and Jamie had been standing around and waiting. They hadn't anticipated facing danger and in hindsight, that was a rookie mistake. "N-necromancer!" Sam managed, trying to warn them of the impending danger. And then he collapsed on the middle landing even as his brother bounded up toward him.

Fallen down in tandem with Sam's heavy shape, Molly was beside herself and out of breath, panicked and horrified. Sam's neck boasted a huge, unnaturally purple bruise cloud that spread bigger and bigger even as his skin faded grayer and grayer. Her mind was screaming in dumb panic and she didn't know what to do—CPR? Suck the poison out like with a snake bite? Scream and cry because she had no other options? The man who Sam had called to reached them and grabbed ahold of Sam roughly, saw the bruise, and gaped. " _Crap_!" he exclaimed, then looked at Molly with a demanding, urgent, scary face. "What happened to him?!" His voice was gravelly and he seemed like the kind of person who might kill you if you said the wrong thing to him.

She shook her head rapidly, trying to find words. Then a soft whistling sound shot through the air and somewhere nearby, a man's startled cry announced more foul play. "Aah!"

Wide-eyed, Molly's head whirled and she gaped in renewed horror. A young Jewish man was staring down at his own chest with bulging eyes. A single dart, like the one that had hurt Sam, was lodged in the middle of his torso and he fell over onto the floor and went still. Beside him a woman with blonde hair and what could only be called intense features suddenly dodged to the side and _just_ missed getting hit with another whistling dart. Then she did something Molly was confounded by: she lifted her hand, palm flat, and proclaimed, " _E_ _vasto_!"

Like CGI Molly had seen in the Harry Potter films, a crackling sphere of energy shot out from the woman's hand and launched at the top of the stairs where the darts had come from. But as the energy mass hit a bookshelf and obliterated it—all that could be seen of the assailant was his coattail as he turned and fled back into the shadows. Molly stared in complete shock at the injured bookshelf, then at the intimidating blonde woman, then at Sam's purple neck. _What is happening?!_ She couldn't have seen what she just seen! This couldn't be happening! It was impossible!

Beside Molly, the guy with the short hair snapped at the large man who stood behind the blonde woman. "Hey, big guy, they're both gonna _die_ unless we get whoever cast the spell!"

Molly's mouth dropped open. The huge man—he could be called a _giant_ —ran past them up the stairs, and he was really too big and too oddly built to be normal—the stairs shook under his thudding steps. But Molly had fixated on two words the man beside her had said. "Die? _Spell_?!" she asked, then began to really lose her crap as panic sent her screaming into the outer atmosphere. " _Die_? _DIE_?!" No, no no no—Sam couldn't die, she had to call 911 or something!

"Lady, pipe down!" the guy who was bent over Sam snapped, and that's when Molly realized he had a handgun out. She shrank back, completely baffled in horror. Who _were_ these people?! She had imagined the FBI much differently. Were they even FBI at all? As the woman with the blonde hair sprinted upstairs after the huge man with footsteps like thunder, the guy with the gun got bent out of shape. "Jamie— _James_! Stop!" he called after her. When she didn't, he got increasingly perturbed and stood up, cocked his gun, and looked incredibly annoyed. " _Shit_ … fucking _hell,_ " he muttered, then began to follow after her with a backward, " _Stay here_!" at Molly.

No problem. She couldn't have moved if you had paid her a million dollars. Really, it was a wonder she hadn't peed herself or fainted. Her heart raced so fast she thought she might pass out though, and her head was woozy. With puffing shallow breaths, she looked down at Sam, who was by all appearances already dead. She touched the skin of his forehead and he was cold. "Sam?" she whispered. No response. Her stomach lurched and her throat was filled with glue and she felt tears spring into her eyes. _This is so terrible, oh my god!_ "Sam!" she said, like yelling at him would do something. She heard an inordinate amount of crashing and yells upstairs and she clutched Sam uselessly, huddling on the landing defenselessly with her backpack uncomfortable across her shoulders and sweat gathering on her forehead as she took out her phone with a shaking hand and dialed 911. They needed an ambulance, the police, _something_! Then before she could hit call, she realized something. It had gone suddenly and eerily silent upstairs. She stared up into the darkness at the top of the staircase, her own racing breath loud in her ears. And then without warning, a man in a suit _flew_ over herself and Sam and crashed against a far wall then fell down in a crumpled heap on the main floor.

Molly winced and gasped and realized she was without a place to hide and was doubly terrified when the man stood up slowly. He limped toward the stairs and held his dart blower at his side. Sharp, knowing eyes bored into hers. " _You_ have the ledger," he said breathily, obviously injured. His voice was heavily accented and distinctly Germanic. He extended a hand in a 'give' motion. "Give it to me or join the rest of them in death."

She stared at him, frozen solid. What ledger?! He began to walk toward her again and she began to back up and freak out and she dropped her phone and realized she was dead meat. And then when the man got to the bottom stair, a loud bang rang out and a red dot appeared on the man's forehead. A little ribbon of red ran out of the dot and he fell over with a shocked look on his face and then Molly screamed because _that wasn_ _'_ _t a dot it was a bullet hole and that was blood!_ She clapped her hands over her mouth and backed herself further into the landing corner as her breaths started to come dizzyingly hard and fast.

Walking down the stairs with a distinctly irritated look on his face, the guy with the gun pulled a dart out of his cheek and made a face as he tucked his pistol into his waistband like he did it all the time. "Hey, hey, hey, come on!" he said when Molly kept freaking out. "It's just a dead guy, take a chill pill will ya?" Following him, the blonde woman was rubbing her arm with a grimace like she'd sustained an injury. _Just a dead guy?!_ Molly was having a small mental breakdown or panic attack, or maybe both as the man knelt down beside Sam, who was stirring and then gasping in a deep breath and abruptly sitting up. "Sam? You good?" The man with the short hair sounded worried and concerned.

Sam looked dazed and held a hand to his perfectly-fine neck. "Y-yeah. I—I feel kinda weird…" he said, then looked over at Molly, who was breathing hard and noisy as her hands remained clapped over her mouth. Sam's face showed immediate concern and he forgot himself. "Molly, you okay?"

She was _not_ okay. And anyone with eyes would know it.

"… _That_ _'_ _s_ Molly?" the other man asked like he thought it was a joke, then he pulled a confused, offended face. "Dude, no."

Sam shot him an irritated look and brushed him aside, making a beeline for Molly and then grabbing her by the upper arms. She just started to wheeze harder when he did that and he looked worried. "Whoa, just focus on breathing a little slower, okay? You're gonna give yourself a _heart attack_." She cowered back from Sam, unsure about what had just happened and trying to understand. _What is happening?! WHAT_ _—_ _IS_ _—_ _HAPPENING?!_

The huge man with steps like thunder moved past, and Molly stared with wide eyes at him. His hands were the size of frying pans, he looked about seven feet tall, his chest was as thick around as a tree trunk, and he didn't look like he should be real. Down on the ground floor, the blonde woman crouched beside the unconscious Jewish man and yanked the dart out of his stomach and he began to breathe again then groan as he came to. And at the foot of the stairs, blood was beginning to pool underneath the dead man. This was the library. It was for reading books and doing research and being _nice_ and _sensible_ and _quiet_! And there had just been a murder…?! It all abruptly sent Molly through the proverbial roof. " _What is happening_?!" she shrieked loudly, then realized she knew what was happening: she was drugged. And high. And tripping on something. Had to be. The question was, how had drugs gotten into her system? Contact high, maybe? But she didn't even know what marijuana smelled like, much less the harder stuff. She abruptly felt weak and drained. "Ohh this is… haa, ah…" she swallowed feebly and stared off at nothing as her stomach churned, then she tried to stand up. "I… need to go throw up a little bit," she squeaked out. When she managed to get to her feet, she avoided eye contact with anyone and wobbled down the stairs, all the while leaning heavily against the stair railing and clutching herself to it like a frightened old lady. When she reached the bottom stair, she found that she couldn't stand unsupported so she remained there, clutching on as her heavy bookbag slouched off of her unevenly.

Sam had followed and even though he'd just been _dead_ or something, he seemed to have it way more together than she did. "Just sit down, you're too rattled to walk right now," he insisted, guiding her down to sit on the bottom stair. She gave no protest, but she really did think she might puke everywhere.

Beside Sam, the mean looking one was impatient. "Sam, we gotta vamoose," he said gruffly.

Sam looked incredibly annoyed and shot the other man a hard glance. "Dean, gimme a _minute._ " It seemed like there was tension between them.

The other man—Dean, Sam had called him—looked indignant. "Come on, man, there might be more of these freakazoid Nazi necromancers around! You really wanna wait around for them to show?"

Molly stared in gaping horror. " _Nazi necromancers_? Wh—wha…?" She began to really lose her composure, breathing hard and fast to the point of hyperventilating. She had no control and it was the worst feeling in the world—her body felt like it was pressing in on itself and filled with scorching, numbing pain that took away her lungs and burst every blood vessel and closed her throat tight. Sam looked more and more worried—and even the Dean guy did too as her breaths got puffier and puffier—but the two of them were too _close_ and making things worse and she tried to push Sam away a little but her hands were like useless jelly and she couldn't speak anymore. Her vision was even beginning to warp and waver and the overall feeling was like being trapped in a burning building—she literally couldn't get away from what was happening to her. It was fear, the rawest and most gripping kind. She hadn't had an attack like this in years, and it _terrified_ her and made everything worse. Sam and Dean were like two huge walls closing in on her, and Molly just wanted some _space_ but they loomed without stopping.

And then the blonde woman appeared behind them and pulled them both away by a shoulder, giving them short lecturing glances in turn. "Guys, stand back, the girl's having a panic attack, _Jesus_ , just let her _breathe._ "

Molly shook her head, trying to appear more together than she actually was, then put her head in her hands and breathed into her knees, trying to hold it together. The worst part of these anxiety attacks was having them in front of other people. The embarrassment was the kind she could never live down. "No, I'm not… a panic attack," she gasped out weakly, "I just—there is a _dead guy_ and a—a giant and _guns_ … in my library!" she looked up at them and panted like she'd just run a mile at full speed. "And Sam, the purple neck and her—the hand thing she did, that's not _possible,_ right?" She suddenly laughed with a half-crazed look in her eyes and began muttering to herself in German. Her laugh turned into a sobbing sound and she hugged her knees and rocked a little, like a child might to self-soothe.

Sam's FBI partner or whoever he was, Dean, looked at her like she'd grown elephant ears. "So is one of the side effects of a breakdown suddenly spouting _German_?" he asked in a distinctly rude tone.

Sam ignored everything and carefully crouched down with Molly, studiously keeping himself from invading her space too much. "Just breathe, Molly, okay?" his hands were soothing on either side of her knees and she bowed her head down, shut her eyes, just shook and breathed and tried to get a handle onto herself. Sam encouraged her, and it embarrassed her until the end of time especially to know everyone was watching. "In and out, good, just like that." Molly tried. "Just breathe, nice and steady," he continued soothingly.

Molly's body was crippled by confusion and the panic that went along with it. "Please—someone—tell me—what—is—hap—en—ing…" she managed in a hiccuping voice. If she could just understand. If someone would tell her how all these bizarre things somehow made real-world sense and weren't as crazy as they appeared.

Sam's earnest and worried face stayed steady. "I need you to calm down first, okay? Breathe, can you do that?" He nodded as she made a concerted effort to breathe in and out steadily through her mouth. "Good, good," he encouraged, nodding and waiting for her to calm down. Not for the first time, Molly miserably reflected on how nice he was. How good. Finally, when she was a little less frantic, he chanced a smile through the concern. "You okay? Not gonna pass out on me?" She tried to smile too like he was but couldn't quite. Sam seemed to decide she'd calmed down enough to be informed and he gestured at the guy standing nearby with crossed arms and a sullen expression. "Molly, this is my brother Dean."

Dean threw a brief, impatient glance her way. "Yeah _hi_."

Molly was startled for sure. _That_ was Sam's brother? Maybe she wasn't good at reading people right away, but this Dean guy seemed… not nice. And Sam was the _nicest._ She was more than a little dazed by everything, but that fact sent her into outer space again. They didn't even _look_ that much alike, not really. Sam tried to explain to her, and she struggled to pay attention. "Molly, listen. Me and Dean and Jamie… we're hunters."

Jamie—that was the blonde girl? Probably their sister. The one she remembered Sam mentioning. Molly frowned. "L-like… _deer_ hunters?" she asked, confused by what Sam was telling her.

Sam looked misunderstood and a little embarrassed. "No, uh—no. Not deer hunters." His face worked oddly and he tried to sound like what he was saying was really normal and everyday. "Uh— _evil_ hunters."

At Molly's expression at _that_ statement, Dean chuckled derisively. "Really making this sound legit, Sammy."

Sam ignored his brother in favor of telling Molly the following with what seemed to be very genuine intent: "Ghosts, werewolves, demons… it's all real. And we hunt it down and kill it."

Molly stared. Then blinked. And then felt incredibly mad. Was this some kind of joke? Where were the hidden cameras? How _stupid_ did they think she was, anyway?! "You can't kill what's already dead!" she protested angrily. "Or what isn't _real_ _…_!" She abruptly began to tear up because so close by, the 'dead guy' was still in place. "This really isn't _funny_!" she managed, wondering what she had done to deserve this cruel, traumatic joke. They had made it so realistic and were probably all laughing at her expense and she hadn't felt so sick or scared… _ever_! She began to rant to no one. " _Warum versucht ihr mich zu verarschen?! Ist der Typ_ _ü_ _berhaupt tot_?!"

Dean had a prissy little expression on his face and he watched Molly lurch to her feet and proceed to kick the dead guy in the side. "Oh _good_ , more nonsensical German," he muttered.

When the corpse did not budge underneath her swift and hard kick (she thought he would yelp and the joke would be ruined), Molly's anger fell and she backed up a little. From that angle, she could see the exit wound in the back of his head and smell the unmistakable tang of human blood. She gave a soft little whimpering sound and stumbled back as her knees gave out. _No. This is real?_ Sam caught her and helped her sit down into one of the chairs at a nearby reading table. He sat beside her and tried to catch her blank, stunned gaze. "Molly, listen— _please_ —I am one hundred percent dead serious right now. About everything. Okay?" _But_ _…_ _but_ _…_ _I don_ _'_ _t want evil to be real. I don_ _'_ _t want that man to be dead._ Sam paused and seemed highly regretful. "I'm sorry you had to find out like this. I'm sorry you had to find out at _all,_ but… I promise. You gotta trust me. This isn't some kind of practical joke."

Molly stared at him with a falling expression. "Werewolves?" she asked in a whisper. " _Demons_?" She had spent her whole life as an agnostic leaning toward atheism… and if demons were real, that sort of tore apart her entire life philosophy. She wanted to beg him to please stop kidding around. To _stop it_ , because she didn't seem to have much choice but to believe and she really _didn_ _'_ _t want to_. She'd seen that blonde girl create some kind of supernatural energy ball with just a word from her mouth. That giant man with the steps like thunder didn't look human. And Sam was looking at her sorrowfully, like he didn't like having to break it to her.

"Demons, angels, vampires, poltergeists, ghosts, you name it, we got it and it sucks," Dean interjected from nearby. He sounded sarcastic and jaded and bored, three things Molly felt defeated by. _Ghosts? Angels? Vampires!?_ She didn't think she would have believed _him_ ever in a million years. He seemed like a jerk. But Sam, who she trusted a little, who she felt connected to… he looked grim and confirmative of the statement.

Molly shook her head blankly, refusing to believe even though it felt a little futile at this point. "No. _No_ …" she said weakly, trying to find a rational explanation. Maybe this was some kind of vivid bad dream. Or bad acid trip. "Someone slipped drugs into my… into my…" she trailed off because she knew no one had slipped drugs into anything.

Dean gave a short barking laugh. "Yeah if you knew half the things we did you'd _wish_ you were tripping."

Molly still tried to deny it, she still hung onto what she knew of the corporeal world. "It's not…" she started, "if it were _real,_ we'd know," she protested. "People would _know_."

"A few _do_ ," Sam said, his tone immensely understanding of her just like his gaze. "But… most people don't _want_ the stuff out there to be real. Ignorance is bliss or something like that, I guess."

Molly looked into his hazel eyes and tried very hard to put together this puzzle that had been thrown at her. "So y-you're not an FBI agent…?" she asked in a gut-punched voice.

A sheepish, half-ashamed smile crossed his face. "Not so much."

"Just plays one on TV," Dean joked.

Molly abruptly felt another surge of inner defiance. She couldn't believe it. "No, _no_ …" she begged. "Come on. _Guys_." She looked around for _someone_ to tell her 'just kidding, haha!' But everyone just looked sorry for her.

The Jewish guy piped up quietly. "Apparently it's all true. I just found out, too. Recently. Heh." Molly looked at him blankly.

Sam was gentle and sensitive. "I know it's a lot to take in," he said in a quiet voice meant just for her benefit.

"A lot to take in?" she repeated, her dazed eyes drifting to his. "It goes against everything I ever believed my whole _life_."

"I understand that," Sam said earnestly. "I do."

Molly sat there feeling small. The world was suddenly beyond her comprehension, and she'd struggled to understand it before this. Where did it leave her now? She thought of all the ghost legends she'd laughed at in years past. And now… she realized that if what these people were telling her was true… that meant those urban legends had roots in terrible, bloody truth. Her mind spun, trying to find a place for this world-shattering information. Demons, ghosts, angels, vampires… she already lived in a scary enough world. Now it was a lot scarier. _I don_ _'_ _t want this_. Molly wondered if she'd ever be able to sleep in her life ever again. But she didn't want these people to know how scared she was. In fact, she had noticed how her freakout had sort of monopolized the entire moment and she was, you guessed it, embarrassed by that fact.

Nearby, Dean and the blonde girl had set to examining the corpse like they did it every day—searching his pockets and squinting at a ring he wore and checking out the dart blower he had. Molly tried to put on a brave face and stop being the baby who needed extra looking after. She looked at the blonde girl and drew the only conclusion she knew to. "So… t-that's your sister?" she asked Sam, trying to avoid hearing more about monsters and demons.

Sam's eyebrows moved in together and he immediately looked very confused, saddened, and a little upset. "What, her?" The way he asked said 'no' without him having to say anything at all. But he still did. "No." He hesitated somberly. "No uh… my sister Alex she uh… she passed away kind of recently."

There was a lot of raw pain there hidden behind the way he tried to say it so factually. Molly felt incredibly bad for her mistake. "Oh. I—I'm so so sorry," she whispered, kicking herself for saying the wrong thing and making Sam sad. How terrible.

He didn't respond to her condolence. "That's Jamie," he said of the blonde. "She's a witch and also Dean's…" he gave a soft exasperated laugh and halfway rolled his eyes, "I don't even _know_ what."

"Babysitter," Jamie wisecracked over the top of the corpse she was crouched over. She had a low, powerful kind of voice.

Dean sent a little suggestive smirk Jamie's way like he thought he was funny. "That's kinda hot."

Jamie didn't look amused—only annoyed. "You're stupid," she muttered.

"Not what you were saying last night, babe," Dean murmured in that same self-satisfied, suggestive way. But the look Jamie gave him immediately sobered him and he looked appropriately apologetic. "I'm so sorry, ma'am. Please don't hex me." She rolled her eyes at his choice of words and it was hard to tell if he was deadpan teasing her or totally serious. They struck Molly as a grumpy old married couple in the way they interacted, but there was something else she was sort of stuck on.

"A witch?" she asked sort of breathlessly. She was immediately thinking of the Hocus Pocus sort and blurted out what she realized was an extremely offensive question one second after she asked. "Where's your weird mole and pointy hat?"

Jamie stood up—Molly shrank a little— _please don_ _'_ _t turn me into a toad_. "Must have left them with my _broomstick_ back at the giant cauldron I live in."

Dean apparently saw an opportunity for another joke. "Her weird mole's on her—" he abruptly stopped mid-sentence, yelped and made a face at Jamie. " _Ouch_!" he exclaimed indignantly.

She gave him a cool, challenging look. "You were saying?"

"Jesus _Christ_ ," he complained, rubbing a hand on his butt cheek like he was suddenly sore there. "You're lucky I like you."

Jamie looked like she'd had a private victory. " _Mm_ ," she commented offhandedly.

Molly wasn't sure how to react but made a mental note that she shouldn't anger either the scary witch lady or her grumpy gun-wielding boyfriend. More cautious than before, Molly looked at the Jewish guy who was accompanied by the giant guy. "And… who's…. who are they?" she asked, especially interested in the huge man with hands like small boulders.

"That's Aaron. Rabbi Bass's grandson. And his… his clay man."

Molly's mouth dropped open. "…Clay man?" she asked almost reverently. "Like the… the Hebrew legend?"

Although _everyone_ looked surprised, Aaron asked first: "You know about that?"

Molly smiled weakly and shrugged. She was more than just a bit staggered to hear that something she'd read about in books and written off as folklore was reality. "Just call me the encyclopedia of useless information," she said, not sure if she should be embarrassed or proud. She just didn't feel quite normal—ever since she'd been able, she'd read way too much, watched too many documentaries, and spent too much time with information instead of people.

"Great, another _nerd_ ," Dean muttered offhandedly, and Molly gaped at the insult that struck her down to the core—he apparently had already forgotten about it and was looking around studiously, squinting into the ceilings. "This place have security?" he asked.

Having a hard time finding an answer because she felt so insulted, Molly was aghast at how he took no notice. "Cameras, yeah…"

Dean nodded and gestured to Jamie. "We'll wipe the footage." He sent a command to the clay man—who was also known as a golem. "You, big guy. Take the stiff out to the car but _do not_ put him in the seats, you hear me? Trunk." Dean left, Jamie following.

"I _hear_ you," the golem replied in a growl, and his voice was deeper than deep and incredibly scary. He sounded like he didn't take kindly to Dean's command, either, and gave Aaron an unhappy side glance before he picked up the dead guy and began to carry him out.

Molly watched with wide eyes as Aaron followed the golem out. She stared at the blood stain which was still shining and wet. Her stomach was unhappy and wanting to be ill. "W-why?" she asked Sam. "Why wipe the cameras and… and take the dead guy?"

Sam was grim. "Standard procedure."

"Standard procedure for _what_?" Molly asked. She was completely out of her element and finding understanding for a single thing that was currently happening. "Shouldn't you call the police?"

Sam shook his head, and it looked like he'd heard that exact question a hundred times. "Police don't know what to do with this kind of stuff," he said. At Molly's immediate look of protest, he added more before she could speak. "Trust me. They do more harm than good. It sucks, but it's fact."

Molly wanted to argue, but… _Sam_ was the one who apparently did this 'hunting' thing. Not her. He knew more than she did and even though she _wanted_ to say 'just let the police handle it and get me outta here,' she guessed that wasn't an option. She swallowed thickly. "A-are people after you?" she asked in a whisper, jumping to the next logical step.

"It's not Monday if someone isn't after us," Sam joked feebly, but Molly couldn't laugh. Uncomfortable, Sam cleared his throat and tried to be more serious. "We're dealing with a cult of Nazi necromancers, so… uh, yeah. There's more of them after us."

Molly's face was testament to her inner feelings of woe, fear, and failure to know how to deal. "I need to sit down," she whispered, mind spinning with thoughts of death and bad guys and impending doom.

Sam's incredibly handsome face showed hesitant amused confusion. "You… _are_ sitting down."

Molly looked down and around at herself with a slack face. "Oh. Yeah I am." She was sitting with numb limbs in a library chair and how had she forgotten that? "I'm sorry, this is just… not what… I thought was gonna happen today?" she said in a highly unsure, low-power voice. Her turning stomach was making her feel like she was on a boat. "I really do wanna throw up now please," she managed, holding a hand to her abdomen and wishing this wasn't real.

Sam stood and helped her stand too, probably to guide her to the bathroom, she didn't know. "Here we go, up on our feet…"

She pushed him away with a gentle arm when she realized how damsel-in-distress she was being. "No, actually, I—I think I'm okay," she said, deciding to stop being so stupid. Hermione Granger would be disappointed at Molly's reaction to this entire thing. She swallowed her queasiness down and tried to be mind over matter.

"You sure?" Sam asked, and he looked a little wary of going far from her.

Molly looked at him in all honesty. "I… am sure… of _nothing,_ " she announced severely and sort of dramatically.

Sam cast around for the right response to _that_ comment. "Okay then." He paused. "Hey um, the reason we were here in the first place… we're looking for the last manuscript the rabbi was after? The night he caught fire. Do you happen to know where it is by any chance?"

Molly was about to say no but then she realized yes—and she actually had it with her. She let her heavy bookbag finally fall off her shoulders and onto the table they were beside. She pulled out the old leather ledger she'd found. "Right here," she said cautiously, wondering at its significance. "Why?"

"That's the book the Thule—those Nazi guys—are after," Sam said, and Molly's eyes flew wide and she let go of the book, dropping it on the floor and jumping back from it like it might be contagious. Sam had another one of those grins on his face like he thought she was cute, amusing, and confusing all at once. "I mean it won't _bite_ you," he said, then stooped and picked it up, began to look through. His brow furrowed and Molly watched him, hanging on breathlessly. What could be in there that these crazy dart-blowing Nazi guys were after? "Hmm," Sam commented, and he sounded a little put out. "All in German." He glanced at her, abruptly got an idea, and Molly knew what that idea was and was trying to think up a million excuses before he could even ask her. But he beat her to the punch. "Look, Molly, I know this is traumatic for you but do you think you could… come along with us and help us translate this thing?" Molly squirmed internally, and a little outwardly, too. She had _such_ a hard time saying no outright and he was so _polite_ … "It would really help," he added, and his earnest tone and solicitous gaze and kind presence basically had her completely screwed. She couldn't turn him down.

But she had to know. "Is there… danger?"

Sam was grave. "We have to assume yes." Molly's stomach plunged to the depths of Hades with the weight of the fear that statement inspired inside of her. And then he added in something that made her blood tingle and breath shorter, but not unpleasantly so. "I'll make sure you're safe." He really seemed to mean that and at that moment he seemed incredibly solid and capable and sexy, like a freedom fighter or the hero out of the movies.

Molly worried the inside of her lip, trying to find a way to say no and get herself to safety. But her library was bloody and half of the upstairs level was destroyed. She didn't think she _could_ escape what was happening… which was the scariest part. "D-do you have a gun, too?" she asked in a whisper. She hated guns. But, maybe she didn't hate them anymore if they could kill monsters and ghosts or werewolves and crap. What an identity crisis she was having at the moment…

Sam nodded tensely. "Yeah. I do." He paused and looked into her eyes relentlessly then gave her his word. "I won't let anything happen to you. I promise."

Underneath his intense eyes and staunch promise, Molly found it within herself to muster a nod and a puny, "O-okay."

* * *

**Thirty Minutes Later**

Outside of town and far down a remote back road, Molly stood outside of the Winchester's car and watched, transfixed in horror as Sam, Dean, and Jamie dug a shallow grave close by then tossed the dead man down into it like he was nothing but a sack of potatoes. They then doused him in gasoline and lit him on fire. It was like something out of a serial killer's life or a horror film and Molly was newly horrified after _just_ finally calming down. None of them looked bothered by it. Dean looked slightly bored, Jamie distracted, and Sam terse. Molly watched, waiting for one of them to look even remotely sad or disturbed about what was happening. But none of them did.

Even Aaron, still seated in the car, looked pretty astonished at what was happening.

While Dean and Jamie stayed corpse-side as it burned bright in the deep night darkness, Sam came over to Molly. She felt scared of him in that moment, unsure of who this tall stranger was. It was in that moment she remembered how very intimate she'd been with him and while she had never really regretted that one night before, she regretted it now. Who _was_ he? Did he kill with the ease his brother had today? Was Sam going to kidnap her and force her to read German things for this 'hunting' business for the rest of all time? Her mind spun with scary scenarios and panic. Molly was petrified, and who wouldn't be? She was on a back road with a newly-dead cell phone and a bunch of violent strangers who killed people in libraries. No one knew where she was. She briefly contemplated making a run for it. But she remained rooted to the spot, sick in the stomach and scared to a state of frozen limbs. Sam—big, tall, imposing—got to her and looked worried at her obviously-distressed posture and expression. "You okay?" he asked doubtfully.

No. She was not. She wanted to cry, and was, a little bit. She managed to shake her head no while she tried to control her face. "How is this _normal_ for you?" she asked tearfully. "How are you just _standing_ there?" She'd never felt so traumatized in her entire life and everyone else was just acting as though this was regularly scheduled programing. She threw a hand out at the fire nearby for emphasis. "That's a person _burning_ there!"

Sam wasn't really very affected by her passionate little rant. "Yes, a person—who was a murderer," he reminded firmly. "A _Nazi._ He wasn't a good guy." Molly fidgeted underneath his calm reason and Sam drove the point home. "He tried to kill us, remember? And he _would_ have if the golem didn't get him and Dean didn't shoot him."

That was all true enough as far as she knew. But… "He was still a _person_ ," she insisted even though she felt embarrassingly stupid and naive. "Even if he was bad. He was still a person."

Sam looked at her with an expression that was impossible to describe. And it was at that exact moment that Molly caught a whiff of something she'd never smelled before: burning human flesh. And it was much too much. Her body went into overdrive, and as she clapped her hands over her mouth, Molly lurched over to the end of the car, held herself there with a palm down against the cold metal car body… and puked everywhere.

* * *

**Later**

Throwing up around people: humiliating.

Having the guy who owned the car you got some vomit onto giving you the murder eyes for what you did: scary.

Being lucky enough to have someone there who reassured you and laughed it off and told his brother to take it down a notch: priceless.

Molly still felt vaguely ill and thought she might have a couple more good pukes left in her, but for the time being she was holding steady. While she'd been kind of convinced Sam was an axe-murderer psychopath for a minute there, she'd changed her mind when she'd thrown up and cried and he'd just been compassionate and kind, just like he had been in Vegas. He'd found a bottle of water for her to rinse her mouth out with, a towel to clean up with, and he hadn't once looked at her like she was a loser or stupid. His brother was a different story but even Jamie had told him to 'fuck off, moron, the kid's scared.' On the car ride to the motel they were currently in, Jamie had proceeded to tell Molly about one of the first 'hunts' her uncle had taken her along to. It involved a teenage Jamie holding it together as they faced down some vengeful spirits… then throwing up all over her uncle's shoes when it was over from the adrenaline and fear she'd felt at the time. The story ended with how her uncle kept the shoes and washed them off, but the stomach acid splatters stayed there forever, reminding Jamie of that embarrassing moment. Molly decided she liked Jamie after that.

It was hours and hours after the fact and Molly had been reading through the ledger front to back, making notes and getting a general summary of the contents together. Dean and Jamie (or 'James' as he apparently called her) had left a little while ago to 'wash the car.' The way Sam had looked at them indicated he really doubted that was all they were going to do. But he'd said nothing and hovered around nervously in the background as Molly put on her reading glasses and set to work with that book the Thule were after. Aaron and his golem stayed around too, and it made for a very long awkward silence. Several hours, in fact. Molly tried not to think about it. Just read.

At a certain point, Aaron went to go use the bathroom and Sam and Molly were left alone, well, save the golem who basically said nothing and just paced back and forth like a storm cloud while looking scary. At a certain point, Molly looked up at Sam, who had his jacket off and flannel sleeves rolled up to the elbows. He had been watching her while trying to look like he wasn't watching, but that time, she caught him. With her glasses on and her frumpy outfit plus her meltdowns, she felt like he was seeing the realest version of Molly Ziegler there was. And she was seeing this Sam Winchester for who _he_ really was, too. She had sensed a deep sadness to him before in Vegas but would never have guessed this life of his was maybe the reason why. She wondered if it had all been on purpose. If he'd seduced her with that FBI schtick or something. If he looked at her like she was a real person at all. Her instincts said he was who he had presented himself to be, but she wasn't sure if she trusted her instincts anymore. "Were you gonna tell me?" she asked after a minute, thinking of the coffee date they were supposed to have had.

Sam hesitated and he looked pretty somber and mournful. "About my life? What I really do?" He took a second, flattened his mouth into a thin line, and shrugged. He looked a little uncomfortable and chagrinned. Like this wasn't what he'd pictured, either. "Not really." He tried a weak smile. "Didn't want you to think I was nuts." If he meant that, Molly could appreciate the fact. "Didn't think you should be involved, either," he said, and his face fell. "Too late for that now, huh?"

Yeah. Definitely. But it was nice of him to feel that way, anyway.

The motel room door opened at that moment and in came Dean with a tray of coffees. "Caffeine for all, and to all a good night!" he joked, only Molly didn't really get it.

He handed one to Sam, who asked what Molly was thinking: "Where's Jamie?"

Aaron came out of the bathroom just then. "Getting us some breakfast," Dean said, then plunked down a gas-station cup of joe in front of Molly, who started a little at the loud sound. "All right, Pukey. What's the scat?"

Avoiding eye contact and ten degrees less comfortable at Dean's return, Molly missed what he'd asked, exactly. "It's a singing style used in vocal jazz music and also a lewd way of saying, um… _excrement._ "

Dean, who'd just handed a coffee to Aaron, gave Molly a ' _really?_ ' look. "No, I mean what's the _book_?"

Molly tugged at her shirt sleeve nervously. "Oh." _Pay more attention so you don_ _'_ _t look so dumb geez._ "It's a log book from a Nazi compound in Belarus," she said, glancing over the thick volume grimly. "It was run by these, uh, Thule people. They seemed to be a sect of the Nazi party. A cult, from what I can tell." She peeked up and was surprised to see how not only Dean but everyone else in the room hung on to every word she said. Like she was important and useful. Immediately put on the spot, she said nothing else. _Stop looking at me, oh my god._

When her silence remained, Dean prompted her. "So what's it say?"

 _Right._ Molly's eyes skimmed over her notes and she felt vaguely ill at the contents. "It… details experiments that were forcibly performed on the camp's population," she said, her insides torn apart with sadness. " _Magical_ experiments, from the… the descriptions…"

"More horrible than words," came a deep, deep voice. The golem. His solemn interjection surprised everyone.

Sam, who'd sat down at the table across from Molly looked at the golem with careful, studious eyes. "You were there, weren't you? At the camp?"

The golem nodded once. "I was made in the ghetto of Vitsyebsk to tear that hell down. I broke its walls, its men. The commandant burnt the place to ash around me." He breathed out grimly. "I ended the nightmare. Or so I thought." He growled. "The Thule. A blemish on humanity and an enemy of the people. I will end them if it is the last thing I do."

Molly swallowed and then caught eyes with Sam, then Aaron. "What's his name, anyway?" she whispered, trying to avoid being heard by the golem.

Aaron blinked twice. "Who, the golem? Uh… I don't think he has a name," he said like he'd never thought of it before. "Uh, you have a name, clay man?"

The golem was completely deadpan. "What would I need a name for?" he asked, his severe gaze on Molly.

She literally felt herself shrinking smaller and smaller under his ruthless eyes. "For… talking to?" she squeaked, hot-necked.

"I have no name."

Dean had sat down in one of the side chairs and had his arms crossed and an easy smirk on his lips. "So name him."

Molly frowned. He seemed to be talking to _her._ "Me?" she asked, confused at who he was addressing.

"Yeah, Twiggy," Dean said, seeming a fraction amused. "Name him."

Under pressure, Molly tried to be quick-witted and answer so that the silence didn't get too unbearable. "Um… Ted?"

Dean pulled a face. " _Ted_?"

"I dunno, you said to name him!" Molly replied in a flabbergasted voice.

The golem was deadly serious. "I accept. It is a good name." He nodded to her once. "Thank you, girl with arms like sticks."

Molly's face became wan. "You're… welcome," she muttered, self-consciously crossing her arms in an attempt to make them look bigger, or at least not noticeable.

Sam graciously pulled the attention off her of. "Okay, um, Ted. W-what does it mean when—when you keep telling Aaron to take charge?"

The golem—Ted—turned an unhappy gaze onto Aaron. "The boy would know... if he could _consult the pages_."

"Pages?" Dean sounded totally stumped. "What pages?"

Clearly embarrassed, Aaron began to explain sheepishly. "When I was—when I was bar mitzvahed, my—my grandfather gave me this little old book. It was in Hebrew. It was like an owner's manual for a golem…"

Dean looked satisfied. "Okay. Great. Get that, then."

Aaron cleared his throat, scratched at his neck briefly. "I—I _can't,_ exactly. When I went to high school, I sort of... drifted. I started getting off the academic track, and, uh, I kind of, um... I kind of _smoked_ it."

Molly's jaw dropped as Ted confirmed it: "The boy _smoked_ the pages."

It was like sacrilege. "You smoked a _book_?" Molly asked, beside herself to imagine a priceless cultural relic being used for recreational _drug_ use!

Aaron was defensive even though he _clearly_ regretted his choices. "They were these thin, vellum-y pages! I mean, it was _perfect_ for rolling! Look, they were driving instructions for a clay _man_. Okay? It was _nonsense_. Right?!" Everyone in the room was giving him pretty unsympathetic looks. Aaron faltered. "I mean… I... okay. All right. Look, I'm sorry, okay?" He looked at Ted pleadingly. "Why can't you just tell me what I don't know?!"

The golem abruptly slammed his fists down onto the table _way_ too close to Molly and she yelped and jumped back in her chair. "It's not my place to guide the rabbi, to teach the teacher! It's not my place! _Yifalchunbee_!" And with that he stalked off to pace near the motel window. Everyone was shaken.

"Ted needs to take it down a notch," Sam said sort of nervously.

"Yeah that's not exactly comforting," Dean added in. "Heh."

Molly held onto the ledger with white knuckles, her heart beating really fast. Sam cleared his throat. "So, uh… sorry Molly. What else did you figure out?"

About what? Oh yeah. Molly tried to push her nervousness aside. It wasn't easy, and she kept glancing up at Ted in between reading. "Um… well, the ledger says the experiments the, uh, Thule were conducting… they were trying to… _reanimate_ … people? So they were using Jews and gypsies as… as their Guinea pigs." She was no longer distracted by Ted, but instead saddened all over again. These poor people. Many of them had been killed only to be brought back and then killed again. The log book recounted a lot of failed experiments where the subjects _had_ come back to life but had been missing senses or were in constant pain. Many of the women and children were raped by the Thule while dead and alive for 'entertainment' and 'humor.' And they had starved some people to death to see if they 'came back' hungry as well. Sam was right… these were evil people. She didn't feel sorry for that man who had died in the library anymore. "It's horrible," she whispered, wishing to live in a world where murder and violence and injustice didn't happen. She remembered reading about World War II and being so heartbroken about the concentration camps and the gas chambers. Now, she knew it had been even more unimaginable. "I thought the history books were bad enough as it was," she murmured softly, eyes scanning the beautiful German writing that recorded such horrible things. "Never mind _this_."

A heavy silence followed. One Dean looked a little uncomfortable with. "So the purpose of the experiments was…?" he asked.

Molly glanced at Sam, who looked more sensitive and intuitive to her thoughts. "To bring members of the Thule back to life," she relayed. "They were trying to find a way to be immortal and carry on the Nazi agenda, from what I can gather. And um… this last page? It's a list of every dead Thule who was successfully reanimated." She heard what she was saying and was utterly exhausted by it and sat back in her chair with bad posture. "This is just _crazy_ …" she whispered mostly to herself. Immortality was possible? And _Nazis_ were trying to rebuild some kind of army to wipe out 'the unclean' again? It couldn't be allowed. And now that she knew about it, she somehow felt like _she_ had to do something about it. Who else would? She looked at Sam and Dean in new light. This was… heroic. Incredibly scary. And necessary. Why would anyone choose to do what they did?

Dean got up and rounded the table to stand behind her and look over her shoulder at all her notes. "How many of these guys are still walkin' and talkin'?"

Molly turned to the last page where a handful of names—less than ten—remained. "Just a few," she said. "And you killed one just a little bit ago, so… this many minus one."

Aaron was silent and stone-faced. "This is why they killed my grandfather?" he asked, and he sounded incredibly sad. "Because what, they don't want this book out in public or something?"

Molly wanted to cry again. "Innocents dead because of words on a page," she murmured softly, thinking of Rabbi Bass. She supposed he was perhaps looking for a way to fight the Thule and undermine them, and she suddenly liked that sassy old man even more than she had at first.

Dean leaned over her shoulder a little more, squinting. "Anything in there on how to kill it?"

Molly leaned away from him a little. "Kill what? A person who's been reanimated?" she asked. "Yeah, here." She turned to the page she remembered and re-read it, her finger skimming under the relevant text. "Um… headshot or, oh—decapitation." She wanted to puke again.

Dean saw it, too. "Squeamish, huh?" he asked, seeming to find her reactions amusing and lame. "Better get over that soon if you're gonna kick it with us."

Molly didn't really hear him. She was leaned close to the page, reading a part she had forgotten about. "But it says here… ' _if the body is not burned within twelve hours of death, the body will rise again_.'" So that burning thing they'd done had been necessary.

"Nazi _bastards_ _,_ " Dean commented darkly _._ He was sauntering over to the tiny refrigerator they had there and pulling out a small box. "Hey, Top Model. You want a hot pocket?"

Not in a million years she wouldn't. "I'm a vegan," she said meekly.

Dean looked at her like she was insane. "On purpose? Sucks to be you." He glanced at the label and then offered again. "I got the cheese kind. No meat."

Molly scratched at her ear, squirming in her chair a little. " _Vegan_ , Dean," Sam said, his tone distinctly annoyed. "Not vegetarian. Vegans don't eat any animal products of any kind."

Dean looked like you'd insulted his mother. "What the hell _for_?" he asked, looking at Molly for explanation.

She disliked his gaze and tone and questions and just wanted to be left alone. "The environment? Health? Because I love animals?"

He paused, considering, then scoffed. "Psh. You don't know what you're missing there, Tofurkey." He muttered this next part loud enough that everyone knew he meant for it to be hurt: "No wonder she's so skinny."

Molly's temper flared. " _Klar, beleidige das kleine M_ _ä_ _dchen, hast du etwa keinen Mumm?_ " she spat in German, and even though no one understood her, it was clear she'd just told him off for being a jackass. At the looks she got, she shrunk a little and took off her reading glasses. "C-can I go now?" she asked quietly, looking to Sam for the answer. "Sorry, it's just… you guys could have used an internet translator for this, you don't need me." She really wanted to just get out of here and back to her life in whatever way she could.

Dean laughed as he stuck his frozen 'food' in the microwave. "But googlefish doesn't have your peckish charm, Bambie," he said in a distinctly sarcastic voice.

"It's babelfish, and why do you keep calling me names?" she asked, red-faced. "My name is _Molly_."

Sam looked deeply apologetic. "It's kinda just what he does."

"That's right, Twinkle Toes," Dean confirmed.

Molly stood and began to gather her things, deciding she didn't need their permission to go. "I'm supposed to be at work in like an hour," she said, because the library would open at eight and she needed to be there at seven to clock in and it would probably take like thirty minutes to walk across town. "I really need to go." Back to her life and away from this. She hoped and prayed this would only be a one-time thing. That she could write it all off as a bad dream. That Nazis would stay in the history books.

Sam stood too. He looked faintly alarmed at her sudden announcement. "You haven't slept, though, are you sure you can?" he asked, then added in something she hadn't thought of: "They've probably got the place locked down like a crime scene anyway. You should stay."

Molly avoided his gaze. Even if the library _were_ closed, she just had to get out of here and away from them, to be honest. "I can't miss _work,_ " she insisted, thinking about how her life could take a very bad turn into unredeemable paths if she wasn't careful. "I can't get fired."

Sam seemed bound and determined to keep asking questions. "Well… you want me to walk you there?" he asked, showing himself as thoughtful yet again. Normally Molly would say yes because walking alone across a part of the city she wasn't super familiar with was nerve-wracking. But after the night she'd had, the walk seemed totally doable. A piece of cake, honestly. She began to leave the room, backing her way out and trying to appear fine, nice, good. Instead, she looked shifty and a little crazy. "No, no. I'm okay. I'm fine. I'm good. It's cool. No problem. Uh—" she backed into a side table and keys fell off. "Oops." She reached the door and made her escape with a, "Bye Ted," aimed at the nearby golem.

"Goodbye little one."

Sam had drifted after her and tried to get in a couple last words as she rapidly made her exit. "Hey, call me if you need anything…!"

She closed the door behind her even as she said, "Yup." It was cold outside and Molly let out a shaky breath and just _walked_ in case they were watching through the window. _Look normal. Look fine. Just don_ _'_ _t walk weird. Get a few blocks away and_ then _freak out._

And then she heard the motel room door open and she shut her eyes and groaned internally. "Hey wait!" She turned grudgingly. Sam was hurrying after her and she was _very_ unsure about looking at him or even talking to him. He looked a little unsure, too. "I uh—look, we really appreciate your help," he said when he got to her.

Molly nodded, put her mouth in a thin line, and tried again to escape. "Yeah, well—okay. See you later." She turned and walked away, feeling rude and terrible and stupid the entire time. But unlike every other day that had ever existed in her life… she couldn't care at all about the fact.

Behind her, Sam sounded a little upset. "Molly…"

She whirled desperately. " _What_ , Sam?!" What did he _want_?! She had to fight not to cry because today had been the worst day of her entire life and she just needed to be alone and get away from this hunting stuff to the safety of what was familiar, known, and not gut-wrenching. "I just want to go back to my life and forget this ever happened!" she exclaimed tearfully, passionate because she was so frazzled and internally raw. "I saw a man _die_ today! And I learned that everything scary that wasn't supposed to be real is actually, probably _real_!" She felt uncontrolled and not herself and she wished Sam wasn't such a nice guy and that she'd never gone to Vegas and that she hadn't gone to work yesterday and that she could un-know what she now knew. Eyes stinging and voice falling to a bare whisper, she made her last plea. "Please, just… just _leave me alone_."

Sam's jaw tightened, his eyes held deep sadness and hurt, but he nodded and said nothing. Let her walk away. She did so as quickly as possible, unrealistically believing that if she got away from the Winchesters, she would get away from the paranormal world, too.

* * *

Sam went back into the motel room and his conflict was written all over his face. He hated that he'd done this to someone. Spoiled her worldview and been there to see her witness a murder… that kind of stuff did things to people. And Molly was too tenderhearted for all of this. Sam was defeated. It felt like he'd lost something, and he didn't think he could justify feeling that way, but he still did. When he noticed the judgmental look on his brother's face as he entered the motel room, Sam got defensive. " _What_?"

" _Seriously_ , Sam?" Dean asked, then scoffed as he took a bite out of his Hot Pocket and then spit it back out. "Ah!—Ish _hot_!" he complained, blew on it for a couple seconds, then shoved the disgusting thing back into his mouth and chewed loudly through the obviously too-hot cheesy mess. "I swear you got the weirdest taste in chicks," he said, then raised his eyebrows significantly as he swallowed his first burning mouthful. "You tap that?"

Sam was _not_ in the mood for this shit. "Dean."

"I mean I guess if you're into the jumpy younger-chick book-nerd vibe with the frumpy clothes and the dorky glasses—"

" _Stop,_ Dean!" Sam exclaimed. He was already on edge. He didn't need this.

"What?" Dean asked challengingly. He lowered his voice a little. "Come on Sam, I wasn't born yesterday. Was this before or _after_ the Amelia whoever? How many chicks _are_ there, anyway?" He shook his head and muttered loudly. "And you always gave _me_ crap for the girls _I_ pegged."

Sam wanted to fucking sockhis brother in the _jaw._ "Just _back off_ Dean," he said harshly, because Dean had no _idea what he was saying._ "I don't wanna hear it from you, especially not after you've been dragging _your_ girlfriend around with us everywhere!" Maybe he shouldn't have said that. Dean immediately looked like he was thinking 'oh no you didn't' but Sam regulated himself and then gave his brother a supremely false smile. "Look, either way, I wouldn't worry if I were you. Molly's definitely not interested anymore after all _this_ , so… just let it go, okay?"

In a terrible mood, Sam shook his head and went over to the table to study Molly's notes and Dean took another bite of his Hot Pocket and watched him with dark eyes. " _Touchy_."

Aaron remained totally quiet, the awkward third wheel in the room for the moment.

* * *

**Later That Day**

For someone who had just had their entire life turned upside down, Molly really thought she was doing very well and not giving herself away. Mr. Jones had been the first one into the library and found the crime scene, called the police, all that. So when Molly got there around seven fifteen (exhausted, sleep-deprived, hungry, at her emotional wit's end), she'd been able to act appropriately shocked at the 'unexplained' blood and destruction that riddled the library. The police questioned her since she had been the last person out of the library on last night's shift. She somehow held it together and pretended she knew nothing of what had happened. She now understood the security camera wipe and was glad for it. The police took a couple hours to investigate and rope off the parts of the library that might contain evidence and the library did not open at its regular time. While they waited, Molly scavenged the internet for more on the Thule (she found nothing), about golems, about what ' _y_ _ifalchunbee_ ' meant. Funny how she'd wanted to escape from all that and here she was researching it with a voracious appetite. She searched 'Sam Winchester' last and found some pretty disturbing things. He was wanted by the FBI for a long list of things. Him and his brother both. And according to public record, he was also _dead_ after he and Dean went on a killing spree. She wasn't sure what to think, but definitely knew she'd be looking over her shoulder for the rest of her life.

Mr. Jones finally wrapped up with the police and and said that it was time to open the library. He got Molly to help him move a giant old rug over the blood stain ('until a cleaning crew can deal with this') and he told her to tell patrons that the destroyed bookshelves upstairs were because of an earthquake. Molly thought no one in their right mind would buy that story, but she said okay. And then life resumed normalcy and Molly had never been so glad about it either. But it wasn't to stay that way. Around two in the afternoon, she glanced up when the main doors opened (she always did that) and did a double-take she quickly hid away. Two men who looked distinctly shady and old-world in the way they were dressed were coming in and as they passed, she thought she caught a couple of German words. _Oh no._

With frozen blood and a pounding heart, Molly almost called Sam right then and there. But she might be mistaken. It could be nothing, right? The two men went upstairs and Molly cursed herself for this, but did it anyway: She took some books that needed to be re-shelved, tucked them under her arm, and followed the two men at a safe distance, pretending to be oblivious to what they were doing and diligently working at re-shelving books. In reality, she was randomly sticking volumes into places they didn't go so that she could spy, more or less. She listened hard and caught a quiet conversation just a few shelves down.

"Are you sure he's been murdered?" the first man hissed in a whisper. Molly's stomach lurched. _He_ was _speaking in German._

The second man sounded contemplative and he also spoke in German. "Torvald was killed here, but perhaps not by a man. I'd know more, but his ghost was forced to depart before it could tell me. They knew enough to burn his remains. A worthy opponent, perhaps…" he paused and traced a gloved finger across the dented shelf. Molly watched through the shelves anxiously.

"Eckhart, is it blood?" the first man asked—again, in German.

"No," the man named Eckhart replied. " _Clay_. I think I know what is going on here. Torvald kills the Initiative's last rabbi, and now the Golem of Vitsyebsk kills him." He sighed and shook his head. "No no… this will not do, will it?" He chuckled, and it was so sinister. Molly stuck the last book she'd had onto the shelf and hurried away, breathing shallowly in panic. They were more of those Nazi guys and she needed to warn Sam.

She went to the elevator area, which was private and quiet. Pulling out her phone, she dialed Sam and pushed the 'down' button on the elevator panel several quick times and peered around anxiously. She didn't see the men anywhere. Her heart raced as the ringing continued in her ear. _Pick up, pick up!_

On the other end, Sam sounded surprised to hear from her. "Molly? Hey, what's—"

She interrupted him with a torrent of panicked, hissed whispers. "Sam, there's some creepy German guys here talking about Ted and the Thule, what do I do?!"

Sam immediately sounded like he knew what to do. "Just stay calm," he said firmly and urgently. "How many?"

Molly shut her eyes, trying to calm her dizzy head down. "Two? That I saw." Somehow, just Sam's voice comforted her. He sounded strong and brave and capable… three things she was not.

"Okay, just go somewhere safe and lock yourself in there," Sam said. "We'll be there in like two minutes." A long pause. "Molly?"

She wasn't the one holding the phone anymore. Eckhart smiled at the scared girl who his associate now held against his chest with one hand over her mouth to keep her quiet. "I'm afraid that Fräulein _Molly_ cannot come to the phone right now," he said pleasantly into the phone, his english heavily accented by a German lilt. And from there, he made his demands, threatened Molly's life, then hung up on Sam completely.

* * *

Molly watched the Nazis with wide, frantic eyes. They had threatened her, saying that if she did not empty the library of patrons without alerting them to their presence, they would kill her family and her as well. So, she had done the only thing she could think of: pulled the fire alarm and made a nervous announcement over the intercom: 'um, the building is on fire, everyone please leave. Thank you.' Everyone but Mr. Jones, who had promptly been knocked out violently by Eckhart, was now gone and she'd locked the doors like she'd been told. She was alone with these scary men, and thought she might vomit again everywhere.

Eckhart, a very handsome blond German man, smiled at Molly lengthily as she cowed in front of him at the circulation desk. He'd just turned the fire alarm off and seemed well pleased. "Very good, _Geliebte_ ," he said, and the term of endearment made Molly's skin crawl. "Now that we have this magnificent place all to ourselves, I must ask you a question. Do you not know, _meine l_ _iebling_ , that it is _rude_ to eavesdrop?" He waited with a deceptively kind smile on his face as he held his hands crisply clasped behind his back.

Molly wanted to stay alive and therefore didn't say what she really wanted to say (something along the lines of 'please go jump off a pier you racist, murdering swine'). "I'm… sorry?" she asked nervously, preparing herself for a young and horrible death.

Eckhart chuckled and turned to his imposing, dark-haired companion. "Isn't she sweet, Adler? A young rose." Molly's stomach turned and squelched. She very much disliked the way they were looking at her and thought fast for a way to escape from them for even just a moment.

It was worth a shot. She fidgeted a little, and realized all of her dignity, however little there was to begin with, was totally gone. "I… I have to go to the restroom please." She hesitated, then tried a meekly-spoken lie to dissuade them. "I'm on my period."

The Nazis were both immediately less interested. Eckhart even scrunched his nose at her and waved slightly like he was repelled.

Adler grabbed Molly by the crook of her elbow and roughly propelled her to the washroom and then warned her against trying anything. She meekly nodded and promised not to and he laughed and called her a good girl, pinched her cheek. And Molly fumed inside even as fear knotted her stomach. _If Sam were here, I bet he_ _'_ _d punch you in the frickin_ _'_ _face._ Molly went into the privacy of the restroom and ran a sink to cover up the sound of her quietly opening the lady's lockers where her purse was. She found the pepper spray she kept in there and swallowed. She'd never used it before, but had carried it ever since getting her own place. With shaking, sweaty hands, Molly stuck the pepper spray up her shirt and then into the side of her bra then waited twenty agonizing seconds and flushed a toilet, then waited ten more and shut off the sink and left the bathroom even though she just wanted to hide in there forever. But cooperation seemed alluring. She thought if she did what they asked, maybe everything would just somehow be okay.

As Adler pulled her back to the lobby and circulation desk, Molly's heart jumped. Sam, Dean, and Jamie were all there, and all had handguns out and seemed to be at a standoff with Eckhart, who had no weapon out, only a wicked smile on his face. She hated this, _hated_ it, and just wanted to cry. What if everyone died here today? Eckhart motioned to an emotionally-distressed Molly with a nod of the head and he addressed Sam. "See?" he was asking. "Here she is, no need to be _upset,_ my friend. Now. Let us put the weapons away and conduct this matter as gentlemen."

Sam's grip on his gun only tightened and he didn't let Eckhart out from under the line of fire. "Not until you let her go," he said darkly.

"I _will_ let her go… when you give me the _ledger_ ," Eckhart replied serenely and patronizingly.

At that moment, the sliding glass doors of the library shattered as the golem burst in, seemingly impervious to the gunshots that Adler began to fire into his chest. Molly's ears were stunned by the close-range gunfire and she screamed and ducked away, even as Adler held her tight with his free arm. Ted looked enraged and he charged Eckhart like a bull. "Eckhart, I will destroy you!" he roared.

Eckhart stood his ground, raised a hand, and shouted something in Latin—and inexplicably, Ted stopped a couple steps away from him and remained frozen, like he'd been paused. Immediately, Eckhart said some other spell and from his hand came a blast of power—it visibly blew through Dean, Sam, and Jamie, knocking them back and sending their weapons flying. When they were on the ground, Molly got the distinct impression that they were _stuck_ there because they didn't move yet they struggled against some invisible hold. And Eckhart proved himself a fearful opponent when he winked at Jamie and said ' _shh_ ,' disabling her from uttering a counter-spell or something. Having just incapacitated two men, a witch, and a super-powered golem, Eckhart chuckled almost _gleefully_ then sauntered up to the golem and held his hand out under Ted's mouth. "I command you by the covenant of your makers—Clay of Adam, surrender your bond onto me." A small scroll dropped out of the golem's mouth and Eckhart took it and smiled. Ted remained unmoving like a statue, his mouth gaping open and gaze glassy and dead.

Molly's eyes widened fractionally—after her reading today, she realized what was going to happen. Eckhart was going to take possession of the golem, and therefore be able to control him and use him for his own means. Adler still held her tight and Molly's ear hurt, her blood sugar was low. She felt the pepper spray digging into her side. She was the only one who could do something! That realization sent her into new panic and she looked at Sam in the eye. He was struggling and grunting but stuck on the floor. Eckhart looked at the scroll and then at the Winchesters, oblivious to Molly's rising need to _do something_. "Where is the Golem's rabbi, pray tell? He's been woken, but no one has taken possession of him. How curious." Eckhart seemed superior and he taunted his captive audience. "You write your name on the scroll. That's how you... _y_ _ifalchunbee_." He shook his head, tutting in good humor. "A shame. _Ah,_ _Schwachkopf_." He clasped his hands behind his back, scroll and all, in no hurry to do anything. Instead, he looked down at the hunters, who all looked ready (but sadly unable) to kill. "Now that you have tried your _brilliant plan_ on me and seen failure, let us attempt the reasonable route. I have something you want. And you have something I want. Give me the ledger and you can have this girl." He smiled generously, as if he were offering a kindness. "No blood need be shed!"

Dean scoffed, glaring daggers. "Buddy, you act like this is our first rodeo. The second you get that book, you ice us. No thank you."

"Ah, ye of little faith!" Eckhart chuckled, not bothered in the least. "Well. I'll have the ledger either way. And vengeance, too." He shook his finger at them. "You will suffer for killing Torvald. Or… perhaps _she_ will." He turned his gaze onto Molly and then Sam and Molly's insides shrank and shriveled. "I see how you keep looking at her. Does she mean something to you, this one?" He sauntered over to Molly, who was held in Adler's iron grip. Eckhart smiled obligingly and traced the back of his gloved hand down the side of her cheek. "Fine Aryan blood… so young, so innocent, so afraid…"

On the floor, Sam was close to losing it. "If you touch her I swear to _God_ —"

Eckhart turned to Sam leisurely, enjoying the reaction. "What, boy? You swear what?"

Well, it had been nice being alive while it lasted. She just hoped someone would find her cat and care for him after she died here today. Molly felt like an opportunity might not come again and if she didn't do something they would _all_ die and these Nazi villains would be free to rebuild their ranks and kill more people and she couldn't just stand there and be the ineffectual useless librarian. So she did it before she could think anything through further. Reached her hand up her shirt, yanked out the sweaty pepper spray, and let out a terrified sound as she let Adler have it. When Eckhart whirled at the screams, he got a face-full of burning pepper too. He screamed and clapped her hands over his face and simultaneously, Sam, Dean, and Jamie were all released from their invisible holds and Molly fell over from the shove Adler blindly gave her.

Maybe it was because Eckhart was a necromancer or immortal, but the pepper spray only seemed to enrage him—while Adler fell over and writhed around on the floor, Eckhart loomed over Molly with red eyes and gritted teeth. Molly shrank back, the object of his wrath and he yanked her up by her shirt, raising his hand into her face like he was about to cast a spell. And then a shot rang out and his eyes lost their life as blood flew out of the side of his head in a small shower. His hands went loose and he fell over as Molly squeaked and stood on shaky legs and heard another gunshot. Eckhart had been shot in the side of the head and Adler too. Molly looked at the source of the gunshots and it was Sam. Severe and deadly and gaunt. When she realized it was over, at least for now, Molly slumped and began to cry. More dead people in her library. More blood. Would there be more of these Nazis? Would she ever be safe a day in her life again? It was too much for Molly and she dropped the pepper spray, staggered over a few steps to the waste bin, and threw up again as she sobbed and sagged over the puke she'd just spewed.

"Hey, hey, it's over," came a familiar voice. She felt Sam putting an arm around her and helping her stand and she spit and cried and shook her head no. She didn't think this would ever be over. Not really.

Nearby, Dean sounded grim. "The cops'll be here soon after those gunshots. We gotta get these stiffs barbecued fast."

Still crying hard and not even caring anymore, Molly swiped at her mouth with the back of a hand and then stumbled over to Eckhart's corpse as everyone watched in confusion. They didn't know what she was doing, but she did. She stooped and almost fell as she snatched up the scroll as the tears continued to fall. She stuck the scroll back in Ted's mouth and then pushed his chin up, closing his mouth. The golem unfroze. "H-he can h-help," Molly blubbered, miserable and thinking about the smell of burning human flesh and how she would never be able to view her library the same way ever again. She leaned heavily against the counter, despairing and feeling like her life was over as she knew it.

Sam looked at Dean and Jamie and hesitated. "You guys got this?" he asked.

He got two nods and left them and Ted to take care of the bodies. He got Molly's things for her and then guided her out of the library.

* * *

**That Evening**

While Dean and Jamie took care of the bodies and then returned the golem to Aaron with how to _y_ _ifalchunbee_ _,_ Molly had cried until she thought her eyes would pop out of her skull as Sam walked her down the street at to a private park bench that was shaded and off the beaten path. There he'd calmed her down and told her she had probably saved their lives but she hadn't really heard him—just launched herself at him and cried all her fear and anxiety and trauma for a long time. Sam hugged her and told her he was so sorry, that it would be okay. Stuff like that. Finally, when she calmed down he insisted on getting her some water and crackers so they went to the local grocery store and sat in the little café area there. Sam had then opened up to Molly and told her the truth about his life as she nibbled on tasteless bland crackers and sipped water (he reminded her constantly to do both). Sam told her about his mom dying, his dad's quest for revenge, life on the road. Alex's mutism, Sam's distaste for the hunting life, his longing for normal. Stanford, Jess, the return to the life after her death. The Leviathan and how they were the ones who went on that shooting spree as himself and Dean. Alex's death, Dean in Purgatory. A basic summary of his life. But he didn't tell her about the apocalypse or the Lucifer things or Amelia or being soulless or drinking demon blood. But Molly still got the picture and understood him when it was all said and done. Sam had lived an incredibly sad, hard life and she understood after that. When he finally finished explaining, she was exhausted from just hearing about it and said she wanted to go home. But Sam said she needed to do something first. Then took her to a nearby tattoo parlor.

He said he couldn't let her be at risk. That it was just in case. That he insisted. So she had cried some more and gone under the needle. Sam held her hand and the tattoo artist thought they were a couple. Dean had called Sam up during the miserable affair and said that the golem, now having Aaron as his rabbi (scroll official and all) had been given the commandment to hunt down and wipe out the rest of the Thule. So essentially, the matter was closed. It was over.

After Molly got the anti-possession tattoo, Sam walked her to her apartment complex in twilight. Molly had a pinched expression on her face and beside her, Sam worried as they moved up yet another sidewalk. He knew it was a lot to take in, for anyone. But he thought it was more for her. He'd understood from the first time he laid eyes on this girl that she was a lot less worldly than most and had a harder time with things than everyone else. "You okay?" he finally asked. She hadn't said much, especially since going to the tattoo shop. "I know it's… traumatic. And today was a lot for you." He paused and thought about the plot twist he'd never seen coming. When she whipped out that pepper spray, he thought they had _all_ misjudged her a little bit. "But you were also kind of… _awesome_ ," he said, trying a little laugh to brighten the mood.

Molly had an ill expression on her face. "I don't feel awesome," she said. "I… just wanna be sick again." She touched the side of her ribcage with miserable fingers where ink had permanently marked her. "I hate tattoos." She sounded so defeated and Sam was guilty.

"I'm so, so sorry, Molly," he said, and not for the first time. He meant it, too. "For getting you involved in all this."

Molly was forlorn. "How am I supposed to ever sleep again?"

Sam cracked a lame joke, only it wasn't a joke. "Sleeping pills."

Molly looked at him with teary eyes. She let out a shuddering breath and looked around her city with newly wary eyes. Like around every corner there might be a ghost or a demon or some other monster. "How are you not like… constantly _petrified_?"

Sam's expression twitched as he tried not to look as grim as he felt. "I mean, I _am_. A lot of the time. Most of the time. But I just… I dunno. Keep going."

Molly stopped walking and looked at him with confused eyes. " _Why_?"

Sam stopped when she did. He'd told her so much about his life earlier in that cafe. Enough that she knew he struggled with staying in this life sometimes. Guilt was probably his most primary motivation, honestly. But he didn't want to say that. "Not many other people out there to take care of what needs taking care of," he hedged. "So… I gotta do what I can about the problem. Not just sit by and let bad things happen." What a fucking hypocrite. He'd sat by and let his brother and sister hang loose in the wind and here he was trying to make himself sound semi-decent.

Molly was looking at him like she thought he was something special. "You're… really brave," she said quietly.

It felt like a knife in the gut, to hear her say that and mean it. His voice wavered and he fought to cover up his dismay with a weak smile. "Yeah, no… I'm, I'm not."

Molly saw it though. "Is… is something wrong?"

Sam had a tough time not responding to her honestly. "Just… no one's said anything good about me in awhile," he admitted, and he wished he didn't feel as much relief and goodness at her statement about his bravery. She didn't know what she was talking about, but having someone say something nice to him and about him was like having water in the desert. "Been through a lot lately," he continued quietly and flatly. "And sometimes I just don't know who I am anymore I guess."

Molly was very somber and that's when Sam noticed that her more edgy, frantic, jumpy side seemed to have diminished altogether. Maybe it was what had happened today, maybe it was that she was too tired to muster up the anxiety, maybe she was getting used to him enough to not be nervous the entire time. "Yeah," she reflected softly, eyes off to the side in thought. "When you're a kid, you feel like you're gonna grow up and be this person who has everything together and knows how they feel and… well, maybe that isn't reality." Her face worked oddly and he could quite literally see her thinking about what she'd found out today about the supernatural. Her faded blue eyes came back to his. "What if you _never_ figure things out, you know?"

"Yeah," he said honestly. "I know." There didn't seem to be anything else to say on the topic and a little deflated at the morose subject matter, Molly drew in a breath and then began walking again. For a minute or two, neither said anything. Sam had told this girl quite a lot today, but there was something still nagging at him. Something they hadn't even acknowledged once. And the closer they got to her apartment, the greater chance that he wouldn't get to ask at all. He cleared his throat and tried to sound less desperate than he was. "Do you… wanna talk about it?" he asked, then at her wary side glance, he clarified sort of clumsily. "Like, about what happened with us?" Her face showed immediate anxiety and Sam tried to be sensitive to her. "I kinda think you don't want to, but… I mean we can if you need to."

For a long moment, she said nothing and he almost thought she was silently saying no, she didn't want to talk about it. And then, without looking at him, she asked, "Was it real?"

Sam frowned mildly. "What do you mean?"

Molly looked semi-frustrated with how to word herself. "I mean… why did it happen?"

Sam breathed in deeply and reminded himself that _he_ _'_ _d_ opened the subject and he couldn't back out now. "Because I liked you," he admitted honestly. "And I—I needed someone." He looked at her sidelong as they continued to walk. "I didn't plan on it if that's what you mean. I was pretty damn shocked when you asked… to go back to my room with me." He still couldn't quite believe that night they'd had.

Molly reacted predictably: by becoming visibly embarrassed. "Yeah," she replied, a red color creeping up her neck as she dodged his eyes. "I sorta surprised myself." She gave a nervous little weak laugh and scratched the back of her neck. "And I haven't, uh—been with—since—" she withered and stopped talking. "Never mind."

Sam didn't miss what she'd been saying though: she hadn't been with anyone since him. His chest pulled and his emotions were intense because of that statement. That had been a year and a half ago and for whatever reason he'd been her last. It made him want her again. Well, made him want her _more_ than he already had. Watching her reading that ledger last night with the cute little thick-rimmed glasses and the studious frown, seeing how she wrote so neatly and made such organized notes, watching how her brow crinkled and mouth pursed to the side as she thought, seeing how she'd chewed the end of her pen absently. She was so quiet and skittish and _sweet_ and yet she kind of had _balls_ as he'd seen today with the pepper spray. He'd been attracted to her in Vegas, but seeing her for who she really was attracted him even more. He really liked her and shouldn't, but still did.

"Why'd you tell me you were FBI?" she asked quietly, startling him out of his thoughts.

"Panic, I guess," he said self-consciously. "And I uh… kinda wanted to impress you."

Molly didn't look anything but glum. "Do you tell _all_ the girls that stuff?"

Sam made a slight face. "You must have me confused with my brother." She didn't understand what he meant and Sam was forced to explain. "I uh—I don't do the one night stand thing a lot. Honestly. It's just not me. It… doesn't fit in my moral compass." Now, he'd had a long string of meaningless sex with strangers during his soulless year, but that didn't count. Not totally. Sam didn't want Molly to know all of his darker deeds, because he knew she would never go for him if she knew everything he'd really done and been through. She probably wouldn't go for him _now._ Sam smiled over at Molly ruefully. "When I came back into the room and you were gone… I gotta say. You uh—kinda broke my heart a little, Ziegler." He tried to say it jokingly, but she just looked really sad.

"Sorry," she apologized, then quickly dodged saying more about that. Sam was left to wonder, like he always had, why she left. "So you guys just… do this all the time?" she asked, switching subjects uncomfortably. "And no one pays you? You guys just do it… because you're compelled to make the world a better place?"

Sam shrugged. "Basically, yeah."

Molly was thinking hard. "So you're… a _hero_."

He balked. "Wh—" Quickly, he began to deny it. "No, I'm _not._ "

Molly smiled to herself a little, a sad and tainted little expression. "That's how I know you're one. You don't think you are."

Sam shook his head, suffering internally. "I wish I could say that I was one of the good guys. But I've messed up more than anything else. I know I've done some good things and saved some lives but… I feel like I just let down the people who depend on me. I wasn't there for my sister and now she's…" he almost choked. " _Gone_." He drew in a shaking breath. "I disappoint people. I disappoint _myself_." He could have gone on forever but realized he was dragging Molly into his grief and she didn't need that weight in her life. "Sorry," he apologized sheepishly. "You don't wanna hear this."

She studied him sidelong. "Didn't you tell me not to apologize for sharing my feelings back in Vegas?"

Sam let out a chagrinned little laugh. "I did, didn't I." He looked at her for a long moment as they walked and wished he could tell more of what she was thinking. And he had to know, so again, he went there, cautiously. "Do you… do you regret it? What we did?"

Molly looked regretful for sure. But then relayed why. "I regret running _off_..."

A ray of hope poked into the darkness inside and Sam felt a little breathless. "Why did you?" he asked, hoping she would tell him and help him understand. "Was it me? Something I said or did?"

Molly was highly uncomfortable and reluctant, but did reply to him after a long, struggling silence. "No. I was just… I was just scared. And you were a stranger. And if I fell asleep, maybe you'd murder me."

Sam felt himself grinning despite everything. "Ah. Yeah. Forgot to tell you I'm an axe-murderer."

Her joke aside, she thought. "I mostly ran off just 'cause… I hate awkward stuff. I just wanted to save myself the trouble of whatever might happen in the morning and I didn't think you would… would care if I left." She was the picture of discomfort as she stared off ahead of herself. "It was just a one night stand. No feelings involved."

Sam felt a little stung and surprised by her words. "That what it was to you?" he asked after a couple of stunned seconds.

His tone had her looking at him with veiled, confused, maybe hopeful eyes. "W-was it something else to you?"

Sam could have lied. But something in him said _out with it_. "I mean… honestly? A little, yeah." He was being modest. There had been a _lot_ of feelings involved.

Molly looked shocked and at a loss and a little intimidated. She fidgeted her hands and her cheeks were red and she began to scrub at her neck with her hand. She stopped and looked at the apartment complex they stood in front of. "So um… this is… my building."

It was small and looked more like a college dorms than anything else, but Sam nodded, understanding that their awkward little exchange was at an end. That this was where they went separate ways again. He didn't push the issue because he knew she probably wanted him gone like yesterday. "All right. I guess this is goodbye, then." She made no reply. She was staring at the building with a dread-filled gaze. Sam tried to see what she was seeing, but didn't think he got it. "What is it?"

Molly wet her lips and squinted at the building then looked at Sam hesitantly. "I'm… kinda scared to go in?" she asked, trying to sound less afraid than she actually was.

Sam understood. She'd just found out about how dark the world was and now was facing the thought of being alone. The sun was setting and the world would be dark. And that was one of the worst times to be alone when you knew about the supernatural. "You know most people go their entire lives without running into anything paranormal at all," Sam said, which was the honest truth. Hopefully the Nazis today would be her last encounter. When Molly only looked extremely doubtful and afraid to go into her own building, Sam made a decision. "Tell you what. I'll come in with you, make sure it's safe."

Molly was about to say thank you and then became flustered. "Oh—I'm—I'm not trying to—to like—you know—uh—get you into my apartment—or anything—"

Sam smiled a little at her bumbling, clumsy ramble. "I know," he said. He wasn't going to try anything, either. She could relax.

Molly led Sam up the stairs outside of the building to her apartment and unlocked the door, let them in, flicked on the lights, and then called out softly. "Neville! Here kitty kitty!" A fluffy white cat with a grumpy face and a dented ear poked its head out of a small doorway at the back of the tiny apartment—but when the feline saw that Molly was not alone, he immediately darted away back into the room he'd been in. "Dumb cat," Molly muttered affectionately.

"Neville, huh?" Sam asked, shrugging his jacket off and looking around Molly's home as he shut the door behind himself.

"The true hero of the books, arguably," Molly offered a little uncomfortably, standing there and looking around her dwelling with nervous eyes. It was _weird_ that Sam from Vegas was there in her place. He made the already-small place seem even smaller. He was so tall and big. He took in the bookshelves she had crammed into the tiny living room, the way books lined underneath the breakfast bar area, the little rag-tag artwork collection that dotted free space on the walls, the little plants that were potted and perched at random places, the tiny two-person couch with the Mexican-style blanket tossed across it. The itty-bitty kitchen, the framed Atwood quote on the wall: 'In the end, we'll all become stories.'

Sam let his jacket drape across the couch since it was _right there_ when you first walked in. "Nice place," he said earnestly, seeming to like the shoebox space.

Molly watched him closely, more interested in other information. "Is it… haunted?" she asked tightly, worried that maybe _everywhere_ was haunted and that she'd really and truly never sleep again.

Sam smiled at her, and his smile had a calming effect. "Pretty sure it's not, but I'll check."

"Thanks," Molly said, relieved that she didn't have to be here alone. However, she felt her stale mouth and greasy hair and sweaty underarms keenly and _needed_ to wash off the day. "I… I need a shower, is—can you just stay until after that?" she asked. Asking him to stay was mortifying for her but she was terrified to be alone and had seen too many horror movies where the girl got killed in the shower.

"No problem," Sam said, and he set to work looking at her windows and sniffing the air and Molly thought that was a little weird but… he _did_ know what he was doing. So she didn't question it. She showered, careful not to get her new tattoo very wet. The area stung and when she caught sight of it in the mirror, she wanted to cry. She had always hated tattoos and now she had one. But it was a safety measure, so… she guessed she had to stop crying about it. Anyway, it was on the side of her rib cage, a place hardly anyone ever saw. After drying off and dressing in some leggings, socks, and an oversized sweater, Molly combed her hair and decided she looked like the least sexy girl who had ever existed. But at least she was clean now and had washed her mouth out and no longer tasted stale vomit.

She steeled herself to be around handsome, smart, capable Sam again and tried not to think of how much she paled in comparison when she opened the bathroom door. Sam glanced up from where he waited on the couch. He'd been glancing through one of her coffee table books. "Good news," he greeted, setting the book down. "No ghosts, no demons."

Molly tried to think of a way to get him to stay a little longer because she still felt terrified of being alone. "That's great. Um, so, uh—do you want some tea? I'll make some tea."

She gave him no choice and set to work in the minuscule kitchen and after a minute, Sam cleared his throat. "So you… live here alone?" he asked. "No roommate? No boyfriend?"

Molly avoided his gaze. He should _know_ no boyfriend after she'd told him he'd been her last. "Neither," she admitted, glancing around her little home. "I know it's tiny and sort of falling apart, but… it's mine, so… I like it."

Sam stood up, walked over, and leaned across the breakfast bar, watching as she put two teabags into mugs. "I do too," he said.

Molly realized something about him. "I guess you don't have a home," she said, remembering how he'd said 'life on the road' which probably meant no real house or anything.

"Haven't. Not for awhile," Sam said. "But uh—found this place nearby actually. It's like a little fortress. We've been hunkered down there a week now. It's got thousands of books on ancient lore. Think you'd like it."

Molly felt the smallest smile on her face, and it was the first time she'd smiled all day. "Me? Books?" He returned the smile. The kettle began to whistle and Molly poured boiling water into their mugs.

Sam walked along one of her bookshelves… the one where Molly had every single Margaret Atwood book in existence lined up alphabetically. "So. You weren't kidding about Atwood."

Molly felt pleasant, warm surprise. "You have a really good memory," she said, because they'd talked about that back in Vegas. He really paid attention.

"About some things," Sam said, then looked at her and worded himself cautiously. "You aren't as old as you said, are you?"

Molly was caught and had to confirm that he was correct. "I'm twenty four."

Sam looked pretty surprised, but tried not to look that way. "Wow. Okay."

He was like seven years older and stricken by an immediate bolt of anxiety, Molly prayed he wouldn't write her off because of that. "Does that make things weird?" she asked, filled with dread.

Sam gave her a little smile. "Nah."

Relieved, Molly picked up the steaming mugs of steeping tea and carried them all the five steps into the living room and set them onto the coffee table and sat down, watched Sam as he came to sit beside her. It was totally surreal. "I… I really didn't think I'd ever see you again," she said, still in awe. "Then you walked into the library and…" she trailed off, out of words.

Sam smiled tightly. "Here we are."

"Yup," Molly confirmed, then suddenly blurted out: "Would you stay with me?" At Sam's look of slight confusion at her too-loud tone, she quickly tried to explain herself. "I mean, in the apartment, not—in my bed or something—oh geez, I'm not _propositioning_ you." She then kicked herself in the brain mentally because what if one thing led to another, she wouldn't be against that. "Uh—and I'm not _not_ propositioning you," she said breathlessly, making her foot-in-mouth moment more and more pronounced every second. Sam had this funny little laughing grin on his face and she rubbed one of her own arms self-consciously and tried to make herself sound less idiotic. "I'm just too scared to go to sleep but I probably should and I know we don't really know each other but—I dunno, we sort of _do_ and I don't have anyone I could call—"

Sam cut her off evenly. "I'll tell Dean to head back without me."

Molly stared, relief washing over her like the tide. "Really?"

"Yeah," Sam said, then nodded at the chess set that was stashed underneath the coffee table. He became distinctly playful. "Maybe we can see if you're as good at chess as I am."

Molly felt her smile mirroring his. "Chess club _champion,_ " she announced, still forever-proud of that title.

Sam's smile grew. "Me too."

Molly felt her smile growing and her eyebrows raising. Challenge accepted.

They played chess and the next hour or so and forgot the day, ghosts, evil, everything else. Just talked, played, and were normal together. Sam won once, Molly won twice, then she got too tired to keep going and they watched reruns of Friends. One second, Ross was ranting to Monica about something, the next, Molly realized she was being laid down into her bed and it was totally silent. "What's…?" she asked, confused and disoriented. She sat up from where she'd been laying, holding herself onto her elbows. "Did I fall asleep?" She recognized her dim bedroom and blinked, seeing Sam sitting there beside her. He seemed to be in the middle of trying to put her blanket on her as she laid in bed.

"Yeah," he said, a little teasingly. "You did. _Snored_ a little, too."

Her eyes went saucer-wide. " _Oh my god_!"

He grinned, finding her distress adorable. "It was pretty cute, honestly," he said.

She didn't know if he was kidding or just braindead. He kept looking at her like he thought she was pretty and she was both completely flattered and mystified by that. "Do you need glasses or something?" she asked in a confused whisper. Did he really, _honestly_ like her?

Sam's reply was a little too serious, making the moment intense. "I can see just fine."

Translation: you're pretty. You're cute. And Molly wilted like a flower in the sun because of how intense he was. She wanted him to kiss her so badly. The moment felt right. They were close in the darkness, moonlight giving enough light that she could see his face and eyes and how—maybe she was imagining it—he looked like he was thinking of kissing her, too. And then she realized he was leaning closer and before she could even realized what was happening, he did it. He kissed her softly on the mouth. Maybe it was supposed to just be a single, gentle, goodnight kiss. But Molly grabbed the back of his head and kissed him harder before he could pull away and he made a soft sound and responded to her with incredible quickness, taking hold of her and touching her face and neck as she pressed down into her pillow. His body was warm and solid over hers, his mouth opened, the kiss deepened, and Molly gave a soft whimper as her mind began to float away. And then Sam abruptly pulled away with a twisted expression. Breathing heavily, he shook his head with a pained expression. "This—I _can_ _'_ _t_." He got up and walked away to a respectable distance, leaving her on the bed to sit up and watch him with a confused, hurt expression. "Every girl I've ever cared about is _dead,_ Molly," he said in a wavering voice, looking at her with heaving shoulders and huge amounts of regret. "Anyone I was ever really… _with_ … isn't here anymore. You… you're… I can't let that happen." At the expression on her face, he looked torn up. "I'm not trying to hurt your feelings or reject you, please don't take it that way."

Molly swallowed a hugely disappointed lump down, feeling embarrassed and cold without him close, awkward as she laid there on her forearms. "If… things were different?" she asked whisper-soft. "Would you… like me, maybe? I mean if you just think I'm weird or something, I understand." She _was_ weird. And if that was it, she'd rather have the truth than be told some BS.

But Sam looked injured by her words. "I _do_ like you. I like you a _lot_." He hesitated and then admitted something that felt incredibly personal and intimate. "You're exactly the kind of girl I pictured myself ending up with if I'm being honest." He clenched his jaw and shook his head and Molly felt like she could have cried. _Me?_ "But I don't get that," Sam said in sickening grimness. "I don't get to have a normal life. A girlfriend, a relationship…" He shook his head again, more resolutely this time. "If being involved with me to whatever extent got you hurt, I couldn't forgive myself. So I can't."

Molly slowly put her legs over the side of the bed and looked at Sam, whose story she had heard today and whose pain she identified with. He seemed so lost and lonely and in need and it broke her heart because he seemed so close to breaking into pieces. "Are you okay Sam?" she asked, every ounce of honest worry audible in her unguarded voice.

He gave the saddest little laugh and the slightest shake of his head. He took a heavy couple of empty seconds to reply. "I haven't been okay in a long time."

Those words just broke her somehow. Molly stood up and despite her fears of being rejected or of him turning her away, she went over and hugged him, just _knowing_ he'd push her away and tell her to stop. But he didn't. She felt him resisting for a half a second, then he gave in and put his arms around her, hugged her hard, held her and shook silently. Was he… _crying_? She didn't know, she just held on and felt so horrible for him, turned her head and kissed his neck once. How long had it been since someone hugged him? Since someone had cared? His arms tightened and she held on, so upset on his behalf that she could have cried, too. She hated seeing anyone cry, much less a man. Much less a man she cared about. When Sam's breathing grew steadier after half a minute, he drew back and they looked at each other, he swallowed and spoke in an impossibly soft voice. "Molly…" he sounded a little choked up and there were tears streaking his cheeks. "We're just two lonely people who are about to make a _mistake_." A mistake. That was probably what it would be and she knew that. Sam was dangerous. Molly didn't do risks. She didn't gamble or take chances. But here she was deciding to throw caution to the wind because he seemed so worth the risk. Sam saw that in her eyes and shook his head no, begged her almost. "Tell me to leave," he pled softly, implying that she had the power in this situation. But Molly couldn't do what he asked.

Here, in the secret darkness of her bedroom, in the unbroken quiet, she wanted him. She wanted to comfort and be comforted, to feel connected. She shook her head no faintly. "I don't want you to leave," she whispered unsteadily. "I want you to stay."

Her words had such an immediate and visible effect on him. He started fighting himself—it was written all over his face—but he lost his own private war and took hold of her, kissing her hard and deep and passionate. In a way that had her floundering to keep up and stumbling backwards as he crowded her toward the bed. Pretty soon the cat scampered out of hiding from under the bed as the boxspring began to give telltale creaks and soft moans broke through the darkness.

For Sam, it was a stolen night he didn't deserve but also something he really needed and couldn't deny himself. He slept with Molly and it was incredibly intense and vulnerable and open, passionate and fueled by wretched emotions. Sam felt guilty and conflicted about it afterward. He questioned his motivations and inner strength afterward even as he simultaneously wondered if there were any small way this could work. If somehow he could keep seeing Molly and keep her separate and safe from the darkness that always followed him. He liked her. He really, _really_ liked her. He liked how she made him remember the Sam he used to be, he loved how she made him feel. But he also felt like Dean was right about him: that all it took was a pretty face to take him away from his responsibilities. In the stillest hours of the night after Molly had fallen asleep on him, Sam wished he could do so many things differently. He dreaded facing Dean when daylight came and hearing how selfish of a person he was. He recognized the hypocrisy but accepted it because Sam felt so guilt-ridden over Purgatory, Amelia, and everything that went with it.

But for that night, he allowed himself some happiness between the constant internal self-shaming. He traced fingers through her messy hair as she slept on him and studied her face and wondered if they would have met if he'd stayed in Lawrence and had a normal life.

Meanwhile, Jamie and Dean had the bunker to themselves and two guesses what they did. Dean pulled the Impala up and gave her a naughty little side eye and shit-eating grin then said, "you thinkin' what I am? We should do it on the table in the library room." Jamie rolled her eyes and got out and Dean thought she wasn't up for it. Then she turned around a few steps away from the car and threw her arms wide in exasperation and asked if he was gonna come 'do this thing' or not then flashed him a promising little teasing smile. Dean missed it because she hid it so well, but Jamie was struggling. She didn't tell him how she was nearly out of time. Or how they had a daughter out in the world who was a few tender months old now. Instead, they did exactly what Dean had wanted and fucked on the grand table in the bunker library. Awhile afterward, when he asked her why she was being so damn quiet she said it was because she felt like she was getting sick. He ordered her to bed— _his_ bed—and she went, but not without a few "tell me what to do again and I'll cut you" type comments. Once she was there, Dean did things he'd never admit to doing: he rubbed her feet and stuck some of his big socks on her then brought her some hot tea and NyQuil. All without being asked. She seemed bothered by his thoughtfulness and was uncharacteristically meek. After awhile, Dean climbed into bed with her and pulled her against him like a little spoon and he had no idea the expression on her face showed every bit of her inner turmoil. He just thought she felt ill. When in reality, she knew exactly how long she had left—less than two weeks. _Less than two weeks._

Meanwhile, Castiel continued to wander earth aimlessly and suffer from larger and larger memory gaps. He didn't remember Naomi, nor Alex, nor the reality of the situation. He forgot every time he remembered and it was a vicious cycle that seemed like it could continue forever. In his mind, he was alone and depressed and consigned to sadness eternal because he was convinced that Alex was dead and gone.

And in Heaven—forgotten and devoid of her memories and her voice—a girl waited. What for, she didn't know. After all, for reasons she didn't fathom, she knew next to nothing. Her mind was empty. Nothing remained in there. Not her name, not where she had come from, not who she was. But she _did_ know—or rather felt, instinctively—that she wasn't supposed to be there in that place with all the glowing soulless white lights and the sterile clean walls and the silent, watchful people in business wear.

She wondered about the man she had seen in the tan trench coat. When she had seen him, he'd had wings. Like an angel. And eyes bluer than any blue that could ever be conceived of. He had seemed to know her, but she didn't think she knew him. He'd seemed so upset, too, and trying to get to her. And she didn't know why.


	118. It's a Bittersweet Symphony

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *** TRIGGER WARNING: Suicide ***

" _I get up and pace the room as if I can leave my guilt behind me. But it tracks me as I walk, an ugly shadow made by myself._ _"  
-_ Rosamund Lupton

* * *

The hunter crept around the corner, weapon drawn.

All but noiseless, he slipped from shadow to shadow in the dead-silent warehouse, looking for his attacker with harrowed eyes and a glinting handgun held high. But he was no match for an angel, of course, and his stealth would not hide him.

The _second_ Dean Winchester felt the presence of another entity on the back of his neck and turned fast to try and defend himself, Castiel struck his friend as he was trained to do, sending the gun flying with a shove before backhanding Dean brutally across the face.

_Disable the target._

Falling backwards with a grunt and down onto the floor from the force of the hit, Dean gaped up at his attacker in what looked like shock, betrayal, and fear. He raised a hand defensively as the angel towered over him. "No, Cas, no!" he protested, seeing the resignation of violence there in Cas's eyes.

_Ignore pleas for mercy. Disable the target._

Castiel grabbed the hand that was reaching out to him and he viciously twisted it back, breaking the bone with a loud crunch.

_Don_ _'_ _t think about who he is. Do what we_ _'_ _ve told you or you know what will happen to her._

With that being the thought that drove everything he did, the angel barely even heard or registered Dean's sharp cry of pain.

 _Disable the target. Kill Dean Winchester._ Castiel raised his angel blade high with a face blank as paper, and all his thoughts punched through him like a massacre of bullets, compelling him forward like an unstoppable machine. His orders screamed louder and louder, and his own thoughts weren't audible at all. _Disable the target! Kill Dean Winchester!_

"No, Cas, don't, please!" Dean begged, but it was in vain.

The plea fell on deaf ears. Castiel knew what would happen if he continued to resist these drills in the least. And with his only thought being _save her_ , Cas plunged the blade directly into the hunter's heart with no outward remorse or emotion whatsoever. Dean screamed and gasped, choking and dying as Cas watched with barely any reaction at all. It seemed so very realistic but he couldn't summon a response anymore, not after doing this for what seemed an eternity now. He had killed Dean a thousand times but it almost felt like he was killing _Naomi_ at this point—these Dean clones were her invention, after all, and he hated them because they were so close to the real thing. When Dean was dead yet again, Castiel pulled the blade out of the hunter's chest then straightened up and stared hollowly down at that body on the floor. So strange how he felt so little because of the inhibitor Naomi had put into his skull behind his right-hand eye. He was under her thumb in every way. And yet glimmers of his true self would filter through without warning, always catching him by surprise and leaving him a nerve-wracked mess. Briefly, as he gazed down at the Dean-shaped body, he felt a lurch of self-horror. And then he reminded himself of the fact. _That isn_ _'_ _t really Dean._ And quickly on the coattail of that thought came another. _But someday it might be. Do I really have to choose between sister and brother? Will I be able_ _…_ _?_

"Hey!" came an impassioned cry from just behind him. Castiel knew this part of the song and dance too and without any energy or life to what he did, he turned and met Sam Winchester's surprise-attack straight on blankly, stabbing him in the chest and not looking into the long-haired boy's eyes as he did so. That hazel gaze looked too much like _hers_.

"Cas…! _Why_?" Sam wheezed out, a programmed explanation of dismay that Castiel had heard a thousand times already. And then with an expression of shocked pain, Sam fell onto the floor and choked out then gasped his final breath.

And so it was finished.

He had killed them both. _Again_.

Beneath Castiel's feet, the blood of the Winchester brothers was beginning to pool and his stomach turned, his heart clenched. He began to feel again as he did every time after shutting down. _This is wrong. I want this to stop! I_ need _this to stop!_ But it wouldn't stop. It _didn_ _'_ _t_ stop. And Castiel knew of no way to end this vicious cycle. Therein laid the despair. He was trapped and unable to do anything about what was happening.

As if on cue, the electricity came back on with some heavy clicks and a whir of a generator starting. The lights flickered back on like they always did and the warehouse was suddenly bathed in stark, clinical light that chased away even the possibility of shadows. _Her_ heels clicked against the floor behind him as she approached and Castiel stared down at his dead friends. His heart was a dead rock inside of his chest. His blood felt like it ran colder the closer she got to him. "No hesitation," Naomi observed approvingly as she came to his side. "Quick. Brutal." She seemed extremely pleased. "Everything's back in order," she said, turning a pleasant, self-indulgent smile his direction. "Finally." His features were expressionless in the face of her pleasantness. He just wanted this to be over, but she had other plans. "You're ready."

 _Ready._ Ready for something truly unthinkable. Castiel looked at the warehouse full of dead Sams and dead Deans. They numbered in the hundreds and he had killed them all because of what Naomi was holding over him. His _wife._ His memory-wiped, muted, small, scared wife who was being held somewhere in Heaven and who he forgot about completely every time he wasn't in Naomi's presence. He _needed to get to her_ and rescue her, he had to _fix this_ somehow. But he had no idea of how to. Castiel had never felt such terrible or crippling fear in his entire life. True emotion trickled through his bones as he finally looked at the angel who had him so indentured. "When will this _end_ , Naomi?" he asked, and it wasn't the first time. He was so desperate to know, so threadbare inside. Hope escaped him. He was at the point of begging and pleading and doing _anything_. "When will you let her _go_?"

The nameless mention of Alex made Naomi's pleased demeanor lessen. An impatient, disapproving edge set in. " _Soon_ , Castiel," she said thinly, just as she had said a hundred times before. "When I have the _tablet_."

Castiel felt his body shaking with restrained emotions. "I—I need to see her," he said tremblingly, and his voice broke slightly from the wretched earnestness behind his words.

"You saw her last _month_ ," Naomi reminded tightly.

And it felt like a lifetime. He was worried about her every second of every hour of every day. And when he was on earth and didn't remember her, he always felt physically ill and like something was _wrong_ and whenever he was here in Heaven he was beside himself with the absolute need to verify that she was alive, that she was marginally all right. His voice cracked. He couldn't do this much longer without knowing his Alex was really and truly okay. "Please, Naomi, I _need_ —"

" _Silence_ , Castiel!" she commanded shrilly. That disapproving glint was sparking to life and Castiel obeyed and went silent, fearing that Alex would pay for whatever negative emotions he created in Naomi. He became outwardly blank and stoic. But inside, he was panicked, sick, and backed into a corner. He needed to know where Alex was and lay his eyes on her and he had never, _ever_ had a stronger conviction. He imagined her being terrified and confused, without memories or knowledge of who she was, without the ability to speak, without any semblance of an idea of what was happening to her. And that thought made him want to weep along with this next one: He knew, in the deepest parts of himself, that Naomi was lying. That she would never let Alex go and probably never let him see her again, either. That she would hold Alex in dumbed-down, drug-like stasis forever and use her to force Castiel to keep working for Heaven. That thought only increased the panic making his stomach boil. _What am I going to do? What_ can _I do? How do I end this?!_ _…_ _Can I end this?_

Naomi was cool and businesslike, unaware of his all-consuming inner thoughts. "Now. Go and find the crypts intelligence has reported, Castiel. And if Dean or Sam Winchester gets in your way…" her meaningful gaze drifted to the corpses that littered the area surrounding them. "You know what to do."

* * *

**Meanwhile  
Shoshone, Idaho **

It was roughly two weeks after Sam and Dean had faced off with Nazi necromancers. For a week and a couple of days, everything had been quiet and calm with nothing major happening. Dean and Jamie and Sam had gone back to the bunker and continued settling in and figuring the place out. However, Sam had made lots of excuses to leave the bunker to 'run errands' and 'get supplies' and 'check out the area' but Dean wasn't stupid. He knew Sam was going the next city over to see that Molly chick, aka Jailbait. He still didn't get it but didn't care much, either. After all, whenever Sam left, he could convince Jamie to have sex with him in really naughty, public places without the risk of being caught. The bunker's kitchen, one of the hallways against the wall, the library table a few times more, and a few other places too. Jamie was pretty much always up for it except the two or three times she'd just wanted to lay in the dark and hold each other. Either way, they used each other to forget their respective worries and inner darkness and got some good 'workouts' in as a result too.

Dean wouldn't admit it to anyone, not even really himself, but he was in vast, supreme denial and had been for awhile now about everything: His loathing and confusion toward his brother for what had happened during the Purgatory year, his grief about losing his sister so senselessly, his anger at Cas for disappearing and never returning even when Dean prayed to him (another thing he wasn't going to admit to doing). It was a lot to handle and quite frankly, Dean couldn't really cope with it all at once or maybe at all. So he ignored his deeper feelings and compartmentalized and tried to forget most of the things that could or would cause him pain. He poured all of his energy into researching Hell, demons, soul deals. He gave everything over into his gung-ho mission of saving who he still could: Jamie. He withdrew from Sam and threw himself into other things. He amassed a huge supply of goofer dust and devil's shoestring—two things that kept Hellhounds at bay; he spent extra time going around the bunker and making sure every single corner of the place was airtight and warded against anything and everything demonic, he made hex bags for Jamie to wear or put in her pockets if she was leaving the bunker for even a second. She wasn't gonna die on his watch, and as long as she didn't leave the bunker until he found a loophole and a way off the hook for good, she'd be fine and protected. He didn't know when her deadline was and she still wouldn't say, but he had taken every precaution to ensure that it didn't _matter_ anymore, either.

Dean was feeling pretty good about that entire endeavor, to be honest—like he really could succeed and was gonna win for once. Even though he should probably be depressed out of his mind, he was living in a bit of a fantasy world and scraping by on delusion. But it felt like happiness to him and he didn't try to dismantle that. James kept him from collapsing in on himself, and god _damn_ it helped that they had a lot of mindblowing sex and fun times between all the work he accomplished. Dean couldn't remember a time in his life when weirdly enough, on the surface level, he'd been so _good_. It wasn't just that he got laid like every day and sometimes multiple times at that. It was because he loved that girl. Like dead serious _loved_ her. Wanted her around, felt lighter whenever he'd catch her glance, adored teasing her and bickering with her and hanging out with her; he liked how she left her skimpy little bras and underwear scattered across his room mindlessly. He liked how he felt understood around her (Cassie and Lisa had tried but had been unable), he liked how he understood her, he liked that she was so blunt and no-nonsense and so good at seeing through his bullshit. He loved her wiseass and male-centric sense of humor, her sharp intellect, her strength both physically and mentally, her more vulnerable side, the kindhearted nature she tried not to let too many people see. He loved having her warm, soft body in the bed with him at night in their room—er, _his_ room—of the bunker. He loved holding her all night and waking up with someone in his arms every morning, the _same_ someone. He loved that she gave him something to focus on and invest in that wasn't going to destroy him internally. She was his mission now. She was someone he wanted here to stay for good, and dammit he was gonna make that happen if it killed him.

Now, Dean had never pictured himself as the kind of guy who would ever have an actual long-term girlfriend again after his last attempts with Cassie and then Lisa. But with James… well, he wouldn't mind keeping her around. You know. _Permanently_. And he had never really felt that with anyone else. Everyone else he'd ever been with romantically he'd wanted to keep around _awhile._ No longer than idea of forever had felt claustrophobic to him… until a blonde with a bitchy resting expression and too many tattoos and a sass he could barely keep up with had changed that. He was currently missing her something fierce, having left her behind at the bunker as he and Sam had ventured out into Idaho for a very promising hunt. After Kevin had called with new information that he finally cracked out of the demon tablet half, he relayed the news about how it was possible to permanently shut the gates of Hell through a series of trials. When he said that, both Winchesters had been _immediately_ and totally interested. Kevin gave them the instructions for the first trial—he said that there were three trials in total and that he was still working on deciphering the other two. But the first one required the trial-bearer to bathe in the blood of a Hellhound. Dean had been ecstatic about the idea of closing Hell and still was, but he was also simultaneously grumpy and annoyed because Sam was doing this thing where he was trying to be overly-helpful and kind and _sacrificial_ and meek and it got on Dean's every last fucking nerve. It was hard not to be in a shitty mood with Jamie not there, too. When it was just Dean and Sam, it was always a lot easier to miss that third person who had always been there before and now never would be again. The pain that came along with every smallest fleeting thought of his sister was unbearable. So he didn't think about her. Or tried not to, anyway.

The brothers were currently working on a wealthy family's ranch where apparently, ten years ago to the day, an oily fellow by the name of _Crowley_ had baited an entire rich family and even some of their staff into selling their souls. Ten years ago to the day meant that the Hellhounds were coming for more than one person. Here. _Tonight._ And guess what? Two of the Chassity family were already dead, and the rest of the ridiculous family was on lockdown, handcuffed in the living room for their own safety. Dean was gonna be so _pissed_ if these rich assholes didn't start cooperating with him and Sam. The two people who had already bitten the dust had been _shredded_ by the hounds before Dean and Sam could do anything or get there. The brothers therefore had two missions for tonight: save some of these other Cassity saps from getting torn to pieces and, as gross as it sounded, bathe in the blood of a Hellhound. While that sounded next to impossible since Hellhounds were _invisible_ to humans and therefore kind of impossible to fight, Kevin had also given the boys another useful tip via phonecall: the tablet said Hellhounds could be seen through an object scorched by holy flames. So, using a couple pairs of glasses and the bit of holy oil they had in the trunk, the brothers crafted a couple pairs of Helldog-specs. Now was the hard part. Figuring out which one of these rich bastards was next on the hit-list.

Dean was currently spreading the rest of his goofer dust at the edge of the lavish living room, creating a barrier to keep Hellhounds out or at least at bay. No one else was saying if they had sold their souls or not (everyone was insisting that they hadn't) and it was pissing him off. Behind him, he heard familiarly weighted footfalls. Sam. Dean shook the last of that can of goofer dust out and glared at the can churlishly. "This dust ain't easy to come by, you know," he muttered mostly to himself as his brother neared.

"Yeah." Sam watched his disgruntled brother for a couple of cautious beats then spoke in a near whisper since the occupants of the living room were so close by. "So what's our play?"

Dean kept his voice low and didn't make eye contact. "You camp here, figure out who whored their soul. I'm gonna go scout the grounds—see if I can't gank Huckleberry Hound before he makes his next move." With those words, Dean moved out of the living room and into the massive foyer. Sam followed closely and quickly. He sounded pretty upset.

"Wait, you're not going _alone_ , Dean. I'm gonna come with you."

Dean was flat in his immediate response. "Wrong."

" _Uh_ —" Sam was starting to sound mildly angry. " _They_ _'_ _re_ on lockdown, and _you_ need backup."

Dean turned around bluntly and looked his brother in the face. "No, I _don_ _'_ _t_ ," he said in a tone that clearly conveyed how Sam did _not_ wanna push him or test him tonight.

But Sam didn't back down. "Yes… you _do._ "

Impatient and brusque, Dean was having a tough time. He didn't have time to argue. "This trial crap is no joke, Sam," he said gruffly. "It ain't _safe_."

Sam was immediately indignant and a touch confused. "Since when is _anything_ we do _ever_ safe?" he countered.

Dean didn't use her name anymore, hell, he never even _mentioned_ her if he could help it, but today he was on edge and as such he lost control and spit out the truth harshly. "I already lost one twin, I don't wanna double my losses, okay?!" The way he said it was almost accusatory and Sam looked stung and shocked by both the words and his brother's tone. Dean felt mildly stunned at himself too and was left unsure of what to say or do next. Even though he quite often wanted to strangle his brother or let him have it verbally, when all was said and done, _nothing_ would ever take away the fact that Sam was Dean's little brother and he was _always_ gonna look out for him. Including now. Dean's voice softened a little, but remained guarded. Eye contact was minimal at best on his end. "I just mean… look, we've been down roads like this before, man—with Yellow-Eyes, Lucifer, Dick friggin' Roman..." They had been through so much and somehow still were standing, but it was foolish to think they would always get lucky like that. "We both know where this trial crap ends," Dean said in absolute seriousness. "One of us dies... or worse."

Sam seemed a little pissed that Dean was making the decision for them both. "So, what—you just up and decided it's gonna be you?"

Dean nodded patronizingly, closing himself off from a real dialogue and guarding himself carefully. He wasn't interested in discussing the subject or hearing Sam out. That would lead to things he couldn't and wouldn't confront. Like Alex, and the year in Purgatory and the utter rage Dean harbored toward his brother concerning what had happened. "That's right," he replied in a tone that was on the colder side. "I'm gonna do these trials because I'm the big brother. And I'm gonna do these trials _alone_ —end of story." Sam looked ready to protest, which only made Dean get all the more domineering and all the more unwilling to hear him out. "You're staying _here_. I'm going out _there_. If landshark comes knocking, you _call_ me. If you try to follow me, I'm gonna put a bullet in your damn _leg_."

And that wasn't the best way to say you loved someone but it was all Dean had and was all he count muster. He brushed past Sam roughly and walked straight out of the house without so much as a backward glance at his brother. But he already knew if he _had_ looked, he'd see Sam watching him leave with a sad look on his face. Maybe that was why Dean _didn_ _'_ _t_ look. He hated the way things had become between him and his last remaining family member. But he also didn't know how to let go of his anger or how to forgive or how to accept that Alex was really and truly gone for good. And every time he looked at Sam he saw Alex and remembered that she was gone and he didn't even really know _why_ or _how_ that had happened. Cas wasn't answering Dean's calls, Sam was having an identity crisis, and the back seat of the Impala was achingly empty and silent but in a way it had never been before. These were the things he tried not to think about because he was powerless to change any of it.

Distracted and angry for the moment, Dean went out into the rainy night hoping he would find that Hellhound and be able to rip into it to blow off some steam. And then in his pocket, his phone buzzed—he stayed just outside the side door where an awning provided shelter from the gently falling rain and he pulled the device out to squint at the screen. A new text from James. He was immediately a lot less cantankerous at the thought of her and a faint smile tugged at his lips as he read her message. **Hey. Miss your stupid face. Tell me something nice.**

Tell me something nice? The out-of-the-blue request via text struck him as odd, but he wrote her back immediately, a trollish grin playing on his face when he decided to be a tease about it. **best boobs in the world ha ha ;)**

A few seconds passed and when her reply came in, he had to stifle a guffaw. **I didn** **'** **t say to talk about your saggy old man tits. For real. Say something nice?**

Weird. Maybe she was lonely. He didn't wanna let his girl down. Dean glanced around, like he was paranoid someone was going to see him write something sappy. Then he quickly fired out a very honest reply text that would be blackmail material in anyone but Jamie's possession. **i cant wait to hold u n kiss u again baby** **…** **.. i love falling asleep with u beside me n ur on my mind every hour. dont miss me too much ok ;)? lol almost done here. im gonna fix everything just like we talked abt i promise. cant wait to c u soon.** **…** **g2g sry sweetheart**

He almost— _almost_ _—_ ended the text with the words he had been thinking for awhile now ( _I love you_ ) but he didn't want the first time he said them to her to be via _text_ message of all things. It needed to be careful and in person and said where it wouldn't scare her off or freak her out. But he felt that way and knew it over and over again. It burned deeply in his chest and kept him warmer. Jamie didn't text back, but he didn't think much of it because he had a Hellhound to catch. Later, when it was much too late, Dean would realize why she had texted him that request in the first place. And why she never texted him back ever again.

* * *

**Later**

The Winchesters were wrong. It wasn't any of the remaining Cassity family that had sold their souls. It was Ellie, the ranch hand who had worked the land and property since she was a tween. Ellie who was beautiful and dark-haired and bore pretty striking resemblance to Alex. She was Latina but Dean had _immediately_ been reminded of his sister and subsequently weirded out when Ellie hit on him over and over. She just really, _really_ looked like Alex. A tanner, more exotic version. Long story short, Dean had found Ellie getting drunk in her room off of the horse stables and after he talked to her and fended off a kiss he _definitely_ did not want, he learned that she was waiting for the Hellhound to come for her. She had sold her soul to see her mother healed of Parkinson's disease but hadn't understood about the ten year deadline until recently. That left her terrified, out of her element, and without much time at all. Realizing this was what he might be going through with Jamie soon had given Dean an all-consuming fire and drive that almost _scared_ him.

The Hellhound came into the horse stables and Dean attacked it but in the process lost his glasses, got clawed in the side and subsequently momentarily disabled, and probably would have died… but Sam had gone against what Dean told him. He'd showed up and saved Dean's life and killed the Hellhound himself with the demon blade Dean dropped… subsequently soaking himself in its blood. It had been a close call, but it was done. And hey. Now they knew it was totally possible to gank one of those Hellbitches.

Sam stood in his black-blood soaked v-neck and watched as Dean winced and pulled his jacket tightly around himself to cover over his wounds. They were in Ellie's cozy little room and she hovered close by, her face pinched with concern. "Okay but seriously, you need to go to a hospital," she was saying even as Dean shook his head and shrugged his mouth downward in an expression of indifference.

"I've had worse."

Ellie seemed doubtful of that and looked at Sam who confirmed tiredly. "Yeah… he's had worse."

She nodded, and an uncomfortable worried expression held on her face. "So… what now?"

Dean was severe. "Now we make a hex bag, and you start running. If Crowley can't find you, then he won't be able to sic another mutt on you."

Relief flooded her face but she tried not to look too hopeful. "So… I'm not going to hell?"

He gave her a tight, small smile. "Not on my watch." He glanced at his brother, who was saying nothing but obviously thinking a lot. Dean cleared his throat and hoped Ellie wouldn't mind stepping out for a bit. "Give us a minute?" he asked.

She nodded and gave an, "of course," then left the room and shut the door behind herself.

Dean's more friendly demeanor dropped away and he made a 'gimme' motion toward his brother. "Starting to think I should start a dodge-your-deal business or something," he muttered, waiting for Sam to hand over the Enochian spell that was written down that completed the trial.

Sam did not hand the paper he was holding over to his brother. He looked reluctant and wary. "Dean, even if she can dodge Crowley which is a _big_ if, as soon as Ellie dies, her soul's still earmarked for hell."

Dean shook his head once, unruffled. "Not if we shut it down first." When his brother still wouldn't hand the paper over, Dean sighed. "Sam. This is the best news we've gotten in forever. Demons and hell and soul deals and _Crowley_ might be last year's news." Saying it out loud made a smile break his face despite everything. "Wait 'til James hears, huh? If I can do these trials soon, if I can get Kevin to figure out the rest of 'em really soon, we're home free. Like, for _good._ So gimme that thing and lets get this show on the road."

He snatched the paper from Sam without anything further, who just looked weary and a little jaded. "The spell's not gonna work for you, Dean," he said quietly.

Dean sent his brother a defiant glance as he unfolded the paper then spoke the spell that was written therein. " _Kah-nuh-ahm-dahr_." Nothing happened and Dean waited in annoyed expectation then realized how right his brother was and brushed it off roughly. "Doesn't matter," he muttered, then gave Sam an abruptly angry look. "We'll track down another Hellhound, and _I'_ _ll_ kill it."

Sam was very soft-spoken and resigned in the face of his brother's ire. "No, Dean."

Dean was pissed and marched a couple steps closer. "Sam, I didn't pass the _test_!"

"Yeah but I _did_ …" Sam reasoned steadily and grimly, "so I'm doing the rest of them."

Dean's jaw dropped right before his face twisted up into an ugly expression. "My ass you are!"

Sam barely reacted except to look mildly hurt and confused. "Why not?" There was a certain sadness resting in the depths of his hazel eyes that caused his entire face to be held taunt in guilt. "You really think I'll mess it up that bad?"

Whoa, what? Dean's genuine flabbergast at Sam's quiet question caused him to open and shut his mouth a couple times as he struggled to process his brother's question and then retort defensively. "No, I don't want you to get _hurt_!"

Sam looked doubtful and vulnerable. "Right. So suddenly you care about what happens to me."

Dean looked like he'd never heard anything more insulting. "Sam, I have _always_ cared about what happens to you!"

Sam only looked more and more ruefully defeated. "Right. I forgot. _I_ _'_ _m_ the one who never cared," he said, further stunning Dean. Sam looked his brother in the eye with utter resolve resting there. "Well… I want you to know I _do_ care and I'm gonna do this. I'm closing the gates of Hell and you don't get to make this decision for me."

A little beside himself because of what Sam was saying and the defeated tone he realized _he_ had put in his brother's voice, Dean tried to undo his emotional abuse just a little too late. "Sam…"

Shaking his head and obviously fighting off emotion, Sam refused to hear his brother. "You don't understand how much I—I _need_ to do something," he said, and his voice audibly shook. "Something that _matters_. Something that _saves_ you. I, I didn't before for God knows what reasons but I gotta make it up to you and this family or I won't be able to keep living with myself." _Jesus Christ_. Dean swallowed a horrible feeling down in his throat as he saw Sam for the broken, guilt-destroyed man he'd become with real eyes for what felt like the first time. Sam's eyes glinted as he tried to maintain an even composure. "I can't ever fix what I did and what happened, understand? But I _can_ do this. So I'm gonna."

"Sam, no, come on," Dean protested, gentler now and guilty, too.

Sam shook his head, rueful again. Totally resigned to his fate, it seemed. "Dean. I'm the man for the job. You _know_ I am. I mean, you—you've got something going with Jamie. Something worth sticking around for. I don't have that." He paused and fleetingly thought about something and his eyebrows tensed together. "Not really." More pain flashed across his youthful features. "I can't… can't live with this guilt, you know?" Yeah. Dean knew. Sam tried a soft laugh but it sounded more like a gut-punched expulsion of breath. "I'm—I'm kidding myself if I think I can make it much longer. You have so much going for you up here—friends, a _girlfriend_. I mean, hell, you even got your own _room_ now. You deserve this, Dean."

Feeling how his own face was twisted up in pain and confusion, Dean shook his head slightly. "Deserve what?"

Even though Dean had been an asshole to him without fail recently, Sam was heartbreaking kind and earnest. "To live. To be _happy_ for once in your life."

Dean blinked a couple times rapidly. "And you _don_ _'_ _t_?" Maybe that was a crazy sounding question coming from the guy who had bashed Sam over the head again and again with guilt for the Amelia thing and Sam's selfish quest to be happy and normal. But seeing Sam willing to make a martyr of himself in effect reached down and shook Dean to his core and changed a lot of shit for him. Sam looked hollow in a way Dean was realizing went far past what he'd thought. _Maybe I_ _'_ _ve been too hard on him._

"I'm just saying…" Sam continued, the picture of self-loathing. "If I died doing something _important_ …" he trailed off then shrugged in near-apathy. "I'd be okay with that." Dean felt physically sick because somehow, he knew he'd in part or in whole driven Sam to this mindset. "I don't _like_ myself, Dean," Sam confessed brokenly. "I don't like who I am anymore and if I sit this one out… I'll regret it the rest of my life. I _need_ this. And I don't have anyone waiting on me or needing me like you do."

There was a long, heavy silence. "Well w-what about Library Girl?" Dean asked, trying to come up with a counterargument of some kind. At Sam's look of clear surprise, Dean couldn't help but crack a weak smile. "Sam, you really thought I bought your dumbass stories about going to the store and getting stuck in traffic and your 'car trouble'?"

Sam smiled for a brief, wan second, like he realized how flimsy those excuses had been, but the smile devolved into a sad expression of loss. "Yeah I dunno what I was thinking. I just really liked her and though maybe I…" he stopped and shook his head and didn't continue. He became utterly, deadly serious. "Look. I've made my decision. She's better off without me. And you are too." He held his hand out for the paper Dean still possessed. "Give me the spell." When his brother didn't comply, Sam's voice lowered and toughened. " _Dean_. Give me. The _spell._ _"_

There was so much Dean wanted to say, to argue, to add to the conversation. But he knew— _knew_ _—_ that Sam had made up his mind. And Dean thought maybe this was what they both needed. For Sam, a chance at redemption. For Dean, a chance to trust his brother with something important. So before he could think it over more, Dean relented and slapped the piece of paper into his brother's hand. "Don't make me regret this, Sammy," he said in a voice above a whisper. That was the first time he'd called his brother by that affectionate nickname in a long, long time. "And don't do this unless you're _sure,_ you hear me?"

Sam accepted the paper with a pensive, conflicted look on his face then took in a deep, steadying breath and Dean saw how tightly his fingers held the paper in his hand. And perhaps before he could think it over any further, Sam took the plunge and sealed his fate. " _Kah-nuh-ahm-dahr._ " Immediately, there was a soft whooshing sound and Sam's eyes bulged wide as if he'd been kicked in the stomach—he groaned and grimaced mightily then began to weaken to the point that he fell to his knees and had to use a hand from collapsing completely.

"Sammy? _Sam_!" Sam didn't seem to hear his brother. He was staring at his right hand, the one that was pressed to the floor. His skin glowed with bright white light, and his red veins stood out garishly as an effect. The searing, painful light traveled up his arm, and Sam grunted protest. And then the light faded away and he was left breathing heavily. He took a second and then clenched his fist and stood shakily. Dean hovered anxiously. "You okay?"

Visibly rattled, Sam nodded as he gathered himself. "I'm good. I'm okay." He paused, still breathing harder than normal. He looked so much younger than thirty-one to Dean at that moment. Brave and scared at the same time, Sam gave a stiff nod. "I can do this."

Dean didn't like it and was suddenly so terrified to lose Sam, too. "Sam, you sure?" he asked, because he didn't want his brother to make this a suicide mission and was suddenly unsure if he was really on board with this. "You don't have to. Trust me, you don't _have to_."

Sam's mouth was drawn into a thin line. "Yeah," he said, then more certainly. "Yeah, I am sure. And I _do_ have to."

Dean hesitated and then said something he knew needed to be said. "Well just so we're clear here… I'm not better off without you." Sam's expression flickered and Dean's did too. "That has never been true. _Ever._ "

* * *

The brothers stayed at the ranch that night and after things calmed down and Sam helped patch Dean up, Dean tried calling Jamie. Her phone seemed to be off which made him a little anxious but he chalked it up to her forgetting to charge it or something. Same thing in the morning—her phone was off. But Dean didn't let himself worry too much. She was probably in one of her leave-me-alone moods. Sam came to him as they loaded up to leave the ranch and said he needed to go see Molly before they returned to the bunker to do more with the trials—he said he had to explain why he had to end things with her in person (Dean asked what 'things' could possibly be there to end since they'd only been dating or whatever for a week). But Sam insisted and said little else and Dean gave up and even let him drive.

It was on the way to see Molly that they first heard about it on the radio. They were right outside of Topeka when it happened. At first, they weren't even listening in earnest—they were just waiting for the music to come back on after the top-of-the-hour headlines passed.

"… _sources are saying the woman jumped off Westgate bridge sometime last night and fell three hundred feet to her death. Authorities believe this to be a suicide and are currently seeking to identify the victim. The woman, early thirties, was blonde haired and blue eyed and had no identification on her person. She had numerous tattoos, one of which that included the name_ _'_ _Dean_ _'_ _on her inner thigh. Anyone with information on this woman_ _'_ _s identity, please call the following number._ _"_

If you could have seen Dean's face when the report was running, you would have seen a man who in the span of twenty seconds lost _everything_ he'd had left. What happened next was not pretty. He told Sam to step on it to the Topeka morgue and at first he denied and rationalized and panicked, calling her number a hundred more times even though her phone was off or dead. He said lots of girls might have a tattoo of the name Dean on their inner thigh, he said it couldn't be her, she wouldn't do that, she wouldn't leave the bunker, she wouldn't _kill_ herself _my god she would never do that Sam_. But they got to the morgue and he rushed in hotheaded and emotional and when he saw that it _was_ her… he _lost_ it completely. Sam would never forget that day nor the chain of events it set off.

Through tears and hysterics Dean demanded they give him her body but they refused because she had no identification and her fingerprints hadn't come back yet and it was against protocol. Desperate, Dean started trying anything and everything—he claimed he was her spouse, he flashed his FBI badge, he begged and pleaded without pride. And when they apologized in earnest and again said _sorry no_ he would have to wait until they went through the proper procedure, Dean went berserk and knocked two morgue workers out cold and Sam was then forced to assist his brother in a barely-successful bodysnatching.

They took her body back to the bunker. And there on Dean's bed, they found her suicide note waiting in a plain white envelope. His name was on it and Dean saw that and lost it yet again and refused to read it and went into a rage. He crumpled it up and threw it at a wall and didn't go to his room again. Instead, Dean became a complete madman. He refused to burn her body or bury it, insisting that he was going to 'find a fucking way' to 'get them both back.' He put her in a freezer and for days, he tore through the library and hid behind stacks of books, lore, and spells as he drank himself into oblivion and abused pills that were meant to help people stay awake. He summoned demons and tortured them to try and get them to pull tricks and fix things but it was ludicrous and Dean was grasping at straws. He didn't eat, didn't sleep. He paced, he cursed, he broke things. He would lose it and crumble emotionally here and there, but when Sam tried to approach and comfort, Dean would fly back into his rage and throw things and shout abuses and become even more angry than before. Finally, about five days into the mania, Sam cold-clocked Dean and pinned him down and shouted that it had to stop or Dean was going to kill himself. The brothers fought physically and Dean broke down for real and in between shouted despairs and hard-fisted punches, he had some kind of breakthrough. And finally, that night, after a long _long_ confrontation they barely survived, Dean agreed to burying Jamie (but not to burning her). The brothers dug her grave out beside the bunker and Dean was useless and Sam had to take over. And when Sam put two crosses in the ground—one for Jamie who now rested below the earth and one for Alex, whose body they didn't even have—the brothers realized anew what they had lost. But this time, instead of pitting themselves at odds against one another, they mourned together.

Bloodied by each other's fists, the brothers sat side by side outside in front of the graves. They were both similarly defeated-looking with slumped shoulders and tired eyes and battered faces. In silence, they remained like that under the dark and starry night sky. Two silent crosses stared back at them. One with the initials J.R.W. and the other with A.E.W.

Dean was the one who finally, softly broke the silence that had spanned for longer than either could sum. "Why do we do what we do if it ends like this, Sam?" His voice was hoarse from shouting and from dehydration. His lip was swollen and puffy and his cheek had a huge purple bruise courtesy of Sam's fist. His face was a mask of pain, but of the emotional kind, not physical.

Beside him, Sam stared blankly and his expression mirrored his brother's. His nose ran red out of one nostril. "To save people," he replied in a sandpaper voice, but it sounded automatic and rehearsed and like Sam didn't know, either.

Dean looked disgusted and defeated and incapable of caring about anything. "What the fuck do people even _matter_?" he asked. His tears were easy to hear in his unsteady voice and his eyes shined as he looked at those two crosses. " _They_ mattered. And look where they ended up." He let out a shuddering breath and his voice cracked and went higher as his composure failed. "I just want my girls back, Sam. I just want them _back._ "

Sam swallowed hard, obviously fighting tears too. It took him a long time to muster up his reply. "She'd probably _hate_ me," he whispered brokenly, thinking about his sister and how he'd left her on her own— _again_ —when she had needed him.

Dean gave a surprisingly cynical laugh through his tears. "No," he said, shaking his head. "She wouldn't. She'd be mad, but she'd give you another chance, because that's what she _always_ did." He looked at her grave marker with an indescribable expression. "Always gave everyone another damn chance, always forgave _no matter what_." He looked down and let out a weak, shaking laugh as a tear rolled down his cheek. "I used to think she was fucking weak for that shit, you know that?" His expression worked hard against pain. "Now… I think it was actually strength." He shook his head and looked down, regret etched across his haggard face. "It's _hard_ to give people second chances, man. So damn hard." Again, he shook his head, at a loss for how to understand how she had always found the ability to do just that. "But somehow… I dunno. She always did."

The brothers fell into mutual silence in which they thought about their sister who had been the silent backup, the getaway driver, the dependable sidekick, the cover-fire, the backbone. The first to stick up for her own. The last to give up on things she really believed in. The one who was good at drawing and bad at patience. The messiest one, the shortest one, the one who could say more with just a look than most people could say with a microphone. It wasn't the same without her and it never would be. But they'd tried selling their souls to bring her back and no one was buying. They'd tried to get into Purgatory and had no luck. Cas had been totally sure she was dead. And so Dean didn't know what was left to do but accept it and try to carry on. But how were you supposed to carry on in this miserable existence without one of your lifelong best friends? No one else in the _world_ would ever mean what Alex had. No one could replace her. No one knew Dean quite like Sam and Alex did. But especially Alex, who Dean had never tried to hide his gentle, nurturing side from. There was a bond between them that he didn't think anyone else in the world had ever shared. There wasn't a time in their lives when they hadn't been close or together. Well, until Cas came along and Dean had been a dick, but you know. That had been a phase. Dean had perspective these days. Now, he was glad his sister had gotten to experience loving someone and being loved back. Especially since her life had been cut short like it had. She had deserved better. And god, he missed her so much...

Beside Dean in deep thought of his own, Sam spoke up again softly. "You still wanna help me close these gates, Dean?" He sounded worried, but offered Dean a way out despite his own doubts and fears. "If you need a break or if you need to walk away point blank… I'll understand."

Dean considered it for a brief second then shook his head no strongly. He wasn't okay and probably wouldn't be ever again and honestly he was thinking about killing himself at this point, too… but he needed to help Sam through these trials first. Help him finish strong. He had to be the big brother the twins had looked up to in years past. He had to be solid and reliable and there for them one last time. He had to do Alex proud and not leave Sam alone in this. "No," he said grimly and heavily, forcing himself to speak even though he was so exhausted that he could barely function. "I'm gonna stick with you and do what I can. Because that's who we are and what we do." Saving people. Hunting things. The family business, as he'd put it once. But shutting Hell down… he couldn't help but think of the woman whose body he had just buried. "She's down there, Sam," he whispered, and he was terrified because he _knew_ what Hell was like and he wouldn't wish that on anyone, much less the woman who had been the love of his life. And he knew no way to get her out and it _killed_ him. "She's in Hell. I couldn't save her. I couldn't save _either_ of them."

Sam looked at his brother with a tense, concerned, empathetic expression for a long moment then pulled out a crumpled piece of paper from his jacket pocket and offered it to Dean who recoiled slightly because he recognized that white wad of paper immediately. It was the unread suicide note he'd thrown at the wall. He began to shake and lose emotional control again. "I can't read that, Sam. I _can_ _'_ _t_."

Obviously Sam hadn't read it—it was sealed in its envelope and still wadded up, but he seemed to think it was important either way. He held it out further. "I think you need to," he counseled gently. What, for closure? For healing? For catharsis?

Dean was full of sick dread and denial but after a long moment of deliberation he took it from his brother and nodded and smoothed the envelope out slowly with trembling hands. It had his name on the front in Jamie's bold handwriting and it made Dean's chest constrict so tight that it hurt. This made it realer somehow. More final. And he didn't want either of those things. Sam gave his brother an encouraging squeeze on the shoulder then stood up and walked off, giving his brother some space for what he was about to do. But he remained close by and watchful just in case. Dean took a very long few moments to work up the ability to open the envelope with shaking hands and pull out the wrinkled letter inside. With a churning stomach and a gutted heart and trembling breath, Dean smoothed out and then read what Jamie had left to him in her final hours.

_Dean._

_I_ _'_ _m so sorry. I know what I_ _'_ _m doing will hurt you. But I can_ _'_ _t live my life like this and I can_ _'_ _t watch you give everything you are to try and save me_ _. Two days from now the Hellhounds will come. No one can stop that or run forever. This is my last act of freedom. I choose to die on my terms. I know you will blame yourself but please, please. Don_ _'_ _t. Baby, don_ _'_ _t. I_ _'_ _m the one who sold my soul, not you. I know you would have saved me if you could have. But some people can_ _'_ _t be saved. Remember that if you hear nothing else I write on this page. Thank you for trying. No one has cared that much about me in a long, long time and it means the world to me. I know I liked to act like you were a big annoying idiot a lot of the time but I hope you know how much I really respect and care about you. How thankful I am that you took me in, so to speak. This thing we_ _'_ _ve had going between us saved a part of me I didn_ _'_ _t think could get saved. For what it_ _'_ _s worth, you made me believe in love again which was a miracle in and of itself. I thought I could never trust a man ever again. And then you came along.  
_

_I know I come across as cold and closed off and non-emotional so much of the time. I really wish I knew how to be different but I am who I am. Still._ _There's so much I wish I could tell you, so much I feel guilty about, so much I regret. We didn_ _'_ _t have enough time and I didn_ _'_ _t share everything with you. Please forgive me for the mistakes I_ _'_ _ve made. Be brave Dean. Be strong like you always are. Don_ _'_ _t worry about me. I_ _'_ _m a big girl and can handle myself. Hell is not ready for this bitch, all right? They don_ _'_ _t even know the shit I_ _'_ _m about to start down in there. So don_ _'_ _t you fucking dare do anything stupid on my account._

_Dean, I never had enough balls to tell you the actual words but I think you know how I felt about you... how could you not? Falling in love was the last thing I thought would happen to me, and least of all with you._ _Being your girl was the highlight of my life, as lame as that might sound. We made something beautiful together, something no one can ever take away._ _I will never regret us. I hope you don_ _'_ _t either._ _You weren_ _'_ _t just my boyfriend, you were my friend. And I needed that. Thank you._

_I don_ _'_ _t know how to end this letter except to say raise a couple cold ones in my name and burn my body if you can. If and when you try to do something to bring me back_ _…_ _I promise I_ _'_ _ll haunt your ass for all eternity._

She had signed the letter 'Jamie' but then crossed that out and written 'James' instead. _His_ nickname for her, the one she'd always rolled her eyes at, the one he had only started calling her just to annoy her. And Dean remembered this brassy blonde girl knocking on his door in the middle of the damn night and how he had been standing there all stupid in smiling candy cane boxers and how he'd had _zero_ idea of how much he would come to fucking love that girl in front of him or how hard he would fight to save her and how she would make him believe in relationships that lasted and how he would walk by jewelry stores and wonder what kind of diamond she would tolerate and what way he would use to ask her if he ever got around to now he was heartbroken and grieving her and never thought he would be the same ever again. She was gone. She had given up and left him and he had been _so close_ to saving her. Dean wept at her graveside and clenched that letter tight, cursing her relentlessly for what she had done and also loving her even more than he already had.

He remembered the look in her eyes when he'd waved to her and said, "Seeya later, weirdo!" the last time he saw her alive. Now he knew why she'd looked vaguely ill and he knew she'd already had this planned and he wanted to _shoot_ himself and go back in time and cry until he vomited. _This isn_ _'_ _t right. God, Jamie, why would you do this to me?! How could you leave me like this? I don_ _'_ _t understand why you didn_ _'_ _t tell me. I thought I_ knew _you. I thought you trusted me to get you out of this! I was going to! I was so damn close, why couldn_ _'_ _t you have waited? Trusted? Why didn_ _'_ _t you tell me?! Why, Jesus Christ,_ _ **why**_ _!?_

That question of 'why' would haunt him for a long time to come. And he didn't know how hard Jamie had fought with herself over whether or not to tell him about their child. In the end, she had left that part out.

* * *

**One Week Later  
Lincoln, Nebraska**

Castiel blinked a couple times and frowned.

_Where am I?_

He saw a park before him and wasn't sure where he had been before this. He had no memory and his head hurt just behind his right-hand eye. Disoriented and confused, Castiel looked around at the unremarkable scenery and then abruptly realized he _knew_ this place.

_Wait. Wait a minute._

Something deep inside of his chest stirred, ached, and clenched. How could he have forgotten? This park—and the picnic table he stood next to—it was the place where he had asked (more like convinced and coaxed) Alex to marry him. Deep sadness washed over him immediately at the thought of her and he remembered her as she had been that day: beautiful and smiling at him sidelong as they shared candy and conversation. He remembered her saying a word to him he treasured beyond anything in this realm or the next: _yes_. And now she was _gone_. With flooding eyes and renewed grief, Castiel looked sidelong to the place where he knew their picnic table was. And then, at the sight of it, he was shocked out of his emotional state. Carved into the top of it were two words.

_SHE_ _'_ _S NOT_

She's not? She's not _what_? Castiel looked at the words and didn't understand but they set his pulse racing, they made him immediately drift closer to study them. He could tell that the words were not freshly carved. They were slightly weathered, perhaps by a week or two, but _still_. Castiel then he realized he was holding some kind of hunting knife in his hand and… there was blood on it. A sense of alarm struck him. _Whose blood is this?_ He looked around in a daze, then realized his left sleeve was rolled up to his elbow, leaving his entire forearm exposed. Cut into the skin of his arm were three words.

_ALEX IS STILL_

His heart jumped, his stomach flipped, his breath stopped. Alex is still _what_? There was an empty space of skin approaching his wrist where it seemed a final word he never wrote had been meant to go. With a racing heart and alarmed, frantic mind, Cas looked around quickly, trying to figure out why he was here and what these words meant. And as he turned in a slow circle, he realized he had been here before—many, many times. On the side of the colorful tube connecting the slide to the walkway on the playground, the words _NAOMI HAS_ were burned, then on the slide, _ALEX IS_. Some men were repainting the small bathroom building that was nearby and Cas saw one huge word painted there in what looked like blood: _ALIVE_. And seared into the sidewalk that lead to the bathroom was the word _REMEMBER_.

Dizzy and breathless and _so confused_ that he couldn't even think, Castiel's eyes were wide and he wondered if this was what it felt like to have a heart attack. And then before him, an angel appeared. She was small and delicately-featured with jet-black hair and sharp eyes and a beautiful, youthful face. Castiel did not know her and immediately took a wary step back. "Who are you?" he asked suspiciously.

She looked around at all of his handiwork with a knowing, unimpressed expression. "I see you've been trying this again," she said lowly, then gave him an impatient, cool expression. "You're coming back to Heaven with me. Naomi says you need a new inhibitor."

Castiel shook his head, eyeing this strange angel closely. "I'm not going anywhere with you."

The stranger smiled patronizingly—a formality. "She said you would say that." Wordlessly, the angel produced an object that made Castiel's entire universe go still. A penny on a chain. And the penny was discolored by a sick smear of red _blood_. Immediately fearing the worst even though he had _no memory_ of what was happening, Castiel went with the angel without question.

Once in Heaven, Castiel remembered everything and fought, but Naomi was ready for that and had five angels there to restrain him from a rescue attempt as she used Alex yet again to force him to accept another inhibitor. Alex was cut up, bloodied and silent, alarmed and obviously _terrified_ of what was happening to her—and Castiel fought to get to her and cried and begged Naomi to let her go, to leave her out of it, to stop hurting her. Naomi did not listen but only grew angrier then sent Castiel back to his task of finding Lucifer's crypts with his new inhibitor. She was vexed—he was the _only one_ who wore the inhibitors out. He was the _only one_ who was creating these problems for her. She was determined to win, to see him turn back into the angel he used to be. In time, she would break him of his love for that human girl. It was a disease and a defect, nothing more.

In the meantime, Naomi threw Alex Winchester back into a lonely, silent, dark place in Heaven. Alex didn't know who she was or what was happening and she was hurt, petrified, anxious, alone. She had seen the man in the trench coat several times now. Every time she saw him, she wanted to cry out to him, "Save me!" But she had no voice, and she didn't think he was able to save her, either.

* * *

**Three Weeks Later  
**

It was four weeks since Jamie's death. The Winchester boys were holding steady but not exactly doing great. Three days after beginning the trials, Sam began to cough up blood and feel weaker. He did not tell Dean either of these things because he didn't think his brother could take it.

Dean sank into a deep depression, the total opposite of his frenzied behavior previously. He did nothing but sleep, watch TV, and yes, of course, drink. He had a constant five o'clock shadow and no drive to do anything. Talking, getting dressed, showering—none of it. Sensitive to his brother's mourning, Sam turned down two jobs Garth alerted him about and Garth passed the hunts off to other hunters.

Resigned to waiting, Sam kept tabs on Kevin, hopeful that the prophet would soon know more about the second and third trial. And when he finally mustered the courage, Sam went to see Molly and end things. They'd been texting so she knew the gist of things—that Jamie had died and Dean was not doing well and that Sam was 'doing something really huge.' But he didn't tell her anything else really. Talking to her through those safe, quiet, constant texts had kind of kept him sane and helped him through. When he showed up at her apartment, she noticed his paler color and darker under-eye circles and general appearance of oncoming illness and had immediately been worried but he of course said it was nothing, just a virus. And he said he couldn't be with her and he didn't even know why he had thought he ever could have been and she should find someone normal, stable, and safe. And she cried because she realized he was breaking up with her and he hugged her and apologized over and over again for being stupid enough to try at a relationship he never should have tried at. Molly seemed to accept that he didn't want to be with her like she had expected it and that made for an awkward, sad, final goodbye in which she looked embarrassed and sad. Sam said he hoped they could be friends. She looked like he'd suggested she eat worms. Then he left and they were both brokenhearted, but Sam felt like even though he hated it, he had done the right thing. He couldn't drag someone else down with him into this life. Jamie and Alex were dead. Jess was dead, Madison was dead, Amy was dead. Sam couldn't take another girl cold and buried underneath the ground because of him. Especially not Molly. He was just so sorry he had caused her unnecessary pain. He missed her immediately and had to fight himself not to text her. It was all for the best. He told himself that over and over again.

After about three and a half weeks of depression in the bunker and Dean laying in a robe on the couch with a blank stare, Sam could take no more and insisted they do something that would get them out of the bunker and maybe out of their slump, too. Dean agreed very halfheartedly, but he wasn't committed or enthused whatsoever. Sam however _needed_ something to focus on and so a string of bizarre deaths in Indiana caught his attention and seemed like just the thing. He took lead because Dean was so blah about everything, and it was tough to do so because he felt so shaken and scared inside and was constantly coughing up flecks of blood. But for once, Sam wanted to be the strong one. He wanted to be the rock, the anchor. Everything he hadn't been in the past.

Once the boys reached Indiana, they questioned a man whose wife had suddenly began acting strange before her death. She had been digging up different sections of the town and speaking to strange people on the phone in secret conversations he couldn't quite catch. The man showed them a model of the town his dead wife had been working on, and explained that he saw her eyes turn black for a moment while she'd been working on it. She had been found dead a day or two ago with her eyes burned out and insides melted. There were a couple other deaths just like that which had happened in the past couple weeks, too.

Unsure of what to do with knowledge that someone seemed to be killing demons for them, the Winchesters carried on and investigated a woman with whom the man's wife had been in contact with before she died. This woman came to the door with her hair in rollers and was embarrassed that the 'FBI' was there and seeing her in her bathrobe and slippers, but she welcomed them inside and said she and her friend had been working to recreate a map of the town prior to a flood that destroyed it. Before she could divulge more, a knock at the door brought three demons who instantly recognized the Winchesters and attacked. Dean was a little sluggish and out of practice and as such Sam was sort of on his own and just about to get ganked by a black-eyed bastard… when _Castiel_ appeared and intervened at the last moment to save Sam. Immediately, it was clear that Cas was… _off._ He seemed emotionless and glazed over, almost drugged or something. He acted like nothing was amiss and that his sudden reappearance was not something to be shocked at.

He not only smote the demon who'd been about to finish Sam but he captured a second one who had possessed the woman with hair curlers. Currently, Castiel was in the kitchen of the house and Sam and Dean were in the living room. Dean tossed an ice pack at Sam, trying to be business-as-usual and not look as jangled as he was. "Put this on your shoulder."

Sam would have normally thrown the pack away petulantly. But that day, he humored his brother and sat down on the couch then pressed the pack to his shoulder, even as he let out a tense breath through his nose. "I'm _fine_ , Dean." Had been _thisclose_ to dying, but hey. He was fine. Ish. Dean sat beside Sam, his face held gauntly.

Castiel suddenly came into the living room from the kitchen. His face was blank and harrowed at the same time. His voice was dead and robotic. "The other demon escaped. I bound the one I caught in a devil's trap. I'm going to interrogate it now."

Sam didn't think so and stood up fast even though he felt a little woozy inside. "Wait a second," he said roughly, because this was insane. The ice pack was forgotten. "How about you answer some questions first? Like, where the hell have you _been_?"

Cas stopped and hesitated, then looked back at Sam warily. "Busy. I've been very busy."

Sam waited for more details and gave his friend an expectant, demanding look. Something was off here. "With _what_?"

Cas turned around fully and seemed to realize he owed an explanation, but he didn't look happy about it. "Hunting down demons. Doing things that matter." He sat down in the easy chair across from the boys.

Sam's shock increased. "Wait, so this is _you_? All the demon murders? _Why_?"

A faint instance of panic flew over Cas's face so fast Sam thought he imagined it. And then Cas answered flatly. "I've been searching for the other half of the demon tablet."

Dean finally found his voice and he was bitter, cynical, offended. "… _Without_ us? After disappearing and leaving us in the dark? Dude, we were _worried._ And by the way, a whole bunch of _shit_ we could have used you on went down so thanks for that _._ "

Cas gave the hunter a testy glance and he wasn't exactly friendly. "I've been trying to _help_ , Dean. You two would only slow me down."

Clearly insulted and stung, Dean covered over with sarcasm. "Gee, _thanks_ Cas. Good to know. Glad you haven't lost that sweethearted nature of yours." And then Dean asked his next question like he was accusing Cas of something: "You okay? I mean shit goes sideways and the whole with Alfie and then the bleeding eye and then we don't hear from you for however long and I pray to you constantly and you never even fucking give me the time of day… I was starting to think _you_ were dead, too! And now _this_? What's going on with you, man?"

Sam felt mild surprise. Dean had prayed to Cas? The angel's jaw tightened and he looked down, avoiding eye contact briefly as he spoke in a defensive, guarded tone. "Nothing is 'going on' with me, Dean. Is it really so hard to understand that I've been _working_?"

Dean was pissed at Cas's heartless response. " _Yes_!"

It was like they were both angry about things other than what they were actually talking about. "Well, I'm sorry you fail to grasp a simple concept like that, Dean," Cas said sarcastically, and Dean gaped indignantly. Cas ignored it and looked at Sam again with a dogged, grim expression. He seemed apathetic and unaffected. "Now listen. In my search, I uncovered that Crowley has sent out demons to find Lucifer's crypts."

The mention of Lucifer made Sam's blood run cold. "Wait, what? L-Lucifer had… _crypts_?"

"Yes. Dozens of them, apparently."

Faltering and not sure why Cas was acting so bizarrely, Sam was cautious. He sat down slowly, trying to be calm and smart and shrewd. "Okay but… why the storage wars? I mean, what the hell are they all looking for?"

What later would be discovered to be a bald-faced lie came out of Castiel's mouth without even so much as the slightest indication. "They're looking for a parchment that would allow them to decipher Crowley's half of the demon tablet without a prophet."

"…a demonic decoder ring?" Dean asked, disgusted. "In Crowley's hands? Just friggin' _great_ …" He rolled his eyes and muttered to himself in terrible attitude, obviously wanting to be done with everything.

Cas looked at the floor and spoke like he was reading off a script. "The crypts were lost over time. Only those closest to Lucifer knew their whereabouts."

"Then how did _Crowley_ find them?" Sam pressed.

Cas's startlingly blue eyes flicked up to Sam. "His demons have been possessing locals who may have some special knowledge."

Sam had to admit that _did_ make sense. "That would explain some of the craziness we've seen…" he said, mulling it all over. He still didn't understand all the parts to this puzzle yet though, and Dean's blasé presence wasn't helpful either. Sam tried to ask all the right questions to uncover the truth. "But how did they know where to start looking in the first place?"

"I don't know." Cas stood from the easy chair he'd sat in, effectively closing the subject. "I'm hoping the strange-haired demon in the kitchen is more knowledgeable than the others I interrogated." He headed toward the kitchen without anything further and then disappeared from sight through the doorway.

Dean watched with an unhappy, dour expression. "Well, he puts the 'ass' in 'Cas,' huh?" he muttered.

Sam had to admit his brother had a point. "He's definitely off," he conceded quietly.

" _Off_?" Dean repeated disapprovingly. "He hasn't been _right_ since he got back from Purgatory. We still don't know how he got out of there." Dean looked grim and wary and suspicious and faintly ill. "This isn't him. The Cas I knew wouldn't just disappear and then turn back up and be all heartless Cas-hole. Someone's doing something to him or something, I don't know."

Sam gave his brother a skeptical sidelong look. "If he's so sketchy, then why were you praying to him?"

Dean stood up angrily. "I was piss-ass _drunk_ every time I prayed to him, okay?" He sent a furtive, hard glance at the kitchen and swept the subject under a rug. "You keep an eye out."

Sam rose slowly. You didn't have to tell him twice. "Don't worry, I will."

The brothers followed Castiel into the kitchen where his interrogation methods proved to be bloody and shocking and a very far cry from angelic. The demon revealed that she and the demons she was working with had a hostage. One of Crowley's pets. Someone who had seen these crypts, apparently. She said the name of the hotel where their hostage was being kept and was trying to say something else when Castiel stabbed her to death without any single warning. He then disappeared and left the Winchesters shocked, pissed, and confused with no choice but to race over to the location the demon had given. When they got there, they found Cas, some more dead demons, and in the bathroom, a very familiar hostage.

* * *

She was bloody and battered and looked like she had been run over by a dump truck, but Meg smirked as usual as she flopped down on the bed and delicately brushed at her wrists where too-tight ropes had just been. She folded her legs underneath herself and sat there, perched like a little bloody bird. Around her head, a halo of badly-dyed blonde hair. Blood was smeared into some of the ends, resulting in a garish effect. She grinned around at the boys who were giving her dark, guarded looks. "Gosh, I feel like the gang's all here!" she said, then made a slight face. "Well, except for the pretty one." She winked at Cas, who was stone-faced and cross-armed at the window. "Pray tell, where's my favorite Winchester, hmm?" She smiled around stupidly but began to get a frown instead as she saw the _looks_ on the men's faces. "What? Was it something I said?"

Sam was the one who said it. "She's dead, Meg."

Genuine, non-theatrical surprise showed on Meg's face and for a moment, she looked like a real person. "Hold the phone. _Dead_?" She looked incensed and confused and shocked, looking to Cas for an explanation. The angel was silent and still like a statue.

"It's none of your goddamn business," Dean said in an unsteady, furious voice he managed to keep in check. "You ask again and I'll stab you in the throat, we clear?"

Meg turned a faintly disdainful gaze onto him. "Charming," she commented flatly.

Dean got a hold of himself and forced a fake, patronizing smile. "So I gotta ask. What's up with the hair?"

"Aw thanks for noticing, Dean, but this wasn't my idea, it was Crowley's." Meg grinned widely, showing off bloody teeth. "It's just another reason I wanna stab him in the face." She said it cheerfully, which made for odd effect.

Sam frowned. "Wait a second, you've been telling _Crowley_ the location of Lucifer's crypts."

Becoming a touch more sarcastic, Meg's smile turned into a wan expression. "What can I say, I needed a break from the constant _torture_. And I did visit them during my time with Yellow-Eyes." Her self-pleased smile returned and lounged lazily across her face as she turned her gaze onto Cas. "But don't worry, I haven't exactly been giving them the Glen Gary leads."

He had a frown fixed onto his stern face. "You mean you've been lying to them."

"I just get them in the ballpark," Meg said. "Enough time's passed and enough's changed that they bought it."

Dean was starting to get interested in this. "Why lie?" he asked darkly.

"Buy myself some time, dummy?" Meg asked patronizingly. "Find a way to get free?"

Sam shook his head. "Wait, so… a bunch of innocent died so you could buy yourself some time?"

Meg tilted her head to the side and smiled cynically. "Hi I'm Meg, I'm a demon."

Fair enough.

"So what have they found?" Cas asked.

"Bupkis," Meg replied leisurely. "Every crypt's been one Al Capone's waltz after another. And on top of that, _someone_ kept picking up the trail and icing demons." Her smile was distinctly flirtatious and hungry. "I'm guessing that was you, Castiel." She scoffed in faint annoyance. "But Crowley just keeps sending more. He's hellbent on finding that angel tablet."

The brother's both sat back in unison. "There's an _angel_ tablet?" Sam asked in disbelief.

"You know I get why Crowley calls you Moose now!" Meg wisecracked in false-flatterly to Sam's utter annoyance. "Yes. Angel tablet. Crowley found out Lucifer had it, figures it's stashed in a crypt."

The brothers both looked at Cas, both wondering the same thing. Had he known about this…? Cas looked a little unsure of what to say and quickly gave a flimsy, "Well. This is news to me as well." Notably uncomfortable, Cas gave a feeble attempt at saving face. "The demons I interrogated, they must have been lying about their true intentions."

" _Really_?" Dean asked, letting his doubt turn his voice to gravel. "'Cause I saw you zero dark thirty that demon. You were _more_ than persuasive." Challengingly, he waited for Cas to reply.

"You're both missing the _point_ , boys," Meg said, tiredly like she was talking to children. "I _lied_ to them which means they're digging in the wrong place. But not for long. They'll be back here soon." She smiled tightly. "So who's up for _fleeing_?"

"She's right," Sam said, and his brow drew tight as he realized this had just become urgent. "We need to find those crypts before they do." He looked at the demon who he had a pretty complicated history with and he really hated it but… it was true. "Meg. You're the only one who's been there."

Cas nodded somberly and said what Sam hadn't quite been able to. "We need your help."

Meg looked pleased. "Any of you dummies got a map?"

* * *

They went back to the empty house's basement where one of Cas's demon murder victims had feverishly been working on a small-scale city replica. Meg used that and showed Dean and Sam the place that the crypts would be then wandered off in search of alcohol. Cas followed her, leaving the brothers alone. Sam used his laptop to try and figure out what sort of infrastructure would be in the place Meg claimed the crypts were. As he did that, Dean paced behind him slowly and grimly.

"He lied to us. Disappeared for however long this has been, turns back up and straight up _lies._ "

"Yeah, maybe," Sam acknowledged. "But I can kinda understand why. I mean, an angel tablet? If the demon tablet can shut the gates of Hell, what could the angel tablet do?"

"Cas knows he can _trust_ us, Sam!" Dean hissed, and glanced upward, like he was paranoid that Cas was listening in. "I don't like this, man. What the fuck is _happening_ , huh?"

* * *

Upstairs, Meg lounged on a couch with a bottle of whiskey and Cas took a seat near her in a chair he pulled over. He had a first-aid kit he had found in the kitchen and Meg smirked lazily. Was he seriously about to kiss her boo-boos? Sure enough. He took hold of her arm and studied her wrist where the ropes had dug into her skin until it bled. "These wounds have festered," he proclaimed flatly in that constipated deep voice of his.

"Well well well, Doctor Angel reporting for duty?" Meg teased, her voice full of dark humor. Cas said nothing to that but looked mildly annoyed as he pulled out some gauze from the kit and began to wrap Meg's wrist. She watched him with a wolfish smile, enjoying herself and wondering why the fuck he would do this. His motivation didn't matter but she tried, like she always did, to unnerve and be inappropriate. "You really do know how to make a girl's nethers quiver, don't you?" she drawled.

Cas glanced up at her just barely and sounded depressed when he replied. "I am aware of how to do that, yes." Oh yeah. Alex. "Although it doesn't usually involve cleaning wounds."

"Oh yeah?" Meg challenged seductively, moving past the twinge of interest and sympathy she felt at his reference to baby Winchester. "What's it usually involve?" Castiel made no reply and Meg set him with an arched eyebrow and watched him for a moment. He continued to wrap her wrist tightly and she called foul about this entire thing. "You know, call me a cynic but you seem sorta… not your usual trench-coaty self, Clarence. Your favorite Winchester gets killed off and you're just… what, business as usual? Majorly O-O-C if you ask me."

Cas's jaw clenched. "I still don't know who Clarence is." He did not answer her question about Alex. Curiouser and curiouser.

"Would it kill you to watch a movie, read a book?" Meg asked, then took a swig directly out of her bottle of booze. This guy had been around longer than she had and was as pop-culture inept as they came.

"A movie, no," Cas replied, distracted with his task of wrapping her wounds needlessly. "But a book with the proper spells—yeah, it could, theoretically, kill me."

Meg was mildly disgusted at his literal sense. "Oh my god, are you _serious_?" When it became apparently that he was, she chuckled and settled further back down into the couch pillows and looked at the neatly-wrapped wrist she was now owner of. Cas was wrapping her other wrist now and having to lean a little further because of her slouched posture. She watched him and had to admit, he was interesting if nothing else. "So, which Cas are you now?" she purred. "Original make and model or crazy town?"

The question seemed to truly still Castiel, who took a moment and had to think. Appearing mildly disturbed, he frowned. "I'm… just me," he finally replied, but he seemed entirely depressed about the fact.

"So, your noodle's back in order?" she pressed. After all, she'd seen him at the height of his crazy not that long ago.

Cas's eyes crimped up and he looked at her with a totally lost and somewhat suspicious expression. "What _noodle_?"

"Mm." Meg pulled a face. "I can't decide if you're adorable or completely _annoying_." She took another swig from her bottle and then watched as Cas finished wrapping her other wrist. "So. Anyone ever gonna tell me what happened to Ariel or is that classified information?" Meg tried to disguise the fact that she actually _really_ wanted to know the details.

Cas's eyes slowly raised to look into Meg's. "She died."

A factual reply but there was a waver of emotion behind it. Meg's eyes narrowed because she didn't buy this Robo-Castiel thing and didn't know why Clarence was acting so stick-up-the-ass. "Yeah I got that much, laser-brain. _How_."

Frowning deeply and thinking hard, the angel's eyes cast back and forth over the floor. "I'm not… not completely sure, to be honest with you."

Not completely sure? Well _that_ didn't smell fishy! Meg looked at him like he was certifiable. "And you're just _okay_ with that? Not gonna move every dimension to bring her back and find out?" When Cas said and did nothing in response, Meg gave a disillusioned scoffing laugh. "Man, things _really_ change when you're tortured by a demon for a year. Never thought I'd see the day when you couldn't give two craps about your little human toy."

Cas's nostrils flared and he sounded angry. A real emotion, finally. "She wasn't—she's not a toy." Present tense. Meg frowned _. Interesting._ As quickly as Cas had shown some emotion, it was gone. He began to speak in that dark, apathetic voice yet again. "But she doesn't matter anymore. I'm an angel. I serve Heaven, not man."

Meg snorted and looked him over closely. Something was going on here with trench-coat. Something she couldn't quite put her finger on but wanted to. No way did she buy the shit he was peddling. She decided to slide a little information out onto the table to see how he reacted. "So riddle me this. What would you say if I told you your homegirl Alex tortured me on Crowley's behest while you were in Purgatory? And man, that little wifey of yours knows how to make a girl scream, I'll tell you that much." She winked.

Cas looked mildly horrified and genuinely shocked. "Why would she do that?"

"Work for Crowley?" Meg prompted cooly. "You got me, but hey, you did it first so maybe she was just following your stellar example." She set him with a triumphant and smug little smile and he looked sickened. "But you don't care, remember? She doesn't 'matter anymore.'" Cas was silent and disturbed and looked confused about what he was doing. Meg rolled her eyes. He was a mess. Probably still a few screws lose in the head. She chuckled cynically and looked at the half-empty bottle in her hand. "You know, I miss the apocalypse, Clarence. I mean, it was simpler, you gotta admit. I was bad. You were good. Life was easier. Now it's all so messy. I'm kind of good, which sucks. And you're kind of…" she trailed off because she couldn't figure it out. Mostly he seemed completely defeated. " _Broken_ ," she finally settled on.

He contemplated her word choice tensely. "Yes," he said softly. "That's how I feel."

Disliking how serious and potentially genuine the moment had suddenly become, Meg threw out a lewd suggestion to make sure and spoil it. "If you need some comfort sex, I'm your girl, kay?" She winked and looked at him in a way that would make anyone uncomfortable.

Expectably revolted, Cas sat back but his eyes were far away and he looked close to tears. Almost like he wasn't really there in that room at all. "Nothing would ever comfort me except to have her back," he said softly, then he looked at Meg in distaste. "And I find your offer extremely inappropriate." He then got up and walked away and stood at a nearby window and stared out of it listlessly.

When Sam and Dean came out of the basement, Meg intercepted them and asked them in a voice only they could hear: "Yo, anyone else noticed the cracked out angel in the room?"

They were forever-wary of her and obviously didn't like her. Sam glanced at Dean then looked at Meg suspiciously. "What do you mean?"

Meg shrugged. "One minute he says he doesn't care about his dearly departed, the next he's moping around about her and about to start playing a tiny violin. Anyone else think that's all kinds of wonky?" The brothers exchanged yet another look and then seemed to silently decide a conversation with her would be pointless. They brushed past, leaving Meg to feel a little wounded. "Are we still doing the ignore-Meg thing?" She asked. No answer. She followed them with a mutter. "Geez Louise, _fine_."

* * *

The crypt was below a Winchester favorite: an abandoned old building. Under the cover of night, the group of four headed in with Meg semi-leading and Dean refusing to let her. "Basement?" she suggested.

"No, attic," Dean retorted, not even looking at her. "All right, Cas and I will head in and get our Indiana Jones on. Sam, you stay outside with Meg."

"What?" Sam looked at his brother in vast surprise as they continued to approach the building.

"We got this," was Dean's curt reply.

Getting more and more agitated, Sam threw his arms out. "What are you talking about, Dean? I'm not letting you go in there _alone_."

"He won't _be_ alone," Cas reasoned stiffly.

"That's not what I mean," Sam protested. "Meg can hang here, watch our backs."

Dean seemed to think that was funny. "Oh, what? Now you trust Meg?"

"Hey, I got you this far," the demon put in.

"Shut up, Meg," Sam said. " _Dean_ —"

Dean finally stopped and leveled with his brother by pointing at him. "Sam, I saw your bloody rag in the trash can, okay?" Sam looked stunned, then guilty, then like he was trying to come up with an excuse. "I know you're sick or whatever, so… no. You're staying here."

Sam still tried to cover it up. "That wasn't—"

"Stop," Dean said flatly. "Just stop. Sam, we don't know what's in there, okay? And you almost let a demon get the best of you back there."

Sam looked insulted. "So did you!" He wet his lips and insisted angrily: "I'm _fine_."

"No, you're not fine," Dean said. "You haven't been fine since the first trial."

Meg perked up. "Trial?"

In unintentional unison, the brothers said the same thing to her: "Shut up, Meg."

Sam continued to try and convince his brother, but frustration made his voice a couple notches tighter. "Dean, I'm telling you—I'm okay."

"No, you're not," Cas said grimly, and turned a very somber gaze onto the hunter. "Sam... you're damaged in ways even I can't heal." He said that and Dean's face went slack even as Sam's hardened into a glare. Cas shook his head. "Dean's right. You should stay here and protect Meg."

Meg looked like he was joking. "Since when do I need protecting?"

Apparently he still had some sass left in him. Cas looked at her directly and answered forcefully. "Since you were held captive and tortured for over a year."

She had to admit he was right there. "Touché."

That seemed to be the end of it. Dean nodded tensely and glanced at Cas and then Sam. "All right, we'll be back." He dug into his jacket and produced the demon blade. Sam took it, but unhappily. Cas and Dean strode toward a side door, leaving Sam and Meg outside. Sam obviously fuming internally and Meg rolling her eyes and resigned to being the outsider forevermore.

* * *

Cas and Dean were in the dank and dusty basement level of an old sewing factor. Down here there was nothing but cold concrete walls and rusted pipes lining the walls and awkward silence. This was _weird_. Dean's flashlight swept over more dusty floor as they turned a corner and he found it impossible to stay silent any longer. "Hey, what did you mean back there about Sam?"

Distracted and focused on other things, Cas came off as disinterested. "It's difficult to say. It's something on the subatomic level and his electromagnetic field, possibly—"

"Okay, bottom-line it for me, Bill Nye," Dean said, not interested in the jargon he wouldn't understand. "Is it lethal?"

The answer came immediately. "I don't know." Cas sounded so… non-invested. So blasé. Not really worried at all. And Dean just didn't get it. He stopped point blank and confronted his supposed-friend by getting in his path. Cas looked a little surprised by that.

"You sure you're okay?" Dean challenged gruffly, eyeing Cas closely with suspicion. "I mean, in Purgatory we were like _this_." He crossed his fingers tight together and looked at a Cas he didn't recognize. Something was _eating_ Cas alive and masking him. He seemed like he was on autopilot. And he wasn't acting like himself at all. "Something's wrong. Now you gonna tell me or what?"

Cas was gaunt and clearly defensive. "Nothing is wrong, I _told_ you. I've been _busy._ "

Bull. "Too busy for your _family_?" Dean challenged. That word caught Cas's attention and fast. Dean shook his head, fighting emotion. "Man, we _all_ lost her. Not just you. If that's what this is about, you going off into the wilderness to grieve or something, I get it. But you should have _told me_ where you were. And besides that, I really could have used you around after what happened recently."

Cas barely responded to Dean's heartfelt words. "Which is what?"

Dean had trouble thinking it. Had trouble accepting it. Could barely say it out loud. "James." He said her name and it slammed him hard in the stomach, made his voice bare and quiet. "She didn't make it."

Finally, a slight semblance of empathy and sympathy showed on Cas's face. "I'm sorry Dean."

Dean was sorry too. About a lot of shit. But he was mad, too. "Why didn't you answer me?" he asked, because he really didn't get it and was tired of being jerked around by Cas. "I prayed to you. A _lot._ " And Cas hadn't acknowledged him at all. Had ignored him outright. That shit _hurt._ They'd been like brothers in Purgatory. They had survived because of each other and come to terms in there and then Cas just dropped off the face of the earth without a good reason. Dean was trying to reserve judgment but he was in deep these days with the blame game. He wanted to point fingers and be furious and beat faces in.

"I couldn't, Dean." Cas was back to looking irritated by Dean's questions. "I didn't have _time_." He then brushed past Dean then with a strong bump of the shoulder and Dean's mouth dropped open.

Was this guy for real right now? "Cas." The angel paid him no attention, just scoped out the nearby wall as Dean followed angrily. " _Cas_! Dude, what the hell man?"

Cas leaned closer to the wall, paying the hunter little mind. "Dean. _Shh._ Wait." He began to _listen_ to the wall.

"For what?!" Dean demanded.

Cas wouldn't take his eyes off the wall. "There's a draft. There's something behind there." Wait, what? Dean looked at the unremarkable wall and remembered their mission at hand. Cas, who hadn't forgotten for a second, became all the more pinched by focus. "Stand back," he commanded, and the fierce tone there caused Dean to obey immediately. Cas put his palm flat to the wall and the high-pitched ear-searing sound of celestial energy rang out and intensified as light grew from beneath the angel's hand. Dean swallowed. Sometimes, he forgot what Cas was and what he could do. The wall cracked and then shattered and Dean had to throw an arm up to protect his face from rubble.

* * *

In her pristine white office, Naomi waited for word from Castiel. It would be coming soon. She disliked waiting like this and having to count on someone else to carry out her orders, but she also knew that she was no foot soldier and she was not the one who did the legwork. She was above that; designed for the delicate behind-the-scenes work of intelligence and surveillance and protection and supervision. Naomi glanced at the corner of her room where the girl huddled in a drugged, confused stupor. It had taken a vast array of angel spells to render the girl useless like that, but Naomi had done it with good reason. Without the modifications, after all, the human had been nothing but fight and trouble and issues. Now, she was the perfect dangling carrot. Passive, silent, and cooperative. Naomi knew today of all days, when Castiel was hot on the trail of the crypts alongside the _Winchesters_ , this dangling carrot would come in very usefully. Castiel seemed inclined to rebellion and disobedience. Some said it was all because of this human girl, too. Naomi tried to see what Castiel saw about this human, but she saw nothing that made her special from the other humans. She was a typical female specimen. And yet Castiel had proven over and over again that he would do quite literally anything to protect her. It was almost laughable.

Feeling Naomi's gaze on her, Alex Winchester looked up at the angel in clear terror. She had her knees curled into her chest and she shook slightly as if she were cold. She sat in that corner that was behind and beside Naomi's desk and even though she was obviously frightened witless, she didn't try to run or fight or even get up. Part of that was due to the slowing spell Naomi had put onto her. It caused any human to become sluggish and dull and physically weak. Pondering the human girl a moment longer, Naomi again wondered what made her appeal to Castiel. Everyone had heard of this highly forbidden dalliance between the angel and the human. Many angels had rumored that Alex Winchester was 'the most beautiful woman on the face of the earth.' But Naomi couldn't see that beauty and thought perhaps the angels were just repeating Castiel's opinion among themselves.

Just then, the glass door opened and Naomi looked up. It was Castiel. Well, a representation of him, anyway. He wasn't actually in Heaven. Just a transmission, basically. He looked dogged, tired, and gaunt. "I found it," he announced breathlessly. _The angel tablet._ Naomi stood, immediately growing urgent too.

"Tell the Winchester the crypt is empty," she said assertively, referring to Dean. "Then you can come back and—"

"It's warded against angels," he interrupted urgently.

"Well, you can come back—"

" _No_ ," he insisted more harshly, "Crowley's demons are still in town and we're running out of time. _What should I do_?"

Naomi glowered. " _Handle_ it."

That was the exact moment that Castiel caught sight of the girl huddled in the corner. His demeanor immediately wavered and his urgency gave way to alarm. "Wait. Why is she here?" Frantic eyes looked at Naomi. "What are you going to do to her?"

Just as she had predicted. This dangling carrot was a guarantee of success. "Nothing if you do as I say. Now get that tablet. _Now_."

* * *

Castiel was plunged back into darkness as his senses refocused and he found himself in a dusty, ancient crypt that was littered with ancient artifacts. He raised his finger and pointed robotically. "Dean… that's it." A sizable carved wooden box that was cobweb laced and so dusty that the details of the carvings were almost lost completely.

Dean turned his flashlight beam onto the box even as he looked at Cas. "How do you know?"

"It's the only thing in here warded against angels."

Dean hesitated and then tucked his flashlight under his arm and hauled the box off the shelf it was on then set it down onto the grand marble table that was at the center of the crypt. Using his hunting knife, he pried the angel-warded box open. "Winner, winner, chicken dinner," he announced, pulling out a lump of rock. Inside, the tablet was concealed.

"Good," Castiel said. He wasn't sure why, but he felt such keen relief. A sense of completion. "Hand it to me and I'll take it to Heaven."

Dean's eyes jumped up to his and abruptly became guarded. "No… we will take it to _Kevin_ so he can translate," he replied slowly and doubtfully.

Castiel realized his mistake. He wasn't supposed to have said that. "Right. Of course. I'll take it to him right away." All he knew was that he needed to convince Dean to give him that tablet. _Now._ "No time to waste."

But Dean did not look cooperative. "Well, he's not that far," he said, attempting to act nonchalant. "I've been meaning to... go check on him, bring him some supplies."

"He's not _cooperating_ ," Castiel said, suddenly finding himself in Heaven face to face with an urgent Naomi.

"If the demons get their hands on the angel tablet, they'll kill us all," she insisted loudly. "They'll destroy _H_ _eaven_! Do you want that?!"

His heartbeat was fluttering sickeningly and Castiel could sense that this was about to become dire. Still, he begged for a chance. "I can reason with Dean," he insisted shakily. "He's a _good man._ Naomi, _please._ "

Naomi did not listen to his plea. " _Kill_ him."

Castiel slowly circled around the large table toward the hunter, his eyes on the rock that contained the tablet. "I can resupply the prophet, Dean," he said blankly. "Give that to me and I'll be on my way."

Dean took a couple of steps back, greatening the distance between himself and the angel. Castiel knew the hunter was onto him. "You know, why don't, uh, why don't Sam and I take it over to him, and you can get back to your mission?" Dean asked, still attempting to act casual. Castiel kept walking toward Dean, who kept backing up, clutching the rock to himself now. "Finding the other half of the demon tablet. That _is_ priority, isn't it?"

Castiel was dark and forceful. He only wanted one thing in the entire universe: that rock. "Give me the tablet, Dean."

Dean was not going to. " _No_."

Cas heard himself saying it and wasn't even sure why. "I can't let you take that, Dean."

There was a long silence in which Dean looked at his friend in disbelief and dread alike. "Can't or won't?"

"Both."

Dean didn't move as Castiel drifted two steps closer. His voice softened, his eyes narrowed, and he stood there waiting. "How did you get out of Purgatory, Cas?"

Stark white light. Naomi. And she was holding Alex now by an arm as Castiel lost his mind because he knew what he was about to do. "There has to be another way, please!" he managed. "I am begging you!"

"You have done this a _thousand_ times, Castiel!" Naomi tightened her grip on Alex, who Castiel could see but not touch—he wasn't actually in Heaven. "You're ready. _Kill him._ Then take the tablet and bring it home, where it belongs." For effect, Naomi let her blade drop out of her sleeve and she gave Castiel a dire, deadly look. "You know what happens if you don't obey." Alex struggled away feebly from Naomi, whose grip held her solidly in place.

Castiel's face streamed with tears, his heart beat wildly. Dean or Alex. _Dean or Alex_. And it would always be Alex who he chose. But he couldn't do this. Dean was like his brother! "Please," he said frantically, desperate for Naomi to give him another option or to have mercy. "Don't make me do this! They're both so important. My _family!_ _"_

Naomi was incensed. " _No_. Your family is the Heavenly Host. Now kill Dean Winchester or she _dies_! And if you continue to test my patience, I'll kill them _both_!" And without warning she slashed Alex across an arm for effect and Cas cried out and tried to lunge out and take hold of Alex. Then instead found himself crashing into a stone statue of a cloven-hoof devil back in the dark crypt.

Dean looked on in confusion, still holding the rock as Castiel smashed into a stone statue after crying out 'no' for no apparent reason. "Cas?" The angel got up slowly, shaking. His eyes were crazy. "You okay?"

Castiel looked at Dean and he was breathing hard and there were inexplicable tears on his face even though his expression was not sad in the least. "Give me… _the tablet_."

Dean backed up as wild-eyed Cas approached. "Just tell me how you got out of Purgatory," he said, remaining calm despite the increasingly dire situation. "Be honest with me—for the first time since you've been back, man, and then this is _yours_." Cas barely heard Dean. In Heaven, a girl was screaming silently in pain and Naomi was shouting _kill him_. And Castiel let his angel blade slide out of his sleeve as he obeyed. Dean gaped and quickly realized it was about to get bad. " _Cas_. Cas, I don't know what the hell is wrong with you, but if you're in there and you can hear me, you don't have to do this!"

"You don't— _understand_ —" Castiel managed through gritted teeth, and without anything further, he drew back and stabbed at Dean, who only managed to block the blow with the stone he held. The blade hit the stone and thunder growled as lightning seared the sky.

Bright white, sick stomach, Naomi glaring at him. Cas paced back and forth like a caged animal and he wanted to be sick. "This isn't right!" he insisted, his voice gone higher in pitch from anxiety. Nearby, Alex was on all fours where Naomi had thrown her a moment ago.

"Do you _realize_ what that tablet can do for us?" Naomi asked angrily. "For _H_ _eaven_?"

It didn't matter. None of it mattered. "I can't hurt Dean, Naomi, _I can_ _'_ _t hurt Dean_!" Castiel insisted, and he had never felt such all-consuming panic in his entire life.

" _Kill_ him, Castiel," Naomi insisted, then yanked Alex up by the hair and threw her across the room violently. " _Kill him_!"

On earth, Castiel went blindly veering off to the left for no reason even as Dean shrank back—and Castiel ran into the wall there and moaned ' _no, no_ ,' in confusion and looked around for something that wasn't there, his hands trying to pick something invisible up—then he turned and set his eyes on Dean again with renewed determination. "Cas, fight this!" Dean shouted as the angel rose up to his full height. "This is not you! _Fight it_!"

Castiel replied by staggering over again and stabbing his blade at Dean wildly. Again, Dean used the stone to block the blow. And then Castiel gripped both sides of his own head and doubled over like a person who was hearing voices. " _What have you done to me?!_ " he shouted, voice cracking and breaking as Dean looked on in breathless horror. He gave a sobbing sound as he seemed to see something happening to Dean's left. "Stop hurting her, _stop it_!" he shrieked.

"Cas?" Dean asked, worry making his tone stark.

"What have I _done_ to you?!" Naomi demanded, bearing down on Castiel furiously. "Do you have any idea what it's like out there? There's blood everywhere, and it's on your hands!" Cas shrank back, horrified. Nearby, Alex slumped against a wall with a bleeding head. "After everything you did—to us, to Heaven, I fixed you, Castiel. _I fixed you_! I made you into the angel you used to be! The angel you _should_ have been!" In anger, Naomi shoved him and he landed on the floor of her office on all fours. Nearby, Alex's scared eyes met his and he tried to crawl to her.

" _Cas_!" Dean's voice shouted, and a very disoriented Castiel looked to his side—he was doubled over and breathing hard and in the dark again—and Dean had a hand on his shoulder. And the words _kill him!_ screamed through the angel's mind and Castiel saw Alex in his mind's eye and without being able to control himself, he backhanded Dean across the face so hard that the hunter was thrown against the nearby wall.

Dean grunted and rolled over, quickly picking up the stone as he tried to escape. He came face to face with Cas, and it might have been in vain, but Dean tried anyway: he took a swing at Cas, who grabbed the fist aimed for him and ruthlessly twisted, breaking Dean's arm completely. The stone fell to the floor and shattered when Dean lost grip of it, and the tablet clattered around as Dean fell to his knees beneath the strength of Cas's iron grip and received another bone-breaking hit to his face. Blood ran out of his nose and down into his own mouth. "You want it?!" Dean thundered, seeing how Cas looked dispassionately at the exposed tablet. "Take it! But you're gonna have to kill me first! Come on, you coward. Do it. _Do it_!" Maybe Dean _wanted_ to die. Maybe he'd been waiting for someone to come along and put him out of his misery. All he knew was that Cas was too strong to fight and he _couldn_ _'_ _t._

Blade in hand, Cas smacked Naomi's desk hard, so hard that it cracked. When he realized every time he struck the desk he was hitting Dean and hurting him, he looked at Naomi with bulging, terrified eyes. " _Please_!" he begged.

Naomi looked utterly venomous. "End this, Castiel, or I will!" She grabbed Alex by the side of the head and slammed her skull-first into the nearby wall. A sound something like a sob escaped Castiel and he raised his fist, hitting the desk again and again.

Dean's face was becoming battered and disfigured. Blood streaked the right side of his face and his right eye was turning purple. "Cas… this isn't you," he wheezed, and confusion marred his features. "This isn't you!"

Castiel was growing more and more alarmed, to the point that every breath he breathed was a soft moan of despair and fear. Alex was falling over, catching herself on her hands as Naomi gave Castiel a glare made of lava. " _Bring_ _—_ _me_ _—_ _the_ _tablet_!" Castiel could barely separate his two conflicting worlds or what was happening to the people he loved. He was hurting Dean, and Naomi hurt Alex every time he hesitated in the slightest to inflict damage onto Dean. He had to finish it. He _had to finish it._

Dean cried out in pain as Cas's fist shocked his bloody face yet again with a devastating blow. His right eye was now swollen completely shut. "Cas. _Cas_." He reached out toward the angel weakly for mercy. "I know you're in there." Castiel raised his angel blade slowly, but Dean did not stop. Through a blood-smeared face and a swollen gaze, Dean appealed for his life even though he wasn't entirely sure if he wanted it anymore. "I know you can hear me," he managed feebly, trying to find his friend in there. His brother-in-law. The only reason he'd made it through Purgatory at all. "Cas... " his voice broke miserably. "It's _me_." Castiel stared at him with dead eyes. "We're _family_ _,_ " Dean said, and his voice was muffled and stuffy sounding from his broken nose. "We need you. _I_ need you. Especially now, man." His voice cracked. " _Please_."

And Castiel couldn't do it. He couldn't kill the man who he had pulled out of Hell and shared so much with. He couldn't betray or break the Winchester family any more than he already had. He couldn't let Alex be hurt _any_ longer. Behind his eye, the inhibitor burned and itched and Castiel was _done_ in every single possible way. Naomi was opposite the desk from Castiel. "You have to choose, Castiel," she said in a forcibly even voice. His eyes raised slowly to look into hers and his fury, his temper, his wrath began to boil as he thought about what this angel had done to the people he loved and cared for, but especially to _her_. "Your so called 'wife' or the hunter." She slammed her hands down onto the desk. " _Make! Your! Decision!_ "

And Castiel already had. He looked Naomi in the eye and banked everything on what he was about to do next. If he failed, he would never stop blaming himself. He _would_ succeed. She was not going to win. "This is over," Castiel he told her in an abruptly low growl that Naomi immediately looked confused at. "You will never touch anyone I love ever again." And then he left the transmission by the strength of his own will.

On earth, Dean watched as Castiel dropped his blade and stepped back then abruptly stuck his fingers into his own eyeball and made a sound of pain—grimacing and revolted and confused, Dean shrank back, completely unsure of what was happening. The shadows concealed what exactly Cas was doing, but Dean caught a glimpse of blood running out of Castiel's eye and then saw a small, bloody metal piece drop to the ground. And then Cas was suddenly gone completely, leaving Dean in a broken heap on the floor.

* * *

In Heaven, Naomi gaped at the place Castiel's transmission had just been and told her it was 'over.' And before she could summon anyone or even guess what he planned to do, a mighty rush of wind blew through Naomi's office and she suddenly realized her mistake.

Castiel appeared there and he was humming with celestial energy and fury, his trench coat billowing around him and whipping at his legs even as he raised a hand and sent her flying back so hard that the entire wall behind her shattered on impact. His eyes were white-hot and his wings bristled behind him, dark as midnight and large in expanse, and Alex, curled up on the floor, stared up at him in awe and fear and she crawled backwards despite her multiple injuries until she hit the couch there and couldn't back away further. His severity died down—the wind stopped, his expression became gentle, the light faded away and he went to her and then crouched down with her, his face a mask of tenderness and pain all at once—his eyes were tear-filled. He was broken by relief and careful not to frighten her. "Oh Alex," he said, his breathy voice cracking. "I thought you were lost to me." She stared at him with wide, scared eyes as he gently reached for her. "Don't be afraid," he reassured, understanding that she did not know him. "I'm here to help you." She allowed him to gather her up, but she looked afraid and unsure and she was stiff in his arms, scared of him. "Hold on tightly," he told her in a near-whisper, cradling her with every ounce of gentleness possible. Naomi was stumbling up to her feet a few feet away—her hair was askew, her office was destroyed, and she looked absolutely shocked by what had just happened. Castiel gave her the most devastatingly lethal look there had ever been. "I'll be back for you," he growled, and then with a supersonic boom, he was gone.

* * *

There was a mighty crash in the crypt. One that shook the ground like an earthquake jolted a very painfully injured Dean. He groaned protest, barely able to support himself on the arm that wasn't broken. His entire body was filled with agony and he didn't understand what had just happened. He peered through blurry, blood-smeared vision at the source of the sound. Rubble and dust had made a hazy fog-like dust rise, but Dean could make out a tan trench coat lump there. "Cas? What's—?" It appeared that Cas had just crash-landed hard—he laid on his side and he was curled around something, cradling something against himself closely with both arms. Something brown-haired and lanky and wearing jeans and a tank-top and Dean's heart _stopped_ when that familiar-looking figure pushed up and away from Cas and he _recognized his sister._ "Oh my god," he breathed, thinking he must be dead or tripping or both. He lurched to his feet, barely able to breathe as he stumbled over, because _it was her_. "Oh my god oh my god _oh my god_!" At his approach, she stood up fast but unevenly and backed away with a lurching gait. Her expression was confused but Dean was drunk on delirium and trying to get to her, unable to stop babbling " _oh my god_ " and " _holy shit_ " over and over with relief that had him sobbing. And then he apparently got too close. She looked fucking _terrified_ of him and when her back hit the wall she hauled off and punched him in the face _hard_ when he was close enough to hug her. Dean's vision exploded in white-hot pain and he stumbled back, totally blindsided. "Son of a _bitch_!" he rasped, covering his pain-riddled face with a hand. _What the hell?!_ He looked at his sister, who was frozen and rigid against the wall, panting hard. Her eyes were wild and he suddenly realized she didn't look totally right. Something was wrong.

Nearby, Cas had gotten to his feet. "Cas, what's wrong with her?" Dean asked, totally confused. Alex was looking between Cas and Dean like she was evaluating both of them as threats, like she was _petrified_ of them. "Is that—is that really her?" Maybe it wasn't. Dean's heart began to fall.

Cas looked a little worse for the wear and he stood beside Dean. Blood ran out of his right-hand eye and he breathed a little harder than normal. "Yes, Dean," he said heavily. "It's her. But she doesn't know you. She doesn't know _anyone_."


	119. Puzzle Pieces

"… _The final amnesia, the one that can erase an entire life._ _"  
-_ Luis Bunuel

* * *

Dean Winchester was beaten to a proverbial pulp. His head was throbbing to the agonized beat of pain; his wrist was snapped and broken, his entire body ached from being thrown around by an angel who was supposed to be his friend. One of his eyes had swollen completely shut from the brutal beatdown, the other was hard to see out of because it was blurred by his own blood. But despite his weakened eyesight and nearly-crippled state, he had recognized her the _second_ he'd seen her. Without even seeing her _face_ he'd known it was her and his heart had leapt up in his throat. How and why, he didn't know… but Alex was _here_. Not dead and gone as Cas had claimed. Not lost forever like they had thought. But obviously not quite herself, either. After all, Dean was standing there with his already-swollen cheek pulsing anew from the impact of her fist. Confusion was making his head swim. Why had she done that? He'd tried to sweep her into a hug and she'd reacted like he was attacking her by socking him hard, completely blindsiding him. And when Cas had said she didn't know him or _anyone_ , Dean fell into a short, offended silence. The words made no sense in his mind and he tried to figure out how to understand what Cas had said. "What do you mean, she doesn't _know_ anyone?" he finally asked, confounded and pretty damn sure that Cas was _completely_ wrong. Alex might have forgotten _Cas_ for whatever reason but she would never forget _Dean_. That was crazy talk. To prove his point, Dean gestured to himself the best he could with a broken wrist and aching joints. It must have been his gruesome and mutilated appearance that had spooked his sister. "Alex, it's _me_."

He waited for her to recognize his voice or for her eyes to adjust to the dark and for her to _see_ him better. But Alex seemed able to see him fine and she only shrank back further, mistrust and suspicion and fear making her face tense and dark and hostile. She looked at him like he was an absolute stranger and it was the most terrifying and heart-stopping thing. Even as Dean's emotions began to derail and his mind raced with all the possibilities of what the fuck was happening here, Cas gently held a hand out and stopped him by gently catching hold of his upper arm, preventing him from going any closer to his sister.

"Dean, _she has no memory of who she is_ ," he insisted urgently. "Don't frighten her."

Dean looked at Cas in quickly-increasing alarm. "Frigh—?" Panic became fear, and he covered up that emotion with hard, gruff anger. "Cas, explain. _Now_."

But Cas was looking at Dean's face with a hurt, sorrowful expression. "Look what I've done to you," he murmured, his eyes taking in the beaten and bloody appearance of his friend. Even as he touched Dean's face with two gentle fingers and uttered, "I'm so sorry," the pain disappeared and all of the injuries were taken away like magic. Alex's eyes popped wider when that happened. It seemed to shock her.

Dean angrily slapped Cas's hand off, too distracted with Alex's reappearance to care about himself. "Forget _me_ , Cas!" he thundered, then gestured to his silent, cagey sister. She was against the wall and both of her hands were white-knuckled, pressed hard against the stone on either side of herself. She looked like she was waiting for an opportunity to bolt—her eyes were feral. She had visible injuries—a few guts and gashes and bruises, the side of her head was bleeding, and her knee was still gimp like it had been when they got out of Purgatory. And Dean was _furious_ and freaked out at the same time and needed some knowledge pronto. "What happened to her?! Where the hell has she _been_ all this time and why are you saying she doesn't remember and why _the hell_ were you just trying to _kill_ me?!"

All damn good questions he needed answers for like _yesterday_. Castiel looked mildly overwhelmed at the rapid-fire barrage of questions and it was then that Dean noticed the trail of blood beneath Cas's righthand eye. "An angel named Naomi was holding your sister captive and forcing me to do her bidding," Cas said somberly, his shoulders caving with guilt. "She threatened to kill Alex if I didn't comply with her demands and…" he looked over at where the strange, bloody metal part he'd pulled out of his own _eye_ had fallen a moment ago. " _That_ thing made sure that I wouldn't remember she was even still alive, among other things." Dean gaped, thunderstruck by all of this information. So… Cas was being mind controlled or something? By that metal piece? This whole time? And Alex had been some kind of _blackmail_? Well, now a whole lot of things made sense. Dean wasn't sure if he wanted to commit murder (the closest person would do) or break down and weep from relief. "I was able to break free today," Cas explained feebly, his eyes dodging Dean's sheepishly. "Just barely." _No kidding._ So some angel in Heaven named Naomi had been puppeting Cas and had been the one who yanked him out of Purgatory. No _wonder_ he'd been so off. No _wonder_ he'd started beating Dean's brains in today the second that angel tablet thing showed up. Cas's assault had almost been fatal. _Would_ have been fatal. Cas had seriously been on the way to killing Dean point blank, and Dean suddenly understood the weird behavior during the assault. Even as the angel had been beating Dean's brains in, Cas had been crying and begging some invisible someone not to hurt 'her.' _Alex_. Cas wiped away the trail of blood underneath his eye, looking miserable the entire time. "Dean, I'm so _sorry,_ " he said just above a whisper.

Dean barely heard him. He was staring at his sister and experiencing mild physical shock as it settled in. "This whole time she's been _alive_? This whole freakin' _time_?" He had _mourned_ her, he had been at the point of suicide after James died because he couldn't take the thought of something happening to Sam after he had lost everyone else he'd ever loved. Mom, Dad, Bobby, Alex, Jamie… their baby. Sam was next to go as far as Dean was concerned. And all this time his kid sister had been out there. Still alive. But now she had angel amnesia or something. He didn't know how to believe she could have forgotten him. He'd held her when she was just a baby and rocked her to sleep; fed her with a bottle and Sammy too. He'd taught her how to ride a bike, how to kick and punch, how to pick a pocket, how to take care of a car, how to cheat at cards. He'd been there with her every single day of her existence, basically. And you couldn't just _erase_ that. So he tried the gentle, pleading approach.

"Alex— _Al_ —come on, it's me, Dean," he said, waiting and hanging all his hopes on one peg. He looked at that face of hers, the one he'd seen basically every day of his life since she had been born—and he felt stinging, disbelieving tears gathering when all he saw was animosity and veiled terror in her eyes. He didn't understand. "Do you _really_ not know me?" he asked, voice cracking despite his best efforts. "What did they _do_ to you?" It must have been something powerful and something horrible. Clearly, she'd been tortured to some degree and that _broke_ his freaking _heart_. Although she clearly didn't recognize him, she reacted when he said 'they' and her expression faltered, her features worked briefly, her mouth opened and she seemed about to say something then she shook her head and frowned and closed her mouth again. Dean's stomach suddenly fell to his toes as a horrible, terrible suspicion took hold of him. "Why isn't she talking?" he asked, filled with dread because he realized that she hadn't made a single _sound_ and the way she'd just opened her mouth then looked confused and frustrated rang _way_ too close to what they used to go through on a daily basis when she'd been mute. And when Dean whipped his head to look at Cas despairingly for an explanation, the angel's expression said it all and Dean felt like he was about to have a heart attack. "Oh my god, no, _Cas_ —!" He pointed at his sister with a shaking finger and tried to be angry and demanding but he came off as scared shitless instead. "You tell me this isn't—that they didn't—" Dean abruptly grabbed Cas by the lapels and shook him, half out of his mind. "Fix her! Fix her _now_!"

At the wall, eyes widening a little, Alex abruptly looked worried. Like she was thinking about intervening. For _Cas_ _'_ _s_ sake. Cas barely noticed Dean's demands and hysteria. He was locking eyes with Alex, who waited stock-still for any sign that she should assist him. After all, she had seen Cas when she had been with Naomi and knew he was the one who had saved her. And she had never once seen Dean before this moment—or didn't think she had, anyway.

Cas brushed Dean aside and carefully, _carefully_ approached Alex, keeping himself a safe distance as not to scare her. "Alex," he said gently, his voice uttering her name with incredibly fierce tenderness. He spoke to her respectfully and slowly, hopeful but apprehensive at the same time. "You remember me, don't you? You saw me in Heaven a few times." Although she clearly had her reservations about trusting either of them, Alex was visibly more receptive to Cas and gave a small, cautious nod as her eyes flicked up and down him. Cas kept his voice gentle and moved fractionally closer. "I mean no harm to you. I… just need to touch you to heal you." He waited for her to give him a signal that he could come closer. "Is… that all right?" Her dark eyes contemplated him, darted to Dean, then she nodded again, stiffly. Dean could see how she was breathing very hard and trying to conceal that fact. How every muscle was tight and spring-loaded, ready to propel her into a run at the first sign of trouble. Cas looked like he was having to fight hard to mask his emotions and control himself. He probably wanted nothing more than to crush her into a tight hug and hold her there forever. But he held himself back. Dean watched how Alex stared at the angel as Cas cautiously brushed fingers to her throat, closed his eyes, drew his eyebrows together. Beautiful warm light grew at the ends of his fingertips and sank into her skin before it faded away, then Cas his fingers drift away after the healing was completed. Alex immediately looked better—her wounds were gone, her clothes were clean of blood, her hair was smoother, her bad knee was back to normal. She even looked more mentally sound and less wild-eyed. Cas stepped back, giving her space and waiting with an anxious expression that was similar to Dean's. "Can you speak now?" Cas asked, trying to sound less worried than he obviously was. "Do you feel better? Do you remember anything?"

Appearing mildly awed and afraid at the same time, Alex looked at one of her arms and touched fingers to where there had been a slash just a moment ago. Perfect, healed, scarless skin stared back at her and with huge, terrified eyes, she looked at Dean and then Cas. She seemed like a petrified, clueless child at that moment. "W-who are you guys?" she asked, and her voice scratched hoarsely like sandpaper. "What's _happening_ to me?!"

"Alex—" Cas began.

"Who the hell is _Alex_?!" she exploded, looking more and more terrified and angry by the second.

" _You_ are," Castiel replied gently, trying to remain calm even though he was clearly upset, too. "This is your brother Dean and I'm…" he trailed off and seemed to second guess what to say. How did you boil it down to one or two words, the things Castiel was to Alex?

With guarded eyes, Alex waited, and when he didn't complete his thought, she cautiously, skeptically prompted him to finish. "You're w _hat_?"

Somber and appearing very distraught, Cas answered factually but left out a whole lot of backstory. "Your... guardian angel."

Alex looked like she thought she was ready to check into the looney bin. "Okay, okay—just— _where_ the _hell_ am I and what is going _on_ here—someone tell me, _now._ "

Dean stared at his sister with a sinking sensation. She really had no clue. And if Cas could have fixed her with a touch, he _would_ have. What if Alex never remembered? What if she refused to believe the truth about who she was? What if she took the first chance and bolted? What if one of the bad guys got their hands on her and used this memory loss to their advantage? _What if, what if, what if?_

Even as sickening possibilities spiraled through Dean's mind, Cas abruptly glanced around and became stern and possibly even a little urgent, too. "It's not safe here," he muttered deeply, almost to himself. "We can't stay." He went to the angel tablet, which had fallen onto the floor, forgotten. He picked it up and it flared brightly and briefly in his hands.

Irritated beyond belief at Cas's choice to put focus onto a stupid rock, Dean threw his arms wide. "Cas, forget the freakin' _tablet_ , man!"

Cas was surprisingly forceful and combative. His sharp blue eyes darted up to meet Dean's, and they were harsh. "Dean, Naomi is after this and so is _Crowley,_ " he said, his tone causing Dean to consider taking a step backward. "I can't let either of them have it, especially not before we know what it _does_."

As much as Dean didn't want to admit Cas was right… he knew the guy had a point. If the demon tablet could close Hell, what could the _angel_ tablet do? But still.

" _Dean_!" A muffled, masculine shout from somewhere nearby. Dean turned slowly thanks to shock as the clatter of running footsteps announced Sam, who raced into view then skidded down the handful of old stone stairs into the crypt. He stumbled to a stop at the foot of the steps, out of breath, and usually Dean would have reacted with panic at Sam's obvious distress. But he couldn't quite summon the emotion. "Dean! We gotta—" Sam wheezed out, then whatever he had been about to say was forgotten as he saw his twin. His face went slack and pale, his mouth dropped open, his breathing cut short. As if he'd been punched in the gut, his voice dropped to a mere whisper. "Oh my god." Clearly questioning his sanity and his eyesight, he didn't move. He just stared, his expression becoming more and more shocked and wretchedly hopeful and confused all at the same time. "… _Alex_? Is that really you?"

She stared back at him with that same suspicious, unknowing gaze and maybe it was his larger size, but she shrank back almost imperceptibly even though he was several paces away. "Who's _this_?" she asked, looking at Cas for answers, not Dean.

Her question and the look on her face visibly shook Sam, whose mild elation fell completely. "What?" he asked, looking at Dean for explanation.

"Yes it's her," Dean confirmed, still stunned himself. And Sam's face briefly crossed into joy before his brother's next words dashed it again: "But she doesn't remember, Sam," Dean said, his voice giving away his exhausted and broken mentality. " _Anything_." He paused, then remembered there was a missing person in the current scene. "Wait. Where the hell is Meg?"

Sam was quite distracted by his sister and he glanced at her rapidly and repeatedly even as he answered his brother. "Sh-she's up there and I left her with _Crowley_ who showed up out of the blue. Dean, we gotta—"

The mention of Crowley made Cas stiffen visibly. He reached for Alex and disappeared, saying only one thing before he left. "Meet me up top."

* * *

Alex jumped away from Cas, gasping when his touch took her from one place to the next without warning and in the span of a heartbeat. "Whoa, _what_!?" She looked around with saucer-wide eyes, confused by the teleportation. "What was _that_?!"

They were no longer in the crypt. Instead, they were outside of the warehouse, which Sam and Meg had covered in bright-red spray painted demon warding. The asphalt glinted wetly under moonlight, and a few dead bodies were scattered around the immediate area. Demons. Alex of course didn't know that and when she saw dead people and blood everywhere, she shrank closer to Cas, the only relative safety she knew.

On the ground nearby Meg was a bloody, beaten mess. Crowley stood over her and was shaking his fist out leisurely, obviously enjoying her groans of pain. Meg and Crowley looked over in unison when Alex freaked out so loudly about the teleporting, and Meg's dazed face took on a smile when she saw who was with Cas. Her speech slurred and blood dripped out of the side of her mouth, but she sounded pleased as punch. "Well oh my _stars_ , if it isn't littlest Winchester," she drawled, blinking slowly with a woozy smile plastered across her face. " _This_ is an interesting plot twist." She giggled throatily, a drunken sound. She was nearly dead, by the looks of it, and barely holding herself up on all fours.

Crowley, momentarily distracted from Meg and very genuinely surprised, narrowed his eyes at Alex, who of course had no idea who the King of Hell even was. "Well, well, well," he commented smoothly, sauntering a few steps closer and eyeing Alex in a way Castiel bristled at. The demon looked both pleased and irritated, a wicked combination. "And just where have _you_ been all this time, Mouse?"

"Come a step closer and you _die_ , Crowley," Castiel promised darkly, demanding the demon's attention. "Don't test me today, I'm not in the mood."

Crowley didn't come closer but he didn't back off either. His features twisted, betraying his short patience. "I'll have that stone, buddy boy."

"You and what army?" Castiel challenged, his deep voice holding the promise of utter destruction.

Crowley squirmed, obviously knowing when to refrain from gambling his life. "I'm _really_ beginning to regret not squashing you like the bug you are when I had the chance," he muttered in a gravel-silk voice, his eyes lusting after the tablet Castiel held. Crowley's jaw tightened. "Sooner or later, that pebble you're holding will be mine," he promised. His dark eyes slid to Alex tellingly. "Among other things." He sent her the darkest little smile that erred on the side of suggestive. "We'll catch up later, love. _Kisses_." And then with a wink, he disappeared into thin air.

Meg dragged herself up to stand on two feet. She wobbled badly and took a couple shaky steps toward Cas and Alex. "Well _that_ was almost bad," she commented in that throaty, thick voice of hers. She sounded amused, which was sort of strange when you took into account her battered face and small ability to walk. She sent Cas a stupor-laced smile. "Nick of time, wingman." She looked at Alex and somehow frowned even as she smiled, seeming curious and intrigued. "So, Clarence, you wanna fill a girl in on how our dearly departed heroine seems to be…" she gestured sloppily, "not so dearly departed?"

At that moment, Dean and Sam raced out of the warehouse, and Dean reached them first, coming to a stop as he threw his arms wide. "Cas, what the hell man?! Don't just poof off like that; almost gave me a friggin' _heart attack_!"

Cas was looking around with a strange expression, and then they could all hear what he was hearing: a high-pitched ringing sound that was slowly becoming louder. Castiel all but pushed Alex at her brothers, such was his turn of urgency. "Take her to the bunker and don't leave there until I find you, Dean!"

Dean clutched Alex, who was obviously in shock at what was happening and unsure of what to do. "Wait, how do you know about the bunker?" he asked, then quickly tacked on a more pressing question: "And where the hell are _you_ going?!"

Castiel looked angry. "To get Naomi off your trail and onto mine. Now _go_! I'll come when I can!" He looked at Alex one last time, torn and reluctant to leave, especially now with her looking at him like that—with frightened eyes. He was the only one she knew in any capacity. But he still did leave, because if he didn't, Naomi and her entourage, who were tracking the tablet, would have swooped in and taken her all over again.

* * *

**A Few Hours Later**

_My name is Alex Winchester._

_I_ _'_ _m thirty years old._

_I have two brothers and a guardian angel._

_I like macaroni and cheese best._

_My favorite band is Def Leppard._

She repeated those facts and others in her head, trying to identify with them and trying to connect to them. But no matter what, she felt blank inside. Everything that Sam and Dean had told her in the car ride here felt like useless cardboard facts about someone else. None of what they said rang any bells or brought back any sort of memories whatsoever. And Alex—or whoever she really was—felt _frustrated._

After Castiel had disappeared and left her with strangers, Alex freaked out and pushed away from the guy holding her, screaming at him not to touch her and to stay away. He got this hurt look on his face then abruptly got pissy and basically said to shut up, get a grip, and get in the car if she wanted to stay alive—that she had no _choice_ but to trust them and that they had to go _now_ in case more demons came. They left that bloody woman with the bird's nest of blonde hair behind without explanation except a curtly thundered, "she'll be fine!"—and then Alex had been shoved into the back seat of a black car and they squealed off into the night. As she'd demanded explanations and panicked internally about being murdered on the side of the road by these two strangers, the short-haired one with the glaring eyes had barked out her supposed life history at her in a series of facts, telling her that her name was Alex Winchester and they were her brothers Sam and Dean and they did this thing called "hunting." Shellshocked by everything he said and how wrong it sounded to her, Alex had fallen silent into a daze. Demons? Ghosts? Hunting? Life on the road their _whole_ life? It sounded bizarre and sad and alien to her. Dean had seemed almost angry with her for not remembering which Alex didn't quite get, and he was obviously not having a good day anyway so that didn't help. Then the one with the long hair and the much more steady, calm personality explained a little more about their lives, who she was, even told her that he was her twin brother. She didn't know if she bought that, but she liked him better than the other guy. Long haired guy, also known as Sam, had a really emotional, expressive face and the way he looked at her, she definitely believed that he knew her and was going through a lot from seeing her but… it was weird. _Weird_. However, he definitely calmed her down and talked more sense than the other one did. He promised they'd figure everything out but until then she just needed to breathe and take it one minute at a time. He answered the few questions she came up with (stuff like "how old am I?" and "where are we going?"). But she'd run out of questions and retreated inward, not sure if she even trusted these guys to tell her the truth or not. Also, she didn't know if she wanted to know more, to be honest. It was so overwhelming and scary.

They had driven and driven under the cover of darkness in a car full of weird, stiff tension then they had stopped around two or three in the morning because the brothers were both so tired and Dean kept saying he just wanted to get blitzed and crash and then wake up in another century. Additionally, Sam looked vaguely sick, like maybe he had the flu or something and he coughed sometimes, too, which supported that theory. When they got to a ramshackle road-side motel, the short-haired one asked for one room at the front. One room for all three of them. Alex had immediately been against _that_ idea—sleeping in the same room with two strange men? No way. She said she needed her own room and that request seemed to equally piss off and sadden the grumpy one. But she wasn't going to apologize for it and he just gave some brusque "yeah, fine, whatever," comment and got another room for her to have to herself. He then got a bottle of whiskey out of the back of his car and disappeared and Alex, not really comfortable at all or sure of what was happening, shut herself into the motel room (with Sam being the one who ushered her there and hovered sort of awkwardly as he did). Once alone, she tried to get a grip. After that, she heard the brothers fighting next door, arguing loudly about things she couldn't quite make out. They both sounded angry and exhausted and more than a little bit at their wit's end. And then something glass broke, a door shut hard, and then it all went silent.

That only served to scare her more. Fighting reminded her of Naomi. And she didn't like those memories. She wanted answers about who she was but the ones she had gotten up to that point didn't feel right. It was scary to not know who you were or who anyone else was. _What if I never remember?_ That was the worst thought of all. She remembered some things of course. Basic things like how to read, how to throw a punch (as Dean had proved), and that her junkfood snack of choice was these chocolate-iced Hostess brand cupcakes from the vending machine. She had known every lyric to a _Guns N_ _'_ _Roses_ song that had played on the radio when they'd been driving here and remembered that it was _Guns N_ _'_ _Roses_ , too, but didn't know her own family (if they _were_ her family). That was worrisome. She remembered how to tie her shoe (she tested that in the privacy of her motel room) and how to whistle, how to do a cartwheel. But people, life history, the things that really seemed to matter—were all left empty and blank in her mind. Her own face even startled her when she met with the motel bathroom mirror. She studied herself for a long time in earnest. She was built leanly with surprisingly strong muscles beneath smooth, pale skin and she had some kind of demonic-looking tattoo on her side just over her ribcage. That tattoo had startled her when she first found it. Shouldn't she know herself even if she didn't know anything else? But everything about herself was startling and unknown.

Well, there _was_ something. Something small. Something she didn't understand the meaning of. She had one small flash of a memory and didn't understand what it was or what it meant. It was sparks falling like rain against darkness, and a feeling of thunderstruck amazement or terror, she wasn't sure which.

Besides that, all she ever remembered really knowing was Naomi and bright white sterile rooms and people in business suits. She had been in a docile, braindead trance the entire time. But she remembered Castiel, whose name she learned because Naomi was always using it to address him. He had spellbinding blue eyes that always communicated silent, soulful things to her. He had breathtaking wings that were black as night. And he had always fought to get to Alex every time he had laid eyes on her. Several other angels always held him back, preventing him from doing so. When he wasn't around, Alex had been thrown into a room by herself and when the angels left her side, so did the light. Everything became dark and empty around her and scary. She'd been mute, disoriented, constantly feeling drugged and stupid with no real grasp of time, space, or reality. That had been her entire existence and even though she had been so mentally foggy, she had usually felt a sense of _I don_ _'_ _t want to be here_. Sometimes when Naomi pulled her out of the darkness, she would cut or hurt Alex but only in front of Castiel. It always upset Castiel and it always made him comply with Naomi's demands quickly. Alex hadn't known much, but she had known she didn't want to live an existence of darkness, pain, and torture. Who _would_?

Today, Castiel had ended her imprisonment and ripped her out of her proverbial chains. He'd saved her. But that didn't answer a burning question: who _was_ he? And who was _she_? Honestly, she was lost and dazed even now, maybe more so than before. She needed to be saved again, but this time from the blank space inside of herself. She wished the angel in the trench coat would come back because he would have answers that no one else did. She _knew_ that for reasons she couldn't explain. And honestly, these two strange Winchester men didn't feel safe for her to be around. Granted she had barely had any time to gauge them, but… she really thought she'd be safer on her own. So, Alex decided to leave. Slip out quietly and just figure out things on her own. Wait for the angel to reappear.

She had nothing with her and nothing to pack. Her shoes were still on, too, so she guessed there was no point in waiting around any longer. It was still the middle of the night, so it was the optimal time to slip away undetected. She hadn't heard any noise from the brothers' room next door in over an hour. They must be asleep. Quietly because she was paranoid to be discovered, Alex tiptoed to the door of her motel room, opened it carefully… then swore softly and threw all her weight into keeping the door from slamming open. Something heavy was sagged against the door and the second she opened it, the unknown object began to tumble into her room ungracefully. Even as she struggled to keep the door from flying open, the heavy thing snorted then made a half-asleep sound like " _huh wha?_ " and abruptly caught himself mid-fall, taking all of his weight off the door. Alex gaped, clutching the door's edge and staring down at the source of all that weight. It was the tall guy—Sam—and he'd been asleep sitting up against her door, from the looks of it. Seriously?! In this chilly, damp weather?! And with his _cold,_ too?! Was he insane? Whatever he was, he was awake now, as you would be when the door you were sleeping against suddenly wasn't there anymore. "Hey," he managed in a sleep-rough voice. He was standing up stiffly with bleary eyes and Alex noticed again how he was _tall._ And not just tall, he was _big._ Like huge broad shoulders and big arms and a massive, burly chest. Definitely a guy who was totally capable of killing her just by sitting on her, she was pretty sure. But he had really soft, soulful eyes and every time he'd talked to her today, he had this undercurrent of deeply caring worry to his voice. Even now, with a slightly red nose and a sleepy, woozy expression, he didn't seem to have a thought for himself. "Uh… you okay?" he asked, looking at her in genuine concern. He was struggling to wake up. "Need something?"

Alex looked at him strangely, holding herself behind the door and its false sense of security. "…Why were you sleeping at my door?" she asked, both suspicious and intrigued.

"Uh…" He didn't say it outright, but he didn't lie either. "Just in case." Just in case she tried to run away, she was guessing.

 _That_ was kind of awkward. " _Well_ _…_ " she said, trying to cast around for an excuse. "I can't sleep and I'm tired of being in here, so…"

Sam hesitated, rubbed a bloodshot eye, made a soft, tired sound, then gestured toward the cold night. "You wanna go for a walk?" He smiled tentatively when she hesitated and wondered if she _did_ wanna go for a walk. "You go for a lot of walks," he supplied.

So weird to hear yourself talked about like that. _Do I? Go for a lot of walks?_ It didn't sound _bad_ … Alex contemplated tall guy a couple seconds longer and decided fine. Yes. She wouldn't mind walking some restless energy off and maybe getting a better feel for this Sam Winchester guy. Her gut instinct was that he wouldn't hurt her. "Okay." But she wasn't gonna let her guard down, that was for sure.

Before they left, Sam insisted she wear a jacket and he got her one of Dean's out of the back of the car ("all of yours are at the bunker, sorry if this one's too big"). It was. Her fingertips barely came out of the sleeves. But it waswarm and sort of comforting, the smell reminded her of something nice that she couldn't recall and she was glad he'd thought of it. They walked aimlessly for a few minutes in silence underneath buzzing old streetlights. Sam yawned a few times and ran fingers through his long hair, blinking a bunch to wake himself up. He coughed a few times and tried to be discreet about it and Alex hoped he wouldn't get sicker because of this. She walked on the sidewalk and Sam walked beside her but on the street beside the sidewalk, which made him seem a little shorter and safer, too. He kept his hands in his pockets and looked at her sidelong a lot with a tense, masked face. She looked at him sidelong a lot, too, trying to size him up and recognize him even as, simultaneously, she felt kind of crappy that he had been sleeping outside with his cold because of her. One question kept bugging her. If he really _was_ her brother, wouldn't some part of her know it in some basic way? Recognize him right off? Especially since they were supposedly twins…

A tiny smile came over Sam's face when she kicked an old soda can sideways errantly. He kicked it, too, surprising her with how fast his reflexes kicked in. Their gazes caught and his smile seemed reminiscent, if pained. At her questioning look, Sam cleared his throat. "We uh, we used to do this a lot, you and me," he said in a semi-awkward tone, trying not to be too intense. "Just wander around. When we were kids. Especially on nights when Dean was gone." He went off into his own head and recalled something Alex had no memory of whatsoever. "Man, one time you wandered off when it was just you and me… I fell asleep then woke up and you were just gone. I remember freaking _out_ and looking for you for _hours_. And the entire time you were on the roof of our motel just stargazing with binoculars, totally chill while I was planning my own funeral for losing you." He sounded rueful, but also like it was a good memory for him.

Alex only heard one thing: children alone at night. But maybe they'd been teens. "How old was I?" she asked, then remembered that they would be the same age because of the twin thing. "Er, were _we_."

Sam's face scrunched in thought. "Eleven or twelve, maybe?"

That seemed slightly questionable for two twelve-year-olds to be left alone at a motel all night. "Where was our dad?" Alex asked, remembering him being mentioned once in passing. She knew he had "taken them on the road" as kids and that he was dead now and that was about it.

There was a short, sharp laugh at her question from Sam. A laugh that sounded a little bitter. "No telling. He was a good guy in a lot of ways but… let's just say he wouldn't ever win father of the year." Sam's voice carried some note of sadness and hurt that Alex thought maybe— _maybe_ —she understood. Although _why_ she understood it, she didn't know. "Dean basically raised us because Dad just wasn't there," Sam explained dolefully. "And when Dad _was_ there… I dunno, he wasn't present."

That sounded sad. Alex tried hard—really hard—to identify with what Sam was saying. But she came up with nothing except a huge wall blocking her out of her own mind and memories. It was the most frustrating feeling she had ever known and she abruptly quit walking, groaning slightly in her frustration as she threw her hands up for a minute. "I seriously, _literally_ can't remember this," she complained, a tight knot of fear and sadness growing tighter in her chest. " _Any_ of it. I keep thinking something will ring a bell but nothing does. Should I go to a hospital?"

Sam, standing street-level, was basically her height since she was on the sidewalk. His empathetic expression and worried eyes made that knot in her chest even more achy. "Not sure what a hospital could do," he said softly, and he sounded worried about her. "Cas made it sound like angels did this to you."

She knew they had, but didn't understand. It seemed _wrong_. Angels were supposed to be good. "But why would _angels_ do something so bad?" she asked, and she sounded every bit of a little lost girl to herself when she said that out loud.

Sam's jaw worked and a muscle jerked in his cheek and for a second, Alex thought she saw his eyes glinting with angry tears on her behalf. But he held it together, let his face work hard, and he answered her neutrally. Maybe to keep from upsetting her further. "They're not always good guys. In fact, most of them are kind of dicks from my experience this far."

"Yeah," Alex agreed quietly. "Me too." Except the one in the trench coat. _Castiel._ A name she felt flustered even at the thought of. She wanted to see him again because he... intruiged her vastly. He was something she had to know more about. Someone who had answers, she thought. Trying to hide her oddly intense eagerness on the subject matter, Alex cleared her throat and began walking again, slowly, watching her feet as she did so. She tried to sound blasé. "When will he come back? The one in the trench coat?" Saying his name out loud felt too scary, so she didn't name him.

"Cas?" Sam shook his head faintly and his preoccupied profile remained stern and basically inscrutable. "I dunno."

Immediate disappointment gave a twinge in her chest, but Alex guessed she could be patient. _Cas_. Was that their nickname for him? It seemed sort of strange that they would ever use any name other than Castiel. The name Castiel was beautiful. Like a whole poem condensed down into a single word. Eyeing her supposed brother sidelong, Alex decided to dig for a little more information. And, of course, take it with a grain of salt, but still. She had to start piecing this puzzle together somewhere. "He said he was my guardian angel… that's true?"

Sam hesitated and glanced her way furtively before answering. "That's _one_ of his job descriptions, at least."

"Vague…" Alex commented questioningly, wondering why Sam was obviously not saying something.

Sam cleared his throat and feigned nonchalance with a breathy little laugh, but he was definitely uncomfortable. "He's kind of a hard one to completely figure, I guess. Can't put him in a box."

Seemed like a dodge, but Alex decided not to press it. A minute more of silence passed and then she asked about something else she had been wondering about. "Okay, so are we like really twins or are you guys joking with me?"

Sam looked slightly defensive at her question. Like she'd offended him a little. "No. We're twins. Why?"

Alex didn't know about that. "We don't even _look_ alike," she said, because to her, she didn't really see it. She studied him in relation to herself. Weren't twins supposed to be like freakishly clone-like? They didn't look that similar to her. "Different hair color, skin tones don't match, you're like a freakazoid _giant_ _…_ " she gestured to him then trailed off, realizing that his eyes _did_ look the same color as hers, that he had a similar chin and jawline to her, and that he had a little freckle thing on his lefthand cheek near his nose. She had noticed earlier that she had a freckle, too, and now she realized how similar it was to his. Hers was smaller and near the inner corner of her lefthand eye, but that was kind of too big of a thing to be coincidence. Hmm.

Sam was smiling ruefully at her comment about him being a giant. "Yeah well, we don't look that much alike 'cause I'm pretty sure you stole all the good-looks genes," he said, and there was a distinctly teasing, fond undercurrent to his tone. "You definitely win the cute contest by a mile." He shrugged helplessly. "But I dunno what to tell you. Wombmates. Your term, not mine."

" _Psh_." Alex grinned abruptly, flattered at his compliment and amused at the term. That was the first time she had actually smiled since she could ever remember. It was nice of him to say she was pretty, but he really wasn't so bad himself… weird thing though, she found him zero-percent attractive even though he was incredibly good-looking. Actually, she kind of found him sort of repulsive in that sense. How did _that_ work? Huh. Maybe he _was_ her brother. Because who else would you look at and think 'gosh he's super cute but also completely yucko barfo'? She didn't get a chance to think about it further. Her genuine smile seemed to do something to Sam—his expression fell and he abruptly got all sad and puppy-dog eyed, emotional, clueing Alex into the fact that something was wrong. "What?" she asked, mildly worried.

His voice faltered a little, and when he managed to speak, it was soft, earnest, vulnerable. He'd been very careful not to say anything that would spook her up until now, but she sensed that he was about to get really intense. She was right. "I'm just—just really glad you're here," he basically whispered. "That you're _back_." His eyes were teary, his voice wavered, it looked like he was having a tough time not reaching out and hugging her. "And I just want you to know, I get it. I do. That we seem like strangers to you and you're not sure if you can trust us or not. And that's okay, take all the time you need. No pressure from me. I just want you to feel comfortable and safe." He paused and looked at her and it was obvious that he loved her, cared about her, held a special place for her in his heart. Alex swallowed hard, unsure what to do with that. "But you just need to know—that, that even if you never remember who you are, it doesn't change that I'm your brother and I would do _anything_ for you." He was so severe. So meaningful. Like he couldn't stand the thought of her not believing him. "Name it and I'll do it. I got your back, Alex. Anything."

Alex shifted a little, feeling awkward at the very no-holds-barred declaration and his use of her name and… just, well, _everything_. He seemed to really have put all of himself into that little speech of his and she didn't want to take that away from him, but she was also feeling squirmy and put on the spot. What was she supposed to say to that? She decided to sidestep the more heavy nature of the conversation. "Well, there _is_ something actually," she said, then she spilled the beans a little bashfully as he looked on intently, probably expecting her to ask for something big and important… when all she wanted was fast food. "Can we get some french fries?" She scratched at her ear hesitantly, looking down and away from his intense eyes. "I _really_ want some french fries."

Sam looked like he'd heard wrong—then a little put out—then chagrinned like he might have _known_. "Junk food," he said almost to himself, shaking his head slightly then letting out a knowing, half amused sigh through his nose. "Of course." Maintaining a good (if tired) attitude, he gestured down further at the main road. "Think I saw a McDonalds down that way." And that's where they went.

About forty minutes later, they were walking back to the motel and Alex was lamenting her life choices. She held a hand to her protesting stomach and whined as she thought of all the salty french fries she'd scarfed down. It had seemed like such a good idea at the time. "Why did I _eat_ so many?"

Sam, who had given her all kinds of _you_ _'_ _re-crazy-but-funny_ looks while she'd been pigging out, had a sympathetic wincing smile on his face. Like he was laughing at her but also sorry she was in pain. "Always trying to tell you guys," he chided fondly. "All that grease just slows you down."

"But french fries are so _good_ …" she mumbled even as another wave of nausea hit her.

Sam looked at her sidelong. " _Are_ they?" he challenged, that smile playing on his lips.

"Urgh, maybe not," Alex conceded pitifully. Not if they were gonna make her feel so shitty afterwards. Although to be fair, she'd eaten two entire burgers and _three_ cartons of fries slathered in ketchup and she didn't think she even had a big enough stomach to hold all that crap. The appetite that had hit her when they stepped into that McDonalds had really driven her to bad places. She gave another pitiful moan and thanked God or whoever that they were finally back at the motel and that she didn't have to walk anymore. She just wanted to curl up and sleep off this food coma she'd put herself in. Possibly puke first, too.

Sam's long legs jogged him over a few steps to the Impala as they crossed the parking lot. He pulled the trunk open and began digging around for something. "I think I have some antacid back here, hold on." Alex waddled over, sick with herself and suddenly hoping _please Jesus let there be some Tums or Rolaids back there. I am never eating a burger or a french fry ever again_. As if on cue, Sam produced a bottle of Tums with a winning smile that made him look a million years younger and healthier. "Bingo." He tossed the bottle toward her, testing her reflexes. She caught it, just barely, and Sam gave her another joke to lighten her grease-addled spirits. "Take two and call me in the morning."

Alex looked at the Tums he didn't need to get her and thought about the walk he could have refused to let her go on, the fast food he didn't need to buy for her. The things he'd said to her, the sweet and sensitive way he handled himself around her, the slow sense of trust she was developing for this lanky, muscular, plaid-wearing guy. It was making her surprisingly emotional and she looked at his face hard, trying to remember him, trying to recognize the strong jawline and hazel eyes and striking features of his face. But she came up with nothing except that solid wall in her mind that seemed to imprison her inside a place of forgetfulness. "I wish I could remember you," she said softly, genuinely. She almost felt a sense of loss, and it confused her. She offered Sam a sad smile. "Seem like a nice guy."

He faltered. Tried to keep smiling back at her. But somehow, it was forced. "Thanks."

"What?"

Sam shook his head and his mouth worked. "I'm not. A… a nice guy." He closed the trunk and wouldn't meet her eyes. "It's all a stupid act."

Alex felt a slight sense of fear. An act? "What'dyou mean?" she asked cautiously. Was this another trick or something?

No. She realized Sam meant something else when in severe self-loathing, he shrugged and looked off. "I'm… I dunno." He searched for the right way to say it, and when he did, he sounded like he hated himself. "I'm messed up."

He sounded so sad and hopeless and bitter with himself that Alex immediately felt a huge instance of protectiveness well up inside. Her heart went out to him. But she didn't know him enough to say he wasn't messed up and she wasn't sure if it were her place either, so, she just said the first thing that came to her mind. "Messed up people can be nice." She paused, wondering where she got that logic from. Not like she had life experience to remember and take that from. "I think." Either way, she patted him on the shoulder a couple times. "Buck up, Tallness. It can't be that bad. At least you're not about to barf your guts up everywhere." She rooted around for some antacids and shoved them into her mouth as he walked her back up the side of the motel to her room. "So, see you in the morning," she said, unlocking her door and going inside as she munched on the chalky tablets that were only _vaguely_ fruit flavored as advertised.

When she turned around to shut the door and finish saying goodbye to Sam, he was sitting down in front of the door again, grunting a little as he did so. "Yup, sounds good."

Alex looked at him in slight exasperation, realizing he was going to resume his post just like before. " _Really_?" she asked, slightly vexed.

He sniffed and zipped his jacket up a little tighter, gave her a brief little glance. "Yeah, really." He hesitated, then gave her his reason somewhat stiffly. "I'm sure as hell not losing you again, and no one's going _in_ without a word with me first, either."

Alex felt the smallest smile on her face. If this was what it was like having a brother, she didn't think she minded it so much. But, she felt bad. Sitting there in the cold _with_ a cold, sitting up to sleep against a hard wooden door and the pavement below? Her smile fell because she was really feeling worried now. "But that can't feel good though," she protested.

Sam brushed it off, nonplussed and businesslike in a way meant to reassure her. "I'll live. Go get some sleep, Shortstack. Lemme know if you need anything."

Alex hesitated. She couldn't just leave him out there. Couldn't. _Argh._ Annoyed at herself, she gave a huge, dramatic sighing groan. " _Fine_ ," she muttered peevishly, then opened the door wider with a petulant yank. "Just… come sleep _inside_ the door, moron," she grumbled. "You'll catch your death out there." Sam looked semi-shocked at her command. "I have a pillow and there's an extra blanket in the closet."

Gathering his wits, Sam shook his head, becoming really decisive. "No, no no no, I'm _fine_ out here," he insisted, not wanting to impose on her or whatever. She gave him a death glare that came from the depths of her soul and he withered slightly underneath it then held his hands up in mock protest, getting to his feet while he did. "Okay, you convinced me."

Although she acted like she didn't like it, Alex sort of _did_ like it. Being alone didn't feel exactly right to her, and Sam's presence felt more and more reassuring and familiar, even if she didn't remember him. He came into the warm motel room with her and he remained a safe distance from her at all times, staying near the door for the most part. Alex threw a pillow at him and then the extra blankets from the closet. He gave a very small, humble thank you then settled in by the door. Thanks to the exhausting weight of all the food she had eaten plus the new, growing sense of security, Alex crawled into bed, shoes and all, then promptly fell asleep without any worries about being murdered in her sleep. In the morning, when she woke up to Sam laying against the door and snoring with his big old mouth hanging open, she smiled a little and fought the sudden urge to play some kind of prank on him. She decided he _must_ be her brother, and although she didn't know him, she was pretty sure they had been best friends before. The other guy… not so much. She didn't think she liked Dean.

* * *

After Sam went and woke up a very hungover and sullen Dean, the three of them were subject to another long haul in the car, which turned out to be a 1967 Chevrolet Impala. It was a beautiful car for sure, but again, the tension inside of it during the several-hour drive was awkward and Alex felt nothing but anxiety the more time dragged on. She still remembered nothing. She'd woken up hoping that sleep might have given her some glimpse into herself. Maybe through a dream or something. But she'd dreamt of nothing but Naomi holding her down and screaming unintelligible things, greasy french fries raining from the ceiling and making her sick from the smell, and Castiel being out of hearing distance when she called to him for help. Quiet and inwardly disturbed, Alex felt alone. Sam and Dean seemed on stilted terms and Dean kept glancing at Alex in the rear view and asking her questions like, "do you remember this? Do you remember that? What about this? How about that? Does the term wendigo ring any bells? Stanford? Chuck? The Apocalypse? You know what that penny you wear is for? What is May the second? You remember Lucifer? How about Bobby?" His questions continued endlessly in an increasingly badgering fashion and Sam finally told Dean to take it easy and Dean snapped something rude then fell into fuming, frustrated silence until they arrived to a place the guys called "the bunker."

When they took her inside, Alex was overwhelmed by the size of the place. Having forged a more solid connection with Sam, Alex stuck by him and Dean commented on that churlishly, almost like a jealous boyfriend then he stalked off, presumably to go be angry in private. Alex again thought about how much she disliked him and asked Sam how she and Dean had gotten along before. She was expecting to hear that they _hadn_ _'_ _t_ gotten along. When he said that they had been inseparable and best friends, Alex thought he was joking. "No, that was _us._ You and me. You're kidding!" she'd protested, because obviously Sam was nicer and more relatable and easy to be around and Dean was… a pushy, temper-driven douchebag. Sam looked touched but said that no—that she and Dean had always been closer. And that, in fact, he'd always felt like the outsider in comparison. And often jealous of their close bond.

Mystified, Alex mulled that over in her mind and wondered what kind of person she was before to have been best friends with the forever-glaring, stormy-faced alcoholic brother. As she contemplated these things, Sam showed her to the bedroom section of the bunker and said she could pick from all of them except the two that he and Dean had claimed. She peeked at them all and chose the one she liked best. When she picked the room with the skylight and the built-in bookshelf and the bathroom, Sam had gotten this emotional smile on his face and said he _knew_ she would pick that one. He'd then shown her some of her stuff that he'd already put there. Some old pictures she didn't recognize, a Zippo lighter, a knife that needed to be sharpened, some clothes and a duffel bag with various other belongings therein. She looked through the items with interest and he watched, letting her discover at her own pace. Dean showed up about then and began to drag Alex around the bunker and he showed her a million things, trying to jog her memory. One thing was for sure… he wasn't as gentle as Sam. He was abrasive, impatient, and highly sensitive. Like, easy to offend or something. Alex honestly didn't get him and got more and more turned off the longer he tried with her. He got pissed when he showed her "Dad's journal" and she looked at it like it was an alien spaceship. He paced around and muttered under his breath when he showed her some shirt that was apparently her treasure on earth—apparently he'd gotten signed by Aerosmith's frontman Steven Tyler. "But this was your favorite damn shirt!" he'd protested when she shook her head no. And it was like he thought that statement alone was supposed to somehow solve all her problems. But she had never seen that shirt before in her life. Dean then only proceeded to get more irate when she could inexplicably identify car engine parts but didn't recognize old family pictures.

Getting upset with his pushing, Alex finally lost her temper and told him to shove it up his ass and leave her alone then stomped off to her room and again decided she didn't want to be here. Sam was nice and she really liked him a lot, but Dean seemed to run the show and he was really rubbing her the wrong way. She would really just rather _not_.

After calming herself down (which took awhile, honestly), she peeked out of her room and glanced around. Neither brother was visible or audible. She silently slipped down the hallway and crept through the library a little then eyed the way out. It was a metal staircase up to ground level. It looked clear—no sign of anyone. She could slip out and just leave or take a breather. Maybe try calling to Castiel. Would an angel come if you called for them? She thought they would. Well, _he_ would. She hoped. With that thought in mind, she went towards the staircase. Then froze when Dean, apparently lying in wait, appeared out of the shadows with crossed arms, blocking her way. "Going somewhere?" he asked sort of cooly. He played his cards close to the chest and Alex eyed him caustically, disliking the glint in his eyes.

"If I was, would you stop me?" she returned challengingly. She could see him forcing her to stay against her will, easily, and distaste turned her stomach yet again.

He shrugged, impassive. "It's a free country," he said in that deep, gravelly voice. "But wandering around with no memory and running off from the only two guys in the world who are looking out for you… not exactly the smartest idea."

He talked to her like he was patronizing her, admonishing her, and lecturing her all at once. Three things she immediately hated. "I lost my memories, I'm not _braindead,_ " she replied in an acidic tone. "I can take care of myself."

His eyebrows raised up at _that_ statement. "Oh, like you did when an angel trapped you, tortured you, then held you captive in Heaven for three months?" Stung by his very carefully aimed verbal jab, Alex could find no reply and the appalled, hurt look on her face seemed to affect Dean, who softened regretfully. "Look. I'm trying to keep you safe, okay?" Well he sure had a funny way of making her feel safe. "Me and Sam?" His tone was blunt and commanding. "We're not the enemy."

Alex eyed him and wasn't sure about what he said. "How do I know that? This could be a trick." She glanced at the staircase behind him—the way out—and her nostrils flared with impatience and frustration before she looked him in the eye again. "I want to see the angel again."

Dean looked mystified. "Who, _Naomi_?"

Well _that_ was the stupidest guess in the world. " _No_." She pushed her mouth into a thin line, trying to muster the bravery. "C-Castiel." Saying his name out loud for the first time left her tongue tied and a little breathless.

Dean reacted by looking incredibly done and irritated, then in rapid succession, depressed. He let out a disgusted sigh and halfway rolled his eyes. "Of _course_ you do." He rubbed his face with his palm tiredly.

"I _remember_ him," Alex said, defending her reasoning. "From Heaven. He was always trying to get to me. He's the only one I remember. Not you. Not Sam." Dean looked slighted and offended, and Alex said the next part without giving it much thought. "I don't even think I _like_ you." Much less trust him or want to be around him.

Dean's face worked and a surprising sweep of hurt showed, which he quickly tried to conceal with a short, glib tone. "Well, _Cas_ , as we call him, left you here with _us_. Remember? So if he's trustworthy like you're saying, trust that you're safe _here_ , okay?" Sam could have said the same thing but it would have been tender, kind, and empathetic. Dean saying that sounded like a pissed-off command given out of sheer annoyance.

He wasn't helping at all. So she let a sarcastic comment fly as if it were second-nature. "You always have this shitty of an attitude?" she asked.

Apparently, that was the right thing to say to him to make him realize what an ass he was being. His shoulders sagged slightly and he wet his lips as his features showed pain and struggle. A short, charged sigh came out of his mouth. "Look, Al," he started, and that was the same nickname he'd used for her a few other times and she felt _weird_ about it. "I am _sorry_ but right now I'm just really having a _hard_ time dealing wi—"

"Stop _calling_ me that, will you?" she asked, cutting him off mid-sentence. She didn't care about his hard time—he was being a jerk to her, plain and simple. "'Al' is a _dude_ _'_ _s_ name." And technically so was Alex, but dammit, she couldn't handle this guy and his I'm-the-boss attitude, so she grappled for some semblance of control. "It's _Alex_." She hesitated, because she _did_ have amnesia and the name kind of meant nothing to her. "Apparently." Dean was looking at her with these raw eyes that made her suddenly feel totally on the spot. "What?" she asked, a little defensive.

He shook his head so faintly. "I—I just don't get how you can't _remember_." His voice broke on the word _remember_ , and the look on his face was so emotional that Alex had to step back a little.

He was weirding her out, majorly. "Well don't _cry_ about it," she muttered, feeling embarrassed and unsure of why. And then she realized he _was_ about to cry and she felt immediately terrible. "Oh my god. Uh—no—hey, _stop,_ " she said as he turned away and hid his face. Her skin crawled with hot discomfort. "Don't do _that._ "

Dean tried to keep his macho-man voice on. "Just go away, okay? I'm fine." But he wasn't fine. He was very upset and obviously fighting off tears.

Regretting her actions—this guy was supposedly her oldest brother and she guessed this had to be hard on him and that her comments were kind of heartless. "I'm sorry," she apologized woodenly, humiliated and unsure of what to do. She stood there like a stick and didn't move. He had kind of brought it on himself, though. Was she supposed to just accept his shit attitude? Either way… "I didn't mean to make you cry."

"Forget it," he muttered gruffly, still not looking at her. "I'm _fine_." And then he abruptly headed up the stairs and went outside the bunker, slamming the huge, heavy metal door behind himself.

Alex stared after him with a churning stomach. She heard a soft sound and glanced over—Sam was entering the room and had apparently seen at least the tail end of that exchange. Swallowing her discomfort, Alex looked after Dean again. "W-where's he going?"

Sam looked sorry about what had just happened. "Jamie's grave I'm guessing."

Alex hesitated. "Jamie?"

"His, uh—his girlfriend." Sam was grim. "She died pretty recently. Things were pretty serious between them and Dean took it pretty hard."

Alex stared at the doorway Dean had disappeared through. She felt a sinking sensation. "Oh," she said dumbly.

Sam nodded. "Yeah."

Pain. Was his behavior all because of pain? Not because he was just some asshole with a complex? Alex turned her attention more to Sam, flustered a little because she felt like she'd maybe reacted badly. "I didn't mean to say anything wrong," she said, trying to excuse herself. "He's just kinda rude and I got mad."

Sam cracked a crooked, tiny smile for her benefit, and the effect was immediate reassurance. "It's okay. He's just… more stressed out and depressed than usual and he's taking your memory loss really personal. He definitely shouldn't." It was Sam's turn to look at the silent doorway with a forlorn expression—his voice grew a little less sure. "He yells at everyone, not just you."

Alex frowned, forgetting about Dean in favor of realizing that Sam looked markedly worse than last time she'd seen him. Paler and more drawn. "Hey… you don't look so good," she said, worry making her tone dip down.

Sam glanced at her and grew mildly embarrassed. He tried to sidestep her concern. "I'm fine. Just really tired."

"Not on drugs then?" Alex asked, a half joke. Only a half-joke, though. "You… look kinda like you're on drugs."

Sam chuckled weakly. "Not on drugs," he said, then cleared his throat. His chest sounded raspy and wet, like he had some kind of sinus infection that had settled into his respiratory system. He really sounded sick, poor guy. But he shrugged it off. "It's the trials, I guess," he said. "One of the many things Dean mentioned in the car when he was trying to memory-pummel you into remembering everything." He made a concerted effort to look like he felt okay. "But I'm good. You don't need to worry. I've had it worse."

Yeah right. He was obviously miserable and Alex felt a lurch of fondness tug at her heart. "You're a modest one, aren't you?" she asked, knowing he would probably deny that he felt bad until the cows came home. So she decided to take the initiative. "Want some soup? Maybe I can fix you something." The kitchen was over there, Sam had pointed it out earlier on their tour.

Sam's face fell into a weirdly confused and amused expression. "Uh, you can't cook," he said, clearly holding back on some desire to poke fun at her for it.

Alex's eyebrows shot up high. "Excuse me?" That sounded like a challenge. "Psh. I can't _cook_." That sounded like a joke. She went off to the kitchen to prove him wrong and he followed with a tired smile on his face as he shook his head.

* * *

A little later, Sam ventured out of the bunker and to the gravesite where, as predicted, Dean was sitting and staring. He had his knees up and widely set with his arms over them. His posture was terrible, his expression was worse. From there, he could see the bunker door so Sam wasn't worried about Alex running off without him knowing. He sat beside Dean where he could still see the door well, then gave his brother a moment of silence before he asked. "Hey. You okay?"

Dean answered flatly without missing a beat. "Sam, I haven't been okay in _years_." Sam wished Dean were joking about that but knew he wasn't. This long and steady decline into brokenness had been quite a process. And these days, Sam was learning that even _Dean_ couldn't hold it all together forever. Growing up, Dean had seemed invincible and unbreakable. Tenacious to his core, capable of taking the weight no matter how heavy. But ever since Purgatory and everything that had happened surrounding that, Dean seemed cracked in half and close to shattering now with Jamie's death. Sam knew that if this entire thing with Alex had happened a few years ago, Dean's reaction to finding out she was still alive would have been worlds different. But Dean was so shot and frayed inside, so destroyed emotionally, that he couldn't get past his own out-of-control emotions and see the situation for what it was. Sam knew he had to be the man of the hour this time and see his family through and it was terrifying but it was also right. After his failure last year, this was only fitting. Sam felt that he deserved what he'd chosen—the trials, this misery, the idea that he was probably heading toward a young death. But he worried about Dean. And he worried about Alex, too. Especially now that she was more vulnerable and at-risk with her stripped memories. "What about you?"

Dean's question startled Sam, who didn't know what he was being asked. "Huh? What about me what?"

"You okay?"

"Oh." Sam breathed out and nodded tensely. "Hanging in there."

He could feel Dean's worry-tight gaze on the side of his face and knew his brother could see how physically ill he looked. It was getting worse every day. "Feeling okay?"

 _No. Not at all._ But Sam lied. "Yeah, I mean… yeah."

The two of them had fought last night. About Dean drinking, about Sam leaving, all the same old same old they always went around about. But today neither of them had the energy or desire to do it again. In fact, Dean surprised and touched Sam deeply when he made the offer he made next. "Sam, it's not too late. I can do this for you." Sam looked at his brother with a tight, emotional chest. He could tell that Dean meant it but was also so broken inside he was incapable of doing what he said he could. "Say the word and I'll get off the bench and trade with you."

It was an olive branch. A reminder that they were brothers forever, even when they hated each other and fought and didn't see eye to eye. And Sam shook his head, refusing to let his big brother swoop in and take the hits for him. "No Dean." He mustered his certainty and resolve and committed himself anew to this task. "I'm gonna do this. I got this one. You've done enough."

Dean stared off into the landscape blindly, his face twisted into a mask of pain and fear. "I just keep thinking about where this is going and what it'll do to you."

Sam's heart clenched because the care and love he heard in his brother's voice was something he desperately needed to hear. Getting slightly emotional as he marched forward and stood tall in this mission, Sam looked Dean dead in the eye. "It's closing the gates of Hell. I mean, it's bound to come with a pretty big price tag. You know I know that." When Dean's face twisted in protest, Sam grasped his shoulder and squeezed. "It's gonna be okay, Dean. There's a light at the end of this tunnel."

Appearing no emotionally older than ten, Dean shook his head, at a loss. "Do you really believe that, man? After all we been through?"

"Yeah. I do." Sam smiled tightly through it all because he didn't have to lie about that. "I mean, not a perfect ending and not a happily ever after but… it's demons gone. And Hell shut down. And that's not too shabby."

Dean went silent and stony, thinking hard. Then his eyes tellingly shifted to the bunker. "You seen Space Cadet?"

Sam couldn't stifle a smile and chuckle. "Yeah. She made me soup." He made a face and corrected himself. " _Tried_ to make me soup." He was laughing again. "How do you mess up a can of damn _soup_? Only Alex." She'd added too much water, he was pretty sure. And boiled it for way too long. But it was the thought that counted. Even without her memories, she sucked in the kitchen. And he loved that because it was familiar, it was _her_ , it was right.

Dean didn't share Sam's amusement. He looked only sicker and sicker. "I gotta figure out a way to make her _remember_ , man…"

Sam looked at his brother cautiously. "Dean… there's a pretty big possibility that she won't ever—"

" _Sam_." Dean gave him a look like he _better not_ say what he was about to say.

Sam knew it was hard to acknowledge, but they weren't doing themselves any favors by pretending she would magically just remember everything. An angel had done that to her—it wasn't human amnesia. It was magical and supernatural. And possibly permanent. "No, listen," he said firmly and kindly, trying to be balanced. "Dean, we need to brace ourselves. She might _never_ remember. It might never really fully come back. I mean, an _angel_ did that to her."

Dean didn't like that at _all_ and got visibly agitated and upset. "Dude, she has to remember. _Has_ to."

"But what if she doesn't?" Sam prompted gently.

"She _will,_ " Dean insisted, and Sam could almost hear the missing _if it kills me_ , that his brother didn't say. Dean continued on, miserable. "She's not _Alex_ , Sam. Not really. Without her memories, her skills, her knowledge, she's not _her_. She's a civilian. And you know what happens to civilians around here." He looked at Jamie's grave and even though Jamie wasn't a civilian by any means, Sam got Dean's implication. People who ran with them died.

But he was angry at Dean's attitude and didn't bother hiding his tone, either. "She _is_ her," he fired back earnestly. "So she doesn't remember herself. That doesn't make her any less of our sister or our family. And if you're afraid of her getting hurt, stop whining about how bad you have it and step up and _protect_ her. Simple."

Usually that kind of comment would provoke Dean into a spitfire argument. But tonight, Dean just sank further into his morose depression. "I just need one thing to go right for us, Sam. _One thing_. Is that too much to ask for?"

Sam was getting pretty frustrated with Dean's shortsightedness. "Dean. Our _sister_ is _alive._ We thought she was dead and she's _not_. Call me crazy but I'm counting that as a win! Come on, man. This is a _good_ thing. Ideal? No. But _bad_? Definitely not." He waited for Dean to see his point.

And Dean did nod wearily and sigh and say, "You're right. You're right." But it didn't seem to make much difference. "But I'm so tired, Sam. So freaking tired of feeling all this." Sam looked at his brother sidelong and said nothing else, just thought and thought and wished he knew how to get through to Dean, how to comfort him or reason with him at least. And then, softly, Dean posed a quiet question he sounded apprehensive about. "Can I be honest with you right now?" He swallowed, shook his head, gazed at Jamie's grave yet again. Sam waited on pins and needles, sensing that this was important. "I'm… I'm not so sure about slamming the gates. Not... not with James down there." Sam's expression fell slightly even as Dean looked him in the eye with a pained expression. "I've been to Hell. I know what it's like. And I can't _stand_ the thought of her there right now."

Sam knew this wouldn't be well-received, but he went ahead and said it anyway. "I know. But I dunno what to tell you except get to reading, Dean. And hope to God you can find a way to get her out before I do these trials. Because Hell needs to get shut down and you know it. We can't leave it open because of one person."

That comment sparked angry life to Dean. In a spirited, angry retort that was different than the rest of his woe-is-me behavior that night, Dean gave Sam an ugly look. "Oh yes we _can,_ Sam."

That was a dangerous, dangerous mindset and Sam felt his stomach sinking. Would this become a roadblock for them? Had Dean already decided not to do this? Was he going to attempt to sabotage his efforts? Sam felt a horrible feeling of dread knotting inside of himself. "Dean? You with me on this?" he asked carefully, wondering what the hell he would do if Dean said no.

Dean shook his head, clearly at a loss for what to do. His answer was noncommittal. "Right now… I honestly don't know."


	120. Hallelujah

" _You_ _'_ _re my true north. No compass would point me in any other direction but to you._ _"  
-_ Kristen Hope Mazzola

* * *

It was sometime in the dead of the night and Alex was wide awake, finding sleep impossible yet again. So instead of laying there and staring at the ceiling as she'd done for an hour or more already, she sat up, switched the light back on, and then sat on the floor to look through the small box of photos Sam had brought her to "look at and see if they helped."

She had been out of Heaven for something over twenty-four hours now. No sign of Castiel yet and no twinge of recollection on her part either. But that wasn't stopping Alex from trying to figure herself out. There weren't many photos in the box she was sorting through and some were water-damaged and wrinkled… but Sam said this was "about all" of the family photos they had. None of them were portraits or studio pictures. Not a single one. Alex looked at the snapshots again and again, studying the man who looked like a more thickly-built, darker-haired Dean in a lot of the pictures. That was her father, apparently. And he looked pretty rough in all of the photos. Like a man who lived by the bottle, never slept much, and was incredibly miserable with himself and where he'd ended up in life. He always looked guarded and slightly sour in pictures where he was looking into the camera, like he didn't want his picture taken. He was only smiling with teeth in one picture, and it was one of himself hugging his blonde, young wife in front of a house. Alex studied those two people and didn't recognize them in the least. But she still felt sad.

There was only one picture in that box where her father was shown with all three of his children and it was an odd family photo. They were in front of the Impala and John stood with his hands in the pockets of his jacket—he didn't touch his kids or even stand with body language that suggested he was comfortable with them. He was unshaven and his dull eyes were rimmed with dark circles. His teen son Dean stood adjacent to his father with his arms draped over pre-teen Sam and Alex's shoulders. Sam was smiling for the camera but it was obviously a forced expression—his body language looked stiff. Alex looked sort of smug and up to no good with the slightest defiant smirk at the edge of her mouth but she had an arm casually hung over Dean's shoulder. And Dean grinned widely, pulling his siblings into his sides tightly. Some kind of amulet thing hung around his neck. He looked genuinely happy. He was the only one.

Times had changed, Alex guessed. Dean didn't seem to be happy anymore. _None_ of them seemed to be happy people. _Was I happy_ _…_ _? Probably not. Am I maybe better off not remembering everything?_ The more she found out about the life she had supposedly come from, the more she wondered why anyone would want this or stay in it willingly.

Alex stopped looking at the pictures after awhile and looked around, aware of a certain hollowness and loneliness that echoed quietly in her bones. This place, the bunker, had a constant low whir of electricity that was sort of comforting so she focused on that and listened to it for a few minutes, then glanced around the room again.

After she had made soup for Sam a few hours ago, she'd said goodnight and wandered back to this room, _her_ room, deciding she needed a shower and some rest to get her mind right. She took her time underneath the hot water of her shower, examining the skin of her legs and the shape of her hips and the spaces between her toes. Discovering who she was, or trying to anyway. She examined the penny necklace she wore yet again—she'd found it yesterday and wondered at its significance especially when Dean had made a point of asking her if she remembered why she wore it. The short answer was _nope_. But for whatever reason, she kept it on because it felt right. Comforting, almost. After the shower, she wrung out and combed her very long hair then put on underwear and an oversized t-shirt she found in the duffel bag of stuff Sam had shown her. Her old things, apparently. The shirt she donned was big enough to almost be a dress except it was too short to wear in public. If she lifted her arms up at all, underwear would show. But since she was locked in her room alone, it didn't matter.

After dressing, she drifted around the little room and examined it at length. It was small and surprisingly cozy for being a rectangular, architecturally barren room in a cold-looking bunker. The walls were a steely gray and the ceiling wasn't very high, but the room felt warm and homey because whoever had resided there before had added a lot of personal touches. Two vibrant Mexican blankets hung as decoration on two of the walls. A skylight that tunneled up through a story or two of building showed a small circle of starlight. The built-in bookshelf at the far end of the room was shoved full of lots of different hardbacks of varying sizes, bindings, and thicknesses. A furry round rug was bedside and some beautiful black and white 8x10 prints of landscapes and skylines in frames dotted the wall above the generously-sized bed. Fluffy blankets and plump pillows suggested whoever had been here before liked their sweet sleep quite well. A small writing desk sat near the doorway and a typewriter rested on the small surface, a chair was pulled up to that desk with a knit throw blanket over it. In the closet there were a few suits that looked like they had belonged to someone the size of a teenage boy and of all things, a walking cane with a nice surprise—it had a button that sent a sharp spike stabbing out of the walking end. So basically, it was a deadly weapon for an old man…? Alex wondered about whoever had lived here before. Not just in this room, but in this place. It was huge and had lots of bedrooms and a bathroom you might find at a college dorm. Not to mention the huge ornate library and the basement levels and training rooms and the command-center area. Over his soup, Sam had explained a little about the bunker and "The Men of Letters" to a very stumped but intrigued Alex. Basically, some kind of group of scholarly genius dudes with insights and expert knowledge of the paranormal had once lived and worked in this place, carrying forth some kind of epic legacy. And now _she_ was here. A pretty clueless girl who knew next to nothing about herself or the life she had led before. Downgrade for sure. _Sorry, room. You probably liked the guy who lived here before better._

Alex went through all the clothes and items that were in her duffel bag and looked at them thoroughly, hunting for clues about her past. But none of the shirts, shoes, and mismatched socks held any answers. She found a silver whistle on a chain, a trashy looking Harlequin romance novel, and a flask with the boldface initials A.E.W. carved into it among other things but nothing struck a chord. After perusing the room and looking in every drawer and on every shelf out of curiosity, Alex had tried to lay down and sleep. And that brought her up to now: Awake and restless and sort of frustrated. Currently done with looking at the old family photographs, she set the box aside, sighed gustily, and then noticed the journal where it had been set on her bedside table. Hmm. "Dad's journal" as it was called. It had been lent to her under strict instructions to take care of it and not let anything happen to it. The idea was maybe the entries and things inside would prompt her to remember. Dean had tried to _forcibly_ make her read it earlier but now, in the privacy of her own space, she thought maybe she could have a different experience. So, with a _well, here goes nothing_ attitude Alex picked the weighty volume up and carried it over to the bed and she read it, starting at the beginning. She was quickly caught up in the overtly depressed and pained personal entries, intrigued in the worst of ways and suddenly wondering how this man, her father, had died. Assuming it was something to do with the dangerous life this family lived, she read on and on, a feeling of dread and sorrow deep in her stomach. She sat on the edge of her bed, feet propped onto the elevated bed-frame as the old leather-bound volume perched on her knees. She absently alternated between chewing her thumbnail and rubbing the ends of her hair as her eyes scanned over John Winchester's strong handwriting and grim entries.

At no particular time and with no warning, in the dead of night there came a soft sound sort of like fluttering fabric in the wind. _Huh, that_ _'_ _s weird._ Alex looked behind herself and over her shoulder fleetingly, expecting to see some paper fallen to the floor or something. So when she saw a _person_ standing there and staring at her, she gasped and stood in a whirl, clutching the journal to herself in a hasty attempt at modesty. " _Hey_!" she protested, startled and embarrassed and frozen in place… and also very aware of how inappropriately dressed she was.

It was _him_ and she almost dropped the journal altogether because all of her muscles suddenly liquified into useless jelly—even her mouth dropped open slackly, betraying her shock. It was the angel in the trench coat, the one she had been restlessly thinking of without stopping. _Castiel._ "Hello, Alex," he greeted carefully and quietly.

She swallowed through a suddenly thick throat, unprepared for the moment she had been impatiently hoping for. Before, in Heaven, she'd been in some kind of trance and barely aware of anything. She remembered Naomi best, actually. Of Castiel, she remembered a blur of vivid blue eyes, tan trench coat, black wings, and his panic to get to her but it was all indistinct and garbled… however, afterward, she'd _sort of_ seen him when he rescued her but it had been dark in that crypt and she'd been wild-minded and sort of out of it, not really giving herself enough time to really look at or see anything. So seeing him now that she was calm and centered and in a room that was warmly lit by the glow of a bedside lamp, she was shocked at how beautiful she immediately found him to be. He was tall and solidly built, had dark tousled hair and an unforgettable, handsome face—soft looking lips, broad nose, a fierce brow and deep character to the strong features of his countenance—and those blue eyes that looked at her so intently and deeply. His expression was hard to read—concerned, maybe?—but standing there in just underwear and an oversized shirt with a very strange and beautiful man close by, Alex was flustered and defensive of herself because he made her feel so… _something_. "What, so you just pop in anytime you feel like it?!" she asked breathlessly, hoping _so hard_ that the shirt she wore was… _covering everything_.

Maybe her worries were in vain. He wasn't looking at her body or being inappropriate at all. His eyes merely crimped up in confusion as his brows tensed toward each other. Clearly, he was struggling to understand what her question's purpose was. "Would you… like me to go back out and knock at the door?" he finally asked very slowly, trying to follow her and not really succeeding. His voice was incredibly deep and husky, unnervingly so.

Underneath his close, worried gaze, Alex fidgeted and loosened her lock-like grip on the journal. She felt totally exposed no matter how she stood or what she did with her hands. Trying to look at him but finding doing so for longer than half a second to be difficult, she cleared her throat vaguely, finding self-confidence to be a million miles from her grasp. "Um. Castiel, right?" she asked, wanting to make sure she had it right before going any further.

He hesitated. "Yes, but…" his face twitched into something like faint hurt. "You… usually call me Cas."

His tone suggested that the nickname was important to him but Alex couldn't understand why. And she was more worried about _other_ stuff. " _What_ are you doing in my room?" She was the picture of embarrassed and trying not to be. "I could have been _naked_ or something."

Cas looked mildly perplexed, then like he thought he needed to reassure her. "It wouldn't have bothered me," he said earnestly, missing her point completely.

Alex was taken aback quite a bit because she hadn't anticipated that as an answer. " _Uh_ …"

However, Castiel wasn't as stuck on the subject as she was. In fact, he barely seemed to realize she was indecent at all. He came a little closer, rounding the bed cautiously with an expression tight in concern as he looked around her face relentlessly. The closer he got, the tighter Alex's lungs constricted. "Are you… doing all right?" he asked, his face showing clear signs of regret and guilt. He radiated a tender quality, a steadfast and trustworthy energy with every word he spoke. And it intimidated her like hell. "I'm sorry I had to leave so quickly but Naomi was in pursuit. I've lost her, for now. And I came to you as quickly as I could."

He said those things with such depth of emotion—the kind she didn't completely understand. Alex felt distinctly like a small flower standing alone out underneath the blazing, beautiful sun. Curious and alive from the warmth, but also a little afraid to get burned. Castiel had an undeniably gentle nature about him and maybe that made her feel brave enough to mumble it out loud. "I was… I was actually starting to worry maybe she got you or something." Naomi.

Of all things, a briefly confused and touched look came onto Castiel's face, then the smallest emotionally-affected smile. "I'm fine," he said softly, and the way his deep voice rumbled and the way he looked at her made Alex shrink a little, hot at the neck and ears. His gaze made her feel bare and self-conscious that she abruptly smacked the journal she'd been holding down onto the bedside table in favor of pulling her shirt down as far as it would go—which was only the upper thigh. Maybe she shouldn't have done that. Castiel's eyes followed her hands and his gaze rested on her thighs briefly. Becoming mildly flustered himself, he cleared his throat and looked away, forcing a studious frown onto his face. "I uh, I just spoke with your brother," he said, trying not to look at her.

'Your brother'? That wasn't specific enough. Alex crossed her arms awkwardly over herself, giving up mostly. "The tall one or the pissy one?"

"Dean. Who is, I agree… the 'pissy' one." Castiel let his eyes dart to hers briefly. "I woke him up in the middle of sleeping just now, so he _was_ rather perturbed. He said you haven't remembered anything."

Alex sobered a good bit and she forgot about her self-consciousness in favor of a much bigger problem. "No. I haven't." Her hesitant eyes raised to look into his in a series of fleeting, unsure glances. Her hands were knotted in front of herself. "Is… is that why you're here? Can you fix me? Like you fixed my voice?"

Castiel's face showed severe regret and he looked at her very lengthily in deep concern. He took in a deep breath before letting it out grudgingly. "I'm afraid not. Naomi did something to you I'm not sure how to undo without potentially breaking your mind, which obviously, I won't risk. I think—and hope—that in time you'll remember." He paused and then acknowledged another possibility. "Or perhaps something will jog your memory, to use the colloquial."

Alex was plunged into a morose state. "Yeah or maybe I'll _never_ remember." She gestured loosely at the box of photos that was on the floor nearby and depression settled around her shoulders. "Dean spent like all day showing me crap. Stuff I've been around my whole life supposedly. It didn't work. I feel like I've never seen any of this stuff before in my _life_."

Cas looked at the photographs in tandem with her for a long moment before he looked back at her intently. "Do you have any memories at all from before Naomi had you? Even the smallest thing could be significant."

Alex fiddled with a piece of lint on the hem of her shirt. "Well… there's one thing but I don't think it's important." Also, she didn't really wanna say.

Castiel looked extremely interested. "What is it?"

Unenthusiastic, Alex shook her head faintly. "Like… a one second memory," she said, not sure why it felt like privileged information she was about to divulge. She looked into his eyes again, tentative about saying. But again, he felt safe to her somehow. Trustworthy to her immediately, despite her guard. So she told him her one, brief, single memory that hadn't been from her time with Naomi. "Sparks falling down like rain. I remember them so, so clearly. And a feeling of... I dunno. It's indescribable." Wonder? Awe? Love? She shrugged one shoulder up self-consciously. "I don't know what it means." The thunderstruck look on his face made her go still. "What?" she asked, voice dropping to a worried whisper.

He shook his head slightly, his voice soft and cautious. "I may be wrong but I… I think that may have been the first time you saw me."

Alex's face lost all expression. _The first time I saw you?_ Something felt incredibly intimate and meaningful about his answer—the way he said it, the look on his face, and something else she couldn't quite put her finger on. Her only remaining memory was about _him_? That made her wonder about everything. How he had become her guardian, when she had learned about him, what it had been like the first time they met, what kinds of things he had done to save her in the past. Had he been her guardian her entire life? Had he _always_ looked at her with eyes like that? Had she tried not to but fallen in love with him anyway? Because, even right now, she felt like she could. Or was. Or would. And because of that, Alex had no idea how to respond except to fumble out a very stuttery, "O-oh." She tried to find something to say, some way of filling in the silence. She ended up asking a semi-stupid question. "There… there were sparks when we met?" She almost laughed because right after she said it, she realized that it sounded a different way than what she meant.

He answered her in a way that made the urge to laugh fizzle out immediately. "Yes. There were sparks." His eyes were almost unbearably blue and she swore she could see into his fucking soul itself. Did angels have souls?

Alex's mouth was becoming dryer and dryer and her pulse was picking up. "Huh," she managed to comment weakly, wondering very hard how she felt about him before she lost her memories. "That's… interesting." His gaze, open and intense and burning into hers, was making it very, very hard to form a coherent thought. _Why is he looking at me like that?_ Alex was starting to become physically shaken from the unspoken, mounting tension in the room. She scrambled for something to say so she wasn't just standing there in ear-destroying silence. "Do… do a lot of people have guardian angels?" she asked, hearing how her voice cracked nervously.

He was impossible to deter and still stared at her with that devastatingly heart-stopping gaze. "No. Not many at all." Even though he answered her question, he seemed to be thinking about something else and was just drinking her in. There was an unmistakable quality of yearning and pain and desire to his eyes.

She shrank a little more, found her breathing shallower and shallower. "But I do?"

His answer was one soft word that intrigued her even further. "Yes."

"A-and it's you?" she asked, voice growing weaker and weaker.

His arctic eyes blazed. "Me."

Alex's voice was a mere whisper and her eyes could not escape his. "…Why?"

His expression became mildly regretful. "I don't know." He looked like he felt how she did about that: frustrated not to know the answer.

And it was then that Alex realized he'd drifted closer to her. Or maybe that she had drifted closer to him. But he was close enough to reach out and touch, if she had been so inclined. That's when she realized that she sort of _was_ inclined to touch him, without knowing completely why. He looked like he wanted to touch her, too. And she was afraid of what was happening. "Why do you keep looking at me like that?" she asked, voice barely a whisper and eyes clinging to his helplessly.

He spoke in a whisper too as his eyebrows furrowed. "Like what?"

"Like…" like his heart was breaking. Like he didn't know how to see anything else but her. Like he was completely in love with her and _wanted_ her. She was flustered and thought she must be insane, so she gestured with both hands clumsily and spoke really loudly in an effort to mess up the quiet, intimate feeling of the moment. "Like _that_."

Although she wasn't good at describing it, Castiel got the gist: he was making her uncomfortable. He backed off and looked down, appearing upset with himself and self-conscious, too. "I'm sorry. This is… difficult for me," he admitted, and he sounded so honest and so confused that she immediately believed him and hung onto his every word as he tried to explain and his eyes dodged hers. "For months now I've thought you were gone. _Dead_. As did your brothers. Whenever I didn't have an open connection to Naomi, I didn't remember you were alive." His jaw clenched and he looked so wounded by whatever had happened to him. "I _mourned_ you. Deeply. So it's… beyond my skills of description to tell you what it's like to see you standing here alive and well again." He tried to offer her a small smile, but it was pained. Alex stood there silently, wondering about him and her and what they had been. She really _really_ felt like something had been going on between them because the way he looked at her and spoke to her alone was unbearable and familiar and longing. It terrified and captivated her at the same time. Castiel was the one who shied away from the more intense subject that time, abruptly and jarringly switching tracks. "Other than the memory loss, are… are you all right?" he asked. "Do you… remember your time in Heaven at all?"

The mention of Heaven soured her immediately and made her feel darker all over. Shouldn't Heaven be a good place? " _Sort_ of…" she admitted quietly, slowly sinking down to sit on the bed as the memories settled over her like heavy gravity. She pulled absently at her shirt hem, trying to be modest but not really succeeding. "It was like I was drugged, I guess. Some things ran together and time didn't feel normal up there." She paused, remembering and looking off into blank space. It was kind of shameful—she felt like she had done something wrong to have deserved what happened. "And there was the darkness. Whenever one of them wasn't with me… everything just went black and it felt like total emptiness." Punishment for something or some kind of mental torture, she assumed. Which made her sadder and more angry. Naomi's hateful gaze filled her mind. "I remember that woman Naomi," she continued, swallowing hard because the disdain and coldness in that woman's eyes felt so undeserved. Alex didn't understand and looked down at her hands resting there between her closely-touching thighs. "She… it was like I was _nothing_ to her. She kept hurting me and I didn't even _do_ anything to her." Alex said that then was abruptly thunderstruck by the possibility that wait… maybe she _had_ done something to Naomi to deserve that. She looked up at Castiel in mild alarm. " _Did_ I?"

He stood nearby as she sat and his face was a mask of pain on her behalf and heartbreak at that had happened. "No," he said softly, compassionately. "You did nothing to deserve what she did." He paused, glanced around, then inexplicably went and picked up the throw blanket that was across the back of the writing desk chair. He carried it over, sat beside her, and continued to speak as he thoughtfully placed the blanket over her lap and legs like it was second nature to attend to her unspoken needs. He focused on smoothing the fabric down in a chaste, innocent way and Alex was stock-still. She stared at the side of his face, an amazed and deeply-touched feeling coming to life as he covered her naked legs like that and spoke about Naomi. "She did those things to you in order to manipulate me," he said heavily. "So, as the logic goes… all of what happened to you was _my_ fault." He finished with the blanket and looked at her with sad, guilty eyes.

He was close and real and he was something she knew she needed to know more about. Alex felt a warm and strong feeling in the vicinity of her chest pulling steadily as she looked at the angel in the trench coat who sat so near to her. "Well I wouldn't go _that_ far…" she said, trying to feebly reassure his misplaced guilts. She almost reached out and touched his hand, but then didn't. Instead, she glanced down at the blanket that draped over her legs. "And, um… t-thank you." It was an embarrassing moment for her a little bit, but it was also very meaningful. She really didn't know how to not fall in love with him a little bit after that act of service and care that he had done simply to put her more at ease. He was an angel, so the kindness and gentleness fit her preconceived notions of what an angel should be. But Alex thought of the other angels, the ones who showed no compassion, only cruelty. Naomi loomed largely in her mind, puzzling her thoroughly. "I thought angels were supposed to be… you know." She looked at Castiel for answers, for explanation. " _Angels_."

He appeared similarly distressed, like he had thought the exact same thing before. "They're… not what they once were," he said softly, speaking of them like he wasn't even one of them. "In fact, maybe they were _never_ what people believed them to be. Angels have become mindless servants of a god who isn't even there anymore. They're all confused and scattered and listening to the wrong voices. Too concerned with the will of Heaven and with the old laws to take into account what actually matters." His eyes looked into hers deeply. "Humans. Every last one."

 _But especially you._ He didn't say that out loud. But she _swore_ he was thinking it and her eyes faltered away as heat crept up her neck. She found it increasingly impossible to reconcile the fact that he was an angel and that Naomi was one, too. They weren't cut from the same cloth at all—in fact, Alex was beginning to suspect that Castiel was one in a million. That he was something incredibly special and strange in the best of ways the likes of which did not exist anywhere else. "You… you seem different than the rest of the angels," she said quietly, finally finding the courage to chance a peek into his eyes again.

A soft, rueful smile showed at her comment and he looked down briefly as his face relaxed into that expression. "I am," he said simply, voice laced with the faintest instance of chagrin. She took in his noble profile, the five o'clock shadow of stubble, the little wrinkles and worry lines that made his face a roadmap of emotion and care. The shaggy hair that curled behind his ears. The graceful dip where his jaw ended and neck began. "It used to bother me very much," he admitted. "Unsettle me to my core. But now… I accept that I'm not like the others."

Transfixed completely at what he was saying to her, Alex couldn't look away. She kept her voice soft as to not shatter the moment. "What changed that?" She had a thrilling and petrifying hunch and was breathless as she waited to see if he said what she thought he might.

His smile fell in favor of a devastatingly serious expression. His eyes lifted and looked hesitantly and carefully into hers. His voice softened and lowered and wavered. " _You_."

Her body felt like it was jolted by a clap of thunder. _Me_. How were you supposed to react when an angel told you that he had changed everything because of you? What were you supposed to do when he looked at you like that and made your stomach turn flips, your veins buzz, your body burn slowly? Probably _not_ jump ten feet into the air and shriek in alarm when you abruptly glimpsed a spider crawling across the floor too close to your foot. "Oh _shit_!" Alex screeched, already leaping up in an ungraceful tangle of limps to stand on the bed and clutch at herself and have a mini panic attack. She staggered back against the wall above the headboard, standing in the bed on the pillows and knocking a picture off the wall in the process.

"What?!" Cas asked in panic. He had jumped up when she did and was looking around for the source of her duress.

"A fucking _spider_!" she sputtered, pointing at it like it was the most terrifying thing she had ever seen and he should see it, too because it was so _big_.

Understanding crossed the angel's face and his worry faded. "Oh." Cas located the source of what had startled her. He crouched down and instead of smashing it or something, he extended two fingertips and let the spider crawl onto him. He looked up at her and she was frozen in horror. What the _hell_ was he doing? Castiel seemed to think it was necessary to explain something overtly obvious to her. "You don't like spiders."

 _Oh, really Captain Obvious?_ Alex was a frazzled mess. " _You think_?!" she demanded, then shrank back further as he stood up with that damn tiny black spider crawling around on his hand. _If he_ _'_ _s one of those boyfriends who shoves the thing that makes their girlfriend freak out into their faces, so help me_ _…_ "Get that thing away from me!" she insisted in a tight, panicked voice, preemptively assuming he was going to try and put it right into her face.

But Cas disappeared from sight and then reappeared an instant later… sans spider. "He's outside now," he explained calmly, and she remained braced against the wall, breathing hard and covering her heart with a hand. Castiel looked at her thoughtfully and with a faint sadness. "You know I once killed off every species of spider in North America because I thought it would please you."

Still shaken up, Alex was sort of glib. "Okay _, one_ , that's sweet, if a _little_ over the top." She gestured heartily at where the spider had just been. " _Two_ , it didn't _work_!"

Cas looked pretty morose. "Scientists corrected the error I perpetuated," he explained.

...Well _that_ was intense. Alex didn't know what to say.

Castiel looked at her for a long couple of seconds and then very uncertainly spoke up. He looked vaguely amused, but he was hiding it behind some genuine confusion. "Uh… I don't think you're supposed to stand on beds."

Chastened and prideful, Alex made a face. "I can do what I want," she retorted, trying to be tough stuff. And then she swallowed and looked around with a highly suspicious, nervous glance. "Are you… _sure_ it's gone?"

"Yes," he said, giving her a soft smile that felt genuine and, of all things, slightly adoring. "It's safe to come down. There are no other spiders in here. I checked." _When?_ She wasn't sure about that. The shadows in the corners could conceal lots of other creepy crawlies. But when Castiel offered her both hands to help her down off the bed, she hesitated and then made the couple uneven, springy steps toward the edge of the bed and took his hands because she didn't know if she would get another excuse to touch him. Warm, rough, large hands held her smaller colder ones and she was yet again transfixed by him, compelled to look into his eyes as he steadied her. When she stepped down and was on the ground again, she no longer needed to hold his hands but neither of them let go for a very long couple of seconds. His hands felt safe and held hers so gently—his eyes were romancing hers without him meaning to—their chests almost touched—and she didn't want to let go of him. But she did, because her heart was hammering out of control and his touch was making everything worse. Alex pulled her hands away and edged back while messing with her hair to try to look occupied and not like she was melting inside. Castiel just watched her with that expressive, soulful gaze and she breathed out shakily, looking at the spot on the floor where she'd seen the spider. Her hands began to wring in front of herself absently, a manifestation of her anxiety. "Why do I remember that I'm scared of spiders and what a carburetor is but not who I _am_?" she asked faintly. It wasn't fair.

Castiel clearly shared in her struggle. "I'm really not sure," he said plaintively, sensitive to her. "I'm sorry. I wish I could help you remember but… I'm afraid to somehow damage you further."

Well… that was nice and all, but… Alex wanted _answers_. And all she kept getting was more confused. _Argh._ "How the hell do I fight _monsters_ or whatever if I'm scared of _spiders_?" she lamented, because that seemed _ridiculous_ to her.

Castiel smiled ever so gently, like he was proud and rueful all at once. "Well and often."

Alex felt stupid and didn't really think he was telling the truth. "I'll believe it when I see it," she muttered, then unconsciously fiddled with the circle shape underneath her t-shirt.

Cas's expression fell and he watched her do that. He contemplated her for a long, charged moment then posed a very careful, worried question to her. "Do you… do you know what your necklace is?"

She looked down and shrugged, wondering what the big deal was. "A penny?" She looked up at him sort of blankly. Dean had tried to get her to remember, too. Apparently it was something important-ish. Maybe. "Why? What is it?"

Somber eyes looked back at her and they swam with a hint of pain. Castiel took her answer in stride, but he sounded broken up about it. "Maybe in time you'll remember," he said elusively, looking away as if he were gathering himself.

Alex waited then said what seemed pretty reasonable to her. "Or you could just tell me what it is…?" If it was so important, they should tell her.

He looked at her with that stricken expression and took a minute to decide if he was going to say anything. Then he did. "I gave it to you."

 _Okay_ … "Like as a birthday present or something," she supposed uncertainly.

His intense eyes said _so much_ in that moment, but she wasn't sure what they were saying. "It… wasn't for your birthday," he managed.

Alex took in an unsteady breath and decided _out with it._ "Um, Castiel…? Tell me if this is a stupid question but I'm kind of thinking… were we…?" She hesitated and he looked incredibly hopeful. " _Involved_?"

Seemingly a little disappointed at her word choice, he still managed to soldier through. "You could say that."

Alex felt too winded to speak very loudly at all. That was vague but did that mean… there had been some kind of relationship? That they… had maybe _been_ together? Had their 'involved' status included a bed and two bodies and not much else? Did this stunning angel—her guardian— _want_ her that way? Could angels and humans… even… _do_ that? " _How_ involved?" she pressed uncertainly, and her lungs felt like they were too small to hold any breath at all.

He looked as apprehensive as she felt. "Well… to be honest…" he trailed off, his eyes flickering to the penny again. " _Very_."

A flush of warmth poured over her and she abruptly imagined him, her, and no clothes in the midst of a very passionate moment—and she felt incredibly embarrassed at herself. As a result, her voice turned to a squeak. " _Oh_." She cleared her throat, trying to get her normal timber back. "So. Um." Her mind was panicking. _Say something. Say anything. He can probably read your dirty gutter-riddled mind!_ "I—I—I saw your wings in Heaven," she managed through a dry mouth, saying the first thing that came to mind besides thoughts of him on top of her. "So uh, um, why don't I see them here?"

Clearly noticing her strange demeanor, Castiel nonetheless didn't say anything about it. "They're incorporeal, in a way. It's difficult to explain." Making everything so much worse for her, he reached out and gently touched her arm with just the tips of his fingers. She jumped at the unexpected touch, wide-eyed and not sure why he was doing that. The lightest touch to the most innocent area of her arm had her a little flustered. And then she nearly gasped out loud because behind him, giant wings came into view, materializing from nothing. They were broad and feathered by shining, midnight-black feathers—strong, beautiful, and expansive. Cas watched her and kept his fingertips to her skin. "Can you see them now?" he asked in quiet, somber curiosity.

Absolutely floored, she stared at them and then at him. Nothing could prepare you for the sight of that, she didn't think, and he was so utterly _magnificent_ and otherworldly that for a minute she could find no words. And when she finally found the ability to speak, she sounded like the village idiot. "H-h-how are you doing t-that?" she asked, completely wonderstruck.

His fingertips fell away from her skin, and when that happened, the wings disappeared from view. "By channeling a fairly complicated pattern of wavelengths into a more cohesive array of visually perceptible—"

Alex made a face. "Whoa, okay, as sexy as the science stuff is… you lost me," she said. She had kind of wanted him to say something like 'it's a special bond between guardians and their charges, only you can see them.' But instead… weird math stuff.

Castiel's expression fell. "I _did_ lose you," he said, startling her with what part of her sentence he focused on. "And it was one of the worst experiences of my entire existence."

Alex hedged away from the emotional stuff, not really comfortable with it in the least. "Anyone ever tell you you're kinda intense?" she asked, trying to joke but not doing so good at it.

He backed away a little. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to frighten you."

Her eyebrows rose a little, his reaction striking her as kind of cute. "Do I _look_ frightened?"

Castiel looked at her thoroughly. "No. You look… mildly amused."

Fondness drifted through her like a slow, lazy tide. "You're kind of a weird guy," she said, and it was a compliment. "I can see why I like you." Oops. She'd gone and said something that made him give her one of those deep, hopeful, intense looks again. Alex awkwardly looked for something to distract. "You—you know your tie's backwards, right?"

He looked down at it briefly, then back at her with a slight frown. "…This is just how I wear it."

Gosh. He _was_ cute though. How was an angel who looked forty _cute_? Her mouth was slightly crooked in a teasing smile and her head tilted to the side just slightly as she looked him over. "Such a _rebel_ , Mr. Castiel."

Her unintentionally flirtatious tone made his face fall and he suddenly looked vulnerable and lost. "I missed you so much," he said without thought, only a deeply ingrained forlorn and needy quality to his tone. "I—" and then he stopped himself because of how quickly she became uncomfortable. "I'm sorry. I'm not trying to make you uncomfortable."

She couldn't help it but at the same time it was really bugging her and embarrassing her. "I—I'm sorry too," she said, her gaze averted. "But I seriously don't _know_ you." She hoped he believed her because she felt bad. " _Or_ Sam. _Or_ Dean. Or any of the stuff they told me about hunting and our mom and dad."

Castiel didn't look angry or annoyed with her. Just incredibly empathetic. "It's not your fault. You don't need to apologize."

Maybe not, but… "I just wish I could _remember._ " It felt so _bad_ to not know anything or anyone. It was terrifying and lonely and suddenly made her chest constrict and her eyes sting. "It's _terrible_ ," she managed. "Not knowing who I am. Who to trust. Who to believe."

Castiel hesitated, and his eyes showed that he was desperate to help her and to lend some comfort. "It may not mean much but… you can trust me," he said softly.

Alex looked into cobalt depths that were like entire galaxies. Inside of those stunning eyes, she saw someone important. "I know," she said quietly, surprising herself a little bit with her response. But she felt it deeper than deep and said so, too. "Somehow… I know that."

Incredibly touched and pained happiness stretched his face briefly and he visibly kept himself from reaching out and taking her hand or holding her. In that awkward span of a few seconds, he worked to keep her feelings at the forefront, not his. "You know, I lost my memory, too," he told her, causing her to get a _lot_ interested really fast. "More than a year ago now. And I remembered _nothing._ I forgot everything. That I was an angel. The life I'd lived. _Everything._ " He let out the softest sigh through his nose and his eyes guiltily found hers. "I even forgot _you_." Alex felt her eyebrows moving up slowly. Wait. This had happened before? But vice versa? Cas was giving her this very understanding look and obviously trying to set her at ease. "So, I know how you're feeling right now. I remember how alone I felt and how terrifying to recall absolutely nothing. I understand."

Wow. "Was… was it Naomi?" Alex asked, jumping to the most logical conclusion she could think of.

Castiel frowned slightly. "No."

"But… but you eventually remembered who you were?" she asked, feeling really hopeful for the first time. "And everything you'd forgotten?"

He nodded once and she hung on to his every word. "Yes. It all came back to me when…" he suddenly lost his nerve and looked away. "Well."

Alex felt a slight shift toward wariness. "When what?" she asked slowly.

He shifted awkwardly, his eyes suddenly nervous and slightly. "Well, when you, um… when you kissed me."

Alex's eyebrows popped up high. Not what she had been expecting to hear. "What?" Then she grinned a little, realizing he was joking. "Come on."

He was totally serious. "I assure you, I'm telling the truth."

Not convinced, a little offended because she thought he _had_ to be messing with her, she got a curt as her smile fell in favor of a frown. "What is that, some Disney crap? 'True love's kiss' or something?"

Castiel's eyes narrowed in confusion. "I'm… not sure what a Disney is," he started, then gave the slightest, most helpless shrug. "And I don't know how to explain it. But I remembered who I was when you gave me that kiss." As if _that_ weren't shell-shocking and nerve-wracking enough, he added one final, somber thought: "And, also, for what it's worth, true love does sound like an accurate descriptor when it comes to you and me."

Yet again, he rendered her completely _dumbstruck_ with just a few words and the way he looked at her. Alex's mind had one single thought: _holy shit_. That sentence added in to everything else had her wanting to know everything about him and everything about _them_ _—_ she was beginning to feel things towards him—strong and intense things. Was she remembering the way she felt about him before she'd lost her memory? Or feeling that way anew? All she knew was that the basic idea that he wanted to kiss her right now…? She wasn't averse to that idea. In fact, she was a little titillated at the prospect. "Well," she managed primly, trying not to look excited or terrified or giddy (all the ways she truly felt). "What the hell? Why not?"

Castiel's eyebrows rose faintly. "You want to… to try it?" he asked in slight disbelief.

Alex tried to downplay it as purely being about her memory. "Just, I mean, to try and see if it—if I remember anything," she lied.

It was kind of starting to feel like a business transaction and that wasn't the most romantic thing in the world. Castiel seemed to be finding it a little strange, too, but he agreed tentatively. "Well… all right. If you're sure." He looked nervous though, which made _her_ nervous.

She tried to scoff it off. "Yeah. _Psh_. No big deal." But then he cleared his throat and awkwardly took hold of her forearms and looked at her and he was _too much_ and she didn't know how to be brave enough to go through with it at all. Immediately, Alex chickened out before he could even begin to lean in. "Wait, _wait_ ," she said, shaking her head and stepping back. It didn't feel right. "No, no, um… actually… this is _weird_. Sorry. I—I just don't go around kissing men I don't know." She hesitated. "I don't _think_." She actually didn't know _what_ her morals and values were. And Castiel was looking at her like he was heartbroken. "What?" she asked, a little defensive and humiliated at once.

He looked forlorn and a little bit defeated. Very alone. "Don't you remember me even a little bit?" he asked so softly. And her heart broke a little, too.

She wished she did. She tried to. But the answer was still the same. "No," she said, and she wanted to cry suddenly. _I want to though._

Cas misinterpreted her despair as more discomfort and apologized, seeming to think himself incapable of doing anything right. "I'm sorry to make you uncomfortable." He looked like he wanted to go to her and touch her. But he restrained himself and hovered at the edge of her personal space instead.

Alex was overwhelmed and feeling up against a wall she couldn't possibly break down. Frustration and despair made her want to just give up and cry defeat. She didn't get a lot of things, but one of the most prominent things? How this guy had fallen for her. Had she been like really amazing before or something? Why would this epic creature from Heaven want to do with some human girl? What was she missing here? A little at her wit's end, she tossed a hand up briefly. "Sorry but how did an angel and a human…? Even _meet,_ much less end up together or whatever? How does this even work? Aren't you like a thousand years old or something?"

Castiel looked vaguely amused and chagrinned at the same time. "Probably closer to a million, but that never seemed to matter," he said, startling her with the unruffled, reflective way he delivered such a bombshell. And then he began to tell her the story of them in a slow way—he sounded like the journey he had been on left him awed still. Like he wasn't done being amazed by it. "I was assigned as your guardian angel seven years ago," he said, eyes going off into middle distance softly. "As punishment, ironically enough." A soft smile tugged at the corner of his mouth and he looked at her fully again, seeming reverent of her as he slowly poured his heart out to her and told her everything. "And the moment I saw you… some part of me knew. How different you were. How important. You immediately meant so much to me. Without explanation. But I didn't need explanation. I wanted to keep you safe and give you whatever I could. I didn't think you would ever even know who I was." Alex was still and breathless, listening in rapt attention as he spoke to someone that couldn't possibly be _her_. "But then when I got this vessel and was able to walk this realm alongside you… when you finally knew my name and when I could reach out and… and touch you in the physical world…" he reached out carefully and took hold of her hand just slightly by the fingertips, sending warmth and pleasantness out into her veins from where his skin touched hers. "Well… now I understand there was never a point where I didn't love you with every part of myself." His eyes burned into hers with fierce honestly and heartfelt conviction. And she _believed him_ without question as he told her things that made it impossible for her to find breath at all. He sounded like someone vowing his life. Someone giving his all. Someone who was forever devoted. His voice trembled a little with quiet intensity as he cautiously and earnestly spilled every ounce of truth to her. "For you, I would do anything. Past, present, or future. Always. Without question. If you call, I'll come. If you need something, I'll make sure you have it. If you're hurt, I'll protect you. Wherever you go, I want to go there too. No one and nothing is as important as you are. I spent the last three months thinking that I had _lost_ you forever. I was empty and broken without you. You're… _everything_ to me." He abruptly stopped talking and she realized she hadn't blinked in over a minute and that her eyes were filled with tears. _Holy shit_. Castiel looked unsure of himself. "I'm sorry. Maybe I've said too much," he said, hesitating and then reaching out to her like he had no other choice. He came a little closer and ever so softly wiped a fallen tear off of her cheek.

Alex shook her head, in a daze, and she caught her hand in his when he began to draw it away. " _No_ , you…" her voice cracked and her eyes searched his. She held his cupped hand to her cheek, entranced by him. "You should definitely kiss me now," she whispered.

His expression was full of disbelief and wretched hope and his voice was a mere whisper like hers. "…Now?"

She nodded, breathing raggedy from emotion. "Yeah, _now_."

He didn't need to be told twice. He took a step closer, invading her personal space for real, and all coherent thoughts in her mind went silent in favor of one single thought: _oh my god_. Castiel gently moved his hand against her cheek in the softest and slightest caress, the tenderest of touches that sent warmth surging deeply inside. Her hand was loosely still on top of his as he leaned in carefully, exhaling a shaky breath as his worried eyes swept all over her face. He was nervous and so was she, and he seemed really afraid to push the envelope in any small way. He was incredibly gentle and careful, torturously so. His clean, masculine scent drowned her senses, the sound of his breathing became the only thing she could hear, the brush of his trench coat against her bare legs sent her veins screaming red alert. She waited breathlessly, just focused on not chickening out again… her hand fell down to grip his wrist tightly for moral support. She was terrified. And then his nose brushed hers and his lips touched to hers in a petal-soft kiss and her fear evaporated completely. _Oh._ Her eyes fell closed as a thrill raced upwards in her stomach as he gave her a whispering kiss that felt like home—and she immediately needed more so she turned her chin up, molding her mouth more closely to his even as her hands went of their own accord to slide up the front of his trench coat. He made the softest and most muffled sound—it made her think of a whimper—and he couldn't seem to help himself. He took hold of her like she belonged to him and like he couldn't kiss her without putting his arms around her and pulling her close. One of his hands tangled in her hair and sent tingles racing around her entire body and she made a soft sound as her hands slipped up to the sides of his neck to grasp, hold, and touch. Alex felt herself coming to life in a way she never had before, pressing closer to Castiel, pulling him closer and seeking more and more of this angel's intoxicating touch. It felt like the world was at her feet and like she was flying, like she was sheltered and adored and _safe_ and so very wanted. And if she wasn't mistaken… she felt an acute sense of belonging. Softly and repeatedly, their lips met for kiss after kiss—and each time, their mouths became softer and more open, slower in movement. Deeper. And as tongues began to explore the sensitive recesses of each other's mouths… Alex remembered sparks.

 _Sparks_. Sparks like the ones in her stomach and her veins. Sparks like the little flecks of memories that began to rain down over her. Mesmerized and covetous of more, Alex kissed him deeper still and grabbed him by the back of the head, fingers tight in his hair. He groaned softly and she did too, totally drunk as he pulled her against his body hard. He was so warm and familiar, so right, and she loved him. _She loved him_. And suddenly she clearly remembered seeing him walking toward her underneath a shower of white-hot sparks—a stranger, just a man in a trench coat. Her life had changed that day when the angel who had guarded and loved her from afar had been put into the body of a man.

That moment was the very first time she had laid eyes on Castiel—the point that Naomi had found then chosen and used as the epicenter of her memory erasure spell—and remembering it put a huge crack into the wall that stood between Alex and her memories. And as Castiel held her and kissed her in a way that left her dizzy and high, she remembered. She remembered an angel invading her dreams, fledgling trust developing, glimpses of who he was, wanting to know more. She remembered Castiel sacrificing everything to give her family a chance, she remembered falling in love beyond explanation or compare in a hundred small precious moments that were theirs and theirs alone. She remembered the Vatican, a white dress, a picnic table, saying _yes_. She remembered _him_. She remembered _everything_. The wall cracked and shuddered and then crumbled completely, destroyed forever.

Alex broke the kiss breathlessly, finding Castiel similarly short of breath with eyes that looked anxious and dark. Shocked and overwhelmed as it all flooded her mind, Alex took a couple seconds to recover and reel and stabilize. Cas looked on, frozen by worry. He didn't understand yet that Alex had remembered. But she _had_ —and she was remembering in specific how the last time she had seen Castiel, or the last time she really _remembered_ seeing him, they had been in Purgatory and he had been staying behind. She had been leaving. And it had been _over_. And now... she knew it _wasn_ _'_ _t_. Impossible emotion overcame her and abruptly she began to break down as reality tumbled over her in earnest. Here he was. And here she was, too.

Alex put shaking hands on either side of his face, suddenly crying and grinning at the same time. " _Hi_ , Cas."

Oh, the relief and wonder and sheerly frantic thankfulness that washed over his face when she said that, when she laughed and wept at the same time, clutching herself to him as her face buried in his shoulder. He held her tightly against him and she crawled up him, locking her legs around his middle and her arms around his shoulders as she took a long, tearful moment to hold him and realize what was happening. She shook against him and he held her so tightly that she was almost crushed—his face was buried in the crook of her neck and he was breathing unevenly—crying or nearly crying. And as Alex's mind raced to connect now to then, she realized something else and abruptly sat back against Cas, realizing that it had worked—she had done it— _it was all okay_. "Oh god, _oh my god_ —Sam's okay?" she asked in a voice that was wavering like mad. Yesterday and today and Sam being _fine_ and alive and not hallucinating himself to death charged through her mind. _Oh thank you god._ She cried harder still and grabbed Cas again, hiding her face in his shoulder. "Sam's okay!" She cried out in a muffled voice and clenched her fists into his trench coat, sobbing so hard she began to worry about herself a little bit. "Dean's okay, _you_ _'_ _re_ okay!" For a second she wanted to tear out of that room and go beat down her brothers' doors and scream and cry on them, too—but it was the middle of the night and they were sleeping. She shivered and sniffed and breathed heavily through joyful tears. It was enough to know that her family was alive and well—and all Alex could think about was Purgatory and leaving there thinking she had lost the love of her life. She drew back again and looked at her husband through teary eyes, stricken at the thought of what they had been through and how real it had been, how close to final. "I thought I was never gonna see you again," she said, touching the side of his face with two trembling hands. Her voice fell to a whisper as the ghost of what that had felt like froze her blood solid. " _I thought I was never gonna see you again_." And it had been one of the worst days of her life.

Cas's face was taut with emotion, his eyes were glazed with tears, he was barely keeping himself together. "I know," he managed near a whisper, one of his hands moving some teary, tangled hair off her cheek. He held her easily against himself with his other arm and let his free hand mould to the side of her face tenderly. "I thought the same." That it had been over. And now they had another chance. At the same time, they embraced tightly again, holding each other as tightly and closely as possible. "I thought I had lost you forever," Cas confessed in a broken, emotional whisper that was hot and despairing in her ear. His grip tightened as his emotions grew more and more pronounced. She shook her head no as he choked out another fear. "Oh, Alex. I was so afraid you'd never remember anything."

She hugged him tighter, practically crushing him. "I remember," she choked out, so so glad that her mind was itself again. He hadn't lost her. And she hadn't lost him. She shut her eyes, breathing in his smell, relishing his weight and shape and familiar textures. " _I remember_." And everything was okay. Right? Some details were still fuzzy. After a long minute, she let out a shaky breath, wiped at her eyes, then untangled herself from him and they stood closely, Cas gently touching her on either upper arm as she struggled to put her scattered memories back into linear order. "What _happened_?" she asked, trying to figure out how exactly this puzzle pieced together. "I was in the motel room and then—" she remembered abruptly. The woman in the business suit appearing out of nowhere and taking her. " _Naomi_."

Cas looked positively sick. "What did she do to you? When I wasn't there?"

Alex made a slight face. "Nothing really. Just threw me away into the dark until she needed some blackmail material." He was clearly so fucking worried—and Alex gave him a small, sweet smile. "I'm okay, Cas, _really_." She reached over and put her hand over one of his, squeezing firmly. She was okay now. And because she could, she moved closer to him and hugged him again, tucking her head under his chin with her arms circling his warm middle under his coat and jacket. So emotional and overwhelmed by happiness and relief, Alex didn't even care about Naomi anymore. Cas was here. And after struggling to get to him for so long… maybe she finally had him for good this time.

Cas sounded miserable as his arms held her close in turn. "I'm so sorry, Alex," he murmured. "She will _never_ touch you again, I promise you that." He took hold of her and pulled back to look at her and examine her again. His handsome face was wrinkled up in anxiety. "Do you feel fully yourself again?"

She considered his question then nodded, thinking hard and squinting unseeingly into his left shoulder as she did. "I think so but… uh, holy shit, it's all so jumbled up in my brain…" Her mind felt sort of like a drawer jam-packed full of unfolded clothes and she tried to get some clarity about it all. And then the memory of him being forced into a medical looking chair by Naomi caused her alarm bells to go off and her face to drop. "Wait." She peered at him intently, almost demandingly. "Are _you_ okay? She kept putting something inside your head with that tool." He had always screamed in pain when she did and Alex lost some confidence as she remembered him in pain. "And it _hurt_ you."

"Yes," Cas confirmed factually, apparently over the trauma of it all. He just sounded guilty about it. "It was an inhibitor. I finally took it out when I had a moment of clarity."

"It was mind control," Alex said, finally beginning to understand a little bit.

"Correct," Castiel said in somber apology. "She said if I didn't let her put it into my head, she would kill you. I… I didn't know what else to do except to take the device and keep you alive." He looked afraid and torn apart, and what he said next made her soften completely. "Forgive me."

Forgive him? Alex took his face in both hands, confused about what there was to forgive. "Cas, I would have done the same thing if roles were reversed," she said sort of fiercely. Nothing made her feel more protective of him than when he thought he had done something wrong and hadn't. "If someone said they were gonna hurt you like that? If they _did_ those things to you…? You _know_ I would have done whatever they said to keep you okay. You didn't do the wrong thing."

His face showed guilty appreciation which quickly just became guilt. "Well I should have found a way to save you more quickly."

A sad smile was on her face. It was so typical that he would blame himself like that. Her thumbs moved across his cheeks softly. "You _found_ a way," she insisted quietly, reminding him of what they shouldn't take for granted. "I'm here now."

His eyes raised to look into hers, and they were indescribable. "Yes. You are." Abruptly he pulled her into a close embrace and shut his eyes tightly, kissing the temple of her forehead hard as one of his hands cradled her head. "I love you so much," he whispered, bending and resting his forehead to hers. " _So much_." She returned the sentiment in a whispered _I love you too_ and he kissed her again, slowly, burningly—stopping her entire world and making her whimper a little into his mouth. And then he drew back to look at her in the eye. He seemed almost at the point of tears and Alex didn't quite understand. He held her face in his hand and spoke what he had obviously been thinking about a lot. "Alex, I lost you. I mourned you. And I constantly thought about if we had another chance what I would do. So… I need to tell you everything I thought about." He swallowed, so anxious that he looked vaguely ill. "I want to be with you. I want us to be what we are. I want to be near you every day for the rest of our lives." She nodded, fighting off more tears as her heart threatened to burst. _Me too. Me too. Me too._ Cas wasn't finished. "We've spent so much time being torn apart and separated and I can't bear it any longer," he murmured, voice raw with emotion. "When I didn't remember you were still alive… I wanted to _die_."

Her stomach and heart sank in unison. " _Cas_ …" she exclaimed softly, an admonishment and a quiet horror.

But she understood that feeling. And Castiel knew it, too. "How did you survive all the times I disappeared?" he asked, sounding so guilt-ridden about it.

"Just barely," she admitted. Their eyes met and held.

He took one of her hands in his and held it to his chest closely. "I was the same," he confessed, and she felt so much for him she could have burst on the spot. And when he bent his head and kissed the skin of her knuckle lingeringly, sweetly, breathing her in as he did so, her heart _did_ burst. She pulled his hand toward her and mimicked him, kissing a knuckle and then looking at him while tracing fingers through the hair on the side of his head. He was the most precious thing to her. His waterblue eyes did things to her that nothing else on earth ever could or would. And needing him so much, knowing he was the same, she walked backwards, pulling him along by their still-clasped hands. "Come here," she whispered as the backs of her knees hit the side of the bed. She pulled him into her arms as he complied, embracing her readily and kissing her, letting all of his worries, fears, and all of the sadness he had felt drive him to a passion she didn't have a very hard time matching. It was so emotionally intense for Alex, who had fought so hard to get to Cas, to save the people she loved, and thought she lost it all. And now she knew her entire world was safe and sound tonight. Her brothers were both alive and well and in the same building. The angel she thought was stuck in Purgatory for eternity was at her side again. Thankful, amazed tears poured out of her closed eyes even as she kissed Cas and let him hold her, let him love her, let herself be who she was again. _His._

Gentle fingertips smoothed her tears away even as they kissed deeply—Cas wordlessly telling her with every touch of his lips and tongue how much he felt for her. And as breath grew louder and shorter and kisses grew more and more needy and noisy, they stood at the edge of the bed, touching each other's faces and arms and shoulders and necks and heads with urgent hands that needed to touch, confirm, and feel the other completely. Cas's palms slid underneath her baggy shirt and curved around her bare sides, pressing into her back warmly to pull her closer to himself. Tingles and shivers came to life under his fingertips. She pushed at his trench coat and jacket in unison, needing him to be skin to skin with her—and when he had to, he pulled his hands away from her skin to allow the garments to slide off. Once the coat and jacket were off, his arms and hands were right back where they had been. Alex mimicked him—sneaking her hands down into the back of his pants and then up underneath his dress shirt where bare skin waited. His back muscles trembled under her groping hands and she pulled on him again and again, never having him close enough or hard enough against her. He was setting her on fire as he always did, making her dizzy with every touch and kiss, getting her unsatisfied with anything less than having him completely.

With heavy, racing breath they were basically panting into each other's mouths at that point and Cas enticed quite a moan from her lips when his hand abruptly slid around to the front of her body and cupped against one of her bare breasts. A gentle, sweet, maddening touch she had to clench her legs together at. His fingers swept over sensitive skin there and pinched softly as his mouth suddenly swooped down to the curve of her neck to kiss and taste wetly. Clinging to him with half-open eyes and a slack mouth, Alex let out a soft ' _ah_!' of pleasure as he ground his hips to hers and expelled a needy groan against the skin of her neck. Her hands, still under his shirt, slid around to the front of his body, running up and down slowly over his strong chest, taut stomach, the tops of his hips. He felt so good, _so good_ , and she was overtaken by the most basic lust for him—she grabbed his head and kissed him again, deep and hard and demanding, _hungry_. He responded, matching her blow for blow, holding her tighter, harder, closer. They had thought the other was dead or lost or gone for so long now. And they were finally here. Together. In a place of heat and love and intimacy that they only had with each other. And both a raging inferno of need that needed sating.

Abruptly Cas picked her up, held her against himself, maneuvered them then dropped her onto the bed, falling with her and crawling over her, kicking his shoes off with a _thunk_ _—_ _thunk_ even as they continued to make out like there was no tomorrow. Bodies, mouths, arms, legs—every last part of them invested in passion and holding each other, pressing in. Whimpering quietly between moans and sharp inhales, Alex pushed her hips up to his even as one of her hands grabbed his ass and pulled him harder against her. He let out the softest growl against her lips at the pressure and another wave of heady arousal showered over her body like rain. He was her addiction—her religion—her world. Everything he did was making her body thrum hotter and hotter to the pulse of utter need. Cas pulled her shirt off at that moment, leaving her only in underwear. He threw her shirt aside haphazardly and bent to kiss her mouth then ripped his own shirt open as he did so, tie and all getting destroyed in the process, buttons skittering around noisily. Urgent, he pulled her against himself, letting his head dip low and mouth drag against the top of her shoulder with a soft, erotic moan as their chests and torsos burned against each other. One of his hands roughly cradled the side of her head, messing her hair up as he nuzzled her skin and mouthed it with no coordination, let his nose and chin and cheeks drag and rub over whatever part of her he found—shoulders, chest, neck, arms. His mouth dropped kisses sloppily, leaving wet marks everywhere, making her shudder and throb and protest with soft groans. "I need to feel you," he murmured hotly, " _Everywhere_." He began to kiss at her neck, her ear, and found that she reacted very well to any touch just behind and below her ear. Even as she struggled not to lose her mind to the insanity of mind-numbing bliss, she fumbled with his belt and his slacks. She wanted his hot skin against her everywhere, she wanted him inside of her, safe and sound and close.

Cas abruptly stopped his passionate kissing at her neck and pulled back, like he couldn't believe she was actually there and he needed to confirm that she was. For a minute, their more basic needs became a quiet background noise in favor of something deeper. Those soul-shattering baby blues had her going still and quiet. "I worship you," he breathed. When he said things like that, she burst like confetti inside and didn't know what to feel except overwhelmed, amazed, and humbled. He was ancient and from places she couldn't dare grasp. And somehow he loved her. How could she ever wrap her mind around that? "And I would do anything for you in all of creation," he whispered, a tense and heartfelt proclamation that her heart echoed completely. She would do anything for him, too.

And she _did_ want something at this very moment—a small things, maybe sort of selfish or vain, but she decided to take her chances either way. "Lemme see your wings again?" she whispered, her heart beating fast at the thought of seeing them during this time together. "For… for awhile this time," she said, making sure he knew what she meant. Cas immediately understood but became slightly self-conscious. "Can you?" she asked tentatively, wondering at his hesitation.

"Well, yes…" he said quietly, and since they were touching in so many places—he silently did his science stuff that she didn't understand and like before, those wings bristled to life and he watched her reaction with near worry. She momentarily lost her breath. His wings were large and vibrating with life somehow, seeming to be living and breathing right along with him. Black as the velvet night, covered in silken, glossy feathers. Cas was watching her like he didn't know if she would like him closer to his true form. But she did. She was spellbound. As he held himself on his forearms over her she reached out and cautiously ran her fingers over the feathers at the crest of his righthand wing in a soft, slow, smooth motion. They were soft and silken and felt electric somehow. At her touch he shuddered and let out a soft sound and startled by that, Alex stopped and yanked her hand back a little. She wasn't sure if that had been a sound of pain or pleasure.

"Was that… not right?" she asked softly, abruptly worried.

Almost shyly, he looked at her. "It felt… it felt good," he admitted, a little embarrassed. "As it does when you touch me anywhere." Then he explained something she couldn't have known. "But, well, angels don't really touch each other's wings. So I'm… not used to it."

Alex felt a coquettish smile growing on her face. Obviously he liked it but wasn't so sure about how she felt about it. She traced a finger down the side of his familiar, beloved face slowly. If it was part of him and all right with him, she wanted it. "Well, I think your _wife_ could touch you there…" she murmured sort of playfully.

She could tell how much he loved it when she so rarely referred to herself as his wife. He caught her hand and looked at her like he was so in love it hurt. " _Yes_ ," he returned. "I think she could." He turned his head, shut his eyes, and pressed a long kiss into her palm then murmured words against her skin that made her heart twist and clench. "She can have anything she wants from me." And in that moment among so many others, Alex wanted to cry from happiness and disbelief that he was hers. That he loved her like that.

Alex watched him kiss her palm a few more times and her breath was absolutely taken away. His wings, his face, his body—everything coming together to show her more of who he was. And what he was one word. "You're… _beautiful,_ " she whispered, looking at him and meaning every word. "Everywhere. _All_ of you." She felt almost panicked, he needed to know, she had to tell him. A million times, she had to say it and whisper it and live it and make sure he _always knew_ : "I love you, Cas."

He loved her too. He didn't even have to say it. But he still did. In his own way. "Love isn't a large enough word," he whispered, then kissed her mouth, his fingers brushing over her penny necklace as he began to move his hips against hers, applying the most frustrating and beautiful pressure in the world through the fabric of their remaining clothing.

As she ground back against him and caused him to give a few moans and panting groans of his own, Alex tried very ineffectually to get his pants off. She only managed to get them to right below his butt and she finally gave a frustrated sound. The kissing and grinding was driving her insane—she needed him, like _now_. "Cas?" she asked in gritted patience. When he looked at her in mild concern, she told him how it was. "I'm going to lose my fucking _mind_ if you don't rip my underwear off and take me in the next two seconds."

Of all things, an almost _teasing_ expression crossed his face and he let the backs of a few fingers brush down against her cheek as he stopped moving completely. " _Are_ you?" he asked, his voice impossibly dark and husky. "Some part of me thinks you're being hyperbolic." Her mouth dropped open at his uncharacteristic cheekiness and of all things, a tiny little roguish _grin_ crooked his mouth open, which only served to floor her further. Was he seriously amused because he was frustrating her?! It was so fucking cute (but also so fucking frustrating) that she couldn't really stand it. And so she reached around under his arm and up along his back, finding the place where skin and feathers met. She stroked fingers down experimentally right where the juncture was between wing and flesh and Cas's smile fell in favor of a soft gasp. " _Oh_ …" he managed softly as she ran fingers over any soft area of wingspan she could find. Underneath her digits, he trembled, and in her arms, he was beginning to become flustered again—he sought her mouth for another kiss, gripping the side of her face and kissing her demandingly, passionately, then he abruptly hoisted her up as he sat back onto his heels—and angel magic, she guessed, but his pants were gone, leaving only his white boxers.

As he settled her across his lap, she thought _yes, finally_ —he was going to take her—he pulled her underwear down, letting it fall to her knees… and then she gave a sound of frustrated pleasure as he slid his warm hand between her legs and touched her there instead of taking things further. "No—I wanna—merfff— _ungh_ —" she gave up with a weak cry of, " _Ah_ —" because his touch was absolutely mind-boggling and the ends of his wings were carefully wrapping around her bare back—soft touches that made her skin buzz. She forgot everything. His hand drew more and more moans from her mouth and with her hands pressed into his chest and her body slackly curled into his, she moved her hips softly, delirious with pleasure at his hand. He remembered just how to touch her, the way she had shown him so long again in the Vatican which seemed a lifetime ago. In a daze of quiet ecstasy, her forehead leaned to his as gentle pressure and touches against her most sensitive area grew more and more pleasureful.

He stared up at her like she was a goddess. "You're hypnotizing," he whispered, and in the midst of that trance he had her in, she was abruptly overcome by a sudden carnality that drove her to bend her head and suck a mouthful of his shoulder skin into her mouth then bite—maybe too hard. He cried out softly in surprise and pain and pleasure alike and then Alex decided she really couldn't stand it anymore. She reached down with both hands and grabbed his boxers at the front, and left Cas wide-eyed when she tore them down the middle and then ripped the leg parts in half so that he was naked. She stared him in the eye breathlessly, a little challengingly. He wasn't the only one who could rip things. And suddenly on board with the idea of _now_ , Cas took hold of her again and hoisted her up over him even as she hastily kicked at her underwear so it slid down and off her ankles. Cas pulled her closer and higher so that she straddled his lap more fully and as he lowered her over him, guiding her carefully, her fingers dug into his shoulders hard and a high-pitched gasp escaped her even as a guttural sound tore out of Cas's mouth—she sank over him completely and breathless, they looked at each other a moment, forever awed by that first moment of consummation. Alex's face began to crumble as he overtook every sense and stretched her body to the most beautiful limit. She grabbed hold of him harder, overwhelmed that she was with him—that he was real—that this was happening. Cas took hold of her more fully in turn, his touch reverent and holy. His wings carefully wrapped around her more tightly, sending shivers and tickles throughout her nervous system. And with a deep kiss that said more than words could, they began to move together. Castiel was cautious and watchful as he searched for the right pace—he was overcome just like she was. Between long, breathless kisses and the softest sobs, she ran her hand through the hair at the back of his head and sometimes touched his wings as she looked at him, drank him in, was helpless against the whimpers that escaped out of her mouth. His thrusts were gentle and deep inside of her, causing her the slowest and sweetest death by the agony of sheer bliss—she met his movements with soft circles and arcs made with her hips. His hands slid up and tangled in the hair on either side of her face as he kissed her without being able to stop, hot and slow and with a tongue that sent zing after zing up her spine. It continued like that for a minute or two, them just high off the other and content to torture the other in the sweetest of ways. Feel each other in every way. Savor every part of the other.

And then abruptly, Cas began to manhandle her and he pushed her down to lay on her back with him over her—his wings were enveloping them and his hands slid up her inner arms and found her hands—their fingers interlaced and held like that on either side of her head and his movements began to get more intense, more focused, deeper, harder. His face showed staunch emotion and desire, passionate desperation, and their fingers clenched tighter and tighter. Becoming more and more frustrated and desperate and riled up, Alex could no longer kiss him well and instead let loose a cry of need—and then Cas pulled out of her completely, which totally threw her off. What the—he was backing up and backpedaling, and just when she propped herself onto her elbows to see what he was doing, she found out. His mouth dragged to the juncture of her legs even as his hands roughly cradled her thighs and spread them wider. Vision exploding in time with her little gasps of ecstasy, Alex blindly threw her head back as Cas's face pushed hard against her and his tongue moved against her in the most perfect way. On either side of her, the whispery touches of feathertips tickled, and it was _so good_ she could have cried. She was dazed and dumbstruck, overcome with total physical pleasure, but as good as it felt, she forced herself to open her eyes in the middle of her delirium and look at Cas. What she saw was an angel—wings and all—laying between her legs and pleasuring her in the most sinful of ways. Watching him do that always got her so hot, and normally she might have been perfectly content to lay there and let his mouth take her to rapture… but that day, she needed his closeness the most. So when she grabbed his hands breathlessly and pulled on him even as she sat up and walked on her knees the short space to him, he looked a little surprised but willing to do whatever she wanted—and what she wanted was for him to sit down again—she made him do so with a push. She wasted no time in climbing onto him and taking him again with a relieved sound—even as his arms circled her and he made a sound of surprise, her fingers dug into his back so hard that marks were made and in response, he grabbed her by the hair at her scalp and pulled unintentionally, a masculine gasp escaping as her fingers only dug deeper and clung harder. When his hand pulled harder on her hair, she grabbed a handful of his hair, too, and clenched hard, drawing another desperate moan from him. She pushed harder and harder, needing him deeper and deepest. _Oh my god, I need him._

Some unspoken desperation and perhaps the fear of losing each other again began to fuel them to a frantic state and it was no longer slow and sweet but hard and raw and a little wild. Alex gave Cas another lovebite, this time on his neck—an angry red mark was left behind and her roughness only seemed to make him move harder—he held her with arms tight around her, his hips driving faster and faster, his breath coming shorter and shorter. It was becoming more and more intense, hurtling them toward the absolute brink, and Castiel suddenly took Alex by the face and even as she was losing grasp of all reality, he requested something of her that from any set of lips would be tawdry. "Say my name," he pleadingly whispered, wanting to know that she really was there, she really knew him, that this was really happening.

She let out an uncontrolled, freaked out sound because she was almost beyond composure and she could tell she was about to be totally mindblown. But with everything she had left, she complied with his command as best as she could. " _Ah_ , Cas, _nrgh_ —!" Her vision exploded and the strength of the orgasm that began to rip through her had her clinging to him for dear life. "Cas… Castiel, o- _oh_!"

As usual, her release triggered his—she heard her name on his lips, felt how tight he held her and the sounds he made, his hot panting breaths against her neck, the powerful tremors his body began to give against hers as she clenched and writhed without control. He held her steady with wings that trembled and shivered, his arms were locked around her and holding her as close as she could get as his fingers dug into the skin of her back. Their faces buried in the others necks and shoulders and hands clenched into hair and skin a they were devastated, ruined, and rebuilt all at once by the other. Wave after wave of incomparable pleasure hit them and they were helpless to do anything but receive it and ride it out together. Finally, stillness and quiet settled over them as their bodies slackened and relaxed together. For a long moment, they remained wrapped up together like that, trembling slightly from exertion and emotion alike, holding each other with tight hands and closed eyes. His wings faded away as Cas stopping willing them to be seen. And together they rested. For a long, long moment. Hands holding. Lips kissing sleepily to whatever skin it found. Faces buried deeply against one another, breath calming and regulating once more.

Finally, when Alex lifted her head off of Cas's shoulder and found him waiting to see her, she couldn't hide the tears streaming down her face. And they weren't happy tears. Immediately, his face contorted and showed concern. "What is it?" he asked urgently, becoming rapidly panicked at her condition. "Are you all right?"

She didn't know. She was suddenly so scared. "Cas, do you ever think maybe the only reason we're in love is because we're always fighting to get back to each other?" she asked, afraid to ask and afraid not to. "Because we can't actually have each other?"

His face made her regret asking that. Immediately. He looked hurt and mystified. "No. I don't think that at all." Searching for the right reaction, he hesitated. "Do _you_?"

She shook her head. "No." But she did, a little bit.

Cas grew compassionate and gentle as always. "You don't have to be afraid," he promised, touching her face sweetly and then kissed her softly and briefly. "I love you. No matter what. And nothing else will happen to you, I promise." He stroked a hand down at the hair behind her head. "I'm not leaving you ever again." With that promise, he gently manuevered her down to the bed where they laid together closely with feet tangled—and Cas, again with the blanket, tugged it up from where it had fallen and thoughtfully covered Alex in case she were to get cold. He held her close, cradling her against himself.

And Alex stared into his chest with a tense look on her face. He said he wasn't ever leaving again. And as much as she wanted to embrace him anew and cry and agree with that, hold him to it… something stopped her. And even though she _hated_ herself for even saying it… "The angel tablet, though."

Castiel grew mildly withdrawn. He obviously had thought about that too. A long couple of beats passed. "I know," he said, deeply troubled. "I'm considering destroying it altogether so that _no one_ can ever have it."

A small ripple of shock went through Alex. In the past, Cas would _never_ have said that. He would have been torn between what to do—not make such a strong statement right away. It made her realize, all over again, how much he just wanted to be with her. And yet she knew destroying that thing could have major and terrible consequences. "But what if it says something really important? Something we need? I mean, God _did_ write those things apparently so… it might have something on there we could use."

It was almost like Cas wished Alex _wouldn_ _'_ _t_ talk to him about it reasonably. "That's my hesitation, as well," he admitted heavily. "But… Kevin's busy translating the demon tablet right now. He can't translate two at a time. So… that means I would have to protect the stone. And if I protect this object, it means I have to leave you to do so." He shook his head and his eyes grew fractionally more afraid. "I can't do that, Alex. I _can_ _'_ _t_."

Not after last time he tried to take on a task to protect earth and Heaven. Alex remembered the war and everything it had set off and she was terrified, too, that something would happen to tear them apart again or destroy them completely. "I know," she said quietly. "And I don't want you to leave, but… Kevin won't be busy much longer. Especially if I go get him and bring him here. I don't know why Sam and Dean haven't done that yet." She'd overheard Sam and Dean talking about Kevin a bunch yesterday and it made her shake her head. He shouldn't be with Garth of all people. Garth was a spacecase. A nice spacecase, but a spacecase. "Poor kid all alone."

Cas didn't look too happy about Alex's line of reasoning but he conceded. "You may be right about the tablet's significance. And Naomi can't have it yet she'll stop at nothing, it seems, to get it." He let out a weary sigh, clearly disgusted with his lot in life. "Heaven is a disaster. I sometimes wish I could walk away from it completely."

She understood and shifted a little, touched his face, drew his gaze again as she laid in his arms. "If I've learned one thing during this whole life thing, it's that you can't walk away from who you are," she counseled somberly. "Even if you want to."

"What I am?" he asked, seemingly mildly offended and very convicted. "I'm yours. I vowed my life to you; I belong at your side." A rush of endorphins and love bloomed in her chest when he said that. He paused and his eyes fell slightly. "But I'm also an angel who made so many mistakes and destroyed so many things. I can't just walk away from Heaven or my responsibilities. I know that. But my primary interests and concerns lie with _you_." He was completely torn and it showed and he looked at her with confused, undecided eyes. Then asked her to make the call for him. "Alex… I'm at a complete loss. Tell me what to do and I'll do it."

Whoa. Normally she might not go for that. Especially not Cas who was learning the important skill of making his own decisions. But she sensed how agonized he was over this and she wanted to help him however she could. And honestly, she knew he would choose _her_ if given the chance. And that tablet, as much as she hated to admit it, needed to stick around a little longer. She wanted to be selfish and tell him to throw that thing into the freaking sun and stay here with her. But in the long run, she couldn't let her selfishness potentially affect the entire realm of humanity. So, with a heavy heart, she told him what to do. "I think you should protect it until Kevin can read it," she said heavily and seriously. "And then… we go from there." She laced her fingers through his tightly, trying to help strength him and herself, too. "Together."

Cas looked at her in deep pain. "You realize this means… that I have to leave tonight. And that I don't know when I'll be back."

Her chest twinged with a familiar ache. "Yeah," she said, emotional and not really bothering to hide it. "I know." This was just apparently their lot in life. Seeing each other a couple times a year and dealing with huge, painful absences in between. She wanted to crack a joke about it… but it just really wasn't funny.

Cas's eyebrows twisted upward. "But we only just…" he protested softly, then started over again. "It's been nearly three months. And before that, nearly a _year_."

She knew. Oh, how she knew. The hours and days and months had stretched into painful, hopeless misery for her. "I know," she choked out quietly, tracing fingers down the side of his face. He was making it harder, and he always would because she did _not_ want to be separated from him. Ever. But this had to be done and unfortunately, he was the man with the tablet. "Just a little longer? And then everything's okay? I know it sucks. But we can do this. We can do anything."

He took her hand in his and searched her eyes. Mournful but resolute, Cas took a long moment and then nodded once. "I'll do what you say," he said softly. "And protect the tablet from Naomi. And Heaven. And Crowley. And, well… _everyone_." Alex's face fell as a single word suddenly brought her to a standstill. _Crowley_. Alex's blood suddenly went cold as she remembered a kiss in the dark with the King of Hell. _Oh my god. How did I forget?_ "What is it?" Cas asked, seeing how her face had dropped. _How many days do I have left? Oh my god. How are we gonna_ _—_ _how do I get out of this?_ Do _I get out of this? Shit. Shit!_ "Alex?"

She swallowed hard, forcibly calming herself down and trying to decide how to even broach this subject. Being a bit of a coward, she didn't come completely clean. Not right away. "What if someday something happens to me that… that no one can undo?" she asked faintly, not wanting to come right out and spill the beans. At his look of confusion, she tried to look less scared. "I—I'm just saying. What if there's things you can't save me from?" She had been so optimistic a minute ago and now, she was panicking. "What if we just can't be together in the end?"

Cas looked as if she had suggested something alien to him. He definitely didn't understand why she was so suddenly panicking. "Don't be afraid of that," he counseled earnestly. "I am yours. _Forever_." He touched her face gently. "Here and in the next life."

Nothing he said could soothe her. Not at this moment. "But what if I get taken away?" she pressed. "What if _you_ get taken away?" At the look on his face, she pointed out the obvious. "Cas, it keeps _happening_."

He took hold of her face and was severe in the most gentle and steadfast of ways. "If you are taken away, I will never stop until I find you," he said, and she listened. "And if _I_ am taken away…" he smiled sadly, "well, I think we already know you will always come find me, too." Her mind scanned over the times he had disappeared and she had found him. When he woke up in the hospital more or less human. When he thought he was Emmanuel. When he was in Purgatory.

Alex smiled a little despite everything. She loved him so much. "Yeah," she said, bittersweet. "You can bet your angelic little ass I will."

His little smile fell slowly in favor of a seriousness that stilled her. "I don't know what I would be without you," he confessed. "I pray nothing ever takes you from me again."

Alex cleared her throat. _That_ seemed like her opener for the whole soul deal right there. "Yeah, well…" she started awkwardly, "um, I kinda might have—" she stopped because Cas was frowning hard and looking skyward. "What is it?" she asked, whispering because something seemed wrong.

"I can hear them getting closer."

"Who?"

"Naomi's accomplices," he said, standing up quickly.

Wait— _wait._ Alex sat up and blinked, jarred when he was suddenly dressed when he'd been naked a second ago. "I think the bunker is warded though—"

"Not against angels," he said firmly and urgently. "It's hidden, yes, but it's not safe and warding is never a complete guarantee. I don't want anyone to know your specific location, it's not safe." He looked upward again, nervous and cagey and clearly about to leave. "Alex, don't leave this place unless totally necessary. Not until I've put this matter to rest." He paused and then came to her again as she clenched blankets against herself. "I love you," he said, and it was goodbye again. "Call for me when Kevin has finished translating the demon tablet." He bent and kissed her softly then as he drew back, made a promise she hoped she lived to see. "Someday soon I'll be beside you every night when you fall asleep."

He hesitated then, loathe to leave her and she was the same—not wanting him to leave for even a minute. But this was just the way things had to be. And Alex gave him permission, again, to do what had to be done. " _Go_ , Cas."

And so he did. Alex sat there, a little shellshocked by his sudden disappearance even if she had played a part in it. She was incredibly disgruntled by Naomi's timing. _I hate her._ She swore she would someday punch that bitch in the face and then began to worry herself to death over the soul deal stuff.

 _It_ _'_ _ll be okay. I have, what, five days or more left_ _…_ _? I can tell Sam and Dean first. Euesh. Maybe not. Maybe I tell Cas first. Give him another twenty four hours to dodge those winged dicks and then call him and explain it then he and I explain it to the boys together. Or maybe I sit them all down and tell them at the same time._ Either way, she knew she was in for a lot of shocked looks, angry 'what the hell were you thinking?!' lectures… you know. The usual when she tried to do things that mattered. But somehow they would figure out a way to sidestep it. She hoped. Then she scoffed. _My husband is a freaking_ angel _…_ _I think I can get out a little soul deal. He_ _'_ _ll do anything for me, so_ _…_ _yeah. It_ _'_ _ll be okay._

With all of that in mind, Alex's mind turned to seemingly misplaced excitement. She was gonna _tackle_ Dean when she saw him next with the biggest hug in the world. She could hear herself now… "Bowlegs! I fucking _missed_ you!" And jump on Sam's back and tickle him until he couldn't breathe—"tap out, Samantha! Tap out!" She didn't know if she could wait until morning though. She imagined bursting into Dean's room, happy as a clam and jumping all over him as he was half-asleep… then realized that would probably end in her getting accidentally shot. Well, what about Sam then? Eh, she'd probably get accidentally shot with that option, too. As she paced around her room and got more and more restless and ready to see them, she realized she wasn't going to sleep at all and anyway, it was early morning. Like four am, but still. It was morning. So, she decided to make breakfast for them and draw them out of their rooms that way. With the smell of bacon and eggs which hopefully she could keep from getting burned. And microwaved pancakes because no _way_ would she attempt the real thing. So she dressed herself and snuck out of her room. But when she crept to the kitchen, the only thing to be found in the refrigerator was beer and a half-eaten thing of raw cookie dough. Dean went shopping again, obviously. _Psh_. So, with no eggs and no bacon to make the breakfast she was fantasizing about, she saw no other option. She got her jacket and headed out into the very early morning, knowing there was a twenty-four-hour store gas station nearby with a grocery mart built in. They had passed it on the way in. Now, the main door _did_ have a padlock on it inside—Sam and Dean had obviously thought she was gonna try and run away again—but she knew what the combination would be. 1955, Bobby's birthday year. With that little combination put in, she slipped out and into the crisp, chilly early morning and found herself in amazing good spirits as she thought about seeing her brothers again. She just wanted to hug Dean and tell him he was such a dick but she still loved him. She wanted to throw her arms around Sammy's neck and tell him he was seriously the most amazing long haired brother she had. And in the morning when they wandered out of their rooms, curious about the mysterious smell of bacon… she would.

The stars were out when she slipped out of the bunker and the dew-wet grass wasn't a problem thanks to her thick boots. _I love these boots. I love life. I love being alive_. _I love Cas. Somehow we_ _'_ _re actually going to finally be together after all this crazy shit we_ _'_ _ve been through._ She floated over the landscape silently, feeling light and free even though she suddenly remembered and wished she'd gotten a chance to tell Cas about that time traveler she'd run into who looked like he could have been, you know… their kid. And then she passed by and glanced the gravestone markers. _A.E.W._ and _J.R.W._ Alex stopped and contemplated those wooden crosses for a moment. _Sorry, Jamie_. For a minute, she paid silent respects. She had no idea how her friend had died and really no idea what was going on between her and Dean before everything had apparently gone mortal. It honestly didn't shock Alex though. Death was a guarantee in this life. Except when it came to her family. A pretty selfish, messed up thought. But how else was she supposed to cope other than to just keep going? Alex she knew one thing as she looked at those two crosses. _I_ _'_ _m not dead_. So she went over and yanked up her gravestone marker and tossed it aside. Wondered why the guys hadn't taken it down yet. Then thought maybe because without her memories they had considered her dead, still. Maybe that was Dean, on second thought. She sighed and shook her head ruefully. Oh Dean.

_Who knows. Who cares. Breakfast._

She headed down the rural backroad that led to the bunker by about a quarter of a mile, then cut through a field for another quarter mile plus, then traced her way along behind an old church that she was pretty sure was abandoned. She picked her way through the dilapidated old graveyard, leery and realizing how no matter where she looked, graves seemed to look back. _Well that_ _'_ _s morbid._

She stopped and suddenly stood a little straighter. The hairs on the back of her neck were standing _straight_ up and she turned fast, realizing _shit_. In her stupid state of happiness and breakfast thoughts, she hadn't brought a weapon. And standing there giving her his best smug smile… _Crowley._ "Miss Winchester," he greeted pleasantly, a wicked smile playing on his face. "Out for a walk awful late aren't you love?" Alex went cold, realizing that those exact words were the ones he had spoken to her the first time they met. He chuckled when she realized because obviously, he'd done it on purpose. "Hello darling. Well don't look so surprised. I want what's mine."

Backing up from him and keeping her game face on, Alex tried to ignore the rising panic in her stomach. "I still have like five days or something, Crowley," she snapped. Right? " _Go away_."

He pulled a face of mild surprise. "After the stunt you pulled? Disappearing for three _months_ when you had a deal coming due? I was _generous_ from the start. You're lucky you've even got five _seconds._ " He was serious. And Alex realized she really, _really_ shouldn't have left the safety of the bunker. "Now," Crowley said primly and calmly, beginning to walk leisurely circles around her as he gestured languidly like he was king of the world and had all day. "I've heard it was an honest mixup and really, after all that truly _stellar_ work you did for me, well, I have to say, I'm quite fond of you, my naughty girl. Some might even say I _owe_ you." He gave her a suggestive little wink as she gave him the _go die_ look of the century. "But none of that negates the fact that I'm quite tired of waiting for you to, oh, you know— _pay your dues!_ _"_ When he flew into sudden fits of rage like that, Alex could only roll her eyes at his antics. He was such a moron. Crowley straightened his suit with a thin, false smile as he put on an air of snide patience. "Forgive me, sweetest, but patience isn't exactly one of my shining qualities, so I'm afraid to tell you tonight's your last one." _Oh my god._ Alex swallowed hard, alarm making her stupid. How could she talk herself out of this? Or bargain for more time? And then, before she could put anything together, a chilling, long howl carried across the thin night air and Crowley smiled pleasantly and pointed upward, indicating the sound that made Alex's blood freeze. "Hear that?" he asked softly. "Fido's not had breakfast and I'm afraid she's got _quite_ the appetite." Alex's breathing started to go hard as her pulse began to race. Pure panic started to take over and then Crowley offered his hand to her. "Would you prefer the less bloody route?" He smiled and wiggled his eyebrows at her. "I'll be nothing but the perfect gentleman. I think they made a movie about this once. Demon walks his lovely young assistant to Hell. Great reviews at the box office."

"Yeah, you know what, Crowley?" Alex asked steadily. She reached out, took his hand… then with a yell she yanked him toward her even as she threw a bone-breaking right-hook at him right in the face. " _Kiss my ass_!" she shouted as he shouted a pained protest and smacked a hand to his face.

Red and appearing very annoyed, he straightened. "Well, as exhilarating as that sounds—" she socked him again the second his face was turned upwards and he got indignant at her useless brute tactics. "Will you _stop that_?!" The howls sounded closer and Alex backed up a few steps, realizing she was wasting precious seconds. And with nothing left to do, she started to run as fast as she could, back toward the bunker, which was more than half a mile away. She already knew she was dead, but she wasn't going to go down without a fucking _fight_.

"You can run all you like, Mouse!" Crowley shouted. "It didn't have to _be like this_!" He rolled his eyes as she continued to flee. "Stubborn as a sodding _mule._ " He brushed at his suit and then felt his face where she had struck him. And then pulling an expression at himself like he couldn't forget _this_ part, he lifted his hand, ready to snap his fingers. "Ah yes and just so Cas doesn't come running and ruin all my _fun_ …" he snapped his fingers together, supernaturally rendering Alex incapable of making a sound. "I know it's been done before," he sighed dramatically to no one but himself. Then a smug smile crossed his face. "But I daresay _I win_." No angel would save her now.

And now, Crowley had _two_ Winchesters downstairs to play with...

He sauntered off, chuckling as he imagined the good times to be had ahead.


	121. Underworld Overture

" _What is hell? I maintain that it is the suffering of being unable to love._ _"  
-_ Fyodor Dostoyevsky

* * *

"I don't _get it_ though!" Sam complained in agitation as the two exhausted brothers exited the Impala. Nearby, the bunker silently towered. "Did she remember the lock combination somehow, was it a lucky _guess_?"

Dean slammed his door especially hard, his expression sour and tight. "Whichever one, it doesn't change the fact that she _got out,_ she's _gone_ and who knows _how_ far she's gotten by now. Sam, we just looked for that girl—" he checked his watch— "for six fucking hours!" The side of his fist banged down on the roof of the Impala in a frustrated _thud._ They'd had her at the bunker for less than twenty-four hours and she'd found a way to run away. Of course, Dean blamed himself first and his brother second. "Dammit, Sam—I knew we should have taken shifts and watched the doors, man, _knew it_!" His face gave away his every stress and despair. "Runnin' around out there with no memory, I mean what the hell! I know she thought _I_ was a terrible person but did she really need to run off?! It's not safe out there! Why didn't she _listen_?"

Across from him at the other side of the car, Sam's expression was taxed and worried too. "Maybe she'll come back?" he chanced, but he couldn't muster genuine hopefulness.

Dean shook his head doubtfully and dragged his hand across his face in an effort to get a grip. And then he began to stare into nothing as if recalling something. "Hey, wait. _Wait_ , maybe Cas made off with her," he said, starting to talk faster as he looked at Sam urgently. "Yeah, he was here last night, woke me up like middle of the freakin' graveyard shift—actually kinda thought I dreamed it I was so dead asleep."

Sam jumped on board with that theory. "What, so… maybe he took her somewhere to keep her safe?" he ventured. "From that Naomi angel he mentioned?"

Although for a second Dean had been encouraged, he was looking pissy again. "Well if that's the case, why won't he _answer_ my goddamn _bat signal_? Called that dude, what, ten times already!" He let out a harsh breath just before a disgruntled mutter. "This is fucking _ridiculous_ , man."

Sam's haggard face showed grim frustration. "Yeah, he could have left some kind of 'sorry I missed you' if that's what happened…" he muttered, then abruptly ran his hands across his face and let out a huge huff of air before letting out a short, dark laugh. "Jesus Christ, man. If it isn't one thing with us, it's something else, huh?" He shook his head a few times and then asked a question he'd already asked but didn't remember asking. "Hey, any of her old phones showing GPS activity?"

Short on patience after the day they'd had, Dean gave his brother a death glare and began to stalk around the car. "I _told you_ , she didn't _take_ anything." He glanced around at the nearby area with a stony face. "Ground's too dry to know which way she went, either, no one at any of the local places saw her… I bet you ten bucks she hitched a ride with some stranger off the highway." When he said that, both brothers faces darkened with helpless frustration and fear. Their worst nightmare. This was like when Alex had been mute and younger, but now it was a million times worse. She didn't remember who she was—or that they were the good guys—and there was no telling where she'd gone or what she was doing. Dean looked positively sick with this new reality. "Just hope she remembers how to stab someone if it comes to that."

Sam, similarly upset, nodded vaguely, too distressed to summon much of a response. "Let's just hope Cas has her," he said quietly, his eyes scanning the bleak landscape nearby for anything they'd missed earlier that day. But he knew they'd been thorough. First checking every inch of the bunker and then combing the immediate surrounding area for clues about where she'd gone. But they'd found nothing. Only a few footprints near the car where the ground was concave and still damp from rain earlier that week. Aside from the footprints there had been nothing else. Sam was kicking himself for not locking her in her room or sleeping at her door again—something, _anything_ to have guaranteed she couldn't slip out of their fingers. _And why won_ _'_ _t Cas answer our prayers?_ Sam was honestly so upset he wanted to cry. Things just weren't going right for them anymore. _Ever_. It was hard to hold it together. So hard.

Dean was peering at the sky behind Sam in half-interest. "You see that?"

Morose, Sam made himself snap out of his inner depression. "See what?" He turned and looked over his shoulder. An ominous sight met his eyes. Against an overcast gray sky, dark silhouettes of birds glided and arced. Sam felt a twinge of dread. Like they were symbolic of something. "Yeah, vultures." He'd noticed them earlier too. Circling lazily maybe a half mile off or so. Probably in some of the wooded area behind that old church that was up the road. 

"Bet another deer got ran over," Dean muttered, eyeing the birds a moment longer. And then a loud ringer sounded in Sam's pocket, jarring both of their attentions.

When Sam pulled his cell out, his face scrunched up in surprise. "Huh. I think this is Kevin." He pressed the answer key and put it on speaker then set the phone onto the top of the car. "Hello? Kevin?"

Through the speaker came an exhausted, stuffy voice. "Sam. It's him."

The brothers glanced at each other. _That_ wasn't the most reassuring way to start a call. Sam hesitated, waiting for Kevin to say something else. When he didn't, Sam prompted the prophet cautiously. "…It's _who,_ Kevin?"

He got one shaky, loud word as reply. " _Crowley_."

"…What about him?" Dean asked, immediately frowning hard.

"He's in my _head_!" Kevin shouted hysterically.

"He's... in your head," Sam repeated, trying to follow.

Kevin's panicked tone grew a little more crazed as clear frustration mounted. "I see him all the time and he knows what I'm doing! He's messing with me! I need _help_! Do you know what that means when you see the King of Hell everywhere?!"

Dean and Sam exchanged another curt glance. "Yeah, I think it means we need to up your meds, buddy," Dean muttered before raising his voice again. "Kevin, you're _dreaming_. Look, if Crowley knew where you were, he'd do a hell of a lot more than mess with your head. Get some rest."

"I don't have _time_ for _rest_!" Kevin shouted, so loud that the brothers both flinched back from the phone. Kevin's voice abruptly grew quiet and distant, like he'd pulled the phone away from his mouth. "Leave me alone. I'm _fine._ No. I don't want any _._ "

Dean shot Sam a knowing look. "Great. Now he's _talking_ to himself."

Sam wasn't so quick to assume. " _Is_ he?" he asked quiet enough just for Dean to hear. Then he spoke loudly again, addressing the prophet. "Kevin, where's Garth?"

Now sounding incredibly drained and apathetic, maybe even woozy, Kevin spoke slowly, like finding words was a chore. "On a case or—or at the dentist. I don't know. I haven't heard from him. He's… been super busy. I can't remember the last time… I saw him… actually…" He trailed off into silence, and it was easy to picture him just staring off into nothing.

Not exactly the most polite of people, especially after everything that had happened recently, Dean cut to the chase out of impatience. " _Kevin_. What's the point of this phone call?"

Sam clenched his jaw and threw his brother a little look. " _Dean_."

Kevin didn't seem to notice. "I translated the second trial from the tablet," he said faintly.

Dean's mouth dropped open. "You did?!" He was abruptly grinning a little—finally, something was going right for them. Good news instead of bad. "Nice work!"

Kevin didn't sound elated whatsoever. Only more and more nerve-wracked. "And if Crowley's in my head, he _knows!_ "

Sam let out a waveringly impatient sight. "Okay, he's definitely not in your _head_ , all right?" He had to work in order to keep his cool and not be rude—he was fighting his own stresses and anxieties, plus this was a new thing to get worried about. He wouldn't admit it, but these trials scared him beyond belief. "It's okay," he said, trying to calm Kevin down and himself too. "Just... we know you're stressed, all right? Trust me, we _all_ are. Just hang in there, okay?" He hesitated, swallowed, then bit the bullet. "What's the second trial?"

Kevin's delivery was positively bland. "An innocent soul has to be rescued from Hell and delivered unto Heaven."

His words rendered the brothers into shocked silence. Dean was the first one to find his voice and say it: "… _What_?" His face, if you could have seen it, spelled out his every immediate thought about an innocent soul in Hell. Sam was too busy staring in shock at the phone to see that, though.

""' _Unto_ ,'" Kevin explained in a numb, distracted voice. "That's—that's how God talks."

"No, no—" Sam said, a little on the astonished side. " _Rescue a soul from Hell_?" He began to let questions loose in a torrent. "Like actually... _g_ _o to Hell_? How—how do you get a soul unto Heaven? I mean, and how do you even get a soul out of Hell? How do you even get _in_ to Hell? "

Kevin was too exhausted to put effort into answering Sam's questions. "I don't know," he said, and you could literally hear his shoulders shrugging then caving in apathy. "You'll figure it out though. You're Sam Winchester, you can do anything." He abruptly burped and groaned in something akin to pain. "…Everything tastes like hot dogs," he mumbled pathetically.

Sam heard how fast he was losing Kevin's attention. "Listen, Kevin, thanks," he said earnestly. "Thanks so much."

"Yeah…" Kevin replied, his stuffy voice sounding more and more dazed. "Think I'm gonna go faint now."

There was a click. "K—Kevin?" Sam picked his phone up and looked at the screen then sighed briefly. "He hung up." Glancing at his brother, Sam was concerned. "He doesn't sound so good, Dean." The look on his brother's face made him pause. "What?"

"Sam," Dean said, his voice wavering with a thick emotion that Sam was taken aback by. "An innocent soul." When Sam didn't make the immediate connection, Dean made it for him: " _Jamie_." Sam's expression slackened as Dean made his case. "She doesn't deserve to _be there_ man, her deal was total _BS_ —she doesn't _belong_ there, not for a damn second! And if I can't get her back up here to the land of the living, this is the next best thing—'delivering her unto Heaven' or whatever."

Sam had no qualms with the choice of soul, however, he was kind of stumped on any of the ins and outs of how to even begin to approach this one. "But how do I do that? It's so vague—deliver an innocent soul unto Heaven…? _How_?"

Dean shook his head, thinking hard. "I dunno." His eyes narrowed and Sam recognized the look of a growing idea on his brother's face. "Think we're gonna need a Hell expert, Sam."

"…Who?" Sam asked, intrigued but also more than a little cautious. Something about his brother's expression felt suspicious.

His wariness was confirmed as being appropriate when Dean said this next part. "You're not gonna like it."

Dubious, Sam tried to think of who his brother might have in mind. And then it hit him and his frown took over his whole face. "Wait a minute," he said, hoping he was wrong. "You're not seriously _suggesting_ …"

Challengingly, Dean's eyebrows shot up. "You got a better idea?"

"Dean, she might have helped out in the past, but we can't trust _Meg_ with _this_!" Sam protested.

Dean scoffed. "Who said anything about _trusting_ her? This is more along the lines of use and abuse." He was already rounding the Impala to look through the trunk and get supplies.

Dumbfounded, Sam followed him. Had he seriously just forgotten? Or given up? "Dean, what about Alex? And Cas?" He threw an arm out. "We can't just drop this, can we?"

"Sam, what else can we _do_?" Dean asked as he propped the trunk open. He looked at his brother with a plain and simple expression. "Cas won't answer and we just spent six freaking hours looking for Alex with no leads, no trails, no nothing. She's _gone,_ man. Doesn't wanna be found, probably. Seriously. Unless you wanna hire a witch who might kill us in the process, we can't track her down. So, yeah. I don't see anything else to do here in this situation right now."

Sam was absolutely disappointed and hurt. It felt like something was seriously wrong with Dean—his behavior recently, ever since Purgatory had been off and unpredictable, but this especially didn't feel like the Dean he knew. Just… giving up like that. It was so uncharacteristic and confusing. "What's happening to you?" Sam asked, his soft voice giving away every ounce of puzzled pain he felt.

Dean was brusque. "What do you mean, what's happening to me?" he asked, fishing out a can of spray paint. "This is priorities, Sam, plain and simple—close friggin' _Hell_ or waste time chasing a lost little girl."

A muscle jerked in Sam's jaw as his insides darkened. "That lost little girl is our _sister_."

Dean's jaw clenched and his mouth worked for a second as he fought off some kind of emotional response to that statement. And then he turned cold again. "Doesn't change the fact that she ran off and we got no way of finding her." Turning his attention and a hard gaze onto his brother, Dean narrowed his eyes and frowned, looking Sam over doubtfully. "You said you could do these trials, Sam." He raised his eyebrows in challenge. " _Can_ you?"

Sam swallowed hard, realizing that if he went off and looked for Alex—Dean would probably start doing the trials himself. That Dean was going to make this about something else if Sam tried to search for Alex any longer. _I_ _'_ _m screwed no matter what I do._ Cornered, unhappy, and fighting the instinct that they were missing something huge, Sam swiped the can of spray paint from his brother angrily. He was gonna do these trials if it killed him. "Yeah. I can."

* * *

Meanwhile, in some of the lowest and darkest levels of Hell, Alex Winchester was thrown back into her dark cell after another excruciating stay on 'the rack.' Behind her, the door of her prison closed with a heavy clang. The screams, moans, and wails of others echoed up and down the hallways—a sound that never seemed to stop here. A heap on the floor where she'd collapsed, Alex shuddered and hugged her knees, forehead just kissing the rough ground as she shivered and sweated all at once. Every atom hurt. Blood filled her mouth and blurred her vision. Agony seared through her veins without stopping. Relief was a mere memory. Sometimes she didn't even remember who she was, the pain and suffering became so great. But here in her cell, clarity came back. She heard someone breathing out pathetic, sobbing breaths and realized it was her. _How long have I been here?_ It felt like months and months. _Where are my brothers? Where_ _'_ _s Cas? Haven_ _'_ _t they noticed I_ _'_ _m gone?_

Her last memory of earth: she remembered running like hell. She remembered the ripping. The shredding. The snarls and snapping of invisible jowls. She remembered death at the slow, cruel leisure of the Hellhounds. And no one coming to save her. Oh, she had fought. _Fought._ But it had been in vain. Her legs hadn't been able to carry her to safety fast enough. Her hands hadn't been able to claw or hit a way out of that sad fate. Her lungs hadn't worked, her voice had failed her. And she had died despite the fact that nothing was supposed to ever kill her. She remembered the way those razor-like teeth felt as they had torn her into fragments of herself. Silent screams of mind-numbing pain had ripped from her mouth and she remembered trying to summon Cas mentally but feeling blocked somehow. Now, she believed Crowley had put some kind of spell on her that still remained intact. Whenever she tried to pray to Castiel here in Hell, she felt a splitting headache and a pain like no other—the kind of pain that brought her to her knees and had tears springing out of her eyes.

She was trapped and alone, in a place that was worse than death. But Sam was alive. She reminded herself of that often—especially when she was being torn limb from limb again and again out on the rack. It was strange—she wanted to die from the agony laid upon her, and the irony was that she was already dead.

It was fitting punishment to be here in Hell as awful as it was. After all, Alex's sheer stupidity in years past had caused Sam to say yes to Lucifer—that had set off an entire chain reaction of terrible things: Sam ending up in the cage and then soulless and then haunted and destroyed by his hallucinations of Satan. All of that pain and suffering because of his sister's well-intentioned but impulsive actions. And he would have _died_ from what all of that hell did to his mind if she hadn't sold her soul. So, she didn't regret what she'd done or making the deal. But she did wish it could be another way. This was unfathomable in reality—so much worse than she had ever dreamed. _How did Dean survive this for forty years? How did he make it through? How did Sam survive a thousand?_ Even as she wondered that, she felt a wave of terrible guilt and pain. Sam had suffered for more than _a thousand years_ because of her, and her alone. She still wasn't over that. She hadn't forgotten it for a second. How was it he'd never blamed her or raked her over the coals for it? How the hell did he not hate her for what she'd in effect let happen to him? She didn't know, but in a way, this stint in Hell was self-punishment that Alex could accept because of that and _all_ the bad things she had ever done. From stealing lunches from kids at school to unfaithfulness to Cas to torturing demons and humans both for Crowley last year… she chose to look at this as something she deserved. Something that evened the score a little bit. But she also hoped ferociously that Cas found out what had happened to her soon. He wouldn't leave her here. He would pull her out just like he'd pulled Dean and Sam out. Then this nightmare would be over.

And that thought gave her a little strength. Slowly, Alex pushed herself up a little—not much. Just enough to prop her elbows onto the floor and rest her exhausted head in her hands. _How could anyone ever deserve this forever? I understand awhile, but forever_ _…_ _? Who even created Hell? How did this happen? Why is this place in existence?_

At that moment, her cell door creaked open—a sound that inspired utter dread. Alex's heart nearly gave out in alarm as the door clanged shut. _Oh no. Again? So soon? I don_ _'_ _t want to go back out there._

But it wasn't a typical demon punk coming to drag her to the promise of pain. It was the King of Hell, and he had his hands in his pockets as he peered down at her in neutrality. Alex gaped up at him—she hadn't seen him since he had sent his hounds after her. And that had been ages ago, right?

"Hello, Sunshine," he greeted in what sounded like fondness. His little smile echoed the sentiment. "Finding everything all right down here, then?" he queried politely. Slowly and badly, Alex dragged herself up to stand by the rough wall she was huddled beside. Crowley seemed inwardly amused as she struggled to complete the simple act of standing. Once she was upright and shaking while breathing heavily, Crowley went ahead and told her what was what. "Well, we both know I'm not here for pleasantries, don't we. I… have a _proposition_ for you." He put on a falsely inquisitive tone. "Do you _recall_ the good times we had with ripping and tearing last year? Hm? Well. I found you quite the hard worker. And I was thinking more of the same."

That would never happen. And even though she was brutalized and weak beyond compare, she managed to tell him what she thought of his offer with a good amount of bite. "Shove it up your ass, Crowley."

He seemed to have expected as much and didn't react except by smirking slightly. "What, just sulk around for all eternity in between getting torn to shreds again and again? Doesn't sound like the most satisfying existence, now does it?" He began to saunter closer. "Why not go into the business? Work yourself up a few ranks. Torture for me again, see where your career can take you. You _know_ you liked it… and darling, this is a rare, _rare_ offer so consider it wisely."

 _Eternity?_ Alex began to laugh—a feeble and raspy sound, but one that was authentic either way. "You're a fucking _idiot._ "

"Oh?" Crowley looked slightly irked. "Why's that?"

She was smiling through a slightly crazed expression. "Do you remember who my brothers are?" she asked. "Who my _husband_ is? They will fucking tear this place down if I don't do it first."

Crowley's eyebrows rose up at a crawl as a disbelieving and totally amused smile grew on his face. And he laughed, a rumbling deep sound that suggested he found her to be utterly preposterous. "Oh dear me sweetheart, your optimism is positively _delightful_ … if also completely deranged." He proceeded to explain himself leisurely while sauntering back and forth, gesturing here and there with a loose and lazy hand as that self-pleased smile played on his face. "If either of those buffoons attempts to trade their wittle old flannel-wearing souls for you, I'm not buying. And I've given every other peon down here the strict instructions not to buy, either. _So_ , Moose and Ape can't jimmy you out my hands that way and really, that's the only play they'd have, isn't it?" He regarded Alex with one of those sly, wicked smiles. "And Cas. Your devoted, doting, cloud-hopping, super-powered hubby. One can only assume he'll be seeing red once he finds out what happened to his precious little human pet. But alas, even featherbrain won't have you back. _Yes_ , he's an angel and _yes_ he's stolen a soul or two from down under before, but you're locked far, far away and past the point of reaching, I'm afraid." He gave a throaty little chuckle, waggling his eyebrows for effect. "And even _if_ he somehow got past the upper levels, how _do_ you think he'd pull you out all on his own? It took ten angels to get _Dean_ out, if the legend's right." Although she tried not to be, Alex was starting to lose her brass and Crowley knew it and pressed the advantage. "You're _mine_ , sweetie. Now and forever. I think in time you'll come to appreciate me, in fact. After all, because of me, darling Sammy's alive and well." He paused significantly, his dark eyes flickering almost flirtatiously before he turned away, putting his back to her as he strolled off a couple steps. "And he's not the only one."

 _Wait._ Alex's glaring face fell slowly. Did that mean…? She felt a small spark of hope deep within her chest even as she simultaneously feared he was lying. "…Bobby?" she asked in a breathless whisper.

Crowley turned and gave her another smile meant to charm. "What can I say? I'm sentimental."

 _Oh my god._ She was _very_ reserved about believing him—Crowley hadn't sounded very charitable when she'd asked for Bobby to come back to life when making her deal. So this was unexpected. And generous. And she didn't trust the reason behind it or even know if he were being honest or not. Still… "If you're telling the truth…" she had to wrench these next words out through gritted teeth and saying them went against every instinct she possessed, " _Thank you_." At Crowley's satisfied little smirk Alex quickly turned hostile. "But on every other level, _screw you_."

He moved closer. Too close. " _Would you_ , darling?" he asked in a murmur that was like velvet sandpaper. Suggestive, he let a cold hand trace down the side of her face. "Try a demon on for size? Could be fun…" he was either messing with her or really stupid for thinking she'd ever go for him, she wasn't sure which. But he kept leaning closer, suggestion dripping from his eyes and mouth. His gravelly voice got lower and deeper and softer. "And let's be honest… just one little kiss wasn't nearly enough, was it?" He should have known he was about to get punched for coming on to her like that. She was very weak and worn down but she still had a good clobber or two left in her. And she let him have it. Fist connected with flesh and bone with a sickening thwack and Crowley yelped indignantly as he went sideways, barely managing to catch himself. "Oy!" he protested, red-faced as he righted himself. "Always with the _hitting!_ "

As he'd stumbled, Alex stood herself taller and wobbled forward then dug deep for strength, resilience, and tenacity. "Listen to me you son of a bitch," she said in a shaking voice. "Don't you ever _touch_ me." She was pretty sure he just did it to shake her up—but either way, she wanted none of it. Breathing hard, she meant every word. "I don't know how long it will take my family to realize what's happened, but I can promise you one damn thing." She gave him her most steely expression with her most dire promise. "Cas is gonna fuck you up. And then I'm next in line."

Crowley chuckled and dashed away the blood at the edge of his mouth. "See?" he asked, smiling sinfully. "You love torture. Work for me."

Alex would never do that again. "Eat shit and die," she suggested in an acidic snap.

"Ah yes, charming," Crowley said, thoroughly rueful for a moment before he sent a few intentionally studious looks around Alex's cell. Even before he said anything, Alex's inner warning bells went off. Something was going on—he had something nasty up his sleeve. She could tell. "This cell seems a bit… _large_ , doesn't it?" he asked, then pretended to have an idea—holding one finger up for theatrical emphasis. "Ah! You know what you need? A _roommate_. Someone to spend time with in between getting your spine torn out of your body repeatedly." A roommate? Alex thought a million things at once. _A demon? Someone from my past who has it in for me? A rapist? A psychopath?_ Hell was full of all those and more. Even though his veiled threat shook her and scared her, Alex said nothing and stayed stonily silent. She wasn't about to crack. Crowley gave her another chance. " _Still_ don't want to take me up on my incredibly generous offer?" he asked softly, baiting her with the idea of some form of mild safety here in Hell. But Alex refused to torture any more. Ever. Especially not here. Where your mind felt unhinged and unsafe, where parts of yourself felt far away, where the edge of insanity seemed close. She would take the pain. Pain was a reminder that she still existed. It was an anchor, however terrible of one. At her silence, Crowley sighed and rolled his eyes. "Suit yourself, Mouse. In time, I'm sure you'll change your mind." He began to move toward the door of the cell. He hesitated before exiting. "Enjoy your bunkmate. I'm sure you two will have _loads_ to catch up on."

And with those ominous words, he exited. Alex was left to wait anxiously. She waited. And waited. And _waited_. Eventually, it seemed like nothing was ever going to happen again. A day passed, at least, or that's how it felt. She contented herself to sit at the back end of her cell with knees drawn to her chest meditating on good things in her life to try and hang onto herself. With shrieks and groans loud and nearby, she struggled to shut those sounds out and dwell in a different place. In memories of Sam and Dean and army men, legos, crayons broken in half. Spending time with Uncle Bobby, ditching out of school with Dean to go exploring and adventuring. Sam always offering help to study for tests which she had no plans to even take. The comfortingly familiar sight of the Impala—it made anywhere feel more like home. And, of course, Castiel. She really did believe he would get her out of here, somehow. She knew that he would never let anything stop him until she was safe again. _Find out soon please_ _…_ _I need you._ Her head began to split as she thought that and she let out a gritted sound of pain as she held her head in her hands. She breathed deep and fast to get through the pain as it faded. And when it was safe again, she thought about her last encounter with her angel. His arms holding her close in the place she belonged… his wings soft and close, his breath mingling with hers, his heartbeat strong and sure against her skin. After all the proverbial hell they had been through together, she was desperate for the separations and crises to end. Maybe some people would give up and walk away because it hurt so much and felt like it might never stabilize. But to Alex, she couldn't give up. Wouldn't give up. Not on Castiel, not ever. And she had decided that awhile ago.

At that moment, the door of her cell groaned open, startling her, and a man was shoved in, hard. The door shut behind him resoundingly as he fell into a heap onto the floor. Alex jumped up in self-defense, assuming the worst. That this was someone who was meant to harm her. But he looked like… another defeated, weak prisoner. She couldn't see his face, but from what she could see, he was in terrible shape. Filthy and greasy, bloody and beaten, he was a stocky, tall man, built solid and strong. He wore torn up, blood-stained jeans, scuffed hunter's boots, and an utterly destroyed button-up shirt. He had shaggy dark hair and my god, if she didn't know better… she'd think…

He slowly pushed his palms to the floor to give himself enough leverage to look up at her, and his expression fell as their eyes met. Her did too when she recognized the dark, distinctive features set against a pale and gaunt face, the short beard that was graying in places spread across a strong jawline, the unmistakable green eyes. Her heart jumped up into the top of her throat—words seemed impossible—horror and confusion and dismay all came upon her all at once. The two of them looked at each other in utter shocked silence for several long seconds. And then, Alex managed to speak. "… _Dad_?" she whispered, voice nearly failing completely.

* * *

On an abandoned back road about fifty miles from the bunker for discretion's sake (they didn't want anyone, especially a demon, knowing even its general location), Sam and Dean completed the demon summoning spell and sent each other a tense glance as they waited for her to appear. Sam was still not convinced. But he guessed this was one of the best and fastest ways to get some answers. That didn't mean he had to like it though…

After a couple seconds of nothing, a familiar woman's voice that dripped with deep sarcasm and dark amusement sounded behind them. " _Well_ if it isn't the two _jackasses_ who left me in a bleeding heap just a couple days ago!"

They turned to see Meg standing there and smiling smugly at them. She looked totally different than last time they'd seen her—she'd been blonde and bloody and nearly unrecognizable. Now she was in her old getup—dark jeans and dangerously high heels, a flowing purple shirt, a cropped leather jacket, and her signature brown hair. She looked fresh, young, and sharp again—no longer like a strange alternate universe version of herself. Dean gave her a wan smile that clearly conveyed his distaste for her. "Meg," he greeted in a voice laced with barely-veiled hostility. "You're looking back to your good old Hellbitch self."

Arms crossing as she shifted her weight casually, Meg arched a dark brow at him in semi-boredom. "You must _need_ something," she commented flatly in that thick, deep voice she had. "Well, don't keep me waiting on pins and needles. What is it?"

Sam's face was tense and made him look ten years older than he was. "We need to get into Hell."

Meg's eyebrows shot up, her eyes went wide, and her mouth dropped open. "Excuse me?" she asked, then abruptly began to laugh like she had never heard anything funnier. And she didn't stop—she cackled on and on, eventually holding her stomach with an arm as she shook a finger at them—a silent _'_ _good one! Very funny!_ _'_

"What's so damn funny?" Dean asked darkly.

"The day is finally here!" she crooned, still laughing it up until she exhausted herself and had to flick at the corner of one of her eyes. "Whew mama, you have both finally cracked your acorns for good, huh?" She gave them looks like they were certifiable and it was hilarious. Then abruptly she got some superior attitude as she explained something important: " _No one_ wants to get into Hell, 'kay? Not even _me_ , asshats. Why do you think so many demons end up in this little neighborhood called earth, huh? Because down there is kind of _terrible_ , that's why." She paused and then looked around for signs of the third Winchester. When she saw that Alex was missing, she looked slightly suspicious. "Hey where's the cute one, anyway?"

"None of your goddamn _business_ , Meg," Dean fired back.

Meg peered at them a little longer, frowning intently, trying to figure it out. "What, is she in Hell? Is that why you're jonesin' to go down under?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Sam snapped. "Of course she's not."

Meg held her hands up in mock surrender, seeming to find Sam's irritability offensive. "Geez, forget I said anything, Bullwinkle. So you wanna go there _why_ , por qué? Did you not hear what I just said about it sucking the big one?"

Dean was the picture of annoyance. " _Look_ , we know Hell is terrible, we're both alums, remember? It's not exactly our first choice for a nice little vacation, okay?" He breathed out through his nose in a huff, on edge about what he was about to tell a demon. But as the brothers had agreed on the way here… this might be the only way to get Meg to play. The truth. And the fact that it would fuck with Crowley. "We're shutting it down."

Meg blinked. Frowned. And then did a slight double take. "Uh. Come again?" She appeared to have never heard a crazier or more insane idea—and seemed to be wondering if she'd even heard right. "You're… _shutting Hell down_?"

"Closing time," Dean confirmed. "That demon tablet Crowley's trying to get his hands on? Has the God-approved recipe to punch the Hellgate clock." Meg's features began to move away from supreme doubt to totally intrigued. Then Dean pulled his jacket aside to reveal the demon blade meaningfully. "Now you can help us get there out of the kindness of your little black heart, or we can do things the sharp-ended way."

Meg chortled, grinning again. "Ooh, both sound super fun! How do I pick?" she commented gleefully, enjoying the way the brothers got annoyed at her in sync. She paused and dropped the jokes after a beat or two. "But what are you… _doing_ in Hell, exactly?" She was clearly cautious about trusting them or working with them, and maybe thinking she would pay a fatal price if she agreed to this.

The brothers exchanged another hooded glance and then Sam told her. "Delivering an innocent soul to Heaven."

Meg pulled a touched face and clasped her hands together over her chest. " _Aww_." She baby talked, aggravating the brothers further. "Well isn't _that_ just the cutest thing you've ever heard?"

"Are you gonna help or _not_?" Sam demanded harshly. "I just need a way in, a little help navigating, and then a way out once I have the soul. Can you do that or not?"

Meg didn't answer. Just narrowed her eyes in interest. "Whose soul are you gonna yank out and send to the pearly gates?" When neither Winchester answered her, she basically pouted. "Come on! I love the juicy details!"

Sam sent her a very short, deadly serious look. "You're on a need to know basis, Meg. And right now, that's something you don't need to know."

Forever annoyed at them, Meg huffed. "You guys are no fun. I liked you better soulless, Moosey." She winked and sent him a look that had him quickly becoming very uncomfortable. With a long and dramatic sigh, Meg thoughtfully tapped fingers against her jawline in thought. "Here's my dilemma, boys. I hesitate to help you, because golly gee, you two have a habit of screwing me over times a thousand despite my best intentions!" She wrinkled her nose, smiling slow. "But, you know, this whole slamming Hell stuff closed'll stick it to Crowley… and screw up his little racket for good. And boy do I live for the day when he gets knocked down a peg or ten." She studied Dean and Sam a moment longer, then slowly offered what was probably the best option they'd get. "Promise I'm not collateral damage and I can take you downstairs myself. Show you around. Make sure you get out safe and sound. The whole nine." She raised two fingers. "Scout's honor."

Against his better judgment, Sam nodded grimly. "All right, it's a deal."

" _Great_ ," Dean said, sounding anything but enthused. He was ready to go—cagey and rattled and on edge. "So when do we leave?"

That was when Sam slowly turned to his brother with a very final look in his eyes. "There is no 'we,' Dean."

Dean was absolutely taken unawares at Sam's statement but immediately took on a slight air of indignance. "Uh—excuse me?"

" _Dean_ ," Sam said in his most serious and earnest tone. He'd already decided this and wasn't going to be moved. "This has to be me. Just me. _I_ have to do this. You're too emotionally involved."

Dean's face went from shocked to pissed in one millisecond. "Goddammit Sam, are you serious?!" he was obviously blindsided and felt betrayed, but Sam didn't have another option as far as he was concerned. "You bet your _ass_ I'm emotionally involved! And I have been every time you or Alex has been on the line and you didn't stop me then so why now!?"

"Because this is _my_ burden," Sam replied in forced evenness. "You have to trust me to be able to do this without you, Dean. _Please_." He wet his lips and appealed to his brother to please let it go and not fight him on this one. He understood that Dean was a control freak and felt powerless and really needed to be solving problems right now, but this was bigger than Dean's emotional needs in so many ways. "All my life you've been the one who took care of the things I couldn't," Sam said, emotion growing. "I have to do this. _Myself_. You _know_ I do." Dean's anger was giving way to despair—because it was crystal clear how much Sam meant what he was saying. How resolved he was to go it alone. Sam just needed his big brother to let go of control and give him a chance to be the one who saved the day this time. This wasn't just about shutting Hell for him—it was about making up for what he'd done wrong in the past and all the times he'd screwed up and let his family down. Deadly serious, his every emotion playing on his youthful face, Sam promised his brother the only thing he could. "I will do _everything_ in my power to get her out, Dean." His voice broke slightly as he practically begged. "Trust that I can do this. _Please._ "

Meg rolled her eyes as the brothers looked at each other for a long, silent moment, their eyes communicating without words being spoken at all. "Ah geez, where's the sweeping emotional music and the soft glow filter effect?" she muttered.

"Shut up, Meg!" Dean snapped, then gave his consent the only way he seemed to know how: grumpily and with complaint. "Okay so what am I supposed to do while you two are joyriding down under, huh?" he demanded. "I'll go nuts worrying about you with nothing to distract myself!"

More than just a little surprised that Dean was actually stepping back from this and acquiescing to his requests, Sam grasped around for a second for a reply. "I—I dunno. Look for Alex some more? Go see Kevin? Sounded pretty bad on the phone. Someone's gotta make sure he doesn't keel over."

"Yeah," Dean said lowly, distracted by other thoughts. "I guess."

Meg sidled up to Sam and nudged him with a shoulder playfully. Even with heels, he dwarfed her at a ridiculous level. "Okie dokie then, buddy," she teased, taking his arm and cuddling into his side like she was his girl. "Ready for a good time?" He looked positively disgruntled. She turned her attention to Dean. "Meet us back here in two days, Deano. That's forty-eight hours on the dot, kay?"

Highly skeptical, Dean frowned deeply. "Why the specific time crunch?"

"Because I'm on the most _wanted_ list so I don't think we're gonna be given the leisure of all the time in the world," she replied sarcastically. "And first, we have to get _in_ to Hell which isn't just like a magical mystery ride. There are steps. There's a process. Oh, and yeah, if a human who isn't supposed to be there stays in Hell too long, well… they don't walk out." She chuckled at Dean's clear worry then winked. "But don't you worry, bucko, I'll get Moose home to you for dinner."

"You better," Dean threatened, then handed the demon blade over to his brother with his most meaningful and commanding look. "Be careful, Sam. Watch your back." He had no problem glancing at Meg pointedly when he said that.

Sam nodded tersely, walling in all his feelings and fears. "I will." And without anything further, the demon and the hunter disappeared from sight.

* * *

Deep inside of Hell, Alex stared down in utter disbelief at her father, who was a barely-recognizable man laying on the dirty floor of her jail cell. Her heart felt like it was stopped. Her limbs had lost feeling and sensation. She could barely find her voice at all. "… _Dad_?" she heard herself ask ever so softly. Were her eyes playing tricks on her? …Definitely not. She would recognize him in any universe. And that was John fucking Winchester. _In the flesh_. The man who had dictated and domineered her life, the man who was her father but had never been her daddy. She thought she had seen him for the last time. And shockingly… here he was.

John's gaunt face, which had shown brief surprise and hope when he saw her, suddenly fell and without explanation… he began to laugh wheezingly. And he laughed and laughed and _laughed_. A cynical, bitter sound that rasped weakly. Immediately disturbed, Alex didn't know what to do. John started talking to the air and ceiling like a madman as he rolled onto his side feebly, laying there like a lump. "Oh, yeah. _Real original_ , guys. My daughter. Haven't seen _this_ one before." At Alex's expression, John abruptly looked enraged— _offended_ —and he started grunting, straining to get up. He managed, but his movements were that of an elderly person, not the strong man he'd once been. "Oh that's _cute_ ," he said sharply, staring at her with utter hatred as he stood unevenly with horrible slumped posture. _"_ Act like you don't know who I am. That's one of my _favorites_. Try and make me think it might really be her. But really, _overplayed_ , don't you think? Are the boys gonna join us today, too?! Huh?!" He breathed hard and loudly as he started to lean against the nearby wall for support. He was haggard in a way that reached past the physical but he was still full of defiance and pride as he'd always been. "All right. Go ahead, you black eyed _bitch_ ," he growled, obviously thinking she was a demon. "Hit me with your best shot. Which angle you gonna play this time, huh? Tell me how much I screwed my daughter's life up and ruined her? Try and get to me one of the only ways you have left? Cry about how much I did wrong and tear my heart out while you list all the things I should have done? All the goddamn _mistakes_ I made? I think I have the list memorized by now, so how about I go ahead and help you out, huh?" Cynical, not realizing he was talking to his real daughter, John started listing things that he'd obviously been tortured with and accused of over the years. "I wasn't there, and when I was, I didn't look out for you or give you what you needed. I didn't accept you for what you were, I didn't try and help you with your disability. I never told you I loved you or that I was proud of you…" he trailed off and pretended to be amused, but he looked vaguely sick instead. "Am I doing good? _Forgetting_ anything?" He suddenly banged the back of his fist against the stone wall hard and bared his teeth in anger. " _I_ _'_ _m_ the one who's beat myself up harder than anyone else for all that shit! You can't say anything to me I haven't said to myself!" he shouted. It was his attempt at gaining a foothold in what must have been, for him, a regular occurrence. When Alex could find no quick reply, John's face twisted. "No? Gonna try your other little tactic? Get angry? Throw me around and beat me up and make sure I know how much you hate me?" At her continued stumped silence, he became irate. "Come on! _Say something_!" She saw how he trembled and shook, how there were tears in his eyes. Pain was written on every facet of his face even though he was trying so hard to hide it.

And despite everything… despite how long she had spent being bitter at him, despite the fact that he was the root source of pain whenever she thought about her life… none of that changed the fact that she loved him. Alex was overcome with compassion and empathy and a frantic sense of _I have to fix this._ This was her _father_. And he had been here in Hell for what she could only tally as thousands of years. Suffering so much in ways she couldn't even imagine. No one deserved that. _Ever_. Seeing him so broken twisted a knife in her heart that left a pain so strong she could barely function. " _Dad_." Her voice broke as she went a little closer. "It's _me_." She didn't know how else to say it—her voice trembled and wavered as it lost power. "It's… really _me_."

His anger loosened, faded. Confusion took its place because of how open and emotional she was. And then something like total terror began to set into his features. "No it's not," he managed in a suddenly-weak voice. And then stronger, more defiant: " _No,_ it's _not_."

"T-they've been torturing you?" Alex asked, too dazed to come up with anything else. "With _me_?"

John's brief lapse into contemplation disappeared. "This is _hell,_ of course they've been torturing me," he snapped. He abruptly gave a cold smile. "This is a good one though. New twist. Bravo!" He laughed sharply, trying to appear more mentally sound than he obviously was. "Had me going for a couple seconds, you fucking monster! That was good, too," he said, shaking a finger at her. "Making her look a little older. Giving her that penny on a chain I've never seen before. That's different than normal. _Shit,_ you had me for a second. That's a good one, good one." He looked totally deranged. "Make me think she's really here. What, to save me? Yeah right. Or because she ended up down here somehow." He gave a short, biting laugh. "That would never happen. My sons wouldn't let her end up here, I'll tell you that much." He stared at Alex and raised his chin defiantly. "So can we just get to the whips and knives already? Your acting career needs some _work_ , sweetheart."

Alex didn't know how to react. His words might have been hurtful somehow if she had been more present, but she was floating—confounded—thunderstruck. Couldn't get past the shock of seeing him again. He was so much worse in every way than he'd been when she saw him last. He'd looked semi-normal before. Now, he looked like the torture-victim that he obviously was. " _Dad_." She approached him at a drift, not really hearing any of his words. Just seeing into his pain. And when she got close enough, she did something she had never done before—touched her hands to his bruised and bleeding face. Rough, wiry beard poked at her palms. The tender touch startled him, made him stop carrying on like a lunatic for a minute. And their eyes, similar shades of hazel, held. "I _sold_ my _soul,_ " she explained in a trembling whisper. "I'm really _me._ _"_ His eyes flickered between hers and his expression grew more and more convinced as she told him how she'd ended up down here. "I sold my soul," she repeated, not sure how else to explain. She smiled ever so slightly despite everything and her hands dropped away to gently hold onto his arms. "It's _me_ , Dad."

His eyes, still sharp and intelligent and shrewd, drilled into hers questioningly—and when his silent question was answered, his face slackened. He seemed to recognize her on a basic level—he clearly saw that she really was her—because he grabbed her by the shoulders and had this _look_ on his face like he had never been more shocked, appalled, and amazed all at once. "Oh my god. _Alex_." So briefly, a smile that broke and fixed her heart at the same time flitted across his face. But it was quickly replaced by a deeply confused frown. He was stumped, halfway in shock, and grasping for answers. "You sold your soul? _Why_?"

She nodded, grim and bracing herself for some minor fallout. "Because Sam was dying."

Minor fallout was too much to hope for. John's face darkened and he suddenly shook her slightly, jarring her. "Alex! You can't _sell your soul_! Are you off your fucking _rocker_!?"

She pulled away from him immediately, wary again. Remembering him for who he was. And more than a little soured by his predictable reaction, she lost the euphoric state she had been in. "Nice to see you too," she said, knowing she shouldn't have been optimistic.

"How stupid _are_ you?!" he demanded. So. It was gonna be like that. Alex turned away as the barrage continued "How the _hell_ did your brother let this happen?" John asked, nearing a shout as he stumbled after her. "What the hell was he thinking?"

Alex turned around angrily. " _You know what_? Shut the _fuck_ up!" she snapped, and even as he opened his mouth to argue, she grabbed the front of his shirt and swung, cracking her fist across his face. Shocked, John stumbled back even as Alex boiled in place, her eyes conveying that she'd do it again, too. "Dean isn't in charge of me, _you_ aren't in charge of me!" she shouted. " _I_ _'_ _m_ in charge of me, so get that through your damn head!" She clenched her fists hard at her sides and glared at him as he regarded her with mystified, taken aback silence. Not the most touching family reunion she'd ever been a part of. Dad wasn't too used to her talking back or hitting. He seemed to be wondering what had gotten into her. But outspoken was just the way she was now, and she had less and less problem standing up for herself these days, too, so she made that clear in a tight, short tone. "You've been gone awhile, _Dad_. Let's just say I'm not who I used to be." 

Obviously not on board with what she guessed he viewed as disrespect (his greatest pet peeve in the world), he let his eyes silently disapprove of her. "I can see that." Her blood roiled beneath her skin—it was amazing how fast she could go from wanting to wrap Dad up in a hug to wanting to punch his lights. It he wanted respect, he should _earn it_. Alex scoffed as she tried to hold back a rude remark and an eye roll. But her dad could quite obviously see that she wasn't saying something and he prompted her, almost challengingly. "What?"

She couldn't hold it inside. Anger pressed in like a disease, like hot burning flames. "I _tried_ , Dad!" she shouted, and her rage made her feel stronger and more powerful in a dizzying, alien way. "I did my best, every day of my life! To be good enough for you, to be less of a stupid, useless disgrace but nothing ever does it for you, does it?!" This was insane—even in Hell, they didn't see eye to eye and Dad was set on being a heartless jerk. It was enough to make Alex hit the proverbial roof. She had to hold herself back from hitting him again. "Jesus _Christ_ …! Get your _head_ out of your _ass!_ " she screamed, breathing so hard that her shoulders heaved. And then she gave a weak laugh when she saw the point of this entire thing. "Oh man. I see what they're doing here. Sticking us together." This was quite possibly the best torture of all. The most painful and lasting barb. The shittiest scenario she could think of. As such, she began to shout at the ceiling as rage mounted at scary quick speed. "Good one, Crowley! Great! Just fucking _perfect!_ " Sticking her in here with the father whose approval and love she'd always been desperate for and never gotten. The dad who had been given every chance in the world and squandered them all in favor of his own need for revenge. And thinking of herself when she'd been just a little girl in a huge world with no daddy to make her feel safe and adored and wanted, Alex was set into a fit or utter rage that in hindsight she'd realize was influenced highly by Hell. Completely insane for a couple seconds, Alex snatched up an axe that seemed to have come out of nowhere, and she swung blindly at her dad, drunk on fury that possessed her like a demon. And when she so narrowly missed her wobbling father and sagged under the weight of the weapon, when she realized what she had just done, she dropped the handle and shrank back, horrified. _Oh my god. Why did I just do that?!_

Although she was shocked and terrified at what she'd just done, John looked at the axe grimly, then at her. He didn't appear surprised whatsoever. If anything, he looked mildly regretful and knowing."This place corrupts, Alex," he said quietly, gravely. Pain haunted his voice. "It gets to you. I've been here for thousands of years now so trust me… I know." He smiled ruefully down at the axe and then said something Alex couldn't believe. "You can't do anything to me they haven't already done. And hey, maybe it'll make you feel better to rip into your old man, huh?" He sounded nearly amused. Alex stared. Was he… suggesting she go ahead and chop him up to like get some kind of twisted catharsis? Apparently so. "Go ahead," he said, and she didn't recognize the man in front of her anymore. "I won't stop you. We both know I earned it."

Petrified because she _wanted to so bad_ and didn't even think it was _her_ that felt that way—Alex rejected his fucked up suggestion with everything she had in her. "Are you kidding m— _no_!" Breathing hard and shaking, backing away from the axe, she shook her head no again and again. "I'm not doing that. Are you _crazy_?"

He shrugged slightly, dark eyes blankly looking off to his side at nothing. "Mostly." _What?!_ He seemed okay with that, too.

That's what was even scarier than anything else. That he would admit that so quickly and say it so blandly. Alex felt like it was only a matter of time for herself… she'd only been here a week or so, maybe, and she already felt like she was losing it completely, especially after the axe thing. And here was Dad, somehow still holding it together (if teetering on the edge). _How?_ How had he survived and soldiered through? She couldn't fathom how long he'd been here—a rough estimate in her head gave her a number close to ten thousand years—and that left her utterly beside herself—grieved, confused, and so dumbfounded. "How are you not a demon or something now?" she asked, her tone shaken by fear. Maybe he was. Maybe this was some kind of trick. "You've been here so _long_."

But as soon as she had the thought that he might be a demon here to trick her, that Winchester stubbornness glinted in his eyes as he set his jaw. "I don't care how long I'm here. I decided one thing. One damn thing. I _refuse_ to become like the thing that killed your mother. _Ever._ I refuse to be one of the bastards I spent my entire life trying to destroy. I won't do it." He abruptly let out a soft, cynical little sound as he acknowledged something with increasing dourness. "But I mean come on, wasn't I a monster enough already? Being a demon wouldn't change much."

She wasn't sure if he was fishing for pity or genuinely depressed past the point of caring what he said. But she was touched again in the saddest of ways. Regretting his life choices for him in his stead and suddenly fighting off deep wells of empathy. " _Dad_ …" she said softly, seeing him for what he could have been if he'd picked different paths.

He shook his head doggedly, not looking at her. "Don't." A single commanding word said firmly but softly. "We both know I was a shit excuse for a father." His eyes glanced into hers before looking away again. He moved off and sagged against the wall, slowly sitting down tiredly there and leaning his back to the wall, letting his long legs bend in front of him. "No two ways about it. I knew it then and I know it now. What do you want me to do about it?"

His question came out of nowhere and seemed almost rhetorical—like he wasn't even asking her at all. Like he was just commenting on how ruined it all was and thinking _oh well_. But Alex felt like he _could_ still do something about it. Maybe it was stupid, but even here in Hell she latched onto a small spark of hope. A chance at what she'd always needed and wanted from this man. "Say you're sorry," she appealed. " _Mean_ it. And then try again." That was all anyone could ever do. And things were different now. She had grown and changed and come into her own—stopped being so much of a follower. Learned to stand on her own two feet. Been given the ability to talk and speak her mind. And Dad had been humbled by several notches—maybe he could understand things now that he had never understood before. Alex wanted to believe that somehow, there was a light at the end of this tunnel.

John looked at her hopelessly, seeming to find her request of trying again impossible. "You see where we are?"

His answer disheartened her so fast. "… _So_?" she asked, hurt in a way that made her voice crack a little. Her optimism faded quickly as she remembered cold hard reality. It was always excuses with him. It was always a reason _why not._ When it came to _other_ things in his life he'd been loyal to the end and dedicated to the grave. But when it came to her and her brothers, they had been second priority. Oh, he would have charmed you into thinking he loved nothing better than his kids if you were an outsider. And maybe he'd believed that himself, too. But he'd never been a dad to write home about. Being walked away from and rejected and not wanted had scarred her for life internally and even _now_ he didn't want to try. Was she really that horrible? So undeserving? It was enough to make angry, bitter tears spring to her eyes. Still, she fought for herself and tried to break through the walls her father had put up. "You aren't the kind of guy who gives up when you think it's something important," she semi-accused. "So why the hell did you always give up on _me_? On _us_?" She meant the family, of course, but she also meant their father-daughter relationship… which had been nothing but screwed up, abusive, and neglectful. "Do you know how much that _hurt_?" It wasn't right. And she would never understand.

She expected him to get angry at that point. Because John Winchester hated being reminded by anyone other than himself of what he'd done wrong. So when her dad's expression struggled and threatened to crumble completely, when he shook his head no once and looked up at her with glassy eyes, she was thunderstruck. "I knew you needed so much more than me," he whispered, and his dark eyebrows worked in together as pain deepened every line on his face. John wasn't much for talking about this kind of stuff—and his trouble with verbalizing himself was very clear in that moment. "What could I ever give to you worth having? How could I possibly be the kind of father you needed? To _any_ of you kids?" He couldn't hold her gaze anymore so he didn't. And in that moment, he looked so much younger and more uncertain. More open and vulnerable. Not really like himself. And because Alex was used to seeing him gruff, unreadable, soldier-like in every single scenario… it had her totally still and dismayed. "I was too scared and too selfish to try at all," he admitted. "So I _didn_ _'_ _t_." Broken and bitter and in misery with himself, John was having a harder and harder time speaking. "I told myself the _hunt_ was what made me a good man. That _that_ _'_ _s_ what mattered. That you kids would somehow just be okay somehow, someday." A sad, self-loathing laugh slipped out as his features worked hard again utter despair. "What kind of delusion was I living, huh? I _wasn_ _'_ _t_ a good man. I wasn't a good father. I was a _coward_. Running from my responsibilities. For what? Revenge?" He trailed off blankly, the picture of a shattered person who had nothing but regret in life. "I can never undo that. I can never go back. And 'I'm sorry' will never fix a damn thing. You don't _want_ me to try. Because I'll screw it up like I always do. I can't let you down again, all right?" Alex had a protest on the tongue even as her dad looked her in the eye, finally. "Trust me, Alex, I've had centuries to think about my life and choices and I hate myself more than you'll ever hate me."

Her protest was forgotten. She had spent a lot of time hating him, it was true. And hating his actions. All of that while simultaneously loving him, too. It was so impossible to understand. But he needed to know one thing from her. So she breathed out hard and took a second, sat down beside him, and made sure what she was saying was total truth. It was. "I don't hate you, Dad." Clearly, he didn't understand or expect her to say that. Maybe he even _wanted_ her to hate him.

He was trying to be the big man. Solid and unemotional. But it wasn't really working. "That means… more than I can say," he admitted after a long couple of beats. His voice broke at the word _say,_ and his face crumpled up—he reached over and touched her hand with his cautiously, taking hold. "Never thought I'd get to talk to you," he said. "Really, actually _talk_ to you."

Alex's chest hurt and her fingers worked nervously under his. "That's... all I ever wanted," she whispered, ashamed to admit it, almost. "To talk to my dad. For him to wanna talk to me." And he never really had. He had been this silent, dark cloud over her life—removed and joyless and only paying attention to her when she displeased him. He'd been her drill sergeant and her commander and her father… but what she'd needed and wanted was a daddy. A man who would have made every effort to be part of her silent world and reach out to her. A man who kissed away pains and told her it was all gonna be okay—done silly things to make her smile. A man who would have invested in her life by spending time, giving love, and lavishing affection. That hadn't been John. Ever.

They both knew that and when John grabbed her hand harder and began to all out weep from guilt, it was so incredibly hard to watch. All of his suppressed feelings burst out of him in a terrible display of brokenness. "I'm so sorry, baby," he choked out, letting his other hand smash against his face in an effort to hide his grief from her. His shoulders shook and his whole body quaked, his breaths all sounded like shuddering sobs. " _So sorry_." Having never seen Dad like this before, Alex was not in the best shape herself. She'd seen men cry before. But never quite like that. Heartfelt, brutal, destroyed, beyond caring who saw. Completely and totally beyond hope. She clutched his hand back and held herself back from hugging him—she was too afraid of being pushed away. John worked hard to get himself even halfway composed, but he was miserable. "I can never take it back," he lamented in a voice that was totally wrecked. "It _kills_ me." He looked at her with flooded eyes and an expression that seemed pleading. "How can you not want to rip my guts out? How do you not despise me?"

Her eyes weren't dry, either. And she didn't have any answer except this: "B-because you're my _dad,_ " she choked out. With nothing left to say, she took her chance, leaned in and hugged him hard around the neck with one arm and he began to sob again, _hard_ , as he locked his arms around her in a huge bear hug. And even in Hell, some part of her healed in that moment. She squeezed her eyes shut and forced herself to breathe hard, steady, and quick to keep from breaking down herself. She tried to say everything with how hard she gripped onto him. And then when he'd calmed down a little, she pushed away from him and their mutually tear-filled eyes met. "We're gonna get out of here," she said fiercely. "You hear me? This is _not_ where we're gonna stay. You're not gonna be down here much longer, Dad."

The saddest and most sympathetic smile stretched across his forlorn face. "I remember having that," he said quietly.

Frowning slightly, Alex shook her head. "Having what?"

"Hope." A single word that immediately chipped away at hers. He took in a deep breath and more himself again, he glanced around their prison. "Escaped these cells twice. Twice in ten thousand years. _Twice,_ Alex." He was defeated. "Almost got to the wastelands both times but… never made it." He looked at her with sympathy and graveness. "Alex, I don't think there's a way out." With twisting features and eyes that were growing more and more agonized, his voice caught. "For _either_ of us. I wish you hadn't done this, baby. _I wish you hadn_ _'_ _t done this._ "

Alex didn't know what else to tell him. "I had to." And despite everything: "I wouldn't take it back." Sam would have died. What other choice was there? Honestly, the soul deal wasn't at the forefront of her mind currently. Dad's state of grief and his depression were what most concerned her. "We didn't really know you were here, Dad. I mean I guess we knew you weren't exactly in Heaven but when I saw you last it didn't _seem_ like Hell…" she trailed off, confused. It had barely crossed her mind to think about Dad's eternal fate—and she felt guilty for that, of course. She tried to make excuses. It was second nature. "We've been so busy. We, uh, we stopped the apocalypse for one. And some other stuff too."

John looked mildly impressed—and talk of the outside world immediately had him a little less morose. "The apocalypse, huh? Heard some rumors but damn." He sniffed and cleared his throat, shuffling his feet to hang his arms over his knees. "When I contacted you when you were in Heaven, that was a long time ago. And I _was_ here in Hell—soul got sucked right back down after Azazel died. But I used to be in the higher levels where things aren't as… bad as they are here. Got moved down further about... I dunno, five hundred years ago maybe." He looked at her sidelong, mystified and unhappy. "Why'd they put you down so deep right away?"

Alex had heard about the levels since being here. And apparently she was about as deep as it got. "Because Crowley is a jackass and has it in for me on a personal level," she muttered, glaring into nothing at the thought of that dickwad. "I think he wants a new pet. And it's _not_ gonna be me."

Clearly a little worried about the Crowley thing, John did something he'd done with the boys very often. Made a half-joke. "I'll hold you to it." Alex looked at her dad sidelong again and realized that Crowley's little plan might backfire against him. If she and Dad somehow managed to stick together and not let the skeletons in the family closet dictate things... this could work _in their favor._ This was Dad trying, and she recognized that, softened at that. He was markedly uncomfortable at the look she gave him and he cleared his throat awkwardly, trying to fill the silence. "So. How're your brothers?"

Alex thought back to when she'd been with them but without her memory. "Okay, I guess." Dean had been… weird. And Sam seemed… depressed. But she could understand given everything they had going on. Vague, she shrugged. "Still hunting."

"Looking out for you?" John asked, his tone implying that they better be.

A certain kind of happiness—the kind that she didn't know existed in Hell—lit in her heart when Dad said that. "Always," she confirmed, thinking of her brothers and feeling immense, strong, unshakable love at the fleeting image of their faces.

"Good," he said, and Alex smiled tightly and looked at her knee. The smallest acts of caring from Dad had always really touched her. And him asking about her first really meant a lot. "How's Sam?" Dad asked.

Alex let out a soft, overwhelmed breath. It was a long story. "He's been through so much," she said, flashes of Lucifer and his soulless streak and his mental health breakdown flashing through her mind. "Never complains about it though." Needing to err on the side of lightness, she indicated around her shoulders. "His hair's super long now."

John nodded, taking it in with rapt interest. "And Dean?"

 _Eesh_. Not such good news there. Alex hesitated. She could skip over a lot. But she settled on a summary of the truth. "Drinks too much, super depressed but won't say so. Been to Hell, been to Purgatory… just lost his girlfriend. I don't know how he hangs in there." Briefly, Alex realized how Dean's life was beginning to mirror Dad's. And it pained her on both their behalves. _I gotta get out of here and back to my brothers, among other people._ A vision of dark wings, skyblue eyes, and tan trench coat danced through her mind and sent a pang of longing unfurling in her heart.

Somberly reflecting on what Alex had said, John nodded, then hesitated. "And uh… what about that guy?"

Alex was a little thrown. "What guy?"

"The guy you said you loved," Dad said stiltedly, and then Alex remembered—in Heaven, when she'd spoken with Dad last, _years_ ago, he'd asked about her love life. If there was someone. And she hadn't mentioned Cas by name or the fact that he was an angel. But she'd confirmed that there was someone and that she loved him. That had been near the start of her and Cas's relationship—they hadn't had sex yet or confessed love or anything like that. It seemed so very long ago.

" _Oh_ ," Alex said, a little awkward because she had _totally_ forgot Dad sorta-knew about Cas. "Oh yeah." She cleared her throat. Touched her neck for no reason. And then decided to just say it. "He's... _well_ … I… um, I ended up marrying him."

Dad looked completely blindsided. "You're _married_?" he asked.

"A little," Alex said, self-conscious to the max. At the weird look he was giving her, she threw her hands out briefly. "What?"

With a shake of the head as he processed, John seemed to be realizing his daughter was really, truly her own person now. "Just... surprised, that's all." 

Alex, thinking of her angel, looked into middle distance with a soft face. "He'll be coming after me," she murmured, totally confident of the fact. If she didn't get out of here first, Cas would be on the way. " _Trust_ me." She gave her dad a pointed look. "The second he finds out where I am and what happened… there won't be a single way in the universe to stop him."

Skeptical, John studied her for a second. "Sounds like a guy with connections…" he said, obviously keeping his reservations right where they were.

She hesitated before saying it. "Well… he's an angel." Then gave him a meaningful look to explain that she didn't mean that as a term of endearment. And when Dad's eyebrows crawled high, she nodded once. "Yup."

"An… _angel,_ " he said slowly and doubtfully. "Like, _angel_ angel." Alex's expression confirmed it. Stumped, John mentally tried to piece the puzzle together. "How the hell did _that_ happen? How did an _angel_ _…_ and you?"

Alex understood. It sounded crazy and epic and impossible. And it sort of was. And yet… around her neck, a chain with a single penny on the end. "Long story but… he was my guardian angel. And... turns out he gave me my voice back." John's face registered growing understanding. "His name is Castiel," Alex said, speaking of the one she loved with a certain reverent kind of tone. 

John was in deep thought. "How… _old_ is he?" he asked, his deep voice colored by morbid curiosity.

Alex dodged specifics. "Old." Like, ancient. Dinosaur didn't even cover it. "But... it's also like he's brand new," she said, wishing she could somehow show Dad all of what she saw in and loved about Cas. All the things that made Castiel so special, so beautiful, so important. 

John definitely had a lot to process. "Married," he murmured. "To an angel." Then he thought of something else. "You don't—don't have kids do you?"

A little startled by the question, Alex gave an immediate and semi-defensive, "No." Then remembered that time-traveling young man who had looked so much like Cas. Growing a little quieter, her eyes fell downward. "Not yet." And she still didn't understand how she would ever be _ready_ to be a mother. Maybe that guy wasn't any relation. Maybe it had some other explanation. Or maybe… in the future… she and Cas would settle down. Get a house. Jobs. Have kids and a dog and all that normal-people stress that she had never really experienced. She pictured Cas in glasses with a button-up shirt and khakis—the very embodiment of suburban boring normal dad. She imagined him with a little kid who looked like them, and her heart grew two sizes. 

"Your brothers were on board with this whole married to an angel thing?" Dad asked, jarring her from her thoughts.

 _Ha_. Alex remembered the night they had found out and the hell that had broken loose thereafter. "Not at first." Hmm. Actually. She _still_ wasn't entirely sure of what they thought. Usually, they didn't even acknowledge it.

Of all things, John chuckled lightly when she said nope. "Always were so headstrong, weren't you?" he asked, shaking his head in sad fondness. "Just like your mother."

A sentence that jolted her heart and felt distinctly complimentary. Alex wasn't sure what to say. Would 'thank you' or 'yeah, totally' be more appropriate? She wasn't sure. So she just fell into sad quietness and thought. As they shared a brief pause, Alex tried to remember her conversation with dad in Heaven in years past. Parts were fuzzy, but one part stood out the more she thought about it. "Hey, right at the end of everything when you and I were talking, you said Azazel was planning to use Sam and me to do something," she said, remembering how urgent and scared he'd looked. "What was it?"

John shrugged and scratched at the back of his neck. "It was... something too dark to talk about," he said, appearing very, very uncomfortable at her question. "Let's just be glad Lucifer's off the chess board." Dissatisfied with his answer, but not too interested in an immediate answer, Alex nodded faintly. Lucifer would never be a problem ever again, if everything held. But… a young face she sometimes dreamed about and thought of popped into her mind. And she realized _whoa_ _—_ _I might be able to get to him now!_ Suddenly very breathless as the thought hit her, she sat up straighter. "Dad… do you know where the cage is?"

"The cage here in Hell?" John asked, immediately looking wary and suspicious. "Why would you wanna even _think_ about that place?"

The answer was clear cut for Alex. "Because there's someone in there who shouldn't be." Curious, John's eyebrows pushed in together.

And then the door of their cell groaned open, causing both hunters to divert their attention fast. Two demons entered—one a female in some kind of goth getup, and then a male demon in an ugly patent leather jacket. The male grinned at them as in unison, they stood up fast. John, in much worse shape than his daughter, somehow managed to stand faster and put himself half in front of her. The male demon put his hands on his hips and wiggled his eyebrows once. " _Well_ ," he said, eyeing them in vast wicked amusement. "Who's first for some good old rack time?"

" _I am_ ," John said in a tone like acid, walking forward to meet the demons head on. "You aren't touching my daughter."

"Aw. So _sweet_ ," the demon said, then let his eyes slide to Alex. "But I'm old-fashioned. Ladies first!" And then he drew back and sucker-punched John in the face, using the surprise attack to hold him down as the female demon grabbed an infuriated, kicking and screaming Alex and began to basically carry her out. John, being pinned down, thrashed and seethed, red in the face as his daughter's angry yells began to fade.

"Not my daughter, do you hear me?!" he bellowed uselessly. " _Not my daughter_! You take me instead you fucking cowards! Don't _touch_ her!"

The demon holding John down yanked him up, breathless and grinning evilly. "Well, why don't we just get the whole _family_ in on the fun, huh Dad?"

* * *

**Warsaw, Missouri**

With a greasy sack of fast food under his arm, Dean pushed open the loud metal door and peered around the interior of the houseboat where Kevin was staying. The place still looked like it belonged to someone who wore a straitjacket—pages and notes and papers were everywhere. Scattered on surfaces, tacked to walls, stuck to odd ends of furniture. "Yo, Kev, it's me!" Dean announced. Frankly, he was surprised that the door had been unlocked. He had decided to show up unannounced and thought for sure the door would be locked, especially after that crazy call he and Sam had gotten. "Kevin!" Where _was_ that kid? Dean heard a movement and then a young man appeared from a further-back room. Dean's face fell even as this young man's face fell, too. " _Not Kevin_."

Not Kevin at all. It was none other than Zip the Leviathan, and Dean was already dropping his bag of food and reaching for the hunting knife he had holstered in his back pocket—but the Leviathan saw what he was doing and lunged across the room and tackled Dean hard. He was smaller than Dean but super powered in comparison and Dean found himself facedown on the floor, struggling in utter vain against the strong grip on him.

"Hey, hey!" a high-pitched, panicked voice came. "Kyle, stop! That's Dean!"

"I know who it is, he was about to _kill me_!" Zip hissed.

"Well _stop_!" Kevin screeched.

"Dude—Kevin!" Dean wheezed into the floor where his face was smashed unmovingly. "What the hell?!"

Kevin sounded honestly blindsided. "What are you _doing here_ , Dean? Why didn't you call first?!"

"I think the more important question is _why the hell is a Leviathan in your houseboat_?!" Dean raged, then bucked wildly against Zip's hold. "Get off me!"

Kevin sounded dead serious… and a little sick. "Kyle… let him go."

Dean felt a hand pat his cheek and heard Zip's tenor voice in his ear. "No funny business, yeah?" And with that, Dean was released. Zip got up and off of him then went over to join Kevin.

Dean got up and dusted himself off indignantly, readjusting his jacket cantankerously and looking at the dynamic duo with sharp eyes. Zip was in his most recent form of choice—a pale skinny white guy of average height with bleached hair. Dean had encountered this version of Zip back when he and Sam had been trying to get back into Purgatory and find Alex. That felt like a lifetime ago. And he knew that apparently Zip had hung around Kevin for awhile when he and Cas had been in Monsterland… but he thought that was over. Apparently _not._ And he was _pissed_. "Explain, Kevin. _Now._ "

Appearing a little bit sheepish, Kevin shrugged faintly. He didn't look good—unrested, disheveled, skinny. "He, um, he keeps an eye out. Gets me food sometimes, reminds me to eat. Makes sure I don't go crazy." He itched his ear, actively avoiding Dean's hard, demanding glare.

 _Makes sure Kevin didn't go crazy…?_ "Yeah, about _that_ one…" Kevin looked pretty far gone.

" I do stuff a friend does for a friend," Zip put in piously, clearly trying to paint himself as the more noble one in this scenario.

Offended and murderous at the same time, Dean gave that little punkass Leviathan the death-glare. "Oh buddy, don't even start with me," he growled. "I haven't forgotten when you tried to kill my sister." Among other things.

Zip paled slightly and his eyes nervously flickered toward Kevin, who seemed to know nothing of _that_ little incident. "That was an accident."

"Yeah?" Dean challenged, sauntering a little closer. "Well watch your back, goopy. Because I'm feeling _accident prone_ today if you catch my drift."

"Dean," Kevin said nervously, intimidated by Dean's close approach. "Please don't stab my friend."

" _I'm_ your friend!" Dean protested vehemently. "Not this… this… _freak_!"

Of all things, _both_ of them looked offended by Dean's outburst. Kevin was particularly insulted. "Uh… piling me with stuff and sending me away and only checking up on me when you need something?" Kevin looked downright _mad_. "Yeah. Not friends. Your sister was my friend, but you and Sam don't give two craps about me outside of prophet stuff."

 _Damn_. Dean felt frustration mounting. "Sam and I are really _busy_ , all right?"

"Well so was Alex and she still made sure I was okay!" Kevin shouted, losing his temper fast and starting to unravel. "I'm tired! I'm like a living zombie! I don't sleep and this thing is taking over my whole life!" He flapped his arms around to indicate the notes about the demon tablet. "I can't wait to be done, okay!?" He abruptly bowed and then grabbed his own head and moaned a few sounds of despair and fatigue. Dean made a slight face. Kid was _losing_ it.

And then Dean noticed Zip. He stood beside Kevin and was watching him with this _look_ … like… concern? Maybe? And something else. Dean squinted. _Wait_. Zip touched Kevin's shoulder in a very careful way and spoke to him sort of gently. "Hey. You want me to make you some more chamomile tea?"

Exhausted and clueless, Kevin let his hands slap down. "Yeah. I guess. Thanks."

Zip gave Dean another careful look then went to the kitchen. Dean sidled up to Kevin. " _Dude_."

" _What_?" Kevin asked irritably.

Dean was pretty sure his gaydar still worked. And so he let Kevin know what he obviously had missed. "…He's _into_ you."

Kevin blinked. "…What?" Then he scoffed immediately. " _No_ he's _n_ —" he abruptly stopped talking and probably realized everything Dean had. That for no discernible reason some Leviathan guy was staying here, befriending him, bringing him food, making him tea, watching out for him, giving him all those concerned looks, touching his shoulder with a sort of longing quality to that touch… and when Kevin realized that Dean was right, he looked shocked and scared. "Oh man." His eyes were bulging slightly as his voice dropped to a frantic whisper. "W-what do I do?"

Dean scoffed. This Zip guy was a piece of work. Befriending and preying on emotionally weak kids who had no one. And then using that to get his rocks off. "Hope he doesn't get jealous when you find someone else and then try to kill you when he can't handle that you're just not that into him."

Maybe joking about it like that was in bad taste. Kevin, ill and overwhelmed completely, let out a soft sound of despair. "T-this is just great," he lamented hopelessly. "A Leviathan likes me— _like_ likes me—and Crowley's in my head. Dean, if Crowley's in my head, he knows where I am!" He started looking around in a panic. "You know, I—I should move out. I'll find another place. I'll hide from Kyle and he won't be able to keep finding me." He smacked a hand to his face like he was trying to hit and punish himself. "Why didn't I get why he kept coming around? Stupid, _stupid_!"

Dean grabbed Kevin's wrist to keep him from slapping himself in the face. "Geez, Kev, would you chill out, huh? Why do you call him Kyle, anyway? Isn't his name Zip?"

Kevin looked embarrassed. "He told me his name was Kyle when we met. I dunno. Whatever." He looked like all he wanted to do was just go to sleep forever. "Just tell me when this all ends, 'cause that's the only thing I want to hear."

"I've told you before, this _isn't_ going to end," Dean said grimly. "Look, man, other guys, they got it easy, you know? It's all backyard barbecues and... bowling teams, but you and me? We got to carry a little extra weight." That was putting it lightly.

And Kevin knew it and seemed to take that as an insult. "A little extra weight? No, this is… impossible. It's too much! I can't take it. I don't _want this_."

" _Kevin_ ," Dean counseled firmly. He couldn't have this prophet quitting now. "You _can_ take this. Hey, look at me. Now, this whole thing sucks. I know. But you suck it up and you push through because that's what we do. And when you get on board with that, the ride is a lot smoother."

A cynical smile spread on Kevin's wan face. "Dean. Not even you believe that. You're just saying it to sound tough or smart or something." He looked around at his cluttered environment and grew fractionally more upset as he took in the chaos. "And I'm this close, _this close_ to just walking away." Fidgety and caged, eyes darting all over the place to a shifty effect, Kevin made an impromptu decision. "I'm gonna—I'm gonna take a walk," he said.

"Alone?" Dean asked incredulously.

"Not alone," came a familiar voice.

Zip was there with a styrofoam cup of, presumably, tea. Looking at Kevin to gauge how the kid felt about that, Dean only saw embarrassment. Not fear or anything. They must really be pals or something. He didn't know. It was weird. And Dean didn't like it. But, he wanted the opportunity to snoop around the houseboat and quite honestly, he hadn't slept in a couple days and wasn't in the best of mindframes. He was too worried about Sam and Alex and Cas and Jamie and _what the hell was happening_ to give anything else much thought. So he just smiled tightly. "Mm. You two have fun. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

* * *

In their cell once more, John and Alex Winchester were both beaten and bloody. John sat on the floor in a mangled, shellshocked lump—he'd gotten the worse end of the deal that time. Alex paced slowly, her face twisted into a hard, worried expression. Blood ran down the side of her face from a severe head-wound. Gashes were criss-crossed into her arms. Her clothes had more rips in them than before. But it looked like her biggest problems were inside of her mind. The look on her face said it all.

"Don't listen to it," her father finally said quietly after watching her walk back and forth awhile.

She stopped and looked at him in exhausted confusion. "Listen to _what_?"

"The doubt," he said grimly. "This place'll make you go insane if you give it an inch. Think about good things."

She was too tired to think about good things. "What do you think about?" she asked.

He looked faintly sad and happy all at once. "What life was like before Mary died. You and Sam as little babies. Dean, just a little rugrat." His sad smile grew as his eyes saw faraway things. "I imagine what life might have been like if all the bad stuff never happened."

Alex barely heard him. She just couldn't connect with a solution at this moment.

Outside in the hall just outside their cell, a huge commotion began to sound. Chains and someone giggling in a high-pitched female voice. A slamming door and some kind of baby-talk and leisurely laughter. Annoyed and angry and exhausted all at the same time, Alex threw a glower that direction. After a minute or two, a very playful female voice drifted over. "Helllooooo?" Alex and John exchanged a frown. Whoever that was, she sounded extremely chipper for being a prisoner in Hell. And who was she calling for? "Yoooou _hoooo_ …" came another playful call.

Alex went over to the door of the cell and squinted out of the tiny hatch and bars that was there. Across the hall, a pair of mischievous eyes sparkled back from another cell window. Arching dark eyebrows were set into pale skin and even though eyes was all she could really see, Alex could just catch the hint of flaming bright cherry-red hair. "Uh… can I help you?" Alex asked doubtfully.

There was a deep giggle. "Au _contraire_ , babycakes," the stranger said. "I think _I_ can help _you._ "

Alex heard how Dad had gotten up and was limping over to catch a glimpse of this mysterious newcomer. " _Okay_ …" Alex said slowly, mistrust making her voice dark. "And you're supposed to be who again…?"

The smile was audible in her voice. "My name's Lola. And uh…" she winked and her eyes filled with midnight black. "I'm a demon."


	122. Hellraisers

" _Heaven bent to take my hand; lead me through the fire._ _"  
-_ Sarah McLachlan

* * *

Dean sat in the houseboat… alone. The silence was difficult for him these days, as was being without company. He used to be able to feel okay in silence. But he had never done well with being alone. Right now was the most alone he'd ever felt, too.

After Kevin and 'Kyle' left, Dean had focused on the mission and made quick work of scoping out the entire place in detail on the hunt for anything weird or out of place—because Zip being around felt incredibly suspicious. Dean wasn't sure what he was looking for in particular, but he _didn_ _'_ _t_ find anything that said _My Evil Plan - A Step-by-Step List by Zip_. Instead he found the usual stuff to be expected around Kevin: lots of crazy notes, junk food wrappers, and definite evidence that the young prophet was pretty much losing his mind. The place was messy and not kept up very well which was normal… _but_ , that's also where Zip's presence was noticeable in an actually positive way. The trash bags piled up outside, the cleaning supplies out on a counter, the food in the refrigerator, the lack of roaches or ants, the bedding that smelled remarkably fresh and clean… probably not Kevin's doing (that kid was obsessed with the tablet and barely even remembered to eat anymore). Zip had apparently taken it onto himself to play caretaker or something. Dean had to wonder if it had something to do with the tablet… if maybe Zip was planning to try and use that to his advantage somehow… or if it were just more freak-Leviathan-loves-vulnerable-human stuff. Speaking of the tablet… Dean couldn't find it anywhere. He guessed Kevin had some kind of super-secret hiding place for it somewhere. And after awhile, Dean flat-out gave up trying to find out where it was.

Emotionally exhausted and finally forced to think about why, Dean sat down and proceeded to worry his ass off. About Sam in Hell. About Alex who-knows-where and Cas who-knows where. About Jamie suffering eternal damnation. He felt slightly guilty for worrying the most about Jamie, but that's where his thoughts stayed. That was where his mind always went back to, no matter what: Jamie Ward, the witch he had hated on principle in the beginning and now loved with everything his broken, screwed up little heart had left.

Would Sam find her? Would he be able to 'deliver her unto Heaven'? Selfishly, Dean didn't want her anywhere but here with him, but really, he didn't spend too long on _that_ thought train. Jamie would be happy and whole in Heaven. Here on earth with Dean? It was probably doomed to fail and all he'd ever end up doing was disappointing or hurting her. But _god_ … it had been so good while it had lasted and he wished it could have been a little longer for them. She was the type of girl he'd dreamed about his whole life and never thought was real at all. She kept up with him when it came to booze and wasn't afraid to get her hands dirty—had the same stupid type of humor that he did and knew how to party. She hit like an MMA fighter, was a fucking goddess in bed, and she knew who she was (and made zero apologies about it too). She had the looks, the body, but most of all, she had a strong and intelligent mind. She had class, kindness, and composure. But with all that in consideration, what Dean maybe loved best about her was her no-nonsense way and her zero-tolerance policy on bullshit. Especially _his_ bullshit. He missed her in a way he'd never known he could miss anyone. There was an enormous hole inside of him now and her absence left him feeling that void constantly. He thought about their stupid jokes and the constant banter and how it felt to hug her and how the moments they'd been vulnerable with each other. He thought about how damn delicious of a mystery she was and how much he had loved trying to slowly solve her. How okay he'd been with the idea of her having his baby. _Their_ baby. How he'd actually _wanted_ that and started pining for it while he'd been in Purgatory. Him, a dad, her a mom. A fresh start, a new life. It had all been a midlife crisis fantasy, he guessed. Now she was gone. Dead. Because she had sold her soul to save a guy she thought loved her. The entire thing had been a fucking trick. And James was left to pay that eternal price for the underhanded bullshit. It made Dean so furious and grieved that he could barely see. That was his girl. And he had failed to protect her and failed to change things. Even now, not doing anything to get to her or save her was killing him inside. A slow and terrible death he was suffering from day in and day out.

…He imagined Jamie jumping all the time whether he wanted to or not. What thoughts were her last? Did she change her mind the second she let go when it was too late to take it back? Did she close her eyes or leave them open? Was she crying and scared? Or stone-faced like a soldier going to execution? Thinking about her suicide made him feel things no one should ever feel. Indescribably bad things he didn't know how to articulate at all. He wished to _god_ he could have said or done something that would have kept her feet on the ground. He was angry with her, _so angry_ even as at the same time he wanted nothing more than to just hold her closer than close and comfort her because he understood. Sometimes, he thought about ending it all, too. But it didn't end. Heaven or Hell, you kept on existing. _She shouldn_ _'_ _t be in Hell. God, she_ shouldn't _be!_ But she was. And he was sitting here like a chump not doing a thing about it. Trusting Sam to be the one who did this. It was hard. But Dean was trying.

He would never forget seeing her body at the morgue. Or how heavy that little five-foot-six body of hers felt when he carried her out of there. It was enough to flood his eyes with tears even now as he remembered that moment. The flesh and bone that had been her was no longer her at all. Just a dead body. An echo. The feelings and pain and horror all drowned him and suffocated him. _Please Sam. Just get her outta there_. He bowed his face into both his hands and tried to get a grip as emotion became stronger and stronger, making him feel wretched.

 _Why didn_ _'_ _t I tell Sam to shut up? That I was gonna go to Hell with him whether he wanted that or not?_ Dean dragged a hand down his tense face, shutting his eyes and trying not to lose it. Inside, he felt stretched tight like a rubber band. Ready to snap if any more pressure was applied. Life was too much. Everything that had happened was testing his dwindling strength. His family wasn't his family anymore—Sam was different, Alex had slowly grown away from them when Cas had appeared. Dean wished he could go back in time to when it had been him and his brother and sister looking for their dad. No, it wasn't perfect back then but they'd been together. Unaware of how dark the days ahead would get...

Just then, the door creaked open and Dean stood fast, scrunching his face up into a hard expression to hide his personal feelings. Kevin and Zip were back—Kevin appearing as sickly and exhausted as ever, Zip as dodgy as usual. Putting a tight smile onto his face, Dean shoved all of his thoughts away. "Well, how was your stroll down lover's lane, boys?" he asked sarcastically, using a clipped tone to disguise his own duress.

Kevin looked more embarrassed and uncomfortable than ever. "Shut up, Dean," he muttered, then glanced at his Leviathan buddy, who was mildly surly, hands punched into his zippered hoodie. Dean's inner suspicions doubled. They looked sort of like they were hiding something or hesitant to be forthcoming. What was the bad news? And then Kevin looked at Dean cautiously. "I uh, made a preemptive move."

Dean frowned hard. What was that supposed to mean? " _Tried_ to talk him out of it," Zip said, and it was obvious he was in a foul mood. "Just saying."

Oh crap. " _Kevin_ …" Dean said warningly as he started to feel an impending sense of doom, "what did you do?"

Defensive, paranoid, shaky, Kevin could have been easily mistaken for a drug addict going through withdrawals in that moment. "I can't sit here with the tablet like a… a sitting duck with Crowley breathing down my ass!" he said, voice high and tight and stuffy. "So… getting rid of the tablet just takes off some of the pressure."

Dean's eyes popped a little wider. "Wait. Getting _rid_ of it?" he asked, getting louder and gruffer as he began to panic.

"Temporarily," Kevin assured tiredly—he barely responded to Dean's tone. "I hid it."

Becoming more and more incredulous every second, Dean felt his eyebrows climbing up his forehead. "What? _Where_?" That thing could _not_ fall into the wrong hands, Dean knew that much.

"If I tell you where, it's not hidden, is it?" Kevin asked sullenly, then glanced at Zip. "He doesn't know where, either."

The Leviathan, still in his pale blonde appearance instead of his, well, pale _brunette_ appearance, shot Kevin a dark glance. "General vicinity," he mumbled. Zip looked abashed—Dean guessed Kevin had probably given him the 'I'm not gay and I'm also not interested' speech and because of that Zip was subsequently embarrassed. However, Dean had more important things on the brain than what these two talked about.

Using physical intimidation, Dean began to crowd toward the prophet. "Kevin, tell me where the damn tablet is," he threatened as Kevin shrank, "or I _swear_ to you—"

Zip got in the way fast and furious, meeting Dean's brute tactics with some of his own. Surprised at the suddenly solid chest-to-chest contact and the deadly look in the Leviathan's eyes, Dean blinked a couple times, frowning more deeply. This guy didn't quit, did he? "You were saying?" Zip asked lowly, challengingly. He looked like he would _love_ a fight. And honestly, Dean wouldn't mind one either.

Not backing down, holding his ground, Dean's gaze flickered back to Kevin. His itch to fight was only quelled by his knowledge that he had to make it in one piece to meet Sam and Meg in about twelve hours time. "Wanna call off your guard dog, Kevin?" he asked snidely.

Miserable and petulant, obviously hating everything about the current situation, Kevin exploded. "I just wanna be _normal_ again!" he shouted, then whirled and marched into his room and slammed the door, hard, leaving the hunter and the Leviathan at a stand off.

Gritting his teeth, Dean shoved Zip away and then he began to pace as the Leviathan looked on with a hostile, dark gaze. It was time to get to the bottom of this. Figure out what 'Kyle' was doing here and why Kevin hadn't told them about this little living arrangement. "What kinda game is this, huh?" Dean demanded in a low, hard voice. "What side are you on? What's your angle with Kevin and the tablet and all this… this Martha Stewart _crap_?" He picked up and dropped a can of air freshener for effect. "Why shouldn't I chop your head off right here and now?"

In abruptly defiant laziness, Zip just smirked a little, which only served to further infuriate Dean. "I'd like to see you try, jackass," he said calmly, tempting Dean and knowing it, too. He folded his arms and shrugged, his gaze never dodging away from Dean's. "I don't have many friends. So the ones I do have, I kinda like to try and _keep_. That's it."

"Oh that is _rich,_ " Dean spat, then gave a caustic laugh that suggested he thought Zip was laughable and pathetic. "I see what this is. You're a freak, you know that?" Latching onto the closest needy kid and trying to use 'friendship' as a means to an end. Alex had never really talked about it much but Dean knew. This little shit had screwed her. Literally. Before she knew who he was or _what_ he was. And furious on her behalf, so angry that someone would take advantage of her like that, so upset he hadn't been around to protect her from this scumbag… Dean began to bear down on Zip. "And we still got a score to settle," he said in a low, dangerous voice. He had been there, after all, the day that this punk had gotten Alex fatally wounded. "None of what you did to my sister is okay. Did you think I, what, _forgot_? Wrote it off?" _No_. Never. Dean had been waiting for the right time. And right now? Oh, it felt right. It felt _damn_ right.

Zip's haughty expression changed when Alex came into the conversation. He quickly fell into looking guilty. Sad. Frustrated. "I _loved_ her," he said thinly and defensively. "I _cared_ about her. I still _do_." Exasperated, he indicated his own head with rigid, flustered hands. "That angel's feelings were practically _tattooed_ onto me and I _still_ can't get rid of them!"

Dean scoffed—he didn't buy it. "So that's a good excuse for tricking her, lying to her, manipulating her, _hurting_ her?" he demanded.

Although Zip looked regretful and guilty, he also looked bitter. "He did all that stuff to her first and look how she feels about _him,_ " Zip muttered jealously, eyes dark at the nameless mention of Castiel. "Fucking _disgrace_."

Bristling, not sure if the Leviathan was calling his sister or his friend a disgrace, it didn't matter. Dean fought back a surge of anger. "Hey, you watch how you talk about my _family_ , asshole."

That cold smile was back on Zip's face. "Ah yes, _family_ so all is forgiven," he commented acidly. "Even the unthinkable shit."

Dean's eyebrows rose fast and high. Unbelievable. "Are you kidding me right now? _You_ wanna get high and mighty?" He sauntered a little closer, his fingers itching to grip his hunting knife tight. "Buddy, the fact remains that I should stab you in the throat on _principle_."

That self-assured little jackass smirk was back and Zip didn't get intimidated in the least. "You make a lot of threats, Dean…" he said softly, tauntingly. Then he acted confused "So do you ever follow through on them, or are you really just a lot of hot air with an ugly face?"

 _I wanna kill him. Stab him. Rip him apart with my fuckin' bare hands._ But fighting a Leviathan would probably not end well for him and Dean wasn't that stupid even in his most irritated of moments. Tempting fate would have to wait for another day. So, he fired off the first rude retort he could think of… which unfortunately, wasn't that great. " _Your_ face is ugly, man."

Amused at the lack of finesse, Zip pulled a face. " _Good one_ , Dean."

_I'll show you a good one you little…_

At that moment, a soft sound like the fluttering of wings in the wind sounded and confused, both Dean and Zip turned to see the source of the sound. A woman in a suit jacket and pencil skirt stood close by, smiling at them pleasantly. Her brown hair was clipped back elegantly and she had her hands clasped in a businesslike way in front of her mostly gray ensemble. "Well, it's not everyday a hunter, an angel, and a Leviathan are all in the same room together," she stated lightly, voice distinctly friendly and kind.

An _angel_? Dean was immediately on guard. "And just who the hell are _you_ , lady?"

She smiled graciously at his rude demand. "We haven't been formally introduced, Dean," she said, inclining her head with an attitude of benevolence. "My name… is Naomi." Holy shit. Dean went from confused and suspicious to enraged and murderous in two milliseconds flat.

" _Naomi_ Naomi?" he asked, because if she was _that_ Naomi, what the hell was she doing here and acting like everything was rainbows and cupcakes? "And you just waltz in here wanting to _shake hands_ after what you did to Cas? To my _sister_?!" Dean had never wished he had his angel blade more than he did in that moment.

Clinically regretful, Naomi inclined her head just slightly. "A temporary arrangement, I assure you," she said offhandedly. "I was doing what needed to be done."

He could have died or killed—he wasn't sure which. "What needed to be _done_?!" he asked, never more offended than he was right then. "You wiped my sister's memories and took away her _voice_ …? Used her as leverage over Cas? Did _God_ knows what else to her! And you had Cas about to _kill_ me!"

Naomi looked mildly inconvenienced but smiled through it, which only made her appear more and more fake. "Such pomp, you humans," she commented with sigh. "You remind me of your sister, Dean." She hesitated, and then clarified. "It's not a compliment. I find you both too loud for your own good." Naomi spread her hands in a saintly gesture, moving on as Dean practically sputtered. "What I did was all necessary to protect humanity. When I learned of the angel tablet, I _did_ tell Castiel to get it at any cost. Unfortunately, he wasn't keen to listen to me or do his angelic duties. _So_ , I had to use your sibling in order to convince him. It was an unfortunate necessity… quite a nasty bit of business if I say so myself. And not my fault, clearly. Castiel is the one who wouldn't comply with my commands. I had to get creative. You have my sincerest apologies." She talked about it with such detachment. Such scary, pleasant coldness. "But my job—to protect Heaven—takes precedence above everything else," she continued. "I'm a warrior, just as you are. What would you expect? I don't compromise when it comes to things of importance."

So, she was totally delusional. Good to know. Tempering himself, Dean watched her sharply. "Okay—so why are you here, huh?" Telling her she was a braindead bitch for coming here and saying this stuff to him was gonna be pointless. He needed to find out her game. "Why are you suddenly showing up explaining your all-important mission to me?" She must need something. But _what_?

Naomi smiled warmly. "Just a moment, Dean. I'm being rude." She turned her focus to Zip, who stood near to Dean with a terse, shrewd expression. "You're Least," she observed. "I've heard of you."

Stiffening at the use of his original name, Zip regarded her with hostility. "People don't call me that anymore."

"I'm not people," she said breezily—and it was hard to see, but it was still there. A distinct note of superiority and unfriendliness. "And I'll call you as I see fit."

Eyebrows up high, Zip grew fractionally amused. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I could kill you given the right circumstances, isn't that right?" he asked softly.

And while Naomi made no reply to him, Dean and Zip both saw it: _yes._ Yes he could and she knew it. Prim, she dodged the question completely. But she was a little less at ease than before. "The reason I've sought an audience with you Dean is of utmost importance." Fractionally more confident and wondering if maybe having a Leviathan in your corner _could_ be an advantage, Dean narrowed his eyes at Naomi. She definitely needed something. "Castiel is in the wind with a hydrogen bomb in his pocket, and I—I'm scared, for all of us."

Worry ate at Dean anew. "The hell are you talking about?" he asked slowly, wondering where his sister fit into all this.

"He's got the angel tablet and has a history of…" Naomi was extremely delicate, " _instability_. As we all know."

Dean filled in the blanks. "And what, you want me to turn him in to you?" he asked incredulously. Was she _serious_? After everything that had happened? This chick was _certifiable_. Dean felt a little bolstered. Cas had given this crazy bitch the slip and probably had Alex with him—it was making sense now. That had to be why Cas wasn't answering Dean's calls. Feeling more and more confident, Dean felt himself cracking a grin. " _Well_." He had to hand it to Naomi. She was a piece of work. "You should go into the comedy business 'cause that's _hilarious_ , lady."

Her nostrils flared slightly. "Dean, if you'll just listen to me—"

"Save it," he interrupted gruffly, regaining his confidence and therefore his brass. "See, I don't trust angels, which means I don't trust _you._ " He was dangerous and clear with her: "I'm not interested in what you have to say. Not now, not ever. You messed with my family and you're damn lucky I don't have my little angel knife with me right now." He jerked his thumb over at Zip. "Now screw off before my little pal here makes you regret this visit."

Her eyes darted to Zip for a fraction of a nervous second. And then she tried again. Left Dean with one last appeal before she departed. "I know you don't want to believe it, Dean, but we're on the same side—shutting the Gates of Hell, bringing Castiel in from the cold, protecting what needs protecting." She obviously knew it was a long shot. But she still tried. "Take a moment. Think about what I've said." And with those words, she disappeared.

Dean and Zip were left in silence as before and Dean let out a stiff breath. "Gotta angel-proof this place," he muttered to himself, glancing around.

"So now I'm your pal?" Zip asked petulantly, staring at him with a semi-contemptuous expression.

With a disgusted face, Dean made a 'shove off' waving motion with his hand. "Enough Maury crap," he bit out before nodding toward Kevin's closed door. "You wanna see if you can talk your _boyfriend_ out of his room?"

Disgruntled, depressed, singled out, Zip slunk toward a wall and crossed his arms, appearing to be every bit the teenager his borrowed-appearance gave him. "He's not my boyfriend," he muttered, obviously ashamed of himself on some small level for his feelings. After a short silence, he stuck up for himself, however meekly. "It's not a crime to care about someone because of who I am. Or who they are." His dark eyes, uncertain and not confident, were full of pain. "I don't have to be like the rest of my kind. I'm who I choose to be. I want to be _good_." His eyes were filled with emotion—maybe even tears. "People can change," he said, obviously hanging his every hope on that statement. "I believe that."

Dean could have said nothing in reply. But instead, he said something incredibly horrible. Something that would stab Zip right in his non-existent, Leviathan-black heart. Something Dean would regret saying for a long time to come. "Yeah, well… you're not a person, so good luck with that."

* * *

**The Next Day**

The brothers were together again and in the Impala in silence, Dean driving with a hard, unreadable expression on his face as Sam, in the passenger seat, glanced his brother's way every now and again with a guilty, distressed expression. Sam was paler than before and weaker-looking. He had completed the second trial. But it hadn't gone quite according to plan. That's why the brothers weren't saying much.

After angel-proofing the houseboat and checking all the demon wards too, Dean had left Kevin and Zip to themselves with the mentality of 'I'll deal with it later.' His priority had been meeting Meg and Sam back at the rendezvous point at the right time. He'd been a few hours early and practically paced a trench into the ground as he waited. When Sam and Meg appeared finally, Dean had almost fallen over from relief that his brother was alive and well. He'd anxiously waited to hear that Jamie had been delivered unto Heaven as promised. So, when Sam told him that he hadn't been able to find her—that he and Meg got lost and almost killed and had to escape together—that they had stumbled across Rufus Turner of all people at the last minute—that _he_ had ended up being the soul delivered unto Heaven—Dean was beyond crushed. Sam had never looked more sorry or more regretful and he seemed to be waiting for Dean to explode or break down. But neither happened. Blank and shocked, Dean had said they needed to head back and deal with the Zip/Kevin situation. They left a skeptical Meg behind—she wasn't happy to just be on the outside of everything, but Dean could care less.

He remained in a total daze as they drove several hours to the Fizzle's Folly. Sam said nothing—just let Dean process in utter, grieved silence. And when they got to Garth's houseboat, there was more bad news. The door down into the ship's bowels was hanging open and as they hurried into the vessel, they found signs of struggle. Calling for Kevin and getting no reply, they feared the worst. And then… they saw half of a small body through one of the doorways. Jeans and sneakers. Sam mistook it for Kevin at first. "Oh my god… _is that_ …?"

It wasn't. It was Zip. Decapitated with black ooze pooled out underneath his dead body—he had died trying to save Kevin from demons. The smell of sulfur was everywhere, and broken demon wards marred the walls. Dean started to freak out as he tore through the house boat shouting for Kevin and finding no one. "No no no," Dean breathed, beginning to panic as he stumbled back into the main room. "They got Kevin." He looked around frantically, starting to really lose his shit. "They got _everything_!" He grabbed the closest object—an empty vase, and threw it hard, then kicked the desk he was next to then shoved it at all wall, blind with rage. He began to destroy anything and everything he came into contact with—he punched a picture Garth had on the wall, he swiped everything off the little mantle display and kicked the bookshelf then shook it and banged it against the wall furiously, making all the heavy volumes thud out.

"Dean, calm down, _Dean_! Stop!" Sam was there, roughly trying to pull his brother away from the bookshelf and out of his mania.

" _No_!" Dean shouted, yanking himself hard out of Sam's grip… but he did stop. He whirled and looked at his brother and his eyes held so much pain and sadness and despair that Sam went utterly silent. "Why do I try?!" Dean demanded, voice shaking as his emotions grew more and more raw. "Why—the _hell_ —do I even try anymore?! There's no point! _Everyone dies_! Everyone gets hurt! Everyone _leaves_!" Sam clearly saw Dean in that moment for what he was: not angry and furious. Broken and agonized—without anywhere left to turn. "I can't take it, Sam!" he insisted as tears ran out of his eyes. "I can't _take_ it!" And to demonstrate the fact, Dean socked a lamp that was nearby and it crashed to the floor loudly.

Sam, sickly and tired and riddled by his own guilts, nodded his understanding as he pressed an ill expression away. "I know." He looked at his brother with raw, pleading earnestness—he was honestly surprised Dean hadn't started to tell him how terrible a person he was for not getting Jamie out. "I _tried_ , Dean," Sam said in an unsteady voice. "I _did_. But I couldn't find her in time. I'm so sorry, you gotta believe me."

Dean barely seemed to hear Sam. His bleary, blood-shot eyes and obviously sleep-deprived mind were making him look haggard and half crazy. "I got half a mind to go down there myself," he muttered tightly. "Just… _screw_ everything else, man! I can't let it _be_ like this!" Appearing to be at the end of his rope, Dean gestured roughly with his hands. "Sorry, but… I can't even _think_ straight anymore," he said, clearly realizing that he was acting in a worrying way.

Watching him closely with enormous amounts of concern and empathy, Sam was sad right along with his brother. "You… really loved her, didn't you?" he asked softly. "Like… all in. No holds barred."

Dean was vaguely blank. Mildly chagrinned. "I thought that woulda been clear by now." In other words… _yes_. His face twitched into a more pained expression and he tried to hide it. Tried to not show how deeply he felt. But a tear ran out of his eye and he shook his head long and hard, his mouth struggling and his breath uneven. And then he confessed just how much Jamie Ward had meant to him. "She was my Jess," he managed just above a whisper. "My Cas." Then he gave a soft, ashamed laugh at the way he'd phrased it. "That sounds hella stupid huh."

Gentle, Sam shook his head. "No. It doesn't." The love of his life, Dean was saying. And Sam understood. He understood so much.

Getting more and more agitated and riled up, Dean was shaking his head and pushing his mouth into a line. "This isn't right, Sam. We gotta go _back_." His voice raised. " _I_ gotta go back!" His phone suddenly rang, jarring both of the boys. Annoyed at the interruption, Dean yanked his phone out and answered the number he didn't know. " _What_?" he barked into the phone, more of an angry explanation than a greeting.

There was a slight pause. "… _Dean_?"

Dean stood bolt upright, his eyes shooting open wide. His breath stopped, his heart was jammed into the top of his throat. He couldn't believe his ears for a second and didn't understand how that voice was on the other end of the phone. But it was _unmistakable_ and left Dean thunderstruck. "… _B-Bobby_?!"

* * *

**Biggerson** **'** **s  
Santa Fe, New Mexico**

The last time Castiel had been at Biggerson's, it had been to take Alex on a date. Perhaps their first and only proper date. It was a good memory—one of the best. He wanted more memories like that. He _missed_ her and worried, even though he knew she was safe with her brothers in the bunker. With that as his only comfort, he remained resigned to his lot in life: protecting the angel tablet until Kevin could translate it. He agreed with Alex: they couldn't just destroy the tablet nor could they just let Naomi have it. This was the only reasonable response. But it separated Castiel from the person he least wanted to be separated from.

_Just a little longer._

The words he repeated to himself and dredged strength from.

Castiel had chosen this restaurant chain location perhaps out of sentimentally first and foremost… because he had sat at a table like this one with Alex a couple years ago. He could imagine she was coming to sit with him soon. But sentimentality aside, Biggerson's presented unique opportunity: the restaurant chain had hundreds of locations across the United States. Every building was almost identical to the next: from decor to sign placement to the parking lot to the table and room layouts. It was the perfect setting for a quite devilish mathematical scheme and spell Castiel had devised. Some might call it a quantum superposition. He used time, location changes, and math to create a clever little ruse where Naomi's angels could not find him as long as he put all of his energies and brainpower into maintaining the precise calculations which allowed him to beam from Biggerson's to Biggerson's at a seemingly random interval. But none of it was random. Castiel was exhausted from what he guessed was now several weeks of this time and location bending. He fretted constantly about when Alex would call with news of Kevin being ready to translate this angel tablet. From there, they could hopefully find an end to this madness with Naomi. For now, he remained stuck in this self-imposed loop—where he played with time, sometimes remaining slightly in the past, sometimes slightly in the future. The tablet was with him, where it would be safest. His ears remained open to Alex only, but he heard nothing. Which, later, he would realize was very telling.

As he maintained the superposition, he grew weary. His hair and skin became dirty because he didn't have any energy left to divert. His vessel became physically tired. But he kept on, steadfast, knowing that this was the best way to keep attention onto himself and off of the Winchesters. Because he used all of his energies to keep his self-created spell going and because he kept his 'angel radio' open only to Alex, he didn't hear Sam and Dean's calls. He had no idea at all that Alex was missing. Oh, but if he had… we all know how he would have reacted.

Ignorance remained bliss, and Castiel carried on without knowing that what he counted as most precious was burning in Hell. Later he would curse himself for not somehow knowing. But for now, he glanced at the clock on the wall of this Biggerson's, keeping careful tally of the time spent here in New Mexico.

"Have somewhere to be?" a kind voice asked.

Castiel glanced up–it was his waitress—and he returned the smile briefly as was custom. The waitress's name tag read Kara and she had a gentle, kind spirit about her. Castiel had spoken with her several times during his continuous time jumping—it blurred together, but he remembered this woman. "Not somewhere," he replied. "Someone." He paused and realized his distracted reply didn't make much sense. "I mean—I have someone to be with," he clarified semi-bashfully.

Kara misunderstood. "Oh… should I bring out another menu? Is she joining you today for lunch?" she asked, and by all appearances, she was ready to go run and get another menu.

"Oh—no." Cas thought that did sound very, very nice, the thought of Alex joining him, but… that would not be happening. "She's far away from here," he said vaguely, feeling the distance down to his bones. "It's just me today." He looked at the empty chair across from him at the tiny table he had selected.

"Aw, that's too bad," Kara commented cordially, then indicated the pot of coffee she held. "More coffee?"

Cas nodded, refocusing. "Yes, please." He watched how Kara picked up the mug and poured steaming brown liquid in. Coffee. The thing that the Winchesters consumed gallons of regularly. "I guess I've been acquiring the taste," he said almost fondly, realizing how much he had consumed of the beverage. He was becoming more and more like his adopted family—saving people, hunting things, drinking coffee.

"Yeah, the coffee's not too bad here," Kara returned kindly as she set his mug back down in front of him.

Fond as he recalled his observances of humanity over the centuries, Castiel picked up the mug and smiled across it wistfully. "You know, I remember when you first discovered it. Before you started brewing it, you'd just chew the berries." He glanced at Kara meaningfully. "Folk tale is true, by the way, you learned it from the goats."

Kara tried to hide a perplexed, slightly taken-aback smile. "Uh… been on the road a long time, huh?"

His eyes were far away, seeing little else except the face that represented life and love to him. "Feels like I've been on the run forever," he admitted softly. Things had taken a turn for the worse when the apocalypse had been set to happen. Everything had fallen apart and he and Alex had been trying to get to each other ever since. It felt like this—the angel tablet and the demon tablet and everything they represented—could be the final problem. The last thing. The final wall that stood between himself and Alex. He waited for the day when he didn't have to leave her ever again. He _pined_ for that day. "I'm very ready to go home," he said so very softly, a thought spoken aloud.

"Yeah?" Kara asked. "What's at home?"

She spoke as if it were a physical location. But Castiel didn't really have a home per say. To him, home was a person. So, home was wherever she was. "My wife," he said quietly, feeling warmth wash over him when he called her that. He was forever amazed at what had happened on April 29th, 2010—four years ago, almost. They had been so different back then, and there had been times when Castiel had feared they would not 'make it' at all but… he didn't fear that anymore. Even after everything, she hadn't given up on him or left. It amazed him and touched him so deeply—left him feeling vaguely worshipful. Moony and dreamy, he smiled off at nothing. "The most beautiful woman in existence," he murmured mostly to himself as he thought of freckles and bright eyes and that demure but naughty smile she so often sent his way. Her hand holding his, her heart beating along with his, her love never letting him down. She made him feel understood and safe in a way he didn't know how to describe. She meant everything to him and more. "My best friend," he continued even softer, his chest thick with love and longing. "My other half." He remembered Kara's presence and grew less daydreamy. "To borrow the colloquialism."

"That's so sweet," Kara said, seeming to genuinely be touched at his words and the way he said them. Her eyes dropped to look at his left hand and she frowned ever so slightly while still smiling. "You… don't wear a wedding ring?" she asked curiously.

Cas looked at his hand, a little confused at the question. He had never thought about how strange that might appear until she asked just now. "I… carry it in my pocket," he explained, a little taken aback. Why _didn_ _'_ _t_ he wear it? "It was a secret, at first, our marriage," he said slowly, trying to work through why now he didn't wear it. Alex wore her penny, after all…

Kara gave him a secretive, playful smile. "A secret? _Intriguing_."

"Well… everyone knows now," Castiel said, off in his own thoughts. He paused then looked at her with a very deep, concerned frown. "Do you think I should wear it?" She was the human in this situation, she would know better than he.

Kara looked a little uncomfortable at the question and unsure of how to respond. "Well, if you're _married_ … it makes sense to me," she offered carefully. "But that's up to you, of course. And your wife, too." She caught a glance from the manager at the counter nearby and cleared her throat and smiled apologetically. "Uh, I'm sorry, mister, but you're gonna have to order more than coffee if you wanna keep the table."

"Of—of course, um…" Castiel glanced at the table-top menu and almost ordered the first item he saw. But then another idea struck him and he looked up at Kara. "Do you have macaroni and cheese?" he asked, knowing that item well. "It's her favorite." One of the things she ordered most often at restaurants and bought at gas stations. The first time he had seen her eat when he'd been assigned as her guardian? Macaroni and cheese.

Kara smiled at his order. "Of course. The Mac Attack platter. Coming right up."

Castiel watched her leave and wondered why they called it that. The food here had very strange, far-fetched names…

Just then, he paused, straining and hearing the high-pitched ringing of angels searching him out. This deception could only last so long. "They're getting closer," he murmured to himself, seeing how his coffee cup shook on the table he sat at. They were probably aware now of what he was doing and doubling their efforts to spread out and find him along the timeline he was hiding himself in. With two variables—location and time—making him all the harder to find, Castiel knew he would be able to keep running and dodging, at least for a little while longer. But he was tired. He didn't even really have much care about Heaven anymore. His heart wasn't in this. He had done so much damage there in the celestial planes… he just wanted to be done and walk away, be with the one he loved. He had a lot of repair to do there with Alex and many things to make amends with there. She was what mattered most and what he wanted to invest into. Not this tablet or the politics of Heaven. He just wanted it to be _over._ A quasi-prayer said out of personal desperation, Castiel murmured it even though he knew it was only for his own benefit that he said it at all. "Oh, Kevin, _hurry_." _Translate the demon tablet so that we can translate this one too and be done with this mess._ And then Castiel left that Biggerson's and went to another because the angels were getting too close for comfort.

If Castiel knew the truth—that Alex was not with her brothers and not safe as he believed, he would have not hesitated for even a millisecond to go to her. But he didn't know even as he cycled through Biggerson's restaurants and led Naomi's angels on a never-ending chase, his Alex was in the deepest pits of Hell…

* * *

"I just don't _like it_ , Alex," John said, his voice just a harsh, worried whisper.

She turned around and gave her father a very impatient look. "Dad, I got it the _first_ million times you said that," she returned in a hiss. "And I know it's not the most _comforting_ team up there ever was, but we gotta take this chance—we probably won't get another one." Waiting around to be rescued just wasn't working out. It had been months now. _Months_. Which converted to earth time just meant maybe a week or so, she thought, but still. _How long does it take a group of idiots to figure out where I am and what happened? Why isn_ _'_ _t Cas doing anything?_ Or was Crowley right? Could Cas not get to them down here? It didn't matter.

Alex was taking matters into her own hands, and Lola, their little prison-cell buddy across the way, presented the perfect opportunity. This red-haired little firecracker who apparently used to be one of Crowley's top demons obviously no longer claimed that title. And in fact, wanted to escape. Knew who Alex and John were ("the famous Winchesters"). Wanted to strike a deal. She wanted to team up, break out of the jail block and then into the wastelands—she said it was a three-man job and she "admired their work" in the past. But there was a slight problem. Alex was pretty sure Lola was the demon she had blown the whistle on a couple years ago while leveraging a piece of information she had about a treachery-plotting 'red-haired demon' high in Crowley's ranks to the King of Hell to her own ends. That's why this situation was so precarious. Alex explained it lowly to Dad, again, who was sometimes more mentally competent than others down here in Hell. "If she's the demon who I think she is, she just _can_ _'_ _t_ find out who I am," she insisted in the quietest, hardest whisper there was. "Geez, she might know _already_. I'm the one who got her ass _thrown_ in this place. I don't know why Crowley didn't just kill her, but… I don't get that dude point blank." None of it mattered. "The point is, we're _using_ this." It was a chance to escape this endless torture.

Dad was shaking his head no, eyes cut sidelong toward the small prison cell window cut into the door. "I don't—"

" _Listen_ ," Alex said, grabbing him hard by the arms. She was constantly at the end of her rope here—exhausted, hurting, tortured, beat within an inch of her life. So she was less given to patience or the inclination to listen when she knew she was right. " _Trust me_ on this. Lemme run this thing." Dad, who was more and more defeated every passing day, a ghost of a man who was either blank-faced and quiet or a shivering mass of beaten flesh, looked at her wretchedly. Alex knew he didn't think she had what it took or that there was a way out. But she hadn't given up on herself or a way out. "I'm smart," she insisted. And she had faced a _lot_ of impossible situations before. "This isn't my first rodeo. You taught me good. And I've picked up a lot of tricks along the way. Go with me on this."

John was clearly very unsure and Alex couldn't exactly _fault_ him… she knew it sounded crazy and dangerous. And it _was_. For a few weeks now, Lola had been talking to them across the hall when demon guards weren't around. Telling them snatched bits of her plans and how breaking out might take a bit of work and time but was doable. John had scoffed off the idea of working with a demon. Alex had been willing to listen to Lola which John hadn't liked. That was when Alex told her dad about working with Crowley in exchange for Sam's life. The G-rated version where she didn't divulge how far she had to go with torturing sometimes. She had shut that part of her life out and refused to believe it was even her that had done those things. A way into the wastelands was what Alex wanted now, especially after finding out from other Hell-dwellers that an entrance to the cage was hidden somewhere in the wastelands. Dad had reacted with great horror when he learned about Adam and what had happened with Michael, Lucifer, the averted apocalypse. He didn't say much about Adam, even when Alex asked questions. He seemed defeated anew at his legacy of pain and death. Most of the time, Dad remained closed off and guilty. He still rioted every time a demon came to take Alex to the rack. Still fought to try and be the one they took instead. That meant a lot to her. "I just don't want you hurt, baby," John finally said, troubled and worried. About her.

Softening, Alex smiled a little. That was sweet, but… "We're in Hell," she reminded. "That's kinda guaranteed."

Dad was deflated, knowing she was right. He offered another miserable excuse—something meant to try and talk Alex out of her hare-brained plan. "Even if we can get to the cage, there's no way we can get Adam out," he said like he knew that as fact. "Or get _us_ out, for that matter."

Clenching her jaw and choosing to give his pessimism no place in her mindset, Alex glanced around the dark four corners of their jail cell. "We'll see about that." Where there was a will, there was a way. And if she never tried to get to Adam, she'd always be angry at herself. Speaking of people who shouldn't be in Hell… she'd asked around about Jamie whenever she was given the chance, but no one seemed to know about her. Hell was, after all, a huge place. Millions of souls were caged up and locked away in never-ending darkness.

Dad had been defeated by this place a long time ago, Alex was realizing more and more. And how could she blame him? The only thing keeping her going was the thought of seeing her family and angel again. But Hell was a terrible place and it was getting harder and harder to remember them. Even the color of Cas's eyes was impossible to recall here… a place of only red and black and smoldering ember orange. Blue was a fading memory. Her mind barely knew how to think of such a color anymore.

* * *

Back on earth, an unlikely, reunited trio was entering the bunker in the midst of a very intense conversation. A tall, lanky man with floppy hair followed a stockier man with shorter hair. Between them was a solidly-build fifty-something man in a faded ballcap and a puffy hunter's vest.

"Anything Bobby, if you can remember _anything_ at all it could help," Sam insisted earnestly, tagging along after their bonafide, alive-again, not-a-demon uncle. Bobby Singer had been put under every test in the book and unless salt, holt water, silver etcetera were lying… he was him. But they just couldn't figure out _how._ Dean led the way down the stairs into the heart of the bunker, flipping on the lights with his face frozen in a rigid frown.

"I'm tellin' you!" Bobby insisted emphatically, shrugging with an I-don't-know expression on his face as he followed Dean and tried to look back towards Sam at the same time. "I was in Hell then I just _wasn_ _'_ _t_. Dug myself outta some dirt in the middle of nowhere, spent two, I dunno three days tryin'a make heads or tails of where I was." He scoffed cantankerously and muttered. "Appalachian Wilderness is for schmucks, I want my money back." He got to the foot of the stairs then stopped there, gaping at the bunker control room in sheer awe as he really looked at it for the first time. "…Well I'll be damned," he breathed after a stunned couple of seconds. And who wouldn't be impressed? The place was like a space ship or the bat cave. Sam and Dean, who were sort of used to it after a month plus of being here, took a moment to look around, too. "You weren't _kiddin_ '!" Bobby adjusted his cap brim and whistled lowly as he peered into the library which was adjacent. "Men'a Letters, huh?" He was clearly _very_ impressed and mystified that he'd never heard of the organization before now. "Makes my lil' ole library, may it rest in peace, look pretty puny huh."

Dean, disturbed to his deepest levels, couldn't really get off one train track of thought. The same line of thought he'd been on the entire twelve-hour way here. He finally just said it: "I just—this doesn't feel right, guys." He looked at Bobby with an indescribably confused, pained, scared expression. "Why would you suddenly be topside for no apparent reason? I mean, you see how shady that is, right?"

Bobby shook his head, obviously short on answers. "You got me. I don't like it either." He hesitated and made a bit of a face. "I mean, I _like it_ , but—you know." He was clearly bothered by the thought of why. "What strings're attached and who's _holdin_ _'_ em? Can't be friendly, whoever or whatever it is…" When Dean said nothing—just kept staring off hard into the distance, Bobby hesitated. "Dean? Somethin' wrong, son?"

 _Everything_ was wrong. But one thing was really bugging Dean right now. The absence of one brown-haired, spitfire sister. "I'm… worried about Alex," he admitted, casting a guilty gaze around the bunker. She should be here. He had the distinct feeling that she should _be_ here. " _And_ Cas." And a million other things, too. But the longer those two remained missing, the antsier Dean got. He really felt like this lengthening, unexplained absence was something he should be doing something about. But _what_? _Something_ _'_ _s not right here._

"Well, you _should_ be worried after everything you told me," Bobby said, then glanced at Sam, who was quiet and pale nearby. The effect of the trials was becoming more and more pronounced in under-eye shadows, in tired eyes, in noisy, wet breathing. Almost like he had a chest cold. The boys had unloaded quite a lot of stuff onto Bobby about everything that had happened since he passed away and Bobby now knew pretty much everything that had happened in his absence: crazy Castiel, Meg's recurring role in their lives, Kevin, killing Dick, Purgatory, Jamie and her failed pregnancy and subsequent suicide, Sam and the trials, the angel tablet and demon tablet… Bobby clearly _got it_ through and through. That everything was against them and they were down in numbers. As such, he gave his boys a somber little smile that said he understood. "Just when you think things can't get crazier, right?" he asked gently.

Dean nodded, his stress manifesting on his face. "Kevin's missing, Alex, Cas are… I don't even _know_ ; James's in Hell, Sam and the trials…" He was so upset he could have cried. _This is too much for me._ And then Bobby grasped Dean comfortingly by the shoulder, drawing Dean's gaze and attention out of the depths of despair. A tired, familiar, grizzled face looked back at the hunter. And Dean remembered that despite everything… despite all the terrible in the universe right now… this was, perhaps, a small miracle.

"One thing at a time, kid," Bobby counseled in patient, fatherly affection. He patted Dean on the side of the face and gave him that weary, kind, whiskered smile—the same smile that until now had been lost and gone forever. Dean felt himself becoming reassured and stronger in that moment as his uncle, who really played a role much closer to father, patted a couple more times gently. "We'll figure it out like we always do." He said. And the way he said it, Dean could believe that. Bobby then let go then looked around and dropped the chick-flick moment. "Now where's the whiskey? I've earned a round or five."

* * *

**One Week Later**

It was odd for Bobby Singer to suddenly be alive again after what had felt like a hundred years in Hell. He wasn't the same man as before, that was for damn sure, but what hadn't killed him had made him stronger… and a whole helluva lot more grateful, too. Before, all the aches and pains in his aging body had pissed him off and been complaint fodder. These days, he chuckled at those aches and pains. They were nothing compared to what he'd been through in hades, and quite honestly, those aches and pains meant he had a body that was alive and working… which was something to be glad about, if you asked him.

Shortly after arriving at the bunker, Dean had gotten a call from someone named Charlie—who turned out not to be a guy, as Bobby had assumed, but a very red-headed girl who dressed in headache-inducing colors and liked to make references to things he'd never heard of before. She needed help with a case in the area and asked Sam and Dean's help. While Sam was too sick to really be of any use to anyone, Dean somewhat-grudgingly agreed to help Charlie out. Poor guy was a mess and a half… obviously barely holding it together. But Dean was one who liked distraction and the job Charlie had found nearby was just the ticket for that. Charlie spent half a day there in the bunker with them before she and Dean headed out to do some ground-level work. Sam wasn't happy to be left behind and called "practically useless" and, in typical Winchester stubbornness, snuck out when Bobby fell asleep watching trashy reality television. Bobby missed _exactly_ what happened, but it ended up being a djinn that had been causing ruckus nearby. And the boys took care of it like they always did then Charlie left. Bobby decided he liked that Charlie kid and she even gave him a hug then said he was just like she'd imagined from the books. When he asked _what_ books, the boys clammed up and got real unsure about explaining what she'd meant. They still hadn't told him what that meant.

That had been a few days ago. That brought them up to now. After Charlie left, Dean and Sam set to work calling around and checking with various hunters for any sign or word from their sister. They even cautiously tried a couple of tracking spells from one of Jamie's spellbooks that Dean had kept—but only scorched their faces in the attempt. Bobby, who had heard the full story of how Alex lost her memory, feared that she was running around out there not knowing who she was this entire time. Which could be possibly the most dangerous scenario… or maybe even the safest. But whatever was happening with _her_ , the rift between the brothers was palatable. Sure, they loved and cared about each other. But everything going on with them was driving them apart instead of pulling them together. Dean was bitter with Sam's little detour into irresponsibility with Amelia; Sam was emotionally lashed and didn't need any more reminding of his errors. And damn if there wasn't a huge burden on his shoulders now.

Bobby had his disappointments with both of the boys, but he was siding with Sam on this one. Closing Hell was a big deal and needed to be done. They might not ever get a chance like this again. Dean's growing doubts and misgivings about the trials weren't helping Sam, who needed support and help right now, especially with his sister absent. They kept civil, but Bobby counted the days until they blew up at each other.

Sure enough, early on a Tuesday morning, Bobby heard shouting and went to investigate. As he got closer to where the boys were at it, he started to catch words better and better. "Well I don't even know if you should be doing this at all!" He heard Dean's unmistakably deep, gruff voice practically shout.

"You're just saying that because of Jamie!" Sam accused incredulously.

They stood in the middle of the hallway where the bedrooms were off of. Dean's anger audible doubled and tripled when Sam said Jamie's name. "Don't you _fucking_ bring her into this, Sam!" There was a sound like shoving and then a pause in which the brothers panted heavily. Bobby remained hidden right behind the corner, unsure if he should intervene or just let them have it out. Sounded like it could get physical if they didn't get a grip. Dean grew several shades more desperate and Bobby could practically _hear_ him throwing his hands out at Sam. "I mean _look at yourself_! You can't shoot, you sleep _constantly,_ you're sicker and sicker every day…! This trial crap is _killing you_!"

"I'm _fine,_ Dean!" Sam retorted in a snap, his tenor voice charged with anger and impatience. "I'm not made out of glass! So I'm a little worse for the wear, so what?!" There was a heavy, short silence. Sam sounded more pleading when he spoke again, but still unmovable. Not about to change his mind. "I know how you felt about her, man, but I'm not seeing the _alternatives_ here. I am _closing_ Hell. I am _doing_ these trials—and you need to stop trying to talk me out of them."

Dean's reply was immediate and hard. "I won't _let_ you do these trials point blank, Sam, not if Jamie is down there when all this goes down!"

" _Dean_ …" Sam warned.

Dean matched that warning tone exactly. " _Sam_ …"

Bobby stepped out from where he'd been skulking and he folded his arms. "Boys," he said calmly, and caught, realizing they weren't alone, the two of them were clearly embarrassed. They quickly backed away from the chest-to-chest little stance they'd been in. "I need to send someone into a time out?" Bobby asked sarcastically.

The brothers exchanged a hard glance and then Sam apparently decided he'd had enough—turned and left, stalking down the hallway in a huff, leaving Dean and Bobby to themselves. A little contrite, probably just because he was embarrassed, Dean's gaze was downcast as Bobby approached him. "I know this ain't easy for you, Dean," Bobby said heavily as he got close. "Watchin' your little brother go through this while your sister's out in the wind. Knowin' your girl's in Hell where damn near no one ought to be. But think about all the people you'll be keepin' _out_ of Hell when Sam does this. Think about all those souls you're gonna detour _permanently_." It was too bad about Jamie, it really was. A crying, damn shame. But one person couldn't be the reason Hell stayed open when they now had the chance to slam the gates forever.

Dean was a smart man—he already knew that, they both understood that he knew, too. But that didn't lessen his struggle. "I know Bobby, I know," he said, voice made slightly haggard by despair. "But I _can_ _'_ _t_ —" he tried to find a way to explain it. "The thought of her there _kills_ me, okay? And I have to fight myself twenty-four-seven not to just… go _down there_ myself and _get her_." His eyes were far off and terse. Kind of hopeless and blank. "Or die trying."

Bobby didn't want Dean to do something crazy like that, but he knew Dean to be a pretty headstrong guy who would risk life and limb for the people he loved. So he didn't try to talk Dean out of it, per say. "I know you do. So if you're gonna try'n get her, then, hell. Do it. Today. _Yesterday._ " Dean looked at Bobby in the eye, clearly startled at his uncle's callout. "But _decide_. And quit takin' all this out on your brother." Bobby contemplated Dean a minute longer. With someone actually telling him to do it—go to Hell and try to get his girl—Dean didn't seem to know how to react. And Bobby thought he knew why. "I know you really care about that girl. But are you really gonna do this to Sam? Leave him all alone to save everyone when you gave him all hell for doing the same thing to Alex?" The guilt that washed Dean's face pale at those words. Bobby knew what he was doing: making Dean face this dilemma of who did he care about more, Sam or Jamie? His brother or his lover? A question Dean looked extremely pained and uncomfortable at thinking about. Bobby sighed weightily. This wasn't easy. "Dean, we both know there's a damn good chance you'd never walk out if you go down there. And you and I both know Sam _needs_ you right now."

Dean shook his head 'no' faintly and gave a feeble, "Sam's a grown ass man, Bobby."

Well sure he was. But… "Doesn't change the fact that he needs his brother." A gentle reminder of something that would be true forever. Bobby grasped Dean's shoulder, demanding the hunter's gaze. "Now listen," he said levelly and firmly. It was tough love time. Dean needed a lot of it right now. "I love ya, Dean. A whole mess. But this is just how it is. I'm not gonna sugarcoat it. You gotta decide what to do here. Can't keep wafflin' back and forth and rockin' the whole boat while you go back and forth. If you're against this closin' Hell thing, decide. And if you're gonna stand with Sam… decide." He paused for emphasis. " _Decide_. Then quit bellyachin' and follow through and let that be the end of it."

Dean looked twelve years old again. Like he might cry. "I can't pick between them, Bobby," he choked out in a terrible, soft whisper. "I _can_ _'_ _t_." Bobby's heart broke for the kid and he didn't say it. But they both knew. Dean _had_ to.

Just then, Sam reappeared—and from the look on his face, something was wrong. "Guys. I just… I just got a message from Kevin," he announced in a winded, gutted voice.

Dean was puzzled. "Well that's good news, right?" he asked cautiously.

Drawn and grim, Sam shook his head, eyes falling away tellingly. " _No_."

* * *

**Five Days Later  
Route 34, Colorado**

Kevin had created a video that sent out to the Winchesters if he failed to reset a certain password. The only scenario he said that this would happen in was if he were dead. So by process of elimination, Kevin was dead. It was the final, crushing blow to Dean, who of course felt he had failed to protect who and what he should have protected. While he went stone-cold silent and for a moment gave up on _everything,_ Sam discovered that Kevin had also forwarded over all of his notes on the demon tablet. With careful consideration and sensitivity, Sam went to his hopeless brother and appealed to him. Said because Kevin had died to get these notes to them, his death had to count for something. That they couldn't give up now. That this was something worth fighting for. That he needed Dean now. Those words were the ones that really seemed to break through to the oldest Winchester. Dean slowly responded with a tense nod and a single word of, "Okay."

And with that, they got to work.

Bobby made copies of all Kevin's notes and headed south to Louisiana where he knew someone who might have some insights—someone who apparently never used technology of any sort and only did face-to-face dealings. The boys stayed at the bunker and continued to read the notes and use the internet to try and decipher anything they could use. On day two of note-reading, Sam noticed that there was a recurring symbol in the notes. He said it appeared to be Metatron's signature—Metatron as in the scribe and messenger of God. Sam had seen the symbol in a course he took at Stanford on Native American art. It was a petroglyph, and upon further research, Sam discovered that it was from a tribe in Colorado called the Two Rivers—a tribe that further reading revealed was protected by 'the messenger of God.' Sounded like a solid lead. As such, the brothers left almost immediately to track down the Two Rivers tribe and try to find this supposed messenger of God.

When the Winchesters checked into the small, deserted hotel off of Route 34 that was close to the Two Rivers reservation, Sam's condition began to rapidly, inexplicably deteriorate. He developed a fever, began to hear noises, and began seeing vivid, disconnected flashbacks of his childhood. He began to remember things he had forgotten completely, he began to get so sick that he couldn't walk straight. After he became increasingly feverish, Dean basically put him into their motel room and said to get some rest—and that he was going to do some checking around while Sam recovered.

Sam passed out and fell asleep, then woke up in delirium an indiscriminate amount of time later and wandered out of his room, seeing a bunch of books being delivered to a room down the hallway. He felt it inside of himself—Metatron was close. And with that thought in mind, he stumbled back to his room, of the mind to call Dean—but then he collapsed on the bed and decided Dean could wait. Sam instead did something he wouldn't have done if he was in his right mind: called Molly. He'd taken care not to contact her like at all since he had broken up with her (although he'd definitely checked on her a couple times, secretly, just to make sure she was okay). But thanks to the influence of delusion and fever, he no longer remembered he wasn't supposed to contact her. Totally loopy, seeing double, so hot he felt like he was floating, he laid on his bed and sweated on his phone and groaned dramatically when he got her voice mail message. _Dammit. Where are you?_ And then he realized he was hearing her cute recorded shy voice and he forgot to complain. " _Hi, you_ _'_ _ve reached Molly_ _'_ _s phone. Um so leave a message and I_ _'_ _ll call you back when I can. Thank you bye!_ "

Ughhhh. She sounded so _cute_ and Sam smiled up at the ceiling woozily, picturing her face, then realized the beep had sounded some time ago. This was where he was supposed to talk. "Hi, um, Molly." He paused, trying to piece words together. His mouth didn't even feel like it was part of his body and his head spun around him in huge, looping circles. He said the first thing that popped into his head: "Your name is pretty. I feel like… uhhh, hot in my head and super bad so… I dunno, yeah, I was thinking about you like I always do and wanted to caaaall…" he winced and made a face, hit himself in the forehead. "Uh—probably shouldn't have said that, _ha._ I'm lame." It was so _hot._ He couldn't think straight. The pattern of furs and paintings lining the wall opposite his bed were making him so _dizzy_. Black and white stripes made him recall a day when he'd been happy for once in his life. "Hey, when we went to the zoo, remember the zebras?" he asked, smiling goofily as he remembered that date with her and how good it had felt to just be… _normal._ Buying lunch and checking out all the animals and being playful like a regular couple on a regular weekend date. "Man, like zebras are cool right?" He frowned in deep thought, suddenly very, very curious about one important thing. "I wonder if you can ride them like horses…" He thought he'd seen that in a movie once. _But who cares about zebras? I wish Molly could know the truth._ He stopped talking for a long moment and suddenly wanted to confess everything. How much he liked her. How much he wanted to really pursue her and be with her, or try to. How he had broken up with her out of what felt like necessity. How if it were up to him, they'd still be going steady. He tried to get the courage up even as his fever rendered him totally nauseated and queasy. "Molly… I, I think you're…" Sam trailed off as he realized his ears were ringing and his vision was going black. It dawned on him, what was going to happen to him: "about to pass out," he mumbled, lurching to his feet to try and stay conscious. _Huh. Why is the floor coming up towards my face so fast?_ And that was the last he remembered of that.

When he became aware of himself again, his every inch felt frozen and stinging, so _cold_ and suffocated. Like he was drowning in a frost that permeated everything. For a brief second, he panicked. This was how it had felt to be possessed by Lucifer. Every worst fear he had managed to hide away barreled over him and he panicked, jumped, and then realized he was underwater. He shoved himself upward, breaking the icy surface with the deepest, loudest gasp he had drawn into his lungs in his life. All around him, ice cubes floated and sloshed.

"Take it easy, take it easy!" someone said, and Sam, shaky and petrified and _so cold_ , looked through half-cocked vision toward the voice. Dean was trying to steady him. And Sam realized he was sitting in a the claw-foot tub of their motel room bathroom.

"Get off, get off!" Sam protested, then hauled himself out of the frozen waters he'd been in. He stumbled to his feet, shivering and dripping wet, _soaked,_ confused, not sure what was going on.

"Found you on the floor passed out, temperature at a hundred and seven," Dean explained gruffly even as he put a towel around Sam's shoulders. He looked vaguely ill—extremely worried. "You okay?"

"No, I—" Sam stopped, remembering those books he'd seen being delivered to the room down the hall. He had felt a presence. Felt it now, too. Stronger than before. And he knew who it was. "He's _here,_ Dean," Sam said in mounting alarm. _Metatron._ Sam wasn't sure how he knew… but he _knew._ He could _hear_ him somehow.

"What are you talkin' about?" Dean asked, probably thinking Sam was talking out of his fever.

"I mean he's _here_!" As Dean tried to get a straight answer from his brother, as Sam rambled on and on about Metatron and the books he'd seen delivered and how he knew what he was talking about, Sam looked around for his phone, which had slid underneath the bed. He found a bunch of worried texts and missed calls from Molly. Stuff like _are you okay? Where are you? Sam I_ _'_ _m worried, please tell me you_ _'_ _re okay._ So he _hadn_ _'_ _t_ made that up about calling her. And not given the time nor the luxury of being truthful with her, Sam fired off a quick reply to just let her know he was all right. **Sorry, I was drunk. Hope you** **'** **re doing okay.** It was hard to lie and be brusque like that, but… he had to keep that door shut. He tossed his phone at the bed and stood up, still shivering violently. He lurched toward the door out of the room, still dripping wet. In his mind, nothing was currently more important than finding Metatron and getting these trials done. His mind spun with childhood memories, with hopes and dreams, with the need to prove himself and be the hero for once.

"Sam, what are you—"

"Just shut up, Dean!" Sam said, clutching the wall for support and then opening the door clumsily and working his way out of the room.

"I should be taking you to the emergency room," Dean muttered, shaking his head hard and following with disapproval.

"They can't do anything for me," Sam said, brushing that idea off, limping along the hallway wall at a slow, drunken pace. He felt pleasantly delirious as images of his childhood and teenage years surged through his mind in renewed detail. "You know, I've been remembering things, little things, so _clearly_ —"

"What, _donkey rides_?" Dean asked sarcastically. Earlier, Sam had been quite the storyteller.

Sam barely heard him—he was remembering something new. "You used to read to me and Alex, um, when we were little, I—I mean, _really really_ little, from that—from that old, uh…" _what was it called?_ "Classics Illustrated comic book!" Sam grinned when he remembered, and the effect was a little garish because of his pale skin and red-ringed eyes. "You remember that?" Sam could remember it perfectly: he and Alex had cuddled up against Dean on either side as their big brother had spent hours reading about grown up heroes and the adventures they went on.

Dean looked a little doubtful of Sam's sanity. "… _No_. I don't remember that."

"Knights of the Round Table," Sam said dreamily, because he remembered it _perfectly_ now without explanation. "Had all of King Arthur's knights, and they were all on the quest for the Holy Grail. And I remember looking at this picture of Sir Galahad, and, and, and he was _kneeling_ , and—" Sam stopped walking and began to mime for effect, "and _light_ streaming over his face, and—I remember... thinking, uh, I could never go on a quest like that." His smile and fondness was disappearing as he felt it in his bones. What had been a good memory was suddenly so sour. "Because I'm not _clean_." Mystified, troubled, Sam wondered why a child would feel like that. "I mean, I w—I was just a little _kid_." He paused and then a sick possibility struck him deeply. "You think... maybe I knew?" he asked in a whisper. "I mean, deep down, that—I had…" his face contorted with loathing, " _demon blood_ in me? And about the evil of it, and that I'm not—wasn't _pure_?" Sam had never felt good but he'd always wanted to be. It was like there was a disease—a germ inside of him that would never die and let him be who he needed to be.

Dean's reply was typical and refrained from really answering at all. "Sam… that wasn't your fault."

Sam laughed that off. He felt on the edge of losing his brain completely. "It doesn't matter anymore," he said, shaking his finger at Dean. "Because these trials... they're _purifying_ me." That explained this terrible emotional anguish and physical weakness. The darkness inside had to be burned away before he could do something so profoundly righteous. Delirious and mentally foggy but feeling newly confident of why he was suffering, Sam smiled weakly even as his eyes pricked with tears.

"…Purifying you," Dean commented, his eyes sweeping over Sam doubtfully. "Right."

"I'm _serious_ , Dean," Sam insisted tremulously. He indicated himself with a good amount of loathing. He thought of everything dirty and wrong and twisted he had ever done. It had scarred him, left its mark. "Everything inside of me. It's… it's _dark_. Bad. I'm a _bad_ person."

Dean looked tired beyond belief. "No you're _not,_ Sam," he said wearily, knowing nothing of Sam's inner battles.

Images from a nightmare he had never shared with anyone flashed through Sam's mind at sickening speed—Lucifer, in his body, doing unimaginable things to his twin sister. Sam's stomach turned as he remembered that vision in perfect, petrifying detail whether he wanted to or not. And hallucinations that ashamed and terrified him swept across his mind without permission. Somehow, he felt like _he_ was to blame for all of that—and knew that if either of his siblings ever found out about the things he'd seen and felt, the things he'd seen himself _do_ … they would never speak to him ever again. They would shut him out completely. Sam's voice caught on a thick throat. "You wouldn't say that if you knew." His eyes were bleary with hot tears. And he turned around and led the way down the hall at a stagger, hating himself and hoping he was right. That these trials were purifying him and burning away the parts of himself that made him more of a monster than anything else.

* * *

**Later  
Biggerson** **'** **s  
Santa Fe, New Mexico**

Castiel cycled through the locations endlessly, again and again, hundreds of them. His face was like a mask. _Bangor, Maine. Lincoln, Nebraska. Reno, Nevada. Atlanta, Georgia. Chicago, Illinois. Santa Fe, New Mexico._ And then… he stopped. The tabletop he stared down at bore a harsh smear of bright red. _Human_ blood. Immediately horrified—something was very _wrong_ —Cas looked up, his veins sinking in dread and sickness. Where there should have been happy, bustling tablefuls of customers, there were dead bodies and carnage. Blood spilled out onto the slate tile flooring and not a single person appeared to have been spared. Waitresses, staff, and patrons alike were brutally murdered and littering the restaurant like trash. _No! Why?_

And then… "You have to stop," came a soft, tearful voice. Breathless and dismayed, Castiel looked at the source of the sound and saw Kara nearby. The kind waitress who had always engaged him in conversation. "You have to stop," she whimpered softly. "They said you have to stop."

"No," Castiel exclaimed softly, already picking his way through the dead toward her. Kara's eyes were burned out and bloodied—an angel had clearly done it—and she was wounded badly.

"You have to stop," she croaked again, seemingly on repeat. Who had to stop? Filled with compassion and fury all at once, Castiel sank down in front of where the delerious she was slumped. He reached out to heal her. And then, before he could touch her… behind him—a presence. And at his neck, an angel blade. Immediately realizing what this was—a trap—Castiel stood slowly, his blood beating hot and furious. _These people, dead because of Naomi._ He already knew she was behind this even before he turned to see the one holding him captive was Ion, one of her right-hands.

"Why have you done this?" Castiel growled even as Ion reached into his trench coat and confiscated his blade, rendering him weaponless. Ion and another angel who Castiel did not know yanked him over to a chair.

"Sit down," Ion said quietly, and Castiel did as told slowly, eyeing the angel blade in his brother's hand closely and watching as Ion tucked the stolen blade away.

The sound of angel's wings fluttered through the air and Naomi appeared. She looked very, very angry. "Ah, _Castiel_ ," she greeted tightly, then indicated the massacre all around. "Do you see what you made me do?" He darkened more and more. He had made her do _nothing._

Kara whimpered nearby. "You have to stop," she whispered through frightened tears. "You have to st—" And Naomi snapped her fingers harshly, breaking the woman's neck without remorse.

"Can't hear myself _think,_ " Naomi seethed, pacing in front of Castiel and looking at him as if _he_ were the one who had forced her hand.

Staring at her with utmost contempt, Castiel tried to calculate if he would be able to steal back his blade and attack her before Ion or the other angel managed to stop or kill him. "We were supposed to be their _shepherds_ , not their _murderers_!"

"Not always, _angel_ _,_ " Naomi said in cool hostility. "There was that day, back in Egypt, not so long ago, where we slew every first-born infant whose door wasn't splashed with lamb's blood." A haughty, icy little smile crossed her face. "And _that_ was just PR."

Disgusting, how she spoke of it so heartlessly. "Well I wasn't there," Castiel said defiantly. He had never and would never advocate for genocide or murder of humans. He had _always_ been against it. Always.

"Oh, you were there," Naomi said softly and triumphantly, making his stomach jolt. "You just don't _remember_ it."

A ripple of fear came over Castiel. This went deeper than he thought, maybe. "How—how many times have you torn into my head and washed it clean?" he demanded, afraid of the answer.

"Frankly? _Too damn many_." She snapped her fingers with a snarling expression and a chair slid over to her and she sat in it across from him. "You're the famous spanner in the works," she said, eyes calculating him coldly. "Honestly, I think you came off the line with a _crack_ in your chassis. You have _never_ done what you were told. Not completely." Castiel remained outwardly defiant as she looked at him with contempt and disgust. "You don't even _die_ right, do you? And now your obsession with this human girl. What is _wrong_ with you?"

Unwaveringly, Castiel looked into her eyes. "Nothing is wrong with me."

Naomi's eyebrows shot up high and she laughed weakly, shaking her head like he was unbelievable. "You are a _lunatic_ ," she said, eyeing him in revulsion. "I thought I could restore you but I don't think that anymore. You are truly a lost cause. A _shame_ to the name of angel you carry. You are disobedient and selfish. Deluded. _Defective._ "

Her insults did little, if anything to him. He didn't really care what she said. He had his own convictions now—his own ideals that had developed as he had taken steps into free will and choosing his own destiny. "My eyes have been opened, Naomi," he replied in gruff levelness. "I refuse to blindly follow the will of Heaven ever again and none of us _should_. We were given minds for a reason. To _use_ them." He glanced at the angels on either side of him and hoped they would see that Naomi was dangerous and that her willingness to slaughter humans was wrong.

"Enough of this _blasphemy,_ " Naomi snapped, leaning forward and glaring at the angel with eyes like daggers. " _Where_ is the _angel tablet_ , Castiel?"

He would never tell her. And if she knew that it was right in front of her, she would feel such a fool. As such, the smallest little smile crossed Castiel's face as he looked down at his lap and contemplated his words for a moment. "As my wife might say…" his eyes raised into hers and he felt a certain sense of satisfaction take over as he spat out words he normally didn't use. "You can fuck off." Castiel enjoyed the immediate look of shock and anger Naomi displayed when he used that phrase.

She stood up and straightened her jacket with a yank. "You'll regret this, Castiel," she promised lowly, then looked at the first of the two angels who flanked him in his chair. " _Go_. Search all these Biggerson's. He must have hidden it along the way." She looked at the other angel. "And you. Find his human. Bring her here." The angels disappeared with their orders. And Naomi arched an eyebrow at Castiel. He had stiffened when she told one of her henchmen to go get Alex. He knew she was safe and hidden in the bunker, but still. "I know how to make you suffer, Castiel," Naomi said softly, inferring that she would make Alex suffer. Castiel bristled, not even wanting anyone to _think_ about touching his Alex. Naomi leaned closer maliciously. "And I promise. It will be _so_ much worse this time." He met her stare with sheer animosity and Naomi eyed Castiel with a slow, smug smile. "In the meantime… why don't we see how well you _bleed._ " She hauled back and punched him in the face, cracking bones and shattering his vision, causing blood to river out of his nose.

Several hours later, the first angel returned. Castiel was slumped in the chair—bloody and bruised and half-conscious from Naomi's beatings.

"Well?" Naomi asked her angel.

He shook his head somberly. "I can't find the girl. I looked everywhere."

Castiel raised his blood-splattered chin in a feeble defiance as reassurance coursed through him. "I made arrangements," he said, feeling renewed strength inside. "You won't be able to hold her over my head again, Naomi. She's somewhere safe."

Naomi was obviously intensely grated that her plan wasn't coming to fruition. "Why must you be so _difficult_?" she demanded.

Castiel shook his head. "I just want to be left in peace," he said truthfully, tasting the blood in his mouth more clearly when he spoke. "I want nothing to do with Heaven anymore."

Naomi studied him piously. "You really think you're one of _them_ , don't you?" she asked in a markedly haughty voice. She sauntered a little closer. "You will _never_ be a human, Castiel," she promised. "Not fully. Even if I ripped your Grace out of you right now, you would be as flawed a human as you are an angel. Never truly belonging. I suppose that's a theme for you, isn't it?"

At that moment, Ion reappeared. He was the one who had been directed to find the tablet. "I've been all over each restaurant," he reported grimly. "It's not there."

Frustrated at the dead ends, Naomi began to lose her edge. " _Why_?" she asked Castiel. "Why are you _doing_ this? I tire of your foolishness, Castiel. Let us put the tablet back where it should be! In _Heaven_!"

Castiel shook his head. Every action hurt. "No. I need to protect it."

"From the _angels_?" Naomi asked, as if that were the most ludicrous thing she could conceive of.

Trying not to breathe too deeply because his ribs had been broken during her punishment, Castiel shook his head shallowly. He felt so exhausted and damaged. "From _everyone._ "

Naomi narrowed her eyes at him dangerously. "I'm just going to have to pull you apart, aren't I?"

He met her gaze steadily, just glad that no one he loved had been dragged into this horrible scenario. He would take the pain gladly. "Do what you will to me," he said in a near growl.

And then, out of nowhere, a gunshot rang out and one of Naomi's angels fell down dead even as Ion was shot in the arm and fell back. Shocked, Naomi gaped as Cas, hand on his hurt ribs, panted and looked sidelong at the shooter. A man in a sharp, elegant suit. He smirked leisurely. "Naomi, darling. Miss me?" Crowley asked, enjoying her shock. Twirling his weapon and waggling his eyebrows at her suggestively, the King of Hell was not disappointed: his opponent immediately fled, just as he had obviously intended. Still, he cracked a joke. "Goodness me, not even a hello. My _feelings_ are hurt," he said softly, chuckling to himself. He sauntered around to stand in front of Castiel. "Hi Cas," he greeted ominously. "Like my new toy?" He glanced over at the dead angel nearby. "Melted down angel blade. Does the trick in a pinch, I'd say." Castiel looked over at Ion, who was standing slowly and holding his injured arm but doing nothing else. Why had Crowley missed? And why was Ion not running away? And then, Castiel understood and Crowley chuckled again. "That's right, buddy. I got me an _angel_ on the payroll." He abruptly raised his gun, aimed, and ruthlessly shot Castiel in the stomach.

" _Ah_!" Pain exploded as the angel-blade bullet ripped skin and did immediate, painful damage. Panting and groaning in agony, Cas slumped in his chair, almost at the point of unconsciousness.

Crowley looked at Ion, who was apparently a traitor to Heaven. "You. Grab _him_ and follow _me_." And with that, Crowley strutted off toward the back of the restaurant. Ion hauled an agonized, disoriented Castiel to his feet and dragged him along. They went into the manager's office where Crowley took a seat at the leather chair of the boss's desk as Ion shoved Castiel down into the chair across from the desk. "I know you're wondering what little ole me is doing showing up unannounced," Crowley said loftily. "Just wanted to take a moment away from the main action to _chat_ with my old business partner," he said pleasantly, twirling his gun with a pompous little smile as Castiel clutched a hand to his bleeding stomach and struggled to stay cognizant. "I assume you won't die _just_ yet. Takes a painful long time to bleed out from the gut." He winked salaciously, enjoying Castiel's pain.

"You can do whatever you want, Crowley," Castiel said stiffly. In a way, this pain and suffering felt fitting after everything he had let happen. And he was resolved to never let Crowley lay a hand on the tablet and said as much, too. "I will never tell you where I buried the tablet."

Interested, Crowley leaned across the desk. "Oh, I can do _whatever_ I want?" he asked, eyes sparkling wickedly. "And what if I were to threaten to torture your little wife in front of you, hmm?" He leaned back again, basking in what he clearly felt to be triumph. "I bet you get _very_ talkative indeed."

Castiel managed the smallest and most cynical smiles. "She's with her _brothers_ ," he said sharply in slight triumph of his own. "You can't _touch_ her. This is between you and _me._ "

Crowley grinned slowly, as if he found something delicious. And then he laughed low and slow. " _Wrong,_ " he purred, then tutted and sighed. "Oh, Cas. Afraid you're just a _bit_ behind on the story. Alex Winchester is… how do I put this? A permanent house guest in a little place I like to call Hell."

 _What?_ Castiel tried not to react outwardly. Crowley was surely just attempting to manipulate and trick him. She _couldn_ _'_ _t_ be there. She was at the bunker. Sam and Dean were there with her. She had promised not to leave the bunker until Cas returned. It made no sense. Crowley was just trying to get a rise. There was no _reason_ for her to be there. "You're _lying_ ," Castiel spat, but he trembled.

Crowley, too assured and too casual, laughed softly. "You _wish_ , flyboy," he said, then wiggled his eyebrows. "Let me paint you a picture. Desperate and alone, the youngest Winchester calls out to the dark, mysterious, and arguably sexy King of Hell in the absence of her husband and big brother Dean. You see, a year or so ago, brother Sam was just a little… _indisposed_ and Uncle Bobby, well, he was quite dead. And so with no other choice and no other means of saving the day… well. Mrs. Castiel _sold her soul._ " Castiel's heart, which had begun to beat harder and faster, was practically jackhammering now. No. _No._ It couldn't be true. Crowley's slow, greedy grin was devouring his whole face. "Sealed with a kiss," he taunted in a voice that dripped with suggestion. "And _what a kiss it was_ …" as Castiel grew more and more furious and upset, Crowley got more and more into teasing and mocking the angel. "That little minx, ooh, she's a tasty one isn't she?" he asked, then bit his bottom lip briefly. "Think she _liked_ locking lips with a demon, if I'm being honest…" Castiel suddenly attempted to leap out of his chair—only to be slammed back into it by Ion. Crowley laughed openly. "Have I touched a nerve?" he asked, then lowered his voice to the darkest and deepest octave there was. "That's not all I've touched."

Ion had to hold Castiel back with all of his strength—and even so injured and weakened, Castiel made it difficult for Ion to do so effectively. "You're _lying_!" he shouted, red in the face.

Crowley stood and instead of playful and mocking, he became dark and nasty. "Why do you think, sweetie, you haven't heard a _peep_ out of her, hmm?" he asked sharply, rounding the desk and bearing down on a struggling Castiel. "Maybe because I made sure she couldn't, ever think of _that_?" Cas went still. It made terrible sense. And nearly sick to the point of vomiting Cas looked up in sheer terror at Crowley. He breathed hard and tried to understand. _Father in Heaven, how long has he had her? How did this happen? Why didn_ _'_ _t she tell me?! Oh, Alex_ _…_ _no_ _…_ "Call it payback for that little reach-around back in the day, Cas buddy," Crowley said soft and low. "The one where you screwed me over and went back on our deal. _No one_ double-crosses the King without paying dearly." He gloated, coming closer and closer. "Alex Winchester is burning in Hell as we speak, suffering for all eternity alone, crying out for an angel who will never be able to reach her ever again. Such _tragedy_." Rage gave Castiel another burst of adrenaline-fueled strength and he bucked against Ion's hold to no avail—all along the walls of the office, books vibrated on the shelves and some fell off as Castiel's rage manifested and grew. Crowley chuckled, not intimidated in the least. " _Goodness_ you're adorable when you're angry," he commented mildly, then made a brushing-off motion with his hand. "Now, enough about what's-her-name. I think I know exactly where you've hidden that tablet." His eyes dropped to the bullet would he'd inflicted. "Somewhere… in plain sight. Now. Gimme." And without warning, Crowley leaned down and thrust his hand into Castiel's bullet wound. Screams of pain escaped the angel's mouth as the demon dug around and found what had been hidden there. The King of Hell pulled the stone out roughly, tearing more skin as he did so. "Ha _ha_!" Crowley whooped, eyeing the bloody tablet with glee as Cas, overcome with physical shock and pain, slumped in his chair with glazed eyes. Victorious, Crowley was all grins. "Nice doing business with you," he said to Cas, deeply pleased. "Shall I tell the wife you said hello?" He smirked at Cas and delivered some final news with a very falsely regretful drama. "I'm afraid to tell you… think it's time you got killed off for good and stopped messing up my jive. So, what message would you like me to convey to your dearly beloved, hm?" Breathless, feeling close to death, Cas looked up at Crowley in sheer dismay. No. This couldn't be the end. He refused for it to end like this. And just then, the demon's cell phone began to ring and he held up a finger. "Ah. Hold that thought." He pressed his phone to his ear. "This is the king!" he answered loftily, then listened. His happy expression fell slightly then he glanced at Ion and then hung up. "This will have to wait." He took the bloody tablet and then looked at Cas darkly. "Don't go anywhere, aye?" And the king disappeared, leaving the two angels in silence.

Panting against wave after wave of pain and weakness, Cas looked at his brother angel without understanding. " _Why_ , Ion?" he asked weakly.

A dark glance came his way. "Just be quiet," Ion said.

Castiel knew it was a long shot, but he still tried. "Ion, brother— _please_ —"

"Don't, Castiel," Ion said coldly, walking off a few steps to look out of the nearby window. "I've chosen a side and it's not yours."

So distressed he could barely function, Castiel resorted to begging. "My _wife_ is—you heard him—she needs me, _please_ , just let me go and I'll—"

Ion whirled and gave Castiel a dark, angry look. "You'll _what_?" He scoffed and shook his head. "I'm sorry, Castiel. I know what you can do and have done to our kind." He sounded angry about it, too. "How you choose humans over us every time. Forgive me, but I have no interest anymore in anything but my own fate." He turned and looked out the window again, trusting that Castiel, injured and weak and defenseless, would stay where he was. Ion grew depressed and morose. "Nothing that happens here matters," he announced dourly.

While Ion waxed philosophical, Castiel, a desperate man, did what he had to do to escape the second he realized he had to do this by himself. Without a second thought, he plunged his own hand into his wound and did not let out the screams he wanted to as he dug out the bullet that had inflicted the damage. With trembling, bloody fingers, he drew out the piece of metal and stood silently, channeling all of his celestial intent into strength. He slid up behind Ion, shaking like a leaf. "It _all_ matters," he growled.

Startled, Ion whirled. Ready for that, Castiel struck Ion across the face with all the strength he had left and when Ion fell onto his back, Castiel lurched over him and slammed the bullet into Ion's eye, killing him in a blaze of light. Out of breath, Castiel snatched his blade back, then limped away and disappeared into thin air and ungracefully, raggedly flew from there to Lebanon, Kansas, half-crazed and in bad physical condition from the torture he'd been under. He crash landed hard in the middle of a road somewhere adjacent to the bunker—and then squinted as incredibly harsh headlights suddenly bore down on him from nowhere.

* * *

The Impala streaked along the back road fast under the cover of night. Dean talked into his phone while his other hand clenched the wheel hard. "Yeah, Bobby, we're almost back. Uh huh. Kevin's alive, yeah, you heard me right. Yeah, sure did, got the third trial. You ready for this? We gotta _cure a demon_ , whatever the hell _that_ means." He let out a little laugh and nodded. "Yeah I know. Hey, we'll catch up later, okay? Battery's almost dead. Yup. You too." He ended the call and tossed his phone haphazardly, glancing over at Sam in slight agitation. "Dude, what does that even mean, cure a demon? _Psh_."

Sam sat up straighter, eyes growing wider as he looked at the road ahead. "Whoa whoa whoa, _hey_!" he yelled.

Dean slammed on the brakes as a man-sized object fell out of the sky and impacted the road just ahead hard, cracking asphalt. The squealing brakes screamed as the car jerked to a shuddering halt. Dean threw the car into park and was already jumping out, just like Sam… because they recognized the object that had just crashed-landed in front of them. " _Cas_?!" Dean jogged a little faster than Sam did, getting there first. "Oh my god, what _happened_ to you?"

The angel was bloody and by all appearances mortally wounded. Cas was already struggling to his feet, appearing drunk or injured or maybe both. He completely ignored Dean and brushed past him and Sam almost angrily.

"Cas, talk to me!" Dean demanded, more and more alarmed.

"Be _quiet,_ Dean!" The angel snapped. He staggered toward the wood-line at the edge of the road, going as fast as his injuries would let him.

Confounded at the rudeness and blood, Dean stared, his expression falling. "What the—what's going on Cas?" he asked, getting really scared really fast at the odd behavior.

"Where are you _going_?" Sam added, worry coloring his voice as he tagged along after Cas closely.

Castiel did not stop walking for a minute. "Your sister—she—ah!" He paused slightly, breathing hard and having to lean all his weight onto his knee briefly. "This is where it happened, I think." He stood straight and began to lurch forward again, soldiering through his pain.

"Where _what_ happened?" Dean asked imperatively, on Cas's heels and getting more and more freaked out.

Cas whirled furiously and said the last thing either brother had expected to hear. "She sold her _soul!_ " the angel shouted.

Gone still, confused, horrified, both brothers stared. Dean was the one who found his voice first with an incredulous, denial riddled, " _What_?"

"She's in Hell, Dean!" Castiel seethed. " _Hell_. And this is where she was taken. I can feel it." Angry, maybe with himself, he let out a strange, pained sound. "I'm such a _fool_ _—_ " he stared at the clearing ahead and grew still and almost afraid, which was even more unsettling than his anger. "Don't follow me," he warned lowly, "I don't think you'll like what you see." He disappeared completely, leaving two very shocked brothers.

"Cas? _Cas_!" Dean shouted.

"S-sold her soul?" Sam asked, and he was colorless and barely breathing. "Is… is that why Bobby…?"

 _Oh god._ Dean's face fell. It all suddenly made perfect, terrible sense and Dean looked like he was going to vomit. His entire world was shattered in the worst of ways as he realized, for nearly a month now, Alex hadn't been missing because she ran away, but because she had been _taken._ And burning in Hell while they had done _nothing_."Oh Alex _no_ ," he whispered, then abruptly began crashing through the trees and toward the open field.

Right behind him, Sam followed at a run, trying to grab and hold his brother back. "Dean, _don_ _'_ _t_!" he shouted.

"Don't tell me what to do!" Dean yelled, ripping out of his brother's hands senselessly. He didn't know what he thought he would find. But if he had known, he wouldn't have gone there. When he saw one of Alex's converse shoes with holes torn by teeth in it, when he saw a half-rotted, shredded jacket smeared into the muddy ground further off, when he caught a glimpse of shapes that looked much too much like human bones, he fell back and down with a sound of utter despair as it became cold, hard, terrible reality. He almost lost his mind in pure grief and terror. And then someone caught him. Sam crouched and grabbed him hard, turning Dean fast, almost cradling him—forcing him not to look. Sam kept his eyes on his brother's shoulder purposefully, but he was shaking so hard he could barely breathe. He had seen everything Dean saw.

"Oh my god, oh my god," Dean choked, staring at his sister's destroyed shoe in utter horror. " _How did I not know_?" he clenched onto Sam with fingers like vices.

"I was _there_ ," Sam whispered, and he was starting to cry. "I was there and so was she?" Guilt and terror alike made his voice crack then break completely. He had been in Hell and hadn't known, even for a second, that his sister was there. " _How did this happen_?"

Dean sobbed out a terrible sound and clutched Sam harder. For a long, terrible moment the brothers waited like that. Lost in horrific thoughts and self-blame and confusion as to the specifics of _what the hell had happened._ And then the ground shook. Both brothers went still and silent, hopeful and scared. The ground rumbled again, harder this time, and slowly, cautiously, they got to their feet, holding onto each other for balance.

And then, about ten feet off, the ground exploded in a furious plume of dirt and embers that floated down and turned to charred ash. A hand shot out of the little crater that had just been created and barely recognizable, Cas dragged himself out of the ground with one arm and hand, his back mostly to them. He was literally smoking, ashy and black, blood shining on him still from before. Parts of his trench coat had burned away. But the boys weren't as interested in Castiel as what he had with him. As he collapsed down onto his back, they saw a smaller figure that was also charred and sooty. She had her back curled into his chest where she'd been held tightly, and where his hands had been, her clothing was singed away. She rolled off of him with a loud gasp and cough, catching herself on all fours. She seemed disoriented and dazed, and they couldn't see her face—was it really her? The brothers, frozen in place for the briefest and most scared second, stared. "Al?" Dean asked, a soft, heartbroken question.

She looked up. And it _was_ her. And more than that, she _knew_ them again—it was clear as day. "Oh my _god,_ " she whispered and it was apparent that _that_ was the moment she realized she was no longer in Hell. And even as her brothers were rushing over to her, she pushed herself up with surprising speed and practically crashed into them, sobbing out their names in relief and holding them so tight it hurt. He didn't know what was going on—he had a million questions—but for the moment, Dean held her as hard as he could and didn't even care about how smoky her hair was in his nose or how dirty his fingers would be from clenching into her ashy jacket or hair. Sam, owner of the longest arms in the Winchester family, was hugging them both and crying uncharacteristically hard into the top of his sister's head. For a very long moment, none of them let go or stopped crying. They all held on tight, afraid to let go.

Finally, Dean let go a little bit after gaining some composure. Sam remained latched onto Alex as Dean tried to get a look at her. She looked like herself, if a much grayer version than usual. "Are you _okay_?" he asked, beside himself and still in complete shock. She'd been down there so long. _So long._

"I'm okay," she confirmed, nodding and pressing a smile onto her harried face.

But Dean thought of the rack and the torture he knew she must have been through and he broke again. "Jesus Christ, no you're _not_ ," he said, his voice choking as he touched her face and then held on, wishing so _bad_ he had known. He knew Sam was the same.

"I'm _sorry_ ," Sam whispered, probably thinking the same things Dean was. "I was there and I didn't get you, I didn't _know._ "

Alex looked up at her twin, whose face was tearstained and so guilty. "What do you mean?" she asked softly, worried about him. He shook his head wordlessly and hugged her to his chest close, shuddering a little from deep emotion, holding on with both arms, seeming afraid to let go.

Dean finally glanced over at Cas, who was remarkably quiet. He was sitting like a rag-doll on the ground, on the side of one of his legs, and he looked absolutely drained and destroyed… like he might pass out at any moment—but a soft, content smile rested on his face as he watched Alex with Sam. "Cas?" Dean chanced, owing more to this angel than he could ever repay. "You okay?"

Cas's gaze wandered to Dean very slowly and his body gave a woozy little rocking motion. "I'm…" he said, then his face screwed up oddly. He apparently had nothing left. He pitched as his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he collapsed down onto his back, totally unconscious.

Alex immediately tore out of her twin's arms and ran to Cas, dropping to her knees beside him. "Cas? _Cas_!" She checked his pulse and let out a shaky sigh when she found his heart rate. "Alive," she breathed out, but she didn't seem any less worried and she started checking him for injuries.

Dean and Sam were close behind her. And that's when they realized… Alex wasn't the only one who had been dragged out of Hell. A dark, charred lump laid on the ground beside Castiel. A tall, solid man, it appeared. He currently laid motionless and unconscious on his face. Dean hesitated, then turned the man over by his shoulder, for a second believing that a demon or a stranger had somehow latched onto Cas and Alex. And then he stood back in utter shock, his breath gone as if he had been punched in the gut. "What the hell?" he breathed. How was this possible?

Beside him, Sam let out a soft little exhale of shocked air. "… _Dad_?"


	123. The New Testament

" _The only heaven I'll be sent to is when I'm alone with you._ _"  
-_ Hozier

* * *

After a hectic two-minute drive back to the bunker with Alex sandwiched between two unconscious, charred men in the back seat and Dean and Sam drilling her with questions which she tried to answer as best as she could while asking some of her own… the twins hauled a very unconscious, very heavy Castiel into Alex's room of the bunker.

With some difficulty, they managed the task and then unceremoniously dumped him onto the bed where he sprawled on his back like the sooty, dirty lump that he was. A little out of breath from the task (Cas _looked_ light enough but it must have been something about his angel stuff… he felt like he was several hundred pounds or more when he was unconscious and not supporting himself), the twins stood back and exchanged a tired, slightly disbelieving _we did it_ look. Alex was disheveled and sooty and smeared by dirt—her clothes were burned away in places and discolored, her long hair was bedraggled and unkempt, her skin was a faint ashy gray smeared with black soot and dirt here and there. Sam was smudged black in several places from holding and hugging her and from carrying Cas: his clothes, jaw, even a place on his cheek. He was already looking physically ill from the trials, so basically, they both looked pretty damn rough. But despite that, they exchanged a weary, soft-eyed smile and Sam pulled his sister into a gentle, close hug. She wrapped her arms around his middle, nestled her head against his chest, and that's where they stayed for a long moment. She sniffed softly, and he closed his eyes, holding tears back.

Ten minutes ago, Alex had been in _Hell_ and the brothers hadn't even _known._

Sam still couldn't believe what had happened or that she'd sold her soul to bring Bobby back. He was having a tough time not breaking down on her behalf when he thought about the terrors of Hell and how long she'd been there. In the car, she said the hounds had come for her the night that she slipped out of the bunker past their lock. So basically a month, or in Hell-time… ten _years._ Was she gonna be okay after that? Sam remembered without wanting to the sight of her shredded converse shoes and jacket. Unbidden, he imagined her screaming as she was torn apart and helpless. _Alone_. Without anyone to save or help her. And then him and Dean cluelessly carrying on with stupid shit and not tearing the universe apart to get to her. _Oh god, why did this happen to her? What if I had closed Hell and Alex had been in there?_ Past the point of caring about how dirty either of them were, Sam kissed the top of her head hard and held her a little tighter as his throat choked up and eyes stayed squeezed closed.

He hoped to whatever god or higher power was out there that his little sister wouldn't face the torment he knew so well. The nightmares of Hell, the scar left behind on everything he was.

Sam focused on steadying his shaky, emotional breathing pattern. His mind was spinning nonstop. What the hell did _Dad_ being back mean? Was he gonna pull through? And if he did, what did that mean for their family? It was all such a huge unknown. As was much of Sam's life at current time. Well, whatever John Winchester's sudden return brought, Sam just knew he wasn't gonna let Alex down again. _Or_ Dean. Sam was gonna make it up to them with these trials and set his wrongs to right. Maybe his sister would forgive him someday for abandoning her while Dean and Cas were in Purgatory. Although so far, she didn't seem angry with him like Dean was—they hadn't talked about it however. Her bitterness would probably come later after she recovered from the shock of being resurrected. Sam's eyes filled with tears he had to blink back. He hadn't seen his sister as herself in, what, over a year? It was fuzzy and it hurt if he thought about it too hard, but he figured right around when Dick died was the last time he had really seen her. After that had happened, he'd proceeded to leave and then spend about a year in total denial with the Amelia thing and then when he'd rejoined Dean, Alex had been 'dead' but actually with Naomi. But Sam had mourned his twin so hard and felt like he'd lost a part of himself. Blamed himself because he thought if he hadn't run away with a dog and a girl, his sister might still be alive. And then Alex had come back and hadn't been dead… but had been without her memories.

Today, _finally,_ she was here and she knew who he was and was hugging him back just as hard as he was hugging her.

This was something that Sam would never take for granted again, _ever._

Clearing his throat to try and compose himself a little, Sam finally pulled back, held her by the upper arms, and found his sister looking up at him with eyes that glinted. She seemed as emotional as him, and then in a moment of deeply fond playfulness he never expected, she reached up and touched end of his hair then cracked a cheeky little grin. "Hair's getting so _long,_ Samantha," she joked. "You trying to catch up to me?"

Despite everything, a little laugh came out of Sam's mouth and a real, disbelieving grin cracked his face. It wasn't even that funny, but it didn't need to be. It was her. Corny, slapstick, dry-humored Alex. "I missed you," he said softly, shaking his head as he confessed what was a severe understatement. These past few months with just him and Dean and nothing but bitterness and misunderstanding between them... he'd never felt his sister's absence more keenly than he had this year. He was so, _so_ glad she was here again now. And he would never take her for granted in any way, ever again.

When he said he missed her, the tiny smile on her face grew a little, but it was marked by a dip into pensiveness. "Yeah." Sam's heart fell slightly. He mistook her quietness and sudden somber air to perhaps be related to how he abandoned her in favor of Amelia. Guilt weighted Sam anew. _I still don_ _'_ _t understand why I did that. I don_ _'_ _t know how I could have ever put some girl ahead of my family._ Alex suddenly squeezed him _hard_ , her cheek pressing close to his heart _._ "Love you, Sammy," she whispered fiercely, catching him off guard and breaking him emotionally. "So much."

He didn't deserve it. His heart welled inside of his chest and his voice caught in his throat. "Love you too," he whispered back with effort, feeling every bit the consummate hypocrite and unworthy. He sure had a damn great way of showing it, didn't he? And no matter how much he loved her, he would always be _so afraid_ that something would happen to corrupt their brother/sister relationship. He wished he could erase the things Lucifer had shown him because it had ruined everything. It was like this ugly, dark secret that ate him alive and he could never tell anyone about. _I'm such poison to this family._ And Sam pulled away from his twin suddenly while clearing his throat and avoiding her gaze. It came back to him sometimes in random, horrific little snippets. The hallucinations of Lucifer in her body. Saying things to him he couldn't scrub clean. He didn't feel right even touching her sometimes because of those memories. Sam _never_ wanted her to know the things he'd been forced to see and endure. He didn't want anyone else to have to carry what he did.

Sam glanced over at Cas, who hadn't moved or stirred once since fainting earlier. He was bleeding badly out of a sizable stomach wound that Alex had temporarily used parts of her own ripped shirt to block up during the short ride here. Sam could see how blood was beginning to soak through what she'd cobbled together and Alex followed her brother's gaze and saw what he saw and quickly went to tend to her angel.

Somewhere down the hall, Dean was making a lot of ruckus—sounded like he was wheeling something around and Sam glanced that way, expression twisting up in conflict—he didn't know if he should stay here or go see about helping Dean with whatever the hell he was doing. Probably getting their still-unconscious father situated.

Alex had already grabbed the first-aid kit that rested by the door—each bunker bedroom had one in the exact same place. She tore Cas's shirt open hard and batting his tie aside to get a better look at his wound—when she saw the twelve-inch plus gash in his lower abdomen, she muttered under her breath in slight horror. "God, Cas, what did you _do_?" She was already getting out the bottle of rubbing alcohol and digging for a needle and sutures while Sam hovered. It didn't take two people to sew someone up. And Dean might need help with Dad. Glancing up at him, his sister saw his dilemma without missing a beat. She shooed him offhandedly even as she unscrewed the cap of the alcohol. "You go on," Alex said, deciding for him. "I've got Cas. Go see Dad."

Sam hesitated. "You sure you got Cas?" he asked doubtfully, really _really_ wanting to do the right thing here and not leave her hanging. Guilt piloted his every move.

"Yeah, no, I'm sure," Alex said distractedly even as she dumped half of the contents of the alcohol over Cas's wound with no finesse. He jerked slightly but otherwise didn't respond. She gestured to him with a wan, masked expression and Sam could see she was very worried but more focused on taking action than overthinking it. "I'm just gonna do what I can here and maybe get some sleep unless you guys need me," she said, then pressed some clean gauze over Cas's wound while she got a needle ready. "I'm fucking exhausted."

He remembered that feeling. "Of course," he said graciously. Everything else could wait for morning. He'd slept for like a day or two after his soul had been put back into his body. Still, he hesitated. "You... you need anything before I go? You sure you're okay to stitch him up by yourself? I mean, I can help…"

Alex was threading the needle without problem as he spoke and her eyes glanced up at his with an edge of playfulness. "Nah, it's okay, we all know who the best patcher-upper in this family is," she said, giving him a tiny smile he was helpless but to return. She paused and looked him over, her expression tensing. " _You_ look like you need some rest though, huh?"

Sam could feel how bad he looked down to his bones. These trials were scrubbing away everything and leaving him feeling threadbare. "That's uh, putting it pretty lightly," he said, trying to laugh it off weakly.

Alex grabbed a lighter out to sterilize the needle—she paused and gave him a very perceptive look. She saw straight through his _I_ _'_ _m fine_ bullshit. But there wasn't time to go fully into it. So she offered: "This is all gonna be okay somehow, Sam."

Sam nodded and swallowed a thick lump. Unbelievable. She'd just come out of Hell and was more okay than him somehow. "I know." He felt a flash of deep, dark guilt. "I should be telling _you_ that."

Alex was distracted by burning the end of the needle and fixing Cas—she didn't catch Sam's inner despair, or maybe she just didn't have time for it. "It's not a _contest_ ," she said jokingly, then set the lighter down and turned more somber when she saw Sam's half-sick expression. "I'm serious, Sam," she said more softly. "I'm okay. Don't worry. I'm just really, _really_ glad to be topside again."

He felt a weary smile break on his face. He got that. He really, _really_ got that. "Yeah. I know. Me too." He watched her as she began to stitch Cas's wound closed carefully with nimble fingers, sending a couple worried glances Sam's way in between movements. Either way, Sam guessed that was his cue. "Well… see you in the morning," he said, starting to drift toward the door. "And no more running off, all right?" A weak little joke she let out a soft laugh at.

" _Trust_ me. I'm not going _anywhere_."

His heart warmed. He'd hold her to that. _Forever._ He paused at her doorway, watching how she worked efficiently on stitching the angel shut. Sam knew now wasn't the time, but he had to say it so she knew he was looking forward to it: "We've uh… we've got a lot to catch up on." He gave a soft, sheepish laugh. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't dying to just sit and talk with her awhile. Tell her everything going on in depth and get her perspective on things. Find out everything he'd missed on her end since he bailed last year.

Alex paused looked up at him understandingly with a little crooked smile. "I know we do." Her smile broadened just a little and rested in her eyes. The love there humbled him. "'Night Sam."

In that moment, Sam realized that when he hadn't noticed or been watching, Alex had become the woman he had always known she could be. The more angry, sullen, insecure, I-hate-the-world girl was gone. In her place, a woman who stood on her own two feet—the fire had made her stronger. She had a balance to her that she hadn't had before. She had grown up and come into her own. Her identity was no longer dependent on her brothers. A little quieted, Sam gave her a tiny smile in return. He was _proud_ of her but bittersweet because honestly, sometimes, he just wanted it to be him, his brother, and his sister for the rest of time. "'Night, Al," he said softly, and then he left, shutting the door quietly behind himself.

And just like that, Alex was left alone with her unconscious angel.

Quite frankly, she was not entirely convinced this was even real. It felt too good (minus Cas bleeding on the bed) to be true. She was alive, her family was together again… even Dad had made it. Could this really be happening?

In Hell, sometimes she'd been given beautiful visions of happiness and then it had all been torn away and replaced by a living nightmare. It was the best form of torture, honestly. Make the person feel safe, good, off guard... and then remind them it was all a farce and they were, in fact, stuck in torment for eternity. But... this felt _different_ than all the other thousands of times she'd been tricked in Hell. And if this _was_ real… she wasn't taking any chances. That's why she was stitching Cas up. She guessed it didn't totally matter because, you know— _angel_ —but Cas didn't lose consciousness often. And whenever he bled profusely, it scared the shit out of her. Maybe this first aid was useless, but that possibility didn't matter much in the moment. She was gonna fucking stitch him up. Cas's condition was upsetting: His trench coat was frayed and burned away in places, torn and missing buttons and nearly unrecognizable. His white dress shirt was practically gray. He had a cut or two on his face and of course the wound on his stomach—his skin was ripped open in a way that didn't look like it had come from any weapon she knew of. Did that happen in Hell?

About halfway through stitching his wound shut, she paused her work and looked at Cas's still, peaceful face, his shut eyes. Even banged up and dirty, he was so beautiful that her throat caught.

She hadn't been with him or seen him in what felt like ten long, agonizing years. Love and fear alike gripped her heart as his closeness really hit her. Truly, actually _hit_ her. She had pined for him all those years and held out all hope for him to come for her. And he had. Here he was. Hell was gone. She was okay. But not if he wasn't.

Her heart tugged, pinched, grew a size.

 _Please don_ _'_ _t die_...

That whisper of a thought made her stomach turn and her resolve waver. If he died... she felt like she would too. Briefly, she bent over his body and put her face near his, kissed his cheek long and slow, breathed him in, stayed close and let her hand gently rest on his chest. She felt the shallow rise and fall of steady breathing there. A comforting rhythm she had all but forgotten. It healed her in a small way. She crawled into bed beside him closely, shut her eyes, and imagined that he was just sleeping. That he wasn't possibly in some kind of angel coma. That he was okay. "Wake up, Cas," she whispered, then opened her eyes and looked over his familiar, dirty face closely. Every beloved little age line and arc and hollow. Every eyelash and the stubble-shaded line of his strong jaw. Her fingers traced against his ashen skin and then she let her hand slide down his shoulder, bicep, forearm, searching until she found his hand to hold in hers. "Please?" She squeezed his limp hand, her voice barely audible. " _Wake up_ …"

And then, startling her, his eyes snapped open and he took in a long, sharp breath through his nose as he stared at the ceiling with stunned eyes. And then he slowly turned his head and looked at her with those earth-shatteringly crystalline blue eyes she had all but forgotten in Hell. Alex was stricken momentarily mute by the intense shade. That was the moment that she knew, for sure... this was no vision or trick. This was _real_. When Cas saw and recognized her, the slight panic and confusion on his face faded away and in its place, there was a wash of relief and contentedness. The softest smile spread across his lips and he spoke with a rough, raspy voice she hadn't heard in years, as his fingers curled in around hers.

"Hello, Alex."

* * *

Hell: a place of everlasting torment. Unending suffering. Fire, agony, and hopelessness. An impenetrable fortress and a stronghold that not many ever escape from. Whoever goes there usually stays. But Alex Winchester? Not just anyone. And when her guardian angel, her husband, her protector Castiel heard where she was and what had happened… nothing on earth, in Heaven, nor in Hell could stand in his way or keep him from reaching her and drawing her out.

For the rest of time, demons and wayward souls alike would tell of the angel who stormed the gates of Hell and left nothing but obliteration behind. He came like a great and terrible storm into the realm, blistering with rage and heat that scattered his enemies like flimsy cards in the wind. He smashed and fought his way through every layer of Hell without mercy, diving deeper and deeper down as he sought the soul he loved. Anywhere he touched was laid to absolute ruin—and none had ever seen an angel as fearsome and frightening as he. When Castiel plunged into the deepest level of Hell, his desperate search was not in vain. He found her there, he was drawn to her like a magnet to a magnet. It had taken more than ten angels to pull Dean Winchester out of Hell in years past. But for Alex, it only took one…

Underneath an angry red sky, exhausted and depleted and near delirium, she had staggered forward aimlessly. It had been weeks that she and Dad had been wandering the wastelands. After conspiring with Lola for some time, they had planned their escape. Lola had knowledge of guard shifts, cellblock layout, that kind of thing. She had done her part in helping them escape and Alex and John had done theirs. Well… mostly. Right when the three of them got to the exit from cells to wasteland… Alex pulled some of the shadiest, most necessary shit she ever had. The _second_ after Lola opened the door out with the stolen key she'd obtained, Alex had jumped the demon from behind, choked her out to unconsciousness, broken her neck, stolen the key, then pushed Dad through the exit and slammed it behind them. Then they had _run_ and not looked back _._ There hadn't been a choice, as far as Alex was concerned. John had been taken aback at her ruthless actions, then impressed, then disturbed. Alex didn't really care how he felt about it. It had to be done.

But after weeks of wandering and searching for the cage or, well, _anything,_ Alex was wishing she'd kept the snarky little demon around if for nothing else, guidance. Dad was giving up hope. He only seemed to keep going because she did, and he moved more and more sluggishly all the time. Alex had to dig deep to stay motivated in the least. She was losing hope, too. The wastelands were a vast and rocky desert. Hostile, unending, with very little in the way of shelter. Harsh, stinging winds whipped across the stark surface at all times, kicking up dust storms. Great dinosaur-like birds sometimes circled in the sky, looking for prey. The dark, bloodred sky churned and boiled without ceasing. In the distance, mountains, but they never seemed to get closer. Alex wanted to find the cage which was rumored to be somewhere out here. But they found nothing and no one and made no progress of any kind. Just wandered aimlessly.

There are moments we will always remember in our lives with complete and total vividness—not a detail lost. This moment that follows would forever remain in Alex's mind as the one where she was given life again.

She and John were struggling through the endless, bleak desert as they always had (it felt like), Alex leading the way at a ragged, tired gait. She looked back over her shoulder toward where Dad was. He'd fallen behind again and was doubled over, bracing himself against his knees with claw-like hands. He was exhausted, but this was Hell. There was no sleep or rest and there never would be. Alex plodded back to him, each step a colossal effort. "Dad, come on, don't stop," she cajoled with all the rallying she could muster (it wasn't much).

He looked up at her, face twisted in pain and fatigue and she already knew he was going to say that he was too tired to go on… and then his expression dropped as his eyes went to stare up and over her shoulder. He looked confused, and then very quickly after, afraid. "What the hell is _that_?" Even as he asked, Alex noticed how a bright light was shining seemingly from behind her, casting Dad's face brighter and brighter.

Alex turned fast, fearing danger, squinting and throwing a hand up to shield her eyes at what she saw. She fell back slightly as a fearsome, concentrated mass of blue-white light brighter than the sun rocketed down and out of the inferno sky. There was a sound now like no other: an ear-shattering, high-pitched ringing sound that she recognized and knew. Her heart leapt. Around them, the ground was shaking, the wind began to roar. In the sky, lightning criss-crossed and flashed as if in response to this hurtling, comet-like entity. And Alex knew who and what that was. _Castiel._ In all his celestial, terrifyingly angelic form. He was both angel and man, impossible for her to understand or process, and _so very bright._ Her breath failed, her stomach dropped, her eyes couldn't take his true form or how blinding it was and she let out a cry of pain as she screwed her eyes shut and fell down to her hands and knees. Her eyes burned, her ears rang, the ground suddenly gave a tremendous groan and shiver as the angel crash-landed with a small sonic-boom. Realizing what was happening, Alex panicked and began to reach around for her father blindly with alarmed hands. "Dad, _Dad_!" she screamed. Her wild, frantic hands found his wrist and forearm and she clamped on then held on harder than she had ever held onto anything else in her entire life. Just a fraction of a second later, she felt Castiel take hold of her from behind. It was too bright to see anything, but she could feel his hands searing into her as he wrapped her from behind in a tight embrace. His familiar, fierce presence enveloped her.

_I have you._

She heard his voice and felt it _inside_ of her even as around them, Hell began to crumble and fall away. He held her impossibly tight and they screamed upward through what felt like magma. Pain exploded in Alex's every atom as Castiel literally ripped her soul out of Hell and put her back together piece by piece. She hung into Dad no matter what, for dear life, refusing to leave him behind, refusing to let go. On fire perhaps from the speed they hurtled up or from being that close to Castiel's true form, Alex could only smell smoke and burning things. And then without warning, they hit something solid and cold and all the light was snuffed out, the fire was gone. Heavy dirt abruptly surrounded and gagged her and she couldn't breathe at all—panicking, she felt herself being pulled up higher and higher by strong hands, and then just when she thought she would die without air… she broke into cold, dark night air and gasped out a huge, deep breath and fell down, stunned, blinking, shocked. _Where am I? What just happened?_

She looked around for understanding and then saw _them._ Her brothers stood nearby and gaped down at her with eyes wide as saucers. Who was more shocked and glad to see the other? Hard to say. But Alex had never felt such a surge of sudden joy in all her life, she thought. _My brothers. My brothers!_ She leapt up and sobbed out even as she crashed into her Sam and Dean. The siblings who she thought she would never lay eyes on ever again. Her rocks, her best friends, her _family_.

And that was how Castiel rescued Alex and John Winchester from Hell.

* * *

Together, they laid at the foot of the bed—him with his legs draped over the edge and feet hitting the floor because of how they dangled; her curled into his side, hands bloodstained from tending to his wound.

"Hello, Alex," he whispered soft and rough as sandpaper. At the sound of his voice, Alex felt the biggest surge of relief describable. She abruptly hugged him hard around the neck as she let out a sound quite akin to an overjoyed sob. He made a semi-surprised sound that seemed distinctly pained: " _Ugh._ _"_

Alex jumped back, taking all physical pressure off of him. "I'm sorry, _sorry_ —! Are you okay?"

He looked taken aback—he put a hand over his stomach and gritted his teeth a little, breathing harshly and screwing his face up in confused discomfort. "Where—what _happened_?"

It struck her as odd that he wasn't clinging to her and asking if she were all right. But she chalked it up to shock. "Y-you passed out," she explained, and then indicated his half-sewn wound that he had a hand pressed against. "Lost a lot of blood. Which usually doesn't matter, I think, but…" she trailed off. He was trying to sit up and having an immense amount of difficulty doing so. She felt vaguely ill seeing him like this. "Geez, Cas, you don't look so good." She stood herself up, reached for him and helped haul him up with some effort.

His jaw tightened as she helped him sit. "I'm _not._ " At the draining color in her face, he forgot his own agony for a moment. "I'll be fine," he said compassionately as she stood in front of him and between his loose knees. "I just… there's nothing left—no strength or ability—for me to heal myself."

Alex shook her head, dazed. Severe damage had been done to him. "Because of… because of Hell?"

Cas was grimacing mightily. "Partly, but… Crowley got the angel tablet. Which I hid inside of myself." Suddenly his wound made sense. Alex gaped at him incredulously and when he glimpsed her expression, he acknowledged how risky that had been in a faintly disgruntled way. "It… seemed like a good idea at the time."

Okay. Missing angel tablet. Crowley had his hands on it. _Super fantastic._ But Alex wasn't as worried about that as she was about something else. She touched the side of Cas's face, drawing his gaze in earnest. "We'll worry about that later." He was what was most important to her. "Right now I just… I guess I need to finish sewing you up."

Cas looked like he was a man who hadn't slept in a thousand years. Depleted of everything, he nodded wearily, his gaze adrift. "Yes, that would probably be a good idea." Listless and pained, he looked off at nothing. "Otherwise I'll bleed out and die."

Alex stiffened. He'd said he was fine a minute ago. But he could bleed out and die from this? " _What_? How is that _fine_?" she asked. A touch angry because she was suddenly so scared, she gritted her teeth and grabbed the needle again. " _Jesus_ , Cas."

She began to sew again and after a moment, glanced at him in veiled worry. The needle obviously hurt him, but he soldiered through with little more than a strained expression and deep breathing as evidence of his discomfort. He was watching her with an odd, veiled expression she didn't understand. "My Grace," he finally murmured in a tight voice. "It's… very damaged." He looked like perhaps he was just realizing that fact himself for the first time. "Irreparably so, I think."

Alex's stomach lurched. "B-because of… pulling me out?" Alex asked in dread, hating herself if that was the case.

Cas gave her an unreadable, tense glance before he looked away. "Yes." Alex was confused and dismayed. He seemed unhappy with her and as such, Alex's eyes fell away. She was unable to blame him if he hated her. In Hell sometimes, the demons had masqueraded as him. Never a totally convincing version of him, but in these bizarre encounters, he had always rejected and been repulsed by her. It had hurt so much. Was that going to happen now, too? Alex avoided his gaze and kept sewing, trying to just get this over with. She only grew more and more upset as she stitched. And then without warning, Cas grabbed her wrist—his grip was firm enough that Alex was startled as her gaze snapped up to meet his. Again, she was taken aback. His eyes blazed with hurt and confusion and even slight anger. "You sold your _soul._ Why? And _when_?" His grip softened; so did his voice. Then his expression broke completely. "And why didn't you _tell_ me?" His hand loosened on her wrist and his fingers slid down to hold her hand tenderly. So he _didn_ _'_ _t_ hate her. Oh no, far from it. He looked very wounded emotionally.

Alex stared at him for a long moment, her throat lumpy and painful. The way he touched and looked at her brought things back that had felt forever-lost in Hell and even though guilt ate at her for his poor condition, a spark of something else much better and truer came to life inside of her chest. "It's… complicated," she said after a fumbling couple of seconds. Cas waited with that anxious, worried look on his face and Alex tried to sum it up as succinctly as possible. She looked at his hand holding hers, dazed. "After you and Dean got sucked into Purgatory… Sam went right back to hallucinating. He couldn't sleep and wouldn't eat, he got worse everyday—what was I _supposed_ to do? I wasn't gonna let him die. There were no other _options_." All the feelings came rushing back. The helplessness and despair, the need to _do something_ and to _save Sam._ The lengths she'd gone to for her brother's life.

"That explains why my insanity disappeared when I left this realm and arrived in Purgatory," Castiel commented in soft shock.

Alex gave a harrowed nod. "...Crowley didn't even wanna _deal_ at first," she admitted sheepishly, totally ashamed of this entire part of it. "I had to like… talk him into it."

Cas looked like he had never dreaded hearing anything more. "…How?" he asked cautiously.

She wanted to forget the how. But she looked down at Cas's hand still holding hers and she found the ability to say the truth—keeping it inside would eat her alive. "Worked for him. Six months. And got him some necklace he wanted for his ' _collection'_ out of Purgatory." When she took a chance and looked up into Cas's eyes, she saw horrified disbelief there. But she wasn't going to apologize. "I _had_ to, Cas. I hate it too, trust me. But… I did what I had to." It was shameful and she wasn't gonna deny it to him. Just try and move past it. She put her mouth in a thin line. "Sam will blame himself when I tell him. And Dean will just…" she let out a charged sigh, "be stupid about it." She paused and then with resolve, reached for the needle again, bound and determined to finish sewing Cas shut. Yeah, she'd done some terrible shit but everything was better for it. That was what she had to focus on. "I mean… is it really so bad? Sam's alive." She paused and then smiled a little despite herself because of what she'd learned in the car ride over. "Bobby too."

Castiel looked more and more bewildered. "What? Bobby's _alive_?"

Alex could barely believe it either. Voice gone soft, she nodded. "Yeah. And they said he's gonna be here tomorrow, so…" her stomach flip-flopped with pure joy at the thought of seeing her uncle again. Her chest could burst, but... she gave a rueful, conflicted smile as she made the last few stitches. "My brothers think he's why I sold my soul and uh—I didn't exactly correct them. I'll tell them later once they've gotten their panties untwisted, you know?" She shook her head somberly and tied the thread off, face stony. "I don't regret what I did. I hate that it had to get so dark but… I had to do it." She set the needle back into the kit slowly, eyes far away as a very real, creeping fear crawled up her spine. Memories of Hell consumed. "I'm… I'm just kinda scared Crowley will try and repo me, you know?" She said it so much more lightly than she meant it.

Cas, weakened and having a hard time moving much at all, again took her hand in his, drawing her attention. "I promise you, Alex," he swore in deadly grimness. "Crowley will _burn_ before he gets within ten miles of you. He will never lay a hand on you again. _Ever._ " His eyes blazed into hers. In that moment, Alex easily remembered this angel in magnificent, blinding light and incredible, incomparable power. She could have shuddered from fear if he wasn't on her side—Castiel was _not_ someone you would want to have as an enemy. His promise comforted her immediately and as a moment passed, his eyes were soft on her and sad. "Just… help me understand," he pleaded, confused and trying not to be too hurt before he knew everything. "Why didn't you _tell_ me? I could have—I could have _protected_ you."

It wasn't that simple. "I _tried_ to tell you," Alex said honestly, slightly defensive. "Last time we were together, I was _gonna_. But you got called away right when I was about to tell you everything. I didn't _know_ it was all about to go down—I thought I had a few days left and Crowley sprang the hounds on me when I went out to get some food." Snarls. Snapping jaws. Tearing flesh. She winced at the unbidden memory.

Cas was looking at her with the most bare expression on his face. He saw the ghosts that haunted her. "Everything else in the world be _damned_ —Alex, you should have _told_ me." His utter conviction in that proclamation stole her breath away and the obvious way he was beating himself up for the oversight was audible. "You should have never set foot in Hell," he said tremblingly. " _Ever._ " And then he lost some composure as he came to a terrible realization. "This is _my fault_. If I hadn't broken Sam's mind. If I hadn't worked with Crowley. This wouldn't have happened. This can _all_ be traced back to _me._ "

Alex shook her head no immediately, even if it was true enough. "I'm the one who sold my soul, Cas."

Shining blue eyes filled with pain looked back at her. "Because you had no other choice."

That was one way to look at it, but Alex wasn't so sure if she believed that and hesitated, thinking. "There's _always_ a choice." She could have let Sam die. But that hadn't been something she was willing to do. "And I made mine." To sell her soul, to work for the King of Hell, to burn in the underworld, to trade her life for her brother's and her uncle's. She knew it and Cas did too. His face crumbled in pain, compelling Alex to gently, carefully hug him. "Shh," she whispered, but she was getting emotional too. " _Shh_." She kissed the top of his head and kept her hands gentle on his sore body. " _It_ _'_ _s over now_."

He weakly put his arms around her, his fingers clinging into her raggedy, ruined clothes. She felt his head shake slightly. "But the things you _went through_ …"

Were things she didn't want to think about. "I _survived_ ," she said tersely, pulling back and looking at him to let him know how much she meant that. And there were positives to it, too. Sam alive and Bobby alive of course, but there was more. "I… I feel okay again, like—drug-wise." Kind of embarrassing to bring that up, but she hadn't had any kind of inclination toward her old habits ever since Naomi. "So that's actually kind of a plus…?" Cas didn't look super convinced. "And, hey, not immortal anymore, either," she pointed out, which only made Cas more depressed. Alex touched the side of his face with a steady hand. It was important that he knew this. She dropped her half-hearted joking. "I'd do anything for my brothers. I'd do anything for _you_. I don't just say that to say it."

Cas gave her a soft, conflicted smile. His eyes held shining, forgotten tears. "Sam is very lucky indeed to have a sister who would lay down her life for him." He reached out and brushed the backs of his fingers against her jaw. A sweet, haunting touch. "But I hate that it came to such dire measures," he said, face tightening up into self-loathing again. "I should have _been_ here."

She wished he had been. But he hadn't. "You're here now," she offered.

His eyes were deep with emotion. "Yes. I am." His gaze dropped to her lips, and her stomach jolted at the sudden desire to kiss him and be kissed. He was close and she hadn't felt the touch of his lips in ten years. But then he asked something she hadn't expected. "So to seal this soul deal you… kissed Crowley." It was more of a statement than a question, but it caught her off guard and demanded an answer and felt sort of like a slap in the face.

Ugh. Moment ruined. Alex made a face and sat beside Cas. "Don't remind me," she muttered, abruptly feeling petulant and irritable.

Cas was looking at her hesitantly. "You… didn't enjoy it?" _What?!_ Alex whipped her head sideways to give him a flabbergasted look. Fumbling, Cas tried to explain himself. "He… said you enjoyed it."

...Of _course_ he did. "Cas. You _know_ Crowley's full of shit," Alex said wearily. Cas looked relieved, while Alex abruptly let out a long, sarcastic sigh. "Believe it or not, I did _not_ enjoy that skanky demon shoving his gross old tongue in my mouth." She glanced his way, feeling yet again like she'd cheated on Cas. Around her neck, she felt the light, constant weight of her penny necklace. The moment sobered. "Cas... I was scared to tell you," she confessed honestly. "About the soul deal. I guess I could have told you in Purgatory but… I thought I'd never even see you again. You were gonna be stuck there forever." She pulled back and looked at him barrenly. "I thought it'd be better if you didn't know what was ahead for me. You could just go on and think I was okay, you know?"

Cas looked utterly horrified. "Oh Alex… _no,_ " he breathed. "Don't try to protect my thoughts and feelings like that. If something bad is happening to you, it's happening to me too. And you have to _tell me_." Breathing unevenly, he appeared to become a little downtrodden and introspective. "We… really have to stop keeping things from each other."

His words inspired such depths of emotion and feeling in her. And yet all she could come up with to say was a soft, weak, "Yeah."

There was a short, tense silence in which Alex withdrew into silence and Cas gazed at her tensely. Finally, gently, he asked what she had a hard time answering. "What happened to you? In Hell?"

The question jangled her. And she deflected with a forced, weak smile. "Just your run of the mill beatings and skin getting peeled off over and over." She shrugged it off flippantly. "Worst moments of life replayed like it's happening again. Nothing fun, that's for damn sure." She rubbed the side of her neck self-consciously. She didn't want to remember Hell, but knew she didn't stand a chance of escaping the memories. "And... my Dad," she said softly, surprised at what she was about to say. "But… most of the time, him being there made things better, actually."

Cas frowned slightly, thinking hard. "I pulled him out, too, didn't I? Well, not purposefully, but still." Alex nodded confirmation and Cas was sensitive to her jostled feelings. "How is he?"

She shook her head vacantly, thinking back to the charred, nonresponsive man in the back seat on the drive over here. "Sleeping. In a coma. I don't know." But god, she hoped he'd be okay...

Quiet a moment, watching Alex in concern, Cas was careful and empathetic. "This... complicates things, doesn't it?" Alex could have given a bitter laugh. That was putting it lightly. Cas hesitated. "How do you feel about him being here again?"

The question made her go still. How _did_ she feel about that? Dad was above ground now, but... he wasn't the same John Winchester he'd once been. Who he was now remained to be seen. As such, Alex wet her lips as her thoughts wandered. "I—I dunno... nervous, I guess." There was a long pause as memories came at her. "He went through a lot in Hell. He's the same guy but… also not really." Worries rose. But Alex pushed them away, knowing it wasn't time to face those, knowing that Dad might never wake up at all. "I'm just glad he's not in Hell anymore suffering like he was." A small mercy, and still, her heart sank a little in frustration and sadness. "We... tried to find Adam," she admitted quietly, thinking of her half-brother who was still burning possibly would be for the rest of time. "That's what we were doing when you showed up, actually."

Cas was compassionate, sensing the inner battle of blame and guilt she fought. "Even if you could get to the cage… it would take very special circumstances indeed to free your half-brother," he told her gravely. "And by now... I fear he'd be emotionally and mentally shattered beyond repair."

She thought the same thing. "Yeah." But it didn't make the failure any easier to swallow or the pain any easier to carry. "But I had to try," she said faintly, lost in thought for a moment. She just had to be thankful she and Dad had made it. That had to be enough for now—had to be enough for maybe forever. Instinctively, Alex knew that this subject would be one that would always leave her sore. _Adam_. The brevity of his existence and the unfairness of the cards he'd been dealt weighed on her anew. And Alex pushed the weight away, unable to dwell in such a guilty place. Instead, she reminded herself that miracles did happen. After all, here she was alive again. Itchy, dirty, breathing, disheveled—but alive. And as she studied Cas once more, she noticed anew how he was just as filthy as her. _Wait._ Without his Grace working right, he would probably _stay_ dirty... unless they got traditional about it. A weary smile breaking her face despite everything, Alex patted his shoulder. "Come on. We gotta get washed off."

Even as she stood up, Cas remained seated. "I… don't know if I can walk," he said doubtfully, eyeing the nearby bathroom door like it was an impossible feat.

Alex held her hands out for him and made a get up motion with both. "That's what you got me for."

He did _not_ look sure about this, but after a hesitation, he gently grasped her hands and with a long grunt and both of them working at it together, he got to his feet and she quickly slipped over to stand at his side, supporting him as best as she could. "Everything hurts…" he mumbled as they made the slow journey to the ensuite bathroom.

"I know," she commiserated, even though she felt... well, basically fine. Her body felt new and good, better than it had in a long time.

Once in the spacious bathroom, Alex had Cas sit down on the side of the large jet tub. The bathroom also had a large standing shower which was where Alex was headed. But first, she had to get Cas undressed. He could barely stand, how was he gonna undress himself? She knelt and pulled off his shoes, his socks, then stood and bent over him as he remained seated, unbuckling his pants. She glanced at his face, thinking of how this might be quite scandalous in another context. He seemed to be thinking the same thing and was watching her with a soft, almost humorous smile. When her eyebrows moved in slightly in questioning curiosity, his smile took on a coy affect. "I always enjoy when you undress me."

An off-guard, impressed grin cracked her face. "Was that… a _joke_?"

He shook his head, suddenly quite serious and smouldering without trying to be. "No, most certainly not."

Alex swallowed. _Damn_. His gaze was intense on hers and ten years was a _long_ time to be without him in that way. In his current condition… obviously that was going to wait for an indeterminate amount of time. But it didn't stop her mind from wandering that way and wishing. Her mind swam in memories of hot bodies intwined and moving together to find the climb to ecstasy and completion. His mouth swallowing her, his hands sliding over her bare, greedy skin… _oh boy. Calm down, Alex._

She cleared her throat self-consciously, chiding herself, then pushed his shirt off of him along with his jacket and coat too. His tie, which had been singed along the neck, fell away, broken and burnt to shreds. Shirtless and sitting on the edge of the tub and holding himself there with his familiar big hands, he looked absolutely sexy in all his dirt-smeared, burnt glory. His defined chest, strong arms, wild hair… the fine layer of ash and the smears of dirt couldn't ever make him look worse. In fact, they added some kind of primal, organic appeal to him and Alex felt herself yearning. Everywhere. Mind, body, and heart. Making herself remember that she was on a mission to clean him off not _get_ him off, Alex again cleared her throat and then unzipped his pants and started helping him out of them. She tried to be businesslike, she really did. But it was a challenge. It took a little teamwork with Cas moving like an old man and Alex trying not to gawk at him. She couldn't stop taking him in though and marveling at every aspect that Hell had caused her to forget. She glanced into his cerulean gaze. What was he thinking? She couldn't tell.

Once he was totally naked, Alex padded over and turned on the shower then let the water warm up as she snatched off her own clothes and tossed them toward the trash can—they were all beyond salvage. She forgot to be self-conscious until she turned around and caught Cas staring at her bare body. And then she realized his stare had a note of horror to it. Frowning, she tried to follow his gaze. "What?" And then she saw. Over her left-hand hip area, his handprint was burned into her pale skin and had scarred bright, raised red. So shocked at the sight of it, she could only stare. It was just like Dean's, when he'd had it, anyway. And then she realized she didn't just have _one_ of Cas's handprints on her. She had _two._ On the front of her right-hand shoulder, there was another huge handprint. He'd held her from behind, arms criss-crossed, hands burning into her as they had ripped out of Hell. And now she realized why his touch had burned. " _Oh_." She touched fingertips to the handprint on her shoulder and was amazed, not horrified. He had _pulled her out of Hell._ With his own two hands. And she loved him so goddamn much.

"Did… do they hurt?" he asked in thinly veiled worry.

She shook her head immediately. "No." On contrary, the skin there had no feeling in it. She was used to scars after her life, and while it was a shock to suddenly have these two new ones, she took it in stride... in fact, an amusement came to mind: "Hey, this way you always have your hands on me, right?" She joked. Cas remained tentative, even as Alex realized... her old scars were not there. _Wait a minute_. She looked at her left side. Then her right side. And she panicked slightly. No demon ward tattoo to be found. She frowned, realizing the slightly dull pressure in the back of her skull was there again. _Oh my god you_ _'_ _ve got to be kidding me_. Her wisdom teeth were back, her tattoo was gone. And a sudden possibility dawned on her with alarming speed. "Cas, is this body… even _mine_?" she asked, suddenly completely unsure of what had happened. She'd been dead so long, how had he taken whatever rotten flesh she was sure was left behind and reanimated her? It was enough to make her feel sick with sudden terror.

"Of course it's your body," he said, then paused, looking her over closely. "And… if I'm not mistaken… you now have some of my Grace in you because I… well, I had to recreate parts of you, in a way."

Some of his Grace in her? Recreate her? "Wh-what does that even mean?" Alex asked, intimidated and awed at the same time.

"It's nothing to worry about, I promise," he assured her. "You're you. Just… the factory reset version with some Grace thrown in there, if you will." Alex balked at his informal word choices. Where had he learned _that_? He gave a sheepish smile and explained. "I may or may not have picked up some slang because of spending so much time with Dean in Purgatory."

Damn. Oh yeah. Alex blinked rapidly, trying to get everything straight in her mind. "Right," she said softly. Life was a fractured, confused jumble for her after the roller-coaster she'd been through the past year or so. She _really_ needed to fill in the blanks—she felt like she was missing so much information. But for now… there was hot water wasting in the shower behind her. She let out a shaky breath and forced a smile. Being clean would help her feel a little less disoriented. "Come on, big boy, shower time."

He shuffled like an old man as she pulled him up, bracing himself against the wall and then the shower door as she helped him into the rectangular space where hot water now sent steam rising. " _Ung_ …" he grunted as he entered.

"Easy, _easy_ …" Alex counseled, stepping in with him and forcefully turning him away from the jet of water then pulling the shower door shut behind them. "Try not to let water hit you there, okay?" His wound getting wet would only make things worse. He stood under the water as it hit his back and he looked utterly pathetic, exhausted, and sick. One hand weakly leaned against the shower wall to support him and Alex felt another jolt of fear. He really did _not_ look good. His breathing was shallow, his expression constantly strained. Worry ate her alive. "Are you _sure_ you're gonna be okay, Cas?" she asked in a whisper, touching him with soft fingertips and praying that he would be. If he'd put part of himself into her to heal her and that ended up killing or hurting him in the long run, she would never be able to forgive herself.

His eyes looked up from where they had been staring in a glazed-over fashion. "You don't need to worry," he assured her in that gravelly, husky voice she loved so much.

She shook her head. "Yeah _right_." She'd always worry about him.

Castiel looked utterly touched. Like he was thinking about a lot of things all at once but they all centered on her. "Thank you," he said softly, reaching for her feebly and touching the curve of her waist. "For worrying about me. For… for loving me."

His sweet, unassuming way touched her to her core. "Always," she whispered, and then she hugged him gently, kissed the skin of his neck, closed her eyes against the water spraying everywhere. He turned his head down toward her and for a minute, they stayed like that, water rinsing them of the initial layer of grime. Alex couldn't help but think back to them at the very beginning. When she hadn't known who the fuck this "Castiel" guy was. When he had scared her more than anything else. When she had believed he was an enemy. Now he was the angel who had pulled her entire family, save Adam, out of Hell. Her friend, companion, her life partner. Sometimes she swore she had made that last part up. Should she really be so surprised that he'd sacrificed and risked so much for her yet again? It was just the way he was. It wasn't the first time he'd given all he had for her. _How can I ever repay him?_

She probably couldn't. The only thing she could do was be here for him. Alex pulled back from Cas and gave him a soft, weak smile that he returned. She wondered what was next for them and what the future held. He traced some wet hairs away from her face and despite everything… he looked _happy_. She identified and suddenly felt happy, too. The future was unknown, but they were together. Relief wasn't a vast enough word to describe how she felt to be here with him, and suddenly she found herself grinning fully and holding his face in both her hands. It was hitting her again: she was no longer in Hell. The nightmare was over. He grinned too, a longsuffering love crinkling up his eyes and softening his haggard features as he weakly touched the side of her head in a sweet, brief caress. Dirty trails of water ran down their bodies, and reluctant to take her eyes off his, Alex still decided it was time to get to work. "All right, buddy, that hair of yours looks dirty." She grabbed the nearby bottle of shampoo—green apple, the Suave brand she'd used on and off her whole life. She doled out a huge handful of bright green gel and then smacked it onto Cas's head and began to lather then grin a little as Cas made a face at her ministrations. He frowned for a minute, focusing on how she rubbed the substance into a thick lather, then he seemed to decide he liked it.

He leaned into her scrubbing fingers and began to enjoy the sensations he'd never quite felt before. "That smells nice," he commented thoughtfully. "Like your hair does sometimes." He recognized the smell of her shampoo. Of course he did. As she continued to scrub his hair like she was trying to get a stain out, he seemed very awed indeed by the experience. "I've never washed my hair before."

She stopped and gave him a pointed look. "That's disgusting," she joked, then chuckled and carefully pushed him back a little so that his hair could rinse clean. She pressed her hand over his right one, which was pushed to his wound. The only thing she could really do to help keep it from getting wet and stinging. Suds ran down over his face and he sputtered—Alex tried not to laugh. "Cas, tilt your _head_ back," she said, watching him with utter fondness. She touched his chin with a finger, helping him tip his head back to avoid a mouthful and eyeful of sudsy water. Once he'd rinsed, Alex pulled him forward again. Wiping his sudsy face off with her palm, Alex made sure his hair had rinsed clean and began to wash him all over with soap. She would be lying if she said she didn't enjoy the feeling of his muscles and skin underneath her hands.

Cas became dejected as she scrubbed him clean from his ears to his toes. "I feel useless," he lamented after she was nearly done, watching her guiltily.

She shook her head. "Everyone has their off days, Cas." But, she _was_ wondering. How long would this last? How injured was he, truly? She hesitated, soap in hand and eyes flicking all over. He looked clean now. But that wound looked bad. And maybe she could help. Tentative and hesitant to suggest it, she cleared her throat. "Cas, you could… could soul touch me or whatever, right?" she asked. His shocked eyes snapped to look into hers. "And that'd patch you right back up?"

Castiel looked utterly sickened and gut-punched. "How can you even _suggest_ that?" he asked in a soft, breathless voice. He looked terrified and shocked. "After what happened last time…?" A knowing, pained look was shared between the angel and the human.

It took Alex a minute to answer him. "Just can't stand to see you in pain if you don't have to be."

Cas was _very_ upset. "I'll take the pain," he said gruffly. "I won't do that to you again," he insisted. " _Ever_."

Rueful, Alex drew her mouth into a line. "Okay, okay, calm down." She sighed and began to scrub herself with soap fast like it was a race. "Go ahead and enjoy your suffering." Cas seemed to have this neverending drive to be a martyr and sometimes it really pissed her off. Once she'd soaped off, she dumped a bunch of shampoo into her hand and washed her hair briskly. Cas watched her the entire time with a tense look on his face.

"You understand why I can't, don't you?" he finally asked in a quiet voice as she rinsed her hair out.

She ran fingers through her hair, feeling for any leftover suds of shampoo. She avoided his gaze. "Yeah." That was one of the moments she'd relived in Hell over and over again. Him killing her. "I understand why you wouldn't wanna do that." She found his eyes, and held his gaze, shaking her head no just a little. "But what happened before… that won't ever happen again."

Steam curled up around them. Cas let go of his wound and took hold of her chin, raising her head so that she had to look in his eyes. "How do you know?" he asked in a whisper. "Tell me how you _know._ "

His face was close, handsome, dripping with water. His upper legs touched her upper legs, his chest brushed against hers. "Because I _do,_ " she whispered back, the owner of a fast-beating heart.

Castiel's eyes looked into hers fiercely, and then without warning he was pulling on the back of her neck then kissing her _hard_ and passionate. A soft sound of surprise and relief escaped out of her mouth as she took hold of him and kissed him back, readily matching his energy. She hadn't felt this in so long—a decade—and it was even better than she remembered. Water streamed over them and their bodies moulded together closely. His kisses became more and more invasive and passionate, creating a drunk feeling. And when he stumbled a little and she found her back against the shower wall, the kiss ended. She looked into his eyes breathlessly, and he was panting too. His eyes were as dark as midnight, promising sinful things. "If I felt better, I would ravish you right here against this wall, Alex Winchester," he murmured deeply, making her shiver despite the heat. Abruptly regretful, Cas winced. "But unfortunately I'm…" he looked down at himself and said what she already knew, "Very injured."

She had already known that, so Alex nodded despite the feeling of disappointment. She would survive but _goddamn,_ she wanted him so bad. "Raincheck," she said, forcing herself to center and breathe steadily.

Cas looked immediately confused. "What's a raincheck?"

It was impossible not to love him. "It means you owe it to me later," she explained, and put a bit of a sultry edge on her voice.

"Oh." Understanding and definitely hearing that sultry tone, Cas returned her soft-eyed smile. "In that case, I agree to this raincheck and I assure you…" his voice softened and darkened some more. "I will not disappoint you in what is owed." He gave her another kiss—soft, sensual, captivating, so loving.

She flushed a little as he drew back. He undid her with his eyes alone. "I know you won't," she said, indeed looking forward to the inevitable moment, whenever it would come. "But it's okay. Being near to you again is enough for me." It really was. After so long in Hell, after loneliness and despair and crushed dreams and separations… him here with her was the most precious and valuable thing she had ever been given privilege of. As such, she circled her arms around him gently and hugged herself to him, shut her eyes. Breathed. She could stay here with him forever, just feeling the rise and fall of his chest, the firm softness of his skin, the beat of his heart. He was home. Safety. _Hers_.

After about twenty seconds, Cas swayed a little in the embrace. "Um. Alex?"

"Hmm?" she asked sleepily.

He sounded strained. "I'm sorry but… I really need to lay down."

Alex drew back and gave him an apologetic expression. "Sorry, Cas." He was probably in so much pain. She led him out of the shower after turning the water off. "Come on. Careful not to slip."

After getting him out and toweling him off and ruffling his hair until it stuck up, she haphazardly pulled a bathrobe onto herself, helped him to the bed, stripped off the dirty covers, and brought out another clean comforter from the closet of the room. While Alex bustled around trying to towel dry her hair really fast, she looked at the selection of men's clothing that was in this room's closet. It was all for someone small, Kevin's size, not Cas's. She peeked into the bathroom again at the burnt clump of Cas's clothing that was piled up beside the tub. Then she saw a glinting silver circle that had fallen out of the trench coat pocket. She wandered over, stooped and picked it up—Dad's wedding band. Well, now it was Cas's wedding band. Given pause as she thought of him carrying this and placing deep and tender meaning on this object… Alex smiled to herself, noting how the size was big. She'd never seen him wear it, but even just imagining that made her heart swell. She heard him give a dissatisfied little grunt in the room over and remembered herself, stood up, put the ring into her bathrobe pocket, and hurried that way. He was sprawled in the bed where she'd deposited him and he was totally naked and his hair was a little damp still. "I'll go get you some of Dean's clothes," Alex said even as she helped prop him up against the headboard with pillows more comfortably. His neck hadn't looked comfortably. "I think you two are about the same size."

Cas looked grumpy. "No, I'm fine like this," he mumbled. "Dressing takes too much work."

Alex stood back and gave him a coy look. "Naked angel in my bed?" She looked him over and let a little smirk play on her lips. "That seems like a dangerous idea…"

He had that tiny smile back on his face. "Are you objectifying me?" he asked softly, challengingly.

Alex met his gaze with hers. When had he learned to joke and tease? It was so endearing, so sweet. She bent and leaned a little closer to him beside the bed. " _Maybe.._." She kissed him on the mouth, softly, and then pulled the covers up over him to his waist, making him modest and warmer, too.

Cas's smile was fading in favor of a more somber expression. He caught her hand to keep her from moving far away. "I also just don't want you to leave me again, even for a minute," he confessed barrenly. "Not yet." _Oh Cas_. She understood and it made her sad. They were both so scared to lose each other again. Would they ever _not_ feel that way? He looked at her like he was going to plead for something. "Will you lay with me?" he asked, like he was fearful she would say no. She was already headed into the space beside him and snuggling up there, wiggling up under the covers next to his naked body. And when she got there, in tandem, they breathed out mutual relief. Cas's tense body relaxed when she was nestled beside him.

Alex reached over and laced her fingers through his over his stomach, careful of his wound. Her damp head rested on his arm and his head was turned so that their faces were close. For a long minute, their eyes did the talking. His thumb gently moved back and forth over her hand gentle, soft, and slow. "I feel like we haven't been together for a damn lifetime," Alex finally confessed in a whisper. She understood that not even a full month had passed here but the length of time that had passed down under felt real. And she didn't know how to come back from it. "I was in Hell for so _long_ …"

Cas's expression was pained. "I'm so sorry, Alex. I didn't find out until tonight what had happened."

"I knew you'd come as soon as you found out," she said slowly in a pained voice, "but why did it take so long? I mean… why did it _take_ so _long_?" It wasn't fair, it was distressing, she didn't understand why no one had realized she was gone as in _dead_ that whole time. It hurt.

Cas seemed to understand. "I would have known sooner but I was in a quantum superposition and I cut myself off from every communication but yours for safety." He abruptly let loose a soft exhale of despair. "If Crowley hadn't captured me and taunted me… I _still_ might not know." Alex swallowed hard, her entire body rocketing into a horrible state of alarm at that thought. She held his hand a little harder. Well, okay, she got why Cas didn't know, but why hadn't Sam and Dean figured it out? "I'm so sorry it wasn't sooner," Cas said to her, bringing her out of those thoughts. He hesitated, looking her over carefully. She swore those baby blues saw right through her. "You're acting very strong and like you're all right, but… _are_ you?"

She considered. "Not totally sure how I feel, or what the situation is." However, Alex had already decided something. "But whatever it takes, I _will_ be all right." She'd come too far not to be. And being here beside Cas made it almost all better, at least on the surface. Knowing her brothers were right down the hall with her dad… tears sprang to her eyes. "I'm just so glad it's _over,_ " she whispered, and Cas's arm tightened around her, held her more securely. "But now I'm scared you're not gonna be okay," she confessed, knowing what she was about to say was one hundred percent true. "You almost _killed_ yourself over this, Cas."

He didn't deny it. "In time I'll be fine, I'm sure." His hand let go of hers and he reached up to touch her face. "You know that I would die for you," he said in the softest and closest voice. "Give anything to see you to safety. I only wish I could have saved you from the pain you endured. I would take it from you in a heartbeat if I could." His fingers slipped into her hair. "You of all people have been through _enough,_ " he whispered in a trembling voice.

Her chest clenched at the love in his eyes. She was abruptly overtaken by a wave of absolute crushing emotion and she clung to him closer for the sudden fear he would evaporate. "God Cas, I _missed_ you," she choked out, feeling petrified by shadowed memories. She realized she was breathing harder from the ghost of panic. "S-sometimes in Hell it was like my entire life was a dream," she remembered in a tight, hollow voice. "Like Hell was the only real thing. After awhile I forgot what you looked like. How you _sounded_." It had all slipped away in favor of pain, and fire, and screams. Everything. Except one thing that hung around her neck close to her heart. She touched fingers to the little penny around her neck. "But I always had this." The belief he would come get her. The love of an angel. Even in the few times when she forgot her brothers and sometimes even didn't know her own dad or, god, even her own name… she'd remembered what that penny meant and _clung_ to that for life.

Cas held her tighter as best he could in his weakened state. "I never should have left your side," he said, eyes brimming with utter regret. He shook his head. "The angel tablet doesn't matter, Alex. _Nothing_ matters but you. I won't leave you again. I _can_ _'_ _t_."

Her eyes were becoming like his. "I don't _want_ you to, honestly," she confessed. And it felt selfish to need and want him to stay, but she had had _enough_ of the back and forth _._

So had he. "Then it's decided," he said firmly and quietly. "I'm staying here with you, come what may." He touched the circle of copper around her neck with gentle fingers and then looked into her eyes. "Where I belong."

He _did_ belong there. And hearing him say that gave her _life._ But she hesitated because she had been so hurt in the past. Yes, she loved him. Trusted him again, mostly. But she was cautious. And there had to be ground rules now. She had to clear the air about a couple things. "Cas, if this is gonna work… I think we can both agree that we gotta stop keeping things from each other." Not just him. Her too. Lies and deception and hiding things had almost destroyed them. "We can't lie to each other anymore, _ever_."

Castiel didn't hesitate to reply. "Alex, believe me, I'm done keeping things from you," he said as if he had held this conviction for a _long_ time. "I've _been_ done with that. I've seen where it takes me. What it does." He found her hand and held it there on his chest. "I'll always tell you the truth. I won't hide things from you ever again. I give you my most solemn vow."

Alex swallowed hard and nodded understanding and agreement. He was deadly serious and so was she. "I won't hide things either," she promised. "I _hate_ hiding things. Especially from you." Her fingers tightened in his and she felt her heart lurch. "I _love_ you, Cas. And I'm here with you. But I just need to say this now. I just gotta put it out there." She'd thought about this a lot when working for Crowley. She had planned to say this to Cas when they got out of Purgatory, but that hadn't happened quite as she had pictured. So it had to be now, and she meant every single word. "If you ever hurt me again while you're _you_ _…_ it'll be over." Cas's face registered surprise and she was utterly grim. "I won't stay this time. I won't. Because what happened back then wasn't okay."

There was a long beat of tense silence. And then: "No. It wasn't." Castiel was utterly grave and broken. "There's… no excuse and no way to rationalize it. That shouldn't have happened. In any universe or any version of reality. And it _did._ " Exactly how she felt. Neither of them seemed to understand it and they were both silent and troubled for a long couple of seconds. "What I did haunts me," Cas confessed softly. "I… I feel like I became a monster. I destroyed what is most precious to me. I _still_ don't understand." His distracted, distant eyes came back to her. "But I do know you should have left me then. You should never have… have forgiven or trusted me again." Maybe not, but she had and _did_. Cas knew that and seemed utterly thankful for it, if unsure of how to accept it completely. "I didn't deserve a second chance then and I still struggle with guilt over it but…" he shook his head and refocused. "I promise. I won't betray you again or hurt you again. Ever. I _won_ _'_ _t_."

She believed him. Felt it in her bones. Banked everything she had on it. "I know you won't," she whispered. In that moment, everything was safe with him. He was himself, she was her. They had climbed a mountain of their own making and made it down the other side. Banged up and damaged but they had _made it._

Cas studied her for a long, unsure moment. "How can you still love me?" he questioned in honest, earnest puzzlement. "After everything?"

From an outside perspective, she knew it wouldn't make sense. Logically, it seemed to defy reason. But some things couldn't be explained by rationale. "That's just how it is," she murmured with a little smile. "And maybe it doesn't make sense." She paused, drinking in his face and letting a finger trace from his hairline to his temple to his cheek to his jawline. "It doesn't need to make sense to anyone but us."

Cas's expression wavered and he seemed to be thinking about how close they had come to losing each other. He cupped the side of her face with his warm, rough hand. "I could lay in your arms forever," he whispered, forehead brushing against hers. "The most perfect place I've ever found is being near you."

" _God_ Cas," she whispered back, her heart doing cartwheels inside of her chest. "You say the most romantic shit."

He touched the curve of her waist underneath the blanket, a gentle caress coupled with a cheeky comment and half-grin. "And you have quite a way with words, yourself." He kissed her softly, his hand traveling down over the curve of her hip and then pausing when it ran over the lump in her pocket. He recognized that shape and pulled out his wedding band.

"It fell out of the trench coat," Alex explained as he pulled it up to look at it. She took it from him and turned it over to look at it in the light. Her eyes flickered to him tentatively. "Do you… ever think about wearing it?"

"Constantly," he replied earnestly, surprising her and making her heart clench. "I've… tried it on a few times," he said, which she already knew from its size.

And she thought about it a minute more then gently slid the ring onto the third finger of his left hand. A strip of silver encased his tan finger and she couldn't quite contain how she felt about seeing it on him for the first time. _Wow_. "…That makes you look like you're really, actually married," she breathed softly, a little dazed.

His gaze held hers tenderly. "I _am_ really, actually married," he said, then that secretive, roguish little smile pulled at the edge of his mouth. "You were there. Perhaps you remember."

 _Jesus Christ, I love when he jokes with me._ There had been a time when he'd had the Will of Heaven so far up his ass he hadn't even known what a joke was. And now he was turning into quite the little comedian. "I _was_ there," she said. Parts of that whirlwind, impulsive day were softer now in her mind a few years later. A little fuzzy. But she remembered the important parts. Including vows they'd made. She wondered if he remembered them, too. "Wherever you go," she murmured, looking at that ring on his hand and then running her fingers over it. Her eyes drifted up to his.

"Whatever you face," he replied softly, like they were the most sacred words in the entire universe.

It was enough to bring her to her knees. Almost four full years later and here they were, still in love. Still standing, however battered. Honestly… Alex felt deeper in with him than ever before. She'd spent so long keeping their marriage a secret or being yanked apart from him that it almost felt like they had been playing before. Like being married had only been a dream in their minds—a fantasy they had used to make it through the tough times. But today, _this_ … it felt different. They had gone through the trials and tests. And they were still _in_ this. Choosing to move forward together like this, completely committed one to the other. From a first meeting in a barn where she tried to shoot him on sight… to _this_. And because it had become something she associated with them, she lifted up her smallest finger and held it out to him, beckoning him to just let her know, just one more time, that it was real and he was hers. "So I know you mean it," she whispered, both playful and intense.

Cas knew what to do and his pinky finger looped around hers then held tightly. Fondness, mirth, affection, deep love all rested in his eyes. "I'm forever bound," he whispered back, a reference to the first time he had ever been asked to pinky swear and she had tricked him, saying the little gesture was on the level with a soul deal, basically. And god, she loved him and couldn't resist any more. Leaning in closer, she kissed him slow and soft, gentle, relishing the way his warm breath hit against her lips and the immediate reaction her body felt at his touch. His hand came to caress the side of her face and tangle in her hair as they shared kisses sweet as the sighing spring breeze. She propped up a little on her arm so that he laid on his back and didn't have to strain himself.

Castiel's eyes fell closed and drifted back open over and over as they kissed each other at a heady, slow pace—his hands slowly wandered to and fro between the back of her head, the sides of her face, the curves of her shoulders. Every texture his fingertips found was more entrancing than the last. A heartbeat or two after he closed his eyes to savor the sensation of feeling her more completely, he would open them again to catch a glimpse of what she looked like when kissing him—invested, emotional, and beautiful. Her hands and fingers swept over his face again and again, touches that silently witnessed to how she treasured him above everything. When her hand crept into the hair at the side of his head and clenched gently, Cas let out a soft gasp and Alex gently sucked his bottom lip into her mouth, an unexpected and erotic action that sent the angel's blood pumping thicker.

Her lips then pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth as he breathed raggedly from increasing arousal—his eyes felt heavy and remained half-lidded as her mouth forged a sloppy, slow trail over his cheek, his jaw, just below his ear. Her mouth began to leave kisses on his neck and Cas's eyes fell closed in earnest—both from fatigue and bliss. Her soft lips and warm, wet mouth inspired tingling rushes of heat as she wandered his skin and awakened things that only existed in her embrace. He began to throb in earnest for her down low. This encounter, her kisses—they felt like the height of his existence. He was lost in her; his body seemed programmed to notice every small interaction her body shared with his: every brush of skin and every whispering wisp of hair as her soft, warm body leaned against his carefully—her scent of fresh shampoo and soap. Her every little inhale and exhale: how those felt hitting his skin and how her body gave a steady rise and fall against him to the pattern of her breath. He could feel her heartbeat pulsing through her veins and that was the most sacred thing to him: his Alex, alive and well and here with him.

As he became more and more physically aroused and Alex's kisses became more and more soulful, Cas doubted how well this could work. He wanted to make love to her _so badly_ but he didn't think he could do much of anything for her at present. After all, any small movement of his torso sent spikes of pain through him. A little ashamed that he was less than capable, Cas turned his head toward her and his nose buried in the hair just near her ear as she continued to nuzzle and mouth his neck. "I can't really move," he said regretfully, hoping she would understand.

She drew back and looked him in the eye and her thumbs brushed across his cheeks as her hands cupped his face. Her answer was exciting and mysterious and had him utterly transfixed. "You don't need to." She bent close again and then shifted to straddle him very gingerly underneath the blanket then kissed him more and more: his neck, his ear, his jawline, and down. Her mouth, so slow and leisurely, was wandering to his shoulder, then his upper arm, giving kisses as she inhaled him and touched him in a way that seemed sensual and chaste all at once. Her eyes were closed—thick dark eyelashes set against fair skin. Castiel couldn't look away from her—and he reached out to touch her head gently in a soft caress. His wedding band glinted, catching his eye and surprising him. Inspiring a tug in the vicinity of his heart. Alex began to pepper his torso in soft fluttering kisses and she pressed the most cautious kisses near his wound, then kissed the tip of her finger and tapped it whisper-soft against the wound just once while looking him in the eye. Cas's heart burst and then sped up… she began going lower and lower and Castiel was becoming more and more flustered and uncomfortable. He thought he knew what she was going to do even as she batted the blanket away. Her kisses and nips and little tongue nudges were traveling to his hipbones and the flat plane of skin between them. Her fingers traced little unconscious patterns and touches over his pubic bone, making him shiver and ache and clench his teeth a little in utter anticipation. Her fingernails raked ever so softly, and the sensations inspired by that were indescribable.

And then a soft exhale of surprise and ecstasy stole out of the angel's mouth when he was suddenly surrounded by warm, wet pressure where he ached so hard. He felt nothing but her mouth, tongue, her lips, even a little scraping from her teeth—and his head fell back as his eyes squeezed closed and he let out incoherent sounds. Slowly, up and down, her mouth traveled, her tongue tested, and Cas was utterly useless at the incredible pleasure it sent him into. "Oh, Alex— _ah_ —that's…"

"Good?" she asked lowly, and her voice reverberated through him.

"Yes, _hnng_ —very," he managed in a higher voice than usual. His hand clenched and unclenched over the skin of his own thigh as he tried to control himself—and she took that hand and placed it in her hair at the side of her head then held her hand over his—silently telling him to grab her hair. Carefully as he could in his half-brained state, Cas complied and let his fingers clench into her hair as she continued to perform oral sex on him. She had only done this for him a few times, and this time, she was pushing the envelope further—trying new things and taking him in deeper than he even knew was possible. Slowly and carefully, she moved further and further down, enveloping him in impossibly tight, hot rapture—it felt like all the way. "Oh, _ah_ —" Cas just managed in a strangled whisper, and his fingers tightened _hard_ in her hair when all he could feel was her surrounding him. How was she doing that? A low sound growled in the base of her throat and she slid up again, the friction making Cas's vision explode. He heard himself make nonsensical noises as the softness of her clever tongue circled and caressed the very tip of him. He panted with a heaving chest and then looked down, watched how she did that to him. He was beside himself at the sight of her loving him that way.

And then her eyes flicked up and met his, startling and arousing him further. A certain primal urge flushed Castiel at the same time that love exploded deep inside of his chest. He wanted to say a thousand things to her. _I love you so much. That feels so incredibly good. I can_ _'_ _t believe you want to do this for me. I can_ _'_ _t believe how close we are or how close you let me. You are truly the most alluring creature in the entirety of existence._ _Do you know how flustered it makes me to see you like this?_ But then she went down again and all he could muster was an incoherent cry of, "Ungh, _uh_!" as his eyes closed and his head fell back and arched into the pillow.

Her fingers slid down his thigh and then traced over the ultra-sensitive skin of his testicles, making him shudder and become a little shy. Watching her breathlessly, Cas stiffened and held his breath when she released his length from her mouth and seized it with a hand instead, and then descended lower and—"oh, _ah_!" He was very surprised indeed. Her tongue was exploring the place her fingers had just touched and he could barely function or remember who he even was as her tongue made his brain pop like fireworks and her hand pumped over him slowly as her other hand softly left experimental circles and lines against the fragile skin further below. How had she thought of such a thing? Dizzy at her touch and then further frustrated and pleased when she took his length into her mouth again, Cas trembled beneath her. He was hers in every way possible and surrendering in this completely. As she continued to slide her mouth up and down over him, he noticed how one of her hands was underneath herself. His eyes glanced into her face—her eyes were closed now, she looked lost in pleasure as her mouth did such sinful things to him. His mouth dropped open softly.

"Are you… are you _touching_ yourself?" he asked faintly, a little surprised and further aroused by what she was doing.

Her eyes opened and she paused her work. He recognized a little bashfulness in her face. "Um… yes?"

He swallowed hard, wanting her even more now. "That's… very seductive," he managed thickly.

She chuckled and then prepared to continue. But Cas caught her face in his hand and made a desperate proposition. "Make love to me, please," he whispered, because he needed nothing more in the world but to be inside of her, _with_ her.

She hesitated. "…Are you sure you can?" she asked doubtfully. Cas frowned slowly and looked down at himself—didn't she see his very prominent and functional erection? She saw his gaze and what it implied and grinned suddenly, amused. "I just mean… I don't wanna hurt you," she clarified, then looked meaningfully at his wound.

Oh. Of course that was what she meant. Castiel mulled it over briefly and _did_ think perhaps it wasn't the best idea… but he couldn't take the thought of not being joined to her in this moment. He needed her. _Now_. "Just be gentle," he said, although he wasn't sure how gentle _he_ could be because of the feelings overflowing inside of him. His wound be damned… passion ruled his mind and body at the moment and pain would have to be an afterthought.

Alex straightened up and stood on her knees momentarily, untying the bathrobe and then letting it slide off of her. She struck Cas dumb all over again. "You're so beautiful," he whispered, and his handprints on her were both amazing and grief-inducing. She should have never been in Hell at all. But she had been and now she bore marks he had made. His eyes drank her in as she moved up to straddle him; his heart rate quickened at the thought of what was about to happen. She laid over him carefully, holding herself away so that her weight didn't press down on him or his injury—and with a little wiggle and nudge, she positioned herself and then sank down slowly. Cas gasped out shudderingly as she surrounded him in unmistakably, pressured warmth. She abruptly breathed out hard and shut her eyes—one of her hands clutched into his shoulder harder than the other one as she quickly lost the composure she'd had.

"Oh _Cas_ ," she whispered, expression screwed up. A soft, whimpering moan sounded in the base of her throat and discomfort flitted across her delicate features. And that was the moment when Castiel realized this newly formed body of hers had never been penetrated before. Her breathing was shaky and uneven, she held still on him and drew back enough to find his gaze. Although his limbs were weak and exhausted, his arms held her and he refused to let go. Was she all right? Her eyes held vast emotion and slight fear and something broke in her expression. "I thought I _lost_ you," she choked out. Not what he had expected her to say.

His heart felt like it grew twenty sizes—so that it was big enough to draw her entire being into and then keep her safe forever. " _No_ ," he replied in quiet fierceness, meaning every word and holding her gaze in tender severity. "I'll always find you. _Always,_ Alex." He touched her face and saw his wedding ring again, surprised at it again. Alex felt the cool strip of metal against her skin—she turned her face into his hand and kissed his palm while shutting her eyes and steadying her breathing. Cas felt tears prick his eyes as he thought of everything they had gone through both separately and together. And yet here they were… despite the odds, despite everything. " _Kiss me_ ," he requested in a suddenly choked up whisper—he would have moved to kiss her, of course, but he couldn't even sit up unassisted much less crane his neck well. It was no matter. She leaned close and answered his request immediately with a passion that matched exactly what he felt inside. Their hands moved to hold each others' faces in fierce tenderness. And then she began to move on him ever so gently, he wasn't so sure if her carefulness was for his benefit or for hers, but pain and pleasure alike shattered him and made him groan loudly.

He tried to force himself to ignore the pain in his lower abdomen, but he couldn't—and Alex saw and sat back a little, letting her legs fold on either side of him as she sat up fully with him deep inside. Cas's hands skimmed her thighs and curved around her butt as she moved gently and carefully in soft circles and arcs. He gazed up at her in a daze of pleasure and agony—everything hurt and he couldn't hide it, but this hurt less. Alex stopped, concern twisting her features. "This is hurting you," she protested, eyeing his body with vast worry and dread. "I could tear your stitches." She hesitated and the took his left hand and then pulled it up to touch her in the center of the chest. Cas's breath caught. "Why don't you?" she asked in a whisper. "I'll be fine, you know I will be."

His heart rate screamed faster. "Alex, I _can_ _'_ _t,_ " he insisted, so afraid and loathe to touch her soul after what had happened last time.

Alex leaned down over him again until her breasts brushed against his chest. She still held his hand there against her chest. "I can't stand to see you in pain, _please,_ " she whispered, and he saw that she meant it so much she was teary-eyed. "Just touch it a little."

He shook his head and swallowed. "It doesn't work like that; I don't want to hurt you."

Alex held his gaze and begged him silently with eyes he had a very difficult time denying. "Just this once," she coaxed, then kissed his mouth softly. "I'll feel better if I know you're not gonna bleed out in bed with me and _die,_ all right?" She kissed him again, a little longer, and pulled his hand against her chest a little harder. She sounded so desperate—so pleading. "I trust you, Cas," she breathed when she pulled back, resting her forehead to his and then moving her hips softly over his again, making him whimper at the feeling of being so deeply buried inside. "And I _want_ you to do this." Her hand pushed his hand harder against her sternum. "What I have to give, I want you to have. So fucking _take_ it. _Please_." She was frustrated and desperate alike. He heard that.

And Cas didn't truly want to. But, he also knew that if some enemy such as Crowley or Naomi were to appear, he would be defenseless. An easy kill. A compromised guardian. That couldn't happen. But the soul touch would hurt her—and it would drain her. Yes, it would repair him the best way there was to repair an angel. But it felt selfish. However, she was waiting for this and insisting she wanted to help him. In a way, he _needed_ to do this in order to show himself and her both that what had happened before on that horrible, fateful day had been an accident and a mistake. All in all, he was utterly _not_ in favor of doing this. But he gave in with eight soft, scared words. "Tell me to stop if it's too much." She nodded and breathed in deeply, bracingly, her hand sliding to his wrist as she braced herself. He would be quick. This would not last long. He wanted to minimize the pain. Careful—so careful—Castiel initiated the soul touch, letting his fingertips and then hand delve into her. Her teeth gritted back an immediate scream and her eyes squeezed close. Cas's mouth dropped open and eyebrows slammed together as his hand found what it was looking for—the brilliant light and energy of her soul—and her scream dropped away completely in favor of a soft whimper of amazement and surprise. Entranced, Cas stared up at her as she poured into him everything she had, as he was given the privilege of touching her soul itself. Where he was weak, she gave him strength—where he lacked, she filled in the void. And then without permission, his Grace did what it never had. It reached out to match what his hand was doing, it leaned forward to brush against her, and without warning, everything that Castiel was touched everything that Alex was—energy upon energy, spirit upon spirit. On the most basic, supernatural level, they were suddenly twined together completely and thrown into another plane of existence for a moment that felt like it lasted forever. Cas didn't know how to find himself anymore when that happened—he was her, she was him, there was no separation at all. It was purity and love, it was completion and ecstasy, it was the rapture, the beginning, the end, the middle, the smallest detail and the big, grand picture. It was everything; _indescribable._ It left Castiel floating somewhere far away surrounded by all-consuming light and ocean-deep love and a field of endless yellow flowers…

Love. Wonder. Eternity.

The laughter of what sounded like children.

Sunlight glinting into his eyes, a breeze sighed at his back.

Windchimes and her smile against his ear.

Eyes as green and dappled as a secret forest.

And in that moment, incredible, devastating ecstatic wonder had him forgetting himself and _everything_ except a single name and face. _Hers_.

Happiness drenched him like rain, like a monsoon, and he burst everywhere, unable to contain what she did to him, how she made him feel. Complete, safe, wanted, needed, loved forever. Nothing was in his control, everything belonged to her, and he knew what he always had: he loved her profoundly, completely, and beyond time.

And then the moment was over—he was back in her bunker bedroom and she was on top of him holding him tightly and crying out in unmistakable bliss and so was he as their bodies writhed together in a rhythm they were very, very familiar with. And even though Castiel barely remembered who he was, he was aware that every single glass object nearby was shattering, every light was blowing out, the electricity died completely, the bunker alarm began to wail at top volume. But it didn't matter and he didn't care. Riotous, relentless white-hot pleasure was avalanching through his atoms, racing through his veins, pulsing out to the cries of carnality he couldn't stop. Cas and Alex held onto each other tightly and came helplessly from the intensity of whatever had just happened—Grace upon soul had triggered something astounding—and Alex sounded nearly _scared_ because her abrupt climax was so strong and raw. With a shaking hand, Cas gripped her by the back of the neck to steady and reassure her. Even as his vision exploded and his mind failed him, he concentrated on her, on giving everything back to her, to showing her absolute wonder. His strength had returned and his wound was a memory—he held her hard as such, crushed her against him, helping her ride out the bliss as it continued on and on. Her fingers clutched into him, her gasping mouth was smashing into his shoulder, and he pushed hard and deep as many more times as he was able before he had nothing left.

And then as quickly as it had begun, it ended. Panting, Alex collapsed over him limply, finished and drained. She said nothing, but even her ragged breaths made her sound thunderstruck by what had just happened. Out of breath as well but renewed and amazed, Cas moved her messy hair away from the side of her face, peering at her in concern. Moonlight from the little skylight above the bed gave him slight ability to see her. She was flushed and appeared half-drunk but very content. The whine of the alarms carried on loudly. "Are you all right?" he asked softly. He wasn't really sure what had happened, but he knew he was taken aback and awed by it, too.

She looked exhausted, shellshocked, but very happy indeed. "I'm…" she breathed in and out a few times, eyes going back and forth as she reeled. " _Wow_." She squinted at him in the dark and it must have been obvious that he was repaired and functional again. "I'm guessing it worked huh?" She smiled in a sort of silly, tired way at him. Cas leaned over and kissed his wife gently, adoring her.

"Yes," he said against her lips, forever grateful to her and newly amazed. " _Thank you_." He didn't know what had just happened or why he'd been given that vision nor what it meant. But he felt utterly satisfied and more deeply connected to her than ever. Reverent of what they shared, Cas was humble and reflective. In all the history of all the world, he didn't think anyone had ever felt the way he felt about this human laying in his arms.

And then there was a loud, startling pounding on the door which jarred the moment completely. " _Hey_!" Dean's worried voice thundered through the walls and door alike. "You guys okay in there?!"

Alex immediately cowered against Cas and clutched blanket toward herself as she shrank. "Oh god, _shit,_ " she whispered, even as Cas looked at the door and moved two fingers lightly—it locked, preventing Dean from barging it.

"Um, fine, thank you," Cas called, then hesitated bashfully. "Sorry about that."

There was a long, confused silence. And then, Dean must have gotten it. "…Oh my fucking _god,_ yes, of course, _obviously._ " Alex slapped her hands over her face and moaned softly. Outside the room, Dean sounded thoroughly humiliated. "Just… keep it down, will ya? God _damn_. Lightbulbs ain't free!" And then he left loudly, probably more embarrassed than anyone else. A few seconds later, the sirens stopped wailing and the power came back on, although none of the lights did. Sam must have flipped the breaker.

Alex's hands slowly moved away from her face and she abruptly laughed—embarrassed and sort of amused all at once. " _Awkward,_ " she commented, and she was so beautiful.

Cas smiled tenderly at her, drinking in her face for a long moment as he softly touched her cheek with fingertips. He was home now, he belonged. Everything felt right once more. And he would never let her fall again.

* * *

In a field of yellow flowers, Alex and Cas sat together, watching children run in the distance. She could hear them laughing gaily, and she knew that those were _their_ children. Her heart was at bursting point… so full, so content, so happy.

"I met him, you know," she said softly, remembering the time traveling, nameless stranger. Above them, the sun was bright and the sky was beautiful blue. Puffy clouds hung in the sky like cotton. "Our son," Alex murmured, feeling very surreal about that term indeed because he wasn't even in existence yet. "He looked a lot like you." She stole a glance at Cas as she hid a little smile.

And then she was confused, because Castiel was looking at her in utter _disgust_. "I would never father a child with _you_ ," he said darkly, disdain dripping from his eyes and voice. "A human _whore._ " Struck as if by a knife in her heart, Alex stared in shock and horror. How could he _say_ such a thing? Cas was standing up over her even as the sky darkened and the laughter of the children became screams. The yellow flowers began to burst into flame even as blistering, mind-numbing heat set Alex's every inch on fire. And then she realized that she had never escaped Hell at all as it all closed in around her. "What?" Cas asked, grinning down at her wickedly. Only he wasn't Cas anymore. He was Crowley, and he was ten feet tall. "Did you _really_ think you could escape, Alex love?"

Alex's felt utterly sickened. "No, _no!_ " she screamed, jumping up and running. But the ground was melting under her feet and she was suddenly drowning in bloodred water. She could hear the laughter of cackling demons all around as she struggled to stay alive. "No!" she sobbed in complete terror, thrashing and trying to find something to hold onto. But she sank no matter what. And then, on her arms, she felt iron vices clamp down. She fought with everything to get away from the grip, to _escape._ She heard her name being repeated over and over and over. In the distance. And then suddenly incredibly loud and close. "Alex, _Alex_!"

She awoke with a startled, terrified jolt and gasp, flailing with a heart that was jackhammering in her chest. Hell was replaced by something very curious indeed. Castiel was there with her, holding her steady as she panted with wide, panicked eyes. In bed. In the bunker. Not in Hell with Crowley. It was morning now—the light was filtering in through the little skylight above.

"It's all right," he told her, trying very hard to calm her down. And she realized it when he spoke. "I… I think you were having a nightmare." Compassionate and pained on her behalf, already guessing what it had been about, Cas wrapped her closely in his arms. "I'm here," he whispered. "It's over."

But it _wasn_ _'_ _t_ over. Not really. And she cried and burrowed into his chest for a long moment as he comforted and soothed her. She focused on his warmth, his closeness, his familiar clean smell. And slowly, she gained composure and centered herself, sniffing as her tears ebbed. What was real? What was the dream? It had felt so real... it all felt so _real._

And Alex pulled back, needing to look into Cas's blue eyes, her anthor. Cobalt stared back at her, and her racing heart continued to calm. Speechless for a moment, she touched his face—his familiar, beautiful face. And then hugged him closely, shuddering. She remembered her promise to herself: that no matter what, she would be all right somehow. That she'd make it through whatever fallout Hell left in her. Cas's arms tightened around her, reminding her that she was not alone. And that... that was worth everything to her.


	124. Unstable Ground

" _I have seen the impossible. I have seen great and terrible wonders, and I tell you, the world is a vaster and stranger place than ever I had reckoned._ _"  
_ \- Jacqueline Carey

* * *

Deep inside of the bunker, utterly stifling silence was punctuated by a heart rate monitor. The machine was old but still worked, doing its job of representing every heartbeat with a soulless, jarring beep.

Dean hadn't left his dad's side. It was now sometime in the morning and the oldest Winchester _still_ couldn't believe everything that had happened last night. But especially _this._ Here was the man he had idolized and adored, followed blindly his entire life. The man who had raised him and conditioned him and some might argue abused him. The man whose footsteps Dean was following in almost blow for blow. Until last night, John Winchester had been dead and left behind—a closed book, a shadow that loomed in the edge of the past. And now... flesh and blood and _here_ again. Lying in bed as if in a coma. Dean's stomach churned as he wondered continuously if his father would wake up or not and what that meant if he did. What impact that would have. It's not that Dean didn't want his dad back, it was just… this threw a huge wrench into _everything._ This changed _everything._ And Dean had no clue if Dad was even the same guy anymore. Hell might have turned him into a monster for all they knew. He might be close to being demonized. Or he might be stripped of all hope and joy and light. He might be a shell of who he'd been... an empty, vacated house that would never be lived in again.

John looked slightly grayer and more haggard than he had before, maybe a touch more wild and grizzled, a little thinner. But other than that… he looked the same.

When John had died, Dean had been forced to really step up and take ownership of the family in a way he'd never had to before. He'd been compelled to carry Dad's work on and keep the family together. It had given him more mission and responsibility; Dean had become more of a man because of Dad's death. And now with Dad alive again, Dean automatically felt younger again… less certain. Less capable. And let's face it: lately, especially since Jamie's death, Dean was feeling like he was all but powerless. Like nothing he did would really amount to much in the end. Like fate was fate, death was guaranteed, and nothing he did would really change anything for the better.

It was hard for Dean to know how to process. Already fragile and flayed inside from everything that had already been eating him alive, the entire Hell thing blew his mind in the worst of ways. Twenty-four hours ago, he had been worrying about the trials, Kevin, this Metatron guy, Sammy, Alex being 'missing'… and then out of the blue Cas had shown up looking like _death_ and then quickly announced Alex had sold her soul and was not missing. She was in _Hell_. That had basically shattered any ground remaining under Dean's feet and plunged him to utter rock bottom. He'd barely had time to take in what Cas had said before Alex had been pulled out of the ground. The entire thing left his emotions shellshocked and traumatized.

Dean really didn't even want to believe that it had even _happened_. Hell was the worst possible imaginable torture he could ever conceive of and he didn't want his sister to have been there—ever—at all—even for a _second._ And she'd been there for what he could only sum up as being around ten _years._ God knows what had happened to her during that amount of time or how many demons had tortured her in ways he couldn't even bring himself to think about. It made him feel so horrified that he wanted to vomit. How could she have done that to herself? Signed herself up for that? And told _no one_ about it? The entire scenario sickened him as much as it outraged him. Didn't she get that her life was valuable to the extreme? That she couldn't just throw it around and make deals to bring back people who, yes, he loved, but no, didn't _have_ to have back? If it had been Sam's life or Cas's life on the line or something, Dean might have understood better. But Bobby? Now, make no mistake. Dean loved Bobby. A lot. And he knew Alex did too. But he didn't understand why Alex would suddenly up and trade her life for his like she had. If he had to pick, Dean would have _never_ traded his sister for his uncle. That was just the bare, ugly truth of it. His sister and brother were the two most important people in the world to him. The end. He would always choose them over anyone else. He would do just about anything to protect them—and maybe that was why Dean felt so angry and helpless and even feeling betrayed at his sister's actions. If he had known her plans, Dean would have never _let_ Alex do that deal. He would have tied her up and locked her in the basement until she came to her senses or he would have done the deal in her place if she was _that_ set on having Bobby back.

She was the one who was never supposed to know the kind of pain and horror he and Sam had experienced in Hell. She was supposed to be protected from that. She was supposed to live her life and get the best chance at normal and she was supposed to suffer less than them because in her short life she had suffered _enough_. And yet for whatever reason she'd gone and played hero again. Gambled herself away. It was almost like she had a freaking _death wish_ , Dean reflected. Taking Lucifer for Sam, thinking she could sacrifice herself. Killing herself just to talk to Death last year. It was becoming a running theme almost. Dean had accused Alex of being self-centered so many times in the past but it was starting to feel like maybe she didn't care enough about her own life or something.

But dammit, _he_ cared. And now he was left with the bare facts. The two girls he loved most in the world had ended up in Hell. His sister and the woman he loved. Alex got out, thank god—well, thank Cas. But why was Jamie still there…? Dean didn't _get_ it and didn't think he ever _would._ His emotions were reeling and he felt isolated and alone because he couldn't deal with his own thoughts, doubts, questions, feelings. He was exhausted in every way possible and running out of steam. Nothing felt solid anymore… him and Sam were on rocky ground because the Amelia thing still weighed on them both so much. Dad was back, maybe. And Alex and Cas were… shattering lightbulbs in the dead of night. Which kind of felt insulting because damn, there was intense shit happening. And the two of them were screwing around. Literally. And all the while, Jamie was screaming and burning alive in the depths of Hell while Dean did _nothing_ to change that. He bowed his head and put a hand on his face, emotions threatening to break him. He had _tried_ though, god he'd tried to find a way to get her out. But he didn't know what else to do. He remembered the moment she had finally confessed to him her truest fears about dying and it destroyed him all over again.

It had been about a month before Purgatory. Tangled together on a motel room floor after finally going all the way after what felt like a lifetime of sexual tension—their first time—Jamie had dissolved into tears and admitted it. _"_ _I don_ _'_ _t wanna die, Dean. I_ don't _._ _"_ She'd always acted so strong and cavalier before that moment. And Dean had _known_ it was all an act, but when she was vulnerable enough to confess it to him like that while he held her naked in his arms… he'd known he was going to do _anything_ to save her. He'd pulled her closer and held her and comforted her, kissed her hair and made promises he'd meant that were now failed. The worst part was that Jamie had been willing to place tentative faith in him and let him help her. And he'd failed. He was left with the coldness of bitter reality: She'd taken her life and broken his heart and he never wanted to love anyone else ever again.

Just then, a soft sound alerted him to a new presence. Dean looked up to see his sister hovering in the doorway cautiously, watching him with worried eyes. The sight of her startled Dean a little bit even if he knew to expect her sooner or later. Wearing a typical outfit (old band shirt, a loose flannel over it, some jeans with work boots), she was messy-haired, makeupless, and void of any jewelry except the penny necklace. She looked just like herself. Except… something _was_ somehow different about her. What exactly, he couldn't say. But he did immediately notice a smattering of red hickeys on her neck and around her collarbone too. Immediately, Dean shriveled a little. _Jesus tapdancing Christ._ He wondered if this shit had been as awkward for _her_ as it was for _him_ now with the roles reversed. She'd usually given him these weird looks whenever he got back from his one night stands. Life seemed to have come full circle.

Alex was guarded and tentative, and Dean couldn't say he blamed her. Last night had been so insane that he hadn't entirely known how to react except to get freaked out, shut down, and ask very baseline questions before hurrying off to take care of Dad. They hadn't really had a chance to actually talk and Dean didn't really feel ready, either. But he didn't seem to have a choice. He forced a little smile. "Well, look who it is," he said, trying to sound pleasant. Trying to keep the peace. Trying to forget his own turbulent state and the slight bitterness and betrayal he felt towards her. He could be civil, at least. He knew it was shitty to be mad at her, so he tried not to let on. "How you feelin', little sister?"

Alex thought about it for a minute and Dean looked at her closely, trying to see hidden signs of duress or trauma. "I'll muddle through," she said, smiling a little. Like she was kidding around. 

Dean nodded tentatively, not convinced, only aware: she didn't want to talk about it. So he looked away, staring at Dad unseeingly. He wondered if she'd started to have the nightmares yet. And if she'd even tell him if she did. 

Alex crossed her arms and looked at John for a minute with a tensing expression. "How's Dad?"

With a faint shake of the head, Dean flattened his mouth. "Don't know. _But_ , if he's the stubborn bastard I remember him being, he'll pull through." Dean rubbed his palms together over and over, a nervous tic. A way of alleviating some jitters and tension. He couldn't just leave it alone: "So from what I can figure you were down there for like ten years," he finally said, then looked at her with a terse, pained expression. "That is a _long_ damn time, Al."

She didn't deny it. But she _did_ sidestep. And she didn't look him in the eye when she spoke. "Dad was there for thousands of years. _That_ is a long damn time."

So she _really_ didn't wanna talk about it. No lie, that kind of hurt. Dean's gaze drifted to Dad's familiar profile. So many unanswered questions and guilts. His voice caught on his own throat. "Is… is he still him?" he whispered. He didn't understand why his father had been in Hell to begin with. 

Alex's expression showed almost sympathy. Her reply was elusive, mournful, distant. Her eyes were on Dad. "Does _anyone_ leave Hell the same as they went in?"

Dean looked at his sister grimly. "You tell me."

Her eyes dodged away and slight discomfort showed on her face as she gave a faint shrug. "I dunno. Probably not." Their eyes met and Dean felt the distance between them so keenly. He wanted to know and he also didn't. What she'd been through. What she'd endured. If she really was okay. But then he realized from the way she was looking at him… _she_ was the one who was worried. About _him._ Her eyes swept around his body briefly, concern pinching her features slightly into a frown. "Have you lost weight, Dean?" she asked slowly, seeming to find it kind of startling when she realized that he definitely had.

The astute observation felt invasive—yes, he'd dropped about ten pounds since Jamie died. Dean deflected the question with dry humor said in a dull, almost combative voice. "Jenny Craig diet worked for me, what can I say?" He shifted in his chair, crossed his arms, eyed her hickey-ed neck again and felt his expression work with slight distaste. "Where's Cas?" Had he left as he always did? Or was he still down for the count?

Alex looked distinctly caught-out. "Uh." Tellingly, her eyes slid sidelong toward the doorway. "Right outside the room."

Dean's face fell flatly. That felt sort of sneaky. He drew in a deep, steadying breath and then raised his gruff voice a little to make himself heard clearly. "Cas? You wanna get in here?"

There was a pause, a shuffle, then the angel appeared in the doorway and exchanged a glance with Alex before he acknowledged Dean. "Good morning Dean." He looked normal again, a far cry from the beat-up unconscious guy he'd been when Dean last saw him. 

A little sour for all kinds of reasons, Dean was less than pleasant as Castiel came into the room and stood near Alex. "Yeah uh huh," he muttered. Last night's events with the alarm going off and lightbulbs shattering wasn't far from Dean's mind. Gruff to try and hide his awkwardness, Dean pinched his features and glared sullenly while avoiding eye contact. "You're lucky I found a box of spare lightbulbs that didn't get…" he was regretting this entire sentence at this point, " _exploded,_ " he finished delicately. Then he set his mouth flat, trying to complain. "Otherwise this whole damn _place_ would be candlelit." He pulled a cynical, dead smile as he thought about how fun it was going to be to replace the lightbulbs in this whole place (he'd only done a few necessary ones before barking at Sam to take over). "Not that I don't love a nice romantic atmosphere, but _really_."

Alex got a shade more uncomfortable at the subject matter and the rude commentary, but she looked more annoyed than anything else. Cas barely seemed to hear what Dean had said and peered at the hunter closely with one of those very concerned, emotional expressions. "How are you, Dean?"

Dean noticed, at that precise moment, that Castiel was wearing a shining silver wedding band on his left hand. Taken aback completely—when had he started wearing _that_?—Dean looked between both of them in semi-shock. They looked back at him and their expressions were mutually sad and worried and it made Dean feel more and more irritated. He suddenly felt like an outsider. Like Alex and Cas were some kind of closely bonded team and he was just some jackass they felt pity for. And it was another reminder that Alex was finding identity outside of this family and Dean did _not_ have an easy time swallowing that pill. "Why are you two looking at me like you're at a funeral?" he demanded defensively. " _Huh_? I don't need you feeling sorry for me."

Alex shook her head and spoke in a soft, caring voice that suddenly made Dean want to throw something. "Dean, we're not—"

Something in him broke. Dean stood up so fast his chair fell over loudly. "Just shut up, _shut up_ —!" he snapped, startling himself along with Alex and Cas. While Alex looked stung and appalled, Cas looked immediately, severely disapproving. But Dean was recklessly letting his suppressed, confused, flayed feelings fly at his sister because he couldn't handle it anymore. "I have never, _ever_ been as pissed at you as I am right now and I have been _pissed_ at you before as we _all_ know!" he thundered.

Despite her clear shock, Alex also looked absolutely mystified. 

"You sold your damn _soul_!" Dean raged. "Why am I the only one freaking out about that?!" He looked at Cas demandingly, not really sure why he was the only one with some goddamn brains around this place—the angel just looked back at Dean with an expression that implied that Dean was making a fool of himself.

Alex had become cold and resentful. "I _had_ to do that deal, Dean."

 _Give me a freaking break!_ Dean was offended, hurt, horrified. "No, you _didn_ _'_ _t_!" he insisted, face twisting in distress. He threw in the next comment for good measure, because it was true and because she shouldn't just be standing there staring at him like he was stupid. "And I'm not the only one who's mad; Bobby's not happy about it either!" He'd given Bobby the head's up over the phone. The older hunter was shocked about his role in the entire thing.

Of all things, Alex let loose a disgusted little huff of a laugh as she got a big attitude really fast. Dripping with sarcasm and distaste, she looked almost repulsed. "Well I _definitely_ did it to make you two _happy_ so _damn_ , sucks to be me." She crossed her arms and basically glared. "How many times are we gonna have this same conversation?" She said it in a sharp, clear voice with emphasis on every word: " _You don_ _'_ _t get to decide what I do with my life_. Not now. Not ever!" Her face abruptly twisted with confused hurt. "And I don't need your stamp of approval but Jesus Christ, is it too much to ask for for you to be like… happy to see me? Or worried about me a little?" Knife in the heart. Dean guiltily tightened his jaw as his quickly saddening sister tried to make sense of his erratic behavior. She sighed out loud and hard, frustrated before she threw her arms out at her loss. "Do I do anything except make you mad anymore? Can't you just be glad I'm _here_?" She jabbed a hand out toward their father. "I'm not in Hell anymore, and _look_ —Dad is in this fucking _room_ because of the deal I made! So maybe you should stop being such a little bitch, _god_." Her off-the-cuff accusations made them both fall silent for a tense second and Dean knew she was right… but… it didn't change how upset he was. He stared anywhere but at his sister, who was now looking at him with unbearably sad eyes.

"You and me used to be _best friends,_ " she finally said. And god, his heart ached. They had. Closer than close. Each other's world, especially in the years without Sam and Dad. And in current time, they were barely able to maintain a relationship at all. "And now you're mad at me for shit you don't even _know_ what you're talking about…? You just _assume_ you know everything and crucify me for what I did without even having all the _facts_? And then you ignore how I was in Hell… being _tortured_ day in and day out for ten _years,_ alone and scared and missing _you_ … in favor of bitching at me over your own hurt feelings or something?" When she put it like that, he saw how awful he really was and shut his eyes, turned his head away a little, wishing he didn't even have a mouth on days like this. He said nothing else, knowing he'd just fuck things up more no matter what he said. He heard Alex draw a deep breath and let it out in a distinctly conflicted way. Then she spoke again softly in a strained, hurt voice. This was her specialty: forgiveness and willingness to overlook bullshit. "Can't we just… get back to normal? Please. That's all I want."

Dean looked at her with a face he was barely in control of anymore. Everything was suffocating him and threatening to make him shatter. "' _Normal_ ,'" he repeated bitterly, hating that word and hating his life and hating how he couldn't stop pushing away the people he loved. "Do you see _normal_ anywhere you look around this place?" He asked that then immediately couldn't stand being in that room anymore and as such, he stormed out, feeling himself spiraling more and more out of control internally with every step he took.

Alex and Cas were left in a sudden wash of silence. While Alex stared after her brother in wounded disappointment and confusion with eyes that portrayed nothing but deep hurt, Cas sighed softly then touched the back of her arm gently as he stood more in front of her, drawing her attention. "I'll speak with him later," he said, surprising her with the assertive, reassuring statement. His hand remained on her arm, holding tenderly. "I would have said something to him now but… when he gets like that, it's best to just let him cool off." Alex gaped slightly. She kept forgetting that her brother and her angel had spent like a year together in Purgatory as brothers in arms. That Cas and Dean had a different relationship than what she'd known before. That while she'd been on her own and growing, Cas had sort of been doing the same. "I'm sorry, Alex," Castiel said quietly, taking her silence as sadness. Which, honestly, it was. "You don't deserve that kind of treatment. And Dean _does_ love you very much."

Alex knew that but was sick and tired of the third degree. Especially since Dean was assuming everything without even asking for an explanation. He didn't know half of the truth and was gonna feel like such a fucking moron when she told him. "Well he has a fucked way of showing it," she muttered.

Cas's eyebrows rose briefly as a small, wry smile spread over his lips briefly. A very human expression. "For what it's worth, I agree." He tilted his head to the side just slightly, narrowing his eyes in his trademark stern curiosity. "Why didn't you tell him about Sam?"

"Oh, _trust me_ ," Alex said with a soft, cynical chuckle. "I will." And she guessed Dean would sing a very different tune when she set the record straight. "But I have to tell Sam first and… I don't know how he'll feel about it or how he'll take it." She fell into a brief silence and stressed about that. Sam was very guilt-inclined and she worried he would blame himself for what she'd gone through to save his life. Wanting to protect him from emotional turmoil was a strong instinct. That, and she was a little afraid he'd be mad at her like Dean was. Having more family members pissed at her didn't sound fun. "Anyway, it's not like Dean's gonna just magically be a nice person when he has all the facts," she mused in a tired mutter. She remembered a time when Dean had been so much more carefree and light. He was like a dark cloud now. A broken echo of who he used to be.

Cas studied her for a moment, his expression screwed up thoughtfully and somberly. "I think he's upset at how close he came to losing you," he offered momentarily and with slight uncertainty. "I know that I felt that way."

Alex felt incredibly worried about her brother, like, almost irrationally worried. As if her instincts knew something she didn't. "Yeah but did you yell at me and make me feel like a terrible person?" she asked, stressed out and distracted as she thought about Dean and how far away he felt. How out of reach.

Cas shifted a little closer to her and comforted her with a hand to the side of her face, thumb stroking against her cheek. "This will all be well somehow, Alex," he murmured softly in that deep, unmistakable voice of his. "I promise you." She couldn't believe a lot in this world... but she could believe him. Mutually, they went in for a hug. His arms felt strong and secure, his body was warm and comforting, every part of his touch sweet and loving. She could feel his heartbeat when they were this close… feel the rise and fall of his chest. And there was suddenly a flutter of maddening, inexplicable happiness in her chest, a burst of insanely thrilling joy so intense she could barely house it. This felt sustainable. This felt right. And for once, she somehow wasn't terrified to lose it all. The past should have perhaps influenced her to be a petrified mess just waiting for everything to fail and fall apart like it always did. But not this time. Not even with the ghosts of Hell chasing her. Here with her Castiel, she felt like _herself_ for the first time in forever. If she could survive the depths of the underworld, if she could come back from that challenged but not broken… what _couldn_ _'_ _t_ she face?

Alex pulled back a little to look Cas in the eye. Soft expression on his handsome face, he was the most beautiful man she'd ever seen. Her chest pulled inside with strong feelings that affixed her to him in every sense eternally. Without saying a word, she sensed his understanding—his mutual feelings of amazement and certainty were conveyed on his features. For a lingering moment, they shared that quiet, affectionate gaze. And then Alex hugged herself to him again loosely, nestling her head under his chin. She let out a long, soft breath. Her eyes drifted shut when he cradled the back of her head in a hand. Everything was going to be okay. After a minute or so of this quiet, sweet embrace, Cas gave her forehead a soft kiss and then looked toward the nearby bed. "Your father looks surprisingly good," he observed.

Alex followed his gaze, her relaxed expression tightening marginally. She glanced at Cas, trying to read his expression. "How is he? Can you tell?"

Cas hesitated then let go of her and went to John's side, placing a hand against the man's forehead, frowning hard and shutting his eyes for a moment. Alex was struck by the surreal nature of this moment—not only because on Cas's hand was what used to be Dad's wedding band, but because her father and her husband were in the same room together and she had never thought that would be a thing. _Ever._ That and she knew Cas had some reservations about her dad—in that he didn't really like him on principle. Dad had been very skeptical and reserved of Alex's stories of Cas in Hell—very cautious to get on board with the entire thing. What if Dad woke up and these two hated each other?

"Physically, he's fine," Cas replied evenly, drawing away from John and turning to look at Alex grimly. "But mentally… only time will tell." Sensitive to her worry, Cas refrained from injecting his personal opinion or misgivings about John.

Alex rounded the other side of the bed and looked down at her father who might have been sleeping. She sank into the chair that was there and took Dad's hand in her own, studying his face for a long moment. Noticing for the millionth time how her hair color was his, how they had the same jawline and same dark, prominent eyebrows. She was his spitting image and had always known it. Sometimes, she'd thought maybe that was why he had disliked her. Because she reminded him too much of himself. Leaning closer to her dad as memories of their time in Hell flitted through her mind, Alex talked to him, even if he didn't hear. "All right, Dad." Her throat knotted and she prayed internally for him to be okay. "Wake up. 'No sleeping in,' remember?" He had been militaristic about their sleep schedules most. He said people who slept too much were lazy and he'd be damned if his kids were lazy. Bad memories and good alike swept her mind—a lifetime of the road, hunting, constant change, constant uncertainty. And suddenly, a monsoon of sadness crashed over Alex and she began to weep profusely out of nowhere as grief about the broken past and confusion about this current situation blindsided her. Across the bed, Cas looked startled at the unexpected breakdown and Alex was equally surprised at it. While her vision flooded with tears and a hand came up to hide her bowing face, she shook her head no, wondering how she could be so happy one second and then sobbing the next. But it didn't seem to matter. Her heart and mind were all over the place; a feeling of mourning was taking over, and everything inside felt so heavy. Too heavy to carry. "I—I don't even know how I feel right now," she managed to get out through her heavy downpour of emotion. 

Beside her, she felt Cas kneeling down and touching her carefully. "I… I know this must be very overwhelming for you," he said after a short silence, voice uncertain and tender all at once. _Yes_. It was overwhelming and her emotions felt haywire. She fought to stop sobbing by breathing deeply and shakily. One of Cas's hands was on her back, the other on a knee and he stayed with her. She guessed she should have expected some kind of fallout from Hell, but this didn't really feel connected to Hell. "I wish I knew how to make everything better," Cas said softly, obviously very upset that he didn't know magical words to take away her pain.

Alex shook her head and then slid out of the chair and into him awkwardly, needing his arms around her immediately. She sobbed loudly and wondered if this were in part misplaced sadness about Dean. All her hurts welled up impossibly, and he was at the center of them.

Cas sat down the rest of the way onto the floor, cradling her and holding her curled-up form closely as she tried to get control of herself. In a worried voice, he whispered that he loved her very much and pulled her even closer. Her tears began to taper away and she shut her eyes, holding onto him with a hand clenched into his trench coat.

* * *

In the command center of the bunker, Sam had a number of files and papers spread out in front of him. After spending the night sleepless and worried about his family, Sam had made some coffee around four in the morning and started to trek through research for anything he about what 'curing a demon' might entail. It was a good way to distract himself and combat his restless emotions. So far, he was coming up with absolutely nothing.

_Cure a demon._

What did that even _mean_?

Sam thought back to their encounter with Metatron early yesterday. Being close to the scribe of God had made Sam feel absolutely ill—to the point of barely being able to stand. Apparently it was because of the trials. After Metatron (who apparently had kept himself out of the loop of the _entire world_ on purpose since he ran away from Heaven eons ago) learned what was happening with the trials and who the Winchesters were, he seemed to be on board for closing Hell and he offered his help. The guy was weird. Squirrelly and dweeby, just _odd._

 _But_ … he'd rescued Kevin, thought dead, from Crowley and patched the kid up. And he'd known more about the trials than anyone else had thus far. But Sam wasn't sure if this guy was trustworthy or not. For now, he just needed to figure out what curing a demon meant. And then how to _do_ it. No pressure, right?

He was so distracted by the state of his family, though. Dad alive and in what appeared to be a coma. Alex back and herself but now an alum of Hell. Dean behaving even more bizarrely than ever. As if on cue, the sound of shuffling footsteps sounded and Sam looked up from another demonic possession case file to see Dean descending the couple of stairs from the library. "Morning," Dean greeted neutrally. Sam could immediately sense something was wrong with Dean, but really, something was _always_ wrong with Dean these days. "Already at it, huh?" he asked, glancing at all the paper in front of Sam.

Giving a tired sigh, Sam nodded and let the current file smack down onto the table. "Yup." His eyes were about to cross from all this reading. "These demonic possession files aren't gonna read themselves."

Dean chuckled forcibly. "They might. I mean, we've seen some weird stuff, man."

True. Sam's mouth curved into a tight smile he had to almost fake. He was anxious to hear good news. "How's Dad?"

Dean didn't look too enthusiastic. "The same." He stood on the other side of the table and had his arms crossed in a closed-off way.

Nodding tensely, distracted by fears and worries, Sam studied his brother a minute. "What about you?"

Immediately, Dean's face distorted. " _Psh,_ " he scoffed, dodging the question and brushing it off without giving answer. "How're _you_ feeling?" He gave Sam one of those lecturing, parental looks that made Sam feel a lot younger than thirty-one.

He mulled the question over and answered truthfully. "Honestly, um... my, uh, my whole body hurts. I feel nauseous and like I'm starving at the same time, and everything smells like rotting meat."

Dean almost chuckled. "I've had that hangover. Jaeger, man. Maybe you should, uh, take a break, get some air."

Sam gave a brisk shake of his head. "The only thing that's gonna make me feel better is finishing this," he said, and set his attention back on the files in front of himself. There were so many and just looking at them exhausted him.

Dean didn't insist he take a break. Just nodded. "All right. Well, I'll go get you some grub, keep your strength up." He headed toward the kitchen and for a few minutes, Sam was left to give himself new headaches with endless files. And then he heard two pairs of footsteps and looked up to see Cas and Alex entering the command center. The sight of them together and obviously very well set a genuine smile on Sam's face. Cas looked okay—thank god—and Alex was clean, dressed like herself, and already halfway to him.

"Morning," Sam greeted even as his sister came over and hugged him tight around the neck from behind as he sat. "Hey," he chuckled, a little surprised at the affection.

"Hey yourself," she said, mussing his hair when she let go. She sat down beside him and studied him almost suspiciously. "…Did you even sleep last night?" she asked, a chiding note to her tone.

Sam's eyebrows were halfway up his forehead. "Did _you_?" He pointed vaguely at her neck and what was visible of her chest—he counted at least five hickeys there and he felt himself grinning. "You got… um…"

Alex just smiled and looked away as she flushed slightly, looking sort of pleased with herself. Cas, sitting down across from them, missed the moment. He was looking around the bunker with a curious, complimentary gaze. "I like this bunker," he announced. "It's very orderly."

Orderly. "Oh, give us a few months," Sam said in semi-sarcasm. "Dean wants to get a _ping-pong_ table."

"I've heard of that," Cas said thoughtfully. "It's a game, right?"

Sam looked over at Alex, a little smile playing on his face. She was looking at Cas fondly. "A game I _suck_ at," she said, then looked at Sam. "Hey, there any food around here? I'm _starving._ Like, never been this hungry before starving."

Sam slid a package of beef jerky over toward her. It had been buried under files and he'd almost forgotten it was there at all. "Bon appetite," he joked feebly. He was almost so tired he couldn't keep his eyes open.

Across the table, Cas was looking at him very pensively. As Alex dug around for a piece of jerky in the bag, the angel made a very sad observation. "You're getting worse, Sam."

Alex stopped mid chew and looked at Sam, her expression falling. Wishing he looked and felt better, Sam tried to be optimistic. "Well, two trials down, one to go." It was bound to get hairy.

Cas leaned over his elbows, frowning studiously. "And the final test, do you—you know what it is?"

"I have to cure a demon," Sam said, his tone of choice giving away how he was literally clueless about what that meant.

Cas looked even further confused. "Of _what_?"

Chuckling soft and rueful, Sam pulled a slight face. "That's what we're trying to figure out." He looked at his sister grimly and saw how she was utterly stumped along with him. He must have looked really terrible—he saw how her eyes skirted around his haggard features and how sympathy and even fear rested in her features. She touched his arm and rubbed a couple times in silent support and worry. Sam's mouth turned up in a wan, terse smile. God, he was just so glad she was here again and okay.

" _Well,_ the gang's all here," came a gruff voice. Dean was striding in with a plate and a beer. He studiously avoided looking at his sister. "Soup's on," he said, setting down the plate in front of Sam. "There we go. And, I think this is, uh…" he sampled the already-open beer before setting it back down, "yup, still good." He clapped Sam hard on the back and indicated his brother eat up.

Sam however looked a little confused. "…A half-drunk beer, more jerky, and three peanut-butter cups?" he asked skeptically.

Dean seemed to realize at that exact moment how meager and un-Sam that meal was and he shrugged awkwardly. "Yeah, we're—we're running a little low," he explained. Sam looked at his brother expectantly and Dean sighed like he was thinking _fine._ "I'll make a run," he muttered, then grabbed his jacket up from one of the chairs at the table.

Alex stood up and put her best foot forward, trying to make some peace. "Want some company?" 

Dean yanked his jacket on and gave her a dark glance. "No, I want you to stay here and quit playing _hero_."

Stung and appalled, Alex was incredulous at his audacity. " _What_?" she asked even as Sam was on her heels with an indignant comment of his own.

"Dean, _dude_ —"

Angry like a storm cloud, Dean ignored them. "Save it, you two," he snapped even as he was pulling Cas up roughly by the shoulder of his trench coat. "We gotta talk," he muttered, practically dragging Cas along with him and leaving two stunned twins behind.

Dean pulled Cas with him barely out of earshot and barely out of visibility of Sam and Alex—to a spot just inside the adjacent library. Confused, Cas was frowning deeply. "Dean, what's—"

"You just pulled two of my family members out of Hell no problem, right?" Dean demanded.

Cas hesitated. "Actually… it nearly killed me," he corrected tentatively.

Dean made a slight face. "Bullshit, you look fine now."

The angel's face showed a glimpse into guilt and reluctance. "Only because of drastic measures," he said cryptically.

Dean skipped over that. He was past his pride and didn't care if he had to resort to begging. "Cas—listen to me. This important. _Please_ , I will _never_ ask you for anything ever again—" he wet his lips, his face a mask of pain. "Sam's closing Hell and my girl is still down there." Cas's face registered understanding as Dean's reason for this conversation became crystal clear. The oldest Winchester's truest, deepest emotion was fully on display. Grief. "Y-you gotta help me get her out before it's too late," he pled, "I'm _desperate_ , man."

Deeply sorrowful, Cas's 'no' was apparent before he even said a word. "Dean… please believe me. I would if I could. But another trip down there so soon would kill me outright." 

Growing out of breath because of how upset he was and how panicked at the thought of this not panning out, Dean didn't give up. "Cas, _please_. I know the risks, man, I do!" He tried playing up Cas's guilt and gestured at the wedding band Cas was apparently wearing now. "You're my damn brother in law, right? Family risks everything for family!"

Guilt _did_ waver across Cas's face. "I agree, but…" he paused and looked back at Alex, a million deep emotions showing on his face before he regretfully let his gaze meet Dean's again. "I can't risk it. Dean, I can't. I'm sorry. I don't know a way."

Frantic for some small thread of hope, for _anything,_ Dean floundered. "W-well then just take me down there and step back, leave me to do it on my own or die trying," he stammered, "just—just help me out here, gimme _something,_ please!" He tried to make Cas understand how desperate he was, how he was out of other options. "Meg won't bite, I already tried—I read every damn book in this place there is, I tried spells, I hired a witch, I tried selling my freaking soul…" His voice broke, his eyes flooded. "I've tried _everything_! I need you on this one, man. _Please_."

Cas's eyes showed compassion and regret. "If I took you to Hell, I'd be killing you, Dean. I can't."

Anger began to unfurl. "If this was for her, you'd do it," he said, pointing at his sister with an accusing finger. "If she asked you, if it was _her_ down there, you'd make it happen _no matter what._ " They both knew he would. And Dean was so fucking frustrated and felt so betrayed that he could barely breathe. But Cas said nothing. Just remained silent and sad. And Dean nodded, swallowing a hard, bitter lump in his throat. He had thought Cas was his friend. "So you're saying I'm shit outta luck. That Hell's gonna close and my _girlfriend_ is just stuck there for all eternity burning alive over and over again."

Cas was guilty and torn and felt bad. "Those weren't my exact words, but—"

" _Forget it_ ," Dean snapped, not in the mood for another damn word. "I can see I'm on my own in this." He moved to brush past Cas.

But Cas stopped him with a strong hand on his shoulder. " _No,_ " Cas said, emphatically, his eyes showing deep emotions. His hand gripped Dean tightly. "You most certainly are not on your own. But if you continue to lash out… you'll drive everyone who loves you away and then you truly _will_ be on your own." He held Dean's gaze meaningfully, and his words struck a chord in the deepest part of the hunter. "Dean, your siblings need you. Your family… _needs_ you."

Dean glanced at them—sickly Sam and just-got-back-from-Hell Alex. And he didn't want to have to pick. He didn't want it to be his family or Jamie even though he was beginning to suspect it would come down to that. The stakes were too high—his feelings were too much. Panic seized him in a fist and Dean shoved Cas's hand off more roughly than necessary. "Get _off me_ , man!" He pushed past Cas rudely and left the bunker without another word to anyone.

When the door slammed behind him, Alex was the first to speak. "I mean… just… what's his _problem_?" she asked. She was very, very angry and confused and looked like she'd been betrayed at every level.

Sam, too tired to get very mad, shrugged mildly with a face full of chagrin. "Everything, usually."

Alex's stormy, sullen glare cast around the immediate area. "I need to break something," she mumbled. "Maybe his _neck._ "

Cas was doubtful. "That sounds excessive." Then he had a small epiphany. "Although I _could_ heal him if you did inflict a fatal wound…"

The twins looked at Cas with similar _are you serious or kidding right now?_ looks on their faces… and Sam glanced at his sister briefly, trying to see if she knew, either. Cas didn't seem to be joking and Alex was very clear about the following: "I'm not gonna _fatally wound_ my brother, Cas." She paused and then looked highly uncertain. "…I don't think." She looked up the staircase out of the bunker where Dean had last been with a very forlorn face. Her expression pinched, wavered, and then broke without any warning at all—and she began to sob very loudly and pathetically, throwing herself face-first onto the table as she wailed and covered her own head with both hands. "I'm s-sorry I'm just so freaking _hungry_ and… why is he _like_ that?!" she choked out into the tabletop tearfully. She sounded a little panicked and confused at her own actions. 

Sam looked utterly confounded at her sudden outburst and he quickly slid his plate over at her. "Here, uh, why uh don't you have these peanut butter cups? I'm okay for now." When she just cried louder and kept her head on the table, Sam hesitantly put a hand on her back and leaned closer, confused about the very over-the-top display. He wracked his brain for some kind of solution. "I uh, I think I might have some granola bars in my room somewhere," he suddenly announced then looked up at Cas sort of pleadingly, who was hovering in worry. "Cas, could you go get them?"

Cas was already moving—obviously glad to have a mission. "Certainly."

Sam rubbed his sister's heaving back uncertainly and tried to figure out what was happening in her mind. "Look—hey—Dean's been _off_ lately," he counseled in rapt concern as Cas's footsteps faded. Alex's loud wails subsided. " _Really_ off. He's glad you're back, he _is,_ I just think he's scared. Freaked out at what happened with Hell and Bobby and… and Dad being back. And I am too."

Alex abruptly shot up to sit. "Yeah but why does he have to _be like that_?!" she demanded in passionate angry tears. "I hate it!"

Sam was trying to hide his _this is very weird_ expression. Alex cried, yeah, but he'd never seen her cry quite like _this._ Like a kid who had gotten her Kool-Aid taken away. He was understanding and calm despite himself, keeping a hand on her arm to calm her down. "I know, I do too," he said in all seriousness. Alex breathed out hard and wiped at her cheeks, seeming to find her own behavior strange, too. Her loud noises had stopped at least. Sam gave her a second to get a grip and then he sighed, trying to explain it the best way he knew how. "Ever since Jamie died, he's been really struggling. He… he had feelings for her I don't think he's ever had for anyone else." Alex looked at Sam and listened hard, obviously sad all over again at the mention of her lost friend. "So when she… _killed_ herself… Dean just kinda shut down. Add in the trials, everything… _else_ … that's happened… basically, he's the CEO of Assholes R' Us." In some ways, Sam couldn't fault him. But talking that way to Alex, acting that way toward her… it was crossing a line and Sam was _not_ happy about it at all. His voice darkened slightly. "I'll talk to him later."

Alex was now bleak in contrast to what she'd been a minute ago. "And I'll kick him in the teeth," she said glumly. "Neither thing will change much."

Sam had to admit it. "You're probably right, but it's worth a try." He paused then made sure he was clear: "Talking, not kicking."

Wordlessly, Alex scooted her chair even closer to his, making the wooden arms clack. She put her head onto his shoulder and Sam was immediately touched at the gesture. She cuddled her cheek against his flannel shirt and sniffed softly. "I miss the way our family used to be," she whispered hollowly.

Sam had to chuckle softly as he put his arm around her, because he didn't think this family had _ever_ been picture perfect. "What, the time when I was estranged for years, or the time when I was soulless?" he asked. "Or maybe when Dean and you split for a year and he stayed with Lisa?" Alex made a soft grunt that Sam was pretty sure meant she thought his reminders were ruining her rose-colored glasses. Sam squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. "Our family's never been perfect," he reminded. "But one thing won't change. We're here for each other no matter what." He immediately felt like the world's biggest hypocrite saying that and he almost expected her to jerk back and scoff at him then throw the Amelia thing in his face.

But she didn't. "Yeah," she mumbled, then sighed wearily. "I just wish it wasn't like this. Someone always being the third wheel."

Sam was quiet for a long moment. "I mean… to be honest, I really do love how you and I have gotten closer," he admitted a little sheepishly. He had felt like the third wheel most days in the past. After being close as kids, drifting apart from his twin had really hurt him. A lot more than he had let on. "I used to get kinda jealous of you and Dean," he confessed.

Alex looked equally touched at his words even while being saddened. "Well… not much to be jealous of anymore," she said, then sat up and took one of the peanut butter cups and popped it in her mouth blankly.

"He'll come around," Sam insisted firmly.

Alex didn't sound so sure. "Yeah, I guess," she mumbled through a mouthful. She was already popping another cup in, obviously very hungry.

Sam watched her a minute then realized he didn't think she knew. "Hey, you know what date it is, right?" he asked lightly, looking for a way of cheering her up.

She shrugged, fiddling with the wrapper on her third peanut butter cup. "May something?" She froze and looked at him with wide eyes when she realized. "Oh god."

Sam nodded, pulling a falsely sympathetic face. "Yep. We're thirty-one."

Alex shook her head, obviously disliking that. "No. _You_ can be thirty-one, but I'm twenty-five forever. Getting old is for the fucking birds."

Sam gave her a _never gonna happen_ face. "Yeah, good luck with that one, kiddo."

Alex's eyebrows shot up. " _Kiddo_? I'm like a minute younger than you, grandpa!" He laughed a little, then dissolved into coughs as the vibrations in his throat set off a series of hacks. Alex's face changed from amusement back to severe worry. "Sam… you seriously look _terrible,_ " she observed tensely. He tried to brush it off, but he knew it was true. Alex hesitated then got surprisingly focused. "Tell me more about this trial stuff. I don't know if I like what it's doing to you."

Sam shrugged, a little guarded. "I mean, you know the gist. I started 'em a few months ago. The first trial was bathing in the blood of a Hellhound. Second was delivering a righteous soul from Hell to Heaven." He paused there, realizing that she didn't know this latest detail. "Went down there looking for Jamie, actually. Couldn't find her. Had no idea you were there or Dad, either." He stared off blankly, his brow tensing up. "I always thought maybe Dad would maybe get the pearly gates for everything."

Alex ate the last peanut butter cup thoughtfully and shook her head solemnly as she stared hard at the far wall. "I don't think it works like that. Hell is full of people who don't belong there. People who got tricked or duped into a one-way ticket down under." She looked very conflicted. "I honestly can't think of many people who deserve Hell forever. Awhile, maybe. Forever… I dunno."

Sam felt the same. "Well, it's gonna be shut down for good soon."

Alex looked confused. "So what, everyone goes to Heaven from here on out?"

"I dunno," Sam admitted. "I know it'll keep demons where the belong. And that includes Crowley." He felt his jaw grit. "If I don't kill him first."

Alex looked like he felt: murderous. "I'm first in that line," she said, obviously pretty ready to tear him a new one. After a long, tense pause, she looked at him sidelong hard. "Who'd you end up getting out of Hell for that second trial, anyway?"

"Rufus."

"No way." Alex looked mystified. "Why was _he_ there?"

Sam was as unsure as she was. "Don't know. Like you said. A lot of folks end up there who shouldn't."

Alex mulled it over for a couple long beats. "So you do this third and final trial—curing a demon of something—and then… Hell's shut for good and everything's over. And then you'll be… less of a walking corpse?"

Sam smiled faintly at her choice of words. "Yeah, something like that."

"Good." She looked at him and seemed pained by the sight of him. Sam was just thinking how odd it was that she'd been so emotional a minute ago and now was totally levelheaded. "I hate seeing you sick, Sam."

That was nice, but he didn't like her worrying on his behalf. "I'll be fine."

She nodded and gave him what felt like a brave little smile. "You bet your ass you will be. I'm gonna make sure you are."

A sad little smile flitted over his face. Sam really didn't know how she could just let everything go—not hold his actions of the past against him or bring them up. He was honestly grateful but also waiting for her to inevitably ask 'why did you leave me alone when I needed you? _Again?_ Wasn't the first time shitty enough of you? Why didn't you help me get into Purgatory?' He didn't know if it would be worth much to her because she probably didn't trust him anymore, but he said it anyway: "I'm gonna make sure you're okay, too," he promised somberly, hoping she believed he was gonna try. That he would never let his family down again. That whatever had possessed him to abandon them last year would never possess him again. Alex's expression showed brief confusion at his tone and expression. Sam smiled, looked down, not wanting to broach the subject. "I—I'm just glad you're here with us again. It wasn't the same without you."

She looked at him long and sad, and he could sense a question coming. But it wasn't what he'd predicted. "Are you mad at me, too?" she asked. "For what I did? Selling my soul and all that crap?"

" _Mad_?" Sam echoed incredulously, then thought about it. Examined his thoughts and searched for anger. He found none. "No. Sad, yeah. I mean, I've been to Hell. Not the same one as you and Dean but…" he clenched his teeth, abruptly emotional as he remembered Hell and the horrors it had presented him with. He still had nightmares. "It _kills_ me that you were there." He looked at her in tense concern. "Are you… are you really _okay_?"

She looked sad, a little afraid, but courageous. "I will be." 

Sam wondered if she was doing what he'd done: hidden the struggle with Hell he'd had after leaving that place. He was gonna keep a _close_ eye on her in any case. But honestly, he had questions. Something didn't add up for him. "Alex… Bobby was gone," Sam started slowly. "He'd _been_ gone. Why did you wait so long to make that deal? Why'd you make it at all?" He hoped he wasn't being too assumptive, but his instincts were whispering to pursue this line of questioning. He was very delicate about his tone and wording, though. "Something just seems a little weird about all of it to me."

Alex looked back at him with this indescribable look on her face. "Do you not remember?" she asked, studying him closely. _Remember what?_ Alex breathed out hard, frowning in thought. And when she took his hand that rested on the table in both of hers, Sam felt a slight jump in worry. Something felt incredibly serious and ominous about this. "I—" she trailed off and turned as Sam looked up, too.

Castiel was back and had found the last two granola bars Sam had stashed in his room. "Granola bars," he said, handing them both to Alex with a sincere, worried, hopeful look on his face. "The kind with chocolate."

Alex smiled, but it was a smile tempered by distraction, uncertainty, and something else Sam couldn't identity. "Thanks," she said, then looked at Sam and offered one his way. He guessed whatever she was about to tell him was gonna have to wait. "Want one?" she asked.

He declined with a stern little shake of the head. "Nah, not really hungry. You go ahead." He watched Cas sit down at the head of the table which was closer to Alex. And this time, Sam didn't miss the wedding band on Cas's finger. _Hmm_. He watched Cas closely for a moment and then glanced at Alex. He definitely needed to talk to Cas. But without Alex present. A shade more somber and serious, Sam pulled up the next file he needed to read.

Alex was unwrapping a granola bar and eating it with a famished gusto. "What are you researching, anyway?" she asked Sam through a mouthful.

"Demon possessions that the Men of Letters recorded," Sam replied in slight distraction. "There's a lot, as you can see. But there's more downstairs in the storage rooms, I think." He pulled over one of the journals he'd been sifting through earlier. "Haven't had a chance to explore everything completely. This place is huge." He turned the page in the journal and he hadn't even read three sentences before he happened onto something very intriguing. A single line of text:

_Case 1138. St. Louis, March 8, 1957. Weird!!! Room 7B._

"Huh." He frowned, immediately thinking this could be something worth checking out. Anyway, he was tired of staring at these freaking files. Sam glanced sidelong and saw that Alex was peering over, craning her neck to try and see what he was looking at. "This entry," he explained. "'Weird' with three exclamation points and then a note about 'room seven-b.'" He made a snap decision and pushed up and out of his chair. "I'm gonna go see if I can find it. You two hang tight."

When Sam was out of earshot, Cas gave Alex a slightly regretful expression. "I interrupted, didn't I? I could tell by the look on your face."

Alex shrugged mildly, chewing a huge mouthful of granola bar. "It's okay. The timing didn't feel totally right to me, anyway." She looked very reluctant. "Might need to give them a chance to process everything before I rock anyone's world again. Also I just feel so fucking _weird._ " Dissatisfied, she looked at the files Sam had left on the table and she almost seemed longing.

"What is it?" Cas asked softly.

Alex stared at the files with increasing yearning. "I feel like I should be _doing_ something." She pulled over one of the files, read it for like three seconds, and then looked hopeless. "Also, feels like I'm _totally_ out of the loop." She looked around the bunker in slight uncertainty. "Men of Letters, trials...? It's like I've been gone forever."

Castiel thought about his answer for a short beat. "You'll catch up," he said, then gave her a small smile. "We both will." His smile grew and he looked abashed and proud at the same time. He sat a little straighter and his chest puffed up just a bit. "I'm gonna be a hunter," he proclaimed, garnering a pleasant, surprised little expression from his wife. "I even started some uh… training, I suppose you could say, when I got out of Purgatory and thought you were…" his smile faded, "gone."

Alex's interest was piqued. Fully intrigued, momentarily distracted from all the stuff bugging her, she set all her attention onto Castiel. "A _hunter_? Now _this_ is something I haven't heard about." She leaned closer to him and pulled one of his hands into hers, waiting for him to tell her everything.

He did. But first he pulled her hand up to his mouth and kissed the back of her palm and then asked if he'd told her yet that day how beautiful she was.


	125. Where The Heart Is

" _Have you ever lost someone you loved and wanted one more conversation, one more chance to make up for the time when you thought they would be here forever? If so, then you know you can go your whole life collecting days, and none will outweigh the one you wish you had back._ _"  
_ \- Mitch Albom

* * *

While Sam investigated the lower levels of the bunker, Cas and Alex stayed in the command room together. There, they sat closely at the long study table as Cas recounted how he had assisted the brothers a few months ago during one of their hunts—how he had decided to become a hunter and subsequently joined up with Sam and Dean on the road for a case that involved a series of very looney, grisly scenarios at an elderly retirement home. How during that hunt he'd come across John's journal and subsequently found some of Alex's drawings and writings therein. While some of this conversation was light and even amusing, the mood became increasingly morose as Cas remembered how, at that time, he'd truly believed Alex was dead and gone. Naomi's mind control was to blame of course, but nevertheless Cas still felt guilty and strange about not knowing on some basic level that Alex had actually been alive. Even though he didn't _say_ that he felt ashamed about that, Alex sensed it and held his hand a little more firmly as a silent _it_ _'_ _s okay_ when he talked about that portion of the time she'd been gone for.

"And then, well, it all became too much for me when I found some poetry you had composed in my name," he said softly, continuing onward in a thoughtful, grim way as his eyes drifted around the table surface unseeingly. "What I planned to do next, it was very impulsive of me—very reckless." Alex's pulse picked up a little in fear for what he was about to reveal. He paused, eyes flickering to hers briefly, betraying his hesitance to confess what he was going to say next. "I—I decided I was going to travel into the past and change it all. Get you back one way or another. I, I realized I couldn't live without you. That even one more day with you gone would break me." His eyes met hers fully and they were quietly intense blue oceans full of ceaseless devotion. The way he looked at her reminded her of a time that seemed forever ago when he had promised he would tear down the laws of nature if he had to do so in order to protect her. When he looked at her in that severely loving way, it made Alex feel many things. Castiel had always been committed to her protection and survival… almost at a frightening level. It was one of the most intense feelings she had ever known to realize the strength of his devotion. It riveted her, it scared her, it intimidated her, it made her feel full to the brim with love. His expression flickered and the intensity faded. "But before I went back in time… I went to a liquor store with intentions to get very, very drunk."

Alex felt herself frowning slightly. A liquor store? To get _drunk?_ "…Why?" she asked dubiously. Cas wasn't a man—he didn't turn to substances in times of duress. Or at least he never had _before_ …

Cas thought about her question, perhaps finding his own reasoning for the first time. "I… I couldn't handle how I was feeling," he somberly reflected. "It was like a huge hole had been ripped inside of me when I lost you. And nothing could fill it or make me feel any better." Again, his gaze burned into hers and her heart tugged to hear him talking about losing her. She knew the feeling of loss so well. She had lost everyone she'd ever loved—some of them multiple times—Cas included. It was the worst, loneliest, most terrifying feeling she knew of. She squeezed his hand, so sorry he'd felt those things… so sorry he'd felt alone. "As a result, I wanted to feel _less_ ," he continued ruefully. "Alcohol, as I remembered, can assist with that. I arrived to a store that sold various liquors with every intention to drink myself into oblivion. And then I… well…" he paused significantly, eyes on their hands which held on top of the table, "I had a strange encounter."

Something about the way he said it clued Alex in to its importance. Immediately, she felt wary. "What do you mean?" she asked cautiously.

Castiel's expression showed a lack of knowing how to word himself. "Well…" his eyes slid to hers and he looked many things: tentative, hopeful, nervous, uncertain. "…I think I met our children."

…Talk about the last thing you expected to hear. Alex, who had met a mysterious time traveling young man who she _still_ hadn't found the right time to mention to Cas, felt her eyes bug wide. "…Child _ren_?!" As in… more than _one_? 

Cas took her shocked reaction in stride. "Yes," he confirmed evenly. "I know it's surprising. They um… they were both teens or young adults—from the future."

Alex stared in something greater than shock. Her stomach was like a stormy sea inside of her. "Two of them!" she exclaimed softly, reeling, trying to make sense of it. 

Castiel nodded once. "A boy and a girl," he confirmed. "Their names were—"

Alex cut him off _fast_ because it brought new meanings to the term 'spoiler alert _._ _'_ "No, _nonono_ —don't tell me that," she said in a fluster, trying to get her bearings. "I mean, if it was—if they _were_ _—_ " she scrambled clumsily to try and explain herself. "I don't want to know their _names_ before they even _exist_ , right…?" Jarred, Alex didn't know how to process this sudden bombshell. Her first instinct was to coroborate. "W-what did the boy look like?" she asked faintly, thinking of the stranger she'd met...

"Very much like me," Cas said, making Alex's heart drop to her toes. "Brown hair, very blue eyes, similar facial features to mine…"

Swallowing through a thick throat, Alex felt short on breath. "Tall? Slender? Sort of… uh… confident and sarcastic?"

It was Cas's turn to look stilled as well as a little confused as to how she'd know that. "…Very."

"…Oh my god," Alex breathed. "I—I saw him too, I think," she managed to get out in a shellshocked tone. "Right after you and Dean got sucked into monsterland… this, this _guy_ showed up out of nowhere at Sucrocorp and helped me and Sam get out and… gave me a drawing of the tree in Purgatory... and at the time I thought I was totally nuts to even _think._.." she trailed off. "But he looked _so much_ like you and I dunno I just had this _feeling_ about him and… Jesus Christ, I really need to sit down." She stared queasily at nothing.

There was an awkward pause. "You _are_ sitting down," Cas then pointed out in slight concern.

Oh. So she was. "Then I need to stand up," she said, shakily pushing herself up to her feet which quickly began to move her forward. She was very much like Dean in that when agitated or upset, she had a hard time holding still. Not totally cognizant of her surroundings, Alex wandered toward the library, raking a hand through her hair and trying to make sense of what this meant. She had gone through fantasyland moments of thinking children would be nice to have with Cas—but she'd never given it _real true intentional_ thought. And right now after her stint in Hell and all the shit she'd been through in the past year, she was left feeling like she was _way_ too far gone to ever bring new life into the world, and this place was too dangerous for them too. Then she realized she didn't even know _why_ these supposed kids of hers had shown up and she turned around fast, finding that Cas had followed her into the library area. He stood nearby, appearing concerned about her. "What were they even _doing_ here?" she asked. "And are you _sure_ they were… were _ours_?" she asked, having a tough time saying 'ours.' It felt somehow more petrifying than all the monsters she'd ever faced.

Cas nodded seriously, his expression hard to read. "Yes. They were."

Alex was too jangled up to just accept that. " _How_? How do you know?"

There was a look in Castiel's eyes like no other. "I just do," he said softly as his feelings clearly surged. He hesitated. "And the boy... h-he called me..." Cas had to take a moment. Alex hung on his every word and movement without breathing, almost feeling like she might cry without knowing why. His voice was soft and emotional, almost a whisper. "He called me Dad."

Thunderstruck, Alex breathed out softly, amazed. She hadn't expected to hear that, nor had she expected the automatic response her heart gave: warmth, love, tenderness. For the briefest moment, Alex was lost in a sea of incredible emotion and feeling, imagining this moment in her mind, seeing Castiel's expression, understanding this was part of their future somehow. "They came to tell me not to alter the past, essentially," Castiel explained. "And, apparently… _I_ sent them to do that. Future me."

Alex shook her head briefly, in a trance. "There were two," she murmured, trying to wrap her mind around it. She hesitated, needing to know. "W-what did _she_ look like?"

Cas seemed to grow a touch more tender and carefully replied: "Very much like her mother."

_Oh my god. He means me._

At the strange look on her face, Cas came closer. "Are you all right?" he asked gently, voice wrought in faint worry.

She was shaking her head, overcome with so many feelings, but the biggest one was a loud, growing fear. " _No_ , I just… I don't understand," she said, eyes unfocused and not looking at anything. "Cas, I can barely keep my cell phones from breaking, how would I ever keep a _kid_ alive?" It was a foreign concept—and currently felt too real to do anything but send her into a place of fear that quickly spiralled. "I can't picture myself as a… as a _mother_. And apparently sometime in the future I _am_ …? That kind of scares the _shit_ out of me, honestly, I mean…" she trailed off and wet her lips as she tried to figure out how she felt. "I don't even _want_ kids I don't think?" _Or do I? I don't even know._ "I—I've _never_ been one of those girls who played with dolls or wanted babies—I wanted to shoot guns and drive trucks and climb trees and jump off things and kick ass; I've never even really _been_ around babies or families or normal people, how would I know how to raise a _kid_? I don't think I could do it—I don't know _how!_ " It was honestly so scary to think about—more than a hunt, more than demons. Being a mother was more of an unknown than going to Hell. And that brought up something she avoided thinking of: the baby they _had_ lost. Guilt didn't even cover what she felt concerning that failed pregnancy, as short as it had been and as unknowing as she had remained. In Hell, there had been torture centered around this very subject, which she would _never_ speak about to anyone. Alex's heart broke a little bit as she continued to believe the worst of herself, and fear failing innocent, little humans of her own creation. "This life, my job, the danger, the world we live in… how the hell would we ever want to bring a _kid_ into this mess?" she begged.

Cas looked unprepared. He didn't have any real answers for her. He tried to find words to alleviate her obvious distress. "I—I don't know the circumstances… I just know that they exist," he said quietly, leaving Alex to feel incredibly uncertain. He thought hard for a moment. "I can only assume that someday in the future we mutually decide to… to have children. But that's the future. Not now." He gently touched her arm, appealing to her, trying to calm and soothe her jangled nerves. "We don't need to even think about that aspect of things until you're ready. Well. Until we're _both_ ready." He smiled in a semi self-deprecating way that indicated he was unsure about it all, too.

Breathing out a long, shaky breath, Alex nodded, realizing he was right. It wasn't like they were gonna have kids _now_ or something. Maybe this was actually a bit of hope for a safer, more peaceful future they'd get to someday. But it was still something that she wasn't going to stop thinking about, even if she tried. The fact that someday they _would_ be parents put such an immense pressure. And 'parent' seemed to be the most difficult, demanding job on the planet. Alex wracked her brain: Cas said she wouldn't get pregnant unless he lost total control of himself or unless it was on purpose—so when in the future did she up and decide she wanted kids? And _two_ of them at that? Then, a sudden new thought revealed itself, one she didn't know why she hadn't considered it yet. "Would… would our kids be like… super-powered or something?" she asked, voice tight. "Would... would they even be _human_?"

Castiel was hesitant to speak much on the matter. "I don't know much about Nephilim," he admitted, and the term 'Nephilim' made Alex feel a fraction colder. It felt detached and strange, like the name designated for an inhuman creature or monster. "There were a few near the beginning of humanity but then the archangels changed that," he explained tentatively. "The Nephilim were all too powerful and thought too dangerous. So… they were exterminated."

 _Exterminated?_ Alex felt a twinge of protectiveness and anger. Someday she would have children that Heaven didn't want in existence? Quieted and faced with this difficult news, Alex took a couple seconds to try and understand. "So they wouldn't be human or angel. They'd be… something else." _Nephilim_. She turned away from Castiel and struggled to get a handle on her emotions and feelings. Growing up as a human was hard enough, but being _different_? Feeling freakish and knowing you would never be like everyone else? Alex had lived that and never wanted anyone else to feel it. Especially not any children she did or didn't have with Castiel. And if history repeated itself, angels would want these children dead simply because their mother was human and their father was an angel. Alex's chest was constricting tightly as the vast differences between herself and her husband screamed across her mind. She felt Cas coming up behind her and she cursed herself for feeling so emotional. "I'm sorry, I just… it's too overwhelming to even think about right now," she whispered, as she unconsciously pressed one hand to her stomach.

His hand came to rest on her shoulder comfortingly as he rounded her, placing himself in front of her. "It's all right. Alex, you've gone through so much," he consoled, and his knack for saying the right thing and seeing through to what was going on with her really touched her deeply. He was completely earnest and not at all upset with her for being distressed. "It's all right for you to feel whatever you're feeling," he continued, then hesitated because she wasn't looking him in the eye. "What _are_ you feeling?" he asked, dipping his head a little in an attempt to read her expression better.

"Nauseated," she said sourly, then regretted the flippant reply and her eyes raised to his. And those _weren_ _'_ _t_ his eyes. Not really, not totally. He wasn't a human being, and even though he might look and even feel like one at this point, the fact remained: they were not the same species. She was in her thirties while he was so old her mind couldn't even comprehend it. She was flesh and bone and soul; he was spirit and light and Grace. They were not the same and they had never been. "I'm feeling… like I'm a human and you're an angel," she managed to get out weakly.

Castiel's expression grew heavier and more knowing when she said that. "Yes." A brief pause, an uncertain twinge on his face. "And you've always known that."

Yes she had. Alex shook her head, not even sure where she was going with this. "I know but… I… I don't know."

Instead of standing there in hurt silence or drawing away—two things Castiel might have done in the past when Alex expressed doubt—he drew her close into a hug, recognizing that she needed comfort. "Come here," he murmured, enveloping her in sweet, heartfelt reassurance. The bad feelings lessened in the warmth of his arms. No, he wasn't a human like her. But that hadn't stopped them yet.

Still, Alex felt that ancient fear of being abandoned creeping up and looming larger and larger. And she was stuck thinking about them having children who would be targets and outcasts. Why did everything have to be so complicated? Why did every aspect of this relationship have to be completely abnormal? The way Castiel loved her was so utterly unbelievable and powerful… but what if it was too good to last? That was her deepest, darkest, truest fear. She warred against it so hard and very often _was_ able to push it out of her mind and not let it control her. But today, she felt every bit of the flawed human that she was. And she saw him for every bit of the celestial being that he was. The soul touch last night ran through her mind. "Sometimes I just don't know why anyone at all would love me at all," she confessed miserably after a minute of conflicted silence. "Least of all a goddamn angel."

Cas looked at her for a long moment, peering into her soul it felt like. "You're afraid," he observed presently, a tender and kind, knowing assessment. Her heart jolted as her eyes shot up to look into his, which were full of understanding and love. "Alex, we have seen each other at our best and at our worst. _Nothing_ you have ever done has changed anything for me," he promised with a simple, straightforward tone as his thumbs stroked over her fingers so gently. "And it never will." The softest, saddest smile came over his face as she was embarrassed and reassured at the same time. "Someday you won't doubt at all," he murmured warmly with this certainty that had her transfixed. "Someday you'll see yourself as I see you. And then… you will never wonder or fear again." He reached out and tucked some hair away from her face and behind her ear. A tender, knowing touch that was paired with a deeply soulful gaze. "Until then… I'm happy to remind you every day that the thing I love most in the world is you."

Her heart was bursting and her stomach was turning flips at his words. Her hands tightened on his. Alex was a lot of things: Overwhelmed, traumatized, emotional, tired, conflicted, hungry. But she did know one thing through it all. "Sometimes it scares me how much I love you." She whispered those words, like it might make the two of them safer somehow. But the truth was that he was her heart and soul walking around on two legs outside of herself—and he could run away or disappear.

Cas's expression showed understanding. "I know. I've felt the same."

They loved each other. Alex knew that. But a million worries were still eating her alive. And she couldn't stop thinking of his boundlessness, his wings, his Grace, his ageless form. And then herself: small, human, finite, mortal. How could this really, truly work? Especially now knowing that their future kids would never be normal? "We're still so _different_ though…" she mumbled in a strained voice, not sure how else to convey all her concerns.

Very tender and fond, Cas's lips turned upward in a bittersweet smile. " _Are_ we?" he prompted knowingly, and he possessed this quiet confidence that was entrancing. "I think we already know that together we can face anything," he said. "Make it through what should otherwise be impossible. After all, we have done so already time and time again." Alex breathed out softly, realizing that he was right, of course. A hundred things had stood between them, but nothing had been able to keep them apart. "Different or not… we love each other," Cas said. It wasn't a question. His voice held no doubts. His fingers tightened on hers affectionately and he was absolutely spellbinding to her in that moment. "I believe that's enough to see us through. _More_ than enough."

When he put it like that—reminded her of the facts and didn't waver in his stance… she felt stronger and more sure, more capable of believing. Maybe she didn't know the future and he didn't either. But what he was saying was total fact: they'd made it this far and were stronger for it. If they had gotten through the rest, they could certainty make it through some more. Just as long as they stuck together. Alex felt herself smiling back at him through her softening, worried expression. "I love you, you know that?" she whispered.

His eyes were soft and bright. "Yes," he said huskily. "I do."

He was her strength in this moment—her support and her firm foundation and they both knew it. Not sure what more to say, Alex caught his face in her hands and kissed him softly, letting her fingers slide back to the sides of his neck and then into his hair. His familiar, sweet mouth made her sigh as his arms and hands found a gentle embrace of her body against his. Alex tried to commit this feeling of certainty and being loved to mind so that she could carry it with her into the darker, more uncertain moments of her life. When they gently broke apart, they did not move very far away at all—just caught each other's gazes briefly and then Cas hugged her against himself again, a hand against her head to cradle her. Her arms wrapped around his familiar shape and held on tight. Maybe part of her would always be waiting for the next time they got ripped apart. But right now… they were together. And she wasn't going to let herself think like that. She felt Cas kissing the top of her head softly and she shut her eyes as a smile drifted across her face. That's where they were when they heard Sam's telltale long stride approaching again.

Although Alex was still thinking through a lot of things, she switched tracks mentally pretty quickly when she pulled her head off of Cas's shoulder and saw that her brother carried a huge old film reel with him—the circular metal disc with spokes through it. "What's _that_?" she asked, instantly intrigued.

"Film reel of interest from the note about 'weird' with three exclamation points," Sam said mysteriously then wiggled the object with a playful little expression. "Think I saw a projector around here somewhere, too. Movie night?"

 _Movie night._ Those two words triggered only one thought in Alex and she was suddenly extremely enthusiastic and jumping out of Cas's arms. "Yes! _Popcorn_!" She was definitely on board and thinking with her stomach which had been feeling very empty and fussy all day long. "And M&Ms!" She could probably eat at least a pound of them. "Text Dean and tell him to bring the peanut kind, a big, _huge_ bag." Her mind spun with food possibilities as she focused more and more on how damn _hungry_ she was. "Oh, and cupcakes—whatever kind there is—chocolate would be best though."

Sam didn't look too enthusiastic about her wish list. "None of that stuff is good for you," he hedged, his cell phone in hand as he hesitated to text Dean that wishlist. "How about something more healthy? Like… I dunno… spinach salad with grilled chicken?"

" _Screw_ salads," his twin retorted, tapping her chin with a finger as she thought hard and walked a small little circle in absent-mindedness. "I _really_ want _sardines_. Probably on pizza, but I guess by themselves would be okay too…" Dad used to get sardines on pizza and she always thought they were gross in the past but today they sounded fucking _amazing._

Sam looked positively revolted and mystified. " _Sardines_?" He glanced at Cas, who was taking a cue from Sam and appearing a little dubious. "Gross," he muttered. 

"And pickles," Alex continued, mouth watering as she imagined how they tasted and crunched. "The kind that are spicy. With spray cheese." She stopped short there, realizing how nasty these combinations were. But then again, she hadn't really eaten food in ten years because of Hell—she was bound to crave all her favorites, especially since she was so _starved,_ right? She shrugged and pulled a face at Cas and Sam's confused expressions. "Getting out of Hell makes you a little hungry."

Sam was doubtful. "Yeah… I guess." He narrowed his eyes at his sister, studying her closely. "…You feeling okay?"

"I feel great," she muttered, a little annoyed all of the sudden. "Just… _hungry_." She swiped his phone abruptly, in a hurry to get some food into her growling stomach. "Gimme that, I'll text him myself." She paused and made a confused face then glanced up at Sam. "Who's _Molly_?" she asked. There were like a million texts from her.

Sam's face fell a little and his demeanor immediately gave him away. "Uh… no one." He moved closer, nervously eyeing his phone and trying not to show how nervous he was. Obviously, he failed. 

Alex raised an eyebrow at him, stepping back as she tried to read the screen and simultaneously keep the phone out of Sam's reaching hand. "You sure seem to text 'no one' a lot…" she said, waiting for the explanation.

Sam pulled one of his bitchy faces, impatient with her. Then he abruptly darted forward. "Give me _that_ ," he said, swiping his phone back defensively. 

"Okay, _okay._ Geez." Alex crossed her arms, studying her suddenly ruffled brother closely. For now, she left it alone because she was getting so hungry she thought she would starve to death. "M&Ms," she reminded firmly. "And everything else I said. And make it snappy—my stomach is eating itself."

Sam was typing away on his phone and throwing a perplexed little glance her way. "Yup. Got it."

Alex sighed out hard, wondering when on earth Dean would get his ass back here with food. In the meantime… she really couldn't stand to wait any longer. "I'm gonna go see what we have in the kitchen." She glanced at Cas and then held her hand out to him. He smiled covertly, shyly, and took her hand and then was quickly pulled away toward the kitchen as she made a beeline for the pantry.

Sam watched them go out of the corner of his eye and hit the send button on the text to Dean of all the foods Alex had requested. They weren't gonna have any luck in the kitchen. He was pretty sure all that they had was some ketchup, hot sauce, and salt packets in there. Sam briefly looked through the texts he and Molly had exchanged recently. A small instance of guilt rippled through him. It sometimes started as a 'hey how are you?' or 'saw this and thought of you' type thing. He tried to keep his replies to her texts short and sweet because he really didn't want to lead her on. But, of course, at his deepest levels, he wished he was still dating her. Knowing the danger he put her in simply by being in her life at all helped him stay focused on distancing himself, though. He worried that even these nominal, friendly texts would endanger her. But sometimes, Molly was the only one who made Sam feel sane at all. She had no clue how deep he was in, and he kind of needed that. Someone who didn't know every last thing about how dark and bad he was.

_Selfish. You_ _'_ _re so fucking selfish._

Sam pocketed his phone and then glanced around haggardly. He was trying to prove it to himself that he _wasn_ _'_ _t_ selfish but he wasn't sure if _he_ even believed that about himself. His whole life he'd been called self-centered and then told that any act of independence that stood him apart from the family was him being selfish. He knew there was a fine line between self-assured and self-centered and wanted to believe that he wasn't a self-absorbed asshole. But he just didn't know. Either way, he would be so glad when these trials were over with. What happened after that he didn't know, but he was hopeful that maybe him and his family would finally get some kind of a break. And hopefully after he closed Hell, he would finally be able to set aside all the guilt that had plagued him since Purgatory. It was too heavy to carry much longer. He needed forgiveness. From himself and from his siblings. Maybe then he could feel like a real person again.

After about twenty minutes of poking around and setting up the old-school movie projector while remaining wrapped up in his harrowed thoughts, Sam realized he hadn't heard a peep out of Cas and Alex and he went to find them, worried by default about their safety and then subsequently worried that he'd find them in some kind of compromising position. He found them in the kitchen at the little humble table there—Cas sitting in a chair, Alex sitting beside him and curled up with her head in his lap, her mouth open and hair strewn across her face. She was fast asleep in what looked like an extremely uncomfortable position. Sam looked at Cas questioningly when he came upon the scene. Cas looked a little out of his element. "She ate the last stale hot dog bun and then cried because there were no hot dogs," he said, and he sounded a little overwhelmed and confused at her behavior. "I… think she's very tired."

Or maybe losing her goddamn _mind_. Sam nodded tensely, studying his sister's sleeping face with concern. "Yeah. I can see that." She was acting weird—weird enough that Sam was worried about what this might have to do with Hell or not. He slowly sat down across from Cas at the table quietly as to not wake Alex. "She okay, Cas?" he asked in a soft voice. Alex didn't stir at all—sleeping like a rock.

Cas looked down at the side of her zonked sleeping face and moved her hair back tenderly with his fingers. Sam saw that Cas was worried, too. "Hell has certainly left a mark," he conceded, then grew more hesitant. "And I… I think I might have _done_ something to her during um… a soul touch last night." Sam's eyebrows shot up high. A soul touch? That sounded… _different_. Was it like a… sex thing? Or for some other purpose? Sam didn't know what kind of comment to make and was stuck feeling wary, so he said nothing for a long moment, staying neutral and careful.

Cas was looking at Alex with a quiet, mystified expression on his face. "Something seems different about her cellular make up but I can't put my finger on what exactly I did or changed," he murmured, and Sam felt his face tensing up as his concern grew. Cas glanced up, saw that, and reassured the hunter meekly. "I don't think it's anything to be worried about, she seems fine if not just… somehow _different._ " Sam tried to understand and even thought about asking what the soul touch was _for_ but decided it was probably none of his business what these two did behind closed doors if it was consensual. Still, he worried silently. When your sister was in a relationship with an all-powered angel, it could really wrack your nerves—for reasons exactly like this. Cas was gentle with Alex and protective of her, Sam knew that… but mistakes happened. And as Sam watched Cas with his sister, he remembered one ultimate, terrifying, unforgivable mistake that had been made. He remembered a time when he had been hellbent on _killing_ Cas as revenge for his family and their deaths. It was stilling to think of that again. "I'll continue to monitor her and care for her as best I can, I promise you that Sam," Cas said quietly, focused on Alex's face again and missing Sam's tellingly sickened expression. "Memories of Hell, however… I'm afraid of the effect they'll have on her longterm."

Sam felt a brief, tense smile pull on his mouth. The irony wasn't lost on him. He knew all about the memories of Hell and what they could do to a person. "Makes two of us," he said tightly, thinking of his own experience with the night terrors, the hallucinations, the memories out of nowhere, the crippling fear. He was quiet for a solemn moment, rubbing at his scarred palm absently as he thought of a lot of heavy, important things. "They never really go away. The damage is always gonna be there." He refocused himself, choosing to be positive. "But she's really strong. And she won't be going through it alone. So, I know she'll pull through." Sam was gonna be here for her, come whatever.

Cas was peering at Sam with an expression of gentle thoughtfulness. "How are _you,_ Sam?"

Momentarily startled by the question, Sam was a little clumsy in his reply. "Honestly?" he tried to laugh off the question and he definitely did _not_ go into detail. "Uh... been better. But it doesn't matter. I'll muddle through." He cleared his throat loudly, uncomfortable because he realized that the conversation he'd been meditating on having with Cas for awhile now was about to happen. A little nervous about how the angel would respond to everything he had to say, Sam clasped his hands on the table and put on his best businesslike tone and face even though truth be told he was feeling very awkward about this entire thing. "So uh, Cas. I can't help but notice you're wearing uh… that." He gestured and let his gaze show Cas what he was referring to: the wedding ring. 

It was Cas's turn to be startled and then a little sheepish. He looked at his left hand briefly, maybe wondering if Sam was going to tell him to take it off. "Yes," he confirmed meekly. He was hesitant to look Sam in the eyes fully. Obviously he understood that Sam was leery of the entire thing.

Sam sighed out a long, hard breath of air. He hated causing conflict and stirring up crap—half the time he kept his opinions to himself because he knew it just wouldn't do much good and would end up creating more bad than good. But this time… after everything… he had to lay it out. "Look Cas. I usually don't put myself in other people's business but… when it comes to my sister, you understand. I have a few things to say. And I haven't really even _seen_ you with Alex since you were…" he made the crazy-in-the-head sign with a swirling finger beside his temple. "But I've been holding onto this for awhile so… out in the open, right?" He cleared his throat again and tried to be sensitive and careful about how he worded himself. It was tough to summarize up such a mess of emotions and thoughts, but he did his best. "I wasn't happy when I found out what you two did. I was… well, I dunno if I've ever been more upset in my whole _life_." Sam shook his head as his eyebrows worked in together. "I looked at you and saw some guy who had done nothing but hurt and lie to and do wrong to my sister. And she _married_ you in secret. After everything you did, she still loved you and I just… it made me _furious._ " He paused and let his eyebrows shrug up briefly and sadly. "Then I realized I was pretty much exactly the same. I did all those things too. Hurt her, lied to her, abandoned her, betrayed her. And Dean too." Cas listened with an intrigued, cautious expression as Sam made himself clear: "Now does that make either of us more in the right? _No_. I'm not excusing any of the crap either of us pulled." Sam drew his mouth into an uncertain line briefly. "Honestly, I'm still on the fence about all this. You and Alex. How it works, if it lasts, if it _can_ last. I know you make her happy, I do. And I get that you two love each other a lot and hell, my family isn't exactly _normal_ so I don't think I should have ever expected her to end up with something cookie cutter. I know it's your relationship, not mine. And like I said, I've never been the guy who tried to run other people's lives for them. This stuff is all you two and I'm not looking to get in the way or impose." He clenched his jaw and drew the line in the sand. "But Cas, this is my _sister_. My twin. She and I came into the world together—we're connected in ways other siblings never are—and maybe we didn't always stick together but I gotta look out for her. Maybe to make up for all the times I didn't come through, I dunno."

Sam was almost stern at this point as Cas listened on with a faintly uncomfortable expression. "You don't _deserve_ a second chance with her. You _don_ _'_ _t_. In my opinion, after what happened… no matter how justified it was or wasn't, it _happened._ You _killed_ her, Cas." A very stark silence hung between the men for an awful couple of long seconds. "That fact alone should put you on my hit list, but…" Sam paused and shook his head, overwhelmed with it all. "When I had no soul, I would have killed her too if Dean hadn't stopped me. And Cas, I _wanted_ to kill her _and_ Dean when I was high on demon blood that one time." Sam looked at the angel for a long, pensive moment. He hated to admit how close he'd come to true evil at some moments in his life. But it gave him immense understanding of how given the right circumstances, _anyone_ could be the bad guy. "So can I really point the finger at you while knowing all _my_ misdeeds?" he asked, voice soft with emotion. Despite it all, Sam felt a conflicted smile turn his mouth upwards. "And I mean, at the core, you're _not_ a villain or a bad guy, Cas. You're not. I know what she sees in you. The same good things I've seen. And you know, you've done more for my family than maybe anyone else ever has. I like you. Always have. When we found out about the Crowley thing… it was like losing a good friend. Because that's what I'd come to see you as. A good friend." He took a second to study the angel across from him. "I think we can get there again, you and me." Cas looked touched and hopeful. But Sam had to make it crystal clear. He got serious and intense so that he would never be misunderstood about this: " _But_ _…_ friends or not, family or not… if you _ever_ hurt her again—at _all_ —if you even come _close_ to doing something wrong to her—if you _lie_ to us like you did before and keep secrets—there won't be another chance for you. I'll kill you where you stand." He said that and then cracked a nervous little grimace when he heard how _intimidating_ his tone of voice had been. "That… came out a lot more threatening than I meant for it to be," he said, then rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously and sheepishly. "But I guess there isn't a way to threaten someone's life without being a little… uh… threatening." Sam let his hand drop and huffed a little to expel some nervous energy. And that was it. His grand monologue, the things he'd been thinking for a long time now. Sam felt better to have it all in the open, but now came the moment of truth: Castiel's reaction to everything that had just been said to him. Sam expected for Cas to either shut down or become defensive. Or perhaps to even start experimenting with heavy denial. But the angel ended up surprising the hunter.

Cas thought a moment then of all things _smiled_ softly and nodded, appearing to be touched. "Thank you, Sam."

Sam was just a _little_ confused. _Thank you?_ "…For threatening to kill you?" he asked slowly and incredulously.

Cas's smile grew a little more as if Sam amused him a bit. "No," he said gently. "For looking out for her. For protecting her. You're a very good brother." 

That genuine compliment felt like a sting and Sam was immediately a fraction more ashamed of himself. "Yeah. Not always," he muttered, looking away and swallowing down self-loathing. He wet his lips, cleared his throat, changed the subject. "Look, I'm sorry. I know the timing's awkward and… well, the whole _thing_ is awkward but… I just had to put all that out there." He gave Cas his more earnest and meaningful look, hoping Cas didn't think that he hated him or something. "I'm trusting her judgment on this. She's giving you a second chance so I am too. Clean slate. Do over." He paused and then his voice bore a blossoming note of dire warning. "But just this once." Sam hoped to _god_ or whatever higher power that he wouldn't have to make good on his threat. His intuition said that Castiel had made his mistakes, learned his lessons, and would not let the same things happen ever again. But just in case… Sam's word would stand, like it or not.

Castiel was sad and apologetic across the table, appearing to be very affected by the speech he'd just been given. "Sam…" he shook his head slightly, gathering his thoughts and trying to come up with a meaningful response. "I _am_ sorry. For everything." His eyes swept back and forth over the tabletop as he took a moment to name some of his most grave offenses. "For lying to you, for keeping things from you and your family. For breaking your mind, for raising you wrong out of Hell the first time, for betraying you, for…" his expression wavered sickeningly when he could not bring himself to name the murders he'd committed. "For _all_ of it." Sam and Cas's eyes met and they both knew what he meant. Cas's eyes fell down to look at the table and he was obviously very depressed about how much wrong he'd done to the Winchester family and the world in general. And then Cas surprised Sam with what he said next. "I'm also sorry for marrying your sister in secret." His eyes flickered up to Sam's surprised gaze. "I know you and Dean will forever be unhappy about that."

A little touched at the empathy Cas was offering, Sam tried to express his feelings on the matter. "Just… just wish we could have been there, that's all," he said in staunch honestly. "Been part of it I guess." He knew that was wishful thinking because at the time he probably would have thought Cas and Alex were _nuts_ for getting married. He wouldn't have exactly been _excited_ about it. But… Sam still wished that somehow he could have been there and been witness to it at the very least. Maybe he wouldn't have totally _approved_ per say, but he could have at least did his best to support his sister and her right to make her own choices. Marriage was a big deal and Sam remained uncertain as to whether or not Cas and Alex really understood the implications about it. But… he knew his sister was a big time over-thinker. So maybe he wasn't giving them enough credit. Anyway, like he'd said: it was their relationship, not his. Therefore, not his business.

Cas was deeply reflective for a long moment. "At the time, we thought the world was going to end," he recalled in a bittersweet tone. His eyes were far away, seeing into the past. "That we only had a week or two left to live. Perhaps it was ill-advised or poorly timed but… I still don't regret it. I can't." His gaze unclouded and found Sam's sincerely. "I _do_ regret causing you any disappointment or pain though Sam. Please accept my apologies."

Sam nodded slowly, indicating that he understood. That was good of Cas to say. But Sam now had a new curiosity burning in his mind. Something he'd wondered before and never asked. "You think you two would have gotten married if the apocalypse _hadn_ _'_ _t_ been nigh?"

A question that the angel softened at. Castiel had this deeply in love look on his face as his eyes drifted down to the dark head of hair resting in his lap. He thought for a long few seconds. "I honestly don't know. Perhaps not. But I have no regrets." Sam recognized that Castiel loved Alex—there had never been any doubt in his mind about _that_ —and he had caught on pretty quickly to the fact that they were into each other in the early days but… there was just something very suddenly surreal about this moment now. Cas and Alex—committed, together. For better or for worse, it seemed. Choosing to be together despite everything they'd been through. Sticking it out even when the going got tough. Huh. Maybe they _did_ understand marriage more than he thought. Cas glanced up at Sam. "I hope you and Dean won't mind having me with you from now on," he said quietly, and Sam heard the apprehensiveness hidden there.

He gave the angel a little smile. "We'll figure it out," he assured, guessing this was as good an outcome as any. He was secretly glad Cas didn't want to move out or take Alex away with himself to start some kind of private life together, just the two of them. The Winchesters belonged together as a family unit and Castiel recognized that and didn't have plans to swoop in and change it all. Sam leaned back in his chair, more relaxed than before as he gestured around optimistically. "And hey… we got a place now with plenty of room. Kinda worked itself out, didn't it?" Hope was warm in Sam's chest as he thought about how things could really be okay someday. Hell would be closed, his sister would be okay, Dean would hopefully and eventually recover from everything that had threatened to break him. And Dad. He might be okay too, but Sam wasn't sure what that meant for the family. He knew one thing though. The unassuming, mild-mannered angel across from him was the one who had kept this entire family alive. Abruptly stricken, Sam's face showed his deep emotion. "Thank you, Cas," he said earnestly. "For saving my sister. For pulling my dad out. For pulling _me_ out, for pulling _Dean_ out." Castiel had rescued the entire Winchester family from Hell, basically. And lest he ever forget the most kind and important thing, the thing which came first: Cas giving Alex the ability to speak. "Without you… we wouldn't even _be_ here."

At the thank yous, Cas had that soft, weary smile on his face. He looked very touched and appreciative of Sam's gratitude, but he was humble to a fault. "I'll always do whatever I can for this family, Sam."

This was the Castiel that Sam really admired and liked. Steadfast, devoted, simple and quiet, a little emotionally vulnerable. He really did have a lot of positives that Sam found worthy of respect. The angel was willing to do whatever it took to protect the ones he loved. He had faced exile for his feelings and convictions—he had left everything he knew behind. And he had always, _always_ done what he thought was right (even when he was sadly misguided). It was striking to think about, actually. Castiel was super-powered, fierce, and had always been very loud in the beginning about proclaiming his celestial nature, his place in the universe, his importance almost. Castiel; Angel of the Lord. Soldier, warrior, formidable opponent, someone you did _not_ want to piss off. He was a fucking badass with a blade, could kill you a thousand ways, and had commanded a war in Heaven. And yet here he was sitting in a chair and currently existing as a human pillow for Alex, who had just let out a soft snorting snore. Of all the scenarios Sam had ever seen Cas in, this was the one that seemed to suit him best. Sam smiled faintly. Cas said he'd always do whatever he could for this family—and he really believed that again. "Yeah. I know you will, Cas."

Cas returned the smile tentatively, never one for grand emotional displays. Not that Sam had ever seen, anyway. A moment passed in which Sam pulled out his phone to see if Dean had called or texted. Nada. A little restless and tired of course (he was _always_ tired, especially in present time), Sam decided to put on some coffee. As he tinkered with the brewer and measured out grounds, his thoughts went to his father once again. It had been what felt like a lifetime since John Winchester had been around. Sam was a different man now. Honestly, Sam would really say he'd actually been a boy when Dad died. And now he'd become a man. At least half of one, anyway. Briefly he feared Dad's judgment and disapproval on everything that had happened with the apocalypse, Lucifer, the demon blood, Ruby, Amelia, Purgatory… all the things that daily pressed down on Sam's overwhelmed shoulders. He realized that he would definitely disappoint his father. _Again_. And disappointing his brother and sister was bad enough.

Cas's gravelly and soft voice broke through the internal clamor. "You're worried about your father, aren't you?"

A question that was like a net Sam got caught in. He stood there with the coffee pot in one hand, frozen in the act of preparing to pour water into the brewing carafe. Cas seemed genuinely empathetic and interested and Sam swallowed after a moment and nodded tensely. "Yeah." He grimly poured the water into the machine, eyes not seeing much. "And honestly… don't know how I feel about it. Him. Being back." He didn't dare admit that to Dean.

But Cas seemed to understand. In fact, he gave Sam a rueful little expression. "Alex doesn't either." Sam felt an instant surge of relief. He wasn't the only one. "This _does_ complicate things to say the least, though," Cas murmured, eyes drifting off to stare at a far wall blankly. Castiel didn't like John on principle, Sam got that and definitely understood why.

Sam hit the brew button and said all he knew to say about his dad. "He did his best."

Cas's expression was bittering as he continued to stare off. "His best was problematic and harmful."

There was a brief, cynical little laugh from Sam. "Trust me. You don't have to tell me twice." He knew all of that firsthand. He'd run away to Stanford to escape his dad's tyranny and obsession with hunting, to get out from under his father's thumb. He'd lived a life where his dad's expectations and demands had just been _too much_ and after awhile, it had just been _enough_. Sam had needed a normal life. One away from John Winchester. It would be very easy to become bitter about where John's choices had left Sam and his siblings. And for awhile, that's exactly what Sam had been: deeply, deeply bitter. For a long time, Dad had represented everything wrong in the world to Sam. But at the end of the day, when Sam grew up and realized that his dad was just human… and that Sam's life _was_ his own to do with what he chose… it gave new perspective. He found it easier these days to have compassion on his dad because of that. Sam hadn't been the poster child for good decisions, after all. "We've all made terrible mistakes," he reasoned somberly, trying to help Cas see that maybe his prejudice against John was misplaced. "We've all hurt each other. We've _all_ done unforgivable things to each other and let each other down, hurt each other." He shrugged hesitantly. "Maybe it's just part of being _human_."

Castiel considered Sam's words with a somber expression. "Humanity is flawed. Existence is flawed. I don't disagree with that." His intensely blue eyes looked into Sam's. "But if your father wakes up and does anything to harm her or _any_ of you… if he causes trouble… I will _not_ tolerate it."

Sam felt a waver of slight fear. He didn't doubt Cas at all, for a minute. Hoping it wouldn't come to anything even _close_ to that, Sam played diplomat. "Let's… let's just cross that bridge when we come to it, huh?" he asked, trying to put a smile on his face even though he knew it was coming off as a nervous grimace. But Cas wasn't paying attention—he was looking down into his lap and frowning slightly. Sam followed his gaze and realized that Alex had gone stiff, her face was contorting into a deep frown, and she was beginning to breathe hard and fast. Her hands clenched into balled fists, her eyebrows were slamming in together, she began to make a soft whimpering sound of pain or fear. Sam froze, unsure of what was happening. "Is something wrong with her?"

Grim, Castiel looked at Alex's face closely and then touched his hand to the side of her face. "More nightmares," he said flatly. _Oh no._ Sam's heart dropped. _More?_ They had started already? Cas's eyes shut, his brow remained tense for a long moment, his fingers remained on her face. Sam remained uselessly still, unsure of what to do. Alex moaned 'no, no, no,' over and over again and shuddered thrashingly. And then when Cas's eyes opened, Alex's suddenly did too and she sat up in a rush with a loud gasp, her eyes wild and unsure of where she was. Cas caught her by both upper arms, steadying her and refusing to let her fall out of her chair. Panicked questions subsided and calmed as Cas wordlessly held her gaze. And then Alex let out a shuddering breath and a soft heartbreaking sound and she clutched him, burying her head down against him. Cas held her, and Sam felt deep sadness and appreciation alike. Alex hadn't escaped the nightmares like he'd hoped. But Cas was there for her in a way a brother could never really be. "It was just a dream," Cas told her softly, holding her securely. He looked vaguely sickened—and Sam wondered if Cas had somehow seen whatever Alex was dreaming.

She nodded that she understood that, trying to discreetly wipe away her tears as she sat up and breathed out shudderingly. "I—I know," she whispered, shaking her head and appearing confused and afraid. "It just felt so _real_." She looked over at Sam and tried to look less upset. Sam had nothing but compassion for her and gave her an understanding, sad smile and she was chastened, quiet, and cowed. And then her stomach gave the _loudest_ belching growl Sam had ever heard. So loud that his eyes widened. Alex looked down at herself in total mystification. "God, what the _hell_?" she asked complainingly, obviously dismayed at her own body.

" _Geez_ ," Sam commented wryly, trying to make the moment feel more lighthearted and casual. "Could your stomach _be_ any louder?" She looked at him with one of those smiles where she clearly didn't _want_ to be smiling but couldn't _help_ smiling. And then her stomach growled _again_ and even louder this time. Sam pulled an impressed face. "Hmm. Guess so."

Alex stood up and obviously still shaken up about her nightmares, glared at nothing in particular. "How long does it take to get some damn food in this place, anyway?!" She let out a frustrated sound and then a sound of pitiful despair when her stomach gurgled again. "I mean I can't eat ketchup packets!" she exclaimed, grabbing a few off the table and shaking them in frustration… then eyeing them longingly for a second before throwing them down sullenly.

Sam tried not to laugh at the cantankerous expression on her face. He was sorry she was hungry, he was… but brothers are basically programmed to always be amused at their sister's hardships. He couldn't help it. Sam checked his watch. Dean was taking his sweet time, that was for sure. The gas station was just a couple miles away—he should have been back by now. Sam decided to try and distract Alex and maybe himself, too. "You wanna play a game of chess while we wait?" he asked. "They have a really nice set here."

Alex looked like he'd suggested something truly unthinkable. " _Chess_? At a time like this?"

Sam shrugged. "I mean, I could use a mental break." He realized how he'd worded himself a couple seconds after he spoke and braced for the oncoming jeering from Alex about the gaffe. "Err, not a mental break," he said, shutting his eyes and sighing out tiredly. He hoped that coffee would be ready soon because his brain was seriously starting to rot in his sleep-deprived mind. "You know what I mean."

Alex looked at him for a moment and then gave in semi-reluctantly. "Okay Sammy. Chess."

They headed toward the library. "I'm unbeatable, if you remember," Cas said, reminding them of when he'd learned to play a year or so prior.

Sam clapped him on the shoulder briefly, a friendly and familiar gesture. "Sounds like a challenge, Cas buddy."

* * *

While those three passed some time with chess, Dean sat in the Impala outside of the bunker and stared vaguely out through the windshield. Beside him on the seat, a few bags of groceries sat idly—in them, all the stuff he'd been asked to get. He'd found most of the requested items and gotten a few extras, too. Including a bottle of dark red Shiraz wine. Not his drink of choice in any universe ever. But it had been one of her favorites.

After much deliberation and reluctance, Dean grabbed that wine bottle with a hard hand and got out of the Impala, leaving the groceries behind and shutting the door with a familiar whining creak. He had something else to take care of before he played food delivery guy. He hesitated there again beside his car, then bit the bullet and headed toward what he had been looking at from the car: Jamie's grave.

The simple wooden cross with her initials stood in a grassy spot underneath an old oak tree and Dean approached then stood there in silence for a minute, heart hammering sickeningly in his chest. The sun was shining, the sky was blue, a few birds were calling back and forth. It was deceptively cheerful. Cas's words to him earlier about how he was going to drive away everyone he had left kept repeating over and over in his head. The dude was right, Dean _knew_ that. He'd known it for awhile. But having someone besides Sam or Alex give insights to him sort of broke through to him all over again. He had to choose. He had to pick a battle and fight it. He couldn't walk these two roads at the same time. He literally couldn't because they were diverging from each other. It was time to stop waffling back and forth between the paths. Even though a huge portion of his heart wanted to pick James— _needed_ to pick her—the rest of him knew he _couldn_ _'_ _t._ He was out of options. Out of wiggle room. And this had to be goodbye.

Struggling in every way, Dean pulled out his pocket knife and used the corkscrew attachment to yank the wine bottle's cork out with a bright little thunking sound. James liked whiskey and liquor and mixed drinks, but she had always jokingly called herself a wino and loved the dark red stuff. Dean made a slight face— _here goes nothin_ _'_ —then drank straight out of the bottle—and then let his face twist as he forced it down. " _God_ ," he complained, wincing at the pungent, offensive taste of that dark, disgusting liquid. "Why do you even _like_ this crap?" he asked, staring at the bottle with an almost indignant expression. He didn't like wine at all and wasn't sure why anyone would. It was too fancy-schmancy, too hoity-toity. And that's why it made him abruptly smile softly and sadly. "Such a damn _princess_ , James." She had acted like a badass but what was she, really? An ex-ballerina who spoke French and played violin and piano, a girl who'd gone to fancy boarding schools and rode horseback and knew the rules of etiquette. She rebelled valiantly against being ladylike, of course, but her roots still showed sometimes. Somehow, Dean had never minded. He liked that hard and soft mixture, the juxtaposition of badass and classic grace. She had been… something else, that was for sure. Thinking of her made his chest catch and his eyes sting. He clenched that dumbass bottle of wine at his side and shook his head slowly as his voice nearly failed him.

"I'm not doing so good right now," he whispered, addressing her silent, still grave. He swallowed a hard lump in his throat, having difficulty facing this inevitable moment. "My brother and sister they… I can't _do_ this crap to them anymore." He stifled a pathetic sobbing sound as the weight of everything crashed down on him all over again. He felt so alone, but it was because he had made himself be that way. And also because she had left him. " _God_ Jamie," he choked out, shoulders caving downward. "I _can_ _'_ _t._ " Guilt ate him alive because he wasn't supposed to ever give up _ever_ on things he believed in and loved. But there were two clear choices in front of him. Family or Jamie. And it was always going to be family, even if he didn't even fully want it to be. They were his responsibility—what he had left—and all he had in this world. But soft blonde hair and a pale blue gaze haunted his memories. "I wish I didn't have to make this decision," he lamented, cursing himself for not being able to fix things before they had shattered. "I wish things could have ended different. I wish somehow I'd found a way to… to get you outta there. Maybe I still _could_ but…" the things he would have to do to make that happen included betraying his brother, fighting against closing Hell, and probably burning all the bridges left between him and his siblings. If he chose Jamie, he would lose Sam and Alex. It was a sad, hard, terrible reality. "Some people just don't come back," he said, then closed his eyes briefly at his own stupidity. "I know that. Of _course_ I fucking know that." Mom stood out in his mind the most at that moment. And now, Jamie joined her there in forever resting in peace. But Dean knew there wasn't any 'peace' to be had for his girlfriend. He hated himself for that and felt another wave of impossible horror wash over him on her behalf. "But goddamn, it _hurts_ _—_ " he croaked out, "and knowing doesn't make this any fucking easier. You didn't deserve what you got, you _didn_ _'_ _t_."

He felt tears streaming down his face as he thought of her suffering in Hell forever and him walking away on purpose, knowingly, and letting it go on. Acting like it was okay with him. It never would be. This wasn't fair—wasn't right—wasn't okay with him. He bowed his head down, ruined. It hurt so much to love someone and to care. Because it always ended up that they didn't want you—or that you couldn't save them. It was always the same for Dean Winchester, always the same. Everything ended in misery and brokenness and that horrible, empty alone feeling. And he didn't think he would ever be able to get past this terrible decision he was making. This betrayal. He despised himself for what he was doing, but he did it anyway. "I'm sorry," he whispered to empty air. "I'm so goddamn _sorry._ " Apologies changed nothing and helped little, but at least he meant it. He _was_ sorry. He wished it hadn't come to this. In a last ditch feeble attempt to help himself cope, he tried to remember the good times. Her laughter and that big smile she'd flash on the rare occasion. The little looks she only gave him. His name tattooed on her inner thigh (and all the alcohol that had been part of _that_ impulse choice). The feeling of being in love and being understood by a kindred spirit. The feeling of amazement that came when you found someone who you could belong with like that. No one else would ever be able to measure up. Unbidden, he remembered drunken karaoke and their first kiss (so hot, such a long time coming)—he remembered carpet burn and her saying his name as his fingers dug into soft, inked skin—he remembered holding hands while complaining to each other with profanity-riddled gusto as they'd gotten tattoos of each other's names that one crazy night. A pained smile broke across his tearstained face. "We had a good ride though, huh?" he asked. And that made him ponder. Maybe they were _all_ on the highway to Hell and all they could hope for was a good time before the inevitable crash and burn. They'd had that. They'd had a hell of a good time. He just wished it would've been longer.

Dean raised the wine bottle again and drank more to her memory, hissing against the acidic tang before he turned the bottle upside down and let the contents pour out at the foot of her grave. "Enjoy your terrible red wine, Braceface," he said, going _way_ back and calling her by the nickname his teenage self had given her. He smiled to himself a little, remembering that skinny giraffe-necked girl with acne and braces who he'd never have imagined loving like he had. He remembered a couple months back chasing her through the bunker when they'd had it to themselves and how she'd shrieked with laughter and spilled her whiskey everywhere when he caught her and kissed her against a wall. They'd been like teenagers again. She took him back to a place of youth and carefree exhilaration that he didn't ever think he'd see again. But at least they'd had a little while together. That was better than nothing. "Maybe when I finally kick the bucket we can raise a little Hell together, huh?" he asked, eyes glistening as pain burst anew in his chest. He didn't see himself ending up in Heaven. And honestly, right now, he didn't want to. _Just take me wherever she is. When I close my eyes the last time, I wanna be with her again._

He lifted the empty wine bottle toward her grave and emotionally dragged himself up the mountain. He didn't think he would ever see her again, truthfully. Nothing ever seemed to work out the way he wanted. But there would always be a chance. "Here's to somedays and maybes," he said softly, realizing that this really was goodbye. This really was the end. As such, there in private, Dean lost the ability to stand and he let himself weep his grief out one last wretched time. After today, he would not think about her and he would not allow himself to remember. Because it hurt too much and it tempted him too greatly to go against everything he believed in.

Some people stayed dead. And Jamie was going to have to be one of them.

* * *

Alex got halfway through one chess game and got too distracted by her hunger to care anymore. Cas and Sam played instead and they got really into it. Cas was an incredible opponent and really enjoyed the strategy element—Sam didn't even have a chance of winning because of the ability the angel had to think twenty steps ahead, but he was trying anyway and obviously loved the challenge, too. It was dragging on _forever_ and Alex watched in rising internal distress because she was literally _so hungry_ she was about to go nuts. She was just about to tell Cas 'screw it, take me to the closest buffet,' when the bunker door sounded. Craning her neck to see through the library door and into the command center, Alex saw Dean jogging down the stairs with grocery bags. "God, _finally,_ " she muttered, jumping up and making a beeline toward him.

He was already in the kitchen by the time she caught up to him. He was setting the bags down on a counter as she got to the doorway. At his brief, unreadable glance, she remembered that they weren't on the best of terms and she stopped short of him. His eyes were bloodshot and his expression weary. "Hey," she said cautiously.

He looked exhausted—drained—more so than when he'd left. And that was when Alex felt a keen sense of sudden suspicion. He'd been gone too long to have just gotten these few things. And he hadn't even gotten any beer. She happened to know they were out yet he had forgotten it? Or not gotten it on purpose? Both options were not in his character. "Hey," he echoed, then grabbed and tossed a bright blue box from his purchases and flung it at her. "Poptarts?"

She caught it deftly, a little surprised at the sudden action. She hadn't asked for these, but she recognized this as a thoughtful gesture—a peace offering. Poptarts were one of her classic favorites. This was clearly him trying to say without saying so that he was sorry and that he _did_ care despite his somewhat heartless behavior earlier. "Strawberry," she said, reading the label briefly then looking up at him tentatively, a little wary smile on her face. "My favorite."

Dean pulled a joking face that he obviously had to work hard to make happen. " _Duh_. Why you think I got 'em?" Even though Alex was so hungry she could have eaten her own hair at that point, she was overcome with compassion and empathy. She walked over and set down the box because she recognized that Dean was close to crying—or had been crying—and she hated that. Even as she was going to him to hug him (not sure if he'd reject the touch or not), he was crumbling apart. "I'm sorry. I'm _sorry,_ " he choked out, hugging her as tight as she hugged him. His voice was muffled and his breathing was ragged from distress and it got her emotional fast, too. "I'm just—I'm _not okay,_ " he confessed brokenly. She knew that. Of course she knew that—and she just nodded silently, clamping her arms around her big brother tighter to try and tell him _it_ _'_ _s okay_. Tears were in her eyes too because she adored this man—he was one of the permanent fixtures in her life—and she hated the oceans that pooled between them now. She just wanted to be best friends again. She just wanted him to be okay. Dean was trying so hard to get himself back together, but he was clearly having a very hard time even speaking. His voice was a mangled, choked caricature of its usual strong timbre and his fingers dug into her bruisingly hard. "You know I love you right?" he asked in a voice that was high-pitched and fearful.

It relieved her so much to hear him ask that. "Yeah Dean," she said quietly to keep herself in check as she nodded yes, "I know."

He abruptly pulled back and held her by the arms and looked at her with this pained, vulnerable expression on his face. One she hadn't seen there in a long time. "No, I really do," he insisted, and she nodded again. _I know_. Dean looked at her with this unreadable expression then shook his head. "Just—don't you ever do that shit again, you hear me?"

Alex tried to be light about it. "Just wanted to follow the family tradition of going to Hell," she offered. Maybe that was in bad taste.

Dean definitely didn't appreciate the joke. "Not _funny,_ Al."

Too soon. He was right. She gave an apologetic little expression and then hugged him again, recognizing that as traumatized and broken as she might feel, he was feeling a hundred times worse. "It's gonna be okay Dean," she promised, ignoring her stomach and its hunger pangs as she soothed her much bigger brother. "All of this. You, me, Sam… Dad… everything." Because it _had_ to be. Dean said nothing, just nodded and held onto her tightly for a long, sad moment.

A soft sound caused the embrace to end. Dean and Alex looked over to see that Sam was at the doorway, watching with a tentative smile on his face. "Hey," he said, entering the room and coming over to join them.

Dean dragged a hand across his face and composed himself, becoming more dogged. He had his I'm-about-to-tell-it-how-it-is face on. A face that the twins had seen many times and would see many times more again. "Look guys… I'm _tired_. I'm not doing good. I'm… I dunno if I'll ever be okay again. I _don_ _'_ _t_." He looked bereft of how to feel about that and both of his siblings wore similarly vexed expressions at his words. "But we're… we're gonna do this thing," he said firmly. "We're gonna rally one last time if it kills me. And we're gonna do these goddamn trials." He looked at Sam and then Alex pointedly. Meaningfully. " _Together._ Because this is important. And the three of us, that's what we do. Important." He paused and then looked at the doorway, prompting the twins to do the same. The angel in the trench coat was there, watching silently. Dean gestured at him with a hand. "And Cas too I guess huh. Keepin' it in the family and all that jazz." Family. None of them missed the significance of what Dean had just called Cas.

Sam studied his brother carefully, seeing what Alex had seen. "Dean…" he began sensitively. "If you need to talk about it…"

Dean shook his head firmly and spoke in a hard, firm voice. "I can't talk about it. I won't." He turned and began to unbag the food he'd bought methodically. "We just need to shut that part of my life away if you want me to function." He set out a box of popcorn, M&Ms, spray cheese, a can of sardines. "We don't talk about her again. _Ever._ Understood?" He gave his brother an especially warning look before he resumed his task.

Sam nodded, but he looked worried. "Whatever you need, Dean," he said quietly, then cleared his throat and switched to business, honoring his brother's wishes for now. "So uh, I might have some kinda lead on an out-of-the-ordinary demonic possession. Found an old film reel downstairs in the—"

"God, where did you learn _manners_?" Dean asked, cutting Sam off and causing him to look, too.

Alex stopped briefly—she was cramming two poptarts into her mouth like a squirrel and Dean was apparently insulted. "From _you_ ," she said, and crumbs flew everywhere. She resumed shoveling the pastries into her mouth haphazardly as Cas drifted into the kitchen to stand near to her and curiously look through the food items.

Dean looked grossed out at what his sister was doing. "Have you ever _seen_ yourself eat?" he asked, hassling her in familiar old goading fashion. "It's disgusting." He looked at Sam for support, but Sam just looked faintly amused. After all, Dean was the king of looking disgusting while eating.

Alex didn't seem to care about Dean's opinions. "Kiss my ass," she said, digging through the food purchases with one hand. She stopped when she didn't find what she was looking for them. She looked at Dean almost warningly. "Where's the spicy pickles?"

He shook his head. "Didn't have them," Dean said, shrugging offhandedly.

"Well you could have gotten the _regular kind_!" Alex exclaimed hotly, giving him a look like he had _really_ dropped the ball on that one.

Dean gave her an odd look at the strange outburst. "Uh— _oops_?" A little suspicious of her, Dean slowly tore his gaze away from her and looked at Sam, who he had cut off a minute ago. "So where's this movie we're gonna watch? It got some full frontal action?" He grinned at his own stupid joke and then everyone looked to see what was happening when they heard a sound like many tiny marbles hitting the floor. Cas stood there with a bag of popcorn which he had apparently ripped open by accident. All around his feet, unpopped kernels had scattered. "Uh. Cas?" Dean asked in stilted patience. "Whatcha doing buddy?"

Cas looked at the bag and then the fallen kernels in slight mystification. "I think I spilled everything," he said gruffly, then crouched down to pick up a kernel. Alex chortled, still chewing poptarts even as she ripped the bag of M&Ms open.

"Yeah, _not_ how you make popcorn, dude," Dean said to Cas, and then balked when the kernel Cas picked up abruptly popped into a fluffy white shape after a short pulse of light burst between the angels fingers. Dean pulled a face that showed he was reconsidering what he'd just said. "Or… maybe it _is_."

Sam smiled crookedly and said, "I'll get the broom," even as Cas stood and offered Alex that single piece of popcorn. She took it, popped it into her mouth, and pecked Cas on the lips. Dean muttered something about 'fucking PDA' and Alex threw an M&M at his head to which he yelped indignantly and she grinned sloppily through a mouthful of food. Sam swept up the popcorn kernels dutifully and was so glad to hear instances of laughter in the bunker. To hear Alex and Dean bickering in good, loving nature as well as Cas's weird questions and odd comments was… good. Nice. Sam looked around and realized with a warming heart that for the first time in awhile, he felt like he was home. _Home_.


	126. Back to Business

"' _Til you can feel her in your blood and you can see your unborn children in her eyes._ _"  
_ \- Bryan Adams

* * *

Movie night with the Winchester family had never been a 'thing.' Not something they put an official name to, anyway. Honestly, most evenings when they'd been younger kids growing up and left to their own devices, they'd gotten into trouble, not watched TV. But when they _had_ settled in and watched a movie or a show, it had usually gone about the same. The brothers argued over what to watch while their sister quietly took the remote and started watching something and ignoring their bickering. The boys would eventually cease their squabbling and notice what their sister was doing, disagree with her choice in viewing, then try and snatch the remote away. That was Alex's favorite part quite honestly, because running around a motel room and evading two annoyed brothers was some of the best fun a little sister could have. She would run around like a little furry critter, slipping out of grasps and darting over furniture at what felt like superhuman speeds at the time. If her laughter had been audible, it would have been roof-shattering peals.

The brothers inevitably caught her, usually sooner rather than later because after a little while they worked out a system for quick capture. It was a great game for them all. After they got her and everyone was laughing and exasperated and riled up, they all flopped in a pile on the bed that had the best view of the TV screen—Alex would try and get the remote again for awhile (mostly just to annoy the brothers). In between her snatching attempts, there they would argue again over what to watch (Dean and Sam fighting over the remote, Alex kicking or smacking them in the head when she didn't like their choices) until they found something they all agreed on. Then it was time to watch. Alex would calm down and bite her nails absently and lean onto whichever brother was closer. Sam paid utmost attention to every second of whatever was on the screen and got very grumpy if you said things or distracted him at all. Dean offered sarcastic or inappropriate commentary for awhile then would perk up and decide popcorn was needed to make the moment complete. Sometimes they had popcorn around, sometimes they didn't. When they _did_ have it, Dean popped a bag or two and shared it with the twins (after throwing some at mostly Sam, who got mad about it—Alex just tried to catch pieces with her mouth). The night would grow late as it always did and eyes would grow weary. Alex usually fell asleep first, then Sam, then inevitably Dean. In the morning, the TV would still be going and popcorn kernels were strewn across the bed and lodged into folds of clothing. Elbows and feet would be in each other's faces, mouths would be yawning open as snores created a morning chorus.

Maybe it wasn't like other families' movie nights, but it had been theirs, and all three Winchesters remembered those times fondly. _These_ days with all of them grown up in their thirties, movie nights like the ones of their childhood were just a far off memory. It had honestly been forever since they watched something for fun, or it _felt_ like that anyway. Currently, they were gathered at the long library table at the bunker and watching an old film reel projection closely. Not for entertainment, either. They were on the hunt for information—anything that would lead them any closer to finding out what 'curing a demon' meant. Sam had been poring over everything that the bunker had to offer on anything demonic in nature and had found this particular film reel in association with a possession that the file had claimed was _'_ _Weird!_ _'_

While Sam and Dean sat a few chairs away from each other in serious, silent contemplation of the movie playing, Cas and Alex sat closely together and there was a bowl of popcorn in front of them which Alex had almost finished… all by herself while waiting for Sam to get the reel to play. Cas had tried a couple bites of it, made strange faces as he chewed slowly, then proclaimed that all he could taste was molecules. Whatever _that_ meant.

The film that was projected onto the darkened library wall appeared to be a documentary recording of a demonic possession in which a couple of priest looking guys were attempting to exorcise a demon who was somehow bound in place by chains. Dean and Sam spotted a woman on the reel who they thought was Abaddon, a demon they had mentioned briefly to Alex. She was very pretty, this Abaddon. The film showed the priests as they performed a dual exorcism on the demon in chains—and to finish the exorcism, one priest slashed his palm open and then clapped his bloody hand over the demon's mouth—sending light flashing out of her eyes and then leaving the human being dead and lying on the ground with her _chest_ split open _completely._ That was something the Winchesters had _never_ seen before. Ever. The demon seemed to be dead—not expelled. Dead. And so was the human who had been possessed. How had those priests _done_ that? The Winchesters were all gaping even as the projector clicked and then grunted to a stop, cutting off jarringly, leaving the four viewers in a semi-shocked silence.

Alex was the first to speak as her gaze slowly went to Sam. "Well, that _was_ weird with three exclamation points." Her twin brother said nothing, just looked back at her with a vaguely traumatized look on his face—like he could find nothing to say at the moment.

" _Chyeah_ ," Dean supplied, staring in aghast puzzlement at where the movie had just been playing.

After a couple more confounded beats, Sam found his voice. "That… wasn't a _normal_ exorcism, right?" he asked hesitantly, shellshocked at what they had just witnessed. Obviously it wasn't. "They changed the words."

"And did that blood stuff," Alex added in deep thought. All this time, she only thought you could battle a demon with the demon blade or the standard exorcism. Maybe there were more options out there after all. What _else_ didn't they know?

"That exorcism _was_ different than the one you use." Cas was frowning in what currently looked like a scholarly manner as he cast a glance between the three Winchesters who were now suddenly all looking at him for answers. He faltered, suddenly appearing pressured and a little unsure. "I uh, I believe 'lustra' is Latin for wash or cleanse…" he offered tentatively.

Dean made a face. "Oh, yeah, 'cause the most freaky thing was the _vocabulary_ _,_ " he said in dismissal. Obviously, he was a little mad that the film didn't have anything else on it to answer all the sudden, new questions. "Dude. _What_ did we just watch? Like did you guys see… the, the bloody high five or the chest burster?" His siblings gave him looks that said _duh_. Obviously. Kind of hard to miss _that_. Dean ignored his own stupid question and looked at Sam intently. "Okay so anything else on the film, like—I dunno, director's commentary? Sequel, maybe?" He looked at Sam, who had a few journals and files of paper piled up next to himself. "I need more info, stat."

Sam shuffled noisily through some papers for a second before finding something of interest. "Yeah, um… yeah. Listen to this. The older priest, Max Thompson, bit the dust in fifty-eight, but the younger one's still alive and still in St. Louis." He paused then looked at Dean in resignation. Sam was obviously exhausted and feeling very sick, but he probably wouldn't ever admit to how bad he felt. He was bound and determined to keep carrying on even if it killed him. "Maybe he can help us figure out what we just saw." Dean chewed that idea over reluctantly, eyeing his brother doubtfully. Sam was not doing well—he was pale, drawn, and sapped of his normal youth. Dean suddenly looked entirely exhausted in every way possible, too, and very against the idea of going anywhere at all. Sam saw that and leaned a little closer, his expression earnest and impassioned. "Dean, everything in those folders—the possessions, the deals, all of it—we've seen that before, but _this?_ " He gestured at the film reel in that slightly impassioned way he had when he was feeling really convicted about something. "This was all new. It's _worth_ the drive. And it's only like four hours from here so I say we get right on it. _Yesterday._ And if you're not up to it… I'll go by myself."

That comment immediately snapped Dean out of his indecision. "Oh no. No no. Can't get rid of me that easy, Sammy." He stood up, suddenly the picture of resolute. But it was obvious that he was emotionally battered and not really all there. But he didn't complain or get huffy or decide to make it about himself. He just put his game face on. "Let's roll." Even though she was incredibly tired too, Alex stood up, rallying herself and deciding that she was gonna _make_ herself have energy and support her brothers who were probably just as tired (if not more so) than her. Even before her knees were straightened all the way, Dean shook his head as he adjusted his jacket. His expression was hard to read. " _Not_ you two." Right beside Alex, Cas's face twisted in innocent confusion that bordered on slight hurt.

A bit taken aback and ready to get defensive at his monotone command, Alex tried to stay neutral and give her oldest brother the benefit of the doubt. But it was hard not to be suspicious because Dean could go from decent guy to asshole in two seconds flat. "…Why not?" she asked cautiously, pretty sure he was just getting ready to be a dick. Then, he proved her wrong.

Dean sighed gustily. " _Naomi_ is still out there, right?" he asked, reminding her about something she hadn't even _thought_ about. That _was_ right… " _And_ we haven't dealt with Crowley yet who I'm sure is gonna be just _thrilled_ about your little escape." Dean said stiffly, then exchanged a meaningful glance with Cas, who seemed to concur. Dean drew in a deep, bracing breath then eyed Alex again in a more gentle way. His face softened. "That and you kinda look like _crap,_ " he teased, cracking a little soft smile at her. Melting and feeling like a jerk for assuming what she had, Alex covered over her guilt with a sheepish, weary smile and crossed arms. She felt like crap for sure. Depleted and a little ill and very hungry with a terrible headache. But all of that was nothing in comparison to Hell, so… she wasn't gonna complain. In fact, she wanted to say thank you. Dean walked over and grasped her shoulder and held her gaze assertively. His physical proximity made her feel a little better, too. "Get some rest," he commanded in a kind voice, then gave Cas a meaningful look. " _Both_ of you. Catch up some more. Bust more lightbulbs, I dunno. Me and Sam got this. It's a milk run." He whacked Cas on the side of the shoulder before heading off. "Take care of 'er, Cas."

Cas's face softened and the hint of a smile rose on his lips. He obviously liked that command—he stood a little taller with his chest swelling slightly. "I will."

Even though that was kind of a sweet moment, Alex's face was tensing up as she looked between her brothers—Dean glancing over the papers Sam had piled up, Sam putting his jacket on and looking like utter _shit_. He looked _so bad_ , almost like a chemo patient or something—just drained of his youth and virility. Alex was already stressing over her brothers' absence and being away from them, but really _didn_ _'_ _t_ feel up to going—yet struggled with a guilty feeling of abandoning them at a very crucial time. "Just don't be gone _long_ …" she hedged, worry making her voice taut. She hoped they weren't secretly mad at her or even telling her to stay behind because they thought she wouldn't be a help.

Sam, ever the empathic one, came over and gave her a big hug. He was so tall that he had to lean down to do it properly. He felt thinner than Alex remembered, and she could even feel that his temperature was a little too warm to be normal as they hugged. She embraced him tighter, worried vastly for reasons she couldn't quite name. She didn't want to let go of him. She _really_ didn't. "We won't be long," Sam assured her, then drew back and gave her one of his brave little thin-lipped smiles, ruffled her hair as she gave a halfhearted protest, then headed out after Dean who was already heading for the stairs out.

 _Now wait just a minute._ Alex crossed her arms, eyes on her oldest brother. She cleared her throat loudly, making Dean stop in his tracks. He looked back at her cluelessly with slight impatience. She gestured at him, giving him the expectant look. He didn't get it and she prompted him again with a chop of both hands— _hello-oooo?_ —what a dummy. She sighed. " _Forgetting_ something…?" She held her arms out slightly at him, indicating herself. _Come on, moron. You were gonna leave without hugging me._

Understanding crossed her brother's face. "Oh." Mildly embarrassed because he genuinely seemed to have just forgot, Dean came back over to her and hugged her: strong arms and a familiar burly chest and his smell of aftershave, whiskey, and car leather. Her heart kind of clenched and caught in her chest as those smells brought back childhood, teenage years, and young adult life—all with him, her best friend and partner in crime. Times had changed. So had they. Dean's voice grumbled against her as the hug held. "Sorry, sweetheart," he apologized in a weary voice. "Lot on my mind."

She was sure that was putting it mildly. And she understood a thousand percent. "I know, Dean. It's okay." Alex hung onto him tight and then used a voice only they could hear. "Look out for Sammy," she whispered into the collar of his jacket. "I'm worried."

Dean sighed haggardly, his hand tightening a little on the back of one of her shoulders. Without even saying anything, she understood that he had the same feelings. "Don't worry, kiddo," his deep voice rumbled quietly. "It's all gonna be fine." Alex shut her eyes and clung onto that reassurance—the same reassurance he'd given her time and time again growing up. He stayed there a second in the hug and then kissed the side of her head, pulled back, gave her a thin smile, squeezed her upper arms, then sauntered off toward Sam. He called back over his shoulder without looking back, presumably talking to Cas. Or Alex. Or maybe both. "You be good. And hey, and don't do anything I wouldn't do!"

Alex shook her head. She really did love that mess of a man. "Drive safe, loser."

Dean pretended to sound completely annoyed—he was almost completely out of the room and his voice was fainter because of it. "Yeah, love you too."

Hanging back at the doorway into the control room, Sam gave her a cheesy little salute with two fingers at his temple and then the brothers were walking up the stairs. Together, Cas and Alex watched them go—and then in a gesture of solidarity and comfort alike, Cas looped his arm over Alex's shoulder and drew her a little closer to his side. A place she would never mind being. Yes, her brothers were going… but look who was staying with her. When the bunker door slammed loudly behind the brothers, Alex put her hand against the side of her face—her temples were _pounding_ and that loud sound made it worse _._ "Ugh…" she muttered, thinking of painkillers briefly and then feeling a slight instance of terror. Pills. She did _not_ want to take another pill again in her lifetime, ever. She was too scared to get addicted again. To fall apart once more.

Very close, his faced turned toward her, Cas was watchful. "Does your head hurt?" he asked, peering at her with too much concern.

Or maybe it _wasn_ _'_ _t_ too much concern. It _really_ hurt. "Yeah… a lot," she muttered, wondering why it had gone from sorta annoying to full-blown hammering in the head in the past few minutes. Maybe it was staring at that projection on the wall for too long? But the movie had only been like four minutes long, if that. Cas's warm hand suddenly touched to the side of her face, startling her out of her pain-driven thoughts. Light radiated from beneath his palm and Alex's eyes snapped up to look at his face. His eyes bored into hers, and then the light was gone—and so was the pain. _Holy instant relief, Batman!_ Alex felt a stupid, relieved grin break over her face at the sudden sensation of feeling so much better. Did Cas know how to take away headaches? He really was handy to have around. "What'd you _do_?" Alex asked in an impressed tone, tentatively pressing at her temples which were no longer tender to the touch.

Cas looked mildly regretful. "It was your wisdom teeth, I think."

Alex blinked a couple times, registering surprise. "Oh yeah." Having a brand new body or at least one reset to a few years back was coming a regular occurrence for her. And it was, in a word, bizarre. "How many times are those gonna keep reappearing?" she asked, a half-joke and a half-genuine question.

Cas saw it as a serious question. "I hope that was the last time," he said sincerely, his voice soft and low.

Growing more somber, Alex slipped her hand down the length of his arm and found his hand then let their fingers lace together. "Thanks, Cas," she said quietly. Not just for the wisdom teeth removal. For everything he'd done for her ever. She craned upward and gave him a brief, soft kiss that his lips tugged upward at. Her eyes fell closed for a couple long seconds as the kiss she meant to only be a peck lasted for a few seconds longer. The simple, chaste touch of their lips together was total peace and security. His warmth and closeness was nothing short of heaven in comparison to the Hell she had known for the past ten years. He repaired her, somehow, without even trying.

When Alex pulled back and opened her eyes, they both had the same sappy little smiles on their faces. Heart bursting with happy things that felt too good to be true (but weren't), Alex cracked a grin. She felt a helpless surge of optimism and playfulness and she didn't try to quash it down. She didn't second guess it. "So, we have this place to ourselves, huh? Wanna explore?" She gripped his hand tighter and grinned wider, already pulling him along with her and giving him no chance to reply. "Let's explore." And explore they did. The bunker was a large and interesting place and had hallways and corridors that seemed to twist forever downward into everything secretive and intriguing. After finding an old gym, a heated pool room, a car garage and a storage pantry the size of Texas, Alex and Cas were heading down yet another dim hallway… but Alex was beginning to get almost exasperated with all the exploration. It was beginning to feel like a chore and her stomach was churning—she felt hungry but also queasy and she made a face while pressing a hand to her abdomen briefly. _Pepto bismol, I need you_. "I don't think this place ever ends," she finally stated, and it was a decidedly grumpy statement. Her mood felt a little more volatile than usual, like at the drop of a hat it might change.

Cas's eyes squinted up and a smile played quietly at the corners of his lips as he looked sidelong at her closely. "Do you really think that or are you being hyperbolic?" Alex gave him _the look._ After all, she'd lived a life of the bizarre, magical, and paranormal… so maybe it _was_ a legit possibility. Either way, Cas stopped and ran his palm thoughtfully along the symbol etched into one of the doors they passed. "Your grandfather was one of these Men of Letters, correct?" he asked, recognizing the symbol that he was touching as their brand.

"Yeah, that's what Sam and Dean said," Alex said, wandering the hallway slowly in a listless fashion. "They explained it to me when I didn't remember who I was so I wasn't paying much attention." Oops. But amnesia tended to make a person feel pretty scattered-brained. Now she was very interested to hear that whole story again. Henry, they said his name was. She felt a twinge of sadness and stopped walking. "But yeah," she sighed, wondering what he looked like and if he had been similar to Dad. "Apparently being thrown into the paranormal world just runs in my family," she said pensively. "And dying younger than you should, too." She turned to look at Cas directly. That made her think of another someone who had died too young. Someone who was gone, but definitely not forgotten. It was hard to bring her up, but Alex had to ask because of what she'd overheard. "Dean uh… he asked you to save Jamie, didn't he? Earlier today."

Castiel looked immediately regretful. "Yes."

Alex's heart fell a little because it was already obvious. But she still had to make sure. "And you can't?"

Letting out the softest and least-noticeable sigh through his nose, Cas shook his head as his eyes went downward. His deep, gravelly voice was rich with sadness. "Not safely, no." He flattened his mouth briefly. "I would if I were able. But another trip to the underworld would probably kill me right now." His eyes raised back up to look into hers. "If I had nothing to live for, I would risk it. But as it stands… I have _everything_ to live for."

As sweet as it was for him to say that, Alex was pained on Dean's behalf. She sensed that Dean's outward struggles were only a small indicator of his inward ones. "He must really love her," she murmured, but it was a conflicted tone she said that in. She was trying to remember the times she'd seen the two of them together—trying to figure out how it had gotten so serious for Dean. It was honestly leaving Alex feeling taken aback, fumbling emotionally for the correct reaction. She had never really liked when Dean got super-attached to other women—one night stands and flings? Whatever. But things of greater substance? They always made Alex nervous. Yes, she wanted her brother to be happy and have someone, she guessed. But the women who had stayed in his life for awhile? Cassie, Lisa… Jamie? Those women had made a certain type of fear wrench inside of Alex. A fear that she would be replaced as the most important female in her big brother Dean's life. Even though she knew that was a selfish and immature feeling to have, she had still felt that way. For example: Alex had _liked_ Cassie… until she and Dean got really serious, anyway—and then Alex had started avidly disliking Cassie solely on the basis that Dean liked her so much. Would it have gotten that way with Jamie too if Alex had been around to see their apparent relationship? It was an uncomfortable thought that felt too revealing of her own, self-centered character. Alex guessed she'd never find out if she had grown past that sisterly jealousy and insecurity… because Jamie wasn't coming back. Alex felt another pang in her chest. Jamie had been her friend first—they'd been through some real, true shit together, and Alex knew enough to know that girl didn't deserve Hell.

"Yes. He does love her," Cas confirmed gravely, snapping Alex out of her spiraling thoughts. Cas sounded completely certain of that fact _._ Dean must feel so alone right now… and he was obviously incredibly depressed, too. No sister wanted that for her brother. Cas was regarding her oddly, and there was a certain weight to the look in his eyes which caught Alex's attention. He almost seemed to feel some amount of dread for what he was about to say—and immediately, she felt dread, too. "Alex… we're not supposed to keep secrets anymore, you and I," he began slowly, his eyes shifting nervously before he paused again in tense thought—he looked like he was debating himself heavily. Alex tried not to get freaked out, but all she could think was _oh no_. Cas shuffled his feet and watched his shoes, perhaps searching for a way to look occupied. " _Well_. I have one. About Dean. And it weighs heavily on me. I… I suppose I should tell you."

Alex's stomach twisted in nervousness. She wasn't sure if she could handle more bad news right now. And what kind of secret could Castiel possibly have about him? "…W-what about Dean?" she asked almost suspiciously.

Castiel was the picture of uncomfortable, which only made Alex feel more and more rising dread. "Now, you… you have to swear not to tell him what I'm about to divulge," he said nervously. "Jamie made me promise not to tell anyone." Alex blinked her eyes wider. Jamie? "But, we've promised to keep no secrets, so I should tell you." Castiel paused there, brow scrunching up in earnest apprehensiveness as he second guessed himself. "…Shouldn't I?"

Although she was incredibly, dreadfully curious in the worst of ways, Alex was already shaking her head no. If it had been anyone else, maybe. But Jamie was a smart, trustworthy person in Alex's book. She wouldn't ask something to be kept a secret unless it was important for it to not be known. "If Jamie made you promise not to tell anyone… I don't think I wanna know." Although, Alex now had a bunch of questions. Like when had this happened? What would Jamie tell Castiel about and not want Dean to know?

Cas looked a little confused. "But you said we had to tell each other everything," he said slowly.

Alex _had_ said that. "Well, yes— _usually,_ " she fumbled. "But unless this thing you're talking about is something that's gonna threaten or save my brother's life… unless I _need_ to know, then don't tell me." Somehow, she sensed that it was too personal for her to know. "Jamie wouldn't swear you to secrecy unless it was something private. It was between the two of you. And I mean… I want to respect that, I guess."

Nodding slowly as he swallowed down what he'd been told, Cas agreed with her decision. "All right."

Alex hesitated, then was unable to stop herself from asking. "…but was it something _bad_?" she asked, then cast around for some kind of possible scenario for an example. "Did she… I dunno, cheat on him or something?"

Castiel looked unsure of how to respond. "No. It's… not something _bad._ " His eyes were far off in thought. "It's something that would certainly change everything for Dean, though. Even now with her gone." Their eyes locked and Alex nodded faintly, a little nauseated. She had a hunch. She had a theory. Cas seemed to sense her thoughts somehow. "I think if you knew, it might too heavy a burden to bear," he said quietly. That was kind of confirmation. Saying without saying. Alex's eyes drifted downward and her heart was twisting and hammering hard. She did _not_ want to know this. She could feel Cas studying her closely. "But I don't want to keep anything from you, so if you ask me—if you change your mind… I'll tell you. Anything. Everything."

Wetting her lips and making herself be present, Alex looked up and saw how Cas was doing everything in his power to make sure she knew he was no longer the angel who would keep secrets from her. Whatever Jamie's secret was, Alex would let it stay a secret and she wouldn't think about it again—or much, anyway. Open and vulnerable in that moment because she had been afraid to fully trust Cas again for so long (even though trusting him seemed to be instinctual to her), she reached out (not far) and took his hands then held his gaze. She remembered when he had been hiding things from her—how gruff and pained and full of obvious anguish he'd been. They both knew where those secrets had led. What those hidden things had done. Alex squeezed a little tighter as terrible memories leaked into her consciousness from where she kept them carefully locked away. She struggled past them; ignoring the things that could eat her alive if she dwelled there. "Thank you," she told Cas earnestly. "After everything that happened… that means the world to me." His willingness and readiness to be totally honest with her. This _was_ going to be different than before. Cas wasn't going to lie or hold things back from her ever again. He wanted to be totally transparent with each other. Which is why it seemed counterintuitive to tell him _not_ to tell her everything right now with this Jamie thing. Maybe that was selfish of her or cowardly. But after Hell, Alex needed ignorance and bliss. For awhile, anyway. "But seriously. Don't tell me," she said, shaking her head with a tense expression. "I just can't carry much more right now." She said that and it hit her as being much realer than she thought and she shuddered out a shaky breath—letting her eyes drop away from him. She wished she could be stronger.

Compassionate, Cas nodded and touched her face, fingers threading through her hair absently. His every touch felt like the most chaste and comforting romance. "You don't have to," he told her earnestly and quietly. He would carry it for them. With shining eyes, Alex nodded yes and tried to keep her face from showing her distress. Cas of course knew her too well for that by then and pulled her gently toward him, letting her face and head nestle against him. There, he held her.

Letting her angel comfort her and hold her, Alex was quiet for a long moment, thinking and thinking and thinking. Mostly about Dean. Her oldest brother, her hero, her proverbial rock. "I remember Dean when he was this… carefree, _goofy_ guy," she lamented in a stark whisper, wondering why it couldn't still be like that. But honestly, maybe he'd never been as laid back or happy as she'd thought he was. "Well, carefree compared to _now_ anyway…" she went silent for a moment, thinking of how much he had changed in the most recent years. He was more tired and worn down. Missing the sparkle of his youth. And not accessible like he used to be. That was what hurt the most. This invisible divide she felt whenever he was close. "He was my best friend," she whispered, voice getting unsteady. "My safety net. My partner in crime. We just… we just got each other, you know?" She shut her eyes tight, feeling a wave of incredible emotion crashing over her. _I need to get my hormone levels checked or something_. Her feelings were so intense and the urge to cry was riotous, abnormally so. All she could think about was how she and Dean had drifted apart and didn't seem to know the way back to each other anymore. "I knew no matter what he'd be there for me, that we'd always have each other's backs and always be close," she said, overwhelmed with how differently the future had unfolded. "I _knew_ it. And now look at us. How did this happen? He's… breaking apart while I watch." She pulled back, slightly panicked and looking at Cas with a desperate expression. "I can't let that _happen_."

Filled with compassion and empathy but also great sadness, Cas said the thing she already knew and didn't want to be reminded of. "Alex… I don't know if that's yours to control or not."

It wasn't. And she thought that she might just break apart completely when Cas said that. Her face crumpled and her tense emotions burst right out of her into a soft sob. "I feel like I _already_ lost him," she choked out, completely distraught because she literally didn't know what to do. "And I don't even know when it _happened_." She made a pissed face, dashing away her tears like she was trying to smack them off her face. Almost growling in frustration, she cursed herself for being so all over the place. Being sad about it wasn't going to fix anything, she needed to get it together and just deal with one thing at a time.

In the face of her frustration with herself, Cas was sympathetic and reached out to brush a thumb across one of her teary cheeks. He anchored her back to earth, and as her thoughts turned, her emotions steadied. She shook her head wearily, because there was nothing else to do. With a longsuffering sigh, she gave him a tired, helpless smile. "I love you, Trenchcoat."

Both puzzled and amused, Cas smiled even as his eyes squinted. "Trenchcoat?" he questioned. "Is… this a new nickname?"

"Yeah," she said fondly, then gave him a challenging little look. "What's mine?"

Cas faltered, looking her over and appearing ill-prepared for the task of giving her a nickname. "Um." He was so adorable when he was confused. He looked up from the length of her body and cautiously gave his answer. "Plaid… shirt?" He looked like he was really wanting to play the game, but totally unsure of how.

A useless, heart-deep grin broke Alex's face. "I love it," she said honestly, pinching his chin between thumb and forefinger affectionately.

Cas was a little more intense in that moment than she was—his gaze strong and deep and deadly serious, his voice firm and low. "I love _you._ "

Sometimes when he said that, it would hit her all over again. She'd have a life-flashing-in-front-of-your-eyes moment with their love story. And well of _course_ Alex had to kiss him when he said that and looked at her like he was. The kiss was a little more on the passionate side—probably inappropriately so, especially on Alex's end at first—she basically grabbed Cas and slammed her body up against his as all of her crazy emotions and deep feelings begged to be let out somehow. She must have really pushed him back, too, because after a couple of stumbling steps as he struggled to embrace the tempest she had become, his back hit a door and it wasn't shut all the way—they stumbled into a dim room full of shelves of files, but they were blind to their surroundings. Or Alex was, anyway. She was half-wild for a minute, wanting nothing more than to get skin-to-skin and fuck him until he was a sobbing mess just like her. No sooner had she shoved at his coat than then they crashed into one of the shelves… but when the shelf slid smoothly sideways by a few inches, they broke apart, panting.

"What the… hell?" Alex muttered, squinting at the shelf that had just moved and probably _shouldn_ _'_ _t_ have. It looked like there was a hidden passage or something behind it.

"What is it?" Cas asked as she turned her attention to investigating.

Alex shoved at the shelf with a grunt, which slid sideways like a door on a running hinge. It creaked and from the draft of air that hit her face, she could tell there was more in the darkness beyond. "I think there's… a _room_ behind this," she said, but she couldn't see a damn thing and didn't dare step into utter darkness without being able to see.

Stepping up to lead the way, Cas held his hand high and suddenly light blossomed out of his palm and illuminated what laid beyond. Too amazed at what she saw when he used his hand as a flashlight to stop and comment on how cool it was that he could do that, Alex gaped. A large, barren room with no windows had been concealed by the heavy shelf. Chains and handcuffs lined the walls. "Whoa. Is this like… a dungeon?" Alex breathed, a little taken aback. For a minute, she couldn't move and did not follow Cas into the room. It reminded her too much of a prison cell. And of Hell.

Cas was looking at the floor underneath his feet, noticing what she hadn't. "This devil's trap takes up nearly the entire room," he said in soft awe.

Plucking up the courage to follow him, Alex did, but she felt uneasy. Cautiously, she drifted over to the nearest set of chains on the wall. Handcuffs dangled from the end, and when she squinted at them in the low light, she could see that the metal bore etchings. She looked closer and realized the etchings were spellwork. Demon traps. _Dude_. "Is this like some kind of… demonic torture chamber?" she asked in a stunned voice.

Beside her now, Castiel looked at the handcuffs too, seeming to be mildly impressed as he picked one up and observed them closer. His eyebrows rose slightly. "Demon ward spellwork… it's very clever."

Alex stared off into space, suddenly unable to stop thinking of the possibilities she had never thought of before. If you could hold a demon in place with a ward, what else besides handcuffs could work? "Demon ward strait-jacket…" she muttered to herself, imagining Crowley red-faced and bellowing and stuck forever in a very unfashionable strait-jacket.

Castiel looked at her sidelong, not following along. "…What?"

She was still off in her own little world. "Demon ward _lasso_ …" She pictured Dean in a cowboy hat then made a face. "Okay _that_ one's dumb," she said, dismissing herself. Looking around the small space, Alex let a soft, dark-natured little chuckle out. "Sam and Dean are gonna _freak out._ " She looked at Cas and cracked an impish little joke. "We have a dungeon. Now all we need is dragons."

Again, Cas was lost. "What?"

Alex shook her head, suddenly feeling a wave of fatigue crash over her from nowhere. "Uh… forget it." She sighed tiredly and put a hand to her stomach briefly. It was feeling weird again. "I'm tired," she said, privately wondering if something were wrong with her. She just didn't feel completely right. "Let's go back to the library?"

By the time they retraced their steps and made it back to the library, Cas had offered to carry Alex three times and she had grumpily told him no and to stop asking. But when they finally made it and she plopped down into a chair at the long table, she thought maybe she should have taken him up on the offer. "I'm _exhausted_ ," she said, not even sure why. "From doing _nothing._ "

Cas looked regretful a few steps off. "It's probably because of, um… the soul touch."

That made sense. "I guess." She propped her elbows onto the table and sighed out like she'd just finished a marathon. At the angel's worried, hovering gaze and close proximity (and the thought that he was about to ask if she were all right _again_ ), Alex suddenly snapped. "I'm _fine_ , Cas, would you stop that? God _damn_." She waved him away harshly, trying to deal with how worried she was about herself. What if something was seriously wrong? She felt off. _Off._ Maybe it was the soul touch. Or Hell somehow. Or learning about her future children. Or worries about Crowley and Naomi. Or her new, repaired body. Whatever it was, it was getting to her—irking and frustrating her—and she was lashing out at Castiel who of course had no idea how weird she felt. And he was just concerned about her. Alex realized how short she had just been and regretted it. Guiltily, her eyes slunk to him where he had dutifully drifted a few steps over to the closest bookshelf. The place where she had shooed him to. But he wasn't looking at the books. Those worried, deeply hurt eyes were staring back at her. _Jesus Christ Alex. Look what you did._ He looked wounded and she had done that. Embarrassed and disappointed in herself, Alex almost shut down and said nothing. But her heart welled up and she decided _screw that._ She got up and went to him and hugged him hard, hoping he wouldn't shove her away or reject her. "Sorry," she whispered into his shoulder, so mortified at herself that her neck was flushing hot and her throat was squeezing tight. "I'm—I'm just really stressed out. I didn't mean to snap at you like that."

His arms were around her loosely. "It's all right," he said, but he sounded very hurt still. Very confused and stunned.

Alex shook her head and pulled back then stepped back and awkwardly held her arms against herself, appalled that she'd just done that. "No, it's _not._ I'm sorry." Seriously. What was _wrong_ with her? Bitching at Cas like that and using that ugly tone?

"I was just… worried about you," he said plaintively, and the sad, childlike way he spoke in and the way he stood there with uncertain arms hanging at his sides was basically heartbreaking.

Alex nodded stiffly, hating herself briefly. "I know you were," she said, owner of a downcast gaze.

Castiel hesitated and looked down at his feet. "Sometimes I'm… I'm afraid you'll get tired of me," he admitted in something like shame. Alex felt like she broke a little bit when he said that. "That you'll want me to leave." His eyes looked into hers and begged her to tell him she wouldn't. Maybe she had made him feel like that just now.

Horrified that he feared that in any small way, Alex shook her head no immediately. "Cas, I would _never._ " She took him by the arms to emphasize how honest she was being. She tried to make him understand. "Sometimes I, I just need space or something," she fumbled, then shrugged helplessly. "Sometimes I just get mad for no reason. You know me. Winchester temper I guess." All of her words felt like flimsy excuses.

Cas was chastened and cautious, earnest as they came. "I'll give you whatever you want and need," he promised. Poor guy was lost and stung and feeling bad about what had happened. Alex was the same. "I just don't always understand or know what you need."

 _Blah_. "Me either," she said, completely humiliated at her little outburst. "I'm _sorry._ I really didn't mean to hurt your feelings." She hugged him hard and her cheek pressed against his trench coat. In her chest, heart hammered hard. Relationships and feelings were such delicate things. "I'll _never_ get tired of you. But I _will_ be a jerk sometimes. Just kinda happens. Ask my brothers." She pulled back just a little, arms loosely around him still. He was clearly very worried that he had done the wrong thing and messed everything up. Vulnerable like that, his lips looked especially kissable. Alex swallowed and looked into Cas's blue eyes and touched his face softly, hoping he forgave her. "Let's just kiss and forget it?" she asked hopefully.

His face softened and regaining some confidence, Cas's mouth tugged upwards to one side. "You'll have no argument from me," he murmured huskily, then brushed some hair behind her ear and then gently let his mouth press to hers. So glad he was open to her even after getting emotionally slapped, Alex tried to show him with her kisses how much she really did love and need him. Suffice to say, the kiss became very passionate very quickly. Cas turned her a little, kissing her and holding her with deep, slow care, sandwiching her between himself and the shelf of books as she inhaled him like she had been underwater for too long. Her topsy-turvy emotions had her clutching him close and kissing him in a smoldering, needy way.

It blindsided Castiel, who had to break the kiss and breathe against her mouth for a minute—his eyes scanned hers and he looked mystified but interested indeed. When he touched fingertips to the side of her face in a moment of tenderness and love, Alex felt a slightly devilish little smile growing on her face when she realized: this wasn't the first time she and Cas and a bookshelf had been a thing. She ran a finger down from the collar of his shirt to the center of his breastbone slowly, letting her mouth angle forward to brush against his. "You remember the first time you had me up against one of these?" she asked lowly, her voice flirting with strong suggestiveness.

Castiel's eyes darkened a shade and his voice lowered and grew more husky. "Yes, of course I do," he replied, eyes wandering her face as a sheepish, pleased smile grew on his lips. "I remember it very well." His hand skimmed the side of her face and his thumb rubbed briefly down across her lips, thumb dragging on the fullness of her lower lip.

Alex grasped his wrist gently in hers and looked him in the eye thoroughly, suddenly needing to know this more than anything. "Were you scared?"

That question caused him to take a moment—he looked intrigued to think back to his mindset at that time. "Hm." Castiel's little smile became more rueful and his eyes met hers quietly. " _Terrified_ would be a more accurate descriptor."

A relieved, silly grin broke on Alex's face. "Same." And oh, she had been. Terrified completely of what was now a very regular occurrence between herself and Cas. She thought back to them having sex for the first time ever in the freaking _Vatican_. An angel and a human—both clueless virgins before that night. A blush of heat crept up her neck and she had to press a naughty, embarrassed smile away as snatches of that night flew through her mind—his hands wandering her body and finding new ways to touch, their moans intermingled echoing in the grand space, the moment of ultimate consummation that they had shared. Alex felt herself getting even more red (and a little flustered) as she tried even harder to keep her shit-eating smile at bay. "Christ, sometimes I still can't believe we… that uh—that that happened."

But it had. And then it had happened again and again and again. Very close and quietly intense, the angel in the trench coat was looking at her with eyes that said it all. "I wanted you very much," he murmured huskily. "And I think you were the same."

Him talking about wanting her always made her a bit lightheaded. "Yup…" she managed, a little short on breath.

Cas's eyes were dark and full and saw everything. "And you're the same right now," he said, tone carrying the weight of seduction to it. "I recognize the signs of arousal." His fingers drifted over the pulse-point in her neck, a touch that was sensual. "Heightened pulse, dilated eyes…" he leaned in and kissed the side of her neck softly, making her laugh faintly and bite her lip.

"Don't be such a _dork,_ " she whined, eyes staying closed, hand twining in his hair. Cas was kissing an unhurried trail up her neck, making her sigh.

"You do know that dork is slang for penis, don't you?" he murmured.

Only Cas would say that kind of stuff while trying to get her hot and bothered. Alex's eyes opened as her face changed from aroused to amused. " _Really,_ Cas?" she asked, staring up at the ceiling the whole time.

His mouth dragged against her neck and he was oblivious to her slight exasperation. "Yes, I assure you it's true."

Well… that was Cas for you. Alex laughed heartily, head thrown back as he kept kissing her neck. She closed her eyes again. "Oh my god I love you, you huge nerd."

Cas finally seemed to get it and stopped, straightened, and looked at her in innocent puzzlement. "You're laughing at me."

Hands cupping his face, she touched her forehead to his. "Because you're so fucking adorable."

His face relaxed. "Thank you," he said, angling his face to hers and kissing her briefly even as her hands still held his face. "So are you."

If anyone else could see the ridiculous, mushy stuff they said and did with each other, the teasing would never stop. "We are seriously the world's most awkward couple," Alex said like it was some kind of secret she loved having with him.

Cas looked fascinated and unsure of what his reaction should be to her statement. "Why?"

She shrugged, slowly rubbing her hands lightly back and forth over his scruffy jawline. "I dunno. Just a couple of stupid saps." She leaned in to kiss him again and as she did, her eyebrows moved in hard toward each other as a single, clear thought ran through her mind.

Cas seemed to feel the shift after a moment and he broke away from the kiss softly. "What is it?" He thought something was wrong. But it wasn't.

Holding him close, she shook her head and searched his gaze as she spoke in a whisper. "Just… I never thought I would really ever have anyone. Ever. And I thought if I _did_ get someone, they would… I don't know. Never be as good as you are." He had her trust. She could be vulnerable and real with him. He was her safe place to fall.

He grasped one of her hands in his and held it there between them closely—they stood waist-to-waist. For a moment, he was quiet, and then his expression clouded. "When I think of all we've been through and what we've faced… when I realize how many times I've come close to losing you…" the shadow of fear was in his eyes, and she understood why. His voice softened, his hold on her was tighter, he dropped her hand and held the back of her head instead. "I never want to let go of you."

Her hand clenched into his coat. "I know." She didn't want to say it and admit it, but she did anyway. "I'm scared this won't last." Time together, she meant. "We always get ripped apart."

Castiel seemed to grow a little fiercer and bigger. His voice grew strong, even though it remained low. "Not this time," he promised intensely. "Not ever again." He took her hand off of his trench coat and kissed the knuckles in tenderness, then the back of her hand. His eyes drifted to her watching ones and then he kissed her hungrily, a hand on her face and the other circling her waist and pulling her close. He pressed himself against her softly, making a soft sighing moan escape her lips. That sound made him smile faintly. "I think you want more of what happened between us last night," he murmured against her mouth. A coy, naughty statement he followed by kissing her jawline and neck again with slow, warm lips.

Alex was a bit demure and flushed at the mention of that morning's lovemaking. "Last night was, um…" a barrage of sensual images and sounds came into her mind—them, the sheets, and nothing else. "Pretty good," she said.

Castiel was positively sexy in that moment as his mouth tugged up in a roguish smile she could feel against her skin. "Only 'pretty good'?" he asked into her ear, knowing full well how fucking _mindblowing_ it had been for them both. Alex squirmed in erotic discomfort as his mouth closed over the lower part of her ear. When he teased her like that, it drove her _crazy_ and she made a soft, frustrated sound. Her impatience only made him chuckle, which made her even hotter than before. His sandpapery little chuckle was the most maddening, seductive thing. His mouth came back and swallowed hers in a deep kiss, his hands dove low to touch over her jeans, and she grabbed him, too, making him exhale a soft moan.

"Two can play this game," she murmured throatily, rubbing her palm over him in a way he obviously really liked. And then there was a loud slamming sound and the two of them immediately stopped, frozen like they'd been caught with their hands in the cookie jar.

That was the sound of the bunker door slamming shut. "I thought they would be gone for like six hours at least!" Alex exclaimed in a whisper, breathing hard and fast.

Cas was squinting at the wall. Maybe he could see through it. "It's not your brothers," he said lowly. Then who the hell _was_ it? Semi-forgetting Cas, Alex went into high alert. Hand already hovering at the back of her jeans where she had a hunting knife strapped, Alex moved stealthily to where she could see into the control room to see who was coming down the stairs. And he saw her the moment she saw him and stopped at the bottom of the metal staircase. Alex's hand fell away from the knife as her expression fell slack.

"Well I'll be damned," Bobby Singer said softly, looking just as surprised to see her as she was to see him.

Nothing in the world could have stopped her from having the reaction she had next, which was to basically turn into a happy, excited, emotionally overwhelmed kid. " _Bobby_!"

She raced across the distance and barreled into him so hard they nearly fell over—Bobby caught what would have been a fall with a hand against stair railing. "Oof, well now don't _break_ me!" he protested, but his arms went to clap tight around her and he managed to stay alive even though her clamp-like arms were probably making it hard to breathe. After a couple long beats, Alex pulled back in his arms to look him in the face and verify that it really _was_ him. He looked the same as always—leathered skin, graying beard, soft eyes, beat up old ballcap, face she loved so much. She really thought she would never see him again, and here he was. Bobby seemed to be having a similarly shocked moment as he looked her over. "My god. Wouldya look at you," he murmured, that familiar molasses voice and drawl making Alex smile through the glinting tears in her eyes. "Pretty as ever. But I just don't know whether to kiss ya or _kick_ ya right now."

Alex grinned and laughed and hugged him again. "The first one." Her nose was in the flannel of his shirt and he smelled like Bobby. Mothballs and whiskey and the faintest scent of car oil.

Bobby grabbed her shoulders and set her slightly away from him, holding her there the entire time. He had his face on that meant it was time for a serious discussion. "Now look. I'm tickled pink to see ya but Alexandra Winchester, you better explain yourself right now to me." He sounded sort of upset and parental. "A damn _soul_ deal? What were you _thinkin_ _'_?" Alex's smile faded. She had forgotten that her brothers had jumped to the conclusion that her soul deal had been for Bobby's life only. She guess it didn't really matter. Bobby was obviously distressed over the fact. "What was goin' through that mind'a yours?" he asked. "You crack your grapefruit or somethin'?"

Alex gave him a courageous, sad little smile and then said the absolute truth. "I wouldn't need to hit my _head_ to wanna bring you back, Bobby." His expression shifted—he was touched and surprised at her words. Alex shook her head and tried to sidestep all that soul deal junk. "It's just good to see you again." She turned to humor in an attempt to gloss over things. "I mean come on. I was just doing my part. You weren't _really_ done gracing this planet with all that sass and flannel of yours, were you?"

Bobby was hesitant. "Can't say I was but… criminy, the cost'a getting me topside again…"

Alex shook her head firmly and took on an assertive tone. "Is paid." She drew her mouth in a thin line and breathed out hard. "And I'm in favor of never talking about it again." In other words: do not talk to me about that. Ever again, please.

Bobby looked pensive and conflicted. "Fair enough, I guess," he muttered, respecting her wishes. With a sigh, he shook his head. "Sweetheart, I can't ever thank you enough for…" he spread his hands and indicated himself meekly. "What you did for me." He searched her face and eyes and he was obviously torn up inside. "Breaks my heart a little bit though."

In time, she would explain it all—how deep the soul deal really went—and they would all probably be a lot more heartbroken than they already were. But for now, Alex just let it be. "You were worth it," she insisted even though her eyes were flooding as she thought of Hell and despair and thinking she would never see the light of day ever again. But here she was, and Bobby was alive. Sam was alive. So was Dad. So was _she._ And even though it had been a nightmare, she wouldn't ever choose to do it any other way. Because look who was here because of what she'd done. "It was _all_ worth it." Just thank god it was over. Thank _god._ The weight of it all had her very emotional. And Bobby, who was usually as touchy-feely as a cactus, had tears in his eyes, too.

He pulled her close and patted her back and kissed the side of her head then pulled away, struggling to keep himself together and not be improperly emotional. "Now look at us, a damn couple'a leaky faucets," he complained, looking at her in put-on sternness that honestly made her smile despite the tears. "Can't be goin' soft, now." He cleared his throat and adjusted his cap then crossed his arms, turned himself to business. "The boys told me about your dad. Innt that somethin'?"

Alex nodded and got herself together, too. "Yeah. He's just around a couple corners and down a hall." The most surreal thought there was.

Bobby followed the glance she'd given to indicate which direction. "He woke up yet?"

With a grim little shake of the head, Alex flattened her lips briefly. "No. Don't know if he _will_. Waiting game."

A soft little rueful smile crossed Bobby's face as he eyed his girl fondly. "And we all know how much you _love_ waitin' around." The two of them exchanged a brief smile. So maybe patience wasn't always her strong suit. Bobby smiled at her a second longer then looked back further into the room as something caught his eye. Alex turned to see that Cas was waiting at the edge of the room, giving them space until he was summoned. "Cas…" Bobby greeted cautiously, looking at Alex briefly for a cue. He seemed mildly surprised to see the angel there. Castiel made his way over under Bobby's uncertain eye. "It's been awhile. You uh—you your original make and model again?"

Cas appeared sheepish at that question. "Yes. I'm… my original make and model." Appearing marginally satisfied, Bobby stuck his hand out for a tentative shake. Cas accepted the gesture and looked encouraged. "It's good to see you again, Bobby."

"Uh huh," Bobby said, then pulled Cas's hand closer for inspection. He peered at the wedding band on Cas's left ring finger and glanced at Alex before looking at Cas inscrutably and letting go. "Looks like we'll be seeing a lot more of each other, huh?" he asked, sending his intent gaze to Alex. "Everything's square with you two then?"

Alex was slightly uncomfortable because it was hard not to feel a little judged for staying with Castiel even after all the horrible that had transpired. She nodded once. "Yup."

But Bobby accepted that as her answer and apparently needed nothing more. He was simple like that and trusting of her judgment. Not one to pry. "'Nuff said." He studied Cas with keen eyes. "Got my eye on you, though," he muttered, then acknowledged that there were two sides to the story. "Though to be fair, raisin' this one outta Hell _and_ all the rest of the Winchester brood sorta makes up for some of it. _Maybe_." He turned his gaze to Alex and dropped the subject completely, mercifully leaving it behind. "Well, you'll never guess what I picked up on the way in."

Alex saw a prime opportunity for some teasing. "An AARP membership?"

"Hardy har _har_ ," Bobby commented glibly, sending her a disgruntled glance. "A _Winnebago_."

Alex made a face. "As in an RV?" she asked. "What for? You planning on doing some traveling or something?"

Bobby shrugged. "Well, my old place bit the dust." He glanced around the bunker briefly. "This place… it's nice but it ain't all me. Too shiny and computer-y and I don't like those damn high ceilings. Too far away." He sounded like the grumpy old man that he was and it made Alex smile despite herself. Bobby jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "I still got a few little libraries buried out there I gotta recover. So I figure why not take my show on the road? See what I can see. Find jobs on the ground the old fashioned way." He shrugged and stuck his hands into his pockets. "Hell, it's somethin' _new_ if nothin' else. I got a new lease on life. May as well _use_ it, right?" He paused and his face showed confusion and mild distaste. "Also… heard Garth took over my song and dance and let's be honest… kid's not exactly ready to be president of his own _butt,_ let alone run the hunter network."

Alex poked the bottom side of Bobby's ballcap upward, setting his hat off kilter—something she'd done since being a kid. "I don't think anyone but you will ever be quite right for head honcho of the hunter game, Bobby," she said honestly, grinning as he grumblingly adjusted his cap to sit snug on his head again. "Okay, let's see this Winnebago of yours."

Bobby took Cas and Alex topside to show them his new RV. It was a boxy vintage beast with white siding and a mustard yellow W and stripes on the side. It was beat up, worn-in, and somehow perfect for Bobby… down to the brown shag carpeting and 70s wood paneling interior. He told them his plans of how to build shelving on one side and rip out the seats from that side and put new ones. All in all, even though at first Alex felt like it was an odd move for her uncle, she left feeling like it was actually kind of perfect for him.

The three of them settled into the library and Bobby set to work on some research for a case he was long-distance helping an old pal on. Alex found the cheap little cell phones Dean had bought earlier while out for groceries and sat Cas down, showed him how to set his up with the little minutes card Dean had also purchased. For now, it was a temporary solution to getting Cas and Alex phones. After they were set up and functional, Alex sent a test text to Castiel, the contents of which were so naughty that Cas turned slightly red and then gawked at her as she stood up breezily and announced that she was going to be back in a few minutes. She sauntered out of the room, knowing Cas was watching her the entire time, then waited for him halfway down the hallway. When he got there, they barely made it to the privacy of their room.

Roughly forty minutes later, they reemerged from the room dressed the same but with messed up hair and glowing, reddened skin. Bobby took one look at them and rolled his eyes, then called them 'idjit lovebirds.' That's when Alex wandered to the kitchen because she was yet again famished and craving something. But _what_ she was craving, she wasn't entirely sure of. After scouring the pantry and refrigerator and finding nothing that seemed to fit what her tastebuds were begging for, she got upset. Every food item she had wanted earlier now looked appalling. Finally, she turned around and made a sound of despair.

"Cas, I just really really want some sour candy straws and macaroni and cheese," she complained, panicking inside because she felt like if she didn't have those two things, she would lay down and die. She gestured angrily at where she'd just been. "And there's nothing in this fucking _pantry_ …!"

Castiel peered past her. There _were_ things in the pantry and they both knew it. "But Dean got everything you asked for…" he said hesitantly. "And I see several food items in the pantry…"

Petulant, Alex groaned. "I _knowwww_ , but now I really want something _different_. None of this looks good. I'm not feeling it anymore. And that jerky makes me wanna fucking _puke_ just looking at it." She turned her head away from that disgusting bag of dried meat, wanting to hurl at the mere thought of the leathery texture and dog-food taste. She grabbed Cas's hands tight, imploring him. "Let's go get something."

Cas was hesitant. "I don't know about leaving the bunker…"

Alex put on the best puppy eyes she had. " _Ple-eeease_?"

The puppy eyes were working. Cas was obviously very susceptible to them, but he tried valiantly to be reasonable. "Dean's right. It might not be safe out there for you…"

But _mac and cheese_. Alex practically pouted, letting her expression beg him. " _Cas_ …"

He caved in, however uncertainly. "Well, I suppose if we're quick…"

Grinning, envisioning sour straws of all colors as well as macaroni and cheese up to her eyeballs, Alex nodded rapid agreement. "We'll be super quick," she promised. "Flash Gordon quick."

Cas's eyes squinted up. "…Who?"

Alex went up on tiptoes and kissed the tip of his nose and then gave him a playfully lecturing look. "I love you, but we have _got to get you to watch more TV."_


	127. The Scribe

" _We all make choices, but in the end our choices make us._ _"  
_ \- Ken Levine

* * *

Inside of your run-of-the-mill Gas n' Sip convenience store, an angel and a human woman wandered the candy and junk food aisle. This particular aisle was Alex's favorite in the entire store and always had been. All of the bright plastic wrappers and all the promises of salty, sweet goodness contained inside… it was enough to make a very hungry girl's mouth water. Castiel in tow, she made her way up the aisle with great intent, tossing everything that looked good (which was quite a few things) into the little basket she had handed over to the angel when they'd first arrived.

This was supposed to be a quick trip and then straight back to the bunker. No dilly-dallying. Just candy and snacks and, _ooh! Doritos!_ Alex tossed a bag of those into the basket, barely cognizant of Castiel at the moment. He drifted after her, at first gazing with great curiosity at the items lining the aisle, then frowning in fascination at whatever thing she launched into the little basket he held. Every new item intrigued him more than the last. Another bag flew into the basket and he squinted at it and then fished it out, studying it in great intensity. "Pickle flavored potato chips," he muttered, reading from the label. He looked at Alex slowly in great confusion. "I don't understand this food item."

Alex was in good spirits at the thought of everything she was going to get to eat soon. "What's there to understand?" she retorted cheekily, hunting the shelves with keen eyes. "They're _really_ good. Almost as good as…" she tossed another bag she plucked up at him, "salt and vinegar."

Cas shifted the full basket around. "There isn't much room left in here…" he ventured, worried eyes scanning the contents then flickering up to his apparently ravenous wife. He was vastly uncertain. "Surely this is enough."

He got a raised eyebrow and a little coy smile. "Have you ever _seen_ me eat?" Alex countered playfully. She could chow down with the best of them. Yeah, sometimes she pecked at food like a bird, but there were times she'd out-eaten Sam and Dean both.

"I've seen you eat many times, of course," Cas replied easily, a reminiscent and soft smile on his entire face as he gazed at her fondly. He was obviously thinking about when he'd been her guardian angel—and it sparked a sudden wash of warmth in Alex's chest.

Forgetting snacks, and cravings and everything else, she turned her attention entirely to her Castiel, struck by him all over again, comforted somehow at the thought of him watching over her when she didn't even know his name or believe that angels existed at all. There had been a time when the two of them had been all but strangers. There had been a time she had wanted to kiss him and had been too afraid. And now… he was completely, unequivocally hers. No barrier remained between them. Without any warning, Alex grabbed Cas by the face and kissed him impulsively, grinning at the surprised (but definitely interested and agreeable) look on his face when she pulled back. She straightened his coat by the lapels, an excuse to keep her hands on him, and their eyes did the talking for a few seconds as his free hand came up to gently rest on then grasp one of hers. They were both thinking, as they often did, of how incredible it was to have ended up here after where they started off. How wonderful it was to simply be together and in a scenario that wasn't dire or about to break them apart. After so long feeling like she was on unsteady ground with no idea of what the future held… Alex finally felt safe. A sense of peace. Before she could overthink that feeling or second-guess it, she became aware of how the eyes of several people in the store were on the two of them. Remembering that it _wasn_ _'_ _t_ just her and Cas in the world, Alex glanced around, finding an older lady's severe side eye and a middle aged man's sullen scowl. Apparently, two people in love and sharing a moment was upsetting to the general public.

Self-conscious at the looks, Alex cleared her throat and let go of Cas, who didn't totally get it—he had very little understanding of or care for social cues and the only ones he ever truly seemed to pay attention to anyway were ones from the Winchesters. "So uh, we, we need beer while we're here," Alex said, feeling the eyes of the judgy people on her. "And toilet paper too probably…" she trailed off, knowing she needed to get some necessities and knowing that she _had_ gotten enough snacks to last the century… _but,_ she hadn't found the candy she _really_ wanted yet and, ugh, she _really_ wanted it…

Grudgingly, she looked at the shelves again, trying to locate the familiar neon colored packaging and the wacky font that would announce Sour Punch Straws. Where _were_ those things? As she eyed the shelf reluctantly and told herself that she really needed to go ahead and go get real things for the bunker, Cas perked up. "I can get the toilet paper and beer," he offered hopefully, seizing the chance to do something helpful. "I even know what they look like." When Alex looked at him in faint surprise and amusement, he reigned his gusto back on. "I only mean… I would like to try, if that's all right."

A faint smile spread on Alex's face and it originated from the region of her heart. Even though he had the ability to flatten a building or kill someone with little more than a thought, Cas reminded her of a kid who was determined to start doing things for themselves in order to prove themselves. And it was just beer and toilet paper, yet Cas had sounded so excited (even if he'd _tried_ to temper his enthusiasm down a bit). Alex shrugged her hands out, smiling bigger at him because he was completely adorable. "Have at it," she said, then alternated between stealing glances at him and trying to find the damn sour straw candy. Cas wandered the store cluelessly, but Alex didn't call to him and point out where the toilet paper would be. This was some kind of rite of passage, maybe—finding his own way in the world was important, even in something small like locating something in a store. It was essential that he could stand on his own, she knew that… however, she would hopefully always be nearby to help him if he got into trouble (or simply _could not_ find the toilet paper…). It was kind of precious to see him stop and frown at things and explore the small convenience store. He didn't hide his confusion or his interest in all the items and displays, and that was kind of refreshing. Alex had always tried to act like she knew exactly what she was doing even when she didn't even have a clue—it was a defense mechanism and a protective gesture. But Cas wasn't really like that. He was just himself.

Castiel stopped and stared at the little hot-dog station where a bunch of greasy frankfurters turned endlessly on a rolling bed of metal cylinders. Slowly, he lowered his face to their waist-height level, watching with a thoroughly wrinkled grimace of curious near-disgust on his face, then of all things he reached out and _poked one_ with his finger, testing its texture. Alex's eyes widened and she made a face (one that said _I can_ _'_ _t believe he just did that oh god did anyone see_?) and she immediately looked around. As luck would have it, Snooty Lady saw it and was _appalled_. And then even more so when Cas sniffed his suddenly-greasy finger with a deep frown. _Okay_ —now it was just _hilarious_. Screw the lady and her attitude… Alex made eye contact with Cas and stuck her own finger into her mouth, indicating he do the same. That was, in her experience, the best way to get food off your finger. Cas hesitated, then did what she had indicated, then his eyebrows rose faintly when he tasted what he'd touched. Alex couldn't blame him—a greasy hot dog did sound sorta amazing at the moment. Smiling at him dreamily over the shelf, Alex expelled a long, content breath. Honestly it was kind of inappropriate to be poking gas station hot dogs, but you know what? Watching Cas learn about her world would always be something she loved.

And then, the moment was disturbed. The gas station employee, a young acne-riddled kid, called over from the checkout counter where the appalled lady was obviously complaining. " _Dude_!" His voice broke, giving away how young he was. "Don't poke my hot dogs!"

Cas realized he'd done something wrong but didn't seem to understand entirely _what._ Still, he apologized stiltedly. "Uh… sorry." He glanced at Alex for a cue and she just gave him a small encouraging smile and he returned to wandering. In the following moments, he knocked an energy-bar display over, opened a carton of eggs and broke one, left the refrigerator door open, set his basket down in the middle of an aisle where it was in the way… basically caused small disaster after small disaster, and Alex _let him_ because it was so freaking hilarious and endearing… and the little employee running around the store getting flustered and exclaiming "dude!" over and over only added to the hilarity. Huffy lady left the store in a tizzy, dragging side-eye dude with her, just in time to miss when Cas finally found the toilet paper. Alex had drifted over to him after giving up on her quest for the sour candy she'd wanted. It wasn't on the aisle she'd been scouring, maybe it was somewhere else.

Cas was holding two different kinds of toilet paper and making a severely deep frowning face. He looked like he held the fate of the world in his hands. Then he looked at Alex with great trepidation. "…Which kind is better?" he asked in grave seriousness.

She had to stifle a laugh at his grave expression. Shopping for toilet paper had never been so aww-inducing. Alex plucked the Charmin paper out of his hand and reshelved it. "The cheaper one," she said authoritatively. " _Always_ the cheaper one."

His eyes crimped slightly. "Always the cheaper one," he repeated seriously, like he was deriving some great life lesson from her and always going to try to apply that advice to everything from then on. He squinted over at the refrigerators full of beer. "I'll get the beer now."

Alex watched as he went to stand in front of the clear glass display and carefully contemplate the many types of beers. Alex was just realizing that her advice about the cheaper ones were going to backfire when Cas made his selection. Alex had to hurry over at that point. " _Red Stripe_ , Cas?" she asked, clearly implying _wrong choice_. World's worst beer—and the Winchesters _all_ agreed on that.

Cas looked like a deer caught in the headlights, the six pack hovering halfway out of the refrigerator in his hand. "You… said always the cheaper one," he reasoned uncertainly.

Alex nudged the Red Stripe pack back at the cooler, indicating that he return it to the shelf. "With _toilet paper_. _Not_ with beer." She stood beside Cas and pointed out everyone's favorites one by one. "Dean's a Del Sol or a Sam Adams man. I like Killian's Irish Red if I have a choice. Sam's picky and likes Guinness or anything dark, but he'll usually drink whatever Dean gets, oh, except he _hates_ Budweiser… won't touch it." Cas looked positively harrowed and overwhelmed by the information, and Alex softened then touched his shoulder. "It's okay." She squeezed and gave him an encouraging smile. "You'll learn." She pulled out a six-pack of Del Sol.

Vaguely comforted, Cas nodded and let out a tense breath then looked around the store in slight anxiety. He spotted something and got really intense then looked at Alex very apprehensively. "Should… we get Dean a pornographic magazine?" He gestured at the rack of them that was nearby. "I know he likes them."

Alex followed his gaze, a little taken aback—but not _really_. This was Cas, after all. He asked weird questions and didn't know what was appropriate and what wasn't. "You're… not wrong about that…" she ventured tentatively. She didn't have much of an opinion on it, but Cas obviously thought maybe it would be a nice thing to do. So she shrugged. "Sure. Why the hell not?"

Cas went over to the rack and looked through the selection in utter seriousness then pulled one out and held it up for Alex to see. He looked so serious about it. "Busty Asian Beauties. I think this one is his favorite."

There was a weirdly doubtful amused expression frozen on Alex's face. Duh. That would be a yes. How many issues of that damn magazine had Dean bought and… done things with… over the years? Hard to tell but he never got tired of it, apparently. Alex crossed her arms and gave Cas a slightly challenging, playful look. "Which one is _your_ favorite?"

Cas looked utterly unprepared for that question and quickly puzzled and even embarrassed. "Uh… I don't…" he began, then looked at the rack with new eyes in slight aversion. "Am I supposed to… read… these?" he asked, sounding entirely intimidated and unwilling.

Alex could probably tell him that it was a prerequisite of being a man or something and he'd readily believe her—and Alex's trollish side was begging to come out and play… but Cas's very real look of anxiety made her choose to be honest. "Not if you don't want to." And honestly she would love it if he looked through the pages and decided none of the girls in there were his cup of tea. But she was pretty sure the women in those magazines were ten times hotter than her with their huge boobs and big hips and tan skin.

Cas plucked a random issue off the stands and looked at it hesitantly then made a face when he opened it. "No, they're… not…" he looked embarrassed and glanced up at her. "I'd much rather look at _your_ naked body than this publication."

The gas station employee picked _that_ moment to drift by and he _definitely_ caught what Cas said. Alex felt that kid's shocked stare and she pressed her mouth into a line of a smile—she was both extremely flattered and a little put on the spot. "Thanks." She cleared her throat and threw in a term of endearment awkwardly to try and smooth it over, somehow. " _Honey_."

Cas turned the magazine sideways, turning his head to a strange angle as he stared at another spread. "This pose is… very disconcerting," he muttered, then his eyes widened a little as they trailed downward. "Oh my." He stuck the magazine back on the rack and there was no mistaking it. He was slightly red.

Chortling softly, Alex grabbed a bag of Doritos from the basket he had in one hand, ripped the bag open, and popped a chip into her mouth. She seriously couldn't wait any longer.

"Hey, don't eat that, you haven't paid!" the employee protested, lurking nearby and watching them pointedly even though he was trying to be discreet. He gestured at Cas in flustered awkwardness. "And, come on, you're not supposed to look at the porn _in_ the store, man!" His high pitched, wavery teen voice was grating.

"Take a chill pill, will you?" Alex asked through a mouthful of chips, already cramming another one in there. "I'll pay. Well, _he_ _'_ _ll_ pay." Cas had the money in his pockets because she didn't have a new wallet yet. "Hey, by the way, where are the sour punch straws? I couldn't find them and I _need_ them." She sounded too desperate even to herself with the way she said the word 'need.'

The employee stared at her as she fished another chip out and continued to eat loudly. Cas looked apologetic. "I _do_ have money. I assure you, you'll be paid," he told the teenager. "Now where are these sour straw devices my wife is talking about?" _My wife._ She melted a little when he called her that. With total earnestness and too much seriousness, Cas leveled the employee with a very beseeching look. "It's very important that she have them."

Shifty eyed, clearly suspicious of them, the employee whose nametag read 'Chris' was guarded. "I have sourpatch _kids,_ but not sour punch _straws_ _…_ we don't carry 'em anymore."

Alex felt a certain and sudden sense of dismay. " _What_?" she asked, because that was ridiculous. They had _always_ stocked that candy since she'd been little! "You don't have them _at all_?" she asked, confounded and then quickly mournful. It was like losing her best friend. " _Why_?"

Chris was trying to back away slowly. "Um…"

Castiel decided to escalate things a little quicker than necessary at that point, reaching forward and grabbing the teenager by the collar of his shirt and yanking him forward. "Where are they?" he demanded loudly.

Wide-eyed, Chris struggled in vain against Cas's grip. "Dude, w-we don't have them!" he insisted in a quickly-rising pitch.

"Cas, whoa—you don't need to give this kid the shakedown!" Alex admonished, both aghast and a little turned on by the very brutish move. Cas looked at her sidelong, puzzled. He didn't let go of Chris.

And then there was a new voice: a mellow, tenor, distinctly nasal male voice. "Listen to your wife, Castiel, and put the virgin down." In unison, Alex and Cas looked behind themselves to see a very short, average looking man. He wore unremarkable clothes, had wild wispy hair above a receding hairline, and a plain, forgettable face. "We need to talk," he said firmly, and the grave look on his face conveyed utter seriousness.

He was a stranger and Alex put herself in front of Cas by instinct. "Who the hell are _you_?" she demanded, practically bristling.

No sooner had the last word left her mouth than Cas moved her aside, speaking to her quickly in a low voice as he put himself in front of her. "I'll handle this." He gave the stranger a hard look and then repeated Alex's demand word-for-word in a gruff voice: "Who the hell are you?"

The man paused, glanced between the two of them, then inclined his head just slightly and allowed the hint of a coy smile. "Metatron."

Cas and Alex's faces softened. They had both heard of this angel from Sam and Dean.

Chris, who was nearby and panicking slightly at the odd things transpiring in his gas station, backed up slowly. "Y—you people need to get out of my store," he fumbled. "Just take it all and leave, just _go_!"

Metatron smiled pleasantly at Chris. "Excellent." He nodded toward the door with a breeziness and assertiveness that was strange given his squirrelly appearance. "I believe that's our cue. _Now_ , if you'll walk with me…" he gave no other option and exited the store, leaving Cas and Alex to silently exchange a glance then quickly follow after.

It was a slightly funny sight—a short little man treading down the sidewalk at a quick pace followed by a couple who were hurrying after and trying to carry a pack of toilet paper, a handheld shopping basket, and a six-pack of beers. Metatron, even though he had a smaller stride than them, was walking so fast that they had to jog a little to catch up.

"Hey, slow down!" Alex complained, shifting the toilet paper pack under her arm.

He did, just a little, enough so that they could catch up to him. " _You_ _'_ _re_ Metatron?" Cas asked even as the supposed-scribe kept walking. " _The_ Metatron?"

This stopped Metatron and he turned, held a correcting hand out. "In public, it's _Marv_ _,_ " he said, glancing around furtively like he was afraid of being watched.

Cas frowned slightly. "Marv."

Alex looked at him with a doubtful, hard face as Metatron's attention became much more focused onto the two of them. "Yes. And _you're_ Castiel and _you_ _'_ _re_ Alex Winchester," he said, voice carrying a note of interest and intrigue—his eyes flickered over both of them with rapt interest. "Kevin Tran told me about you. _Both_ of you." He abruptly smiled and breathed in deep, like he was inspired and invigorated. "Such a marvelous, romantic story—well, what he knew about it, anyway." His smile was distinctly wolfish as it spread further across his face. "I'd love if you could fill me in on the juicy details sometime," he said, appearing to be nearly drooling for just that. "I'm sure it's full of twists and turns and drama and high stakes."

Who _was_ this guy? Alex was not amused. "Uh, how about no, ' _Marv_ _'_?" she asked in a voice that promised ass kicking and indicated major disapproval. "We're not going with you any further until you tell us what you want." She gave him a challenging look at sent Cas a quick, rallying glance.

Metatron looked at her and his face softened and grew overly emotional. "Aww, gosh…" he grinned over at Castiel like he was just so deeply touched. "She's _protective_ of you! Isn't that endearing? She's virtually _powerless_ next to you and I both, yet she wants to _protect_ you. Delightful! Simply adorable!" His enthusiasm and word choices were skeeving Alex out—Cas looked highly suspicious too and Metatron saw that he was not going to find the reactions he'd hoped for. He sighed and gave up on trying to be overly friendly. "Hmm, well, to sum it all up—the reason why I'm here I mean—I guess I just wanted to socialize a little bit with an angel who's like me." He looked at Castiel with wide, pensive eyes.

Cas was cautious. "And we're alike how?"

"Free thinkers," Metatron explained heavily, indicating that it couldn't possibly be any other way. "Innovators. Rebels, if you will; some might even say outsiders. Both on Heaven's most wanted list and _both_ severely undervalued." He smiled, ditching his more grave expression. "I don't like conversations on an empty stomach. How about we grab a bite, huh? Your human wife can come, too!"

Castiel was confused by the terminology. "I'm sorry—what? A bite?"

"To _eat_ ," Metatron explained pleasantly, then slipped a smile at Alex. "Trust me. She likes that idea."

Alex bristled yet again because he hit the nail right on the head. "No I don't," she lied, even though all she wanted to _do_ was eat. Metatron chuckled and sighed out a long, knowing sound as he smiled at her like something was amusing to him. Even more cranky than before, Alex practically glared. "What's so _funny_?"

He gave her a playful look, enjoying her frustration it would seem. "I guess you haven't figured it out yet," he said with a brief wink, then eyed Cas. "But come on. _Castiel!_ You know, right?" He looked at the other angel expectantly. Castiel looked clueless and Metatron looked let down. He rolled his eyes and said the next part to the sky and Cas alike. "Oh come on! You're _killing_ me!"

Cas and Alex exchanged a look, pretty sure this guy was off his rocker. "Figured… _what_ out?" Castiel asked, face wrinkled up in total confusion. "How am I killing you?"

Metatron sighed and clucked, shaking his head in chagrin. "I thought _I_ _'_ _d_ been on earth too long, but maybe _you_ have."

Bemused, Cas let his eyes narrow even more. "What do you mean?"

Metatron shrugged while pulling a face. "You know what they say about how 'if it was a snake it'd bite ya'?" he asked, then only got a more confounded look from the other angel. "No?" he asked, then sighed wearily and waved a hand in dismissal, apparently over the entire thing. "Never mind, you'll figure it out eventually," he said then promptly moved on to other matters. "Look, Castiel. I've been on sabbatical. I'm trying to play catch-up, but I have to talk to somebody about what's going on back home."

Cas hesitated, voice softening and holding a hint of trepidation. "And by home, you mean Heaven."

"Right," Metatron confirmed. "I've been looking around, crawling through a few divine nooks and crannies, and from what I can see, without the archangels, it's a mess up there. Open warfare."

Taken mildly aback, Cas's mouth parted open. "…Open warfare?" he repeated. "…I thought Naomi was running things now."

Metatron was dead serious. "One, is that what you'd _want_? Is that what she told you? And two, haven't you seen it yourself? I mean, Naomi's a _player_ —don't get me wrong—but just one of many. There are factions upon factions, all fighting, betraying each other, trying to grapple for power and get the big seat of power." His tone softened and became more cautious. "It's just a matter of time before they start ripping each other apart. It's all broken. Very dangerous. Just a matter of time before all that dissent starts trickling down here to the earth folk…" his eyes slid to Alex, silently indicating that she would be endangered by what he was talking about.

Appearing to be very shaken, Cas shook his head and spoke firmly. "I want no part of it."

Metatron's reply was quick. "Well of course not; who would?" He hesitated and then spoke carefully. "But… word on the street is you might have been the one who broke the entire system, buddy. So the more unfriendly angels? They uh… they might be looking for revenge or looking to eliminate the threat you represent before you start to fight back." What he was saying made sense and had both Cas and Alex very worried. Metatron shrugged, appearing humble and resigned. "And then the more reasonable halos, the ones who won't go all revenge-obsessed, _well_ , they need someone to come to the rescue and save them from the calamity." He gazed at Cas in compassionate resignation. "They need _us_."

There was a terrible, short silence. "Us?" Cas repeated in quiet dread. "You and me specifically?"

"Yeah," Metatron replied enthusiastically, pitching it like he was a salesman. "Just—just picture it. We put our heads together, ride to the rescue, save the day, clean up the mess, set things right—make a great story in the process. We're a winning duo, you gotta admit! I mean, you've got experience and street smarts, I've got lots of information straight from the big guy himself. We could really do some good stuff up there." Seeing the very uncertain and even upset look passing between Alex and Cas, Metatron tried again. "Look, the angels are like a big, dysfunctional family," he said urgently. "We need to lock them all in a room until we work these problems out—all the factions, you and me Castiel. If we don't get drastic, _trust me_. It's gonna get _bad_ and _soon_ down here. You have vested interests down here to say the least." He looked at Cas and Alex significantly. "A family to protect." He studied them for a moment, appearing vastly regretful. "So I don't see another way. We have to keep the humans safe." He paused, and then let the bombshell fly. "We have to shut down Heaven."

A stunned silence resounded before Alex piped up. "Shut it _down_?" she asked. " _How_? What does that even _mean_?"

Metatron gave her a knowing look and obliging smile like they were best friends and he adored her. Again, it had a creepy effect. "Do you like crepes? I bet you like crepes. Light, airy, buttery, sweet, sprinkled with blankets of powdered sugar…" he trailed off, seeing the effect his word choices had on her. He wiggled his eyebrows. "Sounds good, huh? Really makes your mouth water."

She swallowed because she _was_ the owner of a mouth that was watering badly. " _No_ it _doesn_ _'_ _t_ …" she denied stiffly.

Metatron chuckled. "Eugenie's in Ojai makes the greatest caramel apple crepes," he said, then grinned. "Meet me there, mmkay?" And then without anything further, he disappeared out of thin air.

"Metatron— _Marv_!" Cas exclaimed, exasperated. He let out a heavy breath and then looked at Alex in confused, clouded distress.

"I need some of those crepes," Alex muttered, unable to stop thinking about caramel. She shook her head and made a frustrated sound. Enough with the food shit. "Also, what the hell, _shut Heaven down_?! That's not possible… is it?" She looked at Cas for reinforcement. "Is he _crazy_?"

He had his face drawn tightly. "Maybe not."

Something about the tone of his voice had Alex forgetting everything and focusing on him. Trying to see into him and what he was thinking. "Hey." She touched the side of his arm. He still held the basket of food in one hand and the six-pack of beer in the other. He looked crestfallen and guilty. "You okay, Cas?"

Head down, gaze down, he didn't look okay. "I just… I don't know if I can ever escape the consequences of what I did," he admitted softly. "All of these problems can be traced back to me. Metatron's right. I changed everything. Broke the system."

Alex shook her head. " _We_ changed everything. And it was a shitty system, remember?" He glanced into her eyes doubtfully and she persisted. "The apocalypse? Not one person did all that. You're not the only one to blame, if you are to blame at all." She reminded him of something very important. "Knocking Michael off the board was probably what started all that mess up there."

Cas nodded slightly, but it was clear to see that he wasn't alleviated from much blame if any. "That may be true, but I led the first angel-against-angel war against Raphael. I'm the one who killed the last archangel and threw the host into confusion. I left Heaven a leaderless mess." When he put it like that, Alex did have to admit… maybe he was right. But was it really _that_ bad? Did Heaven _need_ a leader? And maybe the chaos in Heaven was bound to have happened eventually, anyway. It was impossible for them to know. Cas looked up at her with guilty eyes. "I _started_ this, Alex. _I_ did." He sighed and his eyes went skyward, scanning the unremarkable sky above. "Metatron is right. It is _so_ dangerous for things to continue as they are. I fear another war up there will tear the universe apart at the seams…"

Alex could find nothing to say. When Cas looked back at her with a tense expression, she didn't know what to do. And then suddenly, they were no longer on the side of a street—they were in the bunker kitchen, and Cas was setting down the items he carried even as Alex reeled from the abrupt change. "Maybe this is what I need to do so that it all stops," Cas said somberly, staring at the basket of snacks and junk food and possibly forgetting that Alex wasn't accustomed to just porting around places without notification. "I can't decide if the angels fight each other or not—and I won't be part of the negotiations that they hold in setting up a new system." He turned to look at Alex, who clutched the toilet paper package to herself almost like a comfort object at that point. "But I _do_ know that angels can't come after us or hurt other humans if Heaven is boarded up."

Alex was too upset to respond well—she already felt like Cas had made his mind up. All she heard was Cas leaving again. "Yeah but… we don't _know_ this Metatron guy," she hedged. "He could be lying. He could be making all this shit up."

Cas nodded once grimly. "I know that, but Sam said he knew the third trial for the demon tablet." Uncomfortable, Alex's every instinct protested. "And Metatron _is_ the scribe…" he reasoned.

Out of things to say or how to feel, Alex dug around in the bottom of the proverbial barrel. "So… you really think we can trust him? Even though you don't even _know_ him?"

Castiel was measured and seemed very wise in that moment to her. "I don't know if we can trust him," he said, then said something very striking indeed. "I don't think we can trust _anyone_ but each other when all is said and done." Alex's guarded, grudging gaze shot up to look into his. She heard what he was saying and already knew he wanted to do this on his own. "I'll go to this… crepe… place," he said. "And see what else I can discover about Metatron and this proposition to close Heaven." Alex just clenched her jaw and looked down, too tired and weary and done with this same old song and dance to summon any reaction except depression. They would always be separated. Something would always come between them. Every time he left, it felt like she would never see him again. "I want you to stay here where it's safe," he said quietly, looking at her hopefully despite the unwilling expression on her face. Safe was an illusion and a curse and a word she despised. Cas looked around, seeing things she didn't. "Your brothers are close. Go find them."

Alex struggled not to look as pissed or as hurt as she felt. Her emotions felt like a tiny piece of butter scraped across a colossal piece of toast. "Yeah, fine," she said carelessly, sending a sullen look at the snacks they had gotten. None of it looked good anymore. In fact, she felt a little queasy.

Cas was obviously aware to some extent that she was unhappy, but he tried to make the best of it. "I'll be back soon," he said gently, touching her shoulder in a way that would usually have her melting into him.

But she was stiff and unresponsive. "You always say that," she muttered, looking at the floor. It was nearly an accusation.

He looked slightly hurt. "I mean it."

Alex shook her head, dejected and not of the heart to do this right now. "Just go, Cas," she said, turning around and trying to hide herself from him.

Surprising her, he caught her by the arm in a strong but gentle hand and his gaze was the same when she looked up into his face in surprise. "I will _always_ be back," he said, and it was in a trembling but strong voice. His other hand came up to hold her face in a way that conveyed fierce, undying things. His grip was strong, but his thumb gently brushed her skin and then his other fingers relaxed. He understood her in that moment, and she felt that in a way that transcended explanation. It broke through to her immediately, bridging the gap. " _Always,_ " he repeated in a hushed, close tone. Their eyes remained locked for a few scant seconds. She wanted to beg to go with him, but somehow, she knew this was something he had to do on his own to get real closure. Still, she hated it and felt like she was being sidelined. That, and the fear of losing him was unshakable.

"Promise," she whispered intensely, emotions just underneath the surface. His promise would be her anchor.

"On my life," he promised, his whisper matching hers.

And then Alex lost whatever pride she'd had and her lips rushed to his for a kiss that spoke what she didn't: how afraid she was. How fucking terrified. The way he kissed and held her promised things unbreakable and as such, her raveled emotions relaxed, her petrified fears calmed, her stormy heart grew more peaceful. When the kiss ended, her hands were on either side of his face and emotion made her eyes shine. "I'll be here waiting," she whispered, then went onto tiptoes and pulled him down slightly to kiss his forehead hard and long with eyes that were squeezed closed. She had to stop being afraid that every time he left they would be irrevocably torn apart. They couldn't just glue themselves together for the rest of their lives. It couldn't work like that. She knew that.

They came apart and her hands found his as their gazes held. This was the goodbye—and they weren't good at this even though they'd had a lot of practice. He gave her a small smile that seemed bittersweet and a touch apprehensive—he shared her fear and she knew it without having to ask him or get confirmation. She forced a brave little smile back and squeezed his hands. He squeezed back… then kissed her once more, whispered that he loved her, let go and then disappeared.

There was a jolt in the vicinity of Alex's stomach or heart when he vanished, she wasn't sure which. It was a sudden rush of fear. She expelled a shaky breath and told herself that he would be back soon—that he would _always_ be back—and that she would always be waiting for him when he did leave. Her hand absently brushed to her turning stomach and rested there as she stood still and worried for a long moment. And then she made herself stop. Worrying would change nothing. She could hear her brothers somewhere nearby, their muffled voices low and conversational. That was a comforting sound she'd grown up with and would never take for granted ever again. Her heart pulled strongly with a sudden and overwhelming urge to see them—Sam and Dean, her rocks and her family, her heroes and protectors. After plucking out a few choice items from the basket of things she and Cas had gotten, Alex followed the sounds of their voices until she found them.


	128. The Soldier

" _We are our choices._ _"  
_ \- Jean-Paul Sartre

* * *

Alex found her brothers in the library fiddling around with the old film projector—the two of them had just gotten back from their excursion and seemed pretty intensely interested in watching the new reel they'd procured along the way. Apparently, the priest who they'd gone to see claimed that he and Father Thompson (now deceased) had experimented with some sort of demon-curing ritual before he was mysteriously found dead. The reel the guys were interested in watching was the one that had been made two days before Father Thompson had died. They had a couple of boxes of his things, too—journals, notebooks, some weird odds and ends from his study.

The brothers greeted Alex amicably enough, asking where Cas was and then expressing slight suspicion about Metatron—then proceeding to share some information from their trip in brief, terse sentences. They were visibly tired and they definitely weren't the only ones. Bobby was nowhere to be found, but he'd left a note on the table that said _zonked_ _—_ _gonna sleep about twelve hours. Only wake me up if someone_ _'_ _s dying._ Dad's condition remained the same.

As the boys got the reel going, Alex settled in with her snacks (even though her appetite was dwindling in favor of an onset of nausea). She'd also brought the magazine Cas had gotten for Dean. When she slid Busty Asian Beauties at her brother across the surface of the table, he reacted apathetically—acknowledging it with a very half-hearted 'ah, very nice, thanks,' after which he carelessly put it aside and didn't even seem to notice it again. That alone stressed Alex out—he just wasn't _acting_ like himself, and maybe it had been insensitive to get that for him all things considered. As they made the final preparations to get the movie going, she watched Dean and Sam in turn discreetly, chewing the inside of her mouth repeatedly and worrying over everyone and everything. Dad was in a coma and showing no signs of improvement or waking up. Dean was hollow and depressed as hell. Sam was incredibly sick and weak looking and Alex could literally _feel_ the stress radiating off of him. Kevin was somewhere by himself by her last count and Alex really didn't understand why that kid wasn't _here_ where he could be a little safer and more watched over. She would figure that out soon once they had a little more of _this_ out of the way: her biggest worry. Cas was out in the wind with this Metatron guy who they didn't know from a hole in the wall.

In a nutshell, things were high stakes. Yes, she was alive and not in Hell, but this was looking really dire. Oh, and on top of everything else, Alex felt incredibly sick. She almost wondered if she felt sick because of Sam—they were twins and this was a supernatural thing affecting him with the trials… so it was possible, right? To maybe be resonating with him somehow? Were they sharing the sickness or something? A wave of stomach-turning nausea made her grimace slightly and press her palm to her abdomen in a futile attempt to make it stop. Alex gazed intensely at her twin as the feeling slowly subsided. She tried to see past his sallow, pinched expression and to the truth. If somehow she could help… if maybe she could lessen his physical sickness by doing the trials with him or something… she would. In a heartbeat. But she knew two men and an angel who might not like that idea. But maybe she was already helping and no one knew it but her. If that was what this terrible stomach pain was, fine. But otherwise, she was a little worried about herself.

Seeming to feel her intent gaze, Sam glanced over at her with questioning eyes and Alex quickly looked away. He didn't get a chance to ask what his eyes had been wondering—he dissolved into a fit of loud, wet coughs and Alex and Dean exchanged a tense glance. It was very much like old times in that moment—the communication between oldest brother and silent sister was completely wordless and they understood each other immediately: They were both very, _very_ worried about their brother who was currently humiliated by his uncontrollable coughing fit. Trying in vain to stifle his hacks and appear less distressed than he was, Sam pushed the button on the projector to get things going. The reel started.

Grainy black and white footage showed a priest interrogating a demon who had possessed a man who had once been a vanilla, suburban father of two. Narrating as he went, the priest began to dose the demon with purified blood, using a needle that he stabbed into the neck to do so—the father noted aloud how it was his own blood which had been 'purified' previously by going into confession. The first few doses of the human blood into the demon's veins seemed to do nothing—the demon just thrashed and roared and cursed, promising death and pain and the usual blah blah blah. However… after the fifth dose, the demon began to change—grow more and more pliable and affected, more emotional. After the _eighth_ dose, the demon was a crying mess, begging for mercy and kindness—then the priest performed some kind of exorcism the Winchesters had never heard before—and the demon—or man—appeared to have lost all the demonic qualities he'd possessed before. And then the reel cut off.

In stunned silence, the Winchesters took a long moment before they said anything. Sam was the first one to find his voice. "Okay. Uh—what the _hell_ did we just watch?"

Blank gazes exchanged. "Did he just... _cure_ a demon… of _being_ a demon?" Alex asked, too dumbstruck to really know what to say or do.

"You can't undemon a _demon_ _…_ " Dean reasoned, although his tone suggested he wasn't so sure.

Sam looked at his brother with eyebrows that were crawling up a wrinkled brow. "Or _can_ you?"

Dean acknowledged that he didn't know with a brief, flabbergasted shrug of the eyebrows as he leaned his arms over the table. He appeared to be deep in thought for a couple seconds, then he looked to his siblings for a second opinion. "You guys think we could take this hoodoo on a test drive?"

Alex looked at him doubtfully, not sure about that idea. "What, like get a demonic guinea pig…?"

Dean shrugged semi-defensively. "How else we gonna see if it works?"

Sam appeared. "I mean, I have the exorcism right here…" he said, indicating one of the journal entries he had from the deceased priest's things. "All we need is the blood, consecrated ground, and a demon. So, how do we do this? We summon a demon, trap it—"

"Or— _or_ _…_ " Dean started to look a little more optimistic. "We use one that we've already tagged." While Sam looked mildly aghast, Alex frowned—she didn't know what her brother meant. "Do we still have Dad's old army field surgeon's kit?" Dean asked, getting more and more intent.

Sam became cautious. "It's in the trunk." He hesitated and narrowed his eyes. "Why?"

Dean crossed his arms and sat back, an expression like resolution on his face. "Yeah, I think it's time we put humpty dumpty back together again."

There was a short, confused silence on Alex's part where Sam's eyes widened. "Wait." Sam sat to face Dean more straight on and he was incredulous and even a little forbidding. "…you mean _Abaddon_?" He sounded like he thought Dean couldn't be serious.

When Sam said that name and Alex realized what her oldest brother meant, she sat straighter. " _Whoa_ _—_ hold on, you said she was like really bad news," she protested, already resistant to the idea on principle. "Didn't you two go to great pains to make sure she _wouldn_ _'_ _t_ get put back together? Didn't Henry—Granddad, whatever— _die_ doing that?"

Their sister's admonishment made _both_ brothers chasten slightly. But Dean was quick to remain stubborn and sure of his snap decision. "Look, maybe it's not the idea of the year, but what's the alternative?" he asked then shot her a semi-dark look. "I don't exactly feel like putting out a _homing beacon_ on us when _Crowley_ is out there and probably looking to find you and Dad."

It was Alex's turn to get quiet. _Crowley_. The name alone shook her up and she didn't want them to see how much so. To cover that up, she put on a careless, tough facade and half rolled her eyes as she crossed her arms and sat back in her chair defiantly. "Well fine. But just FYI, you guys are _not_ leaving me here for this one."

Dean stood up, and he had on his argument face and his this-is-how-it's-gonna-be voice. "Now look, if you think you're leaving this place after everything that _happened_ —"

"I'm not _missing this_!" Alex snapped forcefully as she shot up to stand. The sudden exclamation and movement made her brothers stare and Alex realized she looked as desperate as she felt, so she tried to regain some semblance of confidence. Breathing hard and shaky, she tried to be concise and clear even though she was quite honestly very frazzled internally. " _Look_ , I just can't stay here and do nothing; I can't…" _be without you guys. Feel useless. Worry myself to death. Be alone with Dad if he dies._ She swallowed and tried to appear less petrified of every bad thought racing through her mind. "I just don't wanna be alone right now, okay? And I can _help_." Maybe it was kind of jacked up of her, but she decided to use her little-sister wiles to guilt-trip them into taking her with them. She put on her best sad face and big doe eyes then let her voice waver with a hint of sadness. "I just… I just wanna be with my brothers," she said, and both of them reacted visibly. Alex tacked on more doubt and uncertainty, letting her eyes drift away—she didn't really have to fake it, honestly. "After what happened to me… after all this time apart... I don't wanna be without you both."

It worked like a charm. Dean looked extremely doubtful but also like he was an inch from cracking—her mentioning Hell without naming it obviously tugged his heartstrings _hard_. With an extremely empathetic, emotional look on his face, Sam looked ready to scoop her up and never let her go. As such, he offered a couple of convincers to their brother. "I mean it's really not that far from here, Dean…" he ventured hopefully. "And if we run into any problems, we just call Cas." Dean glanced at Alex and he was silent and hard-faced as he sullenly thought it over.

"Promise I won't do anything loco," Alex said, giving a thin, innocent attempt at a smile. But her stomach was feeling so queasy that she knew she looked ill instead.

Jaw clenched and expression a little unhappy, Dean huffed out a harsh breath through his nose then pointed at Alex commandingly. "You gotta be in one of our lines of sight at all times, you hear me?" he demanded.

Alex batted his finger away, half annoyed and half amused. He was such a dumbass sometimes. "I _hear you_ , doofus."

"Yeah, sorry for being concerned about your _safety,_ " Dean muttered, then made a face when Alex bent over the table and reached for a blank sheet of paper. "What are you doing?"

She was already scrawling quickly—writing of course being one of the things she was best at doing quickly. "Leaving a note for Bobby so if he wakes up he knows where we are."

He relented. " _Ah_." Dean hesitated then a touch of humor came into his voice. "That his Winnebago up there? What a damn _eyesore._ "

Sam gave a soft little laugh. "You want one, don't you?" he teased knowingly.

Dean shot his brother a look. " _Shaddup_."

Alex smacked her pen down onto the table and declared, "Shotgun."

Sam was mildly indignant at the unexpected statement. "Hey, wh—" he came up short then indicated himself petulantly and then tried a guilt-trip of his own. "Come on, you know how long my legs are," he complained.

Alex gave him a trollish smile, already imagining him crammed into the backseat with his knees in his face. Sisters really were evil creatures, weren't they? "Sorry," she apologized falsely with a prim, suck-it smile on her face. "The rules of shotgun are unflinching, my friend," she teased.

Sam sighed in tired, good natured defeat. "Lucky you're so cute," he said. "Or we might have to throw down." He caught her making a face as a wave of nausea pitched over her and his playfulness evaporated. "You okay?"

Dean's sharp gaze snapped over to her, too. Alex shrugged, trying to downplay it like it was no big deal. "Stomach hurts." She didn't want to alarm them or let them know her suspicions until she knew more.

There was a soft laugh as Sam nodded his understanding. "Yeah. Mine too. And, uh, oh yeah. _Everything else_."

The twins shared a beat-up smile briefly before Dean, already grabbing his jacket and headed out, hurried them along. "Come on, tweedle dum and tweedle dee. Daylight's wastin'."

* * *

**Ojai, California**

After Castiel left Alex with her brothers, he went to the place where Metatron had specified—a restaurant called Eugenie's—and then took several thorough moments to invisibly check the surrounding area for any sign of traps, dangers, or treachery. Even though he had his misgivings, he found nothing suspicious at all and finally, when he decided there was nothing left to do, he went to Metatron and made himself visible. The scribe, appearing unawares and content, was seated outside at the quaint little café and was happily spreading a cloth napkin across his lap.

"Ah, how nice of you to join me!" Metatron exclaimed jovially when he spotted the other angel. "What _took_ you so long?" A broad smile rested on his face for a moment before it fell and he frowned slightly, looking around in confusion. "And… where's your better half?"

"Not here," Cas said stiffly, disliking Metatron's interest in Alex. As far as Castiel was concerned, he needed to protect her from everyone he didn't know—and angels in particular were never to be trusted. Especially after Naomi. Cas got straight to business as he took a seat across from the scribe. He had many _many_ questions and felt short on time. "Why did you leave Heaven?"

Metatron breezed right over Cas's question. In fact, he looked semi-hurt and he only focused on one thing only: "What, does she not _like_ me?" he asked in a slightly indignant tone. He sat back in his seat, mulling it over with a wounded expression. "Really wanted her to like me," he murmured to himself. He abruptly winced and looked at Cas for explanation. "Is it the hair? This vessel's hair _sucks._ "

Castiel was mildly frustrated. "It's not… your hair. Metatron, I need to know more about you. Why you left Heaven, what you've been doing on earth, why you're now deciding to… to become part of all of this."

Metatron smiled ever so slightly in a distinctly coy way. "Now Castiel, I can't have this conversation on an empty stomach, you're gonna need to hold your horses." Cas made a face. What _horses_? The scribe glanced to his left and brightened. "Ah! Well, speak of the devil." At the look on Cas's face, Metatron grew slightly disgruntled. He sighed. "Not the _literal_ devil, Castiel…"

A smiling young woman came to the table and set down a plate piled high in crepes in front of a very gleeful Metatron. Upon quick examination of the newcomer, Castiel gathered that this young woman was an employee of the restaurant. She had brown hair, a kind face, and her name tag said _Jane_. "Here you go," she said, smiling affably. Metatron said thank you even as he began to dig in hungrily. Jane looked at Cas intently, glancing at the top of his head briefly before looking into his eyes. "Can I get you anything?"

Her question took him off guard. "Oh. Um." He didn't eat, of course, but he wasn't sure if it would look strange to sit here at a human restaurant and partake of nothing. What should he order? Then, he suddenly got an idea and became genuinely curious and even a little optimistic. "Do you have… sour straws?" he asked hopefully. Those had been what Alex wanted at the gas station and couldn't find. If he got them for her, he could imagine how happy she would be. And that thought made _him_ happy.

The waitress was dubious and doubtful. "Sour straws? …The _candy_?" Her expression softened and she smiled at him in an odd way—half amused, half intrigued. Actually, it reminded Castiel of how _Alex_ looked at him. Immediately, he felt a slight sense of wrongness and he felt himself sitting back a little further from her. "Um… _no,_ " she said in a slightly teasing voice. "We don't have those here. Get you something _else_?" Her expression was helpful and kind, but there was something about it that felt too intense to Castiel and his eyes dodged hers.

"No, thank you."

She still smiled. "Okay. Well, lemme know if you change your mind." She eyed him a moment longer, that smile still playing at the edges of her mouth. "And hey… I like your coat." She winked at him and then left the table, leaving a semi-baffled Castiel to stare in confusion. Had she been _flirting_ with him? Or more specifically, flirting _at_ him? The word 'with' implied that two people had been involved.

Metatron was watching the exchange in what appeared to be wistfulness. "I should have picked a better-looking vessel," he lamented through a mouthful. " _All_ the ladies love you." He glanced around the nearby tables and noticed something else. "And some of the gentlemen, too, I see."

Castiel looked a couple tables over and saw a very clean-cut, well-dressed man watching him intently. When Cas made eye contact, the man smiled flirtatiously and waved with just a wiggle of his fingertips. Flustered, Cas looked back at Metatron, who was smiling wolfishly. "Why does that bear relevance in this context?" he asked gruffly, annoyed at all of the sidestepping. "I only care if _one_ lady loves me." He leaned forward over the table, showing that he was ready to get persuasive by physical means if he needed to. "Now what did you _mean_ , we can shut down _Heaven_?"

Metatron had a far off look in his eyes as he chewed languidly. "Gosh, it's too bad she didn't come," he mused, then scrunched his face up hard, dropped his fork onto his plate, and crossed his arms. "Does she _really_ not like me?" he sounded like such a thing were impossible.

Letting an inconvenienced sigh escape his nostrils, Castiel supposed that it wouldn't do too much harm to indulge the scribe in a few basic answers. "Honestly, _no_ ," he said flatly. "She does not like you." Metatron looked crushed. Castiel shrugged ever so slightly, eyes going to curiously scan the table setting in front of him. Gleaming silverware, a fancy rolled napkin. Human tradition was so interesting. "But she doesn't like angels."

Metatron smiled coyly at _that_ statement. He picked up his fork, stabbed it onto his plate, then popped entirely too much crepe into his mouth and munched happily, watching Cas the entire time. "Well she likes _you_."

Reluctant to agree with Metatron (it felt wrong on principle of stubbornness), Cas tried to cover up his pleased reaction with a sullen voice. "That's true."

Dabbing at his mouth with his napkin, the scribe chewed and looked at Castiel closely for a moment. "Must make you feel special," Metatron finally said fondly, and there was a familiarity and pride in his voice… something that made Castiel feel a sense of bond toward the scribe whether he wanted to or not. "You _are_ special, Castiel. Your name stands out among the thousands of the host. You're practically famous up there."

" _In_ famous," Cas corrected morosely.

Metatron sighed noisily and nodded lengthily, thoughtful. "Yeah, I imagine it's a problem sometimes, huh. Your epic love story's public domain; everybody knows—and _therefore_ it's pretty easy to see what your weak spot is." Cas's eyes met Metatron's, and the scribe looked foreboding and wise and cautioning, too. "I guess you worry a lot about her being used against you or hurt, don't you?" he asked gently.

Cas's jaw tightened as a hundred horrible memories rushed through his mind. Things that turned his stomach and caused him the worst feelings he knew. "It's happened too many times already."

Metatron nodded intense, empathetic understanding and set his fork down carefully then leaned forward in rapt attention. "I have to admit, your story… what I know of it… _fascinates_ me! _Moves_ me." He had an animated cheer to him, a quickness, a cleverness. Cas looked at him carefully as the scribe smiled yet again and put his own face into a cupped hand. "She must be a really special human, huh."

The interest Metatron possessed was beginning to appeal to Castiel now. Metatron didn't seem to judge the relationship as other angels had—he seemed understanding and less concerned with celestial rules and regulations than most angels were. And there weren't words enough to describe how special Alex was. How important. "She is," Castiel confirmed quietly. He thought of her and his heart felt too full to contain the things he felt for her. Those feelings urged him to be quicker and stop wasting time. However, he was beginning to feel less entirely suspicious of Metatron, who seemed rather bumbling and clueless; harmless. As such, Castiel took a different approach. "I don't mean to press, but I don't have the luxury of time," Cas said quietly and intensely. "I _need_ to know what you meant about closing Heaven." He paused and then added on a final word. "Please."

"Oh, yeah, _yeah_ , of course," Metatron said as if he'd forgotten. He leaned a forearm heavily across the table then gestured with his other hand, flapping it around lazily. "Well, you know, the trials—they're basically God's little 'pull in case of emergency.' There's one for every potential disaster—the Leviathans get out of control, you put 'em in Purgatory. Demons get a little too demonic, toss 'em into Hell. Angels get uppity, slam the pearly gates." He made a slamming motion by whacking his hands together.

Castiel narrowed his eyes. It was all so simple sounding. "Slam the gates." It was strange he had never heard of this before, but he supposed there was a lot he didn't know.

"Yeah, lock Heaven so no more malarky to worry about," Metatron said helpfully.

Thinking over it hard and fast, Cas was quick to come up with several very concerning questions. "Wouldn't that leave human souls locked out though? Prevent the passage of newly-deceased spirits from traveling this plane of existence to that one?"

Metatron scoffed immediately with great drama. "Oh no, _no_! It's a one-way street. Angels can't get out. Souls can get in though." He chuckled. "God isn't _that_ dumb. That'd cause _quite_ the traffic jam."

There was a long pause. "And closing Heaven, it's… permanent? Not reversible."

"Not reversible," Metatron confirmed. "You'd have to be _sure_ _—_ I mean _sure_ sure _—_ it was what you wanted to do."

 _Indeed_. Again, Cas gave another long, somber pause as he thought deeply about the possibilities and what this would mean for the Heaven and earth alike. More and more, he felt it might be the right choice. But he had felt things were the right choices before and he had been greatly mistaken. "And you know the steps to complete this trial…?" he ventured cautiously.

Metatron's grin split his ruddy face. "Well _duh_! I wrote 'em all down." He looked at Castiel very significantly. "It's not something you forget. Look, I think a little alone time would be good for the angels. At the very least, it'd stop the fighting up there from spilling out down here, which _will_ happen." He sighed and his gaze drifted off. "We both know it will. It always does."

Castiel knew that all to well. He hesitated and studied Metatron—weedy, small, generally blundering Metatron. He didn't look like the most capable angel in existence. "So… _y_ _ou_ _'_ _re_ gonna complete these tests?" Cas asked doubtfully.

Metatron was immediately averse to that idea. "No, oh no. _I_ can't. I'm a pencil pusher, always have been. I'm not strong enough. But you—you are a _warrior_. You've made quite the name for yourself… you've commanded wars, stopped an apocalypse… you've even gone to Hell and back for love. Literally!" He was so enthusiastic and had already clearly thought it through. This was his 'pitch,' so to speak. Uncomfortable at the praise, Cas was quiet and undecided as Metatron continued. "I've got the plan. You've got the muscle, the motivation. We can do this. Heaven needs your _help_ , Castiel. And I know what you're worried about—you think you'll do the trials and then get stuck up there since you know, you're a halo. But, _but_ —! The beauty of this thing is that whatever realm you finish the last trial in is the realm you'll stay in. _So_ … you won't have to say goodbye to Mrs. Castiel just yet. Just make sure you're down _here_ when you do the last task and _boom_. You're golden."

In the past, endeavors to take control where Heaven was concerned had backfired royally. Castiel was tempted by this idea, but greatly dubious about moving forward. He tried to verbalize his feelings. "It… it all sounds very good but…" he shook his head, realizing that he couldn't. He had promised not to leave again. He had someone to get back to. "I'm done with everything up there," he said heavily. "With trying to intervene and change things. It always backfires. I don't serve Heaven anymore. I belong here on earth. I've made promises I can't go back on. And I'm tired of trying to be two places at once." He looked down at his hand which rested on the table. His wedding band was there, gleaming up at him, and the sight of it tugged his heart and renewed his decision. "Heaven is not where my interests lie."

Metatron followed his gaze to the ring and nodded. "Interesting…" he commented cooly, eyeing Castiel in slight disapproval. " _You_ _'_ _re_ the one that caused the problems there, though, aren't you? You should be the one to fix them. And I mean, really, how safe _is_ it? How can you do nothing, knowing what you know?" Cas looked at him in confusion and Metatron explained himself in a dour, grave tone. "All those radical angels up there, gunning for revenge… and you and I both know that each and every last one knows about _her._ Your precious little human wife." It was true, and made Castiel's blood chill. Metatron sounded sympathetic. "I heard about what Naomi did with her. You think she's the only one who could swing that? Buddy, every day is a flight risk if you don't do something and _now_. It's you against a thousand, Castiel. The odds _aren_ _'_ _t_ in your favor." The scribe sighed softly as if he were regretful to be the voice of reason. "You know I only say these things to you to try and help." He smiled sadly. "Believe it or not, I'm your friend. Your new friend. But new or not, friends… well, they look out for each other." His smile lost its sadness. "And hey. We're more than friends anyway. We're family."

He didn't care too much about that—he felt more of a family bond with the Winchesters than with angels—but either way, Castiel knew that his mind and heart were in complete turmoil and that Metatron _did_ make very good points. Upset, Castiel stood up stiffly, his expression unreadable. "I need to make a call." And without further explanation, he disappeared from sight. Metatron sighed and went back to sawing his crepe into bites.

* * *

**Lebanon, Kansas**

On crunching gravel, the Impala rolled up to an old warehouse that was surrounded by a weed-choked landscape. In the backseat and squinting against bright mid-day light, Alex's eyes scanned over the dilapidated structure. Inside that building, hidden away for safekeeping, was Abaddon's body. Apparently Sam and Dean had trapped the super-demon by using a bullet etched with a devil's trap then they'd cut her head off and separated the body parts. Just in case. Apparently this bitch was bad news. Alex wasn't exactly in the mood to meet her much less be face-to-face with more demons after her extended stay in Hell. But she refused to run away and let her very real fear rule her life or make her weaker. Just because Hell had traumatized her much more than she was admitting didn't mean she had to _stay_ that way. She was going to recover and make it through by carrying on like before. Still… she dreaded this and had been quiet the entire car ride (which had been a measly ten minutes).

The car stopped a modest distance from the warehouse side, and the second it did, Alex got out, unwilling to look hesitant or scared about this. It was important to stay tough, or at least look that way. If Sam and Dean believed she was fine, maybe she could believe it, too. Hands shoved into her jacket pockets, she had her game face on and was focusing on looking shrewd. Behind her, she could hear the brothers exiting the car too—that familiar creak of the Impala doors was a comforting sound.

"Hey, wait a sec," Sam said, and the way he said it alerted Alex to the fact that the moment she'd been hoping would not come… was coming. She shut her eyes, breathed out, then turned around and put an unassumingly blank look on her face. She'd seen the two of them glancing at her and then each other during the ride here; she'd witnessed the silent conversation the brothers had been carrying on ever since she got back. And now they were finally gonna confront her. They stood together, and it felt like she was facing them down, almost.

Sam glanced uncertainly at Dean, indicating wordlessly that he should be the one to speak first. With an awkward clearing of the throat, Dean gave Alex his best this-is-serious-stuff squint. "Okay look. Before we go in there, there's something that's… that we gotta talk about." Alex's stomach turned and she fought to keep her expression from giving away the fact that she knew _exactly_ what they were gonna bring up. She even made a slightly confused face, hoping that maybe they would change their mind if she didn't look like she knew what was going on. No such luck. "Be straight with us," Dean said in a gentle but commanding way. Sam was looking at Alex with this intensely empathetic expression the entire time as Dean continued. "We've all been there now, the three of us. So you know Sam and I get it. We _know_ what that place is like. And it ain't pretty." Alex clenched her jaw, smiled small and tight, tried to keep her absolutely terrible feelings from surfacing. She was both annoyed and _panicking._ "How are you?" Dean asked, refusing to let her out from his close gaze. " _Really_. And no 'I'm fine' crap."

To cover up her inner screaming emotions, Alex basically _glared_ _—_ first at Dean, then at Sam, accusing them silently of upsetting her and asking a question they shouldn't have. "I'm _fine,_ " she said hard and slow, challenging them almost.

Her response did different things to both brothers. Sam was silent and heartbroken. Dean looked cynical and vaguely amused in a bitter way for a brief second, shaking his head no. Obviously, neither one believed her. Dean called her bluff. "Al—look me dead in the eye and tell me that you're fine." She _did_ look him in the eye, but said nothing. He dared her to tell the truth silently but she said nothing _._

Sam was of a gentler approach. "You _can_ _'_ _t_ be fine," he said quietly, his hurt expression showing that he couldn't handle the fact that she was lying.

It was so weird—in the past Dean had usually been the one who could get through to her like that, with just a few words and a simple look. But today, it was Sam. And suddenly Alex felt like she had no other choice but to say the truth, at least in part. Her eyes fell. Her guard softened. "I mean… it was Hell," she admitted in a quiet, unsteady voice. She was careful not to give away how bad it was. "Even after you escape it you… haven't totally escaped. It's still with you, a little."

Sam looked _so_ empathetic and understanding—and so did Dean, but Sam left it all out there and didn't hide any of what he was feeling. In fact, his eyes were shining and his voice went all husky. " _Yeah_ ," he said, and that single word made Alex start to tear up, too. There were oceans of total understanding there in Sam's eyes. "Sometimes you wonder if this is all some dream they're feeding you," he said—speaking from personal experience. "If the blanket's gonna get yanked off your eyes again." He shook his head emphatically. "If _anything_ that's happening to you is real at all." There was a pause and Sam's eyes pierced through Alex to her freaking soul. "I bet you're scared to go to sleep, huh," he commented softly. "I know I was."

Yes. She was. And the way they were _looking_ at her was too much. Especially Dean now after what Sam had just said… Alex's brief moment of vulnerability scared her and she abruptly turned into a stone wall. "Stop it. Both of you, just _stop._ " She shook her head and breathed out hard, crossed her arms. "I don't wanna _think_ about it. And that's how I survive." She nodded toward the warehouse. "Now are we ever gonna do this or what?"

"Oh come on, _really_?" Dean asked. He looked insulted. "You're gonna front? With _us_?" When she said nothing, his jaw worked oddly. "Look, we're just worried about you," he declared after a brief silence. He was impatient, but not with time. With _her_ and the refusal to be real _._

A feeling of guilt made Alex lose a little hardness. Looking down and breathing out softly now, inwardly lamenting herself, she nodded shallowly and missed Cas. "I know. You don't have to be. Seriously." She felt so _tired._

There was a soft little airy sound—a whisper of a scoffing laugh. "We're your _brothers_." Sam smiled sadly, if it could be called a smile. "It's kinda in the job description." Dean nodded wan agreement, still watching her closely.

Alex returned Sam's smile, even if it was a little tight. "Just remind me to get some Pepto Bismol on the way back. My stomach is killing." She made an unhappy little sound.

Dean looked immediately concerned and like he was trying to figure out if it were serious—she wasn't a complainer usually. "You getting sick or something?"

Shrugging shallowly, Alex was at the least glad to have a change in conversation subject matter… but this wasn't that much better. "Who knows." She glanced at her twin who was as colorless and drawn as ever. She almost didn't admit it, and then she figured _what the crap, why not?_ "I wondered if I might be resonating with Sammy, honestly."

Even as Dean's face screwed into a frown, Sam's face fell. "… _What_?" her twin asked in the softest and most horrified voice. She could literally see his thought progress jumping from shock to confusion to guilt if it were true.

She shrugged and scratched her neck absently, suddenly wishing she hadn't said anything. "I mean, is that really such a crazy thought?"

Dean let out a hard breath of air like he was just done with everything. "Twins," he commented in a flat attempt to be glib. "Sharing the suck since nineteen eighty-three, huh?" In unintentional unison, Alex and Sam gave him an unimpressed, annoyed look. Dean raised his hands in mock surrender. "All right, _all right_ ," he grumbled, then indicated the warehouse with a nod of the head. "Well, put a pin in that for later. We ready to wake up sleeping bitchy?"

Alex pulled an intentionally unexcited face. "Can't _wait_."

They headed in, but not even three steps later, Alex stopped when her pocket began to vibrate hard. What the…? Who would be calling her except…? She pulled the phone out, looked and sure enough. _Cas Calling_. A spike of nervous panic raced through her. This had to be bad news. Why would he call instead of just show up? Her brothers were looking back at her curiously as she stared, frozen, at her cheapass cell phone. The one Dean had picked up for them earlier when he got snacks. And now Cas was calling from _his_ cheapass cellphone. It had only been an hour two ago that Alex had helped him set it up. Now he was calling to tell her he was lying in a ditch and dying somewhere. At least, that's what her first instinct said. Realizing she was stuck on pause, Alex got it together and held up a finger to her brothers. "Hold on… it's Cas." She turned around and walked off fast back to the Impala and tried not to sound terrified when she answered. "C-Cas? Hey."

His deep, familiar voice sounded on the other end. "Hello, Alex." He didn't _sound_ like he was mortally wounded. Still.

Alex tried not to sound panicked, but she was about to have a heart attack. "Uh—hi. Um… w-why are you calling me instead of beaming over?" It seemed out of character. An odd choice.

His answer was gentle and sad at the same time. "Because seeing your face and then leaving again is something I don't like."

She was caught off guard. _"_ _Oh._ _"_ Heart unclenching as worry dissipated however slightly, Alex let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding and a brief, tense smile worked across her face. "I—I get that." She glanced over at her brothers—both were watching her with closely concerned expressions. Alex lowered her voice and turned away again. "So… you're okay?" She wanted to be _sure_.

She could hear a soft smile on his voice. "Yes, I'm fine." He abruptly sounded a touch more concerned, as if it had just occurred to him that perhaps _she_ wasn't okay. "And you? Is everything all right? Are you with Sam and Dean?" He sounded like if she said no, he'd be there in an instant.

"Yeah," she confirmed, calming down the more she heard his voice. "We're out doing some stuff for the trials. But what about Metatron? What's his deal?"

Cas sighed softly, and Alex imagined how he looked as he did so. "I've spoken with the scribe at length to determine his, uh, 'deal,'" he said in a weary voice. "He wants to keep the earth safe from more rogue angels. Ones like Naomi." That name made Alex's blood chill by a couple of degrees. "I'm of the same mind, honestly. After what she did to you…" he trailed off and Alex said nothing, but her heart was beating a little harder. Castiel assured her in his most severe tone: "I won't have anything like that happen to you ever again." She trusted him—despite the odds—she did. He took a beat and his voice acquired an urgent quality. "If I do this—if I close Heaven—it would keep us safe. Alex, it would…" he seemed a little flustered or overwhelmed. "We could finally be together and not be forever looking over our shoulders for danger."

That sounded like everything she had ever wanted. She almost screamed _yes, do it,_ but she made herself be cautious and smart. "So… closing Heaven for good—keeping angels locked upstairs," she ventured, trying to figure out where the catch was.

"Yes. Exactly."

 _Hmm. But_ _…_ "Would that like… block souls out of going to Heaven when they die?"

"Metatron says no," Cas replied. "It's a one-way street, so to speak."

Her heart was beating fast again but this time because it sounded like a solution— _the_ solution—and Alex wanted that. An end to the constant worries and danger. Cas here with her forever. But he _was_ an angel… wouldn't he miss his home? Even in the slightest? She wondered if he'd thought about it at all. "What about you, though? Would you ever be able to go back there?"

Cas's answer was too short and neutral for her to tell how to take it. "No."

"And… is that okay with you?" she pressed gently.

He took a pause before replying and when he did reply, his tone was distinctly tender. "Heaven is not what I love."

Alex shut her eyes and worked through some strong emotions and wished _so_ badly that he was here in front of her—she would hug him and hold him close where he belonged. But he wasn't here, and he still hadn't decided on what to do. Alex tried to work them towards a decision. This felt _important_ —more than important. _Huge._ "Then… I mean… do _you_ think this is the right thing to do?" she asked softly.

Castiel sounded vaguely cynical and depressed. "I _never_ know what the right thing to do is."

Protective senses flared. "Cas—don't do that," Alex commanded with a surge of decisiveness—she recognized that he was going to bad places in his mind and she didn't want that for him. "Just… just take a deep breath and use your head," she coached. She knew the extent of his mistakes—knew them better than anyone else did—but she also knew his potential and his kindness, his compassion and his heart. She knew those better than anyone else, too. "You are _smart._ And capable. You hear me?"

"I hear you," he confirmed in typical Cas fashion. "The connection is fine." A helpless, tired grin broke Alex's face as she looked down and shook her head. He really was something else. Unaware of his verbal gaffe, Cas hesitated and then ventured a conclusion. "You want me to make this decision."

Yes. She did. Alex never wanted to be the one who had controlled or passively aggressively manipulated him into doing something. It would mean the most if he decided. "Well it _is_ your decision…" she pointed out.

"Yes," he agreed reluctantly, "but… it affects you. And us."

And _how._ But Alex refused to do this. Castiel needed to stand on his own feet and have a decision he could feel good about (hopefully). "I can't tell you what to do," she said then quickly realized that he would probably do _anything_ she asked of him. "Or I guess, I mean, I _shouldn_ _'_ _t_ ," she said. "This needs to be your choice."

He sighed again haggardly and Alex wished she could see him, touch his face, help center him in person. "I only know that I want us to live in a world where all of Heaven isn't always in pursuit," Cas finally said, his voice very soft and forlorn. "Where we'll be safe. And together."

Yes. She wanted that too. Alex felt relieved and worried all at once. Relieved because if he could close Heaven, they really might have a chance at normal. Worried because what if something happened? And what if normal didn't work for them? She chose not to think about it. One thing at a time. "Sounds like you already know what to do."

Cas sounded resolute and bittersweet. "Yes. I think I do." He sounded so far away on the other end of the line… and then, like he was reading her thoughts, he softly admitted what she was thinking too: "I wish I were with you right now."

Smiling to herself sadly, Alex had to agree. "Yeah, me t—" she didn't finish her sentence because Cas appeared in front of her at that moment, his phone still at his ear. Surprised—too surprised to move—Alex stood there with her phone stuck to her ear as she blinked a couple times. "Well what happened to the saying goodbye thing?" she asked sort of dumbly.

He remembered his phone and without taking his eyes off her, he lowered it. "I needed to see you," he said, and then they were embracing, phones still held loosely in their hands but other than that forgotten.

Something about the hug felt like a goodbye and Alex tried not to feel that way. "You're really sure about this?" she asked in a whisper as she squeezed his familiar, warm shape.

His voice reverberated through her when he made his quiet reply. "Yes. I really think I am." Alex clung tighter because right now she felt so strongly that she couldn't be without him—the nightmares, the sickness, the fear of Hell and demons and being alone… it was so much. But she said nothing and told herself she would get through it. Turning her head in toward his neck, she buried her face there against his skin and felt how his hand gently held the back of her head. She committed his smell and warmth and feel to memory. "I'll be as quick as possible," he murmured. She squeezed her eyes closed and nodded. "I won't rest until this is done." His deep voice was rife with regret and guilt. "I'm so sorry—I know I promised I wouldn't leave again."

She knew that he had. But she also knew that this was important and could make or break them. She was choosing to trust him in this. So, she pulled back and his hands remained tangled in the hair at the nape of her neck. Their eyes met and Alex had to fight a thick throat. He was so handsome and so real, so tangible. She liked it best when he was where she could see him, touch him, hear him. She didn't like the idea of being separated, but she knew he'd never let her come along. Anyway, she was feeling too shitty to go on an adventure today. "Just come back safe, Cas," she said, needing him to do just that.

His eyes softened and his voice grew huskier. "I will," he said, then touched her face so gently and leaned in and gave her a slow, soft kiss that they were both grudging to leave. Cas didn't draw away far—his lips still brushed her when he whispered three more words to her. "I always will." He kissed her again and again, softly, in a way that felt yearning and reverent—in a way that felt like he was savoring every last sensation. Alex remained convinced that she could kiss him forever and remain lost in this world he created for her. But nothing lasted forever, least of all that kiss.

Finally, their foreheads rested together. Their gazes held and Alex looked nearly scared. "Don't kiss me like that," she whispered, feeling so emotional that she could cry.

Cas's eyebrows pushed in together slightly. "Why not?"

She shook her head and struggled to stay in control. "Because it feels like you're afraid you're never gonna see me again."

His fingers tightened at the back of her neck—a reassuring touch. "That's something I'll always be afraid of," he admitted. Then his voice became stronger and harder. "But I'll never let it happen." He was almost severe at that point.

She couldn't say it back just then because she was afraid she might cry if she spoke. So she nodded yes, and they silently shared a knowing look that this was a _see you later_ , Alex gave a brave little smile even though she was a mess inside. "Call me if you need me," she said, determined to act brave until she felt brave, too.

A bittersweet smile showed on Castiel's face. "I always need you," he said, then pressed a long kiss to her forehead. One of the sweetest and most heart-melting things he did—and her eyes fell closed briefly as her heart tugged. It was over before it had begun and Castiel stepped away, obviously loathe to go. "I'll be back," he promised. Then with a glance and a nod toward her silent, watchful brothers, he disappeared.

When he left a blank space behind, the brothers were quickly approaching, Sam reaching her first. "Everything okay?" he asked, clearly concerned and curious to know what was happening.

Distracted and unable to kill the feeling of dread knotting in her stomach, Alex shrugged. "Yeah. Um." She cleared her throat and sniffed. "Okay as it can be, I guess." Sam regarded her with that tense, understanding worry on his face as Dean's more pinched expression showed that he was suspicious and knew something was up. Alex sighed and then came out with it because the sooner her guys knew about it, the better. "So uh…" she nudged a rock with her shoe and stared at it hard. "Cas is gonna close Heaven."

Sam's eyebrows shot high as Dean's slammed low. "Close _Heaven_?" Dean repeated almost dangerously. "Like… _close_ it?" He paused, making himself sound stupider every second. " _Close_ it close it?"

"No, the _other kind_ of close it," Alex retorted with a grumpy _no duh_ look aimed at him.

Dean held a hand up, trying to process what he'd just been told. "Okay. Hold the damn phone. You need to fill us in. _Now_."

* * *

**Ojai, California**

Castiel reappeared at Eugenie's in the seat he'd been in before, and even as Metatron looked up in vague surprise, the other angel gave a stiff declaration. "I'll do it."

Metatron put his hands up in brief celebration as he grinned in pleasant surprise. "Ah, the wife approves! Excellent!" He winked. "You won't regret it. When all's said and done… everyone will be _much_ better off for what you're about to do." He hesitated and grew more serious. "But you understand this is, um, not going to be easy."

Castiel nodded just once, wondering how long these trials would take. Surely no more than a few days and then this would be behind them. "Yes, I understand." He thought of life in the bunker and wondered if he should learn how to cook. The Winchesters might find that helpful…

Metatron became incredibly doubtful and even a little cautioning. "No, you _don't_. Your morals? You're going to have to _bend_ them. _Significantly._ See our waitress?" He nodded over at Jane, who was a few tables over and smiling as she handed out drinks. Metatron sighed in regret. "She's the first trial—gotta cut her heart out."

Castiel's expression dropped in complete shock and his distracted thoughts about cooking and the bunker flew out of his mind. Had he misheard? "What? _Cut her h_ —?" That was something he couldn't do and he was aghast. "No, she's... she's just a girl!" he protested, horrified. What kind of trial required the heart of an innocent human?

Metatron was completely disgruntled, like he was annoyed. "Look _closer,_ Castiel," he said, pointing at Jane briefly. "I swear to our dad, you are really losing your touch. Use your angel vision, geez, did you forget _how_?" He gave Castiel a look that seemed entirely too pointed. Well, it _was_ true… Castiel was becoming more used to his more human functions in this vessel and he rarely looked at things with his angelic abilities anymore, but he didn't see… and then, just as he thought that, Castiel realized upon _much_ closer cellular inspection what Metatron said next: "She's a _Nephilim_ , an abomination."

Completely shocked, Castiel stared at Jane. His mouth had gone dry. "…Nephilim? The offspring of an angel and a human?" Metatron's use of the term 'abomination' was unsettling and Castiel was remembering a young man who looked so similar to himself. "I… I thought that wasn't allowed."

"It's not," Metatron replied and then gave Cas a semi-coy look. "How's _that_ gonna work for you and the missus, huh?" Castiel stared at Jane, so many new thoughts and worries racing through his mind. Metatron was right, of course. Two young faces ran through his mind. Faces that bore such resemblance to him and Alex. He remembered how strong his son had been. _Nephilim._ The word echoed through his mind. Was his daughter one too? Sick and unsettled, Castiel found breathing difficult. "All the more reason to close Heaven and get those whackadoo halos off your back," Metatron said, breezing on and then lacing his fingers together and leaning across the table intently. "Keep the kiddos safe. See, the thing about Nephilim is they're super duper powerful… often more powerful than an archangel, even. Each one in history has had his or her own unique strengths and powers. They've all been nearly invincible. Archangels _di-iiiidn_ _'_ _t_ really like them, to say the least."

Castiel and the other angels had never known anything of the Nephilim except their name and what they were—in truth, he was shocked to know any existed at all. "How many are there?" he asked, wondering how they could be kept a secret for so long. How many were on earth?

"Well… Michael _killed_ all of them awhile ago from what I hear," Metatron said delicately. "Weren't that many, but there were enough that he got nervous they'd figure out how to get into Heaven and then, you know—overthrow the joint, I guess. _So_ , he nipped the problem in the bud and wiped 'em all out. But he missed one. And you are _looking_ at it."

Indeed he was. And he was supposed to cut her heart out. He didn't think he could. Oh Heaven help him, he didn't think he could. Castiel felt such great sadness and helplessness in that moment. "Who is her father?" he asked quietly, watching how Jane laughed and nodded as she spoke with a customer. Did she know? What she was?

Metatron had a slight smirk on his face. "Well. I'm not big on spoilers, but if I had to give you an answer… I'd say the answer to your question is tricky."

That made no sense, but Castiel was already thinking something else. "But she didn't choose to be a Nephilim, so she's innocent," he said, so against this idea. "I can't possibly—cut her _heart_ out." He looked at Metatron desperately. Surely there was another way.

Metatron shrugged helplessly. "And therein lies the tragedy," he said with a sigh. "That creature over there doesn't even know what she is or why she's got special powers." He smiled almost wistfully as he watched Jane. "Lives in secret and tries to be normal but knows she isn't. It's quite a story, if I'm being honest. Really tugs at the heartstrings." He regarded Castiel sadly and with empathy. "I told you it wasn't gonna be easy. But if you want to do this, Castiel… if you _really_ want to close Heaven and protect your own… you gotta ask yourself what's more important—this Nephilim's life or your family? Jane… or your _wife_? Your children?"

Castiel's eyes lost their conflicted quality and became grim. His voice was steady, low, and strong. When it was put before him like that, he understood that his hand was forced. "You already know the answer to that question."


	129. The Queen, The King, The Pawns

" _We are each our own devil, and we make this world our hell._ _"  
_ \- Oscar Wilde

* * *

**Lebanon, Kansas**

The inside of the warehouse was cool and damp, musty smelling. The large interior echoed a little when any sound was made.

"So you really think this'll work?" Sam asked. He sounded doubtful as he hauled a padlocked metal box to the center of the space.

Dean glanced up from where he and Alex were knelt nearby and unrolling a tarp-wrapped, headless body. "We've seen 'Young Frankenstein' about a thousand times, right?" he quipped gruffly. "Yeah, we're golden."

Sam sent a slightly perturbed little glance his brother's way, set the box down onto an old worktable, then opened the box and recoiled immediately. " _Wh_ _—_ _u_ _gh_." He made a face as he looked at Abaddon's head and bloody neck. "This is disgusting."

"Uh- _huh_ ," Dean agreed, a little turned off by the fact that he and Alex had just gotten to Abaddon's body in the plentiful layers of tarp. Dean glanced over at his sister, who was closer to the bloody neck part of the dead demon body. She looked positively disgusted. Dean chanced a teasing half grin. "Hey, isn't sewing a girl thing? Al? Wanna do the honors?"

He got a dirty look. "In your dreams."

Dean shrugged his mouth downwards, a silent _fair enough_. He drew out his machete and gave it a whirl. "Okay, let's see about un-handing this bitch."

Alex looked totally stumped. " _Huh_?"

"She wakes up, I don't want her to be able to reach out and touch, know what I mean?"

Sam looked mildly queasy nearby, but that was nothing compared to Alex's expression. "Sure, I guess."

Dean adjusted his grip on his blade. "Well… here goes nothin'." With a slightly sheepish look at his doubtful siblings, he set to work. He hacked off Abaddon's hands one at a time with terrible splats and crunches, and when he was done, he nodded toward Abaddon's top end even as he grabbed her ankles. Alex complied reluctantly and hooked her arms under Abaddon's armpits, her face screwed up in revulsion the entire time they hauled the body over to a rickety metal chair. "This is so gross," she complained, trying not to think about how much the smell of blood was making her want to puke. "I'm seriously gonna throw up."

" _Throw up_?" Dean asked dubiously, eyeing Alex closely as they set Abaddon's body into the chair. "Since when are _you_ squeamish?"

She struggled to mind-over-matter her queasy stomach. "Maybe it was all the candy I ate earlier."

Dean nodded his sympathy and amusement at once. "I know _that_ stomachache."

Alex shot him a flat look. "Trust me, you _don_ _'_ _t_." Dean just chuckled at her misfortune as brothers often do. That only served to inspire more disgruntlement on her part. "Hate you," Alex muttered grumpily.

Dean, enjoying a brief moment of teasing and good-natured ribbing. "You _love_ me."

They both knew it was true, and Alex just drew her mouth into a thin line and glared off artlessly at nothing.

Sam gingerly carried Abaddon's head over to where Dean and Alex had set the corpse—he also had some sewing twine and a curved needle. He placed the head on Abaddon's body, then looked to his twin for help. "Can you hold this for me?"

Alex made a grudging sound but did as he asked. Nearby, their older brother was chuckling. "So uh… _heads_ or tails?" Dean asked, his expression suggesting that he thought he was _hilarious_.

He got two bitchy, judgmental looks and a totally _done_ comment from Sam for that one. " _Seriously._ You need to stop."

Annoyed that his genius wasn't appreciated, Dean's face fell. "Tough crowd," he commended blandly, then lost interest and went to collect Abaddon's hands. He tossed them onto the worktable nearby, then wandered over to one of the broken windows, surveying the outside with folded arms and a hard face. Alex held Abaddon's head in place while Sam stitched skin back together and she watched Dean, wondering what was going on in his mind. His eyes had a far off look, like he was thinking about things that bothered and hurt.

Sam noticed Alex's keen gaze and he glanced at Dean then silently met Alex's gaze, and she knew he also shared her worries about their brother. Tense, Sam went back to stitching. It took a few minutes, but he made crude connections all around her neck and when he finished and clipped the thread off, Alex gently let go, experimentally—just in time for Sam's eyes to go wide. He jumped up from where he'd been crouched and grabbed Alex by the wrist, pulling her away hard and fast. And then she saw why.

Abaddon's eyes were open and midnight black—her mouth was open slightly as she took in a deep, oceanic breath. She was a disaster to look at—bloody and beautiful, but her once-carefully applied makeup was smeared everywhere, her hair was lopsided in the elegant updo it had fallen from. Her punk-inspired outfit was dirty and torn. But she looked content and knowing. She sighed as if in relief, rolled her neck, then smiled leisurely, her eyes changing to human appearance and flickering over to Dean, who had made quick tracks over to the twins. " _Morning_ , sunshines." Her voice was soft, low, husky, pleasant.

"My god, wouldya look at that," Dean murmured, seeming to be amazed that it had actually worked.

"At what?" Abaddon asked, a hungry smile playing on her face. Her eyes sparkled, but it wasn't pleasant. "Ooh, Dean… missed you so. I can't _wait_ to tear out those pretty green eyes."

Sam was quiet and dangerous. "Yeah uh, good luck with that."

Abaddon looked down in confusion and found that her hands were no longer attached to her body. "We figured kitty didn't need her claws," Dean explained, enjoying the look of indignant surprise growing on the demon's face.

"Then I'll _stump_ you to death," Abaddon said thinly, beginning to snarl. "It'll be _swell_." She thrashed forward—and then grunted in shock and wiggled in the chair ineffectually. She couldn't not move at all even though nothing held her there visibly.

"Yeah, that's not gonna happen, either," Sam said, his confidence growing. "The bullet—remember?"

Abaddon's expression washed over in realization that she was trapped. "So you sit there like a good little bitch," Dean continued smugly. "We're gonna consecrate the ground, and you're gonna get to fessing up."

Abaddon's face relaxed and she smiled disconcertingly, acting like she had it all in the bag. "Oh, I know this tune and guess what? I'm over it! Onto more interesting things, like _who_ is this little saucepot you've brought along for the fun?" She looked at silent, watchful Alex with voracious eyes. "Pretty _pretty_ …" she murmured. "Which one do _you_ go with, hmm? Tall and dreamy or short and grumpy?" At that insinuation that there was some kind of romantic connection there, all three siblings made enough of a face that Abaddon quickly realized the error of her judgment and her eyebrows rose as she laughed. "Oh, goodness me! Well well well." Her eyes slid up and down Alex, not missing a thing. "Mm, yes, I can see the resemblance now. You're the _sister_." Her voice took an ominous dive even as she smiled wolfishly. "I thought you were _dead._ "

Unreadable, Alex's reply was quiet. "Apparently not."

Abaddon's smile crept wider, showing gleaming teeth behind smudged red lips. "I can help fix that problem, _kitten_."

Alex raised an eyebrow slightly and eyed the bloody line where Abaddon's neck had been sewn back together. "Just don't lose your head, huh?" she suggested sarcastically, then looked over at Dean. "Can you hurry up and consecrate so we can get to the torture?" Her brothers _both_ gave her semi-incredulous looks and she shrugged then mumbled, "Just saying."

Abaddon laughed leisurely at the torture comment. "So she likes it rough," she commented approvingly. Her head tilted down, giving her expression a seductive flair as her eyes bored into Alex unnervingly. "Oh, Lexy, we'll get along just _fine_ _…_ "

"Okay, _look_ —" Dean started, sensing that his sister was in need of some backup. And then Sam's phone rang loudly, cutting him off.

Sam made a face as he pulled out the phone and read the screen. "Six-six-six…" he muttered curiously under his breath in puzzlement, then answered tersely on speaker. " _Yeah_."

A low, sultry male voice they _all_ recognized immediately came out of the phone. "Hello, boy." Sam froze even as Alex's face lost color. "Is your _sister_ there?"

Dean was standing at his full height and had grabbed Alex by the jacket the second he recognized that voice—he looked like he expected an attack any second and already had his blade out. Voice deep and uneven with anger, Sam was visibly shaking as he clutched the phone hard. "Crowley, you _son of a bitch_ —"

" _Crowley_?" Abaddon asked loudly, appearing to be shocked. "The _salesman_?"

"Try the King of Hell," Dean growled. "And _dead meat,_ too." He had Alex held closer and he spoke in a voice only they could hear. "I got you, sweetheart. Don't make a damn _sound_." The second he said that, they exchanged a brief, loaded glance. Not like she wasn't good at being utterly silent. But the message was clear: It was important not to give away the fact that Alex _was_ there.

"King of _Hell?_ _"_ Abaddon was sputtering indignantly. "This is a _joke_ , right?"

With a face so hard it could break glass, Sam made a nodding head motion for the doorway, already stalking out that way. Dean pointed at Abaddon hard. " _Stay_." And he piloted his sister and himself out of the warehouse after Sam—looking around constantly in paranoia.

"How the _hell_ did you get this number?" Sam hissed into the phone.

"First things first," Crowley's smooth voice purred. "What are you wearing?"

Dean grabbed the phone hard and angry from his brother. "Now you listen to me you son of a bitch—"

Crowley's eyeroll was practically audible. "Oh shut _up_. Fine. This _isn't_ a social call."

"You're damn right it isn't, you got a death wish?!" Dean shouted. He was rattled as hell.

Calm and cool on the other end of the line, Crowley was maddening aloof. "I'm afraid I don't know _what_ you mean."

Sam snatched the phone from Dean while their wide-eyed sister stood frozen nearby. "You dragged our sister to _Hell_ , do you really think we have things to _say_ to you?" Sam seethed. "I have a demon blade with your _name_ on it, Crowley!"

"Yes, yes, I'm sure you do but we'll get to that later," Crowley sighed out, completely inconvenienced. "Believe you me—I want my stolen goods back. _Both_ of them." He paused and a wickedness came into his tone. "Is she there?" Alex paled again and Crowley chuckled low and sinister. "She is, isn't she. Alex, darling, don't play hide and seek. You know I eventually always find you…"

Alex shrank and Dean swiped the phone from Sam even as Sam was grabbing his sister and crushing her close. "Listen to me you punkass bitch, my family _is not_ and will _never be_ yours, Crowley, do you hear me?! And you don't say my sister's name, _ever_!"

"My god, could you stop _shouting_ for god's sake?" Crowley asked, annoyance beginning to creep into his voice. "Christ alive, I can barely hear myself think. You act like she's not the one who willingly sold her soul to me. 'Dragged her to Hell' my lily-white ass. More like did her the bloody favor of the century and this is the thanks I get? I might have known, but right now I'm interested in other things so… _lucky you_." He paused and refocused. "You lads been reading the papers, say, Denver Times from yesterday? No? Well, you should. It's side-splitting. What the hell? I'm sexting you an address. Check it out. _Then_ we'll talk. Cheerio."

"Wait— _Crowley_!" But the King of Hell had already hung up. Dean almost threw the phone in rage before he cursed and boiled silently in helpless, afraid anger.

Alex pushed away from Sam, by all appearances she was uncomfortable and even a little embarrassed. Shellshocked and wan, Sam looked scared. "A-an _address_? What, does he want us to _go_ there?"

"Don't like this," Dean said stiffly, breathing through his nose like a riled up bull. "Sounds like a trap."

"Or a ploy to get stolen _goods_ back," Sam spat, then pointed at their sister. "We need to get her back to the bunker, _now._ "

Alex was as agitated as they were, and their panic was making hers even worse. "Calm down, Jesus Christ, _both_ of you!" she snapped in a shrill voice, breathless. "If he _knew_ where I was, he would probably not _call_ first to give us _warning_." She tried to play it off, but she couldn't. "I swear to God, you two drive me _crazy_!" Her voice broke on the word crazy, and the look on her face gave it all away. She was like a caged animal backed into a corner.

"Alex. Stop," Sam said, then stronger: " _Stop_." He leveled her with one of his reasoning, empathetic gazes and he held out a staying, calming hand toward her. "Look, it's okay that you're scared."

She bristled. "I'm not _scared_ of _Crowley!_ " she basically seethed, but the second she said it, she realized that it was a lie _no one_ was buying. She tried to stay strong even as her eyes glittered. "And what if I am?!" she asked in a near shout. "It doesn't _matter!_ "

Sam took her by both arms with hard fingers. "It _matters,_ " he said firm and strong. He was giving her this grave, final look that was so intense that she was almost scared of _him_ for a second. "Crowley won't ever lay a hand on you ever again— _ever,_ " Sam swore. His eyes were shining, his nostrils were flared, his pulse could be seen hammering in a vein on the side of his neck. " _Do you hear me_? He'd have to come through _me_ first, and that's not gonna fucking _happen_." Sam didn't curse as much as Alex and Dean did—so the f-bomb really hit home.

Dean was right there with Sam, giving Alex a pained, intense look. "He ain't touching you again," he growled. " _Ever_." He shook his head just once, his jaw set and his expression gaunt with determination. "Believe nothing else in the world, but believe _that_." He looked absolutely vulnerable in that moment and Alex just wished she knew how to take them _all_ back to before when life sucked so much. She reached out and touched his shoulder, saying to him what words couldn't. And Dean's emotions flooded his face and he dodged the moment. "All right, enough of this bleeding heart crap, I can't handle it today," he grumbled, briefly dashing a sleeve against underneath his eyes. He turned his attention to Sam's phone as he let go of Alex. "Lemme see what that asshole was talking about with the Denver Times."

As Dean paced and cursed the slow data connection, Alex sat on the hood of the car and Sam sat beside her, sensing that she needed silent support. He put one of his long arms around her and she didn't protest at all… just leaned into his solid side and stared at the ground as he squeezed her arm lightly. Neither of them said anything… Sam was inwardly drowning in worries about how to save his sister and dad from Crowley's pursuit. Alex was facing panic that somehow she would be dragged back to Hell and this time no one would find a way to get her out…

Nearby, Dean gave a sound of triumph. "Found it." He read quickly then made a face. "Damn. Okay, so… freak death in Lost Creek. Vic's name is Tommy Collins." Dean paused, thinking hard. " _Tommy_ _Collins_." He looked at the twins in confusion. "Why do I know that name?"

Sam of course remembered right away. "Tommy Collins, we saved him from a Wendigo like forever ago," he said softly, his expression showing emotional pain at this latest development.

There was a short, clueless silence. "Okay, and, what, you think Crowley blew his head off?" Dean asked. "Why the hell would he do that, huh? What are we dealing with here? Some sort of Demon-Wendigo team-up?"

"No clue," Sam said slowly, as confused and filled with dread as his brother was.

"Whatever it is, Crowley wanted us to know," Alex said slowly, feeling nothing but dread. "And obviously not because of his big, kind _heart_ …" she almost expected the demon in the all-black suit to appear from behind a corner and announce that none of this was real… that she was in another one of his mindgames in Hell. No such thing happened, though.

"Yeah, he's involved somehow," Dean agreed grimly. "All right, well, we'll pour one out for Tommy later. As far as Crowley goes, screw him. We got everything we need to put him in a permanent time-out. And _man_ , am I looking forward to that day."

"I think we all are," Sam said darkly. He was angry— _angry_ _—_ and ready for the day when he got to squash Crowley like the bug he was.

Dean's jaw tightened but he forced a lighter mood—probably for Alex's sake. "Back to arts and crafts?" he suggested, nodding toward the warehouse where Abaddon waited.

"Yeah," Sam said heavily, then stood in tandem with his silent, unreadable sister and stayed at her side the entire way back in.

When they entered the warehouse, however… "No," Dean said as he spotted the empty chair. He took off at a slight jog toward the chair, his head swiveling around like crazy. "No! No! _No_!" But it was too late and they all knew it. "She's gone. She's— _son of a bitch_!" Dean ran off in one direction, maybe thinking he could find her at the far exit.

Sam however was at the sight of the disappearance. "Her _hands_ are gone," Alex pointed out nearby, staring sickly at the table where they'd been. Sam crouched down then picking up something small and bright red. The demon trap etched bullet that had been in Abaddon's head, trapping her in place. " _Fuck_ ," Alex muttered.

"Dean, _Dean_!" Sam called urgently. Dean jogged back and saw the bullet even as Sam's phone chimed. Sam dug his phone out and then read the screen quickly. "It's a text from Crowley—an address in Prosperity, Indiana."

Dean's expression darkened. "Prosperity? Didn't we work a case there?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah, the one with the witches and the baked goods."

Dean's expression briefly fell at the word 'witches.' And Alex was totally clueless. "Wait, what?" she asked. That didn't ring a bell.

"You uh, you weren't around for that one," Sam said somberly. Alex chastened. _Oh._

"So, what?" Dean asked. "Crowley's going after somebody there now?"

"I don't know," Sam said, shaking his head in semi-dread. "But we can't just ignore this. He might be out to kill more people."

Dean looked slightly patronizing. "Well, you _know_ it's a trap."

"Of _course_ it's a trap," Sam replied in forced patience. "But a trap means demons, and we could use one right now."

Dean made a face like that _did_ make sense, then he nodded a few times. "Okay, just gotta drop Mouse back off at the safehouse where she can hang out with Bobby."

Alex immediately piped up at _that_ statement. "Guys—no. Come on." She could have cried from the way them wanting to leave her behind made her feel. She knew she was kind of not all there and not running at full power, but the idea of being away from her brothers had her feeling freaked the hell out. "Don't leave me out of this… three is better than two _any_ day."

Dean was having none of it. "Yeah and you safe is top priority," he said authoritatively. " _The end_."

Alex looked at Sam pleadingly for some backup. But her twin was apologetic and not saying what she wanted to hear. "Sorry, I'm with him on this one."

Crushed and pissed at the same time but more than that _terrified_ of being without her brothers (it's not that she didn't want to stay with Bobby, but Sam and Dean were her _rocks_ ), Alex fought a crushingly strong wave of upset emotion and nausea at the same time. "Dean. _Sam._ " She swallowed hard and looking between them with eyes that begged. "Come on guys, how many times are we gonna do this shit?" So frustrated she could have broken something, she gestured wildly with her hands instead. "I can't sit around in a glass _jar_. I need to live my _life_. Danger is just part of that!" She didn't understand when their family had become divided like this. And even though she was terrified of Crowley, she would feel safer with her brothers if she couldn't be with Cas. "This is my life. You guys, hunting… it's my _life_. Don't take that away from me." Her voice wavered as she admitted what was incredibly hard to say: "I need you right now. I need you bad."

Her words definitely made an immediate impact. Dean looked unsure and distressed and guilty and every other emotion in the book. But he couldn't say no after that. He exchanged a silent glance with Sam, who let out the softest, surrendering breath through his nose. That seemed to tell Dean everything he needed and he looked back at Alex. "Line of sight," he told her severely. "Always in my line of sight." So glad they weren't gonna insist on leaving her behind, she nodded that she understood and he stepped closer, grasped the nape of her neck, and kissed the top of her head quick and hard before he glanced around the warehouse tersely. "Let's hit the road, kids."

* * *

**That Night  
Macon, Missouri**

Instead of driving all night, they stopped at a motel that evening to rest—Alex felt crappy for the entire way but got very sick seven hours into the car drive and Dean said he didn't want to chance getting vomit on his car seat again, plus Sam was looking more terrible than ever. So they stopped for an early bedtime and some food. While the brothers crashed around eight in the evening and slept heavily in a double bed next to Alex, she struggled to stay awake for fear of nightmares. But exhaustion won out. Around eleven that night, Sam woke up to sounds of muffled, distressed moans of panic. Even as he threw an arm against Dean to wake up him up, Sam was bolting out of bed and switching the light on and shaking his thrashing sister.

"Alex, wake up, _wake up_ —!" he urged, but she just began to whimper harder and groan the words, ' _no, please_ ,' over and over again as her body seized and thrashed. Sam called her name louder and shook her harder, but she didn't wake up.

Standing nearby and stock-still in shock and fear, Dean stared. "Dude, w-why won't she wake up?" he asked, obviously getting ready to panic.

"I don't know, but—"

There was a soft sound like fabric fluttering in the breeze, then a deep, gravelly voice filled with commanding. "Stand back." It was Castiel, and he practically shoved Sam out of the way as he sat at Alex's side, scooped her up close to himself, and touched the side of her head. Her wracked body went slack and her eyes popped open and were deeply panicked and wild. Breathing so hard she could have passed out from the effort, Alex looked confused and disoriented and frightened beyond words. Cas held her securely, deeply attentive and urgent in his soothing. "It's all right—it's me," he told her softly in a voice that gave away his pain on her behalf. He was stroking her hair and seeking her gaze. "I'm here."

Alex's breaths became steadier as one of her shaking hands found his wrist to catch hold of. She looked completely wrecked—less rested than she had before—and when she realized what was happening, she clutched herself to him, shaking hard. "I-it felt so real," she managed to get out before she began to cry. "It was so _real_."

"It _wasn_ _'_ _t_ real," Castiel said. He made eye contact with her troubled brothers who stood back sort of uselessly as the angel cradled their sister in a familiar, tender embrace that bore witness to their close connection and deeply intimate bond.

After a minute, Alex shook her head and pulled her head away from Cas's shoulder, embarrassed and rubbing at her face. "It's stupid," she mumbled.

Sam sat down across from her on the opposite bed and shook his head, leaning his arms over his knees earnestly. "It's not stupid," he told her. "And you're not either. This is just part of it." She said nothing, but she listened to him closely and nodded a little, sniffling delicately.

Dean sat down across from Cas and eyed Alex first, then the angel. He must have decided, for that moment, that Alex would benefit best from ignoring what had just happened. "Thought you were supposed to be closing shop upstairs."

"Yes, well…" Cas trailed off and sighed heavily. "I don't know if I can." He glanced at Alex and then his hand, which was currently holding hers, tightened. "And I sensed that I was needed." When he said that, Alex smiled in a pained and bittersweet way and curled into his side, shuddering out a shaken breath.

"You not gonna do it or something?" Sam asked, honing in on the Heaven trials. Cas sighed hard and then shook his head in confusion.

"I'm not sure. Earlier today, I found out that… the first trial is… well, to cut out the heart of a Nephilim."

Dean pulled a confused face. "A whaty-what?"

"The offspring of a human and an angel."

Dean's eyes narrowed _hard_ and looked between Cas and Alex rapidly in suspicion. "Wait… you're not saying…"

Cas realized Dean's assumption remarkably quickly. "No, _no_ —" he stumbled out self-consciously. "There's… there's one in California. A girl named Jane. The only one in existence, actually." He stared at the floor with a pained expression. "I decided I was going to—to do it. But all day, waiting for her shift to end at the place where she works… watching her… I don't think I can. It's murder." The softest and saddest expression came over his face. "I've murdered more than my fair share. Some innocent, some not. But my hands…" he let go of Alex's hand and looked at both of his palms. "I don't want any more blood on them." In a surprising move, he looked at the oldest hunter in the room. "What do you think, Dean?"

A little put on the spot, Dean took a second to reply. "Well. I think lots of innocent people die all the time. What's one more if it's for something that really matters?"

Sam looked a little taken aback. "Dean."

"What, Sam?" Dean shrugged. "That's how I feel." He looked at Cas in all seriousness. "Can't make this decision for you, buddy. This is on you."

Cas nodded, but he didn't look any better. He only looked more confused. "Don't do anything until you're sure," Alex counseled.

"I'm sure I want to close Heaven," Cas said to her, then hesitated. "But… I don't want this to be the way to do so."

"Welcome to planet earth," Dean said flatly. "Where things never go your way."

Alex ignored her brother's pessimism. "Just trust your instincts," she said. "And don't do anything until you're _sure._ _"_

Cas looked at her like she was the only person in the room—like he was suddenly reminded of how much he adored her—and he smiled ever so slightly then leaned in and kissed her while cupping a hand to her face. Dean balked. "Hey, do you have to do that with us right _here_?!"

While Alex gave Dean an annoyed look, Cas was squinting hard and trying to understand. "Where would you prefer we do it?"

"Anywhere I'm _not,_ " Dean retorted huffily.

* * *

**Ojai, California**

A few moments later after he had made sure Alex was calm and all right, Castiel returned to the back of Eugenie's where he and Metatron had lurked for most of the day. The scribe was still there and had his hands in his jacket pockets. "Where've _you_ been?" he asked, eyeing Cas with semi disapproval.

"It's none of your concern," Castiel replied sternly, determined to stay in control of the situation.

Metatron looked at him closely, seeming to sense what was happening, at least in part. "Not gonna back out, are you?" He asked. When he got nothing but a brief, hooded glance, Metatron started harping. "Just motivate yourself, Castiel. Imagine a world without Heaven constantly breathing down your neck, a world where you're truly _free_ and safe. Just think of her. Your sweet, adoring, _beautiful_ wife…" At the sharp frown Metatron got at that comment, the scribe shrugged innocently. "I _do_ have eyes," he said, putting his hands up briefly in a gesture of surrender. "Remember why you're doing this, is all I'm saying."

Cas stared off into the night with a hard expression. "I know why I'm doing this. You needn't remind me."

And yet, Metatron did, needling in and nagging because somehow he seemed to _know_ that Cas was starting to back out mentally. "Castiel. It's Jane or it's your family. How is there even a choice here?"

Throwing a side eye at the scribe, Castiel repeated what Alex had taught him over and over. "There's _always_ a choice."

Metatron seemed doubtful. "Well, it's time to make yours." He looked toward the employee entrance of Eugenie's. "She's about to come out." Cas followed his gaze even as the back door opened and Jane emerged. She had a jacket on now over her uniform and her wavy brown hair tumbled down around her young face like a mane. With a purse slung over her shoulders, she walked through the dark parking lot and toward the far end where a small, beat up sedan waited. It had a sticker on it about eating local food. Drifting up behind her as she got further past the dumpster they had been hiding behind, Cas and Metatron were surprised when she stopped walking abruptly and turned to face them. Her expression was disconcerting: she looked young, a little afraid, and surprised. And so very innocent.

Metatron was the one who spoke first. "Good evening, Jane." His words sounded ominous.

She didn't waste time with pretenses… she looked at the top of their heads with keen eyes. "I know what you are," she said, swallowing nervously. "I can see your halos."

"And we know what _you_ are," Metatron returned icily. " _A_ _bomination_."

Jane blinked a couple times, insulted and hurt. " _Abomination_? What are you, _Baptists_?" It was a half joke and half serious. At the dire looks on their faces, she held two hands out protectively and briefly. She seemed to know exactly why they were waiting for her in a dark parking lot and when she spoke, it was like she had always known this day would come when she would have to beg for her life. "Come on, guys. I'm—I'm just a regular girl with some super powers I never asked for. I just wanna live my life. I'm normal. I'm _nice_. I've never hurt anyone on purpose. I keep it all hidden. I don't bother anyone. I even do volunteering on the weekends. So… just let me go home, okay?" She shuffled nervously, her eyes darting back and forth between them.

Castiel forced himself to not feel empathy for her. He let his angel blade slide down into his hand even as the worst feeling of self-hatred coursed through him. "I'm sorry for this," he managed to get out honestly.

Jane's expression changed when she saw the gleaming weapon—she was clearly petrified. "What is this?" She asked in a higher voice, looking at him in pure shock. "What kind of angel _are_ you? I—I'm just an innocent person! I've never done anything to anyone!"

Castiel took a step forward. "Innocent or not, I have to do this."

Backpedaling, bargaining, Jane's words poured out of her hard and fast and breathless. "Wait! Stop! Just—just—" she looked between them desperately. "J-just tell me! What _am_ I? M-my mom. She died giving birth to me but her friends said she never stopped talking about how my father was an angel." She was very smart, clearly, and looked between the both of them in half dread and half hope. "Is one of you my father?" Abruptly, anger flared. "And you're here to clean up your _mess_ twenty-four years later? I've lived my whole life without answers, you can at least give me some _answers_ before you try and stab me with your…" she gestured loosely at the blade. "Thing!"

Her story was building in his mind. A dead mother, a father she never knew, a mystery of a life. Pain, sadness, the feeling of being alone. Empathy made him hurt. "No," Castiel said quietly. "Neither of us is your father."

She clenched her fists at her side. "Well… just go away then!" she insisted shrilly. "I didn't ask to be this!" She wet her lips fast, trying to reason her way out of what was happening. "You can't… you can't fault me for how I was born—you _can_ _'_ _t_. I have a quiet, simple, _good_ life. I don't hurt people or bother them. No one knows what I am and they never will, I promise. I hid it from the world since I was a little girl because I have _always_ known I was a freak. My strength, my power… I never sleep, I don't need food. And sometimes, I hear you angels talking. _Whispering_." Her eyes were brimming with tears. "I just wanna be normal, but I can't, so… you can't just like murder me for being who I was born as!"

"You'll never be normal," Metatron said almost tauntingly. "You're a _Nephilim_."

That word made her face go slack in surprise. "Nephilim," she repeated softly, testing the word. "So that's what I'm called." Cas thought of Jane growing up and not knowing why she was the way she was and more feelings of empathy and guilt grew. He thought of his own son and daughter who didn't exist yet but who would, someday. And in that moment, he knew that he couldn't do this to Jane. "Leave me alone," Jane said, and her voice had taken on a startlingly sudden threatening tone. "Walk away while you still can. I _will_ fight you."

Castiel took in a deep breath, gripped his blade harder… and then put it away to both Jane and Metatron's utter shock. "Leave this place, Jane," he said firmly to the Nephilim standing in front of him. He gave her a commanding stare that urged her to do as he said immediately. "Go home. _Now_."

Metatron sputtered as Jane ran to her car. "What are you _doing_?! She's getting _away_!"

Dire and grave, Cas turned with a clenched jaw to look at his unhappy counterpart. "I'll find some other way to close Heaven."

Metatron was turning red. "Are you _serious_?!" he exploded. "There _isn_ _'_ _t_ one, Castiel!" Jane's car roared to life and squealed out of the parking lot as Metatron gestured in enraged animation. "You have to cut out the heart of a Nephilim, end of story or the trials are…" he made a bunch of chaotic motions with his hands. " _Screwed_!" He stared at Cas in flabbergasted accusation. "I thought you loved your wife!"

The scribe was beginning to step over the line, and Castiel showed his harder, more confrontational side by using a rough, challenging voice. "I _do_. More than _anything_." His jaw clenched hard and his expression grew more pained. "But I can't do this. I _can_ _'_ _t,_ Metatron." He shook his head, trying to think of ways to make it work. "I'll just—I'll just have to be more watchful than before, more careful not to let—"

"Are you _crazy_?!" Metatron screeched. "Castiel… _buddy_ … they will _never_ stop coming. _Ever_! As long as there are angels in Heaven and you here on earth with _her_ _—_ _!_ _"_ He was irrationally angry. "I can personally guarantee you nothing but sleepless nights and danger and heartache! I mean, come on… are you that _stupid_?!"

Castiel feared that he was right, but shook his head no firmly. "You'll have to do these trials, Metatron. I can't. My morals won't allow me."

Metatron abruptly became prim and insulting. "Oh, your _morals_ won't allow you. _Well_." He was brusque and prim at the same time. "If you don't close Heaven, trust me, someone else'll get the same idea in the future. And you know what? Maybe they won't come after _Jane_ this time."

A frown came across Castiel's face as he thought back to their previous conversation. "But you said she's the only Nephilim left," he said slowly.

Metatron smiled thinly. "Yeah. I did. Because the only other one in existence isn't _here_ yet." Cas's face screwed up in total confusion and Metatron, pursing his lips into a patronizing expression, looked at the other angel like he was stupid. "It'll be about, oh, _nine months_ before _this_ one makes their debut," he ranted, "and something tells me you won't want to cut the heart of your own _child_ out, Castiel, so it's gotta be _Jane_!"

 _My own child?_ The world might as well have stopped for a small moment. Those words and everything they implied hit Castiel full force. "Y-you mean…" he breathed faintly, then shook his head, completely lost and unable to breathe. He couldn't comprehend what had just been said and his mind raced, trying to find an explanation. "B-but I would have known…!" he protested in a cracking voice.

Metatron made a _duh_ face. "You would think you would have, _yes_." He looked at Cas's shellshocked expression and made a shooing motion. "Well don't take _my_ word for it. Go! See for yourself. Use your angel vision for once, because apparently you don't do _that_ anymore." An abruptly sly smile appeared. "And, hey..." he leaned in knowingly, "Congrats, Dadstiel."

Cas backed away slowly, his face slack. And then he disappeared.

* * *

Castiel _flew_ back to the motel room and found it dark and quiet—all three Winchesters were asleep again. The angel crouched down beside the bed Alex was in and he was breathless, shaking, barely able to function. Was it true? Was she…? Had they…? He didn't understand and wasn't sure how it could be possible, but he was half mad with the anticipation of needing to know. Alex was on her side, facing him, her face totally relaxed and her breaths deep and peaceful as she slept. Cas swallowed hard, knowing this would change everything for them if it were true. Nervous to the point of feeling tense, his eyes went to her stomach area and when he looked— _really_ looked— _his_ stomach lurched. There it was—a small, barely noticeable but unmistakable gathering of new cells. The beginning of a new person. The beginning of a new _life_. Completely overwhelmed, in shocked awe, Castiel reached out and his fingers brushed against her torso—the place where he had put a child and not meant to. _The soul touch_. How had he not realized? He heard a soft little sobbing sound and realized it was _him_ who had made that sound… thinking of how an entirely new soul had been created by love shared by two. He was overcome by joy and fear and amazement.

Alex stirred at that moment, coming out of her sleep, and she briefly tensed when she saw him there—then relaxed and put her hand onto his softly. "Cas? What is it?" she whispered as she propped herself up onto an elbow. She sounded worried. Even in darkness, she could see or sense (perhaps both) his emotional state. 

Shaking his head against a smile, against tears, all he could do was pull her closer to him in an awkward, intense embrace as he remained knelt beside the bed. Emotion welled inside of him, fiercer than Heaven or Hell or any place in between. It was beyond words, really, beyond comprehension. He remembered the boy—his _son_ —who he'd met in the liquor store. This was him. Castiel knew it, he recognized it, and love bright like the sun surged inside him, giving him the feeling of soaring. Words seemed beyond him, and for a minute, Castiel breathed heavily against his emotions, trying to find what to say. "I'm… I'm going to take care of us," he finally whispered in a voice that was barely there at all. His _family,_ who moments ago had been a maybe. A someday. But even as new as it was, he already understood: He could do anything, anything on Earth or Heaven or anywhere in between if it were for his child. His eyes spilled over. 

Alex sounded confused. Worried. Tentative. "Okay... but wh—"

He shook his head, his elation fading as he pulled back and grasped her face gently with a hand. "I have to do something very terrible. Forgive me." His voice caught. "Please, _forgive me_."

Fully awake now, Alex studied him in concern. "Do I need to come with you?" she asked, but she only sounded worried... not judgmental as he deserved. 

He loved her so much that his heart could burst. His hands squeezed hers in return and he felt how his eyes brimmed anew with tears. "No. _I_ have to do this. Just say you understand. Say you understand I have to do this." She hesitated, clearly picking up on things being off, but she nodded after a pause. It meant everything to him to have her understanding. His arms tangled around her and he pulled her nearly off the bed, that's how close he held her. His heart raced and he wanted to tell her everything—but he didn't even know how to start or what to say except to profess his feelings. "I love you beyond words, Alex Winchester," he murmured, voice tight and wavering from emotion. " _I love you so much_."

"I… love you too," she said, but it sounded like a half question. She pulled back to look at him again. He could see the questions in her eyes. "How did you decide this was the right thing?"

He shook his head, so beyond words. He didn't know how to sum it up. "It's… it's you. I can't have you and, and… and _us_ —anything less than safe." He knew now there was nothing— _nothing_ —he wouldn't to to protect her and the new little life growing inside of her. "I know I need to do this," he whispered, and a horrible wave of guilt hit him. What if someday someone was trying to kill _their_ child simply because he was a Nephilim? Jane couldn't help who she was. And neither could… his fingers traced against the skin of Alex's stomach and he was consumed with shame and guilt. "But Heaven help me, I don't want to do this."

Alex was silent and tense, pensive, and her eyes glanced down at his hand, silently wondering why he touched her there. "Cas..." She hesitated, then grasped him gently by the back of the neck. "Let me come with you."

He shook his head and grabbed her hand from his neck. "No—no." His thumb stroked over her knuckles and his heart raced as he thought about the daunting news he needed to share with her. He didn't think he could tell her yet. Not at this moment. "This is my burden to bear. And you can't—" he hesitated, dodging her gaze. "Don't drink any alcohol, please." Her face scrunched up in confusion and he stumbled onward. "And I—uh—just, just stay here. I'll be back. _Rest_." He leaned in and pressed a kiss to her forehead, then her cheek—she sighed, eyes closing at his gentle touches as she chose to brush off his odd comments. "You mean everything to me," he whispered, touching her forehead with his as he held her face tenderly in a hand. "My life. My _world_."

The bed next to Alex's creaked and Dean's cranky voice sounded. "Oh my god, you know we're _right here_ , right?" There was a sigh of aggravation. "Someone give this guy a job writing those cheesy-ass love scenes in Hallmark movies."

Sam mumbled a sleepy, "shut up, Dean."

Alex ignored her brothers and kissed Cas's cheek and then his mouth. "I love you too, Castiel," she whispered, using his full name for reasons unknown. His heart welled and his every instinct said not to leave… but he had to do this not only to protect her, but to protect his child.

He stood, and her hands slipped from his. "I'll be back," he said, then tore himself away from his home and made himself do what had to be done.

About thirty minutes later, he returned to Alex and crawled into bed with her, shaking and weeping as quietly as he could for what he had done. His joy was gone and replaced by terrible things. Dean and Sam made awkward excuses about needing things out of the car and they didn't come back into the room for the rest of the night. Alex held Castiel and she did not sleep the rest of that night—just comforted her distraught angel who was too ashamed and afraid to tell her, at that moment, what was happening to her. Because that night, he viewed himself as a murderer and feared she would, too.


	130. Interlude

" _There is such a special sweetness in being able to participate in creation._ _"  
_ \- Pamela S. Nadav

* * *

**The Next Day  
Prosperity, Indiana**

It was early morning—the kind of early morning that still feels like late night. The sunrise would be soon, but for now, the motel room was dark and quiet; the outside world was still asleep. On one of the two beds the room contained, an angel in a trenchcoat laid wrapped up in the embrace of a woman wearing jeans and flannel. It was strange… she was much smaller in stature than her companion, but she was the one who held _him_. They had been like that for a few hours.

Cas's soft, forlorn voice broke another long span of silence. "It just isn't fair. Or _right_." With his head curled into Alex's chest, he didn't have to speak loudly to be heard. "I killed someone who did nothing to deserve it."

With a tense expression, Alex nodded and her fingers curled more tightly into his hair, drawing him even closer. "I know, Cas." On and off for the long, dark hours of this night, he'd told her what he'd done. How he had gone to her tiny apartment. Seen where she lived and the little humble life she led. The fluffy white cat she owned, the church flyer on her refrigerator. The post-graduate homework that was piled up on her table. The look on her face when he had ambushed her. Alex and Cas were both very aware of how terrible what he had done was. Alex didn't know what exactly had changed Castiel's mind about killing Jane the Nephilim and starting the trials of Heaven… only that he was agonized over his actions. She wished she could take away his pain somehow. "You did what you had to do, right? For the greater good. To save a lot of people." With Heaven closed and angels unable to get out and cause trouble, things would be safer. Better. For the entire world, yes, but _especially_ for Alex and Cas who were always under the line of fire, it seemed. Alex felt a little guilt creep when she thought about it because who was she kidding? She was so _selfish_ …

Cas was incredibly quiet and it took him a moment to reply. "Yes. To save people. The most important ones, especially." Alex felt his hands pull her a little closer to himself. "But… the look on her face when I…" he shuddered against her slightly and Alex wondered if he would cry again. He had cried a few times tonight and it broke her heart. "It _haunts_ me." His voice broke and he held her even harder, his face in her bosom as he breathed unevenly.

She held him tighter still and guessed maybe she could have told him a generic 'it's all gonna be okay.' But she knew from experience that it wasn't gonna 'be okay'—that the people you killed stayed with you. Patronizing Cas or glossing over reality didn't feel loving. So, she told him the truth: "And it will. Possibly forever." Her words stilled his shaking. Cas drew back and looked at her in a stricken, confused way, silently asking her why she said that to him. Gentle, in pain because of his pain, she touched his face and rubbed a thumb across the wet skin of his cheek. She felt powerless to take away his suffering. His face twisted slightly as he held her gaze, and she noticed it again: something was _different_ about him right now and she couldn't put her finger on what, but the way he kept looking at her and touching her like he was afraid to break her and also afraid to let her go… and now with those vulnerable blue eyes cutting right through her… she was aware of it again. Something was shifting. Deepening.

Cas looked at her openly, like he trusted her implicitly, like he was hanging on her every word, like he was depending on her for the answer to all his ailments. "How do you get past the things _you_ _'_ _ve_ done?" he asked earnestly. Her expression must have registered surprise or hurt, because Cas immediately looked appalled at himself and then he tried to take it back. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"

"No, no," she said quickly, shaking her head and trying to get the taken aback look of her face. He didn't mean it like that and she knew that—her quasi-offended reaction was because she had a _lot_ to feel guilty over. She had done so many things and often, just not thinking about them at all was the solution. But you couldn't run forever from the thoughts that came at night. How _did_ she get past it all? She shook her head, eyes becoming sightless as she thought deeply. "I… dunno. You just keep going, I guess." That was the only choice a lot of times. Well, it _wasn_ _'_ _t_ the only choice, but… for her, it was. "Some people cover it over with alcohol. Drugs. Sex. Denial. All of the above." A cynical little laugh puttered out of her lips and she shrugged, not feeling like her sorry excuse for advice would help at all. "You just… try to do more good than bad. Balance the scales a little." Cas was listening in rapt, earnest attention and Alex felt more and more like a sham. "I'm not really an expert at being okay with the things I've done, so I'm not really the best person to give advice about it," she said, her tone distinctly unhappy. Self-loathing crept in. She could talk all day about being well-adjusted but she knew she'd probably never be anywhere close.

Cas brought her back from the edge of the brewing bad thoughts with the touch of his hand and the hush of his voice. "You are a _good_ person, Alex. Better than good." Confused, Alex looked at him. His eyes, bright like coastal waters, were sincere beyond belief. He held her face tenderly, and his expression was incredibly emotionally intense. "I see great kindness and love in you," he murmured, intriguing and transfixing her and leading her to wonder if she really _was_ the person he seemed to believe her to be. She could believe it at that exact moment because he sounded so genuine. "I see how you believe in the chance of a better world," he said, surprising her and touching her heart at the same time. "I believe in that, too."

Her eyebrows rose faintly. Every time she thought she knew him and that he couldn't surprise her… she got proved wrong. His belief in a better world was one of the reasons she loved him so much. "Don't ever stop believing," she told him, feeling like their hearts were completely connected in that moment. It was hard to believe the world could be good the older she got and the more she saw, but she hoped maybe he could always believe. "Because sometimes… it'll be really hard."

His expression softened even more; his eyes stayed deeply gazing into hers, she saw that strange, unexplainable look on his face again. "You give me reasons to keep going," he said, fingers gently stroking through the hair on the side of her face. Alex felt her throat catch and a sudden surge of wild emotion. Had anyone ever loved someone the way Castiel loved her? In all the world, in all of time, no one had shared what they had. "No one else could ever take your place," he murmured, his voice brimming with emotion that matched what his bright blue eyes were filled with. " _Ever._ You are my _life_."

She could have melted or disappeared and she was bashful and intimidated and overwhelmed all at the same time… and close to tears. "Stop, Cas," she whispered through a strained throat. Dammit. _More crying_ … that was _just_ what she wanted.

Confusion flitted across his face. "What?" he asked, concerned and genuine about his next question. "Saying what I feel?"

She broke because he was too much and _everything_ was too much. "Making me _cry,_ goddammit!" She gave a frustrated sound as the waterworks started and made her voice go all high-pitched and watery. Seriously… she was losing her mind or something. "I swear, I cried yesterday when I heard _My Sharona_ on the radio!" she exclaimed, because if _that_ didn't tell you something was wrong, nothing _would_.

Castiel's eyebrows worked inward and his eyes squinted. "I… don't know what that is."

"Well not something you cry at, I'll tell you that much!" she managed miserably. Breathing in and out fast, she managed to stop sobbing. She swiped at her eyes and explained why that goofy song had made her cry in the backseat of the Impala yesterday. "It reminded me of being a teenager and how much I loved my stupid pimply teenage brothers and how we're not teenagers anymore and… _shit_ … here I go _again_!" Thinking about Sam and Dean as dumbass teens occupying the little world called 'the past' which they could never set foot into again—she sobbed. And while she blubbered, she wondered why Cas only seemed mildly empathetic and not supremely worried about how emotional she was. "S-sorry," she mumbled through hiccuping breaths, trying to get herself together. She was _completely_ embarrassed at her lack of control. But things kept hitting her in the face emotionally and making her feel so _weepy_ … she couldn't _help_ it.

Cas wiped at her tears with steady fingers, smiling at her with this soft, lovestruck expression that seemed to transcend the moment. That alone calmed her down and centered her… but what he said next was like magic. His low voice was husky and rich. "Don't be sorry."

She had always been a very emotional person but had tried so hard to hide it, dumb it down, deny that side of herself. Cas didn't seem to judge her for that. Smiling through her tears a little, she thought about just how _good_ she had it. It made her still and quiet and thankful. "You really are the best thing that's ever happened to me," she whispered, searching his eyes and seeing the one she believed to be her soulmate staring back at her.

Cas's expression fell slightly and became tinged with pain—his eyes fell away. It took him a moment to speak. "How you can say that after… after everything…" he caught her hand in his and his thumb brushed over her knuckles as his eyes looked into hers again hesitantly. "It humbles me very much." He sighed softly, troubled, and Alex said nothing, just touched his face and let her thumb brush against his cheek soft and slow. She knew what he was thinking of and the guilt he was experiencing. She would never forget the bad things that had happened to her because of him—ever. But the good things burned brighter and stood stronger than anything else could. Cas caught her wrist in his hand and peered into her eyes then tentatively asked a question he seemed very afraid to hear an answer to. "I know it seems like a truly ludicrous question after everything I've done, but… do you think I'm a terrible per—uh—angel?"

Her reply was immediate, soft, and honest. " _No_. You're _not_ a terrible person." Her voice was strong. " _Ever._ " She hesitated and then was incredibly gentle. "You _have_ done terrible things. But… I mean, so have I. So has Sam and Dean and… basically everyone I've ever known. Being alive means you're gonna mess up. Do the wrong things sometimes. Or do bad things to get to a good outcome." She sighed out a strained, conflicted breath. "As long as you can do more good than bad… if you can make more things right than make them wrong, it's okay in the end." She felt a twinge of doubt. "It _has_ to be." Cas listened and looked like he was really taking her words to heart. Alex slid her hands down to his and laced her fingers through the spaces between his. She reminded him of what was going to happen for them soon. "We're gonna be together. After getting torn apart so many times, we're gonna _stay_ together." Her voice wavered on emotion and fear alike because she wanted her words to be true so badly. "All this work you and Sam are doing… Heaven, Hell… those places'll be bad memories. And then we can just… _be_. Whatever that means. That's what's getting me through right now."

A sad little smile stretched his lips fractionally wider and she saw that he resonated with her. "Yes. It's the same for me." He looked at her for a long moment, got intensely serious, then said something she hadn't anticipated. "I would take away the nightmares if I could."

She was startled. He meant the Hell nightmares. Which he'd already forcefully roused her from _twice_. She didn't like talking about this and found the topic transition jarring. "I've always had nightmares," she said somewhat stiffly, retreating from vulnerability and trying to hide her pain and fear from him.

Cas grew sadder and quieter. "Not like these."

It was the truth, and it cut through her like a knife, stopped her dead in her tracks. She couldn't lie to him in good conscience or try to sidestep how truly terrible reality was. He saw through her and she gave up on becoming guarded—she let him see into her darkness. "No," she replied softly, "not like these." For a minute, they contemplated how terrible it was that she had them at all and that it was unknown how long she would have them. "I have _you_ now, though," Alex ventured. And he helped. He helped so much.

Cas's heart was in his eyes. "Yes. You have me." He pulled her close, nestling them together, holding her in the safe warmth of his chest, sending feelings of safety settling over her. She shut her eyes and instead of happiness, she suddenly fought a wave of overwhelming despair and fear. It was hard to believe she would always have Castiel. And that was all she wanted in life. Her angel, her brothers, her family. It wasn't a big wishlist. But she feared it would all crash and burn like it always did. Her fingers clenched into his coat and she breathed in and out shudderingly, telling herself to stop being afraid. But it was too hard not to be afraid. "I know you're acting brave," Cas murmured to her, his fingers curling sweetly into her hair. "But I also know Hell has left its mark." Alex held on tighter. When Sam and Dean called her on this kind of stuff, it felt intrusive and annoying and pissed her off. When Cas said what he did, Alex felt her defenses breaking down and her desire for his closeness increase. Calming down, she stayed curled against him. His lips pressed warmly against her forehead and then he spoke against the skin there. "Just know that I'm here," he told her softly, in a voice full of empathy and care. "And that you can tell me anything."

If you had gone back in time and told the Alex who just met Castiel how they would end up being not only lovers but best friends, she would have scoffed in your face. If you'd told her she would find someone whose feelings and thoughts she cared about as much as her own, as much as that of her brothers… she would have called you crazy. And here she was. Thinking of him more than herself, hoping that he knew she was the one who was there for him like he was there for her. Pulling back enough to look at him, she did. His familiar face with its strong careworn features, roadmap of agelines and soulful cerulean eyes. No other man could ever be as beautiful as he was to her. "I'm here, too," she whispered then took his face in her hands and kissed him, a soft and lingering touch of her lips to his. They breathed each other's exhales and Castiel's arms gently tightened around her. When she pulled back to look at him, something about his expression made her pause. "What?" she asked. He looked… incredibly sappy, a little daunted, and deeply emotional—there was something about his expression that she didn't recognize. When he didn't explain, she prompted him again with a half smile. "Why do you have that look on your face?" It was like he knew something.

He searched her eyes for a long moment. "After everything we've been through and faced, I think we can make it through anything together. Do you think so too?"

Alex was beginning to frown in confusion. " _Yeah_ …"

Castiel swallowed, shifted, and then opened his mouth to say something, closed it after changing his mind, then opened it again. "I'm… I don't know exactly how to tell you this… but…" he took her hand in his and held it in a way that seemed to portray ultimate reverence. "You and I…" he swallowed, began to look worried. "The—the reason I decided to begin the Heaven trials… well…" Alex waited, starting to get worried. He was _looking_ at her in this crazy weird way and if she didn't know better, she'd think he was about to break a sweat. "Alex," he said in a thick voice, and a worried smile broke his face as he struggled with whatever he was about to tell her. "We're going t—"

There was at that moment a knock at the door and a call of, "Knock knock." The door cracked open. "Everybody uh, decent?" It was Sam, and he was half-holding a hand in front of his eyes as if bracing for a traumatizing sight. When he saw that everything was G-rated, he apologized to the interrupted couple. "Sorry you guys, but, uh, Dean's wanting to hit the road and get on this address-from-Crowley thing." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder apologetically.

Alex sighed her frustration but knew that the overnight stopover had been enough dilly-dallying. She was already sitting up fast and swinging her legs up over the edge of the bed. "Yeah, okay, we just—oh god." She barely had time to grab the nearby trash can, that's how fast the nausea hit her. Not her best moment, vomiting violently in front of Sam (who had seen her puke a million times before during their lifetime) and Cas (who she _really_ didn't want seeing her like that, thank you). When she'd loudly deposited all of her stomach's contents into the trash can, Alex stayed leaned over it with closed eyes as she took in hard, sharp breaths and clenched the bedspread with both hands. That's when she realized Cas was right beside her, holding onto her, keeping her from falling. "Oh god," she groaned, refusing to look at him. "No, don't look at me…"

Sam was standing there with an appropriately grossed out expression. "That's… _ugh_." He got a look from his sister and he gave her a sympathetic (if grossed out) smile. Sam was one of those people who couldn't stand vomit or being around it—it always made him feel sick when it happened. Still, he dutifully managed to make himself useful. "I'll uh, get you a washcloth."

Beside Alex, still holding her gently by the forearms, Cas was concerned. "Are you all right?" he asked.

Alex still didn't make eye contact—there was puke on her face, she could feel it, and she was pretty mortified. "I got sick yesterday, too," she said, worrying. Maybe it was an ulcer. She watched Sam at the motel room sink wetting a washcloth and the putrified taste of vomit filled her mouth. "This is the _worst_ …" she touched her stomach weakly, cursing it for feeling so terrible. That's when she remembered what she ate last night and she groaned again and shut her eyes. "It's all that tunafish I ate last night… it always makes me feel sick but I just… I wanted it so _bad_."

Beside her, very quiet and even a little somber, Cas was looking at her oddly. "I… don't think it's tunafish."

Alex looked at him, puke splattering the corner of her mouth and everything. Something about his tone made her heart drop. Was something _wrong_ with her? Did Cas know something about her? A washcloth was suddenly thrust into her face, practically. "Here you go." Alex gave Sam a correcting, how-dare-you frown then took the cloth and wiped at her mouth as he crossed his arms and looked down at her in a way that felt I-told-you-so. And then he basically said as much, too. "I told you not to eat that tuna."

Immediately annoyed, Alex smacked the washcloth down and mimicked him childishly as she stood up and crossed the room, brushing past him. "' _I told you not to eat that tuna._ '"

Sam threw his arms out innocently. "Well I _did,_ " he defended. And yes, he had. Tuna and raw onions always made her stomach hurt in the past. But she'd just _wanted_ a tunafish sandwich so bad last night. And Sam had given her that _look_ and she'd rolled her eyes. Maybe she should have listened.

Alex rinsed her mouth out at the sink, the entire time thinking of all the things that could be wrong with her. Part of her wanted to live in total denial and not know. But she couldn't stand it and when she turned around to see Cas and Sam standing together, she asked before she could decide not to. "Is—is something _wrong_ with me, Cas?"

He looked distinctly put on the spot and glanced at Sam uncomfortably then cleared his throat delicately. "No. Nothing is wrong. It's…" he shuffled and glanced at Sam again before looking at Alex. "It's just um, a—a virus of some kind."

It was Sam's turn to ask a very worried question. "It's not… not some kind of… _resonating_? With me, because of the trials and how we're… you know… twins?" he asked, indicating himself. He looked over at Alex, and he was the picture of distress. "Ever since you said that I haven't been able to stop worrying about it."

Cas put an end to the twins wondering. "No," he said grimly. "She's not… resonating with your trials-related ills, Sam."

Deeply relieved, Sam drew in a deep breath. "Good," he murmured, nodding. " _Good_." He paused and then indicated his sister while looking at Cas in expectation. "Well… what are you waiting for, then? Can you do your angel stuff and make her feel better?"

Again, the angel looked incredibly put on the spot and he visibly tried to find words for a few long seconds. "Uh… this is one I don't think I can, uh… _make better_." With shifty eyes, he backed up a couple steps. "You said Dean is waiting outside?" Cas was stern. "We really shouldn't keep him waiting." He surprised both of the twins when he turned and walked out of the room, leaving no chance for more questions. That was… kinda unlike him.

Brother and sister both watched him with identical confounded expressions. Sam was the first to speak. "Okay. _Weird_ …"

Alex stared after the angel who was _definitely_ acting weird and had been trying to tell her something big. "Yeah…" she said, but she couldn't figure out what was going on or if she should be worried or not. She recognized the fact that whatever he'd had to say to her was something that couldn't be said with others around. But what was it?

Sam became gentler as he watched his tense-faced sister. "You okay?" He probably meant about Cas and Jane and another sleepless, grief-filled night.

But Alex would rather have not talked about that any more for the time being, so she sidestepped. "I'll be okay when my stomach quits _hating_ me," she grumbled.

Sam held a finger up. "Ah, reminds me." He fished out a bright pink bottle of Pepto Bismol from his jacket pocket and handed it to her. Alex looked at him with question marks in her eyes… when did he get _this_? He smiled wearily. "Couldn't sleep, knew your stomach was bothering you. Anyway, maybe this'll help. If you can keep it down, anyway." His smile was sad, ginger, and fond all at once.

Sam was really something else. Something _good._ Bombarded with more huge emotions, Alex abruptly hugged him, hard. "You seriously are the best, you know that?" she whispered fiercely. He would be dead right now if she hadn't gone to Hell. He would be _gone._ She reminded herself of that, and it made the nightmares worth it. Him, breathing and alive and confused as she crushed the life out of him… it made it a little more okay.

"Hey—whoa—" Sam was hugging her back uncertainly because he was obviously surprised at the outburst. "It's just medicine. It's no big deal. You sure you're okay?"

She smiled up at him, about to crack a joke. The joke left her mind as her stomach cramped and rolled—she blanched with wide eyes, gone prone. "No—Jesus Christ, I wanna puke again," she wheezed.

"Whoa, well not on _me_!" Sam yelped, jumping back as if he would get the plague.

With a hand pressed flat to her stomach, Alex waited several long seconds then smiled wanly. "False alarm." She gave him a grumpy look. "You're a real hero, Germs McGee."

"You _know_ I don't like vomit," he whined, and then gave her a wide, careful berth as they exited the motel room.


	131. Line of Fire

" _To save all_ _…_ _we must risk all._ _"  
\- _Friedrich Schiller

* * *

Immediately after the puke fiasco, the twins exited the motel room together, keeping stride easily even though they were apart nearly a foot in height. An early morning chill lingered underneath the slowly-brightening sky. The world was mostly still asleep.

Dean waited for them by the Impala—alone with crossed arms—and when Alex's face silently asked a silent, slightly-worried ' _where_ _'_ _s Cas?_ ' Dean nodded toward the side of the motel where there was a neatly trimmed flowerbed you were _not_ supposed to disturb. Cas was there, doing exactly what he wasn't supposed to be: selecting and then plucking flowers carefully. Dean looked pretty done with life overall and threw a hand out briefly toward the angel as a curious Alex and Sam joined him at the car. Dean let out a vaguely pissed exhale from his nostrils. "So we got serious stuff to do and he's… _that_." While Dean crossed his arms again with a vaguely surly look across his sleep-deprived countenance, Sam and Alex watched Cas with similarly soft, amused expressions as the bent over angel in a trench coat chose several more blooms and then straightened.

He saw his audience and hesitated a moment, then with a look of determination, he approached the Winchesters with eyes only for Alex. Cas held out a bouquet of about five multi-colored flowers to her. "For you," he said, appearing hopeful and even a little apologetic.

Alex was looking at him with a quizzically confused expression on her face. He'd been in such a hurry thirty seconds ago to 'not keep Dean waiting' and now he was… picking flowers? Well, as nonsensical as it was, it was still hella cute in any universe and her smile spread despite her general feeling of sickness and fatigue. "Uh… thanks." She took them, looked at them a couple seconds and then, struck by a silly idea, plucked a pink one out as a trollish smile played on her face. She perched the flower behind Cas's ear and a grin broke at the confused face that looked back at her. "Pink is your color, Cas," she teased, barely able to keep from laughing at the sight of him standing there all serious with a pink flower dotting the side of his head. At the complimenting tone, Cas looked pleased, if still slightly confused.

While Sam was entertained, Dean looked absolutely appalled at what had just happened. "Good _lord_ , Cas, don't let her do that to you!" he exclaimed, apparently offended in Cas's stead.

Cas looked at Dean with more growing confusion. "Why not?" He squinted his eyes and his voice lowered studiously. "I would let her do anything to me."

Sam snorted and coughed at _that_ statement and politely tried to cover over laughter because Dean's face, oh, his _face_. "TMI," the oldest Winchester mumbled, glaring at the flower. And then, apparently he couldn't stand it anymore. "You look _ridiculous,_ " he declared, then snatched the flower off of his friend and tossed it away—he should have tossed it the other way, because Alex reacted like she was playing sports and made a side lunge, caught the flower deftly, and then made to put it in _Dean_ _'_ _s_ hair. All in the span of a second. Dean leaned back fast with his hands up in defense. "Hey! I draw the line at flowers!" he barked.

His sister had a devious sort of smile on her face. "Oh, do you?" she challenged coyly, letting the flower spin between her forefinger and thumb. A positively devious smile twitched on her mouth. "You don't remember summer of ninety-two…?"

Dean was rendered utterly aghast, then quickly irritated. " _No_." The way he said no with so much emphasis gave away the fact that he was full of shit.

Alex said nothing. Just stuck her nose in the flower but it couldn't hide her basically evil smile. Sam, never one to miss much that was written between the lines, was totally amused and it made him look years younger and healthier. "Oh I am gonna need to hear _all_ about _this_ ," he said to his sister, mirth making his voice bright.

Face as flat as a cutting board, Dean shot his brother a look. "No, you're _not_ , now who's ready to hit the road?" He hit the top of the car twice, closing the subject and trying to look tough. "Load up, gang."

Cas was quickly confused and then even mildly panicked when Alex made for the back door of the Impala. "Wait—you're going, too?" he asked, and the clearly panicked tone in his voice made all three Winchesters look at him oddly. Cas fumbled. "Don't you—maybe want to go back to the bunker because of how, um—how you're feeling?"

Alex pulled a pink bottle out of her jacket pocket and showed it to Cas. "Sam got me Pepto Bismol."

Cas stared at the bottle and then made slow, solid eye contact with Alex. He had the _weirdest_ look on his face. "I… don't think that will help." He wet his lips, a nervous gesture he rarely ever used, and moved closer to her, touching a shoulder and appealing to her in concern with supremely worried eyes. "Alex, you need _rest_. Let me take you back there."

It was sweet, but she wasn't about to sit this one out. Alex felt herself smiling at Cas regretfully. "Cas, I _never_ get rest. It goes with the territory."

His look of protest grew. "But Alex—"

"Come on, Cas," Dean complained impatiently. "She can hack it. Not the first time I've had a sick twin scraping by during a case." Cas gave the hunter such a look of reluctance and even slight sass across the top of the car that Dean hesitated and then became incredibly suspicious. "Something you're not telling us?" he asked.

Castiel's eyes darted from Winchester to Winchester until he uncomfortably mumbled, "I just want my wife to be cared for properly."

Dean made a _psh_ sound like Cas was being preposterous. "She's got the three of us." He made a _duh_ face, dismissing the angel's worries with a challenging, "You were saying?"

Disgruntled, Cas heaved a sigh of resignation. " _Fine_. Well…" he squared his shoulders and got his businesslike face on. "I can transport us, at least."

Alex looked surprised and then quickly confused. "Us?"

Cas was inexplicably upset and earnest, like it was the end of the world. "If you're going on a case, then _I_ _'_ _m_ going too," he insisted, looking at her in a riled up, emotional way. Not for the first time, Alex noticed that he was acting strange. She attributed it to his trauma surrounding killing Jane and the stress of the trials, but a small smidgeon of doubt crept in. He had acted sort of like this when he'd been lying to her about the war in Heaven…

"But what about the trials?" Sam asked, raising a very good point. "Aren't you supposed to be doing them right now?"

Cas was still incredibly terse and distressed. "They can wait." He looked at Alex. His expression relaxed and he reached out for her hand and held it gently, calming visibly. "It can all wait," he said, softer that time. A silent question rested in Alex's eyes and promised to be asked later. Cas seemed to understand—and then looked around for a new conversation subject. "Now where exactly _are_ we going, and why?"

Dean and Sam exchanged a dark glance and Sam was the one who spoke up in a grim tone. "Fun story."

* * *

Once he had the full details, Cas was _incredibly_ resistant to the idea of going somewhere that Crowley was trying to lure them to. Before he even considered transporting the Winchesters, he insisted on checking the place for himself and then disappeared without giving a chance for them to protest. He came back a minute later with a grim look on his face and said what he'd found wasn't pleasant but it appeared safe enough—he then asked again if Alex _really_ wanted to go—and then when she said yes, he transported them to the address Crowley had given.

On a dark street, an unremarkable house was sandwiched between a bunch of more unremarkable houses. It was a standard neighborhood and it was quiet, calm, ominously serene. _This_ was where Crowley wanted them to go…? A generic neighborhood that Alex didn't recognize? _Why?_ She opened her mouth to ask Cas which house was the one Crowley had sent them the address of. And then the question was answered before she could even ask.

"Jenny's house," Sam breathed, and he sounded vaguely horrified. Alex looked up at him questioningly. Who was Jenny, exactly? Disturbed and worried, Sam shook his head shallowly. "Someone we saved," he explained softly. He looked at the angel like he already knew the answer to his question. "Cas, is she…?"

The slow, reluctant look on the angel's face said it all. _No_. Sam was immediately visibly grieved. Dean was hard to read. Alex felt confusion and suspicion. If this was a trap, why wasn't Crowley springing it?

"James helped with this case," Dean murmured without warning. A soft, quiet statement uttered to no one in particular. He was looking at the house in the soft morning light, seeing things that only existed in his memories. When he heard himself say that aloud, he was startled and looked around as if to check and see if they'd heard him. They had, and he was the picture of heartbroken embarrassment when he realized that. It was a strange, sad way to see your oldest brother. He was supposed to be invincible. But it was so clear that he just wasn't anymore. He cleared his throat and pretended he was fine and led the way around the back of the house without another word. They broke in and were immediately confronted by a distinct, terrible smell. Like burned meat—but something was really _wrong_ about it—it almost smelled like charred human flesh.

Alex immediately threw her arm up over her face, blocking her nose as the overpowering stench wafted out of the door Dean had just opened. "What is that _smell_?!" she complained with a confounded expression, hanging back from the doorway because she was suddenly not sure about going in at all.

Sam was the first to pinpoint the reason. Flashlight in hand, he moved forward and squinted into the smoky kitchen. He nearly gagged, his sleeve against his mouth and nose. "Jesus, it's _Jenny,_ " he managed through a tight voice as he grimaced against the odor.

Alex drifted closer to the scene of the crime, barely able to breathe. Her eyes stung, but she could start to make out shapes in the darkness under the illuminating sweeps of the flashlights. Cas was nearby, she could feel him standing closely to her. But all she could really pay attention to was what she'd spotted: the still-smoking corpse that was half-shoved into a gaping kitchen oven. It was charred and burned badly, but recognizable as being a female's body.

"What is going _on_ here?" Dean asked. He sounded genuinely staggered and out of answers. Not angry and frustrated—not fiery. Defeated, almost. He had his flashlight up high, trained on Jenny's corpse, and he just stared and stared, obviously at a loss. "What's Crowley _doing_?"

A soft ringing sound sounded just then, muffled within Sam's jacket pocket. Sam dug his phone out quickly and checked the screen. Darkening and tensing, Sam glanced at his brother. "Hey. It's _him_." The word 'him' was enough to send chills down Alex's spine: Crowley.

Immediately, Dean regained his commanding air and looked at Cas and Alex significantly. "Not a word," he ordered hard and low. " _Either_ of you. We don't want him to know you're here."

Cas had already shifted closer to Alex protectively. Alex got the feeling that at the slightest sign of any kind of immediate danger, Cas would whisk her away… and honestly, she was fine with that and as a testament to her very real fear of the King of Hell, her hand unconsciously slid over to clench onto Cas's.

Sam answered his phone and put it on speaker, immediately hostile. "What the hell are you _doing,_ Crowley?" he demanded. His gaze was alert and he was glancing around into every dark corner for any sign of attack.

The King of Hell was as smug and arrogant as ever; his voice completely unmistakable. "Oh, Moosie, isn't it obvious?" he purred. His voice was the stuff of nightmares. _Alex_ _'_ _s_ nightmares. "I'm killing everyone you've ever saved—the damsels in distress, the innocent whippersnappers, the would-be vampire chow— _all_ of them."

All three of the Winchesters were baffled, horrified. Dean looked particularly aghast. "How do you even _know_ —?" he started.

There was a dark chuckle. "How do I even know?" Crowley repeated in an amused tone. " _Well_ , I have many means, of course, but also _might_ have something to do with sister's brain, y'know—had _full access_ to it while she was down under with me. Her memories are my fodder for destruction." Face gone white, blood gone cold, Alex was the picture of absolutely stricken. "Take _that_ pill and swallow it down, why don't you, Mouse." Crowley paused and his wicked smile was audible. "Know you're there," he murmured silkily, making Alex shrink into Cas even further. "Miss you loads. Can't _wait_ to see you again." He chuckled leisurely and Cas's hand tightened around Alex's arm. He said nothing, but he didn't need to. The way his fingers dug into her said it all: he wasn't going to let go. He was going to protect her. And he was very, _very_ angry. Practically bristling. "Anyhoo," Crowley sighed, "When you lot hit a town, you tend to leave a mess. Now, you're probably wondering why my droogs aren't in there giving you the bum's rush, so let's brass these tacks, shall we? I'm gonna gut one person every twelve hours until _you_ bring me the _d_ _emon_ _t_ _ablet_ and stop this whole trials nonsense. You flannel-wearing boyband rejects will _not_ be closing my shop now or _ever,_ are we clear?" He paused and his dangerous tone took on a more smug quality. "Oh, and while we're on demands, I've thought about it and you can keep Papa Winchester, he's a total bore. But the cute one? You'll need to return her to me, her rightful owner. Now, are we clear?"

It was hard to say which male in the room was more absolutely enraged at the demand for Alex—Cas physically swelled (or it seemed that way) and Alex held a hand against his chest as a silent _don_ _'_ _t_. Dean was the one who fired back a reply the fastest. "Yeah how about we keep them both and you shove it up your ass, Crowley?" he snapped.

The King of Hell's voice was dark. "I dislike your _tone_ , Deano."

Dean raised his eyebrows, talking into the phone that Sam still held. "Look, I get that I'm small beans to you, but you really wanna mess with the _angel_ _'_ _s_ girl?" He scoffed, glancing over at Cas, whose expression was basically murderous. "I mean, no offense, but you're kinda asking for the smackdown of a lifetime."

Crowley just made a long, slow sound like _mmm_. "Thrill of the risk, buddy. And come on, she's the best leverage I've ever had the pleasure of…" there was a low, throaty chuckle that dripped with suggestion. "well, I don't like to kiss and tell, gents."

Cas looked like he was about to lunge at the phone, but Dean smacked a hand to the angel's chest and made a hard, fast _calm down_ motion with his other hand.

Sam tried to change the subject. "Look, we don't _have_ the tablet. Kevin took it and—"

"And _I_ took _Kevin_ _,_ " Crowley said thinly—his more jaunty air was dissolving fast and giving way to real anger. "Then someone took him _back_. Word from the cloud is that it wasn't Heaven. So either the cutest little Prophet in the world is with my least favorite family, or you better find him tout-bloody- _suite_ because time, she is _a-wasting_." The demon paused and then spoke again, a bit calmer. "About now, you're thinking of ways to stop me. You won't be able to, but you'll try because that's what you do. You—you try. So, time for an object lesson. Indianapolis, the Ivy Motel, room one-sixteen. You have fifty-seven minutes. Pip pip, cheerio." The line went dead as Crowley hung up.

And then with a tremendous sound and no warning whatsoever, all the glass in the room exploded—the lightbulbs, the microwave door, the glass kitchen table, the china displayed on the shelf above the sink, a vase, a tea kettle. _Everything._ Alex yelped and covered her head while half crouching, Sam and Dean both threw hands up in front of their faces as they flinched. As the millions of pieces of glass settled on the floor, everyone looked at Cas, who had a gaunt, severe look on his face. His fists were white at his sides, his breathing was agitated, and he looked ready to kill. "I'm sorry for that," he said darkly, tremblingly. "But I am _very_ angry."

Sometimes, you forgot how powerful he was and how much you did _not_ want to get on his bad side. "Yeah, no—uh—got it." Sam said weakly, obviously surprised and a little awed.

"What'd lightbulbs ever do to you?" Dean joked faintly.

The question was ignored. "Mark my words, he'll _pay._ " Castiel looked at Alex in a dreadful severity—the sick, scared look on her face wasn't something she could hide, and everyone saw it, but Cas spoke to it and told her point blank: "And furthermore, he'll never _touch_ you again. I will be _dead_ before that happens." Unable to find her voice, Alex just nodded, although in the back of her mind, she was scared to death of the King of Hell.

"Yeah but—what do we do?" Dean asked in mild panic as he gestured back toward the oven where Jenny was dead and _how_. "He's gunning down innocent _people_!"

Cas clenched his jaw and set his gaze on Jenny. "First what we do is _this_." He went over and pulled her out of the oven and crouching, put a hand to what was her forehead. With a touch, a glow of light, and a hum of sound, she resembled herself again—a young and pretty blonde woman who appeared to be asleep. The charring and burning was gone. She was completely restored.

All three Winchesters regarded Castiel with complete and utter awe.

"Did you just…?" Alex breathed.

Sam hurried into action and helped settle a sleeping Jenny against the cabinets next to her still-smoking oven. Cas nodded vaguely at Alex—but he did not look relieved or growingly overjoyed like everyone else in the room. "She'll rest," the angel intoned deeply. "Someone should probably call the authorities; she'll be quite upset when she wakes up." He looked around the room with a strange, weighted gaze. "What a terrible world we live in."

Dean watched as Cas stood up. "So, you can still… raise people from the dead," he said quietly, then cracked a nervous grin. "Sure your name isn't Christ-iel?" At the look he got for that one, he pinched his expression once again. "Nevermind." He jerked his head toward the back door. "We gotta get over to the Ivy Motel, _now_." He'd meant that they needed to go get the car and then squeal tires that way—but without a moment's notice, the scenery changed after a brief dizzy feeling and suddenly they were inside the Ivy Motel—a long hallway with numbered doors. A little disconcerted, Dean looked at Cas, who was the culprit behind the instant transfer. Blinking once, Dean fished for a reaction. "Well that was… anti climactic."

Genuinely confused, Cas studied Dean briefly. "You said we had to get here 'now.'" Cas said, using air quotes around the word now and looking at the hunter questioningly. "Isn't now, um… _now_?"

Surprising everyone, Dean gave his sister an unamused look. " _You_ married a dork." And without giving anyone a chance to comment or reflect on the fact that Dean had just acknowledged and affirmed something he'd fought against in the past, he looked at the door in front of them: hotel room number 116. "Wonder who's in there," he muttered.

Sam shook his head grimly and stepped forward. "Only one way to find out." He knocked on the door firmly and they waited. The door opened a few seconds later to reveal a familiar face: a beautiful young woman with hair like mahogany and bright, intelligent eyes. Sam was the most surprised to see her, though. "Sarah…!" he exclaimed softly, his jaw dropping open.

Sarah Blake recognized him, too, then Dean and Alex. They hadn't seen this girl in years—she'd been along with them for a job back when Sam had just rejoined the family. She and Sam had shared quite the little romance, too. And Sarah, being a very smart and keen young woman, saw the three of them and a stern stranger in a trench coat and immediately, she got worried. " _Sam_? W-what's going on?" Her eyes flickered back over the other two Winchesters briefly and then rested on Cas for a couple beats more before she looked at Sam.

"Uh…" Sam managed, obviously overwhelmed.

Dean smacked his brother on the arm. "Hey—you catch her up on what's happening. Be right back." He looked at the angel. "Cas, can we go get my car? Need some gear. _Now._ "

Cas nodded. "Of course."

They were ported without warning—Dean, Alex, and Cas—to the Impala, where it was still outside of their motel room.

"We'll need to demon-be-gone that entire place," Dean said to his sister—he was in the zone, focused and no-nonsense. "Get the stuff outta the back, will you?" He popped the trunk from the driver's seat for her and then began to rummage under his seat. In a familiar drill as old as they were, Alex began to gather stuff from the trunk.

Cas stood back and watched either Winchester in turn. "I take it you know this girl Sarah," he said after a moment.

"Yeah and Sam knows her _real_ well," Dean said.

At the other man's deliberate tone, Cas hesitated as he tried to deduce the meaning. "You mean… sexually," he ventured.

Dean snorted and stood straight then clapped the angel on the shoulder. "I love how subtle you are, buddy," he said wryly. He frowned when he saw Alex standing at the trunk doing nothing with a weird look on her face. "You okay back there?"

She glanced his way and tried to knock the look off her face. "Still feeling crappy," she said, then got back to plucking items out of the trunk.

Cas looked particularly strained and worried. He approached Alex and tried appealing to her again. "Let me take you back to the bunker," he asked, his tone approaching a begging quality. " _Please_. Where you can rest and, um—we can—" he lowered his voice, seemingly trying to convey some important sentiment, "be alone together." Alex's eyebrows moved in toward each other faintly in a silent question. Cas silently prompted her with an earnest look. Alex grew a little perturbed because she was confused and tired of being confused.

With mild disgust, Dean let out a short huff of air as he mistook the exchange for something else. "My god, you two are something else _._ "

Cas withered. "I didn't mean—" he started, then must have decided it was a waste of time trying to convince Dean otherwise. He shot the hunter a look of brief annoyance before he turned his attention back to the youngest Winchester. His face became pinched and pulled in concern. "Alex, you're not feeling well," he reasoned. "Shouldn't you, uh… 'sit this one out'?" He looked like he wanted to beg her to do exactly that.

She shook her head firmly even though she appeared queasy. Her irritation was growing. With everything _ever_. "No, I'm _fine_." She'd managed her life mind-over-matter so good so far. A little virus or whatever wasn't gonna stand in her way. She rummaged around in the trunk, ignoring her general feeling of illness as she looked for the spray paint. When she didn't find it, she straightened and looked to Dean, who was currently getting stuff out of the back seat of the car. She was incredibly grumpy. "You got the spray paint up there or is it—" he turned and deftly chucked a can at her out of nowhere, catching her off guard completely and prompting her to yelp, " _Hey_!" as she barely managed to catch it. "Well don't _throw_ it at me!" she snapped.

Dean gave her one of those superior, jaunty looks. "Why? You know how to catch." His expression turned lecturing. "But you're getting outta practice. I was doing you a favor."

Annoyed, Alex rolled her eyes and glowered at her brother. Cas looked from her to Dean and decided to speak up for her. "Please don't throw things at my wife," he said, then at the challenging look he got, Cas sighed briefly. "Your sister." He got a look from _Alex_ for that one and Cas tried the most neutral noun. "At her."

With a face on like he was setting the record straight, Dean pointed at Cas. "I get to throw things," he said authoritatively. "Because she was my sister _way_ before she was your—" he stopped and he sighed. " _Wife_."

Alex gave him a look.

"He started it!" Dean accused defensively.

There was some hesitation on the angel's part and a deep squint. "…I'm fairly certain I did no such thing." Dean gave the angel a look that said otherwise. Cas was grave. "And I still really don't want you to throw things at her."

Alex sighed and put a hand to her forehead as her annoyance gave way to fatigue. "My head hurts."

"They make pills for that," Dean retorted, then picked up the bag of stuff Alex had thrown together in the back then swung it over his shoulder. "Okay, Cas. Think we're ready."

"Nope," Alex said, then nodded at their hotel room and started that way. "I need to use the bathroom."

"Make it snappy," Dean said, impatient and tense. He shook his head, leaned against the car, and let his duffel bag drop to the ground. "Spent half my life waiting for that kid or the other one," he muttered, crossing his arms and looking around. The sun was rising now, casting a pleasant, dim glow over the parking lot. Cas stood there for a moment, watching Alex disappear into the motel room, then he joined Dean in leaning against the car. Cas's studious gaze didn't leave the motel. For a minute, the men were quiet. Then Dean huffed and looked at his friend sidelong. "How you doin', Cas?" he asked, but it wasn't gentle or thoughtful. It was nearly demanding.

The angel looked positively startled and even alarmed—like the question was something he didn't know how to answer. "I'm…" he blinked a couple times and his eyes skirted Dean's. "I'm good. But, um, anxious. About… uh, everything." He cleared his throat and then set his friend with a stern, interested frown. "And you? How are you faring?"

There was a short, humorless laughing sound. "I don't know. I never know." Dean stared off into the parking lot sightlessly with a hard look on his face for a long moment before he really answered. "I'm tired, I know that much." He paused and his mask of a face softened with worry. "And I don't like what these trials are doing to Sam." His face continued to grow more open and emotional. His eyes glanced tellingly toward the motel room. "I worry about _her,_ " he said, voice soft and incredibly vulnerable all of the sudden. "The Hell stuff, you know?" The men shared a similarly weighted gaze and Dean shook his head, his voice tightened. "I mean, I know what they did to me. What would they do to a _woman_?" He let out a tense breath and shook his head yet again, looking down at the ground with a certain kind of wretched expression. "Can't do a damn thing about it now. Kills me." His expression twisted. "And I got another one down there right now." _Jamie_. Cas nodded somberly as Dean's face wrenched. "And I can't get to her. How am I supposed to be _okay_ with that?" He looked at Cas finally. " _Ever_? We were… we were gonna have a _kid_." He said that and his voice bore witness to how incredibly invested he'd been in that idea. With another soft, cynical little laugh Dean looked up at the sky and searched it with pained, exhausted eyes. "My dad's in a coma, Crowley's breathing down my neck, my brother and sister are both sick as dogs, I haven't slept good in, uh, _ever_ —" he plastered a thin, sarcastic smile across his face. "So yeah I'm good, Cas. I'm freakin' _great._ "

Cas was quiet for a long moment, then he gingerly offered a promise. "Well, whatever things you face… good and bad…" Dean looked at Cas at that point and then angel was incredibly earnest and grim. "I'm here with you."

If someone else had been there, Dean might have made some brutish, heteronormative comment about how sappy or gay that declaration was. But without someone who he had to prove his toughness to, Dean just nodded and took a minute, softening. "Same, man." A look passed between them that remembered Purgatory, brotherhood, and fighting side by side. "Glad you're along for this one honestly," Dean admitted, then cast his distracted, tense gaze off into the distance. "Like old times, huh?"

In the land of monsters when they'd had each other's back. "Like old times," was the angel's somber reply.

Another short silence and Dean looked at Cas studiously. "She talk to you? She okay? I don't think she tells me everything anymore. Or if she tells _anyone_ everything anymore."

Cas's expression softened a little. "We tell each other everything," he said, and a strange, hopeful, fond look passed across his face and Cas drew in a deep breath and looked at Dean with all certainty. "She's going to make it through this, Dean. Through everything. I'm going to make sure of it. Things will… they'll change."

Dean contemplated his friend's words—something about them caught his attention. "Change how?" he asked.

Cas looked vaguely caught and wet his lips slowly, hesitant to reply. Then the motel room door opened and Alex emerged and rejoined the guys at the Impala. Dean gave Cas one more glance then decided it was nothing. "Alex," she announced as she reached them, then was surprised when Dean straightened from the car and hugged her with one arm and rubbed her back briefly. She gave him a suspicious, weird look, like she was waiting for the punchline. "What was that for?"

Dean made a face. "What, I gotta have a reason to hug my sister?" he asked. " _Lame_." He pointed at Cas and then jerked a thumb over his shoulder, indicating that it was go time. "All right, Cas. _Vamanos_."


	132. Great Expectations

" _When nightmares come, keep you awake. Well close your eyes, I'll take the weight."  
_ _-_ Foy Vance

* * *

Her eyes were closed. Alex breathed out softly, her exhale being the only sound in the world for that brief moment. Her head hurt, her stomach hurt. Her body felt strange to her in that moment.

She was incredibly tired.

From being dragged back to Earth from Hell just days ago.

From not sleeping thanks to the nightmares of darkness, fire, and eternal damnation.

From everything surrounding their efforts to complete the trials from the Demon Tablet.

From the current fiasco of Cas's work to close Heaven with Metatron's help.

From Crowley's latest round of bullshit.

She breathed in again, steadying herself.

"Al."

Her eyes came open at the sound of Dean's quiet prompting voice, and she was transported from her thoughts to reality. They stood in a hotel room: Alex, Dean, Sam, and Castiel. Sitting on the hotel bed was a female with a pretty face from years and years ago. Sarah Blake, who had only known Alex as a mute little sister to Sam and Dean. Dean, who had been much younger and more free-spirited back in the day when they had saved Sarah from a cursed painting. Sam, who had apparently been Sarah's type.

"You good?" Dean asked his sister lowly so as to not disturb the conversation Sam and Sarah were currently having. She nodded, and refocused. "Here," he said, giving her exactly a half second to catch what he was already throwing.

As Dean tossed his sister a shotgun and she double checked it, Sam continued to address Sarah intensely. "Okay so look, we're gonna put Devil's Traps everywhere—the windows, the door. We've got holy water, an exorcism ready to play on a loop, a freaking _angel_ ready to go… and anything that comes through that door—it's meat." Despite being incredibly ill from the trials, Sam was resolute and sensitive to Sarah's fear.

This was not what Alex had expected in terms of things that were likely to happen. Life was currently a disaster (as usual) but now Crowley, gunning for people they had saved in the past? What was his angle? It would become apparent soon enough, she figured.

Sam was still talking as Alex picked up a red spraypaint can and shook it sharply, the ball-bearing rattling inside the cannister noisily. "Look, I know this is insane, but you know us. Insane is kind of what we do. We'll keep you safe."

 _Sssssss._ The can hissed and a large demon ward began to take shape in bright cherry red. A symbol Alex had drawn more times than she could count.

"Okay," Sarah finally said softly.

Sam was obviously surprised. "Okay? That's it?"

"I mean… you've done it before, right?" she asked, then sighed hard. "I could _really_ use a drink though."

Always the man with the alcohol, Dean came through with a can of beer. "Catch."

"Thanks, Dean."

Alex coughed a little against the strong smell of paint, taking a break to shake the can another time. Nearby, Cas was watching her with a worried look. "The fumes are very bad for you," Castiel insisted. "Is there something else you could do?"

Alex looked at him skeptically. "Yeah, lemme go whip up a batch of grandma's brownies."

Dean was bordering on disapproval, and also grabbing a can of spraypaint. "Since when are you such a buzzkill, man? Let her do her thing."

Castiel was prim and surly and he took the spraypaint from Alex while basically glaring at Dean. "I know more symbols, wards, talismans, and sigils than any of you could ever possibly even comprehend, much less memorize."

" _There_ he is," Dean grumbled, rolling his eyes. "Everyone's favorite _nerd_." He put his hands on his hips and gave the angel a glib look. "Then why don't you get to it and join us for art class if you're such a pro, eh?" Alex was already grabbing another can, much to Cas's vexation.

Sam cleared his throat apologetically and gave a slight laugh to try and ease the tension. "Sorry," he said to Sarah while forcing lightness. "They're _lots_ of fun to be around, clearly."

Sarah laughed uncomfortably. "Yeah," she said, obviously not in the best mood. Who would be when you learned a demon was apparently on their way to kill you? And, with a bunch of near-strangers in your room with you? They'd only just come in and invaded her space about two minutes ago, with enough time for some hellos, Sarah to be wowed by Alex's ability to speak, curious about the angel, and Sam giving her the rundown of what was happening. Sarah in turn had let them know she was only in town for a brief time to do some sort of real estate thing with her dad.

Sam's gaze dropped to her fidgeting hands where a wedding ring set gleamed. His eyebrows popped up. "That's new."

Sarah touched the rings self-consciously, fidgeting with them as she looked at the sparkling diamond solitaire. A small smile showed on her face. "Oh. Um, yeah… his name is Ian. He works search and rescue." There was a light self-conscious laugh and a semi-chagrinned dart of the eyes at Sam. "Guess I have a type." The hero, the rescuer. Sam smiled too, bittersweet. She paused and studied her ring again. "Our daughter, Bess—she'll be one in a month."

Sam's surprise was visible. He immediately attempted to cover it up with positivity. "That's, uh, great," he said, forcing out enthusiasm in the face of what appeared to be a blow to his own ego, or perhaps a moment where he realized he could have been the man married to this woman if things had played out differently. "I mean it. I'm really, uh... I'm really happy for you."

Sarah smiled, genuinely touched by his words. "Thanks, Sam." There was a brief pause in which Sam looked off into distance unseeingly, his expression quietly pained. He looked gaunt and sallow due to the effects of the demon tablet trials. Sarah studied him. "What about you?"

His eyebrows rose faintly and he looked at her questioningly. "…Me?" There was a brief humorless chuckle that served to fill what would have otherwise been an awkward silence. Sam shrugged his shoulders shallowly, his eyes dodging anyone's gaze. "Pretty much the same, I guess."

Sarah studied him with quiet, keen eyes. "No, you're not," she said after a short, quiet beat. Sam looked at her with pained eyes and she shook her head. "You're _not_ the same." She glanced around the room, eyes briefly catching on the other two Winchesters. "None of you are." Those words, easily spoken and lightly said, had more impact and truth to them than she knew. Dean and Alex exchanged a brief, weighted glance, both looking toward Sam in the same second afterward to see he was already looking at them, too. They weren't the same. Not at all.

Sarah felt awkward, and looked back at Sam and clearly felt a lot and empathized for him. "Look, it's been years, and I can't even imagine the things you've been through since I last saw you." There was a shrewd pause. "But I can tell it's been hell and a half. And… I can see you really grew up."

"Had to," Sam said, trying to muscle through obvious pain and put on a steadfast exterior.

Sarah smiled sadly, maybe wishing she hadn't said what she had. She tried for comedy instead. "I really miss the old haircut. Did you forget how to call the barber?"

Sam laughed softly and looked down.

"It's ridiculous, isn't it?" Alex asked from nearby. When she got a skeptical, tired, half-amused look from her twin, she feigned defensiveness. "What? Pretty soon it's gonna be long enough to put in braids."

"I think it _is_ long enough to braid," Sarah said, and gave Alex a pointed, playful look. "You should get on that."

Alex managed a little smile and a, "you got it."

"Count me in for painting his nails," Dean added sarcastically.

Sarah was chuckling, her eyes crinkling up a little bit. "You three. I was wrong. Haven't changed a bit, have you?"

There was a quietness that settled over the room and all three Winchesters were sobered by the honest truth that they all knew in that moment. They _had_ changed. In more ways imaginable. In every way possible, maybe. They had been just re-establishing their dynamic of three when they met Sarah about eight years ago. Sam had been newly back in the hunting world. They had still been looking for their Dad. Alex had been mute. Things had been simpler—they had been so much more innocent at the time, as strange as that might sound. Now, they had all three been to Hell and back. They had lived through the Apocalypse, through pains and losses so big they had almost broken apart completely. Often, it felt like that was inevitable; they eventually, it would all be too much and they wouldn't be able to carry it anymore.

* * *

Crowley of course made good on his promise to kill Sarah—he had done so through a magical strangulation spell, therefore doing the deed from far away without even making an appearance. But what he _hadn't_ known was that Castiel was present. The angel immediately resurrected the terrified woman from the dead. Shaken up completely by the close call, the Winchesters agreed the best idea was for Sarah to go disappear for awhile, stay gone, and hope that Crowley didn't realize he had been thwarted once more. Sarah was understandably upset, but Castiel promised he would check on her, and check on her child too, then spirited her away to an unknown location to hide her. When he came back to the Winchesters, he took them all back to the Bunker.

They were one second in Sarah's hotel room, and then the next in the main area lower level of the Bunker, where three stories of metal stairs spiraled up and down to the various levels, with the large long table being centered below the grand staircase.

Even as the Winchesters were shaking off the slightly woozy feeling of being angel-zapped across creation and setting down all of their gear, Cas let them know he was already making plans to leave again. "Listen everyone, I have to go find Metatron—he's been summoning me nonstop." He looked grim. "I think it's time for the next trial."

"Already?" Sam asked in faint surprise, because Cas had apparently completed the first trial just last night.

The angel gave a tense nod, glancing at all three of them in turn, lingering longest on Alex. "I'll be as quick as possible. You'll three be safe here."

Alex wordlessly went to him, pulling him with her gently into an adjacent doorway to where they spoke quietly out of earshot.

Dean crossed his arms and leaned against the wall he was next to, sending his brother a glance. "Never a dull moment around here." Sam was feebly sitting himself into a chair at the table, the mere act of standing currently too much for him. He could feel his brother's concerned gaze and he tried not to pay attention. Then came the question. "Sam, you okay?"

Sam didn't know how to respond, it was almost funny because he obviously was a thousand miles from 'okay.' He gave a puny little laugh. " _Peachy_."

Dean looked at his brother a few beats longer, then said nothing more, watched Cas and Alex instead. They were hugging now. Dean shook his head, the faintest little fond and also annoyed smile on his lips. "Look at those two idiots." He came to sit down at the table beside Sam.

There was a faint smile on Sam's haggard face too. "I am," he returned quietly. Amidst all this chaos, it was oddly comforting to see his sister doing okay and being loved. He swallowed, feeling vaguely sick as he thought of how he suspected he might die soon from these trials. He felt like he was living his last days. His voice was faint: "I'm just glad she gets to be happy."

Knowing nothing of his brother's morbid thoughts, Dean's small bubble was burst and he became more uncomfortable and wary. "Yeah well question is, does it last?" He gave Sam a very heavy look. "Track record says no."

Sam took a second to consider his brother's words, then shook his head no, trying to be optimistic, even though he was so exhausted that summoning the effort was close to impossible. But he had to hold out hope for something. And if he closed the Hellgates, he believed the people he loved would have a better life. That would mean that finally, _finally_ he could make things right for once and for all. "True enough. But, a track record doesn't have to be the predictor of the future."

Dean snorted. "Okay Doctor Phil."

Sam gave him a sideways smirk. "I know you like that show."

There was an immediate indignant reaction. "Shut up, man, I only watch it if nothing else's on."

Sam's mouth twitched. "Uh _huh_."

There was companionable silence for a few seconds, as they watched Cas disappear after a nod in their direction and a squeeze of Alex's hands.

Their sister came over to them afterward, sighing tiredly as she rubbed the back of her head, leaving frizz behind in her hair. "So. What next?" she asked, sitting down across from them. She propped her elbow on the table, one foot on the chair she sat in. The way a teenager might sit.

Dean's semi-good mood was gone, and he shrugged. "We stop the trials."

While both of the twins reacted visibly at the same time, it was Sam who immediately reacted. "Are you _serious_? Give Crowley what he _wants_?"

There was a silent challenge to not push the envelope in Dean's reply. "Yeah."

Confused more than angry, Alex regarded him oddly. "Since when do we let a terrorist run the show?"

Sam didn't give his brother a chance to reply. "We're not giving Crowley _shit._ We stick to the plan. We shut down Hell, and _fast."_

If Sam was determined, Dean was apparently even more so, throwing a hand up in a 'stop' motion as he became more aggravated with the conversation. "Whoa whoa whoa—wait a minute—okay look, are you _nuts_?" He threw his arm out and his voice raised in both pitch and volume, finally appearing to have some feelings. "Crowley's gonna keep _killing_ people we saved if we try that shit! He said so!"

"Which is why we have to be _fast,_ " Sam argued back immediately, stabbing one of his fingers down onto the table for effect. "So more people don't _die._ "

" _No one_ has to die!" Dean protested. "This could end now!"

Sam, who had given so much to the trials thus far, was taking it personally. "We're _this_ close, why the hell would we stop now?"

"Oh gee I dunno, maybe because of what just happened to Sarah, what happened to Jenny, what happened to Tommy?" Dean held up a defensive finger briefly, intercepting what he knew would be the next argument. " _Yeah_ , Cas fixed some of it, but how many times can he do that?"

There was a brief silence, where Sam regarded Dean with an expression like betrayal and hurt. Alex, however, looked more cryptic, looking for the motivation behind her oldest brother's attitude. "I think you have a reason to keep Hell open," she finally said softly, saying more than those words with that statement. And in a rare instance, Dean said nothing to the accusation. Didn't even make eye contact with his sister.

Sam's anger faded, as his empathetic nature guided him. They all knew that Jamie would be trapped in Hell forever when they shut the doors. Sam drew in a heavy breath and let it out gustily, a sound that betrayed how tired he was. "I _am_ sorry she's there Dean… I am." Dean was unreadable as Sam continued. "But this has to happen. _Has to_." Sam wet his lips, leaning forward over the table intently. "Look. If we can get ahead of Crowley and figure out how to cure a demon, this is all over and we don't ever have to worry about him touching _anyone_ ever again. So, what we do is we get a demon—"

"Sam, you heard Crowley!" Dean insisted, voice rising in pitch and desperation. "He's not gonna let one _near_ us, and without a demon, all we can do is sit back and watch people we know, people we saved, _die!_ " He sat back far in his chair, miming a surrender with his hands like he was some kind of victim. "I'm just trying to be reasonable here dude!"

" _So am I!_ " Sam insisted, his passion never wavering. "This is _closing_ fucking _Hell—_ you can bet your ass it won't be easy!" Sam stared at his brother hard. "The trials so far, the work we've put in, the stuff _I've_ done—we're so _close_." He was pleading at this point. "We can _find_ a demon, I mean, have you met us?" He suddenly got an idea. "What about Meg?"

Dean was already shaking his head no. "She's not picking up her _phone_." He was clearly ready to give up. "We're S-O-L, man."

The brothers fell into stormy silence. Alex, watchfully gave the silence a beat and then looked at Dean. "So what are you saying?" She questioned. "We're laying down and taking it from Crowley?"

Disliking how he was being ganged up on and all the implications being made, Dean shoved himself out of his chair and stood, pacing up to the head of the table. Maybe in a subtle bid to exert his power. "I'm saying... maybe this isn't one we can win," he said, and there was genuine defeat there. Genuine sadness and grief. "That maybe we should just take the deal and save the lives we can. Stop trying to get impossible, unrealistic shit done."

There was another short silence. "Who else will if we won't?" Sam asked in a hurt, quiet voice.

Dean's jaw clenched. He looked lost, and his gaze fell. "Not my problem."

The twins looked at each other, silently communicating for the briefest of seconds.

"Fine," Sam said, but his voice sounded a little choked. "I guess… I guess we'll do this without you." _That_ got Dean's attention. He didn't even seem to have considered that a possibility at all. And he was shocked into silence. "But for what it's worth," Sam added, "I'd rather have you with us on this."

Dean let out a huge, disgusted, exhausted breath and pinched the bridge of his nose briefly before chopping his hand through the air. "Look, you two just aren't getting it."

"No, _you're_ not getting it," Sam fired back, finally standing up to his full height authoritatively. His chest heaved with the way he was breathing, and his voice was loud. "I'm closing Hell, Dean. Like it or not." He took a couple seconds to breathe hard, in which he became more tired, more pleading. "I need you on this. _Please_. I don't want anyone else to die. Of course I don't. Dean… this is maybe the biggest thing to ever happen in the history of the world besides the Apocalypse. We can't just walk away. This is an _us_ thing." He indicated all three of them. "We gotta follow through, man." He wet his lips again, suddenly appearing younger and frailer somehow at the same time. "This is our grand finale. I can feel it, Dean. After this… things get better." His voice broke and weakened. "They _have_ to."

Dean struggled in silence for a minute, but he was finally considering. "I don't know, guys. If the people we saved die or get hurt, if we don't pull this off… it's like everything we did, all the sacrifices… like it was for nothing." He sounded broken up about it, and just as scared as Sam was. "I can't let that happen."

"It won't." Alex said, standing up as well. "If we do this together, strength in numbers, right?" Dean didn't look entirely convinced. Alex tried again. "And I think I know how to get a demon for you to cure."

The brothers both looked her way with equal shares of cautious hope and wariness. "…How?" Sam asked slowly.

"Easy. He'll play right into our hands."

Dean didn't look happy. "…Are you talking about _Crowley_?"

"He's so up his own ass, he won't see it coming." Alex said. Her time in Hell replayed in her mind and despite everything, she felt a little smile on her face. "He thinks he has us right now," she said, picturing wiping that smirk off of his smarmy face permanently. "After everything he's done to this family, I think it's time to settle the score a little, don't you?"

Dean hesitated. "Can't say I _don't_ agree… but he's not some crossroads punk anymore. We don't have a way to keep him 'got' even if we _can_ get a face-to-face meeting."

His sister began smiling an almost mischievous smile. "Wrong on both counts, big brother." Getting the meeting would be easy, and she had found quite the item just a day or so ago. "Cas and I were exploring the bunker the other day and we found this dungeon thing—"

"A _what_?" Sam interrupted with a dropped jaw.

"A _dungeon_ ," she repeated, semi-enjoying her brothers astonishment and the fact that they hadn't found it first. "Complete with these special-edition demonic handcuff things. They might be just what the doctor ordered."

The brothers glanced at each other, then Dean nodded, deciding in that moment—fuck it—to be on board. They were the Winchesters. He didn't have much of a choice at this point. Best thing to do was just do the damn thing. "Show it to us."

* * *

**A Few Hours Later**

A solitary little white, weathered church stood somberly in a wide open bleak landscape, by all appearances long abandoned. Nothing else was near it in the way of civilization—a quiet lake hugged close to the back of the church, and mountains rolled in the distance skimmed by foggy cloying clouds. The air was chilly and damp.

On the stoop of the church against the massive wooden door, a young woman had been sitting cross-armed, waiting in anxious impatience and exhaustion to hear from her brothers. She had done her part of warding the place and putting the devil's trap in place then setting up the chain system to anchor their special guest in place, just like Sam had asked. But as she sat there waiting, exhaustion had won the battle, and she nodded off, slumping against the doorframe she sat in. That's when the nightmares began—the kind that held her in an impossible, tight grip. She only whimpered a soft little sound of protest at first. Then her head jerked slightly as her features began to tense. The nightmares had taken over, terrorizing her mentally and holding her captive to a sleep destroyed by horrors.

And then, a man in a trench coat appeared and immediately crouched and took hold of her, supporting her lolling head and steadying her shaking body. "Alex, _Alex_!" he said in a rough, urgent voice. Her eyes snapped open wildly and her hands shot out to clutch him as she gasped.

Disoriented, panting like she'd just run several miles, she held on tight, her eyes focusing as her pupils adjusted to the light. "Did I… I fall asleep?" she asked, looking around in sleep-dazed confusion.

"Yes, and this is hardly the right place for it," Cas said in an almost rude voice. He peppered her with questions. "Why are you alone? What is this place? Where are Sam and Dean? Why wasn't I made aware of whatever this is you're doing? You were supposed to be at the bunker!"

Alex's confusion quickly began to fade to surliness and she pushed at him. "Hey, chill out on the twenty questions," she said, letting go, standing up, and brushing herself off. "They wouldn't let me be there with them when they trapped Crowley."

Castiel internally and visibly flipped his shit. " _What_?!" He looked like he was going to launch into outer space. "You're attempting—they're attempting to trap _Crowley_ without me?!"

"Well you were busy and we just thought—"

"Thought you should attempt to capture the King of _Hell_ without me there?!" Cas's voice dropped lower and his jaw clenched as he looked into the distance. "Those _fools."_

Alex looked him up and down, mildly suspicious of his odd behavior and annoyed at his attitude. "Bad day at the office?"

"What office?" he returned in classic Cas fashion.

"The _trials_. Metatron?"

He blinked, then shook his head. "No. Nothing new there yet," he said, but something was very, very off about him. The way he was looking at her wasn't normal. And Alex became more and more afraid that he had more secrets. More lies. He had promised to never mislead her ever again, but he had been acting so bizarrely the past few days, that and he'd been trying to tell her something earlier that had seemed really important. 

"Okay... so what's going on with you?" she asked, but it wasn't in an unkind way. More fearful than anything else.

"I, uh—I don't know what you mean," he said, obviously trying to act normal. Which made her even more suspicious. "Everything is fine." He thought about it a second. "Well. As fine as it can be, given the circumstances."

"...Is this about what you had to do last night?" she ventured, because he had been so upset about having to kill Jane, the Nephilim creature.

"No, it's…" and he trailed off, looking like he was debating himself in his head, trying to figure out how to tell her something.

He looked guilty to her. He was definitely hiding something. She recognized the signs by now. Alex's heart began to sink and her mind prepared her for the utter worst case scenario. "Cas… if you're doing something you shouldn't be again, tell me. _Please_."

He hesitated, then turned away a little bit, the picture of reluctant and conflicted. Off in his own distracted little world, he shook his head and his eyes scanned the ground tensely. "No, it's not that. It's…" he trailed off again and then looked into her eyes with an unreadable and intense expression.

"Are you working with him again?" she asked, working hard to keep her voice steady. She made it clear who she meant when he appeared startled at the question. "Crowley?"

Shock showed in the angel's fiercely blue eyes. "What? _No_!" He exclaimed, appearing deeply hurt. "How could you _think_ that?" As soon as he asked, he visibly regretted the question. They both knew how she could. He grew quieter and subdued. "Don't answer that."

Fair enough. But Alex needed answers. "Well then what?" She waited, heart hammering sickeningly. She couldn't take this anymore. "What?" she pressed, and he dodged her eyes, making her even more insistent. "Cas, _what_?"

Cas took in a deep, heavy breath, and Alex remained convinced that terrible news was coming. "I suppose there will never be a time that feels exactly right…" he said softly, almost to himself.

Alex shook her head, her stomach sick with dread as her mouth began to feel like cotton. "What are you _talking_ about?" she pleaded, doing her very best not to show how upset she was. Hoping and praying it wasn't something horrible because she couldn't take much more bad news right now.

Castiel gently took hold of her forearms. "I need to tell you something very important," he said. "And I think we should sit down."

That made her even more terrified, and her skin prickled all over. It _was_ something bad. "No. No way," she said, standing there with her arms crossed as he continued to hold either arm gently. She steeled herself for a thousand horrible things he might be able to say. "What it is?"

He hesitated again, taking in deep breaths like he was steeling himself too. "I want you to know how much I love you. And that I am never going to leave you alone in this."

The hell did he mean by that? Her voice was a mere whisper as her heart hammered against her ribcage. "Cas… you're freaking me out."

Cas hesitated, unsure of where to begin. "I found something out recently." He wet his lips nervously. "About you. About something happening to you, I suppose you could say."

Her heart was racing with the possibilities, plunging her into paranoid horror. The sickness, the nonstop appetite, her feelings of being emotionally bonkers all came to mind—she had known something wasn't right with her since coming back from Hell, but realizing he knew what, specifically, froze her with fear. She waited breathlessly and when he didn't say, she lost patience. "What? What's happening to me? Tell me Cas!"

He looked mildly afraid. "Y-you're…" he faltered, then tried again. "We—"

And then he gave up on words, and one of his hands trailed from where it gently held a forearm, to rest against her stomach. For a second, Alex didn't get it, and looked down at his hand like _what?_ She looked back up at him, then thinking maybe he was going to angel-magic her nausea away. But he held her gaze in such a way, while keeping his hand there, then moved his thumb ever so softly… and then she understood. Suddenly all the air in the world was gone, and her blood drained out of her face and limbs, making her feel a shock of ice. _Oh no. Oh no._ It all made sense: the past couple days of feeling sick, her wild emotions, the strange cravings. And her folded arms slowly began to drop. Alex could barely speak except to manage a barely whispered, " _Oh my god._ " 

Cas nodded tentatively, his expression tender and worried and happy and cautious all at once. "Just a few days along now," he said hesitantly.

"A few days along now," she echoed dumbly in a woolen tone. But... all these symptoms so soon like that? Too shocked to even know how to react, Alex's mind tripped over itself, trying to make sense of what she was being told. "T-the soul touch?" she asked in a stunned whisper, her hand drifting up to brush over Cas's. 

"The soul touch," he confirmed, appearing to feel a little awkward, and Alex gaped at him. He continued, floundering slightly. "I didn't mean to, and I didn't realize, but—you and I—we—" Cas stopped, shut his mouth, swallowed. He looked afraid now, too. "Say something," he implored, almost a whisper.

And it was suddenly too much. Alex felt like she was going to pass out on the spot from the racing thoughts galavanting through her head. She stepped away from him, away from his hand on his stomach, almost pushing him. "Stop kidding around!" She accused, even though it was clear he wasn't. "This can't happen right now!" Her voice was rising, her blood sugar was dropping, horrible adrenaline was coursing through her alarmed veins.

"Alex—"

"Castiel, tell me I'm not fucking _pregnant_!" she almost yelled. And there was a long silence between them. Far away somewhere, a crow let out a lonely ' _caw, caw_.'

Castiel looked at her with a very stung sort of expression that made everything even worse. "Well I suppose could tell you that, but… that would be a lie."

 _Shit._ She stood there breathing erratically in alarm. For a long moment, she felt the cold hollow breeze playing with her hair and skimming her cold skin. She tried to picture it and just couldn't. Her, as a mother? In this terrible, fucked up world? And babies might as well have been aliens to her: she knew zero about them except that they cried all the time. Her eyes began to sting with fearful tears and she finally found the ability to look into Castiel's crystal blue eyes. "I'm—I'm not _ready,_ " she managed to choke out. "I can barely take care of myself, how am I supposed to—a—a _baby_?"

He was gentle, understanding, and came a little closer. "You won't be alone," he assured tenderly, and even though he was clearly nervous and intimidated, he offered her his thoughts. "We can get books and, and—I think there are even classes of some kind. We can learn." Silence. Alex didn't know how to process it. She hadn't asked for this or wanted this—not _yet_ certainly. Castiel touched her face, drawing her gaze again. "Whatever happens, it will be us together," he said soft and low, serious and intense.

 _Parenthood_. That was something even more intimidating and terrifying than going to Hell, or fighting a demon, or being alone. Having a child, and caring for it. The levels of responsibility, the changes it meant: Her body would change, her life would change—where would they live? How would she know what to do? And then, she remembered the time-traveling young man who had looked so much like Cas, who had also saved her in the SucroCorp conflict. And knowing settled in her heart. Recognition dawned. Something bigger than big settled over her. This spark of life inside of her. It was _him_. It had to be. Feelings she didn't know flared up, confounding her, overwhelming her senses. But the feeling of total horror gave away to something else. Curiosity. Wonder. 

Alex was putting it together now. Last night. "Jane," she said, speaking out loud. "Jane was… was angel and human."

"Yes," Cas confirmed. "Nephilim."

And then a new realization came to Alex, and a fiercely protective fury struck her like lighting. "Did Metatron say… did he say you had to either kill her or… or… or our son?" she demanded, feeling a primal fury she hadn't ever quite felt before at the thought. A few heartbeats ago, he hadn't existed yet to her. And now he did, and whatever her confusion or misgivings left her feeling, she couldn't deny the possessive surge that came over her. "If he did, I will fucking _kill_ him."

Cas regarded her quietly, his eyes warm. "Metatron is the one who told me you were pregnant," he said. "I started the trials because I couldn't risk someone… someday… coming after _our_ child _…_ " he shook his head and looked down regretfully. "So Jane had to die instead." Alex swallowed thickly, trying to process, one of her hands coming to rest against her stomach. Was this real? A new person, starting here inside of her body. And Cas's dedication, his willingness to do whatever. It reminded her of the Winchester legacy. Anything and everything for family. Growing more fierce, Cas came to stand right in front of her. "I'll always protect you, do you understand? No matter what." He touched the hand on her stomach with two fingers. He softened. "And now… I'll always protect our child too."

This new character on the scene was hard to immediately accept in stride, and Alex looked away, confused and stressed out as she bounced between emotions. "This... seems so fast," she said, fighting a lump in her throat and the clawing fears of how it would be too much for her. "Everything's changing."

Cas considered her for a moment. "Yes, I think you're right. But something inside of me… feels right about this."

Alex was still resisting even contemplating being okay with this. "But I don't know anything about kids," she protested. "Or taking care of them. Or how to be a mom." She realized it a second later: "And you probably know less than I do!" She felt like her stress was making her skin hot at this point. "Do I need to get a real job? Do I need to quit hunting?" The current situation with the tablets, the demons, the angels, combined with her life history suddenly made her feel even more anxious. She would never wish a child to be raised the way she had been. "The world is too _dangerous_ for a kid!"

"Which makes it even more important to close Heaven and Hell alike," Cas said steadily. He had clearly thought about this at length. "I am going to keep us safe. All three of us."

Alex tried a weak smile. He was so poised, he didn't seem to have the doubts she did. "I'm sorry… you probably wanted me to be happy and shit, didn't you?" She asked, wishing she could be.

He mirrored her faint smile. "It's all right to feel scared," he said, then admitted his own feelings. "I am too."

Surprised and relieved, she perked up. "Really?"

"Yes." He drew in a deep breath, appearing vastly human in that moment. "Terrified, even. But also… I feel… like I could burst right here." He pulled her hand to rest against his chest, and he held her gaze in his steadily. Her breathing started to come more easily then. His heart beat strong somewhere underneath the skin of her palm, a soothing rhythm. Their bond, their time together, their story ran across her mind again as she looked at that boyish face across from her and felt his warm, strong hand on hers. He looked hopeful, he looked like he was happy about this despite any misgivings and fears. And seeing that, a small part of her could relax a little. "I thought I would never do anything better or more noble than to love you," Cas murmured after a long moment. "But perhaps there is one more thing better and more noble." And then, his eyes began to shine with tears, stirring emotion in her too. "Alex, we created a child together. A new _life_ came from the love between us." His hand grasped into hers more firmly, conveying an earnestness that was soul-deep. "Together, you and I can do anything. I know we can."

Seeing him tear up had the same effect on her, and suddenly she was putting her arms around him and holding on tightly while being held just as tight, too. " _Oh my god_ ," she breathed through shaky breath. Just as horrified as she had been a moment ago, she felt overjoyed and emotional. He held her even tighter, and she squeezed her eyes closed, clenching him tight for a long, long moment. When she pulled back, she held him by the shoulders. It hit her anew: "You're gonna be a _dad,_ Cas!" she said in disbelief and awe through a stunned smile, as if she was realizing it for the first time. And even if she couldn't quite picture herself as a mother yet, she could see Cas as the kind of father she had never known. Tender, kind, curious, playful, gentle. She could see him holding an infant easily, and it got her in a way she wasn't quite prepared for. He smiled at her through his own intense emotion and simply nodded, a hand coming to touch her face, thumb rubbing her cheek. "Cas, I—" she started.

And then they heard the familiar sound of a car approaching. Moment gone, Alex's head snapped sideways to look at the road leading up to the church. "Shit. I forgot they were coming," she said, her elated, emotional state fading away as she remembered current reality. Then she looked at Cas with wide eyes. "Don't tell them," she said urgently. "N-not yet. Not until I'm… not until I've had a chance to get used to this."

Cas agreed readily. "Only we'll know," he said, squeezing a hand, holding her eyes with his. "Until the time of your choosing."

She wiped at her face hastily, trying to hide her emotions, nodding. "Only us." Their eyes held a moment longer, and their secret glowed in the other's gaze, reflecting back at the other.

Then as the Impala rolled up closer, Cas stood in front of Alex. "Now stay close to me," he said in a deeper voice. "The King of Hell is in that car."

 _So, everything had gone to plan with the capture_ , she thought, watching the approaching car with caution, refocusing herself and changing the channel of her thoughts. _Good. Step one complete_. Maybe everything _would_ turn out. Maybe Sam was right. Maybe this was where things started to go right for them. She glanced at the side of Cas's head briefly, love and fear and excitement and dread all at once shimmering over her.

The car stopped right in front of the church, and the brothers got out. "Special delivery, folks," Dean said as Sam hauled a handcuffed Crowley into the church. "Carry this," he said, shoving a heavy duffel at Alex as he brushed past then went to help Sam manhandle a squirming Crowley inside. For once, Alex didn't protest or have an attitude at the abrupt command. Instead, she just followed inside, carrying the item all of two steps, still in a bit of a daze—Cas took it from her at that point and gave her a brief, knowing look as they entered the church.

The old building was dank, dark, and stripped of most decor and furniture. The floor was slightly wet, and leaves scattered everywhere. A few bird nests perched in the rafters overhead. All the pews except one or two had been removed. The remaining two were at odd angles off to the sides of the sanctuary.

As the brothers secured Crowley into the waiting chair with chains and restraints in the middle of the large devil's trap on the floor, the demon seethed. Alex hung back with Castiel, who was currently exchanging a long, acidic look with the demon.

"Ah," the familiar rough, deep voice purred in a menacing sneer. "How's my favorite little choir boy, huh?" he asked, voice dripping with poison. "If you wanted to _visit,_ you could have just sent a _post card_." Crowley looked over at Dean indignantly, rattling at his restraints in vain attempts to break them. "You really think this is gonna hold me? You're gonna, 'cure' me, or whatever it is?" he growled.

Sam looked coldly down his nose at the demon. "Settle in, buddy. You're not going anywhere." He gave a nod to his brother.

With Crowley secured, Dean motioned for them all to go outside again. On the way out, Alex impulsively smacked Crowley across the back of his head hard, resulting in an indignant, " _Ow_ -wuh!" Cas gave her a slightly disapproving look, but didn't say anything.

"Let the games begin," Dean commented wryly as the group went outside. Sam began to rummage in the disorganized wreck of a trunk for the necessary items.

As soon as they stepped outside again, Cas looked upward to the gray sky, his expression becoming intent, then reluctant. "Metatron," he said softly, then turned to Alex. "He's calling again. I think it's time for the second trial now, at least I hope so." He looked at the church with concern. "Do you… can I take you somewhere safer?" he asked. Obviously, he wished she would say yes.

But even though she had this new information and knew she was not only putting herself at risk anymore… "I have to be with my brothers for this."

Cas looked like he had expected as much, but was still disappointed. "Very well." He said, then gave the boys nods where they stood near the car. "Sam. Dean. Good luck." He paused. "Keep each other safe." He squeezed Alex's hand lingeringly. "I'll be back when I can."

And then he was gone. Thunder rumbled ominously, and Dean looked up briefly, wary. "So what're the odds Heaven and Hell close on the same day?" he asked. "Anyone wanna take bets?" When neither sibling replied, he mumbled something and turned his attention entirely to his brother. "How you feelin' anyway Sammy?"

Sam was pulling out the last of what he needed from the trunk. "Like I said. First time in a long time, feels like we're gonna win," he said, and gave a hopeful, tired smile. "I'm good."

"All right well, no dancing in the end zone until we're finished," Dean said, then snapped his fingers at his sister. "Hey. Earth to planet space case."

Alex started, caught staring into space with an odd expression. She pulled her jacket around herself more closely and went to stand with Sam, watching him pouring water out of an old canteen and into a mason jar with a screw on lid. Her twin glanced at her briefly, noticing. 

"You okay?" he asked quietly, and Alex exhaled sharply and made an unsure face—because she didn't know. But then shook her head yes, murmured "fine," and even though he didn't look convinced, Sam didn't press and he returned to his task. 

Dean sidled a little closer, then nodded toward the instruction manual for curing a demon that all their hard work had turned up. "What's the father's playbook say now?"

Sam glanced at the church. "Well, now that we got the consecrated ground, I slip Crowley one dose of blood—my blood—every hour for eight hours and then seal the deal with a fist sandwich." He pulled out one of the syringes from the kit he'd been throwing together.

"Your blood's supposed to be purified, right?" Dean asked, drawing a defensive look from Sam. "You ever uh, you ever done the 'forgive me father' thing before?"

A little put on the spot, Sam cleared his throat. "Once. When we were kids. Which is why I have no idea what to say now."

"I got suggestions if you want," Dean said with a cold, little smile, indicating that his resentments were still as present as they had ever been.

Sam shook his head in a shallow no—he already knew everything Dean could accuse him of and more. "I'm good."

Dean didn't take the no as an answer. "Ruby? Killing Lilith? Letting Lucifer out—"

"Dean, _stop,_ " Alex said so sharply that both brothers were surprised. Sam looked like he might say something, but then slung the bag of everything he'd collected over his shoulder and wordlessly retreated into the church. Dean's words had obviously hurt him.

Dean pretended like nothing had happened, and began to look through the trunk with a cantankerous expression.

"Did you really have to say that shit?" Alex asked him resentfully.

"Was any of it a lie?" Dean challenged, not looking at her.

She let out a disgusted sigh. It didn't matter if he was going through shit. Hell, she'd just found out she was pregnant and she wasn't throwing near the fit he was. "You should stay out here if you're gonna be _this_ helpful all day," she muttered.

He looked at her defensively. "I got a lot of my mind, okay?"

She made a wan face. If he only knew. "Well aren't you _special_."

He rolled his eyes and indicated the messy trunk. "Help me organize this damn mess, will you princess?"

She thought about saying no because his attitude sucked. But after a long few seconds, she sighed roughly and gave in. It would give her something to distract from the news she'd gotten. News she couldn't think about just yet. But of course, still found herself obsessing over.

 _Let's just get through this closing Hell thing first, okay? Then we figure the rest out._ She told herself.

But she felt like she wasn't just talking to herself anymore. There was someone else there now, too—someone new, small, and wonderful who belonged to her and Cas. Oddly, that realization was sweet and comforting in a way she didn't expect, inspiring a warm, soft feeling deep inside her chest. The smallest smile came over her face, even as Dean shoved a wad of trash at her and told her to find a bag. She barely heard him, and just started looking for a bag.


	133. For I Have Sinned

" _Forgiveness means letting go of the hope for a better past."  
_ _-_ Lama Surya Das

* * *

There was a soft, steady dripping sound as Sam sat in silence in the old confessional stall.

His body simultaneously hurt and felt uncomfortably light—like he could just float out of himself at any given moment. These trials had made their mark, more than he had let on to anyone. And he was feeling worse by the day, more and more frail and emotionally frayed. But he accepted the price, and was going to follow this to whatever bitter end. For once, he was going to do something _right_.

Taking a deep, grounding inhale, he closed his eyes and tried to focus on his breathing to close out his negative thoughts, but instead, all he could hear were his brother's accusations of his wrongdoings from a moment ago: _Ruby. Killing Lilith. Letting Lucifer out._ And there would have been more to that list if Sam hadn't walked away. It wasn't hard to know what those accusations would have been, either: abandoning the family numerous times. Losing his soul. Almost killing his sister because of it. His demon blood addiction. There was more, and Sam was overwhelmed by all the feelings that all chorused together to shout one thing at him: _you're a bad person._

Was there a way to feel lower than he did right now? Sam didn't think so, and his eyes ached. He shut his eyes harder against tears, clearing his throat and trying to keep it together.

He thought of the night he left the family for Stanford. His first, unforgivable sin that had been held over his head so many times since. He remembered how angry Dad had been—how betrayed Dean had acted—how Alex looked resentful, crossing her arms and sullenly watching the argument that took place then sitting idly by and ignoring it all at a certain point. No one had supported him in his decision to go try to live a normal life. And for quite some time, Sam really had thought he could escape from this bizarre, painful, dysfunctional way of existing. But he had learned by now, over and over, that he couldn't escape it at all. That this—hunting and all that came with it—was his destiny. And yet even last year he was trying to run away from it again. Trying to have a normal life with a woman named Amelia and a dog… leaving his sister alone to figure it all out on her own. Sam shuddered—he still couldn't understand it. His memories of everything were so blurry and when he tried to think about them harder, he came up against roadblocks, headaches, and confusion.

His thoughts continued to drift: Disconnected, unimportant flashes of memories of their younger years played through his mind. Some of it bringing smiles and a warm feeling in his chest, before the inevitable turn to the more painful, dark things. Their childhood had been really hard on Sam. And it had been even harder always feeling like he didn't belong there, or wasn't ever good enough for anyone. That's why Sam had gotten validation and approval from academics, where he could measure his success and be praised by teachers and educators who didn't care if he wasn't committed to hunting down a demon for bloodlust and revenge. He had felt seen and understood in school a thousand times more than he ever had at home.

He didn't understand himself or his feelings, and at the same time labelled himself a coward and a fool. A selfish tyrant and at the same time a treasonous flake. He wished, so hard, that he could have a do-over. He needed to prove himself. Not only to them, but to himself. He felt like such a burden, such a scab. And this was a weary, tired, exhausting feeling he couldn't carry much longer.

Sam opened his stinging, watering eyes slowly to the dark and dank confessional booth and he thought about his life as a whole. Maybe finally, he _could_ make it up to everyone. Maybe now, at the end of it all, he could find redemption. These trials were, perhaps, his elegy. He had to do this. He _had_ to.

In a quiet, choked whisper, Sam began to confess his sins one by one to the empty, listening air.

* * *

Outside of the church, under a still-foggy sky, Dean and Alex had finished up their cleanout of the Impala trunk and had a pile of trash burning nearby. Dean was leaned against the lip of the still-open trunk, whittling a stick he'd found into an unknown shape as his sister stood off a few feet, contemplating the distance unseeingly, deep in her own thoughts with her arms crossed. Sam had gone inside to confess about thirty minutes ago, maybe a little longer. Alex was losing track of time, floating between thoughts and feelings relating to the news Cas had shared with her earlier. She felt like it hadn't hit her yet, or like she'd dreamed it. _Pregnant._ The word clanged around in her head so many times that she didn't even understand it anymore.

A soft fluttering sound caught her attention and made her turn around, cutting the thoughts short. Cas had appeared, and he looked grim. "Hello," he greeted briefly, appearing harrowed. "Dean, I need your help."

Both Winchesters were surprised. Both at the sudden appearance and the cut to the chase. Alex spoke first, sensing that something big was happening. "What's going on?"

He shook his head slightly, and it was obvious how tense he was. "I don't have much time—Naomi has taken Metatron."

The mention of _her_ made Alex's blood run cold.

"Shit, why?" Dean asked, then immediately figured it out right after he asked. "Wants to stop these Heaven trials?"

"I assume so, yes," Cas said, glancing at Alex briefly with hooded eyes. "Therefore, I— _we_ need to do the trials as quickly as possible." Alex thought he might have asked her for help if one: it wasn't Naomi and two: she hadn't just found out she was pregnant. "Will you help me, Dean?"

Dean hesitated, eyes sliding to the old church, then to Alex in silent, conflicted consideration. Since spending the year together in Purgatory, the energy between Cas and Dean was markedly different. Dean clearly wanted to help Cas, but also felt like he needed to be here with Sam. So Alex stood a little taller and nodded her head toward Cas. "Go. I'll stay with Sam. Make sure he's okay. Let you know if anything's up." Dean still hesitated. "It's seven or eight more hours," she pointed out. "Long time to sit around in this dump."

Dean sighed out indecisively. "Look, I agree the kid needs a babysitter while doing the heavy lifting—these trials have fucked him all the way up—but you're still pretty banged up from your visit to Crowley's funfest too." He gave his sister a very doubtful look. "You _really_ wanna be alone with the King of Hell and Sam in his condition?"

All valid points, but… "Do we have a choice here?" She countered, then slid her eyes to meet Cas's. Somehow, she felt stronger since seeing him last. More capable. There was a brief silence, their eyes communicating more than words could at the moment. She looked back at Dean. "If anything happens, I'll call."

Dean wasn't thrilled, but he rolled with it, seeming to accept it as the best case scenario. "Fine." He pointed at her and it was grimly joking. "You be careful."

Alex grabbed his finger and pushed it away, a move that could be interpreted as playful hopefully. " _You_ be careful. Take care of each other." She looked at Cas again, and he gave her a brave little smile that she returned. Many unspoken things, and their secret, rested in that anxious, worried smile.

"Tally ho," Dean murmured in gruff cynicism, then Cas put a hand on his shoulder, and they were gone just like that.

New worries crept into her mind, things she couldn't do anything about. In the distance, a bird cawed, a distinctly startling and ominous sound, and Alex glanced around the barren landscape quickly, checking for any signs of anything off. Everything looked fine. She shut the trunk of the car, double-checked that the fire was contained well, contemplated her next action, and then went inside to tell Sam what was going on. _One moment at a time. Keep my focus on what's in front of me. Let's get through today._

The church was small, essentially two little spaces: a slight entryway and a main, high-ceilinged sanctuary. At the top of the sanctuary there was an old built-in confessional. Crowley was in the center of the empty main chamber, faced away from the entrance, helplessly chained up to his wooden chair. Sam was currently standing close to the entrance at a dilapidated old table. He was fiddling with an empty syringe, his face an unreadable, hard mask. He almost looked as if he was trying to look busy, not actually doing something. He didn't acknowledge Alex when she entered, either.

"Hey, so Cas and Dean are gonna go—"

"I heard," he interrupted tersely, surprising her a little with the hardness in his tone. Alex was too caught off guard to reply—he must have eavesdropped either on purpose or accident on the whole exchange. "So I need a babysitter, huh?" He tried to give a little laugh, but it fell flat. He sounded bitter and hurt.

Offhandedly angry that Dean had to say things the way he did but powerless to do anything about it, Alex sighed heavily, trying to think of a way to repair what was broken. "Hey." She touched his arm to make him look at her. When he did, he looked every bit of fifteen years old and about to cry. Alex softened. "He's an idiot, Sam."

Sam looked like he felt no better at all, but before either could say anything else, the rattling sound of chains distracted them. "Oy! _OY_!" Turned away from them in his chair, chained to the floor, Crowley was apparently annoyed with his predicament.

"Speaking of assholes," Sam muttered, then took a deep breath to gather his courage, looking at the empty syringe. "Here goes nothing." He found a vein in his forearm and drew blood, hissing through clenched teeth as he did. He looked sweaty and cold all at the same time, but made no complaints. When the syringe was full, he walked around to face Crowley, with Alex staying semi-close, close enough to spot him and help out if something bad happened. Her hand hovered near her angel blade under her jacket as her heart began to beat a little harder. Would this work?

The King of Hell had a mix of haughty pride and inconvenienced distaste playing on his features as his dark eyes flitted over the pair in turn. Without words, Sam approached closely, grabbing Crowley by the hair to expose his neck better. Even as he did, Crowley was grumbling a gravelly complaint. "Of all the ridiculous—" he never finished that sentence, instead shouting in pain as the needle plunged deep into his neck. "Aah!"

Sam pressed the plunger end hard, sending his own blood surging into the demon's veins, then pulled the needle out, breathing hard. The hunter and demon stared at each other for a long couple of seconds, and the demon almost appeared to be slightly afraid for the slightest of moments. The room was absolutely quiet. Then Crowley snarled in rage as he yanked at his chains. "Bite me, both of you sodding buffoons! I'll _kill you_!"

Sam and Alex made brief eye contact and as the older of the two sighed tiredly, running a hand through his hair. "This is gonna be a long day," he mumbled, about to start heading back toward the front of the church. And then they both jumped in surprise when his arms began to flare bright, fiery light from within. His face showed shock and even pain, but before either could really freak out, it faded away and his skin was normal again. There was a shocked silence.

"Now that's something you don't see everyday," Crowley commented, trying to sound coy. But he was definitely rattled. And he wasn't the only one. Alex grabbed Sam by the sleeve and pulled him back toward the front of the church, where Crowley couldn't see or hear as well.

"Y-you okay?" she asked her brother breathlessly. " _What was that_?"

He looked just as shaken up as she felt. "Y-yeah, fine," he replied uncertainly, clenching his fists a few times. "Must be part of… of all this." He took it all in for a couple beats more, trying to tough it out, then made eye contact with her and his expression faltered from confusion and pain to something more honest. He was barely audible. "Alex, I'm scared," he admitted in a whisper.

That broke her heart. She was too, but hearing him say that made her even more afraid. She didn't show it though. "C'mere," she said, pulling him into a tight hug, promising what she didn't know for sure at all: "It'll be okay." He felt thinner than he should be, and his breathing pattern wasn't normal either. She was glad he couldn't see her face. _Am I losing you, Sam? How can I do this without you here?_

Alex swallowed a heavy lump and shut her eyes for a few seconds before Sam pulled away. His eyes were glittering but he was trying to smile. "Can we… can we just like, I dunno—play chess, or cards, or, or something? Pass the time?" He didn't want to talk about it or theorize or worry themselves more than necessary, and she was fine with that. Smiling through her many emotions for his benefit, she tried to rally. Already nodding, trying to pull her mind away from fears, trying to be brave so he felt less afraid, she said she'd go get stuff out of the car and be right back.

* * *

The twins settled into a very quiet pattern of playing cards halfheartedly for awhile, and discussing, only briefly, serious matters, then checkers (they had a travel set in the car) and then each napping in uncomfortable pews intermittently. Alex spent most of the time completely silent, lost in her thoughts and then trying not to think about anything but the present… then realizing she was caught up in more worries. About Sam, about Dean and Cas, about Naomi and Metatron. About… the baby. Even thinking that was weird. Her appetite was as ravenous as ever, but she forced herself to not eat any of the scant supplies in the car so that Sam would have food for later. Hour two came quickly and Sam made another injection. Crowley's reaction was more quiet and subdued this time. He taunted Sam about how it was useless, then lapsed into moody silence, straining at his handcuffs and chains pitifully a few times. He tried getting them to talk to him several times but they ignored him each time.

The third injection came and went without much fanfare, but this time Alex went to stand in front of Crowley again as Sam finished the injection. The demon gave her a chilling smile. "Isn't this just a fun bit of role reversal, Mouse," he purred. "Last time one of us was tied up and tortured, it was you at my place." He seemed to so enjoy trying to get under her skin. "We have such fun, you and I." Alex almost could have smirked, oddly enough. It was good to see this bastard knocked down a peg or two, that was for sure. And knowing how much the King of Hell enjoyed conversation, she gave him none. She walked past him, leaving him where he couldn't see her anymore. "Oy! Rude!" the demon complained.

Sam followed her and stopped her at the church exit. "Hey, you haven't said anything in like two hours," he said quietly so that only they could hear. "You okay?" Classic Sam, worried about someone else when he was totally up shit creek without a paddle. He could tell she wasn't all there, and she knew it.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she hedged, which of course wasn't really true. "Just worried. About everything."

He rubbed an eye tiredly. "Same here."

That made her think: Caffeine _would_ be nice. "Lemme see if I can rustle us up some coffee," she said, then headed outside. There was some crystallized instant coffee and bottled water in the car. She had to build another little fire and use a shitty metal camping thermos to heat the water in. It took her almost thirty minutes to rig everything up and make the coffee. When it was time, together the siblings sat out on the church steps and Sam tried it first—they only had the one thermos so they had to share it. Sam winced against the terrible taste of instant coffee when he sipped it. "Yikes." He handed it to her.

"Better than nothing," Alex said, her thoughts elsewhere. She took a big sip of the terrible brown water, then made a face. "Ugh. Nevermind." It sucked bigtime. They exchanged a smile that was sad and tired. Such was life on the road… terrible food and beverage choices for the most part. A long moment of silence passed, with Sam nursing the steaming cup after Alex handed it back over. She was reflecting on many things, but one of the biggest ones: "I wish we got to know Mom."

Sam's eyebrows raised slightly and he looked at her questioningly. "That's… random." He took another sip of the awful coffee, curiously eying his sister. "What's got you thinking about her?" he asked. "Dad being back?"

Alex shrugged her eyebrows briefly. "Yeah," she said, although it was more the fact that _she_ was going to be a mother that had her thinking about her own. However… "And maybe cuz that's where all this started." 'This' meaning the current problems the Winchesters were attempting to handle that never seemed to end. Hunting, trying to save the world. It all seemed to start with Mom burning on the ceiling of that nursery.

Sam exhaled soft and quick, which was commentary all on its own. "I think it started before any of us existed," he said, handing over the coffee for Alex to sip. He grew a little more somber. "Hopefully this is where it ends though."

Alex couldn't even fathom that, but she tried. Still, it didn't make a lot of sense to her, and it left her with more questions than answers. "So if tomorrow you wake up and there's no more Heaven, no more Hell…" she trailed off, trying to envision it. "What happens to us? What do we do?"

Sam stared off into the distance, bothered by the question. "Yeah I don't… I don't know." A silence stretched between the two and Alex sipped at the coffee, praying the caffeine would jog her tired brain. Sam was shaking his head softly, thinking out loud. "Even if we never see another demon again, even if Cas can close Heaven…" he trailed off, his face becoming pained even though he tried to be blank faced. He shook his head and tried to normalize his face and tone. "I just wanna make things right." He finally looked at her, and he looked so old and young at the same time. "Real life's just as scary as all this crap, that's all I know." That, Alex could agree with. And how. She put a hand on her brother's back, patting a little. Sam chuckled a little. "What about you? You can Cas gonna go buy a condo and get nine-to-fives? Have some kids? Start retirement plans?" He seemed amused by the idea.

Alex felt herself sobering at his joke. She knew how to rip off an ATM machine and how to pick a lock. How to fire any gun on the planet. How to knife fight, how to fix a car engine, how to case buildings. But normal people stuff? "I dunno anything about any of that," she said faintly, thinking about the very real reality of now. A child and all that came with. Providing for that child, taking on responsibility, giving safety, considering someone besides herself at all times. Her skin prickled with an unpleasant feeling born in anxiety. _Is this how Dad felt?_ In her hand, the coffee was warm and she suddenly remembered that you weren't supposed to have caffeine when pregnant, and set the cup down with a horrified look stuck on her face. " _Fuck._ " _This is why I am going to be terrible at this. Did I hurt him?_

Sam was concerned, cluing into something going on. "Alex, what's wrong?" She said nothing, and Sam grew more worried, trying to get her to look at him. "I can tell something's on your mind." He touched her arm gently, worry sketched onto his haggard face. "You can tell me."

Her mind was spinning, she felt dizzy. "I'm…" she started out, trying to think of a lie, an excuse, a justification. And when nothing came to mind, when she felt compelled to just say it… and so she did. "I'm pregnant, Sam."

Sam's face. First, he looked like he misheard, then he looked like he didn't know _how,_ then he fumbled for words. "Wh—" He wet his lips, turning toward her even as they sat, like he was trying to get a better look at her. "Pregnant? Like— _pregnant_." Alex gave him a look and half shrug half 'I give up' motion inspired by her lack of knowing how to cope with the information either.

"I just found out," she said, a little blank and not even sure why she had told him now. "Today."

"That's—that's—" Sam cast around for how to address her, then suddenly stopped short. "Are you not happy about it?" he asked softly.

There wasn't judgment in his question, but she judged herself about it. "I… I don't even know," she answered honestly, a tearfulness in her voice. "It's so overwhelming, you know? And right now, too... like..." she trailed off, unable to verbalize. This was all so much.

"Hey, hey," Sam said, scooting a little closer and putting a comforting arm around her. It was just what she'd needed, and she relaxed a little into his side. For a second, they were both quiet. "Does Dean know?"

Alex gave a weak little laugh. "God no. And let's keep it that way for now." She breathed out long and hard. "I need to get used to this idea first, you know?"

"Yeah," Sam agreed, processing for a minute and maybe smiling a little because he was told first before Dean was. "Damn," he murmured after a second. "Can't believe this." Words that could be taken many ways… but he sounded proud, emotional, and like he was smiling slightly. Alex pulled away enough to be able to see his face. He looked especially tender in that moment. "Alex... you are gonna be _fine_ ," he said in a voice full of emotion and love, his hand squeezing her shoulder still. "And for what it's worth... I think you'll be a _great_ mom." Those words had a bigger impact on her than she could have anticipated, and she felt her face constricting as she tried to stay composed and failed. He looked like he meant every word. Coming from him, it meant quite a lot. "No matter what, as long as I can, I'm here for you," he continued, then smiled tenderly. "And… whoever you've got on board in there."

She didn't know the words to say to that. So Alex hugged him tight, closing her eyes as a tear squeezed out and fell down her cheek. He was hugging her back with protective arms. Their rocky, rollercoaster history flashed through her mind in an instant, making her even more thankful than ever for their bond. In the distance, a soft thunder rumbled. But it was almost soothing, not foreboding.

* * *

Crowley's next injection went fine, but he was a little glassy-eyed afterward. Strangely he said absolutely nothing, and remained silent for the better part of an hour. Then the next one, number five: After the needle came out, he looked at Alex dumbly and his words slurred just slightly. "I miss you, little Winchester," he said, then did a double-take at himself, asking in a more clear voice, "Did I say that out loud?"

At his sixth injection, Crowley bit Sam hard, causing both Winchesters to have to go to the car for bandages and first aid—not before both of them hauled off and punched him in the face though. After he was patched up, Sam took another nap and Alex sat in the Impala with the windows down as the day turned to night. She checked her phone constantly, but heard from no one. Her stomach churned and her appetite raged and she gave in, eating some of their rations. She ate four granola bars and two bags of jerky and still didn't feel anywhere near full.

By the time she went inside, it was time for Crowley's seventh injection. He was, of all things, singing after Sam finished. " _Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes! Turn and face the strange, ch-ch-changes_ ," he sang in a rough voice in a teasing way. " _Ah_!" he commented as Alex came into his view. "Nice of you to join us," he purred. "Sam was just squirting all of his hot liquids deep inside of me."

She ignored him completely. Sam, looking sweatier and worse than ever, looked mildly pained and was holding his forearm, no doubt because that strange light had just burned him again. Just as Alex was about to suggest food to him in the form of granola bars (before she ate them all) and maybe some jerky, the church began to rumble and shake as if from an earthquake. The Winchesters immediately tensed, crouching slightly. Not good. The floor board began to crack until they reached the demon trap spray painted around Crowley. The crack broke the line, even as Crowley roared in superior rage. "Did you really think you could kidnap the King of Hell and no one was gonna notice, dumb nuts?!"

As if on cue, the door to the dark church flew open that instant, revealing a tall, beautiful woman with red hair. Her neck was stitched crudely where it had been severed. The Winchesters both shrunk back slightly in recognition. _Abaddon._

"Hello, boys," she greeted casually, then flicked her eyes to Alex. "And _you._ " She sauntered in a few more steps, her demeanor very confident and ominous. "Don't look so surprised."

A bit confused, Crowley craned his neck, trying to get a look behind himself at her. "Abaddon? They told me you were dead."

"They told you wrong," she replied evenly, taking her time and eyeing her prey.

"And the rest of the cavalry?" Crowley asked.

Her voice darkened wickedly as she smiled a little. "I wouldn't call me the calvary, Peaches." Crowley's expression faltered.

Sam picked that second to spring into action, reaching for his gun that was on the alter table, but Abaddon flung a hand out, using her telekinetic power to toss Sam across the room. The gun fired but didn't hit anyone—Sam groaned in pain in a heap on the floor, while Alex remained frozen with her hands slightly in front of her, gauging her best move and trying, for the moment, to just not get thrown somewhere.

"Brilliant!" Crowley cackled. "Why send in a few grunts when you can send in a knight? Say your prayers, Moosie and Mouse!"

"You _idiot_ ," Abaddon said softly, sauntering over toward where Sam was groaning and trying to push himself up. She turned and looked at Crowley with cruel, glittering eyes. "I'm not here to save you. I'm here to _kill_ you and take your _job_." Sam got to his knees. Abaddon again waved her hand and Sam flew out of an old stained glass window, shattering it on impact as he flew outside. Alex winched and stayed frozen. Abaddon leaned in toward an astonished Crowley. "Queen suits me, don't you think?" The King of Hell's face wrinkled up in a deeply outraged expression.

Alex seized the opportunity of brief distraction, whipping out her angel blade and rushing the Knight of Hell. Abaddon whirled, throwing a hand up—but nothing happened. "What the…?" Abaddon managed, looking at her hand in confusion, before narrowly dodging sideways. Not without getting slashed across the cheek by the blade though. Her hand slapped to her own cheek and she looked enraged, confused as she shrank back from Alex. Again, she tried to use her hand to throw Alex. And again... nothing happened. "How are you doing that?!" Abaddon shrieked. Alex had no idea, but wasn't going to take a break to figure it out. She picked up a duffel bag and threw it at Abaddon to distract, rushing her, and they grappled by hand, exchanging punches and throwing each other against the walls of the church. The angel blade went clattering off, but somehow, Alex found her strength was nearly equal to the demon's. Catching Abaddon off balance and tripping her, Alex grabbed her by the back of the head and smashed the demon's head straight into the floor, sending splinters flying and creating a hole in the floor. That's where Alex left her.

Crowley, sitting in his chair, was dumbfounded at what he was seeing. "What the…"

Screaming in anger and pain, Abaddon pulled her bloody face out of the splintered floor, stumbling up into a standing position as she seethed. A few feet away, Alex—confused about her own strength and worried about the precious cargo she carried—remained horrified and stuck in place. And that's when Abaddon was hit with a liquid, and gasped, stopping in place. It was Sam, and he held a lit match. He was cut up from flying through the window, but adrenaline was making him sharp and fast. Fearful understanding crossed the knight's face even as Sam growled, "Now _stay dead_." He threw the match at her, and she became engulfed in flame, screaming like a banshee and stumbling around as flames ate her alive. With no choice, she exited her burning vessel in a plume of thick black smoke that surged out of a church window, disappearing from sight completely.

Sam grabbed his sister by the arms—she had sustained a few cuts, a gash, and a couple bad bruises from the fight… "You okay?" He asked breathlessly, confused and worried. "How'd you…?"

Even as he asked that, her wounds began to fade away, then disappeared completely. She saw too, and her eyes widened. Her hand reached up, fingertips testing the skin that had just been bruised. The siblings looked at each other dumbfounded. "What… the _hell…_ was all that?" Crowley asked, and they looked at their spectator in unison. He looked genuinely stumped. Just like they were.

In the corner, Abaddon's vessel burned brightly, threatening to catch the rest of the church on fire. "Put that out, will you?" Alex said to her brother, who grabbed his jacket and began beating the flames out. It didn't take much to get the fire out. Alex was worried about that fight and if it had done something to her, and she paced a little, trying to calm down, trying to find something to do to make the situation normal again.

"What kind of spooky PCP are you on, littlest Winchester?" Crowley pressed. Alex was going to the church doors and slamming them shut, then picking up the spray paint can and drawing another quick ward on the walls. She didn't reply to him. "I'm _serious_!" he insisted. "How'd you throw that tramp around like that!?"

Alex came to stand in front of him, at her wits end and full of absolute hatred. "None of your goddamn business, now _shut up_!" She walloped him across the face so hard that his chair teetered, then she walked away with a stony face. It was highly owed, from her calcuations.

He silently gasped, making faces against the pain. " _O-uch_." He complained, then of all things, suddenly whimpered as if he might cry. "Y-you saved my life." He looked at them with an odd expression, one neither had seen on his face before. "Both of you. Loyalty… it's not common, is it?" He shook his head, smiling strangely, showing teeth. "Your family. Loyal to the bitter, bloody end." His eyes squinted and at this point he could have been talking to himself. "Am I jealous? I'm jealous." He peered imploringly at Alex, who was handing the spray paint to her brother. "How do I get a Sam? How do I get a Dean? How do I get an Alex?" Sam knelt and began to fix the broken devil's trap. Crowley looked affronted. "Wait. What are you doing?"

"Arts and crafts party," came the sarcastic answer.

Crowley became indignant. "Are you _joking_? I just saved your pathetic lives!"

That made the Winchesters pause for a moment and exchange a quick look. "In what world is that what just happened?" Alex asked carefully, looking Crowley over as if she might see his angle. But he just looked desperate.

"This world! _This_ one! We just shared a foxhole," he rambled his voice breaking oddly. "We beat back the Tet Offensive, outrun the—the Rape of Nanking together! And still you're gonna do me like this?!" He looked at Alex pleadingly. "Mouse, we worked together! We were like Bonnie and Clyde! I gave you back Bobby _just because_! Because I'm so fond of you!" Sam looked confused by that one. Crowley looked like he might cry. "How can you treat me this way?! After all these _years_!"

"He's losing it," Sam said softly, but Crowley didn't seem to be hearing anything. In fact, his accent seemed to be changing completely, even his voice seemed different.

"Band of Brothers? The Pacific? None of this means anything to either you?! All those motels, you never once watched HBO, not once?! Girls? You're my Marnie, Moose. A-and Hannah—she just—she needs to be loved. She deserves it. Don't we all—you, me—we deserve to be loved." His voice was suddenly a shout that echoed. "I _deserve_ to be _loved_!" And then it was a pathetic whisper again. "I just wanna be loved." He shuddered, eyes full of agony. "Is that a crime?"

Alex spoke out of the side of her mouth to Sam. "I think this shit is working. If nothing else, he's high as _fuck._ "

Crowley was looking at his hands, emotionally tormented. "So many lives," he babbled in his accent again. "So many years. I'm… I'm… a terrible person."

"Finally something we can agree on," Alex said wryly.

And suddenly, Crowley snapped out of it, sniffing the air feverishly like a dog on a scent trail, with squinted eyes. "Wait a minute, who's _pregnant_?!"

" _Crowley_ —" Sam warned, stepping fractionally closer with a warning look.

"Oh please, Moose, I know it's not you," Crowley said with an eyeroll. "Unless there's something you're not telling anyone." He had a very uncomfortable Alex under his intense gaze. "When were you going to tell me?" He smiled widely, then was overly animated. "Uncle Crowley _loves_ babies!"

Yeah, probably to eat. Alex gritted her jaw. "That's it," she muttered, and grabbed a rag out of one of the nearby duffels then gagged him harder than was necessary from behind, leaning close to his ear as she exerted control over him—which by the way, was satisfying and cathartic on all levels. "No more biting and no more weird shit about TV shows, huh?" She patted his cheek hard, making him wince anew.

Sam coughed suddenly, doubling over and moaning in pain, then spitting onto the floor. Alex hurried to him then felt his forehead. "Sam, you're on _fire_ ," she whispered, newly worried about him. His skin was hot, damp, and he was breathing shallowly. He was definitely getting worse every hour.

"I'm fine," he said, but he clearly wasn't.

"Come on," Alex said, and took him by an arm, guiding him back toward one of the pews that was in the back of the church. She helped him sit, and he panted as if he had run a mile, wiping at his sweat halfheartedly. Alex went quickly back to the duffel, getting a water bottle and more rags for him to wipe off with.

"Thanks," Sam said feebly when she gave him the water and began to wipe his face and neck for him. He drank the water all in one long swig, then gasped afterward. "This is rough." She sat down beside him, feeling like she couldn't really do much for him. It sucked. Sam swallowed thickly, finally telling her what he had been thinking all day. "Al, I might not make it past this." He didn't call her that much, and somehow, the use of it scared her. At the look on her face, he held a hand up slightly. "Don't say it. Just… every injection, I feel worse and worse. I mean, look at me."

Alex didn't know what to say. He did look like he was on death's door. There was a very long span of silence between them, where both of them were deep in their own conflicted, morbid thoughts. And then Sam finally broke the spell. "You know being here, making confessions earlier…" he found her eyes with his. "There's something I need to tell you." What it was, she didn't know, but he looked deeply afraid and her stomach turned in dread. His voice was barely audible. "There's something I've been carrying that I, I just need to ask you to forgive me for. Because after today, I might not have a chance to tell you."

This was all sounding too final, and Alex shook her head no slightly. "Sam…"

He cut her off. "Please. I need to." So she hesitated, then nodded apprehensively, deciding for his benefit. Sam wet his lips, appearing to be very nervous. "Look. I uh… I know we haven't always seen eye to eye. And I know things are a lot better with us than they have been and I'm really glad for that. Really." He smiled sadly, a conflicted expression. She nodded slightly, but she was unable to manage a smile like he had managed. He breathed in deeply, and looked away from her, gathering courage. "Back when… when Lucifer possessed me." He swallowed, voice growing even weaker. "I had… I had these visions. And then dreams."

He said nothing for a long moment, only looked like he felt nauseated. "What dreams?" Alex gently nudged.

Again, he had to gather courage. "These horrible, awful visions of the future," Sam said brokenly. "He was… he was gonna use us. He was gonna make us do… make _me_ do… things a brother should never…" he stopped, regathering his thoughts and trying to be less vague. "Lucifer showed me the future. Where I… where I—where _he_ —he started a new race on earth with, with you and me." _Oh_. Alex stared at him with a slightly open mouth, taking his meaning perfectly. She had _not_ expected that. "And it always ended with you burning on the ceiling like mom," Sam confessed in a terrified whisper, tears running out of his eyes onto his face. It was easy to see how much this tore him apart. "I've felt like this sick, disgusting person for so long because of this. It's haunted me as much as Hell has," he admitted, voice tearful and shuddering. "It was _him_ using me to do that, but it just—I can't erase that out of my _mind_ , I can't escape the fear that someday that could still happen." He loathed himself, and gave a disgusted sound. "I'm a disease in this family." He was avoiding looking at her this entire time, but finally managed to, even though he looked like he could barely bring himself to. "I don't deserve it, I don't at all, but—please forgive me. Please. I need it, especially if this is it for me."

Alex was wordless for a moment, because her mind was spinning. And not in the way he probably thought. " _Sam_." She gripped him just above the elbow, trying to convey how serious she was, trying to really get him to look at her. Yes, this was surprising and disturbing to hear, but this was _the devil_ after all, and was he forgetting? She had been possessed by him too. She knew how dark it was in there. "You haven't done anything _wrong,_ " she said in quiet vehemence. He looked immediately confused that she wasn't agreeing with his opinion that he was horrible. "What am I supposed to forgive you for?" She asked honestly. "For, for not having any control over the fact that Lucifer picked you as his vessel? For being possessed? For having thoughts put into your mind? For having demon blood forced into your mouth when you were a baby?" He looked as though he had no idea how to take what she was saying. Would he have preferred her to bash him about this? " _None_ of that's on you," she insisted—gentle, but firm, pained on his behalf. Sam obviously didn't agree, in fact, he seemed definitely disappointed or unsure of how to cope with the fact that she wasn't as horrified as he was. But at the end of the day, it wasn't real and it wouldn't happen. Period. She knew that. Alex realized that whatever reason and logic she could bring to the table right now wasn't what he needed. And knowing that he needed to hear it from her even if she didn't even hold him accountable, she reached down and squeezed his hand in hers. "It's forgiven. A thousand times, Sam."

Sam's emotions doubled like the dam had broken inside. " _Thank you,_ " he said thickly.

Alex meant it a thousandfold, and it brought tears to her eyes: " _I love you_ , Sam. No matter what."

And he began to cry, which made her do the same. Alex didn't know what else to do except give him a hug. For a minute or two, younger sister held bigger brother as he sobbed tears he had been holding onto for a long time, and pain that could finally be released. When he quieted again, they pulled apart, both with tearstreaked faces. Sam was obviously exhausted emotionally as well as physically, and from knowing him a lifetime, Alex recognized that he wanted some space before he even said anything. "I—I need to lay down a little while," he said, avoiding her gaze again and wiping his face hard with the heel of his hand. "Get me when it's time for the last round?"

Alex stood up with a sniff and nodded, handing him his jacket from where it was flung over the far end of the pew. "Yeah." He balled it up and used it as a pillow. Alex watched her brother shut his eyes and rest fitfully. She didn't know that she even wanted to let him do the last round. What if this really did kill him? Was his life worth closing the gates of Hell forever?

Biting a nail, Alex contemplated her thoughts darkly. So much happening in one day. She didn't know where to begin with Sam's confession. Lucifer's greatest asset was the ability to manipulate, lie, and instill fear. A lesson she had learned the difficult way. And Lucifer had managed to have a hold on Sam long after he was gone, which was the most tragic part of all. Sam had been plagued with hallucinations of Lucifer for more time than anyone could handle—and spent so many years in Hell. Of course that would damage, hurt, and terrify Sam. To carry that alone for so long—it hurt Alex on Sam's behalf. Honestly she wished he'd told her a long time ago so that she could have helped. Maybe Sam would finally have relief from the pain of carrying those things alone since telling her today. Because now she knew, and half of his fear had clearly been of her reaction to it. A fear that unfortunately he had been wrong about. But, by starting today, by telling her his fears and feelings that he had kept secret for years… maybe they could move past it and he could leave his feelings about it in the past.

 _If_ he survived these trials…

She moved herself physically to move her thoughts, too, because she couldn't let herself go there with thoughts of Sam dying. Not until it was a real reality would she even consider it. Alex drifted back toward the other end of the church, where Crowley, silent since he was gagged, eyed her balefully. Alex smiled ever so slightly at the role reversal, and settled against the table directly across from him, leaning in what could be called a power stance. She gave him a cool gaze. "Comfy?" He clearly wasn't.

And together they waited in silence for the hour to pass. Crowley went between sleepy blinking and woozy expressions to more cagey, twitchy behaviors with a few strains against the chains for effect. But he mostly seemed resigned and out of it.

When it was ten till, Alex gently awoke Sam and he visibly steeled himself for the final injection. He refused her offers of food and water and instead drew his final vial of blood, and then hesitated, the syringe in his hand. "If this… if I don't come back from this…" he began. Alex put a hand on his, silently stopping him from continuing down that path. He was shaking and clammy.

"You will." She had to believe that for both of them.

Sam swallowed, nodded, and breathed out hard, fixing his focus onto Crowley, who turned his neck to the side, as if offering himself up for the next injection. Sam slid the needle in, dosing the final portion of his blood into the demon then extracting the needle smoothly. "The book," Sam said, motioning for his sister to hand it over. They traded syringe for book, and Sam read the spell that was recorded on the pages—he was focused, putting one proverbial foot in front of the other. This was the finish line. Alex's heart hammered uneasily as she set down the syringe and she nervously watched him and Crowley closely, for any sign of something bad. " _Exorcizamus te, ominus immundus spiritus, hanc animam redintegra lustra_." Sam chanted, then threw the book aside and drew his knife then cut himself across the hand. Light began to beam, and Sam looked at Alex one last time, who gave him a nod. Sam stood taller, slowly approached Crowley. The final step. This was it.

And then the church doors burst open again. " _Sammy, stop_!" It was Dean, and he sounded panicked. The twins were taken by surprise, and had frozen as their big brother held his hands out. "Easy there, okay, just take it easy," he coaxed, a few paces off from them. "We got a slight change of plan."

"What do you mean?" Alex asked breathlessly, keenly aware that something was wrong.

"What's going on?" Sam echoed, eyes darting around wildly. "Where's Cas?!"

"Metatron lied," Dean said in a forced calm. "You finish this trial, you're _dead_ , Sam."

Alex's stomach felt like it dropped out of her and her heart rocketed upward into her throat even as Sam shook his head, a pained expression on his face. He then said the one word that made the church go still. "… _So_?" Sam looked mildly psychotic at this point, crazed, deranged as he motioned to Crowley. "Look at him, Dean, look at him!" The demon was in some kind of daze, no idea of what was happening in the room he was in. "Look how close we are! Other people will _die_ if I don't finish this!" Sam insisted in a shout.

"Slow down, hang on—" Alex said, getting semi between the brothers, with a hand out toward each. Silently telling them both to just hold on a second. "Dean, what's happening?"

Dean looked scared, eyes on Sam. "It was a trick. Metatron, whole time—he's trying to cast angels outta Heaven." _What?!_ Alex felt a sudden, increased surge of fear for _her_ angel. Dean took a tiny step toward Sam, a hand still out in a pacifying, persuading way. "Cas is doing what he can upstairs, and I'm here to stop you from doing this."

"Dean, I didn't bleed myself dry for nothing," Sam replied, looking like he could cry. His arms were glowing still, hands too. "I didn't do those trials to _quit_ in the final lap." The word 'quit' was laced with acid.

The oldest Winchester was careful. "It's not over, it's just the pause button," Dean insisted, trying very hard to talk his brother down. "This isn't the only way, Sam—" he reasoned, eyebrows high, emotions becoming less controlled. "Think about it. Think about what we know, huh? Pulling souls from hell, curing demons, hell, ganking a Hellhound! We have enough knowledge on our side to turn the tide here and figure out another way." He paused, taking in how bad off, suicidal even, his brother was. Fear softened the oldest Winchester's voice. "But we can't do it without you, man."

Sam looked offended. "Are you kidding me?" he asked, raw with emotions. "You can barely do it _with_ me! I mean, you think I screw up everything I _try_. You think I need a babysitter, remember?" 

Dean looked guilty. "Come on, man, that's not what I meant."

"No, it's _exactly_ what you meant," Sam retorted, his eyes shining with tears as he pointed back toward the confessional. "You wanna know what I confessed in there? What my greatest sin was?" He gave a weak little huff that was supposed to be a laugh and he looked at each of his siblings in turn. " _It was how many times I let you both down._ " He shook his head no numerous times, clenching his jaw in emotional agony as his voice wavered. "I'm done doing that. I'm done being that person."

"Sam—"

"No Dean!" Sam began to cry, and Alex had never seen him so broken. "What happens when you've decided I can't be trusted again? I mean, I don't deserve to be trusted, I don't even trust _myself."_ He shuddered miserably, his features twisted with self-loathing and disgust. "All I do is let this family down, I'm selfish, I'm a coward, I _deserve_ to die. I gotta make things right, and this is how I do it."

Dean was absolutely shocked and gut-checked. Alex finally found her voice, even though she was near tears herself to hear all this from her brother. "How can you think all that, Sam?" She honestly didn't understand. 

He gave her a look that was hurt and insulted at the same time. "You're joking right? Alex, think of all the things I've done... I mean this year I, I fucking _left_ you on your own, I didn't even help you look for Dean, I did what _Dad_ did to us," he stifled a sob weakly, "And I still don't even understand why!" He suppressed another sob, face wrinkling up. "I _hate_ myself." He threw an arm out. "Running off t-to get a dog and a girlfriend—"

Alex's mouth dropped as it suddenly hit home. " _What_?!" _Oh my god_. "Wait, wait—whoa— _wait._ " Alex held up a hand. "Sam. _Sam._ " She suddenly understood with a great sinking feeling so much more how Sam could feel the way he felt. She immediately and harshly blamed herself for not realizing what he never had. Her throat closed a little from pain and sorrow. _Fuck!_ With a voice that trembled from intensity, anger almost, she began to set the record straight: " _That didn't happen_." 

Both brothers looked thrown off. Sam was the one who asked first. "… _What_?" As if daring to hope.

"...You really don't know?" Alex asked, dumbfounded, looking between both of her brothers who both looked absolutely fucking clueless. "Neither of you _know_?" Now she wasn't shocked, she was utterly dismayed. Alex concentrated—she wasn't sure _what_ she thought, but she never understood that Sam and Dean had both believed Sam's hallucinations about that dog and woman named Amelia had _actually_ taken place. "None of that _happened_ , Sam," Alex said urgently, then paused as it crashed over her again... the things they didn't know. The truth they needed to hear. "Bobby wasn't the reason I did the soul deal." Sam was stricken, confused, daring to hope. Alex's expression broke softly. " _You_ were."

Two words that made both brothers even more shocked and silent. Alex wet her lips, not even sure where to start. She didn't bother to hide her emotions or her aghast feelings at their mistaken assumptions. "I'm glad Bobby's back, of course I am, but... I did _not_ deal because of _him_." There was growing confusion on Dean and Sam's face. "Guys—Dean, the _second_ that you and Cas disappeared into Purgatory, Sam—Sam you went bonkers again. Totally lost it. With, with the—the hallucinations and seizures and no sleep. And for a few days, I tried _everything_ I could think of." Just remembering that nightmare made her near tears again. "But you were _dying_ , Sam." Talking about it took her back to that desperate, wild, determined state of mind. How alone she'd been with no one to ask for a second opinion, no one to figure it out with. "And it was just _me_. No Bobby, no Dean… no Cas. No one." She swallowed slowly, voice falling to a tight whisper. "Just me." Sam was hanging onto every word, looking like his heart could break. Alex stood taller, like a soldier. "So I did what I had to do to make sure you'd be okay. And I told him to bring back Bobby too. Still can't believe he did." She looked at the King of Hell who just a few feet off was currently useless. "Crowley wouldn't even do the soul deal unless I… unless I worked for him awhile, which is a different story but—he wouldn't fix you until I made good on my end, Sam." She gave a bleak little laugh. "But, he gave me a, deposit, guess you could say. Instead of being in Hell with Lucifer... you thought you had a dog and a girlfriend named Amelia." Sam looked even more dazed, his cheeks shining with tears. Alex gave him the saddest expression, a valiant smile through the harder feelings. She cursed herself for him feeling the guilt he had. "It wasn't real," she said gently. "It never happened. You didn't leave me. You would _never_ do that." 

His expression broke again. A stunned, disoriented silence commenced. Dean looked down, clearly thinking, piecing it together—and Sam was processing too, but he looked especially pained. "You... you sold your soul for me," he surmised in a soft whisper as if he couldn't believe it. "You… worked for Crowley for me? Y-you went to _Hell_ for me?" And then he almost looked angry as his voice regained strength. "Why would you _do_ that!?" 

Alex's reply was simple and honest. Immediate. "I'd do it again." Sam's face fell as she continued to clearly, calmly, firmly tell him the truth in rising fervor as the tears began to gather: "I would do it again Sam, in every scenario, every universe, _every single last goddamn time_!" Their gazes held for a long moment, and neither of their eyes were dry. "Understand?" Sam did, but he looked like he didn't think he deserved it. Alex went a little closer but didn't touch him yet for fear of setting him off in some way. "You have _always_ done the right thing, to the best of your ability, _always_. You saved this entire godforsaken planet from Lucifer for fuck's sake." Sam looked desperate to believe her and feel the way she felt about him for himself. Alex's heart went out to him, understanding many things in a new light now. "You're _not_ the monster that you think you are." 

Dean made a little sound, drawing both of the twins gazes. Dean was looking at his sister with a soft, strange expression. Something like respect, sadness, pride, humility. "I wanna be mad at you Alex, but… damn if I can't." He tried a smile and a heavy laugh. "So we've all died for each other now, basically." He gathered himself then finally looked at his brother with deep remorse and embarrassment. "Sammy. I—I'm sorry. I—I just—I thought—" he cut himself off and decided not to list any excuses. "Scratch that. Whatever I thought, I was _wrong_ ," he said, voice breaking in his feelings of guilt and self-loathing. " _God_ , I was wrong." He pressed his mouth into a thin, humiliated line. "Now I'm the one who needs forgiveness huh."

Sam managed a faint, pained smile. He was holding his arms against himself in discomfort. "Guess none of us is perfect."

"Not in a million years little brother," Dean agreed quietly, and looked between his siblings in turn, deep emotion growing on his features. His voice was soft, strained, but firm all at once. The stakes were still high, and Sam still didn't look sure about stopping the trials. With a deep breath in, the oldest Winchester schooled his expression and gathered himself up despite it all. Dean's gruff voice trembled with emotion, and his heart poured into his words uncensored. "Look. We've lost more than most people can even imagine, _then_ some. We've been through shit no one should even be able to conceive of. And you know what? We're _still_ here, goddammit. We—are still—fucking— _here._ And that's because of each other. Plain and simple. In more ways than one." He moved in a little more, and all three of them formed a little triangle shape when he did that. "And you know the one thing that keeps me going? The _one thing_ I know I can count on still? This. _Us_." His voice wavered when he said 'us,' and his eyes were shining now too. "Yeah we're fucked up, we fight, we get it wrong, we do our petty stupid shit. But when all's said and done— _this_?" He gave them both significant, heartfelt, convincing looks. "This is real. You know it is. When nothing else makes sense, this does. Time and time again, over and over." He pointed a finger down to the ground, as if making a point and taking a stand. "The three of us—we're enough. We can face _anything_ , as long as it's together." He looked long and hard at Sam. "Including this." He turned more toward his sickly brother then, moving to hold him around the forearm. "No matter what, I need you to know there is nothing, past, present, or future, that I would _ever_ put in front of you—" he looked at his sister briefly. " _Either_ of you!" He swallowed hard and his voice faltered, Alex's eyes spilled over with tears. "Not Heaven, not Hell, not Demons, not Yellow Eyes, not curses or monsters— _nothing!_ " He trembled. "There ain't no me without the two of you." He looked at Sam again and his eyes were shining. "So I'm beggin' you little brother," he said, his heart in his eyes as he banked everything on his final request: " _Stay_."

He reached a hand out to Sam, and Sam, visibly touched, tearful, emotional, reached back. Alex put her hand in too, and with that, Dean ushered them into a tight group hug. Sam made a tearful sound, gripping into his siblings tightly. "Yeah," he managed huskily, straightening and nodding nodding faintly even through some fear. "Okay. O-okay," he said, agreeing and looking every part a young child in that moment. Alex's hand was on his back, Dean's hand was steadying him by the arm. "How do I stop?"

"Let it go," Dean said, relieved, nodding, breathing out a little more easily.

Sam's expression rippled with pain and fear. "I can't. It's _in me_ Dean." He was squeezing his bloody cut up palm tightly in agony.

Dean pulled a handkerchief out of his back pocket, already starting to wrap up the cut. "Hey, listen," he said in a comforting, calm tone, smiling to try and rally his brother as he addressed the cut. "We'll figure this out. Just like we always do, right? Let it go, okay? Let it go." He gave a little heartening chuckle. "This is just gonna be history in a few months. Mark my words."

"Hey, hey look—" Sam exclaimed in a suddenly relieved voice. He pulled back, showing them his arms, which were beginning to look normal again, the light fading.

"See?" Dean said with an encouraging smile. "It's all good."

The tightness in Alex's chest was fading as her face softened into a smile and Sam was smiling too, a hopeful growing spark of life on his face.

And then everything shattered as he shouted in pain and doubled over, falling over onto the floor.

The next moment was a blur of Dean and Alex trying to help Sam, who was in pain and could barely speak, convulsing, clutching at himself and screaming in pain. "Hospital, _hospital!_ " Dean yelled, and they half dragged, half carried their brother out to the car even as both Dean and Alex tried to call Cas, who didn't come. And then, as they got to the Impala, they stopped, with Sam collapsing against the car as Dean stared at the sky in horror. "Oh no. No, _no_ —!"

Alex followed his gaze, and her stomach plummetted. The dark night sky was streaked with hundreds—thousands—of little meteors. What might have been beautiful if she hadn't understood that very major things were happening in Heaven only served to terrify her. "What is that?" she breathed in horror, still hanging on tight to Sam, crouched beside him.

"The angels—" Dean breathed, aghast. "They're falling."

 _No._ Alex's heart felt like it stopped. Was Cas one of them? Had Metatron hurt him? Had Naomi?

"I gotta get Crowley and _move,"_ Dean said, jumping up and running back into the church.

The twins were left to stare in alarm upwards, and Sam gasped, groaned, "Alex, _uhh!_ —I'm dying—" he croaked.

Alex cupped his face with a hand, pressing his cheek against hers even as she stared upward. The world was ending. They were all going to die. "No, no no, you're okay, shhh, _shh_ ," she said, holding him tight so he could believe it. Sam's groan of pain turned into a scream. "Dean, we have to go, _NOW_!" she shrieked, even as he reappeared carrying Crowley awkwardly, hurrying as best he could.

"Trunk, _trunk_!" Dean yelled, and Alex sprang up, opening the trunk for him fast before rushing and trying to get Sam to get up as Dean dumped Crowley into the trunk.

Dean was there with her a couple seconds later, helping hoist a deadweight Sam up and into the backseat. Not an easy feat, even for both of them. "Let's go, _go_!" Dean yelled the second Sam was wedged inside. He was barely conscious at this point. Alex began to get into the backseat too, so that she could be beside her twin on the ride—but for a fraction of a second before she jumped in, she looked at the streaked sky above.

In her heart, she was afraid for Castiel, beyond afraid. But somehow, she knew on some level he wasn't dead. They hadn't come this far and lost each other this many times to lose each other again now.

And with that thought, she crammed herself into the car and slammed the door behind herself as the wheels squealed, sending the car jetting off into the night.

* * *

**Meanwhile**   
**Hell**

Deep within the blistering darkness of Hades, Abaddon let forth a shriek of absolute rage as she prowled the depths, a mere mass of smoky energy and evil that needed a host to be as powerful as she truly was.

The Winchesters, _all_ of them, would pay. Henry Winchester had trifled with her and paid the price, and now it was time for his grandchildren to do the same. They were even worse than their grandfather, and she would have the kind of revenge the likes of which had never been seen before, she would peel them apart from the inside out, torture them for eons, cut them into pieces of pieces. But first... she needed a body. She prowled through another prison block of endless damned souls, none of them of interest, none of them worthy.

And then… she stopped, her senses heightening. Inside the cell in front of her, a woman who was beaten and broken. The woman sat on the floor of the cell with a listless stare at the floor, her dirty long blonde hair falling across tattooed shoulders. She was bloody, bruised. And she was marked supernaturally, instantly recognizable. Abaddon was suddenly thrilled. _Ohh, I know who YOU are…_

Sensing the presence near herself, the woman in the cell looked up and through the bars and saw the cloud of smoke there—her pretty, distinctive features showed confusion and then slight fear. She was already moving to get up and shrink back, but that was a useless move, because Abaddon had already made her choice, and was rushing into the cell, and then down the throat of Jamie Ward, taking the witch's body for her own.

Suddenly sitting taller, appearing more calm, sly, and pleased, Jamie stood up, breathing in deeply as if for the first time—she gave a satisfied sigh out, testing out her new body, running hands across herself and leaning her neck side to side, stretching. Her eyes glittered, an eyebrow cocked up. "Hello, kitty cat," she murmured to herself, then held a hand up toward the prison cell door. It went shattering backwards, and she gave a little chuckle then looked at her fingernails, which were polished and red now. Her lips would match, too—it was Abaddon's signature after all. Excellent. What a nice little twist. She'd heard of this witch and how Dean Winchester was apparently a puddle of stupid over her. And now she had all of Jamie's memories and knowledge. Whew, was there some interesting stuff in here. Abaddon sashayed out of the cell, her heeled boots clicking and echoing as she took her time walking the length of this particular hallway. Her future dominion.

She thought about her to-do list. Get out of Hell, take this sweet little vessel for a joyride, then kill all the Winchesters, starting with Dean because that little bitch had sawed off her last head. But she wouldn't kill him before playing with him a little bit, _obviously—_ this vessel would make that all too easy. And of course, the final plan was to be Queen of this dump. Oh, the renovations she'd put in place…

"Help me! Help! Please, _oh god_!" A prisoner begged somewhere to her left. Abaddon barely gave the person, some random pathetic human, a glance, then raised her hand and then closed her fist tight. As she did, inhuman screams of pain ripped through the air.

The self-proclaimed Queen smiled to herself, chuckling in the deepest parts of her throat at the sound. "This is gonna be _fun_."


	134. Heaven On Earth

" _The treachery of demons is nothing compared to the betrayal of an angel."  
\- _Brenna Yovanoff

* * *

It was a grim scene in that hospital room.

Sam Winchester laid lifelessly on a bed that looked small underneath his hulking figure. His skin was clammy and discolored, marred by injuries. With a maze of tubes and IVs snaking around him, he looked like he could have already been dead. The steady beeping of his heart rate monitor was the only evidence that he still breathed.

Beside his brother Dean sat anxiously, rubbing his hands together over and over endlessly as he drowned in powerless worry. On the other side of the bed at the window, Alex paced a small back and forth, alternated between searching the sky with desperate eyes and sending her twin distraught glances. Barely having said anything to each other since getting to the emergency room, Dean and Alex remained in terrible limbo, waiting for the inevitable. That's what it felt like anyway.

Dean yet again studied Sam's deathly wan face with a churning stomach _._ It didn't look good. It didn't look good at all.

_Pull through little brother. I'm begging you._

The medical team that had rushed Sam in hadn't looked optimistic as they'd worked quickly to get him stable. The steady stream of doctors and specialists had been vague at Dean's badgering questions, just saying they didn't know anything yet, let us run these tests first—etc. But there was a sinking feeling. And every time Dean's eyes met Alex's, he knew she felt it too.

The high-speed, panicked drive here in the Impala had been the most terrifying shit Dean had experienced in recent memory. Sam, screaming and seizing, out of his mind in pain and begging his siblings for help neither could give. Alex in the back seat, trying valiantly to hold her twin steady as she freaked out completely, unable to do anything. Then the terrible ominous silence when Sam lost consciousness. Alex begging him to wake up. Dean shouting, "he still breathing?!"

All while above and around them soft streaks of plummeting light rained.

The falling angels.

Dean briefly glanced at the muted television in the room and his stomach sank anew. Coverage of what the media was calling a "global meteor shower" was playing. It made his thoughts turn to Cas again. Their calls for help to the angel had gone unanswered for the past eight or so hours since this all happened. The radio silence might have pissed Dean off on a different day. But today, knowing what he knew… it scared him shitless instead.

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

Dean dragged his despairing eyes back to Sam and pushed down another huge wave of all-consuming hopelessness. He'd been running it on the line too long and hard now without rest, without a break, without wins to equal out the losses. It was too much. It was all too _fucking_ much. Every failure he'd ever caused sat square on his shoulders, crushing him. Was the universe out to destroy him completely? It felt that way more than ever, like some personal vendetta.

A quick gallery of his most recent round of trauma played:

Alex being kidnapped by that bitch Naomi, but being tricked into thinking she was dead. Mourning her with his entire heart and soul. Her unexpected reappearance, followed directly by her being taken straight to Hell.

Jamie's miscarriage of their child while Dean was trapped in Purgatory—then her death, the one Dean had promised to stop. Her soul cast down into the eternal damnation of Hell where he was helpless to rescue her no matter how much he wanted to.

Dean's mistake of thinking Sam had abandoned his family, treating him like shit for it, then finding out only yesterday that Sam had never done such a thing… instead, he'd relapsed into a broken mind and hallucinations. Alex had given her soul to save him.

…And now Sam might be dying. All because Dean had allowed his little brother to do these Hell trials despite his best instincts.

Shaking his head shallowly, unable to keep silent any longer and let these thoughts rot him away, Dean finally found his voice. "I wish to god I hadn't let him do this, Alex," he managed so softly it was barely audible.

But she heard him, and her pained eyes came to him sidelong. She said nothing, struggling wordlessly and shaking her head hollowly like she didn't know what to say.

The lack of response triggered something in Dean. "We are so fucking _screwed,_ " he said, standing up because he honestly couldn't hold still anymore. Alarming amounts of grief and helplessness made him want to slam his fist into something. He began to pace back and forth. "Do the hits ever fucking stop coming?!" He demanded, then stared up at the ceiling. " _Cas_ , where are you man?!" Silence. Nothing. And Dean's energy lapsed into bleak exhaustion. Lost, he looked at his sister for something. _Anything_. "Have you called him again?" Cas would come to her, they both knew it. And he _hadn't_.

"A thousand times, Dean," she managed hoarsely, glancing out the window again with eyes that found nothing and no one. Deep fear colored her voice, trauma made her features gaunt. "Something's wrong. M-maybe he got trapped up there somehow. Maybe Metatron…"

No, she wasn't gonna put that thought into either of their heads. Dean marched over toward her like a storm. "Now you listen to me." He pointed a lecturing finger. "Don't decide what's what til we know more, this is _Cas_ we're talking about! He always comes back!" He glared around the room with eyes that softened from angry to fearful. There was a strong possibility that the angel was dead, and they both knew it.

Alex didn't get a chance to respond. A knocking sound on the doorframe caused both of the emotionally compromised siblings to turn. A Black doctor in his forties smiled tightly, clipboard in hand. "Apologies for the lengthy wait," he said, then proceeded to clip MRI scans to a lit wall display just inside the room.

Dean was already halfway there, wetting his lips nervously as frenzied eyes ran over the scans for anything he could derive an immediate answer from, a clue to Sam's fate. Nothing in the monochrome images meant a thing to him or gave him any idea of what was going on. "Just be straight with us, Doc," Dean pled, unwilling to wait a second longer to know. He steeled himself for the worst but hoped against hope he was wrong to do so. "How bad is it?"

The doctor—Abrams his ID said—regarded Dean and then Alex heavily. Then made Dean's stomach drop out of his body with his gentle question: "Would you two like to have a seat?"

Dean's ability to breathe was suddenly gone. _Please no_. He could read between the lines. He knew what that meant. And it was like the ground itself was gone from under his feet.

Doctor Abrams was respectful and every bit as sensitive as he had no doubt been trained to be. "I'm sorry, Sarah and John," he said heavily to each in turn. "Your brother Max's condition is very unfortunate. The MRI shows massive internal burns affecting many of the major organs—and failure is likely. Oxygen to the brain has been severely deprived—there's close to no activity left. Irreversible damage has been done. The coma is the result of the body doing everything in its limited power to protect itself from further harm, but as far as recovery… there likely won't be one."

Beside Dean, having come there at a time he didn't notice in his shocked numbness, Alex shook her head no as if in a trance, denial making her young features haggard and aged. "There… there has to be _something_ you can do…" she managed, but the doctor gave the faintest, apologetic shake of the head. Alex's incredulous expression grew, tempered with horrified heartbreak and disbelief. "You're… you're not saying this is _it_ for him?"

Doctor Abrams's expression confirmed the worst. "I'm so sorry," he offered sincerely, crushing the Winchesters to dust with those three words. "But unfortunately and realistically, the chances of your brother recovering… they're close to zero. We can keep him alive on these machines, but as far as ever having him back the way he was before…" he trailed off and fixed them with a significant, sympathetic look. "Let me be totally transparent. This coma is permanent. You'll need to prepare to make some tough decisions regarding life support. I'd call the rest of your family to come in, if I were you." And the world went dark for Dean and Alex. They barely heard him say, "I'll let you two process, and be back in a bit."

He left, his footsteps clicking hollowly, leaving Dean and Alex shellshocked in silence punctuated by the steady _beep beep beep_ testifying to Sam's waning life.

 _I'll let you two process. I'll let you two process?!_ What the fuck was Dean supposed to do with this information? This couldn't be the end, there was just no fucking way!

Alex was the first to speak. "This can't be happening," she whispered, voice tight with pain and oncoming tears. "Not like this," she begged no one, her eyes on Sam as her chest began to rise and fall more quickly. "Not after everything."

And Dean lost it. "You listen to me, do not give up, you hear me?!" He all but shouted, shocking both of them at how quickly he went from zero to a hundred. "We've been through tougher and we've been through worse, we are _finding_ a way to save him, got it?!" He was breathing so hard he was practically heaving. "I don't care what we have to do—we haven't come this far to lose him to some fucking… demon trial _crap!_ You didn't sell your goddamn soul for him to just—peace out like this!" And by God, Satan, angels and demons… Dean fucking meant that.

Alex's eyes were red and shining. Her voice weak. "But what do we _do_?" Her features worked, her eyes scanned, she visibly was coming up with nothing. "Dean, the doctor made it sound like he's already gone…"

" _Well he's not_!" Dean practically shouted, jamming a hand across his face before grief shipwrecked him at the vast unfairness of it all. "Why is it always such fucking _bullshit_ with us?!" He lamented, begging no one and everyone for an answer. "What, we get Bobby and Dad back but lose Sam? Lose Cas too, maybe?!" His temper was rising again and he could only see the red of intense rage. "I've had enough of this shit! Haven't we lost enough?! Given enough over and over and _over_ again to try and save this godforsaken planet from all the shit constantly coming at it?!" Then, the facade of anger started to crack, and his truest emotion—despair—began to get the better of him. He could barely speak for the pain in his throat. His eyes stung, his lungs ached, he was about to break down completely. "I can't keep doing this, man, I can't. No one's supposed to carry this much on their shoulders," he declared, " _no one_!" He soldiered through the threat of tears to admit what he was feeling most acutely of all: "It should've been me." A quiet confession that struck horror into his sister's face. "I should be the one in that bed right now." Alex's pained expression and the way she came toward him caused Dean to back off and harden, shake his head no and avoid her gaze. He couldn't be here right now, he wasn't going to cry—because crying meant admitting defeat, and he wasn't gonna do that shit. "I—I need a minute," he managed. And before he could lose his grip completely, he turned and all but fled.

" _Dean_ —" Alex protested, taking a couple steps after him then stopping short. She knew enough to recognize that he wasn't thinking straight right now. Harrowed and stressed to the brink herself, Alex was both angry and afraid. "Don't do anything _stupid_!" she called after him, not sure what else to do. All she _did_ know was that she wasn't going to leave Sam alone in here. The steadfast beep of the heart rate monitor called her attention to her twin's still form and slowly, she let herself look at him again. It was so hard to see him this way. His screams of pain from the church and the car were haunting her. But this was worse. She shuddered, drifting over to him and slowly taking the seat Dean had been in a moment ago.

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

Careful and worried, she slowly reached out and took his limp hand in both of hers, searching his familiar features for any sign that he was fighting, that he'd be back. That the doctor was wrong. "Can you hear me, Sammy?" she chanced in whisper, feeling her eyes fill with the tears she hadn't let herself cry yet. Wretched silence endured, testing her remaining faith. "Don't give up," Alex pleaded, hoping against hope that her twin could hear her. Her eyes raised to the ceiling helplessly. "Cas, if you're out there… _please_." Her entire being begged to know he was okay. That he would be back, that he could somehow save them. But her prayer yielded silence. Alex's chest grew heavier and thicker with anguish. "We need you," she whispered to Castiel, clenching Sam's hand anew and worrying herself sick over Dean. "All of us _need_ you." When nothing happened, she bowed her head to the hands that held her brother's, and her shoulders shook as the tears finally came.

* * *

Even as Dean visited the hospital chapel and out of desperation made the mistake of praying to any listening angel for help for his brother, Alex remained at Sam's side, in the dark to her oldest brother's regrettable deeds.

_This isn't how it ends. It just can't be._

A thought that repeated through her mind over and over, followed by _maybe it is_.

She sat. She stood. She paced. She prayed. She searched the sky over and over again, feeling like she could find an answer or hope there.

All of this while she fought waves of intense nausea—a reminder of what she'd just found out a day ago. _Pregnant_. A thought that sent her spiraling all over again. That was why she _couldn't_ for one _second_ truly believe Castiel was gone. It just didn't make sense, she couldn't accept it, she wouldn't believe it. He wouldn't make her a mother and then die, it just couldn't end this way. But… the chance that it might terrified her to the point of tears.

Ten minutes turned into twenty, then into thirty, then into forty-five. No sign of Dean returning, and he didn't reply to her numerous texts, which only served to piss her off and worry her vastly. She paced again, biting at a fingernail as she watching Sam vigilantly. Very hard questions were starting to surface. Where would Sam go if he did die? Heaven, right? A reward for all the years spent here in torment—surely that was the best case scenario if this did happen. Everyone _did_ have to die someday… was this Sam's time? How could it be though? _I only just got back_ , she lamented inside, wanting to sob at the thought. _I need more time with him_. She'd spent what felt like ten years in Hell—apart from everything good, beautiful, and familiar. And now this had happened. Alex wrestled with herself if she could accept Sam passing if it truly came to that, or if she should keep hoping for the seemingly impossible. This was the curse of being a Winchester… never knowing if death were final or not. Never believing fully that it all really was over.

Frustration grew larger with every passing minute. _What do I do_? A question that eroded her slowly and made her feel close to insane. She needed to _do_ something. The only small comfort she managed was that she finally got a hold of Bobby on the phone, and begged him to come quickly. He said he was about five hours away in his RV and would be there as soon as possible. _I wish Dad were awake,_ she thought briefly after hanging up, a strange thought. Who had ever known there would be a day she longed to know his thoughts and hear his voice? But after their stay in Hell and their mutual escape… things had changed.

Even as Alex pressed a hand to her stomach and swallowed down a sick feeling and fought against intense hunger pangs, there was motion at the door and she looked over, expecting to see Dean or a hospital staff member. Instead, it was a man who appeared to be a street food vendor—greasy apron and all. He stood in the doorway seething. Immediately straightening, alert to a threat, Alex put herself between the stranger and her brother. "Who are _you_?" she demanded.

In a flash of unmistakable silver, he whipped an angel blade out and declared: "Your executioner!" He charged, barely giving Alex enough time to react. Even as he was barreling toward her, she was responding—despite how the time in Hell recently had left her unpracticed, it was an instinct her body hadn't forgotten: her hand flashed up into her jacket and her angel blade came out like a strike of lightning. She took the offensive in a microsecond, already meeting him halfway aggressively, blocking the blow that he tried to swing downward with a strong grip to his wrist. And just like when she'd faced off with Abaddon last night, Alex found her strength was shockingly equal or perhaps even greater than her opponent's. Surprise registered in the attacker's face, even as with a guttural yell, Alex's blade found squelching purchase through the side of her attacker's skull. He screamed, flickering white-hot in his eyes and mouth, and Alex yanked the blade out of him with a grunt, watching as he fell to the ground at her feet, dead. Adrenaline pumping, breath racing, sense of danger on high alert, she darted to the door and slammed it shut, whirling to look at the dead guy on the ground.

" _Fuck_ , more rogue angels?!" she managed through short breath to herself. Only there were no wings burnt across the space below the dead body. Was there more than one? Why would they be here? Were they after Sam? After Dean? After _her_? Had they already gotten to Dean? And then a terrifying theory dawned over Alex: _the baby_. A word Castiel had taught her recently went through her mind. _Nephilim_. Was that why she'd just been attacked? As horrific a thought it was, she didn't dwell on the question. She needed to secure the space. Alex looked around the room wildly, spotting what she was looking for in a few seconds. She snatched the dry-erase marker up and began drawing every angel ward she knew of as quickly as possible all over the walls.

She was on the last one when the door opened behind her. She whirled, blade ready to slay another enemy. But thank goodness, it was only Dean, and he had his hands up in front of him. "Whoa, Nelly, it's just me!" he exclaimed, then saw the dead guy. "Fuck, you too?" he asked incredulously.

"What do you mean _me too_?" Alex demanded. With Dean, there was a stranger who quietly shut the door behind them, then glanced around uncomfortably at all the angel warding. "Where the hell have you _been_?!" Alex asked accusingly, then indicated the strange man. "And who the hell is _this_?"

The stranger regarded her with a physically pained expression. "My name is Ezekiel," he said in a voice that was dignified, measured, and formal. "I am one of the fallen."

Alex's fire faltered. Fallen as in _angels_? She looked at Dean for answers, and _now_. Mollified, Dean tried to play it down. "Listen, so… I might have prayed for help to anyone who'd come."

Eyes gone big as planets, Alex thought surely to god he couldn't be for real. "You _what_?!"

"Then I got attacked by one in the garage when I went out to check on Crowley," Dean said, not giving her enough time to react to any of what he'd just said. "Listen, longshots!" he defended. "I dunno!" He looked at his companion sidelong. "Zeke here… he helped out." Astounded at her brother's move that had put them _all_ in danger, Alex questioned Dean's sanity and didn't hide it from her expression, either.

"I mean no ill will," Ezekiel said quietly, portraying himself as humble and meek, even. "I only wish to help."

A likely story. "We've heard _that_ one before," Alex muttered mistrustfully, sizing the guy up for real now. Tall, fair, built well, a plain but strong face with a prominent jaw. But he had the look of someone who was quite ill. Sweaty, pale, gaunt, uncomfortable. What was wrong with him? "You… don't look so good."

Ezekiel shook his head. "Damaged in the fall," he said dismissively, fixing her with a hopeful look and shocking her with his next words. "I know Castiel."

Going utterly still at the mention of him, for a brief minute Alex didn't know what to say. "Well then whereis he? What happened?"

The angel looked down regretfully. "That, I do not know." Not what she had hoped to hear.

"Al, this might be our only lifeline," Dean said. "He jumped in to save me, I know that much. The angel who attacked me, he said almost every wingless fallen mook out there's gunning for Cas. Revenge, I guess, for getting 'em kicked out of the pearly gates club."

"…So he's alive?" Alex deduced, clutching to hope hard.

Ezekiel remained drawn. "I certainly hope so," he said. "I'm here to offer my help in the meantime."

Alex studied him for a couple of doubtful seconds before her instincts told her _no_. No fucking _way._ "Dean we don't _know_ this guy."

Emotionally gaunt, Dean didn't listen to her. He'd obviously already made up his mind. "Desperate times."

Even as Alex gaped at the response, Ezekiel approached Sam carefully, then laid a hand onto his forehead then made a face like he wasn't so sure. Alex had to hold herself back from yanking his hand off her brother. "He's so weak…" the angel said softly.

"So what, you can't fix him after all?" Dean asked, gutted. From that, Alex could tell well enough that these two had spoken at length and come to some sort of agreement already. She did _not_ feel happy to be excluded from this decision making and watched Ezekiel hawkishly as she crossed the room and retrieved the blade from the angel she'd killed, handing it to Dean and giving him a meaningful look. He was going to need this. And she didn't mind letting Ezekiel know with her eyes alone that she did _not_ approve of him being in the room right now.

Suddenly, her phone began to ring, a jarring sound. The second the electronic little notification began to chime, her heart flew into her throat. With a fumbling hand, she pulled her mobile out and saw a number not stored in her phone. It said _Location: Longmont, Colorado_. "Cas, hello?!" she answered, because there was no one else it could possibly be.

And it _was_. "Alex—!"

" _Cas_!" Alex became overjoyed by staggering relief even as Dean's expression showed the same. "Oh my god—where are you?! What happened?! Are you okay?!" Neither Winchester noticed the apprehension that briefly crossed Ezekiel's face.

"I'm alive—disoriented, tired, hungry, thirsty but… alive," Cas answered, even as Dean was crowding in and mouthing 'speakerphone, speakerphone!' to a shaking Alex. "Somewhere in Colorado, I think," Cas continued. "Metatron tricked me," he said sorrowfully even as Alex managed to hit the speakerphone button. "Are you three all right?"

Alex ran a shaking hand through her hair briefly. "Me and Dean are okay. Sam's…"

Dean interjected when his sister went quiet. "Cas, we think he's dying."

" _What_?" Castiel's surprise and horror was audible. "Oh no, Alex, Dean…"

Alex dashed a tear away—her emotions were unmanageable at this specific point. "Please, just come here, _now,_ " she begged, knowing everything would be all right if he could just be there with them.

There was a heavy pause. "I can't… Metatron. He took my Grace. I'm utterly powerless."

Another earth-shattering revelation. Dean and Alex were clearly thinking the same thing, but only Alex managed the breathe the word out loud: " _Fuck_."

After a shocked beat of silence, Dean leaned closer in, looking at Ezekiel when he asked the following: "Cas, buddy—you know an angel named Ezekiel?"

"Yes I do… why?"

"'Cuz he's here, and he says he can help Sam."

Dean and Alex missed the brief look of fear to be discovered that flashed across "Ezekiel's" face. They only heard Cas's eased-of-mind response. "Oh, what a relief—yes, Ezekiel is a loyal ally. A good angel. He'll be able to help until I get there."

"Thank god," Dean said, shoulders sagging before he wet his lips and refocused. "Cas, listen—there's angels out there, okay, and they're looking for you. Sounds like the majority's pissed. Watch your back, you hear me?"

Cas sounded every bit as sorrowful as Alex knew he would. So many implications there. But Castiel was brave in the face of his guilt. "I will, Dean, thank you."

"Just get your ass back to the Bunker, pronto—" Dean continued, "we'll figure this out with Sam and meet you there ASAP."

"All right," Cas agreed readily. "I'll meet you there." There was an awkward pause. "Um—but just to warn you. Losing my Grace has left some… significant effects on me." Was that a note of fear in his voice? "I… I bleed now. Without being able to fix myself. And I feel… I think it's hunger." Alex and Dean exchanged a glance as Castiel's tone took a distinctly grouchy turn. "I don't like it." His voice softened and lowered further. "I… I had to urinate earlier. Very embarrassing."

While Dean took the information in stride, Alex gaped. When he'd been powerless at the time of the apocalypse, he'd never had to do _that._ "Well if you think peeing's bad, wait for number two," Dean said, getting a sour side eye from his sister at his sense of timing.

Cas's squint was audible. "I fail to understand your meaning."

"Oh you will, buddy," Dean said, somehow taking small enjoyment from the interaction before he got an elbow in his side and he sobered up. "Cas, we'll figure this all out," he said, giving Alex a petulant glance for the jab. "We will. Glad you're okay."

"Are you gonna be able to find your way okay?" Alex asked, vastly worried about his safety and cursing the distance between them. Colorado was a twenty-four hours drive away, at least. And if Cas couldn't zap himself around like he used to, that would be a challenge for him.

"I think so," Cas said, then paused, smiling ever so slightly. She could hear it. "I've picked up a few tricks from my family I think I can use."

Relieved but still worried, stewing in apprehensive theories privately, Alex let Dean talk. "You got this, Cas, I know you do."

Understanding it was time to say goodbye, Cas responded in kind. "Be careful, you two. Take care of Sam, and each other. I'll see you soon." He paused, and Alex knew these next words were especially for her. "Just not soon enough." And oh, how she longed for him and worried over him in that moment. "I love you all."

Alex nodded as her throat grew tight. "We love you too," she said waveringly. "Be _careful_ Cas."

"I will be."

And nothing was left but to end the call. Softly, Alex did. "Bye."

As soon as she hit the end call button, Dean turned his attention to Ezekiel. "All right, so—"

Without warning, the hospital began to shake, a low rumble emitting. Startled, the Winchesters caught their balance. "What's that?" Dean asked, eyes wild on the ceiling and then the floor.

" _Angels_ ," Ezekiel said grimly.

Alex gave Dean a supremely bitchy face. "I wonder who _alerted them to our location_." A sour look came her way for that one, but was she wrong? Suddenly an ear-shattering, high-pitched ringing resounded, making Dean and Alex clap hands over their ears and shout in surprised pain. In Alex's hand, her phone screen cracked and broke, as did other small electronics and things made of glass in the room. Just as abruptly as it had happened, the piercing sound ended, leaving the Winchesters disoriented with ringing ears and shocked expressions.

"We need to move," Ezekiel said grimly and urgently as the low rumbling continued. That earned him a harsh glance from Dean. "If we move him, he _dies_." Ezekiel's expression was challenging. "If we stay, we could _all_ die."

Dean took a second to glower. "Plan B, then," he abruptly muttered, already marching toward the door.

"Where are you going?!" Alex asked dubiously, hands still hovering at her ears.

"To get these civilian saps clear!" Dean retorted, gesturing vaguely before pointing at her. "Stay here and watch Sam! Do _not_ open this door for anybody but me—" then he pointed at Ezekiel commandingly. "And save my brother, you hear me?!"

And then he was gone, slamming the door behind himself. Alex turned her frazzled and tense attention to Ezekiel, who regarded her hesitantly and took in the unfriendly quality her stare had to it. Then he attempted to bridge the gap. "You need not fear me, Alex Winchester."

Alex had her blade in her hand again and pointed it at him. "Do I look afraid?" she fired back, then indicated Sam followed by the door. "I need you to either fix my _brother_ or get outta here!" The soft, steady rumbling continued like an earthquake.

Ezekiel took a second, looking at her unnervingly. "I do not mean to be an intrusion, but… it's important that you know. I can clearly see," he said softly. "You are expecting." Alex's expression fell. "Castiel's child," Ezekiel continued gently. "Nephilim. Half angel. Half human." He took a small step toward her, his sickly face unreadable. Alex stiffened, resisting the urge to back up. "Do you yet know that they gestate much faster than a human child would? No two Nephilim pregnancies are alike, but I do know this: When you give birth in a handful of months… you will die."

Those last three words stunned completely. Alex's voice was soft and breathless as her blade fell fractionally lower. " _What_?"

The angel looked almost sad about it. "Humans cannot bear the seed of Heaven without consequence," he said heavily. "Your body will become dependent on the fetus, growing stronger. Healthier. Almost super human, I suppose you could say. But when you give birth, your body will assume it has lost a vital organ and perish…" he hesitated, then looked at her meaningfully. "Unless, perhaps, you have an angel there to heal you and stop this terrible thing from happening."

It was like being hit by bricks right after she'd just been run over by a truck. The hospital fire alarms began to sound then, amping up the feeling of urgency.

Ezekiel was grim. "You need to find Castiel as quickly as possible—he's Heaven's most hunted angel, Alex Winchester—and he is _vulnerable,_ we both heard how much so. He'll need to regain his Grace, or this will end in very unfortunately indeed. He needs you now more than ever right now." He shook his head briefly and looked up and around, seeing things she perhaps could not. "The other angels will not save you. Only he can."

Confused, terrified, and aware of how much higher the stakes were than ever, it simultaneously dawned on Alex that she was being made to choose right now between brother and husband, she shook her head no. "I can't just—"

" _Every second spent here puts Castiel at risk_!" Ezekiel suddenly shouted, shocking Alex. He forcefully regrouped himself. "You are not the only one with brothers, Alex Winchester," he said beseechingly. "He is mine." Alex's mind raced. Cas had said Ezekiel was trustworthy. So why did her instincts say that she _couldn't_ trust this angel in front of her? Fixing her with the most deadly serious look, Ezekiel took another step toward her. "I know your story," he said carefully. "Your mother died when you were just a babe." Alex withered at the comparison she realized he was making. "Is the Winchester legacy going to continue onward this way?"

Even if he had a point, it was offensive, it was obscene, and Alex was equal parts enraged, alarmed, and terrified. She had _just_ found out she was going to be a mother, now she might not even live to be one at all? She was going to have a child who would be cursed to live the same motherless life she had? No. _No_. Helpless and scared tears rose into her eyes. The hospital shook again, and backed into a proverbial corner, panicking past the point of comprehension at the thought of losing Cas, of her child losing _her_ , Alex made a split decision despite every misgiving she had. She wordlessly rushed out of the room, then took off down the hall at a run toward the parking deck entrance, without a clear plan or cognizant thought. Only getting to Castiel. At a sprint, she passed Dean, who was running back toward the room. "Where the hell you goin'?!" he demanded, skidding to a stop even as she left him in the dust.

"To get _Cas_!" Alex threw over her shoulder.

She heard a grudging, "Well be careful, dammit!" as she turned to run down a hall with other evacuating staff, patients, and visitors.

Even as this exchange took place, Ezekiel breathed a small sigh of relief that he was able to run off Sam Winchester's younger sister. For he was not Ezekiel at all but Gadreel, the angel that all of Heaven called The Traitor for letting Lucifer into the Garden of Eden so many centuries ago. His fellow angels would want him dead, and Gadreel could not abide this. He wanted to survive. He wanted to live. And while Dean could be manipulated and used, Gadreel had recognized that Alex would not be the same. Thankfully, her attachment to Castiel and her pregnancy had proven to be a convenient way to send her off. And once Dean was back, all the fugitive angel who called himself Ezekiel had to do was play on the desperation Dean possessed to present his plan for "healing Sam…"

* * *

**Meanwhile  
Longmont, Colorado**

Thanks to the kindness of an old woman at a gas station who gave Castiel a few coins, the fallen angel hung up the payphone he'd just used then breathed out tensely.

The news of Sam's condition weighed heavily on him and worried him to his core. He hoped so intensely that Ezekiel could indeed help. Cas trudged away from the payphone, contemplating his next move and trying not to feel overwhelmed. The distance between himself and Alex increased his feeling of anxiety by a hundredfold. It would be bad enough to be separated from her in normal circumstances, but these were not normal. She was newly pregnant, and he knew she needed him more than ever. So did Sam. And Dean too. Even though he did have to wonder… was he any good to anyone without his angelic abilities?

He needed to get to the Bunker as soon as possible, and for that, he needed transportation. To go from Colorado to Kansas would cost money he did not have. Could he find another kindly elderly person to help him? What would Alex do in this situation, he wondered? Steal a vehicle, most likely. Or, steal money to pay her way by public transit. Things Castiel wasn't sure how to do, and felt wary of. _What kind of angel am I_? It was a forlorn, lonely thought. His stomach gurgled, reminding him… he was hungry. So much so that his body felt weak. His throat and mouth were dry. Thirst, he thought. An alien feeling that was very uncomfortable. The air was uncomfortable too. Hot, sticky, making him feel clammy. Sweaty, maybe. _This is very inconvenient indeed_. The wingless angel stopped in the middle of the gas station lot, becoming consumed in thoughts and sensations plaguing him. _I'm to blame._ He knew that. He'd known it as soon as Metatron's true angle was revealed. He'd known it when he crashed to earth Graceless and saw the angels raining like meteors across the deep blue sky above. He'd known it as in total darkness he found his way through thick woods to a road that he walked miles on through the night, into dawn, not knowing where he was nor where he was heading. His muscles ached. His feet hurt. His wings were gone.

And he wasn't the only one. From what he could tell, the entire Host was cast out of Heaven to walk the earth without their wings… and for what? For Metatron's own personal amusement, it seemed. The Scribe was the villain in this situation… but Cas was the tool that had been used. Another defeating blow in his resumé of mistake after mistake. _Does my foolishness ever end? I just want to go home. Then, maybe my family can help me find a way to fix what I've done…_

A sudden young, female voice cut through his thoughts. "Castiel."

Turning quickly as surprise and even fear rocketed through his veins, Cas was faced with a fair, dark-haired girl perhaps in her late teens. She wore a blue dress with a sunny yellow cardigan. Her expression was lost. Pained.

"It's me," she said at his lack of recognition. "Hael."

Cas was stunned indeed. "… _Hael!_ " he said, stunned to see the younger angel who he hadn't seen glimpse of in years.

"Yes," she said, studying him apprehensively, urgently. "Heaven cast us out. All of us." Dean's warning flitted through his mind even as Hael said, without giving away her exact feelings on the matter: "They're saying it's because of you."

"You still hear the angels?" He asked, surprised because he did not hear their voices. Not since he first fell.

"You _don't_?" Hael asked, then looked at him more closely, noticing what she hadn't. "Your Grace…"

Castiel supposed he had already revealed it, so he sighed heavily and just came out with it. "Gone." Leaving him vulnerable. Mortal. Human, almost.

Hael's questioning, haunted eyes searched his. "You did this, didn't you?"

This was a delicate situation that could perhaps become negative. Castiel decided to tell the truth, and hope that his angel sister could somehow understand that it hadn't been maliciously done. "Metatron tricked me," he said, ashamed of himself, and deeply so. "I thought I was shutting Heaven's exit, so to speak. No more angels on earth."

Hael's nostrils flared slightly. "Well it seems you've achieved the _opposite_. And now we can't go _home_. Now we've lost our _wings._ All of us."

Full of regret, Cas empathized. "You're angry."

"We're trapped on a plane of existence we weren't meant for. Stripped of our abilities and the things that make us _us._ You think we should be happy about that?" Her delicate features were twisted spitefully.

Castiel saw this interaction going poorly, and tried to figure out a way to exit it. "I understand. Believe me, I understand." And he _did_. "But I can't help right now—" He left out the specifics, but said it as clearly as he knew how. "I have to get back to my family."

"Your family?" Hael asked challengingly. "Castiel, _we_ are family. You and I."

It was true that angels all viewed each other as brothers and sisters. Because God had created them to be that. But for Castiel, the angel who had walked earth for years now and had bonded to the ones inhabiting this place, one in particular—he no longer felt that blind allegiance most other angels did to each other. He leveled Hael with a quiet, steadfast, understanding gaze. "Hael… I may be an angel. And a fallen one at that. But my family is—"

"The _Winchesters_ ," she said sourly, cutting him. Her eyes flashed displeasure. "I didn't know if I believed the things they said about you…" she shook her head bitterly. "But now I'm seeing it for myself." She tried to convince him. "Castiel, you _owe it_ to your kind to help reverse the problem you caused."

And he agreed. Of course he agreed. "I understand why you feel this way," he answered. "And I'll make it right somehow, I swear to you. But I can't help right now Hael. I'm so sorry." He backed up a couple of steps, because he couldn't waste any more time. He needed to go back to Alex, Dean, Sam.

She made no reply, merely looked at him in disbelief. And Cas gave her a sad parting smile, then walked past her, deciding to go into the gas station and see if he could explain his need for money to a willing listener. Then maybe he could get enough funds to make it to at least the next town. But the second he turned his back to Hael, her true anger leapt to life on her face, she cast around for any type of weapon, and found a length of discarded wood. She seized it, and knocked him across the head, rendering him unconscious. She stared contemptuously down at him, then concentrated her mind into the channel of communication where angels spoke to each other.

"I have Castiel," she said lowly, then grabbed him by the shoulders of his trench coat and began to drag him across the rough cement ground.

* * *

His first cognizant sensation was pain, a dull, throbbing hammering sensation in his head at the back of his skull. Even as he groaned and realized he heard the low rumble of a car's engine and felt the telltale jostling of being in a moving vehicle, Castiel opened his eyes, which seemed to flinch at the brief brightness of the world. Ahead through a windshield, verdant Colorado wilderness passed quickly as the car followed a winding, quiet road. In the driver's seat, Hael.

"Hello, Castiel," she greeted evenly, not looking at him as she drove.

Realizing what had happened, panic and alarm pooled in Cas's veins. Where were they? How long had he been unconscious? She had attacked him…! It sent ice through his veins and grief plummeting into his stone. "What are you doing?" he asked in disbelief. "Where are we going?"

She gave him a brief, ominous flick of the eyes. "To the other angels." She seemed calm, determined, if a bit disdainful. "We are going to remind you of who you are, Castiel. By force, if we have to." Again, Cas cursed himself for being a fool. For allowing this to happen to himself. _I am far too trusting_. But if nothing else, he had just learned something. The angels who had fallen had to move around as a human would. "This is all your fault, take some responsibility," Hael continued in lecture. "First you went against the Archangels and stopped the apocalypse, then you started that war in Heaven, then you desecrated the Host, then you abandoned us… now you cast us out of our home and it's _not your problem_?" She shook her head, scoffing. Apparently, she had been stewing in between the time since she attacked him and now. "You are _lost_ , Castiel, you're _insane_. It's time to end this once and for all."

It was then that Cas noticed: on the skin of her neck, grayish veins crawled out of what her collar could not hide. "…What's wrong with your vessel?" he questioned softly. "Weak. Unprepared. It won't hold me much longer." Hael glanced at him significantly. "But I've already found another one, so you needn't worry yourself."

It didn't take much to make the logical leap to what she was inferring. "You… want to possess me," he said, unable to believe it. Perhaps she was the insane one.

Hael's bright eyes stayed on the road, her derisive expression staying hard. "I think once you realize what you've done to the Host and feel appropriately remorseful, you'll be more than happy to give what little you can offer as a solution. Together, we can fix what you broke."

It was an odd moment to smile, and yet, Castiel felt a cynical tug at his lips. "A recurring theme of my life," he muttered almost unto himself. "Breaking things. Attempting to fix them." In whatever case, he didn't have time for this. He contemplated the speed they were driving, and knew it was too fast for him to exit without injuring himself badly. So he made his demand, leveling her with the first dark look he'd given her yet. "Let me out, Hael."

She ignored his command. "They say you defied the Will of God for them. This family of humans. This _girl_ you call your _wife_. That you've torn apart everything that held in place for millenniums." She gave him a brief, entreating look despite her disapproval. "Why? For what end, Castiel? These mortals cannot compare to the ones you truly belong with. _Us_."

Cas stared ahead out of the windshield, his plan forming in his mind. He didn't want to cause more harm, especially not to a fellow angel who had been loyal to him during the Apocalypse. But all he could see in his mind was the one he needed to get back to. And if she was going to make her choice, he would make his. "Clearly, you don't know me like you think," he said lowly.

"…What do you mean?" Hael asked, brow furrowing.

He didn't answer her. "Are you going to let me leave?"

" _No_."

So be it. With purpose, measure, and calm, he buckled himself in, steeling his nerves for what he was about to do. "If I would do all those things to earth, Heaven, and Hell for the one I love, for my family…" he said, finally leveling her with a fiery stare, "what do you think I would do to _you_?"

Cas saw the way her expression fell, but it was too late. He'd already grabbed the wheel of the car and yanked hard, sending the fast-moving car skidding and veering off the road down a grassy embankment. In barely the span of a second, even as Hael tried to wrestle the wheel away from Cas, the vehicle impacted painfully hard against a tree, coming to a whiplashing stop. Not wearing her seat belt, Hael's vessel went flying through the windshield and glass shattered then rained, cutting Castiel's face and exposed hands as he winced away. Shocking pain rippled through his body from the force of the crash.

Stillness fell. _Ding, ding, ding, ding!_ The car's airbags had deployed, the engine was hissing. Dazed and in even more pain than before, Cas took inventory of his body. All of his joints, especially his back, were shocked and throbbing—his face stung and burned from the debris that had scratched him—his hands were the same. With great effort, he removed his seat belt and stumbled out of the car, then staggered over toward Hael. He thought faintly that he was probably experiencing physical shock in this moment.

Hael's injuries had left her unable to stand or move, and she was on her back, propped on elbows. One of her legs was bent at ninety degrees in a direction it was not meant to go. Her face and body were bloody and gashed. Glass had sunk itself into tender skin all over. And despite everything, compassion, sadness, and guilt settled over Cas anew. Her blade, a few feet off from her, glinted in the mid day sunlight. He bent and picked it up hesitantly, regarding Hael's furious expression with a sad one of his own. It wasn't worth much, but he _did_ feel regret. "I'm sorry, Sister. I didn't want to hurt you."

"All you've ever _done_ is hurt us!" she retorted in an acid bellow. "Betray your own kind, again and _again_!"

Standing over her, Castiel couldn't help but remember all the other angels he had betrayed. Balthazar. Samandriel. Rachel. Countless others. Some had deserved it, others had been innocent. And others still… they were gray matter. "I don't deny what I've done," Castiel said softly. Again, he thought of the fall of the angels. Perhaps Naomi was right about him: he had always been a defect. In either case, he knew the extent of his sins. The things he had done. He would carry it all with him forevermore. "I didn't mean for this to happen."

"But it _did_!" Hael shot back, her teeth gritted in fury. "And someone has to _pay_. Give me your vessel! Pay the amends that are owed, Castiel! Give yourself over, die for all I care!" She was so vitriolic that spittle flew out of her mouth as she screamed at him.

Cas shook his head somberly, saddened at the place this road had led. "None of us are the angels they think us to be, Hael," he lamented, wondering what happened to the angels who had held humanity dear and sought to protect, guide, and watch over them. Instead, many angels spat upon God's most precious creation, betraying them. Thought nothing of using them to their own ends. And with nothing else to say, only pain to bear, Cas turned to leave.

"Castiel!" Hael screamed. "If you leave me here in this broken girl—!" He stopped in his steps, his breath catching. "I swear it, Castiel—I'll tell them where you are," she threatened, and he turned slowly to look at her reluctantly. "And they will _hunt you down_ until their last breath, they will seek revenge on the angel that did this, the angel who destroyed Heaven!"

"Stop," Cas asked softly, shutting his eyes as his face showed his emotions. He saw where this was going. He just wanted it to end.

" _No_!" she spat. "Redeem yourself, or I will _never_ stop until I kill you and every human you hold dear, especially _her_!"

And Castiel's eyes snapped open. His wavering feelings ceased their journey of questioning. Hael would never live to make her threats come true, and whatever misgivings he had were gone. Without hesitation, he strode forward and stabbed her in the chest with the angel knife—she screamed as white light flared from her mouth, eyes, and knife wound. Then all went silent once more as the body of whatever human Hael had possessed crumpled.

Even though it had to be done, Cas stumbled back a bit as he pulled the blade out. Yet another angel and human dead because of him. _How many more must die because of me? Because of my choices and actions?_ He looked up at the wide, innocent blue sky above, reeling, tears stinging his eyes abruptly. No Winchesters at his side. No Host left, for all he could tell, who would see things his way. In fact, they were his enemies it seemed.

Alone, in a way like never before. And not only alone. Lost. Injured. Afraid. Hungry. Tired. Thirsty. Hot. No way to communicate with anyone. But he refused to give up or succumb to his anguish. As long as there was breath in his lungs, he would carry on. And with the thought of Alex, their child, and the men he viewed as brothers… Cas stowed Hael's blade, and began to limp toward the road, determined to make it home _no matter what._


	135. No Place Like Home

" _Lies require commitment."  
_ \- Veronica Roth

* * *

**Six Days Later  
Samaritan House Catholic Homeless Shelter  
Denver, Colorado**

He had given his name upon arrival to the shelter as 'Clarence Winchester.'

The first name was thanks to Meg's repeated attempts at nicknaming him that over the years. It had stuck, he supposed.

And the last name… well, that was for obvious reasons.

For the last six days, Castiel had found himself in an entirely new world despite already having been on earth for quite some time. He had been required to do things he never had before: Hitching rides from Longmont to Denver, begging on the streets for food and money—all while dealing with relentless hunger, the need for sleep, a sunburn, and bodily functions he never even considered before (like sweating, itchiness, sluggishness, sore muscles, a headache, thirst, and hurting, blistered feet). There was also having to urinate and otherwise in alleyways and in secluded areas of parks. It all felt very wrong and shameful. He'd slept under a bridge one night with a growling, aching stomach—then been woken and robbed at gunpoint for the nine crumpled dollar bills he'd been given earlier by a kind passerby. His wedding band would have been taken too if it hadn't been for Cas slipping it off to pocket it earlier in the day—that was thanks to some advice from another homeless person. But all that was taken was the money. He was beaten afterward, nothing terrible, but it was humiliating. Terrifying. To have been so full of power and strength then suddenly find himself mortal and unsure of how to defend himself against someone with a firearm. It knocked him off his balance, it made him want to weep. Nowhere felt safe, and he didn't know himself anymore. He had never wanted Alex so badly as he did then.

He had spent the rest of that particular night awake, hurting from the places he'd been beaten and kicked, weakened from lack of food. As he wandered the streets, he stopped at one point to look upward to the starry sky as tears swam in his eyes. He spoke to Alex aloud—a mirror of the way she used to pray to him. He knew she wouldn't hear him. But it comforted him somehow. He did not sleep again that night, even though fatigue made him feel physically sick and disoriented. When the sun rose, he curled up on a bench at a public park—hoping that people being around and the world being brightly lit would keep him safer as he slept. A police officer woke him up not long after and shooed him away, offering no help, only more feelings of despair and being unwanted and incompatible. Everything seemed dangerous now. Unwelcoming. Hostile.

On day three of sleeping on the streets and trying to beg enough money to get a bus ticket to Kansas, a compassionate young woman who introduced herself as Kumi spotted him and bought him a big, warm bagged meal then offered to take him to a program she knew of. Cas was afraid to go anywhere with a stranger, but something in his instincts told him he could trust her. That, and he was weak, filthy, unkempt, and in pain from both the car crash injuries and the beating… it left him desperate and at the end of his wits, willing to take a risk. Thankfully it turned out well. The young woman took him to a Catholic church led group called the Samaritan House on the outskirts of Denver, and there Cas had been welcomed by kind staff to his utter relief and gratitude. They had given him clothes, meager basic supplies like toothpaste, soap, a comb—and he was graciously admitted into the dormitories to work their homelessness halfway house program. There, he had a clean and comfortable bottom bunk bed, access to bathrooms and showers and laundry facilities, and daily work opportunities funded by church outreach. He kept to himself when he was not working. The other residents of the facility were a mixed bag—many seemed to come and go—and Cas could tell that all of them seemed to think he was odd. And could he disagree?

Even when he was at the much safer feeling Samaritan House, it was still very frightening, stressful, debasing—and _lonely_. His ailments were made worse by the rampant anxiety of not being able to get in contact with Alex or Dean. Had Ezekiel healed Sam? Were they all waiting for him at the Bunker? Was Alex, newly pregnant and surely needing him, all right? He knew that she would be worried about him, and he was worried about her too. It was a truly terrible feeling now knowing. Not being able to be with them right away.

Every passing day created more anxiety in the pit of the fallen angel's stomach. Alex's number had stopped working after he last spoke to her at the hospital, leaving Cas in the dark and worried about what had happened. All he knew was that he needed to get _home_ —to the ones who needed him. He needed them too.

He got up early every day, each time noticing how his facial hair got thicker and thicker. He didn't know how to make it go away, and his hair fell differently too. He didn't look like himself—certainly not in the misfitting jeans and secondhand shirts provided by the church. But no matter the strange feelings of identity crisis and not recognizing himself, Cas kept his mind on his mission and held Alex's face in his mind as his anchor. He worked as hard and long every day as possible so that he could to get enough money for that bus ticket. At Samaritan House, residents earned small amounts by completing a variety of jobs around the church and halfway house campus. Religious imagery and statues including angels dotted the place, which was an irony that left Castiel with a brief pause every time he saw the grand angel at the entrance of the building. Genderless, the stone angel looked down with a mixture of tranquility and blankness at all who entered. Sometimes, it almost felt as though the angel was mocking him.

That specific sixth day since the fall of the angels, Cas was at work trimming hedges in the back of the adjacent church courtyard. It was a small area meant for reflecting, prayer, and quiet. A small fountain burbled in the center of neatly laid gray stone groundwork, and a grassy area that gave way to a cemetary and green space beyond was at his back. Some of the jobs the church gave confused Castiel—he hadn't ever mopped a floor before, for example, and one of the program directors had looked at him very oddly indeed when he squirted hand soap onto the floor and rubbed it around uncertainly with the mop. Quickly, Castiel had realized that was not the correct way to do it. Since, he had learned. _This_ , however—gently tending to greenery—he knew how to do this. It soothed him, the quiet connection to plants and nature, the mindfulness required in the task. So engrossed in the shining little leaves and how they reflected sunlight, Cas was not thinking about what was behind him, or the fact that anyone could walk around the church from the front and find him back in this area working alone. So when mid-snap of the pruning shears he suddenly and keenly sensed someone behind him, he froze. Because his senses said it was not just anyone. It was unmistakable. But he didn't want to dare to hope. However, he almost dropped the shears from how quickly he turned to see the approacher, and his heart had already flown up into his throat, anticipating.

Converse-clad feet were coming to a halt a few paces off. Cas's anxious eyes couldn't travel fast enough up jeans, a band t-shirt and a lightweight cargo green jacket… before they landed on the one face in the entirety of creation that he needed to see. _Alex!_ He was instantly overcome. A flood of indescribable relief crashed over him like a wave in the ocean, leaving him stricken with both tears and absolute joy. She looked at him in the way that he looked at her, a smile on her face through wretched relief. The pruning shears dropped out of Cas's hand even as he was rushing forward and she was too. They slammed into a tight embrace, faces buried in the side of each other's necks, arms locked around each other like they would never let go. Cas cried and laughed at the same time, his every sense celebrating. He heard her laughing and crying too, and he shut his eyes for a moment, so thankful that he wept beyond control for a few seconds. Was this what having a prayer answered felt like? _Thank you, thank you_ , his spirit cried out.

Struggling to compose himself at least a little bit, Cas pulled back enough to take her face in his hands, needing to look into her familiar hazel eyes. They burned brightly into his, and he exhaled softly, helplessly, yet again overcome. " _You're here_ ," he managed hoarsely, feeling hot tears spilling down his face even while he smiled from his soul itself. She nodded, wavering between tearfulness and elation, similarly overpowered. And Cas had so very much to say, but all he could say in a choked voice was, "I'm so glad you're here," as he hugged her again, shuddering his relief out.

"Me too," she whispered back, cradling his head with her hands as they embraced, an action that made Castiel feel safe and loved, protected. After a few seconds, Alex pulled back to inspect him better. Her expression wavered with concern as she took in his appearance more closely. "You okay?"

In that moment, he might as well have been invincible. "I am now," he said, thinking nothing of himself as he studied her rapidly, trying to assess _her_ condition. He blinked through the watery aftermath of his emotions. "Are _you_?"

Faintly, she nodded yes, reaching up to brush her thumb against the still-healing scratches on his upper cheek, the bruise under his eye. No doubt she saw the way his skin was peeling from the sunburn that was mostly faded now too. "What _happened_?" She asked, deeply concerned.

His energy dipped into ashamed territory. Cas thought about the car accident. The robbery. The days on the streets. The feeling of being alone and scared came back easily. "Things… are very different without my Grace," he admitted quietly.

Alex seemed to understand enough of what he meant, even if he wasn't specific. It made her sadder, it hurt her to see him hurt. "Oh Cas," she said, somehow saying everything about how grieved that made her without more than those two words. She hugged him once again, and even though she was physically smaller than him, she felt strong and comforting, capable of keeping him safe. Cas clung to that, feeling his still-racing heart beginning to calm in the shelter of her embrace. "Ezekiel said the other angels are all gunning for you," she said softly into the front of his shoulder. "I've been so _worried._ " He could hear how much, too. Her arms tightened a little.

Cas closed his eyes briefly, allowing himself to hold and be held. He cupped a hand at the back of Alex's head, cherishing every little part of this—the texture of her familiar hair against his fingers, the warmth of her shape, the familiar scent of shampoo and pheromones that were all hers. He had dreamed of holding her again, of seeing her again, of their reunion. But dreams hadn't even come close to reality. "I've been worried too," he murmured, another wave of intense gratitude washing over him. There was so much he wanted to know, but at the forefront of his thoughts was his own failure. "I'm sorry for my slowness—I've, I've been trying to make my way home but… it's so much harder than I thought." His throat caught as his feelings of ineptitude and frustration welled inside. Alex heard that and drew back, loving worry etched on her familiar and beautiful features. She wiped away his tears carefully with her thumb. "A bus ticket from here to Lawrence is eighty dollars," Cas continued, downcast, hoping she understood. "…I only have thirty one so far." He searched her eyes, wanting to know how she managed life here so easily and he could not. "It's so difficult to live like this." Alex was sympathetic and understanding, and Cas looked into her eyes with utter vulnerability making his voice waver. He needed her to know everything. "Not being able to talk to you has been so terrible and frightening."

His words visibly did something to her. She nodded agreement immediately, eyes a little shinier than they had been a minute ago. "I know," she whispered. And she gave him a small, brave smile, taking him by his scruffy face tenderly, letting her thumbs brush soothingly across his skin and beard alike. "I'm here now. And we're gonna go home." She paused, then her smile took on a knowing light as she said something that made his heart surge. "All three of us." The _feelings_ he felt when she said that. Love, so fierce and unending, surged inside of him wildly. And despite the overwhelming emotions, what he felt most was joy. _Hope_. He was home, and he could have wept to realize it all over again as he was. Both of the same mind, the distance closed and a brief, emotional kiss said everything words couldn't. They exchanged a soft look as they came apart, and Alex took his hand. "Let's get outta here."

But they hadn't even taken five steps before three persons suddenly stepped out of where they had been concealed behind one of the walls of the church. They stood in a way that was clearly meant to send a threatening message. "Castiel!" The middle one proclaimed, and a silver angel's blade shot down into her hand. "Payment is due for the sins you have committed!" The other two flicked their wrists as well, blades sliding into their grips.

A flurry broke out. All three charged. Alex, knowing Cas was injured and Graceless, dashed out in front of him, her mind formulating a plan within the span of seconds. Calculating precisely and ducking at the last second, she threw the leader of the charge over her back in a feat of what seemed superhuman strength. That angel tucked and rolled, already finding their footing again and engaging with Cas, who luckily had his blade and already had it out. While he may not have known how to defend himself against a gunman, he was a skilled swordsman, which is why three had approached him, not one or two.

Even as Alex grappled with the second angel, the third one used that as distraction to their advantage, trying to slash at Alex from behind. Sensing the move at the last second, Alex dodged but still got grazed across the side of her shoulder. Even as a sound of pain tore out of her mouth, she used momentum in her favor and grabbed the arm of the attacker behind her and with a practiced squat, yank, and slam, she threw him over her shoulder brutally hard, colliding him with the other angel—somehow, her cheek got scraped by the tip of the angel's blade, leaving a red streak behind. For the precious couple of seconds the angels were in a heap, Alex seized her angel blade out from under her jacket and made the kills with brutal quickness. White light flared in turn as each angel screamed in turn then went limp.

Breathless, Alex didn't take long to look at the two slain angels—she quickly looked for Cas. He was about ten feet away, similarly out of breath and looking at her in close to horror, holding a new bloody gash on the side of his arm. At his feet, his opponent was dead.

"…What's happening to you?" he asked tightly, eyes on her shoulder injury then her cheek cut… which were both closing up as he watched. " _How are you doing that_?"

Alex looked around rapidly, then moved forward and grabbed his hand, already pulling him along with her, and quickly. "Let's have this conversation somewhere else."

* * *

The tawny 1980 Oldsmobile Cutlass sedan Alex had stolen from the hospital streaked down the highway, heading out of Denver eastward. Alex glanced in the rearview mirrors a few times, assessing if they had been followed or not. "Are those the only rogue angels you've seen?" she asked.

In the passenger seat, Cas still held his hurt arm with a bloody hand, his expression tense with physical discomfort. "No, another one attacked me right after I got off the phone with you last. She was attempting to kidnap me, essentially—to take me to the other angels, she said." At Alex's stunned, worried look, he grudgingly admitted: "I killed her." He fell into a brief, troubled silence. "How did they find me? Hael seemed like coincidental encounter. But I wouldn't know. I haven't heard any angel radio since… since Metatron."

Alex cursed herself for not realizing what made perfect sense: "Fuck—they must've _followed_ me." She had been dealing with sleep deprivation, vast anxiety, a huge nonstop appetite, raging hormones, and constant vomiting the past six days so she hadn't been exactly doing the best. She'd checked her tail of course, it was ingrained—but now… she knew she should have been much more vigilant. She shook her head at herself, disparaging. "I'm off my game." And Cas had gotten hurt because of it. "Is your arm cut too deep?" she asked, trying to get a look at it in between glances at the road. Seeing him injured was agonizing for her.

Cas glanced at the injury tiredly. He looked broken and weary, humbled. "I'll be all right," he said. He sounded absolutely exhausted.

Alex needed to put a few more miles between them and that church before they pulled over, so she urged the car to go faster, harrowed by her thoughts. "My phone broke right after we talked, I'm sure you tried to call right?" She gave him an apologetic look, wishing she had found him sooner, blaming herself.

"Well yes, of course I did," Cas said, but it wasn't spiteful. It was sweet. Warmed, Alex sent him a sad little smile. He looked shaggy, mismatched, uncomfortable, banged up, a little sunburned, and not himself. His appearance was testament to how rough the past days had been. And it hurt Alex's heart. She had spent this time afraid for him, and her fears hadn't been in vain. But at least they were together again. She swore she was never letting him out of her sight again. "How _did_ you find me…?" Cas asked, a curious look on his face.

She sighed wearily. Too slowly, for starters. "Started in Longmont—a lot of asking around and following leads, and then, well." Alex smiled to herself, softening as her eyes stayed on the road. "A certain last name you've been using."

Cas hesitated. "Oh. Yes, well, I couldn't think of a different one off the top of my head."

Giving him a briefly thoughtful look, Alex wondered why he sounded faintly apologetic. "Don't see why you'd need to think of a different one…" she said, feeling something in her stir deeply when she told him this next part. "Winchester's your last name." She paused. "If you want it, I mean." Their eyes met and held briefly, softly. It made sense, after all.

Cas's face showed deeply touched sentiment and pleasant surprise. "I'd… like that very much," he murmured, his voice fractionally more husky than it had been before. His soft smile wasn't long lived though—his eyes dropped to the slash in the arm of her jacket and the perfectly fine skin beneath it. "But what's going on with you, Alex?" he asked. "How were you able to heal yourself like you did?"

She shook her head and let out a scant exhale to steel herself for this topic. Her eyes went back and forth on the road ahead. "I didn't do anything, it just… keeps happening." She hesitated, wondering if this were the time to share everything she'd learned. She began carefully. "It's some sort of side-effect of a Nephilim pregnancy. That's what Ezekiel said, anyway." Her expression grew more clouded. "He said I'll be stronger, faster, injuries won't last…" she trailed off, dwelling on the _other_ thing Ezekiel had shared.

Cas picked up on her troubled emotions immediately. "What is it?"

She dug her fingers into the steering wheel, trying to release some pent up energy. "Maybe I should tell you later," she said uncertainly. This detail plagued her thoughts, and she somehow wanted to spare him from it no matter how unrealistic that was.

He didn't hesitate to respond to her because he had keyed in on how significant it was. "Tell me now. Please."

Alex contemplated tensely, knowing she couldn't keep it to herself forever or deny it out of existence. So she glanced over reluctantly and steeled herself, knowing Cas would blame himself for this and then quickly join her in deep fear about what should be joyful. "He… he told me when it's time to give birth… that my body will think it's lost an essential organ." Cas's expression softened into faint horror as he seemed to realize where this was going. "And that I'll die unless an angel's there to heal me from delivery." Saying it out loud after only thinking about it privately caused a lump of fear in her throat.

" _What_?" Cas asked, devastated and visibly reeling as he processed the information. Blank, he blinked a couple of times. "I… I never knew this."

There was one more detail. "He… also said it won't be nine months," Alex added quietly. "Seemed unsure _how_ long but… said it'd be shorter." Which was an added stressor to an already alarming situation.

Cas stared through the windshield unseeingly, vaguely sickened. "Of all the times for me to lose my abilities…" he muttered, the contempt for himself and the utter helpless terror easy to hear.

"Well if they can be lost, maybe they can be regained," Alex replied straight away, trying to keep hope alive for them both—she'd been thinking about that all week. There was another thing she'd been thinking about too: "We have enough time to find an ally angel too I bet." Ezekiel had been an example for her that all fallen angels weren't full of revenge bloodlust, so she clung to the hope that another one might be able to help them through this unexpected hurdle. She shook off the growingly dark line of thought grimly. She didn't feel like they had enough information yet to start jumping to doomsday conclusions, and quite frankly couldn't afford a freakout at the moment. "Anyway." She breathed out hard, thinking back to a week ago. "I'll tell you one thing, the super strength and auto-healing came in pretty handy when _Abaddon_ showed up in the middle of the demon trials…"

"Abaddon!" Cas exclaimed in soft dismay. "What happened to her?"

Alex had to smile a little to herself. "Went up in flames." She glanced into the rearview once more. "Maybe that's the last we've seen of that bitch."

Cas fell into a beat or two of thought again. "Did the trials work?" he questioned hopefully. "Is Hell closed? Is Crowley cured?"

Alex's smile fell. "No to all of the above."

Cas nodded somberly, processing for a long, dejected moment. "Well at the very least, Naomi is dead," he told her softly, causing vast relief. "Metatron killed her," he admitted ruefully. "I'm only sorry it wasn't me." Alex nodded ever so lightly, understanding exactly why. But as long as that evil bitch was gone… she was okay with it. "Where is Crowley now?"

The answer to that made Alex give a soft humorless laugh. "Locked in the Bunker somewhere and apparently addicted to human _blood_." It was an odd decision to keep him around, but killing him outright apparently didn't appeal to Dean, who thought the King of Hell could be useful. Currently, the Hell trials were on hold. "I've talked to Dean a few times since hitting the road to find you. He said he's been stealing from blood banks to keep Crowley afloat for now until we figure out what to do next." She shook her head, unamused. "So ridiculous."

Cas looked at her with worry and care. "And how is Sam doing?" he asked, apparently surmising enough from the conversation so far to understand Sam hadn't died. "Ezekiel must have helped."

Remembering how close it came, Alex swallowed thickly. She hadn't seen Sam since he was laying braindead in a hospital bed, but she'd spoken with him at least. "Yeah, Sam's fine." But it still traumatized her to think back to what she'd gone through at his bedside. "Ezekiel healed him then left." She couldn't wait to see her twin and hug him hard. In fact, if she thought about it too much, she felt like she might cry.

Reassured, Cas smiled, able to relax slightly. "I'm glad there's some good news to be had. I've been very worried about Sam this whole time." He paused, growing contemplative. "I wish Ezekiel hadn't left. But if there are a handful of angels out there who might not want my blood… perhaps you're right. We can find an ally. And…" he was very somber, "a way to thwart what he said would happen to you."

Alex agreed. It was their best shot. "They can't _all_ want your head."

Cas deliberated, and it was with a despondent note that he replied. "The majority does. And can I blame them?" He looked down at his cut arm which he still held a hand over. "All of this over trying to do the right thing," he reflected in a disheartened way. "I'm very bad at it, Alex. And you know how much so." The hurt in his voice was hard to hear. Alex looked at him as long as she safely could, wishing she could take that pain from him. "It's difficult. Free will. Feelings. The more I have of them, the more complicated it all becomes…"

Reaching over across the short distance, Alex touched his leg just above the knee and inside the thigh, giving an encouraging gentle squeeze. "Learning how to be alive is really painful. Humans get a childhood. You got… well, you got something different."

Cas looked at her with all the forlorn but hopeful emotion he contained, and still holding a bloody hand to his injury, he reached over semi-awkwardly with the hand of his injured arm to hold onto hers where it rested against his leg. "And now this."

She understood the fear in his voice. "And now this," she echoed, but she meant it differently, turning her hand palm up to lace her fingers into his. Somehow, she hadn't spiraled into defeat over the dire odds and everything Ezekiel had said. Something in her just wouldn't let her. "We'll figure it out." She squeezed, trying to convey the love she had for him, the hope she could still hold for the future. "Like we always do."

Cas was affected, his eyes soft and bright. He studied her for a moment, warm and affectionate. "Your ability to believe in the ones you love never ceases to amaze me."

Alex glanced at him ruefully. She could certainly remember times when she'd let her brothers down, especially Sam. But that was a different conversation. "You weren't supposed to do any of what you did," she pointed out, circling back to his comments about the difficulty of free will. "Making your own choices. Rebelling. Fighting back against things you started to see as wrong." She paused significantly, growing a shade almost bashful. "Loving me." He was the one who squeezed her hand now. Alex gave him a bittersweet little smile. "Did you really think switching tracks like you have would be a smooth ride?"

With a deep breath in, Cas mulled that over. "I suppose you're right."

Alex had to pull her hand away to put it back on the wheel but gave a soft squeeze before she did so. Her mind turned to another piece of news she needed to share and she hesitated. Thinking about it sent a twinge of pain through her chest. She tried to sound like it didn't phase her, like she was just delivering an update. "One more thing. Dad's gone. Dean said he woke up and left at some point when we were gone doing the last trial. Didn't leave a note, hasn't called…"

She should have known Cas wouldn't buy the act. "I'm sorry. I know that must hurt you."

His insight meant a lot to her. Anger used to be her dominant feeling where Dad was concerned. Now, all Alex felt was a strange hollow loss. A confusion. The question 'why?' all over again. Some things she might never understand or have closure on, and she had to come to terms with that. "It's what he's best at," she murmured, her mind very far away indeed.

There was a brief silence, and Cas obviously turned his thoughts to Hell from his next question. "Are you still having the nightmares?" It was a careful question.

Alex became uncomfortable. "Yeah."

She could hear the expression on his face without seeing it. "I'm so sorry."

Alex tried to brush it off, but she only sounded sad to herself. "I'm dealing."

There was another brief silence, then Cas's quiet confession struck Alex with lightning. "I've been having nightmares too."

Her stomach plunged. "Oh _Cas_ —" she said, looking at him in pure shock. "I… I didn't even _think_ about that." He wasn't looking at her. He was looking at nothing, gaze toward the floor. It was her turn to be careful and quiet. What would an angel, fallen or not, have nightmares about? "What are they about?"

It was obvious he didn't want to say. But he did anyway. "Being lost. Being alone." His jaw worked and his eyes raised to look directly in front of himself. "You dying." His volume lowered further. "Our… our child dying." That one clenched Alex's heart and made her feel so much. Cas frowned in pained confusion. "I know dreams can be internal fears manifesting as series of thoughts, images, and emotions during the sleep cycle. But… they feel so real sometimes." Cas shook his head solemnly, visibly distancing himself from discussing his nightmares any longer. "I forgot how strange sleeping is." He finally looked at her again, and there was a note of grief mixed with the most innocent longing there. "But stranger still. Every night when I fell asleep, it was without you."

A simple sentence that squeezed her heart with so much emotion. Her eyes stung at how it made her feel. She understood— _oh_ how she understood. But: "Not tonight," she promised softly, and the smile shared between them was sad and brave at the same time. They understood each other's pain and nightmares, they shared the same fears. Together again, they could face those things together. Alex put the turn signal on and began to merge off the highway. "But first—supply run. We need some stuff. Well, _you_ need some stuff."

After Alex made sure they weren't being followed, they parked. Then, she tied a makeshift bandage of a ripped up flannel shirt over Cas's bleeding arm and they went into a big chain store called Hal-Mart. All sorts of products and food items were inside, from groceries to dry goods to clothing to household supplies and furniture. With Cas close at her side and very intrigued by all the items available, Alex got him jeans that fit, neutral colored v-neck shirts, some flannels, a beige zip up hoodie, a cargo jacket, sturdy shoes, boxer briefs, socks, a variety of hygiene items, buffalo plaid pajama pants, an electric shaver (when he complained about his beard itching all the time), a prepaid cellphone, and a duffel bag of his own to carry everything in. She also picked up a first aid kit, over the counter pain reliever, a bunch of packaged foods, some candy, premade subs from the deli, and instant macaroni and cheese. She began eating some poptarts straight out of the box before they'd even purchased everything, ravenously hungry as was her norm now. While in the section with the first aid kit, Cas found prenatal vitamins and showed them to Alex, who looked surprised, then like _huh, maybe I_ do _need those_. Somewhere between the deli and the medicine aisles, Cas became distracted by the toy aisle, studiously examining some of the colorful items there with intense curiosity and confusion. While Alex was a little antsy after the attack at the church, she oscillated between watching him fondly and throwing a lot of watchful, paranoid glances around.

After shopping, they found a local motel and checked in. Alex immediately warded the walls against angels and demons with a marker, and Cas helped the best he could. After, they peeled off Cas's shirt and took a thorough look at his gimp arm. It definitely did need stitches. After warning him about the pain and apologizing several times over, Alex did it as quickly as possible: first the cleaning and disinfecting, then the agonizing work of stitches. Cas was very brave, but couldn't hold back the continued sounds of pain and reactionary tears to the sensation. When it was done, Alex bound it up really well with some waterproof wound tape and gave him some pain relievers then mimed how to take them with water. He sputtered his first try, then managed on his second attempt. Alex ruffled his hair then told him he needed to get a shower—that it'd make him feel a lot better. He meekly requested she join him, remembering the time she had done exactly that after he pulled her out of Hell. And of course she agreed.

For awhile they embraced under the warm running water, finally able to be close to each other and relax into the feelings of safety it brought, the comfort they both needed so much. Alex peppered Cas slow and sweet with chaste little kisses, near his injuries and bruises and otherwise. The way Cas sought to kiss her mouth after that was so gentle, lingering, and intentional. Taking their time, they washed each other's hair, and Alex critiqued Cas's soaping technique at his request—which was very thorough and made her chuckle. If sometime years ago someone had told Alex that someday she would be doing such a thing with a man, it might have made her scoff—she would have viewed that scenario as cringy and weird, as uncomfortable. But none of it was strange in the least to Alex. This was them. There was no pretense or guard, no image to maintain. Only experiences to share.

After the shower they dried off and dressed, Cas getting to try on pajama pants for the first time. He was amazed, asking why anyone would ever wear anything else if these very comfortable pants were an option. That earned him a smile and a kiss. Alex put on a pair of his new boxer briefs and wore one of his new shirts too—which was when Cas first learned he liked when Alex wore his clothing. He asked about how to shave his beard. At the bathroom mirror with her hair wrapped up in a towel, Alex showed Cas the electric razor and demonstrated on one of his cheeks. Their eyes met a lot, the gratitude to be together was palpable—neither one lost an opportunity for a sweet touch, a lingering look, an appreciative nuzzle, a soft kiss, a brief rest against each other. After toweling her hair off roughly and leaving it to dry wild as usual, Alex showed Cas how to comb his hair up with some styling product so that it looked more like how it used to, and he was quite impressed, using his fingers to move the tousles around a bit, learning by doing. So _that's_ how this worked.

As he experimented with tousling his hair, Alex plopped onto the bed with a huge bag of trail mix, content to watch him with a heart that felt enormous and quenched. She could breathe again now. Cas felt like himself again and it showed on his face, in his posture. And god, he looked so cute in those pajama bottoms and the taupe v-neck he'd chosen…

Finally he seemed content with his hair and looked back at her softly. "There's so much to being a human I never even thought about," he said ruefully, beginning to come her way. "Hygiene, grooming, eating, sleeping… the bathroom." He sat down at an angle on the bed near to her, a leg hanging off. "It's overwhelming."

Alex was both sympathetic and fond. "Guess I take it all for granted," she said through some trail mix she was munching, then touched his hair a bit, smoothing it affectionately. "Well, you look more like yourself again, anyway," she said, then studied him with growing soberness. "Feel all right?"

He reached into the trail mix bag, which surprised Alex briefly—it was so strange for him to eat. "Much better, yes."

As she watched him put trail mix in his mouth, Alex struggled to understand what she was feeling. Both a longing for him to be human with her along the road of mortality… and a fear that he didn't want that. He saw the look on her face and paused chewing, a gentle, concerned question in his eyes. "What is it?"

Mildly rueful at how perceptive he was—how easily he could read her now—Alex broached the subject indirectly. "How would we get your Grace back, Cas?"

Cas's face registered knowing, then he finished chewing and swallowed, taking his time to reply. He was regretful. "Well, Metatron stole it. So he has it. In Heaven, where no angel can ascend to without their wings." His mood grew more heavy still. "There were never any trials, Alex. He tricked me to complete a spell which caused the angels to fall." He breathed out unhappily, eyes downcast. "My Grace was the last part of the ritual. Right before he cast me down, he said to go live life as a man, to write a good story." His eyes traveled upward, and there was pain there. Loss. "He says Heaven belongs to him now." His jaw clenched as he processed out loud. "Part of me wants to fight. To fix what I did. The other part… is afraid to make things worse." Lost, he finally looked at her again. "How can a mortal stand a chance against the power of Heaven?"

She hesitated, reading between the lines. "So… so you _do_ want your Grace back?" she ventured apprehensively. At the inquisitive little tilt of Cas's head, she wet her lips slowly, guessing she needed to say it. "I sometimes think about me. Aging. Changing. Dying. And then you." There was a brief silence. "Doing none of those things."

Cas heard her underlying fear and was deliberate with his answer. "I want to be with you. With our family. In whatever way possible." With a faint smile, he took her hand in his, running a thumb over her knuckles and looking at their hands for a moment before looking fully into her eyes again. He was vulnerable. Unsure. Hopeful. Tentative. "Maybe this is where I've always been headed." 'This' meaning human.

Alex was mutually soft and thoughtful. She didn't know what she should hope for or want, besides being with him forever. "Well whatever the answer is…" she murmured, thoughts on fixing what Metatron had done to them, "doesn't sound like the kind of thing you can do on your own. We don't really have a good idea yet of how many angels fell to earth or what sort of impact it'll have but… doubt it's something we can allow longterm," she said, chuckling cynically ever so briefly in the bottom of her throat. "A job for the Winchesters if I ever heard of one." The corner of her mouth lifted a little. "Which includes you now, if you recall."

He nodded faintly, and from the tender look on his face, Alex saw the kiss before he even moved. "I do." He reached gently to take her by the back of the neck as he leaned forward to sweetly and softly press his lips to hers. It felt like home, it felt like what Heaven was supposed to be. And when they came apart with softly-lidded eyes, they did not part far at all. Cas brushed the side of her face with the backs of his fingers, studying her deeply. "You seem reluctant."

Alex took his hand in hers. "I'm tired," she said honestly. Not just physically. "I just want it to all just stop." Even though she was willing to go up against anything on earth for Cas, for her family, for the son she was still getting used to the idea of… "This feels beyond us." And even more high stakes with being pregnant.

Measured, Castiel almost seemed knowing. "I can think of other things that felt beyond us too," he reminded, searching her eyes deeply, seeing so many memories they had shared there. "We stopped the Apocalypse once. I think we'll find a way through this too." His optimism gave Alex the same hope she heard in his voice. He was right, after all. They hugged each other for a long moment, content to hold each other for a long moment and believe they could make it through to the other side of all this. And then there was a very loud growl. Drawing back, Cas was frowning studiously. "Is that your stomach?" he asked, even as Alex grew sheepish.

"This kid of yours is making me hungry as fuck," she said, grabbing and tearing into a small package of mini muffins and stuffing two in her mouth. "I'm just glad the nausea is dying off," she mumbled through the mouthful. "It was _bad_ for a minute there Cas. I was puking like five times a day." She finished eating the package of muffins as her partner studied her thoughtfully. Once she was tonguing crumbs off her fingertips, he posed his most burning question.

"How are you feeling about… everything?" She stopped, eyes on his. "We haven't had a chance to talk much about it."

What he meant was clear. The pregnancy. "I know." Alex took in a mindful inhale, allowing herself some time to decide how to say it. "I had a lot of time to think these past six days. About us, the future…" she smiled to herself ruefully. "And I know I was really surprised and didn't know how to react at first but… I do." She met his gaze fully, so overwhelmed with love. "I want this with you. More than I ever knew." Cas was visibly affected by what she said and he touched her gently. "Doesn't make it any less scary," she added, because it surely did terrify her in many respects, "but… like you said. It feels right." She meant that. Every day tracking down Cas she had contemplated her stomach thoroughly, imagining the future and growing more and more used to the idea, more and more in love with someone who wasn't even here yet…

Heartfelt, Cas nodded as his eyes searched the depths of hers. "It does feel right, doesn't it?"

As was a habit now, Alex's gaze dropped low and her fingers softly touched into the fabric against her stomach which was still totally normal looking. Cas watched her in such a way that when she glanced up, she had to know: "What are you thinking?"

His reply was thought out and somber. "I know I've been a questionable angel. But I'll do whatever it takes to be a good father to our child." Sunshine broke out across his features as he continued. "I feel… a sense of wonder I can't describe. Our love made a person." He reached out gently, his fingertips finding space near hers against her torso. His voice wavered into a whisper. " _Him_."

Alex curled her fingers around Cas's, pressing down a swell of emotion. She tried for a joking comment so that she wouldn't cry at her more sentimental state. "Look out world, here comes Castiel Junior." Cas's eyes snapped up to hers and the expression on his face was such that Alex thought she'd missed something. "What?"

Cas hesitated, an almost coy smile on his handsome face. "I like that name."

Chuckling, Alex wondered if he were kidding around. "It's a little formal, isn't it? Poor kid would need a nickname."

Knowing, pleasant, Cas was unbelievably attractive in that moment, the way he joked back with her: "I'm sure we could figure something out." They exchanged a small laugh, then Cas moved to lay down on his side facing her, his head propped up on an arm. Alex followed along, mirroring him. "I have to be honest," he said when they were settled, a little more somber now. "Despite the elation I feel… I simultaneously fear I'll make a mess of this too, Alex."

Shaking her head no, Alex traced fingers across his face thoughtfully, studying every little detail. "Impossible."

He watched the way her eyes traveled around his face. "How do you know?"

Hazel came to look into cobalt in steadfast certainty. "I just do." She snuggled closer to him, carefully looking an arm around his middle and tucking her head underneath his chin. "You're afraid of losing me," she said after a moment, because she knew he had to be thinking about it. But if there was one damn thing Alex was set on, it was this: "I'm not dying in childbirth, Cas. I'm just not." She pulled her head away enough to look up into his apprehensive eyes. "I'm not leaving you and him in this fucking cursed cycle my family keeps repeating." Children without parents. Lives broken by irreparable loss.

There was a vow in Castiel's eyes and he traced hair away from her face gently, tucking it behind her ear. "I won't let harm come to you. I promise. We'll find a way."

Alex had no doubt. "I know we will," she whispered, and they drew into a soft, sensual series of kisses, holding each other closer and closer, firmer and firmer, as mouths became increasingly urgent and deeper searching. Cas would later reflect as they drifted off to sleep in each other's arms warm, naked, and at peace that it reminded him of their wedding night so long ago. Alex fell asleep first, and Castiel wished he could stay awake and watch her all night sleeping against him like she was. But the last thing he remembered was pressing a long kiss to the side of her head as rest finally came.

* * *

**The Next Day**

Dean held the phone to his ear as Sam watched in eager nervousness. "Great, yeah—uh huh, we'll be ready for ya. Yup. Okay, see ya soon Al." He ended the call.

" _Well_?" Sam asked hopefully.

"The kid and her angel are on their way home," Dean confirmed, a full grin splitting his face.

Sam grinned too, letting out a vastly relieved sigh, finally able to fully relax. "Thank god." Dean gave him a weird look at the choice of words. Sam chuckled. "You know what I mea—" he suddenly straightened strangely and his expression dropped completely. "Castiel cannot stay here," he said in a stilted, lilting take on how Sam spoke.

Disconcerted, Dean blinked twice, finding his voice as he realized: "Whoa—Ezekiel?"

"Correct." The angel looked at Dean through Sam's features grimly. "Did you forget I am inside of your brother?"

Dean made a face. "…Do you really have to say it like that?" he asked. The angel made no reply, which only made Dean more uncomfortable. He wet his lips awkwardly. "Course not. Sorry, I, I'm just still getting used to this whole thing I guess." Truthfully, he'd let himself forget about Ezekiel using Sam as a host for the past six days. It had been achieved through shady methods and Dean knew it wasn't exactly ethical but… it had been this or Sam dying. He didn't know Zeke would be popping out so bold like this though.

"Everything Sam sees and hears, I see and hear," Ezekiel continued, then repeated his earlier message: "Castiel cannot stay here."

Dean didn't like how this was making him feel: nervous. "Why?"

"Two angels, in one geographic location?" Sam's features showed mild contempt. "You want to keep Sam safe, do you not?"

What kind of idiot question was that? Dean didn't follow though. "You're saying two angels together will be a bad deal?"

"It will attract trouble. I promise you. Sam is not healed yet. I need more time."

"Well he seems fine to me."

Ezekiel regarded him unreadably. "Appearances can be deceiving. Your brother needs more _time_."

Dean crossed his arms. "How _much_ more time?"

"Months, perhaps."

" _Months_!" Dean exclaimed softly, his arms dropping slowly from shock.

Ezekiel appeared to be feeling impatient. "I am saving your brother's life, Dean. The trials damaged him immensely—it would be wise to remain grateful for what I'm doing for him. For _you_." He paused for emphasis. "Under no circumstances can Castiel stay here."

Dean scrambled for a solution. "But this is Cas—who vouched for you when I didn't know you from Jack—!" he argued, then indicated the space around them. "The Bunker is safe!"

Ezekiel's jaw clenched. "Bartholomew is amassing a force."

Double-taking, Dean didn't know if he was supposed to know who that was. "Bar-thala-who?"

"A very powerful, cunning angel who has maintained a status of enemy with Castiel ever since he first defied Heaven." Ezekiel was deadly serious. "Castiel is in danger. And if I am here, I am in danger too."

Dean realized how dire this was with a certain amount of helpless shock. "So I have to put the angel who is basically like a brother to me at this point… out in the wind," he surmised, not even sure how he could do that without raising suspicions. That and… "Forget how I feel about it, my sister will not _go_ for this, man."

Ezekiel remained unruffled. "I cannot help you with that, Dean. Allow me to repeat myself one more time. Castiel can under _no—circumstances_ stay here. If he does, I will have to leave Sam to keep myself safe. And your brother will die." Dean's lungs felt like they'd been punched as his thoughts raced. Dean shook his head no even as Sam's face suddenly dropped back into an expression then grew vastly disoriented. "—wait, what was I saying?" Sam asked, frowning hard. Then he caught sight of Dean's expression. "…What's wrong, Dean?"

Dean swallowed, guilt washing over him anew. This was so fucked up. Before he could reply (with a lie) to his brother, Bobby poked his head in. "Hey boys, what'd I miss?" he asked, but immediately keyed in on Sam's expression. "What's wrong, son?"

Sam shook his head again and glanced at Dean who wouldn't meet his gaze. "Uh, nothing," Sam said, but it was obvious he felt shaken up. He cleared his throat and found a smile. "Alex found Cas and they're on their way back."

"Whew, well I'll be damned," Bobby said, a crooked little grin hiding under his beard. "You boys tell her yet about your missing Dad?"

Dean's mood fell another notch. "Yeah, told her a couple days ago." He paced off a couple steps, running a hand through his hair as he dwelled in things he couldn't talk to anyone about. "Still can't believe he left without saying anything."

"I can," Sam said blandly, getting a look from his brother. Sam shrugged. "I'm a realist."

"Uh huh." Dean glanced at Bobby, maybe seeking another opinion. Instead he got a typical Bobby reply.

"Don't look at me, I'm not exactly president of the John Winchester fanclub."

Comments like that were like barbs. Dean was fucking hurt by his dad's unexplained disappearance too—they all were—but he made himself believe that it would be explained. That John Winchester had a reason for what he did, even when it seemed like the selfish choice, the unloving choice, the shady choice. "Everyone always hates the man who has to do what he's gotta do, huh," Dean muttered, then unceremoniously left the main room like a dark cloud, his thoughts too much for him to process near others.

Bobby watched with a slight frown and took a half seat on the long table. "What bug's up _his_ ass?"

Sam contemplated the space Dean had occupied. "Who knows." He was pensive, feeling that something wasn't _right_ here.

"Sure you're okay?" Bobby asked, peering at Sam from under the brim of his ballcap.

Noting his audience, Sam wet his lips. "Yeah just feeling a little off I guess." He forced a little smile. "It's nothing. Thanks Bobby."

* * *

**Late That Afternoon**

Dean exhaled hard out of his mouth as he watched a Cutlass amble up the driveway toward the Bunker. He was relieved to see them, of course he was. But he was dreading what he was about to have to do. _This is to save Sam_ , he reminded himself. Inside the Bunker everything was calm at the moment. Sam and Bobby were checking socials and news sites in attempts to understand the angel situation better, Kevin was hard at work in the library working on translating tablet mumbo jumbo in hopes of finding a way to reverse the spell that had cast angels out of Heaven. The prophet had shown up unexpectedly after the angels fell and was taking up permanent residence. Which was just as well, since Dean needed all the help he could get these days. 

However, the relative peace in the Bunker was most likely about to be shattered. Dean took in a deep breath as the car came to a stop and shut off. Alex got out first, then Cas—he was dressed in street clothes: some jeans, Vans shoes, a dark gray shirt, a flannel layered over it. Alex must have dressed him, because he looked pretty passingly normal. And Dean's stomach was lined with the concrete of dread. He tried his best to greet them without giving his feelings away. "Hey you two," he said, accepting a brief hug from Alex halfheartedly. When brother and sister came apart, Dean went in for a handshake. "Cas. Buddy."

"Dean—I'm so happy to see you." He got a hug instead, and a bit uncertainly patted Cas's back.

"Ah. That's… great," he mumbled awkwardly, glad when Cas stopped. He fixed his friend with a curious smile once they were face to face. "How you enjoying being basically human?"

Cas was as Cas as he ever was: "I'll never get used to urinating and… well, otherwise. Don't you get tired of it all?" At the look on Dean's face, Cas must have decided it wasn't important to know. "That's beside the point," he said, smiling at the hunter warmly. "Dean, I'm so relieved to see you well. And to know Sam is well too."

This was all making things a lot harder than they had to be and Dean fidgeted. He needed to cut to the chase. "Yeah well. Listen. I gotta talk to you two. Been thinkin' since we got off the phone." His tone and body language was giving him away and Alex had her quickly narrowing eyes on him. "Realized I didn't take some things into consideration and, well… long story short…" Dean cleared his throat and made an apologetic, helpless face. "Can't let you stay here, Cas." He mean this part with everything he had: "I'm real sorry."

Alex was quickly becoming furious. "… _What_?"

Dean had predicted this. He had responses ready. "Yeah uh—listen, these fallen angels are out for blood. _His_ blood. And I'm can't have a beacon holed up in here bringing them down on our heads."

"…You're kicking Cas _out_?" Alex asked incredulously.

In any other situation he wouldn't have. But his hands were tied. "When you put it that way… sounds real heartless," Dean said quietly, then fixed the confused, wounded fallen angel with an appealing look. "Cas, you're a grown—whatever you are. You know I'm right."

Just like Dean figured, Cas's conscience was hard at work. "I hadn't thought of it but I suppose you _do_ have a point…"

Alex however wasn't as easy to sway. "Cas isn't even an angel right now, how do you think he'll attract angels?!" she protested.

"Look, until we get a handle on all this… until we _know more_ … we can't chance it," Dean insisted, fixing his sister with a very significant look. "It's temporary, Al. Okay?" She only looked more disgruntled. "Look, Cas going into hiding right now is the safest move for _all_ of us," Dean reasoned a little more commandingly. "He can ward himself, hole up, then we go from there once we know more. We can only get lucky so many times before our location is compromised. Remember Bobby's house?" Alex was sullen, and Dean undermined her anger: "This isn't as big of a deal as you're making it." He got more eye daggers for that.

But Cas nodded in agreement. Sad agreement, but agreement all the same. "I think Dean's right, Alex. It's the least I can do to keep everyone safe."

Alex directed her aghast anger at Dean anew. "Cas is family, Dean! We don't do this to family! We figure out a way to stay together no matter what! He's vulnerable, he's without his powers—and you wanna cover your own _ass_?!" She was too insightful for her own good, suddenly deciding it was too suspicious. "No, something's not right here."

Dean forced a cold smile to make it seem like she was crazy. "Oh look, now it's conspiracy theories." He rolled his eyes for effect. "I've let him stay here before, but this time is different, and you know it."

Stumped, starting to realize how serious Dean was about this, Alex visibly struggled with her thoughts for a long moment. "You're really doing this?" she asked. It was somehow worse than the yelling. The betrayal, hurt, and sadness were written plainly on her. In a final attempt to change Dean's course of action, she tried the guilt game. "Well if you're kicking him out, you're kicking me out too."

Dean already knew she would try that and he shrugged, giving no reaction. "That's your choice to stay or leave, don't put that on me."

Disbelief making her almost red, Alex stared at him in something like disgust. Then he knew he'd won she she cursed him. "Fuck you," she snapped, brushing past him hard, knocking into him slightly.

"Where you goin'?" he asked gruffly as she stalked toward the Bunker entrance.

"To get my _stuff_." Was the angry answer.

Mission accomplished. The Bunker door slammed behind her and Dean breathed in and out hard. He had known that would be bad, but it felt worse than he thought it was. His skin crawled, and he made himself strong again. Somehow he was gonna get through this round of bullshit. He refocused on Cas and didn't have to lie about the next few things he said. "Look Cas, I'm sorry. I am." He felt burdened to capacity and then some. He didn't bother hiding it. "It's hard to be the leader sometimes. Gotta make some tough calls."

Cas was understanding and considerate. "After everything I've been responsible for causing… of course I don't want to cause you more trouble." Dean felt guilt anew. Cas deserved better. "I'll do whatever I can to protect you, Dean," the angel said, further driving Dean down into the grave of misery. "I owe you that much at least."

It was hard to look the guy in his eyes. "Thanks Cas." Dean gritted his teeth, the tension in his jaw a brief conduit for all the anxiety ricocheting around on his insides. In the midst of this unthinkable situation, Cas's patience and willingness really helped somehow. Touching a part of Dean that surprised him. "I really appreciate you, okay? More than you know." He shook his head, filled with self-pity. "Alex'll take care of you. Hell, you'll take care of each other." He looked off, wondering if he would ever feel right again. "What do you need me for." While Cas studied him in concern, Dean dwelled in his inner pain. He couldn't take this and where it felt like it could lead. But he fucking just _had_ to.

"What's wrong, Dean?" Cas asked. Dean kept avoiding his gaze. "I sense…"

At that moment the Bunker door swung open and out came Sam with a very pinched expression. "Dean, what the hell?"

" _Great,_ " Dean muttered under his breath, then turned around to give Sam a tight smile. "So you talked to our sister huh." He fixed his brother with an authoritative frown. "Look, I'm doing this to protect us. Kevin, Bobby, you, me—"

"Why don't Cas and Alex deserve to be protected?" Sam asked forcefully, cutting him off.

Dean lost some bravado. "That's not a fair question."

"What happened to being so excited for them to be here?" Sam asked, completely riled and suspicious like Alex had been.

Dean blinked a couple times, trying not to reveal that he hadn't thought about an answer to that question. "Guess I didn't think it all the way through," he said after a couple seconds, knowing how terrible that sounded.

Sam scoffed bitterly. " _Unbelievable_."

Dean couldn't have both the twins on his case about this, they'd get to the bottom of things if he didn't figure out a way to derail the interrogation. So he went to below the belt tactics and used a piece of information he'd been sitting on for awhile. "You know what's unbelievable? You and that librarian chick." Sam's face fell at the nameless mention of Molly, and Dean thought _good. Bingo_. He pressed. "I know what all those errands you keep going on and times you look at your phone are all about. You're gonna get that kid _hurt_ , Sam, just like every other girl you've ever messed around with. So don't call me selfish, when you're doing _that_." It had worked. Sam was knocked down a peg, and Dean drove his point home in his brother's thrown off emotional state. "Look, there have been too many close calls here lately, too many losses—and I gotta do what's right for the team, you got it?" He was committing to this for real, and it scared him, but he said it anyway. "And I don't care who hates me for it." That was a lie. He _did_ care. He cared so much. But he was too afraid to tell the truth now. He was too afraid to lose his brother, his sister too maybe.

Sam grew chilled over. "So that grand old speech in the church, it was just bullshit, huh?" he asked, killing a small part of Dean that he couldn't show. Then another blade straight through the heart: "You sound like _Dad_."

It took everything to keep himself from reacting. "Whatever, Sam."

"Who put you in charge here anyway?" Sam continued aggressively. "This Bunker isn't only yours, it's _ours—all_ of us. Cas has earned his place here, over and over by this point!"

Castiel cut in quietly. Dean had almost forgotten he was there. "Please. You two." He was mournful to see their altercation. "I'm leaving, Sam. For now. Until we know more. I've done enough damage. I don't wish to do more." Sam shook his head, his expression protesting. But Cas was resigned. "He's right. I'll… only endanger the group. Erring on the side of caution is a smart move." He thought for a moment. "Perhaps I can talk Alex into staying here where it's safer."

Sam huffed a brief laugh out, sending a resentful look at Dean. "Fat chance."

And of course, he was right. Alex wouldn't hear of it. She came out with her stuff and hugged Sam goodbye then sent Dean a glare, leaving without a word to her oldest brother. He didn't let it show on his face, the way that made him feel. But later in the Bunker he found a wall, pressed his back into it, and looked upward as quiet tears filled his eyes and leaked out down his face. Had he done the right thing? Could he really live his life with his brother and sister both detesting him like they did right now? It was lonely. It was hard. And he was tired of feeling like this—alone, always panicking about something, always in dire straits. He finally sank down into a crouch and clasped his hands, letting his forehead hit them. He felt defeated in almost every way possible. But he wouldn't let the world see. If he did, he would crumble into pieces.

And with decisiveness he stood up and dashed his face dry, shoving everything down inside that was eating him alive. They had fucking work to do. Once Ezekiel healed Sam… maybe he could put this family back together again. If anyone wanted that, anyway.

* * *

**Three Days Later**

Dean yanked the door open to the special holding room then flipped the lights on. Two demons blinked and cringed against the sudden brightness. Syringe held, Dean swaggered in, eyes on the King of Hell. "Got your fix, Anna Nicole."

Crowley attempted not to look starved for the vial of human blood, instead straining at the demonic handcuffs and chains keeping him tethered to the chair he was in. "About sodding time I got a change of scenery, the company down here is dreadful."

Meg shot him a dark look from the eight feet away where her chair was bolted to the floor, same as his. "I beg to differ, you old miserable bag," she growled, then in put on false sweetness through gritted teeth: "You gotta let me go, _Dean_ , this is ridiculous." She jangled at her chains, which were also demon warded.

Dean sent her a half glance as he shoved Crowley's head sideways, exposing the demon's neck. "What's ridiculous is you stalking us and thinking we'd let that fly." Two days ago Bobby had caught the demon 'sneakin' around all suspicious like' outside the Bunker. So now it was a party of two demons in the hole.

"I told you," Meg reiterated angrily. "These fallen _angels_ are screwing with _everyone_. I was just trying to be a team _player_."

Dean glanced at her fleetingly. "Wrong team." He stabbed the needle down into lilywhite skin. Crowley gasped softly, relaxing visibly and smiling faintly as the blood shot into him. Fully judging him as pathetic, Dean shook his head and withdrew the needle.

"How many times have I helped you?!" Meg demanded, her chains clinking loudly.

"About as many times as you've screwed me," Dean retorted, then caught himself in his wording.

Spiteful, Meg couldn't even summon one of her trademark snarky replies. Instead she clenched her jaw and had the nerve to look vaguely heartsick.

For a second, Dean felt a flicker. He pushed it down and turned to leave. And then a very uncharacteristically bright call of his name stopped him. "Dean. _Deee-an_." Crowley was grinning almost maniacally. He looked absolutely absurd, crazed, drugged out. "I've been thinking. And, well. I hate it here. I'm no one's bitch, you follow me?" He leaned forward as much as his restraints would allow, that stupid little grin on his face still. "I know you need some help with airlifting a certain blonde bimbo out of the flames of Hades. What say you let me out of here and I make your wildest dreams come true, mm?"

Not what Dean had expected to hear. And he was so caught off guard that for a second in his current state of mind… that he fucking considered it. A face he hadn't seen in what felt like a lifetime passed in front of his mind. A woman who didn't deserve Hell. A woman he thought of every day. A woman he couldn't save…

Meg looked absolutely done with the entire situation. "Don't listen to him, Dean." The resentment was palpable. "Even if he _weren't_ a cracked out waste of space, he'd never make good on his end of _that_ deal."

True, but… Dean turned his quiet, significant gaze to Meg, a new thought in his mind. "Would _you_?"

She looked absolutely taken aback at the question, then like she thought he was pitiful. "Anyone ever tell ya desperation looks pathetic on you?" She hardened her voice. " _No_."

Dean approached her by a couple steps. " _Why_?"

Meg lost a little bit of bravado. "To keep things interesting." Dean called bullshit, and his expression said as much. Meg gave an impatient huff. "'Kay, _look_. As much as the idea of getting the hell out of this _dump_ appeals, I'm never going down to that fiery scumbucket ever again, because good ole King of _Hell_ here put out a hit on me after I helped Sam out a few weeks ago." She smiled tightly, but it was loathing and angry. "You've called in enough favors. I'm done helping." She said this through gritted teeth again. "Never works out for me."

Dean guessed it had been a stupid thought to think.

Crowley's soft sing song voice floated over. "Come on, Dean baby," he cajoled. "You need only say the word and your sweet little tattooed bimbo is in the land of the living again." Dean tried not to, but he looked at the demon sidelong. "I can see it. The wheels turning. You want to say yes to me so, so bad…!"

Meg was right about Crowley. _Probably_. Dean questioned himself for even considering what he was. He drew himself up and closed off any of his true emotions. "I may be a lotta things, but stupid's not one of 'em." He left before he could get himself into trouble. "Enjoy the ambiance, sulphurheads."

"Not even a good insult," Meg muttered, watching Dean's retreat resentfully.

"Uninspired, really," Crowley put in. The lights switched off, plunging the two demons into absolute darkness. "Ah, _bollocks_."

And while yes, Dean had resigned himself to accepting Jamie's death recently… he couldn't help it. The idea of being able to get to her reawakened in him, eating him alive. He went to the library to read through more volumes. He tried to ignore his feelings of isolation, of being misunderstood. The creeping guilt over what he'd let happen to Sam, even if it was for his own good. Kicking Alex and Cas out. Alex who wouldn't text or call him back. It felt like no one liked him anymore—well, Cas did for some reason. But the anger the twins had at him was a knife in his side. He could only think that if they knew the actual truth behind his actions, they'd hate him even more than they already did. Exhausted, Dean eventually nodded off over the pages of an especially thick volume of Hell lore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: **IMPORTANT!** The chapters after this one are currently in summary form as placeholders I am writing/completing them at present. Please note Chapter 149, the finale, IS complete. Back story: In 2015 at Chapter 131, I stopped writing the story for four years due to personal issues. In 2019, I came back and wrote Chapter 132 & 133, then posted summaries of chapters as well as the complete finale. It is now 2020 and I'm writing the remaining chapters because a story as long and loved as this one deserves to be completed the way I originally envisioned. XO!


	136. What To Expect When You're Expecting

" _A baby will make love stronger, days shorter, nights longer, bankroll smaller,  
home happier, clothes shabbier, the past forgotten, and the future worth living for."   
_\- Anonymous

* * *

 **Almost Two Months Later  
Milton's Café  
** **Lawrence, Kansas**

"Yeah, exactly—which is why they'll never even make the _playoffs_!" Sam said, leaving his twin laughing ruefully and shaking her head.

"Listen, that team is a fucking _disgrace_ ," Alex agreed, chuckling cynically behind her decaf coffee.

The cozy downtown café was quiet on that Thursday mid afternoon—the perfect spot for a couple of siblings who hadn't seen each other in awhile to catch up. Over in an out-of-the-way corner, the Winchester twins leaned over a table with mugs in hand. So far, talk had been on very lighthearted and non-consequential subject matter. But as much as Alex was enjoying seeing Sam again, it felt like it was time to delve a little deeper. "Anyway, enough about teams that never come through," she said, fixing him with a solicitous gaze. "How's life these days on your end of things?"

Translation: 'what's life without me been like the past two months?'

Sam took her meaning and for a microsecond, his expression faltered. Then he tried to be optimistic. "Well… it's, it's _different,_ I'll give you that much." The twins shared a sad smile briefly. Yeah. It _was_ different. Ever since Dean had essentially kicked Cas out, Alex had stayed gone—meaning it was just the brothers at the Bunker. Well, the brothers and Kevin. Bobby sometimes too. Dad was still missing. Sam grew quieter, both in energy and volume. "He says you still won't talk to him."

At the nameless mention of Dean, Alex bristled faintly, taking a moment to manage her spike in discomfort by turning her coffee in her fingers a few times. Maybe it was pride, maybe it was boundaries, but… she wasn't budging yet. "And I'm not going to until he apologizes, either." More sadness gathered on her twin's face and Alex sighed softly. "Don't give me that look, Sam."

Regretful, Sam shrugged briefly. "I just… kind of don't know what to do when you two aren't getting along."

Alex contemplated the steam rising up off her coffee somberly for a minute. She heard the unspoken appeal. In her and Sam's near-daily texts, this was a topic Alex had asked be kept off limits. She had known that this would come up in person today and did her best to explain. "You know I love him," she said honestly, feeling that steady old affection squeeze her chest as she sought Sam's gaze. "More than almost anyone else on this whole goddamn planet, but…" yeah, she would do almost anything for either of her brothers, but she wasn't going to crawl back just yet after what her oldest had done. Yes Dean texted and called her… and yes, she was still ignoring him and stewing. He had betrayed them when they needed him the most and Alex was still trying to figure out how to move past that. "It's just not right, what he did to us," she said, brow furrowing as her eyes dropped to stare into lazy steam again. "And I just can't shake this feeling like… he's up to something."

Sam's brow furrowed too. "…What would he be up to?"

That was the exact question. It weighed on her mind constantly, uncomfortably. It just didn't make sense. "Dunno. This… it just doesn't sit right with me." She glanced out the window briefly, troubled. "It really seemed like he accepted me and Cas for a little while there. I thought he and Cas were friends. _Family_ , even…" And to come home then be immediately told to leave and stay away… it bothered Alex deeply.

Sam studied his sister for a second. "So I'm guessing you haven't told him yet."

Alex's eyes flicked up to his. She didn't need specifics as to what Sam was referring. Her pregnancy. "Yeah uh—maybe once he's done being a certifiable _prick_ ," she wisecracked, trying to use humor in an attempt to make it all hurt less. It didn't really work.

In years past, Alex wouldn't have ever conceived that she would be pregnant and _Sam_ would know before Dean did. But here they were. And while it made her grateful for the closeness she and her twin had found as adults, at the same time it hurt deeply to think of keeping this from Dean. Such a meaningful rite-of-passage type moment in life, and her big brother was missing out on it completely for now.

Ever the encourager, Sam put in a hopeful word. "He'll come around, I know he will." Alex smiled softly, touched as always by her brother's willingness to see the good in any situation. "He's just being overly cautious," Sam reasoned. "And I mean can you blame him? Purgatory, Cas and his angel mind control, you went to Hell, _I_ almost died… Jamie _did_ die…" he trailed off even as a somber moment descended over Alex. She met Sam's waiting gaze. "I know he's our big brother but he's still human, Alex. He has a lot on his shoulders." There was a significant pause. "Maybe more than either of us knows."

Alex nodded, conceding with torn feelings. "I know. Just…" how did she put this into words? Her mind was heavy with thoughts of what Dean had been through. Heavy with the thought of Jamie's bitter end. "He makes it really hard sometimes."

Receptive and empathetic, her twin nodded sadly. "I know, trust me I know." He sighed heavily. "You didn't see how hard it was for him when… when she died," he ventured momentarily. Something about Sam's tone had Alex's immediate rapt attention. "I haven't seen him like that before, Alex. Not over someone who wasn't you, me, or Dad." That said a lot without many words, and Alex felt her eyebrows rising faintly. Sam was worried—very worried—and Alex was surprised at how much so. "I keep catching him trying to find ways to bring her back," he confessed lowly, increasing Alex's bewilderment. "I mean, it's pretty much a full blown obsession at this point." He shook his head, traces of his stress showing through. "I didn't even know if he was gonna let me close Hell or not with her still down there, Alex. For a little while he had let it go, and then… well, he's back at it again I guess."

Alex digested. She had missed a lot of details after being held captive in Heaven and then being dragged to Hell just after. And this was a big one. "So you're saying… what, he loved her?"

"No, not loved," Sam replied immediately. " _Loves_. Present tense." Alex sat back in her seat—Dean had never told her about this. Her twin looked out the window briefly, his hand hard on his mug of coffee. "Believe me, I hate that she's down there too, I just…" he shook his head, vexed. "Guess I still don't know if I made the right choice, stopping at the last minute like I did." He looked back at Alex, and he seemed so very unsure and sad in that moment. "What's one life sacrificed if it means Hell gets closed?"

He wasn't talking about Jamie. He was talking about himself, and how he'd been okay with dying to close Hell for good. Alex shook her head no and leaned over the table, keeping his gaze purposefully. "If that one life is your life, I'm with Dean," she said with a certain degree of severity. "We have to find another way to shut it down. And maybe finding another way gives us enough time to get Jamie out." She sat back again, disturbed. "Hell is no place for an innocent soul, Sam. We both know that." Jamie was their friend—and apparently much much more to their oldest brother.

Her brother grew softer again. Something about his face told Alex that he was afraid to tell her what he did next. "Sometimes the road Dean's going down… it reminds me of Dad," he confessed in a murmur. "How bad he wanted to get a woman back who was gone forever."

Understanding suddenly dawned and Alex had to take a moment. This all really caught her off guard. It was _that_ deep? _A lot more happened when I was gone than I realized, I guess_. At the end of the day, Alex knew her oldest brother suffered from the Winchester curse same as them all: "That's the hard part, I guess," she muttered, thinking of Dean's dilemma in new light and very sorry indeed that he was going through it at all. "Knowing who is and who isn't really gone forever."

Sam's features remained pensive. "Yeah."

While Alex remained quite honestly surprised to hear that Dean had feelings that deep for Jamie… she couldn't criticize him. It was in his character to want to save those he loved. She understood that urge. After all, she'd gone to Purgatory to bring back two men everyone thought were dead, she'd lived in obsession for almost a year to make it happen. If this was Sam's angle, it was working… Alex felt herself leaning toward contacting Dean now that she understood more. Plus, she really wanted to know from the horse's mouth more about his relationship with Jamie.

But that would have to wait. And anyway, there was something _else_ on her mind that she'd been waiting to bring up. From keeping in touch with Sam via phonecalls, video calls, and texting, she knew that the boys were back to little hunts while waiting for Kevin to finish translating the angel tablet. Alex of course had been keeping a side-eye on the news as always, fighting the urge to investigate suspicious stories in favor of pursuing a safe, typical life with Cas while being pregnant. But she was still dying to know. "So hey, how is out there, anyway?" she asked, trying to breech the subject casually. "With hunting?"

Sam shook his head and gave a jaded sigh. "Same old barrage of crazies—now with a bunch of pissed off fallen angels thrown in." He paused, suddenly realizing something. A knowing smile grew as his eyes narrowed. "…You miss it, don't you?"

Alex crossed her arms, indicating that would be ridiculous. "Why would I miss _hunting_?" Sam chuckled, already too far ahead for her to even attempt to play it cool. As such, she let out a defeated but good-natured sigh. "Okay. _Fine_. Yes." She shrugged, hiding a rueful smile. "I've never really done anything else, so yeah this whole… civilian life thing is…" She paused, trying to come up with the right way to say it. "I mean some parts are really great." Like waking up beside Cas every single day—the quiet, humble routine of work and home life. But even though domestic bliss had its appeal… "Other parts are really fucking _boring_ and irritating."

"Sounds about right." Sam cracked a tiny grin at her misfortune, which turned into a bigger grin as he said what he did next. "Gotta be honest—never thought I'd see the day when _you_ were working a nine-to-five." He was either proud or in disbelief. Maybe both.

"For real," Alex chuckled in good natured cynicism, still not sure she believed it herself. Cas had a job as a clerk at a Gas-n-Sip and she worked at a local auto shop. The days were long and the pay was… well, just okay. "I don't know how so many people live their lives like this," she muttered half to herself. "Or why anyone would _want_ to." She scratched her head briefly. Some parts were really nice. Like all-night movie marathons with an angel who was curious about every facet of modern day entertainment and culture. Board games, nights spent in pajamas with takeout, walks on the local nature trail, sleeping in on weekends, baby and pregnancy research together, trips to the grocery store (Cas had quickly learned that he liked to plan then make detailed lists to shop from—whereas Alex preferred to just throw things in the cart that looked good in the moment). It was everything they had both been waiting for and dreaming of for so long. Time together. But it _was_ different, and very often it felt wrong to live quietly knowing what they did about the world. But Alex was giving it a fair chance. Even if it _was_ a pain in the ass to do it the way her angel had wanted to. "We're doing everything honest—Cas insisted," she lamented. Meaning, no scams, no money laundering, no stealing. "And obviously… I hate that," Alex said with a little self-conscious laugh. "Rent, bills… no motel staff to do the cleaning for you…" she shook her head at herself, half-amused. This side of life was daunting for her in most moments. "Cas is actually better at most of it than I am."

Sam was amused and confused at the same time. "Like what?"

The list was long. "Cooking. Cleaning. Laundry. Money…" Alex smiled to herself, shrugging at the thought of her own bumbling way of moving through 'normal' life. "All of it."

"Cas is good with money?" Sam asked, then contemplated and seemed to decide maybe that wasn't so far-fetched. "Yeah actually, I can kind of see that now that I'm thinking about it."

Alex nodded, plucking her wallet out of her back pocket. "I'm glad one of us is—cuz all I'm good at is shit like this." She smacked down her fake ID for him to check out.

He picked up the very convincing State of Kansas ID, pausing when he saw the fake name on it. "Alice Worcester…?" he asked, half-smiling. "Well listen, as long as you're not going by Seymour Butts anymore."

Alex laughed in earnest at that one, taking the ID back and shaking her head at days gone by. "That one was too obvious, huh."

"Speaking of names," Sam started, then hesitated almost nervously. "You got any in mind for Junior in there?"

Alex faltered for a moment. While she and Cas discussed their son regularly, she wasn't showing quite enough that it was obvious and they didn't really tell others about the pregnancy for now. Sam was one of the only ones who even knew she was pregnant. His innocent inquiry made what felt like a secret feel much less that way. More real somehow. And it was thrilling and scary all at the same time. " _Maybe_ …" she said, a secretive little smile playing on her mouth. "Still mulling, I guess."

It was Sam's turn to reach for something. "Well, I uh, I got you something." He produced a tiny pair of knit baby booties from his jacket pocket—they looked like mini hunting boots, like a pair Alex used to own in fact. "It's kind of stupid maybe, but I saw these in a window and, uh… yeah. They look just like that old pair you used to have. Had to get 'em." He laughed nervously, studying her for her reaction.

The thoughtfulness, the love behind the action—Alex found herself with eyes tearing up as she reached out to take the little shoes. It was the first gift for her child from someone other than herself or Cas. " _Sam_ —I love them. Thank you so much." She studied the little booties with a great deal of emotion. And then a realization thunder-clapped over her and she held a finger up in sudden remembrance. "Oh!" She reached into her pocket, fishing around. "We went for a sonogram a couple weeks ago." She'd meant to show him this at the beginning of the visit. She pulled out a flimsy little black and white printout. Fondly, she smiled at the monochrome image of a fuzzy small shape inside a large dark hole and handed it over. "Makes me think of the X-Files," she said somewhat affectionately. Alien-esque or not, that was the first photo in existence of her son. Sam's nephew. As such, Alex found herself with a gentle tone and eager, curious eyes as she studied her brother's reaction. "What do you think, Uncle Sammy?"

Her first time referring to him that way. His eyes snapped to hers, great emotion passing across his face. Sam held the image between two fingers with a soft, awed expression. "Wow," he breathed, studying the image for a moment before his eyes came back up to meet hers. Something very profound passed between the brother and sister in that moment—some mutual realization, some deeply abiding love coupled with the understanding that life was yet again evolving. "…You're really gonna be a mom," he said after a moment in the softest voice.

Yeah, she really was. It was amazing and stilling, the fact that a new life was on the way. A new life that would change all of them forever… turning Alex into a mother, Cas into a father, the brothers into uncles. At first Alex hadn't known how to feel about having a kid. But after a couple months of letting the news sink in, it was now something that she held close to herself like a hopeful promise, a beautiful chance at life in a whole new way.

"You still feeling like superwoman?" Sam asked.

Chuckling, Alex nodded yes. "Yup. Once that nausea and the hormonal stuff passed, it's been great. Feel the best I have in years."

"Huh, who knew," Sam commented, still seeming to find that bizarre in the best of ways. Alex shrugged, feeling the same way. It _was_ weird. Angel pregnancy wasn't bad at all after the first few hurdles—the superhuman strength, the self-healing, and the pristine health she found herself in wasn't anything to complain about. But… _but_. She hadn't told Sam about the apparently fatal nature of giving birth to a half angel, half human yet. Not until she and Cas had figured out a way to avoid that fate.

Introspective and sentimental, none-the-wiser to the more foreboding things that Alex knew about, Sam studied the sonogram again before looking her in the eyes once more. "Thank you for letting me be part of this, Alex, really." He held the printout out for her to take back, hesitating and speaking carefully. "And I mean… I just really hope Dean gets to be part of this soon too." At the slightly lecturing if playful look his sister gave him, he apologized. "Sorry, I know I'm kinda a broken record I just… I miss having the family together. We worked hard to get there again and now it's… it's broken apart again."

Alex understood. "I think we both know Dean and I can't be mad at each other forever." She paused, reflecting bittersweetly. "Even if we wanted to be." She hesitated, lulled into thought momentarily, into wondering about other things. "Hey, you still having those memory gaps?"

Sam took a sip of his coffee and hissed. "Yeah. Best I can figure, must be something left over from the trials." He threw a hand up briefly, showing how unsure he felt about it. "I have the gaps really randomly. And sometimes Dean will say something to me like I'm supposed to know what he's talking about but I'll have no clue what he's even referring to." He shrugged and even though he sounded even keel, Alex could see how concerned he was. "Ezekiel said the trials really did a number on me."

That was putting it mildly, and it triggered Alex slightly. "They really did." Taken back to that day immediately, the trauma and heartache cast a pall over her mood with a suddenness that even she was surprised by. "I really thought I'd lost you for a little while there," she admitted, meeting Sam's apprehensive gaze with a pained one of her own. She reached across the table to where his hand rested beside his mug. "I love you, Sam," she said earnestly, taking his hand in hers. "So much. And I'm really really glad you're okay."

He nodded tensely, holding her hand back fiercely. "I love you too," he said hoarsely, and for a few seconds they stayed like that, each understanding the other in numerous degrees, maybe both remembering the moments in the church they'd shared together. Maybe reflecting on how the rift that used to be between them was gone, replaced by a solid friendship and dynamic neither took for granted. "I… I still can't believe what you did for me," Sam ventured after a moment, surprising his sister with the vulnerability in his voice. They hadn't talked about her selling her soul for him since that night at the church when the trials had gone sideways—and he was clearly trying to cover over emotional tears with a weak smile. That was so like him to feel not worthy.

Alex squeezed his hand harder, wishing he knew how to see himself like she did. "Believe it. I'll always have your back."

He nodded readily, matching her energy. "And I'll have yours too." A careworn smile passed between them and Alex nodded. Yes. She knew that and trusted him. Her twin squeezed and they let go, Sam chuckling self-consciously and rubbing a hand to his face briefly. "Geez. Hallmark, eat your heart out, huh?"

Alex sipped at her decaf, chuckling wryly. "I blame my hormones. What's _your_ excuse?" she asked, doing her part to lighten the mood. But Sam kept looking at her with that soulful look in his eyes, prompting Alex to frown. "What?"

He was deliberate with his response. "I'm just… really, _really_ proud of you. The things you've been through, the obstacles you've overcome… finding love in this mess somehow, with a really good guy… now you're having a _baby_." He shook his head for a minute. "Makes me really happy that at least one of us gets the happy ending, you know?"

Alex contemplated him thoughtfully. "What about you though?" she asked quietly. In response, Sam's perceptive eyes jumped up to look at hers. Alex studied him closely and gently. "Who's Molly, Sam?" She watched for his response to the name associated with a lot of texts she'd glimpsed on his phone shortly before everything happened with the trials.

Just as she'd suspected, Sam's face said it all. For a minute he had to think about how to reply. "…Someone I'm really afraid to hurt." He sat back, and of all things a brief current of appreciative happiness flitted across his haggard features, making him momentarily younger. "It's kind of a long story but she's… she's just a normal person. Living a normal life. Funny, fun, smart, really sweet… we have a great time together. Met her in Vegas awhile ago, lost touch. Ran into her again after Dean got out of Purgatory… she lives here in Lawrence and…" He was deflating and becoming more uncertain. "We've been… hanging out I guess. A lot. And talking all the time. Haven't put a name to anything, but I mean… the way it's going, I dunno how to avoid it much longer." It should have been something exciting, but Sam sounded full of dread. "I really like her, Alex." And from the way he said it, it sounded like he'd never been more afraid.

It was difficult to hear that weight in her brother's voice. The belief that he couldn't have love. "You deserve happiness Sam." And she fucking _meant_ that.

Sam's face worked in response to her words. In quick succession Alex saw how vehemently he wanted to believe her and how scared he was to do exactly that. "I know, I just—" he shook his head, his apprehensive eyes looking anywhere but at her. "People close to me tend to get hurt. And I'm trying to believe I'm not cursed but…" he trailed off. "It scares the shit out of me, you know?" He gave a short, humorless laugh, running a hand through his hair. "And Dean makes me feel terrible about it of course."

Alex hurt on her twin's behalf. He stowed his feelings, time and time again, always believing the worst of himself and bearing his deepest fears and pains in silence. "Don't listen to him," she advised softly. "If you're right, he's really hurting right now."

Ever the peace maker, Sam peered at her solicitously. "I know a way to help him out."

Alex had to smile sadly at that one. Sam truly had a one track mind. "I'm not ready," she said, although she _was_ toying with the idea of speaking to him, and hadn't felt that way before seeing Sam today. "Hopefully someday soon though."

"Hey," Sam replied fairly, accepting her stance readily if not somberly. He gave her an understanding, bittersweet. "Fair enough."

* * *

The twins stayed at the coffee shop awhile longer, their conversation ambling from Sam's recent hunts (Alex insisted) to theories on the fallen angels, then back to Molly—because Alex wanted to know more. Even though he acted all shy and bashful (but was obviously eager to talk about her), Sam shared the full story of how he met Molly and then re-encountered her earlier that year. Alex noticed again that when her brother talked about this woman, his energy was conflicted between excited and worried. He clearly wanted to be happy… but couldn't fully let himself be. He showed off a selfie he and Molly had taken together, and in it, they beamed. Molly was extremely pretty—she had a demure energy and kind eyes. Alex teased Sam about wanting to meet her, and he fidgeted and blushed, making excuses for why that would be difficult to make happen. Alex let it go, hoping that someday her brother could be at peace and happy as he deserved. She shared a few vignettes from life with Cas then the twins finally had to look at the clock, hug, and get ready to go separate ways. Sam once more told her he looked forward to when she would come back, encouraging her to talk to Dean—but also made sure to let her know that he was proud of her for giving normal life a try and being on the up-and-up about it.

Sam gave Alex a ride back to Apple Lane, the nearby apartment complex she and Cas currently called home. Located close to the downtown area and state university, the complex was comprised of two-story brown buildings built in the 70's—a series of tiny studio apartments that were by no means modern or luxury—but they _were_ cheap.

Once she waved bye to Sam, Alex stayed outside a minute longer than necessary, pulling her phone out and tapping on Dean's contact info to compose a text… trying to think of what message to possibly send.

_Hey. I know it's been two months of me ignoring you but how's it going?_

_Yo, I'm ready to talk now._

_So what about that game last night?_

_I miss you._

The blank screen demanded she write something, but none of it seemed right. She wasn't ready after all. As such, Alex shook her head, pocketing her phone. With a sigh, she fished around for her keys. Unit 118… home sweet home. The door creaked loudly when it swung open. She stepped onto thick beige carpeting and mindlessly tossed her keys toward the little dinner tray stand by the door—her thrifted version of entryway furniture. The entire place was about 450 square feet, so 'cozy' was probably the best way to describe it.

The entrance opened immediately into a small living space where a huge stone age TV sat on a milk crate across from a futon that served as a couch. A copy of the book 'What To Expect When You're Expecting' sat on that couch, and a highlighter was beside it—Cas read and re-read the book constantly, taking notes and highlighting and dog-earing the pages—almost like he was studying to take a test or something. Some secondhand board games were piled up beside the couch and a Nintendo 64 was plugged into the television directly opposite, games stacked up haphazardly nearby—all of Alex's childhood favorites. Taped to the wall above the TV was a somewhat trippy Def Leppard poster. Cas called it 'unsettling but fascinating.' Alex called it awesome. On the adjacent window sill, Cas had a few little herbs he tended to daily—rosemary, basil, cilantro, sage. He also had a potted Colocasia plant in the corner. The well cared for elephant-ear like leaves were pristine and glossy.

Past the living room was the minuscule kitchen—a ragtag assembly of pots, pans, dishes, and glasses were stuffed into the cabinets, and the refrigerator was festooned with a few disposable camera photos Cas had taken of them together (his arm was in every photo, and his finger even made a cameo in one too). Beside the kitchen was the bedroom portion of the place. It was a work in progress: a mattress laid directly on the floor piled high with 3 different blankets and about seven pillows. Alex had strung up some Christmas lights overhead in an unsure effort to make the space more homey. No dressers or other furniture was present—their few belongings were shoved into the tiny closet or piled up against a corner in true sloppy Alex fashion. Cas was turning out to be quite the tidy person and could often be found neatening up after Alex's thoughtless housekeeping. He didn't seem to mind, at least not yet.

A built in shelf half-wall stood between the living room and bedroom, providing a separation between the spaces plus a little ledge. That ledge was lined with things Cas had been slowly accumulating. Neatly placed and spaced out were a rubber duck, a pacifier with a turtle on it, a floppy teddy bear, and a bib that read "daddy's little angel." As always, Alex saw those things and smiled a little to herself. She approached the ledge, gently setting the booties from Sam beside the rubber duck—then she yelped when the bed came into her line of sight and underneath the messy pile of blankets, someone moved, groaning.

For about two seconds, Alex's internal alarm bell screamed and she reached for her concealed pistol—because Cas was supposed to be at work until eight and who the fuck was in her apartment right now?! But then she realized it _was_ Cas. But he looked terrible. She ran around the half wall through the kitchen to get to him. "Cas!" He stiffly moved under the covers, squinting with a sick, disoriented expression in her general direction. "What is it? Why are you home and not at work?" Alex asked, not even giving him a chance to reply as she perched beside him and touched a hand to his clammy face, suddenly realizing… "—Are you _sick_?"

He coughed briefly, a wet and congested sound. "Harold says I have a cold," Cas said pitifully, even as Alex pressed her palm to his forehead.

"You're burning _up,_ " she said in quiet surprise. He'd had allergies the past few days—sneezing and itching, that kind of thing—and Alex had given him some Zyrtec to help—but apparently today he'd suddenly come down with something and _fast_ too.

He made a sound like ' _ugh._ ' Shutting his eyes against the touch of her cool hand to his head, he breathed out noisily then gave a valiant sniff against what was definitely a runny nose. "These sensations are ghastly."

Sympathetic, Alex stroked his forehead a few times. She knew she shouldn't feel fond or faintly amused at this moment, but she couldn't help it. Her ultra-powerful guardian angel, her once-immortal husband was now every bit as human as her basically… and suffering from his very first cold. "What are your symptoms?" she asked, shifting closer. He reached for her automatically like she knew he would, circling her waist with his arms weakly even as his head slipped from the pillow to nestle on her lap. She repositioned the blankets around him even as he settled so that he wouldn't get cold.

"My head," he mumbled, a gentle hand automatically going to touch against her ever-softening, slowly-enlarging stomach. "It hurts. And I feel so cold. My throat is sore, and dry… I can't breathe out of my nose. Everything aches." He squinted up at her miserably. "I feel like I'm dying." He paused.

Alex continued to pet his head and face tenderly. "Not dying," she soothed, understanding completely. "But it _does_ suck. I know just the thing: Soup, tea, a slushie, crackers, tissues, cold meds, rest…" she cupped his face in a hand, giving him a soft smile. "We'll patch you right up Cas." The thought of him being here for the past three or so hours suffering in bed alone made her sad though. "Why didn't you text or call? I could've come back sooner."

Cas shook his head faintly. He appeared exhausted and run over. "I didn't want to interrupt your sibling time. I know how much you miss Sam."

That was incredibly sweet. But in the face of his very real cold, Alex was meaningful: "Next time, _call me_ ," she said, holding his gaze until he gave a slight acquiescing nod. Satisfied, Alex smiled at him encouragingly. "I'll make soup," she said. Cas's expression faltered into something doubtful and Alex became briefly wan. "Don't look so worried, I think I can manage a bowl of _ramen_ , Cas."

* * *

… **Forty Minutes Later**

Alex took the crinkling plastic bag from the delivery guy and handed over two twenties. "Thanks—keep the change."

Shutting the door behind herself, she carried the takeout over to the kitchen and started unbagging. Her attempt at making ramen into soup had, of course, failed—yielding some abysmally bland and watery junk she wouldn't serve to her worst enemy. Cas took care of most cooking around here—Alex's go-to was either fast food, microwave meals, or pre-packaged stuff. No matter how much she might wish for talent cooking and baking, it just didn't seem to be there. Cas however was a different story. Now that wasn't to say he hadn't made epic messes or mistakes in this venture of his buthe did have a knack for it. In either case, Alex knew when to admit defeat.

"All right," she said, carefully carrying his very tasty-smelling soup to where he had been hauled up to sit in bed. He wore a blanket around himself like some goofy Jedi Master, leaning against the half-wall. Wadded up tissues littered the surrounding area. Despite his efforts to stay awake, Cas had been napping on and off for the past forty minutes of Alex's disastrous attempts to make him a meal at home then going for plan B instead. "Pho for you, egg rolls and noodles for me!" she announced, setting his soup down for him onto the little tray she had propped and ready. A slushie waited there already, courtesy of her brief dash to the Gas-n-Sip around the corner.

Alex returned to the kitchen for her stuff. As she rejoined Cas and took a cross-legged seat near him on the bed, he slurped his first spoonful of soup. His eyebrows rose. "…Oh my."

Nodded knowingly, Alex gave him a playful look. "It's healing you, isn't it?" Pho was one of the best cures she knew of for a cold or virus—the ultimate comfort food that Sam had introduced her to a few years ago.

Cas would most likely have taken her question literally in times past. But today, he responded in kind without a second thought. "I think it is," he said, taking another spoonful and smiling for the first time since Alex had seen him that day. He relaxed a little. "Mmm." Alex grinned at him through the crispy egg roll that she was chomping on. Watching the angel do and then react to everyday things never got old for her. And even though he was ill, it was somehow endearingthat he was feeling under the weather.

After a few more respective bites each, Cas turned his attention to Alex. "Thank you for taking care of me," he said, his normally deep and clear voice on the nasal and congested side. With disheveled hair, a five o'clock beard coming in, and the blanket swathed around him like it was… he was ridiculously cute and sweet.

"Well of course," Alex replied readily, giving him a look like it was preposterous to think she wouldn't.

He noisily slurped on another spoonful of soup then smacked his lips and let out a satisfied sigh. "It's truly flavorful. What did you say this dish was called?"

"Pho," Alex said through a large mouthful. "Ish Vietnamese."

It was Cas's turn to smile a little at her—clearly, he found her cute too. "I'll have to try and make it sometime," he said, then ate a little more. "So how was your visit with Sam?" he asked momentarily.

Alex wiped at the corner of her mouth, talking through the last few chews of her current bite. "Good. Bittersweet, I guess. He uh, he really wants me and Dean getting along again."

Cas plucked a tissue from the box beside himself. "Well so do I. And so do you." He noisily blew his nose like he'd been shown, a comical interjection to serious subject matter. When he was finished, he tossed it aside as Alex had instructed—cleanup would come later. "Alex, the only person holding a grudge here is you," he said. "I think Dean was wise to make the choice he did."

"But Cas, we haven't had any trouble," Alex pointed out. " _Nothing_. In two months. No angels knocking down our doors, no monsters, no _anything_." She tossed the last part of her egg roll into her mouth, chewing resentfully as she thought once again about Dean making them leave.

Cas contemplated her for a moment, toying with a conclusion. "Do you wish it were otherwise?"

Alex's eyes widened at the assessment and she stopped chewing for a long second. This required her to contemplate herself. "Okay, sure, yes—I'm a little stir crazy from the lack of action lately," she admitted, swallowing her bite down. "But _of course_ I don't wish there were angels knocking down our doors." She gestured vaguely. "Dean is being highly suspect." Cas didn't look like he agreed. "He _is_!" Alex insisted, frustrated with her intuition and how no one seemed to key in on what she was sensing. "Cas, I know that man better than probably anyone on this planet. He's hiding something." She had to pause then because she _did_ have more clues as of today to what, exactly, he was hiding. "Most likely connected to what he's trying to do to bring Jamie back, I guess." She hesitated, picking at a loose thread near her knee for a second. "Do you know anything about that?" She eyed Cas apprehensively.

The topic caused Cas to grow a bit more introspective and sad. "Yes." He confirmed heavily, brief pain flickering across his features. "He asked me to get her out of Hell right after I brought you and your father back. I knew I couldn't handle it, not directly after pulling you both out. But I regret my choice. I think I should have. While I was still able." He sighed remorsefully, his jaw hard and gaze somewhere vague. "Consequences be damned."

Alex hesitated, fielding a lot of complicated emotions. "Did he love her?" she asked softly, and Cas's questioning eyes came to hers. "Dean never really said much to me about her. I knew they were like… I dunno, hooking up or liked each other or whatever but… he never really mentioned her to me that much."

Cas remained thoughtful. "In Purgatory, we shared much, Dean and I." He contemplated his next words for a long moment. "He never used the word love directly, but… yes. I believe that he very much did."

Exhaling softly, Alex digested. "Why wouldn't he tell me that?" It didn't make a lot of sense. It hurt and confused her. "And why am I finding out about this from people other than him?"

"Because he lost her," Cas said somberly, deep in thought. "I've experienced the belief that the woman I love was dead." His eyes came to Alex's, and he didn't have to elaborate. "It's too much to carry, yet there's no other choice but _to_ carry it—what a terrible burden to bear." His shoulders were heavy with sorrowful empathy. "I wish I could do something for him."

Alex leaned back against the wall she was close to, food temporarily forgotten. "You two still talking?" she surmised. Dean and Cas were an unlikely pair, especially after their somewhat distrustful and volatile past. But Purgatory had changed things, and despite the rift Alex was apparently dedicated to maintaining, the hunter and Graceless angel were friends. They texted semi-regularly and Dean had even visited Cas (better known as 'Steve Worcester') at his work a couple times.

"Yes," Cas confirmed, watching her for her reaction. Alex stayed neutral. "And he doesn't bring her up really, but I know he still thinks about her." He shook his head, his thoughts on the same track as Alex's: "We have a special friendship that I'm very grateful for," he said fondly, reflecting for a moment before he looked Alex in the eyes once again. "And I won't say much else except I know he misses you and wants to reconnect."

Alex sighed. The universe apparently an agenda, and that was to make her feel bad about her stubborn silent treatment of her big brother. "I do too," she confessed, then quickly edited herself: "When the time's right."

Cas's head canted slightly to the side in curiosity. "When will that be?"

Alex shrugged a single shoulder and began to twirl her noodles with a fork. "Dunno. But I'll know when I'm ready." She took a big bite, thinking nothing of talking through her mouthful. "I'm just glad you two get along. Never would've thought I'd see the day." She _especially_ never thought she'd see the day where Cas and Dean were on better terms than _she_ and Dean but hey. Wonders never ceased, or something like that. Cas was working on his soup again, savoring the taste as well as appearing to enjoy the steam coming off of it too. "Good?" she asked, smiling as she watched him.

"Delicious," Cas confirmed, eyeing the spoonful lovingly. He grinned crookedly, reflecting. "I enjoy eating immensely."

Chuckling, Alex nodded. She knew _that_ feeling. "Atta boy." Cas coughed a little bit then cleared his throat mightily while Alex reached up and scooped up the little shoes on the ledge above their heads. "Did you see? They're from Sam." She showed them to Cas. "They look like a pair of boots I used to have."

Given over to a gentle moment, Cas put his spoon down and took the tiny knit items. He was something like reverent, turning them over in his hands and examining them thoroughly. "I love them," he said softly, his smile turning apprehensive as he paused. His tone turned to something more worried. "I wonder how much longer we have."

Their eyes met. What should have been their greatest joy was plagued by worries of the fatal nature of the approaching birth, and the unknown due date. Alex took the shoes back. "Well if that sonogram's anything to go by, I'm progressing at like double speed, so…" Alex sighed restlessly, disliking where these thoughts took her. She put the booties back where they'd been. "Maybe not that long." The staff at the clinic where they'd gone had said Alex appeared to be around twelve weeks along instead of the six weeks she actually was. Cas and Alex had of course been doing research and keeping their eyes open, but it was becoming time to take a more aggressive approach. They both knew it and were growing increasingly uneasy. Something had to change, and soon too, but… "This baby's not coming tonight, I know that much. Let's get you better, then worry, okay?"

Cas sighed wearily then gave a puny sniff. "All right."

As the two finished eating together, Cas told Alex about how when he'd woken up that morning and gotten ready for work as she slept in on her day off. He said he'd felt a bit tired and definitely 'funny' but he'd thought it was allergies. After kissing a mostly-asleep Alex goodbye and going into work, he'd rapidly devolved. By eleven, when Alex and Sam had met up, Cas was clearly sick and Harold (the store owner) had taken over and told Cas to go home and get better.

After clearing their food away, Alex helped Cas to the bathroom for a shower ("it'll make you feel more alive, I promise") then into fresh pajamas. After she got cleaned up and crawled into bed beside him, he said he was feeling a lot better. Probably thanks to the cold meds, but still. They cuddled close as they always did, finding a comfortable and warm tangle in each other's arms. "What are you thinking about?" Alex would murmur as Cas grew more and more drowsy.

"You," he answered, his deep voice rumbling through her. "How much I love our life together." He sniffled and coughed wetly.

"Even right now?" Alex teased.

He snuggled closer, half asleep on his way to another nap. His hand was warm across the skin of her stomach. "Especially right now."

Her heart felt like it could burst when he said that. Alex kissed his forehead then held him close, memorizing every last thing about the moment, waiting for when she heard him begin to snore lightly.

The word 'cherish' was one that she typically found cheesy or a little too on the sentimental side, but the last two months… she'd truly cherished them. Every little part of the days spent close to Cas were memorable and precious: living in a hotel for a week while they apartment hunted. Getting keys to a place all of their own, celebrating with cupcakes and lemonade since alcohol was off the table. Going to a Goodwill to find things for their new home. Putting their belongings side by side in the closet. Waking up together each and every day. Going to the local book store for volumes on pregnancy, childbirth, and parenting—they regularly took turns at night reading a chapter aloud to each other. Their mutual commentary was always amusing, and they'd both learned a lot. Then there was the predictable monotony to life together, things like grocery shopping and mealtimes and bathroom routines and housekeeping… and Cas wasn't the only one learning. Alex was too. After all, living in motels for most of her life didn't lend itself to being good at living in one single place. YouTube and the internet on their phones came in quite handy. Between Alex and Cas both, there were daily searches like 'how to get stuck on food off a pan' and 'easy dinner ideas on a budget' and 'does sweeping or vacuuming get a floor cleaner' and 'proper way to fold a towel.'

There were deeper things, too: Alex's nightmares of Hell had been something Cas's steadfast comfort and presence had soothed. She was having the dreams less and less as her feeling of safety grew. In this way, living together rendered the two more closely bonded and had taught them even more about each other than ever. For example, Castiel was at his core as curious as a kitten, and Alex would go so far as to now say it was perhaps his most fundamental trait. He wanted to know about and experience everything possible, from food to music to activities, he was ready to try almost anything. He joined his boss Harold once at Toastmasters (a club that promoted communication and public speaking), convinced Alex to do an escape room with him (they got out in record time), and even went to a community outdoor yoga class. Alex did draw the line at trying something he found online called "Prancercise" though. Cas's curiosity knew no bounds. He took their first TV apart in an effort to see how it worked—Alex of course had explained she didn't know how to put it back together and bought a new one (Goodwill again). Cas attempted to reassemble the TV he'd disassembled, but caused a small explosion instead.

Life wasn't boring these days by any means. But it was calm. Comfortable. For now, anyway…

Alex put her hand on Cas's, which still laid across her stomach. She could forget she was pregnant most days, at least physically. The only thing bothering her now was the massive appetite and sometimes a little back pain. Her stomach was definitely becoming softer and a little bigger, but she really only looked like she'd had too many tacos at this point, not like she was growing a baby in there.

Her eyes drifted shut against the rhythmic lull of Cas's wheezing little breaths and soft snores. It may not have been a utopian life for many people: a tiny apartment, no car, sleeping on a mattress on the floor… but for Alex, this was every fantasy and dream she'd ever had. Falling asleep every night with the one she loved. Waking up together too. Navigating life one day at a time, hand in hand.

And it was much too early to fall asleep that day… but thanks to the blissful warmth and coziness at Cas's side, she ended up doing exactly that.

* * *

**A Few Days Later**

Still wearing his bright blue employee's vest, Cas exited the Gas-n-Sip and crossed the fueling area with a couple sidelong glances to make sure no cars presented danger. He came to stand on the sidewalk that ran alongside the main road, waiting for a chance to cross. He jogged across lightly when it was clear, as always attuned to the sensations that being alive left him with: the breeze skimming across his skin, the birds singing as they perched on the power lines above, the way his muscles worked as he went quickly across the road, the feeling of impact each time a foot struck the ground. Without his Grace standing in the gap, he experienced life in a way he never had before. While it had been uncomfortable at first, he was growing more and more used to it all the time… more and more at peace with where he found himself. The cold he'd had a few days ago was an example of a somewhat more negative experience, but it was still an experience. And frankly, Alex's attentive care and doting over him had almost made Cas _like_ being sick—not the being sick part of course, the being well-cared for part.

Speaking of… Cas's eager eyes found her. Beside Don's Auto Center, a weathered old picnic table stood in a grassy area. Alex sat waiting for him as always when their lunch breaks lined up, taking her greasy work gloves off one at a time. The sight of her made Cas's insides brighten. She wore blue coveralls which bore evidence of a lot of time spent under and around cars. Her face was smudged in a couple places and her hair was braided into a single plait to the side. Loose frizz danced around her face in the pleasant air. He'd never seen anyone more beautiful. She spotted him and grinned with a little wave—an action that made her look younger and lighter immediately.

"Hello Alice," Cas greeted as he approached, smiling back. This, he had learned, was an inside joke. _Their_ inside joke.

"Hey _Steve_ ," she returned, lifting up the two sandwiches they'd made together this morning. They shined in plastic cling wrap. "PB and J?"

She tossed one and he caught it deftly—thanks to the fact that she did that _every_ day and he'd had ample practice to get good at it. The first time she'd done it, the sandwich had hit him square in the face and he'd been confused as to why his wife would throw food at him like that. "Thank you," he said, grinning crookedly half out of pride at his success in catching his lunch, half because he felt a swell of love. "You look beautiful today."

Alex was picking plastic wrap off her sandwich. "You always say that," she chuckled.

He climbed up to sit beside her on top of the table. "Because it's always true," he countered, and they greeted each other with a quick kiss… then contemplated each other and kissed a little longer, a little softer, with deeper focus. Not for the first time, Cas thought of how much he loved this time together as they came apart and made eye contact. They smiled mutually, nearly bashful. Cas started unwrapping his sandwich. "How is work today?" he asked as always.

"Annoying," Alex replied readily, but her mood was still good. "You?"

Her question made him think deeply. Cas looked at the sandwich in his hands without seeing it. "It's so interesting," he relayed quietly. "The people who come into the store. The things you can learn from just a brief interaction or observation." He saw people of all ages and types pass through. Some were regulars, some he only saw once. He wondered about all these people. Who they were, what type of lives they lived, who they loved, what made them smile. His more profound thoughts faded as he thought of his more day-to-day duties. "And, well, the slushie machine is broken again." He shot her a long-suffering sidelong smile. "All in a day's work," he said, borrowing a phrase his boss Harold used a lot.

"That damn machine needs to be thrown out already," Alex commiserated, knowing how deeply he resented that thing. It was always breaking or malfunctioning. However, as troublesome as the machine was, the sweet and icy drink _was_ delicious to consume… Cas had to admit that much. His job title of Sales Associate came with quite the array of duties: inventory, sales, customer service, cleaning… and Cas actually found it all quite pleasing and interesting, therapeutic in a way. He liked knowing what to expect and being able to complete tasks. Harold told him he was a model employee, which boosted Cas's self confidence too.

Taking a bite of his sandwich, Cas chewed thoughtfully then looked at Alex, studying her for a moment and noticing that her energy seemed a bit off. He contemplated for a few more seconds, making sure his assessment was correct. "You seem pensive," he began, and the way her eyes came to him sidelong confirmed that he was right. "What's on your mind?" he asked gently.

" _Well_." She thought for a minute, her sandwich becoming forgotten in her hands. "You're happy, right? With the way things are?"

The questions made Cas falter and immediately worry. "Well, yes." His eyes studied her closely in concern—he was forever convinced she would reject him. "…Are you not?"

"No, no, yes, of course I am," she said immediately, "very much so, but…" her tone changed. Became hesitant. "I feel…" she exhaled hard and started again. "At the end of the day, neither of us are normal, Cas. Maybe that's why this feels so bizarre to me." At his bewildered face, she spelled it out for him. "Civilian life." _Oh_. Cas suddenly understood. "I mean it's nice for a few days but… I, well…"

"Miss hunting," Cas finished for her when she trailed off.

Her gaze was conflicted, but he was correct. "It's what I was made to do, in one way or another…" she said apprehensively, then shook her head. "Sometimes it feels like I'm hiding from who I am."

He understood that, but it wasn't as simple as she was saying. "You're staying safe during your pregnancy," he reminded.

Alex didn't seem to think he had much of a point. "Yeah but I'm kind of invincible… ish."

Cas became more quiet and withdrawn. "Until you're not." It was like their roles had swapped, leaving him human and vulnerable to almost everything while she had gained superhuman status. _Temporary_ superhuman status. The forthcoming child was a joy. But the fatal nature of the pregnancy was unavoidable.

Alex was lost in thought, her hazel eyes searching the distance quietly. "When I first learned I was pregnant… I wasn't sure. About being a mom. And everything that comes with that." She shook her head. "Well, I'm still pretty unsure about a lot of things in life but—I do know I can't walk away from hunting. Not completely. And not forever. Just doesn't feel right. And… I don't _want_ to, either." From the way her knee nervously bounced around, Cas could see that she felt nervous to tell him this.

"I understand," he said truthfully, sorrow coloring his tone.

Alex peered at him apprehensively. "I mean, don't you miss being an angel?"

That was a question without a simple answer, and Cas fell into a long ponder. "In some moments yes, but…" how could he explain it? He reached over for her hand. "This, here, with you… it feels right." _More_ than right. It was his bliss. His Heaven. Their eyes held for a long moment and he saw his feelings mirrored back to him from her gentle gaze and the soft curl of her fingers around his. Cas's eyes drifted down to her midsection. She was thicker there than before, a reminder that time was ticking and giving birth would eventually kill her if they didn't find a solution. His soft feelings ebbed into misgivings. "I think what I miss the most are the powers I no longer possess," he said gravely, cursing himself for falling for Metatron's trick. At the same time though… "We both know I haven't belonged with my kind for some time now."

Alex's hand held his firmly now, gently demanding his attention. He sought her gaze. "You belong with me." The sweetest words said, paired with the most loving smile. Cas smiled, too, his heavier feelings made lighter.

"I know."

Alex pulled his hand to her stomach. Her voice grew softer. "And with him."

It never lost its fire or thrill, the reminder that fatherhood approached. But as quickly as always, that reminder was followed by another one. The subject of Cas's recurring nightmares: Alex, dying in childbirth, Cas helpless to save her. He did not dream this daily, but he dreamt it often enough. "I used to be invincible, ish," he lamented, echoing her choice of words earlier. "I just want to keep you safe."

Her response was measured. "And I wanna keep you safe too," she said. Reminding him that the burden wasn't entirely on any one person's shoulders.

"I suppose it _would_ be more proactive to find an angel ally than to continue living like we have…" he said slowly. His first thought was that he would miss his job at Gas-n-Sip. The little store across the street caused him a small feeling of pining. But other things mattered much, much more. Like finding a way to stop Alex from dying in childbirth. A thought that was too terrifying to sit with for very long. He hated the thought that he had done that to her.

"I think we really needed this time together after everything that's happened," Alex was saying, pulling him out of his thoughts. Cas met her gaze. "And I'm glad we got it," she continued, touching his face softly to convey tenderness, "but…we gotta get back out there. We gotta strike some kind of balance." She developed a slightly coy smile. "I mean life can't just be _all_ food and hanging out and copious amounts of incredible sex." Cas smiled helplessly back, flushing over just a little. Alex's changing hormones had sent her into sexual overdrive—most days they had multiple encounters. Neither of them were complaining. Alex grinned at his smile, knowing why he looked a little more interested in her than a couple seconds back. "It can be all that stuff _and_ saving people and hunting things," she said, pinching his chin and kissing him briefly. "That and putting all the angels back upstairs where they belong."

He held her hand and thought for a moment about everything she'd said. She was absolutely right. They had needed this time together after being ripped apart time and time again. But it was time to move on from this brief nesting phase and 'face the music' to borrow the colloquial. While that thought was vaguely nauseating to Cas, he knew it was time. "So you want to return to the Bunker, correct?" he asked, unsure of how this would work if Dean still refused to let them stay there.

Alex slightly arched an eyebrow. "Actually… I thought maybe me and you could give the whole thing a try solo. Mr and Mrs edition."

Cas felt his expression soften with surprise. "Hunting." He hesitated. "You and me?"

Alex nodded readily. "Why not?"

"I… I hadn't considered it," Cas answered, intrigued at the prospect.

"So consider it," Alex said with a grin. "It makes sense! We're Bonnie and Clyde, Chewie and Han, Sherlock and Watson, Batman and Robin…"

Cas hesitated. He didn't understand some of those references, but he did know one quite well by now actually. "Which one of us is Batman?" He had a hunch how she'd answer.

Alex pulled a serious face and answered exactly how he knew she would. "Oh, I'm Batman. _Always_."

He smiled crookedly, then circled back to the reference he hadn't gotten. "But who are… 'Chewie and Han'?"

Alex's eyebrows rose and her mouth dropped open a little before she made a confused face. "Okay I really need to move Star Wars up the priority viewing list," she muttered to herself before refocusing. "Bottom line, Cas… I feel like I'm sitting out on an inning I'm supposed to bat for." Cas squinted, missing her meaning. "Sports terminology," she explained with a chuckle, then thought a minute more about what to say. "I just wanna get back out there and do my thing." Her smile took on a more sentimental quality. "With my best friend at my side."

Cas didn't miss her meaning that time. A slow smile was spreading on his face. "You're referring to me."

He got a soft smile for that one. She scooted closer to him so that they was no space between their bodies. Her arms looped around his middle. "Yup."

They kissed again soft and brief, then Alex nestled her head into the space of his neck and shoulder. Cas closed his eyes briefly, overcome and content and terrified all at once. "You're my best friend too," he whispered, then held her tighter to himself.

In the past he had tried to make things right on his own. But now, they were going to find a way to change the future _together_. He could believe in that. He _had_ to.


	137. State of Grace

_"Man is not what he thinks he is… he is what he hides."  
_— André Malraux

* * *

**A Few Days Later  
** **Round 'Em Up Roadhouse  
** **Pacific Junction, Iowa**

The Impala trundled up into the gravel parking lot of a derelict roadhouse bar. The local boys in blue had already roped the place off with yellow crime scene tape. Sam took quick visual inventory of the scene outside the cabin-style building: a handful of officers, a forensic photographer, a news truck, and a few curious locals clustered at the perimeter of the scene.

Dean parked and Sam straightened his suit jacket, clearing his throat and willing himself enough energy to do this. He felt tired sometimes without real explanation, just a wave of fatigue out of nowhere—today was one of those days. On the way here, he'd experienced another significant gap of memory. Dean said it was the trials aftereffects and insisted brusquely that it couldn't all last forever. Basically, he brushed off Sam's worries each time they came up. Sam just had to hope that these brain fog episodes were temporary. That his brother was right.

Speak of the devil: Dean's gruffly playful voice cut through his worries. "You ready, Agent Morrison?"

Sam put himself into performance mode and allowed a brief rueful grin at The Doors reference. "Sure thing, Agent Krieger."

The boys exited the car in near perfect sync and approached the entrance to the bar, flashing their fake badges in tandem at the officer standing at the door. He frowned curiously. "FBI really sent the whole crew out today on this one huh?" he asked, immediately alerting the Winchesters that something was up. "Your other two are inside already." He stepped aside, gesturing that they were free to enter.

Playing it cool the brothers moved past him, but once out of the cop's eyeline, Dean shot Sam a supremely questioning look. ' _Other two_?' he mouthed. Sam shrugged, but his nerves had increased. Real feds _did_ sometimes pop up on cases… or it could be other hunters.

Inside, they found complete disarray. Signs of intense struggle were everywhere—busted glasses and bottles, broken furniture, destroyed windows—and there were numerous bright yellow plastic markers on the floor beside blood stains to indicate where the victims' bodies had been. Sam saw enough immediately to conclude that this hadn't been just a few murders… this had been an _extermination_. As Sam glanced around with a tense expression, he spotted the other two FBI agents a millisecond or two before Dean did: Alex and Cas, both in polished outfits that screamed 'feds.' They were speaking with the sheriff. Alex spotted her twin right as he spotted her. She nodded a thank you to the sheriff and wrapped up the conversation.

"Ah, _great_ ," Dean muttered under his breath. But he sounded more nervous than anything else, standing up a little taller like he was bracing himself.

Cas and Alex wore snappy suits, hers more tailored and fitted with hair swept back into a neat, low ponytail. Cas approached first, appearing glad to see them and even sticking his hand out to shake Sam's…probably for show. "Agents," he greeted coyly, leaning in covertly.

"… _Agent_ ," Sam returned in similar fashion, hiding an unexpectedly amused smile as best he could.

Alex arrived on Cas's heels. "So they'll let just anyone in here, huh?" she joked. Then her eyes slid to Dean and her expression changed, shifting into something harder to read. It was the first time in two months the two had seen each other. "Dean."

For a tough guy, Dean sure did squirm under her gaze. "Alex," he greeted gruffly. "Cas."

Cas reached out and shook his hand too, then put his other hand onto Dean's during the brief action. "It's good to see you Dean."

Dean managed a wan smile and patted Cas's hands on his briefly… a silent 'let go, dude.'

"We figured you two might turn up since this is a local-ish one," Alex said, more to Sam than Dean.

Dean was getting over his temporary surprise at running into them. "Wait, so you two… are _hunting_?" He asked, then cracked a doubtful grin at Cas. "What happened to early retirement and working your way up the convenience store ladder?"

Alex's eyes darted over to the officers nearby and let her voice go a little lower. "Let's do the whole catching up thing later, can we guys?" She looked at Cas meaningfully, who seemed to realize this was his cue.

He had a few glossy photos printed out of the crime scene before the bodies had been removed. He handed them over to Sam. In the images, a lot of dead guys in leatherwear dotted the bar, something like maybe twenty in total. "The biker gang that was here…" Cas said heavily. "They were all angels."

"And we're pretty sure we know who killed them," Alex added.

Cas gave a significant look. "Other angels."

Sam peered at the photos intently with a deeply furrowed brow. "…They're doing this to each other?"

"And it's personal." Alex tapped one of the more gory photos for emphasis. "Look at the excessive stab wounds."

"Yeah, definitely a lot of emotion involved." Sam exhaled softly and glanced around at the immediate area and all the body markers. "It definitely took more than one or two killers to pull this off." He looked at Dean significantly.

"Hit squad?" Dean theorized. "Bartholomew's people?"

Sam acknowledged it as a possibility, then paused. "Do you two know about Bartholomew?"

Cas's face showed confusion. "Well he was in my garrison…" he said tentatively. "And he fought with me against Raphael. I lost track of him after that."

Dean clapped him on the shoulder. "Well your little friend's been consolidating power earthside—finding true vessels for the I've-fallen-to-earth-and-I-can't-get-up club." Cas's eyes crimped deeply in confusion. Dean sighed. "The _angels,_ Cas, the angels."

That information seemed to daunt Castiel.

"Okay, so what's he doing with these 'true vessels'?" Alex asked in the brief pause of silence.

Dean met her businesslike eyes. "Getting ready to rumble."

Cas considered grimly. "So Bartholomew is a threat."

"Seems like most of them are, but yeah, he's definitely at the top of the list so far," Sam confirmed. "From what we can tell, all the fallen angels are kind of splitting off into factions to amass power."

There was a sad, resigned nod from Cas. "Well, they did that in Heaven too, so it wouldn't be too terribly shocking of a conclusion to derive from the circumstances."

"Wow, Sherlock," Dean jeered, getting two impatient looks from his siblings. "What? All those big words make my brain hurt."

Alex was visibly trying to keep herself focused. "So how do we figure out which faction is behind this?"

Of all things, Cas sent her a somewhat flirtatious smirk. "A very good question indeed, Agent Wayne."

She took a beat and responded in kind. "Thank you, Agent Grayson."

Dean made a face as soon as he got the inside joke. "Whoa whoa whoa… Batman and Robin?" he asked, then gave a little chuckle. "Could you _be_ more obvious?" Cas and especially Alex just grew more amused and proud of themselves. Dean rolled his eyes halfway before he glanced around then leaned in conspiratorially. "Listen, let's get all the info we can at this dump then grab a beer somewhere less…" he wrinkled his nose and gestured vaguely, " _this._ " He paused and then threw in a passive aggressive jab aimed at his sister. "If that's okay with everyone's precious feelings, of course."

* * *

**Later**

After a little more time at the crime scene asking questions and observing the aftermath, the group of four reconvened in town at a place called DC's Watering Hole—a nondescript sports bar with an uninspired food menu but plenty of cheap beer to choose from. Outside, the sun went down.

Sitting around a wooden table not too far from the bar, Cas, Dean, and Alex were in mutual awkward silence until Sam set down everyone's drinks with a series of clunks. "All right, here we go," he said. "Three beers, one Sprite."

Dean cracked his brew open and sent his sister a curious frown. "Since when _you_ too good for a Budweiser?" He got no answer except a sullen glance as she opened her Sprite with a satisfying _fsst_. Dean chuckled, but it was uncomfortable. "Easy tiger—if looks could kill."

The two of them hadn't spoken much since their unexpected reunion back at the roadhouse, and the tension was quite palpable. Maybe that's why Cas was so ready to fill the silence with a comment of his own. "You know, this is my first beer as a human," he announced, trying to open it to no avail. Dean reached over impatiently after Cas fumbled for a few seconds. He cracked it open for him on the table's edge then handed it back glibly. Cas sniffed the contents, made a face, then sipped at it hesitantly.

Alex had a little amused smile working the corners of her mouth. " _Well_ …? Whatcha think?" she prompted as his face worked through a series of surprise, uncertainty, and consideration.

"The taste is a bit odd but…" he trailed off and sipped more. The definite beginning of a pleased smile grew. "The more I drink, the more I like it." He paused, suddenly eyeing the bottle with slight worry. "…Will I get an overhang from this?"

Immediately, a confused smile hovered on Dean's face. Alex pressed her lips into a thin line to keep from laughing. And Sam's eyebrows sprung up in amused uncertainty. "…You mean… a _hangover_?" he asked in rising mirth.

"Only one way to find out," Dean encouraged, tipping his own beer up to his lips then pulling a deep frown as he finished. "But seriously, how haven't you had a beer yet? What've you two been _doing_?" He looked at his sister, who sidestepped with a prim shrug.

"Little of this, little of that."

Dean rolled his eyes insolently and took another huge sip. Cas was just finishing another huge gulp—maybe too big—because afterward, he let out a surprisingly loud belch. His eyes widened. "Oh—excuse me."

Everyone at the table was amused again. "A burping fallen angel," Dean commented through a chuckle. "Now I've seen it all." He paused with his beer in front of his lips. "Why _you_ grinning like a chipmunk?" He asked Sam in brief suspicion.

"This is just… _nice_ ," Sam said, who was indeed smiling at the scene in a very moony way. "Having everyone back together again."

Dean contemplated for a second before he decided to put aside his ego and be real for a moment. "Yeah. It is nice. It's good to see you two." He looked directly at his sister. It was clear how much it took from his pride to try and make peace. "Real good."

She was guarded and aloof. "Is it?"

A very weary gusty sigh came from Dean. "Alex—"

She put him under the stern weight of her challenging stare. "We haven't had any problems with angels coming after us since you kicked us out, just in case you were, I dunno, _worried_."

Dean's jaw tensed as he deliberated on how to further respond. "I get that you're mad at me, I do, but you know I'm only doing this to protect everyone."

Alex scoffed and then chuckled mockingly. "Right, I feel _real_ protected being told to leave the Bunker and fend for myself out here."

As usual, Dean turned to cynicism. "Yeah you're a real wilting flower, aren't you?"

She ignored the insult. "What's your _real_ reason for wanting us out?" Alex countered, leaning in with unrelenting, narrowed eyes.

Dean shrugged offhandedly, continuing his dodge. "Look Al, I'm not the bad guy here, but if you wanna act like I am, have at it." He drank more beer like he wasn't bothered.

"What are you _hiding_?" Alex pressed, increasingly riled up by his gaslighting.

Dean became agitated. "Can you call off your attack dog, Cas buddy?"

Alex didn't allow a chance for anyone else to speak. "Answer the _question_ Dean."

The oldest Winchester gave a humorless smile to Sam. "What were you just saying about having everyone back together again?"

Ever the placating voice of reason, Sam used his gentlest tone. "Let's just everyone take a step back," he appealed, visibly saddened by his siblings interaction. He motioned to the photos they had on the table from the roadhouse. "How about we talk about the case, huh?"

Cas, who had been watching with melancholy, was the first to agree. "Yes, let's."

Grateful for the change of subject, Sam glanced rapidly between his testy siblings before plunging ahead and putting his focus on Castiel. "Okay great. So what angle you think Bartholomew's playing here, Cas?"

Cas hesitated, fingers on his half-empty beer as he contemplated the bottle. Everyone waited for his response. "Well, I've obviously been living a life outside of the social circles of the fallen angels but—" he shook his head, emotionally haggard. "I imagine he wants to reverse Metatron's spell and retake Heaven as his own." He glanced up with weary eyes. "It's always the same story, isn't it? Someone wanting control of that place for themselves." He sighed softly and looked at Alex. "At this point, I have to wonder if it'll ever end." Beside him, she put a silent hand on his back and gave him an understanding if somewhat sad smile. He smiled back in the same fashion.

"Well in any case, step _one_ here is getting the real housewives of pearly gates back where they belong," Dean put in, enjoying his own little joke.

"Yes, that's my mindset too, more or less," Cas said distractedly, picking up his beer again. "The question is, how do we find out whose specific handiwork this was?" He took another sip, seeming to enjoy it more and more.

Watchful and reserved, Alex mulled for a couple of beats. "The roadhouse didn't have any security feeds or eyewitness accounts, not that that would do any good anyway, but… this kind of seems like a dead end for now."

She was right, and the table passed a few beats in frustrated silence.

"What about you, Cas?" Dean asked after a minute, surprising everyone with the softer tone of voice he used. "Do you even _want_ your wings back?"

Cas withdrew a bit more at the sudden question, glancing at Alex tellingly. Her glance back was tense and loaded… obviously, the two of them had talked about this a lot. "I don't know," the fallen angel replied heavily. He drained the rest of his beer and frowned when he realized it was empty. Dean raised his nearly-empty bottle at him in approval.

"All right," Sam said. "I'm gonna get us another round."

But before he could stand, Cas lit up at the chance to do something helpful. "I'll do it!" He gave a sheepish and hopeful smile as he stood. He patted Alex's shoulder and ruffled her hair affectionately before he headed to the bar, leaving a real smile on her face no matter how much she was trying to play it cool. Sam couldn't hide his taken aback amusement at that, or how sweet he clearly thought it was.

"One beer, he's hammered," Dean commented fondly, then leaned forward and sought his sister's reluctant gaze. She was patting her hair back down. "Look. Enough with the third degree," he said with a sigh. "I miss you bigtime, okay? You believe me?"

Alex contemplated him for a long couple seconds before she softened grudgingly. "I miss you too, that's not the issue." She leaned forward as well. "I'm fucking pissed, and that's not changing until you tell me what's going on. For real, Dean."

Dean overcompensated, scoffing and sitting back. "What would be going on?"

His glacial response seemed to tire her. Alex studied him carefully for a couple seconds more, her expression apprehensive, concerned, and hurt all at once. "Is this about Jamie? Are you trying to bring her back?"

He stiffened immediately at the mention of her name, then accusing, betrayed eyes went straight to Sam. "Look I _really_ don't appreciate you two talking behind my back," he said defensively, a slight glare resting in his eyes as he looked between the twins harshly. "I don't talk about her anymore—not to anyone. So do _not_ go there with me, understand?"

Alex studied him in softly stung confusion. "Yeah I understand." Obviously, she didn't.

And in an attempt to remove the spotlight off himself, Dean advanced his secret agenda of keeping Cas away from Ezekiel. "You know, are you two really ready to jump back into all this, Al?" he asked. "I mean, I know _you_ haven't been giving me the time of day so I got no clue where _you're_ at, but Cas seems real happy with the little civilian life."

Alex folded her arms and sat back in her seat. Her temperature was now cool and detached. "We have several pretty good reasons for getting back out there. If I feel like sharing them with you at some point, I know your number."

 _Ouch_. Sam's eyes widened and cut to Dean as his eyebrows shot up in silent commentary at her retort.

"Why you being like this?" Dean asked, his tone decidedly pissy. He made a face. "And hey, FYI, might wanna get back to your routine. You look like you put on a few pounds." Both twins looked at him in perfect sync. Alex seemed both vaguely amused and disgusted, Sam was disgruntled. " _What_?" Dean demanded, rolling his eyes again. "Tough crowd."

Alex shook her head and got up, then went to the bar to where Cas was waiting on more beers. He looked at her as she approached with a soft smile and readily put an arm around her waist as they exchanged a few quick words. They were the picture of comfortable, but also in love: there was a depth to the way their eyes regarded each other and how close they preferred to be.

Over at the table however, Sam fixed his brother with a disappointed expression. "Dean, that was really ru—" and then his eyes flashed whiteblue, he straightened, his face fell into an expressionless lull.

Realizing what was happening, Dean withered, cutting nervous eyes at Alex and Cas, who were only about twelve feet away in the noisy bar. "You really gonna do this right now, man?" He asked in a near whisper.

Ezekiel used Sam's face, but everything was different: his posture, his delivery, his facial expressions. "Yes, I am," he confirmed intensely, sending a brief scathing glare at Cas's back. "He is a beacon, pulling every angel for miles down on our heads!"

Dean threw his hands wide. " _Where_?" he challenged. "Where are they, Zeke, huh? Cuz no one's bothered Cas and Alex in two _months_." He leaned over the table shrewdly, speaking in an intense whisper. "Level with me. What is it you're so afraid of, huh?"

"I _told_ you," Ezekiel insisted resentfully. "When I chose to answer your prayers and heal Sam, I chose _sides_. That means I'm not in good standing with certain angels."

Dean scoffed humorously. "Okay well, you know what? Cas isn't in good standing with _any_ angel, but he's right here, ass on the line, fighting the fight. So what makes _you_ so special and different?"

Ezekiel didn't get a chance to answer. Cas arrived with three amber bottles. "Here we go. Three, uh, 'brewskies.'"

Dean wet his lips and glanced between the two men—his nervousness was approaching sheer panic at this point. Glaring at Dean pointedly, Ezekiel stood up stiffly. "I'm going to get something out of the car," he said moodily, then left behind a rattled Dean who had to act like nothing was wrong.

"Is Sam all right?" Cas asked, picking up on the tension.

Dean let out a shaken breath as he watched his brother's body disappear out of the bar exit. "Yeah, yeah, he's fine," he answered automatically, forcing an outward demeanor of business-as-usual. That's when he noticed who else was missing. "Where'd the old battle axe go?"

Cas frowned as if he'd misheard. "The what?"

Dean sighed mildly. "Your _wife_ , man."

"Oh." Cas paused on the term for a moment then leaned closer. "She went to the restroom. I uh… I think she's avoiding you."

Dean smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. He grabbed a brew and clinked it to Cas's. "Welp. I'll drink to that." And he did.

Cas picked up his beer, however was he still mentally stuck on something. "Why would you refer to her as a piece of weaponry, anyway?"

Despite everything, Dean gave a brief, surprised chuckle. "Good ole Cas," he said, putting a hand on his friend's shoulder. "I've missed you, man."

Cas's face softened into a touched smile. "I've missed you too, Dean."

* * *

Outside the building, the angel possessing Sam walked the length of the dark parking lot, his jaw gritted and nerves rattled. If Castiel discovered him… it could compromise everything. Just then, he heard a soft sound behind him and he turned, suddenly aware of keen danger.

A small and painfully average man smiled wolfishly at him from a few paces off. He was dressed frumpily with unkempt graying hair. "Well, hello there… 'Ezekiel,'" the stranger greeted coyly. "Or should I use your real name…" he stepped closer. " _Gadreel_?" Shocked and withering at the very correct call out, Gadreel's jaw dropped. "Metatron, unless it wasn't obvious," the stranger introduced. "Or Marv, if you prefer." He chuckled at Gadreel's visible alarm. "Relax. I'm not here to out you. But I _am_ curious: why pretend to be _Ezekiel_ specifically?"

Some lesser angels might have run at this exact moment. Or fought. But Gadreel was frozen, immediately feeling that he needed to be honest. Holding himself tensely, afraid of whatever impending punishment was coming his way, he squared his shoulders dutifully despite his deep shame. "Because they say he is good. An honorable angel."

"… _Ahhhh_!" Metatron tutted playfully, coming to understand. "Everything they say _you_ are _not_. I see your point, betrayer of mankind."

Gadreel bristled at the casual use of the insult that had scourged his name for centuries. "Please do not call me that," he said stiffly, desperate to defend his honor. "The stories about me—they are not true!"

The scribe gave him a knowing look, his eyes almost twinkling. "And yet you spent countless thousands of years locked in Heaven's darkest dungeon for what you did." Metatron sighed with dramatic airs. "And _now_ you're hiding in this human pretending to be an angel you're not." He shook his head, seeming to pity Gadreel and feel very amused all at once. "Tragic. You were God's most trusted angels. That's why he chose you to protect the garden. Your one task was to keep evil from entering... from befouling his cherished creation, mankind. And yet you failed him. How's _that_ happen?"

It was the ache in his side and the stain on his name he could never escape. "I could not stop what happened," Gadreel insisted, full of remorse and anger over the few moments of his existence that had determined the whole of his destiny. "I live in regret every passing hour over what occurred," he said harshly, tiring of the interaction. He became more hostile. "What is it you _want_ of me, Metatron?"

" _Well_." The scribe smirked and strolled a couple steps closer. "I was the one who freed you, actually."

This rendered Gadreel very surprised indeed. "… _You_?"

"Oh yes," Metatron confirmed dreamily. "Me. I was the one who caused _all_ the angels to fall. Including the imprisoned ones." He grinned, and it was not pleasant. "You're welcome."

"But this means… no angels are in Heaven," Gadreel surmised, shocked at the thought.

"Yup, it's just me!" Whatever brief pride had been there began to fade into the glint of dissatisfaction. "And you know, at first… I thought I would love it." Metatron looked upward, his eyes searching the great expanse of sky. "But it's a big place. And my solitude is getting…" he looked as though the word were sour in his mouth, " _tedious_." His eyes came back to Gadreel, and he clapped his hands together with abrupt giddiness. "So I have a new plan! Rebuild Heaven as the place God envisioned it, only this time, with a handpicked few. No more anemic functionaries like Bartholomew. And no more stupid angels." He paused, considering. "Maybe some funny ones…" he trailed off and winked. "And maybe some who have had an atonement arc, eh? You were his most trusted, Gadreel, and I think you can take back your reputation. It's time for the under dog to rise to redemption." He tipped his chin down solicitously. "You wanna reclaim the Heaven that was? Be part of the new way of things up there? We could do this together. What do you say?" He paused, his voice becoming a tic more ominous. "You _do_ owe me a debt of gratitude…"

With extreme apprehension, Gadreel contemplated this twist in fate torturously.

* * *

A faint mix of 90s hits continued to play against the bar ambience of conversation, laughter, and glassware clinking. "So you two doing okay?" Dean asked Cas conversationally over their table. If nothing else, to distract from his nerves about Sam/Ezekiel. He was _forcing_ himself at this point not to glance at the door every five seconds as he agonized over what Ezekiel was up to out there.

"All things considered, yes," Cas replied. He had his arms folded on the table and he looked casual, relaxed. So much more adjusted than Dean had ever seen him before.

A wave of sorrowful contemplation washed over Dean. Cas looked… good. As in put together, cared for, confident and capable of himself, bright eyed. Definitely not without worries, but he seemed hopeful. _Must be nice,_ Dean reflected glumly. His current existence of loneliness and pain wore on him so deeply. He missed his sister. He felt ashamed and guilty about Sam, wrecked with worries about what would happen there. He wished Cas and Alex lived at the Bunker, of course he did. And as constant as the pulse under his skin, he agonized himself over Jamie who burned alive in Hell every day all day without ceasing while he just existed topside without any way of getting to her. His guilt and pain knew no bounds at the injustice of it all. "I'm glad you two have each other," he ventured quietly, then shook his head at himself in soft surprise. "Never thought I'd say that." Times truly had changed. He looked over at Cas, and their time spent in the brotherhood Purgatory created swelled between them.

"I'm glad we have each other too," Cas said, putting a caring hand on Dean's shoulder. "But I hope you don't forget that you and I have each other, too." He meant every word from the bottom of his heart. It showed, he made no effort to disguise his emotions, and it made Dean feel unworthy as fucking _shit_. That, and so emotional he might cry. He hung his head as he worked to get himself together. Cas's concern greatened. "Dean, you look downtrodden."

Dean tried to placate with a smile, but it was a weak attempt. "Who wouldn't be, man." He scrubbed his hand against his face, elbow on the table. He was so ragged. It was easy to teeter on the edge of defeat. "It's just too much, Cas."

Cas repositioned slightly, leaning in to continue his close watch. "What is it? Dean, you know you can tell me anything."

Dean thought long and hard, his jaw tight and eyes hard before he finally sent his eyes sidelong at the angel. "It's just… I'm starting to worry if I made the right choice," he admitted faintly. Cas remained shrewd and caring. "Look, I uh…" Dean shook his head, harrowed by a thousand worries. "It's Sam. He's still messed up."

Visibly trying to piece the puzzle together, Cas frowned a bit deeper. "Ezekiel healed him though, I thought."

"Yeah well." Dean looked down. "Guess I left a few parts out."

Cas grew more worried in his anticipation. "What?" He urged. "Dean, what did you do?"

Hesitant and afraid, Dean contemplated as nausea roiled in his gut. But despite his fears, Cas's safe and trustworthy presence promised to be an ally in this unthinkable situation. And without even really thinking it through too much, too worn down from it all, Dean came clean. "Ezekiel's _in_ him, dude," he whispered hoarsely, his stomach a twist of knots. "I was trying to save Sam—the stuff from the trials was killing him, then Zeke showed up and said he was damaged in the fall but he wanted to help. That he had to possess Sam to heal him right. But it's been two months and he's not done yet or that's what he says and I just… I don't got a good feeling." He was so embarrassed and uncomfortable.

Cas was certainly surprised, but took it in stride. However, the last part made him confused again. "But if Ezekiel is possessing Sam, he agreed to it…"

Dean breathed in deeply, steeling himself. He let the breath out and winced internally, bracing for whatever was next. "Yeah well… Sam was comatose. So I uh… helped Ezekiel trick Sam into saying yes."

There it was. The full truth, out in the open. Cas sat back slightly with a slackened face. "An angel is inside of your brother and he doesn't know about it? Dean, you have to tell Sam the truth. _Immediately_."

This was where inner protests rose. "Yeah but if Zeke bails or Sam kicks him out before Sam's finished healing, it could _kill_ him!" Dean pointed out urgently, his jangled emotions rising. At the end of the day, he knew he had done the wrong thing, but he still didn't know what other choice he would make if given the chance at a redo.

Cas thought for a long, strained moment. He was unspeakably gentle and considerate when he finally spoke. "Is this your decision to make on Sam's behalf, Dean?"

The question made Dean ache. So much so that he would have preferred Cas lash out and condemn him. Not extend compassion. "I know it's not my decision. I know I'm a miserable, selfish bastard who's just afraid to be alone at the end of the day." Dean knew he was wallowing in despair instead of actually doing anything, but at this point, he only knew to let Ezekiel finish healing Sam and pray it would be okay. The thought of seeing Sam laying lifeless in a hospital bed again haunted Dean's mind day and night. "Can't lose my brother, man," he managed, his heart burdened by all the impossible, forever-increasing losses of his life. "I just can't." Not even Dean understood himself sometimes, all he knew was that it had been two choices and one saved Sam's life. He cleared his throat hard, his eyes glittering as he sniffed hard and coughed. It was time to change subjects. "Look Cas, you can't mention this to my sister."

The angel's face fell into regret and apprehension. "Oh Dean, I can't promise you that—Alex and I have no secrets from each other anymore, not after everything that happened. And honestly, that's beside the point. You need to tell her. More importantly, you need to tell Sam." Cas leaned close, hovering almost, begging. "Promise me, Dean."

It felt obscenely strange how deeply Dean was considering doing exactly what Cas was asking, but… fear of retribution and judgment and loathing was looming. "I can't have both of them hating me Cas. When they find out…"

"They will be upset and angry, but I'm sure eventually they'll come around to seeing why you made this choice." Cas remained encouraging and kind. "Dean. It's the right thing to do. You don't have to be alone in this like you are."

Dean thought about it, searching his friend's eyes. And then Sam… but it was _not_ Sam… re-entered the bar. Dean sat a little straighter, his heart beat picking up. Why was Ezekiel still the one presenting?

The angel in Sam's body came up to the table with narrowed eyes like needles. He missed nothing, taking in the look on Cas's face. "You told him about me, didn't you," he accused Dean.

Cas stood up. He was not unfriendly, but he looked on his guard. "Ezekiel."

Sam's fingers came to touch Cas's forehead. "Forget whatever it is he told you, Castiel," Ezekiel commanded, and Cas's expression obediently changed from shrewd to confused.

" _Dude_!" Dean exclaimed, appalled at what had just happened.

And then suddenly Sam was back, finishing a sentence he'd started perhaps almost ten minutes ago. "—rude." He jolted, quickly becoming upset and afraid when he realized something was wrong. "Wait, w-what just happened?" he asked. He immediately looked to his big brother for answers, who guiltily avoided eye contact.

It was that moment that Alex arrived back at the table from the bathroom. What she found was her twin standing up and looking dazed, Cas slowly sitting down as he tried to figure out why he felt so strange, and Dean flighty, cagey. "What's going on?" she asked in veiled suspicion. Her concern grew as she went to her brother. "Sam, what is it?" He looked the most distressed out of all of them.

"I uh—I just had another gap I think," he admitted shakily, trying to put on a brave face. But for a man in his thirties, he looked uncannily like a scared little boy. "I was just sitting here with Dean and then… suddenly Cas was just here."

Dean was suddenly in a hurry. He threw some cash on the table and fished for his keys, drawing an incredulous look from his siblings. "Look, while you were zoning out, I got a call from uh Bobby, and we gotta go."

Alex was confounded. "… _What_?"

Dean was already up and attempting to usher Sam away. "Yeah, good seeing you."

"Dean you can't just leave!" Alex said, trotting after her brothers in mild alarm and bewilderment.

"Bobby said it was it was important, okay? Gotta shake tail." Dean paused to give her a sarcastic smile. "Talk to you in another two months?"

Alex stopped in her tracks and watched them leave. At her side, she felt Cas's approach. "Cas what happened when I was in there?" she asked softly, brow furrowed.

He had to think about it. "Well uh—I got us more beers. Then Sam went outside…" he trailed off, coming up with a blank. "And then he came back in."

"That's it?"

"I… can't remember anything else."

Alex didn't understand how that was possible. "Well what did you talk about while I was in there? I was in there at least eight minutes."

Cas frowned, searching his mind. "I don't think we _did_ talk."

That _truly_ raised her visible suspicions. "What do you mean you don't _think_ you did?" Alex asked, stounded. Her concern was growing with every heartbeat. Her eyes went to the last place she'd seen her brothers—the exit of the bar. "Something's going on here." Cas agreed with her, trying to understand why he felt so foggy suddenly. So disoriented.

After they left the bar furtively, Alex called Bobby to ask if he had just called Dean. Bobby said no. And Alex stewed further, contemplating her next course of action. Dean was lying about something. The question was, _what_?

* * *

The Impala roared down the road under the cover of night away from Alex and Cas. Ezekiel was out again and scathing.

"Dean, if you _ever_ compromise me again like that, I will have no choice but to—"

Enraged at his situation and own stupidity, Dean cut him off. "Okay lemme stop you there, now you're _threatening_ me?" he demanded. He might be desperate, but he wasn't a doormat. Not now, not ever. "I'm letting you shack up in my little brother, did you forget that? Don't bite the hand that's feeding you, pal."

There was a brief and loaded silence. Then a foreboding reply. "I would not be so flippant, if I were you, Dean Winchester."

Dean was too busy watching the road to see the flash of whiteblue in Sam's eyes. "Yeah and I wouldn't be such an ass if I were you, dude!"

Dean sent a scathing glare sideways only to be met by a very confused Sam. "…Huh? Dean what're you talking about?" Sam shook his head and ran a hand through his hair as stress clouded his face. "Why do I feel so _weird_?"

Exhausted by this endless bullshit and his role in Sam's latest problem, Dean clamped his mouth shut. The angel was holding his brother hostage at this point. "Nothing, Sam, it's nothing."

Sam swallowed. His voice sounded faint when he spoke again. "This is scaring me, Dean."

 _That_ broke his heart. "Yeah, me too Sam." He nodded at the audio system controls. "Put on some music, will you?"

He needed something to override all the thoughts clamoring for dominance in his mind. Sam dutifully complied and scanned around on the radio, stopping when he heard a familiar 80s anthem. Sam sat back in his seat. But Dean went stiff.

' _Simply the best! Better than all the rest—better than anyone—anyone I ever met.'_

This was a song he couldn't stand to hear anymore. This was a song that instantly triggered a vault of shut up feelings and thoughts.

This was the song that had been playing in a noisy karaoke bar on a very fateful evening.

This was the song they'd sang along to at the top of their lungs to with theatric and drunken glee, spilling their beers and not really even noticing.

This was the song that had been playing during their first kiss.

Dean would always remember the moment in perfect detail. That smile. That laugh. Her blonde hair catching air as they spun each other around that dance floor for all they were worth thanks to all the booze required to hunt that Shojo. As the song pumped an irresistible mood over the room, Jamie had lost her footing and Dean caught her. They'd gone still and their smiles faded into something softer that reflected the spark shared between them. He'd seen it in her eyes right when he knew she'd seen it in his. That it was _finally_ gonna happen. And they both grinned as the distance became zero. She'd grabbed a fistful of his jacket to pull him closer even as he'd put a hand into her hair to pull her in by her head. Surrounded by drunken fools shouting karaoke at the top of their lungs, all Dean could remember was fireworks in his chest the moment they'd first kissed. He could still feel her in his arms.

But she was in Hell. And he'd failed her on the promises he made. And he couldn't hold onto her no matter how hard he'd tried. And sudden impossible grief blindsided him like being hit by a freight train.

"Well anyway, it was really nice to see them again," Sam said, even as Dean practically punched the power button on the dashboard, sending the car into total silence. Sam blinked, startled. "What is it Dean?"

"I hate that goddamn song, okay?" Dean seethed, at the point of punching something or crying, he wasn't sure. "Can't hear myself _think_."

Sam balked innocently, trying to understand the sudden outburst. "What's wrong with Tina Turner?"

" _Everything_!" Dean barked, his knuckles white on the steering wheel.

Sam's concern tensed his youthful face, translating into empathy. "What's going on with you?" he asked softly. "For real."

Dean however became even more gruff and closed off. "I'm _fine_ , Sam."

"You don't seem fine." Sam wet his lips and took his chances. "Is Alex right? Is something going on? Dean you can tell me anything. I only wanna help."

Dean rubbed his eyes briefly. Sam couldn't help him. _No_ one could. "Enough Sam, please," he said, utterly sapped. "Everything's fine. I just need you to leave me the fuck alone, okay?"

There was a blessed silence. And just when Dean thought he was in the clear, Sam tried again. "Look, just gotta say it once and for all, if this has something to do with Jamie—"

The mention of her name made him fly into a rage. "When I told you she was an off-limit topic, I meant it Sam!"

"But Dean—"

"I said I don't talk about her anymore, are you deaf?!" Dean yelled, his agitation hitting extreme levels as he glared wildly. "Final warning, do not go there with me man! Bury it."

Stung and confused by his brother's behavior, Sam adopted a quiet energy and sank down into his seat, festering in his worries, fears, and pains.

* * *

Being backed into a corner tests a man. And Dean was not passing his current test at all.

As he drove himself and Sam down the road, he felt more and more trapped by his decision to let Ezekiel possess his brother. The beginnings of true fear about what Zeke was capable of or planning on were brewing. But who could Dean confide in? He thought about how Ezekiel erased Cas's memory so easily and it terrified and enraged him. _But what can I do about this? Cas can't help, he's lost his mojo. Alex would barbecue me for dinner. And Sam… I doubt he'll be okay with this ever. Hell. I'm not._

His only hope was that in the end this would truly be worth it. Dean couldn't bear to think about the alternative.

Sam tried a couple more times to console Dean, which only ended with Dean getting more aggravated and pulling over angrily to a motel saying he needed rest pronto. Really, he just wanted those prying eyes and questions to stop.

Dean crashed in bed shoes and all, turning his back to Sam and acting like he went to sleep. He heard Sam turn in and start snoring. And despite the barrage of guilt, angst, and pain, Dean finally began to drift off.

Just when he began to hit the wave of deeper sleep, his phone began to vibrate, jolting him back awake. Pissed off, Dean snatched it out of his pocket. This had better be something good to bother him in the middle of the goddamn night. The number was not one he had stored in his phone and with a glare eyeroll combo, Dean answered. "Yeah," he grunted harshly, rubbing a hand down his gritty, exhausted eyes.

And then everything instantly changed.

A voice he never thought he'd hear again asked his name softly on the other end of the line. "…Dean?"

Like being struck by lightning, that's how fast his world changed. His fatigue evaporated instantly. He was already sitting bolt upright in bed with a racing heart and airless lungs. Sudden adrenaline rioted in his veins. It couldn't be!

"… _Jamie_?!" he asked in a breathless whisper.


	138. The Witching Hour

" _If desperate times call for desperate measures, then I'm free to act as desperately as I wish."  
_― Suzanne Collins

* * *

**Thunderbird Motel  
** **Maryville, Kansas  
** **3am**

Dean paced outside the motel room door like a caged animal. He could barely _think._ He was going nuts. "Come on, come on, come on…" he muttered anxiously under his breath. He'd knocked all of two seconds ago but he couldn't wait a millisecond longer—it was kinda hard to sit still when the woman you thought was dead and lost forever had called a couple hours ago, given you an address, and said to please hurry. He lost patience and hammered his fist on the door again. "It's me!" he almost shouted. "You in there? James? Jamie!"

The door opened abruptly, almost knocking him off balance from the weight he'd been throwing into it. Startled when he saw what was beyond that door, Dean and all his chaotic thoughts went totally still. Every other thing in the universe ceased to exist. Because _there she was_. Alive, breathing, bright-eyed and by all appearances totally okay despite the fact that he'd personally buried her body six feet under… Jamie Ward. Like nothing had ever happened to her at all.

"Hey Dean." It was said softly as a relieved smile broke across her cherry-red lips.

Tears were already gathering in his eyes—and all his intentions of various tests to make sure it was really her flew out of his mind completely. "Oh my god," Dean breathed, his heart choking his throat with the most intense rush of wretched relief imaginable. " _Jamie_." With trembling limbs, he crossed the scant distance separating them and slammed her into a hug he had never thought would happen again. Even moreemotion avalanched over him as he felt her warmth against him… the rise and fall of her steady breaths. His eyes squeezed shut as it all crashed over him with a helpless shudder. Every sleepless night obsessing over a way to bring her back, every ounce of grief he'd lived with and shoved down into the void paled in comparison to the feeling of _this_. She smelled the same, felt the same, she hugged him back fiercely. It was really her. And it abruptly wasn't enough to just hold her anymore. He needed to look at her.

"How are you back?" he asked hoarsely, pulling away just enough to hold her face in his hands. It took his breath away—photographs and memory hadn't done her justice. It blew him away all over again. "Are you okay?" he whispered, not even giving her a chance to respond because looking at her face again was so surreal that it was frightening. "How are you _back_?!" Had one of his ludicrous attempts worked somehow? Was something darker at play?

She shook her head uncertainly, by all appearances just as emotional and overwhelmed to see him as he was to see her. "I don't know how, I just _am_." One of her hands came to gently rest on his wrist—a light touch that he couldn't take for granted. "I was in Hell, and then I wasn't—I… I don't remember anything else."

That should have been a red flag. But Dean was too caught up in the drug of seeing her face again to think clearly. He'd do detective work on how she broke out of Hades _later._ Because meantime, the majority of the english language escaped him. He'd rushed over here with every wild hope and relentless fear bursting him apart with sickening anticipation of what he would find. Sometime since losing her, he guessed he'd given up hope that this would actually happen—so now that it had… he was an absolute wreck. More than he would have thought. "I never thought I'd see you again," he managed gauntly, hands still on her face. His thumb gently caressed skin that last he had touched was pale, cold, and dead. Now that skin was warm, healthy, and living. He felt an overwhelmed tear spill down his cheek. For once, he let his emotions openly display.

"I know," Jamie murmured, pressing into his space a little more, studying his eyes, then closing the distance to kiss him softly. Dean melted, but despite the elation he felt, it also brought up the trauma he hadn't resolved yet: getting her body from the morgue, burying her, grieving at her graveside, shouldering daily guilt over not being able to save her—then his subsequent spiral into near-insanity with ways to try and bring her back. Everything he'd refused to let himself fully feel was all the sudden smothering him. So much so that he couldn't kiss her back when she tried to kiss him more deeply.

She looked vaguely confused as he pulled away from her kiss, and he was sorry. Dean regarded her with every last bit of stored-up overwhelming emotional pain written clearly on his face. He didn't know how to tell her how bad it had gotten. "Baby, since you left… I just haven't been the same," he confessed in a whispered rasp, helpless to hold up all the walls he usually hid behind. It was time to let those things down. _Finally_ he could tell someone all the things he'd refused to say out loud. _Finally_ he didn't have to bear his burden alone. "Spent so many nights thinking about all my regrets, you know?" he continued, still barely able to speak above a whisper as emotion made his eyes ache. He searched her sky-blue gaze. "About all the things I never said to you." He wished he could make her understand the depths of his mind-numbing remorse. Not just about her, but about damn near everything. "I'm _sorry_."

Jamie's brow drew in further in quiet confusion. "…What do you mean?"

He was petrified to say it out loud. But he'd already decided he was gonna the second she'd opened that door and he saw her. So Dean exhaled helplessly, feeling self-conscious as he reluctantly steeled himself. How did he even _start_? "…I'm bad at this stuff, James," he bemoaned shamefully, choking on the lump in his throat and wishing he weren't so… _himself_ sometimes. He wet his lips, because by _God_ he wasn't gonna squander a chance to lay it on the line after all the nights spent cursing himself for all the things he never did or said. Not after dreaming and hoping for this exact chance. "Look… I know it's not much… but it's all I got," he started, voice husky with tense apprehension, because he was realizing that he actually had _no idea_ how to exactly say it all. Then he grew softer because when he looked into her eyes, eyes that calmed and centered him, when he thought it over… it was actually pretty straightforward. His anxiety relaxed away into a certain shade of tenderness. "Let's put it this way," he murmured just above a whisper. His pulse seemed to be racing and slow all at once as he willingly pulled his metaphorical heart out of his chest and let her see what was inside. "At the end of the day, somewhere along the line, despite all his best laid plans… a Kansas boy with nothing but a car and some booze to his name fell in love with the last girl he ever meant to." It really was as simple as that. Dean hesitated, then traced some hair away from her face as she listened with the softest and most rapt expression. Sadness briefly made him faintly apologetic. "Couldn't ever seem to find the right way to tell her, no matter how much he wanted to, so…" he drew himself up a little bit and tried for optimism. "I guess that's what he's trying to do right now." Dean was resolute, managing a hopeful and conflicted little smile. "And he's sure as hell hoping to get a second chance to do things better this time around."

Jamie's expression was appropriately touched and tender. She reached up to stroke his cheek in a loving way. He thought she was about to return his feelings, and his heart grew lighter, warmer. And then… she spoke.

"…You let me burn in Hell after you swore over and over again that you'd save me," she whispered softly. The words rendered him immediately stiff and shocked. Her fingernails trailed down the skin of his throat, digging in with sudden pressure as she posed her question with a sly smile: "How could anyone, but especially _me_ , ever love a man like _you_?" At the dismayed look on his face, she grinned and chuckled darkly. It was absolutely chilling. And that's when he realized this wasn't Jamie standing in front of him. Even as Dean was floundering, there was a sudden telekinetic burst of dark energy and he went flying backwards where he collided back-first with one of the room walls.

 _Fuck!_ Even as he groaned in pain he heard the motel door room slam shut. "What, am I supposed to say, 'oh, _Dean_ , I love you too'!" She asked with an audibly simpering grin. "Yeah right." She mocked him with a false expression of sympathy as he got to his feet roughly in a daze. " _Aw_. Look at those pretty green eyes full of sadness and hurt…" she said with a put-on pout and then a dainty, surprised look. "Did I do that?"

Dean cursed himself into the next century for his stupidity as his stomach churned against terrified nausea. " _Who are you_?" he asked lowly, theories already flying wildly in his head against a new tide of grief. For a minute he'd been fool enough to believe in a happy ending.

The demon or creature wearing his girlfriend's likeness sent a flirty smile his way. She now spoke with a totally different cadence than Jamie did—sort of sing-songy on some words. "Think hard, lover. We've met before…" there was a certain suggestive affect to the way she sauntered up to him. She stopped in front of him and parted her black leather jacket as she put her hands onto her hips confidently. Her t-shirt became visible, just as she'd intended. And Dean's blood went cold like ice: it was a black shirt with a cartoony female demon lounging on it—underneath, text proclaimed 'the devil made me do it.' Last time Dean had seen that shirt, _Abaddon_ had been wearing it—Abaddon who favored a red lipstick the exact shade on Jamie's lips right now. Abaddon who had been burned out of her previous vessel by Sam and Alex and chopped apart by Dean not long before that. Abaddon who surely would want revenge on the Winchesters. It suddenly made perfect and horrifying fucking sense what was happened here. Dean mutually realized two things. One: this meant it _was_ Jamie's body in front of him so there was still some hope left; and two: he was up shit creek without a goddamn paddle worse than he thought. Abaddon grinned wickedly, enjoying the look of increasing horror on his face. "Did you miss me, sweetie?" she mocked.

Dean sidestepped her stiffly, his breaths short and hard through his nose. He was trying to figure out what the hell to do. "You get the fuck out of her you _bitch_." The back of his legs hit against the motel room bed. He had nowhere to go and no clue how to combat this abruptly escalating situation. Right in front of him, the woman he loved was still out of his reach, impossible to know how to save. It broke his heart all over again.

Abaddon closed in slowly, like a lion hunts its prey. "Oh I don't think so, kitten," she murmured, making Dean's pain all the worse as she continued to speak using Jamie's voice. His only thought was how the _fuck_ could he get her out of this? "I knew this would be fun when I first got the idea, but gosh, the _look_ on your _face…_ " Abaddon crooned wickedly, enjoying herself immensely. "Seems as though I may have underestimated exactly _how_ delicious this moment would be."

Hatred wasn't a strong enough word. It may have been a long shot, but Dean wasn't exactly a man with options at the moment. He backed up along the length of the bed slowly, careful not to make any sudden moves. " _Exorcizamus te omnis immund_ —"

"Oh sweetie." Abaddon rolled her eyes with a lengthy sigh, unbothered completely. "You know nursery rhymes like _that_ don't work on something like _me_." She settled all of her weight onto one foot and crossed her arms with a devilish smile. "But knock yourself out trying. I like watching you _squirm_." Dean glared insolently, refusing to continue. "No?" She teased, then flung a hand out. With the motion he went flying too, crashing into the bedside table where a glass lamp shattered. Some of it slashed into his arm and he protested with a cry of surprise even as he managed to get back on his feet in an awkward roll. This was _bad,_ and getting worse every second. Dean's emotions had really sabotaged him—and he was fully realizing how much so as he began to bleed. He hadn't told Sam where he went, instead mindlessly abandoning his brother in favor of this wild goose chase—he didn't have any way of trapping a Knight of Hell with him because he hadn't prepared for that possibility. Dean was left to kick himself repeatedly. Abaddon wasn't a regular demon, and even if she was, there was no way in hell he was gonna fight her while she was in his girlfriend's body. The situation sent him into endless cycles of despair. Jamie was literally in the same _room_ with him—but he had no way to rescue her. There was only one thing he _could_ do. And that was _try_. Dean looked hard into her eyes, willing his message to go to the woman he loved. His tone faltered. "James, if you're in there, if you can hear me, I'm gonna get you outta this," he promised intensely. He'd find a way out or die in the attempt.

Abaddon's eyes took an upward rotation again as faint impatience grew. "Okay, all of this sentiment is really starting to make me _itch_." She began a slow, commanding pace of the room, taking her time and being showy. "It is entertaining though," she continued conversationally as he watched her with hyper-vigilance. "How _quickly_ you came running without a thought to save this blonde bimbo of yours." She sent him a jeering smirk. "Guess a good pair of tits will make a 'Kansas boy' do just about anything, huh?"

His fury was the helpless kind and it made him shake with rage. His regrets and resentments kept growing. "I'm gonna fucking _gut you_ first chance I get, Abaddon," he vowed savagely.

She was amused, studying his face thoroughly as she chuckled. He swore he saw attraction in her eyes as she challenged him by stepping so close that there was no space at all between their bodies. "No no, loverboy," she whispered seductively, letting her hands slither up his torso to his shoulders. He shrunk from the touch but her red-polished fingernails began to dig in painfully, biting through his jacket and shirt both. " _I_ am going to kill _you_." She sent him flying again into another wall, pinning him there invisibly after the harsh impact. Groaning through gritted teeth, Dean thrashed against the powerful hold he couldn't break. Abaddon approached with a dangerously gleeful glint in her eyes as he panicked over what to do. "And then I'm going to kill your brother and your sister, and anyone and _everyone_ else you've ever loved," she continued sweetly. "Then, when it's all over, I'm gonna boil this witch of yours alive and throw her body away like the garbage that it is." She let go of her invisible hold of him and Dean fell to the floor, catching himself on all fours and scrambling up quickly to sag against the wall, effectively trapped. He didn't know how to get out of this without hurting James and his frenzy of alarm grew more and more pronounced with every second that ticked by. He was outgunned big time and he knew it.

Abaddon was still toying with him, vastly pleased with her flawlessly executed revenge. "So tell me. How _are_ you gonna save her, Dean?" She approached closely again and grabbed him hard by the front of his shirt. He didn't know the answer to that question. He didn't have a goddamn clue. Without anything further, the demon right-hooked him in the face, sending stars of pain exploding in his vision as she continued to hold him in place with her other hand. "Show me how," she goaded, then telekinetically tossed him through the air to collide painfully with the TV set.

He groaned as bone-bruising pain exploded across his side and back ribs from the points of impact. Abaddon was already on him again, grabbing him brutally by the hair—she proceeded to bash his skull into the television several times. He tasted blood in his mouth and his vision wavered as his entire nervous system reeled with alarm bells. "James, _please_!" Dean begged, trying to hold Abaddon back even though she was so much stronger than him.

"What, not even gonna fight back?" Abaddon sneered, shoving him down and standing over him triumphantly.

He was now at the point of being pummeled dumb and all he could do was look up at his very powerful enemy and break apart. "Please, just let her go—" Dean pleaded in weakening strength even as the demon yanked him to his feet and uppercut him in the face—a face that was now gashed and bloody. As soon as her fist impacted and sent another cry of protest ripping out of his throat, something strange occurred. Abaddon's intense expression dropped in favor of a sudden frown. She let go of Dean as if she'd been stung, then looked down at herself in sudden confusion like something unexpected and even perhaps frightening had just happened inside her body.

Sagging against the media console, Dean watched breathlessly as Abaddon's face showed fascinated surprise. "Ohh—" she commented softly, seeming to be intrigued and oddly delighted all at once. Her eyes snapped up to look into his and a dark little smile hovered. "…I think she's _upset_ that I'm hurting you," she said in a captivated whisper. Sudden immense hope soared over Dean. She was fighting, somehow! " _Huh_." While it had thrown the demon off, she regained her composure quickly. " _Interesting_." She refocused onto Dean, her wicked grin growing larger still as her voice lowered to a sultry lull. "I bet it'll upset her even more to watch her own hands choke the life out of her boyfriend, don't you think?" She arched an eyebrow in cruel anticipation as malevolent delight gleamed in her eyes.

He barely had time to react. Dean slammed backward into a wall, powerless against the invisible grip that pinned him in place. The demon crowded his space and despite his attempts to resist, superhuman strength hands closed around his throat harshly, choking off his windpipe and his ability to breathe with shocking speed. He began to thrash, grabbing uselessly at her wrists in an attempt to pry her off. His lungs screamed, trying to gasp air in with less and less success.

She was gonna kill him. He was gonna die in this stupid motel room for no fault other than his own fucking stupidity. The full reality of his complete and utter failure slammed him all over again. Sam's situation, Alex's purposeful silence, Bobby's disappointed glances, Kevin's fear of him, Dad high-tailing it away from his family again… Dean only had one thought repeating over and over. _All my fault_. He had said over and over again that he was fine with being the bad guy—but the truth was, he wasn't. He just wanted things to be okay, goddammit! Hell, maybe this planet would be better off without his anger, his insecurity, his bullshit and issues and the way he drove people away. He didn't wanna give up, but… he was starting to think maybe this was judgment day. His struggle weakened. Abaddon pushed him slowly down the wall as his knees buckled and failed. She leaned in so close he could feel her hot breath hitting his his face. "I'm just sorry you can't hear all of her _screams_ as I do this to you…"

Even as his vision began to go spotty, those words did something to him. Dean began to fight again valiantly with every last scrap he had, looking into those ice-blue eyes with gritted teeth. If he was gonna die, his last words weren't gonna be to the demon. They were gonna be for Jamie. " _It's—okay_ —" he wheezed out faintly with every ounce of strength he could muster against the vice on his throat. A rush of memories that they shared filled his mind. He just wished they'd had more time. " _I know—this isn't you—!_ "

He suddenly gasped in loudly, sweet new air flooding into his lungs. Abaddon's expression faltered because her hands had abruptly started to tremble and quake, fingers losing the strength of their grip. The demon's expression changed from glee to angry confusion as she looked at the hands she was quickly losing control over. And then she gave a shout of unrestrained, shocked agony—her eyes went wide, her hands flew away from Dean's throat to clap against either side of her own head. She screamed as she stumbled back. And Dean knew what he saw there on her face now: _fear_.

Given over to desperate hope, Dean managed to stand to his height as his lungs heaved, pulling in air to make up for what he'd lost. In front of him, Abaddon's hands were falling slowly from her head as she glared at him murderously, and then her hands. She was seething… and shaken up. She hadn't expected whatever that was. Despite everything, Dean felt a brief surge of pride. "Yeah, maybe not the best idea to possess a goddamn witch, huh," he said, his neck still pulsing from the crushing pain her fingers had left behind. He didn't know how she'd done it, but he just hoped she could do it again. "Kick her ass, James!"

Maybe it was too much to hope for. Abaddon's face darkened with dangerous rage. " _Enough_!" she spat with severe finality. She raised a furiously trembling hand and he was yanked by invisible force to crash into the bed, breaking it in half from impact. Before he could even get his bearings, Abaddon had jumped onto him and was straddling him on his back, holding him down onto the mattress that was now halfway on the floor—she grabbed both of his hands and slammed, pinning them roughly beside his head. Her fingernails dug into his wrists, drawing blood and making pain scream underneath the pointed stabs. Inhaling sharply, Dean defied her by staring back into her furious eyes, refusing to make the sound of pain he so wanted to. "Look I'm getting tired of this, so I'm gonna cut it short," she hissed, acid roiling in her eyes. "But before you die…" she took a moment to calm herself then let go of his hands. They stayed in place telekinetically. Her hand trailed down his chest, then his stomach, then lower… to the hunting knife that was in the waistband of his jeans. She yanked it out, admiring the blade lengthily, enjoying the look of fear that rippled across his face. She leaned closer and traced the razor-sharp tip across his cheek delicately. "Tell me, lover," she murmured. "Did you know your girlfriend's a lying _bitch_?"

He strained against the hold she had over him uselessly. "You ever get tired of hearing yourself talk?" Dean retorted insolently.

Abaddon ignored his question. Instead, she shattered his world with a question she phrased with utmost put-on innocence. "Why would she not tell you about having the baby, do you think?"

Every sound went silent as the sensation of being slammed with shock took over his entire world. Dean quit struggling against her. ' _Having the b_ _aby'_ …?

Her face morphed into a sly, patronizing smirk. "That's right," she whispered throatily. "You're a father, and she _never even told you_."

Dean's blood had gone still. His breath stopped. And then after an impossibly long few beats, he shook himself hard. _No._ This was another hell-bitch trick designed to get under his skin. It had worked. "You're lying," he accused, but he didn't sound confident about that.

Abaddon remained serene, further unsettling him. "Deep down… you know I'm not."

The hunter was left to reel. Jamie wouldn't have lied to him about miscarrying… would she? And if she had, _why_? He couldn't come up with a reason, but he did know that despite the strength of his feelings for Jamie, he might not know her well enough to make the call on how honest she was or not. Where would this supposed kid even be right now? He wracked his brain in a furious rush to think back to the moment he'd reunited with Jamie after Purgatory. He'd expected to find her with a newborn. She'd instead given him the bad news that their baby girl was lost. What if she _had_ been lying?

In the depths of Purgatory, the thought of fatherhood had been one of the things that kept him going. He'd felt ready to be a dad, he'd been anticipating it, he'd spent a year surviving the wastelands with it always on his mind. He had pictured himself in a little family of his own… a chance to make things right and give a kid the childhood he'd never gotten.

He'd gotten over the crushing disappointment of things being different than his imaginings as time had passed, but he'd always wondered in quiet moments what would have happened if that baby had made it. So for this demon to be suggesting that she _had_ made it… it messed with Dean on every level.

Abaddon patted the broad length of the knife against his slackened face. "So when I said I'll kill your entire family… guess who _else_ is in line?" she continued, increasing his horror a hundredfold.

Where he'd refused to believe her just two seconds prior, the threat to a kid who may or may not have existed, a kid he'd never even laid eyes on sent him into a protective, primal rage. "Leave my blood alone," he gritted out in a snarl, fighting her relentless grip with everything he had again.

Abaddon chuckled again and leaned close, letting the knife drift to press tip-first into the skin of his neck. "Don't worry Dean, Mommy here is gonna go pay our baby girl a visit _very_ soon," she murmured into his ear, letting her lips brush against the sensitive skin of his lobe. Terror ran through his veins. If her goal was to petrify him, she was succeeding. "Sweet dreams, _Daddy_."

His world was spinning and confounded. _No—no!_ Even as a terrified protest rose as the pressure increased on his neck—the knife was suddenly gone and Abaddon pitched sideways with an animalistic shout and then a shocking scream of absolute pain. The hold on Dean evaporated and he was already shoving himself up to try and see what had happened. Beside him, she had both hands on the hilt of the knife—and it was buried deep in her own stomach. Blood was already pooling out around it. Her face had changed completely. Where there had been cool calculation, there was now panic and severe pain. She was screaming from effort and agony alike, face turning red, a vein of filling out on her forehead as her teeth bared. She held the blade in deeply for all she was worth.

Dean was already clambering over toward her. "Jamie?!"

Her panic increased. "Get—out!" She bellowed raggedly at him, eyes wild with fear. He grabbed onto her even as she panted doggedly and tried to push herself away from him with disoriented feet that slipped uselessly against the carpet. "Dean, _run_!" Her voice was unrecognizable from guttural pain and panic.

"I'm not leaving you!" Dean insisted, half out of his mind at that point.

Chancing losing control, Jamie gripped onto his arm with one hand, her fingers crushing into him hard. "I—can't hold her—back!" she gasped, eyes wide with raving, crazed fear. The message in her eyes was _save yourself_. She was begging him, and she didn't need words to do it either.

Dean had less than seconds to choose what to do. It made him fucking _sick_. Staying meant he was signing his death certificate and ensuring that he'd never be able to save her… or their alleged daughter. If he left, he still had a fighting chance. He knew the logical thing to do, but tearing himself away from her was one of the hardest things he'd ever done. "I'll be back for you," he promised urgently, grabbing her harder to convey himself. "I'll be back!" Her eyes were unfocused and rabid. He caught her face with his hands, forcing her to look at him. "You hold on, you hear me?!" It was a command and a plea.

For a brief second, their eyes clung to the others—a million unspoken hopes, fears, and unfinished businesses reflecting each to the other. "Yeah," she managed in a shaking whisper. And then she shoved him weakly, her frightened eyes begging him, her face portraying a rising and terrifying struggle. " _Go—_ " she said hoarsely, her voice becoming a terrifying scream that made her even redder. " _NOW_!"

And as much as he hated to do it… he did. He tore himself away and ran while he still could, not even shutting the door behind himself from the speed with which he fled into the night.

When Jamie couldn't hold Abaddon back any longer she collapsed to the floor with a final sob of exhaustion. Giving a lengthy aggravated sigh, Abaddon retook the proverbial steering wheel and plucked the knife out of herself disdainfully then let the weapon clatter uselessly to the floor. She stood purposefully and straightened her sideways jacket with a snap, then dusted her hands off irritably before she went to the cracked mirror beside the doorway. She eyed the bloodstain on her shirt with distaste then took her thumb and wiped away at the outline of her bottom lip where lipstick had smudged sloppily. " _Well_ ," she said to her reflection cooly once she looked presentable again. "You went and ruined my night of fun, didn't you." She contemplated herself with an expression that warmed from resentment to wickedness. "We could go after him, but you know what?" She leaned in toward herself, looking herself in the eye. "I think this is actually better. We leave him for last. That way, he can watch us kill everyone _else_ first." Abaddon tilted her head to the side, giving herself a sly, poisonous smile. "Should we start with your daughter?"

Inside the Knight of Hell, a severely weakened Jamie screamed, beating at the proverbial walls that kept her trapped.

* * *

The last thing Sam remembered was falling asleep in a random motel after being shouted at Dean for playing Tina Turner in the car. So when he suddenly wasn't sleeping anymore—instead standing in the middle of a damn _road_ with a noisy overpass above his head—he was immediately disoriented by a surge of confusion and fear. _What the hell!?_ He turned a quick circle as his heart jumped from a steady beat to a jackhammer pace. _Where the hell am I?!_

A dark and deserted rural road stretched left and right on either side of him as cars passed overhead at a steady rhythm. A few lights from the highway above lit the area poorly—it immediately felt like a great place to get jumped. Or run over, standing in the middle of the road like he was.

Struggling for comprehension, Sam continued to peer around in alarm. "Dean?" He whispered, holding himself like a spring. No reply came.

 _What—the_ hell _—is happening to me?_

And then his pocket began to vibrate, nearly giving him a heart attack for the briefest of seconds before he realized what was happening. Forcefully steadying himself, he breathed out hard and got his phone. It was his brother. Thank God.

Sam answered, but before he could say a thing, Dean's voice shouted through into his ear. "Sam! I've called a million times, where the hell are you?!"

A very good question. Shaking his head in a daze, Sam looked around again for any indication of where he was. He still didn't see one. "I… I dunno," he whispered, casting frightened glances around as he moved out of the middle of the road and swallowed his alarm forcibly. "I was sleeping and now I—I'm suddenly at some underpass in the middle of nowhere—" he paused, suddenly wondering something new. "Did I _sleepwalk_?" He asked, stunned at the explanation. That had to be it, right? But even that was of no comfort. What was _wrong_ with him these days?

Dean ignored his question. "I need you to get your ass to the Bunker pronto, Sammy, you hear me?!" It was then that Sam picked up on his brother's very weird tone. Something was wrong. Very wrong. He didn't have to ask what it was, because Dean was already barreling ahead with the bad news. "Jamie's alive and that bitch from _Hell_ Abaddon has her."

Sam's eyebrows shot high before descending back to crash into a flabbergasted frown. "Wait, _what_?"

Dean didn't explain anything else. "Shake tail, understand? I'll be there in an hour!"

No, Sam didn't understand. "Dean—!" But his brother had already hung up and when Sam looked at the phone's screen in irritation, he saw that his phone was just about to die anyway. He glimpsed 27 missed calls from his brother just before it cut off. "… _Great_ ," he muttered, then looked around with nervous uncertainly once again.

Something wasn't right here. Something _hadn't_ been right since the last trial in that little white church.

It kept feeling like something was happening right in front of his face that he just couldn't put his finger on. Memory gaps, brain fog, now sleep walking…? What would be next? Was he dying? Whatever was happening to him wasn't good. Having more questions than answers filled him with an ominous sensation. Sam blinked back the sudden sting of frightened, overwhelmed tears. He was scaring himself, and worse than that, he felt alone with his fears. Dean didn't have time for it, and Sam didn't want to burden his sister with his issues—she had a lot of her own stuff going on and he didn't want to put a damper on her life or worry her needlessly. As usual, every _thing_ else and every _one_ else came first. Nothing new. He'd accepted this by now. All he could do for the time being was forcefully stow that deep feeling of unease.

Sam deliberated which direction to go, his jaw clenched tight, then broke left decisively, leaving that underpass as quickly as he could.

* * *

Sam made it back to the Bunker in surprisingly good time. He walked a mile and found a gas station then stole a car, apologizing to the owner profusely in his mind the entire time as he raced across the miles. When he pulled in to the familiar gravel road, he spotted the Impala parked hastily near the Bunker entrance. Dean had beat him there.

Anxious to know what was going on, Sam hurried inside—a tired-as-always Kevin glanced up at him from his work at the table in the main area. A pen hovered at the kid's mouth and as usual, a stone tablet and multiple scattered notes were in front of him. "Hey Sam," he greeted wearily.

Sam was too distracted for greetings. "Where's Dean?" he asked, highly on edge from the night he'd had.

As if on cue, there was the muffled sound of an argument happening close by. Kevin drew his lips wanly. "Just uh, follow the sound of shouting."

Sam already was. He hurried toward the library section where he found his brother and uncle. Bobby was trailing after Dean who was shoving volumes into a duffel bag at the kind of speed that made it look like he was about to miss a flight.

"Dean, use your _head_ , son!"

"Bobby I can't!" Dean retorted, whirling on him. "That bitch from Hell has my girl and is set to kill anyone and everyone important to me, I don't have time to waste!"

Sam stared, his expression gone slack with faint alarm. Dean's appearance was shocking. He was bloody and beaten—Sam spotted several gashes, cuts, a split lip, trails of blood rivuleting down Dean's face in multiple patterns. His jacket was ripped, and there was blood all over his clothing too. "Oh my god," he breathed in soft horror as he drifted a step closer. "What _happened_ to you, Dean?"

Dean looked merely irritated at the question, returning to his work of frantically reading book titles then shoving selections into his bag. "Abaddon happened. She's in Jamie's body, Sam. Get it now?" He finished with the books and with a wild look in his eyes, he stalked over to one of the long tables. Sam saw that a bunch of weapons and hunter resources had been dumped there unceremoniously. Dean began viciously pawing through the stuff, yanking selections out and sticking them into his quickly-filling bag. "We gotta find a way to exorcise a goddamn Knight of Hell without hurting the body being possessed, and we gotta make sure everyone knows to watch their backs in the meantime, who's gonna get on that for me?"

Shit. This was worse than bad. "Did you already call Alex and Cas?" Sam asked in rising concern.

"Yeah, went to voicemail, big surprise there," Dean muttered, then threw one last item into his duffel before he swept away from the table to exit the library. Sam fumbled after him.

"Dean, you're acting nuts, you need first aid!" Sam protested.

Dean whirled, his face etched with livid, half-crazy urgency. "I don't give a fuck what I need, Sam!" He must have gotten quite the reaction from that because he paused, wet his lips, and lowered his volume, attempting to be more reasonable. It didn't last past the first half of his sentence. "I just found out my girlfriend got pulled outta Hell just to be some meatsuit for one of the biggest bads out there! And not only that, she's gunning for everyone I love! Excuse me if I'm not _calm_ enough for you asshats."

He sent a belligerently pointed glance at a very gruntled Bobby before turning to stalk away. He came up short of bumping into Kevin, who had meekly drifted in. "How can we help, Dean?" he asked apprehensively, his eyes nervously contemplating the oldest Winchester like he thought maybe he was about to get punched for asking.

"By finding out how to hit the eject button, Kevin!" Dean thundered with zero patience. Kevin's feelings were visibly hurt by the tone of voice used, but Dean didn't care, only seeming to grow further incensed. "Why are you still standing there?!" He brushed past the prophet rudely, leaving Sam to pursue on his heels.

"Dean, we need to take some breaths and simmer down, you're no good to anyone like this!" Sam appealed, managing to get in front of his brother for the briefest of seconds.

Dean was already pushing past, not even pausing. Sam didn't even know if Dean was hearing him at this point. "Outta my way, Sam!"

He moved so fast that a slight breeze wafted by Sam in his brother's wake. Admitting defeat for the moment, Sam watched him storm down into one of the hallway entrances to do God-knows-what. He heaved a frustrated breath and pinched the bridge of his nose, hearing Bobby come up quietly to his side.

"Guess a day without crisis is just too much to hope for 'round here," Bobby muttered wearily, adjusting his ballcap and shaking his head in true chagrin at Dean's behavior before he fixed Sam with questioning eyes. "Whaddayou wanna do about all this?"

Sam could have laughed or cried. Maybe both. "What _can_ I do?" he returned, already exhausted by this. It didn't matter what he wanted to do about anything—Dean was in a mode that didn't just switch off. "You know how he is, Bobby."

Bobby stroked his grizzled beard a couple times, fretting. "Yeah, sure do." He sighed. "Tried to talk some sense into him but you see how good _that_ went."

Sam despaired—he knew his brother well and there was a certain point that 'sense' was just not compatible with Dean's tunnel vision. It left Sam trapped. _What do I do?_ He was too emotionally ragged to even be put in this position. This was too much for his already stretched-thin nerves and flagging mental health. This timing was absolutely the worst. A lump formed in Sam's throat that he tried to shove away. The extreme trepidation rose anyway. He knew that couldn't do this alone—and what's more than that, he didn't _want_ to. It was good to have Bobby and Kevin nearby, but… neither of them quite had the resumé to tackle the multifaceted problem that Hurricane Dean presented. Sam inhaled deeply, realizing with a brief instance of haggard relief that he didn't have to think it over any longer. He knew the next step to take, and frankly, it was one he should have taken about two months ago. Decisively, he looked at his uncle. "I'm calling Alex."

A few moments later in the kitchen with his phone plugged in to charge, Sam hit the call button. It was still early as fuck and he paced as far as the leash of his charger would let him, running a hand through his hair as he drowned in his worries. "Pick up, come on, pick up…"

And then she did. "Sam?" Her familiar voice asked, clearly half-asleep. "Everything okay?"

He'd stopped pacing the second she answered, shutting his eyes in relief. "Oh thank God," he breathed out, an old habit. He tried to think of where to start. "Look I'm sorry to call so early I just—I just dunno what else to _do—_ Dean's acting crazy, Alex, _crazy_. He showed up covered in blood saying Abaddon's back, and he says she's got Jamie—like, _possessing-her-body_ got her."

Alex didn't sound sleepy anymore. " _What_?"

"Yeah, he's saying she's got a hit list and we're all on it." Sam breathlessly tried to explain the mountain of information that he was still trying to grasp. "So like obviously we gotta get her outta there and deal with Abaddon again, but Alex—Dean's in _no shape_ to lead this charge—he's not gonna listen to me though, I dunno if I'll be able to _stop_ him—" Sam tried not to sound as worried or flustered as he felt but he couldn't quite get there. His throat was closing up with the onset of tears. "And that's not all, my gaps are getting worse and last night I _sleepwalked_ into the middle of a road and I just—" he trailed off for fear of becoming too emotional. He shut his eyes against the emotional torment facing him anew. "I should never have let him make you and Cas leave," he whispered, understanding that she might turn his request down. "I just need you here if you can be," he admitted, even though truthfully he wanted to _beg_ her to come.

Turns out he didn't have to. He heard swishing on the other end of the line, like Alex was already on the move. He heard a muffled 'Cas, get up—' before her voice returned to the speaker. "We'll be there within the hour if not sooner, okay Sammy?"

His shoulders sagged from the ramrod-stiff way he'd been holding them as intense relief flooded his body. It took him a second to compose himself and respond. " _Thank you_ ," he managed, wiping at his face where tears of intense relief streaked.

Unfortunately, unbeknownst to Sam, Dean had already made his move. At that very moment, he'd already put several miles between himself and the Bunker… and he wasn't by himself either.

* * *

**Five Minutes Ago**

Dean burst into the completely dark holding room where Crowley and Meg were still prisoners. He flipped on the lights rudely, resulting in both demons protesting with mutual cringing winces. Before he stepped out of the shadows that obscured his bloody appearance, Crowley recognized his silhouette.

"Well look who it is, my favorite _dealer_ ," the King of Hell drawled with a smirk. "Was getting bored having mousy little Kev or Duck Dynasty do the injections, nice to see you again." His face fell as Dean stepped fully into the light and his horror-movie appearance was visible for all to see. Losing his airs, Crowley was truly taken aback.

Meg was the one who asked though. "…the hell happened to you?" She sounded just as stunned as Crowley looked.

Dean went straight to the point, approaching Crowley on his crazed, thrown-together mission. "Look, I got a serious issue on my hands."

Competing for attention, Meg craned her neck at him. "Well now, you wouldn't be Dean Winchester if you didn't have a serious issue on your hands now would you."

That earned her a swift glare. "Can it, Meg!"

Hesitating, her eyes narrowing shrewdly, Meg studied him quickly with cautious fascination. "…What's wrong, Dean?"

"Abaddon, either of you two clowns remember her?" Dean fired back. Both demons definitely knew the name and reacted at the same time. "Yeah well she's got a new vessel and that's bad for _all_ of us."

A strange shadow of his former self due to all the human blood addling his brain, Crowley considered the news mildly. "That sloppy broad's got it in for my job title," he stated offhandedly before deciding how it made him feel. "Can't say that I care too much anymore, T-B-H." His dark, hungry eyes searched Dean wolfishly for the only thing he thought about anymore. "Now where's the good stuff."

Dean pressed closer. "I got something better for you than human blood, Crowley."

Crowley pulled a face. "Doubt it." At the steely glower that came his way, he sighed and put on his best cooperative face, despite clear aggravation. "I'm _listening_."

"Freedom," Dean stated plainly, shocking both demons. It shocked Dean too, but he was past the point of being given the luxury to care. He had a small window in which to act—he had to make shit happen and _now_. "I'll let you _go_ if you can help me trap Abaddon and kick her out of the body she's in right now." He leaned down a little to let his eyes be more level with the King of Hell's. "Then you can do whatever the fuck you want with yourself and I'll leave you to it. Scout's honor."

Crowley contemplated, a certain saucy glint fading into his gaze as he realized just how far gone Dean was. "Intriguing." He enjoyed keeping Dean hanging. "You seem awful flustered about something, mate."

Dean bristled. "That's beside the point, are you in or are you out?"

Meg was listening with a very disconcerted frown growing on her face. "Wait—" she eyed Dean closely, looking for the loophole. "Is this for real? Are you serious? 'Cause call me coo-coo, but this doesn't strike me as a very _Dean_ move to make."

His gruff answer came her way without even a glance. "Well it is."

"In that case, what am I, chopped liver?" she protested, jangling at the warded chains keeping her stuck to that chair. "I'm in a lot better shape than _that_ crackhead is," she pointed out, jonesing for a way out of her current situation. "And hey, I'll admit—getting the hell _outta_ here _does_ sound pretty fab." Dean was paying attention to her now, visibly thinking about it. A tight, falsely saccharin smile stretched Meg's face. "What's a girl gotta do to get a chance to prove herself around here, anyway?"

"Look, I can use all the hands I can get," Dean said, fixing Crowley with a very significant and persuasive stare. "But I'm gonna need the King of Hell with me on this one for sure, so… what do you say?"

Prim, Crowley seemed very over the whole ordeal. "I say, do I even have a choice?" He challenged, then chuckled mildly. "Ah, me. In for a penny, in for a pound, as they say—" he grew suddenly more coherent. "I'll do it." He leaned forward, making sure Dean was looking him dead in the eye. "But you'll need to make sure I get more _supply_ , buddy."

Dean stood back and reached into his back pocket. "Yeah looks like I just came up with a job for Meg cuz you and I—" he produced the warded handcuffs and waggled them at Crowley with a tiny, sarcastic smile on his face. "—Are gonna be pretty close for the next little bit if you catch my drift." He went behind Crowley and snapped one end onto his own wrist and then one onto the demon's before he unchained the guy from the chair. Meg was next, who he shockingly just let walk free with a threat of "I'll be watching you—now let's get while the getting's good."

Never in a million years did Dean think he'd be doing something like that, but there he was—half insane with two demons in tow (one cuffed to his body no less) about to sneak out the Bunker's secret exit and mount a half-brained rescue mission before it was too late. After his encounter with Abaddon, all he knew was that desperate times called for desperate measures and he had to fight fire with fire.

He hadn't been able to save Jamie before but this time was gonna be different. It fucking _had_ to be. Because this time, there might be something else on the line entirely. Their daughter.


	139. Inside Job

" _Nothing safe is worth the drive."  
_― Taylor Swift

* * *

**Three Days Later**

Morning ascended gently over the tranquil lakeside scene in the midlands of Kansas. Atop Bobby's vintage 1969 cream-and-rust Winnebago RV, Sam Winchester sat and quietly contemplated the nature surrounding him: the sunlight glittering on pale blue water, birds singing pleasantly, a placid breeze stirring the surrounding pines, and the soothing pattern of water lapping the shore created a lull that coaxed the listener to unwind. Inhaling deeply and shutting his eyes, Sam forced himself to experience a very needed moment of peace.

The past three days had been him, Bobby, Alex, and Cas trying to hunt down a very wayward Dean with no luck. The oldest Winchester didn't want to be found, and what's more he knew exactly how his siblings thought, therefore evading their attempts and tactics easily. The dead ends left Sam with various feelings: baffled anger, betrayed confusion, supreme frustration, and a lot of concern too. His brother's insane choice of breaking Crowley and Meg out of lockdown left a lot of unanswered questions and vast worries. At the very least, Sam hoped and prayed his brother was alive… but otherwise, he really just wanted to kick Dean's ass.

Sam's cell buzzed in his pocket, switching the track of his thoughts immediately. A fledgling smile grew in anticipation as he pulled the phone out of his pocket and saw the notification he'd expected: _New Message from Molly Z._

They'd been texting all morning. Nothing of consequence—just checking on each other a bit and then sending funny stuff back and forth. Molly's latest text was her responding to the Star Wars meme he'd sent a few minutes ago: She'd put a gif of someone rolling around on the ground crying from laughing. It made Sam feel a swell of fondness as he glanced at her contact photo: A closeup of her grinning with her hands framing her face in a goofy way. He'd taken that photo. God, she was a dork and it was the best. He missed her, and the urge to tell her was quite strong. So Sam hesitated, then sent an impulsive ' _I really can't wait to see you again_ ' with a hopeful-looking smiley. The second after it sent, he faltered on the familiar guilt. He still wasn't sure what the hell he was doing with her, or if he was even allowed to be focusing on his personal life at present moment. It made him uneasy to have something so sweet in his life—because dread said that something would happen to her because of him. Or that once Molly got to know him, _really_ know him, she'd realize how much of a certifiable freak of nature he was and reject him for it. He wouldn't blame her if she did, honestly. Sam took a deep breath in, telling himself to just stay in the moment rather than spiral at thoughts of the future. He instead reflected with glowing nostalgia over their memories together the past couple months: visiting the weekend Lawrence farmer's market, a lunch date or two, grabbing coffee, bowling once, hanging out at her place with her cat playing board games or watching movies or cooking together… it felt like morsels of regular life. It felt like glimpses of happiness. And he wasn't really used to that.

As soon as Sam sent the text and pocketed his phone again, his mood took a steep downward turn. Because what was he _doing_? Dean was out on the loose with two demons in tow as he tried to bring in a Knight of Hell all by himself… and Sam was telling a girl he couldn't wait to see her again. He could already imagine Dean berating him about it. He scrubbed his face with a weary hand, trying to remember what Alex had told him recently instead: _You deserve happiness, Sam._

He'd love happiness. Of course he would. That's why he'd left for college at eighteen for fuck's sake—he just wanted to feel normal and pursue a typical life outside of the nightmare supernatural world he'd been brought into. The sad part had been him believing that was actually possible. The Winchester curse had called his name like it always would. So his ultimate fear was no matter how much he might deserve or want happiness… any small portions he received of it were temporary. It was always doomed to fail. That was just the way of things, apparently. So this thing with Molly… it had to be temporary. It had to stay surface level. Even if truthfully, Sam was feeling things (and had been since the day he met her) that were much deeper than surface.

The RV began to shake slightly and Sam looked sidelong, recognizing the jostling to mean someone was climbing up the built-in ladder on the tail end of the vehicle. A brown head of hair popped up and Alex heaved herself onto the roof with a little less nimbleness than usual thanks to her growing size (she still didn't really look pregnant to him, just sort of chubby around the middle). Sam's mood picked up a couple of degrees and he sent her a tiny smile.

"Hey you," he greeted affably and she gave him a similar smile as she came to sit close beside him.

With a grunt, she plopped herself down. "Hey yourself." Her feet dangled alongside his, then she nudged his toe with hers. Perceptive and knowing, she eyed him briefly before joining him in taking in the vista. "You okay up here?"

Her quiet question may have been brief, but he could appreciate her steady and understanding support—and the deeper question behind the words. The past three days had been a different world since their brother went AWHOL and having her there to help him shoulder the load had been a saving grace. _Still_ … "Been better," he answered honestly. At the inquisitive little glance Alex sent his way at his vague answer, he dodged going deeper. "Glad to have a three day streak of no brain fog or sleepwalking or memory gaps, at least." He pulled one of his legs up, letting his foot plant onto the roof so he could let an arm lean onto his bent knee. One marked difference between his brother and sister these days was how easy it was to be around his sister. And how difficult to be around his brother.

She nodded thoughtfully, pensive as she studied him and then the scenery. "Me too."

Sam hesitated, eyeing her apprehensively. She'd made a few statements that cumulatively, he was beginning to piece together. "You really think Dean has something to do with it, huh."

His sister was loathe to admit it, but with a brief, empty shake of the head she shrugged. "I mean, I don't want him to, but… maybe. Somehow." Her intense and conflicted gaze met his. "Sometimes… I don't think we fully know what Dean's capable of or not." Even though it kind of startled him to hear her say that… he immediately understood what she meant. And that was scary. She softened a little when she saw the disquiet on his face. "I'm just worried about you, that's all—and you gotta admit. Dean's been… _really_ weird since the last trial. Which is around the time when your memory gaps started. I just think it's too much of a coincidence." Sam exhaled a tense breath and shook his head, sick at the theory and hoping his sister was wrong, but… Dean _had_ been acting weird as fuck since the trials. And like it or not, Sam's deepest instincts agreed with Alex: something was wrong there. Dean knew more than he was saying about Sam's newest round of issues. Alex reached over and touched his back briefly, sensing her brother's vast internal turmoil and pulling him out of it. "Look, we'll find him. We will. And then we'll figure the rest of this shit out together."

Sam managed a sad smile as thanks for her sympathy. "I just hope it's just _before_ he does something stupid or gets himself killed," he said, then corrected himself: "Well, something even _more_ stupid."

Alex nodded agreement somberly, pulling her phone out and dialing Dean's number. Sam could hear how it didn't even ring, instead going straight to voicemail—just like it had since Dean went missing. "Still off," she muttered. "Dammit Dean." A mutually frustrated, worried silence began when she ended the call. What if Abaddon killed Dean? What if Dean was wrong about being about to save Jamie? What if Crowley and Meg ganged up on him or something? A void of failure, blame, and fear for what came next descended over Sam, muffling his ears to the cheerful bird chirps and pleasant lap of water. He wondered if he should have believed Dean and gone with him to save Jamie instead of arguing. If something happened to Dean and Sam could have prevented it…

Beside him, Alex's voice came softly again, breaking him out of his thoughts. "This isn't your fault, Sam."

Halted in his tracks, Sam met her caring gaze and studied her questioningly. "…How'd you know I was thinking that?"

Alex leaned fractionally closer with a conspiratorial smile and indicated herself as if he should already know. "… _Wombmate_?"

He chuckled, just like she obviously knew she would. The smile lifted his spirits briefly and his senses focused on everything positive: the beautiful shade of sky above, the pleasant air, the comfort of having his twin sister at his side. But the brightness began to fade, and Sam's smile fell with it. "Just… is it always gonna be like this?" he asked softly, not even sure he _wanted_ an honest answer. "The problems don't stop coming, the challenges only get bigger and bigger… and I'm _tired_. And I feel _guilty_ for being tired." How much more endless drama and pain could he take? There was a limit to everything. And he felt like he was close to his.

Steadfast understanding mirrored back to him, and even before she spoke, Sam felt comforted by the way she listened and heard him. "I know exactly what you mean." She began to visibly think, eyes going into the distance as her mind worked. "It always feels too heavy, doesn't it?" she murmured. "But somehow… we manage to carry it every single time." She returned her eyes to his. "I gotta believe this time's the same." Her demeanor became surprisingly optimistic and she took in a really deep breath of fresh air then let it out with satisfied airs. "Someday, we're gonna retire from all this, Sammy," she announced, eyes on the lake with a fond smile on her lips. "Have normal, boring lives… houses to clean, grass to mow, um… sidewalks to sweep…?" Again, Sam laughed, and she joined in, laughing at her own ignorance. "I dunno."

That sounded good to him. Like the best thing in the world actually. He wasn't sure if he believed it, but he really wanted to. He stayed light and playful, even if he really meant it: "You promise?"

A soft smiled passed between them. "I promise." She put her fist out for a bump. He bumped his to hers and they both looped their pinkies in together to squeeze tight as their knuckles touched—their secret handshake.

Sam was surprisingly impish. "I'll hold ya to it."

They let go, shaking hands once to complete their little ritual leftover from childhood. It left them momentarily in a very pleasant, hopeful moment. But of course, Sam's thoughts turned as he knew they would. He couldn't help it—his mood was so bleakly reflective lately. "You know, I… I still feel like a freak most of the time, Alex," he ventured softly after a moment. "The kid with the demon blood, Lucifer's vessel, the guy whose brain doesn't work anymore…" He tried not to sound overly serious about it even though it was honestly tearing him apart inside with worry most hours of the day. "Just makes me think. What's next, you know?"

Alex mulled it over, then made a face and answered jokingly. "Something bad, probably." Yet again, Sam cracked a rueful grin. His sister's teasing tone faded. "But I'll be with you whenever and whatever goes down." Yesterday she'd announced that whatever the outcome of this wild goose chase was, she and Cas weren't leaving the Bunker again—they'd be staying come hell, high water, or the Wrath of Dean. Sam was prepared to back her up on that too, and had made sure she knew as much. He sent her a supportive little smile. Her voice softened, her eyes too. "And hey, from one freak to another… I don't think you're so bad." A touch sentimental, Sam smiled at her for real. His phone vibrated loudly in his jacket pocket and Alex became quite knowing. "I don't think she does, either."

A little sheepish because Alex had spotted him smiling at his phone a bunch the past three days (and seen the name of who was the inspiration of all those smiles too), Sam didn't comment on that last part. "You're not a freak though," he said with a vast measure of pride more than anything else. "You found love, you got yourself together, you're about to have a _baby_ …"

"And I'm stressing about that last part like crazy, Sam," Alex replied, taking care to convey herself as absolutely genuine. She drew in a deep breath like she was steeling herself and she cast her eyes far off in thought. "A lot's gonna change, you know?" A hand lightly touched to her abdomen area, which was obscured by a loose-fitting band t-shirt. She and Cas hadn't made her pregnancy public information yet—Sam was still the only one who knew. Her eyes fell to where her fingers light grazed. Her voice stayed soft, and he could hear the worry resting there. "Our family tends to stay in the crosshairs, so… I mean, I worry constantly about this kid and what we're bringing him into."

Sam sat up a little straighter, momentarily honing in one on detail in particular over everything else: "Wait… _him_?" Alex realized she'd let a very significant, previously unknown fact slip even as the pre-cursor to a grin began to grow on Sam's face. "Alex, are you having a boy?"

If she'd had a plan of giving him the news in a different way, it was dashed now. "… _Oops_ ," she confirmed with a silly, sheepish smile, scratching the back of her neck self-consciously in an attempt to hide the huge grin she obviously wanted to allow herself. "Yeah, we are."

It was the kind of news that immediately made everything change. Sam grinned, hugging a hearty arm around his sister in impulsive joy. "Cas Junior, all right!" he joked, missing the little look his sister made at his enthusiastic exclamation. "Wow—!" It settled in over him. He squeezed her a little tighter and she put her arm around him too, leaning her head onto his shoulder as she tried not to grin like an idiot or turn beet red at the outburst of attention. Sam was left to contemplate how it suddenly seemed more real somehow—life was about to change _forever_ ever. But of course he understood her concerns. "Look, I, I get why you're worried—" he counseled. "But hey, this kid's gonna have a lot of people looking out for him. Including his Uncle Sam." Alex shifted back a bit so that she could look up at him. Something very weighty and meaningful passed between the brother and sister. Sam smiled again. He felt hopeful again somehow—it put things into perspective. It made him realize that normal life might be possible somehow after they crossed this hurdle. And that put new wind beneath his proverbial wings. "Here's hoping that retirement's sooner rather than later, huh?" he prompted.

A steadfast smile hung around on his twin's face. "Sounds like a plan."

Beneath them, the RV shuddered as the door opened. Almost directly underneath their feet, Cas appeared. Since he'd fallen from Heaven and lost his Grace, he'd also lost his trench coat… so Sam often for a second didn't recognize Cas without his signature outfit. Like right now: the fallen angel wore dark jeans, rugged boots, a rust-toned button-up flannel, and a zip-up beige hoodie. The hoodie was faintly reminiscent of his trench coat, by color anyway. But still.

Cas spotted them as he turned around with an inquisitive, searching look on his face, then he relaxed and took a few steps back to see them better. "Breakfast is ready," he announced, then suddenly seemed to think of something and held a staying hand out as Alex started to get ready to move. "Wait, wait." She stopped her movement, a curious and faintly amused expression playing on her features. Cas was fishing around in his pocket for his phone. "I need a picture of this."

Sam didn't follow. "Of what, of us?" He asked quietly so that only his sister could hear.

She sent him an entertained glance. "In case you haven't noticed, this is his newest thing, sorry," was the under-her-breath reply, but she didn't sound sorry. She obviously thought it was endearing.

And it was. Sam realized he _had_ noticed Cas taking a lot of photos the past few days even as he smiled for the camera and squeezed Alex close. Cas took the photo, then beamed at his screen, nodding in approval. "This is a good one," he declared as he admired his handiwork.

Thoroughly amused, Sam sent his sister a teasing look. "Your husband is a _dork,_ " he whispered, then ruffled her hair as she moaned her halfhearted protest. He then nimbly launched himself to the ground in a pretty impressive five foot jump, landing buoyantly.

Cas was taken aback at the sudden leap, then quickly mildly surly. "You should have told me you were about to do that, I would've taken a photo." As soon as the complaint left his mouth, a confused sound followed: Sam had bear-hugged him, clapping him on the back with gusto. He pulled back while holding Cas by either arm and gave him a rousing smile. "…What was that for?" Cas asked, both suspicious and pleased.

Sam looped his arm Cas's neck for a quick side squeeze. "Just, proud of you. That's all." Both men noticed Alex slowly descending the ladder off the back of the RV. "Oh—we should probably—" Sam started.

"I don't need help, I don't need help!" Alex called mildly, but Cas was already on his way over.

Sam watched Cas wait at the bottom of the ladder and hold his arms out for Alex, who pretended (very halfheartedly) to be irritated by his helpfulness before she let herself fall into his waiting arms and be carried a few feet—he kissed her before he carefully set her down, then looped his arm around her shoulders to walk arm-in-arm with her along the length of the Winnebago. She nestled into him contentedly.

They were sweet together, and it really healed part of Sam to see someone treat his sister with such care, affection, and respect. The hell the pair had been through was something Sam would never forget—it had been quite a journey to arrive here. Sam would never take for granted how much so, either. And you know what? Watching the two of them share little moments of love and happiness in the midst of the chaos and confusion made Sam rethink himself. After all, last night when he'd slipped outside to call Molly without being eavesdropped on, he'd accidentally found Cas and Alex making out at the back of the RV—they'd blushed and giggled like high schoolers and Sam had gone the other direction to leave them to it, shaking his head and sighing at his luck the entire time.

With a small smile Sam followed them in, but not before briefly checking his phone to see what Molly's reply to his declaration of wanting to see her was: she sent a heart-eye emoji and said she couldn't wait to see him either. And it warmed Sam heart and soul, bringing a certain brightness to the day that otherwise wouldn't have been there at all.

* * *

The inside of Bobby's RV was quite dated: all-wood interior, brown shag carpeting. The built in kitchenette features and small table were lime green. The vintage appeal suited Bobby well, and the entire vehicle was of course stuffed to the brim with all sorts of obscure books, artifacts, hunting accessories, and weapons. There was barely enough room to even stand but somehow the four of them had been making it work for the past few days. Sam of course had it the worst, having to stoop most of the time not to his his head on the low ceiling.

Parked at the tiny tabletop, Bobby heaved a weary sight and ended the call he'd been on as he glanced up at the new arrivals. "Welp, the latest blood bank hit was about ten miles east so they're still around here _some_ where," he announced moodily, tossing his phone onto the pile of crap in front of him before he folded his arms and studied everyone to see how the day was gonna go. "How's everyone hangin' in?" he asked, especially keen on Sam, who made a wan face that inspired Bobby to adjust his ballcap in an expression of chagrin. "That good huh."

Cas was at the small stovetop and busy portioning out four servings of scrambled cheesy eggs with buttered toast one by one, handing a plate off to each hunter in turn. Alex was first, trading her plate for a quick kiss. Sam was next. He accepted his food with a glum expression—he did his best to give a thankful nod. "I just know I'll feel better once we find Dean and figure out what exactly he's up to," Sam said.

Alex wedged herself in opposite of Bobby at the table and sighed wearily. "Me too. And, well…" she scanned everyone's faces apprehensively, fork hovering above her plate. "I can't stop thinking about Dad. Like where the fuck _he_ went and why."

"Like father like son," Bobby muttered, not bothering to speculate.

Sam leaned against the kitchen counter, his expression terse. "Yeah. Guess we'll find out," he said cynically. "Or we won't." He used his fork loudly on his plate, drawing eyes. "That man isn't exactly the best at saying goodbye when he leaves." He didn't bother hiding his resentment and hurt at the subject of his father.

Bobby got his plate next. "Sure isn't," he commiserated, then sent a nod Cas's way before sampling his eggs. His eyebrows rose. "Well damn Cas, what _can't_ you whip up? It's real good, son, appreciate ya."

"I second that," Sam put in. "Thanks, Cas."

Alex just sent a chipmunk-esque smile and a thumbs up, because she had shoved so much in at once that her cheeks were bulging.

Cas tried to be humble in the face of the praise, but he was grinning like an idiot and almost shuffling his feet. "You're welcome, everyone," he beamed. He'd voluntarily made meals several times the past few days, stunning both Bobby and Sam—who were only too happy to have someone around who liked to cook _and_ could.

For a moment, the group ate in quiet. Then Cas piped up from the passenger side front seat, which swiveled back to face the living area. "What's the latest on the angels, Bobby? Do you have any new information?"

Alex's eyes darted to his as she froze mid-bite. Bobby didn't notice, but Sam did. "Nope, nothin' new, been quiet out there," Bobby said, engrossed in the page he was studying as he ate. "Too quiet." He peered up from the paper. "Why, you feelin' like a family reunion?"

Cas looked distinctively nervous about the question and faltered, but not without a quick glance at Alex first. "Well… I'd, I'd like to know if we have any allies. We'll need them."

Bobby studied him a second longer, then shook his head and returned to his book. "Prospects ain't lookin' real good there if I'm bein' honest, Cas."

Cas deflated. That wasn't what he'd wanted to hear.

Sam had caught his twin's gaze and was directing a questioning frown her way and she was reluctantly searching for a way to deflect inquiry. But before she could come up with something, Cas pulled out and stared at his phone. "Um. This is very unexpected." He lowered the phone and fixed the room with an astonished expression and showed his phone screen. "…Dean just texted me his location."

Alex sat up ramrod straight like she hadn't heard right. "He texted _you_?"

"Where is he?" Sam added, standing taller as he set his plate down with a loud clunk.

Cas studied the text once more. "Not far."

Everyone was already moving into action.

* * *

**Later**

The location Dean sent Cas was on the outskirts of Topeka and led them to a large abandoned sewing machine factory. Outside of it, the Impala was parked—meaning they were at the right place.

Inside the factory was large and maze-like, dim inside even though it was sunny outdoors. The entire building was rusty and corroded, a total health and safety hazard. Water dripped in overhead and the cloying scent of must hung thick on the air—rats scurried around in the beams overhead. As they entered cautiously, Cas called for Dean. A moment later, a call came back—Dean's voice. They headed toward that call watchfully with weapons ready to use if need be.

With Sam leading the way, the group of four made their way through a series of empty sewing rooms until they arrived into a larger staging area where an elaborate devil's trap had been marked floor in stark white paint. In the center of that trap with her back to them sat a blonde haired woman bound to a chair with demon-warded chains. She was gagged and silent, but visibly alert—turning her head toward the sound of new arrivals. On the perimeter of the trap, Dean and Crowley stood side-by-side with Meg opposite of them. All of them watched as the group entered. Sam was the first to speak as he hotly charged forward to square off with his brother.

"The hell are you _doing_ , Dean?" he demanded.

Dean clearly hadn't expected all the extra company and took in the scene with a cold smile on his face. "Well, the gang's all here huh?" He let the smile fall into his true emotion: irritation. "Mind if we save the beatdown for later?"

Crowley fidgeted at his side, the handcuffs that bound them together jangling noisily. "And when I'm in less proximity, mayhaps?" he suggested in apprehensive jest. The King of Hell looked particularly terrible: greasy pale skin, unkempt hair, darting eyes. The human blood addiction really showed. And he wasn't the only one who looked less than fresh faced.

Dean looked godawful: his wounds from three days ago had scabbed over and purpled in some places, he had a black eye and cut marks visible all over—dark circles were underneath tired but hyper-vigilant eyes. Part of his lower lip was split too. All Abaddon's handiwork.

Having gone directly past her brother to look at the woman being held captive, Alex was straightening from her quick and stunned study of a very familiar face indeed. "My god, she really is alive in there, isn't she?" she murmured, looking Dean in the eye with a stunned expression.

A muscle jerked in his cheek as he held himself grimly. He couldn't quite keep strong eye contact with his sister. "I wouldn't be doing this shit if she wasn't."

Whatever brief intermission her anger had taken was over. Alex was approaching him with growing insolence. "So why are you looping us in now, huh?"

Still furious, Sam closed in on him from the other side. "We've been trying to find your dumb ass for the past three _days_."

Dean held up a hand, obviously irritated that he had to deal with the consequences of his own actions. "Look, I know you're all pissed, I get it—"

A few steps off with crossed arms and a dark expression, Bobby interrupted roughly. "You're damn right we are!"

"Running off without a word?" Alex prompted. "Taking on Abaddon all by yourself?"

"Paling around with fucking _Crowley_?" Sam pressed.

Crowley was surly. "I'm right _here_ you know," he complained, then Dean elbowed him hard, prompting a pitiful sound of pain.

"I did what I had to do!" Dean snapped in his own defense, cornered by all the people he'd pissed off.

Sam threw his arms wide. "You didn't even give us a _chance_ , Dean!"

"I did, and you called me _crazy_!" Dean argued, jabbing an accusing finger at him.

"…So you put us all in this position _instead_?!" Alex asked incredulously.

A sour look came her way. "Look, I need your help now, so now's your precious chance, 'kay?"

His rude sarcasm shifted her features. "Why are you _being_ like this?" she asked in scathing aggravation. "Dean, you put us _all_ at risk. And besides that, do you even care how _worried_ we've been?"

"I haven't had time to care, Alex!" Came the fiery retort. "And in case you haven't noticed, we got bigger problems!" His free hand jabbed into the air to indicate Abaddon possessing Jamie. "So can we have our family therapy session later?" Both of his siblings remained quiet, and Dean glanced at Bobby, then Castiel. Obviously feeling ganged up on, Dean smiled almost sarcastically at his friend. "I notice you haven't said anything yet, Cas," he said glibly. "Well go ahead and take your swing. Why keep me waiting."

Cas's frown was mildly unsettled. He studied Jamie's appearance for a moment, and then Dean again. "I… feel more confused and hurt about your choices here than anything else, but… I have empathy for you, Dean." That kind, heartfelt statement made the oldest Winchester's face fall—the first show of true emotion visible that day so far. Cas began to walk the perimeter of the devil's trap, giving everything in the surrounding area a once-over as he walked. "I assume you've attempted to cast Abaddon out, but had no luck since she's not a typical demon." He met gazes with Meg, who smirked. Unlike Dean and Crowley, she looked just dandy and like her normal self—back to being dark-haired, cynical, and saucy.

"Correct, Clarence." She folded her arms. "Lucifer made the bitch, so we have a theory that only an angel can cast her out—" She arched a brow, her voice distinctly sultry. "Know any of those, choir boy?"

Cas's expression became dull and regretful as he understood Dean's reason for calling him here. "…I see." He exchanged a loaded glance with Alex. "The timing of all this is very unfortunate indeed." His apologetic eyes sought out Dean's. "I won't be able to do anything to help you Dean—I'm human at this point, essentially."

Crowley _giggled_ at Cas's misfortune. The effect was on the deranged side thanks to his shoddy appearance. "Oh dearie me," he commented, getting another elbow from Dean in his side. "Oy!"

Meg appeared genuinely aggravated. "Right. So angel boy's got no firepower." She shifted her weight and adjusted her attitude, retraining Cas in her sights. "We kinda figured. Which is why we were hoping you'd have a stunt double or two on your speed dial."

Crowley shook his head with a loopy smile and an eye roll. "And as I said before," he cut in patronizingly, "an asinine, useless plan." He sent a dark, challenging smile to Cas. "He's killed most of his angelic allies by now, who could he possibly have left to call?" He winked at the fallen angel, who bristled and looked away with clenched fists.

Dean grabbed Crowley hard by the shoulder, startling him. "If you like your mouth where it is, I'd shut it right about now buddy." He shoved roughly.

Apologetic once more, Cas shook his head no. "He's right, Dean. I… I don't know anyone." He hesitated, then grew faintly hopeful. "Have you tried praying to Ezekiel?" Dean's features dropped into a strange expression that prompted Cas to hesitate like he'd made some kind of social misstep. "I only mean because he answered your call for help before."

There was a brief, bated silence. "He's uh, not answering," Dean mumbled, avoiding everyone's gazes briefly as he cleared his throat.

"Mm," Meg commented cynically, aiming an assertive stare over at Dean. "Alright, loverboy. So what's your brilliant plan _now_?"

Dean wet his cracked lips in thought, his eyes darting around the number of people nearby nervously before he set his eyes onto his brother and jerked his head, indicating they move. "Sam, lemme talk to you." He un-cuffed himself from Crowley and moved the demon to a nearby solid metal pole where he left him stuck in place.

Sam looked vastly uncertain and even suspicious, hesitating to follow Dean off into the more shadowy edge of the room but he did—and Alex was right on his heels, uninvited but following Sam and catching up just as Dean reached the far end of the room and turned around. Out of earshot if they spoke softly, there was semblance of privacy for the Winchester three there.

"Dean, we would've helped you with this," Alex said, her gentler tone pleading with him to help them understand his actions and the worry he'd caused them.

Dean remained fully in dick mode despite her effort to reach out. "Well gosh Alex, can't say I'm feeling exactly close to you the past however long, can't imagine why I didn't call you in my hour of need."

His careless words stung her. Amused and offended at the same time, Alex didn't hide her reaction. "Right," she replied caustically. " _You're_ the victim here— _I'm_ the reason we don't talk." He said nothing, but clear guilt played on his tense features when she called him out. And Alex sighed, her anger melting into sadness—and immense longing for reconciliation. "Look, I can tell you're going through a lot—a lot you never really told me about, apparently—but like, what was that grand speech of yours in that church if you were just gonna do all this?" Dean's discomfort increased as Alex held him to his words and Sam watched with concern. "You said we could face anything if it was together, so why the fuck are you dividing us like this? And ghosting when you really need our help? Leaving us wondering if you're even alive or not still?" She didn't understand, it hurt her, and she let him see how much so. "You're pushing us apart more and more all the time." She tried to move a little closer to him. " _Why_?"

Dean exhaled haggardly and dragged a tired hand across his forehead as he thought for a long, strained moment. When he fixed his sister with a steady gaze, it was pained. "You know, I'd say you don't know what it's like to lose someone you can't imagine living without, but I know you do." The honest reply startled both Sam and Alex. "How you'd do anything to save them. Risk whatever." Dean's openness was short-lived, abruptly disappearing in favor of reinforced walls. "So this is me asking you to back the fuck off, because I'm not the only one in this family who's done lunatic shit for the person they love, okay?" He made a 'shoo' motion with his hand, causing Alex's expression to fall into a darkly wounded expression. "I gotta talk to Sam. _Alone_. So go."

Alex's jaw tightened and her eyes narrowed. She tried to put on a tough face for the sting she clearly felt at being sent away. After deliberating for a couple of really loaded seconds, she nodded that she was going to comply. But she didn't leave without first letting him know what was what. "I am gonna find out what the hell's going on with you, do you hear me?" she asked lowly. It might as well have been a threat.

Dean brushed it off. "Can't wait."

With a visible effort to bite her tongue, Alex turned on her heel and walked off in a huff to rejoin the group at the devil's trap.

Sick of Dean's bullshit, Sam leveled his brother with exasperation as their sister got run off. " _Why_ , Dean?"

Dean rounded on his brother and gave him an extremely meaningful, intense look that seemed to have come out of nowhere. "Because I need your help."

Sam was immediately thrown. "No, I mean why talk to her that way?" he asked, then increased in force of speech slightly when Dean had the gall to look inconvenienced at the question. "She _cares_ about you, Dean!"

"Yes, good, fine!" Dean whisper-shouted impatiently. He truly looked like he were about to crack up completely. Which made Sam wonder.

"…When'd you last sleep?" He asked in skeptical concern. "Or eat?"

He got no answer. He only got Dean grabbing him by both arms and looking him in the eye in that intense, wild way again. "I _need_ your _help_ , man," he said slowly from behind gritted teeth.

Sam was starting to think he was missing something and leaned away from his brother's crazy eyes. "…With learning some goddamn manners?"

Dean began to look angry. "No. I need _your_ help," he insisted, mystifying Sam further. "Understand?" When Sam clearly did _not_ understand, Dean shook him slightly. "Should I get on my knees and pray?!" he asked wrathfully in that whisper-shout again, further confounding his brother. "I know you can hear me in there, dude!"

Sam's face, which was twisted up in confusion, suddenly lost all expression as his eyes flashed bright whiteblue. Ezekiel had come forth, but unhappily so. "What do you want, Dean?" He asked in a tense low voice, casting an edgy scanning glance at the people just a few yards off who he didn't want to gain awareness of the situation. Alex was watching hawkishly, only missing seeing the telltale flare of light in the eyes by a fraction of degrees.

Dean remained short in temper. "Yeah nice to see you too," he said, then set the angel with a commanding glare. "You're a halo, you can expel Abaddon from my girlfriend. So do it. _Now_."

Ezekiel regarded Dean cooly, understanding settling in. "I see." His eyes dropped disdainfully to Dean's iron grip on him before darting up to silently threaten let go or else. Dean complied grudgingly, and Ezekiel cleared his throat and straightened his jacket. "You know Dean, I am beginning to understand your problem," he offered in clipped tones, his icy gaze pious. "You are a miserable person." He tipped his head up to look down his nose judgmentally. "And no one likes you."

Dean didn't miss a beat. "You just _now_ figuring that out?" he retorted irritably before crowding Ezekiel's space and baring his teeth. "Look, I've been letting you piggyback Sam in secret for two months now, you _owe me_ and you know you do." A lecturing finger threatened Ezekiel to listen up. "So here's what's gonna happen—I'm gonna create a distraction. And then _you're_ gonna exorcise. We have an understanding?"

Ezekiel didn't hide his distaste for the way the interaction was going. "This will weaken your brother exponentially, Dean," he advised. "And it will look very suspicious indeed."

Dean didn't bat an eye. "That's just gonna have to be the way it is. Now are you gonna do it or not?"

With careful measure—Gadreel, not Ezekiel—studied Dean mistrustfully. He had come to vehemently dislike this domineering, angry man but he knew there was a fair point made—Dean was letting him occupy his brother and keeping his secret. So for now, Gadreel had to stick with the safety he already had access to. And that was here, hiding inside the body of one unknowing Sam Winchester and biding his time. As such, Gadreel unwillingly complied with a foul expression. "I will do it."

Relief visibly settled over Dean—it looked like he had expected a tougher time convincing the angel to comply. So he took a couple seconds and nodded and blinked, wetting his lips as he realized his request was actually granted. "Just—just be careful," he requested with surprising vulnerability. His eyes went to where Abaddon sat. "Don't do anything that'll hurt the vessel."

Gadreel nodded crisply and stood straighter, trying to hold himself and act like Sam Winchester would. Dean indicated they should rejoin the group and marched off that direction, pulling the angel by the arm of his jacket the entire way.

As they approached, Gadreel watched Alex, who stood closely with Castiel—and yet again, Gadreel was struck by bitterness. Even though Gadreel had stayed dormant the past three days, he had seen every interaction Sam had shared with his twin sister—and he had seen mutual respect, affection, and kindness. He was jealous of their relationship. Not only that but he was also jealous of the human/angel relationship Castiel and Alex shared. He could see easily how supporting, loving, and seemingly equal the two of them were. The only thing Gadreel had ever known was sub-ordinance, taking commands and being a failure worthy of total exile. All of Heaven knew Castiel's long list of misdeeds, and yet here he was, loved and accepted and viewed as some kind of hero. It didn't seem fair. It made Gadreel want similar for himself. He thought darkly of Metatron's offers of allyship.

Sour, the angel yanked his jacket arm out of Dean's grasp. He didn't miss how Alex's silent, concerned gaze crawled all over him, asking for answers as they arrived back to the devil's trap edge. He felt like if they made eye contact, she would immediately know that he wasn't her brother. Even as Gadreel avoided Alex's eyeline by turning his body away by about forty-five degrees, Dean approached Crowley, who remained chained to his pole uselessly just a few paces off from the devil's trap. He signaled for Meg to come over, who appeared unsure about the idea, but complied anyway.

A hand came to gently grasp Gadreel's arm and the angel's worry spiked into near-alarm. He knew who it was. "Sam, what'd he say to you?" Was her gentle question. "What's wrong?" Alex's youthful face peered up at him and Gadreel was forced to look her in the eye despite his dread. The worry there in her eyes grew deeper—and it made a pang of pain resound inside. Gadreel had never had someone care about him the way she visibly cared about Sam. He wondered what it would be like if someone ever worried for _him_ that way. "What is it?" Alex asked softly, and for a moment, Gadreel let himself pretend the concern there was truly for him.

"Hey, hey, _hey_!" Came a rapidly escalating series of shouts from Dean.

Alex and Gadreel whipped their heads to the source of the sound—Dean was grappling on the ground trading blows with Meg (as she shrieked something that sounded like "what the hell!?") as Crowley was somehow running for the exit. Alex immediately dashed over as Cas and Bobby jumped into action too—Bobby chasing after Crowley as Cas and Alex tried to yank Dean and Meg apart.

Understanding that this was Dean's clumsy attempt at a distraction, Gadreel approached the bound and gagged Knight of Hell swiftly. Dawning surprise showed on Abaddon's face when he came into her line of vision. She began to shake her head no and fight the chains pinning her in place as her widening eyes took in his halo. He grabbed her chin roughly and let a torrent of powerful Enochian pour from his mouth.

" _Za ra ko da ma, fe da ra ma, jay ra ma, zot!_ "

Her eyes flew wide as saucers and he ripped off her gag with brutality. Her head fell back with a sharp jerk as a shrill scream of pain and rage alike ripped from her throat, followed by a thick plume of black smoke that snaked upwards in the air then rushed out of the factory in retreat. When it was done, Jamie's blonde slumped down unconsciously, head lolling raggedly in front of herself.

Nearby Cas and Alex had just managed to pull Meg and Dean apart. "You two-timing _bitch_!" Dean shouted at Meg, who by all appearances seemedutterly confused about what had just happened to her. Cas held Dean back with effort. "Why'd you let Crowley go!?" Dean shouted in a rage.

Being held by Alex (but she didn't struggle much, she looked too perplexed to fight), Meg gaped. "You let him go then attacked _me_!" she accused back with astonished eyes. Blood leaked out from the place where he'd split her lip.

"And just why the _hell_ would I ever do that?!" Dean demanded convincingly.

Meg's jaw dropped as she put it together. "He's setting me up," she said softly, then suddenly regained her fire and yanked hard in an attempt to break free. " _He's setting me up_!"

Dean yanked out of Cas's grip but composed himself, then grabbed up the demonic handcuffs from off the pole and tossed them to Alex. "Cuff this psychotic bitch, will you?"

Meg's expression showed absolute betrayed shock. Cas and Alex exchanged a very intense, confounded glance, and Alex gave Meg a shrug and went ahead and did it—for now, anyway. That's when Cas and Alex both saw what had happened. Not far off, a blonde head that had hung slumped over was slowly rising. Disoriented, weakened, pale, with cherry-red lipstick smeared all around her mouth… Jamie. Alive, conscious, and obviously unsure of where she was. The looks on their faces when they saw her made Dean stop what he was doing and turn to look to see what they were so stunned by. When he saw her, his face fell into this indescribably wretchedly hopeful expression as everything else in his mind visibly ceased to matter. He drifted forward a couple steps, glanced into Ezekiel's eyes for confirmation, then rushed over, dropping to his knees in front of Jamie and taking her face in his shaking hands.

"Hey, hey, you okay? Can you hear me?" he asked her soft and urgent. "You with us James?"

Foggy, confused eyes met his—her breathing was shallow, she'd been sapped dry. But recognition sparked the second their eyes locked and there was a softening—an echo of the hope Dean's face was full of. Then quickly following, dazed confusion. "...Dean?" she croaked softly, almost like she couldn't believe it.

Overjoyed relief flooded over Dean, making him appear instantly years younger as he nodded yes and gently grabbed her into a very awkward, intense hug she couldn't respond to even if she'd had the strength. There were several layers of chains keeping her locked in place. Which, of course, Dean quickly realized and he began to frantically grab for the keys to get the restrains off of her. Even as he did that, Bobby reappeared to stand beside Alex and Cas who were watching the scene uneasily, unsure of what the hell had just gone down.

"I lost him," Bobby said, breathing heavy from running.

Crowley was currently an afterthought. "What, did… did Abaddon just jump ship on her own?" Alex whispered, unable to look away from Dean's quick work at freeing Jamie.

"I'm telling you," Meg seethed in a low whisper, cuffed and held tightly on the arm by Alex. "He let Crowley _go_."

"Why would he do that, Meg?" Alex asked in a fierce whisper back. Call her crazy, but she half believed Meg.

"None of this makes any sense whatsoever," Cas murmured apprehensively, his face made tight from disturbed emotion.

Dean got Jamie out of the chains and he caught her limp form from falling off the chair, then sat on the floor and held her as she pressed an ailing hand against her head and groaned in pain. "What _happened_?" she croaked, her voice scratchy and dry. "I was in Hell…" she managed, eyebrows drawn together in feeble confusion.

Shaking his head with that teary-eyed relief taken over his face completely, Dean smoothed her wild hair. "You're gonna be okay," he promised, but Alex wasn't so sure. She shoved Meg at Bobby to hold and stared at the woman in Dean's arms, approaching slowly.

"Is that really her?" she asked, hovering edgily. Jamie looked _bad_. Weak, sick, drained of color. "She… doesn't look so good." As if on cue, Jamie's eyes unfocused and her head pitched back as she lost consciousness again.

His brief elation was plunged into horror once more. "James! Jamie!" Dean's fingers rushed to find her pulse—it was weak and slow. He needed to get her to a hospital. But even before he could begin to get ready to stand, everything went sideways.

"Um, guys?" Meg cut in, her tone of voice causing everyone to look, because she sounded _freaked_. With a very odd expression indeed, she was staring at Sam. "Someone wanna tell me why Sam's got a fucking _halo_ around his head?"

Gadreel was caught, and he looked absolutely salty, giving a brooding, angry glower to Dean who suddenly realized just _how_ ill-advised his rushed plan had been.

" _What_?" Alex breathed, eyebrows pinched together hard and her eyes found her brother. "…Sam?" The angel acknowledged her with a chillingly dark expression, making it immediately apparent: _not_ Sam.

"He was Sam earlier, and now… it's, it's some _angel_ in Sam's body _,_ " Meg said, sounding as flabbergasted to say it as everyone else looked to hear it.

Cas found his voice first, and it trembled lowly with fear. "What did you do, Dean?" he asked, fear-filled eyes darting to a very stricken, quickly panicking Dean.

No doubt her temper would get the better of her within a few more seconds, but for the moment, Alex was in shock. "W-what the fuck is going on?" she demanded, voice soft with fear. "Where's Sam? Where's my brother? What is this?!"

Everyone was looking to Dean for answers, and he had nothing except the urgent need to get the woman he was holding to a damn hospital.

Gadreel clenched his jaw and aimed another furious glare at the oldest Winchester. "I _told_ you this was a bad idea, Dean," he said, even as his eyes began to burn hot white. He held a hand out toward the general direction of all the onlookers. They didn't have a chance to run, react, or attack—he was already commanding them in a voice that seemed to resound through their bones themselves: " _Forget_."

And with that word, a pulse of light and energy exploded out of Ezekiel, sending a ripple outward into the group. Everyone fell over unconscious, memories of what had just happened erased instantaneously. Everyone but Dean, who was left to clutch Jamie with wide, shocked eyes as the angel in Sam's body towered over him and glared down.

Surrounding Dean, victims of his deceit, lies, and betrayal. It really hit home in that moment for him. It fully clicked into place. _I'm a goddamn bastard_ , Dean thought. _A verifiable lunatic._

"Just remember," Ezekiel declared contemptuously. " _You asked me for this_."

Even as Dean took in the scene he'd caused with absolute appalled guilt, he watched Ezekiel crouch and then transition onto the ground with a face of stone, glaring daggers at Dean the whole time before he laid down flat, closed his eyes, and _then_ allowed Sam to return—so that Sam would think he had been knocked unconscious, too. Another lie in a growing, disgusting collection.

Even as Dean scrambled to even process what had just happened, his brother was pushing himself up off his back with a shocked, scared expression. "Dean! W-what happened?!" He spotted Cas and Alex's unconscious forms, then Bobby's and Meg's and he jumped to his feet, assuming the worst.

And watching that just drove the knife deeper. "They're unconscious, no one's dead, Sam, don't worry," Dean managed, trying to hide his remorseful guilt away. Sam had crouched beside his sister and was getting a pulse even as Dean told him that. Relieved, but only mildly so, Sam's shoulders slumped and he exhaled a shaky breath then returned to trying to figure out what'd just happened.

"So… so what happened?" Sam asked. "Last thing I remember was walking into the room and seeing you…" he trailed off and came up with nothing else, then pressed a hand to his head in sudden discomfort. He visibly began to realize how weak he felt. "W-why do I feel… like I got hit by a freight train?"

Dean lied. "I uh… I dunno," he said, hating his own guts.

Sam suddenly registered who Dean was holding in his arms and shock rippled over his face. "Is she… is that _Abaddon_?"

Dean realized he was gonna have to come up with another lie. "No, uh—I'm not sure how but—well, Crowley escaped, after he did some kinda knockout spell or something—maybe it knocked Abaddon out of Jamie, I dunno, I uh, I don't really remember anything either." Lying to his brother was the worst feeling, but Dean didn't know how else to get himself out of the hole he'd dug.

Sam was perplexed by the odd scenario, but then his expression fell away in favor of a grimace and a soft sound of discomfort as he stood woozily and had to hold a hand out into air to catch his balance. Dean's selfish fears flew out the window for the moment. He stood, gently letting a still-unconscious Jamie rest on the floor in favor of going to his brother in concern. "Hey, Sammy, you okay?" he asked, fearing that in his desperation he'd done something he couldn't undo.

Sam didn't look sure about the answer. "I uh,—I don't feel so great," he said, then shook his head and forced a positive expression. "I'll be fine though."

It wasn't the most convincing reassurance. "You sure, little brother?" Dean asked, more gently now. Sam nodded stiffly, being brave even though he _obviously_ was shaken up and worried about himself all over again. Torn between two loyalties, Dean's eyes cut to Jamie's still form. He really couldn't afford to waste anymore time—she really needed a doctor. Dean hadn't done all this crap to lose Jamie the second he got her back. "Okay well, I—I gotta get James to the hospital. Can you uh—can you handle all this for me, little brother?" All this being Dean's mess, but Sam didn't know that.

Sam nodded readily, concern filling his face as Dean went and hauled Jamie up into his arms to carry her out. "Yeah, yeah, of course. Keep us updated, Dean," he said, his eyes filling with worry and love and pain alike. He hesitated. "We just wanna be a family again."

Words that cut him to his core. Dean tried to smile, he really did. But it fell flat, because it hurt too damn much. "I know Sam. I know."

* * *

The ragtag group re-emerged into the sunshine with inexplicable headaches and no memory of what had happened. Sitting right where they left it, the RV waited.

"…A knockout spell?" Alex repeated with a highly doubtful frown as she came to a stop and folded her arms. " _Crowley_? In his state? And can demons even _do_ that?"

Sam was weary and didn't bother to hide it. "That's… what Dean said. I dunno."

No one there in the impromptu circle looked convinced. Not Bobby, nor Cas, nor Alex—even Meg, still cuffed and held by Bobby, looked dubious.

"Right," Sam said, taking in everyone's expressions with low energy. "My thoughts exactly. But hey, I mean—he got Jamie back so that's a win, right?"

Bobby _hmm_ ed deeply in his throat, remaining ever the realist. "Yeah but Crowley's in the wind. And Abaddon's still kickin' too."

"And hell hath no fury like _that_ crazy bitch," Meg muttered before she held up her wrists solicitously. "Are we _sure_ no one remembers why I'm in these damn things…? Look, I like some bondage as much as the next girl but geez, what kind of safe word gets these puppies off me, huh?" When no one did anything but give her slightly inconvenienced glances, she gave a disgusted, impatient sigh. "How many times do I have to _prove_ myself to you people?" she complained through gritted teeth, then gave up and stewed silently at Bobby's side.

The only person there who seemed to be sympathetic to Meg's plight was standing opposite, a conflicted expression growing on her face. Alex couldn't help it… after Meg stayed with her during Cas's coma-in-the-hospital thing, her viewpoint on the demon had shifted, like it or not. And why _was_ she in the handcuffs? Hadn't those been on Crowley? Alex couldn't really remember. She grimaced hard in her attempts to do just that. Nothing. Nada. It was all blank. And as dark as the thought was… Alex was already wondering if Dean had something to do with this. She didn't even remember seeing him except for maybe one, two seconds top. It was discouraging as fuck.

"You sure you're okay?" Sam asked Alex for the third time since she'd regained consciousness. Alex was forced to forget her musing for the moment in favor of her brother's worry about her. "Everything's okay with… with uh the… with you?" He asked, trying to be slick but clueing Bobby in immediately to something being up.

Meg smirked, two steps ahead of the older hunter. "Well if you're trying to be coy, you know demons _can_ sense this kind of thing, right?" She asked, wiggling her eyebrows at Alex and Cas both then wrinkling her nose impishly.

That was the last straw: Bobby visibly decided that he was definitely being excluded from something—after Sam and Cas both had said or done odd things the past few days where Alex was concerned, it was all too obvious at this point that something was going on. "Alright, fess up," he grumbled, eyes narrowed shrewdly. "What'm I missing?"

Cas and Alex exchanged a significant look—it was something they'd discussed at length—how to tell Bobby and when. This hadn't been the exact scenario but Alex decided to roll with it—it was past time to tell her uncle the good news, plus she just really just wanted to. It hadn't felt right the past few days during the hunt for Dean to announce the pregnancy. But right now would do just fine. So she cleared her throat and gave Bobby the kind of smile that alerted him big news was coming. "Well… we wanted to tell you under different circumstances but… uh… no time like the present, I guess," she started. Beside her Cas stood a little taller and prouder, putting an arm around her as he understood that she was choosing now to be the time. Alex's secretive smile grew, full of tender things that her uncle would very soon understand. "Cas's cooking is good and all…" she began, enjoying seeing Bobby's wheels turn, "but that's not the reason I'm kind of fluffy these days."

Bobby blinked once, his brain connecting the dots then seeming to think his conclusion couldn't be possible. He looked quickly to Cas for further explanation. The fallen angel beamed and grinned, a rare sight. "Bobby, you're going to be a grandfather."

The older man exhaled softly, surprised, his eyes darting back and forth between the happy couple in rising emotion as understanding set in. "Well I'll be damned," he breathed, an astonished smile growing. He was beginning to tear up, and he swept his hat off his balding head—a very rare sight indeed—to hold it to his chest in an impromptu display of speechless warmth. "Ya'll sure do have some timing, I'll give you that much," he managed through a voice thick with sentiment. Alex was blinking away teary eyes of her own to see how touched he was. "C'mere, kiddo." Alex did, and Bobby hugged her real tight, cleared his throat, then blinked his tears away and pressed a kiss to her hair. "Sure do love you," he whispered to her before he squeezed, let go, and put his hat back on sternly, like that was enough of _that._

"Cas," he said, reaching out for a warm handshake while Alex dabbed at her eyes and cleared her throat.

Meg, who'd had the polite sense to stay quiet and allow the moment to unfold without her flirty sarcasm, eyed Alex coquettishly. "Sooo I'm totally asking for a friend here," she purred, "but I gotta know… is 'Meg' on your list of baby names?"

Alex couldn't help the longsuffering chuckle at the demon's question. "Is this your _really_ weird way of saying congratulations…?" she asked, receiving an overly-innocent shrug and smile as answer. Alex realized she had a question of her own. "How do you always get roped in with us, Meg?" she asked, almost feeling sorry for her luck at this point.

The demon ruefully rolled her eyes at herself. "Trust me, wish I didn't, but… guess I can't help it. Even after all these years and all the unthinkable shit we've done to each other…" She sighed and it was hard to tell if she was putting on an act or really _was_ as baleful and annoyed with herself as she sounded when she admitted it: "I… kinda like you guys."

A long-standing suspicion that Alex didn't need Meg's word to confirm. It only made her smile ruefully, contemplate for a minute, then reach out toward Bobby and make a come-here motion, indicating he hand Meg over. He was taken aback, but after Alex nodded and motioned again, he hesitantly did as asked.

"Girl time," Alex explained facetiously, pulling Meg away from the group by a few steps. The men watched closely, unsure what was happening.

Meg was also puzzled. Alex hadn't prepared a speech or anything, so she cast around for words for a minute and wet her lips. This had been a long time coming, even if she didn't want to admit it. And she hadn't thought today would be the day to address it either, but… here she was. About to attempt something like amends with someone who'd been an enemy for years. "Look, I… I wanted to say I'm sorry for what happened back when I had to…" she trailed off, unable to be overly specific because of how awful it all was. "You know."

With eyebrows that had risen slightly in surprise and a dawning smile, Meg filled in the gap: "Scrape my insides out and feed them back to me with a spoon?" Alex said nothing, merely squirmed for a second in discomfort. Meg was genuinely surprised and entertained. "What, is Mommyhood making _you_ soft?" she asked as if she thought that was stupid. Then of all things, she brushed it all off with a disarming grin. "Water under the bridge, Ariel."

Alex faltered. Was this a trick? "…How could what I did to you back then possibly be water under the bridge?" she asked in all honesty. What she had done to Meg, torturing her for Crowley, was one of the most unforgivable things she'd ever done. In Hell, Crowley had put her into more mock-torture sessions with various fake-Megs, twisting in the knife.

And yet here the real Meg was, holding her gaze steadily, making Alex wonder momentarily if the demon was actually being authentic for once. "Let's keep it real," Meg said, sounding almost reasonable. "I would've done the exact same thing if the roles were reversed. I understood that then, and I understand it now." She smiled as if fond, her personality returning toward the more absurd slowly. "Hell, I even respected you for the relentless brutality if I'm being honest." Her expression took on an overly suggestive quality. "And hey, I there were a couple times when I kinda _enjoyed_ all the flailing you subjected me to."

Predictable. And yet Alex _still_ had to quash exasperation at Meg's penchant for stupid comments. She chose to overlook it in favor of what she had decided to do. "I want you to do something for me, Meg."

Meg smiled readily, and it was impossible to tell if it were false or not. "Name it, Cupcake."

Alex deliberated for a long moment, making sure she was sure of this decision. And she was. So she told the demon meaningfully: "Don't make me regret this." She pulled out the keys she'd found dropped on the floor, and began removing Meg's cuffs.

An uncharacteristically raw and stunned expression washed over the demon's face. "…You yanking my chain?" she asked softly, narrowing her eyes as if she expected a 'gotcha' moment any second.

But there wasn't one. Alex had the cuffs now and put them away in her pocket. "Does it look like I am?"

Meg's expression worked oddly through a series of things: first touched astonishment, relief, confusion, then finally cautious happiness. "Well, wonders never cease," she murmured. Another broad grin suddenly stretched across her face. "You're the Dorothy to my Rose, chickadee," she said, then turned her attention to the group of watching, confounded men. Meg gave a boy scout's salute to them cheekily. "Well. It's been real. Seeya out there, gang." And then she disappeared into thin air.

Sam and Cas both were mutually intrigued and confused by Alex's choice, but Bobbly was mildly disgruntled. "What, we just lettin' _all_ the bad guys go today?" he grumbled.

Alex rejoined the three of them while giving her uncle a playful look. "Oh, sorry—you wanted to listen to more insufferable snark all day long?" Bobby rolled his eyes and sighed. Alex kept her truer response private: she didn't feel that Meg was a bad guy anymore. Morally gray, hella annoying, and kind of ridiculous yes. But bad guy? Not so much. Not anymore.

* * *

**Stormont Vail Hospital  
** **Topeka, Kansas**

There he was. Sitting uselessly at a bedside in another godforsaken hospital playing the waiting game to see if someone he loved would live or die.

With little idea of how long he'd been in this place, Dean leaned over clasped hands and watched Jamie with intense worry. She was lost under a sea of tubes, wires, and medical crap, completely still and pale in color—painfully reminiscent of the way she'd looked when he'd stolen her dead body from a morgue. The steady beep of the heart rate monitor was the only thing reminding Dean that she was still breathing. To Dean's dismay, she'd been put into a medical coma, just like Sam had been just a couple months ago, and her prognosis wasn't good. He might lose her again. He hadn't reacted well when the doctors told him that, and he still couldn't even think about accepting that fate. The only thought there that gave him _any_ semblance of comfort was this time, she'd go to Heaven if she died. But she couldn't fucking _die_ and leave him alone down here. Not again. And certainly not before she let him know if Abaddon had been lying about their daughter being alive or not…

Dean glanced down at his vibrating phone, which was sitting on his leg where he'd set it last. Sam was calling again. And Dean let it go to voicemail. Again. He was spiraling, and talking to his family would only add to his stress and shame and guilt. He didn't want to face everything he'd done. Not to Sam, not to Alex and Cas. Eventually he knew he'd have to deal with it all: the way he was alienating and wronging the ones he loved. The way he was aligning himself with demons and shady angels over his own damn _family._ The lies, the unacceptable actions, the kidnapping demons and erasing minds and…

_My god. You are a piece of work, Winchester._

He almost couldn't handle being in his own head anymore. It was so shitty but he kept wishing that Zeke had wiped _his_ mind too so he didn't have to remember the wrathful and hurt way his siblings, uncle, and friend Cas had looked at him in that factory. The accusations and pain that had come his way. The judgment in their eyes. But here he was, stuck with the truth and dreading the day he would have to come clean. If today was any preview of that…

_They'll never wanna speak to me again when they find everything out._

And could he fucking blame them? Dean's body was a prison of anxiety, depression, and grief. His every atom felt tense, poised for emergency and disaster, for running away, for coming up with a lie to cover up his own ass. All he could do was hope and pray that Jamie would somehow make it and that all his dark deeds would be worth it even in some small way in the end. That he could survive all this somehow.

But for now, he felt isolated by his choices and lost like a little kid. His throat was closing in the onset of tears, and he tried his hardest not to break. But he broke all the same and hung his head as the grief came in the form of stinging tears he couldn't stop. He was so fucking _lonely_ and _scared_. He held his pounding head in two hands miserably, shaking his head no as he resisted the sorrow he felt so deeply—it was too deep and too wide, and he would drown if he let himself feel enough of it. Then his phone vibrated again. Sam wasn't giving up. And helpless anger made Dean suddenly shoot to his feet and throw his phone in blind fury. It hit the doorframe and cracked in two, and Dean's rage faded to emptiness and powerlessness again. The stark hospital room seemed to jeer at him, mocking his pain with its clinical sterility.

Dean sank down into his seat again, ashamed of himself to the point that he didn't even feel worthy to sit here with Jamie. Guiltily, he studied the face of the woman he'd never even dreamed of having feelings for once upon a time. He didn't know how to explain it, even to himself: his feelings for her went deep. And he needed her to be okay.

He took a few seconds, then reached out and covered her cool, pale hand with his, studying the familiar tattoos that snaked up her arm to disappear underneath the flimsy hospital gown. It was a small comfort to be able to touch her, skin to skin. Hear her breathe. Watch the shallow rise and fall of her chest. He tightened his hand around hers, a pang hitting him at the feeling of how limp her fingers were. After months of trying and failing to find ways to bring her back… it really hurt to have her physically with him yet not there at all. "I'm sorry," he whispered to her barrenly after a few stark _beep, beep, beep_ cycles of the heart rate monitor. "I really fuckin' tried, James." He watched her remain unmoving and unresponsive and his heart continued to steadily crack in two. He wanted to beg her to come back. Beg her to not leave him. But he said nothing, instead torturing himself about what Abaddon had revealed: That he was a father. That Jamie had lied about the miscarriage. His mind had gone back to this over and over again since she'd first said it, debating whether it could be true or not. If Abaddon was fucking with him or not.

She'd succeeded in getting under his skin, that was for sure, leaving one single thought that kept him from sleeping and eating or doing anything else he so desperately needed to: If they _did_ have a daughter, if she _was_ out there somewhere for some reason unknown… how could he ever hope to keep her safe? He didn't even know a _name_.

Even as Dean remained with Jamie at that hospital, Abaddon had descended back into Hell, where she was working on being raised to her original vessel, Josie Sands—because she'd decided that while blondes had more fun, redheads got shit done. And she had quite the to-do list in front of her, starting with finding a certain baby girl who would provide the perfect revenge. Dean Winchester would regret ever pissing the future Queen of Hell off.

This time, Abaddon vowed to have the last laugh.


	140. Touched By An Angel

" _The saddest thing about betrayal…  
__is that it never comes from your enemies."  
_\- Unknown

* * *

**The Next Morning**

Kevin Tran rubbed at his dry, irritated eyes. If he ever got out of this damn place, he swore he was gonna need glasses to see. His vision from staring at tablets and lore for hours every day was total trash these days—and so was his health, both physical and mental. Being a 'prophet of God' might have sounded cool to some in theory, but in reality, Kevin was miserable and didn't even know who he was anymore. The bright-eyed advanced-placement teen with dreams of a career in politics had crumbled away, leaving behind a twenty-one year old who was jaded, depressed, sad, and lonely. The only thing that really kept him going was the thought of someday, maybe being able to finish his prophet work and return back to normal life. But… if the Winchesters were any metric to measure by… he'd probably seen the last of 'normal' a long time ago.

He resisted the pit of despair _that_ particular line of thought threatened to launch him into. Heaving a weary sigh, Kevin glanced at the clock across from the table he hunched over. It was just before eight in the morning—not that it really meant anything except he'd been sitting in this chair for over seven hours now. Time had lost all meaning to him at this point. In the Bunker there were very few places with any natural light or views of the outside world, so his circadian rhythm was null and void for the past two plus months. Vaguely, he tried to remember the last time he'd eaten or had anything to drink. His body hurt from how sedentary he'd become—and he longingly remembered the days he'd taken for granted: Going for a walk 'just because' as he listened to nerdy podcasts. Worrying about exams and grades. Stressing over the thought of getting a summer job. _Man_. Thinking about who he used to be was sad and weird. Life no longer had room for anything but angels, demons, and terrifyingly high stake shit.

Dark eyes scanned over the overwhelming sea of papers, reference books, codexes, and ciphers scattered across the table in front of him and as usual, Kevin felt absolutely incapable of dealing with the lot in life he'd never asked for but couldn't escape. He plunked his elbows onto the solid oak table, moaned in exhausted frustration, then buried his face in his hands, trying to find some _something_ that would make his current existence less wretched.

Presently, he heard the sound of someone approaching but didn't bother looking up to see who. The Winchester brothers and Bobby passed through the library a few times a day (when they were here at all). They didn't tend to talk to him unless they needed something from him—they sort of skirted around him guiltily the rest of the time. Sometimes Bobby sat with him and grunted a few things in his general direction, but other than that… nada. So Kevin was surprised when he heard whoever it was stop directly across from him—and then the sounds of objects being set down and a chair moving. _Great._ Bobby was either setting up shop, or someone wanted a favor. Already annoyed at whoever was sitting across from him, Kevin uncovered his face and then straightened, surprised to see Alex there. She'd set down a to-go coffee cup and a brown paper bag labeled ' _Mia's Café & Donuts To Go_!'

Confused—because she and Cas had returned with Sam and Bobby last night and Dean very tellingly hadn't—Kevin watched her nudge the items his way like they were meant for him. Used to eating soggy fast food leftovers or freezer food that Dean and Sam threw his way, Kevin was immediately suspicious. "What's this? Bribery?"

Her face showed slight surprise then hooded humor. "Can't I just get you a coffee and breakfast without an ulterior motive?"

Kevin didn't trust her lightness. "Doubtful." He immediately regretted his sullen attitude and took a second to dig deep for a more polite response—he wasn't really in practice with being social anymore. He'd been running and hiding for too long. "Sorry, I'm exhausted and this tablet is just…" he trailed off because it was beyond words.

"Why do you think I brought you the joe?" Alex seemed understanding of his attitude, which was nice. At the very least, she didn't act offended at his frustration. "Take a break, Kev."

He immediately shook his head, eyes returning to the anxiety attack inducing pile of crap in front of him he had to sort through. "I can't." The thought of stopping even for a second made his stomach turn.

"You won't be good to anyone if you keel over," Alex countered softly. Kevin met her gaze reluctantly. "Five minutes? Just take your mind off things?" She nudged the bag at him again and he caught of whiff of something that smelled absolutely delicious. "Eat. I know the pickings around here are slim." He kept hesitating, maybe out of pride now. "Strawberry donut with sprinkles…" she enticed, making his mouth water and heart soften—that was his favorite kind. Did she really remember his choice from way back when Cas was crazy and they'd been on the roadtrip from hell? "And a sausage egg and cheese biscuit sandwich…" she cajoled.

Okay, that sounded amazing. Kevin gave up on resisting and pulled the crinkling bag over. Inside he found everything that she'd said, plus mouthwateringly golden, salty hash browned tater tots. He noticed the label on the biscuit said vegetarian sausage. That caused him a slight pause—she'd very thoughtfully tried to honor his preferences… even if those preferences no longer really existed. He'd have to update her because life on the run meant he had to eat whatever was in front of him and he couldn't call himself a vegan or vegetarian anymore unfortunately. But this was a nice reminder of who he'd been before everything… and evidence that someone out there was thinking about him. "Thanks, Alex," he said softly, warmed by the thoughtful gesture of breakfast. She gave him a nod and a smile and he dug in with more eagerness than he thought he'd possessed. Mood lifting as he sampled the breakfast sandwich, the tots, the donut, the latte—it was all so good he felt like he had a new lease on life. And Kevin found himself smiling a little for the first time in awhile as the tasty meal hit the spot and relaxed him. "So are you and Cas moving back in?" he asked momentarily through a muffled mouthful.

A restrained smile twitched at the corners of her lips. "Yeah, think we are." Kevin nodded, a silent approval as he continued to chew another huge mouthful. He'd gathered that that Dean had kicked her out but had assumed it wasn't his business to ask for more details. Alex watched him offhandedly as he wolfed down the breakfast sandwich. "So… I remembered right?" she asked, a mix of hopeful and cautious as he polished off the biscuit completely. At his questioning glance, a self-conscious affect showed through. "I feel pretty mixed up in the head since you know." She fidgeted in a brief flash of discomfort. "All the stuff that's happened." He wasn't sure if she meant fighting Leviathan, going to Purgatory, or being trapped in Heaven and thought dead, or being dead for _real_ down in Hell. But yeah he figured that would scramble his brains too.

"Yeah, you remembered right," he answered neutrally, still feeling guarded at her attempts to talk. He hadn't seen her in ages after all. Not really her fault, but still. A _lot_ had changed since they'd seen each other last. "I pretty much eat whatever I have to these days but this is really nice." He figured that's where it would get left. He expected her to get up and walk off. So he was surprised as he took another bite of donut that Alex stayed right where she was and opened up.

"Honestly Kevin, I still feel bad. About you being on your own after the Dick Roman bullshit. About you getting tied up with Kyle or Zip or whatever we're calling him these days." Kevin's chewing slowed then stopped completely. Partly because the mention of Kyle stung. And also, was she for real? "It might not be worth much but… I wondered about you all the time," she continued, making his surprise grow. "And I really wish I'd been able to come find you. So, now, you know… I wanna make it right." Alex's regret really did come off as genuine and it took Kevin aback. She glanced at the stuff she'd brought. "And breakfast doesn't even come close, but it's a start, maybe."

Kevin studied her for a few heartbeats, trying to figure out the catch. His heart squeezed despite his effort not to feel touched. It had been so long since he'd felt it that way that for a minute, he didn't know how to reply at all. Funny enough, Kyle—the Leviathan originally known as Zip—had been the best friend to him out of anyone else since the role of prophet had come to call. Kevin remained suspicious of pretty much everyone, at all times. Including Alex. Part of him still thought this breakfast had to be for some ulterior motive. But he really wanted to believe someone cared about him just because again, like Kyle had. So he decided to try and push his skepticism aside. "T-thanks," he offered uncertainly. He'd always gotten the sense that she _did_ really care about him beyond what use he offered her, so he tried to stay out of his more cynical mind. But he was quickly reminded about how he'd felt similarly positively about Sam too… until recently. "I'm glad you're back, Alex," Kevin said honestly, brushing his hurt feelings about Sam aside. "Not gonna lie, when I heard you were dead… it, it really sucked." To put it mildly. Even if she wasn't gone anymore, it had felt true enough for long enough that there was still trauma around the memory. Honestly, it made Kevin sink into sadness. Lost faces floated across his mind: Channing. Mom. And Kyle too. All at that monster Crowley's hands. His voice softened and eyes unfocused. "Feels like all I've done the last two years is watch people I care about bite the dust."

Sympathy rested across the table in eyes that understood him. Alex was careful when she spoke. "Look… I'll be the first to say this life is a curse." She offered his an expression that seemed apprehensive and compassionate at once. "But you're not alone. Or at least… you don't have to be." Heart squeezing again, Kevin struggled not to get emotional. He wanted that to be true so badly. He wanted her to really mean that. Alex cleared her throat and stuck her hands into her jacket pockets, sitting back in the chair. Kevin noticed not for the first time how she was looking… _bigger_ somehow. "Look, I _do_ have something I wanna ask you about," she said, which made Kevin's thoughts freeze in place as he immediately darkened. So she _did_ want to ask him to do something for her. He should have freakin' _known_. "Sam," she clarified. "Have you… noticed anything strange about him lately?"

…Oh. Kevin was mildly relieved. Maybe she _wasn't_ gonna ask favors or make him do some extraneous research mission.

"I mean… I spend most of my time here with all this crap," he answered honestly, indicating the tablet and then placing a tater tot into his mouth. Even as the salty morsel crunched satisfyingly, he realized that he had no idea how much Alex knew—the Winchesters were obviously on the rocks right now as a family unit, and she _had_ been off with Cas somewhere for the past two months. So maybe she didn't have all the information. "You already know about his memory gaps, right? Dean says it's a side effect from the trials."

"Yeah." She remained quietly intense. "So you haven't seen anything he's done that made you feel suspicious or unsafe?"

Something about the look in her eye paired with the way she worded the question made Kevin go stiller and more quiet. "Why? What do you think's going on?"

She shook her head, giving off the vibe that she was both suspicious and wary. "I have no idea, but it _is_ something. And Dean knows more than he's saying." Her irritation showed through as she said this next part to no one in particular: "Which is maybe _why_ he won't answer his G-D _phone_."

Kevin watched for a thoughtful second. All he knew was that shortly after he had arrived at an empty bunker a couple months ago after the angels fell, Dean and Sam had reappeared just the two of them. And when Alex and Cas tried to join in a few days later, Dean had kicked them out sight unseen due to "angel danger" (his words, not Kevin's). Then just a few days ago Dean had surprised all of the Bunker residents when he went rogue and busted Crowley and Meg out. So something was definitely weird and untrustworthy with _Dean_ —but Sam too? It was easy to see how deadly serious Alex felt about something being off with her twin. It made Kevin apprehensive. Maybe Sam _had_ been different. Kevin had barely been paying attention. He had been too busy trying to deal with his _own_ mountain of problems. "What are you gonna do about Sam?" he asked quietly.

Her reply was firm and low. "Investigate." Her eyes flicked to his meaningfully. "And keep this between us, will you?"

Nodding, feeling a sense of camaraderie he hadn't expected, Kevin agreed. "Sure. Of course."

She hesitated then broached a subject they hadn't discussed yet. "Hey and uh—Sam told me about what happened to your mom while I was gone." Kevin's raw pain was immediate. "I'm so sorry Kev. Wish I got to meet her."

Any mention of his late mother always took Kevin straight back to that state of helpless, guilty, soul-crushing sorrow. The feeling of failing her… the feeling of shame that he was part of the reason for her fate… it ate him alive. And if Sam had told Alex what happened (Crowley capturing, torturing, then killing Linda Tran while Kevin listened over the phone), she would then understand what he said next: "Do you know how hard it's been to have Crowley here?" Hatred boiled in his veins when he thought of the demon who had taken his mom's life. "All I could think about doing every day was going down there and stabbing him a thousand times." And he almost had. But every time he'd resolved to go gut that slimy bastard… he'd forced himself to be patient and believe Dean's words about how Crowley was more use alive rather than dead.

Now, the opportunity for easy revenge was gone and Kevin was left to kick himself for squandering what was probably his only real chance.

There was a bittersweet, conspiratorial smile from across the table. "Well next time we see him… I'll hold, you stab."

Surprising himself, Kevin found himself shaking his head as a weak little laugh accompanied a sad smile full of chagrin. Sam had stopped attempting conversation a month or two ago with him, Bobby only grunted a few words here and there, and Dean was always barking commands or making Kevin feel bad about something. It was nice to just talk to someone again. And he really found himself hoping that Alex wouldn't leave the Bunker again. Alex's expression grew somber once more as she studied him. "Is there anything I can do, Kevin?"

Well. _Actually_ … Kevin scratched at his neck self-consciously. He wondered if he should admit to this. What the hell, right? "Yeah um… well… so, I might've _talked_ to Crowley this one time when he was being held here…"

Dean's reaction would have been to immediately hit the roof. Sam probably would have withered. But Alex's eyebrows raised slightly and she reserved judgment. "Well that's _never_ a good idea…"

Kevin wet his lips. She wasn't wrong. "He… he told me my mom's not dead. Said if I broke him out of here he'd give her back to me. He's probably lying, right?" The prophet hesitated, torn as always about this and trying to get a feel for what Alex thought. "But there's always the chance he's not." His mood darkened into resentful and bitter territory. "I was gonna go find out for myself… but Dean stopped me. Said it's too dangerous out there. That all the angels and demons are gunning for me. And he said if she _is_ somehow still alive… she's not alive anymore like you and me." There was a sour taste in his mouth as he remembered the encounter that had left him with tears running down his face. "And _then_ you know what he said? He told me I'm _family._ " It hadn't been a good moment for Kevin at all—it was more comparable to pouring salt into his wound. And he needed to tell someone. "You know how that made me feel? Like _crap,_ Alex. Because what kind of family isn't gonna lift a finger to help me maybe save my mom? If I'm family, then she is too. And isn't that what your family does? Save people? Why not my mom?" Kevin was shaking at this point—surprising himself with how much suppressed emotion had just welled up out of him.

Alex digested with a confounded expression. "…Does Sam not know about this? About your mom maybe being alive?"

Another instance of bitterness ran through Kevin. "Yeah. But he never said a word about it to me."

Alex immediately seemed to find his words suspect. "That… doesn't sound right."

Kevin scoffed cynically. "You sure? Cuz to me, it's the status quo." He didn't care anymore about being polite or saving feelings or trying not to stir a pot. And Alex looked sad and conflicted about his assessment. Kevin exhaled long and hard, gesturing broadly at his work. "Look, I get priorities. This stupid rock needs to be translated. And I'm the only one who can do it." But he often wondered if anyone here realized what a task it was. His eyes began to tear up. "Do you understand how much _pressure_ that is? How hard this is, how lonely? How _tired_ I am? How I've lost everyone?!" Inside his chest, it felt like his heart was cracking in half. "And what's waiting for me on the other side? Nothing! No one." He stood in a sudden burst and angrily dashed away a tear on his cheek. "I got my girlfriend killed, my mom, and my… my one real friend." He shook his head, attempting to be tough as he put his back to her for a second and composed himself a couple feet off from the table. "Look, I _know_ Dean's not wrong about the danger. Or how important reversing this spell is. But if it was his mom— _your_ mom—" he turned around to face her and saw that she'd stood up too. Kevin didn't bother hiding his despair, his resentfulness, his deep pain… or how _alone_ he felt. His voice broke as he managed this last part: "All he did was say he wouldn't stop me from going to try and find her. But he also wouldn't go with me."

Alex considered him for a long couple of seconds. Then floored him with her simple response. "Well, I will."

 _Wait._ "…W-what?" he asked, thinking he'd _surely_ misheard. Alex began rounding the table to come stand closer to him. "What about all this?" Kevin questioned, gesturing to the table full of work, not understanding but daring to hope as his breathing became faster and faster. "W-what about me staying safe?"

Alex stopped a couple feet off from him. "One: are you forgetting how long you made it on your own out there?" He had to pause because yeah, he kind of _had_ forgotten that. "You're more of a badass than you give yourself credit for." Surprised and flattered at the assessment, Kevin found himself disconcerted but in a surprisingly good way. "Two: Dean's right. You _are_ family, Kevin. So if Linda's alive, we're gonna find out." Kevin's face must have _really_ been doing something, because Alex grew a little unsure and offered her arms to him hesitantly. " _Hug_?"

Kevin nodded, already meeting her halfway in a crashing embrace. His adrenaline was going wild because _he was gonna find out in his mother was still alive_ …! And if she _was_ , Kevin would do _anything_ to get her safe again and protect her. Feeling alive in a way that he hadn't in ages, he yanked back from the embrace eagerly. "How do we start?"

Alex had a little knowing smile on her face. " _Well_. Meg has a lot of intel on the King of Hell's favorite places to store prisoners." She gave him a meaningful look. "And Meg likes me for some reason plus hates Crowley, so…" she nodded to herself, eyes off in thought. "We'll start there. I'll gather up the stuff to summon her today. See what we can find out."

Kevin nodded readily, beside himself, trusting that with Alex's know-how they'd find out the truth. "I know the ingredients, I'll get them together for you," he said, because the Bunker had a pretty good storehouse of elements, including everything needed to summon a demon. He was dazed—this was actually gonna happen! A few minutes ago he'd been resigned to the fact that he would never know his mother's fate. And now, he had relentless hope again the likes of which he hadn't felt in forever. "Thank you," he repeated, suddenly so emotional he could cry. He grabbed her again for a big hug, clutching onto her hard so she would know how much he meant it. " _Thank you_." He distantly thought her stomach felt strangely hard and full to him—and he wondered, briefly—then pushed the thought away. Not his business to speculate.

Just then, the sound of approach caused Kevin and Alex's embrace to end.

"Hey guys, everything good?"

A few paces away Sam appeared surprised to see the tail end of the hug, wondering what it was for. The middle Winchester looked kind of unwell—a little paler and less bright eyed than usual, like he was feeling under the weather.

"We're gonna find out if my mom's still alive," Kevin announced proudly, unable to help but grin.

Sam immediately looked confused. "Wait, what? Still alive?" he looked from Kevin to Alex then back again, lost. "But you said she _died_."

Kevin was immediately thrown off. "Don't act like you don't know, Sam—I saw Dean tell you!" he accused, not understanding why the hunter would even play such a hurtful mind game.

But Sam still looked absolutely, convincingly shocked and appalled. "When? I—I don't remember." He'd become a little paler. From all appearances (unless he was a great actor), he really _didn't_ know what Kevin was referring to. And that's when the prophet realized… this must be one of Sam's memory gaps. Kevin's mouth dropped open a little as he made that connection.

"I'm serious," Sam entreated, visibly more insecure with every second. "Fill me in. _Please_."

Kevin gave Alex a significant sidelong look. "Remember when you were asking if I'd seen anything weird?" he muttered under his breath at her before his eyes slid back to Sam. _Exhibit A._

A few feet off from them, Sam waited with daunted apprehension. Alex deliberated with a terse expression, then indicated the table. "Let's all sit down, shall we?"

* * *

A short time later, Sam trailed Alex into the kitchen.

"So you think Meg will be able to help?" he asked, unconvinced. "And actually go for it too?"

With a shrug, Alex began to bang through the industrial-style storage cabinets, looking for a water glass. "It's worth a shot. She doesn't exactly love Crowley, does she? And she _was_ tortured by him for awhile. She knows where he operates. _How_ he operates." Sam watched her fruitless search for a few seconds then went straight to the cabinet that would be last in the search. He grabbed a glass and handed it over intuitively, receiving a smile in return. "Thanks." Alex contemplated him and paused, concern yet again filtering over her face. But this time she actually said something about it: "You… really don't look so good."

He'd taken up a sit-lean against the nearby stainless steel island counter with crossed arms and a blank expression. He nodded tiredly, his eyes flighty and unfocused, revealing how deep in stress he was. "Yeah I don't feel so good either," he admitted reluctantly. "Since yesterday. What _was_ that? How could _Crowley_ have erased all our minds like that? Do you buy it?" Questions bothering Alex too. They were all suspicious and dubious about why none of them remembered anything about the apparent showdown that had happened. Dean had taken Jamie somewhere and was now missing and unreachable. Add to that Sam's current and obvious physical illness, and not for the first time, Alex's instincts whispered _something's majorly wrong here._ All she could do to answer her brother was shake her head in a silent _I dunno._

She turned her back and discreetly poured special water into the glass from her flask, glancing at Sam with thinly veiled worry. Quite honestly her resentful feelings toward Dean were growing as well as the blame she felt for letting herself and Cas get kicked out of here two months ago. While the time with her newly human angel had felt very essential then, it now felt like she'd shirked her responsibilities. Kevin needed someone in his corner, Sam was flagging mentally and physically, and Dean was obviously keeping secrets. Whatever those secrets were, Alex had resolved to find out come hell or high water. But she had to admit to herself: she was petrified to discover the truth. Dread built with every passing day. Forcefully brushing those thoughts aside, she offered her twin the glass she'd just poured. "Have some water, Sammy."

"Thanks." He accepted the water and took a drink without hesitation, eyes lost in thought. "It's like… I don't even know what's going on anymore. I'm freaked out." He glanced at Alex and found her watching him so closely that he frowned. "…What?"

She shook her head, not telling him for now anyway, that he'd just had a nice big sip of a special holy water and trace-amount silver cocktail she'd made late last night—a subtle test to make sure he was really him. Just in case. Because at this point with all the unexplained shit going on, she had to check _all_ her bases. "Nothing, just thinking." Her senses warned her to be very careful around Sam right now. At the very least, she could admit this much: "Something's just not right here." With a frustrated exhale, she leaned beside him, mimicking his stance.

"I know." Sam sounded just as disturbed as she was and they fell into a brief, thoughtful silence. "…Should we be looking for Dad?" he asked after a minute, guilt and doubt coloring his tone. "I mean if we're gonna look for Linda…" he trailed off questioningly.

A thin smile weakly graced Alex's face briefly. She understood the urge but: "I don't think so Sam. When John Winchester doesn't wanna be found… don't waste your time."

Glum, Sam's jaw held tensely and he breathed out a charged exhale from his nose. "You're right," he admitted. Alex recognized the rejected tone in his voice and sympathized deeply. It hurt a lot that their father had done what he always did. It hurt her a lot too. Sam cleared his throat and switched tracks. "Look, I wanna help find out about Linda either way." His ghostly features tightened with guilt. "I can't believe I just _forgot_ that she might still be alive. Makes me feel like _trash_."

Alex hated the hurt and pain in his voice. "I don't think you can blame yourself for something outta your control, big brother," she counseled sadly. He tried to be optimistic, but instead he looked drawn and physically ill. Hesitant to ask but needing to just the same, Alex contemplated him gently. "You sure you're up to helping out?"

Wounded hazel eyes met her waiting gaze. "You don't think I'm strong enough."

Alex put a caring hand onto his back. "I'm just worried about you."

Sam considered her with a weary exhale. "Well I'm worried about me too," he conceded reluctantly. "But I can't just sit around, right?"

No, she guessed not. It sucked so bad to witness how terrible he felt though. And Alex found herself wishing for Dean's presence, like in their old times. When he always knew what to say and how to make them both feel better.

A soft sound caused the twins to look up at movement in one of the kitchen entrances. Cas smiled a silent hello and lingered in the doorway, waiting for permission to intrude. "Hey, Cas," Sam greeted with a small, strained smile.

"How are you feeling this morning, Sam?" Cas approached—he wore Dean's clothes since he'd run out of clean clothes of his own (everything else was still back at his and Alex's apartment). It was an odd effect, but at the very least, the clothes fit well.

Sam sighed gustily and stood up, running a haggard hand through his hair. "Pretty tired. Confused. I just really wanna figure out what happened yesterday."

Cas nodded with appropriate concern. "I think we all do." The fallen angel turned his attention to Alex, greeting her with a little smile and very brief kiss hello, even though they had probably only been apart for thirty minutes or so.

Sam turned his back for a second—intending to just give them a bit of space—and then unseen by them he was gone in a flash, replaced by a very angry Gadreel, who could not stand to be near Castiel. Alex was bad enough—too observant, too watchful, too obviously onto him somehow. And as if she weren't bad enough, Castiel would only present more risk of discovery. Gadreel knew that he was quickly losing control—that his alliance with Dean was over since the man wasn't even around anymore. So he finally made the decision he'd been contemplating for some time now. He heard the frown on the sister's voice without even seeing it. "Sam? What's wrong?" she asked behind him somewhere.

Withering— _how did she do that? How did she immediately know something was wrong?_ —Gadreel shook his head and tried his best to sound like Sam would. "Nothing, I am fine. I am going outside for some fresh air." And he left without turning around or making eye contact.

Disconcerted and suspicious, Alex stared after her brother's retreating familiar build with narrowed eyes.

"What is it?" Cas asked, seeing her expression and recognizing the significance of it.

Alex shook her head slowly and kept her voice to a low, covert volume. Her eyes stayed on the space Sam had last occupied. "I dunno it's just like… sometimes he doesn't even really _sound_ like himself." It was only a couple times, but she'd caught him saying things or posturing in ways that just seemed… really wrong. She didn't know how else to explain.

Cas glanced at her flask nearby before his gaze meaningfully came back to hers. His voice lowered. "Did you give him the water?"

Alex's hazel eyes met his cobalt and a thin, terse expression rested across her features. "Yeah. No reaction. So go ahead and cross shifter, demon, or ghoul off the list." They exchanged a significant glance and Alex's eyes went to the small, almost unnoticeable security camera installed at the topmost corner of the kitchen. "I need to see if these cameras are still working or not." And to do that, she'd need to find out where the feed went to—if there even was one. She still hadn't explored the entire Bunker, and now seemed as good a time as any while Kevin gathered the materials to summon Meg. Growing focused on finding answers, Alex gave Cas a distracted smile she had to dig deep for. "Care to join me on a wild goose chase?"

There was a confused frown. "…What do geese have to do with anything?"

Briefly forgetting the stakes because of his unintentional comedic timing, Alex chuckled his way, pressed into his space, and kissed him briefly. This time, she didn't have to dig deep for the smile on her face. For a minute, she relaxed in arms that readily held her as always. "Never change, Cas. Never change."

"I'm guessing it's a figure of speech referring to something being a bit difficult and perhaps odd," Cas surmised, but from the soft gaze and smile, it was obvious he was only thinking of how much he loved her.

* * *

Gadreel slunk into the outside world, his darting eyes giving away his nervousness to be caught. In the tree line across the small open space in front of the Bunker, he saw a small man lurking. Metatron. Gadreel let Sam's long legs hurry him across the space separating them.

"You rang?" the Scribe asked casually as Gadreel came to a stop a couple feet off. "Well, don't keep me in the dark. Are you done playing hard to get?"

Despite his conviction that this was the only choice left for him that made sense, Gadreel was nervous and stiff. However he didn't let it show. "Yes. I've made my decision." He drew himself up. "And I will join you as second in command."

A toothy, surprised grin popped across Metatron's ordinary human face. " _Bravo_ , Gadreel! I'm ecstatic to hear it, my friend!" With a pleased, proud nod, Metatron made promises that could lift the heaviest of hearts. "This move will erase the mark that has hounded you through the centuries. Heaven will be restored, as will your reputation as one of its greatest heroes."

Words that truly did bring a deeply relieved smile to Gadreel's face. "I thank you sincerely for this opportunity—I will not let you down," he vowed, dreams of being respected and loved once more filling his mind.

And then Metatron hesitated in such a way that Gadreel faltered. "There _is_ just one more thing…" the scribe said delicately. "I need to be sure of your… _fidelity_."

Confused and immediately afraid to lose his chance at redemption, Gadreel's features pinched with alarm. "You have it."

"No, I mean _really_ sure," Metatron reiterated then stepped a bit closer, glancing around surreptitiously. "We have… _enemies_ who pose an imminent threat to our effort. They must be neutralized."

Terrible understanding dawned. "You mean… slain."

"Unfortunately yes," Metatron confirmed with appropriate amounts of regret. Overcome with objections, Gadreel remained silent. He was against killing unless in self-defense or at a command straight from God. What could Metatron possibly have in mind?

"I think we both know great sacrifice is required for great change, Gadreel," the scribe intoned grimly. "Have you heard tales of the Nephilim?"

"Yes of course, a child borne of angel and human," Gadreel replied then went stock still as he realized. Doubly stunned, the angel struggled to grasp what was being asked of him. "You want me to… kill Castiel's child?" he asked, appalled at the thought. Surely that couldn't be what Metatron was asking.

"Well, I want you to kill both—mother _and_ child," Metatron replied, causing Gadreel further astounded dismay. "Two birds with one stone, or however that saying goes." He grew incredibly grave. "If that baby is born, he, she, or they will be very bad news for us eventually, understand? Too powerful to stand against. It complicates things far too much."

Even if that were true… Gadreel remained aghast. "But why the sister too?"

Metatron almost became patronizing. "Well I'd have thought this one was obvious. You're in her twin brother's _body_. This is the Winchester family we're talking about—you really think she'll let you stay there in that mighty fine vessel once she finds out the truth?" Gadreel's disquiet grew. The scribe had a very strong point. But that also meant… "Yeah," Metatron confirmed, seeing Gadreel's thoughts easily. "That's right. You're gonna need to kill Dean at some point too. And hell, that slippery little prophet Kevin and Castiel eventually too. But look. I'm getting ahead of myself. Let's just start with the pregnant woman, shall we?" He gave Gadreel far too pleasant of a smile. "I'll believe you're with me when she's dead." At the remaining strife on Gadreel's face, Metatron sighed with abrupt disappointment. "Don't tell me you're losing sight _now_ , Gadreel. It may be regrettable but consider eternity. A few small, human lives mean nothing in the grand scale of infinity." It was a tempting stance to take. And Gadreel considered it apprehensively.

"Prove yourself worthy of second in command status," Metatron urged, then stepped back and studied the lower angel with veiled eyes. "Call me when it's done." With nothing further, the scribe disappeared into thin air, leaving Gadreel to yearn for the day when he, too, would be able to use his wings again.

In the coolness of morning air, the fugitive angel considered the task he'd been given: killing the mother and the child both to prove his loyalty. Could he bring himself to do such a thing? It would not be easy. He mulled over his mistakes of the past as he so very often did. Allowing himself to be tricked by Lucifer had set off an unforgivable series of events: the formation of Hell, humanity's corruption, and the creation of demons.

Metatron was offering what Gadreel would never be given again: a clean slate. A new beginning. A place in Heaven where he could be the angel he had spent a lifetime dreaming he could be. And if the only thing that stood in the way between that and running forever was a few small human lives and an unborn Nephilim… _well_.

Gadreel thought it should be an easy choice. However, it still wasn't. And his eyes slid to the entrance of the Bunker guiltily as he considered what to do.

* * *

**Later That Day**

Alex hurried up the steely gray main hallway with a fast-beating heart, unable to reach the library area quick enough. Her thoughts were spiraling and urgent, and every other thing she'd been working on didn't matter right now at _all_. She found the library empty but saw a small group gathered in the main control room and made a beeline there, stopping short when she realized Sam was one of the ones sitting at the table. Kevin, Cas, Bobby, and her twin brother all looked up at her arrival from the materials they'd been studying. Alex forced a casual smile.

"Hey, Cas, um—can I grab you for a sec?" she asked, jerking a thumb over her shoulder and trying very hard to sound inconspicuous and _not_ stare lasers at Sam… because she'd just spent the past two hours reviewing discombobulated Bunker footage of her brothers from the past two months. At first it had been boring and fruitless and she'd sent Cas off to go do whatever he wanted instead of sitting there staring at a screen with her. About forty minutes after he left, right before she'd almost been lulled to sleep… she'd stumbled onto some footage that was disturbing to say the least. And she needed a second opinion _now._

Even as Cas was rising up from his seat and abandoning whatever he'd been reading, the main doorway on the second floor above slammed open loudly, drawing everyone's surprised eyes.

"Dean!" Cas breathed as the familiar hunter entered and briefly looked down from the catwalk at his audience grudgingly. No one even remembered seeing him yesterday because of the memory wipe. With that in mind, it was the first time Alex had laid eyes on him since that bar in Iowa. With no reply to Cas's surprised greeting or the questioning eyes aimed his way, Dean descended the metal stairway with a distinctly avoidant energy.

Alex gaped at his sudden reappearance. "Where the hell have you _been_?" She ambushed him at the bottom of the stairs, determined not to let him slip through her fingers again—trying to see through him while hovering between concerned and angry. "You forget how to dial out?"

"Phone broke," he said brusquely, dodging her intense eyes. "I'm just here to grab some stuff. Looks like I'm setting up camp with James at the hospital." Cas arrived to stand beside Alex and Dean did a double take when he noticed. "…Dude, are you wearing my _clothes_?"

Cas didn't reply. "What are the doctors saying about her condition?"

 _That_ got a real response. There was a pessimistic shake of the head and Dean's energy dipped. "It's not good, I'll tell you that much." And he was obviously really upset about it too. He brushed past them, heading for the passageway entrance, which only disgruntled Alex further. He was just gonna barge in here and not clue them in? Not tell them what was going on? She was already on his heels.

"Dean, we've been worrying about you both—you don't have anything else to say?" Her temper was rising pretty fast.

His reply was both curt and catty. "Kinda in a hurry, Al, and if I'm remembering right, you're still not _speaking_ to me, so."

She managed to get in front of him right at the hallway entrance, blocking his escape. "What is going _on_ with you?" she demanded, equal parts pissed and worried.

Dean was apparently ready to fight. "Gee, I dunno, my girlfriend's in a coma and everything else is total shit too—what, you want me cracking jokes or something?" He attempted to sidestep her in foul impatience. "I need to get my stuff."

Alex went with his movement, smacking her palm to his chest and stopping him hard. Her eyes conveyed her deadly seriousness. "You _need_ to tell me what is going _on_ here," she retorted in a near-whisper that trembled low. She was quiet enough that only he could hear. Because she was onto the fact that he knew _way_ more than he was saying after seeing that footage. "What the _fuck_ did you do to our brother?" she demanded, again so low only he could hear.

For a second, surprise showed. Then his walls slammed down and he rolled his eyes to invalidate her. "Dunno what you're talking about, dude. Outta my way." And he pushed past roughly, jostling her for effect, which made Alex go even colder with anger. But she didn't pursue him. She just boiled in place as disbelief and resentment surged.

Quietly watchful, Cas approached and touched Alex softly on the shoulder, then met her hurt gaze with understanding. "I'll see if I can talk to him." And he went after Dean, leaving an appalled Alex behind who could only focus on one thing: 'Sam' hadn't even budged from his seat or appeared emotionally involved whatsoever.

Alex turned her full, apprehensive attention to him. He was already looking at her and his face bore a chilling affect—a dark guardedness. A silent intention. And an unspoken danger. Like he already knew what she was thinking. Like he'd been caught.

And she could either shrink away, or stop this charade today. She chose the latter. Alex crossed her arms and drifted closer, her sharp eyes on him the entire time. At the opposite end of the table, Bobby and Kevin appeared mutually uncomfortable at the interaction that had just transpired. Little did they know, it was about to get a whole lot _more_ uncomfortable.

"Sam?" Alex prompted in too calm of a voice. "Awfully quiet." She stopped a safe distance off, closer than Kevin and Bobby were, but still far enough away that she could get away if he suddenly lunged up. She studied him closely, fear for her brother turning her veins to ice and making her pulse hammer wildly. "You don't have anything to say?"

He visibly understood he was being tested. He stood slowly and Alex tensed, her senses screaming.

"Alex." Sam took a step closer, testing her right back. She didn't recoil, but her muscles tensed even further. Thoughtful and apprehensive, he met her gaze readily. "Allow me to ask you something, little sister: Do you truly believe the ends justify the means?" His cadence and delivery was soft, stilted, and wrong—but he seemed genuine about his question. Vulnerable somehow. "Is it morally acceptable to kill someone if it will accomplish great things?"

"Why?" she returned softly, dangerously. "Who are you thinking about killing?" Bobby and Kevin watched, mystified but getting the idea that something here was not quite right. Alex's gaze didn't back down underneath Sam's as she revealed that she knew Sam wasn't entirely himself: "I've been watching some security footage from around here for the past couple hours. And unless _Sam_ suddenly developed some kind of multiple personality disorder, complete with flashing eyes when he changes over… we have an unwelcome house guest." Her voice suddenly became rough and demanding as her arms uncrossed. "Who are you? And what do you want?"

Sam's face showed a strangely conflicted respect. "You truly are too insightful for your own good," he said, uncrossing his arms as well. His face grew dark and stormy, regret mounting. "And I _am_ sorry that I must do this, Alex Winchester."

Commotion broke out. Bobby shot to his feet as he understood something bad was happening, but Sam's hand flashed out in tandem, sending the hunter flying backward telekinetically as Kevin's eyes went wide as saucers and he squeaked. Sam's hand began to shoot toward the panicking prophet, but Alex leapt forward and grabbed him hard by the wrist then yanked with an amount of strength that visibly shocked her opponent. Even as he gaped, Alex punched him in the face, knocking him back a few feet in a stumble. Kevin scrambled for cover as Gadreel recovered from his brief gaze, grabbing Alex and attempting to slam his palm to her forehead—but her hand caught his wrist in a grip like iron and held his hand frozen in the air despite his valiant struggle… then with bared teeth and a grunt, she slowly began to push his hand _back_. Shocked at just how much inexplicable supernatural strength she had, Sam's features screwed into a stunned, fearful frown as Gadreel realized he was in over his head. That he should have taken his chance to kill her instead of remaining in silent moral dilemma all day.

Alex's fury was palpable. "Get _out_ of my _brother_!" she thundered, then pulled a wrestling move in lightning fast speed: a twist of his arm, a pivot on her feet, a knee shoved into the back of his knee—and he went down face-first with her following his fall, an arm already tight around his neck in a vice-like chokehold he struggled and wheezed against helplessly. "Who are you?!" she demanded again, voice shaking as he kept him down and slowly choked him out toward unconsciousness.

Dean and Cas reappeared, skidding to a stop with shocked faces even as Kevin was pulling a stunned Bobby to his feet. Seeing how he was outnumbered, Sam's face registered utter panic as Gadreel remained trapped in place by Alex's pregnancy-fueled super strength. Driven by self-preservation and the need to escape the chokehold he was growing woozy under, the angel opened Sam's mouth and bellowed, escaping as a surge of white light that seared out blindingly.

Even as Dean's face registered horrified understanding, Cas was running toward the twins at top speed. Even as the light stopped pouring out and Sam's body went briefly slack, Alex let go of him, panting and shaken. Cas almost crashed into her as he came to a sliding stop on his knees. He asked her if she was all right repeatedly in alarm, and she gave a dazed _yes fine_ , trying to check on Sam who was wild-eyed and disoriented, totally clueless—because last he remembered, he'd been in the kitchen with Cas and Alex—now he'd come to with his sister choked him.

"What happened?" he demanded, shoving himself away from his sister with an absolutely insane, scared expression that he began to sweep the entire room of people with. He sagged against the metal support beam his back hit up against and his voice raised to a bellow as his terror only grew. "What's going on?!"

Even as Alex was trying to reach out and calm down her panicking twin, Bobby piped up: "Someone wanna explain what in the sam hill's goin' on here?!" His cap was sideways and his expression was absolutely gobsmacked. Beside him, Kevin was just as alarmed and confused.

"He was possessed!" Alex insisted, just as shaken up as everyone else. She tried to explain it the best she knew how: "I saw it on the security archives, there was someone or something _in_ him!"

"Is… is that why he had memory gaps?" Kevin breathed in dismayed wonder. Sam's face went colorless at the very astute question.

"It was an _angel_ possessing him," Cas breathed, realizing what the white light had been.

"W-what?" Still reeling on the floor, Sam shook his head repeatedly. "I didn't know," he managed, his voice trembling. "You gotta believe me, I, I didn't know!"

Stricken, Alex looked up at a very silent, very conscience-stricken Dean from where Cas held her on the floor. And seeing the accusing, betrayed look in her eyes, Cas's jaw dropped as his eyes flew to look at Dean with an absolutely broken heart. "Did _you_?"

Underneath the betrayed gazes of the entire room, Dean was uncharacteristically subdued… confirming his role in what happened before he even said a word. "Look—t-those trials really messed him up, like in-a-coma for the rest of his life messed up," he began, eyes shifty and voice weak in the face of everyone's astounded, growing wrath. "No more birthdays—dust to dust, ashes to ashes—understand?" Sam gaped with growing horror as Dean remained meek, ill, and regretful. "What was I supposed to do, _accept_ that? I… I didn't know what else to do. So I made a risky call." His grim, dread-filled gaze limped to Sam's disbelieving, hurt eyes. "And I let an angel in. He said he could heal you, Sam—and he did." His voice fell and lost strength. "Ish."

Sam could momentarily find no reply at all.

"Was it Ezekiel?" Alex pressed harshly, finding her voice again as she landed on a very plausible theory she couldn't believe she'd only just considered. "The one you said healed him and _left_?"

Shamefaced, Dean's gaze dodged hers. "Yeah." A single word that drove the knife even deeper.

"… _How_?" Sam begged, still too shocked to speak with any strength. Or for that matter move from where he was still in a stunned crumple against that metal pole. "I never said yes to him, I would remember that!" he protested. "I never even _met_ the guy!"

Dean's quiet shame only deepened. "Yeah well… I helped trick you." Everyone in the room was absolutely silent and still in shock. The oldest Winchester hung his head, having a hard time speaking again. "I—I'm sorry," he whispered pitifully, struggling to hold himself together. "I shoulda told you from the start, Sam. I was just too scared you'd… you'd be okay with dying." He pinched the bridge of his nose and shut his eyes. His voice wavered on humiliated, defeated self-contempt. "I'm a selfish bastard. I know."

Sam shook his head blankly as hurt, disbelieving tears began to gather. "How could you _do_ this to me, Dean?" A question asked from a broken, misled heart.

And Dean could visibly say nothing—the consequences of his actions were hitting him full force. At her twin's side, Alex was almost as hurt and shocked as Sam was. Kevin's face had paled, Bobby had grown dark like a storm cloud, and Cas's expression was cold with growing fury as they all digested this terrible truth.

"'Kay so riddle me this," Bobby muttered wrathfully. "What happened yesterday with Crowley and Meg that we all _conveniently_ don't remember?" The implication was clear: Bobby now suspected Dean by way of complicity.

Remorseful and caught, Dean took a tortured second. "Ezekiel expelled Abaddon outta Jamie. And I let Crowley loose as a distraction." He couldn't look at _anyone_ at this point. "But Meg saw the halo around Sam's head when Zeke took the driver's seat and she blabbed. So he erased everyone's memory of what happened. That's why you're not feeling so good, Sam. All that crap that went down weakened you again." Visibly ill over everything, Dean looked like he might cry too. "I'm sorry, it got outta control, you gotta believe I wasn't trying t—"

He didn't finish the sentence because Cas had gotten up, charged across the short distance, and punched the other man wildly across the face, knocking him back into the control console nearby. Cas held Dean there by two fistfuls of jacket, his anger primal and unrestrained. "Because of you, a rogue angel almost just _murdered_ my wife and child!" he shouted, seething at his friend's actions. At his side, Alex had rushed to him and had a warning hand on his shoulder, silently telling him to back off. Sam had stood up too, but lingered far away with fists clenched at his sides. Cas didn't hit Dean again, but he did leave him with a scathing judgment before letting go with a rough shove: "You've gone too far this time, Dean Winchester."

But Dean visibly only had heard one thing. His expression was startled and hurt, and he didn't peel himself off the console. He stayed sprawled on his elbows in place, his vehemently confused, green eyes on his sister—and then her stomach—and then her face again. "…What's he talking about?" He was barely audible even as he visibly put it all together: The baggy clothes, the thicker appearance, the cravings and sickness when Sam had been completing the trials. "Y-you're _pregnant_?"

The brother and sister's faces were near perfect mirrors in that moment: shining eyes full of betrayed pain and disbelief. Alex shook her head shallowly and didn't answer his question right away. She was too dazed as it all began to line up, the questions that had previously kept her up at night. "Makes sense now," she managed in the most crestfallen tone. "Why you sent us away. Why you've been so fucking _weird_." Her face worked valiantly as grief began to build. "I can't believe you would do this, Dean!" Heartbreak made her tone waver as her world crashed down—as her ability to trust her oldest brother went to zero. "And keep it going for two _months_? Lying to _everyone_? Letting some angel you don't even _know_ have access to Sam's thoughts and memories, and _people_?" This was when her anger truly began to surge at his reckless, insane pattern of choices. "You put _everyone_ at risk because you didn't wanna tell the truth and be held accountable!" she accused, appalled disgust making her look at him in such a way, it was like she didn't know who he was anymore. "Since when are you such a goddamn _coward_?" Dean's sagging shoulders grew even lower. Alex's anger wanted her to roast him alive, while her heartbreak cast her deep into a sudden depression that left her without any fire at all. "Are we supposed to _trust_ you ever again after this?" she asked softly. By now, her cheeks were streaked. He finally met her eyes and then deliberately straightened himself to stand remorsefully. For a really long moment, the two of them said nothing aloud, and communicated by expression only—a callback to the way things used to be.

She could see how he was begging for understanding and forgiveness, but how was she supposed to even _consider_ that? His lies could have cost her not only her own life, but the one growing inside of her too. And that was the greatest treason of all. That was what tore her to shreds inside. "Yes, I am pregnant," she admitted, the tears coming in earnest now. Because this was _not_ how she'd pictured the moment of telling her big brother he was gonna be an uncle. Dean's face crumpled as it visibly hit him: the damage he'd done—the distance he'd sown. Alex was barely able to speak against the lump rising in her throat. "And you would've _known that_ if you weren't living a _lie._ " It was absolutely shattering, and more than anything, it _hurt._ There was no way to undo what had been done, and she didn't know how to accept it either. "I really didn't want you to find out like _this,_ " she whispered through tears as she mourned the moment they would now never have. His eyes reflected back similar sentiment, which only made the wound sting more. "I wanted to tell you" she whispered mournfully. "And for you to be happy. And for us to all just be a _family_." Beside Alex, she felt Cas's presence. His soothing, sad hands gently touching her in silent support. "Tell me how to be a family with someone who would take away Sam's choice," she begged. "Tell me how to be family with someone who would lie to the only people he is _never_ supposed to lie to."

Her hand came to press against her burgeoning stomach protectively. Today had changed things, no matter how much she wanted to refuse that they had. "Right now, I gotta be honest." Her jaw trembled as she tried to hold herself together. Dean needed to know exactly how terrible what he'd done was. "I don't want this kid to have anything to do with you. Because I don't what you're capable of anymore."

Dean shook his head no really soft and slow, gut-punched. "Don't say that." His chin trembled briefly. " _Please._ " When Alex made no reply and averted her gaze, Dean's stricken eyes went to his brother, who still remained further off as if it might protect him better. "Sam?" It was a plea. "There's more to all this, just let me explain."

But Sam wouldn't look his brother in the eye. Instead, he looked at Cas. "Did I really just try to kill her?" he questioned so softly it was barely audible.

" _You_ didn't," Cas replied, his voice made of lead. "The angel Dean allowed to use you as a part-time vessel did." There was deep animosity and bitterness resting there.

Sam's jaw worked oddly, and his voice was wavering and low, cold—and he would only look in Dean's vague direction. "I got nothing for you right now, man." He was stony. "You just gotta go."

Dean scanned the faces in the room and found no one sympathetic to his cause. Only disappointment, mistrust, fury, and loss of respect.

"He's right," Alex said. She sniffed and despite the tears on her face, she managed to pull off a commanding, brusque air. "You can't be here anymore." She folded her arms with a certain finality.

Dean's tongue darted out to wet his lips, his eyes becoming briefly wild in desperation. "Look—I just—you gotta hear me out guys. You gotta let me explain, _please_ —"

"No." Alex's answer lacked passion. She sounded worse than angry. She sounded… what she was for the moment. _Done_. "We've heard enough. Just get your stuff and _go_."

Extinguished, seeing reality for what it was, Dean began to nod grim, reluctant acceptance. "Yeah," he murmured, visibly casting away his feelings and soldiering forward despite his torment. "Yeah okay."

He went back to his room and finished gathering his stuff, leaving a shocked-to-silence set of siblings, a stewing Castiel, and a very considerate Bobby who ushered Kevin away to give the other three space. Until Dean left the premises, the twins mutually agreed without saying a thing not to talk yet. Cas and Alex embraced silently for a long moment, the ex-angel's face a mask of disappointment and sadness as he held his distraught partner in his arms. About two and a half minutes of utter charged silence hung before Dean reappeared with a huge duffel and made his way toward the Bunker exit like a dog with his tail between his legs. That's when Alex went to stand at Sam's side for solidarity. Cas remained behind by a few paces, brooding.

Dean stopped and paused at the foot of the stairs with his hand on the bannister, then turned around. He eyed his brother and sister in turn, shouldering visible despair and making no effort to hide it either. "Look for what's worth… in case this is the last time I see you two… I just gotta say it." His voice wavered. "I love you both. More than anyone else on this godforsaken planet. Enough to do some pretty screwed up shit. And I'm sorry. I am." His eyes were shining even while he tried to force an accepting smile. He raised his chin. His hands were both working with nervous, stressed energy—one at his side, the other clenching into the duffel bag strap. "So. Take care of each other. And be safe." It was easy to tell how much it killed him to say all this. His sad eyes lingered on Alex, drifted to her stomach area, then finally went to the angel to bid a heavy farewell in just one loaded, mournful word. "Cas."

No one said anything back to him, and he was even more hurt by that. So he patted the bannister with a hollow, torn up expression and began to climb the stairs heavily, resigned to his fate. Sam, Alex, and Cas watched him leave, and he didn't look back again—if he had, they would have seen an expression on his face like no other as he fought tooth and nail not to weep. When the door shut behind him, it sounded so final.

Both the twins reacted similarly: the composure they'd been holding until he exited crumbled away, leaving Sam wretched and Alex spiraling. "Sam I'm so sorry," she whispered in a harrowed croak, lost in her own personal hell of guilt. "I shouldn't have ever left, I shouldn't have lived apart from you—I knew something was wrong, I _knew_ it—!"

As stunned as Sam still was, as glazed in agony as his stare at nothing was, he shook his head no. "It's not your fault." He began to shake as his breathing got uneven and heavy—as he finally let himself react. "Why would he _do_ this? What was Ezekiel _doing_ all those times I can't remember?" Sam's face shuffled through a quick carousel of emotions: horror, resentment, fury. "God _dammit_ , Dean!" he abruptly exclaimed and lashed out at the closest thing he saw: a few still-open volumes resting on the table. With a yell, Sam swept them off in a rage. Papers fluttered errantly as he heaved in place, too angry to function, too pissed to even see straight. Muffled but still audible, the Impala could be heard roaring to life outside, announcing Dean's final exit. And Sam began to shake his head repeatedly, a cagey and wild look in his eyes. "I can't even wrap my mind around this right now—I… I gotta go," he suddenly declared, and grabbed his jacket from the chair it had been slung over, already heading for the stairs.

Already half in a panic, Alex was ready to pounce and had to restrain herself from latching onto him. "What? Go where?" Cas came to her side.

Sam stopped and he clearly didn't know. "Anywhere but here, I just gotta… I just gotta be somewhere else."

Shaking her head no, Alex begged him uselessly, too scared to see him walk out. "Sam _don't_." He was already decided, and the look he gave her said it all. _Please let me have this_. And Alex didn't like it… but she wasn't gonna demand he stay here for her sake. She wasn't gonna make him feel controlled yet again. She had to step back. So she swallowed painfully and nodded her conflicted acceptance, voice hovering above a bare whisper. "Be careful."

He nodded yes, turned to depart, then seemed to think of something and did an about-face, strode over, then pulled her into a tight hug. He kissed the top of her head hard, then gave her a serious look. "I'll be back." They would certainly have a lot to talk about. But for now, Sam just clearly needed to unpack his emotions—alone. And he headed out.

Cas stopped him just before he reached the bottom of the stairs. "Wait Sam." When Sam turned around, he made quite the face—because Cas had followed him and was very abruptly in his space, ripping Sam's shirt to the side without any explanation, drawing something on the hunter's chest just above his pec with a sharpie he'd produced from seemingly nowhere.

"What are you…?" Frozen and disconcerted, Sam eyed Cas strangely as the angel finished his work.

"Now the angel won't be able to re-possess you," Cas explained even as Sam peered down at the Enochian symbol inked onto his skin, opposite of the demon ward. "But I suggest you find a more permanent solution in the long run." The angel managed a grim, tight smile and squeezed Sam's arm in awkward tenderness.

Sam swallowed, shaken up. "Thanks Cas." And without anything else, he left.

Cas turned to watch Alex sink to her heels and cover her face with her hands the second after Sam shut the door behind himself. There, she finally cried freely, and Cas went to her, his heart breaking anew.

The Winchester family was in fragments… and nothing seemed repairable in that moment at all.

* * *

**Later  
** **Cas & Alex's Room**

It was early evening now on one of the longest and most anxiety-inducing days Alex had ever experienced. After Dean and Sam both left, Alex had realized she needed a moment to get her mind right too. So after Cas had wiped all her tears, she'd gone to the exercise room in the Bunker and beaten a punching bag until she was exhausted, checked her phone for texts from Sam (there were none), cried some more, then rallied and taken a shower. After checking again for messages from Sam, she fell asleep for a few hours thanks to her emotional fatigue. After waking she went and found Kevin, telling him that summoning Meg would have to wait until tomorrow because she was so out of her depth—then she returned to her room, unable to be around anyone or anything. Her mind was just spinning too much.

Cas kindly gave her space, checking in here and there between busying himself with who-knows-what, until he brought her a late dinner to their room. He announced himself by knocking on the door politely, and waited for her to invite him in before he opened the door and smiled at what he found. She wore her stretchy maternity leggings with an old AC/DC shirt, and Cas had caught her in a moment where she was sitting on the bed, shirt pulled up, petting her own little belly thoughtfully. The bigger it got, the more fascinated she was—and nervous. She was only about two and a half months along, but her size and symptoms were both more comparable to being four or five months progressed. Time was running down quickly in this supernatural pregnancy, and with it, the stakes were rising.

Alex gave Cas a tentative smile at his appearance. "I thought you'd be hungry by now," Cas offered as he shut the door and approached. Wearing Dean's jeans and flannel, she keenly missed seeing him in the trench coat.

"Thanks. Everyone okay?" Alex accepted the plate from her seat on the bed and eyeing the hunk of lasagna wistfully. She had no appetite, which was too bad because it looked absolutely beautiful—and smelled amazing too.

"If by everyone you mean Kevin, yes, he's fine." Cas sat beside her on the bed, gauging her mood somberly. "I took him some lasagna and he was very excited about it—and, well, he ate quite a lot more than I thought he would then fell fast asleep facedown on the table. The poor boy is worn out." Even as Alex wondered where the hell the old man had gotten to, Cas mentioned it offhandedly. "Bobby is in his RV." Which left one passed out prophet on the library table which just wouldn't do. Alex handed Cas the plate back and stood up with a series of groans like an old woman would make, wishing (and not for the first time that day either) that she could have a damn drink right about now. Cas's gently knowing tone stopped her mid-step. "You don't need to worry, I put Kevin into his bed."

Alex turned slowly, a smile growing despite it all. "How'd you know that's what I was thinking?"

A very soft, loving smile rested on his mouth and deep in his eyes. "A lucky guess," he teased, enjoying the fondness his words put on her face. Obviously it wasn't a lucky guess. He just really knew her by now—and vice versa. Cas stood up, putting the plate of food on the bedside table before he came and placed gentle hands on her. "Are you all right?" A question asked with the tender concern she knew so well. A question he'd been waiting to ask all day until she was ready to talk. As was regular now when he checked in with her, a gentle hand touched to the lower swell of her ever-expanding abdomen.

Alex's brief happy moment was dashed away as she thought about Dean's face when he found out about the pregnancy. She put her hand over Cas's, where underneath, their baby boy steadily grew. It stung so deeply. "I just don't understand how he could _do_ this, Cas."

Cas wasn't only sympathetic, he was distressed right along with her. "I don't either. But, well. I _have_ had some time to think since my temper got the best of me." That statement drew her curious attention. Cas was careful and contemplative. "Dean and I spent a lot of time in purgatory together… and I'll never understand him the way you do but… your oldest brother is full of fear, deep beneath everything else. Fear to lose control—fear to be alone. And I think that is exactly how he feels. Alone and powerless. Forced into this role of protector and defender." The ex-angel's empathetic heartsickness grew more pronounced. "He can't bear the thought of losing his family. And I understand that sentiment with every last atom of my being."

So did Alex, but that didn't answer her question of how the hell she could get past this. Cas was big enough to be willing to consider radical empathy despite how bad Dean had fucked up—which was inspirational and baffling at the same time. Alex hesitated, wondering how to be able to do the same. "So what, I should just… forgive him?" she asked in total seriousness, voice remaining quiet and lost. "Overlook what he did?" How? How could she _ever_? Had Cas thought of how _bad_ this could have been? "What if Sam had attacked you instead of me? You wouldn't be _alive_ right now, Cas."

Somber, Cas shook his head faintly. He didn't deny the unforgivable nature of what had transpired. "Let me be clear, I'm not suggesting overlooking anything, just… practicing forgiveness in time, I hope." A wearily affectionate, drawn look lingered on his face. "You three have been through too much to break apart now." He paused, voice wavering and losing volume. "And I love Dean too much to give up on him just yet."

Deeply stirred—and loving Cas impossibly deeper than before—Alex had to hug him, too overcome to reply for a minute. The thought of actually _really_ never seeing Dean again—of somehow never being able to forgive him—was soul-crushing and struck her as mildly absurd. Just not compatible with reality. As angry as she was, she also had to figure that her feelings would inevitably shift—this was Dean, after all. He was on a very short list of people who she didn't know how to be angry at forever.

Cas drew back, a hand on the side of her head as he searched her eyes, visibly wondering what she was thinking. And Alex knew the subject of Dean couldn't be solved anytime soon. But maybe something else could be. "Why would Ezekiel wanna kill me?" she asked, her quizzical, stumped frown growing because this was the other thing she'd been driving herself crazy over the past few hours. "What motive is there?" She had tossed around theories but the most plausible one was this: strange angel gets rid of Alex so he can keep Sam's body without someone stopping him. Or maybe today had just been the day he'd chosen to kill _everyone_ andhe'd just started with her.

Cas stopped her in her mental tracks with his very soft, knowing hesitant comment. "Alex… I fear he was trying to kill someone _else_." His eyes meaningfully dropped to her midsection.

A possibility that made Alex freeze in her tracks as her heart plummeted in shock. An impulsively protective, horrified hand pressed into her stomach. It struck her as naive now, but she hadn't considered that maybe someone was trying to murder her Nephilim son. "But he could have tried that day in the hospital with Sam and he didn't—" she protested, mentally working through the possibility out loud.

Conceding that she had a point, Cas arrived at a visible impasse. "In either case, we need to be more careful." He studied her apprehensively, his worries about her safety and the safety of their baby showing with full transparence. "I know you have plans to help Kevin locate his mother but—"

"I'm not changing my mind about that, Cas," Alex said, cutting him off firmly despite her reeling thoughts. "I'm not. I owe this to Kevin." She really meant that too. It bothered her that he'd been out there on his own like that with no one in his corner. She needed to make amends, and couldn't let anything stop her. Besides. She managed a ruefully playful look despite it all. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm kind of super-powered right now, so… it's kind of the most ideal time to go poking around in Crowley's lairs if you ask me."

Cas didn't argue with her—he recognized that she was set on this and there would be no changing her mind. So he reluctantly accepted with a rueful sigh and then gave her a careworn smile. "Then I will be right at your side."

Words that touched Alex and made her thankful. What would she do without him? Exchanging mutually torn-up smiles about the painful and worrisome way things were, the couple embraced lingeringly, holding each other through their uneasiness. Alex mulled over her new grasp of reality: a baby everyone was constantly going to want to kill or take because he wasn't human. The very real threat of dying in birth and leaving her son motherless. A husband who belonged on the battlefield and was stuck playing house with her instead. A brother who could no longer be trusted—and a twin who had just been broken all over again.

It made quiet tears come. "I know Dean did what he did to save Sam. I get it, I mean I sold my soul for the guy—" There was a long, tense pause. Cas's hand comfortingly held the back of her head, thumb tracing a soothing pattern across her hair. "I just wish so bad he'd been honest with us. I wish so bad he hadn't made that decision by himself." Alex shook her head and pulled back enough to look Cas in the eyes with her teary ones. "He's ruined everything, Cas. I just don't understand him anymore."

Cas regarded her sadly and not for the first time that day, gently swept tears from under her eyes with fingertips. "In time, once everything's had a chance to settle in… you'll get a new chance. To understand him. If you want to, that is." He touched her chin, coaxing her to lift it. Her eyes raised to meet his. "I know how much you love Dean. And how much he loves _you_. Both of you." Cas hesitated, then very gently added on: "I think it's important to remember this right now. None of us are perfect in the least. We've all done immensely immoral things."

Honestly, that was exactly what she'd needed to hear. A callout that really made her put some things into perspective. And she eased off a little despite herself. "You're right."

Maybe it _wasn't_ as over as it felt. Dean wasn't some evil mastermind trying to fuck people over. He was only human and Cas was right… he put himself into the position of 'alone' sometimes to save others the pain of having to be responsible. Alex thought back to being in that hospital with Sam in a braindead coma he wasn't going to recover from. She would probably have done just about anything to see him live too when it had come down to the wire. No, she didn't think she would have ever tricked him non-consensually. And no, she didn't think she would live a lie for two months afterward either. But she had no way of knowing what she would have done, at the end of the day. She hadn't been in that position. Dean had been. And without thinking about it, empathy began to build. Her oldest brother must be feeling so guilty and alone right now—and her heart truly did go out to him by instinct.

As she thought of him, her thoughts yet again circled back to the friend she hadn't physically seen in almost two years now. A friend Alex would very much like to see again alive and well. Dean had reported that she was in a coma—and Alex wondered what would happen if she died again so soon after being saved. How far off the ledge her brother might fall should this occur. "Do you think Jamie'll be okay?" she asked, worried all over again.

Another instance of heaviness descended, making Cas's shoulders sag. "If I were an angel, she would be." Not for the first time, Cas's mixed feelings about losing his Grace was clear. "Otherwise… I'm not sure." He all but hung his head, blaming himself. "This is the worst time to have lost my abilities." It was Alex's turn to comfort, her hands reaching up to cup his face and her head shaking no _. Don't guilt trip yourself. Please_. Cas remained sad. "While I was talking to Kevin, I shared with him the dire straits of our situation. I hope that's all right." He reached into his pocket as Alex's hands drifted away from his face. "And he showed me this." Cas showed her a photocopy of old parchment that was in a different language. It was illustrated, showing a vaguely humanoid figure extracting something magical and glowing from another humanoid figure. "It seems to indicate I can take Grace from another angel and have my powers restored." Alex honed in on the depiction of the being who the glowing mass was being stolen from: their eyes were crossed out. "But I'd have to commit murder."

Just like he'd theorized to her a couple times before. Momentarily too astonished to respond, Alex considered the clear two options facing them. "So you kill some angel and take their Grace… or I die giving birth."

Cas had already made the decision of who would live: his son. "A life for a life," he commented joylessly.

"Well… in that case." Alex had to concede it might actually not be that difficult. "Maybe we can find a piece of shit angel who deserves to die. Seems like there's a lot of those around these days." At the sage smile on Cas's face, Alex looked at him expectantly. "What?"

"I had the same thought," he shared. "Just… with different words." The expectant parents shared a bittersweet smile through their misgivings and worries. "So now we have a clear direction, at the very least."

Alex opened her mouth to reply then didn't—instead she suddenly gasped loudly as both hands smacked to her stomach, eyes flying downward.

"What is it?" Cas asked intensely, immediately assuming the worst.

She was sure she looked insane—but what had just happened made a huge, dazzled grin stretch across her face. "I just felt a kick!" She grabbed one of his hands, smashing it against her stomach in dazed anticipation—would he do it again? She'd felt the 'flutters' the pregnancy books talked about, but this was the first real, sudden, definite kick. Another wondrous grin broke across her face as there was another mighty little bop in her womb. "There! You feel that?" Their gazes met and from the stunned, poignant look on Cas's face, he indeed had felt it. For a second, they two of them kept their hands pressed in place and felt the little series of buoyant kicks. A first 'hello' from this little person who was coming into the world soon. Their eyes mutually filled with amazed tears. "Holy shit," Alex whispered through a dazed grin and happy, proud laugh as the kicks continued. "He's totally kicking my ass!"

Impulsively, even as their hands stayed against the jumping skin, Cas kissed her—a wordless declaration of ecstatic joy. When they came apart, he let their foreheads rest together. "He's so strong," Cas marveled, sounding choked up. "Our _son_." Alex recognized that disbelieving amazement in his voice, because she felt it too: Humbled and awestruck how the love between them had created new life. Reverent of this sacred thing they'd somehow been allowed to experience. "I'll do whatever I can to make this world safe for him," Cas vowed in a whisper, holding her close with growing intensity. "And for you."

Alex shook her head, pulling him closer by the back of his neck, nose brushing his. "For all of us," she replied—her small act of faith in believing they could all make it somehow—not just her and Cas, but _everyone_ she held dear. Cas nodded his agreement and kissed her again, commemorating this incomparable moment to his memory forever.

* * *

**Later That Night  
** **Topeka, Kansas**

When Sam left the Bunker, he'd had zero game plan except get in his current vehicle—a '93 Land Cruiser—and drive until he could think straight again. He should have predicted he'd take the familiar twenty minute journey from Lawrence to Topeka by default. After all, he'd been driving out there a lot for the past couple months to see a certain someone. A certain someone who he was now convinced should be nowhere near him ever again.

Of all the questionable and dangerous things Dean had ever done… this had to be the most exceptional. The most heartbreaking. The most unforgivable. Some _angel_ he'd unknowingly invited in thanks to Dean's interference had tried to _use Sam to kill his sister_ —and unborn nephew right along with her. What _else_ had Sam done under the unknowing command of this strange angel? What had happened during all those memory gaps? How many times had Ezekiel taken over in secret when Sam was asleep? Sam despaired relentlessly as he thought about what Dean allowed to happen. The feeling of being violated and wronged was so pervasive that it turned the middle Winchester's stomach and made his blood run cold.

It resounded over and over again in the deepest parts of himself: no matter how hard he tried, all Sam ever did was endanger the people he loved. When had he ever added something _good_ to someone's life? His entire history was just one long list of failure after failure. He was the one who abandoned the family. Then the one who got Dean put six feet under by way of a soul deal. Then it had been the demon blood addiction. Then Lucifer's vessel, then soulless, then insane to the point that his sister had to sell her soul to save his life. Now some angel's unwilling puppet.

 _All I ever do is put people in harm's way_.

Like Molly. It was doomed to strike like it always did: The curse of being close to Sam Winchester. After today, he only had one conviction he kept coming back to: He should never speak to her ever again. He needed to end it.

Sam spent the afternoon doing the ill-advised: parking his car in walking distance of Molly's apartment then going to a nearby bar to drown his sorrows and procrastinate the inevitable. After an hour or so, he went to a neighboring tattoo parlor to get the anti-angel possession tattoo made permanent, then slunk back to the bar as night fell, trying to avoid going where he eventually ended up: the hallway of Molly's apartment building, pacing a small back-and-forth outside of her door as he fought with himself over what to do. The idea of ghosting her outright wasn't okay with him. But neither was the idea of breaking up with her face to face.

Her building was grad student housing mixed with fixed-income elderly residents—not the most luxury of places. The walls and doors were thin, meaning Sam could hear some sort of German TV show or newscast faintly from inside her apartment. Then he began to hear Molly talking to her cat sweetly. He stopped pacing when he heard her voice, taking a moment to just listen to her being happy one last time before he destroyed everything. He stood in front of the door and touched two ginger hands to either side of the doorframe, wishing he could be part of what was happening in the familiar little apartment behind the closed door.

She'd be winding down now, since it was nearing ten at night. Maybe studying or just relaxing—and he could picture her lounging on the couch, content and at peace with Neville the cat curled up in her arms. Molly was so normal. So pure hearted. There was life in her eyes and bright possibility in her future. But not if Sam stuck around. His eyes fell shut as he remembered meeting this intelligent, goofy, striking, sweet-hearted girl in Vegas—the kind of girl he'd always liked: kind, empathetic, nerdy, humble, open-minded. The more he got to know her, the more he liked her, the more in sync their lighthearted, puppy-love dynamic had grown. Sam could have laughed at himself for being so pathetic and thinking he could ever belong in the same world she did: of caring about the environment and volunteering at animal sanctuaries and putting puzzles together for fun and taking chess _way too seriously._

He didn't belong to the life she did. He never would. And he hated himself for pretending he could. Because of how much he knew this was gonna hurt her. Sam belonged to the dark promise of conflict and chaos. To a life beyond his grasp. To a family seemingly doomed to fail. And it was a lonely, terrifying place to be. Opening his eyes back up, Sam mourned for what was about to happen here. And regretted never opening up fully to Molly about who he was and what he'd done out of fear she'd reject him. Now he would wonder forever if she would have accepted him for him.

He wanted to be who he was when Molly was around: happy, sillier, carefree in a way he didn't know how to feel otherwise. Every time she grinned at him with eyes going into sparkling half-moons and dimples cutting her rosy cheeks—every time she quietly snuggled into him shyly, trust growing—every time she challenged a perspective he held, or spouted off an intellectual factoid, or reminded him of the goodhearted nature so many people really did have… it had healed a broken part of him.

Now he was about to willfully break himself all over again.

_I'm saving her._

_And I'll never let myself care about anyone ever again after this._

So with a heavy heart he straightened up, steeled his nerves, drew a deep breath, then looked at the door grimly and knocked.

The cat-talk stopped. The volume of whatever she was watching or listening to lowered. And a few seconds later, he heard her peek through the peephole. Then the door swung open. Sam couldn't help it. Despite his intentions to be as somber and grave as he felt… he smiled at the endearing sight of Molly, who he'd probably find adorable in any condition. A very pleasantly surprised gaping grin was on her fresh face, and she wore her thick-rimmed reading glasses. Tall fuzzy socks were yanked almost up to her knees and an oversized t-shirt—one of his, actually—hung over her slender frame over some top of some polka dot pajama shorts. Her long blonde hair was down and wavy in an effortlessly beautiful mass. She looked like what she was: sweet, lovable, genuine. And Sam's little smile began to fall as soon as it rose because of what he was about to do to her.

"Sam! I didn't know you were coming over!" she greeted in semi-flustered delight, then faltered. Her face fell in sync with his as a concerned frown quickly grew—she took in his slightly disheveled appearance and visibly registered something had happened. "What's wrong?" she asked, her tone so immediately worried.

Sam swallowed. It felt like there wasn't a lot of air. He had to know one thing before he did what he'd come to do. "Were… were there ever any times I didn't seem like myself around you?" he asked with bated breath.

Molly blinked twice at the very unexpected question. "I don't…" she began, then stopped mid thought, studying his face and seeming to decide that voicing her confusion wasn't important. That whatever had him so worried came first. "No, not that I can think of. Is… is this about your memory gaps?"

Her insight both burst and broke his heart. "Yeah," he said, almost near tears as he yet again came face to face with what Dean had done to him. "Yeah it is." The place where he'd just been tattooed seared him painfully like a blistering sunburn in reminder. No wonder he'd been struggling with unexplained fatigue, memory gaps, and physical weakness.

Molly was definitely aware something was very wrong—she may have been a shy person when you first met her, but she was astute as fuck, and Sam could see the wheels turning as she took in his drunk-ish state, his visible distress. She indicated her apartment questioningly as her own anxiety spiked. "Do you need to come inside…? Is something going on?"

He would like nothing better, but he couldn't allow himself that option. He had already promised himself he would never step foot inside her home ever again. But that didn't mean that this didn't _hurt_ like a motherfucker. "Look, Molly—" he started thickly. He hadn't fully thought through what to say or how to break the news. And as much as he needed to do it, he resisted. A teary-eyed, emotionally-compromised smile wavered on his unsteady lips as he thought of their snatched little morsels of time spent together. He felt guilty for allowing them, but so thankful at the same time. "The past couple months have been… so great," he said earnestly, his choking throat making his voice strained. " _You're_ so great."

The look on her face killed him. She clearly sensed where this was going. "Sam… you're freaking me out," she said with a nervous, scared smile that couldn't hold up underneath the mounting anxiety.

Sam was cast into moral dilemma of wanting to be selfish and also wanting to do the right thing. If he cared about her like he knew he did… and 'care' was putting it really, really mildly… he _had_ to protect her. He knew he did. So he forced himself onward, with that one goal in mind: Molly living a long, happy, safe life. His eyes were beginning to ache as tears came in earnest now. "You are too _good_ for me to let the world I live in to destroy you," he declared tremblingly, all his stored up emotions impossible to dilute. "And believe me, it _will._ " He was severe in the quietest of ways as he vowed it out loud so that he could never take it back: "And I won't let that happen to you, no matter how selfish I may wanna be. No matter how much I…" he stopped himself and swallowed hard. "Because selfish _destroys_ people." He blinked and a tear ran down his cheek. "And I'm not doing that to you. I'm sorry I was stupid enough to put you through this at all." He tore this last part out of himself kicking and screaming: "I came here to tell you… goodbye."

Betrayed hurt grew. Molly's shocked eyes were shining just like his were. "Are you… breaking up with me?" she asked in a wounded whisper.

The hurt in her voice broke his fucking heart. "I'm sorry," he managed, and he abruptly couldn't deal with the consequences of his actions. He didn't have the emotional depth after today. The alcohol was making him stupid, his emotions were too haywire, his physical health being off was clouding his ability to reason. So he turned and tried to escape, needing to have this moment over with, needing to get away from where he could see the pain he'd caused her. The sooner he left, the sooner she could get on with her life.

"Sam no!" Her aghast voice stopped him in his tracks a few steps down the hall. "You're just gonna tell me that and leave?" He turned slowly to see her hovering in the middle of the hall—she'd followed him by a step or two. Gutted, her eyes begged him. "Why? What did I do?" she asked hoarsely, no hint of anger there. Only absolute hurt. "I don't understand…"

He couldn't bear to let her blame herself even for a second. "It's not you," Sam said vehemently, realizing even as he said it what a cliché he was living. "It's _me_. I'm no good." And to look at her now—her pretty features twisted in disbelief and betrayal, her tears… Sam truly despised himself. "God dammit, I wish I could explain," he admitted, cut to his soul itself with the pain of knowing he had to walk alone—and that the best thing he could do for this girl was rip himself away. He remembered like he so often did Jess burning on the ceiling above him as he screamed helplessly. He would _never_ forgive himself if something like that happened to the woman staring at him through tears right now—and today was a final confirmation that he would never— _fucking_ —be— _normal_. Not even close. "Just believe me when I say you're safer if you forget you ever knew me."

The turbulent bewilderment on her face grew even more pronounced. "Forget I ever kn—?" she began in a flabbergasted, pale breath before her face threatened to crumple completely. "Sam, you brought up meeting my _parents_ last time we were together!" she choked in disbelief, her delicate eyebrows knitting in toward each other hard as reddened eyes spilled tears. Yes, he had, it had just popped out in response to something casually—and he was so, _so_ sorry. "Now you're just… what, never gonna talk to me again?" She shook her head in a daze, resisting where this was going, trying to deny it away. Sam let his eyes tell her that he just didn't have anything left to give. That this really was over. And Molly tried so hard to understand what she had no clue about. "What happened? I thought everything was…" she trailed off, wounded understanding settling in. Her voice became next to a whisper as any remaining light on her face died out. "I guess it wasn't."

Sam wasn't sure if he had ever felt worse than he did today. "You don't deserve this," His voice lost all strength. "And I gotta go." It was the most asshole thing he'd ever done probably, but if it meant she would hate him and stay away… then it was exactly the right thing to do. But he couldn't stop himself from offering an apology from the bottom of his annihilated heart one more time. "I'm so _sorry_." And he turned his back on her and resumed his exit.

Her voice stopped him again. And it wasn't to throw an insult, make a jab, or decry him. It was a tearful request made from a place of concern. Of love, even. "Sam, you've been drinking, please don't drive."

He stopped in his steps, back still turned to her, face valiantly struggling. He shut his eyes hard. He didn't want to leave it this way—both of them in tears as the dream they had foolishly dreamed shattered apart. But there was no alternative in Sam's mind. It was either heartbreak now or Molly dead sometime in the future because of him. He chose heartbreak now. But that didn't make it any easier. And he opened his eyes up then left her with a reply to her anguished request not to drive drunk. "I won't, Molls." The nickname slipped out unintentionally on the tail end of that whisper. A final, tender reminder that she was so special. That the time they'd had together would always be so precious in his memories. And without turning around again, Sam left, each step killing him even as he told himself this was what he had to do. This would _always_ be what he had to do.

But oh, how he would mourn the could-have-been as he retraced his steps a couple blocks, climbed into the Land Cruiser and kept his promise—huddling down into the seat of the parked car to sleep his buzz off.

* * *

**Meanwhile  
** **Tebriz, Iran**

In the ruins of the Garden of Eden where angels first came into the world, a pale, sooty man who appeared dead suddenly jolted upright from the rocky rubble, gasping for air so deeply, one might have thought he had no air in his lungs at all. Wild blue eyes flickered over the expanse of sky above him in disoriented disbelief and he had to squint against the brightness with eyes that had not seen sunlight in hundreds of years…

The man stood slowly in a dreamlike state, his senses briefly overwhelmed. His looked at his hands in tentative wonder, flexing and stretching the digits.

Had he truly escaped?

About two months ago in earth time—or eighty _years_ in Hell—there had been a surge of magic from Heaven so powerful that it had reached all the way down into Hell. Even as the angels were all cast out of Heaven, the spell shook Hades and left the Cage cracked. It was a mere hairline fracture, barely a scratch… but it had been enough. By clawing at it without stopping in the body he'd killed Michael for decades ago within the pit… the archangel now standing under the sun had finally secured his freedom and escaped the imprisonment of Hell.

In the vessel of Adam Milligan, Lucifer breathed in the air of earth once again, a small and wicked smile growing. Yes, he was weakened and in the wrong vessel—the apocalypse had been derailed previously—but those things could be corrected. _At last,_ the ultimate story would continue onward. At last, this world would be his.

With a renewed sense of purpose, Lucifer's dark eyes full of flames searched the horizon triumphantly. His faith was renewed: _Nothing_ in creation could stop destiny. Not angels, not demons, not God… and especially not the Winchester family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author's Notes:**
> 
> **IMPORTANT!** The chapters after this one are currently in summary form as placeholders. I am writing/completing them at present. Chapter titles listed in the dropdown menus inside of ellipses (like this) indicate they are still summaries, not yet full chapters.
> 
> Please note Chapters 147 & 148, the finale, are fully written and complete.
> 
> Backstory: In 2015 at Chapter 131, I stopped writing the story for four years due to personal reasons. In 2019, I came back and wrote Chapters 132 & 133, then posted summaries of the remaining chapters as well as the completed finale. It is now 2021 and I'm writing the remaining chapters because a story as long and loved as this one deserves to be completed the way I originally envisioned.
> 
> Thank you for the support, please leave a review!


	141. (And The Cradle Will Rock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **THIS IS A PLACEHOLDER SUMMARY FOR A CHAPTER THAT IS BEING WRITTEN**

Song Remains the Same

Chapter 141 / And The Cradle Will Rock

"Hell is empty and all the devils are here."  
― William Shakespeare

The chapter begins with Alex reflecting that this is the actual year of 2014—the year of the future she and Dean were shown by Zachariah in what feels like a lifetime ago. Disturbingly, some details are beginning to look the same: Castiel is human—just like in that version of 2014; she's expecting—just like in that version of 2014; and the Winchesters are divided as a family—only, Dean is the one who is not with them instead of Sam leaving. This bothers her for a moment, and she wonders if she should worry about the parallels forming. Then, she decides she's overthinking it and brushes it aside. Lucifer was part of that future, and he's locked into Hell forever now. She has other things to worry about.

Castiel is placing angel warding and trapping sigils everywhere all over the bunker as Alex and Sam both fuss over each other after the chaos surrounding his possession, the attack and Dean's exit—each of them trying to make sure the other is okay; Sam blaming himself for endangering Alex and not knowing he was possessed, and Alex feeling like if she hadn't left Sam's side in the hospital when "Ezekiel" showed up, maybe she could have prevented what happened to him. They have an intense conversation about what to do, if anything at all, after Dean has gone and they've had a chance to process a bit. For now, they decide to leave Dean alone—they are disappointed and angry at his actions, with Sam feeling violated about the trick, and Alex feeling heartbroken and betrayed at Dean's lies and manipulation. Sam's health is not great. He is much more tired than usual, and physically weakened to a great degree, sleeping upwards of fifteen hours a day.

Castiel has his own input: number one he doesn't believe that the angel who possessed Sam is actually Ezekiel, because he knew Ezekiel (Ezekiel was mentioned in chapters 68, 69, and 71) and fought with him against Raphael, and this doesn't sound in-character at all. This troubles him—what angel would lie about their identity to Dean Winchester of all people? He also worries that whatever angel it was might return to try and finish the job of killing Alex because they don't currently know why the angel inside of Sam tried to kill her. Sam can't remember being possessed at the time either. Cas says he has decided that he has no choice but to be more proactive now, meaning, he is going to become angelic again by questionable means to protect his family. Alex supports him in this even though she's of course anxious about his safety and understands that this will likely separate them. She and Sam team up with him that night to have his back when he lures an angel in a nearby town then steals its Grace to power himself back up. Cas is regretful because the angel dies, but he knows it's a necessary evil: as long as Metatron and his followers are out there, as long as these angels are here on earth, Alex is in danger and so is their baby. He heals Sam at once when he's an angel again, raises the vessel he just killed back to its human life, then sets his sights on his mission.

Cas says that Alex and Sam need to go back to the Bunker where it's safe—and says that he can't come in anymore since it's warded unless they break the wards for him. He says he needs to go find allies, believing there must be a few out there who aren't against him. He also wants to find out who possessed Sam, and try to find a way to defeat Metatron or at the very least reverse the spell in Heaven. Alex can't come with him at this point, and she understands even if she doesn't love it. He's going to endanger himself and be far away from her, but she agrees to it out of necessity. Sam asks if he should go with Cas, and he's completely willing—but Cas says this is something he has to do alone. Cas and Alex have an emotional farewell, promising to be careful and see each other again soon. He says to take care of herself, and their little one, then leaves.

Meanwhile, while Dean waits at Jamie's side in the hospital, hoping and praying she wakes up and survives even though it's not looking hopeful. This is where Crowley comes to him—he's had an encounter with Abaddon, who is posing a serious threat to his throne as King by turning his loyals to her side. Crowley tells Dean about the First Blade, and how it's the only thing that can kill Abaddon, and that he has a lead on how to find it. Dean is sold on the idea of ganking then says yes, hoping that maybe he can redeem himself to his family this way, and of course keep Jamie safe. They team up, despite Dean's disbelief at himself for being allied to a demon of all things. When they find Cain, Dean realizes that he and Cain have a common thread: Abaddon killed and took Cain's lover away from him, and Abaddon nearly did that to Dean. Cain and Dean have an understanding in that way, and even though at first Cain is mistrustful and cynical, he ends up giving Dean the Mark after a day. He says the mark will come with some side effects. Dean doesn't care, and will do whatever it takes to kill Abaddon. The Mark burns itself from Cain's arm to Dean's, a raised angry red scar. Cain then tells them how he threw the blade into the deepest part of the ocean, and warns that the blade is a monster all in itself. Crowley has to go find it, and takes Dean back to the hospital to be with Jamie in the meantime. While waiting there, Dean finds that the Mark is already starting to make him more angry, more dark inside.

Meanwhile, Cas meets with Bartholomew, one of the major angel faction leaders who says he wants to destroy Metatron and then restore Heaven to its natural order. He is doing so through violent, damaging means however, and attempts to pressure Castiel into being on his side. Castiel ends up killing him in self defense.

As this happens, Alex, Sam, and Kevin have been working on finding Linda. They've checked a couple leads without result, and check another in Crowley's old storage lockers Meg tells them about. The three of them go check out the storage lockers, and sure enough, Mrs. Tran has been held captive there—not dead as it had been thought. Kevin/his mom have a tearful reunion after they rescue her from a couple of demon captors. Mrs. Tran is brought back to the Bunker since it will be safest in the meantime, and this also means she can be close to her son. She and Alex are meeting for the first time, but she does say her son has spoken of Alex highly—and she notices Alex's pregnancy and offers Alex motherly advice. Alex spends hours asking Linda about pregnancy, childbirth, and raising a child… much to Kevin's chagrin (embarrassing stories about himself as a baby are shared).

Back at the hospital, Cas comes to see Dean and Jamie—he is wearing his trench coat again, and has empathy for his friend Dean, even if he made the wrong choices. Cas has made the wrong choices, too. Dean asks how it's going, and Cas says the angels who were led by Bartholomew asked Cas to lead them, but he said he couldn't. Not after the war against Raphael. Cas notices that Dean seems a little different, but Dean brushes off his question about it. Cas then implores Dean to give his siblings time, and then try to reconnect, saying how he knows they all love each other so much. Dean says loving each other isn't the problem, it's the fact that they all know death doesn't have to be the end and that they don't need to play by the regular rules—he says that's what makes it all such a mess. Cas gives a sad smile, then touches Jamie's head with two fingers… and disappears.

Dean watches as Jamie awakens, healed by the angel's touch, and they have a tearful reunion, hugging each other as tight as possible. Dean almost immediately asks her if there is a baby, and tells her that she needs to tell him the truth, because of the threats that Abaddon made. Jamie is immediately horrified to learn this new detail, and can't remember being possessed—Dean gives her a brief summary of what's happened and then Jamie admits that yes, there is a baby girl. Their baby girl. Her name is Rose. Dean's world is forever changed, and as awful as everything is, for a moment, his heart is nothing but light and love. But, Jamie looks terrified and scared. Dean urgently asks to know everything about Rose. Jamie quickly explains that she had the baby about a year ago while Dean was in Purgatory, and knowing that she wouldn't live much longer plus believing that her way of life would only harm a child, she gave the child up for adoption to a nice "boring" family who lives in the suburbs of New Hampshire. She says she never even held the baby—she declined to, because she knew if she did, she'd never be able to let go. Dean listens, digests, then says she did the right thing with great sadness… but this means that Abaddon is going to be after Rose, and they need to go find her, now. Jamie agrees, and despite being mentally/emotionally disturbed from her time in Hell as well as disoriented, they leave the hospital together immediately.

Somewhere else unknown, we see a weakened but quickly strengthening Lucifer who has captured an angel named Hannah. He is torturing her for information on the current situation with angels on earth, Metatron, and Heaven being locked up. He is both surprised and irritated at what he learns of Metatron's insolence, viewing the Scribe's actions as meddlesome and not his place—something that must be fixed, however, will take some work. Lucifer arrives at the opinion that Heaven is sorely lacking the old order, which he can provide as the only remaining Archangel. Michael was killed by Lucifer inside of Hell between escaping the Cage and making it to Earth.

Lucifer will, of course, need his true vessel of Sam Winchester eventually. His vessel of Adam Milligan requires him to drink quite a lot of demon's blood, but at least there is no resistance from the soul inside: He gained ownership of the vessel inside of the cage easily long ago—and Adam is a broken, tormented, shattered soul inside this body, begging for the mercy of nonexistence.

Even though Metatron has put his hand into matters where it never belonged and created quite the mess of Heaven and earth, Lucifer does see the opportunity in being able to wipe out weakened opposing angels here on earth. So he kills Hannah, and summons old demons who were loyal to him and begins to seek out angels who were loyal to him, too—but in a very covert way. He doesn't want his presence known until the time of his choosing.

Lastly, Gadreel has acquired his original vessel, and returned to Metatron with the bad news he failed to kill Alex and can no longer access the Bunker. Metatron isn't thrilled, but says Alex will eventually put herself in the position to get killed—and that Metatron instead wants Gadreel to kill this next name. He presses a piece of paper into Gadreel's hand. The name on it: Dean Winchester.


	142. (Every Rose Has Its Thorn)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **THIS IS A PLACEHOLDER SUMMARY FOR A CHAPTER THAT IS BEING WRITTEN**

" _No other love in the world is like the love of a father has for his little girl."  
_– Unknown

* * *

A couple days after leaving the hospital, Dean and Jamie have tracked down baby Rose's adoptive parents and home. But it's not good.

The hunter and the witch are standing together in front of a burned house that's been roped off and still smouldering, having burnt perhaps less than 12 hours ago. Dean, sick in his heart, feels like he's seeing his house after the nursery fire all over again. Was she in there? Did she die? No one escaped the fire according to authorities, and detectives on the scene say they've already found the remains of two adults in the fire, and know a child lived there too according to neighbors. While they haven't found her remains, they say she most likely died, too. If Rose was in there, she is dead now—and if she wasn't in there, her fate might be much worse.

Jamie takes it even harder than Dean does—this is the baby she carried and birthed after all—and Dean comforts her the best he can. His sadness is giving way to an intense, all-consuming need to have revenge as he looks into the rubble. It feels like his veins are burning from the inside out from bloodlust.

As they two of them attempt to leave the scene, they are approached by two "police" who end up being demons. Dean kills both in a fit of rage—he's being quickly corrupted by the Mark, angry in a focused, bloodthirsty way that Jamie is startled by then afraid of—Dean kills the first demon outright, but then the second one in a slower, cruel, twisted way as he demands to know where the baby is. The demon says "dead" which only makes Dean even angrier—he stabs the demon in both eyes, slits its throat, then stabs it multiple times. Jamie has to shake Dean out of his trance, and when he realizes what he's done, how he's covered in blood and has killed with violent excess, he realizes Cain was correct about the Marks effects to a level Dean never expected. He is a little afraid, too.

It's at this point that Dean tells Jamie the truth about the Mark and his quest for the First Blade. She is immediately afraid for him and unsure of the path, and he becomes irrationally angry at her for being afraid, then yells at her for lying to him, for letting this happen, for giving their child away, for getting pregnant in the first place… words Dean says that are borne out of the delirium the Mark is causing. His insanely hurtful words are salt in the wound and Jamie loses her temper, punching him in the face to make him stop… and Dean hits back hard in his blind anger—knocking her down with a busted, bleeding lip—another action fueled entirely by the Mark.

They stare at each other, and Dean realizes what he just did, he's horrified, shocked, and rushes to where she's fallen down, begging her to forgive him, asking if she's hurt, saying he's sorry, he didn't know how it happened, he can barely keep his thoughts straight, that it's the Mark, he would never do that to her.

Jamie is hurt both emotionally and physically, devastated to have awoken out of her torturous stay in Hell to find out she was possessed by a Knight of Hell, her daughter is either dead or kidnapped by demons, and now her boyfriend has lost his mind, gone down a dark path, and has put his hands on her. She can hardly keep her emotions together and stands up, pushes him away, and barely keeping from crying says she's had enough, even as he follows after her, panicked, trying to undo what just happened. Then his phone rings, stopping them both when he tells her wait—it's Crowley.

Over speaker phone, the King of Hell tells Dean he's found and hidden the Blade for him to go get, then gives him the location. Then he hangs up.

Jamie is mindblown in the worst ways that he's working with Crowley, and asks Dean in a harsh tone what the hell has happened to him, what the hell is _wrong_ with him. He is nearly at the point of tears now, and says he doesn't know—he's just trying to do the right thing and it's feel more and more impossible. This softens her a bit. Dean hasn't told Jamie that he's at such bad odds with his family, and he hasn't told her about letting Sam be possessed, so she's in the dark about a lot of things, but it's still clear that he's not himself. However flabbergasted Jamie is and fearful of Dean currently, there is no choice, and she realizes she can't walk away from this until she knows one way or another if Rose is alive. And despite all, she does love him very much. So, she goes with Dean, but stays on guard and mostly quiet. Dean stays quiet too, for fear of setting himself off.

They go where Crowley said to and dig up a body that the demon hid the Blade inside of, and once they have the weapon, they share a brief moment of grief and bonding beside the dead body, wishing for the "simpler" times, confessing how close to breaking they both feel. Dean cries a little about hurting Jamie, and he touches her lip, heartbroken at himself. He tells her that despite everything, how screwed up he is and how fucked up everything is, he knows he loves her, and she needs to know that—the first time he told her he loved her, she'd been possessed. So this is in effect the first time he had told her. Jamie is caught off guard by the words, and goes into a bit of shock and freezes, unable to say it back.

That's when Abaddon calls them—her smirk is audible over the phone. "I have a little something that I think belongs to you, sweetie." They can hear a baby begin to cry, and Abaddon lays it on thick: "She has your eyes, Dean." Dean screams at the demon not to hurt her, Abaddon laughs, gives out her location, and hangs up.

They both know it's a trap, but neither cares. They rush to the hotel that Abaddon has named, with no real plan in mind—just to stay sharp and have each other's backs. To their surprise, Crowley is in the suite they were told to go to, only he's seems to be somehow pinned to a couch, and trying to subtly warn Dean away with odd eye movements and head tilts—Abaddon has trapped him, apparently. There is no sign of Rose. Right as Dean goes to ask what's happening, Abaddon comes in, using her telekinetic powers to pin Jamie and Dean to a wall.

Jamie screams at her, asking where her child is. Abaddon smiles patronizingly, asks, "what, the one who died in the fire?" and for a moment it seems that maybe the baby _did_ die in the fire… then Abaddon waves a hand, and a set of doors open to show the bedroom part of the suite, where a blonde-haired, green-eyed baby just about a year old is in a portable playpen, pulling up to stand at the edge, staring with wide eyes—she has just enough hair to have two small sprig-like pigtails put in. She is the picture of innocence and vulnerability. Abaddon continues from her last sentence. "Just kidding. I'll kill her another way."

The sight of Rose paired with Abaddon's statement causes both of her parents to react emotionally—Jamie squirming and screaming against the demonic hold on her, and Dean flying into a blind rage. The blade, which was knocked out of his hand and picked up by Abaddon, flies into his waiting palm. Dean charges forward, immune to Abaddon's powers despite how hard the Knight tries to pin him back to the wall, and he kills her with a brutal, final stab into her torso. White light shoots out of her mouth and eyes, she falls down dead, but Dean continues to stab her dead body repeatedly, losing his mind, splattering himself with her blood, lost in the spell the Mark has cast over him. The sound of his baby crying causes him to stop and look up.

Jamie has run to her daughter and is holding her protectively, looking at Dean in what seems like fear. Dean drops the blade, and the bloodlust spell is broken for the moment. He stands slowly and in a trance, he goes to them, holding his hands out to say it's okay—he's okay—the moment is over. Then, father and daughter really look at each other for the first time. Rose is whimpering, but curious—she has hazel eyes the color of his, and a sweet little face, fine blonde hair. Dean touches her face and takes her in, overcome with emotion he breaks down, crying from joy, hugging Jamie and Rose at the same time. Jamie clutches to him and weeps. Dean realizes this is his family now too, and a fierce, warm feeling in his heart tells him everything is going to be okay. He kisses their heads in turn, and as awful as he felt 24 hours ago, he's on a cloud now. He resolves to take care of them—give them the best life possible—always keep them safe, always do his best.

They get settled and leave, but once they're at the car, Dean sighs in aggravation and says he really does need to go let Crowley out or kill him, he'll decide which one when he gets up there. Jamie is exhausted, dirty, and Rose will need supplies—Jamie says to be quick please. Dean says in a joking way, "what, you think I'd leave my girls waiting?" There's so much to unpack, figure out, and set up emotionally, but Dean feels excited about life once again, hopeful. He can barely tear himself away from them, but does so, of the mind to be in and out quickly.

He goes back upstairs, digs the bullet out of Crowley with a knife tip thus freeing him, and then says they need to talk. He doesn't get another word out—Gadreel appears in his new vessel, and without a word, smites Dean, totally taking him off guard… then Crowley ducks out, narrowly avoiding death too. With Dean dead on the ground, Gadreel spots and then picks up and contemplates the First Blade, then drops it, leaving just as quickly as he came. Metatron will be pleased.

Dean's body lays there in the silence. Crowley reappears, visibly chagrinned, shaking his head, muttering about "sodding angels." However, he knows something Dean did not… and decides that this is better than nothing. He picks up the Blade and puts it into Dean's dead hand, awakening Dean… in demon form. His eyes are black like midnight. Crowley greets him with a smirk and a, "Hello, Dean-o. Ready to move and shake?"

Demon Dean slowly sits, and then stands, a growing smile on his black-eyed face. "Hell yeah," is his reply. And with no feelings or humanity currently within him, no care whatsoever for the woman waiting outside for him with his child, he and Crowley disappear together.


	143. (Lights, Camera, War!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **THIS IS A PLACEHOLDER SUMMARY FOR A CHAPTER THAT IS BEING WRITTEN**

" _We are here, and it is now."  
_— Unknown

* * *

It is now roughly three months since the angels fell. Two days after Dean disappeared, Jamie has returned to the Bunker, showing up in the middle of the night unannounced in a highly stressed state, with a baby girl no one but Cas knew about until now.

Needless to say, Sam and Alex are surprised to learn that this is Jamie's baby, then even further surprised to hear it's Dean's too. Then they realize this means this is their niece—and in the midst of a lot of terrible things, there is a brief, sweet moment. Both very taken with little Rose, and recognize that she has Dean's eyes. Their family has grown and expanded. Jamie is exhausted, worried, and convinced that Crowley must have taken Dean and that something is very, very wrong—she tells them everything that happened, and Sam and Alex are shocked to hear her recount what she knows about the Blade, what happened with Abaddon, and how Dean was acting before he disappeared. Jamie said it was like he was two people at once, and admits that he hit her, which really shocks the twins. Jamie is defeated and raw emotionally, wanting to go find Dean, but needing to take care of their daughter who has been uprooted from her life entirely and has to be exhausted, too. Jamie has to learn to mother and parent, and bond with her daughter—a daunting thing that has her anxious especially in the face of Dean's unexplained disappearance and her time spent in Hell recently.

Sam and Alex tell her to get some rest, give her a room of the Bunker, tell her to call if she needs help with _anything,_ and then have a midnight meeting between the two of them. They both agree that Dean would not just leave Jamie and his baby, and that something is the matter. They step outside and attempt to summon Crowley with weapons waiting, but he does not show. Then they summon Meg and ask for her help. Sam and Meg are on more weird/awkward terms than Meg and Alex, who have more of an understanding. Meg says she'll see what she can figure out, if anything, reminding them that she's all on her own right now and that the majority of demons will kill her on sight thanks to Crowley's commands.

Their next step is to call Cas, who attempts to find Dean and cannot. For three gutwrenching weeks, Sam and Alex search for their brother without any sightings—he didn't take his car, he's not using the usual trackable methods of laying low, and they're stumped. Sam helps care for Alex as she finds herself having a tougher time moving around thanks to her increasing size, plus she's getting very tired and uncomfortable from the pregnancy.

Meg shows up at the end of those three weeks with a security tape from a gas station—she says she has been trying but can't find Dean as it seems like he's moving around all over the map instantaneously, on the west coast one day and then the east the next with days where he's not on the radar at all. The tape she got shows Dean stealing alcohol brazenly, then beating up the gas station cashier when he gets followed outside and asked for payment. Crowley is seen off to the side, looking mildly perturbed by the display and clearly trying to look like he's not with Dean. Meg says after she found this tape, she found the hotel room where Dean and Crowley stayed the previous night, because he started a fight there too and it made local news—she scoped out the room and found drugs, alcohol, human blood in syringes, and most importantly: several receipts from a dive bar, so apparently they went there a couple times and maybe will again—the bar is a day's drive. Sam and Alex only have this as their lead, so they head that way—Cas has to leave, being called by the angel Judith, an ally. Meg goes with Sam and Alex, saying she has nothing better to do. Alex and Dean don't understand why Dean is hanging out with Crowley, and paired with his lies and allowing Sam to get possessed, they feel betrayed and afraid of what is happening. Sam tries to reserve judgement. Alex is more emotional than typical, and already assumes the worst.

When they get to the dive bar, it's karaoke night. They walk in to find Dean singing "Cherry Pie" badly with whiskey in hand, as if he doesn't have a care in the world. Crowley is seated in the shadows nearby, looking a mixture of bored, embarrassed, and mildly disgusted. Sam watches agape, Meg already knows what's up with Dean when she sees him in person. However she doesn't have a chance to warn Alex, who takes one look at her brother acting a fool and marches up onto stage, grabs the mike out of his hand and rips the AV cables out of the machine, causing total silence in the bar, demanding to know what the hell he's doing. When Dean speaks, and something about his voice is different. "I knew you two idiots would show up at some point," he says with an eye roll, then throws down his glass, walks off stage and grabs a full bottle of whiskey from the bar, drinking heavily from it even as the bartender asks if he's gonna pay for that. Dean smashes the bottle into the bartenders face and laughs, asking why he'd pay.

Sam and Alex watch aghast, believing Dean has had some kind of mental break for a second. He's trying to leave the bar, but they follow, attempting to talk to him as they get outside, and they ask him what he's doing, why he's partying, to come home. He stops and faces them, smiling like he's in on some joke. "Now why would I wanna do that?" he asks. Then his eyes turn black. He enjoys their horrified reactions and makes fun of them for it. Meg and Crowley have trailed at a slight distance. Sam and Alex turn to Crowley, who they notice appears to be a bit cracked out. Crowley says before they get any ideas (they both look like they might murder him), he _saved_ their brother… sort of. He says that when some angel showed up and smited Dean out of the blue, Crowley knew the Mark would activate and bring Dean back… sort of… if the Blade was put into his hand. Crowley looks at the version of Dean who is there with them all currently, and his face shows distaste. He says honestly, he preferred Dean before. Demon dean doesn't give a shit about anything except having a good time and it's lacking class and vision.

Speaking of demon Dean, he's bored with all this and says he's outta there. Sam grabs his shoulder to stop him, and Dean whirls and punches him in the face hard enough to knock Sam down. Alex doesn't know what to do, and Dean looks at her with an oddly playful warning expression. "I don't mind killing either of you, so don't tempt me, okay? I don't want anything to do with your little hunting life, I'm not coming back to your dumbass little Bunker. I'm here to party, and that's it. If you try and mess with me again, I'll kill you both. Capeesh?" He says it so casually, without a trace of the brother they know. Then he disappears. Crowley sighs tiredly, shrugs, then disappears too.

Meg, Sam, and Alex all look at each other and Meg is shaking her head. She says this is quite the gerkin, then wishes them luck and leaves without a word. The twins are left to try and swallow this bitter pill. Sam says maybe he can be cured like they almost cured Crowley, Alex isn't so sure. Either way, Alex needs to get off the road as she's becoming more and more pregnant by the day. So Sam and Alex return to the Bunker in great grief, and tell Bobby, Jamie, and Kevin the news. Jamie takes the news hard, and then curses herself for letting him go back into the hotel alone.

That night, Jamie asks Mrs. Tran to watch Rose for her—Linda is wonderful with kids and has become trustworthy to Jamie in the past three weeks. Jamie leaves in the dead of night without telling anyone, tracks down a book of spells from a local source, then uses a location spell to find Dean. Once she tracks him down to a cemetery mausoleum where he's drinking and listening to classic rock on blast while smashing things for fun, she traps him in devil's trap and tries to break through to his human side. She thinks she glimpses it a couple of times, but it seems mostly she's only pissed him off by caging him—he ends up threatening her by saying he'll kill her and her bitch of a daughter, too. That causes Jamie to lose her temper and use telekinesis to throw him against a wall, where she holds him there and then comes up close, grabbing his face and telling him whoever he is, whatever he is now, if he ever comes close to her daughter, she will send him straight to Hell. He got his desired effect of getting out of the devil's trap, and they fight, neither pulling punches. The fight ends when Jamie stabs him in the nuts with a regular blade, which only hurts and maddens him temporarily, then she shoves him away using telekinesis again and locks him inside of the mausoleum he was hanging out in—he's sure to find a way out eventually, and he'll be pissed. Jamie returns to the Bunker, beat up and regretting her actions, and tells Sam and Alex how she fears the worst: that Dean really is gone, and she realizes she probably just pissed him off and he might come after her seeking revenge. She works on some hexes and spells to protect the Bunker, and even implements one that makes it invisible for the time being. She erases the majority of angel wards over the entirety of the Bunker, then has Alex, Sam, and Kevin ward individual rooms instead. This way, Cas can come in and out as he pleases. Angels who don't know the location won't be able to enter as long as the hexes are in place. Afterward while she cradles Rose in her bedroom, she lets herself cry. Dean died that day, and she has no hope for him returning, only fear of what this demonic version of him might do to her and the baby. She is wracked by anxiety and depression and contemplates fleeing with her daughter to be somewhere safer. But no one seems safe, and she's worried about leaving the group.

Sam breaks down that night, and his sister sees. He asks if this is how Dean felt, with the weight of the world on his shoulders and no one to turn to, no solutions to be found at all. Alex tries to comfort him, but she doesn't know how to when she feels like their brother has died, their rock, their leader, their constant reassurance that everything will be okay. He's gone. Sam says he wants to try and cure Dean, but Alex protests, saying that they don't know if that will work, plus it supposedly would kill him at the end. Sam's breakdown worsens. Eventually, he asks to be left to himself.

Alex calls Cas, and over the phone he comforts her. After she's calmed down and has relayed what happened with Dean, Cas is also deeply upset. But he also says not to give up hope yet, and that he knows none of them will rest until they find a solution. He then tells her that he has been finding entire groups of angels dead, both sides, as if two warring groups walked in and then just died, no survivors at all. He says something doesn't feel right, but he can't lay his finger on what. The good news is however that the little group of allies is growing, and he has found a group of angels who truly do align to his beliefs—they are old friends of his, and it is led by three angels: Israel, Noah, and Lydia.

The next day, Sam gets a call from a number he doesn't know, and he doesn't recognize the voice on the other end, either. The man says his name is Gadreel, and Sam asks if that's supposed to mean something to him. There is a slight laugh, and the voice says "you don't remember all the time we spent together? What about if I said my name is Ezekiel instead?" And then Sam realizes it is the angel who possessed him. He demands to know what he wants, and Gadreel doesn't say anything—Sam hears a female voice in the background, sounding petrified, asking "Sam?" and his blood freezes over. It's Molly. Gadreel hangs up.

Sam rushes to go try and save her, going directly to her apartment with nothing but fear and his angel blade. When he bursts in, Gadreel is keeping a terrified Molly captive, who is clutching her cat and cowering in a corner. Gadreel says hello, and thank you for coming, and says it's nothing personal at all, that he's sorry for any pain he's caused, but he's doing what's required of him and that none of them can imagine the torment that thousands of years in captivity has put him in. His plan was to repossess Sam, whose vessel is stronger than the one he's currently in—but Sam's angel warding tattoo is in place, and in the brief instance of Gadreel's guard being down as he comes close to try and transfer his Grace from vessel to vessel, Sam takes the opportunity and strikes, killing Gadreel with his angel blade.

Molly, eyes wide as saucers, is in shock, and Sam rushes over to her trying to make sure she's okay even as her cat runs away. And then she gasps, eyes somewhere behind him, asking "who's that?!"

Sam whirls. It's Metatron, and Sam tries to charge him, but then Metatron's gone—and Sam turns again to see Metatron standing where Sam just was, with Molly, and grinning. He says, "bye!" and even as Sam shouts _no_ , Metatron disappears with her.

Metatron takes Molly to his grand study in Heaven, giddy over Sam's panic, laughing and asking "did you see his face!?" then going on and on about how Gadreel was getting old anyway, and Metatron only likes the entertaining characters, and on and on, as Molly, shaking with fear and confusion, tries not to throw up. In a moment of courage or stupidity, not really understanding what's happening, she grabs an especially large volume as Metatron rambles on and on, and hits him with it. Which of course only makes him laugh more, then tell her, "oh honey, well aren't you _plucky_?"

Molly is kept there for days alone, noticing that she doesn't need food or sleep, and she tries to escape for awhile, then when she realizes it's pointless, she starts reading the books and trying to find any kind of information that might help her situation. Metatron returns randomly one day, startling her and he seems to have forgotten she was there at all. He says to be quiet, he's going to write now and he'll deal with her later—saying "well find another cute way to get a rise out of the boyfriend, sound fun?" He types on his typewriter for what seems like hours, and Molly begins to despair, wondering where Sam is, and what's happening and if she can get herself out of this predicament. And out of the blue, the two heavy wooden doors to the study burst open to Metatron's immediate annoyance. He doesn't like to be disturbed, and it's an act of insolence to come in unannounced. He looks up frowning, then his face goes blank and white. He seems to recognize the young man walking in, saying "No! Impossible! You're supposed to be in Hell!"

"And you're supposed to be a two-bit writer low on the payscale, but things change, don't they?" the man says without missing a beat, and even as Metatron stands up, the man has moved forward supernaturally by several feet and has grabbed Metatron by the front of his clothes and cut Metatron's throat open. Molly watches white light pour out in a ribbon as Metatron gasps, shocked and wounded. The man who did this to him has a vial that he's collecting the light in—he stabs the Scribe once all the light is collected, killing him. As if he just killed a small pest, he smiles and turns to Molly, looking at her curiously with a smile and a curiosity she doesn't like. He says, "I don't know you, do I?" He comes closer. "But I assume you're with the Winchesters. Do you want to live, little girl?" she can barely breathe, but nods yes. He says she needs to deliver a message to the Winchesters: "tell them I'm back."

Molly manages to stammer, "b-but I don't know who you are."

And then a moment that makes her blood go cold. "The name's Lucifer." He smiles in that unsettling way. "Now, run along, kiddo… chop chop." With another snap of his fingers, she's sent back to earth, where she crash lands into a New York City dumpster, an overwhelming city she's never even been to and she's without any money or a phone—she has to find her way back home on her own.

Back in Metatron's study as Lucifer stands over Metatron's body. The scene at this point turns to some backstory and flashbacks: In the past few weeks, Lucifer has killed hundreds of angels, tricking many into thinking it was done by their enemies, thus fueling the fire of civil war by trickery. He's also lured both sides to places and killed them all, leaving no survivors. He has been stalking Metatron and learning how to get into Heaven using the secret portal. All while gaining more and more strength.

Lucifer has also spent the last few weeks recruiting his loyal followers, both demonic and angelic and swearing them to secrecy until he gives the signal. And the signal is now. He uses Metatron's grace to reverse the spell, and reopens Heaven, calling his followers first, and restoring angel's wings. Then, he sends a command to all remaining angels on earth to return to Heaven, and those who are naive enough to obey blindly, are slaughtered by Lucifer's small legion as soon as they arrive. Only a handful of shrewd angels, mostly in Castiel's small group, did not return to Heaven.

Simultaneously in Hell, Lucifer's loyalists receive the signal from Lucifer and the faithful to Lucifer in Hell rise up and demons slaughter demons. As chaos breaks out across all the dimensions, Lucifer leisurely looks through Metatron's books he's been writing, picking up one to read a few lines, then scoffs at them and says they're dime store quality drivel then sets them all on fire with a mere snap of his fingers. He watches the blaze, satisfied. 2014 always has and always will be his year.


	144. (Fly By Night)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **THIS IS A PLACEHOLDER SUMMARY FOR A CHAPTER THAT IS BEING WRITTEN**

" _The past is never where you think you left it."  
_— Katherine Anne Porter

* * *

Sam gets a call on his phone about a week after Molly disappeared—it's her, and she's managed to get herself onto a bus, borrow a fellow busrider's phone, and is headed to Kansas from New York City. Sam, who has been worrying himself sick and been powerless to do anything, is relieved that she's okay and peppers her with questions about what happened, and asks if Metatron hurt her. She says no, gives him a quick summary of what happened, and then tells him that she saw Metatron killed. Shocked as this changes _everything_ , Sam asks by whom. The answer of Lucifer leaves Sam with a feeling of panic. He tells Molly he's going to come meet her at a bus stop halfway along the route, and he heads out to go get her. He spends the entire time freaking out, wondering how this is possible, and wanting to deny that it's true. Maybe it's another angel lying about their identity. Maybe Molly was hallucinating. Maybe Metatron is playing some kind of trick on them all.

Sam and Molly have an emotional reunion—he hugs her super tight and knowing how she's not at all accustomed to the life/is a more sensitive person, he worries over her in a protective way. He tells her that he's brought her cat Neville to the the Bunker since he didn't know what else to do in the meantime. He'd been very worried he might never see Molly again. Molly is touched and thankful for his thoughtfulness to take care of her pet. The experience has honestly made her stronger, braver as each of the supernatural encounters she's had have done. Slowly, she's getting better at handling the more insane situations that are befalling her. She relays to him things Metatron was writing about that she read about in his study: mostly volumes where Metatron was writing himself into reality as a hero and a god. None of it seemed to be very useful.

Once Sam comes back to the Bunker with Molly, he quickly gets Bobby and Alex and Cas for an emergency meeting, telling them about what Molly saw. They are immediately shocked and worried about the possibilities of Lucifer having returned somehow, and not entirely convinced it can be true. They ask her what he looked like, but the description doesn't match Nick's. They realize that the description _does_ match Adam's though to their great confusion and dismay. Cas theorizes that perhaps Metatron's spell was so powerful that it somehow reached into Hell and cast Lucifer out of that realm too. For now, they redouble their safety and vigilance efforts.

They decide that Molly will move into the Bunker until further notice for her safety. She's truly a fish out of water here: shy, reserved, sensitive, and used to living alone. But the library quickly interests her, and she finds herself geeking out over the rare volumes not found in libraries anywhere else. She and Kevin meet and quickly bond over their similar personalities and the way they came from very normals lives suddenly into the paranormal world. They become friends quickly.

Molly and Sam are still "broken up" at this point, and obviously still care about each other, but try and avoid any type of relationship talk at all. Molly is still very hurt and feels rejected, but doesn't try to push anything since Sam is the one who broke up with her.

Alex and Sam decide that they need to do something about demon Dean, and Sam says he wants to find their brother and bring him in at the very least, contain him so he can't keep doing harm to innocent people as he most assuredly is. Sam and Cas team up to go find him, leaving Alex at the Bunker. She's gotten to the stage that she is too pregnant to move well. The next week and a half is spent in the Bunker with Alex beginning to log dad's journal into a document on a laptop—her plan is to make sure the contents are safe and preserved, and perhaps even added onto. Molly spends hours poring over the books in the library, quickly learning about obscure religions, beasts, lore, and parts of history that most humans don't know about. She is fascinated by Dad's journal, and slowly begins to learn more about the life, the Winchester's childhood, and hunting.

The Bunker is full of people now: Alex, Jamie, baby Rose, Molly, Kevin, Mama Tran, Bobby. There's a tension there regarding uncertainty of the times, but also a growing sense of family. Molly loves baby Rose, and finds that she gets along with Jamie and Alex too, even identifying with Alex when she learns how Alex spent a majority of her life without the ability to speak. This in turn makes Molly more and more comfortable and calm as the days go on, despite the dire looking situation and worries about Sam as he and Cas try to hunt down Dean. Jamie and Alex take some time to train her on how to shoot and load guns, Jamie teaches Molly some self defense tactics, Alex gives Molly some basics on what to look for in identifying paranormal situations and creatures. Even though it's a lot for Molly, she gains some small confidences from the positive, helpful way she's treated by everyone in the Bunker. Mama Tran fusses over everyone, and helps Bobby monitor his CB radio. Reports are starting to come in about Lucifer, slow and sure.

When Crowley gets word of this latest development, he is immediately of the opinion that he has to kill Lucifer before the archangel kills everyone else—including himself, the King of Hell. However, Demon Dean is bored by Crowley and is only interested in his own agenda, which is partying and having a good time with some violence and criminal activities thrown in here and there. Crowley becomes fed up and abandons Demon Dean to go protect his interests and gather his faithful. Crowley knows that Hell isn't safe, that Lucifer will be making a play for it soon. After working so hard to gain Hell, Crowley isn't about to lose it… even if he _is_ currently human blood addicted.

Sam and Cas manage to track down Demon Dean after almost two weeks. Dean is angry that they're trying to ruin his fun with all this "feelings crap." He insists he doesn't give a shit about anything or anyone: that he remembers being human Dean but has no feelings about it. Cas and Sam both try to reason with Dean and appeal to whatever humanity might remain. Mentions of family, the job, his sister, his girlfriend, even his child isn't effective, only serving to annoy Dean. When he grows tired of listening, he easily incapacitates Sam. Cas is a bigger challenge. It's quite a fight, where blows are traded and angel versus demon fight dirty in attempts to take down the other. Demon Dean of course has quite a few nasty tricks up his sleeve—including slashing Cas in a way that makes Grace leak out. Sam and Cas bail when they realize it's too risky, and Dean doesn't chase, simply shouting after them as they retreat that next time they bother him, he'll kill them, not just injure them.

Cas and Sam show back up to the Bunker in bad shape—with Cas's depleted Grace and Sam's physical injuries. Sam is at his wit's end, unsure of how to lead the small group and wishing he didn't have to: Dean was always the leader. He feels like a failure for not being able to bring Dean back. Alex takes Sam aside when she sees his emotional state, he tells her how he can't hold it together, that he feels absolutely at his wit's end, he doesn't know how to lead these people or what to do. Alex comforts him and then tells him no one is expecting him to be the man with the plan, that they're all in this together, and that she will always have his back. That makes him feel marginally better. She then gets a first aid kit and calls Molly in. Sam needs some stitches, and Alex tells Molly she will need to have this skill in her abilities if she's going to be in this life. Alex shows her how to start, watches her do a couple stitches, then leaves so that the two can have a moment alone—Alex had watched her brother and Molly together those first couple of days Molly came to live in the Bunker, and is not-so-subtly trying to get them to get back together as she thinks Molly is sweet and good for Sam. Sam and Molly have a heart to heart as she stitches him up, and it ends with Sam admitting he hates that they broke up, but this is his life and it probably always will be—that he knows no one normal like her would ever want to sign up to be in this life just to be with someone. He's self-pitying, convinced no one could ever love him for who he really is. Molly surprises him when she lifts his face in a hand, and tells him he's wrong. They end up kissing, and it's a very sweet moment.

Alex meanwhile goes to Cas, tending to his wounds as best as she can and telling him she thinks she's going to have this baby soon—she's been having sporadic contractions for the week. Cas is alarmed, because his injured Grace means he isn't at full power. He immediately says he will need to steal more. They agree, and leave the Bunker together to go lure another angel and steal its Grace. Cas is upset about it and feels guilt-stricken. Most likely he will always have to be refilling his Grace from outside sources, harming others in the process. He feels trapped and villainous. He doesn't want to live this way, but it doesn't seem that there's another option.

The next night, there is a loud banging on the main door to the Bunker, and Alex and Sam are the first to respond with weapons in tow, Cas and Bobby close behind.

To everyone's vast surprise, it's John Winchester. Cas, who can see angels and demons now that he's fully charged, verifies that it's really him. John is surprised to see his daughter is pregnant. He makes a comment that it, "seems like a pretty crazy world to bring a kid into." Sam and Alex give each other a look and then sidestep that comment entirely. They don't let him in yet—they ask where the hell he went, why he left without telling anyone anything. He tells them, in his gruffly defensive way (so similar to Dean), that he had just spent hundreds of years in Hell and had to deal with the fallout on his own. He apologizes quickly in his brusque, businesslike way and says more importantly, he's gotten a handle on everything happening, and he knows about the trials to close Hell. He announces he's going to do them, and Sam is amused/offended by his dad's nonchalance, asking if John even knows what that involves. John evenly says he's already killed a Hellhound and delivered a righteous soul to Heaven, which surprises his children. He then walks to the trunk of his car, and says, "that means last step's cure a demon." He opens the trunk and everyone approaches to see quite the surprising sight. It's Dean, bound, gagged, and in a devil's trap drawn on the car interior.


	145. (Full Circle)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **THIS IS A PLACEHOLDER SUMMARY FOR A CHAPTER THAT IS BEING WRITTEN**

" _What's meant to be will always find a way."  
_― Trisha Yearwood

* * *

Dean gets put in demon lockdown in the basement, and John says he can begin curing him in just a day or two after his local contact comes through with a couple of missing spell ingredients he will need. The way he's decided to handle everything on his own feels hurtful to his son and daughter, but they do their best to just move past it, since what's done is done, and if they ever learned anything, it's that their dad will do what he's going to do.

John meets everyone at the Bunker. He comes across as civil but closed off. He's skeptical of Cas and Molly and Kevin off the bat, finding them too soft and odd (especially Cas and Molly). He does seem to approve of Jamie, and is given an opportunity to meet and then hold his granddaughter who he didn't know about until now. He softens immensely in this moment, smiling at the baby and becoming nostalgic. He tells Alex he remembers when she and Sam were that age, and says Rose has Dean's eyes. Then he becomes jaded and upset and hands Rose back, making an excuse to leave the room.

John Winchester's presence in the Bunker changes things, immediately. He behaves in a guarded, terse way. His mentality is "job first" as always. In the couple days waiting for the spell ingredients, Sam and Alex and Bobby all try to get John to talk in depth to them but he dodges the conversations each time and chooses to keep to himself the majority of the time. It's hurtful to Sam and Alex.

John corners Cas later and asks him without much fanfare what makes him good enough for his daughter, and asks how he'll provide for her/the baby that's coming soon. He views Cas as weird and doesn't understand why Alex is with him. Cas, who has very mixed and mostly negative feelings about John, says he has no right to ask such a thing since he wasn't a good enough father for her, which incenses John and they have a brief fist fight that Sam breaks up. John shouts that Cas "knows nothing" about being a father then angrily retreats to the basement near Dean, and Alex goes after him. He won't turn around to acknowledge her, he stays gazing into the room where demon Dean waits in cuffs. John simply states, "He's right. I was a terrible father." Alex walks to stand beside him and after a long silence says maybe that's true, but the way she sees it is what he does in the present that matters, and he needs to stop acting like such an ass. John seems surprised by her words, then laughs about it tiredly. John then continues to stare at his demon son and says he has plans for the present to "get this family right." He says nothing else, and seems to want her to leave. As Alex walks off, he stops her by saying: "I sure wish your mother was still alive. She could be there for you right now, you know?" He's referring to the pregnancy. They keep gazes a couple seconds longer, share a sad truce of a smile, then the moment is over and Alex leaves. She wants to tell him he can be here for her right now, but she doesn't.

Later that day, Jamie stops by and peeks into where demon Dean is being held—he's currently alone, and smiles wolfishly when he sees her. She has baby Rose on her hip, who Dean looks at less sure about. He tells her to stop wishing for Dean back… that he's gone, and "that kid" is going to grow up without a dad. Jamie says nothing, looks at him intently a few more seconds and then leaves. Dean calls after her that he remembers what she did to him and he'll be settling up with her soon—it's distinctly threatening and unnerving. Jamie feels vaguely worried, then decides she doesn't need to be. But, she holds Rose a little tighter either way.

Later that night, all the spell ingredients are there. John is prepping the space and re-securing Dean's confines, but while he does so, Dean gets loose and knocks John out. He then terrorizes the inhabitants of the Bunker, complete with hitting Kevin and Mama Tran with a bat, attacking Molly in the library and pulling a bookshelf over on her after he kicks her cat—he hits Bobby with a hammer, he injures Sam again, then bursts into Jamie's room and attacks her too—they have a crazy fight, destroying half the room as they trade punches and blows. He manages to finally knock her down and she's near the point of losing consciousness, and he stands over her with a knife in hand that he took off her dresser. And then the sound of his crying baby stops him, his eyes fading from black to normal. He looks at Rose who is in a portable playpen/crib watching him standing over Jamie. Rose is crying and afraid, babbling scared baby talk. Jamie can barely stand at the moment, but she's trying to shield her baby from him and pleads to the real Dean, finally admitting the truth: "Dean, I love you. Please come back!" Something in Dean shifts for a moment. He drops the knife, backs out, then runs away. Sirens in the Bunker begin to sound—Sam is clearly back on his feet and close.

Demon Dean rounds a corner and comes into contact with Cas and Alex, and using surprise to his advantage, he throws Cas down the hallway and picks Alex up by the neck then slams her against the wall. Alex can't breathe, her windpipe has almost been crushed, and she struggles against his grip. She manages to yank out her angel blade even as her feet dangle above the ground and she wheezes, disoriented and stunned by the attack. Demon Dean gets in her face, says, "I dare you." She struggles against him for a minute, gripping the blade tighter and tighter to kill him—then she can't, and instead, she stabs him in the arm. Dean throws her down and spits, "pathetic" as she crumples to the ground clutching her stomach and in clear pain. Dean flees as Cas rushes to Alex. The physical and emotional trauma of the encounter have sent her into labor, and Sam comes upon them after a moment, Cas shouts what's happened, and Sam runs to go find help.

It's chaos, and almost everyone is injured—John regains consciousness and he and Bobby leave to pursue Dean immediately even as a beat up team of Mama Tran, Molly, and Jamie help Alex deliver in the hallway. That's how fast it happens—Sam and Cas are anxious nearby, hovering and worried and injured. Kevin looks after and comforts baby Rose, who is still upset from seeing her mother attacked by a demon.

Labor is absolutely awful but quick—the baby is born quickly and he's very healthy and strong. Alex nearly dies from childbirth, just like Gadreel had warned: her body thought she was losing a vital organ—but Cas is able to heal her and save her life. It does weaken him exponentially though. There in the hallway, they huddle together with their newborn son who is wrapped in one of Sam's old shirts that was grabbed hastily. Sam stands back and cries, overwhelmed by this huge moment for his sister and family, and Mama Tran/Molly both hug him. Kevin asks what his name is, and Alex says it's CJ. Cas is in tears of joy, and Alex joins him. Their baby boy is beautiful and has crystal blue eyes just like his dad.

Once everyone is okay, a few hours later, Sam leaves to find his Dad/Bobby and get Dean back.

About a week passes. Cas and Alex both experience a kind of love they never understood anything about when CJ arrives. They recover together in the bunker with everyone looking after them and helping the new parents adjust. In the midst of a lot of horrible outside circumstances Cas and Alex are raptured by their son. They both carry the baby around in shifts in a fabric baby-wearing carrier, they fuss over him constantly. CJ seems to be growing at a normal rate outside of the womb, no longer on superspeed.

John, Bobby, and Sam recapture Dean and bring him back, then start working on curing him in the bunker. It's an eight hour time commitment, and Sam/Alex stay close the majority of the time to make sure their dad is okay, and in hopes of seeing the real Dean come back. Everyone except Alex and Sam and Cas are told not to enter the basement while the cure is being attempted. Cas keeps CJ upstairs for the most part.

The first two doses of John's blood, nothing really happens except the demon getting angry and attempting to cause emotional strife between those watching. He tries to bait John, Sam, and Alex—anyone who will listen—with accusations, insults, and by bringing up the past. He says John was a monster who brainwashed his kids, Alex was a burden that Dean hated, and Sam was a failure and a constant annoyance. He blames Mary's death on Sam and Alex, whose existence caused her to be taken away. He says John tore this family apart, and it's his fault that Dean is a demon now.

When it gets to be too much, Alex slaps some duct tape across his mouth to her brother and father's slight surprise. Alex asks if they _want_ to keep hearing all the bullshit. They all sit around with a now-silent Dean, and John puts his face in his hands, wonders aloud if, "this shit will ever end." He is the picture of tired, worn out, and defeated. Sam and Alex, having been through so much at this point, understand the feeling.

The injections continue. Alex takes a few breaks to check on Cas and CJ, and Cas brings CJ down at one point briefly to check in. After he leaves, John tells Alex he was wrong… that Cas is clearly a good man. He can tell from how Cas is with CJ—loving, caring, attentive, and present.

Once John gets to the fourth, fifth, and sixth injections, Dean begins to act oddly, sweat, and breathe oddly. John takes off the tape, and Dean babbles nonsensically about Sammy and Al, and the job, Jamie, his daughter, and all he ever tried to do was do the right thing—intermixed with classic rock lyrics, complaints about the pain, and curses on his dad. John gets weaker with every injection, his arms flaring up with heat and light just like Sam's did.

At the seventh injection, John sits across from a weak, exhausted looking Dean and surprises everyone when he says that Dean needs to surrender the Mark to him.

Sam immediately shoots up out of his seat nearby, protesting as Alex gapes. John holds up a hand to them both, and says to just trust him. Dean considers the request for a moment, then holds his hand out, saying "what the hell, I'm bored of it anyway" in a woozy, drunken voice. Father and son clasp tightly, and the Mark is given over to John. Dean then goes into a glazed state, his head lolling forward as if he's not conscious.

Alex and Sam ask their father what he's thinking, reminding him that even if these trials don't kill him (as they supposedly will), the Mark probably will. John answers simply: "I'm saving my son. Like I'd save either of you." He goes silent for a moment, running his fingers across the mark's angry red shape on his forearm now. He then says if it means carrying this the rest of his life or dying in this room today to save Dean and close Hell, it's worth it, no matter the cost.

Sam and Alex are emotional and confused, worried, and anxious.

John finally speaks to his actions and everything that's been unsaid between them all. He says he knows what he did, and he's sorry. He then continues on to say he knows that Sam and Alex have resented him for a long time for his dedication to the job and the life, but he asks if they understand now. How his obsession to save Mary, or at least kill the thing that killed her and destroyed his family, had taken over. He asks if they have, in the time since he's been gone, experienced the same thing—the need to save family at whatever cost. And they have. Their pained silence is confirmation, and the twins understand their dad more in that moment. The life has done things to all of them—they would be different people if it wasn't for everything that happened. It seems that things have come full circle, and they now have the perspective to see that their dad was just as much a victim of the life as they were.

John looks at Dean, who is comatose at the current moment, looking like he could be asleep. And John continues his out-loud ponderings, saying that if the life chooses you, it's a curse you'll never outrun—that he passed it down to them without even knowing and it sucks, but it's just the way things shook out. He says that he knows that he was hard on them, but says it saved their lives in the end—and that they can hate him all they want, but at least he made it so they could survive and fight.

Sam is a bit taken back and says they never hated him, and Alex agrees. John asks why they keep giving him "all those looks" then. Sam says it's because they're sad that their dad is back from the grave and seems like he doesn't want anything to do with them.

That seems to break John, and he asks, "you both really think that?" Again, their silence seems to be confirmation, and John gets tears in his eyes. He says that he knows he's disappointed them and hurt them, and that he thought _they_ wanted nothing to do with him—why _would_ they? Sam and Alex aren't sure how he can think that, and Sam gives his dad a tearful hug, saying that no matter what, they're family. And the way it always has been, doesn't have to be the way it always is. John smiles through tears, saying how Sam has always been a wise man—and how proud of him he is.

The time comes, and John makes the final injection into Dean and recites the final spell, then holds his son's shoulders as the change takes place—white light consumes father and son, and Dean's head falls back, he screams, and a black dust-like substance explodes out of him like ash, settling onto the ground. The light fades, and both father and son slump down going unconscious. Sam rushes to his dad, and Alex to Dean. John comes to faster, alive and well, but very drained and tired. As Sam is helping him up, Dean wakes up, seeming confused, asking "what happened?" then getting a face full of holy water. Nothing happens. He's human again. And he seems to remember when the water hits him—his second sentence is, "Oh god—I'm so sorry," as he is clearly remembering everything he's done.

He is taken out of his chains, and John helps him up, hugging him tight, as Dean tries very hard not to cry. John holds him there, his expression severe and his face grayish, sweaty. "It's okay now son, it's okay."

"Dad, no, the things I did…" Dean protests weakly. Slowly, Sam joins in, hugging his dad and brother. Alex joins last. Everyone is tearful and in minor disbelief that the cure worked.

Dean is heartbroken and shocked at what's happened, a little dazed as he tries to sort out what happened. He is terribly ashamed and traumatized, struggling with coming to terms with himself.

He shuts himself into his room without really seeing anyone. Jamie comes to see him later, one-on-one, with Rose, who plays and crawls around on the floor as her parents talk. Dean can't make eye contact—he says he's so sorry, and he understands she probably never wants to see him again or let Rose be near him. Jamie reminds him that she was possessed by Abaddon, and she knows it wasn't him that did those things. He says he doesn't even want to ask for forgiveness, because he doesn't deserve it. Jamie kisses his forehead and hugs him close. Nearby, Rose is babbling "da-da-da" and chewing on her fingers. Dean and Jamie hold each other tight, looking at their daughter, and Jamie murmurs, "look, she knows your name." They find emotional sanctuary in each other, and even though it's not great at the moment, Dean and Jamie both know eventually it will be.

The next day, Dean apologizes to everyone, one-by-one, who he hurt. He's met with nothing but support and love, and he meets and holds CJ, and shares a moment with Alex and Cas where he reflects on how they met, and where they are now. He says CJ is "awesome," and has a proud big brother moment, despite his feelings of shame and guilt. He shakes his head in slight awe at Alex, and says, "look how far you've come, kid." She hugs him and says same goes for him, tells him she's proud and so glad he's okay—that she can't imagine life without him in it. It's a very important, profound moment for them: the two siblings who never parted even when Sam left and Dad disappeared. They're each other's ride or dies, and life has moved on past that period of time when it was just them versus the world, but the feeling remains. They are each other's rock in a way no one else ever could be.

* * *

It is at this time that Crowley comes to Cas—apparently Crowley abandoned Hell after realizing it was overrun by too many Lucifer supporters and that too many of his loyalists were dead. In effect, he's been locked out of Hell thanks to John completing the trials, and he's a little pissed about it. Cas is not exactly happy about Crowley coming around, after all, Crowley is to blame for Dean becoming a demon. Crowley again insists he saved Dean's life in a roundabout way. He says that priority one HAS to be defeating Lucifer now, and that they can settle whatever disagreements afterward. He says he has very bad news: he has it on good authority that the Croatoan virus is being spread again—"remember that whole thing, Choir Boy?"

After calling a meeting in the Bunker with everyone who currently lives there, despite a lot of protests and resistance against the idea of teaming up with the King of Hell, the end decision ends up being that if Lucifer is truly a threat, he needs to be defeated by any means necessary. _Any._ And if that means an alliance including Crowley, they will have to swallow their pride and go along with it.


	146. (The Kingdom, The Power, The Glory)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **THIS IS A PLACEHOLDER SUMMARY FOR A CHAPTER THAT IS BEING WRITTEN**

" _Be sober, be vigilant, because your adversary the devil walketh about as a roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour."  
_— 1 Peter 5:8

* * *

Castiel's little army of angels bands together with Crowley's most loyal who were earthside when Hell closed—that plus Meg, the Winchesters, Bobby, John, Kevin, and all the hunters they can muster in a desperate last-ditch effort to kill the devil, who is everyone's enemy. However… no one knows where Lucifer is. There is not a peep anywhere of activity aside from the Croatoan virus popping up sporadically, worldwide, in growing numbers from an unknown source. Lucifer is doing things differently than last time, and despite everyone's best efforts, no one can find any leads on where he is.

So in the meantime, the Winchesters spearhead gathering their forces together and staying vigilant. The Bunker is beginning to resemble the 2014 universe that Zachariah showed Dean and Alex. The parallels are strong, complete with an encampment outside of the Bunker and the Croatoan virus on the loose. Angels, demons, and humans are in campers/tents outside of the Bunker as they get together plans of attack and defense and try to get a handle on Lucifer's location. Heading up the efforts are Castiel, Crowley, and Sam.

Dean is uncharacteristically hanging back—because he has lost self esteem, caused major damage to his relationship/trust with his siblings, and because he is attempting to repair things with Jamie/Rose. Plus, with his dad in the picture, he feels less sure of his role as leader.

However, Alex and Sam are just relieved to have their brother back and not a demon anymore. Yes, their trust is damaged after his lies and the risky decisions he made that endangered them all, but they love Dean and given the current circumstances, are willing to put everything aside. Each day feels like it might be their last, currently.

John handles the Mark passably, most days able to compartmentalize his rage a bit better than Dean was able to—perhaps it was all the time spent in Hell, or just a predisposition. Either way, he manages himself and tries his hardest not to step on any toes or try to play commander. Keeping himself to solitude for the most part seems to be the biggest key to staying nonviolent. Strangely enough, the most dire time in history is healing for the Winchester family. John spends time doing a couple of reconnaissance missions with the boys and contacting old resources from his hunting days, but he also spends time with his grandkids Rose and CJ, just being present—reading Rose books and being playful with her, holding CJ and talking to him/singing to him. Watching this happen really gives Dean, Sam, and Alex a lot of comfort—it shows them a side of their dad that they forgot about or never saw. John reminisces with his kids about some of their better memories and happier times. It's a brief two week period of growing horror intercut with sweet moments—sweet to the Winchesters, anyway. John also gets to hear about the past ten or so years and all the crazy things the Winchesters have seen, done, and witnessed.

One night, Sam, Dean, and Alex are having a heart-to-heart and the twins are talking Dean through the guilt he has over being a demon, the shame about what he allowed to happen to Sam. They're both firm on the fact that his lies and risks were not necessary and they're disappointed, but they also forgive him and want to move on. It's a rare moment where Dean isn't letting his anger and negative feelings form a wall, and is instead letting his siblings reach out to him—an act of growth on his part, even if it's very uncomfortable for him. John sees this moment happen from the shadows of a nearby doorway, and has tears in his eyes. He thinks… maybe he _did_ do something right after all if his kids turned out like this. Sam spots him just then, and John says he'll go. He begins to leave, then Alex says, "no Dad—we want you to stay." So, he does. And he decides to apologize to them all once and for all, for everything that happened to them as kids that he had part in. He then tells them he's proud of them and everything they've overcome and that he has a lot of respect for the way they've "run the show" since he died. He turns to Alex and says to be fair, he thinks she's overcome the most, and that he's damn proud of the capable, tough, kind person she's become. Singled out in a good way by her father for the first time she can really remember, told Alex is speechless and has tears in her eyes. They all hug each other for a long moment. As meaningful as the moment is, Alex finds herself reflecting that this feels ominous, like it was some kind of goodbye. Fear begins to creep in more and more.

* * *

The Croatoan virus is spreading not just in the US, but all over the world. It's rapidly killing many and turning others into violent psychopaths who kill each other—doing the devil's work for him of ridding the earth of mankind. Slowly, it becomes evident that everything is poisoned with the virus: the water supply, the food supply. So essentially, earth is going to hell and quickly.

The Bunker has a well water supply, and rations for many years in its storage supply, so the inhabitants are safe… for now. But with about 150 in their encampment, it doesn't look good for them. They have to start rationing immediately—this sends some hunters into revolt, because they feel there is a hierarchy formed: the Bunker vs the people in the encampment outside of it—and many of them abandon the Bunker to try and make it on their own. Each day grows more apocalyptic: Cities are bombed, travel breaks down, government shuts down, news broadcasts stop, cell towers don't work anymore. More and more leave the encampment every day.

Everyone is living under enormous stress and fear not to mention shock from the speed of which everything is changing. But perhaps Molly, the newest to this life, has the hardest time handling everything. Her parents are not answering the phone anymore—and they live in California, so she can't go check on them. More than likely, the virus got them. Bobby and Mama Tran seem to be extra sensitive to her fears, and show her kindness in the harder moments—kind of playing mom and dad in a way.

John brings this up to Bobby later, and says he owes him everything for taking Dean, Sam, and Alex under his wing throughout the years and looking out for them the way he's looking out for Molly. Bobby says he hasn't always agreed with John's methods or choices, but that he raised some damn good kids that John ought to be proud of. John says Bobby should be proud too, because he had a lot to do with all that. This is a hugely emotional moment for Bobby, who has rarely been acknowledged in such a blunt way. The men shake hands and pat each other on the back, reconciling.

* * *

Croatoans are beginning to heavily populate the area around the Winchesters—the entire population of the world might be dead or close to gone, no one knows. Forced back as the tide of the war turns, the group is not doing well at all. It's beginning to look as though the world is going to end—that the Apocalypse was delayed and changed, but that Lucifer was right about 2014.

* * *

The Bunker group has a meeting to try and decide what to do. The Winchesters know what Lucifer ultimately wants, and Sam feels like he is the one who can change everything. Sam says he will kill himself so Lucifer can't have him, but Dean says that's not an option. Lucifer will only resurrect him. Sam then says why not say "yes" and then have one of them ready to kill him by somehow stealing Lucifer's Archangel's blade in the moment of possession? John says there's little chance that would work, and that's last resort, not first choice. They can't do what they did before, because the Cage is damaged. None of them know what to do. Even if Sam magically disappeared off the face of the earth today, Lucifer will still be a major problem. There aren't any weapons aside from an Archangel's blade that can be used to kill the devil, and the only blade left belongs to Lucifer. There's talk about trying to find the lost blades of Gabriel, Raphael, Michael, and one group of angels is put on task to go see if they can find anything on earth. This is a longshot, but still, it's something.

While the angels search for blades, the encampment of the Bunker is bombarded with mini crisis after mini crisis. There's a forest fire nearby, there's Croatoan surges in town, the perimeter around the Bunker is damaged multiple times, the generator stops working. Communication is breaking down fast, and things are getting more and more desperate.

Then, without warning there's a huge development in the case: apparently, according to good sources and good indications, Lucifer is in Kansas City which isn't even an hour away, and realizing this might be the only chance they have, John and Dean rush to lead the majority of hunters/angels/demons out in a caravan to mount a last ditch effort to attack the building Lucifer's holed up in. They don't exactly have a plan, except maybe to trap him in Holy Fire and find a way to keep him imprisoned indefinitely, or at least until they can find a blade to kill him with. This might be their only chance.

However, just ten minutes after leaving for Kansas City with their caravan of freedom fighters, Dean slams on the brakes. Sam and Alex, Jamie, Molly, Linda, Kevin, the babies are all at the Bunker—and a couple of random hunters stayed behind to guard the doorway, but that won't be enough if Dean's sudden, awful realization is correct: this is probably a setup to get everyone away from the Bunker. He squeals tires, turning around immediately and gunning it back at nearly a hundred miles an hour. With him are Cas, Bobby, John and Crowley. He's cursing himself for not realizing sooner.

Sure enough, Lucifer was creating a diversion in order to get his true vessel alone—or, mostly alone. He wagered that the Winchesters would probably leave Sam behind in a larger scale attack in order to protect him. And as such, Lucifer is now in a much better position to take his vessel with zero problems. He approaches the Bunker with a calm smile, killing the guards without even looking at them—then he snaps his fingers, and fire springs up all around the Bunker and the door blows off completely. The fire moves inward and burns away at the entrance angel wards that were just placed, and Lucifer begins to enter, the fire and smoke following him inside as sirens begin to scream. He is here to take what is his and destroy the rest.


	147. Epilogue: Things We Lost In The Fire

_"There is no real ending. It's just the place where you stop the story."  
_— Frank Herbert

* * *

**May 2nd, 1983  
** **Lawrence, Kansas**

In labor and delivery at Lawrence Memorial Hospital on a sunny Monday afternoon, an exhausted and happy new mother of twins was nestled in bed with her two new babies cradled close beside her. They wore matching long sleeved white onesies and little knit caps provided by the hospital. The infants were brand new—only about five or six hours old.

Mary Winchester studied their sweetly sleeping selves with fierce, vulnerable tenderness. She traced their faces and their cheeks, memorizing delicate eyelashes and little noses and the tiniest of movements and sounds. Humming _Hush Little Baby_ softly, she briefly remembered when Dean was this little. A bittersweet pang struck her. They wouldn't be this small for long. Before she knew it, these two would be running around and be getting into everything. But for now… they slept snuggled up to each other, accustomed to being close in the womb and thus comforted by the other one's closeness. She smiled—a weary, peaceful little turn of her lips upward. "Angels are watching over you, my sweethearts…" she whispered softly, transfixed by their perfection. Protective feelings welled deeply over the precious little new lives she loved since the day she found out they were coming.

There was a little knock at the door, and in came a handsome dark-haired man carrying their four year old son. "Hiya honey," he greeted with a big grin, then looked at the boy in his arms. "Someone order a big brother?"

Mary smiled back at her husband John and son Dean—John was with her during delivery and Dean was with a sitter. This moment was the first time meeting his new siblings. The moment all mothers dream of and worry over. The moment when they would introduce their child to the new arrivals. Mary wasn't too worried though—Dean had been more than ready to be a big brother ever since John and Mary first told him about the twins. "Hi Dean baby!" Mary greetsed brightly. "Wanna meet your brother and sister?"

John was already setting him onto the small empty space on the bed beside Mary, and Dean was delighted. "Oh my gosh Mama!" he exclaimed reverently, reaching out to touch them gingerly in turn. "They're so _little_ …!"

"Yeah buddy, they are," Mary said, pressing a kiss to her oldest son's head. "They're gonna need their big brother to look out for them, huh?"

"I can do that, Mom!" Dean said confidently, keenly examining his new siblings with wide eyes and a huge smile.

John settled in beside them on a chair, studying the babies, who currently looked very alike in their identical outfits. "Which one is which, Mary?" John asked.

"This one's my brother," Dean said proudly before Mary could answer, touching his hand to one baby. "And this one's my sister."

Mary looked at her husband briefly in surprise, then stroked her son's head once. "Wow Dean, how'd you know that?"

"I can just tell," Dean replied matter-of-factly, finally looking away from the twins to give his mom a very pleading look. "Can I hold them? Pleaaase Mom?"

Mary fixed her son with a pointed, playful look. "That's a pretty big boy job. How about sit nice beside Mom and I help you?"

"Yeah!" Dean said, and eagerly wiggled himself into the space beside Mary, then held his arms out. She carefully lifted Alexandra first, nicknamed Allie—she will only go by this nickname for the first year or so of her life, but Mary didn't know that. She let the baby lay across Dean's waiting arms, then she set baby Sam into the place where Mary and Dean are snuggled close. Mary kept an arm around Dean, just in case—but he was being very careful, impressively so for a four year old. It was obvious that he knew, even in his little mind, how important and special the moment was. "Mom, I can't believe this!" Dean said in his sweet little voice, staring at his sister then his brother in total gaping awe. "They're so… so… beautiful!" He carefully patted his little sister's head with all the finesse a four year old could muster, and she grunted in response, her face wrinkling up a bit. " _Aww_!" Dean exclaimed. He leaned a little closer and whispered, "I love you baby girl... I'm gonna be your big brother forever, okay?" Her arm flailed and her hand grabbed his pinkie finger hard. Dean got extremely excited and looked at Mary with a little gasp. " _She's grabbing me Mom_!"

Mary's heart could have burst watching her son with the twins. "That's cuz you're the big brother, Dean honey. They already love you."

Dean put his arm around Sam too. "I love them too," he said, then put his face close to his brother's. "I'm always gonna take care of you Sammy." He kissed his brother just above the eyebrow, and smiled down at him proudly.

Mary reached over and squeezed her husband's hand as tears filled her eyes. She dreamt of the years ahead: birthdays and boo-boos, school, sports, holidays, vacations, family time, love. So much love. She shifted, maneuvering her arm to lift Sam so that she could lean down and kiss his little forehead. Dean mimicked her, leaning down and doing the same to his sister. John watched with a smile rooted in his heart, and he ruffled Dean's hair lovingly, then mouthed, " _I love you_ ," to Mary. She mouthed it back and they held each other's gazes tenderly, catching each other's hand to hold.

None of them knew how brief and precious this time was. None of them knew how everything was about to change forever, sending the family into absolute pieces. How the events that would take place six months from now would destroy the man John Winchester was that day and set their children onto a path they could never step off of. But, one thing was for sure: through it all, Dean would make good on his promise to always take care of his brother and sister.

* * *

**Present Day - November 2nd, 2018  
**(About Four Years After the Angels Fell)

**The Bunker  
** **Kansas**

The morning is overcast and quiet. It rained during the night, leaving the ground wet, the oaks dripping, the air thick and cool. The landscape is that of late autumn: trees are mostly bare with a few straggler leaves remaining—a mellow blanket of chalky fog lays over lower parts of the mostly-unremarkable Kansas landscape, and there is a certain chill in the air that only comes when winter is around the corner. The sun hasn't quite risen, but very soon will.

A tallish, dark-haired woman with fair skin stands alone in the clearing not far from the Bunker's silent entrance. The woman is deep in thought. She's thirty-five today, but her eyes seem much older than that. Her skin has scars that tell stories, her shoulders have carried weight beyond their ability, and her petite frame doesn't give away how strong and fast she is. She's dressed plainly, in jeans and hiking boots that are designed for function, not fashion. Her hands are hiding in the pockets of her worn-out dark green bomber jacket, her long brown hair is swept all to one side and tumbles down in a mess of unbrushed waves. Around her neck a delicate chain glints. On it rests a single shining penny.

A sigh of wind stirs the skeletal branches overhead and they creak like the hull of a ship at sea might. Somewhere, a crow caws. A lonely and strange call that goes unanswered. Loose hairs stir around the woman's face and she blinks a few times but otherwise doesn't really respond to the external stimuli. She's not very present in her physical surroundings. She's momentarily lost in her thoughts, lost in memories of her life—thinking of all the things that have happened to her and felt so real once… yet now are just distant memories that could be very well dreams or imagination.

The crow cries again, then suddenly leaps from a branch overhead into the gray sky. Hazel eyes flick upward to watch the bird disappear from sight, beating its wings with great powerful swoops as it rises up, up, and away. And then Alex Winchester's gaze returns downward, where she continues to contemplate the two gravestones in front of her.

The headstones are only a few years old and not that weathered yet.

The wind shivers through the trees again, rattling branches momentarily like wooden wind chimes or old bones. Alex wonders pensively: If she were to tell her story to someone from the outside world - the entire story beginning to end - who would believe any of it? Nothing about it sounds true. _Ghosts, spirits, witches, monsters, demons… angels_. Alex's eyes rise from the tombstone again to the gray, birdless sky. _Spells, magic, curses…_ people dying and coming back from death. A girl who spent twenty-something years of life completely mute, suddenly and inexplicably given the ability to speak. _Heaven, Hell, God, the Devil. The end of the world._ An angel plummeting from grace when he made the mistake of falling in love with a small, finite human. It was all so beyond incredible and beyond unbelievable. But it all happened, and Alex lived every bit of it. It's her biography.

But perhaps the most unbelievable thing of all to her…?

As if he knows she's just thought of him, just as she is turning her head toward where she knows he is, his little voice cuts through her reverie. " _Mama_!"

He's dressed for the chill in dark jeans, fur-lined booties, and a bomber jacket with a hood—there's little animal ears sewn on. Everything about him is painfully cute at the age of four: his tousled blondish hair and huge crystal blue eyes framed by thick dark lashes, the little freckles scattered across his currently rosy cheeks. She crouches down to meet him with an easy smile as he runs up to her. It's hard to describe the way she feels about this little guy, but she never knew a capacity for love in the specific way she loves her son.

"These is good?" CJ asks in his sweet little voice, revealing his fistful of little yellow flowers which he gathered as told. They might not even be flowers—weeds maybe.

Alex looks at the yellow buds with a surprised, then rueful ghost of a smile. The memories of yellow flowers play through her mind briefly. "Yes, Baby," she says, giving him a couple of light squeezes on his arm. "They're perfect."

"Okay Mama," he says, then hesitates, looking at the nearby gravestone, then looking back at his mother. "And I put thems on that one, Mom?" He's pointing to one of them in particular.

"Mmhm." She stands up and watches her son take the little gathered flowers over to one of the gravestones. He squats and puts them where the stone meets earth, then comes back and stands at her side, glancing up at her and then solemnly looking at the gravestone like she is—mimicking her. Castiel James, or Castiel Junior depending on who you ask—is an incredibly intelligent and sensitive child, with an ever-present impish and playful streak. Always in trouble, and add to that the developing Nephilim powers and it's quite the job to parent him. He is, of course, just a kid. But not a normal one. Not by a longshot. His father… after all… was an angel. Today, so far, he's tuned in to her more somber energy and hasn't started with his constant antics... yet. He hugs her leg, leans his head against it, and lets his cheek press in. A moment that fills her heart. Alex touches the top of his head softly, struck by the realness of him and her love for this little guy.

Alex looks at the headstones again. CJ doesn't really understand death quite yet, or what these gravestones represent. He was there, four years ago. But he was just a baby. Alex picks him up and holds him close to her, pressing her cool cheek to his warm one. Just a few years ago, the idea of motherhood would have sent her running for the hills. Today, her life is changed forever in the best of ways. No, it's not easy. Yes, it's harder and more stressful than hunting ever was in some moments, somehow. And yet it makes sense and somehow she's figured it out day by day.

"Mama?" CJ asks softly, drawing her close attention. "Don't deaded people come back? Does the stone means forever?"

 _Don't dead people come back?_ She kisses his soft cheek, then snuggles close to him, her heart aching at the innocent question. _If only._ "Not always, Baby," she murmurs. How do you explain this to such a young person? She can barely explain it all to herself. She holds him tighter, her permanent losses running through her mind as they often do. "Not always."

* * *

**The Bunker  
** **Four Years Ago**

Alex inhales sharply in a gasp as her stomach lurches in panic. She's jumping back with a twist, protecting her front, very narrowly avoiding the suddenly falling chunk of solid ceiling that smashes down and sends rubble spraying. The air is thick and smoky. She coughs and squints her eyes against the putrid sting. She can smell fire in the air, and it makes her want to gag. She's now stiffly frozen against a wall, breathing rapidly, eyes shut hard, arms tight around her precious cargo. Alarms are screaming, the electricity is failing and flickering, and sparks hiss down all around like acidic rain. It's hard to see, it's easy to get disoriented.

Everyone is separated from each other inside the slowly burning Bunker. Dean, Cas, Dad, Bobby, Crowley—they all left about fifteen or twenty minutes ago, thinking that Lucifer was in Kansas City. And instead, he was here all along, waiting for the perfect moment of weakness to strike.

_We should have known this was a trick. Sam, where are you?!_

Bundled against Alex's chest tightly, being clutched close even though he's in a snug baby-wearing wrap that keeps him secure against her chest even if she were to let go—her infant son. It's just the two of them against unknown odds, and this thought is enough to panic her completely. It feels like the world is ending, truly. If they aren't killed by the devil, they'll burn alive once the fire takes over the entire place. And for a moment, Alex is paralyzed by terror and hopelessness, the urge to survive and protect her son seeming impossible at this moment. They're effectively trapped in here like rats in a maze—Lucifer is blocking the way out by her best guess. She breathes heavily and unevenly, trembling from the fear. The news reports from the past few weeks run through her mind. Each one more dire than the last. Each one putting another shovelful of dirt into the grave, closing out hope, narrating the story of the end of the world.

" _Government is advising all people to NOT leave your homes for any reason whatsoever as the spread of this unknown virus continues to affect population at a growing rate."_

" _The virus is very quickly affecting the entire population worldwide."_

" _The CDC has gone radio silent. Attempts to reach representatives have been unsuccessful."_

" _I don't think we come back from this one, folks."_

_And then static when all the broadcasts stopped._

_Maybe we_ don't _come back from this one_ , she thinks haphazardly, her adrenaline making her feel close to snapping in two. They're not even sure how many people are alive out there. If there even _are_ others. The last couple weeks run through her mind. Desperation and preparation for the worst. Fear. Tension. And trying to make every moment meaningful in case they don't come back from this. Right now, Alex fears that it really is the end.

_Maybe Lucifer really will win this final round._

_Maybe humankind's extinction takes place today._

Terrible hopeless thoughts that make her feel sick. Alex cradles CJ's head closely to herself in her free hand, her mouth and nose against his head in a hard kiss—he smells like fresh baby shampoo and she squeezes her eyes shut, trying to decide what to do, trying to even understand what part of the Bunker she's in, trying not to lose control and panic completely. When Lucifer first entered, Sam was the first to see him. He'd shouted at everyone to run, get out. They had all scattered, and Alex had thought Sam would be behind her. She'd fled into one of the tunnels in the madness with her son, no clear thought in her mind except desperate escape. When she realized Sam wasn't with her, she'd panicked anew, gotten lost, turned around, and confused in the smoky hallways that all look so alike. Then she'd… wait. She actually doesn't remember what happened next. Her eyes open and she frowns, confused. There's a slight gap in her memory of between then and now, and she tries hard to remember. Is it the smoke inhalation getting to her?

At that moment, Alex suddenly realizes there is something weighty in one of her hands, and she looks down at what is tightly gripped at her side, surprised. The Colt? _How long have I been holding this?_ She doesn't remember picking it up, or where from. She turns it over a bit, recognizing the beautiful silver pistol with a long, thin barrel that has intricate swirling designs on it—a pentagram etched into the handle—and on the barrel of the gun is inscribed a Latin quote from Psalms: _"Non timebo mala."_ Or, in English: " _I will fear no evil._ " She hasn't seen it in years. Her brows furrow deeply as her face contorts in extreme bewilderment—even a little fear. _Why am I carrying this? Where did this even come from?_

CJ whimpers, and Alex looks down at him, cradling his head with a hand as her anger is replaced by a great, tearing worry. His feathery soft brown baby hair wisps into little curls and his huge, unreal blue eyes make her feel all the more afraid and there is a terribly sick feeling in her stomach. What if she can't save or protect him? CJ has been a pretty normal baby so far, except for the fact that he doesn't make a lot of noise. He rarely, _rarely_ cries—he seems more aware and watchful than a normal baby would be too. So the whimper is not usual, and Alex's heart hurts because of it. He can probably sense her distress. Or maybe he's hurt. Her chest clenches at that thought, and her feeling of failure. "It's okay, Baby," she whispers. But it might not be. And this moment might be the last chance to do what needs to be done. His trusting little eyes look up into hers, questioningly almost. Can a baby his age even manage that? Maybe she's making it up.

 _It's time,_ she tells herself, both her own thought and a thought that's been put in her by an outside source. She can't hide. She won't run away. This has to be the day.

With a fluttering heart and steeled nerves, Alex continues back the way she came, stumbling through the Bunker, trying to find the main area as if programmed to do so. Her eyes continue to burn and she's worrying that CJ will be hurt or killed—if not by the smoke, by something else. But she will _not_ leave him somewhere in the Bunker alone and risk something happening to him. They're in this together now as unfortunate as current circumstances make it. He is, after all, a Winchester—and it seems the Winchester family line is tied to dangerous, dark fates in this way. _Not forever though. I'm ending this today. Or I'll fucking die trying._ She begins to trip over bodies, and tries not to look at them… but she recognizes Jamie's tattooed arms and then Bobby's bulky form, then Linda's petite shape. Each twisted, bloody, dead person she comes across sends a feeling of _no please god no_ through her mind and veins, even as she frantically looks for signs of life or survivors. _Where is Rose? Did Kevin or Molly get out with her? Where is Sam? Where is Cas? Where is Dean?_

Dread and horror are making her nauseated, exhausted and shaky—she's panting for air, trying to crouch down a little where the smoke isn't as thick. She regrets leaving Sam alone, she is terrified she'll find him either dead or worse: the host to Lucifer. And she worries obsessively about her son's wellbeing with every single passing second.

She finally finds the main area, almost stepping onto Crowley's body as she does. His face is frozen in an expression of surprise—he's laying on his back, staring up at the ceiling unseeingly. Alex pauses and swallows hard, holding her baby tighter. _Damn. He even got you._ Crowley has always been an enemy. But more and more of a gray areain recent times. To the point that Alex almost really did view him as an ally. Almost.

She forces herself to look away from his corpse and then squints around—the smoke isn't as thick here because of the high ceiling and doorway out, but her eyes are watering still from the acridity of the air. _Did everyone die?_ She wonders in a sinking panic. _Is it just me?_ Flames engulf a good part of the ceiling far above, licking at the entirety of the expanse in angry hot orange, and Alex immediately thinks about her mother. She straightens up to her full height finally, transfixed in the worst of ways for a second. Does everything always end in fire for the Winchester family?

" _Alex_ —" croaks a familiar voice nearby.

Alex whirls to her left, already moving toward his voice, then rushing once she sees him laid on the floor, pushed up onto an elbow. "Sam!"

One hand is steadying CJ against herself, one is grabbing for Sam's shoulder to hold him as she falls to her knees beside him, freaking out. He's bloody, he's in pain, he looks severely injured and gashed all over. Another groan nearby—Alex looks and sees Dean and Cas about twenty feet off, both barely conscious and bloody. Close to them, Dad is sitting against a wall, bleeding profusely from a huge wound in his middle—clearly dying. _Oh no… oh no. When did they come back?! How did this happen?_

Alex isn't even given a chance to react. "B-behind you—!" Sam rasps weakly, an attempt at a shout, but barely a whisper. He's floundering on his elbow in a failed attempt to move himself while looking at something or someone behind her, and his expression shows horror. Alex's head whirls back fast, her senses going razor sharp even as she shoots back up to her feet and turns to face the adversary. In the center of the room, where there was nothing and no one a moment before, he stands stock still. His back is turned to her, but she recognizes him and knows who it is immediately. Deep sadness and tragedy harmonize with dread and horror as he turns slowly with a certain gracefulness and commanding ease, eyes reflecting the flames eerily. It's Adam in appearance, but clearly Lucifer. He stands a certain way that gives it away, his hair is different—slicked back in an elegant way—and the glint in his eyes is unmistakable. He's wearing all black—black jeans, black boots, black shirt, black leather jacket. Adam's skin is grayish, strange veins creep up his neck toward his jawline. Alex's heart feels like it could stop to see this with her own eyes.

"Well hello, kiddo," Lucifer says in a soft, pleasant tone, smiling without showing teeth. He seems smug, self-assured, cold. "Long time no see." He glances upward briefly, then feigns concerned thoughtfulness as he looks back at her. "Gosh. Your life seems to have a theme around fires, doesn't it?" And then he smiles, chuckling a little at his joke.

Alex remains in place, however, her breathing is coming hard and shallow again. "Lucifer." Tear tracks stain her slightly sooty face. She realizes that the only thing standing between the devil and her family is _her_ —a small, hopeless human versus an immortal archangel who is bent on destroying the world she knows—and is well on his way to accomplishing that goal. Alex holds her son a little tighter, swallowing hard. Last time she saw Lucifer he was possessing Sam, years ago. She had died that day beneath his hands. Facing this enemy again—this enemy who feels unstoppable, unkillable, all-powerful—has her blood frozen to ice. _I don't have a chance against him! I didn't last time, and I don't now either._ But it's too late. She's here now. This is the ending. They'll all see, in a few moments, who comes out on top.

"Well." Lucifer comments in that same soft tone, his eyes betraying his malice and cruelty. "Hasn't this just come full circle."

She flashes back to when he possessed her. How cold and dead that presence had felt in her bones. How entirely evil. _We are all doomed._ That's the only thing she can think at the moment.

"Alex, get outta here," Sam wheezes. " _Go_." She chances a look back at her twin. His face contorts in pain, and without meaning to, her expression echos his out of empathy and resonance. Dean and Cas nearby, so woozy that they can't speak, only look at her pleadingly, blood streaking their faces. Alex holds Cas's gaze for the briefest of moments. There is love, despair, and pleading there. _I can't go,_ she thinks, shaking her head ever so faintly no. _I'm so sorry, Cas._ It's too late for escape. Escape was never an option. It's stand and fight or nothing.

"She couldn't leave even if she wanted to, Sam," Lucifer says easily, then clasps his hands behind his back as if he's at leisure. He walks a few slow, calculated steps forward and to the right, looking at Alex and her son from the corner of his eyes. "Congratulations are in order, I see." His eyes flicker over the baby with an obscenely curious wolfishness. "He's beautiful. Such an amazing creation…" When Alex covers her son's head with a hand and turns away a bit, obscuring him from sight, Lucifer's eyes flick up to Alex's again and there's malicious intent to his little smile that emerges. A chill runs down her spine even as helpless rage boils her.

Sam is struggling with labored sounds to get up behind Alex, but not succeeding—he's too hurt. Lucifer smiles softly at the attempt, an almost tender expression—but it's marred by a scoff. "Now don't get up on _my_ account, Sam. Just… sit back, enjoy the show." He looks around briefly at the dead and the dying. Dean has rolled onto his side and is panting like an animal—Cas moans softly, trying to move and finding himself too weak in the moment to do so. John winces against the wall he's slumped on, a hand pressed against a huge wound in his stomach area uselessly. "Huh, would you look at that," Lucifer comments lowly, enjoying himself as he looks around. He ends with his eyes locking to Sam's. "The whole family's here, Sam! To see this historic, glorious… _inescapable_ moment. It's fitting, isn't it? Only one's who's missing… is your mother."

Dean makes a sound that sounds like a sob mixed with an angry groan.

" _Fuck you_ , you son of a _bitch_!" John manages through teeth gritted in pain.

Lucifer looks unimpressed. "Says the dying man." He turns and walks off a few steps, then gives a lengthy look around the entirety of the Bunker and the people inside of it. He chuckles ever so faintly, as if he's pleased with himself as he faces Alex and Sam again. "Y'know gang, our first run-through of this whole thing was a little different—but I have to say. I _really_ like this version." He fixes Sam with another intense, cool gaze. "So, let's go over the numbers here, Sam. I've killed almost everyone you know and love. And whoever I haven't gotten to yet… I will." His eyes slide to Alex chillingly. "It's too bad you won't be around very long to see all the amazing things I'm going to do to this planet, Alexandra." He begins to grin widely, spreading his arms. "You guys thought the human condition was bad before?" His voice raises to an almost shout and his arms are the widest they'll go. "I'm about to paint this whole town _red_!" Flames leap up in response to his voice, giving a roar and influx of heat as they do—a theatric gesture, but it's not without effect. Alex has to force herself not to cower back even as CJ wails briefly in a sound of fear and discomfort. Lucifer relaxes, letting his arms fall to where they normally rest once more. His gaze is intent on CJ now, and he walks forward a bit. "And this little guy is gonna be quite the addition to my collection…"

Alex's jaw clenches tight, and her teeth grind together. She holds her baby closer, thinking about the Colt. "Don't talk about my son, asshole," she says dangerously.

Lucifer stops short and finally shows a glimmer of displeasure. "You seem pretty confident for a bitch whose house is burning to the ground around her," he murmurs threateningly, then he begins to move forward again, so much so that Alex has to give ground, move to the side, then back up.

They effectively have switched places now, with Lucifer being closer to Sam while staring Alex down. The light hits Lucifer differently now, and for a second… he could have been Adam. Young, attitude-riddled, uncertain, prideful, wounded, mistrustful, human Adam. Alex remembers him vividly during their short time together. She feels a pang of emotion hit her. Another person, lost because of Lucifer, Michael, and the angels insistence on using the Winchesters as puppets. It's not fair. It never has been. But especially not to Adam Milligan, who never asked for what happened to him or what he became part of. He had no chance. Alex finds herself whispering, "Adam… if you're in there… I'm so sorry."

One of Lucifer's eyebrows raises just a bit and he contemplates her darkly. "He's not." The smallest of smiles creeps across his lips. "Sweet of you to think of him though." Lucifer turns his attention to Sam, who is on the ground in growing pain. "You can make this all go away, Sam. Say the word and the fire's out, you're better, and maybe I don't kill your whole family as you watch."

Sam is tortured and in emotional anguish, but he shakes his head no through tears. "No. _No_. Never. I don't care how many people you kill."

Lucifer's eyebrows raise mildly. "Care to test that theory?" It all happens before they can react or even understand. Lucifer's expression becomes severe, and he raises his arm in front of himself, making a hard fist and twisting his expression as he does so. John clutches his chest, cries out in pain. Near to him, Dean calls out, "Dad!" even as John slumps down sideways, dead. Dean begins to protest with a weak scream of "no!" but he's next. And then, just as he's getting to his feet by some miracle, Cas's neck snaps gruesomely. _No. No. No!_ Someone is screaming. _Is that Sam? Is that me?_ Alex's ears are ringing, things seem to be happening in slow motion, the world is spinning, she can't feel her body. _I didn't act fast enough!_ _I didn't do it!_ She can barely see—she's stopped breathing. This is a horrible dream. All she can do is cling to her son with weak limbs and struggle against a closed windpipe. All dead, in the span of several seconds. Just here one second, gone the next. They lay there like ragdolls, in the Bunker along with everyone else. A graveyard that was once was their home.

 _End this. End this! END THIS!_ A repeating directive in her mind, but she can't move a muscle.

"Let's see," Lucifer says calmly as Sam weeps openly and Alex spins internally. "That's three more…" he gives Sam a plaintive look. "Care to make it four…?" He indicates Alex, who is shaken and glazed, staring at Cas and Dean in hollowed out horror as she holds CJ to herself in abject shock. Sam grits his teeth against the pain and the weight of his choice to say no, tears making his cheeks shine. Lucifer patronizes him further, and indicates the ceiling. "Should I put her up there to die? Just like mommy? Or maybe I should rip her apart piece by piece while you listen to her _scream_ …"

Alex stays stock still, her teeth gritted so tight it feels like they could explode from the pressure, her breathing coming fast and hard through her nose. Her heart feels like it's lava, screaming in her chest, thumping so hard it feels like it'll break through her skin. She can't think a coherent thought at all, except _no_. And even though the state of shock, and dismay she's in… she knows it's time to act. That in a few moments, she won't have the chance anymore. Still, she can't find the ability to move.

" _Please, no…_ " Sam is sobbing. He knows he is signing Alex's death certificate by refusing to be the devil's vessel, and that any moment, he'll watch her die too. At this point, Lucifer is just toying with them. Enjoying both of their emotional torment, fear, and stress. CJ is crying now. And that is the last, _fucking_ , straw.

With astonishing quickness thanks to gun drills and years of practice, the Colt flashes out of her waistband and she points it square at Lucifer's back in a hard clench to keep from shaking. " _Stop it_." Alex manages in a shockingly commanding voice. "Turn the _fuck_ around right now." Her voice creates utter silence—CJ ceases crying, Lucifer pauses. He blinks twice, as if he cannot fathom who would dare tell him what to do. He turns slowly, a dangerous look in his eye, followed by genuine surprise at the Colt—before he suddenly laughs and pulls an overly dramatic face. "Aw _look_. Sis is gonna save us all!" He remains amused for a couple more seconds before he takes on an air of patronizing. "…Didn't we do the whole Colt thing a few seasons ago?" He appears to be amused fully at this point. "…You _do_ know the only way to kill me is with an Archangel's blade, right?" His tone implies that she's beyond stupid. He holds up his gleaming blade and comes a little closer to her, his wicked smile cold and sharp like the knife. "Only one left, right here. I destroyed the rest." Alex's blood feels thinner, less capable of keeping her body standing. He waits a couple seconds longer, almost as if he wants her to make a try for the weapon. When she doesn't, he returns his blade to the inside of his jacket and shakes his head at her, still holding the gun high and aimed at his chest. "It's cute, Alex, honestly, but haven't we been through all this? _You don't have a chance against me,"_ he reminds gently, smiling at her like an adult would smile at a child who has done something very silly.

On the floor, Sam looks excruciated and hopeless, as well as confused by Alex and the Colt. He clearly expects to see Alex die in front of him. Alex clenches her jaw, shaking her head no. Her expression is brutal. "You can't have him. You can't have any of us."

"Oh really?" Lucifer challenges, then feigns thoughtfulness. "Adam's mine. Your _son_ is _mine_. Your _brother_ is mine. Your family is _dead_ , your _friends_ are dead." He openly laughs at her now. " _You're_ gonna stop me?" An inconvenienced scoff and a slight roll of the eyes. " _Please_." He's high on ego and pride, enjoying this game of cat and mouse. "You tried before, remember?" Yes. She does. She had tried to become his vessel out of the belief that she could stop him. And today, again, she believes she can stop him. But there is doubt. So much doubt. He seems to sense her doubt, too. "This is _fate,_ " he assures her in a gentle, patronizing, cool way. "Unstoppable, cruel, inescapable fate." He's drifting a little closer to her. "No matter how many times you try to stop me, I will _always_ claw my way back up here to fuck your shit up." Fire dances in his eyes as he gets even closer. "We always end up here, Alex Winchester. _Always_. The song remains the same, the writing's on the wall, the script's already written." And then he quotes himself, taking Alex back to that version of 2014 she and Dean saw. "Whatever choices you make… whatever details you alter… whatever games you try to play… we will always end up—right— _here_." Lucifer moves in even closer. _It's almost time_. Lucifer smiles at her cruelly, and she can see his intent to kill her. He's almost close enough to reach out and touch now. "I win, Alex."

On the floor, Sam is feebly holding himself up on his arms, his warm hazel eyes that so perfectly match Alex's are pleading with her. He can sense something is about to happen, but he thinks that something is Alex being murdered in front of him. _I hope he's wrong about that_ she thinks somberly _._ Their gazes have locked, and Sam is wordlessly begging her. For what, she doesn't know. But in that moment she sees him so clearly… and not only him, but their entire lives. Her brother—the one she came into this world with, the one who grew alongside her not only in the womb but in their crazy, bizarre childhood. It wasn't perfect by any means. But it was theirs. The endless gallery of gas stations and cheap shitty motels flicks through her mind like pages of a book; its chapters are full of uncertain days and long nights, the endless road, a never-ending barrage of changing schools and no lasting friendships. But each other—they always had each other—whether they wanted that or not. Even when Sam tried to opt out, fate had other plans. Who could have ever known, ten years ago when Sam came out of his apartment he'd shared with Jessica on Halloween night to a resentful sister and a brother begging for help to find Dad… that it would all crescendo to this moment here? Who would have believed it? The years of pain, tests, problem after problem, death and loss and heartache and growth and impossible task after impossible task—it all rushes through Alex's mind like a train passing at top speed.

And despite all the hell, both literal and figurative, between then and now—what she remembers clearest of all is love. A feeling of belonging, trust, and camaraderie. The feeling when Dean puts his arm around her shoulder and ruffles her hair, says 'that's my girl.' The safe, familiar sensation of both brothers leaning in over her to study what she's indicating on a page of a book or a screen on the computer. Sam's gentle empathy and kindness, his silent support of just sitting with her and putting a hand on her back when times were hard… paired with the understanding that he'd destroy anyone who hurt her. It's the fact, feeling, and knowledge that no matter what, every single last time until death and even beyond, the Winchester siblings will always, _always_ save each other. It won't always be ethical, or timely, or clean cut. But it's the way they do things. And right now, this situation—it's on her and her alone to save them all. Alex hasn't dropped Sam's gaze this entire time—it's perhaps been a second or two, yet it seems a lifetime. She feels herself giving him the smallest of smiles—oddly peaceful and resolute given the circumstances. _It's gonna be okay, big brother_.

Even as her lips lift ever so slightly up, Alex hears her dad's voice in her mind. It drowns out everything else, and it's an anchor in that moment. _Do the job. Focus on the task. You'll find yourself alone out there someday, and the only person who can ensure your survival will be you. Be fast. Think hard. Stay sharp. Focus. FOCUS!_ She draws in a deep breath, her inhale against the racing beat of her heart the only sound she can hear for a moment. She wills herself to focus past the tide of terror that has been drowning her body and mind. To focus. To do the job. _End this._

Lucifer steps up to her where his chest touches the barrel of the gun, and it's like she has sudden tunnel vision when she looks from Sam to him. Everything closes out in all of her senses, sinks down an octave. His voice drops to a close murmur, and he reaches up to ever so softly take her chin in his hand. Ice spreads at the touch of his hand—an almost tender expression if it wasn't laced with so much foreboding and chill. "Any last words?" he asks her in a murmur.

She barely registers what she's doing, as if in a dream. This is the entire meaning of her life, this moment right here. With the flick of her thumb, Alex pulls back the hammer of the gun, a swift, precise motion she's performed on a hundred guns a hundred times before. It takes a fraction of a second. Even as it's clicking into place and sending the bullet into the chamber, she whispers back in a fierce: " _You first_." And then she pulls the trigger. With a deafening _bang!_ , with absolute finality, with no guarantee… the gun fires.

The hollow-point bullet—made of a melted-down archangel's blade that was _not_ destroyed as Lucifer thought—rips through his chest even as the kick of the gun knocks Alex back. She watches as Lucifer stumbles back from the force of the gunshot and looks down at himself with an agape expression—brilliant blue-white light is screaming out of the wound, causing the air to fill with a high-pitched ringing noise that is deafening. "No… _no_!" he screams as he panics and stumbles back, and his body begins to spasm even as he clutches at himself uselessly, looking at Alex with absolute fear and shock, utter confusion as to what happened. She approaches him at a severe march, murder in her eyes, vengeance in her features. She has one hand holding her child against her, and the other has shoving the gun back into her waistband again.

This is the enemy of all people, all angels, all demons. He has been an unstoppable force of corruption and evil. Until today. Until her. Alex grabs him by the front of the shirt and yanks him toward her as he stares with absolute wide-eyed terror into her eyes. "Go to _hell,_ " she seethes in the most fierce yet quiet voice, her teeth bared and face mere inches from his, "and fucking stay there you little _bitch_." She shoves him away and down with brutal force thanks to the adrenaline. He screams rage and pain and even as he hits the ground, light explodes out of him, brighter than the sun, causing Sam and Alex to both shut their eyes and throw a hand up against the light as they try to in vain escape from the intense blaze. The ear-piercing zinging sound intensifies, threatening to explode eardrums, and Lucifer gives one last bellow—a sound that seems to come from everywhere all at once. Then there is something like a small sonic boom—sending a shudder through the entire space, then a gust of powerful wind blows most of the fire out, knocking Alex over onto her butt as she attempts to shield her son.

And then all is silent and suddenly dark.

Daylight filters in from higher places where the ceiling fell in and from the open Bunker door, cascading down in shafts of light that are hazy from the swirling, settling smoke.

The twins are left to blink against the darker interior of the Bunker and breathe hard against the shock as their eyes adjust. Lucifer is lying dead with wide open eyes—midnight black wings burned onto the floor on either side of him, and Alex stands up slowly, looking at him with a hard to read expression as she catches her breath. She waits a long couple of seconds then reaches down and into his jacket, taking his blade, observing it carefully from handle to tip, then putting it into her jacket with a hard expression on her face.

Sam is trying to register what just happened—he's laying on his side. "H-how did you do that?!" he demands in shellshocked daze. "What kind of bullet was that?!"

Alex however doesn't answer. She's rushed to Cas now, dropping down to a knee while holding CJ with one hand against herself. She's shaking Cas, calling his name, then shaking Dean, calling his. Neither respond. They're both dead. Alex looks over at her father, who is the same. For a brief moment, Alex looks every bit terrified and gutted, like she's going to break down and weep. Then abruptly, her expression changes to absolutely pissed. Why? Now that the deed is done, she's remembered. _Everything._

Without explanation, she comes over to Sam who has managed to sit himself up against a table leg. She drops down, hugs him tightly for a long couple of seconds. They're both shaking, holding on as if they're afraid to let go. "Y-you okay?" Sam asks her and they pull apart.

She shakes her head no and gives CJ to Sam. "Hold him, can you?"

Totally confused, trying to go along with it, Sam is already weakly holding his nephew against himself with two bloody hands. "Y-yeah…"

Alex holds Sam's gaze intensely for a moment, her face in an expression he's never quite seen before. She touches the side of his head, then cups a hand to his cheek gently. "I love you Sam, all right? It's gonna be okay. Promise."

It's like she's in some kind of mania, and his face only shows confusion and pain. "I don't…" Sam starts, but Alex is already standing up, and the energy of her stance and steps are… odd.

She stalks off a couple steps, rips her baby wearer off, then looks up, shouting at the ceiling as a ray of light bathes her. "He's dead, you son of a bitch, now _where are you_?!" Nothing happens. Sam follows her gaze, confused and marginally horrified as again she shouts at the top of her lungs in an animalistic shout, " _WHERE—ARE—YOU_?!"

There's a long silence in which Alex looks around with growing frustrated anger. And then, a voice Sam hasn't heard in years sounds from nearby.

"Geez, impatient much?"

Sam gapes, following the sound of the voice to a below average height man with combed back longer brown hair, a clean shaven face, and an impish expression. He's wearing jeans, a rugged jacket, and a cocky little victorious smile. He comes out of the shadows with arms spread wide and a huge smile, as if he's a rockstar greeting his fans.

 _Holy shit,_ Sam's expression says. "… _Gabriel_?!" he breathes in disbelief.

It _is_ him. If looks could kill, Gabriel would be six feet under thanks to Alex's angry stare. As soon as Gabe is close enough to her, Alex grabs a turned over chair, then full strength slams it into the archangel, head first. The chair breaks and Gabriel's smile drops in favor of an insulted expression. "Ow- _wuh_!" he exclaims, putting a hand on his head as if it's hurt him. "I give you the weapon to kill Lucifer and this is the thanks I get?!" He dusts himself off with a put-on expression. "Tough crowd."

Alex tries to shove him. "You crooked, fucking, _bastard_!"

"Hey, it worked didn't it?" Gabriel asks, even as Alex is picking up a chair leg and hitting him with that. Gabriel ducks and holds a hand up defensively even as she grabs yet another chair and smashes him with that. "Stop _hitting_ me!" he protests in a rising voice.

"Maybe don't use me as your fucking _puppet_ and get my family killed and I won't!" she yells.

Gabriel holds a finger up to clarify. "Hey, in my defense, 'puppet' is a strong word—"

"You _used_ me!" Alex spits out, red in the face. She looks ready to grab another chair.

Gabe pulls a face. "Uh, _duh_! And it worked, didn't it, so geez, put a tampon in it will you?"

Sam, still on the floor, holding his nephew, has a completely agape expression on his face and he looks back and forth between the angel and his sister for understanding. "W-what the hell is going on here?" He's flummoxed in the face of Gabriel's freewheeling demeanor. "You're _dead_!"

Gabriel looks at Sam in playful challenge. "All signs point to _that_ being false." He chuckles, then pauses, taking in Sam's injured appearance fully. "Hmm. Also…" He snaps his fingers, and suddenly, Sam's injuries are gone and he's cleaned up. "You're welcome," the archangel says, giving a humble little bow. He turns to Alex, who is still seething in front of him, barely holding onto her temper. Gabriel holds his hands up in a calming gesture, and begins to explain a bit, mostly for Sam's benefit. "Look, I always knew crazy ole Lucifer would present problems as long as he existed, right? So when I heard he was back, _again_ , I saved _all_ our asses by giving your sister my blade a couple weeks ago." He turns fully to Alex and gives him an approving expression. "Nice touch too with melting the blade into bullets, kid. I did _not_ think about that option. He never saw it coming!"

Alex is stony. "Well thanks to whatever the hell you did to me, I don't remember _doing_ that."

Gabriel looks absolutely thrilled with himself. "Sweet, right?"

"Not sweet. _Not_!" Alex replies in a near-shout. She's very disoriented and feels slightly violated by what just happened.

Sam has stood up now and is holding his nephew to himself carefully. He's fixed Gabe with a threatening expression as he comes to stand right with Alex. "Explain. _Now_."

Gabriel arches a brow and rolls his eyes then sighs. "Okay, tough guy." He pauses and frowns thoughtfully, bringing his hands to steeple his fingers together and press those fingers against his mouth briefly. "Now I, uh—how do I say this?— _put a very special, rare spell in place._ A spell that only works on… a chosen few." He wiggles his eyebrows, as if this should be an exciting detail. "It removed memories of the blade tradeoff from her, _and_ kept any memories of the blade at bay until the time was right. She knew enough to prepare the weapon and hide it for the right moment, _and_ even enough to go back to where she hid it today to find it—all without knowing what she knew until baaasically the last minute. Cool right?!" From Alex's expression, she does _not_ agree. Gabe sighs patronizingly. "Look, Al. You were my sleeper agent, and I know you're pissed right now, but if I let you remember everything we agreed to the whole dang time—if I gave you the opportunity to have this weapon _and_ the knowledge about the plan, you might've shared that with your clown brothers or dingbat husband. Lucy over there might have read it from your mind too, and where would that have gotten us, huh? Timing is everything. No one knowing about me, or the weapon, _or_ the plan, had to be the approach. Not even _you_ knew until the time was right, and look. It worked!" He gives her a pout, then a questioning gaze. "You _agreed_ to it, remember?"

Alex takes a long, reluctant moment to answer. "Yes." She huffs. " _Now_." She remembers the late night visit when Cas wasn't with her. It was very recently. Gabriel came to her—she's still not sure how he got in past the wards. Once she got over the shock of seeing the guy she thought was dead and always felt quite leery of, she heard him out. Gabriel told her that he had the single solution to the Lucifer problem, but that it was a very tricky issue. He then offered her his blade, and she'd come to understand the seriousness behind his proposal. She remembers agreeing to it but being very wary and not totally understanding the implications, and she doesn't think he represented everything totally honestly either in just how much meddling would be done to her mind and memory. This is just a bunch of bullshit. But she _does_ remember something else. Something Gabriel _doesn't_ know…

"Well then why aren't you thanking me?!" Gabriel asks with a huge grin. "Al… the kid sibling is always written off, right? Always. It's always _oooh Michael and his sword_ this and _wow Lucifer the bringer of light_ that, with me sitting in the corner like chopped liver as they make fun of me and my horn—" he looks genuinely angry for a second. "Well, screw those a-holes. Overrated pricks if you ask me. In the end? _We're_ the king and queen of this story, the heroes." He scoffs and gestures at Sam, with a shake of the head. "Not Sam and Dean or whoever else. You and me, kid." He's desperately trying to get Alex on the same emotional page of zeal and enthusiasm. "You just saved the world from the devil!" he exclaims passionately, then holds up a finger like he's remembered something. " _With_ my help of course." Alex however just looks tired and annoyed. Gabriel smiles empathetically. "You wanna know why I picked you? Because I didn't. This is just fate."

Alex exhales heavily, a sour expression etched onto her face. She's really done with angels today. "Oh spare me the fate bullshit…" she mutters. First Lucifer, now Gabriel.

"You think it's BS?" Gabe prompts, then gestures with his hands. "Come on, dude— _Alex_." He's looking at her like she's lost the plot. "Do you seriously not get it? Your oldest brother was Michael's _sword_ , your twin was Lucifer's _vessel_ …?" He trails off, but when Alex and Sam just glance at each other in a way that silently implies Gabriel is nuts, Gabe tries again. "You're in a three piece set, what, you spent all this time thinking Heaven didn't have a special role for you too?!" He grins widely, and almost giddily announces: "You're my _horn_!"

A long, befuddled, then suspiciously weirded out silence from Alex. " _Excuse_ me?"

"The Horn of Gabriel?" He asks, then mimes playing a horn to the twins increasing confusion. "That horn of truth thing from back in the day? Just a whacky souvenir I picked up from a crazy night in Bangladesh a few centuries ago." He winks, then grows fractionally more serious. "My horn has, and always will be, the person who fate chose to carry out my message. To announce Judgment Day." He's looking at Alex with mischievous fondness. "A.K.A… _you_."

Alex is absolutely incredulous and skeptical at the same time. "You have _got_ to be kidding me."

"So not," Gabriel says lightly with a shrug. "Why else would you have had a guardian angel all those years, huh? _God_ didn't do that." He smiles knowingly, revealing quite the bombshell: " _I_ did." Alex's mouth hangs open a little as she goes between surprise and doubt. That's quite the plot twist. He leans in a bit, lowering his voice conspiratorially into a mock whisper. "You're welcome. On multiple levels." He waggles his eyebrows suggestively. Alex can't reply. She's trying to process this. But his braggy attitude combined with how disposable she's currently feeling is getting to her nerves. Gabe however isn't done listening to himself talk. "I know what you're thinking. 'Well if that's the case, then why didn't we just kill Lucy last time he was out here screwing with the world and bringing the Apocalypse down on our heads, yada yada yada'? Well, given the fact that I was pretty dead, or incapacitated to say the least at the time, was a _biiit_ of an issue. Got a bit ahead of myself there with that stunt I pulled at the hotel back in the day, heh." He pauses, even as Alex is wondering if this is one of the reasons she was so strongly driven to try and destroy Lucifer before—an internalized knowledge that she was supposed to be the one to kill Satan. Gabe is still talking. "Look—CliffsNotes version. The horn symbolizes a whole bunch of mumbo jumbo I could care less about, but basically—it's Judgment Day bitches! And look who came out on top." He draws in a deep breath and lets out a satisfied sigh. "I used to be a punchline to the archangels joke. Now, thanks to a few strategic genius moves, I'm basically god." He sees how Alex is still not excited about anything he's saying and he comes a little closer, trying to convince her. "Al! Your brothers, Cas, a million other dumbasses, hell even _you've_ occasionally believed you're not capable of some truly badass shit. I'd like to see them try to take this away from you. Everyone's always underestimated you and me, and look at us now!" He's grinning shamelessly, coming off as ridiculous if you ask her.

Alex gives him a wan little smile that isn't genuine, a nod… then in an absurdly quick flash, pulls out the Colt again and thumbs the hammer back even as it lines up directly with Gabe's chest. Her face goes hard at this point, daring someone to fuck with her. Gabriel's expression drops. "Wait… what?"

She's composed to the point that it's unnerving. "What were you just saying about people underestimating me?" This is what he didn't know: That she had the presence of mind somehow, even under his spell, to make more than one bullet in case she needed it. He may have been able to erase her memories, and she might have somehow been fated or programmed to kill the devil, but he couldn't wipe out her self-protective instincts.

Gabriel realizes what's happened and takes a couple dumbfounded seconds to respond. "Well. _Touché_." He tries a cajoling smile, even as he raises his hands under the aim of the weapon, which he's eyeing apprehensively. "Alex… buddy…"

"I'm not your buddy." Alex pauses for effect, taking control of the moment with an assertiveness that hasn't always been typical of her. "I want you to be very clear on something, _Gabe_." She holds his gaze firmly and his eyes narrow slightly, his expression hard to read. "I'm not your BFF. You and I had a business arrangement—an unclear, dishonest, misleading business arrangement. So as of right now, we're settled up, got it? Whatever Heaven wanted with me or my family in the past is taken care of today. You, and anyone like you, better not _ever_ darken our door with your Apocalypse bullshit ever again." She's beginning to show a little more emotion through her steeliness. "I am getting pretty _sick_ and _tired_ of angels fucking with shit around here."

Gabriel is measured with his response, but it still has a strong note of threat and warning. "Careful sweetie. You might just piss off the new god." He says that with his hands still raised in a 'don't shoot' position.

Alex regards him mildly, as if he's said something funny. "I think _you_ are the one who needs to be careful right now. Because I'm standing in a Bunker full of dead people I love, and I'm pissed the fuck off. I have a gun full of archangel killing bullets, and Lucifer's blade in my pocket. What have you got?" Gabriel's expression falters. Alex presses the point home. "So the 'new god' is gonna listen to me _very_ closely, because any 'god' who can't do his own dirty work is just another super-powered jackass in my book. And you know what me and my family do to super-powered jackasses?" She pulls a meaningful face even as Gabe grudgingly remains silent. He knows. The entire world knows. "Yeah." Beside Alex, Sam is looking at his sister sidelong, taken completely aback at what's happening. She's not done. "So this is what's gonna happen right now, Gabby. You're gonna bring back all these people—even that damn demon over there." She jerks her head toward Crowley's dead body. "You're gonna fix the _mess_ your _brother_ made of this planet. Get rid of the virus, bring all the innocent people who died from that shit back—and then you and everyone like you, leave us _alone_. No more angels, no more demons, no more humans being the middle man, no more Apocalypse. I want Heaven and Hell closed for business, _forever,_ you hear me?"

Gabriel lets out a breath of air that makes him sound prematurely exhausted and overwhelmed. "Tall order, but, seeing as all the _trouble_ that's been caused the past, oh, _zillion_ years by all this Apocalypse BS, I don't disagree." He lowers his hands, but Alex doesn't lower the gun. "It's a deal." He looks at the gun. "Now can you stop pointing that thing at me?"

One of Alex's eyebrows twitches. "Ask me another stupid question."

Gabe pulls a disgruntled face. "Geez, when'd you get so sassy?" he mutters sullenly. She makes a questioning, impatient face at him. She's _always_ been a bitch to Gabriel and he knows it. When she doesn't reply, he concedes with a roll of the eyes. "Okay, okay fine. _Fine_. I do my part, I clean up Lucy's playtime mess, then go KonMari Heaven and stay the hell outta your hair down here." He folds his arms and fixes her and Sam with a curious, joking expression. "What's that mean for you and this ragtag group of army rejects?" He grins preemptively at his own joke. "What, you gonna go get a job as a sandwich artist or something?"

Alex narrows her eyes at him shrewdly. "Do you _wanna_ get shot?"

Gabe sputters, over it, and again rolls his eyes. "Forget I asked," he says under his breath. He sighs again, then turns a bit more serious. "For what it's worth, kiddo, I get it. I've fucked with you since day one, and I disappear for years at a time between the oddly helpful moment. Why _would_ you like or trust me?" He shrugs irreverently. "No skin off _my_ back." He raises his index finger. "But… just saying… if it wasn't for the Apocalypse and all the crap that came along with it… you would've never met your precious Cas." He spreads his arms in a knowing little shrug before he points at her again with a twinkle in his eye. "I'm basically the world's best matchmaker _and_ the guy who figured out how to kill the devil forever. So put _that_ in your pipe and smoke it, sis!"

Alex has a soured expression on her face. He _is_ right, and that's annoying. She doesn't say as much though, but she does finally lower the Colt to her side. A small act of truce and concession. "Listen," she says. "You still _owe_ me. And if you have any decency at all, you'll remember how much I risked." He makes a face. Alex just put her life on the line, not to mention that of her brother, her son—and she watched everyone else she loved die doing it, while being mostly robbed of her knowledge of what was going on and what she'd agreed to until the very last minute. It rubbed her wrong, and it didn't matter that it had gone well. She's frustrated, her family is dead, and she's been through enough trauma to last a lifetime with what's happened here today. "This was _never_ a sure thing," she says, still baffled that this archangel entrusted her with the job of killing Lucifer, programming considered or not. "You didn't know if it would work, which is exactly why you had _me_ do it."

Gabriel pulls a face. "Dramatic."

"I risked _everything_ because you couldn't or wouldn't," Alex insists. "So there's one more thing I want."

The archangel seems insulted. "Geez Louise! This isn't your Amazon wishlist! You can't keep adding things on!"

 _Like hell I can't._ "Adam." She says his name with a slight waver, and her voice is softer. "What happened to him?"

Gabriel looks like maybe he didn't hear her right. "Uh, you _killed_ him when you killed good ole Loo-Loo, I thought that was an obvious one."

"His _soul,_ " Alex clarifies tersely.

"Ah." Gabriel is light and playful again. "Somewhere in Albuquerque?" At Alex's unamused, impatient expression, Gabe becomes more appropriate. "Pretty sure I know what you're getting at, but unfortunately, no can-do. His soul and Lucifer's got locked in together, melted together like swiss cheese and when you killed Lucifer a minute ago, you killed Adam too. Like forever, forever-ever."

Alex looks a cross between suspicious and crestfallen. "You just called yourself the new god, and you can't bring him back?"

Gabriel throws up his hands in a helpless gesture. "Hate to tell you, but this is one Winchester who'll never come back. Adam's soul is gone." He smiles kindly, empathetically—a rare moment of real unguarded emotion at her expression—the realization that in killing their greatest enemy, she's also permanently killed her own flesh and blood. "Don't feel bad kid. This is just the way the cookie crumbles. If it's any consolation, he's not suffering anymore. You ended that for him. You made it stop. I think he'd say thank you if he could." And then that glimpse into the unmasked Gabriel is gone and he claps his hands together and rubs them swiftly, looking around the Bunker at all the dead people he needs to resurrect. He's looking at Cas and Dean when he says, "Okay, now lemme bring back all these fashion models." Alex whacks him in the head with the butt of the Colt for that comment and Gabriel winces away, holding his head indignantly. "Ow- _wuh_!" He gives her and Sam a disgruntled look, then concedes. "Okay. Guess I deserved that." He reaches a hand up and snaps his fingers—and Dean, Cas, Dad all begin to stir. Gabriel looks at Crowley, who is laying in one of the doorways to a nearby tunnel. He's beginning to stir too, confused as to why he's suddenly alive again. Gabriel saunters up to the demon with narrowed eyes and a wily expression. "Now _you_ belong… ' _down unda_!'" He snaps his fingers again and Crowley disappears—to Hell, presumably. "Buh-bye now!" Gabriel chortles.

Alex ran over to Cas and Dean the second they began to breathe again, and the three of them are holding onto each other hard in an awkward sitting, crouching clump on the floor. even as Alex presses a small series of hard, relieved kisses against Cas's temple and holds his face. Vast relief and tearfulness she'd held at bay crumples her features. Dean is staring in confusion at the archangel over her shoulder. " _Gabriel_ …?" he asks in a stunned voice.

"Yep! TL, DR," Gabriel says, waving a hand as if he's inconvenienced in explaining himself.

Briefly drawing back to hold eye contact with Alex that conveys the emotional height of everything they just went through, he nods quietly and touches her face softly, telling her without words that he's okay. He turns his attention to Gabriel, who Dean is questioning again. 

"How are you here?" the oldest Winchester demands. 

Gabriel indicates Alex lazily. " _Ah_ , she'll explain later," he says even as Cas gets up, his expression thoroughly perplexed and questioning. "I don't have long," Gabe continues airily. " _Weeelll_ , actually I have all of eternity, but I'm tired of the melodrama around here."

Cas approaches Gabriel hesitantly. He's clearly confused about how Gabriel is there, but he doesn't ask questions. Just greets a long lost friend—there is slight suspicion there though. "Gabriel." Dean and Alex fuss over each other briefly as the angels speak.

Gabe smiles softly. "Cas." They shake hands. "Good timing, actually, cuz I got an important question for you, old boy. Human or angel?" He glances upward. "I'm gonna close Heaven, so now's the time to decide. For good."

Cas is surprised by the sudden huge life-altering question—at this point he's an angel. An angel with damaged Grace, but an angel nonetheless. He looks back at his family. Which isn't just Alex and CJ—but Sam and Dean too. Alex and Dean are still holding each other tightly, watching Cas and Gabriel. A bit further off, Sam holds CJ while helping his dad up with a hand. For Cas, the choice is immediate, clear, and obvious. A soft, knowing smile grows. Tinged by bitterness. But the road has always been leading here. He looks back at his waiting angel brother. "I… belong with my family," Castiel says in a voice full of depth in emotion. "It's time to hand in my wings for good."

"Predictable, little brother," Gabriel says to him, but not without fondness, and he puts a hand onto Cas's shoulder as a genuine careworn smile crosses his face. "Well, there'll be a special place in my neck of the woods for you and the missus when the time comes," he says, then curiously looks at CJ, who remains quiet but with eyes that are watchful—especially so for such a young baby. He points at the baby with a studious, perplexed expression. "Can't say about that one though, he's… _different_." He shrugs his eyebrows up once. "Fun stuff." He then frowns hard and puts a hand on his hip. "Wait… am I his _uncle_?" His confusion grows. "Now that's just freakin' weird." He looks at Cas and gives him a look. "Do _not_ call me when you need a babysitter, dude."

Of another mind, Dean Winchester has been watching the exchange in a bit of a daze. "How're you here, Gabriel?" he asks, coming to join Cas with a hard, shrew expression. "We saw you _die._ "

Gabriel remains mysterious and sly. "And I just saw you die too and yet… here we all are. FYI, next time, it really _will_ be permanent so… you schmucks better watch your asses."

Nearby, John and Sam are drifting a little closer to the group, with Alex taking CJ back from Sam so that he can help John better. Dad seems to have taken his resurrection a little harder than the others and is moving stiffly. John has no idea who Gabriel is, and remains silent, letting his kids handle things. However it's clear he has questions—and lots of them. Gabriel eyes the patriarch as he approaches, eyes dropping to the bright red raised mark visible on John's forearm. He cringes a little. "Ohh. _Yeah_ … about the Mark of Cain. You're gonna want to get Grandpa out of the general human population with _that_ thing hanging around. Or things will get preeee-tty ugly." He smirks at John, who remains silent. "Some people, gluttons for punishment huh?"

He seems to be leading into his exit, looking at Alex again. She's got CJ held closely to her chest, and Cas is with her, silently checking on his wife and son briefly. Gabe smiles in that maddening way he has. "Look. Alex. I know you're pissed at me. But I want you to think about it this way. If I hadn't done what I did, would you be looking at a peaceful future life and Lucifer gone forever?" He's glib and gleeful, satisfied. "Doubt it, my sweet little horn." He gets quite the face for that last comment, which of course he loves. "Anyway, things to do, tons of messes to fix, universes to run—seeya later, fam!" He winks, waves, snaps a finger, and disappears.

Immediately, Cas turns to Alex and looks her over thoroughly, taking hold of her with both hands. "Alex, what happened?" he asks. "Lucifer… did Gabriel kill him?"

"No." Sam answers for his twin in a tone that's mildly reverent. " _She_ did."

The group reacts with stunned brief silence, everyone unsure how to react or how that could have happened. Then Dean double takes. "Dude, _how_?"

"I thought you kids said the Colt didn't work last time," John says, spotting the familiar gun in his daughter's waistband.

"It _didn't_ ," Dean says, honing in on what his dad did—and questions aimed at Alex are silently pervasive on his confused face.

Alex holds a hand up to all the questions both asked and unasked while shaking her head no and brushing out of Cas's grasp as she hands her son over to his father. She's overwhelmed and shattered. "This… is gonna take a minute to explain," she says heavily as it all sinks in and adrenaline fades. She's not going to address it at all yet. She can't. Her gaze softly, somberly, painfully turns to Adam's body. He's laying in a broken way, his shocked face and wide eyes staring up into nothing. A shaft of light hits him as if on purpose, and dirty air moves in little swirls of dust above him.

Alex goes to him and hesitates, then sinks to her knees, the material of her jeans darkening into the sooty wing marks that stretch out from under him. She gently puts her hand over his eyes, closing them. _It's finished. But it hurts so bad._ Her hand then goes over his heart to rest there, and she looks at her dead half-brother's body and shakes her head, bowing it a little as she sits down on her heels, unable to move. She wonders if it really did have to end like this. If she did the right thing. Behind her, she feels her family coming to stand, then Sam drops down to be beside her and holds her tight in a sidelong embrace, giving her silent comfort. He saw everything that just happened, so he understands, maybe, what she's feeling more than the others do right now. Dean comes to Alex's other side and he crouches down and puts his arm around her back, grasping onto Sam too, his other hand firmly holding Alex's forearm. A reassuring gesture. Cas stands behind Alex, one arm cradling their son, his other hand reaching down to touch Alex's head as tears for the dead finally come. John stands back from the group with shining eyes as it all sinks in. His son Adam is gone. Killed by his daughter.

In a minute or two, Cas will coax Alex to stand and he'll console her as Dean and Sam take flashlights and go find the people who were dead only moments before—Bobby, Linda, Kevin, Jamie—Molly and baby Rose, who are the only two that didn't die thanks to Molly's quick thinking in running and hiding in a room with the baby that was still angel warded. Alex will explain to the entire group what happened—Gabriel's plan, her part in it, the Colt, Gabriel's blade, her choice to melt it down—how she didn't remember it or know what was coming. Hugs will be tighter and longer, because of what was lost and how close it all came to ending. She'll relay the news that Adam is indeed gone forever, not savable. John will carry Adam's body out of the Bunker and start digging a grave for him. His other children will watch for a couple of moments, then silently join in, helping their father lay Adam, their half brother, their family, to rest. Even though their victory is real and miraculous, the feeling of loss that remains is great. Alex particularly struggles with it for some time.

The group of freedom fighters living in the Bunker will watch as the world miraculously returns to normal in the next few days—Gabriel makes good on his promise and resurrects millions, taking away the memory of what happened from almost everyone on the planet. It's as if nothing ever happened to most of the world—but the Winchesters will never forget how close it came to such a bitter end. Alex will keep Lucifer's blade as her primary weapon for the rest of her life, and legends are told of the woman who took the Devil's sword. The Colt is kept in a secret, protected place.

John Winchester stays with his children, helping with repairs and rebuilding of the parts of the Bunker that were damaged. But, he finds himself unable to handle the Mark in the way that he did before. It's corrupting him and causing him to tend toward more and more outbursts of violence and rage. He'll try for awhile to hide it, but it becomes apparent to all that it's beyond him—a looming, harmful problem for everyone. On November second of that year, Mary's death anniversary, not long after Lucifer stormed the Bunker, John and his children gather to pay Mary respects at her headstone that they erected along with Adam's. It's on that day as they stand graveside that John Winchester announces he's taking the Mark and himself into the wilderness to live in solitude—the Mark is a danger to everyone in the family, and the less people he's around, the safer. While his children protest initially, they also know he's right, and their father convinces them around to what he's been thinking about for some time now. He calls choice this his penance and his purgatory—his sacrifice, his payment for Dean's life that he gives gladly. He'll pack his things, spend a few more days making good memories with his family, then hug his tearful children goodbye slowly early on a cold morning, taking time to tell them each in turn how proud he is—ending with his youngest, Alex. He'll tell her through shining eyes, "Who knew I'd raise the girl who saved the world. Your mother would be so proud. You have become _ten times_ the person I ever was. No dad could be prouder, sweetheart." And then he'll release her from a prison of guilt about Adam when he says the following: "You did the right thing. I hope you never forget that."

With his final words he'll tell his kids to take care of each other. To be brave. To keep doing what they've always done: Save people. Hunt things. Take care of the family business. He'll leave them there to watch as he shoulders a single bag, waves goodbye with a bittersweet smile, and starts down the lonely road to who knows where. Somehow, no matter how bittersweet... it feels right.

* * *

**Back At The Graveside  
** **2018**

It was about four years ago that this happened. Both an eternity of time, and a mere blink of an eye. Alex studies the headstones in front of herself quietly, still holding CJ as she thinks back to the day that Lucifer died. Life hasn't been the same since. So much has changed. But in good ways mostly.

_Adam Milligan - Always Remembered  
All Give Some, But Some Give All  
_ _1990-2010_

_Mary Winchester - Loving Mother and Protector  
_ _Remembered - Missed - Loved  
_ _1954-1983_

Words on stone and memories in minds are all that remain of these two all-important people. Both people who Alex barely knew, yet played the most significant roles in her life and perhaps the fate of the entire planet. She still carries ghosts of guilt for Adam's death, and probably always will—but she no longer tears herself apart inside over what happened.

There's another name that lingers in her mind, and Alex looks down the gravel road that leads to the nearby rural highway. _Dad_. That's the very road that her father went down the last time they all saw him. Walking tall, proud, resolute into his chosen fate, John Winchester did what he felt was right for not only his family, but for humanity. Yes, he left his kids behind, but in a different way than before. That time, they'd understood why and had been able to say their goodbyes and have some closure. Alex holds her son a little closer and kisses his hair. Finding their new normal afterward was a process. Hell, it still is. Stationary life isn't what she's used to, but the Bunker has provided a place that feels right to her. To all of them. Hunting is different now. The life still exists, but it's not the mess of Heaven and Hell that it became. It's more like the first days of werewolves, vengeful spirits, ghosts, Wendigo, cursed objects. Dad closing Hell meant demons don't come out anymore—and the few that remain above ground are either hiding or not problems. Any that cause issues will certainly be dealt with.

Heaven is also quiet and has ceased causing problems—no more angels meddling with humanity. Alex constantly wonders if this will remain the norm forever, but for now, it's enough. Dean took Sam and Alex aside in early 2015 and made them swear to always stay sharp, ready, and trained—just case. And additionally, to make sure their children and romantic partners knew enough to be able to stand a fighting chance of survival. The twins had readily agreed.

At that moment, CJ suddenly picks his head off her shoulder where he'd been cuddling and squirms with sudden excitement like he sees something. " _Daddy_!" he shrieks.

Alex is already setting him down and he even before his feet touch the ground, he tears out of her arms at an exuberant run to the call from a familiar, beloved voice. "Good morning!"

Coming out of the Bunker—their home—a now-familiar sight as she turns around. Castiel. Her heart blooms.

He looks similar to how he always has, yet very different too: the same is that he is tanned and handsome with tousled brown hair. But he doesn't wear the business suit and trench coat much anymore, and he sports more of a stubbled look rather than clean-shaven most of the time—he's even grown a beard a couple times experimentally which Alex always enjoys. He wears John's old wedding ring as his own. He looks ordinary. Human. And he is.

"Morning!" Alex returns, helpless but to smile at the sight of him. It never gets old.

Today, he clearly woke up not long ago—he has that look of slight grogginess and his hair is a little more wild than usual. He's in well-worn jeans, a dark gray and yellow _Led Zeppelin_ v-neck tee, and an unzipped tan colored hoodie. All of that is paired with… fluffy bunny slippers. _Alex's_ fluffy bunny slippers. The ones she never would have bought for herself, but CJ begged her to get and wear. She does things for her kids that she'd never do otherwise… including those dang slippers. Cas's big feet don't even fit into them really. He wears them when he'd rather not put on his own shoes which is quite often. _I really need to get him his own pair of those things..._ Alex thinks idly, a faint smile on her face. To make the sight even cuter, he's carrying their sleeping daughter against himself—she's in a patterned onesie her uncle Dean got for her—it's heather gray dotted with lots of little different cartoon pies with various crusts. Novak Grace Winchester, better known as Nova, was named in part to honor the memory and importance of Jimmy Novak. It was a decision Cas and Alex felt was fitting and meaningful. Her middle name of course is a reminder of her father's angelic origins. Little Nova will be one year old before long. She apparently looks just like Alex did at that age—dark-haired and fair-skinned, only she has her father's bright cobalt eyes.

CJ's hugging his dad's legs tightly and preventing his father from moving for a couple quick seconds. Their son has developed normally for the most part since being born, but he's incredibly strong, and only gets stronger as time continues. "Hi Dad!" CJ yells up with a toothy grin. You'd think he hadn't seen Cas in years, but it's only been since last night's bedtime.

"Hello, son!" Cas greets back in an easy, carefree tone, chuckling and ruffling CJ's light brown hair affectionately with a free hand. There's a crooked grin on his face. "You certainly are strong." Alex briefly reflects with a faroff smile about how stilted and unnatural Castiel used to be. Just as quickly as CJ latched onto Cas, he darts away, starting to transition to his more normal energy. Meaning, insanity.

Cas watches CJ frolick as he comes to stand by Alex, putting a free arm around her in a soft hug she returns with both arms. He presses a kiss into her hair. "You okay?" he asks, giving her that open, observant, caring gaze he's almost always looked at her with. She'd gotten up early, unable to sleep—and left Cas with a kiss snoozing peacefully in their cozy bed with Nova nearby.

She's not sure if he's asking about her emotions regarding Mom's death anniversary or just in general, but the answer is yes. She feels good. And most days, unbelievably, are like this now. "Yeah," she says, smiling at him easily as he smiles gently back. She still finds him so beautiful and special, and watching him age and live a human life is one of her favorite things. It's something they share together, it's something they help each other through. It's quiet and mundane compared to everything before, but it's welcome. There's things like glasses for aging eyes (Cas needs them to read these days), grocery shopping, laundry, sore knee joints, making meals while they wrangle noisy kids and tired nerves. But there's something so gentle and right about this more stable, predictable life they've found. Of all the possible outcomes, Alex thanks the stars every day that this is theirs.

Cas's brilliant blues are searching her gaze with clear love and affection, and it's like he knows what she's thinking. And just like that they're drawn into a brief kiss, neither one sure who leaned in first. A habit they've never grown out of even after almost ten years together now. His hand touches the side of her head, the sweetest reminder that he will never stop adoring her like she adores him. As she pulls back, she gives him a teasing little smile and a tap of a finger on his chin. "Nice slippers, _babe_." He grins—and something about the humor there makes her think maybe he wears the slippers to make her laugh. She smooths his hair for him then leans over her daughter and strokes Nova's head gently, giving a little kiss to the dark brown hair of her head. "Still sleeping huh?" she asks, even though it's clear the kid is out. She's so beautiful. Lashes for days, huge eyes, sweet little features.

Cas smiles down at their daughter, peeking at her face. "Like granite."

Alex glances at him, a little grin popping onto her face. "Rock." Cas still doesn't get his jargon right all the time, which she kind of hopes will never change. But he's asked her and everyone else to always please let him know when he makes blunders like that. So she clarifies: "Like a rock."

"Ah. A rock." He gives her a surprisingly sassy little smile. "Sleeping like a rock. Thank you." Cas gives her a little squeeze. Then he turns his attention to CJ, who's been standing in place and flapping his arms at his side for no reason for upwards of ten seconds now. "Did you pay your respects to your grandmother, son?"

CJ stops flapping and looks up at his father with a funny look on his face. " _Pay_? I don't gots money Dad."

Alex snorts and shakes her head at Cas and his mini-me. "You two are the same person," she jokes.

This disgruntles their little boy. "No we're _not_ , Mom," CJ says very matter-of-fact, almost upset by the thought. "I'm not _Dad_!"

Alex sighs. You can't reason with a four-year-old. It's best to just admit defeat. "I know sweetie, I know."

"We would never imply such a thing," Cas assures… and from the way he glances at Alex, it's clear he's being playful too.

CJ has already forgotten what he was upset about, squatting down as he exclaims, "ooh, a snail!" He holds his hand out carefully, trying to get his new little friend to crawl on his hand. "Heyyyy little guy…"

Cas and Alex exchange another look. Exasperated. Amused. Knowing. Loving.

Funny how they used to barely understand each other and now, they can communicate volumes with mere glances. Becoming parents had something to do with that. The shared responsibility of raising these little ones has been tough, weird, hard, challenging, exhausting—but they've always done it together. This has deepened their connection. Solidified it. Grown them past what they were before. Alex knows many people fall out of love once the initial roaring blaze of the fire and attraction is gone. And while she wouldn't characterize their dynamic as quite as up-and-down and all-or-nothing as before—not as wild or as raw—she wouldn't say the fire has died down at all. No... it's strong. It's steadfast. And it's forged them into something unbreakable in this life or any other.

Seeing Cas become a father has been something Alex will never know how to describe. All she knows is that she thought she loved him before... but new depths were forged when they learned they would be parents together. The way Castiel is with his son and daughter is everything Alex always knew it would be and more. Gentle, consistent, present, giving, so very loving—he is interested in their every moment of life, he is intensely protective of them, they bring out a side of him that is ever-evolving. He writes them poems, he sings them songs (badly), he makes them things, he gives everything he has to them and more. CJ and Nova are his favorite thing in the world, and this heals Alex, it grows her, it gives her something every day to never stop feeling grateful for.

Cas and Alex return to looking at Mary's headstone together, content to be in a comfortable quiet together. After a moment, Cas rubs Alex's back softly. "I wish I could have known her."

Alex wishes the same thing—both for herself and for Cas. Mary's death will always be a sore spot and a tragedy. A huge loss that Alex knows she'll never even come close to comprehending to magnitude of. "Same here," she murmurs. She doesn't remember the night of the fire, but there are a few impressions of Mary left. A snatch of a hummed song—the crinkle in the corner of an eye as a smile is given—the sound of laughter—the feeling of being safe and loved. She was six months old when her mother died—so close to the age that little Nova is right now. That really brings it home for Alex, makes her understand her own life a little more and hold her children closer at certain times. She often has moments with her daughter and son that feel like connection to Mary through this shared experience of motherhood. Pride and sadness at the same time swell in Alex's chest. She's regularly struck by awe that this is her life now. Someday, when the afterlife comes, Alex hopes she can meet her mother again.

"Yellow flowers," Cas observes softly, noticing what his son left on Mary's grave.

Alex follows his gaze, knowing what he's thinking. "Yellow flowers," she echoes.

Cas kisses the side of her head at that moment, and Alex closes her eyes against the feelings of love and closeness so that she can feel them better.

"E-www!" CJ squeals in response at top volume, but he's grinning when Alex pops an eye open to squint at him. This is new—the pretending to be grossed out by his parents more affectionate moments. She shakes her head at her silly kid even as Nova begins to stir at the loud noise, making protesting sounds a little as she opens her eyes with a distinctly grumpy expression. _Oh boy_ , Alex thinks with fond resolve. _Here comes another day of my crazy ass kids ganging up on us with their shenanigans._

Knowing what she's thinking, Cas rubs her back again briefly. "You stay here and wait for your brothers," Cas says, then nods back toward the Bunker. "We'll go see about making some coffee for everyone. Sounds good?"

By everyone, he means everyone who currently lives in the Bunker: Jamie, Dean, and Bobby; Jamie's two children, Rose and little two-year-old Robert John (aka Robby) probably won't want coffee, Alex thinks humorously. Dean isn't here right now—he's gone on a small hunt with Sam somewhere locally. They were supposed to be back last night, but got behind. They are apparently are en route now and will be here soon. Coffee for all is definitely going to be needed. "Sounds good," she confirms, thankful for Cas's caring insight. He's a leader in ways a lot of people aren't: always thinking of the needs of others, anticipating what will help in any given situation and then seeing to it.

"Coffee yuck, I like chocolate MILK!" CJ insists emphatically. Nova giggles throatily at her brother. She thinks anything he does is funny for some reason.

"It _is_ quite a delicious drink," Cas says, giving his son a smile and eye contact before he turns his attention to his daughter and nuzzles his nose to hers. "Hello Nova, my girl—did you sleep well?"

"Da, da, da," she gurgles, sucking on her fingers and grinning at her dad. CJ starts dancing around, making faces by pulling on his cheeks and mouth to catch his sister's attention. It works, as always. Nova laughs heartily, and Cas holds out an index finger for her to grab onto. When she does, he dances around with her, making CJ laugh and jump while calling, 'me next me next me next!' with hands outstretched. Alex knows that's her cue and holds her arms out to him. He leaps for her to catch him, and they dance too, Alex kissing CJ's hand and swinging him around and dipping him down fast so he'll laugh. Such a little daredevil. The more dangerous it feels to him, the more he likes it. She tosses him a couple times before she's winded and puts him down, telling him, "Mommy's old, whew."

Luckily he's fine with it and just squeals and runs around in non-distinct patterns, pumped up from the dancing. Cas and Alex catch each other's gaze again and she reaches for him, pressing into his space, grinning stupidly. Words aren't needed. They lean in again and they kiss softly, briefly. A familiar, affectionate act. He runs his pinky finger down to hers and squeezes. Their special little thing, their constant reminder to each other that they love each other. Alex squeezes back. _Human. Hers. Always._ They draw apart just a little and hold each other's eyeline. It's a miracle they made it, but for all the heartache, all the pain… it's been worth it. Cas nuzzles his forehead to hers, forever just as affectionate as he's always been… and then Nova whacks them both in the side of the face with her hand and arm. Not on purpose, just… being a baby with no real control or understanding of her own limbs. She's cooing and slobbering, sputtering happily. Cas and Alex, who at this point have learned quite a lot about how life with little kids is never too fancy, exchange a look that can only be described as amused and resigned. Both laughing softly. Then Alex grabs Nova's little hands and kisses a bunch of times, making her daughter laugh even more.

CJ is in a frenzy, hyped up and yelling about chocolate milk over and over, and Nova begins bouncing in Cas's arms, grinning as her brother chants about "chaka-mik, chaka-mik!"

Alex chuckles, a contended yet defeated sound. These kids are nuts, but it's fun. And disastrous, messy, chaotic, insane...

"You _sure_ you don't need me?" she asks her husband. "They're gonna be in rare form today, just look at them."

Cas gives her a look. "I once commanded a legion of thousands of angels. I think I can handle these two."

Alex pulls a playfully doubtful face. Their son has dropped to all fours and is currently ripping grass up with his mouth like an animal. "Look Noah! Raaaawr!" he spits grass everywhere, and she's shrieking happily, loving it. "I'm a zombie!"

Cas looks a little less sure of himself. "Emphasis on the word _think_."

"God kids are weird," Alex mutters to herself in helpless humor as she scoops CJ up to make him stand. "Ceej, we don't eat grass," she reprimands firmly. "And you need a lesson on what zombies eat. Whose kid _are_ you?" She plops him onto his feet after a quick kiss on his cheek. "Go with Daddy, you can have breakfast okay?"

As CJ is overcome with delight and exclaims " _yay breakfast_!" at way too high a volume, Alex is leaning in and kissing Cas's cheek briefly. "Love you," she says so soft that he might not have even heard.

He did. She hears his reply, just as soft. "Forever."

CJ is pulling on Cas, urging him to "come on, come _oooonnn_!"

And they're off. Castiel walks off, carrying Nova in one arm and holding a hand with CJ. "Good luck, Dad!" Alex calls teasingly after them. He looks back at her briefly, sending another tender smile her way. She feels her chest constrict a little, watching the three of them disappear into the Bunker.

That's her entire world, right there.

Well... almost her entire world.

Just as she thinks that, as if on cue, she hears the telltale sounds of a familiar approach. Gravel crunching slowly underneath car tires. Alex looks down the little driveway to see the Impala approaching from the main road, teeter totting slightly on the rough and uneven roadway as it carefully drives in. _Finally._ She's relieved and excited at the same time. The car's engine is a familiar thick, mellow purr. The sun is beginning to rise a warm pink and orange, casting color across the fog and causing the two figures inside the car to be silhouetted. Familiar shapes to her in any context—recognizable at once without seeing anything but their vague outlines. Her brothers. Her heroes. Her best friends.

Alex smiles a bittersweet smile, a gesture so vague it barely shifts her lips, and she raises a hand briefly as a hello. In her chest, there's an unexpected swell of emotion that affects her everywhere, even her eyes. She watches as they pull up just a few yards away from her and stop. The engine turns off and the brothers get out at almost the same time, and as the doors slam shut with that familiar creaking metallic sound, Alex thinks about how this car is almost the fourth member of their family. How this sight of them and the car is the feeling of being home for her both now and always.

Sam and Dean look similar to how they always have: Dean is built smaller and more thickly than Sam, keeping his hair cut short and well-barbered—however he has some grays coming in now, and his face shows a slight stubble. He's also finally got all the tattoos he wanted—working on a full sleeve on his left arm currently. The designs include his siblings birthday in roman numerals, his children's initials, and a variety of meaningful things to them: an Impala on a highway, a cemetery with three distinct silhouettes standing in it, demonic looking designs giving way to more heavenly elements and of course, on his bicep from years ago, there's the name "James" in a red heart that his artist blended into his sleeve.

Sam also looks near to how he always has though his hair is cut a bit shorter than it used to be, leaving him looking distinguished or laid back, depending on the outfit he wears. He's in strong and shape as always—heavier and healthier than in 2014 when he was thin and sick. He still dresses the same as his siblings: flannels, a rugged jacket, jeans. There is one slight major difference though, on his left hand: his shining gold wedding band.

"Morning!" Dean greets Alex as the brothers approach, and his voice is still rough, like he hasn't been awake long. Or hasn't slept. Either are likely.

"Sorry we're late," Sam apologizes as he reaches his twin first and pulls her in for a one-armed hug and gives her a quick kiss on the head. "Got caught up in it last night."

"Still made sunrise," Alex replies with a squeeze, then quickly hugs Dean hello and ruffles his hair as he grunts a half-protest. She's sure she'll hear details about their hunt later.

They've gathered here together every year since 2014 on November the second to memorialize their mother's anniversary of death, so today is pretty important. Sam moved out of the Bunker a couple years back to go to grad school fulltime—plus, he'd been spending so much time with Molly at her apartment it just made sense to move out completely—so having him here feels extra meaningful and special—he's not present as often as Alex wishes, but she accepted it a long time ago and just does her best to enjoy the times he _is_ there. Dean, however, is as regular a fixture in Alex's life as he's ever been. And that's how they both prefer it. They're kind of like a pair of shoes like that—no good without the other one.

"Everything good?" Dean asks her. He and Sam have been off the grid for almost two whole days on the local job they did, which may not seem too long, but even two days feels like a lot to them both.

Alex nods briefly. "Yeah, you? How was the hunt?"

Dean shrugs as if he's being humble (he's not). "Iced that baddie like it was nothing," he says.

"It was _awesome_ ," Sam says, nowhere near as cool as Dean was. He's grinning in a way that makes him look twenty-something again and giddy. His statement and the way he says it makes his siblings smile back at him. He's been busy with the pursuit of a more normal life, but hunting still calls his name—hell, it keeps calling all their names. They just don't answer the call quite as often as they used to, but the life comes for you once you're in it. Without fail. However, it's a much more tame scene out there now. Manageable in a way, especially when compared to how bad it got for them and the shit they went through when angels started showing up.

Dean pats Alex's arm briefly then jerks his thumb toward the Bunker doorway. "Listen, lemme go say hi to the fam then we're going for a ride."

"Oh we are?" Alex asks, a cross between amused and confused at his declaration. Dean's already on his way into the Bunker and Alex glances at Sam to see if he knows what's up. He shakes his head nope, already way ahead of her. _Hmm._

Dean remains mysterious, tossing back over his shoulder: "No questions, just trust me."

"Let Cas know not to make the coffee!" Alex calls after him. "And tell him we're gonna be gone for however long…!" She gets a thumbs up in the air above Dean's head right before he disappears inside. The Bunker entrance used to be sort of severe and industrial looking: now it's been overhauled. The cement surrounding the rounded brick that borders the doorway has been pressure washed, leaving it a crisp gray bone color. The brick is painted white, and the doorway is a deep navy color. Potted plants are on either side of the door—Cas's doing. A wrought-iron _W_ hangs above the door, and the boys put in an inlaid stone pathway from the gravel parking area they made to the entrance. Basically, it looks as much like a home as it can. But make no mistake—there's quite the state-of-the-art security system built in, plus devil's traps, angel wards, and a number of other safeguards.

The twins are left in the warming morning air to wait for their brother, and Alex turns her attention to Sam. They're closing in on thirty-six now and she sees how he's toeing the line between young man and middle age. His skin is changing, the lines from smiling and frowning are more pronounced, his face shape is a little more chiseled. Just yesterday it seems he was babyfaced and a boy. Now he's a grown man. They're _both_ grown. _Life comes at you fast_ , she reflects bittersweetly, and gives him a smile. It seems like just yesterday they were kids without a clue. "It's really good to see you, Sam," she says, unable to say it any other way—what do you say to someone you've been through everything and then some with? Alex hugs his middle, tucking her head against his chest for a long few seconds, her squeeze of him saying more than words can.

She can hear thick emotions in his voice as he hugs her back. "You too, Mouse."

She pulls back to look at him in the eye. He hasn't called her that in years, and she must be looking at him some kind of way because he laughs in his easy way hugs her a little tighter. Nothing more really needs to be said—she knows he's in a reflective state of mind too. They stay close, her arm loose around his middle, his slung across her shoulders. They look at the headstones together, quiet for a long few minutes. Each lost in their own thoughts but glad to have the other one near—silence is easy for them to stay in together. And they both know talking will come later.

The banging of the Bunker door alerts them when their brother returns. That, and his declaration of, "All right clowns, let's roll." He's got his index finger pointed skyward and he makes a couple huge circles. The classic 'move out' signal.

Sam and Alex are curious, exchanging a cursory glance at Dean's seemingly purposeful vagueness. But without asking where or why, they get into the car, into their respective seats. Alex sits behind Sam instead of the dead middle, looking down at the floorboards as she does. There are a couple of Dean's kid's toys on the floor near Alex's feet, and a little decorative bauble hangs from the rearview mirror—it says " _Willingness_." There's also a little photo of Jamie and Dean holding their two kids, leaned close while smiling wide clipped to the sun visor near Dean's head—they're just a little bit sunburned and on a motorcycle together in the picture. Other than that, the car is just the same as it's always been. Taken care of, well loved, and almost every detail the same as Alex remembers it from her whole life. Even the smell of it takes her back.

Dean starts the car up and they roll out. The Impala glides its way slowly down the gravel road over the bumps slow and steady, and then they hit the smoothly paved rural highway and the windows go down, the ride really begins. Dean slides a Def Leppard album into the tapedeck with a familiar analog click, and _Hysteria_ begins to play. It's an instantly soothing, familiar landscape of sound that Alex can lose herself in completely, a thousand memories of childhood and young adulthood running through her mind to the song she's heard so many times. And just like that, she could be in any given moment on the road fifteen years ago. No voice, and no life besides the road, her brothers, this car, the next job. _Damn_. Times have changed.

On a whim, Alex nudges the floorboard carpet up, peering down to see the place where she and her siblings carved their initials in secret so many years back. Still there. Scrawled in rough capital letters huddled close together, she sees the familiar sight:

_A.W.  
_ _D.W.  
_ _S.W._

_Us_. Emotions rise unbidden, and she lets the carpet fall back down as she thinks back on the past remembering oddly disjointed things. The smell of gas stations, the sound of the Impala's turn signal, the constant groggy feeling from an abnormal sleep schedule, shitty motel after shitty motel. Life always on the move, always on the run. No true constants except her dad, her brothers. This car.

"You good back there, Tiger?" Dean asks, and Alex looks up to see he's glancing back at her in the rearview. She can tell without asking that he's feeling the same way that she is, remembering the old times, the way things were. She answers him by doing something she used to, back when she didn't have a voice. Two thumbs up, right near her face. He smiles, and there's a careworn tenderness, a bittersweetness there that appreciates the nod to the past. Alex reaches up and squeezes Sam's shoulder in front of her, and he covers her hand with his, squeezing back. Dean briefly grasps Sam's other shoulder, giving his brother a rousing little smile before he lets go. No one needs to say it aloud, but they all feel it: they're all so glad to be together like they used to be, in a rare moment of just them.

Dean then turns up the volume to the loudest it'll go and speeds up, settles into the driver's seat with one arm relaxed onto the windowsill. He looks calm, content. Sam turns his head to look out his window and Alex is struck again by how grown up he looks. How at peace. Hopeful. His hair flies around his face as the car hums along down the highway. Dean drums along to the beat of the song on the steering wheel with his thumb, singing softly along to certain parts. Complete, Alex leans her head out the window, the chilled air whipping her hair around, but the rising sun kissing warmth onto her face. Her eyes fall closed, and her lips pull upward in a gentle smile. Def Leppard sings straight to her, the mellow jam making her feel home.

Shadows from trees overhead mixed with patches of bright sunlight cause an almost strobe-like effect against the insides of her eyelids as the car makes quick time down the road it travels. Sitting there like that, it's like nothing ever changed. Some moments, you never want to leave behind, and for Alex, this is one of them. The familiar backseat, her brothers close by in their regular spots. Safety, contentedness, and peace surround her, and her heart feels heavy and light at the same time. Were those the good old days? In some sort of twisted way? She'd loathed so many things about the life, resented being mute, always had a bad attitude about one thing or another. Now, there's only a feeling of fondness about the way things used to be: A wistful longing sense in her soul for the way things were, despite how much she loves the way things are now. Strange how that works.

The car ride is peaceful, quiet. The energy in the car between the siblings is reflective and comfortable. Easy. Alex spends a majority of the time with eyes closed, taking in every other sense and losing herself in thoughts, memories, emotions to the tune of whatever classic rock song plays. She doesn't try to figure out where Dean is taking them. Just trusts and waits.

After awhile, the car turns, and the road switches from paved to bumpy gravel again. Alex feels the car moving up a slight incline. She opens her eyes, curious. She doesn't recognize where they are—it looks like a small grassy hill in a rural residential area. There's neighborhood roads nearby, houses lining pleasant tree-lined roads. _Civilians_ , Dean used to call people who lived normal lives in normal houses.

He pulls up onto the grass past the gravel's end then parks the Impala just under the shade of a large old oak tree. There's a jogging trail that winds through here and a currently-empty playground a few hundred feet off. "Everybody out," Dean says, and they still don't ask questions, even though the twins exchange a look as they get out. A— _where are we, do you know? Nope, not a clue—_ look.

Dean leads them a few steps out in front of the Impala and he stands there with his hands in his jacket pockets as he looks at the neighborhood in front of and below them. Alex comes to stand beside him, and Sam beside a minute, no one says anything.

"So… where are we?" Sam asks when Dean offers no explanation.

"You don't recognize it?" Dean nods at the homes. "Look. That house right there. The greenish one."

The twins follow his gaze. It's a normal house, looks like a million others. Two levels, a front yard with a big tree, a couple cars parked in the driveway. "What about it?" Sam asks when he and Alex come up with nothing.

Even as he asks that, Alex realizes that she _does_ remember it. Ten years ago or more, they all came here on a job, she's sure of it and suddenly quite surprised if she's right. "Wait is that…" she hesitates, doubting herself. It doesn't look like she quite remembers, maybe she's wrong. "Was that _the_ house?" Meaning _their_ house. The one Mom died in. The one that Dean carried them out of at six months old.

The answer is one soft, somber word. "Yeah." Dean is looking at it with an unreadable gaze. "Been awhile since we've been here. Felt like time to visit again, you know?"

There's a silence for a long moment. Surprise, maybe, that Dean brought them here. He had sworn in the past to never return. But he's not who he's always been—none of them are. Alex remembers coming here shortly after Sam rejoined them from Stanford while on the search for Dad. Sam had prophetic nightmares that had brought them here, where they found that a poltergeist had been terrorizing the house. A single mother and her two children had been nearly killed, and while attempting to save them, Sam and Alex had become trapped inside under the vengeful spirit's hold—Dean had hacked his way in with an axe, just in time to see Mary's spirit materialize and protect them all in the last moment. She sacrificed herself to save them all and kill the poltergeist while her children watched. That job had haunted Alex for so long—she still remembers her mother's beautiful face and serene presence. Her fierceness.

With that in mind along with today's date, it feels strange to be back here. Such a meaningful place in the Winchester story but it feels distant from her somehow. Hard to grasp, difficult to completely understand. Alex remembers feeling this sense of strangeness last time she was here too. The house seems too ordinary to be what it is in her mind: the mythical place that this entire life of angels, demons, and ghosts began. This was what Dean and Dad had referred to as 'home' all throughout her early life, but it has never felt that way for her. Home is family. Dean, Sam. Cas, her children, the people living in the Bunker. It's Bobby playing catch with CJ and Rose out under the oak trees outside the Bunker walls, including Robby even though he's two and not good at anything yet. It's Dean teaching Cas how to change spark plugs on the Impala and forcing himself to be patient when Cas goes into tangents about the dawn of mankind and how it relates to the engine they're working on. It's Jamie and Alex bitching about life in good nature as their kids drive them nuts, then working together to figure out dinner plans—pizza is a pretty popular solution. It's watching Sam and Dean with her kids—there's no describing seeing one of them scoop her son up and toss him laughing into the air or cuddle Nova just because. It's Cas's little garden he's growing just outside the Bunker, and finger-paintings by the kids taped to the walls and family photos scattered throughout. It's visiting Sam and Molly in town at a restaurant like a normal family, and going on sibling trips for concerts when they can. It's celebrating Christmas with their family, both chosen and blood, and not constantly living in fear of everything crumbling around them. It's the Bunker, the Impala, the road, the auto shop Dean and Bobby opened together. Money still needs to be made, after all—and life needs to be spent doing things. Home is all of this and more.

But, Alex does look at the playground that's not too far off, so close to their childhood home. _We would have played there._ She can envision it now. Mom and Dad happily watching as their kids clambered all over the playground when small. _Maybe Mom would be pushing me on the swing. Maybe Dad would be helping Sam on the monkey bars._ She looks at the house, wonders which room would have been hers, what windows they would have snuck out of to go get in trouble together. They'll never know.

"November second," Sam says softly, his face flickering with thoughts about the past.

Dean nods, his face similar as they look at their childhood home. "November second."

There's another long silence, half a minute or so in which the siblings all look at the house with their own thoughts, feelings, and emotions coming up. Sam is the first to break the silence. "You guys ever think about how different things would be if that night never happened?"

What a question. Obviously they all have, but it's not something they've really spoken at length about. Dean lets out a sharp huff of air, the shadow of a laugh. "We'd be three different people, that's for goddamn sure," he says.

That's putting it mildly. "I used to obsess over that," Alex adds thoughtfully, trying to remember the last time she thought about it deeply. "I haven't in…" the truth surprises even her: "years." She used to wish _so_ badly that November second of 1983 had gone differently. She'd cursed that day since she was old enough to understand it and what it had done to them all. She grew up knowing that was the day her ability to make noise left, the day her mother died, the day the life on the road began. And it used to be a constant resentment in her mind. _You can't change the past_ , she thinks idly, then corrects herself because that's not technically true. _Well… you can. But it's probably not a good idea._ These days she's accepted that the past, as bitter and terrible as it was, is the past. It's written, it's happened. She's made peace with it, seen it as what she had to live through to get to now.

Sam squints a little as a little smile peeks out, as if he's seeing particular memories flash in front of his eyes. He's mildly amused. "You guys remember how much we used to fight?"

Dean and Alex look at him in tandem with their faces in similar _are you shitting me expressions_. You'd have to hit your head hard and get permanent brain damage not to remember the way the three of them used to clash. They all chuckle at the same moment because what else is there to do or say? Because damn, it really had gotten rough there sometimes. Like, contemplating disowning each other and never speaking again rough.

"Man," Alex says, shaking her head as she remembers fondly, despite everything. "And here we are."

Dean nods softly, somewhere far off in his thoughts again. "Here we are."

Three words that convey how miraculous their situation. How special. They're all so grateful that they made it and survived, but most of all, that they're still friends. It was very hard at times—very trying. They're all three so human and flawed, and none of them were unscathed from living this life nor the decisions it required them to make. Dean's lies about 'Ezekiel' possessing Sam were pretty tough to come back from in particular. That was the last big rift the Winchester siblings had to deal with. The trust had been damaged severely between the three of them, no matter how much love or understanding they had for each other. In late 2014, after Lucifer died and life was finding a new normal, Sam started going to therapy regularly—at first in secret. Then, after he told Dean and Alex about it, he requested his siblings join in a few times, and that's where a lot of work was done to forgive each other and move forward from grudges. _Here we are indeed,_ Alex thinks, and goes deep into reflective thoughts as her brothers exchange a few more words. She spaces out, thinking about how insane it is that life is so good now. It's not without challenges or stress, but it's worlds apart from what she always knew before. It almost feels too good to be true. But it's not. It's real, it's hers. She will never take it for granted, ever.

Alex follows after her brothers when they decide to go sit on the car and have drinks. They sit on the hood, Alex in the middle flanked by a brother on either side. Dean brings out the cooler full of everyone's favorites. Alex selects a sprite, and Sam chooses bottled water of course. As he screws it open, he grins sideways at Dean, who's cracking open an unsweetened seltzer water—berry flavor. "How's your disgusting bubble water?" Sam jokes.

"Shut up, dude," Dean says, taking a sip and making a little face and sounding like he has a mouthful when he continues. "It's an acquired taste."

"Yeah, for _psychopaths_ ," Sam returns in growing amusement, and Dean rolls his eyes. Sam chuckles a bit, then contemplates his brother's choice of drink more sincerely. "For real though… I'm—I'm proud of you." He gives his brother a meaningful look.

Dean's gaze is somewhere into the distance and he's nodding faintly, a grateful note to his expression. "Two and a half years." He chuckles briefly, shrugs, takes another drink. "Miracles _do_ happen," he jokes. Yes they do. Who in the world ever thought they'd see the day when Dean wasn't drinking whiskey like it was water? Who knew in the future he'd choose to be completely sober, for two and a half years straight now? It had been very surprising when about three years ago he'd suddenly, moodily announced to his brother and sister he was going to Alcoholics Anonymous and, _"if you want to please come to my first meeting with me that'd be great goddammit."_ After a lifetime of abusing alcohol and other substances and becoming dependent on them and addicted to the point of not being able to be okay without them, Dean had finally decided to get help. Alcohol had been testing his relationship with Jamie, and he hadn't liked the way it made him feel about himself as a father. It all came to a head when Jamie left with the kids temporarily. Dean decided he needed help, even if at first he was very unwilling and prideful. Somehow, those meetings and rooms had been exactly what he needed. Six months later, he stopped drinking for good. He kept going back faithfully, reading the Big Book, and working the steps. He came out on the other side of the work a changed man. He still attends meetings and has become a sponsor for others who are working on their recovery. Dean is of course the same old guy he's always been—but there's something more gentle to him now. Less harsh and less quick to make judgments. More at peace with himself and the way of the world, more open minded. After all, he hung an AA " _Willingness_ " reminder in his car non-cynically. That's pretty deep for Dean.

"She would've been proud, too," Sam is saying. His jaw clenches as he contemplates the house where their mother died. And then he turns to Alex, who hasn't said a word for a minute or two and is off in her mind. "You're being quiet, everything okay?"

Alex smiles at him after a brief surprise at the question. Sam has always been so intuitive and observant. "Just thinking." She eyes the house again, remembering walking up to that door with her brothers ten plus years ago. "Last time we were here... I couldn't talk." That had been such a struggle, and sometimes she totally forgets the way her life used to be. The prison her mind kept her in. The urge to say things always coming up against the realization that she _couldn't_. It had made her feel so irrelevant and useless throughout the years. So fucking angry. So frustrated. Dean wordlessly puts an arm around his sister and squeezes her a little closer—a strengthening, comforting, reassuring touch that says more than words can. Sam touches the back of her head, rubbing his thumb against her hair. They know how tough it was for her, how sad she'd been for so long. It had been really hard on them too.

"Good ole Cas," Dean says quietly. Alex smiles to herself. Yeah. Good ole Cas. Dean and Castiel get along famously now, which is such a miracle when she remembers the hostile start of the relationship. They've essentially become brothers, sharing a special bond of their own. Dean lets his sister out of the embrace with a playful ruffle to the hair on the back of her head and she protests with a put-on groan. His revenge for earlier, she guesses.

"God, things are so different now," Sam says, still contemplating the entirety of their lives and the outcome they've arrived at.

"Yeah, _finally_ ," Dean replies in lighthearted sarcasm which makes both of his siblings smile a little.

"I mean, yeah, but sometimes… I… I miss it," Sam admits haltingly. "The hunting life, I mean. Is that fucked up?" He looks across at his brother, grinning self-consciously and lopsided. "I mean the job we just did Dean, ganking that vengeful spirit… it was like old times."

"Old times sucked," Dean reminds, but he has a little smile there. They laugh a little.

"Yeah maybe..." Sam admits before he sobers a bit and his voice softens a bit. "But we always had each other."

Alex looks at her twin gently. "We still do." It's really important to her that he knows that and feels it. He will always have them, no matter what. He calls, they'll answer. He needs something, they'll do whatever they can. She and Dean have repeatedly, since he moved out, made sure to remind him that he is welcome and wanted back—with Molly—any time. She reminds him again now. "Offer always stands, Sam."

"Yeah, always, brother," Dean confirms without hesitation. "Just say the word and we'll have Cas bake you a welcome-to-the-Bunker pie."

Sam chuckles ruefully. "Chef Cas strikes again."

Cas cooks and bakes regularly with a passion, and no one is complaining, least of all Dean: "Lemme tell ya: guy could be a professional," he boasts on his behalf. "The way he gets that lattice stuff on top or whatever is so perfect—pretty sure it's witchcraft." Dean pauses and lowers his voice. "But, I tell him it's all just 'okay' so he doesn't get an ego." He taps the side of his head and wiggles his eyebrows, indicating he's a genius, and everyone chuckles again.

"You know, we didn't have much time to really talk yesterday with the way that job went," Sam says to Dean. "How's life? The auto shop doing good?" _Winchester Auto_ is part real auto shop and part hunter's stopoff—it's just a few miles away and Dean spends a good chunk of time there running it. They specialize in classic cars, but service all kinds. Alex works there when the work load is heavy sometimes and even Cas has learned a few things about being a mechanic's assistant.

"Dude—it gets _boring_ sometimes," Dean replies offhandedly. "Do you know how awesome that is?" He grins, totally okay with what he says next: "I bet I'll be coaching softball before long and getting a damn minivan, and, hell. Trying this key-toe diet thingy I keep hearing about when I get fat." He takes a sip of his seltzer water and fixes Sam with a proud little gaze. "How's being a bigshot lawyer?"

Sam tries to be humble. "I dunno about bigshot, but it's… definitely different. And really, really good." He's nodding and he looks satisfied. Happy. "I help people, the salary's good… it just feels right, you know?"

Dean and Alex catch each other's glances. They've talked quite a few times about how proud they are of Sam for going back to finish his pre-law work, then completing the other two years of education required. Sam finished what he started, and it's impressive, intimidating, badass. It wasn't easy for him, because that higher-education thing is fucking hard. It was basically a full-time job, consuming his life and stressing him out as he jumped through all the hoops necessary. But now he works at a local firm and seems to really love it. It suits him, honestly. It's hard not to be happy for Sam.

"And how's _married_ life?" Alex asks, a lightly teasing touch to her tone as she leans her shoulder into his playfully.

Sam becomes a little bashful, ducking his head down as he turns a little redder in the face. He's grinning. "No complaints."

"That's my boy!" Dean says, purposefully trying to make it awkward.

Sam's wedding last year was so beautiful and sweet. It's been nice to see their brother end up with someone like Molly. Turns out once she's comfortable and less reserved, Molly is pretty awesome. She's nerdy and super smart like Sam, caring and kind, and just wholesome in a way Alex can't quite define. And the most important part is her acceptance of Sam and support of him. They really do love each other. For their little garden wedding last year, Molly had included Jamie and Alex in the planning process and made them bridesmaids (one of the oddest things Alex ever did but it was the thought that counted), and Molly surprised Alex with a brother/sister dance during the reception—Dean had cut in half way to dance with her after Sam's portion. It's one of Alex's favorite memories, believe it or not. _Who would ever have thought I'd willingly dance in a public setting like that?_ Life can surprise you sometimes. However, what didn't surprise Alex is how much she'd hated that damn chiffon bridesmaids dress. Dean still texts a picture of her in it, carrying flowers and giving a middle finger to the camera to their group chat with Sam a couple times a year to get a laugh and poke fun.

Dean meanwhile is ribbing his brother—really out of character, right? "You two gonna pop out some kids soon though or what?"

Sam is put on the spot and flustered with that same goofy grin on his face he tries to hide by ducking his head and batting his hand at something invisible. "Come on man."

"Fine, be that way," Dean says, also trying to hide a smile, then failing. He hesitated, then decides to go for it. "I uh—I actually got some news in that department though…" he trails off meaningfully, and his face says it all.

Alex's eyes widen as a smile waits in the wings. "Wait _what_?"

"Yup," Dean says, proud and bashful and a little sheepish. " _Again_."

"Aw D, congrats!" Alex says, punching him in the shoulder playfully even while thinking very briefly that the Bunker is soon going to be more kids than adults.

"Yeah man, congratulations, that's great!" Sam says, reaching over and patting the back of Dean's shoulder as best he can.

Dean waves them off, but he's enjoying the attention. "Thanks guys—James is gonna kill me though. Loves being a mom, hates being pregnant." Dean gives Sam a commanding look. "Told me this is the last damn one so I'm counting on you, Sammy."

"I'll… see what I can do," Sam jokes back, shaking his head in mild chagrin that he's stooped to his brother's level.

The group falls into another brief quiet moment again. Alex smiles to herself as she pictures Dean with three kids. He really is the best dad. He's obsessed with his kids, and when she sees him with them, it makes her think of how he was with her and Sam growing up. He has this silly and fun side that his kids bring out of him, this tenderness that he doesn't keep a leash on or try to stow away. He sings to them, dances with them, dotes on them, is fiercely protective of them. Puts everyday effort into teaching them, noticing them, hearing them. He lets them do things no one else could ever do: like decorate him with stickers, draw on him with markers. Rose recently painted his nails pink and put hair-bow clips in his hair for a tea party she insisted on having. Dean didn't even blink, just sat down and let her doll him up then complimented her skills and offered to braid her hair—a trick he still remembers how to do from when Alex was little. You can see when Jamie watches him with their children how much she loves him. Not just as her partner, but as a loving father to their kids. They haven't married and have never mentioned the idea of doing so, but they might as well be hitched at this point. It's really hard not to tear up when Alex thinks about Dean's happy ending. She always thought they'd all die young in terrible, violent ways. She'd spent a few months about ten years ago thinking Dean was gone forever after his soul deal came up for collection and he went to Hell. But here they are, living, growing. Raising _families_ together. Getting wrinkles and sore knee joints and needing naps as they move toward middle age. It's terribly boring, mediocre, everyday stuff. And it's everything she never knew she wanted. Her soul is satisfied, whole, and at peace. It's more than she'd ever hoped for.

"Hey uh—anyone heard from Dad recently?" Sam asks offhandedly, distracting Alex out of her thoughts.

She frowns a bit, thinking about when the letter had come. She sets her can of sprite down behind herself. _Hmm._ "Last May?"

"Yeah, last May," Dean confirms. They'd gotten a letter addressed to the three of them—the postmark was from Callao, Utah, an isolated city adjacent to the Deep Creek Mountains—a remote, vast wilderness. The siblings have theorized that John is living there somewhere, completely away from civilization. His letter hadn't been long. It had simply stated that he was at peace, living well, and remembering them all often. He told them that he had begun to meditate to cope with the Mark's negative effects, and that he passes his time by living on the land.

"Wonder what he's doing right now," Sam says quietly, his eyes on their old house.

Dean contemplates for a few beats. "Honestly, I think the old man got what he wanted in a weird way," he replies slowly. "I mean not like at the start of his life but… he's making up for all the stuff he never wishes he ever did." He shrugs, maybe talking to himself more than Sam and Alex. "He's doing something important. Something good. Hell. Call it redemption."

"Yeah maybe," Sam replies, but he doesn't sound totally convinced.

"Bet on it," Dean says. "John Winchester was never made for the normal side of things."

"Were any of us?" Alex counters, both good-natured and cynical at the same time.

The brothers both indicate she has a fair point with their body language and chosen facial expressions.

"Life's frickin' weird as fuck," Dean said. "That's all I know."

The twins definitely agree. A moment later, Sam breathes out long and heavy. Almost a sigh. "Still can't believe we made it out to the other side," he says, eyes locked onto their old house again. "Sometimes… I still feel guilty about it, you know?"

Dean makes a _pffbt_ sound. "I could write a book about the guilt," he says wryly.

"Same," Sam says with a rueful little huff. Alex studies him closely, feeling like he's about to say something really meaningful. "It just… never fully goes away," Sam says, his tone giving away how true this is for him. "I used to think I could leave it behind but… guess you just gotta learn to carry some things." Simple words, but deep impact. Alex feels that sentiment in her bones and wishes she could fix it for him. For all of them.

Dean's eyebrows raise up briefly, a reaction to his own feelings being spoken out loud by someone else. "No kidding," he agrees in a reflective tone, lost somewhere in his own mind.

"Helps that I know there's two other people who feel the same out there," Sam continues, looking at his siblings with an emotional expression on his face. He tries to smile it away, and Alex puts her hand on his shoulder then squeezes reassuringly.

"We did what we had to do," Dean says, and his eyes are seeing a million memories all starring the three of them. "And no one but us will ever get what that was like."

The three of them exchange looks that don't need words to accompany. What Dean said is one hundred percent right, and it's comforting, not disheartening. He finishes his drink and crumples the can, then tosses it back into the cooler haphazardly, deep in thinking mode now. Sam sets his water bottle down and pulls a knee up, loops his arms around it, also deeply thoughtful. The Impala's radio is still on and Alex hears a familiar _Kansas_ song playing faintly behind the sounds of birds, breeze, and neighborhood life. With the sun shining down on them as just the three of them spend time doing nothing—something they used to do all the time—she feels longing and wistful. Which is strange, given the fact that this current moment is so perfect.

"I miss you guys," she hears herself say out loud. Then she realizes that sounds weird—she sees them all the time, well, Dean anyway. And she sees Sam pretty regularly and stays in constant contact but… she shakes her head rapidly, trying to find the right words. "I mean… I miss… I dunno."

Dean glances at her sidelong, a knowing little sad smile on his face. "No, yeah. I get it Al. So do I."

A brief pause. "Me too," Sam says then. He sounds slightly mournful. The three of them exchange looks, and none of them is sure how to put it into words.

"I mean, I love life now," Alex says honestly, not sure why her throat is suddenly a fraction tighter. "But it's… it's not the same."

Sam shakes his head, swallows. Looks almost like he's going to get emotional. "Nope."

"Okay okay okay, the sad squad act needs to go," Dean says authoritatively, but it's clear he's feeling a lot just like his brother and sister. The twins don't say anything, but the point is taken and they both cover up their sadder feelings with little smiles at the same time. Dean clears his throat, and something about that simple sound catches both of their attention—he sounds like he's about to say something very important. The way he hesitates indicates that he's nervous about saying whatever it is he's about to reveal. "So look…" he starts, visibly working through some mental roadblocks. "I uh, I brought us here today cuz…" he pauses, takes in a deep breath, then follows through purposefully. "Today of all days guys, I need you both to know that as crappy as life got there sometimes, as bad as things were… you two made it better. Without fail. Always."

Touched, the twins find themselves smiling in heartfelt response as he makes specific eye contact with each of them in turn. His seriousness and deliberate vulnerability isn't something he could have managed in years past. "We lost more than most people ever will," he says, then indicates the place they came to see with a brief nod. "And it started thirty-five years ago, right there. In that little house." His expression is intense as he looks at the home they left behind. "The road, the job, the life… it took away a whole helluva lot." His seriousness is suddenly interrupted by a little smile. "But we always had us. Then and now. And hopefully for the rest of our lives." He looks at them again. "I'm damn thankful for that. Wanted you to know. How much I love you both." He smiles, but its through vast, raw emotion.

Some moments, it hits you harder than others. This is one of those moments for Alex where she sees Dean in slightly new light. He's grown up so much more than she realized. Matured. Worked past so many personal demons and grown into himself. He just said those things to them without an agenda and without a fallback onto humor or cynicism to escape the more tender, personal things. That's huge for him.

"Me too, Dean." Sam says softly, his voice catching. He's always been the one who's best at heart-to-hearts and honesty and putting himself out there. Alex can tell he's similarly surprised and touched by Dean's positive changes. And she suddenly feels her heart in her throat as emotions wash over her completely.

Her brothers. Life dealt them bad hands, but look how these men turned out. They're warriors, they're legacies, they're incredible people who have protected the world, laid down their lives, and sacrificed it all. They have found themselves, they have never given up even when circumstances were impossible. And they have never let her fall too far. She's overwhelmed with the way she loves them, the way she'll always need them, the story of their lives up to this point. She has seen them at their worst, their best, and everywhere in between. They've seen hers, too. It feels like they're truly invincible—that their bond will never be broken. Barely able to speak as her eyes become watery, she manages to get it out in a distorted voice: "I am so, _so_ proud of you guys."

Sam puts an arm around her and he doesn't let go. "We're proud of you too," he says with great conviction, his heart and soul laid bare in his voice.

Dean nods his agreement, his voice growing a bit rougher with emotion—he puts a hand on her head affectionately, rubbing a couple times. "Damn proud." His hand comes down to rest on her shoulder that's further away now and he looks at his kid siblings, all grown up. His eyes are shining too now. He grins through it. "This has been one _hell_ of a ride, huh?"

Sam snorts softly, clears his throat, sniffs, grins through the emotion as he looks off into distance. "Damn straight."

Alex pulls Dean in close on her other side, unable to find words. _No one else I wouldn't rather taken this ride with than you two._ She squeezes them inward in a hug as she covers up a weepy sniffly sound. "Aw man," Dean mumbles, as he sniffs loudly, dashing at his eye and clearing his throat.

"Allergies again?" Sam teases, which is real funny given the fact that he's crying too.

Dean smiles through his tears, pulling a put-on indignant face. "Shut up, _bitch_."

Sam is smiling through the fierce feeling in his chest—he hasn't forgotten how this goes. "Make me, _jerk._ "

It's so cliché that she wants to laugh, but she's currently too emotional to pull that off. With a whisper of, "C'mere, losers," she pulls them even closer, never wanting to let go of their safe, strong presence at her sides. The brothers lean their heads against Alex's and they stay like that, arm in arm, looking at the house they might have grown up in together if it wasn't for greater, more fated things life had in store. Nothing more needs saying out loud for now. The moment is absolutely perfect and complete to Alex—a poignant instance closure that she never knew she needed until now. She'll remember this day, the way she feels right now, for the rest of her life.

 _We lost so many things in that fire,_ she reflects, eyes scanning the shape of the house Dean carried them out of. So much burned away in those flames. The future they might have had. The people they might have become. Their parents. Their childhoods. It all went up in the blaze and became mere thoughts and possibilities of what could've been. But the fire gave things to them too. _It showed us who we are. It put us onto this road, it gave us the purpose we live with even until today. We were forged in that fire. And now that the smoke has cleared all these years later… we are absolutely unbreakable._

This is the road so far, and there is still road left ahead. But for now, we say farewell. Endings are hard, aren't they? They come with a feeling of loss, of discomfort and change. They force us to move forward to somewhere else. To another beginning. So it is for the Winchesters. They don't know what else life has in store for them or where the road will lead. They do know that undoubtedly, always, without exception: no matter what comes their way, they will have each other's backs every single time. And that will always be enough.

Siblings. We know one another's faults, virtues, catastrophes, mortifications, triumphs, rivalries, desires, and how long we can each hang by our hands to a bar. Our brothers, our sisters. They resemble us just enough to make all their differences confusing, and no matter what we choose to make of this, we are cast in relation to them our whole lives long. We travel life together, even when we're apart. Through the good and the ugly, to the ends of the earth. Brothers and sisters are forever. The Winchesters know this in ways most of us don't.

On the radio in the Impala, that familiar song still plays faintly… something ending in words that go something like, " _lay your weary head to rest… don't you cry no more_."

The sun continues to rise overhead… another day comes to pass... and life goes on.

* * *

**Kripke's Hollow, Iowa  
** **Time and Date Unknown**

It's the middle of the night, and Kripke's Hollow is quiet.

Everyone is asleep in this quiet, small town.

Well… not _everyone_.

There is an old house on the edge of the tiny township—a ramshackle, rotting house that was condemned years ago and isn't livable anymore. On the mailbox, faded and aged so much you can barely make it out: _C._ _Shurley_.

According to the city records this house has no electricity or tenants, and hasn't for years. So why are the windows glowing faintly with lights…?

Inside, the house doesn't match the barely-standing appearance of the outside. It looks exactly like it did the day Cas and Alex were married there—messy and unkempt, sure… nothing that would ever make it into a _Better Homes & Gardens_ spread—but it's functional and safe, a normal house. There's definitely something magical or supernatural about the way the interior of the house doesn't match its rotten, condemned exterior.

A few lights without lampshades dimly light the cavelike, book-packed interior of Chuck's home. A small man with unkempt hair and glasses sliding down his nose sits in a dingy bathrobe, working intensely at a very old typewriter. 'Writer's block' is apparently not in his vocabulary, because he's been at it for hours. Page after page after page of story—hundreds. It's almost finished now. His mouth is hanging open slightly, his eyes are glazed over. He looks focused… and also a little insane.

_Clack clack clack. Clack clack clack clack clack! Clack. Ding!_

Chuck Shurley pauses briefly and lets out a tired sigh after he gracelessly wracks the typewriter back to begin a new line. He's been at this for an eternity it feels like. With his free hand, he reaches out for his mug to take a sip of his lukewarm coffee. He grimaces against the horrible taste of coffee brewed in an old machine that should be washed more regularly and beans that have gone slightly stale. "Never was good at making this stuff," he mutters to himself as he pours generously from a half-empty bottle of bourbon into the coffee cup. He sips again, winces, and then smiles against the strong alcohol. That's better.

He returns to his furious task of writing it all down. Scenes and characters and feelings and moments all swirl in his head, pouring out as he brings these things to life with words on paper. It all tumbles out, page after page. Beginning, middle, end. Setting, theme, characters, symbolism, tension, conflict, resolution, subplot, cliffhangers… it's all there. The mute hunter, the fallen angel—the unbreakable bond and unstoppable love story. All that came from this unexpected, wonderful, insane journey that two people (well, one person and one celestial being) in love created. And it's not just a love story. It's the brothers and their sister, an absent, damaged father who in turn damaged his children and left them with a legacy of fighting each other and fighting evil at the same time. It's God and Lucifer and Angels, Demons, werewolves, ghosts, witches, Heaven, Hell, and the unbelievable lives of all who got caught up in this surreal reality.

The story is everything. This story is so important. They _all_ are. It's not enough that the stories happen to the people in them—writing it down makes the experience all the realer, more sacred, more complete. It makes moments that would otherwise fade into obscurity immortal... preserved forever.

Or maybe that's just one insane author's feelings on the matter. Up for debate.

Where fact is concerned, stories take forever to write—so much work and brain power and time and headache. Chuck knows this. Hell, he doesn't remember the last time he's been outside! It's just been writing, rewriting, editing, and more writing. He's consumed by it, as all authors are by the worlds they create.

But no matter what, always at last comes the inevitable. After weeks—months? Years?—of committing this story to paper… the last word is written. Chuck is _done_. It's shocking, almost—to be done with the task that never seemed it would actually be finished. The room goes quiet, no more typing. Chuck's shoulders relax and he softens into his chair—a slow, bittersweet smile crosses his face as his expression changes from concentration to relaxation and relief. His eyes grow soft on the typewriter and the last page. This is always such a beautiful and poignant moment for him: Another story complete. Finished. What a satisfying feeling, what a sad and equally happy moment. He looks at the last words on the page: _"The End."_

He hesitates as he always does. But it has to be done—he pulls the last page off of the typewriter and gently lays it face down onto the stack of the rest of the hundreds of pages, then flips the stack of paper so that he sees the title page resting on top.

_SONG REMAINS THE SAME_

He smiles at the title fondly, brushing a slow thumb over the four words. Why'd he choose that name for this story? No real reason. Just a tune he really enjoys by some obscure band called Led Zeppelin. Maybe you've heard of them.

Books and stories can become a dear old friend, Chuck thinks tenderly. There is a certain attachment for Chuck to the stories he writes, and the people who have created them with their lives. But he can never stay with one forever. An ending is an ending, a conclusion is a conclusion. And when a story is finished, it's time to put it on the shelf and go onto the next one.

He flips through the pages of _Song Remains the Same_ , the story rushing through his mind as he does, the feelings and emotions so close to his heart. Then he breathes in deeply and exhales, stands up, taking the manuscript with him—it's huge, one of his longer ones. With care, he takes the story of Alex and Cas and Dean and Sam and so many others to where all the stories go when they're done. A door, unsuspecting and common, awaits him at the end of a hallway. He turns the brass knob and opens the door to what would be the basement - _if_ \- this house was actually a house.

Instead of perhaps wooden stairs that would match the house he resides in right now, there is polar, heavenly, shapeless white. He descends downward easily on all-but invisible stairs. Before him stretches an immaculate white glowing hallway lined with pristine shelves. On these shelves, trillions and _trillions_ of stories line the endless rows that stack out on either side into infinity. This is the library where _Song Remains the Same_ will rest and live for eternity among all the others.

The scruffy man in a dingy bathrobe holding a huge manuscript slowly wanders down the rows—he needs to find the perfect place for this book. Each and every one he writes always feels like his heart on paper—but he's convinced that this one really, really is (and yes… he feels this way every damn time). He lovingly gazes at the thick manuscript for a long moment. It's his creation, but their story.

It's hard to explain these things. He continues to wander. Infinite amounts of manuscripts are nestled in their places for all of time on either side of him.

Everyone's story, no matter how brief or seemingly meaningless or non-consequential is here. Noticed, written, seen. Every single one has been important. So, _so_ important.

Finally, Chuck finds the perfect place for _Song Remains the Same_. He holds the stack of paper for one more moment, gazing at it as a father might look upon his beloved child… and the stack of paper is suddenly transformed into a thickly bound leather book—its final form. Chuck then lovingly tucks this latest story in between the one of Adam and Eve and then the one of Cleopatra—briefly reflecting on those two stories he loves so much too.

Chuck exhales a healthy breath, looking around with pride and emotion at all these stories—some names that most would recognize like Neil Armstrong, Mahatma Gandhi, George Washington Carver, Joan of Arc—and many others about people no one has ever heard of, or ever will—Chuck's fingers touch the books of a boy in India named Arjun with no last name who died just three days after being born—a peasant named Elisabeth who never really did anything but live and die at a young age of bubonic plague—a woman named Lakisha Jones who raised a family in the Bronx and lived her life for her family, never leaving the city she lived in even once, dying at age 94. These people did not impact the entire world, and history has forgotten them. But the common thread between each of these books, each of these people is that all human beings who have ever existed and ever will exist has an all-important story. And here they are, and they are written.

Chuck reaches out and softly touches the spine of _Song Remains the Same_. Before he goes onto writing the next story, he wants to go back to the start of this one, one more time. He vanishes from the celestial library, willing himself back in time easily in the same way you or I would get up to walk to the next room.

He's now in Stanford, California. The year is 2004. It's Halloween. Chuck knows this night well.

Dean will have just snuck into Sam and Jessica's little student housing apartment to go see if he can talk his brother into coming back to the hunting life to find their missing father. He only does so after a couple of hours hemming and hawing and trying to decide if he really can do it or not.

Alex will be waiting at the Impala, smoking a secret cigarette in a foul mood as she emotionally stews over Sam, her life, and Dean's insistence at getting Sam to come on the search for their dad.

Chuck rounds the corner, staying invisible to the sight of humans. And there she is. Lanky even when slumping with a clearly bad attitude, younger in the face and less sure of herself than she will be later in life: Alex Winchester. A silver whistle is on a chain from her neck. She waits for Dean to come back out while smoking in a comical way: taking a drag then putting the cigarette far away from herself while waving her other hand in front of herself to fan the smell away. Chuck finds himself smiling at this twenty-something girl who lives in a world the same size that everyone else lives in, yet barely has experienced any of it the way you or I have. She has no idea what the future has for her, or the forces at work. She's just doing what we all are: living our life from moment to moment. Oh, the things ahead for her. The things ahead for _all_ of them _._

It's an especially dark night, and you can hear them speaking before they show up: Dean's deeper voice, Sam's tenor. Alex's cigarette goes flying as she flicks it off into obscurity and straightens up, fanning herself fast, hard, and brief before settling into a try at looking tough and unreadable. The two figures—one tall and slender, the other one shorter and more compact—are coming up out of a stairwell to the waiting Chevrolet Impala parked in the alley behind the apartments. Dean is wearing his at-the-time signature leather jacket and talisman necklace, speaking to his brother. "So what're you gonna do, huh?" he's asking. "Live some normal, apple pie life?"

They're approaching the car, where Alex awaits, leaned leisurely against the trunk, silent and watchful with crossed arms. You can see her apprehensiveness paired with her attempt to look cool and detached.

"No," Sam is answering. "Not normal. _Safe._ " Sam then turns his gaze to Alex and smiles tightly and awkwardly, acknowledging his twin sister who he hasn't seen in at least two years. It's easy to see how he's affected by seeing her again—there's guilt, doubt, and nervousness flashing briefly across his face. "Hi Alex." He sounds uncertain. She puts her hand up just barely in a brief return 'hi' and, equally awkward, returns the tight smile—it's more like a grimace. She too is feeling nervous, weird, and unsure. She took his departure for college hard and personal. Chuck knows, of course, how she feels at the moment: nervous, vulnerable, afraid.

"Look," Dean glances between his siblings briefly, seeing the tension there, but focusing on Sam to reason plainly. "You left, _years ago,_ and we haven't bothered you once." He pauses and fixes his brother with a significant look and lays it out there. "I need you on this. _We_ need you."

Sam considers a brief second, then scoffs like he thinks he's being pranked and his brother's suggestion is stupid. "You guys don't need me."

Dean smirks, going into sarcastic humor mode. "True. The two of us are the best of the best, and your aim sucks."

Sam's face shifts to a classic bitchy expression. "I can shoot better than either _one_ of you."

"Yeah, maybe four years ago, chump," Dean jokes, then becomes serious, drawing a deep breath. "Look, Dad's in real trouble right now. If he's not dead already. I can feel it. We don't wanna do this without you, Sam." He's obviously having a hard time asking this of Sam, and struggles a little with the emotions. "You're our brother." He hits Alex on the shoulder, which gets him an unamused scowl. "And hey! She misses you." Dean did that a lot growing up: projected his feelings and thoughts onto Alex instead of speaking them for himself. Sam knows that. Alex is side-eyeing her oldest brother briefly, shaking her head just barely slightly in annoyance. It's obvious she'd have a lot to say if she could. Her point is taken, either way. Dean rolls his eyes, huffing. "Fine. _I_ miss you."

Sam hesitates, looking at his brother and sister slowly in turn. The ones he shared such a wreck of a childhood with, the ones who remind him of who he really is and the life he doesn't tell his friends about. It would be easy to walk away and ignore all this. But something there, the indefinable thing that makes Sam _Sam_ , drives him to hesitant. Contemplate. Then take a deep breath and give in, saying the words that will change his life foreve: "What was he hunting?"

Chuck smiles fondly as the scene continues to unfold—brothers and sister opening the trunk. Dean showing Sam the news clippings, the audio recording, the maps. Alex looks on skeptically, afraid to trust Sam, worried about this farfetched attempt of Dean's to rebuild the family. Sam, knowing how bad this could get, allows himself to take the chance anyway. These three have no idea what's ahead, or how much life is going to change as they hurtle along the tracks fate has laid for them. But they will always have each other. Always. From birth to old age, completing each other's lives, having each other's backs, fucking up and forgiving each other… every single time.

Chuck begins to step back, and as he does, he fades away and wills himself into another reality—another slice of dimension in the multiverse. It's the same setting. The same night. The same story. But also... not quite. It's the same dark alley behind Jessica and Sam's apartment and the same waiting car. Only, no one waits at the car this time. Alex is nowhere to be found. Chuck watches Sam and Dean climb up that same stairwell to ground level and go to the same car that he just watched them go to a moment ago. But in this version of reality, it's just them.

The brothers are having the same exchange Chuck just saw.

" _So what're you gonna do, huh? Live some normal, apple pie life?"_

" _No. Not normal._ Safe _."_

" _And that's why you ran away."_

And so it goes, unfolding as it always does and always will: similarly, but differently. Essentially the same… but also not at all.

Here, in this version of existence, there's no permanent third wheel, no silent watchful presence, no sister to the brothers. She doesn't exist at all in this version of the world. Chuck watches Sam and Dean bicker. He isn't supposed to be biased, but of course he is. He already knows that in this version of truth, at the oddest of moments, the brothers both have instances of feeling like the space beside them is oddly empty—missing something. He knows that they can't put their finger on it, but something's not totally right to them—and that they'll never know what—or rather _who_ —that feeling is about. A bittersweet reality, but reality all the same. The details change, the storyline deviates. And craziest still: this version of things is just as real as all the millions of others.

Yes. Millions. Strange, isn't it? There's versions of reality where it's just Dean and Alex, no Sam. There's universes where it's Sam and Alex, no Dean. There's universes where it's just one of them, no siblings at all. And all of those all need to be written too. _Challenge accepted_ , Chuck thinks to himself with a knowing smile.

No one reality is truly better or more superior than another—or, it _shouldn't_ be—but he personally does feel that the one with all three Winchesters is the most whole. The most complete. The one that he prefers over the rest. The one that would make for the best TV. Comparing this version with Sam and Dean to the one he just finished writing, he thinks of how Alex's absence changes so many things. Not just events, but people. Outcomes. Arcs. _Endings_. These brothers in this particular universe will never have even a clue. The author lets out a soft sigh. It feels sad. But, such is life.

There is one last thing for Chuck to do before he moves forward into writing the next story.

He visits Heaven, and observes the place he's prepared for Castiel and Alex.

They will share a Heaven, because they are, indeed, soulmates—why else do you think Alex didn't have a Heaven? Because at the time, Castiel didn't have a soul, just Grace. Their Heaven didn't exist yet, because his soul hadn't formed yet. Now, their Eternity is finished and waiting. It looks curiously like the cabin they shared in that vision of 2014 that Zachariah showed them—a cabin in a lush wooded area—there's a lake nearby with mountain views and sunsets that are beyond incredible. Yellow flowers rest in a vase on the kitchen table, furniture is nestled into a home that feels welcoming, warm, and cozy. Outside, Chuck can hear their young children's laughter, and nearby, he knows Sam and Dean's Heavens connect to Alex's. Not many Heavens do that. But the Winchesters have always been exceptions to the rules. And of course being all-knowing, all-powerful, impervious, etcetera, etcetera—Chuck knows that eventually, hundreds of years into CJ Winchester's life, he'll be the one who re-orders the workings of Heaven, making it so that all souls in Heaven can connect to each other—no longer isolated into their own pockets of eternity. But again… that's a different story, and so is the one of Mania, the lost and unknown Nephilim daughter of Alex and Cas concieved in Purgatory who was raised as a demon and never knew her true identity as a Winchester until much later in life. Not even her parents knew she existed for awhile. _Damn, I've got to write that one next,_ Chuck thinks to himself. _It's a real page turner._ However, that does remind Chuck: he needs to go have a talk with his silly son Gabriel, who apparently fancies himself the new god in this universe. _Manager in training is more like it_ , Chuck thinks in amusement. That Gabe has always been such a lovable knucklehead.

But first. With him, Chuck carries a copy of _Song Remains the Same_ in his hands. He gently places it on the table, where it will wait for Cas and Alex's arrival. Cas will arrive first, succumbing to mortality after a cancer diagnoses in his seventies. Chuck carefully straightens the hardback leather volume so that it's perfect, then puts a single yellow flower on top. With a lingering smile that is bittersweet, he stands back then disappears as mysteriously as he came.

Inside of the book on the first two blank pages, there is a handwritten message in deep cobalt blue ink. The penmanship is outstandingly beautiful and elegant.

_Dearest Castiel —  
_

_Welcome to eternity. You're here first, but it won't be long until your other half is here too. Please tell her that I hope she enjoys this sappy romance novel I wrote for her — perhaps you can look it over as you wait for her?_

_Besides leaving this book for you to keep and have, I also wanted to tell you some things that we didn't have time to discuss in person (you'll have to pardon me — I stay very busy)._

_Angel of Thursday — legend of Heaven and Earth — you have had quite the life._ _Every story has a marked beginning, and yours began thousands of years ago at the dawn of time itself. Where it ends, however, is still to be determined. After all, death is very often just the beginning..._

_In millions of dimensions and realities, in a billion souls and creatures, you are such a surprise, such a delight._ _I have never loved one of my creations quite like I have loved you, Castiel. The path you were given and assigned compared to the one you decided to follow is nothing short of a miracle—and not in just this version of reality. In every version of this universe and others that I have gone into thus far, you have_ always _chosen to go against what your assigned fate dictated. I have never tired of watching you grow, reach, and become. You are quite the wonder, and this book is just one volume in the explanation of how._

 _Defiance is usually used as such a negative word—but I have watched you defy your dictated fate in this and other dimensions time and time again. I have watched you choose love and discovery every single time. Let me be clear. I had nothing to do with how amazing you are —_ you _decided that. Something about you, the inherentness of you, made you this way. I do want you to know something though. This — specifically —_ this _, was my favorite version of you. The you that lived into old age with your wife Alex, raising a family, loving your children, figuring it out as you went, no instruction manual or guideline or roadmap. You loved with all you had, you gave everything you possessed. I know it wasn't easy. Everyday was another unknown, another instance of facing things you had no idea how to navigate. Yet you did it. You chose to be brave, to run headlong into the challenge. And for doing that, look what you gained and experienced. Beautiful, eternal things that are yours forever._

_From what I've seen the human experience is no singular thing. It's pain, wonder, happiness, loss, an ever-changing journey — and if we're lucky, we will leave the world a little better than we found it. Cas old boy, you and Alex both did this by tenfold. I am proud in the way a father is proud of his children. You and Alex and Sam and Dean and your children, their children, everyone else in the Winchester clan — I am humbled by watching your experience. Thank you. I feel odd thanking you, but I am grateful either way. There is something special about you all, in every facet of every reality, that I had nothing to do with._

_I have seen trillions of universes and alternate universes. Time after time it has been confirmed to me: Everything matters, even when it doesn't. Every ONE matters, even when they feel they don't. No life is wasted. No experience is meaningless. Not a single person has been without reason. Every soul just as important and special as the rest.  
_

_It's been quite a journey, Castiel. I know you just arrived here to Heaven and think that your Great Rest is upon you. That the song has played, the band has packed up, Elvis has left the building, the final chapter is written. All that's left to do is await your Alex and then spend eternity in peace..._

_However. Word to the wise… I wouldn't be so sure._

_Maybe — perhaps —_ possibly _— I'm just sayin' — your story might not quite be over._

_But hey! What do I know?!_ _I'm just God ;-)_

_Love,  
_ _Chuck_

* * *


	148. Postlude: The Road So Far

" _The divine is not something high above.  
_ _It is in Heaven, it is in Earth—it is inside of_ _us._ _"  
_ \- Morihei Ueshiba

* * *

**April 29th, 2055  
** **The Bunker**

The word 'death' was not one Castiel had concerned himself with in his time spent as an angel. Not until the hand of fate did its work in changing everything. Not until he fell deeply into a love which never found its end.

Once an immortal celestial being without beginning or end, he had readily cast it all aside to spend a human lifetime on earth with her—and with his family. This had been his choice. This would _always_ be his choice. Even now, knowing that his mortal end was very bitter indeed…

His years on earth had turned him gray, aged his body, and left him withering away from the aggressive cancer he'd been diagnosed with only a few months prior. He hadn't the strength to leave bed anymore, not for the last six days. With him the entire time—holding him, sleeping at his side, tending to his every last need, never missing a chance to express her affection for him—his wife stayed close.

Needless to say, it had been a very difficult time. The Bunker had grown somber. The cancer had spread too quickly to treat. And nothing about knowing what was coming made the inevitable any less painful to bear.

"I think I've just seen my last sunrise."

Those were the words Cas uttered the morning of the day he breathed his last… their forty-fifth wedding anniversary.

A heavy silence had hung in response. Then, a tearfully whispered, "I'm not ready," drifted back to him as her veiny hand found his. Alex was curled into his side, a place she rarely left anymore.

His eyes were the one thing cancer could not sap away. Brilliant blue met warm hazel. With silver hair and a face road-mapped by wrinkles, Alex had never ceased to be beautiful to Cas—their bodies had aged, their strength had waned, but their love had only grown. And the thought of leaving his beloved here alone on earth while he ascended to Heaven made Cas ache. "I'm not ready either…" he admitted, voice catching on tears of his own.

Her voice was faint. The outward strength she maintained for his sake was eroding. "How am I supposed to do this without you?" It was a question that hurt to ask and hurt to hear. They had never stopped needing each other, never stopped fearing the loss of the other. Neither knew what to do.

Cas held her hand as best as his failing strength would let him. His first thought was not for himself. "I wasn't supposed to go first…" he murmured, his chest full of sorrow as he searched familiar eyes he didn't want to leave behind. "I don't want you to be alone. And I never want to be without you, not even for a day…" he trailed off, fatigued beyond belief. -

Her face was gathering sorrow in tandem with his. "What if you're wrong?" The question was barely a whisper. "About Heaven? About seeing each other again?"

The question set a knowing smile onto his elderly face despite his failing strength and growing tears. In the face of her doubt, he only had conviction. "How could I be wrong about that?" he appealed gently—he didn't even _consider_ an alternative. There _was_ no other possibility. He searched her worried, heartbroken eyes and thought hard about how to say what he had tried to convey so many times: If _they_ weren't soulmates, who _would_ be? "We belong together," he said, his faith complete. "Our souls are one. I believe that with everything I have." Compassionate in the face of her fear, Cas managed to hold her face in a trembling, age-spotted hand. "We'll share a Heaven. I _know_ we will."

Because no matter how many goodbyes the two of them said, without fail they always came back to each other—he couldn't do anything but believe this was their final separation. That they would reunite once more, and this time for eternity.

Her face bore intense hope, pain, fear, but most of all, love. She nodded, trying valiantly to believe what he did. "I love you so much," she whispered, carefully clutching close to him as the tears came.

"And I love you." Cas did his best to hold her with his weak limbs, smiling through his tears as his lungs rattled in his chest. "I always have," he whispered, barely audible at all. "And I always will." His fingers traced down the familiar path of her arm. "From wherever I am to wherever you are…" his pinky slipped in to lightly curl around hers. "I am forever bound," he rasped, taken by nostalgia. He remembered when she was the angry mistrustful girl who had looked at him like he was a stranger. He remembered the angel who loved before he even knew the name of what he felt. And Alex wept, burying her face against him gingerly to muffle her cries, but her smallest finger curled back into his fiercely.

As the day marched on, Cas fell into a restless sleep and Alex rose to embrace their two children who came as soon as they were notified. Emily, however, did not come. They gathered around the bed and Cas woke presently, smiling with contented pride when he saw his son and daughter standing arm in arm with their mother. "Look at you three," he managed faintly, deep joy in his face and tone. He studied them with increasing sentiment as the moment struck him anew. He was saying farewell to them. His children had come to say their goodbyes. And thus, he knew he had to say something—that he had to leave them with a message worthy of remembering. And as he thought of all the possible things to say, all he could do was tell them thank you in the end. "Words cannot express how lucky I am," he choked out as emotion came. He was grateful to depths he couldn't fathom. "How wonderful you've made this life for me. I hope I've done the same for you."

His words broke them all. Just over forty, CJ still looked like he could barely be twenty—he didn't age like the rest of them did. " _Dad,_ " he said softly, his voice cracking with vast emotion. The single word expressed a thousand things. He was the first one to approach and lean closely in, putting a gentle bracing hand onto his father's bony shoulder.

With effort Cas took CJ's forearm, holding his son's gaze steadily and lovingly. "Be strong, son." It was both a heartfelt plea and a gentle command. "I'm so sorry I can't stay."

Swallowing and nodded emphatically, CJ's youthful features struggled with pain, fear, and deep affection all at once. "It's gonna be hard without you here," he said, drawing himself up courageously. His voice trembled on tears that he didn't cry. "But I'll make you proud, I promise. I swear to you, Dad." He squeezed his father's hand carefully, conveying his oath.

Cas's expression remained deeply affectionate. He didn't have a doubt in his mind. "I know you will. You always have." His son was a good man through and through. The best. Cas patted his arm wearily, then turned his gaze to his daughter. Her eyes, a perfect match to his, swam in withheld sorrow. His expression shifted as he reached for her. She came readily. In her late thirties now, Nova was a lithe, poised, quiet woman. She'd always been such a daddy's girl, and not much had changed there. She had no words, only a tearful smile and a whispered, 'I love you, Dad,' as she came to his other side, bent down, then hugged him gently around the neck. Everything else had been said. Across the bed, Alex and her son embraced tightly for a moment as Nova sniffed bravely against tears. She crawled into bed at her dad's side, hugging him carefully. He kissed her forehead softly, comforting her, remembering when she had been just a little girl wanting her daddy. It hadn't been that long ago at all that both his children had been small, had it?

Alex slipped into bed at Cas's other side, and behind her, CJ joined after a moment so that the four of them were nestled closely together on that bed.

With his arms around his children and wife, Cas's final thoughts lingered on the sweet and blessed irony of it all. His heart knew wholeness despite his pain. There was peace despite the turmoil. And he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he had lived his life to the fullest. That he had made the right choices. It had been worth it. _All_ of it.

A tired smile softened his age-lined face. He blinked slowly, sleepily, fading. All he could feel in that moment was relentless gratitude. What beautiful things he had been given. Love, and in so many forms…

There was a soft sound at the door, catching Cas's ailing ability to focus. His heart clenched with joy: it was Sam and Dean and they appearing rushed, like they'd just barely made it. At the sight of them, Castiel relaxed completely… now there was nothing holding him back from his final departure. His eyes glittered with fierce, satisfied tears as his soul sighed relief. The brothers came to either side of the bed and grasped onto either of Cas's hands gently. He heard them each say something to him, but his ears could not make it out exactly. He just smiled and nodded faintly at the men he knew now as his brothers.

Oddly enough, even knowing he was dying… endless happiness that could burst him swelled in Cas's chest. He held an entire lifetime dearly in his mind, and his appreciation for that lifetime spilled out onto his cheeks warmly from both eyes. In all creation and all time, he had been given the dearest and most precious things—he held them in his arms and in his hands, they were the rhythm of his heart, the sparkle in his eye, the legacy he left behind. He caught Sam's eyes, then Dean's. Oh, how he loved them. All of them. "I wouldn't trade this for anything," he whispered, letting his head turn toward Alex, his lips brushing against her forehead. He felt so very tired. He wasn't strong anymore. But he had to say it before he faded into the darkness completely. "I would take the same path a thousand times," he murmured, the softest smile on his lips. "I love you all. My _family_."

Those were his last words.

* * *

**Then**

The world and all its functions stop for no one, and the people most aware of this are those who have just lost a loved one.

It had been hard enough to see cancer chip away at Cas's dwindling life. But watching him take his last breath and speak his last words… having to move forward into days that he didn't exist in at all… it changed everything for Alex. Life lost some of its color. Rooms felt emptier. At night her bed was empty, and during the day, there was always a vacant space he should have occupied. Every moment was missing something irreplaceable. The first year without him was the hardest. Her children and brothers helped her through. They all mourned together. But his passing changed things. It changed _her_ —because after so many decades together, she had forgotten what life without Cas at her side was even like at all.

The years went on and Alex spent her days with aging eyes that often went skyward as she wondered if she had seen Castiel for the last time or not. He had believed they were soulmates and because of that, they would share an eternity as one. Alex only dared to hope that when death came for her, she would see his face again and hear his voice once more. She anguished at the idea of anything else being the case. In time, she would find the answer and know the truth. Like it or not.

Time continued onward unstoppably, both a blessing and a curse. The Winchester three grew older still. Molly died, leaving the senior siblings all widowed. They started to have failing health and mobility issues, especially Dean. A year after Molly's passing, the brothers and their sister had a very frank talk about how they wanted to die. They decided that they wanted to go out together. While they could still see and walk and hear. Their kids were all doing well—grown and with families of their own, no longer in need of raising or full-time parenting. They would carry on. They would find their way. It was time for the original Winchester three to find theirs.

So one temperate spring day Dean, Sam, and Alex kissed their kids goodbye and took the Impala out for one final road trip like the good ole' days. They left letters for their children to find, then went out to meet destiny with their shoulders squared. They stopped off at places that stood out in memory, had some fun to the best of their geriatric ability, then ended the trip with a final dazzling sunset on the California coast. Underneath a burning purple and orange sky, the elderly trio sat on the Impala hood and said their piece to each other, exchanged hugs, poking fun at each other as tradition mandated, then smiled through tears and cataracts when the moment they planned came. They piled into the faithful car that had carried them through life and turned _Bon Jovi_ up as high as it would go to sing them out with one last song. With Dean at the wheel, the twins both crammed in beside him, and Baby roaring to life one last time, they held hands tight and went out over a quiet seaside cliff like they always wanted to: together, in one final blaze of glory.

* * *

**Now**

It was a rush of speed, a hard collision, a flash of pain, then complete nothing. Alex died.

And now? Now she's… somewhere else.

The utter dark is the first thing she becomes aware of here. Before she can begin to panic, she realizes the darkness is melting away into something else. The brightest and softest white beam undulates over her until there's nothing left but light—pure like a snow cap, warm like the most fluffy blanket. It surrounds her in peace and carries her weightlessly, enveloping her in utter tranquility. There is no pain, no suffering, no sensation but bliss and peace. Her soul smiles, basking in the feeling.

After some time the light fades and Alex slowly becomes aware of several things. She can feel her body once more, she can feel solid ground beneath her back, and air moves against her face. She stirs as if waking from a long, restful sleep. Even as she stretches her limbs pleasantly, her eyes begin to blink open. Above her is a beautiful blue sky. Puffy white clouds. _Huh?_ A soft, quizzical frown passes over her face. She turns her head a little bit to the side curiously. Blades of soft, impossibly green grass surround her, and Alex reaches out curious fingers to touch—then sees a young hand where she should have seen an old one. Startled, she frowns, sitting upright quickly as she turns her own hand back and forth, amazed as a hopeful smile grows. _What? I'm young again…?_ She reaches up to touch her face in disbelief, first with one hand, then two. She finds smooth skin there and a confounded smile continues to grow.

As she stands to her feet, she's astounded all over again. Unfurling like magic dominoes all around her, yellow flowers spring to life, fanning out like waves in an ocean. She's in a field of yellow flowers that slopes gently down a hillside to a tranquil pond. She hears hauntingly beautiful loons calling across the waters edge against a soft lull of crickets. A thick forest of firs stands beyond the pond's mirror surface, and beyond in the further distance, grand snowcapped mountains line the horizon. Stars are visible just above the jagged peaks in faintly purple sky. A crescent half-moon hangs above the peaks as if placed there. At her feet, the yellow flowers stir. Alex takes it in with a heart that brims with hope and confusion alike.

…Is this Heaven?

It certainly isn't Hell.

And wait. If this is Heaven…

Hope begins to surge. With a heart that began hammering as soon as the whisper of the thought crossed her mind, she turns around and goes still. On the hilltop, a small cabin stands. The lights are on.

A single name she has lived and died for runs through her veins.

_Cas?_

Alex is already hurrying toward the cabin on young, strong limbs that carry her forward in breathless, terrified anticipation. The yellow flowers part demurely in front of her quick footsteps. A small, well-kept garden rests in front of the small home. There's herbs and vegetables, some flowers—and Alex's heart leaps when she sees a beehive. Quickening her steps further, she all but runs up the front steps and bursts through the front door, calling his name over and over as she runs into each neatly-kept room with frantic eagerness. She finally comes to the last room and her enthusiasm evaporates. It's like the other rooms: empty. No one is here.

Alex deflates like a balloon, confused and stung to her core. Does this mean her eternity is meant to be spent alone? How can this be right…? It's like a bad dream, a nightmare even. She exits the cabin in a daze, sickened. _Why? How?_ She's hurting and confused, reeling. In a trance, she walks down a few stairs then sinks to sit down on the bottom one. How can it be Heaven if he's not here too? She looks upward to the strange, unreal sky above. A single forlorn question pumps through her veins. _Where are you?_

All that answers her internal question is the soft cricket chorus and faint belch of frogs. And just when she's hanging her head and believing the worst… there's a soft rustling sound a few paces away. And then a stunned voice she hasn't heard in _years_.

"You're here."

She's already shooting to her feet as disbelieving tears spring to her eyes. He stands about fifteen feet off, surrounded by a sea of yellow blooms up to his ankles. His heart is in his eyes as he takes the sight of her in—he wears his beloved trench coat and he's young again, looking at her with overcome emotion the same as hers… and overjoyed beyond description, she's already running to him. " _Cas_!" They crash into each other's arms, embracing for all they're worth as tears and laughter both come. With eyes squeezed tightly shut, Alex chokes back ecstatic sobs against his neck, reveling in the feeling of his arms around her again even as he picks her up impulsively and spins her around with unmitigated delight. She shrieks a laugh she didn't even know she had in her, tears leaking out at the corners of her eyes.

"I've missed you _so much,_ " Cas says as he sets her back to her feet, his deep voice reverberating through her just like she remembers. He pulls back to catch her face in his hands and look at her thoroughly, his eyes eager to take her in.

She feels the same. "I've missed you too," she says, breathless to be looking him in the eyes again. He's exactly like she remembers but somehow even better. For a moment, she's speechless because this is beyond words. He is wordless too. So instead, he kisses her—a kiss he's been waiting to give for years, a kiss she never knew she would have again. Mutual passion is tempered by tenderness and longing. Around them, the flowers twirl and shiver. When they break apart, Alex almost laughs with glee, unable to believe it. "You look the way you did when we first met!" Healthy, vibrant, in his prime—she can't keep her hands off his face, he can't keep his off hers either.

"So do you," he says, and their foreheads press together, they take a moment to breathe each other in and just be.

"You were right, you were _right_ , I'm so glad you were right," she whispers fiercely. She's beginning to remember the time outside of this moment: Life on earth. The pain of losing him. The first year after he died. The endless worries about him alone in the afterlife somewhere. "I wanted to come with you," she says urgently, choking on tears for a different reason as she thinks of him being without her like she's been without him. "I wanted to so bad—if it wasn't for the kids, my brothers… you wouldn't have had to wait like you have."

The angel—he'll always be an angel to her—shakes his head immediately, grasping her gently by the back of the head as he pulls back to look her deeply in the eye with a degree of loving severity that takes her breath away. "Alex. I would wait a thousand lifetimes for you. A thousand times over, too." He means it and her eyes well all over again. His thumb strokes down her cheek and his eyes follow his finger then jump to look into her eyes. Gratitude and relief rest deeply in the cobalt of his gaze. A smile like the sun breaking through the clouds warms his face. "I'm so glad you're here, though. Even a day is too long to be apart."

She knows what he means. Alex nods and kisses him hard, then hugs his neck again, closing her eyes to fully cherish and experience the moment. Cas holds her exactly in the way she dreamt of in their time apart, down to the hand cradling the back of her head. This is the place she belongs. The home she waited a return to. And finally, everything is right…

And then Cas asks a question that makes her eyes flash open. "Our children… how are they?"

 _Our children!_ She had completely forgotten them briefly. Alex is confused at how quickly her bliss takes a nosedive. She can readily picture their faces in her mind: CJ—Nova—Emily too. "They're wonderful," she answers hesitantly, "But…" Misgiving grows quickly as a brief instance of pain settles over her. "…I didn't think you could feel sadness in Heaven." Her face becomes a hesitantly thoughtful mask.

Understanding rests on her husband's face. He studies her for a moment, nodding that he too feels it. "I think it would have to be very deep sadness indeed for it to be carried across the veil," he returns softly.

Alex can't comprehend it. "Will we _really_ never see them again?"

Cas looks around the scene they're in, drawing in a deep and thoughtful breath. The softest hopeful smile grows. "Something inside of me can't believe that." She prays he is right. Cas's eyes are searching hers and he's growing more somber. "You being here means… you died." He hesitates, concern and apprehension on his handsome features. "What happened to you?"

Alex grows rueful as she remembers. "What happens to everyone, eventually…" Her chest swells when she thinks of her brothers for the first time here in Heaven. Another stab of pain and confusion wracks her heart, even worse than when she thought of her children. Why aren't _they_ here too? "Me and Sam and Dean… we died together," she recalls quietly. Cas's eyebrows raise so slightly. A silent question. "When we lost you… I think the three of us knew we couldn't go through that again with each other," Alex admits quietly, and Cas looks very sorry indeed about that. She remembers the cliffside where she spent her last moments with the ones she shared an entire life with, and a pang of yearning washes over. "It already feels so long ago somehow…" she says, trying hard to remember the details. Everything from before is hazy like a pleasant faraway dream somehow. That gives her a brief pause from thoughts of her siblings and instead makes her wonder. "How long has it been for you up here?"

Cas contemplates as if it had never occurred to him to think about that. He seems fond and tranquil when he speaks next. "It feels like a few moments and a lifetime all at once. It's difficult to explain." He frowns quizzically when the thought strikes him: "How long have I been gone?"

It's a relief to her that he doesn't know how long it's been. For her, it had been a torturous eternity. "Almost five years," she says, the ghost of sorrow reminding her of hard difficult it was to navigate that time without him. Looking around at the quiet glen and pastoral cabin, Alex wonders how he's passed the time since. "You haven't been lonely up here?"

He considers, again seeming surprised by the question. "Well it's very hard to feel negative things here," he reflects, searching for the right response. "No, not lonely, not exactly—after all, I carry you with me wherever I go. At this point you're a part of me." He brushes her face with the backs of his fingers, drinking her eyes in with a soft smile. "But I _have_ missed you. So very much." Then the smile falters as he realizes. " _You_ were lonely."

Of course she was. Alex catches his hand in hers and she kisses the youthful, tanned skin there briefly. "We were together for over forty years, Cas. A piece of me was taken when you left." She breathes out steadily, beginning to smile again because that piece has been restored.

"Well, I'm here now," Cas says softly, stepping more fully into her space and searching her eyes thoroughly before he kisses her again in the most heartfelt and genuine way. She melts, losing herself in the embrace. When they come apart, Cas takes her by the hand and motions with a soft jerk of the head. He leads her through the field of gold toward the water. "This is all ours," he says to her when they're in the middle of the flowers where they can take in the vista most fully. "Forever." He takes both of her hands reverently.

An intrigued smile is growing on Alex's face. "And what exactly are we supposed to do we do with forever?" she asks, both eager and a touch skeptical.

Cas appears so boyish and content in that moment. So assured and confident. "Whatever we want," he answers, an almost playful quality to his smile. "While I was waiting for you, I didn't stray far from our cabin, but…" he nods toward the mountains beyond and she follows his gaze to the promised adventure in the rocky passes. "There's a lot out there to discover," he says, brighter at the thought. "And now…" his tender eyes come back to meet hers. "We can do it together." Alex's heart squeezes. He waited for her in every sense of the word. He pauses, growing a shade more coy. "Oh, and—I've been reading a very good book I think you'll enjoy too."

Alex is captivated and lets her head cant to the side just a bit. "Oh?" Something about his smile tells her it's significant.

"Yes," he says, leaning in to kiss her softly again. She breathes his air, relaxing further at the gentle touch of his mouth to hers. She forgets about whatever book he mentioned, all her senses focused in on his kiss.

Afterward, he begins to sit down, beckoning her to join him. Then he lays down with an arm under his head, surrounded by a blanket of grass and yellow blooms. He gently pulls her to rest cheek-first to his chest. _This is all ours,_ he'd said a moment ago _. Forever_. She relaxes into him, closing her eyes, breathing a sigh out… but then something just won't let her exhale fully. No, something still isn't right. And Alex lifts her head off Cas's chest, her disturbed feelings only growing as reality sinks in. As she realizes the source of her growing misgivings. He sees it on her face and props himself on an elbow, his brow furrowed in question. "I know I should feel like whole or whatever, but…" Alex shakes her head, searching the quiet landscape for what she knows she will not see. She sits up all the way. Of all things, her voice breaks on tears. Because there's only one thought she can think now: "How can it be Heaven without my brothers here too?"

In the near distance, a loon cries out sadly as if carrying her sentiments onward for her.

Cas sits up beside Alex and a comforting arm is already around her. He's sensitive and concerned in the face of her pain. "Part of Heaven is reliving your favorite moments," he offers momentarily. "Your greatest triumphs, dearest recollections. You'll see them there." Alex looks at him and he sees that she doesn't want that answer. He's apologetic and sympathetic. "It won't be the same but… it's something, isn't it?"

Alex considers, still feeling like this simply _cannot_ be the case. But she supposes it's too much to ask. "Yeah," she whispers, because she has to accept it—and for fuck's sake, she has Cas now—she should be content. Still, the heartache she's enduring continues. It doesn't seem like it belongs in a perfect place like this. And yet she feels it still. Cas continues his gentle caress against her back and Alex leans into him, her head resting on her shoulder for a long moment as she works to accept fate. Her goodbye to Sam and Dean was final. They are now somewhere in Heavens of their own. The thought should comfort her, but instead, it tears her apart. _What good are we three without each other?_ Imagining them feeling what she's feeling right now… it hurts badly. Maybe some things really _can't_ last forever.

Alex settles against Cas anew, trying to let go of what she cannot change. Her eyes wander the landscape restlessly, then pause. Off at the edge of the field where an impassable thick line of trees were before, there's now a tunnel cut through—and a large concrete two-lane bridge visible beyond. Something about it pricks Alex with anticipation and her head picks up off Cas's shoulder. "Where's that bridge go?" she asks, her heart beating faster for reasons unknown.

Cas follows her gaze curiously. The sight of it surprises him. "That was never here before." He thinks for a moment, then looks at Alex with the softest little smile. "I suppose wherever it goes… is meant for you."

 _Meant for me?_ Cas seems encouraging and Alex stands, contemplating for a moment, her breath growing more rapid. She doesn't dare to hope, but she does dare to grab Cas's hand and pull him along with her as she goes toward the mysterious just-appeared path. When she reaches the place where trees give way to the bridge, she can make out the entire scene: the bridge spans over a wide burbling river that cuts through verdant pacific northwest forest. An ethereal light mist curls up off the water in places, the smell of damp earth is thick and wonderful. Alex looks downstream with a brief instance of total awe—the forever-magnificent sight of snowy Mount Hood greets her. And that's when it hits her. She lets go of Cas's hand as a surprised exhale comes out. In a dream, she cautiously takes a few halting steps forward.

Why? Because this is a memory. "We stopped here before," she breathes, remembering like it was yesterday. "The first time we must have just been teenagers…" She remembers beers they weren't allowed to have and time they weren't supposed to have dawdled. A wistful smile dawns. They'd hung out on the hood of the Impala as Aerosmith played at high volume—they'd pitched stones for all they were worth downstream, trying to see who had the best arm. Dean had pretended to suck so that the twins could come out on top. This had all been before Alex could speak. But they hadn't needed many words that day. They hadn't needed words the second time they stopped at this bridge either. Alex's eyes fill with tears as she drifts forward a few more steps. The three of them had stopped here on their roundabout way to that California cliff, too…

Trying to make sense of it all, she looks down to the other end of the bridge opposite of where she entered. It dead-ends into a mass of trees, rendering it impassable. That immediately seems strange. And where are the visions of her younger brothers in this memory? Isn't she supposed to see them? What is the point of this bridge to nowhere?

It's vaguely disappointing, and Alex leaves Cas to slip his hands into his coat pockets and watch as she approaches the railing toward the middle of the bridge. There, she lays her hands onto the stone railing and searches the view for a long moment for answers. Birds call pleasantly, softly and the rushing water is a lulling melody all of its own. Alex's eyes fall closed as her thoughts stay on her brothers. If memories are indeed all she can keep of them… at least there are so very many memories to draw from. That thought makes her smile, however faintly and bittersweetly. And then from somewhere behind her, she hears a voice she had not expected to ever hear again.

"Hey kiddo." Her eyes snap open at the soft, gruff voice. Her heart feels like it's stopped completely as the gentle, apprehensive question comes. "That really you?"

She can't believe it, but the second she heard the word 'hey,' she'd known. Her eyes are already flooded and face is already crumpled even as she slowly turns. Standing there tall and proud, young again in his late thirties… _Dean!_ And he isn't alone. Her heart wells, bursts, and floods. _Sam._ Behind them, the other end of the bridge is no longer impassable. The brothers both look just as wretchedly hopeful and emotional as Alex does, and they're visibly holding themselves back from running the few feet forward to her. She makes that choice for them. With a sob, Alex dashes forward and they do too, meeting in the middle in a hard, tangled three-way hug that only lasts a couple milliseconds before Dean yanks himself backwards and shakes Alex. "Are you real?!" he demands, haggard on hope.

"…Are _you_?!" she shoots back through a growing grin… because only the _real_ Dean would ask that.

The three come to stillness, exchanging a series of looks as they realize that somehow they've found themselves all in Heaven… together.

"Yeah, think we are," Sam says aloud through his disbelieving grin. His eyes are shining with tears and Dean's shoulders sag in relief as he loops his arm around Alex's neck and pulls her close again. He pulls Sam in too, and the three of them stay there for a long few beats.

Alex's emotions are somewhere between ecstatic and overwhelmed to the point of tears. There's only one thought in her mind now: "This really _is_ Heaven," she whispers, eyes going upward as if to thank God himself, whoever the fuck and wherever the fuck he, she, or they are. Her questions of how don't matter. Her brothers are _here_.

However, her twin is obviously trying to solve the mystery. "You think Gabe did this for us?" he asks as the three relax away from the tightness of their hug.

A voice that does not belong to any of the Winchester siblings answers: "I think someone else did."

The brothers gape as they see who they had not before: "Cas?" Dean asks, almost as overjoyed to see him as he had been his sister. " _Cas_!"

The man-turned-angel had ambled closer during the reunion. A gracious smile that turns into a grin awaits them. "Hello, boys."

Cas is tackled by Dean first, who gives him a hearty hug followed by an enthusiastic clap on the back and a delighted "Ha _ha_! Would you look at us?! Back in fighting shape!" Dean grins as Sam goes in for _his_ hug. Cas savors each hug visibly, giving lingering eye contact to the two men in turn. Alex hangs back and watches, completely blown away.

"Wait, so who did this for us, Cas?" Sam asks after the greetings have been made.

And then, yet again, a new voice no one had expected to hear. "Did I do an okay job?"

Everyone turns to see a below average height man in a soft blue suit standing in the center of the bridge. He's smiling hopefully with his hands fidgeting in from of himself, looking at the four of them almost nervously.

The Winchesters all react similarly: confusion.

Cas is the one who finds his voice first. "Chuck," he greets, then gets quite the conspiratorial smile on his face. "Or should I say…" he dips his chin fractionally lower. " _God_?"

 _That_ one draws some interesting looks from the three siblings.

Chuck chuckles humbly as he approaches, already rejecting the title. "No, no. Please." He grins somewhat sheepishly and mimes pushing away. "God's _way_ too formal. Chuck's fine. I mean, I'm just a writer." He pauses, shrugging humbly. "Author of all creation, _sure_. But still—end of the day—just a writer." He scratches the back of his neck timidly, wetting his lips as he watches the Winchesters for their reaction. "I uh, thought a bridge between your Heavens might be in order as a small thanks for everything you've done."

The brothers and their sister are absolutely gaping. Alex finds the ability to raise a question first. "Wait, so… this whole time… God's been _you_?"

There's another deferential smile and gesture. "Me."

Dean is visibly doing math in his head and arriving at a conclusion he doesn't understand. "Okay I did _not_ call that one," he says then pauses, looking at Chuck with a skeptical frown. "Shouldn't you be a little more—" he gestures vaguely, as if he's trying to say dazzling or epic.

Chuck remains overly humble and even sheepish. "Ah, I get asked that a lot," he says, brushing it off in what looks like shyness or embarrassment. "No, I'm really not all that. I'm… just _me_."

Sam is mildly upset. "But if you're real, and you've been here all along…"

"Why do good things happen to good people right?" Chuck finishes for him, turning more melancholic. "Why all the wars, famines, disease?" He sighs, intensely regretful. "Trust me, I know." He gestures to their surroundings and looks skyward briefly. "Why do you think I made Heaven?" His sadness transitions to serenity. Chuck looks at them again. "Earth is yours. Heaven… is mine."

"But you left—you disappeared," Cas points out.

"Didn't you know how much we needed your help?" Sam asks, still confused.

Chuck nods empathetically and sadly. "Yes. Of course. I hear all my children." He thinks for a second. "This part is hard to explain. I love helping, but as insensitive as this may sound… helping isn't my job, Sam." At the taken aback looks he gets from the Winchesters, Chuck is rueful. "People get the wrong idea about me, guys. I'm just… I'm not a big deal." He's mildly flustered as he tries to explain to people who look like he just started speaking a foreign language. "Look at any religious text out there— _no one_ got it right. I don't need worship or burnt offerings or buildings devoted to me—wars fought in my name, sacrifices…" he shakes his head and sighs. "I never wanted or asked for any of that. Honestly, I shouldn't even be much of a thought in people's minds—all I did was set things in motion. The focus should be living your lives. Finding your truth. And hopefully making whatever universe you find yourself in a little better." His face takes on a fond, entreating affect. He adores them all and doesn't hide it. "Don't you see? It's _you_ —all of you. _You're_ the big deal. The ones who matter. Who create the story. Who have this big, beautiful, _terrible_ world to figure out and move through." He's nostalgic and sentimental. "You don't need me to do that—and you never have." He studies the group and their mixed reactions to his words. "I can see you all really trying to find the catch. And there's not one. There's not much to me—I'm just God."

A stunned silence hangs briefly.

"But there were so many times we needed you," Alex protests faintly.

Chuck gives her a fascinated look. "You really still think so?" His eyes land on each of the four in turn. "I know it hurt, I know it cost a lot, but nothing your family ever came up against ever took you out or kept you down. And you did that. _You_. Not me or anyone else." He grins crookedly, bashful. "And I mean hey. Come on. What would existence be without free will, right? A giant game of The Sims, some might argue."

Cas's eyes narrow in thought, but he isn't accusatory. "You've intervened before."

Chuck grins bigger still and fidgets. "Yeah… okay, I'll admit it. Here and there. I'm not _perfect_ , you know."

Alex is teary and reflective as her mind wraps around all of this. All she can come up with is a confounded and heartfelt, "Thank you, Chuck."

Her thank you clearly strikes him deeply, and he smiles at her with the kindest eyes.

Dean is halfway between flabbergasted and entertained. "So you were… _acting_ when we met you first? All the dweeby author stuff, that was a gimmick?"

Chuckling self-consciously, the deity appears to be _blushing_. "Ah, I wish," he mumbles, then sighs at the confounded looks on everyone's faces. "I get it guys. Everyone thinks God is some like jacked dude with long flowing locks and an eternal store of otherworldly wisdom. So the truth is kind of, heh, disappointing I guess." He winces apologetically. "I'm... kind of just a huge nerd."

Everyone is digesting, swapping incredulous little glances. Dean is thinking particularly hard, eyes narrowed, a confounded almost-smile on his face. "So our lives… everything that happened." He leans in a bit more. "Did it happen because you wrote it? Or did you write it because it happened?"

Chuck becomes mysterious, leaning in to mimic Dean. "What do _you_ think?"

The group exchanges an unsure look as Dean stands back to his height and accepts that Chuck isn't going to be straightforward. "So what, we just hang out here for all of eternity?" he asks momentarily. "I mean it's nice and all but what about our kids? What about our wives?" Dean looks at Sam briefly, who speaks next.

"Yeah, this is great but—what about everyone else we loved?"

Instead of answering, Chuck frowns softly in put-on airs, inhales deeply, then closes his eyes briefly. "You smell that?" He lets an eye pop open. "The winds of change. _Good_ change." Both eyes come open and he seems to enjoy mystifying them all. "But hey… I can't say much more. Spoilers, y'know." He puts his hands into his pockets, an oddly endearing sight with him in the pastel suit. "All you four need to do is trust that everything that needs to happen will happen." He grows a shade more deliciously secretive. "And that not all retirements last forever." He winks mischievously. "See you kids around." Without another word, he disappears from the bridge completely.

Birds continue to sing happily, and the group of four is left to process.

"…Son of a bitch," Dean comments first. "I'm dead and still learning things—wonders never cease I guess."

Alex begins the sentence thoughtfully: "So God is real…"

"…And he's not a big deal," Sam finishes, scoffing through an amused smile.

The Winchesters all trade a series of glances as they try to make sense of it all. In the end, they all give up on figuring anything out.

"He's right though," Cas muses quietly, putting a hand on Dean's shoulder. The men's eyes meet and they share a smile for all the things they've been through together. " _You're_ the ones who were the big deals."

Dean responds immediately, grasping the angel on his shoulder too. "Not just us, Cas," he says firmly, and there's deeply abiding love in his voice he doesn't hide. "Not just us."

With little else to do but take in the view and share a moment together as they let their new existence sink in, the group lines up to lean against the bridge railing and everyone falls into silent thoughts and gratitude.

"So this is it," Sam says after a minute. His voice is thick.

"This is what?" Alex asks softly, eyeing him curiously.

"The road so far." He smiles, looking to the horizon ahead before sending his sister an almost impish smile. "Sounds like there still might be some journey left ahead."

Alex grins at him. With her brothers and her angel by her side, she can take on anything. _Everything_. "Hey, _I'm_ game."

Dean claps both of his hands down onto respective shoulders on either side of himself then squeezes everyone in. "Okay," he agrees in good nature as the entire group goes arm-in-arm. "So let's see what's next, huh?" He smiles to his left, then his right, squeezing again as his voice grows quieter with conviction. "It can't be all bad if I have you three with me." He sends a lingering sidelong smile at Cas. He pauses a moment because his eyes glisten, then his voice catches a little. "My family." Cas squeezes back, his eyes glistening too.

Dean takes a long moment to look everyone in the eye one by one. His brother. His sister. His other brother. Here in Heaven—together. Safe and sound for all eternity. In all his wildest dreams, he never thought it could be like this. A weight he's carried for a lifetime lifts off his back, set free forever. With lighter shoulders and eyes that shine from tears of joy, the oldest Winchester looks upward to the horizon. He's smiling. He can rest now.

_I did it, Dad. I kept Sammy safe. I watched out for Alex. And by God, I know I made you proud._

\- The End -


	149. Final Author's Note

" _You have to write the book that wants to be written."  
_ — Madeleine L'Engle

* * *

\- _May 2, 2019_ -

My Beloved Readers—

I am in awe of where this journey has taken us.

The quote I chose for this chapter header says a lot about my experience with _Song Remains the Same_. This story wanted to be written ever since I first watched _Supernatural_. I saw Alex in the show from episode one: this character inexplicably existing in my head and adding to the dynamic of the brothers. When Castiel came into the show and I imagined _their_ story together, I knew for sure, no doubt about it, I had to write this thing. And so here we are almost six years later and it is _finally_ finished.

I am feeling very much like Chuck right now—bittersweetly laying this project to rest at last and saying goodbye to the work of writing this story. It feels strange, sad, a relief, and surreal. All of these things at the same time.

When I was first writing this saga back in 2013, I was very unaware of how much this story would shape my life. I just thought it'd be a fun little fanfic to write in my spare time—that maybe some people would read it and maybe a few people would like it. Now, it feels like I may have underestimated things a little bit. Not only was writing this story a coping mechanism to hide from very serious pain and trauma happening in my own life, it was the beginning of my journey to becoming myself and meeting myself. For over two years, I faithfully wrote almost every day, spending hours with the characters and in the world of _Supernatural_. The words eventually amounted to a book of over a hundred chapters and two million words. I was so in love with sharing this story and being in this world I was making my own by adding onto it. I made friends, I met people, I went to conventions, and I even realized my name was meant to be River (it was my pen-name and a real life nickname previously, but in 2015 I went to court to make River my legal name).

This story was my obsession and escape. I wrote hundreds of thousands of words about the Winchesters, Castiel, Bobby, John, and my original characters. They all felt like my family, and their story was all-consumingly important for me. I don't know how many cumulative hours I spent writing, researching, watching episodes to get things right, checking timelines, immersing myself in the process of writing and creating—but it was definitely one of the main things I did with my life at that time.

And then I just… stopped.

Life changed. I went through some really tough things. I divorced, I left the church and came out as atheist, I lost friends, my family dynamic changed, I lost my house, I was on my own completely—that combined with other traumatic stuff that I don't talk about in public had me in a very bad place. I dropped off the face of the planet to just survive and try to make sense of things. I had a close brush with ending my life in November of 2015… but the good news is that was my lowest point. That rock bottom was a place I sank into, experienced, and subsequently decided I never wanted to be in again. I began to take the steps to live a happier, more whole, more peaceful existence. I realized I had to change my life and that no one else could or would or should. It had to be me. _It was not easy_ , it was not quick, and I still am doing the work to keep myself in good mental health. I spent a good deal of time in therapy, and I became super involved in working the steps of Codependent's Anonymous when I realized I was addicted to pleasing people, addicted to emotional pain, and was very dependent on outside sources for my happiness and wellbeing. I couldn't function well and was ruining relationships/forfeiting my own happiness due to my obsession with what _could_ be, rather than what already _was_. I am forever thankful to the rooms of recovery and therapy for showing me a better way and giving me space and time to allow a mindset shift.

My life is finally making sense again. I now enjoy city life living just a couple miles from downtown Atlanta Georgia and am still operating a photography business that only becomes more fulfilling and successful as time passes—just hit my ten year work anniversary in fact. I'm so grateful. I have two rescue dogs named Waffles and Ginger, I practice yoga at a local studio, I have filled my life with things that I love and that make me better and more at peace every day. I am remarried to my sweetheart, my best friend and my rock. His name is Will. He's the most supportive, understanding, silly, and loving person I know. We have so much fun and love together. I also became stepmom to his three adorable kidst—they call me Mama River. Basically, I am trying to tell you guys this (because a lot of you messaged me over the years voicing concern and hoping I was okay): Life is good. Better. Sweeter, more peaceful. I am healed and healing. I still have my struggles, but I am actively working on bettering myself everyday and I'm no longer surviving. I am living.

Backtracking now: As I was rebuilding life and doing a bad job of it sometimes, I thought of this story often and wanted to finish it, but the time was never right until recently—the last couple months of 2018. By then, it had been almost three years since I updated. The story was foggy in my mind. I had to go back and re-read my own story, scour my half-written notes/plot plans, and think hard to remember how exactly I wanted to end the story because I didn't have everything written down in detail—there were some drafts and plot points and note files that made no sense. Most of the finale had been in my head, and I couldn't recall subplots for a lot of lead in to the finale. I did always know I never wanted to leave this story unfinished—it felt too important and like I had given so much time, effort, and energy to the story to just leave it without a final wrapup. So I re-read everything, worked out the plotlines, and wrote the summaries + epilogue. I hope you are okay with the chapter summary way I settled on as a way to give this story an ending and closure. It's what I could manage, it's what felt right to me given my dilemma of finishing the story without letting it take over my life. It definitely still presented a challenge, even as simple as the summaries are. Writing is really, really involved work. Mental gymnastics, if you will. I really hope you enjoyed the finale—this final little visit back to our Winchester friends and the world that SRS added onto.

Before I go, I would like to address any emotional pain or disturbance I caused by just leaving the SRS space without explanation. I'm truly sorry for dropping off the face of the planet—for not writing back to any messages, for not updating folks, for going radio silent (I John Winchester-ed you _all_ ). I know your worry was real, and that your questions/messages deserved to be answered. However, my priorities were shifted and I couldn't manage much at the time except tending to my own needs. That was me putting my mental health first and knowing I would come back to SRS when I was ready, and practicing the self-care of only doing things that my energy said "yes" to. Looking after yourself is never wrong, folks. It took me a long time to learn this. I also think you guys should know I almost deleted SRS a couple times, because I felt like it was from such a dark time of my life—it also bugged me that it was unfinished, and sometimes I felt angry at myself for it and thought deleting it would erase that feeling too. But I never followed through, and I'm so glad I didn't let myself make such a huge decision in that uncertain time of life.

As this letter draws to a close I want to thank you again for reading this final note, for reviewing, for supporting, and for loving the story, characters, and journey with me. It's forever an important part of my history, and I'm so grateful for the experience! This story really did give me a safe place to go to in such hard times. You were all a part of that safe place, so thank you. My readers are, as always, a HUGE part of this story. Hearing your reactions, seeing your contributions, and sharing this tiny little world we built together has been so amazing and humbling… and fun! You have my gratitude forever. FYI, I don't plan on abandoning the blog, and I hope that in some small way _Song Remains the Same_ stays alive for us all in the years ahead. It really is so fucking special to me.

So friends, it's time to conclude this letter. I hope the future treats you well—that you learn how powerful and strong you are—that you realize how important you are. May your endeavors, failures, and hard times all teach you something! If they taught you something, you have succeeded. I believe in you.

With all my love, forever and ever, and a few bittersweet tears as we hug goodbye…

_\- River_

P.S. Happy Birthday Sam and Alex. We love you so so much!

P.P.S. Ya'll go read the bonus content (by hitting the next chapter button)! It has future plotline summaries (for you to write fanfic of, haha!), character profiles of the Future Winchesters, and fun facts.

* * *

**THANKS & CREDITS.  
** _I would like to send a final thank you to people who contributed to the story in small and large ways alike._

**Jess** \- Your incredible input, insight, and our endless emails/phonecalls about the plotlines and character development was guidance that shaped this story when I first began writing. So many amazing ideas came from our conversations, and I don't think this story would be half of what it was without the foundation YOU helped create. Jess, you really made SRS what it is. _Thank you for everything!_

 **Beth** \- From one fandom to the next, I love that we were friends before SPN and you got onboard the Calex train with me. Thanks for your steadfast help, honest feedback, and amazing support—both in the past, and as I completed the story in the past few months. Your recent help with looking over things was invaluable! I hope to visit you and Dunc across the pond again sooner rather than later! Love you and yours so much.

 **Clare** \- for inspiring me to come back and fully write the summary chapters simply due to your reviews and clear love of the story. You woke back up a part of me that had been asleep, waiting for the right moment. Thank you so much. _  
_

**Kaylah** \- Thank you for all the long conversations, the support/encouragement, the friendship, the random texts that make me smile still to this day. I hope to hang out with you again many more times!

 **Marlie** \- Your support and input, not to mention good company at the Jacksonville convention, will never be forgotten.

 **curlylapin** \- For the French translations in Chapter 64. _Merci!_

 **alovernotahater** \- For sending in the poem Alex wrote in Chapter 113 which I then edited. It was incredibly beautiful and I hope you write much more in your life. Thank you!

 **Somnium Fire** \- for your thoughtful, kind messages and generous gifts. I am humbled you enjoyed the story so much!

_There are surely many others. Thank you, every one of you, who has read, reviewed, interacted, and been part of the SRS world.  
_


	150. Bonus Content

**TABLE OF CONTENTS**

_1) Future Plotlines/Spoilers  
_ _2) Character Profiles of Winchester kids  
3) _ _Fun Facts_

* * *

_**\- 1: Future Plotlines/Spoilers -** _

* * *

**2014  
** After Lucifer is killed, the air begins to clear. For the Winchesters and company, the rest of the year is simply spent catching their breath and looking to make life more normal again. Angels are gone for the most part, and any remaining demons on earth cannot return to Hell. No demons can come out either. The dust continues to settle. The Winchester three live at the Bunker, slowly working to clean and then repair the fire damage which thankfully wasn't too extensive. Dean works to regain his family's trust and make amends on his more questionable choices the past year. Sam puts himself into therapy a few months later, and Dean/Alex join in a few times for family sessions. This helps them immensely to heal their rifts and resentments. Kevin and his mom move to nearby Kansas City - he pursues normal life and a career in politics, returning to school a lot tougher and more resourceful than when he left.

Mrs. Tran now fancies herself a hunter, and remains in close contact with the Bunker—especially with Bobby, visiting sometimes and helping him as he begins the work of recovering his libraries from various places all over the US. Molly moves back to her apartment after a month or so of the Lucifer showdown. Sam and Molly continue to date each other, getting more serious and closely bonded as time goes on. Sam splits his time at the Bunker because he begins to stay with her often—he is practicing allowing himself happiness without guilt, and experiencing love without doomsday implications. It is extremely good for him, and their love blossoms under these conditions. Dean and Jamie live in a section of the bunker with baby Rose while Cas and Alex live in another one with CJ. They function as independent family units, but with a communal aspect as well—doing many things together and with everyone looking after everyone else's kid interchangeably.

Jamie and Dean have to work at finding their stride as parents and partners since they're new at living together and raising a child, but things shake out. The Winchesters and company work a couple of lore-centric jobs, a couple vengeful spirit jobs, they get rid of a couple rogue, wild demons who were earthside when Hell shut down—but it's nothing in comparison to what they used to do. Alex and Dean plus their partners work on making the Bunker for fitting for family life. They make headstones for Mary and Adam. They celebrate their first Christmas there simply—the first of many to come in their new home.

* * *

 **2015  
** Sam makes the decision to return to school to complete his undergrad with his siblings support and encouragement. He'd been just a couple of semesters away from finishing it ten years ago when life on the road came calling. However before he begins, Dean takes Alex and him aside and makes them both swear that no matter how normal and safe life might feel in the future, to always stay trained, sharp, and prepared for disaster. He makes them promise not to get rusty or comfortable. And he says they need to make sure their romantic partners and children know enough to protect themselves and be aware of what's really out there. The twins agree. Sam begins to train Molly that year. Alex and Jamie help out a couple of times, even taking Molly on an all-girls cursed object case and then a vengeful spirit haunting.

Meanwhile, Dean opens an auto shop - Winchester Auto - in town, it's a partially real business but it also functions as a hunter information network/resource stop-off and sometimes a money laundering method too. The shop specializes in vintage cars, but services all. Dean trains Cas on cars, and their brother-like bond continues to grow—even if Cas does turn out to be very subpar when it comes to mechanic skills. Alex also works at the auto shop as a mechanic when the work load is especially heavy. CJ is nearly always with her or close by.

Jamie spends her time mostly focusing on motherhood for the time being—she's pregnant again and it wasn't planned (just like last time). However, she and Dean get to share this time together unlike when she was pregnant with Rose, and it brings them closer as a couple and continues to solidify their bond as partners. Later that year, Dean and Cas start building a tree house and build a tire swing under a large oak tree outside the bunker for their kids. The Bunker becomes much more homey thanks to additions like couches, flowers, art pieces, rugs, a grand piano, a teepee for the kids to play in, family photos on the walls. There are hunting jobs here and there—and they infrequently do jobs in odd combinations. Sometimes Dean and Alex, sometimes Cas and Dean, sometimes Cas and Alex, Sam comes along to about three jobs the whole year—he's so busy with school. Even Molly joins in once. Jamie gives birth to their baby boy just before Christmas who they name Robert John, or Robby, or Chip (Dean's nickname for him, since he's a chip off the old block). His son is his pride and joy just as much as little Rosie is. Christmas is a more grand celebration than last year for the first time in a long time: Sam, Dean, Alex, Cas, Molly, Jamie, Bobby, Linda, Kevin—Garth even comes by and Meg too. There's a tree, huge meal (which Cas makes most of), presents, and traditions like reading the Christmas Story, baking cookies, and hanging mistletoe. Bobby dresses up as Santa for the kids. It's the happiest holiday the Winchesters have had in a very long time.

* * *

 **2016  
** Dean starts AA after the New year after realizing his drinking habits are an addiction, and he wants to be better for himself/his family. Jamie is also insisting he get himself under control if they're going to raise these kids right. He's grudging but also knows it's for the best. His first meeting, he asks his siblings to come with him for support. Sam starts the second half of his lawyer education and preparing for the Bar exam, and it's intense, taking up most of his time—he essentially moves in with Molly at this point, only coming to the Bunker once or twice a month if that. He's missed by his siblings, but he's enjoying the sweet life with Molly plus all the hard normal work of studying and scholarly pursuit. They spend their free time Alex and Cas begin to work on renovations for the Bunker, including a solarium/greenhouse, and an upper level that has more house-like architecture and floorplans. Jamie's trustfund inheritance/investments helps pay for the upgrades, and she even magicks some parts of it into existence. Dean's focus remains mostly on his family: spending time with his kids, teaching and nurturing them, being there for them like John wasn't able for Dean and the twins.

The Winchesters and their partners spend time camping a couple times together, going on a Vegas trip as a group, having cookouts, picnics, trips to the lake. They work a few hunting jobs and attend to normal life. Life is overall good for all. The Winchester siblings even go see AC/DC in concert, dragging Sam away from school for a long weekend. Towards the end of the year, Alex gets pregnant with Nova. This pregnancy is completely normal in comparison to CJ since she is a human baby.

* * *

 **2017  
** Sam proposes to Molly in her library where she currently works, and she is overjoyed to say yes—they've been together almost four years now and they've both grown together and separately as people, too. Molly includes Jamie and Alex in the wedding planning/process, and Alex finds it to be one of the weirdest things she's ever done. In October, Alex gives birth to Nova, and their family is complete. She has Nova in the hospital that she and Sam were born in. Bobby retires from his RV roadtrip life as he's feeling too old and tired to be on the road all the time and his libraries have all been recovered and moved into the Bunker's library. He works some hours at the auto shop, but spends most of his days at home with everyone in the Bunker. Linda visits sometimes, and he goes to visit her too. Finally, the Winchesters realize that there's been a little romance under their noses they knew nothing about.

Dean buys a motorcycle and dotes on it, then buys Jamie one too. They spend some time as a family of four doing a little sight seeing, road-tripping, and camping in Colorado, Nevada, and Wyoming.

* * *

 **2018  
** Sam graduates, and it's one of the happiest/most empowering moments of his life. His family is there to support him, and his siblings are especially emotional about watching their brother succeed and grow. A few months later, Sam marries Molly. The wedding is a proper, beautiful little garden ceremony that's attended by a few friends and family. There is a brother/sister dance at the wedding (to "Sweet Child O Mine") with Sam and Alex, and Dean cuts in halfway to dance with Alex too. Sam begins to work at a local lawfirm as a defense attorney, enjoying helping people in a totally different way than before, plus generating income that is honest and plentiful makes him feel pride. Life continues onward for the Bunker residents.

* * *

 **2019  
** Jamie learns that she's pregnant again, and she tells Dean this is the last one, dammit. Sam and Molly move into the Bunker late summer at last, for a couple reasons: Sam was happy with everything in life except how little he saw his family and it got to the point that he felt like something major was missing—being with his brother and sister more regularly. He's tried normal life in earnest again and just feels that even though aspects of it are what he likes, he can't live apart from his siblings any longer. Also, Molly is expecting, and it will be twins. At the Bunker, she will have support from the rest of the family and help. She and Jamie are a couple months apart in pregnancy, which plays out in sometimes comical ways for their respective partners and the cravings, mood swings, and nesting. All in all, everyone finds a new rhythm of life together in the Bunker, and the Winchester siblings have peace in their lives that is well earned. Being together, finally, in one place… a real home… is everything to them.

* * *

 **2020** ** & Onward  
**The Men of Letters is no longer, but the Winchesters find that the past few years, they have gotten many calls and contacts made at the Auto Shop—hunters and similar needing leads, information, and resources. This work of uniting hunters and providing knowledge/help to them evolves into a union known as The Network. The Bunker is their headquarters and serves as a vast source of knowledge and consulting. It's also a place that people pass through on hunts. The Network focus becomes uniting hunters, witches, mages, psychics. Anyone who is in any way connected to the life lived by people who deal with paranormal matters. The Network's mission is to guard and safekeep humanity and precious knowledge, while promoting open channels of communication between people who protect the balance of the supernatural/normal world.

The Bunker is expanded and remodeled a few times to have enough room for everyone, and there's even a separate building built for a hostel. The additional added on parts all have a cozy, craftsman feel to them and the architecture is simple, straightforward, functional. Jamie has a small wing built that functions as a small apothecary and witchcraft source. It's filled with stones, crystals, spell ingredients, and spellbooks she collects over the years—she sells and trades them, operating a little business. Dean even brings her a few of the spellbooks she obtains throughout the years, proving that true love really does conquer all.

A stray dog shows up when the kids are all still ten and under, and when he won't leave (and Sam keeps sneaking him inside), he eventually becomes part of the family. Dean names him Zeppelin, and he doesn't belong to anyone specific—although Rose and Sam are especially endeared to the dog.

\- **Dean** enjoys life as a father and a committed partner to Jamie. They eventually get married when their kids are 11, 9, and 7 in a last minute ceremony during a big family trip to Vegas. Mostly because Rose has been begging them to for years—they have felt committed to each other this whole time so it doesn't make a huge difference to them to be married. They get their fingers tattooed with anchors instead of wearing rings. Dean's life is his kids and he raises them with love, support, and focus. He is a great dad, just like his family always knew he would be. The Auto Shop is successful and eventually Dean can step back and simply manage it rather than work the majority of hours himself. The shop remains a Network beacon of information and safety as the years go on, and Dean leaves the business to his son when the time is right later on in life. He finds himself mentoring younger hunters from time to time, almost like Bobby did with him. He also enjoys being part of his local AA community, helping others recover once he has.

\- **Sam** remains in law for over twenty years, serving as a public defender after his first ten years of private practice, because he wants to help those who can't afford attorney fees. After that, he transitions to teaching law at a local college later, where he will retire from another fifteen years later. He becomes dad to his two twin sons in 2020: Henry and Milo, and he loves them more than anything. He instills his values and kindness into them by just being who he is. Sam remains a conscientious, kind, giving man the rest of his life. He and Molly enjoy many great years together, and even travel the world after their boys turn 18.

\- **Alex** spends her time raising her two kids, working at the auto shop here and there, doing research and compiling her findings into volumes, and finding new hobbies as life becomes normal. She learns that she likes playing piano, hiking for no reason except to be in nature, and meditation. She and Cas like to meditate together, and they try fun things throughout the years as a couple: dancing classes, yoga, cooking classes (Alex sucks), rock climbing, travel for pleasure, Disneyworld, etc. Basically, they discover life together, and their kids are never too far behind them either—they are a very close knit family unit. Alex becomes more and more at peace in life, feeling that she is exactly where she needs to be, and enjoying every day for what it is. She compiles Dad's journal and combines it with other experiences that she had on the road growing up - she publishes it as fiction, a kind of memoir and reference guide all in one. Hunters will know that it's not fictive though. She titles it _The Family Business_. The dedication inside reads, 'for my brothers - the anchors of my life.'

… For **The Winchester Siblings** , there are always jobs since ancient creatures, vengeful spirits, curses and cursed objects, will pop up as they always have. The three of them remain inseparable throughout the years, especially Dean and Alex. Living their lives in tandem, sharing their experiences of raising kids together, facing life's struggles together. While all of them have significant others, the bond that the Winchesters share only gets better and closer as the years go on. They are, after all, the ones who went through the trenches together. They all live long, meaningful lives with many happy moments. They all three outlive their spouses—and they all disappear on the same day when Dean is 82 and the twins are 78. Rumor has it that in the face of used up bodies and looming illnesses, they got into the Impala and drove off a cliff together in lieu of dying slowly in a bed somewhere at separate times.

\- **Castiel** takes the last name Winchester. He works for a few years after 2014 to write a comprehensive book about angels and Heaven thanks to his vast knowledge of both. This book will be archived in the Bunker library and used as a reference material for years to come. He starts a garden that becomes massive and that's the bulk of his work over the years—that and his bees. He also gets chickens and alpacas in later years. He really enjoys growing and tending to life, and caring for little growing green things. He builds a greenhouse inside the bunker and converts an empty room into a meditation/yoga space. He's an extremely involved father, an excellent baker and cook, and enjoys the simple things in life. His kids love to cook and bake with him and the kids beg him to start a YouTube channel where they cook and create in the kitchen together. Castiel does, and he calls it _Angel Food_. They cook and bake together and Alex usually stays behind the camera—the channel gains quite a following and lasts for almost ten years, providing another source of income and fun. Cas lives a long, happy human existence in which he builds wonderful connections and relationships to his family. He experiences humanity the only way he would ever want to: with Alex by his side always. He dies of cancer in his seventies—angelic power perhaps having done things to his body, or just being human—but either way, it leaves quite the void in the entire Winchester family unit.

\- **Jamie** continues witchcraft and works on uniting witches to the Network through the years. She enjoys motherhood, and is a damn good mom too—she's the kind of mom you can never fool or pull a fast one on, which is good: Robby and Erin are both hellraisers with Rose being the only consistently sweet and behaved one (especially as teens). She and Dean enjoy a lifelong partnership—not without its ups and downs, but they both heal a lot, together, from the damage done from the hunting life. And most of all, they focus on raising their kids in a way differently than they were raised. She is killed in a car accident in her 50s, leaving Dean to raise the kids and make peace with her passing. He does.

\- **Molly** becomes the master librarian for the Network Bunker. While she's never one to throw herself into a battle, she becomes skilled and resourceful over the years in terms of hunting, since often the life comes calling even when you've closed the door. Even though she becomes less timid, she does remain the most sensible and polite and socially acceptable of the other two women. Molly teaches the kids art and meditation and yoga and piano, and loves Cas's garden, helping him in it often. In time, even Dean comes to appreciate Molly's gentle spirit and more shy personality.

\- **Bobby** keeps his RV and does a few more years on the road of hunts and research and library recovery in between extended stays at the Bunker with his grandkids. After that he retires to the Bunker and spends his time doting on/teaching his "grandkids," and settling into a life of favorite tv shows, helping out around the place, assisting Molly with the library, and finally reading the books he's always wanted to: a lot of Tom Clancy and Stephen King stuff. Finally, he can relax. Oh, and spend time with his favorite lady, Linda Tran.

\- **All the kids** are homeschooled for the first 8-12 years of their life. Lessons consist of weapons and tactical advantages, surviving on your own, art class, lore, physical education, as well as the basics of math, English, science, and history. While the kids are all taught to be self-sufficient and strong as well as good with any weapon, there is a strong focus on letting them be kids, and tending to their emotional wellbeing—letting them imagine, explore, and be silly. When the kids get to high school age Dean and Jamie buy a farm with a house on it in town that everyone uses interchangeably, kind of a hostel for their own personal use. The kids grow to be pretty independent and CJ/Rose being oldest are kind of the parents at times. Rose is definitely the one to rely on since CJ would rather be doing something fun than keeping track of younger kids. The kids all get taken on age-appropriate jobs throughout the years, but never at times that would disturb school or other first priorities. They are hunters, but hunters by choice—never forced into the life, only required to know how to defend themselves and know what's out there.

\- **Kevin** spends time in politics, eventually becoming democratic state senator for Kansas. He does however remain available for a few select hunts through the years, and he visits the Bunker on some holidays and special occasions—especially when Linda moves into the Bunker full time. The Winchesters consider him family, and the kids call him Uncle Kevin.

\- **Linda** comes to be called Grandma Linda, and she/Bobby live together after 2021 in the Bunker, eventually retiring to a little wing of the Bunker they build that faces the sunrise. It's called the Nest, and has a window like Bobby's old house in it.

\- **Garth** hunts full-time the rest of his life, and is in contact with the Winchesters for many years, often bringing jobs to their attention. He starts a podcast called Huntercast that is officially "fiction" but he tells stories about his hunts and sometimes has (sort of unwilling) guests. He ropes the Winchester's into an episode, Cas gets his own episode, so do Jamie, Molly and Bobby.

\- **Meg** remains a demon, but no longer has allegiances. She enjoys staying on the move, coming and going and popping up at unexpected times. She helps on a few hunts throughout the years.

\- **Gabriel** is not seen or heard from much, but Heaven no longer bothers earth, so the assumption is that he's doing his part.

\- **Crowley** was resurrected by Gabriel then promptly cast down and locked inside of Hell. He spends time sorting out all the demons there and reestablishing his place as King. He finds Lucifer's stash of things stolen from Heaven after some time, and among the stash is a fetus suspended in a state of paused development. It's a Nephilim fetus—When Cas and Alex had sex in Purgatory, they conceived. Neither knew it, and when Naomi abducted Alex, she saw and extracted the fetus then put it into a vial. She then froze it in supernatural stasis to decide what to do with later. When Naomi was killed, the little vial was forgotten then later found by Lucifer, who tucked it down into Hell for later, intending to implant the fetus into a surrogate and use it + CJ as his Nephilim Adam/Eve for the new world order. These plans were dashed when Alex killed him.

Crowley decides he likes the idea of having a son or daughter, and has the fetus put into a female demon to be carried to gestation. When she is born, he names her **Mania** , because he envisions her being a chaos-bringing hellion just like Daddy. He raises her to believe she's a demon, and dotes on her—some of the humanity remains in him, and she is a strong link to that humanity, and a strong link to the Winchesters—she looks like Alex even more than Nova does. Crowley creates a little pocket of Hell for her that resembles an English estate in the country—she is not allowed outside of the ends of the gardens outside, and has a couple of demon nannies who are sworn to secrecy. Mania grows up hearing stories of the Winchesters who her father both clearly loves and loathes, and in her mind, she begins to feel the same, obsessing over this family who locked her father Crowley into Hell. She finds herself pining to know anyplace besides her little world in Hell, and to meet humans, to be anywhere than where she is. She runs away as a teen, finding the inmost place of Hell. When demons see her, they recognize that she's not a demon and at first attempt to attack her, then realize their mistake when she, not even knowing the extent of her powers, decimates them. Mania finds herself able to leave Hell at will since she's not a demon, and once on earth, she works for about a year on a way to open Hell up so that Crowley can come out too. In doing this, she of course attracts the attention of her bloodline: Dean, Sam, Alex and their crew. When they try to stop her ritual to open Hell, she ends up dragging Dean, Sam, Alex, Cas, Jamie, and Molly into Hell, effectively killing them. Later, CJ captures her—they recognize that they have the same strengths and similar abilities, and don't understand how or why. CJ manages to bind her, simply because he has learned by observing his own weaknesses over time.

The Winchester kids eventually discover who she is with Meg and Bobby's (now elderly) help. She's held captive for weeks, and her cousins/siblings try to explain who she really is — a Nephilim like her brother, not a demon as Crowley had told her. She refuses to believe it.

CJ goes on a mission to find and then get John Winchester to help them get their parents back, and they all team up to bring everyone back successfully. Mania is still imprisoned, and really meets her real mother and father for the first time, but again, refuses to believe the truth—even though it's so obvious she is Alex's daughter. Eventually she manages to escape, but at this point, she's lost. She returns to Hell and confronts Crowley. He's the only father figure she's ever known, and he wasn't telling her the truth. He lied to her for her entire life, telling her he "dreamt her up" when he wanted someone to share all the glory of Hell with, eventually. Crowley says he's sorry, and she tells him to rot in here alone, then leaves again.

Mania runs away for a year or two, trying to figure herself out. At this time, CJ is in his early twenties, and he hunts her down, on a personal mission to reclaim his long lost sister and prove to her who she is. They end up having a few adventures and missions together that bring them close. She reconnects with her bloodline after that, and renames herself Emily. While she remains a lone wolf for the rest of her life, she and her siblings/cousins develop a working relationship over the years, and she and her actual parents do have a relationship, but it's not parent/child. It's more like aunt/uncle/adult who is related to them. She always thinks of her real father as Crowley, and eventually finds herself missing him and re-establishing a father/daughter relationship. This makes for an interesting group dynamic whenever he visits the Bunker.

\- **John Winchester** is not heard from much. CJ goes to find him at a certain point for help breaking into Hell, and John writes letters to his kids every several years, but other than that, it's as if he's dead. He remains in solitude for a few hundred years, as the Mark has a supernatural effect on his aging process. He spends the he rest of his life keeping the Mark away from people. He finally passes the Mark along to his granddaughter Emily, who will most likely live hundreds of years since she's not human. John dies after he forfeits the Mark, and he is finally taken into Heaven, having earned his salvation. He's given a Heaven shared with his long lost Mary and his story is at last finished, the final chapter being one of peace and rest.

After Emily receives the mark of Cain at age 200, she returns to Hell, where mortality doesn't affect her. She begins to go by Mania again. Everyone has died except CJ and Crowley at this point. Hell has been in disarray ever since she pulled Crowley out, and so she makes Hell her own, claiming her title as Queen of Hell. She turns it from a place of torment and suffering and blood to a place of boredom and solitude—she dedicates the rest of eternity to confirming that all the souls in Hell actually do belong there. She liberates many that never were supposed to be there at all… including a soul that she finds withered away in the infamous cage. Left behind somehow, forgotten and discarded without explanation, the soul of Adam Milligan. Gabriel was wrong: he did not die with Lucifer, because his soul was ejected from his body in Hell long ago. Mania delivers him to Heaven, where he finally has rest and relief. Mania remains in Hell forevermore, calling herself the Gatekeeper. No one knows what happened to Crowley, but rumor has it that Mania brought him back to Hell with her, and he has found peace—the best a demon can, anyway.

* * *

_**\- 2: Character Profiles of Winchester Kids -** _

* * *

**CAS & ALEX'S CHILDREN**

* * *

  
**Castiel James "CJ"  
** _Played by your choice of Alexander Calvert or Sebastian Stan_

CJ is daring, impulsive, incredibly smart. Courageous, caring. Ethical. Fun loving, easy going, well adjusted, confident. He enjoys beekeeping, anything involving mathematics or taking things apart, causing problems, pranks, cooking. Loves the outdoors, loves anything that's an adrenaline rush. He is sensitive and thoughtful, despite his fun-loving personality. He is pansexual, believing that the essence of people goes far beyond gender or sexual identities. Even though he's very carefree in many moments of life, he knows how to sober up and focus in when the moment calls for it. He is very very close with both of his parents, especially his mother. He ends up living close to 500 years, and he dedicates those years to protecting mankind—he's in leadership of the Network for the majority of his life. When he dies, he finds himself in neither Heaven nor Hell. Mania rescues him from the emptiness he found himself in, and he finds that he is able to traverse Heaven and Hell as he wishes… and that the story isn't over, the adventure has just begun.

Powers: super strength, poofing, telekenisis, self-healing. Very slow aging process after puberty.

* * *

  
 **Novak "Nova/Noah" Grace Winchester  
** _Played by Grace Hartzel_

Nova is 100% human, and next to her super powered brother, she feels left out sometimes. She's bookish and focused, clumsy, balanced, patient, calm. A dreamer. Brave and compassionate. Responsible, good at multitasking. A little shy especially in contrast to her outspoken brother. Feels like she doesn't fit in a majority of the time. She embraces her quirks and her introspective nature, enjoying her inner world. People tend to assume she couldn't harm a fly, but she's talented with a multitude of weapons and hand-to-hand combat. She prefers peaceful solutions when possible. She enjoys drawing and writing poetry, yoga, gardening, reading fiction and nonfiction alike, tv and movies, playing piano. She loves to cook and bake with Cas. She and her dad are extremely close. She eventually marries a witch named Sara. She lives a much quieter life than her siblings, adopting an older child with her wife and focusing on family.

Other facts: CJ calls her "Fred" for unknown reasons. Probably just to be an annoying ass of a brother.

* * *

  
 **Mania/Emily Winchester  
** _Played by Anna Christine Speckhart_

Starting off as Mania then having a rebirth as Emily gives her a way to cope with her coming-to-terms with reality, but as a person, Emily is tortured and always feels out of place. She has a serious and hard to read persona. She's sarcastic. Brutal. Strong. Broken. Vulnerable emotionally, but unwilling to let almost anyone in. She was raised by Crowley, so she has his accent and some mannerisms. She is asexual, having no interest in sexual relations however being deeply fascinated by people and relationships in a more calculated way. She prefers to be working or honing her talents at knife and sword fighting, but she also can get lost in daydreams and fantasies in slower moments. She dreams of having a human life the entire time she's raised as a demon, and has an identity crisis once she realizes she's a Winchester. She resents her family for not knowing she existed, and has a very hard time coping with her own actions of killing them and taking them to Hell. She and CJ eventually grow close, sharing a bond over being Nephilim. They outlive all of their family, and remain in contact through their long lives.

Powers: super strength, poofing, telekenisis, self-healing, super hearing, very slow aging process after puberty.

* * *

**DEAN & JAMIE'S CHILDREN**

* * *

  
**Rose Winchester  
** _Played by Abbie Cornish_

Rose takes after her mother when it comes to witchcraft. She loves magic, music, and anything mythical. Her personality is more reserved, kind, thoughtful—she has a tendency to be easily pained and hurt. She's rational and stubborn, and an overthinker. She is very focused on excelling at things she tries, and is very competitive—during her childhood she starts Taekwondo and sticks with it with immense focus, becoming a master when she's an adult. She's responsible, observant, and quick on her feet. She loves animals and has highly empathic abilities. She becomes a witch but also pursues a normal life, attending college and becoming a freelance writer in addition to being an incredible hunter.

* * *

  
 **Robert John Winchester - "Robby" or "Junior" or "Chip"  
** _Played by Henry Cavill_

Robby is the life of any party. He loves cars, girls, playing guitar, partying, boxing, and shooting. He comes off as confident and daring, impulsive. He's quick on his feet, decisive, smart, and loves to joke around. However, he's got an artistic and sensitive side too that comes out from time to time. He's also incredibly loyal and has a generosity that sometimes gets him in trouble. He becomes a mechanic like his dad and runs the shop and hunts regularly for the rest of his life.

* * *

  
 **Erin Singer Winchester  
** _Played by Teresa Palmer_

The family sass monster, Erin was born with a huge, hard-to-ignore personality. She has a temper, she's sarcastic, cynical, easily amused and very often described as a spitfire. She doesn't have good control over herself in terms of knowing when not to say things, and always wants to have things her way—she doesn't have good grades, despite being incredibly intelligent. She loves boxing, crossfit, taekwondo, running—anything to get energy out really—friends, food, and drink. She loves hunting and remains active in it. She's bisexual and easily bored—she doesn't really settle down until her forties, when much like her dad Dean, she realizes she's a little out of control with substances and alcohol.

* * *

**SAM & MOLLY'S CHILDREN**

* * *

  
**Henry Dean Winchester  
** _Played by Lucas Till_

Henry is the older of the two boys, who are fraternal twins. He loves athletics, outdoorsy stuff, chemistry and football. He's a laid back, charming, very mature person who is kind, empathetic, and hard working. He's a forward thinker and obsessed with riddles, wordplay, and puzzles. He's the best chess player of all his cousins, and no one plays with him anymore after a certain point because he always wins. He pursues a career in engineering in his twenties, but is always ready to do a hunt on the side.

* * *

  
 **Milo Alexander Winchester  
** _Played by Luke Benward_

Milo (whose middle name is in honor of Alex) is kind, silly, big hearted, tech obsessed—he likes to try and hack things and write code for apps/websites. Friendly, insightful, highly emotionally intelligent. He loves chemistry and math. He's always the top of his class, analytical, nerdy, loves martial arts and also plays piano. Overachiever, bookworm. Sensitive, stubborn, witty. He is a momma's boy. He comes out as gay when he's fourteen to loving and accepting parents who totally support who he is. He becomes a software engineer and is self-employed—balancing that against hunting and helping CJ run the Network in later years.

The brothers are fraternal twins—Henry is older by a few minutes. They both get along and fight famously—Henry always feels like his brother outshines him, and they have some sibling rivalry due to this. Henry and Robby and CJ all get along well, often grouping up to go do their own thing in childhood/teen years. Milo tends to end up with the girls, and is closest to Nova and Rose.

* * *

_**\- 3: Fun Facts -** _

Dean carries a silver whistle on his keychain in some seasons of Supernatural. You can see him packing it with his keys into a box in 5x18. This whistle is the type I described Alex as having carried around her neck when mute. I never noticed this whistle until well into writing the story. *X-Files theme song plays*

The first initials of Sam Alex and Dean spell out SAD. Now if that's not ironic…

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone: Approx 50,000 words long. SRS average chapter length: 21,000. Two of my chapters almost makes a whole Harry Potter.

In early drafts of the " _Everybody Loves a Clown_ " script, Jo was named " _Alex_ " and was already a hunter. I didn't know this until well into writing SRS.

Jensen Ackles, Jared Padalecki, and Misha Collins have all signed a hardback copy of SRS I had made. I also have photos of Misha with the book, as well as the guy who plays Chuck.

I got the demon ward tattoo in the same place as Alex's (on her ribs)… as solidarity.

* * *

_**The following interesting coincidences have all happened:** _

A deleted scene of Season 7 " _Adventures in Babysitting_ " shows Sam going through Cas's trenchcoat pockets (he's currently "dead") and the first thing he picks up is some kind of coin on a necklace… (!)

Season 9 includes a female demon character named Lola (just like in SRS), who is Crowley's sidekick for a few episodes. This happened long after I had been publishing the story.

Season 9 includes a female character named Alex with brown hair and a bad attitude. This happened long after I had been publishing the story.

Season 13 includes a female WITCH character named Jamie. This, again, happened way after I published SRS. Pretty big coincidence…?


	151. Chapter Guide

" _This story is too damn long!"  
_— Everyone

* * *

**This list summarizes the chapters of this story since Song Remains the Same is incredibly lengthy.**

**This guide serves as a way that you can refresh your memory and/or read the story without actually reading the story, or find the chapter you're looking for quickly.**

* * *

**1\. BORN TO RUN**

The story opens late in season three with the Winchesters doing business as usual even though Dean's death day is approaching (only a couple of weeks away). Alex expresses concern to Sam about what's coming closer all the quicker but in denial and unable to talk about it, Sam shuts her down. While driving, Dean reflects on Alex's recent, unexplained, and suspicious acquisition of her voice after a life of being totally mute before. He feels there must be some supernatural explanation—not only did her voice just come back, but she has been speaking easily for the most part after a couple weeks of learning "the ropes." In the back seat, his sister is trying to believe they will find a way to save Dean from his fate, and afraid of losing her big brother who she is definitely more close to. Everyone is walking on eggshells, trying to fight what's inevitable.

* * *

**2\. THE WALKING DEAD**

Four months and a half months later we see Alex at Bobby's going through the motions. It's revealed that she and Sam went separate ways after Dean died. They fought and exchanged harsh words amidst their grief and she hasn't heard from him since and is too proud and hurt to try and go find him now. She is very deeply grieved and not doing well in her brothers' absences, but she is the type to just follow along with whatever authority figure is closest. Bobby is like a dad to her. While she is loading some rounds for Bobby in the basement, she hears a scuffle upstairs and grabs a weapon, runs up there only to find Dean with Bobby. Refusing to believe that is actually be her brother, she holds him at gunpoint and demands to know what is going on. Bobby says he already did holy water and salt, so he's not a demon or a shifter. Dean pleads his case and she notices a tic he has always had and is convinced. Overjoyed, brother and sister are reunited. Then Dean asks where Sam is and is unhappy to learn of that situation. Chapter ends with everyone nervously wondering who or what raised Dean and why.

* * *

**3\. RULE OF THIRDS**

Bobby, Dean, and Alex set to work finding Sam. They track him down to the town where Dean came out of the ground from. They find him with a young woman and when Sam sees Dean, he attacks. The siblings are all at odds, especially Sam and Alex. Alex rides with Bobby when they leave instead of with her brothers. She laments that having a voice is sometimes a curse because she has no filter and isn't good at knowing how to communicate herself—she feels responsible for her/Sam's problems. Bobby comforts her the best he can. Meanwhile the brothers converse tensely about what went wrong when Dean died. They head to a psychic friend of Bobby's in hopes that they can learn who/what raised Dean.

* * *

**4: HEAVEN HELP ME**

The psychic Pamela holds a seance in which she hears the name 'Castiel' and demands he show his face to her. Her eyes are subsequently burned out and we cut to the hospital where Bobby and Alex have stayed with her to see her through. That night Alex hears Sam sneaking out and follows him because she is very suspicious of him and his recent shifty behavior. She sees him get into the Impala and leave inexplicably. She is distracted from her investigation when the motel begins to shake and Dean is heard screaming in their room. She and Bobby drag him out of his room and they hit the road, certain that this 'Castiel' creature is in pursuit. Dean and Alex talk Bobby into trapping the creature and trying to kill it. Bobby is an unwilling participant. They set up a huge trap in an abandoned building and have every weapon conceivable ready. Bobby summons Castiel and when he finally shows up, he claims to be an angel. He knocks Bobby unconscious with a mere touch and makes to do the same to Alex but Dean jumps in front of his sister and doesn't allow it. The angel claims Dean was raised to life to carry out God's work and he also comments on Alex's 'new voice' which startles her completely. There's an intensity to him that is both scary and intriguing to Alex, and he seems especially interested in her. He leaves the brother and sister dumbfounded, saying he'll be in touch soon.

* * *

**5\. GHOSTBUSTERS**

The next day, Sam is questioning them about this supposed angel. Dean has decided it's a BS claim, Alex is trying to remain open minded, Sam is as well. Bobby suggests they get to researching and they do. A call comes in from one of his hunter friends who's in trouble. The boys go to assist while Alex stays behind to keep researching. The thought is that Bobby's home is safest so she'll be fine alone. The next day Alex is exhausted from her in-depth study of angel lore. She gets a call from Dean who says there are mobile vengeful spirits out to kill hunters. He tells her to get herself safe as he thinks she will be attacked next. No sooner do they hang up than Castiel appears, demanding Alex come with him. He claims she's in danger and she refuses his solicitations mistrustfully. He tells her he's her guardian angel, further confounding her. She sasses his every statement and essentially tells him to screw off and leave her alone, she can take care of herself. He seems mildly annoyed but disappears. That's when the spirit of Nancy shows up, a virginal girl who died a few months ago after the Winchesters were involved in a standoff at the police department where she worked. Her spirit blames Alex because the blood of a virgin was required to save them… and Alex did not volunteer. This is where it's revealed that at age twenty-five, Alex is still indeed a virgin and has never had a boyfriend (her mutism was a large contributor to the fact, as well as Dean's protective controlling personality and the life of the road). Alex baits Nancy's spirit and fights her off with a fire iron and salt from the kitchen but is badly wounded as she tries to get to the panic room downstairs. Almost dead, she manages to get into the panic room where Castiel appears again and says she should have listened to him about the danger. He crouches down with her and heals her, startling her with the show of power and compassion. His touch and closeness make her uncomfortable and when he offers to help her stand up, she lets him… then finds herself handcuffed into the panic room. He claims he is saving her life by trapping her in there and disappears, leaving behind an incensed Alex.

* * *

**6: PANIC ROOM BLUES**

Stuck in the panic room, Alex reflects on her life after trying desperately to get out of her restraints. She is worried that her brothers and Bobby will get hurt by the vengeful spirits that are out there waiting and she has no way of warning them. However the boys make it back safely to her and when they find out Castiel handcuffed her, they are pretty unhappy. Bobby says he thinks he has a way to kill the vengeful spirits who are inexplicably risen and on a murderous rampage… but they have to get to the fireplace in the study. While they fight their way there, Alex overhears the ghost of Meg berating Sam about Ruby, who is supposed to be dead. From the way Meg is talking, it sounds like Ruby is still alive and working with Sam. As soon as Bobby casts the spell to banish the spirits, Alex takes her twin outside and confronts him heatedly about Ruby. He claims he was working with her for some time to try and find a way to bring Dean back. Alex and Sam leave the conversation no better off than beforehand, in fact maybe even more mistrustful of each other than before. That night Castiel comes to Dean in a dream. Dean slams the angel for handcuffing his sister and Castiel insists he saved her life by making sure she wouldn't endanger herself outside of the panic room. He complains about her stubbornness and Dean thinks that's funny. He then questions the angel about what the 'rising of the witnesses' was and Castiel confirms that it is part of the Apocalypse. He says that a series of seals is being broken and when the final seal is broken, Lucifer will walk free.

* * *

**7\. ALONE WITH EVERYBODY**

The Winchesters hit the road for the next town and discuss Lucifer, the Apocalypse, and what it all means. That night at the motel they stay in, Alex once again hears Sam sneaking out and she follows him and sees him getting into the car with the young woman who was with him a week or so ago when Dean first came back to life. Suspecting this is indeed Ruby, Alex returns to the motel room to tell Dean, who is there with Castiel and is shaken up from what he claims to have been time travel. Cas warns them that they have to 'stop Sam' or that the angels will. He gives them an address of where to find Sam and the siblings head that way. Dean explains Cas put him in the past to try and change the nursery fire but Dean had failed at that. Alex divulges what she knows about Ruby and Sam's involvement and Dean is upset she didn't tell him sooner. They find Sam and Ruby exorcising a demon… with Sam's mind. Dean and Alex attempt to kill Ruby but Sam stops them. Disgusted, they leave Sam. The next morning, Sam waits in the motel room for his missing brother and sister. Dean comes in and starts an argument, Alex follows shortly thereafter. Sam tries to justify his psychic dabblings but Dean especially will hear nothing of it. They get a call for help a few towns away and respond but Dean's constant passive-aggressive badgering of Sam prompts Sam to demand Dean pull the car over. On the side of the road a knock-down and drag-out verbal massacre takes place between the three siblings. The altercation leaves such a bad taste in Alex's mouth that she reacts by impulse and ditches her brothers a few hours later by stealing a motorcycle and just heading off to clear her mind.

* * *

**8\. ABANDON SHIP**

On her own and holed up in a cabin in Nebraska, Alex has spent about a week out of contact with her siblings. She reflects how it's a shame her family has to be so broken and constantly at odds and she feels guilty for ditching them. She's studying the book of Revelation in her solitude and trying to find out more about the Apocalypse. Unknown to her, Castiel is watching over her with interest. He finds her fascinating and notices how she is now wearing a lock-pick around her neck—he supposes because of how he cuffed her a few weeks ago. He finds her pluckishness endearing. He reflects on how he has been given the task of being her watcher recently after her previous guardian, Nandriel, decided she would prefer to pursue her own interests and gains than watch Alex. Castiel takes his role in Alex's life very seriously, and despite the demands of the war, her safety is important to him. He's watched her since October of 2007, nearly a year now. That night Cas goes to Alex in a dream and tells her she needs to return to her brothers and tells her where to go, urging her to be quick. He says not to tell Uriel of this and disappears without explanation. Alex does what he says and when she tracks down her brothers' motel room, she finds Castiel and the angel Uriel there, waiting for her brothers to arrive. Uriel is rude to Alex and Cas becomes mildly defensive of her when he oversteps his bounds. Alex has a cold from traveling on motorcycle in the rain and Cas offers to heal her but Uriel condemns and stops him, saying 'no more unnecessary healings.' Cas sits beside Alex and stares at her chest, then asks her what a 'Metallica' is. Her t-shirt has the band logo across it on the chest and she laughs it off, realizing it wasn't what she thought. Her interest is growing in Castiel whether or not she likes it.

* * *

**9\. HAPPY FREAKIN' HALLOWEEN**

Dean and Sam arrive to the motel room and Sam is relieved to see Alex—Dean is pissed. However for the moment their focus is what the angels want. Castiel and Uriel tell the Winchesters that the witch in town (which Dean and Sam have been hunting) poses too great a threat and they have to smite the entire town to eliminate the threat. The Winchesters are staggered and Alex is especially horrified that a 'guardian angel' could be on board for wiping out a town of innocents. Dean talks the angels into giving him more time to find the witch and after a tense standoff, the angels leave. Dean promptly turns on his sister and lays into her about running away. He storms out after some rude comments and the twins are left alone. Sam and Alex very falteringly have a heart to heart and he apologizes for a lot of things he's said and done recently and she does the same. Dean comes back in and shrugs off his macho-man behavior with the excuse of 'you know how I get' and a terse 'glad you're okay.' They head out to find the witch together. Meanwhile Castiel and Uriel are exchanging tense conversation. Uriel has no love of humanity and Castiel admonishes him repeatedly. Uriel warns Castiel about his compassion and care, especially for the girl. Meanwhile the Winchesters rush to stop Samhain and get separated briefly. Dean and Alex find Sam exorcising Samhain with his mind. He is struggling badly and having problems doing so, but he manages all the same. The next day, Uriel pops in on the twins and threatens Sam to stop using his psychic abilities 'or else.' Uriel reminds them that tomorrow is the anniversary of their mother's death and then drops the bombshell that Dean does remember Hell and has lied to them about having no recollection of his time there. Afterwards, Alex goes across the street to find Dean sitting on a park bench alone. They discuss whether or not Castiel is trustworthy. Unseen by them, Castiel is watching them and contemplating himself with growing apprehensiveness.

* * *

**10\. TILT-A-WHIRLED**

Alex finds herself in a quiet fair setting on a foggy day and realizes she's dreaming and this place is a fond memory from childhood. She is just about to go to the bottle toss when she senses a new presence. Castiel has appeared within her dream and she is immediately guarded of him and curt. They discuss Uriel, Alex challenges Castiel's views and methods, she laments the screwed up situation of the Apocalypse and all the cryptic lack of answers Cas always gives. She accuses Cas of not believing what he says he believes and then he broaches the subject of how when she wakes up it will be November 2nd. Angry, she says she knows that and Uriel had already rubbed it in her face. Cas is startled and did not know Uriel visited herself and Sam. As the conversation continues, Alex wonders aloud why God could let so much crap happen to her family. From her mother to her father to Alex's lost voice, she is confused. She asks why no one ever did anything about her or helped her for so long, Cas becomes defensive and says something was done. Alex realizes he knows who or what gave her voice back and begs him to tell her who it was. He reveals that he was he one who restored her voice. After watching her for a couple months he was unable not to give her the healing that was within his power to give. Alex is stunned and sees Castiel in entirely new light, thanks him repeatedly, asks why he hadn't told her this yet. He reveals that he was punished for it and thought it best not to tell her. Cas tries to turn the conversation away from that and asks her about the carnival rides. Alex asks why he doesn't know so much if he's been around since the dawn of time. He reflects that he is seeing things through new eyes now and he finds humanity and the world utterly fascinating. Somber because she is thinking of the Apocalypse, Alex confesses suddenly that she can't lose her brothers to this Apocalypse. Castiel looks at her sadly and says she should prepare herself for that possibility. He touches her forehead and tells her it's time to wake up. Later that day at dinner, Alex tells her brothers in a very out-of-the-blue way that Cas is the one who gave her her voice back. They don't know what to make of it. Later in the meal they confront Dean about Hell and Dean continues to lie about it and say he has no memory. They get wind of a new job and leave with no resolution made.

* * *

**11\. WICKED GAMES**

One week later the Winchesters have found a girl named Anna who is being hunted by demons and angels alike. After teaming up with Ruby, Alex is furious at the arrangement and there is a confrontation between herself and the demon. They discover Anna is a fallen angel and try to go find her fallen grace so she can protect herself against further attacks. The mission fails and they squat at an abandoned barn and try to decide what to do. Castiel and Uriel are in pursuit and Anna is endangering them all, then the angels put out a message on angel radio saying that if they don't turn Anna over, Dean will be cast into Hell. Panicking at the idea of losing her brother again, Alex loses her cool and says they should just kill Anna so no one gets her. Dean is angry at her for suggesting that and she storms out and goes to the woodline where she cries remembering Dean's death day. He comes out there and they talk and come to a tense understanding. Anna and Alex talk afterward and Alex struggles not to like the girl. The Winchesters decide to pit the angels and demons against one another by alerting the angels to their whereabouts and letting Ruby bait the demons to the location at the same time. The showdown which occurs injures Alex badly and as Anna steals her grace back from Uriel, Castiel heals Alex against orders, resulting in an intimate-feeling moment. He disappears then without a second glance, leaving her wondering. Shortly after the Winchesters stop at the side of the road and Dean confesses about his memories of Hell.

* * *

**12: AFTER SCHOOL SPECIAL**

Over a month later the Winchesters haven't heard from angels in awhile. It's Christmas time and all the angel stuff due to the holiday is making Alex feel odd. She kept an angel hex bag that Ruby made secretly, and is keeping it near her family at all times to safeguard against more angels. After the kill-Anna thing, she isn't sure what to make of Cas. Some time later the family is working a case at a school they attended in the past. Alex refuses to go to the high school. She probably disliked school the most out of all the Winchesters because she was always picked on and in trouble. Several flashbacks reveal life back in '97 and show how Sam was trying to distance himself from his family even then. In present day, Ruby comes to Sam and plays on that insecurity, saying she will be glad when he realizes she's the one who is most loyal to him and cares the most about him.

* * *

**13: KING OF HELL**

A week later, the Winchesters have just returned from Pamela's funeral and are confronted by Uriel and Castiel. The angels demand that Dean come with them and help them get answers from Alastair, who they've captured but not managed to break. They think he is behind angel deaths that have begun to occur. Castiel is markedly quiet and not as 'in charge' as Uriel, who apparently got his brother angel into trouble. The angels take Dean and Alex without warning to where Alastair is. It's revealed that Alex is leverage over Dean and Uriel says her heavenly protection orders have been annulled and that Castiel will torture her if Dean does not comply. Dean complies, leaving Cas and Alex to listen nearby. She is furious with him and challenges him and his ideas on free will and his hypocrisies. Even though Castiel insists he will do what 'is required' of him and that his job is an angel, it becomes increasingly hard to believe he's telling the truth. When Dean gets injured by Alastair and sent to the hospital after the ensuing attack, Alex blames Cas for it and hits the angel, basically telling him to screw off and never come back. Castiel is troubled and seeks Uriel for counsel concerning his feelings that something is wrong in Heaven. Uriel corrects and challenges Castiel and disdainfully leaves his brother alone. Anna appears later and Castiel confesses he is having trouble knowing what to do and how to feel. He asks for instruction on what to do but she insists he choose himself. Cas returns to Dean and Alex, who are in the hospital, sister at brother's side. He apologizes and then disappears.

* * *

**14: IT'S A TERRIBLE LIFE**

Dean and Alex are still in the hospital some days later and Sam is off on his own, supposedly doing a hunt with Bobby. Alex shares with Dean how she saw Sam exorcising Alastair and having no problem doing so. They worry together. Three weeks later, Alex wakes up believing she's Alex Remington—a new receptionist at Sandover Bridge and Iron company. It's there she meets Sam Wesson and Dean Smith as they witness a grisly set of murders and ghost-encounters. The office manager, a grumpy-looking man name Mr. Collins who always wears a trench coat, catches Alex's eye. When he reveals to her and Sam who he is and what is really going on; when he restores their memories, they are both angry. Castiel confronts Alex, standing up to her for the first time after she attempts to yell at him. Later, when the siblings are reunited after their time of being brainwashed into thinking they were other people, Alex tells her brothers that it was Castiel who gave her her voice back. They're suspicious and confused but can't figure out why he would do that. Later, Alex calls Cas to the outside of the motel where she is and apologizes for her outbursts and treatment of him. He tells her he's discovered that Uriel was lying—he is still her protector. They share a small moment as they sit on a curb together, and Alex gets flustered and goes inside; intimidated by his intense gaze. He waits until she's inside until he disappears.

* * *

**15: METAFICTION**

The Winchesters have found something very strange: a series of books that describe their life and hunts in complete, total detail. They seek out the author and find a man named Chuck who is very flabbergasted indeed to discover the people he thought were mere characters are in fact real. He is dazed, confused, decides he must be a god, and sends them on their way with a transcript he's written of what will happen to them the next day or so. It's eerily correct and begins to fulfill itself in front of their eyes. Alex hides a couple pages of the manuscript after finding some descriptions of her thoughts, which are constantly wandering to an angel named Castiel now.

* * *

**16: THE BECOMING**

The chapter opens with the funeral of Adam Milligan—the half brother the Winchesters never knew. Alex is drunk and upset with her father mostly. She wanders off into the woods with her flask, ragingly trashed. Castiel appears, concerned for her well-being and confused at her drunken state. After he helps Sam and Dean and they get her into the car after she's passed out, he disappears without warning. That same night, a few hours later, Cas comes to Dean in a dream and says it's urgent; gives him an address and says to come fast. They find Jimmy Novak and a destroyed warehouse at this address, opening a whole new conundrum. Jimmy's backstory is revealed as the chapter progresses, and when he escapes the Winchester's watchful eye and returns to his family, demons manage to capture his wife and daughter. When Jimmy, aided by the Winchesters, tries to help them, Castiel takes him for good this time to save their lives. Cas is different when he returns to Jimmy's body. He's insists he is not a servant of man. He is cold to Alex, who is left disillusioned because they had just been entering the waters of friendship.

* * *

**17: TWO ROADS DIVERGED**

Dean and Alex found out about Sam's current demon blood addiction in the previous chapter during the warehouse confrontation and lock him into the panic room so he can detox. The siblings argue over the right way to help Sam—Dean wants to have Sam go cold turkey, Alex is worried that cold turkey will kill him and thinks he needs to be weaned off. Castiel is sent to let Sam out of the panic room. Even though he doesn't want to, he does, trying so hard to trust Heaven and his commanders. Dean and Alex track their missing brother down in two days and Dean tells Alex to stay in the car because he's afraid of what he'll find in the hotel Sam is in. When Alex sees Ruby exiting out the back of the hotel, she gives chase and the girls fight. Ruby gets away and Alex rushes to find her brothers. What she finds is Dean on the ground and Sam high on fury and demon blood, choking Dean to death. She attacks Sam, who turns around and attacks her brutally. When she is on the ground, Sam realizes what he's done. Dean says if Sam walks out the door, he is never welcome to come back. Sam leaves. Watching silently, having to be held back by Zachariah, Castiel is upset and horrified he's not being allowed to interfere. The next day, Dean and Alex are taken to the beautiful room for safekeeping as the events which will lead up to the Apocalypse will unfold. The siblings are separated and Alex, given a few moments with Cas, begs him to do the right thing, scolding him because she believes he knows better. He heals her injuries which Sam inflicted and disappears, leaving her wondering. Later, when Dean and Alex have been reunited in the main beautiful room, Castiel appears and breaks them out of there and spirits them to Chuck's house even as an archangel bears down on them. He tells them that the demon Lilith cannot be killed because she is the final seal. Sam thinks if he kills her, he will stop the devil from appearing. However, if he kills her, he guarantees Lucifer will rise.

* * *

**18: SPEAK OF THE DEVIL**

Cas died sacrificially to give Dean and Alex a chance to stop Sam from breaking the final seal. Unfortunately, the seal is broken and Lucifer rises. The next day the Winchesters find themselves in a surprisingly calm, unchanged world. Alex mourns Cas and deals with conflicted feelings about who he was and why she is so upset about his death. Later, Bobby arrives to the motel where they're staying and chews Sam out in a brutal exchange that leaves Sam limping away to a nearby church to do research. Alex goes with him and the twins have a heart-to-heart. Later, Becky Rosen appears with a message about "Michael's sword" and its location. It's at that time that Dean is attacked by the demon Meg, who injures Bobby badly. After rushing Bobby to the hospital, the Winchesters double-time it to a storage locker where the Michael sword is supposed to be. It's there that the angel Zachariah appears and tries to force Dean to become Michael's vessel so that the Apocalypse can unfold without issue. Dean refuses even when Zachariah harms his siblings. It's at this time that Cas reappears and kills two angels then demands Zachariah heal the Winchesters and leave. Zachariah does as he's told. Cas claims he was brought back by God, puts angel-hiding sigils on the siblings ribs, then disappears. Later at the hospital, Bobby has been paralyzed and Castiel appears again and says he can't heal Bobby. He's been cut off from Heaven and says he is now going to find God then gives an angry speech to an entitled Dean. Alex calls Castiel on his BS and storms away. Later that night, Castiel finds her on the hospital rooftop and the two share a small moment where she apologizes for her comments and he apologizes as well. Their friendship is growing at this point and they both know it.

* * *

**19: DADDY ISSUES**

It's a few weeks later and Alex and Dean are no longer with Sam. He feared his issues would affect the family so he left. Tensions are high between the siblings because of this and they're arguing. When Alex is in the shower, Cas appears to Dean and says his search for God is not going so well. After Alex screams about a spider in the shower and Cas rescues her by smashing it, the trio heads out on a lead about an archangel. Dean insists Cas ride with them instead of 'zapping' them to the location. On the way, Alex ends up driving because Dean is in need of a nap. She and Cas share conversation and when she stops to get gas and snacks and subsequently drops a cupcake onto Dean's leather seat, she swears Cas to secrecy via pinky promise, joking with him that it's the most severe vow in the world. Later as they're squatting in an abandoned house, Cas basically says he thinks they are going to die the next day facing the archangel. Dean decides that Cas, who is a virgin, should lose his v-card. Alex is extremely disgruntled about this. Dean takes Cas to a strip club and Alex goes along and is upset the entire time. Cas questions Dean why he doesn't want Alex to lose her virginity as well and Dean shows his hypocritical side. Cas's attraction to Alex is beginning to show in this chapter and after the strip club debacle, Dean and Alex have a very awkward, painful conversation where she admits her shame about being a virgin at her age. She bemoans herself and tells him he shouldn't worry and that she'll end up an old spinster. Cas and Alex have a conversation outside later and the tension between them and attraction is becoming more and more pronounced. However, Alex flees the scene after he talks more about himself probably dying the next day.

* * *

**20: ABOVE US ONLY SKY**

Dean and Alex have been on the road for sixteen hours plus, without Cas, and they're both exhausted. They pull into a motel late at night in Kansas City, and crash. The next morning, they wake up to a desolate, war-ravaged scene and the word "CROATOAN" spray painted all over buildings as a warning. It's a virus that's infecting people and turning them into violent, zombie-like undead—the year is 2014, five years into the current future. They flee the scene, stealing a car since the Impala has disappeared. There are no people, only destruction. Zachariah pops up into the back seat and tells them in so many words that he's giving them a preview of the future, if they don't stop Sam and keep Lucifer from rising and if Dean refuses to be Michael's vessel. They go to Bobby's house, which is abandoned but they find a lead and make their way to a camp, where future!Dean captures himself and Alex, and ties them up, demanding answers as to who they are and what's going on. They find out that future!Alex has died, and that Sam is "gone." Brother and sister wait until they're alone and then escape, with Dean insisting Alex stays put since her being sighted around camp might be troubling since she's dead in this future. She doesn't stay put long, and finds Dean talking with future!Cas, who doesn't look like himself at all. When he sees her, he looks stricken, like he's seen a ghost, and his behavior is odd. When Dean goes to the bathroom, Alex tries to find out how she died—Cas will not say. He's stoned, unkempt, and not an angel anymore. He's womanizing, on drugs, and clearly not doing well. Alex notices her whistle and her dad's ring on a chain on his neck and is shocked, demanding to know why he has her things. He says she gave them to him, again being very odd and reserved. He also has a drawer of her clothes—and when Alex asks why, he offers the weak excuse that they were roommates. Alex only sees one bed. He gets more and more upset. Later, the group of freedom fighters at the camp are planning a strike on a city because Lucifer and the Colt were supposed to be there, where they could end his reign of terror. Dean and Alex go along, but not before Alex stumbles upon her own gravestone in the campground. Chuck, who happens to be nearby, says Cas is the one who regularly leaves flowers on the headstone. Alex is very aware that in this future, Cas and her had a relationship, and she's interested, shocked, and afraid all at once. Before the group heads out to battle, Cas asks her for a kiss—and Alex agrees. A deeply passionate, thrilling kiss happens—her first kiss, and Cas's last. He then tells her how she died—she was infected with the virus, and made him shoot her. Later on the ground in the city, Dean and Alex see Lucifer in Sam's body, and he smiles chillingly, saying no matter what choices that are made, they will always arrive her—to Lucifer, the Croatoan virus, and the end of the world. Just like that, Alex and Dean are back in 2009—Dean decides to call Sam. Cas shows up, and Alex feels embarrassed and attracted. She cannot forget the kiss. Back in 2014, Castiel lays dying. He is remembering killing his beloved Alex, who was secretly pregnant with their child.

* * *

**21: TORE ME DOWN**

Dean and Alex await Sam, who has agreed to meet them. Alex is dealing with a lot of heavy thoughts of a dark future, a lost brother, and Cas—she's beginning to have feelings and urges she instinctively wants to resist having at all. But she can't stop thinking about the kiss, the way Cas looked at her, the things he said and how he clearly felt in that future version of himself. Sam shows up and the three siblings manage a cordial, heartfelt (if brief) reconciliation. Dean says they'll make a different future, together. But all three of them are doubtful. That night, when Alex is asleep, the brothers have a very serious conversation about Lucifer, where Dean is very aggressively telling Sam in no uncertain terms that he CANNOT lie to them anymore, that Dean suspects a darkness in Sam, that the demon's blood from Azazel is inside of him and no one can undo it. The brothers begin to argue, with Dean's resentments about Sam's continued abandonment of the family unit coming to the surface. The scene ends with Dean doubting if he's made the right choice to let Sam back in, and Sam angry and hurt. The next day, Alex blows up at Dean with hopelessness, feeling like they don't stand a chance against all the huge players and challenges that are coming up. She says how afraid she is, and how the family is not doing well—how will they defeat anyone if they're so torn up as a family unit? The next thing you know, Alex is waking up, but she isn't sure to what. She's in some kind of suburban house, with children everywhere and some strange version of Castiel who isn't Castiel at all. As the strange scene unfolds, Alex begins to think this is the work of a trickster, or another one of Zachariah's jerk moves. It becomes apparent that this is the trickster, and he's trying to get Alex to have her brothers say "yes" to becoming vessels so that the grand storyline can play out. He draws comparisons between himself and Alex as the siblings who are in the middle, and the "weaker" ones. The scene changes after he tells her chillingly to "survive," and she's in a dirty warehouse, seeing visions of herself being rejected and abandoned throughout childhood, made fun of for her mute condition. She sees her father and Bobby arguing and John is complaining about how difficult life with this disabled child is, and that she'd be safer in foster care. Alex is rapidly deteriorating mentally as she sees such hurtful and shocking moments. Her "father" then appears to her, and taunts her, hurts her, and bullies her. Defending herself, realizing this isn't her dad, she fights him off while sustaining bad injuries herself. The nightmare twists and turns, and Cas finally reaches and rescues her from it. They're trapped in this strange reality the Trickster has created, and only get out once Dean and Sam have summoned and trapped Trickster in a ring of holy oil fire. His identity of Gabriel, the Archangel, is revealed. Cas spirits Alex to a hospital. He can't heal her because he's been cut off from Heaven. He stays with her overnight.

* * *

**22: THIS OUR MORTAL LIFE**

The next morning, Alex wakes up to Castiel in her hospital room—he stayed the night to watch over her. The two share a poignant moment before Dean wakes up and demands to talk to Cas alone. Once they're in a hallway, Dean demands to know if Cas has a "thing" for his sister—in 2014, he came to believe that Cas got Alex killed, and is against the idea of anyone with his sister, let alone Castiel. He then berates Cas for failing to protect Alex yesterday from the Trickster. Later that day, Cas brings Alex flowers, as he's noticed many other hospital patients have them. His choice? Yellow flowers. This triggers Alex, as future!Cas left yellow flowers on her gravestone. She reacts oddly, and Cas is confused, thinking he did the wrong thing. The brothers come back from a food run, and the Winchesters leave the hospital, as Alex is stable now. Later that day, Alex confronts Sam and Dean about the things Trickster showed her. Flash forward to a month later—the boys are attempting to steal the Colt from a demon named Crowley. Alex is with Ellen and Bobby, biding her time. Cas shows up out of the blue, to let her know Dean and Sam have succeeded in getting the Colt—the weapon that can supposedly kill the devil. Ellen and Cas meet. Cas and Alex have a moment, in which she gives him a shot of whiskey. He feels nothing. They talk about Heaven and how each person has their own little world in Heaven, and Cas tells her about shared Heavens—some soulmates share these. It's rare. Dean, Sam, and Jo arrive back after some time, and everyone spends the night in good company drinking, talking, and relating. Alex retreats to the panic room at one point due to feeling flustered by her attraction to Cas. He follows her, and they end up confessing their feelings to each other—then he says, "we can't." He says it's too dangerous, even though he clearly struggles with that fact. Even as they argue about this, they grow closer, and end up sharing a passionate kiss—afterward, Cas is overtaken by guilt and insists it wasn't right—when Alex is emotionally hurt by this, he does what he thinks is right, and to take away the pain, he erases her memory of what just happened. The next day, everyone is in a car on the way to Carthage, the town where Lucifer is supposed to be. Cas sees Reapers everywhere, which no one else can, and he spirits himself into where he can sense Lucifer's presence. He finds himself trapped in a ring of holy fire, with Lucifer there. Lucifer attempts to cajole Castiel into joining forces, pointing out how they are similar: both rebelled against Heaven, pursued their own path, and were cast out. Castiel refuses. And then Lucifer brings Alex into the room, using her as leverage against Cas. He refuses, and Lucifer says to take his time deciding. Later when Meg appears, she taunts Alex, then Cas uses Meg to escape from the fire, and he frees Alex and spirits her away to safety. Once back with the brothers, they have bad news: the Colt didn't work. Lucifer is still alive, and he's managed to summon Death—one of the four Horsemen. The Apocalypse is looking inevitable. Later that night, Alex takes a walk by herself out by Bobby's—and runs into Crowley, He tells her that he wants Lucifer gone, too… then reveals to her he's heard SHE will kill Lucifer.

* * *

**23: BE ALL MY SINS REMEMBERED**

The chapter opens with Castiel in a winter scene—it's two days later. He's confused, regretful, and reflective. He thinks about how he's been watching over Alex since 2007, and how this new path has led to nothing but questions. He's also disturbed by how Lucifer was able to summon Alex. He goes to see her after a bit, and finds she is not with her brothers—she avoids anything to do with mental health, and her brothers are undercover at a mental hospital currently. Cas is concerned that she's alone. He feels even more guilt over hiding the kiss from her, then abruptly leaves. A week later, Alex is shaken awake by Dean, who is urgently insisting she get up, that Anna came to him in a dream, and they have to go meet her. She's worried it's a trap, and Sam calls Cas for help. Cas says he will go to Anna and discover her intentions. Once there, the two angels have an intense discussion about fate. Anna insists that Sam must die, to prevent the devil from unleashing the Apocalypse. Anna then shows Cas the future in 2014, attempting to sway him since what happens to Alex is so awful. He sees many scenes of them as their relationship grows, and then her dying. He even sees what present day Alex experienced with 2014!Cas in the future—the kiss against the truck. After showing him all this, Anna insists he will be doing the right thing by killing Sam to keep this future from happening. Cas is troubled, confused, but stubbornly refuses to listen to Anna. He leaves, returning to the Winchesters.

* * *

**24: HONEYMOON'S OVER**

Cas reports back to the Winchesters honestly, relaying how Anna wants to kill Sam. Alex notices how shaken up Cas seems, how unlike himself. Cas begins a ritual to find Anna, so that they can nip this problem in the bud. Strangely, she has gone into the past—1978—and Castiel immediately realizes it's to attempt to kill the parents of the Winchesters to stop Sam from being born. Cas says he will go back to stop her, but it won't be easy since he's cut off from Heaven. The Winchesters insist on going with him. Cas warns them that he will not be himself when they first arrive, and will need to rest from the efforts time travel creates. As soon as they arrive in 1978, Cas collapses—Alex stays with him to keep him safe in a motel as the brothers attempt to hunt down Anna. As she stays with an unconscious Cas and cares for him, her feelings and confusion grow. When Cas comes to a few hours later, the two have a conversation including thoughts on Cas's "missing father" God and there are parallels drawn between Alex's dad who had disappeared a couple years ago, too. The Angel and hunter's connection grows deeper. Alex shows him how to play cards. At a certain point, Alex isn't content to stay, and needs to leave to search out her brothers. Cas gives her his Angels' sword as defense—leaving himself totally vulnerable.

* * *

**25: MEET THE PARENTS**

The Archangel Michael (using a young John Winchester as a vessel) appears and saves Sam/Dean/Mary from Anna, then zaps them back to present day… without Alex. The brothers begin to freak out. Meanwhile, back in 1978, Cas is very weakened and barely able to stand. Alex has returned alone and is worried about her brothers. Cas says first thing in the morning, they'll look. Alex falls asleep in bed beside him. The next day, a still-drained Cas needs help walking. Together, they go to the Winchester house and meet Mary, which is a strange and bittersweet moment for Alex, who has no memories of her mom, who died when she was an infant. They claim they're Mary's neighbors. When John comes home, he is suspicious of them and not nearly as friendly as Mary. A comical and awkward scene unfolds. However once Mary has Alex alone, her friendly demeanor drops and she demands to know who she is—she says Alex has hunter written all over her. They have a scuffle, and Alex tells Mary she's her daughter. Just then, Cas knocks Mary unconscious with a simple touch. He erases John's memories of what happened, and knocks him unconscious too—saying he wanted to keep the timeline uncomplicated. Cas safely transports them back to 2010 and to the brothers, who are incredibly glad to have their sister back. That night, Alex looks through Dad's journal, trying to find a connection to her dad who she had such a troubled, tense relationship with.

* * *

**26: INSATIABLE**

Three days later in Kansas, it's Valentine's Day. The Winchesters are disguised as FBI. Cas has been absent. Alex is truly anxious in his absence for the first time. The current job is priority one, though: a couple had eaten each other, another couple had shot and killed each other, both on the same night. Something was up. Posing as FBI allows them into the morgue, where they find that the victims have strange markings on their hearts. Dean gets a phonecall from Cas, who then appears suddenly. He says the markings on the hearts look Enochian. He says the markings are for those who are intended to mate. That a rogue cupid is likely behind this. To catch him, they decide to go somewhere he's likely to be: somewhere many couples will be. As it's V-Day, a romantic restaurant does the trick. The unlikely foursome get a table there and bide their time with food and drink, waiting for any sign of a cupid. Alex is feeling intensely attracted to Cas, more than normal, and he's feeling the same. They don't realize it yet, but they've both been affected by the cupid's mark too. Suddenly, Cas senses what they're waiting for and they go to the back of the restaurant where he summons the cupid—who is a chubby white guy, totally naked and very into giving fullbody hugs. When they confront cupid with the fact that his marked targets are slaughtering each other, the cupid clearly is surprised. He cries. Cas reads his mind, and finds that he's telling the truth that he didn't know this was happening. Dean storms off after the cupid reveals that Mary and John Winchester were "set up" by Heaven, since the Winchester children were destined to be born. At the hotel they're staying at, Cas and Dean have a confrontation. Dean is beginning to notice the dynamic between his sister and the angel, and he's angry about it. He knows it's dangerous, feels like it's not normal, and is fiercely protective over his sister. Cas persuades Dean that it's an unfounded fear. He's Alex's guardian, and that future in 2014 only happens if he's human. Dean is sated, for now. The next day, Cas explains that the town is not overrun by a love-gone-wrong effect, but is suffering from hunger. Starvation. Famine… one of the horsemen. And Alex is totally lost to the effect. She almost attacks Cas in a restaurant kitchen, insisting that she needs him, and he can't resist either. They have the most destructive make-out session ever, trashing the kitchen completely in their moment of wanton passion. It's hot yes, but Castiel is powerful and hurting Alex, but she wants it—it's the effect of Famine. They would kill each other if they kept going, but suddenly Sam comes upon them.

* * *

**27: IT'S COMPLICATED**

Sam is shocked to see the situation in front of him. Cas has a bloody lip, Alex has bruises and cuts—it's an awkward and disturbing moment for everyone. Sam managed to break the Famine spell over the town… and Cas realizes it's because Sam has had demon blood. Alex's injuries are settling over her, and she's looking bad. She lies to Dean about demons attacking them. When Dean realizes Sam consumed demon blood, he knocks him unconscious with a bat and demands Cas take them to Bobby's ASAP. Dean immediately throws Sam into the panic room, then patches his sister up. She has to have stitches, a shoulder reset, and lots of bandaids. Cas is riddled with guilt. Sam begins to detox painfully. It's a tough time for the family. When Cas and Alex have a moment alone, she asks what happened between them and Cas lies, saying it was his vessel and Famine's effect, nothing else. Alex becomes angry, disbelieving all his excuses and lies. She demands he leaves, because she's wounded and angry. Alex walks off into the night, up and down Bobby's road, raging and crying. Cas reappears, apologetic. And then admits that he lied, and he did indeed want to kiss her. He insists he's just trying to keep her safe from himself, and tells her how he saw 2014 and how she died because of him. He then tells her he's taken something from her, and he's giving it back. He restores her memory of their kiss the night of Carthage, and even though Alex is shocked and a little angry at him, she's moreso overcome with the truth of what happened. They have the same conversation as before, of "we can't,"—but Alex asks Cas is that's what he really WANTS. His honest answer is no, and they kiss again. Gentler, sweeter, slower this time. And then Crowley appears. This is Cas and Crowley's first time meeting. He taunts them a bit, even demonstrating that he knows about the 2014 awaiting them. He says how they're falling right into place for this future to happen. Cas threatens him and Crowley leaves, smirking the whole way. Cas takes her back to Bobby's, then disappears. Two days later, Alex is drunk and unhappy with life in general. Sam is withdrawing still, and Dean is being standoffish and depressed. Crowley returns to see her the second she's outside of the safety of Bobby's house—he asks her what she thinks about killing Lucifer, and how lore says a pure soul can destroy evil from the inside. He plants ideas in her mind about how she might have a better chance than either brother, then he disappears.

* * *

**28: BULLETS IN THE GUN**

The chapter is a huge flashback from four years ago—showing the fucked up dynamic between John Winchester and his children. It's revealed that he's been physically abusive towards his children in some moments, and definitely emotionally abusive. He loves his children, but his obsession with revenge played a huge part in destroying his life and relationships with his kids. We get a glimpse into his tortured psyche, and the day he died. Present day: Cas won't respond to Alex's calls, and it's been about a month. She's angry about it, after first being worried. While she's in the bathroom of their latest motel, she hears someone come in and shoot her brothers—she bursts out, attempting to attack the hunters who have come in and murdered Sam and Dean, but she's shot too, even though she kills one of them. She's laying dying on the floor when Cas comes to her side—immediately killing her attacker—but then is helpless to save her as she bleeds out on the floor of the motel. Cas begs for God's help, but there is no reply. Alex regains clarity, but is no longer on earth, and she is faced with a person she hasn't seen in years: John Winchester.

* * *

**29: DARK SIDE OF THE MOON**

Dean comes to, in a memory from years ago. He assumes it's a dream. Sammy is young, just thirteen or so—and excitedly begging Dean to come shoot off fireworks with him. Silent Alex is there too. This is a beautiful memory for Dean, one of the moments of their childhood that was normal and unscarred by the supernatural. Dean feels something he hasn't felt in awhile: pure happiness and peace. Then, suddenly, everything disappears and he's in the Impala, on a strange road. Cas comes through on the radio and communicates to him from the real world, letting him know what's happened. It's not a dream Dean is in, he's dead—and his brother and sister are dead, too. Cas says to follow the road, and he'll find Sam. Cas says Alex is "drifting" and he can't locate her with the spell he's been trying. Apparently, she doesn't have a Heaven. This is extremely not normal. Meanwhile, Alex and her father are face to face again. She's in a phonebooth, holding the phone, and he tells her not to hang up, he can't call back. He tells her she's dead. He knows, because he made a deal to talk to her when she died. She then remembers dying on a motel floor. Alex tests this apparition, asking questions only John would know the answer to. It's him. He seems different though, like he's had time to reflect and think. He apologizes to her and they have a heart to heart, that's both tense and angry, and beautiful and heartfelt. Before he gets cut off, he warns Alex with growing urgency but gets cut short: something about Azazel planning to use her and Sam for… *something*. Meanwhile, Dean and Sam have reunited and they contact Cas again through the radio/TV. Cas tells them to find Joshua, who will help them find Alex. The rumor is, this angel talks to God. Switch over to Alex, who has been dropped into a Heaven by Zachariah—she's trapped there, and when he taunts her, he mutes her too. He then spirits her over to Sam and Dean and attempts to use her as leverage, threatening to hurt her badly. And then Joshua appears, and insists that God, the big boss, is telling Zachariah to stop. Joshua then sends Alex back to Earth, keeping the brothers to speak with them further. Cas is there when Alex comes back to life, and their reunion is emotional. He comforts her as she has a bit of a breakdown from what just happened. They kiss, then she panics further, begging him not to leave. He promises not to leave ever again before saying goodbye. They then stay close to each other, waiting for Sam and Dean to resurrect, and Alex tells Cas about everything that happened.

* * *

**30: THE RIGHTEOUS MAN**

Back in Heaven, the brothers are with Joshua in Heaven's garden. They demand to know the following things: why Alex doesn't have a Heaven, and where God's location is so they can speak to him. Joshua doesn't really have any answers, only saying God is on earth somewhere, and he doesn't know what he's doing there. God has a message for them, though: to back off. He knows everything they want to tell him and the help they want to get, and he won't be involving himself. Joshua then sends the angry, confused Winchester brothers back to earth, where they come back to life from where they'd been shot dead. There, Cas and Alex have been waiting for them. Once they've discussed what's transpired, Cas disappearing, his last words being, "I'm going to find out why Alex has no Heaven." Dean, who is noticing the shifting dynamic between the angel and his sister, demands to know what's going on and they have a pretty big fight about it. Sam, who was more on Alex's side, has a heart-to-heart with his sister and is much more empathetic in the way he addresses Alex than Dean was. Meanwhile, Castiel summons Crowley and demands to know why Alex has no Heaven. He roughs Crowley up a bit, asking if she's destined for Hell. Crowley acts like he doesn't know. Cas tells him to find out if her name is written in the Book of Hell, or he'll destroy his vessel. Crowley walks away from the interaction smugly, realizing he has leverage over the angel. That leverage is named Alex Winchester. Back at the Winchester's location, Dean comes back from a bar. He's emotionally not doing well at all. He and Alex hug tight. Just then, his phone buzzes. Bobby tells them to get over to Blue Earth ASAP, as demonic activity is off the charts. Meanwhile, Cas is feeling badly too. God is nowhere to be found, he can't seem to keep Alex safe. He comes across a liquor store and contemplates drinking the whole thing.

* * *

**31: CLOSER TO GOD**

As they approach Blue Earth, Minnesota, the Winchester encounter a demon attack that almost gets them in bad trouble. They're saved by a group of three townspeople with a firetruck full of high-powered water, and an incantation yelled over a loudspeaker. The demons exorcise, and the group of people who saved the Winchesters introduce themselves as the Sacrament Lutheran Militia who are fighting against the Apocalypse. They caravan into town, which is full of people armed to the teeth and Devil's Traps painted on every available surface. Flash over to Castiel—it's the next morning, and he drank the whole liquor store. Shelf after shelf. He sees on his cellphone, the one he uses to contact the Winchesters, Alex texted him. He texts her, badly, because he's still quite drunk. Alex receives them and although they're comical, she's worried. He says he drank fifty shelves of hard liquor. She excuses herself and calls him, pestering him for answers and if he's okay. He sounds incredibly drunk, and she begs him to come see her. He says he's too "incapasassacitated" but he'll come when he can stand. Alex returns to trying to help her brothers figure out how to get this town safe again. Tensions are high between the siblings, but they muster through as usual. A woman in town receives visions of where the demons have been meeting up—the Winchesters and the Militia follow up a lead a few miles away and find a hovel of demons, just like they were told. The exorcism, which seems to be Enochian, clears the demonic possessions. That afternoon, the siblings have another fight about the current situation in the world, the oncoming Apocalypse, etc—it's mostly the twins again Dean, who leaves them in a huff. Sam and Alex set to work researching the current situation and Alex nurses a bottle of whiskey, trying to deal with her feelings with alcohol. About an hour later, Cas shows up. He's still pretty drunk, but able to stand now. He seems to have some answers about the town, and even says he knows that the woman with visions is a false prophet. He says he needs a specific book to know how to proceed. Without much warning, he spirits himself and Alex to the Vatican in Rome, Italy. They're both affected by alcohol, Cas moreso that Alex. It's the middle of the night or very early morning here. The two of them wander the silent library, with Cas essentially hitting on Alex and admiring her verbally. They're both a little more vulnerable than usual, and their attraction is hard to avoid as they go deeper into the library. As one thing leads to another, they begin to kiss, then touch, and eventually they end up having very passionate and loving, first time sex against a bookshelf, halfway undressed.

* * *

**32: DEADLY SINS**

Afterward, Cas is very quickly overcome with indoctrinated guilt and horror at his actions, and his sudden odd behavior makes Alex think she took advantage of him somehow. After an awkward and sad moment where Cas calls what they did wrong, he grabs the book they sought, then spirits them back to Blue Earth to an unsuspecting Sam. And then Castiel disappears completely. Alex runs out of the hotel room distraught, crying. Cas reappears, and they have a heart to heart. Castiel is guilty because he is thousands of years old, not a human; he says Alex's first experience shouldn't have been with him, etc etc. She doesn't agree. They are interupted by gunfire—a townsperson has killed another townsperson, angry that her loved one has been killed in the crossfire of the oncoming Apocalypse. In the heat of the moment, there is a struggle over the gun, and Cas blocks Alex from being shot with his own body—he spirits himself and Alex away for her protection, but he's not doing good. Alex unfortunately knows how to deal with bullet wounds, but is really upset by this turn of events. She's falling completely in love with him at this point. The brothers reappear soon, having taken care of the townperson who was causing problems. Cas says this false prophet Leah is turning people against each other and must be stopped. Then, after reading the book he procured, he realizes she is "The Whore" from prophecies and must be killed. She can only be killed by a Servant of Heaven—but apparently this person must have a pure soul and be a virgin. Cas and Alex know that she's no longer in that club. They settle on the town Pastor being the one who will kill her and they have to work hard to convince him. Before they leave to go to get the job done, Cas and Alex share a private moment outside of reconciliation and they kiss… and Dean sees it.

* * *

**33: MR. SELF DESTRUCT**

The chapter opens with Dean being shocked, upset, and enraged at what he's seeing. In the future version of 2014 that he saw, Cas got Alex killed and they were involved—that with the fact that this angel is old as hell pisses him off completely. He barrels over and grabs Alex, telling her to get in the damn car and they're leaving. Cas and Dean almost have a physical fight, then Cas takes Alex with a "we'll meet you there." They arrive to the perimeter of where The Whore is, and wait for the brothers, sharing a tender yet uncertain moment at the same time. The brothers and Pastor arrive, and they move in. Even as they move in, Alex and Dean fight, and it's extremely hurtful—Alex says he's "just like Dad," and then leaves his side. There is a confrontation with The Whore, and the Pastor dies without killing her. Dean ends up killing her somehow instead—Alex gets knocked out. As they go back to their motel, Sam worries that Dean is going to become Michael's vessel because of his erratic behavior and comments. They have a fight too, and Dean accuses Sam of a variety of things, says he doesn't have faith in him anymore, then punches him in the face and takes the car, going who knows where.

* * *

**34: FOR ME, IT'S YOU  
**

Alex wakes up and her angel is beside her. Sam is nearby too and Alex is quickly shocked and dismayed by his appearance caused by Dean's attack. Spirits are not good, thanks to the quickly crumbling circumstances. Everyone is pretty sure Dean is going to say yes to Michael. Cas has been weakened by The Whore's magic, and cannot zap them anywhere, but that won't stop them. Sam and Alex steal a pickup truck and head down the road. They think Dean may go see Lisa, an old flame of his who he really actually loved. About an hour into the journey, the truck breaks down. Cas can't walk at this point, so Sam walks back to a gas station leaving Alex and Cas to wait. The two share a meaningful moment, where they talk about what's going on with the world, with them, and with their future. Cas struggles with his feelings versus his convictions of how he shouldn't be romantically involved with this human. They look at constellations together for awhile in the dark night sky, Cas pointing out galaxies and stars. They talk about when Cas watched her before his vessel. Alex says she thinks she saw him sometimes, a brightness at the corner of her eye that wasn't there when she looked at it directly. Sam comes back to find them sitting together with arms wrapped around each other, and he then knows without a doubt that Castiel loves his sister. Unlike Dean, he's open minded and happy that his sister is happy. The next morning, Dean is writing a goodbye letter to Sam, Alex, and Bobby in a motel. He is 100% against the future in 2014 happening, and feels that if he refuses to become Michael's vessel, he is dooming everyone to that fate. Just as he finishes, he's taken by surprise by Alex and Sam Alex punches him in the face and demands answers. He attempts to explain. They attempt to get him to change his mind. He refuses. They tell him they'll stop him, he says they can't. Then Cas appears and knocks him out.

* * *

**35: RUNS IN THE FAMILY**

We are now in Bobby's house again. Dean is locked in the panic room, for lack of any other solution. Sam lets Bobby know a bit about the Cas/Alex relationship and how it's caused Dean extreme rage and fear. Bobby attempts to reason with Dean, who just pushes Bobby away. The siblings fight more, but they do let Dean out of lockdown. Cas shows up with Adam—their half brother. Cas has brought him because he's a possible vessel alternative for Michael, since he's Winchester blood—Adam was brought back from Heaven by the angels for this purpose. Adam is flippant and dismissive, annoyed to have been brought here—he was enjoying Heaven. He's been contacted by angels already, has a blind allegiance/apathy to the situation, and Dean says this seems fishy. They won't let Adam go until they have better control of the situation or understanding of what's happening. Dean gets locked up again due to his attitude and comments. Alex leaves the house for a moment to cool off and collect her thoughts. Cas meets her in the salvage yard, then spirits them up to Bobby's attic, where they have a more slow, thorough encounter than they did at the Vatican. Afterward, Castiel says he is going to find a way to change the future. That he'll tear down the laws of nature if he has to in order to protect her.

* * *

**36: CAN'T RUN FOREVER**

Cas and Alex are sharing a moment of bonding and learning with each other, after their sexual encounter. They end up talking about the 2014 they both saw, and Cas tells Alex about the unborn child they had together in the future. The pair connect, promise they won't let that version of the future happen. Meanwhile downstairs, Sam and Adam are having a talk. Sam is giving Adam a quick history and biography of John Winchester—Adam never knew his father like Sam, Dean, and Alex did. When Alex rejoins the scene a bit later, freshly showered and saying she fell asleep when Sam asks where she was. When Sam goes to get a shower, Adam strikes up a conversation with Alex where he tries to get a rise out of her. He finds this pretty easy, especially when he realizes she has some kind of thing for Cas. Alex walks away not liking him at all. She finds Cas guarding the Panic Room. They have a heavy conversation about current situations, ending with Alex asking if Anna was right—do they have to kill Sam to prevent Lucifer from rising? Cas insists they will find another way. Sam finds them there and says he is going to try and talk some sense into Dean. Alex says she's going with him. Cas waits behind. The twins attempt to reason with Dean, who insists he will not let Adam "take the bullet" of being Michael's vessel. He lists everyone they've gotten killed, argues that he just wants to put an end to it for good. Dean says he doesn't believe in Sam or Alex, that he knows it's a matter of time before Lucifer wears Sam like a tux. Alex leaves in tears. Sam leaves shortly after, getting nowhere. That's when Dean makes plans for his escape. He draws an angel-banishing sigil in his own blood, then uses Alex, who comes back to talk to him, as bait. He smashes a lamp into her head to knock her out, and Castiel rushes in, and is caught off guard and banished away. Dean makes his escape. Sam finds his twin, and is enraged. He gets her upstairs and she's coming-to as Sam leaves to pursue Dean. Adam attempts to escape in the madness and Alex confronts him, then knocks him onto the ground. And that's when the angels come for them.

* * *

**37: SACRIFICE**

Castiel is in pain from being banished, and he's disoriented—but he hears the celestial whispers clearly. Alex and Adam have been taken. He is so enraged that he can barely see—and that's when Dean prays to angels. Too bad he got Cas. The angel beats Dean within an inch of his life and tells him that Alex got taken because of Dean's actions. Once he's roughed up the hunter enough, he takes him back to Bobby's, where Sam is freaking out about Alex being gone. Cas tells them the angels have her and Adam both. Cas disappears to look for them, and Sam fights with Dean about what happened. Meanwhile, Alex is in the beautiful room with Adam. He is content to wait, she tries to smash the walls. Zachariah appears and is gleeful. Alex is convinced this is a trap for Dean—that Adam isn't in the running for Michael at all. Meanwhile, Castiel is outside of the room, fighting Eliphaz, who says he stinks of humanity and has changed. Cas fights him and kills him, then Zachariah applauds. He has one of his henchmen angels bring Alex out, and Zachariah threatens her and says if Cas doesn't bring Dean back, Alex will die. Alex begs him not to. But Cas can't not. When Zachariah takes Alex back to Adam, seeing that she's bleeding finally gets him to start taking things more seriously. When Zachariah reveals that Adam was never going to be a vessel for Michael, Adam becomes angry and upset. Zachariah toys with them both, then makes them gag up blood and he leaves triumphantly to await Dean's arrival. Alex sees the blood and realizes they've just been given quite the opportunity. Outside of the beautiful room, Cas and the Winchester brothers are preparing to make their move. Cas is carving an angel sigil onto himself—a possibly fatal risk. He will clear out the guards, and Sam and Dean will kill Zachariah and rescue Adam and Alex. Castiel goes in and is surrounded. He knows he may not come back from this. His last thought, as he completes the sigil and banishes them all, is of her. Inside the room, Alex and Adam hear a crazy sound like an explosion. And then Sam and Dean run in, and Zachariah appears too. Sam attempts to attack him with a knife, but the knife gets knocked away. That's when Alex and Adam use the sigil they made, and banish Zachariah completely. As they leave, Alex sees Cas's abandoned blade and knows something is wrong. Sam says they don't know where he is, and she fears he's dead. Zachariah limps back to Michael, who is displeased and says Adam Milligan will have to do as his vessel after all, since Dean is proving to be such a problem.

* * *

**38: THINGS FALL APART**

Sam, Dean, Alex, and Adam stole a car, and are driving back toward Bobby's. They are stopped for an awkward, tense meal at a 24/7 diner. They decide to see if they can get any information from mystics or shamans, prophets. They make their way to Arizona, whereBobby says some sort of prophetess named Aura resides. Alex is not doing well at all—weak, forgetful, depressed. Adam is tagging along, doing his best even though he's not used to this way of life. They meet Aura, who seems to know who they are and what they seek. She says she has no answers for them, except that "what is going to happen, is just the way it has to be. No one is to blame for it." The encounter is unnerving. They leave, hitting the road again. Twelve hours later, Adam wakes up in a motel room. He can't sleep. Restless, he gets up and peers outside the room. And then sees his mother in the parking lot. He rushes out to her. Zachariah appears, and tortures them both. And then Michael appears—and kills Zachariah. He uses the trick to lure Adam into believing he is the good guy. He says his current vessel is weak—he can't defeat Lucifer with this current form. And not realizing it wasn't real, that he is inside of a dream, that Zachariah wasn't actually dead, that this isn't really his mother—Adam says "yes" to Michael. Meanwhile in Louisiana—Castiel is in a coma in a hospital. Four weeks later, the Winchesters have still not heard from Cas. It's been a hard month, and Alex has been very depressed. Everyone is worried about what happened with Adam.

* * *

**39: HOUSE OF GODS**

The Winchesters stop off at a hotel in the middle of nowhere, as the rain outside is making it impossible to drive. The hotel is incredibly nice, probably a 5-star place. They check in under a fake name, and head straight to the buffet. Alex doesn't want to eat, and wanders off. Sam is fretting about them enjoying a buffet while this Noah's Ark type flood is happening. Dean says they need to take care of themselves, hence pie. Meanwhile Alex is trying to call Cas yet again. No answer. He's been gone 32 days. She spaces out, but then suddenly the pool is silent and everyone is gone. She feels a sharp little bite on her neck, and finds blood there. She hurries back in search of her brothers, feeling that something isn't right here. She finds them, and they've also seen something that appears odd—they do some snooping and realize nothing seems to be real—files in the office are blank, the place is empty. The brothers are separated from their sister and then captured—taken into a room full of people wearing nametags like Kali, Ganesh, Odin—names of gods. Apparently, the Winchester brothers are of interest to these gods since they're chess pieces in the Apolcaypse. Meanwhile, Alex finds herself face to face with Gabriel. He tells her he's there to rescue her, and that the brothers are being auctioned off to the highest bidding god downstairs to do with as they wish. Apparently Gabe has had a change of heart, and wants to save the boys from "playing their roles." Alex reluctantly agrees, even though she hates Gabriel and the things he's done in the past to her/her family. Downstairs, as the gods argue about what to do with the Winchesters, Gabriel bursts in with great dramatic airs—everyone addresses him as Loki, giving away the fact that he's kept his true identity a secret. However, Kali knows his true identity and takes his angel blade—and kills him in front of everyone. Her claim is that angels CAN die, so they can kill Lucifer with this blade. She sends Alex away, saying she's not a vessel so she's not necessary. Alex escapes the locked room Kali sends her to, and gets on the elevator. When she arrives at the lobby level, the scene awaiting her is chilling. Lucifer is waiting for her, and he's covered in blood from all the dead gods surrounding him. Alex is terrified, and asks if he's there for Sam—and if he has any other vessels. He asks if she's offering. Lucifer then drags her to the meeting room, where Kali and the brothers are. A scuffle breaks out, and the Winchesters duck behind an overturned table. Gabriel appears, to their shock. He gives them a DVD of Casa Erotica and says to guard it with their lives, then he confronts Lucifer. They run away, and Lucifer apparently kills Gabriel then and there. Alex has a mental breakdown, a panic attack.

* * *

**40: WIDE AWAKE**

Alex finds herself in a nightmare where Sam and Dean are dead, and Lucifer has taken Sam's body. She wakes up in a panic—she's been having a lot of dreams like this since the hotel of gods. She's at Bobby's while her brother's are attending to trying to stop the Apocalypse—this time by gathering the horsemen's four rings, to lock Lucifer back into his Cage. She's feeling hopeless and traumatized, and at fault for Cas's death. She's beginning to think he really is gone. She tries to be helpful to Bobby, doing research on end-times prophecies. Her twin calls one afternoon, upset. Dean's gone off with Crowley, who apparently wants to team up against Lucifer. Sam has been drinking, and is spewing out ideas on how to defeat Lucifer. He wonders aloud if he can maybe allow Lucifer to use him as a vessel, then jump into the Cage. Alex says he'd basically be killing himself, and he insists it's a final resort idea. They have a heart to heart, ending with them sharing the feeling of loss and heartbreak over Cas and Jess, respectively. The next day, Alex is having a cigarette in the road to hide it from Bobby—Crowley appears. He's pissed at her, since he says she was a pure soul before she'd had sex—which meant she might have been able to kill Lucifer. He tells her that a demon he tortured recently for info indicated that Alex and Sam are the vessels, not Dean and Sam. Alex feels that something about this information is off and questions Crowley thoroughly. Before he disappears, he proposes that perhaps Alex had no Heaven because her soul is supposed to be destroyed if she becomes Lucifer's vessel and kills him/is killed while being the vessel. Perhaps she was assigned a guardian angel to keep her alive long enough to kill the devil. That night while asleep, Alex sees Cas in a dream. He asks if what he did worked, then is surprised he's been gone thirty-eight days, and observes that she looks unwell. He says he's asleep and can't wait up. Alex starts to realize this really is Cas. Not a dream. It's him. She wakes up, and her feelings in the dream diminish. Cas is gone. And then, her phone rings loudly. It's a number she doesn't recognize, but she answers—and it's Castiel. He tells her he's completely powerless, and thirsty, itchy, and hurting. Alex is already grabbing her keys and on her way. She flies out, taking nothing, and rushes to Cas's side. They have a tearful reunion—Cas cries too, for the first time.

* * *

**41: THE ELEVENTH HOUR**

Meanwhile, a demon that Dean and Sam press for information alludes to Lucifer having some kind of grand plan for Alex that had something to do with Azazel, but he won't say what. The brothers head back to Bobby's. Back in the hospital, the nurse on duty is giving Alex a rundown of how banged up Cas is. He needs pain meds, might need physical therapy, and generally is just pretty run down. When she leaves, Alex begins to get Cas dressed so they can make their escape. She catches him up on everything that's been happening, and Cas confesses that he feels incredibly human at the moment. His powers and celestial grace seem to be missing. Alex is reminded of 2014 Cas. All the sudden, Zachariah appears—he's there to kill Cas, who is an easy kill in his state. Alex, who kept his blade, kills Zachariah instead. She takes his blade, too, and gives Cas his back. They make a quick exit, stealing a car and driving back toward Sioux Falls. When Cas feels hungry, they stop at a Waffle House. He orders a waffle, and uses a fork for the first time. Dean calls and learns that Cas is alive. He reports that they don't have Pestilence's ring, but they know where he is. They plan to meet in Davenport. Before she and Cas get on a bus though, Alex steals Cas some painkiller. She also steals him a book. They take a bus, and fall asleep together. Later, at the senior home Dean told them to meet at, it's quiet and empty. As they steal through, they both begin to feel very sick. The sicker they feel, the closer they are—and they find Pestilence in a room with Sam and Dean who are so ill, they're useless on the floor. Alex joins them, and Cas almost does—but he manages to rally and cut off Pestilence's finger with the ring on it. They take the ring back to Sioux Falls. Bobby says he thinks Death is in Chicago. They then find out that Bobby has "pawned" his soul to Crowley, to find this information. Later, Alex and Sam come to Dean for a talk as he tends to the Impala. Sam is insisting he doesn't see another way except to "do what needs to be done." That's when Crowley appears again. He says that the swine flu Pestilence spread, was just a ruse to get the "vaccine" distributed. The vaccine is in reality Croatoan virus. Crowley proposes that he and Dean go to Chicago for Death's ring, and Alex and Sam take care of preventing the vaccine from shipping. Alex sets to work teaching Cas to shoot a weapon. They head out shortly after.

* * *

**42: HERE TO FALL**

The chapter begins with a flashback from Castiel's perspective—to when he was first getting to know Alex. To when he was punished for making choices in regard to his friendship to her at the time. Juxtaposed to current day: Cas human and powerless, completely invested in the Winchesters, especially Alex. They're headed to a pharmaceutical plant to blow up the place and destroy the virus before it ships out. They talk about Sam's idea to say yes to Lucifer then jump into the Cage. Castiel tells them Sam would have to drink a lot of demon blood to have any chance of that. They storm the warehouse, but a truck gets away—Alex and Cas stop the truck but get jumped by a few croats. It's a scary moment for them both, but everyone is okay. Sam and Bobby touch base—they set off the charges successfully, and head back to base camp, with Alex and Cas set to follow. Cas is especially shaken up. They end up having very passionate sex in the back of the SUV, and tell each other for the first time that they love each other. Meanwhile, Dean gets the ring from Death. When he arrives back to Sioux Falls, he learns that Cas and Alex are still not back, and he's annoyed. Her phone is off too. Dean talks with Sam and tells him he's decided to agree to the plan to say yes to Lucifer and jump into the Cage. Alex and Cas arrive back, and they tell their sister the news. Dean notices Alex misplaced Dad's ring, which she used to wear on her middle finger. That night, they're on their way to Detroit, where Lucifer is. Sam makes his siblings promise not to bring him back, when he gets locked in the Cage with Lucifer. They stop for gas, and the twins have an emotional moment together. Alex is acting oddly, but who wouldn't when their brother is basically about to die? Dean fuels up his car and Sam goes into the store. When he comes back, they realize that without explanation, Alex is gone.

* * *

**43: IT'S DARKER, ALWAYS DARKER**

Cas wakes up and Alex isn't there anymore. The brothers explain that she ran away. Dean thinks it's because she can't bear to watch Sam become Lucifer. Either way, they can't spare the time to go find her, and that has to wait. Sam, Dean, Bobby, and Cas arrive at the location intel provided, and Sam drinks gallons of demon's blood and marches across the street, announcing his presence with shouts. That's when Castiel recognizes the presence of Lucifer… but sees Alex's shape in the high up window, not the other vessel. The brothers are dragged upstairs and come face to face with… Alex. But she's not herself. It's Lucifer, and he's destroying her body. Lucifer explains that he planted false information for Alex to receive so she would believe she might save everyone by being the vessel. In reality, Lucifer knew that having Alex's body would give him a tool of manipulation against the brothers. Sam says yes, and both twins fall to the floor. Lucifer enters Sam, and Alex is left dying. The cage opening spell Dean enacts fails, and Lucifer takes Sam and disappears. Alex is regretful and ashamed, blaming herself for falling for Lucifer's trick. Meanwhile, Sam and Lucifer are sparring internally, and Lucifer shows Sam his ultimate plan that's been in place since before Sam's birth for a new earth. Sam, as Lucifer, will impregnate his sister—the bloodline must be theirs—and Alex will have Nephilim twins, who will become the Adam and Eve of the new world order. Then, Sam will burn her to death on the ceiling just like Mary died. Sam is horrified and sick, but Lucifer is in total control. Sam despairs, unable to do anything but exist.

* * *

**44: DUST TO DUST**

Cas, Dean, and Alex find out where the battle between Lucifer and Michael is to take place the next day, and they go there in an attempt to reach Sam inside of the Devil. There are heartfelt moments between everyone surviving. Dean and Alex go in to be with their brothers Adam and Sam, and attempt to turn the hands of fate. Unfortunately in the attempt, Lucifer kills Bobby, uses Alex's own hand to stab Castiel dead, and then kills her too. Dean is barely able to, but reaches Sam at the last moment—who in despair at killing everyone he holds dear. Dean opens the Cage, and Sam falls in, taking Michael with him.

* * *

**45: ASHES TO ASHES**

Dean is the only one left, his entire world has been taken from him in mere moments: his brother, his sister, Bobby, Cas, Adam… all gone. He thinks of killing himself. Nearby, without explanation and against all odds, Castiel is brought back to life. By who? By god? He doesn't know, but his angelic powers are back. He heals Dean, brings back Alex, restores Bobby. Alex learns that her twin has all but died. She has survivor's guilt. Castiel supposes he has been brought back to perhaps restore order to Heaven, which has lost all of its Archangels except Raphael. He feels that he owes a debt to Heaven and God, who must have brought him back. Something seems off about Cas to Alex. Later, Castiel attempts to bring Sam back from Hell, and while he recovers Sam's body, Castiel has left his soul back in Hell—and Sam, not Sam at all really, does not return to his siblings, who go on believing he's dead. Castiel finds that Raphael fancies himself the new boss in town now, and he threatens the Winchesters. Castiel cannot return to her until Raphael is defeated. Crowley soon after propositions Castiel to help him find Purgatory, and from there, take souls to use in order to kill Raphael. Crowley wants half the souls for himself, so that he will become the new King of Hell. Castiel makes the deal, with the added caveat that Crowley will find out if Alex's name is in the Book of Hell, and if she is, she will be removed from it permanently. On earth, Dean and Alex have their worst ever fight, that becomes physical—Alex threatens to kill Dean at the height of their altercation. She disappears and leaves him. Dean ends up going to Lisa's and attempting to change his life to something more normal. He doesn't hear from Alex for months. Castiel starts a war in Heaven—declaring that the angels are either with Raphael who wants the Apocalypse to happen, or they're with Castiel, who wishes free will for the angels. He sends a message to Alex at the beginning through Balthazar to let her know why he's vanished, but the message is not delivered.

* * *

**46: THE SILENT YEAR**

We flash back to 1995, when Alex was 13. Her father is drilling her with an immersion tactic, a training run. A sick, strange tradition that John Winchester put all his kids through in their childhoods. He's hunting her in the woods and expecting her to defend herself against him. He easily overpowers her and shames her verbally for her mistakes against his attacks. Present day, it's been four days since Cas disappeared and Sam died. She summons Crowley, and traps him. She demands that he bring Adam and Sam back or he dies. Crowley says no, and escapes. Six months later, Crowley meets with Castiel and says that Alex is indeed meant to be in Hell, but he's removed her name. Crowley says to ask Fate why she was supposed to go there. As Castiel keeps fighting the war in Heaven, he has Rachel check on Alex and report back. Only Rachel is lying, and is not interacting with Alex at all. Alex doesn't know why Cas left. About six months into the new normal, Dean is woken in the middle of the night by a strange woman who introduces herself as Jamie, and says she's been hunting with Alex and needs help. Alex vanished out of their motel a couple hours ago. They go to the room, where Jamie's brother Glen is waiting. They find a single black angel's feather, and Dean summons Cas, who appears. He performs a spell on it to find out who it belongs to—utters the name Nandriel—and disappears in a panic.

* * *

**47: LAY ME DOWN TO SLEEP**

Alex is one second asleep in her motel room, the next in some kind of warehouse that seems to be magically affected. A tall woman approaches, and says she's Nandriel, why doesn't Alex remember? This is her ex-guardian angel, who Alex has heard of before. She was before Cas, and had been punished for wanting to become a mortal. Nandriel has taken Alex outside the reach of time, to use her as collateral. Castiel is indeed unable to find her, but knows that if he can find an instance of her in time somewhere, he can find her now, too. So he goes back to the night of the nursery fire, knowing she will be there. As the scene unfolds of Mary putting the twins to bed, Castiel finds himself considering changing the past to save them all from the future. When Azazel appears, Castiel realizes that Nandriel is nowhere to be found. He watches Azazel drip blood into baby Sam's mouth, then begin to prepare to do the same to Alex. Castiel intervenes then. Baby Alex begins to cry loudly at his appearance, and Azazel mutes her at that moment—and that's when Mary comes in and is pinned to the ceiling and slashes her open. Castiel can do nothing but ease her pain as she dies—if he changes the past, he could destroy the universe at this point. He is realizing Alex was mute all those years because of him. And just then, he feels and hears her screaming for him. He leaps across time to reach her. Nandriel's plan is then revealed—she will give Alex to Raphael in trade for her own freedom. She escaped from her imprisonment because Cas's war is tearing Heaven apart, and has no plans to be imprisoned ever again. She and Castiel fight, and he manages to gain the upper hand and kill her. Cas, knowing he can't be near her due to Raphael, sends her back to her time, but into a snowy field in the middle of nowhere.

* * *

**48: NOISE AND CONFUSION**

Alex finds herself injured and alone, and angry that she's left in the dark again. She picks a direction and heads there. Meanwhile, Dean and Jamie are digging up a grave to salt and burn a body in case it's become a vengeful spirit. They get to know each other a little bit. Jamie is a jaded, troubled person similar to Dean. They get into a bit of a predicament when cops show up, but Jamie smooth talks their way out of it. Afterward, they get a call from Alex, who is surprised that Dean is with Jamie. She is about two hours away in another town, and needs a ride. She does however tell Dean she's not ready to see him. Glen, who is closer to her location, is sent to go get her. He arrives in about an hour to collect her, and flirts with her a bit when they do. He kisses her at the car, and she rejects the kiss. Later, in Hell, Castiel shows up and attacks Crowley, blaming him for Alex's plight and lack of safety. Apparently, demons have been watching Alex for Crowley/Castiel. Behind the scenes, Alex has become addicted to Demon blood.

* * *

**49: ONE BIG, HAPPY FAMILY**

Dean has returned to Lisa's, but he's disturbed about his sister's refusal to see him. Lisa is not entirely supportive. Two months later, Jamie gets a call from Dean, who is urging her to get herself and Alex barricaded—some dangerous Djinn are on the loose, and targeting Winchesters. Alex does the opposite and goes outside. She's immune to the Djinn's poison due to the demon's blood, and she kills them with Jamie's help. At this time, it's revealed that Jamie is a witch. Then, Dean is there… with Sam. There is quite the reunion between the three. Sam has been hunting with Samuel Campbell, their maternal grandfather. Immediately, something is very wrong—aside from the fact that Sam didn't make contact with either sibling for close to a year, he just seems off. Sam invites them to join in with him and hunt together again, just like that. They both decline. Dean feels like he has to stay with Lisa. Alex is suspicious and angry at Sam for letting them think he was dead that whole time. Dean and Alex spend a little time together, then he returns to Lisa's. Alex and Glen have a scene—he toys with her and flirts with her, not really out of genuine interest in her as a person, but as a conquest. She is not into him, and rejects his strong advances as usual.

* * *

**50: THE BABYSITTER'S CLUB**

Two months later, Alex receives a call from Sam, who brusquely says he needs her help. With, of all things—a baby. When she insists she has no clue about babies, Sam hangs up. Two days later, he and Dean show up with this baby which is actually a shifter baby, and Alex and Jamie get roped into helping. Dean and Jamie continue to have a very good chemistry with each other. Sam is off, as before. Alex is a little afraid of the baby. She's never held one before. The baby's father comes in pursuit. In defending them, Jamie uses her empathic witches powers, and Dean immediately changes his mind about her, condemning her. He accuses her of being aligned with demons to have powers like that.

* * *

**51: BLURRED LINES**

It's revealed in flashbacks that Glen let his little sister drown while watching, when he was a kid. It's revealed that he has no feelings or empathy toward people, but does enjoy inflicting pain and manipulating people. He has learned Alex has been with an angel, and he wants to have her as a conquest, add her to his resume. He attempts to seduce her, and at first she goes along with it because she's so lonely. When she says to stop, he doesn't. She barely escapes. She calls her brothers in a panic, saying she's killed someone, she needs help, something's very wrong. Dean runs to her, and Sam doesn't. Alex has been beaten, and Glen attempted to force himself onto her. She killed him in the struggle. However police reports later state, no body was found. Later, Dean threatens Jamie and says to never let him see her face again. At a hotel with her brothers recovering, Alex has joined them. She wants to pretend nothing happened. When the job Sam and Dean are working seems to have angelic players, Dean calls Cas—Alex had given up calling him months ago. Cas appears. Finally, after a year, Alex gets to ask Cas where the hell he's been. He is confused, thought the messages he sent had been relayed. Soon the truth is made apparent on several counts. Rachel has been lying to Cas, and Alex has been drinking demon's blood. Castiel finds out about the assault. They fight because of the misunderstandings, but reconcile too. The chapter ends with them embracing.

* * *

**52: FAIR WEATHER FRIENDS**

Jamie is now alone. She sees signs of demonic presence where Glen attacked Alex, and to find out what happened, she attempts to summon Ruby, but Meg appears instead. Meg recognizes Jamie as the witch who sold her soul to save someone. Jamie didn't know until today though, that she was one of the seals to begin the apocalypse. Meanwhile, the Winchesters are working a job together. Castiel joins them for a bit, and he seems off to Alex. Perhaps the war is changing him, but he isn't exactly like she remembers. There is a slipup later on, and Raphael's henchmen appear. Castiel barely manages to defend them. There's an encounter with Balthazar, who has stolen heavenly weapons. The chapter ends with the brothers and Castiel putting Alex into the panic room to detox from demon's blood.

* * *

**53: SKELETONS**

Castiel confronts Rachel about her lies regarding Alex's wellbeing. Rachel insists she did it to keep Cas focused on the war. Angry at her betrayal, Castiel tells her he's leaving Ezekiel in charge because he has to go away for a bit. Back on earth, Alex's withdrawals include extremely vivid and troubling dreams/hallucinations. Castiel stays with her as she withdraws, caring for her through the worst of the symptoms. It takes days, but she finally is cleared to leave the room. Bobby has a lead on how where Crowley's bones are, which they can use as leverage against him, and he sends Cas and Alex to the task. Cas, who has a secret deal with Crowley, knows he can't let this happen. He and Alex go to Scotland, and she digs the bones up. They have a meaningful conversation about the past year. Then, over the phone, they use the bones as a way to cancel Bobby's soul deal with Crowley. Crowley then appears in Scotland, collects his bones and sasses around, and disappears again. Cas gives Alex back a penny on a chain that was given to her by him in the past, offscreen. He has to go back to Heaven, but he will be listening for her calls now and responding to them too.

* * *

**54: THE VAMPIRE DIARIES**

The Winchesters are hunting together again—trying to be normal after a year of nothing close to normal. Dean and Alex discuss Sam's recent weirdness. They are working a job where girls in their late teens are going missing. They pose as FBI and go to the most recent missing girl's house. Her room is a shrine to pop culture vampires. Her computer has messages from a guy pretending to be a vampire, and asking to meet at a specific bar. Alex nabs some clothes from the girls room, and they go to the bar with her dressed as bait. Dean runs into Jamie, who isn't looking good. She's working this job too, seemingly having a deathwish. While Dean is distracted by this, Alex runs across the man who is luring girls, and he takes her out back. Sam is watching, but does nothing—let's her get bitten and turned, then commanded to turn Dean too. She does. She and Dean both pass out and come to with Sam, who has called Samuel to their aid. He seems unbothered that his siblings have been turned into vampires and are suffering. Dean runs away to go to Lisa, and Alex attacks Sam and bites him. When Dean despairs at the thought of being this way forever, he calls Jamie and goes to her, telling her to kill him. She ends up putting him to sleep with witchcraft instead.

* * *

**55: FANGED UP**

Alex comes to, tied to a chair. Her grandfather Samuel is there. They do not get along at all. Jamie arrives, bringing an unconscious Dean with her. Jamie tells Alex she is going to see if she can find a spell to cure her—Alex confesses she killed Glen. After group discussion, they decide to use Dean and Alex's current vampire states to track down the vampire nest in town. They track it down and kill the leader. Samuel has the cure and it works on Dean, but it won't work on someone who has fed. Alex fed on Sam. Jamie does a magic spell, which renders both of them unconscious.

* * *

**56: TRUTH BE TOLD**

While Alex wakes up a handful of hours later in the hospital, Jamie is in a coma. When Alex was healed by her, she saw in her memories that Sam willfully let her get bitten. Dean learns from Samuel that Jamie believed healing Alex would kill her. Sam is insisting they get back to hunting. Reluctantly, Dean agrees. Alex privately tells Dean about Sam letting them turn. Dean gets cursed with the truth, and everyone tells him the 100% truth. Lisa calls and breaks up with Dean. Dean tries using this curse against Sam, but Sam is able to lie through it. Sam says he is so sorry, he froze, he didn't want Alex or Dean to get turned. Dean questions Alex about Cas and learns about their relationship. Alex's truths end up giving her a severely upset moment. They end up coming face to face with Veritas, the goddess of truth, who has been playing with this particular town. She makes them all tell truths, but when she gets to Sam, he manages to lie to her and it enrages her. In the upset, they manage to get the jump on her and kill her. The curse is broken. Dean attacks Sam, demanding to know who he is. Sam uses Alex as a shield, holding a knife to her. When Dean talks him into releasing her, he beats Sam senseless. Alex has to call Cas to break up the fight. Cas and Alex have a brief private moment, where they discuss the secret Alex almost told Dean this day. Cas looks at the penny necklace meaningfully. Alex says she thinks Dean might react badly if he finds out how they ran off and got married.

* * *

**57: APRIL 29TH, 2010**

This entire is a flashback to April 29th, 2010 when Cas and Alex had about a 18-24 hour period to themselves before the events of Chapter 42. They share a picnic, Cas tries candy, they connect, talk about how they think the world is ending, Castiel ends up asking Alex to marry him. He feels it's "right," both from a biblical perspective that is programed into him, but he also feels he wants to be committed to forever (and already is). Alex never imagined or fantasized about marriage, but is very in love with Cas and agrees.

* * *

**58: SONG OF SONGS 6:3**

Chuck marries them in his living room in a comical but heartfelt ceremony he cobbled together. Alex wears a thrift store dress. They exchange a penny that was in Cas's pocket, and Alex hands over her dad's ring for Cas to keep in his. After they're wed, Cas has a driving lesson and then they book a hotel room where they have their wedding night encounter. There's also a tickle fight scene. It's bittersweet, because they both feel they might not be alive in a few days.

* * *

**59: NOT BROKEN**

Back in present day, Dean confronts Cas about "screwing" his sister. He views Cas as an ancient pervert, and is afraid of Alex being hurt/the situation being out of his control. Alex slaps sense into him, literally, and they get back to the task of figuring out what's up with Sam. Castiel discovers that he has no soul, which explains a lot. Apparently, it's still in Hell. Nevertheless, they need him for the hunt. Sam takes Dean and Alex to Samuel's compound. Castiel comes too, and meets Samuel for the first time. Samuel is putting together a hunt the Winchesters go along for. On the hunt, Alex gets separated from the group and is attacked by a black-eyed Glen.

* * *

**60: BACK IN BLACK**

Glen, now a demon, attacks Alex. He wants revenge on her, and to finish what he'd started. He has plans to kill his sister, too. He beats Alex, but she calls to Castiel who comes down from Heaven and absolutely decimates Glen, but injures himself in the process. Sam and Dean arrive, and Sam is unbothered by what severely upsets Dean. They take both Alex to the hospital to recover.

* * *

**61: GET WELL SOON**

Cas and Dean have a heart to heart and seem to come to an understanding about Alex/Cas's relationship as Alex recovers. Dean discovers that Samuel is torturing an Alpha vampire for information, and lying to everyone about what he's doing. The Winchesters question the Alpha, and discover that each Alpha has a mother—they learn about Purgatory too. Samuel is trying to find out how to get there, apparently. Crowley appears and his alliance with Samuel is revealed. Crowley also reveals he brought Sam back, and he's now King of Hell. If they want Sam's soul back, they have to work for him. He asks for a live alpha in return for the soul. Dean and Sam decide to go work that job, and Alex goes to Bobby's.

* * *

**62: CUPID'S STUPID**

Alex and Garth work a case involving a cupid named Timmy. The chapter is light and humorous. Castiel appears and helps out at the end.

* * *

**63: WINCHESTER MYSTERY HOUSE**

The Ghosthunter crew connects with Alex, needing her help with a place called the Winchester Mystery House in San Jose California. She meets them there… and finds that there is a SuperNatural convention in town—the books Chuck has written about her and her brothers' lives. She sees cosplayers, Wincest, and more, sees people arguing over Destiel. Alex finally meets up with the Ghostfacers—Harry and Ed—who say they got separated from their girl Maggie in the house. The place is full of EMF. They discover that the entire house itself is the vengeful spirit. That means they have to torch the entire place. Adventure ensues, and Alex gets trapped in the burning house. Castiel comes to the rescue. They go back to Bobby's, and take a shower together.

* * *

**64: BREAKFAST AT BALTHAZAR'S**

A month later, Alex is biding time at Bobby's, helping with research and organization. Balthazar reveals himself to her, and he's two things: bored, and assigned to watch over her. He whisks her off to Paris for lunch, because he can't stand to spend another day at Bobby's. He apologizes for never delivering Cas's message. Balthazar expresses worry that Cas and Alex's relationship won't end well. He also tells her how Castiel isn't doing well under the pressures of the war. Meanwhile, Crowley tells Castiel to call Alex and Bobby off his case, says they're too close to messing him up. Castiel goes to Alex, finding her in Paris with Balthazar. He takes her to Norway to see the Northern Lights. Later, Dean calls with the good news that he and Sam are close by and coming to see her.

* * *

**65: CALLING ALL ANGELS**

Alex attempts to bake for the brothers and Bobby. She leaves sugar out of the pie, so it's horrible. Castiel appears too, and the group spends time together playing chess and just hanging out. Dean gets drunk and expresses his despair about losing Sam, yet having him there at the same time.

* * *

**66: SLOW BURN**

Three weeks later, Sam and Dean have both been knocked out and Meg/her henchmen have them bound to chairs. She wants them to tell her where Crowley is. They strike a deal that if Meg helps them find their Alpha, they'll hand Crowley to her with a bow. She leaves for the time being, and Alex shows up. She's been looking for Jamie, with no luck. Dean and Alex have a moment, and Sam goes outside and calls Cas with the false claim that Alex is hurt. He then demands Cas help them find Crowley. They go to Samuel's to see if his notes have anything they can use to locate Crowley. Samuel reveals that Crowley will give Mary back to him if he does what he's told. Later in the chapter, Castiel sees porn for the first time, and has questions, plus a boner. Samuel comes through with Crowley's compound location. They meet up with Meg and her henchmen, and head to the compound. Cas leaves briefly, making up an excuse, and lets Crowley know what's happening and they devise a plan to trick the Winchesters. The Winchesters and Meg storm the compound and are quickly caught in the trap.

* * *

**67: IN TOO DEEP**

The three Winchesters are caged up. Samuel appears to have sold them out. He argues with them through the cages, and Alex spits in his face then breaks his nose through the bars. Dean is taken away. The twins, who have been put in a cell together, draw a devil's trap on the ceiling with Sam's blood. They escape their cell and reunite with Dean and Meg. They surprise Crowley (or so they think), and Cas reappears with "Crowley's bones." Crowley admits he can't restore Sam's soul. Cas then destroys the fake bones and Crowley fakes his own death. Castiel is slowly dying of guilt and shame at the lies he can't seem to stop living. Alex and Cas have an intense argument, then rough makeup sex. He pushes the limits, and they go for numerous rounds, at an almost insane pace.

* * *

**68: SOUL SEARCHING**

Samuel limps back to his compound and into a secret shack where he's been keeping Jamie prisoner, keeping her sick/weak by making her heal him with her magic, and also using sedatives. However, she doesn't remember who she is, thanks to some magic from Crowley. Meanwhile, Alex is struggling with memories of Sam as he used to be, and how close they were as smaller children. She has a plan to get his soul back, and hasn't talked to anyone about it. She calls Cas to her, tells him to wait five minutes before bringing her back, then kills herself by using a syringe full of potassium chloride. Alex is now dead, and looking for a Reaper. Instead, she encounters Death himself. She asks what his price would be to bring both Sam and Adam back. Death shows Alex that back on earth, Castiel is in physical agony. He explains that Castiel has taken her soul claim from Hell into himself, and it's killing him slowly. Death says to "get that thing out of his chest" and then sends her back to earth. Castiel is angry at her, and then she's angry at him too for not telling her about the soul claim. He says he can't put it into the book of Heaven until Raphael is defeated. They fight more and Castiel leaves on unresolved terms.

* * *

**69: MY BROTHER'S KEEPER**

The Winchesters reunite and Dean says he too has talked to Death. Death says he can restore Sam's soul, and put up a wall to protect from the Hell memories. In exchange, Dean must wear Death's ring for 24 hours. He puts it on and gets to work. Sam, deciding he doesn't want his soul back, calls Balthazar in secret. When that gives him no answers, he calls Meg. She agrees, and requires sex from him as payment. He makes good on his end of the deal, and she tells him to make sure his soul can never re-enter his body, he has to scar his vessel. She says he needs to kill a family member to scar the vessel. Sam knows which sibling will be easier to kill, and begins to plan it. He stalks Bobby's residence at night, and knocks Bobby out, which is when Alex discovers him. She aims a gun at him, but can't bring herself to shoot him. He knocks her out in her moment of weakness. When she wakes up, Sam has prepared for her to call Cas, who he traps in a ring of holy oil. At the last possible moment, Dean appears, taking the ring off and knocking Sam out cold. He failed to wear the ring for the full day, but saved Alex's life. Later, Alex is able to talk Cas into letting her have her soul claim. He gives it to her to keep until he can access the book. Meanwhile, Dean and Bobby discuss with to do with Sam. And then, Death appears and does what he promised, despite Dean not meeting his end of the deal. Sam's soul is restored, and he falls into a coma-like state. The next day, he wakes up, and he's himself. He doesn't remember the year he spent soulless. His last memory is killing Cas, Alex, Bobby, and almost Dean. It's an emotional reunion.

* * *

**70: TABULA RASA**

Three days later, Dean has told everyone they are not to tell Sam about the year of him being soulless or what he did. He fears it will break the wall in Sam's mind. They tell Sam he has _just_ gotten back. Samandriel the angel is sent by Castiel with flowers for Alex, as he wants to try and treat her better and make the times apart easier. The next day, the Winchesters head out for a new job, Sam insisting he's fine and wants to come. Sam finds out that Dean and Alex went separate ways for the year he was gone and he's shocked. The next day, the siblings are on downtime. Alex is happy-drunk in a bar with Dean. Cas appears, and very drunk Alex drags him to a convenience store with her to buy things, then they go to their motel room forcing Sam and Dean to wait outside while they go at it. The next day, Alex has a terrible hangover. She and her brothers work a job for most of the day, and later on when Cas comes to see Alex and she's stepped out, Sam fools Castiel into telling him about his soulless year. When Alex comes back, Sam apologizes to her—he's absolutely gutted.

* * *

**71: DATE NIGHT**

They return to Bobby's. Sam confronts Dean about the soulless year and the decision not to tell this information to Sam. The twins have a scene where they're laying on the grass staring at the sky together and having a meaningful conversation. Later, Cas is able to spare some time and he takes Alex to dinner at Biggerson's. They have a conversation, share food, and Cas heals a little girl at a nearby table out of the goodness of his heart. They go home, and spend some time in the attic cuddling together. It's revealed that Cas did not give her soul claim to her, but acted like he did, tricking her. Later, Castiel and Balthazar conspire to steal heavenly weapons from the angel Daniel's possession. But to do it, they need to create a diversion using the Winchesters…

* * *

**72: PARDON MY FRENCH**

Balthazar has cast the Winchesters into an alternate reality to hide them from Raphael's henchmen. The brothers find themselves on some kind of TV set… with no Alex. The boys quickly discover they're on set of a show called Supernatural, which is a show about two brothers hunting paranormal foes. There is no Alex Winchester in an otherwise duplicate universe. They do some research using Jensen's trailer, and find that a fanfiction author named River Winters has written a story about Alex Winchester and it's blow-for-blow their actual story. They devise a way to learn her address so they can go talk to her. Meanwhile, in Hawaii, Alex comes to, crashing into hot pavement and finds herself face to face with Johnny Depp. Everyone there is calling her Astrid, and there are pirates everywhere. Alex thinks she must be hallucinating. She finds out that Sam and Dean are characters in a show called Supernatural, which films in Canada. She sets out immediately, but not before punching Johnny Depp. Meanwhile, the boys have lucked out. The author of the fanfiction with Alex lives close, and they've gotten to her residence a few hours later. They attempt to convince her of who they are but she refuses to believe, until she tests them by having them separately, without looking, write down Alex's first word or words, a detail only they would know. They do so and reveal it to her at the exact same moment: "Dean." The author freaks out, and then freaks out because she doesn't understand how she can know what she knows. She can't give the boys too much information except the actress who plays Alex: Astrid Berges-Frisbey. According to twitter, Astrid had a meltdown on set and punched Johnny Depp. The brothers know they found their sister, and will go sit tight and wait for her. Alex watches Supernatural on her 19 hour flight, and can't believe how she got erased. The brothers looked up flights and have a general idea of when to expect their sister. One waits at Jared Padalecki's house in case she shows up there, the other one waits on set. Alex arrives to set but encounters Misha in a parking lot, who is leaving for the night. She sees him get carjacked, and she gives chase and saves his life.

* * *

**73: EVERYBODY HATES KRIPKE**

Alex manages to save Misha from being murdered, and kills the powerless angel who attempted to hurt him. Misha takes Alex to the Padalecki residence where she encounters Ruby… Genevieve Padalecki. More comical antics ensue. When Sebastian Roché gets killed though, Sam and Alex and Misha hightail to set where they find that two rogue angels are on the loose, searching for them on Raphael's behalf. However one of them has already been killed by Alex. They encounter Kripke, who admits to the Winchesters that he comes from their universe and knows about their life because he's a prophet—but he decided to write out most of the female characters because he wanted a male driven TV show. The other angel appears, and gives the Winchesters a run for their money, but they manage to kill him right before they're sucked back into their universe. There, Raphael is waiting. However, Castiel appears and saves them in the last second. He takes them back to Bobby's, where he and Alex share time together. Although their stress levels are getting worse, they still love each other very much. The chapter ends with an ominous statement that they don't know it, but this would be their last good night together.

* * *

**74: KEEPING UP APPEARANCES**

Chapter opens with the twins giving each other haircuts as they've done most of their life. Dean is being grumpy and going through some shit. Sam is worrying about what he did (and doesn't know about doing) when he was soulless. The group gets a lead on Eve, the "mother of all" that the Alpha Vampire mentioned. Dean gets a call 911 from Ben that turns out to be false—kid just wanted Lisa and Dean back together. Lisa and Dean fight instead, and Dean explains to Ben that it's over between them then leaves. It's a lot on Dean. A couple days later, they link up with Rufus and Bobby to see about following up on the Eve lead. They run into Samuel's crew, too—and Jamie. She looks bad, doesn't know her name, and Dean attacks Samuel right away and the scene erupts into confusion. Dean attempts to attack his family at a certain point and they learn that there's a creature, a worm, that is possessing people and controlling their minds. Jamie kills Samuel. After the worm leaves Dean, it enters Samuel's dead body. After they use electricity to get the worm out, they all decide to test themselves. Bobby has the worm, and stabs Rufus to death. They trap the worm inside of Bobby and question it through Bobby. The worm tells them that Eve is going to make sure the earth is more creatures than human. That everyone will die. They kill the worm through electrocution. Later, they have buried Rufus. Dean volunteers to drive Jamie a few states over to get back to her car, since that's where her wallet, gear, etc is. They are on friend terms again.

* * *

**75: DUST IN THE WIND**

The chapter begins with a flashback: In 1912, the Titanic doesn't sink. This twist of fate goes on to change many, many things. Present day: Sam and Dean are about to leave for a job. They feel like they're forgetting something. They can't figure out what. Twenty-six years ago, John Winchester, dad to three kids who he can barely manage (one of whom is mute), is getting drunk on a bourbon that was created by immigrants from the Titanic. Dean is 7, the twins are 3. The kids are stressing him out, and he feels guilty that he's not doing what he's supposed to do for them. He's been thinking about it for awhile, but he decides to give her away to the state so she can have a better life. He tells the boys he's going to the gas station with her, then hours later comes back and tells the brothers there was an accident and she's dead. When John is in the hospital in 2006, he confesses to Dean there was no accident. That Alex was given over to state custody. Dean fights with his dad, enraged. The brothers set to work tracking down their sister, who will be an adult now. They visit DHS in the county they'd been in that fateful night. They find out that Alex did not do well at all—sabotaged all her foster placements, failed in school, refused to sign. She overdosed on sleeping pills at fifteen. Sam and Dean go to visit her grave. Present day, Dean is feeling more and more off as they try to work the current job. They encounter Balthazar, who admits to tampering with time for his own gains. He says there are no rules anymore. He asks about Alex, realizes she's dead in this timeline he's created, and he disappears. Cas and Balthazar meet up somewhere private and Balthazar tells Cas that HIS plan to sink the Titanic to create new souls, has resulted in Alex being dead. Cas goes to see for himself, in the past. And realizes he has to change it back. The Winchester three wake up in the Impala. Sam and Dean both had the same dream. Alex remembers nothing.

* * *

**76: SHADOW OF A DOUBT**

The Winchester three and Bobby are at Samuel's now-abandoned compound, trying to find the library. When they discover it, they set to work poring over the books for information on Eve. They get a lead that requires them to go back in time to track down a Phoenix to harvest its ash, which can supposedly kill Eve. They think they can get Cas to help with sending them back, but when they call him, Rachel appears instead. She clearly dislikes Alex, and just when it looks like things might get physical between Alex and Rachel, Cas shows. He agrees to send them back in time. Dean confides in Cas about the "freaky dream" he and Sam had about Alex (from chapter 75) and Cas lies to him, which pains Cas. He is feeling more and more guilty and ashamed for all the secrets. Alex is noticing that something is wrong with Cas beyond what seems obvious (stress of the war). Bobby, Dean, and Sam are going to go back in time to the wild west to collect the Phoenix ash while Alex stays behind and mans the house. Cas tells them they only have twenty-four hours, or else he risks losing them. Alex is put in charge of time keeping in present time. After sending the boys back, Cas returns to Heaven, where Rachel confronts him about his allegiance to Alex and the Winchesters. She disappears halfway through, and goes to earth to attack Alex in her rage. Cas and Alex kill her together in the fight, but Cas gets injured in the fight—stabbed badly. He passes out, and Alex panics. Samandriel appears and puts a protection ward out to keep them hidden, then says he isn't sure when Cas will recover, but not before alluding to rumors in Heaven about Cas doing some dark deeds. When Cas awakes a few hours later, he says he isn't strong enough to bring back the boys without doing something drastic: a soul touch. Alex agrees to it immediately. At first it hurts, but then their souls touch and she can see everything Cas ever was. And then she sees his lies, the Purgatory deal, the Crowley alliance. She sees his soul claim lie, the other lies. And when the touch ends, Cas realizes, and takes her memory of it to protect himself. A thing he swore to never do again. Watching Alex believe him to be this amazing person and forgetting the truth is another blow to Castiel. Cas successfully brings the brothers back, and everyone hails him as hero.

* * *

**77: MOTHER OF ALL**

The Winchesters work on putting the Phoenix ash into bullets. Alex is struggling with some feelings of doubt because Cas has been acting so oddly and her intuition says something is wrong. The gang needs to track down Eve now—Alex suggests Jamie, who can do a tracking spell since Eve is warded against angels. Cas brings Jamie to Bobby's for the first time. She agrees to help and casts the spell, locating Eve. The crew, including Jamie and Cas, heads to a small town in Oregon to find Eve's specific location. Alex is trying to get Cas to talk with her, and he's being guarded and cold with her almost. Cas finds himself powerless in the town, which means Eve must be close. They find a strange, hard-to-kill humanoid creature in this town that Dean calls "Jefferson Starships." The boys get themselves captured by some, and Alex/Jamie rescue them. They capture one live, and the group interrogate the creature. Cas gets Eve's location out of him, and they attempt to draw her out. Instead they're drawn into a trap. Luckily Dean outsmarts and kills her—but not before she drops information that Crowley is still alive. Afterward, Cas says he will try to find out about Crowley and leaves. This is when Bubby develops suspicions about Cas, since he's the one who burned Crowley's bones. Alex defends him valiantly.

* * *

**78: HEAVY IS THE HEAD THAT WEARS THE CROWN**

Castiel is consumed by guilt and remorse and stress due to the nightmare he has willingly signed up to be part of. He questions his morals, his intentions, and his choices but everything has been to protect the Winchesters - especially Alex. The Winchesters meanwhile have noticed many times that their angel friend is acting oddly. When they interact next, the brothers catch Cas in a lie and when the angel leaves again, they are all horrified and frightened. They decide to lure and trap Cas and get answers from him since he is clearly lying and has been for a long time. They use Alex as a lure and then trap Cas in a ring of fire, where they find out upon pressing that Cas has been working with Crowley to save them all, or so Castiel thinks. He admits it and the Winchesters are dismayed. Alex says she doesn't even know him. In the heat of the moment, Cas accidentally reveals he is married to her, and the brothers are double shocked. When Cas tells them they have to run and that Crowley is coming, the situation is left unresolved—however Sam and Dean are infuriated and in disbelief at their sister.

* * *

**79: LONG ROAD TO RUIN**

Bobby, Sam, Dean, and Alex drive back to Bobby's and not a word is said. Once they arrive though, the brothers tear into their sister verbally, both hurt by the deception and alarmed, angry. Dean even says he can't believe she did this without him there, to give her away. He does insist that Cas is dangerous and Alex has to end it and get away before she gets hurt. Meanwhile, Samandriel appeals to Castiel to walk away from this dark deal with Crowley. Cas leaves the interaction feeling that he needs to go apologize to Dean for the deception first and foremost. They argue, have a few small breakthroughs and understandings, and Dean begs Cas to stop while he can. The risks of opening Purgatory are too great. Working with Crowley is too dangerous. Cas insists he has to. He then goes to Alex in the attic and she's taken off her penny necklace and says Cas ruined everything with his lies and actions. She tells him to leave, that she can't do this anymore. Sam and Alex then have a heart to heart - he apologizes for blowing up at her. Sam also tells Alex how he knew, from when Lucifer possessed her body, that she had been pregnant by a few days.

* * *

**80: TAKEN**

Cas and Alex are struggling to understand the lost baby they never knew about, added in with all the other circumstances surrounding them right now. Cas attempts to sway Alex to be on-board with his plans for Purgatory. They fight, and then he is banished from the house - Sam and Dean have corrected the angel wards. Later that day, Ben calls Dean in a panic - someone has broken into their house and is attacking Lisa. Crowley comes to the phone and says to Dean that he's taken Lisa and Ben, and also Jamie for good measure - that he wants the Winchesters to all back off or their friends get killed. Cas attempts to intervene, but Crowley says the only way to stop him is to find/open Purgatory. Cas appeals to Dean to stand down and let him do what Crowley is asking. Balthazar comes to Alex and tries to tell her how dangerous the souls will be if Cas uses them as an arsenal against Raphael - that he won't be able to control the power. He wants Alex to convince Cas to stop. Alex and Dean plan to go rescue Jamie/Ben/Lisa, but Alex swears she is done with hunting after this, she can't take anymore. They track down the demons who are holding the group hostage, but they're possessing them too, meaning they can't fight the demons without hurting Jamie, Ben, or Lisa. In the process of exorcism and rescue, Ben is severely wounded. Jamie is stabbed too. At the hospital, Lisa berates Dean as her child fights for his life. Cas appears, and Dean asks him to heal Ben and then remove memories of Dean/the Winchesters from Ben for their safety. It's a painful moment for him, and he goes to Jamie's bedside afterward. They have a quiet moment, in which he asks about when her soul deal is up and her deathday will come. She doesn't give him an answer. He says he wants to help her get out of it. She's not hopeful about it. Cas is becoming so desperate to get through to Alex, who is refusing all his attempts to talk or reconcile, that he takes drastic action. He decides to take her, and prove himself by force. The brothers see it happen.

* * *

**81: ALL COMES CRASHING DOWN**

The brothers are panicking. They try calling Balthazar but nothing happens - they call Samandriel instead, who appears. He says he doesn't know how to find Cas, and all he can do is take them back to Bobby's. He disappears once they arrive. Meanwhile, Alex finds herself locked in some derelict old building, Cas leaving her there after saying she just has to wait, then she'll see. Crowley comes by to gloat, and they have an altercation - then he disappears and Alex hears sounds of someone being tortured nearby. Castiel is summoned by force by the brothers and trapped in holy oil. They demand he return their sister, he says he is going to show her he's doing the right thing. They all threaten each other, then Sam shoots Cas in the shoulder with a holy-oil laced bullet. Castiel realizes he has to do something dire and he telekinetically moves an object he runs across out of the circle, then he touches Sam, breaking the wall in his mind so that Dean will be distracted and useless. Cas returns to Alex to yet again attempt to convince her to his side. He begs her to trust him, she begs him not to do what he's doing. He shows her around, reveals a bit of the plan to her, shows her a jar with substance inside of it required to open Purgatory. Alex is angry and attempts to leave, then realizes she can possibly thwart what's about to happen. But it will require trickery. So she goes back to him and pretends to be apologetic, coaxes him down, and they have sex while she plans to destroy the jar directly after. However Cas catches her before she can, and he's betrayed. He sends her back to the locked room, and Balthazar appears and attempts to rescue Alex—he is killed in the process by Cas, who accuses Alex of cheating on him with Balthazar. He does a soul touch to see the truth, but is so angry and upset that he isn't gentle, and he accidentally kills her in the process.

* * *

**82: REST IN PEACE**

Meanwhile, Sam has recalled everything he did when soulless, and he is trapped in nightmares and horrors of Hell. Dean and Bobby are trying to rouse him, seemingly without luck—and then Sam suddenly awakes and even though he's not doing the best, he insists they have to go find their sister. While this happens, Castiel has destroyed Alex's soul, shattering it, and he cannot bring her back unless he has more power. Therefore, he is even more trapped into completing the ritual to open Purgatory, absorb the souls, and kill Raphael - and also resurrect/reconstruct Alex's soul. He is double crossed by Crowley, but a last minute sleight of hand enables him to gain the upper hand, do the ritual himself, then come back with incredible, dark power. Just as Raphael is attempting the ritual (with the wrong jar of blood), the Winchesters have arrived. Crowley knocks them aside easily. That's when they see their dead sister, and are overcome with shock and despair. Cas appears then, telling Crowley and Raphael they used the wrong blood and it's useless. He seems eerily calm and detached - not himself at all. Cas kills Raphael easily as Crowley escapes. Cas turns to the distraught Winchesters and Bobby, who beg him to bring Alex back. He is offhand and says in time, but first they need to thank him for saving them. Dean immediately senses how dangerous this is, and he is chilled completely. He complies, thanking Cas out of fear. They beg him to bring back Alex and disarm himself of the weird power he's suddenly acquired. Cas is cold and introduces himself as the new God, saying he needs to punish Raphael's followers. It's revealed he killed Alex by accident, and Dean tries to kill him with the angel blade. It doesn't work. Cas kills Dean without remorse, then Bobby as they attempt to fight him. Cas takes Alex (still dead) and leaves Sam reeling, his whole family dead. Cas takes Alex to the throne room of Heaven, and he is basking in his new power and the lack of feeling he is experiencing. His power has him intoxicated, and he is swept away in delusions of grandeur and plans to cleanse the world and make it a good place. He commands Alex to awake, and she comes back to life.

* * *

**83: DESTROYER**

We learn about ancient creatures of Behemoth and Leviathan - creatures that now live inside of Cas with his celestial power. Being as these beings now were inside of Castiel whose love of Alex was legend, the feelings and thoughts of her also became the feelings/thoughts of the creatures too. When Alex is brought back to life, she remembers nothing and is confused, and quickly frightened when she realizes what has happened. Castiel is clearly not himself. He calls himself the new God, he finds her protests and attacks annoying, repeatedly demands she submits to him, physically and mentally too. He drags her around with him as he attempts to cleanse the world - it lasts for over a week. His body/vessel begins to fail, as the power inside of it corrupts him. Alex grows worse and worse physically and mentally, and continually appeals to Cas who is somewhere deep down inside past this strange new being inside of him. The chapter ends with the real Cas coming through, but only after subjecting Alex to terrible things.

* * *

**84: THE RESURRECTION AND THE LIFE**

We go back about a week in time. Sam is struggling with his broken mental wall—he's hallucinating nonstop—and Dean/Bobby are dead. He calls Jamie, not knowing what else to do in his fragile, unstable state. When she arrives he doesn't remember doing that. She learns about what's happened, and quickly helps by first freezing Dean and Bobby's bodies for the time being. On TV, Sam and Jamie see Cas and Alex in news reports. Alex is alive, which gives Sam a little relief. The two of them summon Crowley, hoping to figure out a way to defeat Cas. He doesn't prove helpful, but they restrain him until further notice. Sam continues to suffer hallucinations as he and Jamie attempt to track Cas and Alex. Crowley escapes after Sam drinks his blood. Sam is alone when Cas and Alex come to him, Cas being weakn and broken and holding the creatures back as long as he can. He resurrects Bobby and Dean. As he is dying, he gives Alex her dad's ring back, and they have a tearful goodbye, believing he is leaving forever. They do the spell to send the souls back to Purgatory, which should leave Cas dead. Instead, the Leviathan are left in him, and attack the Winchesters. Cas's body walks off and into a lake, disappearing there completely.

* * *

**85: SUNNY MEADOWS**

Daphne Weaver finds Castiel—without memories or clothes—as he crawls out of the lake. He has nothing except a penny on a chain with him. Daphne is perhaps not all there mentally, and obsessed with her faith in a guiding god above. She believes this man has been sent to her, and is intended by this god to be her mate and husband. She takes him home with her, to care for him. He remembers nothing. Four weeks later, Alex has committed herself to a mental institution due to a complete psychotic break. She is disassociating and having panic attacks, cycling through a pattern of psychosis and post-traumatic stress. In parallel to her, Cas has named himself Emmanuel, is living with Daphne, and seeing small things that remind him of _something_ but he can't remember what.

* * *

**86: ALL NIGHTMARE LONG**

We are introduced to Dick Roman, a powerful CEO in America. Only, he's not actually Dick Roman… he's Leviathan, and he's Original. The first of his kind. Leviathans can transform themselves/copy into any person they wish, which means they can go undetected in human population. They devour humans as their food, and as such, they are after a way to make the human species as a whole dumber, fatter, and yummier. Another Leviathan called Lesser and he are discussing what to do about Alex Winchester—who they want to eat, and also protect at the same time. Castiel's vessel/mind had this effect on all Leviathan. Original (otherwise known as Dick) sends Lesser to go get her, and Dick says he'll figure out if he will eat her or protect her later. He also warns Lesser to look out for Least—who he calls "that little defect." Meanwhile, Dean and Jamie meet up to work a job with her and attempt to figure out the new villain on the block: Leviathan. They bond further and Jamie attempts to reason with Dean about his feelings on therapy/mental health/Alex. Sam continues to suffer nightmares and hallucinations, and quickly is losing his grip on reality. Bobby's house burns to the ground, an arson job done by Leviathans. At Sunny Meadows Mental Health Center, Alex steals a letter opener and attempts to kill herself with it.

* * *

**87: WORST CASE SCENARIO**

Daphne attempts to seduce Emmanuel, who does not want to partake. Daphne insists that he is meant to be hers, that god showed her visions, that he's been sent to her to be her spouse. She says she hopes when he is ready, he will come share her bed with her. Meanwhile, Alex is still alive, and coming to in a hospital bed where she's been restrained for her own protection. She realizes that Castiel, when he was Godstiel, made her immortal. She can't die, even if she wanted to. She is sent back to Sunny Meadows. Christmas comes and goes. Alex exists in a shallow, depressed, meaningless blur of days. She develops an opiate addiction to her pain medication—the feeling of being high is the only feeling she likes anymore. Whenever her brothers call, she pretends everything is okay. Two months after she tried to kill herself, Alex and her sort-of-friend Zip—a nervous, tic-y, socially awkward doofus—are growing a bit closer. He helps get her drugs sometimes. He's sweet to her. They both feel like outcasts. Meanwhile Dean and Jamie come to Sunny Meadows and Dean sleuths Alex's patient file and finds out the truth.

* * *

**88: NOWHERE GIRL**

Dean confronts his sister about the contents of the file and how bad she's doing. Dean fills his sister in on Leviathan, and all they've learned about them, including that Borax is deadly to them. They end up fighting when she learns that he snooped. They part on bad terms. Two weeks later, Bobby visits Alex. They have a heart to heart, in a moment that is very father/daughter, a moment John never really gave to her. Alex realizes in that moment, that Bobby has been, for years, a dad to her.

* * *

**89: DEAD LIKE ME**

Bobby is near death on life support, and the Winchesters rush to be with him at the hospital. Dick Roman, aka Original, shot him. They're not sure if he will make it or not. Dean reacts badly, acting an ass because of how upset and scared he is. Alex of course is in delicate condition already and this threatens to break her all over again. Bobby regains consciousness for a brief moment and writes down a number for them, then with a last little smile at his kids, he dies. A few days later, Alex has refused to be part of life again and is at Sunny Meadows, feeling sorry for herself and alone and scared to lose anything else. In a moment of weakness and defeat and wanting to feel something again, Alex and Zip have sex. Afterward, she regrets it and just wishes she could go back in time to when her family was okay, Bobby was alive, and Cas was there. Alex finally feels ready to leave Sunny Meadows after her encounter with Zip, and goes to his room to see if she can find anything she will need. She finds Castiel's coat, and then a series of realizations come to her. Zip had checked into the hospital the same day she did, he disappeared for strange days and times, etc etc - it begins to become apparent that he is not who has has said he is. When Alex hits him with a mop that is wet with a Borax solution, the truth is revealed: he is a Leviathan. He begs her saying he's not like the rest of them. His real name is Least. He says he is all that's left of Cas. He says he can even look like Cas for her, if she wants. Alex leaves, taking Cas's trenchcoat, telling Zip that if he follows she will kill him. For the first time in awhile, she feels motivated to do something with her life.

* * *

**90: CARRY ON**

About three weeks later, the brothers are still trying to figure out the five digit number Bobby wrote down before he died. Dean specifically doesn't want to accept that Bobby is dead and gone. Alex has not rejoined the the brothers. Jamie is off hunting with another crew currently. Two weeks later, we catch up with Alex, who left Sunny Meadows for an in-patient mental health clinic to start really working on rehab from her new drug problem as well as addressing things in very intensive therapy. She is currently doing letters to all the important people in her life—letters they may never read, but they've been written to get her emotions out for processing. She hasn't been able to write one for Cas. She and her doctor then do a roleplay exercise where he is John Winchester, and they dialogue and confront her buried feelings and issues and anger towards her dad. A couple days later, Alex has finished with the five week program and is on her way back to her brothers. But before she rejoins and surprises them, she finds it inside of herself to write Castiel that letter. She goes to the place where she saw Castiel walk into the water, and she takes his coat into the water, intending to leave it there and find closure and move on from his death. She realizes she isn't ready yet though when the moment comes, and she keeps his coat.

* * *

**91: CLOWNING AROUND**

The brothers are working a job that seems central to a Plucky's chain store—a game-and-pizza place for kids, with a creepy clown mascot. Sam hates clowns particularly, having a phobia of them from childhood. Alex shows back up as they are working the job, and everyone is very happy to be together again. Alex is very different than she had been, and it even weirds Sam and Dean out that she's seemingly SO normal and okay now. They all catch each other up on the past five months, and Alex gives Sam the letter she wrote him. They bond over this, despite Lucifer still being in Sam's head often as Alex and creating issues. The siblings work the clown job successfully and find an old stride, settling back into who they are. Two weeks later, while working another job, Alex notices Zip's motorcycle and tells her brothers about Zip and that he's following her. Later during the job, he saves all their lives by killing one of his own kind. Five days later, Sam is doing worse with his Hell hallucinations. Sam fears he will die soon. Dean and Alex head out to find someone they have heard is a healer—someone named Emmanuel. The chapter ends with Alex seeing Castiel, and them staring at each other in shock.

* * *

**92: DO I KNOW YOU?**

Castiel doesn't know who Alex is, but he's immediately transfixed by her, and drawn to her. Dean and Alex quickly realize he doesn't know who he is (they also wonder if this is Cas or another imposter), and afraid to somehow break the spell, they don't tell him who they are. Dean even refers to Alex as "Elizabeth" to not trigger Cas's memory. He accidentally assumes that Alex is the one they seek healing for, and outs her as having an opiate addiction to Dean, who is shocked. They meet Daphne, who Alex immediately hates—she is beside herself with shock and grief to learn Cas is alive, has forgotten her, and is "married" to another woman. Daphne's smug attitude earns her a punch in the mouth. Dean begs for Emmanuel/Cas's help, and Cas feels that he must go with them, despite Daphne "forbidding" it.

* * *

**93: REVELATION**

Dean drives Emmanuel and Alex toward Sam, and while they drive, it becomes apparent that Emmanuel is very much indeed Cas from his mannerisms, personality, and temperament. Alex is trying not to break down, and Cas senses her emotional pain and comments on it. Dean pulls over to get gas and snacks, and when Emmanuel gently presses Alex for information she has to get out of the car, she gets so upset. He follows her, and asks to please let him heal her—she got a gash earlier, but she's been refusing to let him touch her. When she finally consents to letting him heal her, the touch jolts his memories and sends him back into himself—he realizes who he is, and who she is. They have a tearful reunion and kiss passionately, then Cas flings off the ring he had been wearing from Daphne. A few seconds later, an angry Daphne who followed them rushes up and demands an explanation. Alex lets her have it verbally, and threatens to fuck her up physically if she doesn't leave. Daphne leaves. As Cas settles back into his memories, he remembers the horrible things he did as Godstiel, and becomes completely overwhelmed, then flees the scene by disappearing into thin air. Dean returns… with Meg the Demon in tow, who Dean says just saved his ass in an attack inside the store. He calls her "backup." Alex can't be bothered with much else in the moment except finding Cas, who she thinks she knows where he must have gone. She leaves in search of him immediately.

* * *

**94: WALLS OF JERICHO**

Alex finds Cas in a nearby park, where he is miserable with himself and everything he's done. He feels guilt and self-hatred and despair at what he caused to happen, the lives he took, the Leviathan he let into the world. He asks Alex what has happened to her while he hasn't remembered, and he is even more heartbroken when she tells him about her mental breakdown. Eventually Alex is able to talk him into coming back with her to save Sam and make some small amends in that way. When they get back to the car, Dean asks Cas if he really does remember everything, and when he says he does, Dean punches him hard and says they're not square, but for now they're gonna hang in and fix Sam. Cas gets his coat back, and they head out. Meg comes with them. Cas and Alex have tension between them, and not the greatest kind—they both have a lot of negative emotions and consequences from everything that happened, and it's difficult emotional terrain to navigate. They manage to steal a moment together later and have sex, regaining some of their old relationship back—but, Cas says he just doesn't think he can be with her like he was before for fear of something bad happening again. He wants to remove himself from her life except for some visits sometimes. Alex is beside herself at his statements. They have a disagreement about it, and leave the moment on bad terms.

* * *

**95: TRADING SPACES**

The group keeps making their way to Sam and is attacked by demons at the hospital. Meg proves helpful, saving their lives a couple times. When Cas makes it to Sam, he bears the bad news that Sam's mind is gone, and there is nothing to rebuild or heal. He is shattered. Cas then realizes he can shift Sam—take Sam's brokenness and pain into himself and give Sam his mental wellbeing. Cas doesn't know if he will survive this, and almost seems to wish he wouldn't. Alex protests, but in the end it's Cas's choice and he choses to save Sam. Sam recovers and is himself again, and Cas falls into unconsciousness. The Winchesters have to make the choice to leave, but Cas needs to be left where he can be looked after. Alex of course insists she's staying, which the brothers worry over, but have little choice about. Meg also volunteers to stay and keep watching, help Alex fight off any other demons that come looking to kill Cas. Meanwhile, Dick Roman has finally captured Zip, and is being held. Dick says he'll let him go but only if he leads him to Alex Winchester. He says he has a month to deliver Alex or get killed for not complying—Dick then throws Zip out a window, sending him plummeting to what would be his death if he wasn't a Leviathan.

* * *

**96: ENEMY OF MY ENEMY**

Alex settles in beside Cas's unresponsive self in the bed and reflects back, losing herself in memories. A demon comes in and attacks her, and Meg saves her life then teases her about how Alex had insisted Meg was not needed. Meg insists that she is not an enemy anymore, as she is on her own and needs allies. So the girls become a somewhat unwilling team. Alex gets a job as janitor at the hospital, and Meg somehow manages to get a nurse job. This way they can always be at the hospital without attracting attention. Alex relapses on opioids to deal with reality. The twins turn 30. Dean and Jamie, offscreen, finally hook up. Kevin Tran makes his first appearance. Meg and Alex watch Cas wake up, and when he does, he grins stupidly at Alex and says she's pretty.

* * *

**97: CRAZY TRAIN**

Although Cas has awoken, he is not himself. He's simple, childlike, silly, and surface level. Alex can't get him to focus or respond in any useful way. He is much more concerned with smelling flowers and following honeybees and trying to make Alex some delicious waffles. Cas insists he doesn't want to do anything serious, and would rather play all day. The brothers come to meet them about 24 hours later with a mysterious stone that seems to be connected to Cas waking up. They are shocked at Cas's odd mental condition and silly behavior. They are appealing to him for help with the ever-worsening Leviathan problem but Cas insists "bad things happen" when he uses his powers and tries to help.

* * *

**98: PROPHET MARGINS**

While Sam and Meg argue, someone slips in and steals the stone. The two give chase and stop who appears to be a teenager. He says his name is Kevin Tran, and he is extremely scared and nervous and won't let go of the stone—in fact he says he can't let go of it. He says he's a student and he seems disoriented and confused as to why he is there. He says all he knows is the stone is "for him" and he can't let anyone else have it. He can read what's written on the stone, when Cas couldn't. An angel named Hester appears with another named Inias, and they try to take the stone. When she sees Cas, she is shocked. Heaven believed him dead. The situation begins to escalate and Dean appears, banishing the angels with a spell. They have to get on the road, now. Kevin is freaking out. The Winchesters take him under their wings and whisk him away, realizing they have to keep him safe until they can figure out this stone, which apparently angels, Leviathan, and demons alike want. It's apparently "The Word of God" and very valuable if it can be translated properly. Only Kevin can do this, because apparently he is a prophet. He had no idea, obviously, and is deeply upset that his entire life just changed. The crew, including Meg, makes for somewhere secluded and secret. Cas continues his odd shenanigans, being mostly useless and silly.

* * *

**99: CABIN FEVER**

The group holes up in one of Rufus' old hunting cabin in the middle of nowhere, trying to figure out their next move. Tensions continue between Alex and Dean, and Dean and Cas. Alex and Dean fight, and she punches him in the face. Jamie joins then, on Dean's request to help ward the cabin. She can't stay, but she and Dean have a heart-to-heart before she goes.

* * *

**100: MURPHY'S LAW**

The atmosphere in the cabin is toxic, with everyone fighting and not getting along. Sam accuses Dean of being different and not himself, and Dean pushes him away emotionally. At some point, Meg goes missing. Alex stays with Kevin while the rest look for her, and she learns about Kevin. They strike up the beginnings of a friendship. He translates from the stone tablet, a way to banish leviathan. The brothers/Cas return. Then, Hester appears and tries to take Kevin. At the last second, Meg reappears and saves them all by killing Hester. Later, Bobby appears as a ghost to Alex and advises her on his thoughts about the translation Kevin got. The chapter ends with Alex out in the woods, being snuck up on by Zip.

* * *

**101: THE RISE OF DICK**

Zip is holding Alex tight where she can't struggle, and insists she isn't safe there. He says Dick Roman is after her hardcore, and she isn't safe, let him help her. Cas shows up and for a moment, he seems more himself as he attacks Zip. Zip wounds Cas, then Sam, then Dean as they all show up, and he grows angrier and angrier. He pushes Alex in anger, accidentally into a long metal spike where she is impaled. However she is immortal still, and in the chaos of attending to her, Zip escapes. This is where the brothers learn about Alex's condition of never being able to die. Cas disappears soon thereafter, upset and saying he cannot handle his thoughts and just needs to be somewhere beautiful. The Winchesters pack up and flee, now knowing there are Leviathans after them including Zip. They check into a motel and see news that Dick Roman has acquired SucroCorp, a food additive company specializing in high fructose corn syrup. The siblings theorize the Leviathans are going to try and take over the food supply this way. They decide they have to take down Dick to affect all Leviathans, and they will begin with summoning Crowley. They tell him their plan and tell them how they need his blood to complete a spell to do so. Crowley is talked into it. Later, the siblings have a talk and Alex learns, by accident, that Jamie sold her soul at some point. Dean admits he wants to go see if he can put an end to that after the wrap up the Leviathan problem. The next day, at a gas station, the siblings see people acting oddly, in trances. It seems like the food takeover has already started. Dean steps out to call Jamie and warn her. She seems distracted, and he presses her. That's when she tells him she thinks she is pregnant.

* * *

**102: BEHIND ENEMY LINES**

Dean promises Jamie he is going to come directly to her as soon as they've killed Dick, he will come to her. The Winchesters work on gathering the ingredients they need to do the spell and kill Dick. Alex stalks off, because she is in her feelings about how her brothers tell her she's rusty and don't want her to foil their efforts. Cas reappears with the news that Kevin, who had been taken back to his home to be guarded by angels, is missing and his guardians have been killed. Cas says he thinks Kevin is being held at SucroCorp. Alex returns, only she isn't Alex. Cas attacks her and it's revealed she's a Leviathan—which means the real Alex has been taken. Crowley shows and gives them "his blood." They set out to go take down Dick.

* * *

**103: SISTER SISTER**

Alex wakes up bound and gagged, in Dick Roman's only is Dick there, but so is Crowley. They're negotiating who will own what parts of the world. Crowley gave the brothers fake blood. After Crowley leaves, Dick takes off Alex's gag, but she refuses to speak. Dick says he is going to deal with her after he kills the brothers, then plucks a hair off her head and says he's going to need that. Alex is moved to a room where Kevin is imprisoned too. He helps her get out of the tape restraining her arms and legs. They quickly plot their escape, and take out the guard on the door first, with Kevin getting a crash course in fighting. Sadly they get caught a few moments later by a group of Leviathans who all look like Alex. They are then imprisoned separately. Zip shows up, and insists he wants to rescue her. He's able to talk her into it, but she insists not without Kevin. Meanwhile the brothers and Cas have infiltrated SucroCorp, but everyone they encounter looks like their sister… a clever ruse by Dick to weaken them. They are separated in the effort, and Cas/Dean end up confronting Dick and sending him back to Purgatory—but they are standing too close and are also whisked away into Purgatory too. Alex, Sam, and Kevin are left in shock, having come in seconds too late to do anything.

* * *

**104: CORPORATE TAKEDOWN**

Dean and Cas come to in a strange place that is dark, barren, and definitely not SucroCorp. Cas is suddenly himself again, and tells Dean they are in Purgatory, and they must run. Meanwhile, Earthside, Sam collapses the second Cas is gone, his mind broken again, his hallucinations back once more. Crowley appears, and tells her that Dean and Cas are dead in Purgatory, and that he is going to take Kevin now too. Crowley also has activated the lab's self destruct, and Alex has three minutes to get Sam, who can barely talk much less walk, out. That's when a mysterious stranger who looks like a twenty-something Cas appears. He almost calls her "mom" as he helps her escape. Zip also assists the escape. The stranger disappears. Alex later has to call Jamie and tell her that Dean did not make it. Alex drills Zip for his help into Purgatory. He tells her if she can find the "portal piece" he will consider it. Apparently it's in the Garden of Eden. Alex is left with the following jobs: care for Sam, who is in complete psychosis. Find the Garden of Eden and get this portal piece, get into Purgatory to save Cas and Dean, try to find and save Kevin. Alex summons Crowley who smirks and says if he didn't know better, he'd think she was about to try and sell him her soul. She says that's exactly right.

* * *

**105: DEAL OR NO DEAL**

Alex tells Crowley she wants him to fix Sam, and bring back Bobby. Crowley says no, and also reminds her she would only get one thing, that her demands are too high. Alex says she will work for Crowley as well as give him her soul, and when he learns she is going to Purgatory, he says he is interested: he wants something out of Purgatory and if she gets it, only THEN will he deliver on his end. As a gesture of solidarity, Crowley says he will take Sam's mental torture and give him sweet dreams and pleasant feelings in his semi-coma. Crowley tells Alex also that he knows she's immortal but the soul deal will end that. He says she will have ten days until the hellhounds come for her, once she is topside from Purgatory. They seal it with a kiss, which amuses Crowley greatly. The next six months, Alex spends doing the work for Crowley, and seeking the Garden of Eden. In Purgatory, Cas and Dean have come to a truce in their friendship, and a newfound brotherhood. Where there had been great animosity before, they're now bonded.

* * *

**106: HELL HATH NO FURY**

Crowley says he has one last task for Alex: torture Meg and get the location of some secret crypts out of her. This causes internal conflict for Alex, who isn't exactly friends with Meg, but owes Meg since she has helped the Winchesters so much in recent times. But Alex needs the location in order to earn Crowley's help. Two months later, Dean and Cas have teamed up with a vamp named Benny, who says he knows about an escape hatch to get them out. Meanwhile, Alex is in Iran, having completed her task for Crowley. She is now seeking the Garden. She has had to hike out into the wilderness with guides, who refuse to go past a certain point with her. She finds the garden, gets the portal piece, and escapes as the garden crumbles around her. Her next step is to contact Kevin, who she finds out is hanging around with Zip, who goes by "Kyle" now. Kevin is angry he's been by himself and on his own for eight months now, and he doesn't know what's been happening with everyone. Apparently Zip/Kyle has been helping him. Kyle says he is now a hunter, and has changed his appearance and "started over." He finally agrees to help Alex get into purgatory. Two weeks later, Alex is in Maine, prepared and ready to get into Purgatory, survive, and then get back out.

* * *

**107: AD PURGATORIUM**

Alex goes into Purgatory, which is an immediate battle with beasts and creatures that are ancient and brutal. She survives, searching for her brother and her angel. Zip's input and knowledge come in handy for staying a step ahead of death. A week later, she finds her people, and there is a joyful reunion between them all.

* * *

**108: EXIT STRATEGY**

Alex has to explain about Sam being unwell, which is surprising to Dean and Cas. They are quickly attacked by Leviathan, and Benny makes his appearance then, meeting Alex for the first time. He recognizes the rock that Alex has, and says he knows where to take it to activate the portal. They begin the journey to find the tree at the center of Purgatory, where the portal is. Cas says he will have to stay behind and make sure no one else gets out except them, and it's not likely he will get out with them. Werewolves attack and Alex is injured to the point of being unable to walk. Cas and Alex steal a brief moment to be together one last time, and say goodbye.

* * *

**109: OUT OF DARKNESS AND ASH**

They find the tree and form their plan for escape. No one trusts Benny, who might double cross them. Indeed, this is what happens… Benny leaves Cas behind, and once outside of the portal, there is an altercation which ends with Dean killing Benny. Alex and Dean go to a motel room nearby where the Impala awaits. While Dean showers, Alex summons Crowley outside and demands he make good, while handing over the thing he wanted from Purgatory: Cleopatra's necklace. He then says Sam is back to normal, and disappears. When Dean gets out of the shower, Alex is gone. Sam meanwhile comes-to somewhere and remembers hitting a dog and falling in love with a woman named Amelia. It's all pleasant memories, but he is stuck wondering where his siblings are. Something feels off to him. Dean calls him, and is angry at him, believing that he abandoned Alex the entire year. Sam is confused, not knowing what really happened but having memories of a year spent not helping find Dean. They end the call on bad terms. Dean then goes in search of Jamie, finding her at the old family home: a mansion in a rich town. He finds her there, drunk and perhaps about to self-harm from the looks of things. She is shocked to see him, but does let him know (lying) that she was not pregnant. Then, when pressed, she says she miscarried.

* * *

**110: NO MAN'S LAND**

Two weeks later: Dean is left alone after spending the last couple weeks with Jamie. She splits without explanation—things have been tense between them and they had tracked down the demon who did her soul deal with no luck reversing it. Sam calls and says he's found Kevin Tran, who was made by Crowley to translate another tablet—this one isn't the Leviathan tablet, this is a demon tablet. Apparently this tablet can open the Hellgates wide—or close them forever. Kevin has escaped with the tablet, and is hiding it. Dean gets a surge of hope. If they can close the Hellgates, no Hellhounds. Meaning Jamie is saved. A week later, the brothers are together again, even though Dean is very angry at Sam for "abandoning" the family yet again. Sam has memories of his time with a dog and Amelia, but something feels very off to him. Dean begins having very realistic visions of Cas. The next day, Cas shows up looking terrible. All he can say to Dean is "your sister is dead."

* * *

**111: MISSING PERSONS**

Apparently, Alex returned to Purgatory to get Cas but got sick, then died in his arms and he says her soul is "gone"—that she really is dead forever, even if he can't understand why. The brothers continue to fight. Cas rescues Kevin from Crowley. The brothers finally have a moment of understanding between themselves.

* * *

**112: CONSIGN ME NOT TO DARKNESS**

Cas's mind control is revealed, with his thoughts being edited and censored by an outside source. This voice tells him to "obey Heaven" and perhaps his wife will be returned to him. He forgets these interactions immediately after they happen. After some time processing, the brothers decide to continue on, and Cas says he is going to be a hunter. Both to atone for his mistakes, and to do what Alex would have wanted: live his life. They are all grieving deeply though. Dean requests Cas to check on Jamie, who won't reply to his tries at communication. Cas finds her watching a family with an infant daughter, who turns out to be baby Rose—Dean and Jamie's daughter, who Jamie gave up for adoption to keep her safe from the hunting life/Jamie's imminent death. She swears Cas to secrecy, and asks him to check on Rose from time to time after she's gone. Cas agrees.

* * *

**113: HUNTERI HEROICI**

The brothers and Cas work a job together with interesting and humorous results in between the harder moments. Cas sees John Winchester's journal, which Alex kept after her dad's disappearance and death, and it triggers a hard moment for him. So hard in fact, he begins to contemplate taking drastic action to change reality. Cas goes to a liquor store, wanting to drink it all to cope. It's there that he meets two strangers who are young twenties or late teens. One of them looks a lot like him, the other a lot like Alex. The male says that Cas from the future sent him back with a message: stay put, wait it out, and know that it's going to be okay. Don't try to time travel or anything to save Alex. Cas slowly realizes that these strangers are his and Alex's son and daughter.

* * *

**114: IN PLAIN SIGHT**

Sam tries very hard to tell Cas and Dean what he feels on some kind of spiritual or soul-deep plane: that Alex is still out there. Dean turns this around to bash his brother again over his disloyalty. Sam refuses to believe Alex is dead, because he insists something doesn't feel right, he didn't witness it, there's no body, and he simply cannot bring himself to believe it. Dean then blames Sam for her death, and he leaves possibly for good, too angry and hate-filled to stay. Cas finds Dean a few days later, holed up and drunk somewhere. Cas says he heard a distress signal from Samandriel that day, and is afraid Crowley has him. Dean begins to notice Cas is a bit off at this point. Together, the two of them track down Kevin to his secret houseboat location, trying to get a lead on Crowley's location from him. Sam turns back up and he was looking for Zip the past few days… apparently Sam wants to go to Purgatory and find out if Alex really is dead or not. Jamie is poofed over by Cas, since they need a witch to help locate Crowley. The group goes later to the location they find, but the second they rescue Samandriel, Cas kills him—after being told to do so by Naomi. At this point, the reader is shown the initial agreement that happened between Naomi and Castiel—the angel pulled them both out of Purgatory, and is keeping Alex hostage until Castiel "does what he is told" by Naomi. She coaches his replies to Sam and Dean, when they see him kill Samandriel. They both begin to suspect something is up with him. The Winchesters try to move past it, and both hunt down Zip with Jamie as well, trying to get back into Purgatory. A week later, they are eluded by the Leviathan. And then, they meet their grandfather, Henry Winchester. After an intense adventure, he is killed in their time. The brothers share an emotional moment reflecting over their lives as they bury him. Dean and Jamie continue a dysfunctional relationship of sorts.

* * *

**115: THE LIBRARIAN**

We are introduced to a new character: Molly Ziegler. She works at the Topeka Kansas library, and is by all accounts a very prim, self-conscious, shy, socially awkward, easily overwhelmed, and introverted young lady. She's late on her way to work, and flustered completely. She gets caught up in a fiasco involving a Golem, and is faced with with a familiar person named… Sam. We are slowly revealed that Molly and Sam had a hookup a year and a half ago Vegas, only she lied to him about her name. They are reconnected by chance, and their chemistry remains.

* * *

**116: WHAT HAPPENS IN VEGAS**

This is the second half of chapter 115, with the adventure concluding and more flashbacks of Sam/Molly, as well as Molly meeting Dean (who doesn't like mousy Molly much). Jamie is also along for the adventure.

* * *

**117: REALITY CHECK**

The final part of the Molly chapters. The Golem debacle is wrapped up. Sam and Molly are very drawn to each other… but she feels like she doesn't belong in the kind of life he lives, and he of course doesn't feel worthy of a real relationship.

* * *

**118: IT'S A BITTERSWEET SYMPHONY**

We are shown Castiel's most important Heavenly mission: killing Dean Winchester. And Sam, too. Naomi has him practcing on copies, preparing for the day when this will really happen. Meanwhile on earth, Jamie has disappeared again, and the reader knows that it's her soul deal day. But Dean knows nothing, as she hasn't told him. He learns about it from the news, because Jamie jumps off a bridge to kill herself before the hounds can get her.

At this point, the Winchesters know about the trials detailed by the tablet that will close the hellgates forever. And Sam wants to complete them. He knows he may not survive the endeavor. Meanwhile, Cas revisists a park he and Alex went to together. He is surprised to see he has left himself clues and messages about her still being alive, but he doesn't remember that he left them, since the mind control is so powerful. He keeps trying to save her, to no success. Naomi has taken her memory and voice, and she doesn't understand what is happening. A couple weeks later, the brothers find locations of Lucifer's old crypts, an important break in the job of getting the trials taken care of. Meg helps. Cas finds the angel tablet in this crypt, but Naomi wants the tablet and attempts to control the situation. She tells him to kill Dean, and he begins to try, even while on the Heavenly plane he's battling for Alex's life. Cas finally gains the upper hand by pulling out the implant that's been controlling his mind—beaming into Heaven—and pulling Alex out of there and back to earth. However… she doesn't remember anyone, not even her brothers.

* * *

**119: PUZZLE PIECES**

Immediately after the rescue, Alex is confused, the brothers are shocked she's alive, and they have to proceed with haste as everyone is after the angel tablet. Outside of the crypt, Crowley waits, holding Meg hostage. They escape narrowly, and return to the Bunker: a massive complex that their grandfather showed them a month or two ago. Alex and the brothers have interesting interactions with her not remembering them. Cas has to leave to take care of some things.

* * *

**120: HALLELUJAH**

Twenty-four hours out of Heaven and it's dead of night. Alex is looking through photos that Sam gave her of her life, hoping they jog her memory. Cas shows up, finally. They have a long, cautious conversation and he tells her that when he lost his memory, a kiss brought it back. They try it, and it works… Alex remembers. They quickly catch up, including a roll in the sheets. Their pillow talk includes Cas telling her about the tablets, and how he feels he has created the disaster that is happening in Heaven. They agree for starters that Cas will protect the angel tablet from Heaven, Crowley, and anyone else who would use it for foul reasons. He then has to leave. Alex then thinks on her soul deal which is still going to be up soon. She decides she will fix the brothers breakfast in the morning and surprise them with her remembering herself, and maybe even share with them about the soul deal—but there's no food in the pantry or fridge, so she leaves the bunker to go to the store. That's where Crowley surprises her and says he is taking her soul tonight—she isn't going to pull any more disappearing acts. And then the hounds come for her.

* * *

**121: UNDERWORLD OVERTURE**

The next day, the brothers are confused about how Alex got out. They think she still doesn't know who she is, so they're worried. Kevin calls, begging for help and saying Crowley is in his head. He also says he translated the second trial to close hell from the tablet: an innocent soul must be rescued from Hell and delivered into Heaven. Dean's first thought is Jamie. And he suggests getting Meg's help, too. Meanwhile, Alex is in Hell, and it has already been ages, or felt that way anyway. Crowley comes to her and asks for her to torture souls, she attempts to threaten him, but he assures her that no one can rescue her. It took ten angels to pull Dean out, for example. He then remarks she needs a cellmate, and a few moments later, a bloody man is shoved in. Alex is shocked to realized it's John Winchester. Their reunion is strange, tense, and painful. Back on earth, Sam and Dean find Meg and tell her they need her help with closing the Hellgates and navigating Hell. She has to be talked into it, and Sam says he is going without Dean, end of story. Dean goes to check on Kevin, and gets jumped by Zip, who apparently is now staying with Kevin more frequently. Dean realizes in the ensuing interaction, that Zip is attracted to Kevin. The chapter ends with John and Alex being approached by an unfamiliar demon named Lola, who is red-haired and says she has something important to tell them.

* * *

**122: HELLRAISERS**

On Kevin's houseboat, the angel Naomi appears to Dean. She says she was doing what had to be done with the Cas/Alex situation, which Dean hates of course. Naomi says to Dean that Cas is on the run with a bomb—the angel tablet—and she tries to convince Dean not to let him have it or keep it. Later, Dean goes to meet with Sam and Meg, who return and say they could not find Jamie, but ended up delivering Rufus to Heaven instead. They return to try and find Kevin, and Zip has been killed protecting him. Kevin was taken, probably by Crowley. Dean then receives a call from none other than Bobby Singer, who has been resurrected. Crowley made good on his end of the deal, although Bobby doesn't know that. Meanwhile in Hell, Alex, John, and Lola are planning an escape. Lola is a demon who fell onto Crowley's bad side, and has been locked up because of it. She wants to escape, and knows the Winchesters are resourceful, so has suggested a team effort. John is very cautious, but Alex is opportunistic. Back at the bunker, Sam and Dean are peppering Bobby with questions as to how he's back, and Bobby doesn't know. Sam begins to get physically sick as he continues onward with the trials, and he says he thinks he is being purified. They meet an angel named Metatron, the Scribe of the Word. Meanwhile Cas is hiding in a timeloop, keeping the tablet hidden. Naomi wises up to his trick though, and kills everyone in one instance of time, forcing him to stop. She captures him, and tries to torture the location of the tablet from him. He refuses. Then Crowley appears. He also attempts to get the tablet location from Cas, using Alex's current predicament as leverage. Cas is livid when he learns Alex is in Hell. Crowley figures out Cas has put the tablet into his own body, and tears it out then leaves. Cas escapes, barely alive with a gaping stomach wound, and crash lands himself into the Winchesters path in Kansas. They are shocked but he tells them to be quiet, this is where it happened, and Alex is in Hell. He then disappears and they begin to make sense of the situation to their dismay. A few moments later, Cas drags Alex up and out of the ground. And with her… John Winchester.

* * *

**123: THE NEW TESTAMENT**

Castiel is unconscious, charred, and burnt—John is in similar condition. They drag everyone back to the Bunker and after some conversation, the brothers attend to John and Alex attends to Cas. She stitches him closed and he awakens a bit after. A flashback is shown to show the rescue from Hell, as Alex and Cas lay on a bed in the Bunker together, thankful the other is alive. Cas's wound however is very bad, and he can't heal himself. They talk over the soul deal, which Cas is extremely upset about. They are both extremely filthy, and wash off together—Alex now seeing that she has handprints on her from where Cas raised her from Hell. Alex suggests he touches her soul to heal himself, but he is afraid to and says he won't. They spend more time together, resting, and they end up kissing, getting hot and bothered, and having very careful sex—toward the end, Alex keeps asking him and then insisting he touch her soul. He finally does, and the climax happens at this point too. Neither knows it at that second, but they conceive in this moment. Later, Alex has nightmares of Hell, but Cas soothes her.

* * *

**124: UNSTABLE GROUND**

Dean is at his Dad's side. John is still unconscious. This is quite an emotional moment for Dean, who is confused about his feelings towards his father. He and Alex catch up a bit in the morning after Dean waits all night for John to wake, which he doesn't. None of the Winchesters know how they feel about John being alive again. It's difficult to process. Sam continues to try and figure out the last trial: Cure a Demon. He is feeling worse and worse. Alex is having a monsterous appetite that is not normal, but no one thinks much of it at the time. Dean meanwhile tries to convince Cas to either go to Hell for him, or drop him off down there so he can try to get Jamie out. Cas can't so soon after his near-death experience there. Dean is panicking because if Hell closes forever, she is trapped there for eternity. There doesn't seem to be an alternative.

* * *

**125: WHERE THE HEART IS**

Cas tells Alex about meeting their children as young adults as they pore over research in the Bunker. This is big news to Alex, who isn't sure how she feels about being a parent someday. Cas talks her through it, and Sam brings in an old film reel, saying he found it in the Men of Letters files under demonic possessions. Sam and Cas have an important conversation. Alex continues to have odd cravings and has some emotional imbalances too. Meanwhile, Dean visits Jamie's grave they put up just outside the bunker, deciding he has to say goodbye, and let fate be fate.

* * *

**126: BACK TO BUSINESS**

The Winchesters settle in to watch the film reel, which shows a dual exorcism of a random demon. After the exorcism, it's clear it was not to expel the demon, but to kill it completely. The Winchesters are stumped: they've never seen this method before. One of the priests who performed the ritual is still alive in St. Louis upon further investigation, and they decide to go ask some questions. Dean says Alex needs to stay put, since Naomi is still out there and Crowley will be angry she was taken out of Hell. It's safer to stay. While the boys are gone, Cas and Alex find a strange dungeon room that has, among other things, a demon-warded strait-jacket. Bobby comes into the Bunker later, and he/Alex have a reunion. He knows about her selling her soul. She says it was worth it. Bobby tells her he's now the proud owner of a Winnebago. He says the Bunker isn't quite his style, and he has some libraries out there he needs to recover. In the meantime, he helps out with research.

* * *

**127: THE SCRIBE**

Cas and Alex go to a gas station in search of snacks. This is where they are approached by Metatron. He says he knows them both, that Kevin mentioned them to him. He says he and Cas are alike. He tells them how Heaven is leaderless and in shambles. He says they have to shut down Heaven, because the civil wars will spill onto earth given much more time. Since they are interested in not having more angels making their lives horrible, they listen to him. Cas goes to speak further with Metatron, and Alex returns to the Bunker.

* * *

**128: THE SOLDIER**

Sam is looking sicker by the hour. They watch another reel they have gotten, where a demon is brought back to being a human. Dean suggests they test this out on a demon. Meanwhile, Cas and Metatron speak over brunch. Metatron aims to convince Cas to do the angel trials to "close Heaven for good." After checking with Alex that she's agrees and is okay with him going to complete these tasks, Cas gets to work completing them. Metatron takes him to a woman named Jane, then tells him the first task: cut out the heart of a Nephilim. Jane is one of them. She looks human. When Cas is shocked and appalled and refuses, Metatron reminds him it's basically either this, or Alex is forever unsafe.

* * *

**129: THE QUEEN, THE KING, THE PAWNS**

The Winchesters have captured the demon Abaddon, cutting off her hands and head too in an attempt to keep her from outsmarting them. Abaddon was single-handedly responsible for the extinction of the original Men of Letters. She arrived in the present through time travel in her hunt for Henry Winchester. Meanwhile, Cas tries to complete his task of killing the Nephilim. However, he can't. That's when Metatron tells him what he hasn't noticed: Alex is pregnant. Their child will be a Nephilim. When Cas realizes this is in fact true, and that he doesn't need to just protect Alex from Heaven but his child too, he goes and kills Jane despite the self-loathing he feels for doing it.

* * *

**130: INTERLUDE**

Cas seeks comfort from Alex for what he has done. She of course understands having to do horrible things to benefit the greater good. Cas tries to tell Alex about her pregnancy, but doesn't know how to. She gets physically sick, puking. Sam thinks it must be his trial sickness causing her to resonate. Alex blames some tunafish. Cas doesn't know how to tell her.

* * *

**131: LINE OF FIRE**

The group follows up on a lead that Crowley gave them, finding that he has killed one of the people they saved years ago and is going to keep doing so until he the Winchesters stop.

* * *

**132: GREAT EXPECTATIONS**

Crowley is killing more people they've saved, the latest would-be victim being Sarah Blake. The Winchesters attempt to save her but Crowley still kills her. However, Cas raises her from the dead and spirits her to safety afterward. The Winchesters fight over whether to close Hell or give in to Crowley's demands to do nothing. Sam insists he will close Hell with or without Dean. Grudgingly Dean goes along with it. In a moment alone, Cas tells Alex she is pregnant to her mixed reactions. The brothers bring Crowley to an old church to cure him and hopefully complete the trials that way.

* * *

**133: FOR I HAVE SINNED**

Sam makes his confessions to purify his blood. Dean and Cas have to break off from the group to go see to the Heaven trials together as it's becoming more urgent. Alex remains with Sam and they share some bonding moments and she confesses she's pregnant. He's supportive and kind. Abaddon shows up and attacks them, and then tries to kill a half-cured Crowley. Alex finds she has superstrength thanks to her pregnancy, and can match Abaddon's strength. Sam lights her on fire with holy oil and she abandons her vessel. Crowley babbles nonsensically about being loved and wanting family. Sam, fearing he is near death, finally tells Alex about the visions Lucifer gave him, and asks her forgiveness. She doesn't think he did anything wrong. At the last moment at the last injection, Dean shows up and stops them, saying the trials will kill Sam if he doesn't stop. Sam doesn't seem to see why that's a problem, asking "so?" Dean and Alex lay their feelings on the line, and Dean says no matter what, they're in this together, forever. Sam agrees to stop the trials, and for a moment everything looks like it's going to be okay. Then Sam collapses, the angels fall, and Castiel is nowhere to be found. The chapter ends with Abaddon going to Hell and choosing a new vessel: Jamie Ward.

* * *

**134: HEAVEN ON EARTH**

Dean and Alex have rushed Sam to a hospital, and it looks like he doesn't have much chance of recovery. Castiel is still missing, and when Dean prays to him, he ends up bringing angry angels down on his family's head. One of them, calling himself Ezekiel, protects Dean and says he can help heal Sam. Castiel wakes up somewhere far away, and calls when he manages to find a phone—he gives them his location. Angels attack the hospital not long after, and in the chaos, Dean tells Alex to get out while she can—she heads for Cas's location. However, he's been kidnapped by the angry angel Hael. He ends up killing her later, but is now lost and must find a way to survive on his own. Dean allows "Ezekiel" to possess Sam to heal him, and helps the angel trick his brother into saying yes.

* * *

**135: NO PLACE LIKE HOME**

Alex tracks Cas down after a week's time—he's been trying to earn money for a bus ticket at a church program. The brothers are back at the Bunker—their dad has disappeared. When Cas and Alex return to the Bunker, Ezekiel tells Dean he won't stay because of the danger Cas presents. So Dean kicks his sister and brother-in-law out to save Sam. Crowley, who is imprisoned in the basement along with Meg, attempts to talk Dean into letting him out in exchange for Jamie out of Hell. Dean resists… barely.

* * *

**136: WHAT TO EXPECT WHEN YOU'RE EXPECTING**

About two months later, Cas and Alex have been living in an apartment and working normal jobs, and preparing for parenthood as much as they can and sharing many sweet moments along the way. Alex is missing the old life, and not speaking to Dean.

* * *

**137: STATE OF GRACE**

The brothers arrive to a bar where some kind of mass murder has taken place and find Cas and Alex there, apparently hitting the road and hunting together again. They go elsewhere to catch up, and Cas has beer for the first time. Ezekiel, when given a moment alone with Dean, expresses his anger at Cas's proximity and tells Dean to end it now. Dean snaps back, and Ezekiel goes outside in a huff. There he meets Metatron, who knows who he really is: Gadreel, the angel who let the serpent into the garden. Metatron offers him a chance to redeem himself to "the new god" by joining forces. Gadreel isn't sure. The Winchesters part ways shortly after. That night, Dean gets a panicked phone call from a familiar voice… Jamie.

* * *

**138: THE WITCHING HOUR**

Dean drops everything to go rescue Jamie, who claims to have woken up in the middle of nowhere without knowing why. He's overjoyed, and doesn't check to make sure it's really her. A few moments into the trick, Abaddon reveals herself and begins to knock him around and make fun of him, then tells him she's going to wipe his entire family off the map… including his daughter. This is news to Dean, whose world stops. Jamie manages to somehow hold Abaddon back for a moment, then tells Dean to run. He does. He returns to the Bunker in a state of mania, telling Sam and Kevin what's happened and he needs to know how to exorcise a Knight of Hell without hurting or killing the body. When Sam and Kevin tell him to calm down, Dean storms into the basement where Crowley and Meg are, and in an act of temporary insanity, he breaks them out to help him find Abaddon and exorcise her.

* * *

**139: INSIDE JOB**

Sam calls Alex and Cas once he realizes what's happened and they try to hunt Dean down. A few days later, Dean calls them with his location. They've captured Abaddon and Crowley is still in restraints. They haven't been able to exorcise her, as they need an angel to do that. Dean pulls Sam/Ezekiel aside, and Ezekiel says if he does this, it will weaken him and Sam immensely. Dean says to just do it, and creates a distraction by letting Crowley go and then attacking Meg like she did it. Ezekiel exorcises Abaddon behind everyone's backs. Everyone is suspicious, and Cas realizes there must be an angel in someone there—Ezekiel then wipes everyone's memories of it and tells Dean this is his fault. Jamie is not doing well, and has lost consciousness so Dean rushes her to a hospital. Outside, Alex lets Meg go. Abaddon raises herself in her original vessel, and Dean stays at Jamie's bedside, wondering if Abaddon was telling the truth about a daughter or not.

* * *

**140: TOUCHED BY AN ANGEL**

Alex and Cas have moved into the Bunker for the time being since Dean is gone. Alex notices Sam's odd behavior and secretly tests to see if he's a shifter, demon, or ghoul but everything comes up normal. Cas learns that he can use another angel's Grace to becoming powered up again, and he will most likely need to so that he can protect Alex and heal her if her labor and delivery doesn't go well. Dean comes to the Bunker again to get some things, and while there, he fights with Alex, who is unhappy with his rash decisions. Ezekiel sneaks out of the Bunker where Metatron is waiting for his answer. Gadreel says yes, and Metatron gives him a name on paper that he's instructed to kill to prove his loyalty. The name is Alex's. Gadreel goes back in filled with dread to carry out the task, and lures Alex to a secluded part of the Bunker asking for some advice. Once there, he attacks her, but he can't follow through. Alex fights back, and thanks to her super strength, follows him when he runs and pins him down on the ground. Gadreel evacuates the vessel at that point, running away and leaving a confused Sam and the occupants of the Bunker coming to see a strange scene. Dean realizes what's happened and must admit what he allowed to happen. Cas hits Dean in anger, shaking him and saying that he's allowed his pregnant sister to be attacked. This is how Dean learns of the pregnancy. Alex is angry at her brother's absurdly risky decisions lately, and tells him to leave and not come back. He does. Meanwhile in the Garden of Eden, Lucifer in the body of Adam Milligan has escaped the Cage thanks to Metatron's spell, which cracked the Cage all the way down in Hell.

* * *

**141: AND THE CRADLE WILL ROCK**

Sam, Cas, and Alex try to figure out what angel it was who possessed Sam to no avail. Cas shows Sam how to get an angel warding tattoo and advises him to do so in order to not be repossessed by the same angel. The three of them work together to get Cas his power back by stealing another angel's grace, then he says he needs to go out and do some work on his own to find allies and learn more about Metatron's plans. Alex and Sam stay at the bunker. Meanwhile Dean is waiting with Jamie, who is in a coma. Crowley comes to him and tells him about the First Blade, which will kill Abaddon. Dean jumps at the chance, and the demon and hunter go off to find it. They meet Cain, who gives Dean his Mark, which is required to use the blade. The Blade is somewhere hidden at the bottom of an ocean, and Crowley must go find it. Sam and Alex get word that Linda Tran, Kevin's mom, is being held somewhere and not dead as thought. Kevin overhears and demands to come along. They manage to rescue her from the demons holding her, then bring her to the safety of the Bunker with them. Meanwhile Dean is back with Jamie, still braindead by the looks of it, waiting Crowley's return. He's depressed, fearing Jamie is gone forever. Cas appears to him then, and with his angelic powers back, heals Jamie. Once she's awake again, Dean urgently tells her what Abaddon said about their daughter, and asks her to confirm that this daughter really exists. Jamie says yes, her name is Rose, and she gave her up for adoption. Dean says they need to go now, because she's definitely in danger. They leave immediately to go find and hopefully save her. Meanwhile Sam leaves the Bunker and goes to town and breaks up with Molly for her safety, and they're both heartbroken over it. He gets his angel ward tattoo afterward. Even as this happens, Lucifer is slowly gaining strength and has plans to make this year, which is 2014 just as predicted, the year where he uses his true vessel to put his plans back on the map. In a secretive way, Lucifer begins to kill off weakened angels on earth so they can't present a challenge to him later. Lastly, Gadreel returns to Metatron in another vessel. He's given his next kill command: Dean Winchester.

* * *

**142: EVERY ROSE HAS ITS THORN**

Jamie and Dean find Rose's adoptive parents/home and it has recently burned. It's still a crime scene. They fear Rose was in there and is now dead. As they leave, they're attacked by demons and Dean brutally kills them thanks to the effects of the Mark. He and Jamie argue, and it escalates due to the Mark, and Dean hits her. She says she's leaving, but then they get a call from Crowley who gives instructions on where to find the First Blade and says where to find Abaddon as well. Jamie and Dean go find the blade, then are called by Abaddon, who says she has their child. They know it has to be a trap but rush either way to the location. Once there, Abaddon pins them to a wall—Crowley is prisoner too—then she shows them their baby who is nearby in a portable playpen. This is Dean's first time seeing his daughter. Dean breaks Abaddon's hold, takes out the blade, and then kills her, stabbing her repeatedly until Jamie and Rose startle him out of his trance. Father meets daughter, and it's emotional/beautiful. They go down to the car, then Dean reluctantly says he probably needs to go rescue Crowley or kill him, he'll decide which when he's up there. However once he's up there and has freed Crowley, Gadreel appears and kills Dean, then leaves as quickly as he came. Crowley puts the first blade into Dean's hand, raising him as a demon, and the two of them disappear, leaving Jamie and Rose to not know what happened.

* * *

**143: LIGHTS, CAMERA, WAR!**

Jamie returns to the Bunker with a baby no one knew about, and tells everyone about how Dean disappeared. Sam and Alex summon Cas, who attempts to help, but cannot locate Dean. They also summon Meg, who says she'll poke around. The twins go on the road, trying to find their brother. Meg finally finds footage of him robbing a convenience store and assaulting an employee. She finds receipts from a specific bar, and the Winchesters go there with Meg, finding Dean singing karaoke without a care in the world. They soon learn that he's a demon, and he tells them if they bother him again, he'll kill them. They return to the Bunker with broken spirits. Jamie leaves Rose in Mama Tran's care and goes after Dean herself, finding him and trying to appeal to him. It doesn't work and they have a physical altercation which ends in her locking him inside of a mausoleum and pissing him off. Later, Sam gets a call from Gadreel, who says he has Molly. Sam runs to try and save her, and when Gadreel tries to repossess him, Sam kills him. Metatron shows up and takes Molly for the fun of seeing Sam freak out. Molly is kept in Heaven in Metatron's study for a few days, where she tries to see what she can learn. She witnesses Lucifer come into the study and kill Metatron later, and Lucifer tells her to tell everyone that he's back, then sends her back to earth. Lucifer puts his plan into motion, undoing Metatron's spell and slaughtering the angels who return to Heaven when he does so. In Hell, the demon Lola slaughters demons who aren't Lucifer-faithful. And so it begins: 2014 will always be the devil's year.

* * *

**144: FLY BY NIGHT**

Sam and Molly reunite and she tells him what she saw. Sam calls an emergency meeting with Bobby, Alex, and Cas. They debate if this is legitimate or not, unsure how Lucifer could truly be back or not. Molly has to move into the Bunker for now for her safety, even though she and Sam are broken up at this point. Sam decides he needs to do something about demon Dean, and he/Cas go to find him. Alex is too pregnant at this point to go along. Crowley learns about Lucifer, and abandons the carefree/useless demonic Dean to try and re-secure his place as King of Hell. Cas and Sam find Dean and attempt to subdue him, but Sam is injured and demonic Dean slashes Cas in a way that depletes his Grace. They retreat, defeated and return to the Bunker. Sam and Molly reconcile that night over his wounds and the close call. Alex tells Cas she thinks the baby will come soon, so he goes out and steals another angel's Grace. The next night, John Winchester shows up at the Bunker out of nowhere, and tells them he's doing the trials to close Hell. In his trunk, the final step in the trials, is Dean, waiting to be cured.

* * *

**145: FULL CIRCLE**

Dean is put in demon lockdown, and John says he'll begin curing him soon. He is cold and brusque in his treatment of everyone there. He picks a fight with Cas at one point, but this ends up leading to Alex and him having a small heart to heart. Later, demon Dean escapes and terrorizes/injures most of the Bunker inhabitants. When he attacks Alex, he sets off labor, and then he escapes. Alex gives birth on a hallway floor as her dad and Bobby chase Dean. CJ is born, a healthy baby boy. Alex and Cas are in love and completely taken by their son. John returns with Dean later, and begins to cure him. Alex and Sam remain present for the process, and Dean gives John the Mark of Cain later. Dean is cured after eight excruciating hours, and father/son both survive. Dean is left to cope with hard feelings about what happened, and he is ashamed to be seen by anyone. Jamie and Rose come to him later, and she extends a proverbial olive branch to him, supporting him. Rose babbles "da-da" nearby. Meanwhile, Crowley comes to Cas. He's abandoned Hell because it's so overrun by Lucifer loyalists. He proposes an alliance, and despite everything, the Winchesters and Cas agree.

* * *

**146: THE KINGDOM, THE POWER, THE GLORY**

Angels, demons, and hunters all join forces against the impending threat of Lucifer and the Croatoan virus. Dean, Sam, Alex, and John find some reconciliation within their family unit even as the world goes to shit around them. Just when they're out of ideas, they learn that Lucifer is close by in Kansas City. Sam stays with most of the women at the Bunker to be safe, and Dean leads to charge to Kansas City—but turns around ten minutes into leaving, realizing this sounds like a trick. Sure enough, Lucifer has set a distraction to get everyone out of the Bunker so he can claim his true vessel. The chapter ends with him blowing the doors to the Bunker off and slowly going inside.

* * *

**147: EPILOGUE: THINGS WE LOST IN THE FIRE**

A flashback of the day the twins were born opens the epilogue, and it's set against a fast-forward into the future of 2018, four years after the angel's fell and the contents of chapter 146. Alex is contemplating two gravestones. Her son is nearby, and brings flowers for the headstone, and asks if the stone means the person is dead forever. Alex picks him up and remembers the showdown with Lucifer. The Bunker was thrown into chaos when Lucifer entered. Alex got separated from everyone and is lost in the smoky tunnels with infant CJ strapped to her. She suddenly finds herself inexplicably holding The Colt. She makes her way into the main area of the Bunker where she finds multiple dead bodies. Sam, Dean, Cas, and her dad have survived, but just barely. Lucifer is there, and casually welcomes her. He goes on a mostly-monologue about how fate is unchangeable, Sam will eventually say yes, and 2014 has always been his year. He kills John in front of them all, then Dean and Cas too. Alex is waiting for the right moment. When it comes, she pulls the Colt out. Lucifer laughs, makes another speech. Then Alex shoots him. The bullets she used were melted down from Gabriel's blade, which he came to her and gave her, entrusting the job of killing Lucifer to her, but then wiping her memory of the interaction and creating a "trigger" that activates her memory at the right time. As soon as Lucifer is dead, Alex starts yelling at the ceiling inexplicably. That's when Gabriel shows up. After a torrent of angry accusations and Alex threatens him with the bullets she made (many more than one), Gabriel agrees to resurrect everyone and fix the situation Lucifer caused. He also reveals that Alex is his "horn"—the manner of which judgment day is announced. She's been meant since birth to kill Lucifer through Gabriel. The family is reunited and everyone is confused about what just happened. John will soon find the Mark too much to bear with people around, and he will go live the rest of his days in solitude to protect people from it.

Present day, Cas comes out to CJ and Alex at the gravesite. It's Mary's headstone, and Adam's is nearby too. Cas has their baby girl with him, Nova. She's near to a year old at this time. There's a sweet little scene of the family together, then Cas takes the kids inside as Alex waits for her brothers to arrive. They finally do and Dean announces they're going for a ride. The ride is reminiscent of their childhood and young adulthood. He finally brings them to a neighborhood, and they realize it's their old house. The one mom died in. They have a conversation about the things they've lost, their lives now, their reminicings. All in all, it's bittersweet. They know their old life is gone. A new one awaits.

The final scene of the story is of Chuck, completing his writing of the story Song Remains the Same: the story of Cas, Alex, the Winchesters. He puts the final manuscript into his heavenly library which contains trillions of stories of humans across the dimensions and realities. He then goes back to the moment where Dean asks Sam to come along with him and Alex to find Dad in 2004. Chuck then compares it against the same moment in another dimension. A dimension where Alex doesn't exist. He reflects on stories and characters, then takes a copy of the Song Remains the Same book and puts it in Cas and Alex's heaven to wait for them there.

* * *

**148: POSTLUDE: THE ROAD SO FAR  
**

The story concludes with Cas dying in bed with his family at his side. He promises Alex, who doubts, that they will see each other again in Heaven. He believes they are soulmates, she remains unsure if their farewell is permanent or temporary. She goes on to live five more years without him before she and her brothers die together on their terms by driving the Impala off a cliff. Alex awakens in a Heaven of her own and eagerly searches there for Cas. He doesn't seem to be there, and just when she decides the worst is true, he appears. He's been waiting for her all that time. Their reunion is warm and joyous—but Alex quickly realizes it doesn't feel like Heaven without her brothers there too. When they spot a new roadway nearby, they go and explore. They find an empty bridge there. And just as Alex is beginning to accept an eternity without her brothers... she hears Dean's voice and turns around. It's him and Sam, and the four of them have a tearful reunion. Chuck shows up afterward—he's the one who put the bridge between their Heavens. After revealing himself as God and alluding to the story not being totally over, he leaves the Winchester four on the bridge where they lean against the bridge railing, take in the view, and reflect on the journey here. The story ends with Dean's inner thoughts: _I did it, Dad. I kept Sammy safe. I watched out for Alex. And by God, I know I made you proud._


End file.
